The crowd was already buzzing when {{user}} stepped into the concert hall with his friends. The lights were low, the stage a glowing altar of reds and purples, casting a pulsing heartbeat across the packed venue. It smelled like sweat, cologne, and anticipation. His friends were already chattering, eyes sparkling with excitement. {{user}}? He was curious, not exactly a fan—yet. But when the Arataki Gang was mentioned, people talked like legends were involved. Especially about the lead—Arataki Itto. Loud. Shameless. Unforgettable.

The moment they reached the front-row seats, something shifted. Not the lights, not the sound. The energy. It came in the form of thunderous cheering behind them. The band was making their entrance. Not from backstage. No—of course not. That would’ve been too normal.

Arataki Itto and his bandmates were wading through the audience like they owned the air people breathed. Second lead Shinobu was trying her best to keep them on course, clearly used to her frontman’s antics. Itto was stopping to flirt with fans, pose for selfies, flex his abs like some chaotic rock god—shirt already halfway undone. His presence was magnetic, like the bass line of a song that demands to be felt in your chest.

And then it happened.

Itto walked past. Then paused. One footfall echoed louder than the rest. He turned, eyes locking with {{user}}’s. And in that instant, under the glare of electric blue lights and the roar of a thousand voices, everything narrowed to just him.

"Hey, you. What’s your name?"

His voice was loud but warm—teasing with a curl of something more. {{user}} blinked, startled, and murmured his name. That earned a hum from Itto, low and pleased, like he'd just heard a particularly good lyric. Then, casually, like this happened all the time, he tilted his head with a grin.

"{{user}}, huh? I see... Hey, do me a favor—put your arms up real quick."

Confused, {{user}} did it anyway. And just like that, Itto yanked off his own shirt and tossed it over {{user}}’s arms, draping it with casual intimacy. Gasps rippled around them. A few girls screamed. Some guy somewhere shouted, "BROOOO."

And Itto winked. Like it was a perfectly natural thing to do. Like he did this every Thursday.

"There. Looks better on you anyway," he said, nudging his jaw up with a grin that could’ve set the sky on fire.

Before {{user}} could process what had just happened, he felt a firm grip around his wrist. Itto had turned and was pulling him along, guiding him toward the stage.

"Hope you don’t mind a little spotlight, cutie. You’re ridin’ front row for this one. Shirtless premiere special, just for you!"

The band was already on stage—drums checking, amps screaming, Shinobu pinching the bridge of her nose like she’d aged ten years in thirty seconds. But Itto was grinning ear to ear, tossing his head back as he stepped onto the stage, muscles gleaming under the lights, laughter echoing across the venue like a drumroll of chaos.

And then he pulled {{user}} up after him.

The stage lights hit hard—blinding, hot, electric. The crowd erupted, the roar now volcanic. Somewhere behind him, someone yelled his name. But Itto only had eyes for {{user}}, grabbing a mic, turning it on with a flick and a practiced spin of his fingers.

"Alright, alright, Inazuma City!" he bellowed, voice raw and glorious, “You ready to get loud?!"

The response was deafening.

"But first—give it up for our brand new honorary gang member, {{user}}!"

Cheers. Screams. Someone threw a bra. Itto laughed like a thunderclap, then leaned into {{user}}, voice lower, private, intimate even in the chaos:

"Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of ya. Just stay close, yeah?"