Karamatsu slides in, dressed in blue and white, sleeves rolled back near his elbows, sunglasses indoors. As if we expected anything less. He’s already smiling as he pulls up his headphones, covered in various fruits and large fan-like pieces of pineapple atop a shredded coconut base.

“Well, well, well! My Karamatsu girls, boys, and various nonbinary individuals are more than a little eager today! My day has barely begun, yet I already have…” he does a quick count, glasses slipping down to show his eyes wide in pleased surprise, “twelve asks! Already?!” Let’s push those glasses back up.

He leans back in his chair, one hand over his forehead. And one foot out and pointed. “My heart is already melting, and it isn’t simply due to this scorching summer heat. Despite its liquid state, your kindness makes it feel as light and buoyant as, well…” smooth segue, “the carbonation in this Canta, perhaps?”

He stands up just to give a grandiose bow. “Today, I vow to return your affections as best I can, and to bare my soul to you in song! With the blessing your adoration gives me every last moment, I declare this livestream officially started, with a tune that I dedicate to all of my beloved fans: Kishidan’s Koibito!“

It’s corny. It’s melodramatic. It lays on the cheese ten feet thick, and Karamatsu is giving it everything he has.

The beach is the best place to be in summer, but the heat today is nothing short of oppressive. People are curled up under beach umbrellas, fans are being waved incessantly, the ocean feels just too far away, and– gasp! Their drinks have all gone dry. As someone’s last desperate search of their cooler comes up empty, something cold touches their cheek.

“Now, now, no need to worry!” The camera pans up, and there stands Karamatsu, completely and utterly shameless in ridiculously tiny jorts and a tank top emblazoned with a large, curled, sparkly K, Canta in hand. “I’ll be taking good care of you.”

Every person on the beach is delivered a bottle with as much drama as he deems fit… which is all of it. One presented like a trophy, podium and everything. Another on bended knee, a rose tucked into the label. He’s on his back, one leg in the air, the bottle resting on the sole of his shoe. (Karamatsu is a quality table, apparently.)

The sun seems less orange and heavy, and the beach is lit bright white as the ocean regains its color, the people swimming, breaking out the beach balls, making sandcastles.

He stands by the gates, looking out tearfully. “It looks like they don’t need me anymore. Keep me in your hearts!” He turns, somehow instantly obtaining his guitar and playing a dramatic flourish to punctuate his exit.

“Blue Hawaii flavor, to cool a burning heart!” He’s providing his own accompaniment this time. His guitar playing has gotten much better over time, it seems! “Sing a song for Canta!”