Temporary Study Group Formation (7)
Tae-il's consciousness, sunk deep beneath the surface of sleep, slowly began to rise.
A gleam of light pierced through his eyelids into the pitch-black void of his vision.
It was morning.
His eyes snapped open.
The first thought that hit him was this:
Something's off?
His mind felt unusually clear.
"Ah."
He grasped the situation in an instant and jolted upright in bed.
"Ugh!"
A hoarse scream cracked his throat, parched from the morning.
The moment he woke, instinct told him one thing.
He was late again today.
8:20 a.m.
Tae-il checked the time and tumbled out of bed like he was rolling off a cliff.
Even if he barely made it before homeroom, passing through the school gate would seal his tardiness.
He fumbled into his uniform, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth haphazardly, and bolted out the door.
A slice of bread was clamped in his mouth, just like yesterday.
Lately, it feels like I'm running more than ever...
It probably wasn't just his imagination.
He sprinted all the way to near the school, then got cautious.
Yesterday, he'd been so blatantly late it didn't matter, but before classes started, the morals committee teachers patrolled the gate area leisurely.
They were on the lookout for students trying to hop the fence.
He snuck along carefully, avoiding them.
Midway, a cardboard box caught his eye, stirring a weird impulse like it's a manga world, after all..., but Tae-il willed it down.
In less than 30 seconds flat.
"Hup!"
He vaulted the fence like yesterday, but there was no encounter this time.
"Well, classes haven't started yet. No way they'd be here..."
Tae-il felt a twinge of regret inside but scanned the ground warily for snakes anyway as he dashed to the classroom.
He arrived just as the homeroom teacher did.
A truly narrow escape from being late.
Even without him, the teacher probably would've shrugged it off as typical, but Tae-il dragged his exhausted body to his seat.
Despite exam season, the rowdy free-for-all vibe in Class 7 meant the homeroom teacher missed Tae-il's tardiness and was busy chatting idly with the students.
Sakuraba Sakuya, the first to notice his arrival, smirked and poked his slumped forearm on the desk.
"Looking at you, seems like you went full sprint from the morning again, huh?"
"Don't... talk... to me..."
The voice he barely squeezed out was ragged with gasps. Just watching his upper body heave with every breath showed how wiped out he was.
"You look hot. How about ditching the gakuran at least?"
"Leave it..."
He sucked in a big gulp of precious oxygen and slowly exhaled. Repeating deep breaths, his heart—racing wildly in protest, demanding blood and air—gradually settled back to its normal rhythm.
"What a mess this morning..."
Tae-il slumped over the desk, rubbing his face against it.
The cool chill of the desk surface soothed the scorching heat radiating from his face, if only a little.
Taking advantage of the classroom chaos, Sakuya leaned in slightly.
"Overslept again today?"
"How can I sleep at night when I'm crashing here at school all day..."
It wasn't wrong, but coming from someone who skipped constantly, it rang hollow.
Sakuya straightened up, propped her chin, and shot him a cold, appraising stare.
"Just how messed up is your circadian rhythm, Taichi...?"
"Beats me."
Maybe it stemmed from his past life. Pushing music amid assignments and exams had left him with zero sleep.
Wait, did I maybe drop dead from overwork?
A realization dawning too late.
Tae-il wondered if he'd died from overwork and reincarnated.
"Maybe cut back on caffeine...?"
"Just to check—what's your daily intake of coffee or energy drinks?"
Tae-il blinked blankly, thought for a sec, then spread his left hand wide open.
"F-Five cans?!"
Sakuya clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.
She'd nearly yelled loud enough to draw eyes. Leaning close, she hissed at him.
"Taichi, you'll actually die like that."
"I won't... die... right?"
Even he, who'd mixed energy drinks with meals in his past life, couldn't say for sure.
Plus, sleep deprivation from caffeine overload wasn't wrong.
His body clock was basically jet-lagged from the opposite side of the planet.
He just couldn't adjust.
"Hey, Taichi."
Eyes on his even darker circles, Sakuya suggested gently with a worried look.
"Wanna work out with me?"
"Work out?"
"Plenty we can do just the two of us. I go to the gym, y'know."
She couldn't rely solely on club practices at school.
Sometimes personal training was essential.
And maintaining her figure meant strict dieting.
Sakuya skimped on lunch but was meticulous with breakfast and dinner.
The gym—er, fitness center—was the perfect spot for all that.
"It's not far from school. Whaddya think?"
If needed, personal training too, she tempted slyly.
