Chapter Three: Out of Key
The words fell on Akira's ears like an anvil the morning following the sleepover at LeBlanc's. The first Gorillaz album, an eponymous title, was released in 2001. He was too young to know them at the time; he was in fact too young to appreciate music beyond the instinctive joy he drew by osmosis from the albums his mother would listen to during pregnancy and his infancy. Aside from the Japanese City Pop and Jazz of the eighties, Masako Kurusu had a particular fondness for British bands and singers. Such was the reach of her taste that, at some point, she considered naming the little boy she and Takahisa expected Freddie.
Akira grew up surrounded by his mother's taste in music. As time went by, he developed his own tastes beyond Masako's inheritance, as it is common for all adolescents who ever lived and ever shall. The psychedelia and the mellow tempos were eventually drowned out by the daring momentum of Japanese punk rock. He never suspected that a strange, faraway descendant of her mother's favourite artists would arrive to his life - to become an obsession.
He was thirteen years old when it rained one particular afternoon in Kawasaki. It was Saturday. His father had sailed out again and would not be back for several weeks, and his mother had work to do at the hospital during an understaffed season. Young Akira started to spend a lot of time on his own, walking outside, seeing the world pass by. The memory of that afternoon began with a gentle drizzle, a thing pleasant to walk under. It was sure to grow in intensity because of the season.
As he strolled by the neighbourhood, a sound caught his ear, penetrating beneath the sound of the rain. It was a beat; a slow, cavernous beat followed by the melancholic sound of a harmonica. The man at the local pharmacy had his radio on the counter. It did not seem like a sad song, even though the singer's voice sounded tired and numb. He could not understand the words, but Akira tried to follow nevertheless. It was full of melody, of the sort he associated with dream-like sensation. The beat never changed, neither did the volume, but at every section of the song, there was something new, linked together by Damon Albarn's sleepy voice.
Akira waited – or loitered, as far as the pharmacy's clerk was concerned – at the pharmacy's entrance for the radio DJ to announce the name of the song. He stood through fifteen minutes of other songs he did not particular care for just to know. Finally, it came. The DJ made an awkward effort to pronounce the name of the song in its original language, then the translated title.
"Tomorrow Comes Today."
The black-haired boy rushed home to find out more from the computer in the living room. Six minutes running under the downpour. He got a cold that night, and was scolded by his mother. But it did not matter. The song played itself over and over in his head, and soon, so did the rest from that album, which he purchased with his savings. His fascination only grew when finding out the gimmick of the band – an animated ensemble of cartoon characters in odd, foreign design. For years to come, Akira followed the band's career, picked up on what he missed out on, rediscovered his mother's favourites, and found a few more of his own.
Years forward to the present day, the Phantom Thieves' present to themselves were tickets to a musical festival at the Tokyo Dome, featuring Gorillaz, among others - several to the liking of the Thieves, others towards expanding their horizons. All were looking forward about their first time visiting the Tokyo Dome, but Akira's expression upon hearing the news made him look a decade younger from all the excitement. Makoto guessed she would not need to ask his mother to send her his baby pictures for anything other than retaliation, after all.
"How on Earth did you guys get seven tickets?" Akira asked after enthusiastically chewing a mouthful of the breakfast Boss prepared.
"Take a guess." Ryuji did not wait until he finished chewing.
"Boss, is there something you cannot do?" Akira turned towards the counter.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers for, kid." Sojiro replied coolly.
"There is a possibility he may not be able to walk on the roof." Yusuke said, without the slightest hint of humour in his voice.
"Isn't 'may not' a bit strong?" Makoto suggested. "I mean, he might struggle…"
Silence.
"Dad-kira, what on Earth did you do to Mum-koto that she now has a sense of humour?" Futaba squinted.
"Hey!" Makoto protested. "I can joke about things!"
"Yeah. I'm curious about that myself." Yusuke changed his train of thought instantly, completely disregarding his previous point.
"What have you done, Akira-kun!?" Haru cried out.
"I swear I kept an eye on him all year. Have you been up to shady business, Akira?" Morgana looked at him accusingly.
"I just love how Makoto isn't even protesting about being called 'Mum-koto'." Ann commented, seemingly to herself.
"Now that you mention it…" Sojiro rubbed his chin.
"Boss! You too!?" Makoto's eyes grew wide.
"I think you are all missing the elephant in the room." Ryuji spoke again, this time with an empty mouth. "How is it that Yusuke is taller than the building now?"
