The Bet (9)
The heavy door swung open with a dull thud, and as Tae-il stepped into the cafe, a cool blast of air conditioning brushed past him. He wiped the sweat from the nape of his neck and blankly scanned the interior. The clerk, who had been quietly watching the counter, approached with an awkward smile.
"Sorry, sir. We're fully booked today, so we're not seating anyone without a reservation."
"I have a reservation under Tenma."
"Tenma?"
The clerk's eyes widened at Tae-il's response. When Tae-il shot him a sullen glare, the man hurriedly apologized and led him inside.
"My apologies, sir. Please head to the private room at the very back."
"Got it."
Tae-il wasn't the type to throw his weight around anyway. He let out a small sigh and obediently followed the clerk down the hallway.
It's spacious...
As he walked, he suddenly remembered the butler cafe he'd visited with Ayane. Lifting his head, he noticed the high ceilings and meticulously designed interior—less extravagant than the butler cafe, but still impressive. What stood out most, though, was how empty the place was. No customers in sight.
"You said it was fully booked. Where are all the guests?"
"Ahaha... well..."
The clerk gave another awkward smile and knocked on the door of their destination.
"Taichi has arrived, sir."
Thanks to his experience at the butler cafe, Tae-il feigned composure and waited. Moments later, Yahiro's voice came from beyond the door.
"Come in."
"Yes, sir."
The door opened. The clerk placed a hand over his heart and bowed from the waist as Tae-il naturally stepped into the private room. He'd imagined something like the butler cafe's rooms at first, but this was different. It felt open and airy. A large window stood wide open, leading to a terrace overlooking a well-manicured garden.
"Hey there."
And there he was. Yahiro lounged crookedly in a femininely ornate chair that clashed completely with his vibe, lazily waving at Tae-il.
Tae-il was awestruck.
"Whoa. This background really doesn't suit you at all, bro."
"I know."
"So why'd you book a place like this?"
"You'll see."
"Huh?"
Before Tae-il could question Yahiro's subjectless reply—
Thud.
A sudden impact made him stumble.
"Wha—?"
Panicking, Tae-il looked down to see a familiar sky-blue head greeting him.
No way...?
His expression shifted to sheer shock. The original story, like a sentai show, subtly assigned meaning to characters' hair and eye colors. Sky-blue hair and crimson eyes were uniquely hers—no one else could claim them. They were Tenma Izumi's personal colors.
In reality, fans mimicked her all the time, so blue hair wasn't rare on busy streets. But Tae-il knew this sensation. It matched perfectly the height and feel from when she'd charged at him before. No mistaking it.
"I-Izumi...?"
"Long time no see."
Izumi looked up with a beaming smile.
"H-How are you here...?"
Tae-il stammered in bewilderment, and Izumi gently rose on her tiptoes, stroking his head just like last time.
"You've grown so much."
"I-It hasn't even been a month since we met."
"Wrong. It's been a whole month."
She brushed off his protest like a kid's, patted his back, and pulled him into a tight, heartfelt hug.
One month. To Izumi, that was plenty of time for a growing teen to change unrecognizably. When their eyes met, Tae-il saw her ruby eyes brimming with overflowing joy and happiness.
She was genuinely thrilled by this reunion. After the touching yet sudden embrace, Izumi stepped back delicately. As Tae-il felt a strange pang of reluctance, she spoke.
"Sh-Shin... Tai-Tai-ru."
Her awkward pronunciation of his name made Tae-il burst out laughing without thinking.
"Haha! No way—you've been practicing this whole time?"
"Shin Tai-ru. Yeah."
It sounded like she'd put in real effort, but it was still off. Izumi blushed.
"Sorry. I tried, but... it didn't work out."
"No, no—I'm honored you even bothered."
"See? Told you Taichi would say that."
Yahiro shrugged from behind, teasing Izumi—who'd complained endlessly about the tricky pronunciation—like sweet revenge.
Izumi puffed her cheeks, unable to argue, and grabbed Tae-il's hand, dragging him to the table where Yahiro waited. She sat him diagonally across from Yahiro, taking the seat opposite him herself.
