Act 2, Chapter 6: Aftermath

The Sakuragawa High LMC room hummed with tension rather than tunes during lunch break. Hiroki Yamada burst into the room, gripping the disheveled pink magical girl outfit like a piece of damning evidence in a trial, his face a mix of fury and lingering embarrassment from yesterday's cosplay punishment.

Aoi Mizuno and Takane Yuzuriha sat on the small stage, munching bentos, but Hiroki’s arrival shattered the peace.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING WITH THIS SHIT?!" Hiroki roared, karate-chopping Aoi and Takane’s foreheads in rapid succession, his "Dark Lord" persona channeling pure rage.

"Ow!" Aoi yelped, rubbing her forehead with a pout. Takane winced, covering hers. "L-look… we’re sorry," Takane muttered, her voice low, hoping to defuse him.

But Hiroki was not about to let it slide. "THEN WHY WOULD YOU DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?! DON’T YOU SEE HOW THIS ESCALATED THANKS TO YOUR IGNORANCE?!" He thrust the frilly dress forward, sequins glinting mockingly.

Aoi’s chuunibyou priestess flared, her pout dramatic. "It’s because we had to purge the Dark Lord’s laziness with the mana of—"

Another chop silenced her. "ENOUGH WITH YOUR BULLSHIT! GET THIS SHIT OUTTA HERE!!!" Hiroki hurled the outfit at Aoi’s face, the pink fabric draping over her like a defeated flag. Grumbling, Aoi gathered it and stormed out, muttering about "sacred relics."

Alone with Takane, Hiroki's arms crossed in a display of bitterness as he turned away. "My goodness! Don’t you see how that would drag me into bigger trouble because of you?!"

The recollection of inadvertently climaxing in the outfit, spurred by a blend of stress and the ludicrous tightness, seared his sanity, a misinterpretation magnified by the girls' photo.

Tilting her head, Takane's curiosity overrode any sense of caution. "What’s wrong with that? Have you… jizzed before?"

"You dumb—" But her gaze was dead serious, with no smirk or foolishness, which disarmed him. He conceded, blushing furiously. "Ugh… fine. Yes… during a wet dream."

"Eh? A wet dream? What was it about?" Takane leaned in, eyes wide, genuine interest piquing like she was dissecting a song riff.

Hiroki hesitated, the dream’s details crashing back. But spilling it felt like exposing his weaknesses, plunging into insanity. "Y’know, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not even a pervert or anything."

"It’s okay! Spill it out!" Takane scooted closer, her face inches away, empress curiosity in full swing.

Sighing, Hiroki elaborated on all the details: the first one was an intimate tangle with Aoi’s priestess persona. And the second one, or the most recent one, was a bittersweet jam session with Kaito Yamada, his brother’s laugh echoing before the crash.

Minutes later, Takane’s gaze softened, and she nodded sympathetically. "Eh? So that’s what happened months ago?"

He buried his face in his hands, mortified. "It’s like… ugh… sorry, I can’t get over it. I feel like the disgusting pervert here..."

"It’s cool. I’ve done worse," Takane consoles him.

"Like what?" Hiroki glanced up, curious despite himself.

"Masturbation."

The word resonated like a palm mute, locking Hiroki in place. Takane said it matter-of-factly with no shame.

Without a chance to respond, the school bell chimed, signaling the end of lunch. "Y-you know… let’s just stop that! Back to class!" Hiroki bolted, face burning, shrugging off the awkwardness.

But as he rushed down the hall, it lingered—not wrong or right, just human. The tumult of puberty and the weight of cherished secrets plagued everyone.

Maybe Takane’s casual confession stemmed from her own ghosts—Kazuki and her family’s judgment. The LMC thrived on such raw truths, turning embarrassment into bonds.

