Recording Work (7)
“Good morning.”
“Good morning to you too, Yuuya-senpai.”
First day back at school. Yuuya greeted Tae-il with a smile as he stopped by the Animal Husbandry Club room.
“Can I hang out here until first period?”
“Not going to the opening ceremony?”
“No way.”
Yuuya blinked in surprise at his bold declaration of truancy. Tae-il added,
“Even the homeroom teacher would let it slide.”
“Really?”
In truth, Yuuya had planned to skip too, so she had no intention of scolding her junior for it. If anything, it was a win—she got to spend a solid hour with him.
“What about the others?”
“Ayane and Sakuya had no choice but to head to the auditorium by now...”
Ayane might've been easy to forget since she hadn't come up much over break, but she was still officially on the morals committee. No matter how much she hated the role, she had to show up for official school events like this, just like student council members. Same went for Sakuya. After her stellar performance at Interhigh, she was lined up to receive every award under the sun—no way she could skip.
An event without its stars would be pretty lackluster.
“Honestly, I've heard Yuuma's official events are notoriously long and pointless, so I didn't wanna go anyway...”
“Good job. Here's a pat on the head.”
Yuuya reached up and ruffled Tae-il's hair.
He's gotten so tall...
She hadn't noticed, but their eye levels had shifted over break. Now she had to look up a bit more to meet his gaze. Yuuya hadn't changed since middle school, but Tae-il had shot up in just a few months.
“Does the uniform fit okay?”
“The uniform? Oh, the pants are a little short now.”
He lifted his knee, revealing slim ankles that were on the slender side even for a guy.
“Yuuna said she'd hem them later...”
“Yuuna?”
“Oh, Ayane's mom.”
“Got it.”
Yuuya bit her lip.
I could do it for him...
But asking a senior to mend your uniform felt weird. She shelved her selfish urge and got to work with Tae-il on club duties.
The Animal Husbandry Club had gotten unexpectedly busy lately with breeding season in full swing. Following Yuuya's instructions, Tae-il had even built special storage boxes for eggs. The process had been edited into a video and uploaded to her YouTube channel—with some personal bias, focusing mostly on their hands at work.
Tae-il wasn't the handiest guy, so Yuuya helped out a lot. The frequent touches sparked a comment section full of accusations that she was doing it on purpose, hurling all sorts of grief at Tae-il. Even Yuuya had been pretty flustered—she hadn't expected him to take that much heat.
“How were the comments?”
“Ah, no need to worry. It even pulled in some good engagement, actually.”
Tae-il, the actual victim, brushed it off casually. But humans are social creatures—far more sensitive than they let on. The mental pressure from mass online attacks can break people more easily than you'd think. Even if you're innocent, getting dogpiled by strangers shrinks you down and wrecks your emotions.
Yuuya used to get stressed over even minor hate when she started out. She was used to it now, though.
“You sure you're okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Really okay...?”
“Haha. I'm fine. Kinda used to it by now.”
Getting flak was familiar territory for him. Yuuya tilted her head at the wistful ring to his answer.
Back to the present, the two methodically snipped off the antennae and limbs of feeder crickets without mercy.
“Anything special to watch for during breeding season?”
“Don't mess with them.”
“And?”
“Feed them more often than usual.”
Reptiles are super energy-efficient. Keep the enclosure temp right, and they can go weeks without eating. But breeding season changes things. Even without mating, females might lay infertile eggs. A full-grown female gecko weighs about 40g, and each egg is around 5g—that's an eighth of her body mass produced internally. And they don't stop at one.
You need top-quality food nonstop, perfect enclosure conditions, constant health checks. Oh, and too much fussing stresses them out, so keep interactions minimal.
“Right, how was that video you sent?”
“The member intro one? It was great...”
He'd always thought she had talent, but the quality blew past his expectations, leaving him with a wry smile. She'd downplayed it as a “boredom cure” to hide her passion. It had even made him feel like his own sincerity wasn't worth as much as her idle tinkering.
“V.”
