Departure (7): The Future Is Truly Hard to Predict
The future was damn hard to predict. If predicting it were easy, stocks would always be a surefire jackpot, and people wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow at all. Especially when it came to people's futures—the chains of cause and effect tangled up in such complicated ways that unexpected shit kept popping up right in your face. Or as they say, zero plausibility.
Sakuraba Sakuya fiddled with the rough surface of the guitar in her hands, a secret self-mocking smile tugging at her lips.
Weird.
The feel of the strings pressing into her fingertips was different from gripping a pencil for hours during drawing practice. Calluses near her nails, the ache from pen grip—they were worlds apart. This was sharp, stimulating. The unfamiliar pain made her fingers throb; without thinking, she cupped them and blew on them gently.
"If your fingers hurt too much, should we take a break?"
"I'm fine."
Pain was something she knew well. Sakuya smiled faintly and gripped the guitar again. Naturally. If she faked it just a little—let her fingers tremble like they stung—Tae-il would freak out, insist they rest, and massage them for her. Clumsy as it was, she loved that touch. She never knew someone else's hands on her could feel this good.
She wanted to turn around and tease Ayane with it, but instead, she obediently took the break and went back to practicing chords. Her eyes were as serious as during tournament practice.
What if.
If the Sakuya of right now went back a year and told her past self, "You're gonna start a band because of some guy," what would she say?
Her illusions about romance had shattered long ago. She wasn't the type to obsess over relationships like other girls her age, flaunting them like trophies. At best, she'd snort and tell her to cut the crap. At worst...
On second thought, she could picture a response like this:
"What kinda manga bullshit happened for me to say that?"
The odds of starting music because of a guy. Versus starting because of a band manga. Which was higher?
Someone who knew her better than anyone—like her cousin— or Sakuraba Sakuya herself—would pick the latter, hands down.
But reality had turned out wildly different from imagination. Their meeting wasn't some dramatic manga moment. It just seeped in naturally. She'd taken an interest, watched him closely, and before she knew it, she was hooked.
Ridiculous.
Sakuya, who'd grown numb to overt desire in relationships and tired of the emotional games between guys and girls, never imagined she'd fall head over heels first. But she did.
So now, she worried the opposite way.
Can I hold onto these feelings all the way?
For the first time, the invisible end of romance scared her. A fragment of emotion she could only have after barely dipping her toes in love. She'd always been on the receiving end of affection, so being the one giving now felt so awkward.
Maybe that's why it terrified her more—that this heart-pounding feeling might not survive time, might just go cold in the end.
At the same time, Sakuya questioned Tae-il's actions, so blatantly different from guys who approached with clear intentions.
Why did he recruit me as a member?
Unlike Iris, she had zero history with music. Honestly, dragging someone as blatantly sports-obsessed as her into music wasn't a normal choice.
Ayane had voiced worries about recruiting her, after all.
Well, leaving aside what Katsuragi thinks, anyone would worry if he suddenly tried to recruit me.
Sakuya was a recommended student the school had invested in, banking on her starring in the sports clubs. She had to deliver results. Not in some unpredictable thing like music with an unknown future, but in sports, where the path was set—and in competitions, no less.
Her flashy record of awards was her pride, the chain binding her to sports, her legitimacy.
Pulling Sakuya into the Light Music Club meant ignoring school policy. Who knew what backlash there'd be? And yet Tae-il had dragged her into this opaque path called music.
Where did that confidence come from?
Bet he's banking on Iris?
Arisugawa was Yuuma High School's top investor. Word was, she donated the most. Even if Iris didn't flaunt it, she got perks and wielded real influence.
Can Iris's pull smooth it over?
But Sakuya remembered Iris hadn't been thrilled about her joining either. Sports aside, Sakuya was unproven in music. Iris wouldn't see the need to butt heads with the school over her.
Sakuya knew. Being cut from the same cloth as Iris, she understood that calculating side better than anyone.
We look close, but we're not at "sacrifice for each other" yet.
Tae-il and Iris seemed to treat this band seriously. They'd even declared major label goals. For a school band aiming that high, avoiding trouble was best.
If word got out about recruiting her, things would stir up little by little after classes resumed. Come tournament season, all sorts of annoying crap would pour in.
Tae-il knew. Ayane had warned him. He'd weighed the risks.
And yet.
He wanted me.
Two possible conclusions. One: the benefits of recruiting her outweighed any school backlash. Two: he liked her.
Her gut told her it was the former. But personally, she hoped for the latter. She didn't know why, but she knew Iris and Tae-il's ambitions were sky-high. Major debut wasn't enough—they needed commercial success, mainstream status.
They had to succeed. Absolutely had to.
And he'd pulled her, of all people, into that path.
Tae-il needs me.
Being needed felt good, deep down. But it worried her too.
I'm amazing. Overflowing with talents.
That was Sakuya's default mindset. Not arrogance. A conviction built from data over nearly a decade.
Born athlete.
Every time she showed her skills, everyone—from one to all—gave similar praise. Even the harsh critics tucked tail once she racked up wins and flashed a smile, admitting her talent.
The one field where Sakuya never got recognition? Only one.
Manga.
