The morning after our marathon recording session, my muscles ached in ways that had nothing to do with dance practice. Mental exhaustion had settled into my bones, the kind that comes from creating something from nothing while the rest of the world sleeps. We'd dragged ourselves to SYNC for our regular rehearsal at nine, moving through choreography like zombies in a low-budget horror film.
"Again," Ryuu called out, voice hoarse from last night's recording. "We're off by half a beat in the second formation."
Ryota groaned but reset his position. "Ryota's legs feel like pudding."
"That makes two of us," Seiji mumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead.
I caught Daisuke's eye in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes matched my own, but there was something else there—a quiet satisfaction that hadn't been present before. We'd made something real last night. Something that belonged to us alone.
"Let's take five," I suggested, grabbing my water bottle. "We're making mistakes from fatigue, not lack of effort."
Ryuu pushed his glasses up with one finger, a gesture I'd come to recognize as his way of conceding a point without actually saying so. "Five minutes. Then we nail this transition."
We collapsed against the studio wall, gulping water and stretching sore limbs. Seiji's head dropped onto Ryota's shoulder, his pink hair darkened with sweat.
"Has anyone listened to the recording this morning?" Daisuke asked quietly.
Four heads shook in unison.
"I couldn't," I admitted. "Afraid it wouldn't sound as good as I remembered."
"Same," Seiji said.
"Ryota slept like the dead! No time for listening!"
"We should wait," Ryuu said, surprising me. "Listen with fresh ears tonight when we return to the studio."
"Agreed," I said. "For now, let's focus on what Ichigo already expects from us."
Our five-minute break stretched to seven before Ryuu cleared his throat pointedly. We dragged ourselves back to positions, muscles protesting but minds clearer.
"From the top of 'Refraction,'" Ryuu called out.
The familiar music started, and we moved through the choreography with renewed precision. Our bodies remembered what our exhausted minds struggled to recall. By noon, we'd polished all three of our established songs to an acceptable standard.
"Good enough for today," Ryuu conceded as we gathered our things. "Meet at Miwa's studio at seven?"
"Ryota will bring food again!" Ryota declared.
"No energy drinks this time," I said. "We need clear heads, not sugar crashes."
"Boring but correct," Ryuu muttered.
We parted ways outside SYNC, each heading home for a few precious hours of rest before reconvening. I crashed in my small apartment, setting an alarm that felt like it went off seconds after I closed my eyes.
The next four days blurred together in a relentless pattern: morning rehearsals at SYNC, afternoon breaks, evening sessions at Miwa's studio. We existed in a bubble of creation and exhaustion, communicating in half-sentences and inside jokes that evolved from shared fatigue.
By Wednesday night, "Run" had taken on a more polished form. Ryuu's perfectionism served us well as he insisted on multiple takes of each section, layering vocals and fine-tuning the instrumental backing that Daisuke had expanded from his original keyboard track.
"The second verse transition isn't working," Ryuu said, removing his headphones for the fifth time that hour.
"What if we add a beat of silence before Daisuke comes in?" I suggested. "Create anticipation."
"Try it," Daisuke nodded.
Miwa, who had become our unofficial sixth member, leaned against the wall with a thoughtful expression. "You could also drop the backing track, let his voice stand alone for the first line."
Ryuu's jaw tightened momentarily before relaxing. "That... might work."
"Let me try both," Daisuke said, moving to the microphone.
We recorded the section twice, then played them back-to-back.
"Second version," we all said in unison, then laughed at the rare moment of complete agreement.
"Told you," Miwa said with a smirk.
Ryuu adjusted his glasses. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day."
"Was that almost a joke, Ryuu?" Seiji gasped in mock horror. "Someone check if he has a fever."
"Back to work," Ryuu said, but I caught the ghost of a smile before he turned away.
Friday brought a crisis when the mixing board suddenly emitted an ominous pop and went silent.
"No, no, no," Ryuu muttered, frantically checking connections.
"Is it dead?" Seiji asked, voice small with worry.
"Ryota will perform CPR!" Ryota moved toward the equipment.
"Don't touch it!" Ryuu and Miwa shouted in unison.
Miwa knelt beside the board, examining it. "Power supply blew. It happens with this model."
