Chapter 21. Into The Livehouse (I)

The metro car doors slid open with the hiss of air flow. Araka stepped out onto the train and walked her way toward the escalator.She adjusted the strap of her side bag, one hand lightly touching the folded note Jun had handed her earlier.

"Clearance granted. Priority: civilian protection. Watch for non-registered resonance surges. Do not act unless triggered. — Huashin"

Jun's voice still echoed in her mind from earlier that morning: "You'll be closest to the stage. Don't initiate anything. But if it breaks down, stabilize the crowd and isolate the source. This is your first mission."

"Got it," Araka had told him. "I'll try my best."

She didn't have to wait long.

Leana and Anikara approached through the metro station exit, both already dressed in casual streetwear. The underground energy of East Bakju's music scene seemed to swirl even in the train station itself—old posters, old stickers, and cables exposed in the ceiling.

Leana gave a faint smile as she glanced at Araka's T-shirt - one with upside-down flame and a chained heart. 

"Ayo, Araka-sa? That's a classic. Didn't expect you to have such a solid taste," Anikara said while lifting her sunglasses.

Araka shrugged. "I listen here and there."

Anikara squinted at the design. "That's the tour shirt, right? With the upside-down flame logo?"

"From Habin's Bakju show two years ago."

Leana raised an eyebrow. "You went? As a middle school girl?"

Araka nodded. "...Alone."

Anikara grinned. "So you're a closet rocker."

Araka shrugged again. "Maybe."

As they navigated their way to the venue, which was located in an abandoned building, Anikara suddenly looked thoughtful as she rubbed her chin: "…Now I'm wondering something."

"What's that?" Leana asked.

Anikara gestured vaguely. "Aqua's wearing a competitive swimsuit on stage. That place is full of dudes, right? What if they—"

"—stare at her?" Araka finished.

"Exactly."

Leana answered calmly, "Then they stare. That's their limit."

Anikara nodded slowly. "Yeah, but I'll body-check anyone who pulls their phone out and aims at the wrong spot."

Araka smirked faintly. "If it comes to that, I'll distract them with stage lights."

Very different from a typical venue, the E47 Soundroom was small, packed, and hot. Industrial walls lined with sticker-plastered panels, exposed ventilation ducts above, the smell of sweat and solder lingering in the air. Blue and magenta lights pulsed slowly as the opening notes of ambient distortion filled the room. While waiting for the band to come in, Anikara commented as she fanned herself using her right hand: "Well, the air is more dense than I expected, even for an underground band like this."

"And I should say the competitive swimsuit subculture is way bigger than I expected," Araka said while finally finding a standing spot. 

As the announcer greeted everyone, the venue's light slowly faded. Even before the light turned on again, the crowd leaned forward as the performers stepped onto the raised stage.

All five girls, most close to university age, walked out wearing sandals - dressed entirely in competitive swimsuits, all from the same Novak brand, but varied in cuts and colors. They had minimal makeup, but everyone here knew their presentation was deliberate. Aqua, the youngest and shortest of them, stood at the far left. Her Novak suit clung like armor—clean-cut, navy, minimalist. With her long, bright orange hair tied to the back, she gripped her guitar with practiced precision, eyes low.

From the audience came murmurs, sharp inhales, a mix of tension and thrill.

Araka scanned the venue around: the majority of the audience was male, though a few women stood in the back corners, quietly observing, and so far no confrontation behaviours was observed. Meanwhile, Araka, Anikara, and Leana, now stood shoulder to shoulder.

Anikara leaned in close to Araka's ear and whispered, low:"Araka-sa, don't you think this is kinda… concerning?"

Araka glanced at her.

Anikara's eyes stayed fixed on the crowd, especially on a man wearing glasses while having his eyes fixed on one of the girls: "I mean, I'm not shy. You know that. I've done sprints in the track outfit without even wearing a bra underneath. But—this? This feels different."

