[RiNG Café, Shibuya District — Saturday, 2:47 PM]
I came from the mountains, bringing Kaname Raana with me.
The opening lyrics of that old folk ballad drifted unbidden through Kazama Haru's mind the moment he spotted the white-haired girl walking through RiNG's entrance. Her silhouette cut against the afternoon light streaming through the glass doors—slender, unhurried, dragging a bulky rolling suitcase that looked far too heavy for her delicate frame.
A wild Guitarist appeared!
He had originally planned to search for Nagasaki Soyo's whereabouts first, tracking down the elusive bassist who'd been dodging his calls for three days. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The universe had dropped something far more interesting directly into his lap.
Like a Pokémon trainer spotting a shiny legendary in tall grass, Kazama Haru's instincts kicked into overdrive. He couldn't let this encounter slip away.
"Ms. Shiina," he called out, deliberately pitching his voice loud enough to carry across the café's ambient chatter, "I'd like an extra order. Please get me another matcha parfait."
Shiina Taki, who had been shamelessly neglecting her duties to steal glances at Takamatsu Tomori studying at a corner table, shot him an irritated look. Her tear-mole twitched—that little beauty mark beneath her left eye that somehow made her permanent scowl look artistic rather than intimidating.
This guy orders like he's made of money, she thought, already reaching for the order pad. Rich kids are so annoying.
But Kazama Haru wasn't watching her. His attention remained fixed on his real target.
As expected, the moment his voice reached Kaname Raana's ears, her footsteps—previously aimed toward the back exit—froze mid-stride. She tapped her chin with one slender finger, a gesture that looked almost programmed, then turned her head with mechanical precision.
Those heterochromatic eyes—one amber like honey in sunlight, one pale blue like a winter sky—locked onto Kazama Haru's position with predatory focus.
"Matcha... parfait..."
The words left her lips like a sacred incantation. Without a shred of hesitation or social awareness, she abandoned her original trajectory entirely, wheeling her heavy suitcase directly toward his booth. The rubber wheels squeaked against the polished floor—squeak-squeak-squeak—until she arrived at his table and plopped herself down across from him with the casual entitlement of a house cat claiming the warmest spot on the couch.
Up close, Kazama Haru could finally appreciate the details he'd only glimpsed from afar during previous visits. Kaname Raana was small—barely five feet tall, he estimated—with a face that belonged on a porcelain doll. Her skin was pale enough to seem almost translucent under the café's soft lighting, and her white hair fell past her shoulders in slightly tangled waves, as if she'd rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to brush it. She wore an oversized band t-shirt—some Western rock group he didn't recognize—tucked haphazardly into jean shorts that showed off legs thin as bamboo stalks.
She smelled faintly of old wood and guitar polish, with an undertone of something floral—jasmine, maybe—that seemed at odds with her feral demeanor.
Her mismatched eyes sparkled with anticipation as she stared at the empty table, waiting.
She's like a stray cat that wandered into a konbini, Kazama Haru mused. Completely shameless.
"E-Erm, Raana-chan..."
Ririko, the café's gentle-voiced manager, hurried over with a worried expression creasing her soft features. Her honey-brown hair was pinned back with cherry blossom clips today, and she wrung her hands in that perpetually anxious way of hers.
"Although I know you really like matcha parfait, this was ordered by a customer. You absolutely must not bother him, okay? It's—it's not polite."
Please, please don't cause a scene, Ririko prayed internally, already imagining the complaints she'd have to field. This girl is going to give me gray hairs before I'm thirty.
"...Stare."
Kaname Raana offered no verbal response. Her heterochromatic gaze remained fixed on the spot where the dessert would materialize, occasionally flicking upward to meet Kazama Haru's eyes with an unspoken question burning in them.
Feed me.
The demand was clear as day, even without words.
She was exactly like a cat—a beautiful, feral creature who'd learned that humans were useful primarily as food dispensers.
The minutes stretched. Ririko fidgeted. Taki deliberately took her time preparing the order, muttering something about "spoiled strays" under her breath.
Finally, the masterpiece arrived.
The matcha parfait stood nearly thirty centimeters tall in its elegant stemmed glass, a tower of indulgence that justified every yen of its 2,980-yen price tag. Five distinct layers arranged themselves in perfect gradient: matcha ice cream on top, its green so vibrant it seemed to glow; beneath that, fresh blueberries glistening with condensation; then a translucent jelly layer that caught the light like emerald; followed by clouds of fresh whipped cream; and finally, at the base, rich dark chocolate shavings.
