Live House CiRCLE – Riku's Office
April 10, 2021 – Saturday – 10:00 A.M.
3rd POV
The silence that followed Riku's reintroduction was almost heavy enough to crush the air. The girls stood frozen near the doorway, eyes wide, their thoughts tangled between disbelief, admiration, and a creeping sense of intimidation.
Shock, because none of them had expected this quiet, straightforward young man to have lived through the storm of fame and glory at such a young age. Awe, because his name carried weight far beyond the walls of CiRCLE, a name spoken in the same breath as legends who had rewritten the standards of music. And fear, because they suddenly realized the gulf that lay between them and him—Riku was only nineteen, yet the breadth of his accomplishments suggested he hadn't even touched the edge of his true potential.
The unease was finally broken by Chisato, who stepped forward, her voice soft but urgent.
"Riku... since when did you begin performing as a professional?"
Her words weren't just curiosity—they carried the weight of their shared past. Childhood friends should know each other's stories, but here she stood, realizing that there was a part of him she had never touched.
Riku sighed, leaning back slightly in his chair. He didn't look evasive, but the calm heaviness in his expression told them this wasn't an easy story to recount. He reached for the remote on his desk.
"I think it's better for you all to watch this instead of hearing it from me," he said.
Sayo's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The media made documentaries about me and the guys, back when we first broke through. They covered our journey, the struggles, the mistakes, the victories. The video I'm about to show you—it's in English, but I already had someone translate the subtitles." He paused, glancing around the room, his voice carrying a subtle edge of caution. "Just so you know, this was produced at the end of 2019. Our third Future World Fes run wasn't included yet. Anyway... find yourselves a seat."
The girls exchanged uncertain glances, but did as he said. Some sank into chairs, others leaned against the wall, while Chisato folded her arms tightly, as though bracing herself. Riku pressed play, and the screen flickered to life.
[On screen]
The video opened with an interview shot: a foreign man, Daniel Rosen, speaking directly into the camera. His words carried the firm conviction of someone who had witnessed the journey firsthand.
Daniel (on screen): "Sometimes, a pro musician's greatest opponent isn't another musician. It isn't criticism."
The girls noted the name tag under his face. Daniel Rosen. A producer, perhaps, or a veteran in the scene. His tone suggested authority, and they leaned in unconsciously.
Another cut appeared: shaky recordings of crowds cheering, headlines flashing, and a younger Riku standing on a stage, guitar slung at his side, his expression unreadable.
Then came a different voice, casual, off-camera.
???: "You gotta check the pro band threads—they're like, 'Wow, OG is so good! But honestly, I don't think Iku is that great of a musician.'"
The words struck like a splash of cold water.
Saaya blinked and turned toward Riku. "What did he mean? You weren't considered a good musician?"
Riku gave a dry chuckle, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. "Believe it or not, my first year as a pro wasn't pleasant. People thought I didn't belong in the big leagues."
The room tensed. Rinko and Chisato, who had always believed him unshakable, stared in disbelief. That Riku—the boy who had picked up a guitar with effortless grace—could struggle at the very thing he had lived for since childhood seemed impossible.
But he only shrugged and gestured for them to keep watching.
Daniel (on screen): "It isn't some decade-old curse. Or an army of incredible bands."
The footage cut to highlights from a tournament stage, where the announcer's voice rang over a roaring audience.
???: "I think it's safe to say EG are the favorites here. Their group stage was dominant, their upper bracket match convincing—they look unstoppable."
Misaki tilted her head. "Who are they talking about? EG?"
Riku leaned back in his chair. "Evil Geniuses. They were our opponents in that match—the upper bracket semifinals."
The girls stiffened, remembering the conversation in the hallway. Evil Geniuses were TI champions. The realization that Riku had gone head-to-head with such giants made their palms sweat.
The screen shifted again.
Daniel (on screen): "Sometimes, a musician's greatest opponent is themselves."
The camera caught glimpses of a younger Riku in candid moments—nervous hands gripping his instrument, his gaze distant, shadowed by doubt.
Riku (archival footage): "When I first started, it was really hard. The pressure, the expectations... I didn't know who I was, not as a person, not as a musician."
Another cut back to Daniel.
Daniel (on screen): "For a long time, people thought Riku 'Iku' Nagae was one of the most overrated musicians in the professional scene. A self-conscious fifteen-year-old who didn't have the mental fortitude to survive the big leagues. Even though he played for one of the most talked-about bands in the world, he looked like he was crumbling."
The camera lingered on newspaper clippings, harsh critiques on forums, and headlines questioning his legitimacy.
The girls' expressions shifted from awe to unease. They had never considered the weight of that kind of spotlight.
But Daniel's voice deepened.
Daniel (on screen): "Those people were wrong. Now he's a two-time Future World Fes champion, one of the only musicians in history to win The International twice in a row. And as far as the global community is concerned, he is the undisputed god of music."
Images flashed—Riku and his band raising trophies high under a blinding storm of confetti, crowds screaming his name, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings as though commanding the universe itself.
Daniel (on screen): "But to make history, he didn't just have to beat the best bands in the world. He had to beat himself."
The video's title appeared in bold across the screen:
How Iku Conquered Himself
Kasumi tilted her head as the weight of Daniel's words lingered in the air. "What does he mean, Riku-senpai? That you had to beat yourself?"
Riku didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the television, as if replaying memories the footage had dragged back to the surface. When he finally spoke, his tone was steady but edged with quiet conviction.
"Think about it," he said. "How do you improve—not just as a musician, but as a person?"
The girls fell into silence, brows furrowing as they tried to piece together his meaning. It was Arisa who broke through first, her voice sharp, but tinged with realization.
"So... you're saying that if we want to improve, we have to beat ourselves?"
Riku's lips curved into a faint smile. "Exactly. Music evolves every single day. If you stay the same, you're already falling behind. So the challenge is to keep surpassing the person you were yesterday—to carve a new path, no matter how difficult it is."
Arisa crossed her arms, still processing. "Then this video... the one we're watching now?"
He gave a small nod. "Yes. This is the story of how I redeemed myself after my failure in my first year as a pro. I know some of you are aiming for the professional stage yourselves. That's why I want you to pay attention—to see where I stumbled, so you won't make the same mistakes."
The documentary's narration resumed, Daniel's calm voice weaving the story back together.
Daniel (on screen): "So, how did Iku go from a villainized prodigy to one of the most successful musicians to ever touch an instrument? It all began in 2016. Iku was a self-reserved Japanese figure, already known in the world of classical music, before he transitioned to modern music and made his mark in high-profile tournaments as a solo guitarist. What stood out from the very beginning was his style. Unlike SumaiL and Miracle-, who were loud, confident, and flashy, Iku was silent, cerebral, and unpredictable."
The camera cut to clips of a younger Riku, guitar in hand, his expression intense yet calm. His stillness contrasted sharply with the energy of the stages he stood upon.
Rinko, who had been quietly watching, leaned forward slightly. "Riku... I wanted to ask this yesterday. What made you decide to play guitar?"
