To the left was a souvenir shop selling postcards yellowed with time. To the right, a store offering animal-shaped hair clips with little bells that jingled softly. And in the middle, nestled between those two noisy spaces, was an entrance narrow as the gap between two book pages just wide enough for two people to stand side by side. Above it hung a weathered sign, the letters STAR☆RY painted in peeling white, dangling from two rusted iron chains.
Nijika turned around, the sunlight catching in her golden hair like a natural, spontaneous highlight. Her smile didn't just shine, it almost caught up with the sun itself.
"We're here!" she exclaimed cheerfully, pointing to a narrow concrete staircase leading down into a pitch-dark basement below.
"This is Starry the live house where we'll be performing today!"
Izayoi, standing next to Hitori, tilted his head as he examined the entrance, as if surveying the secret passage to some hidden dungeon. He furrowed his brow slightly, hands in his pockets, and muttered:
"Hmm... underground, huh?"
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped down first calmly, lightly, as though he were strolling through an ancient European wine cellar, among wooden barrels and centuries-old secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Nijika turned back and waved to Hitori.
"Come on, Hitori-chan!"
"Y-yes..."
Hitori murmured, her voice barely louder than that of a flu-stricken kitten. She clutched the strap of her guitar case like it was the most powerful protective charm in the world, then began descending the stairs as if embarking on a path of no return. (It was actually only about twelve steps, but in Hitori's mind, it stretched all the way to the eighteenth level of hell.)
One step... two steps...
Each rough concrete stair felt like it was pulling her deeper into the earth. The cool, dense air wafting up from below wasn't the pleasant kind you'd get from an air conditioner it was a biting cold, thick with the scent of mildew and old fabric dust.
(Why... why does this feel like I'm entering a war-time underground tunnel or something...?)
The fluorescent light overhead flickered like a sleepy gatekeeper. Its pale yellow glow spilled across the blotchy walls, where peeling layers of paint exposed gray cement beneath scuffed and scratched as if they had borne silent witness to countless anxious performances... and failures.
Hitori kept her head down, trying hard not to imagine herself fainting on stage from a lack of mental oxygen.
Finally reaching the bottom step, Nijika stepped forward and gently pushed open a silver-gray metal door to the left. It creaked with a dry click, revealing the space behind it a dim, subdued atmosphere that felt like crossing the threshold between the real world and a dimension reserved solely for music.
Starry Live House.
The room was small or rather, cramped with a low ceiling and the scent of old wood soaked into the air. An amber stage light shone from one side, casting its glow across a small stage nestled off to the left. Faded posters hung on the walls, each a relic of past performances, their colors bleached by time.
At the far end of the room stood a simple, worn wooden bar, with a few high stools with curved legs, a rarely-touched liquor shelf, and a deep crimson velvet curtain concealing a back area no one really seemed to know much about. Maybe a storage space for instruments or... a forgotten fridge.
"I'm back, everyone!" Nijika called out cheerfully, waving at the people fiddling with audio cables and the soundboard.
Izayoi stepped in like he'd always belonged there.
And Hitori... Hitori stood frozen at the threshold.
Her feet were glued to the floor like someone had poured industrial-strength superglue under her soles.
She raised her eyes to the space ahead, feeling like she was about to take part in a sacrificial ceremony... with herself as the goat.
This is... the first live house I've ever set foot in.
The faint smell of singed wiring drifted by, mixing with old wood, dust, and the kind of tension that could register on a nuclear scale. She swallowed hard and thought to herself:
(Why does this place feel so gloomy... It's like... like my closet at home...)
She murmured, clutching the strap of her guitar again like if she let go, she'd dissolve into the room itself.
"Hitori-chan?" Nijika's voice rang out gentle but clear enough to cut through the dense fog of Hitori's inner turmoil.
Startled, Hitori looked up. Nijika was watching her, brow slightly furrowed, concern flickering in her eyes.
"You okay? You were muttering something just now..."
"A-ah, I'm fine!" Hitori blurted out with a lopsided smile like a slice of cheese lost in a loaf of bread.
"I just... feel kind of at home."
Izayoi, leaning casually against the wall, chuckled.
"That's a rare kind of confidence from you, Hitori."
"At home?" Nijika blinked. "But... this is my home."
"Uh... I mean..."
Hitori's brain immediately entered system error mode.
