"Daisuke." Sora called. "Keep that rhythm. Don't stop."
Daisuke's fingers resumed their complex pattern against the table. The sound filled the cramped room, insistent and relentless. A heartbeat racing toward something inevitable.
"The opening needs attitude." Sora's voice dropped lower. He let the first line roll off his tongue, not singing so much as speaking with rhythm. "Shinjuku, midnight, the dream feels so fake."
The words landed heavy. Personal. He moved to the next line, his voice gaining intensity. "A call from the company, my whole future at stake."
Seiji's breath caught. The kid probably remembered his own calls, his own rejections before PRISM found him.
"They say, 'Son, you're not what we need,' another door in my face." Sora's smile turned vicious. "But I'm coming right now, I'm not leaving this place."
Daisuke's rhythm never faltered. If anything, it grew stronger, more complex. His eyes had gone distant, lost in whatever melody was building in his head.
Sora shifted his focus to Daisuke. His voice gentled, took on weight instead of edge. "Sometimes I dream of that day, the betrayal and rain."
Daisuke's fingers stuttered. Just once. His dark eyes snapped to Sora's face.
Got you. You know exactly which day I'm talking about, don't you?
"I don't wanna go back there again. Let's go, let's go, let's go." The final line pushed forward, insistent. Refusing to dwell in the pain.
Kotaro leaned forward in his backwards chair, sunglasses sliding down his nose. His mouth hung slightly open. For once, the manic energy had drained from him, replaced by something close to reverence.
The pre-chorus built in Sora's throat. He looked at Seiji, then back to Daisuke, letting his voice climb. "For three years, wait, wait. We bled on this stage."
Ryota's hands flattened against the table. His muscular forearms tensed.
"Turning the page, page. We're a bit fast." Sora gestured sharply, cutting the air. "Got your back mate, mates. Look carefully, we got us."
Seiji's foot started tapping. Unconscious. His whole body vibrating with contained energy.
Sora planted both hands on the table, leaning forward. His blond hair fell into his eyes. When he spoke the final line of the pre-chorus, his voice went quiet. Dangerous. "If we live fast, let us die young."
The silence that followed lasted three heartbeats.
Then Sora exploded into the chorus.
His voice climbed, filled the cramped room until the walls seemed too small to contain it. "Not losing our spirit, make it move, left and right."
He moved as he sang, his body responding to the rhythm Daisuke provided.
"No matter who's watching, make it move, left and right."
Ryota's eyes tracked every movement. The big dancer's expression had shifted from hostility to something closer to hunger.
There it is. He's seeing it. The potential.
"Two bare feet are our gasoline, yeah, yeah." Sora's grin was all teeth. "Let's go, are you ready? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, let's go!"
He transitioned immediately into the post-chorus, his voice dropping into a rhythmic chant. "Run bulletproof, run, yeah, you gotta run."
Seiji shot to his feet. The kid couldn't help himself. His chair clattered backward, forgotten.
Sora pointed at him. "Your turn. Rap verse. Let me hear that energy."
Seiji blinked rapidly, his cheeks flushing. "I... right now? Without music?"
"You think the people in Hokkaido cared about backing tracks when I was busking?" Sora's eyebrow climbed. "You've got Daisuke's beat. That's more than I usually had."
The challenge hung in the air. Seiji looked at the lyric sheet, then at Sora. His jaw set.
"Okay, okay, let's go!" Seiji's voice came out sharp. He didn't have the full flow yet, stumbled slightly over the syllables, but the raw energy was there. "Remember that leaking studio, the ramen we shared?"
Sora stepped back, giving him space. Watching.
"Swore on our lives that we'd make them all scared." Seiji's hands moved, punctuating the lines. "They said we were finished, a promise impaired. But we're the five fingers of a fist, be prepared!"
Sora's smile widened. The kid had fire. Rough, untrained, but genuine.
Then Sora turned to Ryota. "Your verse. Show me what Ryota's got."
The muscular dancer's pale green eyes narrowed. He didn't stand. Didn't move. Just looked at Sora like he was deciding whether to accept or throw a punch.
