Recording
Once summer break ended, Tae-il realized his days had gotten brutal. Wake-up had been dragged all the way forward to five-thirty in the morning—an hour he wouldn't have dared imagine before vacation.
Yawning, he waited in the living room with Ayane until the morning-workout trainer showed up: Sakuya.
"Ready?"
"Can't we take just today off...?"
"Nooo~♡."
Sakuya shut his plea down in a single breath, sweet as anything.
Yoo Ha-na, up early for work, watched her son head out to exercise with two pretty girls and couldn't quite hide how pleased she was. She floated a suggestion, light as air.
"Sakuya, wasn't it? You came up to the city and you're living on your own, right? Coming all this way every morning must be rough. Why not homestay with us while you're at it? We've still got about two spare rooms on the second floor."
"Huh? Would that really be okay?"
"Mom!"
"Hehe. I'm only joking."
The moment Tae-il's face went stiff, Yoo Ha-na laughed and saw her son—and his prospective daughters-in-law (?)—off at the door.
The workout, as always, was a run.
"One, two! One, two!"
"Huff—huff!"
"Almost there! Just get over this hill!"
"Gyaaah!"
"You've got this, Shin-chan!"
By the time they dragged themselves home from a little over an hour of it, both his parents had already left for work. Tae-il, utterly spent, headed off to wash, and Sakuya made for the kitchen to start on breakfast.
He gathered a change of clothes, and just before stepping into the bathroom he called back.
"Sakuya, you're not showering?"
"Mm-mm. Morning practice, so I'll wash at school."
"We've got P.E. first period today."
"Oh, crap!"
"For the record, it's swimming for the next month."
Before heading up to the second-floor bathroom, Ayane stuck her face through the stair railing and needled her.
"Swimming class for the Empress of the Pool? Impressive. Maybe Ayane should take a lesson too?"
"H-hey...! That nickname's embarrassing, so just—!"
"Kyaha!"
The two of them had definitely gotten closer. They were even trading jokes like that. Tae-il counted it as good news and stepped into the bathroom.
While he rinsed the fatigue and sweat of the run away under lukewarm water, Sakuya finished her prep alone in the kitchen, then set about breakfast in earnest with Ayane, fresh from her own shower.
"You washed up fast."
"Mhm. Ayane hardly sweated."
All Ayane had done was coast along behind them on a bicycle, cheering Tae-il on at her leisure.
"Prep all done?"
"I haven't finished the cutting. Help me?"
"Yeah, yeah. Pass me a knife."
"Here."
The two of them in aprons, cooking side by side, looked downright affectionate. If Tae-il had seen it himself, he probably would have been moved to tears.
"Ayane, this is how you cut it, right?"
"Haa."
Ayane gave her a look of pure pity, then bumped her aside with a hip.
"Move."
"I-I can do it too, you know?"
"That's enough. You'll slice a finger and get benched."
"A finger doesn't matter! I just want to cook something and feed it to Tae-il!"
"You're not seriously thinking of serving Shin-chan food with blood on it?"
"Mm... might not be so bad?"
"That is unsanitary!"
"Hearing you say that is weirdly awkward..."
Who, in Tae-il's harem (working title), was the heroine closest to a yandere? Sakuya could have answered without a second's hesitation. Ayane.
"I'm always going to feed Shin-chan the very best food there is!"
"R-right... sorry."
Sakuya, her brain thoroughly pickled in otaku logic, offered an awkward apology.
At any rate, by the time Tae-il finished washing and getting ready to leave, breakfast was done with perfect timing.
"Tae-il, I made this pan-fried tofu...!"
"Uh, y-yeah. Thanks."
He bit into a piece that had gone a little too black on one side. Maybe she'd simmered it in soy sauce.
Bitter.
She hadn't simmered it. She'd burned it.
Tae-il stole a glance around the table.
Thump, thump. Sakuya was watching him with shining, expectant eyes, and Ayane was glaring at Sakuya for it.
Gulp.
The tofu went down, and Tae-il smiled.
