Caught Red-Handed
The emotions surging through Iris when none other than Shin Tae-il saw right through her disguise were a bizarre mix of joy and shame. These two clashing feelings left her utterly bewildered. The shame was understandable—she'd been completely exposed to Tae-il, and every passing minute and second felt excruciatingly humiliating. But the joy? What the hell was that? Where was there even a sliver of reason to feel happy right now? Was it the faint, tickling warmth prickling in her chest? It was all so confusing. And this confusion only simplified her already straightforward thought process even further.
“Wh-who are you?”
The words slipped out half on reflex. Fine. Since it's come to this, I'll just play dumb and deny it. It was a blatant lie that anyone could see through, but Iris didn't have the mental bandwidth to realize that. Right in front of BARD, she was mounting the most childish resistance imaginable.
“I-I'm not that Iris person you mentioned! Must be some misunderstanding!?”
“Pfft!”
Tae-il covered his mouth, bursting into laughter at Iris's desperate flailing.
Mouth, have you lost your damn mind? Even the one making the excuses was dumbfounded.
Tae-il dropped to one knee, leveling his gaze with hers, and murmured clearly, “That's weird, then.”
“W-weird? You saying I'm weird? H-how dare a rude guy like you... Mmph!?”
Tae-il pressed his index finger to her lips, silencing her. Iris glanced up at him shyly. As she fell quiet, he withdrew his hand and tapped his own lips, as if to say keep it shut.
“Isn't it weird?”
Tae-il grinned. Not his usual exhausted, droopy-eyed look, but a deliberate, sly smirk born from his unexpected upper hand. It was more than enough to make Iris squirm with humiliation.
“I definitely called you Arisugawa, not Iris. Right?”
He glanced at Izumi and Yahiro for confirmation, and they both nodded. They still hadn't let go of Yobisute's hand. To Iris, that hand—still gripped by a boy—was her last shred of pride. Her hastily thrown-together excuse had backfired spectacularly.
“Uh...”
Blood rushed to her head. Iris scratched at her neck without thinking. The collar felt unbearably tight and itchy today. Her face—and probably her neck too—had to be beet red by now. Clutching her throat with both hands, she let her head droop forward. Heat hotter than 36.5 degrees seeped through her palms.
“Can you stand?”
Tae-il extended a hand, his smile unwavering. Iris screamed internally. Polite speech? He's toying with me to the end! In her mind, she branded Tae-il a devilish existence. Even as he helped her up and brushed the dust off her hands and clothes with thoughtful care, she felt no joy. Because the moment he finished, the interrogation began.
“So, care to explain now? Why'd you tell me your name was Iris instead of Arisugawa?”
“W-well, you see...”
Iris broke into a cold sweat, words failing her instantly. Had she ever been backed into a corner like this? Especially by a guy her own age? Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, trickling down between her brows. The wig had already made her feel hot and suffocated, but now, trapped like this, sweat poured like rain.
“It's, like... Um...”
Even with her identity fully exposed, she stammered on. Tae-il, waiting patiently, finally drove the nail in.
“You two must be close, huh, Arisugawa? Should I give her a call?”
“S-sor...”
“Sor?”
“Sorry...”
Her face crumpling, Iris leaned against Tae-il and melted into a puddle. “Sniff. I messed up. Forgive meee...”
“Huh? Oh, Arisugawa? That's not...”
Tears welling in her eyes, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Whether Tae-il panicked or not, it was as good as an admission that she was Iris.
* * *
The commotion died down, and the chaos was more or less sorted. With everything cleared up, Iris—the instant celebrity—bowed her head in apology.
“S-sorry for the rudenessss... Ow!”
She bit her tongue by mistake. Humiliation on top of humiliation. Iris inwardly shed thick tears, convinced today was just cursed.
“Did you bite your tongue?”
“Y-yeah...”
“No blood? Say 'ahh' for a sec?”
“Ah, aah.”
Tae-il, slipping into overprotective mode for their precious vocalist, dampened his handkerchief with cold water and handed it over.
“Hold this in your mouth for a bit. Even if there's no blood, it was hot today. It'll help cool you down.”
“Mm.”
Iris nodded, and as she yanked off the wig, her long black hair cascaded like smooth silk. The massive peaks straining against her tightly wrapped uniform couldn't be fully hidden either, bouncing noticeably.
“Whew... Ow!”
