[No title provided]
"I'm gonna die."
Sakuya watched Tae-il groan pitifully.
No sooner had hellish stretching ended than she'd dragged him onto the court for tennis, leaving him utterly drained. He was crawling up to the shaded stands under the awning, limp as a rag.
"Haven't seen someone melt down like jelly since middle school training camp."
That camp had been brutal even for her—training so abusive it felt like shattering the eggshell trapping her limits.
So Sakuya muttered inwardly, eyeing him like some exotic creature.
Can a person really turn into that from just stretching?
Sure, they'd played tennis, but he'd been a total sack of potatoes.
In reality, only she and their opponent—Pudding Head, the homeroom teacher—had run around the court.
Yet here he was, wiped out. Unbelievable.
"Tae-il, you okay?"
"Dunno. I'm resting now…."
Tae-il flopped onto the stands without a care for Sakuya's pitying stare from behind.
Sakuya wiped sweat from her forehead and swept her bangs back.
Watching him, a scolding slipped out naturally.
"Tae-il, your whining's off the charts."
"Look at this sweat. Does this look like whining?"
Tae-il flapped his drenched white shirt.
"True. You barely moved during tennis, but you're sweatier than me. Special constitution or something?"
"Standing under the sun is torture for me."
Not whining—dead serious, he clung pathetically to his claim.
Sakuya giggled.
"I always think this, but you need exercise, Tae-il. Look at me—fresh as ever."
"Don't expect everyone to be a superhuman like you…."
"Anyone can do this with practice. Wanna try?"
"Sigh."
Too lazy to argue now, Tae-il shut his eyes, ignoring her offer.
Brushed off, she got a bit sulky.
"A guy that frail? How'll you satisfy a girl later?"
"Sakuraba, that's sexual harassment…."
Tae-il sighed in a drawn-out voice.
"Haha. Kidding."
"Even jokes have standards. You've got that much sense."
Born an insider, Sakuya couldn't grasp an outsider's feelings.
Truly tragic.
"Don't guys like that kind of teasing?"
"Only between close guy friends."
Crude jokes that'd get you arrested around others? Fine between bros.
Try it in front of a girl? Instant suspension.
"What? Me and Tae-il aren't close?"
Undeterred by his explanation, Sakuya poked somewhere unexpected.
"Close, huh…."
If she genuinely saw him as a friend, that was a good sign, Tae-il thought.
She meddled everywhere, so trust was low—but better to slowly build real closeness than shove her away coldly.
So instead of stonewalling, he played along jokingly.
"Yeah. We're not close, so cut that stuff. Kills me?"
"Oh. Kinda disappointing. I totally thought we were friends."
At her "friends" line, Tae-il tilted his head slightly.
Her usual playful face was absent.
He closed his eyes again.
Today, he seemed unusually thoughtful.
Broadly, they were classmates—friends.
But narrowly? Debatable for both.
Tae-il had subtly kept her at arm's length because of the original story; she'd sensed his distance.
Normally, he'd cut the chat with "tired."
But now, he was sustaining it—skirting true feelings, yet engaged.
"Anyway, you're popular, so be more careful."
"I always am."
"That's why be more careful. Not everyone's a fan."
"True. Like Tae-il, subtly hating on me."
"Nah, not hating exactly…."
"Really?"
Sakuya perked up, asking back eagerly.
Tae-il hunched his neck.
"Well, don't hate you…."
Saying it, he shyly turned his back to her.
"Pffft."
Good enough—Sakuya burst into innocent laughter.
Her optimism's enviable.
Most folks would accept her antics positively, no matter what.
Her pattern—dropping sex jokes to liven things, only to chill the air—was classic original Sakuya.
Like Lecacola spewing curses nonstop, she'd lob lame jokes anytime, sex ones included—until it backfired.
In Tae-il's eyes, her life shone bright.
Goddess of Victory Nike blessed her.
Sakuya would always win, surrounded by love.
And take it for granted eventually.
At least in the original.
She'd assume kindness, smiles, warmth as due—synergizing disastrously with her bad habit even Rena couldn't fix.
The episode where iron-willed Sakuya first cracked mentally.
Tae-il had thought it too heavy for a cute animal zoo slice-of-life.
As he worried, Sakuya vaguely got his point.
"Got it. Even guys who love dirty jokes flinch when I say 'em."
"Even pervs shrink from you saying it."
Tae-il added flatly.
"Bonus: stares of contempt."
"I see…."
She murmured low.
"Manga and reality really differ, huh…."
"They do."
No one felt that gap more than Tae-il.
Sakuya startled.
"H-heard that?"
Thinking her secret was out, she glanced warily.
Tae-il's eyes stayed shut.
"If it's hard to get, think Sailor Uranus. She only uses dirty talk to seduce girls."
"Oh, yeah! Huh? Tae-il knows Sailor Moon?"
"Who doesn't?"
"It's for girls? Anime too, but still."
