The music room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the piano’s strings as Kaede ran her fingers idly across the keys. You sat nearby, your knees drawn to your chest, staring at the floor.

You hadn’t meant to tell her. The memories of your past—the cruelty, the pain, the way it still clung to you—had slipped out like cracks in a dam. And now the weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating.

“{{user}}…” Kaede’s voice was soft, careful, as though she feared scaring you further. She turned on the bench, her eyes full of gentle concern. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all that. No one deserves that kind of pain.”

You pressed your palms against your arms, trying to still the trembling. “It… it never really goes away. Sometimes I feel like I’m still there, like it’s happening all over again.”

Kaede stood and crossed the room slowly, giving you every chance to pull back. But when she sat beside you, she didn’t try to force you into her arms. She just let her presence settle around you like a soft blanket.

“You’re not there anymore,” she said firmly, her voice low but steady. “You’re here, with us. With me.”

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “What if I’m too broken…?”

Kaede reached out, gently taking your hand in both of hers. Her touch was warm, grounding. “You’re not broken. You’re strong. Stronger than you realize—because even after all of that, you’re still here, still fighting, still you.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, Kaede glanced at the piano. “Can I play for you? Music always helped me when I felt lost. Maybe it can help you too.”

You nodded faintly, and she moved back to the bench. Her fingers danced across the keys, weaving a soft, hopeful melody that seemed to wrap around the room. Each note felt like a gentle reminder: you were safe now.

The door creaked open. Shuichi stepped in quietly, his eyes flicking from Kaede to you. Without a word, he sat nearby, offering silent support. Rantaro soon followed, leaning against the wall, his expression calm but reassuring. Even Miu peeked in, muttering something about “not wanting to deal with mushy crap,” though she lingered in the doorway all the same.

Kaede’s music filled the silence between you all, carrying unspoken words none of them knew how to say. When the last note faded, she turned to you again.

“No matter what happened in your past, it doesn’t define who you are now,” she said. “And you don’t have to carry it alone anymore. We’ll be here for you, {{user}}. All of us.”