Everyone turned to look at the one formerly known as Fox.
"Hmm, it's most curious. He still doesn't eat much and yet he's so much taller." Haru observed.
"I'd wager he's about five Futabas tall." Akira concluded.
"And weighs how many?" Morgana said.
"Kitty!" Futaba yelled at him, flushed red from anger, embarrassment, or both.
"How many Futabas do you think could fit in Haru's hair, though?" Ryuji returned to the conversation, knowing that at any moment he could be the subject of ridicule.
"I don't know how many…" Makoto passed her hand through the cornucopia on their friend's head. "But I'd envy them. It's so soft!"
"What. There she goes again!" Futaba pointed at Makoto.
"It smells good also." Morgana jumped onto the table to sniff Haru's hair.
"Does it, really?" Akira inquired.
"Let's all smell Haru's hair!" Ann raised her arms enthusiastically.
Breakfast ended about an hour later than it should have. After apologising about their loud banter, Akira thanked Sojiro for obtaining the tickets. As per usual fashion, Boss told him not to think anything of it; this present was a favour he was owed – one of many, Akira silently guessed. The event was due for tomorrow, which was no trouble on anybody's schedule since they were all still on break. It was just as well: though they started catching up on the time they were apart, they were not even halfway up to date.
"Boss. The rest wants to go out for a while. Do you need any help around the café? I can catch up with them later."
"It's a slow day today. It's fine. Go with your friends."
"Are you sure?"
"Save it, kid. You'll be working your ass off here in a few days." Sojiro did not seem to be joking. "Take the chance now while you still can."
"Thanks, Boss." Akira held back a smile, thinking how Sojiro had indeed grown to feel like a second father to him.
[ ]
The first advice Sojiro gave to Akira and his friends was to remain tight. It would surely be crowded when they got there, so they had to keep each other within reach and sight. This proved easier said than done when they arrived at the plaza between the stadium and the amusement park. Never in their entire lives had any of them seen so many people gathered in one place. Years inhabiting an already densely populated country ill prepared them for this human ocean and its loud, euphoric waves. It could only get worse when they got in the venue proper.
Akira and Makoto were at the front of the group, with Haru, Ann and Futaba right behind them, and Yusuke and Ryuji at the very end. For once, Morgana had no qualms about staying with Boss at the café. Though it would be fun to see a cat surfing in the crowd, Akira did not imagine it would be easy to retrieve him afterwards. On this occasion, it would only be seven people, all wearing overpriced T-shirts in varying degrees of oversized, which they purchased from one of the stands an hour ago.
"I look ridiculous." Yusuke said, being the one less amused about the exceeding amount of cloth in his T-shirt to body ratio.
"You mean, like, in general or right now?" Ryuji followed, minding the perimeter of the group as they slowly advanced towards the entrance gate to the stadium.
"ZING!" Futaba interjected.
"Keep it down back there, guys." Makoto was quick to control the situation.
"Yes, Mum-koto." Everyone but Akira, Yusuke and Haru replied.
Makoto's scowl was a sight both terrifying and endearing.
"Dad-kira. We there yet?" Ryuji called.
"Should be just a couple of minutes…" Akira quickly started developing an aversion to the multitude.
"This is more crowded that a baseball game!" Ann noted.
"I've never been to a baseball game before!" Haru said, the ends of her shirt almost dragging against the floor.
"We'll take you to your first one, then." Akira said, trying to keep his mood up. A slight ache in his temples began to intensify.
"Are you okay?" Makoto whispered in his ear, having noticed a sudden twitch in his eyebrow.
"Yeah, it's okay. I'm excited, and a bit overwhelmed." Akira smiled at her. The ache persisted.
"Not a fan of crowds, huh?" Makoto asked sympathetically.
"Nope. Wasn't aware of it before. It's alright, though. This is worth it." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"I agree." Makoto nodded in satisfaction. "We're almost there."
"That we are."
Akira had never gone to such a big event before, but he was still aware of the rules and procedures. What followed as soon as they arrived at the entrance was the infamous body checks. The feeling process was quick and as unintrusive as it could be, which was still uncomfortable. Fortunately, nobody had brought backpacks or purses, meaning they did not have to linger any longer than necessary. Although this was a measure designed to ensure the safety of all, Akira could not help but shoot an apologetic glance at Haru.