She swallowed: "I think I'm standing on an iceberg and didn't realize how deep it goes."

Leana, still calm but her eyes razor-sharp, added:"The group's orientation is… off."

Araka tilted her head. "How so?"

"It might not even be about the music. They're playing for photo shoots, and clearly Aqua wasn't even tailored for this type of clickbait environment ."

The first track began —sharp, minimalist rhythm, tinged with distortion and heavy bass. The girls on stage moved with rehearsed stiffness, their eyes darting more than they danced, and clearly the other girls had enjoyed it more than the music itself. Aqua, stood with her guitar slightly hunched, however had her expression muted—eyes focused more on the strings than the crowd.

Then one of the older members stepped up to the mic during the bridge: "Thanks for the energy, everyone. It's been a great run, and today we're excited to show you our new member..."

She gestured toward Aqua, voice light but edged.

"…who's getting better every day. You might start seeing her at more events—especially since we're working on our audience engagement."

Her gaze flicked toward the male-heavy front row. Some clapped. A few grinned too long.

Araka's brows furrowed slightly: Aqua didn't smile. She didn't enjoy any minute of it, Araka thought.

Next to her, Anikara whispered low and tense:"…What kind of group is this? A clickbait for Videoflax or even some shady streaming platform? She makes it sound like the members don't even choose what they wear. Or what they do."

Araka's eyes didn't leave the stage: "If they're selling that look," she said quietly, "then you have to take the music with a grain of salt."

Anikara glanced at her. "You mean it's a fake band?"

Araka shook her head once. "No. I mean - the band dynamic is built on pressure, which makes it a bit, let's say, unconventional or trying 'too hard' for attention."

Leana, however, remained quiet with her arms crossed. Her eyes weren't on Aqua—they were scanning the crowd. Of course she's worrying about Aqua's safety, Araka thought. However, while looking toward the direction Leana was facing, Araka sensed something else. 

One man in the third row hadn't looked away once. Not even to clap. Who was that, Araka thought. However, the band announced that they will move to the next track. Maybe I will figure it out later, Araka told herself. 

The next track was slower—heavy rhythm, lingering chords, like distant thunder rolling through the venue's temporarily mounted speakers.

Araka's posture shifted. She wasn't sure when she first felt it—but it was there. Faint. Distant. A pressure in the base of her neck.

Matake energy, the same one she sensed from Ami earlier. However, unlike Ami's, it was not hostile, like a low hymn, but clearly it was approaching.

Her eyes swept the crowd and landed on the same spot she looked at before - the same man who didn't clap. 

An university-aged man, wearing a plain cap, sunglasses despite the low lighting, and a simple pullover. He was sitting just off-center, not dancing at all, but staring—hard—at Aqua.

Yet the pressure… it wasn't coming from him. It was coming for him.

"...Leana."

Leana looked over, blinking.

"Anikara."

"What's going on?" Anikara turned her head from the stage and looked at Araka. 

"I need to change spots. There's something—off. I'll get closer to Aqua."

Anikara looked confused. "Like… what kind of off?"

Araka hesitated. She couldn't just drop the word Matake. 

"Just… trust me."

However, Leana didn't question it. She gave a short nod. "Go."

Araka moved. She weaved between bodies, stepping lightly around pockets of people swaying to the music: not pushing, not drawing attention, just agility. Her eyes stayed locked on Aqua for a moment - then quickly flicked back to the cap-and-glasses man.

The pressure was growing. Closer. Subtler. A resonant field pulling itself together like threads finding the center of a web.

It was Matake, Araka thought. 

But something about it was wrong: Not uncontrolled. Not even angry. Just… too precise, like predators locking onto a prey. 

Araka ducked into a shadowed corner beside the maintenance exit, phone halfway out of her leggings' pocket. She grabbed her phone and whispered to the compact mic stitched onto her phone case, barely above the thrum of the music: "Jun. I found a likely target. Male, university age. Front center-left. Wearing a cap and sunglasses. But… something's not right." 

