If I got good at guitar…
Would people like me?
Hitori still remembered what he thought the first time he got his guitar.
Unlike those who wanted to pour out their hearts through it, to unleash emotion—
And unlike the whole "rock-and-roll, flip off this miserable life with your instrument" attitude—
Hitori's reason for practicing guitar was simple.
He just wanted to become popular.
It was a little embarrassing to admit, but he didn't think it was wrong.
A lonely person wanting to escape loneliness—it was completely normal.
But practicing guitar was far harder than he'd imagined.
He'd thought he was one of those legendary geniuses. Like Kira or Amuro—just glance at a tutorial and you can pilot a Gundam.
Instead, he fumbled for half a day just trying to learn the most basic finger exercises.
As for scales, notes…
And whatever the videos said about which guitar frets and keys corresponded to which part of a piano—
He didn't understand a word.
After all that, the only "basic combo" he learned was—
The must-learn "yellow-tier skill" for guitar players.
Even though he'd gotten off to a terrible start, Hitori still stuck with it patiently.
Day after day. Year after year.
From first year of middle school all the way to first year of high school.
He could play almost every popular song out there. The casual video account he'd made somehow gained tens of thousands of followers. He spent money upgrading his effects pedals and amp.
And even the band he'd dreamed of finally became real—some classmates "arrested" him in a secluded little park and made him a member of their band.
But… maybe it was just his imagination.
Hitori remembered that behind those classmates, there had been a girl with a red bow at her collar.
It seemed like she'd been coming to find him too.
But when she saw someone else had gotten to him first, she immediately left the park.
All that remained was a few strands of golden hair lifted by the breeze, flashing briefly in his eyes.
In that moment…
Hitori thought he heard something strange.
Like the track his life was supposed to follow had suddenly derailed. Like fate's neat little plan had developed an error.
Vaguely…
He felt that what he should've heard wasn't:
"Huh? Isn't that Goto? It really is Goto."
But rather a simple, crisp line—
A girl's surprised voice, as if it could shatter all the loneliness he'd carried—
"Ah—! Guitar!"
Now that he thought about it, it was probably just an illusion.
A different "possible world" his mind invented so he could avoid remembering the awful things he'd gone through during his band days.
A fantasy where he wasn't dragged into a band by classmates, only to realize once he got there that he couldn't get a single word in—that the other four were already a clique, and he was nothing but a warm body to fill a slot.
Instead, a bright, cheerful girl with an angelic face would sprint toward him, eyes full of hope, and ask if he could play guitar—ask him to form a band with her.
If it had really happened like that…
Would his band life have failed?
Hitori held his breath for a moment… but then forced himself to throw the thought far away.
The past was the past. No amount of replaying it in his head—no amount of thinking about "a better choice"—would change anything.
All it did was make him feel worse.
Rather than waste time drowning in pointless thoughts, he should cut them off and look directly at the problem in front of him.
That beautiful underclassman had asked if he would be willing to be a guitar teacher.
That was the problem.
To Hitori, guitar was tightly bound to bands.
He practiced guitar because he wanted to join a band—use it as a springboard to become popular.
But now he'd completely lost faith in bands. Naturally, he no longer wanted to pick up a guitar—and risk dragging up memories he didn't want to revisit.
So could he refuse to be a guitar teacher?
Of course he could.
But the cost was that he might not have enough money to support Bocchi later.
And just yesterday, he'd told Bocchi that until she had the ability to carry her own life, he would help her as much as he possibly could.
So which did he hate more?
Facing his trauma?
Or losing Bocchi?
It was obvious…
He didn't want to lose Bocchi.
After all that—after finally meeting her, after finally being granted a miracle like this—
He couldn't let it end here.
Alright. Decision made.
Pick up the guitar again.
Hitori made the decision firmly—and right then, he happened to arrive at his front door.
If he just took out his key and went inside, he could reclaim all his sealed "cultivation."
The long-silent Guitar Hero would return—back to the internet that had always been loyal to him!
What a satisfying story!
