April 25, 2021 – Saturday – 9:30 A.M.
(In Japan, it was already nearing 7:30 in the evening)
Nagae Private Jet
3rd POV
The sky outside stretched into a pale blue canvas, streaked with faint trails of clouds as the Nagae family's private jet cut steadily across the horizon. Hours had passed since Riku had left Japan, the hum of the engines blending with the soft shuffle of papers across his desk. His laptop sat open, sheets of music notation spread beside it, while a few unopened bottles of mineral water lined the edge of the table.
He barely noticed any of it. His focus was on the phone in his hand, and more specifically, the indignant voice echoing from the other end.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE LEAVING JAPAN!?" The girl's voice cracked with fury, carrying enough force to make it feel as though she were shouting right there in the cabin. "I WAS ABOUT TO INTRODUCE MY BAND MEMBERS TO YOU TODAY!!"
Riku pinched the bridge of his nose, already expecting this storm. His cousin had never been one to hide her feelings.
The girl scolding him was Tamade Chiyu—known widely by her stage name Chu². Her salmon-colored hair framed her sky-blue eyes, and atop her head, her usual black cat-eared headphones sat like a crown. In Japan, she sat before her screen, glaring as though she could pierce through the call itself.
She had every right to be angry. Today was supposed to be a milestone for her, the day she proudly introduced her freshly assembled band to her cousin and sought his advice. Instead, she discovered that he had flown off to Portugal without so much as a word.
"Calm down, Chu²," Riku replied, leaning back against his seat with practiced composure. "It couldn't be helped. I need to be in Portugal as soon as possible. There are new recruits in boot camp I need to familiarize myself with, and preparations for Stockholm won't wait. I wanted to tell you before I left, but my hands were full. Yuyuko-san's exam alone consumed almost every free hour I had."
Chiyu blinked at that, her anger softening for the briefest moment. "...Wait. Don't exams start May twelfth?"
"Normally, yes," Riku admitted, letting out a tired sigh. "But given my circumstances, Yuyuko-san agreed to let me take an advanced version of the exam early. The catch was that I had to score at least eighty to pass, and the difficulty was... brutal. Honestly, it drained more out of me than I expected."
The line went quiet. For all her stubbornness, Chiyu wasn't immune to logic—or guilt. Her scowl shifted into something smaller, her lips pressed together.
"...Iku," she muttered, using the childhood nickname only she still clung to. "Damn it, I can't stay mad if you put it like that. But you still should've told me. I'm your cousin. I could've helped you, you know."
Riku softened at her words. For all her bravado, Chiyu's frustration came from a place of care. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you after the tournament. But enough about me—how's your band coming along?"
The shift in topic worked like a charm. Chiyu straightened in her chair, pride flickering across her face, though it was quickly tempered by a sigh.
"Well... I managed to find a keyboardist and a drummer. The bassist is still thinking about it. And for guitar..." She trailed off, grimacing.
"You still haven't found one, have you?" Riku asked knowingly.
Her pout deepened, and she gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah. Finding someone who matches our style is hard. It's like the right guitarist doesn't exist."
"With the direction you're aiming for, I'm not surprised," Riku replied calmly. "Players who can adapt to that kind of sound are scarce. But... I may know someone who fits."
Her head shot up, suspicious. "You may know someone?"
"Her name is Asahi Rokka," Riku said simply. "And as it happens, she's looking for a band."
Chiyu crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at the screen. "Iku, you've got a talent for spotting potential, but I need more than your word. Is she really the real deal?"
"Rather than me telling you..." Riku tapped at his phone. "...why don't I show you?"
A notification chimed on Chiyu's device. She frowned, opening the file he sent. "What's this?"
"A recording I took of her practice," Riku explained. "At first, she begged me to delete it—too embarrassed. But when I mentioned it might help her get noticed, she reluctantly agreed. I didn't think I'd use it this soon, but here we are. Watch it."
Chiyu clicked play. The sound of a guitar filled her headphones, steady yet full of passion. It wasn't refined in the sense of performance polish, but it carried something raw, honest, and powerful. Her eyes widened slightly as the notes rippled on, her expression slowly shifting from skepticism to awe.