"Sakuya."
"How was it? Huh? The shape's a little off, but it's edible, right?"
"How about we start over, nice and slow, with instant packs and meal kits?"
"Pfft!"
At an evaluation as cold as the ones he handed down on their music, Ayane sprayed without meaning to.
"Shut up..."
Sakuya hung her head.
Breakfast finished, and once Tae-il and Ayane had done the dishes and the rest of the cleanup, it was time for school. The three of them walked over chatting like old friends, then split apart—the public morals committee, the animal care club, and athletics.
Tae-il's destination was the animal care club. He stopped by at lunch on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and whenever a plan fell through or he had time to spare; in the afternoons he came on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
The clubroom was quiet. Yuuya was already there, as if that went without saying, and Tae-il helped with her work while slipping in something that wasn't quite a request.
"Senpai, could I ask you to film on recording day?"
Yuuya, who had assumed she wouldn't have a turn when they recorded, blinked in surprise.
"Me too?"
"Yeah. I'll be directing that day, so I don't think I'll have the headspace to shoot..."
"Sure. When?"
"The date isn't locked, but probably soon?"
"Then just tell me three days before."
"Uh... that's pretty tight. You sure that's okay?"
"Yeah. I don't have any friends."
"..."
At Yuuya's perfectly flat confession, Tae-il swallowed his tears.
Class. He wasn't ditching the way he used to, but it wasn't exam season either, and Tae-il didn't focus the way he once had.
Figures there's a reason lyrics lean on "boku" so often...
Humming a melody under his breath, he fitted words onto a song he had written himself. Progress that crawled no matter how hard he worked at home raced ahead during class. Of course it did. People focus best when they're supposed to be doing something else.
Fourth period ended, and lunch arrived. The shape of it changed by the day, but today was a rehearsal day—and aside from after-school club, it was the stretch when Tae-il spent the most concentrated time with the members.
A guitar whined.
A beginner's instrument and a cheap little amp, conspiring into a truly unpleasant budget sound. What mattered here wasn't the nasty cheap tone. It was the beat, and the rhythm itself.
"Let's try again. Rena, I'll watch Sakuya for a bit."
"Do what you want."
"Ahaha. This is embarrassing..."
"Nothing to be embarrassed about, Sakuya! Guitar's supposed to be hard!"
Iris, who had been drilling vocals on her own, jumped in at once to comfort her.
"When I can't get it either, I want to smash the guitar and everything else to bits! I only ever thought about it, since it's a limited edition, but still...!"
"Ahaha. That's not really comforting..."
"If it gets bad, just flee to bass! That's what that spot is for!"
"Excuse me? Iris, I was a bassist to begin with."
"Hm? But it's true, isn't it?"
"..."
Iris shrugged.
Infuriatingly, she wasn't wrong. Whether it came from a guitarist's peculiar pride or not, contempt for the four-string was a tradition with a long pedigree—and setting that aside, it was a common sight in amateur bands. The playing was easier, bassists were hard to find, and a guitarist of middling skill ended up on bass.
"Don't say that in front of Ayane."
Tae-il sighed.
"Obviously. Hehe."
Iris flashed a V-sign, as if to say this was a joke she only cracked in front of him.
"Let's focus again, Sakuya."
"O-okay...!"
The member under Tae-il's intensive care changed by the day, and today it was Sakuya.
Is it because my dreams have been bad lately?
She kept snagging his attention more than usual, and his eyes kept drifting to her.
"Want to play it first? I'll watch you from the top."
"One-on-one marking? Hehe."
Reminded that his attention had been a little thin lately, Sakuya played with obvious delight.
"Slower. Match the metronome."
"Okay."
"Don't think about fancy technique. Just play the chords on the sheet, plain and simple."
"R-right..."
The longer they talked, the more points of contact there were. His serious voice landed clear against her ear, and the faint sound of his breathing tickled the nape of her neck.
"Don't let your posture slip. It's bad for your back."
"Hearing a guy tell me to watch my hips feels kind of weird..."
"Hey now!"
