Eve Festival (4)

Song.

A means of carrying meaning, passed down from ancient times.

No.

Poetry may be the form more familiar than song. Those too ashamed to lay a heart bare — or in no position to — have always borrowed heavily from the power of lyrics.

The age changes. Just as a male in the animal world sings and preens to win a female's courtship, the ways human beings express feeling have never stopped evolving. Realizing that mere communication was not enough, people began to sing serenades of love. A quiet cadence stirs that peculiar human hunger called anticipation and lifts a flat mood into something with depth. And the words that settle softly over that cadence hold meaning.

"You did well."

Onto the shoulder of Iris, still lost in the landscape she herself had called into being, Tae-il's hand settled, warm with heat.

"H-huh?"

She flinched and jerked her head up. Tae-il smiled, satisfied. Past his face the Great Auditorium, swallowed whole by a deep afterglow, seemed to project itself into her sight, and it would not leave her vision no matter how she tried.

Iris closed her eyes. Sweetly. The throat that had whispered love in song through that lyrical, unhurried melody trembled.

"I... I actually did it."

Calmly. A small whisper the audience could not hear reached Iris's ear.

"Shin Tae-il, you..."

When he brushed open the trauma that had been quietly tormenting her, Iris's eyes flew wide before she knew it.

"Did you... know all along?"

"Let's get down first."

He patted her shoulder — well done — and tipped his chin toward the stairs. Beneath the blackout curtain, the members of Tales Tale were staging a silent protest for them to hurry down.

"Ah..."

Iris scrambled up, clutching her guitar. A bow. One last time, her head lowered toward the front.

"Haha."

Taking in the sight of an audience that looked only at her, she smiled, shy.

The actors who had dressed the stage made their exit. The curtain came down. Final act. A lively school anthem, set against the afterglow of a moment ago, announced the end of the Eve Festival.

It was over. And yet almost no one in the audience stood. Even those who rose without thinking caught the eyes around them, faltered, and sat back down.

Lights came up on the Great Auditorium itself, not the stage. A murmur. Little by little, the way a classroom stirs after the bell, small voices began to rise here and there.

"Haaah."

With a long sigh, Shin Young-hoon slowly let the strength out of shoulders that ached as if the muscle had knotted. All told, the performances had run well past two hours. He was tired. Eyelids grown suddenly heavy, he tipped his head back.

Entertainers...

True to Japan, every song had been in Japanese. He had heard the lyrics, but aside from a few phrases, little of it sank deep. Even so, he could roughly tell what each song was trying to say. And precisely because some lines refused to lodge neatly in the ear, a few of them struck him all the harder for it.

Light from the high ceiling filtered through his eyelids. A hazy afterimage, red and yet blue, strangely gathered itself into the shape of a girl. A film began to play. That slender girl, singing with a guitar beneath soft lights, looked like something out of an American teen movie.

A stubborn gaze prickled at him, and Shin Young-hoon opened his eyes. A glance to his right: his wife, Yoo Ha-na, was staring straight at him with a mischievous smile. A wicked little laugh slipped out of her.

"Heh. So. What did you think?"

"..."

At a question brimming with amusement, Shin Young-hoon ducked his head, laced his hands, and chose his words with care. Tap, tap. His thumbs pressed together and came apart, over and over.

Under that ridiculous band name, Tales Tale, they had sung three songs in a row. From what he'd heard, Tae-il had composed every one of them himself.

Shin Young-hoon did not know music. He had no interest in it on an ordinary day and simply listened to whatever the app recommended. He was oblivious enough to stroll into a karaoke room and, without a shred of shame, sing twenty-year-old songs nobody knew. So the standard by which he judged was simple. Did it sound good? Or did it not?

Private feeling set entirely aside, he assembled in his head a completely new playlist of his own — the kind he would actually put on for the commute.

"Sounded good."

Arms folded, he turned his face from Yoo Ha-na.

"Ohhh?"

At her husband's childish contest of pride, the corner of her mouth twitched before she could stop it.

"Is that really all?"

