The auditorium smelled faintly of wood polish and nerves.
Students bustled around—some adjusting costumes, some tuning instruments, others clutching scripts like lifelines. Laughter, chatter, the occasional outburst of panic—it all blurred together into one dizzying noise.
And in the middle of it, I sat frozen on a folding chair, Mom's guitar case resting across my knees.
My palms were slick. My heart wouldn't slow down. Every sound felt too loud, every face too sharp.
"What am I doing here," I muttered to myself.
"You're about to make history, obviously."
I flinched.
Rina plopped down beside me, dressed in her usual black—but with a tiny silver star pin glinting on her bag strap. "Relax, Music Boy. You're not the one who has to sing in a chicken costume." She jerked her chin toward a poor drama club kid pacing in full feathery horror.
"That doesn't help," I muttered.
"Sure it does." She smirked. "At least you look cool by comparison."
I swallowed hard. "I… I can't do this."
"Yeah, you can."
My hands tightened around the guitar case. "If I mess up—"
"You won't."
"Everyone's going to be watching—"
"Good. Let them."
I looked at her, panicked. "Rina—"
She leaned in close, her voice cutting through the noise around us. "Breathe."
I blinked. "…What?"
"Breathe, idiot. In. Out." She exaggerated a deep inhale and exhale, like a yoga instructor.
Despite myself, I copied her. My lungs filled, emptied. Once. Twice. The knot in my chest loosened just slightly.
"Better?" she asked.
"…A little."
"Good. Because if you faint on stage, I'll drag your body back up and make you finish the song anyway."
I groaned. "That's not motivational."
"It is in my world." She grinned.
A teacher's voice called out: "Haruto Takeda—on deck!"
My stomach plummeted.
Rina stood, stretching. "Showtime."
I gripped the case tighter. "Rina, I—"
She cut me off by crouching down in front of me, meeting my eyes. For once, no smirk. Just steady, certain.
"You've already played for me. That was enough. Now just… let them overhear."
The words hit me like a soft chord strummed inside my chest.
"…Overhear," I repeated quietly.
She nodded. "Yeah. Forget the crowd. Just… play for one person. Whoever you need it to be."
The teacher called again: "Takeda, ready?"
My legs shook as I stood.
Rina gave me a mock salute. "Go make some noise, Music Boy."
And as I walked toward the stage, my heart hammering, I realized—
For the first time, I actually wanted them to hear.