Chapter 1 : Lullaby of Beginnings

My name is Hideki Hoshino.

And this is the story of my life—

from the very first breath I took in this world.

A long journey, one that tested not just my steps,

but the strength of my heart.

This is my saga—

The Songs of My Heart.

I am just a newborn—Hideki Hoshino—gently swaddled in a quiet hospital room in Hachiōji, Tokyo. My mother smiles as she hums softly to me, while my father records a video of my first yawns.

I can’t speak yet, but I instinctively wriggle closer to the warmth of my mother's chest. My tiny fingers curl as I snuggle into her arms. Her heartbeat is steady and soothing. She wraps a soft blanket around me and whispers, “Welcome to the world, Hideki.”

My father leans in, gently strokes my head, and beams with pride. In this early moment of love and safety, I feel calm—cherished.

I stop moving and listen closely to the sounds around me. My mother’s voice is gentle, soft, and melodic—she’s speaking in Japanese, calling me "kawaii" (cute). My father’s voice is deeper, warm and playful, mimicking baby sounds to make me giggle.

Though I can’t understand the words, the tones wrap around me like sunlight. A subtle warmth spreads through my body, as my tiny heart begins forming its very first bonds with the people who love me most.

I feel the warmth of my mother’s arms and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Her voice fades into a soft hum, wrapping around me like a lullaby. My eyelids grow heavy, and before I know it, I’m drifting peacefully into sleep.

My tiny body relaxes completely, a little smile curling on my lips. I sense my father leaning over me, tucking the blanket gently around my body. His voice is close, warm, and loving as he whispers, “Sweet dreams, little Hideki.”

Beyond the hospital window, I can almost feel the faint glow of the Tokyo skyline. But in this moment, my world is small—safe, calm, and wrapped in the love of the two people who mean everything to me.

I don’t know many things yet. The world is still big, bright, and confusing. But I’m starting to notice patterns—the gentle voice that hums when I cry, the warm hands that lift me, and the soft scent of something I now know means "home."

I’m lying on a soft blanket in the living room, the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me. There’s music playing somewhere—not loud, just soft notes drifting in from the kitchen. I wriggle my legs and stretch my arms, surprised by how far they move now. I can see them! They move when I want! …Sort of.

Mama—Aiko—walks past me and smiles. Her face is the safest thing I know. She leans down and gives me a kiss on the forehead. “Good morning, Hideki,” she says softly in Japanese, “How’s Mama’s little boy today?”

I answer her in the only way I know: a squeaky coo and a happy kick. She laughs, and it makes my chest feel funny—like a tiny flower blooming inside me.

Then I hear Papa’s voice—Kenji—coming from his work desk. He’s clicking on something again, but when he hears me babble, he turns around. “Oho, is someone practicing speeches for the United Nations already?” he teases.

I like Papa’s voice. It’s deeper than Mama’s, more playful. I can’t understand the words, but I recognize the sound of love in them.

Mama picks me up, holding me against her shoulder. I nuzzle into her soft shirt, listening to her heartbeat. It’s different from when I was in the hospital—quieter, more relaxed. Home has that effect, I think. Even if I can’t say it yet, I feel it.

From this high place in her arms, I look around the living room. There’s a bright mobile above my crib. There’s a photo of Mama and Papa on the shelf—smiling like they always do when they look at me.

I yawn, and Mama hums again. Her song is slow, steady. My tiny fists close. My eyes grow heavy.

The world is still new, but I’m not afraid of it. Not when I have Mama and Papa. Not when I have love.

I lie on a soft mat in my nursery, the air filled with the quiet peace of the afternoon. The walls are gentle colors, with pictures of pink flowers and little animals that don’t move, but somehow always smile back at me. I don’t know their names, but they feel like friends.

Mama is sitting beside me, humming something soft. Her voice is like a cloud—warm, light, and safe. I tilt my head toward the sound, eyes wide, trying to follow the melody.

Something stirs inside my chest. It tickles. It wants to come out.

And then—I do it. I make a sound. Not a cry, not a fuss, but… something else. A soft little coo. A bubbly sound, light and full of joy.

It surprises me. Did that come from me?

Mama gasps. Her eyes light up like the morning sun. “Did you just sing with me, Hideki?” she says, smiling as she leans down. She kisses my forehead, and I giggle—not because I understand, but because I feel her happiness.

Her joy becomes my joy. And for the first time in my tiny life, I realize something magical: When I make a sound—not just any sound, but one filled with peace—Mama smiles even brighter. The world smiles with her.

Papa sits cross-legged on the soft tatami floor beside my crib, but today he’s different. He’s facing the piano in the corner of the room—the one with the shiny black keys that I’ve only ever seen from afar.

He lifts the lid and places his hands gently on the keys. Then—music.

The first note rings out, soft and low, like a raindrop landing on a still pond. Then another, and another—each one echoing through the room like a lullaby the walls remember.

The sound is warm. Deep. Beautiful. It flows through the air and finds me, crawling into my tiny chest like sunlight under a blanket.

I turn toward it, eyes wide and quiet. My arms twitch. My legs wiggle. Something in me wants to respond. And then, without thinking, I let out a little gurgle—high and cheerful. Then another.

I’m trying to sing along.

Papa glances back at me and laughs—a sound that makes my heart flutter. “Hideki’s got rhythm already!”

Mama smiles from nearby. I feel her gaze, warm like her hugs. They look at each other, eyes sparkling. Even though I don’t understand words, I feel it in my bones: They’re proud. Of me.

Papa plays the piano again, his fingers dancing across the keys like they know a secret. Each note feels like a bubble in the air—floating, glowing, making my chest tingle.

Mama starts to sing beside him, her voice soft and smooth, blending perfectly with the music. Their sounds fill the room like a warm blanket, and I can’t stop staring.

I don’t know why, but I need to join them.

My mouth opens a little. Something stirs deep in my throat. And then…

“Guu… gahh… gaa…”

The sounds tumble out, wobbly and strange, but mine. I don’t even know what they mean, but they feel good—like they belong in the music.

Papa suddenly stops mid-note. He turns, raising his eyebrow. “Wait… is he trying to sing along?”

I try again—longer this time. “Aaahh…”

It stretches out like one of Mama’s notes, just softer. Sloppier.

Mama gasps with joy and claps her hands. “He’s singing with us!”

They both look at me with such amazement, like I’ve done something magical. Their eyes shine, and I feel their happiness pouring over me like sunlight.

I don’t know the words, and I don’t know the tune, but something in me has begun to wake up.

A voice. A song. A way to be part of the world.

And it all started here— with Papa’s piano, Mama’s voice, and the first brave little notes from me.

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