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Chapter 106: Bit by Bit, Moving Toward the Stage
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 15:30:41 +0000 UTCDetermined to share the awkwardness together rather than alone, Aoki finally gave in and replied.
And just like that, Ryo—who had been so confident in her mischievous little plan but lacked the follow-through fell back into silence the moment Aoki responded.
A soft flush crept up her cheeks.
She gave a light, embarrassed cough, pulled out her phone from her pocket, glanced at the time, and clumsily changed the subject.
“Ah... um, speaking of which... we’re really late already. Should we head back to the livehouse now?”
Aoki blinked.
Ryo is so weird... She knew full well that asking "how did it feel?" would leave her without a follow-up. And yet, she still asked.
He briefly considered teasing her more—maybe sharing more about how he’d felt at the time, just to see her reaction.
But seeing how quickly she dodged the topic, he decided to ease off.
He nodded, letting her steer the conversation.
The two began walking toward STARRY.
They hadn’t gone far when Ryo, finally recovering from the earlier awkwardness, spoke again.
“By the way, Suki-san...”
She looked over at him while they walked.
“I listened to your new song, She Really Lived. I’ve also seen everything going on online. And about that apology letter from Ghost Elements… have you thought about how you want to respond?”
“I was just thinking about that during lunch,” Aoki replied. “Was about to bring it up with you guys, actually.”
He hadn’t expected her to ask so directly, but since she did, he figured it was time to explain.
“That so-called apology letter? It wasn’t because they felt guilty. They saw which way the wind was blowing and wanted to distance themselves before the backlash hit. That’s all.”
“Their entire ‘apology’ only addresses the rumors that I’m some kind of industry plant. They didn’t even mention Kessoku Band, let alone apologize for the damage they caused.”
“So… if you’re asking whether I plan to accept the apology? I don’t think we should.”
Ryo gave a small nod.
“I don’t really care what they say. After all, which band you join is your choice, Suki-san.”
“But... aside from me, Nijika and the others were really affected by all this. Still, I think you should decide.”
“I don’t even have a Twitter account,” Aoki said. “At first, I thought about creating an official Kessoku Band Twitter to respond, but I think it’s better if I handle this alone. That way, if anything backfires, the others won’t get caught in it.”
“So yeah. We’ll make a Kessoku Band account for official stuff later. But for this... I’ll respond from a personal account.”
Ryo blinked at him, quietly observing for a few seconds.
She knew what kind of person Suki-san was.
When they were together, he joked with her, teased her, played along with her antics—and even indulged her ridiculous requests.
He always made her feel comfortable.
She also knew: no matter what, he’d be on Kessoku Band’s side.
And no matter what he chose, she’d be on his side.
But still...
Taking everything on by himself to shield the others—was that really okay?
She let out a quiet breath and shifted her gaze forward.
She didn’t say anything more, just gave a small nod and muttered, “Mm.”
The walk from the convenience store to the livehouse wasn’t far.
Even at a relaxed pace, they reached STARRY in just six minutes.
It was already 2:20 PM.
Without much small talk, they briefly explained the delay, then jumped into practice.
Bocchi-chan and the others didn’t seem to have noticed Aoki’s latest song, or the dramatic shift in online sentiment.
He didn’t bring it up either.
During a break, he casually mentioned the idea of creating an official Kessoku Band Twitter, saying it’d help when they start promoting Hanabi.
The idea was tentatively added to their to-do list.
Practice wrapped up around 5 PM.
Before leaving, Aoki headed into the storage room to look for spare parts for the electric keyboard—the sound had started to dull due to wear.
There, he happened to run into Ijichi Seika-san, the manager of STARRY.
She was balancing on a stool, reaching up to the top shelf, searching for something.
She was quite a bit shorter than him, and when she noticed him walk in, she immediately climbed down and waved him over.
“Oh—Aoki, perfect timing! I can’t reach this thing.”
She stepped off the stool and gestured for him to take her place.
Naturally, Aoki didn’t mind.
He asked what she was looking for, stepped up on the stool, and started searching.
Apparently, the sound system had been acting up lately—volume spiking and dropping randomly.
It was probably repairable, but with the place about to open for business, she figured it’d be quicker to just swap in a backup.
The only problem? The backup speaker hadn’t been used in ages and was buried high up.
Aoki searched for a while but didn’t find it in the first spot, so he started to climb down to move over and try another shelf.
As he did, Seika suddenly spoke, casually, like she was just making conversation:
“By the way, Aoki—looks like that whole online mess... you’ve handled it.”
He paused for a moment, then replied:
“I wouldn’t say it’s resolved. Ghost Elements’ apology was shallow at best. The public just turned against them—that’s all.”
“I read that so-called apology,” she said, picking up where he left off. “Honestly, getting a full apology out of them might be a tall order... for the current Kessoku Band, anyway.”
He didn’t respond right away.
He paused mid-search for just a moment, then resumed looking.
He understood what she meant.
Ghost Elements had walked back their accusations that Suki was an industry puppet or a plagiarist.
That part had clearly been lies.
But when it came to criticizing Kessoku Band’s musical abilities... they didn’t see anything wrong with what they said.
Maybe Aoki thought they weren’t qualified to judge.