Finally, Ryota pushed his chair back. The legs screeched against the floor. He stood to his full height, rolling his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice came out like gravel, aggressive and sharp.
"Power? Got it." He jabbed a finger at his own chest. "Heart? Got it." Another jab. "This music? Got it. Good team? Goddamn!"
His third-person affectation disappeared in the verse. Pure instinct took over. "You said you hot? Oh man, you not! Above the one who flies is the one who never stops!"
The final line came out almost shouted. Ryota's whole body coiled with barely contained energy, like he wanted to launch into choreography right there in the cramped room.
Sora met his eyes. Held them. "Can you move to that?"
Ryota's answering grin was feral. "Ryota can move to anything."
Victory tastes sweet. Two down.
Sora looked at Ryuu. The only member who hadn't participated. The lead vocalist stood rigid by his chair, his hands clenched at his sides. His glasses reflected the fluorescent light, hiding his eyes.
"The bridge is yours," Sora offered. "Technical perfection. That's what you bring."
Ryuu's jaw clenched. "This is insane. We're in a conference room. With no accompaniment. No proper arrangement." His voice climbed. "We sound like children playing pretend."
"We sound like a group that's finally found something real." Seiji's voice was quiet. Hurt. "Can't you hear it?"
"I hear chaos." Ryuu adjusted his glasses. "I hear unprofessionalism disguised as passion."
Daisuke's fingers stopped tapping.
The sudden absence of rhythm felt like a vacuum. Everyone looked at him. The composer's expression had shifted. Something harder settled in his usually gentle features.
"The harmonic structure needs refinement," Daisuke said slowly. His voice remained quiet, but it carried weight. "The verses should build tension through minor key progressions. The chorus needs to explode in major, creating emotional release." He looked at Ryuu. "But the bones are good. Better than anything we've worked with before."
"Better than three months of professional development?" Ryuu's laugh came out bitter. "Based on what metrics? Your feelings?"
"Based on the fact that Ryota is actually engaged." Daisuke's gaze didn't waver. "Based on Seiji standing up without being asked. Based on the reality that we've been playing it safe for years and it's gotten us nowhere."
Ryuu's face went white. Then red. "I kept this group together. When Tadashi left, when everyone said we should disband, I'm the one who held the schedule. I'm the one who kept us professional."
"And Daisuke is grateful for that." Sora said. "But professionalism is worthless if nobody remembers your name."
He moved around the table, coming to stand across from Ryuu. The height difference was negligible, but Sora's presence filled more space.
"You want metrics?" Sora's smile was sharp. "Let me give you strategy."
Time to close this deal. Show them I'm not just another pretty voice with delusions.
"This song isn't just music." Sora pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times. "It's engineered for viral spread."
Kotaro sat up straighter. His manic energy returning as he sensed something big coming.
Sora held up his phone, showing a blank video frame. "The chorus has a signature move. Simple. Powerful. Impossible to forget." He demonstrated, his arms moving in sharp gestures that mimicked running, pushing forward. "Left and right. Easy enough that anyone can do it. Cool enough that people will want to."
Seiji's eyes widened. "Like a challenge?"
"Exactly like a challenge." Sora's grin turned predatory. "We don't just release the song. We release the 'Run, Prism' challenge. Get fans filming themselves doing the move. Post it on every platform. Tag us."
Ryota leaned forward. "Ryota understands. The song spreads itself."
"The song becomes part of their lives." Sora pocketed his phone. "Not just something they hear on the radio. Something they participate in. Something their friends do. Their classmates. Random people on the street."
He looked directly at Ryuu. "You want professional? This is modern marketing. User-generated content. Organic reach. Zero advertising budget required."
Kotaro exploded from his chair. "GENIUS! Absolute cosmic brilliance!" He grabbed Sora's shoulders, shaking him. "The song won't just chart, it'll become a cultural movement! Every phone, every screen, every—"
"Kotaro." Ichigo's voice came from the doorway.
Everyone froze.
