Classes went on as usual during the day, and with no club activities scheduled, Aoki Kei headed straight to the live house after school.
Whether it was practicing vocals or honing his keyboard skills, running through everything again and again was still better than doing nothing at all.
On vocals — After nearly two weeks of relentless practice, his singing had undeniably improved.
But reaching a level beyond "expert" was no easy feat.
Even with daily, almost obsessive training, all he could really feel was his technique becoming smoother.
As for breaking through to "master" level… he wasn't expecting that anytime soon.
On the keyboard — Compared to his expert-level vocals, his already-master-level keyboard skills showed no sign of improvement whatsoever.
Aoki understood the keyboard on a deeper level than singing, and he knew all too well that at the master stage, further progress through pure practice alone was possible… but highly unlikely.
From here on out, what mattered more was the emotional depth behind the performance — the subtle, almost intangible connection between the player's feelings and the music.
Still, even if further improvement seemed nearly impossible, Kei wasn't about to abandon his current practice routine.
Ever since deciding to participate and starting ensemble rehearsals, he had thrown himself into training with his whole heart.
On Tuesday, after signing the contract, Kei received early word from KL Company.
Once the submission period ended, KL would quickly choose the piece of music that best matched their animated short, then move on to editing.
The short itself was of exceptionally high quality, and the director, scriptwriter, and planners were all pushing for equally exceptional music.
The upside: if the chosen soundtrack met their standards, it would be top-tier without question.
The downside… well—
Three years ago, KL's short had been released in October.
Six years ago, in September.
Nine years ago, in June.
But this year, due to delays in selecting the soundtrack, the release date had been pushed back by several months.
The delay would undeniably hurt KL Company, and with so much time already lost, there was no way they'd allow the post-selection stage to drag on.
Once the music was chosen, they would need to fast-track editing, final scoring, and negotiations with the selected musician over collaboration and rights.
As for the payment… Kei hadn't paid much attention to that.
First, there was no guarantee he'd be selected, and even if he was, the money wouldn't come right away.
Second, if he wanted fast money, he could simply release one or two highly-rated songs for sale. The profit would be far quicker than what performing could bring.
But right now, quick cash wasn't his goal.
Life was practical — he had to think about the future.
Aoki knew well that fame was worth more than money.
Since going pro, the pressure had increased, but somewhere along the way, he had also gained far more drive.
Boosting his name, leading Kessoku Band to the top of this era — that clashed with the idea of selling songs for quick profit.
Over a month ago, Aoki had thought about his long-term goals.
Even if the future was unclear… even if it was full of uncertainty… he would keep moving forward.
More than getting into the University of Tokyo, he wanted to stand with Kessoku Band on an even bigger stage.
His mindset had to change.
Just like Bocchi-chan once said— "People have to look forward."
Even if it wasn't in his nature, even if he was indecisive, he still had to make choices.
Rather than waiting passively, he wanted to take initiative.
By Wednesday, Yutube was flooded with videos discussing KL's project.
Most focused on the fact that both Kessoku Band and Takashi Imai were participating.
And in that crowd, the majority of creators placed their bets on Imai.
For two reasons:
Skill — Imai's raw ability was undeniable. While Kessoku Band was also strong, their career was still too short.
Industry politics — Since Kei's debut as "Suki-san" half a year ago, several companies had approached him for partnerships. Kei had no interest in collaborating yet, so he declined most offers.
Some of those companies — like the one backing Ges Band, who had previously caused trouble — didn't take rejection well.
They subtly shifted their resources toward making Kei's life harder.
Of course, nothing was done openly.
But the effects were visible now.
Other major artists — Kenshi Yonezu, King Gnu before they blew up, YOASOBI in their early days — had all faced similar treatment.
Many creators chasing clicks offered analyses that weren't exactly wrong, and Aoki had no complaints about that.
"Takashi Imai's technical skill is higher. His songwriting isn't absolutely top-tier, but still master-level…"
"Kessoku Band's debut was too recent. Suki-san's singing isn't particularly strong, and his songwriting might be inconsistent…"
Apart from focusing only on weaknesses and ignoring strengths, these takes were fairly accurate.
Would this hurt his general public image? Kei didn't know.
But he did know that KL's final decision would come down to the music's quality and how well it fit the short.
Wednesday — he practiced seriously as usual.
Thursday and Friday — club activities pushed practice time back a little.
Saturday — Kei arrived early at STARRY for solo training.
At 9 a.m., the rest of the girls arrived, and they began their final rounds of ensemble rehearsal.
All morning, he didn't exchange a single word with Kita.
A few times, their eyes met, but after a few seconds, she would quickly look away.
That afternoon, the band headed to the KL event site to check the equipment.
Once that was done, they returned and continued practicing until about 10 p.m.
And so, the days passed until November 14th—
The weekend.
The day KL Company's submission project officially began.
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