No Greater Love, a vocaloid fanfic

Hatsune Miku stared glumly at the small pile of coins and bills on the table. She'd counted the money several times, but kept coming up with the same depressing result: her rainy-day fund only amounted to ¥2,980.

It wasn't nearly enough. She needed more than ten times that amount.

In two days, it would be Christmas Eve, and Miku had her heart set on getting the perfect gift for her lover—a gift truly worthy of the woman who was the center of Miku's world: Megurine Luka.

She'd met Luka online 15 months earlier, on a discussion board hosted by one of those mutual-support LGBTQ web sites. Miku had poured out her frustrations at being an out lesbian, and Luka had been the first to respond. She'd seemed so warm and friendly that Miku simply had to get to know her better. At first, she'd had a difficult time getting Luka interested—she'd barely turned sixteen at the time, which had made twenty-year-old Luka cautious about getting close to her. But their personalities clicked, and before long, their exchanges had grown from friendly banter to open flirting to intense romance. When they finally met in person, and Miku gazed directly into Luka's beautiful blue eyes, she knew right then that she'd found Ms. Right. She'd felt it in the depths of her soul.

Unfortunately, Luka's encouragement hadn't made it any easier for Miku to get along with her parents. She'd long been on bad terms with them over her refusal to stay closeted, and when they discovered her relationship with Luka, they'd had enough. They gave her an ultimatum: give up "this lesbian foolishness" or get out. In a way, they'd made the choice easier for her by leaving no room for compromise. For Miku, there was only one option.

Moving in with Luka had cost her so much: her affluent upper-middle-class lifestyle, most of her friends, and any prospect of attending university. In exchange, she'd gotten working-class poverty, a sense of isolation, and a second-rate public education. But she'd also gained the bliss of falling asleep in Luka's arms every night, and waking up to her smile every morning. As far as Miku was concerned, she'd come out ahead.

Tired of staring at the money on the table, Miku let her gaze wander over the cramped apartment. There wasn't much to it: one large room with a tiny, antiquated kitchenette along the front wall, and a bathroom barely the size of a small closet. Most of the main room was taken up by furniture: the kotatsu she was now seated at, a dresser with its matching vanity, and a full-size bed that doubled as a sofa by day, and which they'd paid for by pawning Luka's gaming system and flat-screen. And there was no denying the place was a dump. Dingy, cracked walls that hadn't been painted in years; an ugly, brown stain on the ceiling caused by an upstairs neighbor's leaking bathtub; a weird, mildewy smell that would never completely go away—all this in return for rent that drained away more than half their combined monthly incomes.

The heavy burden of that rent payment—which the landlord had nearly doubled after Miku moved in—forced them to live paycheck to paycheck. Luka worked hard as a low-level office employee, but her salary wasn't nearly enough to support them both. Miku had taken an after-school part-time job at a convenience store, but her wages were barely enough to make up the difference. Most weeks, they didn't have enough to spare for such simple pleasures as a date at a café, to say nothing of Christmas presents.

But that wasn't going to stop Miku. Luka didn't deserve this hardscrabble existence, but she'd chosen it freely for Miku's sake. And Miku was determined to honor that choice by giving Luka the best gift, the most perfect gift, to commemorate their first Christmas living together.

Luka had come into their relationship with a single prized possession: a pendant she'd been given by her late grandmother, the only family member not to cut her off after she came out. The oval, two-carat pink tourmaline set in a frame of 14-karat gold, trimmed with diamond chips, was an impressive piece, indeed. The original chain had long ago been lost, so Luka—unable to afford a replacement—had taken to wearing the pendant on a beige macramé cord. It was so precious to her that she hardly ever took it off except to bathe.

Selling the pendant would have helped them meet expenses, but Miku wouldn't have dreamed of suggesting such a thing. Besides, Miku liked the way it looked on her lover, the way it lay so invitingly in Luka's cleavage, and how well the pink gemstone matched her silky, sakura-colored hair. And when Luka bridged over her when they made love, Miku especially liked the way the pendant hung down between them, like a compass needle pointing straight from Luka's heart to hers.

