Act 2, Chapter 1: Somewhere I Belong

Tuesday, 9:30 AM, 2 weeks ago. The Sakuragawa High gym buzzed with the electric energy of the Light Music Club’s showcase, a chaotic blend of freshmen nerves and upperclassmen fervor.

Procorat—Ren Takahashi on keyboard, Sora Nakamura on bass, and Mika Sato on drums—had just set the gym hall ablaze with their original song—False Horizon—a frenetic fusion of hard-hitting American-styled desert rock with Japanese flair.

The crowd of students, from wide-eyed first-years to rowdy third-years, roared their approval, glow sticks waving like a constellation of fireflies in the dimly lit gym.

Mika’s drums pounded with reckless energy, her fills channeling Dave Grohl’s raw groove with thunderous intensity. Ren’s synth rumbled through the floor, weaving a sci-fi pulse that gave the song an otherworldly edge.

Then came the solo. Sora stomped his multi-effects pedal, flipping the bass tone from a deep rumble to a piercing, guitar-esque wail countless times.

Ren didn’t back down, her keyboard's synth erupting into a rapid arpeggio as she banged her head, lost in the rhythm. The two engaged in a duel, their sounds intertwining like a harmonious chaos.

Both Sora and Ren suddenly crouched low, silencing their instruments and pointing to Mika. The crowd roared as she unleashed a thunderous drum solo—fast, wild, her sticks a blur across the toms, the reverberating beats echoing through the hall.

The second- and third-years went feral, chanting "Procorat! Procorat!" Even the first-years, Hiroki included, were swept up, jumping and cheering like they were at a rock festival, not a school gym.

The song ended with a bang. Sora let out a falsetto wail, smacking his bass strings for a final distorted chord. Ren’s synth soared into a shimmering solo, and Mika closed with a thunderous roll across her kit.

The gym erupted in applause, glow sticks waving like a sea of stars.

Sora grabbed the mic, catching his breath. "Thank you, everyone! We’re Procorat of the Light Music Club. We’re recruiting new members; hit us up at Room B-12 to rock the world!" The trio waved their hands, and they exited to the chants of "Encore!"

Rushing into the backstage, Mika’s hand landed on Ren’s shoulder, her voice brimming with ecstatic fervor. "We killed it, Ren! This would've saved our club from extinction, right?"

But Ren didn’t respond. Her heart pounded, not from triumph but from a sickening churn in her stomach, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing second. She bolted, rushing past Mika and Sora with the speed of light, leaving them in a daze.

"R-Ren?" Sora called, but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

***

In the women’s bathroom, Ren was clenching over the sink, bloodied vomit staining the porcelain. She gripped the cold frame, her body quaking, vision blurring, and chest heaving with ragged breaths.

The adrenaline of the performance had masked it, but now the pain struck—a sharp, slicing agony in her throat, like a blade twisting with every swallow. Her laryngeal cancer, a shadow since middle school, had relapsed, and it's getting worse than ever. Talking, breathing, and even existing felt like a samsara of torture.

Despite washing the sink, the cold water failed to extinguish the fire burning in her chest. Glancing at the mirror, her reflection was a ghost—pale, eyes sunken, lips trembling.

"What am I doing here?" She whispered, her raspy voice barely audible. "I’m getting too overboard… I shouldn’t be doing this…"

Her thoughts spiraled, consumed by memories of past rejections, scorching her sanity. The mirror reflected not just her face but her past—an outcast in middle school, shunned for her quietness, her social anxiety a wall between her and the world.

Although she remembered an interview with her favorite electronic artist, who’d overcome social anxiety through fearless stage performances, she was fighting a tougher battle than the latter.

Ren had hoped Procorat’s showcase would be her salvation, a chance to shine. But her cancer made every note a gamble, every word a risk. The nausea wasn’t just from overexertion—it was her body betraying her, punishing her for daring to perform.

"Is this… really me?" She muttered, her voice cracking, inaudible. The crowd’s cheers echoed in her mind, but they felt hollow, like applause for a facade.

Making friends meant talking to connect—but talking itself could kill her. The stage, once a sanctuary she cherished, had become the catalyst for her descent to this breaking point. "I feel like... I don’t belong here…"

"Takahashi-san! Takahashi-san!" Mika’s voice cut through, distant but urgent.

She burst into the bathroom, her bubbly enthusiasm fading into maternal worry as she witnessed Ren’s worsening state. "Oh, my goodness! No need to push yourself so hard, okay?" She gripped Ren’s shoulder, her touch gentle but firm.

"N-no… I-I…" Ren’s raspy voice faltered, pain flaring as she tried to speak. She shrugged off Mika’s concern, her gaze dropping to the floor, blackened thoughts creeping in.

Mika’s eyes narrowed, sensing the gravity. "Takahashi-san, your cancer—it’s getting worse, isn’t it? Here, let me take you to—"

"I’m… fine," Ren snapped, her voice a hoarse whisper, her glare dark with despair.

"No, you’re not!" Mika’s tone hardened, her worry motherly yet stern. "Here, let me take you to—"

Ren cut her off, patting Mika’s shoulder with a trembling hand. Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper, eyes hollow. "I feel like… I shouldn’t belong here…"

Mika’s face fell, her sigh heavy with understanding. She thought of Ren’s constantly overthinking of her anxiety and her cancer’s toll.

Gently but firmly, she grasped Ren’s arm. "Takahashi-san, stop hiding it if you’re unwell! Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary." Ren reluctantly relented, her body heavy with exhaustion and her mind a battlefield, allowing Mika to lead her to the infirmary for a routine checkup.

But her mind screamed betrayal. Mika’s bubbly kindness and Sora’s cool support—were they just facades? Did they pity her, hiding their own motives?

Another cliché, another betrayal. I need somewhere I belong. She thought, her hope of healing her broken soul fading. The stage, the LMC—symbols of hope now shattered illusions for a girl whose voice was slipping away, her dreams crumbling in the face of harsh reality.