Finding Your Own Bass… (5)
Shoko raised her right arm.
The long sleeves of her furisode cascaded gracefully downward, revealing the intricate embroidery in vivid detail.
"Wow."
It was unmistakably high-end, and Ayane let out an involuntary gasp of admiration.
She hadn't worn a yukata even at festivals since middle school, deeming it childish, but seeing this now stirred an overwhelming urge to try on a furisode herself.
What would it feel like draped over her own body?
And how would Tae-il look at her?
Shoko's question snapped Ayane out of her daydream.
"What do you think when you see this, Ayane girl?"
"What do I think? Um…"
Ayane chose her words carefully in response.
From the context, Shoko wasn't after a superficial answer.
Atmosphere? Or image?
Ayane recalled her first impression of Shoko.
Like Princess Kaguya from The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter—a noble beauty whose elegance and grace shone through even in humble surroundings.
A bit embarrassed to say it outright, Ayane softened her phrasing.
"A young lady from a prestigious family…?"
"Close enough."
Shoko nodded, as if it were the right answer.
Ayane let out a small sigh of relief.
"Then, next question. Do young ladies from prestigious families wander around in furisode like this on a regular basis?"
"Uh, probably not."
"Why not?"
"Because… it looks so uncomfortable…"
It was common knowledge among Japanese girls.
Kimono like furisode were notoriously restrictive traditional garments.
And the more formal they got, the more layers piled on, making them incredibly heavy. The oofurisode Shoko wore was famous for being reserved for only the most ceremonial occasions.
"You know your stuff, Ayane girl. So why do you think I'm dressed in this cumbersome outfit? Any guesses?"
"Huh? Really? Why on earth…"
Was the Ninomiya family really that strict? Ayane wondered, confused.
"Heh."
Shoko gave a wry smile as she lowered her arm.
Her hand, hidden beneath the table, trembled faintly.
Even that brief lift had her arm protesting—the garment was just too heavy.
On stage, such tremors were mere pleasantries of the form, but now they felt like a stifling prison.
"Well, it's partly my own doing."
"Your own doing?"
"I ran away from home once, back in the day."
"You ran away?!"
Ayane's eyes widened in shock.
Ninomiya Shoko was the epitome of a Yamato nadeshiko, like something out of a painting.
Even Ayane, who wasn't used to princess treatment and didn't particularly crave it, had felt a twinge of envy.
The true princess any Japanese might dream of becoming at least once.
And even she had a reckless black mark on her history.
Like the prince in The Prince and the Pauper. Everyone dreams at least once of shrugging off their burdens for a taste of freedom and liberation.
The only difference is whether they have the guts to act on it.
Shoko had.
"Mm. It's like that stormy adolescence everyone goes through once in life."
"Most people don't run away during puberty…"
"Hoho."
Tae-il's jab made Shoko chuckle sheepishly. Even she thought her younger self had been too bold. Bold was the polite term; bluntly, she'd just been thoughtless.
Lucky she met good people. Otherwise, who knows what trouble she'd have faced.
"Well, it's all experience, right?"
"You can't just brush it off like that…"
"Ahem!"
Shoko cleared her throat to deflect Tae-il's successive jabs.
"So, did you start learning bass right after running away, Shoko sis?"
"I told you before. I'm a bass player from birth."
"You were already playing before you ran away!"
Ayane chimed in, fascinated.
It was wild: her first instrument wasn't a traditional one but a bass guitar.
Shoko shrugged.
"I never really liked traditional instruments anyway."
"Really?"
"It's common enough, isn't it?"
The trope of the child generation rebelling against a family trade was a staple in stories about generational conflict.
Shoko was no different.
She hated her family's obsession with tradition over the individual.
Japan was a rigid society.
If parents were educators, it was taken for granted that their kids would follow suit.
This was especially true in cultural businesses and family trades.
Someone had to carry on the business.
Someone had to preserve the traditions.
The clash between the rejecting new generation and the old guard remained a major dilemma for families upholding intangible cultural heritage.
"The elders' arguments were always the same."
They too had sacrificed their personal lives for the family and tradition.
Who else but us to uphold this legacy?
Do you intend to let our ancestors' legacy end here?
Do you even know where the comfort you enjoy comes from?
Every one a boomer rant.
The problem was, Shoko couldn't easily counter the last one.
"People are born unequal from the start, aren't they?"
