For three days straight, I held the ear cuff. While sleeping. While trying to eat. While staring out the window. The small piece of metal in my palm stayed warm the entire time. No—it should have been cold. But that's how it felt. Like my mother's warmth. I couldn't let it go. A vibration element. That moment when I'd disassembled it in the middle of the night and realized what it was—it was still lodged somewhere inside me. The same principle Tachibana Kanade used. What my mother had designed to deliver music. (Maybe I just wanted to believe it wasn't a coincidence.) I tried to deny it. But every time my fingertip traced the edge of the vibration element, a different sensation came back. No. That's not it. Mio slipped her arms through her coat. It was Thursday morning. She stood frozen in the entryway for three minutes, unable to move. Kirishima Naoto's voice echoed back. "You're running away." The words from social media clung to her. The oil pen marks on the door of Kanade's workshop. It was all her fault. And yet. (Not going would be even more terrifying.) The moment that thought crystallized, her feet moved. Toward the Tamachi ward station. On the train, she looked out the window. The face reflected back at her was gaunt from three days of this, her black semi-long hair slightly disheveled. Gray eyes stared back at her. (It's okay. I have this.) She checked the ear cuff in her pocket one more time. ◇ When she got off at Furukawa Town station, November air touched her cheek. The shopping street along Kawasemi Avenue had few people—it was morning prep time. The smell of meat drifted from Nishida's butcher shop, and she could feel the vibration through her feet as the shutter of Maruyoshi's vegetable stand rattled upward. As the workshop drew closer, Mio's pace slowed bit by bit. A person was standing in front of Tachibana Tuning Workshop. Her feet stopped. It was a woman in a black coat. Tall. Silver short hair caught the morning light and bounced it back, the ends standing sharp. A pearl earring on one ear. The woman had been looking at the workshop sign, but when she sensed Mio's presence, she slowly turned her gaze toward her. Cold golden eyes. In an instant, Mio understood she was being appraised. Head to toe, all at once, a judgment rendered. "[cold]So you're the former idol clinging to Kanade" Her mouth moved. Mio read the movement of her lips, and the words fell clearly into her mind. "Clinging to." (…Who is this person?) Rei confirmed Mio's reaction before continuing. "[cold]Do you really think a deaf person can understand music? Gathering sympathy because of a disability—that's not music" Mio couldn't hear whether she was speaking aloud or just moving her lips. But she could read every word from the shape of her mouth. Each syllable moved slowly, deliberately, as if confirming something. Not out of consideration for Mio to read her. Just stating facts. Deep in her chest, something began to ache. (It's the same. The same place Naoto stabbed.) She wanted to say it was different. But her mouth wouldn't open. For three days, she'd been thinking the same thing herself. Whether the time she'd felt music was real, or just an escape from reality—she still had no answer to that question. Rei watched Mio's silence and the corner of her lips moved slightly. An expression that said: I told you so. Mio gripped the ear cuff in her pocket. Hard. Cold. Small. But definitely there. (I won't run.) While meeting Rei's gaze head-on, Mio reached for the workshop door. She pushed it open. ◇ The smell of wood and old piano wrapped around her. The workshop was dim, the oak floor receiving light softly. In front of the grand piano, Kanade was working on tuning. Her long black hair was tied back, her eyes covered with a white cloth. She held the tuning hammer, her posture as if listening to the keyboard—and then her hands stopped. The moment Mio's footsteps reached the floorboards. Kanade slowly lifted her face. "[gentle]…Mio-san" Her mouth moved quietly. She's come, the shape of her lips continued. Not words exactly, just the shape of them. But Mio saw it clearly. Something trembled deep in her chest. Three days ago, she'd pushed away this hand and run. Down Kawasemi Avenue, without looking back. Kanade's expression in that moment had been catching on her ever since. A few steps forward. Behind her, the vibration of the door opening reached her feet. She turned around. Rei had entered the workshop. Her silver hair gleamed sharp even in the dim light. Rei walked to Kanade's side and grabbed her arm. A motion without hesitation. "[cold]Kanade, this person will only consume your talent" Her mouth moved toward Kanade. Rei must have known about Kanade's tactile reading—her lip movements were careful. "[cold]Let's restart our project. Only I can understand your sound" Kanade's expression didn't change. But the arm Rei was holding moved quietly. Rei's fingers slipped away. It was less a rejection than a confirmation. Then Kanade turned toward Mio. She reached out her hand—the gesture of tactile reading. Mio stepped forward. Kanade's fingertips touched Mio's lips. The hand she'd pushed away three days ago, this time Mio approached it herself. Kanade's fingers settled into position where she could read Mio's lip movements. Just that simple thing—today it was anything but simple for Mio. (I'm glad I came.) Rei watched. Her golden eyes narrowed. ◇ Three people faced each other in the workshop. Rei didn't become emotional. That was what made it frightening. "[cold]Resonance Label—an independent music label I belong to" Her lips moved toward Mio. Explaining, but coldly. "[cold]The halls and studios around Furukawa Town—their piano tuning requests move at my word. The Kasumigaoka Hall tuning contract can be reconsidered if I move" Mio read every movement of her mouth. Kasumigaoka Hall. The place Kanade had inherited from her grandfather and still