Offstage Secrets: Friendship Route
Friendship Route – Daisuke
Daisuke is the pillar of stability in AHOF. His calm demeanor and level-headed advice make him the person everyone turns to in times of need. No matter how chaotic things get—grueling rehearsals, tight schedules, the occasional creative disagreement—Daisuke remains steady, a quiet anchor for the group.
JL, in particular, finds comfort in Daisuke’s quiet wisdom. Unlike others who offer instant solutions or words of encouragement, Daisuke has a way of making JL think for himself, guiding him toward clarity rather than telling him what to do. They spend hours discussing music, life, and the ever-elusive question of what it means to truly understand oneself.
But even Daisuke isn’t immune to self-doubt.
One night, JL finds him alone in the studio, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen with an intensity that makes it clear he hasn’t moved in a while. The usual calm in his expression is replaced with frustration.
JL leans against the doorframe. “You look like you’re planning world domination.”
Daisuke doesn’t even glance up. “I wish. That’d be easier than this.”
Curious, JL steps closer and peeks at the screen. It’s a track—one Daisuke has been working on for weeks. The project file is a mess of overlapping layers, half-finished melodies, and sounds that don’t quite fit together. JL recognizes the signs immediately.
“You’re overthinking again,” he says.
Daisuke sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I just can’t get it right. Nothing feels… new. Everything I make lately sounds the same, like I’m repeating myself. What if I’ve hit my limit?”
JL blinks. “Wait. You? Daisuke? Mr. ‘Every problem has a solution’?”
Daisuke shoots him a tired look. “Even I don’t have an answer for this one.”
JL thinks for a moment before grabbing his phone and scrolling through his playlists. After a few seconds, he hits play. A ridiculously upbeat, chaotic pop song blasts through the speakers.
Daisuke groans. “What is this?”
“A terrible song,” JL admits. “But guess what? Someone out there had fun making it.” He grins and nudges Daisuke’s chair with his foot. “You’re stuck in your own head. You keep trying to make something perfect instead of just making something.”
Daisuke exhales, rubbing his temples. “You’re saying I should make a bad song?”
“I’m saying you should stop worrying about being a genius for five seconds.” JL gestures at the keyboard. “Come on. Play something weird.”
Daisuke hesitates, then tentatively presses a few keys. The melody is clunky, uneven. JL starts adding random drum beats, completely off-rhythm. For a few minutes, it’s just noise—chaotic, ridiculous noise. But then, something shifts. Daisuke tweaks a note, then another. The sounds start to morph, turning into something interesting.
After a while, he leans back, a small smirk appearing on his face. “Alright. That was terrible.”
JL grins. “Yeah. But you’re thinking less now, right?”
Daisuke shakes his head, but there’s a lightness in his posture that wasn’t there before. “Maybe.” He stretches his arms over his head. “Alright, I’ll take your advice. But if this track ends up being a disaster, I’m blaming you.”
JL laughs. “Deal.”
From that night on, their friendship solidifies—not just through deep conversations, but through unspoken understanding. A bond built on trust, creativity, and the reminder that sometimes, the best way forward is to stop taking things so seriously.
THE END.
