Tangled Threads (2)
Tae-il was a guy whose wits turned pretty sharp when it counted.
That was Ayane's take, anyway.
Tae-il had a rebellious streak. Back in elementary school and again in middle school, he'd gotten into scraps with students and even teachers over his nationality. Each time, he'd slickly toyed with his opponents and slipped away unscathed.
There were more than a few kids who'd been on the receiving end and ground their teeth in frustration.
Especially the messy, sticky messes that involved Ayane—they'd all been sorted out by Tae-il stepping in. Being pretty was exhausting. Without him, she might've gotten dragged around and ended up in real trouble.
So she trusted him.
She figured he'd weasel out of her grilling like the sly fox he was this time, too.
But.
"Sorry."
A faint tremor lingered in Ayane's mind, unclear but persistent.
Tae-il had bowed his head and even pressed his palms together in apology.
He, who usually freaked out and hated it when others did that sort of thing, had said this was the most sincere apology he could muster short of prostrating himself and begged her understanding.
These were his words:
"I can't really explain the details. But trust me."
Tae-il's eyes blazed like the sun as he said it.
How could eyes so lacking in confidence shine so brilliantly? Ayane found herself speechless.
Recalling how her heart had pounded... yeah, she'd fallen for him all over again.
And that pissed her off, so Ayane gave no reply.
She stared him down with a gaze frozen cold, resisting the heat radiating from him.
Her lips pressed tight.
Even a tiny word, and she'd forgive him outright.
Silence was her best shot at resistance.
In truth, her choice was the most fitting response, right or wrong aside.
What Tae-il demanded—blind trust—was coercion itself.
No proper explanation to convince her, just "believe me."
Ayane ignored him and headed to school first. Tae-il had to watch her mood all the way to the morals committee room where they parted.
His whimpering, like a puppy desperate to poop, reminded her strikingly of her dad when her mom, Yuuna, caught him with a secret he should've hidden.
Truth be told.
Ayane kinda enjoyed seeing Tae-il flustered and anxious. It felt beyond childhood friends—like they were married or something.
But she hadn't fully cooled off.
After parting with Tae-il and mulling over their actions, Ayane felt her mood plummet again.
Absence of trust.
Tae-il couldn't open up because Ayane didn't trust him. No point explaining if it'd just lead to a pit of doubt, so he'd apologized preemptively.
Ayane had his playbook figured out cold.
"Hello."
"Hey."
"Good morning!"
"No running—walk and don't bother others!"
The school gate buzzed with teachers and students.
Kids streamed in, giggling like mad—who knew what was so hilarious.
Monday blues seemed powerless against fiery youth.
Or maybe school life with friends or lovers was just that fun.
Jealous.
Ayane mechanically checked uniforms.
Some flinched at her sunken gaze, but no one dared challenge a morals committee member—get on their bad side, and you'd be hounded all semester, or worse, expelled.
Then a boy-girl duo passed, arms linked, chattering away.
Are they a couple? Or childhood friends like me and Shin-jjang?
Her hands clenched behind her back.
Nails dug into skin.
The couple sensed Ayane's sticky stare, freaked, and bolted.
Ayane chuckled bitterly to herself.
They were right.
Sticky jealousy billowed up inside her like black smoke.
And as if to counter it, a girl approached from afar.
An aura on another level.
Head a full size bigger than the rest, handsome face radiating otherworldly charisma. Her glow chased away Ayane's gloom.
Ayane knew who she was.
Sakuraba...
Ayane ground her teeth inwardly.
For some karmic reason, Tae-il had shown interest in her.
She's pretty, sure. Maybe even prettier than me.
Same class as a knockout like that—who wouldn't notice? Any guy would.
Tae-il never showed much interest in girls, but he was a healthy dude with urges. She'd once worried he was impotent, then relaxed seeing his fangirl swoon over Izumi.
A pubescent boy eyeing girls? Yeah, natural. She got it logically.
Logically, sure.
Sadly, her heart didn't agree. Unlike her mom's, it wasn't generous—petty, even.
And her annoyingly sharp memory recalled Sakuraba's seat: right next to Tae-il's. Cold logic kept stoking the fire in her chest.
Ayane lifted her chin.
Asymmetrical bangs fell, hiding her face.
Didn't want anyone spotting her feelings.