maintained. Kanade had told her before. Because her grandfather had handled it for thirty years, she continued it too. "[cold]Do you know the compensation per tuning job? If fifteen or so jobs a month disappear, the workshop can't be maintained. This place inherited from her grandfather" Rei's gaze moved slowly through the workshop. The grand piano, the shelf of tuning tools, the old work table, the darkened cedar board walls. Eyes that put a price on each thing. Mio looked at Kanade. Kanade's expression was taut. She was reading Rei's lip movements through sound and air flow. She understood the content. Her fingertips touched the edge of the piano quietly. A place inherited from her grandfather. How heavy those words were for Kanade, Mio could only imagine. But every time she came to this workshop, she felt it—this wasn't just a workplace for Kanade. Rei turned her gaze back to Mio. "[cold]If you weren't here, this wouldn't be happening. That's all" Definitive. Emotionless. Which was why the words sounded true. (Maybe that's right. But—) Mio moved her hand. She pulled the ear cuff from her pocket. Small. Old. Slightly scratched. What her mother had left her. What she'd held for three days straight. Mio stood in front of Kanade. She took Kanade's hands in both of hers. Gently, she placed the ear cuff in Kanade's palm. Kanade's fingertips began to move. Tracing the surface of the ear cuff, following its edges, moving into the inner grooves. Fingers trained as a tuning technician, a tactile sense honed as a musician, reading each component one by one. Mio positioned her face where Kanade could read her lips and slowly moved her mouth. "[gentle]This is something my mother left me. There's a vibration element inside. …Maybe with this, Kanade-san could do something new" Kanade's fingers stopped. A few seconds. Then they moved again. This time more finely, more carefully. As if confirming the arrangement of the vibration elements. The spacing between elements, how the wiring ran, trying to read the design's intent. The workshop was silent. Rei seemed about to say something. But watching Kanade's movements, she stopped. Kanade's expression changed a moment later. Her finger movements became gentler. Then stopped. She held the ear cuff again, cradling it in both hands. "[surprised]…This is" Words that were barely breath, not quite voice. But Mio could read them from her lips. The words that followed. —It's the same principle as vibration conduction. Mio's chest trembled quietly. (I was right. It really was the same.) What her mother had as a musician. Her understanding of sound and vibration. It overlapped completely with Kanade's technical system. It wasn't a coincidence. It was never just a coincidence. Heat gathered at the back of her eyes. Kanade spent a while confirming the ear cuff in her hands. Then, slowly, she turned to face Rei. Eyes covered by white cloth turned toward Rei. Not tactile reading—she spoke with her own voice. "[serious]Rei-san. I will make music with Mio" A quiet voice. Unshaking. "[serious]That is my answer" The workshop seemed to stop. Rei's face crumbled for just an instant. For just a moment, something passed through her golden eyes. Surprise—or perhaps, a wound. Mio understood that Kanade had never rejected her so clearly with words before. But quickly, Rei's expression returned to normal. "[cold]Do you understand what you're saying" "[serious]I do" "[cold]…I see" Rei looked at Mio. Her eyes held something slightly different from before. Not anger. Something colder, more calculated. "[cold]Let's see how long this sympathy-gathering using disability lasts" Mio could read Rei's lips. But she said nothing. Not because words wouldn't come. Just because right now, there was something more important. Rei opened the workshop door. The door closed. Its vibration reached Mio's feet through the oak floor. Probably Kanade's too. The sounds of Kawasemi Avenue came in for just a moment—then faded. ◇ Silence returned to the workshop. Kanade tried to return the ear cuff to Mio. Her hand extended. Mio took it. Not just the ear cuff—she held Kanade's hand itself, wrapping it in both her hands. Kanade seemed surprised for a moment, but quickly relaxed the tension in her fingers. Confirming the warmth of Mio's hands. They stayed like that for a while. Kanade slowly moved her fingers, guiding her hand to the position where she could read Mio's lips. Preparing for tactile reading. Mio nodded and positioned her mouth to move. Kanade's voice came quietly. Mio couldn't hear it. But her lip movements said it. "[gentle]Your mother left you a way to deliver music through vibration. …With this, we can reach much farther" Tears fell from Mio's eyes. She didn't try to stop them. (We can reach farther. Much farther.) Two years. Since she'd lost her hearing, she'd thought music was something lost forever. But maybe her mother had known. That a day like this would come. Or maybe she'd simply wanted to leave her daughter with possibility. Either way, it didn't matter. That her mother had been there—that didn't change. Kanade's hand touched Mio's tears. Her fingertips confirmed the warmth trailing down her cheek. Different from three days ago. Today, Mio wouldn't run. She wouldn't push this hand away. Her heart was racing. Something was beating fast deep in her chest. Whether it was her feelings for Kanade, her sorrow for her mother, or this new sensation of moving forward—Mio couldn't sort it out. It was all tangled together, and that was fine. Outside the window, the sounds of life on Kawasemi Avenue continued. Someone's laughter reached her as a faint vibration through the floor. Time flowed quietly in the workshop. But. Rei's words hadn't disappeared. The industry power of Resonance Label. The Kasumigaoka Hall tuning contract. The foundation of work Kanade had built up. The risk of it all shaking was a reality that existed even now. R