Morning light filtered through the window, but Kagamine Ren's eyes remained sharp and alert. He'd spent the entire night staring at monitors in Booth 07. No work had gotten done. Even with headphones on, the voice he'd heard last night kept replaying in his head over and over. It wasn't Rin. It was something like Rin. [[Voice Data Name: Kagamine Rin Miller / Voice Pattern Similarity: 97.1% / Status: Awaiting Activation]] By 8 AM, Ren finally stood up from his chair. His white shirt was wrinkled, and the dark circles under his eyes were severe. But he had no choice. Kirishima had called everyone to the activation chamber. Basement Level 2 of the Vocaloid Lab. The Activation Chamber. This room was rarely used. It was equipped with specialized facilities for initializing voice carrier data as a personality—in other words, for "waking them up." One entire wall was covered with data monitors, and a single white reclining chair sat in the center of the room. It had the sterile cleanliness of a medical facility. When Ren opened the door, Kirishima Haruka was already standing in front of a terminal. Black short bob, dark gray eyes. Kirishima Haruka, Chief Engineer of the lab—38 years old. The kind of person whose expression barely changed no matter the situation. But this morning was different. Her mouth was set in a straight line, and she was glaring at the status screen. "[serious]You came. So you confirmed the reception last night," "[serious]Yeah. More or less," Kirishima glanced at Ren briefly, then returned her attention to the monitor. "[serious]Reception of unapproved data may violate Digital Citizen Law Article 12. The mirroring technology used for unauthorized voice core duplication is prohibited outright. Data bearing a striking resemblance to that has arrived," Mirroring technology. A technique for generating derivative data from an existing carrier's voice core. Do it without permission and you're looking at five years or less in prison. "[serious]So this means someone—" "[serious]Who sent it and from where remains unknown. The transmission source IP is completely masked. Furthermore," Kirishima operated the terminal, and a new screen opened on the monitor. A data structure analysis diagram. Most of it followed the standard carrier data format, but roughly 30% of it was marked with red warning flags. "[serious]Here—approximately 30% of the data package is encrypted into a black box region. Standard scanning cannot analyze it. We don't know what's inside," Ren stared at that red section. A full third of the whole thing, still a pitch-black box. "[serious]So what do we do," "[serious]Surveillance is the priority for now. For the time being, we'll record all of this carrier's actions and restrict external communications. Full analysis will take a bit more time—" Then. A sound came from the reclining chair. The activation sequence had apparently started automatically. Numbers scrolled across the monitor, and the status changed from "Awaiting Activation" to "Activating." Kirishima's hands froze for a moment. Ren found himself taking a half-step backward without realizing it. Someone was sitting in the white chair. Pale silver hair, perfectly straight and long, cascaded down from the backrest. Eyes opened. Clear, crystalline blue—but the left and right were different. Just the left eye was slightly darker. Heterochromia. A different color than Rin's. A female-type carrier approximately 165 centimeters tall. The facial structure was similar to Rin's. No—too similar. Slowly, the presence lifted its face. Its gaze turned directly toward Ren. "[cold]So you're—Kagamine Ren," The moment Ren heard the voice, his fingertips went cold. It was Rin's voice. But the temperature was different. The real Rin's voice had something soft about it. This voice—was harder. Like glass. "[serious]...Yeah, that's me," "[sarcastic]Running away for three years—what are you trying to do?" Ren couldn't say anything. This was a first meeting. Data that had just woken up moments ago. So how did this thing know— "[sarcastic]Clinging to the past, holed up here. But you don't even have the courage to take a step forward. That's been you for three straight years," The voice was quiet. Not shouting. But because of that, every single word cut deep. Ren opened his mouth. He wanted to say something back. But nothing came out. He couldn't think of a single word to counter with. "[serious]...That kind of statement right after activation is somewhat problematic," Kirishima tapped at the terminal, adding logs to the monitor. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "[serious]Your data contains an unanalyzed black box region. Until the investigation is complete, I'm restricting your external communications and movement range. And—my name is Kirishima Haruka. Chief Engineer of this lab. If anything comes up, report to me," Miller glanced at Kirishima. "[cold]Being monitored is unavoidable, I suppose. But—" She looked at Ren again. "[sarcastic]Your problem is worse than what's inside me," 　＊ That afternoon, tension spread among the lab staff. "Unapproved voice data is basically an unauthorized copy of a voice core, right?" "That's a violation under Digital Citizen Law." "If the lab gets held responsible, that's gonna be a mess."—conversations like that echoed through the hallways. Ren returned to Booth 07, but he couldn't bring himself to work. He sat in the chair, looked at the monitor, took off his headphones. Sat again. Repeated. Miller's words kept spinning in his head. Running away for three years—what are you trying to do? He couldn't answer. Couldn't talk back. That was the hardest part. His eyes stopped on the sheet music on the wall. Hastily scrawled lyrics, crossed-out chord progressions, a song that stopped midway. Three years of constantly creating in this place. Not a single completed piece. (What am I even doing?) He thought that, but immediately pushed it away. Thinking about it wouldn't give him answers. 　