My Love Simulation with Them-Chapter 230: As Compensation—Kiss Me

The entry conditions for the Teen Music Fest were actually pretty simple.

Basically, if you kept up regular performances at venues and had decent skills, plus posted content consistently online, reaching 1,000 followers wasn't hard.

For an average band, with frequent uploads, it would take just three or four months to hit that number.

The problem was—

"Our Kessoku Band SNS account has never properly posted a performance video!!"

Nijika Ijichi, practically in tears, held up her phone and pointed at the band's social media page.

Since Ikuyo Kita, the group's resident "normie" was in charge of the account, it was filled with posts like "Went to this café today, had this for lunch!" and "Tried this makeup today, feeling cute!".

Basically, she'd been running it like a food and beauty blog, not a music account.

No music videos. Zero.

They'd been performing at STARRY for over six months, yet their follower count was a pitiful 50–60 people.

And most of those were probably just Kita's friends—hardly real fans.

"Uh..."

Hearing Nijika's accusation, Ikuyo looked embarrassed.

"Sorry, I thought since it's social media and my friends kept liking my posts, I just... got carried away posting stuff like I usually do..."

This damn normie!

Hearing "I have a lot of friends" made not only Ryo Yamada and Hitori Gotoh, but even Nijika, all stare daggers at her.

Still, venting at Kita wouldn't solve anything.

The SNS account was shared, and any band member could post as they pleased.

But—

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"1,000 followers..." Nijika sighed, chin in hand.

The demo submission deadline was in seven days.

Even if they posted daily rehearsal clips, it'd be impossible to jump from 60 to 1,000 in a week.

"What should we do...?"

This music fest was the perfect chance for them to test their growth.

Nijika didn't want to miss it.

But 1,000 followers loomed like a massive wall in front of them.

She was stuck.

Just then—

"Nijika."

Ryo Yamada, silent until now, waved her over.

She glanced around, then showed her phone.

"Look, you can buy 1,000 followers for 50,000 yen. Not a bad deal if we're aiming for that 1 million yen prize, right?"

"..." Nijika.

Her understanding of Ryo's shamelessness deepened again.

As they argued, on the other side, "Umm... Minami, if I shared my Guitar Hero account... we could meet the entry requirements, right?"

Hitori Gotoh shyly approached Minami, voicing her thoughts.

Since the school festival, she had been consistently uploading videos.

Now that her social anxiety was easing, her solo skills had improved, and her follower count had skyrocketed—over 100,000 now.

(Original source mentions Gotoh's fanbase as "two Tokyo Domes," about 100k people.)

That's top-tier even by Japan's standards.

Minami even felt like Hitori's guitar skill was approaching level 4.

But her lingering anxiety held her back.

Back to the point, "If you shared your Guitar Hero account, we'd easily meet the 1,000-follower requirement," Minami replied.

"But weren't you worried that if your identity was exposed, the others would feel distance or resentment?"

He knew why she'd kept it secret.

Guitar Hero's fame would feel too distant from Kessoku Band's current status.

Revealing it could make the others feel inferior or isolated.

This was exactly why Hitori Gotoh had always been reluctant to reveal her identity.

"But... if we don't have 1,000 followers, we can't enter the contest..."

Hitori hesitated, caught in a bind.

She really didn't want to expose her identity now, but she also didn't want to miss this chance to compete.

The conflict left her visibly torn.

Understanding her struggle, Minami Shouji sank into thought.

As Hitori had said, this opportunity was rare.

A competition strictly for those aged 10 to 20, a chance for Kessoku Band to sharpen their skills among their peers, it was a big deal.

To give it up over follower count... would be a huge waste.

But they couldn't exactly follow Ryo's idea and buy 1,000 bot followers for 50,000 yen, could they?

That was just...

Minami frowned, trying to come up with a better plan.

And before he could—

A soft voice cut in:

"Actually, Kessoku Band's 1,000 followers problem? Minami-kun solved it ages ago."

"Huh?"

Not just Minami—everyone turned to look at PA-san, eyes wide.

What did she mean?

Amused by their confusion, PA-san smiled and explained, "Minami-kun, don't you remember? You and Nijika-chan asked me for access to Kessoku Band's YouTube account a while back."

