Imediatamente após a passagem de som, todos subiram juntos para um dos quartos do segundo andar, improvisado como camarim. Ao contrário do restante do hotel, este quarto era espaçoso, bem conservado, um dos poucos reformados por Daiki, com suas mãos calejadas e sua paciência silenciosa. As paredes, de um azul-acinzentado suave, contrastavam com o restante do prédio em ruínas. O carpete fino abafava os passos e, através das cortinas pesadas, uma luz âmbar penetrava, projetando sombras no chão.
O cheiro de madeira velha misturado com perfume cítrico enchia o ar. Na velha penteadeira, batons esquecidos dividiam espaço com cordas de violão, anéis e elásticos de cabelo. No canto da sala, uma caixa de som tocava um instrumental lo-fi. Um ritual silencioso estava sendo estabelecido.
Shun largou o baixo num canto e se jogou no sofá redondo. "Este é o tipo de lugar que te faz repensar a vida... e a preguiça. Se colocarem uma rede aqui, eu viro parte da mobília."
Riku estava sentado no chão, de pernas cruzadas, afinando seu violão como se estivesse purificando um instrumento sagrado. Usava uma camiseta preta rasgada nos ombros e o cabelo comprido escondia o rosto. Mas seus dedos eram precisos. Sua concentração, quase religiosa.
Jin monopolizou a minigeladeira, indeciso entre refrigerante e cerveja. Pegou a lata gelada como se estivesse selando um pacto. "Este lugar é melhor do que muitos apartamentos por aí. Se o show der errado, vamos abrir uma pousada..."
Oliver estava de joelhos, ajustando o último candeeiro com uma meticulosidade que beirava a obsessão. Seus movimentos eram calculados, seu olhar aguçado, como se cada parafuso fosse um ponto crítico para o sucesso da noite. "Você sempre pensa no pior, Jin. É por isso que prefiro planejar para o melhor. E para o imprevisto."
Hiroito, quieto como sempre, simplesmente ajudou Jin a organizar as garrafas na mesinha. Seu silêncio não era ausência, mas presença. Ele ouvia tudo, observava tudo, e sua energia calma era um pilar para o grupo. Apontou para uma pequena pilha de salgadinhos. "Você vai comer tudo isso sozinho?"
Jin sorriu, pegando um saco de salgadinhos. "É por uma boa causa. Energia para salvar o mundo!"
Daisuke, encostado no batente da porta, ajeitou as baquetas na mão. Seu olhar era distante, pensativo. Os outros notaram. Mayu, que acabara de prender o cabelo, olhou para ele com uma pergunta silenciosa nos olhos. Ayaka, sentada em frente ao espelho, ajeitou a maquiagem delicadamente, mas seu reflexo parecia seguir o olhar de Daisuke.
"Daisuke, o que houve?" Mayu perguntou, com a voz suave, mas direta.
Ele balançou a cabeça, saindo do transe. "Nada. Só... pensando na última vez. O Palácio sempre teve essa vibe, sabe? Como se guardasse todas as memórias de Oshima." Ele fez uma pausa, olhando para as baquetas. "E agora, cabe a nós criar novas. Que fiquem na memória."
Kazuki, still with his headphones on, approached the center of the room. He took a deep breath, and his voice, when it came, was firm. "Everyone knows what's at stake tonight. This isn't just a show. It's... Oshima. It's the Palace. It's us."
The words hung in the air, weighted with a silent truth. Everyone knew. The future of the Aoi Wave, the Kibo Delivery, the Old Quarter itself—everything depended on that night.
The Palace, once the jewel of Oshima, was a ghost. Decades of glory had been swallowed by neglect, its luxurious rooms and grand hall now covered in dust. Even after the 2016 tsunami, which spared it from total destruction, the building remained abandoned, its memories trapped in time. Only the first floor, with its grandiose hall and small bar, had recently been refurbished by Mr. Daiko for events. The rest of the hotel was a labyrinth of shadows and ruins. That night, the Palace would host a rock concert, an unprecedented event in the history of the Old Quarter. For the residents, it was a symbolic act, a cry of life in the face of oblivion. For the band Aoi Wave — formed by the boys from Kibo, plus Mayu on vocals and Ayaka on keyboards — it was a shot at something bigger.