He couldn't wait. Hurry up—take out the key and open the door already!
…Yeah.
The key.
Get the key.
Get the key—
Wait.
R-Really? The key? Right now?
Making a decision this fast… wasn't it a little too rash?
The burning determination he'd just built up lasted only a few seconds before his social anxiety dragged him back to normal.
If he thought about it, he hadn't updated his videos in over half a year. Such a serious crime—he wouldn't deserve mercy even if he got dragged off and forced to stew pigeon soup every day.
His follower count might have dropped to a number he'd be too scared to look at. And if he opened the comments, he might see awful reviews, angry insults…!
N-No…
If that happened, he'd definitely throw up…
He'd never dare run a video account again for the rest of his life…!
The internet was terrifying…!
Society was terrifying too…!
And anyway, how was he supposed to be a guitar teacher?
Could someone self-taught like him really teach other people?
What if he taught them wrong?
Where would he even find students?
In his comment section? Or by posting something on his profile?
Like—
[I'm very sorry to bother everyone. Is anyone interested in learning guitar? If you are, please DM me.]
Yeah… that looked fine.
But if he imagined someone reading it in his current situation, it would probably be interpreted completely differently—
[Oi! It's Guitar Hero here! Yeah, I haven't uploaded in half a year, but I'm gonna shamelessly ask anyway! If any of you wanna learn guitar, hurry up and suck up to me right now! Whoever tips the most, I'll teach them—got it?!]
That sounded like some delinquent biker gang leader!!
Hitori covered his face hard.
Maybe… he shouldn't use "Guitar Hero" to teach at all.
That account still contained plenty of his embarrassing black-history posts. Even if he'd deleted them, fans had definitely taken screenshots. There was no way to deny it.
If he ever met a student in person and they asked—
"So, Guitar Hero, Guitar Hero—weren't you supposed to be a 180cm super-invincible sunshine male lead normie? Why are you so gloomy and too scared to even talk?"
Bang.
Hitori would be dead on the spot.
That one sentence was lethal.
It combined exposing his cringey past, real-life unmasking, hitting him in the weak spot, and delivering the truth like a knife—an overwhelming multi-angle attack.
In the end, Hitori decided to put the whole problem on hold.
Whatever it was… he'd deal with it after he got home and ate.
It was almost seven already. He didn't know whether Bocchi had eaten.
He'd transferred her some money, but with her personality… even if he sent her more, she probably still wouldn't dare spend it.
How should he put it…?
Their "bond" still wasn't strong enough.
If he were Bocchi, he wouldn't feel comfortable spending someone else's money either.
It wasn't his home. And they'd only known each other for a few days.
Money was a sensitive thing. Of course she'd try to spend as little as possible. Of course she'd try to inconvenience him as little as possible.
I get you.
I get you, Bocchi.
That constant, damnable awareness of boundaries… I get it!
You must've been starving all day, right? Don't worry. I'm going in right now to make you food.
Hitori took out his key and opened the door. Unlike yesterday, he didn't call out "I'm home." He changed into slippers and rushed straight into the kitchen with the groceries.
And then—
Something unexpected.
The kitchen light was on.
The girl he thought he'd have to take care of… was standing there wearing the apron he usually wore when cooking.
Maybe because he'd come in too suddenly and made too much noise, she flinched—her face full of fear and unease.
But when she saw it was him, she quietly relaxed. Even though the distance was short, she still hurried over in a small run.
Hands tense against her chest, head lowered, she peeked up at him with timid eyes and spoke carefully.
"Um… welcome back…"
"Ah… thanks…"
Hitori froze, then dumbly replied with a "thanks."
The impact of the sight hit him hard—so hard it felt familiar.
As if they weren't strangers who'd just met.
As if they were… two people living together—
His mind went blank with a loud bang.
Ichika wasn't any less flustered.
She'd planned to have dinner ready before Hitori came home. After all the care he'd given her, she wanted to help in any way she could.
And that morning, when she saw him make breakfast, she suddenly wondered—
Could she help with cooking too?
It would save him money. It would save him time.
