The crowd's roar was relentless — cheers, whistles, and applause all tangled together into one enormous wave of sound.
Nagato Tetsuya stood in the middle of that crowd, holding a portion of takoyaki that had long since gone cold. The skewer was still stuck in it, but eating was the furthest thing from his mind.
His gaze was locked on the mobile stage truck — fixed on the four girls who had just finished performing Sunny Day Good Mood, and on the strangely costud male student standing alongside them.
It brought him back to what he'd just witnessed monts before: the Light Music Club girls playing Fluffy Ti.
Nagato Tetsuya felt, with absolute certainty, that his decision to slack off today and co back to his old school had been exactly the right call.
Nagato Tetsuya was an A&R Director at Sony Music.
In recent years, with the rapid expansion of ACG culture, ani songs perford by idol singers and voice actresses had begun incorporating heavy band elents. On top of that, the new wave of high-energy group idol acts — quite different from the old model of cultivating a "sweetheart of the nation" image — was starting to show signs of breaking into the mainstream.
This had led Sony Music's upper managent to put their heads together and dream up a project: launching a concept that combined idols with a girl band.
That project had naturally landed on the desk of A&R Director Nagato Tetsuya.
Finding the right artists hadn't been too difficult. He'd carefully scouted several promising candidates — strong vocal tone, the right look, the right personality. All he needed was the right songs, and formal training and packaging could begin.
But the songs…
He'd t with countless music producers. For weeks he'd been listening to more than a dozen new demos every single day — including demos from veteran industry nas. Every one of those songs was genuinely good.
But not a single one made his heart move.
Nagato Tetsuya kept feeling that every one of those tracks was stylistically wrong for the project. He often found himself wondering: what kind of song was he actually looking for?
There was sothing in his mind — a blurry, formless thing. Like a patch of mist. Or the vague silhouette of sothing he couldn't quite make out. He could feel it was there, but every ti he reached for it, it dissolved and vanished.
In short, he couldn't get a grip on it.
As the project deadline crept closer, Nagato Tetsuya had responded by doing the opposite of buckling down. And when he happened to hear that his old school — now rged into Private Ousai — was holding its culture festival and anniversary celebration today, he'd decided to just co back and chase a little of that long-lost high school nostalgia.
He'd wandered through the school, dropping in on stall after stall run by his juniors from various classes and clubs. When he heard that one of the music clubs was putting on a performance in the schoolyard, he'd grabbed a serving of takoyaki, bought a ticket, and headed over with genuine interest.
When he got there, he discovered the performing band was made up entirely of girls — which only sharpened his interest further.
After the Light Music Club girls finished Fluffy Ti, Nagato Tetsuya knew at a single glance that this band's skill level was far beyond what you'd expect from a school club. With the exception of the girl on rhythm guitar, the rest were clearly veterans who regularly perford at venues like livehouses.
The song itself was also distinctive — its style was removed from mainstream music, closer to ACG in feel, blending pop and rock elents, and above all, it was absolutely brimming with the kind of vibrant, youthful school-days energy that could only be genuine.
In that mont, Nagato Tetsuya understood.
He finally knew why none of the demos the producers had sent him had satisfied him.
Because every single one of those songs sounded like adults reminiscing about their youth.
If this was a girl band idol project, then what you needed was the feeling of actually being seventeen or eighteen — of living inside that thick, intoxicating school-days atmosphere right now, with a guileless, unguarded sincerity that held nothing back.
That was the feeling. That was exactly it.
And he was certain: a song like that couldn't possibly be obscure. Which ant it had to be an original — sothing that had never appeared on the market.
It was only then that Nagato Tetsuya rembered — the purple-haired bassist and vocalist had ntioned sothing earlier. Sothing about the composition and arrangent being done by a Yukinoshita from the Manga Research Club.
So, one of his juniors still enrolled here.
He replayed the lody and arrangent of Fluffy Ti in his mind. Could a song this mature and assured really have been written by a high schooler?
Then again — maybe only soone that age, in that environnt, could write sothing like this.
The thought made him more and more excited. He inwardly marveled that this trip had absolutely been worth it. This was exactly the song he'd been desperately searching for all these days.
