After years of being gone, I decided to give this fanfiction thing a whirl again. I figured what better way to kick off my arrival with a rewriting of my very first Lucky Star fanfic (I wrote it about three years ago).

Now before everyone screams at me for using OCs, I'm going to say right up front this isn't self insert. John, Nero, Randy, and Dean are in no way related to me but are rip-offs of American stereotypes for boys much like the four main Lucky Star girls are archetypes for anime clichés. I don't want to say too much but the archetypes for the guys should become obvious within the first three chapters.

This story switches between the perspectives of the two protagonists, John Martin and Minami Iwasaki. I do not own Lucky Star in any way, shape, or form.

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Chapter 1

Born in the USA

Minami Iwasaki-

Music. It's safe to say that everyone likes music, but genres and styles become a whole different story. Take my friend Yutaka Kobayakawa; she loves J-Pop. Then there's my other friend Patricia Martin, who loves J-Pop even more. My third friend, Hiyori Tamura listens to…actually, I don't know what type of music Hiyori-chan likes. I guess it's safe to assume she likes J-Pop like my other friends do. Considering she likes anime and manga, it's hard to see her listening to anything else. If you took into account the music my friends liked, you could assume that I also loved J-Pop and J-Rock. Not that I won't occasionally listen to the latest pop song, but I prefer classic music much more than a young girl who can barely sing.

I think my love for classic music came when my mom forced piano lessons on me when I was five. I remember my instructor making me play the same melody over and over until I mastered it. To him, if it wasn't Beethoven or Chopin or Handel, it wasn't music. I learned the waltzes, the symphonies, and the opuses. He taught me so much classical music that I could reiterate the notes line by line. It's a wonder I don't hate classic music. I blame it as one of the reasons I rarely talk around people with the exception of my friends. Classical music taught me to be refined, and shyness taught me to stay out of people's way. Lucky for me, Yutaka's cuteness enticed me to help her when we first met. But that's beside the point. I'm talking about music right now.

When I was ten, my dad brought home a present from a business trip. It was an acoustic guitar, another musical instrument to grace my life. He stated how cool it would be for me to learn to play, and like a good daughter, I took the lessons, learning the notes, chords, and scales. This instructor pushed the whole "music is all about creativity" thing. He kept me relaxed and never got angry when I messed up. When I turned thirteen, my feminine appeal dropped to an all time low when the boys discovered my callused fingers. Having a flat chest and rough hands were a no no in high school. If I listen to Konata Izumi, Yutaka's animecentric cousin, my flat chest is a necessity in our world. Her words don't make me feel any better.

Right now, my old guitar collects dust in the back of my closest. The boys won, and my calluses hands murdered my love for playing guitar. It's hard for a girl at that age with a flat chest, rough hand, and a shy personality. I figured removing one of those defects would make me more appealing. I guess boobs weigh in far more than hands even when it comes to just making friends. But that was a long time ago (if you can consider three years a long time). Now, the boys sit around and tell vulgar jokes, date some girls, and leave others. We mostly ignore them, and they chase after the one's they deem worthy. I find the days spent with my four friends go by quicker than worrying if some stupid boy will come ask me out. I do wish my chest would grow a little though.

On Monday, February 10th, Patty came running in with some interesting news; news that would ultimately change the way I viewed music, boys, and my boobs.

I sat at my desk, biding my time before class started. Yutaka, who sat in front of me, was turned around, and we chatted about the coming spring. Like a little sister, Yutaka shortness gave her a helpless feeling, and they tugged at my material instincts. With her red hair, big green eyes, and lovely smile, she kicked her feet like a child. To be honest, I had trouble telling her apart from a grade school student. Yutaka wore the tradition red and white winter uniform from Ryoo High, but if she wore anything different, I could confuse her with the elementary school kids I see walking down my street.

Sitting at the end of my desk, Hiyori sketched away in her drawing book, looking as focuses as possible. Her glasses took up most her face, but I don't think I could see her any other way. As she drew, Hiyori made odd faces, supposedly the expression of those she drew. Anything from a smile to scowl formed on her mouth; it was really quite amusing. Grab me a bag of popcorn, and I had my own personal TV show.

