Heart-Pounding Cultural Festival (10)
"Hey, you! Spiky hair!"
"Ghk—!"
"That takoyaki in your hand. Where'd it come from?"
Say what you like — in Japan, festival food peaked at okonomiyaki, yakisoba, and takoyaki. They were more common, and more widely loved, than the famous-but-divisive offerings like candy apples, cotton candy, and chocolate bananas. A boy walking around with takoyaki in his hand was not, in itself, the least bit strange.
Except that he was inside the main building. And the wrapper was one she had never seen before.
"You. Stay right there."
Sakurako closed in with her brows arched high, one long stride after another.
Terrifying.
Her hands were famously quick, and as a member of the discipline committee she was a standing object of fear for every slacker in the school. In practice, too. The spiky-haired boy stumbled backward in a panic.
"Eek! The pink demon! Run!"
"Get back here, you little—!"
Sakurako tore down the hall after him. Small as she was, she slipped nimbly through the crowd as she chased him, more ninja than student.
Ayane, notebook in hand and a discipline armband on her shoulder, tilted her head.
"What did Sakurako-senpai see that made her take off like that?"
"The takoyaki wrapper was completely different from the ones they're selling outside."
"Whoa, you caught that!?"
"Haha. Do uniform checks every day and your eye gets sharp whether you want it to or not."
Hayate closed her notebook and gathered her bob — swaying with every step — neatly behind her head. Anyone could tell she was getting ready to run.
"He came from that direction, right? What's over there?"
"One second."
At Hayate's question, Ayane opened the notebook. Pages flicked past, and her hand stopped where the classes and clubs were listed.
"In the main building, third-year Class 9 and Class 10 are each running a tea house and something bizarre called a Latest Isekai Transfer Experience Attraction...?"
"Not Class 9. I've got a friend in there. They're on the tame side, even among the laid-back classes."
Hayate tapped the toe of her indoor shoe against the floor.
"Class 10 looks suspicious enough that I should see it myself. While I'm at it, I'll check the clubs running things in the Old School Building."
"Yes. Then I'll finish the rest of the second floor and head up to the second-year classrooms on the third."
"Okay. See you in the first-year hallway, then?"
"Have a good round."
With Ayane seeing her off, she took off down the corridor.
True to her name, she was a gale. Whether she'd once run track or not, she vanished from Ayane's sight in an instant.
Ayane traced the notes in her book again with one finger.
"What on earth is it...?"
That cryptic performance Class 10 had hung out as their sign — the Latest Isekai Transfer Experience Attraction.
"If I've got time tomorrow, maybe I'll go with Shin."
Most of the stages and large-scale productions opening tomorrow were the work of the upperclassmen, alumni included. Which meant Ayane, a first-year, had time to spare. Her patrol schedule had been arranged with that in mind. Turning over the day laid out for her, she started her rounds again.
"Oh, right."
She checked the time in a hurry. 9:40. The Cultural Festival had only just begun, so it was fine — but a little over an hour from now, Rena's class would be putting on their play.
"I should set an alarm ahead of time."
There was no way she was missing that damned little shrimp's excruciatingly awkward turn as the sun. How best to tease her about it? Picturing Rena in all her misery, Ayane broke into a bright little grin.
A flinch.
An upperclassman who caught her passing with that crooked smile jabbed a friend in the ribs at once.
"Whoa. Did you just see her?"
"Who?"
"This year's first-year on the discipline committee."
"Ah. Yeah, I saw."
"She smiled when she walked past me. Like, actually smiled."
"You're screwed."
"Creeped me the fuck out, man..."
"Think she's already picked someone to make an example of?"
"Discipline committee. Figures..."
"Hey, get tangled up with them and you're the only one who suffers. Let's go."
"Y-yeah."
A chill ran down both their spines, and the two upperclassmen cleared out in a hurry.
One misunderstanding about the discipline committee bred another. A complete lie they might have laughed off, but for Yuma's students, Hayate and Sakurako were simply too lethal. The easiest lie to believe is one with a little truth stirred in. And so the rumors swelled, and with every day that passed the discipline committee molted, silkworm-like, into something more frightening still.
