After an afternoon of discussing band styles and chatting, the clock had struck 7 PM.
Aside from some live performances happening inside the venue, the front desk café had completely closed for business.
It seemed unlikely Nagasaki Soyo would be seen today.
Kazama Haru sighed, the scent of cold coffee and worn leather seats clinging to him as he rose from the booth. After setting the band's meeting time for 6 PM on even-numbered days with the others, he waved goodbye to the two and prepared to head home for an early rest.
Although tomorrow was Sunday, he couldn't continue staking out Nagasaki Soyo here.
The reason was his resignation from his previous part-time café job.
After careful discussion and agreement with Togawa Sakiko, in order to hear the roar of the Ave Mujica galaxy battleship as soon as possible, they decisively chose to give up the meager salary from the café job and dedicate the saved time and energy to recruiting musicians, writing scripts, and other matters related to forming a commercial band.
It turned out that the first step to becoming comrades in destiny was to collectively resign and become unemployed.
This fact made Kazama Haru laugh wryly. Like protagonists who'd burned their boats before the final arc, for two people equally short on money, this act was definitely a desperate gamble—no save points, no continues.
To trust each other so unconditionally, to believe they'd succeed in this endeavor, truly meant sharing a destiny and entrusting one's life to the other.
The two of them currently shared such a relationship of trust, entrusting their backs to each other like veteran party members before a raid boss.
And the reason tomorrow would consume an entire day was precisely because of this.
Normally, a simple part-time resignation could even be done casually with a phone call to the employer.
However, the situations of Kazama Haru and Togawa Sakiko were too special; for that café, the two had become its most important signboard attractions.
When she learned that these two cash cows were resigning simultaneously, the café owner let out a helpless wail that could've rivaled a side character watching the main cast leave for the final battle.
But since they were students, she had no right to chain them there.
Kazama Haru naturally understood her mentality and his own value in the coffee marketing industry. Because the owner, Yuna-nee, had taken great care of him, out of gratitude—and also to properly bid farewell to his past hard life—he proactively suggested that he and Sakiko could use Sunday as their last day working at that café.
The astute owner almost instantly understood his meaning and tearfully clasped Kazama Haru's hands, expressing that she would pay triple the hourly wage to thank them.
At the same time, she used these few days to heavily promote on various review websites and hang large banners near the café proclaiming that this Sunday would be the "Final Episode" of the popular barista, Kazama-kun.
Anticipating the overwhelming crowd, she even pre-arranged servers from other shifts to manage the on-site chaos.
Kazama Haru and Sakiko only needed to focus on their essential tasks of making drinks and serving customers—also a protective measure to prevent them from collapsing like overworked protagonists during a tournament arc...
---
The café hummed with the controlled chaos of what could only be described as a limited-time event.
Steam curled from espresso machines in lazy spirals, mingling with the warm sweetness of caramel syrup and the bitter undertone of freshly ground beans. Bodies pressed close in the queue that snaked past the entrance, the low murmur of excited chatter punctuated by the occasional camera shutter. Someone near the back was definitely livestreaming.
"Saki-chan, can you still hold on?" Looking at the dense crowd—several times busier than usual—Kazama Haru gave a bitter smile.
"What are you talking about, Haru-chan?" Togawa Sakiko raised a hand to wipe the sweat beading at her hairline. A few strands of her dark hair had escaped her ponytail, clinging damply to the curve of her neck. "I'm not some fragile heroine who needs protecting."
Though if you want to try, I won't stop you.
Unlike her dead-hearted state during previous shifts, today Togawa Sakiko radiated an almost electric energy despite her body's exhaustion. Her movements behind the counter held a dancer's efficiency—reaching, turning, the subtle sway of her hips as she navigated the tight space.
Because today was her last day of this repetitive, mechanical work.
And the person standing beside her had transformed from a vaguely acquainted colleague to a partner sharing her destiny.
For Sakiko, who had first stepped into this café with no light visible on her path, the current reality felt like waking inside a dream she'd been too afraid to have.
"Saki-chan, stop spacing out with that dopey smile."
Kazama Haru's voice cut through her reverie. His shoulder brushed hers—warm through the thin fabric of their matching aprons—as he extended a freshly prepared cold brew toward her. Condensation dripped down the glass, pooling on his fingers.
"Honestly, who are you calling dopey?" Togawa Sakiko's cheeks puffed out in exaggerated indignation, pink dusting the high points of her cheekbones.
She looked at the coffee he offered, at his arm suspended in mid-air between them, at the way the café's warm lighting caught the fine hairs on his wrist.
