Shinjuku LiveHouse — [FOLT]
This live venue in the Shinjuku district was no stranger to Haru.
As a regular partner in his role as a "bass mercenary," Haru often came here to support other bands. After so many performances, he was practically a fixture at the place, and today was no exception.
Bzzz…
From the speakers came a deep, throbbing wave of sound. A rough but highly rhythmic bass slap shook the air, while a black-haired girl standing at the side bowed her head in silence, her strong fingers climbing deftly along the strings.
Only after the solo ended did she lift her gaze toward Haru.
After leaving the hospital celebration and Ave Mujica's victory party, all of Haru's girlfriends had gone home in turn. Whatever thoughts they carried in their hearts, for now they all returned to prepare for what lay ahead.
Only Yahata Umiri, the girl before him, had turned back after leaving.
She had invited him to "work" in her usual blunt manner, but before Haru could even answer, she had dragged him away right in front of Wakaba Mutsumi. That forceful attitude had made him wonder if she had some ulterior motive.
Yet, judging from the situation now, there really was work to be done.
…
Haru set down the amp he was helping with, then reached for the polished keyboard, his hands moving with practiced ease. Under his fingertips, a cascade of arpeggios shimmered and flowed like water, a graceful melody unfolding beneath the cold stage lights.
Umiri, holding her bass nearby, let her eyes travel up and down his figure, finally resting them squarely on his face. Her unblinking stare made Haru uneasy enough to break the silence himself.
"What are you staring at so seriously? Careful, or you might fall for me."
"Yes. I've fallen for you."
Haru froze, caught off guard.
His playful teasing seemed to bounce right off Umiri's straightforward nature. She could admit her feelings openly in front of anyone, and even say things that embarrassed him without the faintest blush.
What a terrifying woman.
"You two, are you finished tuning already?"
The blonde guitarist of the band they were supporting peeked out from behind the curtains. At her question, Haru and Umiri nodded almost at the same time. With Haru's absolute sense of pitch, all he needed was a bit of ear checking to adjust perfectly.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Haru turned and answered the blonde punk girl politely. "We're all set. Thanks again for having us today."
"Thanks? No way!"
"On the contrary, to be able to hire Kazami-kun and Yahata-san as support for just a small fee, this is a huge win for us! Honestly, it's us who should be grateful to you!"
Haru only smiled, offering no further comment.
In truth, these "mercenary" jobs had become something like dates for him and Umiri. One of them was a pianist who could turn around and compete internationally, and the other was a true professional bassist.
Their eyes met, and without a word, they exchanged their understanding.
…
The live performance went smoothly as always, though at the very end a slight disturbance arose.
As usual, Haru played steadily on stage, until suddenly he noticed a familiar figure moving restlessly in the crowd below, cheering for him without restraint and raising a bottle of alcohol high in the air. Her carefree antics drew as much attention as admiration.
Now, that very bottle-wielding figure stood before him.
"Hey hey! So it really was Kazami-kun! I was cheering for you the whole time down there!"
"Your keyboard playing's gotten really good!"
In front of Haru stood a purple-haired woman, her eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed with a drunken blush. Her braided pigtails swayed slightly as she spoke. Even in the cold of winter, she wore nothing but a thin, strappy sundress, relying on the LiveHouse heating to keep warm.
No matter when one saw her, she always carried the same laid-back air.
And with her distinctive look, of course she was easy to recognize.
"W-wait, aren't you Hiroi Kikuri-senpai?"
"What? Ah, so it's Miti-chan~"
Kikuri slowly turned her head and broke into a wide grin, baring her sharp shark-like teeth as she raised the bottle. "Your performance just now was great! As the vocalist, you've grown a lot, haven't you?"
"But I didn't expect Kazami-kun to be on stage with you. Wasn't he part of Kessoku Band?"
How old was that information supposed to be?
Haru muttered inwardly, ready to explain, but before he could speak, Umiri suddenly stepped forward. As if to deliberately block Kikuri's line of conversation, she planted herself directly in front of him.
"Kikuri-senpai, he's only here as a support keyboardist today, helping me out."
"Oh, Umiri! Ahaha, sorry~ I only had eyes for Kazami-kun just now."
The familiar way Umiri and Kikuri spoke to each other made Haru curious. He leaned toward her ear and asked quietly, "Umiri, are you close with Kikuri-senpai?"