Until the day Ayane rode those rumors to absolute, unchecked power over the school — not even a year remained.
"Welcome!"
At that bright, forceful smile, the customer flinched.
Ordinary enough, on the surface. A black sailor uniform and a white apron — not a Taisho-romance concept, and not the maid outfits that turned up in every novel, either. But the physique and the face of the girl wearing them were anything but ordinary.
An iron law of the Cultural Festival. Whoever you put on the sign for an attraction, it had to be a pretty girl. No pretty girl? Then a handsome boy. And if you didn't have one of those, you put up someone famous, or someone funny. Do that, and you would succeed.
Class 7's strategy, faithful to the classics, was simple.
"It's not just because I'm a bakery owner's daughter — the bread and desserts from our place are actually delicious!"
The class president had sworn that if word of mouth caught early, the rest would take care of itself. She meant it enough to hang the shop's real sign right here.
"So, Sakuraba, I'm leaving the vanguard to you!"
"Got it."
A tactician to the bone, the class president had put forward a plan as simple as it was certain: let Sakuya build the buzz. And it worked. Less than an hour after they opened, Class 7 was swarming, and a line had started to form.
"Nice, Sakuraba!"
"Ahaha. Is service this light really enough?"
"Of course it is!"
The class president winked. In every seat Sakuya had passed sat a male customer with his soul visibly departed, ordering two servings or more all on his own.
"Sakuraba's gone this afternoon. We have to pull in as much as we can while she's still here."
"Ahaha. President, you'd be good at business when you grow up."
"Obviously."
The future bakery owner flashed an even row of teeth in a bold grin.
"Sakuraba! Next customer...!"
"Coming!"
"Sakuraba, you got this!"
Sakuya dashed off to greet them, and the class president turned.
"Tae-il, thanks. For lending me your precious Sakuraba."
"Why are you thanking me for that..."
"Nyahaha."
It was Sakuya herself who had offered to help. Tae-il turned his head.
"How's the dishwashing? Manageable?"
"Yeah."
Having declared of his own accord that dishes were his strong suit, he was crouched in a corner scrubbing plates for all he was worth until his duties on the executive committee kicked in.
"But President, will you be all right once Sakuya's gone?"
"Of course!"
Asked whether the sales would hold, she thrust her chest out with full confidence.
"Our class may not look it, but our average looks are pretty high!"
"Ah. That so..."
Tae-il shot her a sidelong glance and went back to the dishes he'd paused. His reaction was calmer than she'd expected, and her brow creased.
"Hmph. You spend every day with pretty girls hanging off you, so this doesn't even register. That it?"
"Whatever I answer, I'm already condemned as trash, aren't I..."
"Oh! Quick on the uptake, huh? That's our Tae-il!"
"..."
She snorted and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Kidding! More importantly — I think there's been a customer at the entrance looking for you for a while now?"
"For me...?"
Was there anyone in the world who would come all the way to school looking for Shin Tae-il?
Brother Toseong already went back to Korea...
Fortunately the meeting hadn't gone badly. He'd left his contact and said they should see each other when Tae-il came to Korea.
Anyone else...
Even the people who knew his school was holding a Cultural Festival were either too busy for the visit not to be awkward, or not bound to him by the kind of loyalty that would bring them this far. Tae-il's network was wider than it looked, and shallower than you'd think.
Puzzled, he lifted his head.
"Huh?"
For some reason Sakuya was there, plainly flustered, sending him a desperate save-me look — and with her, a duo, one man and one woman. The man was a blaze of gold. Take the sunglasses off, though, and someone specific came to mind.
"Yahiro...?"
The man whose eyes met his smiled and waved. And right beside him: pitch-black hair, sunglasses, and a woman dressed like the kids these days. A stranger.
Or is she a stranger?
A small frame with a figure that didn't match it, and a face that was strangely familiar. The truth was obvious. There was only one woman in the world Yahiro would escort as a guardian.
Tae-il rose, hesitant.
"T-Tae-il...!"
Sakuya called to him in a rush. Drawn toward the entrance as if spellbound, he had barely arrived before the man called out first.
