The lights from outside the building were cut by RiNG's huge floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm orange glow on the polished floor.
As closing time approached, the hustle and bustle subsided, leaving only a few scattered figures of girls with musical instruments, their long shadows stretching across the empty hall.
At the end of the second-floor corridor, a practice room door was tightly shut, cutting off the lingering vitality from downstairs.
The main light in the room was off; only a single floor lamp in the corner emitted a dim, almost mournful, yellow glow.
The focal point of the light beam fell heavily on the center of the room—a two-meter-long black hard guitar case.
It was surrounded by layers of white and emerald green intertwined bouquets, lying there silently, like a meticulously decorated coffin, containing unfinished clamor and abruptly halted melodies.
This was the funeral held by the band [Wayward] for their bassist, Maehara Naoto.
The air was heavy, like a waterlogged sponge, pressing down on their chests.
Keyboardist Tomato wore a simple black dress, and her usually unruly long red hair now appeared subdued.
Beside her stood the drummer Kato, a guy who had always been a stranger to the word "rules." Now, he was squeezed into a noticeably ill-fitting black suit, like a hermit crab forced into an unfamiliar shell.
His troublesome studded rings were removed from his feet, and his constantly changing hair color was dyed back to a dull black.
The two stood side by side in front of the instrument case, solemn and silent, their gaze fixed on the white and green bouquets, as if to engrave their heavy sorrow into the veins of every petal.
Silence flowed, broken only by the faint hum of the floor lamp's filament.
"..."
Tomato's lips moved, but no sound came out. She just turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the "bouquets."
"?"
The edges of those layered, white and emerald green intertwined "petals" were melting at an extremely slow pace, sticky white cream flowing down the "calyxes," glistening wetly in the dim yellow light.
"Kato..."
"Why are the flowers you prepared melting? And there are... chocolate sticks and strawberries inside?"
Kato, at some point, had picked up "a bouquet" and was leisurely scooping cream into his mouth with a small silver spoon that appeared from nowhere.
A small white smudge was on his cheek. Hearing the question, he looked up blankly, his tongue unconsciously licking the cream from the corner of his mouth, a very natural movement.
"Oh, don't be so surprised."
He swallowed the sweet richness, explaining unhurriedly, his spoon still suspended in mid-air.
"Look around RiNG now, where are you going to find a proper place selling funeral wreaths? The streets are full of food stalls, instrument shops, KTVs, and cafes. Finding a proper flower shop is harder than finding a dinosaur fossil."
"You were just too lazy to go..."
"Hmph!" Kato yelped as if his tail had been stepped on, dramatically raising his eyebrows, almost poking himself with the spoon.
"I'm telling you, don't think you can just slander my pure and diligent heart just because Leader spoils you! Look at these—"
"Thirty cups! A full thirty cups of vanilla parfait, all carried up by me, Kato, with great effort, trip after trip! And this time, it came out of my own pocket!"
"That Leader guy isn't showing up, and Yuutenji, that boy, is off God knows where messing around. I even wanted to borrow his 'Matcha Parfait Unlimited Refill Coupon'..."
He paused, his tone even carrying a hint of proud self-congratulation: "And look at these 'flowers,' how unique! I specifically asked Ririko-chan to make all the whipped cream into flower shapes. It took a lot of effort. Art, understand?"
Art? A sense of powerlessness mixed with absurd anger rushed to the girl's head.
Entrusting the funeral arrangements to Kato was undoubtedly the most foolish decision their band had ever made.
Before, Maehara had always silently handled these trivial but important matters. He always managed to arrange everything perfectly, like the band's silent and stable cornerstone. And now... the girl's gaze returned to the cold black instrument case.
'Now that the person is gone, he is inside the box, and we are outside the box...'
This thought slid coldly through the girl's heart, leaving faint but clear ripples. An unspeakable loneliness and nostalgia seized her.
She instinctively reached out, her fingertips touching the cold edge of the instrument case, and with a gentle push, lifted the heavy lid, creating a gap.
The dim yellow light grudgingly penetrated the box. The first thing that caught her eye was a brand new black suit. Then, she saw a pair of hands clasped over the chest. Further up... the person lying in the box was not Maehara Naoto, whom they knew.