The cold radiating from the glass made Kazama Haru's fingers tingle when he accepted it from Taki's outstretched hand. A bead of moisture rolled down the parfait's exterior, leaving a wet trail on the table.
His heart clenched at the price. Three thousand yen—that was nearly a week's worth of convenience store lunches, gone in a single order.
But it was worth it. He glanced sideways at his white-haired quarry.
How about it, Kaname Raana? Can you resist this?
Her pupils had dilated. Her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. She was practically vibrating with restrained desire, hands flat on the table as if physically stopping herself from lunging.
Just like catching a legendary Pokémon, Kazama Haru thought with satisfaction. Sometimes you need the right bait.
Being stared at with such naked want, he quickly capitulated. He'd ordered it for her anyway—that had always been the plan. With practiced nonchalance, he slid the parfait across the table until it rested directly in front of her.
"If you want to eat it, it's yours."
"...Arigato."
The thank-you was soft, almost inaudible, but genuine. And then—
Nom. Nom. Nom.
Kaname Raana attacked the dessert with the single-minded intensity of a starving wolf discovering an unguarded feast. Her spoon moved in rapid, precise strokes, demolishing the carefully constructed layers without ceremony. A tiny bit of cream caught on the corner of her mouth, and she licked it away without breaking rhythm.
Like Ash Ketchum recruiting a new partner, Kazama Haru thought, secretly pleased with himself. One matcha parfait, and she's practically in my party already. This investment will pay off.
"Honestly."
Shiina Taki had been watching the entire exchange with growing disbelief. She finally couldn't contain herself any longer, stalking over to Kazama Haru's table with her arms crossed beneath her chest—a gesture that inadvertently emphasized her generous curves beneath the RiNG uniform.
"I don't know if you're pretending to be generous or just a total pushover." Her voice dripped with exasperation. "The food you ordered yourself, and you just... hand it over to this stray cat? That's nearly three thousand yen, you know."
As someone who worked part-time to earn her own pocket money—every shift at RiNG carefully logged to fund her drumming hobby—Taki understood exactly what that price meant for a student. Three thousand yen was drum stick replacements. Three thousand yen was train fare for a week. Three thousand yen didn't grow on trees.
Her tone had shifted without her realizing it, carrying a note of scolding disappointment—like an older sister catching her little brother wasting his allowance on gacha pulls.
Why do I even care? she wondered irritably. It's his money. Let him be stupid with it.
"What does it matter?"
Kazama Haru chuckled, warm and unbothered. Internally, he noted that Taki was precisely as he'd expected—sharp-tongued on the surface, but soft-hearted underneath. The classic tsundere archetype, right down to the way she couldn't quite meet his eyes when she lectured him.
If he were in her position, he wouldn't waste energy caring about how strangers spent their money. But Taki cared. That said something about her.
His gaze drifted to the luggage case leaning against the table leg. It was large, hard-sided, and clearly heavy—Raana had been straining slightly when she dragged it. The stickers plastered across its surface were faded and peeling: band logos, venue names, cities he didn't recognize.
"That suitcase," he said thoughtfully. "Raana-chan, what do you have in there? It looks pretty heavy."
"A guitar."
Raana answered without hesitation, looking up from her devastated parfait to blink at him. A smear of matcha still stained her upper lip.
"It's Grandma's guitar. Used for a long time."
Grandma's guitar. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Kazama Haru filed that detail away for later.
"I see." He nodded slowly. "Raana-chan, are you playing in a band with anyone?"
She shook her head, sending white strands swaying. "I only play songs I like."
A solo act, then. Free spirit. Doesn't like being tied down.
Then, as if a switch had flipped somewhere in her brain, Raana suddenly accelerated. Her spoon became a blur, scraping the glass clean of every last trace of dessert. She stood abruptly, chair legs screeching against the floor, and looked down at the seated Kazama Haru.
For someone so small, she had a surprising presence when she wanted to.
"Band," she said. It wasn't quite a question. "Want to play?"
The café's ambient noise seemed to fade—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of other customers, the soft jazz playing through hidden speakers. Everything narrowed to this moment, this offer, this wild-haired girl staring at him with those impossible eyes.
This is it, Kazama Haru thought. The opportunity I've been waiting for.
"Hmm... Sure!"
The answer came instantly, as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times in his mind. Because he had. Every scenario, every possibility, every path that might lead to forming this band—he'd played them all out in his imagination during sleepless nights.
And now, finally, one of those paths was opening before him.
