Bury Music With Its Sound.

A soundproof studio deep underground. In that space, completely isolated from the hustle and bustle beyond the thick door, the final note died out.

The creaking resonance of drums, the ear-splitting dissonance of the synth, sampling sounds that grate on the nerves, and the melody of a completely distorted electric violin. Guest, who bundled them all and dominated the room with an overwhelming presence, exhales.

Immediately, the gazes of the four men were directed solely at Guest, like hungry beasts or religious fanatics.

Kakudo, having put down his drumsticks, hands over a towel overprotectively despite his blunt tone.