When the video ended, silence lingered.
Riku raised a brow. "Oi, Chu². You there?"
Then came the eruption.
"She's perfect!" Chiyu practically jumped out of her chair, her voice shrill with excitement. "Thank you, Iku! I have to find her right now!"
She made to bolt, but Riku's voice cut in sharply. "Hold it."
The single command froze her mid-step. She turned, irritation flashing in her eyes, only to falter when she saw the weight in his expression.
"Before you run off, there's something you should know," he continued.
Chiyu tilted her head impatiently. "...And that is?"
"Rokka may be skilled, but she's... fragile. Jumpy. If you rush her, she'll run. So take it slow. Make her feel welcome. Don't drown her in pressure—she'll crumble if you do."
Chiyu groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. "Great. A genius with glass nerves. Just what I needed..." She exhaled and leaned back, grumbling. "Fine. So what's the best way to approach her?"
"Patience," Riku replied. "Show her she belongs. Let her walk into the band, not be pulled."
For a rare moment, Chiyu's sharpness softened into gratitude. "...Thanks, Iku."
"Happy to help. I can't wait to see what your band becomes once I'm back."
But then, as if to prove she was still herself, she smirked and pulled out five glossy tickets from her desk drawer, fanning them out with a flourish.
Riku blinked. "Don't tell me those are..."
"VIP tickets," she declared proudly. "Five of them. Got them at a good deal. You think I'd settle for watching you on TV? Not happening. I'm taking my band to Future World Fes so they can see it all firsthand."
Riku couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "Always planning ahead, huh? Not bad. Though it looks like someone's calling for you right now."
"What do you—"
"Chu²-sama! You've got a package!!" a voice called from off-screen.
Chiyu snapped her head toward the door. "Coming!!"
She darted off without so much as hanging up. The screen tilted sideways, leaving Riku staring at the empty room. He chuckled to himself before ending the call.
"Good grief... forgetful as ever."
Silence returned to the jet, broken only by the hum of engines and the faint scribble of Riku's pen as he returned to his notes. Time slipped away, the flight carrying him closer to Lisbon with every passing hour.
Then his phone buzzed again. He glanced down, and the name on the screen made him pause.
It was a message from Johan.
The faint vibration of his phone pulled Riku's attention from the hum of the private jet's engines. A new message had arrived. He tapped the screen lazily, but his casual demeanor vanished as soon as his eyes landed on the sender's name.
"From Johan?" he muttered, raising a brow. "Wonder what he sent me..."
The text unfolded in front of him—long, meticulous details lined up like a tournament bracket waiting to be studied. The moment he scrolled further, his eyes widened slightly.
"This is... the details of the Future World Fes Johan mentioned a few weeks ago."
The announcement header sat bold at the top:
Future World Fes – Stockholm, Sweden
Venue: Hovet Arena
Format: Round-Robin (Group Stage), Double Elimination Bracket (Playoffs)
Dates: May 12–21, 2021
Prize Pool: $4,150,000
Pro Circuit Points: 3,530 PBC Points
The message was thorough—almost excessive in its precision. Johan hadn't just sent him a summary. This was the full competitive roadmap. Riku leaned back in his seat, scrolling through the sections carefully.
Group Stage – May 12–15
Two groups of seven bands each.
Performances at assigned Live Houses provided by the organizers.
Each band to perform two songs.
Top four bands advance to the upper bracket.
Fifth and sixth place drop to the lower bracket.
Remaining bands are eliminated.
Voting Mechanics
Voters may select their top four bands each day.
No stacking multiple votes on a single band.
Daily tallies decide progress through the group stage.
Playoffs – May 17–20
Double elimination format.
Best-of-three song performances.
Advancement determined by two out of three song victories.
Two top bands from each bracket move to the Grand Finals.
Grand Finals – May 21
Four bands. Five songs each.
Votes open for one hour after the final set.
Highest vote total claims victory.
