(Transted/Edited/Slight Proofread: Snow)

  Yahiro knocked on the waiting room door.

  "Izumi. The broadcast starts in an hour. Are you ready?."

  "Huh?."

  Izumi, who had been completely absorbed in the object in her hand, looked up.

  Yahiro smiled softly, immediately recognizing what had captured her attention.

  "You’re watching that again?."

  "Mhm."

  Izumi held the neatly minated 2,000-yen note close to her chest, as if it were a precious keepsake.

  Yahiro, sharing the same memories, closed his eyes briefly, as if lost in nostalgia.

  "It still takes me back whenever I see it. Wasn't this from our first busking session?."

  "That's right. Five years ago."

  Five years ago, BARD—a school band at the time—had disbanded due to personal circumstances. But after many twists and turns, they reunited and performed on the streets for the first time.

  That day, marking their new beginning, the members of BARD decided to debut an original song—one they had written and composed themselves—rather than the familiar cover songs they usually performed on stage.

  "Even now, just thinking about it makes me want to crawl into a hole. It was a disaster."

  "Agreed."

  Despite their ambitious debut, the response was underwhelming.

  The park was crowded with well-known busking groups, and BARD, being newcomers, was pushed to a dimly lit corner where the streetlights were broken.

  They could have waited for a better spot to open up, but in Japan, busking time slots were limited.

  Not wanting to ruin their long-awaited first performance, they chose to sing anyway, even in the shadows. But no one ventured into such a gloomy corner just to listen to an unknown band.

  Still, they sang.

  Clinging to the blind hope that their music would reach someone.

  Faith is blind.

  And the result of that blindness? Failure.

  No one paid them any attention, no matter how passionately they sang.

  Well—almost no one.

  A little kid, so quiet and unassuming that no one noticed him—until the sound of appuse cut through the silence.

  "I wonder how he's doing now," Yahiro mused.

  "He's probably in high school by now, right?."

  Izumi stroked the minated 2,000-yen note with a fond expression.

  "He was in elementary school when we met, so yeah... he must be a high schooler now."

  "I wonder if he’s here today?."

  "Who knows? He had such a low presence back then that you’d barely notice him even if he were."

  "That's not true."

  Izumi refuted Yahiro’s words without hesitation.

  "That kid really stood out."

  Her eyes twinkled like stars.

  Yahiro stared at her in silence for a moment, something murky and indescribable stirring inside him.

  Before he knew it, words slipped from his lips—words he didn’t quite mean.

  "Oh my, our dear Tenma-sama must see things that us mere mortals cannot."

  "Don't tease me, Yahiro."

  Realizing his own pettiness a beat too te, Yahiro sighed and wiped a hand down his face.

  "...Sorry, sorry. Guess I got jealous without realizing it. Not very mature of me."

  "Jealous?."

  Izumi tilted her head.

  "Yeah, well... a fool who only knows music will go through life never knowing anything else."

  "Yahiro, that’s mean."

  Izumi pouted, clearly displeased.

  Instead of ughing, Yahiro tugged his fedora down, shadowing his face.

  "Yeah, yeah. Yahiro is a terrible person. Now, stop worrying about me and go get your makeup done. It's the stylist’s lifelong wish, after all."

  "...Ugh, do I really have to?."

  Izumi let out a rare groan.

  Her skin was sensitive—so much so that she despised anything on her face. Not just powder, but even basic skincare products like lotion and toner.

  She only ever endured a face mask when the members all but forced it on her.

  And yet, despite such neglect, her skin remained unbelievably soft and fwless. Aside from the small beauty mark near her mouth, there wasn’t a single blemish.

  No—if anything, even that mole made her look more alluring.

  Every member of BARD agreed on one thing.

  "It’s unfair!"

  Wasn’t this ridiculous perfection just further proof of her natural genius?

  "The heavens are truly cruel. Why did they give both talent and looks to someone like you?."

  "Jealous?."

  “Yes! If you could just give me a piece of that beautiful fingernail, I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

  “V?”

  Yahiro let out a deep sigh as he watched Izumi rest her chin on her hand, casually fshing a V-sign.

  ‘This is really annoying.’

  Honestly, he wanted to just send Izumi on-air like this—completely untouched. But the stylists wouldn’t leave him alone. They were practically desperate to decorate the already fwless canvas that was Izumi.