No one chooses their birth—some into poverty, others into wealth.
In that sense, Shoko was fortunate.
At least materially, she'd never wanted for anything. So as a child, she never complained about the elders' words.
While friends took piano and violin lessons at academies, she learned koto and shamisen.
When school taught recorder and ocarina, she studied shakuhachi and shinobue.
She recited dull haiku and waka in throat-straining falsetto, powdered white in outdated makeup, draped in heavy gagaku robes that choked her.
Her only fans on stage: occasional TV politicians and dignified elders.
A life mocked by peers, never envied, steadily planted seeds of rebellion in Shoko's heart.
"At some point, I grew to hate gagaku. The sound. The form. All of it."
Instead, she dove into bands.
Inheriting the golden age of modern culture from the bubble economy era—far sleeker than centuries-old history.
What captivated Shoko wasn't plain band sound but the chaotic allure of electronic music.
Distorted disorder harmonizing in subtle sync—a stimulating electronic drug she got hooked on.
The body-thrilling, soul-stirring melodies were irresistible.
Unlike the tradition-bound music world that had confined her, electronic music felt vast and boundless.
A whole new realm, opposite her clunky gagaku instruments.
Even her family's prized gagaku performances could be rendered more elegantly with electronic aids.
Shoko stopped caring much for the traditional values her family harped on.
This mindset drew constant scoldings from the elders, until she erupted and ran away.
"It was pure impulse. I had insane action back then. 'Bold' doesn't even cover it."
"To me, you're still plenty bold—downright radical."
No one hands a high-end instrument to a student for free otherwise.
Ayane, immersed in the story, scolded Tae-il.
"Shin!"
"Hey, I was just… Fine, I'll shut up."
Tae-il pouted and shrank back.
With sturdy ally Ayane on her side, Shoko continued.
"Ahem. At first, I was lost. No clue what to do."
There were pamphlets for runaway teens, but they didn't appeal.
So she wandered the bustling streets aimlessly.
That's when familiar music drifted from an alley.
The latest trend: band sounds fused with synths and electronica.
Drawn like a moth, Shoko left the main road for the alley.
The music poured from a dim underground space.
She cautiously climbed the stairs; the floor vibrated, thrumming through her body.
Surrendering to the heartbeat-like pulse, she gripped the wall and descended.
Tacky neon signs didn't reach the bottom, making her steps tentative.
Further down, flat ground welcomed her.
Straight ahead, a door crack glowed faintly through the dark.
Thump-thump.
Pounding bass drums and chaotic electronica blared.
Shoko pushed the door open. The world shifted.
The earth quaked.
To the sound.
To the jumping crowd lost in frenzied party bliss.
Her brain melted, unable to withstand the vibrations.
Addicted to the electronic high, Shoko was swept into the massive wave, becoming part of it.
"That was my first live house."
"What happened after?"
"Heh. What do you think? First, I scraped together some cash."
Sold her kimono, bought casual clothes and a used bass guitar, then roamed the country.
"Y-You traveled the whole country?"
"Yep. Suffered plenty."
Fortunately, her natural beauty and solid bass skills earned her welcome everywhere.
Hooked on the thrill of freedom from her oppressive home, Shoko rampaged like a fish in water—embarrassingly so.
Her exaggerated antics passed as cute quirks thanks to her youth and looks.
Wild times.
The most devoted, intense period of her musician life.
Street performances, session gigs, early YouTube and TikTok trends—she scraped by without family help.
Then she met him.
Arthur.
"Figured he'd come up eventually."
Tae-il propped his chin, his excitement deflating into a sigh.
"Heh. Not on good terms?"
"We always butt heads, yeah."
"Mm. He does have that mischievous streak."
"Mischievous is putting it mildly…"
He'd asked for beginner instrument tips, only for Arthur to lecture on seducing women instead.
Tae-il ground his teeth, still pissed.
"Still, the guy's got killer vocals."
"You know it, boy."
Shoko closed her eyes wistfully.
Once, Arthur seemed like the prince who'd rescue her, the pampered princess trapped at home.
But no.
Days were fresh and fantastical, but he wasn't her prince.
Especially because…
Her rebellion ended abruptly upon adulthood.
"They found you?!"
"I went too wild."
Her street busking and YouTube for cash backfired.
Too famous—word reached the elders.
