Music store

After the new friends had scattered across the vast shopping mall, Chris wandered from store to store, killing time and scouting for the perfect place he would need for the second stage of his "mega villainous" plan.

The mall continued its lazy rhythm. The wide halls were bathed in soft light, as if the evening sun itself had decided to linger here just a little longer, delaying the moment of event "X". Polished floors reflected bright shop windows, neon signs blinked with colorful lights, and the muffled blend of voices, footsteps, and background music from the speakers created a cozy, almost homely atmosphere. People strolled slowly between departments, pausing at displays, trying on clothes, sampling sweets at tasting counters. There was already something in the air — as if the sky outside was about to turn an unusual pinkish hue, heralding the arrival of the promised phenomenon.

Passing a few shoppers, Chris finally spotted exactly what he needed. A punk-goth clothing store "for nonconformists". He squinted at the storefront, checking if it was really as good as it looked. Stepping inside, he found it empty: "Perfect. If this store remains empty until moment "X", then it will be just perfect".

As he browsed the racks, he mused to himself: "How are they still afloat with such a niche product line? I mean, maybe in America or Europe, sure — but this is Japan. Some kids here literally get their hair dyed black just to not stand out… Wait. What am I saying. This is anime. Everyone’s unique anyway, so a few hundred Japanese people into this stuff? Totally reasonable", — he finished his thought, cursing his own brain lag. Glancing around again, he eyed some of the clothes, mentally assessing whether they’d appeal to Kyoka. Deciding that, honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea, he marked the place as the "starting point" of phase two.

Checking the time on his phone, Chris realized he had about half an hour to an hour of free roaming — if he remembered the timing of the "start" correctly. Pocketing his phone again, he turned back the way he came, setting off to find Jiro.

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Roughly ten minutes later, he spotted her distinctive purple hair peeking out from behind a couch — Kyoka was once again glued to her phone. Approaching, Chris tried for the third time that day to figure out a good way to start the conversation.

— Hey, Kyoka, — he greeted with a relaxed smile, approaching at an easy pace. — There’s a music store nearby. I think I lost all my picks. Wanna come with? Maybe pick up some new strings while we’re there.

Kyoka raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, as if evaluating the offer. Her earjacks swayed slightly, catching the light from the closest display.

— And hello to you too, Chris. That’s the third time today you’ve started with “Hey”, — she replied with a small smirk. — But sure. I actually needed a new set. One of mine just fell apart mid-chord the other day. Let’s go before Mina comes back and drags us into some plushie store.

Grunting as she rose from the comfy couch, she stretched all her limbs, loosening up. Done with that, she followed after Chris, keeping pace easily.

A few steps later, they turned off the main walkway into a quieter side gallery. This section seemed completely dedicated to music shops and themed clothing boutiques with names like «Everything for Rockers», «Punk’s Not Dead!», «Classic Vibes», and the like. Posters advertising concerts, karaoke bars, and music cafés lined the walls, and Kyoka’s gaze lingered on them from time to time. One — a schedule for live shows at a small pub club — brought a brief, amused smile to her face.

— There’s a live stage at that pub over there. Y’know, in case you ever feel like performing for a bunch of drunk folks, — she nodded toward the poster.

Chris chuckled.

— And what about you? If you’re in, I call dibs on saxophone! — he raised his index finger as if finalizing a contract, then waved his arms around, miming a sax solo and making ridiculous brass instrument noises with his mouth.

Kyoka snorted, a spark of amusement in her voice, and a mischievous grin crept onto her lips — the kind that warned of incoming sarcasm. She walked with easy confidence, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. Their steps beat a calm rhythm on the tiled floor as they approached a store for electric guitars and accessories.

— If you say so… Just as long as you sign a contract where you give your heart, soul, and ASS to the sponsors, — she teased, giggling behind her hand in perfect anime villain fashion.

— And why the ass!?— Chris exclaimed in mock horror.

— So they can "take it" for asking a questions like this! Ha-ha-ha-ha! — she burst out laughing like a demon queen, flashing a victory ring with one hand while making a very suggestive gesture with the other.

Chris gave her a comically wounded look, as if realizing just how much danger his innocent butt was in. But catching her humor, he burst out laughing too.

Once they’d calmed down, they walked another few dozen meters across the tile, their footsteps echoing in an easy rhythm. At one point, Chris, as if remembering something, spoke up:

— By the way… — his tone shifted, curious now. — How did you get into music, anyway? You could’ve gone for anything. But this seems like real mutual love, — he added with a smile.

