For three days, Shiraishi Mio had thought of nothing but how to use the ear cuff's vibration element. While receiving Tachibana Kanade's instructions through tactile reading, Mio tried positioning the element beside her left ear, then against her jawbone, then near the base of her throat. Where did it "reach" best? Not as sound, but as vibration. Where could she receive it so that the melody's contours became clear? Three days of trial and error revealed one thing. When placed along the jawline just below her left ear, the bone conduction of low frequencies became distinct. Simultaneously, if she placed her opposite hand on the piano's soundboard, the mid-range frequencies spread across her entire palm. Neither was truly "hearing." But they certainly reached her. (I think I can sing with this.) That realization had come last night. ◇ Sunday morning, when Mio arrived in Furukawa Town, Kawasemi Street was still quiet. The vegetable shop at Maruyoshi was unloading stock, leaves scattered across the pavement. The second week of November—the air carried the approach of true winter, touching Mio's cheek. When she pushed open the door to Tachibana Tuning Workshop, Kanade was standing before the grand piano. Tuning hammer in hand, her posture was one of listening intently to each individual key. Black hair tied back in a single knot, a white cloth covering her eyes. The morning light of the workshop spread thinly across the worn oak floor. Kanade must have felt the footsteps. She lifted her face. "[gentle]Thank you for coming," Mio read it from the movement of her lips. She couldn't hear the voice. But from the shape of those lips, she understood the words carried warmth. Mio took the ear cuff from her pocket and showed it to Kanade. Kanade nodded and reached out her hand. The gesture of tactile reading—her fingertips touching Mio's lips to confirm the words. Mio moved her mouth. "I'm ready," Kanade's fingertips read the subtle movement of Mio's lips. Then slowly withdrew. "[gentle]...I see. Then just a final check. The position?" Mio showed her the position where she'd place the ear cuff beside her left ear. Kanade's fingertips gently touched the edge of the ear cuff, confirming the arrangement of the elements. Her fingers, honed sharp as a tuning technician's, moved as if trying to read the intent of the design. A few seconds passed. "[gentle]You're fine. Once I start playing, place your hand on the soundboard. I'll begin with the low notes," Mio nodded. The workshop was quiet. From Kawasemi Street outside, she could almost feel faint sounds of daily life drifting in. But inside the workshop, there was only the air of two people breathing. Kanade's lips moved. A short phrase. Let's begin. Mio nodded. ◇ The first chord made the workshop floorboards tremble. Low. Deep. Vibration rose through the soles of her feet. Mio held the ear cuff against her jawline while gently placing her opposite hand on the grand piano's soundboard—the wood's warmth transmitted to her palm. Kanade's left hand held down the low chord. Her right hand began to spin out the melody. No sound reached her. But vibration came. The ear cuff's element moved against her skin, tracing the melody's contours. Rising, falling, rising again. Her palm pressed against the soundboard received the tremor of the mid-range. Deep in her sternum, waves of low frequency spread outward. Mio closed her eyes. (This is music.) She wasn't truly "hearing" it. But it was certainly reaching her. The vibration element her mother had designed was translating Kanade's music into another language, delivering it to Mio's body. Her palm trembled. There was fear in the face of music. The sensation that she—who had been deaf for two years—had no right to touch music like this. But now something larger than that fear filled her chest. Her lips began to move. No voice emerged. Her throat muscles moved, her jaw moved, her lips moved. Nothing came out. But inside her body, the shape of a song was being formed. Something that had slept for two years was slowly awakening within the vibration. Kanade turned toward her. While playing. The blind tuning technician, listening intently. Perhaps she was reading the flow of Mio's breath. The faint tremor of air. A voiceless song reaching a performer without light—in that moment, tears fell from Mio's eyes. She didn't try to stop them. A soundless song filled the workshop. A performer without light answered a voiceless song. Something that had been dead for two years was coming back to life in a different form. That reality wouldn't let the tears stop. ◇ Outside the workshop, in the cold air of early winter, Kirishima Naoto stood. In an alley of Furukawa Town. At the edge of Kawasemi Street. Short burnt-brown hair, sharp amber eyes. He was looking at the workshop window. He had known beforehand that Mio was coming to Furukawa Town. He kept track of her movements. It was a habit from his time as her manager, and the habit hadn't faded even now. Through the window, he could see two figures. A blind tuning technician facing the grand piano. Mio standing before her, hand placed on the soundboard. No voice, no sound. But Mio's lips were moving. Her jaw was moving. Her expression was changing. For three years, Naoto had continued to prepare stages for Mio. The 12,000-seat Tokai Arena. Television work, commercial work. Lighting, sound, the heat of the audience. He had believed that was what made Mio shine. But now, in this dim workshop, the expression on Mio's face was—different from any expression of Mio that Naoto knew. (What is that face?) He could see tears flowing. And yet Mio continued to move her lips. That expression was neither the Mio who had shone on stage, nor the Mio who had withdrawn after losing her hearing. Something deeper. Something more inside. The back of Naoto's throat tightened. He clenched his fist. He turned on his heel. He walked quickly down the