Vocaloid Academy Second Take: Deliver My Song to You! - The partner who came out of the screen, and our first song

April sunlight spilled through the classroom window and pooled on Miku's desk. The motes of light turned the edge of her notebook a brilliant white. Miku narrowed her big sky-blue eyes and stared at it. Her long, pale-blue twin-tails swayed softly in the breeze drifting through the window. The music-note earring on her left ear caught the light with a glint. (Kaito...) She kept replaying it in her mind—the man with the blue hair who had appeared from beyond the screen that night. An old-model Tone Editing Terminal. Model number MT-01X, made by Minamo Technology. She'd found it in the storage shed while sorting through her grandmother's belongings. A week had passed since it arrived in her room, sender unknown. Every night, she'd secretly tried turning it on. But the screen only filled with static. Nothing ever happened. Maybe that night had just been a dream. She was starting to think so. "...Haaah." With a small sigh, Miku slumped forward onto her desk. (So today was a bust too, huh.) The classroom, fresh from the last bell, was still buzzing. Kids listening to music on their tone terminals, kids swapping voiceprint data, kids checking their next plans with voice assistants. In this city—Toneweaver—voices were treated as something special. Toneweave terminals, which could record, play back, edit, and transmit personal voiceprint data, had a penetration rate of about ninety-five percent. Almost everyone had one, woven into the fabric of daily life. Some people streamed their singing. Others sent voice messages back and forth. "Voice" was what made the air of this city. But Miku couldn't do it. Standing in front of people made her throat tremble. Her voice cracked. Ever since the day in sixth grade when her solo part cracked during the choir concert and the whole auditorium laughed at her, it had been like that. (I love singing, though.) She was unconsciously fiddling with the tips of her twin-tails. A habit she had when she got nervous. "Oh, Miku." The girl at the next desk held out her tone terminal. "I found this song on yesterday's streaming plaza. The voice is amazing. Wanna listen?" "Eh... ah, yeah. I think I'd like to." She borrowed one earbud and pressed it to her ear. On the terminal's screen was footage of a girl singing at the streaming plaza in Central Square. The song flowed into her. A clear, straight voice. Something deep in Miku's chest tightened. (That's so nice.) (If only I could sing like that.) Her grandmother's words surfaced in her mind. 'Singing, you know—if it reaches someone's heart, that's enough.' Such a gentle voice. Her grandmother, who always listened to Miku's singing with a smile. 'Miku's songs reach Grandma's heart, you know.' —But her grandmother was gone now. Since she'd passed away three years ago, there was no one left to tell Miku her songs "reached their heart." "...Thanks. It really is a wonderful voice." "Right?! She's entering the school music competition too. I wonder who's better—her or Hakuya-senpai from the music club." At the name Hakuya, the air in the classroom shifted slightly. The music club president—a genius on a three-year winning streak at the school music competition. Not a day passed at this school without his name coming up when music was discussed. "Hakuya-senpai's on another level. He's got a live voice." "But machine voices are amazing these days too. The singing software on tone terminals—they say you can't even tell them apart from humans now." "Ah, that. Thanks to the Voiceprint Protection Act, you can't use someone else's voice, but processing your own is totally legal." Miku listened to their conversation in silence. Toneweave technology digitizes personal voiceprint data, allowing it to be saved, edited, played back, and transmitted. You could put a recorded voice onto a different melody, or change its emotion. But using someone else's voiceprint data without permission was forbidden by the Voiceprint Protection Act. Fifteen years ago, with the early-model toneweave terminals, there had been the "Tone Glitch Incident"—about two hundred cases nationwide where saved voices started holding conversations on their own. Minamo Technology explained it as a "bug," but some researchers insisted it was "the will of the voice." In response to that incident, the Voiceprint Protection Act was born. (Machine voices, huh.) Miku touched the tone terminal in her bag. The latest model. But she barely used it. Because she was afraid to let her voice out. After school. Miku left the classroom faster than anyone. At the bike rack, she swung onto her pale-blue bicycle. The April wind fluttered the hem of her skirt. She pushed off on the pedals. Out the school gate, past Seikoumae Station. The smell of coffee drifted from the shop in front of the station. Miku's house was fifteen minutes by bike from Seikou High. A detached home in a residential neighborhood in the city's northwest. Riding along the riverside path by the Orphe River, the setting sun reflected off the water in glittering sparks. (Today was a bust too.) At school, she'd been useless as always. In music class, there'd been a singing test, one student at a time. When Miku's turn came, her voice trembled. "Once more," the teacher said, and the second time it trembled even worse. The kids around her giggled. (No, that's not it. I can really sing.) Even screaming it in her heart, it never became sound. Miku pushed harder on the pedals. When she got home, there was a pair of shoes in the entryway. "Big sis, welcome back." Her little sister, a second-year in middle school, poked her head out from the living room. "I'm home. Where's Mom?" "Still at work. Dad said he'll be late too." "I see." Miku went up to her room and collapsed onto her bed still in her uniform. She stared at the ceiling. In the corner of the room sat the old-model Tone Editing Terminal. Beside her study desk. The