Even June rain is cool; you can feel the chill.
Saturday, overcast, ~20°C.
Being weekend, Aoki woke naturally at nine. He skipped breakfast, washed up, cleaned, then read more "Haruhi Suzumiya."
He had little left and was debating buying more volumes.
Afterwards, more math. At lunch he took out the trash and bought a fresh bento.
Midday fried chicken stayed crispy—nice, and priced right.
After finishing "Haruhi," around one he slung his guitar and umbrella and headed to the station.
At STARRY, the girls had arrived even earlier, holed up in the recording room practicing for the evening's show.
He didn't interrupt; he just listened.
But after a bit, he frowned—
Ryō and Bocchi had minor issues, but nothing huge. Kita was at her usual level.
Nijika, though…
She seemed distracted. While the others' tempos were fine, her drums kept slipping.
Halfway through the second run, Aoki hesitated and cut in,
"Ijichi—your tempo keeps drifting… did something happen?"
Nijika stopped mid-strike.
Catching her breath, she answered,
"I—I'm just a little tired. I'll be back on the next pass."
He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and just nodded.
On the third run, things were better overall, including her drums.
But her level was down a notch—still some tiny timing flaws.
Maybe she's just off today. Tiny flaws should be okay, right?
A prickle of unease nagged. He shook it off.
It's their first live. It'll go fine.
He held onto that thought till evening.
…
Three minutes to stage.
Then—
He finally learned from Seika why Nijika was off:
"She got caught in the rain the day before yesterday and has a slight fever. I took her to the doctor this morning—it's minor, and the meds helped. She insisted on playing tonight, so…"
That buried unease surged back up.
…
Lights dipped, then came up. Nijika's drums led.
No incident.
Bass and guitars entered.
No incident.
At 0:30, tempo pushed up slightly.
No incident.
At ~0:45, into the chorus—another push—
Aoki had heard "That Band" enough to know its shape intimately. He would hear a misstep.
And then—
Thump—
Entering the chorus, the drummer should hammer a fast line on cymbal and drum. Instead, on the very first beat… Nijika lagged.
And then the panic feedback loop—mistake → fluster → more mistakes.
On stage, her breathing quickened.
She knew she was off, she tried to correct, but couldn't force her body to keep up.
I can't match it. I'm not myself…
Bocchi, Kita, Ryō—none of them slipped. Nijika alone was behind by a beat.
I can't keep up. What do I do?
Trying to force speed made it worse.
What do I do?
Her hands shook. Places that were fine in rehearsal now fell apart.
I promised I'd show Aoki-senpai… promised I'd improve even under pressure…
The harder she tried to match, the more she drifted. And she could hear where she was wrong.
No strength…
She glanced down at the drumheads, then up at the sea of faces, suddenly imagining ridicule.
She tried to shut it out, to reset.
She bit her lip. Her forearms were jelly; sweat beaded her brow.
Please, please, keep the beat!
I don't want to fail! I can't fail!
Until—
Clack.
At the start of the second chorus, her grip finally gave. A drumstick hit the stage with a crisp, cruel sound.
The stick fell. Nijika froze.
Her mind blanked. She stared dumbly at the stick.
The band's dream wavered for the first time.
Offstage.
Aoki sighed softly.
He tidied his table, took his guitar, and headed for STARRY's recording room.
…
About three minutes later.
The four girls filed in.
The air was heavy. No one spoke; silence pressed in.
At last, Kita tried,
"Um… Nijika-senpai—everyone makes mistakes sometimes. That's how we improve. N-next time, we'll nail it."
Her words died. Silence returned.
Nijika opened her mouth, but her voice stuck. After another beat, she forced a flimsy smile.
"B—because of me, we threw it all away… I'm sorry. It won't happen next time. Next time I'll be in shape—so, so…"
Her voice trembled. If she said any more, she'd cry.
In the corner, Aoki watched and sighed inside.
Call it strength, or just stubborn pride.
She always faced things with a sunny smile, burying her own feelings.
Even now—
The strained smile, the hollow reassurances, the apology that would crumble with one more word.
She put herself in the "band mom" role, shouldering too much.
People aren't springs that bounce back instantly. We're balloons—everyone has a breaking point.
Nijika could shoulder pressure—searching alone for a temp guitarist when Kita fled; comforting Bocchi after the first failed live with Bocchi and Ryō; staying sunny, tucking away her gloom.
But tonight, when no one else messed up and she alone sank the show… could she bear it?
A person with a strong sense of responsibility would be tormented.
With no one to lean on; with the band's dream on her back—
Aoki remembered what she'd told him in the rain two days earlier:
"I don't want to let the band down. I don't want to let you down."
Her serious face, those steady eyes—
He drew a deep breath. He had to do something.
Not for benefit, not for social credit, not for "vibes."
Just because he didn't want to see her like this. Just because he wanted her to smile that warm, sunny smile again.
Even if it brought complications.
He inhaled.
As the thought formed, the pale blue screen popped up:
[Ijichi Nijika is very down right now. At this moment, you decide—]
[Option 1: Ignore it. You don't want to get involved. (Reward: 100 pts, random Novice Skill)]
[Option 2: Gently comfort her. (Reward: 100 pts, random Novice Skill)]
[Option 3: Give a motivational speech. (Reward: 100 pts, random Novice Skill)]
He skimmed them, then shut his eyes briefly.
None of those were what he wanted.
He didn't think his speechifying would help; nor that gentle words from a loner like him would land.
And this wasn't about rewards.
Sure, picking one would be the easy way to get loot.
But—
Humans aren't purely rational.
Call it impulse if you want…
He closed the window decisively, looked to Nijika, stood, and asked her:
"Do you want to listen to the rest of tonight's lives?"
Nijika blinked, hesitated, then nodded.
"Okay," Aoki said. He opened the door and headed for the bar.
If words couldn't carry comfort clearly…
Then he would speak with song and action.
The name "Kessoku Band"…
-------
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