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Chapter 101: Aftermath of the Storm, and Its Impact
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 15:46:03 +0000 UTCSeptember 8th, around 3 a.m.
Normally, by this hour, most people in any city would already be fast asleep.
But tonight was anything but normal.
Ever since Aoki released "She Really Lived," the storm of controversy online hadn’t shown the slightest sign of dying down.
Without a doubt, the song’s emotional impact was overwhelming.
The lyrics tugged at the heart.
The imagery—of bullies, indifferent bystanders, and gossipers was stark, raw, and infuriating.
Listeners weren’t fools.
They clearly understood the purpose behind Suki-san’s release of the song, especially given the maelstrom of public criticism he and Keshouku band had found themself in.
Still, even with their emotions stirred, many listeners needed something more— A valid reason, a clear justification to stand up, to fight back.
And now...
Amano Ryu’s post gave them exactly that.
With an existing fanbase and significant overlap between fandoms in the music scene, it didn’t take long for his post—published around 10 p.m.—to be discovered.
Youtube's recommendation algorithm was a strange beast.
If a video or post received a surge of engagement within a short period, the system would automatically give it a boost.
Whether by sheer luck or perfect timing, Amano Ryu’s post—originally overlooked—ended up riding the momentum of the “Suki-san Scandal.”
It became, effectively, the very first public post across the entire internet to speak out in defense of Aoki.
The first half of the post was fierce and blunt.
But the second half? Sharp, reasoned, and well-articulated:
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“Suki-san is just a high schooler. If the industry wanted to manufacture a star, there are far more suitable candidates than someone who’s never even shown their face.”
“The movie Fireworks chose Kessoku Band, and now that someone else got passed over, they’re turning to smear tactics against Suki-san.”
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...
A few concise points.
A few emotionally charged lines.
But thanks to the lingering effect of “She Really Lived,” even the harsher language carried a kind of cathartic humor.
But that wasn’t the most important part.
For those on the sidelines—those unsure, swayed by gossip or silent out of confusion—Ryu’s post finally gave them a reason to act.
And so, an overwhelming number of netizens began commenting underneath the post:
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“Short and sharp. Everything makes sense now. Come to think of it, there was never any real proof that Suki-san was some corporate product…”
“I cried listening to She Really Lived. And right then and there, I understood what Suki-san was trying to say.
I didn’t know how to respond. But thanks to your post—so clear and well-written—I know we’re not alone.
Our voices are going to be deafening.”
———————————————————————
And beyond that, many also picked up on a few important names mentioned in Amano Ryu’s post—the PVC Project and the band Ghost Elements.
Long-time fans who had followed Suki-san’s channel were already aware that Aoki and Kessoku Band had participated in the PVC Project.
But the general public—who lacked access to post-event coverage never knew how they had performed.
They didn’t know what place Kessoku Band had earned with their song “Loser.”
They didn’t know that Ghost Elements, having been beaten in the rankings, had held a grudge against Suki-san and the Kessoku Band ever since.
But now, with Ryu’s post shedding light on everything, people began to connect the dots.
And that’s not all—
Riding the wave of curiosity, internet sleuths got to work.
In less than 30 minutes, users had traced Ghost Elements' parent company and discovered that it had past dealings with the Fireworks production team.
Suddenly, all the pieces fit together.
The full picture had come into view.
As mentioned earlier—these users were no fools.
Sure, they could be swayed by trends and public sentiment—but once the truth came out, their aim became laser-focused.
Humans are emotional creatures.
And Aoki’s “She Really Lived” had moved them.
So, naturally—they took action.
It’s not easy to take down an anonymous musician who’s never even shown their face.
It’s not easy to erase a band that’s only ever performed in one big live show.
But if your target is a band that’s been active for four to five years, with only average talent, boosted purely by looks and corporate hype— Well, that’s a whole lot easier.
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September 8th, around 3 a.m.
A massive wave of online users flooded the official Twitter account of Ghost Elements,
calling them out for making baseless accusations and attacking others onstage without evidence.
And the media outlets that had sided with Ghost Elements—those that smeared Suki-san just to ride the trend— were now under fire too.
The reckoning day had come.
Meanwhile, deep in their dreams, the members of Ghost Elements remained blissfully unaware...
That the entire internet had already turned against them.
That the storm had flipped—completely.
......
Elsewhere in Tokyo, early the next morning—
Ryota Nagao, the leader of the band Ghost Elements, wasn’t woken by an alarm, nor did he wake up naturally.
