Flower and Bird Relations (7)
‘Huh?’
Ayane was beside herself.
No sooner had the full jam session kicked off than it felt like her soul was about to flee her body.
She finally understood why Tae-il had been so worried all along.
Thump thump.
Every time she plucked a string, the bass amp behind her vibrated, slamming into her lower back.
With just Iris added to the mix, the space had shrunk dramatically, making it tough to swap positions.
Her whole body jolted with each pluck, leaving no room to tap her foot for the beat.
Her head was spinning.
Am I even playing this right?
Ayane couldn’t hear the bass at all, as if she’d gone deaf.
It felt like she needed to crank the volume.
But Shin said never to turn it up.
Without hearing it, though, she had no clue if she was nailing it.
Ignorance soon bred fear.
What’s this? Can’t even Ayane handle a song this easy?
Iris’s sharp criticism seemed to echo in her ears, making Ayane’s body flinch.
She’d found it a breeze practicing with Tae-il.
She’d been so cocky, thinking this jam would be a walk in the park—practically insulting how tense she’d been.
Where’d that confident me go?
Not even close. Anxiety born of failure’s dread crashed over her.
She couldn’t register Tae-il’s light drum work or the metronome’s tick.
Her index and thumb moved mechanically, her body twitching and bucking each time.
Amid the bass amp’s heavy vibrations, Iris’s smooth melody filtered through.
In truth, that was all she could hear.
In her hazy, sleep-drunk daze, she couldn’t even glance around—just leaned on the pickup, tensed her thumb, and plucked away.
A thick melody filled the practice room atop simple beats and rhythm.
Iris was the star of the jam.
Her mysterious, wave-like melody hooked rhythmically into their ears.
A little focus, and she could even pick up the high-pitched drums whining from the left.
In this cramped practice room, the only thing inaudible was Ayane’s own bass.
Doubt began to creep in.
Am I even playing right?
Maybe she’d accidentally turned the volume knob to zero?
Or the jack between bass and amp was loose, messing up the connection?
Or Tae-il had muted it while setting up?
No, that’s not it.
Each pluck sent faint vibrations rippling from her fingertips through her whole body, the wooden instrument resonating out through her torso.
But her ears heard nothing.
The amp was clearly working fine, yet panic kept her from realizing it.
Her focus shattered, doubt hardening to certainty—then the beat from the left shifted.
Ayane whipped her head toward Tae-il in shock.
Her head turned for the first time.
Their eyes met.
Tae-il, swaying like a real drummer lost in rhythm, looked back at Ayane with a grin.
Am I doing okay?
Only then did Ayane realize fear had kept her from turning her head.
It wasn’t even a real stage—just practice. Yet she’d dreaded meeting Tae-il’s eyes.
After strutting so confidently in front of him, she couldn’t forgive botching something this simple.
Two weeks into bass, music’s world was still a vast unknown to her.
This jam was her first real step into that abyss.
Fifth measure…!
Notes and scales jumbled in her head, but the rhythm sketched clear as day.
The drums shifted, and right on the fifth measure, the bass changed chords.
She’d gripped so hard that lifting her left hand from the strings brought a sharp sting to her fingertips.
But before pain could register, ecstasy swept her away.
Tae-il in her sightline flashed a bright smile.
She hadn’t failed.
Confidence restored, the metronome clicked crystal-clear amid the thick sound.
Iris had dialed back to copy the original, but Ayane mistook it for her ears finally opening up.
“Hm hm~.”
A sweet voice drifted in.
It was Iris.
A tone utterly unlike her usual chatter—strikingly different.
In that moment, not just Ayane but even jam-seasoned Tae-il gaped, staring blankly at Iris. Ayane thrilled despite the injustice of Tae-il’s stolen gaze.
Eyes closed, Iris hummed Izumi’s melody.
Unlike Izumi’s soft, warm, sunlit freshness, Iris’s timbre rang clear.
And packed with power.
Even a simple hum made you feel she’d belt a high note any second.
One key difference.
Timbre.
And unlike the original, Iris’s hum lacked depth—flat perspective.
She’d tried adjusting, but as an amateur, she had no clue about mic distance or control.
Her raw feelings from every Promenade listen poured straight into the hum.
Pure instinct—no thoughts, just guitar rhythm guiding her. No mistakes.
The hum faded out.
Iris flowed seamlessly; Tae-il, momentarily distracted, inwardly yelped oh crap! and refocused.
This is a total mess…
Even accounting for rookies, it was downright awful.
Yet brimming with hope.
Tae-il’s vision blurred faintly.
Tears of sorrow?
