Chapter Text
“STONE AGE!!”
“SENKU!!”
“GEN!!”
“CHROME!!”
“RYUSUI!!”
“UKYO!!”
“STONE AGE!!”
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Their names echoed through the arena, fans yelling, singing, waving handmade flyers — a perfect storm of lights and music. It was the kind of chaos the band had mastered, perfecting it with every concert they performed. Tonight was their biggest show yet: the most songs, the most choreography, the largest audience. But despite the spectacle, something was shifting — quietly, from within.
Whisper all you can, the Echo Rebellion comes to getcha ...
The final verse of Echo Rebellion rang out as the stage lights dimmed. The five members slipped backstage while the crew prepped for the grand finale. The energy in the arena was electric; the fans knew what song was next — and they weren’t hiding their excitement. They screamed louder, waved their signs higher. Long ago this would be something the five would have enjoyed.
Once, the five would have fed off that joy. Tonight, their minds were elsewhere.
“Great job on the last song!” Suika beamed, handing out water bottles. Her voice cut through the tension like a little burst of sunshine. Gen gave her a tired but genuine smile — maybe the only one he could manage tonight. She was probably the one person he could smile at. He hasn’t spoken to Senku since their last fight. And it weighed on him more than he cared to admit. Gen wished their honeymoon phase didn’t disappear as soon as it started.
“We got five interviews after.” Minami revealed. Ukyo turned her out. He was tired of interviews, and answered the same questions again and again. Couldn’t they just relax — like they used to?
“Yuzuriha help here!” Chrome called her. He had torn his shirt but thankfully, Yuzuriha fixed it quickly and efficiently, like always. Every crew member rushes to get the stage and the band members ready for the grand finale. Everyone was stressed but tonight it was a different type of stress.
“We can’t make more changes!” Nikki argued.
“Come on, this’ll make it 10 billion percent more exhilarating.” Senku always wanted to make last-minute changes. Nikki couldn’t take it anymore. As the sound engineer, she knew very well there was no time. But Senku didn’t care.
Senku adjusted his earpiece, eyes distant, his mind anywhere but here. On the other side of the room, Gen drummed his fingers nervously against his green bracelet, stealing glances in Senku’s direction — though he didn’t expect him to look back. Not tonight. He and Senku had a tradition: drinking a bottle of cola before the grand finale. People thought it was stupid — but for them, it was something special. A ritual that made their bond stronger. Something they did at every concert, even before becoming partners.
But could a ritual fix what was broken? After all the chaos in the media… after what he did.
Could Senku forgive him?
“Can we pretend nothing happened?” Gen thought. He didn’t want to play that kind of mind games. He doesn’t want to lose the first person that saw through his games and tricks but maybe it's too late for that.
The room got even more chaotic, the crew members were preparing the final touches for the grand finale. Ukyo paced the edge of the room, his hands buried in the pockets of his loose jacket. Ryusui had told him to meet him there because he had something important to tell Ukyo but he never kept his promise. Instead Ryusui, as always, stood in the center of the room, confident and radiant, phone pressed to his ear, securing another deal. Ukyo watched him from behind.
Fame first. Everything else after. Something Ukyo knew that far too well. After all, it is the reason for him not to confess, the reason for him to hide his feelings for Ryusui. Because even if they became more than friends, Ryusui would leave Ukyo secondary and focus on fame. It had happened before, every time Ukyo was interrupted by a ringing phone and Ryusui always answered, leaving him behind.
Truly, what could he have expected from Ryusui this time? That he’d silence his phone? That he’d ignored the calls and paid attention to him? Still, Ukyo hoped this time would be different.
Can he still trust Ryusui? Even if Ryusui had told him exactly what he wanted to hear? Can he believe it?
How long he kept living in second place watching how fame stole Ryusui’s attention… from him.
“When would I… be a priority to you?” He thought, still watching Ryusui from behind. He tried to convince himself yet once more. “He still cares, right? He won’t leave me waiting again.” But hope won’t last forever.
As all this unfolded. Chrome watched them all from the sideline, heart sinking.
“Can I even fix this?” He had always been the one to keep peace inside the band, but now there’s nothing he could do. They hadn’t used to fight like this. But fame and time changed people for better or worse. The tension between them was more present than ever and Chrome didn't know how to fix it.
“No long faces! It's the grand finale!!” Kohaku shouted, trying to lift their spirits.
Chrome remembered how small they used to be. How they made each of their friends a member of the crew. How they used to enjoy each rehearsal. Back then, Chrome felt an electric, warm energy between them — a connection. But now, it was bitter. Cold. Annoying. Strange. Like he didn't know them anymore. Like they weren’t in sync anymore.
He had spent years calling them his family. Now, they felt like five strangers wearing the same uniform.
