The loading time ended, and the memories of this "future" version of himself began to gradually flood into Narumi Tōru's mind.
Born into a family of three, he had never once felt healthy, sufficient love from his parents while growing up. His father, who'd married young in a haze of confusion, spent every day complaining that his wife and son had dragged down what could've been a brilliant life. He drowned himself in alcohol day in and day out, never once giving his infant son a kind look—until one day, he vanished without a trace, taking most of the family's money with him.
His mother was the stereotypical East Asian mother: endlessly hardworking for the sake of the family, yet neglectful of her child's emotional needs. Because she alone bore the weight of the household finances, no matter how many grievances Narumi had toward her, he never truly voiced them against his single mother.
But clearly, an environment like that was unlikely to produce a mentally and emotionally healthy child.
As these memories settled in, Narumi frowned. The life trajectory of this "future" version of himself differed greatly from anything he'd experienced before.
A father absent for years. A mother he couldn't truly confide in. The oppressive family atmosphere made adolescent Narumi sensitive, suspicious, and eccentric. Combined with the natural rebelliousness of that age, he often did reckless things without considering the consequences—like sneaking out late at night to wander through red-light districts, or riding a motorcycle without a license and brushing it off even when stopped by traffic police.
Unsurprisingly, this troublemaker who never cared much for school dropped out not long after entering high school. With his pride easily wounded, he couldn't stand watching his mother secretly cry every day, blaming herself for failing as a parent. Taking the living expenses he'd saved up, he moved out on his own.
Music became the only salvation for Narumi Tōru in this "future." Only when plucking the strings of a bass could he escape reality and find a moment of peace.
Having taught himself guitar and bass from a young age out of sheer interest, Narumi turned that skill into a way to survive. After forming a band with former classmates, his life became a cycle of smoking, drinking, hanging out at internet cafés, and running from one gig to another. From a nobody who couldn't even land paid performances—surviving on one cup of instant noodles a day—he gradually reached a point where he could support himself and even send some money home. Perhaps that once-immature brat was trying, in his own way, to grow up.
A third-rate bassist obsessed with music but lacking natural talent, forced to compensate through endless practice—lost and fallen in his youth, yet desperately trying to prove himself and seek recognition. That, apparently, was who he was in this "future."
A deeply flawed, textbook adolescent mess.
Yearning to become better so his runaway father would regret leaving, wanting to make his mother proud—yet at the same time abandoning his studies, indulging himself, unable to resist things like cigarettes and alcohol that teenagers had no business touching.
There were plenty of things to complain about, but since Narumi hadn't personally lived through these memories, criticizing this version of himself from on high felt a bit self-righteous.
In the end, it didn't really matter. A background like this was basically a built-in debuff at the start of a game. It made things more troublesome down the line, sure—but not unplayable.
After fully accepting these memories, there was something else that bothered Narumi.
"By the way, why are all my band members people I know? That makes it way too easy to get my wires crossed, you know."
[Rather than fabricating a group of band members you don't recognize at all—thereby breaking your immersion—this system thoughtfully selected familiar individuals to extract and simulate. It also saves time by not having to design new appearances and personalities. How is that not cost-effective?]
"So it really just comes down to you being lazy! And I'm pretty sure none of them were originally set up as musicians, right? Where's your system feedback form? I want to file a complaint!"
[Apologies, that service is not currently available. All rights of interpretation belong to this system.]
So forced sales and no customer feedback—this is discrimination, I tell you.
[Besides, maintaining a band requires an immense sense of trust and friendship. With familiar faces as a bonus, you'll surely feel more at ease. Of course, they are not the same people as their real-world counterparts—just consider them "band versions" of Hikigaya and the others from a parallel world who made different choices. Adding that kind of setting is just a few extra lines of code anyway.]
That might be true, but seeing familiar people act completely out of character was still seriously unsettling.
[That concludes this explanation. Please enjoy this simulation. I will reappear when you discover the surprise Easter eggs I've prepared for you. Enjoy this entirely different life.]
"Enjoy, my ass… this feels more like you've sent me here to suffer."
After the conversation with the system ended, Narumi refocused on the present. He caught the bass tossed to him by a bandmate and, feeling a bit gloomy, lightly brushed the strings.
In reality, he was tone-deaf and barely familiar with sheet music. He tried playing a simple chord—
And found that not only was it easier than expected, it flowed smoothly.
Looks like this "future" version of me really put in the practice. Not bad, kid.
"Haha, why do you look like it's your first time holding a bass?"
Hayama Hayato laughed brightly. His gentle personality in the simulation seemed no different from his real-life self.
"Hurry up and practice, Tōru-kun. I skipped today's tennis practice for this performance, you know. Once Kessoku Band finishes, it's our turn."
Totsuka Saika urged him gently, his expression pitifully soft and completely devoid of pressure—that cuteness made something in Narumi's chest tighten all of a sudden.
What the hell… since when did guys start feeling kind of cute?
[Achievement unlocked — Understanding Hikigaya Hachiman. Becoming Hikigaya Hachiman.]
Don't pop achievements in places like this, damn it!
Flustered by Saika's cuteness, Narumi felt warmth spread across his face. He awkwardly turned his head away and cleared his throat, trying to make it less obvious—belatedly realizing that this was something the real-world version of himself would never do.
So tsundere, huh… Next thing you know there'll be a gender-bent version too.
In any case, after running through the set list four or five times in a rush, it was finally time to take the stage.
Even though he'd inherited the skills and memories of this simulated self, actually performing live was a first for him. He bounced his leg nervously by the door, peering toward the stage where another band was still playing—
Then he froze.
Two of the members of the band currently performing—"Kessoku Band"—were people he knew.
The blonde girl with a side ponytail, fully focused as she hammered the drums: Ijichi Nijika, the owner's younger sister.
And the blue-haired girl on bass, calm and composed, hands never slowing for a moment: Yamada Ryō.
The red-haired girl standing at the mic, playing guitar and singing, was a complete stranger to him. Likewise, the fully ripened mango-colored cardboard box beside her was also something he'd never seen before—
Wait.
Why the hell is there a mango cardboard box on stage during a live performance?