Much like every day, Yutaka leaned in to see what her friend was drawing. "Oh wow Tamura-san," she squealed, "You're drawings are so good."

"I'm not that good." Hiyori blushed. She was very humble when it came to her work and very protective. Sometimes, she wouldn't let Yutaka or I see her work, saying that our eyes handle take it. I wondered what perverted thoughts jumble around her noggin. Hopefully, it wasn't anything about Yutaka or me.

"What are you working on this time?" I posed.

Hiyori scratched the back of her head. "This time I got a whole new story going. Picture this, it's the year 2056, and the Earth is currently ruled by an evil empire. It's up to a young, cat girl maid to save the world from tyranny." Why did this sound like any other generic anime/sci-fi/fantasy plot out there? However, Hiyori's eyes beamed, and that told me to just smile and nod. She continued, "I'm going to call it Clash of the Neko Warriors!"

"Can I read it when you're done?" Yutaka pleaded like a little kid. Hiyori rarely let her read anything; she rarely let me read anything. Sticking her pencil on her chin, our artist friend gazed up into the heaven. Her eyes twitched once or twice before she final glanced back down at us.

"Yes, this one doesn't have you two-I mean, anything perverted in it." I thought the whole cat girl maid thing sounded a bit perverted. Plus, I heard her mention of us in that statement. I decided it was best to say nothing. After all, artists are crazy.

It was about that time when Patricia Martin waltzed through the classroom doors. Blonde haired and blue eyes, she hailed from America, being a foreign exchange student from the land of cowboys, Wallstreet, and hot dogs (or so she says). However, Patty could care less about American things; she saw American things every single day (or so she says). She made it a point to love something different, and her love wrapped around anime. Her first introduction to our language was from anime; she took Japanese in high school because of anime. She originally learned the language because of anime (or so she says). If it wasn't animated, full of moe (whatever that means), or yaoi (don't get me started), Patty downright ignored it. She didn't even fit the typical look of an otaku girl. Most people would picture someone like me, who's less attractive and looks like a boy. Patty's face sparkled from the makeup she used, her eyes were ocean blue, and her skin was soft. To top it all off, she had big boobs. Why can't I have half the cup size she has? Looks meant nothing to Patty, and neither did male attention. If it wasn't anime, it wasn't for Patty.

So when she plopped down at her desk just to the left of mine, we had to know what happened. You don't normally see a girl wander in with a massive smile on their face unless something good happened. Instead of singing a J-Pop song for just our class to hear, I was sure the entire school heard her belt away the lyrics. I wouldn't be the one to ask what was up; I'd leave it to Yutaka. After all, she did most of the talking.

"Hey guys," Patty greeted, putting her bag down.

"You seem to be in a really great mood, Patty-chan," Yutaka said. Bingo, knew she would ask the question. Patty flashed a smile while she flipped open her bag, drawing the books needed for our first class. Her nimble finger ran through the pages as if mocking us. Damn it, tell us what happen!

She swooned. "I am in a great mood. You wanna know why?"

"Why?" Tamura-san asked, looking up from her drawing for a brief second.

"You have to guess!" Lovely, she couldn't just tell us. I never enjoyed guessing games or games in general. Board games, video games, game shows, I always lost first and ended up sitting in the corner while the others played. Patty's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a big, stupid Christmas tree. Where's the out lit, so I can unplug it?

Considering no one else started asking, I was the first to go. "Did a new anime come out?"

"No."

Yutaka went next. "Did a boy ask you out?"

"No, but you're getting closer."

I posed again, "So it deals with boys?" Patty nodded with a grin on her face. If it dealt with a boy, but he didn't ask her out, she either got proposed to, or had an NC-17 night with this stranger. I wanted to voice the second possibility, but better judgment told me otherwise.

Finally, Hiyori piped up. "Did you your cousin email you?"

"Ding Ding Ding!" Patty cheered, "Minami, tell her what she won." See, I always lose at these games, and now I had to present the winner with a prize.

"A brand new car…" It was the best thing I could come up with. Patty, on the other hand, had something else in mind. Her foot tapped which meant there was an error in my judgment.