YouTube—the world's largest video platform.

Of course, Kessoku Band didn't only have accounts on domestic Japanese SNS—they had Twitter and YouTube too.

Back when Minami first joined Kessoku Band, strapped for cash and armed with his "Regrets of Life" guitar and Lv3 music talent, he'd tried to earn money through music videos.

He even borrowed Seika Ijichi's amp and effects pedals to perform outdoors, with PA-san helping him film short clips.

One of those songs?

Their future hit from the simulation—"I Don't Want to Die in Loneliness."

During that time, Minami also met Chisato Nishikigi and Takina Inoue.

Later, when Nijika asked him to join as a "support member," he requested access to Kessoku Band's YouTube account to upload 2-3 outdoor performance videos.

But after simulating Chisato and Takina's routes, and unlocking Cooking (Happiness) Lv4, he made money far faster through his cooking skills.

So he simply stopped uploading to the channel—too busy with life.

"...Could it be those old videos?" Minami looked at PA-san.

"Exactly." PA-san grinned, holding up a finger. "Nijika-chan, go check the channel. I think you'll be very surprised."

They didn't need more prompting.

Nijika and the others, already suspecting something, pulled up the Kessoku Band YouTube page.

Then—

"Si—sixty thousand followers?!"

Eyes wide, jaws dropped.

The account—under the name "Kessoku Band"—had 60,000 subscribers.

Even more shocking—the views.

Each video had over 100,000 views!

"This is insane..."

Ikuyo Kita stared at the screen, muttering in disbelief.

And honestly, who could blame her?

YouTube followers are usually legit—not inflated by bots or spam.

Sure, Hitori Gotoh's Guitar Hero account still outmatched it.

But 60,000 followers was still a massive number for a youth band.

Most young bands only had 10–40k subscribers at best.

And with only 2 or 3 videos, all from Minami's outdoor performances...

He alone had pulled in 60k subs.

Comparable bands had to upload dozens, if not hundreds, of videos to reach that level.

Minami was a follower magnet, no matter the platform.

"Whoa—look at the comments."

Ryo, still expressionless, made a rare comment.

Everyone glanced at the comments section.

Top comment:

"It's been 5 months with no uploads. Did you disappear?"

"No matter the rhythm or technique, it's top-tier—and the song itself is amazing... Kessoku Band? Anyone heard of them before?"

"Not really. But this guy is ridiculously good-looking! The song is so good too. Does he usually perform in Shimokitazawa? I live nearby, I should go check it out."

"They call it a band, but it's just one guy? Where are the others? Whatever, he's seriously handsome."

"..."

The comment section was practically overflowing with praise and confusion—everyone wondering why the account had been inactive for so long.

Some even suspected the uploader paid for fake engagement to hype up the videos.

"Looks like no one really knows about our Kessoku Band... they're all just here to see more of Minami-kun," Nijika sighed, a helpless smile on her face as she spoke to Ikuyo Kita.

Aside from normal comments, some hardcore fans were completely losing it in the replies.

"AAAAHHH! Husband!! It's my husband!! So handsome!!"

"Watched it twice again! Husband's too hot! His hands are so pale, and he looks muscular too!"

"Watched it ten times! Who wants to go stalk Shimokitazawa with me?"

"Just bought a hidden camera online. Time to tail the Shimokitazawa Guitar Boy!"

...

"That's terrifying!"

Seeing such unhinged, borderline obsessive comments, not only Nijika but even Hitori felt chills run down their spines.

Ikuyo Kita turned to Minami, seriously begging him never to show his face online again—for fear of real stalkers.

Japan's a small country, with very accessible transit. It wasn't far-fetched that someone would track him to Shimokitazawa—it happened in showbiz all the time.

As they fretted over how disturbing these fans were—

Ryo Yamada silently raised her phone and started replying to comments.

Lone Bass Freak: "None of you psychos better lay a hand on him. He's mine."

Lone Bass Freak: "You creeps, stop polluting his comments with your filth."

Lone Bass Freak: "Blocked."

"...This one's scary too." Nijika's mouth twitched as she watched Ryo's pale fingers fly over her phone screen.

For a moment, she didn't even know what to say.