Izayoi smoothly cut in, his face calm, like he'd predicted this scene eight lifetimes ago:
"Or maybe it feels familiar 'cause it's like that rat hole you always crawl into?"
"Don't call it a rat hole!" Hitori groaned, holding her cheeks like she'd just been shot through the heart with a Cupid arrow, her face flushed as if she'd just fallen into a hotpot.
"I just... I just think... the vibe here... is like the kinds of places I like to hide in, that's all..."
"Oh, you mean like your closet?" Izayoi added, smiling wider now.
"Then just pretend this is a giant walk-in closet."
"Y-you're making it worse, Izayoi..."
Hitori stepped back slightly, hands clasped in front of her like she was begging for mercy but she couldn't help letting out a small laugh. Her nerves still felt strung as tight as guitar strings, but Nijika and Izayoi this energetic older sister and her oddball friend somehow made her heart settle, just a little.
She thought to herself:
So this is Starry...
A dim, cramped little room, filled with the hum of music yet to be played.
But... maybe this is where I'll begin. With them.
Meanwhile, over at the left corner of Starry's stage, where the faint amber spotlight barely lit up the floating specks of dust in the air, three girls were huddled together, whispering like they were plotting a gentle coup.
They stood against the wall, amidst a nest of cables and small speakers, each bundled up in thick hoodies despite the fact that it was only early spring outside. One of them the tallest, wearing a white mask held a phone in her hand and muttered like she was chanting a spell:
"What if... we ask Pa-san to record the whole performance? I mean, it's not like we've got anything to lose, right...?"
Hitori was still standing glued to Izayoi like he was a human shield against the waves of society. When she heard that, she flinched slightly, eyes scanning the room like radar.
"A band...? Wait, they're a band?"
At that moment, Nijika had her hands on her hips like a seasoned band leader, tilting her head with a breezy smile. Her voice was as gentle as wind slipping through curtains:
"Those people over there are the band performing with us today~"
Immediately, a dramatic imaginary video exploded in Hitori's mind, complete with intense voice-over:
A band...!? A real band...? What are they like? Black leather jackets, blinding metal studs, sharp eyes like villains in an action movie... They must be insanely cool... super stylish...
But when she squinted to get a better look, the image in her head crumbled completely.
Hitori froze for a moment. Then, from deep within her bewildered eyes, a faint glimmer of... empathy emerged.
"Huh... They kind of... look like... me...?"
Her brain buzzed faintly:
A group of introverts... who love the dark, stay indoors, live off cup noodles and bedside lamps. Are they... parallel universe versions of me?
She gazed at them with a deep sense of admiration... and a wave of relief.
So I'm not the only strange creature here after all...
Just then, Nijika pointed toward the bar, where a middle-aged woman was fiddling with the lens on a camera mounted on a tripod. Her neat black hair and moss green utility jacket gave her the look of a blend between an art teacher and an indie filmmaker.
"Oh, that's Pa-san" Nijika said, her tone carrying a hint of respect.
"She usually films amateur gigs like this. Just for memory's sake."
"Hi, kids~" Pa-san turned around, her husky but gentle voice like a warm cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. She gave a light wave and a friendly smile.
However, for Hitori, it was a whole different experience.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The instant Pa-san's eyes met hers a simple, polite glance Hitori felt the entire world around her freeze.
She jolted like she'd been caught in a headlight in the middle of the night.
Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she bowed low almost hitting the floor and her trembling voice came out like a cold draft through a cracked door:
"I-I'm sorry for being arrogant! I know it was wrong...!"
Izayoi, who was right beside her and had just raised his hand to greet politely, froze mid-motion. He nearly burst out laughing but quickly composed himself. Placing a hand gently on Hitori's shoulder, he said softly:
"Are you... imagining Pa-san as the final boss in a survival game or something?"
Hitori looked up, her eyes still watery half from gratitude, half from embarrassment and mumbled:
"I-I didn't mean to... But she just gives off such director vibes... Like she'd shout 'Cut!' and make us reshoot the whole scene..."
Nijika laughed and shrugged.
"She's actually the sound tech at Starry~ Super chill though. Oh, and totally obsessed with cats."
Hitori's expression instantly changed. She nodded rapidly, like she had just found a magic protection charm:
"Oh... she loves cats? Then... she must be a good person..."
Izayoi crossed his arms, tilted his head, and whispered like he was discovering a new scientific phenomenon:
"I think you're the only person here who's gone through all three stages of human emotion in under a minute."
