This is an early hinge-point.
Not because anything explodes — but because a different logic quietly takes hold.
From here on, the book pays close attention to who listens, who adapts, and who insists on being heard.
The Tokyo Dome was enormous from the outside.
Inside, it was something else entirely.
“Oh my God,” Lucas said quietly. “Have we ordered enough lights?”
Eckhart nodded. “I asked what the last big act ran. They said BlackPink.”
Clare was already checking. “K-pop. Black rig. Pink lighting.”
Lucas considered it. “If it’s mapped, it’s mapped. Change the colours, keep the structure.”
A technician approached—tall, sharp-featured, long black hair pulled back. He moved like the room belonged to him.
“I’m Rishi,” he said, bowing slightly. “You want to adapt the BlackPink rig?”
“Yes,” Lucas said. “Is that a problem?”
Rishi smiled. “Not at all. Everything here already talks to everything else. Once you’re in the Dome system, it’s very fast.”
That sentence alone settled Lucas.
“Can we pull the pink back?”
“You can do whatever you like,” Rishi said. “You’re the support? I’ll put you on a separate lighting universe. Same house rig. Cleaner.”
Erebus arrived mid-conversation.
Rishi excused himself immediately. “I’ll check their requirements.”
As he walked away, Christina noticed two things at once: that he moved with quiet authority—and that he didn’t look back.
The stage was already loaded.
High-end touring gear. Proper stacks. Everything pre-wired onto a movable platform.
Lucas exhaled. “This is… generous.”
“I ticked the quality options,” Eckhart said.
“It was the right call.”
Wireless systems snapped online. Foldback came alive.
“Plug into the spiders,” Rishi called from the edge of the stage. A ripple of light moved across the Dome.
“You’re hot,” he said. “Automatic lights. Play something.”
Nate hit the opening notes of Remember Me.
Eight notes.
The sound filled the Dome and came back at them—vast, physical. The lights answered in time.
Alex actually gasped.
“This is insane,” Ellie said, laughing as the keys came in.
Christina stepped to the mic. “Hey DJ?”
They ran it once. Then again. Confidence climbing with every bar.
Rishi watched, arms folded. Not impressed—pleased.
“You suit this room,” he said. “We hear everything here. Not all of it works.”
“Come with me,” Rishi said to Clare.
Behind the stage: a warehouse of boxes.
“We over-ordered for BlackPink,” he said. “Merch. Mallets.”
He opened one. Black handle. Pink heart head. It lit when he tapped it.
“They’re unbranded,” he added. “If you sell them tonight, it clears space. And it’ll look good.”
“Split?” Clare asked.
“Seventy–thirty.”
She shook her head.
“Sixty–forty,” he said. “Please.”
“Done.”
They shook.
Back on the floor, Erebus were deep in negotiation—control systems, custom hangs, rigging delays.
Christina clocked the difference instantly.
Erebus argued.
Her band adjusted.
Rishi returned with calm explanations. Erebus pushed back. Gantries came down. Time stretched.
“Don’t worry about the support,” Rishi said. “They’re isolated. Different universe.”
“Different planet,” someone muttered as Christina’s band left the stage.
Irina appeared beside them. “Sushi?”
Everyone nodded.
Across the street, Erebus were still re-rigging.