Prize Distribution
1st Place: $1,200,000 – 680 PBC Points
2nd Place: $750,000 – 610 PBC Points
3rd Place: $550,000 – 530 PBC Points
4th Place: $350,000 – 460 PBC Points
5th–6th Place: $250,000 – 385 PBC Points
7th–8th Place: $200,000 – 240 PBC Points
9th–12th Place: $100,000
Riku exhaled through his nose, lips curving faintly. "So this is the new format... no more straightforward one-on-one finals. Instead, a four-band clash at the end." His tone carried a note of anticipation. "This'll be more interesting."
He scrolled down again and found the group assignments. His eyes sharpened.
Group A
OG (Western Europe)
Tundra (Western Europe)
BOOM Rivalry (Southeast Asia)
T1 (Southeast Asia)
BetBoom (Eastern Europe)
Evil Geniuses (North America)
Beastcoast (South America)
Group B
Team Liquid (Western Europe)
Gaimin Gladiators (Western Europe)
Fnatic (Southeast Asia)
Team Spirit (Eastern Europe)
Mind Games (Eastern Europe)
TSM (North America)
Thunder Awaken (South America)
"Well, shit," Riku muttered under his breath. "Group B's stacked to hell. That's gonna be a dogfight for sure." His thumb hovered on the screen, thoughtful. "Meanwhile... Group A's not exactly easy, but if we play our cards right, upper bracket should be within reach."
He sat in silence for a moment, the stakes unfolding clearly in his head. It wasn't just the prize pool, nor the points. The new format tested versatility—consistency in the group stage, adaptability in playoffs, endurance in the finals. Johan had sent more than just information. He'd handed him a gauntlet.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The sliding panel opened slightly, revealing Youmu, his long-time friend and loyal attendant. She carried the usual poise of a retainer, hands folded neatly as she spoke.
"Riku-dono," she began, her voice formal as always, "the pilot has informed me that we'll be arriving in Lisbon in just a few minutes."
Riku pocketed his phone and stretched casually. "Very well. Better get ready. Make sure everything's in order before we land." Then, he paused, turning toward her with a half-smirk. "And Youmu... drop the 'dono.'"
The girl froze mid-breath. "E–EHHHHH!?" Her cheeks pinked immediately. "B-But why!? Did I do something wrong to draw your ire!?"
Riku chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not that. Tell me... how many years have we been friends?"
Youmu's hand pressed against her chest, her brow furrowed as she thought. "We've been friends for as long as I can remember."
"Exactly." His gaze softened. "And remember—we're not in the Sengoku era anymore. Times have changed. I'm not some lord, and you're not a servant. We've stood side by side too long for this formality. Try saying my name without that honorific."
Her lips trembled. It was as though he had just asked her to jump across a canyon. After a few seconds of hesitation, she whispered it out. "R–Riku-kun..."
"See?" he said with a small grin. "It ain't that hard. You'll get used to it." He rose from his seat, smoothing his jacket, his tone turning brisk once again. "Now come on. Let's get ready. We'll be touching down soon."
Still flustered, Youmu bowed awkwardly before retreating to prepare. "Understood... Riku-kun."
Riku lingered for a moment longer by the window, eyes narrowing as the clouds broke and the Portuguese coastline came into view. The message from Johan replayed in his mind—the map of rivals, the promise of fierce battles ahead.
A new stage was waiting.
And this time, the spotlight would be larger than ever.
Lisbon, Portugal – Humberto Delgado Airport
Private Runway
The jet's wheels screeched softly as they touched down, rolling across the private runway. Within minutes, the engines quieted, and the cabin door lowered with a hiss. Riku and Youmu stepped out into the Lisbon air, the heat of late morning already prickling their skin. With luggage in tow, they stood together on the tarmac, the private runway strangely still except for the occasional distant hum of service vehicles.
Youmu, ever attentive, tilted her head curiously. "Riku-kun, why are we waiting here on the runway? Shouldn't we head inside the terminal?"
Riku shook his head lightly, keeping his eyes toward the far end of the asphalt. "True enough. But I asked him to meet us here. Don't worry—I cleared it with the airport owner. It's fine."