With sheer skill, Yuuya had confidently snagged the editor gig for Tails Tale's YouTube channel—not just from Tae-il, but the whole band. And it wasn't even a glamorous or lucrative role.
Tae-il asked, a touch worried,
“Thanks for the help, but you sure it's okay? You're already busy with your own channel.”
“Yeah. I'm a member of Taichi's Light Music Club too, y'know.”
“No need to push yourself.”
“I'll speak up if it's too much.”
“Haha. Seriously, thanks, senpai.”
Gratitude over apologies. Yuuya smiled softly at his thanks.
“How's the response so far?”
“Not huge yet. Band promo and follow-ups are key right now.”
The edited videos were slick, but the channel was brand new—views were minimal. Same on TikTok. They'd need to steadily post music content to game the algorithm.
Tae-il knew the algorithm's terror all too well. Music circles, past life and this one, were full of folks like that—one viral hit with massive views, but pitiful subs and other video counts. All algorithm darlings. The issue? They couldn't convert that traffic into real growth. They didn't take it seriously or know channel ops basics. Bluntly, the creator's charm fell short.
Tae-il aimed to avoid that by giving people real reasons to stick around. Not that he wanted them turning into full-time YouTubers—he wouldn't let the band wreck themselves for it.
“What kinda videos next?”
“Performances and covers.”
“And?”
“If it works, Light Music Club vlogs too.”
“Like the club ones?”
“Yeah. All our band members have that same irresistible appeal you do, senpai.”
“R-Really...?”
Yuuya, who was pretty confident in her looks, had to concede to Tae-il's bandmates' faces. But he'd flipped it, saying they matched her.
Me too...?
Caught off-guard by the indirect praise, her cheeks flushed.
“I-It's hot... Should we open a window?”
“No AC?”
“A-AC's bad when the critters are sensitive!”
“Oh yeah?”
Tae-il nodded innocently and flung open the club's big windows. Faintly, the principal's speech droned on, met with perfunctory applause from the students.
“Everyone's suffering out there.”
“Yep.”
Sakuya especially—up on stage nonstop collecting awards. Must be getting sick of the principal's stares by now. They shared a wry chuckle and quietly carried on.
Yuuya asked,
“How's recording prep?”
“Recording? Coming along, but tight.”
“T-Tight...”
“Haha. Still, it's more realistic than pie-in-the-sky dreams. Everyone's keeping up great.”
“The goal being...?”
“Yeah. Major debut. And we gotta get famous.”
Bands in Japan popped up and vanished yearly like Korean idols. Unlike tightly controlled idols, bands had more freedom—and more reasons to disband. Fights. Creative clashes. Lifestyle too tough, no money. Just flopping. Hating the members. Pick one. Member drama usually killed them.
Unlike idols, backed by companies that could replace dropouts, a band loses its frontman? Game over, start from scratch. Unless you're the Beatles with everyone a star and production chops. Frontmen usually call the shots on sound, composition, everything—they're the core. Plenty go solo after breaking up, banking on their skills.
So major success as a band? Rare as hell. And yet.
“Watching Taichi makes it feel possible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You can just tell you'll make it.”
“Haha.”
From an outsider's view, Tae-il's conviction bordered on bizarre—arrogant, even. But his actions screamed sincerity, and the others were buying in.
“I'm not totally confident or anything.”
“Really?”
“Look, that's why I'm prepping like this.”
Running a YouTube channel? No one in the original story did that.
“I'm no omniscient god.”
He'd just lived through failure once—now he was minimizing errors.
“Still, that 'we'll succeed no matter what' mindset...”
“Yeah. Just like raising your critters, senpai.”
Even with all the care, animal breeding threw curveballs. Tail drops. Egg-laying issues. Eggs rotting from mold. Or prized morphs that just won't mate. Endless bullshit you push through with grit.
“Sounds tough.”
“Gotta do it. Responsibility and all.”
“Talking about Arisugawa?”
“Uh...”
Tae-il dodged with an awkward smile. Ayane and Iris—members he felt indebted to, ones he had to make good on. Enviable. But he hated making them feel the same debt.