The call came from Daisuke. "Five minutes!"
The usual tension before a show now mixed with a heavy expectation. They were not only performing for themselves, but for every cracked wall, every silent window of Oshima.
Mayu smiled at her reflection, a mixture of determination and nervousness in her eyes. "Let's make them sing with us."
Oliver finished adjusting the last light, stood up, and looked at the others. "Everything ready. Now it's up to you guys."
They left the dressing room and went down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of the Palace. The lights of the main hall were already on, casting a golden glow on the stage where their instruments waited. The audience, a mix of Old Quarter residents and some curious outsiders, cheered as they appeared.
The show was more than music—it was an explosion of energy. Jin jumped like a madman, Daisuke's drums vibrated the very foundations of the Palace, Riku's guitar solos screamed through the amplifiers, and Shun's bass laid down a heavy, hypnotic rhythm. Mayu's voice, however, was the true heart of the performance. Pure, powerful, it commanded the attention of everyone in the hall. Ayaka, on keyboards, added layers of harmony and emotion, her fingers dancing lightly on the keys.
The crowd sang along, clapped, jumped. The dust that had settled for years in the Palace vibrated with the music. The walls, once silent, now echoed with a symphony of life. It was a cry against oblivion, a promise that Oshima still stood.
After the last chord, the applause filled the hall like a wave. The band members hugged, exhausted but euphoric. Mr. Daiko himself, from the VIP area, clapped with a rare smile.
The stage crew, organized by Daiki, quickly moved in with cables and cases in hand. In a short time, the stage was clear.
Kazuki then called out: "Jin! Close up the shop and let's go to the dressing room!"
Riku still made a point of inviting Masako and a friend of hers to accompany the group to the second floor.
In the VIP area, those who stayed talked, laughed, shared drinks. Shun told absurd jokes, Hiroito shared an onigiri with Yumi, Ayumi listened to Kazuki's stories with a contained sparkle in her eyes.
Jin arrived boasting: "I declare a sales record in one night! More than 50 drinks and zero sober customers!"
"Where's Oliver? And Mayu?" Masako asked.
Everyone exchanged glances. A playful suspense formed in the air.
Jin, with an open mouth and loose mind, blurted out: "They must be fooling around... just like Daisuke!"
Laughter and whistles spread like wildfire. Ayaka laughed with teary eyes. Riku pretended to cover his ears. Shun made an imaginary toast.
The night continued, enveloped in human warmth, clinking glasses, and memories being woven in real time.
On the wall, the old pointer clock—inherited from one of the original Palace rooms—marked 11:59 PM.
The last second before midnight was accompanied by a light, free, human laugh.
Then the hand moved.
Midnight.
A gust of wind, impossible on that windowless night...
Acredito que vc resumiu e muito a historia, visto que o original tem mais de 5 mil palavras.
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Chapter 04 — The Last Song of Normality
Immediately after the sound checks, everyone went up together to one of the second-floor rooms, improvised as a dressing room. Different from the rest of the hotel, this room was spacious, well-preserved, one of the few renovated by Daiki, with his calloused hands and silent patience. The walls, a soft grayish-blue, contrasted with the rest of the ruined building. The thin carpet muffled their footsteps, and through the heavy curtains, an amber light entered, cutting shadows on the floor.
The smell of old wood mixed with citrus perfume filled the air. On the old dressing table, forgotten lipsticks shared space with guitar strings, rings, and hair ties. In the corner of the room, a speaker played instrumental lo-fi. A silent ritual was being established.
Shun dropped his bass in the corner and threw himself onto the round sofa. "This is the kind of place that makes you rethink life... and laziness. If they put a hammock here, I'll become part of the furniture".
Riku sat on the floor, cross-legged, tuning his guitar as if purifying a sacred instrument. He wore a black t-shirt torn at the shoulders, his long hair hiding his face. But his fingers were precise. His concentration, almost religious.
