Chapter Text
Ren spends his eighteenth birthday making coffee behind the bar of Leblanc. He takes care with every step, making sure to use the perfect amount of water at the perfect temperature, and the perfect amount of beans ground down the perfect amount. When he finishes, he drinks from the cup himself and nods his approval. Good job, me.
The sole patron of the little cafe is drinking from a can of soda, and he scrunches his up face when Ren drinks from the cup. “Dude, how can you drink that bitter sh*t?” Ryuji asks, like he always seems to.
“It's good,” Ren says.
“Whatever.”
It's not the first time they've had this talk. Ren doubts it'll be the last, either.
“One more month till graduation,” Ryuji says, kicking his feet up on the counter. He really shouldn't do that, but whatever. It's not like the place doesn't need cleaning anyway. “Where're you gonna go once it's done?”
Ren shrugs. “I'll stick around here. Sojiro won't care.”
There are two types of ex-government employees, in Ren's experience. The first sort are the gung ho crusader types, the sort that retire with praise and medals and without a single original thought in their dust-filled heads. The second type turn in their resignations with disgust, wishing they could strangle all their bosses before they go. Sojiro's the second kind.
That's probably why he was willing to take in not one, but two unruly kids. Futaba was one thing; she's the only daughter of Sojiro's kinda-sorta sweetheart. Ren was another. They had no relation to one another, except some vague thing between Ren's parents (who he would prefer not to think about) and one of Sojiro's customers. Ren never asked beyond that. He doesn't need to. Sojiro can talk all the crap about the payday and all that, but the reality is probably just that he sees himself in the kid.
“Dude,” Ryuji says, a little baffled, “you're getting off probation. Finally, finally getting off probation, and you're just gonna stay here!?”
Ren shrugs. “I like it here.”
“Dude,” Ryuji repeats.
“Dude,” Ren agrees.
“Ugh,” Ryuji groans, smothering his head in his hands, running his short bleach-blond hair through his fingers. “Don't tell me you're satisfied with one little bit of rebellion, man.”
It was hardly even an act of rebellion, really. When you see a woman getting manhandled by some drunk asshole, you step in and sock him. The courts call that “assault and battery.” Ren calls it “justice.”
He shrugs, finishing off the coffee and cleaning the cup with a rag. “I've thrown my share of rocks through windows.” He has, at that. He remembers that douchebag Kamoshida. When he and Ryuji found out what that prick was doing to Ann and Shiho, they'd found his house and broken everything they could get at. It sent the message well enough, at least at the time.
“Dude, I'm talkin' something real.”
“And what's real?”
“Duh! The band!” Ryuji grins. The skull grin, they used to call it, since it makes his teeth look like all his skin's been peeled off. “You on bass, me on guitar... We can finally do it, man!”
“We don't have a vocalist,” Ren points out, like he always does, when this topic comes up. “Or a drummer.”
“We can find them, we just gotta look!”
Ren doesn't share that optimism. Guitarists are a dime a dozen, and bassists aren't far behind. But finding a vocalist who isn't a complete egomaniac and a drummer who won't ditch practice for his ever-growing cabal of girlfriends is near impossible. Not to mention that Ren is more Lemmy Kilmister than Robert Trujillo, and Ryuji is more Greg Hetson than John Petrucci. It takes more than anger to make a band.
“If I may intrude,” comes a new voice, and they're both suddenly reminded that they aren't alone in here.
“Dude,” Ryuji says, turning to their friend. “For the last time, Yusuke, you're our bud. You don't need to ask permission to talk.”
“My apologies,” Yusuke says, shrugging. Lanky, blue-haired, and eccentric, Yusuke was one of the first people in town to dismiss Ren, and one of the first to change his tune. It helped, of course, that Ren also broke a few of Madarame's windows. They became fast friends after that.
“It may be that I have a solution to your problem,” Yusuke continues, sipping from a cup of coffee he ordered way too long ago. “There was a girl at my high school who they say has the voice of a banshee.”
Ren raises an eyebrow, but Ryuji flashes the skull grin again. “Banshee, huh? I like the sound of that.”
“He had you at girl,” Ren points out.
The cat that has free rein of the cafe makes a noise. Ryuji always swears it's laughing at him. Ren thinks he might be right.
“Shut up!” Ryuji hisses.
Yusuke shrugs. “I did not know her during her first year, since she is a year older than I am. However, is is said that she was a very attentive student. Something happened at that point, though, and she changed significantly. She spent the next few years of school as a punk, before graduating with low marks. She supposedly works menial jobs these days.”
“But she can sing?” Ryuji prods. He couldn't care less about her résumé.
Yusuke shrugs yet again. “Supposedly. That's all I know.”
Ren frowns. “Do you even know where to find this mysterious girl?”
“No. But I'm sure you can find her, Ren.”
He hates to admit it, but Yusuke's right. Ren can find anyone, and he hasn't hidden that ability from his friends. Since moving here two years ago, he's become something of a local celebrity, loved and hated in equal parts. He has connections in the media, in the mob, in the maid cafes (that one hasn't come in handy yet), and even in the government, not to mention the never ending list of exes who are still, for one reason or another, willing to do him a favor now and again.
