The first time they stepped on a stage bigger than their usual jam space, it felt like everything they had worked for had culminated in that moment. It wasn't the sold-out show at a massive venue yet, but the stage was larger, the lights brighter, and the crowd bigger than anything they had ever imagined. There was a new buzz in the air—electric, vibrating with potential.
Aki stood at the front of the stage, her guitar slung over her shoulder, beaming with excitement.
"This is it! Can you believe this? We're actually here!" Her voice was loud enough to carry over the hum of the soundcheck.
Mika and Kanna were already getting into position, tuning their instruments and running through the setlist. Shino felt herself caught in between the chaos and the silence—surrounded by noise but feeling oddly distant. The band was finally living the dream. Or at least, that's what it was supposed to feel like.
It should have been perfect. This was the kind of moment she had imagined when she had first picked up her guitar. A moment where everything came together, where the crowd roared and the music flowed effortlessly. But instead, there was a knot in Shino's stomach that she couldn't shake.
"Hey, are you okay?" Mika's voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.
Shino blinked and looked over at her bandmate.
"Yeah, just… just thinking."
Mika raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Thinking? That's dangerous before a show."
Shino managed a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I guess I'm just wondering if this is really all it's cracked up to be."
"You mean performing for people who actually want to see us?" Mika snorted.
"I mean, yeah, it's a little terrifying, but come on. We've got this. Look at us."
Shino followed Mika's gaze toward Aki, who was practically buzzing with energy, her fingers dancing across the strings of her guitar. She had always been the face of their group, the one who thrived in the spotlight. The one who wanted it more than anything.
Kanna, ever the calm presence, was quietly adjusting her drum kit. She didn't say much, but Shino could see the same tension in her body language. There was something behind Kanna's steady gaze that made Shino wonder if this moment had affected her the same way.
Before Shino could speak again, Aki jumped in, clapping her hands.
"Alright, let's do this. Time to show them what Lucid Dreams is all about!"
The lights dimmed, and the crowd's energy surged, a palpable wave of noise and expectations crashing over them. Shino felt her heart starting to race. She had done this before—smaller shows, practiced in front of some friends, even jammed in their living room. But this was different. The audience was no longer just a handful of strangers—they were the first step in a long journey toward something bigger. There were real stakes now. Their fans were watching, and more importantly, everyone was waiting for them to be something. Something more than just girls with guitars.
Aki was the first to step forward, her voice confident as she grabbed the mic.
"Let's make this night unforgettable. Lucid Dreams, on stage for the first time."
The crowd erupted in applause. The moment stretched, an electric pause before the first notes rang out. Shino was in sync with her bandmates, and for a moment, everything felt like it should. The music came alive, the sound of their instruments melding together in something raw and real. But then, like a switch, the nervousness returned. It wasn't the performance that made Shino hesitate—it was the overwhelming feeling of being watched. Her mind raced. What if she messes up? What if she couldn't keep up with Aki's energy, with Mika's fluid rhythm, with Kanna's steady precision? What if they expected her to be something she wasn't yet?
Her fingers shook slightly on the neck of her guitar as she played, her heart thudding in her
chest. It was hard to breathe, the lights too hot, the pressure too much.
And then, as if on cue, the sound cut out. A jarring silence fell over the crowd, and Shino's stomach dropped. She looked over at Aki, who was still confidently strumming her guitar, but her face showed the same confusion. The problem wasn't on their end—it was in the sound system. A tech failure.
Aki leaned into the mic, her voice cutting through the silence with practiced ease.
"Don't worry! We're just getting warmed up. We'll be right back."
It wasn't exactly graceful, but it worked. The audience, understanding that it was just some technical issues, clapped and cheered to fill the space, offering their support. Still, Shino couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed. The stage lights were too bright, the crowd's energy too much. She felt like a fraud, standing there in the glare, exposed and vulnerable, pretending to be something she wasn't.
As the sound was quickly restored, they picked up the set again. But the next few minutes felt like a blur. The music came and went, and Shino moved through it mechanically.
She was playing, yes, but she wasn't really there—not fully. There was something hollow in the way she moved, like she was a shadow on stage, not fully inhabiting the space.
When the set ended, the crowd cheered, but Shino couldn't take in the praise. She was too caught in her head. She could hear the comments of others, their excited chatter about the next song, about how well they had done, but the buzz in her own mind drowned them out. All she could hear was the sound of her own doubt.
After the show, as they walked off the stage, Shino remained silent. She wasn't sure what to say. Aki was grinning from ear to ear, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Mika and Kanna exchanged quiet words, too, but Shino couldn't bring herself to join in. The emptiness from the performance lingered, and the harsh lights of reality started creeping back in.
"You did great," Aki said, catching Shino's gaze. "We all did. That was incredible. Did you see their faces? We're going to make it."
Shino nodded, but her smile wasn't really genuine. "Yeah… I guess we did."
Mika, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow. "What's up with you, Shino? You seem kind
of off."
"I don't know," Shino admitted, her voice small. "I just… it didn't feel right. It wasn't the same as when we practice. It's like I was playing but not really playing, you know?"
Aki's expression faltered, just for a second, before she shrugged.
"Hey, it's our first show. You'll get used to it. The nerves, the pressure—it's all a part of it. No one's perfect the first time."
Kanna, who had been unusually quiet, looked at Shino with a softness that only she could convey.
"It's okay to be nervous. The stage is big, and the crowd is loud. But you were with us. You played with us. That's what matters."
But Shino wasn't sure. She didn't feel like she belonged up there—not yet, anyway. Not in the way Aki did, with her unshakable confidence. Not in the way Mika seemed to have a natural flow to everything she played.
And she definitely didn't feel like Kanna, who seemed to take the pressure in stride.
The stage lights had lied to her. They had promised something bright, something bold. But all they revealed was the distance between who she was and who she really wanted to be.