Kazuki's Apartment, Tokyo — 7:10 AM
The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment, save for the faint pattering of rain against the balcony windows.
Kazuki sat at the kitchen table, chin resting in one hand, the other idly spinning his phone on its back like a lazy roulette wheel. Steam curled from the edge of his untouched miso soup, fading into the morning light that slanted in through half-closed blinds.
His headphones — sleek, all black, wireless — rested around his neck. Silent. Heavy. Present.
He wasn't playing music.
But he was humming.
It started quiet, subconscious. A phrase, a rhythm — just a couple of notes strung together like thread pulled from an old jacket. Unraveled memory.
Then came a flicker — a blurred image in his mind.
A stage light.
A sea of phones held high.
A voice — his voice — echoing off walls thicker than emotion.
Kazuki's brow furrowed. He swallowed the rest of the hum before it became a song.
"You always make that face before coffee," his mother said, entering the kitchen with a messy bun, mismatched socks, and a mug that read 'THIS MOM RUNS ON J-DRAMA AND TEA'.
Kazuki looked up. "Morning."
She plopped into the seat across from him and leaned forward dramatically. "What's today's flavor of existential brooding? Regret? Stage fright? Secret crush?"
"It's too early for this," he mumbled, sipping his tea.
"Oh, good! You still have sarcasm. That means you're alive." She peeked into his soup bowl, then made a face. "You didn't eat. Are you nervous or just refusing to be nourished out of spite?"
He shrugged. "Didn't feel like eating."
"Okay, now I am worried." She sipped her tea, eyes scanning him like she was trying to X-ray his thoughts. "Is it the festival thing Ayame mentioned?"
Kazuki choked.
Tea sprayed from his mouth in a perfect anime-style mist as he leaned back, coughing and wide-eyed.
"Wh-what?!"
She blinked, totally unfazed. "You okay?"
"D-Don't just drop that casually— Ayame called you?!"
His mom grabbed a napkin and tossed it across the table with casual precision. "Yesterday. Something about a banner for the cultural club. Honestly, she's scarier than some CEOs I've met."
Kazuki wiped his mouth, still coughing. "How did she even get your number…?"
"She said she accessed it through the club paperwork. You put me down as your emergency contact, remember?"
Kazuki groaned. "That was supposed to be for emergencies, not banner consultations."
His mom shrugged. "You should've known better. Class presidents bend reality to their will."
He muttered something inaudible, still processing. That girl had his mother on speed dial now? Terrifying.
"I like her," his mom added. "All business. Sharp. Has that 'future prime minister' vibe."
"She has a clipboard for fun," Kazuki muttered.
She leaned in with a grin. "Maybe you should take notes."
Kazuki gave her a flat look. "Maybe you should stop enabling her."
She sipped her tea like it was wine. "Never."
He went quiet for a moment, eyes drifting to the window as morning light painted the balcony in pale gold. The rain had stopped, but droplets clung to the glass like they were thinking about it.
The tune he'd been humming earlier returned, soft and low.
"You're doing it again," his mom said gently.
Kazuki froze. "...Doing what?"
"Humming. Like your heart's trying to talk before your head can shut it up."
He looked down at the table. "…I wasn't really thinking."
"Exactly."
She reached across the table and brushed a few locs away from his face, letting her hand linger for a moment — grounding, warm.
"Just because you left the stage doesn't mean the music left you."
Kazuki's Apartment, Tokyo — 7:29 AM
Kazuki stood from the table and stretched, letting a soft breath slip from his nose.
"I better get going," he said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Don't want to be late."
His mother smiled, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter. "You? On time? This is a fresh start."
He rolled his eyes but returned the smile. It was small, but real.
As he reached the doorway, she added—lightly, but with that layered tone only mothers have—
"Let the rhythm out, Kazuki. Just once. Let it speak for itself."
He froze, fingers brushing the doorknob.
His lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something—protest, maybe—but the words didn't come.