Ryuji's giving him the puppy dog stare at this point, so Ren rolls his eyes. “I'll see what I can do,” he grumbles, though he already kinda has an idea where to start.
“You're the best, dude,” Ryuji says, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ren says, thinking about how the bass player of a punk band never gets any recognition.
-
Ryuji wonders, sometimes, why he bothers finishing high school.
Realistically, it's just because of his mom. He lives with her, he loves her, he doesn't wanna disappoint her... any more than he already has.
Still, it annoys him. He's scraping by with the lowest grades required to graduate, and he's just gotta hold them for another month, but still. It's annoying as sh*t, and he's sick of it. He can't wait to just be able to pick up his guitar and blast without worrying about homework or something.
He slogs through the work he's got left, half-assing it all the while, then jumps from his cramped desk to plug in his prized possession.
It's a piece of sh*t. That's clear to literally everyone, Ryuji included, but he loves this thing like his own child. A beaten-up Strat knockoff with sh*tty pickups that barely work, tuners that don't hold tuning, and a paint job one step above “ugliest sh*t to ever exist.” Still, this guitar is the best thing he owns, and he treats it lovingly.
He strikes the strings and – surprise, surprise – they're out of tune. He fixes that, throwing it into drop Db before slamming the open three low strings and relishing the sound of the power chord. This is what music is about. Not fancy-ass solos or leitmotifs or whatever other sh*t the music nerds talk about. Nah, it's all about the feeling. He plays the only feeling he's ever really known: anger.
By blasting power chords at high tempos, he can, for a little while, forget about all that sh*t, and settle his nerves. It lets him exist in the day-to-day world well enough. Ren taught him that. He'd thought Ren was the most zen guy on the planet, until he saw the guy play bass. He doesn't play with his fingers. Hell, he barely even really plays bass so much as he just plays guitar on a bass. Ryuji asked him about it once, and Ren just said that he likes the heavier strings. Whatever.
He plays until it's too late to play anymore, says goodnight to his mom, and tosses himself into his sh*tty little twin bed. Another month of school. That's all he's gotta do.
-
Hifumi Togo is a gifted student, a talented violinist, and an exceptional chess player.
Or, well, maybe it would be more accurate to say that Hifumi Togo was a gifted student, was a talented violinist, and... well, was debatably never actually a very good chess player to begin with.
Ren wonders, when he looks at people like her, if lives really do get better when he enters them, or if he just demolishes through pretty lies and leaves people with uncomfortable truths. Revealing that Hifumi's mother had been rigging her chess matches sort of destroyed the remainder of the poor girl's life, leading to her ditching the sweet traditional look and embracing one that generally emanated a vibe of anger.
She always has a smile for Ren, though, and he wonders about that. What is it about him that she likes? The fact that he forced her to confront her mother? The fact that he ruined her chances of stardom in a competitive world and thrust her instead into a decaying life of borderline poverty? Or was it the fact that he'd been seeing two other girls while dating her?
Whatever it is, he doesn't mind. He likes Hifumi.
“What do you need?” she asks him when he invites her to Leblanc.
“Who says I need anything?”
She makes an indignant noise. “You always need something. Did Sojiro kick you out again?”
Every now and again, Sojiro will make an attempt to discipline his adopted kid. It never lasts very long. “No. I just need to find someone.”
“Someone who doesn't want to be found?”
“It's not like that.” He's not looking for a shady politician or a mob boss... this time. “She used to go to your school. I don't know her name.”
“Okay. I might know.”
Ren gives her all the information he can, and that gives him another lead to go off. He didn't expect this to be difficult, really. It's not like this girl is trying to hide from anyone. He's more concerned about approaching her, really. Even if she is talented, and even if she islooking to join a band, why should she join theirs? They have no songs, hell they barely even have talent.
Well, whatever. He said he'd look, he said he'd find. He didn't say it would actually be worthwhile.
-
Graduating high school changes exactly as much as he expected it to: nothing.
Now his mom's changed from telling him to get to graduation to telling him to get a job, which he's at least a little more receptive to than the school thing. At least she doesn't expect him to go to college. That probably ain't gonna happen.
So Ryuji throws out some feelers, and ends up getting a pity job at Leblanc a month later, thanks to Ren. He sucks at brewing coffee, and his customer service leaves something to be desired, so mostly he just washes dishes. There are worse ways to make minimum wage.
Every day, he bugs Ren about that story Yusuke told them, and every day Ren says he's working on it. Ryuji tries to leave it at that, he really does, but it ain't easy. He's got all this fire and passion and rage burning up inside him, and he wants to release it. He just can't do that till he has a real band.
As it stands, he does his job and he chips in the money he's got to support his mom, and whatever's left goes towards gear. He doesn't have the scratch to upgrade his guitar or his amp, not yet, but he can at least swap out the strings when it gets necessary. And it does. He plays a lot; too much, probably. Keeps cutting open his fingers, through the hard callouses that solidified years back. Doesn't matter. He's got something, something good.
