Rain fell over Kanezono Academy that evening—soft and unending, like the sound of muted applause.
Ren stood by the window of the practice hall, watching raindrops hit the glass in slow rhythm. Each tap sounded like a heartbeat he didn't have the courage to feel.
His violin case lay open beside him. The red string he'd found in the piano now rested on its bow, trembling as if alive whenever thunder rolled.
The door opened with a click.
"Still brooding, Hayami?"
Tsubasa Kuroe leaned against the frame, smirking. His blond hair glowed faintly in the dim light, his uniform immaculate despite the weather.
"I wasn't brooding," Ren muttered.
"You were. That's your color showing."
Ren turned. "My… what?"
Tsubasa tapped the side of his cello case. "Your color. Everyone here has one—our sound, our aura, our soul. Haven't you noticed?"
He gestured toward the window. In the reflection, Ren saw faint threads of color swirling faintly around both of them—gold around Tsubasa, crimson around himself.
"You'll learn to control it during the Symphony sessions," Tsubasa said. "If you can't, it'll control you. And trust me, that's not pretty."
Before Ren could ask more, Tsubasa was already gone, his laughter fading into the hall.
Later that night, Professor Murasame gathered them all in the recital chamber. The storm had died down, but the air still hummed as if the sky held its breath.
The six students stood in a semicircle around him.
"Tonight," Murasame said, "you will perform your Resonance Test. A single note from your soul. Play it true, and the academy will recognize you."
He turned to the first student.
"Haru Minazuki. You begin."
Haru raised her flute, smiling nervously. As she played, soft green light bloomed around her like leaves in spring. The melody was gentle, pure—and sad.
When it ended, the room smelled faintly of rain and grass.
"Emerald," Murasame murmured. "Hope."
Next came Tsubasa. His cello roared, deep and commanding. The air pulsed gold, hot with pride.
Then Nagi—quiet, eerie notes from a small keyboard, weaving violet light that flickered like candle flames.
"Deceit," Murasame whispered. "The rarest color."
Rei Kanzaki stood next, but she only parted her lips and breathed out. No sound came. Yet the entire room shook—dark blue light rippled outward, cold as night.
"Regret," said the professor.
Then came Ema Tsukishiro.
She sat at the piano, hands hovering above the keys, eyes distant. When she began to play, the melody wrapped the hall in silver. It was delicate—like snow falling over a grave.
Ren felt something tighten in his chest. The song she played again… Scarlet Strings.
When she finished, silence followed.
No applause. No breath.
Murasame's eyes glimmered. "Silver. Sorrow."
He turned last to Ren.
"Your turn, Hayami."
Ren's hands shook as he lifted the violin. The bow brushed the strings—hesitant, trembling.
He thought of Airi. Of her smile. Of the red string still tied to his bow.
Then, he played.
The sound was sharp, raw, bleeding emotion. Crimson light spilled across the hall, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The walls seemed to hum in response—every string, every key vibrating faintly as if alive.
When the note ended, Murasame nodded slowly.
"Crimson. Passion—and grief."
The lights dimmed. Murasame stepped forward, spreading his arms like a conductor before an unseen orchestra.
"You six will lead the new Symphony of Souls. Together, your colors will compose the masterpiece this academy has awaited for generations."
His voice lowered.
"But remember this—music born from pain demands payment. The greater your emotion, the greater the cost."
The hall grew cold.
The candles flickered.
And for a brief moment, the shadow of a seventh figure appeared among them—a girl, holding a violin.
Ren's heart nearly stopped.
It was Airi.
When he blinked, she was gone.
Only the faint sound of her melody lingered, threading through the air like a whisper of blood-red silk.
Six prodigies had gathered.
The stage had chosen its instruments.
And somewhere beneath the academy, the dead began to hum along.