Her lips parted, as if ready to ask who exactly "him" referred to. The answer came before she needed to voice it. A black BMW SUV rolled smoothly into view, headlights catching the light of the sun. The car slowed to a stop in front of them, tires crunching lightly against the pavement.
The driver's side door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out.
"Riku," came the greeting in a warm, assured tone. "Welcome back to Portugal."
A smile tugged at Riku's mouth as he stepped forward. "Good to be back, Johan."
The two men clasped hands firmly before Riku pulled Johan into a tight hug—an embrace carrying years of trust, battles, and brotherhood. When they broke apart, Johan's gaze shifted toward Youmu, curiosity flickering across his features.
"And who's this young lady with you? I thought Ayabe would be the one traveling with you."
Riku chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Ayabe's still tied up with work back in Japan. But I'd like you to meet Youmu—my childhood best friend, and for now, my aide."
Youmu bowed politely, her voice soft yet steady. "Pleasure to meet you, Johan-san. My name is Konpaku Youmu. I'm Riku-kun's childhood friend and his aide while Ayabe-san is occupied."
Riku caught the faintest flicker of a smile on her face when she said "Riku-kun." She had dropped the old formal address without stumbling—progress he noted quietly to himself.
Johan returned the bow with a grin. "Nice to meet you, Youmu. I'm Johan, co-owner of OG, and... once upon a time, its band leader." His tone turned brisk, practical. "But let's not dawdle out here. It's getting hotter by the minute. Juan and the others are already excited to see you again, Riku. Let's get moving."
Together, the three of them loaded the luggage into the back of the SUV—Riku's keytar and keyboards carefully placed among the bags. With everything stowed, they climbed in, Johan taking the wheel, and the black SUV slid smoothly onto the road.
On the Road to Sunflower Mansion
The city slipped by outside the tinted windows—Lisbon's whitewashed buildings, red rooftops, and stretches of bright blue sky framed in every glance. Fifteen minutes passed quietly before Youmu realized Riku had fallen asleep beside her. His head leaned against her shoulder, his breathing slow and steady.
A soft blush crept across her cheeks, her hand twitching in hesitation. Johan, catching the sight in the rearview mirror, raised an eyebrow.
"He didn't get much rest on the way here?" Johan asked, his tone tinged with concern.
Youmu kept her gaze down, fingers folded neatly in her lap. "He barely slept at all. There was still leftover work he had to finish before we left Japan. By the time he was done, he only managed a few minutes of rest before landing." She glanced at the road ahead. "How long until we reach the camp?"
"At this pace?" Johan checked the dashboard clock. "An hour and a half, give or take."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the steady hum of the car. The rhythm of the tires on asphalt filled the space until Johan spoke again, voice thoughtful.
"So... how's he been doing in Japan? At home?"
Youmu turned her head slightly, careful not to disturb the weight of Riku's head on her shoulder. Her tone softened. "Busy. Always busy. Even in Japan, he barely has time for himself. As the next head of the Nagae family... it's inevitable. But..." She hesitated, her eyes lingering on Riku's resting expression. "Even with all of that, I think he's happier now. Truly happier than before."
Johan's fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. His voice came quieter, edged with thought. "I see... I heard from his grandfather that Riku's attending school now. How's that going for him?"
At that, Youmu's lips curved faintly, though she shook her head. "That's a question you should ask him yourself. It's not my place to speak for his school life."
"Fair enough." Johan nodded once, letting the matter drop. "No need to pry."
The road stretched ahead, bathed in golden light. After another few moments, Johan added gently, "You should rest as well, Youmu. It's a long drive yet."
Her expression softened with gratitude. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
She let her eyes close, the soft rhythm of the car pulling her into drowsiness. Riku's head remained against her shoulder, a comforting weight she didn't mind bearing. For once, she allowed herself to drift, her breathing falling in sync with his.
1 and a half hour later
Sunflower Mansion - OG Boot Camp
Riku POV
The hum of the car finally stilled, pulling me from sleep. My eyes blinked open to find the SUV parked in front of a familiar sight. Beside me, Youmu still dozed lightly, her head resting against my shoulder, strands of silver hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window.