"Kikuri-senpai's band, Sick Hack, is based in Shinjuku. FOLT is their regular LiveHouse. Since she and I are both bassists, sometimes when she disappears from hangovers, I cover for her."
Her calm explanation left Haru with a complicated look. To his surprise, Kikuri herself showed not a trace of shame at hearing it. Instead, she beamed, her expression utterly carefree, as if the criticism had nothing to do with her at all.
"Oh, it's true! I'm always grateful when Umiri fills in for me."
"And now that I've run into Kazami-kun here at FOLT, as thanks for Umiri's help… let me treat you two to yakiniku tonight! But since you kids can't drink, I'll be the only one enjoying that part, haha~"
Kikuri swayed lightly on her feet, her voice rising and falling with excitement.
Haru saw no real reason to refuse her invitation. He thought for a moment and was just about to ask Umiri's opinion.
But the very next second—
"Sorry. We'll pass this time."
Umiri refused without the slightest hesitation. The drunken older sister, who had already been ready to splurge, froze for two whole seconds, her head tilting slightly as if a giant question mark had popped up over it.
"You two have other gigs lined up?"
"No."
Umiri's expression remained calm, her emerald-green eyes unshaken.
As though anticipating Kikuri's next question, she went on before the woman could even speak:
"I'll be taking him to a hotel after this. We won't be free until tomorrow morning."
"…Eh?"
Kikuri stood there dumbstruck. Her violet eyes widened visibly as though struck by a shockwave. The easygoing look on her face vanished completely, leaving only raw astonishment.
It was as if her drunken haze had evaporated on the spot. Clear-headed in an instant, she stammered, unable to form a reply.
"Sorry! We'll be going now!"
Not waiting for Umiri to fire off any more "explosive" lines, Haru, his own head buzzing, grabbed her wrist and pulled her straight out of the dressing room right in front of Kikuri.
Leaving Kikuri standing blankly behind them, still unable to recover from the aftershock.
…
A dead silence descended over the streets of Shinjuku.
The night carried its unique softness, neon lights scattering in dazzling blooms of color like radiant flowers. The glow flickered across the black-haired girl, shimmering as if dreamlike wings had been draped over her back.
A gentle breeze stirred from afar, lifting her dark bangs ever so slightly.
"In such a hurry… where exactly are you planning to take me?"
Her soft words drifted with the wind, laced with a teasing edge. Their relationship was far from ordinary, Haru and Umiri had always treated each other with a peculiar kind of respect.
But tonight, perhaps, things would shift just a little.
"Where? You already said it yourself in front of Kikuri-senpai, didn't you?"
Haru chuckled, half-expecting that his words might finally crack Umiri's usual composure. But she only let her gaze waver slightly, her face showing no surprise at all.
"Then let's go. You weren't just saying that at random, were you?"
Before he could react, she took the lead, grabbing his hand and walking ahead.
There was a trace of amusement in her eyes, her faint smile carrying a cool nonchalance across her strikingly handsome face. To Haru, it felt as if she were the one in control of the battlefield, and he the one forced to play along.
As if. No way was he going to let Umiri hold the upper hand.
His expression darkened. In one motion, he gripped her hand firmly and pulled back.
Umiri, face unchanging, allowed herself to be led without resistance.
Perhaps because this "band support" was more significant than usual, the two walked without a word. Yet their stage-forged synchronicity let them trade thoughts with the smallest of gestures.
Both of them knew very well: what had been said earlier wasn't the kind of banter they normally tossed around.
Their emotions churned like rising tides. By the time they returned from that private sea of thought, the sound of a door lock clicked crisply in their ears. In the next instant, they found themselves inside the hotel room.
So they really had come.
"…Shower first?"
Umiri's voice was unhurried, her calmness making it seem as if she had rehearsed the line a dozen times.
Haru only let out a slow breath and answered with his actions instead.
But as a bassist, Umiri was never one to play the passive part. On stage she was known for her bass lines that cut through the air with sheer force and with her strong, straightforward personality, there was no way she'd let herself be dominated now.
She seized him by the collar and kissed him without hesitation.
So fierce...
It reminded Haru of her "love declaration" from before, when her stubborn pride had forced her to admit her feelings. But this time was different. She was practiced now, her intensity far greater, her aggression overwhelming.
"…Hah."
Haru exhaled, just about to say something to break the tension.
But Umiri never gave him the chance. Catching him off guard, she launched into a bass solo of her own as her fingers hammering, plucking, tapping with relentless precision. Forcing him to knit his brows against the assault.
