Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Want me to come with you to the concert?” He brought a finger to his face, barely scratching it, hesitant. “I don’t know, Junpei, I don’t think they’ll let me take time off wor—”

“Come on, Itadori, it’s not healthy for you to keep going like this.” Junpei cut him off while settling into the sofa. “Besides, I’m running out of ideas to get you out of the house.”

Yuuji Itadori lowered his gaze to the floor, his expression briefly falling. He appreciated his friend’s gesture to lift his spirits, but it was still hard to adjust to his new reality. The absence of his grandfather—his only family—felt like a hole he couldn’t fill.

Every day was the same as before: wake up, work, come home, sleep and repeat. It was something that not even his optimistic nature allowed him to move forward, no matter how much he pretended otherwise in front of others.

He’d spent weeks focusing more on existing than on truly living. 

“Without a doubt, I’m pretty sure your grandfather would be pulling you by the ears to get you out having some fun,” his friend tried again in a softer tone. 

The words caught him off guard. It was nothing but the truth, his grandfather had always insisted that youth was too precious to waste. Yuuji exhaled softly as a faint smile crept across his face, remembering how that grumpy old man had scolded him countless times for “wasting time” taking care of him instead of joining a school club or hanging out with friends. 

Maybe Junpei had a point, maybe he could try to break his monotony. Even if just for one night. 

“Alright.” Itadori finally gave in, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “But I really need to let them know at work.” 

“No need–the concert’s in about three hours.” Yoshino replied with amusement, anticipating the reaction that was coming. 

“…What?! And you’re telling me this now? I thought it was tomorrow!” the pink-haired boy exclaimed, instantly regretting his decision. 

“I wasn’t going to give you enough time to come up with another excuse,” his friend shot back over his shoulder, already heading towards the door. “Now grab your stuff and hurry up.”

With a long sigh, Itadori followed him, but not before grabbing his jacket from the wall hook. Truth be told, he couldn’t deny that he missed the feeling of following his instincts and thinking about consequences later. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret this in the morning, assuming he even managed to wake up on time for work. 

He definitely didn’t expect that concert… would change everything. 

—

“What’s the band called again?” Yuuji asked on the way to the venue, realising he had no idea who they were going to see tonight.

“The Unlimited Shadow”.

The name sounded familiar, but no specific song came to mind.

He didn’t dwell on it. He was already here, surrounded by the palpable excitement of the crowd, ready to let himself get carried away by the moment. He’d always enjoyed concerts, losing himself in the music, screaming until his voice turned hoarse.

Maybe, if the night surprised him, he’d even consider picking up what he’d once been passionate about again. Something that, with time and circumstances, had become blurred.

He shook his head to dismiss the thought as Junpei returned to his side with drinks in hand.

“You won’t believe this,” his friend said, his eyes shining with emotion. “A girl in line almost decked some huge guy who tried to cut ahead. You should’ve seen that giant’s face.”

“Seriously?” Yuuji asked, trying to pay attention.

“Yeah! Short brown hair, fierce eyes. Remind me to ask for her autograph after the concert,” Junpei replied with a confident smile.

Itadori lost his chance to respond when the lights around them dimmed, giving way to a single spotlight centre stage. The crowd let out a deafening roar, the sound so loud it seemed to shake the floor beneath them, and the pink-haired looked around: the place was completely packed. They’re way more popular than I imagined, he thought astonished.

A few electric guitar chords broke the silence. 

The rhythm was hypnotic, with a crescendo that seized his attention back to the stage, as he noticed the imposing figure of the band’s vocalist: tall, spiky white hair and sunglasses that somehow perfectly matched his style.

Though, with looks like that, anything would look good on him, he concluded, and the audience seemed to agree, hearing the screams tripled after his appearance. He radiated such magnetic charisma that it was hard to focus on anything else.

He didn’t know why, but something about the singer’s face seemed familiar too.

The fog that opened the show began to dissipate, revealing two more figures. The drummer played with impeccable precision, each beat reverberating in Itadori’s chest, though there was something about his expression that didn’t match the energy of the moment. Something deeper, but difficult for Yuuji to decipher at the time.

And then he saw him: the guitarist.

There was something about his presence, his posture, and how he moved along with the music that sent shivers down Itadori’s spine. He felt his chest thump to the rhythm of the melody as the musician threw himself into an electrifying solo, his fingers sliding across the strings with almost hypnotic precision.

Something about the way this young man played made him feel an unexplainable bond, where each note of the solo was a heartbeat synchronised with his own.

It was as if the music had made a connection directly with him, drawing out emotions he hadn’t even known were there.

His mind began working on autopilot, recording in his memory the sharp features on his face, his spiky black hair, the intensity of his jade-coloured eyes, and every other detail of the guitarist, since he didn’t know when he’d see him this close again.

Even though Yuuji hadn’t heard their songs before, he knew that this whirlwind he’s feeling right now wouldn’t be captured the same way on a studio version. It wasn’t just the band’s overwhelming energy live–it was the lyrics that, without realising it, found himself identifying with, allowing their words to reach wounds that, after weeks of grief, were beginning to heal.