Miku didn't think much of the cord, though. It complemented the pendant about as well as a pair of muddy Birkenstocks went with a custom-designed Christian Dior dress. Luka's treasure deserved a chain worthy of the pendant itself. In Miku's opinion, the only acceptable choice was the heavyweight, 14-karat gold, diamond-cut rope chain necklace they'd spotted the last time they were window-shopping at Seven Fortunes Mall. It was not only a thing of beauty, but also strong enough to support the weight of the pendant. In Miku's mind, if Luka wore it on that chain, she'd have looked as regal as a queen wearing a set of crown jewels.

Unfortunately, at ¥30,000, it might as well have been real crown jewelry. But Luka had admired the chain with a wistfulness that had pierced Miku's heart. She'd decided that she'd do whatever it took to see it around Luka's neck, holding the treasured pendant high and proud for all to admire.

So Miku begged for extra hours at the store, scrimped and saved a few yen here and there, fueled by the vision of Luka's slender, elegant fingers tracing over the woven gold threads in admiration. But the overtime never materialized—at least not to the level Miku had hoped for—and what meager extra wages she had made had gotten swallowed up by unexpected school fees. Her other efforts to economize had proven less than successful, as well.

And now, here she was, three days away from Christmas, and still more than ¥27,000 short.

Cold reality proved too much for Miku to bear. Tears trickled down her cheeks, falling onto the table next to the neat piles of cash. She didn't cry for herself, but for Luka and the burdens she had to bear, burdens she had taken on simply because she had chosen to love Miku.

After several miserable seconds, Miku wiped the tears away, fighting to get herself under control. This wasn't the time to give in to weakness. She needed to embrace the positive in the situation. After all, there were other things she could buy with ¥2,980 that Luka would appreciate, such as a half-dozen roses or ingredients for hot pot. Luka would have regarded either choice as a rare treat, and it would have made Miku happy to see her grateful smile.

But flowers and hot pot meals are transitory gifts, consigned to mere memory too soon after they are given. They have no substance, no lasting sentimental value.

Unlike a gold chain necklace.

Miku's tears returned with a vengeance, and this time, there was no fighting them off. She slumped over onto the table, her too-thin body heaving with sobs.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said, as if Luka were there to hear. "You've been so good to me, and I've been nothing but a burden to you. I'm so, so sorry."

Eventually, Miku had cried it all out. With a deep, shuddering sigh, she struggled to her feet and shuffled over to the mirror atop the nearby dresser, determined to get herself together.

The girl in the reflection looked like she'd been in a fight, what with her swollen, bloodshot eyes, blotchy cheeks, and stray wisps of hair floating free. There was nothing to be done for her face but to wait for the swelling to go down; hopefully, she'd look close to human again by the time Luka got home from work. She had no reason to wait to fix her hair, though, so she pulled her twin ponytails out of their hair ties and grabbed a brush.

If Luka's pendant had been her treasure, Miku's was her hair. A thigh-length cascade of silky locks, in a unique shade of bright teal to match her eyes, Miku considered it her crowning glory. She'd last had it cut before the opening ceremony of junior high, and had been growing it out for the nearly five years since.

Through skill borne of long practice, Miku quickly repaired her part, then pulled her hair back into the twin-tails again. She'd just installed the second hair tie and was examining her handiwork when the memory of a half-forgotten conversation with a friend about hair extensions suddenly popped into her mind. And then it hit her: the perfect way, in one single audacious act, to get the money she needed to buy Luka that chain.

She'd sell her hair.

Setting the brush aside, she stepped over to the vanity to retrieve her cell phone. Sure enough, a quick search confirmed her intuition. Based on going rates, the length, color, and thickness of Miku's ponytails could easily earn her that ¥30,000. Better still, she could use the money she'd already saved to cover the ingredients for that hot pot. That way, Luka would have a nice meal to go with her Christmas present.

It was a perfect plan. Returning her attention to her cell, Miku began putting it into action.

Finding a buyer turned out to be more of a challenge than Miku had expected. She could have sold her hair more easily through an online broker, and for far more money, but it would have taken until well into January to collect the payment. Refusing to wait that long, she'd been forced to find a salon that would take her hair for cash on short notice. But not many salons did that kind of business. It had taken more than a dozen emails and phone calls to find one that not only would buy from her directly, but that also still had an appointment available before Christmas. Of course, it happened to be on Christmas Eve itself, which didn't leave her much time to finish her shopping, but she could work around that.

