Morning crept through the dormitory blinds like liquid gold.
Ren woke to the faint sound of a piano somewhere below, playing a broken scale—hesitant, uncertain, almost human.
For a moment, he thought it was Airi again.
But when he opened his eyes, the sound had stopped.
The academy was silent. Too silent.
Kanezono Academy looked like a cathedral carved from sound itself.
Every corridor had its own echo. Every door hummed when touched. Even the staircases seemed to sigh beneath the weight of footsteps.
Ren followed the hall down to the main atrium—a vast dome of stained glass depicting angels holding instruments. When sunlight hit them, the room shimmered in fragments of red, blue, and gold, like a thousand melodies colliding at once.
He caught a faint hum beneath his feet—almost like strings vibrating under the floorboards.
A voice startled him.
"Beautiful, isn't it? They say the walls remember every song ever played here."
It was Professor Murasame, the academy's conductor and headmaster. Tall, sharp-eyed, always wearing a coat that rustled like paper when he moved.
Ren bowed slightly. "Sir. I—heard something strange last night."
"Strange?" The professor smiled faintly. "Kanezono is built upon old ruins, Hayami. This land once belonged to a temple where monks used sound to commune with spirits. Perhaps you simply… heard a conversation that never ended."
Ren blinked. "You mean ghosts?"
"Not ghosts. Echoes."
Murasame's eyes glinted. "Music is emotion, and emotion doesn't die. It merely resonates."
Before Ren could reply, the faint chime of a bell rang overhead.
"Ah. Orientation begins. Don't be late. The stage doesn't forgive hesitation."
The auditorium was enormous—dark, elegant, filled with instruments gleaming under soft light.
Five students sat scattered across the seats.
A girl with braided silver hair—Ema Tsukishiro, the pianist from yesterday. She ignored him completely.
A blond boy tuning his cello, Tsubasa Kuroe, every movement sharp, deliberate, confident.
A small girl with round glasses, Haru Minazuki, smiling softly as she polished a flute.
A quiet student writing musical notes in a black notebook, Nagi Aizawa—thin, ghostlike, one eye pale blue, the other dark gray.
And a tall girl in the corner with long black hair, Rei Kanzaki, humming silently without words.
Ren felt all of them watching him as he sat down.
Professor Murasame entered, raising his baton like a blade.
"Welcome, prodigies. Each of you has been chosen for your color—the sound of your soul. Here, you will learn to translate your emotion into music so powerful, it will transcend the living."
The air seemed to vibrate as he spoke.
"You will each perform in the Symphony of Souls. But beware—play with a hollow heart, and the academy will play youinstead."
Later that day, Ren wandered the practice rooms.
In one, he found an old grand piano. The lid was carved with initials burned into the wood: A.M.
His breath caught. Airi Murasame. His sister's initials.
He sat beside it, resting his hand on the keys.
They were cold as ice.
He pressed one note—middle C.
It echoed perfectly.
He pressed again—same sound.
A third time—
The piano pressed back.
Ren froze. The key sank without his touch.
Then the strings inside began to vibrate, producing a soft, sorrowful tune.
It was Scarlet Strings.
And beneath it, a whisper.
"Ren… the academy remembers you too."
The lights flickered. His reflection in the polished piano lid wasn't his own—it was Airi's.
When he stumbled back, the piano lid slammed shut.
The whisper faded.
Only one thing remained:
A faint red string, caught between the keys, tied into the shape of a heart.
The academy that hears ghosts had begun to listen again.