Despite his phone’s camera wasn’t the best, he adjusted it awkwardly, hoping to capture some of that magic in a picture. The delayed focus made him frown, and just when he was about to give up, he looked back up at the stage.

That’s when his eyes met the guitarist’s for an instant.

The crowd’s noise disappeared completely. It was just him and the guitarist, as if the music had connected them together in some intangible way.

Intensity, combined with strength and vulnerability could be seen in that gaze that left him breathless for the umpteenth time. The black-haired musician seemed as surprised as he was, but he didn’t look away immediately.

The instant that felt like an eternity for Itadori came to an end.

“Hey, I think your phone wasn’t recording!” Junpei shouted at Yuuji over the thunderous noise, nodding toward his phone, which had already turned off from inactivity.

Itadori blinked, glancing at his phone and then back at the stage. The other young man had already looked away, but that moment had been etched in the pink-haired’s memory, far more than any photo or video ever could.

“SENDAI! Are you having fun?” The vocalist asked the audience, craving their euphoric response. The first part of the concert was about to end.

The multitude roared immediately, their cheers echoing throughout the venue and causing a grin from ear to ear on the white-haired man’s face, which only prompted more screams.

Yuuji observed the brief exchange between the three members. The leader with a mocking smile. The guitarist rolling his eyes but returning the gesture. The drummer with a shiny, almost melancholic look.

“Great, because this show, the best of your lives, is just getting started!” The singer exclaimed with full confidence and ecstasy, opening his arms wide while the first guitar chord for the next song resounded.

And that’s how Yuuji, after several weeks of merely existing, felt alive.

—

In contrast to the concert’s blazing energy, the night air felt cool. Itadori could still feel the adrenaline surging through him and the music echoing inside him. He took a quick glance at the recording he had taken with his phone, the shaky shots making him smile. 

It was difficult to move through the venue’s congested aisles to reach the exit, but that was the least of his worries. His soul was still at the show and his mind trapped in a specific moment. 

“That was fire, bro! I knew those rumours about Gojo lip-syncing were bullshit.” Junpei’s excitement could be heard for miles.  

“Huh? Was that guy Satoru Gojo?” Yuuji paused in his tracks “The one from the commercials?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

His friend raised an eyebrow and stopped walking too, “Yeah, that Gojo” he said, Yuuji still blank “As in…every scandal’s protagonist, Gojo.” Yoshino added. 

How did I not recognise him before?, Itadori thought. He realised now why the band's name and vocalist felt so familiar to him; of course, he had seen the man previously. The white-haired guy was on every billboard in the city. However, after weeks of hardly leaving home, faces and names of celebrities were the last thing he thought about.

Lately, he had been losing track of everything outside of his own head.

His companion burst into laughter, clearly amused by Yuuji’s delayed realisation. “Even the audience chanted his name multiple times. You would have noticed too if only you had taken your eyes off the guitarist for a second.” He resumed his route, turning to face the other with a mischievous smile. “Don’t think I didn’t see you there.” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Yuuji stammered, shaking his head before hurrying to catch up to his friend to the exit. He could feel his face heating up as he turned away in embarrassment and asked quietly “By the way…do you know how I can find him on Instagram?” 

Denying his interest in the guitarist felt pointless now that Junpei had caught on.

“I’m not sure.” Junpei took out his phone to look up his username. “Last time I checked, he didn’t have an account. Weird, right? Gojo is everywhere: ads, scandals, maybe even on cereal boxes soon. But the guitarist? Nothing. No instagram, no X…”

Yuuji frowned slightly, pondering this. As if they’d summoned him, he noticed an advertisement being projected in the building when he turned to one side: it was none other than Satoru Gojo, promoting energy drinks this time. 

Gojo’s omnipresence felt inevitable, almost suffocating. The guitarist, on the other hand… there was something intriguing about how little of a trace he left online. Like he didn’t need the validation, preferring to remain in the shadows.

Junpei smirked, nudging Yuji again. “Well, if you truly want to find him, you’ll have to look somewhere else. His name is Meg—”

A loud crash near the venue’s parking lot startled them, followed by raised voices, snapping their attention away from the conversation. 

—

Their gaze was drawn to a staff van where a member lay sprawled on the ground, wrapped tightly in black cables along with two upside down amplifiers resting precariously beside him.

“What did I say about being careful!?” A girl with short brown hair was going ballistic over the guy’s clumsiness, her hands gesturing wildly as she scolded him.“Do you even know how expensive this stuff is?! If the band can’t be heard at their next show because of you…”

The guy stammered apologies, attempting—and failing—to disentangle himself from the mess he’d created.

“No way, that’s the girl I told you about!” Itadori felt his friend nudged him enthusiastically. “Looks like she works for the band.”

They observed the staff member crouching down, looking for something amid the chaos on the floor. The wires were in an impossible knot, but her fingers found the XLR plug buried beneath the disaster, bringing a flash of relief to her face.