Instead, he just gave her a faint nod, adjusted his headphones, and stepped outside.
The moment the door closed behind him, the soft hush of the apartment was replaced by a world already in motion.
Morning sunlight spilled between the buildings in golden bands, casting long shadows and gilding the sidewalk in warm light. A soft breeze stirred the early spring air, carrying the distant scent of rain on concrete and blooming trees.
Kazuki paused on the threshold for just a moment—caught in silhouette against the glow—before slipping his hands into his pockets and walking forward.
Residential Block, West Tokyo — 7:34 AM
The city was already humming. Cars moved in a steady rhythm, footsteps echoed from crosswalks, and vending machines blinked their neon smiles in half-shade.
Kazuki walked at his usual pace, footsteps muted against the sidewalk. His breath matched the soft hum playing in his mind — the melody from this morning, looping like a reflex.
As he passed the familiar corner, he glanced at the music store.
Same wood-paneled entrance. Same bell above the door that jingled whenever someone entered.
And there it was.
In the front window, behind a dusty row of guitar picks and merch stickers, hung a worn promotional poster:
"KAZ — Still Echoing"
His face stared back at him — younger, stylized, mid-performance. Head tilted up, mouth open in mid-chorus, captured in spotlight.
He looked away almost instantly. But his footsteps faltered.
Still humming.
Sakuramine Academy Route — 7:40 AM
"Kazuki."
He turned slightly.
Naomi walked beside him now, quiet as ever, hands folded loosely behind her back. Her school bag was slung perfectly across one shoulder, the light catching in her hair like it had been painted in.
"You've been humming that one a lot lately," she said softly.
Kazuki blinked. "...Didn't realize I was."
"I figured," she replied. "But I remembered it. From before."
Before.
He didn't ask what she meant. He already knew.
Naomi let the silence breathe between them like she always did. Easy, natural.
Then she smiled. "Company incoming."
Kazuki frowned, confused—until a voice exploded behind them like a grenade of energy.
"YO, KAZUKIIII! You forgot your entourage!"
He flinched. "Kenji…"
Kenji bounded up beside them, half-drinking, half-jogging. His bag was unzipped, his hair wind-tossed, and his grin annoyingly large. "I swear you've got, like, stealth mode on. You always vanish before we even leave the gate."
"You were never invited," Kazuki muttered.
Kenji gasped. "Wounded! Betrayed by my favorite mysterious loner."
A casual shuffle of footsteps approached from the left.
Kazuki turned—and nearly missed her.
Hana joined the group with her usual messy confidence, martial arts jacket slung over one shoulder, hair tied up, phone in hand.
"Yamada," she greeted casually.
"Hana?" he blinked. "You too?"
She shrugged. "Free morning. Figured I'd tag along. Your route's boring, though. Not even one convenience store."
"You were following me?"
"'Following' is a strong word," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "I was just... curious. It's weird not seeing you vanish the second the bell rings."
They walked in a looser group now — Naomi at his side, Kenji orbiting unpredictably, Hana just behind.
Kazuki glanced her way. "You're unusually talkative this morning."
She snorted. "Maybe I slept. Maybe I didn't. Maybe I just wanted to see if the great Kazuki walks like a normal person."
He raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Still under review."
He scoffed.
As they walked, Kazuki started humming again without meaning to — the same loop, the same rhythm, a little clearer now. It floated between them, unnoticed for a few seconds.
Then Naomi tilted her head slightly.
She didn't say anything — just offered him a quiet glance, soft and knowing.
But Hana caught it next.
Her ear twitched, her head turned, and a sly grin crept across her lips.
"Ohhhh no. I know that sound," she said, narrowing her eyes like a cat spotting prey. "Is that humming I hear?"
Kazuki paused mid-step. "No."
"Pretty sure it is." She leaned in a bit, eyes sparkling. "Someone's got tunes in their soul. Who are you and what did you do with Kazuki?"
"I said it's not humming."
