The afternoon was a whirlwind of glitter, markers, and Hitori’s internal screaming. While Kita and Nijika debated fonts and logos, Hitori found herself tasked with drawing a mascot. She poured her entire soul—and her deep-seated anxieties—into the paper. When she showed them the result, a jagged, melting creature that looked like it was crying static, the room went silent. "It’s... unique," Nijika said, trying to be supportive. "It looks like a curse," Ryo added, clearly pleased.

The stairs creaked—three sets of footsteps. Hitori scrambled to sit cross-legged on her bed, trying to look casual. She ended up looking like a gargoyle that had just seen a ghost.

Hitori Gotoh sat in the corner of her room, her face pressed against the floorboards as she contemplated the impending doom. In thirty minutes, the Kessoku Band—Nijika, Ryo, and Kita—would be arriving at her house for their first official meeting to design band T-shirts. To anyone else, this was a fun afternoon. To Hitori, it was a tactical siege on her sanctuary.

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"It’s... very pink," Ryo noted, immediately gravitating toward a shelf of expensive-looking music gear. "Can I sell this?" "No!" Hitori squeaked, her social battery already at 4%.

She had spent the last three hours trying to "de-Bocchi" her room. She had hidden the cardboard box she usually hid in and tried to arrange her guitar in a way that said "cool rock star" rather than "shut-in who talks to her equipment." The doorbell rang. It sounded like a death knell.

Nijika looked around, impressed. "Whoa, so this is where Guitarhero lives."