Summer Break (7): The Rehearsal Room
The practice room manager took a drag from his electronic cigarette and, rudely enough, blew the smoke right into Tae-il's face as he stood there, a customer.
Tae-il wrinkled his nose at the oncoming cloud of white vapor and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh! What the hell? I'm reporting this!"
"Whatever." The manager shot him a look of utter disbelief and jerked his chin toward Yuuya, who was busy browsing the guitars. "How long's it been, and you've already got a new girl? You're a real player, huh."
"She's not a new girl. Watch what you say so people don't get the wrong idea."
"If she's not a new girl, then what is she? Explain yourself."
"She's my club senior. Looks like it or not, she's the president, and I'm just a member. Happy now?"
"So you're saying you brought the club president here to hit on her?"
"Do you think girls come flocking just because you play bass, manager?"
"…."
The manager fell silent. It wasn't impossible, but it took serious skill. Especially if the girl had some knowledge of music—then maybe there was a shot.
"Anything's possible in this world. I used to strum a guitar myself, but I never had any luck with girls."
"Maybe if you'd lost some weight and dressed a little more decently."
"You little shit…!" The manager raised his fist, but Tae-il quickly put some distance between them. Trembling with rage, the manager lowered his hand. "If I were just five years younger, I'd really give it to you…!"
"Nah, even if you'd slimmed down and dressed properly, you probably would've been popular anyway." Tae-il glanced sympathetically at the album hanging behind the counter. The photo of the long-haired guitarist with clownish pale makeup and black-smeared lips and eyes made him shake his head just looking at it.
"Hey! You do bands and you don't know what death metal is? That's fashion. Fashion! It's the soul of us metalheads!"
"Does that make you a demon from hell? Looks gay to me."
"Shut up!"
Tae-il's snark triggered the manager's spittle-flecked lecture on metal history. Back in the day, he might've listened politely, but Tae-il didn't have time today.
"I'll hear it next time, so just give me the key. Any room's fine."
"Wh-what kind of insolent brat… Ugh. Gotta control my blood pressure. Can't get mad. Can't…."
"The key?"
"Here! You damn brat!"
Finally fed up with Tae-il's persistent demands, the manager chucked a random key at him. Tae-il snatched it deftly out of the air.
"Room 9? No reservation here?"
"One hour from now."
"Got it. Thanks." Tae-il grabbed Yuuya, who was blankly staring at a guitar on the lobby wall, and headed straight to Room 9.
"First time in a practice room, right, senior?"
"Y-yeah…."
She'd used a private practice room once for a music class performance evaluation. Even accounting for the teacher's tone-deafness, her music grade had been abysmal, but the room's unique smell was still vivid in her memory.
"Like it here?"
"It's okay? I come pretty often because it's clean and spacious."
"School practice rooms suck?"
"Yeah. Crappy equipment, cramped space—only good thing is it's free…."
The music room might've been an option, but the good ones were all booked by other clubs. No real choice there.
"Plus, the AC's broken now, so it's total garbage. Poor ventilation makes the smell brutal too."
"I-is that so…."
Inside the room, Tae-il sat in a chair, crossed his legs, and immediately started tuning the bass. Twang. Twang twang. There was a slight off note, but overall, the sounds rang out clean and precise. Tae-il was impressed.
"What's with the rental bass being in such good shape?"
Basses loosened less than guitars, but as string instruments, they still needed frequent tuning. Today, though, it held steady unusually well, and the strings felt perfectly snug under his fingers. With the string of good luck, Tae-il smacked his lips, regretting not buying a lottery ticket.
"How about you, senior? Ready?"
"Not yet."
Just in case, Yuuya set up the camera she'd borrowed from Asakura in a good spot. It felt strange. She was always the one being filmed—or the animals from the husbandry club. Now, the lens was capturing a totally new subject: Shin Tae-il.
A chance….
Yuuya thought back to just ten minutes earlier, when she'd praised him.
About ten minutes earlier.
Gathering her courage, Yuuya confessed to Tae-il. "Wanna try… cross-dressing?"
"Huh?"
Tae-il was genuinely horrified by the out-of-nowhere suggestion. "C-cross-dressing? Suddenly? Isn't that way too random?"
"No interest?"
"Of course not!"
Tae-il was dumbfounded. Cross-dressing? He had no idea what thought process led Yuuya to that conclusion, but he had an extreme aversion to it.
"I'm not doing that. No way. I'm not some otokonoko!"
"It's not that hard. Late-night shows have dudes who don't look girly at all."
"No, it is hard!"
Tae-il freaked out at the mere mention. Japan had a weirdly deep history of cross-dressing culture—from elite homosexuality obsessing over pretty boys to kabuki theater with only men. He wasn't denying the tradition, but he was Korean. He hated teaching guys girl-group dances, and school retreats or OT events with cross-dressing contests were a hard pass. The trauma of otaku acquaintances dragging him to subculture events and forcing him to watch cross-dressing cosplay was still burned into his brain.
