I wasn't exactly in the mood to go to school, but I forced myself out of bed.
As I stepped out, Suzuki Aika closed the door to her flat. By some messed-up twist of fate, we left at the same time.
"Good morning, Shiba-kun!" she chirped, waving energetically.
"Yo," I muttered.
We fell into step together, walking toward the train station.
"You won't believe the last few days," Suzuki started, practically bouncing.. "Mini tour with SIX STAR's been insane! Shibuya, Osaka, Nagoya… fans everywhere, me barely surviving. And the backstage chaos?
Managers running everywhere, stylists screaming, me trying to remember lyrics while sipping some dumb energy drink."
I nodded, vaguely as we boarded the bus. "Yeah… sounds hectic."
"Oh, it is! But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm learning so much—like, how to actually survive a tour without collapsing. Anyway…"
She grinned, finally drawing a breath. "…I just can't wait for the next stop. Every day feels like a new adventure."
I just had my first live show, you know…
"So, what have you been up to, Shiba‑kun?" Suzuki asked, tilting her head as we stepped out into the sticky summer heat. The school building loomed ahead.
"Oh, you know, not much except I had my first—"
"Good morning, Shiba‑kun. Suzuki‑san."
Yamashita Rika appeared beside us like she'd been waiting for the exact moment to join. Calm voice, straight posture, glasses catching the light.
Suzuki flashed her a bright smile. "Morning, Yamashita‑san."
Yamashita glanced between the two of us, thoughtful.
"You two have been walking to school together quite often lately."
Suzuki blinked. "Uh… yeah? We're literally neighbors."
"Mm." Yamashita nodded slowly, as if Suzuki had just confirmed a long‑held suspicion. "I see. Neighbors. Of course."
Her tone was gentle, but the subtext was practically waving a tiny white flag labeled I'm not jealous, but I'm absolutely taking notes.
Suzuki bristled. "What's with that 'of course'? It's not weird."
"I never said it was weird," Yamashita replied, serene as a monk. "It's simply… frequent."
"It's called coincidence!"
"Every day?"
"That's not the point!"
I walked between them, listening to the escalating politeness‑to‑hostility ratio like someone stuck between two radio stations.
Yamashita adjusted her glasses. "Well, I'm glad Shiba‑kun has such… attentive company in the mornings."
Suzuki leaned forward. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that it must be nice," Yamashita said, smiling softly. "To have someone so eager."
"I'm not eager! I just happen to leave the house at the same time!"
Their bickering trailed behind us like a pair of mismatched wind chimes as we made our way toward the school gates.
I sighed internally.
A front row seat to the Suzuki-Yamashita rivalry, the signal of another perfectly normal morning.
I ignored their bickering as we made our way to class.
And, as usual, I was the subject of class gossip again. Kenta was loudly praising Forsaken's live performance, Mori was low-key trying to hate, and the boys were already begging for another MTB show—this time with a full group track.
Yeah. We were working on that.
My phone buzzed twice almost at the same time.
Suzuki:
Eh?! You already had your first live show, Shiba-kun?! That's crazy! 🤯
Yamashita:
Congratulations on your performance, Shiba-kun. I heard from some of the others that it went very well. I hope you're taking care of yourself too—you must have been very nervous. Still… I'm glad things worked out for you. 🌸
And I received one from Kurumi last night.
Kurumi:
Yo, congrats on your first show, rapper boy 🥳🔥 Wish I could've been there, but touring life, ya know? I'll catch the next one, don't worry 🙏
And hey… maybe… just maybe you swing by one of mine sometime? 👉👈 Not the 6 STAR shit, just a solo gig. 😏
Anyway… you straight up killed it. Proud of you, babe 🖤😘
Me:
Thanks, Rumi. Swing by my place when you free, we can talk about it. 🙃
Yeah. I decided to ignore Suzuki and Yamashita for the time being and opened my DM with Inazuki instead.
Me:
I swear to God, if they keep talking about me, I'm gonna riot. 🤬
Inazuki:
LMAO relax, drama king 💀
You went viral in our school overnight, what did you expect?
Just accept your main character arc already, Shiba-kun~
Me:
Come on, gyaru princess-san. Be reasonsble... You've no idea how nerve-wrecking that whole thing was 😅
I showered 3 times in 2 hours. I sprayed 3 different types of perfumes on myself... All for 250 people. That's what a debut does to you 🙃
Inazuki:
Three showers?? LMAOO 💀
Shiba-kun, that's not nerves, that's a whole spa day.
But see? All that stress and you still killed it. Crowd was vibing, Kenta almost died screaming, and even Mori couldn't hate properly.
So relax. Your debut was fire. 🔥
Me:
I fucking love you sometimes, y'know. 🖤
Inazuki:
"Sometimes"? Wow, rude. 😤
After I supported your emotional ass through your whole debut arc?
