Chapter 210 — “Hikoutei!”

The light snow that had been falling for the past few days finally stopped yesterday.
By today, the snow along the roads had already begun to melt.

December 20th.

The third Monday of December.

The sky was clear, the sun warm—perfect weather.

It also happened to be the day scheduled with KL Productions for their special live performance.

Since school was still in session, Aoki had requested leave in advance.

In the morning, the band gathered at the livehouse for prep.

By noon, Aoki and the girls were already on their way to Minato City by car.

The venue was set: Minato Arena.

Thanks to their previous experience with a solo live, Kessoku Band now moved with practiced confidence.

Fans who had bought tickets in advance were already waiting outside, filling the area around the stadium with excited chatter.

They checked the stage, ran a quick rehearsal, then negotiated with staff to finalize KL’s arrangements.

Everything was in place.

When the clock neared 4:00 PM, the arena opened.

Kessoku Band took the stage.

For fans eager to see them in person, a few thousand yen per ticket wasn’t much.

And for the troublemakers NH Music had hired to stir chaos—it wasn’t much either.

Fujita Masahito had already warned Aoki:

During the concert, there will be a media Q&A session.

While staff will try to filter for friendly outlets, you can’t completely rule out saboteurs hiding in the mix.

Aoki stepped up, fingertips hovering over the keyboard.

The audience’s eyes, the blinding stage lights—they all converged on him.

The noise from below was a mix of everything.

Supporters shouted:

“Do your best, Kessoku Band! We’ll always cheer for you!”

“Looking forward to the new song!”

“Aim for the top of the world!”

But there were also detractors:

“All their songs follow the same formula... compared to Takeuchi Yuto-sensei, they’re way behind.”

“They’re weak as musicians, but their hype machine is solid.”

Aoki couldn’t quite make out every word.

But as always—he didn’t care.

He leaned into the mic, steady and clear:

“Good evening. We’re Kessoku Band.”

The chatter below cut off instantly.

Then, like a wave crashing over the shore—cheers erupted, drowning out everything else.

He waited, silent, until the roars calmed. Then continued, matter-of-fact:

“Thank you for taking the time to come support us. We’re grateful. And now... we’ll start with a song we released not long ago— ‘I Once Considered Ending It All.’”

The moment his voice fell, silence spread across the venue.

Aoki pressed the first keys.

A soft, mellow melody filled the air.

One song down.

Kessoku Band performed beautifully.

By now, they had mastered “I Once Considered Ending It All” to perfection.

The crowd erupted in wave after wave of cheers.

But of course, one song alone couldn’t erase the mutterings of detractors:

“Same old formula.”

“Kessoku Band’s music is always the same, huh...”

“Sure, it sounds okay... but Takeuchi’s bright, uplifting style is way more suited to the masses.”

There was no shortage of such remarks below.

Though many of those voices were from paid hecklers, the timing and repetition of their words still hit on doubts lingering in some people’s minds.

Because the truth was—many listeners simply followed the tide.

They weren’t good at discerning the true quality of music.

For them, status determined the worth of a song.

Was Takeuchi Yuto’s latest track really so groundbreaking?

Did it truly surpass Kei’s composition in every way?

Of course not.

But once those smear campaigns circulated online, inevitably, some people would start believing it.

Aoki didn’t let it bother him.

After a quick plug for KL’s short film project, he took a breath and signaled the staff:

“Alright. We can move on to the media Q&A.”

Staff stepped onto the stage, mic in hand, announcing the segment.

Reporters who had been pre-approved began their questioning.

Most asked about the new songs. Aoki brushed through those easily.

But then, one journalist from Bunshun Weekly raised their hand—and asked about Aoki’s relationship with the girls in the band.

Aoki didn’t bother answering.

And then—

When the fourth reporter was chosen for questions, Kessoku Band stepped right into the trap.

The microphone was passed to a journalist from Tōseki Weekly—a plant sent by NH Music.

On camera, he fired off his “questions”:

“Aoki-san, lately the internet has been buzzing about a supposed rivalry between Kessoku Band and Mr. Takeuchi Yuto. What’s your opinion on that?”

“Also—many people are saying your music isn’t on the same level as Takeuchi’s. Do you agree?”

“And finally, as a well-known band, how do you respond to criticism that your style is ‘formulaic’ or ‘too dark’? Do you have any plans to improve?”

The barrage came sharp and unrelenting.

On stage, the staff’s faces had already turned grim.

In the audience, voices fell silent, the entire stadium suddenly heavy with tension.

Aoki hesitated.

The vast hall of Minato Gymnasium had gone deathly quiet.

He didn’t care about slander. He never had.

All this noise, all these petty digs meant to provoke him—he had always thought it best to ignore them.

He drew in a breath, shaking his head, about to dismiss the question outright—

—but before he could speak, a voice rang out from the audience, raw and forceful, cutting through the silence:

“You’ve been saying the same garbage over and over—it’s beyond annoying!”

“There’s no such thing as ranking music by ‘better’ or ‘worse’!”

“A journalist with zero integrity has no right to be on that stage!”

“Suki-sensei’s music moved me! That’s all that matters! And you people think you can just smear him?”

“Suki-sensei! Don’t listen to these idiots! We’ll always support you!”

The single shout exploded like thunder in the quiet arena.

Aoki froze.

And in that instant, the voice brought back something—his own recent doubt echoing in his heart:

‘Why defend myself at all? Isn’t it easier to just ignore them?’

But then—

From every corner of the stadium, one after another, more voices rose, building into a tidal wave of sound.

“Suki-sensei, we’ll always support you!”

“Keep going!”

“Reach the very top of the world!”

One by one, the shouts drowned out every slanderous whisper.

And with them, that lingering question in Aoki’s chest unraveled.

‘Why defend myself? Isn’t ignoring enough?’

No.

Because there were people who loved his music. People who loved him.

Because they cared, because his songs had touched them—

They would stand up and speak for him.

The stage lights blurred in his eyes, suddenly far too bright.

And at last, he realized—

Ever since the day he’d stepped onto the scene as “Suki-san,” he had never truly been alone.

The orphanage had taught him solitude, made him used to carrying everything by himself.

But here and now—

He had his bandmates by his side.

He had fans out there in the crowd.

Yes, there would always be voices trying to drag him down.

But there were just as many—no, more—

Who were waiting, hoping, expecting.

And so—

He would answer them.

The words “Sorry, I don’t want to answer that” died in his throat.

Instead, he leaned closer to the mic, his voice steady, resolute:

“Perhaps music can be compared in skill… but I don’t believe mine is inferior.”

“As for this so-called rivalry—I don’t know. But if Takeuchi-senpai truly wishes to challenge us, I’ll thank him for the opportunity.”

“And as for the ‘flaws’ your magazine claims Kessoku Band has… I don’t acknowledge them.”

His voice carried differently this time—no longer restrained.

He didn’t hold back the pounding of his heart.

It was as if he was finally fulfilling a vow he had once spoken.

His fingers brushed the keyboard.

He thought—

He would meet their expectations.

No hesitation. No fear.

Like King Gnu before him, he would announce himself to the world.

Announce that he stood at its very peak.

Yes—he would do it with that song.

That one song, a declaration to the entire world.

“And now…”

His calm voice rolled from the speakers.

“Please enjoy our latest work—”

“Hikoutei!”