"H-hey. Been a while."
"How did you..."
Startled, Tae-il's gaze dropped. The moment his eyes met the woman's, the sunglasses slid down the bridge of her nose — and there they were. Vivid scarlet irises, hidden until now behind lenses so dark you could barely make out the shape of her eyes.
"L-long time no see...?"
The way she watched him, cautious, was exactly like a frightened hamster.
"Pfft—!"
The shock drained out of him, and a laugh escaped on its own.
"Welcome, Izumi."
"Y-yeah..."
Tae-il welcomed her.
"This your practice room?"
"Yes."
A welcome was a welcome. Tae-il had hurried Izumi straight to the art room all the same. Disguised or not, BARD's vocalist and bassist were a combination that stood out no matter where you put them. Rumors of a celebrity in the next class — or somewhere — had already drawn more customers than usual. And now BARD on top of that?
The second they're found out, it's hell.
BARD's popularity was absolute, not only among the middle-aged crowd busy reviving old memories, but with the younger generation too. The odds of the school descending into chaos were uncomfortably high.
"Haa."
Leaving Tae-il to his private sigh of relief, Izumi looked around the art room.
Paint.
The air peculiar to an art room — thick, murky, somehow muffled — hung heavy around her. But traces of music showed through, here and there. Cables that hadn't been fully cleared away. A pick someone had apparently lost. A music stand propped in the corner, and a drum throne. And last, guitar cases lined up along the wall.
They haven't even been a band that long, and already this much...
She could feel it. The clumsy traces of people who lived with the band as part of their lives, glimpsed if only a little. She couldn't begin to imagine what their practice room would look like later, once their lives had soaked all the way into it.
They're enjoying themselves...
A pleased smile crossed Izumi's face.
Yahiro, who had been looking around as well, rapped a fist against the soundproofed wall and let out an admiring sound.
"Damn. For an art room, the soundproofing's solid."
"Ah, yes. That was Rena..."
"Rena's the drummer girl, right? The short one."
"That's right."
It hadn't been for the sake of the music so much as for an extremely personal reason, but Rena had put real work into the soundproofing. Yahiro was impressed.
"Yuma really is something. Back in our day we borrowed the music room or the broadcast room to practice."
"Haha."
"And even that only works if there aren't many bands."
Once the bands multiplied, the competition turned fierce, and you had no choice but to pay for an outside rehearsal studio.
"Our school is a little unusual, yes."
Even in Japan, schools like Yuma were hardly common.
"Still, though..."
Hands shoved in his pockets, Yahiro went to the window, nostalgia settling over his face.
"Seeing it like this, I do miss it. My school days."
"Yahiro, you were one of the popular kids."
"You do look the part, just at a glance."
"Obviously."
Praised from both sides, Yahiro preened.
"But even to someone like me, Izumi shone. All on her own, without ever bending to fit anyone."
For him to shine, he'd had to be with other people. Izumi was different. Her very existence had felt like something higher. She'd been born a star, and Yahiro had admired that about her.
"I'm a lucky man."
He gave a bitter smile and pulled off the wig.
"Well, that's all in the past. More importantly, what's your schedule, kid?"
"Around eleven, I'm going to see a friend's play."
"Which friend?"
"Our drummer."
"A play?"
When he said he planned to watch Rena's play with the members, Izumi perked up with interest of her own.
"Good. Then how about we split up here?"
"Are you sure, Yahiro?"
"Me, I'm confident I can talk my way through anything."
"Sorry?"
Tae-il was thrown. The two of them sounded as if they meant to go their separate ways.
"Kid."
Yahiro gripped the bewildered boy's shoulder hard.
"I'm leaving our princess to you."
"I'm not a bomb squad, you know? Don't just dump her on me out of nowhere with no warning!"
"Hahaha! See you in a bit, then! Anything comes up, call me!"
He'd come all the way to a school Cultural Festival positively rotting with youthful energy. Time to enjoy that youth at full power. Yahiro equipped, on the spot, the mindset of a man who enjoys things the moment they arrive.
"Later! Adios!"
Wig flipped back on, he flashed a mischievous smile and slipped out of the art room first.
