The Bet (7)
"How was it?"
"I wanna die from embarrassment."
Tae-il let out a sigh-mixed groan, his face planted firmly on the desk. Yuuya covered her mouth and giggled.
"Wanna see it?"
Yuuya showed him a short clip from the camera footage. Tae-il immediately slammed his head back down on the desk.
"Aaaah! Get that monstrosity away from me, senpai!"
"Pffft!"
Every time Tae-il writhed in agony from this live viewing of his black history, Yuuya's shoulders shook with laughter.
"It's fine. You came out super cute."
"Senpai might think so, but the viewers sure won't..."
Even the subject himself wanted to curl up and die—what would other viewers think? Especially the guys. Unfocused eyes. Awkward gaze handling. Stilted lines like reading from a textbook. Hands fumbling from nerves, with Yuuya constantly slapping on to "help" him. There wasn't a single non-cringe moment in today's footage.
"Ugh, I wanna off myself."
"Tch."
When Tae-il's self-deprecation crossed the line, Yuuya smacked the back of his hand with a stern look.
"No, I don't mean I'd actually do it..."
"Really?"
"Yeeeah, for now at least..."
Tae-il averted his eyes from Yuuya leaning in way too close. She grabbed his cheeks to stop him from dodging and slowly pressed her forehead to his. Their gazes met, and her eyes crinkled softly with a sly smile.
"That embarrassing, huh?"
"Um, senpai? This is killing me too."
"Oh."
Yuuya's face flushed bright red in an instant. Fair enough—this position could've easily led to lips or noses brushing. Not something typical senior-junior friends would do.
Clunk!
Yuuya hurriedly released Tae-il's face and flopped back into her chair. Seeing her so embarrassed made his reaction oddly calm.
"S-sorry."
Tae-il chuckled at Yuuya mumbling her apology, index fingers pressed together.
"Why're you suddenly acting all shy, senpai? Anyway, thanks. It was a good experience."
"R-really...?"
Tae-il nodded, and Yuuya visibly sighed in relief, patting her chest.
"Phew, glad to hear that..."
Even Yuuya thought the shoot had been a bit mean-spirited. Tae-il had suggested an educational video, but she'd pushed back a little. Sure, some viewers wanted knowledge, but they'd go elsewhere—not to her channel. So she aimed for something light and fun that anyone could watch casually, with a student performer. That's why the footage was packed with scenes of her teasing animal-averse Tae-il. Especially handling reptiles bare-handed—he'd been genuinely dying inside. Yuuya, meanwhile, got to enjoy plenty of skinship under the guise of teaching.
And that moment during feeding when the escaped cricket latched onto him, making him scream "Mommy!" and cling to her begging for rescue... So damn cute...
A addictive thrill raced through Yuuya's body, making her shiver unconsciously. Tae-il's startled pouty face had awakened some sadistic urge she never knew she had. Musicians weren't strangers to filming, but Tae-il had suffered like a total amateur, forging peak black history.
"Taichi, filming's not new to you, right?"
"Not exactly..."
Musicians were mostly freelancers, hypersensitive to trends to survive. YouTube's rise was a massive shake-up for field-lifers like them. Some honed filming and editing over instrument practice just to thrive in the YouTube era—and those types were hugely popular. Skilled in music and on camera? Everyone wanted them if they had the connections.
Tae-il had once toyed with quitting music for this path. Just a brief wanderlust.
"Sure, I'm a wannabe musician, so I film my practice for records. I'm used to shooting. Just recently did bass videos too."
"For Katsuragi?"
"Yeah. But plenty of players film sessions or practices for feedback anyway."
Practice and recordings sound different, so some obsessively repeat to bridge the gap. Even post-stage, they film themselves, or fans catch unintended angles.
"Getting used to it on camera took forever, though."
"I see."
Like how your voice sounds different recorded—instruments too. That's when Tae-il first got why musicians obsess over miking.
"Still, I was always background. Staring down the lens and chatting? First time."
Tae-il just played bass silently in practice vids or sessions for profs. No need for fluff. No camera work like idols either.
Today was different. Yuuya's camera centered right on him, demanding lines to fill the audio.
[Ah, h-hello? Is it? Uh, senpai, what do I do here...?]
[Just relax.]
[Ah, hey? Isn't that too casual for the viewers?]
[Pffft!]
No script since it started abruptly—Yuuya did vlogs without them anyway. She chased raw vibes. Tae-il's stiff posture, rambling mouth, shaky gaze, cracking voice, constant flubs from nerves... Watching this peeled-back side filled her with indescribable pride and satisfaction.
"Senpai, when's today's vid going up?"
"Mm, weekend at earliest?"
"Weekend..."
Too soon for his black history debut—Tae-il's face darkened.
"I'll message when it's up."
"Thanks..."
Tae-il checked the time, looking drained.
"We done for today? Got plans, so..."
"Yeah. Just finish tidying."
They cleaned the clubroom, reported to Asakura in the staff room, and headed out. Crossing campus side-by-side, Yuuya asked,
"Who're you meeting?"
"A bassist bro I got close with lately."
"Oh?"
Relief hit her at "bro"—interest plummeted. But to keep chat flowing, she probed more.
"One of your bass seniors?"
"Haha, not wrong. Kinda my goalpost."
"Goal?"
"Industry bigshot. Super famous."
"You know celebs too, Taichi...?"
"Got lucky."
Tae-il kept it vague—no spilling BARD to Yuuya before bandmates. She sensed the wall, felt a twinge, but didn't push. They'd barely known each other a month.
"Lunch with him too?"
"Sorry."
"Fine, plans first. Next time together."
"Sure."
"I'll treat as senpai. Promise?"
"You sure?"
