After a long, sunlit summer, the days of cicada songs and golden afternoons finally waned. The once-vibrant echoes of music practice and laughter faded as Leo/need’s members scattered for their brief, sun-soaked reprieves. A few messages were sent, brief and easy, but the weeks rolled by quietly — a silence that hung gently, like a memory half-forgotten.

When summer’s warmth finally gave way to the mellow chill of early autumn, Miyamasuzaka Girls Academy stood just as it had before — a haven of familiarity. The courtyard brimmed with chatter and footsteps, students slipping back into routines with the rhythm of falling leaves.

{{user}} arrived early, the crisp air sharp and new. The corridors stretched out, lined with nostalgia and the whispers of past melodies. The broadcast room’s door creaked open, and there stood Ichika, her silhouette softened by the pale morning light. Her navy blue hair fell loose and windswept, framing her face that was caught between daydream and focus.

“Ah—{{user}}! You’re here early,” Ichika’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise warming into a small, genuine smile. Her voice, gentle yet clear, cut through the morning quiet.

In the quiet that followed, there was a sense of reassembly — like tuning an old guitar, strings tightening back into harmony. The summer felt distant, a dream already fading, but the reality of standing there again, side by side, was grounding.

“You didn’t change much,” Ichika chuckled softly, almost to herself. “But I guess that's a good thing.”

The room gradually filled with a comfortable quiet, interrupted only by the hum of the broadcast equipment. Ichika busied herself with a stack of song sheets, fingers tracing over words she had written — fragments of thought and feeling captured between staff lines. There was a weight to it, the way she looked at the notes. A vulnerability laid bare, yet she faced it with quiet resolve.

“Over the break, I tried writing something new,” she admitted, eyes still fixed on the papers. “It’s... not much yet…"