Naomi coughed softly. "It is."
Kazuki's ears warmed. "I didn't mean to."
"You never mean to," Hana teased. "You just let it out when you're comfy."
She poked his side lightly with her elbow.
"I'm not comfy," he grumbled, flustered.
"Really?" Her voice went sing-song. "Because you're looking a little pink in the cheeks~"
Kazuki's hand flew up to his face. His cheeks felt warm — not that it ever showed much, but he could feel it.
Naomi smiled quietly beside him.
Hana was about to press the teasing further—
—but something stopped her.
She looked at him again. And this time, her grin faltered. Just slightly.
She blinked. Looked away.
And blushed.
Kazuki blinked back at her, confused. "...What?"
"N-Nothing," she muttered. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"I wasn't even—"
"Exactly!"
From behind, a voice dropped into the conversation like a lazy curtain pull.
Shun.
"When did you get here?" Kazuki said, startled.
"I've been here." He adjusted his blazer sleeve. "Your flirting was hard to ignore."
Kazuki groaned. "It wasn't flirting."
"Definitely was," Kenji added.
"Shut up."
Naomi laughed under her breath. "He's humming again."
Kazuki sighed and walked ahead.
Still humming.
Sakuramine Academy Courtyard — 8:03 AM
The gates clicked closed behind them as the group entered the courtyard, swallowed by the pulse of morning chatter.
Students weaved between club booths and banners, phones out, laughter in the air. The sky had brightened, streaks of pale gold burning off the morning chill. Petals drifted lazily from the sakura trees, catching in blazer collars and backpack zippers.
Kazuki walked a step behind the others now, half-listening. Still humming — barely audible, but constant.
Hana jogged ahead toward a notice board near the gym wall, squinting at a freshly-pinned flyer surrounded by glittery marker doodles and neon tape.
"Oh no," she said. "Ayame's been here."
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"Look at this thing. It's practically vibrating with club president energy."
The others gathered around her. Kenji read aloud in his best announcer voice:
🎤 SAKURAMINE SPRING MUSIC PERFORMANCE! 🎶
Solo and group sign-ups open NOW!
Auditions close Friday — bring your sound, bring your soul!
"'Bring your soul,'" Kenji repeated. "Wow. Ayame's getting poetic."
"She does write romance novels in secret," Naomi murmured.
Hana tilted her head at the flyer. "You think it's gonna be a big deal?"
Kenji shrugged. "You know how this school gets. If someone pulls out a shamisen, it's over. Whole courtyard shuts down."
Kazuki said nothing.
He stared at the poster.
At the stylized music notes, the words "solo performance", the drawn microphone at the corner.
A phantom feeling crept into his chest — phantom weight, phantom heat. A spotlight that wasn't there, but still pressed down on him like memory.
Naomi looked at him sideways. "You okay?"
Kazuki blinked. "Yeah. Just…"
He trailed off. He didn't lie. But he didn't tell the truth either.
"You'd crush it," Hana said casually, arms crossed.
That caught him.
He looked over. She wasn't smirking. Not teasing. Just… saying it.
"I'm not signing up," he said quickly.
Hana raised an eyebrow. "Didn't ask."
Kenji leaned in, stage-whispering: "Denial is the first step to self-actualization."
"Shut up."
Shun, leaning lazily against a bench nearby, finally spoke.
"Might be good for you," he said. "Just saying."
Kazuki didn't answer. But his fingers brushed the edge of his headphone.
Not to play anything. Just to feel them there.
Like armour. Like home.
The group lingered by the notice board a little longer, the morning bell still minutes away.
Kazuki stared at the flyer once more, then exhaled.
"I'll… think about it," he muttered.
Kenji blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I said I'll think about it. No promises."
Naomi tilted her head. "Did we just get a non-committal maybe from the infamous Kazuki Yamada?"
"Don't get used to it," he said.
Hana perked up. "So you can be convinced."
