Volume 1, Chapter 2: Call Of The Stage

Tuesday morning, the gymnasium hall buzzed with anticipation as Sakuragawa High’s first-year students shuffled in, shoulder to shoulder, for the club introduction assembly. Hiroki Yamada squeezed into a spot near the middle, his palms sweaty from the crowd’s energy. The stage, framed by red curtains, hosted a parade of clubs—soccer, tea ceremony, calligraphy, etc.—each giving predictable pitches about teamwork and tradition. Hiroki’s mind drifted to his black-gold custom-made Les Paul, tucked away at home, and the Light Music Club. Would it live up to Kaito’s stories of late-night jams and stage lights?

“And now, introducing the Light Music Club!” The stage host’s voice boomed, snapping Hiroki back to reality. Polite claps rippled through the first-years, but a sudden roar erupted from the back. Second- and third-years stormed toward the stage, waving glow sticks and shouting like they were at a rock concert. Hiroki blinked, caught off guard. What’s with this hype?

The curtains parted, revealing all three 2nd years:Mika Sato—the club president—behind her small Tama drum set, testing the snares and toms with a grin. Ren Takahashi, hoodie up, adjusted her Yamaha keyboard, her fingers dancing over the keys to check the sound. And Sora Nakamura—the cool, sarcastic club's vice president—stood center stage, slinging a brown short-scaled Ibanez bass with a multi-effects unit at his feet.

Hiroki’s jaw dropped. “Singing and playing bass?” Hiroki muttered to himself, incredulous. “How’s that even possible?” Bass was the most underestimated role of any band, laying down the groove while guitars stole the spotlight. Yet Sora, with his laid-back smirk, looked ready to own the stage.

Sora leaned into the mic, his voice low and confident. “We are Procorat, guys! Let’s wake this place up!” The name Procorat hit Hiroki’s ears like a weird chord—quirky, but it stuck. Mika raised her drumsticks, counted four sharp clacks, and the band exploded into sound.

The music hit like a tidal wave. Sora’s bass didn’t just hum—it growled, beefy and fuzzy, each plucked string ringing with a guitar-like edge. Hiroki’s eyes widened. This isn’t normal bass. It was sharp and aggressive. Mika’s drums pounded with reckless energy, her fills channeling Dave Grohl’s raw groove. Ren’s synth bass rumbled through the floor, weaving a sci-fi pulse that gave the song an otherworldly edge.

“Royal Blood influence,” a voice boomed to Hiroki’s right. “With a crude marriage of Queens of the Stone Age and The White Stripes.” He turned to see Aoi Mizuno, her eyepatch glinting under the gym lights, standing with her arms crossed. For once, her tone was straightforward, with no chuunibyou flair.

Hiroki nodded, too stunned to reply. She was right. The song, an original in hard-hitting C minor with Sora’s bass tuned to drop C, felt like a love letter to gritty American-styled desert rock with a Japanese spin. Sora’s vocals were raw, dipping into Mike Kerr’s sultry snarl, while his basslines danced between melody and rhythm. Ren, her hood bobbing, layered haunting synth arpeggios, her fingers a blur. Mika, all smiles, drove the groovy beat like a storm.

Then came the solo. Sora stomped his multi-effects pedal, flipping the bass tone from a deep rumble to a piercing, guitar-esque wail countless times. Hiroki’s heart raced. He’s playing bass like a lead guitar? It was unorthodox and electrifying. Ren didn’t back down, her keyboard's synth erupting into a rapid arpeggio as she banged her head, lost in the rhythm. The two seemed to duel for the spotlight, their sounds clashing in a chaotic harmony.

Suddenly, Sora and Ren crouched low, silencing their instruments and pointing to Mika. The crowd roared as she unleashed a drum solo—fast, wild, her sticks a blur across the toms. The second- and third-years went feral, chanting “Procorat! Procorat!” Even the first-years, Hiroki included, were swept up, jumping and cheering like they were at a rock festival, not a school gym.

The song ended with a bang. Sora let out a falsetto wail, smacking his bass strings for a final distorted chord. Ren’s synth soared into a shimmering solo, and Mika closed with a thunderous roll across her kit. The gym erupted in applause, glow sticks waving like a sea of stars.

Sora grabbed the mic, catching his breath. “Thank you, everyone! We’re Procorat of the Light Music Club. We’re recruiting new members, so hit us up at Room B-12 if you’re interested.” He flashed a grin, and the trio exited to chants of “Encore!”

Hiroki stood frozen, his pulse pounding. Procorat’s performance wasn’t just good—it was a fire that lit something deep inside him, a spark he hadn’t felt since Kaito’s guitar lessons. His fingers twitched, itching for his own strings. He could almost hear his brother’s voice: “Scream it, Hiroki! Let it out!”

A poke at his waist jolted him. Aoi stood beside him, her visible eye gleaming. “I feel it… the call of the stage,” her voice soft but intense. “The Divine Eye yearns to unleash its rhythm.”

Hiroki glanced at her, then broke into a grin. “Well, what are you waiting for? Wanna go to their room?”

Aoi’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Yeah!” she said, no chuunibyou theatrics, just raw excitement.

As they wove through the dispersing crowd, Hiroki’s mind raced. Procorat had shown him what the Light Music Club could be—a place to channel his music, his grief, maybe even his buried “Dark Lord” side. Room B-12 was waiting, and for the first time in years, Hiroki felt ready to step into the spotlight.

