In the night streets of Shimokitazawa, neon lights dyed the narrow alleys in dreamy shades of purple.
This was the so-called holy land of subculture, a place where dreams and poverty intertwined endlessly.
Inside a cheap apartment building with mottled walls and a faded “No Pets Allowed” sign hanging near the entrance, the door at the very end of the second floor slowly opened.
This was Yamada Ryo’s temporary residence.
Although her family was wealthy enough to own a private hospital, she had still chosen this ascetic lifestyle in pursuit of so-called rock spirit and freedom.
Of course, the real reason was simply escaping her family’s discipline.
Carrying a bass guitar bag taller than herself, Yamada Ryo dragged her exhausted body into the room like a stray cat climbing out of a sewer.
Click.
The lock shut behind her.
The room was pitch-black, illuminated only by faint light leaking in through the window from the street outside.
The apartment was messy in an artistic sort of way.
Clothes were casually draped over chairs, the floor was piled with effect pedals, cables, and scattered sheet music, and the air carried the faint smell of instant noodles mixed with…
grass.
“Ah…
I’m exhausted.”
Ryo carefully leaned the bass guitar against the wall before collapsing onto the narrow single bed without any concern for appearances.
Even though all she did today was wash dishes for a while before freeloading food, for someone whose life philosophy revolved around conserving energy whenever possible, this already counted as intense physical labor.
Still…
She reached into her pocket.
It was bulging slightly.
Inside were today’s spoils of war.
Five hundred thousand yen transferred into her account and…
a tissue.
A tissue Fujiwara Ai had casually used to wipe his mouth after dinner before throwing it away.
“Hehe…”
Ryo rolled onto her stomach and brought the crumpled tissue to her nose, inhaling deeply.
If Nijika saw this scene, she would probably think Ryo had finally lost her mind.
The usually lazy and scummy bassist who only cared about instruments and music was now showing an expression that could only be described as dangerously obsessed.
“It’s that scent…”
“Mint…
and a little miso soup…”
Her eyes became hazy while an unnatural blush spread across her cheeks.
“Boss really is a sinful man.”
Ryo slowly sat up and began removing her clothes.
The oversized black T-shirt slipped off and landed carelessly on the floor, revealing her unexpectedly attractive figure underneath.
Although she normally wrapped herself up like some gloomy cocoon and slouched around with zero feminine presence, her natural foundation was actually astonishingly good.
Her skin was pale enough to appear translucent beneath the moonlight, smooth like cold jade.
Her collarbones were delicate and deep, her shoulders slim and elegant, and the curves hidden beneath those loose clothes were far from flat.
While not as exaggerated as Marin’s figure, they possessed a youthful softness and firmness that carried a different kind of temptation.
Especially her slim waist and long legs, refined through endless hours spent standing and practicing bass guitar, giving them lean muscle and subtle strength.
Barefoot and half-naked, Ryo walked toward a small cabinet in the corner of the room.
There sat her most treasured possessions.
Not instruments.
An altar.
In the center rested a half-empty mineral water bottle, a slip of paper with Fujiwara Ai’s handwriting containing an account number, and the tissue she had just added moments ago.
Ryo clasped her hands together devoutly and bowed before it.
“Oh great God of Money…
no, great Boss.”
“Please bless me so I can obtain that vintage out-of-print amplifier soon.”
“In exchange…
I can offer both my soul and body.”
After speaking seriously to her bizarre shrine, she picked up the piece of paper and gently pressed it against her chest.
The cool paper touching her warm skin made her shiver lightly.
Although she had never actually crossed any lines before, as someone capable of abandoning nearly all dignity for the sake of music equipment, combined with the countless bizarre books she secretly read for songwriting inspiration such as “How to Capture a Rich Woman” and “Methods for Making Your Creditor Fall in Love With You,” her imagination had long since evolved into something terrifying.
The next day.
Dark clouds covered the sky, hanging low enough to make the entire city feel oppressive.
Fujiwara Ai walked quietly on his way home from school.