A pause. Her eyes scanned the crowd again: "The energy isn't from him. It's tracking him."

The reply came through immediately: "Got it, Araka. I'll reroute to the side corridor. Stay ready."

She slipped the phone away and exhaled through her nose—stabilizing her stance.

Meanwhile, Jun walked along the side alley near the venue, carrying a small rectangular sensor case disguised as a personal pouch - the SAIR issue from Huashin mailed directly to the address yesterday. He put one hand in his pocket, pretending to be just another guy looking for the stage door.

He checked the signal strength again.

Red light. Steady blink. Does that mean Matake's building? 

And then, Jun saw him - early middle-aged, late 40s maybe; grey hoodie, jeans, unbranded shoes; he was walking steadily with intent, not speed; head low, eyes fixed forward.

But Jun clocked it instantly. "This guy doesn't fit," he told himself. 

He tapped into Araka's channel by turning on the mic on his phone case: "It's true. Matake trace isn't from the student. There's an adult inbound. Looks mid-40s. Heading straight toward the east corridor. He doesn't look like coming here for the music."

He glanced down.

The resonance sensor spiked yellow, then back to red: "This guy's locking in onto something. Might be targeting the same person you are."

— 

The band continued to fill the venue with music —Aqua had just begun a solo section, with her fingers delicate on the strings. The spotlight casting her in a pale blue halo. But at the far-left corner of the crowd, the real performance was happening in whispers.

Araka, already standing near the speaker column, tuned everything else out as she honed in.

Two men.

One—the younger student she saw earlier, shoulders hunched, arms drawn in, clearly trying to disappear.

The other—the middle-aged man, just behind him now, leaning in close, voice low but audible to Araka's ears over the hum.

"You think I haven't heard that before?"

The young man, upon hearing, changed his calm expression drastically: "I swear—just one more day. Just need until tomorrow night. I have the money. It's coming."

The older man clicked his tongue quietly, voice almost too calm: "You're good at running your mouth. Not so good at following up."

"I said I'll—"

"You said that last week. So I came to you. Right here. Took me a while to figure it out."

Araka's eyes narrowed. She wasn't watching them anymore—she was feeling it: a subtle coil of energy, clearly Matake, surrounding the space between them. Not blasting. Not disrupting. Just tightening.

A field of pressure—psychic tension—not aimed at the body, but the will. A type of resonance override.

Her pulse ticked faster. "Jun," she whispered into her mic on her phone case again: "Confirmed. A middle aged man, wearing a grey hoodie, is using some resonance energy - no, Matake, onto someone, likely some type of coercion."

Jun's voice crackled back. "I'm almost in position with the suppressor. Stay hidden."

Araka exhaled slowly.

But the Matake pressure was rising—like an invisible string drawing tight between the older man's hand and the younger man's spine.

A crash.

Araka stepped one foot forward, with all her senses telling her something was indeed gone wrong. She whipped her head around just in time to see the young man lunge—arm flashing, the glint of a concealed knife slicing through the haze.

The middle-aged man shifted in an instant. He stepped back, then twisted, catching the young man's wrist mid-strike. The blade clattered to the ground. With a brutal, efficient motion, he kicked the young man's leg out and forced him to the ground, pinning his shoulder with a knee.

All around them, the crowd wavered—a ripple of murmurs, but no panic yet. The music thundered on from the stage. Aqua's solo hit a distortion spike—covering the noise with sound.

The man leaned close to the pinned youth's ear: "You think you're the only one with instincts? I saw that coming, so many times, and I've learned my lesson."

Araka froze.

Her pulse kicked into high gear, and her mind was running around the clock processing what was unfolding: the Matake field was no longer passive—it had tightened like a spring about to snap. Both of them were resonating, even if the young man didn't know it.

She looked at the crowd—eyes widening, phones coming out, people shifting, whispering.

