Heart-Pounding Cultural Festival (9)
The Cultural Festival.
On the grounds of an event that fills a page in the lives of so many youths, Sakuya stuck her tongue out.
"Whoa. This crowd is seriously no joke."
"People look like garbage."
"Our classroom isn't that high up, Tae-il."
First-year classrooms sat on the fourth floor of the main building as a rule. Counted from the schoolyard, though, that "fourth floor" boasted a height closer to six stories. High, yes—but not, as Sakuya had just pointed out, high enough for human beings to look like trash.
"What a sight."
Sakuya nodded at Tae-il's murmur.
From the gate all the way to the main building, it was people, and people, and still more people. Bright hair and brighter clothes, gaudy even for Japan, tangled together until they packed the schoolyard solid. It was the kind of view that left anyone's mouth hanging open.
A question occurred to Sakuya.
"Tae-il. Out of all of them, how many do you think will actually come see us play?"
"Hard to say..."
The Eve Festival stage would be in the Great Auditorium, but the Finale on the last day of the Cultural Festival would be held on a special stage set up in the schoolyard—a stage planted in the center like the Budokan, audience on every side, a spectacle in its own right. Because of that, even bands with a fair amount of stage experience sometimes got so nervous they made mistakes they never meant to, the moment they stepped onto the Finale stage.
"...If we just make it to the Finale, at least a few thousand people will see us, won't they?"
"At least a few thousand..."
It was a number she couldn't quite get her arms around. Even when she had run at Inter-High, the crowds had never been that large.
Thump.
Her heart kicked hard. Not fear—excitement. A challenging smile tugged at Sakuya's mouth. The old line about staking your life on the stage was starting to feel uncomfortably real.
She spoke.
"I know it's a little late to say this, but..."
Tae-il lifted his head and looked at her, her gaze still fixed beyond the window.
"Being on the executive committee might actually be better than I thought...?"
"Haha. I'm with you."
Tae-il nodded, wearing a wry smile. A stage performance demanded far more stamina than anyone expected. Pacing yourself wasn't optional. It was survival.
Sakuya put on a show of grumbling.
"If we weren't on the committee, we'd have been run ragged in that classroom until we dropped. Right?"
"Yeah."
There is one sentence every part-timer in the world can agree on.
The fewer the customers, the better.
More customers might mean higher sales, but that didn't put a bigger bonus in your own pocket. Cultural Festival acts were no different. No matter how much Class 7 sold, the class president's family bakery—the one supplying the ingredients—would still make far more than they did. Of course, their homeroom teacher had promised a barbecue party funded by whatever was left over, so it wasn't a total loss. Class 7 was full of athletes, and athletes ate. Even so, the simple fact that they could legally escape all of it under the name of the executive committee was a relief to both of them.
"If we wore ourselves out waiting on customers and then collapsed the second we got onstage, we'd be a joke."
"And our class gets plenty of people coming just to see you."
"Haha. Jealous?"
"Not even a little."
Tae-il shook his head. It was a contradictory feeling, but there it was. He wanted to be a star. He did not want to be hounded by rabid fans the way idols were.
"I want to be someone like DJ LOVE..."
"DJ LOVE...?"
Sakuya's look asked why that person, of all people.
"It might be rude to say it about him, but he doesn't have much of a presence."
"Ah..."
The group was popular enough that he had decent name recognition of his own, but his fanbase was thin and his presence smaller still—the sort of member fans never particularly mentioned. In BARD, that role belonged to Akitora. For all his hulking, gorilla-like frame, he spoke so little that his presence inside the group was practically nonexistent.
Realizing just how impossible Tae-il's wish was, Sakuya covered her mouth, and her shoulders started to shake.
"Pfft—!"
"What, is it that weird? Isn't it more decent than living as peacefully as a houseplant...?"
Picturing some bomb-happy killer side by side with DJ LOVE in his pierrot mask, Sakuya made an inscrutable face.
"Hmm. I don't think you could pull that off, Tae-il."
"W-why not...?"
To the despairing Tae-il, Sakuya made a point of linking her arm through his.
"You're going to be walking around like this. How could that ever work? Right?"
"Koff!"
The moment she emphasized the linked arms, a cough escaped him before he could stop it. She clamped onto his arm as if to say he shouldn't even think of running, and the arm dragged up along his side brushed the underside of her chest. Tae-il covered his reddening face with his right hand.
"Maybe I really should drop the member thing and just be the producer...?"
"Ehh. I don't want that."
Still arm in arm, Sakuya grinned and swung her right arm back and forth like a swing. She tilted her head and whispered at his ear.
"Give up."
She had an unusual hunger to show him off. Maybe not to just anyone. But to her, right now, Tae-il was the most attractive person alive. She wanted to put him on display and brag. She did not want to watch him flee the public out of nothing but his own relentless self-doubt.
"You can't spend your whole life running, can you?"
"Haa..."
