Act 2, Chapter 11: Fantastic Magic

The hall was a black sea of bodies, crushing Hiroki from every side. He clutched his iced tea like a lifeline, praying the cup wouldn’t explode. Sweat, perfume, and pure hunger for noise suffocating the air.

This was nothing like the VIP passes of his childhood—back when Kaito pulled him backstage like royalty. Tonight, he was a mere speck in the pulsating mass of bodies.

"Yo!" A hand clapped his back hard enough to jolt his spine.

"W-WHAT THE—" Hiroki spun, half-expecting a pickpocket. Turns out, it was Riku Tanaka who grinned back, looking perfectly at home in the chaos.

"How did you—"

"Been here hours ago," Riku laughed, cutting his worry short.

"Yeah, but how did you end up in here in the first place?!" Hiroki shot back with confusion.

Riku laughed sheepishly and scratched his head. "LMCs are a dud when everyone is busy with their part-time job. So, if I can’t play with Yakomori, I’ll watch a live show instead." Hiroki nodded with a chuckle.

Riku poked at Hiroki’s shoulder, his face a few meters close to his. "By the way, Shinagawa’s the real deal. Way better than the dives my brother dragged me to." Both Hiroki and Riku laughed.

Hiroki glanced at the running order again in the ticket. "First band… Notto Maigo?" He furrowed one of his eyebrows; the weird name hit him like a dissonant chord.

"It’s a college all-girl pop-rock band," Riku casually said. "That vocalist, Isami Yamamoto, is the younger sister of Harmoniac’s drummer, Inaba Yamamoto. Mostly attracting for normies—until they drop the hammer." Riku winked with a smirk, and Hiroki could only chuckle.

The strobe lights suddenly snapped to the stage, and the crowd detonated.

Four young college girls bounced onto the stage in matching blue-white-pink denim, waving and throwing peace signs. The crowd of girls lost it; they were screaming at the top of their lungs, almost ripping off the roof.

Hiroki braced for sugary J-pop, where the screeching girls were screaming on. However, one of the fifth members stepped out late with semi-gothic makeup, pale skin, and a black pixie cut.

It was none other than Aoi Mizuno! Stoic as a warrior priestess among candy-colored idols.

Hiroki’s heart stopped. A-Aoi…?! He also noticed her different haircut than her previously shoulder-length bobbed hair. S-since when did she get a haircut?! But he realized it’s also due to the summer heat.

But in her hands—it was his black-gold Les Paul, the gold hardware glinting like a freshly forged battle axe under the spots. But worse, Aoi’s right hand was clenching his beloved Zoom G1X Four. MY LES PAUL?! AND MY MULTI-EFFECTS?! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Hiroki’s brain short-circuited. His confiscated guitar and his multi-effects from his mother before passing the midterm remedial test—now in Aoi’s grip. But she didn’t even tell me in the first place! Worse, she took it onto Shinagawa’s stage in front of hundreds.

Riku leaned in, whispering in Hiroki’s left ear over the noise. "Their regular guitarist, Fuuka Kirisaki, was down with sinusitis. That’s when Aoi filled in last week as their temporary replacement."

Isami seized the mic, exuding a mix of effervescence and authority. "Everyone! We are Notto Maigo! Let’s make some noise!"

The fangirl section lost their minds.

"Shame that Fuuka-chan’s still sick," Isami continued, "but we’ve got an insanely talented high-schooler covering the guitar part tonight—Aoi Mizuno!"

She dramatically pointed at Aoi like a wrestling announcer. Aoi answered with a theatrical bow and a faint, sly smirk.

A girl near Hiroki squealed, "A high schooler? She’s so cute!"

A knot of dread tightened in Hiroki's stomach. The notion of the Divine Eye, the call of the stage, or whatever bullshit she had proclaimed months earlier now seemed ominously prophetic. Just what chuunibyou bullshit are you going to do in there?!

Isami pumped her fist. "This is our first song—My Destiny!"

The drummer clapped sticks with a grin. "One, two, three, four!"

As the song kicked off, Aoi struck the intro riff.

It wasn’t their usual recorded version. She rewrote it on the spot—blistering arpeggios, two-hand tapping, and an overdriven edge sharp enough to shatter the very sanctuary itself. The laid-back pop-rock façade shattered. The crowd roared like they’d just discovered a hidden boss.

Hiroki’s jaw dropped, eyes wide open in disbelief. "She’s… nailing it…"

The verse kicked in at a bouncy 175 BPM. The bassline danced, keys shimmered, and Isami’s vocals soared bright and fierce. Aoi switched to a crystalline clean tone, plucking surf-rock tremolo swells with the Floyd Rose, banging her head in slow, hypnotic arcs.

The chorus detonated. Isami stomped the stage’s PA speaker and pointed the crowd to sing together with her infectious energy. Light sticks became a glowing ocean of stars.

Aoi’s backing vocals weren’t like the latter—they were feral. She thrashed her head like the frenetic energy of Toru Kitajima with her overdrive snarling.

The solo had arrived, and the spotlight pinned at Aoi. She dropped her knee, the phaser swirling, shredding a torrent of notes that belonged on a metal stage, not a college pop-rock set. The metalheads in the pit whooped in a guttural chant and started their mini mosh with devil horns in the air, almost disrupting the laid-back fangirls.