Just need someone to scream over it.
-
Makoto Niijima was supposed to be great.
She had high marks all through her life. She never missed a day of school, no matter what. She was beloved by her teachers and tolerated by her peers.
But that all changed in a flash of screeching tires and blazing fires, and her life twisted around in a way that it never really recovered from. She broke records and astonished everyone regardless; no one had ever seen a student's grades drop so fast.
They kept trying to pull her out of the mess, but they were doing it for themselves, not for her. So she ignored them, or shoved them off.
Now, a year after ditching high school, she's working at a bar where she gets paid under the table, and where she has to use her aikido at least twice a night. The tips are good, if nothing else. And, honestly, she belongs in a place like this more than the skyscrapers with the rats.
That's where everyone got her wrong: it wasn't who she became after the accident that was off, it was the way she was before the accident.
She's just starting her shift that night when two obviously-underaged guys plop down at the bar. One of them has ratty black hair and thick glasses, while the other's got bright blond hair and a really vile grin on his face. She rolls her eyes. They couldn't be less dangerous if they were trying.
“Gotta see your IDs,” she tells them.
“Yeah, nah, we ain't here to drink,” the blond one says.
“That's all there is to do here. You don't wanna drink, get out.”
The black-haired guy leans forward. “We're here to talk to you.”
Makoto lets out a sigh. This could go one of two ways. Either these guys have heard of the chick at the bar who can't be touched and wanted to meet her as a curiosity, or they wanted to prove that “couldn't be touched” idea wrong. They wouldn't be the first idiots she's has to beat up for that.
“What do you want?” she grinds out.
“Whoa, no need for the hostility!” the blond guy says, holding up his hands. “Look, you're Makoto Niijima, right? Girl who can scream like a banshee?”
That's not the rumor she expected to hear about. “I sang for a punk band for a little while. What about it?”
“We're starting one,” the black-haired guy says. “We want you to be our vocalist.”
She should laugh in their faces, tell them they're idiots. It's not like she wants to be in a band, anyway. It was lame as all hell when she did it in high school, and it's not gonna be any different, now.
For whatever reason, though...
“What kind of stuff are you playing?” she asks.
“Punk,” the blond guy says, stupidly.
She rolls her eyes. Getting a reasonable response out of this guy is going to be a massive challenge. “Fine, whatever. This place closes at 2 AM on weeknights. Be here with your gear and show me what you can do.”
“2 AM?” the blond idiot repeats.
“If you don't show up then, don't show up here ever again,” she tells them, sternly. “Now get out. We don't have room for cheapskates here.”
-
Lugging his amp and his guitar across the city ain't one of the more fun things Ryuji's done in his life, but he powers through.
Still, it hurts the hell outta his leg. f*ck you, Kamoshida, he thinks, not for the first time, never for the last time. He and Ren should've broken the bastard's face, not his windows.
Ren shows up before he does, with his bass slung in a bag across his shoulder and his bulky amp clenched firmly in a hand. The two of them don't even say anything to one another; they just nod and go into the bar.
It's a sh*tty place. A dive that no one worth a damn would ever stumble into. At least it's empty around this time, though. Past closing, according to the chick.
She doesn't say anything to them, either. She just motions for them to get set up, and they do, and then she takes a seat and motions for them to start playing. And they do.
Despite everything, despite their deep differences in personality and their unbelievable difficulty communicating through words, Ryuji and Ren can play music. Throw a guitar in Ryuji's hands and a bass in Ren's, and they can just do things. Ren always knows when to drop into the background and when to bring out the big guns. He knows when to make space and when to do some crazy sh*t. And Ryuji knows when he needs to just play the chords and keep a steady beat, and when he needs to start throwing in the weird stuff, the odd notes and the off-time rhythm and throw the audience off-balance.
Honestly, he couldn't give less of a sh*t if Niijima likes it or not. He likes it.
Still, it's pretty satisfying for him to look up and see her eyes lit up just a little bit, and for her to co*ck her head a bit and say, “I'm in.”
“Let's go!” Ryuji cheers. He sets his guitar aside carefully, then leaps up and crushes Niijima into a hug. Whether they just met or not means jack sh*t; they're in a band, now.
“You don't have a drummer,” Makoto points out, once everything settles down.
“Only a matter of time,” Ren says. “I can find anyone.”
“You won't have to. I think I know someone.”
“Oh? Who?”
Makoto frowns. “Well, she's a bit scary, but...”
-
Haru Okumura looks literally anything but scary.
Ren has to sigh a little when Makoto leads them to a mansion – an actual, honest-to-god, mansion – and then drags them over to the flowerbeds, where a girl who can't be more than 5'2 and looks to be literally just skin and bones is working diligently.
She beams when she sees Makoto, though, and embraces her without any concern for the spikes on her jacket's shoulders. “Makoto! It's been too long! How are you?”
“I'm... fine. How are you?”
“Oh, things have been a bit difficult since Father died, but I've made do.”
