Rain whispered against the windows again, like it was repeating a secret only Kevin could hear.
The cassette tape sat on his desk. Unlabeled. Unassuming.
He didn't even own a tape player. Who did anymore?
But his dad did.
**FLASHBACK — Childhood**
A quiet Saturday. Kevin, barely ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor while his dad worked at the piano. A cassette clicked into the player.
"Never forget analog," his dad said. "Digital lies. Tape remembers."
**PRESENT — 7:48 PM**
Kevin rummaged through the basement. Old furniture, a rusted bike, cardboard boxes marked *"Mom's stuff."* Dust clung to his hoodie.
And there it was. A vintage tape deck buried beneath a stack of sheet music.
He blew off the dust. Plugged it in. Inserted the tape. Pressed **play**.
A voice came through—soft, familiar, like it had traveled miles through static.
**AMARI (on tape):**
"If you're hearing this, you found the room. And the drive. I hope you didn't open it too soon."
She chuckled faintly. Kevin forgot how that laugh sounded.
**AMARI:**
"They'll come looking eventually. But I had to record this before everything got rewritten. Before I was rewritten."
*Rewritten?*
The tape continued.
**AMARI:**
"Virtuoso 29 isn't just a music academy. It's a signal lab. They're using us—artists, musicians, coders—to map emotional resonance. To replicate consciousness."
**AMARI:**
"They're trying to *play people.* Literally reconstruct memory, soul, self... through sound."
Kevin felt his stomach twist. It sounded insane. But Amari wasn't insane. Not her.
Then came coordinates. Spoken softly, like she was afraid the tape itself might betray her.
**AMARI:**
"Room B-01. Under the recital hall. No one knows it's there. You'll need the passphrase."
A pause. Static buzzed.
Then:
**AMARI:**
"The rain never forgets."
*Click.*
The tape ended.
Kevin stood there in the dark basement, hands cold. Mind racing.
---
**The Next Day — Hoshikawa Recital Hall**
Kevin didn't tell Kim. He didn't tell Ren. Not yet.
This was between him and Amari.
He slipped into the building during lunch, under the excuse of "picking up sheet music."
The recital hall was quiet. Echoes of past performances hung like ghosts.
Behind the stage, he found a locked metal door. Faded lettering above it:
**"Maintenance"** — but something told him that wasn't the whole truth.
There was a keypad.
Kevin typed: **T-H-E-R-A-I-N-N-E-V-E-R-F-O-R-G-E-T-S**
**ACCESS GRANTED**
The lock clicked.
He opened the door.
Stairs led down into darkness.
---
**Room B-01 — Underground**
It wasn't a janitor's closet. It was a lab.
Desks lined with servers and hard drives. Wires tangled like veins. Speakers and monitors. A piano in the center, pristine.
And one screen still glowing.
Kevin approached. A file was open.
**Subject: Amari Kasane – Prototype Log**
**[Audio File: Session_5.mkv]**
He clicked it.
Amari again. Sitting at the piano. Wired to a headset, a heart monitor, electrodes along her neck.
**SCIENTIST (off-screen):**
"Begin memory reconstruction test."
She began playing. A melody Kevin knew—hers. The one she wrote just before she vanished.
As she played, the screen behind her lit up—waves of color, data streaming in patterns like DNA.
The song ended. Her hands trembled.
**SCIENTIST:**
"Good. Again. Deeper this time."
**AMARI:**
"I can't keep doing this. My head—"
**SCIENTIST:**
"You said you wanted to save him. This is the only way."
She looked toward the camera.
Right at him.
**AMARI:**
"Kevin… I hope you never end up in here."
**[FILE CORRUPTED. END OF VIDEO.]**
---
**FOOTSTEPS ABOVE**
Kevin froze.
Someone was in the recital hall.
He quickly shut off the monitor, slid behind the piano, held his breath.
The footsteps stopped above.
Then—nothing.
But whoever it was… they knew he was here.
---
**Back at School — Rooftop**
Later, during last period, Kevin met Sora again.
She was sketching in a notebook.
**SORA:**
You look like you've seen a ghost.
**KEVIN:**
Maybe I have.
**SORA (smiling faintly):**
You play like someone who's haunted.
He looked at her sketch—music notes morphing into tangled tree branches.
**KEVIN:**
What are you drawing?
**SORA:**
A memory I don't want to forget.
She flipped to the next page and handed him a pencil.
**SORA:**
Your turn.
Kevin didn't know what to draw.
So he drew a raindrop.
And inside it—Amari's eyes.
....END OF CHAPTER 4....