Declaration (2)

Even in a world where the impossible rains down without pause, one proposition never changes.

There is no such thing as a perfect person.

Part of the dilemma is that everyone defines perfection differently. Before that, though, a thinking human being needs far too many things in order to become perfect. Talent, luck, time, effort—and a heap of other requirements besides, so many that you can feel, in your bones, just how high that wall called perfection really stands.

Someone born with everything is hard to find. Even a prodigy blessed with extraordinary talent is sure to be flawed somewhere in looks or character. Body or mind may carry some congenital fault.

Arthur was like that.

Of all the men Tae-il had ever seen, he was handsome enough to make you wonder why on earth he bothered with something like VTubing. Looking at him, you could also understand why Japan lost its mind over mixed blood. The voice was a gift too. Had he become a voice actor, he would almost certainly have made it big. As a singer he was more than respectable, and thanks to the household he’d grown up in, his command of language was exceptional—enough to slip past the linguistic limits peculiar to Japanese and wield a whole range of vocal techniques at will.

His problem with women, however, was serious.

Back when it was at its worst, there was a new one every day…

Tae-il had genuinely wondered, back then, how Ogawa Rin could keep a philanderer like that at her side and simply endure it. A curiosity he’d been dying to satisfy, and never quite dared to ask, for fear of being rude.

Shoko had said it.

“Arthur? I can’t really say what makes him attractive as a man, but there was something about that atmosphere of his. It pulled people in.”

She’d added, with a faint smile, that it was thanks to that she’d managed to enjoy herself in the days when she ran away from home with nothing but a bass.

Was Rin the same? Did she look the other way because it was fun?

The questions chained one into the next until Tae-il caught himself and knocked on the front door.

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

A clear voice, not the least bit thick with sleep, answered from inside. Calling for Rin, it seemed, had been the right move.

A moment later the door opened, and Arthur appeared before him, dressed to the nines.

“Yo.”

He greeted Tae-il with that particular smile of his, the one built to get under your skin, looking every inch the young nobleman.

The outfit was the sort you wore to somewhere expensive. Tae-il smiled as he opened his mouth.

“You’re going to Ginza today, right?”

“Son of a…”

Arthur’s face crumpled at once.

“You really are a sneaky little bastard.”

“Me?”

“Don’t even start.”

Tae-il played dumb all the way through, and Arthur sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

“You’re the one who told Rin I’d booked Ginza, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Tae-il beamed and nodded. The reservation was already made. In Arthur’s name, of course. A three-person full-course dinner in upscale Ginza—converted into mobile-game gacha pulls, it was enough to fund eight truckloads of top-ups and still have change left over.

“Because of you I’m about to blow close to a hundred thousand yen on dinner alone. You damned brat.”

“And thanks to you, I’ll be eating well, hyung-nim.”

“Fuck—! Knock off the hyung-nim crap, it gives me the creeps. Makes me think of that gorilla who used to gun for my ass at the club. Scares the shit out of me.”

“So you weren’t only popular with women?”

“Well, I am a little, aren’t I?”

Arthur preened, and Tae-il kicked him in the shin.

“Yipe!”

Leaving Arthur’s upper body folding over behind him, Tae-il stepped into the room.

“It’s clean.”

The place was strikingly tidier than it used to be. Tae-il let out a whistle without thinking.

“Look at you, actually cleaning for once. Sniff, sniff. Doesn’t even smell. You prepared properly, didn’t you?”

“Tch. I called a cleaning lady.”

“Ah. Of course…”

Back when Tae-il used to visit, the floor had been a mess of empty convenience-store lunch boxes, women’s underwear, and spent condom boxes. It had been a sight. The cleaners who had to put Arthur’s motels and love hotels back in order must have suffered.

Tae-il poked around the studio apartment, then carefully lifted the comforter.

“Nothing.”

Arthur stared at him, incredulous.

“What are you doing?”

