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Chapter 169 – I once thought about ending it all
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 15:00:15 +0000 UTCThe moment Aoki’s fingertips touched the keys, the entire hall seemed to fall into absolute silence.
And then, in the very next instant, every other sound was drowned out by the voice of his keyboard.
With each note, the emotions hidden in I once thought about ending it all burst forth, raw and unrestrained.
The chorus began.
Without hesitation, Aoki sang on.
Almost as if mirroring the song’s title, he repeated that one line for the third time—but this time, the emotion behind it was utterly different.
“I once thought about ending it all!”
[僕が死のうと思ったのは]
“Because my heart… was already empty!”
[心が空っぽになったから]
“The reason I cried from feeling unsatisfied—”
[満たされないと泣いているのは]
“It must have been because deep down, I longed to be fulfilled!”
[きっと満たされたいと願うから]
The keyboard’s notes framed Aoki’s voice, and his voice, in turn, unleashed every drop of emotion buried in the melody.
Below the stage, whether it was Takashi Imai, Yusuke Niijima, or the judges, they were all frozen in place.
The bitter defiance woven into the music—Aoki had captured it perfectly.
Of them all, Takashi Imai heard it most clearly.
Years in the music industry had sharpened his ears beyond doubt.
A seagull in flight, a life yearning for change, peppermint candy, a bicycle…
The song spoke of ending everything, yet every line also revealed the protagonist soaking in the details of life—hesitating, wrestling with themselves.
Imai’s breathing had grown shallow, his heartbeat quick.
All the confidence he had built up earlier? Shattered completely.
He had suspected this might be a masterpiece, but he had never imagined Aoki could take it this far.
A chain of small, ordinary moments—each insignificant on its own—woven together…
Sometimes, when the thought of ending it all drifts into the mind, it isn’t because the day was truly catastrophic.
Maybe the boss yelled at you.
Maybe you tripped on the way to work.
Maybe your lunch had a grain of sand in it.
Or maybe, walking home, you remembered something unpleasant from yesterday.
Each little thing, harmless in isolation, piles up.
With nowhere to vent, with no way to solve them, they slowly eat away at a person’s last scraps of optimism.
When Takashi Imai was young—before fame he, too, had once thought about ending it all.
A father who refused to support his dream, scolding him for even trying.
A mother who never stopped mocking him.
Living alone in Tokyo, working part-time while writing songs, putting them out into the world.
Failure after failure.
Sneers of, “You’re still chasing those unrealistic dreams?”
Yes, there had been a moment back then when he had wanted to end it all.
But he hadn’t. He kept going.
And so now, at thirty-seven, Takashi Imai could resonate deeply with this song.
But he didn’t cry.
Because he knew—
If the song stayed like this, it still wasn’t enough.
The emotion was powerful, yes, but still shaded in pessimism.
It had already reached a level worthy of being sung around the world, but it could be better.
If it stayed like this…
The performance continued.
As the first chorus ended, Aoki drew in a quiet breath.
A momentary pause—then the second verse began.
His voice returned, but now there was a subtle change in the emotion behind it.
The keyboard flowed without a hitch, the vocals carried on, and the guitar, bass, and drums joined in, pushing the song forward.
“I once thought about ending it all.”
[僕が死のうと思ったのは]
“Is because the shoelace got undone “
[靴紐が解けたから]
“I'm not good at connecting things together”
[結びなおすのは苦手なんだよ]
“The bonds between people… were just the same.”
[人との繋がりもまた然り]
“I once thought about ending it all.”
[僕が死のうと思ったのは]
“Is because the boy was gazing at me.”
[少年が僕を見つめていたから]
“And now I kneel on my bed.”
[ベッドの上で土下座してるよ]
“Whispering an apology… to who I used to be—”
[あの日の僕にごめんなさい]
The voice cut off abruptly.
A heartbeat later, the tempo surged forward.
The defiance in Aoki’s voice grew sharper, his hands never leaving the keyboard.
The feeling spilled from the notes and flooded the hall entirely.
Still defiance. Still the shadow of pessimism.
But he pressed on, spitting out each line—
“The dim glow from the computer screen.”
[パソコンの薄明かり]
“The lively noise from the room upstairs.”
[上階の部屋の生活音]
“The ringing of the internal phone.”
[インターフォンのチャイムの音]
“A boy in a birdcage, hands over his ears.”
[耳を塞ぐ鳥かごの少年]
“Fighting an enemy he cannot see.”
[見えない敵と戦ってる]
“A Don Quixote in a six-tatami room.”
[六畳一間のドンキホーテ]
“The goal must be ugly anyway—”
[ゴールはどうせ醜いものさ]
The lyrics felt even heavier now, a chain of suffocating images.
The irritating glow, the grating ring, the boy trapped in his cage… The emotions were spiraling downward.
Then came the second chorus.
But to Imai’s ears, it still hadn’t reached the height he hoped for.
He knew—it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
And yet his heart was pounding harder than ever.
Compared to the rapid-fire verse before, this chorus felt lower, more subdued.
Aoki’s voice softened.
“I once thought about ending it all.”
[僕が死のうと思ったのは]
“Is because they called me cold.”
[冷たい人と言われたから]
“The reason I cried, yearning for love—”
[愛されたいと泣いているのは]
“Was because I had finally tasted human warmth.”