"Aigoo..."
His party having gained a member without his consent, Tae-il scratched his head and managed an awkward smile. Izumi apologized.
"Sorry."
"It's all right. But are you really okay with just me?"
"Yeah. If anything..."
If it isn't you, it can't be anyone.
Izumi hesitated, then bit her lip shut. But it was obvious. Her eyes were fixed on Tae-il, aching.
"Here. Hold on."
Tae-il held out his hand. Izumi stared at it, blank. When she showed no sign of reaching first, he caught her hand himself.
"T-Tae..."
"This school is pointlessly huge and complicated, and if you get lost you're as good as missing. Hold on tight, and don't let go no matter what."
He led her out of the art room, then stopped to check and looked back.
"You understand, right, Izumi?"
"...Yeah."
Strength went into her hand. Just as he'd said — so that she absolutely would not let go.
Eleven o'clock.
Tales Tale gathered in front of Class 8 to see the play Rena's class was putting on. Everyone except Yuuya, who had been pinned down by class activities and had no hope of escaping before lunch. Even so, the sight of the students rumored to be the prettiest in the first year, all in one place, was a spectacle in itself.
"Th-they're glowing...!"
Declaring them too noble to approach, some boy backed away. It was an obvious overreaction, but the people who agreed joined in of their own accord, and a human barrier formed with Tales Tale at its center. Like the eye of a typhoon, a hole tore open in the sky, and only the space around them had any room to breathe. The stares were one thing. Their bodies, at least, were comfortable.
"But..."
Iris, gathered in the hallway before Class 8, tilted her head.
"One, two, three, four, and..."
Five.
Even with Rena and Yuuya missing, five of them had gathered. The head count was wrong. Her gaze settled on the woman clinging tight to Tae-il's hand, hunched in on herself like a hamster. Ink-black hair, a hat, and sunglasses on top of that made her difficult to place.
"Who...?"
Tae-il glanced around, then leaned in to whisper so that only Iris could hear. Even that small movement set the people around them off.
"Th-that guy's going after our school's Madonna...!"
"I'm so jealous!"
"Why are they like that? It's not even anything weird."
"No idea."
The murmuring was on his side. Under cover of it, he could tell Iris who the woman was without worry.
"It's Izumi."
"W-what?"
Iris stammered, thrown.
"H-hi..."
Izumi eased her sunglasses down and showed her eyes. Even without colored contacts, irises that vivid a scarlet could belong to no one but Tenma Izumi.
"Sakuya, you knew too?"
"Ahaha."
Put on the spot, Sakuya shrugged with an awkward smile.
"You, honestly... Ayane?"
"I didn't know."
From the moment Izumi had appeared, Ayane had seized Tae-il's other arm and held it with force, staking her claim, and the answer came out sharp. Circling back around, Iris glared at Tae-il again.
"Shin Tae-il. Did you know she was coming?"
"No..."
"I-I just showed up on my own, so... sorry."
The moment the mood threatened to turn on him, Izumi cut in and apologized.
"Haa."
At the sight of the idol she had once respected more than anyone in the world shrinking in on herself, Iris let out a sigh.
"You're on the executive committee. You've been dragging her around this whole time?"
"It just sort of happened...?"
"You're going to pick up another line of bad reputation before long."
Even with no interest in the school, Iris's ears weren't shut. Word of mouth — talk without a body — always reached her in the end, through someone who heard things.
A real harem master has descended.
That indecisive look, unable to commit one way or the other where girls were concerned — he really was exactly that. But it was good news, too. The firmer Tae-il became, the more anxious every member would have grown, the band shoved to the back of their minds. Perhaps the present, with this precarious balance still holding, was better. So Iris thought.
No. Why am I even thinking like this?
All at once an irritation she couldn't trace creased her face.
"Whatever. Shall we go in? Everyone's hanging back because of us and can't get through the door."
"Ahaha. Let's. I feel bad looking at the people around us."
Ayane agreed, fiercely.
"R-right! Let's get in, quick! We have to grab the front seats no matter what!"
"Ayane?"
"I am going to see that shrimp play the sun with my own eyes!"
