Vocaloid Academy Second Take: Deliver My Song to You! - The outdated device that arrived, and me, unable to speak

I pedal my bicycle along the riverside path beside the Orphe. The April wind brushes my cheeks, and my long, water-blue twin-tails stream out behind me. The slightly flipped ends cast a shadow on the ground, swaying as I ride. Miku narrows her big sky-colored eyes and looks out over the river's surface. The wind skims across the glittering water. (Nice weather again today.) The instant she thought it, a small pang pricked at her chest. This city, Toneweaver, was once a place called "the valley where sound rings true." She'd learned in elementary school social studies that people long ago had named it that. The murmur of the Orphe running through the city's center, the sound of the wind—all of it reached her ears with uncanny clarity. And so did the "voices" of the people who lived here. "—Did you hear? That girl's new song, isn't it amazing?" "I did, I did! I've replayed it on my Tone device like a million times." Two high school girls sitting on a bench along the path were grinning at a palm-sized device. A Toneweave terminal—a handheld device that could record, play back, edit, and send voiceprint data. In this city, that was just normal. Ninety-five percent adoption rate. Which meant almost everyone in this city had one. Miku's bag held the latest model, too. But she barely used it. No—she couldn't use it. (Because I'm scared to let my voice out.) Her legs pushed a little harder on the pedals. As she reached Central Square, a crowd had gathered around the fountain. "All right, next! Anyone want to sing at the broadcast plaza?" A young male host called out over a small speaker. The broadcast plaza occupied one corner of Central Square—a famous spot in this city where anyone could freely share their voiceprint data or sing live. "Me!" The one who raised her hand cheerfully was a girl about Miku's age. She stepped up to the mic like she'd done it a hundred times, worked her Tone device, and started the backing track. Then she began to sing. The moment she did, the air around them changed. Passersby stopped in their tracks, and her voice rang out so straight and clear that even the fountain's splashing seemed to fade into the distance. "...Amazing." Miku got off her bike and watched from the very back of the crowd. When the song ended—applause and cheers. "Thank you!" The girl bowed and ran over to her friends. Miku just watched her back. (If only I could sing like that.) Her chest tightened. Her grandmother's words surfaced in her mind. 'Singing—if it reaches someone's heart, that's enough.' Such a gentle voice. She'd always listened to Miku's songs with a smile. 'Your singing reaches my heart, Miku.' —But. Miku bit her lip. (I can't even let my voice out.) Standing in front of people, her throat trembles. Her voice cracks. What happened that day is seared into her body, no matter how many years pass. The sixth-grade choir competition. On her solo part, her voice cracked. The hall laughed. The rustle of that laughter still clings to the back of her ears even now. "—" Without thinking, she was fiddling with the tips of her twin-tails. A habit that came out when she was nervous. Miku let out a small breath and gripped the handlebars again. (Time to go home.) She put her foot on the pedal—and that was when it happened. "Oh, right. I need to have the voice assistant check my schedule for today." She pulled the Tone device from her bag. The latest model's selling point was voice operation. But for Miku, this was one more thing she was bad at. (Because it means using my voice, right? In front of people.) No—it's not in front of people now. She was at the edge of the path, nobody around... or so she thought, until she spotted an old man walking his dog a few meters away. (Just a little should be fine.) Miku pressed the voice assistant button. "...G-good morning." After a beep, the device responded. 'Yes, good morning. How can I help you?' (Okay, it recognized me.) Relieved, Miku continued. "Um, today's, s-schedule... I w-want to... ask." Her voice shook. Just those few words, and her throat wouldn't work right. 'Sorry, could you repeat that?' (Ah, I stumbled.) "T-today's, s-schedule... p-please tell me... I want." 'Searching. One moment, please.' (Good, this time it'll be fine...) The instant she thought that— 'Search result: No restaurant named "schedule" found nearby.' "Huh?" No. That's not it. "N-no, that's not—not a restaurant!" She tried to correct it in a panic, and stumbled even worse. 'Search result for "not a restaurant" not found.' "I—I'm telling you, that's not it...!" The old man with the dog was watching Miku as she desperately talked at her device, a puzzled look on his face. (Stop, don't look at me!) Her face burned. She could feel her ears turning bright red. 'Search result: No café named "not it" found nearby.' "I'm not looking for a café either!" Half in tears, Miku shoved the device into her bag. The old man passed by with a wry smile. (Ahhh, this is the worst...) She swung onto her bike and pedaled with all her might. The wind blew hard, whipping her twin-tails. (I'm really hopeless.) Her chest felt cloudy. She wants to sing, but she can't. Just letting her voice out, and this happens. Every time she remembers her grandmother's words, her chest aches. (Grandma, what am I supposed to do?) No answer came. The surface of the Orphe just glittered. —————————— Seikou High School. About twelve hundred students in all. The high school Miku attends, roughly two miles northwest of the city center. The classroom before morning homeroom was always lively. "Hey, listen to this! I recorded it at the broadcast plaza yesterday!" "Whoa, amazing! Haven't you gotten way better?" Everywhere in the room, friends' singing voices spilled from Tone devices. Some kids traded voiceprint messages; others recorded their own songs on the spot to show off. In this city, that was normal. Sharing your voice was part of how people