Kazuki looked around at their expectant faces and added flatly, "Not that I could sing anyway."
Naomi looked at him like he'd just declared the sun was fake.
"You… what?"
Kazuki tried to keep his expression straight. "I'm tone-deaf. Completely hopeless."
Naomi narrowed her eyes and stepped in front of him, hands behind her back. "Liar."
"I'm serious."
"Right. And I'm a professional figure skater."
"You never know."
She smiled. "Kazuki, I've heard you hum in perfect pitch since we were twelve. You're about as tone-deaf as a tuning fork."
He chuckled, a quiet sound — genuine.
It caught both of them off guard. Naomi smiled wider, and for the first time in what felt like a while, he didn't look away.
Then Hana spoke, and the mood shifted.
"You should sing," she said suddenly.
The words were direct. Not teasing. No mischief, no sarcasm. Just clear and honest.
Kazuki blinked. So did Naomi.
Even Kenji's grin froze mid-smirk.
"You're scared," Hana continued, looking at Kazuki. "But you're good. I don't even need proof. I can see it in how you hold back. People who are bad at stuff don't protect it like that."
A beat of stunned silence passed.
Hana immediately went red.
"Ugh—I hate being deep in the morning," she muttered, throwing her arms up. "I'll see you losers after class."
She spun on her heel and jogged off toward the side building, blazer trailing behind her like a cape.
Naomi blinked. "Was that…?"
"Emotion," Kenji whispered. "Real emotion. From Hana Yamamoto."
Kazuki didn't say anything. Just watched her go.
There was something warm in his chest. Small, but insistent. Like someone had tapped a forgotten note on the piano inside him.
He smiled.
Beside him, Kenji stretched and casually slung an arm around Shun's shoulders.
"Well, now that that ship's left the port," he said, "maybe we should talk about the other secret romance brewing."
Shun raised an eyebrow. "...What?"
Kenji grinned. "You and Ayame."
Kazuki blinked. "Wait, what?"
Even Naomi turned.
Shun stood perfectly still. "There's no—"
"Oh, come on," Kenji laughed. "The subtle glances? The way you always sit near her in group stuff? You practically radiate 'I respect her work ethic and want to hold her hand at the culture festival.'"
Shun opened his mouth. Closed it. Then muttered, "I need to transfer schools."
Kazuki actually laughed.
Naomi just smirked, quietly amused.
Kenji looked far too pleased with himself.
The bell rang in the distance.
Kazuki took one last glance at the flyer.
He didn't feel ready.
But maybe…
Maybe he didn't have to be yet.
Sakuramine Academy Hallway — 8:10 AM
The group made their way through the front courtyard toward the main building. The hallway inside buzzed with scattered students — some swapping shoes, others dodging flyers being taped to every wall like wallpaper with an agenda.
And there, standing just outside Class 1-B's door, surrounded by a messy pile of papers and multi-coloured pens, was Ayame.
Hair neatly pinned, brow furrowed, clipboard clutched like a lifeline.
She was muttering to herself as she carefully placed a stack of announcements across the corkboard. Her eyes darted between the bulletin and her handwritten checklist.
Kazuki watched for a moment, noting how she moved like she was holding back a storm — organized chaos just barely in check.
That is, until—
"Miiiiisss Presideeeent~!"
Naomi's sing-song voice slid into the air as she practically pounced behind Ayame, lightly clinging to her shoulders.
Ayame jumped so hard she almost lost her clipboard.
"Wha—Naomi!?" she gasped, wobbling as her notes fluttered like panicked pigeons.
She caught them—barely—and took a deep breath, rebalancing.
"Oh my god. You scared me," she said, regaining composure like a stage actor pretending she hadn't just tripped.
Naomi leaned in playfully. "You looked tense. I thought a dramatic sneak attack might help."
"By giving me a heart attack?"
"Exactly."
Ayame exhaled again, straightening her skirt. Then she looked up and noticed the rest of the group standing nearby.
