On a day when Ai was resting from her activities, Saito Ichigo—a man with shock-yellow hair and a rugged beard—paid a visit to our practice room. Our first meeting had started with property damage, but since signing that contract, we had maintained a fairly decent relationship.
"You guys are still sweeping the Billboard Japan Hot 100, and the media is practically worshiping you. Isn't it about time you started some public activities?"
For a full two weeks, we had stayed out of the public eye, cooped up in the practice room. The reason was simple: before starting our full-scale activities, we needed to find an accountant and a lawyer to help manage the band's operations.
"Well, I guess we should strike while the iron is hot."
I stretched, an indifferent expression on my face, and finally spoke. To truly etch our names into the soul of Japan forever, we did need to begin our official activities soon. Interest usually burns out as quickly as it ignites.
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A band's real revenue comes from live events and world tours. And as long as there are people seeking entertainment, events are held year-round.
To event organizers, we were the ultimate blue-chip prospect. Enfants Terribles was currently a powerhouse capable of drawing over 30,000 people anywhere they went.
We traveled around, delivering incredible performances at every event we attended. In my past life, I had mastered every bizarre and wild performance style imaginable.
A band's true rock 'n' roll spirit is determined by the physical energy of the performance.
However, there was one glaring problem.
"What? Hand-syncing again? That son of a bitch!"
"Hey, calm down, Chrome-dome. You caused a scene last time too."
Since this was a world where band music essentially didn't exist, almost no venues were equipped with proper audio systems. Unless it was a legitimate festival or a massive-scale celebration, we usually had to fill our sets with lip-syncing and hand-syncing.
Of course, since I played both vocals and guitar, I had to perform live most of the time, but it wasn't the case for the other members.
Still, it was enjoyable. Making music in front of people who love us is always a thrill.
"Waaaaaaaah!!"
We waved and ran up onto the stage. Naturally, the expression of our perfectionist bassist, Shuji, was far from pleasant.
"I'm not some kind of clown..."
"Hey, smile, smile."
"Look, your face is telling the whole world how pissed you are, Baldy."
Heeding our words, he forced a grin and waved at the crowd. But that was the look he always had right before he caused trouble...
"That Mad Scientist bastard..."
Bad premonitions are rarely wrong. To make it painfully obvious that he was currently hand-syncing, the Mad Scientist started pulling all sorts of stunts.
I can't believe he actually threw his bass to the crowd and started playing air guitar...
Anyway, despite various mishaps, performing in front of massive crowds was always a joy.
It was only natural that TV stations began seeking us out, the blue-chip kings of the event world. There was just one issue: even the TV stations lacked proper live audio equipment.
"Leader, I really can't tolerate this one."
"Hide, I feel the same way."
To be honest, this was crossing the line. Even if this world lacked a band culture, this was a national broadcast station—how could they not have a proper sound setup? If they didn't have the gear, they shouldn't have invited us in the first place.
"I agree this time too."
In my past life, when TV stations forced bands to hand-sync, the bands would often stage deliberate rebellions. They'd dance while holding their guitars, or pretend to eat the microphone while singing.
Oh? That sounds fun.
I believe that if a TV station calls a singer, they should at least provide the proper audio environment. That is the basic courtesy and respect due to an artist.
"Honestly, they started it."
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"The stars of the band syndrome you've all been waiting for!!! Enfants Terribles!!!!"
As the Host finished his introduction, three muscular men with solemn expressions stepped onto the stage. They looked as if they were just waiting for the song to begin.
As the song started, a nightmare that the TV station never wanted to imagine began to unfold. It started with our hulking, mixed-race drummer, Yokishi, at the back.
"Rip!!"
He used his brute strength to tear his shirt apart, snapped his drumsticks in half, and then grabbed several drum components and started doing squats. Beads of sweat began to pour off him—not from the exertion of drumming, but from his workout.
He looked less like a musician and more like a competitor prepping for a bodybuilding show.
The disaster didn't stop there. The next catastrophe began when our bald bassist decided to snap his bass guitar.
"CRACK!!!"
After tossing the broken fragments of his bass off the stage, he began to perform a wretched, awkward dance. If he had done that in a club, he would have been kicked out for being ridiculous, but this was a televised stage. His absurd dancing, accompanied by light reflecting off his shiny bald head, began broadcasting to every corner of the Japanese archipelago.
And mind you, it was a live broadcast.
The PD realized he was screwed and tried to run toward the stage, but his strength was no match for the sea of fanatical audience members he had to plow through.
Contrary to the station's desperate hopes, the disaster escalated. The yellow-haired rebel, who had been singing somewhat tamely, suddenly spat out a curse in the lyrics, took his hands off his guitar, ripped the microphone from the stand, and began stuffing it into his mouth.
"Mwaaa-gwar-mumble-uoorrr..."
Unlike the instruments, the vocals were being broadcast live, so the entire nation heard the sound of a yellow-haired youth mumbling while trying to swallow a microphone.
It was a performance specifically designed to give the middle finger to the TV station.
The sight of a bodybuilding show, a vile dance performance, and a microphone-eating show happening simultaneously on one stage was a moment that would go down in the annals of broadcasting history.
As the song reached its climax, the audience, catching onto the chaotic vibe, stormed the stage to join the carnage. Some engaged in a frantic frenzy of dance, while others started doing squats alongside the muscular drummer.
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"Why aren't you cutting the transmission yet! STOP THE BROADCAST!!!!!!"
Naturally, the next morning, the front page of every newspaper was occupied by Enfants Terribles.
[The Enfants Terribles' Pranks Continue with Full Force!!]
[The Insolent Rebels Who Mock the Japanese Entertainment Industry. Are They Truly Acceptable??]