No—moved ones.
He wiped his welling eyes as the jam barreled toward close.
Ch-ch-ch-ch.
Guitar faded; hi-hat chopped the beat finer, finer.
Final.
Thump.
Ayane muted the long bass note, tapping the fretboard.
The jam ended.
The practice room thundered.
Thud thud.
Not the kick pedal’s bass drum.
“You messing with me right now?”
Iris vented frustration, stomping the floor like it’d cave in.
“Why won’t you let me hear it?!”
Tae-il’s world spun wildly.
His head lolled like on a ride, vertigo hitting hard.
He choked back surging nausea, barely squeezing out words.
“S-sorry…”
No sign of Iris relenting at his apology.
It only fueled her fire.
“Shin Tae-il, you always pull this sneaky crap just on me!?”
Her angry voice dripped wet now.
Tae-il shrank further, the picture of guilt.
“Th-there’s a reason…”
“Then tell me the damn reason!”
“It’s a bit hard to say…”
“You mocking me!?”
Veins bulged on Iris’s forehead.
Remembering Kiriko’s morning tease supercharged her rage gauge twofold, threefold.
She wanted to slam Tae-il down, but barely reined in her sanity.
“Hoo. Hoo. Hoooo…”
Panting, Iris released his collar. She swallowed her aimless fury.
Her wandering eyes landed on Ayane, snoring blissfully at her feet.
Why’s she always get special treatment…!
Tae-il, meeting her glare anew, drooped his head limply.
His criminal vibe irked her more.
“Hey. You said there’s a reason?”
“Yeah.”
Tae-il confirmed.
Lifting his head at her call, his face was pitiful—impossible to tell smile from pout.
Eerily like the rooftop expression. Iris deflated suddenly.
“Ha. I’m just… speechless.”
She fought back tears, flopping to the floor.
Hugging her knees, she glared at Ayane.
“Mmm…”
In this dire mess, Ayane’s peaceful sleep was enviably sweet.
She heard it all, huh?
Iris pinched Ayane’s cheek in spite.
The serene face crumpled instantly.
“Ughhh…”
“Sleeping all comfy while I’m dying inside. Cheater.”
“Ah, haha…”
Criminal Tae-il shuffled awkwardly, plopping opposite, helpless.
Iris pouted.
Her anger’s root was simple: Tae-il wouldn’t share his original song.
Ayane had heard it multiple times; Iris, never.
And the excuse? Laughable.
“Sorry. The song’s unfinished…”
“Finished or not, just play it! What, you’ll drop dead from an unfinished track? Pinocchio? Liar?”
“Not exactly…”
Tae-il smiled shyly.
“Showing it’d embarrass me to death.”
“Ugh, driving me nuts, seriously.”
Iris buried her face in her knees.
Silence blanketed the once-song-filled room.
Tae-il sighed softly, harmonizing the gloom.
Gazing at the ceiling, he murmured.
“Arisugawa.”
“…”
No reply.
She wasn’t just sulking—properly pissed.
“You’re the best vocalist I’ve ever heard.”
“…”
Iris twitched faintly.
Still no words.
Tae-il hugged his ankles, leaning back.
Turning away felt rude; facing her pricked his conscience.
Didn’t mean to spill…
Post-jam, Iris had asked about composing—that sparked it.
Tae-il fumbled tepidly.
As always, he sucked at improv—stage or otherwise.
He stammered into the truth.
I’ve got an original. But not for you.
Nuance muddled, but roughly that.
Band vocalist, second only to Tae-il—maybe surpassing—in drive. Her rage was inevitable.
Think about it.
No songs for the singer.
Even if she quit in fury, no grounds to complain.
Tae-il thanked heavens Ayane conked out.
Awake? Total chaos.
How to calm her…
He wanted to share, admit lyrics woes, seek advice.
Original story: Ayane owned composing; Iris handled lyrics.
But hearing Iris sing back-to-back changed that.
Tae-il squeezed his eyes shut.
Screw it.
Dice rolled.
Man speaks? See it through.
“Ayane doesn’t know this secret either…”
Iris’s ears perked from her knees at that.
“I’ve loved a certain vocalist since way back.”
Technique flawless.
Timbre perfection.
Her stage rapport, passion with crowds—gold.
Sneered at by fellow otaku as ultimate stanhood, but Tae-il didn’t care.
Old mom with kids? Whatever.
She topped Grammy-smashing K-pop idols—for Tae-il, greatest icon.
“Voice actress…?”
Iris peeked up, eyes wide in bewilderment.
Loves a vocalist—turns out seiyuu?