It was a completely unfamiliar young man, also wearing a black suit, his hands neatly clasped over his chest.
The most absurd thing was that an A4 paper print of a black and white photo was pasted on his face—Maehara Naoto's gloomy, expressionless face.
The girl abruptly turned her head, staring intently at Kato, who was still savoring the taste of the parfait. Her voice, as if forced from a frozen throat, was laced with ice.
"Kato... who is lying in this coffin?"
Kato, who was happily digging another spoonful, paused at the question, then shrugged indifferently, as if introducing a stray cat he'd found by the roadside.
"Oh, him? He's the new bassist I picked up. How is he? Looks pretty good, right?"
"What about the old bassist?!"
Kato licked the cream remaining on the edge of the spoon, his expression finally showing a hint of awkwardness at being found out.
"Ahem... well, you know, our 'bonfire party' at the police station last time, hmm... was a little... too well prepared? The fire was a bit... uh... overly enthusiastic." He gave two dry laughs, trying to lighten the mood.
"The fire was too big... before we could even rush in, he..."
...Another dead silence.
The only sounds left in the practice room were the monotonous hum of the floor lamp and the occasional, teeth-grinding scrape of Kato's spoon against the glass cup.
This funeral had completely lost its last shred of solemnity.
The girl no longer had the heart to look at the absurd instrument case and the impersonating "corpse" inside. She hugged her knees, slowly and silently sliding down to sit beside the cold instrument case, curling up like a discarded, faded fruit in a corner.
The black dress enveloped her slender body, and her red hair fell, obscuring her expression.
Kato finally shed his cynical demeanor. He leaned against the wall, silently scooping the already melting parfait from his cup. The sweet coldness slid down his throat, but brought no comfort.
"Perhaps... this isn't so bad?"
A voice with a strange quality, yet incredibly familiar, echoed from inside the dark instrument case without warning.
Both the keyboardist and the drummer froze simultaneously.
"Perhaps those of us here are not suited for overly heavy sorrow."
The moment the words fell, the "corpse" in the instrument case, wearing a brand new suit and with Maehara's photo on his face, sat bolt upright, his movements stiff yet powerful, like a marionette whose spine was suddenly straightened.
"Holy crap—!!!" Kato shrieked in fright, the parfait cup flying from his hand and smashing onto the floor with a clang.
His Stand ability granted him a keen perception of life and soul forms. Just a moment ago, the hollow and faint soul aura of the "substitute" in the instrument case vanished without a trace, like a snuffed-out candle.
In its place was an incredibly familiar, unpleasant aura, like the silt accumulated at the bottom of a deep pool—the aura of Maehara Naoto.
The girl's reaction was entirely different. After the initial shock froze her, the long-dormant light in the depths of her pomegranate-flesh-like red eyes suddenly ignited.
It was a hope bordering on fanaticism, erupting instantly, astonishingly bright, almost scorching through the dimness before her.
"Miracle!"
The word, like a bolt of lightning, cleaved through the gloom in her mind. If Maehara could "return" in this way... it meant... that person, the one who pulled all of them out of the mire, gave them direction, and became her sole beacon before her foreseen desperate future crushed her, had returned.
As if to confirm her silent prayer, a steady footsteps approached from afar and stopped at the practice room door.
"Click." The tightly shut practice room door was slowly pushed open.
A figure stepped into the funeral scene, which had now transformed into a resurrection ritual.
His dark green military uniform was crisp, making his figure appear tall and straight like a pine tree. His emerald green short hair was neat and clean, like grass just sprouting in early spring.
He wore a faint smile, his gaze sweeping over the startled Kato, the girl with shining eyes, and finally resting on Maehara Naoto, who was slowly taking off the A4 paper from his face and revealing his true appearance in the instrument case.
"Yo, looks like everyone's here."
The young man spoke, his voice having a unique husky quality, yet containing a strange sense of power.
"Today, I'm here to announce something."
His gaze lingered on each face for a moment, as if confirming something, then he clapped his hands lightly, satisfied.
"Our 'tour' has begun."
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