Heart-Pounding Cultural Festival (4)

After his Class 7 classmates had chased him through the halls once already, staying in the classroom grew more uncomfortable for Tae-il than it had been before.

Had the wall called awkwardness—the one that had never even been visible—finally come down?

Sakuya had only to rest her chin on her hand and send him a tender look, and stinging stares poured in from every direction, locking onto him as if the whole room had him in its sights. Even a simple conversation with her earned him pointed glances from all over.

Once, thoroughly annoyed, he had answered by laying an openly bold bit of skinship on Sakuya.

The result?

His classmates came after him in hoods, prop scythes in hand. Sakuya, frozen solid by the sudden reversal of who was chasing whom, was merely a bonus.

Anyway.

Thanks to all of that, the classroom had become an uncomfortable place to linger. A few days later, though, Tae-il realized that his classmates' burning interest was actually rather welcome.

"Suits me just fine."

If they were watching his every move, that meant he had a perfectly legitimate excuse to slip out of preparing the class's festival performance. Sakuya, smiling happily the entire time, was a little irritating—but Tae-il put on a face of perfect calm.

He sent Iris the message asking her to come, then set about checking the song the two of them would sing together.

It wasn't a duet. It wasn't that he lacked confidence in his singing, but a duet with Iris meant comparison, whether he wanted it or not.

"Let's see… the song I prepared."

What Tae-il wanted was acoustic. A flashy band number was fine, but the thing that stayed deepest in people's heads, and for the longest time, was still a sentimental, country-style acoustic. In Korea, that would be Kim Kwang-seok. In Japan, Yutaka Ozaki. Because a single guitar was enough, imitators kept appearing no matter the era. In short, a performance on acoustic guitar might as well be called the flower of a festival.

The contrast was superb, too. Let some legendary band show up and build an impressive, exhilarating mood—one guitar was all it took to dump cold water straight over it. Tae-il would play keyboards and an assortment of backing tracks to suit the atmosphere, and Iris would play guitar and sing. Just imagining it put him in a good mood.

"She'll sing it well."

People often romanticized bands. But the true romance they felt, Tae-il thought, belonged to the individual players, guitar foremost among them. The romance and the thrill a band itself felt were things outsiders rarely got to experience.

His plan was simple. Announce their presence with a flashy band number, then drive the wedge in at the end through Iris. Announce it to the world—the true weight of a vocalist named Arisugawa Iris.

Being nothing more than a student wasn't enough. His goal was to move the teachers and every guest who visited the school, and make them fall for Iris. He had to plant in them the conviction that she absolutely had to become a singer, and turn them into allies ahead of time. Unlike actors, ordinary bands and idols leaned far more on the power of a fandom than on the general public, and even if they wanted to ignore that power, they never could. The firepower of a hardcore fandom was enough to make even a major agency bend its opinion.

What Tae-il wanted was precisely the formation of that loyal stratum. A heavy fandom. The sort who lived by their devotion and died by it—who, the moment a star supplied the raw material, processed it, spread it everywhere, and pulled new people in.

"If it's Iris, it's definitely possible."

"What's possible?"

"…You're here?"

Tae-il turned his head. Iris stood in the art room doorway with her arms folded. She strode over and dropped down beside him.

"The others grabbed me. I had a hell of a time getting away."

"Popular, aren't you?"

"Well. When have I ever not been?"

Iris swept her hair back and smiled with perfect confidence. Tae-il covered his mouth with a fist and laughed under his breath.

"Fair enough."

There had never been a time when she wasn't popular. He hitched his hips and pressed in close beside her, and the distance between them collapsed all at once. Before Iris could get a word out, he held out the tablet in his left hand.

"This is the song you'll be singing. The rhythmic foundation is acoustic guitar, so it isn't all that complicated."

"This wasn't on the list of songs I heard before."

"I wrote a new one."

"When?"

"When I was in the hospital."

"Oh."

He really had had an unusual amount of time back then. Iris turned her attention to the song.

What Tae-il played for her was quiet overall. It was clean, as if meant to embody winter in motion, and she could tell he had deliberately kept the instruments to a minimum. Close her eyes, and a picture formed: a girl looking out through a rain-streaked window while the seasons changed, one careful step at a time. It was a fairy tale in which you could feel time passing.

