Chapter 84: Black Thursday
Twang!
The music came to a screeching, jarring halt.
A heavy silence smothered the room. The only sound left was the dying vibration of a single guitar string.
'Wait. Why did everyone stop?'
Hitori's fingers froze. She glanced around tentatively, only to find every eye in the room fixed on her.
Her bandmates—the cool, indifferent professionals—looked like they were on the verge of a total meltdown. Their glares were heavy, filled with an unreadable, suffocating intensity.
Hitori's head creaked as she turned it, looking like a cornered mouse scanning for an exit.
'Did I... did I mess up? That's impossible. I practiced so hard. My skills are supposed to be top-tier... right?'
While Hitori spiraled into self-doubt, the woman who had recommended her was up on the judging platform, frantically whispering to the people beside her. She looked livid, but she was clearly trying to salvage the situation, arguing that her "find" was just nervous and needed one more shot.
After a tense moment, the woman marched down and stood in front of Hitori, a forced, pained smile plastered on her face.
"Listen, um..."
She stopped mid-sentence.
She suddenly realized that she had brought this girl here just to fill a quota. Aside from her online handle, "Guitar Hero," she didn't know a single thing about her. Not even her real name.
"...What's your name?"
"Ah... I'm... Hitori Gotoh."
Hitori caught a glimpse of her face and immediately jerked her head away, staring at the floor.
"Sigh. Look, Hitori. You need to watch your tempo. Stop playing for yourself. That last set was a complete and utter disaster. Do you understand?" The woman tried to keep her voice level, remembering her own lack of professionalism in not even knowing the girl's name.
Unfortunately, even a "calm" tone from an authority figure felt like a thunderbolt to Hitori's soul.
'A disaster? Watch the tempo?'
"A-ah... um... was I... was I really that bad?"
Hitori forced the words out, but her head remained stubbornly turned away.
The woman noticed this and her thin eyebrows shot up. 'What's with this brat? She won't even look me in the eye? Where is her respect?!'
"You didn't realize? What do you think your ears are for? Slow down. Don't be so self-centered. Do you hear me?" Her voice turned sharp and cold.
"This is your absolute last chance. I have dozens of applicants waiting for an audition over the next two days. I only gave you a slot because I genuinely respected your clips online. Don't waste my time. Now, get it together."
With a sharp pivot, she marched back to the judging area. She had plenty of backups on her contact list. If this girl failed, she'd just move on to the next. But for the sake of her own reputation, she needed Hitori to at least sound competent. She didn't expect a star performance anymore—she just wanted her to not embarrass her.
"..."
Hitori stood frozen, the world spinning around her.
'Hitori, Hitori, stay calm! Think of something, quickly!'
'I don't want to give up.'
'I know I'm good at this.'
But time refused to wait for her.
The familiar rhythm of the intro started up again.
Hitori shut her eyes tight, her fingers trembling as they touched the strings. She desperately tried to listen to the others, to find the groove.
But the more she listened, the more the panic clawed at her throat.
'How do I sync up? Should I slow down? Maybe the bass can't keep up with me. Wait, am I too slow now? It sounds wrong. No, still too fast. Slow down, slow down...'
'Fast. Slow. Fast. Slow.'
The obsession with pleasing everyone else became a whirlpool, dragging her down into the depths.
Her fingers began to stutter. The guitar's melody twisted into a distorted, agonizing groan.
SCREECH—!
A violent blast of feedback tore through the room.
Hitori snapped out of her trance, only to find her hand shaking. A single guitar string had snapped, curling away like a dead vine.
She stared blankly at the instrument.
"GOTOH!!"
The woman's voice thundered from the platform, raw with fury.
Then came the whispers. The judging staff and the crew were no longer silent.
The "cool" bandmates were no longer indifferent. They looked almost relieved, wearing smug expressions as if they'd just seen a rival eliminated from the race. It didn't matter that they played different instruments—they just wanted her gone.
The whispers from the back of the room seemed to amplify, echoing in her ears like a cacophony of judgment.
"What was that? Has she even played a guitar before?"
"Seriously, who recommended this joke? She's way worse than the people from yesterday. She's a total amateur."
"Heh, look at that guitar. It's an old piece of junk. No wonder the string snapped."
"Just get off the stage already. She's just standing there like a statue."
"Exactly. A gloomy girl like that doesn't belong in rock. It's supposed to be high-energy, not a funeral."
"She's so arrogant, too. Didn't even look at us once while she played. Just kept her eyes closed the whole time..."
"...Depressing..."
"...Weirdo..."
"..."
Countless voices swirled around her. Maybe they were real. Maybe they were just her imagination.
Hitori's brain had checked out. It had lost the ability to process thought.
All she knew was that she had blown it.
Even though...
Even though she'd finally found the courage.
Even though she'd received their blessings.
Even though she'd finally thought she'd found a way.
'Is this it? Is this the end?'
'Is my dream of using a band to change myself just... over?'
'Why did it turn out like this?'
Drip.
Drip.
She'd spent her whole life enduring internal torment. She thought she was tough enough to handle anything. But right now, the pain was unbearable.
"Get her out of here! Next!"
The woman's angry voice rang out behind her, but Hitori didn't hear it.
She just crouched there on the stage, cradling the guitar like a broken child, her eyes hollow. Two staff members walked over and dragged her toward the exit.
SLAM!
The heavy doors shut.
A cold breeze swept past.
Hitori huddled in a corner of the building's shadow, silent and still, merging with the darkness. The guitar with the broken string lay abandoned at her side.
...
'It's fine.'
'This is how it's always been, right?'
'I should be used to this.'
'It's just another failure. At least I actually stood on a stage this time. That's progress compared to being ignored entirely. I'll just work harder. I'll succeed next time!'
A voice inside her tried to offer comfort.
But it wasn't working.
Not this time.
Hitori looked at her guitar.
The old, battered instrument was covered in scuffs and marks—evidence of the countless hours of sweat and tears she'd poured into it. No one knew how much she had sacrificed for those strings. No one knew how much hope she had pinned on this one band.
So, it wasn't the same.
It really, really wasn't the same.
The sun began to set.
The winter wind howled through the street.
The air was freezing, but it couldn't touch the absolute chill in her heart.
"Just... go home. Go to sleep. Everything will be better after a nap... It'll be better..."
She stood up on shaky legs, clutching the guitar to her chest, and began to stumble toward home. Her small, lonely shadow looked utterly pathetic under the glow of the streetlights.
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Hand over all of your Power Stones!!
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