It arrived in the form of an email.
Subject line: Lucid Dreams – National Support Tour Offer (CONFIDENTIAL)
The message was short and professional. A four-week tour, supporting the well-known alternative rock band Silverset, scheduled to begin two months from now. Twelve cities. Major venues. Expenses covered. Press exposure guaranteed. It was the kind of offer that could catapult them into the upper tiers of Japan's indie scene—or burn them out entirely.
Aki forwarded it immediately to the group chat.
[Aki]: This is it. This is what we've been working toward.
[Mika]: Holy
The dots blinked, then disappeared.
—
They met that night at Aki's apartment. It was rare for them to be at her place—she always insisted on meeting at rehearsal spaces or cafés—but tonight felt different. Strategic.
Aki had printed out the tour details and spread them across her coffee table like war plans. Her place was clean and minimalist, framed photos of past gigs on the shelves, a neatly folded throw blanket on the couch no one dared to use.
"Here's the itinerary," she said. "It's tight, but we'd have a tour manager, equipment transport, hotel rooms. We'd be playing in front of hundreds—sometimes thousands—every night."
Mika leaned in. "And Silverset has a solid following. Their last single was on a drama soundtrack."
Kanna looked at the paper in front of her, then back at Aki. "Do we get a choice?"
Aki paused. "Technically, yes. But realistically… how could we say no to this?"
No one spoke for a moment.
Shino finally said, "It's a lot. It's fast."
"We've earned fast," Aki replied.
"But we're not ready," Shino said quietly.
"We've played fifteen shows in the last three months, recorded an EP, done two interviews, and gone viral twice. If that's not ready, what is?"
Shino hesitated. "Emotionally, I mean."
Aki exhaled, hard. "This again?"
Kanna stepped in before the conversation could ignite. "I think what Shino's saying is… we haven't talked about what we want lately. We've just been running."
Aki crossed her arms. "I want this. We all said we did, back when we started."
Mika raised her hand half-jokingly. "I wanted free drinks and bass solos. Got one of those, at least."
They laughed—briefly. But the tension returned like fog creeping in through the cracks.
"Let's be honest," Kanna said. "If we say yes to this tour, we're not going back to who we were. This isn't just gigs. It's press, image, momentum. Labels will be watching. Everything will change."
"Isn't that the point?" Aki asked.
Shino looked up, finally. "Maybe not for all of us."
Aki's face hardened. "Then what are you doing here?"
The question sliced through the room.
Shino stared at her, stunned. "What?"
"If you're not here to see this through, if you're holding us back out of fear or nostalgia or whatever it is you're going through—then maybe you need to figure that out before we miss the biggest chance we've ever had."
Mika opened her mouth to intervene but closed it again. Kanna stood slowly.
"I think we should all sleep on this."
"I already know my answer," Aki said"
"So do I," Shino replied. Her voice was low but steady.
—
That night, Shino walked alone through the neighborhood near Aki's apartment. The streets were slick with rain. A thin fog blanketed the air, the kind that made the world feel unreal—like a memory unfolding in real time.
She passed a small live house, the kind they used to dream of filling. The marquee outside read:
Open Mic Night – All Welcome.
For a second, she considered walking in.
She didn't.
Instead, she walked past it and pulled out her phone. A blank message to the group chat stared back at her. She typed, deleted, retyped.
Shino: If we do this tour, I need us to be honest—with each other. No pretending everything's fine when it's not.
[Mika]: I agree.
Kanna: Me too.
[Aki]: Fine. But I'm not slowing down.
Shino stared at the screen.
The tour offer hadn't just brought opportunity. It had exposed something raw. They were still a band—but barely. And now, they'd be tested in ways they hadn't even imagined.