Jin monopolized the mini-fridge, undecided between soda and beer. He picked up the cold can as if sealing a pact. "This place is better than a lot of apartments out there. If the show goes wrong, we'll open a guesthouse. Kanku Inn & Chaos".
Kazuki leaned against the stage costume cabinet, reviewing the schedule as if pretending not to be nervous. His fingers drummed on the paper.
Hiroito, lying on a cushion, ate a rice ball. He said nothing. He observed. As if memorizing every gesture of his friends for an invisible painting.
Mayu adjusted a bracelet, sitting with one leg bent under her body. Her gaze, seemingly distracted, actually scanned everyone in the room. Beside her, Oliver leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, eyes too attentive for a resting environment.
"Are you going to sing staring at me again?" Oliver said, with a half-smile so rare it seemed borrowed. His tone was calm, but his eyes said otherwise.
"Maybe. If you deserve it... and don't look away like last time".
He nodded. "I'm practicing my merciless critic face".
"So far, you look more like a bored spectator".
Mayu sat on the arm of the sofa. She crossed her legs, adjusted her hair, and then turned to Oliver, who was leaning near the window, observing the city lights outside. "Do you think the lighting will be enough?"
"The lighting will be fine. The question is whether you'll hold your gaze without stumbling on your own certainties".
Mayu stared at him for a second, serious. Then she laughed softly, a rare sound from her. "You have some annoying answers... but they make me want to hear more".
Oliver gave a slight smile, but looked away, returning to stare at the lights on the horizon. "Then pay attention to the stage. Maybe I'll say something without words".
Silence. Dense, but comfortable.
The door creaked softly before opening completely, revealing Ayaka with a decorated paper box in her hands. "Salvation has arrived! Komorebi cupcakes! Obaasan said no one sets foot on stage without swallowing one first".
Daisuke grabbed two at once: "The old lady wants to make us hyperglycemic".
Shun completed, already with one in hand: "Better than playing on an empty stomach. No more passive-aggressive flirting. Here, Oliver. Let's toast to today's madness".
Mayu grabbed a cushion and threw it. "Toasting before the show brings bad luck".
"Bad luck is Jin trying to get on stage without being called," said Riku, without lifting his eyes.
Jin, indignant, raised his arm. "You only remember the time I almost knocked down the spotlight! Never my charisma!"
Shun, sprawled on the sofa, without opening his eyes: "Charisma? If that were true, I would have already rented you out to cheer up funerals".
Riku, still tuning, let out a slight laugh: "Considering the level of your jokes, Jin, maybe it's better to keep you off the stage... and away from the microphone".
Kazuki laughed. "Because your charisma also stumbles... just like Daisuke running from a compliment".
Daisuke looked up from his can, impassive. "And you always talk as if sarcasm covers the lack of a plan".
Kazuki tilted his head, feigning surprise: "And you always act as if silence is the answer to everything. But look... you spoke".
Hiroito grumbled from the corner: "Is this going to be a fight or is it still intellectual flirting?"
Jin, with his can raised: "I vote for 'public couple's argument'".
Mayu stood up with a theatrical sigh, crossed her arms, and looked from the two to the rest of the group. "Are you two going to compete to see who has the loudest ego, or do you want to save some testosterone for the stage?"
Daisuke stared at her for an instant, then looked away and took a sip from his can.
Kazuki, with an almost guilty smile, raised his hands in surrender.
Mayu completed: "You might be good with words, Kazuki. And you with silences, Daisuke. But now it's time for music, not an unresolved masculinity duel".
Riku whispered: "They each got a philosophical slap".
Shun clapped slowly: "Mayu. The true conductor of sanity".
And with that, the tension dissolved. Like a dissonant note that finally found harmony.
Oliver, without taking his eyes off the amber light filtered by the curtain, commented: "Nothing like a little dissonance to remember
Você interrompeu esta resposta
Capítulo 0...lidade (1)DOCX
Acredito que vc resumiu e muito a historia, visto que o original tem mais de 5 mil palavras.