＊ When night came, Ren left the booth. He was hungry. No appetite, but he wanted something to drink. He walked down Resonance Street—the 800-meter main street connecting the lab to Neo Stage, lit by the glow of instrument shops and record stores, with silhouettes visible through café windows. The bay breeze was slightly cold. Café "Fortissimo." Midway down Resonance Street, a small shop with 28 seats. The master, Ando Yuuji—52 years old, with the unusual background of a former carrier tuner—always stood behind the counter in the same apron. There was a window-side counter seat where Ren always sat. Blend coffee for 480 yen, the signature musical note-shaped waffle for 650 yen. "The usual," he ordered, and Ando's hands moved immediately. This shop didn't ask unnecessary questions. That was good. The coffee came, and Ren took a sip. Bitter. Just the right amount of bitter. Looking out the window, the LED lights of Neo Stage illuminated the night sky. 800 meters away. Walking distance. But a place he hadn't visited once in three years. "[cold]Is this seat okay?" Somehow, someone was standing beside him. Pale silver long hair. Water-colored heterochromatic eyes. Miller. Ren froze slightly. Ando looked between the two of them and raised his eyebrows just a little. Probably thinking "these two have some kind of situation." But he silently began preparing another coffee cup. That's the kind of master this shop had. Miller didn't wait for permission—she was already sitting at the counter seat. She ordered coffee and held the cup with both hands, cradling it. —Ah. Ren's thoughts stopped for a moment. That way of holding the cup with both hands. Fingertips touching, slowly checking the temperature like—it was a habit Rin used to do. Back when they did duets together, Rin always drank coffee that way. Cold days, hot days. Like it was just a habit. Something in the center of his chest tightened. "[sarcastic]Do I look like Rin to you?" Miller said it while facing forward. "[cold]How convenient for you," It hit again. But this time, embarrassment came before anger. She'd seen through him. This thing saw right through everything. "[serious]...How do you know so much about me," "[cold]I don't know. I just—understand," Miller took a sip of coffee. Both hands around the cup again. Ren couldn't look away. "[cold]You get flustered seeing Rin's gestures. But you don't say anything. Can't say anything. Nothing's changed since three years ago—that's the face you're making," Ren said nothing. Couldn't say anything. Ando was wiping glasses behind the counter. Ren could tell he was being considerate, pretending not to hear. Silence stretched on. A motorcycle passed by outside the window. Miller finished her coffee and set the cup on the counter. She stood up. Picked up her coat and, without looking at Ren, said: "[cold]Rin's doing a new song at Neo Stage tomorrow, apparently," Ren looked up. "[cold]All 3,000 seats sold out," With just that, Miller left the shop. The bell chimed—karankaraн. 　＊ Ren couldn't move. He watched his coffee grow cold. The warmth stopped reaching his hands holding the cup. But he didn't move. All 3,000 seats sold out. Rin had been going solo for three years. As Neo Stage's top carrier, she'd been doing 280 performances a year. Her new song announcement was tomorrow. "[gentle]Want a fresh cup?" Ando said it quietly. Ren thought for a moment, then shook his head. "[serious]No... I'm heading home," He pulled out his wallet, left money on the counter. Ando didn't ask unnecessary questions. That was fine. 　＊ Echo Apartment, 3rd Floor, Room 305. A carrier-designated apartment complex five minutes on foot from the lab. The 1K room where Ren had lived for three years. Rent was 68,000 yen a month, reduced slightly with carrier subsidies. He turned on the lights and looked around the room. A 1K apartment was small. A desk, a chair, a small bed. A keyboard leaning in the corner. Unused. Nothing on the walls—except for one piece. An A4 sheet of paper. The edges slightly yellowed. Handwritten lyrics. Messy, hastily scrawled, but readable. In the bottom right of the last page, small letters: "Ren & Rin." The lyrics to a song the two of them had started three years ago. Ren stood in front of that paper. He lifted both ends slightly. Because he'd touched it so many times, the edges had become soft. It had been here for three years. He'd thought about throwing it away. Many times. But he couldn't. He didn't know why. He didn't want to know, so he didn't think about it. His fingers trembled slightly. The desire to meet—for the first time in years, it surfaced clearly, not as a vague outline but as actual words. But the next moment, another voice came. There's no way you can meet her now. Rin, who fills 3,000 seats, and you, who couldn't even leave Booth 07— Two things existed in his chest simultaneously. Both were true. Neither would disappear. Ren put the lyrics back on the wall. He sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The light from Neo Stage visible from the lab's windows wasn't visible from here. But tomorrow, a new song would play there. 3,000 people would hear it. I won't listen. He decided that—or rather, he couldn't decide. And that confirmed again his own helpless awkwardness. He turned off the lights. In the dark room, Ren lay with his eyes open. The image of Miller cradling the cup with both hands wouldn't leave his head.