Busted Timeline

[Opening Scene: 1:45 PM ― Toyohashi South Station Square]
Real World.
The Night Market crackled with excitement.

Strings of colorful lanterns bobbed overhead as Dence and the volunteers hammered together food stalls, unfolded tables, and pinned hand-painted signs. The scent of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and fresh-cut flowers swirled in the warm evening breeze. Children weaved between the booths, laughing, dragging their parents along by the hand. Old friends exchanged greetings. New faces mingled with old. The whole scene buzzed with life—simple, pure, good.

None of them knew they were building atop a landmine. None of them knew that tonight, under the soft glow of lanterns, a hidden war would begin.

At the ticket booth of South Station Square, the Peruvian man spotted Dence, who stood silently, gazing up at the trembling sky. The man started toward him—but the wolf spirit inside struggled; it couldn’t speak the language of the real world. Desperate, he pointed at the faint glow pulsing from Dence’s pocket, trying to warn him through frantic gestures.

Before Dence could make sense of it, a familiar figure appeared—an elderly Japanese girl, a regular face from his busking days. She shuffled up to him with a soft smile, clutching an envelope.

"Someone asked me to give this to you," she said kindly, handing it over.

The envelope bore a stylized logo:
Market Night — The Mirror Realm Gig.

Curious, Dence tore it open. His eyes widened at the sight of the offer inside—a massive talent fee, far beyond anything he had ever imagined. His heart lifted. An answered prayer, he thought. Half of this could go straight to support the AGM Church's projects.

Without a second thought, he waved a quick goodbye to his kids and sprinted toward the next train — a ride from Toyohashi Station straight to Ko Station.

[Mirror Realm – "Market Night"]
Across the rift, a twisted reflection took shape.

The Market Night was not about families, or laughter, or healing.

It was a machine.

A ritual.

By Ryuji's blueprint, a third of the Romals toiled to build grotesque mockeries of the stalls — skeletal frames woven from blackened wood and dead vines.
The other two-thirds fanned out across the Mirror Realm, conscripting lesser creatures with cold promises and whispered threats.

Every participant was marked—
A brand shaped like a crow's foot burned or inked onto the back of their neck.

What the mirror-folk had once believed would be a festival of joy had been corrupted.
Ryuji and Judith had spun legends, twisting old tales of gathering under the stars into dark rites of passage—and the naive, desperate creatures had believed them.

Now, they gathered, faces pale and eyes darting, nervously awaiting the signal—the launch of the Raven Cream Puff event in the real world.

They did not know joy.

A trap disguised as a feast.

And on both sides of the veil, the clock was ticking.

[Ko Station ― Dence and The Four Performers]
The station buzzed with life.
Senior high students in uniforms, chattering tourists with backpacks — a thousand voices merging into a swarm, a busy hive under the fluorescent lights.

An invitation in his pocket guided Dence toward the nearest Don Quijote Mall, just across the street. His heart beat faster as he spotted familiar faces near the entrance.

The four Moonbar performers stood there — casual, unarmed, almost unrecognizable without their showy gear and stage lights. Up close, they didn’t look arrogant at all — just... human. One of them stepped forward, a confident smile on his face.

The Riff Prophet (Jason):
(extending his hand)
"You're Dence, right? Heard a lot about you, man. Jason. I'm sure you remember us." (grins)
"Moonbar?"
Dence:
(shaking his hand with a bright laugh)
"How could I forget those delicious riffs you threw down?"

He glanced at the others, teasing:
Dence (playfully):
"I thought you guys were... untouchable legends or something."

The tall, lean man next to Jason chuckled, stepping up.
The Balladeer Chef (Kent):
"Don't be intimidated, bro. We're just wanderers, same as you. Kent."

The other two joined in, each throwing a casual handshake.
The Soul Siren (Riza):
"Riza. And you’re even cooler in person, by the way."
The Jazz Monk (Marvin):
"Marvin here! I seriously admire people who can write songs. You’re a real one, Dence."

Their laughter spilled naturally.
Stories of gigs, bad soundchecks, late-night ramen runs — it felt less like a meeting and more like a reunion at a music conservatory.

For a moment, the buzz of Ko Station faded, replaced by dreams and melodies.

Then —
a sharp, smart voice cut through the air.

Male Voice:
"Konnichiwa! Dence. Jason. Kent. Riza. Marvin."

They turned.

A sharply dressed man, glasses gleaming under the station lights, approached them with the poise of a corporate host.

Sakamoto:
"My name is Sakamoto. I’m one of the organizers for tonight's Market Night event. Welcome."

Excitement sparked among the group.
Everyone had heard rumors — the pay was triple any real-world gig, with a massive audience promised.
Sakamoto (smiling):
"And with me is one of our Japanese staff. Apologies — she does not speak English."