He turned toward her, thoughtful. "It started when I was fourteen. My parents told me I could pursue whatever I wanted. I said I wanted modern music. At first, they were against it—I already had a reputation in classical piano, and they thought I'd be throwing it away. But with my grandfather's persuasion, they gave in."
His voice softened, almost bitter. "To be honest, part of it was that I felt like I wasn't really me when I played piano. I was just a 'Nagae,' a name expected to win tournaments. I wanted to prove I could stand on my own. Switching to modern music was my way of saying: I'm more than my family name."
He glanced at Rinko, a subtle glint in his eyes. "As for why I chose guitar... I think you already know."
Ako tilted her head curiously. "What does Riku-nii mean by that, Rin-Rin?"
Rinko's cheeks flushed, but she managed to explain. "Riku has this... habit. Whenever an instrument catches his interest, he learns it frighteningly fast. He can pick up the basics in just days. I remember once he tried violin—by the fourth day, he was already performing like he'd practiced for years."
Gasps filled the room. The girls turned to Riku in disbelief, and he only shrugged at their wide-eyed stares. His gaze drifted briefly to Sayo, who had gone quiet, her eyes averted. He noticed the tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed unwilling to meet his gaze. His suspicion from before—that she harbored a quiet inferiority complex—seemed more certain now.
Ran broke the silence with the straightforwardness only she could muster. "So, how long did it take you to master guitar, then?"
Riku leaned back slightly, recalling. "Three months to get the basics down, with help from my mentor and an old friend. After that... about two and a half years before I could say I truly mastered it." He gestured toward the screen. "Anyway, let's continue."
The documentary pressed on. Another voiceover joined in.
Yuyuko (on screen): "Riku's quiet nature set him apart. He didn't reveal much, and that alone gave him an edge. Competitors never knew what he was planning. By the time you realized, you were already caught in his rhythm."
Rinko suddenly burst up from her seat, her voice startlingly loud. "SO THAT'S HOW YOU BEAT ME!"
Everyone flinched. Even the girls of Roselia, who had heard Rinko speak countless times, nearly jumped out of her skin. None of them had ever expected the normally shy girl to shout like that.
Riku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess the cat's out of the bag. Sorry about that."
Rinko only pouted, her cheeks puffing as she folded her arms. Riku reached over, patting her head gently, and the tension in her shoulders eased just a little.
The video rolled on.
Daniel (on screen): "Still, it didn't take long for him to catch the attention of Invictus. In March, they reached out, asking him to substitute for their legendary lead guitarist, 'Ferrari_430.'"
Lisa tilted her head, intrigued. "Isn't Invictus a Chinese band?"
"Yeah," Riku confirmed easily. "But for me, being a Nagae, learning languages was unavoidable. Chinese, German, Italian, Korean, French, English, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese... and more. If I'm going to be the next head of the family, I need to know them all."
The girls exchanged glances, unsure whether to be impressed or overwhelmed. The idea of mastering even one foreign language was daunting. Riku listed nine as though they were nothing more than tools in a box he was expected to carry.
He pressed play again, leaning back in his chair, though his expression betrayed a flicker of fatigue. For him, these stories weren't just history—they were scars carefully reopened for the sake of those listening.
Everyone just nodded as Riku pressed play once again, the video resuming with crisp sound.
Riku's voice overlapped briefly with the narration. "Invictus messaged me one day, said something like, 'Hey, do you want to give it a shot with us? You know, it's any boy's dream.' When that opportunity showed up... I couldn't exactly say no."
The footage shifted to a younger version of him stepping onto a lit stage, guitar slung over his shoulder.
Daniel (on screen): "Iku won his first live competition just a few months later in July. His entrance into the pro scene had been low-key, but it didn't take long before he caught the international community's attention. Everyone was wondering the same thing: who the hell was this guy?"
The scene cut to fans online, comments flashing across the screen in multiple languages.
Yuyuko (voice clip): "When I first saw the comments about Riku-kun, people kept saying 'Iku' and assumed it was a girl. Almost everyone thought so—it was pretty amusing, honestly. I had to comment myself, telling them: he's my nephew, and very much not a girl."
Aya tilted her head, curiosity winning out. "I want to ask this, but... why did you choose 'Iku' as your stage name? It really does sound like a girl's name."
Riku rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Honestly? It was the first thing that popped into my head. I kept it, and... well, here we are."
A collective sweatdrop moment passed among the girls, but they said nothing more, choosing instead to focus back on the documentary.
Daniel (on screen): "But one team in particular was interested in Iku—OG."
The logo of the band flared across the screen, their highlight reels playing in sync with the narration.
Riku leaned forward slightly, adding context. "After TI, OG wanted me to join. They were one of the strongest bands in the world back then. Honestly, I thought it was too much, considering I was still at the start of my career. But I figured if I wanted to grow, I had to push myself further. So I said yes."
Daniel: "The pickup surprised many. OG had dominated the 2016 season, winning two Future World Fes tournaments. But after bombing out of TI and losing their star guitarist Miracle-, signing an almost unknown guitarist like Iku looked like a gamble."
The video cut to OG's captain, N0tail, speaking during an interview.
N0tail: "It was a risk, yeah. But my first conversation with Iku stuck with me. He said: 'Future World Fes? Sure, let's win some.' And he said 'some'—like one wasn't enough. That insane confidence... it's rare."
Sayo frowned, looking between the screen and Riku. "Risky?"
He nodded. "OG was top tier back then. For them to take in someone like me, who had only been playing guitar for a few months at the pro level—it was a gamble. Some people thought it was reckless."
Yukina's expression was unreadable, but her voice carried a hint of surprise. "And yet, you told them that one Fes win wasn't enough."
Riku gave a lopsided smile. "What can I say? The band needed motivation. And we did it—we won two."
The footage rolled on, showing crowded arenas and roaring fans.
Daniel: "OG developed a reputation for dominating Future World Fes. And signing Iku didn't change that trend."
The screen erupted with the voices of excited commentators.
Commentator 1: "And that's all, ladies and gentlemen! Your champions in Boston are OG! They've won their third Future World Fes! An incredible finals, and what a performance!"
Commentator 2: "GG! OG will be claimed four-time Future World Fes champions here in Kiev! They upset the local favorites! Look at that celebration—it's like they just won it for the very first time!"
The scene shifted again, Daniel's voice layering over.
Daniel: "The problem was that Iku was inconsistent. At times, it didn't feel like OG was winning because of him—but in spite of him."
Chisato's head snapped toward Riku, eyes narrowing. "In spite of you?"
Riku exhaled softly, not defensive, just calm. "Just watch."
Daniel: "You see, Iku had spent most of his life performing solo. It was natural that he struggled to adapt to the synergy of a full band. Most of the time, he was barely keeping up."
The screen then shifted, showing highlight clips of his performances.
Daniel: "But then there were moments... moments where he single-handedly carried OG to victory."
N0tail (archival): "Future World Fes Kiev was where Iku showed what he really was as a musician. He doesn't focus on what can go wrong. He just sees what he can do—and goes for it. No hesitation."
The clip cut to Riku in a backstage interview, younger but steady.
Riku (on screen): "I think I can do this... we're performing second, right? Give me a few minutes to get familiar with the chords. I'll be ready when we're up."
