I have never found the worldview of a band to be joyful.

Tokyo, nightfall.
The Wakatake family residence.

Nagumo Uzuki stepped into the grand hall of this luxurious mansion, complete with its own small courtyard, and surveyed the surroundings.

The hall was extravagantly decorated, with murals adorning the walls and a fragrant aroma filling the air, lending the entire villa an aura of opulence.

This was the home of Takafumi Wakatake, a legendary comedian renowned throughout Tokyo, and Minami Mori, a respected actress with considerable talent.

On most days, the mansion brimmed with distinguished guests; entertainers and luminaries from various circles frequently came and went here.

Having crossed over into the MyGO and Ave Mujica universe, Uzuki Nagumo had gained modest fame by occasionally composing songs and stitching together a few novels. This was why he had been invited to tonight’s Wakatake family banquet.

He did not linger at the entrance.

A glance around the grand hall revealed clusters of entertainment stars familiar from television, chatting in groups of three or five. Occasionally, several powerful figures from political and business sectors were seen surrounded by entourages ascending the stairs.

Minami Mori, Wakatake Mutsumi’s mother, was indeed a skilled socialite, adept at navigating high society, while her husband, Takafumi Wakatake, was a celebrated comedian across Tokyo.

Together, they provided these social elites—accustomed as they were to flattery and insincere praise—with ample emotional satisfaction.

Moreover, both were seasoned professionals with strong reputations and resources, so it was no surprise that every Wakatake family banquet was packed to capacity.

Nagumo Uzuki scanned the room, feeling somewhat out of place among the guests, many of whom were a generation older.

At his age, and as a light novelist who only occasionally released songs, he found little common ground with these middle-aged figures who either laughed carefreely or schemed over resources, or with the ambitious and alluring socialites seeking advancement.

Bored, he wandered to the edge of the banquet hall, grabbed a glass of lemon water, inserted a straw, and sipped slowly.

“This world line is truly strange,” he sighed inwardly.

Initially, he had thought that after being hit by a truck and transported here, he had arrived in a parallel Tokyo.

It wasn’t until one day at his former school, Kamokawa Central Junior High, when a classmate handed him a music magazine, that he saw the recently popular band sumimi on the cover.

The cover featured the two members of sumimi standing side by side, their bodies slightly leaning into each other.

The girl on the left had long, dark brown hair and wore a black-and-white uniform with a slightly askew black bow tie, revealing a patch of fair collarbone.

The girl on the right wore a similar uniform, her posture poised and elegant, dressed in a tight black skirt that accentuated her curves.

Most striking was her long golden hair, cascading like molten gold from the sky.

Beneath the cover image, the word “Sumimi” appeared in flowing green script, along with the names of the two members:

Mana Junta,
and—
Hatsuka Misumi (phonetic).

A thunderous boom echoed in Nagumo Uzuki’s mind—the realization struck like something shattering within him.

This was not merely a parallel world; it was the MyGO and Ave Mujica universe.

At this time, sumimi was soaring in popularity, their promotions and songs ubiquitous.

Everywhere—from billboard ads and KTV must-plays to giant screens on skyscrapers—their images were seen.

Having just crossed over, Uzuki had initially been too stunned and elated by the experience to notice the band.

After all, many internet celebrities rise to fame in niche domains, but few become top idols who break through all barriers.

Seeing the magazine cover, his face was filled with disbelief.

He quickly searched online for the Toyokawa Group, Takafumi Wakatake, Minami Mori, Live House RiNG, and other key terms.

As expected, all these pivotal figures and business groups existed, even detailed on the renowned Chido Encyclopedia of Tokyo University.

With a wry smile, Nagumo Uzuki resigned himself to this reality.

Fortunately, the major focus of the MyGO and Ave Mujica universe was on bands.

After thoroughly researching the entertainment industry in this world, he returned to his old craft: writing novels.

“The market has great potential,” he thought, observing that the light novel scene was still flourishing amid fierce competition.

Relying on memories from his previous life and adapting to the altered timeline, he soon published his first novel, The Demon Sword Academy.

