Bronze Bullet

One

It smells of petrichor; the smell before it rains. The sky is cast over with grey clouds that are heavy with impending rainfall. It's rained all week, day after day. There hasn't been a rain spell like this since my freshman year of high school. Now I'm a senior, graduating in two weeks with a full-ride scholarship to an American university that years ago I could only dream of receiving.

Which just so happens to be why my parents surprised me with tickets to my favorite band, Bronze Bullet. They're ecstatic to not be responsible for paying for my move to the States, because what good is an inheritance if you have to spend it once it hits your account, right?

Here I stand, before the large arena, clutching my V.I.P ticket nervously, as if the wind would grasp it from my hold should I loosen my grip any. The line to enter the arena spans several blocks. I was lucky to have gotten out of school early, courtesy of my parents, and have been in this line for a bit less than an hour now. I can feel butterflies in my stomach as I near the entrance of the arena. I walk up to the gate, am patted down for the umpteenth time since I've arrived here, and allowed to pass.

I approach the ticket booth with tentative steps, this process of going to a concert being foreign to me. I've researched until I couldn't anymore. I've tried to prepare myself for the unexpected, but I certainly didn't expect to get to see the members of Bronze Bullet walking around getting food.

"Excuse me? Your ticket?"

The woman at the ticket booth repeats and I clear my throat and hand her the slightly crumpled and rather damp ticket I've been holding onto for dear life. She scans my ticket and directs me to stand in front of the camera. I am unsure whether to smile or not, but when I see an emoji on the screen, I flash a large smile and hear the camera flicker.

"Here is your identification tag, and your food wristband. This is a fast pass, so you can skip to the front of any line if you wish,"

I am told and nod with understanding as I pull the lanyard over my head and bow.

"Thank you,"

I say and glance around before looking at the woman again, opening my mouth to talk, but she beats me to it.

"You can find your seat now, or I recommend getting food before the lines become extremely long."

She smiles at me and I nod before thanking her again and making my way to grab something to eat. I notice that the band is gone, but my hunger doesn't allow me to be upset about it for long. My eyes fall upon a soft pretzel stand and the aromas flood my nose as I approach it. I step into the line, bubbling with the anticipation of warm pretzel bites against my taste buds. As I wait with a smile across my face, there is a light tap on my shoulder that startles me from my daze. I turn around and look in the eyes of the person who's tapped me with a kind smile to mute my confusion. The person greets me with a smile, and introduces himself to me.

"Shiba Hakkai, it's a pleasure to meet you,"

Is what he says as he holds out a hand for me to shake, which I do. I'm unsure why he's approached me, why he even felt inclined to. However, his next statement pulls it together.

"I apologize for the sudden approach, I just happened to spot you while you were in line and I must say, you have really striking features that deserve to be seen. Have you ever considered modeling?"

I felt like he was familiar, no wonder. Hakkai Shiba, one of Japan's youngest top models. His hair color and style makes him stand out like no other model in the industry. To think that he's suggesting modeling to me? This is bound to be a day full of surprises.