Under Hikigaya Hachiman's stunned gaze, Aoki and Yukinoshita Yukino set a new bet.
This time, though, instead of using next month's end-of-month tests as the yardstick, they pushed it to the term finals—deciding both the wager's winner and whether Aoki would snag that big scholarship.
Although he was the one who proposed it, Aoki wasn't exactly brimming with confidence—his opponent was Yukinoshita. Their scores this time had been razor-close; if he underperformed on finals, he could very well lose to her.
That said, he wasn't terrified she'd pass him either. The gap between them wasn't huge, but it existed, and with equal effort put in, Aoki didn't believe his learning aptitude was below Yukinoshita's.
Anyway, after striking their new deal in the Service Club, Aoki left the clubroom with Hikigaya when the thirty minutes were up. He slung on his guitar and schoolbag, headed to the livehouse, practiced with the band for a while, then closed up and went back to his rented apartment.
He climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and dropped his guitar and bag to the side.
Every rainy season, a faint musty smell seeped into his cramped room—too small, poor ventilation; after rain, it was inevitable.
Breathing in that faint mildew, Aoki only felt more determined to earn enough to move out.
While his mind wandered, he changed out of his uniform. Once he'd swapped clothes and spaced out for a second, he suddenly remembered he hadn't checked the revenue on "So I Gave Up on Music."
He pulled out his phone and opened Yutube's creator dashboard.
For whatever reason, the connection crawled. After a bit, the dashboard finally loaded.
The first thumbnail wasn't "So I Gave Up on Music," but his earlier upload, "Lemon," now around five million views—way up from before.
The second was "So I Gave Up on Music."
As one of Yorushika's worldwide signature tracks, its lyrics, melody, and emotion were undeniably top-tier.
With a small fan base already in place, Aoki's self-cover had, unsurprisingly, blown up on Yutube again—over four million views.
Bear in mind, it had only been about two weeks since he posted it, and it was only his second video.
Two weeks. Two uploads. The second already past four million.
Aoki was a little shocked. He'd expected a lot of views, but not this many.
Likes and favorites were off the charts, comments flooded in, and his messages were bursting.
Unlike with "Lemon," when most DMs were individuals commissioning songs or fans leaving notes, this time several legitimate music companies reached out with olive branches.
But after looking into them, Aoki found none of those labels particularly strong, and his ambitions didn't lie there anyway, so he simply didn't respond.
At this point, plenty of people in the industry had noticed "suki-san," and the name had begun to travel. If Aoki wanted to turn the account into cash and climb out of his tight finances, it wouldn't be hard.
But as he'd decided early on, his target was bigger than that.
His current name recognition wasn't enough to guarantee a million-yen monthly income from music, let alone buying a place in Tokyo and living carefree. If he was going to do this, he'd do it at the top.
Building a bit of buzz was just step one. The critical step was to lead Kessoku Band to a result in PVC's "Rock Band Project."
He shelved the daydreaming and focused back on income.
On the payout page—adding what was left over from "Lemon"—his withdrawable balance sat at ¥480,000.
Four hundred eighty thousand was enough to cover next month's rent and keep him from worrying about food money. He wouldn't be eating grass anytime soon.
With those worries eased and study moving at a steady pace, what he needed now was to push Kessoku Band's level as high as possible and place in PVC to raise their profile—then figure out how to convert that attention into livelihood.
Dreams, moving forward together, sharing the burden in a band—romantic, sure. But in the end, reality has to be faced.
Not just for himself—for everyone in Kessoku Band.
Aoki genuinely loved the band's vibe; if he could, he'd happily play with those girls for a lifetime.
But the girls could throw themselves at a dream; Aoki couldn't afford to be that single-minded.
He had to think practically, and guide Kessoku Band onto a professional path sooner rather than later.
Reality isn't anime; it's heavier. In reality, it's more likely that someone's family hits a crisis, one thing triggers another, and the band never gets to stand together again.
Aoki wanted to kill that possibility—to make Kessoku Band truly capable of living on the band as a shared fate.
For now…
A win in a real label's project would carry far more weight than Yutube view counts. Placing in PVC meant a chance to step into the public eye.
But that was still far off. Never mind living off music so the girls wouldn't have to worry about expenses—there was still a full month until the PVC Rock Band Project deadline.
He tapped "Withdraw."
Because the amount was sizable, it would take a bit to arrive.
With a few minutes to kill, he decided to head downstairs to find dinner.
But just as he stood up—before he could take another step—his phone buzzed in his hand.
A message from "Weird Bassist."
He unlocked it. One second ago:
[Weird Bassist] suki-san, it's Saturday tomorrow. Want to grab lunch together? My treat.
"...?"
Aoki stared at the line from Yamada Ryō, puzzled.
He typed, testing the waters:
[Aoki] Kidnapping? Extortion? Hypnosis? Altered common sense? If you're not doing this of your own free will, blink, Miss Ryō.