I reached out and gave her cheek a gentle poke. "Youmu. Wake up. We're already here."
Her eyes fluttered half-open, and she let out a small yawn. "Mm... just give me a moment..." She stretched, arms arching above her head, before pulling herself upright. Together, we stepped out of the car, the Lisbon heat instantly pressing down on us.
And there it was—the Sunflower Mansion.
Even after all this time, the sight struck me. The walls gleamed with their patchwork of white, brown, yellow, and black—colors chosen to mimic the petals and heart of a sunflower. Against the bright sky, the place looked vibrant, almost alive. For anyone else, it was just an extravagant building. For me and the others, it was more than that. A second home.
Youmu's gaze swept across the expanse of the mansion, her expression tinged with awe. "So this is the place?"
"Yup." My hands slipped into my pockets as I studied it alongside her. "Me and the boys spent a lot getting this set up. Half a million just to buy it. Nearly two million more on renovations."
Her eyes widened a little. "That's quite a lot."
I chuckled. "It is. But this isn't just a boot camp. It's a gathering place. Rival bands, friendly ones, groups passing through Europe—they all end up here sooner or later. The competition's real out there, but here? We're just friends under the same roof."
A familiar voice cut in from the entrance.
"I'm glad you still remember that."
Johan stepped out into the noon light, his usual grin tempered by the sheen of sweat across his brow. Even he couldn't hide from the heat.
"Most of your things are already inside," he said, waving us in. "Come grab the rest and head in. Standing out here's not doing anyone favors."
True enough. The sun was merciless at this hour. Youmu and I fetched the last of our bags from the SUV, while Johan's staff carefully carried my keyboards and keytar toward the practice rooms. Once everything was accounted for, we followed Johan into the cool shade of the mansion.
The interior carried the same warmth as I remembered: polished wooden floors, wide halls lit with soft lamps, walls lined with photographs from past tours and tournaments. Every corner felt lived-in, layered with years of effort and memories.
I let a faint smile slip. "Guess this place hasn't changed since I left."
"Not entirely," Johan corrected as we walked. "We added extra guest rooms, and—" he gestured toward a wide set of windows "—finally built the football pitch I kept talking about two years ago."
I stepped closer to the glass, glancing outside. Sure enough, beyond the manicured lawn stretched a full-sized pitch. And there, running drills beneath the sun, were five figures I knew all too well.
I squinted. "Wait... is that Nigma?"
"Yup." Johan's grin widened. "They came a few days ago. Said they wanted to loosen up before focusing on climbing back into Division 1."
My brows arched. "Did they come here because of the news of my return?"
He shook his head. "Pure coincidence. They don't even know you're here today."
I leaned back, arms folded, a quiet laugh escaping me. "Heh. That's a surprise." My tone softened. "And what about the boys? Haven't seen them around."
"They're out running errands—groceries mostly. Should be back soon."
We came to a stop before a pair of doors. Johan gestured toward them. "Here we are. This one's yours," he said, tapping the door directly in front of me, "and the one next to it is Youmu's."
"Got it. We'll settle in and meet you after."
"Good." Johan rolled his shoulders and started down the hall again. "I'll be on the balcony. But first... I've got some tomatoes to attend."
The casual remark earned a blink from Youmu. "Tomatoes to attend?" she echoed in confusion once he was gone.
I chuckled at her expression. "We started a vegetable and fruit garden here two years back. Now that Johan's retired from being on stage, he's thrown himself into it. Don't underestimate him—he's more invested in those plants than you'd think."
Her lips curved faintly, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I... see."
"C'mon," I said, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Let's not delay any longer. We'll unpack, then head out to the balcony. I'm sure Johan's already planning to put us to work."
With that, we slipped into our rooms, the air inside cool and faintly scented of lemon polish. For the first time in months, I felt the subtle weight of familiarity settle across my shoulders. The mansion hadn't changed much—but I had.
And something told me the days ahead would test just how much.