This book combined traditional school settings, demon lord tropes, and harems, using explicit language but without any lewd scenes, quickly gaining market traction and earning him his first royalties.

“If not for this book’s success, which barely got me through the door as a light novelist, I probably wouldn’t have been invited to the Wakatake family banquet tonight,” he mused.

He understood why he had been invited.

The good reputations of Wakatake Mutsumi’s parents in film and television, along with their willingness to invest in any entertainment-related venture regardless of age or status, made them eager to connect with newcomers.

He recalled how Yutenji Wakame (Meowmu) had simply asked Minami Mori for help and was promptly introduced to performance opportunities.

“Though my age is about the same as their daughter, Mutsumi,” he reflected, “being invited to such a gathering feels a little awkward. Given Mutsumi’s personality, unable to shoulder the blame or pressure, it’s no wonder she struggles.”

Finishing the last of his lemon water, save for a small piece submerged beneath the lemon at the bottom, unreachable by the paper straw, he prepared to fetch another drink and move toward the center of the hall.

Suddenly, two voices arguing nearby caught his attention.

“Minami-chan, why didn’t you tell me you were hosting a banquet at home!”

“Sorry, Mutsumi, I forgot to tell you earlier. Come join us—staying cooped up inside isn’t good.”

Uzuki paused, stunned.

Was this Wakatake Mutsumi arguing with her mother, Minami Mori?

In Japan, wives typically take their husband’s surname; as a married woman, Mutsumi’s mother would almost certainly share the Wakatake name.

Hence, “Minami Mori” was likely her stage name rather than her real name.

Hearing Mutsumi call her mother by her stage name, and adding the honorific “-chan,” made Nagumo shudder.

The level of eccentricity was unimaginable—akin to a daughter calling Angelababy “Angelababy” at home every day.

Nagumo’s step faltered.

Regaining composure, he moved forward.

Suddenly, a voice called from behind:

“Uzuki, could you come here for a moment?”

It was Minami Mori’s voice.

Startled, Nagumo turned to see her smiling warmly at him.

He returned a smile:

“Ms. Minami, may I ask what you need?”

Her smile remained gentle, like that of a kind mother.

Her gaze flickered between Nagumo and Wakatake Mutsumi, and in a soft tone she said,

“I believe you and Mutsumi are about the same age. Why not spend some time together?”

Nagumo frowned slightly, instinctively searching for an excuse to decline.

Before he could speak, Minami Mori turned to Mutsumi, still smiling gently.

“I remember Uzuki is quite skilled at playing the guitar,” she added softly,
“You two can share and learn from each other.”

Her tone was mild, almost as if making a suggestion.

Mutsumi stood before her, expression unmoved, betraying no obvious emotion, but her eyes revealed a faint trace of inner struggle.

It was a powerless acquiescence—one accustomed to such arrangements, knowing resistance was futile.

After a brief silence, she finally nodded, “Okay.”

Nagumo watched quietly, feeling conflicted.

Originally, he wished to avoid entanglement with the characters’ storylines.

After crossing over, his plan was simple: a literary opportunist, copying songs and novels to earn royalties, steering clear of trouble.

He had intended to keep his distance from Wakatake Mutsumi, Toyokawa Shoko, and even the entire MyGO narrative to avoid being drawn into the original plot’s whirlpool.

Yet now, observing Minami Mori’s smile, a strange chill settled in his heart.

Her smile appeared warm and kind but was also irresistibly persuasive.

Like a gentle hand nudging you along a predetermined path, so subtle that you don’t notice the push until you’ve already taken the step.

Nagumo shivered and, almost involuntarily, agreed: “Alright.”

The moment the words left his mouth, regret flooded him.

But there was no turning back.

Minami Mori smiled faintly, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.

She lightly patted Mutsumi’s shoulder, voice still soft:

“Then it’s up to you, Mutsumi.”

Her smile was warm.

“Remember to be a good host.”

She then looked toward Nagumo.

“Mutsumi isn’t very good at socializing. Please be patient with her, Uzuki.”

Her voice was like a soothing spring breeze, flawless.

Nagumo glanced at Mutsumi.

The girl’s face remained expressionless, her lips slightly downturned.