N0tail: "That's him in a nutshell. He's got that fire inside him. That's what makes him dangerous."
Saaya leaned forward, intrigued. "When was that, Riku-kun?"
"The fifth set of the Future World Fes Finals in Kiev," he explained. "We were going second, and I had to learn part of the song in minutes. I managed it, and because of that, we pulled off the win."
His casual tone undersold the difficulty, but the awe in the girls' faces said they understood.
Daniel (narrating): "Other times, though, he spelled disaster for the team. And then at TI7... it all came crashing down. After an incredible season, OG placed 7th–8th in a tournament they were expected to win. And Iku announced he was taking a break from the professional scene."
N0tail's voice returned, subdued this time.
N0tail: "After TI7, fatigue set in. Especially for Iku."
Another clip played—Ceb, another teammate, speaking from an interview.
Ceb: "People can be brutally harsh, even toward a fifteen-year-old kid thousands of miles from home. It happens all the time in this industry. With Iku, it was relentless. He got flak from everywhere. Most people would've broken down completely."
The camera panned across online forums, messages in dozens of languages, many of them cruel. The screen blurred them out, but the implication was clear enough.
Riku, watching alongside the girls, spoke with quiet weight. "I wanted to tell you this... criticism in TI can be soul-breaking. One mistake—intentional or not—can ruin you. It can end your career. Or it can push you to rise and become something more."
The girls sat frozen, the words settling heavily inside them. Roselia, in particular, absorbed it like scripture. Yukina's eyes narrowed with determination, Lisa's smile was faint but tense, Ako chewed her lip, Rinko fidgeted but didn't look away, and Sayo... Sayo stared at the floor, her hands tightening around her knees.
They all understood, at least in part: this wasn't just about music. It was about survival in a world that demanded perfection.
Riku didn't elaborate further. He let the documentary play, the lessons unspoken but unmistakable.
The video continued, the steady glow of the screen reflecting against the girls' focused eyes.
N0tail: "Me and the team had a talk with Iku and asked him what he does on his free time. He said playing guitar, piano, basically any instrument he sees. When we heard that, me and Tal told him to take a break from music, loosen up, and try something new for once. I mean... he's been playing music since he was five, so he's gotta loosen up at some point."
The words hung in the room. For a band so intense, it was almost strange hearing advice about slowing down.
Sayo's eyes narrowed, her hands tightening over her lap. "Wait a minute. If what he said was true... then... you—"
Riku cut her off gently, already reading her thoughts. "I know what you're thinking, Sayo-san. And yes, most of my life, I've done nothing but music. Because, well... it's the only thing I knew."
That confession settled heavily over the room.
Arisa leaned forward, incredulous. "Then what about school? Don't tell me you skipped that too!"
Riku gave a half-smile, though there was no amusement in his eyes. "I was homeschooled up until now. That's the very reason why I'm at Hanasakigawa—to experience being a student for once. Rinko, Sayo-san, Chisato, and Kanon-san already knew about this since they're my classmates."
Everyone froze. A life without classrooms, without noisy hallways, without childhood memories of after-school chatter... it felt alien. The girls couldn't imagine it. For a moment, pity clouded the air. To them, Riku wasn't just a prodigy anymore—he was a boy who'd carried the weight of music so long he hadn't lived like a normal teenager.
Riku sighed, as if brushing off their pity before it could drown him. He gestured to the screen. "Anyway, let's keep watching."
The documentary voice cut in again.
Daniel (narrating): "And then, Iku just kind of... disappeared. Occasionally, he was performing at local live houses or clubs, but the majority of the community was convinced he'd retired. They said the stakes were too high and he was too fragile."
Riku's lips pressed thin. His voice was quiet but steady. "I guess I learned the hard way. It was just one tournament, but... you screw it up once and you're done. The pressure was... crushing. But... I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy it sometimes. It was just—" He paused, searching for the right words. "—it caught me off guard."
No one dared speak. The girls, especially Roselia, absorbed his words. For Yukina, Sayo, and Lisa, this was a reminder: the stage didn't forgive. It demanded perfection, and failure wasn't just a bruise—it could become a scar.
Daniel (narrating): "And in May 2018, Fly and s4 ditched the declining OG for Evil Geniuses. After acquiring Topson, OG had just one month to find a new guitarist. The issue was that all the top-tier choices were already taken by top-tier bands... well, all except for one."
Ran tilted her head. "Why did those two leave, nii-san?"
Riku shook his head. "I wasn't there when it happened. But I talked to Ceb, and from what he told me, the band was underperforming badly. Losing tournaments people expected them to win. Then suddenly, Fly and s4 announced they were leaving. I felt sorry for Johan when I heard. He and Tal were childhood friends."
The words hit Afterglow especially hard. Childhood friends, bound by years, suddenly breaking apart—it was something Ran, Moca, Tomoe, and Himari couldn't even imagine. Their bond felt too solid for betrayal.
Riku let a dry chuckle escape. "Funny thing, though. After we won TI9, their guitarist SumaiL left EG to join us. And then we won TI10. Talk about karma."
The girls couldn't hold back a laugh at that. Karma indeed. To leave a team only to watch the one you abandoned rise higher than ever—it was cruelly poetic.
The video pressed forward.
JerAx: "The next logical choice for us was... Iku."
N0tail: "Iku hadn't played for a long time, but we knew how powerful he was as a musician."
A commentator's voice chimed in with disbelief.
???: "Iku coming back? At that point, people were like... probably the last person available. Sure, why not?"
Rinko frowned. "Everybody doubted you, Riku."
He gave a half-shrug. "That's expected. When you underperform on the biggest stage—the one everyone expects you to win—doubt is natural. Honestly, it would've been stranger if they hadn't doubted me."
Chisato leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Then why come back? Even though they didn't believe in you anymore?"
For a second, silence. Then Riku spoke, his tone firm but not loud. "I came back because I wanted to repay the team for giving me another chance. And... to prove to everyone that I wasn't a fluke."
The documentary narration layered over his words.
Daniel (narrating): "With Iku back on the team, OG cinderella'd their way through TI8, and it quickly became clear that something within him had changed. Make no mistake—Iku was still the same guy he'd always been. But this time... it wasn't affecting his performance."
The screen showed clips of Riku—calm, smiling faintly, strumming the guitar on stage as though the massive audience didn't exist. The girls leaned in, mesmerized. There was no trace of hesitation in him. Just focus.
???: "At TI7, it seemed like Iku was the one dragging them down. Now suddenly, people looked back and thought... maybe he was the magic to their band."
Riku smiled faintly at the memory. "After TI7, Johan and Tal told me to lay off music for a while. To try hobbies, take a break. At first, I didn't think I could. But... surprisingly, it worked. Felt like a weight came off my shoulders. I wasn't grinding every hour anymore. Just playing when I wanted, with guidance from my mentors. And that... made me improve more than I realized."
Daniel (narrating): "In a trend where drummers were the go-to stars, Iku didn't just keep up. He played out of his fucking mind."
Tomoe blinked. "What does he mean? Drummers being the go-to?"