“I wanted to ask for her number” Junpei continued, wiggling his eyebrows comically at the pink-haired, “but I don’t think now it’s a good time…”

Itadori smirked, crossing his arms. “I thought you said you’d ask for her ‘autograph’. What happened to that plan?”

“You guys over there, what are you looking at?” the menacing girl suddenly addressed them upon sensing their gaze.

“Uh…it’s nothing!” Itadori rushed to respond when he saw his friend paralysed and mouth-gaping, unable to speak.

The staff member placed a hand at her waist and asked, “Are you interested in the sound equipment, perhaps? Because, honestly, we’re short on staff.” Delivering the last phrase with a sharp glare at the guy still lying tangled on the floor.

“Actually, no thanks. Great job tonight, though!” The lingering adrenaline made Itadori respond before he could think. “I’m sure you all worked hard too,” he added with a kind smile. He set off on his way, dragging his friend by the arm before facing more trouble.

The comment caught the chestnut-haired girl off guard momentarily before she schooled her features back into a stern expression. She let the buzz of traffic fill the silence for a few seconds, with her gaze still fixed on both boys.

“Well, at least someone does recognise the staff”, she muttered.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her lips curling upwards as she attempted to suppress a smile. Then, with a quick nod, she said, “Thank you.”

The anger she felt diminished. Just a little, though.

Itadori then turned to her, grinning mischievously “I almost forgot–,” he gestured towards Junpei, who was shaking his head back and forth, pleading with him to not embarrass him. “My pal here thinks you were awesome with that big guy and he wants to ask you…” he made a dramatic pause.

“…for your autograph.” he finished amusedly in revenge for his friend’s teasing about certain musician.

The roadie raised an eyebrow in response, feeling her faded irritation resurface. Still,  she had to give the guy credit for his nerve.

Sighing, she answered “If you help me pick these up,” she motioned towards the tangle of cables “I might consider it.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Junpei, red as a tomato, resolved to plot his retaliation against Yuuji later. Meanwhile, he smiled to himself, pleased to see his friend’s playful side after such a long time.

—

Sendai’s streets were vibrant from early on, as befitted a city in constant motion. Noisy traffic filling the air, punctuated by eye-catching 3D advertisements projected onto skyscrapers. People hurrying along sidewalks, on their way to or from work.

Among the crowd was Yuuji. Circling the same block at the city centre for nearly ten minutes, desperate to deliver a package to a music store that didn’t seem to exist.

Though that was just an excuse, so he could avoid admitting he forgot to charge his phone last night and therefore couldn’t use Google Maps.

Following a kind stranger’s directions, Yuuji finally found the store and stepped inside, though not without a pang of embarrassment–he’d walked past earlier and completely missed it.

The cool rush of air conditioning greeted him instantly, a welcome reprieve from the humid streets outside. He looked in awe at how huge and elegant the interior was. The walls were lined with enormous shelves, each stocked with everything: from vinyl records to music sheets, along with gleaming instruments and their accessories.

Despite its size, it was nearly empty.

“Uh, the boss hasn’t arrived yet. Could you wait for him?” a voice interrupted Yuuji from continuing to stare. He turned to see a boy behind the counter, barely glancing away from his phone.

“Can’t you just sign for him?” Yuuji asked, tilting his head in confusion.

But the boy had already put on his headphones and disappeared into the warehouse, muttering something about finishing his drama series.

Itadori sighed for the umpteenth time that day, but decided to make the most of the situation and give himself a tour through the aisles, accompanied by the soothing music playing in the store’s speakers. His fingers trailed delicately over the glossy finishes of guitars and pianos, until he came across something that stopped him in his tracks.

A drum-set.

It sat proudly on display, fully assembled, with its drumsticks resting neatly on the adjacent table.

Yuuji approached cautiously, afraid he would break it just by looking at it. Memories flooded back: the school band practices, music contests, and his grandfather cheering him on from the bleachers. His fingers itched, yearning to play the instrument in front of him.

However, his thoughts drifted to the show from three days ago too: the deafening energy, electrifying performances, and those jade-coloured eyes.

Unable to resist any longer, Itadori grabbed the drumsticks, sat on the stool, and began playing beats from one of the songs from the concert. 

His hands moved instinctively, closing his eyes as he lost himself in the music. How long had it been since he’d last played the drums? He wasn’t sure, but damn, he’d missed this feeling terribly.

Internally, he thanked Junpei for pestering him into attending the concert. It had unknowingly reignited something inside him.

Something he thought had been extinguished.

“Hey, maybe you could turn down the volume a bit?”

Yuuji’s eyes snapped open and he looked around in surprise, assuming it was the supposedly boss speaking. Nerves took over, leading him to slip off the stool and crash loudly to the floor, resulting in even more noise than before. 

“Was that…part of the show? Or…” the person who interrupted his imaginary performance asked seriously, although a hint of amusement could also be heard from their tone. 

The pink-haired man jumped to his feet, mumbling apologies as he turned to face the person calling to him. And then his heart skipped a beat. 

“Y-You are…The Unlimi–“ Itadori’s brain short-circuited upon seeing the same person he spent hours researching online after the concert: Megumi Fushiguro. 

