Concert (4): Serene Silence
Quiet. Yuuya loved this subtle hush that had settled over the Animal Husbandry Club room.
There were two kinds of silence in the world: comfortable and uncomfortable. The silence in the club room fell squarely into the comfortable category. Its unique tranquility gently soothed her heart, which had been thoroughly disrupted by the recent uninvited guests. Peace had finally returned. With Ayane and Sakuya gone, the club room seemed to erase any illusion of its formerly rowdy past, reclaiming its true serenity at last. Even Asakura, who had taken time off, was back. Everything had returned to its proper place.
Naturally, being alone with Tae-il in the club room should have lifted her spirits. Strangely enough, though, Yuuya still felt glum. There was one reason for it.
As she fed Toto, Yuuya turned her head just enough to shoot a glare at Tae-il's back.
Idiot.
His body was here, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, spacing out all day like the oblivious underclassman he was.
Sigh.
She let out a quiet breath, inwardly counting seconds to shake off her hesitation. One, two. She relaxed her tense body with deep breaths. Then Yuuya spoke.
"You seem busy lately, Taichi."
Tae-il paused while cleaning the tank. He slowly lifted his head, catching sight of Yuuya's back. Her shoulders didn't twitch—she had no intention of turning around. He was aware he was busy himself. His schedule was so hectic and exhausting that lately, he'd been passing out in his chair after overworking late into the night. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Ayane had started demanding to sleep together recently, so she'd drag him to bed each time. Still, anyone could see it wasn't a good sign.
Senpai's noticed too, huh...
Tae-il had never been good at hiding his feelings. If Yuuya, who rarely commented on anyone's condition, brought it up, it probably meant he looked seriously off to everyone else.
"Do I look that way to you too, senpai?"
"Yeah."
After her short reply, they maintained their silence, backs turned to each other, before resuming their tasks. Tae-il bent down to scrub the moss and debris Toto had scattered from the tank.
"I have been getting busier lately."
"Tough?"
"It's tough, but it's rewarding too. I can handle it."
Yuuya's hand stopped stroking Toto. Handleable. In a way, it was even more fulfilling than before. Tae-il meant it sincerely, but Yuuya didn't quite trust his words. The evidence? The dark circles under his eyes, which had faded recently, were darkening again. And his once-flawless club work was now plagued by frequent spacing out and minor slip-ups. At least from Yuuya's perspective, Tae-il looked precariously worn down.
"Really?"
Tae-il made a troubled face at her probing question—not because he was lying, but because explaining his daily routine to others felt awkward. Dawn workouts with Sakuya dropping by. Ayane tagging along on the bike for jogs, distrusting Sakuya and ramping up her sleepovers exponentially. They'd sweat it out together, head home for a quick wash and simple breakfast. Then off to the club room. For a few days, it was just the two of them, but Ayane had an excuse with the Morals Committee and student council duties, so she'd bailed—probably because bugs were too much for her, like the other members. Sakuya, following Tae-il's advice not to waste time here, had left for guitar practice. She was probably deep into it in the art room by now.
After club activities, they'd head to the art room to check Sakuya's playing and give her personal lessons. On joint practice days, they'd wait for everyone to gather and run about two hours of band rehearsal, then discuss assignments and future directions. On non-joint days, they'd wait for Ayane and head home together. Sakuya would peel off for her personal schedule then—usually workouts or training. She'd casually suggest it, Ayane would bristle immediately, and Tae-il would freak out. Somehow they'd part ways with Sakuya, and he'd tweak Ayane's bass while reviewing songs. Dinner at the Katsuragi estate, back home, explaining composition to an intrigued Ayane until spotting flaws in the tracks. Tinkering alone, he'd drift off without realizing. Ayane would either wake him or drag him to bed, cuddling up to sleep.
How do I even explain this...
Tae-il had a gut feeling: anyone hearing his routine would 100% misunderstand. Even the most understanding person would give him weird looks.
"It's true."
He tossed the rag, now filthy from scrubbing, into the bucket.
"Besides, I'm the type who quits if my grit runs out and I can't hack it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Thanks for worrying, but I'm really fine."
"Okay."
Only then did Yuuya turn her head toward him. She spoke.
"Keep pushing with band practice. I'll cheer you on."
"Haha."
Tae-il chuckled at the sudden encouragement. But it definitely gave him a boost.
When he'd planned the band around the original members, Tae-il couldn't help being bound by the source material, like it or not. Iris's stage trauma. Ayane's social phobia. Sakuya's unconscious disregard for teamwork and her bullheaded self-prioritization. Rena's explosive outbursts and stamina issues. Plus a mountain of personal backstories for each member that needed resolving one by one. Designing the band's future without addressing all that was impossible for him.
Burning Blaze. Purely on paper specs, they outclassed most indie bands. Even they had faced plenty of twists and turns to make it big. Traumas from past events erupting. Personal convictions clashing head-on with family expectations. Getting blacklisted by industry bigwigs. All unavoidable trials because they were the manga protagonists—trials no one else endured.
Burning Blaze overcame every hardship with friendship, dreams, and aspiration, succeeding spectacularly as if to prove a point. Tae-il had once celebrated their victories like his own. Maybe because he'd failed in reality, he over-immersed in theirs. Like the public obsessing over celebrities' triumph-over-adversity stories, the protagonists' struggles, triumphs, and success gave him unique catharsis.