Truly worthy of being my junior, he thought, with a kind of reflected pride.
With a satisfied air, Nagato Tetsuya speared one of the now-completely-cold takoyaki balls on his skewer and popped it into his mouth, savoring it contentedly.
Once their performance wraps up, I'll go over and ask them just who exactly this Yukinoshita from the Manga Research Club is.
He was still thinking that when a car horn sounded in the distance. Like everyone else around him, he instinctively stepped aside and looked toward the sound — just in ti to see a large mobile stage truck rolling into the schoolyard.
The truck pulled to a stop beside the Light Music Club's stage, angling into a V-shape. The stage apparatus began to unfold slowly, and the student council's voice crackled over the PA with an impromptu announcent.
Then, another all-girl band appeared before the crowd.
Well — if you ignored the one male student in the bizarre costu.
And from the looks of it, they were setting up for a head-to-head showdown against the Light Music Club girls.
Nagato Tetsuya, along with every other bloodthirsty spectator in the crowd, felt the show getting better and better by the minute.
And it seed like this band was the Manga Research Club — the very group that the purple-haired bassist had ntioned as the ones who'd written their songs.
He wondered which one was the Yukinoshita junior he'd heard about. That made him even more curious.
After listening to the Manga Research Club's Sunny Day Good Mood all the way through, Nagato Tetsuya made his professional assessnt out of habit.
The Manga Research Club was clearly a step below the Light Music Club overall. But that one male student in the outlandish costu — his lead guitar work single-handedly elevated the whole band by an entire level.
And their Sunny Day Good Mood, just like the Light Music Club's Fluffy Ti, carried that heavy ACG flavor and that sa overflowing school-days youth energy.
Nagato Tetsuya was now quite certain both songs had co from the sa hand.
He was barely restraining the impulse to climb up onto the stage right now and demand to know who had written these two songs.
I have to buy out every single one of their songs.
And ideally sign all these girls to the company's artist roster too.
It's true — only girls who are seventeen or eighteen can sing that kind of youth. There's no one more perfect for this project than them.
I just don't know if I can convince these juniors to co on board.
As eager as Nagato Tetsuya was, he still held himself back from acting on impulse — because the mont the Manga Research Club's song ended, the Light Music Club launched into a new number.
After Tsushima Kagami and the others finished Sunny Day Good Mood, the crowd below erupted into a sustained wave of applause and cheering that showed no sign of dying down.
They stood on the stage and bowed deeply to the audience. Sweat born of overwhelming nerves streaked down their faces, but every single one of them was wearing a satisfied smile.
Sayuri set down her bass and was the first to rush toward Shimizu Nayotake, throwing her arms around her.
"Nayotake! You were incredible!"
Shimizu Nayotake was nearly squeezed breathless, but she laughed and hugged Sayuri back.
"Everyone played so well…"
Tsushima Kagami walked over, his gaze resting on Shimizu Nayotake's face for just a mont. Her color was higher than usual, her breathing faster.
"You okay?" he asked.
Shimizu Nayotake nodded.
"Yeah!"
Kosaka Akane placed her guitar on the stand and ca over to give Shimizu Nayotake a pat on the shoulder.
"Go rest offstage for a bit — it's the Light Music Club's turn next."
The group exchanged smiles and glanced over at Ijichi Seika and her bandmates across the way.
Catching the look Tsushima Kagami's crew sent them, Ijichi Seika and the others were already ready to go. They exchanged a confirming nod.
This ti it was Ijichi Seika who stepped up to the front of the stage and called out to the crowd, guitar in hand.
The next song would be —
Don't say "lazy"!
As Ijichi Seika finished the announcent, everyone looked back at Hiratsuka Shizuka behind the kit. The corners of her mouth curved up just slightly. She simply raised her drumsticks and tapped them softly in the air twice.
Then — a spotlight dropped from above, hitting center stage.
The next instant, her right hand crashed down on the hi-hat twice in rapid succession, followed by two dense, rolling volleys across the full drum kit.
Then Ijichi Seika and Yukinoshita Shizuku's guitars, Hiroi Kikuri's bass, and PA-san's keyboard all cut in simultaneously.