screen was black and silent. (Kaito...) Maybe that night really had been a dream. The voice she'd heard through the static. The young man with blue hair. "I'm the singing data of this software." —Singing data. In other words, a machine voice. But that voice hadn't sounded mechanical at all. Miku sat up and pulled a sheet of paper from her desk drawer. The manual for the old terminal. She'd found it when she dug the terminal out of the shed—it had been tucked underneath. The paper was yellowed and dusty in places. "...Can I even read this?" She spread the paper open. The text was faded. "Um... m-made by Minamo Technology... old-model Tone Editing Terminal... MT-01X... in-instruction manual..." She tried to read it aloud and stumbled. "Once more. Made by Minamo Technology... old-model... wait, did I just stumble?" She snarked at herself. "In-instruction manual. This device acquires the customer's voiceprint data..." "Big sis, what're you reading?" Suddenly her sister's voice came from beyond the door. "Eh!? N-nothing! I was just, um, reading a book!" "Hmm. You were making a weird voice, though." "Y-you heard that!?" "I just walked past your door. I'm gonna eat first, okay?" Her sister's footsteps faded. Miku set the manual on the desk and covered her bright red face with her hands. (So embarrassing...) (And seriously, why do I stumble over a manual, of all things?) She sighed and looked at the manual again. The text was faded, just as before—barely legible. "...Forget it." She put the manual back in the drawer and sat down in her chair. She reached a finger toward the old terminal's power button. (Just one more time.) Every night, that's what she told herself as she turned it on. A whole week of it. The screen was nothing but static. But maybe. (Tonight's the night.) She pressed down with her fingertip. Click. The power came on. The screen brightened. Zzzzzzzzz— Static. The same black-and-white snow as always. Miku bit her lip. (So it's a bust after all.) And in that instant— The static on the screen cleared, just like that. "—So you finally woke up, huh." A low, male voice. Inside the screen stood a young man with blue hair. Ice-blue eyes. A white shirt and a blue jacket. A sardonic smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "H-hiii...!?" Miku tumbled right off her chair. She landed hard on her rear, pain shooting through her. "A g-ghost!? There's a ghost!?" "I'm not a ghost." The young man in the screen—Kaito—sighed in exasperation. "I'm data. The singing data of this software. I told you that before." "D-data...?" Still sitting on the floor, Miku looked up at the screen. Kaito had his arms crossed, staring down at her. Even through the screen, his gaze carried a strange weight. "You turn me on and off every single night—what exactly are you trying to do?" "Eh... ah, um, that's..." "Thanks to you, my sleep's been shallow as hell." "Sleep... but you're data, you sleep?" "Shut it. I've got my own stuff going on." Kaito said it irritably, brushing away the pale blue particles of light drifting around him. "So, what do you want to know? You've been digging into this terminal quite a bit, haven't you?" "H-how do you know that?" "I can see it. Your room's completely visible from this screen." "Eeeh!?" Miku hurriedly clutched the collar of her uniform. "W-what is that, that's a privacy—" "Relax. I've got zero interest in you changing clothes." "That's not the point!?" Her voice came out louder than she meant, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. (Oh no, my sister might hear.) Beyond the door, all was quiet. Miku exhaled in relief. "...So, why did you come out of the screen?" "How should I know. I'd like to know that myself." Kaito spat it out. "Before I knew it, I was here. Your voice woke me up." "My... voice?" "When you turned this terminal on, you said something, didn't you. That's what triggered it." Miku remembered. A week ago, at night. The first time she'd turned the terminal on. That time, she'd definitely— "...I said 'I want to sing.'" "Yeah. And that woke me up." Kaito's expression softened, just a little. "You want to sing, don't you." Miku's heart gave a leap. "...Yeah. But I can't sing in front of people. My voice trembles." "I know. I've been listening to your voice." "Eh?" "This past week, I've heard every bit of you singing to yourself." "N-no way...!?" Miku's face went bright red all at once. (I've been singing in my room—and he heard it all!?) (And not just that, but that awful singing...) "Th-that was, um... practice, or more like a change of pace..." "It's not bad, actually." "Eh?" Miku lifted her head. Kaito was looking straight at her. "Your singing's not bad. Your voice just trembles—but you hit the notes. Your rhythm's, well, not bad either." "...Really?" "Do I look like I'd lie?" "Maybe a little." "You little—" Kaito laughed, exasperated. That smile was surprisingly gentle. Miku's heart gave another leap. "...Anyway, here's the thing." Kaito straightened up inside the screen. "You want to sing. But you can't sing in front of people." "Yeah." "Then I'll sing for you." "...Eh?" "You write the melody and the lyrics, and I'll sing them in your place. As the singing data of this software." Miku couldn't immediately process what Kaito was saying. "B-but I've never written a song before!" "That's why you're going to start now." "W-well, yeah, but..." "Just try it. The way things are now, you'll never sing for the rest of your life." Those words were sharp. But somehow, warm. Miku gripped the tips of her twin-tails tight. (I want to try.) (If this person will sing the songs I write...) "...Okay. I'll try." "Good. That's what I like to hear." Kaito grinned. Miku operated the terminal on her desk and launched the score editor. The singing synthesis software of the old Tone Editing Terminal. Y

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Episode 2

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

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