"Can it be fixed?" I asked, calculating how much of our progress might be lost.
"Not tonight," she sighed. "But the files should be safe on the computer. We just can't record anything new until it's repaired."
"We need to finish by Sunday," Daisuke reminded us. "The meeting with Ichigo is Monday."
Miwa chewed her lip, then pulled out her phone. "Let me make a call."
She stepped outside, returning five minutes later with a determined expression. "My friend has a portable interface we can borrow. Not as good as the board, but it'll let us finish the vocals at least."
"Your friend?" Ryuu asked, tone carefully neutral.
"Yes, Ryuu, I have those," she said dryly. "He'll drop it off in an hour."
An hour stretched to two before a knock at the door announced the arrival of Miwa's friend—a tall, thin man with a perpetual smirk and too much cologne.
"Hey, babe," he said, handing over a small black box. "This what you need?"
Miwa's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks, Akio. I'll get it back to you Sunday."
"No rush." His gaze swept over our group, lingering on me. "So these are the idols, huh? They look like regular guys."
"What were you expecting, sparkles?" Miwa asked.
"Kind of, yeah." He laughed. "Anyway, I've got that gig across town. Later."
After he left, the studio felt smaller somehow, as though his cologne had expanded to fill the available space.
"Your friend seems... nice," Seiji offered diplomatically.
"Ex-boyfriend," Miwa corrected sharply. "We're just... it's complicated."
Ryuu dropped a pen, fumbling to retrieve it with suddenly clumsy fingers.
"Let's get back to work," I suggested. "We've lost enough time."
By Saturday evening, we'd assembled something remarkably close to a finished product. The portable interface had proven adequate for our remaining vocal work, and Daisuke had worked magic with the arrangement despite our technical limitations.
"One more full playthrough," Ryuu insisted as midnight approached. "Listen for any issues we can fix tomorrow."
We gathered around the computer speakers, bodies close in the small space, as Ryuu pressed play. The opening beats filled the room, followed by my voice on the first verse, steady and clear. Daisuke's more ethereal tone took over for the second verse, creating a haunting contrast.
When the chorus hit, our combined voices rose in perfect harmony:
*"Not losing our spirit, make it move left and right.
No matter who you are, make it move left and right.
Two bare feet are our gasoline, yeah yeah.
Let's go, are you ready? Yeah, yeah, yeah."*
Seiji's rap verse flowed seamlessly into Ryota's, reflection into action, doubt into certainty. Then came Ryuu's bridge, technical precision carrying emotional weight I hadn't expected from him.
As the final chorus faded, silence filled the studio. We sat motionless, caught in the spell of what we'd created.
"Holy shit," Miwa whispered eventually.
"That's... us?" Seiji asked, voice small with wonder.
"Ryota knew we were amazing! Ryota told everyone!"
"It needs some final mixing," Ryuu said, but couldn't completely hide his satisfaction. "The levels on the bridge—"
"It's perfect," Daisuke interrupted softly. "Technical flaws and all."
I stared at the computer screen, memories from my past life overlapping with present reality. The song was exactly as I remembered.
"So what now?" Seiji asked, turning to me. "Do we show this to Ichigo on Monday?"
"Of course," Ryuu said. "That was the whole point of this exercise."
"But do we perform it as an opener for B-Komachi, or save it for something bigger?" Daisuke asked, voicing the question that had been forming in my mind.
"This is too good for an opening act," Miwa said bluntly. "No offense to B-Komachi, but this deserves its own spotlight."
"Ryota agrees! Ryota wants his own concert!"
"That's not realistic yet," Ryuu pointed out. "We don't have enough original material for a full show."
"But we could," I said, the possibilities expanding before me. "This is just the beginning. We could create an EP, not just a single."
"In five weeks?" Ryuu's eyebrows shot up.
"Why not?" Daisuke asked, something like excitement animating his usually calm features. "We created this in a week. With Ichigo's support—"
"We need to convince him first," Ryuu cautioned.
"He'll be convinced," I said with certainty. "This song is going to blow his glasses off."
"And then what?" Seiji asked.
I looked around at my groupmates—no, my friends—each face alight with the same realization: we'd created something that transcended our individual talents. Something that could change everything.
"And then," I said, "we take the idol world by storm."