Ah.

Iris could see what came after Autumn Love Song. Autumn. And what arrived next was winter. The song Tae-il had brought quietly drew the winter a girl and a boy would meet.

This kid really does have a thing for the seasons…

Thinking back, most of the songs she had heard from him before had felt like summer. She could sense the obsession.

Iris frowned. She had meant to keep quiet and simply listen the song through. She couldn't hold the objection back.

"But whose voice is this?"

"Huh?"

The crude audio threading through an otherwise clean melody was, to anyone's ear, obviously something recorded in a hurry. Recording had a thing called a guide vocal—a kind of demo. Before the real performance, someone recorded the vocal part separately so it would be easy to understand. Sheet music was a reference book. It was not the answer key, and it wasn't even the commentary. A song with a guide vocal, then, served as the solution sheet, because the composer's intent was laid bare inside it.

It was certainly convenient. The lyrics were written out as well, and she immediately had a sharp sense of how the song ought to be sung. Maybe, thanks to this, she could sing it far better than the vocal she was hearing now. But the displeasure came first.

"Whose voice is this?"

"Uh, uh?"

Iris shoved an openly sulky face at him, for all the world like a girlfriend who had called because she wanted to hear her boyfriend and was now interrogating him over the voice of a woman she had never heard in her life. Tae-il, who had not expected her to get angry here of all places, stumbled over his words.

"I-it's the nurse who looked after me while I was in the hospital…"

"And why would she…?"

Iris's brows drew up into a wounded arch. The tips of their noses touched. Before he knew it, Tae-il was inching backward.

Thunk.

Th-there's already a wall against my back…

When he dragged his gaze back, Iris was still wearing that interrogating look, pressing in on him just the same. Tae-il scrambled for whatever excuse came to hand.

"No, that nurse just started watching me work, all on her own, and then…"

"And then?"

"She said she used to sing in a band, and that she'd help…"

"So you just went and played our song for an outsider!?"

"N-no, that's not—what I mean is…"

"You said you'd make a song just for me…!"

"I'm sorry!"

Tae-il apologized on the spot. It was a cheat code—the one cheat code that left him no choice but to apologize.

"Honestly."

A breath carrying a strange heat touched his lips, and in the same instant Iris drew away from him. She had forgiven him.

"This is really the only time. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"If you're going to put a guide vocal on something from now on, just do it yourself, Shin Tae-il. Got it?"

"I-I'll try…"

"Hmph."

Her anger seemed to have drained clean away. Iris settled her hips on the floor and began to hum.

"With you, and time…"

She looked as though she liked the song more than she had expected. Tae-il, who had been watching in silence, let out a belated sigh of relief.

"Iris, you're going to have to play guitar on this, too."

"Me?"

"I told you it'd be the two of us. No matter how hard I try, I can't carry the other backing parts and produce an acoustic guitar sound on top of them."

An acoustic guitar had a feel and an atmosphere that belonged to it alone. Tae-il might have been a man who believed electronic instruments could do anything, but he had no intention of looking down on pure sound—the crystallization of everything humanity had built in the name of music.

"The opening of the song is nothing but guitar, too. I think it's essential for the stage the two of us are putting together."

"I see…"

Playing guitar and singing on a stage. It had been a very long time.

I-it'll be all right… right?

Even as a flicker of worry rose, Iris called up the busking, as if to wipe away an unpleasant memory. She had only sung back then, but every person in the audience watching her had applauded.

This time, too…

Watching the ever-prepared ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Tae-il pull out the guitar tablature he had made in advance, Iris steadied herself.

It'll definitely be all right. Because Shin Tae-il is with me…

The guitar riff was simple, too. She could get a rough feel for the part through practice and then focus on nothing but the song. Tae-il would handle the rest.

"Iris…?"

As if to stamp the unease out of herself, Iris caught his hand and gripped it tight. It'll be fine. So long as she was with Shin Tae-il, it would be fine—the Cultural Festival included. If he was there, she wasn't afraid. Again and again she recited the charm, soothing the anxiety that kept welling up inside her.

