Act 1, Extra Chapter 1: Fading Halo

Saturday, 3:00 PM. The pristine bathroom of a professional recording studio in Osaka echoed with the harsh sound of retching. Ren Takahashi, a second-year from Sakuragawa High and the keyboardist of Procorat, gripped the sink, her body trembling as vomit with blood splattered the porcelain.

Her vision blurred, her knees trembled, and a sharp stabbing pain radiated from her throat. The weight of her laryngeal cancer, a relentless shadow she’d battled for years, pressed harder today. This wasn’t just feeling unwell—it was a darker turn, unlike the vibrant energy of Sakuragawa’s Light Music Club.

Ren washed her face and the blood-splattered sink, her hands shaking. Glancing at the mirror, her reflection revealed a gaunt, exhausted girl, eyes heavy with pain and doubt.

“What am I doing here?” she muttered internally, her thoughts blackened. “I feel completely worthless.”

She caressed her neck, wincing as swallowing triggered another jolt of pain. Her eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to spill. “This doesn’t feel right. It’s getting worse.” The negativity swirled—self-doubt, fear, and memories of her keyboard performance at the LMC’s gym hall showcase with Mika Sato and Sora Nakamura.

Had her playing been a triumph or a cringe-worthy failure? Was this social anxiety, the cancer’s grip, or both? “I should’ve quit instead,” her blackened thoughts had won over her sanity, nearly breaking into a tear.

A notification buzzed on her phone, pulling her from the spiral. It was Matsuda Toshinaga, her supervisor at the sound engineering part-time job, a former drummer of Izakaya No Mani, and now a lawyer with a knack for music mentorship.

matsudatoshinaga: Are you okay?

Ren frowned, hesitant to burden him with her struggles. She typed back, brushing it off. rentakahashi: I’m fine.

matsudatoshinaga: No need to push yourself too hard.

Her frustration flared. What’s with this cliché? What does this baldy know about me? She wanted to snap but knew it would only spark misunderstanding. Sighing in resignation, she conceded to Matsuda's suggestion. rentakahashi: Yes, I will.

matsudatoshinaga: If you’re feeling unwell, let’s just call it a day. Your laryngeal cancer isn’t something to ignore.

The word "cancer" hit like a sledgehammer. Ren gasped, pain stabbing her throat again. She clenched her face, caressing her neck, her chest shuddering as she fought the agony.

rentakahashi: Please, don’t mention that! I can still work on it.

Her fingers were trembling. Years of treatments—surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation therapies—had left her with a fading halo, only endurance keeping her afloat. Pity felt like a trap, dragging her deeper into despair that would further hinder her music-making career aspirations.

matsudatoshinaga: This is for your own good! Come to the studio, and we’ll get you to a hospital. I’ve texted your parents. Let’s call it a day.

HOLY SHIT! YOU DIDN’T! she thought, stunned by Matsuda’s audacity to involve her overprotective family. Her parents, always hovering, would smother her with worry. She sighed, defeated by the weight of her illness and the well-meaning interference of others. rentakahashi: Whatever… I’m coming.

As she pocketed her phone and trudged toward Matsuda’s studio, another notification pinged. It was from Hiroki Yamada.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Ren-senpai, I, Aoi, and Junichi had settled on a new band name: Shiguri. We’ve notified Mika and Sora-senpai about that.

Ren’s lips curved into a faint smile. Shiguri. The name was beautiful, a poetic echo of resilience and loss, tied to Hiroki’s late brother Kaito and his song Crimson Shiguri.

The Suede trio has christened themselves into Shiguri, feeling like a beacon, their cold rain easing the pain in her throat, if only for a moment. She typed back, her heart lighter. rentakahashi: Kinda beautiful. We’ll talk about that at the next meeting.

Ren entered Matsuda’s studio, her steps heavy with fatigue but her mind flickering with hope and determination. The trio—Hiroki, Aoi, and Junichi—were the only ones she felt safe confiding in, their shared passion a lifeline.

She pondered spilling her struggles with her cancer and whispering doubts to them, seeking solace in their understanding. She knows the Sakuragawa Halloween Festival, a distant stage where Shiguri’s music might carry her forward, and a cold autumn rain to wash away her shadows.