Without meaning to, my little performance at the izakaya turned into my strongest PR move so far.
People turned my cover of Thnks fr th Mmrs into TikToks, YouTube Shorts, whatever else they could clip. Shit went viral across Japan, and even overseas after V€xxx posted it on his Insta story.
Funny thing is, I only did that cover to get back at Kurumi for acting like a bitch at the party.
But hey. Traction is traction.
The numbers didn't lie. Hundreds of thousands turned into millions real quick. TikTok US was eating it up.
Then it got stupid.
Even Fall Out Boy posted it on X. Just a quick "fire cover 🔥 shoutout our fans in 🇯🇵" and suddenly I'm trending like I actually planned any of this shit.
In my desperate chase for fame, I, Shiba Takumi — aka Forsaken, aka that delinquent-looking prick from Matsumoto — became some kind of cultural bridge between Japan and the rest of the world.
Guess that makes me some kind of cultural bridge now.
Shiba Takumi. Forsaken. That western-obsessed delinquent-looking idiot from Matsumoto, connecting Japan to the rest of the world.
Sike.
More like an opportunist westaboo desperately clinging to any market that would take me.
American. Korean. Doesn't matter. I'm just looking for a way out.
Japan was never gonna work out for me.
The party made that clear enough. The land of the rising sun's got a sadistic streak when it comes to chewing up its rebel sons and spitting them out when it gets bored.
And lately?
It's only getting worse.
I don't know if Kurumi's trying to mess with me or just bored, but either way, she's got something against me. No clue what I even did this time.
Apparently trying to be a good boyfriend is just not enough anymore.
For a second, I thought back to after the party.
She found me before I could leave.
"...So that's what you think of me?" she asked, voice low.
I scoffed.
"What else would I think?" I shot back. "I'm out there losing it and you go hit on my friend?"
Her expression didn't change much.
"You're being dramatic," she said flatly. "I talked to him. That's it."
"Yeah? Looked like more than that."
She tilted her head slightly, like she was studying me.
"I wanted to know the people you surround yourself with," she replied. "Is that a crime now?"
I let out a short laugh.
"Don't twist it," I said. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
Then she smiled—small, almost mocking.
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you just don't like not being the center of attention."
"Maybe you're just a bitch I thought was different from other girls," I replied.
And that was it.
I walked away.
She screamed after me. I didn't stop.
No resolution, just a fucking mess blowing up in my head like a time ticking bomb.
And Inazuki? She'd been avoiding me ever since the party.
No more random DMs, no more acting like she cares. Guess seeing the real me killed whatever interest she had.
I ran into her this morning on the way to school. Suzuki was off doing some concert with SIX STAR, so I was on my own. Hands in my pockets, mind somewhere else—honestly expecting to run into Yamashita like usual.
Instead, the universe decided to be funny and put her right in my path.
She was walking with Nakamura, who waved the second she saw me.
"Good morning, Shiba-kun," she said, bright and normal.
Inazuki stayed quiet at first, looking away like the mere sight of me might burn her eyes. Nakamura glanced at her, confused, but didn't say anything.
I raised a hand in a half-assed greeting.
"Yo, Nakamura. Inazuki."
Only then did Inazuki finally turn her head. She gave me a fake little smile.
"…Yeah, like, good morning, Shiba-kun," she said, voice flat, like she'd rather be literally anywhere else.
And, honestly… fair.
Nakamura—bless her—picked up the weird vibe but still tried to keep things light.
"So, how was your birthday, Shiba-kun? Did you do anything fun?"
Yeah. My girlfriend showed up with yakuza and coke, I fought your best friend's boyfriend… super chill stuff.
I shrugged.
"Nah. nothing special. Just stayed home, ate some cake, visited my family for a bit. Mom made extra food—don't think she was expecting me to show up, though."
That part wasn't even a lie.
If she knew the rest, though? Yeah.
"Ah, that actually sounds nice," Nakamura said with a small smile.
"Yeah. What about you guys? How was your weekend?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
Inazuki finally reacted—just not how a normal person. She shot me a look like I'd offended her just by opening my mouth, then suddenly grabbed Nakamura by the sleeve.
"Ah—sorry, Shiba-kun," she said quickly. "I just remembered I actually got something super important to do first thing in the morning. Me and Haruna are gonna go ahead, okay? See you~"
I blinked.
"W-wait, Mika-chan, slow down—" Nakamura complained, looking back at me apologetically as she was pulled away.
I just stood there watching them hurry off.
Yeah… it makes sense she'd keep her distance after I punched her boyfriend and all that chaos went down.
Still sucks, though.
Whatever.
I had other priorities anyway.
Like my career.
The classroom faded into background noise as I stayed half-standing at my desk, phone in hand, already mentally elsewhere. Next move, next step, next exit route.
I opened Instagram and went straight to my DMs with Daeun.
Me: I'm like hey, what's up, hello.
Yeah. I'd really have to stop quoting American rappers like I'm some walking playlist when talking to Korean artists.
