"T—Taki-chan—?!"
Addressed so casually, so intimately, by Kazama Haru, Shiina Taki's beautiful eyes—usually sharp enough to cut through anyone's nonsense—flew wide in unguarded shock.
Starting from the pale line of her neck, a burning crimson bloomed up her fair cheeks at a visible speed, as though someone had tipped a kettle of hot water over her collarbone.
"W-who said you could call me that?! You really are a shameless flirt—use proper honorifics, mou!"
She tried to layer her tone with something fiercer, hoping to smother the embarrassment before it could show, and even unconsciously stomped one foot against the practice-room floor with a soft tan.
But that tiny, involuntary movement—one she didn't even register herself—completely gave away the panic fluttering under her ribs.
Watching her—so obviously flustered, yet still fluffing her fur like a startled kitten pretending to be a tiger—Takamatsu Tomori and Nagasaki Soyo exchanged a glance, their smiles curving deeper in perfect sync.
Kazama Haru blinked with practiced innocence. "Hmm? I think it sounds pretty natural, though. And I hear Akari-chan and Nagasaki-san call you that all the time, so… why can't I?"
"Because you're not a girl, that's why! You can't just call me by my given name like it's nothing! In short—it's just not allowed, okay?!"
Faced with that shamelessly "wounded puppy" expression of his, the sharp retort Shiina Taki had been ready to fire off caught somewhere in her throat. She raked a hand through her long hair with visible frustration, and by the time words finally came out, all the force she'd rehearsed had leaked away.
"Is that so. What a shame."
Kazama Haru let out a small, theatrical sigh of regret—but his tone carried the unmistakable mischief of I'll definitely try again next time.
Choosing not to push further, he glanced at the lyric notebook clutched to her chest and steered the conversation forward.
"So, since Akari-chan already finished the lyrics, the next step is composition. Anyone here want to volunteer to write the melody for our band's debut song?"
The nudge in his voice was gentle, but his gaze drifted—deliberately—toward Shiina Taki.
Composing it himself would honestly be the safer bet, but he'd already sketched out the framework of his counterattack against the Ryujin-kai in his head, and he didn't want to burn wish points on a composition skill he could delegate.
At the same time, he knew perfectly well that if it meant giving Takamatsu Tomori's lyrics a soul of their own, this tsundere of a drummer would leap at the chance without hesitation.
So Kazama Haru wanted to quietly "assist" Shiina Taki—hand her the very opportunity she was aching for, let her breathe life into Akari's carefully-strung words, and make everyone happy in the process.
Once he'd dealt with his own mess later, he'd take on other songs himself and share the composition load with her.
"I'll do it!"
Just as Kazama Haru predicted, Shiina Taki—clutching the notebook tighter against her chest—agreed almost the instant the words left his mouth.
"Ehh? Taki-chan, you compose too?" Nagasaki Soyo tilted her head, honestly surprised.
"I haven't studied it before, but—for Akari, I can pick it up in a few days."
Shiina Taki declared it like a vow, her eyes lit from within with the kind of conviction that brooked no argument.
Kazama Haru nodded. "Alright. Since Taki-chan wants to do it, I'll leave it in your hands."
"Yes, trust me! I'll take Akari's song seriously—more seriously than anything. And also—didn't I just tell you to use honorifics?! Why are you still—ugh, fine, call me whatever you want, you dummy…"
She'd started with a firm, resolute nod, only to realize halfway through that Kazama Haru still hadn't obeyed and was cheerfully continuing to use that mortifying nickname a boy had no business using on her. Her tone flared with annoyance, then wilted into a soft, helpless surrender.
"Then, in that case—why don't we all just call each other by our first names from here on?"
As though the idea had struck her that very second, Nagasaki Soyo lightly clapped her fist into her open palm. Her gaze slid up to meet Kazama Haru's, and a smile bloomed on her already-lovely face—warmer, sweeter than her usual sugared expression.
"Would that be okay… Haru-kun?"
That kind of smile—delivered at that exact angle—made Kazama Haru's thoughts stutter for half a heartbeat. While internally marveling at just how frighteningly skilled this fox really was, he returned it with a smile of his own.
"Ah, no problem at all. Soyo-chan, please take care of me from here on."
Closing that thread of conversation, Kazama Haru turned toward the empty practice stage waiting behind him.
"Now that everyone's here, let's pull up some songs online that we all like and jam through them, the same way Rana-chan and I did last time. It'll help us get a feel for each other's rhythm too."
The four of them nodded and slid into their respective positions. Using Taki's tablet to pull up the score for a popular track, they lifted their instruments and struck the first chord together.
Just like Shiina Taki's earlier reaction, the moment Nagasaki Soyo witnessed the razor-tight, seamless guitar interplay between Kazama Haru and Kaname Rana, her fingers—until then casually walking along the bass strings—faltered visibly.
A tangled emotion, guilt and regret braided together, crept quietly into the corner of her chest.
If she was being honest with herself—after this brief exchange, this Kazama Haru, whether in the way he spoke to her or in the raw skill he displayed as a musician, was practically flawless.
If she hadn't been so stubbornly chained to her past band, then forming a new one with him might genuinely have been… a wonderful choice.
No. The arrow's already left the bow. Since she'd already decided to use him as a disposable pawn, she couldn't allow herself even a single soft thought about him.
Her bass slipped through several notes in a row, and a faint shadow flickered across Nagasaki Soyo's downturned eyes.
If I can reconcile with Saki-chan and revive CRYCHIC…
Even if it means becoming the villain of someone else's story—even if it means twisting this man's sincerity toward the band into something I can exploit—my plan has to move forward, one step at a time…
After band practice wrapped up, Kazama Haru made a beeline for home, barely allowing himself a lingering thought about anything else.
Ryuzu Momo had warned him more than once—firmly, gently, and everything in between—so during the walk back he kept his guard cranked to its absolute maximum, senses stretched thin for any hint of a sudden ambush from the alleyways.
Coming home in a state of that much wound-up tension, like a soldier posted on the front lines, Kazama Haru let his exhausted body sink into the sofa like a drunkard collapsing into a futon.
He absent-mindedly flipped the TV to a variety show channel—some comedy act filling the room with tinny laughter as background noise—and started turning over how to snuff out this lurking threat as quickly as possible.
Even if the other side hadn't lifted a finger yet, he was already sick to death of this crawling, low-grade anxiety, gnawing at him despite the fact that he'd done nothing wrong.
There was no way to know when those stray dogs would come barreling out of the dark with their teeth bared, and there was a real chance they'd already sniffed out the location of his apartment.
To keep his house from getting torched in the middle of the night—to avoid the tragic anime cliché of dying to smoke inhalation in his own bed—Kazama Haru made up his mind then and there to scrap his original plan of waiting until the band had gained traction before finding an opportunity.
He had to move first. Over these past few days, without him quite realizing it, a genuinely effective counterattack had assembled itself piece by piece in the back of his mind.
With that decided, the first thing he needed to do was carefully comb back through the intel on the Ryujin-kai that he'd previously exchanged wish points to obtain.
Looking closer this time, he did indeed find a piece of information he'd completely glossed over before—one that, given his current situation, was absolutely critical.
In the long roster of hostile factions, one name stood out, printed in bold, impossible to miss.
—The Ryuju Group.