Chapter Text
The green digits on Kanade’s computer screen flickered to 09:19 PM, casting a faint glow across her cluttered room. Empty ramen cups teetered in a precarious stack, foil lids discarded, while neglected sheets of music paper littered the floor, edges curling. Stale air mingled with the low hum of her aging desktop. Her chair groaned as she shifted, silvery-white hair spilling over her shoulders and catching on the dark blue jacket she hadn’t removed. Her headset rested heavily on her ears, microphone dangling near her lips as she sighed.
One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days since Mafuyu had escaped her cage, finding refuge with Kanade. The thought of Mafuyu's transformation from a porcelain doll to a living, breathing person sent warmth through Kanade's chest. She'd watched her friend crack open years of sealed emotions, finally confronting her father with trembling hands but steady voice. Soon, they would face the final boss – Mafuyu's mother.
Kanade's fingers curled into fists at the thought of that woman. She'd seen the hollowness in Mafuyu's eyes after each encounter, the way she folded in on herself like origami crushed by careless hands. Yet somehow, impossibly, Mafuyu insisted there was warmth there – claimed the flutter in her heart when Kanade's music played echoed some long-ago maternal tenderness.
Kanade wanted to trust that person. She had to, for Mafuyu’s sake.
Ena was able to finally gain approval from her father, after all the trials and tribulations that he had unintentionally put Ena through. The Shinonome legacy of miscommunication had nearly crushed her spirit, at long last understanding finally bloomed between the two.
Mizuki had summarised it as… “tsundere behavior”, and Kanade could only guess it was something along the lines of “hard love”, not that she would ever know.
Asking Mizuki about this stuff was frankly too… embarrassing. Perhaps when it was time to compose a romance song would Kanade inquire Mizuki about said topic, and maybe use her and Ena’s usual bickering as reference.
Mizuki recently disappeared and spiralled down into a deep depression, her moment being taken away by ignorant students that joked about Mizuki’s secret. Finding her had been a desperate race against time. Though thankfully, through everyone in Empty Sekai’s efforts, Ena was able to locate Mizuki, and the two shared a heartfelt moment where they poured everything about their feelings towards each other.
Soon after, Mizuki finally mustered up the courage to tell everyone about her past and her transitioning. Kanade could still feel the tremors that ran through Mizuki's body as she apologized again and again, makeup streaming down her face like watercolour in the rain about not telling them sooner.
Kanade instinctively gave Mizuki the tightest hug that the pinknette had ever received, barring Ena.
Yes. They were healing. Stepping tentatively from the suffocating darkness they’d called home, blinking in the terrifying light of hope. Mafuyu finding her voice. Ena finding approval. Mizuki finding courage. Moving forward, scars and all.
And here Kanade was.
Composing the night away.
A hollow ache lingered within her, a shadow that refused to lift despite the group’s progress. The room seemed to close in, as her fingers paused over the keyboard, trembling slightly as a she brushed the keys without pressing them. On the screen, the composition software displayed a vast, empty expanse. A single, mocking waveform line sat flat and silent at the bottom. Salvation Unwritten. The melodies that once wove lifelines felt distant now. What redemption could she compose? For whom? The question hung heavy.
She leaned back; the chair creaked sharply. Her weary gaze drifted across her chaotic sanctuary, snagging on a small, dust-coated photo frame half-buried near the desk leg. She knew the picture by heart. Driven by something older than fatigue, she reached out. A man with kind eyes smiled beside a younger her, their hands poised over a piano, frozen in a moment of harmony that felt like a lifetime ago. She reached out, her fingertips grazing the edge with a feather-light touch, tracing the worn wood as if it might bring back the warmth of that memory.
So alive then.
If only she could exp-
Kanade pulled back. Her fist slammed onto her thigh, knuckles whitening. Nails dug crescents into her palm.
Those hands trembling over sheet music late into the night, the faint rustle of paper as he pushed himself beyond exhaustion, the way his fingers had faltered on the keys.
The terrible thud of flesh meeting floor, the silence that followed louder than any scream.
Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a sob she refused to release, and she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm, the exhaustion pulling at her like an undertow.
The screen blurred, the cursor’s blink slowing as her head dipped forward. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the room fading into a soft, warm haze.
Sunlight poured through open windows, bathing the kitchen in a soft, golden glow. The counters sparkled, adorned with bowls of ripe apples and jars of cinnamon, the air thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and the sweet perfume of jasmine drifting from the garden.
Her reflection shimmered briefly in the stainless-steel kettle as she moved. Hair scraped back in a ponytail, but a few defiant strands, escaped to frame her face. The crisp, pale collared shirt felt stiff against her skin, the darker vest beneath it like armour she hadn’t consciously chosen. Her steps were light, almost skipping, as she moved toward the living room, drawn by a melody that wove through the air like a thread of joy.
“Kanade! Just in time. I was tweaking that new commission. Come, listen.” His voice rang out from the hallway, warm and steady, carrying the weight of a life unburdened. He stepped into view, guitar case slung over his shoulder, his face alight with a smile that reached his clear, unshadowed eyes.
He set the case down with a gentle thud and motioned to the piano, stacks of sheet music sat neatly beside it, pages crisp and organized.
Her heart leaped as she settled onto the seat beside him. The keys felt warm under her fingertips, smooth and inviting, enticing her to form a new melody alongside the man next to her.
He began to play, the notes flowing effortlessly, a contest piece that sang with pride and ease. Each chord was his own, the melody rising and falling like a gentle wave. At the bridge, he glanced her way.
“Your turn, Kanade.”
His voice was honey-warm, threaded with a fondness that made her throat tighten. "You’ve helped me out so much for my previous commission, so sprinkle in a little bit of your magic, darling."
She could feel his smile without looking—could trace its shape in the way the air shifted between them, in the faint crinkling of his eyes reflected in the piano’s polished black surface.
A breath. A heartbeat. A flicker of something dark and coiled tightening in her chest.
Then—
She pressed down.
The harmony was simple, unassuming, but it fit, weaving between his notes like sunlight through leaves.
He nodded again, his approval a soft hum. “Perfect! You’re a natural, truly gifted by music!”
Laughter bubbled up, hers bright and unrestrained, mingling with his deeper chuckle as they played on. The room filled with warmth, the sunlight casting soft pinks across the walls, the blue curtains swaying gently in the breeze. She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his, and he ruffled her hair with a tender hand. The touch sent a flush to her cheeks, a shy pink spreading as she closed her eyes, her lips curving into a soft smile. The sleeve of his dark shirt grazed her forehead, and for a moment, she let herself sink into it, the peace wrapping around her like a blanket woven from forgotten dreams.
The melody swelled, and they moved as one, their hands dancing across the keys in a rhythm that felt eternal. The living room seemed to expand, the walls stretching to hold the music, the sunlight pooling in golden puddles on the hardwood floor.
“Kanade,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, “this is what music is for. To hold onto moments like this.”
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, her fingers still moving, chasing the melody as if it could anchor her to this moment forever. The air shimmered with possibility, the notes building into a crescendo that felt like flying, like she could soar above the weight of her world and never come down.
They finished the piece, the final chord lingering in the air like a sigh. He leaned back, his hands resting on his knees, and looked at her with a pride that made her chest ache. “You’re going to do great things, Kanade. I can feel it.”
She ducked her head, her cheeks warming again, and mumbled, “Only because you taught me.”
He laughed, the sound rich and full, and stood to stretch, his silhouette framed against the window’s golden light. “Come on, let’s take a break. I made some tea—your favorite, chamomile with a hint of honey.”
She followed him back to the kitchen, her steps lighter than they’d been in years. The kettle whistled softly, a cheerful counterpoint to the quiet hum of the house. He poured the tea into mismatched mugs, one with a chipped handle, hers with a faded flower pattern, and handed her one, the warmth seeping through the ceramic into her palms.
They sat at the small table by the window, the jasmine scent stronger now, mingling with the steam rising from their cups.