Tae-il nodded.
"Yeah. We haven't even succeeded yet, and here I am drinking the kimchi broth first. Let's just push through."
"Mm-hm. But what's 'drinking kimchi broth' supposed to mean...?"
"Uh... back home, it's like planning to sell the tanuki's hide before you've even caught the thing?"
"Oho! But we are going to succeed. Aren't we?"
As brazenly as she could manage, Sakuya turned a faint smile on Tae-il, whose face was still full of worry. Warm sunlight poured through the window and lit her violet-silver hair like gold dust.
She's on my side. She roots for me, stands by me, loves me.
"...Yeah."
Tae-il nodded, quiet. Sakuya, shining as wholly as a protagonist, was more than enough to plant confidence back into him.
Their linked arms came undone. A blunt left hand closed around a slender right. The hand was a mess of scars—the rough skin of a girl who was an athlete, who drew, and who had lately taken up an instrument besides, brushing under his fingers.
"We're going to succeed. No matter what."
Tae-il squeezed, as if to say he wouldn't let go.
Behind them, a boy who had forgotten the café concept entirely and stood there like the Grim Reaper, great scythe in hand, ground his teeth.
"Should I kill him, Prez?"
"Read the room, you idiot!"
The class president smacked the back of his head.
It was autumn.
Nine in the morning.
From the speakers, an announcement declaring the school festival officially open began to roll.
"All right, then—at last! The 42nd Yuuma High Cultural Festival begiiiiins...!"
"Shut up and go do your patrol already, President."
The instant the school gates opened, the boy who had been standing on the podium in the schoolyard, microphone in hand and voice raised, was seized by the scruff of the neck by a girl and dragged bodily away. His voice, growing ever more distant from the mic, sounded terribly mournful.
"What a strange school..."
Izumi awkwardly fussed with her black-dyed hair and looked around. The broad schoolyard really did resemble a local festival, red food stalls of every kind lined up in rows to the left and right. She pushed her sunglasses back into place and checked the pamphlet they had handed out at the gate.
Most of what's on the field is outside vendors and school clubs...
Hiding the lower half of her face behind the open pamphlet, she let the current of the crowd carry her forward.
"String-figure contests and knitting experiences, right this way!"
"We're selling upcycled outfits too!"
Girls who looked thoroughly domestic and clever with their hands were promoting for all they were worth.
That's the handicrafts club...
Simple handmade crafts and reformed clothing seemed to be the main attraction.
"Cosplay experiences available too!"
"Agey!"
"Cosplay..."
Izumi's ears pricked, and Yahiro, playing guardian at her back, shut it down at once.
"Hey. Get a grip, you idiot."
"Yahiro..."
"You planning to announce to the whole neighborhood that you showed up?"
"Sorry... I wasn't thinking."
"Haa."
Yahiro sighed and froze the hand that had been about to scratch at his hair on instinct.
Right. Can't let the wig come off.
He gently raked his itchy scalp with one finger, then settled back into his cocky stance. Today, like Izumi, Yahiro was in disguise. A blond wig and a full tanning makeup job made him look like a golden sun out of a painting.
"We stay away from anything hands-on where somebody might figure us out. And we skipped breakfast, so let's hit a food stall and eat something."
"Okay..."
A little ways off from the handicrafts club, the cooking research club—split into any number of factions—was busily selling festival food under their advisor's direction.
"I'll get okonomiyaki and yakitori. You?"
"Yakisoba."
"Don't need a drink or a snack?"
"No. I'm not that hungry."
"Okay. I'll go buy it, so wait here like a good girl?"
"I'm not a kid."
"Anyone looking can tell you're a kid, Princess. Be right back, yeah?"
She glanced once at Yahiro's retreating back, then went back to taking in the surroundings. Maybe because there were so many children, the hands-on game booths were fairly varied. Water-balloon tosses, dart throws, even wooden roof-tile breaking—the minigame stalls were already packed with parents who had brought their kids.
"Whew."
Having sprinted hard enough to skip the line entirely, Yahiro came back whistling in admiration.
"These kids cook pretty serious for a school festival."
"Yeah."
He held out the paper box of yakisoba.
"It's hot, so don't burn yourself."
"I'm not a kid."
"Yeah, yeah."
Enjoying festival food that tasted better than either of them had expected, the two started toward the main building. Halfway up the stairs that divided the building from the schoolyard, Yahiro pointed back over his shoulder.
"See that? That gym is where the Eve Festival's happening today."
Following the line of his finger, a queue was already visible.
"Those people...?"
"Here for the play this morning. Apparently there's some former actor at this school, so it's a big deal."
"Everyone in that line is a fan of that actor...?"
"Probably?"
Yahiro shrugged, as if to say there'd be some special fan service or other.
"The Eve Festival stage itself is in the afternoon, from what I hear."
"What time in the afternoon?"
"From two. The performance order should be on the back of the pamphlet."
