Act 1, Chapter 15: 1 Week Go To Hell

Saturday, 2:15 PM. Studio room B-6 pulsed with anticipation. The stage was set; the frequency has awakened, ready to deafen the sanctuary.

Yakomori’s four boys stood in a power stance, ready to unleash their original melodic metalcore beast for the Sakuragawa Halloween Festival.

Riku clenched his black Jackson King V, Daichi clutched his crimson red Schecter Zacky Vengeance model, Kenta held his smoky gray ESP Phoenix bass, and Gojou sat behind the studio's drum kit, exuding the aura of menace.

Riku, Daichi, and Kenta suddenly strummed open strings. The high-gain distortion from their multi-effects jump scared the audiences.

Riku grasped the mic, his guttural scream shaking the walls. "WE ARE YAKOMORI!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS UP, YOU TWATS?!" He flipped a middle finger, his punkish hair bouncing.

Yuna Aoki covered her ears and groaned, while Sara Fujimoto threw up double devil horns, laughing with her tongue out.

Takane, Mei, and Hasumi joined in, mimicking devil horns jokingly. Suede’s trio—observed quietly.

Daichi grabbed the mic, his fry scream piercing like a demon’s screech. "FEEL OUR TORTURE DEVICE!!! IT’S 1 WEEK GO TO HELL!!!" He did a thumb slash pose across his throat, grinning wickedly.

Yuna fired back with a mock scream, rolling her eyes. The room buzzed as Gojou slammed the open hi-hat four times, his exaggerated pose drawing chuckles. “Go!” Riku roared.

The song exploded with a bang. Gojou’s drumming was groovy yet punishing, a relentless pulse driving the track.

Riku, Daichi, and Kenta’s chugging power chords locked in, their downpicking tight with the beat.

Abruptly, Gojou unleashed a death metal-style fill—snarling snares and thunderous double kicks—while the others matched his intensity, their instruments screaming in unison.

The first verse hit hard. Riku’s guttural screams ripped through the mic as he executed aggressive downstrokes on his Jackson. Daichi layered harmonic chords, infusing the music with depth and complexity, his fry screams adding a sinister edge.

The trio paused, screaming together—Riku’s gutturals, Daichi’s fries, and Kenta’s pained wails—while Gojou halted, letting the moment hang.

Then, the groove returned, heads banging in sync. Junichi, tapping his foot, caught the infectious energy, his air-drumming mirroring Gojou’s.

The second verse ramped up. Gojou’s death metal drumming—frantic snares, relentless double kicks, and crashing hi-hats—pushed the tempo to a brutal edge.

Riku, Daichi, and Kenta’s downpicking grew fiercer, their screams blending into a chaotic harmony.

Toriteba’s girls, initially skeptical, began cheering, some laughing as the boys struck exaggerated crab stances while chugging, their frowns more comedic than intimidating.

The chorus arrived, a melodic shift that stunned the room, eliciting gasps and wide-eyed wonder from the audience.

Gojou slowed to a half-time groove, hammering cymbals and double kicks with precision. Riku’s power chords anchored the melody, his voice shifting to a clear, emotional snarl.

Daichi’s fry screams wove in, accompanied by devilish laughs. Kenta’s distorted bassline thrummed steadily, his gritty, choir-like backing vocals adding depth.

"1 Week Go to Hell! We were just get on! Something died inside me, but it’s not just my heart!"
"1 Week Go to Hell! We have seen it all! Something died inside us with no point of return!"

Hiroki muttered to himself, awestruck by the blend of musical influences, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and surprise. "That’s like Bullet for My Valentine mixed with Avenged Sevenfold and a melodic dash of Spiritbox!" The chorus’s emotional weight hit hard, reflecting pain Riku hinted at earlier—perhaps about the loss of his late uncle.

Then, a sudden halt. Gojou’s cymbals rang out, the guitars and bass droning in open-string distortion.

Riku flipped his Line 6 POD to a clean, modulated tone, singing the chorus softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. “1 week go to hell. We were just get on. Something died inside me, but it’s not just my heart.” Daichi and Kenta slowed their playing, their notes gentle yet haunting.

Toriteba’s girls screamed in delight, the shift catching them off guard. Suede watched with a nod. Hiroki’s eyes were wide open, his mind looping the catchy, heart-wrenching chorus, the emotional lyrics resonating with a personal experience, his expression a mix of nostalgia and melancholy.

Gojou struck the hi-hat four times, signaling a return to chaos. The final chorus roared back, full force. “1 Week Go to Hell!” Riku’s power chords thundered, Daichi’s harmonics screeched, and Kenta’s bass pulsed.

The room vibrated with their energy, the air pulsating with the raw power of their performance, sending shivers down the audience's spines.

Riku launched into an epic guitar solo, his Jackson King V wailing, and abused the Line 6 POD's expression pedal for a searing wah sound—Matthew Tuck’s precision meets James Hetfield’s grit.