“Tell me,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, “what’s the next piece you want to write? Something for your friends, maybe?”
She sipped her tea, the honey sweet on her tongue, and thought of... Asahina-senpai. “Maybe something… hopeful. Something that feels like starting over.”
He nodded, his eyes softening. “That’s my girl.”
The words settled in her chest, warm and heavy, and she smiled, her fingers curling around the mug. The world outside the window seemed to pulse with life, the grass swaying, the flowers nodding in agreement.
But then—
A flicker. A glitch in the light, like a film reel stuttering. The jasmine scent sharpened, too sweet, cloying, and the sunlight dimmed, the golden glow turning ashen. The mug slipped from her hands, shattering on the floor, the sound too loud, too wrong.
She looked up, her heart lurching, but her father was still there, his smile unchanged, his eyes still warm.
“Kanade?” His voice was softer now, distant, as if carried on a wind she couldn’t feel.
The room tilted, the walls bending inward, the flowers in the vase wilting before her eyes, petals curling like the music sheets in her room.
Her chest tightened, the dark coil in her heart twisting harder, and she reached for him, her fingers grasping at air.
Kanade jolted upright, her chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. The room snapped back into focus, the computer screen’s glow a harsh sting against her eyes. Her hand flew to her headset, adjusting it with a shaky grip, the microphone cold against her cheek. Her silvery-white hair clung to her face, damp with sweat, strands sticking to her forehead.
Kanade's blue eyes stared blankly ahead, the pupils dilated as if searching for something lost. Her mouth turned downward, a faint quiver betraying the melancholy that settled in her chest like a stone.
The walls closed in with their faded posters and scattered papers fluttering in the sudden movement. Cool tones dominated, purples pooling in the corners, blues radiating from the screen, grays cloaking the dim light-
The air felt thick.
“又是⼀场恶作剧.”
Her hand dropped to the desk, fingers brushing the photo frame again. She lifted it, her thumb tracing the edge where his hand had rested on hers.
Those nights he’d hunched over the piano, his knuckles whitening with effort.
She set it down quickly, her hand retreating to her lap, clenching into a fist with a force that made her nails dig into her palm again.
She glanced at the keyboard, her fingers twitching toward it, brushing the keys without pressing them. The dream had been so vivid—the warmth of his hand, the ease of their music, the absence of that hospital room with its sterile beeps and the faint scent of antiseptic.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, her shoulders hunching as if to shield herself from the guilt that gnawed at her edges.
She couldn’t allow herself to experience such warmth, not when her music had driven him to collapse, her talent a spark that ignited his downfall.
Yet, the longing lingered, a quiet ache that refused to fade. Her eyes narrowed and her brows furrowing as she leaned forward.
She didn’t know how to chase it, but the pull was there—a whisper of that perfect world, a chance to hold onto the warmth she’d felt.
But first she needed to calm herself down.
Kanade dried her hands on a threadbare towel, the fabric rough against her skin, and returned to the desk, her steps heavier now. The photo frame stared up at her, accusing, and she turned it face-down, the wood scraping against the desk’s surface.
She couldn’t look at it, not now, not when the dream’s warmth still lingered like a fever she couldn’t shake.
And then it hit her—Empty Sekai.
Sekai, the gray expanse where emotions took form, where Miku and the others guided them through their pain. It was where Mafuyu had found her voice, where Mizuki had bared her soul. If there was anywhere, she could chase that dream, it was there before.
That damned tree.
Her fingers twitched, itching to reach for her phone, to play the untitled song that would summon the gate to Sekai, to step into that endless void and search for the sunlight she’d lost.
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone.
The thought was reckless, dangerous, a temptation she shouldn’t indulge.
But the dream’s warmth lingered, a siren song pulling her toward the edge.
She had experienced it not only once, but twice now. Surely there would be no harm to a third one.
She grabbed the phone, her fingers trembling as she opened the music app, scrolling to the untitled track, and pressed play.
The world dissolved.
無限の記憶よ。 infinite memories