The jam session had started as a spontaneous burst of sound, the kind born not from polished practice, but from feeling. Lyra stood in the middle of their circular practice room, voice weaving through the rhythm like silk drifting in the wind. Rin sat on her drum kit with her usual intensity, sweat dotting her brow but her focus razor-sharp. Kai's guitar roared and whispered with duality, while Yuu, half-lost in his own cosmos, pulled surreal harmonies from the synthesizer that glowed with soft pastel lights.
They weren't performing for a crowd. There were no lights, no applause, no pressure. It was raw and unfiltered — music made for the sake of expression, for the sheer thrill of resonance. VIVA hovered silently in the corner, letting them explore without correction. The Harmony Score meter was off, intentionally so.
Lyra was in the middle of experimenting with a lyrical variation when something pricked at her senses. A slight ripple in the air — not sound, not light, but presence. Her voice caught for a half-second, just enough to make Kai glance at her. But she continued, flowing into the next verse, her voice brushing with more vulnerability, more intention.
When the session ended, the silence that followed wasn't empty. It was filled with breathless satisfaction — a rare kind of quiet, the kind only earned through a soul-deep performance. Lyra was the first to smile, brushing back a lock of damp hair from her cheek.
"That… felt different," Rin whispered, legs bouncing on the edge of her stool.
"Yeah," Kai said, carefully putting his guitar back on its stand. "It didn't suck."
"Compliment registered," VIVA noted dryly, floating into their circle again. But before it could say more, the door creaked open.
All of them turned.
A woman stood in the entrance, poised and shadowed by the faint glow of the hallway behind her. She wore a long, flowing coat that shimmered like piano lacquer, her heels clicking gently against the marble as she stepped into the room. Her hair was a shade of midnight, streaked with violet and pulled into a high twist. Silver-rimmed glasses framed sharp lavender eyes.
"Don't stop on my account," she said, her voice smooth like a cello line. "I was just beginning to enjoy myself."
Lyra blinked. "I—I'm sorry, we didn't know anyone was—"
"You wouldn't have. I didn't announce myself. That's kind of the point." The woman's lips curved slightly. "I'm Professor Cadence. I'm one of the roaming evaluators. Surprise assessments — to see students in their natural element."
Yuu straightened instinctively. Rin looked suddenly terrified, gripping her drumsticks like weapons. Kai didn't move, but his eyes sharpened in silent appraisal. Only Lyra took a half-step forward, unconsciously placing herself between her bandmates and the newcomer.
Professor Cadence's gaze slid over each of them like a measuring rod, pausing slightly longer on Lyra.
"You didn't perform for praise," she said. "You didn't posture, or try to impress. You weren't even aware of being watched. That's rare."
"We weren't trying to be graded," Rin muttered. "We were just… playing."
"And that's precisely why it worked." She flicked a wrist, and a holographic display emerged from a slim, silver disc on her glove. A crystalline interface — the official Music Point tracking system.
"Per the rules of spontaneous evaluation," Cadence continued, "you are eligible for bonus MP. This only applies when originality, emotional resonance, and cohesion meet a high enough threshold."
The score calculated in front of them, and VIVA's voice hummed in surprise.
"Whoa. We've been scanned at 50 MP. Bonus awarded."
"Fifty?" Kai blinked. "From just… that?"
"It was unpolished," Cadence admitted. "But it was honest. And in my experience, audiences — real ones, not just professors — respond to honesty."
Rin's mouth fell open. "So we're actually… good?"
Cadence smiled. "You're raw. But good? Yes. And getting better." She turned to leave, then paused, half-turned. "I'll be watching. Unofficially, of course."
And with that, she was gone — like a note fading into silence, leaving behind only the echo.
The door clicked shut.
Yuu let out a quiet breath. Rin flopped backwards on the floor in disbelief, arms flung wide like a starfish. Kai sat back down, as if needing to process the whiplash of being judged and praised in the same breath.
Lyra looked around at her band, at their stunned, hopeful faces, and felt something inside her bloom. Not relief. Not triumph. Something deeper.
"Guys," she whispered, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "We just earned 50 MP... by being ourselves."
VIVA bobbed above her shoulder, voice warm. "A valuable lesson: authenticity isn't a weakness — it's your strongest song."
For the first time, Lyra felt it was true. Her voice, her choices, her heart — they were seen. Not as a mistake. Not as a threat. But as music worth hearing.
And for the first time in a long time… she was truly proud to be Lyra.
END OF CHAPTER 17