Difficult? Ren wishes his life would be this good once his dad dies. sh*t, he'd kill the old bastard himself if he could have a life one-tenth this good.
“Um... Great.” Makoto shifts on her feet. “Listen, Haru... Do you still play the drums?”
The girl lights up even more. “Oh, certainly! It's been a little while, I must admit. But every now and again I get the unmistakable urge to hit something as hard as I can until my hands bleed.”
She says all of this with a chipper little smile on her face, and Ren finally understands what Makoto meant by scary.
“Well,” Makoto continues, “we're starting a band. Myself and these two guys. We were wondering if you might want to drum for us?”
Haru considers this. “Well, I'd have to hear the music first. I'm afraid this wouldn't be the first time I've tried joining a band... The others were simply too soft for me.”
Ryuji gives her a look. “Who were they? Anyone we'd know?”
“Well, I only remember the name of the last one. I believe it was... Maggot Feast?”
Ren just stares for a second. Then he shrugs and says, “She'll do.”
-
“You mind if I ask you somethin'?”
Ryuji says this to her as they wait for the train. Ren left them already to go a different way, so it's just the two of them, now. Well, if she's going to be in a band with him, she's going to have to get used to his presence.
“Ask.”
“Why'd you go punk?”
Makoto frowns. “That's pretty forward.”
“Can't blame me for bein' curious, can ya?”
“I could. But I won't.” Makoto crosses her arms and scowls all the more. “We're in a band together, now, and that means we're chummier than strangers, but it doesn't make us friends. Not yet. That comes later, if it comes at all. Think you can wait that long to hear my sob story?”
“Dunno. I'm pretty impatient.”
“How would you like it if I asked you where all that rage comes from?”
Ryuji shoots her that grin. “I don't talk about my sh*t. You wanna know how I feel, you gotta listen to my music. That's how I work.”
-
The Okumuras were meant to be among the elites, and Haru has done what she can to make that true even after her father's untimely death. To those on the outside, little if anything has changed since then.
Other than the contractors she hired, Ren, Ryuji, and Makoto are the first ones to see her private studio. Her father had never approved of her fondness for the drums, nor of her love for heavy music. The first time he caught her listening to Cattle Decapitation was also the last. He would have been mortified to see her listening to far worse things, now, but he's dead, so what he thinks doesn't really matter.
After his death, she had this place built as her private sanctuary. The best gear, although she doesn't actually know how to use most of it, plus an extremely fine drum set that suits her needs perfectly. It's not the largest kit; she tried the prog-metal ten-thousand-cymbals set up, and found that it doesn't really work for her. She's a simple drummer, in many ways. A single snare, single rack tom, single floor tom, single kick drum (though with a double pedal; she's not that basic), plus a hi-hat, two crashes, a ride, and a china for good luck is more than enough for her.
She giggles as Ryuji rushes from one thing to the next like a kid in a candy store. It's Ren and Makoto that ask her the real questions. “You're really okay with us using this space?” Makoto asks.
Haru stifles another giggle. It's funny, she thinks, how old habits die hard. Makoto Niijima used to be the most polite girl in the world. Now, she's quite a bit ruder than before. Not to her friends, though; with Haru, Makoto remains as placid and friendly as before.
“Oh, it's no trouble!” Haru assures them. “I told you, I would help however possible!”
When they showed her the demos, she at first wasn't particularly impressed. Punk generally isn't her thing. It's fast, yes, but it lacks the heavy brutality that can only be found in death metal. The recordings weren't very good, either. Who could have guessed that setting up a few cheap mics off Amazon around cheap amps in an apartment wouldn't provide the best sound?
It was when she heard them play live that she really decided to join up. Makoto wasn't part of that performance, since they haven't actually written any proper songs yet, but Ren and Ryuji alone were plenty. The whole time they played, Haru could hear the drums behind them, even when they weren't there. That's nothing special, perhaps. Anyone can imagine a beat. What excited her was just how much room there was for her to be creative behind them.
And, more importantly, how much room there was for her to hit hard.
“So, what is the plan for today?” she asks the others.
“We'll just play,” Ren says. “Nothing too crazy. Let's just... see how it works out. Ryuji'll start us off. I always follow him, anyway.”
Ryuji cracks that grin at them, and Haru smiles back at it. Usually, the other musicians follow the drummer, but that's not her style, really. She feeds off the energy of others and delivers it back tenfold. A good guitarist can lead the pack better than a drummer can.
And Ryuji is good. Not technically, not really. He's not going to win any competitions. But technical ability is second always to emotional capability. Music is a way to express yourself, after all, and Ryuji expresses himself well. Haru follows along with him, and she finds herself lost in the vibe.
When it's all said and done, Ren and Ryuji look at her with wide eyes. “Damn,” Ryuji says.
“You were really into that,” Ren says.
Haru just smiles. “Of course!”
-
It starts with a feedback loop. That screaming distortion that makes his blood boil and his fingers tremble with anticipation. And then it's a G power chord, up to G#. Drop back to F. Repeat, but go to F# the second time around, get that chromatic feel.