The president of Strawberry Productions stood in the entrance of Conference Room 203, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable. How long had he been listening?
"Did you call me here just to demonstrate how much noise you can make?" Ichigo's gaze swept the room. Stopped on Sora. "Should I be concerned?"
Kotaro released Sora, spinning to face his brother. "Ichigo! Brother! I was just coming to find you! We've had a breakthrough! A revolutionary—"
"I can hear." Ichigo stepped fully into the room. The space felt even more cramped with six people inside. "I could hear from the hallway. Which means the Pilates class that out booked you could probably hear as well."
Seiji winced. "Sorry, sir."
Ichigo waved off the apology. His attention remained fixed on Sora. "You wrote this?"
"Last night."
"And you've already assigned parts? Developed choreography? Planned a marketing strategy?" Ichigo's eyebrow climbed. "All in the last fifteen minutes?"
Sora shrugged. "I work fast."
A long silence. Ichigo's sharp eyes swept over each member of PRISM. Reading their expressions.
"Murata-san. You disagree with this direction."
It wasn't a question.
Ryuu straightened, adjusting his glasses. "I believe we should focus on the professional demo we've already developed. We have three weeks until debut. Changing direction now is reckless."
"Even if the new direction has more commercial potential?"
"Potential is theoretical." Ryuu's voice remained controlled. Professional. "The demo is concrete. Finished. Ready to record."
Ichigo nodded slowly. He moved to the table, picked up the lyric sheet. Read it in silence. His fingers traced the words. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"This is your story. All of you."
Daisuke's hands rested flat on his notebook. "Yes, sir."
"It's raw. Personal. The kind of vulnerability that could backfire spectacularly if the execution isn't perfect." Ichigo set the paper down. "It could also be exactly what you need to differentiate yourselves."
He looked at Kotaro. "You're willing to stake your reputation on this?"
Kotaro's sunglasses gleamed. "Brother, I already staked everything when I bought their contracts. This is just making the bet worth it."
"Then you have until tomorrow to create a rough demo." Ichigo checked his watch. "If Tanaka-san can produce something workable, we'll consider it for the debut single."
Seiji looked like he might cry from relief. Ryota cracked his knuckles, energy barely contained.
Ichigo moved toward the door, then paused. He looked back at Sora. "Amamoto-san. A word. In the hallway."
Oh good. Here comes the lecture about not disrupting team dynamics. Or maybe he's decided I'm too dangerous to keep around.
Sora followed Ichigo into the corridor. The door to Conference Room 203 clicked shut behind them. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, the Pilates class was finishing up, soft music drifting through the walls.
Ichigo crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. His expression was unreadable.
"That song. The strategy. The challenge concept." He paused. "Where did you learn that?"
Sora kept his face neutral. "I watched a lot of content online. Studied what works."
"Content from where?"
"Everywhere. Foreign markets. Independent artists. Whatever I could find."
Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Ichigo studied him for a long moment. Then something shifted in his expression. Almost like respect. "You have good instincts. Dangerous instincts for someone with your level of experience."
"Is that a compliment or a warning?"
"Both." Ichigo's lips quirked. "Kotaro thinks he found another Ai. Someone who can elevate his group through sheer presence." He pushed off from the wall. "But you're not like Ai. She's a performer. You're a strategist."
Sora's pulse quickened. "And?"
"And strategists are valuable. Rare. They're also ruthless." Ichigo's gaze hardened. "Don't sacrifice your group for personal ambition. They've been hurt enough."
The words landed heavier than Sora expected. He thought about deflecting, about offering some smooth reassurance. Instead, he met Ichigo's eyes directly.
"I'll get them to the top. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"I want you to remember they're people. Not stepping stones."
With that, Ichigo walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hallway until he disappeared around the corner.
Sora stood alone in the corridor. The muffled sound of voices came from Conference Room 203. Daisuke's rhythm, resumed. Seiji's laugh. Ryota's rough voice saying something about power moves.
People. Right. Because people have never been anything but tools or obstacles.
He pushed the thought away and reached for the door handle.