Kyoka looked ahead, clearly mulling it over.

— Hmm… — she paused for a second. — I’ve always gravitated toward music. Since I was a kid, I guess. And my parents played a huge part — their jobs are music-related. So they kinda sat me on that path early, hehe. There’s just something genuinely real in it. No masks. Like… a person’s soul only really shows when they play music — it’s there, not hiding. It’s not about rules you get punished for breaking. It’s about energy. About a voice you don’t hold back — you scream or sing your real thoughts…

She bit her lip a little and shrugged, as if embarrassed by her own openness.

— Sounds kinda pretentious, huh? — she tilted her head with a sheepish smile. Her slight nervous grin and raised shoulders screamed quiet worry — like she was afraid she’d sounded weird.

— So for you, music’s not just sound, it’s your “soul song”? — Chris said with genuine respect. — That’s honestly awesome, — he added sincerely, giving her a thumbs-up and patting her on the shoulder.

Kyoka clearly hadn’t expected that. She looked away to avoid his eyes, but not before Chris caught the faint blush and warm smile on her face.

The music store was right in front of them now — a display full of guitars, pedals, cables, cases, and accessories. Kyoka paused at the threshold for a moment, squinting slightly as if checking whether anything had changed since her last visit. Then, regaining her usual calm, she stepped inside with the confident air of someone walking onto a well-known stage — a concert hall prepared just for her.

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Inside the store, a warm semi-darkness hung in the air, sliced by bright directional lights illuminating rows of guitars. Instruments of every shape, color, and brand hung on the walls like exhibits in a museum — from classic Les Pauls to outrageously eccentric Explorers. The glass displays shimmered with strings, picks, tuners, cables, and pedals. Somewhere in the corner, a radio quietly played rock ballads.

— Hmph… You know, if it weren’t for the prices, I’d be living in a place like this, — Kyoka muttered, her eyes skimming over the guitar display.

— And here I thought you already secretly crash behind an amp, — Chris replied, shooting her a sly glance. — Like Dracula in a coffin, only in your case — cuddling a guitar with a pillow made of cables.

Kyoka snorted, glancing at him over her shoulder.

— I wouldn’t be able to sleep with your jokes, even the walls in my cardboard apartment groan.

— Ouch. That one actually hurt, — Chris placed a hand over his heart with mock drama. — Guess I’ll need to buy an amp… for my self-esteem, — he chuckled at his own joke.

He stepped over to a bin of guitar picks and started digging through the various shapes and materials. One had a lightning bolt, another was shaped like a skull, a third was clear as a prog metal fan’s teardrop.

— This one, maybe, — he said, holding up a pick that featured a T-Rex trying to play the drums.

Kyoka nodded but suddenly tilted her head.

— Hey, do you even know how to play? I mean, flipping picks is one thing — not making a fool of yourself live is another.

Chris arched a brow, feigning offense.

— Was that a challenge?

— It was a hint, — she smirked, folding her arms across her modest chest.

He looked around and spotted a free electric guitar on a stand nearby, along with an amp and a plugged-in cable. Accepting the unspoken dare, his expression grew a little more serious.

— Alright then. Since you’re hinting so hard — I’ll try not to embarrass myself.

He went to the clerk, exchanged a few words, and came back with the guitar in hand. Black, sharp-edged — like a bat’s wing. He checked the tuning, played a few test chords, easing into it.

— Get ready, jōshi, — he said, and his fingers began to move.

The first riff burst out — energetic, rhythmic, thick with distortion. He played “Burn the Silence” by Rogue Howl — heavy, yet melodic, straight from the heart of modern Japanese rock. The rhythm was steady, the picking hand confident, not jittery. There was a practiced ease in his playing — not mechanical, but born of dozens of nights spent in his room.

Kyoka watched him first with a teasing smile, then narrowed her eyes with real interest. When he finished, silence lingered briefly.

— …Okay, — she finally said, — I was expecting anything... but not that. You’re actually good.

Chris shrugged with a modest grin.

— Told you. Don’t throw challenges around if you’re not ready to lose.

— Hmph, — her lips twitched. — Well, since you just gave us a mini-concert... guess it’s my turn.

She stepped over to the bass section. Picked one — graphite gray with a violet trim. Plugged it in. No questions, no explanations — just played.

And it was something else entirely.

