If a novelist's talent could be applied to everything in life, Narumi Tōru would definitely write an autobiography based on personal experience titled "From Tone-Deaf to Street Performer."
Even though the version of himself in the simulation—a third-rate bassist—could hardly be called gifted, the fact that he managed to form a band and take part in various underground livehouse events meant, honestly, that he wasn't bad at all.
Either way, even knowing full well that these were skills inherited from the simulation, the sensation of jumping straight from level –99 to level 50 still left him feeling a little dazed.
The boy's fingers brushed the guitar strings, and his brain began rapidly piecing together coherent memories, as if a score had just been pulled up in a browser search.
What Narumi improvised was the famously well-known Deep Purple track, "Smoke on the Water."
Just like how programmers write hello world as their first program, learning guitar means starting with Smoke on the Water—and that guitar riff was the first thing to surface in his mind.
After that, he simply followed what his memory dictated. Without much thought, the heavy tones flowed from his fingertips. The whole process was smooth and seamless—no stumbles, no mistakes.
If one had to put it into words, his explosive improvement on the instrument was like a baby who could barely crawl suddenly donning underwear over their pants, putting on glasses, and flying all over the world.
"Oh—Narumi-kun, so you were hiding this all along?"
As the song ended, Ijichi clapped without thinking. If her applause for Bocchi earlier had been partly out of courtesy, this praise now came entirely from the heart.
And to be fair, it wasn't really her fault. In Ijichi Nijika's mind, Narumi Tōru was just a peer she wasn't particularly close to nor distant from—a guy who showed up for shifts at fixed times, worked the front desk receiving guests and performers, and occasionally dealt with troublesome situations.
She had never once connected this curly-haired boy—so experienced at handling difficult customers—with any kind of musical ability. After all, if he were truly interested, wouldn't he have taken advantage of being so close to the scene and picked up a guitar or bass long ago?
"Why have you never shown this before? You play so confidently…!"
"Yeah, obviously because Koumi really enjoys that whole 'hidden master' vibe. That way he gets showered with praise."
Yamada spoke with absolute certainty, delivering an answer that was wildly off the mark—and just irritating enough to be punchable.
"Not at all."
Muttering softly, the curly-haired boy set the guitar aside. The gazes he felt now consisted of Nijika's curiosity, Yamada's familiar "I practically raised this kid" look—and then there was Gotō Hitori, standing off to the side, deliberately keeping some distance from the others.
The pink-haired caterpillar girl still looked a bit stiff and uneasy, but in those clear, adorable eyes there was more recognition and admiration than anything else.
It was obvious that Narumi Tōru, with his not-terrible guitar skills, had earned the approval of the other three music-loving girls present. One could say that only now had they truly become fellow enthusiasts, free to speak their minds without restraint.
"D-does Koumi-senpai listen to Deep Purple too? I think that's really cool…!"
It was painfully obvious that the socially awkward pink caterpillar girl was desperately trying to find a topic to talk about.
"Yeah, exactly! And that technique doesn't look like a beginner's at all—you must've practiced a lot in private!"
Ijichi Nijika eagerly leaned closer to Narumi. What had once been a relationship of little more than polite nods—two people who seemed destined never to intersect—had finally turned into an actual conversation.
"What other bands do you listen to, Narumi-kun? Nirvana, Guns N' Roses, The Smiths, Suede, Oasis, Blur?"
"I-I think Muse and Radiohead are really good too…!"
"..."
Watching the three of them chat animatedly, the usually taciturn, short-haired blue-haired girl fell into silence.
This time, it wasn't because she was conserving energy or spacing out by choice. She simply found herself unable to find an opening to join in.
Talking about music with Narumi—being the one person he discussed these things with—had always been her role.
Before that strange dream, Narumi—who only interacted with Nijika through work and didn't even know Bocchi—would forward any hidden gem he discovered straight to Yamada. The two of them would then launch into a free-spirited yet endlessly enjoyable chat about the song.
Even though Narumi was tone-deaf and couldn't read sheet music, the way he talked about music and rock was incredibly captivating. It always made Yamada feel that chatting with him was genuinely fun.
And precisely because he couldn't play instruments, those moments when Yamada casually showed off in front of him filled her with a strong sense of accomplishment—like she had a loyal listener who belonged to her alone.
Even so, she often felt a twinge of regret. That loyal listener seemed destined never to become a partner who would stand on stage beside her.
Yet that strange dream felt as if it had the power to make her wish come true, turning a sudden fancy into reality.
In that dream, Narumi's position and identity had shifted in subtle ways—he transformed into a guy with a nasty personality, painfully blunt, and even disliked by the other band members.
And yet, Yamada could still feel a kind of mutual understanding between them that transcended worldlines, with no clear beginning and no clear end.
After the dream ended, the way they got along didn't change much. If anything, Yamada vaguely felt that they'd grown even closer.
Perhaps she'd been intoxicated by the happiness of "my friend is truly relying on me." By the time she realized it, her place at his side no longer felt so irreplaceable.
Setting Nijika aside for the moment, Narumi and Bocchi-chan—who already shared a deep connection in the dream—actually got along really well, didn't they? Just look at Bocchi: clearly shy, yet uniquely comfortable around Narumi, not resisting him at all. Maybe they'd get along wonderfully in reality too.
At the rate their bond was deepening, Yamada wouldn't be the only one Narumi forwarded songs to or shared his interests with anymore.
When the same playlist gets sent to different people three times, it starts to lose its meaning.
The blue-haired girl pursed her lips, unusually unwilling to take part in a discussion about a topic she normally loved.
She had really longed for it—standing on stage and performing together with a loyal listener who belonged only to her.
"I'll go buy another one… canned coffee."
From a quiet corner of the warm, relaxed atmosphere, Yamada Ryō left the rehearsal room without a word.
"…?"
The curly-haired boy at the center of the conversation kept smiling, but his gaze paused for a moment when he failed to catch sight of the blue-haired girl out of the corner of his eye.