So far, so good. But now, as Miku stood in front of the salon entrance, twiddling her fingers, she began to have second thoughts.

Should she really go through with this?

Her hesitation had nothing to do with the actual act of selling her hair. Even though it had taken her years of careful cultivation to grow it this long, and it had become an important part of her self-image, she was at peace with her choice to sell it. The real issue was how Luka would react to seeing her with a short haircut.

From the moment they'd met, Luka's fascination with Miku's hair had bordered on obsession. She'd compliment it constantly, find reasons to run her fingers through it, brush it, or even braid it on those rare occasions when Miku would let her. Luka went so far as insisting on trimming it herself—quite competently, in Miku's opinion—claiming that doing so was less about saving the expense of a salon visit than it was about not trusting anyone else to bring scissors within arm's distance of Miku's head.

Therein lay the risk. Would sacrificing her hair make her less attractive to Luka? Even worse, would Luka reject her for cutting it off?

She would have preferred death to Luka not wanting her anymore.

After a moment's consideration, Miku let out a nervous chuckle. She was just being silly. Luka loved her, and it would take something of far greater significance than a simple haircut to change that, wouldn't it? Besides, hair was replaceable—it would grow back, eventually. What Miku planned to exchange that hair for—the golden chain—would last for far longer than it would take her to grow ponytails down to her thighs again. Hopefully, Luka would still be wearing her gift when they'd grown old and gray together.

So yes, Miku would go through with this, second thoughts be damned.

Chez Lily's glitzy interior, all chrome and steel and glass, certainly lived up to Miku's image of an upscale Tokyo salon. As soon as she walked through the door, she felt out of place; she'd worn her nicest dress—the one she'd worn on her first date with Luka—but compared to the designer dresses and expensive-looking jewelry of the other customers in the waiting area, her own outfit seemed old and shabby. She had a passing fear that the staff would judge her for that, and would tell her to move along, that the salon was intended for customers who could actually afford its services. But before she had the chance to spiral, the front desk attendant called out an ordinary polite greeting.

"Welcome to Chez Lily, ma'am. How may I help you?"

To Miku's relief, the woman's words carried no hint of disapproval.

"Yes, hello," she said, swallowing the last of her jitters. "I'm scheduled for 16:00 with Lily-san."

"Ah, yes. Hatsune-sama." The woman checked her computer display. "She's expecting you. Right this way, please."

Miku followed the attendant to an empty chair at the far back of the salon. Waiting next to it was a willowy blonde, who bowed politely in greeting.

"Good evening, Hatsune-sama," the woman said, her tone brisk and business-like. "Masuda Lily, at your service. We spoke on the phone." She cast an appraising eye over Miku's twin-tails. "So, you're interested in selling your hair?"

"I'd like to, yes."

Lily patted the back of her salon chair.

"Okay, why don't you have a seat and we'll take a look."

With a gentle touch, Lily removed Miku's hair ties, then spent the next several minutes inspecting her long, teal tresses. She hefted them, ran both a comb and her fingers through them, and held them out straight to measure their length with a tape measure. From what Miku could tell, she seemed to be studying each and every hair. From time to time, she would let out a soft "ooh!" or "hmm," but otherwise didn't speak.

As the seconds ticked by, Miku grew more and more anxious. What if Lily didn't think her hair was worth at least ¥30,000? What if she didn't think it was worth anything at all?

Finally, just as Miku felt she might fall to pieces, Lily smoothed her young client's hair down, then moved around to the front of the chair to face her.

"I've got to tell you, kid, you've got one heckuva head of hair. It's not a hundred percent virgin, I can tell, but it's still long enough and thick enough to work really well as extensions, so I'm definitely interested." Lily's expression turned apologetic. "Thing is, I can't pay you what the big brokers can. I'm an independent operator with a business to run. You know, overhead and all that. So the highest I can go is…" She paused for a moment, thinking. "…35,000. I know that's on the low side for that much high-quality hair, so I'll throw in a free salon cut to clean up what's left." Her lips curved into a wintry smile. "I shouldn't really do that—it's cutting into my bottom line—but it's Christmas, so… yeah."

Miku, who had been expecting the worst, nearly fell out of the chair. With the kind of money Lily was offering, not only would Luka get her chain and a hot pot dinner, but Miku could even afford to add a few ounces of Kobe beef to the menu. She was so busy biting back tears of mingled happiness and gratitude that she barely got a response out.

