As dawn broke, Haruka found herself enveloped in memories of Shizuku more than ever. The silver necklace hung from her neck, a tangible reminder of Yui's kindness and her own promise to her sister.
But today felt different. Her chest tightened, as if her heart were being compressed under the weight of unspoken guilt—the weight of Shizuku's wish.
She touched the keys, hoping to find solace in the sound, but all that emerged was a discordant note, harsh and abrupt, clashing with the delicate melody from the day before.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. She blinked and looked down at the screen. It was Koji, the producer.
She wanted to tell him she would accept his proposal, but he spoke first, covering her voice. "Haruka," he said, his tone shifting from casual to urgent. He had dropped the pretence of calling her Shizuku, something he only did in private. "I need you to come by the studio. We need to discuss something about the next project."
She sighed. There was no escape from the cycle—work, composition, studio, repeat. She wondered if this was how Shizuku would have lived, had she survived. Would she have found joy in this, or would the dream have soured for her as it had for Haruka?
Haruka slipped into a jacket, grabbed her bag, and headed out. As she walked through the crowded streets, weaving between people who seemed to be heading toward their own dreams, a deep sense of isolation tugged at her.
It wasn't long before she reached the studio. Stepping inside, she was greeted by the usual noise—staff chatting, producers moving between rooms, idols practicing their routines. The controlled chaos was comforting in a way; it distracted her from the thoughts swirling in her mind.
Koji met her near the sound booth, a concerned look in his eyes. "There's been an issue," he said, leading her toward one of the smaller, more private recording rooms. "It's not something I wanted to discuss over the phone."
Haruka followed, her brow furrowing. "What's going on?"
He paused at the door, glancing around to make sure they were alone before he gestured for her to sit. "We've had a problem with one of the demos."
"Which one?" she asked, her heart beginning to race.
"The new one you just finished for Aqua Notes. One of the execs noticed something...familiar about the melody." Koji adjusted his glasses, clearly uncomfortable.
"Familiar how?" Haruka's voice was steady, but inside, her stomach was twisting.
"They think it resembles an old demo we scrapped years ago. From before you officially joined Aqua Notes." He looked at her, his eyes sharp. "Specifically, something Shizuku composed."
For a moment, the air seemed to freeze between them. Haruka's pulse thundered in her ears.
Shizuku's music. Of course. How could she have been so careless?
She had spent so much time trying to keep her sister's legacy alive through her own work that it was inevitable the lines would blur. And now, she was being called out for it. Her chest tightened as the weight of her deception grew heavier.
Koji sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I know this is difficult for you. But they're asking questions. They want to know why your work seems to echo pieces that never saw the light of day."
Haruka clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "It's just a coincidence," she lied, though her voice wavered slightly. "I've spent years studying music, and sometimes melodies get stuck in your head. It's not like I copied anything intentionally."
Koji's expression softened. "Haruka, I'm not accusing you of anything. But the execs are getting suspicious. If they dig too deep, they might find out about—"
"About Shizuku," she finished for him. The name felt like a bitter pill in her mouth.
Koji nodded slowly. "You've worked hard to build your career under her name, and I respect that. But if the truth comes out that you've been passing off her unfinished work as your own..."
"I haven't," Haruka interrupted, though the guilt in her voice was undeniable. "I would never do that. It's just...sometimes the lines blur, and I can't tell where her music ends and mine begins."
Koji sighed deeply, his gaze softening. "I know you've been carrying this for a long time, Haruka. But you need to be careful. If anyone finds out, it could destroy everything you've worked for."
Haruka stared at the floor, her heart aching. She knew Koji was right. She had built her career on a lie—on the name Shizuku, on the legacy of her sister's dreams. And now, the past was catching up with her.
After a long silence, she looked up at him. "What do you want me to do?"
Koji frowned thoughtfully. "We can make a few adjustments to the song, tweak it enough so that it's no longer recognizable. But going forward, Haruka... you need to be honest with yourself. Are you composing because you love it, or are you still trying to fulfil a promise that's breaking you?"
Haruka's breath caught in her throat. She had never considered that possibility. All this time, she thought she was doing it for Shizuku, honouring her memory. But was it really what she wanted? Or had she trapped herself in a cycle of guilt and obligation?
"I..." Her voice faltered. She didn't know the answer. All she knew was that her heart was heavy, weighed down by the expectations of a ghost.
Koji's voice was gentle as he spoke again. "You've already proven yourself as a composer. But maybe it's time to let go of the past. You're not Shizuku, and you don't have to live for her anymore."
Haruka flinched. Let go of Shizuku? The idea seemed unthinkable. How could she just let go of the person who had given her everything?
Koji stood, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Think about it. I'll handle the execs for now, but this won't go away. Sooner or later, you'll have to face it."
As Koji left the room, Haruka remained seated, staring at the piano in front of her. Her reflection in its glossy surface looked back at her—a woman torn between two lives, two identities.
For so long, she had believed she was honouring Shizuku's dream. But now, she wondered if she was simply hiding behind it.
The guilt gnawed at her, relentless and unforgiving. Could she ever truly separate herself from Shizuku's shadow? Or was she destined to live forever as a fractured reflection of her sister?
The answer, she realized, would determine the course of the rest of her life.