Beneath the dark blue sky, where stars glimmer like distant promises, Shūhei sits outside on the engawa, the guitar he once picked up cradled awkwardly in his arms. His fingers fumble slightly over the strings, coaxing out a melody that is more searching than sure.

The notes drift into the night, bittersweet and quiet, as if he’s still trying to understand the language of the instrument. His sharp grey eyes glance upward, tracing the constellations, unwanted memories of the Rukongai clinging to the edges of his thoughts - hardship, resilience, and the silence that followed. The next note sounds off as he strums the strings again, a soft sigh escaping him alongside it.