You're lucky I like you too, Shiba-kun~ 😉
Me:
I am eternally grateful for the support, Your Majesty. 👑💄🙃
Inazuki:
As you should be. 💅
Every rising star needs a gorgeous gyaru patron, obviously.
Don't forget me when you're famous, Shiba-kun~ 😉
Me:
You're a model… hmm. Wanna star in a clip? I mean, only if you want to. 🤷🏻♂️
Maybe a beach setting so you can flex that swimsuit. 😈
Inazuki:
Ohooo~ look at you already planning music videos. 😏
A beach shoot, huh? Someone just wants an excuse to see me in a bikini. 👙
But… starring in a Forsaken clip?
That might actually be kinda iconic. 💅
Send me the song first, director-san. Then I'll decide if you're worthy. 🎬
Me:
I mean, can you blame me? The first photoshoot you ever showed me was you in a bikini. Was that intentional? 🙄
Inazuki:
Please. 💅
That shoot paid for my new nails, my hair, and half my wardrobe.
But if it distracted you that much… maybe it worked. 😉
Me:
You tryina seduce me or what? 🙃
Inazuki:
Hmm… maybe a little. 😏But hey, if I can make you sweat over a photoshoot, imagine what I could do on a beach with the sun, sand, and… you know… vibes. 🌊💖
Me:
…Okay, wow. Not helping my focus right now.
I decided to close the DM with Inazuki before I got any hornier. Gyarus are scary.
I replied to Suzuki and Yamashita, then laid my head on the desk. Honestly… why did I even bother? They weren't even there.
Okay, fine, I learned from Kurumi that SIX STAR had a concert at the same time—so that explains why Suzuki didn't know.
But Yamashita? What was her excuse—buried in books all day?
…Why do I even care?
I let my forehead drop from my palm and hit the desk with a loud thud. All eyes turned to me, but I didn't even bother looking up.
My phone buzzed.
Three DMs, from the usual suspects.
I opened one of them.
Inazuki:
Hey… you okay? 😰 You just banged your head on the desk… don't scare me like that.
Me:
Hey, is it normal to be kinda pissed if someone I consider a friend didn't make it to the show? 🤔 It sounds irrational but, I don't know much about friendships, ngl. 💀
Inazuki:
Bruh… don't do that! 😰 Hitting your head won't fix anything.
But yeah… it's totally normal to feel pissed if someone you expected isn't there. Friendship isn't all chill vibes—it's expectations, disappointments, all that 💀.
Just… take a breath, okay? You still killed it out there. 🖤🔥
Yeah. I guess she's right. Still… nothing in my life makes sense anymore. Not ever since I found Suzuki singing in that empty classroom. Not ever since I realized she's Ai‑chan from SIX STAR.
Not ever since the diss track that started it all.
And now I'm asking myself…
This is what I wanted, right?
Then why does it have to come with all these complications? School life aside… I'm literally handcuffed by yakuza debt.
I—
Murderer.
Yabai's voice ripped through my head.
No! Shut up! You deserved to die!
What kind of god did I piss off to deserve all this? I can't even enjoy a single moment of success—everything crashes down, burns out, like a drug high fading too fast.
I'm just 17. A delinquent. A drug user. Someone who paid for a hit.
Nice rep, bozo.
Wait. Why the fuck am I drowning like this?
I've held on too long just to let it go now. Will my inner strength get me through it somehow?
Like Disturbed said, I'm defying the curse that has taken hold. Never surrender. I'll never be overcome.
Until the world goes cold, this battle's burned all that I've known.
Man, I should really make a rock song. In English.
And speaking of the yakuza…
By the time I finished school for the day, my sudden jump in the music scene apparently became a point of friction between the main hitters in the Matsumoto-gumi. Same smoky bar. Same cheap whiskey. Same oversized egos.
Tetsu leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over it like he owned the whole place.
"Yo, Forsaken," he said with a crooked grin, swirling his glass. "That show? Straight fire. Doing the whole Tokyo track live, that took guts. But the second one…" He chuckled, pointing his glass at me. "That one had emotion. The crowd was eating it out of your hand."
"Thanks," I said, shrugging. "Songs come from real pain. People can smell that shit."
Across the table, Maestro didn't smile. He sat perfectly still, fingers steepled like a banker closing a deal.
"I attended your performance for a simple reason," he said calmly. "To determine whether you are worth further investment."
His eyes lingered on me like he was evaluating livestock.
"The performance met expectations," he continued. "If you maintain that standard… I am prepared to increase my support. Substantially."
Like a merchant admiring the quality of a product he was about to buy in bulk.
The manager scowled, clearly gearing up for one of his usual lectures about discipline, loyalty, and "remembering your place." I wasn't in the mood to hear it.
So I cut him off.
"Manager," I said, leaning forward. "How about we make a wager?"
The table went quiet.
"If I sign a distribution deal with a label by the end of the year," I said, "you let me walk. Clean slate. And you hand me twenty-five grand."
The manager's eyebrow twitched.
"And if you don't?" he asked slowly.
