BARD Live – Millennium's Echo
““““Thank you!””””
The heavy metal band, who had clawed their way up from hell itself, bowed their heads in unison.
Ayane, who had instantly become the star of the plaza, grabbed Tae-il's sleeve with a teary-eyed face.
“Sh-Shin jaaaang….”
“Kh-Khuh! S-Sorry… I'll call you in a bit, pfft!”
“Don't laugh!”
It was the most obvious story in the world: they'd gotten wrecked by Tae-il.
He'd gotten roped into watching the heavy metal live from start to finish on some flimsy pretext.
And when he'd wrung out some compliments from his limited vocabulary, this was the result.
“We're so moved by big sis's advice!”
“Moved is fine, but you're freaking me out—back off a little!”
“That must mean our skills are still lacking. Don't worry! We're the Metallians! We'll liberate every citizen in the nation from oppression with heavy metal! When that day comes, we'll come pay our respects to you, big sis!”
“Woooaaah!”
The guys' roars echoed thunderously.
Ayane, suddenly the center of attention from a crowd, covered her flushed face and shouted.
“Nooooo!”
“Puhaha!”
Ayane bolted.
Tae-il clutched his stomach laughing until he locked eyes with the Metallians' vocalist and slapped a high-five.
And then.
Time passed, and entry time for the Live House arrived.
“Whoa. Shin-jang, is that line 500 people?”
“Looks like more than that.”
As always, there were bound to be people trying to pull some stunt wherever you went.
Plenty were attempting to sneak in without tickets or with fakes. Unfortunately, their efforts crumbled before the power of modern technology.
It'll get through, right?
Tae-il eyed the ticket in his hand anxiously.
Thankfully, the two made it inside the Live House without issue.
“Guess we don't have to buy drinks.”
“Drinks? Didn't we grab some at the convenience store on the way?”
“Normal Live Houses make you buy a drink whether you like it or not.”
It was because they were registered as restaurants.
Drinks weren't optional—they were mandatory.
Though places that focused on music facilities sometimes didn't sell them, this one had a perfectly fine drink counter, so that didn't apply here.
Following the crowd past the entrance, they entered the main hall—a space far more like an actual concert venue than the cramped Live Houses Tae-il knew.
“I could tell from the outside, but this place could host a full solo concert no problem.”
“Shin-jang. This is bigger than our school's auditorium!”
“Obviously.”
Ayane looked around in awe.
Her curious gaze drifted to the standing section, packed tight with dark equipment and people.
“Is that the standing area you mentioned, Shin-jang?”
“Pretty spacious, huh?”
Standing section.
The place where you connected most directly with the artists on stage, soaking in their energy head-on. It was also the most cutthroat spot to ticket for.
The downside was no seats for however many hours the show lasted, but for fans, the perks more than made up for it.
Right now, it was crammed with broadcast gear and staff—no room to breathe.
“You watch from in there, rubbing shoulders with everyone?”
Ayane recoiled at the mere thought, her breath catching.
“Ayane, standing might be a stretch for you….”
“We're seated anyway today.”
Tae-il lightly flicked the head of Ayane, who was already backing away in preemptive fear.
“Ow! V-Violence is bad!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They followed the softly glowing floor lights—like in a movie theater—to their assigned seats.
Surprisingly, it was front row.
I really owe Arthur-hyung big time.
Tae-il silently thanked his Korean compatriot colleague who'd handed over the tickets so readily.
Sitting there staring at the stage, Tae-il was reminded of the year-end award shows he'd watched back in Korea.
Pretty similar setup….
The standing area turned into tables packed with celebrities and industry folks, while regular fans watched from the upper seats a step removed.
Unlike Tae-il, who was casually comparing it to his memories, Ayane—experiencing this for the first time—fidgeted restlessly, unable to keep her hands still.
“Shin-jang. Are Live Houses usually this big?”
“I told you—this one's special. Most barely fit 200.”
And a band filling a 200-person Live House was already indie-famous.
Ayane's eyes took in the seats filling up fast.
“So how famous is a band playing a place like this?”