Hitori let out a long breath, like she'd just finished an emotional marathon. Her eyes sparkled as she stared off into the distance:
"Yeah... I felt it too..."
At that moment, the side door behind the stage creaked open with a soft "click" barely audible, but thunderous in Hitori's taut mind. A tall, slender figure walked in. Her pace was unhurried, but each step carried the crisp chill of an out-of-season autumn breeze.
The girl had short, pale blue hair that shimmered like moonlight. Slightly messy, it gave her a nonchalant air, like she'd just stepped out of a Japanese indie music video shot on film. Her oversized jacket drooped off one shoulder, with sleeves long enough to nearly hide her hands. Paired with black thigh-high socks and shorts, she looked like a cross between a high schooler skipping class and a cover model from Rock & Reclusion magazine.
Her face was completely blank, like a cold marble statue that had wandered into the wrong concert hall. Her cloudy eyes stared straight ahead not really looking at anyone, or perhaps even peering straight through reality itself, lost in metaphysical contemplation of some abstract cosmic structure in a parallel universe.
Hitori swallowed hard. She felt like she had just witnessed something... far beyond the realm of ordinary social interaction.
The girl walked over, hands buried deep in her jacket pockets like it was five degrees below zero. Her gaze drifted past everyone before finally settling on Nijika. After a brief pause like a laggy Wi-Fi connection she spoke in a low, hoarse, drawling voice, every ending sound trailing off as if too lazy to finish:
"...You're back, huh, Nijika."
Nijika immediately turned around with a bright, reunion-free smile, waving energetically:
"Yup, I'm back! Oh right let me introduce you~ This is Yamada Ryou! She's the bassist in our band!"
Hitori instantly took half a step back and bowed like an automatic baseball pitching machine.
Her heart was staging a three-act play:
Act 1: Stranger Encounter
Act 2: Fear of Being Devoured Alive
Act 3: Begging the Universe for Forgiveness of Her Existence
Oh god why is she looking at me like that!? Her eyes are so cold... soulless like a zombie musician using psychic powers to curse me...!
Nijika giggled and tilted her head toward Hitori, clearly familiar with this exact reaction:
"Don't worry, Ryou's face always looks like that~ Seriously! Just say something weirdly nice and she'll perk right up."
Ryou's expression didn't change one bit. Her voice came out flat and robotic, like an AI trying to mimic human speech:
"...Why would that make me happy."
But if one were to observe very, very carefully with an emotion-sensing chip-powered telescope they might catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth. A faint lift, like a breeze nudging a lotus bud. A micro-expression so subtle it only existed in pixel-level analysis.
Izayoi and Hitori glanced at each other, synced like telepaths.
In both their minds, an invisible subtitle appeared:
"She's totally happy right now."
Hitori gave an awkward chuckle, her feet glued to the floor while her eyes practically begged to float up to the ceiling and hide.
Nijika clapped her hands with a sharp smack, cutting off Hitori's mental scriptwriting mid-act:
"Oh, right! These two are the new members we're bringing in for today's performance~!"
Nijika took Hitori's hand, gently pulling her forward as she enthusiastically introduced her.
"Ryou, this is Gotou Hitori, a first-year student at Koudo Ikusei High School. She's going to be our substitute guitarist for today's performance."
Overwhelmed by Ryou's cold and commanding aura, Hitori reflexively bowed at a 90-degree angle.
"I...I'm sorry for troubling you!"
That was Hitori's automatic response to anyone with an impressive appearance and few words. Not knowing how to act, she'd always apologize first.
Ryou raised one eyebrow, visibly surprised. She said nothing for a few seconds, and the air around them seemed to freeze. Then, in her usual flat, low voice, she finally spoke:
"...Why are you apologizing?"
Hitori trembled. "B-Because I'm bothering you..."
Ryou blinked slowly. "You're not. But don't shake like a fish about to suffocate."
It was unclear whether that was meant to be comforting or just a brutal reality check. But the fact that Ryou didn't smirk or walk away was already a huge win for Hitori.
"Y-Yes, ma'am..."
"Her hair's kinda weird" Hitori thought.
Right then almost as if Ryou's ears had been tuned by some secret military tech she tilted her head slightly, narrowed her eyes and asked directly without blinking:
"What were you whispering behind my back just now?"