“I figured there’d be at least one woman hiding in here.”

So saying, Tae-il opened the wardrobe this time. Clothes, and nothing else.

“Not here either. Bathroom and fridge are probably clear, right?”

“Why would there be anyone?!”

The bathroom he could almost allow, Arthur said, shuddering—but if there was someone in the fridge, that would actually be terrifying.

“Well, I mean…”

Tae-il needled him.

“Anyone else, maybe not. But if it were you, hyung, walking around with a virgin ghost or two perched on your head wouldn’t be strange at all…”

“Th-there’s no such thing as ghosts!”

“Oh, so you’re the type who doesn’t believe in the occult?”

“Belief’s got nothing to do with it. I’m busy enough enjoying this life. When would I have time to worry about the afterlife…”

“Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so, for your peace of mind, you ought to have a religion or something.”

“Hearing that from you is somehow creepy.”

“Haha.”

Tae-il laughed lightly and sat down in front of the computer.

“Huh. The setup’s exactly the same as back then.”

“I’m hopeless with computers.”

“Well, I’ll take a look anyway.”

On the surface, he was a worried younger friend checking whether some strange woman had been tampering with Arthur’s machine. The real reason was security. He didn’t want a track he’d recorded with such effort leaking out of a place like this.

At Tae-il’s needling, Arthur bristled.

“Hey, I’m thorough about the women I get involved with, all right?”

When Tae-il started going over the computer the way he used to, Arthur acted put out, but he didn’t actually seem to mind. Deep down, he was grateful to the kid. He rested both arms on the head of the chair and watched, alongside Tae-il, as pop-ups bloomed and vanished on the monitor for no reason anyone could name.

“Nothing that stands out.”

“Obviously.”

“To be sure, formatting it would be best, but…”

Tae-il’s eyes went to the far corner of the desktop, to the folders lined up from A to B to C and onward. All of them were musical materials Arthur had left behind years ago. There had been a time when he’d burned with it, insisting he could do it too, planning his composing and producing for everyone to see—and now he’d stepped back from the front line to be a VTuber who specialized in games. Tae-il felt the irony of it keenly.

“…Ask Rin-noona to handle the rest.”

“Yeah.”

It was a waste, but it wasn’t his place to touch. Tae-il took out a USB. Arthur’s interest snagged on the drive as it went into the tower.

“Oho? That song of yours is all on there?”

“The rest of the work is on here too.”

“Can’t wait.”

Tae-il had a habit of selling himself far too short, but Arthur rated him rather highly. When you judged a song, the most important thing was still the ear. Of course it was. A song had to be good to listen to. Sometimes, though, what mattered more than the ear was the eye. Tae-il knew how to see a song. From harmony, which had to be studied, onward through every kind of theory, he’d already grasped it all from a young age. His range was broad for his years, and he was unusually sensitive to the human voice.

Not perfect pitch, though…

Arthur watched Tae-il setting up the computer the way a man watches some curious object he’s just found.

“Shall I play it?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur settled himself to listen properly. Tae-il laid it on thick.

“Don’t go fainting when you hear our vocalist.”

“Haha. Looking forward to it.”

Tae-il wasn’t one for empty boasts, and he’d told him outright not to get cocky—so if he said the vocal was worth anticipating, he meant it. Even more than that, though, the fine design of a song Tae-il had surely composed himself had Arthur’s curiosity by the throat.

Tae-il moved the mouse.

Click.

From speakers so expensive Tae-il wouldn’t have dared dream of them, the song began to play.

Ogawa Rin loved her work.

Utaite. Cosplay. Odorite. Every one of them a trade she pursued with all the heat and sincerity she had. Looking at a schedule that sent her running the length of the country all year with hardly a break, you’d think she’d be exhausted. Not at all. She moved through the whole of subculture, met new people, and drew fresh energy from them. Like a perpetual-motion machine, Ogawa Rin endlessly tempered herself and kept running forward.