Daichi joined, his Schecter unleashing a demonic harmony solo, channeling Zacky Vengeance. Gojou shifted to a punk-rock drum groove, fueling the duel.

The room erupted in cheers as Riku and Daichi traded licks, their solo battle a spectacle of raw skill.

The song closed with a supernova. Riku, Daichi, and Kenta screamed, “1 Week Go to Hell!” one last time, their gutturals shaking the walls.

Gojou’s drum solo exploded—snarling snares, pounding toms, relentless kicks, and crashing cymbals. Daichi’s outro harmonic solo wailed, Kenta slammed all four bass strings, and Riku let his guitar’s open strings ring.

Gojou’s final cymbal crash echoed as the trio raised their instruments like battle trophies with blood, throwing up devil horns.

Toriteba’s girls leapt to their feet, screaming and clapping. Suede’s trio joined in, Hiroki clapping with a jaw drop, Aoi nodding silently, and Junichi raising his devil horn.

Yakomori’s 1 Week Go to Hell was an infernal, emotional juggernaut, setting a high bar for Suede’s Death Homesick and Toriteba’s unfinished track.

***

Saturday, 2:20 PM. Studio room B-6 still reverberated with the aftershocks of Yakomori’s infernal debut of 1 Week Go to Hell.

The melodic metalcore anthem had torn through the space like a storm, blending raw fury with haunting melody.

Yakomori’s four boys stood on the small stage, their instruments still humming, grinning at the unexpected polish of their performance like a seasoned touring band, not a group of high schoolers.

Riku, Daichi, Kenta, and Gojou huddled by the mic, laughing among themselves, their brutal stage personas melting into goofy camaraderie.

Riku leaned forward, his voice gentle, starkly contrasted with his earlier guttural screams. "How was it, guys?" he asked, chuckling.

The room erupted again. Toriteba’s girls and Suede’s trio roared with approval, the energy like a roller-coaster ride—brutal anger in the verses, reflective melancholy in the chorus.

Sara, Yuna, and Mei threw up enthusiastic devil horns, their faces lit with excitement. Takane and Hasumi mimicked the gesture timidly, giggling whilst slightly intimidated by Yakomori’s intensity.

Riku, with his Jackson King V hanging loosely, met Hiroki's gaze with a mix of surprise and contemplation. "Hold on. That chorus—are you talking about your late uncle?"

The room fell silent, the air heavy all of a sudden. Riku’s expression darkened, his fingers gripping the guitar’s neck like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

He stepped to the mic, the weight of his words palpable in the air. “Yeah. He died in the military during the Senkaku Island dispute.”

A murmur rippled through the group. Riku’s gaze swept the room, his usual bravado replaced by vulnerability. “I think the twelve of us have something in common, right? Losing someone important.”

Heads nodded slowly, a shared understanding settling over the group. Hiroki’s chest tightened—Kaito’s death in a fiery motorcycle accident had driven him to the LMC to pour his grief into Death Homesick.

But now, he saw it wasn’t just him. Takane’s loss of Kazuki, Riku’s uncle, and who knew what else tied these twelve first-years together.

Their original songs, spanning various genres, served as poignant expressions of their inner turmoil, allowing each member to confront their personal demons in the darkness.

Hiroki glanced at Aoi, her turquoise eye meeting his, her earlier outburst forgotten. Junichi shifted beside him, his drumsticks still, his usual laid-back grin softened by the moment.

Even Toriteba’s girls, known for their infectious energy, stood in solemn silence, each face a canvas of unspoken grief and remembrance.

Riku cleared his throat, shaking off the somber mood. "Anyway, who’s next?" he asked, his energy returning as he gripped the mic.

Yuna groaned, tossing her twintails. “We’re not ready yet!”

“Girl! Grow some fucking spines!” Kenta teased, his bass still slung low, his voice booming through the mic.

Riku’s eyes locked onto Suede, a grin spreading. “You, Suede. Ready?”

Hiroki stepped forward, his heart racing but his resolve firm. He adjusted his glasses and nodded. “It’s time.”

He clasped Riku’s hand in a firm, macho handshake, a silent pact that Suede—Hiroki, Aoi, and Junichi—was ready to take the stage.

In Hiroki’s mind, performing felt like facing a video game boss: one mistake could be fatal, but the thrill of the fight was worth it. Aoi adjusted her eyepatch, her Ibanez bass at the ready, while Junichi twirled his sticks, determined.

Death Homesick was their weapon, still in prototype but enshrined with their own pain.

“Good luck!” Riku said, his smile genuine as he stepped back, giving Suede the stage.

The room buzzed with anticipation. Toriteba’s girls settled in, their earlier conflict with Aoi a distant memory. Yakomori’s boys joined with Toriteba, ready to judge.

Suede's moment had arrived, heralding the onset of a studio showdown where their collective ghosts would resonate through the air, filling the room with echoes of their shared pain and passion.