Two days.
That was exactly how long I had managed to survive on a strict diet of convenience store bread and total social isolation. Every time I closed my eyes, a four-part harmony of "I love you, Izumi-kun" echoed in my brain like a cursed radio signal on an infinite loop.
"It was just a penalty game. They're aspiring stars; they were just acting," I whispered to myself, standing like a frozen statue in front of the Audio Club door. I adjusted my glasses and slapped my cheeks hard. "Today, the mask is back. No blushing. No stuttering. Just pure, professional production."
I grabbed the handle and swung the door open with the confidence of a man who definitely wasn't screaming internally. "Alright, everyone! Time to—"
The words turned to ash in my mouth. My brain, usually a high-speed processor, suddenly suffered a catastrophic system crash.
Inside the room, the girls were in the middle of a tactical wardrobe change.
Sakura was halfway through buttoning a sleek black shirt, her blazer tossed unceremoniously onto a chair. Shinobu was currently a headless torso, struggling to pull a tight t-shirt over her hair while muffled grunts of frustration escaped the fabric. Rikko was standing there in a hoodie three sizes too big, but had apparently decided that pants were "optional content" for the day. And Shiina... Shiina was elegantly sliding a sleeve up her arm, her pale shoulder catching the morning light like a scene from a high-budget drama.
For three agonizing seconds, the world stopped spinning.
Sakura's eyes went wide. I saw her chest heave as she prepared a sonic-level scream that would likely alert every teacher within a three-mile radius.
I didn't give her the chance. I attacked first.
"ARE YOU ALL ABSOLUTELY INSANE?!" I roared, my voice hitting a decibel level that actually made the windows rattle.
The girls froze. Sakura's scream died in her throat, replaced by a look of sheer, blinking bewilderment.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR HEADS?!" I continued, stepping into the room and slamming the door shut behind me. I didn't turn away. I didn't blush. I was too busy being professionally offended. "THIS IS A CLUB ROOM! NOT A BACKSTAGE DRESSING ROOM AT THE TOKYO DOME! DO YOU REALIZE THE DOOR LOCK IS BROKEN?! ANYONE COULD HAVE WALKED IN! THE DISCIPLINE COMMITTEE! THE PRINCIPAL! A HUNGRY STRAY CAT LOOKING FOR LUNCH!"
"Wait... Izumi, you're supposed to be the one embarrassed—" Sakura started, clutching her shirt to her chest with a confused scowl.
"OH, SO I SHOULD APOLOGIZE? I SHOULD BE THE ONE BLUSHING?" I crossed my arms, my face set in a mask of pure 'Disappointed Parent' energy. "NO! YOU SHOULD APOLOGIZE TO THE VERY CONCEPT OF PRIVACY! WHERE IS YOUR OPERATIONAL SECURITY?! LOCK THE DOOR! USE THE RESTROOMS! HAVE YOU NO SHAME FOR THE SANCTITY OF HIGH-END AUDIO EQUIPMENT?!"
Ten minutes later, the atmosphere had done a complete 180-degree flip.
The four girls were now fully dressed and sitting in a perfect, apologetic row on the floor. I was pacing back and forth in front of them like a military drill sergeant, holding a rolled-up script as a makeshift baton.
"Shinobu-san," I barked.
"Y-Yes, Producer!" she squeaked, her head bowed so low her forehead almost touched the floor. She looked like a puppy that had just been caught chewing a designer shoe.
"Security is a mindset! You are the 'Voice' of this club. If a scandal broke out now, your career would end before your first hit single! Do you understand?!"
"I am so sorry, Izumi-kun! I was just... I was just too excited!" she whimpered, looking genuinely repentant.
"And Sakura-san!" I turned my gaze to the right.
Sakura looked like she wanted to ignite me with her eyes, but the sheer momentum of my 'Lecture Mode' kept her pinned to the floor. "Look, we were in a hurry—"
"Hurry is the enemy of perfection! You're the one who calls me a clown, yet here you are treating a studio like a beach changing room! Do you know how much dust and hair ruins the faders on a mixing console?! It's a technical atrocity!"
"Fine! I get it! Stop being so loud, you idiot!" she grumbled, her face crimson—not from romance, but from the sheer indignity of being scolded by me.
Rikko held up her tablet. On the screen was a pixelated crying cat emoji with the text: [System Error: Producer is too loud. HP dropping to critical levels.]
"And Shiina-senpai," I said, stopping in front of her.
Shiina was the only one still looking elegant, somehow managed to sip tea even while sitting on the floor. She looked at me with a playful, sharp glint in her eyes. "You're very passionate today, Izumi-kun. Is this your way of masking the fact that you got a very good look at us?"
"I WAS LOOKING AT A POTENTIAL PUBLIC RELATIONS NIGHTMARE, SENPAI!" I countered, though my heart gave a tiny, traitorous thud against my ribs.
I let out a long, weary sigh and sank into my producer's chair, the adrenaline finally fading into a headache. The awkwardness of the "I Love You" incident from two days ago had been successfully buried under the sheer absurdity of the last fifteen minutes.
"So," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Why? Why the sudden fashion show in the middle of the club room?"
Shinobu looked up, her eyes sparkling again. "Because of these! Shiina-senpai had them made for us!"
She stood up and turned around. On the back of the sleek black t-shirt she was wearing was a golden logo of a star wearing headphones, and underneath it, in bold, professional lettering: AUDIO CLUB - THE VOICE OF THE STARS.
"We wanted to surprise you," Sakura muttered, tossing a plastic bag at my head. "It's a club uniform. We figured... since we're actually making progress, we should look like a real team."
I opened the bag. Inside was a shirt identical to theirs, but on the back, the text was slightly different. In large, golden letters, it read: PRODUCER.
I stared at the shirt, then at the four of them—my chaotic, talented, and profoundly strange crew. The anger evaporated, replaced by that familiar, warm hum of resonance.
"The font choice is a 6/10 at best," I whispered, before clearing my throat and pulling the shirt on over my school uniform. "But... I suppose it fits the brand."
"Just say thank you, you jerk," Sakura smiled, her eyes softening just a fraction.
"I'll say it with results," I replied, standing up and checking the levels on the board. The golden star keychain in my pocket felt lighter than it had in days. "Alright, team. Let's show the school that our first broadcast wasn't just luck. Rikko, check the cables. Sakura, warm up those vocals. Shinobu, I want that 'Star' energy at 110%."
The girls jumped to their feet, their eyes lit with a new, unified fire.
"Yes, Producer!"
The mystery of the 'Star' was still unsolved, and the air between us was still complicated, but as the 'ON AIR' light flickered to life, I knew one thing: we were finally on the right frequency.