Page 3. The Award.

A responsibility acquired, inherited, undesired.

A lifestyle from bottle to bottle, from one sweaty body to another, like a shameless scavenger.

Trying to overcome the dread caused by the fragility of young life, by the self-imposed deadly traps of an unconscious being who has no idea of the magnitude of the —Prison— where it was born.

The inheritance of a decent bond, of a purely familial, unadulterated love.

That is her, a decaying Valkyrie, guardian of the Torchbearer.

Drenched in humanity, she is.

... ... ...

... ... ...

Ryou began sweating bullets the moment he realized the situation he had gotten himself into.

'What on earth was I thinking?! Is this what that old lady meant by the siren's song?!'

Once upon a time, there was a young Kitahara Ryou, an innocent six-year-old boy.

One day, his beloved aunt Shiro told him about how men drank a magical elixir that made them hear the deadly song of sirens. If they found the siren, they would be drowned in something called taxes and parenthood.

…

It was just his drunk aunt rambling about how host clubs scammed people!

At 17 years old, as an eccentric music-loving girl pulled him by the arm toward an unknown destination, the Author realized that his aunt, who had taken care of him since he was eight and proudly proclaimed herself a 'Useless Lesbian,' had never given him any advice on how to interact with girls.

'It's not like I needed it, it's just talking to another human being… But damn it, I wish I knew something useful to at least get out of this!'

The situation felt so fantastical yet stupid.

He had no idea what made his words faster than his mind. Had the music of that self-proclaimed Ultimate Musician really captivated him so much that his bleeding heart overpowered his cold volition?

Of course it did. She inspired you like few things ever have. She set in motion an infernal machine that won't stop until it consumes all your cerebrospinal fluid and cerebral cortex to turn it into a masterpiece. A genuine One Piece, kid!

Yes, it was better to ignore his sleep-deprived brain and pay attention to what the girl had to say. Surely it was better than his inner self coming up with weird ideas like—

You've reached your popular phase, Sir Ryou. Three women in two days. What would Shiro say if she saw you now, turned into a full-fledged Don Juan?

She'd probably rage at the world for being unfair and then send you on an all-expenses-paid trip to Osaka.

—yeah, ideas like that.

"And then Ibuki proved to that penguin that mayonnaise is an instrument. After that, I'm sure he took my advice about his restaurant's ambient music seriously!"

…Was she telling him how she broke a waiter's will by defying the laws of nature?

"I guess…" Ryou had to say something, anything to keep up with her. The poor bastard trying to convince himself it was just to make it easier to escape and not because he wanted to see where this was going. "With enough patience, a jar of mayonnaise could work as an improvised drum… though your hand would cramp after hitting hard plastic so many times."

"…Huh, I hadn't thought of that."

Ryou felt a chill run down his spine as Ibuki abruptly stopped walking, spinning on her heels to look at him with those bright, contagious energy-filled eyes. That was a dangerous look. Not dangerous like a knife or a trick, no, more like an unstoppable force unleashed against the fabric of reality.

Ryou swallowed, knowing that, in that instant, something big was about to happen. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to be part of it or run in the opposite direction.

"Ryou-chan…" Ibuki began, her voice dropping a tone, almost as if she were about to reveal a great secret. "You're right. Mayonnaise can be an instrument… but not a drum. No, no, no." Her eyes narrowed, and her smile widened dangerously. "It's a bass! An electric bass hidden in the most innocent form of a jar!"

"What…?" was all Ryou could muster. His mind tried to find some shred of logic in that statement, but it crashed against an impenetrable wall of absurdity.

"Yes! Think about it!" Ibuki spun on her heels and started walking again, this time much faster, pulling Ryou with renewed enthusiasm. "With the right resonance, the jar creates a perfect sound chamber, and if you add some elastic strings, you could have a fabulous sound!" She stopped again, turning to look at him, and Ryou felt the distance between them suddenly shrink. "Do you understand what this means? We're on the brink of a new era of music!"