Hide my emotions, huh...
Hiding anything felt alien and tough for Ayane.
Shin-jjang always sees right through anyway.
She'd never been good at masking emotions.
Why bother hiding if it'd just embarrass her when busted? Better to lay it all out from the start.
Thus, the "cheerful Ayane" everyone loved was born.
Washing away grime like flowing water, shedding old feelings quick.
Keeping only the positive ones.
For over five years, her mindset never wavered—until now, a tiny crack appeared.
Sakuraba passed the gate.
Everyone greeted her, acting familiar.
"Haha. Hey, everyone."
Sakuraba replied with a stately smile, locking eyes with each—but it felt perfunctory.
If Shin-jjang approached Sakuraba-san, would he just be one of those?
Irritating.
Who do you think you are? Ignoring my Tae-il?
Unfiltered, muggy emotions invaded her thoughts.
"Ayane."
A soft voice snapped her back.
Hayate, morals committee president, eyed her worriedly.
"You okay? You look pale."
"...I'm fine."
"Don't push yourself. Go to the nurse if you're sick."
"I'm really fine."
Ayane smiled; Hayate flinched.
"Plus, me—the baby here—dipping out suddenly looks bad, right?"
"If you say so..."
Ignoring Hayate's concern, Ayane called out uniform issues.
"You, button up properly. Yes, you."
Sakurako, watching quietly, whispered to Hayate:
"Something up with her today?"
"Yeah. Thinking of sending her home after classes. Cool?"
"Do it. She looks off."
"Bad date or something?"
"Wanna rough the guy up?"
"Hey."
Sakurako huffed.
Hayate gave a wry smile.
Annoying underclassman or not, she cared most for Ayane.
Under her seniors' worry, Ayane's patrol continued.
* * *
The rooftop.
Instead of his usual nap or composing, Tae-il—skipping as always—opened his messenger app.
He'd pissed off Ayane.
Ignored all morning on the way to school.
Panicking at this first-ever fiasco, he needed expert advice.
Normal folks would hit up friends or parents, but Tae-il's circle was anything but. His pick: a legendary Casanova.
"What the hell's with this guy, cracking up like a maniac?"
Guy talk, maybe?
Tae-il spat curses he'd never utter around Ayane.
♪ ♬ ♩ ♬
Not some old geezer after all—his phone rang right after the trash talk.
Tae-il picked up, awkward but compliant.
"Yo, got troubles, wandering boy?"
A needless suave baritone flowed from the speaker, speaking a familiar tongue.
Korean.
"Sudden call much?"
Tae-il half-ignored the greeting, firing back casually.
Irritated tone drew giggles from the other end.
"Dude, your messages screamed 'therapy session,' so I called."
Skipping anyway, right? he countered.
"Yeah, but hearing you say it pisses me off."
"I suck at everything else, but Tae-il counseling? Can't resist."
Nothing funnier, he claimed, urging Tae-il to spill.
Total therapist fail.
"You used to sound awkward and annoying; now fluent and annoying."
"Ah, too suave for ya?"
"Fucking unlikeable is what I mean."
"Guys hate when same-sex buds outshine 'em, right?"
"Bullshit."
"Sounds spot on?"
Tae-il hung up.
Regretting the consult, he eyed other contacts—ringtone again.
♪ ♬ ♩ ♬
Tae-il tsked, answering.
"What now? Finding another shrink."
"Sorry, dude. Why so petty? Guys gotta have hearts wide as the Pacific—reel girls in, keep 'em from swimming out."
"Ha!"
Tae-il snorted.
"Pacific heart? Says the player."
Narrower than the local pool, yet packaged slick.
His snark drew grumbles.
"My phone contacts prove it."
"How many in that list pick up if you call now?"
"At least ten!"
Tae-il went silent.
Moments later, less cocky:
"Five? Three...?"
"Three my ass. I'll grant one."
"Fuck, told ya not to bring her up!"
"Who's cheating?"
"Never dated her, asshole. I'm the victim!"
"Pacific heart keeps 'em trapped, huh?"
"Tch. Feels like I always take the L arguing with you."
"You've grown. Used to just get owned; now you voice opinions. Impressed."
"Right? Leveled up. Makes collabs with Korean streamers fun now."
"Bet. They freak when you spit fluent Korean."