A reply came fast.
Daeun: Wow. The international star texting first? Should I feel honored? 😒
Me: Don't get used to it. 🙃
Daeun: Right. 🙄
I'm good by the way, just… working on something. You?
Me: Meh. Kinda hoping the roof would fall on me so I wouldn't have to come to school anymore.
Daeun: Omg, are you always this dramatic? 😶
Me: Most of the time.
She reacted with a melting emoji, a clear signal she didn't want to feed into my dark humor.
Daeun: I saw your cover, by the way.
It was actually really good.
Me: Thanks. It was impulsive. My birthday party went to shit, so I crashed on stage.
Daeun: …that explains it.
So? You just flexing in my DMs, or did you need something? 🤔
Me: Actually, I've got a track, if you're interested in collaborating with the "international star". 🙃
Daeun: You don't waste time, do you? 😶
"Okay, send it. If it's good, we talk... If it's not, i'll still tell u"
I sent the file. It was a verse I recorded right after the fight with Kurumi. It sounded like this:
"I feel you crawl inside my skin
Do you like to tear me down from within
I'm like a spam notification on your screen
Like an old pic, forgotten in Recycle Bin
Can you stop playing these mind games
When I really thought our love was not a match of chess
I'll get rich and send you a postcard from Budapest
And you'll be stuck in Tokyo, missing me like mad
I just really wanted to get this off my chest,
I'm flying to Seoul in a private jet
We could've gone together, but it's okay
I don't need this kind of tension anyway"
After the bell rang and lunch break was right around the corner, my phone buzzed. She replied.
Daeun: "…That's intense. It doesn't feel like you made that after a fight. It feels like you made it because of a fight."
"But the 'I'm flying to Seoul' part… You say it like you were already sure I'd say yes."
Me: "I was about to pay you whatever you wanted for the feature anyway."
Daeun: "…That's not how features work. But I get it."
"You don't really ask people. You just move like it's already decided, then wait to see who follows."
"It's a good track though. Really intense, I'll give you that."
There was a short pause on her end, before she typed again.
Daeun: "...I'll do it."
"But next time… just ask."
Me: Thanks. I'll fly to Seoul to shoot the video as soon as I can, after you done with your part.
Daeun: "If you're coming all the way to Seoul, just come with me to the label—we'll present the project together."
Ok, done deal. I stopped in the hallway, looking through the window, at the blue sky.
Even the clouds seemed to scream opportunity.
That day at work, I was stuck behind the counter washing dishes again.
There was a new girl on shift—fresh hire, still doing that thing where she tries to look confident while clearly memorizing everything in real time. The manager left her up front so she could "learn faster," which is corporate speak for sink or swim, kid.
Naturally, I got drafted into unpaid mentorship.
At some point she was stacking plates a little too fast, talking to herself under her breath.
"Okay… cups go here… plates here… don't drop anything… don't drop anything…"
She glanced at me mid-routine.
"Uh—hey, you've worked here long, right?" she asked, voice hesitant but trying to stay polite. "Is it always this… intense?"
"You've no idea," I replied flatly.
She immediately fumbled the next cup trying to gesture while speaking.
"—ah, wait, wait—!"
I caught it before it hit the sink.
She froze.
"…Thanks," she said quickly, bowing a little too hard. "Sorry. I'm still getting used to it."
"Be careful next time," I replied simply.
Then I went back to dishes.
Anyway, at some point I clocked out of dish duty and walked over to the manager.
"Yo, boss. I've been here for months. Can I get two days off?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me over the counter like he was weighing meat at a market.
"I've allowed you a level of freedom most boys mistake for kindness," he said finally, voice low and rough. "Don't confuse it with permission that can't be taken back."
A long sigh, the kind he always makes when he's tired of my tantrums.
"Now tell me. What are you doing that's more important than this place?"
I showed him the DMs with Daeun—our agreement, the track, the flight to Seoul, the video shoot. Two days. That's it.
He read it without changing expression.
Then he leaned back slightly.
"A Korean girl… a Japanese boy… music," he muttered, like he was weighing currency, not people. "An unusual combination."
His eyes narrowed a bit more.
"But unusual things either make money… or trouble. I prefer the first. I want 15 percent of everything this collaboration makes. The song, the video, streaming, performances — all of it."
Ah, shit, here we go again.
The yakuzas don't do anything unless there's a cut.
Fine.
"Deal," I said, tired.
He gave a small nod, like the conversation had merely confirmed something he already knew.
"Good," he said. ""Don't make me regret my kindness."
I nodded, then got back to work.
If my plan worked, I wouldn't even have to deal with bar shifts in the future. No more sticky floors, no more forced smiles at three in the morning, no more counting tips like they were blood money.
I'd be free—truly free—to chase my career and the dream that had kept me alive through every dead-end night.
I stared at the faint glow of the streetlight bleeding through the blinds, heart pounding with equal parts hope and terror.
One way or another, everything was about to change.