Estou anexando novamente o capitulo orignal em Portugues, para a tradução adequada.
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Chapter 04 — The Last Song of Normality
Immediately after the sound checks, everyone went up together to one of the second-floor rooms, improvised as a dressing room. Different from the rest of the hotel, that room was spacious, well-preserved, one of the few renovated by Daiki, with his calloused hands and silent patience. The walls, a soft grayish-blue, contrasted with the rest of the ruined building. The thin carpet muffled their footsteps, and through the heavy curtains, an amber light entered, cutting shadows on the floor.
The smell of old wood mixed with citrus perfume filled the air. On the old dressing table, forgotten lipsticks shared space with guitar strings, rings, and hair ties. In the corner of the room, a speaker played instrumental lo-fi. A silent ritual was being established.
Shun dropped his bass in the corner and threw himself onto the round sofa. "This is the kind of place that makes you rethink life... and laziness. If they put a hammock here, I'll become part of the furniture."
Riku sat on the floor, cross-legged, tuning his guitar as if purifying a sacred instrument. He wore a black t-shirt torn at the shoulders, his long hair hiding his face. But his fingers were precise. His concentration, almost religious.
Jin monopolized the mini-fridge, undecided between soda and beer. He picked up the cold can as if sealing a pact. "This place is better than a lot of apartments out there. If the show goes wrong, we'll open a guesthouse. Kanku Inn & Chaos."
Kazuki leaned against the stage costume cabinet, reviewing the schedule as if pretending not to be nervous. His fingers drummed on the paper.
Hiroito, lying on a cushion, ate a rice ball. He said nothing. He observed. As if memorizing every gesture of his friends for an invisible painting.
Mayu adjusted a bracelet, sitting with one leg bent under her body. Her gaze, seemingly distracted, actually scanned everyone in the room. Beside her, Oliver leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, eyes too attentive for a resting environment.
"Are you going to sing staring at me again?" Oliver said, with a half-smile so rare it seemed borrowed. His tone was calm, but his eyes said otherwise.
"Maybe. If you deserve it... and don't look away like last time."
He nodded. "I'm practicing my merciless critic face."
"So far, you look more like a bored spectator."
Mayu sat on the arm of the sofa. She crossed her legs, adjusted her hair, and then turned to Oliver, who was recostado near the window, observing the city lights outside. "Do you think the lighting will be enough?"
"The lighting will be fine. The question is whether you'll hold your gaze without stumbling on your own certainties."
Mayu stared at him for a second, serious. Then she laughed softly, a rare sound from her. "You have some annoying answers... but they make me want to hear more."
Oliver gave a slight smile, but looked away, returning to stare at the lights on the horizon. "Then pay attention to the stage. Maybe I'll say something without words."
Silence. Dense, but comfortable.
The door creaked softly before opening completely, revealing Ayaka with a decorated paper box in her hands. "Salvation has arrived! Komorebi cupcakes! Obaasan said no one sets foot on stage without swallowing one first."
Daisuke grabbed two at once: "The old lady wants to make us hyperglycemic."
Shun completed, already with one in hand: "Better than playing on an empty stomach. No more passive-aggressive flirting. Here, Oliver. Let's toast to today's madness."
Mayu picked up a cushion and threw it. "Toasting before the show brings bad luck."
"Bad luck is Jin trying to get on stage without being called," said Riku, without lifting his eyes.
Jin, indignant, raised his arm. "You only remember the time I almost knocked down the spotlight! Never my charisma!"
Shun, sprawled on the sofa, without opening his eyes: "Charisma? If that were true, I would have already rented you out to cheer up funerals."
Riku, still tuning, let out a slight laugh: "Considering the level of your jokes, Jin, maybe it's better to keep you off the stage... and away from the microphone."
Kazuki laughed. "Because your charisma also stumbles... just like Daisuke running from a compliment."
Daisuke looked up from his can, impassive. "And you always talk as if sarcasm covers the lack of a plan."
