BARD (4)
Café.
A restaurant where anyone, regardless of gender, could drop in without hesitation and order a cup of coffee. A place where you could kill nearly an hour without worrying about prying eyes.
Simply considering the price, a net café would have been far cheaper, but Tae-il sipped his coffee without a care.
Since he'd borrowed precious weekend time from the ever-busy Ayane, he resolved to invest generously—without sparing a thought for his own wallet—so she could have a thoroughly satisfying day.
'Well, I paid with the card Mom gave me.'
Use it if you're in a pinch.
A devoted son of the blazing fire attribute, faithfully following his mother's advice—his name was Shin Tae-il.
"Whoa, the decorations are so pretty. Tae-il-chan, can I take a picture?"
"Why ask permission for something like that? Just snap it if you want to."
"Ehehehe."
Probably eager to brag to her friends, Ayane fussed over her smartphone, snapping shots of the waffle plating. Only after getting a satisfactory photo did she pick up her knife and fork.
"Happy with the pics?"
"Yeah! I even sent one to senpai to show off!"
"Senpai?"
"Sakurako-senpai! Want to see, Tae-il-chan?"
Ayane showed Tae-il the LINE chat.
Leaning back against the plush sofa, Tae-il asked,
"Who's Sakurako-senpai?"
"A morals committee senior. Pink hair in twintails."
Ayane beamed, grabbing a lock of hair by her temple and mimicking twintails.
Pink hair in twintails.
The distinctive look jogged a character in Tae-il's mind.
Hiiragi Sakurako.
Among the villains in The Band ~Girls Do Band~, she was the pettiest one.
A morals committee member who constantly picked fights with Iris over "indecent conduct," deriving a sense of superiority from her shorter stature compared to Rena, the pint-sized mesugaki.
Yet by the finale, even she had a change of heart, acknowledging Rena on the eve of her graduation and gifting her high-heeled shoes as atonement for past bullying.
Of course, Rena exploded in fury to the end, accusing her of one last jab.
"I think I know who. The senior shorter than you, right, Ayane?"
"Yeah, that's her!"
Ayane burst into laughter at the mention of her own height, nodding vigorously.
"Her personality's iffy too—she's super annoying!"
"Doesn't seem like it from how close you two look."
"She's the senior Ayane relies on most. She acts tough, but she looks out for me in her own way?"
Another line added to Tae-il's mental notes.
Hiiragi Sakurako: petty villain, but a tsundere.
"Glad she seems to be doing well."
"Right? Tae-il-chan, want to join the morals committee too?"
"Why me?"
"Hayate-senpai complains every time there's heavy lifting—says they need a guy."
The morals committee's duties went beyond gate checks and campus patrols.
True to manga fashion, they wielded real authority—intervening in bullying incidents or clashing with violent clubs.
The committee subduing a violent club, only for Burning Blaze to turn the tables and ravage them sexually, was a staple doujin plot.
Of course, such doujin scenarios didn't happen in reality. They shouldn't.
Tae-il sipped his coffee.
The bitter tang creeping from the tip of his tongue was unmistakably reality.
Ayane gazed at him pleadingly.
"Can't you?"
"Wrong address for muscle, ma'am."
"Pffft. True. Ayane forgot Tae-il-chan's a total klutz at sports. Pretend that offer never happened!"
Ayane laughed brightly, popping a piece of waffle into her mouth.
"Mmm~♪ Sooo good!"
Its castella-like melt-in-your-mouth texture, drenched in sweet maple syrup, was perfection for her sweet tooth.
"Want some, Tae-il-chan?"
She held out her fork—fresh from her own mouth—with an innocent smile.
An indirect kiss ploy, but Tae-il declined.
"You eat it."
"It's really good, though…."
Tae-il gave a wry smile at her crestfallen look.
"Anyway, that Sakurako-senpai. Doesn't seem like she needs to diet."
"Right? Ayane thinks she should bulk up instead."
"That's what I always tell you."
"Yeah. Guess Ayane picked it up from Tae-il-chan."
She grinned, as if to say, We're alike, aren't we?
Tae-il didn't say it aloud, but he nodded with a subtle smile.
"Seriously. Like you said, gaining a little weight might suit her better…."
He shook his head, sipping his coffee.
"Women are such a mystery."
"Tell me about it~."
Ayane agreed, slipping another bite-sized piece into her mouth.
"Nom."
It never got old.
Worth every penny, for sure.
"Haaah…."
Ayane's cheeks flushed, her face blooming with a languid, blissful smile.
"That good?"
"Mhm! Want some, Tae-il-chan? The train hasn't left yet?"
"I said eat it yourself."
Second time for the same exchange.
Tae-il chuckled, crunching into a bland biscuit that tasted like nothing.
Honestly, just watching Ayane eat filled him up.
Seeing her so ecstatic over a single waffle made buying it worthwhile.
Of course, he bought it, but with his mom's card—so technically, his mother footed the bill.
'Time to check the scene.'
With his mind at ease, Tae-il washed away the creeping drowsiness with coffee and pulled up the anonymous community for RyuT fans.
It was flooded with proof shots mocking those who couldn't make it.
Tae-il tapped the most popular post.
Ticket certifications up top, followed by a barrage of photos showing the scorching crowd heat.