She crossed her arms. "I was thinking a bishonen guy in a maid outfit, but I guess a car would be nice to." She did realize that we had no prize to give. Once her foot stopped tapping, Patty went full force on her explanation about this cousin I never heard of. It was only natural. Patty and Hiyori stuck to each other like glue from the moment they meant. It had to be the anime thing; the fan congregate or something like that. "As I was saying, my cousin emailed me. Well, he emails me every Monday back from the States, but he was telling me about his band-"

Yutaka cut in. "He's in a band! That's so cool."

"Not in one, he manages it," Patty corrected. I had to admit; it was still kind of cool. Speaking of bands, how old was her cousin? If he was managing a group, he could be in his forties and married for all I know. As if she read my mind, Patty said, "He's a little older than us like about eighteen. But he was telling me about this show he went too, and there was this girl that looked like me. He tried to get her number, but he's a nerd, so she refused him." Did you really have a right to say he was a nerd? Must run in the family. Also, I had a hard time figuring out how this made Patty's day. Unless she sadistically enjoyed watching her cousin fail at relationships, this conversation was going nowhere.

"Anyways, I told him about that huge show the Cancer Research Society is putting on. You know the charity concert that they show on Worldwide TV every three years." Patty's mouth sped on like a motor boat. For the record, The Cancer Research Society sponsored a huge global concert where big name bands from all around the world play. Much like the Olympics, countries slaughtered each other to host the show. It was a big deal that wracked in huge amounts of cash for cancer research and the host country. As my friend talked on, I started to realize where this was headed.

"Before the big bands play, they have a Battle of the Bands thing for amateur groups from around the world. Well, John says the group is really good, and I told them they should come and addition for a spot." I froze at those exact words. First off, impossibility failed to describe the difficulty in getting a spot in the Battle of Bands. Second, Patty's cousin was smarter than to spend a whole bunch of money on airline tickets just to be rejected. He was that smart…right?

At that exact moment, my mind went blank. The language barrier, cost, and times slipped away as I realized Patty was serious. Her cousin seriously considered the offer. I pictured these American guys showing up with no place to live or eat. Patty lived with the Izumi's; they had no room to board up five plus guys. Nothing good could come of it. Actually, nothing good did come of it, but the ordeal left me oddly satisfied.

John Martin-

If you ask anyone who the most popular music group was in America, 1964, they will tell you The Beatles. If you asked anyone in West Brick, Rhode Island who the most popular group was in 2008 , they would tell you, Slaughter Infinity. It didn't matter that we were some wide spot in the road with a small school, small population, and even small bathroom. At West Brick High School, everyone loved our group, and I was the one who put it all together. Sadly, no one really gives me any credit. I'm the manager and a nerdy one at that.

I originally got the idea to form a music group after visiting the retirement home my grandma stayed at. She's passed on now, bless her soul. When I entered and expected the smell of old people and cleaning supplies, my ears caught wind of a music coming from the recreation hall. Like a mouse drawn to cheese, I followed the sound until I found The Coppertones (yes, the same as the sunscreen). More importantly, I found two star members, Nero Seross and Jake Robinson. Nero, blonde haired and cocky, and his voice rhythmically jived to the lyrics of Silhouettes by the Rays. A song from the fifties fit the feeling of a retirement home. I knew the song, and I knew The Rays were an all African American group. Gabriel blessed him with talent; it didn't take Simon Cowell to tell me that. Playing to him, Jake light picked at his guitar, using what sounded like only a few notes. Compared to the other two, he felt more relaxed and in tune with his instrument (excuse the pun).

After their performance, I approached the lead singer. "You are amazing." It blurted out of my mouth like vomit. I couldn't believe what I just said.

"Thanks dude," Nero replied, seemingly fine with my comment. He looked no older than me, and Jake radiated sixteen. What were these two young guys doing playing fifties music? I listen to the crap that plays on the radio, and I wonder how Nero never got a big break.

Like a robot set to stupid, I kept blabbing my mouth. "I want you guys to be in my band." Jake and Nero shot each other some comical glances.

"Well, fuck a duck!" Nero joked, throwing his hands in the air. He and Jake burst into laughter, making me want to crawl into a hole and die. "Listen-"

"It's John, John Martin," I said, holding out my hand for a shake. Nero's eye brows rose, and the smile vanished for only a second. He realized I was either completely crazy or mentally retarded. Spitting a huge wade in his hand, Nero ferociously shook my hand until I thought my arm was going to pop off.

