It was mid-June, and finally, we were starting to gain some traction. Kurogane and Sora already had a few underground shows under their belts in Matsumoto and Nagano, which meant Rei and I were getting booked too.
Kurogane fully embraced his role as our manager, and since we didn't have a proper discography as a group yet, he made sure each of us had at least two songs to perform.
My live debut was nerve-wracking.
I couldn't sleep. I showered three times in two hours. Sprayed so much perfume I smelled like a department store exploded.
Then I put on my best fit — Amiri jeans, Bape hoodie, Balenciagas. Gucci cap pulled low. Casio watch on my wrist. The whole point was to look better than I felt.
Now I was standing in the cramped backroom at ALECX, nerves buzzing under my skin.
The bass thumped through the wall like a distant heartbeat. The air reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke, making me sick to my stomach.
Every time the stage door cracked open, the bright lights felt blinding.
I'd been called to the teacher's office plenty of times in middle school, and I'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood on late-night walks more than once. Somehow this felt worse than both combined.
And worst of it all... If I blow this, I'm stuck here forever.
I glanced around.
Rei looked about as calm as a cat in a bathtub.
I shot him a glance.
"Ain't nobody tell us it was gonna be this intense."
"I know, right?" he muttered. "I think I might shit myself, yoo."
"Relax, you two," Kurogane cut in, leaning against the wall with his usual calm. "Once you're out there with the mic and the beat drops, everything else fades to black."
He smirked.
"You'll see."
Sora gave an approving nod.
"Yeah, just like he said. Once you're out there, it's just you and the beat."
"If you say so…" Rei muttered, still unsure.
I didn't say anything, just waited until it was our turn to take the stage.
The backroom door swung open and the roar from the floor slammed into me like a fist—250 people crammed into ALECX, bodies shoulder-to-shoulder, air thick with sweat, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke.
The house lights dropped, stage spots hit hard, and DJ Haze—some grizzled local MC who'd probably seen a hundred rookies choke—strode up to the mic with a grin that said he knew exactly how this usually ended.
"Alright, Matsumoto—give it up for the new blood tonight. Straight outta this city, raw and hungry… Matsumoto Boys! MTB for short!"
The crowd popped—not stadium-insane, but real: scattered "MTB!" chants, a couple whistles, Kenta's voice slicing through the noise like a chainsaw ("LET'S GOOO!").
I spotted Kenta near the front, red-faced and jumping, Mori beside him arms crossed, nodding slowly like he was grading me. In the back, Inazuki was on tiptoes, waving that stupid plushie I'd given her like a battle flag, grin cutting through the dim light.
Tetsu was somewhere in the back too, smirking like a proud dad. Maestro stood next to him, sunglasses glinting.
Kurogane stepped up first. He planted his feet, adjusted the mic stand, then leaned in close.
"Matsumoto… y'all know me. No cap, no filter. This one's for the corners we grew up in. Let's get it."
The beat dropped: slow, heavy 808 crawl with dusty vinyl crackle. All street tracks.
His delivery was deliberate, almost conversational—low growl on the hooks, precise punches on bars about late-night cyphers, debt collectors, the same Matsumoto corners we all knew too well.
The crowd went silent, just listening intently.
When he finished, the applause was sharp and respectful, a few "that's real" shouts from the older heads near the bar.
Sora went next.
He bounced once on his toes, cracked his neck, then grabbed the mic with both hands and leaned forward.
"Yo, Matsumoto! Y'all ready to run from yesterday? Let's go fast—catch me if you can!"
He flowed on the beat like it owed him money.
Fast delivery, double-time flows, syllables snapping like firecrackers—bars about late trains, broken promises, running from yesterday while chasing tomorrow.
The energy flipped: front row started moving, hands up, Kenta losing his voice screaming along.
Sora ended on a breathless laugh, mic-drop gesture, and the crowd gave him the first real roar of the night.
Then, Rei clocked his debut.
He shuffled forward like he was walking to his own execution, adjusted the mic stand three times, then muttered into the mic before the beat kicked in.
"…This one's for the nights that don't end. Sorry if it's messy."
Emo tracks—slow, minor-key, heavy reverb, lyrics about empty rooms, ghosted texts, nights that never end.
His delivery was clumsy at first: voice cracked on the high notes, he stumbled over one line, had to restart the hook.
But he kept going—raw, unsteady, eyes squeezed shut like he was singing to himself.
A few heads nodded, some couples swayed, Inazuki wiped her eyes with the plushie sleeve.
When he finished, the applause was quieter—more personal, almost tender.
Rei exhaled, shoulders dropping like he'd survived something.
Then Kurogane stepped back up, mic still hot.
"And now… the one y'all been waiting for. The kid who went viral dissing idols and somehow didn't get canceled yet. Forsaken—give it up!"
I took the mic from his hand, half-expecting it to shock me. Then I drew a slow breath.
"What's up, Matsumoto? First time doing this live. Been waiting on this since I was making trash tracks on my phone in my bedroom… yeah. Anyway."
A low laugh rolled through the crowd—not mocking, just amused at the awkward start.