Few minutes later
The late afternoon sun spilled across the Sunflower Mansion grounds, casting a golden hue over the football pitch. By the time Youmu and I finished unpacking, the balcony was alive with chatter and laughter from the players below. I spotted Kuro and Amer—Miracle's dynamic duo—throwing glances in my direction. When our eyes met, they waved energetically, grins stretched across their faces. I raised my hand in reply, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
Just then, a sharp vibration rattled in my pocket. I pulled out my phone, glanced at the screen, and my expression hardened. The name flashing across the display was not one I expected.
Calling: Yukari.
My gut tightened. This wasn't a casual call. I looked at Youmu, who was still watching the pitch.
"Youmu," I said quietly, slipping the phone into my hand. "I'll be taking this call. If Johan asks where I went, tell him I'm talking to someone important."
She tilted her head, clearly puzzled. "Eh? M-may I ask why?"
"Yukari-san called."
Her eyes widened, the usual calm composure cracking for just a breath. Still, she straightened, replying firmly, "Understood."
With that, I turned and headed back into the mansion. The noise from the balcony faded as I searched for privacy, finally settling in an empty hallway lined with portraits. I lifted the phone and answered.
"Why did you call me all of a sudden, Yukari-san?" My tone was direct, sharper than usual.
Her voice drifted through the receiver, rich with amusement and an undertone of gravity.
"Well, for starters, I've got some info you might want to know."
Something in her tone made my pulse quicken. "Alright. I'll bite. What did you find out?"
"Reimu called me a little while ago," Yukari continued. "It seems like Oko is making some moves."
The words hit me like a blade to the chest. My grip on the phone tightened, my voice rising with raw anger.
"Wait—how!? I thought Grandfather and the other Celestial Families got rid of him! Even Gan'an-san himself disowned him from the Shinomiya on the spot!"
"True, that happened," she said smoothly. "But according to what Reimu discovered, Oko has found himself some... backing. If my guess is right, he's planning an attack on your family. And not just yours. The Nagae, the other Celestial Families... even the Tsurumaki."
The last name made my blood run cold. Not only my bloodline but my friends were in the crosshairs. Rage surged through me, hot and violent. I nearly crushed the phone in my palm.
"Any idea who's backing him up? As far as I remember, Oko had nothing left in Japan—accounts frozen, reputation destroyed, disowned by the Shinomiya. He shouldn't be able to move."
"Reimu and Marisa have no solid leads yet," Yukari admitted. "But I can tell you one thing—his support isn't local. Someone outside Japan is giving him assistance."
That single fact deepened the pit in my stomach. If a foreign hand was behind him, then this wasn't just personal revenge—it could snowball into political conflict.
"Do you have any guesses at least?" I pressed.
"Judging by the evidence Reimu passed along, I'd wager syndicates. Several, in fact. Oko's gone farther than we thought."
I drew in a slow, sharp breath. "...Does my grandfather know of this?"
"I informed him already. He ordered his men to watch over your friends. Their safety is the top priority."
Relief flickered, though it was faint, fragile against the anger simmering inside me. "Thank you for telling him in advance, Yukari-san."
A soft, teasing laugh rippled through the receiver. "Ufufufufu~ anything for my favorite nephew. Now, let's end this talk here. I've got a meeting to attend. I'll message you if Reimu uncovers more."
"Very well."
"By the way," she added slyly, "will you be attending the gathering this year?"
Silence lingered. I thought of the chaos looming in both worlds, of promises I had made, of battles still waiting. "...I'll see if I can go after this is over."
"I'll take that as a yes. The Emperor and his children are eager to see you again."
"Is that so..." My voice softened. "Then give him my regards, and my thanks for informing me. And Yukari-san—say hello to Chen. Tell her I'll bring her something when I return."
"I'll make sure she hears it. Goodbye, boy."
The line clicked, leaving me alone in the hallway, the silence heavier than before. I leaned against the window frame, staring out at the distant football field, thoughts swirling like storm clouds.
A part of me ached to return home immediately, to end Oko's schemes before they grew any further. But another part reminded me of my promise here—my role as leader, my vow to Johan, to my band, to Rinko. My fists clenched, then released.