Thirty more minutes.

She held her posture straight inside a swaying field of vision. She preferred real running to a treadmill, but with a schedule this packed, working out at the gym was simply more efficient. As she ran, breathing under control, her head was full of worries.

What should the next cosplay be…?

There were layers who latched onto one character and wore nothing else through every season. Rin was not one of them. She was a professional. She followed the mainstream without mercy and went after characters from whatever series was trending that quarter. Still, she grumbled inwardly that it would be nice if a character came along whose design could stand up to the cold in season.

Think about costumes long enough, and the treadmill naturally slowed. It was time to stop.

“Huuu.”

She eased legs that felt a thousand pounds each, and let the heat drain from soles that had burned like fire.

“Haaa.”

Steadying her breath, she wiped away the sweat pouring off her like rain with the towel draped over the handle. Her hair was soaked, as if she’d washed it.

“What time is it…?”

Rin buried her face in the fluffy towel, calmed the heave of her chest, and pulled out the phone she’d had propped up. 3:20 p.m. If she showered and did her makeup now, she could make it to Arthur’s place right on the edge of dinnertime.

“Better get ready.”

Every time she passed, the men training in the gym quietly added weight and put their muscle on display. She could feel the heat. She could feel the eyes. Rin paid them no mind and headed for the locker room.

She washed in warm water, changed into something comfortable, and was passing the full-length mirror when she stopped.

“…”

Her figure. She wasn’t an idol, but for someone whose living depended on showing her body to the public often, managing that figure was a serious matter. Every time she cosplayed, colleagues in other industries envied her for it. Dancing was the same. In the arts, you could preach effort all you liked; in the end, what mattered most was inborn talent. Rin could divide a beat more finely than other people, and perceive that division in real time. Her figure was exceptional too. For a dancer, the line of the body was like a fingerprint. That individuality no one else could easily copy—the dancer’s own—owed an enormous amount to the line of the body.

Rond de jambe.

She drew a natural circle along the point of her toe. Her expression was serious. Even repeating a simple movement while pushing expression to its limit, elegance showed through. The product of talent she was born with and practice that drew blood.

“Hehe. I’ll have to wear black stockings today.”

The weather was chilly. Even so, she’d wear the thinnest pair she had, the kind you could see straight through. Rin smiled, satisfied, finished moisturizing and putting her skin in order, left the gym, and got into the car.

The project tour was over. If she meant to use this brief rest properly, then whether she was a company head, a woman with friends everywhere, or a manager, she had to start moving very busily from this moment on.

“Hehe.”

A smile caught at the corner of Rin’s mouth. Arthur had called for her. The man she’d always had to approach first had, for once, called her first. That miser, who would not spend a single yen outside the fields he personally wanted, had even booked upscale Ginza.

Taichi being there is a little annoying, but…

That boy of his could eat and be sent home. That would be the end of it. Rin hummed under her breath, all smiles. She was already looking forward to the night.

“So? What do you think?”

The moment the song ended, Tae-il checked Arthur’s reaction. That was how a work in progress went. Even if it felt good right now, a few days later the flaws would come crowding into view one after another. This song was the same. He could clearly feel the places that still needed a hand—and even so, it was a masterpiece he’d poured everything into. Enough that Tae-il was wearing a bright smile. Something about it was good. His own masterpiece, coming through the high-end speakers of an Arthur who’d made some money in music, broadcast gear included. Tae-il had pushed himself, yes, but anyone could see that Iris’s vocal had done something even “she tore it apart” didn’t quite cover.

Arthur nodded, unruffled.

“It’s good.”

Honestly, even Arthur had to admit it. This song was going to succeed. The melody was obvious. A typical J-pop structure, the chords a carbon copy. But it was tight past all improvement. How many times had those notes been split, and split again, and compressed, just to build that ordinary, pleasant melody?

