I Just Want A Single Ending!

"Oh, it's you, Saku. Is everything sorted out with Anon?"

Nijika Ijichi looked up at him as he approached.

"Yep, she's learning guitar with Bocchi-chan now," Saku replied with a smile. "I had some free time, so I thought I'd check if your band needed help with anything."

"Of course, I'm happy to help with small errands too."

He wasn't an official member of Kessoku Band—just a friend who'd gotten close with them. He'd once offered to manage the band, but they'd turned him down.

And now that he was already managing another band, he hadn't brought it up again.

"I can handle small tasks myself; you're technically a customer, after all."

Nijika thought for a moment, then hesitated. "As for the band… I don't know if I should say."

[Encourage her to share]

[Let it go]

"Is something wrong?" Saku asked, concerned.

[Gained 100,000 yen]

"It's about Bocchi-chan," Nijika said, her voice tinged with worry. "I'm not sure what to do for her."

"Well, if that's the case, why not tell me? Maybe I can help figure something out."

After collecting her thoughts, Nijika began, "Here's the thing. At our last live, Bocchi-chan performed while hiding inside a cardboard box, right?"

"I remember that."

"And because of that, she got the nickname 'Mango Mask'—my sister… I mean, the manager came up with it."

"Bocchi-chan doesn't like the nickname?"

"No, she actually seems to like it."

"Then what's the issue?"

"It's just… nicknames can be tricky," Nijika explained seriously. "Sometimes, they can hurt people."

"True," Saku agreed.

"So, does this relate to what you wanted to talk about?"

Nijika continued, "I wanted to ask you something from a spectator's perspective. How does it look to see a guitarist playing inside a cardboard box on stage?"

"I think it would seem creative and quirky."

In his experience with bands, he figured nothing seemed odd in the world of live music. Playing inside a cardboard box wasn't a big deal.

"But what if the guitarist hiding in the box doesn't play well—or even plays poorly?" Nijika added carefully. "Just hypothetically. I don't mean to suggest Bocchi-chan would do that."

"In that case, it would come off as just a gimmick."

After a brief pause, Saku shared his honest view.

It was simple: lacking skill was a fundamental flaw.

If you're good enough, you could pull off anything—playing in a box, or even in nothing but shorts, and people would still find you cool.

But if you weren't skilled, then no matter how formal you looked, respect would be hard to come by.

"So, that's the risk?"

Nijika gave a small, awkward laugh.

Saku nodded thoughtfully. "I think I get it now. You're worried that if Bocchi-chan's performance slips while she's in the box, she'll get criticized, right?"

"You heard our last show; we weren't exactly in sync, and it went terribly," Nijika admitted quietly, looking embarrassed.

"Luckily, the audience was just my friends, so no one complained. But they probably won't be back to watch us again."

"That means we'll have to sell tickets to strangers next time."

"And strangers won't be as forgiving. For them, it's simple: if it's good, it's good. If it's bad, it's bad."

"If we mess up like that again, Bocchi-chan, hidden inside a box, will get all the attention."

"Right now, her nickname is something harmless like 'Mango Mask.' But if customers start making up harsher ones and Bocchi-chan hears… it could be devastating."

At that moment, Saku realized why Nijika hadn't told Bocchi-chan about the ticket quotas.

It wasn't just because Kita was still learning guitar; Nijika was also thinking of Bocchi's fragile state of mind.

"The worst-case scenario is just that—if Bocchi-chan performs well, then none of this will be an issue," Saku reassured her.

"I can tell that Bocchi-chan has real talent. She's much better than her last performance suggested."

Nijika looked at him hopefully. "You can see it too, right? I mean, you wouldn't have had Anon go to Bocchi-chan for guitar lessons otherwise."

"…Yes."

Saku, who had no clue about musical talent, nodded as if he understood.

"Like you said, as long as she performs well, nothing will go wrong," Nijika said, voicing her worry. "But given Bocchi-chan's personality, can she really pull off a solid performance next time?"

"After all, the whole reason she's in the box is because she can't handle being looked at by the audience."

Saku asked, "So, when's your next live?"

"We haven't set a date yet. Not until Kita learns guitar and we write a song."

Nijika couldn't provide a specific time frame.

"Plus, we'll have to see how Bocchi-chan's doing."

"So, your dilemma is how to help Bocchi-chan feel comfortable enough to perform normally next time," Saku summed up.

Nijika's goal was modest. "Or even just get her to perform without the box."

"And why's that?"

"Well, if she's not in the box, even if the performance doesn't go well, the rest of us can share the blame. It wouldn't all fall on her."

"…"

Saku had to admit.

Nijika Ijichi was truly kind-hearted.

She'd thought of everything.

"So, Nijika, why do you care so much about Bocchi-chan?" Saku couldn't help but ask.

Nijika answered simply, "Because I was the one who convinced her to join this band. I need to take responsibility for that."

Scratch that.

Nijika Ijichi was super, super kind-hearted.

"It's just… I really don't know how to help Bocchi-chan right now," Nijika sighed.

"Would you let me help?" Saku asked gently.