Act 1, Chapter 20: Lost In The Echo

Sunday, 8:00 AM. Breakfast was a memory.

Now, Aoi Mizuno’s bedroom had transformed into a battlefield where the Dark Lord of Tartarus and the Priestess waged war.

Their strings screaming with ferocity, a duel that shall crumble the sanctuary. An undone vendetta they had suppressed for years.

Hiroki gripped his black-gold Les Paul guitar, unleashed a harmonic strum, shaking the Floyd Rose for a ghostly divebomb, the JCM 800 patch roaring through the small amp.

Aoi countered, strumming all four strings of her Ibanez GSRM20B bass, the beefy fuzz tone rumbling like thunder. The room quaked, their clash igniting the air.

Hiroki launched the first strike, hammering power chord licks, the Floyd Rose wailing as he channeled Muse’s Matthew Bellamy, his body swaying with raw energy.

Aoi didn’t flinch. Her nimble fingers deftly bent the thick bass strings, delivering a groovy slap-and-pop lick with a bluesy twist, her fuzz tone pulsing with defiance. She swayed left to right, matching his intensity, a priestess holding her ground.

Not backing down, Hiroki shifted to dissonant power chords, evoking Deftones’ Be Quiet and Drive and Mein.

He dropped to his knees, strumming a jagged solo inspired by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood, as if performing for thousands. The bedroom became his stage, his Les Paul a blade slashing through the void.

Aoi retaliated, switching to a clean compressed patch. Her bass erupted into a funky slap, blending Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Flea and Primus’ Les Claypool.

She stomped her Zoom B1X Four’s expression pedal, activating a wah effect, her solo turning sensual, taunting the blackened fury of Dark Lord.

Her fingers danced across the frets, her chuunibyou unleashed with the judgment of Archangel.

Hiroki answered with his Zoom G1X Four, cranking the pitch shifter to channel Rage Against the Machine’s Tom Morello.

Aggressive plucks and harmonic divebombs warped the air, his Les Paul screaming with weird, electrifying chaos.

He leaped onto Aoi’s bed, as the crowd's roar echoing in his mind. The mattress bounced under his weight; the chords were reverberating across the bedroom.

Aoi matched his audacity, climbing onto the bed, her bass groove unrelenting. She tapped and slapped, her technical prowess shining, a priestess defending her realm against the invading Dark Lord.

To Hiroki, her skill outshone his—he was a showman, not a pentatonic shredder. His playing, raw and theatrical, paled against her precision.

Desperate to reclaim the high ground, Hiroki nudged Aoi, nearly toppling her off the bed, a playful cheat.

She stumbled but kept grooving, descending to the floor with a fierce glare.

Hiroki went unhinged, faced her wardrobe, knelt, and stopped playing abruptly, the silence deafening.

Aoi paused, confused with a smirk. “What’s wrong?!”

In a flash, Hiroki struck the riff to Nirvana’s 'School,' catching her off guard with the unexpected grunge melody.

The Dark Lord wasn’t defeated—he’d been plotting. Aoi’s eyes widened, but she snapped back, switching to her beefy fuzz patch and joining the riff medley, her bass snarling in sync.

Hiroki rushed to his Zoom G1X Four, tweaking the pitch shifter to a D# standard, avoiding the hassle of detuning. Aoi mirrored him, her own pedal shifting her bass to match. Round two ignited.

Hiroki plucked a simplified Whole Lotta Love solo, Led Zeppelin’s fire in his fingers, not technical but visceral.

Aoi wove in, her bass solo complementing his, their strings a tangled storm.

The buildup surged—Hiroki activated his JCM 800’s booster, hammering a hard-hitting D# riff inspired by Pendulum’s The Tempest and Showdown.

Aoi followed, her fuzz tone roaring, their aggressive plucks shaking the room like a galactic clash.

They stopped, strumming open strings in unison, as if two warriors had unleashed their ultimate attacks, shattering the cosmos.

Hiroki closed with a harmonic strum, the Floyd Rose screaming a ghostly divebomb. And Aoi ended with a groovy bassline, her notes lingering like a victory cry.

The battle ended, but their fire burned eternal. Hiroki collapsed onto the floor, exhausted, setting aside his Les Paul. “That… was… fun…” he panted, the Dark Lord drained.

Aoi smirked, pointing her GSRM20B's headstock at his face, like a tip of the divine lancer aimed at the fallen Dark Lord. “What’s wrong, Dark Lord of Tartarus? Admit defeat? Time to repent to our gracious Lord and Savior?” Her chuunibyou priestess persona gleamed, triumphant.

