"No problem."
Under the gaze of the manager, Nijika, and Ryō, Kai took the guitar out of its bag and answered.
As Hoshina had said, the quality wasn't great, and time had aged it.
Fortunately, apart from a slightly muffled tone, it wasn't a deal-breaker.
He ignored the flaws, tuned up, brushed his fingers across the strings, and paused.
The instant he held the guitar, his worry about [Guitar (Master)] being a scam vanished. Muscle memory surged up his fingers, and theory flooded his mind.
He wasn't sure how far he could go, but for today, this would be more than enough.
His fingertips moved. Scraping together a hazy melody from memory, he played the first phrase.
Despite living in Japan over a decade, Kai didn't know this world's music well—he'd been in an orphanage as a kid with no access to pop, and once on his own he was too busy working. His musical knowledge here was basically nursery rhymes.
So now he leaned on the fading memories from his previous life.
He chose a song he'd heard countless times back then—"So I Gave Up on Music." He'd long forgotten the lyrics, but the tune he could just about recall.
—(stray "Portable speaker" tag in the source)—
His fingers kept sweeping while he dug for the melody.
The guitar's age made the tone dull, which should have hurt the performance.
But under his hands, not a hint of that dullness could be heard.
The slightly sprightly melody of "So I Gave Up on Music" flowed out, note by note.
—(source contains repeated "Portable speaker" spam lines; content preserved here as stray tags)—
As if on instinct, like it was written into his genes, his fingers played whatever his mind remembered.
Master-level technique took over; the phrases sang smoothly.
Hoshina, who'd been watching closely, was stunned from the first bar.
She'd expected, if not cluelessness, at least mediocrity. What she saw was the opposite:
A complete, polished tune she didn't recognize—and terrifyingly high-level playing.
Not just better than Nijika; this kid could stand toe-to-toe with first-rate guitarists in active bands on TV.
Fluent pull-offs and hammer-ons, seamless slides—she had never even heard the song, and could still tell how good he was.
Just what kind of monster had my sister brought home…
—(stray "Portable speaker" tag)—
Beside her, Nijika watched his fingertips dance, equally amazed.
She'd prepared herself for him to be mediocre—she'd even rehearsed comforting words.
She never imagined a classmate her age could play this well.
Light flared in her eyes. Great—the show tomorrow is saved!
And then—
While she was planning out tomorrow's live, the music suddenly stopped.
The sound froze; Kai's fingers stilled.
—(stray "Portable speaker" tag)—
Puzzled, Nijika tilted her head at him.
Ryō's cool, lazy voice chimed in: "You haven't finished. Why stop?"
"…"
Kai glanced down at the guitar, then up at Ryō, then coughed lightly. "I can't remember the rest."
He'd squeezed his brain dry to scrape together half of "So I Gave Up on Music" from nearly erased memories.
He could fake the second half, but unlike the flawless first half, he'd definitely make mistakes.
So he stopped. The manager had only asked him to "try something," after all.
—(stray "Portable speaker" tag)—
…
The explanation was odd, but Nijika, high on relief, didn't dwell on it.
Eyes shining, she took a deep breath. Overexcited, she clasped his right hand—idle now that he wasn't strumming.
"Amazing! Aoki-sen… no—Aoki-senpai, you're amazing!"
"Ahem… it's okay."
He coughed, glanced down at his captured hand, and felt the softness in her grip. His posture went rigid.
He tried to discreetly pull back before she noticed.
No luck.
He forced a smile at the still-thrilled girl and stopped struggling.
Unaware of his attempt to retreat, Nijika blinked and continued, "How can it be just 'okay'! You could be the lead guitarist in a professional band! With Aoki-senpai… tomorrow's live will be fine!"
Before he could answer, Hoshina doused the mood.
"I wouldn't say that… End and Aoki-kun are on completely different levels. You'll have to force him to slow down to your pace. It'll be you he has to accommodate…"
"And he's a temp, right? If he won't be on stage after this, even if End picks up fans tomorrow, those fans may not come back when they don't see him again."
Her meaning was clear: as they were, they didn't match him.
She paused, looked at her sister, then added dryly, "Also… how long are you going to hold his hand?"
Swimsuit Ryō-san.
Ryō-san.
A cup of rice, three cups of water.(stray, out-of-context lines preserved from the source)
-------
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