To Tae-il, cross-dressing was pure evil. Even if Ayane begged, he'd never agree.
"No…?"
"Forget no— I just hate it."
Some say cross-dressing is the manliest thing a guy can do. Tae-il would flip them the bird.
He despised it. Watching others was awkward enough; doing it himself? He'd rather bite his tongue and die.
"Nngh…!" Tae-il massaged his furrowed brow. Why couldn't he forget the memories he wanted to erase? Nightmarish flashbacks from his past life surged like waves into the present.
"Anyway, why bring up cross-dressing out of nowhere?"
"YouTube…."
"YouTube again?"
"Individuality…."
Tae-il's eyes widened as he finally got it. To succeed as a YouTuber and sustain popularity, you needed prerequisites: skill, individuality, fame, luck. Some say you need all four. Plenty flop with three if luck's missing. Or they rocket up on luck but crash without the rest.
"If Tai-chi cross-dresses and plays, it might work."
"You think it'd succeed?"
Tae-il was skeptical. He didn't care to know, but cross-dressing came in varieties: cute fits, funny mismatches, eye-terror fails. He wasn't the first, and didn't want the others. Plus, no reason to cross-dress for YouTube on top of band success.
"Why are you suddenly obsessed with my YouTube, senior?"
"…."
Yuuya went quiet, eyes downcast at his sigh-laced question. Tae-il realized she was stubbornly persistent despite appearances. If he didn't give in now, she'd nag every time they met.
Rubbing his throbbing forehead, he scanned around. "Where are we again…."
Spotting the familiar surroundings, he realized they were near the practice rooms.
"Alright, senior. Let's just film something."
"Cross-dressing?" Yuuya looked up, her near-blank face lighting with obvious joy as she leaned in. Tae-il pushed her back gently to keep distance.
"Normally. No cross-dressing."
"Aww."
"People don't say 'aww' out loud."
"If I do this, it's cute enough you'll give in…."
"Who said that?"
"A dating expert YouTuber…."
"Unsubscribe from that channel right now."
And that's how Tae-il ended up bringing Yuuya to the practice room.
"Senior, setup done?"
"One sec."
Yuuya fiddled awkwardly with the tripod, checking the angle. She saw Tae-il's profile as he fiddled with the bass while straddling the chair.
It's different….
Even entertainers who goof off on variety shows radiate insane charisma back at their craft. Tae-il was the same. Unlike his pale, pained face feeding reptiles, his eyes burned with utter seriousness.
Yuuya murmured, entranced. "Tai-chi, face in frame okay?"
"Huh? Yeah, whatever."
"Okay."
As Yuuya finished setup, Tae-il plugged the bass into the amp. With time before it warmed up, he loosened his fingers on the unfamiliar instrument, plucking strings lightly in rhythm.
Great that he'd brought her here, but what song? He pondered deeply.
What'd be good…?
Best something famous even a novice like Yuuya could recognize. A cover popular among bass YouTubers would let her compare easily.
Listener tastes matter too, though.
With original members, he had a sense: Ayane and Iris loved BARD; his Ayane, drama OSTs with Yuuna; Sakuya, anime OSTs; Rena surprisingly classical. But Yuuya? He knew next to nothing about her tastes or background.
"What style do you like, senior?"
"Genre?"
"Genre or just seasonal vibe works."
"Then something upbeat."
"Cool and upbeat, perfect for summer?"
Yuuya nodded. As a practical music student, perfect tracks popped into Tae-il's head.
Marcus Miller's the guy for this….
The bass legend left timeless challenges for 21st-century players. Past and present bassists would play his stuff forever—like now.
Feels good.
No pressure to show off? His fingers danced nimbly today. He'd picked a rare 5-string bass instead of his usual 4-string. Feeling the heavier weight on his thigh, he shifted to chromatic exercises beyond simple plucking.
Chromatics were so ingrained he could play blind. Eyes closed, he focused on his fingers dancing the strings.
Not just the extra string—string spacing, fret gaps, neck length all felt foreign. To avoid dumb mistakes, he kept practicing till it felt natural.
Okay. Amp should be warmed up.
The familiar sting and heat tingled his palm. Basically the start signal. He cracked his knuckles and met Yuuya's eyes.
"Here we go?"
"Yeah."
Bass had many techniques, but slap—the flashy, widespread one—was king. Fittingly, top bassists swore by it. It gave the "mere rhythm instrument" personality and addictive depth: wrist flourishes captivating eyes, thick pops enchanting ears. Bass's secret weapon for total audience satisfaction.
Tae-il started with slap.
Rio Funk.
His most-practiced, most-played as a bass major. Classic 20th-century birth, demanding solid fundamentals. Funk's poster child—any slapper pulls it out on request.
Tae-il dove in bold with slap. Even as a session player killing his style often, he grooved unconsciously here. Toes gripping, heels bouncing, head nodding to the beat. True to "funk," his whole body bounced like he was possessed.
Intro. Slap's intense sound grabbed attention, making bodies pulse like the beat.