Arthur closed his eyes. Black bean sprouts of notes danced a dizzying dance and filled the staff.

The little brat…

He hadn’t even looked at the score, and still he could feel it, faintly. Tae-il’s obsession.

“But can you actually play this live?”

“We’ll have to keep practicing.”

“Meaning you can fake it well enough?”

“Yes.”

Arthur bit down on his thumb at the rhythms and sounds sitting so matter-of-factly between the lines of melody.

“The members’ experience?”

“Aside from me and the vocalist, they’re all brand new.”

“Yeah?”

Arthur pressed a hand to his forehead and laughed under his breath.

“Unbelievable.”

That a school band that hadn’t even reached adulthood could reproduce a song like this live left him speechless.

“Pretty amazing, right?”

Tae-il smiled, proud. Maybe he was laying it on. Even so, every single member of Tales Tale made him proud.

“Worth bragging about…”

Arthur kept his eyes closed and propped his chin on the backs of his hands.

“That guitar riff especially is something. Even I’d need a while to figure out the chords, and longer still to get it in my hands.”

“Right?! For the record, the electric is a girl named Sakuya! It’s only been a month since she started learning guitar.”

“A lump of talent.”

“The drums are the same! The bass has about two more weeks of experience, but—!”

Arthur held up a hand to stop Tae-il, who was about to boast of each member like they were his own children.

“Yeah. They’re all good kids. But the way I hear it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the vocal is the real thing.”

“Exactly!”

Tae-il agreed violently.

“I’ll stake it on this. Iris is going to be the greatest vocalist in Japan someday!”

“Haha. Nice. The greatest vocalist…”

Arthur naturally set the girl called Iris beside the women vocalists he’d watched around him. People who’d ground it out in the field for years, and still they came up short of a single high school girl. Talent. That overwhelming talent came through hard even in a recording that had passed through this cheap mix.

Even Rin couldn’t beat her on volume, could she?

Tone, volume, and technique. He’d thought that, short of the ones who’d already gone major, there was almost no woman vocalist who could beat Rin. He’d been wrong. Listening to a recording full of holes and finding himself curious, instead, about what was missing—wanting to see the real thing. Frankly speaking, Arthur found Tae-il’s song below expectations. He also wasn’t disappointed by a single song. This probably isn’t the main piece. Tae-il’s head turned well enough, and his eye for the market was excellent. The season right now is… The tail end of summer. Autumn, the season of high skies and fat horses, was coming. And with it, the season when the cultural festival would arrive at the school Tae-il attended. Yuuma High. Among school festivals, that one’s was famous for being unusually large and flashy.

At Tae-il’s little scheme, Arthur let a smile slip.

He used his head.

A rough pass over the lyrics and the mood made it obvious the seasonal feel had been matched on purpose. It had been a while. Arthur felt curiosity welling up. So he offered first, readily.

“Want me to help?”

“What?”

At the sudden offer, Tae-il looked baffled.

“Isn’t that why you came here? To ask for help?”

“Well, if you put it that way, yes, but…”

Mixing and mastering, Tae-il didn’t really know. He’d taught himself, but he hadn’t majored in it, and it was still hard. What he wanted was an introduction to an engineer who could polish this song. And while he was at it, to learn whatever that engineer could teach him.

“How exactly would you help?”

He might as well hear him out. Tae-il swallowed a strange unease and asked.

“Hmm.”

Arthur made a thoughtful sound, fingertips pressed together. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

“First, I’ll play it as background music on my streams.”

“What?”

“An average of four thousand viewers, steadily hearing your music. Then they’ll ask me.”

What’s this song called?

“And I’ll just naturally tell them the title. How’s that?”

“Does that… actually work?”

“If you’re nervous, I can cover it myself. Or use it as material when I do content teaching other people’s vocals. Play it as an example of technique.”

That would help, certainly. Though it was a method that would draw the eye to the vocalist who’d sung it—Iris—more than to the song itself.

