Flashback: Mori Yuuya
"Haa."
Yuuya leaned against the front door and slid down to the floor. Her slender legs trembled as if she were facing something terrifying. She simply couldn't hold herself up. It felt like a magnitude 7 earthquake had just hit.
Yuuya was the type who always looked a bit dim-witted, her expression unchanging to the point where people said she didn't seem human. She'd never imagined pretending to be calm could be this exhausting.
She pulled out the camera from her pocket. It was the secret weapon Asakura had bought by scraping together her salary, but right now it was in Yuuya's hands. Yuuya played back the footage she'd recorded in the practice room.
Her heart raced at the sight of Tae-il playing, blood rushing to her head and turning her face red. But as the performance went on, her excitement quickly faded.
It was different. The Tae-il on the screen was worlds apart from the one she'd seen with her own eyes. The sound was different. The perspective was different. The emotions conveyed through the music were different.
Still, since she'd experienced it live, the video managed to capture a decent sense of the on-site energy for her. Yuuya immediately pulled out her smartphone. The latest model her father had splurged on last year—insisting she could not fail her high school debut—booted up the YouTube app smoothly even now, a year later.
Yuuya played the videos Tae-il had shown her at the family restaurant, one by one. Then she compared them to her own recording.
"Hoo..."
The playing was good. Tae-il might have underrated himself, but to Yuuya's eyes, it was just as cool. No—maybe because it was laced with her bias, Tae-il's straightforward performance outshone the cross-dressers, the soft-filtered hazy vibes, or the over-the-top dances and staging.
It was truly amazing. Yuuya closed her eyes and recalled the boy who'd walked her home. Ignoring Ayane's meddling, he'd stayed by her side like an ordinary guy—until he'd suddenly become Prince Charming on a white horse. He wasn't dressed up fancy, and it wasn't shot from that perfect idol angle. There were no sparkling edits like the ones she added to her vlogs.
But something was different. There was a unique charm visible only in her eyes, invisible to others. Love goggles. Just like a girl smitten with her crush.
Feeling that strange flutter, Yuuya visited a subscribed channel—the one Tae-il had told her to delete. It was a quirky channel that collected viewer stories, turned them into comics, shared them, and offered advice.
Yuuya quickly posted a comment in the channel's community section for love advice submissions. Then she clutched her phone to her chest.
"Haa."
Her heart pounded wildly. She'd always thought arrhythmia was for unromantic folks who got heart palpitations from nerves. Now she had to completely revise that view.
"Keeping a straight face... is so hard..."
Her mouth kept twitching upward—who knew what was so great about it? Suddenly, she understood why Ayane had guarded her so fiercely. Shin Tae-il was a drug. He looked ordinary on the surface, but peek inside and he'd hook you with terrifying addictiveness.
Yuuya was struggling to stay sane.
"I need to... make dinner..."
She checked the clock. Just like Tae-il had rushed home for dinner, her own father would be back from work soon, and she had to prepare the evening meal.
Yuuya gripped the door and slowly stood. Passing her single-room apartment's kitchen sink, she flopped onto the pile of blankets in the corner.
"I-I'd just hurt myself cooking like this..."
Calm down. Settle her heart first, then start cooking. Yuuya tried to soothe herself as she peered at her phone again.
Scrolling down, the algorithm greeted her with a flood of animal videos. But keep going, and bass performances started popping up, then love-related ones.
"Hng..."
This was a first. Excluding animal content, her recommendations were all stuff teenage girls loved: travel, fashion, celebrities, makeup, songs, K-pop, and romance. Videos that reached her naturally, even if she never watched them.
Bass wasn't her thing. Yuuya rolled around on the blankets, then stretched her phone-holding hand straight up.
Her playlist brimmed with animal videos—from pro documentary-style uploads to pure vlogs of daily pet life like diaries. Yuuya liked animals without bias, but for vlogs, she preferred ones with real owner-pet bonding.
Whenever life got tough, she'd heal her mind and body with these. Playing her most-viewed one, a fluffy Samoyed appeared right at the start, greeting her. Yuuya smiled goofily, finding her peace.
The Samoyed in the video rolled around a spacious house, begged for treats with cuteness, obeyed simple commands like a genius, and ended by frolicking in the vast yard with its siblings bursting from the room.
Yuuya giggled back at the Samoyed perking its ears cutely. Seeing it smile brought back fond memories.
Lulu...
The name of the Samoyed Yuuya once owned. Now it lived healthily with someone else—not her. But Lulu remembered her, so Yuuya visited with the current owner's permission whenever she missed her.
"I miss you..."
Today, she missed Lulu more than ever. When longing for her old pets made her blue, these videos usually helped. But strangely...
Today, the vicarious satisfaction didn't work.
"I'm lonely..."
Yuuya set down her phone and quietly hugged her knees. She used to have no time to feel lonely—family always rushed to greet her first at home. But that family was gone now.
The reason was simple: her family had gone bankrupt, poor as dirt.
