The next day, I showed up at the bar just in time for my shift, nursing a hangover that felt like a brick in my skull.
Kurumi handed me a few lines to snap me awake. She made me breakfast, then let me crash a little longer, curling around me in bed like she owned the space.
I felt good enough now—two energy drinks and a coffee later, my brain was barely keeping up, but it was enough to function.
Tetsu slid up to the counter, grabbing his usual whiskey.
"Yo, Forsaken. Just got back from a big hit—shelves went poof. Getting rich, on the real. Sup with you?"
"Ah, nothing much. Rough night," I shrugged.
He smirked, thumbs up. "Man, I checked your mixtape. That American-Japanese mix, the MTB collabs—it bangs."
"Thanks. Wanted to make it worth it, since it's my first," I said flatly.
"You nailed it, man," he said, nodding like it meant something.
The manager yawned, leaning back against the counter. "I'm taking 15 percent off that mixtape's earnings. Now, get back to work."
"Wait, the wager was—" I started.
"New rule," he cut me off, voice low and gravelly. "Wanna get off the hook faster? Win the bet."
Tch. Sleazy old man.
I shrugged, watching Maestro drift up beside Tetsu, his sunglasses glinting under the dim bar lights.
"Of course it's good," he said calmly. "I produced it."
Then he turned his head slightly toward me.
"I can push it. Properly," he continued, voice smooth and measured. "But that kind of work costs money."
A faint smile crept onto the corner of his lips.
"Ten percent of the earnings."
I considered it for a moment.
"As long as people hear it, I don't really care how," I said. "I'm planning a mini-tour around Nagano Prefecture anyway."
I shrugged.
"Gotta perform it live."
Maestro's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk.
"Well," he said smoothly, adjusting his sunglasses with one finger, "if I decide to push it properly…"
He let the words hang for a moment.
"…you could be doing tours all over Japan by fall."
A quiet chuckle followed.
"Connections are a beautiful thing, kid. And I've got plenty."
I weighed the options in my head, staying quiet for a good minute.
Then a voice cut through the room.
Kurumi slid into the seat next to Maestro like she owned the place, draping one arm over the back of the chair.
"So," she said lazily, glancing around the table, "what are we talking about? Already milking the new kid?"
Maestro lifted an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.
"What are you doing here, brat?" he asked, the annoyance in his voice mild but real.
Kurumi sighed dramatically, slumping back in the chair.
"I was bored, Uncle," she said, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. "No practice today, remember?"
Tetsu glanced my way, a slow, knowing smirk creeping onto his mouth.
Oi.
No way.
This guy knows.
…Fuck.
Maestro exhaled slowly through his nose, like he'd already lost the argument the second she sat down.
"Practice or not, this isn't a café," he said flatly. "We're talking business."
He tapped the table once with two fingers, then tilted his head slightly toward the door.
"So unless you suddenly developed an interest in contracts and percentages," he added dryly, "go find somewhere else to be bored."
Kurumi smirked, leaning back lazily in her chair.
"Music's my thing too, you know. And Forsaken's mixtape? It's solid, Uncle. People online are already buzzing about it."
She flicked me a quick, mischievous wink before letting her gaze return to Maestro.
Maestro's eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line.
"Hmph," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "Flattery won't get you a seat at the table, Kurumi. You're here to observe, not to play boss."
He leaned back, folding his arms, but the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed that he was listening—careful, calculating.
Kurumi rolled her eyes, leaning back lazily in her chair, one leg crossed over the other.
"Relax, Uncle," she drawled, voice dripping with playful defiance. "I'm just saying it's good. Don't act like you don't care what the streets think."
She flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder, smirking. "I'm not bossing anyone around… yet."
Tetsu smirked.
"Aren't you a SIX STAR idol? And the kid here dissed your crew mate, you know."
Kurumi shrugged, leaning back like she couldn't give less of a fuck.
"And? I don't like Aika anyway. She's too much of a stuck-up princess."
Maestro hummed, tapping a finger on the table.
"You don't have to like her. Just don't break her nose. I'm not covering her medical bills."
I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. The whole scene—Tetsu, Maestro, Kurumi, me—felt like a bad American comedy come to life.
I shrugged.
"Well, I dissed Ai‑chan because she tore through my music with no mercy."
I turned to Maestro.
"I might not hit SIX STAR levels, but the rap scene in Japan's still promising. My crowd's mostly Nagano, with some American fans sticking around after that V€xxx collab. So yeah… I'm in."
Maestro smirked, extending his hand. I took it, and we shook firmly.
"Pleasure doing business with you, kid."
Kurumi leaned back, one leg draped over the other, smirk sharp as a knife.
"Careful, rapper boy. You have no idea what you're stepping into."
No.
I know exactly what I'm getting into.
You just like making it obvious, like that changes anything.