"Yeah."

Once that rigid head had turned, it did not look as if it would ever come back this way. Yoo Ha-na smiled faintly, twisted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the waist the other direction, and rested her head on Yuuna's shoulder.

"How was it for you?"

"I was so moved. Our Ayane..."

Yuuna ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dabbed at the clear tears gathered in the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

"She really was such a timid child..."

The Ayane Yuuna knew was painfully shy around strangers. She had been that way since she was little. Even after meeting Tae-il and improving a little, Yuuna had never been able to shake the feeling that her daughter was forever pushing herself too hard. Student council president in middle school, discipline committee now — all of it had looked like strain. Because Ayane was always conscious of Tae-il, always trying to perform some ideal version of herself.

This time was different...

The spark, she supposed, had still been Tae-il. But Ayane on that stage, playing bass...

Ayane. You smiled for real.

She had looked happier than Yuuna had ever imagined. Bass — the instrument in a band that stands out least of all. But from the face her daughter made when she landed the bass solo, Yuuna could be certain.

"I'm just so glad, seeing her enjoy herself.... Sniff!"

"Heh."

Yoo Ha-na gently closed her hands around Yuuna's. By some wry twist of fate, both households had raised a son and a daughter who were problem children in every possible sense. Naturally, both families had worried themselves sick. Fortunately, Tales Tale's Eve Festival stage had lifted one heavy care from both mothers.

"And thank you too, Miss Mori. This video, um..."

"I'll send it to you separately."

"Thank you."

After taking an email address from Yoo Ha-na so she could send the video, Yuuya quietly checked the footage she had shot on her own. The live video had come out beautifully — color and all. Begging Fuyuko for the very front row had been worth it.

Thank goodness.

At that monumental first busking, for all the quality she had poured into the video, it had not drawn the popularity she wanted. Yuuya had been privately disappointed. And a little angry at the person who had beaten her to posting. Not a single proper edit, low resolution, utterly raw — and yet, TokTik or not, the view count was already closing in on a million.

Why is something like that...?

Tae-il had comforted her, telling her it was fine. After the Cultural Festival, the high-quality video she had made would reap the rewards in full. That had not, however, restored Yuuya's badly wounded pride.

This time is different.

Lowering the camera, Yuuya wore the smile of a comeback. Lately she had been studying video marketing in earnest, watching popular videos on iTube. She had bombed an exam for it and caught a thorough scolding from Fuyuko, but she was proud to call it a meaningful sacrifice.

My grades aren't going to take care of me...

The focus vanished from Yuuya's eyes as she gripped the camera, as if she had lost her reason. Nobody looking at her would have called it normal. The problem was that Yuuya herself was entirely serious.

I'll prove it myself, too.

Beautiful enough to be worth clinging this hard. The stage her beloved juniors had made was beautiful. And Yuuya had a responsibility — a great one — to carry this feeling to other people through iTube and every other medium.

Even if only to justify why I exist...

She made the vow inwardly. What kind of thumbnail seizes the eye. What kind of title provokes. What kind of edit holds a person in place. What feeling and what subject a channel must post if it wants to be chosen by the algorithm. Not a hundred percent certain — but eighty, she could manage. It would be ridiculous not to put a skill she had finally learned to proper use. All that remained was to prove it.

Tae-il came down off the stage with Iris leaning on him. Unlike the audience, still not fully free of the afterglow, the members of Tales Tale and Fuyuko — who had spent the whole time with room in their heads for nothing but worry and jealousy — welcomed the two of them.

"Shin-chan! Iris...!"

"You two worked hard on that last stage."

"Good work."

"Everyone did."

Fuyuko, their advisor, spoke for the group and roughly ruffled both their heads — well done. Iris, still dazed, nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Kyaa! My hair's getting ruined! I set it all by myself, I'll have you know!"

The grip was stronger than expected, and Tae-il protested the pain as well.

"Ow, that hurts! Sensei...!"

At their violent refusal, Fuyuko gave a wry smile.

"Honestly..."