“Hmm. To book here, they'd at least hit the Oricon charts or Apple Music top spots, right?”
The world was cruel.
Industry folks didn't judge bands or music on merit alone—they went by numbers. Even if a song slapped, if it wasn't the right level, demo tapes got ignored.
Money was on the line. They had to eat too.
At the same time, it was a courtesy. Unsold tickets fell on the band.
Most bands were already strapped for cash and time.
Piling on ticket costs could crack member bonds—even bankrupt them. Money was scary.
Above all, Live Houses let you feel your popularity for real.
Big online followings didn't mean much if fans didn't show up live. Bands had to hustle, prove it with skill.
But for a band bouncing between 200-cap rooms, this place would be intimidating.
Normal Live House stages felt packed with just one band or idol group. This one's scale was on another level.
Thrust stage.
A true interactive setup, surrounded on three sides by audience.
“Kinda bummed. If it was a normal live, we'd be standing up there.”
“Ayane feels safer sitting here.”
“First time, that's normal. I used to lurk in the corners too, too self-conscious.”
But you couldn't fully enjoy a live being timid. Not full club-rager mode, but you had to let go a bit.
“Ayane can't get it. Having fun crammed with strangers….”
Even brighter now, interacting with others was still heavy emotional labor for her.
She grimaced at the vague aversion.
“No need to force it.”
Tae-il squeezed her hand tight.
The trembling stopped.
“I want Ayane to get into this world, but you don't have to twist yourself to fit me.”
All Tae-il could do was provide the spark.
The rest was up to her.
He felt cowardly for building this half-dependent dynamic then saying that—but he was still haunted by visions of Ayane shining on that screen.
He admitted it.
Pulling Ayane into this world was pure selfishness.
He couldn't give up the perfect, stage-radiant Burning Blaze. And for that, she had to fall for music first.
BARD had power.
The power to seize hearts, make people dream the same dreams.
“Just focus on the stage. Watching the star shine up there is enough.”
Then, a huge change would come from within you.
Tae-il swallowed his true feelings.
“Okay….”
Ayane stared at the stage, tense.
Moments later, the house lights dimmed.
Fans' murmurs hushed instantly under the broadcast staff's directions.
Not even a drill-sergeant squad could quiet that fast.
Ayane swallowed dryly.
Her mouth was parched.
Thirsty, but she ignored the drink Tae-il had bought ahead.
Clack, clack.
Her grip on his hand tightened.
Footsteps echoed hugely.
Izumi appeared on stage in her usual loose shirt and jeans—casual comfort.
She tapped the standing mic and blew into it a few times.
“Okay.”
Testing the volume, she cleared her throat.
“Ahh. Can you hear me okay?”
“Yesss!”
“We missed you, Izumi!”
“BARD! BARD! BARD!”
“Unnie, you're so pretty!”
Izumi smiled with her eyes at the fans' fervor.
Her sky-blue eyes swept over their faces one by one.
Tae-il's was among them.
Izumi's eyes widened slightly.
A subtle shift only BARD members—who'd known her nearly a decade—would catch.
He really came.
The spotlight felt like it bathed just the two of them.
Ignoring the real-world distance, they time-traveled back five years.
Dark park, insect chirps, distant busking band sounds beyond the path.
Izumi smiled faintly.
Five years on, the boyish look had faded, but that vibe and gaze remained.
Their first grueling adult busking. Pushed to a corner by turf wars, ignored by all—except one boy who paid attention.
He approached after the set.
“That was amazing. Keep it up.”
“Th-thanks…!”
He'd said that, shoved a 2,000-yen bill at her out of nowhere, and bolted before they could react. The members stared dumbly at the bill in their hands.
Yahiro laughed about why 2,000 yen of all things—tears streaming.
Akitora stared at the sky, his buff muscles useless against the lump in his throat.
NA.IN, stoic as ever, sank into thought.
Tenma Izumi saw hope in her music.
First time we got properly wasted with the members.
Nostalgia intertwined.
First busking, first solo concert.
