Concert (2): Arena Dome
Arena Dome. A place long called the stage where artists' dreams come true. If stars are envied by all, they naturally shine in a fitting venue. Stadiums. The arena was one step below stadiums in the hierarchy of performance halls.
Among them, Yokohama Arena held a place of utmost honor for major artists, much like Budokan. It was the stage where one could proudly declare, "I've made it big—I'm a famous pop star now!"
Even BARD had been moved to tears at their first live here. After the show, Akitora had sobbed uncontrollably, his burly frame shaking.
'This isn't the end.'
This tour carried heavy symbolic weight, kicking off at Yokohama Arena and building to Tokyo Dome and Saitama Super Arena. It would sweep across the nation, culminating at none other than Budokan itself. The Budokan show, limited in capacity, was even set for simultaneous live streaming via platforms and broadcasters for the fans.
BARD had poured massive capital into this tour, staking everything on it. Izumi herself—the unflappable one who nodded coolly even when the president begged her to join—had bowed her head to the president. Everyone, even manager Hatsukawa and the BARD members, had been stunned. It showed just how seriously she was taking this.
"Phew."
Unlike idols or national bands with die-hard fandoms, BARD relied more on broad public recognition and buzz. This arena-and-dome scale tour was challengingly ambitious. Despite early agency concerns, tickets for every arena and dome sold out in a flash—thanks to years of sticking to smaller concerts, fans had been clamoring for this blowout tour.
For Izumi, it was a hurdle she had to clear.
"If we can't pull this off..."
Filling Nissan Stadium? A pipe dream for now. Nissan Stadium—that distant pinnacle even Izumi hadn't touched, the final frontier for bands conquering Japan. Legends had wept at its half-empty seats; even top solo acts called it untouchable. Filling it was that daunting.
'But it's not impossible.'
Five years? Maybe ten. By the time BARD became veterans among veterans, the national bands would have cycled through generations. Aim for that era, and a sold-out stadium wasn't out of reach. Maybe.
Just like the star Tae-il yearned to become.
"It's possible..."
Not conviction, just speculation—because fulfilling a boy's dream was that hard.
"Still."
Having a clear goal wasn't bad for her either. At first, it was becoming like Kahee. She hadn't reached that universal acclaim yet, but on stage, she could stand toe-to-toe with her idol. Confident in that, the next step was clear: surpass national bands, aim for world-class.
Izumi closed her eyes. They'd stuck to small venues so far, but this wasn't her first arena rodeo. Tours were rare for BARD—only their second proper one since going major—but arenas? She'd graced them plenty, tied to Korea's AMA awards or collabs with other artists. She could nail her mark on the thrust stage blindfolded.
Like now.
Opening her eyes, empty seats greeted her.
"..."
She glanced down. Her shoes teetered on the thrust stage's edge. Looking up: no audience. No eyes on her. Just occasional puzzled staff glances. The seats stretched overwhelmingly vast, impossible to fill. The eye level felt mismatched. The roar piercing her in-ears. Gazes brimming with attention, admiration, love. Nothing there, yet the intangible pressure crushed her whole body. Closing her eyes, the live crowd felt vividly real right in front of her.
"Haa."
Exhaling softly, Izumi savored the pleasant throb and pleasant exhaustion, perching on the thrust stage corner. Ignoring the intangible waves from the hollow seats, she tilted her head back. Dazzling lights danced across the dizzying ceiling. Eyes shut, pure white glow seeped through the dark curtain—like starry media glamour, like a lighthouse guiding sailors through endless seas.
"What're you doing?"
A voice brushed her ear; Izumi's eyes snapped open. Unlike Yahiro's clean, dandy vibe, a heavy face loomed—dark eye makeup, lip piercing, intimidating. BARD's guitarist, NA.IN.
"Tragic heroine cosplay?"
NA.IN flicked back his flashy, multicolored dyed hair, staring down in disbelief.
"That bad...?"
"Nah."
NA.IN smirked, straightening up. He scanned the empty seats like her.
"Superstar lost in boredom."
"Me?"
"You were eyeing it all like it was lame and pathetic."
Was I? Izumi touched her lips. Slightly upturned. She pressed her jaw with fingers. A mirror might've shown a smug little smirk.
NA.IN shot her a glare, hands in pockets, turning away.
"We get it, you're hot shit. Prep for rehearsal already?"
"Already?"
"Already my ass. Lunchtime's long gone."
Izumi checked her watch. The hour hand tipping past 2.
"Coming... Ah."
Standing, she misstepped, slipping off the stage. Body pitched forward. Vision tilted, vertigo flashing.
Thud.
Vision shook—but stabilized. Her body dangled precariously at the edge, slightly off-balance.
'Huh?'
Her jacket gripped, shoulder yanked back painfully. Izumi shifted weight to her hips, flailing arms to right herself. Slowly, she straightened. Legs buckled; she plopped down hard. Cold sweat beaded.
"Th-thanks..."
"You nuts?"
NA.IN, who'd caught her, smacked her head hard.
"Ow!"
Izumi winced, cradling her head. Tears stung from the pain.
"You fucking idiot or what?!"