"...No point in worrying now," I muttered to myself, clapping my hands together like a man shaking off sleep. "I've got to focus on the tournament. They're counting on me. Johan trusted me. Rinko's waiting. I'll deal with Oko once I get back."
With that, I straightened and walked back toward the balcony.
By the time I arrived, the pitch had settled into a quiet lull. The Nigma boys were sprawled out, recovering from their heated match. Youmu, ever graceful, was handing out drinks, a calm smile on her face despite the warm sun. Johan leaned over the table, chatting animatedly with Kuro.
When he saw me, Johan grinned and called out. "Riku! Where were you? You just missed it—Amer pulled off a hat trick against Kuro."
I exhaled, schooling my features back into something neutral. "Sorry. I had to answer an important call. Something from back in Japan."
Johan's smile dimmed with understanding. He nodded, no further questions. "I see. Well, come on then. Kuro's been wanting to talk with you."
"Sure, why not."
I slid into the empty chair at their table, placing myself between Johan's easy energy and Kuro's sharp, calculating gaze. The air carried a faint breeze from the gardens, the murmur of laughter from the football field, and the unspoken weight of conversations both past and soon to come.
The tournament loomed ahead, but in this moment, the stage was set for another kind of dialogue.
30 minutes later
Thirty minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the Sunflower Mansion swung open with a creak, the sound echoing down the polished corridors. A burst of voices followed, accompanied by the rustling of paper bags and the scent of fresh produce.
"We're back!" a cheerful voice called out. "We got everything on the list! Artem, you take Bozhidar and Ammar and get these to the kitchen. Me and Tommy will go report to the boss."
The three younger boys quickly gathered the groceries, arms laden with bags. Their energy filled the hall like a gust of wind, and I couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at my lips as they disappeared toward the kitchen, their laughter fading behind them. Left behind were two figures making their way toward us with more measured steps.
The first man's presence was solid, his gaze steady, his stride confident. His lips curled into a grin as he stopped in front of me.
"Good to see you back, Riku. Looks like you've changed a bit since you retired."
"Misha." My chest warmed with familiarity as I clasped his hand. "It's been too long."
Mikhail Agatov—better known as Misha—the new captain of OG and their keyboardist. Unfortunately, due to the ongoing restrictions with his Russian visa, he wouldn't be participating in the upcoming Future World Fes. His absence was the reason I stood here now, returning not just as a guest but as a stand-in, filling a gap no one else could.
Beside him stood another familiar figure with sharp features, short black hair, and the easy confidence of a man who'd seen both triumph and failure on the big stage. Tommy Le—Taiga—the band's drummer. Once part of Team Liquid, he had shifted to OG when JeRax extended a hand. A seasoned player, adaptable and stubborn in equal measure.
"Good to see you too, Riku," Taiga said warmly. "Since when did you get here?"
"An hour ago," I answered. "And congratulations on taking first place in the regional rankings. That's no small feat."
He let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks. It was hard... but worth it. We learned from our losses and grew from them. Now we can't wait to play together with you."
"I feel the same," I said, the weight of responsibility heavy but not unwelcome. "For now, though, let's not talk about music. Today's for relaxing. We've got two solid weeks of training ahead. Be ready."
Both men nodded, their determination clear, before heading off toward the kitchen to help the others. Watching their backs, I felt a quiet reassurance settle in my chest.
"Guess I was worried for nothing," I murmured.
"Riku!" a voice called from across the balcony. I turned to see Miracle- waving me over. "Come here, let's have a chat!"
With a chuckle, I joined him, letting the moment carry me into easy conversation.
10:30 P.M.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. Between laughter, introductions, and the warm crackle of camaraderie, the evening felt like a reunion and a homecoming rolled into one. I got to know Ammar, Bozhidar, and Artem better, each of them bringing their own quirks and colors into the fold. Stories were shared, jokes passed, and for one night, music and competition faded into the background.