"Hyah!"
He pressed her lower back without warning, and Sakuya startled so hard her hair seemed to stand on end. He paid that no mind and pressed both her shoulders down, forcing the slump out of her until her bent posture straightened whether she liked it or not.
"Bad playing posture wrecks your health."
"Ugh..."
"Even if it's annoying, bear with it. Exercise is the same way."
If you didn't work to keep bone and joint in an optimal line, the body got abused, and an abused body cut a lifespan down to almost nothing.
"Remember this. Playing is nothing like exercise."
"It's not?"
Sakuya looked puzzled. He had always stressed that the two were alike, and now he was changing his tune.
"The human body wasn't built to play a bizarre stringed instrument like this."
"Ah. So the strain is inevitable."
"Right. Back, shoulders, wrists, or fingers—sooner or later, something hits its limit."
Playing wasn't like exercise, where you chased the best posture and the most efficient motion so you wouldn't get hurt. Put bluntly, playing the guitar was itself an act of ruining your body. Hips and lower back twisted. Shoulders rounded. And then the ligaments—the joint musicians injured most often, no matter the instrument.
Whenever Sakuya unconsciously tried to cross her legs, Tae-il lowered her thigh, then pressed the fingers clamped on the fretboard and gently spread them.
"You know how they say it in dramas. Your hands are your life."
"In band shows?"
"Medical dramas. So if you're going to get hurt someday, hurt a leg. Not a hand."
It wasn't the sort of thing you said to an athlete in her prime. Even so, Sakuya didn't argue.
"If you get hurt, I'll look after you for the rest of your life."
He said it with that grave look in his eyes, and she quietly broke into a grin.
"And what if I get hurt on purpose?"
"It's fine. You wouldn't."
The hand that had pressed along her stretched fingers, point by point, now closed softly around hers, lacing their fingers together.
"Ahaha. Tae-il, are you just that innocent, or do you have an insane amount of faith in people?"
"I don't trust just anyone."
The laced fingers came apart. He came around in front of her. Sakuya lifted her head, and their eyes met—a light exchange of glances, and right after it Tae-il huffed a small laugh and pulled her into a brief hug.
"I trust you because it's you."
"Eh."
He put real strength into it. Sakuya flushed, flustered.
Rena, watching the whole farce from behind, made a retching sound.
"Give me a break."
"Rena-chan, language."
"Is she actually insane?"
"I'll grant you the insane part. But you'd like it too if Shin Tae-il hugged you like that, Rena-chan..."
"What?"
"Wouldn't you?"
For a moment Rena imagined Tae-il holding her and delivering a line like I trust you because it's you.
"..."
She quietly covered her mouth and said nothing. Her face was red.
"Haa."
So this one was the same as the rest. Iris shook her head.
"Ahem!"
Their conversation had carried, painfully clear. Suddenly awkward, Tae-il cleared his throat, sat down across from Sakuya, and switched the metronome on.
"Let's practice again. I'll bring it up slow, from 60 BPM?"
"60 BPM is way too slow..."
"You want a scolding?"
"Ahaha! Getting scolded by the leader might not be so bad?"
"Quit talking and start playing."
"Yessir."
In front of him, Sakuya played the opening of the song they would be recording: Autumn Love Song.
60 BPM.
"..."
At a tempo that slow her hands had no reason to tangle, and yet, true to form, the flow of her playing fell apart. Even with the metronome going, the beat lurched. It sped up, and the moment she noticed, it slowed again. An endless loop. Played fast, it might have shown less; at a careful 60 BPM, it showed completely. The melody contracted and stretched like rubber, and listening to it made his head spin.
So Sakuya really does have a problem...
Was it her sense of timing?
Rena had timing in her bones. She was wandering a little now, but Tae-il believed most of it would sort itself out once she got used to a wider range of beats. Ayane, on bass, was the one who kept the time; honestly, she was only suffering because the difficulty he demanded was high for a beginner. Everything else about her was perfect. Iris had more experience than he'd expected, and she studied on her own besides. He had nothing to add.