If I could help her instead...
If he leaned on her first, maybe it'd shift things. Music was out—she was tone-deaf. But videos? Maybe.
No. Not maybe.
Tae-il was investing here, so she'd make damn sure she helped.
“I'll help too.”
“You're already doing more than enough...”
“It's fine.”
I'm in the club. Your senior. In front of me... you can lighten that load a bit.
“Senpai?”
Yuuya ruffled his hair again. A breeze stirred.
“I'll cheer you on right by your side until you make that dream happen.”
She smiled gently.
“Taichi's definitely gonna nail it.”
As if announcing summer's lingering hold, a fresh scent wafted in through the window.
* * *
“How many awards do you even need?”
“Right?”
Sakuya stuck out her tongue at her friend's teasing as she juggled armfuls of certificates and plaques.
She'd lost count of the stage trips. The principal kept mangling “Sakuraba Sakuya” without tiring.
“Dealing with all this is a chore...”
“Not keeping 'em?”
“Why? I can get more anytime.”
“Ugh, so annoying.”
Her friend's face screamed just how punchable Sakuya was being. She played cute for Tae-il, but she was still her. Nicely put: unrivaled queen. Bluntly: total tyrant. That smug aura was impossible to hide.
“Some people laminate theirs and hang 'em on the wall. You just toss 'em like trash...”
“Isn't it the same with brainiacs?”
“Who's top in our class academics-wise?”
“Me.”
“So broken.”
Sakuya cracked up at her reaction.
“Anyway, where's your precious Taichi? He should've watched you get these.”
“Ditched 'cause he hates the principal's speech.”
“Fair.”
Dodging that drone-fest trumped love any day. Even she'd bail.
Her friend poked slyly. “Disappointed?”
“Haha, no way. Why regret this kinda thing?”
“Sure?”
“We'll share way bigger stages later.”
“Wedding?”
“Koff! Koff!”
Sakuya choked in panic as her friend grinned like a victor.
“What could top a wedding?”
She clapped. “Oh! Funeral, right?”
“...”
“Already planning matching graves? Scary~”
“Shut up. Haven't thought that far.”
“For real?”
“We're high schoolers. Lifespans are skyrocketing. Plenty of time to love later.”
“True.”
Her friend nodded, convinced. Sakuya relaxed—her desperate squirming had paid off.
Of course.
“But y'know...”
She pounced instantly.
“Calling his Korean name all cute like that? So lovey-dovey.”
Sakuya squeezed her eyes shut.
“F-First love's got me fired up. Got a problem?”
“Nah.”
Her friend breezed past, flipping her hair haughtily. Sakuya stared, dumbfounded.
Ambushed.
Feeling her gaze, the friend turned with a smirk. “Hm? Why the stare?”
“Feels unfair...”
“Hehe. Tease me when I date.”
Dating? Totally plausible. She might lose to Sakuya in looks, but she was plenty pretty and charming—realistic hot that drew guys galore.
Just one fatal flaw.
“You're a lesbian!”
“So?”
“Unbelievable!”
Her friend giggled as Sakuya fumed.
“Remember when I almost lost my first kiss to you? Heart still races thinking about it!”
“Races?”
“...Sigh. Whatever. Picking on a friend over old stuff ain't mature.”
“Your smugness pisses me off. You did it, huh?”
“Huh? D-Did what? No clue what you mean.”
“Agh! Knew it! You stole it!”
Realizing Sakuya's first kiss was gone—to high odds Shin Tae-il—her friend lunged.
“If it's gone, gimme seconds! Pleeease?”
“W-What?! Back off, it's hot, you idiot!”
“Aww! Lips don't wear out from a few smooches!”
“They do!”
“Liar!”
“Liar my ass! You're the weirdo!”
Sakuya shoved her face away, tears streaming. Why her? Lesbians weren't that common. Yet girls always swarmed her more than guys.
Man, I miss Tae-il...
Bombarded by her friend's aggressive affection—even after seeing him that morning—Sakuya just wanted him back.