Act 2, Chapter 10: White Silence

Friday afternoon was the day of judgment.

Hiroki Yamada stood rigid in the teacher’s room, the remedial test papers still warm in Scott Ardennes Villeneuve’s hands. The four horsemen—math, physics, biology, and chemistry—had charged at him all morning. He’d broken into cold sweats, nearly faltered on half the questions, but somehow scraped through, Junichi’s hacks and Ren-senpai’s patient diagrams clinging to his brain like lifeline riffs.

Scott, golden-retriever energy dialed to eleven, finally handed over the results with a grin that could power a small venue.

"Congratulations, Yamada-san. You passed the midterm remedial."

Hiroki’s eyes locked on the numbers in disbelief:
Math: 52
Physics: 55
Chemistry: 58
Biology: 61

All above the dreaded 50. Close calls, but he made it through.

"Uhh… w-what?!" His voice cracked, disbelief flooding in.

Scott chuckled, tapping the papers. "You passed. Just look at it."

Hiroki sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "Sorry… but most of my formulas were half-baked garbage."

"Sure, they’re all half-baked, but you glimpsed the right paths," Scott said, smirking. "That’s growth."

Hiroki froze, then blurted out. "Can I go now?"

Scott’s grin widened. "I know you’re itching for LMC, right?" Hiroki’s heart stopped, thinking it was a sign of punishment in disguise.

"Go on. Have fun while you still can." Scott jerked a thumb toward the exit.

"For real?" Hiroki whispered, eyes wide open. Scott nodded casually.

Relief crashed over him like a final power chord. "Thank you very much, Villeneuve-sensei!" He bowed so hard his forehead nearly hit the floor, drawing stares from the other teachers.

Papers shoved into his bag, Hiroki bolted with a neck-breaking speed down the hallway. His lungs burning, ready to scream every ounce of stress into the LMC room’s amps.

The faculty office settled back into its usual hum of grading and coffee. Scott reached for his journal, but a familiar voice cut in.

"Reminded you of someone we used to know, mate?" Nolan Webber Girling, the jock PE teacher, and walking wall of muscle, leaned against Scott’s desk with a black coffee in hand.

"Yeah…" Scott’s gaze softened, nostalgia creeping in. "I wish we could meet him again."

He pulled up a photo on his phone—six years ago, grainy but golden. Scott behind a blistering drum kit, Nolan laying down beefy fuzzy bass, and Tsuyuki Tsumaki front and center, Telecaster screaming, voice tearing the Minerva Academy gym apart during Gate’s set at the 2019 summer festival.

Nolan sipped his coffee, eyes distant. "I heard he transferred to Minos Biotech Institution. Same faculty, but different uni."

Scott scrolled the old Minerva High's alumni group chat—friends still losing their minds over Tsuyuki’s sudden switch.

Scott smiled softly. "If he’s happier there… good for him."

Nolan exhaled with the same ache in his chest. Two former bandmates turned teachers at young ages. Yet, they already longed for the days when they fought the world with just passion and music.

Perhaps, one day, they would reunite, letting their music shatter away the mundane glasses.

***

Friday afternoon tasted like victory. Hiroki Yamada felt like a triumphant warrior who had vanquished the formidable foes of math, physics, biology, and chemistry, the victorious energy still coursing through his veins. He practically sprinted through the pristine new building, heart hammering with anticipation.

He blasted the LMC door open, hoping for the greeting of shenanigans. "I’m coming in!" But only white silence.

Empty chairs, cables coiled in a box like sleeping snakes, the small stage untouched. Guitars lined up on stands, with a Yamaha keyboard gleaming beside the club's black Tama kit, creating a white silence, as if the room had been holding its breath since yesterday.

"Nobody’s here…" The celebration felt like a misfire.

He stepped inside, tapping a cymbal with his nail. The light echo reminded him of the group chat avalanche of their part-time jobs. Friday had swallowed everyone, suspending their club activities for weeks.

His gaze wandered across the room until it fixated on a sleek black hard case ominously positioned in the corner of the stage. "A guitar case?" Curiosity yanked him over. He crouched and clicked the latches.

Inside lay a vicious-looking Les Paul variant—sharp edges, black-gold finish, and hardware glinting like a predator’s teeth. "W-what is this guitar?!"

He reached out tentatively, his fingertips hovering over the mysterious guitar case, eager to uncover its secrets.

However—

"Congratulations on passing your remedial."

Hiroki jolted, slamming the case shut and leaping to his feet.

Standing in the doorway, it was Liam Feng Tsui—physics teacher, resident terror of the faculty, arms crossed and smirking.