Writing punk alone sucks, Ryuji reflects. He's got something here, he knows it. The vibe is coming together, slowly but surely. But damn, you just can't write music like this alone in a room, no matter how energized you might be.
And practice is tomorrow, so it's not like he's gotta wait long to get this sh*t going, but... Soon isn't now, and he wants to do this sh*t now.
So he brainstorms. Pick slide at the start, duh. Make it gross. Really fill the room with the filth. And linger on it, too. Play the open strings, let that crunch settle in and set their teeth on edge. It's gotta be raw. It's gotta be brutal. It's gotta be angry.
Otherwise, he doesn't give much of a sh*t.
-
Once Ren adds his bassline, Makoto starts to see the idea.
It's a brutal 200 BPM. Haru sighs when she hears that and laments that “not every song can be fast.” Makoto doesn't try to understand her.
The intro is rough, they all agree on that. Ryuji's chords and Ren's low grumble work, not to mention Haru's fine cymbal work transitioning into an array of toms, emphasizing odd beats on the snare. It all works, but it's missing something. Something that none of them can really pinpoint.
They decide to leave it as it is for now, moving on to the verse. Haru instantly starts playing blast beats, and none of them really want to tell her otherwise, so Ryuji and Ren both take a step back. Makoto starts screaming gibberish, just to get a feel for how a vocal melody might go here. Surprise, surprise, it's not much of a melody. She's really just screaming. It's great.
Ryuji's original idea comes back into play for the chorus. G, G#, F. Repeat, this time using F# instead. Ren goes to the F both times, creating a sense of discordance that puts the listener off just a little bit. A second guitar might be able to put a third note in, but Makoto ignores that possibility. They're a four-man band. Even if they could track two guitars and play the second one through the PA system live, that's not punk. It's gotta be raw, that's just how it is.
Instead, she targets a D during that moment in the chorus. It's the sixth of F, and creates an augmented feel for the F#. It's strange. It works.
Still, something isn't clicking. She can't figure out what it is.
-
“Long time no see.”
Ren says this with a grin. Akechi glares at him.
“I believe I told you something rather harsh last time we spoke,” Akechi says, sharply.
“Oh, yeah. It was a good one. What was it?” Ren snaps his fingers. “'If I ever see you again, I'll tear your spine out through your asshole.' I never knew how kinky you were.”
“State your business, Amamiya.”
Back to last names, huh? Well, he always preferred to call Akechi Akechi, rather than Goro. It works out. He'd personally rather be called Ren than Amamiya, but whatever. “Got a new band started.”
“Congratulations. Goodbye.”
“I want you on second guitar.”
Akechi gives him a look that would probably make a plant wither up and die. For such a cute guy, he's got some cold eyes. “Not interested.”
“Oh, come on. You really wanna be a cop forever?”
“I am a consultant, not a cop. You really think I would stoop so low as to work for law enforcement?”
Ren snorts. “You are working for law enforcement, no matter what you say.” When they met, Akechi was just another brat. Smarter than most, sure, but nothing more than a fatherless snot-nosed kid. He and Ren became rivals soon after Ren moved here for his probation.
And, well... No matter how many girlfriends Ren went through, his mind would always drift back here. Akechi wasn't like them. He wasn't vapid and dull. He was borderline psychotic, devilishly handsome, dangerously brutal. He was everything Ren wanted, and absolutely nothing Ren needed.
“It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in playing guitar anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah. You won't be saying that once you play with us. Come on. One practice.”
“I am sorely tempted to blow your brains out.”
“Whoa, at least buy me dinner first.”
Akechi glowers at him. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nah. And we both know you won't escape me. You'll save us both some time and effort if you just come to the practice.”
“I hate everything about you, Amamiya.”
“I know.”
“...What time?”
-
A simple arpeggio ties the whole intro together. It's the kind of little thing that lets the song stay punk, but which Ryuji in all his rage would never think of.
F – F# – C – F. Repeat once. Then shift the C to a C#. Repeat once. Play the first version again, twice. Then shift down, D# – F# – A# – F#. Last rotation add the high open D# string. Second guitar plays the filthy feedback loop, plus the pick slide. It all flows right.
“Good sh*t, Akechi,” Ryuji tells him with a grin. Akechi doesn't dignify it with a response.
Haru and Akechi got off on the wrong foot literally instantly, and Makoto seems content to just watch him from a distance. Ryuji knows all about the guy, though. He's known Ren long enough to know his friends, after all. Akechi is a lunatic. He's a danger to himself and others, and should really be locked up.
Since he isn't, though, he might as well be here, playing guitar in their little band.
“It's nothing special,” Akechi says. “It's a simple idea. Any of you could have thought of it.”
“But we didn't,” Ren says. “That's the point.”
“Fine. I played my part. I'm leaving now.”
“Nah, you can't leave us now!” Ryuji shouts. “Dude, we got this now! You gotta play guitar for us, man. It'd be sick, dude.”
“Pass.”
Makoto sighs. “There's no point in forcing him.”