Kazuki tilted his head, simulating surprise: "And you always act as if silence is the answer to everything. But look... you spoke."
Hiroito grumbled from the corner: "Is this going to be a fight or is it still intellectual flirting?"
Jin, with the can raised: "I vote for 'public couple's argument'."
Mayu stood up with a theatrical sigh, crossed her arms, and looked from the two to the rest of the group. "Are you two going to compete to see who has the loudest ego or do you want to save some testosterone for the stage?"
Daisuke stared at her for an instant, then looked away and took a sip from the can.
Kazuki, with an almost guilty smile, raised his hands in surrender.
Mayu completed: "You can be good with words, Kazuki. And you with silences, Daisuke. But now it's time for music, not an unresolved masculinity duel."
Riku whispered: "They each got a philosophical slap."
Shun clapped slowly: "Mayu. The true conductor of sanity."
And with that, the tension dissolved. Like a dissonant note that finally found harmony.
Oliver, without taking his eyes off the amber light filtered by the curtain, commented: "Nothing like a little dissonance to remember that even the best arrangements need contrast. Deep down, even chaos has its cadence."
Jin nodded with an expression of someone who understood absolutely nothing, but wanted to participate: "Exactly! Like that time I mixed yakisoba with ice cream and it became... art!"
Daisuke sighed slowly, staring at the ceiling. Kazuki, on the other side, closed his eyes for a second, as if asking the gods for patience.
Hiroito, still lying down, spoke without changing his tone: "He meant that chaos sometimes gives meaning to harmony. Like a spicy dish: it's only good because it contrasts with the sweet."
A brief silence settled. Everyone looked at Hiroito.
Shun arched an eyebrow: "Wow. Did that come from the same guy who once confused flour with talcum powder?"
Hiroito shrugged: "Culinary wisdom is also music."
Mayu smiled, impressed. Riku just nodded, as if learning something unexpected. And Jin?
Jin bit his lip, confused: "So... I'm the messy dish everyone pretends to like at group dinner?"
Mayu gave him a light pat on the head: "Exactly. But you're the dish that's never missing."
Mayu bit a cupcake discreetly, while Oliver pretended not to observe her.
Jin turned up the speaker volume, and Kazuki pretended to conduct the band like a maestro.
The laughter that echoed in that space was more than relaxation. It was a ritual. It was care disguised as a joke.
In that dressing room, the world seemed far away. But time, no. And it was almost running out.
Riku gave the final touches to his guitar and leaned the instrument next to the dressing table, pulling his hair back with a contained sigh.
Mayu picked up the test microphone and, even without turning it on, closed her eyes for an instant, as if singing something only she could hear.
Shun cracked his knuckles, getting up from the sofa: "Time to get messy. Let's make this noise turn into memory."
Daisuke adjusted the drumsticks in the side pocket of his cargo pants, and Kazuki finally put down the script.
They exchanged complicit glances.
Oliver collected the folder with the light and sound diagrams, watching the group move.
As he passed Mayu, he said in a low voice: "The stage is a lie... but today, perhaps it's the most honest of all."
She opened her eyes, looked at him firmly, and nodded: "Then let's lie beautifully."
Before crossing the door, Kazuki stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Wait... the ritual is missing."
Riku let out a light sigh: "Here we go again."
Jin stepped forward, raising the empty can: "Everyone says an inspiring nonsense and then we hit the cans like war taiko!"
Shun burst out laughing: "Inspiring nonsense is my specialty. 'If it goes wrong, at least we'll look stylish doing it.'"
Riku: "'Focus on the chord, ignore the disaster.'"
Mayu, in a low, firm voice: "'Fear doesn't sing louder than desire.'"
Oliver, with a half-smile: "'Order is an illusion. But between chaos and harmony, we are the notes that choose whether to go out of tune or complete each other.'"
Kazuki: "But look how far we've come. From the alley, from the grease, from the confusion... all the way here. This is all ours. Every note, every stumble, every wall we knocked down with sound and chaos."
Daisuke: "And if the world is going to collapse... let's sink making noise together."