"L-Liam Feng Tsui-sensei?!" Hiroki’s brain screamed detention if he had committed trespassing. Unauthorized touching of mysterious gear. "S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

Liam chuckled, stepping inside. "Relax. I stash my rigs here. Placing it in the teacher's room is just taking up more space."

Hiroki blinked, pointing at the black case behind. "Wait… you mean this guitar?"

Liam nodded, crouching to reopen the case with confidence. He lifted the instrument like a sword from its sheath. "ESP LTD EC-1000 with Seymour Duncan JB. My trusted babe for eight years with Poltergeist."

Hiroki stared, awestruck. His ESP was similar to his black-gold Les Paul, but this one was built for war—thicker neck, heavier body, pure metal DNA.

Liam caressed his ESP’s sleek body. "Used to run EMGs, but swapped it three years ago. Duncan sings brighter on high gain."

He glanced at Hiroki. "You have a black-gold Les Paul too, right? That's why I showed you this." His smirk widening. "Wanna try it?"

"Wait, can I?" Hiroki furrowed his left eyebrow and tilted his head.

Liam handed it over, and the guitar weighed like a dumbbell. However, Hiroki pressed a thick string gauge that nearly sliced his fingertips like a razor blade. "It’s… heavy… and the strings—"

"12/54," Liam said casually.

"That’s... overkill…" Hiroki handed it back, intimidated. Where the axe was forged for someone taller and bulkier with muscular finger like Liam.

Liam laughed, stashed back the EC-1000, then darted to a locked cabinet and hauled out a massive pedalboard case. "And here are my pedalboards!" He flipped it open—towering rows of high-gain distortion, graphic EQ, chorus, wah, delay, and more.

Hiroki’s jaw dropped. "W-wait, what the hell?!" To a rookie like him, owning a humongous pedalboard felt like starting on a 1000cc superbike as a complete beginner.

Liam’s gaze softened, tracing dents on the board. "We’ve toured a quarter of Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea with Misaki-chan and Setsuna-chan."

Hiroki’s brain short-circuited. "You don't mean Misato Kitamura-sensei and Setsuna Konata-sensei?!" Disbelieved that the biology and the music teacher were in a Slipknot-esque metal band with Liam.

"Oh yeah. Misaki is killing it on harmonies. And Setsuna is the killer on keys and DJ controller. Teaching’s just for a side hustle." Liam prodded with enthusiasm.

He grinned at the memory. "We formed Poltergeist ten years ago, when we were at your age. Misaki and I fought like dogs eating dogs; I thought we’d break up after that. But I don’t know how; we always came back. Can’t explain it. An abusive circle or just something." Liam laughed.

Hiroki couldn’t help laughing. The terrifying physics teacher had a chaotic, goofy past. A reminder that he still had a softer side despite his tough exterior.

But a stern woman's voice sliced the air. "Here you are, dumbass! Don’t make us—"

It was Misato Kitamura who stormed in, her biology teacher mode fully off. Hiroki flinched, expecting the scolding of his life. Wait! What did I do wrong?!

Her eyes widened after witnessing the existence of Hiroki beside Liam. "Oh! My deepest apologies for cussing, Yamada-kun—I didn’t see you there." She bowed sharply.

"Oh… uhh… It's nothing… It just caught me off guard… hehe…" Hiroki let out a dry chuckle. Hiroki realized her cuss was aimed at Liam, as if her Poltergeist persona was surging.

Misato leaned against the doorframe and glanced at Hiroki with a softened smile. "You’ve heard from Feng-Tsui sensei, yeah? We'll be ripping Shinagawa live house at 5 PM." She then shot a playful scorn before leaving. "Get moving, ye dipshit."

Liam flipped her off behind her back, grinning. However, he suddenly dug something into his pocket. "Oh, I almost forgot—I have one more ticket to Shinagawa tonight. You want it?"

Hiroki’s breath caught at the live house ticket. Shinagawa—it was Kaito’s stage, his ghost, and the roar of his modded Jaguar.

"Are you sure? I… don’t have any physical cash at all…" He furrowed his eyebrow, uncertain.

"Bank transfer’s fine." Liam pulled out his phone.

Hiroki scrambled for his phone, tapped the screen—and 1500 yen was successfully sent into Liam’s bank account.

Liam handed over the ticket like it was forged in fire. "Let’s roll. Everyone’s waiting."

Hiroki clutched the ticket, heart roaring louder than any amp.

This was it—the reward he’d bled for after the victorious remedial nightmare. He grabbed his bag, followed Liam out of the empty LMC room, and stepped into the evening light.

The Shinagawa live house awaited.