Now she lived alone with her father in this cramped single-room mansion. And the landlord banned pets.
"Lulu, Lara, Shasha, Tina, Vivi... I miss you all..."
In their big mansion days, calling their names brought instant comfort—they'd rush over, even turning doorknobs if needed. No more.
No matter how desperately she called, no one came. Yuuya buried her face between her knees.
"Where did it all go wrong...?"
Yuuya quietly retraced her life story. Her childhood as Mori Yuuya had been pure bliss, overflowing with happiness. Money isn't everything, but they were wealthy enough.
But happiness bought with money doesn't last. Her aggressively expanding father hit failure after failure, drowning in debt. He juggled businesses to plug holes, but eventually declared bankruptcy.
To make matters worse, her mother snuck off with valuables before creditors swarmed.
Child Yuuya was shocked—not by her mother's abandonment or poverty, but by something else. Their family ties were already distant; she didn't care much. The real blow was parting with her pets.
Kicked from their massive home needing servants, she and her father ended up in this pet-banned single-room place.
Even her begging fell on deaf ears—the landlord cited fur allergies, telling her to leave if she didn't like it. Yuuya pleaded with her father too: find a pet-friendly place for Lulu and the others.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head. Conditions were similar everywhere. Truthfully, feeding even just Yuuya was a struggle. To him, her irreplaceable family were burdensome loads.
So, against her will, she rehomed her lifelong companions to strangers. Unlike her fake family, parting from the real ones tore her heart.
That was probably her first time wailing like the sky was falling—the ever-composed, smiling Yuuya breaking down. She hadn't cried when Mom fled, but sobbed over pets.
Her father initially felt relieved—no more fur-shedding nuisances. But days of her gut-wrenching sobs changed that. He realized something was deeply wrong.
He tried comforting her, but a dad who'd never spent time with her lacked the skills.
"S-Sorry, Yuuya. Dad will succeed again, get a big house, buy more dogs and cats. Okay?"
"I hate you, Dad!"
His clumsy words hurt more. Hollow family or not, she knew family couldn't be replaced. But he thought pets could. She resented him, cursing the man who'd forced the separation, hurling every curse a kid could muster.
Her words were tame compared to his worldly barbs, but they stabbed deep—like a pure daughter's blade. He got angry first, then teary with sorrow. His only child valued "mere" pets over him.
I'm sorry I'm such a failure, Yuuya.
Late realization crushed him with guilt; he hid his face, mechanically repeating apologies. That was their first real father-daughter talk.
Ten years later, their bond wasn't as awkward. But Yuuya still treasured her old family more.
Childhood shapes growth like chains. Pets filled the void of distant parents, forging unbreakable bonds.
She still visited when missing them. Despite old age, they'd wag tails furiously, piling into her tiny arms with grown bodies, showering affection. That unwavering love brought profound joy.
School, however, was unhappy. Elementary: bullying. Middle: rumors made her an outcast, even without bullying. Only delinquents showed interest.
Yuuma High wasn't on her radar—no arts talent, too poor despite proximity. But she got in via her late grandfather's old acquaintance.
New school, new start. Hype made her excited, despite the black sailor uniform. Most importantly, Yuuma had a rare Animal Husbandry Club.
Thrilled, she joined at the freshman orientation booth. But reality differed sharply.
Still newbie-ish, a senior said: "Kid, you're so emotionless. No girly sparkle."
"..."
"Animals aren't everything, right? Try mingling more. You're pretty—waste not to."
Yuuya hated members' meddling. Was it lizards not cute? Turtles smelly? Feeding bugs to cuties gross? Fish fun to watch, but tank maintenance tedious?
Despite stellar facilities, only the president cared. Others eyed people more. And they did.
She and prez were club aliens. Like a two-eyed freak in one-eyed village.
She'd joined for animals, but prejudice wore her down. Even during cultural festival chaos or Sakurako's morals committee help, human bonds exhausted her.
She recruited freshmen to save the club—not for people. YouTube success promised members. Distant admiration felt good, even if in-person worried her. As senior, it'd be fine.
Recruitment flopped. Not YouTube—the gap between videos and grueling reality (like Tae-il's initial faint). Kids dropped out; survivors ghosted, leaving names only.
Alone again. Ex-president helped sporadically post-festival guilt, but rarely. Yuuya preferred it. With Asakura, they managed precariously.
Life ticked mechanically. Then—
"Uwaak!"
A boy fell from the sky. Late, vaulting the fence, sweaty, hair messy. Eyes met; he blushed cutely.
Curious stare—standard first-boy reaction to her. Light greeting, then awkwardly: "Skipping class?"
Absurd from a blatant latecomer post-senior chat. Not wrong, but she bristled.
"Self-study. So I came out."
(Actually stifling classroom, checking kids—but close enough. Freshmen wouldn't know.)
He laughed instead: "Skipper confirmed."
Not wrong, but gall from him irked. Counterattack: "And you're... late?"
