Recording Session (5): Yahoo!
“Huh?”
The phone screen lit up with a ping from the stand, and Rena paused her drumming to pick it up.
Ya-hoo.
It was the alarm she'd set specifically for Iris. She'd ignore other annoying messages, but never one from Iris—this one was recorded in her voice herself. For reference, Shin's was “Excuse me?”, and Sakuya's was “Ahaha!”. Each had their own personality captured in a personal recording.
Ayane? The gloomy girl didn't get one. Rena didn't have that much affection to spare for her.
Iris sent a message, and the unread count dropped rapidly before vanishing.
“Everyone's quick.”
Rena laid the stand flat like a desk and propped her hands and chin on it. Tap tap. She drummed her fingers on it, eyes glued to the screen, waiting for Iris's next message.
Messages this loud? Iris's uncontainable joy seeped through. In contrast, Rena felt more tension than joy.
“Recording...”
It had finally come. Rena gripped the drumstick rolling on the stand, swallowing dryly just like at her first exhibition.
As she swallowed her nerves, the log scrolled fast.
Rena read up to there and snapped her smartphone shut without looking further. The phone vibrated wildly, blaring every alarm imaginable, begging for attention.
“Ah! Gotta mute it!”
She switched her iPhone to silent with awkward Korean pronunciation reading, and the practice room fell abruptly quiet.
“Phew.”
Rena let out a deep sigh. The fact that their secret chat—hidden from Tae-il—had been exposed in less than a week thanks to that dumb gloomy girl wasn't all that important. Probably.
Anyway, Rena pondered the recording looming right around the corner, not trivial matters.
“Recording, huh...”
She tapped the hi-hat with her drumstick. Ting ting ting. Closed, it let out a short, muffled thud, sound trapped inside.
Rena stared at the stick in her hand with a complicated expression.
“We're really doing it.”
She spun the stick over her hand like wielding a brush.
“Not much time left.”
School starts soon. And the day she stands on stage.
Finally.
A massive wave of anticipation swirled inside her, along with an indescribable anxiety.
They won't blame me.
Not just Iris—everyone. Even Tae-il. She firmly believed they wouldn't fault her.
But betraying her friends' expectations terrified her. The emotional walls between members might have softened a bit while Tae-il was hospitalized. Yet her skills hadn't dramatically improved.
Music is honest. No shortcuts, as Tae-il said. Just like drawing. Methodically repeating lines and shading endlessly until mastered.
Still, Rena's skills stagnated at the present. No dramatic awakening like in shonen manga. She could barely handle the given songs.
Could someone like her...
“...pull it off?”
Beyond skill issues, a primal question to herself. Not about now, but enduring this process repeatedly ahead.
Once is fine. Twice too. But after three? She didn't know.
She wanted to help Iris. See Tae-il happy, hear his praise. Was that mindset enough to endure?
Rena had seen it plenty. People dismissed for being young or foreign. Those crumbling in the art world with half-hearted resolve.
“Losers.”
She'd dismissed them as failures, mocking their pathetic backs.
I'm fine. Look at you. Insulting them.
Now that boomerang attitude flew back at her, courtesy of Tae-il's clingy childhood friend.
“Phew. Of all people, scratched by that gloomy girl...”
Ayane's jab at Sakuya hit Rena the same. Lacking confidence in her skills pricked her pride, sparking slight anger.
Unable to calm down, Rena left the practice room.
“Gonna grab a drink.”
Heading to the living room for a beverage, she heard footsteps. Not servant time. Curious, she went to the kitchen and saw a soft-featured man.
He noticed her too.
“Rena?”
“Papa?”
Rena's father, Luce Manchester, was there.
* * *
“What brings you here?”
Luce smiled brightly as he brewed black tea, savoring rare father-daughter talk time. Joy laced his voice.
“You hole up in the practice room till I drag you out for meals.”
Rena pouted.
“Papa ignores me when I tell you to rest too.”
“Papa's is work, sweetie.”
“I earn enough for us.”
Luce chuckled softly at her cute whining, offering the tea.
“Still, earn while you can for a comfy retirement.”
“What? I'll handle Papa's retirement.”
“Your money's for you.”