She stared steadily at her mother, emotionless.

Minami Mori withdrew her gaze, smiling gently.

“I have to attend to some important guests in the banquet hall. I’ll leave things to you here.”

Her tone was casual, as if this were merely a routine gathering. The hostess finished her brief instructions and gracefully turned away.

Her figure blended into the shimmering lights of the banquet hall.

Only then did Mutsumi turn her head slowly to face Nagumo directly.

She looked into his eyes for a moment, then said:

“Uzuki, move.”

Nagumo: “...”

He nearly lost composure.

Her manner of speaking was exactly as he remembered from her character profile.

If Mutsumi were a game NPC, a row of dialogue options would hover above her head, and “xx, move” would be her default command.

Though brief, Nagumo understood her meaning:

“Follow me.”

He stepped forward and followed.

The two skirted the edges of the banquet hall, avoiding the crowd, arriving at a discreet stairwell.

Without hesitation, Mutsumi pushed open the door and descended the wooden stairs.

Nagumo followed. The air here was noticeably cooler, faintly tinged with dust.

At the bottom, she opened a small door revealing a basement room.

Dim yellow light spilled in, barely dispelling the shadows.

The room was sparsely furnished: a table, a television screen, several floor cushions, and a small bookshelf in the corner scattered with a few manga and sheet music.

In another corner stood a solitary guitar, resting quietly.

The entire room was dim, except for the guitar, which was immaculate, clearly cared for daily.

The owner’s affection was evident.

Nagumo glanced around, understanding at once.

This was Mutsumi’s secret refuge.

Her parents never came here, nor did anyone else in the household.

In this cramped space, she could finally escape the relentless spotlight and the suffocating family atmosphere.

In other words, this place belonged to her—hers alone.

Nagumo patted a round fabric cushion nearby, noticing several cracks on its surface, signs of prolonged use.

He considered for a moment, then sat down.

He recalled later storylines.

When Mutsumi’s mother proposed converting this room into a band rehearsal space, Mutsumi’s resistance and silence weren’t simply about losing a practice room.

It was the pain of having her sole sanctuary taken from her.

Nagumo lowered his head, speechless.

By rights, this space was Mutsumi’s private domain, off-limits to outsiders.

But tonight’s banquet was full of guests; she couldn’t bring herself to retreat to her room, so she chose this place.

In other words, bringing him here was her greatest concession.

Nagumo made himself comfortable, and Mutsumi, clutching her guitar, settled quietly into a corner.

Her posture was subtle—not quite ready to play, nor arranging the instrument—just holding it.

As if embracing something that gave her comfort.

She lowered her head, fingers lightly tracing the strings, but the room remained silent.

Nagumo leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting to the guitar in her arms. After a moment, he spoke:

“Do you like the guitar?”

Mutsumi looked down:

“Emotionless.”

Nagumo raised an eyebrow, unsurprised.

Her tone was so calm it seemed less about liking or disliking and more like stating an objective fact, as if answering, “Why is the sky blue?”

The full meaning of her reply was likely:

“When I play, there’s no emotion—I can’t make the guitar ‘sing.’”

Nagumo smiled suddenly. “I can play a bit too.”

He paused, then offered, “Want me to play something for you?”

After all, in his previous life, he had been a band guitarist, so obsessed that even crossing streets was filled with musical thoughts—until the truck accident transported him here.

Playing a new piece to impress a junior high student? That was well within his ability.

Mutsumi did not respond immediately.

She looked down at her guitar, then back at Nagumo, silent for a few seconds.

Finally, as if resolved, she handed the guitar over.

Nagumo took it, feeling a faint residual warmth from the girl.

He adjusted his posture, gently plucking the strings to test the feel.

The guitar’s tone was excellent; string tension was perfectly set, even better than many he’d used before.

No wonder it was a SCHECTER—a quality instrument. Students at Moon Forest Girls’ Academy were evidently affluent.

“All right, I’ll play something suitable.”

His fingers fell on the strings, and the melody began to flow.

“Lemon.”

Originally by Kenshi Yonezu, this song had won numerous awards and was even included in Japanese high school music textbooks. Its quality was unquestionable.

