Act 1, Chapter 19: Ride The White Pony

Sunday dawn. Hiroki Yamada felt drained after the chaos of last Saturday's studio battle at Hasegawa Family Studio, his soul craving rest after yesterday's emotional whirlwind.

The hum of his bedroom’s air conditioner lulled him into an abyssal slumber, akin to a Dark Lord seeking peace in the depths of oblivion.

But in the haze of dreams, a voice echoed, softly reverberating like a tape delay in a cavernous hall. “Aoi… you will be… my beautiful… white pony…”

Hiroki’s vision blurred; he found himself bare-bodied, lying atop Aoi Mizuno, who was equally naked.

A soft, furred blanket brushed their skin, tickling as it draped. Gentle moans and chuckles filled the air, their bodies pressed close in a forbidden dance.

“W-wait… how did I… get here? I had… sex… with Aoi?!” His mind raced, but the pull of indulgence was unstoppable, an irresistible tide of pleasure with no turning back.

Aoi’s arms tightened around his back, her voice a shrill yet tender whisper, her chuunibyou priestess persona unwavering in its presence. “Hiroki… you shall be… a gallant… black stallion… for me…” Her small hands caressed his back, sending shivers down his spine. “Please… feel the warmth… within me…”

She kissed his neck, a soft moan escaping her lips, their bodies moving in sync. “I will… I will…” Hiroki murmured, his lips nearing hers. “Do not… betray me…” Aoi whispered, her fingers digging into his back.

Their lips met, a gentle smooch drowning out the world amid reverberating moans, the Dark Lord of Tartarus and the Priestess lost in a clash of realms, a forbidden bliss.

***

Sunday morning stung like alcohol on a wound. Hiroki’s eyes fluttered open; the dawn light pierced his bedroom curtains.

A strange sensation lingered—something wet and sticky at his crotch. He threw back the blanket, horrified by what he saw. “Oh, dammit! I wet… myself…”

The evidence of his wet dream stared back, a humiliating stain on his shorts. He covered his face, feeling shame flood through him. “No, no, no! I’m such a pervert!” he muttered, self-loathing biting deep.

“Dark Lord—” Aoi’s voice cut through, startling him. She stood by his bed, clutching her toy pistol, her chuunibyou flair intact.

Hiroki karate-chopped her head in frustration. “Quit it!” Desperate to clean the mess, he bolted to the bathroom, his face still burning in embarrassment.

As he sat on the toilet, he replayed the dream, its vividness unsettling him. It echoed Takane’s confession about her intimate moment with Kazuki Maeda, a recording she’d shared in a moment of vulnerability.

The deeper he thought, the more he sank into the implications of the dream.

Hiroki scrubbed himself clean, the cold water against his skin contrasting with the turmoil in his mind, which continued to churn.

Aoi’s presence in his dream wasn’t random; it reflected their shared intensity, connection through music, and shared pain.

Yesterday's secret battle of the band had all stirred something deep, unearthing desires he’d buried since Kaito’s death.

***

Sunday, 7:00 AM. The sting of Hiroki's wet dream had been washed away, the sticky shame scrubbed clean in the bathroom.

Freshly changed, he was tidying his room when Aoi Mizuno barged in, her chuunibyou priestess persona in full swing, brandishing her toy pistol like a SWAT officer’s raid.

Her turquoise eye gleamed with mischief, her eyepatch back in place after yesterday’s forced removal.

“Anyway, what do you want?” Hiroki asked, shooting her a frustrated glance as he smoothed his bedsheets.

Aoi closed the gap between them, her enthusiasm undiminished. "My sister is away. We have time to settle our undone problem!"

Hiroki raised an eyebrow, tossing a pillow into a bed. “What are you talking about? Our Death Homesick is done. Just needs a little polish—”

Aoi cut him off, leaning into his face, her voice brimming with chuunibyou fervor. “No! I mean, a battle to our last blood!”

Hiroki snorted, folding a blanket. "What? Like our middle school ruler-versus-pencil fights? Get outta here!"

Aoi’s gaze darted to Kaito’s black-gold Les Paul gig bag in the corner. She pointed dramatically. “No! I play bass, and you play guitar. We fight to our very last breath!”

Hiroki paused in his tidying, a chuckle escaping him as he cast a soft gaze at the guitar case in the corner.

Memories of playful guitar battles with Kaito flooded back—his brother’s deft fingers shredding, laughter filling their lost time memories.

A wave of sorrow washed over him, memories of Kaito's motorcycle accident pulling at his chest. “Instrument battle, huh? Interesting, but I’d lose anyway.”

Aoi’s eyes narrowed, her tone shifting to a coach-like determination. “Don’t say that! You can learn through trial and error!” Her glare was fierce, pulling him from his sorrow, a spark of her priestess persona reigniting his fire.

Before he could respond, his mother’s voice rang from the kitchen. “Hiroki! Aoi! Breakfast!”

Hiroki stood, giving Aoi a half-smile. “You know what, let’s do it after breakfast.”

They headed to the dining table, the breakfast scent wafting through the air.

***

Hiroki’s mother, Hanabi Yamada, bustled about Aoi’s elder sister, Akame Mizuno—she and Hanabi often swapped meals, their friendship a quiet anchor for both families.

The table was adorned with steaming rice, fluffy tamagoyaki, tangy pickled radish, and more. A spread that enveloped them in the familiar scents of home.

As they sat, Hanabi smiled warmly at Aoi. “Akame Mizuno-san called last night. She said she’s swamped with her new job but sent some of her homemade onigiri for you two. They’re in the fridge.”

Aoi nodded, her chuunibyou dialed down in Hanabi’s presence. “Thank you, Yamada-san. The sister's always seeking for the revelation across the horizon of eternity.”

Hiroki sipped his miso, glancing at Aoi. “Your sister’s cool with you crashing here?”

“She trusts Yamada-san,” Aoi said, picking at her tamagoyaki. “Besides, she knows I’m on a quest to hone my powers.” Her eye twinkled, but she maintained a subtle demeanor despite her chuunibyou tendencies.

Hanabi chuckled softly, delicately placing her chopsticks on the table. “You two and your music. Reminds me of Kaito, always tinkering with that stuff.” Her voice softened, a flicker of grief passing. “And Aoi, you’re close with my son.”

Hiroki’s throat tightened, Kaito’s memory stirring from both the dream and his mother’s words.

Leaning in eagerly, Aoi's tone carried a sense of earnest determination. “Yamada-san, Hiroki’s going to face me in an instrument battle today. His axe versus my thunder. We’ll shake the realms!”

Hanabi laughed, shaking her head. “Just don’t break anything, ok? And lately, we’ve received noise complaints from our neighborhood.”

“We won’t,” Hiroki said, shooting Aoi a look. “No chuunibyou chaos, okay?”

“The Priestess makes no promises.”

With breakfast done, they cleared the table, the domestic ritual grounding Hiroki after the surreal wet dream.

His mind wandered to Takane’s confession about her intimacy with Kazuki and how it echoed the raw desire of his dream.

Aoi’s presence in that dream wasn’t just fantasy—it was their shared passion for music, their unspoken bond.

The instrument battle ahead felt like a way to channel that energy, to fight their demons through strings and frets, just as they had in the studio.