A thin stream of coffee poured into a large mug. The white interior filled with black. Once Fuyuko had emptied the pot into the mug, she tore ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠open a packet of sugar.

"How many spoons shall I put in?"

"About five?"

"Do you need creamer, too? I just take mine black."

"Yes! I like things sweet more than bitter."

The moment creamer went into the mug, the black coffee softened all at once into a pale brown.

"Here you are."

"Thank you."

"Not at all. We're the ones who should be thanking you."

"You mean the recommendation?"

"Yes. Thank you for the recommendation, Ms. Takahashi."

"Hoho. It was nothing."

Takahashi, who had just received coffee brewed by Fuyuko herself—a woman renowned as a beauty even within the school—drew a bundle of refreshments out of a drawer, gifts from the boys.

"Ms. Asakura, you should have some too."

"Is that all right?"

"Of course. Kids at private schools these days really do have money. They hand out expensive sweets like these."

"Then I'll be a little rude."

The busiest stretch for a teacher was probably the period before and after exams. The Cultural Festival was different. Some teachers were surely run off their feet, but Takahashi and Fuyuko, at least, were not among them. They savored the brief rest they had been given.

"To be honest, I was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little surprised when I saw the video you showed me."

"Were you?"

"Yes. Katsuragi asked me to teach her bass right before vacation started."

In Takahashi's eyes, Ayane was the typical popular student—well liked, and living under the constant press of her classmates. She had naturally assumed the vacation would be a busy one for her, too.

"But that child improved enormously in a little over two months."

"Katsuragi really is a remarkable girl."

"She is. People say the bass is easy to learn, but the reality is that almost no one actually wants to learn that easy instrument."

Practice wasn't fun. That was the bass's fatal, chronic problem, and most people never overcame it. Watching school bands come and go, Takahashi had seen more people than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she could count forced into playing a bass they didn't even want to touch. Every one of them failed to last, and the bands broke up with feelings hurt.

"Katsuragi was different. From the very start, she asked me to teach her bass. I felt a desperation in that child I'd never seen before."

An honor student, asking to be taught an instrument with earnest eyes. Takahashi couldn't refuse. She had barely known the first thing about the bass; she asked the internet and her acquaintances, learned the basics, and taught them to Ayane.

"Honestly, I was on edge the whole time I was teaching her."

"Were you?"

"I can instruct piano and vocals, but the bass was essentially unknown territory for me."

What if some mistake of hers left Ayane with a bad habit? What if, because of that, a budding talent quit the instrument and lost all interest in music? Even during the vacation, worry had driven her to send a few messages. Each time, Ayane had replied only that she was fine, and thank you. It was only when Takahashi watched the busking live video Fuyuko showed her that she finally felt relief.

"Fortunately, it seems she met a good teacher. I'm really glad."

"You were a good teacher too, Ms. Takahashi."

"Oh, come on. I'm hardly a mentor."

Takahashi waved it off with a flustered laugh. Just as not every teacher was a mentor or a benefactor, she did not consider herself Ayane's teacher in that sense.

"And I'm glad things worked out for Miss Honjo as well."

"Ah—you said she and Tae-il came by before, looking for an instrument?"

"Yes. I was honestly shaking back then."

Takahashi didn't know the reason, but the air hanging between the two of them had been terribly hostile. Of course, the hostility had been entirely Rena's; Tae-il had been perfectly calm.

"Seeing those children playing so happily, even I feel proud."

"I feel the same."

"Though there is exactly one thing I regret."

"You do?"

Takahashi nodded, savoring her coffee.

"I wanted to be the advisor for their club."

"Ah."

"I'm honestly a little jealous of you, Ms. Asakura, for getting them. Hehe."

"Once you actually took them on, you'd change your mind."

At first, the atmosphere had been truly brutal. Just looking at them had made her stomach ache. But watching them busk, clearing one wall after another at their own pace and coming to enjoy it, had delighted her as well. The sight of a treasured student who had been drifting on the outside gradually blending into the band was even fun.

"Hmm… let me correct myself."

"Yes?"

Fuyuko, who had been toying with the frame of her glasses, let out a small laugh.

