Act 2, Chapter 9: Lost Time Memory

Hiroki Yamada hunched over the mockup exam, pencil trembling as he faced the final math question—a logarithmic beast, longer and crueler than the rest.

The "four horsemen" loomed in his mind, their shadows threatening his desperate fight to reclaim his place in the LMC. Junichi Enoshima and Ren Takahashi watched from a distance, their earlier lessons his only lifeline.

"5!" Junichi’s voice echoed.

Hiroki’s heart raced, the formula sprawling across his answer sheet—half-solved, chaotic.

"4!"

Sweat beaded on his forehead. The equation mocked him, like a labyrinth with no exit.

"3!"

Keep solving or guess? His mind screamed, but Junichi’s warning—slow down, don’t rush—only worsened the panic.

"2!"

No time left! He scribbled a random number, a half-baked log(x) = 2 guess, praying for a miracle.

"1!"

Junichi stopped the timer. "Time’s up!"

Hiroki slumped, placing his pencil back into its case with a heavy sigh. "That was close…" His voice trembled, exhaustion and dread mixing.

Junichi grabbed the answer sheets and glanced at Hiroki before grinning casually. "We’ll see if you made it."

Ren’s TTS chimed softly, her eyes gentle. "Wait a minute, okay?" She followed Junichi to a nearby table to score the test.

***

Minutes dragged like hours. Hiroki scrolled his phone, seeking some distraction.

He browsed a guitar site, but one listing caught his eye—a mystic brown Squier Affinity Series Jaguar, identical to Kaito’s modded axe with a bridge humbucker. Discounted to 47,000 yen from 51,000.

A memory flickered: Kaito swapping his black-gold Les Paul for the Jaguar’s versatility, grinning during a Shinagawa live house soundcheck. "This baby can do what I want!" Hiroki’s chest tightened, his brother’s death echoing like a lost-time memory.

"Hiroki!" Junichi’s call snapped him back, and he handed over the corrected sheets. "Here are your results."

Hiroki braced for disaster, knowing his haphazard math answers were a recipe for failure. He glanced at the score: 65% – PASS

"P-Pass?!" His eyes widened, shock melting into disbelief.

Biology: 7/10. Chemistry: 6/10. Physics: 5/10. Math: 4/10—but enough to scrape through. His shot in the dark had miraculously hit the mark, a stroke of luck bordering on illicit.

Junichi and Ren applauded softly, beaming with pride. Junichi clapped Hiroki’s shoulder. "You did it—you’re finally above minimum competency! Sure, math’s your weak link, but we’re certain you’ll shred it tomorrow!"

Hiroki’s gaze dropped, uncertainty gnawing. "Y-yeah… but… I’m not sure about tomorrow, Friday."

Ren’s TTS chimed, her rare smile breaking through. "It’s alright. Breathe slowly on math, and you’ll find the answer." Her synthetic voice carried comforting warmth, bearing the weight of her own battle—a reminder of her rumored laryngeal cancer.

Laughter bubbled up from Hiroki, joy and sorrow welling as tears pricked his eyes. Kaito’s essence seemed to nod approvingly, the ghostly twang of his Jaguar reverberating in Hiroki’s thoughts.

The LMC wasn’t just a club—it was their heart, pulling him from the void. Tomorrow, he would confront the true remedial challenge, seize back his guitar, and unleash his shredding to the fullest.

***

Hiroki Yamada trudged back to Classroom 1-A, the weight of the mockup remedial test success lifting like a fading distortion pedal. Junichi’s ingenious math strategies and Ren’s meticulous biology tutoring had barely propelled him to a 65% pass—a precarious triumph over the formidable academic quartet.

Tomorrow’s real remedial loomed, but for now, he had to face the mundanity of the next class. Or so he thought.

As he neared the door, a roar of cheers and guitar strums spilled out, turning the hallway into a concert corridor. The bustling sounds resembled a lively live house, transforming the high school classroom into a vibrant stage.

Curiosity tugged him closer. A powerful voice cut through with melancholy. A girl strumming with raw emotion. He knew it was her. A-Aoi? What the hell is she doing?! Hiroki slid the door open, and his jaw dropped.