Ibuki continued talking about her innovative concept of musical instruments made from kitchen items, but Ryou realized one thing in that moment. Even though everything in the conversation seemed nonsensical, there was a kind of underlying logic to her fervor. Her passion was genuine, a fire that couldn't be contained by any limits.

Before he could process anything else—like the fact that the girl didn't respect personal space—they arrived at what seemed to be a small room used as a multi-purpose storage area. The place was as chaotic as Ibuki's appearance: amplifiers, guitars, grills, kimonos, shredded paper, microphones, and printers.

The room is as beautiful as the woman beside you, Sir.

"…" The Author would have felt better if his brain had said that sarcastically and not as an absolute statement.

"Welcome to my Batcave, Ryu-chan!" Ibuki exclaimed, throwing her arms up in victory. "I hope you're ready for your lesson, because Ibuki won't go easy on you just because of your effeminate figure!"

'For some reason, that didn't feel like an insult.'

Ryou let out a sigh.

He had come this far, and he knew there was no way to escape now without seeming completely rude. And though he was reluctant to admit it, a small part of him was genuinely interested in what would come next.

"Alright, Ibuki-san. Show me," he said.

Ibuki looked at him with a dangerous smile.

"That's what I like to hear!" Quickly, she began connecting an amplifier to an electric guitar that looked like it came out of a fever dream: a design covered in spikes, flame decals, fluorescent colors that seemed to move as the light changed, and… a freaking flamethrower vent. "This is Ibuki's baby," she said proudly, pointing to the guitar. "Say hello to 'Ragnarök.'"

Ryou looked at the guitar warily. The way Ibuki handled it reminded him of a certain character from an American game… And that character had 'Pyro' in their name, for heaven's sake.

'Aunt Shiro, if this is how I die… I want you to know I don't forgive you for eating my bubblegum ice cream. Uncle Hisao, I don't regret selling your toupee.'

Ibuki adjusted the strap around her torso and, from behind her ear, pulled out a pick.

"I'm going to start strong, Writer-kun, something that'll make Mozart jump out of his grave to join Metallica."

Ryou braced himself for what was coming, even going so far as to flip over one of the grills and use it as a barricade. It was overkill, but his instincts told him that with the Ultimate Musician, anything was possible.

... ... ...

... ... ...

The universe has strange ways of acting.

Ryou knew this when Ibuki played the first note.

The roar of Ragnarök—oh God, now that guitar's name would be etched into his mind for the next five years—vibrated through the small room, the force of the sound hitting his eardrums like a speeding train. The music Ibuki was playing wasn't just noise: it was pure energy, unleashed and unrestrained. It was the manifestation of her spirit in a wave of sound so fierce that Ryou felt his soul being shaken like a small tree in the middle of a storm.

The situation reached a new level of absurdity when flames began to emerge from the tip of the guitar, perfectly complementing Ibuki's roaring performance. The fire reflected in her eyes, which shone with genuine excitement.

Ryou's heart pounded. For a moment, he wondered if he was witnessing an angel... or his imminent death.

Maybe the two were related.

"AND HERE WE GO, RYU-CHAN!" Ibuki shouted, increasing the tempo with impeccable technique.

The young writer covered his ears, but even that wasn't enough to muffle the sonic tempest. His brain entered a state of total confusion. His logical side screamed at him to run. His emotional side was too stunned to decide. And his creative side... his creative side was completely absorbed.

He didn't know when he stopped seeing Ibuki as just an eccentric girl. In that moment, she was an ethereal being, a cyclone of pure expression, someone who had surrendered to music as if it were a conduit for forces beyond human comprehension.

When the last note of the song echoed in the air, Ryou realized he was trembling. He didn't know if it was from the volume, the emotional impact, or the sheer lack of sleep.

Probably a mix of both, plus the excess caffeine in your system.

Thanks, Voice-of-the-Lazy.

