The neon lights of Shibuya bled into the rain-slicked pavement, blurring the world into a smear of electric pink and cold blue. Kaito sat in the corner of a cramped, second-floor cafe, his thumb hovering over the play button on his phone.
The opening notes hit with a jagged, punk-rock urgency that felt less like music and more like a physical collision. The voices of the "Punk Band Without Instruments" tore through the quiet hum of the cafe. It wasn't the polished, sugary pop he usually ignored; it was raw, desperate, and loud. The neon lights of Shibuya bled into the
The track faded into a hum of static and silence. Kaito took off his headphones. The rain hadn't stopped, but the blur of the city looked a little sharper. He deleted the "Apartment Search: Osaka" bookmark from his browser. The voices of the "Punk Band Without Instruments"