The musician let out a long sigh, going out with just a mask didn’t turn out to be the best camouflage. “Yes.” he said, averting his eyes. “Don’t go snitching on my current location at X, please.”

Please, Earth, swallow me. thought Itadori mortified, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Oi, I didn’t mean to scare you. But you could be heard all over the place.” Megumi added, seeing that Yuuji remained stunned, without reacting.

He shook his head, finally coming back to his senses. “That’s fine. It’s me who’s sorry.”

“It’s just…the store’s manager hasn’t arrived to sign for his package yet, and…” He hesitated, glancing at the drumset, “it’s been a long time since I played. Guess I got a little carried away, uh?”

He offered a sheepish smile. “And no, the fall isn’t part of the show.” He placed one arm behind his neck and looked away in embarrassment.

The artist hesitated briefly before speaking. “If it means anything, for playing like that after a long time…it wasn’t too bad.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I must say the drums are the standout in that song.”

Warmth filled Yuuji’s chest as he heard the words from his newly discovered favourite guitarist, leaving him speechless once again. Fortunately, Megumi continued talking.

“Not to pry but, can I ask…Why you stopped?”

The heat in his chest froze instantly. Memories of his grandfather filled his mind once again, but this time, he smiled nostalgically.

“Playing reminded me of someone who is no longer with me.” His tone went softer than expected.

“I know it’ll make him happy to see me play again, though. Wherever he is.”

Megumi observed him in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable before averting his gaze for a second.

“I see.” He eventually nodded, his voice barely a whisper. He found himself clutching the object in his hand, a pack of guitar strings. A gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired young man.

Fushiguro bit his lip. Would it be completely insane? Probably, but…something tells me he’d fit in. He looked up at Yuuji.

“How does auditioning as a drummer for a band sound to you?” His expression was totally serious as he dropped the bomb.

Itadori blinked, puzzled by the complete insanity Megumi had just said.

“What?” 

Chapter Text

Kento needed a drink–or rather three.

It was midnight. The band had just wrapped up their concert in Sendai, with three weeks of touring still ahead, and their drummer had just announced he wouldn’t be able to perform at the next show.

“I’m really sorry”. Yuuta Okkotsu, the drummer–or former drummer?–said, on the edge of tears, trembling. “I got the call a few hours before the event, and I need to travel urgently.”

He hid his eyes beneath his bangs. “I know I’m leaving you in a tough spot, but…this is something I have to do.”

They were still backstage, the only sound was the stage being torn down around them.

Staff and record label crew practically screamed in unison. How on earth were they going to find a replacement drummer overnight?

“There’s nothing to worry about, Yuuta-kun. We’ll just postpone the next event until you’re back and voilà! Problem solved.” proposed a carefree and grinning Satoru, the band’s leader and vocalist, as if such a massive problem would be fixed with a snap of his fingers, logistics be damned.

Worst of all? It might actually happen. After all, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about, the music industry breakout star of the last two years.

“Have you lost your mind?” Nanami cut in, frowning and clutching his phone like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Do you have any idea of the mess your brilliant solution involves?”

“Nothing our day-job manager and night-time superhero couldn’t handle.” Gojo replied, with a sing-song voice and his grin stretching ear to ear.

No…definitely, Kento Nanami needed four drinks.

“When do you think you’d be back, Okkotsu-san?” Megumi Fushiguro, lead guitarist and back-up vocals, finally spoke up. Noting that neither of the other adults seemed keen to step out of their bubble of bickering, and already growing tired of his guardian’s antics.

At first glance, the dark-haired musician looked calm and collected, the kind of presence that could convince anyone outside his inner circle he had the situation under control. But subtle tells betrayed his unease: the lip caught between his teeth, the fleeting gesture of pulling the sleeves of his sweater to cover his fingers.

Yuuta swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the ground, as if looking for the right words. Finally, he exhaled and murmured, barely audible:

“That’s the thing. I don’t have a return date.” He bowed sharply at a 90°-degree angle in apology.

Nanami and Gojo abruptly cut short their exchange, leading to a deathly silence that felt heavier than the thunderous concert they’d just finished, like everyone was trying to process what it meant to lose their drummer.

“Well, now that’ll be a problem…unless Nanamin starts taking drum lessons on Youtube.” Gojo said, because of course he had to be the one to break the silence.

On his way home, Kento briefly considered googling “how to disappear from the face of the earth”. Thankfully, no one would ever know. 

–

“Yes, the tour is still going on.” Pause. “I assure you we’re already working on it.” It was the tenth time he had repeated that statement in the last half hour. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the stern voice on the other end of the phone. 

Kento turned towards the stack of papers on his desk, which seemed to grow larger with each passing glance. He’d need another coffee. 

Though what he actually needed was for the agency to quit calling him every hour, demanding updates they’d already been given. 

"As I mentioned earlier, Gojo had nothing to do with Okkotsu’s departure." he frowned. "No, he won't return." 

He hung up, and let himself sink into his chair, closing his eyes for a moment before rubbing his temple. The headache was on its way.