A barely perceptible smile curved her lips—dewy, almost feline—and a deliciously mischievous thought bloomed in her mind.
Payback time, Haru-chan.
She deliberately slowed her reach, movements languid and unhurried despite the bustling café around them. Her fingers extended toward the glass with theatrical patience.
And at the precise moment she took the cup, she let her fingertip—cool and soft from handling iced drinks—drag across the back of his hand.
Not a scratch.
Something far more deliberate.
Her touch traced the ridge of his knuckles, feather-light, lingering just a heartbeat too long before her finger curled away. The pad of her fingertip was impossibly smooth against his skin, leaving a ghost of sensation in its wake—the kind of touch that could be mistaken for accidental if not for the way her eyes flickered up to meet his.
The contact lasted perhaps two seconds.
It felt like drowning.
Kazama Haru's hand froze mid-air, coffee successfully transferred but his brain failing to send the "lower arm" command. A shiver cascaded down his spine—not from cold. That single, deliberate stroke had short-circuited something fundamental in his nervous system.
His pulse thudded in his ears. Louder than the espresso machine. Louder than the café's background music.
An indescribable tingling spread from the point of contact, racing up his arm and settling somewhere behind his sternum where it burned.
What—what was that?
Since when could Saki-chan—
Her finger was so soft—
Wait, why am I thinking about how soft her finger was—
Watching his reaction—the visible blush creeping up his neck, the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard—Togawa Sakiko felt heat bloom in her own chest.
Ah.
She'd meant to tease him.
She hadn't anticipated how satisfying his flustered expression would be. The way his composure cracked like thin ice, revealing something raw and unguarded beneath.
That expression... isn't that unfair, Haru-chan?
I only touched you once.
Her earlobes burned. The realization that her "revenge" had affected her just as deeply made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
"Haru-chan." She coughed lightly, hoping the café's ambient noise covered the slight tremor in her voice. "We're working. Don't just stand there looking—"
Cute. You look cute.
"—distracted."
I'm the one who's distracted.
"Ah... yes." Kazama Haru's response came out hollow, automatic. He retreated to the drink station on legs that felt borrowed from someone else.
The ghost of her touch lingered on his skin like a brand.
His hands moved through the familiar motions of preparing the next order—grinding beans, steaming milk—while his mind replayed that single stroke in excruciating slow motion.
Her fingertip curved right... there.
The exact spot where—
He fumbled a portafilter.
Get it together. It's just Saki-chan. Your bandmate. Your partner.
Your partner with unfairly soft hands.
Stop thinking about her hands.
From her position at the register, Togawa Sakiko caught his fumble. Her lips quirked upward despite herself.
The expression Haru-chan just made... wasn't it a bit too cute?
I barely touched him.
If just this much gets that kind of reaction...
A dangerous thought took root.
Perhaps I won't be able to resist teasing him more in the future.
Bearing the mischievousness of the musicians should also be a duty of the Band Manager, right?
After firmly settling on such a wicked justification, Togawa Sakiko's voice gained a melodic lilt when greeting the next customer. Her smile, previously customer-service polite, now held an edge of genuine brightness.
Behind her, still recovering at the drink station, Kazama Haru noticed the change in her energy and felt a premonitory shiver down his spine.
Somehow... I feel like I've just raised a troublesome flag.
---
While Kazama Haru and Togawa Sakiko navigated the charged atmosphere of their farewell shift, the RiNG café existed in an entirely different register.
Inside, the lighting was softer, the crowd thinner. The smell of coffee here carried notes of aged wood and the faint chemical bite of instrument polish drifting from the performance space.
Shiina Taki stood behind the bar, methodically wiping plates with the expressionless efficiency of someone running on autopilot. The repetitive motion was almost meditative—swipe, turn, stack—until the soft chime of the entrance bell disrupted her rhythm.
She looked up.
Long, brownish-yellow hair caught the ambient light. A smile sweet enough to rot teeth preceded its owner through the door.
—Nagasaki Soyo.
Again.
Taki's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
With her characteristic sweetness, Nagasaki Soyo walked directly to a seat at the bar and settled onto the stool with practiced grace. Her uniform was immaculate despite the heat outside, not a pleat out of place, hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders.
"Good afternoon, Taki-chan~" The words dripped honey.
"Mm." Shiina Taki offered a single syllable, her expression flat as glass. The other party's probing intentions were so transparent they practically glowed; even though Taki was trying her best to feign ignorance and accommodate her, the performance was becoming unbearable.
How many times has she come this week?