Today, Yotsuya Miko had been dragged off by her mother to attend cram school, allowing him rare peaceful alone time without constantly sensing an anxious gaze fixed behind him.
Still, this made him mildly curious.
So Japan really did have cram schools too.
As expected of East Asia.
“System, display current capture progress.”
He spoke silently in his mind.
[Ding!
Current progress report:]
[1.
Yotsuya Miko: 100/100 (Fallen/Soul Bound)]
[2.
Goto Hitori: 45/100 (Adoration/Wants to Marry)]
[3.
Yamada Ryo: Unknown (Money Slave/Hidden Pervert)]
[4.
Kitagawa Marin: 25/100 (Curious/Face-con)]
[Comprehensive Evaluation: Although everything appears stable, the Shuraba powder keg is already completely filled.
It is recommended that the host increase his strength quickly or purchase insurance.]
Fujiwara Ai’s eyelid twitched.
Insurance?
This system really wants him dead, doesn’t it?
Still, looking at those stats genuinely gave him pressure.
Especially Ryo’s “Hidden Pervert” tag.
So that dead-fish-eyed bassist who calmly borrowed money with a straight face was actually this dangerous in private?
Without realizing it, Fujiwara Ai eventually wandered beneath an old pedestrian bridge.
This was the entrance to an abandoned park. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
Almost nobody came here anymore.
Weeds grew wildly around the cracked pavement, and rusty swings creaked slowly in the wind like they were crying.
“Is this…
the end of the world?”
A soft voice suddenly drifted into his ears.
Fujiwara Ai paused.
He turned toward the source of the sound.
Sitting atop a massive concrete drainage pipe nearby was a girl with messy short gray hair.
A few strands stubbornly stuck upward while her oversized school uniform hung loosely around her frame.
Her white socks were stained with dirt, and she sat swinging her legs gently while scribbling into a small notebook.
Occasionally, she would poke her chin with her pen while staring absentmindedly into empty space.
Takamatsu Tomori.
Fujiwara Ai originally intended to pretend he hadn’t noticed her and leave immediately.
Interacting with this sort of denpa girl consumed too much mental energy, and it was easy to get dragged into bizarre gravity fields involving concepts like “for a lifetime” and “becoming human.”
However, just as he turned around, Tomori suddenly looked up as though sensing something.
Her empty yet strangely pure eyes locked directly onto him.
“Ah.”
She quietly made a sound.
No surprise.
No excitement.
Just the same reaction one might have upon discovering an unusual rock by the roadside.
“It’s…
the sad person.”
A vein immediately twitched on Fujiwara Ai’s forehead.
What the hell is a sad person?
Just because his name contained the character Ai didn’t mean he radiated depression all day.
His current life was practically that of a protagonist winning at life.
“Fujiwara Ai.”
He corrected her calmly.
“It’s not sad person.
That’s my name.”
“Mm.
Fujiwara…
Ai.”
Tomori jumped lightly off the concrete pipe with movements surprisingly soft and silent.
She walked directly toward him until they stood uncomfortably close, almost face-to-face.
Then she tilted her head upward and observed him carefully like some rare creature.
“You changed.”
She stated confidently.
“What?”
Fujiwara Ai subconsciously touched his face.
Had the changes from the charm increase become that obvious?
“Before…
you were gray.”
Tomori gestured vaguely through the air.
“Like a stone soaked by rain.
Cold and hard…
but beautiful.”
“I liked that lonely color.”
“Now…”
She frowned slightly while searching for the right description.
“Now you are…
a glowing stone.”
“Still cold…
but wrapped in many colors.”
“Pink…
gold…
and black…”
“A lot of people want to pick you up and carry you home.”
Fujiwara Ai immediately felt a chill.
This intuition was terrifyingly accurate.
Pink was Bocchi.
Gold was Marin.
Black was Miko.
This girl’s instincts were absurd.
No Spiritual Vision.
No system assistance.
Yet she still saw directly through his current situation.
“And you?”
Fujiwara Ai asked casually.