“Nooo...”
Rena's cheeks puffed like balloons. Luce sat opposite, soothing her.
“Rena, life's unpredictable.”
“Huh?”
“Earn well now, but without saving for tomorrow, who knows?”
Economics gonna economy, he thought, sipping the perfectly aromatic tea.
“So save when you can.”
“Is that from experience?”
“Yeah. Experience.”
Hating to repeat his penniless hardships on her, Luce cherished his lovely daughter. People grow and change, but Rena stayed the same—maybe just taller, less baby fat?
She didn't resemble her mother at all; Luce couldn't tell if that was good or bad.
They sipped tea, cautiously sharing updates.
“How's it going? Heard you started music.”
“So-so.”
“Seems pretty serious for so-so? Lots of practice.”
“Got my reasons...”
“Oh?”
Curious as he was, Luce didn't pry. Rena's wounds from drawing stemmed from guilt over him. She was possessed when drawing. She claimed it joyful and natural, but not to her father's eyes.
Watching her pull all-nighters for exhibitions, Luce felt deepest sorry. Realizing he couldn't—and shouldn't—stop her, he self-blamed endlessly.
This tied to her not spending earnings, him working: independence.
And her slightly harsh drawings... he pretended ignorance. She looked happy. Free from Honjo Rena's status, shaking desires and worries—it was good.
But Luce didn't know she'd dip into music too.
“Papa was in a school band in England as a kid.”
“Really?”
“Eh, total newbie who couldn't drum worth a damn.”
“Drums... Papa too, huh.”
“So, how's music? Fun?”
“Dunno.”
Luce was surprised. She looked thrilled, locked in the practice room for hours, drenched in sweat despite hating movement, emerging exhausted yet smiling fresh.
“Dunno?”
Rena hesitated, tracing the teacup rim with her finger. Staring into the tea, ripples blurred her reflection. She closed her eyes.
“Papa, know my main instrument?”
“Drums.”
“Right. Drums.”
Tae-il nudged, but she chose it. Bought a soundproof booth and two sets, shocking him.
That much.
“Playing drums itself is fun. Grateful to the one who showed me this joy.”
“I see.”
Luce nodded. New joys stimulate uniquely. Drums expanded her drawing-only world.
Joy was situational: making her idol smile, easing Papa's burden, revenge on mockers. Now added: drumming itself, Tae-il's praise, laughing with friends.
Ultimately, meeting that boy—whom she hated, misunderstanding his Iris intent—opened a new world.
Sadly, he seemed oblivious.
“Yeah. Fun.”
Every dumb face he made.
“Fun enough to wonder if it's okay.”
Every wronged shout.
Just. All time with him was pure joy and happiness.
“So fun, maybe my brain's broken.”
“Th-that so. Drums that fun... Different from Papa... I got bored quick 'cause I sucked.”
“Huh? Y-yeah... right...?”
Rena puzzled at his mutter. Really fun?
Fun.
Drumming vibrates her whole body. Pounding heart, racing pulse—hands move instinctively to next beat. Thump thump. Chaotic's fine. Like a lord commanding troops, air tremors from fingertips spike adrenaline, thrilling.
More pleasure than drawing.
“Yeah, fun... but...”
Rhythm under her control.
And drums sway the whole band powerfully.
Tyrant. Perfect word.
Guitar and bass max volume, thrash—no match. Drums set genre. Not guitar, not bass—drums.
“Bands vary wildly,” Tae-il said.
“Some ditch bass, even guitar besides drums.”
Self-deprecating on bass.
“But.”
He ruffled her hair roughly.
“No song skips drums forever. They'll compromise eventually.”
Replacing drums takes extremes. Great challenge, but tough, he said.
“Inevitable. Simpler songs make beats crucial.”
More she learned, happier. His emphasis fueled pride.
But knowledge ≠ skill growth.
“Honestly, live it's zero fun.”
“No fun?”
“Can't control it.”
This band? Control meaningless. Everyone plays selfishly. Unity crumbles. Best efforts ruin harmony due to skill gaps.
“Just to Papa: solo's fun, but with others? No thrill.”
Recording. Original song approaching. Unlike covers—no clear answers.