Even as all-rounders nowadays, unexpected.
Any seiyuu rivaling Izumi…?
Blind spot fried her brain.
Tae-il pressed on.
“Had a dream.”
Her singing my song.
Composer’s pure, simple fancy.
“But impossible.”
Past life: quit music cold.
Lingering regret kept composing hobby, but never shared originals.
Talent aside, music life ground you down—harsh, exhausting.
Lucky week: over a mil won. Unlucky month: under 500k.
Freelance? Dreamless poverty trap.
Erratic cash chilled family stares; Tae-il buckled, sought normie job.
Grad looming, no footing—only choice.
Started part-time.
Mundane labor in half-year outearned a year’s music.
First realization:
World pays honest work.
Obvious, yet music shattered it. Disillusion set.
Quit.
No quit, slim odds lingered. Quitting zeroed them.
Reborn same.
Knowledge breeds sight.
Ignorance fueled past tries; now fear stalled him. Lingered, circling.
“Then you showed up, Arisugawa.”
Would’ve ignored forever. Same school? Pretend distant.
But bumping her carelessly, deep-buried desire surged.
Fierce possessiveness.
Yeah. Admit it.
Tae-il wanted Iris.
Monopolize that voice he’d never wielded past life.
Man wanting woman… yeah, that too. Iris was that captivating.
Actually, facing her unleashed pent-up feelings like a starved man’s lust—threw him.
Oblivious Iris nudged his foot petulantly.
“What? I’m her stand-in?”
“Haha. Maybe similar…?”
Words hedged, but inside? Iris outweighed her already.
Couldn’t voice it.
Fear of scorn.
“Idiot.”
Peeking his heart, Iris pursed fuller.
“You say ‘no’ even if white lie.”
Dummy.
Tae-il bowed deep at her jab.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? Show me. Your original.”
“Nope.”
Tae-il refused again.
Her softened pout-face settled blank.
“I’ll show you my song in its perfect state.”
“Perfect state?”
“Yeah.”
Today’s jam didn’t end at Promenade.
Ayane crashed after one; Iris buzzed for encores, demanding more.
Tae-il thrilled each time.
He’d pegged Iris raw gem.
Can’t match seiyuu’s veteran depth yet.
Wrong.
Appeal wasn’t just emotive pull.
Iris was complete.
Prime genius.
No polish needed—just buff softly, she self-glowed.
Issue: setting for the gem.
Tae-il contrasted his song with Iris’s sight.
Tacky.
Dissonance from mismatched lyrics—extension.
The jewel shines any adornment. But as necklace? Lacking.
Long self-doubted talent, but pride balked at reality.
“I want the world’s fairest gem in the world’s perfect necklace.”
“Fairest gem…”
Iris flushed faintly.
Vocals confident from praise, but Tae-il’s hyperbole? First.
Kid days, dad Zenjiro gutted dreams: “Not till pro singer.”
“Not now. Gem shines; necklace just prop.”
Tae-il saw.
Major debut now? Izumi, Yahiro’d pity him.
Catch BARD? Necklace stars—not gem.
Iris as vocalist can’t solo beat Izumi.
I must too.
Recalling her singing:
Strengths, max-appeal points clicked in.
Head cleared just visualizing.
Fog lifted, vista opened.
Ayane’s advice unsolved; now direction locked.
“So can’t show you yet.”
Grip tightened on ankles.
“I’ll refine max, till I can’t touch it more—then you see.”
Scrap playability; perfect the core.
“Deadline: one month.”
“…”
“Miss it, full open. Show revisions, get your okay. Our sound, band path—all yours.”
Leader powers ceded to Iris.
“Even if you hate my song.”
Your genre? Switch.
Your call only.
Puppet.
“Pfft.”
Iris burst laughing at his vow.
Tried holding; lips leaked giggles.
Smile twitched up.
“Fine.”
She greenlit his gag order cheerily.
Tae-il gawked up. Knees-half-burying, red eyes gleamed sole.
“Gonna give you 30 days.”
Her eyes crinkled sweetly.
“Do whatever till then. Members, anything. You’re leader—with full reins.”
Eyes shut.
Anxiety lingered.
Worse now. What wild choice’d stun her next?
But.
Heart’s pounding.
Iris chalked it to hope: he’d fulfill her dream.
“So…”
Leaning on bass amp comfy, she eyed Tae-il steadily.
“Don’t you dare hype this and disappoint. Be ready then?”
“Y-yeah…”
Tae-il nodded, neck shrunk.
Still lacked confidence, but Iris spotted:
His slyly upturned lip corner.