Secret from others, but she'd anonymously submitted her original comics to publishers multiple times. Sadly, despite confidence in her art, the results were failures. Even after getting edits from her cousin, her manuscripts bombed.
What was wrong?
Sakuya still wondered. If she had time, she'd submit more, build rapport with editors, or apprentice under a pro mangaka to steal some tricks. But as a student, she was too busy for manga alone.
So she calmly accepted it.
The arts aren't like sports. You can't always get results just by grinding your life away and practicing.
The irony escaped her—that the girl who'd always gotten what she wanted through effort found this strange.
Sakuya compartmentalized. Fine arts and athletics lumped under "pe," but inside, they were totally different worlds. Especially arts: once cameras appeared and repressed human freedom expressed itself as "art," the concept elevated to another dimension. There was something you couldn't capture just by copying or imitating.
Sakuya struggled to grasp it. Some value that didn't show on the surface, couldn't be put into words.
Japan excelled not just in commercial pop music but classical comprehensive arts too. To understand, Sakuya dove into Western art, traditional Japanese arts, modern visuals—various fields.
Results? Meh.
But she wasn't lost; she was steadily advancing. Manga made her heart race, emotions boil. At the live house with Tae-il, she'd gotten swept up and impulsively kissed him like a confession.
She was starting to get a handle on whatever moved emotions. A vague, squishy shape taking form in her eyes.
This is my chance too.
A shot to get closer to her dream. And Sakuya trusted herself. She wasn't the idiot who'd miss a chance dangling right in front of her.
* * *
"Okay. That's class done for today."
"Yay!"
As Tae-il called the end of the lesson, Sakuya clapped like a seal waiting for fish.
He gave her a weird look. That beaming smile— was it joy at boring class ending, or genuine enjoyment? Impossible to tell.
Think positive.
Pretending not to care, he neatly stacked the sheet music and papers. Music theory was boring as hell at the basics. Sakuya must feel the same. He was just grateful she'd stuck it out without yawning, fully focused. A total newbie with no background.
As he tidied slowly, Ayane yelled.
"Finally over! Ayane was dying of boredom!"
Tae-il flinched at the brutal review.
"B-boring..."
He muttered timidly, too quiet for others. Luckily, no one noticed.
"Ugh! Now off to eat, right?"
Ayane, who'd ground her teeth behind him more eagerly than anyone for private lessons to end, stretched and loosened her stiff body.
Sakuya snickered at the bravado.
"Really? Bet you didn't have time to get bored."
She turned, propped her elbow on the chair back, rested her chin, and crossed her legs. Long legs stretching out, then bending. Tae-il's eyes flicked there unconsciously before snapping away.
"Heh."
Sensing it, Sakuya smirked slyly. Ayane's eyebrow twitched at the model-worthy proportions.
"A-Ayane too...!"
"You too?"
"A-hem!"
Ayane struck an idol-photoshoot pose, hand on hip, legs slightly crossed— the trendy angle for killer legs. Her chest was smaller than Sakuya's, but her overall proportions and balance? Top-tier.
"H-how's this! Ayane's got leg confidence too, y'know?"
Chin up despite the embarrassment. Sakuya's gaze hit Ayane's lower half—but more the checkered skirt-like hem around her waist.
The boys' uniform Tae-il was wearing today...
Still some distance in Tae-il's consideration for her. Sakuya clicked her tongue.
"Tch."
The childhood friend wall seemed higher than she'd thought.
"Hm?"
Misreading it, Ayane puffed up proudly.
Then Rena shoved past Ayane from behind.
"Quit standing around like an idiot and pack your damn bass."
"Kyaa!"
Ayane stumbled, steadied herself, and yelled at Rena.
"Hey! You bump into someone, you apologize!"
"Blockers are the problem, no?"
"Shameless!"
"Shameless is you, gloomy girl blocking the way all bold."
"Gyaah!"
Ayane fumed harder at the brazenness. Anyone could see it was just bullying the shortest one here. They might actually fight.
Iris jumped in to mediate.
"Okay, both of you, quit fighting. We're all eating dinner together tonight, right?"
She glanced at Tae-il, who was sorting the prints from teaching Sakuya. Don't dump it on me every time—handle it yourself. The silent protest in her eyes.
"Uh, y-yeah."
Tae-il awkwardly affirmed, reading the room.
"I booked a shabu-shabu spot for six."
"Shabu-shabu sounds good. But why six?"
"Huh? Including Kiriko-san makes six."
"Taichi-sama..."
Kiriko's eyes sparkled with emotion, welling up. Sunglasses hid them, but the raw feeling came through.
Iris grumbled.
"Lucky you. Keep sharing tables and you'll get spoiled."
"What do you take me for!?"
As Kiriko protested, Iris shot back.
"Not?"
"No! This is servant rights violation!"
"Should I call Eishun and ask?"
"That's straight-up lying!"
"Plus, you're a loyal dog. Just not mine."
"Say that and I got nothing left...!"
Sakuya, bored watching the family spat, yawned and nudged Tae-il with her elbow.
"They always like that?"
"Pretty much."
Wiping yawn-tears, Sakuya marveled.
"Rich people life is wild just watching."
"Yeah."
"You react like it's none of your business, Tae-il."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Tae-il blinked blankly, clueless. Sakuya felt a bit relieved at that.