Recording Session (9)
A breath that seized the ear.
"Hhh—"
Right on its heels, natural as anything, the drums set a hi-hat ticking, and a keyboard melody rose to meet it.
A short intro. The sound cut out just before it could tip into the verse.
Iris sang. As if it had been waiting, Sakuya's guitar riff slipped in between the lines of Tae-il's keys, and under it Ayane's bass ran steady and unflashy.
Say festival season, and people picture summer almost without thinking—fireworks climbing a night sky. Autumn has its festivals too. In a country that sells its four sharp seasons as a catchphrase, you don't have to look far to find them: maple festivals, and the night streets Japan calls to mind, strung with paper lanterns, vermilion torii, and fire. Unlike summer, when a yukata will do, this is the season a kimono truly belongs.
The season you feel underfoot with every step, maple leaves and crowds of ginkgo catching at your shoes.
Chilly, the way autumn ought to be—but the Cultural Festival is a group effort, something everyone pushes forward together.
The choice spots. Every easy post worth milking is already filled with the names of classmates she can't even remember.
Holding the narrator's hesitation in the line, Ayane plucked a little harder, and a small shift crept into the melody.
That smile—let's hang in there—was so beautiful. Like a fool, I answered.
Iris's voice rang alone, no accompaniment under it. Right after, the chorus began—the sabi, as people in the business back in Korea call it out of habit. The melody flared all at once.
Born with that much volume, she climbed the octave clean and open, no advice required.
She does. The girl the narrator admires soothes and fusses over that same "I," who second-guesses even the smallest things, more grown-up than anyone.
A charming girl. The boy's eyes are stolen without his quite noticing. The class idol—someone he wouldn't normally dare speak to—comes to him first, under the name of the executive committee.
It isn't some mask. Every day, late, they meet the sunset staining the schoolyard red. Even after that red sky goes dark. Even after night comes and the white moon sets, what rises is the girl's face.
The walk to school again, after a night spent wide awake.
Little by little.
The melody stopped.
"All right. That's enough for today."
The moment Tae-il spoke, the art room's strung-tight air went slack all at once.
"Haaah."
Done playing, Ayane leaned into the wall and slid down it to the floor.
"Good work, Ayane."
"Mm."
Tae-il came over and lightly worked her shoulders, and Ayane shook her head.
"I haven't even played the melody parts yet."
He'd done it on purpose. Thinking of Ayane coming in worn out from discipline committee duty, he'd said they would only practice through the first verse, so they hadn't even reached the difficult parts.
"It's fine. We can take it slow."
Tae-il smiled gently and eased the tension out of her with a light massage.
"You came straight from committee work to practice. That had to be rough. I'll help you pack up."
"Th-thanks..."
Tae-il and Ayane had grown noticeably closer. He took the bass she was wearing off her hands, and a sweet air began to drift between them. While Ayane accepted the kindness with a shy smile, Rena clicked her tongue.
"Discipline committee. How hard can that even be..."
"Ahaha. It's pretty hard, you know?"
Sakuya took Ayane's side, and Rena's eyebrows shot up. The drumsticks she'd been pounding until a moment ago tapped her own shoulder in discontent.
"Hard? Isn't it just the committee kids laughing it up and chatting while they patrol the school?"
"Well..."
Sakuya smiled wryly and shrugged.
This was Yuuma. Too many students lived drunk on their own greatness, and they slipped the teachers' grip without much trouble. The college-track class was comparatively well-behaved. The free class was not. The free class was Yuuma's wilderness—its jungle.
Class 7 was fine. Because Sakuya was playing the model student, nobody acted out more conspicuously than she did. Everyone was watching their step. Stick out past Sakuya, and there was no telling what kind of payback you'd catch. Whether Tae-il behaved like a delinquent or not, the superhuman presence called Sakuya kept a peculiarly Japanese sense of order holding Class 7 together.
The other classes were different. Second- and third-years had enough experience that things could ease off a little, but the first-year free classes were a crucible of excitement all by themselves. Soccer's real tournaments opened in autumn, so they were still all right; in the other sports, though, there were plenty of groups whose tension snapped the moment a tournament ended and the mood went slack. By then, skipping practice and the rest of it was simply daily life. Clubs with strict rules could still be kept in line, more or less. When the seniors themselves led the acting out, there was no answer. Some burned out and quit their clubs for a while. Some never came back.