"Please go on being envious, Ms. Takahashi."

"Oh, honestly!"

"Hehe. So let's just behave ourselves and look forward to the stage. From the audience's point of view."

"Oh, that's right! Have you heard about the teams participating this time?"

"No."

The Animal Care Club wasn't even taking part in the Cultural Festival, so Fuyuko had nothing in particular to concern herself with. Information about the teams going up on stage was the same. Even when she took the night duty, all she did was patrol for students secretly staying behind at school to work.

"Our school has quite a lot of light music clubs, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"For all those clubs, participation in the Eve Festival has been poor. This time, I hear as many as five teams are joining!"

"That many…?"

Fuyuko was surprised. The school certainly had no shortage of light music clubs, but the ones who actually took part in the Cultural Festival had been, quite literally, a mere handful. Two or three teams at most. Usually only the single most skilled team went out as a representative, because the Eve Festival stage—orchestra, chorus, even alumni participation—was that high in standard to begin with.

On top of that, the school had many people working in classical music, and contrary to how it looked, there were quite a few who looked down on bands as commercial music. Those in the light music clubs, moreover, tended to come from the academic track, where music was a hobby, more often than from the free track, so it went without saying. Even if they hated it, they couldn't help watching their step.

But five. All of a sudden, a solid majority of the bands had declared their intent to take the Eve Festival stage.

"How did so many of them end up participating?"

Tales Tale had a clear goal: a major debut. The Eve Festival stage was a stepping stone for promotion. From the other bands, though, she couldn't infer any similar reason for joining. One wrong move, and they might be laughingstocks for the rest of their lives until graduation. At the light music clubs' inexplicable choice, Fuyuko took a sip of coffee and asked.

"From what I hear, word got out—through some channel or other—that the 7th Light Music Club was participating in the Eve Festival."

"For a reason like that…?"

Because Tales Tale was taking part, the other light music clubs had lined up to announce that they would, too. To Fuyuko, it seemed a slightly strange reason.

"Hehe. You're reacting about the same as everyone else, Ms. Asakura."

"Then you don't see it that way, Ms. Takahashi?"

"No. I understand why these children made this choice."

In Japan, where the idea of club activities and the like was firmly settled, a band was not especially unfamiliar. A school band was youth itself. It stood for being young, and even after you grew older it became a story to share—back then, we were like that. Even an introverted child who couldn't mix with others could change through a band, or bring themselves into the open. For them, a band was an opportunity. A peerless, legitimate chance to realize the self and show it to other people.

"But our school isn't like that. Survival of the fittest. A tendency to let skill decide everything made them shrink."

"Well, the competition between clubs is certainly fierce…"

The Animal Care Club, which had let go of competition altogether, was the unusual case. Yuma's ordinary clubs, even without any tie to the free track, naturally drew people's attention—research societies and everything else—and poured heart and soul into producing results. The light music clubs were no different.

There were a fair number of famous indie bands from Yuma out in the world, but every one of them had been formed by students from the free track. Perhaps because they had come up through classical music, their band style was strangely refined, and aimed at the future. Fuyuko had marveled at their tremendous skill, but the times she had actually fallen into the music itself were rare.

Because there was no desperation or passion in it.

Fuyuko thought back over last year's Cultural Festival, and the year before that. A band had come out and played their instruments. They performed live. That was truly the full extent of what she had felt. Not even a fraction of the emotion she had felt watching Tales Tale's stage.

Of course, since she knew their inner circumstances through and through, comparing those bands with Tales Tale on the same line was unreasonable. Even so…

I don't know.

Fuyuko cut the unproductive thought short. The conclusion was one thing only. Tales Tale had provoked the other light music clubs. She knocked back her coffee.

"Well, the courage is admirable. It is a little pitiful, though."

"Isn't it?"

Takahashi gave a faint smile of agreement and shrugged.

"Everyone's going to assume Tales Tale is only stepping out because they're banking on the popularity of Arisugawa and Sakuraba…"

"But the reality is…"

Every one of them would come face to face with a giant who rendered meaningless the difference between the academic track and the free track.

The two teachers' shoulders shook as they swallowed their laughter.