The group fell silent for a second. Then, almost in unison, they raised their cans and drumsticks higher, with a glint in their eyes that didn't come from the stage, but from the brotherhood forged in chaos.
Jin concluded: "Now yes. We are officially idiots with a purpose."
Everyone laughed. Then, and only then, Kanku100/4 left the dressing room.
Each carrying their noise, their calm, their fear, and their spark.
The door closed with a soft click — like the end punctuation of a verse no one wanted to finish.
Behind it, the disheveled cushions still held the warmth of their bodies, the lo-fi continued playing, and the citrus perfume in the air seemed more insistent, as if the environment refused to accept their absence.
Outside, the first applause began to echo.
The lights of the old Palace 100/4 reception began to blink rhythmically at exactly eight o'clock.
The walls covered with improvised tapestries vibrated in amber and purple tones, reflecting the disguised nervousness of the technical team and the buzz of an eager audience.
Hand-made posters announced: "SHOW TONIGHT – KANKU100/4". The entrance was packed.
Residents of the Old Quarter, curious youngsters, old schoolmates — everyone squeezed in to get a place.
The human warmth mixed with the smell of old wood and electricity in the air created a vibrant, pulsating atmosphere.
It was estimated that more than a hundred people were there, and yet, it seemed too small.
Masako was already occupying the front row with the band's fan group.
She wore an unofficial KANKU100/4 t-shirt and led the cheers, as if she were the captain of an underground cheering squad.
On stage, only one figure.
Daisuke.
Alone.
He adjusted the drum cymbals with the precision of someone setting up an altar.
Headphones covered his ears, but his eyes were open — not to the audience, but inward.
Each beat emerged measured, firm, almost ancestral.
The sound that came from there didn't ask for applause. It simply imposed itself.
And, without a word, the others waited for him.
As always.
Behind the improvised curtains, the rest of the band took deep breaths. Each with their own internal ritual.
Side lights slowly came on, revealing shadows and silhouettes.
The reception, adapted as a dance floor and event hall, seemed ready to explode with sound.
On the side of the stage, delimited by tapestries and cushions on wooden platforms, was the improvised VIP area.
There were Hiroito, Oliver, Jin, Ayaka, and Kazuki. It was there that people who, in a way, were more than spectators began to arrive.
Mayra was the first. She quickly went up on stage, leaned behind Daisuke, and whispered in his ear while kissing his cheek:
"If you miss a beat, I'll pretend I don't know you."
Daisuke, without turning around, replied with a serenity full of irony:
"Good luck hiding all that love."
Kazuki, from the side, observed everything. His gaze met that of the newly arrived Ayumi.
She was at the entrance, wearing a light dress under a denim jacket.
Her light blue hair simply tied, swaying as she moved through the crowd. Kazuki saw her.
For an instant, the buzz of the room seemed to dissolve — as if time, out of courtesy, had lowered the volume around them.
A brief reflection crossed his face, something between a smile and contained relief.
The gesture he made to call her was neither theatrical nor urgent. It was small. Complicit.
Like saying: "I knew you were coming" without needing words.
Her eyes scanned the environment with slight urgency, as if trying to find a known coordinate in the midst of chaos.
When they finally landed on Kazuki, her body seemed to relax imperceptibly.
A half-smile formed on her lips, small and contained, but with the intensity of someone who recognizes a safe harbor.
She took two steps towards him, unhurriedly, as if each step was a confirmation that she was in the right place.
"You took your time," Kazuki murmured, pushing away a cushion with the same naturalness as someone repeating an old ritual.
The space beside him was not just physical — it was like an unfinished sentence, waiting for continuation.
"Curiosity got the best of me... and my friend's insistence too," said Ayumi, settling in with rehearsed elegance — like someone trying to seem casual, even when every gesture carries calculation and defense.
"Blatant lie," he retorted, a crooked smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "You came to see if I still get nervous with melting ice and unresolved feelings, didn't you?"
Jin appeared like a whirlwind of energy, balancing two glasses and his inflated ego.