Maestro clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose, irritation clear in the low rumble of his voice.
"You're a pain in the ass, brat," he muttered, eyes flicking toward me. "But fine. Let's see if you can handle it."
That last line… he wasn't talking to her.
He was warning me.
I turned to Kurumi. "So, what's up, princess?"
She slumped back dramatically, hand on her head, hair spilling over her shoulders like a red cascade.
"Ugh… hangover from hell," she groaned, eyes half-lidded. "Whiskey. Ice. Don't cheap out, rapper boy."
I poured the glass slowly, then tossed it across the table.
Kurumi caught it without missing a beat, tilting back her head and draining the whole thing like it was nothing.
Maestro clicked his tongue, sharp and annoyed.
"Oi, don't get drunk here, Kurumi. Or I swear, I'll tell your mom."
Kurumi smirked, waving him off like he was a fly buzzing too close.
"Relax, Uncle. I'm just warming up."
Maestro turned his glare back on me, sharp and measured.
"Kid. If she hits past her third glass, cut her off. No more alcohol."
I shrugged, expression flat.
…Yeah. Maybe that's not a bad idea.
Kurumi flopped back in her chair, arms splayed, lips pushed out in a perfect pout.
"Hey, Uncle! That's not fair! I'm not ten anymore," she complained, voice dripping with mock indignation.
Tetsu laughed, loud and loose, like he owned the room.
"Family, huh? Ain't it wholesome?" he said, grinning like a troublemaker.
I let out a dry chuckle.
"More like… a bad American comedy with Japanese dubs," I muttered, voice flat.
Tetsu laughed, full and careless.
Maestro tried to hide a smirk behind his hand, barely succeeding.
Kurumi jabbed my shoulder lightly, frown deepening.
I said nothing, my thoughts already set on the future.
And so the days of summer break slipped by, split between bar shifts and plotting the tour.
At some point, I went with Kaede to the SIX STAR show in Matsumoto.
After the final encore, Kurumi caught up to us outside the gates.
"Oh. Look who actually showed up," she drawled, leaning against the railing. "Rapper boy at a SIX STAR show."
"Yeah," I said with a shrug. "I came."
Kaede's eyes widened, and she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
"Wait… you know Ku-chan? From SIX STAR?!" she said, voice a little high and squeaky.
She glanced between me and Kurumi, eyebrows furrowed. "O‑Onii‑chan… how? Since when?"
Kurumi leaned casually against the gate, one eyebrow raised, smirk crossing her lips.
"Of course he does, little sis," she said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "We've got… history."
Kaede's eyes widened, flicking between me and Kurumi like she was trying to decode a puzzle.
I just shrugged, keeping my usual detached tone.
"Yeah. Small world."
Kurumi let out a soft laugh, tilting her head.
"Don't look so shocked, Kaede-chan. I'm not that scary… most of the time."
Kaede blinked rapidly, still trying to process it, then let out a nervous little laugh.
"Uh… yeah, I guess… not scary… I mean, you're… you're fine, I guess," she stammered, cheeks warming.
She glanced at me, then back at Kurumi, fidgeting with her fingers. "I just… didn't expect… you two to know each other."
Her words tumbled out in a jumble of curiosity and teenage awkwardness, all wide-eyed and jittery.
"Well, your brother dissed Ai, remember? The girls here might not exactly tolerate him," Kurumi said with a smirk, leaning casually against the fence.
Kaede opened her mouth, hesitant, but before she could speak, Suzuki came bounding up, practically glowing with energy.
"Oh, Kaede-chan! You didn't tell me Forsaken is your brother!" she exclaimed, eyes wide, bouncing on her toes.
Then she spun toward Kurumi, curiosity sparkling in her bright gaze. "And you? What are you doing here?"
I stayed quiet, watching both of them with my usual detached calm, letting their chaos swirl around me like background noise.
Kurumi stretched lazily, one arm draped over the fence, smirking like she always did.
"Relax, center-chan. I was just chatting with the fans," she said, her tone dripping with casual mischief. "Nothing dangerous. Yet."
Suzuki blinked, slightly flustered but still bouncing with energy.
"Fans? Oh… I see. You mean… interacting like a proper idol, huh? Not causing chaos, then," she said, tilting her head, a soft laugh escaping. "Hmph… I was worried for a second there, Ku-chan."
Kaede stepped slightly forward, hands clasped nervously, eyes switching between the two of them like a referee in a match.
"Eh… you guys are… really something together. I… I love it! You both are like… this unit that's unstoppable. Kind of scary, but… awesome."
Kurumi chuckled low, the sound lazy and edged with that signature "fuck the rules" attitude she wore like perfume.
"I love this girl," she said, tossing her hair back with a smirk that dared anyone to disagree.
Then she flicked her fingers in a casual wave over her shoulder. "Bye, Kaede-chan. Bye, Forsaken."