Then, to everyone's surprise, Sakamoto turned to the woman and spoke — but the words were wrong.
Not Japanese. Not English.

Something else.
Guttural, rhythmic, almost... animalistic.

The performers exchanged confused glances.
It wasn't just strange — it felt off.

Sakamoto clapped his hands once.
Sakamoto (in English):
"Airport rules. You cannot bring personal instruments, weapons, or equipment into the Mirror Realm. We provide everything you’ll need — chord-jacks, mics, monitors, stands — all of top quality."
Riza (raising a hand, sweetly):
"Uhm... ginger tea and honey? I need them for my throat."
Sakamoto (smiling thinly):
"Approved."
Jason (grinning nervously):
"My pedals and effects... these babies are part of my soul."
Sakamoto (shaking his head):
"Not allowed. But don't worry — our tech will match your setup exactly."

High above them, perched on a rooftop near Don Quijote, a figure watched through binoculars.

Ryuji.

He pressed a small intercom clipped to his coat.
Ryuji (darkly, whispering):
"Cancel the ginger tea and honey.
Riza’s smarter than she looks.
That’s not comfort food — that’s her weapon."

From the alley shadows, another Romal staff nodded and slipped away, moving to "correct" the approval.

Meanwhile, just before Sakamoto open the portal, Dence felt a strange chill slide down his spine. He smiled along with the others, but a seed of doubt had quietly planted itself.

Something about this event wasn’t right.
He could feel it.
Dence:
"I am sorry. I have to go to the toilet first. Please just give me more minute."

[3:00 PM ― Reflection Becomes a Prison]
The Market Night’s stage stuttered and flickered like a broken signal.

In the real world, a pair of oversized scissors snipped the crimson ribbon in front of the Raven Cream Puff truck —

SNIP

— and the Mirror Realm convulsed.

Above the night sky of the Mirror Realm, a colossal projection ignited, stretched thin like a bleeding canvas. The Raven symbol, black as tar and sharp as a claw, hovered over them all, eclipsing the stars.

Gasps. Screams.
Some creatures knelt instinctively, trembling.
Others ran — but there was nowhere to run.

The Raven symbol had long been whispered among the elders as the mark of the beast, a prophecy that loyalty would no longer be given — it would be taken.

The deadline had come.

The Crow’s Foot Mark seared itself into the skin of those too slow, too confused, or too weak to resist. Those who dared to refuse were snatched up by Romal enforcers—twisted, monkey-faced creatures grinning as they slapped shackles onto wrists and ankles.

Families were ripped apart in seconds.
Friends turned on each other, desperate to save their own skins.

Anyone who resisted too much was dragged, beaten, and humiliated across the cracked marble square. Those creatures were promised their "freedom" after "testing their worth."

Freedom was a lie.

They were herded, bleeding and broken, into the great stone pit—the Arena of Mourning.

From the dark fringes of the Mirror Realm’s outer space, a massive, egg-shaped boulder hurtled toward the ground, cloaked in swirling mist. Legends whispered that inside it traveled a nightmare—the Soma Eater―a hulking, muscular beast, black as burnt stone, with the body of a raging bison and a gaping, shark-like mouth stretched into a permanent, chilling grin. It was a monster born of endless hunger, a walking death sentence—always smiling, always starving.

The Leader of the Romals stood atop a blackened stage, a grotesque smile splitting his face as he shouted over the chaos.
Leader of Romals (bellowing):
"At exactly 4:44—the hour of death—the Soma Eater will hit the ground and be awaken!
Heh, prepare the offerings!
Let the monster feast on your hope, your cowardice, your miserable little souls!
A bowl of fresh prey—served screaming!"

The Romals roared with laughter, clanging their weapons against the stones in a deafening rhythm. It wasn't just a hunt. It was a celebration of despair.

Five dusty gray horses trotted in, pulling a creaky wheeled cage. Inside, the performers sat quietly, completely unaware. Thick green cloth draped over the cage, flashing fake views of sunny fields, cozy cafes, and cheering crowds — like a giant moving green screen playing a happy lie. From inside, everything looked fine. Outside? A whole different story.

[4:44 PM ― Earthquake and Manipulation]
In the real world, the air was filled with music, laughter, and the scent of sweet pastries.
But in the Mirror Realm, it was the final countdown to disaster.

Above the shadowed skies, a flaming asteroid streaked downward, roaring like a thousand storms. It was hurtling straight for the Arena of Mourning—its impact inevitable.

"Siete... seis... cinco... cuatro... tres..."
(Each number chanted louder, the heat rising, the ground simmering underfoot.)

Even inside their caged prison, the five performers felt the world shift—the air thickened, the heat doubling as if two summers collided.

"Dos... uno..."

DDDRUAGGGGKKKK!

