Act 1, Chapter 29: Shadow In The Mirror

Saturday, 7:30 AM. Hiroki Yamada emerged from the bathroom; the sting of his dream about Kaito Yamada’s vibrant performance and tragic end was a shadow in his mirror.

Shigure, the potential new band name considered for Suede, weighed heavily on his mind along with the legacy of Kaito. Seeking solace, he gently pushed open the door to Kaito’s old bedroom, a room untouched since his tragic death.

The room was a time capsule, dust coating scattered boxes. Hiroki knelt by one in the center, opening it to find posters of Britpop bands—Suede, Oasis, Radiohead, and more.

The Suede poster hit like a jab, Reina Kuroda’s critique about their band name echoing as a humiliating reminder to find something fiercer, more fitting for their Muse-Deftones intensity. He sighed, the need for a new identity pressing harder.

A flood of memories from their shared past with Kaito rushed back, overwhelming Hiroki in a wave of nostalgia. Following Kaito’s fatal motorcycle accident, their family had drowned in debt, which led to the heartbreaking decision to sell most of Kaito’s beloved gear. Including his modded metallic brown Squier Jaguar.

But only the black-gold Les Paul, the Zoom G1X Four, and the Zoom AMS-22 audio interface remained, relics of Kaito passed to Hiroki, where he will preserve them until the end.

“Mom’s away for work,” he muttered, sifting through more boxes for fragments of Kaito’s memory.

In a dusty corner, he found a box with an old PS3 unit with a few games he and Kaito used to play—Tekken sessions where Hiroki’s rage quits always sparked Kaito’s laughter. The memories, though vivid and cherished, were painfully singular, destined never to be recreated or experienced again. His chest tightened, the emptiness of Kaito’s absence a heavy fog.

A notification pinged on his phone, pulling him from the reverie. It was Takane Yuzuriha.

toritaan5829: Hiroki-kun, hast thou awakened, my dearest, my handsome prince?

Hiroki groaned, his mourning interrupted by her flirtatious tone. The pain of Kaito’s loss made her teasing feel like a searing needle, piercing deep into his scarred soul.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Holy shit… What do you want?!

toritaan5829: Not nice! I’m literally being kind to you~~~.

He clenched his fist, imagining karate-chopping Takane’s forehead at their next meeting.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Then why the hell are you DMing me this morning?!

toritaan5829: Me, Mei, Yuna, and Sara are at Aoi’s apartment, checking on Hasumi after she stayed over.

Hiroki’s eyes widened. The Toriteba girls visiting Hasumi at Aoi’s apartment room sparked curiosity, easing his grief momentarily.

saturdaynightwrist2006: How’s Hasumi doing? What do you think of her now?

toritaan5829: We’re all vibing together. Wanna come?

Hiroki nodded to himself, but his stomach growled, and he needed to ground himself after the emotional whirlwind. saturdaynightwrist2006: Let me take a breakfast first.

Before he could set the phone down, Mei Hashimoto chimed in.

mioakiyamachan: Hiroki-kun, you can have me for breakfast~

His face flushed with irritation as Toriteba’s relentless flirting felt like a pack of vixens seducing weary prey, prompting him to respond. saturdaynightwrist2006: STFU!

He shut the boxes, casting one last glance at Kaito’s room as the settled dust whispered his departure, carrying with him the weight of memories.

In the kitchen, his mother had left a prepared breakfast—rice, miso soup, and grilled fish—before heading to work. As he ate, the dilemma of the Suede name, the weight of Kaito’s relics, and the burden of Hasumi’s recovery weighed heavily on him.

In the midst of the dust of loss, the word "Shigure" flickered in his mind like a beacon of hope, illuminating the darkness surrounding him. A stage to honor Kaito and forge a new path.

***

Saturday, 8:30 AM. Hiroki Yamada stood before Aoi Mizuno’s apartment door, the morning sun filtering through the stairwell. Inside, the lively yells of Toriteba’s girls and Hasumi Sakakibara mingled with Aoi’s voice, their playful energy a stark contrast to Hiroki’s heavy heart.

The dream of Kaito Yamada’s performance and tragic death still clung to him, the word "Shigure" a faint spark amid his grief.

He knocked twice. “This is Hiroki Yamada. May I come in?”