She sauntered off without looking back—hips swaying, red hair catching the stage lights like she owned every inch of the room she was leaving behind.
Suzuki turned to me, still flushed from the performance, sweat glistening on her collarbone, idol smile flickering like she wasn't sure if she should keep it on.
"Oh, uh… hey," she said, voice bright but breathy, that practiced idol lilt cracking just enough to sound real. "You… came."
I shrugged, hands in my pockets.
"Kaede dragged me along," I said flatly. "And I… wanted to see you on stage."
The last part came out quieter than I meant, almost swallowed by the fading crowd noise.
Suzuki's eyes widened for half a second—then she broke into a bright, bubbly laugh, the kind she usually saved for variety-show cameras.
"Forsaken coming to my shows now~?" she teased, voice lilting with playful surprise. "Careful, people might start thinking you actually like idol music."
She reached over and ruffled Kaede's hair gently, fingers light and affectionate.
Kaede giggled, ducking her head but smiling wide.
"Bye, Kaede-chan! Stay cute, okay?" Suzuki said with a wink.
Then she spun on her heel, ponytail bouncing.
"Bye, you two~ Don't have too much fun without me!"
She bolted off toward the backstage door, waving once over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Kaede watched her go, still smiling.
"She's really nice, Onii-chan," she said quietly.
I shrugged.
"Yeah. She is."
But that was only the warm-up for my own show.
We hit Nagano hard.
I was about to drop my first mixtape live at CLUB JUNK BOX, staring down a packed house of 500 fans—double the crowd I pulled at ALECX back in Matsumoto for that debut set.
Felt surreal, like the streets finally noticed.
Backstage, the energy was thick. Kurogane leaned against the wall, swirling Hennessy in a plastic cup like it was nothing, gold chain glinting under the dim lights.
"Yo, Forsaken finally dropped that fire mixtape," he drawled, voice low and gravelly, all street edge. "Rei, you better catch up, fam. Clock's tickin'."
Rei just hunched in the corner, hoodie pulled low over his face, picking at the frayed strings on his sleeve. He shrugged, barely lifting his eyes—awkward, almost shrinking into himself.
"I'm… still working on mine," he mumbled, voice cracking a little, like the words hurt to push out. "It's not ready yet. Feels like everything I write just… falls apart."
Kurogane chuckled, deep and rough, taking another slow sip. "That's the game, lil' bro. You either bleed on the track or stay quiet forever."
"Eh, I'm sure his tape gon be fire," I shrugged. "Rei, we gotta do an emo mixtape like a duo someday."
Rei nodded. Kurogane laughed.
Sora said nothing, just laying lazily on the couch.
I stood there between them, heart hammering, the bass from the opening act already rumbling through the walls.
This was it—my moment to prove I wasn't just another name fading in the Nagano scene.
The show went off without a hitch. The boys stayed right behind me the whole time, hyping every bar, every drop. I ran through my solo set first—raw, no filter—then slid into the MTB features. The crowd fed it right back: hands up, chants ripping through the room, pure energy.
It was nerve-wrecking as hell, my chest felt tight, palms slick, but once the beat hit, the nerves burned off.
Then I caught her.
Kurumi, front row center, black hair catching the stage lights. She locked eyes with me, blinked slow and mischievous, lips curling into that troublemaker smirk.
Next second she cupped her hands around her mouth and started shouting my name—loud, sharp, cutting through the noise like she owned the place.
The whole front row caught it, turned it into a wave. My name bouncing off the walls.
I almost missed my next line.
Almost.
After the show, the crowd thinned out slow, leaving the Nagano night air sharp and cool against sweat-slick skin.
We met outside, under the neon glow bleeding from the sign.
Kurumi leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Hey, rapper boy," she said, voice low and teasing. "That was amazing. You're way better at this than I thought you'd be."
My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.
"Thanks," I managed, scratching the back of my head, feeling every bit the awkward kid under her stare. "And… thanks for coming."
She tilted her head, lips curving slow. "Hey, don't be like that. I told you I would~," she purred, drawing the word out like velvet.
That did it.
I closed the distance in one step, wrapped my arms around her waist, and claimed her lips.
She didn't hesitate—she kissed me back fierce, tongue brushing mine, tasting like cherry lip gloss and the faint smoke from the venue.
Her fingers curled into my hoodie, pulling me closer, like she'd been waiting for this all night.
We broke apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, her laugh soft against my mouth.
"About time, Forsaken," she whispered.
Behind us, the bass from the next act thumped through the walls, muffled but alive. The streetlights flickered.
Somewhere down the block, Kurogane and Rei were probably still laughing about something stupid.
But right then, none of it mattered.
Just her. Just this.
The mixtape was out. The crowd had screamed my name. And Kurumi was here, lips still tingling against mine.
For the first time in a long time, the night felt like it belonged to me.