Sora's knuckles blanched against the plastic handle above the passenger window as Kotaro took yet another turn at what felt like twice the legal speed limit. The van lurched violently to the right, throwing Sora against the door.
"So as I was SAYING," Kotaro continued, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while both hands conducted an invisible orchestra, "the photoshoot concept is REVOLUTIONARY! Picture this: PRISM, in ACTUAL PRISMS! We suspend the boys in giant glass triangles filled with GLITTER WATER!"
Sora watched in silent horror as Kotaro's knees took control of the steering wheel. The van drifted across two lanes, narrowly missing a delivery truck.
"The budget? The BUDGET?! You can't put a PRICE TAG on ARTISTIC VISION!"
A city bus loomed ahead, but Kotaro was too busy digging in his vest pocket for something. His fingers emerged clutching a piece of dried squid, which promptly slipped from his grasp and disappeared somewhere beneath the seat.
"NO! My lucky squid segment! THE SOURCE OF MY POWER!"
He bent down, eyes completely off the road, sunglasses sliding to the tip of his nose as he blindly groped under the seat. The bus grew larger in the windshield.
"Kotaro." Sora's voice came out low and eerily calm. "Lock the fuck in."
Kotaro jerked upright, phone sliding down his chest. For a brief, beautiful moment, genuine shock registered on his face. He swerved around the bus with centimeters to spare.
"Right! Right! Safety first! The golden goose must be protected!" He slapped the phone shut and planted both hands on the wheel, grinning maniacally. "Fine, fine! Let's get some tunes going! A little inspiration for our future TITAN of the industry!"
His finger stabbed the radio button. Music blasted through the speakers, so loud that Sora felt it vibrate through his teeth.
The song was technically J-pop, but something about it felt... wrong. The production was slick, the vocals autotuned to perfection, but it lacked something essential. Soul. Originality. Whatever it was, Sora knew he'd never heard it before.
"Catchy," Sora commented, keeping his tone neutral. "Who is this?"
"This is 'Starlight Parade' by the Twinkle Knights!" Kotaro shouted over the chorus, drumming his fingers against the wheel in almost-rhythm. "They're our biggest rival right now! Utter trash, of course, but the kids love their soulless, factory-produced pop!"
Sora leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Yeah, it's alright. A bit generic. Hey, can you play some Weeknd? Or maybe some Bruno Mars? I'm more in a funk mood."
The van swerved again, but not because of Kotaro's driving this time. He turned to Sora.
"The... who? Bruno who? Are they some obscure indie band from Hokkaido? Never heard of them. Are they any good?"
Sora's pulse quickened. It wasn't just that Kotaro didn't know them—the man spoke as if these global superstars were beneath his notice, irrelevant to the industry he supposedly dominated.
"Just some artists I listened to back home," Sora said carefully. "Nothing special."
"Well, forget all that small-town noise! From now on, you only need to know TWO things: your competitors and YOUR OWN MUSIC! Everything else is DISTRACTION!"
The van screeched to a halt at a major intersection in Shibuya. Neon billboards flashed overhead, advertising products and celebrities Sora should have recognized but didn't. To their left, a sleek black Nissan 370Z pulled up, its windows down. Two young women sat inside, their laughter cutting short as they noticed Sora.
Their eyes widened. One nudged the other. They stared.
Perfect timing. Sora smoothly rolled down his window and leaned out slightly.
"Hey, sorry to bother you," he called, his voice honey and gravel. "Quick question. My manager here is a little out of touch."
He gestured vaguely at Kotaro, who immediately preened at being acknowledged. "Have you guys ever heard of an artist named... Taylor Swift?"
The women looked like they'd been struck by lightning. The driver's mouth opened and closed several times before any sound emerged.
"T-Taylor...?" she stammered, gripping her steering wheel. "N-no... I don't think so. Who is that? Is... is that you?"
Before Sora could process this response, Kotaro lunged across the center console, thrusting a business card through Sora's window.
"HIM? Heavens no! This is SORA! The new center of PRISM! Our debut is in three weeks! Look us up on FacePage and Chirper! Our first single drops next month! It's going to REVOLUTIONIZE the ENTIRE CONCEPT of BOY BANDS!"
The light turned green. The 370Z pulled away slowly, both women craning their necks to keep looking back.
Kotaro collapsed back into his seat, cackling with delight. "DID YOU SEE THAT? They were MESMERIZED! And we didn't even have to pay them! Your face is going to make us MILLIONS!"
Sora didn't respond. He pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen.
The Weeknd. No results.
Bruno Mars. A brand of Italian leather shoes.
Taylor Swift. A blog about a 19th-century British poet.
He tried more names, growing increasingly desperate.
Beyoncé. Nothing.
Drake. A historical naval commander.
Adele. A French furniture company.
This isn't possible.
"You alright there, superstar? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Kotaro glanced over, momentarily concerned. "Don't tell me you're getting stage fright already! We haven't even ARRIVED yet!"
"I'm fine," Sora said, his voice far steadier than he felt. "Just checking something."
The Tokyo skyline blurred outside the window as Sora's mind raced through the implications. It wasn't just that he had died and come back. It wasn't just that he had a new face, a new body, a new chance.
