The World's Greatest Fool
Iris thought, “Sorry.”
Tae-il was an idiot. He had the kind of idiocy that would win him first place at the World's Greatest Fool competition.
Setting aside her prejudices as much as possible and evaluating him objectively, he's not a bad kid.
He had quite a few secrets, sure. His attitude in class was poor, earning him a reputation as a delinquent. But his heart was in the right place. Even as a free-spirit type, he had a decent head for studies. And above all, Tae-il possessed songwriting skills, which were practically essential for any band's long-term survival.
His instrumental prowess—the foundation of any band—met Iris's standards and was downright excellent by her measure. All in all, he was an outstanding talent.
And yet, astonishingly, every single one of those strengths was on the verge of becoming worthless because of one fatal flaw.
“Arisugawa might think I'm the weird one, but…”
Shin Tae-il. When it came to women, he was irredeemable trash.
Which was why he could so casually say something like:
“I don't think I can give up on either Sakuya or Ayane. No, I won't.”
“Uh… um.”
Iris blinked dumbly, at a loss for words. Tae-il stared back at her with an expression more serious than she'd ever seen.
Did I hear that wrong?
She dug crudely into her ear right in front of him. Her ear was clean.
“Hey, could you say that again? What did you just…?”
“I can't give up on either of them (as friends & bandmates).”
Even when she gave him a chance to backpedal, Tae-il repeated it without hesitation.
In the end, her worst fears had come true.
Iris wanted to scream. KYAA!
So she screamed it in her head. Knowing Sakuya and Ayane would come rushing back if she let it out, she swallowed her frustration and suffered in silence.
Iris inwardly cursed whatever god had made her low-accuracy intuition hit the mark today of all days.
“Why do bad feelings always come true…”
Her head throbbed. She frowned, pressing her furrowed brow, but the stabbing pain clung to her like chewed gum, refusing to let go.
Iris glared at Shin Tae-il, the source of her headache. And she felt a bit wronged, too. This damn guy was even more serious now than he'd been on the rooftop.
“You mean it?”
“Yeah.”
Tae-il affirmed it quietly, without a shred of doubt. His hands clasped together, long lashes cast downward.
“I can't do without either one.”
Ayane was a future singer-songwriter who would outshine even Tae-il, destined to lead the band. Sakuya was the precious face of the group, filling their performance gaps and smoothing over everyone's relationships as the mood-maker.
Sure, they weren't meshing right now—their bonds creaking like broken machinery—but Tae-il unwaveringly believed they'd unite quickly, just like Rena and Sakuya had.
For the band's sake. And for his own. Both women were already indispensable.
So cutting ties with one, as Iris suggested, wasn't even an option from the start.
“Hoo.”
Tae-il let out a sigh. Iris noticed his breath trembling faintly. Was he nervous? Or wracked with guilt?
She couldn't tell what emotions fueled his confession.
Tae-il lifted his head. His usually hazy gaze sharpened with vivid color as it met hers.
“No matter what anyone says, Ayane is irreplaceable to me—the most precious person in the world.”
“W-What…”
Iris's face flushed crimson at his unabashed words.
“It's embarrassing to admit, but…”
Tae-il confessed that he was quite dependent on Ayane.
Iris, who'd always thought it was just Ayane clinging to him, was thrown for a loop.
“Y-You? Dependent on Ayane? For real?”
“Yeah.”
Her incredulous reaction drew a wry smile from Tae-il. Things had improved in this life, but in his previous one, his relationship with his parents had gone beyond broken—it was shattered beyond repair.
Even now, its shadow lingered, keeping him at arm's length from his father, Shin Young-hoon. Father and son pretended the other didn't exist. Yu Hana had sighed countless times at their pigheadedness, muttering about how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Shin Young-hoon had always disapproved of his son obsessing over a futureless pursuit like music. Tae-il, meanwhile, had been too dazed by his sudden second chance at life to care.
He'd gained precious time even trillionaires couldn't buy. Tragically, though, Tae-il wasn't capable enough to make the most of it.
Youth doesn't come twice—that's why it's called youth. Boiling blood embodying passion. Fresh, unripe love like green apples. Fearless challenges unbound by failure. Joys and sorrows shared with peers. Failure and comeback. It's an age where everything's new, so you pour your heart into enjoying and tackling it all.
Tae-il had experienced it. Naturally. He was in his prime twenties back then.
And now, a second chance had dropped into his lap out of nowhere.
The problem? It came after he'd already failed once and shrunk psychologically.
“Arisugawa, did you know? I didn't. But successful people aren't afraid of failure.”
History's greats treat failure like it's inevitable. “Failure is the mother of success.” Repeated flops are fertilizer for triumph—they challenge endlessly.
But that's easy to say once you've succeeded. They push on, believing even the toughest tree falls after ten strikes. Admirable. Inspiring. You think, I can be like them if I try.
No. Tae-il had clung to that last bastion—his parents—amid his crumbling mind, only to face outright rejection.
Not from strangers, but his own blood, whom he'd trusted to believe in him.
If only I'd never touched music…
His parents would have supported his dreams to the end. They didn't. They hounded him to quit, calling him a clown. A son dreaming of a band—not even singer, idol, or composer—must have baffled them.
And they'd witnessed Shin Seong-il crumbling firsthand over music.
A promising young man ruined by it, right before their eyes. They begrudgingly funded Tae-il's music college through sophomore year, deeming a degree essential for life in Korea. That was his last shot at their approval.
Tae-il had desperately tried to earn back their trust.