Still, ignoring the bizarre comments, there were some serious music fans too:

"I love I Don't Want to Die Loneliness. It feels like walking under Tokyo's neon lights, midnight air wrapping you in a bittersweet breeze. The city's brilliance means nothing to me—I'm just drifting alone."

"Listening to this feels like sinking into an ocean of loneliness. The first half suffocates you, like drowning in silence. But the second half surges with passion, like suddenly realizing you're still alive. Life's like that, I guess. Full of ups and downs—rarely smooth sailing."

...

"Minami-kun really is something else..." Nijika murmured, reading the comments.

Just one person, and he could command this much attention online.

60,000 followers...

How long would it take Kessoku Band to reach that?

Especially when Minami hadn't even tried to grow the account.

Was this the difference between genius and normal people?

For some reason, Nijika and Ikuyo both felt a sense of loss.

A deep, sobering realization of just how far apart they were from Minami.

The room's atmosphere grew heavy with that thought.

Minami immediately noticed.

He shook his head, trying to ease the mood.

"It's not that big a deal."

Really—it wasn't.

His popularity came from a combination of factors: the song I Don't Want to Die Loneliness and his "Regrets of Life" guitar.

The song, created in the peak era of Kessoku Band (according to the simulation), was Hitori Gotoh's heartfelt confession—a deep, relatable anthem about anxiety and insecurity that resonated with many.

And the guitar's unique quality amplified that emotional connection.

With decent technique and good looks, everything just clicked.

But Kessoku Band was different.

Minami turned to Nijika.

In the simulation, Kessoku Band was Japan's #1 rock band.

Let's not even talk about Ryo Yamada, hailed as the Ice Queen of Bass, or Hitori Gotoh, the Guitar Goddess.

Even Nijika, the drummer, and Ikuyo Kita, the vocalist, had massive fanbases in their prime.

They weren't just popular—they defined an era of Japanese rock.

They were the number one band in Japan.

So—

"Focusing on follower count right now is meaningless."

Minami looked calmly at Nijika. "You're all going to get even better."

"..." Kessoku Band fell silent.

Minami's voice was soft and composed.

But the absolute confidence in his words wasn't lost on them—it echoed clearly in their hearts.

What could they even say...

The girls exchanged glances, then instinctively lowered their eyes. Even the usually unruly Ryo looked away, her face stiff with embarrassment.

Being trusted this much by Minami—it felt good, but also made them feel a little... flustered.

Minami didn't press them.

Seeing the mood lighten, he continued, "So, now that Kessoku Band's 1,000-follower goal is sorted, we've got no issues entering the Teen Music Fest, right?"

"But... isn't that your account, Minami-kun?"

Nijika raised her hand.

She really wanted to join the contest—but the YouTube channel was practically Minami's personal account. They'd never managed it or posted to it.

Only his videos were on there.

Just taking it didn't feel right.

But Minami had already anticipated her hesitation.

"Nijika, don't forget—I'm a support member of Kessoku Band, right? That makes me part of the team. Managing the channel's no big deal."

It was a stretch, sure.

Support members weren't exactly official.

But to the girls, Minami had long become irreplaceable.

If he was offering—they couldn't refuse.

Nijika, ever warm and kind-hearted, didn't argue further.

"Alright... if you say so. But..."

"No buts." Minami chuckled and cut her off. "If you feel that bad about it, Nijika, how about you think of a way to compensate me. Hmm... maybe a kiss?"

It was clearly a joke.

They were all here—Kessoku Band, PA-san—no way Nijika would do something that bold.

Minami meant it lightly. Just to move things along.

But then—

His eyes widened.

Nijika clenched her fists.

Made a decision.

And suddenly—stepped forward.

In front of everyone, she pressed her cherry-pink lips to his cheek.

Soft—completely different from Hitori's.

Stunned, Minami stared at her flushed face.

"T-There. That's okay, right? Minami-kun?"

Face burning, Nijika turned on her heel and rushed out of the room, leaving behind...

Ryo, Hitori, Ikuyo, and PA-san, who wore a shocked, curious grin.

All of them stared at Minami.

Silent.

Still—

At this moment, the room. Dead. Silence.