Riku nodded at her. "Back during TI8, drummers were in the spotlight. They were stealing most of the focus. Guitarists and other roles were often overshadowed."
Ran tilted her head, curious. "So what did you do to prove them wrong?"
Riku chuckled under his breath. "Exactly what Daniel said. I played out of my fucking mind. But really, I just trusted my gut. I stopped thinking about how others expected me to play and just... played the guitar my way."
The screen erupted with roars from the tournament.
Daniel (narrating): "Two months after re-joining OG, Iku became part of the craziest TI win the world had ever seen."
A commentator's voice thundered:
??? (on-screen): "Congratulations to OG! They deserve it! They played out of their entire minds this tournament! They didn't follow anyone's strategy—maybe that was the key. They just played their own way. And it's miraculous."
The girls were silent, their eyes wide. They weren't just watching history on the screen—they were watching Riku's scars and triumphs unfold in real time. Every laugh, every cheer, every stumble, and every roar of victory was more than a documentary. It was a mirror of who he was: a boy who had been broken down and rebuilt, not by chance, but by his own will.
And sitting among them, quietly watching, was the very same boy—calm, unshaken, and yet carrying that fire deep in his chest.
The room fell into silence when Ako leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Riku-nii, how did it feel to win TI for the first time?"
Everyone turned their attention toward him, clearly thinking the same question but too hesitant to voice it until Ako did.
Riku leaned back in his seat, his expression softening with nostalgia. "I couldn't believe it at first," he admitted. "Honestly, my expectations going in were just... maybe making it into the top three. But when the moment came that we won..." He paused, almost reliving the roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, and the overwhelming emotions from that night. His voice lowered, thick with meaning. "It felt like I'd finally won something with my own efforts—and not because of my family name. It gave me the confidence to keep walking this path, but..."
Tomoe tilted her head, sensing the weight behind his words. "But what though?"
Riku exhaled and, without answering, gestured toward the screen. "Just watch."
The video continued, and the cheerful atmosphere shifted almost instantly, like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Daniel (narrating):"But for Iku, everything turned for the better... and for the worst."
The scene cut to a live news report.
"We are live in Tokyo, Japan, where a bombing incident has taken place, claiming at least 170 lives. Among the casualties were Richard Nagae and his wife, Miku Nagae, the next in line of the Nagae family."
The blood drained from everyone's faces. Memories of that horrific day resurfaced—the chaos, the helplessness, the grief that rippled across the world. None of them had realized Riku's parents were among the victims. They wanted to say something, anything, but the words died on their lips when they caught sight of Riku's expression. He wasn't just watching the screen; he was staring through it, into a wound that had never fully healed.
Daniel (narrating): "By the time Iku heard the news of his parents' deaths, he left OG almost immediately and flew straight to Japan. Since that day, we didn't hear from him again. Understandably, the community gave him space, offering their condolences while assuming he had retired completely. And after Iku's sudden departure, OG tried everything—rotating guitarist after guitarist in an attempt to get back on track. But none of them fit. None of them could recapture the fire they once had. The roster fell back into the same uninspired state it had been before their fated win at TI. Months passed, and then in March, Iku shocked the world by announcing his return to OG. The community went wild, some even joking that the stars had finally aligned for OG to become the first back-to-back TI champions."
Riku finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "After my parents' deaths... I wanted to retire from music completely. Nothing felt worth it anymore." He clenched his fists on his knees, as though grounding himself. "But my aunt reminded me that I shouldn't carry the weight alone—that I should continue, not just for myself, but for my parents as well. It took me a long time to decide, but in the end... I chose to keep going. I chose to play for them. To show them that I'm still here, still fighting. And I promised myself—no regrets."
His words lingered in the air, striking something deep within the group. Rinko, seated near him, folded her hands tightly in her lap, her heart aching for the quiet strength behind his confession.
The video resumed.
Daniel (narrating): "Even with Iku's return, OG seemed... average. They finished 10th in the Pro Band Circuit, which was just enough to qualify for TI9. No one expected much from them. The general consensus was that they'd barely scrape by in the group stage before being eliminated. But what happened next shocked the entire music world to its core."
Kasumi leaned closer, curiosity written all over her face. "What does he mean by that, senpai?"
Riku chuckled softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You'll see soon enough."
The screen erupted in chaotic shouts of casters and audience members.
"Whoa! What the—what the hell? Iku's on drums, Ceb's on bass, N0tail on vocals, Topson on keyboard, and JerAx on guitar!?"
"The hell is this? Are they serious right now!?"
"What is even happening!?"
The room watching with Riku exploded into disbelief.
Arisa nearly shot up from her seat, pointing at the screen. "What the hell are you and your band doing, Riku-san!?"
Riku's grin widened, enjoying their stunned reactions. "Our plan for TI9."
Everyone blinked at him. "Your... plan?" they echoed.
"Yup," Riku said with confidence. "When I came back, Johan, Ceb, and I were racking our brains on how to even stand a chance against the level of competition that year. The stakes were higher than ever. So I suggested something insane: what if we switched instruments for this TI?"
The girls gawked at him like he had grown a second head.
"At first, the others weren't sure it would work," Riku continued. "Hell, even I doubted it. But I told them I'd teach them the ropes, and after that, it was up to them to find their own style with their new instruments. We sacrificed a lot of matches in the process, experimenting, failing, and rebuilding. But eventually... it clicked."
Yukina folded her arms, skeptical but intrigued. "And did it work?"
Riku leaned back, a glint of pride in his eyes. "You'll just have to watch and find out."
Daniel (narrating): "On the back of Iku's insane instrument role-swap strategy, OG dominated the group stage, finishing with a staggering 15–1 record. They didn't just win—they steamrolled their way through, laughing, joking, and experimenting all the while. Against all odds, they returned to the TI Grand Finals for the second year in a row. But this time, they seemed to take nothing seriously—not even the grandest stage of them all."
The video rolled on, and the room sat transfixed. On-screen, Riku stood onstage, guitar slung across his shoulder, eyes closed as his fingers danced across the strings with a confidence that seemed effortless. But it wasn't only him—Topson and Ceb were also playing with their eyes shut, bodies swaying in rhythm, as though they were lost in another world.
The camera cut to the casters' desk, where Tobiwan's voice reached a fever pitch.
Tobiwan (on-screen): "Topson! He's the man that's going, going, going into the top stage once again! Bathed in the glory of Shanghai! Topson, he does not give a crap! Iku will give all the support! THIS IS AURA FARMING!!! G—dude, look at this! This is soul breaking!!!"
The girls flinched at the sheer intensity in his voice. What they witnessed on the screen was unlike any live show they'd ever seen. It wasn't just a victory—it was annihilation. Newbee surrendered in the most brutal fashion possible, their performance unraveling before the sheer audacity of OG's style.
Tobiwan (on-screen): "GG! GG! The message has been sent! You go home, you smack through the door and deliver it anyway! What is that?! What WAS that?!" Tobiwan cried, almost out of breath.
The room went quiet again as the girls all turned to look at Riku. Their eyes demanded an explanation.