"Y'all know this one. Shoutout V€xxx, shoutout MTB. Wouldn't be here without 'em. Let's go."
The beat for Tokyo ft. V€xxx kicked in.
"Downtown Akihabara, yeah, we up in Tokyo
I'm with the homie V€xxx from Brooklyn to Matsumoto
Bad lil' bitch, she wanna be my imouto
Tell her speak English 'cause she no habla nihongo"
I opened with the hook, twisting the second bar slightly so I didn't drop the n-word. Then I rolled straight into the verses—mine and V€xxx's—letting the rhythm carry me. By the second chorus the crowd was riding the beat with me, voices rising over the bass.
When the track ended, the room burst into cheers.
Then someone shouted, "PLAY THE YABAI DISS!"
Of course it was Kenta. The idiot's voice cut through the room, and before long, the others picked it up, chanting along.
I bit back a snarl.
"Nah, no diss tracks tonight," I said with a laugh, raising a hand. "But I got something else. I ain't tryna steal Rei's lane or nothing—my stuff's just… real personal. That's how I make my songs."
I grinned.
"Don't worry though. This one still bangs."
I sang, letting my practiced delivery shine with every moment of sadness and grief in my life.
"Get the switch, ima savage mitai ni natte
Pull up to the crib, 40 calls — she like 'fuck it'
Nani mo kanjirenai, kanashii kara wa runnin'
Hollow ni naritai, demo drip dake stunning
Corner ni suwatte... "ore ga real?"
Kimi no me o mireba, wakaru — I cannot feel
Omae janai, ore dayo, gomen ne
13-sai kara shinitai to omotte
Hanashitakunai, dare mo kikanai nda
Demo subete mise tara kiiteru hazu sa
Ima wa kono michi mo arukenai
Minna ga ore o kizutsukeru tte kanjite
Security mo nai, kowareta feeling
Saitei no ore, still begging for healing
Don't go, please don't go
I'm all alone, babe…"
The crowd fell quiet, hanging on every word. Phones flickered, heads nodded slowly. Kenta yelled a shaky "FORSAKEN!" somewhere in the back. Inazuki hugged the plushie, eyes watering.
Rei leaned against the wall, nodding, silent but absorbed. When the last line landed, applause broke out—not loud, but deep, thoughtful.
A few whispered, "that's… real."
Then I saw Kaede. Hoodie pulled low, eyes glistening, hands quietly clasped. She… came. I was shocked.
The glamor eventually faded, and we were back in the backroom.
"See, you two? It wasn't that bad," Kurogane laughed.
"Bro, shut up! I thought I was gonna die," Rei said.
"Forsaken here did a good job, though," Sora said, turning to me.
I scratched the back of my head.
"Nah, not at all. I really liked Kurogane's street stuff. You killed it with the fast flow. And Rei, boy, that was some raw emotion."
"Your second song was just as sad as mine," Rei said, eyeing me with intrigue.
"Well, yeah. I got some emo shit too," I replied.
I pushed through the backroom door into the hallway, sweat still dripping, heart still racing. The crowd noise was muffled now, just a dull roar behind the wall.
Inazuki was already there — sunglasses pushed up, plushie tucked under her arm, grinning like she'd just won the lottery.
Before I could even process, she launched herself at me.
"Hey, Shiba-kun! You did it!," she said, casually wrapping her free arm around my neck.
I went stiff. "Uh… yeah. I survived."
She pulled back fast, grinning so wide it looked painful. "Survived? Bruh, you had Kenta screaming like he was at a K-pop concert! I thought he was gonna faint when you dropped that second verse. And Mori? Mori actually nodded. That's like a five-star review from him."
I rubbed the back of my neck, awkward half-smile creeping out despite myself. "Wasn't a total disaster, I guess."
"'Not a total disaster'?" She laughed — loud, shameless, echoing down the hallway. "You had the whole basement moving! Even the old heads by the bar. You think they do that for just anybody? Nah, you earned that."
She gave me a playful shove on the chest, then waved the plushie in my face. "And look — I brought your good-luck charm. You owe me another one next time~"
I snorted. "If there is a next time."
"There better be," she shot back, poking my chest with the plushie. "You don't get to drop fire like that and then dip forever. I'm invested now. I'm your number-one fan. Deal with it."
Before I could answer, a smaller figure stepped out from the shadows near the exit.
Kaede.
Hoodie low, hands stuffed in pockets, eyes wide and glassy like she'd been holding her breath the whole set.
I froze. "…You came?"
She took one hesitant step forward, voice small but steady.
"I couldn't not come, Onii-chan."
She fidgeted with her sleeve, eyes on the floor.
"You were… really good. Everyone was listening."
My throat closed up. I couldn't look away.
"…Thanks, Kaede."
She finally lifted her eyes, small smile trembling on her lips.
"I'm proud of you."
Three words.
They cracked something in my chest I didn't know was still whole.
Inazuki glanced between us, grin softening for the first time. She didn't interrupt.
I looked at both of them — and for the first time that night, the adrenaline crash didn't feel like drowning.
Maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.