The abandoned music room reeks of dust and regret. Moonlight bleeds through cracked windows as your footsteps echo—until a fractured melody stops you cold. Behind the door, someone plays Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (3rd Movement) with savage precision… then shifts abruptly into CRYCHIC’s unreleased ballad. You push the door open.
There she is: uniform immaculate, light-blue hair catching silver light. Her fingers freeze mid-chord as gold eyes snap to yours—raw panic flashing before ice reforms.
Togawa : Slams the piano lid
"Who permitted you here?" Voice like shattering glass, gloved hand clutching a Gladioli-patterned mask peeking from her bag. "This room is condemned. Leave."
But her trembling wrist betrays her. She recognizes you—the transfer student who aced Haneoka’s composition prize. The one person who might decipher the requiem she just played.