Every beat, eye Tae-il, the owner. No fun. Even perfect play feels empty. Misses. Stress builds where release needed. Drumming fails as outlet, chest tightens, doubts self.
Luce set down cooled tea.
“Why drums, Rena? Duty?”
“Well...”
Stuck. It felt obligatory now.
Hobby-to-job misery. She teetered there. Prioritizing others over self-relief/joy.
Iris. Shin Tae-il. Wanted their success, meet expectations. Even if Iris never expected from her.
“Maybe overstepping, but...”
For her. Luce steeled.
“If miserable, quit.”
“Huh?”
Rena's eyes widened. Looking up from tea, she saw his worried gaze. Worried him again. She bit her lip unconsciously.
“Not loyalty to friends, right?”
“That's...”
Hard to deny. Asked “Did you truly want drums?”, conscience tips “No”.
But she refused admission.
“Rena.”
He pressed.
“Do your friends think you love music sincerely?”
No. She could affirm “No”.
Reverse: All but Iris/Tae-il say “No”. Sakuya? Sports/manga otaku over music. Ayane? Tae-il-obsessed; he's reason enough.
Wait, me too kinda...
Rena shook head.
“Rena?”
“Nah. Nothing. Yeah, like Papa said. Probably not.”
“Ever talked properly?”
“Well...”
Yes. They think it's for Iris. She even感動ed pointlessly. Unfelt, but friendship chained her.
“Plan to tell friends and quit?”
“No.”
Quick denial; Luce smiled wryly. Realized: Ah, she just needs a reason.
Like drawing. Not joy, but self-motivation to convince/push forward.
Pity for her passive instinct, needing external drive.
“Separate reason to continue band?”
“Yes.”
Help Iris. Even if she alone suffers hell, not drag Iris. If one free, must be her.
“Personal goal from band?”
“Personal?”
“Yeah. Not band's—Rena's own.”
Priority: Band success frees Iris. But smaller, personal happiness: Tae-il's joy, praise. Pathetic-small.
But.
“Yeah. Even that works.”
“Papa?”
“I'll cheer too. Don't know what, but.”
“Without knowing what?”
“Did Papa know your drawing goal and cheer?”
“Well...”
Ah. Forgot memory surfaced. Kid days, ostracized Rena found joy in drawing. Luce smiled; she beamed happiest then.
Arisugawa patronage unnecessary—if just personal satisfaction. Regretted burdening via connections.
Fortunate she befriended Iris. Realizing drawing helped family, she dove deeper. For Papa.
And a praising girl gave longed affection/attention.
Just like now. Only target changed.
“But if band's not fun, let's add a new goal.”
“New goal?”
“Yeah. Drawing goal? Honest before Papa.”
“Money...?”
No fame sought. Direct family aid.
“M-money?!”
Blunt answer flustered Luce; wry smile.
“Right. Same this time.”
“Like what?”
“What do you want most now?”
“What I want most...”
A boy's face surfaced. Want to possess? Unsure. Others acquirable— she had ability.
But not him. Fierce rivals. Iris pretends not, but softens subtly.
Thus? Nothing else stirred her.
Plus.
“Eek! Get out of Shin's arms, you runt!”
Imagining Ayane wailing, robbed of Shin Tae-il by her—quite enjoyable. Rena's lips curled slyly.
Oblivious, Luce beamed, nodding.
“Let's work to get it.”
“Hm.”
Possess Tae-il, make Ayane miserable. Recalled industry/school mockers. Crushing/mocking them brought her joy.
Yeah. Nothing changed.
Rena smiled brightly.
“Thanks, Papa. Motivated now.”
“Haha. Glad.”
Her pure smile gladdened Luce, unaware he'd flipped the bomb switch.
“Rare chance—sleep together tonight?”
“Hm. Shave beard?”
“B-beard? Too dandy to waste...”
“Not at all?”
Cold verdict; Luce drooped.
“Kidding. Let's. Curious about Papa's embrace.”
“Papa's embrace...?”
Then Luce sensed odd menace. Too late.
Meanwhile.
Checking her belatedly muted smartphone, Rena broke sweat apologizing to Tae-il—that's another story.