"Your motives are impure..."
Tales Tale and Izumi entered Class 8.
"Eek!"
Rena, standing in front of the decently dressed stage and doing her duty as the face of the class, locked eyes with them and nearly jumped out of her skin.
"I-I told you not to come, you idiots!"
"Heh heh!"
Ayane put on a villain's wicked smile.
"Tell someone not to come and it only makes them want to come more, doesn't it? The shrimp really is an idiot. I-di-ot."
"Y-you...!"
Rena's face flushed red. Behind her, the girl with the narrowed eyes had watched the whole exchange, and she smiled.
"Oh my, Honjo. Your friends? How nice. Isn't it?"
"Y-you... damn it! Just you wait!"
Lips twitching, Rena finally spat the most hackneyed line imaginable and fled backstage. The girl who had been beside her smiled brightly.
"Hehe. What a shy little thing she is."
"H-haha..."
Introducing herself as Minata Saori, she seated the group boldly in the very front row. In order: Sakuya, Ayane, Tae-il, Izumi, and Iris.
"From the look of things, our little Rena won't even need to act. She'll simply be the sun itself."
"Ahaha. Now I'm starting to feel bad..."
"Why? We ought to be glad! We came all this way to watch her in person!"
"Ayane, you really do hate Rena..."
"Ahem!"
Watching the utterly unbothered Ayane, Sakuya scratched her cheek. Tae-il, meanwhile, was busy being impressed by the room itself.
"They really captured the mood..."
The classroom, transformed completely into a little theater, was convincing even by his standards.
"They made all this in just a week?"
"Mm. Not exactly, I don't think."
Ayane, stuck fast to his arm, shook her head.
"No?"
"Mm-hm. To prepare something like this properly, you need at least a month, Shin."
"A month..."
"You didn't know, Shin Tae-il? Schools famous for their Cultural Festivals start preparing a whole month ahead."
Iris explained, crossing her legs. Tae-il hauled his gaze back up by sheer force of will as it tried, of its own accord, to slide downward.
"Those schools even take their guests by lottery, you know. Ours gets treated like a local festival, so it's completely open."
"Then how did Class 8 prepare?"
"From what I heard, the first-years reuse a lot of props the upperclassmen have used before."
Anything made for the Cultural Festival that came out well, or that seemed a waste to throw away, went into storage. Later, it was used again. A kind of tradition.
"So that's why our class could just grab the tables, the chairs, the tablecloths, all of it in one go..."
Tae-il struck his palm with his fist, impressed. Iris added,
"Well, even so, what matters most is still what's being performed, more than the packaging."
There was a reason each class declined to overreach and filled its attractions with tea houses and snack stalls. It was simply the easiest thing to do.
"Mm-hm! Even this Cultural Festival, only about three classes are putting on plays!"
"Ahaha. Three might already be a lot, you know? The kids who can really act are all in the drama club, performing in the Great Auditorium."
"Sakuya's right. A play put on by a class is basically just an appetizer."
No one expected much of a class play. They had simply come because a friend was in it. Or because their child was. Unless a class happened to be full of unusually motivated students, the quality varied wildly. The Great Auditorium held about five hundred if you were generous, and a little over a thousand packed tight, and the high-quality plays were popular enough that the competition turned fierce and they even drew admission tickets in advance. There was no comparison.
"The play will begin shortly. Everyone, please quiet down."
Through the microphone, Minata gently settled the house. Tae-il looked back. Before he had noticed, the classroom had filled with people.
The lights went out.
And the lighting they had prepared apart from the rest fell across the stage. A backdrop shaped like a green meadow. And there — a lanky, towering, expressionless boy of a tree, and riding his shoulder, floating high above him, the girl who was the sun....
"Pfft—!"
"Pfhah—!"
"Cough! Cough!"
"...hk."
Unlike everyone else, who couldn't hold it and burst, Tae-il clamped a hand over his mouth and fought with everything he had not to laugh.
Rena's face, flushed crimson with shame, was the sun itself, no matter who looked.
"Grr..."
Having heard her friends' completely unfiltered laughter, Rena let out a sulky grumble soaked in irritation.