"It's Nero Seross. Listen John, I get a lot of invites to groups, and most of them aren't any good. However, fuck face right here might be willing to take you up on your offer." Jake stuck his tongue out at me like Gene Simmons did when he was in KISS. From that moment, I knew these two idiots were the biggest goofballs on the planet. I thanked them for their time, headed off to see my grandma, then headed home without another thought. Two days later, I learned Nero went to West Brick High, and in a fight that would get us suspended, he became my best friends. Starting that day, our nameless band formed.

Nero threatened Jake into joining me and my ventures to make a quick buck. I had no musical talent, couldn't play an instrument, and couldn't tell you the difference between notes. What I had was a gut instinct, and if momma taught me anything, it was go with your gut. My gut told me Nero and Jake were a great start, but two people don't make a band. We needed group of four or more if we intended to get anywhere. Lucky for me, three days after Jake agreed to join the group, we met Randy Agner. In the Spring Talent show, he played bass and sang lead for a local school group. While the others were off key, Randy's voice reached an octave higher than that of a woman or Frankie Valli. I mean that in the best way possible. Also, Nero's ears knew music, and he instantly commented on his bass playing.

"We need him," Nero yelled, grabbing onto my shirt, "We need him now." And thus, Randy Agner joined our still nameless group. He was more than ready to participate in band that actually had skill. Pumped that we had three members, I thought we were going to the top. With Randy of bass, Jake on lead guitar, and Nero playing guitar, bass, piano or any other musical instrument, the band morphed from an egg to a fetus. We lacked one thing, a drummer. Out of all the instruments Nero knew, he never bothered to learn drums.

"Drums are for idiots," he said, "Notice how no one loves the drummer. We need someone no one will love." About a month later, Jake came to us with stunning news. Turned out, he knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew someone's sister, who knew a guy, who knew a guy named Dean Castrovo. Dean was a drummer, and with nothing to lose, we headed out to see his drumming skill. And were we ever surprised.

Unlike Nero, Dean bore a head of gold, dirty, nasty, sick gold. It looked like he hadn't shampooed his hair in a year. Also, he seemed high, really high. With his Dragon Force T-shirt, Dean banged on those bongos, shattering our expectations into a billion pieces. We found our drummer. He was in no group and offered to join us; we didn't have to ask. Later, Dean met us at the high school cafeteria. Nero caught him snooping around his locker during 1st hour passing. Funny how someone so talented could be right under my nose.

With our member, I proudly announced to the group, "Well guys, we've grown from a fetus to a baby." Nero's eyes sparkled with my words. He stood up as if God commanded him to rise from his seat.

"That's it," he muttered as his epiphany continued.

"What's it?" Dean asked.

"Our name, we'll call the band Slaughter Infants." It was safe to say that the name didn't go over too well. However, no one offered anything better, so we became Slaughtered Infants. The band's name would alter a year later. We bought T-shirts and asked for the name to be printed on them. When they arrived a month later, they warped our name into Slaughtered Infinity. Thankfully, it stuck.

The band entered several phases before we got our break. One month, Nero dressed everyone up in Civil War Confederate uniforms, and we called ourselves Robert E Lee and the Rebels. Another month, Nero got the whole Goth thing going on, but black looked really dumb on baby faced Jake. Tons of fads came and went until the guys decided to adorn classy suits and play "She Loves You" by The Beatles at the Spring Talent show. Instead of being ridiculed by the students, Slaughtered Infinity received a standing ovation. We still lost the talent show to this chick who did Karate. Go figure that… After that, West Brick buzzed with news of our group; we were a local hit. A local radio station played one of our covers.

Life was going good, better than I expected. Then, two years after the band formed, I received an email from the dear cousin in Japan. The Global Battle of the Bands was looking for participants.

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Well, there you have it. The first chapter is complete, and I must say it sure was fun to see it evolve from what it used to be.

I hope to get some reviews from the readers out there, and expect to learn more about our four guys and see more Lucky Star characters in the next chapter.