Chapter 3: Reflection

The sun rises behind frosted windows. Dence stands under warm running water, eyes closed, letting the heat soak into his tired skin. Ten minutes of peace before the day's noise begins.

He dries off, slips into his white long sleeves and black semi-fit slacks without wearing his fashion eyeglasses. The morning rush begins. He preps for his kids' breakfast. Wakes them up. Brushes his daughter's hair while heating inside the microwave a small cup of milk. A quick laugh, a tiny spill, a "Hurry up!" from the hallway.

By 7:38 AM, they're out the door. Dence kisses his youngest on the forehead before she runs with her kuya (eldest brother) and join the other elementary students going to school.　He walks briskly along with his black bicycle to the nearest konbini for breakfast ― egg sandwich and hot canned black coffee, before going to his workplace somewhere in Shinshiro City.

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The train ride to Shinshiro hums in stillness.
Dence leans against the window, watching the mountains roll past like fading dreams. His earphones hum softly — not with music, but with the rhythm of a melody still taking shape.

He flips open his weathered Bible and scans a verse: Matthew 5:16. A faint smile. A quiet breath. Light, even in silence.

But his mind drifts to Bistro Filipino.
The gig.
The whisper that followed.
The chase.
The cryptic message that still loops like a haunting refrain.

「間もなく野田城！野田城です！」
("We’re arriving shortly at Nodajō! Nodajō!")

Like clockwork, students, factory workers, and commuters rise from their seats. They gather at the doors, tense and ready — as if awaiting the crack of a starter pistol.

Nodajō Station. One of Shinshiro’s busiest terminals. Yet, the moment you step outside, you’re greeted by countryside calm — a soft breeze, the earthy scent of farmland lingering in the morning air.

For Dence, this is routine.
A ten-minute walk to the office.
Punch in.
Dust off his desk.
Face the screen.
And start the long, unspoken war of another day.

At work, he’s someone else.
Polite. Efficient. Quiet.
Lunch is always a table for one.
The laughter of coworkers passes through him like wind through leaves.
But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t chase it.

He’s not here for applause.
Only for what’s fair.
And maybe, if the day allows, to keep humming that melody —
The one that still believes in light.

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Evening falls.

On the ride back to Toyohashi, fatigue hits.
He debates whether to busk tonight... but decides against it. He's too tired, and it's cold. Instead, he stops by Family Mart, right outside the Toyohashi Station, along with his black bicycle. The same convenience store he's passed a hundred times.

He picks up Famichiki (Family Mart's juicy fried chicken). A quiet meal. A pause outside the store. He took his place on the wooden bench, Bible in hand. As his eyes traced the verses again, something stirred―that's when he noticed something... off.

A cracked side mirror of the black bicycle.
A strange shimmer runs through it.
He moves closer.
His reflection is... different.

His tired face flickers ― replaced by something sharper, stronger. Him, but more alive. Like the version of himself he dreamed of becoming. He blinks. It's gone.
Behind him, a voice whispers ― not aloud, but inside:
"The chord hasn't been played yet."

Dence turns around. Nothing. Just a bench with his old Holy Bible on it and a konbini staff sweeping at the corner.

He checks the mirror again. Normal. Just his tired self now.
He brushed off the strange stuffs, mounted his bike, and hummed a quiet tune on his way home. His right hand clenched the handlebar, steady and tense. With his left, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something he'd nearly forgotten ― a note from the surreal encounter with the small blue elephant. It glowed softly in the dark:

"Find Sam. She knows the next chord."

He turned it over. On the back, etched in fading light, was a single symbol ― ”＃”.

(To be continued...)
(Next: The Chord That Cracked The Silence)