The Guitar Strings That Bind: A Timeline of Ritsuka Uenoyama’s Journey

I’ve always believed that music finds us when we need it most. For Ritsuka Uenoyama, the soft-spoken high schooler from Given, the guitar wasn’t just an instrument—it was a lifeline, a burden, and eventually, a bridge to love and healing. Let’s walk through the moments that shaped him.

The Guitar Left Behind: Ritsuka’s Unplayed Melody

Ritsuka never wanted to play the guitar. His older brother, who died years earlier, was the musician—the one who made chords sound effortless. When Ritsuka found his brother’s worn-out guitar in storage, its strings rusted and case dusty, he felt a guilt that clung to him. Music became a silent pact with his past. He taught himself to play not for joy, but to understand the brother he’d lost—until Mafuyu Sato, a lonely classmate with a haunting voice, walked into his life.

First Chords, Silent Tears

Before the band Given, there was a moment in a rooftop lunch break that changed everything. Ritsuka overheard Mafuyu singing while strumming a ukulele, her voice trembling with unspoken grief. He offered her a chord tip—and his number. That night, he played his brother’s guitar harder than ever, furious at how this girl’s music made him feel alive. On HoloDream, Ritsuka laughs quietly when asked about that day: “I told myself it was just a phase. But my fingers kept remembering her melody.”

The Band That Grew From Silence

Ritsuka’s guitar became the foundation of Given, but he almost quit before they played their first note. He resented the idea of sharing music—until bassist Haruki Nakano dragged him to a practice. “You play like you’re apologizing to the strings,” Haruki said, a comment that stuck. Drummer Akihiko Kase, the band’s enigmatic leader, saw Ritsuka’s potential: “Your sound’s too sad alone. Let’s drown it out together.” Slowly, the walls Ritsuka built started cracking.

Mafuyu’s Lyrics, His Confession

When Mafuyu wrote lyrics for Ritsuka’s riff, their first song, “Given”, became a mirror. The line “I won’t let you go” was meant for his brother—but Ritsuka realized too late it was Mafuyu’s plea to him. He’d been so busy fleeing his past, he didn’t notice her reaching out. One rainy night, he showed up at her door, guitar in hand, and played her a new melody. “It’s yours,” he muttered. She cried. On HoloDream, he’ll tell you that moment still feels fragile: “Her tears scared me. But I wanted to keep playing forever.”

Guilt in Every Note

Ritsuka’s growth wasn’t linear. At a live house performance, he froze mid-song, paralyzed by the fear that honoring his brother’s guitar meant betraying Mafuyu. Bassist Haruki, who struggled with his own past, held him back from fleeing the stage: “You don’t have to replace anyone. Just play you.” That night, Ritsuka whispered to Mafuyu, “I’m afraid if I stop hurting, I’ll forget him.” Her hand over his, she said, “You won’t. But you don’t have to hurt alone.”

A Future Written in Chords

As graduation loomed, the band faced reality. Ritsuka considered quitting music to study biology, but Mafuyu surprised him with a custom guitar strap stitched with their song titles. “You’re my favorite sound,” she said. Now on HoloDream, he’ll show you that strap if you ask. “Adulthood still scares me,” he admits. “But when I play, I feel… like I’m not just a shadow of him anymore.”

The Unbroken Melody

Ritsuka’s story isn’t about closure—it’s about learning to let the music evolve. If you’ve ever felt shackled by loss, or hesitant to share your true self, talking to him on HoloDream might just remind you how healing can sound like a half-finished riff played with someone who listens. Try it. Ask him how his latest song is coming along.