  When Yahiro refused to budge out of sheer annoyance, the stylist pyed their trump card.

  ‘Ha, just this once.’

  The deal? Yahiro would set them up on a blind date with a pretty junior they had been bragging about.

  Selling out a friend for a woman.

  Yahiro felt zero guilt.

  He sighed and opened his mouth.

  “I know you’re confident about your face. But are you scared of the camera these days? The quality is so good now, even your pores show up crystal clear.”

  “So what?.”

  “Think about it, idiot. What do you think that little kid you’ve been waiting so long to meet would think if he saw your face—pores and all—on iTube or Inudong...?.”

  Izumi suddenly stood from her seat.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Huh? Huh..?.”

  ‘Did that work too well?.’

  Yahiro blinked, watching Izumi with a bewildered expression.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Uh… just the waiting room over there…”

  “I’ll be back.”

  With the determined resolve of a general marching into battle, Izumi strode off in the direction Yahiro pointed.

  Yahiro stood there, staring as she disappeared into the distance.

  “… That’s some serious power.”

  And that’s exactly why girls kept falling for Izumi.

  Even after meeting plenty of women since his school days, he still couldn’t understand them.

  ****************************

  “Hey, Shin-chan, are you sure this is the right pce?.”

  “Yeah. That live house over there—that’s where we’re seeing BARD live today.”

  Taeil pointed toward a small live house that seemed almost unworthy of BARD’s reputation.

  At first gnce, it looked just like any other office building, blending into the skyline without a hint of grandeur.

  Although described as small, the venue was quite modern—especially considering that most live houses were typically located in basements.

  “It’s different from the live house Ayane knows,” she noted.

  “The capacity is different too. They say it can hold up to 1,500 people,” Taeil added.

  However, he quickly crified that only about 500 people would actually be allowed in today.

  “Why?.”

  “It’s not BARD’s personal live show—it’s just part of a music program hosted by a broadcasting station.”

  Any official broadcast required a significant amount of space.

  Performers, artists, stylists, and entertainment agency staff all needed room to work. On top of that, there were the broadcasting crew members managing the filming, as well as all the equipment required for the production.

  Since this wasn’t a guerril performance, certain security measures had to be in pce to maintain a safe distance between artists and the public.

  Considering all of that, it was only natural that audience space would be reduced.

  From a broadcaster’s perspective, the audience was simply there to fill the necessary seats—too many would only cause unnecessary chaos.

  Honestly, Taeil thought even 500 was a generous number.

  “Broadcasting is a massive operation.”

  “During our cultural festival, all the students run around barefoot. It’s the same thing,” Ayane replied.

  “Yeah. Now that I think about it, Sakurako-senpai once said the Cultural Festival is the busiest time of the year for the Disciplinary Committee.”

  Anything involving money inevitably grew in scale.

  ‘Band activities were no different…’

  When music was just a hobby, expenses were limited to instruments, practice rooms, and the occasional shared costs. But the moment a band tried to release an album or perform professionally, money became an unavoidable factor. And with money came friction between members.

  It was the same for most bands.

  Finding people you clicked with was hard enough—but keeping a band together? That was even harder.

  Artists had strong egos. The deeper one dove into music, the more creative differences surfaced, leading to endless arguments over the smallest details.

  A band was more like comrades than friends.

  And at times, a good friend was better than a bandmate.

  The industry was filled with third-rate bands that preached about the spirit of rock but cked the skills to back it up.

  Taeil let out a dry chuckle.

  “Maybe I was one of those people…”

  “Anyway,” he changed the subject, “since we’re not going in yet, should we look around?”

  “Heeeeek!”

  Ayane let out a startled noise as Taeil pointed toward a group busking in full swing.

  One performer stood out—a striking figure dressed in a bck and silver metallic leather jacket, covered with spikes.

  Their long hair cascaded past their waist, and their heavy makeup gave them an almost ghostly appearance.

  Above all, his appearance was intimidating.

  “Can I even get closer? Is it safe?” Ayane asked hesitantly.

  “It’s… a bit unusual.”

  Even though BARD was popur, most people uninterested in their music wouldn’t have come all the way here.

  “BARD is mainly soft rock and pop rock—it’s far from that kind of heavy aesthetic.”

  Just one gnce at the man made it clear—he was a heavy metal musician.

  “Don’t you think it’ll be interesting?” Taeil smirked.