That had been the last call. He’d already left instructions for finding a professional drummer, opening auditions, and handling other logistical matters in case they didn’t meet the deadline. He doubted that last scenario would happen, but a cautious manager is worth two, right? 

“It’s just another mishap,” he argued, trying to convince both the agency and himself. But deep down, he knew better. 

As the silence settled around him, his mind returned to the tense backstage moment from earlier. 

The band didn’t just lose their drummer–they lost their equilibrium. 

Yuuta Okkotsu had been one of the first to believe in the band, spending countless late nights with Gojo composing until the white-haired whirlwind was satisfied.  Above all, he possessed an unusual talent for soothing both Satoru–the embodiment of chaos—and Megumi’s quiet intensity. 

A rare gift that would leave a gaping hole in their dynamic.

And by tomorrow morning, he’d be gone.

Four years managing the band had been enough time to understand the dynamics among its members.

From his typical remove, he’d watched Okkotsu stay with Megumi after rehearsals, offering patient advice that few others could. He understood how overwhelming it must be for the guitarist to join the music industry at such a young age.

Gojo often sought the drummer’s input on each new project, and Yuuta gave it–even when it wasn’t what the frontman wanted to hear–holding his ground without losing that trademark composure. 

Nanami looked up at the framed photo on his desk: him alongside the band members on the day they won their first award, Japan’s Top Global Hit.

For a moment, he allowed nostalgia to seep into his mind; those days felt simpler, less chaotic. However, the feeling of not having done enough to keep the drummer settled uncomfortably in his chest.

He exhaled deeply, banishing any hint of worry before straightening up in his chair. There was no time to dwell on the past. The only thing that mattered now was to keep the tour running.

The sound of the door interrupted his thoughts.

Kento blinked, pulled from his memories, lingering on the photo for another moment. He had a good guess who it might be this late at night, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to confirm it.

”Hey, Nanami-san. Do you have a moment?” Yuuta greeted once the blond opened the door, his characteristic warmth tinged with uncertainty.

The manager moved aside to let him pass “Sure, have a seat.”

“It’s fine, I won’t be long.” Replied the former drummer–drummer–as Kento corrected himself, refusing to accept reality. He noticed how the newcomer stayed standing in the living room, close to the door. His smile did not reach his eyes.

Nanami hesitated a bit before speaking, “I’m guessing you just came from seeing Fushiguro-kun and Gojo.”

Yuuta nodded. “I know that Megumi-kun has stayed strong amid all this chaos but, after all these years, I can read him like a book.” Then the young man let out a frustrated sigh and lowered his sight. “If I see him again, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Outside, the soft rustle of the leaves and the steady chirping of crickets filled the silence between them.

“And, as for Gojo-san…” Yuuta muttered, pressing his lips before parting them, without speaking.

“Well…”

It was Kento’s turn to sigh.

“I see.”

“I came to thank you, Nanami-san. I know it’s because of you the agency isn’t asking for my head right now.” He said suddenly, bringing his arm behind his neck, embarrassed.

The blond didn’t object at the change of topic and smiled faintly, there was the Yuuta he knew. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way. You can leave with peace of mind.”

“Actually, thanks for everything.” The drummer grinned nostalgically, “Gojo-san won’t ever admit this, but he was the one responsible for our first manager quitting.” He chuckled softly before growing serious again.

“Although, I can vouch that guy couldn’t have done what you’ve done for us.” He stated. Nanami began to wonder if he was just talking about the band.

The farewell was affecting him more than he wanted to admit, but he forced himself to keep a straight face; Okkotsu departing with regrets was the last thing he wanted.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Okkotsu-kun. I know you already know this, but you’re welcome whenever you want.” He held his serene gaze at the black-haired young man. “I mean, if you ever decide to come back…there’ll be no hard feelings. The band will continue—“

“Oh, of course it will continue. I’m very sure about that.” The drummer’s features softened, as if those words took a weight from his shoulders. His voice, laced with both pride and a hint of sadness, broke the brief silence.

“The Unlimited Shadow was born to go far, with or without me.”

Yuuta’s conviction left the manager stunned for a moment.

“However, they won’t be able to make it without you.” Okkotsu proceeded, taking a step forward. His tone tinged with a solemnity that left no room for debate. “That’s why, even though I have no right to ask you for anything, I want to ask you to take care of them.”

Kento remained silent, his gaze wavered before drifting, almost reflexively, to another photograph on his desk. An older picture than any other he had with the members, that served as a reminder of past mistakes.

“Well, it’s my duty as a manager to make sure my artist stays in good shape–“ He began, crossing his arms while dodging the real weight of the request.

“Come on, Nanami-san, you know what I mean.” He pressed.

Nanami couldn’t help but lick his lips and clench his jaw as the drummer’s words pierced his chest. Deep down, this was what he was worried about the most.

Could he take Yuuta’s place in stabilising the band…without crossing that line he worked so hard to maintain?

So far, he had remained on the sidelines, only getting involved if conflicts crossed into logistics. Nevertheless, with Okkotsu out of the picture, he would be forced to step outside of his comfort zone in order to keep the band’s already fragile balance.