Hiroki groaned, pushing her bass aside as he stood. “Nope. I’m tired as hell.” He massaged his neck. “Need a drink.”

He left the room, seeking a refresher, the battle’s intensity still pulsing in his veins, somehow rekindling the fire he’d buried after Kaito’s death. And this duel had sharpened their blades.

***

Sunday, 8:30 AM. Hiroki Yamada slumped at Mizuno apartment’s dining table, the afterglow of his instrument battle with Aoi Mizuno fading.

Gulping infused water fresh from the fridge, he sighed heavily, the cool liquid soothing his exhaustion from their clash.

His phone sat beside him, open to YouTube, replaying his cringe-inducing middle school performance of Deftones’ Elite.

The comments from viewers praised his raw energy, but shame gnawed at him.

Another video, shared by toritaan5829 (Takane) via DM, showed Suede’s Death Homesick video at the studio last Saturday, captioned: “Suede, I love you!” with a heart emoji.

The praise from his peers felt like a spotlight on his vulnerability, intensifying his self-consciousness to overwhelming levels.

Aoi’s sudden presence snapped him out of his spiral. “Our battle is not over yet!” Her chuunibyou priestess persona blazing, her turquoise eye sharp beneath her eyepatch.

Hiroki groaned, setting down his glass. “C’mon, give me a break, will ya?”

Aoi banged the table lightly, her voice commanding. “The Dark Lord should not grant his foe respite. Nor shall I.” Her intensity startled him, her unwavering priestess flair a force of nature.

“I just need a breather!” Hiroki shot back, frustration rising. He just wanted a moment to process.

Last Saturday was chaotic at the studio, filled with Hasumi’s tears, the boys’ confessions, and his own unsettling wet dream from Sunday’s dawn.

Aoi leaned into his face, her glare piercing like an interrogator’s. “Then what were you thinking?” Her tone sharpened, catching him off guard.

“Nothing. All’s fine,” he muttered, looking away, but his voice betrayed his unease.

“Thy deception is useless against The Divine Eye,” Aoi retorted, pointing dramatically, her chuunibyou in overdrive.

Hiroki’s patience snapped. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been like this all week!”

Aoi pouted, crossing her arms, her frustration palpable. “You make too many excuses.”

Defeated by her relentless persona, Hiroki stood, groaning. “Fine! Wanna know what I’ve been thinking all morning?”

Aoi nodded, her darkened glare demanding honesty, as if she’d witch-hunt him for lying.

Hiroki hesitated, then blurted, “Last night, I had a wet dream about… making out with you.”

Aoi tilted her head, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hiroki blinked, stunned. At fifteen, he assumed she’d understand puberty’s pull, but her chuunibyou purity seemed to shield her from such concepts.

He made a clumsy hand gesture mimicking intimacy. Aoi’s cheeks flushed crimson, her priestess facade cracking as her purity barrier shattered under the Dark Lord’s temptation, revealing a side he had never seen before.

She bolted to her bedroom, slamming and locking the door, hiding her embarrassment.

Hiroki, realizing he might’ve crossed a line, rushed after her, knocking gently. “Uh, sorry if I—”

“I knew it!” Aoi’s voice roared through the door, thick with fury. “The Dark Lord inside you never fades!”

Hiroki froze, sensing the priestess's divine wrath. “Huh?!”

The door flew open, and Aoi sprayed his face with a plant mister, the cold mist shocking him. “AGH! STOP IT!” he yelped, covering his face.

“Repent, now!” Aoi commanded, spraying again, water soaking his shirt.

“JUST STOP!” Hiroki shouted, flailing as she aimed the mister like holy water, her chuunibyou judgment unrelenting.

He lunged for the sprayer, but Aoi’s surprising agility let her dodge, spraying his face again.

Their playful struggle intensified into a whirlwind of water and laughter. Hiroki tried to disarm her, but Aoi dodged his every move like a nimble warrior.

The room echoed with their shouts and giggles, a battle of wills as absurd as their instrument duel.

Finally, they collapsed, panting, the sprayer empty. Hiroki wiped his wet face, chuckling.

Aoi, still clutching the mister, grinned, her priestess persona softened by the absurdity.

Lost in their playful echo, it served as a cathartic release, a shared ritual to process the raw emotions stemming from the chaos of the studio, the depth of their music, and the strength of their bond.