And maybe… maybe Hitori-san would praise her…
Heh… hehehe…
But plans never survive reality.
She'd never cooked for herself in her life. No experience at all. She could only search tutorials on her phone and rewatch them over and over—ten times, maybe more—before she finally gathered the courage to step into the kitchen.
But the frying pan was heavier than she expected. The knife was sharper than she imagined. And she was terrified of handling either carelessly.
To her, everything in this house belonged to Hitori.
Even though he'd given her permission to use things freely, the word "freely" was basically a death sentence for someone with social anxiety.
She would rather drop dead on the spot than "use things freely." Instead, she used everything with intense reverence, treating each item with painstaking care.
Whatever she took out, she returned to the exact original place—no mistakes allowed. Not even a single millimeter.
Which meant she wasted too much time.
By the time Hitori came home, dinner still wasn't ready.
"Th-The food will be ready soon…! Please wait a little longer! Twenty minutes—no, ten! Ten minutes is enough!"
Ichika straightened her neck like she was making a military pledge, eyes squeezed shut because she couldn't bear to look at him.
All she was doing was cooking, yet she looked like she was facing death on the battlefield.
Hitori realized his presence might be making her more nervous, so he quickly retreated from the kitchen.
Ten minutes later—
Ichika really did poke her head out right on time.
With both hands, she carried a plate of omelet rolls that didn't look very good. Her face wore an expression like she was about to break completely at any second as she walked to the table.
Before Hitori could say anything encouraging, she suddenly lunged forward and dropped straight into a full prostration.
"I'M TRULY SORRY! I CAN'T EVEN COOK BUT I STILL TRIED TO SHOW OFF AND IT TOOK SO LONG AND I ONLY MADE THIS AWFUL-LOOKING THING I'M REALLY SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE MY STUPIDITY I WILL SERVE YOU FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE…!!!"
S-So formal…
Like a character in a historical drama…
So this is what it felt like when I apologized to people…
"Um… it's okay, Bocchi. I'm happy you cooked for me! Don't worry about anything else!"
Hitori was terrible at comforting people.
That section simply didn't exist in his brain. Even when he squeezed his mind dry, all he could produce were stiff, clumsy lines.
Seeing it wasn't working, he decided to go all in: he picked up his chopsticks and took an omelet roll—planning to use actions to soothe her anxiety about it tasting bad.
Honestly, he'd already braced himself for death.
He remembered clearly: the first time he cooked, his dad took one bite and collapsed on the table without moving. His mom forced a smile and praised him for having "real talent" for cooking.
Little O looked curious and asked if it was actually edible. Even Jimmy Hen, the one who was always hungry, sniffed it once, then turned away without even looking at it again—wiggling his butt as he walked off.
That tragic lesson forced Hitori to treat this omelet roll with extreme caution.
But when he actually bit into it—
There wasn't any lethal amount of salt.
There wasn't any bizarre texture either.
It was… surprisingly edible.
Aside from being a bit burnt, there were no major flaws.
For a first-time cook, it was honestly impressive.
Was it because she held her phone and followed the tutorial step by step while cooking?
I remember I followed tutorials too… so why was my first cooking a disaster, but Bocchi did this well?
As he chewed, Hitori suddenly remembered something his mother once told him.
Don't be discouraged, Hitori. Cooking isn't only about technique. If one day you meet someone you truly care about, you'll be able to make wonderful food.
Because you pour your feelings into it—and feelings are the best seasoning in the world.
Hitori understood immediately.
The answer was far simpler than he'd expected.
There was no complicated reason.
Bocchi had simply taken this dinner seriously.
Just as he was thinking carefully for her sake—
She, in her own way, was treating him with the same care.
Hitori blinked a few times and suddenly realized his eyes were wet.
Ah.
Oh no.
Why… all of a sudden…
It was just dinner.
But…
This was the first time someone outside his family had cooked for him.
From kindergarten to elementary school, from middle school to high school, and then all the way to now—working in society…
All this time…
This was the first time a friend had cooked for him.
-------
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