Yahiro whistled instinctively, only to get his shin kicked by Izumi in retaliation.
“Ow, that hurts...!”
“Yahiro.”
Her voice lower than usual, her sharp glare piercing him, Yahiro swallowed his complaint, rubbed his neck, and cleared his throat.
“Ahem! So, can we get on with the talk?”
“Y-yeah, let's...”
“You too, miss. Chin up. We didn't lose anything big because of you.”
If apologies were in order, it was the cafe owner who'd broken the contract who owed them one. He was probably getting an earful from the manager right now. Iris felt a stab of guilt too, having orchestrated the whole mess.
“Th-thank you...”
With the damp handkerchief in her mouth instead of a gag, she no longer resembled the school's Madonna. Even Tae-il was amazed at this shrunken version of Iris he'd never seen in his memories.
While the men's attention was fixed on Iris, the women's was locked on each other.
I'm screwed...
Iris wore a half-sobbing expression. Like any dreamy girl, she'd fantasized about meeting Izumi. But her imaginings had been far more romantic: Izumi watching her sing on stage from afar, intrigued. A pro headliner from the major leagues taking interest in an indie upstart—like a shonen manga plot. She knew it was an impossible dream, but even so, this embarrassing mess was too much.
Serves you right for disguising yourself and stalking. Self-inflicted wound.
Kiriko's sigh-laden voice echoed in her hallucination, shrinking her further.
Wh-what do I do?
Iris stole a glance at Izumi, who was eyeing her. Receiving that gaze from Izumi of all people made her freshly cooled sweat start pouring again. Tae-il watching from the side was another anxiety bomb.
“You're sweating buckets. You okay, Arisugawa? Want me to crank the AC lower?”
“N-no...”
“Hang on.”
Tae-il stood, fiddled with the wall remote, and Izumi's eyes flicked to him before returning to Iris.
“Jeez, you'd think you just came from a bath. Here, let me wipe that sweat.”
Back at his seat, Tae-il gently parted the sweat-matted strands from her skin, even down to her nape. Iris wanted to scream please don't touch!, but Izumi's unblinking stare pinned her like a frog before a snake.
She got it now—that frog's terror. Only after fixing her hair and wiping her sweat did Tae-il step back. Izumi seized the opening.
“So. Who are you?”
Iris spat out the handkerchief. Her tongue stung a bit, but not enough to slur.
“Arisugawa Iris! First-year at Yuuma High, same as Shin Tae-il!”
“She's our band's vocalist.”
“Name's not set yet, but yeah, I handle vocals!”
“Vocalist...”
Izumi's eyes narrowed at the overlapping position, appraising her like merchandise. The blatant scrutiny made Iris flinch. Facing a singer she admired—nay, loved enough to shout it—this should've been thrilling, but tension won out.
Aghhh, this is killing me! For real!
Izumi's languid yet probing gaze overwhelmed her; Iris squeezed her eyes shut.
Gulp.
Her sweat-chilled hands clenched tight. The silence was suffocating. Someone, anyone—break it! As if answering her plea, Izumi spoke.
“Vocalist?”
“Y-yes! I'm handling vocals, though I'm still lacking!”
Shoulders rigid with tension. Vision blurring, unfocused. A powerful voice mismatched to her slender frame. Izumi nodded.
She's intriguing.
Was it because Tae-il picked her? She'd never paid this much attention to cocky juniors before. This Iris girl had snagged her interest without even singing.
“Sing well?”
“I-I think I'm still really lacking!”
No way she'd brag in front of Izumi, even if it weren't true. The bold, self-assured Iris wasn't here right now.
But Iris wasn't just facing Izumi. The wildcard—Tae-il, friend or foe?—butted in cluelessly.
“Nah, she's not lacking. She sings amazingly. She's just tense 'cause her fan Izumi's here.”
“Really?”
“Totally. Right, Arisugawa?”
“Mumble...”
Iris shot him a subtle glare, nudging his foot—nope! Her anxious grimace made Tae-il tilt his head.
What's her deal? This fidgety Iris, like she needed the bathroom, was so unlike her. Feigned humility didn't suit her at all. By canon, she'd have been fangirling hysterically by now.
Wait, is she shrinking in front of Izumi?
Stiff posture, recitation-level speech—anyone could see she was intimidated.
Haha, even she gets nervous.
Tae-il grinned like a proud dad at this unexpected side.