Aoi Mizuno stood on the teacher’s platform before the chalkboard, wielding Takane’s Yamaha APXT2. Her fingers danced through the haunting melancholic intro of TK's Unravel, her voice soaring like a scarred angel’s lament—weaving heartbreak and defiance born from her own loss.

The entire class crowded below, cheering like a festival crowd, and flashed their phones to record. Turning 1-A into the chaotic live house gig. Aoi’s tapping technique was precise and stylish—it ignited louder roars.

"A-Aoi! What the hell are you doing here?!" Hiroki called, half-amused, half-alarmed. Another stunt that would drag them both to the teacher’s room?

Aoi paused mid-pre-chorus, the room falling silent. She spun, spotting Hiroki, and pointed dramatically.

"Dark Lord of Tartarus!" Her chuunibyou priestess persona surged. "I hereby declare thee to prove thy worth!"

Hiroki groaned, his frustration flaring. Her antics always dragged him into trouble—painful detention flashbacks still stinging. "Oh, come on! Stop this nonsense! I just took—"

"The priestess accepteth no excuses! Only cowards flee!" Aoi cut him off, thrusting the APXT2’s headstock like a holy lance. "Stand on this grand stage of frequency and prove your worth!" The class erupted, chanting Aoi’s name, hailing her as the coolest kid in school.

To Hiroki, it reeked of middle school social suicide. But a nudge interrupted. "It’s okay, just do it," Takane whispered, shoving him toward the platform.

Peer pressure crushed his resistance. The class eagerly anticipated a preview of Shiguri’s Halloween Festival performance. And he succumbed to it.

Hiroki climbed the platform, and Aoi nodded in approval. "Wise choice."

"P-playing Unravel… right?" He stammered, glancing at Aoi and the crowd. She nodded.

"The… chorus part?" Uncertainty gnawed.

Another nod from Aoi. "H-Hold on, let me warm up." He hummed scales, voice shaky.

Takane teased from below. "Hiroki-kun! If you don’t sing, you’ll fail tomorrow’s remedial!" The class laughed—yesterday’s pink cosplay nightmare flashing in his mind. Hiroki responded with a brief middle finger.

He took a deep breath. Aoi’s fingers hovered, ready to strum.

And Hiroki sang the chorus:

I’m standing alone in this world that keeps on changing.
But hiding away, my true self is fading!
I hope you give up; there’s nothing left to see.
No, don’t look at me; I’m standing in this world that someone imagined.
I never want to hurt you, so until the end,
I’m begging you, please, just to remember me…

His voice—raw, melancholic—channeled Toru Kitajima’s despair. Aoi’s technical strums wove a synesthetic spell. The collaboration of Dark Lord and Priestess shattered the mundane classroom glass.

The lyrics stung Hiroki’s heart—Kaito’s fiery crash, his buried chuunibyou reborn through Aoi’s defiance on their first day of high school. And the song ended with a soft, mournful resolution; Aoi’s final strum faded gently.

The class exploded with napalm-blast cheers: "Hiroki! Hiroki!" Phones flashed like lighters at a gig.

Aoi poked his shoulder, smiling proudly. "Thou hast proved thy worth, Dark Lord of Tartarus."

However—

"Sorry for arriving late."

Scott Ardennes Villeneuve, the math teacher with golden retriever energy, strode in and froze the room. Cheers turned to silence; students rushed to seats.

Scott chuckled, but frustration tinged his voice. "What’s with the ruckus? This isn’t a live house, kid. Sit down."

He took the platform, scanning the class. "Tomorrow, Friday, remedial test-takers report to Classroom 2-B." His gaze locked on Hiroki. "Especially you, Hiroki. Don’t mess it up, or no LMC. Got it?"

Hiroki slumped, optimism curdling to dread. "Yeah… fine…"

Scott scribbled on the chalkboard. "Anyway, enough with the live house nonsense. Let’s get back to our previous topic."

Class 1-A sank into math’s mundane grind, but Hiroki’s spirit lingered—the duet with Aoi a spark for tomorrow’s trial and the Halloween Festival beyond.