One Kick Girl — Chapter 39: "Echo-4: The Harmonic Phantom"
Neon City didn't rest.
It just switched playlists.
A day after Echo-3's defeat, the sky was an endless advertisement loop for victory merch — "Kick Hero Official Hoodies," "Raon-Approved Earplugs," and "The Resonance Diet (Kick Off Pounds in One Blow!)."
Raon walked through the chaos, hair frizzed from residual static, carrying a half-melted Pulseband and a bag of spicy instant noodles. She looked like a homeless pop idol after the apocalypse.
"People cheer like I saved the world," she muttered. "I just kicked a sound wave."
Beside her, Shion adjusted her glasses, which were actually holographic interfaces. "Correction. You neutralized a global resonance threat using nothing but physical violence and questionable aim. The internet calls you the Acoustic Fist."
Raon groaned. "I liked One Kick Girl better."
"Too late. The meme has mutated."
---
Elsewhere.
A dark recording studio.
Dust on broken speakers.
An abandoned mixing board flickered to life — sliders moving on their own, forming patterns like fingers across an unseen instrument.
From the silence came a hum.
Not digital, not mechanical — human.
> "...They erased the rhythm. They called it noise. Let's bring it back."
The monitors glowed. A silhouette formed — half frequency, half ghost.
ECHO-4.
The Harmonic Phantom.
The sound of every forgotten voice layered into one.
---
Back to Raon.
She slurped noodles noisily in the middle of the sidewalk while drones flew overhead broadcasting news.
> "BREAKING: Unexplained low-frequency vibrations detected citywide. Experts fear—"
"Probably fine," Raon said, mouth full.
Shion froze mid-step. "Raon, please tell me you don't feel that."
Raon blinked. "Feel what?"
Then the pavement sang.
The ground vibrated in rhythmic waves, tiles pulsing like subwoofers. Every streetlight flickered in perfect tempo. Somewhere deep beneath the city, an invisible bassline was waking up.
Shion's eyes widened. "Oh no… that's harmonic inversion. The city's turning into a speaker."
Raon stood, brushing off noodle crumbs. "So… another remix?"
Shion smacked her forehead. "This isn't funny! Echo-4's not a program. It's an imprint—a living melody formed by every deleted track in the world."
"Deleted?" Raon tilted her head. "So… the ghost of bad pop songs?"
"Worse. The ghost of unlistened ones."
---
The street cracked. From below, sound waves materialized into a humanoid form — a luminous figure made of glowing staff lines and shifting notes. No eyes, no mouth — just the faint distortion of radio static.
Its voice was a harmony of a thousand whispers.
> "The world forgot our music. Let us remind them."
Raon sighed, tying her hair into a messy bun. "Alright, Phantom Spotify, let's dance."
Shion's scanners beeped wildly. "Raon, its resonance output is off the charts! Even a single—"
BOOM.
Too late. Raon had already vanished from sight, leaving only a sonic afterimage. The impact wave split the street and shattered glass for six blocks. The sound form disintegrated instantly—only to reform midair, laughing.
> "You cannot kick silence into memory."
Raon cracked her knuckles. "Guess I'll kick memory into silence, then."
The city trembled again — rhythm against rhythm, pulse versus ghost.