“The Sengoku team messed up. They didn’t wait long enough to release their video. They saw Akiba’s stream and panicked. I heard their original strategy was to wait three days, until the flood of final-exam vids started to taper off, then post theirs. They never dreamed that we’d secure a collab with Azusa Harajuku and beat them to the post! Ah, I can just picture their shell-shocked faces!”
“R-really? But how did you know when the Sengoku team planned to post their video?”
“A trade secret. ♪”
“Huh?!!!”
After all, what I’d done was dastardly. I’d had Zeke hack into Sengoku’s account and find out his posting schedule. This kind of intrusion falls under the umbrella of cybercrime. I could get arrested for this. So of course, I’d never tell anyone the truth.
And so, thanks to Shiika’s efforts and my behind-the-scenes machinations, the number of likes and views we got shot up, and it looked like the Shibuya Gang’s spot on the special stage at the Ryouran Summer Festival was secured.
You can only ever enter an entirely new world once. The second time, you see, it’s no longer new to you.
I’d grown accustomed to the dimly lit interior with its flickering blue and purple lights, the feel of the bass reverberating across the floor, and the crowd of excitable party people.
We were back at the underground club Ootsuka had taken us to once before.
Shiika and I took seats at the bar and greeted the owner, who by now was a familiar face.
Yes, we were here to get totally wasted and celebrate our victory in the final exam… NOPE. Never gonna happen. Shiika and I were more comfortable in the club now, yes, but our personalities were still the polar opposite of club-going party people. We’d rather bask in victory, lolling around in our own rooms at home.
We were only here at the club on Ootsuka’s invite.
Just then, the club went silent.
The blaring music ceased, and the dancers onstage hurried backstage.
“It’s about time.”
“Yes. I can hardly wait.”
Drinking our (nonalcoholic) cocktails, courtesy of the club owner, we gazed up at the stage.
Today’s main event, the shooting of Ryuzetsuran’s new dance video, was about to commence.
The video Ootsuka would post on Impachi Live as her entry for the final exam.
She decided to shoot it in this club, which you might even call her second home, as a way of giving back to the community that raised her.
And she wanted us to see her shine, so she’d invited Shiika and I to watch, too.
And we weren’t the only guests.
“You guys are in the Music Department! Why are you here?!”
A flamboyant, red-haired female grabbed my shoulder.
First-year Dance Department, Haruka Gokokuji.
She had on an angry, hateful expression as she closed in on us.
“This isn’t a place for lame jerks like you. Get lost!”
“Now, now, that’s not nice. Your boyfriend lost to us ‘lame jerks,’ or have you somehow managed to forget about that already?”
“Guh!”
“I believe our final scores were, yes, DOUBLE theirs! Were they not, hmm?”
“Th-that’s because you jerks ruined their collab with Azusa Harajuku! You cowards!”
“We’re cowards?! We merely operated within the rules! It’s Sengoku’s fault for not signing an exclusive contract with Harajuku. Blaming others for your lack of artistic ability… Now, where’s the soul in that, hmm?”
“You… You… You…!”
Unable to find the right words to respond to my taunts, Gokokuji bit her lip in frustration.
Then she glared at me with sharp, determined eyes.
“Don’t get carried away, you insignificant little blob of frog spawn. Ryan’s gang will pay you back for this. Don’t go thinking you can disrespect us and get away with it!”
“Oh, I’m scared. You’re nothing but a thug. Guess there really is a nasty side to this culture.”
“Sh-shut your mouth! We live as outlaws. Adults are the ones who put labels on us. We have the right to our own space!”
“Your own space…,” Shiika muttered Gokokuji’s angry words.
Her eyes glowed with a strange light as she glared at Gokokuji.
Normally, when confronted with an aggressive person like Gokokuji, Shiika would shrink and hide her eyes behind her long bangs.
But today, due to the aftereffects of her post-composition altered state, Shiika seemed much bolder than usual.
Now she was fearless, willing to take on an angry yakuza like Gokokuji. See, this is why I have to constantly monitor Shiika when she gets like this.
Shiika stared Gokokuji in the eyes and said, “Are you scared?”
“Huh?!”
“The color of your voice… It’s inconsistent. You try to look strong, but you’re actually weak. And because you’re weak, you seek community. But unless you appear to be strong, you feel that you won’t be accepted. So you pretend to be and continue to push forward.”
Shiika’s voice was soft, but its intonation and rhythm were unique. Using her special ability to see the colors in sound, she was able to paint an accurate picture of the mentality of others. Her ability to paint pictures with sounds wasn’t just limited to her singing.
Entering the psyche of another, digging deep, stirring up the existent colors as if swirling a paintbrush around…
A ruthless method of true communication.
Shiika almost never does this during everyday conversations, since she’d feel too guilty messing with someone’s mind. But in her post-composition altered state, she seemed to be lacking her usual sense of consideration.
Gokokuji just stood there dazed. She looked taken aback by Shiika’s overwhelming presence.
“You talk about the pride in hip-hop, about soul, about what’s cool. But really, you’re just afraid to lose your place, your community. In order to preserve it, you try to protect yourself.”
Gokokuji was being backed into a corner. A clear voice was digging down deep into her true colors.
“Do you want to live like a gang member?”
“…Don’t be stupid. Of course I don’t.”
“But your voice is weak. You’re prepared to go down a dark path.”
“I just want…! I just want to live a cool life as a dancer!”
“You wanted to be like Tatsu.”
“Wh-what? Darn it, the club owner told you that?!”
Gokokuji glared reproachfully at the owner, who was wiping glasses behind the counter.
But the big man just tilted his head as if to say, Hmm? What are we talking about?
The owner had told us that Ootsuka and Gokokuji used to be friends. No one said anything about Gokokuji wanting to emulate Ootsuka, so it seemed like Shiika had just taken a shot in the dark with that one. Judging by Gokokuji’s response, though, it seemed like she’d hit the mark.
Shiika’s clear eyes seemed to see through everything. Gokokuji must have sensed it, too. So she clucked her tongue angrily and sighed, as if she’d given up resisting.