Izumi checked her wristwatch. Nine-thirty. Two o'clock felt impossibly far away.
"There's still so long until the show..."
Her expression wilted all at once.
"Hang in there, Leader."
To make matters worse, as if by some trick of fate, Tales Tale's slot was dead last. A little over ten acts were taking part in the Eve Festival. Even if you generously gave each one ten minutes, they would still be waiting a good two hours more.
"Won't even see the shape of it until four-thirty at the earliest, huh?"
"Uuuu..."
Izumi stopped mid-step, sank into a crouch, and let out a miserable groan.
"This is agony. Yahiro, do all the fans who wait for me feel like this...?"
"Hahaha! Only figuring that out now, Princess?"
"I had no idea..."
Izumi drooped. She had always lived a long way from boring waits. From live houses to broadcast stations, she had barely experienced a thing called waiting. At the stations, her parents' privilege as a house band on all sorts of stages had her in and out of the performers' green room, and the live houses she had frequented when she was younger were run by relatives, which meant another free pass.
"Well, a little early to start whining, you brat. Get up. We've gotta go see the kid's class. Right?"
"Yeah."
At the prospect of going to see Tae-il, Izumi shot to her feet. Yahiro took the lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Let's move. That kid's bandmate is famous, so their classroom's gonna be a mob."
"Sakuraba?"
"Yeah. That young lady is no ordinary celebrity."
Inter-High was one of the biggest high school athletic meets in the country, but the general public didn't actually follow it with much interest. Unpopular events were everywhere, and even for the popular ones, most people only checked the results when they had the time. If anything, baseball's Koshien, or the winter National High School Soccer Championship and the Prince Takamado Cup, drew more eyes. The only people with a real stake in Inter-High were industry folks who needed to scout players. The moment an individual with genuine star power appeared, though, that was a different story.
"Count the interviews alone and she's had way more than you, Leader."
"The yakisoba here is good."
At the pointed suggestion that their leader might please stop dumping interviews on everyone else, Izumi changed the subject at once.
"Haa. You talk just fine when it's the fans..."
Shaking his head at her shamelessness, he climbed the stairs. Their destination was first-year Class 7, on the fourth floor.
"Hm-hm."
Yoo Ha-na hummed as she straightened her clothes in the full-length mirror. Shin Younghoon, watching, frowned.
"Good grief. What are you going to a bunch of kids' party for?"
"So you're not going?"
"I'm not going."
When he said it flat, Yoo Ha-na sighed.
For once, a deal with a client had closed on the spot. No entertaining to do, the business trip had ended earlier than planned, and the company had handed him a whole three days off by way of thanks. Shin Younghoon meant to carve up that precious time and, for once, rest at home instead of fishing. Tae-il had already announced he'd be late these past few days on account of the school Cultural Festival, so there was no one around to be conscious of. Rest properly, and go fishing when a gap opened up. That had been the plan.
"Then I'll just go with Yuna by myself?"
"Suit yourself."
He stretched out on the sofa, pretending to be perfectly at ease, and turned on the news. Morning news was flat and dull—nothing but yesterday's stories reheated.
Beep.
He clicked his tongue at a male anchor calmly hosting after an affair with a younger announcer, and changed the channel.
Beep.
On came a dazzlingly childish drama that only neighborhood housewives with nothing to do would watch. For the record, it was one of Yoo Ha-na's favorites. Shin Younghoon changed the channel.
Beep.
The hand that had been flipping and flipping came to a stop. Sky-blue hair. At the afterimage of a color burned hard into his memory, Shin Younghoon narrowed his eyes. It was an interview with Tenma Izumi.
Nothing like her usual vacant look, Izumi smiled, and it was beautiful.
Beep.
He shut the television off and tossed the remote onto the sofa any which way.
"Hoo."
Watching it had sent irritation surging up his throat. Yoo Ha-na, who had finished getting ready at some point, glanced into the living room and blinked.
"Oh my? You already turned it off. Nothing worth watching in the morning?"
"Honey. You leaving now?"
"Yes. I'm going to stop by next door and head out with Yuna."
"I'm coming too."
"What?"
Instead of answering, Shin Younghoon got up off the sofa. He threw on the hiking jacket he had tossed carelessly over the rack.
"Let's go. That damned Cultural Festival or whatever it is."
"Pfft."
Yoo Ha-na chuckled at her husband's stubbornness and nodded.
"Fine, but put more on. It's cold out."
"This is plenty."
"Plenty, my ass. Don't catch a cold like an idiot—hurry up! You want me to leave you behind?"
"...Ah, all right!"
Unable to withstand the nagging, Shin Younghoon scratched the back of his head and retreated into the bedroom.
"Good grief."
Watching that pitiful retreat, she let out a small laugh.
"That pride of his, I swear..."
Yoo Ha-na thought, not for the first time, that the way he dug in his heels over the strangest things made father and son exactly alike.