The song opened straight into a blood-pumping chorus.
[Please don't say "You are lazy" — because deep down I'm really crazy]
[A swan gliding on still water, paddling unseen beneath the surface]
[Loyal to my instincts, fooled again and again — and still I don't care]
[The future's wide open, so taking a break once in a while is fine]
This ti the lead vocals had switched to Ijichi Seika.
Her voice defied everyone's expectations entirely. It was nothing like Hiroi Kikuri's languid, honeyed tone from the previous song — instead, it was bright and clean, full of energy and clarity.
Paired with Ijichi Seika's natural aura of a girl who doesn't play by the rules, and the provocative look she was shooting across at Tsushima Kagami's group, the song took on a completely different character.
Hiroi Kikuri's bass lines ca in dense and rapid — fast-picked runs and slick chord shifts that made every bass joke officially unfunny. Anyone could hear the difference: that deep, dense, gritty, powerfully driving bass growl, nothing like an electric guitar.
Hiratsuka Shizuka's drumming was relentless, pushed to its limit. Every stomp of the hi-hat, every rolling fill across the kit, every crack of the crash — each one landed squarely on the heartbeat of every spectator below.
PA-san's keyboard wove in and out, drawing on synthesizer patches — sawtooth waves, crystal tones, sci-fi sound effects — layering them one on top of another, giving the song a richness and complexity that kept building.
Yukinoshita Rei briefly took on lead guitar duties during the chorus, her right hand strumming at a speed that seed barely possible, yet every note ca out clean.
The audience below was already lost in the savage groove of the chorus, heads and arms moving without thinking.
When the chorus ended and the bridge arrived, Ijichi Seika's electric guitar mimicked a warping "wah-wah" distortion effect. Yukinoshita Shizuku stepped back into her rhythm guitar role.
After the bridge, the song moved into the verse.
[Broke a nail — fixed it with glue]
[Sohow that tiny thing felt like an achievent]
[The point is to love yourself]
[Love has to co from within]
[How can you love others if you don't love yourself?]
[Please don't say "You are lazy"]
The second chorus ca around, and after it ended, the bridge connecting to the third section shifted into a variation on the earlier motif, capped by a guitar solo from Ijichi Seika.
Finally, beneath the bridge-turned-outro lody, the song cut off — abrupt, sudden, total silence.
Every mber of the audience, whose emotions had been wound tight by the whole song, was left standing in stunned silence.
They looked up at the stage, at the girls who were clearly running on fus — breathless, spent — staring back out at them.
Then a burst of furious applause broke out, and it refused to stop. Wave after wave of cheering and clapping surged higher and higher.
Ijichi Seika and her bandmates watched the crowd's reaction, and only then allowed themselves to relax — and break into smiles.
Then, as one, they turned toward Tsushima Kagami's group across the stage, raised their index fingers, and curled them in a slow, deliberate beckoning gesture.
Your turn.
The audience, snapping out of their daze, gradually turned their eyes toward Tsushima Kagami's Manga Research Club side of the stage.
Tsushima Kagami's group was already set.
Both LED screens flashed, and the previous text changed.
[SOS Brigade]— God knows…!
A spotlight fell from above, landing on Shimizu Nayotake at center stage.
Her hands wrapped around the microphone, her head bowed, her eyes closed.
The murmur of the crowd faded away.
Every single person held their breath, eyes fixed on that lone figure on the stage.
Shimizu Nayotake gave a small, quiet nod to the people behind her — and then —
Clang, clang!
Machida Sonoko's drumsticks landed on the hi-hat, and a full rolling drum fill launched the song forward. Lead guitar, rhythm guitar, and bass all surged in together.
Just as the Light Music Club had opened with a hook that seized every eardrum and pulled every emotion taut — God knows… opened the sa way, with an extraordinarily long guitar solo as its intro.
A sharp, tearing guitar solo poured out of the speakers.
Tsushima Kagami's left hand raced through rapid scalar runs and string-skipping leaps; his right hand combined heavy hamr-ons and pull-offs in a torrent of legato phrasing, making the solo flow like water — seamless, unbroken, a single continuous breath.
