Beep. Beep. Beep.

After ending the call with Hojo, Alan locked his car, went upstairs, and once everything was settled, dialed another number.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered. "This is Kaguya. Who’s calling, please?"

"Miss Kaguya," Alan said. "It’s Alan."

There was a two-second pause. Then excitement burst through the line, quickly reined in.

"A-sensei?"

When Alan had first debuted, he’d used the pen name "Friend A" to maintain anonymity. Kaguya knew his real name, but out of professional respect, she still called him A-sensei.

Alan had always found it awkward.

"It’s me," he said.

"I heard from Akari Hojo that there’s still some unfinished copyright business on my end."

"Eh?"

The firm confirmation he expected didn’t come.

"No, A-sensei," Kaguya replied, surprised. "Your old contract is fine. I was calling about the copyright for your two newest songs."

"My newest songs?"

"Yes. ’Sorrow Wings’ and ’Snow Flower.’"

Alan fell silent.

Those were the songs he’d included in the breakup letter to Hojo. Wracked with guilt, he’d written that she could have full lyric and composition rights.

Apparently, she hadn’t accepted the gift so simply.

"...Did Miss Akari mention any of this to you?" Kaguya asked hesitantly.

Alan said nothing.

If Hojo had refused the songs, why route him through Kaguya instead?

After a moment, he asked, "What exactly did Akari Hojo tell you? Did she say she wanted to perform them?"

The question caught Kaguya off guard. "Aren’t those songs meant for Miss Akari alone?"

"When she showed them to you," Alan clarified, "what did she say?"

Though puzzled by his tone, Kaguya switched into professional mode, replaying the conversation in her mind.

"She said something like, ’As long as the agency holds the rights, I can perform these at the concert.’"

"I see."

"About the contract, A-sensei—"

"I’ll come by your office tomorrow morning," Alan said. "We’ll settle it then."

"Understood. One more thing... Miss Akari mentioned you’re not planning to write more songs. Is that true?"

"More or less."

"Ah..."

Kaguya dragged out the sound thoughtfully. After a pause, she said, "Would you let us use that angle?"

"Use it how?"

"Miss Akari’s concert is coming up. She’s always sung your work. If we bill it as your farewell piece, the publicity could be enormous. It would benefit both of you..."

***

In a classroom somewhere else, Nozomi Sakura was doing what she’d done more often than almost anything else in her life.

She was drifting off.

Her senses blurred. The teacher’s voice slowly transformed into something distant, like a lullaby her mother used to hum when she was small.

Her eyelids slid shut without permission. Her head bobbed in time with the teacher’s hand movements, repetitive, meaningless. The tip of her ballpoint pen smeared a small black cloud across the page.

The classroom felt like one vast, ritualistic lullaby.

For Nozomi, lectures had that effect. It wasn’t just the words; it was the cramped but quiet space, the steady monotone of the teacher, the strange sense of safety.

Sleep washed over her like a rising tide.