Haruto stared at the mountain of chaotic footage on his laptop screen, feeling his soul slowly drain away. The group had somehow managed to film hours of scenes, most of them riddled with bloopers, out-of-focus shots, and Taro making wild gestures in the background.

"We just need to clean it up," Haruto said, trying to sound optimistic as Yuki, Taro, and Daichi gathered around him. "How hard could editing be?"

"Famous last words," Daichi deadpanned, crossing his arms.

They clicked on the first file, and immediately, the laptop froze. Haruto clicked again. Nothing. The screen went black. Then, it restarted.

Yuki gasped dramatically. "The *film* is rejecting us!"

"No," Haruto groaned, rubbing his temples, "it’s just my cursed laptop."

It took them half an hour to even open the files again, and Haruto could already feel the tech-fails piling up.

As they sat waiting for the laptop to cooperate, Taro started reminiscing.

"You know," Taro began, stroking his chin, "I once had a YouTube channel."

Haruto raised an eyebrow. "You had a channel?"

Taro nodded sagely. "Yeah, it was ahead of its time. I was doing conspiracy theories—"

"Of course you were," Daichi interrupted.

"—but it never took off," Taro continued, ignoring him. "Probably because of the government blocking my content."

Haruto flashed back to the one time Taro had tried to show him a video from his channel. It had been awkward, filled with poor lighting, bad audio, and about seven minutes of Taro adjusting his camera before he started speaking. The fact that Taro didn’t realize his camera was on the whole time had been... well, telling.

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The footage finally loaded, and as they began sorting through it, Yuki was already buzzing with excitement.

"You know what this scene needs?" Yuki said, leaning in with wide eyes. "Epic music. Dramatic, like ba-ba-ba-BAH!" She mimicked an intense orchestral swell.

"That’s the scene where Daichi walks across the room," Haruto said flatly.

"Exactly!" Yuki grinned. "It’ll be iconic."

Haruto sighed. He clicked on the music file Yuki had suggested and added it to the scene. The over-the-top music blasted through the speakers, making Daichi’s simple walk look like he was heading into battle. It was hilariously out of place, and everyone burst out laughing.

"Okay, maybe not every scene needs dramatic music," Haruto admitted, still chuckling.

As they continued, Daichi took a more analytical approach, suggesting logical cuts and transitions. Meanwhile, Haruto was drawn to the whimsical moments, wanting to keep the bloopers and random shots.

"We should cut this," Daichi said, pointing to a scene where Yuki tripped over a prop.

Haruto shook his head. "No way! That’s comedy gold!"

"Comedy gold?" Daichi raised an eyebrow. "She faceplanted. The scene has no relevance."

"Exactly why it stays."

The two went back and forth, Haruto favoring chaos, Daichi advocating for coherence. Yuki threw in suggestions for more dramatic cuts, and Taro—well, Taro was convinced the film needed more tinfoil hats.

Soon, the editing process devolved into a montage of absurdity. There were random transitions between scenes, slow-motion shots of Yuki overacting, and a bizarre moment where Taro added a neon filter to everything.

At one point, Daichi tried to make a rational argument about pacing, but Haruto accidentally edited it so that Daichi spoke in fast-forward. They all doubled over laughing, unable to breathe as Daichi’s voice squeaked through the speakers.

"At least it’s... unique," Haruto wheezed, wiping away tears.

Amidst the chaos, Misaki made her grand entrance, barging into the editing room with her usual superiority. She sauntered over, peering at the screen over Haruto’s shoulder.

"Still editing your little... project, I see," Misaki sneered.

"We’re almost done," Haruto lied, feeling his eye twitch.

"Well, good luck with that," she said, glancing at Yuki’s neon-colored outfit on screen. "I’ll be sure to report any... unoriginality."

Misaki stormed off, leaving the group in silence for a moment.

"She really thinks she’s going to win, huh?" Taro mused, shaking his head.

"Joke’s on her," Yuki grinned, "because this film is one-of-a-kind."

Hours into the editing session, Haruto’s brain felt fried. They had gone through what felt like a million clips, but something wasn’t sitting right. Then, as they clicked through another batch of footage, Haruto saw it.

A quiet scene they had filmed almost by accident—Taro was adjusting a prop in the background while Yuki and Daichi were chatting off-script, but there was something about the moment. It felt... real. Unscripted, yet genuine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for their film.

"This," Haruto said quietly, pausing the clip. "This is what we need."

The others leaned in, watching the scene with fresh eyes. For a moment, the chaos around them stilled.

As they pieced the final parts of the film together, the group started to see a clear picture emerging. It wasn’t the polished, refined project that Misaki would produce. It wasn’t even what Haruto had originally imagined. But it was theirs—chaotic, funny, messy, and full of heart.

"I think we actually did it," Haruto said, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

"We made a masterpiece!" Yuki declared, throwing her hands in the air.

"Well, we made something," Daichi corrected.

"And it’s going to blow Misaki’s film out of the water," Taro added, adjusting his tinfoil hat.

They all sat there for a moment, basking in their strange creation. It was a disaster, but it was their disaster. And somehow, that made it perfect.

"Alright," Haruto said, closing the laptop. "Let’s show the world what we’ve got."