“I’ll ask Rin to promote it around, too.”

“Promote it?”

“Yeah. Free marketing. The stuff we all pay for, you’d be getting for nothing.”

Arthur’s gentle voice kept persuading him, quietly, insistently.

“If you need it, I’ll set up a stage too.”

“A stage, even…?”

“Any decent booking manager would hear your song and put you up right away. But as you know…”

“The famous places are hard to get on.”

“Right.”

Famous live houses each had some feature, some history, they could hold up to other people. Naturally the competition among bands that wanted to stand in that historic spot was fierce, and named indie bands with one foot already in the majors were thick on the ground. To compete with them for a lineup, a good song wasn’t enough. You needed recognition. Popularity. The title of a proven newcomer, or of someone with real skill. The problem was how long that took. The rumor had to spread from the fans who simply enjoyed indie music, to the people tied to the live houses, and on to the industry itself.

“You’ve been saying since way back that you don’t have enough time.”

“That’s…”

“You know Rin’s got a wide reach in this world, right?”

He knew. Tae-il had seen with his own eyes what Ogawa Rin’s standing was in the indie scene, subculture included. When Tae-il fell into thought, Arthur smiled and clicked a photo inside Tae-il’s USB. A group shot. Every member, Yuuya included.

“This them?”

“What? Hey, why are you just looking at someone else’s photos…!”

“You’re going to use them as artist photos anyway. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not, but…”

“Whew.”

Arthur whistled once he’d taken in the faces.

“The visuals are insane. This one’s your childhood friend, right?”

“She is…”

“Haha. Doesn’t look like holding a bass would be easy for her. But that bass is definitely Shoko’s…”

“She gave it to us. I told you before.”

“Ah. Right, I did.”

At Tae-il’s correction, Arthur wore an odd expression and snorted a laugh.

“Anyway, your band’s got the looks too. If the live show is actually solid, there probably isn’t a person alive who’d turn down the booking.”

“R-really…?”

“They’re all merchants, aren’t they? What they’re thinking in their heads is obvious.”

Arthur tapped his temple with a forefinger and wore an obnoxious smile.

“And at your level, even Rin wouldn’t find it much of a burden to slot you in here and there.”

So what if it was a parachute? This business had always run on connections. And if the one you were slotting in was a future superstar, the burden on the person doing the slotting was lighter.

“…”

Tae-il brought his eyes back to his own song, up on the monitor.

“Beautiful…”

Tae-il pictured a future that wasn’t far off. Second year was nearly upon them. Once this winter passed, Iris’s bright expression would slowly come apart. Growth wasn’t something you judged for yourself. Effort was an excuse, prepared in advance for the scolding that would find you the moment you failed.

“Haa.”

Tae-il let out a sigh. Dark thoughts kept circling his head.

I tried so hard to think as positively as I could…

And here he was, facing an uncomfortable reality again. It would work. They would succeed. He believed it that desperately, and still the anxiety seeping up was something even Tae-il couldn’t turn his back on completely.

“Hey, hey. Our not-so-cute little brat.”

“What.”

At Arthur’s sticky hand on the nape of his neck, Tae-il scowled. Maybe because his nerves had, in a short span, been scraped raw. Arthur, who was always soft with women and constantly irritable with him, was using a gentle voice, and Tae-il felt the wrongness of it. Even at Tae-il’s irritation, Arthur didn’t lose the smile. He lowered his posture and draped an arm over Tae-il’s shoulder.

Succeed. A word like a curse, binding Tae-il and Iris both.

“Once you prove you can do it live, the agencies will be in touch before you know it, don’t you think?”

“…”

He knew. What Arthur was offering was a shortcut to success. Success. Whatever anyone said, if they succeeded, Iris’s worries would lighten, and Tae-il could draw that much closer to BARD. For a Tae-il who had leaned on shortcuts often enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in his life, it was an unbearably sweet offer.