"…Hmph?"
She let out a mocking little hum, her emerald eyes gleaming with heat.
Held close in her arms, Haru felt the rare warmth beneath her usually expressionless surface. Even when her "fingerboard" ran all the way down, she only gave a muffled groan, her cheeks burning red nonetheless.
In the quiet room, the only sound left was the creak of wood.
…
So much for Umiri, let's see how I finish her in three moves.
Haru blinked in mild surprise, sipping plain water from a cup. Umiri had just told him about Yuutenji Nyamu's antics, how she had started once again pressing Sakiko about "showing her face."
"So you're saying Nyamuko might be plotting something?"
"That's how I see it. She's probably up to no good."
Umiri casually reached for her bass on the sofa and began playing basic backing lines with her usual practiced ease. Even while chatting distractedly with Haru, her solo never faltered by the slightest beat.
At any time, she was a woman impossibly cool.
And yet, Haru's impression of her had shifted a little tonight.
He had always thought of Umiri as a sharp, tomboyish, untouchable kind of girl. But to his surprise, she carried a faint fragrance lightly sweet like citrus, something so distinct it etched itself into his mind, changing how he saw her.
"…I see."
Haru furrowed his brow slightly, pulling his drifting thoughts back into place.
By all logic, Big Neko-chan had already agreed to a "partnership" with him. There shouldn't be any rush to expose all of Ave Mujica's members. But if even Umiri had sensed a problem, then it clearly wasn't just his imagination.
He recalled what Nyamu had said to him earlier today, and that made him trust Umiri's words a little more. Still, after a moment's thought, Haru let out a slow sigh.
"No matter how dissatisfied she is, she wouldn't do anything to harm Ave Mujica's interests."
"Because she herself is a part of Ave Mujica."
His calm words made Umiri nod slightly. From the start, her only concern had been that Nyamu might act on her own, so she had spoken up beforehand. At the very least, her boyfriend needed to be prepared.
She had done everything she could. Whatever happened afterward was no longer her responsibility.
Haru felt the same way.
"I've already done everything I can. I've spoken with Nyamu many times alone. If she still insists on going her own way… then there's really nothing I can do to stop her."
After all, Haru was only Ave Mujica's manager and composer. He had no say in stage performance or acting. All he could do was finish writing songs and hand them over for the girls to perform.
"At this point, it's best to just let things run their course."
Haru slowly closed his eyes.
If Ave Mujica were still as fragile as they had been when they were first formed a few months ago, perhaps he would have taken stricter measures with Nyamu. But now there was nothing to worry about.
Because the members of Ave Mujica were not nearly as fragile as he once thought.
Whether it was Sakiko or Mutsumi, both had grown tremendously. And with the dependable Uika-san watching over them, Haru had no reason left to be anxious.
"…That's true."
Perhaps recalling something, Umiri's eyes softened with a faint smile.
As long as he was there, there really was nothing to fear.
Her taut nerves slowly eased. Sitting on the sofa, the black-haired girl plucked the steel strings of her bass. Her glossy hair draped over pale shoulders, her delicate collarbone exposed to the air.
"…."
Her fingers suddenly stilled.
"Want more?"
"Practice is never too much. Ave Mujica only reached the Budokan because of constant, rigorous rehearsals. And we'll need new songs with enough quality to match."
A blush touched her refined face. Narrowing her emerald eyes, she glanced at him briefly before masking it with a casual expression and muttering, "But over-practicing wears down the strings. I've already used up all my spares."
"I'll go buy some right now!"
Haru made to get up, but Umiri tugged sharply on the back of his collar.
"Forget it."
Her thin lips pressed together, her eyes as cool as snow lotus carried a brief flicker of tension. But the feeling vanished in an instant, as if he had only imagined it.
"Tonight, it's safe."
"…."
Haru drew in a sharp breath, at a loss for words.
The two of them sat in heavy silence, gazes locked.
A moment later, Haru picked up his phone and sent a message to Mutsumi back home. It seemed that before their upcoming trip to Suwa City, as the band's keyboardist, he would need to practice relentlessly. His skills still weren't nearly enough.
Umiri, after speaking, returned to her bass, playing again as if nothing else mattered. For a mercenary like her, there was nothing more important than practice. Yet as the hours slipped by, fatigue began to show as her face flushed faintly red, a clear sign of how much she was pushing herself.