“Do you want to pick me up too?”
Tomori blinked slowly.
Then she looked down at her own empty palm.
“I do.”
She answered honestly.
“Because…
your light feels warm.”
“But…”
She patted her pocket gently, producing the sound of stones colliding together.
“My pockets are already full.”
“And…
you’re too heavy.”
“I can’t carry you.”
Fujiwara Ai instantly understood. Get faster updates on g.com.
She meant the emotional weight surrounding him.
The complicated relationships, the expectations, the entanglements.
Tomori was someone who only wanted to quietly collect little fragments of happiness and continue drifting through her own world.
She was afraid of becoming trapped beneath the weight surrounding him.
“Then don’t carry me.”
Fujiwara Ai answered calmly.
“Just watch from afar.”
“Mm.
Watching is enough.”
Tomori nodded seriously, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
Then she suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled something out before placing it into Fujiwara Ai’s hand.
It wasn’t a stone this time.
It was a dried leaf.
Golden-yellow veins spread across its fragile surface while the edges appeared torn and weathered.
Beneath the gloomy sky, it possessed a strangely broken beauty.
“This is…
a cicada wing?”
Fujiwara Ai looked uncertain.
“No.
It’s a specimen of time.”
Tomori replied with complete seriousness.
“I picked it up over there.”
She pointed toward a withered tree nearby.
“It was going to fall into the mud.”
“But I caught it.”
“For you.”
She pressed the leaf into his hand with cool fingertips.
“Because it’s fragile too.”
“It breaks very easily.”
“Just like the expression on your face right now.”
Fujiwara Ai touched his face again instinctively.
Expression?
Ever since using the Soul Fusion Acceleration Card, his control over his expressions really had loosened considerably.
Right now, he probably wore a faint bitter smile born from helplessness.
Was she saying his smile looked fragile?
“Thanks.”
He carefully stored the leaf inside his school bag together with the strange stone Tomori had given him previously.
If he refused, this girl would probably stand there holding it forever or spiral into some strange emotional gravity field.
[Ding!
Deep spiritual communication with Takamatsu Tomori detected.]
[Takamatsu Tomori Favorability +10 (Current: 20/100).]
[Status: Unique Observer / Wants to write lyrics for you.]
“I’m leaving now.”
Tomori completed her strange gift ceremony and turned around before climbing back onto the concrete pipe.
“There are many sounds here.”
She touched her ear lightly.
“I want to record all of them.”
“Sounds?”
Fujiwara Ai glanced around the abandoned park.
Aside from wind and distant traffic, the surroundings were silent.
“Mm.”
Tomori pointed toward the sky and then toward the ground, her eyes becoming distant and absent-minded again.
“The sounds of getting lost.”
“The sounds of crying.”
“And…
the sounds of wanting to become human.”
“They’re singing.”
“It’s noisy…
but very sad.”
Fujiwara Ai quietly looked at her.
Although he disliked admitting it, he truly was drawn for a moment to this strange temperament that seemed detached from the world itself.
In a world overflowing with schemes, captures, affection values, and Shurabas, Takamatsu Tomori felt like a unique anomaly.
She wanted nothing.
Not possession.
Not conquest.
Not reward.
She merely observed, recorded, and quietly carried everything alone.
That purity was more moving than any romance strategy.
“Go home early.”
Fujiwara Ai left behind this almost motherly reminder before turning away.
He understood that for Tomori, this amount of connection was already enough.
There was no need for excessive understanding or interference.
A small moment of resonance was already salvation.
Behind him, he heard the girl’s soft humming.
“Clearly…
a lost child…”
“Yet still wanting…
to catch the stars…”
It was the melody of Haruhikage.
Improvised lyrics floated gently beneath the gloomy sky, carrying a sadness mixed with faint hope that strangely soothed the heart.
Fujiwara Ai stopped walking and glanced back.
Tomori still sat atop the concrete pipe swinging her legs gently like an elf waiting to be forgotten by the world.
The corners of his lips curved upward slightly.
“What a strange girl.”