Sakuya, though...
Tae-il frowned. Unlike the others, she was hard to sum up so simply. The problem, as he saw it, wasn't her sense of timing at all. It lived on an entirely different level, and the reason was the fundamentals she had mastered in a flash on the back of overwhelming talent.
Her fundamentals were perfect.
From simply fretting chords to chromatic runs, there wasn't a crack in her. Teach her the techniques and the flourishes one by one, and she would probably shed the beginner look and master them in no time.
My eyes aren't wrong. Iris admitted that much.
Tae-il wasn't a pro. He still didn't even know whether his own skill and ear were on a professional level, so he couldn't judge her lightly.
But she does have a problem. That part is true.
Maybe his repeated warnings had worked. Her posture was perfect. He couldn't yet speak to how she controlled her dynamics, but the movement of her fingers over the frets—if you looked only at the surface of the playing—was smoother than his own.
The form of her playing really is perfect... huh?
The shape of it was perfect. Even in ensemble she produced a strange, natural showmanship, and when her part came around she knew exactly where to strike and where to pull back. For someone with the shortest track record of any of them, the way she melted into the band looked almost professional.
But it's different.
What she was showing him now wasn't the performance he wanted from that Sakuya—the one he had felt watching her on the original story's stage. An awkwardness clung to it, as if she were imitating someone else.
"Good! Let's build the feel of the beat back up, step by step. Count it in your heel, and in your head..."
He set the deeper problem aside for now. The moment he clapped and told her to follow the claps, Sakuya snapped back to kal-bak—that razor-sharp, metronomic precision.
The trouble was that this kal-bak wouldn't last once the metronome went off, or once they were playing together.
The most important thing in a performance is not making a mistake.
Compare playing to a rhythm game, and it was a game where a perfect all-combo clear was the baseline. Miss a single note falling from above, and it was game over. If her position were bass or rhythm guitar, a few mistakes could be covered. But she played lead. A lead guitarist had to show the crowd why she was the frontman, and if she slipped, there was no saving it. Everything warped.
I need to find out why Sakuya went strange.
He set her to repeating the passage, then edged backward, stealing glances as he went. What he was after was her phone. He dug around the outlet under the chalkboard, where the amp cables made a mess, and there it was, right where it always was. He touched the screen, and a pattern lock came up.
The pattern was definitely...
He remembered. He'd caught a hazy glimpse of her fiddling with it beside him, and in the anime there had been an episode about security awareness or whatever where she'd shown off a complicated pattern. His stalled brain kicked into high gear.
It definitely started from the top-left corner...
Groping along the dimmed memory, he moved his hand with care.
Fail. Fail. Fail. And then, on the fourth try—one short of the fifth mistake that would throw up a warning—
It opened!
On a number pad it came out to roughly 1-2-6-9-8-5-3. Marveling at his own memory, he poked around the unfamiliar iPhone until he found the iTube app.
The first thing he checked was her watch history. Empty.
Huh? There's nothing?
With no other choice, he dug through the videos she had saved and the ones she had liked. True to Sakuya, the list was packed with sports clips and otaku fare—and, unexpectedly, a few that looked completely useless.
None of that was the point. What mattered was the music, so he scrolled fast—and he actually found it.
"Found it...!"
A flashy solo by a world-famous rock star. One Tae-il himself had seen before.
Just then, a shadow fell over him.
"What are you doing with my phone?"
"Eek!"
Tae-il flinched. Sakuya's voice, already on the low side, dropped further, and a chilly unease crawled over him. His neck turned with a creak, like a machine short on oil.
"Hm? Tae-il."
A shadow lay across her eyes as she smiled. Just as he had a moment ago, she folded herself against him. It wasn't romantic. Her sharp chin dug into his shoulder on purpose, pressing and pressing.
"Ow, ow, that hurts! I-I'm sorry, Sakuya!"
"Answer me. Why'd you do it?"
"I-it's, how do I put this... this is honestly kind of hard to explain..."
