Leaderless Rehearsal
A few days earlier, during the first band practice without Tae-il.
The members weren't thrilled about gathering without him deep down, but they eventually accepted reality. Just as Tae-il had said. They weren't so leisurely that they could afford to skip even a single precious rehearsal day.
Let's not fight. It was an unspoken agreement among them all.
When Tae-il was around, they all mysteriously let their guards down, their thoughts and actions growing lax. But without him, the air between the members thickened strangely, tension pulling taut on its own. They all instinctively understood. If emotions clashed now, it might be impossible to turn back.
Ayane and Sakuya, with their wealth of social experience, were especially sensitive to it.
"Is this Rena's house?"
"Yeah."
Unlike the others, this was Sakuya's first visit to Rena's place, and she marveled openly. The exterior was an ordinary single-family home. But the interior decor screamed money, even to Sakuya, who knew nothing about such things. From the wallpaper to the carpets and ornaments—everything oozed luxury.
Sakuya glanced around the living room before following Rena to the practice room, which boasted a soundproof booth. She still couldn't believe a private home on the first floor—not even a basement—had a full setup like this.
"Here."
Sakuya had done her homework online too. Drums—the heart of a band—but surprisingly hard to find players for, despite the fame. Their accessibility was just too low.
Unlike other electronic instruments commonly used in bands, drums offered almost no volume control. They were so loud that a soundproof booth wasn't optional for indoor practice; it was mandatory. That jacked up the entry barrier.
Korea was better off, with churches everywhere providing frequent access to instruments. In Japan, aspiring band kids had slim chances outside school, and even then, sticking with it and diving deep was tough.
"First house with a soundproof booth I've seen."
"First time for me too—just installed it."
"You installed it?"
"Yeah. Cost a fortune, drum set included."
"Whoa."
Sakuya was speechless. "Cost a fortune" didn't even begin to cover it.
"You didn't play drums from the start, right, Rena?"
"Nope."
Soundproof booth, air conditioning, and a drum set that looked brand-new and high-end at a glance. A computer sat in the corner too. Sakuya, who had splurged on her own rig for digital art, could tell it was pricey.
This setup alone must've cost over a million... Thinking Rena footed the bill made her head spin at the capital gap.
"Spacious."
She didn't hate comic-strewn homes, but Rena's tidy studio-cum-practice-room sparked envy. True to her manga artist dreams, Sakuya felt a twinge of greed.
If I debut, maybe I'll draw in a place like this? Famous mangaka often had separate off-site studios. Sakuya dreamed of her own space too—one tailored entirely to her tastes.
Watching Sakuya get lost in thought, Rena muttered nonchalantly.
"Compared to other artists' studios, this is pretty cramped."
"Really?"
"I rent a full studio for big exhibition pieces."
Rena specialized in large-scale works. Her youthful, petite frame birthed pieces that wowed galleries without needing elaborate stories.
"Got it."
As Sakuya admired, Ayane quietly set up her bass in the corner.
Miss Shin-kun...
She warmed the amp and strummed lightly. The song was a BARD classic from before Sakuya and Rena joined—perfect for stirring sentiment and thoughts of Tae-il in his hospital bed.
Ayane always felt isolated at these gatherings. The reason was simple: bad blood from day one. Overambition and possessiveness had backfired spectacularly. Topped off with a head start as childhood friends, the outcome was predictable. Everyone pretended otherwise but eyed her warily.
This is so unfair for Ayane...!
She shot furtive glares at Rena and Sakuya chatting amiably. Common sense, right? If someone's taken, you back off—that's basic courtesy. Dating wasn't soccer. No goalkeeper blocking goals in some competitive sport.
Soccer might even be better. At least sports had rules.
They're all so mean...
No manners. Ayane pouted, flipping on the metronome out of habit for chromatic scales as the amp finished warming.
Clunk!
"Sorry! Took a bit printing the sheets!"
Iris burst back in, arms full of tablature, perfect timing.
"Everyone ready?"
Her face flushed with excitement, she passed out the tabs for the song she and Tae-il had co-written—no title yet.
Beans scattered wildly on the page, but Ayane, with a growing eye for it, knew: tough. Easier than some, maybe, but no cakewalk. Blame Tae-il's bassist greed—not quite greed, but close.
It's fine. Shin-kun believes in Ayane. Framing the bass difficulty as his trust lit a fire in her.
Too much for now, but grind hard and...
She'd nail it perfectly.
Oh crap.
Unlike Ayane steeling herself, Rena eyed the sheet with dismay.
That guy's got sneaky high expectations...
Her sight-reading wasn't sharp, but playing varied songs built intuition for difficulty. Frequent tab exposure amplified it.
This might be a stretch for my level...
The dense beans on the staff dizzied her. She'd heard it a few times, so the vibe was familiar. The interlude leaned hard on guitar, seeming deceptively chill. The real killer? The chorus—relentless assault. An autumn love song infused with Tae-il's subtle romanticism.
Can I pull this off?
Rena stretched her fingers, assessing objectively.
Stamina and focus? I've got that.
Drawing had been her sole escape since childhood—her lifeline clinging to survive in Japan with her dad. Desperation fueled ruthless drive. Her fame wasn't just Arisugawa backing or media hype; she had real skill. Consistent, undeniable output built her rep.
She'd wanted to quit plenty, but Iris's praise anchored her. Not enough? She even dipped into adult doujin, scorned by industry peers. Her body fluctuated then. People misunderstood—art wasn't easy. Even modern art beneficiary Rena wouldn't defend it blindly. Creation demanded diverse skills. Mangaka wrecked their health for a reason. Twentieth-century greats met tragic ends, body and mind pushed to limits. Artists burned endlessly.
Same here.
Let's do it.
Her artist's soul ignited. Art pros acknowledged her, but music? Beginner basics. Quitting now? Pathetic. Eyes blazing, she memorized the tab. Melody stuck since Art Room A.
"Hm hm hmm."
Humming, she moved to the rhythms. Embodying the song.
"Huh?"
Sudden realization.
Verse 1? Piece of cake with practice.
Past efforts paid off; confidence surged.
But.
She eyed Ayane buried in her tab cautiously.
Can't lose to her, no matter what.
Sakuya? Fine—even promising. Iris? Mildly annoying, but childhood ties meant scraps might fall. Ayane? She'd hog it all solo.
Pure greed. No yielding, ever. Lose to her? Unthinkable. Mood soured worse.
Absolutely not losing.
With both faces in tabs, the room fell deathly silent.
"Everyone's super serious."
Sakuya gave a wry smile at the heavy air. A teacher might've beamed proudly.
Iris beside her asked,
"Not serious, Sakuya?"
"I am."
Flipping tabs dizzied her, but she matched beans to memorized chords doggedly.
"Truth is, no real reason for me to take music seriously."
"Sakuya?"
"I do it 'cause I can."
Her mindset was purely pragmatic.
"Still."
Tae-il's efforts to show her music's joy flickered in mind. Rare loose smile from Sakuya.
"Sakuya?"
To Iris's head-tilt.
"Tae-il probably likes me more on guitar days, right?"
"Uh..."
Iris trailed off. Unsure of his true feelings, she couldn't answer lightly.
"Anyway, ditching's not my style."
She'd give her all. Like them.
"Nice vibe, but."
Iris poured cold water.
"You know you're the biggest newbie here besides me, right?"
"..."
Sakuya buried her head in the tab, speechless.
Newbie. Excluding Iris, no one else escaped the label.