The pure melody unfolded, without flashy techniques or exaggerated sorrow. Each note carried a subtle melancholy, like the cool streetlights on a quiet evening.

It spoke of death without uttering the word “death.”

Having lived two lives, Nagumo Uzuki was nearly able to perfectly convey the song’s essence—the bitterness of life’s lemons transformed into the sweet, fizzy taste of lemon soda.

Of course, he didn’t play the entire piece, only the most representative sections, and stopped gently as the melody reached a natural pause.

Silence filled the room.

Mutsumi kept her head bowed, listening intently.

When the last note faded, she slowly raised her head and fixed her gaze on Nagumo.

“I don’t have it.”

Nagumo blinked, then understood:

She lacked emotion in her guitar playing.

After hearing Nagumo’s performance filled with feeling, she realized she couldn’t achieve that herself.

Nagumo smiled and gently returned the guitar:

“Want to learn? I can teach you.”

Mutsumi looked at him, silent for a moment, then nodded.

Nagumo adjusted his posture and said,

“Try playing it once.”

Without hesitation, Mutsumi plucked the strings.

The sound reverberated in the room.

Her technique was proficient, rhythm steady; there were hardly any technical flaws.

But... it was too sterile.

Nagumo frowned as he listened.

Her guitar playing was so precise it seemed mechanical, without a trace of emotion.

He formed a rough judgment.

It seemed Mutsumi had been playing guitar for some time and was beginning to see it as her own possession.

Because of this, the other puppet-like personas inside her could be suppressed.

Nagumo spoke:

“Your fingerwork is smooth, but...”

He paused and plucked the strings lightly:

“Listen to this—what’s wrong?”

Mutsumi looked up slightly, dazed, as if pondering, then lowered her head and played again.

This time, she seemed to try adjusting, but the tone remained flat and flowing, devoid of any rise or fall.

“You’re not completing a task,” Nagumo bluntly interrupted, “You’re just ‘playing’ the guitar.”

Mutsumi paused, tilting her head slightly.

“The guitar is meant to express emotions,” Nagumo said gently.

“If you treat it only as a tool, it will sound like one.”

He was about to give an example when he sensed something was wrong.

Mutsumi’s movements suddenly halted.

Her head remained lowered, her hand resting on the strings, but her fingertips were completely still.

Nagumo was about to ask if something was wrong when, in his view, Mutsumi’s pupils suddenly turned golden.

Those golden eyes were devoid of warmth, like cold mirrors reflecting the dim light without a hint of human feeling.

Then, she stiffly fell backward.

Nagumo’s heart clenched. He sprang up and caught her by the shoulders.

“Hey!”

He felt her body limp, as if she had completely relinquished control over her muscles, letting herself fall.

At the same time, her breath changed instantly.

Earlier, although mute and reserved, she still carried a faint, real “human” aura.

Now, that aura vanished.

In its place was an indescribable alien presence.

Like an empty shell, like something long dormant suddenly awakening from the abyss.

Nagumo’s heart pounded wildly.

What was happening?

His first thought was a possibility:

Could her puppet personality be awakening?

But if so, why now?

Was it at the moment she grasped “emotion”?

Nagumo stared at her face, thoughts racing but he held on firmly.

Mutsumi’s lashes fluttered faintly, as if on the verge of waking, yet those golden eyes in the dim room appeared chillingly unfamiliar, as if belonging to another world entirely.

At the same time, before Nagumo’s eyes, a pale blue panel slowly rose:

[Age 16, you have truly opened the door to this world without the guidance of a Cassell Academy freshman mentor.]
[You have witnessed the awakening of the ‘Golden Eyes’ (White King Bloodline), +1 free skill point.]
[Progress toward activating the Word-Spirit ignition (1/4).]

——————

This story’s timeline is set before the start of MyGO, just as Crychic is about to form.

The Dragon Clan timeline takes place a year before Dawn of Fire, running parallel to this.

Even readers unfamiliar with MyGO, Ave Mujica, or the Dragon Clan can follow along.

Please kindly bookmark and continue reading.