Maybe Seika thought so too.
Maybe plenty of fans thought the same.
But the truth was—Ghost Elements and their fans didn’t believe they were wrong.
The frustrating part was that Aoki didn’t really have any grounds to refute that particular comment from the Ghost Elements band.
If he tried to fight back, they'd just double down with, “Well, it’s true the rest of Kessoku Band isn’t that good,” and the whole controversy would reignite—exactly what they wanted.
But just letting it go?
That was out of the question. Aoki wasn’t that kind of person.
He wasn’t the type to forgive easily or turn the other cheek like some saint.
So, after a short pause, he replied, “Yeah… I guess it is a bit difficult for Kessoku Band right now. At least until we release Fireworks, the public opinion around us will probably stay pretty negative.”
“But the release is only about two weeks away. Once it’s out, the tide will turn completely. As for now…”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
Then, looking down at Ijichi Seika, the store manager, he continued, “I don’t plan to pick a fight over the specifics of their apology statement. So don’t worry.”
...
After that, Seika voiced a few more concerns, but the conversation wrapped up quickly.
Aoki helped her retrieve the speaker she couldn’t reach, then grabbed the replacement keyboard parts he needed.
By the time he finished fixing the keyboard, it was already 5:30 PM.
He left the livehouse, grabbed a quick dinner outside, and hurried back to STARRY.
From 6 to 8 PM, he coached Kita on singing techniques and some basic guitar knowledge.
When it came to singing, Kita was a natural.
Everything Aoki had learned from the system, he passed on to her—and she picked it up with just a bit of practice.
Almost effortlessly.
It had been nearly two weeks since they’d started training together, and while her guitar skills were still rough, her singing had already started to catch up to Aoki's.
As for Fireworks, the song they’d been rehearsing for most of that time—Kita could now sing it without a single misstep.
At this point, Kessoku Band was just one final step away from being able to perform Fireworks perfectly: syncing their performance as a full ensemble.
It had been about three months since the band first formed.
Each member had improved drastically since then.
Given their individual talents, the progress they’d made since their live performance of Loser during the PVC event had been nothing short of remarkable.
You could even say they’d nearly doubled their musical skill since then.
Now, when they played together, major mistakes were rare.
All that was left was to keep polishing their coordination, day by day, until it was time to record.
...
After finishing Kita’s vocal training, Aoki took the train back to his apartment at 8:20 PM.
He washed up, tidied the room a bit, and by the time he settled in, it was already 9 PM.
Time to address the Ghost Elements’ apology.
Just like he’d mentioned to Ryo earlier, he planned to post a message online responding to the statement directly.
The Ghost Elements band and their fans probably wanted to see him accept the apology, didn’t they?
They were the ones who stirred up the controversy in the first place—pushing Kessoku Band into the role of a victim.
And now, after all that, they were pretending to play nice with an emotionless apology.
They wanted the clout.
They wanted to manipulate public opinion to pressure Kessoku Band into backing out of the Fireworks collaboration.
And Aoki wasn’t about to let that slide.
He opened Youtube, went to his creator dashboard, tapped on the “Post Update” button, and began typing.
A few minutes later, a bold message appeared on Suki-san’s profile:
———————————————————————
“Without evidence, they tried to strike me down. Without cause, they smeared my name.
Their apology lacked sincerity—no mention of the damage they caused me, no acknowledgment of the harm to Kessoku Band.
They wanted to use rumors and pressure to force us to walk away from Fireworks.
The controversy is over now—don’t you think it’s a little late for apologies?
As for the Ghost Elements band’s apology... I do not accept it.”
———————————————————————
He tore the mask right off Ghost Elements' original intent.
Clear, calm, and resolute—he laid out exactly why he refused the apology.
The post was airtight.
There was nothing anyone could fault in what he’d written.
After publishing it, he backed out of the creator dashboard and checked the public page.
He expected it would take a while for replies to come in.
But within just a few seconds, the comments began rolling in.
A quick glance told him most of them were supportive—people backing him without hesitation.
But of course, a few die-hard Ghost Elements fans couldn’t help themselves.
They jumped in to throw shade:
———————————————————————
“They already apologized. What more do you want? Want them to grovel now?”
“You don’t accept it? Whatever. They don’t need your approval. All they did was question your ability. If you’ve got a problem with that, prove them wrong.”
“Honestly, I still think Ryota and the others were right to doubt you. Can someone this petty really make good music?”
“Trying to leech off Ghost Elements now that they’re more popular, huh?”
———————————————————————
You had to admit—idol worship was a powerful thing.
Even with everything out in the open, even with Ghost Elements issuing an insincere apology, there were still fans defending them to the bitter end.
Did they not realize that blindly defending the band like this might be what ends up sinking them for good?
Apparently not.
In their eyes, Ghost Elements was simply better suited for Fireworks than Kessoku Band.
Fine.
Then they’d just have to prove otherwise.
Two weeks left until recording and the Fireworks trailer release.
Even if it wasn’t about proving anything to the fans...
Even if it wasn’t about making Ghost Elements realize what they’d done wrong...
Even if none of that mattered—
It was time for Kessoku Band to use this one song, Fireworks, to put an end to this ridiculous circus of a controversy.
