Ijichi Nijika dreamed of her mother again.
She dreamed she was still a child—quick to sulk, quick to cry, quick to kick up a fuss.
She dreamed she was lying in bed, hugging her cute little bunny plush, while her mother gently stroked her head.
Countless times, she tried to reach a hand out from under the blanket—trying to catch that warm palm she hadn't felt in so, so long… even if it was only for a moment.
But no matter how hard she struggled, her body wouldn't move.
She wanted to freeze the scene, to stay a little longer and look at her mother's face so it wouldn't blur again—yet no matter what, she couldn't find the spacebar.
She wanted to drag time backward and let her mother pat her head again—only to realize there wasn't even a progress bar.
The only thing she could do was watch helplessly as a moment that had once felt so ordinary slowly came to an end.
—If one day Nijika can find her dream, Mommy will be happy for you, too.
The gentle whisper drew a full stop to the dream.
Ijichi Nijika opened eyes blurred by tears.
"…Mom…"
She murmured under her breath, clenching a corner of the blanket and pulling it over her head.
"…I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"
"…Nijika… I let you down…"
"I didn't try hard enough to be a good kid. I fought with my sister and ran out… I knew I'd worry her, but I was stubborn and wouldn't go back…"
Curled beneath the covers, Nijika's tears rolled in heavy drops from the reddened corners of her eyes—over the bridge of her small nose, into the mess of her hair, soaking into the pillow as weakness sprouted unchecked in her heart.
A few minutes passed.
Nijika still forced herself out of bed.
She ignored the phone buzzing relentlessly by her pillow—more accurately, she was avoiding the missed calls lighting up her screen.
She knew it was her sister calling. She knew there was a chance her sister was calling to apologize.
But Nijika didn't want to face it. She couldn't gather the courage to do what she always did—paste on a bright smile and use cheerfulness to cover her fragility.
She couldn't even explain what she was thinking. Tossing her sister aside like this, ignoring her completely—it wasn't something Nijika would normally do.
But every time she remembered that line she'd heard during their fight—
"If you really feel that way, then STARRY doesn't need to stay open anymore…!"
Nijika's face went white.
Already weak, she hurried into the bathroom, bracing both hands against the cold sink. She retched hard a few times, but nothing came up—only saliva stretching in thin, shiny strands between her teeth.
Slowly, she lifted her head and stared at the reflection that felt strangely unfamiliar.
There was none of her usual brightness.
The exhausted skin around her eyes was swollen and vividly red. Her hair, left untended, spilled over her small shoulders; damp strands stuck to her forehead with cold sweat. Her lips were pale, faintly chapped, beginning to peel.
Compared to a girl in the prime of youth…
She looked more like a pitiful patient.
She tried to make the girl in the mirror smile.
But no matter how she pulled at the corners of her mouth, the expression looked hollow and weak.
For an instant, she thought she was being ridiculous.
She was already twenty—how could she still be this immature? How could a single sentence crush her into this?
But she had never been strong inside.
And the name STARRY meant something no substitute could ever replace.
She remembered it clearly—what her sister had once said:
"I want this place to become a shining stage, where bands like stars can perform their best…"
"So it can be a place bright enough to send its light all the way to Mom."
STARRY wasn't just a live house.
It was the vessel for the sisters' longing and remembrance of their mother. It carried their feelings, their dreams—something that could honestly be called home.
Both she and her sister had left far, far too much of themselves there.
So Nijika couldn't accept her sister saying she'd shut STARRY down.
Even though she knew it was just something said in anger, it still terrified her.
She couldn't imagine what her life would look like if STARRY ever closed.
And she couldn't imagine, either, what her sister would do—if her sister stopped running the place, returned to "reality," and had to decide where to go from there.
Questions rose one after another in Nijika's mind—
as if countless bombs were piled inside her chest, any one of them ready to explode without warning, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Just thinking about it hurt.
Real-world worries, fears about the future—everything surged up at once, unfair and unreasonable.
Nijika lowered her head helplessly, her gaze falling to the ribbon resting on the sink.
It was her sister's gift.
Back then, after their mother was gone, Nijika had thrown tantrums and cried because she couldn't tie her hair properly. It was her sister who gave her this ribbon and tied her hair for her.
It was only a ribbon casually taken off a snack box.
But to Nijika, it was the most precious treasure she owned.
After that, no matter what she wore, she always carefully found some way to keep that ribbon on her.
Only now—
she felt like she couldn't wear it anymore.
Nijika hesitated for a long time.
In the end, she tucked the ribbon into her pocket, cleaned herself up as best she could, and left the room—heading alone to university.
…
…
…
Nijika didn't have many friends at college.
She didn't live on campus. Her classes were in huge lecture halls shared by multiple groups, where no one really knew who anyone else was.
