The first run-through of Phenomenon went smoother than expected. Ryota executed his signature backflip with excessive height, landing with a thunderous impact that made the floorboards shudder. Seiji's rap sections flowed with natural rhythm, his pink hair bouncing as he moved. Ryuu hit every note with clinical precision, while Daisuke brought his subtle emotional depth to the bridge.
"Not bad," Ryuu said when we finished, which from him counted as lavish praise. He pushed his glasses up his nose, leaving a smudge on the left lens. "The transition at 2:14 needs tightening, and Toshiro—"
"Needs to stop running into Ryota," I finished, wiping sweat from my brow. "Got it."
"Ryota almost crushed you," Seiji laughed, dropping to the floor and splaying out like a starfish. His chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath. "Your life flashed before your eyes!"
"Ryota would never crush center," Ryota declared, flexing his biceps. "Ryota has perfect spatial awareness."
"Says the man who broke three lamps in the hotel last month," Daisuke murmured from the corner where he sat cross-legged, jotting notes in his small leather-bound notebook.
"Those lamps attacked Ryota! They jumped out!"
"From their stationary positions on the tables?" Ryuu asked dryly.
"Yes! Furniture is alive at night. Ryota has proof."
I couldn't help but laugh. Despite their initial wariness, there was an undeniable chemistry between these four. A brotherhood forged through shared struggle and betrayal.
"Let's run it again," I suggested, rolling my shoulders. "I'll get that transition right this time."
Seiji groaned from his position on the floor. "Five-minute break? Please? My legs are actual noodles right now."
"Weak!" Ryota proclaimed, dropping into a perfect split that made me wince. "Ryota could dance five more hours!"
"You're not human," Seiji protested.
"Ryota is superhuman! Superior species!"
"You're something, alright," Ryuu muttered.
"Five minutes," I agreed, walking to my water bottle. "Then we nail this choreo so perfectly that when Tadashi sees the video, he cries into his designer pillowcase."
That got everyone's attention. Even Daisuke looked up from his notebook, blinking in surprise.
"What?" I asked innocently. "Not our fault if he realizes what he gave up."
A slow grin spread across Ryota's face. "Center has fangs! Ryota approves."
"Tadashi doesn't watch our content," Ryuu said, but I caught the hint of satisfaction in his tone.
"Sure he does," I countered, taking a swig of water. "He probably has alerts set up. Monitoring the competition."
"We're not competition to him," Daisuke said quietly. "Not yet."
"Then let's become competition," I said. "Starting with this performance. And then with Run."
Seiji sat up, eyes bright with renewed energy. "Yeah! Let's make him regret ever—"
The studio door swung open. Ichigo Saitou stood in the entrance, sunglasses firmly in place despite the indoor lighting. His black suit looked rumpled, as if he'd been wearing it for days.
"Saitou-san," Ryuu straightened immediately, all business.
"How's it coming along?" Ichigo asked, stepping into the studio and letting the door swing shut behind him.
"Progress is steady," Ryuu reported. "Toshiro is integrating well with the existing choreography. We've made adjustments to Transparent that show promise, and Phenomenon is nearly performance-ready."
Ichigo nodded, his expression unreadable behind his shades. "Good. The Yokohama show is a priority. B-Komachi's arena performance deserves a strong opening act."
I saw the slight stiffening in everyone's postures at the reminder of our supporting role.
"Actually, Saitou-san," I said, stepping forward. "We wanted to discuss something with you."
His head turned toward me. "Go on."
"We're thinking of debuting a new song at Yokohama. Something fresh that showcases PRISM's evolution."
Ichigo didn't respond immediately. He pulled out his phone, checked something, then pocketed it again.
"A new song requires budget. Recording time. Choreography development. Vetting." He listed each item flatly. "What makes you think this is feasible in six weeks?"
"We already have the song concept," I said. "Daisuke's working on the composition."
Daisuke looked up, startled to be brought into this. "I... have some preliminary ideas, yes."
"We can handle the choreography ourselves," I continued. "Ryota and Seiji are already developing movement concepts. Ryuu can arrange the vocals once the composition is set."
"And costumes?" Ichigo challenged.
"Simple stage blacks with custom details. Cost-effective but distinctive."
Ichigo's eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. "You've thought this through."
"We have," I lied. I'd thought it through; the others were hearing most of this for the first time.
"What's the song?"
"Run," I answered. "It's about perseverance. Moving forward no matter what obstacles appear. Never giving up."
"Fitting," Ichigo said after a pause.