She did not appear to mind. In fact, nobody's mood seem to change but his own, turning slightly sour as the minutes passed. Nothing was amiss. No reason not to feel excited beyond his wits. Still, he could not pinpoint just what he was feeling, let alone why.
It would pass. As soon as the lights turned out, and the first act came on stage. Gorillaz would not perform until much later, but by then, his mood would surely have improved. And afterwards, he would treat everyone to dinner, and they would have a good time, no – a great time – Akira thought to himself. Everything is okay.
Everything.
Makoto's hand gently squeeze his. She was looking at him with those serene, loving, red eyes; a patient smile formed on her lips.
"Let's go, 'Dad-kira'."
[ ]
The seats Sojiro got them were not the most enviable, but they afforded them a good view of everything that went on stage. At worst, they were rather far from the large circular stage set in the middle of the field. A series of pre-recorded songs filled the airwaves in the stadium. The attending people quickly filled the myriads rows of seats, and the place was soon full as far as the eye could see. Salespeople went through each row catching orders for food or drink; Akira had always been courteous and sympathetic to the work of waiters and small merchants, but seeing so few of them for such mass of attendance made him count his blessings about his own profession. In terms of fortune, it was even better that they got to sit together.
On his left, Yusuke gazed all around the stadium as if it were some alien thing that defied his understanding of the world. Whether he admired the feats of architecture that made this venue possible or found an unforgivable aesthetic flaw was a mystery. On Akira's right, Makoto was in the middle of a lively chat with Ann. The rest of their friends were each engaged likewise, with the particular exception of Futaba, who appointed herself the group's official photographer – she was not subtle about her 'ulterior motive': to take as many pictures as possible of JoJoJi's bottom as she could manage. In all likelihood, she had modified her cell phone to enhance the zoom, the prospect of which slightly terrified Akira.
They continued to wait. At the end of every pre-recorded song, a brief silence teased the show's start, only for another to follow. By Akira's count, they had been waiting for nearly an hour. The stage in the arena was a wide circle covered by a tall, black curtain propped from a circular frame on top of the venue. By all appearances, it looked ready. So why was the show not starting? The first to note the annoyance of the wait was, of course, Ryuji. Futaba followed, and then Ann. Even the usually saintly-patient Haru seemed uncomfortable at this point. Makoto turned to Akira, with an awkward expression. Yusuke, in the meantime, continued to examine the unseen in the Tokyo Dome Stadium.
Then, a crashing sound. All lights gone out.
"What…!?" Makoto instinctively grabbed Akira's hand, squeezing tight.
He leaned towards her, surrounding her nape with his left hand.
"I think…" Another crashing sound, the lights around the stage dying the arena blue as the curtain fell. "The show just started."
His words were drowned out by the audience's collective scream of excitement, as one figure emerged from a rising platform in the middle of the stage. It was the event's opening act: the MC of Slime, JoJoJi. The collective howl was contagious. And judging by Futaba's reaction, she either just had a religious experience, or fully awakened to puberty. The rest were similarly impressed as JoJoJi appeared on several large screens propped around the arena. He was dressed in a very peculiar fashion: a catching pastiche of the Phantom Thieves' costumes. Akira and the rest turned to look at each other, sharing amused looks about the Shido Calling Card having a greater effect than they anticipated.
So, the festival began.
[ ]
"Turn around… come on…." Futaba aimed at JoJoJi with her cell phone. Pulse steady. Head beaded with sweat all over. "Fucking turn around, damn you!"
"Futaba!" Makoto scolded.
[ ]
"Akira… what was that?" Makoto asked with a very disturbed expression.
"That, my dear… was Pink Eye." His face, often confident and irreverent, mirrored her feelings at seeing JoJoJi's alter-ego take the stage.
Yusuke looked absolutely fascinated. Ann embraced Haru, who still would not take her hands from her eyes. Futaba looked to be enjoying the act no less than fifteen minutes ago.
"Turn around!" She yelled once more. Her phone's camera was still on JoJoJi. Everybody prayed Sojiro never got to see the pictures his daughter was taking.
[ ]
The act that followed was more consistent in style, and arguably more family-friendly. Pop-Punk group Yellow Bumblebee, featuring the idol Risette. The male portion in attendance seemed particularly enthusiastic. Akira was moderate in his reaction. He had grown past his crush on Risette as soon as he saw Makoto in the library on the first week of his time at Shujin. Ryuji, on the other hand, was just as loud and eager as everybody else, earning a fiery look from Ann.