“Thirty seconds,” their manager, Francois, called.
“Senku-Chan let 's—“ Gen approached with two bottles of cola in hand.
Senku exhaled sharply. “Let’s just get this over with.” He walks away.
Gen’s chest tightened, his expression fell. “That’s all I am to you now? Something to ‘get over with’?” He left the two bottles of cola on the table — unopened. Untouched.
Ryusui finished his phone call. He met Ukyo half way to the backstage exit. Ukyo opened his mouth, finally ready to speak — But Ryusui walked right past him, ignoring him completely.
“He won’t even give me a chance to talk, huh?” At that moment, Ukyo finally accepted what he didn't want to admit.
“I waited for you… again” A small tear traveled down Ukyo’s cheek.
“Let’s go, gentlemen,” Ryusui grinned, oblivious to the tension. Too focused on fame to notice he’d broken yet another promise.
“Time to make history.” Ryusui snapped his fingers.
“Time to break apart.” Ukyo thought bitterly.
The five members grabbed their corresponding flag and made their way to the stage. It was time for the grand finale. Time to make history — But not the time to solve what was broken.
The lights rose. The crowd screamed. The stage erupted in color. Five silhouettes appeared against a backdrop of fire and sound — together in front of thousands, yet farther apart than ever before.
Banners of fictional nations unfurled above them, each symbol and flag tailored to represent their unique styles.
Sensō o sengen suru! We declare war! They shouted in unison. The final song — the grand finale — had begun. Senjō e yōkoso!
The music, the props, the choreography were none other than from their most iconic hit: Declaration of War. Better known as the song that has everything — a blend of Japanese and English lyrics, fast lines, quiet lines, rap battle, complex choreography, and more.
Keisan zumi da. Senku waved his flag and led the opening verse — voice sharp, precise, powerful — but he never once glanced at Gen during their shared lines. Not even a little. Gen noticed he had altered one step in the choreography … Was Senku avoiding him?
Tell me, can you see the truth? Gen’s voice was steady and his moves controlled, but his expression flickered every time his and Senku’s hands brushed in the choreography. They were supposed to lock eyes. They didn’t. Back then, Senku would give him a small but sincere smile — the kind that made Gen blush. There were no smiles. No blushes this time.
This is a declaration — war begins now! The chorus hit hard. It felt real. Like a real war. Like they meant every word.
Moero! Moero! Flames in my blood, fire in my soul. Chrome poured all his energy into his part, but even the crowd’s cheers couldn’t drown out the coldness between his friends. Maybe this is something he couldn’t fix.
I hit the target, silent night. Ukyo’s part came. His voice was calm as always but his eyes betrayed him — tears had fallen.
Tomi mo meisei mo, subete ore no mono da! Ryusui delivered a dazzling performance, as expected — or so they thought. He knew he’d skipped a few parts. He couldn’t meet Ukyo’s eyes. Not now.
You can’t fight what you can’t survive. Chrome came to the front.
Calm like the sea, but sharper than steel. Ukyo followed.
The stage shifted to give place to an intense rap battle between Chrome and Ukyo. It was electric — fast, aggressive, almost violent. It felt like a real fight.
When Ryusui and Ukyo had their joint verse, Ukyo skipped the planned hand-off and danced out of sync. Ryusui didn’t notice — or pretended not to.
Our voices rise, we all belong! For the final chorus they stood side by side, but the space between them felt like a battlefield.
The last note and final drumbeat echoed through the arena. They turned their backs to the roaring crowd and walked offstage. Another successful concert — but with more cracks left unsolved.
The final note of Declaration of War still vibrated in their chests as they stepped backstage. Sweat clung to their skins. The fans’ cheers became a distant, muffled hum as the door to the backstage slammed shut behind them. Their manager and crew congratulated them but the five hadn’t said a word. The crew gave them some space.
For a few agonizing seconds, no one said a word. The tension between them grew even more. The atmosphere felt off. Wrong. Lost. After the awkward silence, Ryusui snapped — voice sharp and cutting through the tension.
“You didn’t follow the choreography, Senku.”
“So what? The crowd loved it.” Senku ripped out his earpiece, not even looking at him.
“That’s not the point.” Ryusui’s voice rose. “We had a plan. You broke formation. You always do what you want, and we just have to adjust." It wasn’t the first time Senku had made last-minute decisions without warning before.
“Maybe if the choreography didn’t waste time in useless flash, I wouldn’t have to fix it on the fly.” Senku shot back. Gen, Chrome and Ukyo stayed silent.
“Useless flash?” Ryusui’s eyes flared. His voice changed. “You think I spent weeks designing that for nothing? Maybe if you actually cared about the group instead of just playing genius, we’d be solid” He stepped closer to Senku.
