Miku's angry eyes. Still in his head. "You're hiding something." That one sentence. Stuck in Ren's ears for a week straight. Not spoken aloud. Just remembered. But each time—chest aches. Dull. Deep. Seven days had passed. Ren came to Sonic Bay Studio every morning at 7:30. Before Nonomura. Before the other staff. Silent descent to the basement. Cleaned the storage. Organized cables. Polished equipment. Said nothing to anyone. He and Miku crossed paths once in the hallway. Her jade eyes turned toward him. Then she entered the studio. No words. (That's fine.) Ren thought so. Better to build trust first than fail approaching her. The letter was ignored. The concert—he couldn't get in. Direct confrontation changed nothing. So now. Just work. Silent. Day three: a staff member said "You're helping." Day four: another said "You handle the equipment well." Day five: Endo Keisuke, the B1 control room tech, placed coffee in front of Ren without a word. Small things. But they accumulated. Slowly. Surely. --- Tuesday. Day seven. 2 PM. Miku's voice from the 2F rehearsal studio. "Beyond the Stars." She'd been practicing it lately. At the third chorus break, her voice stopped. Start again. Stops again. Something wasn't right. She repeated it. Over and over. Ren mopped the hallway. Listening. The studio door was slightly open. Through the glass window—Miku at the mic. Talking to engineer Endo. Three other staff members present. Then it happened. A beep. Electronic. Wrong sound. Error tone. Immediate recognition. Monitor speakers went silent. Miku's voice cut off. The studio—suddenly quiet. The door opened. Endo came out. Checking the equipment rack. Deep wrinkles between his brows. "Mixer output's completely down" Staff gathered. Someone peered behind the equipment. Someone opened system logs on a tablet. Voices overlapped. Couldn't hear clearly. Ren stood holding the mop. Watching. Then—he remembered. Three years later. Same studio. Same mixer model. Same error tone. Fersia's veteran staff had run to B1. Pulled spare cables from the back of the storage shelf. Switched to sub output. Contact failure on the main line. Bypass works fine, they'd said. Ren's feet moved. He approached Endo. "[serious]Sorry. B1 storage. Right shelf, second level. There's a bundle of cables. In a dust bag. Can I get them?" Endo turned. Confused face. Natural. A one-week temp doing cleanup doesn't suddenly talk about equipment. "...What cables?" "[serious]Analog sub-output cables, I think. If the main path's down, switching to sub should get sound back" Confidence? No. Not really. Three-year-old memory. Same situation? Uncertain. Wrong answer means shame. Suspicion. But no other choice. Endo looked at Ren one second. Then nodded. "Get them" Ren ran. Down the stairs. Into storage. Right shelf. Direct. Second level. Dust bag. There. Pulled it out. Heavy. Checked inside—analog cable bundle. Correct. Up the stairs. Back to 2F. Breathing slightly hard. Handed cables to Endo. Endo immediately went to the mixer's back. Reconnecting. Staff held their breath. Thirty seconds. Monitor speakers. Low white noise returned. Sound back. Someone said "ah." Endo checked levels. Quietly: "Got it." Staff all looked at Ren. Ren stood slightly hunched. Should say something. Words wouldn't come. "...Where'd you learn about this mixer model" "[serious]Saw the same problem once before" "Where?" "[serious]...Special circumstances" Endo said nothing. Looked at Ren again. Then back to the equipment. Inside—complex feeling spread. Slow. Seeping. Used future memory. Again. Helped, definitely. But—is this knowledge really "his"? Borrowed from three years he hasn't lived yet. (Used another reason for being here.) That sensation. Not guilt exactly. Something catching. Snagging. No answer came. The studio door opened. Miku came out. Cyan twin-tails swayed at her shoulders. Jade eyes turned to Ren. Not the eyes from a week ago. Not "you're hiding something." Different. "[gentle]You knew about the equipment?" Voice soft. Not interrogation. Pure question. "[serious]Just luck. Really" "[gentle]Hmm" Miku tilted her head slightly. That was all. No pursuit. The hallway air—lighter than seven days ago. She returned to the studio. "Miku talking to a temp? Rare" Someone's