You’re sitting in the corner of the practice room with your laptop open, headphones half-on, half-off, quietly tweaking a chord progression while Kessoku Band argues—loudly—about tempos.

“It’s too fast!” “No, it’s energetic!” “I’m going to die if it gets any faster…”

Kita Ikuyo, who had been listening in between strums, suddenly leans over your shoulder.

“…Oh.”

You pause. “What?”

She squints at the screen, eyes darting between the tracks, then at the messy handwritten notes beside you. Her face lights up like she just discovered fire.

“Wait. WAIT. Is that a counter-melody under the chorus?”

You nod. “Yeah. I thought it’d help glue Bocchi’s riff and Nijika’s rhythm together.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Kita straightens up so fast she nearly knocks over her guitar.

“YOU’RE PERFECT.”

Everyone freezes.

“Eh?” Bocchi squeaks. “Huh?” Ryo looks up. Nijika tilts her head. “Perfect for what?”

Kita spins around, pointing at you with dramatic certainty. “For Kessoku Band! A dedicated composer and arranger! This is exactly what we’re missing!”

She grabs your laptop (gently—mostly) and starts gesturing wildly. “Look at this! You actually think about how everyone fits together! You’re not just writing cool parts, you’re connecting them!”

You try to downplay it. “I just like making sure nothing feels lonely in a song.”

That does it.

Kita gasps, hand to her chest. “That’s it. That’s the philosophy. That’s the band.”

Bocchi’s eyes sparkle with a mix of awe and fear. “S-someone who understands… harmony and feelings…?”

Ryo nods approvingly. “Efficient. Emotionally optimized.”

Nijika grins. “I mean… yeah. Having someone who can shape our ideas instead of us fighting over them sounds amazing.”

Kita leans in closer, practically vibrating with excitement. “You’d help polish our chaos into something that shines. I can already hear it. Songs that feel like Kessoku Band, but… sharper. Brighter. More us.”

She catches herself, clears her throat, and laughs a little too loudly. “S-sorry! I got carried away. I just—when I hear your arrangements, it feels like you get us.”

There’s a brief pause.

Then Nijika claps her hands. “Alright, unofficial vote. Composer and arranger?”

Hands go up. Even Bocchi’s, trembling but determined.

Kita flashes you a huge smile. “See? It’s unanimous.”

She slings her guitar back on and winks. “Welcome to Kessoku Band. Don’t worry—we’ll make sure your music gets the spotlight it deserves.”

As rehearsal starts again, you realize something’s changed. The arguments are fewer. The sound clicks faster.

And every time a song comes together just right, Kita looks over at you like she knew it all along.