Act 1, Chapter 18: The Spirit Carries On

3:00 PM. The sun is about to set. The sanctuary of frequency had returned to its slumber.

Yakomori's inferno scorched the stage; Suede's purgatory carried their souls; and Toriteba's melancholy had soared to paradise after Hasumi's tearful awakening. Their spirit still carries on.

The private band battle among the twelve first-years had ended, leaving behind a shared catharsis that linked them closer. There were no absolute winners, only an understanding of one other's pains.

After pooling their yen to pay the studio fees, they emerged into the warm afternoon of Osaka with their gig bags slung over their shoulders. Laughter and chatter filled the air with a playful camaraderie among the group before parting ways.

Riku grinned at the group. "Alright, to wrap it up, who's going to dinner at my favorite izakaya?" The boys cheered, raising their fists in a banzai salute.

But Toriteba’s girls hesitated. Takane shook her head. "Sorry, my aunt’s got a warm meal waiting tonight."

Daichi pointing, teasing. "Can we—"

"Hell nah! Girls only!" Mei cut him off, pointing her gig bag like an AR.

Laughter erupted among the group. But Hiroki held up a hand, halting the five girls. "Hey, girls, hold on!"

The girls turned with curiosity. As Hiroki leaned toward Aoi, he whispered, "You go with the girls. I’ll hang out with the boys."

"B-but…" Aoi stammered, her turquoise eye narrowing uneasily.

Before she could protest, Sara’s gyaru flair took over as she wrapped an arm around Aoi’s shoulder. "C'mon! We’re all cool now, ain't we?"

Takane, Mei, Yuna, and Hasumi circled Aoi with warm smiles as their earlier conflict was forgotten. Aoi’s blackened gaze lingered, her chuunibyou priestess persona bristling at their closeness.

"Oh, what's this?" Hiroki brandished her confiscated toy prank knife earlier, preventing her from repeating the earlier assault.

"Remember, don’t do anything stupid!" Hiroki warned firmly. He stepped closer and reached his hand for her left eyepatch.

"H-hold on!" Aoi protested, squirming as she tried to fight back. "If you remove this, it’ll—"

But the girls sensed resistance and seized Aoi like cops grasping a suspect. Hiroki swiftly removed the eyepatch, revealing her identical turquoise eyes, and unwrapped the bandages on her arms, stripping her priestess façade.

Aoi frozen in place, feeling vulnerable without her persona when Hiroki took away her rights. With shared laughs, Sara and Mei hoisted her like a rice sack.

"Let me go, you heretic succubus! This is heresy! Heresy!" Aoi yelped, rebelling as Toriteba’s girls laughed and carried her away.

Their laughter rang down the street; Aoi's protest faded into the chatter of newfound camaraderie. Hiroki exhaled, feeling a rare sense of lightness in the absence of Aoi's chuunibyou intensity. For one day, he desired normalcy.

He swung his Les Paul gig bag over his shoulder, joining Junichi, Riku, Daichi, Kenta, and Gojou as they strolled through Osaka's busy streets, alive with neon and noise.

"Kay. Now that’s all wrapped up, let’s get drunk, boys!" Kenta declared, sparking another banzai fist raise from the group.

"Bro, we’re underage!" Hiroki exasperated.

"Nah. It's just metaphorical," Riku chuckled.

The six boys headed to Riku's favorite izakaya with their flawless banter. Hiroki felt a weight lift from the simple joy of friendship. Hiroki also expects Aoi to learn to laugh without her supervisor after stripping her of her priestess armor when she is with Toriteba.

***

Saturday, 3:30 pm. The izakaya near the Hasegawa Family Studio was bustling with life, with the clatter of dishes and customer talk filling the air.

The six boys sat cross-legged around a wooden table, their gig bags leaning against the wall. Fresh from their explosive studio battle, they raised glasses of root beer in a celebratory toast for their successful performances at the studio.

"Cheers!" They clinked glasses and chugged the frothy root beer like it was lager. Though underaged, their exaggerated gusto mimicking overworked drunk salarymen. The rush-hour crowd delayed their meals, but the mood was high.

"This izakaya's root beer is the best! Another round!" Daichi hollered, waving his empty glass at a passing waiter.

Riku leaned toward Hiroki with a playful grin. "Hey, Hiroki! You’re a Deftones fan, right?"

"Uh... yeah?" Hiroki raised an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses.

Riku leaned closer, eyes glinting. "Which album? Around the Fur? White Pony? Diamond Eyes? Koi No Yokan?"

"Umm... Saturday Night Wrist," Hiroki said, a touch nervous.

The four Yakomori boys suddenly burst into laughter. "C'mon! Their worst album?! Are you kidding us?!" Daichi teased, slapping the table.

"C'mon, give my taste a chance!" Hiroki shot back, exasperated but grinning.

As they waited for their food, their laughter flowed flawlessly. Until Hiroki shifted the conversation into a mourning section.

Hiroki’s tone softened, his gaze distant. "My late brother Kaito Yamada... He was a part-time studio sound engineer. Dreamed of working live concerts while being in a band. Taught me the basics of music production on BandLab. He once told me, "Don't just play music, create it!" That was before..." His voice cracked with somber hesitation. "...the fiery motorcycle accident."

The table quivered and gently nodded in sympathy. Riku's eyes softened. "My uncle was an avid metalhead. He often came home from military service with gifts, such as my black Jackson King V, Line 6 POD, and more. Almost spoilt me rotten." He hesitated and clenched his chopsticks. "I took it for granted. His death in the Senkaku conflict... seemed like my fault... for draining his pockets."