Recalling the agreement made yesterday with Tomori, and that frivolous man, and the stray cat, a trace of helplessness flickered in Shiina Taki's amber eyes.
Since I've already decided to form a new band... why not just tell her the truth directly?
That way, I could have some peace. And maybe this poor girl would finally give up on resurrecting what's already dead.
"Listen, Taki-chan," Nagasaki Soyo began, leaning forward on the counter. The posture pressed her arms together, accentuating curves beneath her school cardigan. "I've been in touch with Mutsumi recently. According to her, she and Saki-chan have always been in contact. As long as we keep trying, our CRYCHIC—"
"It's hopeless."
Shiina Taki's voice cut through like a blade.
"Eh?"
Nagasaki Soyo's carefully constructed smile cracked. Her eyes widened—just a fraction—and her lips trembled before she pasted the expression back together. "What... did you say, Taki-chan? What's hopeless?"
"I said CRYCHIC." Taki set down the plate in her hands with deliberate force. "It's impossible for it to be revived. The band is dead, Soyo."
"H-how could that be!"
Panic bled through Soyo's honeyed tone. Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening. "The band members didn't have any real conflicts. Everyone was just... too impulsive that day. Things weren't talked through properly. If we could just gather again, talk it out like adults, we could definitely—"
"Don't be naïve."
Shiina Taki waited for her to finish before responding, each word measured and cold. "Forget about what Sakiko is thinking—neither of us know that. But what I can tell you clearly how Tomori and I feel."
"Eh? Tomori?"
At the mention of that name, Nagasaki Soyo's composure slipped further. She leaned forward urgently, nearly rising from her seat. "Have you been in contact with her? She cherishes Saki-chan so much—she cherishes our bonds, all those memories we made together. She would never say she doesn't want to continue the band, right?"
Right?
"That's not it."
Shiina Taki shook her head slowly, her gaze boring into Nagasaki Soyo with an intensity that hadn't been there moments before.
"Tomori has completely moved on from the shadow of what happened. She's decided to form a new band."
"How could—"
Nagasaki Soyo shot up from her chair as if electrocuted. The color drained from her face in real-time, leaving her complexion ashen beneath the café's warm lighting.
"I don't believe it! With Tomori's personality, she would never abandon CRYCHIC to form another—"
"Enough."
Shiina Taki's palm struck the counter. The crack of impact echoed through the quiet café, drawing startled glances from the few other patrons.
She would not—could not—allow anyone to casually criticize Tomori's choices. Not after everything.
"That's just how it is, Soyo." Taki's voice had dropped to something low and dangerous. "Believe it or not, Tomori really did move on. She's already forming a band with someone else—a guy—and I received her invitation. I've joined. We've found a new guitarist too."
She leaned forward slightly, amber eyes cold.
"Since she's moved on, I absolutely won't allow you to disturb us. And don't even think about affecting Tomori's mood." A pause. "Otherwise, even you... I will make you regret it."
The threat hung in the air, unambiguous.
"Wait—" Nagasaki Soyo's voice came out strangled. "You're saying Tomori is forming a band with some guy we don't know? And they've already found four members?"
Her composure shattered completely. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, stifling whatever sound threatened to escape—a gasp, a scream, she herself wasn't certain.
"That's right." Shiina Taki's expression remained merciless. "Now you should finally give up. Forget CRYCHIC. It's time for you to move on too, Soyo."
But Nagasaki Soyo barely registered the words.
She stood frozen, a beautiful statue processing information that threatened to crash her entire operating system.
Tomori and Taki-chan... are forming a band with an unknown male?
What kind of joke is this?
Her lips trembled. Teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. The carefully maintained mask of the sweet, accommodating girl twisted into something unrecognizable—something sharp and desperate lurking beneath the surface.
These two... they should have been—
They were supposed to—
Her thoughts spiraled, grasping for purchase, until—
Wait.
A cold clarity sliced through the chaos.
Tomori and Taki-chan are in the same band again. Meeting every day. But they're still missing one member?
The calculating part of her brain—the part she kept hidden behind gentle smiles and helpful gestures—seized on that detail like a lifeline.
If they need one more person...
And I have experience with both of them...
Then couldn't I—
Nagasaki Soyo's beautiful, deep blue eyes narrowed to slits. The downturned shape made the expression almost serpentine, predatory in a way that would've alarmed anyone watching closely.
But Shiina Taki had already turned away, dismissing her as a lost cause.
She didn't see the smile that crept across Soyo's lips.
It wasn't sweet anymore.
A shocking plan quietly began to brew in her mind, dark and patient as poison in a teacup.