A bratty voice answered. “Password!” It was Yuna Aoki.

Hiroki’s frustration flared; he was tempted to treat Yuna like a punching bag. “What password?!” he snapped.

“Password, please,” Yuna teased, her cheekiness escalating.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged with confusion.

“Access denied,” she giggled.

“I don’t care! Just let me in, dumbass!”

“Access denied.”

Her taunting pushed him over the edge.

BOK!

Hiroki kicked the door with police-raid force; the sound blared in the surroundings. Panicked yells erupted inside, mirroring the chaos of Aoi’s violent rescue of Hasumi. “Hey! HEY!” Yuna shouted, unlocking the door to stop him.

As it opened, she yelled with frustration, “PIPE IT—” but Hiroki cut her off with a swift karate chop to her forehead, his Dark Lord of Tartarus persona blazing. “Just open the fucking door, you dipshit!”

Yuna froze, spooked by his intensity, and defiantly stuck out her tongue. Hiroki kicked off his sandals and stormed into Aoi’s living room, where the girls sat, their lively chatter pausing. “Hiroki! Please don’t bang the door, will ya?!” Sara greeted him with frustration at Hiroki kicking the door.

Aoi, spotting him, pointed her prank knife at the Toriteba’s girls, her chuunibyou priestess in overdrive. “Dark Lord of Tartarus, these Lilith disciples have breached my sanctuary! Aid me in purging them!”

Hiroki sighed, exasperated. Worried if her theatrics, especially around Toriteba, risked repeating last Saturday’s chaos.

Takane smirked, adopting an empress-like tone. “Fufufu, thy petty barriers are nothing to my seductions.” She then let out a dramatic empress laugh.

“Damn you!” Aoi retorted.

“Enough!” Hiroki karate-chopped both Aoi's and Takane’s foreheads, halting their chuunibyou clash before it wrecked the apartment. Settling onto the couch, he asked, “Anyway, what do you guys need?”

Takane glanced at Hasumi. “Just checking on Hasumi to see if she’s okay.”

Hasumi chuckled, shrugging. “I’m fine. Mizuno-san’s taken care of me since yesterday with unmatched hospitality, right?” She wrapped an arm around Aoi, who nodded with a gentle smile.

Yuna poked Aoi’s cheek mischievously. “Sure, you didn’t do anything weird to her?”

Aoi’s eyes darkened, and she pointed her prank knife into Yuna’s eyes as her priestess persona surged. “Lay your hands off her, heretic scum!”

Hiroki grabbed her arm, stopping her from surging further. Mei leaned in, teasing. “Hiroki-kun, what were you doing in your room?”

"Are you stalkers or something?!” he snapped, wary of Toriteba’s motives.

Sara laughed and casually responded. “Chill! We’re just curious about your backstory. Tell us something about your past.”

The question hit like a blade. Kaito’s fiery motorcycle accident flashed in his mind—the screeching tires, the hellish flames, the scattered bodies, and Kaito’s lifeless form. Hiroki’s gaze darkened, his voice low. “I just woke from a bittersweet dream about my late brother, Kaito Yamada.”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with mourning as laughter faded away. Takane’s eyes widened. “Wait, Kaito Yamada from Izakaya No Mani?”

Hiroki’s heart skipped with a subtle gasp. Unexpected by their familiarity with his late brother. “How do you know?!”

Sara chimed in with a subtle enthusiasm. “That was a year ago. We watched Izakaya No Mani at Shinagawa Livehouse. Kazuki Maeda-senpai was their new second guitarist, so we had to check it out.”

Takane’s melancholy deepened. “But… Kazuki-senpai…” The memory of Kazuki’s death in a plane crash washed over her, mirroring Hiroki’s grief for Kaito. The room shared a collective loss.

Hiroki glanced at his phone, pulling up five videos of Izakaya No Mani’s final Shinagawa gig. “Uh, guys… I have recordings of their performance from a year ago.”

The girls clamored, "WE WANT TO SEE IT!" Their curiosity surged through him.

With no choice, Hiroki played the videos, and the room gathered around his phone, enveloped in Kaito’s voice and the metallic brown Squier Jaguar riffs that filled the air, reigniting memories of loss and the enduring fire of music.