“Says the one who’s more focused on fame.” Ukyo thought. He wanted to say it aloud. He didn’t.
“Oh please,” Senku scoffed, finally turning to face him. “This isn’t about the choreography. This is about you needing control.”
“Guys that’s enough.” Chrome stepped in, placing a hand on Senku's shoulder. This can be fixed. They just needed to talk. “Let’s talk this out.”
“Chrome-chan is right, let’s calm—” Gen stepped between Senku and Ryusui, trying to ease the tension. Ukyo watched from afar but no word was spoken yet.
“And you!” Ryusui’s finger shot towards Gen. “You blew this whole thing up the moment you sold your relationship to the press!”
“I didn’t—” Gen’s breath caught. Not knowing how to respond or if there was a correct answer.
“You didn’t what? Think? Or care?” Ryusui snarled. “You lit the fuse and now we’re all burning for it.”
“How ironic.” Ukyo thought. How ironic — coming from someone who would’ve done the exact same. He started to get annoyed because they weren’t focussed in the real issue.
“Leave him out of this.” Senku shoved Gen behind him and stepped toward Ryusui. Gen blinked in surprise by Senku’s attitude. Maybe Senku did still care.
“Oh, so you can drag us down but he’s off-limits? I didn’t know our leader had his favorites.” Ryusui barked a bitter laugh. Chrome tried again to intervene, but no one listened.
“I can fix it. There must be a way.” Chrome thought. But he was running out of ideas to try to solve what’s broken. “
Why are we even pretending this is about the choreography?” Ukyo, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke, voice cold. Everyone froze as a result of the sudden action. “None of us trust each other anymore.” His words hit like a slap because they were true. The truth they didn’t wanted to admit.
“Especially you,” Ukyo turned to Ryusui, eyes sharp as glass. “You’d rather answer your phone than face what’s in front of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryusui challenged.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Ukyo hissed, finally letting years of buried resentment surface. “There’s always a more important call. A more important stage. I’m tired of being in second place.” … “Tired of waiting for you” He thought.
Ryusui opened his mouth but no defense came out. He had been too focussed on fame to realize all the pain he had caused Ukyo. The pain he couldn’t erase … with a snap of his fingers.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but we should attend the interviews as scheduled.” Francois entered, unaware of what had unfolded.
“Francois, canceled them,” Ukyo said, turning to face their manager. “We won’t be doing interviews tonight.” How long had he wanted to say that? Say no to interviews.
“Understood Ukyo-sama.” Fortunately, Francois was someone who didn't ask much. A quick text to Minami would do the work. They pretended to leave the room but stayed nearby. Francois wasn’t like other managers — they actually cared about the band's physical and mental health. And fame without balance could ruin anyone. After all, they were still young and it is very complicated to have a healthy relationship with fame.
“Guys, please— we can fix this —” Chrome’s voice cracked as he tried to stop the collapse.
“No.” Senku said, his voice suddenly flat. Tired. Final. “We can't.”
His gaze swept over all of them — Gen’s trembling hands, Ukyo’s burning frustration, Chrome’s despair-filled eyes, Ryusui’s furious silence.
“We were good,” Senku said quietly, walking toward the door. “But we were never going to last.”
“Senku-chan, wait —” Gen reached out, desperation lacing his voice.
“You told the world about us, Gen. I let it slide. I thought I could handle it. But I can’t — not when I can’t even hold your hand without becoming someone else’s headline.” He paused, his eyes finally meeting Gen’s.
“You took the one thing that was mine.”
Senku's words froze him in place. Gen’s throat went dry. He wanted to say he didn’t mean to, that he just wanted to be honest about them, that he thought it was the right thing. But Senku was already gone.
The silence was suffocating. Senku didn’t look back as he left. Ukyo followed, his steps echoing behind Senku.
“Wait— Ukyo—” Ukyo stopped and turned as Ryusui called. But then, Ryusui’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Go ahead,” Ukyo said coldly, his eyes sharp as glass. “Answer it. That’s the one thing you never forget to do.” And with that, Ukyo was gone. Ryusui stared at his phone… and for the first time, he didn’t answer. Instead, he left it on a table and chased after him.
Gen, regaining his senses, ran after Senku. Surely those couldn’t be the only words between them tonight — not after everything.
And just like that, Chrome was left alone.
“Tea, Chrome-sama?” Francois appeared beside him, holding a warm cup.
“No thanks, Francois.” Chrome sank to the couch, hands gripping his hair. “This isn’t how we were supposed to end.” Francois said nothing. They just listened.
The stadium lights dimmed.
The echoes of the fans faded.
And just like that…
They were no longer a band.
And so began the years of silence.
But none of them had really let go.
That was the last time they stood on stage together…
Until now.