The tight tempo, the high-density cascade of notes, the raw, electrifying character of the electric guitar —
The whole venue ignited all over again.
Under Tsushima Kagami's solo, every pair of eyes in the crowd converged on his hands.
Sayuri, Kosaka Akane, and Machida Sonoko played on as his backdrop, their roles reduced to supporting players — and they'd known it would be that way. They didn't mind at all, each one carrying out their own part without missing a beat.
At the instant the intro ended, Tsushima Kagami, Sayuri, Kosaka Akane, and Machida Sonoko all looked toward Shimizu Nayotake, standing at the front of the stage.
Shimizu Nayotake raised her head. She opened her eyes. She drew close to the microphone.
[I ca running, heart full of longing]
[I'm sorry — there's nothing I can do]
[Even sharing your pain with you]
[Is sothing you've never let do]
Her voice was completely different now.
Gone was the clear, bright tone from Sunny Day Good Mood. In its place was sothing slightly hoarse — heavy, weighted.
When the verse ended and the chorus arrived:
[Co with ]
[No matter how cruel, how dark the world becos]
[You will find a way to shine]
[Beyond the edge of the future]
Machida Sonoko's drum pattern quickened, growing denser — like a heartbeat spiraling toward the edge of control. Paired with the crushing weight of the bass drum, it hit every chest in the crowd like a fist.
Kosaka Akane drove her right hand across the strings with force, her foot working through the guitar effects pedals, unleashing chain after chain of distorted, powerful chord arpeggios.
Sayuri's bass sent a cascade of low-end notes booming out of the speakers — like a rumble rising up from sowhere underground.
She laced in transition notes and ornantal fills throughout, giving the bass line a groove that was rich and unpredictable.
Tsushima Kagami matched everyone else's energy, palm-muting his strings and laying down the rhythm.
They were all, at this mont, giving the stage over to Shimizu Nayotake.
The first section ended. The second section mirrored it and ended too. The song moved quickly into the third.
At the very end of the pre-chorus leading into it —
Shimizu Nayotake's voice climbed with the key change, and then — suddenly — it tore open.
A sound like a scream, like a howl, like every emotion dredged up from the deepest part of her chest and forced out through sheer will — raw and absolute and unstoppable.
Every word carried weight. Every word carried conviction.
As if she were tearing her own soul into pieces and scattering them into the lody.
The lead vocalist's sudden, violent surge of expression caught the crowd completely off guard.
When the pre-chorus finally ended and the key resolved back for the chorus —
The crowd, now fully awake, went absolutely wild.
Shimizu Nayotake's voice was almost screaming.
Every word burst from sowhere deep in her soul — carrying all the stubbornness, all the defiance, all the longing and the dreams of a seventeen-year-old girl who refused to let go.
Finally, under a new solo from Tsushima Kagami as the outro, the song ca to its end.
The crowd exploded.
Like every emotion built up across the entire performance had finally found its release.
Cheers, screams, and applause crashed together, swelling into one enormous wave of sound that seed like it could lift the entire schoolyard off the ground.
Shimizu Nayotake stood at center stage, breathing hard.
Her heart was beating faster and faster.
Fast enough that she felt unsteady on her feet.
But she was smiling — genuinely, happily.
She turned around and looked at the four people behind her.
Everyone was looking back at her with warm, approving eyes.
I didn't hold anyone back. That's such a relief.
That was what she was thinking.
But then her heart gave a sudden, violent lurch.
Like an invisible hand had reached into her chest and squeezed.
The smile froze on her face.
Everything in front of her began to blur.
The stage lights. The crowd below. The friends at her side.
All the colors of the world, all the sounds — they started to drain away.
"Nayotake?"
"Nayotake!"
She heard soone calling her na.
She tried to answer, but her lips wouldn't move.
Everything went dark.
Shimizu Nayotake's body went limp — all strength gone — and she collapsed backward.
Tsushima Kagami had already sensed sothing was wrong and had moved closer. He caught her before she fell.
He imdiately shouted to Kosaka Akane, who was rushing over from behind.
"Akane-senpai — please ask the driver to take us straight to the nearest hospital!"
____
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