"Crowd's huge."
A twinge of worry hit him.
The plaza in front of the live house, where the broadcast would happen, was packed.
'Even with tickets, not sure we can get in.'
One photo even showed tents pitched solidly.
Tae-il skimmed other posts to gauge the vibe.
Scalpers hawking overpriced tix, fans saying they'd settle for a glimpse of Izumi even if they couldn't enter.
'About 1 hour 30 left….'
Shouldn't have checked.
Tae-il sighed, screen down on the table.
His calm, rested mind turned jittery.
Might need to bolt the second Ayane finished eating and line up.
'Calm down. Double-check the plan.'
To quell the anxiety—and guard against mishaps—he pulled out his notepad.
It was crammed with itineraries he'd slaved over for two sleepless nights: post-audience plans with Ayane. He reviewed the must-do list meticulously.
'Water first, definitely….'
Tae-il glared seriously at the notepad.
Ayane watched him with bright, curious eyes.
Finally noticing, he softened and closed it.
"What? Want more? Should I order another?"
Ayane shook her head, fork paused mid-chew.
"Nuh-uh. Not that."
"Then?"
"You just looked super serious. Like something's worrying you…."
"Ah, no biggie. Just the spot we're heading to seems crowded."
"Crowded?"
"Popular band. Can't stop fans from showing up, even without tickets."
Broadcast schedules and BARD's lineup might mean no songs at all—but that didn't matter to them.
Sharing space with BARD.
Feasting eyes on BARD.
Chasing BARD's trail.
Just adding a BARD memory to life sparked euphoria.
That was the hardcore fan life.
"So jealous~."
"Tae-il-chan?"
Suddenly, Tae-il slumped over the sofa.
He wanted Ayane to experience BARD's charm unfiltered.
Ideally, not this ramshackle music show with an iffy setlist and incomplete lineup—but a full BARD concert, their meticulously crafted setlist from peak form.
BARD doing encores for the fans.
BARD had a peculiar, unique allure.
Each member brimmed with talent, but none explosive alone.
Perfectly synced, they multiplied beyond addition—synergy enveloping not just themselves, but the audience too.
Any band could claim that, but BARD's energy mesmerized crowds into unity, losing themselves until it felt like they roamed the stage alongside.
A miraculous site where stage and floor boundaries vanished.
Not frantic anthems, yet all hearts united in song—of youth, hope.
She'd be captivated.
Like original Ayane, like Tae-il smitten by BARD's real-life inspiration.
'No, I wasn't captivated.'
Tae-il dredged a buried memory.
Still lost and wandering, he'd roamed Shinjuku and Shibuya, catching buskers—Japanese and Koreans alike.
That day too.
Drifting aimlessly through a busking-famous park, he stumbled upon BARD purely by chance.
Pre-fame, their landmark street debut. Tae-il, who hadn't grasped why the protagonists obsessed over BARD, fell head over heels that day.
Beyond the manga world, music moved souls.
A siren's allure ensnaring the wandering lost.
BARD stood at its pinnacle.
'Tenma Izumi.'
A name suiting her heavenly demon surname perfectly.
Tae-il swam through the memory.
A stoic young woman, not yet shed of girlish traces. Azure hair dyed in jet-black night, decadent; crimson eyes without light, corpse-like.
Pitiable.
But gripping the mic, she transformed.
As the intro played and she sang the first verse, she shone.
Azure locks glowed, banishing dark; lightless crimson eyes sparkled like Milky Way stars.
A star.
Stage Izumi was a radiant star.
Beneath skyscraper shadows, in lightless park gloom, she blazed brightest.
Not her alone.
Drummer Akitora.
Bassist Yahiro.
Guitarist NA.IN.
Like Vega, Deneb, Altair forming summer's Grand Triangle in night skies, BARD linked four stars into a constellation band.
Even after Izumi's death severed the line, stars never lose light in death—supernovas blaze galaxies-wide.
Cosmic instant to us, eternal legend to humanity.
A year from now, vocalist Tenma Izumi dies in tragedy. BARD effectively disbands; her loss shocks many.
Iris and Ayane among the protagonists, no exceptions.
Yet in canon, they chased her ghost to the end.
Peak heavenly demon binds them cruelly as specter, keeping them from escape.
A woman of true demonic charm.
Stray RyuT would yearn for her voice, smile, memories—grieving living BARD.
Tae-il might too.
'So before that happens, I must….'
He vowed.
Before Izumi's death, take Ayane to summer and winter concerts. Show her the blinding, brilliant star.
For that, spark her interest in music—bands especially.
Canon could veer a bit.
The world was peaceful.
No world-ending doom, no occult cabals—just ordinary 21st-century Earth.
A slight detour?
Fine, as long as they reached a happy end.
Fail? Live with it.
He was prepared.
But drawing Ayane fully into this world worried him.
"Ah."
"Tae-il-chan?"
A photo he'd skimmed flashed back—buskers amid the crowd.
'That's it!'
Empty plate and mug.
Tae-il cleared the tray and shouted,
"Let's go, Ayane!"
"Uh, o-okay? Wha?"
He snatched the fork from her mouth and said,
"Where else?"
The fork pointed out the window.
"Live house."