Dear Kujo [Kujo Jotaro]

Chapter 1

Your brow furrowed in frustration, tore yet another sheet of paper from your notebook, crumpling it into a ball before tossing it into the wastebasket beside you. Each discarded lyric and melody fell short of your exacting standards, leaving you feeling more disheartened with each failed attempt.

"Maybe this one will be better," you muttered to yourself, fingers strumming absentmindedly on your guitar as you attempted to conjure up something worthwhile. But as the chords resonated in the room, you winced at the discordant sound, your hopes dashed once again.

You sighed heavily, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose in a futile attempt to ease the tension building behind your eyes. It seemed as though inspiration had deserted you, leaving nothing but frustration in its wake.

Just as you were resigning yourself to another fruitless day, your phone shattered the silence with its insistent ringtone. With a careless motion, you snatched it up, only to be greeted by your manager's irate voice on the other end.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, [Name]? We have a gig tonight at the Velvet Lounge, and you're nowhere near ready!"

You then glanced at the clock, your eyes widening in horror as you took in the time. You were late, dread settling like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach.

Before your manager could continue his tirade, you hastily ended the call, panic driving your to action. With a frantic energy, you leaped from your chair, racing to your closet to grab a suitable outfit for the performance. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a worn band t-shirt, you hastily donned your leather jacket before snatching up your helmet and keys, the urgency of the situation propelling you forward.

Inside the cramped confines of the elevator, you couldn't contain your antsy energy, your fingers fidgeting with your keys as you anxiously waited for the doors to slide open. The seconds dragged on like an eternity, each passing moment adding to your growing sense of urgency.

Finally, with a soft ding, the doors parted, and you burst out into the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest as you dashed towards the exit. As you flew past, you were greeted by the familiar sight of the security guard stationed by the condominium entrance.

Without missing a beat, you offered him a quick salute, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hey there uncle, sorry, gotta run! I'm running late for the gig."

The security guard chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Late again, huh? Well, you better hurry then. Good luck out there kid!"

You flashed him a wide grin. "Thanks, I'll need it!" With that, you darted off towards the parking lot, your mind racing as you searched for your motorcycle amidst the sea of vehicles.

Finally spotting your motorcycle nestled between two cars, you hurriedly made your way towards it. With practiced efficiency, you swung your leg over the seat and inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life beneath you.

With a quick glance at your watch, you realized you were cutting it dangerously close. Ignoring the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach, you revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, the wind whipping against your face as you sped towards your destination.

The streets blurred past in a dizzying whirl as you weaved through traffic, your focus solely on reaching the place in time for your performance. The adrenaline surged through your veins, driving you onwards as you pushed the limits of your motorcycle to the brink.

As you rounded the final corner and pulled up outside the venue, you breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the frantic rush, you had made it with minutes to spare.

Quickly dismounting your motorcycle, you took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your hair and adjusting your jacket before striding confidently towards the entrance. With each step, the anticipation built within you, the excitement of the upcoming performance overriding any lingering doubts.

Pushing open the door, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling venue.

As you approached your bandmates, your heart sank at the sight that greeted you. Elijah, your manager, looked frazzled, his usually composed demeanor replaced by an air of agitation. The rest of the band seemed equally unsettled, some muttering curses under their breath while others frantically scanned the room.

Caught off guard by their tense expressions, you couldn't shake the feeling that somehow you were the cause of their distress. As Elijah spotted you and motioned for you to join them, you reluctantly made your way over, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

Before you could inquire about what was going on, Noah, the bassist, turned to you with a look of excitement. "Hey, [Name]! We're in a bit of a bind here. Our vocalist just cancelled last minute, and we're supposed to go on in less than an hour."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you processed his words. "Wait, what do you mean the vocalist cancelled?" You asked, your mind racing to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

Noah snapped his fingers and pointed at you eagerly. "That's where you come in! You can fill in as the vocalist. We've heard you sing before, and we know you've got the talent to pull it off."

A frown creased your brow as you considered his proposal. "But if I'm doing vocals, then who's going to play the drums?" You pointed out, a note of concern creeping into your voice. The thought of leaving such a crucial role unfilled was enough to make you hesitate.

Your words hung in the air, the tension palpable as the band members exchanged uncertain glances. Finally, Joshua spoke up, his voice tinged with urgency. "Don't worry about the drums. My friend owes me a favor, and he's a decent drummer. He can step in temporarily until we find a permanent solution."

Relief washed over you at the news, grateful that they had found a quick fix for the missing drummer. But before you could voice your agreement, another voice cut in.

"It's settled then," Hendrix declared, his tone decisive. "We don't have time to waste arguing. [Name] is our last resort, but she's also our best chance at salvaging this gig. She's the composer, she knows the lyrics by heart. We'll make it work."