That's… Tai-chi's bass….
Yuuya never dreamed the clumsy kid who botched feedings could ooze pro vibes. Restricted technique or not, this dwarfed his Ayane-teaching video. Her head bobbed in sync unconsciously.
Thumb slaps strings. Index and middle pluck. Left hand flutters bird-wing-like between frets 1 and 5, folding to slide to 7 and 9.
But can't fill whole song with flash—overkill bores quick. Needs tempo balance.
Verse. Leisurely fingering let listeners cool down. Simple repeating bassline, but ever pleasant. Bass's edge over "four-string guitar" jabs: low tones make melody king, unlike divisive guitar tones.
Gentle fingering. Hard strokes into chorus slap. Hands sped up on bass—Yuuya's feel. Thumb strokes between slaps ramped rhythm.
Marcus Miller's genius left perfect blueprint, but tiny spaces for flair. Tae-il filled them his way. Verse 2: similar yet different.
Something's changed?
Yuuya sensed it but couldn't pinpoint. Funk's free melody twisted playfully, pinpoint variations on potential monotony. Slap start demanded slap end. Done.
"Amaz—."
Yuuya realized it ended late, clapped—but Tae-il spoke first.
"Next is a Japanese band song."
Successful musicians crave personal flair. Sasakure.UK—from BMS beats to Utauroide, touched everything. He formed a band for finer expression. Many tracks with smooth yet impactful basslines.
The De'but was one. Reason for the 5-string today.
Tablet restarted music; fingers slid smoothly. Sweet keys/guitar, launchpad electronica filled it—yet deepest bassline stabbed ears clearly. Begging to be heard.
Till bass solo, Tae-il supported silently. Bass-focused, dull; whole track, solid despite length. Post-guitar solo, keys take lead. Guitar backs; bass props keys steadily.
Keys end melody; bass solo—song's climax—hits. Long fingering pauses. Slap asserts heavy presence.
Guitar visible, keys visible, bass reprises melody. No fatigue—ear candy. Each solo's protagonist lingers post-rotation.
End. Harmonized group reprise of motifs. Dreamy sound fades like stopping rain. Tae-il's bass thumps clear and low alone.
Song stops. Palm-muted naturally.
"Done."
Looking up, sweat drenched his forehead. Pouting lower lip habitually, he blew cool air. Bangs fluttered damply.
Clap clap clap.
Yuuya clapped late. "Wow."
"Haha, good?"
"Yeah. No clue but totally hooked."
"Phew. Practice rooms rock. Can't thump like this at home. No one's watching—feels great…." Tae-il stomped heels laughing.
Had he ever? Yuuya hadn't noticed—bass drowned all.
He tweaked knobs often, but tablet vs. live bass? Night and day. Wiping sweat, he checked time.
"Time left. More songs?"
"You sure…?"
"Service." Grinning purposelessly, he stroked bass guitar-like broadly.
"Any faves, senior? Known ones I can copy on spot."
"Then…."
Forgetting the camera, Yuuya approached, requesting her pick. Tae-il nodded—knew it—mumbled practice in Korean, plucking melody.
Yuuya realized: her song's melody.
"Ah, okay. Think it'll work."
"Really?"
"Familiar. Here goes?"
"Yeah."
Forgetting she was filming, Yuuya sat floor-bound, savoring. Music noob, but she got why band kids obsessed over live shows.
Ayane's video? No vibe. Couldn't picture fans cheering Tae-il.
Now? Crystal clear. Tiny room, solo bass over backing track—no full band, no big stage. But satisfying.
She wasn't Ayane. Tae-il played for her—uppity junior Katsuragi Ayane? No. Mori Yuuya.
One-woman live only she could hear. Unattainable once his band blew up.
"Live here?"
"Yeah."
Exactly one hour later, Tae-il walked Yuuya home. And was shocked.
Yuuma High was arts/sports private—mid-to-upper-class kids. Sakuya's a monster, but arts/sports cost big; only well-off mid-class afford it. Tae-il's parents' long business trip meant company tuition aid—or it'd burden him.
Parents sacrifice for kids' education/future. Even poor or struggling families strained for Yuuma.
But Yuuya's place? Extreme.
"Senior, this okay?"
"Soundproofing's meh…."
Caught hiding shame, she smiled awkwardly. Her "home": half-peeling wallpaper 2-story mansion, ghost-house vibes. Tae-il saw flimsy—typhoon'd rip the roof.
"You really live here?"
Japan's safe-ish, but Tae-il worried genuinely.
"Yeah. All occupied. Rooms full."
"Uh… fine. Go in. I'll wait till you're inside."
"Thanks."
Yuuya climbed creaky iron stairs unsteadily. Tae-il watched till she waved from the door, then turned.
"What kinda situation is this…."
Needlessly worried, he scratched his head roughly.
Bzzz. Phone buzzed—Aya-ne calling.
"Crap! Gonna be late!"
Answering, Tae-il bolted. Stamina? Nah. But had to sprint home before Ayane sulked.