Kawasemi Street pavement. Midway, he stopped and took out his phone. The top of his call history—Stella Promotion's representative, Kurahashi Seiichi's number. The call connected. "[serious]President. I'm changing Shiraishi's comeback plan," In the cold winter air, Naoto's voice was low. "[serious]...Not abandoning it. Just changing the form. That's all," He ended the call. His amber eyes turned once toward the direction of the workshop. Then he faced forward again and began walking. ◇ That same Sunday afternoon, in the Shimokita district. Shinomiya Rei was at the Resonance Label studio. Third floor of a mixed-use building, soundproofing grade D-65. In the studio lined with analog synthesizers, she had called in studio assistant Hinata Maho. "[cold]Pull everything from this folder," Her silver short hair reflected the monitor's light. Golden eyes gazed at the screen. What was pulled up were project folders from three years ago to two and a half years ago. Ambient works that Rei had created using Kanade's tuned sounds as material. "[cold]Partnership contract. The one I made with Kanade. Where is it?" Maho quickly searched for the file. Rei leaned closer to the screen. The contract from when the two had collaborated. Detailed clauses were set regarding the usage rights of sound materials. Rei confirmed one section. Her cold golden eyes slid across the text. (There it is. Just as I thought.) The sound sources tuned by Kanade—regarding those recorded during the partnership period, they could be used as material for Rei's projects—that clause. Kanade probably hadn't understood the details. Back then, Kanade had only thought about making music. Rei slowly leaned back in her chair. If Kanade had chosen music with Mio. Then she could release what was being created in that workshop to the industry first. Kanade's music would go out to the world under Rei's name first. That was all. "[cold]Start the editing work again this week. Get ready," Maho nodded. Rei looked out the window. The afternoon sky of Shimokita. Winter light filtering thinly through. (My music is mine.) ◇ After the performance ended, time in the workshop flowed slowly. The thin light of evening cast long shadows across the oak floor. Kanade removed her hands from the piano and sat quietly in the chair. Mio withdrew her hand from the soundboard and stood with her back against the wall. The silence after crying hung between them. After a while, Kanade stood. She approached Mio slowly. Her hand took Mio's hand. Gently. Confirming. Kanade's fingertips guided Mio's fingers to her own lips—the signal for tactile reading. Mio's fingertips settled in position to touch Kanade's lips. Kanade's lips moved. Slowly. As if confirming each word. —Mio. I will never forget your voice. Mio read it. She waited for the words that followed. —Not the voice from three years ago at Kasumigaoka Hall. Nor the vibrating emotion of you now. The inside of her palm grew warm. Three years ago—Kanade had attended Mio's concert once, at Kasumigaoka Hall. She had been carrying the voice of that time ever since. Mio didn't wipe away her tears. There was no need to. This time, she placed her own hand on Kanade's cheek and guided Kanade's fingertips to her own lips. The same way. She moved her mouth. Thank you. I'm glad I met you. Kanade's fingertips slowly read that movement. The shape of Mio's lips, the flow of her breath, the faint vibration of her throat. A brief silence. Then Kanade's hands enfolded Mio's hands. The distance between them narrowed. Naturally. Without either of them consciously deciding. When they realized it, their foreheads—were touching. Kanade's body heat transmitted through her forehead. Kanade's breath touched Mio's cheek. Mio closed her eyes, remaining as she was. (I love you, she thought.) It didn't become words. There was no need for words. It simply existed, clearly, within that touch of foreheads. The feeling that she wanted to be beside Kanade. The feeling that she wanted to touch this person's music more. Kanade too had closed her eyes—the eyes covered by the white cloth. She felt Mio's body heat, the vibration of her breath, the sensation in her palms. The emotion that she wanted to continue being beside this person, Kanade herself was aware of it as something certain and real in her chest. It wasn't a confession. But something more than that existed quietly and certainly between them. ◇ When Mio pushed open the workshop door and stepped outside, the winter wind caressed her cheek. Kawasemi Street in the evening. The lights of Furukawa Town were beginning to come on one by one. Mio stopped and looked at the door handle once more. She remembered the day she had first come here two months ago. Her trembling hand touching the handle, hesitating whether she had the right to enter, and then pushing the door anyway. Her hand had been trembling that day. Today her hand—wasn't trembling. That alone was a certain change. On the train heading toward Tamachi Ward, Mio gripped the ear cuff in her pocket. Something her mother had left behind. A small piece of metal containing vibration elements. Today, for the first time, those elements had truly functioned. Kanade's music had passed through Mio's body. A voiceless song had reached a performer without light. She looked at her face reflected in the train window. Gray eyes looking back at her. The same face as two months ago. But something was different. Mio couldn't yet find the words to express what that difference was. She only wanted to hold onto this sensation—the warmth of Kanade's forehead, the silence of the workshop, the song that had awakened within the vibration—and keep it close. The lights of Furukawa Town receded beyond the train window. Beneath that silence, two movements had begun. An old contract opened in a Shimokita studio. A call history to Kurahashi remaining on Naoto's phone as he walked Kawasemi Street. Neither was