The sky split open.
A violent tremor ripped through the Mirror Realm—magnitude 9 and climbing.
Market stalls toppled like dominos. Stone streets cracked like eggshells. Trees shattered into shards of glass.
The mega-boulder slammed into the heart of the arena with apocalyptic force. Chaos bloomed.

The thick green cloths over the cages tore away, revealing the terrified faces of the performers. Their wheeled cages, as if caught in some magnetic pull, scraped closer to the monstrous rock—dragged within five meters of it. It felt deliberate. It was deliberate.

The boulder pulsed ominously, like a grotesque heartbeat, cracks spiderwebbing across its shell. Three stories high, it loomed over them like a god of death.

Inside the cage—
Riza (tears streaming):
"This was never a gig... it was a sacrifice. We're a threat to them. So they chose to erase us."
Kent (voice hollow):
"My music... my dreams... all ending in this hellhole."
Jason (gritting his teeth):
"We were disarmed the moment we trusted them. I knew it... this isn’t music—it's a death sentence."

Meanwhile, Dence stood frozen, silent, lips barely moving—whispering a prayer only he could hear.

All around, the Romals stomped and howled, their guttural "moo" chants shaking the air, coaxing the horror inside the rock to awaken.

The boulder cracked wide open.

From the fissure, a sharp, monstrous claw emerged—followed by a grotesque black arm as thick as a tree trunk. Every eye in the arena widened in horror.

Without warning, the clawed arm shot out.
A nearby Romal guard—too slow to react—was snatched off his feet and dragged screaming into the boulder’s maw.
A sickening crunch echoed as the creature inside fed.
Marvin (half-laughing, half-sobbing):
"This is insane. Are we the appetizer... or the main course?"
Dence (calm, yet burning inside):
"Maybe... maybe a song can save us."

Slowly, Dence began to sing—a melody woven with ancient authority:
"I have given you authority
To trample on snakes and scorpions
And to overcome
All the power of the enemy
Nothing will harm you. Nothing. Nothing will harm you.
Nothing will harm you. Nothing. Nothing will harm you."

His voice, though trembling, carried a strange power.

Then—

CRACK.

The egg shattered completely.
The Soma Eater emerged—muscular, black as obsidian, shark-mouthed, grinning with endless hunger. But the song, amplified as the other performers joined in, filled the air like burning light. A heavenly blending of voices like choir.

The monster recoiled.

It thrashed. It clawed. It hungered—but it could not touch them.

Instead, in blind, savage desperation, the Soma Eater turned on the Romal troops, devouring them one by one.
With each consumed soul, the air grew heavier, colder—their spirits writhing in agony before vanishing into nothingness.

Weapons clattered uselessly to the ground.
Spears shattered. Swords bent. Arrows snapped mid-air.

The Leader of the Romals, seeing the horror unfold, bellowed new orders—
"Strike the singers! Kill them before the song destroys us all!"

The five performers sang with everything they had, their voices weaving a shield against the monstrous Soma Eater.

The song rang out, powerful, desperate—a final stand against death.

Until—

TSUUUKS.

The sharp, horrible sound of arrows slicing through flesh.
Riza gasped, her song cut short, as ten arrows buried themselves deep into her chest.
She collapsed, her life extinguished in an instant.

Then Kent—his eyes wide in shock—was impaled by a long, gleaming spear that tore through his chest and burst from his back. He fell to his knees before crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

Jason and Marvin—still singing—didn’t even have time to scream.
Two swordsmen struck with ruthless precision: one blade through Jason’s stomach, another slashing Marvin’s neck.
Blood sprayed into the air like a grotesque rain.
Within less than a minute, four voices were silenced forever.

Only Dence remained. He saw the deaths of the four performers. He's now raging in anger.

Heart pounding, he reacted on instinct.
His hand whipped out—
The guitar pick throwing knife flashed like lightning.
A Romal guard's head snapped back, a clean shot through the eye.
Another Romal fell. Then another.
But there were too many.

From behind—
A shadow—
A glint of steel—

SHLUNK.

A two-edged sword plunged into Dence’s back.
He staggered forward, his blood pooling at his feet.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears... slowing... fading...

Another blade found his side—
ripping through flesh and bone.

In the real world—
at South Station Square—
a little girl suddenly began to cry.

Dence’s youngest daughter clutched her tiny chest, sobbing uncontrollably, as if some invisible blade had cut straight through her heart.

"Daddy..."

Her voice trembled, fragile as a broken chord.
She felt it—somewhere beyond the veil—her father's pain.

The world went eerily still.

The monsters roared, but their cries were muted, distant—like a nightmare too deep to reach.

It was tragic beyond words.

The five performers of Moon Bar—those shining lights—were gone.
Their final notes drowned in blood and silence.