Riku raised both hands disarmingly. "Now, before you say anything... that's what the media sees. But the truth?" He shrugged. "It's just us having fun."
Sayo blinked incredulously. "Having fun? In a tournament where one misstep and you're eliminated? Where everything's on the line?"
Riku chuckled softly, leaning back. "We just trusted each other—and our music, Sayo-san. That's all there was to it. We enjoyed every single moment, even when the world thought we were crazy."
The footage continued, showing clip after clip of OG's antics: reckless switches, playful taunts, and moments so bold they bordered on mockery.
Daniel (narrating): "And somehow, Iku seems completely unaffected by the pressure... sometimes a little too unaffected."
Riku rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. "When I returned to OG, most of the community claimed my win at TI was a fluke—that I'd lucked my way into it. Some were joking, but..." His eyes hardened for a moment. "I took it personally. If they thought it was luck, then I'd show them exactly what I was capable of—without any restraint."
Daniel (narrating): "At TI8, Iku proved that he had what it took to be a champion. But come TI9, he shed every reservation, every trace of doubt—and played as though nothing could touch him."
The video showed exactly that: Riku's band dismantling PSG.LGD, China's strongest team. The girls couldn't believe the ease with which OG performed. The crowd was deafening, but on stage, the members were grinning, laughing, even switching instruments mid-performance without missing a beat. It wasn't competition—it was carnage disguised as music.
Then came the finals against Team Liquid.
The casters' voices reached a crescendo.
ODPixel (on-screen): "LIQUID HAVE NOTHING!!! THEY HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER, FOGGED!!!"
ODPixel shouted, nearly leaping from his chair.
Fogged (on-screen): "LOOK AT THIS!! They're swapping instruments in the middle of the song!! They want to end this right now and—OH MY GOD!"
ODPixel (on-screen): "I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!! I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT I'M SEEING IN THIS SET FOUR!! OG!! You thought you saw it all in set two, you thought you saw it all in set three—AND THE GG IS CALLED!!! OG ARE YOUR TWO-TIME TI CHAMPIONS!! THEY'VE DONE IT, FOGGED!!!"
The footage panned to OG erupting in celebration. Instruments tossed aside, arms raised, tears and laughter spilling out all at once. The arena roared, shaking with the realization that history had just been made.
Daniel (narrating): "Despite the fact that OG gave no respect to anyone, Iku emerged from TI9 as arguably the greatest musician ever."
The camera lingered on Riku's face—sweat-drenched, eyes blazing with triumph, a faint smirk curving his lips as the crowd chanted his name.
Daniel (narrating): "Despite being a professional musician for just over three years—and only truly performing for a year and a half—he won two Future World Fes, two TIs, and earned over six million dollars in prize winnings. In no uncertain terms, he is one of the most successful competitors in professional music history."
The video paused briefly on Riku's statistics, and Tsugumi turned to him, her voice almost a whisper. "Riku-san... how much money have you earned as a pro?"
The question made everyone perk up. Even Kasumi leaned closer, curious.
Riku hesitated, scratching his cheek awkwardly. "Well... about three million dollars from my four Future World Fes wins, nine million from my three TIs, another two million from my team contract, and several hundred thousand from brand deals and sponsors." He exhaled. "So my estimate would be... at least sixteen million dollars before I returned here."
The room exploded in disbelief.
"Sixteen million!?" Ako's voice cracked like glass.
Some of the girls had their heads practically steaming, overwhelmed by the sheer number. Tsugumi and Eve muttered something about how many years' worth of café shifts that would be, while Tomoe simply whistled under her breath. Even Yukina, usually composed, narrowed her eyes in quiet astonishment.
Daniel (narrating): "The Chinese community have literally dubbed him the GOD of music. Not the I-GOD, not the Iku-GOD—simply, the God. They placed him above every other professional."
Riku let out a sigh. "Sometimes, the community gives you nicknames or titles depending on how you perform. I found out about mine a month after we won TI. Honestly? I'll never get used to being called 'God.' It feels too heavy, too... exaggerated." He looked around at them, offering a small smile. "But don't be surprised if they give you all nicknames too, once you stand on that stage."
The girls exchanged glances, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in their expressions. The idea of nicknames—titles given by a worldwide audience—was both thrilling and terrifying.
Daniel (narrating): "Even when Iku decided to stay with the team, his place in history was already secured. He would forever be remembered as the legend who conquered the greatest obstacle of all—himself. And in doing so, he became the best."
The screen faded to black.
Riku POV
After the final words of the video faded into silence, I clicked off the TV. The screen went black, reflecting the faint outline of our faces in the room's dim light. All of them—Kasumi-san, Yukina-san, Rinko, Ran, Kokoro, every one of them—sat still, caught between awe and disbelief.
I turned to face them, my expression calm though my mind still echoed with memories of those stages, of victories and losses, of weight carried alone and shared with others. "Now," I began, folding my arms across my chest, "I know some of you have questions that go beyond just my career highlights. So—who's first?"
Almost immediately, Kokoro's hand shot up, bright and unhesitant as always.
"Yes, Kokoro?"
Her eyes practically sparkled. "Hai! Your performance at GALAXY yesterday—how did you do that!? How could you play like that and make everyone feel it so strongly!?"
Her question was so blunt, so genuine, that the other girls instinctively leaned forward. I could read it on their faces: they were wondering the same thing. How could a single performance shake an entire hall to its core?
I let a smile tug at my lips. "Hmm... instead of explaining, how about I just show you?"
I reached for my guitar, the familiar weight settling against me as I strummed a soft progression. The room filled with sound, the strings resonating with warmth and clarity. I let the melody flow naturally, closing my eyes and slipping into the rhythm as though nothing else existed.
The girls watched every motion, their gazes fixed on my fingers, the tension of the strings, even the subtle sway of my breathing. The moment I hit the chorus, I heard Rinko gasp sharply.
"Riku! Your eyes!"
Lisa-san blinked at her in confusion. "What about his eyes, Rinko?"
"I saw something... in them," Rinko insisted, voice trembling between awe and disbelief. "It was like—a six-pointed star, shining in both of his eyes."
The others glanced at her skeptically, some frowning, others looking back at me as though expecting a trick. But I stopped playing, letting the last note fade into the air, and addressed the matter head-on.
"So you noticed too," I said, setting the guitar aside. "What Rinko described is real. And it's the reason behind what you saw at GALAXY."
Confusion spread like wildfire across their faces. Misaki-san was the first to voice it. "What... exactly is it? Some kind of technique? Or...?"
I shook my head slowly. "It's not something I can fully explain. It's more of a condition—something rare, something that shows up in people who devote themselves to the arts, especially in the entertainment world. We don't know if it's hereditary, learned, or... simply awakened. For me, it appeared without warning."
Misaki-san frowned slightly. "So... you didn't do anything to get them?"
"Honestly? I have no clue how they first appeared. My theory is that it's tied to how much you love your craft. Music, in my case. That love deepens, consumes, reshapes you... until even your body responds. That's what I believe, anyway."
A thoughtful silence followed. The idea that passion itself could manifest into something tangible weighed on all of them.
Chisato, sharp as ever, raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, then why warn us to be careful?"