The idol seemed to have matured beyond the aesthetics she brandished during her peak. Now, her style was no different from the band, visually and musically. It was a pleasant surprise for many, yet plenty others still wanted the idol's old look back, though such an act would have clashed with the theme and mood of the event.
[ ]
Then came a relatively unsung band. Makoto, of all people, looked forward to seeing them the most. They were an Austrian act by the name of Violet and the Apocalypse. Next to the Gorillaz' cartoon personae, they visually stood out the most by four members of the band wearing macabre skull-themed costumes similar to four Personas Akira recalled summoning back in the day, while Violet herself looked like she sprang out of a fairy tale book from the old Germanic traditions. Akira noted how excited Makoto looked – she was summoning the same spirits with which she watched yakuza movies, to a smaller degree.
Their performance could only be described as baroque, theatrical even. Electric guitars, a cello, keyboards, smoke and pyrotechnics. While the Apocalypse played with intensity, a whimsical Violet pranced around the stage while masterfully playing her flute. In theory, the two differing styles should have been an acoustic mess, yet they complimented each other well. The result was a melodic wall of sound, something like an anthem of the Underworld. Akira realised how the music was inspiring strange, poetic thoughts in him. He could perfectly tell why Makoto was so keen on them.
[ ]
The Pop duo Peace House was next. Haru acknowledged this as her relaxation music, the thing she listened to when caring for her plants. Akira thought then of a way to describe it: it Haru's hair could somehow be translated into music, it would precisely this. The young woman may or may not appreciate the comment, so he kept it to himself, and while he enjoyed their performance, he found his eyes straying to the rest of his companions.
Ann leaned her head on a bored-looking Ryuji's shoulder. Oblivious or uncaring about his mood, she nuzzled into his neck, negotiating a kiss from him. His eyes grew wide awake on the moment she took a bite from his lips. He reciprocated, and soon enough, they stopped paying any attention to the music. Akira felt an equal desire to kiss Makoto, remembering something he had told her back on a bittersweet Christmas Eve. "We can't lose to them".
Yet he also knew this was Haru's favourite act. To share the same breath with Makoto now would be a rude gesture. So, for the time being, he contented himself with feeling his Queen's head on his shoulder. But soon…
[ ]
This was it. The wait for him was longer than the hours passed since they took their seats. He had waited to see them live since that rainy afternoon years ago. Now, an adult, Akira was giving resolution to that young desire; its intensity had not decreased with age. Gorillaz took the stage: Damon Albarn and an ensemble of five musicians on guitars, keyboards, and drums. The animated avatars that comprised the image of the band appeared in bright colours on each screen: 2-D, Noodle, Russel Hobbs, and Murdoc Faust Niccals. The setting was surreal, even for those who kept up with the inner narrative of the band.
But it mattered none. The event's crowning jewel elicited a deafening response, even from the uninitiated. After a five minute introduction, narrated through animation, the strange odyssey of the British act led to the first song on the list. A familiar beat, slow and constant filled Akira's ears, followed by a melody in keyboard and harmonica, and then… a sleepy, tired voice that sounded like rain.
"Everybody's hear with me / We got no camera around to see / Don't think I'm all in this world / The camera won't let me roll / And the verdict doesn't love our soul / The digital won't let me go."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll pay. When tomorrow comes today." Akira did not realise he was singing along. Ann and Makoto had aided him on his English many times before; beyond that, all he knew on the language came from these songs, but their meaning, he still struggled to understand. He nodded to the beat, overtaken, possessed. His eyes were neither on the stage nor on the screens, but lost in some unspecific point in the venue, wherein he saw the Tokyo cityscape, grim under the overcast. He did not notice how Makoto looked at him, endeared and moved at seeing him so involved.
Several songs followed, some of them had once been singles, others were more obscure. Akira knew them all by heart. The upbeat ones, the gloom ones also. He waited for one song in particular, one he just knew could not be missing from the day's repertoire. And soon, there it was, heralded by De la Soul's insane cackling. Feel Good Inc. Akira sang along, devoted whole to the song, until the chorus, when he violently turned to look at Makoto.
"Windmil, windmill for the land / Turn forever, hand in hand / Take it all in on your stride / It is tickling, falling down / Love forever, love has freely / Turned forever, you and me / Windmill, windmill for the land / Is everybody in?" He sang to her, freed from the rest of the song's hopeless verses. This was pure, this was his heart conveyed to her through song.
