Act 1, Chapter 11.5: Fuel My Fire

Friday evening, 8 PM. Hiroki Yamada holed up in his bedroom, lost in the world of his late brother Kaito’s black-gold Les Paul with its gold Floyd Rose. He tweaked the mixing of Death Homesick in BandLab to balance each track.

Each pluck, each divebomb from the Floyd Rose, made him feel like a frontman commanding a stadium, far beyond a mere rockstar.

Suddenly, a tap on his window snapped him out of his trance. He set the Les Paul aside. Then, he opened the curtain and jumped back.

A petite figure in gothic lolita attire stood outside the balcony. Her striking turquoise eye and distinctive black eyepatch added to her unnerving allure. “Dark Lord of Tartarus!” Aoi Mizuno proclaimed.

Hiroki quickly opened the balcony door and karate-chopped her forehead lightly, annoyed. “Aoi! What the hell are you doing here?!”

Aoi rubbed her head, a wince escaping her lips. Before he could press further, he spotted a rope dangling from the balcony above his apartment. “Wait… How'd you even get here?!” he asked, stunned.

Aoi clasped her hands dramatically, her chuunibyou flair in full swing. “I have pilgrimed to this sacred palace to expand the Almighty’s words—”

Hiroki cut her off, with frustration. “You moved into this apartment? Since when?”

She nodded. “Three weeks ago.”

“Fine... get back to your—” he started, but Aoi grabbed his hand, her tone pleading. “Hiroki… Can I stay for a bit?”

Guilt tugged at him. “Fine, don't do anything stupid!” he sighed, letting her enter through the balcony.

His small bedroom resembled a shrine to his passions, adorned with anime posters on the walls, manga neatly stacked on his desk, and CDs from Muse, Deftones, Radiohead, and more scattered about. Aoi sat on the floor, her eyes carefully eyeing his setup. “What forbidden sorcery art thou forging?”

Hiroki picked up the Les Paul, smirking. “Still working on Death Homesick.” He handed her his IEMs and hit play on BandLab.

The track opened with a clean guitar riff, a nod to Nirvana’s Heart Shaped Box, laced with phaser and lush spring reverb. It shifted into distorted, dissonant E minor and D major chords, echoing their earlier jam.

Four hi-hat hits from the drum machine led into a chaotic explosion—Junichi’s groovy beat, Aoi’s beefy fuzzy bassline, and Hiroki’s roaring chords. With only three instruments, the music resonated like a cacophony of a thousand, chaotic yet polished.

The soft section followed, with a clean, Uno-style solo, tremolo shakes adding a haunting vibe. A brief silence gave way to a banshee-like scream, returning to the verse’s fury, ending with a final chaotic chorus.

Aoi’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as if witnessing the true might of the “Dark Lord of Tartarus.” Hiroki scratched his neck, dissatisfied. “No vocals yet. Don’t have money for the condenser mic.”

Aoi grabbed his shoulders, her enthusiasm bursting. “It’s fine! Sing this anthem of desperation live!”

Hiroki sighed, a mix of reluctance and empathy evident in his demeanor, before finally acquiescing. He played the track through his phone’s speaker, singing the lyrics he’d written:

Intro Verse (Clean):
They scream, my name.
They reap, my sow.
They laugh, my faith.
They watch, my death.

Verse (Distorted):
I refuse, but you drag me down.
Months in hell, I fight evils.
I squander, with your barks.
Their bullets, splatter my skull.

Chorus & Final Chorus (Scream):
My war, they have done!
My home, they have dried!
My life, they have died!
My death, feels homesick!

In the clean intro, his soft voice cracked with despair, channeling Deftones’ Chino Moreno. The distorted verse grew louder, his falsetto on “I squander, with your barks” blending Moreno’s rawness with Muse’s Matthew Bellamy’s theatricality.

The chorus unleashed a banshee scream, raw and visceral, echoing his middle-school chuunibyou days covering Deftones’ Elite with fry screams.

Aoi's jaw dropped even lower, her chuunibyou spirit igniting with fervor, deeply moved by the power of Hiroki's music. “The Dark Lord's wickedness never fades away! I need holy water, Godspeed!” She struck a dramatic pose.

Hiroki shrugged, embarrassed. “It’s still rough. Poorly produced.”

Aoi grabbed his hand with fierce determination, her eyes blazing with unwavering passion. “Don’t care! I want to sing too! We’ll rule the stage with this!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hiroki muttered. He glanced at the clock, which almost reached 9 PM. “Go back to your room. It’s late.”

“Fine, Dark Lord,” Aoi teased, climbing up the rope to her apartment. “See you next time.” She finished as Hiroki closed the balcony door.

After this encounter, Hiroki returned to work on his Death Homesick. The raw confession Takane made about Kazuki lingered in Hiroki's mind, fueling the desperate edge of the frequency in his work.

With unwavering determination, he meticulously tweaked the mixing and mastering, aiming to craft a tribute to Kaito, Kazuki, and all those haunted by their pasts, until exhaustion eventually consumed him.