"How'd you know? You watch?"
Patriotic flex killing it, he whooped: "Views godlike! Viewers godlike!"
Tae-il sighed.
"Don't watch your streams, dude. Want me tuning in? Shut up and upload songs."
"Rude? Don't need grubby guy fans like you."
"Says the guy with more dudes than chicks."
"Lalala can't hear! Nothing! Lalalala!"
Childish.
But Tae-il's frown softened unnoticed.
Arthur Kim.
A big name in utaite circles, now focusing on streaming games and chit-chat over covers.
Met Tae-il three years back at a live house. Bonded over a bet if Tae-il was Korean—Arthur won 1,000 yen blood money.
Tae-il side-eyed the idiocy, but repeated run-ins led to natural friendship. Shared Korean sealed it.
When Arthur prepped full-time, Tae-il frequented his place for utauloid tips.
Months ago, whined no one watched lives; now cocky as hell.
Hang up for good?
Nah, he'd spam incoming calls and whine.
Men stayed immature; Arthur was peak.
Tae-il kept talking.
"Just doxx your face already. You'd scoop female fans."
"Why? Fans who hit lives know my mug. Vtubers rule now—utaite sings great, crickets; vtuber does, viral. Even decade-old algo-dead tracks blow up."
Vtubers were otaku phenomenon.
Yeah.
Arthur wasn't just streaming—he'd gone full vtuber.
"Bullshit."
Tae-il snapped harshly.
Worth it.
"You don't even sing as your vtuber."
"Busted!"
Arthur roared with laughter—boisterous, unfit for his princely voice.
"Shut up, asshole! Lemme sleep!"
Sudden shrill woman's yell from the receiver.
Followed by thwacks.
"Ow! Sorry! I'll talk in the bathroom—stop! Later, promise! Ow!"
Screams included.
Soon, apology:
"Ow, sorry. Woke her, got smacked. She's great but damn, heavy hands."
"Still sleeping?"
"Yup. Lucky timing?"
Sun high, yet abed—casual as hell. Tae-il tsked.
Obvious what kept a mixed pair up all night.
Yin-yang union.
"How many rounds?"
"Dunno? Conked out when sunlight hit...?"
Nice stamina, Tae-il snarked.
Praise to guys—no damage.
"Anyway, issue? Big bro's got advice."
"..."
Tae-il hesitated.
Wise to consult this playboy?
But only guy around girls he knew: Arthur.
"So here's the deal..."
Self-consoling, Tae-il recapped morning.
Arthur's response: ice cold.
"Aigoo, moron..."
"I'm the moron?"
Tae-il sounded unjustly aggrieved—not liking player parity.
"Yeah, moron. Watch for stabbings."
"Why me?"
"You're no better."
"My girl game's not messy like yours."
"Messy?! Apologize! Even I clean up nice!"
Cleaned up so well he nearly got stabbed?
Skip that or he'd sulk; Tae-il pivoted.
"No interest in your dick moves. Advice?"
"Sigh. Fine. How'd I end up buddies with you..."
"You started it."
"Anyway. No real advice needed..."
Groans of thought from the line.
Tae-il waited.
"Dunno your deal with her, but super close, yeah?"
"Yeah. Near ten years."
"Childhood friends? Lucky bastard. Advice: act normal. But ooze that you care."
"Difference?"
"She won't ice you forever. You're consulting me, decade bond—she cares too."
Normal works.
But broadcast morning regret hard. Sorry vibes full blast, cater every whim, grovel!
You're beta, she's alpha—for now!
Arthur's wisdom.
"P.S., no dumbass grand gestures."
"That enough?"
Tae-il bolted upright, gripping phone. Doubt thick in voice.
Arthur: cocky.
"Day tops, three max. Makeup soon—chill."
Hardly advice; Tae-il frowned.
Unbelievable, but pro player with girls—swapped three a day at peak.
Credit where due.
Girl-heart radar: Arthur lapped him.
"Trust big bro. Why lie?"
"Ugh. Fine, trusting."
Still iffy, but committed.
Felt like a loss consulting, but his call.
"Next class soon—hanging up."
"Skipping, no?"
"Homeroom teacher's this one."
"Yuuma High's free spirits bow to homeroom chains!"
"Whatever."
Tae-il hung up.
No callback this time. Lucky.