Oh no. Hitori froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her small shoulders gave a slight twitch as if she'd been paralyzed. She turned her head slowly, stiff like a malfunctioning first-generation robot rebooting after a crash.
"Uh! No! I was just... um..."
Her eyes darted around frantically, like a hamster cornered in a box.
"...I admire your hair!" Hitori blurted out louder than necessary then her voice trailed off as if dreaming.
"The green... I mean, mossy green... or like, autumn-lake green! It has... depth, like moss growing at the bottom of an ancient well in a midnight forest!"
A long, three-second silence followed.
Ryou blinked. Just once. Her eyes remained as calm as an untouched lake, yet seemed to be analyzing whether this comment should be filed under "compliments" or "metaphysical phenomena."
"...Huh. That's the first time someone's compared my hair to moss in an ancient well."
Her voice was unchanged, but if you had a high-end emotion-detecting binoculars, you might've noticed her lips stretch ever so slightly just a bit as if a gentle jazz tune had started playing inside her.
Hitori stood there, face burning red.
"Oh god... what did I just say..."
Izayoi, who had been leaning lazily against the wall like a VIP audience member at a play, finally spoke in a soft but amused tone:
"Ha... so weird compliments really do work. I should take notes."
While Hitori was still drowning in embarrassment, Nijika turned to Izayoi.
"Right! Let me introduce you too this is Sakamaki Izayoi. He's the other one helping us with today's performance."
Izayoi casually lifted his hand in a small wave. A glimmer of amusement sparked in his eyes as he noticed Ryou sizing him up from head to toe.
Ryou turned sharply to face him, her eyes sharp like a blade through morning mist. She eyed Izayoi like she was trying to classify some unknown species.
"And you are? The wild, uncivilized one over there."
Her words were soft as a breeze but the impact was like a steel bullet fired straight at the ego.
Unfortunately, the target was someone who didn't have much ego to wound in the first place.
Izayoi let out a laugh, bowing deeply like a Broadway actor greeting the stage.
"Wow, thanks for the striking intro, Ryou-san. I really am what I look like wild, uncivilized, lawless and going by the name Sakamaki Izayoi."
He pointed to himself with exaggerated flair, like a B-movie audition hopeful.
"I'm also rude, cruel, and depraved... the perfect combination of someone utterly beyond saving. So if you're allergic to immoral behavior, please make sure to read the instruction manual carefully before interacting with me, Ryou-san."
His answer was so flamboyant that Hitori could only stare, slack-jawed. Nijika had to turn away to keep from laughing.
Ryou shrugged, her expression mostly unchanged but her eyes gleamed with something faintly resembling... intrigue?
The room fell silent. Not the awkward kind, but the kind where reality itself takes a moment to process a line too flavorful to ignore.
Ryou blinked. Once. Twice. Then... her lips curled slightly.
"I see. If you could hand me that user manual, I might consider it, Izayoi-kun."
Izayoi laughed louder, pointing at Ryou like accepting a challenge.
"Are you serious? Perfect! Brace yourself, Ryou-san. It'll be a full 36-page guide, organized into chapters: Introduction, Warning Labels, Exposure Limits, List of Potential Consequences..."
"Don't forget the appendix. I love appendices" Ryou nodded, like they were finalizing a business deal.
"There'll be a table of contents, psychological flowcharts, and a QR code for quick lookups," Izayoi replied coolly, already imagining actually writing it.
Hitori, caught in the middle of this whirlwind, felt like she had been swept into a current too strong to resist. Standing between two supernatural beings juggling words like a battle of wits one icy calm, the other a firework she was the lone spectator who had wandered into the wrong theater.
From her spot, Nijika gave a small cough, like an MC trying to reclaim the mic during a hijacked gameshow.
"Okay, okay! You two are seriously too much... Hitori-chan, don't let them rub off on you~"
"I-I'm fine..." Hitori mumbled, though her eyes were still locked on the two conversational titans.
"Exactly" Izayoi nodded. "We're just warming up the atmosphere."
"Though honestly, it might be a little too warm right now" Ryou added, face still calm as ever.
"Oh, right. Our manager said we have to rehearse until right before the show. She got so mad after Nijika snuck out without telling anyone that she went shopping to cool off."
As her words ended, the room fell into a pause, like someone hit the mute button on reality.
A faint breeze from the air conditioner drifted past the window but the coldest thing at that moment... was probably the chill running down Nijika's spine.