How he sounded at the moment was not his concern, but to Makoto, he sounded beautiful. He intended to steal a kiss after that chorus. She beat him to it, and aside from hushed breaths and quiet moans, their lips did not separate for the rest of the song, nor for several that followed. Lifting the armrest that kept each to their seat afforded them liberty to move, but both shouldered the effort to keep themselves from climbing on top of each other and downright make love in the moment.
Several songs followed, the lines of which Akira silently reflected could convey the contents of his heart. He no longer sang, but chose to revel in the music. "El Mañana", and "On Melancholy Hill" spelled a flashback to early days, to fear under the guise of daredevil-like confidence, to the preying uncertainty and the promise of misfortune looming on his head. He was reminded of little pangs of worry that stung at his senses about Makoto, the disheartening picture of her not wanting anything to do with him beyond their duty. His sole defence: to throw himself with abandon and express what he meant. And hope she said yes.
On the next song, "Cloud of Unknowing", a guest singer, Kiryu Majima took the role in lieu of the late Bobby Womack, who provided the original vocals. The mood was lowered to a melancholic trance. Akira's arm was around Makoto's shoulder, and its end, his fingers affectionately played with her hair. She found a comfortable position to cradle herself with his body, her ear on his chest, listening to serene heartbeats. There were countless lights – glowsticks, lighters and phones - among the crowd as far as the eye could see. They looked like fireflies scattered in the night, restless and wanting, mesmerised by Majima-san's, deep, haunting voice.
A haunt. A conjuring of intent, of chance, or history, manifested through the uncanny. For the first couple of seconds, Akira felt as if the song was causing an effect inside of him, like unceasing ripples in dark waters. Music can alter moods, music can talk to you – this he knew. But was it music, artifice, or something else that summoned red in the corner of his eye?
Without realising he was doing so, he slowly turned to his left, eyes lost on the crowd as it was swallowed by a red curtain, no end seen to the sides, nor above or below. He was not quite sure whether it advanced quickly or slow. The endless, velvet-like crimson veil advanced transversally upon the crowd, drawing nearer and nearer.
"All the days of forgetting."
In an instant, Akira realised he could not move, nor look away. He felt his breathing slow and steady, despite a growing horror in him, as if somebody else had dominion of his body. But the music was still there, so was time.
"They've gone out with the tide."
Nobody in their seats noticed a thing. They could not feel or see what he knew to be there.
"Lost at sea somewhere, waiting."
Not even his friends. Not even Makoto. He tried to speak. He tried to scream. The pain between his temples returned with a dull, low pulse.
"Like setting suns at the rodeo."
A whisper in his ear? No, it was another kind of sound, the contact of some alien texture against skin. It was humid, and cold.
"Trying to find someone…"
Akira watched the red curtain draw closer. He never took his sight off it. Before he could make sense of it – the thing was already in the immediate vicinity. He could see Futaba, the left side of her already taken.
"… You'll never know."
Akira had complete control of himself. But his impression and memory of what he saw lasted only but an instant, and then it was gone. The people who were swallowed were still there, and Futaba was whole and undisturbed. The show went on, and Kiryu Majima sang the third and final verse following a wistful instrumental. Akira knew everything was fine, but he was left with the lingering sensation that had seen something so terrible it could chill his blood frozen.
The song was ending. Confused, Akira lowered his gaze towards his girlfriend. Makoto looked at him, searching in his eyes. He did not know if she suspected something was wrong, or if the song inspired something in her. The only thing he knew is she drew in closer to kiss him. He could not help but getting lost in her lips, and forgetting his restlessness.
The show continued until its end. At the end, Akira and his companions stood in loud ovation, fully enjoying every single second of the gift they knew they deserved, and under their breaths, they said a prayer to Sojiro Sakura's welfare. Just as planned, they all went out for dinner afterwards. It was rather late to drop by at LeBlanc for coffee, so they parted ways at the subway station. Ryuji and Ann went off together. Yusuke accompanied Haru by the convenience of his lodging being on the way to Haru's place. Akira managed to convince Futaba to accompany him on a detour to drop Makoto at her place.
After a kiss and goodnight at Makoto's door, Akira took Futaba home.
Even the sensation of seeing something out of the ordinary was worn out into nothingness. He laid in his bed in the café's attic, with Morgana snuggled on top of him that night. He messaged all of his friends, thanking them for the experience. Not a care nor a worry in his head.
That night, his dreams were empty.
