Music thundered from every direction, arcades, bars, and the endless clatter of pachinko parlors. A cerulean-blue butterfly weaved through the crowd, slipping past countless strangers before finally landing on the chest of the white-haired young man, resting gently against his coat.
"Let me ask you something," Mr. Bito said, turning to the two of us. "Are you musicians?"
"I play guitar on the streets as a busker," I replied.
"I used to play drums for my school band," Seto chimed in."Uh… a long time ago, though. I kinda drifted into working at a garage instead. My dream's to save up and open a ramen shop in Nagoya someday...find the right broth."
"Alright, alright, I'm impressed," Mr. Bito cut in with a chuckle. "That's enough."
Seto had gone on so long that he'd forced his way in.
"Good timing, actually," Bito continued. "I happen to be looking for musicians."
He led us to his apartment building, passed the counter, and stopped in front of a tightly sealed door. A camera above it scanned his eyes before unlocking with a soft click.
"This is your apartment?" I asked.
"Yes. Well—by that, I mean this whole building is mine." He glanced back at Seto. "As for your motorcycle, I'll take care of it. In exchange, you'll help me with some work. Don't worry—you'll be paid properly, just like everyone else."
"Ooooh~~~" Seto puckered his lips. "Sounds sweet~ Guess I'll have to quit the garage. That old geezer's gonna lose it."
"Heh." I narrowed my eyes at him, suppressing a grin.
A tall bodyguard raised a hand to stop us.
"Majima," Bito said calmly, "we've got guests today. I brought them myself."
At his words, the man stepped aside and opened the door.
"As you wish, sir." Majima gave my back a friendly pat and smiled. "Enjoy yourselves, little cubs."
Inside the living room, a man was playing billiards.
"Yo, Haruki," Bito greeted him.
"Dad? Who are they?" Haruki asked, glancing our way.
"They're just here to observe. Don't worry about it—keep playing."
Haruki looked a little disappointed. Meanwhile, Seto casually grabbed a cue stick and sank the ball Haruki had left behind.
"Yes! That's how you do it, kid!" Seto laughed, clapping Haruki on the shoulder as if they were old friends. I followed Mr. Bito down a hallway to a small room with pink cartoon stickers plastered on the door.
He knocked gently."I'm home, sweetheart."
"Come in," a soft voice replied.
I adjusted the guitar case on my shoulder and stepped inside.
It was a modest bedroom. Drawings—clearly done by an eleven-year-old—lined the walls, alongside shrine-like ornaments: talismans, tiny bells, and charms hanging from the doorframe. The air was cool and clean, filled with gentle classical music playing from a Bluetooth speaker.
"Kurayami," Bito said, "are you free?"
She looked up, her eyes immediately drawn to the guitar on my back.
"Did you find me a music teacher, Dad?"
"We're hoping he can help. Good teachers are hard to come by these days."
I froze inwardly—we hadn't agreed to anything yet.
"I'm just a street performer," I said carefully. "I only know the basics. If you want progress in just a few months, it'll really depend on her talent."
"Kurayami isn't like other children," Bito said quietly. "After her mother passed away, she learned frighteningly fast. If she took an equivalency exam now, she could already enter high school. Her mind… stayed three years old in some ways, yet matured far beyond her age in others."
He paused.
"At school, she's not well-liked. Because she's… different. I want you two to push her as far as she can go—no matter how. I'll give anything to see her happy."
He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm counting on you."
Then he left the room.
I turned back to the drawing she'd been working on: the sun shining over Tokyo, people singing and dancing freely in the streets.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Bito," I said gently. "You can call me Oppa Seokchan. Is this homework?"
"Yes. Our teacher asked us to draw our future—the job we want to have."
"And what does the sun represent?"
"An idol," Kurayami said softly. "An idol who brings happiness and light to those who are sad."
She pointed to a woman in white robes and a long red skirt.
"Before my mother died, she was a shrine maiden. She taught me to live like nature—to bloom as we grow, to endure storms as pain, and to wither when the time comes. And to make people celebrate in every season."
"Do you believe in kami… gods or spirits?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted, resting her chin on her hand. "One night, Father argued with my brother. He said I was cursed. That's why they didn't want me to do too much—to avoid ending up like my mother. But the older I get, the more it all feels… kind of silly."
"Then let the future decide," I said, lifting my guitar. "Shall we begin?"
I handed it to her.
"We'll start with the C chord."
"C chord… hnn!" She tried pressing the strings, but her finger slipped—blood welled up. "Ah!!"
"Hey, let me see. You hurts?"
"hehe~ oh no~" She didn't cry. Instead, she laughed. "It's just a little," she said, trying again.
Just then, Seto poked his head in.
"Seoki-chan~ got anything to eat in here?" He noticed the small girl and froze. "Wait… don't tell me this kid is—"
"Looks like you and I just became rookie tutors for a yakuza boss's daughter," I said.
Seto scratched his head. "Man… that's hardcore."
Then he straightened up. "But it's fine! I, Seto the Great, swear I'll make her the best there is!"
He held out his hand. Kurayami blinked. Then slapped her palm against his.