Looking after people like that—and caring for them—was part of the discipline committee's job. That was why they handed out more bonus points on internal grades than the student council did.
"Our side has hardships of its own. I've only heard the rumors from the upperclassmen, but still."
"Ngh."
Rena had her own quiet guilt where the free class's acting out was concerned, so she shut her mouth.
Sakuya glanced around, looking for Iris.
"Speaking of which, it's weird that Iris is so quiet... Iris?"
A corner of the art room. She found Iris alone, gravely checking the video they had just recorded.
"Iris?"
Sakuya called to her and tapped her shoulder.
"Hm? Oh, were you calling me?"
"That's a serious face. Was the ensemble that bad?"
"Nyahaha. It's not that..."
Iris scratched her cheek and showed Sakuya the recording.
"I was listening to my singing."
"Your singing?"
Sakuya tilted her head. Had something been off after all? Iris's voice, true to a vocal Tae-il never stinted on praise for, was genuinely good to hear even in the middle of practice—good enough that if Sakuya didn't concentrate, the tone bewitched her, her hands hesitated, and she dropped the beat.
"The voice I hear myself and the voice I hear through something like this are different, right? So."
"Hmm. So how was it? Your song?"
"It's weird."
Iris said it was weird, and grinned.
"This is an original, isn't it? It doesn't exist anywhere else."
"Right?"
"There's nothing to compare it to. That's why it's weird."
Those black notes crawling across a staff like bean sprouts are not gospel to a singer. A score is only a reference. Through it, a singer grasps the rough outline of a song, reads the composer's intent, and has to decide for herself how it ought to be sung. Until now she had been singing other people's songs, so there had been no need to add a reinterpretation of her own. This was the first time. A song completed in her own voice, not someone else's.
I have to read the intent and reinterpret it myself.
The answer was close by. Iris tilted her head and shot a look at Tae-il, wedged between Ayane and Rena and suffering for it.
If I asked, he'd tell me.
But then Iris's own growth would stop.
I can't be satisfied at this level.
Iris had always dreamed of being a singer, following the signpost called BARD as she sang.
Just once, behind her family's back, she had taken an audition held by a famous production company.
The judge who heard her sing asked a question.
"Are you a fan of BARD?"
"Y-yes! I even joined Lute!"
"I see."
A male judge who looked unpleasant at a glance pushed his sunglasses up with one finger and gave her a rotten smile.
"Your future is promising enough, but if you want to debut at our company, you'll have to change your vocal style first."
"What?"
"Because you aren't Tenma Izumi."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Back then, Iris worshipped Tenma Izumi. Not now.
....
No—actually, a little even now?
Anyway. Quit imitating Tenma Izumi—said to her, who respected Tenma Izumi more than anyone? Losing your faith, as they say, is as good as death. There was no way Iris, a BARD devotee even for a time, would take that lying down.
But the judge's words were merciless.
"Tenma Izumi has a vocal style and a tone that call up nostalgia for the past, and she never lets go of a polish that belongs to the twenty-first century."
This eccentric, appearing out of nowhere, had naturally claimed the retro style on the major scene and monopolized it. Put another way—
"Latecomers who copy Tenma Izumi's method have a hard time getting popular."
At best they would end as lesser copies of Tenma Izumi. If their goal was a tribute band, fine. A cover band was fine too. Debut as artists, though, and it was the opposite.
"The professional world is cold. We can't debut the talent we're looking for that way."
"Could you give me the short version, please."
"Are you confident you can tear yourself up from the roots and rebuild?"
"No."
And with that, she was shown the door. More precisely, she failed the audition.
What a memory.
She hadn't meant to run the audition all the way to the end even if she passed, but the judge had looked rather regretful. Iris had stuck her tongue out at them, thinking it served them right.
Anyway.
A memory she had forgotten came back to life. The band. Finishing a song made for her alone, that unfamiliar experience finally made it real for Iris. The corners of her mouth lifted.
"I think I can sing it better."
"Yeah?"
Sakuya gave Iris's shoulder a hearty pat as that challenging smile settled on her face.
"I don't really get it, but vocalists have struggles of their own, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Hang in there. I'll cheer you on. If it's you, you'll do it. I'm having a hard enough time just hanging on to the skill I've got."
"You're doing well too. And you've got the shortest career of anyone here."
"Ahaha."
Even with Iris comforting her, Sakuya couldn't laugh with an easy heart.
And yet...
