The high of the "Eye Contact Challenge" didn't last long. A week later, the atmosphere shifted.
After school, a sleek, silver car was parked outside the gates. A woman in a sharp charcoal suit—Ms. Sato, a scout from a mid-sized talent agency—was waiting for Yori. She had been at The Blue Basement that night, hidden in the back, and she had seen exactly what George saw: a star.
"Asada-san," Ms. Sato said, handing Yori a glossy business card. "You have a rare 'cool' factor. With the right styling and a more... professional approach, we could make you the next big 'Lone Wolf' idol. But we’d need to clean up your image."
Yori stood frozen, clutching her bass case. "Clean up... my image?"
"No more basement clubs," Ms. Sato explained, her eyes flicking toward the basketball court where George was currently laughing and shouting. "And no more distractions. The 'mysterious' vibe only works if you’re actually a mystery. Having a loud, foreign athlete following you around like a golden retriever... it ruins the brand. It makes you look 'attainable,' and we want 'ethereal.'"
Yori’s heart sank. For the first time, her music wasn't just hers—it was a "product."
Later that evening, George was waiting for her by their usual bench. He had a brand new basketball he wanted to show her, but when he saw Yori’s face, he stopped spinning it.
"Whoa, Yori. You look like you just saw a ghost. Or a really bad math grade."
Yori didn't look up. She felt the weight of the business card in her pocket like a lead weight. "George-kun... maybe you shouldn't come to my practices for a while."
The silence that followed was heavy. George let the ball drop; it bounced away, unheeded. "Did I do something? Was I too loud again? I can buy a quieter headband, Yori. I can sit in the back."
"It's not that," Yori said, her voice cracking. "A scout talked to me. She said if I want to be a real musician, I have to be 'mysterious.' She said... she said you're a distraction."
George flinched as if he’d been hit. "A distraction?"
"You're just a fan, George!" Yori blurted out, the fear of losing her dream making her lash out. "This is my life. My music. You’re just a guy who likes the show. You don't understand how hard it is for someone like me to get an opportunity like this!"
George stepped back. The usual "human sun" energy dimmed, replaced by a cold, sharp hurt. "Just a fan?" he repeated. "Is that all I am to you? A guy in a headband?"
"I didn't mean—"
"No, I get it," George cut her off. His voice wasn't loud; it was quiet, which was much worse. "I thought we were friends. I thought I was helping you find your voice. But I guess I’m just messing up your 'brand.'"
He picked up his ball and turned away. "Good luck with the agency, Asada-san. I'll make sure to stay out of the frame."
Yori reached out, her hand trembling, but she didn't call his name. She watched him walk toward the gym, his shoulders tense. She had finally achieved the "mystery" and "distance" the scout wanted.
So why did it feel like she had just lost her most important melody?
The "Lone Wolf" vs. The "Team Player" Dynamic
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and then Add to home screen.