"Oh, wow! Um, yes, please! Thank you very much!"

With a chuckle, Lily wrapped Miku in a cutting cape.

"I need to take off as much as possible," she said, running a comb through Miku's hair to prepare it. "Are you okay with a pixie cut?" She gestured to a poster on the nearby wall that showed a variety of hairstyles.

Miku tried to imagine herself looking like the woman on the poster, but it seemed a bit of a stretch. She wasn't at all sure that Luka would like it. In fact, since there would be barely enough hair left for Luka to run her fingers through, it was more likely that she would absolutely hate it.

"Why not? I think my girlfriend could get used to it. Probably." She winced when she realized that she'd just outed herself, but much to her relief, Lily didn't seem to care.

"Oh, has your girl never seen you with short hair?"

"No," Miku said, forcing a big, fake smile. "Let's just say this will be a surprise."

Lily nodded.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it's a pleasant surprise. By the time I'm done with you, you're going to look really cute. Trust me, your girl is going to love your new 'do."

"I'm sure she will," Miku said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

Step, step, step, turn. Step, step, step, turn. From the bed to the kitchenette and back, over and over.

That had been Miku's rhythm for the past half hour, as she waited for Luka to come home from work. Her girlfriend had already texted that she'd been held over at the office—on Christmas Eve, of all days—but Miku hadn't expected her to be this late. It was already nearly 20:00.

Miku had already prepared as much as she could. The hot pot simmered gently on the elderly gas stove, filling the apartment with its tasty aroma; nearby, the rice lay warming in the battered old cooker. The candles were lit and the kotatsu table-top set. There was nothing else for her to do but wait.

But the interminable delay had only worsened Miku's already anxious state of mind. She felt as though a giant weight hovered over her, waiting for a hidden signal to drop. She wished it would fall, but at the same time feared the impact.

Step, step, step, turn.

On the next pass, Miku paused to look into the mirror atop the dresser. She shook her head. This new pixie cut was going to take a while to get used to. Not only had the loss of her hair changed the way she walked and held her head—indeed, her entire center of gravity had shifted—but it looked, well, strange. As if Miku were staring at an entirely different person.

Step, step, step, turn.

The sudden rattle of a key in the front door deadbolt signaled Miku's hour of reckoning. She wasn't one to pray in the heat of the moment, but now, under her breath, the words slipped out.

"Please, God, don't let her say I'm ugly."

Miku stood in front of the turned-down bed, staring across the room at the door, watching with mingled anticipation and dread as it swung open.

"I'm home."

Luka hung her coat on the hook in the entryway, then slipped off her shoes. She looked exhausted, beaten down by yet another day at a dead-end job. Yet Miku, despite her apprehension, caught her breath. The long, flowing sakura hair, the clear and flawless complexion, the tall, statuesque body lines, the dangerously blue eyes—they never failed to make Miku's heart flutter, even after all this time. But her instinctive reaction only lasted for a second or two before her insecurities snuffed it out.

"Welcome back, darling." Miku's words came out in a nervous squeak, completely out of character for her usual greeting. On any other day, she would have let out a happy cry and crossed the room to Luka's waiting arms in a near-instant. But that evening, she remained in place, as if she'd grown roots into the floor.

"What a day." Luka let out a groan. "Geez, the Metro was absolutely insane tonight. Typical Christmas Eve, I guess. The crowds were even worse than usual." She sniffed at the apartment air. "Mmm! Something sure smells yummy!"

"I made us hot pot," Miku said, forcing herself to sound as cheerful as possible.

"Whoa! What a nice surprise! I swear, I'm so hungry right now that… I…"

Luka's words trailed off into silence. Miku's new appearance appeared to have finally registered in her mind. She stood staring, mouth hanging slightly open, an unreadable expression on her face.

However Miku had expected Luka to react, this wasn't it. Anger, tears, or a combination of the two—she'd anticipated something along those lines, but this healthy dose of nothing left her at a loss. She began to babble, eager to fill the deafening silence.

"So what do you think?" Miku nervously rubbed the close-cropped hair at the back of her head. "Kind of a big change for me, huh?"

"Your hair…" Luka finally managed to say.