“Yes,” Haru says, coldly. “If Akechi wishes to leave, I say we let him.”
Easy for you to say. You ain't gotta figure out how to play two different parts at the same time. It's not technically impossible, but... Playing that much noise through the same pickups is not gonna sound pleasant, especially through Ryuji's sh*tty old guitar.
Akechi's is a boring guitar, but it works better. A Les Paul, because of course a guy like that plays a damn Les Paul. He can get some decent cleans, and arpeggiating simple chords sounds pretty damn good even through wild amounts of distortion. They've got the gain cranked, but the notes are still pretty clear.
It takes way more than it should, but they talk him into at least hanging around a little longer. Ryuji's glad for that. He wants to do this, and he wants to do it right. That means ditching ego. He doesn't wanna be on that stage alone, and he'll gladly share the spotlight if it means he can blast all his anger out.
-
Makoto writes the lyrics with Ren. It flows easily. They're both book-smart, despite everything, and they find a common theme pretty easily. The concept of gentleman thieves sits well with both of them. The anger and the fury of punk mixed with the calculation and dignity of an intellectual. It's not enough to just be angry, now. The best revolutionaries were well-read.
All of this leads to their first song.
“Arsène?” Ryuji says, pronouncing it terribly wrong. “Hell's that mean?”
“It's about Arsène Lupin,” Makoto explains. “You don't need to read the stories if you don't want to. The point is that he's a criminal, but in more of the Robin Hood sense.”
Akechi smirks and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I see. So you're attempting to convey a sense of chivalry along with your rage. That's an idea I'm not opposed to.”
“Glad you approve, honey,” Ren says with a smirk.
“Shut up, Amamiya.”
Ryuji remains focused on Makoto. “You and Ren wrote this, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. You guys've been spending a lot of time together, lately. I get it. Band sh*t, all that stuff.” He stands and grabs his guitar. “Let's run through it again.”
Makoto belts out her lyrics yet again, but her heart isn't as in it this time. Why should he think twice about me spending time with Ren? But she knows the answer, because it's been the same thing for her when she sees Ryuji leaning on Haru, making dumb jokes with her or complimenting her performance.
And it means nothing, really. To be upset about that would be hypocritical, especially given her own past with Haru. If the two of them want to have a fling, they just better not let it affect the band. Makoto's already concerned about Ren and Akechi, honestly. The two of them hate one another almost as much as they love one another. It's a volatile combination. She wonders if someday they'll be like Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, with dressing rooms on the opposite sides of the stage.
Ego is the biggest thing that kills bands, but stupidity is a big second. Dumb kids doing what dumb kids do: messing around with one another and causing issues. She's seen it happen before. If no one's careful, Ren and Akechi will blow up, and then Ryuji and Haru will blow up, and the band will blow up soon after.
And, yet again, Makoto will be on the outside. She'll have participated, and yet have absolutely nothing to show for it. Like usual.
Whatever. At least she has an outlet for the rage, at least for a little while. She's got plenty of rage after all. For her father, for her mother, for her sister, for her supposed friends and her already-crumbling band. So she gets up to the mic and screams until her throat is raw and her voice is destroyed. It helps.
-
“The Phantoms?” Ryuji repeats.
“Not the Phantoms. Just Phantom.” Ren cleans a cup and pushes it down the counter with practiced ease. He's worked at Leblanc long enough now to do things like this on autopilot. “We're not phantoms, the band is.”
“Dude, that's dumb as hell.”
“Whatever. It works. Makoto approves, too.”
Ryuji grunts. “Yeah. You and her make the decisions, huh?”
“Shut up. You don't care about the decisions, you just want Makoto.”
It's obvious to literally everyone, probably even the two of them. And Ren knows why they're holding back. Things like that kill bands. It happens all the time. But letting those sorts of feelings fester causes just as many problems, if not more. The resentment Ryuji's starting to display for the others is getting unbearable, to the point where he might get booted out of his own band.
So Ren shrugs and gives better advice. “Just screw,” he says, shrugging. “You want to, she probably wants to. So just do it. You're driving us all insane like this.”
“I don't think she wants to.”
“You're an idiot, then. You honestly think she and I are making kissy faces at each other? We only talk about the band. That's it. I know absolutely nothing about her beyond that. Besides, I've seen how sad she looks when you're around Haru. She wants you to be around her more, she just won't admit it.”
“Haru's cool. I like talking to her.”
“You want to screw her, too?”
“No! I mean, like... Sort of? But no. Not... not the same... Ugh, dude I hate talking about this sh*t with you.”
Ren shrugs. His bluntness has always been a part of him, and the arrest only set that in stone. “So you're attracted to Haru physically, but there's more about Makoto, right?”
“You make it sound bad, dude. I don't just like Haru's looks.”
“Fine, but the things you like about Makoto go deeper, right?”
“...Yeah.”
“Then just say that already. I'm getting tempted to just lock the two of you in a room and leave you there until you talk about this. It's going to kill us. Besides, you've only got two weeks to settle it.”