And when she first enrolled, she'd gone around trying to recruit bandmates—enough that plenty of people started thinking she was "that weird girl."
Even so, at the beginning, some people came.
But most joined with a "just for fun" mindset—some were complete beginners.
Nijika could tell their focus wasn't really on the band. No matter what methods she tried, everyone treated it like playacting.
It wasn't a wrong way to think.
College was the stage where you started planning the rest of your life.
By this age, people already had their fixed hobbies, their fixed circles, their fixed priorities.
Trying to carve time out of all those already-established "more important" things to give to a newly formed band was difficult enough.
Not to mention coordinating the schedules of multiple people, finding days everyone could practice, waiting patiently for them to learn their instruments… and hoping they'd someday take the band seriously.
Nijika understood their choices.
But they ran directly against her dream—to build a real band and make STARRY more famous.
With no other option, Nijika could only gently bring up that she was leaving.
And no matter how cheerful she acted, no matter how sincerely she apologized, it didn't change the fact:
Her departure would break the band apart.
Because drummers—unlike guitarists and bassists—were scarce.
And an experienced drummer, trained from childhood, was rarer still.
Nijika was the pillar of those groups. If she left, the band would inevitably collapse.
But there was nothing else she could do.
She couldn't find the right people to help her reach her dream—and she didn't have time to keep playing house with people who didn't intend to take a band seriously.
So she kept searching, searching, searching—
and then leaving.
She'd lived through that cycle countless times since high school.
From early excitement…
to numbness.
From a dream she swore she'd achieve…
to a goal that simply forced her to keep running.
From a bright, innocent kid charging forward…
to an adult hesitating, wondering whether to bow to reality.
Even if few people blamed her—
even if many apologized to her and wished her well—
Nijika still felt guilty.
Guilty toward everyone she'd ever formed a band with.
Guilty toward her sister, who had opened a live house solely to support her.
And guilty toward the version of herself who'd once made that promise.
Sometimes she remembered her best friend from before—also the most incredible bassist she'd ever met.
They'd played together for a long time.
But they could never find the right members.
They could never form a complete band.
And somewhere along the way, Nijika's heart had slowly been swallowed by guilt.
She started believing she was the one who held her friend back—because if she hadn't dragged her into band life, with that kind of talent she should've been shining somewhere better.
Countless times, Nijika wanted to tell her: If it's too much, you can leave me behind. It's okay.
But she could never open her mouth.
Because if even her best friend left… then who would she have left to stand beside her?
She hated how selfish that thought was.
Her guilt grew stronger day by day—
and yet, at the same time, she desperately wanted her friend to notice that small selfishness, to notice the way Nijika was being shredded inside.
Then one day—
that painful stretch of days finally ended.
Nijika saw her friend performing with another band as a support musician.
For some reason, instead of feeling worse…
she felt a little lighter.
After the show ended, her friend came to find her.
It seemed like she had something important she wanted to say.
But Nijika didn't have the courage to let her speak.
Even though she knew her friend probably wasn't there to say she was quitting—
Nijika still chose to run away.
She forced a bright smile and told her friend that, actually, she'd always hoped she'd do something like this someday.
Seeing you on stage again…
I'm really… really happy.
Do your best, Ryo.
After leaving those words behind, Nijika fled in a panic.
And from that moment on, they never crossed paths again.
Maybe because of that—
Nijika would rather fail to form a band than become a support musician and play for someone else.
Where had things started going wrong?
Nijika sometimes asked herself that.
But she never found an answer.
Before she realized it, she'd become an adult.
Before she realized it, she'd arrived at the point where she had to choose between dreams and reality.
After failing again and again, Nijika had already grown pessimistic about building a band. The only reason she still forced herself to keep going—
was because she didn't want to disappoint her sister.
But watching her sister grow busier and busier, watching how deeply her sister worried about her—
Nijika couldn't help wondering.
Do I… really need to keep insisting on this?
Her sister was already thirty-two.
Her classmates had married and had kids. Even their father believed it was time for her sister to let go of STARRY and live her own life.
But her sister refused—no matter what.
Nijika understood all too well.
Her sister kept holding on for her sake.
STARRY had gradually lost the popularity it once had. It lacked a famous band that could perform there regularly.
And with more and more new live houses popping up—backed by bigger budgets, stronger promotion, better equipment, better environments—
STARRY's business was becoming harder and harder to sustain.
So Nijika tried to talk to her sister.
She suggested putting the band aside for now, finding a job, studying properly—anything to lighten her sister's burden.
But her sister argued with her fiercely.
For nearly a month, they fought about it again and again.
Until, at the end, her sister said the one thing she should never have said.
And Nijika—like an immature child—ran out.
"…I really… am not mature at all."