"I sold my twin-tails. Well, I didn't have much of a choice. I really, really wanted to buy you a Christmas present, and this was the only way I could afford to."

Miku paused, waiting for Luka to respond, but her girlfriend did nothing more than stare numbly back at her. After several seconds, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, Luka, please don't look at me that way! It'll grow back—I swear it will! You know how fast my hair grows—you trim it yourself—so don't be mad! Wait 'til you see the gift I got you. You'll love it, I promise!"

It may have been Miku's imagination, but did Luka's shoulders slump even further?

"Run that by me again," the older woman said, her voice mechanical. "You're saying you sold your hair? Did I get that right?"

"Yes, I sold it," Miku said. "I know the new style looks weird, and you probably don't like it, but I'm still the same person. I'm still me." It was too much. Miku's eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip began to quiver. "I'm still pretty, right? You still love me just the same, right?"

Luka flinched as if she'd been struck. With a thump, her valise, which she'd been clutching under an arm, hit the floor. The next thing Miku knew, she was enfolded in Luka's warm, tight embrace.

"Dummy! Of course I do!" Her breath tickled against the shell of Miku's ear. "Why wouldn't I?"

"But you loved my twin-tails!"

Luka ran her fingers gently through Miku's newly shorn hair.

"Yes, but I loved them because they were yours. Sure, I'll miss them, but really, Miku, they're just hair. You could've shaven yourself bald, and I wouldn't love you any less."

That did it for Miku. Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, she began weeping into Luka's chest.

"Oh, darling, I was so afraid!" Her words came in short bursts between sobs. "Afraid you would think I was gross. That you'd break up with me. That you'd send me away."

"Never in a million years," Luka said, her own voice now choking with emotion. "That would be like tearing out my own heart."

They stood like that for a long time, clinging to each other and crying softly together. Eventually, after they got themselves under control, Luka wriggled out of Miku's arms, and turned to reach for her valise on the floor nearby. She pulled from it a small gift-wrapped package, which she held out to Miku.

"Merry Christmas. I think you'd better open it right now. It'll give you some idea of why I reacted the way I did."

Miku stared at the package; long and flat, it was wrapped in shiny, silver-white paper. With trembling fingers, she tore open the wrapping. When she saw what it was, her eyes widened.

"This looks like a jewelry box."

Luka smiled enigmatically.

"Just open it."

Miku lifted the lid and looked inside. For an eternal second, the only sound in the apartment came from the bubbling of the hot pot.

During that visit to the jewelry store, the same one where Miku had noticed Luka admiring the gold chain, an extraordinary set of hair clips had captured her own attention. They'd seemed less like jewelry than wearable works of art, each one hand-crafted of heavy sterling silver base metal plated in 14-karat gold, and inlaid with lapis lazuli. For a fleeting moment, she'd allowed herself to desperately want them, even though their price was higher than the chain she wanted to get for Luka. They matched her coloring perfectly, and they were hefty enough to handle her long, heavy ponytails.

Except those ponytails were now a memory, so the clips were little better than ornate paperweights.

Miku looked plaintively up at Luka and said, "It'll grow back, I promise." Then her fragile composure shattered again.

This time, it took Luka a lot longer to calm Miku down. The distraught girl kept apologizing over and over, reassuring Luka that her hair would grow back, and that she'd soon be able to do justice to Luka's gift.

"Never mind all that," Luka said when Miku finally gave her the chance. "It's enough that they made you happy."

"But how could you even afford them?" Miku wanted to know.

"Um, about that… We'll talk about it later," Luka said, shifting uncomfortably.

Curious, Miku thought about pressing the point; after all, unless Luka had won the lottery, there was no way she'd have enough money for a gift like this. But then she remembered she had a gift of her own to give. She hurried over to the vanity to retrieve the package, then rushed back to thrust it into the hands of her surprised girlfriend.

"Merry Christmas, darling! It's the perfect gift, if I do say so myself. Totally worth giving up my hair for."

Luka gently unwrapped the box and opened it, then freed the chain from the insert and held it up to the light. The thick, golden rope gleamed in the harsh, fluorescent glare of the overhead fixture. She gazed at it, but said nothing.

Again, an inexplicable lack of reaction. An icy tendril of panic wound its way up Miku's spine.