"You're agreeing already?!"
"Haru-kun?"
Taki and Takamatsu Tomori spoke simultaneously—Tomori having looked up from her study materials at some point, drawn by the commotion. Their voices harmonized in shared disbelief, creating an almost musical chord of confusion.
Neither could understand how these two near-strangers had reached such a monumental consensus in the span of a single matcha parfait.
---
[RiNG Band Practice Room B-7 — Saturday, 4:52 PM]
Two hours later, Kazama Haru found himself in one of RiNG's private rehearsal booths—a cramped, soundproofed room that smelled of old carpet, electrical equipment, and the ghost of a thousand amateur jam sessions. Foam acoustic panels lined the walls in alternating black and gray patterns, and harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
"Hey, Kazama."
Shiina Taki had changed out of her work uniform into casual clothes—a black tank top that showed off toned drummer's arms, paired with ripped jeans and combat boots. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she'd added a studded choker that gave her whole look an edge.
She stood with hands on her hips, watching Kaname Raana crouch on the floor amidst a tangle of audio cables. The white-haired girl was methodically connecting her guitar—a gorgeous vintage Les Paul with a sunburst finish, worn smooth in places from decades of use—to the practice room's amp setup.
"What's going on here, exactly?"
Two hours ago they were strangers, Taki thought, brow furrowed. Now we're booking practice rooms? Did I miss something?
"Aren't we still short of people for our band?" Kazama Haru replied, as if the answer were obvious. "I also heard from Ririko-san earlier that Raana-chan is a master guitarist. Since she wants to play with us anyway, why not let her audition?"
"This..." Taki was momentarily speechless.
She wanted to argue—the whole situation was absurd, illogical, the kind of impulsive decision that always backfired in the end. But she couldn't find the words to articulate her objections.
As a part-time employee, she was naturally familiar with this particular stray cat who haunted RiNG's halls. She'd heard Raana play more times than she could count—sometimes for hours, sometimes for mere minutes, the duration and style entirely dependent on the girl's mercurial moods. Truly like a wandering feline, free-spirited and impossible to predict.
But despite that casual demeanor... objectively speaking, Raana's skills were undeniable. World-class, even. The kind of raw talent that professional bands would fight over.
She's wasted on us amateurs, Taki admitted privately. If anything, we should be auditioning for her.
Sighing heavily, she ran her fingers through her silver hair—a habit she'd developed when stressed.
"Fine. Whatever. The money for the room's already spent, and this little gremlin did steal your dessert. Might as well get something useful out of her." She shot Kazama Haru with a suspicious glare. "By the way—I've heard all your big talk about forming a band, but pretty words don't mean anything during a live show. You're not just some poser who can't actually play, are you?"
"It's not like that, Taki."
Takamatsu Tomori's voice cut in, soft but firm. She'd accompanied them to the practice room—ostensibly to watch, though Kazama Haru suspected she was simply too polite to refuse when invited.
"Haru-kun's guitar playing... it's very strong." A faint pink flush crept across her delicate cheekbones as she spoke, her gaze dropping to her folded hands. "When he plays, it's like... like the music is crying out from someone's heart. Very moving."
The karaoke room, she thought, and the blush deepened. When he looked at me and sang that song...
She could still feel the phantom heat of his gaze, the way his voice had wrapped around her like something physical. The memory made her stomach flutter in ways she didn't fully understand.
"Akari?"
Taki's eyes narrowed dangerously. That expression on her childhood friend's face—the blush, the averted eyes, the way she kept defending this boy—set off every alarm bell in her head.
What's going on? Why does Akari always take his side whenever I question him?
And that blush. What the hell happened between them that makes her look like that?
Taki's hand rose unconsciously to cover her mouth, her mind racing through increasingly concerning possibilities. Connecting the dots—Kazama Haru's admittedly decent looks, his soft-spoken manner, the way he always seemed to put on that slightly pitiful expression that made you want to comfort him—
Kind, innocent Akari couldn't possibly be... falling for...
"CLANG—!"
A piercing electric guitar chord shattered Taki's spiraling thoughts, the distorted sound bouncing off the acoustic panels and vibrating through her chest.
Kaname Raana had finished her setup. She stood now with grandmother's Les Paul hanging from her small frame—the instrument looked almost comically oversized against her tiny body—fingers poised over the strings with the casual confidence of someone who'd been born holding a pick.
Her heterochromatic eyes gleamed under the fluorescent lights, equal parts eager and predatory.
"Let's play."