The Finals

I never thought we'd make it all the way to the finals.

Back when I first met Lunari, something like this never even crossed my mind in my wildest dreams. The old saying really is true: you never know where life will take you.

Hearing the songs I'd written get praised felt so unreal it was like watching someone else's life through a screen. Maybe it was just because Yu Nari sang them so well. Either way, I could say selling those songs had been the right call.

"Ugh, this is going to be a lot of pressure."

With the finals about to begin, the viewer count climbed in real time. On one side stood Sion, one of Link's most renowned singing Virtual Streamers. On the other, Lunari — a no-name VTuber who, before this tournament, had been so obscure even ego-searching herself would have turned up nothing.

A classic powerhouse versus a dark horse. The matchup had people's expectations climbing toward a fever pitch.

Public opinion was tilting hard toward a Sion victory. She'd already been popular as a singing powerhouse — call her a vocal queen or whatever you liked — and the overwhelming performance she'd put on in the semifinals had set fire to people's hearts. If someone asked me to pick a winner, I'd probably choose Sion myself.

In a competition finals, stages that tear the audience's soul out with stratospheric high notes or explosive tracks have always held the advantage. Because you only get one listen, easy listening and subtlety go out the window — the most stimulating song is the one that sticks in your ear.

And on that front, Lunari was…

"Hmm."

She wasn't a flashy type to begin with, and she'd gone and chosen a song that sat in perfect opposition to every formula for winning a contest. My first song. The melody I'd written at my most unskilled, the song I'd poured out at my darkest.

Of all places, on the brightest stage of the finals, she'd dug in her heels and insisted on singing this gloomy track. Why go that far? I couldn't begin to understand it — but I was still rooting for Lunari.

At the MC's cue, Lunari appeared on screen. The cute wolf onesie she'd been wearing earlier was gone; she was back in her default avatar. The same flat little model from the day I first met her.

She'd already slipped into character; her voice had gone calm and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠steady almost at once. The screen faded to black, and the sound dropped away.

Ding—

It began with a single piano note. Not struck hard — a soft, faintly vibrating tone that spread gently through the silence. Just as that delicate sound was about to fade, a lower note answered it with a deep ding—. Low, heavy piano notes linked together, dark upon dark.

And then—

"…Huh?"

Over the blacked-out broadcast screen, a video I'd never seen before began to play. A simple animated illustration. On screen, the back of a girl curled up in a narrow, dark room. The only light was the square glow of a monitor illuminating her face.

It looked far too much like my own back — the one that used to stay buried in the corner of a room. The only difference, if you could call it that, was that the girl in the illustration wore cat-ear headphones.

Soon a lonely acoustic guitar melody drifted in, and Lunari's first line spilled out.

Dark, sharp, and fragile. A delivery that mixed breath into every note as if it might shatter at any second — it maximized the loneliness of the girl in front of the monitor.

What I'd poured into those lyrics was… resignation, escape, and fear. That was what I'd meant.

Strange. Something was different. Why?

The illustration on screen shifted in a rush. The curled-up girl lifted her head toward the monitor, and countless stars pouring out from within it filled the darkened room with dazzling light.

The girl took hold of a microphone. Inside a narrow sound booth, she began to sing.

Paired with the video, it became something else entirely. Yeah — this sounded like the desperate longing of a streamer waiting for her fans beyond the monitor.

Even as the song crossed the midpoint and drove toward its second half, the melody never brightened. Nothing but a continuous, lonely accompaniment that seemed to deny hope any place at all. And yet Lunari's vocal, poured out with pure sincerity, shoved that merciless melancholy aside. That authenticity painted brilliant hope over the song.

And at last, the final stretch. The farewell steeped in bitter resignation was coming.

"Ah."

It's fine, even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if this is all. Breathing here is enough. Good night.

That bitter ending I'd written felt so painfully incomplete. It didn't suit a girl who had only just begun to shine, did it?

The accompaniment thinned, and the end of the song drew near. At the same moment, the girl in the illustration turned her face toward the far side of the monitor and smiled, faintly.

Then Lunari's hand stretched out toward someone beyond the monitor.

A cello's final melody lingered long in the air, and the video closed on Lunari smiling brightly as she stepped into the monitor.

And then—

"The lyrics…"

The lyrics had changed.

Had I begged heaven and earth to rewrite the words I'd written years ago, and had the gods actually answered? Of course not. Yu Nari had rewritten them.

My mind went blank. The way she'd treated my song, the intention behind it — they crashed over me as a tangled flood of emotion. Before my eyes played the image of a girl reaching out to take the hand of the me from six years ago, the one who'd first shut himself in a room.

A soft, swelling warmth I hadn't felt in far too long. I realized it was gratitude. She didn't know the full details of my situation, but this had to be her way of sending comfort. An intention only I, the original songwriter, could even guess at.

And to everyone else, the song would have felt like a confession — the bittersweet heart of a streamer waiting for her viewers from inside a room.

A bitter, dark melody with Lunari's calm, honest vocal laid over it — it truly felt like singing hope, light cutting into the dark. Had she calculated even that? If so, it might give me chills.

Either way, no matter how this contest ended, nothing would hit me harder than this stage.

Ding!

She couldn't even play it cool — a message from Lunari arrived before long. Hmm. What should I say? I thought about asking this and that, then decided against it. I didn't want to damage the feeling this song had given me tonight. So I kept my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reply short.

Before the deep, heavy afterglow of Lunari's stage had even begun to fade, the stage lights came up again and the long-awaited second act began.

After a brief greeting, Sion's stage began. She, too, had prepared for the finals with everything she had. Unlike her previous performances that had leaned on a backing track, a full live band session was set up behind her.

A fierce drum beat and flashy electric guitar tore mercilessly into the thick silence Lunari had left behind, and Sion began to seize the stage like a diva standing at the center of a massive concert hall.

She fired off three-tier high notes that didn't even exist in the original, blasting ultra-high pitches as if she meant to punch a hole through the studio roof. Overwhelming vocal power that seemed to test the limits of the human voice. Completely different from Lunari's stage — raw, explosive adrenaline, burning hot.

In a way, it was the stage that fit a tournament finale most perfectly of all. In the chat and across the communities, the reactions mostly reveled in that spectacular finish.

As the finishing touch, Sion closed the song with a spine-tingling whistle tone that called a dolphin to mind. After a destructive stage that could have jump-started a dead man's heart, the ball passed to the judges and the viewers.

The live chat flooded with cheers for Sion's performance, looking for all the world like a preview of the result.

But the judges' silence stretched on for quite ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a while — and the viewers shared that same hesitation. Even in the communities where people had been dumping raw reactions, opinions began to split.

The shy Lunari fans — the ones who'd kept quiet for fear of being labeled tone-deaf if they chose her over the vocally complete Sion — were finally lifting their heads.