Chapter Text
The roar of the crowd could be heard reverberating through every beam and tile of the Tenuto Live House. It resounds all the way backstage, leaving goosebumps on Akito’s skin as he waits for his cue along with the rest of VBS.
This feeling…
Today’s not like all the others. He can feel it. The ‘air.’ It’s been there since the start hours ago, but it’s never left. It’s only intensified and become more potent every set. And, now it can’t be clearer. It’s the same as what he felt all those years back when he was just a kid with disillusions of soccer, a fresh awe for street musicians, and a half-hearted backup plan involving painting. That day when awe turned into an all-consuming passion.
They’re next up. And, the final act. So, this means that, if Tono brought the live to the level of RAD WEEKEND, then they’re gonna have to be the ones to surpass the threshold.
They should be able to do this. They’ve come so far, improved so much. The same could be said about everyone on the billing. Which, by the way, is perfect. There is no better lineup for this combination of groups, they know. They’ve tried it all.
This lineup. This setlist. Each and every curated song. It’s all been selected to play to the unique strengths of all the artists here today.
Of which, there are a lot. VBS has become a name that inspires every artist from their steadfast certitude and exponential rate of group improvement alone. Every artist worth their salt tries to fight a little harder in their presence. It’s a wholehearted competition of vying wills yet there’s also this mutual admiration, this wholehearted belief that they can – ‘one of these days’ – collectively unlock the hope long-lost and squirreled away in Pandora’s Box.
RAD WEEKEND had proved to this whole damn town that such unspeakable heights of human emotion can exist in music. In a single event. In a single instant. But, in the process of celebrating it, learned helplessness grew in direct relation to the ever-rising sanctity of the event. The standard is so high, so subjective, no one’s quite sure WHAT the threshold to beat is. ‘No one can beat this,’ they’d all thought. ‘No one can even get close to such an immaculately pure state of being.’
Well, they are all wrong.
Akito’s known this his whole life, but no one listens to him. He empathizes though. Changing his own idolatry for the event back into productive and simple respect was a journey in and of itself that he wasn’t able to take on his own. He and An, both of them. They both needed the third and fourth eye to truly wake up from the hazy effects induced by the dream they’re chasing.
He wouldn’t say, deep down, that he was always this confident that he could be the one to prove the naysayers wrong. He looks at his team, the people in his life that backed him up and took this road with him. No, that didn’t happen before VBS. But, he does know that it was something he’d always bet his life on. He’d bet his life, and worked towards winning the wager ever since. From the moment he’d heard Ken, Taiga, and Nagi on stage, he’d found his reason for living, for fighting. So, long as he kept working honestly towards surpassing RAD WEEKEND, that was enough. It gave him purpose. It gave him a passion.
It made him WANT.
And, he wanted to feel that high of putting on an event that wasn't just ‘as good’ as the one that inspired him. No, one day, it would be better.
Well, that day would be today, Akito is sure of it now.
He looks around his circle of friends once more. There are nerves in the air. A network of steel nerves floating in the space between them all, locking them into the collective moment. They could all feel it, and they aren’t alone. They could—no—will do it!
An echo follows each one of Tono’s successful attempts to engage the audience in call and response.
This…he hasn’t felt this in so long, and the time is drawing near.
It’s…scary, he can admit that. It’s not stagefright, though. Hell no! Even Kohane’s over that, and he hasn’t had it since he was a kid. Doesn’t even remember the feeling.
It’s the hype that's bubbling his blood with anxiety and sending his pulse skyward. The anticipation is doping his system. Everything looks shinier. The cool air-conditioned air is crisper. His eyesight is sharper. Everything is in hyper-focus. They are really here. This was really it!
So much was riding on this. They’ve all put so much into ‘VIVID FLASH.’ The time. The money. The blood, sweat n’ tears…so many tears…
From the professionally printed flyers and online self-marketing, to the venue videographers and stage technicians, to the talent scouting and set arrangments, everything going into this event either came straight from them, was the result of their active efforts, or was paid for out of their hard-earned minimum-wages. It all had some piece of VBS soul embedded into it. And, everything they’re about to fire off into that ravenous crowd would be their own too, the results of long hours of practice that left them dead on their feet but also left them all better for it. Their tracks were literally manifested out of thin air by their feelings. This right here is their entire identity. A satanic ritual serving up their lifeblood to the audience on a platter in exchange for the chance to chase their dreams and finally dethrone the divine legends like the heretics they are. …Ok, maybe he’s been singing Devil’s Manner a bit too much lately.
He turns his attention back to the TV on the wall which was casting from a laptop with the livestream audience chat feed pulled up. It’s a blurring wall of emojis and all-caps messages. Taiga may have never wanted his own show recorded, but he’d had his own circumstances. They have their own, and they want the world to see this. If they could inspire someone like RAD WEEKEND did them, it’d be worth it. If they could make it accessible for people who physically can’t make it like Souma, it’d be worth it.
And, well…Taiga respected that drive more than they’d expected. Turns out that when the world-famous celebrity WALKER retweets your livestream, it opens you up to…a considerable audience. He’d never thought there’d come a day when he’d have to worry about his online social media presence and online image. Yes, looking cool when you go out to perform live was nice. But, it’s just such a different animal when you know people are looking at images and perhaps keeping footage of you (because let's face it, someone is screencapping this). It makes him a bit self-conscious.
How does Ena do this all the time? And, she does. He should know. She’s made him take hundreds – if not thousands – of pictures for her. He wonders what poor sap she’s dragging around on her shopping trips nowadays? Wherever the fuck she is– And… before he could indulge more on that happy train of inquiry, he shuts down all further thoughts about her for ‘later.’
