It Wasn't Temporary?
Thursday.
And then Friday.
Tae-il felt that the mere two days had flown by like an arrow.
A lot had changed in that time.
First off, Tae-il no longer overslept or showed up late to school.
It was all thanks to his parents, who were home on vacation after a long business trip.
For the first time in ages, Tae-il woke to his mother Yu Hana's nagging, washed up, and ate breakfast.
Yu Hana puffed out her chest watching her son wolf down his food.
"How's Mom's cooking? Still got it, right?"
"Cooking my ass—it's all retort pouches."
"Got a problem with that?"
"Nope."
Tae-il shook his head frantically as Yu Hana raised her fist.
He was plenty satisfied just experiencing a morning that smelled like people.
Without the oversleeping, his commute changed too.
Ayane and Tae-il left their houses at almost the same time. For Ayane, it was pure bliss.
Tae-il, still unsure how to act around her after Wednesday's events, seemed oblivious—but Ayane was thrilled and clung to him even more stubbornly than usual.
Sakurako was right. Mind games didn't suit Ayane.
Spotting the pair on the way, Sakurako yelled at Hayate like she was picking a fight.
"Just you wait! I'll snag a hot boyfriend who puts celebrities to shame soon enough!"
Hayate just laughed at the solo warrior's resolute declaration.
Another change was Tae-il's attitude in class—he wasn't ditching anymore.
"Th-that guy's finally come to his senses...!?"
The teachers were moved to tears when his good behavior stretched three days straight, thinking the damn problem child had finally shaped up.
He occasionally conked out on his desk from drowsiness, but just staying in his seat had them weeping with joy.
The Japanese history and literature teachers, who'd tried dragging him to remedial classes for attitude adjustment, regretted their petty schemes.
If they'd known it'd resolve this easily, they wouldn't have bothered.
Such tender-hearted teachers.
Or maybe they were just salty after getting reamed by the chairman for churning out crappy, low-difficulty exams.
Tae-il's homeroom teacher, Pudding Head, got the news and was moved too.
The hot-blooded homeroom teacher, straight out of a youth drama, had long assumed the foreign Tae-il was negative about everything due to some emotional scar.
He'd have approached a Japanese kid without hesitation, but as a Korean—touchy history with Japan—he'd held back.
Pudding Head had a past regret from another school: rashly promising to help a Chinese exchange student and getting burned.
Luckily, fortune smiled on him.
The class's top student, Sakuya, stepped up to handle Tae-il. Though wistful, he trusted her reputation and left it all to her.
Now it had paid off. In the staff room, he praised Sakuya privately.
"Keep it up, Sakuraba. For Taichi stuff, I'll pull some strings too. Sound good?"
"Of course. Leave it to me, sir."
Sakuya responded to Pudding Head's expectations with a reliable smile.
People change through encounters with others.
The more you reject others and isolate yourself, the harder it is to recognize your own flaws.
Even if you do, you make excuses that it's not so bad.
Tae-il had been the same.
The original story served as his perfect shield, a psychological defense mechanism.
No longer.
The creaking gears finally meshed together.
Monotone black-and-white comics began gaining layers of vibrant tones, one by one.
Tae-il and everyone around him was undergoing rapid change.
The stagnant world finally started to move.
Lunchtime.
Tae-il, whose alone time had dwindled lately thanks to Sakuya, was rare in eating solo on the rooftop, scanning the latest club registry.
Sakuya had been roped into lunch with her eagerly waiting friends.
"Another Light Music Club popped up already...?"
Tae-il, planning his own, frowned at the unexpected competition.
More Light Music Clubs meant more wrinkles in his plans. Yuuma-style, he could crush them with skill and results—but only after assembling members.
Bzzz.
Tae-il checked his vibrating smartphone with a sigh.
It was a notification from SoundSky, where he'd uploaded a bunch of his originals.
He didn't follow other artists, so only one reason for a ping.
"Oh, a comment."
The commenter was a foreigner.
Tae-il gave a wry smile at the out-of-the-blue praise and anticipation.
"Yeah, tough to get real feedback on demos here, huh?"
His fame was zero.
No promo, no hype—just raw demos dropped cold. A comment was a miracle.
Bugging Arthur and acquaintances for opinions had limits.
Tae-il had fewer connections than he thought.
"Weird. I swear I made piles of friends hitting up Live Houses..."
But scrolling contacts, two-thirds were forgotten numbers.
Same with email.
Band mania bonds had limits—fickle with bands dissolving.
SNS mutuals, sure, but no personal numbers, friendships shallow. Asking for song critiques felt awkward.
"What a wasted life..."
Tae-il flopped back with a lament.
Clouds drifting carefree across the clear blue sky looked enviably free today.
"Maybe ask Arthur-hyung to hook me up with someone?"
The pushover's face flashed, then faded.
He was already grilling Arthur on Utauroid basics. One more favor? Guilt hit.
Student or not, Arthur was a working adult.
Gaming hermit, sure—but legit adult. Tae-il hated disrupting his work.
"Anyway, what to do about clubs? No progress like this. Beg again today...?"
Tae-il massaged his throbbing temples.
Study group started tomorrow, and non-exam stuff already crammed his brain.
It's all a time battle now.
Tae-il shot to his feet.
Post-finals, less than a week before winter break ceremony on Monday.
Original members mean starting as a school band.
Music's pricier than it seems.
Casual hobby? Cash drains nonstop. Serious band? Pocket money won't cut it.
No wonder talents pivot to Utauroid tinkering, dreams deflated.
Even all used gear: 100,000 yen vanishes easy.
Home practice without noise complaints? Amp, audio interface needed. Rehearsals? Rent rooms.
Heavy practice means restringing, maintenance costs pile up.
Everything costs money.
Even in band-infra-superior Japan.
Musicians are poor.
Input costs demand it.
School band eases funding pressure big time.
Free alumni-donated gear, bookable school rooms.
Sakuraya's first guitar in the original? School hand-me-down.
And more?
Official club status? School activity funds.
Performance required, but reduced burden brings mental freedom.
Part-time grind vs. earning via excellence—most pick the latter.
Tae-il too.
Above all, he hated burdening members with money woes.
Band life's toughest: finances.
Starving artist is fantasy.
Feed yourself first to endure.
Past life: chased grades, cash, gigs—triple torment.
Original members? Performance no issue...
Fail to shine with them? Real problem.
Worst case, their looks alone sell idol-band lip-sync for cheers.
Anyway, apply for temporary—even that's fine. Gotta do it.
Temporary clubs: semester-only, anytime apply.
Post-break? Even Iris's chairman ties useless. Temp clubs limited on facilities.
Original Iris hustled pre-break for official status.
Failed advisor snag, self-funded.
Rich girl flex.
Not me.
Tae-il planned to lead the band.
Thus, club president likely him—full responsibility.
Leaning on Iris's wealth post-recruit? Bad look.
Might seem like wallet-view.
Rena'd beat me senseless...
So, upgrade to official by next week—die trying.
But obstacle: advisor needed for official.
With my rep, no band's getting an advisor easy.
Ayane right: snag Sakuya, teachers might block.
Iris—queen herself—faced petty blocks, settled for new semester's transfer advisor.
Tae-il couldn't wait.
Practice now or post-BARD concert? Time short either way.
~2 years to graduation.
Grow band beyond original by then.
Fall short? Catching BARD's a pipe dream.
First hurdle: club founding.
"Not zero ways."
Tae-il narrowed his eyes, rescanning the latest list he'd tossed aside.
"Success odds unknown, but..."
Deliberation short.
No luxury for thought.
Time for some shrewd teen shortcut.