Chapter 53: The Speed at Which Cherry Blossoms Fall

Kyoko Kato drove to a nearby upscale restaurant, and throughout the journey, the four of them remained silent. Kyoko was intent on enjoying herself, Chinatsu Kotobuki was naturally quiet, and Maki Nishikino played absentmindedly with the ends of her hair, gazing out the window. Jiang Yu, for his part, simply had no idea what to say and kept the silence.

Ever since Kyoko had suggested, “Later, Jiang, why don’t you play a piece for us?” Jiang Yu had found himself at a loss for words. They maintained the silent atmosphere even as they got out of the car. While Kyoko parked, Chinatsu walked ahead toward the restaurant, perhaps to order food or take care of the arrangements. Jiang Yu and Maki waited by the car for Kyoko to join them. Once Kyoko had finished parking, the three made their way to the restaurant together.

The restaurant was a classic Western-style establishment, its decor reminiscent of Kyoko’s own café. Like her shop, there was a stage in the center, topped with a grand piano. Noticing Jiang Yu’s surprise, Kyoko laughed, “My café’s decor was inspired by this place. It’s only natural they look alike.” Jiang Yu nodded, signaling he understood.

They searched for Chinatsu’s figure and soon Kyoko spotted her waving from not far away. Once seated, Chinatsu said, “I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, so I ordered a variety. I hope it suits your tastes.” Kyoko replied with casual confidence, “Don’t worry, Chinatsu, you know what I like. Jiang isn’t picky, and Maki, is there anything you don’t eat?” Maki shook her head, indicating there was nothing she disliked.

How do you know I’m not picky? Jiang Yu pursed his lips inwardly.

As the dishes were being served, Kyoko asked the waiter if guests could perform on the stage. Upon hearing the answer was yes, she smiled at Jiang Yu. He sighed quietly, but rose from his seat and walked toward the piano on stage.

Maki Nishikino watched Jiang Yu ascend the stage, her eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation. She truly wanted to witness the playing of a pianist whom her own teacher had praised so highly. Chinatsu Kotobuki, too, looked on with interest, wondering what piece Jiang Yu would choose—would it be a classic, or perhaps an original composition like his mesmerizing variations on Canon?

The other patrons in the restaurant watched Jiang Yu as well. Though the piano was open to all, few were both skilled and willing to play. As a regular, Remi Shiraishi had seen only a handful of performances here, no more than five, and the standards varied widely. She watched Jiang Yu with some expectation, wondering what kind of piece such a young man would play.

Jiang Yu sat at the piano, focused and serene, his gaze lingering on the lid. Having just heard Kyoko mention Hayao Miyazaki and Joe Hisaishi, Jiang Yu thought of Makoto Shinkai and Tenmon, whom he regarded as the Miyazaki and Hisaishi of a new era. Their most renowned collaboration was “5 Centimeters Per Second.” It so happened that Jiang Yu had recently played and sung “One more time, One more chance” for Umaru Doma; besides the guitar version, he also knew the pure piano arrangement.

Having decided on the piece, Jiang Yu recalled its details in his mind, scanned through the score, lifted the lid, and placed his slender, fair hands on the cool keys. The next moment, it was as if a spring breeze filled the room, cherry blossoms swirling, brushing against hair and cheeks.

The soft piano notes, occasionally punctuated by an accented tone, formed gentle cycles that soon merged into an unbroken stream, tenderly soothing every listener’s heart. Kyoko and Chinatsu’s eyes lit up, a sense of fulfilled expectation washing over them. Though surprised that Jiang Yu could produce original compositions, they were growing accustomed to his talent. This time, it wasn’t a variation on a famous piece, but something entirely new.

Maki Nishikino watched Jiang Yu play, astonished by his skill. Though reluctant to admit it, she had to acknowledge his playing surpassed her own. Yet, what was this piece? Maki searched her memory, hoping to identify it. Despite her youth, her upbringing had exposed her to countless classics, fostering a deep interest in music—one reason she had chosen to study piano.

But after rifling through every melody in her mind, Maki couldn’t match the tune to anything she knew. Was it non-classical, or perhaps an adaptation? Twirling a lock of hair, she frowned, uncertain.

As Jiang Yu’s playing reached its peak, Maki felt a heaviness in her chest. In his mind, Jiang Yu envisioned a girl spinning beneath falling cherry blossoms, umbrella in hand, smiling as she promised Takaki, “Next year, let’s see the cherry blossoms together.”

But between them lay the vastness of life, and the endless passage of time.

Who among us, in our youth, hasn’t experienced a love that faded away? Some are playful, gained in games and lost for reasons unknown; some are cautious, every glance swiftly averted; some are fleeting, a single meeting before vanishing into the crowd…

“Hey, I heard it’s five centimeters per second.”
“Huh? What?”
“That’s the speed at which cherry blossoms fall—five centimeters every second.”

Five centimeters per second doesn’t sound fast—it's actually quite slow, slower than a person's walking pace. But what if that speed continued for thirteen years? Twenty thousand four hundred ninety-eight point four kilometers—the distance is half the circumference of the Earth, from the South Pole to the North Pole. Takaki and Akari’s last meeting at the fork in the road was exactly thirteen years apart.

Perhaps it was coincidence, perhaps meticulous calculation. Either way, Jiang Yu was deeply moved by such serendipity.

Remi Shiraishi stared at the boy’s hands moving across the keys, feeling a growing tightness in her chest, as though something inside desperately wanted to break free. Then, as the music reached its climax, the piano seemed to shatter the knot in her heart.

In that instant, all notions of time and space vanished, and sorrow swept over every listener. Yet afterward, gentle notes brushed over their hearts, slowly reviving spirits dulled by grief.

This song was never about nostalgia for the past—it urged you to seize the present, to strive toward the future you’ve imagined.

So it was with the music; without lyrics to narrate, the pure piano sound stirred threads of melancholy, weaving them into a cocoon, then breaking it apart, letting the heart’s waves settle once more, until the golden light danced and the silent shadows shimmered.

That was why Jiang Yu cherished this piece so deeply.