At any rate, with the numbers they were doing, the ticket sales count, the fact they were TRENDING #1 on Twitter, yea, it’s pretty fucking clear they’ve already beat RAD WEEKEND out on the quantitative side of things.
That’s not what counts, though. It’s about capturing the ‘air’, the vibes, that set RAD WEEKEND apart and made it ‘untouchable’ in the first place. All of this means nothing to them unless they come out of their set feeling like they’ve taken ownership of the moment. It’s the difference between ‘just organizing’ or ‘just being part of’ the event that surpassed RAD WEEKEND, and being the ones that surpassed RAD WEEKEND.
Akito is not nervous. He is crushing his water bottle in his white-knuckled grip, though.
He needs something grounding. If he had his phone, he could at least fiddle with that, but no dice. That’s already somewhere up front, set up so that the VS can covertly watch this whole show of theirs. Phoneless, he looks around for any other sort of distraction. Toya’s standing right next to him. His face is placid, but he can tell from the tight set of his shoulders that he’s just as much of a livewire as Akito is. And, his hand is so close by… Akito just wants to reach out and– nope can’t do that.
The raging lesbians in the corner have no such qualms though. An is sitting on the couch chatting up a storm with Kohane. Their hands were slotted together, fingers interlaced, while they both sat on the couch with sides flush. Kohane had gotten so much braver over the last two years. So brave, in fact, that she worked up the guts An only pretends to have and confessed a week ago. They’ve been physically inseparable since. It’s gross. Akito pretends that’s not just the jealousy talking.
He takes a slow breath meant to calm. It comes much rougher and more ragged than he’s comfortable with. This is embarrassing. He can’t choke now! Not with so many people depending on them to make their collective dreams a reality! Mita, Tono, Okazaki, and everyone else they’ve picked up along the way…they’ve all come together to channel the perfect blend of mutual admiration and desperately competitive spirit. They all want to be the best ones here, but will still fight towards the common goal to collaboratively throw an event worthy of knocking the RADders off their perch.
So, they will play hypemen for their peers. They will seamlessly pass the baton along with the trust that the next act is not going to drop the ball. This event is not a collection of bands going on and off. It has the perfect lineup and the perfect transitional moods. Hell, Tono’s out there drumming up a storm right now! He’s doing it for himself, and he’s doing it for his partner. But, in a way, he’s doing it for them too!
Soon, it’ll be their turn to take that hype and accelerate it straight into the stratosphere. Akito’s going to go out there and make sure that, by the end of this, they all know that they were one long opening act. And, they’re going to be thankful for it!
“-kito.” After all, they’ve come all this way! He’s minutes away from proving everyone wrong about himself. Prove that he can do the impossible! Prove it to every fucking person that ever told him he was a fool to dream! That he wasn’t good enough! As Miku would say, “Time to dive, hater!”
“Akito.” And right at the top of that fuckin’ list, is his piece-of-shit old man who will never be able to say anything to him ever again. Not with the documented numerical evidence he’s gonna have, has already gotten even! This is in the bag! He didn’t need ‘talent.’ Just the ol’ ‘hard work pays off’ and all that.
“Akito!” And, that’s another thing. People can take all their crappy ‘talent’ obsession and shove it straight back up their asses. Even without it, he still managed to crawl and scrape his way to his current spot. How can he be panicking now? He can’t, and he’s not! He’s–
A hand falls on his shoulder that shocks him out of his thoughts. He looks over to peer into warm grey eyes. Eyes that are much closer than they were seconds ago.
Yea, all thoughts halted. Effective immediately.
“Akito, you’ve crushed another one.” Akito looks down into his hand where his fist is so fully closed around the middle of the bottle that it might have as well replaced the section and become one with it.
“-tch.” He pries his fingers open to look at the crumpled Pocari Sweat label. This has become a bad habit at this point. “Sorry, was just…thinking.”
Toya seems like he’s on the cusp of saying something before backtracking with a shake of his head. His eyes find his again with determination shining through them, a hint of a fond smile on the corners of his lips. “You don’t need to worry, Akito. We’ve got this. You’ve got this. We’ll blow them all away.”
There was such unshaking faith in this gaze that Akito doesn’t think he can ‘worry’ about anything else ever again. “Thanks Toya,” he says, and he means it.
They stay like that for a charged moment before there’s a voice in his earpiece telling him it’s go-time. Toya blinks, equally startled from their bubble by this own earpiece. He then looks between his hand, Akito’s face, and back again before…slowly retracting his hand. Akito is already missing it, which is pathetic. So, he quickly turns his face away to hide any blush before it could it happen. Also, there are bigger fish to fry at the moment so focus is good.
Focus is great. Focus is important.
He finds his focus relatively easily and makes his way to the curtain that leads onstage before looking back at his squad. “Ready?” He asks and is met with three faces that reflect a resolute conviction equal to his own. It magnifies his already high energy. They nod their heads and Akito grabs the curtain, whipping it aside so they can walk through. “Let’s go.”
They’re bathed in stage lights and the crowd roars, demanding a show worthy of being the final act and soon-to-be-understood main act. The music swells into existence, and the energy tips impossibly higher to the point that the vessel that is his body can’t contain it all.
He’ll always remember this night in a blur of euphoric motion and sensations.
The feeling of the lights on his skin. The vibration of the speakers through his bones. The momentum of every crisply landed piece of choreo. The air flying from his lungs from every belt. Every pitch-perfect harmony. Every met call-and-response.
They are flawless. They are here.
They are doing it.
They are Vivid Bad Squad, and they’ve beat RAD WEEKEND.