I exhaled, recalling that night years ago when the stars first lit in my eyes. "Because the first time I performed with them active, it nearly broke me. One song—that was all I managed before I collapsed backstage. The strain of channeling everything through them nearly drained me dry. Over time, I adapted. I trained, built my endurance, and now I can sustain them without issue. But the price in the beginning was steep."
Their expressions grew serious, the initial wonder tempered by caution. I didn't want to frighten them, but they needed to understand the reality—that gifts always came with costs.
I scanned the room. "Any more questions?"
Hands rose again. I pointed toward Arisa-san. She hesitated only a moment before speaking.
"You said earlier that you were a former pro," she began. "Does that mean you..."
"Retired?" I finished for her.
She nodded. The others leaned closer, clearly hanging on my answer.
"Technically, I'm retired. But as of now, I'm at the inactive list." I said simply.
The reaction was immediate. Yukina-san's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. "Why would you step down so early? You're nowhere near your peak, Riku-san. Many would kill to be where you are, and you stepped away?"
Her bluntness didn't sting—it was a fair question. I folded my hands behind my back. "It wasn't just me. We all had our reasons. Johan—our vocalist—damaged his voice box at TI10. He made the difficult choice to retire, to let himself recover. Ceb, our cornerstone, was nearing his thirties and found himself losing motivation. Topias had just welcomed his first child; he wanted to be present, not absent. Sumail... chose time with his brother over the grind of competition."
I paused, letting my eyes fall briefly to the floor. "And me? It was my duty to step up as the next head of the Nagae Family. My mother would have been next in line, but..." I let the unfinished sentence hang heavy in the air; they all knew what had happened. "So the role fell to me. And... there was another reason too. One I'll share when the time is right."
The girls exchanged quiet glances, absorbing the gravity behind my words. Retirement, they realized, wasn't just about walking away. It was about choices, sacrifices, and burdens no audience would ever see.
I scanned for the next question. A hesitant hand rose—Maya-san's.
"Yes, Maya-san?"
She fiddled with her fingers nervously. "C-Can I... take a look at the Aegis behind you?"
Her request caught me off guard. But the earnest sparkle in her eyes made me chuckle softly. I reached up, carefully lifting the gleaming trophy from its mount on the wall. The familiar weight sat comfortably in my arms as I turned back to her.
"Sure, why not? Here." I handed it over gently. "Don't worry—it's only a replica, though it's about seventy-five percent identical to the real one."
Maya-san's hands trembled as she took it, her eyes widening like a child beholding treasure. She flipped it around, tracing her gaze over the engraved names—bands, members, champions immortalized in metal.
The others clustered closer, curiosity written on their faces. I raised my voice slightly. "Go on. You can all take turns. Just be careful."
They nodded eagerly, forming loose groups as they passed the Aegis around. Each band seemed to examine it in their own way—Pastel✽Palettes with reverence, Afterglow with curiosity, Poppin'Party with excitement, and Roselia with solemn intensity.
When they reached the back, they found the names that mattered most:
2018, 2019 – OG
Johan "N0tail" Sundstein
Sebastien "Ceb" Debs
Jesse "JerAx" Vainikka
Topias "Topson" Taavitsainen
Riku "Iku" Nagae
2020 – OG
Johan "N0tail" Sundstein
Sebastien "Ceb" Debs
Sumail "SumaiL" Syed Hassan
Topias "Topson" Taavitsainen
Riku "Iku" Nagae
Fingers traced the letters, lingering on my name. There was something surreal in their expressions—as though the reality of who I had been, and who I still was, struck deeper than any story could.
It was Hina-san who finally broke the spell, tilting her head curiously. "Ne, Riku-kun... if there are only two slots left, does that mean there will be no more TI once they're filled?"
A small smile crept onto my lips. "Interesting thought, Hina-san. My guess? They'll either craft a new Aegis or extend the design to make room for more. But who knows? Only time will tell if TI13 ever comes to pass."
They nodded slowly, satisfied enough with the answer, and returned the trophy. I remounted it carefully, letting my palm linger on the cool surface a moment before stepping back.
When I turned again, their hands were lowered, their gazes meeting mine without questions left unasked.
"Well then," I said, clapping my hands lightly. "Since we're finished here, how about you girls try the studios? You can practice there if you'd like."
Kasumi-san shot forward immediately, her eyes sparkling. "Really!? Can we!?"
Her face was suddenly far too close to mine. I froze, startled, heat creeping into my cheeks. "Y-Yes, of course... but Kasumi-san, aren't you a bit too close?"
Before I could react further, Arisa-san yanked her back by the collar, scolding her with a flustered, "Don't get carried away!" I waved it off with a chuckle.
"Marina," I called. Almost immediately, the door opened, and she appeared with her usual calm efficiency. "Would you guide them to the studios? Let them explore."
She nodded silently.
The girls began filing out, buzzing with anticipation, but I raised my hand. "Hold on. Roselia—stay here. I want a word with the five of you."
They froze, exchanging cautious glances, while the others followed Marina down the hall. The studio doors shut behind them, leaving me alone with Yukina, Sayo, Lisa, Ako, and Rinko.
Now, the real discussion could begin.
The air inside the Live House seemed to change once the others left. With only Roselia before me, the quiet hum of amplifiers and faint creak of floorboards filled the silence. I rested a hand against the back of a chair and let my voice break the stillness.
"Now then," I said evenly, my gaze sweeping across them. "Let's begin."
The girls shifted uneasily beneath my tone. Sayo-san, the one who always kept her composure, spoke first.
"Riku-san... why did you ask only us to remain?"
"There are three reasons," I replied, my eyes not leaving hers.
"Three?" she echoed.
"Yes. The first concerns your self-sponsored live next month."
That immediately caught Yukina-san's attention. Her violet eyes sharpened, unwavering. "What about it?"
"You're searching for a venue to hold it, are you not? I'll make it simple—I'd like Roselia to have their first self-sponsored live here, at this stage."
The offer hung in the air, but only for a moment.
"I refuse."
Her rejection was immediate, decisive, and colder than I had anticipated.
I arched an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"
Yukina-san did not falter. "Roselia only performs in venues that are worthy of us. This place..." Her eyes moved across the Live House with a detached appraisal. "It looks like it only just opened. How can a stage without reputation possibly match Roselia's level?"
Her words landed heavily. Even her own bandmates stiffened at her bluntness. The pride in her tone, however, struck something deep within me.
Slowly, my eyes narrowed, and the air in the room seemed to grow heavier. I allowed a darker edge to slip into my voice as I fixed my gaze on her.
"Aren't you a little too arrogant... Minato Yukina?"
The atmosphere dropped several degrees. The others stiffened as if the weight of my aura pressed down on their shoulders. For an instant, the proud vocalist's expression flickered—uncertainty creeping through her usual mask of steel.
But before she could speak, Rinko suddenly moved. Without hesitation, she stepped behind Yukina-san, placed both hands on her head, and forced her down into a bow. At the same time, she bent beside her, lowering her own body in an almost desperate gesture of apology.
"R-Rinko!?" Yukina-san gasped, shocked at the action.
