"Let's circle the block," Yuki-san said with an exasperated sigh. "Staff entrance in the back."
Because, well, cutting through the crowd was impossible.
It should have been a good sign. Imagine that three hours before it even starts, the crowd's too large to access your own concert. There was only one tiny problem with that.
These people were here for Pink-Hair-san, wearing his merchandise and everything.
"Not a great start," he muttered, following the tiny emo girl.
They had nothing to compete with that.
But of course, the manager saw this in a different light.
"Yuki-chan, you're a genius," he claimed.
A man in his thirties—and in pure bliss—greeted them once they got inside.
"We sold out in less than a day. Last time you booked, we got like twenty paying customers, but look at this crowd now. Amazing."
Yeah, Konrad had a hunch they far oversold their capacity as well.
If it were up to him, he'd give the main hall a permit for, say, two hundred people.
Three at most, if he ignored some safety standards. But the line outside stretched five hundred men long or more. Again. Three hours before the gig would even begin.
Was this stupid ex-idol that popular?!
"Don't know how you got Hoshi-sama on board, but the naming scheme was a masterpiece, too," the manager said. He fawned over the girl as he helped to offload her guitars.
"Naming scheme?" Konrad raised an eyebrow.
The man spared him no more than a fleeting glance.
"Yeah? I mean the Immigrant Band," he shrugged. "People these days hate foreigners. No offense, Roadie-san. But this face-off looks like an idol fighting back invaders, haha."
Oh. Shit.
The culture shock from finding himself in Tokyo was already huge.
He never even thought about looking into politics, and now—
"You mean the crowd's only here to see us fail?!"
The realisation hit him like a freight train. That pick was a huge mistake. It was one thing to be unknown beginners on the stage, but to play the hated enemy for a huge crowd?!
"Ah, right, Yuki-chan. What's the line-up? Isn't Hoshi-sama a bassist, too?"
"Um, yeah, I've switched," the girl said like it was no big deal.
The manager paused.
"Huh? To solo guitar?" he asked, blinking. "I mean, I bet you can pull it off, but what about—"
"Haha, no, I switched bands," Yuki-san corrected him. "I'm with the Immigrants now."
The man had to collect his jaw before he could say anything. And even then, he was only sputtering for a while. He had Konrad's sympathy. He felt the same way back then.
"Well, they called Deep Purple a dad rock band," the girl explained. "Had to teach 'em a lesson."
As if that made sense.
But she grinned ear to ear, even if she was the only one happy at the moment.
"D-does your Dad know? Sorakumo-san was always—"
"Of course, he does," Yuki said, waving him off. "We practiced in his store, after all. And if anything, Oto-san was happy with this change. Those guys were, I don't know, strange."
Nope. She was the one who changed.
Which was thanks to Lucifer rewiring her brain. And as much as Konrad liked this version of her, he never knew the original Yuki-san. How different she must have been?
For everyone else who knew her, it had to be jarring.
Especially after that thing with the hospital—
But his mind was elsewhere. Calculating, trying to face this new reality.
Stage fright was one thing, but to play for a hostile crowd?
Would he even gain any magic from that? Anger was also an emotion, after all.
But what if it poisoned the whole process?
Bard magic was anything but well-documented. According to the dragoness, it was a stuff of legends. And if he could believe Midori-kun, no mage would have resorted to it, ever.
As long as they had any other choice, they'd try that first.
Well, too bad, they had none.
"So, uh, your friends, Yuki-chan?" the manager asked, grasping at straws. "I bet you got quite the line-up if you let the others have Hoshi-sama. With Sorakumo-san's connections—"
"Oh, right. This is Halstadt-kun, rhythm guitarist," she said, pointing at the shuddering Konrad.
The man furrowed his eyebrows.
"And his classmates play drums and keyboard," Yuki noted. "One's pretty skilled."
If the guy expected them to have an ultimate secret weapon, he was in for a disappointment.
This was all they were: three unknown beginners against an actual star.
Well, and the whirlwind that was Yuki-san.
"Does this mean you plan to retire after this?" the manager asked, looking struck.
"Huh, why would I?"
Whether the girl played dumb or not, Konrad knew exactly why he asked.
So in an expert's eyes, there was no comeback from a band battle like this.
This Hoshi-guy and his fans would crush them, humiliate them, and no clubs would book a gig with them after that. As long as he got the mana, he was fine with this, but Yuki-san?
For all he had known of her, putting the scarce pieces of her real personality together—
She was living and dying for music. The way she played was great. Emotional, raw. And it wasn't limited to the bass or the guitar either. She was good in many different genres.
So when this was over, they'd return to Kasserlane, but the girl?
If they broke her career now, what would she do?
Waste her life in the music store the same way as Konrad wasted his on a dead-end job? Even if this whole thing was her idea and he'd only come along on this wild ride—
He couldn't let that happen.
Grabbing her arm, he dragged her to the side.
"You sure about this?" he whispered, looking serious. "We should back out while we can."
"Sure about what?!" the girl snapped, hands on her hips. "You want them calling us cowards?!"
"Whatever. Better'd be cowards than burn to the ground," Konrad said. "You saw those chicks outside. They think this'll be a beatdown, Hoshi-san against the bad guys—"
"So what? Scared?" she asked with a grin, even though her arms trembled in his, too.
He sighed.
This was an attitude he loved, but it wasn't hers.
"Yes. Yes, I am," Konrad admitted. "You already know why I picked up the guitar. And you—"
She held up a shushing finger, placing it straight against his lips.
"I want to kick their asses," she said. "I know what you're thinking. That the angel messed with my brain, right? That I don't remember anything from before—but that's why they piss me off."
He blinked, eyes crossed to focus on her short, rainbow-painted nail.
"They're assholes. I'm serious. Don't know why and how I became their friend, but—"
She waved around the still-empty Underground Club.
"My dad built the sound system for this place, and for like five others in the area. I've connections—and they used it. Always. Even with me fresh out of the hospital."
Ah. Konrad remembered.
Wasn't the stake of this band battle that if she lost, she'd manage their gigs, free of charge?
A talented girl like her, reduced to that?!
He'd have none of that.
"You're right," he grunted, those earlier worries gone. "Fuck those guys."