Yahiro grinned slyly.
"Surprised?"
"Yeah, shocked. I never dreamed Izumi would be here when I came to meet you..."
"I didn't plan on bringing her either."
Yahiro rubbed his tired face with dry hands, shaking his head. His thumb jerked toward Izumi.
She'd thrown such a tantrum that it came to this.
"I missed you."
"Eek."
Tae-il flushed at her blunt, straightforward words. But her questions didn't stop there.
"Did you?"
"Huh?"
"Did Tai-ru miss me?"
"Uh..."
Tae-il stared at the shyly smiling Izumi, at a loss. He glanced at Yahiro beside him for help, but the guy just shrugged—like, you're on your own.
Whatever. Giving a negative answer here would be unmanly. Tae-il had seen Izumi cry in that documentary. The Akihabara show he'd attended was documentary footage too—of course he'd binged it. There, she'd wept. Grateful tears, joyful yet heartbreakingly sorrowful. Women's tears packed a devastating punch.
He'd already experienced it with Ayane. No way he'd make Izumi cry too. Swallowing his embarrassment, Tae-il met her gaze squarely and nodded.
"Y-Yeah... I m-missed you too."
"Okay."
Her face lit up—not just from the terrace sunlight streaming in.
Yahiro clicked his tongue. He wanted out of there right now.
"So this is what it feels like when I show up with girls and the guys react..."
Not that he'd change, but for a fleeting moment, he reflected on his past antics with newfound empathy.
"Anyway, time is money—let's get to it."
"Yahiro. No tact."
"You know you've got that radio show tonight, right?"
"Hmph."
"Oh? Deflating already?"
"Haha."
Tae-il laughed at their bickering. Yeah. This is what a band looks like. Bandmates were the world's most trusted friends, colleagues, and rivals—utterly at ease with each other.
His own band? Not quite there yet. He turned to Izumi, mid-spat with Yahiro.
"Aren't you busy with concert prep, Izumi?"
"Busy."
"And she still made time. Unreal."
Yahiro sighed. He roamed freely anyway, so they never loaded him with prep. But Izumi? She threw herself into it more than anyone. Her absence tightened their already packed schedule.
Tae-il was moved. No fan could stay unmoved knowing their idol cleared her jam-packed day just for them.
"You've got three promo broadcasts today alone."
"I'll go."
"No makeup!"
She should've been at the salon since dawn. Yahiro sighed, hoping level-headed Tae-il would back him up. But nope—the kid sided with the girl.
"You look pretty without it anyway."
"See? Tai-ru gets it."
"Tch. Knew you'd say that."
Izumi puffed out her chest proudly at the praise, and Yahiro rubbed his throbbing temples. Fans loved her bare-faced innocence, but stage makeup was non-negotiable. Despite nagging her dozens of times, she never got it. He was about ready to give up.
"Fine. Not my problem. I warned you. Your funeral if Masato yells. Right?"
His phone was already recording. He sought Izumi's agreement.
"Perfect accomplice already."
"..."
Yahiro turned away, chin in hand, looking sulky as hell.
"Damn. Arguing over this again. Anyway, Taichi—here's those tickets you wanted."
"Wait, really?"
Tae-il fumbled to take the envelope Yahiro pulled from his pocket.
"What, you think I'd flake?"
"Yahiro, bro..."
"Yeah, that's the spirit. Show some respect."
Yahiro puffed up under Tae-il's admiring gaze.
"Can I open it?"
"Go ahead."
Izumi nodded too, urging him to check. Tae-il tore open the envelope. Inside: five tickets.
"Five...?"
"Matched the band size you mentioned."
"I-Is this okay?"
"My call alone might ruffle feathers, but our princess approved."
Yahiro nodded toward Izumi. Tae-il gaped at her. She nodded firmly.
"I heard."
"Heard what?"
"Your band's vocalist is a huge fan of ours. Once I mentioned that, she insisted."
Tae-il checked the seats and his eyes bulged.
"A-All VIP seats?!"