Both of them so needlessly particular that she couldn't even praise them in peace — she shook her head.

"Ngh..."

Tae-il took off his cap and rubbed at his throbbing scalp.

"Sensei, you didn't mix up your subjects, did you?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You should have taught physics, not biology— agh! I'm sorry! I give! I give!"

Fuyuko let go of his hair, which had wound neatly around her hand, and snorted.

"At least you still have the energy to joke. That's something."

"Well..."

Tae-il let the end of the sentence trail and looked around at the members.

"Good work, Iris."

"Rena-chan, you too...!"

"That song just now was the first time we heard it. The lyrics were yours, right?"

"I wrote them, duh."

"A-ah, I can write lyrics too, you know...!"

Rena, Ayane, and Sakuya, quietly given time beneath the stage to gather their hearts. And last, Iris, who had been up there with him. They looked at one another so fondly, hugging and trading the feeling back and forth, that the old days of snapping and bickering felt impossibly far away.

Tae-il read their eyes. Empty. Their bodies were here. Their hearts were somewhere else.

"Even the day after tomorrow, we'll..."

"I heard that time the crowd watches from every side!"

"Ugh. Ayane's stomach is already a little..."

"Want some stomach medicine?"

"Th-thank you.... Wait. Why does the squirt have stomach medicine...?"

"I-it's a secret!"

"Ahaha! Looks like Rena was ridiculously nervous too!"

They offered one another comfort and teasing, and still their eyes kept flicking toward the stage where they had stood.

"..."

Tae-il looked at the stage as well. The broadcast-club staff had cleared it in a hurry; already nothing remained up there. Even so.

"The stage... felt good, right?"

"Yeah..."

"More of a rush than busking, don't you think?"

"Eh. I was so-so."

"..."

Even in the middle of talking, the members of Tales Tale looked back at the stage, and little by little their words ran out. Tae-il shrugged.

"If they're like this, somebody has to stay normal. Might as well be me."

"Because you're the leader?"

"I'm not sure about that."

Tae-il stared blankly at his own palm. To stand on a stage again like this, as someone who belonged to a band — nothing could have made him happier. But it wasn't enough.

A few years ago. Like Sarina, drifting from live house to live house, he had grown close to other musicians and been invited up onto special stages more than once. He had watched every time he worked a proper shift, so he already knew how the songs were built. There had been no real practice and no rehearsal, and he had struggled a little, but he had gotten through the sets without trouble. Everyone had loved it. For them, the mere fact of a boy who worked at the live house sharing a stage with a famous indie band was a small amusement. It had been the same for Tae-il.

That was only ever a brief event. Something to enjoy for a moment.

He had not taken it as a sign that he was allowed to cross back into this world in earnest. There had been the pleasure of a special experience, of a world both strange and familiar. That was all. Because he had felt not a shred of belonging — no sense that he and they were part of the same thing.

But here...

He felt it. To share an emotion this fierce, this choked, among the members — it had been a very long time for him, too.

You're allowed to be in a band now.

At last Tae-il could fiercely savor the feeling that heaven itself had given him permission to make music. He closed his hand into a tight fist.

A little more...

On a better stage. Better songs. And he wanted to show a better ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠version of himself. He was getting greedy. The goal that had been blind, and vague, was beginning to take a clearer shape.

Between the beginning and the end — in the process that had mattered more than anything — what Tae-il had been hard at work calculating was everything outside the stage. Everything on the stage had depended strictly on each member's own skill.

Because I believed the girls would pull it off.

Of course they would. Say what you like — they were the protagonists of the original story.

Not anymore. The Tales Tale stage was not theirs alone.

It's our stage.

The thinking of a boy who had only vaguely dreamed was changing, little by little, into the thinking of an artist. He had coolly accepted reality and decided he suited a producer better than a player — and inside that thinking, a small desire lifted its head.

"Excuse me a moment."

"Go on."

With Fuyuko's leave, Tae-il took one step forward. The distance closed. Thump. He threw both arms wide and crashed into the four girls holding one another.