True, we're nobodies compared to BARD. No contest, really. BARD fan? Cool. But here, she was a fellow musician. And Izumi was a dazzling star too bright to look at.
I get it. That feeling.
Tae-il felt he understood her heart better than anyone. So he'd help. What she lacked was confidence. He'd fill that void.
Nodding to himself, her face paled.
What's that idiot gonna say now!?
“Personally, I think Arisugawa's top-tier vocalist material in some ways.”
“Top-tier...?”
His praise split joy and dismay between the two women.
“She's exactly the vocalist I've been searching for. Might even surpass you someday, Izumi.”
“Surpass me...?”
Izumi's tone dipped. Her eyes sharpened. She was a pro's pro with pride in her music—hyper-focused in the studio, perfectionist to where producers begged breaks. Comparing her to Iris out of nowhere clearly irked her.
Tae-il had crossed a line even he shouldn't. Iris went corpse-pale realizing it.
“Oho?”
Yahiro leaned back, watching the trio with glee. Tae-il's praise-fest rolled on.
“Izumi's biggest strengths are her clean tone across all ranges and emotional delivery, right? Arisugawa's not as pristine, but her immersion and raw appeal? Unmatched.”
Tae-il found Izumi's singing effortlessly soothing. Why did BARD's tough songs sound easy? She sang for the audience's comfort.
“Izumi's songs calm you anywhere, anytime. And they stir memories.”
Why BARD hooked 30-somethings too—nostalgic vibes from bubble-era end and post-crash bleakness. Tae-il hadn't lived it, but he knew the trends: flashy idols vs. raw, pure emotion. BARD was the latter.
“Arisugawa's different.”
Old-money Iris, far from bubble life, had forged deep expressiveness through emotional labor young. Singers sometimes over-emote, but if it captivates, it's not excess. Iris was that type. Emotional tyrant.
“Arisugawa's songs force empathy.”
“Forces it?”
Yahiro perked up, jumping in.
“Not just evoking it ladylike—forcing empathy?”
“Yes.”
Japan had that famous anime with a hot-blooded rocker protagonist slamming emotions via song. In brutal battles: Fighting's boring! Hear my song! Iris was cut from the same cloth, minus the declaration. Her massive appeal seized hearts like violence. Someone once called her singing “singing succubus,” spawning a meme. Tae-il agreed—deeply, with her voice's original owner.
“Hard to grasp from words alone, but Arisugawa smashes her heart into every note. It hooks you, makes you want to write songs just for her...”
“Nooooo...”
Iris, beyond blushing, grabbed his collar, cutting him off. How many times had he listened to justify this? Sobbing pitifully, she begged in a whisper.
“'Please... shut up...'
Desperate enough for Korean. Even Tae-il was thrown.
“Arisugawa?”
He blinked at her pleading face. Truth was, his praise wasn't new—rehearsals were full of it. She'd taken it for granted then; Ayane parroted yeses, Rena already respected her talent. But not Izumi. Bragging here was mortifying.
Yahiro chuckled at the clinging girl.
“Izumi, she's a real threat, huh? You good?”
“Yahiro. Mouth.”
“Ow!”
Izumi shin-kicked the grinning fool again. Tae-il patted Iris's back reassuringly, eyes challenging Izumi.
“Watch out. Slack off, and she'll catch up fast.”
Izumi pouted.
Honestly, she'd zoned out mid-praise, remembering nothing. Just envied Iris's casual intimacy with Tae-il.
Yahiro snickered.
“How's it feel, hearing that from nobodies who aren't even debuted?”
“Kinda pissed.”
“Hahaha! She's pissed! 'Kinda'! Hilarious!”
Yahiro roared. Izumi mad? Shin Tae-il was BARD's kryptonite in every sense. Grinning, he eyed the Iris basking in Tae-il's trust. Her stunt had started awkward, but turned into a blessing.
Clap!
“Alright. We know each other enough—time for the main topic?”
“M-main topic...?”
“Miss didn't hear outside? Eavesdropping's rude, y'know.”
“Uh... Ahaha.”
Iris laughed awkwardly, averting her eyes—guilty as charged.
“Details from the Taichi boy here. No objections?”
“...”
Izumi still pouted. Yahiro sighed, flicking her lip back in with his knuckles.
“Sigh. Act your age.”
“Fine. No objections.”
“See? Good, Taichi boy?”
“Yeah...”
Tae-il scratched his nose bridge, nodding faintly.