But.
“I failed.”
He'd burned through his once-in-a-lifetime youth energy in under five years. Looking back, he saw his parents' pitiful gazes.
He fled his father's I knew it look. Effort's whip halted. He deluded himself with unattainable fantasies for self-satisfaction. Drowning in manga and anime, he envied fictional heroes conquering hardships as scripted.
He looked fine on the outside, but inside, he was wrecked.
“That's why I couldn't move forward.”
Back then, ignorance of harsh reality let him chase dreams and romance. Blind confidence crashed him headlong.
Now he knew. He couldn't do it.
He wasn't that Shin Tae-il anymore. To some, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. To him, wasted time. Failure-born fear had shackled his challenges.
Despite second chances and offers from many, he always stopped one step short.
Yet he'd finally stepped forward again.
Tae-il closed his eyes. Behind his lids, Ayane's teary face etched itself on his dark retina.
BARD's Izumi had lit the main fire, but.
“Ayane was my spark.”
Her mere existence was Tae-il's greatest justification. Even now, her presence, attitudes, actions—all stabilized him.
Without her, no amount of Izumi's encouragement would have made him run.
And.
“No matter what anyone says, Sakuya is aspiration incarnate to me.”
There'd once been a viral meme: God's proportions when creating you. Sakuraba Sakuya had gotten extras in everything. Blessed by her creator-author with talents beyond all.
Realms Tae-il ground his life into barely reached, she'd master in half a year—maybe a year tops—then surpass.
She always led. A vanguard lighting the way, letting everyone follow confidently.
“Sakuya's the ace. She makes you believe you can do it too.”
Impossible with anyone else? Possible with her. Tae-il believed it.
Beyond teasing pranks, her presence brought immense psychological comfort.
“So.”
Tae-il clenched his fists on his knees.
“Sorry, but I have no intention of giving up on either.”
He'd recruit them all into one band. Succeed. Make their name known. Achieve the dream.
Iris stared in blank astonishment at his resolve, core guts omitted.
“Haa.”
She couldn't grasp his fragmented monologue—key details skipped.
What experiences? What proof they were precious? No clue.
One thing's clear…
Like her, he'd endured soul-crushing failure. Ayane and Sakuya neutralized his trauma from it.
If only it were a joke…
His voice brimmed with raw emotion, like her own when singing—unfiltered conviction they'd passed to her.
Sadly, the idiot before her was dead serious about two-timing.
Iris envied his luck while worrying for him.
“You're serious?”
“Yeah. Pure, unadulterated truth.”
His once-dull eyes gleamed clearly now. Faint, but primed to blaze.
“Hah. I'm seriously dumbfounded because of you…”
Not intentional, but his vow was a two-timing declaration. Iris sank into the sofa.
She could already see his future.
Shura field confirmed.
The dream-fulfilling band faced unprecedented crisis from the start.
“Can't just beat sense into you…”
“V-Violence against!”
“Shut it. I'm thinking.”
Iris realized tasking Tae-il with fixing this was impossible. Their mindsets clashed. He'd drag both along no matter what.
What to do…
She recalled middle school—bitches texting they'd be late to practice over boyfriends. Tae-il's sincerity started scaring her.
So she drew a line preemptively.
“One thing.”
Hugging a cushion tight, she shoved her pouty face at him.
“From now on, Shin Tae-il, you're never late. Even if you die. Got it?”
“L-Late…?”
Tae-il tilted his head blankly; Iris nodded vigorously.
“Ayane's in our band club anyway, so fine. But if you dawdle with Sakuya and miss practice…”
She crooked her fingers with a crack. Her clenched fist—thwack!—slammed the sofa cushion beside his face.
Leaning in like pouncing, she pinned him against the backrest.
Her voice turned menacing. “You're dead. Same if you make Ayane cry.”
“Y-Yes, ma'am…”
“Hmph.”
Slitted eyes glaring, she snorted and returned to her spot. Arms crossed, legs folded, staring straight ahead without looking at him.
“Anyway. You gonna fix those two's relationship without messing up the band?”
“Talk to them separately first…”
Tae-il trusted Sakuya's affability and the bond between him and Ayane. Dialogue would smooth it over gently.
“Separately?”
Iris still looked skeptical.
“Get 'em to make up.”
“And?”
“Uh… that's it?”
Smack. Iris slapped her own forehead.
This guy's hopeless.
Her gut screamed: only she could resolve this. The idiot would worsen it—or let it fester until untreatable.
Sakuya wasn't band yet, so whatever. But Ayane would shatter in the process.
Iris decided.
“No good. We need a honest girl talk—just us.”
“Just us?”
“Girls only!”
Iris bellowed.
“You said there's a bath here? Not mixed, right?”
“Probably not…?”
Not in modern times. Mixed baths were archaic.
“Good, not mixed. You, Sakuya, and Rena-chan all need washing anyway, right?”
Tae-il nodded. His cola-sticky body still bugged him.
“I'll take the girls to the bath.”
“Bath?”
“Hot springs soften emotions, y'know.”
Japanese loved baths. They loosened minds, disarmed defenses.
Since forever, Iris dragged quarreling Rena to their massive tub for splashy reconciliations.
Baths equaled skinship. Crucial from infancy to teens for growth and stability.
Rare spot for unhesitant touch. Perfect for rivals grown distant.
“Whew. My role's getting huge here?”
Iris steeled herself like a patriot on national duty.
The true culprit, Tae-il…
“What the…”
…stared blankly at Iris's sudden onsen pivot.