Araka's hand reached toward the inside of her jacket. From now on, it's no longer some band concert - it's an unreported Matake resonance case, Araka thought.

Yet before she interfered, she stopped.

Her clearance from Huashin was still standby, and even worse, still civilian. Civilian protection first. Not public exposure. Not unless there was no choice.

"Jun," she whispered toward the mic on her phone case. "It's escalating. Knife. He's got the young man on the floor. Resonance is locking in."

"Fifteen seconds," Jun's voice came back, sharp. "Keep your eyes on. I'll intercept."

Araka swallowed hard. She could feel her leg muscles tensing: one second too late, and this would explode.

Just as Araka was still processing the situation, the music cut out—not by cue, but by panic.

An awkward silence spread through the E47 Soundroom, interrupted only by confused voices and the blunt sound of someone's phone dropping to the ground. The crowd had parted, half-watching the two men on the floor—one trying to stand, the other breathing heavy, still crouched over.

On stage, Aqua froze mid-step, one hand still on her guitar. She blinked into the floodlights, squinting as if the truth might change if she couldn't see it clearly.

"What... happened?" Her voice didn't carry, but her eyes said it all—in the middle of confusion, fear, and uncertainty, the performance completely shattered.

Deep in the crowd, Anikara stepped forward instinctively

"This is what I was worrying about," she muttered. "She looks like she's going to fall over. Should we go grab her?"

Leana, standing beside her, caught her wrist before she could move: "That might make it worse," she said quietly. "From up there, it'll look like we're part of the fight. Like we're storming the stage."

Anikara frowned. "But she's frozen."

"She's not hurt," Leana replied, eyes fixed on Aqua. "Just confused."

"But—"

"We move when she moves," Leana said firmly. "Not before.".

— 

The air around the two men shimmered—just for a moment—as the Matake field broke containment.

Araka moved a bit: it wasn't subtle anymore, it was a wave—like a hot wind through her mind, tugging at her spine.

And then—

"You've got the ball, eh?," the middle-aged man hissed, voice tight with fury. "Pick it up. Stab my leg. Show them you've got the guts."

The young man, face pale and drenched in sweat, trembled as his hand was dragged toward the dropped knife—his fingers twitching against the handle, eyes darting around like a cornered animal.

"No—please—I didn't mean—!"

He swung the blade outward—not to strike, but to escape.

And in that instant, a scream tore through the crowd.

The blade caught a bystander—a young woman, maybe late teens, shoulder grazed, blood bright under the floodlights.

Gasps. Movement. Panic starting to spiral. Phones coming up.

The crowd was no longer murmuring—it was backing away, people turning to run, others trying to understand what they just saw. While on stage, Aqua was completely frozen, her knuckles white around the guitar neck.

Araka moved. She didn't ask. She didn't wait. She knew it was escalating. 

The injured bystander clutched her shoulder, slumped against the wall. The crowd's murmuring turned sharp, then panicked—people at the back had started pushing forward, unsure of where to go, just wanting out - the stampede was brewing.

Araka rushed toward the nearest visible staff member—a young man in a black crew hoodie with the venue's logo on the back, trying to manage the amp cables.

"You need to start evacuating. Now!" Araka said in an urgent tone. 

He blinked at her. "Huh? It's just a fight. Happened almost every time in this venue. That young guy—he's always like this. He'll calm down. Cops come, they'll drag him out."

Araka shook her head sharply: "It's not the same. This middle aged man is using Matake."

"…Using what?"

"Matake. You know that resonance thing that could turn people mad. He's manipulating the people around him."

The staff stared, genuinely confused. "What…? Is that like a cult thing?"

Araka froze for half a beat: Of course. They don't know. They have no idea.

She looked past him—the venue was now a compression zone, people shouting, some trying to leave, others pushing forward into bottlenecks. The air buzzed with unspoken stress.

If she, along with Jun, Anikara and Leana didn't act now, it would collapse