Her punishment hurt. And he was plainly in the wrong, so his eyes darted, hunting for an excuse in a hurry.
"Hm? Were you looking for dirty pictures of me? I would've sent them if you'd asked. Or were you trying to blackmail me?"
"B-blackmail...?!"
More than that, he was horrified she kept sexy selfies lying around.
"Hm? Of course. Any girl with a good figure does that, doesn't she? You keep a record of when you look your most beautiful. Iris, you do it too, right?"
"N-no comment...!"
Iris crossed her index fingers and covered her mouth.
"Damn cow..."
Rena confirmed the flatness of her own chest and quietly swallowed her rage.
"Anyway, that's not it? I wouldn't mind that either. Getting done by Tae-il, like in a dirty doujinshi, has its own appeal, you know?"
"Sakuya."
"Ahaha. Sorry, I'm joking. Rena gets how I feel, right?"
"Haa."
"Sakuya's jokes are a little hard to follow, aren't they?"
Rena shook her head, and Iris judged the sense of humor difficult.
"So?"
Sakuya turned her gaze back and clung to him, her voice gone sticky.
"I wonder what our Tae-il was so curious about, that he went and perfectly cracked my phone pattern?"
"I-it was just...!"
"Just?"
"I thought you'd seen some weird playing habit somewhere and picked it up..."
"..."
Unable to find a decent excuse, he told the truth, and Sakuya quietly blinked. She tilted her head. Tipped outward like that, she had an excellent view of his face as he anxiously checked her reaction.
"...Did it show?"
"If it didn't show, would I be doing this?"
He'd noticed. The corner of her mouth went slack for an instant, giddy at having claimed his attention.
"Hehe."
"Hey, Sakuya. You're drooling."
Rena nudged her with a foot.
"Slurp. Sorry. I got a little happy."
"What is there in any of this for a girl to be happy about..."
Shouldn't it be giving her the creeps? Rena stared at her with a sour face, then sighed, snatched the phone from Tae-il's hand, and returned it to its owner.
"Shin. The apology?"
"I'm sorry. I was genuinely in the wrong..."
"Hehe. I'm fine with it, though?"
The perpetrator was apologizing. The victim, meanwhile, wiped the drool off her mouth and grinned like a pervert, loose and delighted. She looked genuinely pleased. Why?
If there was a line dividing otaku from ordinary people, Rena had one foot planted on each side of it.
I really don't get it.
She could not, for the life of her, understand how Sakuya's mind worked—standing there happy about this.
Iris laughed.
"Haha. I keep telling you, Sakuya's problem is she's way too much of a yes-girl."
"You're one to talk."
"I am not a yes-girl, okay! Ayane's more of a yes-girl than I am! Isn't she!?"
Rena was the one who had poked her. And yet, absurdly, the person Iris turned to interrogate was Tae-il, pinned in Sakuya's arms and unable to move.
"I mean, even if you ask me..."
"I didn't say Shin Tae-il!"
"Shin never said that, you crazy bitch."
"Should I ask again?"
"You're just going to ask and answer yourself again!"
"I'm not! I'm not! Ebebe!"
The two of them launched into a childish argument. Sakuya watched the bickering with a smile, and ever so casually looped both arms around Tae-il's neck.
"So."
Eyes crescented, face full of expectation, she looked at him.
"Now Tae-il's going to break me in for picking up bad playing habits, right? Can I look forward to it?"
"Look, even so, 'break you in' has kind of a... ring to it..."
"Hehe. I'm looking forward to it. Want to come over today?"
"To your place?"
"Yeah. Big sister Miki went back down to Okinawa, so from now on it's just me."
"Mm. Request denied."
Sensing the danger, Tae-il refused her flat. Sakuya pouted.
"Aww, but whyyy."
"..."
Tae-il said nothing. He also did his best to ignore the soft give of her chest against his back.
How was he supposed to say it? The frustration that had grown unbearably strong of late, and the wet dreams that would not stop. Honestly, this was an excuse that belonged to men alone—one he couldn't voice in front of a girl if he died and came back.