She had thought she could do so much better than this. Reality was not like that. Sakuya touched the guitar lightly. That it was a cheap guitar didn't work as an excuse. Starting from the sound itself, there wasn't a single thing she liked.
I need to practice more.
She had hammered the chords into her head until they stuck, and still her hands wouldn't follow the way she thought they would. Sakuya was still a novice in this business. Where music was concerned especially, all she knew was what she had picked up as an otaku. Fortunately, Tae-il had promised to teach her, step by step, every bit of common sense and know-how a guitarist ought to have. She was going home with him today too, wasn't she? There was Ayane, an obstacle for the ages, but they were learning side by side, so there was nothing to be done about her.
The rest was playing. That was territory Tae-il could help with only up to a point—territory Sakuya herself had to claim alone.
Practice more.
The recording was right in front of them. The reason Sakuya had been able to reign as empress of the athletic world was that she saw herself with ruthless clarity.
Right now, putting the time into music instead of painting is the right call.
Sakuya could see it. Rena, whose skill jumped day after day. Ayane's bass, slower than that, but steadily building real substance. And—
"Here, I should narrow the vocal cords a little more..."
Iris, the most skilled of anyone in this room, and still never lazy about pushing further.
My pride won't allow me to be the only one left behind.
Sakuya made up her mind.
Beyond the window of the noisy, clamoring art room, the sun went down. Dismissal hour drew near, and there was no arguing with it. But the high school girls' work was not finished yet. It would go on even after night fell.
On and on.
In front of the school gate. The hour when the sun vanished past the horizon and dusk laid itself over the ground like a curtain. The moment they parted there.
"Wait—all of you are going to Shin Tae-il's house today?"
Like a spectator charging the stage. Iris's shout, stopping the curtain on its way down, cut in among the noisy group.
"No—Rena-chan, since when were you even part of this...?"
"Me? Gloomy Girl ran her mouth a minute ago."
"Mrrrgh..."
Hanging off Tae-il's arm, Ayane trembled, cheeks puffed out, and glared at Rena. From the look of it, Ayane had slipped and let out that Sakuya was going to Tae-il's house today.
"On that note. See you tomorrow, Iris."
"Eh?"
"R-Rena!? You don't have to drag me off that fast...!"
Rena hauled him along, and Tae-il panicked. She dropped her voice to a whisper.
"Hurry! Before she changes her mind!"
"She?"
He followed Rena's gaze, slowly. Behind them stood Iris, Kiriko at her back, staring this way blankly. Wronged. A little angry. On the verge of tears, and also not—that strange, subtle expression.
"Ah."
He had seen that face before.
"Shin...?"
Tae-il's legs might as well have taken root in the ground. When he didn't budge, Rena panicked.
"M-me too...!"
"Young lady?"
Ignoring Kiriko's surprise, Iris shouted.
"I'm joining too! Why am I the only one left out? That's so mean!"
She shoved herself between Rena and Tae-il without a second thought.
"Gah!"
Suddenly bearing the weight of three girls, Tae-il staggered. Rena smiled thinly and gave Iris a little push.
"Why don't you just go home? Your family has something today, don't they? We're not getting together to play, you know."
It was an extension of club activities, music study included. Iris did not move an inch.
"Which is exactly why I have to be in on it!"
"Ah, young lady...?"
"Club stuff from now on, every member together! Right!?"
An appeal that didn't work on anyone else. On instinct, Iris stared a hole through Tae-il, the one holding the decision.
"Th-that's..."
The moment he tried to glance around at the others, sweat beading, Iris caught his face in both hands and pulled it close.
"Hey. Look only at me, and decide."
"W-wanna come...?"
The instant Tae-il surrendered, Iris beamed.
"Hehe. That's not 'wanna come,' Shin Tae-il. Say it again."
"Just come.... No—please come. I'm begging you."
"Mm-hm! Our leader's asking this desperately, so I guess I have no choice!"
Iris nodded, satisfied, and turned to Kiriko.
"Sorry, Kiriko! Since that's how it turned out, tell Eishun for me that I'm sitting out today's gathering!"
"Ah, young lady!?"
Picturing the earful waiting from Eishun, Kiriko went pale in a heartbeat.
"Ahaha."
Sakuya patted the flustered Kiriko's shoulder.
"M-Miss Sakuraba...?"
"Give up."
It was easier, once you did.
"Sonna..."
Kiriko hung her head.