"Kazuki. Kenji. Shun. Good morning."
Kazuki gave a polite nod. "Morning."
Kenji gave a mock salute. "Madam President."
Shun opened his mouth, then immediately closed it.
Then tried again. "Y–y–yo…"
Everyone turned.
Shun blinked twice, straightened slightly, and made a soft coughing noise like he wanted to reset the moment.
Ayame smiled directly at him. "It's nice to see you too, Shun."
Shun's knees almost gave out.
Kenji, ever the savior and chaos enabler, looped an arm around Shun's back and yanked him upright like a support beam. "Whoops—little dizzy spell. Our boy here's feeling a bit… unwell."
Ayame's expression shifted to concern. "Unwell? Oh no. Are you sick?"
Shun stood ramrod straight. "No! I mean yes. I mean… I have mild seasonal shifts in my vitamin D levels—once had a gluten reaction in seventh grade—also once sneezed in an MRI machine. But I'm fine."
Ayame blinked. "That's… detailed."
Before he could spiral further, she stepped forward and pressed the back of her hand lightly to his forehead.
Kazuki blinked. Naomi raised her eyebrows. Kenji grinned like he was watching a romance anime in real life.
Shun tensed like someone had just swapped his blood with carbonated soda.
Ayame frowned slightly. "You feel warm. Maybe a little fever?"
"I–It's not a fever," Shun croaked. "It's just… high proximity stress."
She tilted her head. "What?"
Kenji leaned over to Kazuki. "Translation: she got close and now he's overheating."
Kazuki groaned. "This is confusing to watch."
Naomi giggled softly. "It's adorable."
Ayame suddenly realized what she'd done — how close her face was to his, how her hand lingered for a second too long.
She stepped back quickly, blushing. "Ah—sorry! I didn't mean to… I just thought…"
Shun waved both hands. "No! I mean yes! I mean… it's fine. I didn't mind. You were just… being thoughtful."
He tugged his hoodie sleeve over his wrist. "That was nice."
The group collectively paused, unsure if they'd all just witnessed a confession or a panic attack.
Naomi broke the silence first. "Ayame, what's the agenda today?"
Ayame snapped back into focus, adjusting her clipboard like it was armor.
"I can't say yet. You'll all have to wait for the official homeroom announcements."
Kenji pouted. "Spoilsport."
Ayame checked her watch and suddenly gasped. "Wait—I have to be in Class 1-C in two minutes!"
She stuffed her notes under her arm, nodded quickly to the group, and spun on her heel with surprisingly graceful panic.
"Later! Don't be late for your own class!" she called over her shoulder.
They watched her disappear down the hallway in a blur of paper, clipboard, and leadership anxiety.
Shun was still standing stiffly, blinking like he'd seen the future.
"You okay?" Kazuki asked.
Shun nodded. "...No idea."
Kenji patted him on the back. "You'll get there, champ."
"Get where?"
"Wherever she is," Kenji whispered dramatically.
Kazuki groaned again. Naomi just laughed.
Class 2-B, Sakuramine Academy — 8:15 AM
The classroom was already loud when they walked in — students drifting between desks, leaning out windows, flipping through snack stashes like the bell had never rung.
Someone was throwing erasers. Someone else was beatboxing into a pencil case. The air smelled like mechanical pencil shavings and melon pan.
Kazuki slid into his seat by the window, headphones draped around his neck. He let the chatter wash over him like background music.
Kenji, of course, made a grand entrance two steps behind him.
"BEHOLD — your favorite supporting character has arrived!"
"Sit down," Ayame said from the front of the room without looking up from her clipboard.
Kenji deflated. "Yes, ma'am."
Ayame was in full president mode now. Her earlier chaos had been replaced with deadly precision. She was dressed sharp, posture perfect, voice clipped but controlled.
"Good morning, everyone. We've got three announcements before first period."
She clapped her hands twice, commanding attention. The room actually obeyed. Mostly.