Don’t get him wrong, Kento respects each member of the group–even if their leader drove him insane more times that he could count–but he couldn’t risk letting those boundaries become blurred. Because when that happens…things ended badly.

He’d already learned it once.

Yuuta softened his tone upon seeing the blond’s face “I know it won’t be easy, but if it’s not you, who else could it be?” He wrapped his arms around himself as the temperature dropped even further. “They esteem you more than you realise.”

Nanami laughed bitterly. “Which they’ll stop doing it once I meddle in their business.”

“That’s not how it is!” The black-haired man replied firmly despite the calm in his gaze. “You must be the one, Nanami-san. Because if not, the agency will find someone to control them, caring about nothing but keeping their goldmine.”

Kento was at a loss for words. The former drummer was completely right, unfortunately. The agency wouldn’t hesitate as long as they didn’t lose a single dime, even if it meant compromising The Unlimited Shadow’s essence.

He didn’t noticed when he placed his hands on his hips. With his eyes locked on the ground, let out a heavy sigh before turning towards Okkotsu.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening.” With a neutral expression, he finally accepted the younger man’s request.

“I’ll be there for them.”

And then, as silence settled between them, Nanami committed Yuuta’s smile to memory—knowing it would be a long time before he saw it again.

Chapter Text

The music from his headphones failed to ease his stress, causing him to furrow his brow as he got closer to the store. The roar from the traffic around him was no help either.

With each sigh, Megumi’s enthusiasm for the next practice waned.

It wasn’t the first time he felt like this. Ever since Yuuta left, the agency had been throwing drummer after drummer at them, looking for a chemistry that simply wasn’t there.

It was always the same: Gojo pointing out even the smallest mistake with ruthless sarcasm. Nanami with yet another vein bulging in his forehead from the frontman’s tantrums. Fushiguro rolling his eyes.

Last rehearsal was no different.

***

“Have you even heard the word ‘backbeat’ before in your life?”

Megumi heard his guardian’s voice, with a tone so sharp that it could be the true culprit behind his snapped guitar string. When he looked up at him, he noticed the warning smile directed at the new drummer–who looked like he was seconds away from pissing himself.

“Could you not, Gojo?” Nanami’s voice raised from his position, firm but not imposing, trying to keep the situation from imploding. “Might I remind you that the next show is in–

“In a week, yeah, yeah. You don’t need to tell me for the eleventh time, Nanamin.” Gojo rolled his eyes theatrically as he placed his hands on his hips, barely softening his tone. Then, with a mocking glint in his eye, he turned to the agency executives.

“You know what the real problem is? You care more about the deadline than actually finding someone worth our time.”

His comment cracked through the air like a gunshot, just one look at the stiffened expressions around him was enough to know he'd stepped into dangerous territory.

The guitarist then heard a barely contained growl from the manager “Gojo!–“

“J-just who the hell do you think you are?!” the drummer suddenly snapped, mustering what little courage he had left. “Besides, it wasn’t me this time! If Fushiguro hadn’t…”

This one’s got some nerve, Megumi thought, raising a brow at him with clear irritation. 

“Right, sure. I guess the weather, the economy and the fact that you didn’t bother to practice are my fault too.”

Yet before he could continue, he felt a dark presence settle beside him, the air growing dense with each passing second.

“…So, you’re the type to blame others for your own incompetence, huh?”

Satoru said with a disturbing calm. His eyes, however, could set a man on fire.

Silence gripped the studio as the staff exchanged glances of pity. That poor guy had just made the worst mistake of his life.

“Oi, Nanami, at what time did you say the next drummer would come?”

Megumi let out a long sigh. There goes another one. The eighth, to be exact.

****

As he entered the establishment, he couldn’t help but think about Okkotsu, who would’ve loved all the vinyl records inside. He sank his nails into the palm of his hand. What an idiot he’d been to think it would be the three of them until they retired.  The three of them against the world.

Now he had to cope with a certain white-haired man’s demands on his own.

Technically, Nanami was there too, but the manager was swamped with work and, anyhow, Megumi was not the kind to talk about those matters with just anybody. That kind of trust didn’t exist between them yet.

He sighed again. He doesn’t usually let himself get carried away by chaos, but this time he felt like something was cracking–just like the guitar strings from their last rehearsal.

As he searched through the shelves, a ruckus with an oddly familiar rhythm blasted into his ears, shrinking the music in his headphones.

Some lunatic had entered the store. Great. Just what he needed.

Fushiguro grabbed the strings he was looking for and headed towards the register, trying to ignore whoever was playing the drums in the back. But the solid echo from the cymbals was making it increasingly difficult and–against all logic–the lunatic didn’t sound so terrible.

Just buy the damn strings and get out. He clenched his jaw as he debated with himself.

With his patience running out, he changed course towards the source of his growing headache. However, something stopped him before he could open his mouth to tell the guy off.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered under his breath.

His eyes lowered, focusing on the precise movement of the drumsticks. The ride, for one–with incredible control. Rhythm shifts? Delicate, almost imperceptible. And not a single note out of place.

