On stage, Ikuyo, her forehead covered in fine sweat, was singing with all her might, using every bit of her vocal technique.
However, even so, she couldn't stop the audience from noticing the obvious issues.
Leaving aside the emotional depth of her voice, even the basic pitch and tone were slightly off—this was the most fundamental mistake a singer should never make.
Many people were no longer focusing on the performance. They whispered to their friends, covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.
Quite a few had even raised their phones to record the scene, planning to upload it online later to gain attention.
Some had already thought of a title: "Major Onstage Mishap by a Beautiful Girl Band."
People have empathy. A popular singer or idol, even if they make a mistake on stage, will have devoted fans or a professional PR team to guide public opinion afterward.
But Kesshoku Band had only recently begun to gain traction.
Their fanbase was not yet strong enough, and they had no professional team backing them, so they wouldn't receive such treatment.
As long as online discussions stayed clear of sensitive topics, people could say whatever they wanted.
This greatly amplified the darker side of human nature, making it hard to predict what kind of commentary would emerge after this performance mishap.
Even in the most optimistic scenario, this would deal a severe blow to the band's future.
And the one who would bear the brunt of the damage, without a doubt, was Ikuyo herself.
After all, she was still just a high school student who had yet to step into society.
Her life had been smooth sailing until now, and suddenly facing such a situation, it was hard to imagine she could just laugh it off. This would be a difficult hurdle for her to overcome.
Failing on stage was one thing, but more importantly, she had dragged down her dearest friends.
The band they cherished so much was now being mocked because of her.
Guilt and fear weighed on her like a mountain.
From the moment she stepped on stage with a bright smile, confidently facing the audience, to now, her head had lowered, her mouth opening mechanically to sing.
Her guitar was being played purely by muscle memory.
The other three members of Kesshoku Band had long noticed that her condition was deteriorating even more than expected.
But at this moment, they were still on stage. The first song was only halfway through, and so many people were watching. Ikuyo was still singing, so there was no way to just stop everything.
Even though they were deeply worried, there wasn't much they could do to help her.
But they didn't do nothing.
From the day the band was officially formed to today, they had gone through countless practice sessions together, and their chemistry had developed significantly.
Hitori, the guitarist, turned her head slightly to look at Nijika on drums. Their eyes met in midair.
No words were needed—at the next moment, they smoothly lowered the song's key.
At the same time, Ryo, who had been silently playing her bass, suddenly moved closer to Ikuyo, leaning toward the microphone and singing along with her.
Lowering the key made it slightly easier for Ikuyo to sing, and Ryo's sudden harmony could help mask the dullness in her voice.
A last-minute rescue.
They were doing the best they could within their abilities.
This was a backup plan they had discussed earlier, considering Ikuyo's condition. They just hadn't expected to need it so soon—on the very first song.
Still, they couldn't push her too hard. As frustrating as it was, they had to prioritize Ikuyo's health.
After this song, they would have no choice but to apologize to the audience and the festival organizers and withdraw early.
Standing at the side of the stage, Chisato watched as Kesshoku Band's performance teetered on the edge of disaster. His body tensed involuntarily.
His gaze landed on Ikuyo, whose expression was bleak, her eyes dull and lifeless, tears forming at the corners.
He let out a soft sigh and finally made up his mind. He turned and walked away.
The sound control team was backstage—he needed to find the audio technician.
"Wait, where are you going?"
Seika called out to him.
"There's no other way now, right?"
"This should've happened a long time ago. Don't bother—I've already arranged it for you."
Chisato turned back and saw Seika smiling as she pulled a microphone from her back pocket.
"When you go on stage, just press this switch, and you'll be able to sing normally."
Chisato took the microphone and pulled the brim of the baseball cap Iroha had given him lower, looking back at the stage.
The first song was almost over. Just over a minute left.
…
"What's wrong with Ikuyo-chan? She doesn't seem to be in good shape."
"Hey, hey, look—Ikuyo-chan's eyes are red. Is she about to cry?"
"If she's not feeling well, she shouldn't have forced herself on stage. Damn, and these jerks in the audience are still laughing. What the hell is so funny?!"
Kesshoku Band hadn't been around for long, but they already had some sincere fans.
The few guys speaking up now were among them.
Haruno silently withdrew her gaze from them and looked back at the stage.
The noise in her ears was growing louder, and more and more people were pulling out their phones to record. Few were paying attention to the music anymore—the audience's focus had shifted entirely.
Just as those fans had said, the lead vocalist on stage was trying her best to restrain herself, forcing a smile, but she had already started crying.
And the more she did so, the more the onlookers enjoyed it.
Compared to a perfectly smooth concert, a performance full of mishaps and surprises was far more entertaining.
People loved watching chaos unfold—that was just human nature.
Unlike her calm and composed sister, Yukino's expression was far from pleasant.
She detested such senseless drama.
Not the mistakes on stage, but the disgraceful behavior of certain audience members—jeering and laughing at someone's struggles.
She firmly believed that those who worked hard should not be ridiculed, but there was nothing she could do to change everyone's mindset.
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50 advanced chapters on p@t re on (.) com/SenatusTheta
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