"I bring drinks and the sacred gift of dramatic interruption!"
"Mission accomplished," Oliver murmured, without even looking up.
Soon after, Yumi arrived — timidly, but with a sincere smile. She wore tailored pants and a basic t-shirt.
Ayaka pulled her by the hand directly towards the VIP area.
"You came," said Hiroito, in a low, almost surprised tone, the discreet nod seeming more like a reflex than an invitation. Yumi smiled lightly, her fingers squeezing her bag harder than necessary.
"They promised good music. And... company."
"The music part is guaranteed," he replied, looking away only at the end of the sentence.
"And drinks with the taste of mystery and bad decisions," Ayaka added, handing her a fluorescent drink that seemed to glow on its own.
The reception was so full that one could barely walk — voices, footsteps, laughter, everything vibrated under the improvised tapestries.
Komorebi Coffee had sent a basket of cookies wrapped in a floral cloth, and its sweet smell mixed with the warmth of the hall. In the front corner, almost at the edge of the stage, where the curtains opened to reveal the high view of Oshima mountain, Mr. Guru had settled in with his old folding chair.
He didn't want to join the VIP area, nor be called by the boys.
He sat alone, with his back straight and his gaze directed not only at the stage — but at the horizon. From there, the view was wide.
One could see the modern city shimmering in the distance and, below, the Old Quarter unfolded like a memory that stubbornly refused to die. Guru was not there for applause.
He was there to hear the sound of those he saw grow up... and to contemplate the landscape he always believed had a soul of its own. "You don't miss a good beat," he murmured to himself, crossing his arms, as if talking to time.
Daisuke was the first to move. Sitting behind the drums, with his eyes half-closed and his breathing slow, he began to beat like someone waking a sleeping giant.
The sound was dry at first, contained — but it gained body with each measure, growing with a cadence that seemed to be born from the ground.
It was the rhythm of hot asphalt, of sleepless nights, of streets where silence was never an option. It was the sound of resistance.
And of their home.
Shun came next, with his bass hanging low on his body and a mocking half-smile at the corner of his mouth.
The deep notes sounded like contained lightning — and the audience responded with movement.
Heads swayed, feet stomped on the ground in involuntary synchrony. The Old Quarter breathed with them.
Riku emerged from the gloom with his guitar on his shoulders and a half-smile already on his face — the kind of smile that knew exactly what it provoked.
He adjusted the strings with studied calmness, as if each movement was part of an invisible choreography. His purple hair fell strategically over his eyes, but left enough exposed to notice the glint.
When Masako and the fan group shouted his name, he looked up and winked lightly — a gesture between gratitude and provocation. Then, he bit his lower lip slightly, as if savoring his own effect. "This one's for you, girls," he murmured into the microphone, before sliding his fingers over the strings and starting the intro solo.
Shun, of course, turned with the biggest sarcastic smile he could produce — almost a fraternal provocation.
Riku rolled his eyes with a resigned sigh, but it was he who pulled the next solo — a hot, dense riff that spread like smoke at a neighborhood party.
The introduction. The call.
Then, Mayu emerged.
She didn't enter — she occupied. She emerged from the back of the stage as if silence had been waiting for her.
Her loose hair swayed slightly with the air current from the spotlights.
The microphone stand awaited her like an altar. And, as she sang the first phrase, it wasn't just a voice that was heard — it was a scream contained for years. Mayu's voice was clear, firm, deep.
It wasn't a performance. It was a confession. An embrace made of long notes, a wound that refused to bleed in silence.
Every syllable seemed to pull the audience inside — as if, for an instant, no one there was alone.
In the VIP area, time seemed to have taken on another rhythm — slower, denser, as if the world outside had been left in suspense.
Ayaka held Yumi's arm with delicate strength, eyes wide as if trying to photograph with her soul.
Her lips parted slightly, silently following the lyrics, and from time to time, she would let out an almost imperceptible "wow."
