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Chapter 173 – Future Plans and the Celebration Party
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 17:43:24 +0000 UTCAfter riding the train back with Kita, Aoki arrived at his apartment around 11:30.
Before heading home, they stopped by a convenience store for a bento, making do with a simple lunch.
Around one o’clock—before Aoki could even leave for the livehouse—KL Corporation sent him an official notice with the final selection results.
The song “I Once Thought About Ending It All” had been chosen.
Its quality was ridiculously high, and its fit with the animated short was, in their words, “unparalleled.”
After discussion, KL’s higher-ups unanimously decided to go with Kessoku Band’s performance.
Aoki had been alone, mulling over a math problem, when the email came in.
The content was straightforward: first, lavish praise for “I Once Thought About Ending It All,” then a request to meet the next day to discuss the details of a collaboration.
The tone was polite—overly polite, in fact—so much so that Aoki could find nothing to criticize.
The whole reason he’d entered this event was to get a foot in the door with KL.
Now that they had won, there was no way he’d let the opportunity slip away.
Even if KL hadn’t reached out first, he had already planned to contact the “Fujita-san” he’d met earlier to talk about working together.
The only hitch? …He still had school tomorrow.
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Meanwhile, after KL’s email to him, the company also posted a tweet announcing the winner.
Some fans, who had suspected that Takashi Imai’s earlier praise might have just been industry back-scratching and assumed he’d ultimately take the top spot himself, were stunned to see KL officially confirm Kessoku Band as their pick.
Alongside the shock came a surge of curiosity.
If this wasn’t corporate favoritism—if Kessoku Band had really won on merit—then just how good was this song by “suki-san”?
Good enough, apparently, for someone like Imai to tweet that it was “a song that can give people strength, a song that moves you to your core.”
At 1:10 PM, KL announced the final judging results.
At 1:15, right after that announcement, they followed up with a second tweet—this one giving a brief release schedule for the animated short, and (naturally) taking the chance to promote their own seasonal anime lineup.
The release date was set for next Friday—November 19th—unless something went wrong at the last minute.
On that day, the short would premiere on YouTube, Niconico, and other major video platforms.
After several delays, anticipation had already been building for months. And with the buzz from the Imai–Kessoku Band incident, the hype was at a boiling point.
The moment KL posted, the replies exploded.
Some users, still suspicious thanks to Imai’s earlier tweets, demanded explanations in the comments—throwing around words like “rigged” and “corporate PR stunt.”
Others, driven by curiosity and excitement, immediately began asking KL to release the song early.
Of course, KL had no intention of doing that.
First, because the hype was still growing—letting it simmer a few more days would only make it hotter.
Second… the deal with Aoki and Kessoku Band hadn’t even been finalized yet.
Without the rights, they couldn’t release the song even if they wanted to.
And so, between audience curiosity, online cynicism, and the attention of multiple business interests, the KL announcement had set everything to a fever pitch.
Aoki, however, was completely unaware of all this.
After reading the email, he glanced at the wall clock. Seeing it was about time, he grabbed a jacket and headed for STARRY.
At the livehouse, he was greeted with congratulations from Store Manager Hoshika before they moved on to discussing the evening’s plans.
The dinner menu was quickly settled—Kita’s hotpot suggestion won unanimous approval.
Then Yamada Ryo, half out of idle curiosity, asked about the payment for the collaboration.
Aoki answered, “Nothing’s been decided yet.”
When they’d done the theme song for Fireworks, he had split the earnings evenly, and there had also been payments for radio appearances, concerts, and so on.
Logically, no one in the band should be hurting for money at this point.
But Ryo was clearly a special case—any spare cash she had tended to get turned into new bass guitars or quirky trinkets with no practical use whatsoever.
Once her question was answered, Ryo lost interest in the discussion and drifted into a daze.
Meanwhile, Kita, Nijika, and Bocchi were chatting enthusiastically about which ingredients to prepare for the hotpot.
Aoki had no interest in grocery shopping, and, not wanting to give himself more work, he stayed out of the conversation entirely, zoning out instead.
His thoughts drifted, almost automatically, to “What should I do after this KL project wraps up?”
Truthfully, Kessoku Band—and “suki-san” as his personal brand was in a good place now.
They weren’t exactly a household name in Japan, but among the younger generation, they were one of the most well-known bands around.
Realistically speaking, if they held a concert right now, they’d easily fill the venue.
Even just ticket sales could bring in a small fortune.
But… Aoki felt like something was still missing.
Concerts were, at their core, a way to make money.
Sure, they built stronger connections with fans, but as far as boosting their overall recognition… the effect was minimal.
The amount of energy needed to prepare for a concert was, of course, anything but small.
Right now, Aoki was more inclined to focus on raising the band’s popularity rather than making a fortune out of it.
So the next step he needed to consider was probably how to expand their reach…
Release an album, compete in music awards and win, top the Oricon charts…
There were plenty of ways—but none of them would be easy.
From what he could see, the Kessoku Band girls definitely had the skill.
And the music he could create was more than enough to make any of those achievements possible.
So why was he still saying it wouldn’t be easy?
Because of the other side of the equation—
Aoki was fully aware, and could clearly feel it: quite a few record labels, music companies, and entertainment agencies already had their eyes on Kessoku Band… and on him.
Some wanted to sign them.
Others, after being rejected outright, seemed to have developed the desire to sabotage the band altogether.
He had always considered the idea of working with certain companies.
Like their earlier collaboration with the Fireworks production team, or the later one with KL Studio—those he didn’t mind.
But some offers, those that came from companies looking to lure him in…
If it had been six months ago, he might have wavered.
Now? Not in the slightest.
Nijika had her own dreams.
Ryo had her determination to avoid commercialization and stick to her own path.
Aoki himself didn’t really mind either way—but at the very least, he wanted to protect the girls’ vision, to keep it from being warped or troubled by outside forces.
So—if they could hold onto their identity, if they could avoid having shackles placed on Kessoku Band—there was no way he would choose to sign with any music company now.
And the consequences of that choice were obvious.
A music company’s thinking was simple:
‘If I can’t have you, then what if one of my competitors does?’
Naturally, once Aoki turned them down, they would do whatever they could to block Kessoku Band, to stop “Suki-san” from growing without limits.
And in that case…
There was no doubt the road ahead for Kessoku Band would become even harder to climb.
A long and difficult path indeed.
Aoki took a slow breath, letting his thoughts drift for a moment.
Then, a quiet, cool voice suddenly reached his ears.
“Suki-san… what are you thinking about?”
