Whether in her original world or in this "parallel world" she had stumbled into by chance, Yamada Ryō realized she had never really paid attention to that curly-haired boy's eyes.
Aside from his slightly distinctive curls, he was the kind of person who wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Only by looking closely would you notice that his lake-blue eyes carried an indescribable kind of pull.
It was only after rehearsal two days ago, when she had properly looked at his face for the first time, that Ryō belatedly realized those eyes were actually quite beautiful.
And yet, for some reason, they seemed to hold a hint of release—of relief and lightness.
That guy… he's not planning to just walk away from everything, is he?
On the day of the special Shimokitazawa underground band showcase, amid the staff bustling around setting up the stage, Ryō didn't see the person she wanted to see. For once, she set her bass down during rehearsal time.
Shimokitazawa wasn't a large area, but there were at least a dozen underground bands active there. Performances were an important source of income for bands, so most of them had been invited to the livehouse that day. Their fans had long since heard the news and bought tickets—the event's influence ranked fairly high even within the Kantō underground band scene.
And yet, among all those familiar and unfamiliar faces, she didn't see a certain curly-haired boy leading his band and warming up near the rehearsal rooms.
A creeping unease climbed into her chest. Rarely having to deal with feelings like this, Yamada Ryō found herself irritated—though even she didn't know exactly what she was irritated about.
Must be because I didn't get Narumi to treat me last time we ate, she concluded.
He had promised he'd explain everything anyway. She could just wait until he showed up and make him talk.
There was no way he'd skip the performance… right?
"Hey, I've got something important to tell you guys."
While she was rehearsing with her bandmates, Ijichi Seika—who had been busy preparing the venue—walked over to Kessoku Band during a break.
"You might need to play one or two extra songs. Can you handle that?"
"Huh? Why, sis?"
Ijichi Nijika stopped drumming, her face full of confusion and fatigue as she looked at her sister.
Kessoku Band had prepared plenty of songs for today, but adding more would completely disrupt their set flow—and extra songs needed rehearsal time.
"This morning I heard from Hayama and Hikigaya—the other members of Narumi Tōru's band. Their band disbanded yesterday. That leaves a gap of over ten minutes in today's schedule that needs filling."
Seika wore an expression that said "this is why I hate kids who act on impulse", clearly exhausted from coordinating the sudden changes between bands.
"…?"
That ominous feeling in Ryō's chest intensified. Her fingers pressed against the bass strings hard enough to turn pale.
"Disbanded? Why?"
Kita Ikuyo blinked in confusion, while Bocchi peeked half her head out of the cardboard box, equally stunned.
"Who knows the exact reason… probably the same as most band breakups. Irreconcilable differences between members. Couldn't work it out, so they went their separate ways."
Seika waved her hand impatiently, speaking as if she'd expected something like this.
"And honestly, with their level, handling a stage like this would've been rough anyway. Disbanding and going home to focus on school might be better for them."
"When we were rehearsing seriously, those guys—no, mostly Narumi—were always messing around on the side and teasing Bocchi-chan instead of practicing properly… With that attitude, it'd be strange if they could make good music."
Nijika let out a weary sigh. For her, the news was more of a reminder to stay mindful of communication within her own band.
"Breaking a promise and not showing up… seriously, how fickle can a person be? Still, Narumi not being on stage this time is good for us. Bocchi-chan can perform without worrying about getting mocked by that awful guy."
"Ah… y-yeah…"
The pink-haired girl, curled up inside her mango box, froze when her name came up—then nodded rapidly like a pecking chick.
"That's great, Bocchi-chan! If that guy's not here, let's treat today as a fresh start—try performing without the box!"
Kita's eyes sparkled as she enthusiastically focused on Bocchi.
"O-okay…"
Unable to withstand the attention from such a social powerhouse, the pink caterpillar who preferred damp corners stammered her agreement.
Out of the four members, only Yamada Ryō stood silent—neither slacking off nor idly plucking her bass.
Her unusual stillness was noticed by the sharp-eyed Nijika.
"Ryō? What's wrong? You haven't said a word."
The blue-haired girl opened her mouth as if to say something, hesitated, then answered with a bland topic instead.
"…Nothing. Just a little nervous."
"Huh—Ryō, nervous? That's rare."
Nijika tilted her head, eyes clearly saying "I don't believe you".
Not that Ryō herself believed it either—the excuse was painfully flimsy.
But who knew what had just happened? What she'd wanted to say had turned into the most perfunctory response possible.
That sensation—of her own will being restrained, as if controlled by some higher force—was absolutely awful.
Fortunately, it only happened in rare moments. Most of the time, Yamada Ryō still had control over herself.
Like now—she could use her wits to solve the problem.
"If we're filling in, then playing rock songs everyone knows should be fine, right?"
"Huh? Is it really okay to learn new charts on the fly?"
Kita voiced her concern, while Nijika thought for a moment before nodding.
"If they're all famous songs, we can pick classics we've practiced before. No need to memorize new scores, and popular tracks will hype the crowd."
"Sounds good."
