The stage was quiet.
Too quiet.
Every other band that had performed before Soul Sync had brought with them a burst of confidence, pre-recorded effects, and thunderous beats meant to rattle the bones of the audience into submission. Pyrotechnics. Light shows. Perfect hair.
Soul Sync brought none of that.
Lyra stepped into the center under the open-glass dome where stars shimmered like a living sky. The mic in her hand trembled once—then steadied. Her boots echoed against the glowing panels beneath her, each step leaving a ripple of soft light. The silence wasn't an absence. It was a breath held by an entire audience, waiting for what would come next.
Behind her, Kai adjusted his guitar strap with practiced ease, but his eyes were fixed on Lyra. Rin gave a tiny nod from her drum set, a pair of drumsticks balanced across her knees like a swordswoman waiting for the call. Yuu stood still at his synth, fingers hovering, posture elegant, focused. A quiet tension linked them all.
Lyra inhaled.
The lights dimmed.
Then her voice—soft, raw, aching—sliced through the stillness.
No words. Just a humming note, fragile and warm, like the tremble of glass after the bell has stopped ringing. It slipped under the audience's skin before they could stop it, resonating in chests, behind eyes, in memories long buried.
Then the synth kicked in—Yuu's touch painting an ambient swell that wrapped around her voice like mist curling through moonlight. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Kai's guitar entered next—slow, deliberate strums. Every note lingered just long enough to taste. He wasn't playing fast or flashy. He was listening to her voice. Answering it.
And Rin—Rin waited until the first verse was halfway done, and then she struck. A heartbeat. One, then another, perfectly timed to Lyra's breath. The world began to pulse with them.
Lyra opened her eyes.
"You said I'd vanish without your name,But I found echoes where the silence came.In every tremble, every break,I built a melody from the ache…"
Her voice rose, stronger with each line, and the stage responded.
Panels of light flared outward in response to her tone—not programmed, not triggered by tech, but reactive. Emotional. Alive. The domed ceiling reflected not just the song but the soul of it—memories projected in soft bursts: her classroom, her betrayal, her escape, her rebirth. But the most powerful images were now. Here. Her band. Their faces. Their music.
"Echoes carry farther than screams,I stitched myself from shattered dreams.You buried me, said I'd forget—But I became a song you can't regret."
The chorus hit, and the full band joined her.
Kai's guitar solo was fire tempered by sorrow. Rin's drumming fused heartbeat with thunder. Yuu's synth flared like stardust. But it was Lyra who held the gravity, the axis upon which they turned. She wasn't just singing anymore—she was releasing.
Tears streamed down cheeks in the crowd. Professors sat upright. Some placed hands over hearts, others closed their eyes and simply listened.
Up in the tower booth, one of the Resonance Judges leaned forward. "This... this is an emotional resonance spike."
His colleague nodded, awestruck. "Real-time reaction scoring. Look at that waveform."
Below, VIVA projected a thin line of glowing numbers across the stage, unreadable to the audience but clear to Soul Sync.
Emotional Resonance Score: 87.3
It was unheard of for a first original.
It didn't matter that their technique wasn't perfect. Or that they lacked choreography. The audience wasn't watching a performance—they were witnessing healing. A girl who had been broken singing her truth, and others choosing to sing with her.
As the final note lingered and Lyra's voice faded into a soft hum again, the stage pulsed once, then dimmed.
Silence fell again. But this time, it wasn't waiting. It was stunned.
Then the applause came.
It started with one clap. Then two. Then a thunderclap of cheers. Students and teachers rose to their feet. Some cried openly. Some shouted her name. Someone near the back called out, "Encore!" and the rest picked it up.
Lyra lowered the mic slowly. Her chest heaved, her hair clung to her skin, her hands were trembling.
Then she looked back—and saw her band.
Kai gave her the smallest, proudest nod.
Rin beamed, full-on tiger grin, fists pumping.
Yuu smiled. A rare, beautiful curve of the lips.
Lyra laughed through her tears. She didn't need an encore.
She already had everything she ever needed.
END OF CHAPTER 21