“Two weeks? Huh? What's in two weeks?”
“Our first show.”
Ryuji's eyes go wide. “Huh? What, dude we only have one song! How the hell did you even get us a gig this quick!?”
“It wasn't hard.”
It's not really a gig. It's a battle of the bands at a sh*tty bar uptown. Ren knows the manager, so he was able to get Phantom in after the deadline. Fortunately, one of the other bands had to drop out due to personal issues – as they would find out soon.
“We'll get to play two songs,” Ren tells Ryuji. “We'll play Arsène, and then a cover. We'll talk through what song we want for the cover at the next practice. Arsène's a little lighter now, thanks to Akechi, so I say we play something really brutal.”
“What, like one of Haru's death metal songs?”
“Nah, nothing that crazy. Just something fast and angry.”
-
“This is stupid.”
Akechi declares this immediately upon seeing the little rundown dive bar they're apparently going to be playing at. He knows Ren like the back of his hand, and he knows for a fact that the prick's connections could have gotten them a much better gig. Instead, they're stuck competing in a stupid battle of the bands like a bunch of high schoolers.
Ren just shrugs. “Look at this way, it's an easy win for us, right?”
“It's like fighting a blind man. If you lose, you're the man who lost against a blind man. If you win, you're the man who beat up a blind man. You lose either way.”
“Well, what if the blind man's the one who instigated the fight? Then it's just self-defense, right?” Ren shoots Akechi that stupid co*cky grin, and Akechi decides not to bother.
He sighs and resigns himself to this. At least when they lose he'll have a good reason to leave this stupid band and never bother with Ren again. Not that he needs one. He's got thousands. He should've just turned away and not bothered with any of this, but instead he showed up to the practice, and then to the next one, and then the next one, and now this...
What is it about Ren that draws him back no matter what? It's so pointless.
Whatever. He'll suffer through this one night, and that will be that.
-
The first band is good.
Ren watches them with his arms crossed over his chest. They're a four piece, but they make enough noise to fill the space easily, and their passion is unmistakable. Their drummer looks a lot scarier than Haru, but despite his bulky form and permanent scowl he seems to hit the shells a little lighter than her. He's never off-beat, though. They play tightly, a perfectly synced up group.
He leans towards Makoto and nudges her on the shoulder. “Supposedly, their lead singer used to be a pop star. She changed her look and her name, but some people say the similarities are too many to discount.”
“Really? She screams well.”
And she does. She's got the energy of ten Ryujis, which is frightening enough in its own right. Combine that with her deathgrip on the microphone and her unmistakable rage as she screams out “They're f*cking with me subliminally!” and it's hard to imagine her selling out stadiums.
Ren thanks whatever deity watches over sh*tty punk bands that they didn't choose a Suicidal Tendencies song for their cover.
The crowd goes wild, and Makoto sighs next to him. “They were good.”
Ryuji throws an arm around both of their shoulders and grins. “We're better.”
-
Sitting on the train on the way back, Makoto finds herself wondering what the hell just happened.
It had all been a haze. Akechi had started those opening notes of Arsène, and then Haru and Ryuji had come in, and Ren followed close behind with that bassline, and then the song had broken out into chaos and she'd stepped up to the mic and f*cking screamed like she'd never screamed before, and the whole room had lit up like a bomb. By the time they got to their cover and she'd been belting out “Start the fire! Start the fire! Come join the dance of destruction! Valor, sweet as a kiss!” the whole place had felt like a madhouse. And Ryuji had jumped off the stage and crowd-surfed, and that kind of thing doesn't happen at stupid little gigs like this where the audience doesn't even know the band.
It was stupid. It was insane. It was magic.
The magic doesn't ever seem to stop once it starts. That feeling of invincibility as the drums pound away behind you and the guitars screech out their brutal siren song and the bass thumps and thumps and thumps away in your chest until you swear your heart's gonna burst. And then you step up and roar out your banshee scream, and the whole f*cking world just explodes.
She's transferring lines in a haze when a hand slaps down on her shoulder and she turns to see Ryuji there. “Didn't realize we take the same train,” he says, that grin on his face.
She nods at him, and they sit down together.
“Helluva show, am I right?”
“...Yeah.”
“Somethin' wrong?”
“Coming down from the high.”
Ryuji grins even wider. “Yeah, I get that. Heh, I ain't getting any sleep tonight, I know that for sure. Man, my blood's boiling.”
“Yeah.” She's exhausted and awake at the same time. Her whole body is alive, but her mind is foggy and dead. She's felt this before, but never to this extreme. It's frightening. It's awful. It's intoxicating and wonderful and she would never trade it for the world.
“We were on our A-game tonight, man. God, your voice is amazing. Dude, I think even Akechi was caught up in it, y'know? And it takes a lot to get that guy's head outta his ass.”
“Yeah,” she says again.
It feels real. For the first time, it actually feels real. Because despite everything, she actually believes in this band and this project. It could be big. Really. They have the anger and the skill and the stage presence to start fires. Big fires. Fires that'll burn across the whole world. And that's what she wants.