Kyoka’s fingers moved fluidly, almost like they were strings themselves. The bassline she laid down wasn’t standard — progressive, with odd accents and smooth slides. Sometimes it sounded almost danceable, sometimes — fierce. But every note carried precision, power, and most of all — soul.

When she stopped, the silence that followed hummed in the air, as if no one wanted to disturb it. Even the radio in the corner seemed to quiet down.

Chris clapped once. Then again. Genuine admiration in his expression.

— Okay. I give up. That was beautiful. Your fingers must be magical or something, seriously blessed by the gods… I don’t even wanna look at my guitar now... Why are you so good at this?

Kyoka stepped back from the amp, setting the bass down. Her face was red — from her neck to the tips of her ears. She looked away, scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

— C-c’mon... I’ve j-just... been playing for as long a-as I can remember...

— No, for real. I had a split-second panic you got possessed by the spirit of some legendary bassist. Like a "Drum Shaman", but for bass. You know, the Bassman. Or… the Jyro-nator. — He threw his arms up theatrically.

Kyoka burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand.

— You’re hopeless, — she said, still a bit flustered, but now smiling for real. — But... thanks.

Chris winked.

— Always happy to praise the Great God of Bass. And if you ever seriously think about crashing in a music shop — call me. I’ll bring an air mattress.

They both laughed, standing in the middle of the store, where they had just played their first unofficial jam together.

TIME SKIP

The stroll through the shopping mall continued. The crowd had thickened, but the atmosphere remained the same — noisy, but not suffocating. People darted back and forth with shopping bags, the air smelled of something sweet, and the music pouring from the speakers seemed to grow louder against the rising murmur.

Kyoka and Chris moved at a leisurely pace, as if both were enjoying the extended break from studies and training. They had just passed a kiosk filled with board games when Kyoka suddenly stopped and stared into the window of the shop next door. There, under bright neon lighting, were tight-fitting dresses, leather tops, and sheer blouses that looked more like vague suggestions of clothing than actual outfits.

— Just look at that, — Kyoka muttered, squinting. — And people actually wear this kind of stuff in public.

She smirked, though there was a trace of disgust in her voice. Chris also stopped and took a look, then smiled wider and deliberately put on a dead-serious expression.

— Hm. Maybe you should try some on. We could grab a couple of sets — purely for scientific research, — he said with the most thoughtful and sincere face he could muster.

Kyoka shot him a sideways glance, as if unsure whether he was joking or being serious.

— Yeah, sure. Only if you personally drag me in there by the hands while screaming a battle cry, — she snorted. — And even then, your odds are almost nonexistent.

— Almost? So you’re saying there’s a chance? — he caught on immediately, grinning.

— No. I’m just leaving myself the option of punching you if you try, — she cut him off, that trademark half-smile and squint returning to her face — though now accented by a slight blush. Apparently, Chris had managed to fluster her after all.

They kept walking, leaving behind the window of what Kyoka clearly deemed a "disaster of one’s love life". She kept grumbling under her breath, although without the earlier edge of disapproval:

— Never understood outfits like that. Feels like people wear them not for themselves, but so everyone stares at them. Like, "look at me, I’m so hot and sexy". It’s dumb.

Chris shrugged, not arguing.

— Well, everyone’s got their quirks. But yeah, it’s… pretty revealing, — he tried to phrase it as politely as possible, choosing words that stayed far away from "slutty". At the same time, his thoughts drifted toward Kyoka’s future look after "Pink Sky" — imagining her in every outfit he’d seen now or remembered.

Kyoka gave a small snort, falling silent for a moment. The hallway grew quieter — they had turned into a less crowded part of the mall. Ahead, the soft glow of jewelry stores and cafés filled with dessert displays flickered gently.

That’s when they noticed familiar figures near the fountain. Momo stood there, frowning, speaking quietly. Her hands were clenched into fists, and her voice was so soft it was impossible to make out the words — even Kyoka’s sharp hearing couldn’t catch them. Opposite her stood Todoroki, watching her with an attentiveness that was rare for him. He didn’t interrupt, just listened with his head slightly tilted. His face looked focused — and worried.

Clearly, the conversation had moved far beyond the topic of wristwatches. But watching them now wasn’t nearly as interesting as it had been at first. Chris and Kyoka exchanged glances. Chris gave a subtle nod toward their classmates, but Kyoka merely shook her head — there were more interesting ways to spend time, and eavesdropping was kind of rude anyway. Chris caught the hint and said nothing more.

"And remember! The Empire cares about you!"