Yumi smiled discreetly, her eyes fixed on the stage, as if fearing that any distraction would break the spell. Her right hand, almost unconsciously, sought Hiroito's, finding a silent comfort in the slight touch. Hiroito, for his part, kept his gaze on the stage, but his thumb brushed Yumi's knuckles in a rhythm that only they knew. It was a moment shared between them, wrapped in music, in the middle of a thousand people.
Jin, of course, was already completely lost in the moment. Dancing awkwardly, singing along to every word with all the passion of someone who lived only for that. His eyes, usually playful, were now fixed on Mayu, a mixture of pride and pure admiration on his face. He even tried to reach for Oliver to pull him into his frenzy, but Oliver just pushed his hand away without breaking his gaze.
Oliver's expression was unreadable. His gaze fixed on the stage, but his eyes seemed to see beyond, as if searching for something in the air. His hands, usually busy with equipment, were now still, clasped in front of him. A single drop of sweat rolled down his temple, but it wasn't from the heat of the crowd. It was from the concentration. He seemed to be calculating something, analyzing every note, every vibration, as if the music were a complex equation to be solved.
Kazuki stood a little further back, near the entrance to the VIP area, his arms crossed. He had a slight smile on his lips, a mixture of satisfaction and weariness. His eyes, however, never left Ayumi. She was there, just a few feet away, her presence as impactful as the music filling the air. He saw her smile, saw her move, and in that moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. It was a familiar feeling, one he had tried to suppress for years, but which stubbornly resurfaced every time she was near.
The band played without pause, a seamless flow of energy. The songs, a mix of their own compositions and covers, sounded more intense live. The light show, choreographed by Oliver, was a spectacle of colors and shadows, painting the old Palace walls with fleeting beauty.
The crowd shouted, sang, and danced. They were swept away by the current of sound and emotion. For a few hours, the worries of Oshima, the dust of the ruins, the memories of the tsunami—everything disappeared, replaced by the raw, vibrant power of the music.
After what seemed like an eternity, the last song ended. A long, sustained chord from Riku's guitar, a final explosive drum roll from Daisuke, a heavy, vibrating bass line from Shun, and Mayu's voice, holding the last note until it faded into the ecstatic silence.
The applause exploded like a tidal wave. People cheered, whistled, screamed the band's name. It was deafening, triumphant. The Palace vibrated, not from ruin, but from life.
Os membros da banda se abraçaram no palco, exaustos, mas eufóricos. O próprio Sr. Daiko, da área VIP, aplaudiu com um sorriso raro. Até o normalmente estoico Sr. Guru fez um leve aceno de aprovação.
A equipe de palco, organizada por Daiki, rapidamente se mobilizou com cabos e cases em mãos. Em pouco tempo, o palco estava vazio.
Kazuki então gritou: "Jin! Feche a loja e vamos para o provador!"
Riku fez questão de convidar Masako e uma amiga para acompanhar o grupo até o segundo andar.
Na área VIP, os que ficaram conversaram, riram, compartilharam bebidas. Shun contou piadas absurdas, Hiroito dividiu um onigiri com Yumi, Ayumi ouviu as histórias de Kazuki com um brilho contido nos olhos.
Jin chegou se gabando: "Declaro recorde de vendas em uma noite! Mais de 50 bebidas e nenhum cliente sóbrio!"
"Onde está Oliver? E Mayu?", perguntou Masako.
Todos trocaram olhares. Um suspense brincalhão se formou no ar.
Jin, com a boca aberta e a mente solta, deixou escapar: "Eles devem estar brincando... assim como Daisuke!"
Risadas e assobios se espalharam como fogo. Ayaka riu com os olhos marejados. Riku fingiu tapar os ouvidos. Shun fez um brinde imaginário.
A noite continuou, envolta em calor humano, copos tilintando e memórias sendo tecidas em tempo real.
Na parede, o antigo relógio de ponteiro — herdado de uma das salas originais do Palácio — marcava 23h59.
O último segundo antes da meia-noite foi acompanhado por uma risada leve, livre e humana.
Então a mão se moveu.
Meia-noite.
Uma rajada de vento, impossível naquela noite sem janelas...