No immediate reply. About three minutes later, Ryō wrote back, sounding theatrically hurt:
[Weird Bassist] Is that what I am to you, suki-san? That really hurts…
Aoki knew her type. He ignored the mock-sad tone and typed:
[Aoki] Isn't that what you are?
[Weird Bassist] …
Ryō went quiet, then sent a silent Tama-kun sticker. A moment later came a more earnest explanation:
[Weird Bassist] Last time you treated me, remember? I said I'd return the favor. Tomorrow's Saturday—would noon work?
Aoki hesitated. Remembering her serious face with ice cream at the corner of her mouth last time, he decided on a cautious yes:
[Aoki] I'm free. Tomorrow it is?
[Weird Bassist] OK.
With time and place settled, he figured the conversation was over and pocketed his phone. Just as he was about to head out for dinner, his phone buzzed again.
Another line appended under her "OK":
[Weird Bassist] Oh—bring your guitar tomorrow.
…?
The tentative trust wobbled again. He stared at the message, then asked directly:
[Aoki] Miss Ryō, quick question… what's the guitar for if we're just getting lunch?
No reply. Not even a read receipt.
Still perplexed, he waited a bit, then dropped it and went out to eat.
He grabbed ramen, got back around ten, read late into the night, then made up his bed and crashed.
The next morning.
He'd stayed up, so even with an alarm he didn't wake early—but there was still time. Quick wash, tidied the room, and at nine he headed out with his guitar and sorted trash.
They'd set a surprisingly early meet time for a lunch plan. Aoki had no idea why Ryō insisted on nine a.m.
Between "bring your guitar" and the early hour, he had a bad feeling.
He dropped the trash, washed his hands, bought a ticket, and rode the train.
After a rattly ride he got off at Shibuya.
The scramble crossing was packed—weekend crowds.
He felt like he'd been coming here too often lately—maybe not ten times a month, but five or six for sure, several of them with Ryō.
Weird coincidence.
He scanned for their meeting point outside the station and soon spotted the blue-haired girl standing in the shade of a tree.
Ryō's fashion sense was always on point.
Today she had on a black-and-white check shirt and a clean, perfectly chosen light-blue skirt. Her legs—slim with no extra—were in sheer black tights of just the right thickness. A simple, stylish look—cool beauty with a girlish edge.
A bass on her back, an ice cream in each hand, eyes lowered as she licked the one in her right.
He was briefly struck by the look, then noticed the bass.
She'd told him to bring a guitar; she'd brought a bass…
His curiosity deepened. He walked over.
"Morning, Ryō-san."
Mid-lick, she lifted her eyes slightly. Seeing him, she stepped forward and offered the ice cream in her left hand.
She must've been waiting a while; it had started to melt a little, though not too badly.
"Morning, suki-san."
Her voice carried that familiar lazy coolness—and with just a few words, the "ice queen" aura dissipated into her own cadence.
He accepted the ice cream with thanks. His gaze flicked to the bass.
"You set a nine a.m. meetup for lunch, you've got a bass on your back, and you told me to bring my guitar… Miss Ryō, I'm guessing lunch isn't the only plan here."
"..."
Ryō paused, a clearly guilty look crossing her face.
She stopped licking the ice cream, tilted her head and eyes away to avoid his curious look, and cleared her throat.
After a moment's hesitation, she explained:
"Last week… I bought a brand-new bass and wiped out my funds. I've barely eaten for days. It'd feel wrong to ask you to treat me again, so I came up with a solution—"
Aoki frowned, humming a questioning "Hm?"
Ryō lowered her voice further, turned her gaze aside again, and ducked her head a little more. Still, her tone stayed cool:
"If we busk by the Shibuya crossing for a while, we should earn a decent amount—given your skills and mine…"
She paused, then raised her eyes to meet his. Blinking once, she spoke with unusual sincerity:
"But don't worry. If we don't make anything, I've still got ¥1,000 after buying those ice creams—that's enough to treat you to lunch."
Expressionless, she gave him a small thumbs-up.
…This girl.
Aoki fell silent, mouth twitching, unsure what expression to wear.
He'd expected Ryō to be unreliable, but he hadn't expected busking.
He was about to suggest he just treat her—he had his wallet, and busking would be a hassle—when she continued:
"Mostly I want to experience what it's like to play bass on the street. And… doing a street set together would make a nice memory for the band."
Aoki froze for a beat.
Then he caught on, hesitated, and swallowed the words he was about to say. He looked at the blue-haired girl.
Ryō's features were exquisite—pale yellow eyes, a perfectly proportioned nose, light lips, and the beauty mark beneath her left eye completing a face without a weak point.
With no expression, she should look cool and aloof, yet somehow it came off adorably dopey.
He drew a breath.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, he gave a wry smile and said:
"If we're busking, I'm doing my part too. So if we do make money, lunch is split fifty-fifty. Miss Ryō, you don't get to wriggle out of treating me that easily."
-------
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