whisper. Ren gripped the mop handle again. Something pulsed in his chest. --- Past 11 PM. Rehearsal ran long. Endo and others still checking equipment in B1. Ren finished cleaning 2F. Came to the break room to drop his bag. Small room. Two tables. Cheap sofa. Microwave. Small fridge. Wall schedule whiteboard. Pulled onigiri from the bag. Convenience store. Salmon. Sat. Started eating. Quiet. Deep night studio—different building. Different quiet. Footsteps. Door opened. Miku entered. Holographic body faintly glowing in night-mode lighting. More presence than daytime. Ear mic reflected light. Miku sat in the diagonal chair. Quietly. Said nothing. Ren said nothing either. Froze with onigiri in hand. "[gentle]...Don't you get hungry?" Regretted it immediately. Tactless question maybe. But Miku didn't seem offended. "[gentle]I wonder sometimes what eating feels like" Distant eyes. Looking at the onigiri. "[gentle]Warm. Salty. When you eat, I just...wonder" "[gentle]Because I can't do it" Matter-of-fact tone. Not resentment. Not sadness. Just fact. But Ren felt that one sentence—heavy. Deeply. Conversation continued. Performances. Studio. Small things. Scattered. Miku asked. "[gentle]Why do you work so hard? Pay's terrible here" "..." Searched for words. "Wanted to work near you"—true but can't explain. "No special reason"—lie. "For the future"—wrong. Tried choosing different words. Couldn't. Mouth moved. "[serious]Because I don't want the person I love to disappear" Realized it immediately. Mistake. Face burned. Ears burned. Hand holding onigiri froze. (What did I just say. How did Miku hear that. "The person I love"—that sounds like Miku. It IS Miku. But not now. Not this timing. Take it back. Say what. Too late—) Silence fell. Long silence. Five seconds. Ten. Ren's eyes locked on the table. Couldn't move. Then—sound. A small laugh. Soft but clear. Ren looked up. Miku's mouth slightly raised. Laughing. Jade eyes softer now. "[gentle]Strange kid" That was all. She stood. Silent. No footsteps. "[gentle]Good night" Door closed. Ren alone in the break room. Onigiri in hand. Couldn't move. "Strange kid." That word circled. Not angry. Not exasperated. Just laughing. "Strange kid"—that was enough. Somehow enough. Tonight, it was enough. --- Back at the sharehouse "Kotono-ha" just before midnight. Sat on the bed. Lights off. Pulled out his phone. Today's equipment trouble in his head. That moment—used three-year-old memory. That memory lives in this phone. Opened the screen. Battery: 31%. Down 4% from yesterday. Opened performance schedule data. Three years of Miku's concert records. Fan data. All recorded. Wanted to check: did the same equipment trouble happen before today? Scrolled. Nothing at first. Normal records. Songs. Venues. Attendance. But— Stopped. Half a year before disappearance. Small marks on several records. Not Ren's marks. Auto-logged data. Opened it. System error logs. Projection glitches: 0.3 seconds. Audio distortion: frames. Response lag: double normal. Each one small. Concert audiences wouldn't notice. Ren didn't notice. Just enjoyed. But—not just one. Scrolled. Again. Again. Again. Six months. Repeated. Recorded. One concert: three times. Another: five times. Frequency increasing. One month before disappearance—almost every performance. Ren's hand holding the phone—slightly trembling. (Not sudden.) Thought disappearance was sudden. Collapsed at the venue. That day seemed normal. No one mentioned warning signs. But different. Something had been eating away. For over half a year. "Strange kid" laugh still in his head. Warm until now. Suddenly—something else entirely. Right now, Miku's somewhere in the studio. That smile still there. Back in the control room. But—right now, something might be progressing. Error logs and Miku's smile. Existing simultaneously in his head. Nauseating. Phone battery: 31%. Can't charge. This number will decrease. When data dies, these records of Miku's disappearance signs—gone too. Ren collapsed onto the bed. Stared at ceiling. Ceiling stain. Still bear-shaped. (Where do I start.) Find the error cause. Tell the staff. But what evidence. Show this phone's data. Explain three-year-old data. Couldn't sleep. "Strange kid" voice and error logs. Circling. Circling.