BARD (5): The Precious 2000 Yen
Knock knock.
Yahiro knocked on the waiting room door.
"Izumi. The broadcast starts in an hour. You ready?"
"Yeah."
Izumi, who had been completely absorbed in the item in her hands, finally looked up.
Yahiro, realizing what had her so engrossed, flashed a gentle smile.
"At it again, huh?"
"Yeah."
Izumi cradled the neatly laminated 2,000-yen bill as if it were the most precious treasure.
Yahiro, sharing that same memory, closed his eyes wistfully.
"Man, even after all this time, it hits me. Our first busking gig, right?"
"Yep. Five years ago."
Five years prior, after BARD—then just a scrappy school band—had broken up due to personal issues and miraculously reformed, this was from their very first street performance.
That day, the members decided to debut their original song, one they'd composed and written lyrics for themselves, instead of their usual familiar covers, deeming it a historic occasion.
"Thinking back still makes me wanna crawl into a hole. Total nightmare."
"Same."
But for an upstart band's bold gamble, it barely made a ripple.
The park was packed with established busking groups. BARD got pushed aside again and again, ending up in a dingy corner where the streetlamp was busted and barely any light reached.
They could've waited for a better spot, but busking hours in Japan are limited.
They couldn't let their milestone first gig flop, so they chose to sing in that forsaken nook anyway. But who would trek to such a creepy spot just to listen?
Still, they sang.
Clinging to the naive belief that their music would surely reach someone.
Faith is blind.
And the blindness led to failure.
No matter how hard they poured their hearts out, no one paid them any mind.
Well, almost no one. Actually, there was exactly one.
A kid with such a low presence that no one noticed until the applause started.
"Wonder how that little guy's doing."
"High schooler by now?"
Izumi stroked the laminated bill with affectionate eyes.
"He was elementary school age when we met, right? So yeah, high school now."
"Think he might show up today?"
"Who knows. Kid was already a ghost—barely noticeable."
"Nah."
Izumi pushed back against Yahiro's words.
"He stands out a ton. That kid does."
Her eyes sparkled like stars.
Yahiro stared at her blankly for a moment.
Something dark and indescribable bubbled up inside him.
He spat out words he didn't mean.
"Jeez. Looks like our dear Tenma sees something us clueless fools can't."
"Don't tease, Yahiro."
Realizing too late what he'd said, Yahiro rubbed his face.
"...Sorry, sorry. Got jealous without thinking. Pretty immature of me."
"Jealous?"
Izumi tilted her head.
"Eh, you know how it is. Us music idiots will never get it."
"Yahiro, that's mean."
Izumi pouted like a sulky kid at her friend's jab.
Instead of laughing, Yahiro pulled his fedora low over his face.
"Yeah, yeah. Yahiro's a jerk. So ignore this unworthy fool and head in for makeup already—it's the stylist's lifelong dream."
"...Ugh, do I have to?"
Izumi let out a rare whine.
With her sensitive skin, she hated anything on her face—makeup, lotion, basic skincare, the works.
Even her sheet masks were half-forced on her by the members' nagging.
Despite the minimal care, her skin stayed impossibly soft and bouncy, flawless except for that mole by her mouth.
No, even that mole was seen as a charm point—talk about unfair.
All the BARD members thought the same.
Unfair!
Wasn't this proof she was heaven-sent?
"The heavens sure play favorites. Dumping both looks and talent on a girl like you."
"Jealous?"
"Damn right, you wench. If you shared even a fingernail's worth of that beauty, I'd be set for life."
"V?"
Yahiro let out a deep sigh at Izumi propping her chin with a V-sign.
This is infuriating.
He wanted to just send her out like that, but the stylists wouldn't let him. They were dying to doll up this pretty canvas.
When Yahiro wouldn't budge out of laziness, the stylist played her negotiation card.
Sigh, just this once.
The deal: an intro to her cute junior stylist.
Selling out a friend for a girl.
Yahiro felt zero guilt as he spoke up.
"I get you're confident in that face. But cameras these days are brutal—they'll catch every pore."
"So?"
"Think about it, dummy. That kid you're dying to reunite with sees your pored-up mug on YouTube or NicoNico—"
Izumi shot to her feet.
"I'm going."
"Uh, wh-whoa?"
Too effective?
Yahiro stared at her, flustered.
She asked,
"Which way?"
"Th-that waiting room over there..."
"Be right back."
With the resolve of a general facing a battle that could decide a nation's fate, Izumi marched off in the direction Yahiro pointed.
Yahiro watched her retreating figure.
"What presence..."
No wonder girls fell for her.
Separate from that, he'd dated plenty since school days, but women still baffled him.
* * *
"Sh-Shin, this the right place?"
"Yeah. See that Live House? That's where we're watching BARD today."
Tae-il pointed to the modest-sized venue, unfit for BARD's fame. It loomed plainly like a neighborhood office from the outside.