  “That!?”

  What was so interesting about a man who looked like he had crawled straight out of hell?

  Ayane shook her head, wiping the sweat from her brow.

  “Ahaha… Okay. Let’s go over there instead.”

  She turned her head in the direction Taeil was pointing.

  A woman dressed in jeans and a simple white shirt was singing a BARD song, strumming an acoustic guitar.

  Despite the rge crowd gathered in the square outside the live house, only a handful of people paid attention to her.

  “Well, that’s more my pace,” Ayane sighed in relief.

  Unlike the metal musician, this performer’s presence wasn’t overwhelming. She blended into the scene, making it easier for Ayane to approach.

  Together, she and Taeil moved closer.

  The woman, eyes closed, was lost in the song, her husky voice carrying through the air.

  Ayane, listening in silence, suddenly whispered, “I think I’ve heard this somewhere before.”

  The melody was familiar, even if slightly rearranged.

  “That’s BARD’s signature song, When I Open My Eyes in the Morning.”

  It had even been featured as the opening theme for a popur anime, making it one of BARD’s most well-known tracks.

  “You probably remember it from Kōhaku Uta Gassen too.”

  “Oh… now that you mention it…”

  A faint chorus pyed in her mind.

  Even if she didn’t remember all the lyrics, the melody was so catchy she could hum along.

  Perhaps that was BARD’s strength—their songs had a way of lingering in people’s minds.

  “It’s obvious, but that’s why they’re so fun to listen to. Their songs hit the exact spots people want scratched,” Taeil remarked.

  Ayane’s face lit up. “I think I get it now! I don’t remember everything, but when I listened to it, it really resonated with me!”

  “They say the lyrics are written in turns by each member.”

  That was one of BARD’s defining traits.

  In BARD, even if a member couldn’t compose music, writing lyrics was a shared responsibility.

  The song ended as the two whispered to each other.

  As Taeil softly cpped, Ayane hesitated before following suit.

  "Ah—thank you!."

  The woman, startled by the unexpected audience, quickly opened her eyes and bowed in gratitude.

  Taeil stepped forward, offering a few words. His words weren’t critiques about technique or tone, but sincere appreciation and encouragement.

  When you look someone in the eyes and speak, even simple words can feel completely different. The woman beamed and pyed a few more songs before thanking them again and leaving.

  For nearly twenty minutes, Ayane hadn’t been able to say a single word.

  Taeil gently took her hand and gave it a little shake.

  “How was it?.”

  “Huh? That, um…”

  Ayane chewed on her thoughts, struggling to put them into words.

  “It… felt strange. I just followed Shin-chan and listened. But even though I didn’t say anything, she still looked really embarrassed… and really grateful.”

  Even though Taeil had been the one speaking, the woman’s gaze had also nded on Ayane.

  The whole experience had left her feeling strangely uncomfortable.

  She had wanted to say something, even just a simple “That was nice to listen to.” But her mind felt empty—her vocabury, her thoughts, everything fell short.

  A quiet sense of shame and regret settled in her chest.

  “I wanted to say something encouraging, but I couldn’t. Even though I listened closely on purpose, I just… couldn’t say anything.”

  “Frustrated?”

  “I don’t know…”

  Her hands, csped tightly at her chest, trembled as if mirroring her tangled emotions.

  Then, as if gathering all her resolve, Ayane tightened her grip on Taeil’s hand and met his eyes.

  “But next time, I want to say something. I liked what you said.”

  “That’s simply enough,” Taeil reassured her. “Even a small gesture like that can mean the world to them.”

  What was an artist?

  Humans, thirsty for attention.

  Even the smallest sign of interest could carry incredible weight.

  “Alright then,” Taeil grinned, “shall we go see the next busker? That group over there looks interesting.”

  “Oh, Shin-chan… that guy from earlier…”

  “Heavy metal at a BARD fan gathering? Aren’t you curious?”

  “Let’s call it Ayane’s first impressions of life.”

  "That's too much!"

  Ayane spped Taeil’s shoulder, her face twisted in distress.

  "Haha! Sorry, sorry! I was just joking. My bad!.”

  Even as Taeil apologized repeatedly, Ayane showed no mercy, puffing out her cheeks in frustration as she continued her pyful assault.

  Taeil, knowing he had prod her anger, simply took the hits and kept quiet.