No prejudice, but Tae-il still pictured those rickety metal stairs at her rundown mansion. With expenses skyrocketing and jobs piling up, letting her pay felt wrong.
Yuuya caught his worry, smiled softly, and shook her head.
"It's fine. Senpai wallet's fat."
"Got it."
He nodded, respecting her senior pride. Still, pick the cheapest spot to ease her burden...?
They chatted vid stuff till a crossroad. Tae-il pointed left.
"Gotta head downtown for the meet."
"See you next week."
"Take care, senpai."
"You too, Taichi."
They waved and split—Yuuya homeward, Tae-il to his pre-shared spot.
The upscale cafe had privates and partitions for celeb Yahiro.
Tae-il, zoning out at the crosswalk light, fired off the text.
Ring!
Yahiro picked up instantly, like waiting.
[Yeah, it's me. You close?]
"Yeah."
[Fast. Thought you might be late.]
"Timing worked out. Catch greens, there in 10."
[Cool.]
Tae-il readjusted his phone. Cafe wait should've been quiet, but background noise blared. Private room with partitions, right? Watching YouTube?
Yahiro gave clerk instructions.
[Tell staff 'reserved for Tenma.']
"Tenma, really?"
Tae-il's brow twitched—BARD vocal/leader Izumi's surname.
[Rare name. No mix-ups.]
"Fair, but..."
Super suspicious. Tae-il eyed his phone warily as the light changed, hurrying across.
[Hurry up. Pumped for reunion.]
"What hype for an undebuted amateur? Don't jinx me."
[Then don't impress Izumi.]
"You're such a kid, bro."
[Only around guys. Cool on stage for fans, ladies for ladies.]
True—Yahiro owned stages, outshining most bassists. No retort.
"Fine, fine. Promising kid approved by Izumi signing off."
[Wait. Drink?]
"Melon soda?"
[Here?]
Tae-il deflated—hoped for fancy melon soda.
"Any cold whatever's fine. I do espresso."
[Oho? Really?]
"Don't order weird gourmet crap though..."
[Fancy spot, no freaks. Anticipate.]
Click.
Yahiro hung after ominous tease.
"Anticipate what...?"
Unease lingered. Tae-il knew Yahiro's prankster side among BARD. He walked on, missing the piercing gaze from afar.
"Ah! They split! Right there, yeah?"
Iris thumped the wheel, bouncing in her seat. Kiriko couldn't process—or didn't want to. The butt-wiggling Iris invading her view wasn't the Arisugawa lady she knew.
"Miss?"
"Yeah?"
"This is just..."
"Just what?"
"...Nothing."
Kiriko swallowed tears inwardly. Class was gangster, Edo to modern day. Iris resumed binoculars on the split crossroads.
Every butt-jiggle adjustment drew Kiriko's sigh. Stockholm 100%...
Her sudden background check request too—the lady lost it around Shin Tae-il. Kiriko worried big trouble: Eishun's wrath for poor support.
"How long we doing this?"
"Dunno."
Confirmed split, Iris dropped binocs, flopping back.
"Car tail's getting tough."
"Taichi's downtown-bound. Harder now."
"No choice. Time for close-quarters tail."
Kiriko wanted to smack her boss, quit, ranks be damned.
"Kiriko, gear up while I prep—follow a bit. Can't lose Shin Tae-il."
"As ordered, but... tail gear?"
"Duh! Back seat!"
"Why?!"
Kiriko eyed the heavy black bag suspiciously. Iris crawled back, ripping it open: wig, disguise kit.
"Disguise set?"
"Yup."
Blonde wig, color lenses, long dress—well-prepped. Kiriko glanced warily at the familiar dress while driving.
"Miss? That dress looks familiar..."
"Right—neighbor school's uniform."
Made sense; she and Rena nearly went there, not Yuuma.
"Custom for students only? How'd a rejectee like you...?"
"Flower arranging teacher's alum—asked nice. Why?"
"Asked...?"
Blackmailed? Iris grinned shamelessly, villain-style, glaring at distant Tae-il's head.
"Heh. Watch, Shin Tae-il. Heaven-sent genius detective Arisugawa Iris, on Grandpa's name, exposes you to the world!"
"Read Kindaichi last night, miss?"
"N-nope...!"
Obvious lie. Kiriko sighed, chin on wheel. Tae-il seemed normal-ish boy to her—past made anything plausible.
"Expose what? Looks like a regular guy, nothing hidden."
"Nonsense. Hides tons unlike looks."
"Really?"
Iris nodded, stripping.
"If worried, you standby nearby. I tail solo—come when called."
"Got it."
Perfect—Kiriko hated petty tails.
"Ugh, kinda tight."
"Uniform?"
Simple set: blonde wig, blue lenses, modest neck-to-knee uniform—anti-Iris.
Kiriko admired via mirror.
"Nun habit. Doesn't suit."
"Shut it!"
Iris yanked tight chest, gasping.
"Hoo... Chest squeezes. Bigger size next?"
"..."
Kiriko's gaze locked on bosom, then her own—tch.
"Grr...!"
Iris: eternal woman-killer.
"Back view, Kiriko? How's it?"
"Plump."
"Hey!"
"Real talk. So plump, pedestrians'll stare."
"Th-that much...?"
"Yup."
To Kiriko, walking AV pitch.
"For your honor, ditch it?"
"Outer layer maybe?"
Kiriko eyed curves, nodded cautiously.
"Covers some."
Trunk had abandoned shopping bags full of clothes. Iris donned women's trench from one.
Now obvious stalker—but mirror-satisfied Iris beamed.
"Perfect! Be back, Kiriko!"
"Wai—miss!"
Iris bolted after Tae-il as Kiriko parked. She prayed silently: May Shin Tae-il be blind to her tail.