The dorm was silent, except for the hum of rain sliding down the windows.
Kai sat upright on his bed, staring into the dark.
His throat ached dull at first, then sharp, like a secret punishment.

He took another sip of water, but it didn’t help.
The pain wasn’t just physical. It was memory.

Two Years Ago

Back then, he was just Kai Mizuno, the quiet kid in the back row.
He didn’t talk much. Didn’t stand out.
But when the world went quiet at night, and his parents were asleep, he’d slip on his headphones and record songs.

No face. No name. Just a voice.
He uploaded them to YouTube under a single word: Echo.

His voice carried raw and clean, full of emotion he never showed in class.
People noticed. Subscribers grew. Comments poured in.
“Your voice saved me.”
“I cry every time I hear this.”
“Whoever you are  don’t ever stop singing.”

He didn’t tell anyone at school.
He didn’t need to. The songs were his only way to exist somewhere he wasn’t invisible.

Until one day… someone found out.

It started as a rumor.
Then it spread  faster than he could breathe.

By lunchtime, everyone knew.
By the next day, they’d made a game out of it.

“Hey, sing for us, Echo!”
“Auto-tune much?”
“You think you’re famous now?”

Laughter.
Shoves in the hallway.
His name written on the board with fake song titles.

He stopped singing at school altogether.
He tried to pretend it didn’t matter  that he was okay 
but the words stuck in his throat like glass.

One day, he’d tried to record again.
He wanted to drown them out with music.
But his voice cracked mid-verse.

He pushed harder. Again. And again.

The pain came suddenly  tearing, burning, final.
The mic fell to the floor. His voice was gone.

Doctors called it vocal strain.
His parents called it a sign.
And Kai called it the end.

He deleted every video. Every comment. Every trace of Echo.
And vanished.

Back to the Present

Rain still tapped softly against the glass.
Kai’s reflection looked older now  more tired, less sure.

He touched his throat, remembering the silence after he lost his voice.
Remembering what it felt like to disappear and have no one even ask why.

Then came a quiet knock.
The door creaked open, and Sora stood there, half-awake, hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Kai hesitated. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

Sora stepped closer, eyes flicking toward Kai’s throat. “You strained your voice today, didn’t you?”

Kai froze. “No, I—”
But the lie came out too rough, too dry.

Sora sighed softly, not pushing. “Don’t wreck yourself over one evaluation. You’ve got a good voice. Use it smart, not fast.”

He offered a small, sleepy smile. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone tonight.”

Kai stared after him as he left, his words lingering like music.

You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

But that wasn’t true  not for him.
Because he wasn’t just Kai Mizuno.
He was Echo a voice everyone once loved, now forgotten.
And if anyone ever found out…
he’d lose everything all over again.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, watching the rain slide down.
Somewhere deep inside, his throat pulsed again — a reminder that the voice he reclaimed came with a price.

And he didn’t know how long he could keep paying it.