Tetsuya greedily gulps water, spilling it on his clothes and flooding the floor as he walks from backstage into the audience area reserved for the show’s audition participants. Ahead of him, Ryan and Liam are heatedly discussing something, while behind him, Margaret and Wild chatter away. He never thought he’d want to strangle his own relatives for being happy. No, he doesn’t actually mind their love. What he minds is being completely forgotten. It stings a little. Even though, in reality, no one has forgotten him. It’s just that not a single person in the group praised his flawless final guitar solo. He poured his soul into it. That one segment alone was worth more than all the other bands’ performances combined.

Tetsuya is certain they have no real competition in these auditions. Liam had said participating in this show was necessary to boost the band’s popularity. Tetsuya agrees—in part. On the other hand... they’ll have to live under the constant pressure of cameras. The only one who’d enjoy that is Ryan. A real star. Their band’s Instagram seems to consist solely of his posts, occasionally broken up by group photos—which, incidentally, he also uploads.

The participants take their seats. A few more acts perform. Honestly, they’re boring. Nothing interesting. Tetsuya overhears Liam feeding Ryan tidbits about each group, adding, "Just happened to hear about them."

Yeah, "heard." More like stalked their profiles, Tetsuya’s sure.

He’s nearly dozing off when the host’s booming voice erupts, announcing the next act way too enthusiastically. Tetsuya’s eyes snap open.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen! Only one performance remains in today’s round. Yes, yes—this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Get your phones ready and capture every second! Taking the stage now is a young but rapidly rising band—‘Fallen Kingdom’! Give them a thunderous round of applause!"

The audience explodes in screams. Seems this band’s genuinely anticipated. As the stage is prepped, Tetsuya turns to his bandmates, catching Margaret’s snide remark:

"‘Fallen Kingdom’? How pretentious."

Wild immediately fires back: "Not everyone names themselves ‘The Outcasts,’ Margaret."

Tetsuya frowns thoughtfully. What’s wrong with the name? ‘The Outcasts’ sounds perfect. He and Liam came up with it.

Before he can dwell further, Ryan asks a question Tetsuya’s suddenly curious about too:

"What’s the deal with this band?"

Ryan studies the stage, noting how the crowd still hasn’t quieted.

"Never listened to them. Their leader’s father is loaded, from what I’ve heard. Probably bought their way in, and the crowd’s eating it up because they’re pretty. Typical rich kids." Liam pauses, then adds, "No offense, Ryan."

Tetsuya turns away, quietly laughing at Ryan’s indignation. So, another shallow act coasting on wealth? Disappointing, but not surprising. The music industry’s rotting—stage time goes to trust-fund babies who’ve never bled on their guitar strings or written a real song. Not that he’d wish that on anyone. Still, the thought leaves a bitter taste.

Finally, the band steps out. Tetsuya freezes. They’ve embodied their name flawlessly. Margaret’s voice cuts in again:

"So that’s how they interpret the name? Not bad. Must be nice having money to burn on costumes like that." A beat. "No offense, Ryan."

This time, Tetsuya ignores her, too busy studying the group. He doesn’t know how they play yet, but their visuals are... impeccable. Five members, each distinct: a queen, a king, a princess, a servant, and a jester. The "king" and "queen" look strikingly alike—relatives, likely. Their confidence is palpable. Maybe not so shallow after all.

The first chords hit. Tetsuya doesn’t yet realize how thoroughly he’s doomed. His professional eye scans the band, landing on the "king." Then he can’t look away.

It’s just professional interest. The guy’s a guitarist, like him. And the dark eyeshadow? A masterstroke. Tetsuya’s never dissected anyone’s image this intensely. It’s only because they share an instrument. And then—oh god, he’s the vocalist too.

Tetsuya could scream at how perfect that voice is, how seamlessly it blends with the "queen’s." The harmonies raise goosebumps. He’s transfixed. The performers ignore the crowd, which only magnifies the magnetism of their act. The king and queen aren’t singing—they’re dueling. A battle of words, gestures, emotions. Every detail is razor-sharp. For the first time, Tetsuya feels genuine admiration for a rival.

Just professional appreciation. The guitarist moves like a storm. Looks like one, too. Sings like—

This isn’t professional interest. This is a full-blown crisis.

When the set ends, Tetsuya’s band applauds in stunned silence. No snark. No quips. So. Not a fluke.

After the results are announced, Tetsuya trudges to the lounge’s water cooler. Damn Ryan and Liam, who ditched him halfway for "important business." He knows what that means.

Lost in thought, he stops watching his surroundings—and collides with someone taller. He looks up.

It’s him. The king. His eyeshadow is smudged, though clearly wiped off hastily. His clothes are casual now. Still flawless. And his cologne is... nice.

Tetsuya snaps back to reality, realizing he’s been gawking for a solid five seconds. Uncharacteristic. The guy murmurs an apology, trying to sidestep him.

Then, as if enchanted, Tetsuya grabs his wrist and blurts:

"I’m Tetsuya. I—I performed too. You probably don’t remember. I just—you’re really pretty—I MEAN, your performance was pretty, and—uh—"

He’s scarlet with humiliation. God. What the hell was that?