"So, what do you think? It's such a pretty chain, isn't it? Perfect replacement for that ratty old cord." She reached for the open collar on Luka's shirt, searching for the pendant, intent on pulling it out so she could hang it on the new chain. But when she unbuttoned the second button, neither the pendant nor its cord was there; all she saw was bare skin.

"Um, Luka…? What's going on? Where is it?"

Luka shuffled a bit, then hung her head.

"I, uh… See, here's the thing…"

Suddenly, Miku realized what her girlfriend had done.

"Oh, no," she finally forced out. "No, no, no. Luka, please tell me you didn't."

"I did. I sold Gran's pendant." Her eyes met Miku's. They showed no hint of defiance or regret, or indeed, any emotion other than deep affection. "I didn't have any more choice than you did. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to get you anything worth giving."

Miku sank her face into her hands. But she didn't cry; rather, all she felt was numb.

"But it meant so much to you," she murmured into her sweaty palms. "Your grandmother gave it to you. You hardly ever took it off. And yet you sold it just for me? Why? There's no way I'm worth it."

Luka gently pulled Miku's hands away from her face, and tucked a finger under her chin, raising it until their eyes met again.

"Please don't ever tell me you're not worth it," Luka said. Her words were soft, but the steel in them left no doubt they were a rebuke. "Because you are, completely."

"But your grandmother's pendant—"

"—is not Gran's anymore. It's mine, or rather was. Mine to keep, Gran said, or to give up as I see fit. She never intended for me to hold onto it for the rest of my life. In fact, if she knew what I did with it, I'm positive she'd be okay with it."

"But you wasted the money you got for selling it! What good are those hair clips now?" Miku ran her fingers through the short hair on both sides of her head. "I've got nothing left to put them in. And now, you have no pendant to hang on that chain." The telltale tickling sensation returned to the back of her throat. Damn it all—she thought she was done crying. "We're both such idiots."

Slowly, deliberately, Luka placed the gold chain around her neck. Then she smiled that that gentle smile, the one that always made Miku feel so warm and secure.

"I don't think we're idiots at all," she said. "Gran's pendant, your hair—we only gave them up to make each other happy. That was all either one of us really cared about, right? I wouldn't call that stupid. I'd call it true love."

At those words, Miku's despair melted away. Luka always knew what to say. And as was so often the case, she was absolutely right: in their own way, they'd each given the other the perfect Christmas gift.

Suddenly, Miku felt every bit the foolish young girl she'd tried so hard not to be. But along with that came gratitude that she had someone like Luka to rely on, someone who had been kicked around by life, but who refused to let it get her down. As she gazed up into the face of the woman who was her everything, two final tears—happy, this time—ran down each cheek.

"Oh, darling, I do love you," she said, practically jumping into Luka's arms. "I'm sorry for doubting you. I get insecure sometimes, you know?"

"Yes, I do, but you don't need to worry. I'm not going anywhere, because I love you, too." Luka's eyes darkened with such deep desire that it made Miku's belly tingle. "Let me show you how much."

As Luka bent down to kiss her, Miku's eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation. But instead of the gentle, loving caress she expected, Luka's lips fused to hers in a searing kiss that quickly sent her senses reeling. Unprepared for the intensity at first, Miku whimpered into Luka's mouth, but soon, she was returning the kiss with equal passion.

When their lips finally parted, the two stood forehead to forehead, gasping, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

"Convinced?" Luka managed to ask between breaths. "Or do I need to show you some more?"

"Don't stop," Miku said, her voice husky with need. "Don't you ever stop showing me."

She took Luka's hand and began to guide her toward the bed.

"But what about the hot pot and the rice?" Luka asked, her tone suggesting the question was far from serious.

"They'll keep for a while longer." Miku grabbed Luka's wrists and pulled, and the two giggled as they tumbled to the mattress together.

A/N:

− Many thanks to my longtime editor and friend, Gray Voice, for not only holding me to a higher standard, but also encouraging me to see this project through to completion.

− This story is based on the 1906 version of O. Henry's short story, The Gift of the Magi, which is available in the public domain at the Gutenberg Project web site (gutenberg [d0t] 0rg).

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Vocaloid characters appearing in this story. They're the intellectual property of the various software companies. This story constitutes "fair use" of these characters as provided for under applicable U.S. and international copyright laws.