VIP seats. Priced double or more than prime A-grade, right up front for an intimate artist view. Some lotteried them out—insanely hard to snag. Tae-il had seen tons of concerts, but aside from session gigs, he'd lucked into S-seats once or twice max.
Yahiro chuckled at his shock.
"Duh. Gotta be front row for you. Right, Izumi?"
"Special treatment ends here. Next time, on your own."
Prodded by Yahiro, Izumi looked troubled but scolded him sternly anyway. She was famous for lottering family tickets too, so it fit. But for her to bend her principles for Tae-il—his gratitude knew no bounds.
"Got it. I will."
Pleased by his resolve, Izumi gently clasped his hand in hers.
"I-Izumi...?"
"Doesn't matter where you sit."
Her soft, smooth hand contrasted with her callused, guitar-hardened fingers—proof of her dedication. Tae-il instinctively layered his right hand over hers.
"Ah."
Izumi smiled unwittingly, a simple yet radiant bloom. Tae-il was entranced.
"Don't worry."
She stroked his hand atop hers.
"I'll find you."
You carry a scent.
"Anywhere."
That sweet, irresistible pull.
"I'll spot you."
And lock eyes like this.
"Wave to you."
Our secret signal.
As if we're alone amid thousands.
Confirming each other's presence. Their layered hands slipped naturally into an interlock.
"So."
Izumi tugged gently. Tae-il rose unconsciously, leaning toward her.
"You find me too."
Her lips moved. Recalling his vow right after they met.
Be my star in the sky.
She'd agreed.
I'll shine brighter than Sirius, guiding you.
But only if...
"Find me."
Turn a sea of stars into your audience, and I'll be among that Milky Way.
Tae-il closed his eyes at her earnest, tender trust. Their positions hadn't changed. She was still the distant star; he, undiscovered dust. Or per her words, demoted from aspiring celestial to mere human.
But he could declare proudly: Humans are descendants of stars. Every element in us born from supernovas' deaths and births.
"I will."
So a fallen human harbored infinite potential to reclaim the heavens.
"I'll make a stage you have to ticket yourself for."
No—
"One so huge you'll beg me for a comp ticket after failing to snag one."
"Okay."
Izumi nodded with a quiet smile at his bold claim.
Yahiro tongue-clicked at their sappy exchange.
Ridiculous. Izumi personally ticketing a concert?
Only the big three national bands pulled that. And this kid aimed for it. Laughable. Back then, he'd have mocked any dreamer—Korean succeeding in Japan as a non-idol band? Urge them to quit.
Now? This worn-out kid's starry-eyed ambition felt admirable, even enviable.
Plus...
Japan—not rock's UK/US heartland—being his stage? A smug national pride swelled in Yahiro.
Tae-il gulped iced water. His face, red as boiled octopus, looked feverish despite the AC.
"Kids these days."
Yahiro snickered and rang the call bell. Beyond tickets, time to order—and tease.
"Speaking of, mind some advice...?"
"Huh? What?"
"Advice?"
Yahiro echoed, Izumi tilting her head.
"Yeah. Advice."
Tae-il pulled out his smartphone, placing it center-table.
"Got two tracks here."
One fully his creation. The other, borrowed and remade—no longer anyone else's, but its roots haunted his conscience.
He eyed them anxiously, alternating glances.
"What should I do?"
Izumi and Yahiro exchanged looks, silently conversing before Yahiro took the lead.
"Can we hear them?"
"Sure."
As Yahiro reached for play—
Crash!
"Eek!"
The door burst open amid a woman's shriek and clattering dishes. The group jolted in surprise; the clerk rushed in late.
"S-Sorry! She was serving food, but this customer...!"
"Stop! You took her money! Pull this now?!"
"Forgive me! Th-The amount was too huge to refuse...!"
The clerk bowed dogeza-style in apology. The group blinked dumbly at the scene: the groveling clerk and a blonde girl in what looked like a school uniform—gal fashion.
Utter chaos. But Tae-il pierced it instantly.
"Arisugawa?"
"Eh?"
The blonde froze at his mutter.