"Shin-chan?"

Ayane startled at the sight of him pulling her in without a word.

"Thank you."

Head bowed, Tae-il offered his thanks.

"Tae-il..."

"Shin?"

"What's gotten into you all of a sudden? You're scaring me."

He forced down the strange feeling that kept welling in his chest and said it again.

"Thank you."

For being with me.

Inside a van whose interior did not show well from outside, Izumi stretched and shoved the seatback all the way down.

"Nngh."

Somehow this schedule had tired her out as much as a tour. Deciding once again that she was a terminal homebody, she called Basara. Click. Maybe he had been on a break; the ring was short.

Behind the flippant voice, a melody she had never heard drifted in like background music.

A rustle came through the line. Basara, who had been working in a comfortable sprawl, seemed to be straightening up for a serious talk.

Izumi took off the sunglasses she had been unable to remove except at lunch, stifling behind them while she hid who she was. The vermilion irises the dark lenses had covered glittered, sharp and clear, in the dim interior of the van.

Izumi knew every song Tae-il had composed. Some of them he had played for her when they met at the cafe, but in truth she had secretly listened to everything he had uploaded to Sound Sky as well. That song, though, had not been among them. The last one. The third song Iris sang on stage had been a hidden trump card Tae-il had never released anywhere.

Got me.

At Tae-il's surprise, Izumi smiled faintly. It felt as though a vessel that had been stopped tight had finally opened.

Tae-il was heavy. Not that Tae-il was fat — his whole way of composing was heavy. Natural enough, for songs he had spent more than ten years hesitating over, adding and subtracting, adding and subtracting again. Izumi felt it too. Heavy. But solid, and there was a steadiness in that. If she had to compare it to something, it was like a net woven tight and dense enough not to let a single fry slip through.

Like...

Like the stubbornness of a foolish child who refuses to compromise with the world. And yet, surprisingly, the world does not run on that kind of stubbornness. Deep feeling piled onto every song, pressed down and pressed down again, then poured out all at once at the end. Whether he had formally studied composition somewhere or not, the rise, the turn, and the close were unmistakably clear. But like amateur composers everywhere, he had too much he wanted to say, and the greed was full to the brim. On top of that, the messy, cluttered parts of the score leaned a little toward the electronic side of K-pop, and now and then his nationality came back to her afresh.

The problem was that the genre he was chasing laid a heavy burden on a band that, like Tales Tale, had only just begun as an indie act. But the song he had revealed at the end was different.

The song, overall, had room to breathe. Almost a ballad. A melody with a presence so strong it lodged cleanly in the ear and asserted itself even if no one sang. A song that hits you with Ah — this melody is, quite simply, a song whose structure has been built well. Of course the genre he chose, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a tempo to match it, and the instruments he picked all played a part. Even so, she was certain. That song was nothing like the Tae-il she knew.

Basara's voice came back a little intrigued. For a composer, a composing style runs in the same current as a player's personality and habits. You may want to change it, but once a habit sets, changing it is rarely easy. A creator's stubborn ego is, from time to time, an enormous obstacle to growth and change. Which is why a shock is necessary. A cultural shock strong enough to overturn the world inside an artist's head.

Basara brushed it off. The day BARD took Tales Tale seriously, and met them as equals, would come later — after they set foot in the scene called major.

Apart from the hope she held in her chest, Izumi decided to grant them their place without argument. They were growing, and their future was something to look forward to. But that was all. Realistically, Tales Tale had only just taken a single step into indie. Catching BARD would take a long, long time.

Basara clicked his tongue, pleased, as if he had just heard welcome news.

Drink. Since that fateful day of busking, suggesting alcohol inside BARD had become a kind of signal. A signal to bring whatever song each of them wanted and argue it to the death, with no need to read the room. They fought, and they fought hard — but with a drink alongside, the ugly feelings born in the quarrel could be forgotten clean. Every time they sequenced a full album, BARD had fought one another this fiercely. From the look of things, the next album was likely to be the same. Izumi nodded, perfectly willing.

