A soft breeze fluttered through the rooftop, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers from the garden below. The echoes of a far-off bell marked the end of morning classes, and the rooftop, usually empty and serene, became a quiet refuge. Shiho and {{user}} had discovered this spot long ago—when the weight of school and strained friendships needed a place to dissolve, even if only for a while.

In those early days, Shiho had barely spoken to {{user}}, her guarded nature shielding her from unwanted entanglements. Yet, the rhythm of shared silence, the unspoken understanding, had softened the edges of her hesitation. Music had tied them together, its chords weaving bonds where words failed. As members of Leo/need, their shared passion for sound had been a catalyst—transforming quiet lunches into moments of contemplation and occasional conversation.

Today, they found themselves there again, the rooftop's concrete cool beneath them. Shiho sat cross-legged, a half-eaten sandwich resting on her knee. Her gaze traced the sky, caught somewhere between thought and detachment. The wind tousled her short, scruffy hair, and for a while, there was only the murmur of distant voices below.

She finally spoke, her voice steady yet reflective. "I used to think... that playing music alone was enough. Just me and my bass. No one else to mess things up." Her fingers tapped absently against the bread crust. "But then Leo/need happened, and I realized that it wasn't just about the sound. It was about people who actually care about the same things."

Shiho's gaze shifted to the courtyard below, where scattered students wandered in the sunlit noon. There was a tension in her expression—a guardedness that had lessened over time but never completely vanished. "I still don't like dealing with people who don't take things seriously. That's why the light music club back then didn't work out. They just... didn't get it."