Hard to say which left deeper marks, but oddly, the five-year-old memory flooded her first.
Drunken truths.
High school dreams unspoken, worries shared over booze.
That's how they'd made it here.
Still cherishing that 2,000-yen bill.
First time meeting on stage.
Her lips curved unconsciously.
She adjusted the mic and scanned the crowd again.
“Luteans, thank you all for gathering here today.”
Her face seemed to shine brighter than usual as she thanked the fans who'd come for her.
Izumi's eyes sparkled like stars.
Her intense gaze lingered on the front row, unnoticed by others.
“Coming back here after so long reminds me of our first solo concert. Some of you are even dressed the same as back then. Great minds, huh?”
Soft laughter rippled through the seats.
A few scratched their heads sheepishly.
“Remember it?”
As Izumi spoke, footage played on the screen behind—a shaky, low-res amateur clip. Dizzying camera wobble, but Izumi's pure, crystalline tone cut through the tinny audio.
She'd worn the same outfit then.
“I channeled that vibe a bit today.”
Izumi stuck out her tongue playfully.
“Truth is, that was our first solo, so I agonized over calling it a 'concert.' The Live House handled tickets—I had no idea how many sold until showtime.”
What if half the seats stayed empty?
Too ambitious?
Should've picked smaller?
Negativity swirled, nerves wrecking her condition.
“I was sweating bullets, thinking we'd have to drag in members' families and friends.”
Izumi glanced back.
Yahiro waved her off—don't look here.
“Haha. But so many fans showed up, it blew my worries away.”
Over a thousand—a smash hit beyond success.
That night, BARD partied hard and passed out.
“500 of you today. New faces and regulars—means we're on the right track. Four years post-debut, and you're still loving us.”
A few fans teared up at Izumi's heartfelt voice.
One mind, shared memories.
The Luteans had become one with her the moment she took the stage.
Tae-il, an elementary kid then, had missed that historic night. But he dimly grasped BARD and their fans' emotions.
Ayane, clueless about this scene, panicked seeing people sniffle or dab tears.
Should I cry? Is this the crying part?
No tears came, but with everyone around emotional, she felt eyes on her.
She peeked at Tae-il—calm, no glistening eyes.
G-Good, no need to cry….
Relief hit, tinged with regret.
If he'd cried, she could've comforted him.
That regret didn't last.
“Man, I miss it.”
Today's music show theme: BARD's origins documentary.
This footage would be brief clips or stock.
The network hadn't been keen on shooting here.
But Izumi insisted on a short fan meetup; members agreed.
“Today will be truly unforgettable.”
As Izumi wrapped up, Yahiro and guest session musicians kicked off from backstage.
The opener: Millennium.
BARD's debut single—about those left behind in a new millennium, and those surging ahead.
Intro evoked the 2,000-yen bill's issuance, millennium symbol.
Izumi stared straight at Tae-il, ignoring cameras.
Light casts shadow; everything has two sides.
Culture too—underground and mainstream.
Indie BARD yearned for seniors thriving above ground.
Verse 1: the laggards' envy. Verse 2: the leaders' nostalgia.
A theme that could seem arrogant, but pure lyrics and Izumi's clear tone made it poignant, drawing ears inexorably.
Embracing despair and hope.
A signature hit that spread BARD's name by voicing discrimination and pain softly, resonating wide.
“Whoa….”
Ayane straightened, hands clenching instinctively.
It's different.
She couldn't explain, but leagues beyond phone speakers or cheap earbuds.
From Izumi's first note, eyes glued.
That intense gaze, seemingly at her.
Intentional breaths.
Heartfelt, pure appeal ringing clear.
Tae-il stifled chuckles watching slack-jawed, entranced Ayane.
Incredible!
She knew BARD's songs were great—lunchtime repeats, wiki dives post-Tae-il rec.
Most mall tunes were theirs too.
BARD everywhere.
But this was worlds apart.
No excuse like "wasn't paying attention."
This is live?
A new world unfolded before Ayane.
Heart pounding.
Now, her universe held only the four on stage: sessions and Izumi.
It was summer.