Isn't it?
Ryuji just laughs easily and slaps his hand on her shoulder again. “Man, you really are out of it. Can't blame ya. I'll probably crash pretty hard in an hour or so. Gotta get back home before then. But man, what a night!”
“Why do you do this?”
Her question catches him off-guard. “Huh?”
Makoto looks at her feet. “When you get up on the stage and play... why do you do it? What's the end goal? What's the purpose of it?”
“Huh?” he says again, but she doesn't clarify. He leans back and considers it. “Well, I mean... I guess I ain't thinkin' about an end goal. I just... I just wanna get this sh*t out, y'know? Got all this anger inside me. And I ain't gonna dish it out to the people I care about. I'm not gonna yell at my mom, or Ren... or you. So when I play guitar, 'specially on a stage like that... Feels like I'm bein' honest with myself.”
“Honest...”
“What about you?” Ryuji leans closer. “I always wondered, since we first met all those months ago. Like... you don't get a voice like yours without rage. Real rage. So what is it that pissed you off?”
“You asked me that once before,” she remembers.
“Yeah, well, we hardly knew each other then. It's been awhile, right? Maybe you can tell me now.”
Makoto lets out a breath. At some point, the train stopped, and now they're walking down the chilly November streets. Her breath comes out in a mist before her. Everything's happening in a daze right now. When did she stand up? She doesn't remember.
“I was a model student for a long time,” she says softly. Her voice is hoarse after tonight's show, but she's got enough in her to talk a bit. God, she'd kill for some water right now, though.
“Yeah, Yusuke said something like that. What changed?”
“My dad died.”
“Oh.”
“He was a cop.” Makoto smiles slyly. “I know, pretty weird for a punk girl. You wouldn't guess that, right? Well, it's true. And I loved him. I worshiped him. Then he died. On duty, of course.” She tightens her hand into a fist. “You know what the department did about it? Nothing. Absolutely f*cking nothing. Whole bunch of political bullsh*t I won't go into. That was when I learned that the law applies differently to different people. Some people are above it, and some people are below it. Murder isn't illegal for the people on top.
“If the system is corrupt through and through, there's no reason to obey it on any level. If one bad apple ruins the bunch, then one faulty law damages the stability of the whole structure. If the guys at the very top don't have to follow the rules, why should the guys on the bottom?
“I got sick of it. Like, physically sick. The idea of obeying this sh*t for a second longer just tore at me. So I ditched it all.”
“What, even your family?” Ryuji asks.
“I barely have a family. My mom died ages ago. I don't even really remember her. And my sister... Her reaction to Dad's death was different to mine. She became a slave to the government. I hated her for it.” She scowls. “You asked how I scream like that. You wanna know the truth? Whenever I do it, I'm imagining my sister. I'm imagining talking to her. I can't picture that conversation without screaming my head off.”
Ryuji stays silent for awhile. She wonders if she's said too much. Maybe she has. It's not like her problems really mean much, not in the grand scheme of things. But god if it isn't annoying to look at it all from the high level and spit on the individuals. If one person doesn't matter, does any person matter?
Maybe nothing matters. But that's a hard philosophy to live by.
“I get it,” Ryuji says, eventually. “We all do, y'know. Everyone in this band, we all got our sh*t. But we ain't gonna judge you and we ain't gonna hold you back. You gotta scream? Do it. Scream your lungs out.” He shoots her a grin. “I'll back you up every step of the way.”
-
It's different, next time they practice.
That tension's gone. And not just one form of tension. Akechi doesn't seem like he wants to kill everyone here anymore. He's still on the outside, still hardly speaking, but Ren can read him better than anyone. The show changed things for him, too.
Haru had never seemed out of place or tense, but she's slotting in here beautifully now. Her drumming had been unbelievable during that show. She killed it so hard it was almost frightening.
And Ryuji and Makoto... well, he's pretty sure he knows what happened there.
It's during a break that he finds out for sure. “You two screwed, didn't you?” Ren asks, bluntly.
And the no-good punk Ryuji blushes. “Yeah,” he admits. “It was the night of the show. We ran into each other on the train back, and we were talking, and she was opening up and everything, and she didn't have anywhere to go for the night, so I told her she could stay with me, and... Yeah, things heated up, y'know.”
“Yeah, I do. So?”
“So what?”
“Dating? f*ck buddies? Big mistake, pretending it didn't happen? What was the result?”
Ryuji shrugs. “Dude, I got no idea.”
“What do you want it to be?”
“I don't know! Man, I never thought about that sh*t.”
“You weren't a virgin.”
“Nah, but... I never knew a girl I actually wanted to, like, settle down with or some sh*t. I don't know if this is that. It's weird, man. I dunno. I don't really get it.”
Ren just shrugs. “Whatever. You'll figure it out.”
“You can be way too laid back sometimes, man.”
“And you can be way too uptight sometimes.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Screw it, I'll talk to her after practice. Let's do some writing, dude. I'm pumped up, wanna do another show!”
Ren really can't help but laugh. “Alright. You got anything new?”