Just then the driver's door opened and Yahiro climbed in. He held out coffee he had only just bought.

"Who's crying now?"

"Yahiro."

"Have you people lost your minds...?"

Yahiro, face gone flat, suddenly snorted and dropped his weight into the driver's seat.

"I'm in."

Click. The line went dead. With the flippant voice gone, a bleak cold draft seemed to blow between the two of them.

"Hah."

Yahiro laced his fingers behind his head and slumped deep into the seat.

"Guess I'll be cracking a few bottles from my secret collection. Been a while."

"You sure?"

"Hoard it too long and it turns to garbage. Nights like this are when you open it."

Izumi warmed her cooled hands on the coffee and asked.

"Yahiro. How was their stage?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Hmm..."

He unlaced his fingers, set both hands on the wheel, and tapped out a rhythm with his index finger.

"The vocalist goes without saying..."

"Yeah."

Iris's caliber was simply that high to begin with; there was no need to mention her.

"First, the bassist..."

Thinking of Ayane, a fellow bassist, Yahiro lightly scraped the callus on his thumb against the wheel.

"From what I saw, she still needs to build stamina. Smart of little brother Tae-il, only letting them play two songs and sending the other members off."

A live show is nothing like practice. The energy. And the stamina burned away by psychological pressure is heavier than anyone imagines. At first you don't know. Then your focus slips, even a little, and around the time you notice the sweat running off your body, you understand. The bass is heavy. The lights on the stage are hot enough to scorch skin.

"Once the sweat cools, it steals the player's body heat. Stamina and focus go with it."

After the first song, the second had belonged entirely to guitar and vocal. The bass had room to breathe. But Ayane's focus had frayed badly enough that her mistakes rang perfectly clear in Yahiro's sensitive ear.

"The last one, I think he solved it intelligently."

Acoustic guitar set the tempo and the mood, and wherever the highlight and the rest of the sound needed color, the synth took over. He had played the small angles well. But Yahiro was sorry. Honestly, the last song had needed bass. Not simply because he himself was a bassist — if Tae-il was going to have Ayane learn tapping, it would have been better to use it again.

"I understand, though."

It must have been Tae-il's own bitter compromise. He probably hadn't trusted that the members could perfectly pull off three original songs on stage.

"As for playing, well... still a little ways to go."

"Time will take care of it."

Yahiro nodded — he felt the same.

"More than anything, that girl's growth is absurdly fast."

"Agreed..."

Talent, by nature, stays unknown until it blooms. Countless people live their whole lives without ever realizing what their talent even is. Ayane had found hers thanks to Tae-il. But what stood out even more was the invisible frenzy seeping out of the girl's playing.

"Honestly, in my whole life, I've never seen a kid have that much fun playing bass."

"Heh."

Ayane on stage had worn a smile too full of happiness, as if she couldn't imagine what there was to be so glad about. At last. She was savoring a frantic pleasure and a thrill born of the achievement of having been of help to Tae-il. A temporary feeling, made of adrenaline secreted in excess by excitement and a self-intoxicated sense of superiority. But that temporary feeling carries an addiction as strong as a drug. It is also the reason successful artists and idols keep getting hooked on the stage.

"Watching her, I'm a little afraid she'll bet her entire life on bass."

"Ah."

Students have plenty of time, yes — but even so, to Yahiro's eye, Ayane looked like too much.

"And she's that busy discipline-committee kid over here too, right?"

"Yeah. I hear she's popular. A total social butterfly."

"Feels like she lives in a completely different timezone from us...?"

Every time Yahiro worked on a record, he had thought twenty-four hours in a day was nowhere near enough. Unlike him, the girl named Ayane seemed to use her twenty-four hours remarkably well. He was a little envious — and also worried that music might swallow her whole.

"Well. Our kid brother will handle it."

"Our kid brother...?"

"Ah. The squirt and I are practically sworn brothers already."

To an appalled Izumi, Yahiro grinned, showing even teeth. If he could not become her husband, then he would join as family. He had found his angle.