Modest, sure—but considering most Live Houses are basements, this was pretty legit.
"Feels different from the ones Ayane knows."
"Capacity's way bigger. Up to 1,500."
But today's audience was around 500, Tae-il added.
"Why?"
"It's not a solo BARD live—it's part of a broadcaster's music show."
Official broadcasts need tons of space, no matter what.
For performers, artists, their stylists and agency staff, camera crews—everyone takes room.
Plus gear storage, and securing distance since it's not guerrilla-style.
Audience space gets cut first, naturally shrinking capacity.
To the network, audience members are just fillers—too many become a hassle.
Honestly, 500 felt excessive to Tae-il.
"Broadcasting's a big deal."
"Like our culture fest—everyone pitches in. Same thing."
"True. Sakurako-senpai said the Morals Committee is busiest then."
Anything with money involved blows up.
Band life too...
When music's a hobby, costs are personal gear and shared rehearsal rooms. But recording albums, hustling gigs? Money everywhere, and member friction skyrockets.
That's bands for you.
Hard to find like-minded folks, harder to keep bonds tight.
Artists' egos clash deeper in, views on music diverge, petty fights daily.
Friends become comrades.
Comrades become enemies.
The scene's full of third-raters preaching rock spirit sans skill.
Tae-il gave a wry smile, wondering if he'd been one.
"Anyway, no rush to enter—wanna check out some buskers?"
"Eek!"
Ayane freaked as Tae-il pointed to an enthusiastic group.
Black and silver leather jackets spiked with studs.
Waist-length hair, ghost-like heavy makeup.
But the faces were scariest.
"Can we even approach? Looks dangerous."
"Kinda unique."
Even with BARD's popularity, normies don't flock here. They were likely fellow enthusiasts.
"BARD's soft and pop rock—far from that heavy vibe."
Obvious heavy metal fans.
"Wouldn't it be fun?"
"That!?"
What was fun about a devil-crawled-from-hell guy?
Ayane shook her head, sweating bullets.
"Haha. Okay, how about over there?"
Ayane turned.
A woman in jeans and white shirt strummed an acoustic guitar, singing a BARD song.
In the crowded square, she had barely any listeners.
"Th-that level, Ayane can handle."
Unpretentious—easy to approach unnoticed.
Ayane relaxed and went with Tae-il.
The woman, eyes closed in focus, didn't notice.
She sang steadily in a husky voice.
Ayane whispered after listening quietly.
"Ayane thinks she's heard this somewhere."
A bit rearranged, but familiar.
"BARD's hit, 'When I Open My Eyes in the Morning.'"
Featured as an anime OP, their most recognized track.
"You heard it at Kohaku too, probably."
"Yeah, now that you say it..."
The chorus vaguely surfaced in her mind.
Couldn't recall lyrics, but could hum along.
Maybe their mass appeal. Lots of BARD songs hit that sweet spot.
"Predictable, but that's why they stick. They scratch that itch."
"Ayane gets it! Can't remember details, but the lyrics always resonate."
"They take turns writing lyrics—everyone does it."
A BARD hallmark.
Composition might vary, but lyrics are every member's duty.
The song ended as they whispered.
Tae-il clapped lightly; Ayane followed belatedly.
"Th-thank you!"
The woman blinked in surprise at the unexpected audience and bowed deeply.
Tae-il led a short chat—mostly pure impressions and encouragement, no critiques like "nice voice" or "off-key."
Sincere words, eye contact, hit different. She beamed, played a few more, got feedback to the end, then left.
In under 20 minutes, Ayane hadn't said a word.
Tae-il gently shook her hand.
"How was it?"
"Uh, well..."
Ayane mulled it over.
"Kinda awkward. Ayane just listened like Shin did, but she was so grateful... felt bad."
Tae-il handled the talk, but her gaze reached Ayane too.
Ayane found it stifling, uncomfortable.
Wanted to say something, but her vocab failed her.
Couldn't even muster "sounded good"—felt pathetic, sorry.
"Felt expected to cheer her on, but couldn't. Listened hard, still nada from Ayane."
"Bummed?"
"Dunno..."
Her clutched hands fidgeted, mirroring her turmoil.
Steeling herself, Ayane gripped tighter and met Tae-il's eyes.
"But next time, Ayane wants to say something. 'Sounded good.' 'Wanna hear more.'"
"That's plenty. Huge boost for them."
Artists.
Musicians.
Thirsty for attention.
A little goes a long way.
"Alright, next buskers? Those look fun."
"Eh, Shin? Those from earlier..."
"BARD fans doing heavy metal? Intriguing, right?"
"Shiiiiiin!"
"Let's give 'em Ayane's first impressions."
"Too much!"
Ayane wailed and pounded Tae-il's shoulder.
"Haha! Sorry, kidding. My bad."
"Oww!"
Despite apologies, puffed-cheek Ayane kept smacking.
Tae-il took it quietly, knowing he deserved it.