Megumi pressed his lips together. Was he seeing this right? How the hell could this guy sound more real than those eight professional drummers combined?

Because that’s what threw him off, what made his damn foot tap along the beat.

Beyond the technique, it was the authenticity.

He stood there, watching him for a few more seconds before speaking.

When the pink-haired guy noticed him and fell off the stool, the guitarist considered just turning around and leaving. Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions.

Even so, something made him stay to listen to the guy’s motives for putting on a show in the middle of the aisle. Anything to delay practice, he thought, clinging to the idea.

“And…it’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

That line, along with the notable technique he’d just witnessed and the meaningful look in the young man’s eyes stirred an impulse to speak. Resigned, he removed the mask from his face, breaking the silence that lingered for several seconds.

“If it means anything,” he said, choosing his words with unusual care “for someone who hasn’t played in a while…it wasn’t too bad.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Not because they weren’t true–the pink haired delivery guy had managed to play in a surprisingly decent way for someone who claimed to be rusty. Something that, to be honest, he couldn’t say about any of their previous drummers.

But rather because he saw the smile that followed. Somehow relieved, somehow proud.

And Megumi already knew that what he was about to ask would wipe that expression from his face. I just need to make sure of something. He reasoned internally.

“Not to pry but, can I ask…why you stopped?”

The distant look and faint tremor in the delivery guy’s lip confirmed what he already sensed: it was a sensitive topic.

What he didn’t see coming was that the response would resonate deeper than he was willing to admit.

“I know it’ll make him happy to see me play again, though…wherever he is.”

With his face carved into neutrality, he kept his gaze on the pink-haired boy who, had he looked up, might’ve caught the flicker of melancholy in Fushiguro’s eyes.

“I see.” It was all he could manage to answer, his mind already wandering through memories he hadn’t asked for. He gripped the packet of strings tightly.

He could understand…the fact of playing with the hope of reaching someone who might never listen.

He bit his lip, weighing his options. Keep wasting time with empty drummers, or take a chance on a complete stranger.

Would it be completely insane? Probably…

Without further delay, he told him about the auditions.

…but something tells me he’ll fit in.

The disbelief didn’t take long to appear on the other’s face, so Megumi continued.

“Our drummer left. The auditions are still open, if you’re interested–“

“W-wait…are you serious then!?” The parcel guy’s eyes widened. “Why would you even think I’m good enough? I mean, I’m really, really out of practice.” The disbelief quickly escalated into anxiety.

The dark-haired boy raised an eyebrow. “You seemed pretty confident a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, and then I fell.” He sighed, rubbing his arm as if he was trying to shield himself. “I’m not…a pro.” He said quietly, gaze lowered.

A silence stretched between them, one where both seemed caught in their own battles. Megumi fixed his stoic gaze on the delivery guy once again.

“You’re definitely not a pro. But you sound like someone who still has something to say.”

He stated, bringing the conversation to an end. He turned then to pay for the strings and leave once and for all. Figures.

“Hey, wait!” The pink-haired noisy guy stopped him. “Before you go…can I get your autograph?” He asked, stumbling.

The guitarist turned to him, giving him a sharp look. Did he just reject the audition invite, and now he’s asking that? Bolder than the eighth drummer, he thought with irony.

However, there wasn’t much he could do if the guy was a fan. With resignation, he took the store receipt and, with a pen he found at the counter, turned back to him.

While signing, he couldn’t help but wonder if this stranger would be able to fill the void Yuuta had left. Perhaps it would be worth finding out.

“Name?”

“Yuuji Itadori.“ He smiled widely. “Oh, and by the way, see you at the audition.” 

—

The last rays of sunlight slipped through the living room window, bathing the apartment in a warm, serene glow. It was a sight he barely had time to appreciate lately, caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts.

Megumi let himself be absorbed by that fleeting serenity, knowing full well it wouldn’t last long.

And, as if the universe were laughing at him, the metallic click of the door announced the end of his peace.

Without even lifting his gaze from the guitar, he could already sense his guardian’s dragging footsteps, with annoyance practically radiating from behind his sunglasses. It went without saying that his “date”—the vocalist‘s words—with PR had been a disaster, again.

“What did they pull this time?” he asked, once Gojo collapsed onto the couch in front of him.

Satoru pulled off his glasses and rubbed his temple, as if just the action of remembering the meeting would bring him another headache.

“Oh, the usual. Apparently, throwing facts is against their fragile rules.” He said with the faintest hint of a smirk. “They took it so personally, they even blamed me for Yuuta leaving.” He shifted, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling like it held all the answers for his troubles.

Megumi looked at him out of the corner of his eye then, before quickly returning his attention to the instrument, starting to wonder if this was the right time to bring up the auditions. He licked his lips before speaking.

“We both know that’s not true. They do, too… but it’s easier for them to point fingers than to confront what they can’t control.”

He said, offering weak comfort while his mind desperately searched for words to address another matter. One that could go either well… or horribly wrong.

A light giggle from the white-haired man interrupted his train of thought. “Look at that, I didn’t know you woke up this gentler today,” Gojo joked, now looking directly at the younger man.