"As you see."
Bold. Awkward shrug, no denial—caught red-handed.
His dirtied pants caught her eye—must've faceplanted. "You okay?"
"Soft dirt, no prob," he grinned. Animal surround startled him hilariously.
Curious type. Unique to Tae-il's instinctive reactions to oddities, but his interest didn't bother her.
She hinted at joining; he politely declined, animal-weak. Rare honesty—better than posers faking till bugs sent them fleeing.
Affection built to interest. She probed more: "Raising any pets now?"
"No, not really..."
"Not really? Past tense?"
"Tried."
His smile darkened—familiar to her. Predictable: "All died."
"Yeah."
He got life's harshness. When he hesitated on names, she offered: "Mori Yuuya. Call me Yuuya. 2nd year, Class 8, free period."
"Then call me Taichi, Yuuya-senpai. 1st year, Class 7, free period too."
"Okay, Taichi."
The sky-boy encounter ended. Post-goodbye, she stroked Tama's head, staring at his spot.
-Nya.
'Not grabbing him?' Tama seemed to say.
"It's fine. I have you guys."
She petted Tama's chin. But...
Reunion came quick. Thursday, purposeful visit: "Senpai, join my light music club temporarily?"
Audacious. Ignoring her plight, he suggested disbanding if needed. She snapped—kicked his shin unwittingly.
"Uwaak! W-Warn me...!"
He clutched it, vowing return like a villain, fleeing. Yuuya disappointed—same as others.
But next day, apologetic, cautious, he pitched a give-and-take: his dream, her consideration.
She liked it—his earnestness, especially pledging club help (extra points despite Asakura's torture rep). Pure passion charmed, even if band motives baffled.
(Never dreamed crickets would faint him.) His bug phobia real, but resolve to music via chores impressed.
Soon Asakura arrived; after hiccups, compromise. Badged temp member infiltrated her world.
Fragile, timid—doubted he'd manage. But clubbing with him was fun. He drew good reactions—Asakura called it "punchable charm." Agreed. Yuuya turned mischievously teasy around him.
Vacation: diligent attendance. Latex gloves for lizard feedings? Progress. Cleaning day: MVP, griping but thorough—diligent unlike kids.
He shrugged off as stubbornness. Yuuya knew: diligence ≠ rigidity.
She'd analyzed him perfectly. Observing means heart's tilting.
Yes. Her heart moved for Tae-il. Love's illegal—starts solo, sans consent. Even from the loved one.
She never permitted it, yet interest warped to affection. Shared hidden YouTube; rooted for his dream. Ayane's fierce guarding scared, but she'd endure to help.
Precisely: leave first-love fruit. Bankruptcy scattered family—only faded albums left. Craved clear proof: she loved him, shared time.
YouTube was it—aid via connection. So she tempted subtly. But Tae-il downplayed it. Promo excuses showed disinterest, negative even—ego-shield exit.
Makes sense: band's fame obsoletes YouTube.
She'd peeked member list via Asakura: 'Teacher's right—buzzworthy kids...' Music noob she saw success inevitable, or legendary infamy.
'Band famous = Taichi's dream true.'
Even failure satisfies urges. Worth celebrating.
But 'No me there.'
Can't contribute. Temp filler only—not true member.
"Ugh..."
She gripped blankets. Ayane's taunts? Senior inadequacy guilt? Something intangible tightened her heart.
"Haa."
Sun set. Window sunset shrank. Borrowed laptop for homework caught eye.
Yuuya bolted up, strode to round table, booted it.
"Taichi's playing was definitely good..."
But his self-doubt meant maybe only she thought so. Widen references first.
Searched bass covers, tabs exploding: schoolgirl bassist, crossdresser, hotties, pros, hobbyists. Live only, domestics to Tae-il's globals.
"Yuuya! Dad's ho—me?"
Exhausted father home to darkness, panicked. Was Yuuya out? Faint tatami glow led to corner-daughter glaring at laptop.
"Yuuya?"
Zero reaction. He flicked light—
"Focus broken."
"S-Sorry! Homework?"
Off again, stealthily grabbed beer.
"Dinner not yet... right?"
"Delivery?"
"D-Delivery pricey..."
"I have money."
"Money? That YouTube? Use for club only..."
"My money."
"Yuuya...?"
Daughter changed. He sensed, but feared cause. Quietly took phone, opened delivery app.
"What sounds good...?"
"Korean."
"Korean pricey..."
"Korean."
"Right! Korean great! Team lead praised pub—menu?"
"Kimchi stew. Egg roll if available."
"Y-Yeah..."
Changed. Dull eyes sharper, blinks countable.
"Crossdressing after a—"
"..."
Rare mutters scared: crossdressing? Kabuki? Peeking laptop terrified.
"A cappella like... rich bass sound..."
"Our girl, that's... homework, right?"
"Dad, quiet."
"Sorry..."
That night, father received delivery: kimchi stew, egg rolls for two. Tastier than expected.