She'd banked on their analog ignorance of the internet. Big mistake.
They'd found her sooner than expected, really.
"After that, it was a fugitive chase. Pathetic."
The family didn't drag her back—for appearances.
They wanted her to return willingly.
So they hired thugs to sabotage her mid-performance.
Ogawa Rin, who'd always hated her for Arthur, hid her and chased them off—for the first time.
"A girl scaring off thugs alone?"
"She was badass."
Shoko remembered Rin as fiercely spirited.
Fuming from head to toe, screaming at the bruisers to scram—iconic.
"Maybe I wanted to be like her…"
Shoko smiled bitterly, recalling trembling behind a cabinet with her rival's help.
"But she couldn't protect me forever."
The thugs grew bolder daily.
Couldn't burden others, so no more shares.
"That's when Rin told me this."
She'd gathered evidence.
Go public, cut ties, pursue your dreams.
She'd support her musician life.
So romantic.
Maybe her prince was Rin, not Arthur.
"So you turned down Ogawa's offer?"
"Yeah."
Otherwise, Shoko wouldn't be here like this.
She couldn't accept right away.
She was scared.
"Running away was impulsive. But I'd started forming goals."
Shoko aimed for family recognition as a musician.
As a band bassist, not gagaku player.
With growing recognition, it seemed possible.
But reality was harsh. She went home.
Not even Rin's pleas worked.
"Why? You could've just teamed up with her…"
"I was terrified."
Fear of eternal severance from blood ties.
That drove her back.
Relatives scorned her, but her parents shielded her, weeping.
The warmth of family, forgotten in her music haze.
"Looking back, my parents always supported me."
They never forced the family code on her.
She later learned they'd covered for her all along.
"So that's how it ended up like this."
Shoko spread her arms, sleeves fluttering lightly.
Ayane felt the heavy fabric's weight slicing air—utterly different now.
Once a princess's pretty suit, now inescapable prison garb.
"But after behaving with lessons and bride training, they granted some freedom."
So she picked up bass again.
Wiser as an adult, she avoided full rebellion, arranging music discreetly.
"Gagaku bands were trending nationwide. I drew inspiration."
Her father sweated to convince the elders.
For tradition's evolution, attract youth—fusion music like hers was ideal, he argued fiercely.
Thus, occasionally, she indulged her deviations briefly.
"This baby was part of that. Never played, though."
Shoko caressed the pink case wistfully.
Every beginning has an end; so did her rebellion.
Hers: an arranged marriage.
"Marriage?"
"Yeah. Once that loomed, no more instrument."
Her scant freedom vanished entirely.
Family bustle intensified meddling in her life.
She still couldn't forget her father's apologetic private look.
The groom's family made biwa for over 200 years.
Shoko had met him a few times as a child.
Socially awkward, blunt, utterly devoted to biwa.
"Then, crushed by reality, stalled on everything—Arthur reached out after ages."
"So that's…"
"He'd trash it anyway if left home. I had to scheme."
Of course, Shoko didn't want to sell her one-of-a-kind creation.
Didn't want to give it away, either.
Even considered smashing it.
But deep down, it felt wasteful.
Her painstaking child vanishing unseen.
"So I pondered passing it to someone…"
Arthur's errand was simple.
His dear junior needed a bass. Her close girl friend was starting bass too.
Her pro-era bass was homeless anyway.
Perfect timing.
Shoko grumbled if he was clairvoyant.
He just said she was the best female bassist he knew.
Shoko downed her cold tea.
Glanced at her watch—reservation nearing end.
Time to wrap.
"Well? Convinced now?"
"I-I…"
Ayane hesitated.
Truthfully, she coveted the bass.
Not just specs or price—the design hooked her.
But Shoko's tale made it heavier than the initial sticker shock.
Tae-il's dream was burden enough; now Shoko's too?
Shoulders ached.
The "light" bass felt untouchable.
Shoko noticed, opening to reassure.
"No need to feel burdened. Think of it as a neglected heirloom finding new life with—"
"Shoko."
Tae-il cut in.
Interrupted, Shoko glared peevishly at the intruder.
Tae-il's lip still jutted stubbornly, face sulky with discontent.
"Got something to say to me?"
"Yeah."
Tae-il glanced at Ayane, sighed deeply.
Scratching his head furiously, he hesitated long before speaking cautiously.
"Shoko, you…"