Time to Jam!
“Ha, let’s jam! We gotta rehearse, right?”
“Ugh, so sly!”
To shove the increasingly heated band-naming debate aside for a moment, Tae-il played his rehearsal card. And then.
“I’m all for it. It’s already past 1 p.m., y’know?”
“Ayane agrees with Rena too!”
“What’s gotten into you, gloomy girl?”
“You hate it?”
“Nah.”
Dramatically enough, the opinions of the anti-Iris alliance aligned perfectly.
“Why you—!”
To Iris’s misfortune.
“Iris, you idiot? A band’s true calling is playing music. Obviously, we gotta practice to get on stage.”
“That’s not wrong, but it still pisses me off somehow!”
“That’s ’cause you’ve got so much more skill slack than the rest of us, Iris.”
No one here was about to argue for delaying rehearsal. When it came to love, friendship meant nothing.
“Urgh...”
Iris trembled with frustration, fists clenched tight.
“Hey, gloomy girl. Get that amp on and prep already.”
“Uh, yeah!”
Unlike drums, electronic instruments needed warming up. Rena was itching to hit the kit anyway, and Ayane purely hated seeing Iris cling to Tae-il, so she sided with Rena. Rehearsal meant she could stick close to Tae-il while he guided their practice.
“Finally, jam time?”
Sakuraba, who’d been spectating like an outsider despite being a prospective member, showed unusually keen interest at the sound of rehearsal starting.
“I was starting to think my neck’d snap from craning.”
“Haha, really?”
Tae-il tuned the guitar he’d borrowed from the music room, flashing an inwardly troubled smile at Sakuraba’s expectant face.
“You’re just watching today, so it might get boring.”
“Don’t care.”
Sakuraba had never touched a guitar before. Tae-il would give her private lessons later, but for today’s band rehearsal, he’d handle guitar himself to lock in the group’s groove without her.
“Shin-jjang! Let’s start already!”
“Huh? Oh, sure.”
As Sakuraba cozied up to Tae-il, Ayane marched over and dragged him away by the arm.
“Haha.”
Sakuraba shot a mocking glance at Ayane’s glare, then sauntered back to stand beside Kiriko.
She tossed a question at the statue-still maid.
“So, whaddya think?”
“Pardon? Think of what, exactly?”
Kiriko had grown used to dealing with people as Iris’s servant amid the Arisugawa aura, but Sakuraba’s type was a bit alien. Similar to Iris, yet different. Kiriko adjusted her sunglasses.
“Our band, from Kiriko-san’s eyes. You’ve been watching since the start.”
“Ah. Which part’re you curious about?”
“Hmm.”
Usually, it’d be about skill and potential. Kiriko couldn’t guarantee major debut viability herself, but after hearing Tae-il’s ambitions, even a member like Sakuraba had to wonder. If they actually debuted major, backing out wouldn’t be easy.
Kiriko, figuring Sakuraba was pretty sensible, picked her words accordingly.
Still, it’s hard to say for sure...
She wasn’t big on bands anyway, and with zero live shows under her belt, solid judgment was tough. Especially since.
Tae-il’s faith feels a tad suspicious...
Frankly, all this band had shown was Iris’s vocals. Kiriko couldn’t fathom what Tae-il saw in pushing this project. In Japan, bands often started among friends or music-loving students bonding over tunes—a page in youth. Few formed explicitly aiming for major debut.
Adults post-childhood are more likely to set concrete goals...
After tasting defeat and harsh reality, those who couldn’t quit dreamed on, compromising with the world yet pushing forward. Only a tiny fraction succeeded to major leagues. Even then, most faded into obscurity.
Could this band break major and thrive?
Tough sell.
Once Iris hit third year, family pressure would mount. Having watched her grow, Kiriko couldn’t imagine her bucking it.
Thus.
“Indie scene activity? Maybe. But major? Eh...”
“Iris is the biggest risk, right?”
“Tough... Huh?”
Kiriko blinked dumbly. Sakuraba pointed at Iris with a wry smile.
“Tae-il with her, I mean. Katsuragi’s all ‘childhood friend’ clingy, but Tae-il’s attitude? He’s low-key most aware of Iris outta us all.”
Wait, wasn’t this about the band? Kiriko’s sunglasses slipped at Sakuraba’s jealous mutter.
“Um...”
“Yeah? Wrong? Or maybe Rena shone more off my radar?”
“...No, nothing.”
Kiriko realized: this band’s issues ran deeper than music or skill—human entanglements galore.
Scary stuff.
Her gaze landed on Tae-il, surrounded by beauties. Really, quitting might become reality soon.
* * *
Tae-il slipped the remaining sheets into a folder and asked.
“Everyone good with tablature?”
“I-I can read it, but...”
Ayane muttered weakly but glared hard at the score Tae-il handed her, eyes fierce. She couldn’t yet visualize notes instantly from sheet music.
Rena wore a similar scowl, poring over her copy.
The issue? Rena sucked at reading music. All she knew from class was note types and rhythm.
“Suck.”
Even the drum charts she’d recently started were unfamiliar.
“Shin, this ‘x’ in the staff’s gotta be...”
