The rehearsal room was round, windowless, and alive with light that pulsed in tune with the thoughts of those inside. It wasn't just a place—it was a sentient chamber, a space designed for trial and error, brilliance and breakdowns. The walls shimmered with gentle vibrations, absorbing every wrong note with soft compassion and reflecting every right one like a gleam in the dark.
Lyra stood in the center, her hands clutching a vintage mic that had been left there for "lucky first sessions." Her heart was pounding in her chest—not from nerves exactly, but from anticipation. For the first time in her life, she wasn't singing to impress, or to prove, or to escape. She was singing to belong.
Kai sat to her left, silent, focused, his guitar cradled in his lap like an extension of his body. His fingers hovered over the strings, testing the air, calculating the mood. He didn't smile—not with his face—but his posture was slightly looser today, his gaze occasionally flicking toward her as if to say: I'm listening.
Rin had sprawled across a neon stool behind a dazzling set of drums that looked like they'd been made from moonstone and fireworks. She was chewing gum—where she got it, Lyra had no idea—and twirling her sticks like they were extensions of her nervous energy. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something reverent in the way she kept glancing at the kit, like a wild animal shown a cathedral.
And Yuu… Yuu had taken his place without a word. His synth shimmered before him, keys glowing like stars waiting to fall. He glanced at Lyra only once, then nodded slightly.
VIVA's voice floated like mist into her ear. Ready to initiate first harmony test? This will not affect your official Music Points score. It is for internal diagnostics only. Proceed when emotionally prepared.
Emotionally prepared?
She wasn't sure what that meant anymore. But she took a breath anyway.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let's just… feel it out. No pressure. Play what you feel. I'll follow."
Kai tapped his foot once, setting a tempo with a single downstroke. Rin picked up on it immediately, catching the beat on her rim with a quick rattle. Yuu came in like a breeze through curtains—gentle, testing, layering notes like ripples over water.
Lyra closed her eyes.
Then she sang.
It wasn't a song she had written. Not yet. But it was something inside her, something that had wanted to escape ever since that day in the alley when she nearly vanished into silence. Her voice rose, fragile at first, then bolder as the band fell into sync.
Kai threw in a sharp riff—unexpected, jagged, but thrilling. Rin cackled and slammed into a new rhythm to match, her whole body shaking with chaotic joy. Yuu shifted his harmony like silk around fire, wrapping Kai's raw edge in softness while echoing Lyra's melody like a question longing for an answer.
It was a mess.
A beautiful, explosive, reckless mess.
Too fast in some parts. Too slow in others. Rin kept skipping ahead, Kai kept pulling back, and Yuu would sometimes slip into scales no one else understood—but somehow, through all of it, there were moments. Glimmers.
A chord where everything locked.
A harmony where their sounds kissed.
A note that hit so perfectly that Lyra nearly cried.
Then they all stopped at once.
Silence. Heavy, charged, like the world was holding its breath.
Lyra was gasping for air, grinning, her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. Rin had collapsed backward into a beanbag that had materialized from nowhere, her sticks tossed in the air like confetti. Kai was tuning his strings absentmindedly, but there was the faintest upward curve on his lips.
Yuu blinked slowly, looked at Lyra, and offered a tiny sound—one gentle ping from his synth, like a heartbeat after a storm.
Processing, VIVA said.
There was a pause. Then a soft chime.
Harmony Score: 28/100
Lyra winced. "Ouch."
Low cohesion, VIVA added. However: extremely high emotional potential. Latent compatibility between all members. Strong melodic empathy detected in Yuu and Lyra. Rhythmic synergy between Rin and Kai inconsistent but promising. Recommend structured rehearsal and inter-personal bonding activities.
"Inter-personal bonding?" Rin sat up. "What are we, a therapy group?"
Kai snorted—barely. But it was a snort.
Lyra giggled and leaned against the mic stand. "Well… I mean, maybe we are. The broken kids banding together to make noise."
Yuu played a soft ascending scale. VIVA translated it simply: Affirmative.
Kai stood and walked toward her. He didn't say anything. Just placed a small piece of black tape on her mic stand. A symbol. The character for "start."
"Don't waste this," he muttered, and turned away before she could answer.
Rin clapped her hands. "Okay! I'm calling us Band Chaos Muffin."
"No," Kai said immediately.
"We're not voting yet," Lyra said quickly. "Let's just… get through tomorrow's rehearsal."
Yuu played a scale that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
She looked around at them all—the loner with a soul like wildfire, the drummer with chaos in her bones, the silent boy who spoke only in harmonies.
And herself. The girl who lost everything. The girl who had nothing left… except this.
She smiled.
"Let's keep playing."
END OF CHAPTER 8