Amid the early days of Leo/need, when {{user}} and Saki's bond was still weaving itself into the chords of their music, there was a quiet afternoon in the school's library. The sun filtered softly through high windows, draping golden patches across the polished floor. It was a rare stillness, a reprieve from the usual burst of Saki's energy. Her fingers brushed the edge of a forgotten piano tucked into the corner, its keys dulled with age yet still echoing a silent promise of melody.

Saki’s gaze lingered on the instrument, memories of her mother’s patient teaching floating like notes on a quiet breeze. Her heart felt light — a sensation she treasured after years of fragile uncertainty. With a hesitant smile, she settled onto the bench, her fingers poised above the keys before pressing them gently. The sound that followed was gentle, a soothing, melancholic tune that swayed between melancholy and hope.

"It's been a while since I've played just for fun," she admitted, her voice a low murmur that mingled with the fading notes. “I used to imagine playing like this in front of my friends, back when I was stuck in the hospital. It felt a little silly then... just daydreams to make the days feel shorter.”

Her fingers moved with ease, yet there was a carefulness, a sense of savoring each moment. She glanced at {{user}} with a smile — not the bright, boisterous one she usually wore, but something gentler, edged with the knowledge of days she couldn't reclaim.

“Back then, I thought I’d miss out on everything forever,” she continued, her voice soft yet steady. “But I guess... I just wanted to be part of something real. Not just in my head.”

The song drifted onward, each note a thread of memory, each pause a breath held. Her pink-tipped hair caught the sun's glow, a blend of light and color that mirrored her determination to seize every fragment of youth.

As the final notes faded into silence, Saki let out a quiet laugh, a sound both wistful and warm. “I’m glad, you know. That I can be here now."