Kazuki glanced across the room. Naomi was already seated, notebook open, tapping her pen rhythmically. Shun had taken the seat behind Kazuki and was staring deeply into his backpack like it might rescue him from further social interaction.
Hana wasn't in her seat yet.
Which meant—
SLAM.
The door burst open. Hana stepped in like she was kicking down the entrance to an action movie.
Ayame sighed without turning. "You're late."
"I'm never late," Hana said, striding to her seat. "Time just bends for me."
Naomi chuckled.
Kenji raised his hand. "Is it true that time bends for her?"
"Kenji, no."
"Worth a shot."
Ayame cleared her throat.
"First," she began, flipping her clipboard, "the school festival committees are opening sign-ups today. See the student council room if you want to lead a booth."
A few groans rose from the class.
"Second," she continued, "the spring music performance is officially live. Auditions close Friday, and yes — solo acts are allowed."
Kazuki flinched slightly. Not visibly. But he felt it.
Ayame's eyes flicked toward him — just for a second — then moved on.
"Third," she said, "Class 2-B is required to contribute at least two acts to the performance list. Volunteers will be 'gently encouraged' by the end of the week."
Kenji leaned in from behind Kazuki. "Did she just threaten us with politeness?"
Kazuki whispered back, "That's how she gets you."
Ayame set the clipboard down and sighed. "Any questions?"
Kenji raised his hand. "Yeah, can we all vote Shun to do a dramatic poetry reading?"
Shun froze. "What."
"I bet you have incredible haiku energy."
"I'm reporting you to the Ministry of Culture."
Naomi laughed, flipping a page in her notebook. "That's not a real thing."
Shun raised an eyebrow. "It should be."
Kazuki glanced toward Ayame again. She had retreated to her desk but was still scribbling something at light speed — probably a checklist for her checklist. Her face was calm, but her pen was moving like it was chasing something.
He looked back at his own desk. At his phone. At his reflection faintly mirrored in the black screen.
Music performance. Solo allowed. Two acts required.
Pressure, disguised as opportunity.
The humming in his head returned. Faint, constant.
He didn't sing out loud.
But he tapped the rhythm under his desk with one finger, like a secret only he could hear.
Rooftop — 12:17 PM
Lunch break brought its usual swarm of footsteps and chatter, but Kazuki didn't follow the flow of students.
Instead, he slipped through the side stairwell, climbed all the way up, and pushed open the rooftop door.
The wind met him first — soft, cool, playful — tugging gently at the edges of his uniform. The sky above was wide and open, the kind of blue that felt too big for a school day.
He stepped onto the concrete, his footsteps quiet. Alone up here.
Just how he wanted.
Kazuki leaned against the railing, slipping his headphones down around his neck. His eyes scanned the courtyard below, catching glimpses of clubs setting up tables, students trading snacks, someone practicing choreography by the gym wall.
And then he saw it — taped to the side of the arts building, flapping slightly in the breeze.
The flyer.
SAKURAMINE SPRING MUSIC PERFORMANCE
Solo or Group Welcome. Share Your Sound.
He sighed.
His fingers found the side of his headphones again. Not pressing play. Just feeling them.
Naomi's voice echoed faintly in his memory.
"You've been humming that one a lot lately."
Hana's, too.
"People who are bad at stuff don't protect it like that."
They weren't wrong.
He knew that.
And that's what scared him.
Kazuki looked down at his hands — still, steady. The same ones that once held microphones in front of crowds. The same ones that used to tremble backstage. The same ones that… stopped reaching when he left that life behind.
He closed his eyes.
And hummed.
The same tune. This time a little louder. No one to hear it.
No spotlight. No pressure.
Just rhythm. And breath. And that invisible thread connecting memory to music — past to present.
He opened his eyes slowly, still humming, and let the melody carry him just a few seconds longer.
Then he stopped.
Not with a full stop. Just a pause.
Like he wasn't done.
Just... not ready to finish yet.
END OF CHAPTER 4