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Chapter 139: The Radio Show’s Ripple Effect — The KL Short Anime Submission Project
🕑 Added 2025-09-05 16:20:45 +0000 UTCBack when the members of Kessoku Band first began making appearances on Twitter, it was Amano Ryu—who had once publicly spoken in support of both the band and Aoki Kei—who immediately noticed their posts.
As the band continued to perform and appear at various events, and fans began shipping different pairings, Ryu stayed fully informed on the developments.
In truth, his initial reaction to all of it had been one of disdain.
“Fans of musicians should care about their new releases, not these superficial and fleeting things.”
That’s what he’d thought—just a few days ago.
But now, only days later, that opinion had completely changed.
After watching the video on Niconico and seeing the onstage interactions between Kessoku Band’s members and Aoki Kei, Amano Ryu found himself completely converted.
Kita, the guitarist, sneaking glances.
Nijika, the drummer, biting her lip when looking at suki-san.
That subtle, constant attention they all seemed to pay him during the radio broadcast.
Suki-san instinctively stepping in to help out the socially anxious Gotou.
And then—
Yamada, the bassist, whisking suki-san away and making that declaration live on air...
That youthful atmosphere. That subtle, delicate tension...
There’s no way these girls aren’t into suki-san, right?!
Forget the new songs for now—yes, they’re important—but more than that.
What he wanted most at this moment was to see the Kessoku Band girls continue appearing in these kinds of public events!
Just a week ago, Amano Ryu had proudly declared himself a Kita supporter.
But now?
Now he had switched sides.
With an auntie-like smile plastered across his face, he livestreamed himself watching “Yuu-chan’s Special Guest Today Is…” all the way to the end—and afterward…
With his follower count having shot up to 80,000 after the last round of public buzz.
He put his decent editing skills to use and pulled an all-nighter to create a new video—one that had little to do with musical critique.
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[Bassist: “Something That Belongs to Me Alone”]
————————————————————————
Against all expectations, that video went viral—despite his account only having 80,000 followers.
Part of the success was due to just how well-edited it was.
He’d poured everything he knew into it—sound mixing, timing, pacing—drawing from all his experience.
The end result came close to rivaling that one video that had topped the Niconico charts.
And the other reason?
He had perfectly timed the release to ride the wave of “Yuu-chan’s Special Guest” going live.
Add to that his existing follower base, and by the day after the broadcast, the video had exploded across the internet.
Aoki Kei, at first, had no idea any of this was happening.
He woke up and started his day as usual.
Even when classmates at school asked him strange questions, he brushed them off with vague responses.
Everything stayed calm—until his train ride home after school.
Just as he returned from the station and shut the front door behind him, his phone buzzed from his pocket.
It was a call from Masami Nagano, the radio director.
They had exchanged contact info during their last collaboration, and a call now likely meant it was about the aftermath of the broadcast.
He took out his phone and answered.
And sure enough, just as Aoki Kei had expected, Masami Nagano got straight to the point the moment the call connected.
“Aoki-sensei, have you been checking online comments lately? Just like I predicted, the show created a huge buzz—it’s blowing up!”
She sounded thrilled, and Aoki wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such excitement.
He gave a light chuckle and offered a polite reply.
“Ah... congratulations, Director Nagano.”
“No, no, I should be congratulating you! I saw it—your Twitter follower count jumped from 400,000 to 600,000! That kind of growth rate’s faster than a rocket launch!”
That did catch Aoki Kei off guard.
Though he managed the Kessoku Band’s official Twitter, he honestly didn’t pay much attention to follower numbers.
Whether it was 300,000 or 400,000, he never really cared.
But according to Director Nagano, in just one day after the broadcast aired, the fanbase had exploded…
It was pretty wild.
After all, fans are the foundation of any band.
The number of people who attend live shows, who buy merch and support them—that’s where most of a band’s revenue comes from.
And with 600,000 Twitter followers…
Even if just one out of every thousand followers bought a ticket, that’d still be 600 people showing up!
Not to mention all the other potential revenue streams, or fans who hadn’t even followed the account yet.
Still, those were thoughts for another time—
Aoki masked his surprise and responded calmly, “It’s all thanks to your show, Director Nagano. I really appreciate it.”
“Not at all!” she replied, brushing off the compliment.
“The buzz this time is off the charts! I think it’s only going to get bigger from here—you were the real key, Aoki-san.”
Then, after a brief pause, she continued quickly, “By the way, Aoki-san... you really do have a talent for radio.
Have you seriously never considered guest-hosting from time to time? Or even becoming a full-time personality?”
When it came to “radio talent,” Aoki Kei truly had no idea what she was talking about.
Doing radio might genuinely help Kessoku Band grow—more exposure naturally meant more fans.
But given Aoki Kei’s discomfort with broadcasting and his lack of confidence in managing live shows, he wasn’t keen on heading in that direction just yet.
So he politely declined, “Hmm… I’ll think about it later, Director Nagano. If I decide to give it a shot, I’ll be sure to reach out.”
On the other end, Masami Nagano sounded a little reluctant to let the idea go, but she agreed nonetheless.
Afterward, she and Aoki chatted briefly about the ongoing buzz and its ripple effects.
Then, somewhat out of the blue, she brought up something else.
“By the way, Aoki-san, I haven’t heard any updates lately… Any news on new songs from your band?”
Normally, she wouldn’t bring up songwriting—it wasn’t her place.
So if she was steering the conversation in that direction, it clearly meant she had something on her mind.
After thinking it over for a moment, Aoki Kei replied, “We do have a few ideas for new songs, but nothing’s finalized yet. Is there something going on, Director Nagano?”
“Oh? You do have some ideas?” she echoed, then explained, “Here’s the thing—just a few days ago, KL Studio announced an open call for music submissions for a new high-budget short anime project.
Tons of musicians submitted their work, but none were selected—not even some of the veterans in the industry...
That’s what reminded me, so I figured I’d mention it to you.”
Aoki Kei knew of KL Studio.
It was one of the most renowned animation companies in the industry.
And now, they were producing a short film with top-tier animation quality, actively seeking music submissions—and rejecting works from even industry legends?
“A high-budget short film? Did they specify any requirements?” Aoki asked, intrigued.
“There are a few,” Nagano said, picking up on his curiosity. “KL releases one of these short films every three years. They pour in a huge budget and meticulous production values—purely for public benefit.”
“Six years ago, the theme was environmental awareness. Three years ago, it was about hard work and perseverance. As for this year…”
She paused briefly before continuing, “With how unstable society is right now—so many people breaking under pressure and turning to suicide.
KL chose a theme nobody seems willing to talk about. This year’s message is: ‘Look toward a better future.’”
“Look toward a better future, huh…” Aoki Kei repeated, mulling over the words quietly.
Hearing his silence, Masami Nagano hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, sounding as if she were trying to gently manage his expectations.
“That said, Aoki-san… KL’s standards this time are extremely high. Some very big names in the industry were rejected—including none other than Uesugi Nanazaki.”
Aoki Kei’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Uesugi Nanazaki—one of the absolute top figures among the current generation of Japanese musicians.
He hadn’t expected someone like him to submit a track, let alone to get rejected.
Nagano’s words carried a clear subtext—Even if you don’t get selected, don’t be discouraged. You’re in good company.
But truthfully, Aoki wasn’t too concerned about that.
After a short pause to consider it, he calmly responded to her, “I understand. Thank you for the heads-up, Director Nagano. If I get the chance, I owe you a meal.”
“You’re too kind, Aoki-san. Well then, I won’t keep you any longer.”
“Alright. Take care, Director Nagano. Goodbye.”