"Eh?!!" she screamed so loud even the sparrows outside the airport turned their heads. Her hands shot up above her head, her face drained of all color.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?! WHY ARE YOU ONLY SAYING THIS NOW?!"
Ryou remained perfectly still, tilting her head with that trademark blank expression, like she was calmly describing the weather in the Arctic.
"Well... I thought you already knew. Who doesn't know how strict the manager is?"
Nijika nearly leapt into the air from sheer frustration, her side bangs standing up like she'd just stuck her finger into an outlet.
She spun around so clumsily that she bumped into Hitori, who had been standing near the door, nearly knocking the smaller girl off balance.
"Ah...ah! I'm okay, I'm okay!" Hitori stammered, her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
"We won't be okay if we don't hurry!"
Nijika yelled like a battlefield commander calling for retreat.
"Move! Before the manager comes back and wrecks us like she did that amp last time!"
Before anyone could react, Nijika grabbed Hitori's wrist with one hand and yanked Izayoi along with the other, dragging them like two bargain bags at a clearance sale.
"Eh?! Wait... I'm not mentally prepared yet...!"
Hitori could only let out a weak squeak as her feet skidded along, dragged like a plastic bag caught in a whirlwind.
Izayoi just raised an eyebrow slightly and chuckled under his breath.
"Oh, this afternoon just got interesting..."
They sped through the hallway like a band being chased off stage. Nijika's shoes pounded against the floor with a rhythm as urgent as a battle drum.
Hitori scrambled behind them, clutching the strap of her guitar like a life preserver. Every time the instrument bounced, her heart quivered. She panted for breath, lips pressed tight.
Inside her head, chaos bloomed like a static-filled radio.
"What?! Rehearsal? I haven't checked my tuning! I haven't warmed up! I haven't even had a sip of water! I don't even know what song we're playing!!"
And as usual, her overactive imagination started up like a war machine.
She pictured herself on a stage, dazzling lights blinding her. Her hands trembled like dry leaves in a storm. One wrong note. The entire crowd erupted in laughter. The sound shattered like glass. Then suddenly, her guitar burst into flames. Then exploded. She was launched into the sky like New Year's fireworks. Floating endlessly through space.
"No, no, no! Hitori, snap out of it!"
She shook her head hard enough to fling her hair loose from its clip. She puffed her cheeks and looked sideways only to see Izayoi casually... strolling?
He walked behind them, hands in pockets, eyes lazily tracing the ceiling like he was counting the lightbulbs.
Hitori was speechless.
"How is he not worried at all?! He looks like he's just taking a walk to visit a friend, not being dragged to a last-minute rehearsal!"
Right at that moment, Izayoi turned and met her panicked, pitiful eyes.
"You okay?" he asked, voice steady with a strangely gentle gaze.
"U-uh... I-I'm... okay-ish" Hitori mumbled, eyes darting away, her face as red as a sun-dried tomato.
Izayoi smiled faintly.
"You're overthinking it. It's just practice. Just pretend you're at home playing by yourself."
"At home there's no audience, no manager holding a whip and no spotlight aimed at my forehead..."
"Then imagine the audience as pillows. The manager's a chair. The spotlight's just your nightlight. Imagination's free, right?"
Hitori stared at him, unsure whether to admire or scream at his absurd calm.
...But at the very least, she managed a small smile.
When the three reached the rehearsal room door, Nijika came to a halt, inhaling deeply like a warrior before battle. She fixed her bangs, stood straight like a flagpole.
"Alright... let's go!"
The door swung open.
Warm, soft light spilled out, painting the wooden floor in honey tones. In the spacious room, a Tama drum set stood center stage like a throne. Amps were neatly lined up, microphones stood ready. The ceiling was lower than the concert hall's, but everything here exuded the breath of music, of rehearsal, of potential failure... and of possibility.
Hitori stepped inside, her grip tightening on the guitar neck. Her palms were already sweating.
"So... this is where I'm going to play music..."
She thought to herself, and suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, a long-hidden part of her stirred.
The part of her that once cried when she learned her first chord.
The part that had dreamed of standing onstage, spotlight blazing, hair flying to the distorted wail of a guitar.
The part she'd buried for years out of fear, out of shame, out of insecurity.
"Maybe... just once is enough..."
Hitori gave a tiny nod, gripping the neck of her guitar a little tighter this time, not from anxiety, but from hope.