Ibuki shook her hair with a radiant smile, tossing the guitar pick into the air and catching it with her mouth. Then, she theatrically bowed to him.

"And with that, today's lesson is over!" she announced, as if she had just delivered a masterclass and not tried to perforate his eardrums.

Ryou, his gaze still lost in the void, let out a dry laugh.

"I can't believe I'm still alive."

Ibuki leaned in so close he could feel her breath.

"See?! Ibuki told you! Music is an art that consumes you completely! Can't you feel how it's set your soul on fire?"

"If by 'soul on fire' you mean the tinnitus you just gave me, then yes, it's burning," Ryou said, massaging his temples.

Ibuki burst out laughing and flopped onto the floor of the room, stretching her arms as if she were floating in the sea. Ryou stared at her, still processing the storm he had gotten himself into.

The silence that followed was almost surreal after such a cacophony.

"Hey, Ryu-chan..." Ibuki murmured suddenly, looking at the ceiling. "Is it true that you don't like music?"

Ryou glanced at her and sighed.

"It's not that I hate it... I've just never found a song that really makes me feel something. Sure, there's music here and there that helps me study, pass the time, and stuff like that, but… music has always been something foreign to me, something I don't..."

The young Kitahara didn't dare finish that sentence, feeling it would be some kind of blasphemy to this girl.

What he was about to say was: "something I don't find meaning in."

Ibuki turned her head toward him, a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"Then… Ibuki has a new goal! I'll find that song for you, Ryu-chan! I'll make your heart vibrate with music like it never has before! Yes, sir! And for your information, you can't just run away! I've adopted you as my honorary bandmate!"

The writer blinked at her declaration. Once, twice, three times.

He blinked several times, and Ibuki Mioda's expression never changed. A dazzling, mischievous smile, paired with a confidence that only indicated her declaration was dead serious.

Kitahara Ryou felt his fate had been sealed.

"Ah... I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"Completely!" Ibuki winked at him.

Kitahara Ryou realized that his life at Hope's Peak was about to become far more chaotic than he had ever imagined.

Defeated, he let himself fall to the floor, right beside Ibuki.

This… this couldn't be so bad. That's what he wanted to believe.

"Alright… Ibuki-chan," he said, his face twisting as if he'd eaten something sour. Truth be told, seeing how casually she spoke to him, Ryou felt it was only fair to address her the same way. He had a feeling she'd like it. "Show me what makes music so great… And I'll show you what makes being a master of words so great."

The young writer wanted the ground to swallow him for saying something so embarrassing.

"I knew I could count on you, Ryou-chan!"

…Uh oh, this was bad.

There was something there, a spark that could only have been ignited by that music-loving girl he had met just a few hours ago.

Perhaps the most mysterious feeling in the universe, one that the Author couldn't even understand within his own domain of writing. It was something he had believed, since he was younger, would never have a place in his life.

It was too early to declare it, but the cold side of his mind, that amalgamation of rationality that sometimes made him seem like a cynic, was in absolute chaos at what, if he followed the warmth in his chest and the sheer happiness he felt just by her presence, could only be…

Love.

... ... ...

... ... ...

"Fools and wise people say that love is a beacon, a light that guides even in the darkest of times. But no one tells you what to do when that light begins to fade, when it turns into a distant echo trapped between the folds of time and memory. I don't know at what point along the way I lost you, whether it was you who got lost or if it was me who never knew how to hold on to you. The only thing I know is that every word I write, every story I try to build, is empty if you're not in it. You are the melody I could never understand, the note suspended in a silence that should not be. It doesn't matter how many times the world tells me you're no longer here, that it's time to let you go. I can't. I don't want to. My love for you is the last thread that keeps me connected to something real. And if that means writing until my hands break, until the pages turn to ash, until the words can be no more, I will. Because I would rather burn in the memory of what we were than live in a world where you don't exist.

My name is Kitahara Ryou, and I love you with everything that's left of me."