Seika gave her sister an approving look—this was her own way of giving Kessoku Band special treatment.
"There'll also be some media filming today. A lot of video creators are planning to drop by. Do your best."
Performing on a stage with far greater exposure than usual would give these girls' band a qualitative boost in recognition.
"All right, I'm counting on you."
"Yeah!! We won't let you down, Manager…!"
Kita gave her bandmates an energetic thumbs-up. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity lit up everyone's eyes—
Except the drained Gotō Hitori and the expressionless Yamada Ryō, who seemed lost in thought.
After hastily rehearsing a few extra songs, it was soon time to go on stage.
A few minutes before they were up, Ryō—acting out of character—asked the manager for the performance schedule. Only after confirming that the boy and his band's name had indeed been crossed off the list did she leave, dissatisfied.
Bass in hand, stepping onto the stage and looking out at the roaring crowd, Ryō felt strangely dazed.
If she remembered correctly, her first encounter with that curly-haired boy had also happened in a setting like this.
As the drum intro began, the blue-haired girl smoothly guided the bassline into the rhythm with her fingertips.
They played Suede's "So Young", a song with tremendous live energy.
Because we're young, because we're doomed—
Riding thoughts surging like electric tides, isn't that right?
Let's go chase the shadow of the dragon.
Immersed in the upbeat atmosphere, the audience swayed happily to the beat. At the right moment, Kita Ikuyo's bright voice entered the verse.
A song praising listless youth filled the small livehouse with emotion, drawing most of the crowd deep into its mood.
But something felt wrong to Yamada Ryō.
Ever since she'd discovered rock music and picked up her first bass, she'd been the one most intoxicated by performing.
In music, all outside noise vanished; compared to it, even the most troublesome problems seemed trivial.
Yet now, on this stage, she felt an unprecedented sense of distance.
As if she alone didn't belong here—like she was the only outsider.
Why?
Why had it become like this…?
Even so, she played every rehearsed part flawlessly.
They performed their own songs, and under rushed rehearsal conditions, did their best with famous rock tracks: Muse's "Unintended", The Smiths' "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out", Nirvana's "Heart-Shaped Box", and finally Radiohead's "No Surprises".
Though Nijika sensed something off about Ryō, Bocchi—performing without her mango box for the first time—faced the audience as herself. Her earnest performance was outstanding, earning loud cheers, so few noticed the bassist's absent-mindedness.
Ryō hit every string perfectly; her technique was flawless. But true listeners could tell whether emotion had been poured into the music.
And clearly, Yamada Ryō was detached.
The performance was a huge success. For a high-school girls' band, they stood out even among peers. The crowd below, phones raised, spared no screams or flashes as they recorded every moment afterward.
The unease didn't fade with the curtain call. Normally, Ryō would enjoy being the center of attention—but right now, it all felt like background noise.
"Ryō~ we were totally in sync today, and Bocchi-chan went above and beyond! Let's take a group photo, then go eat—huh?"
Returning backstage drenched in sweat, Nijika cheerfully tried to pull her best friend into Seika's celebratory dinner—only to see Ryō calmly packing her belongings as if she were about to leave.
"You're… going somewhere?"
"Sorry, Nijika. Let's do it another time."
She declined the gathering cleanly. Her firm tone left Nijika confused.
"If you've got something urgent, we can eat later. At least come take the photo first?"
"You guys go ahead. Just Photoshop me in later."
"What, since when did you get so busy…?"
Ryō's repeated refusals made Nijika pout—until she noticed the blue-haired girl casually setting her bass case aside.
"Your bass… you're not taking it home?"
Yamada Ryō—the girl who once lived on grass for a month to afford a new bass—was leaving her precious instrument in the rehearsal room?
"Yeah. Something urgent came up. I'll leave it here."
After that brief explanation, Ryō slung her shoulder bag on and hurried out, completely ignoring Kita, who was about to high-five her, and Bocchi, whose social battery was nearly dead.
"After the performance, meet me at my place. I'll tell you everything then… including what I need to ask of you."
Those were Narumi's words at the family restaurant.
She should've realized it then—if they were performing together so soon, why hadn't he set the meeting place near the venue?
The only explanation was that he'd never intended to go on stage with his band in the first place.
Leaving the venue, Ryō took a taxi straight to the address he'd given. The unease swelled with every passing minute.
By the time she stood before the boy's dingy, run-down door, that bad feeling had taken solid shape.
She knocked. No response.
"Koumi~?"
Calling out didn't work either.
As she looked around in frustration, she noticed a key faintly reflecting light beneath a nearby flowerpot.
Ryō picked it up, hesitated, then unlocked the door.
A strong stench of alcohol hit her immediately. The curtains were drawn, leaving the narrow room almost pitch-black—but the sliver of light through the curtains was enough for her to make out a figure on the bed, and the empty pill bottles scattered beside it.
Her shoulder bag slipped from her grasp, and she vaguely heard a dull thud.
It was the sound of her collapsing weakly to the floor.
"…Huh?"
The boy lying on the bed looked as if he were merely asleep.