One Kick Girl — Chapter 78: "Enter: Discordia Beatmare and the Pitchfork Trio"
Shion POV — music battle, satire, the calm before NOT calm
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We should've seen the disaster coming.
Anything scheduled after Raon breaks an algorithm is basically a natural disaster warning.
But Manager Kimchi, in his infinite delusion, believed in "momentum."
> "Viral is like surfing! Once you catch one wave, you keep riding!
Up next: collaboration!"
I blinked at him.
"Collaboration with WHO?"
He swiveled a TV around like a game show host revealing a prize.
On the screen was a neon concert stage bathed in purple and electric blue.
A tall woman spun at the center, half-rockstar, half-banshee, dual-wielding DJ turntables like they were medieval axes.
Discordia Beatmare.
A name that sounds like a disease you get from using broken earbuds.
Behind her danced three gremlin-looking backup performers:
Pitchfork 1 — Fuchsia hair, sunglasses at night.
Pitchfork 2 — Mascara that looked like they lost a fistfight with raccoons.
Pitchfork 3 — A mohawk that violated building codes.
"The Pitchfork Trio," Raon whispered, awestruck.
"Are they… powerful musicians?"
"No," Raon said. "They're influencers who discovered music last Thursday."
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1. The Contract of Screams
Discordia arrived IRL with an entourage of seven ring lights, two bass cannons, and the kind of ego you usually find in god-tier raid bosses.
She pointed at Raon.
"You're the one who kicked my stream rankings."
Raon blinked. "I've never met you."
Discordia snapped her fingers.
Her phone projected a 3D chart showing a red downward spiral.
> BEATMARE RELEVANCE — WEEKLY
Raon folded her arms.
"That's not my problem."
"I don't care," Discordia said.
Her eyes were the color of influencer tears.
"We're doing a collaboration.
A musical battle.
Live."
I stepped between them before the stage collapsed under the weight of ego.
"Okay, let's discuss terms, safety, technical—"
Discordia shoved a scroll in my face.
A real parchment scroll. Wax seal. Gothic font.
COLLABORATION CONTRACT
ARTICLE 4: PARTICIPANT MUST BE CHALLENGED VIA COMBAT PERFORMANCE.
Raon squinted. "What happens if we don't sign?"
The Pitchfork Trio spoke in unison like cursed interns:
> "You get shadowbanned."
Raon snatched the pen.
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2. The Concert Arena
If you've never seen a music venue built by people who don't understand music, imagine:
Bass speakers taller than apartment buildings
Laser cannons designed by someone who hates retinas
Floors made of vibrating LED panels
And every five minutes a random fog burst that smelled like bubblegum and napalm
We were barely mic-checked when the first wave of sound hit.
Discordia snapped her fingers.
The Pitchfork Trio launched into formation, screaming like banshees who got discount coupons to the underworld.
One of them yelled, "DROP THE BEAT!"
And then they literally threw a beat.
A glowing sphere of violent rhythm flew across the stage at Mach 3.
Raon dodged instinctively, and it smashed into a stack of amps.
They exploded like fireworks made of angry Spotify reviews.
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3. The First Clash
Discordia spun her twin turntables.
Each scratch of her vinyl weapon sent out neon shockwaves.
The speakers roared, and the ground shook like an earthquake made of unpaid royalties.
Raon held her stance.
"Kicking music is ridiculous," she muttered.
I raised a finger.
"You kicked a volcano once."
"…Alright, fair."
Beatmare struck the opening chord.
A sonic shockwave blasted toward Raon.
Raon spun.
Her heel cut a perfect arc.
She kicked the sound itself.
Energy cracked like shattering glass.
The crowd gasped.
The Pitchfork Trio shrieked, "CONTENT!!!"
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4. The Trio's Combo
They lunged at Raon.
Pitchfork 1 swung glowsticks.
Pitchfork 2 screamed motivational quotes.
Pitchfork 3 tried to drop lo-fi beats for studying.
Their power combined into something terrifying:
The Viral Shuffle.
It forced Raon's body to start dancing in perfect sync with meme choreography.
She flailed, horrified.
"MAKE IT STOP—SHION IT'S IN MY SPINE—"
Discordia smirked, arms crossed like a DJ demigod.
"Dance, little kicker. Dance for the views."
I toggled emergency countermeasures.
Raon's training playlist:
Metal, 300 BPM, ZERO lyrics.
Pure chaos.
Her muscles snapped back to instinct.
The Viral Shuffle shattered.
She cracked her knuckles.
"No more dancing."
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5. Raon's Counter
Beatmare scratched her vinyl.
Chains of musical notes formed like spectral whips.
Raon sprinted.
The first kick tore through a bass drop. The second shattered a wall of neon treble. The third sent Pitchfork 1 flying into the fog machine.
The other two tried to retaliate.
Raon blurred. Two more kicks.
THUD. THUD.
The replies bounced off the LED floor like malfunctioning rubber ducks.
Discordia's eye twitched.
"You think you can just kick your way through music?!"
Raon grinned.
"…Have you met me?"
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6. Discordia Unleashes
She raised her arms.
The stage went silent.
Every light, every speaker, every cable in the arena bent toward her power.
From above, a massive ring of spectral vinyl descended, rotating like a halo of doom.
I gulped.
"Oh no. She's using—
THE FULL LP."
Discordia screamed:
"STREAM. OR. SCREAM."
The ring collapsed into a tidal wave of black, purple, and pulsing bass.
Raon inhaled.
Then—
She sprinted, leapt straight into the vortex, and vanished.
The arena went dead quiet.
All that remained was the sound of a bassline… breaking apart.
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End of Chapter 78