After the explosion of the final chorus, the outro was a chaos. The drummer soloed with frenetic energy, the bassist jumped on the stage with her infectious grin, keys arpeggiated like fireworks, and Aoi windmilled the last chord until feedback screamed mercy.

The song slammed shut, and Isami panted into the mic. "Thank you!"

A random metalhead bellowed, "Dude! That high schooler is fucking banging!" and threw devil horns at Aoi.

Hiroki could only stare and freeze in place. The priestess had seized the spotlight, commandeered his guitar, and spun a tale that seemed destined from the start.

***

Notto Maigo had set the live house’s performance hall on fire as the opening act. Light sticks waved like a pastel ocean from the fangirls; metalheads carved out mini mosh pits.

Their second song, Find The Way, exploded the stage like a C4. Isami’s bubbly-yet-powerful vocals ride through Aoi’s spotlight-stealing leads on Hiroki’s black-gold Les Paul.

Hiroki stood stunned. Every riff she ripped felt like the priestess breathing new life into Kaito’s old axe. Jealousy and awe coiled in his gut like intertwined cable, ready to strike at his emotions.

Isami caught her breath at the mic. "Thank you very much, Shinagawa live house! This is our last song, but it’s a cover one."

A stage crew jogged out and handed her an electric violin. The crowd erupted in confusion but excited murmurs. "Wait, a violin at a rock show?!" It’s like bringing a sword to a gunfight.

After Isami tested the strings with a mischievous grin, she spoke on the mic. "Tonight, Aoi Mizuno will sing the lead, and I’ll handle the violin!"

She pointed dramatically to Aoi, and the murmurs turned into a banshee screech of cheers.

Aoi moved the microphone stand into the center of the stage. Isami took the position beside the bassist. She brought the mic close, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands like a prayer.

"This is the Priestess speaking. Let us be blessed by our Lord and Savior in this grand sanctuary of frequency." Her chuunibyou priestess persona surged.

Half the crowd cheered the theatrics; the other half laughed in delighted confusion. Wondered if it was just another autistic high schooler.

Hiroki groaned internally and facepalmed. Here we go again…

Aoi’s eyes snapped open, and she flashed a dramatic pose. "Phase to phrase—fantastic magic—secret sensation."

She slammed an open string strum, the boosted overdrive roaring like a primal beast.

"UNRAVEL THIS WORLD!!!"

Her dramatic scream erupted from the crowd like a war cry.

The drummer counted off—one-two-three-four!—and the band launched into TK from Ling Tosite Sigure’s Fantastic Magic like a napalm blast. Surprised the audiences.

Aoi rapped the intro with venom:

Because the color of everything that became colorful comes clear.
Mine and your hearts beat fast in memories.
Fantastic magic!

Hiroki's brain short-circuited, overwhelmed by a mix of disbelief and confusion. She forced a college pop-rock band to cover TK?! Can they even play it?! WHAT THE HELL IS SHE THINKING?!

Surprisingly, Notto Maigo did not disappoint with their performance! Isami sawed the violin into a sparkling frenzy, the bassist slapped like a funk demon, the keyboardist arpeggiated like starlight, and the drummer twirled sticks with starry winks.

Aoi whispered the verse, her singing low and dramatic:

You and I disappear in fantastic magic.
You’ve got a surprise.
Is it fantastic magic?
The heart feels stabbed.

Aoi’s finger plucking echoed the tape delay with lush hall reverb and washed the performance hall like the sparkles of fantastic magic.

Aoi suddenly headbanged, mimicking the feral energy of Toru Kitajima. The boosted overdrive snarled with each aggressive strum, and she screamed the chorus:

That time's heart is this time in slow mo, slow motion!
The heart of the colors is this time in slow mo, slow motion!
Fantastic Magic!

Aoi’s voice was surprisingly powerful with a belting voice, despite her petite frame. Isami accompanied it with a violin solo that shredded harder than most metal guitarists—stomping the PA speaker, her bow was a blur as the notes screamed.

The two traded blows: Aoi’s technical tapping was a bolt across the fretboard, and Isami countered with impossible violin shred. Dueling for the synesthetic chaos, and the crowd’s cheers almost tore down the live house’s performance hall.

Aoi banshee-screamed "FANTASTIC MAGIC!!!" one last time, shredding the Les Paul with exaggerated strum until feedback howled the stage. The drummer finished with a machine-gun fill and a crashing cymbal.

The hall exploded for the last time; Aoi lifted Hiroki’s Les Paul overhead like a war trophy. She was sweat-drenched, but she remained triumphant, like the victory after conquering the stage.

The five girls huddled together, their shirts drenched in sweat, chests heaving with breathlessness. Isami grabbed the mic. "Thank you very much, everyone! We are Notto Maigo! See you next time!" Peace signs, bows, and they vanished into a storm of "ENCORE!" chants.

Hiroki stood frozen. Aoi had just turned a laid-back college band into her own world. He should’ve been proud, but something hot and complicated was twisting behind his ribs.

Before Riku could react, "Hiroki?! Where are you going?" Hiroki forcefully pushed through the crowd towards the exit, driven by a burning need to confront Aoi.

But Hiroki was already gone—pushing past bodies, past the sea of glowing light sticks. He wants to confront Aoi who had such audacity to take Kaito’s Les Paul without his knowing.