"The theme resonates with PRISM's journey," I pressed. "And it would create a narrative arc for our set—from Transparent's acknowledgment of betrayal to Phenomenon's celebration of our new formation to Run's declaration of our future."
Ichigo removed his sunglasses, revealing tired eyes that studied each of us in turn. "You understand that Strawberry Productions operates on tight margins. B-Komachi subsidizes everything else we do."
"We understand," Ryuu said, stepping forward. "But PRISM can't grow if we don't invest in new material."
"The Yokohama show is a perfect opportunity," Seiji added eagerly. "Twenty thousand people!"
"Opening for B-Komachi," Ichigo reminded us. "Those twenty thousand people are there for Ai and her group."
"Then let's give them a reason to remember us too," I said.
Ichigo sighed, but I caught the hint of a smile. "I'll need a demo by next week. Something concrete to evaluate. If—and only if—it shows genuine potential, I'll allocate resources."
"We'll have it," I promised.
"Studio time costs money," he warned. "Even for a demo."
"We can record a rough version at my cousins studio," Daisuke offered. "They have basic equipment."
Ichigo nodded. "Alright. Next week, bring me something worth investing in." He turned to leave, then paused. "This isn't just about artistic expression. This is business. The demo needs to show commercial potential, not just creative satisfaction."
"Understood," I said.
After he left, the others turned to me with varying expressions of shock and excitement.
"Did we just commit to creating an entire song in a week?" Ryuu asked, looking faintly ill.
"Not just any song," Seiji said, bouncing on his toes. "Our song. One that's completely ours."
"Ryota will create the most powerful choreography!" Ryota punched the air. "Movements no one has seen before!"
"We don't even have a melody yet," Ryuu pointed out. "Or lyrics. Or any actual plan."
"Actually," Daisuke said quietly, "I've been working on something since Toshiro gave me some ideas from humming this morning." He flipped open his notebook, revealing staff paper with notations. "It's just a sketch, but..."
I moved closer, examining his work. The others gathered around, peering at the notes.
"Can you play it?" Seiji asked.
Daisuke nodded. "There's a keyboard in the equipment closet. I noticed it earlier."
Five minutes later, he had the small keyboard set up. His long fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he began to play.
The melody started simple—almost hesitant—before building into something urgent and compelling. Even in this rough form, played on a basic keyboard, I recognized what he'd created: the backbone of Run, transformed from my vague descriptions into actual music.
When he finished, the studio remained silent.
"That's it," I said softly. "That's exactly it."
"It needs development," Daisuke said modestly. "The bridge isn't right yet, and the chorus needs more impact."
"But the foundation is there," Ryuu acknowledged, professional enough to recognize quality despite his reservations. "We could build on this."
"So we're really doing this?" Seiji asked, eyes wide. "Creating a whole new song in a week?"
"We're really doing this," I confirmed.
"Then we better get to work," Ryuu said, checking his watch. "We still have the studio for another hour. Let's perfect Phenomenon and Transparent first. One task at a time."
We returned to our positions, but the energy had changed. There was purpose now, excitement. Even Ryuu seemed more focused than critical.
As we ran through Phenomenon again, I found myself hitting every mark, the transitions flowing naturally. My body knew what to do now, working in harmony with the others. When we finished, even Ryuu nodded in satisfaction.
"Much better," he said. "Let's run Transparent once more, then call it a day. We have a song to create."
The rest of the practice flew by. When we finally packed up, muscles aching but spirits high, Daisuke approached me.
"You knew he'd say yes," he observed. "Or at least, you were counting on it."
I shrugged. "I knew he'd give us a chance to prove ourselves. That's all we need."
"You're very confident for someone who joined us two days ago."
"I believe in what we can do," I said simply. "Don't you?"
Daisuke studied me with those perceptive eyes. "I'm beginning to," he said finally.
As we left SYNC, I glanced back at Studio A. B-Komachi had finished their practice, the room now dark and empty. For a moment, I pictured Ai there—that overwhelming presence, that connection with the audience that transcended normal performance.
That's what we're up against, I thought. Not just Tadashi and his solo career, but the very reason Strawberry Productions existed at all.
But for the first time since Tadashi left them, PRISM had direction. Purpose. A future that wasn't defined by what they'd lost, but by what they could become.
"Toshiro! Hurry up!" Seiji called from ahead. "Ryota says he's hungry enough to eat a small car!"
"Ryota said motorcycle, not car," Ryota corrected. "Motorcycles are crunchier!"
I smiled and jogged to catch up with them. We had six weeks until Yokohama, one week to create a demo that would convince Ichigo, and exactly zero guarantee of success.
Perfect odds, I thought. Let's run.