Sayo-san, equally startled, cried out, "Shirokane-san, what are you doing!?"
Lisa-san half-reached forward. "Rinko!?"
Ako-chan's voice wavered in panic. "Rin-rin, why did you do that to Yukina-san!?"
Rinko's voice trembled, almost breaking. "I'm sorry, Riku! Yukina-san, apologize to him—now!"
"Apologize?" Sayo-san repeated, disbelief cutting into her words. "Why should Minato-san apologize?"
Her question was met with Rinko's frightened gaze, her tone raw and pleading.
"You don't understand," she said. "The last thing you ever want is to see Riku truly angry. And when he says your full name... it means he already is."
That sent a shiver through them all. Lisa frowned, uneasy, her voice hesitant. "Was he really... that terrifying when angry, Rinko?"
Rinko released Yukina-san, her hands trembling as they fell back to her sides. Her eyes lowered as memories stirred. When she spoke again, her tone carried both fear and reverence.
"It was about a year after I first met him," she began. "He had been invited to a piano competition, and he asked me to come with him. I wasn't very skilled back then, but I wanted to be there for him. While he was busy preparing, a group of boys started to bully me. They said I wasn't good enough, that I didn't deserve to stand beside him."
The room grew quiet as she continued.
"I cried. I couldn't stop myself. And when Riku saw me like that... it was the first time I ever saw him angry. Truly angry. I didn't understand what he would do, but I knew those boys were also contestants. And when it was his turn to perform... he made an example of them."
The girls listened in uneasy silence. Sayo-san finally spoke, cautious. "What do you mean—an example?"
Rinko swallowed. "The rules allowed each contestant to play any piece they wished. And Riku chose... Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2."
Every girl in Roselia stiffened. Even Yukina-san's eyes widened.
"That piece?" Lisa-san whispered.
Sayo-san's voice was sharper, her disbelief unmasked. "That's one of the most difficult piano pieces ever composed! To attempt it at his age would be—unthinkable."
"But he did it," Rinko said softly. "At nine years old, he performed it perfectly. Every note precise, every phrase alive with emotion. The entire audience was stunned—me included. He overshadowed everyone who played before him, and the pressure he created shattered those who played after. Those same boys who had mocked me... they crumbled on stage, unable to perform properly."
Her hands clenched. "And when the contest was over, when it was clear he had won, Riku called them out. He told them—"
I let the memory surface, finishing the thought myself. My tone was calm, but every word carried weight.
"—that it was only a warning. That if they ever dared to treat her that way again, I wouldn't hesitate to end their careers."
The room froze. All eyes turned to me, wide with disbelief and a trace of fear.
I exhaled slowly, the sharpness in my aura easing though not vanishing entirely.
"Don't misunderstand me," I continued. "I had no intention of harming them physically. That's not my method. What I meant was simple: I would meet them in competition again and again... and break them with skill alone. I would strip away their confidence, their pride, their very will to perform. That's how I end people."
The silence was suffocating. The weight of my words settled deep into them. Roselia had seen glimpses of my power before, but to hear this... to realize what it meant if I ever truly considered them an enemy... was another matter entirely.
I let my gaze fall back to Yukina-san, who even now held her chin high though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "So tell me, Yukina-san," I said quietly. "Do you still believe this stage is unworthy of Roselia?"
Her lips pressed together, pride and caution warring within her. For once, she didn't answer immediately. Rinko's voice, trembling but sincere, broke the silence.
"Please... Yukina-san. Just reconsider."
The room fell into stillness again, the weight of the story pressing on all of them.
The tension in the air finally began to ease as I let the storm of my presence settle. My expression softened, and I drew a slow breath before speaking again, my tone measured but firm.
"Don't worry," I said, letting my gaze move across them. "I won't do that to you girls. Especially since you're Rinko's friends. So rest easy."
The relief was visible, subtle but undeniable. Shoulders loosened, and the unspoken tension seemed to lift from the room. Roselia, one by one, allowed themselves a quiet sigh, as if they had feared my anger might become something far heavier.
But I wasn't about to let the moment pass without leaving a mark.
"However," I continued, my voice resuming its edge, "let me tell you something, Yukina-san. It's okay to be arrogant. Arrogance can even be a weapon—if your skill can back it up. But too much arrogance..." My eyes sharpened, memories pressing against the words, "...will destroy you faster than you realize. Much worse than what happened to me during my first year with OG."
The reminder landed hard. I could see in their eyes that they remembered the video they had watched not long ago—the stumble in my career, the lesson etched into every second of that painful memory. Yukina-san's lips parted slightly, her pride wavering before she bowed her head, almost imperceptibly.
"...I apologize," she said quietly.
It wasn't loud, but it was sincere enough.
I inclined my head, accepting her words without hesitation. Rinko, however, nearly sagged in relief beside her. She had dared to force her leader into that moment of humility, and now that it was over, she exhaled deeply, her shoulders trembling.
I stepped closer and reached out, laying a hand gently on her head. She flinched at first, then relaxed as I patted her softly. "Good work," I murmured. "You fixed the situation when no one else could."
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she lowered her eyes. I left her there and moved back to my chair, settling into it once more. The weight of the conversation shifted.
"Now then," I said, leaning back slightly. "With that out of the way, I can finally tell you the second reason why I asked you girls to stay behind."
Rinko tilted her head, curiosity clear in her voice. "And that is?"
"I'll keep it short and simple." I folded my hands together on the desk. "I need your help."
The reaction was immediate. Every one of them blinked, brows rising in surprise.
"Our help?" Yukina-san asked, her tone carrying equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
Rinko echoed her, though her words were softer. "It's rare for you to need help, Riku. Why?"
At that, I turned my gaze squarely on Yukina-san. My tone carried no hesitation.
"From what Rinko told me, your band is planning to compete in the Future World Fes. Am I right?"
"That's correct," she answered firmly. Her pride returned to her voice, but this time it was sharpened with determination rather than arrogance. "That is my—no, that is Roselia's goal. To make it to the Future World Fes... and win. But to reach that stage will be... a challenge."
"Then you don't need to worry about that challenge," I replied.
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
I leaned forward. "A few days ago, an old friend of mine called. He told me the PBC wants to begin their expansion here in Japan."
Ako-chan tilted her head, blinking. "The PBC?" she asked, her voice innocent. "What's that, Riku-nii?"
"The PBC," I explained, "is the Professional Band Circuit. A global tournament that runs throughout the year, where bands across the world compete for points. It's officially sponsored by Valve."
(A/N: Valve = music-based in this story, not gaming.)
Lisa-san furrowed her brow. "And why do bands need those points?"
"The points are everything," I said. "They determine whether a band can qualify for The International. But here's the key—if you finish in the top two during the circuit, you don't just earn points. You get a direct invitation to the Future World Fes."
Their reaction was immediate—eyes widening, lips parting in shock.
"Is that true, Riku-san?" Sayo-san asked, her normally measured voice carrying a thread of disbelief.
I nodded. "Yes. The PBC is split into three tours—Winter, Spring, and Summer. After each tour, the Future World Fes is held in selected cities across the globe. Only eighteen of the best bands from six different regions compete each time. This year, the host cities are Amsterdam, Stockholm, and Arlington."
