Prologue

The evening wind carried a chill I barely noticed anymore.

I leaned over the guardrail of the school's roof, only about a few hundred meters away from the gray sea beyond the campus. The water mirrored the sky, a monochrome canvas stretching out to the horizon, the same way it always had and always would.

My fingers gripped the cold metal railing as I stared down at the concrete courtyard six floors below.

Would it hurt? Or would everything simply... stop?

I'd calculated the physics. Terminal velocity. Impact force. The human body's breaking point. I'd researched it all methodically, like solving one of those logic puzzles my middle school teachers said I had a knack for.

It would work. I was sure of it.

I would simply cease to exist.

No more pain. No more fear. No more pretending to be a person. No more being a person.

I checked my watch. 6:45 PM. No one stayed at school this late except the occasional faculty member finishing paperwork. No witnesses meant no one to stop me. Perfect timing.

I closed my eyes and loosened my grip on the railing.

A few more seconds, and it would be over.

I took a deep breath, preparing to let go.

But something stopped me—the faintest hint of a sound.

A girl's voice, singing in a language I didn't understand.

The melody floated through the evening air—haunting, powerful, achingly beautiful. It didn't come from the rooftop but somewhere below, perhaps from one of the music rooms whose windows faced the courtyard.

Sotto un cielo senza nome,

una voce cerca ancora,

tra le onde che non tornano,

una stella che non guarda.

Who was she?

Why was she here?

Why did her voice sound like the world was dying, just like me?

I couldn't understand the words. I didn't even know what language she could possibly be speaking. And yet, though I couldn't understand the words, the feeling behind them transcended language.

Loneliness. Longing. A heart breaking with a beauty that hurt to hear.

I knew those feelings. They had been my only companions for longer than I cared to remember.

Without conscious thought, my fingers released the railing. I stepped back from the edge, drawn toward the voice like a compass finding north. My plan, my resolve, momentarily forgotten. All that mattered was living, if even for a microinstant, to hear that voice. To hear her.

I sat down, back against the rooftop wall, and simply listened.

The melody continued, rising toward some crescendo I couldn't predict but felt building in my own chest. When it finally peaked, the power in her voice sent shivers across my skin. Then came the descent—gentle, almost fragile, as if spent from the emotional escapade.

And then silence.

I waited, barely breathing, hoping for more. But only the evening wind answered, carrying the scent of Yokohama's sea salt and the promise of winter.

That night, I returned home.

The next day, I returned to school.

And the day after that, I found myself on the rooftop again. To listen. To wait. For three days, I heard nothing. The music room below remained silent, and with each passing day, the darkness crept back into the corners of my mind.

On the fourth day, I made a decision: if the voice didn't return, neither would I.

I prepared everything. I prayed to Mom. I paid my share of rent in advance. I bought a new pack of Dad's favorite cigarettes and left them by his bedside. I turned in Fujimiya-sensei's career prospect homework. I returned every library book I'd ever borrowed. I emailed Akise and told him I'd be absent tomorrow. I wrote a note in my drawer.

I made sure everyone would be fine without me.

But as I stood on the rooftop, gazing down at the courtyard, I heard it again.

Se mi senti, non rispondere.

Lascia che la notte dica il resto.

Io non guardo, ma ti sento—

come pioggia sopra vetro rotto.

That same voice, singing a different song but carrying the same weight of a world that could never understand her.

Another day. Just one more day.

I sat against the wall, closed my eyes, and let her voice wrap around me like a blanket. It kept the darkness at bay. It numbed the loneliness.

I didn't have to understand the lyrics to know she sang to the same emptiness I saw every night in the mirror.

The same void I stared into from the rooftop's edge.

I made a decision that night.

Every time I found myself standing here, toes hanging over the abyss, I would listen first. If she sang, if her music reached me, I would stay.

Just one more. That’s all I asked of myself.

And so, I listened.

And waited.

And lived. One more day. One more day. One more day.

For a month, I kept that promise, clinging to the fraying edge of sanity with every breath.

Her voice didn't come every day. Sometimes, I waited hours for a single note. Sometimes, there was nothing but silence, and still I stayed. Because even silence hurt less than the sound of nothingness inside me.

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t know if she would ever notice me.

But I knew one thing with unbearable certainty.

I have to find that voice.

Even if these feelings will never reach her.