[人の温もりを知ってしまったから]
The volume had dropped.
The intensity had eased.
The defiance from before gave way, little by little, to something more lyrical.
The second chorus ended.
And then—Aoki’s voice stopped again, sharply.
In that instant, the guitar, bass, and drums also fell silent.
On the stage, only Aoki remained, his keyboard the sole voice left to carry the moment.
And perhaps because of that, in this very moment, everyone in the audience could hear the sound of the keyboard more clearly than ever.
Even the sound of breathing felt intrusive, as if it might disrupt the delicate harmony of those notes.
Takashi Imai, who had originally planned to leave early, had completely abandoned the thought.
Right now, all he felt was a powerful urge welling up inside him.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Whether it was the judges, the audience, or even Yusuke Niijima—every single one of them felt that same surge in their hearts.
The chorus just moments ago had been painfully restrained, but somehow they all knew—almost as if they had been told in advance exactly what Aoki was about to sing next.
This was the power of music that resonates with the soul.
After the second chorus ended, the keyboard played alone for a short while. Then, Aoki’s voice returned.
The suffocating tension that had filled the song until now shattered completely.
And the urge in Imai’s heart finally solidified into something tangible.
“I once thought about ending it all.”
[僕が死のうと思ったのは]
“But then you smiled—so brightly.”
[あなたが綺麗に笑うから]
“The reason why I only consider dying”
[死ぬことばかり考えてしまうのは]
Kei sang those lines softly, almost like a whisper, accompanied only by the keyboard.
Then, in the very next instant—
Guitar, bass, and drums crashed in all at once.
Kei’s voice rose sharply in volume, his emotions transforming in a heartbeat.
The entire song, from beginning to end, had been building toward this moment.
All the frustration that had been simmering throughout the piece now burst forth in full force.
“I once thought about ending it all!”
[[僕が死のうと思ったのは!]
“Because back then… I hadn’t met you yet!”
[まだあなたに出会ってなかったから]
“But because someone like you exists in this world…”
[あなたのような人が生まれた]
“I’ve started to like it here, even if only a little.”
[世界を少し好きになったよ]
“Because someone like you exists in this world…”
[あなたのような人が生きてる]
“I’ve started to look forward to it.”
[世界に少し期待するよ]
And then—silence.
The final chorus contained only a few short lines.
Yet those simple words…
Down in the audience, the urge Imai had been holding back erupted completely.
Aoki’s voice and lyrics still echoed in his ears.
Right now, he didn’t know what to think, what to do—his self-confidence had vanished entirely, leaving only awe.
“I guess I was so obsessed with trying to understand myself… because I was taking life too seriously.”
He suddenly remembered those days when he had worked so hard just to keep living.
Yes… thinking about “understanding oneself” had always been because he took life too seriously, too responsibly.
By the time Kei’s singing echoed again in his ears, this 37-year-old man found himself crying openly.
Whether he won or lost no longer mattered in the slightest.
In fact, in this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to take out his phone, post on Twitter, and announce to the world that he had lost to Suki-san—and that he had lost willingly and completely convinced.
But alongside that, another feeling bubbled up inside him—curiosity.
There was no doubt in his mind: this Suki-san, nearly a full generation younger than him, was a genius.
But composing to a set theme isn’t something talent alone can guarantee.
Music requires deep emotional insight to craft the perfect melody and lyrics.
Logically speaking, at eighteen years old, Aoki shouldn’t have experienced the kind of emotions that lead to “wanting to end it all.”
Everyone called him a prodigy, everyone said his life had been smooth and easy…
So how—how could he create a song that resonated so deeply with others?
…
And it wasn’t just Imai who was shaken to the core.
The judges, and even Yusuke Niijima, were equally stunned.
“I once thought about ending it all.” The song fit KL Studio’s anime perfectly.
Niijima suddenly remembered Fireworks.
That was a good song too, but using it for the Fireworks movie had almost felt like a waste.
But this song… This song.
If KL Studio’s painstakingly crafted short animation were paired with this track…
Niijima caught himself thinking something absurd: Does this short film even deserve music this good?
Wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes, Niijima took a deep breath.
No—enough with those stray thoughts.
He was certain now: meeting Aoki-san had been the right choice.
His instincts had been spot on.
Aoki. Suki-san. Kessoku Band…
Given time, they would absolutely reach the very top of Japan’s music scene.
That earlier, fleeting doubt had vanished completely.
Right now, Niijima wanted nothing more than to jump up and shout, “As expected of Kessoku Band!”
On stage, Aoki kept his head lowered over the keyboard after the performance ended.
He didn’t speak right away.
In truth, after pouring himself completely into this song, his emotions were still unsettled.
If you want to move others with music, you first have to move yourself.
He stayed silent for a moment, until a quiet prompt from Nijika behind him brought him back.
Yes—there had been a time when he thought about ending it all.
Life in the orphanage with no future in sight, working hard only to see no reward, day-to-day existence that seemed bleak beyond words.
But just as the lyrics said—
“I once thought about ending it all.”
“But that was because… back then, I hadn’t met you yet.”
Kei took a deep breath, lifted his head, and spoke into the microphone.
“We are Kessoku Band.”
“That was I once thought about ending it all. Thank you.”