connected. Miku sat at her desk, took out her Tone device... and quietly tucked it deep into her desk. (Not using it today.) No—today too. She looked out the window. The April sky was blue, and cherry blossoms scattered across the schoolyard in the wind. "Miku!" A bright voice dropped out of nowhere. She looked up to find her classmate Rin standing there. Rin was a bundle of energy. Bright brown hair cut to her shoulders, big chestnut eyes. A little shorter than Miku, and always smiling. "Morning!" "M-morning, Rin." "Hey hey, listen! I made voiceprint data for a new song yesterday! Won't you give it a listen?" Rin's Tone device was clutched in her hand. (Ah. Here we go again.) Rin loved to sing and always wanted Miku to hear her songs. Because she knew Miku loved music. "Sure. Let me hear it." When Miku smiled and nodded, Rin happily worked her device. The song Rin had made began to play. Riding a light, bouncy rhythm, Rin's voice bounced along. "...Nice. It's a song that really lifts you up." "Right, right?! I re-recorded the chorus like a dozen times!" Rin's smile was like the sun. (If only I could sing like this, too.) The thought surfaced again. "Oh, that's right!" Rin's face lit up, and she planted both hands on Miku's desk. "You sing something too, Miku!" Her heart gave a jolt. "Just improvise over my track! I bet your voice is super cute, Miku!" That innocent smile. Miku knew there was no malice in it. But still. "...Sorry." Miku dropped her gaze. "My throat's not great today." A lie. Her throat was perfectly fine. But it was the only thing she could say. "Aww, too bad! Then next time, okay?" Rin backed off easily and headed over to her other friends. Miku touched the Tone device tucked deep in her desk. (Sorry, Rin.) She apologized in her heart. (Sorry for lying.) But she couldn't sing. She was scared to let her voice out in front of people. At Miku's left ear, seated by the window, a tiny musical-note earring swayed. A charm from her grandmother. The little silver note caught the April light and glinted. Miku brushed it gently with her fingertip. —Three years ago, in spring. In a hospital bed, her grandmother was smiling. 'Miku, come here.' 'Grandma...' 'I'd like to hear your singing one more time.' 'But... I can't, in front of people...' 'I'm not "people." Just in front of me. That's all I need.' Her grandmother took Miku's hand in her thin fingers. 'Singing—if it reaches someone's heart, that's enough.' '...Okay.' 'Your singing always reaches my heart, Miku.' So she sang. In the hospital room, for her grandmother alone. Her voice trembled. But she made it to the end. Her grandmother smiled through tears. 'Thank you. That was the best song.' —That became the last song she ever sang for her grandmother. Miku clutched the musical-note earring. (I could sing in front of Grandma.) Now she couldn't even do that. The gap between her grandmother's words and who she was now squeezed at her chest. (I'm not the girl Grandma thought I was.) Outside the window, cherry petals drifted down. —————————— After school. Miku pedaled home. Fifteen minutes by bike from Seikou High. A quiet house in a residential neighborhood in the city's northwest. "I'm home." When she opened the door, her mother's voice came from the back. "Oh, welcome back. Miku, could you give me a hand?" "With what?" "Cleaning out the storeroom. Grandma's things are still sitting in boxes, aren't they? I figured it's about time we sorted through them properly." Three years since her grandmother passed. Her belongings were still packed away in boxes in the storeroom. "...Okay." Still in her uniform, Miku headed for the storeroom. It was a small room, about fifty square feet, at the very back of the house. Five cardboard boxes were stacked there. All of them carried out from her grandmother's house. Miku opened the top box. Old photos, letters, a half-knitted scarf, old records. (It smells like Grandma.) A nostalgic, gentle scent. She opened the boxes one by one. When she opened the third, her hands stopped. "This is..." What came out was a diary. A cloth-bound, old diary. A floral pattern was printed on the cover. Miku opened it, hesitantly. Her grandmother's handwriting filled the pages. 'Today Miku sang a song for me. It was halting, but her heart was in it, and it was so very lovely.' 'I believe Miku's voice is a gift from heaven. I want to let more people hear that voice.' 'Singing—if it reaches someone's heart, that's enough. Miku's singing always reaches mine.' With every page she turned, her grandmother's words pierced her chest. "...Grandma." Her voice trembled. (My singing was that...) She hadn't known her grandmother had praised her singing this much. She opened the last page of the diary. 'To Miku. Your singing will surely save someone's heart. Have confidence, and sing. Grandma is always listening to you.' Tears threatened to spill. (Grandma, I...) That was when it happened. "Miku, come here a sec!" Her mother's voice came from the kitchen. Miku hurriedly wiped her eyes, gently closed the diary, and headed for the kitchen. "What is it?" "This came for you." What her mother held out was a small parcel. "...For me?" She took it and looked at the shipping label. The sender's field was blank. "Weird package, isn't it? No sender written. But the slip says 'something precious.'" "...Something precious?" Miku tilted her head. "Any idea what it is?" "...No." "Well, just open it and you'll find out. It's addressed to you, so open it." Miku carried the parcel to the living room table. She peeled off the wrapping paper carefully. Inside was a single cardboard box. Opening that, she found an old machine. "...What is this?" It was a desktop Tone editing terminal. No—to be precise, a very old model. "Minamo Technology... an old-model Tone editing terminal?" So read the label s

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Episode 1

Name: Vocaloid Academy Second Take: Deliver My Song to You!
Author: Novelia

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