Vol 1 Chapter 19 – Rikka【Vol 1 – Turning Point】

Days of practice and study flew by joyfully, and before I knew it, three days had passed. My pronunciation of Malum Diva’s Latin was now flawless. I could finally pour genuine emotion into the song. At this point, even listening to a recording wouldn’t embarrass me.

So, we recorded a full take as a progress check.

“Alright! Wanna take this to Ryu-kun’s place?”
Min-san phrased it as a choice, though my answer was obvious.

“Yes! I’d love to go!”
After all, Ryu-san was the one who composed this song for me. His words were rough, but his actions were kind. I’d grown fond of him.

“Let me check if they’re free!”
Min-san made a call.

“Hello, Rikka Tachibana? It’s Min… Can we come over? Yeah! I’m bringing Rin-kun too! We’ll bring the Malum Diva recording! Got it! See you soon!”

I couldn’t hear Ryu-san’s voice through the phone, but Min-san’s replies made it clear we were welcome. And…

“Is Ryu-san’s real name… Tachibana?”
I asked Min-san after she hung up.

“Yep! The kanji for ‘Tachibana’ can be read as ‘Ryu’! Hence the alias!”

Ryu-san’s voice was androgynous, and their real name, Rikka Tachibana, was equally gender-neutral. My confusion about Ryu-san’s gender only deepened.

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

We rang the intercom and waited.

Rikka’s house was a standalone home two train stops away—surprisingly close.

My heart thudded. Ryu-san’s blunt tone might intimidate me, but I wanted to thank them for the song. Steeling myself, I took a deep breath.

The door clicked open.

“P-p-p-please… c-come in…”

All my resolve shattered instantly.

Rikka Tachibana—no offense—looked nothing like the Ryu-san I’d imagined. Their hair was messy, their glasses unfashionable, but… their chest was startlingly large.

They radiated a relatable awkwardness. Like me, they seemed socially anxious.

“Thanks for having us!”
Min-san breezed inside.

“Th-thank you for inviting me!”
I hurriedly followed.

The first floor was mostly a soundproof room filled with instruments—a piano, guitars, a computer, and a low table.

“H-humidity’s bad… f-for instruments… C-can only offer… c-cold drinks… Is that okay?”

I remembered from music class: instruments hate moisture. Rikka’s caution showed their care.

“Is that alright for you too, Rin-kun?”

“Ah! Y-yes, of course!”

Naturally. I admired their dedication. Music class had been my favorite, so my respect for Rikka grew.

“H-here… h-honey’s good… f-for your throat. W-warm would be better, but…”

They handed us bottled honey-ginger water.

“Thanks! Oh, here’s the USB with Malum Diva. Give it a listen!”
Min-san passed the USB over.

“O-okay… L-let’s… hear it…”

Rikka plugged it in, opened the folder, and pressed play with trembling urgency.

My chest tightened with nerves. The song still lacked depth—I hadn’t tapped into 100% of it. Showing this incomplete version to the composer felt shameful.

But my fears vanished. By the song’s end, Rikka was sobbing.

“B-b-being a composer… w-was worth it…”

“Rin-kun practiced like crazy for three days!” Min-san added.

But Rikka’s skill was unreal. Even a month of practice wouldn’t perfect this masterpiece.

“T-to sing… w-with this much heart… I-I’m… h-happy!”

Their words overwhelmed me.

“Malum Diva is incredible. I’m still not expressing it fully… I’m sorry.”

The songstress’s love for the demon needed rawness. My voice was still too polished for the desperate, screaming parts.

“M-most… j-just scratch the surface… I-I’ll… t-teach you… the g-grittiness…”

Rikka understood exactly what I lacked.

And so, my vocal training with Rikka Tachibana began.

Vol 1 Chapter 20 – Child of Sound【Vol 1 – Turning Point】

“R-Rin-kun’s voice… i-it’s pure harmony. G-grittiness… comes from dissonance…”

Rikka Tachibana muttered while booting up their DAW software, filling in grids for various instruments. They hit play.

『Ah』

I jolted. Though made of instrumental harmonies, I heard the Japanese vowel “a.”

“V-voices… are harmonics.”

This was news to me—but in that moment, my mind cracked open.

“Uh… Aaaaah!”

On my first try, I grasped it. By slightly shifting one note in the chord, I felt an unfamiliar strain in my throat, requiring intense focus.

“G-genius! H-how… did you… d-do that?!”

“Huh? You said it’s harmonics, so I broke the sound apart!”

The moment I perceived the “a” as a chord, its components flooded my mind. A voice is a balance of pitches and volumes—and I’d unlocked it.

“A-absolute pitch! Th-this precision…!”

Now I understood: my past singing was like a perfectly tuned machine. Beautiful, but sterile. “Grittiness” required subtle discordance—tiny deviations that warp purity.

“Rin-kun… you’ve had this talent all along…”

Miss Min’s whisper sent Rikka lunging forward.

“T-talent? H-he’s beyond talent! A child of sound!”

Rikka then taught me about Hertz—the unit for sound frequency. I marveled at how sound worked, yet realized I’d subconsciously sensed it all along.

“A-amazing… R-Rin-kun perceives sound in Hz… H-he could be a piano tuner!”

I’d known my pitch was decent, but this sharp? Turns out, the school piano’s gradual detuning over months? My voice struggling to match its shifted notes? All because of this.

My ears were born extraordinary.

“Whoa, Rin-kun’s a genius after all!”

Miss Min beamed.

Listening intentionally, voices were chords. Miss Min’s harmonics were pristine. Rikka’s, no offense, were rougher—yet Ryu-san’s voice, when mentally dissected, rang clear.

“Y-yes… T-too gifted! Th-that’s… w-why he sings… s-so well.”

Being praised by both flustered me.

“Oh! Let Rin-kun try an instrument!”

Miss Min’s sudden idea mirrored my budding curiosity.

“S-sure… Wh-which first?”

“Guitar, please!”

My motive? Pure coolness.

“Wh-which one…? E-electric, f-folk, or… c-classical?”

Brand names adorned each guitar—later I learned they were all high-end. Were they really letting me touch these?

“F-folk, please.”

I’d handled folk guitars before. Classical ones had wider necks, daunting for my small hands. Folk’s steel strings versus classical’s nylon? Folk’s sharper tone suited me.

“S-sit. H-hold… the neck… l-like this…”

The “neck”—my made-up term was actually correct.

“Can I strum?”

“G-go ahead!”

Timidly, I plucked the thinnest string. 659 Hz—an E note—dominated. Thanks to earlier lessons, I recognized it.

Pressing the first fret, I produced 698 Hz—F.

I tried a chord: Em minor, the easiest I remembered.

The strum resonated beautifully.

“Y-you know Em minor… H-how about A?”

I didn’t, but A minor 7 appeared in Malum Diva. Guessing finger placement, I strummed.

“Th-that’s… A minor 7. From… the song…”

“I… actually forgot.”

It’d been over a decade.

“B-but… A is A. C-correct. C-can you play… COSMOS?”

I pondered briefly.

“Maybe…”

I imagined the notes, deconstructing chords and melody to map finger positions.

But my fingers tangled. Reaching frets felt impossible.

“This is hard!”

A cry of despair. My mental fingers stretched and shrank impossibly.

“H-here… t-tap the fret…”

Rikka demonstrated fret-tapping—a technique far beyond beginners.

“Oh! Then—”

Still, my ideal performance required practice. But it was thrilling. I craved more.

Later, I learned Miss Min bought a guitar—likely for me. To avoid refusal, she claimed wanting it herself.