Nijika forced a strained smile, bitterness pooling at the corners of her mouth.
She wandered the streets alone, not knowing where to go, not knowing what to do next.
Then she looked up and saw a restaurant packed to the brim, booming with business. She thought that maybe she could eat something in the noise, relax a little, loosen the knot in her chest.
She never expected—
that she'd run into people her sister knew there.
And by the time she realized what was happening—
she'd already bolted out of the restaurant.
Under the pitch-black night,
she ran alone.
As if she could outrun every worry, outrun this terrifying reality—run to a place no one, nothing, and no anxiety could ever reach.
The cold wind scattered her hair, brushing past her ears.
Sweat slid down from her temples, and the sour ache rose to her eyes again.
She wanted to scream.
To shout out every grievance that had been crushed into her chest.
But maybe she was unlucky.
She caught her foot on a stone and crashed down hard.
Sharp pain shot through her, and she didn't even need to look to know it was bad.
Wincing, she pushed herself up and limped into the small park beside her. She found a bench and sat.
Under the streetlight, she looked down—
her knee was a mess of torn skin and blood. Dark red seeped out, mixed with tiny grains of sand, even running down her shin as if it might soak into her socks. It was the kind of sight that made your stomach turn.
Nijika bit her lower lip, silent. She reached into her pocket for tissues—
and found nothing.
She froze.
She searched again and again.
Then, slowly, she remembered.
She'd left the tissues on the table while she was eating.
Along with the ribbon—
the ribbon her sister had given her.
Her most cherished treasure.
"…Ah."
Nijika let out a small sound.
Her voice trembled.
In an instant, enormous fear and regret wrapped around her like a tide.
All the negative emotions she'd been piling up for so long—
finally broke through the smallest crack, flooding out.
"U-uh…"
She tried to hold it in.
But tears spilled out uncontrollably.
The harder she tried to suppress it—
the louder her sobs became.
Every bit of frustration, every bit of injustice surged into her throat.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… Sis, hhk… I'm a bad kid… I shouldn't have thrown a tantrum at you… I shouldn't have ignored you all day, not picking up your calls, only sending a few messages back…"
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
"But I'm really… so tired. So tired. So, so tired…"
"I tried so hard—why does it still turn out like this…?"
"Mom…"
"Nijika misses you…"
"I miss you so much…"
She cried in a broken voice, tears and snot running messily down her face.
And in those blurred, fragmented memories—
she suddenly remembered passing through this very park before.
Back then, she'd seen a gloomy boy carrying a guitar.
She'd wanted to run over and invite him to form a band with her.
But before she could speak, a few people—who looked like classmates—approached him first.
Because they weren't far away, she could hear clearly:
They were inviting him to join a band too—just like she'd been about to.
She could only think, What a shame, and leave the park.
Later, she found out.
That boy she'd missed that day—
was the Guitar Hero she and her best friend had both followed.
Why was she thinking about that now?
She asked herself.
Was it regret?
If she'd run over first and invited him back then…
would everything have been different?
Ryo wouldn't have left her to become a support musician.
She wouldn't have stumbled through so many failed bands.
Her sister wouldn't have grown depressed because Nijika was depressed—spending each day wanting to comfort her, yet not knowing how to begin.
It sounded like a perfect ending.
So why had she missed it?
She'd had the chance to change everything.
She could've found a band that might've lasted.
Why hadn't she seized that chance in time?
Why hadn't she opened her mouth and called out to him?
If only she could do it over.
If only she could meet him one more time.
But something like that couldn't possibly happen…
And anyway, who could guarantee that a different future would truly be better than this one?
In the end, she was just running from everything.
She didn't want to return to reality—
yet she couldn't stop worrying about the people she cared about.
She didn't want anyone to find her—
yet she desperately wished someone would.
So troublesome.
She was so troublesome.
Her knee hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt.
Could someone… help her?
Anyone—anyone at all…
Right now, she was just… so tired—
"Ah—it's that little-sister miss…"
Suddenly,
she thought she heard a voice.
The girl lifted her tear-blurred face in disbelief.
A figure came running toward her in short, hurried steps, clearly out of breath.
"Um—s-so sorry… Little sister—ah, no, I mean—miss! I'm sorry, I ran all the way here, so… I can't really catch my breath… I'm really sorry… um, it's just—"
He held out something.
"This is the ribbon you left at our restaurant. I brought it to you…!"
It was so sudden—
so unexpected—
it left her completely at a loss.
In a daze, the girl stared at the boy crouching in front of her.
That unforgettable pink, tousled hair…
Those blue eyes mostly hidden beneath his bangs…
And that face—
overlapping perfectly with the one in her memory.
Ah.
Ijichi Nijika's sobbing gradually stilled.
It was the Guitar Hero.
-------
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