***

Hiroki and Aoi pushed through the cherry blossom-lined path toward Room B-12, their footsteps quick with excitement. The memory of Procorat’s explosive performance in the gymnasium still thrummed in Hiroki’s veins, like a riff he couldn’t shake. Aoi, for once, wasn’t spouting chuunibyou nonsense, her usual dramatic flair replaced by a quiet intensity.

“You saw how they owned that stage,” Hiroki said, gripping his backpack straps. “Sora-senpai's bass was like… a guitar on steroids. And Mika-senpai's drumming? Insane.”

Aoi nodded, her eyepatch catching the afternoon light. “The priestess senses their power. The Divine Eye yearns to join such a covenant.” She paused, then added with a tinge of melancholy, “You’ll play, won’t you? To honor your brother’s flame?”

Hiroki’s chest tightened at the mention of Kaito. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guitar and vocals. I wanna make him proud.”

Aoi smirked, a spark of her usual theatrics returning. “Then prepare, Dark Lord. The stage awaits us both.”

As they turned the corner to Room B-12, they came to an abrupt halt. A swarm of first-years crowded the hallway, buzzing with chatter and nervous energy. At least two dozen students clutched club application forms, their voices overlapping with talk of Procorat’s performance. The door to the small club room was propped open, revealing a chaotic scene inside.

“Seems like they’re carefully hand-picking someone worthy to be one of them,” Aoi muttered, eyeing the crowd.

Hiroki chuckled in a daze. “The room’s too damn small for this.”

Inside, Mika stood on a chair, waving her arms to quiet the mob. Sora leaned on a club's couch, looking mildly annoyed, while Ren typed furiously on her phone, her hood pulled low. The room was a cozy mess—amps stacked haphazardly, posters of Nirvana, The Pillows, Ging Nang Boyz, and Casiopea peeling off the walls, and a space barely big enough for a full band.

“Everyone, this is the club's president speaking!” Mika called, her voice cheerful but firm. “I want all of you to keep quiet and prove your talent, whether you’re allowed to join or not. Our room’s small, so keep that in mind. We’re only recruiting twelve members this time.”

Hiroki and Aoi slipped in, squeezing onto the floor with the other twenty-seven first-years. The air hummed with anticipation, students whispering about their instruments and song choices. Hiroki glanced at Aoi, who sat cross-legged, her bandaged arm resting on her knee.

She nudged him. “Shall you wield an axe and sing in a choir?”

Hiroki's visible eye glinted, his enthusiasm bubbling up with a nervous chuckle. Despite cringed at Aoi’s chuunibyou “Of course! I wanna be like Matthew Bellamy’s Japanese cousin. You?”

Aoi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “I wield the axe of divine strings and the voice of the cosmos to counter thy blackened reigns.”

Hiroki raised an eyebrow. “Guitar and vocals? Bold. I’ll race you there!”

Aoi smirked, her chuunibyou flair in full swing. “The Priestess accepts thy challenge, Dark Lord of Tartarus.”

Before they could banter further, Sora stepped forward, holding a stack of blank papers. Mika and Ren flanked him, Ren holding up her phone with a message: Write it up. Sora’s voice cut through the chatter with a brief loud clap. “Alright, kids, listen up. We’re only picking twelve members today because this room can’t handle more. Write down your instrument of choice and the song you’ll audition with. Keep it under three minutes!”

Mika and Ren passed out the papers, and the room fell into a focused hush. Hiroki grabbed a pencil, his choice clear. Guitar and vocals, no question. He’d always dreamed of ruling the stage like Muse’s frontman, commanding both riffs and lyrics. For the song, he hesitated. Deftones was tempting, but too raw for an acoustic audition. Muse was too complex without a band. Then it hit him: Radiohead’s Street Spirit (Fade Out). Its haunting melody and emotional depth felt right, a tribute to Kaito’s quiet nights of acoustic strumming with him.

He glanced at Aoi, who was scribbling furiously, spinning her pencil like a butterfly knife. Curiosity got the better of him. “By the way, what are you gonna play?”

Aoi’s eye flicked toward him, a mischievous grin spreading. “I shall not betray my own secrets to the Dark Lord of Tartarus yet." She tapped her paper dramatically, shielding it with her bandaged arm.

Hiroki snorted, shaking his head. “Fine, keep your mysteries, Miss Priestess.”

The room buzzed as the other first-years filled out their forms. A girl nearby whispered about playing flute to a J-Pop track. A boy boasted about shredding a Metallica riff. Hiroki handed his paper to Mika, who gave him a thumbs-up. Aoi passed hers to Ren, who nodded silently.

Sora collected the forms, scanning them with a raised eyebrow. “Alright, we’ve got a lot of vocalists, some guitarists, some keyboardists, few drummers, and… one saxophone?” He shot a look at a nervous kid in the back, who shrank under the attention whilst clenching his saxophone bag. “We’ll start auditions in ten. Get your instruments ready.”

Hiroki’s heart raced. The small room felt smaller with every passing second, the weight of the audition pressing down. He could almost hear Kaito’s voice: “Feel the music, Hiro. Let it scream.” Beside him, Aoi adjusted her eyepatch, her expression a mix of confidence and something softer—nervousness, maybe? For the first time, Hiroki wondered what lay beneath her chuunibyou act.

As Mika tuned the drum set and Ren tested her keyboard, Hiroki leaned back, gripping his paper’s edge. Twenty-seven hopefuls. Twelve spots. He and Aoi had to stand out. The stage beckoned, and the Dark Lord might need to rise once more, ready for the challenge.