"Remember, no singing," Kaede warned, holding up a finger. "Not a word."
Konrad couldn't even sigh.
The best he could do was pretend to zip his mouth shut, and that didn't seem to convince the dragoness. If anything, she raised an eyebrow as he grabbed his stuff.
"Why the sword?" she demanded, right after telling him not to talk.
Ugh. He had to waste his precious mana on telepathy again.
'It's not for fighting. A prop and a safety net, in case my mana overflows.'
Or was it a bit too optimistic?
The Immigrant Song was a banger, but it resonated better with people his age.
His soul's age, not this vessel's.
And here, he got a bunch of high school girls instead, screaming in ecstasy as their pink idol left the stage. Of course, that didn't mean they couldn't set the club on fire, but—
He had to hold back. Now of all times.
Learning from their past mistake, he at least made sure nobody stopped to argue with those emo kids. And that they would only start playing once everyone took their place.
The audience fell silent as they climbed the stairs, but it was different now.
Not a 'why the hell are they here?' but a 'what are they going to do next?' type of silence.
The air was heavy with anticipation, static electricity, ozone twisting Konrad's nose.
What crazy lightning he could've cast from that? But instead—
He stabbed the blade into the ground, a gasp washing over the hall.
Well, the song was about Vikings—it had to go hard.
At Kaede's signal, every instrument punched in at once.
The opening was even tougher than the sword, mouths falling open when Yuki started to howl.
The dragoness joined a third above her, turning the intro even more aggressive, eerie—
And loud.
"'Come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs flow."
Yuki sang in Japanese, the words hitting different.
Even high school girls could understand her, faces changing from apprehension to awe.
And, wait, was this the first time Konrad actually looked at them?!
He had felt their presence before, but concentrated only on the band.
There were so many people squeezed into such a small, dark basement. Most of them gave up the pretense of not liking their band. Headbanging, cheers—only a few could resist the urge.
That was quite motivating.
"So now you'd better stop, And rebuild all your ruins, For peace and trust can win the day, Despite of all your losing—"
The song devolved into psychedelic oh-s and ah-s.
If only he could sing along.
But he still had the solo.
The feeling of it soaked into his veins during all their practice sessions. Even if he wasn't a Jimmy Page, he was almost as strong and fast with his mana pouring into his fingers.
The crowd's reaction was immediate and visceral.
Not that he cared.
His world narrowed to the strings, eyes closed. His playing expanded beyond time and space. Cheers faded into oblivion as he lost track of everything else, the solo nearing its peak, and—
CLICK.
Everything went dark.
That was no metaphor: panic washed over the audience.
His eyes snapped open, hearing only Kaede's drums, but—
If she kept playing, they couldn't have been under attack.
A simple blackout. Sabotage? Whatever. He made it part of the show.
With all the tension in the air, the smallest fragment of his essence ignited a huge lightning bolt. The thunder was loud in the closed hall, yanking back everyone's attention to the stage.
He used magic to amplify his guitar without slowing down. No pause. No surrender.
The reactions? Overwhelming.
He couldn't spend enough mana that would not earn itself back twice over. His heart thrummed with the beat, almost missing the breeze as Maou disappeared.
The keys had nothing else to do anyway.
The lights came back on, but the solo that should have lasted a minute would not stop. Not until his fingers started to bleed—which, fuck, he had to learn how to hold back.
But that was for another day.
The song ended as it had started.
It was abrupt, leaving everyone gasping.
His essence didn't overflow, but yanking his sword out, the crowd almost exploded in cheers.
And seeing the audience, like, actually looking at them—everything felt more real.
The owner's sudden appearance, too.
"A, um. Little technical break," the manager said. He pushed them off-stage while the audience was still screaming. "Don't go anywhere, there are still four more songs to go, haha."
He took the mic down with him, his forced smile melting off his face.
It only took a moment to see why.
As young as the Demon Lord appeared, he was still not someone to mess with. He held the frontmen of their rivals by the throat, right next to the switch box in a narrow side corridor.
By the time Konrad put the pieces together, Kaede was already rubbing her hands.
As if she expected a public execution. But the way Yuki reacted—
"Gahah, are you for real, Shujinkode-chan?" She was hysterical. "I can't even. Using the kill switch is such a villainous move. Are you this desperate to win now? Damn, we must be good."
And while Midori-kun didn't grip him hard enough to suffocate, the guy's face sure turned red.
"T-that was to prove you've cheated," he lashed out. "I-it was all from playback. T-this guy wasn't even holding his guitar right. And, and—you kept playing without electricity?!"
Whoopsie. Konrad had no comeback.
He couldn't talk anyway. But to his dismay, Yuki-san disarmed him with three simple words.
"Oh? That's magic."
Deadpan. Deja vu.
The fact that she could spout a truth in ways nobody would believe her—
"How'd they playback without electricity, Shujinkode-kun?!" the manager scolded him, too.
Konrad sighed, tapping the Demon Lord's wrist to let the frontman go.
"You'll regret this," the guy gasped, rubbing his throat as he scooted away.
He sure had something villainous about him, as Yuki-san put it.
Her hysterical laugh filled the small corridor as they watched him run.
An absolute chaos incarnate.
No doubt, she enjoyed this, her mismatched eyes bright. Then, with a flip of a switch—
"Okay, what are we playing next? Time to kick their asses for good."
Professional mode on.
Midori-kun couldn't change his mood that fast.
He still seemed upset about the sabotage, wiping his hands in disdain.
"Ugh, something lyrical, I guess," he grunted while they returned to the green room.
Right. They have fought a lot about the two final picks.
Konad wanted something from the seventies. But even after putting his heels down, he only got the one Immigrant Song. And it didn't even get to be the high point of the evening.
"Wake Me Up When September Ends," Kaede offered with a smirk. "Then, In The End."
Not that either of those was bad, but—
They weren't the hits he grew up with.
And to make things worse, most of September End was one single guitar, playing alone.
Him. Even though he wasn't the one singing it, he'd be at the center of attention again.
Something he always hated. Well, at least until today.