“Is that why you invited a complete stranger to audition?”

Fushiguro would rather die than admit the jolt his heart took. His grip tightened on  the neck as he scolded himself internally for tensing up under that blue gaze.

Even so, he refused to be the first to look away. “I won’t even bother asking how you found out.”

The vocalist’s smile widened, pleased that he had hit the mark.

“Yuuji Itadori, nineteen years old. From Sendai. Delivery guy for Kumagai Parcel Service for a year and a half. Used to be part of his high school’s band, though there’s no record of formal music training.” Gojo listed off with impeccable precision, giving the young man an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. 

Always meddling, thinking he knows what’s best for me.

It wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t do his exhaustive research–always borderline ridiculous, as if he wants to protect me from something.

“So, Megumi, did anything I said sound like what we’re looking for in a drummer?” He asked, standing up and feigning curiosity.

“What we’re looking for, or what the company’s looking for?” the dark-haired man scoffed. He placed his guitar to the side and stood up as well.

He was aware that what came next could be avoided. Now, whether his pride would stop him from backing down, was a different story.

“Because it seems to me that you’ve caught their paranoia.”

Gojo let out a laugh, though there wasn’t a trace of amusement in it. He brought a hand to his throat, as if trying to contain something back that threatened to escape.

“If that’s what you call making sure this kid doesn’t mean trouble, then sure. I’m Mr. Paranoia.” He finished, leaning with an exaggerated bow.

“Here we go again…” he said, exasperated. “If you’d just listen to him instead of making nonsense judgments, you’d understand why I invited him.” The encounter with Itadori replayed in his mind, like a force he needed to continue defending his decision.

“He sounds more genuine than any other professional we’ve had.”

Satoru looked at him, the playful spark in his eyes dimming bit by bit. “Genuine, huh?” he repeated, as though tasting the word.

“Do you seriously think that’s enough to keep the concert from falling apart, Megumi? I thought you’d be more sensible.”

This time, silence fell with a weight that no one attempted to relieve.

His fists slowly clenched at his sides. If what he’d done wasn’t some kind of crime, then why did it feel like it was?

“Oh right,” the guitarist answered, taking a step forward “because obviously I don’t understand that ‘bigger picture’ you’re seeing this time. I guess it’s just easier to decide for me, like always.”

The justice behind those words was not enough to cool the burning remorse that was settling in his chest. He quietly gripped the edge of his sleeve, as if he needed to hold onto something–anything.

Gojo blinked once, slowly. The gesture was subtle, but enough for Megumi to notice —a momentary glimpse of something that managed to break through the white-haired man’s usual nonchalance. It wasn’t dramatic, yet it had weight. His comment had hit the mark, a clean, unexpected blow.

For a brief moment, Satoru’s mask seemed to crumble, revealing the vulnerability hidden behind his sarcasm and theatricality. The way he swallowed barely noticeable, his rigid posture for a split second—everything was there, even if it was ephemeral. The younger man instinctively averted his gaze, while the air in the room felt heavier around him.

“Hmm… is this what people call a ‘low blow’?” he murmured, his tone tinged with irony, though there was a shadow he couldn’t quite hide.

After a pause, he added with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I suppose I deserve that.”

The usual sparkle in his eyes faded for a moment, and the mask of indifference returned to cover his face. However, his tone betrayed something deeper.

“It’s just that… after putting up with those PR idiots for hours, the last thing I need is for this to go wrong too,” the white-haired man continued, revealing an imbalance he only showed around Megumi.

“And… there’s Yuuta’s matter too…”

Megumi crossed his arms. This time, he didn’t respond impulsively. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer but just as solid.

“You can start by not carrying all that weight on your own, by trusting me.”

Satoru held the younger man’s gaze and allowed the silence to linger for a few more seconds before exhaling sharply and running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he responded, after a long pause. His voice sank a few tones, becoming deeper and more human. “If you saw something in him, I suppose I’ll give him a chance. Just…”

He raised an eyebrow at him. “Promise me you’ll keep an eye on him. If he messes up, even just once, let me handle it. Deal?”

Fushiguro held his gaze steadily, though his body felt heavier than ever. Even so, his voice remained firm:

“Deal.”

He watched Gojo’s hand hesitate in mid-air before running through his hair, only to take a step back without finishing the motion.

Gojo’s sigh was cut short when he glanced at the time on his phone. “Damn… we’d better hurry or Nanami will never let us live it down.” He said as he headed to his room, not stopping, dragging his feet with that lazy gait that contrasted sharply with the storm they had just weathered.

Megumi watched him until the door closed behind him. Then, he exhaled deeply, letting the wall he’d held up for so long fall for just a moment.

More than convincing him, he’d managed something far more difficult: he made him listen.

–

With each step he took, the massive edifice rose. And with it, his nerves.

He shook off that small voice in his head that pushed him to catch the next train back to his hometown and gave one more look at the blue sky.  

“Give me strength, old man.”  

He tightened his grip of his backpack strap and approached the door, not just of the studio, but of a new beginning.