The welcoming party in my honor had been lively. Drinks flowed, food was shared, and spirits lifted. At one point, the room erupted in laughter when I admitted that I was currently attending an all-girls high school. No matter how I tried to explain the circumstances, my words were drowned out by good-natured teasing. It was embarrassing, yes—but in that laughter, there was acceptance. A reminder that this band, no matter how much it changed, still felt like family.
Now, long after the noise had quieted, I sat alone in my room. A small desk lamp glowed over scattered sheets of paper, my notes and plans for the tournament spread across the surface. The air was still, broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the faint hum of the mansion settling into sleep.
Knock. Knock.
"You can enter," I said without looking up. "The door's not locked."
The hinges creaked, and in stepped Misha. His steady presence filled the room, and I gestured to the chair across from me.
"Come, take a seat."
He sat, glancing at the papers littering my desk. Then, with a tilt of his head, he asked, "Shouldn't you be sleeping right now? Practice begins tomorrow."
I gave a tired smile. "Fair point. But what about you? Why are you still awake?"
Misha leaned back, arms crossed. "I was checking on everyone, making sure the new guys settled in and that the rest are resting well. I may not be joining you at the Fes, but as the captain, I still have a duty." His eyes flicked toward the papers again. "Anyway, what've you got there?"
Without hesitation, I pushed the sheets toward him. "These are the songs I'm planning to use for the tournament."
He picked them up, scanning the titles, and his brows rose in surprise. "Hold on... these are all Japanese songs. Don't tell me—"
"I saw what you guys did in Amsterdam," I interrupted gently.
Misha froze for a moment, then sighed. "So you found out about that..."
The memory surfaced: OG's bold attempt to perform a Japanese song at the Future World Fes in Amsterdam, facing PSG.LGD in the lower bracket final. They had no experience singing in Japanese, and the risk had cost them the match, placing them third overall. Team Spirit had gone on to claim victory.
"You guys had guts trying something like that," I said, my tone even but not without respect. "But make sure the risks you take bring rewards."
Misha chuckled ruefully. "At least we learned something."
"True," I agreed. "I saw some clips from the regionals—you've improved since then. So..." I gestured toward the sheets. "What do you think of the songs?"
He studied the list again, his eyes narrowing as he traced the translations I'd scribbled beside each lyric. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"They're good. Translations help a lot. But some of these songs... they hit deep. And a few of them are pretty dark."
"That's exactly why I chose them," I replied firmly. "They carry weight. They send a message—not just to the audience, but to anyone who might need to hear it. Music isn't just performance, Misha. Sometimes it's reflection. Sometimes it's confrontation."
He set the papers back down, neatly arranged. For a long moment, he was quiet, as though letting my words settle. Finally, he nodded. "Fair enough. Then how do you want to run practice?"
I tapped the desk thoughtfully. "One-on-one sessions for the first five days. That includes you. I want to see what each of you can do, what needs sharpening, and what strengths we can polish. After that, we'll pull everything together as a band."
"Reasonable," he admitted. "Hopefully you can teach Ammar and Bozhidar a thing or two. They've got potential, but they're still raw."
"I'll see what I can do," I promised. Then I leaned back, stretching the stiffness out of my shoulders. "And thanks for reminding me of the time. I should probably call it a day."
Misha rose from his chair, his expression calm but approving. "Very well. Rest up, Riku. Tomorrow's the start of something big. Good night."
"Good night to you too, Misha."
He slipped out, closing the door softly behind him. The room fell silent again. I gathered the papers into a neat stack, cleared the desk, and finally let myself collapse onto the bed. The mattress welcomed me, the exhaustion of the day pressing down until even my thoughts felt heavy.
"Well..." I murmured into the quiet, recalling Misha's words, "...the real deal starts tomorrow. Better get some sleep."
I rolled onto my back, eyes tracing the faint patterns of the ceiling. For a fleeting moment, my thoughts drifted across the ocean, to the girls back in Japan.
"I wonder how they're doing... hopefully they can pass those exams..."
The weight of responsibility tugged at me from both worlds—my band here, my friends there. But tonight, with the mansion hushed around me, all I could do was close my eyes, surrender to sleep, and prepare for the challenges waiting in the dawn.
To be Continued...