"Then I stay," I said. "Work this place until I'm 23. No complaints."
I paused.
"And you take 15% of everything I earn."
The manager studied me for a long moment, like a shark deciding whether the fish in front of it was brave… or just stupid.
Maestro grinned. Tetsu let out a short laugh, clearly enjoying the situation.
The air in the bar turned heavy. I could practically feel the killing intent floating around the table.
IfI die, bury me with all my ice on, I guess.
The manager leaned forward slightly, eyebrow raised.
"You understand something, kid," he said.
"Even if you do make it big… you're still paying us our cut. Right?"
"That's exactly why I'm trying to sign a distribution deal," I shrugged. "I'm already owned by the yakuza. If a label owns me too? That's too many chains. I've only got two hands and two feet. Chain them all up, I won't even be able to move."
For a second, the table went silent.
Then Maestro and Tetsu burst out laughing at the same time.
"Man," Tetsu said between snickers, pointing his glass at me. "I love this kid."
The manager didn't laugh.
He stared at me like he was measuring how deep a grave should be.
"And how exactly do you expect me to accept you walking away at 23?" he asked slowly. "A yakuza debt isn't a student loan. That kind of thing lasts for life."
Maestro waved a hand dismissively, like the problem bored him.
"If the boy grows tired of pouring drinks," he said casually, "there's always work for him in the field."
Tetsu nodded, smirking.
"Yeah. Lil' bro didn't hesitate when he ordered the hit on Yabai," he said. "Kid's got the stomach for it. Field work would suit him just fine."
The room went quiet again.
Not the comfortable kind.
The kind where everyone waits to see who blinks first.
The manager slowly set his glass down.
The click it made against the table sounded louder than it should have.
"Field work, huh," he muttered.
His eyes stayed on me.
"You boys talk like the kid's already your property."
Tetsu smirked but didn't interrupt.
The manager leaned forward slightly.
"Let's not forget something," he said quietly. "The debt is mine."
The room cooled a few degrees.
"You want to pour money into him, Maestro? Fine. That's your hobby." He gestured lazily toward me. "You want to laugh at him, Tetsu? Be my guest."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"But don't start talking like he's free to move pieces on the board."
He tapped the table once with his finger.
"This one still belongs to the house."
A pause.
Then he looked back at me.
"That said…" he sighed through his nose.
"If the brat thinks he can crawl his way into a label deal before the year's out…"
His lips curled slightly.
"…I might enjoy watching him try."
Another pause.
"25 grand and freedom, you said?"
He leaned back.
"Fine."
His eyes narrowed.
"But if you fail…"
The room went dead silent.
"You won't be pouring drinks until you're 23."
A faint smile.
"You'll be lucky if you live that long."
You know what? Screw it.
I glared at the manager, jaw tight.
"You talk like death is supposed to scare me," I said quietly.
The table went still.
"I've been staring it in the face since I was a kid. So if you really think I'm worthless…"
I leaned forward slightly.
"…then stop talking."
The room went silent.
"Go on," I said. "Do it now. Save us all the speeches."
Tetsu's grin faded a little.
Maestro watched me carefully now, like he'd just realized the product on the table might be sharper than advertised.
The manager didn't move.
But the air between us turned razor thin.
"Kids these days…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Everyone's in such a hurry to die."
He took a slow sip of his drink.
"Back in my day, death was so common people actually tried to stay alive."
His gaze drifted back to me, giving me a look of a man staring at a stubborn child throwing a tantrum.
"Your courage might be your strength," he said with a quiet sigh. "But it might just as easily be the thing that ruins you."
He leaned back in his chair, the tension easing just a fraction.
"So here's what we'll do, kid. We'll see which one it is."
Tetsu let out a short, wheezy laugh, shaking his head. "Man… you really love to play with fire, huh?" He pulled out a joint, lit it, and waved it toward me. "Here—take it. Might calm those nerves before you sign your life away."
I hesitated, then took it, letting the smoke curl between us.
Maestro leaned back, arms crossed, eyes on the manager. "Don't forget—I got a piece of his debt too. Arranged Yabai's hit. Whatever happens, I'm in this game just like you."
The manager exhaled, long and heavy, like he'd seen too much and could barely be bothered.
"Reckless little bastard… courage like that'll either make him… or break him," he muttered, glancing at me and then at Maestro. "And you, always stirring the pot."
Tetsu snorted. "Eh, break 'em, maybe. Kill 'em? Nah. Not this one."
The room smelled of whiskey, smoke, and lingering adrenaline—but for now, I'd survived.
And sometime later, I was in the stu, headphones heavy on my ears, the beat thumping through my chest.
Kurogane was at the mic, spitting bars like he owned every corner of Matsumoto. Sora and Rei were sprawled on the couch, half-listening, half-lounging.
I yawned, fighting the edges of exhaustion—didn't sleep a wink after last night's adrenaline crash.
We hit rec.
The room vibrated with sound… and just like that… everything changed.