Project GB is an official initiative by Re:Library.

Although the magic cannon project had felt like it was over in the blink of an eye to Melua, by the time we finished cleaning up, nearly three hours had passed since we entered the atelier.

Dinner time had long since passed, but thanks to Aunt Ur’s thoughtfulness, a meal had been set aside for me as a late-night snack. After gratefully eating it in the common area, I returned to my room.

“…Ah, that’s Alfe’s voice.”

She was probably singing in the bath. The acoustics softened her voice with a gentle echo, giving it a warmer, more soothing quality than usual.

It sounded like the kind of singing that could lull someone into pleasant dreams.

Thinking that, I headed toward my room.

This time, I heard the sound of Hom’s guitar.

Her playing was still clumsy, but I could hear how hard she was trying. That earnest determination came through as stiffness and tension in every note, and I wished I could somehow help ease that.

“…I’m home, Hom.”
“Welcome back, Master.”

When I quietly called out, Hom’s voice came from the darkness at the back of the room.

“Why are you sitting here without even turning on the lights?”
“It seems I became too absorbed in practicing. I did not even realize it had grown dark.”

Smiling sheepishly, Hom stood up and switched on the light.

The moment I saw her fingertips, my eyes widened.

“Your hands are covered in cuts, Hom.”

Without thinking, I took hold of her wrist and gently pulled her closer.

She blinked, only now seeming to notice the condition of her own hands after I pointed it out.

“I’m going to cast a healing spell. Sit down over there.”

As I instructed her, I took the Ars Magna from the desk drawer.

“This much will heal on its own. It is hardly worth troubling you over, Master.”

Each injury was minor on its own, but enduring that pain while practicing would only become a burden on both her body and mind.

I was about to explain that it would ultimately affect Estea as well…

But I stopped myself.

What Hom needed right now wasn’t a lecture about what was reasonable.

She needed an environment where she could rely on me without hesitation.

“…Listen, Hom.”

Holding the Ars Magna in my hands, I sat down beside her.

Understanding my intent, the pages turned by themselves before stopping at a healing spell, Therapeia.

It was a form of water magic that manipulated blood flow to form scabs and close wounds. The spell itself was fairly modest, but considering Hom’s natural healing ability and the amount of aether I possessed, it would be more than sufficient.

That way, Hom wouldn’t have to worry about burdening me…

And I could heal her hands.

“Wounds, close—Therapeia.”

The moment I took Hom’s hand and spoke the incantation, a gentle warmth spread over her like ripples across still water. She must have found the sensation comforting, because I saw her naturally close her eyes.

“That should do it. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard.”
“…Thank you very much, Master.”

The countless tiny cuts covering Hom’s slender fingertips disappeared in an instant. Slowly opening her eyes again, she flexed her fingers, opening and closing them as if confirming the sensation.

“I apologize for going against your advice, but there is something that has been bothering me. I was hoping you could listen and offer me some guidance.”
“Of course. It’s not as though I’m trying to stop you from practicing.”

Apparently understanding what I meant, Hom nodded with a relieved smile.

“That said, I’m still an amateur. I may not be as helpful as Estea.”
“That could never be true when it comes to you, Master. …Then, if you would allow me.”

As though trying to engrave the feel of the earlier practice into her body, Hom picked up the guitar and began playing again almost without a pause.

Her earnest expression and the solid, if somewhat stiff, sound she produced naturally drew my attention. She had clearly mastered the fundamentals.

To give proper advice, I needed to watch everything, I reminded myself, carefully observing every movement of her body.

She was probably nervous, but I noticed her shoulders were carrying too much tension.

That alone wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Thanks to Estea’s instruction, her fundamentals were unquestionably sound.

Which made the condition of her fingertips feel strangely out of place.

After trying the bass myself, I knew that pressing the strings didn’t actually require that much force.

“…Hom, could you let me see your guitar for a moment?”
“Yes, Master.”

At my request, Hom immediately stopped playing and handed it over.

The instant I rested my fingertips on the strings, I realized what had been bothering me.

The problem was the strings.

Apparently they hadn’t been adjusted properly. They had become loose.

“Ah… It looks like the strings loosened somehow. You were forcing yourself to play despite that, which is why you injured your fingers. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

As I turned the screw-like tuning pegs to tighten the strings and checked the pitch, I apologized to Hom.

“No, Master. This wasn’t your fault.”

Hom said that, but my adjustment had been partly to blame.

Still, there was nothing to be gained from arguing over it now, so I accepted her consideration without pressing the issue.

“…Try relaxing a little. If you play calmly, I’m sure the guitar will answer you.”

As I handed the retuned guitar back to her, Hom met my eyes with a serious expression and gave a firm nod.

“I think the part you were struggling with may have been caused by the loose strings. Let’s just try the opening. You start by pressing this string and this one, so slide your fingers from here to here… then stop firmly right there.”

Sitting close beside Hom as she held the guitar, I gently placed my hands over hers while explaining.

“I understand, Master.”

Even without producing a sound, guiding her hands directly allowed Hom to grasp the proper amount of pressure through feel alone.

When she played the opening note again, both of us instinctively looked at each other and smiled.

The note was so much gentler than before.

The melody rose with the rhythm of a beating heart, as if expressing a surge of emotion, and naturally brought Alfe’s singing to mind.

It felt as though the guitar itself wanted to sing with us.

“…Ever since I awoke, I began searching—Who am I?”

My voice and Hom’s blended together without either of us intending it.

Hom’s guitar began to sing.

As for the answer to the question posed by the lyrics—

I already knew it.

I was Leafa.

Leafa Naga Rjuna.