He was in an entirely different world.
A world where none of the music he knew existed.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
They have no idea. Every hit song, every chart-topper, every arena-filling anthem from my world... they're all just sitting in my head, waiting to be born.
Kotaro, singing off-key to the radio, missed the expression entirely.
He thinks I'm his golden goose. He's wrong. I'm the whole goddamn farm.
"We're HERE!" Kotaro announced, swerving into a parking space with enough force to send Sora lurching forward against his seatbelt. "STRAWBERRY PRODUCTIONS! The BEATING HEART of the next musical REVOLUTION!"
Sora looked up at the building. It was... underwhelming. A modest mid-rise commercial structure wedged between two taller buildings. No flashy sign, no red carpet entrance. Just a small, tasteful logo in the window: a strawberry with musical notes for seeds.
"It's... smaller than I expected," Sora observed.
Kotaro slapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "That's the BEAUTY of it! We're the underdog! The dark horse! The unexpected TSUNAMI that will wash away the competition!"
He leapt from the van and raced around to Sora's door, yanking it open before Sora could reach for the handle.
"Now remember, my brother can smell fear. And weakness. And cheap cologne. So stand tall, speak clearly, and let your TALENT do the talking!" Kotaro adjusted Sora's collar with frantic fingers. "Ichigo discovered Ai, but I discovered YOU. And you're going to prove I didn't throw my career away on a pretty face with no substance!"
The name caught Sora's attention. "Ai?"
"ONLY the brightest star in Japan right now!" Kotaro's voice carried a strange mix of pride and resentment. "My brother's greatest discovery! The center of B-Komachi! The nation's sweetheart! The untouchable GODDESS of the industry!" He gripped Sora's shoulders. "And soon, your RIVAL!"
Sora filed this information away for later. Another name that meant nothing to him, apparently an S-tier idol in this world.
"I wouldn't worry about the competition," Sora said, shrugging off Kotaro's hands. He patted the pocket where his phone sat, now a repository of musical knowledge that didn't exist in this universe. "I have a feeling we're going to do just fine."
Kotaro bounced on his heels, jacket-cape fluttering. "That's the SPIRIT! Confidence! Charisma! Now let's go show my brother that lightning DOES strike twice in the same family!"
As they walked toward the building entrance, Sora scrolled through his mental library of music from a world that never was. Pop. Rock. Hip-hop. R&B. Hundreds of guaranteed hits, thousands of melodies no one here had ever heard.
It was almost too perfect. A second chance at life, armed with an entire planet's worth of musical innovation.
Watch me burn this industry to the ground and rebuild it in my image.
The elevator ride was brief but felt eternal with Kotaro bouncing beside him, muttering about "chart dominance" and "paradigm shifts." When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Sora stepped into a modest reception area decorated with posters of a girl group he didn't recognize. B-Komachi, presumably.
"The other members are already in the practice room," Kotaro said, ushering Sora down a hallway. "We'll do introductions after you meet the big boss."
He stopped before a door labeled "President" and knocked with theatrical flair. "ICHIGO! Your favorite brother has ARRIVED! And I've brought the FUTURE with me!"
Without waiting for a response, he flung the door open and pushed Sora inside.
A man sat behind a desk, phone pressed to his ear. Unlike Kotaro, everything about him spoke of calm competence. He was older, maybe early thirties, with sharp eyes that instantly assessed Sora from head to toe. He held up one finger in a "wait" gesture that somehow managed to silence even Kotaro.
"Yes, I understand the concerns about the scheduling conflict," he said into the phone. "But B-Komachi's appearance was confirmed weeks ago. The festival organizers will need to work around it." He paused, listening. "I'm sure we can reach an arrangement that satisfies everyone. Let's discuss details tomorrow."
He hung up and turned his full attention to Sora. His gaze was penetrating, professional, and utterly different from his brother's manic energy.
"So," Ichigo Saitou said. "You're the boy my brother has bet his career on."
Sora met his eyes without flinching. "Looks that way."
Ichigo's lips quirked, not quite a smile. "Bold. I like that." He stood, extending his hand. "Ichigo Saitou. Welcome to Strawberry Productions."
Sora shook his hand, noting the firm grip. "Sora Amamoto."
"I know who you are. My brother hasn't stopped talking about you since he found you at that cultural festival in Hokkaido." Ichigo returned to his seat. "Though I have to admit, the video he sent didn't do you justice. You have a certain... presence."
"DIDN'T I TELL YOU?" Kotaro burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. "He's PERFECT! The face, the voice, the attitude! Just wait until you see him perform!"
Ichigo silenced him with a look. "Yes, well. That's why we're here today, isn't it? To see if your wild gamble pays off." He focused on Sora again. "My brother claims you're some kind of prodigy. That you'll revitalize PRISM and turn them into serious competition for B-Komachi."
"Competition?" Sora repeated with a small, confident smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of complete domination."
Kotaro let out a strangled noise of delight. Ichigo raised an eyebrow.
"Ambitious. But this industry eats ambition for breakfast." He leaned forward. "Show me what makes you different." He gestured to the open space in front of his desk.
"Right here. Right now."