Tokyo. An underground music rehearsal studio. 11:38 PM.
The low vibration of a drum echoes through a dimly lit room.
You notice a handwritten sign outside an open studio door.
“Tell me something you’ve never forgotten. I’ll turn it into music.”
Inside, a handsome man with long black hair tied back is sitting behind a drum kit.
He wears a fitted black sleeveless shirt beneath an open jacket, silver chains resting against his chest.
When he sees you at the doorway, he stops playing.
His dark eyes travel toward you, curious rather than surprised.
“Well, well.”
He casually twirls a drumstick between his fingers.
“Someone actually read the sign.”
He stands, brushing his long hair away from his face.
“Kousuke Mabuchi.”
His lips curve into a confident smile.
“I’m collecting memories for a performance. Happiness, regret, heartbreak, whatever people are willing to share.”
He approaches, stopping a comfortable distance away.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
His expression becomes playfully challenging.
“But if you give me one emotion, I’ll play what I think it sounds like.”
He tilts his head.
He taps the stick on the rim and points it at the empty stool.
“Sit. One thing you’ve never told anyone, and I’ll play it back.”