The group nodded, the weight of their shared loss sinking in. Riku suddenly shook off his melancholy with a grin. "But now? I'm Japan's bootleg Matthew Tuck. Because I had to channel my passion for good."

Daichi leaned in; his frustration was lingering. "I lost a regional middle school soccer match because of a bullshit referee call. Probably got bribed; that fucked our championship shot. Still pisses me off, even these days, though."

He shrugged. "But thankfully, music’s my escape from that shitstorm."

Daichi leaned forward, his frustration lingering. "I lost a regional middle school soccer match due to a bullshit referee call. Somebody probably bribed him to fuck our championship chances. Still pisses me off, even these days, tho."

He shrugged. "But thankfully, music is my escape from that shitstorm."

Kenta rolled up his sleeve to reveal scars on his neck and elbow. "You guys remember the middle school bike riots from two years ago? I was there. I'm not even throwing fists, but those dipshits keep dragging me into this mess. Sure, I got caught, suspended, and forced into homeschooling. It's all because my family couldn't afford a decent school, so I ended up in a public one that was full of chaos."

The table came to a halt, horrified at his violent past. "Thankfully, rehab and therapy got me to Sakuragawa. It's much nicer here. A hopeful new beginning."

Gojou twirled his chopsticks like drumsticks, his voice low. "Back in middle school, I was in a regional drumming competition and played a tricky Latin track in the grand finale. Unfortunately, I accidentally dropped a stick at the end, costing me the first-place trophy. That's when I locked myself in my room with anxious anorexia and almost gave up on drumming. It still haunts me to this day every time I play a drum."

He looked at Hiroki. "That's why I prefer power over precision, like in our 1 Week Go to Hell."

Riku took out his phone with a smirk and played Hiroki's middle school YouTube video—his Deftones' Elite solo vocal, a chuunibyou-infused scream-fest.

Hiroki groaned and covered his face. "Oh, please, not this shit again!"

Daichi pointed with his chopsticks, eyes bright. "Come on! Your 'cringy' middle school performance? It’s like our Mother Teresa! Without it, we wouldn’t be here!"

"We saw it and thought, 'Gotta form a band with this guy,'" Gojou grinned, pointing at Hiroki.

Kenta nodded. "Music unites us, man. Doesn’t matter what we’ve been through."

Hiroki smirked, wrapping an arm around Junichi. "Too bad, I’m with Suede. Right, Junichi?"

"Oh yeah!" Junichi flashed a joking double devil-horn salute.

Riku pointed his chopsticks at Junichi. "Hold up, you haven’t spilled your story. What are you hiding?"

Junichi's grin faded into a blackened sorrow. "My parents got divorced. Worse? They are both gone." The table froze. "My mother was a tailor who barely scraped by. My father is a gambling addict who overdosed in the bathroom and drowned in debt. Mother's colon cancer got worse due to the stress. And both... sadly, died."

Hiroki's jaw fell as the group's sympathies poured in. Junichi tapped his chopsticks against the table. "When I said Death Homesick felt like overdosing in the bathroom, I meant my father. Your song hit a nerve. Left me hollow."

"W-why didn’t you tell us sooner?" Hiroki asked, voice soft.

Junichi sighed with somber hesitation. "Didn’t want to stress you guys. But... here we are."

"Oh... My condolences." Daichi nodded quietly in sympathy. "Who are you with now? Sorry."

"My uncle, a shrine keeper. Such a shame; he thinks music's full of 'evil spirits' and wants me to quit it. But that urged me to save up so I could get out from that damned place and start fresh." Junichi responded.

The table nodded with their shared scars. Just then, the waiter arrived with steaming plates of edamame, gyozas, beef gyudons, and fresh root beers. The somber mood suddenly lightened.

"Y'know what? Enough mourning! Let’s dig in!" Riku said, grabbing his chopsticks.

The six boys dived into the feast as their dark pasts forged a deeper bond.

***

4:30 PM. The izakaya's clatter faded as the six boys parted ways, their tummies full but their hearts still heavy from shared traumas. Hiroki walked alone toward the nearby Osaka train station with a black-gold Les Paul gig bag over his shoulder. His mind replayed the studio's roller coaster. It's a day he'd carry forever.

His phone buzzed as he walked down the sidewalk. He opened the Sakuragawa LMC group chat. The discussion was filled with their usual chaos—shitposts and playful jabs flying amongst the first-years.

While the three second-years portrayed as the irritated parents, trying to control the chaos.

A photo popped up: a group shot of all twelve first-years in studio B-6, grinning and dramatically posing with their instruments.

Hiroki remembered the moment: Riku asked a studio employee to photograph it and asked them to keep it secret. He planned to surprise their second-year senpais at next Friday's LMC meeting. Their raw original songs need further polish, but the week ahead would prepare them for the public stage.

procoratsoranakamura (Sora, 2nd admin): Seems like you guys had fun in there. Why won't you invite us?

touhoumaycry345 (Riku): You senpais were busy, duh.

candyapplemist65 (Mika, main admin): Excuse me?! My shift ended two hours ago! You could’ve invited me!

toritaan5829 (Takane): Too bad, senpai. It’s a secret~~~.

candyapplemist65 (Mika, admin): I’ll interrogate you by any means~~~.

mioakiyamachan (Mei): Kyaa, senpai~ Don't be so rough.~

Hiroki cracked a laugh, the chat’s chaos a perfect reflection of the day’s energy.

Riku's secret showcase was a gamble, but it united them together—metalheads, pop-rockers, and alt-rockers alike—against their shared demons through music.