Lisa-san's brow furrowed again. "Six regions?"
"Correct," I said. "The PBC is divided into six: Western Europe, Eastern Europe, North America, South America, China, and Southeast Asia. These regions form the circuit. Until now, Japan wasn't part of the system."
Rinko's soft voice broke in. "So... why now? Why do they want to expand here?"
I looked at her, then at all of them. "Mainly because of me."
They blinked.
"Because of you?" Yukina-san repeated, her disbelief plain.
"There are two reasons," I said calmly. "First: I'm the only Japanese musician to compete at TI and win it. Not once, not twice—but three times. Add to that four victories at Future World Fes, and that's already more than enough to draw attention. Especially for someone outside powerhouse regions like Europe or China."
Sayo-san's voice cut in, sharp and direct. "And the second?"
"The music Japan has to offer," I replied. "During the 2020 season, Johan asked me to take the reins as vocalist for our team. That year, we used only Japanese songs. Nothing else. And it caught fire. Teams from all over became fascinated with our music. After TI10, Valve was flooded with requests from fans to feature more of Japan. And after TI11 this year... they decided to make it official. Japan will be added to the PBC."
Yukina-san's expression shifted from guarded to calculating. She straightened slightly, her voice level but serious. "Before I reconsider anything... how many slots will Japan be given for the Future World Fes?"
"Two, by my estimations." I answered without hesitation. "You'll need to make the top two if you want your shot. With Japan's addition, that means twenty bands will compete instead of eighteen."
That number seemed to anchor her. The fire in Yukina's eyes sharpened, and for the first time since this conversation began, I saw her take the situation with genuine gravity.
I leaned forward again, pressing on. "My friend told me they need a sample—a taste of what Japan can bring to the world stage. I've been searching for bands that can deliver, but I've found nothing. Until now." I gestured toward them. "By luck, I discovered you girls. Originally, I considered offering this to Kasumi-san and Poppin'Party, but when I heard you were planning your first self-sponsored live, I realized this was the chance I'd been waiting for. So I'll say it again: Roselia. I, and Live House CiRCLE, want to host your first live next month."
The words settled into the air, heavy with promise. The girls looked at one another, silent but thoughtful. The weight of what I had offered was not lost on them. Slowly, Yukina-san stepped forward. She crossed the short distance between us and extended her hand across the desk.
Her eyes met mine, steady and unwavering. "Then we'll be looking forward to working with you, Nagae-san."
I rose from my chair, matching her movement, and clasped her hand firmly.
"Good," I said with finality. "Let's make this live one the world won't forget."
"Perfect," I said, leaning back in my chair with a faint smile. "We can begin planning next week. If I'm not available, look for Marina—she'll help you in any way she can."
I paused, then added with a slight tilt of my head, "And Yukina-san, just call me Riku. Hearing my family name all the time feels a bit... awkward."
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "...Very well, then. Riku-san." She hesitated, then bowed her head slightly. "And again... I'm sorry for what I said earlier."
The tension that had lingered like smoke finally dissipated.
Lisa-san clapped her hands together, breaking the silence. "Well, since you two made up... what was the third reason you kept us here, Riku?"
"Ah, that," I said, almost as if I'd forgotten. "The third reason is... to return a favor."
Rinko tilted her head. "A favor? To whom?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I simply raised a hand and pointed toward Yukina-san.
Her eyes widened. "Me?"
"Yes. You." My gaze didn't waver. "Remember in that video I mentioned I once had a mentor? Take a guess who it was."
Yukina-san's expression shifted as she pieced it together. Her eyes flickered with realization, and after a moment of silence, a small smile broke across her face.
"...So that's how it is," she whispered. Then, with more certainty: "My father. He was your mentor, wasn't he?"
I nodded slowly. "That's right. Your father taught me both music and vocals."
The others looked on with wide eyes as Yukina-san pressed further. "How did you even meet him?"
"After OG's loss in TI7, I announced I'd be stepping back," I explained, my tone softening at the memory. "Johan and Tal encouraged me to try something new. I'd always wanted to explore singing, so Yuyuko-san recommended your father as a vocal coach. They were old friends."
Sayo-san crossed her arms, her sharp tone cutting in. "Then what does that have to do with Minato-san now?"
I leaned forward, my gaze never leaving Yukina-san. "When Johan called me back for TI8, your father gave me one condition. He told me: if his daughter ever chose to go pro in the future, I would help her. That I'd ensure her path wasn't harder than it needed to be. I promised him I would. And now, Yukina-san... it's time to fulfill that promise."
The room fell silent. The weight of those words pressed down on all of them, Yukina most of all. She met my eyes, and for once there was no pride, no walls—just a quiet understanding.
"Make no mistake," I added firmly. "I'm not doing this only because I promised him. I'm doing this because I want to."
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the hum of the office lights. Then I checked my watch, realizing how long the conversation had run.
"You've been away from the others long enough," I said at last. "They're probably waiting. Go on ahead. I'll join you later."
Yukina-san nodded, and Roselia began filing out, their footsteps soft against the floor. When the door closed behind them, the office felt strangely quiet—just me and Fuyu resting nearby.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolling to a contact I hadn't called in years. After a moment's hesitation, I pressed the button.
"...Hello?"
The voice on the other end was steady, familiar.
"Atsushi-san. It's me," I said.
There was a pause before his warm chuckle came through. "Riku-kun? Rare for you to call me, unless it's about music."
"Well," I said, leaning back in my chair, "I called because... I met your daughter."
Silence. Then a low breath. "...So you've met Yukina. I assume you've seen her perform with her band."
"Yes." I chose my words carefully. "I'll be honest with you, sir. They have potential. But the way they are now? They won't last at Future World Fes. They wouldn't even survive the group stage."
Another pause. "...I see. So Yukina still has a long way to go."
"Don't worry," I said firmly. "I'll help them. Like I promised."
I heard the faint smile in his voice. "Then I have nothing to worry about. I'll leave Yukina in your hands, Riku-kun. If it's you... my daughter is in good hands."
"...Leave it to me," I said quietly. "It was nice speaking to you again, Atsushi-san."
"Likewise. Take care, Riku-kun."
The call ended with a soft chime.
I set the phone down, his last words echoing in my mind. In good hands, if it's you. I shook my head lightly. "What did he mean by that...?" I muttered. "Forget it. I'll just leave it at that."
I stood, stretching, ready to join the girls in the studio. But just as I reached for the door, my phone rang again.
Ring. Ring.
The name flashing across the screen froze me in place.
"N0tail."
My eyes narrowed. "...Johan?" I whispered. "Why would he be calling me now?"
I swiped the screen and held the phone to my ear.
"What's up, Johan?"
His voice came through sharp, urgent. "Riku. Good thing you picked up."
I frowned. "What's wrong? From your tone, sounds like there's a problem."
There was a short pause on his end, then his answer came heavy.
"Well... long story short—we need you here again."
My grip on the phone tightened.
"...Eh?"
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
And just like that, the quiet rhythm of my days threatened to break apart once more.
To be Continued....