The problem is that.
As a reader, he could just enjoy it. But now those story problems were his reality. There's a saying: tragedies from afar are comedies up close. And boy, was it true. The comedy Tae-il had watched had flipped into tragedy right before his eyes.
"Look! Ayane can already do this!"
"Haha. No clue what that is."
"You don't know slap!?"
"Rena, do you?"
"Nope."
"See."
"You guys are the worst! Shin-jjang's a bassist too!"
"Haha. Joking. I actually know what it is."
"Me too."
"Explain it! Iris, monitor how shameless they are too!"
"Ehh. I'm busy lyric-writing with Shin Tae-il..."
At Ayane's call, Iris paused her work, leaned back, and flopped onto the floor like it was too much hassle. She gazed at the members upside-down from her view.
"But Ayane, you already learned slap?"
Unlike the clueless, uninterested duo, Iris was deeply invested in the members' progress. Her interest sparked Ayane's beaming smile, like she'd been waiting.
"Yeah! Shin-jjang said as long as I nail the basics, I can learn slap early!"
"Oh?"
Iris lifted her head to glare at Tae-il, buried in lyric sheets.
"You're so devoted, huh?"
"Not really...?"
Some say master fingerstyle first, then slap. Tae-il figured learning both together was fine. The techniques differed greatly, but solid basics let bass apply to any style.
"As Iris knows, the most crucial basic for bass is muting."
Bass favors expressing single notes over strumming like guitar, so no unwanted noise—muting is fundamental, the yardstick for any technique and skill level.
"Ayane's muting is spot-on. Her playing's textbook perfect."
"Good?"
"Obviously. She's still a beginner."
In a world where "decent" takes a decade, Ayane—barely a month in—was like a toddler taking first steps. Too early for running.
"A player's personality is like habits—unique emotional territory that slips out unconsciously."
Beginners don't notice. Even if they do, it's more likely bad habits to ditch than true personality. Grasping basic sound and groove takes at least two steady years. "Prospect" means it could take longer.
"Experience is key. Geniuses with innate feel aside, everyone fills gaps with it."
"Hm. Our biggest shortfall. Experience..."
"No need to rush. Time will handle it."
"You know 'time heals all' is the most irresponsible saying, right?"
"Of course—pair it with effort. Instruments don't improve on mechanical reps alone. Vocals too."
"Yeah."
Iris agreed. Deliberate learners progress way faster. Ayane was that type—dead serious. Experience would naturally infuse her emotions into the sound.
"Better colorless playing now. Means no bad habits yet."
"Ohhh?"
"That's how Sakuya teaches too..."
"Not working?"
"Too well. It's overwhelming..."
Tae-il sighed.
"Ayane approaches logically through repetition. Sakuya intuitively masters body control."
One-point-twenty. Teach one, knows ten. Perfect for Sakuya, Tae-il thought. Athletes learn optimal movement through training. Pro gamers predict via endless reps. Sakuya was similar. Her edge over normals? Veteran savvy without the mileage. He barely taught, yet she self-discovered efficient methods and applied them.
"It's mesmerizing to watch. Fun teaching her. She absorbs like a sponge. Makes you expect more."
"Haha. Sudden praise won't get you anywhere, Tae-il."
Sakuya scratched her cheek, shyly grinning at the compliment. Ayane, overhearing, bristled.
"Hold on, Shin-jjang! Why does my praise lead to Sakuraba praise!?"
"What else from Gloomy Girl?"
"I'm not gloomy! And Ayane's not gloomy!"
"Looks gloomy to anyone."
"Gyaack!"
"Haha!"
Ayane fell for Rena's light provocation like a fool, snarling threats. Tae-il smiled wryly at the sight, then hauled Iris up.
"Back to lyrics."
"Ugh."
Too much hassle. Having escaped "lyric hell" briefly, Iris was dragged back by Tae-il's hand. He tidied scattered sheets and broached.
"Remember, your debut song request had one condition."
"Upbeat song."
"Right. You ordered an upbeat one."
Iris's stubborn streak. Debuts are once-in-a-lifetime mega-events for any band. She wanted her debut track symbolic: a school band's joyful present and future, free-spirited youth unbound.
"That's the issue."
Songs carry biases. Club/dance tracks must be upbeat, per stereotype. Genres have fitting seasons. Upbeat, body-shaking scream-alongs peak in summer and winter.
"Summer and winter..."
"Summer's full of refreshing cool-vibe tracks. Crisp highs included."
"Got summer. Winter?"
"Festive Christmas feels. Love songs are season-agnostic too."
Winter's keywords vary wildly, fitting anywhere.
"Problem: we're debuting neither summer nor winter."
"Fall, huh. Season of ennui."
"Exactly."
Chilly weather perfect for reading. In Korea, minus drama OSTs, ballads flood then. Idol shows host ballad singers in long coats. Japan too—autumn stirs leaf-fall sentiment, bands go moody, MVs pastel-toned.
Tae-il liked it, but couldn't for Iris's sake.
"We need an upbeat song this fall."
"Hm..."
"Theme: love. No exceptions."
At Tae-il's firm declaration, Iris's eyes went wide.