"Stuck with my childhood friend, you end up watching magical girls and all."
"Childhood friend?"
"Katsuragi Ayane. Morals Committee."
"Oh, her…."
Morals Committee.
The girl she'd bumped into at the gate today.
Seemed a bit gloomier than usual—then Sakuya's eyes widened in surprise.
"Tae-il, you…."
First time in half a year he'd opened up like this.
But before she could pry, he yawned hugely and slumped like market fish on the stands.
Sakuya shook his shoulder in panic.
"S-sleeping?"
"Just closing eyes a bit. Can't really sleep here anyway."
Grousing about the noisy field, he lightly pushed her hand away: Don't shake.
"Jeez."
Sakuya gave a wry smile.
Still, Tae-il was unpredictable to her.
But that's why she might cling to whatever mysterious future he showed.
* * *
Music room.
The projector displayed sheet music on the screen.
Of course, students had no clue what it meant. Even those who knew just mouthed Oh, that…!—no song name given.
"You've all heard this."
The teacher at the podium snapped her fingers. Notes on the grand staff flickered red; majestic orchestra blasted from speakers.
Da-da-da DAHM.
One of humanity's most iconic intros—known worldwide.
Students finally pretended recognition.
"Oh, I know it. Heard it before."
"Me too."
"Mozart? Probably."
"Nah, Beethoven?"
Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, "Fate"—first movement.
Among his most famous, even to the masses.
"Correct, Otonashi. Beethoven, not Mozart."
The boy who'd shouted Mozart blushed; cute girls around him consoled him.
Other boys clicked tongues in jealousy.
Takahashi stuck out her tongue: Free class or college prep—same drama.
"Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, 'Fate.' Wanna avoid 'uncultured' jabs on theater dates with lovers? Memorize basics like this. Knowing classics elevates your vibe."
Image thing, anyway.
Yuuma High's music teacher, Takahashi Rinko, wasn't a classical snob.
After under-three minutes of music, she stopped it with the remote.
Adjusting her square glasses, gleaming neutral-toned, she tapped the screen with her long baton.
"Now you get why I showed the score, right?"
"Memorize it."
Takahashi smiled at the front-row girl's answer.
"Yes. That intense rhythm's etched in your brains. Read it from the score, and you've got 20 points locked."
Rare chance for freebies on a multiple-choice music test. She stressed: at least five Fate-related questions.
"Beethoven trivia too. Remember that recent movie?"
Yuuma taught basic harmony and history—general ed level. But each term, compare/analyze one classical and one pop song. Her classes always ended with playing it on an instrument.
Takahashi Rinko said: Music's life's irreplaceable companion.
So learn one instrument—no loss.
"Teacher Takahashi! Harmony on the test?"
"Of course. Just basics—if you took notes, you're golden. No dummies who can't read their own instrument's score, right?"
Lukewarm response.
Takahashi pushed up her slipping glasses, eyeing the rowdy first-years.
Some sprawled, others blatantly napping.
At least college prep kids weren't sneaky pranksters—small mercy.
Whew. Free class is better.
College prep ignored music seriously.
Transcripts were everything; music barely moved the needle.
Takahashi found it sad.
Don't get music's coolness….
Couldn't force it, so she mechanically hit test highlights.
Tried sparking curiosity with "common knowledge," but it flopped.
Common knowledge's fun when you seek it—not injected.
Best bait? Points. She dangled scores to grab attention.
As a private school, some rich kids showed interest—but maybe one or two of thirty.
Takahashi missed Iris.
Among her first-year college preppers, only Iris poured passion into music.
Or not entirely?
Takahashi eyed the front-row girl glaring at the score like fire.
Katsuragi Ayane.
Always diligent, but today extra questions, extra zeal.
Something sparked her.
Free class kids suddenly hooked on music? Normal.
All arts/sports types, exposed to new stuff constantly.
Plus, free class had tight camaraderie absent in college prep.
Sports posed for arts portraits; music hauled for events.
Arts made sports banners; music filled seats, cheered.
Music did cheers, brass, choir for sports; arts requests? Mostly granted.
Free class activities intertwined organically.
Unlike rigid college prep eyeing only uni—they tasted society early.
But….
Not free class.
Saw a concert?
Takahashi recalled recent shows.
None standout by her standards.
Ask after class?
She noted Ayane's screen-stare, continued lesson.
Class over.
Exhausted from rushed progress, half-slumped as she farewelled students—then startled.
Ayane lingered.
"Something to ask?"
"Yes! Um, actually, a favor…."
Ayane hunched, shyly averting eyes.
That timid cuteness made Takahashi sniff instinctively.
She smelled it on the girl.
Fresh, intoxicating newbie scent.
Takahashi's eyes gleamed; she adjusted glasses.
"Hehe. Ask away. I'll help however."
"R-really?"
Old hands crave newbies anywhere.
"Of course. I'm your teacher."
Takahashi beamed, glasses hiding predator eyes on prey.