***

Hiroki Yamada slipped through Sakuragawa High’s gates, the evening sun bleeding orange across the Osaka skyline, stretching long shadows on the pavement. The sting of yesterday’s magical girl humiliation—pink frills, embarrassing mishaps, and Takane’s casual confessions—had dulled to a bad riff, leaving him grateful for a moment of quiet.

Tomorrow’s LMC practice loomed, Shiguri’s Death Homesick simmering in his BandLab app, a raw shoegaze alt-rock anthem channeling Kaito’s ghost and his own scars. Or so he thought.

He strolled toward the train station, IEMs in, humming a vocal melody that still needed lyrics.

His phone buzzed, shattering the peace. A DM from an unknown handle: ganachedrive462.

Hiroki’s heart skipped—was this a doxxing attempt? Or a stalker?

ganachedrive462: Hey, hey! This is Hiroki Yamada, right?

saturdaynightwrist2006: Wait! A stalker?! How’d you get my number?!

ganachedrive462: Pipe down, will ya? It’s me, Eruna Nakasuga! We met with your friends at the mall months ago!

Relief washed over him. Eruna—the keytar prodigy from middle school band Jiraitei, Toriteba girls’ old ally, infamous for her blistering solo in Saraba Dimensia under her solo project Ganache Drive.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Oh… I thought you were someone else.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Anyway, what do you want? How’d you get my number?

ganachedrive462: I asked Takane-chan about that.

"Oh my God!" Hiroki muttered, surprised frustration bubbling at Takane’s cheekiness.

ganachedrive462: Heard from Takane-chan you’re making an original song. Can I listen? She can’t stop talking about it.

saturdaynightwrist2006: But it hasn’t had vocals yet! I haven’t got enough money for a condenser mic!

ganachedrive462: It’s alright! I’m just curious.

Hiroki sighed and conceded. He attached the rough mix of Death Homesick. Sending it to an expert like Eruna felt like exposing his guts, but her feedback could sharpen Shiguri’s blade for the Halloween Festival.

At the train station, he leaned against a bench, staring at the tracks while commuters buzzed around. His mind replayed the track—layered guitars, Junichi’s drum fills, and Aoi’s fuzzy bassline.

His phone pinged.

ganachedrive462: Just listened to Death Homesick. It’s good, but it needs work. Pull the guitar volume back—the bass is buried under distortion. Drums are peaking in the overdubs. Tweak the EQ on each track.

Dread hit like a clipped note. He groaned, thumbs flying.

saturdaynightwrist2006: Yeah… it feels like the more I fix it, the worse it gets.

ganachedrive462: It’s cool. I’ve faced worse. Follow my advice—it’ll help long-term.

A sticker followed: a chibi anime girl flashing a thumbs-up with “Ganbatte!”

saturdaynightwrist2006: Thanks.

Hiroki’s dread cracked into a subtle chuckle. Eruna’s critique was tough love, not a takedown—a pro’s nudge toward cleaner frequencies.

"What are you laughing at?"

A voice boomed behind him like a sonic jump scare. Hiroki whirled, heart racing. Takane Yuzuriha grinned mischievously, arms draped over the bench headrest.

"T-Takane?!" Frustration flared as yesterday’s pink nightmare flashed back. "Since when have you been here?!"

"Literally five minutes ago." Her casual tease, laced with an empress-like aura, irked him further.

The train whooshed in. Hiroki’s sourness peaked. "Can you stop eavesdropping? It’s impolite!" He boarded, doors sliding shut behind him, leaving Takane pouting on the platform.

"Oh, chill out, dude!" she called, but the train pulled away, swallowing her words in the rumble.

Hiroki slumped into a seat, blasting Deftones’ Minerva. His mind replayed yesterday’s punishment—Aoi and Takane’s cruel genius, the frilly dress, the accidental climax, and the photos. Heat crept up his neck.

Yet beneath the embarrassment, a quiet warmth lingered. The LMC turned humiliation into inside jokes and scars into songs. Tomorrow’s practice would be chaos, but it was their chaos.