But there’s no way it’s that simple…

Nothing in the world was free. Even if the other person was as close to you as anyone could be, a proposal that was nothing but good had something rotten underneath. Tae-il knew that. Reading his face, Arthur smiled.

“That’s the look of someone who can’t figure out why I’d go this far to help.”

Arthur laughed with his chin propped on his hand. He moved the mouse to the far edge of the desktop. A click on a folder, and music files labeled in letters and numbers spilled down the screen. Arthur played one of them. A rough demo, the vocal not properly laid in yet.

“You showed me that vocalist, and suddenly this one came to mind.”

A lyrical melody opening on strings. Right after it, a melody like water drops—soft and hazy as a marimba, dreamlike—spilled from the speakers. And yet it was grand. Listening, it felt less like a band than an orchestra. And through the middle of it—

Hm-hm-hmm~.

The humming Arthur had recorded settled gently into Tae-il’s ear. Japan had bands like that now and then. Large bands, grand as an orchestra, packing a huge story into every song the way a musical or an opera did. But every time Tae-il heard them, he’d felt something lacking in the vocalist’s tone and volume. If the voice had only been a little more powerful, a little more vigorous. If it had boasted a volume just a little fuller. If the tone had only been a little softer. The song Arthur played him was like those. Only a little sweeter, the strength packed all the way in, so that a tragic beauty came through.

“This is…”

“A song Rin’s company was commissioned to make for a game studio.”

“You made this, Arthur?”

Tae-il, who had thought Arthur had pulled his feet completely out of this side of things lately, went wide-eyed with surprise. Arthur laughed at the look.

“More precisely, I made it with the composers under Latte Dreamer, the company Rin runs. I built the basic frame, though.”

“Why are you showing me this…?”

Arthur didn’t answer the question. He only said what he meant to say.

“For the record, it opens next year. A major corporation’s game, built on a famous IP they bought. We’ve got permission to use it as the title theme, so once it’s recorded, it’s basically guaranteed to be heard by gamers worldwide.”

The vocal was the only problem. When Arthur sang it himself, that particular flavor just wouldn’t come out, so he’d gone looking for a woman instead. Rin was good in every way, but the tone was slightly off. For an Arthur sunk in perfectionism even as repeated success made him arrogant, that blemish was fatal.

I don’t want to leave a blemish on Rin, either, but…

The deadline was creeping closer. If it came to it, he’d been ready to give up and just meet whatever the client asked for on the vocal. And then, in the middle of that, Tae-il had played him his band’s song.

“Iris, was it?”

The moment Iris’s name left Arthur’s mouth, Tae-il twitched.

“I really like her tone.”

Whether she was the talent who would become the best in Japan, as Tae-il claimed, he couldn’t say. She was, at the very least, the vocalist Arthur had been looking for. Arthur wiped the smile off his face and asked, serious.

At the out-of-nowhere proposal, Tae-il blinked like an idiot.

“I’ve thought it over carefully.”

Arthur was someone who knew how long it had taken Tae-il to form a band.

“You love bands, Taichi, and you still shied away from doing it yourself. And now you’ve finally taken the challenge. That means the odds of this one succeeding are that high, doesn’t it?”

Arthur straightened his back, shoved both hands into his pockets, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠declared it to Tae-il with confidence.

“So I’ll help you.”

“…You’ll help?”

“Yeah. I’ll lay down the foothold so you can reach the success you’re after.”

Tae-il’s reason shouted.

Why are you just sitting there? This is a chance! Grab it, you idiot!

Why, then? By any means necessary, he would climb to the majors together with the members he had now. Those were his own words, no one else’s. Proof of just how desperate he was.

And yet…

It was unpleasant. An unbearable displeasure and rejection boiled in Tae-il’s chest like a furnace. When no answer came, Arthur added on.

“Oh, and I won’t take too much of her time.”

Meaning—