“Cross. Snare rim shot.”
“Right.”
“Other cymbals are high notes, so above the staff—easy to spot.”
Just in case, Tae-il pulled out his tablet, showed a drum notation chart pic, and passed it to Rena.
“Thanks.”
As Rena grappled with her score like Ayane.
“Whew.”
Iris, done scanning hers, sighed deeply, like the floor might cave.
“Th-this song bad or something?”
“Nah.”
Catching Tae-il’s wary glance, Iris smirked and shook her head. Today’s pick wasn’t “Fox Rain”—an original untitled work. Fast tempo, perfect summer banger.
“This one feels... different from before?”
“You can tell?”
“Duh.”
Iris nodded smugly. She’d heard all Tae-il’s compositions. Could hum any on cue.
“Hmm.”
She pictured the melody in her head. Unlike the other two, it came instantly.
Way different.
Core structure intact, but details shifted big-time. Sound richer, more nuanced—Tae-il ditching difficulty compromises. Fine. But the intro? Totally alien to her ears.
Was it always like this?
Too changed, even for her. Tae-il’s tracks had one trait: bland intros. Sleep-inducingly dull. More eye-closing than opening. Maybe he figured emotional songs didn’t need punchy intros.
A major. Ballad staple in Korea. Orchestra fave for strings—high-ish, pleasant, passionate, majestic. String-friendly, clean key that subtly draws listeners.
Tae-il used it often, pitching down gently to ease into highlights naturally. Even upbeat tracks.
But changed.
Got advice? Intro now hooked hard, stage-ready. Synths added color to potential blandness. Tae-il had focused on detail over fullness before. This? Simpler, lighter...
Thrilling.
Iris closed her eyes softly. Naturally pictured him onstage: shoulders bouncing, pounding keys joyfully, grinning mischievously at the band.
“Sheesh.”
Eyes open, Iris chuckled, eyes off the score. Her red gaze glanced at Tae-il explaining to puzzled Rena.
Fox Rain. Vocals and lead guitar tone key. Held something of Tae-il, but sans lyrics, not overtly him. Shy peek, maybe. Listeners might peg Iris as narrator.
BURNING aside—fleshed from another’s skeleton.
But today’s track? His color screamed. Precisely, his synth presence melted seamlessly, boldly into the melody.
Change welcome, but abrupt.
Habits scare ’cause they’re hard to break.
Einstein called common sense acquired prejudices by 18. Habits akin: ingrained rules, fixed behaviors from repetition. Sticky as hell.
Something happened. Iris missed it—Tae-il changed again.
Irked her a bit.
Fine. Grill him later.
Strictly, “debut needs upbeat!” was her long-held mantra, not his. He’d followed faithfully. BARD-like tunes? Just minor copycats now. Needed personality—this nailed it.
Still, welcome or not, with Tae-il’s explanations, rehearsal crawled.
“So, bar five here feels like boom tack! tack! tack! like th—”
Iris strode to Tae-il, mid-gesture demo.
“Shin Tae-il, you got the backing track, right? Play it?”
“On my smartphone. Hold on...!”
Tae-il excused himself from Rena, straightening up. The checkered inner pocket warmer—Ayane’s gift. Reaching for it, Iris snuck behind, hugging his arm.
“Wh-what’re you—?”
“Gimme.”
Tae-il froze; she snatched the phone.
“Where’s the track?”
“Uh? We gotta nail the pattern first... Hey?”
“Unlocked.” Iris waved the home screen, urging. Tae-il bowed his head.
“Music folder, play ‘Provisional-10’...”
“Sec. Not iPhone, lemme see...”
“A-Ayane can do it? Same model, I’m used to it!”
“Found it! Play now?”
“Fast!?”
The track played. Backing with Tae-il’s hums.
“Ooh.”
Iris marveled. Tae-il blushed as his rough demo went public.
Ayane’s ears perked at the familiar tune.
“Huh? Ayane’s heard this? That song, Shin-jjang?”
“Uh...”
She bobbed to the rhythm. Tablature hadn’t clicked before; now it flowed.
Ayane air-fretted left hand swift.
“Ahh, got the feel.”
Rena too. She swung sticks in air, simulating. Stumbles here and there, but grasping the frame shifted her score gaze.
Invisible became visible; elusive feel solidified. The band’s chaotic newbie vibe snapped into focus instantly.
“Heh?”
Sakuraba’s lips curved, arms crossed, watching.
Miraculous. From Tae-il’s “let’s rehearse,” a subtle tension had hung in the art room. Now, vanished naturally.
One cause.
“Rena, not like that—here, see?”
“Oh, gotcha.”
“Ayane, check my note here, it’s like...”
“Ah! Yeah! That whoosh melody from just now? Ayane gets it!”
To Sakuraba, Tae-il had awkward edges. But with support, he sharpened, clarified—like now.
“As expected.”
Sakuraba’s eyes pierced Iris, naturally at the group’s core with Tae-il. Her sore-loser fire reignited.
Once I learn guitar...
Her gaze lingered wistfully on the guitars in Tae-il and Iris’s hands.