At around 5 a.m., just before sunrise, he was jolted awake by an unexpected phone call.
He groaned, irritation flickering in his chest—but when he saw the name on the screen, his annoyance quickly faded.
It was a call from someone at the company.
Not particularly high-ranking, but still above him in the hierarchy.
Someone who rarely contacted him directly.
And yet, here they were—calling at five in the morning.
Ryota scrubbed a hand down his face, forcing himself to wake up a little, then tapped to answer the call.
On the other end, a voice, sharp and serious, immediately spoke:
“What the hell’s going on? Why did it take you so long to answer?”
Ryota resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
‘It’s five in the morning,’ he grumbled inwardly.
But outwardly, he said nothing except several sincere apologies.
The caller didn’t push the issue further—maybe because they knew full well it was too early for this.
Instead, they got straight to the point:
“If you’re just waking up, I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news online. I’ll keep it simple—Ryota, your band, Ghost Elements, is in deep trouble.”
Ryota blinked, still half-asleep, wondering if he’d heard that right.
After a pause, realizing no further explanation was coming, he finally responded, confused:
“…Huh?”
“Don’t act surprised. You used your band’s official account to attack that ‘Suki-san’ person directly.
And now? He dropped a new song—innovative composition, powerful lyrics, emotionally gutting.
It’s gone viral overnight. And you guys? You’re getting absolutely torched.”
“So now, you have two choices—”
“Option one: double down. Go scorched earth on Suki and Kessoku Band. Keep claiming it’s all corporate propaganda, accuse them of plagiarism, stick to your guns.”
“Option two: let the company’s PR team write an apology. It might not work. It’ll be humiliating. But it might calm things down a little.”
“Pick one. Either way, you’re all going to pay for this.”
There was a long silence.
Ryota knew—neither option was good.
And more than that, he couldn’t figure out...
Where did it all go wrong?
How had things escalated so badly—just overnight?
Why was he the one being told to apologize to Suki and Kessoku Band?
He cleared his throat. “…Sorry, can I give you an answer later? I just woke up, and I don’t really know what’s going on yet…”
A pause on the other end, then a flat “Fine.”
Before Ryota could say goodbye or thank him, the call was abruptly cut off.
But Ryota didn’t have time to dwell on the rudeness.
He immediately exited the call screen and opened Ghost Elements’ official Twitter account—just as his supervisor had mentioned.
There was a sliver of hope still in his chest.
Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe it was being exaggerated.
But the moment the flood of angry replies and scathing comments loaded on the screen, that tiny hope vanished completely.
He closed the app.
Opened Youtube.
Searched for Suki-san’s newest video.
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Five minutes later.
Ryota sat in stunned silence.
The video was over.
But the weight of it lingered.
As a musician, he knew exactly how powerful the song was.
It stirred emotions.
It poured emotion.
It used a fresh, unorthodox musical style— And it landed with precision.
Even worse were the comment comparisons between She Really Lived and his own band’s content:
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“And Ghost Elements thinks they’re better than Kessoku Band? With what? A prettier logo?”
“You already lost once. PVC Project. Second place. Kessoku Band beat you fair and square. Just admit a bunch of high schoolers are better than you.”
“Oh, and here’s a fun thread of all your old scandals. Just in case anyone forgot.”
———————————————————————
The internet had dug everything up.
Ryota exhaled, long and slow, as if hoping it would clear his thoughts.
‘Why did I step into this myself…?’
A hopeless sigh escaped him.
At this point... Going scorched earth was like an ant trying to topple a mountain.
There was really only one option left.
Apologize.
He spent a few minutes collecting his thoughts, thinking carefully about what he’d say next.
Then he pulled out his phone, scrolled to his recent calls, and redialed the company number.
The moment the call connected, Ryota’s voice came out low, resigned:
“I’ve seen everything now. Let’s go with the apology.”
Unsurprisingly, Ryota chose to apologize.
But while Ghost Elements was scrambling to manage the fallout...
Aoki had no idea any of it was happening.
Having just woken up, he threw on a clean outfit that had been hanging out for days, did a quick wash-up, and headed out for his morning jog.
After the run, he grabbed breakfast on the way home.
Back at the apartment, instead of diving into study, he sat at his desk, picked up his copy of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, and resumed reading where he’d left off.
Time passed quietly, until it was time for his next plan of the day— Heading to the library.
He had a tutoring session with Kita to prepare for.