Visibly pissed, NA.IN breathed heavily, pressing her head down.
"A second later and you'd be fucked, you hear?!"
"S-sorry..."
"This crazy bitch zones out 24/7 and now tries to zone out of life?!"
"N-not that bad..."
"Huh?!"
"My bad..."
Izumi bowed. Best to fold immediately when wrong. Especially NA.IN—mild normally, terrifying when mad.
NA.IN clutched his head. Fury pounded; even opening his eyes throbbed.
"Grateful you don't booze or smoke, but..."
He didn't expect Akitora-level fitness nut pushing chicken breasts and protein shakes.
"Please, for fuck's sake. Leader means take care of yourself first. Got it?"
"Yeah..."
"Your body's not just yours."
BARD was Izumi. Izumi was BARD. Even if Yahiro shone as bassist, NA.IN earned overseas acclaim, or Akitora's hidden soft looks drew commissions.
"No you, no BARD. Done."
"I know..."
"Then fucking act like it, dumbass. One injury and this concert's toast!"
"Thanks."
Izumi smiled faintly, grateful.
"Jeez."
Her dopey grin deflated his anger into a hot sigh.
"Heard you got a crush lately."
"Huh?"
"Wanna date? Stay healthy and live long."
"Wha—?"
"Dating fuels killer lyrics and comps. Looking forward to hits?"
"Whaaaat?!"
"What's that?"
"Wh-who told you?!"
"What, secret?"
"Who?!"
"Who else spills this? Yahiro, obvi—"
"Yahirooooo!!!"
Izumi scrambled across the stage toward Yahiro flirting with female staff on main stage. Pure rookie-crush panic—elementary taunts like "You two dating? Eww, they're going out~!" vibes.
NA.IN blinked.
"Not a kid, and she blushes over this? Wait, virgin?"
Lightbulb moment over his head.
Izumi was. School days, her vocalist charm drew crowds like NA.IN's guitar cred with girls. Issue: music was her world—pure as they come. Once, her mystique charmed all BARD members. No confessions, though. Time passed, band disbanded once; feelings faded. Pity as friends lingered.
"That wuss Yahiro."
Mr. Manly couldn't confess, just got rejected. Pity aside, embarrassing.
NA.IN cursed his bro and chased Izumi chasing Yahiro.
* * *
Thud!
He slammed down the fifth 500ml water-packed box. Sweat droplets from Tae-il's forehead splattered with each head shake.
"Ow, my back..."
Straightening his hunched spine, he rubbed the ache. The manager chuckled from the counter.
"Look at you. Young kid already wrecked—good for nothing."
"Then where'd a guy like you use it?"
"Wanna die?"
Manager glared, fist raised. Age meant some experience, but as Tae-il said, not much. One of his few black-history metal band days.
"Damn. Shouldn't have whined drunk in front of this punk..."
"Too late for regrets."
Tae-il's new gig: the Practice Room. Familiar spot for him and regulars.
"Phew."
Sleeve wiped sweat—sodden. Scorching outside, blasting AC inside: perfect cold-catching combo.
"Bookings today?"
"Two."
If fall/winter was ballads, summer screamed rock and girl groups. Zesty dances and cool, hyped rock tracks tingled nerves just listening.
"Man, wanna see Rock Fest. Soul's boiling, rocker style."
"Old man being sentimental."
"Wanna die?"
"Third time today."
The lobby/counter's small CRT droned a chill talk show.
Izumi's voice; Tae-il looked up. Manager stroked his goatee, intrigued.
"Hmm. BARD, huh? Faces in ages."
"You know 'em?"
"Don't know BARD in Japan now? Social suicide."
"Haha, you?"
"Wanna die?"
"Kinda funny imagining lonely Practice Room manager getting ostracized."
Ostracism needs a group, right? Sadly, manager flew solo.
"What am I, chopped liver? I'm industry. Slow on other stuff, but news? Sources everywhere."
"Ooh."
"See me different now?"
"Nope."
Still a balding has-been.
"Anyway, BARD from ING on TV? Wild."
"Tour soon. Pre-docu shot at broadcaster. Mr. News miss that?"
"Concerts? Metal only. Arena tour, though..."
Promo necessity, looks like. BARD kept mystique, rare TV spots fueling fan hunger. ING power elevated without it—Next Generation mega-agency muscle. Not 90s shut-ins, though: SNS, TikTok, YouTube active. Trendy streaming focus, Music Station guest, Kohaku locked. Still, sparse TV meant less media clout in Japan.
"BARD girl's got guts."
"Haha."
Tae-il awkward-laughed. Izumi dominated BARD's pull; her push clear here.
Conversely, question: 'Did original BARD do a nationwide tour?'
Concerts yes—Iris and Ayane went. Not this scale, though.
'My fault?'
Only variable: him. Original BARD huge till Izumi's death—deus ex machina for real. But his ripple diminished them. Iris still obsessed-ish, but his band didn't orbit Izumi like canon. Maybe members viewing BARD as rivals to surpass, not idols.
'This tour could be the turning point...'
Tae-il's lips curved. Shifting future. Kinda exciting.