Her logic went like this:
Exhaust yourself with a hard workout, crash hard at night. Sleep deep, fix the irregular pattern, no more oversleeping or tardies.
Bonus: get healthy. Win-win.
So, let's hit the gym together.
"First week visit's free—experience period."
"Damn, tempting offer."
"Right?!"
Tae-il's positive vibe lit her up, though inwardly she panicked a bit.
She knew how much he hated exercise.
Hated it—no, loathed moving his body, period.
The laziest guy around her by far.
Contrary to her view, Tae-il was starting to think he needed to build stamina.
For a musician, stamina's half the job.
Not just on stage, but off it too—for the long haul.
Keep all-nighting like this, wrecking his body, and real trouble might hit.
Youthful recovery was saving him now, but was he even healthy? A checkup might reveal disaster.
Can't collapse. Would worry everyone.
Ayane's face flickered in his mind.
If he collapsed, let it be that sweet post-performance exhaustion.
The stage.
Tae-il didn't have a ton of stage experience like other musicians across both lives, but he'd felt it firsthand.
It was a demonic realm that sucked the life out of you.
Even a cramped stage that five grown men would fill lying down.
Before starting: hands gripping instruments gone ice-cold with nerves.
Right after stepping on: crushing weight of the audience's stares and murmurs.
After finishing: that thrill making you crave an extra song, two, three, four...
The stage held a magic that lifted and dropped you at will.
Countless artists and wannabes tasted triumph and defeat there.
Their beginnings and ends decided solely on that stage.
My debut stage, I collapsed from exhaustion too...
In under five minutes.
He'd felt every bite of food from that day digest fully.
Legs gave out from utter depletion mid-dismount; he tumbled, twisting to protect his bass, landing on his back in agony.
His pain and shame turned to everyone's laughter.
It was great, though. That day.
Embarrassing, yet an exceptionally good day, he reminisced.
A sloppy, mistake-filled show, but he'd never forget that sensation.
It wasn't just him.
Get high on the audience's energy syncing with the artist's, your own endorphins—and heaven and earth blur. Artists and even session players forget fatigue allocation, ignore weariness, charge blindly toward an unseen finish.
Like runner's high. Pain and stress transmute to pleasure.
Then collapse post-set from burnout.
No matter the stamina, one setlist drains you dry.
In other words, surviving the stage demanded serious endurance.
Endurance.
What this frailer-life Tae-il lacked most.
After deep thought, he held off on answering.
"Sorry. Thanks for offering, but I need time to think. Can't decide now."
"Sure. Take your time. Plenty of it anyway."
A tame reply for all her fussing, but Sakuya stayed cool.
Disappointing, sure.
But a deferral, not rejection—she sensed him changing.
Old him would've shot it down harshly: "Cut the crap."
Proof their bond was growing.
Sakuya didn't push.
Her own feelings unclear, she wanted to peel away his shell layer by layer, slowly.
Still got second and third semesters.
To her, time was abundant.
Summer break right after finals.
Interhigh would busy her post-finals weekends, but she was unfazed.
Sure, that pesky childhood friend irked her, but Yuuma High kept first-year classes intact through graduation.
That was plenty.
I'm faster in the race anyway.
She was confident three years would close the gap past Ayane.
Clap clap.
Pudding Head slammed the attendance book on the podium, snapping Sakuya from her thoughts.
"Alright, that's all for morning homeroom announcements. Good work, everyone."
Class rep stood for bows; homeroom ended short, teacher departing.
First-period teacher entered right after.
"No need for rep bows—let's jump in. I'm behind on lessons."
He stopped the rising rep and took the podium.
Rarely, Tae-il stuck around instead of ditching.
To check if teachers rigged exams to mess with him.
"Hm?"
The teacher spotted Sakuya first, then voiced puzzlement.
Teachers always glanced at her entering class—basic instinct for beauty.
In Class 7, she stood out peerless.
Tall too, drawing eyes inevitably.
Then his gaze hit Tae-il.
Right beside her—logical, yet shocking.
Why's he here...?
Normally, her brightness should've overshadowed him, but like realizing spring's beauty post-blossom, his presence screamed out of place.
"Uh, let's start class."
Even chalk in hand, he kept sneaking peeks at Tae-il.
It repeated endlessly.
Every class start, visiting teachers gawked identically at non-skipping Tae-il.
Spotlight on him as the reason.
Suddenly, Tae-il felt like a zoo exhibit all lesson long.
Sakuya snarked.
"Total karma, idiot Taichi."
"..."
No arguing that.