Since I wasn’t particularly close to Shizuki, I couldn’t figure out an excuse to visit Class 1-3 to check up on her after she’d stopped coming to the storage room after school. Well, it was possible she had gotten bored, became busier, or just didn’t want to deal with Rinko’s bullying (the most likely case, if you asked me) — or so I told myself, as I deliberately avoided the north school building as much as possible to avoid running into Shizuki. Basically, I didn’t want to think about the possibility that Shizuki actually hated me.
But as I spent more and more time alone, I suddenly remembered it had been some time since I’d last uploaded a new video to the MusaOtoko channel.
And soon enough I had locked myself in my room, huddled in front of the PC and with my headphones on.
But no new ideas nor melodies came to mind; time simply crawled along as I wasted hours just dragging the mouse cursor back and forth over the sequencer window.
Weird… Why was I getting stuck? Coming up with a new song used to be a smooth and easy routine.
I closed my eyes and let myself sink deper into my mind, but all I could sense were the sparks that came from the fierce clash between piano and drum.
Having heard Rinko and Shizuki together up close, I couldn’t help but feel that the music I’d been making this whole time – hunched over in the dark all alone – was so small and insignificant by comparison.
Ugh, this wasn’t a good day to make music; so I’d be better off stopping here for now. I took off my headphones and shut down my PC.
*
My reunion with Shizuki happened ten days after her session with Rinko, and we would meet by chance outside of school.
I was making a detour to Shinjuku on my way home that day because Hanazono-sensei had asked me to deliver a package. There I was, leaning against the train door with a cardboard box in my hands and blankly staring at the mobile game and vocational school advertisements around the carriage as I rode the Yamanote line. Sunlight streamed in through the roof on occasion, stinging against my eyes, but it was otherwise a pleasant sunny day; I had been planning on going straight home to wash my guitar case and keyboard bag until Hanazono-sensei happened to catch me at the shoe rack just before I left. I knew then that my luck had run out.
“Could you take this over to a studio in Shinjuku called Moon Echo?”
She had phrased it like a question but handed me this box without waiting for an answer.
“Give it to a staff member named Kurokawa. You can figure out the rest from there, so hurry up and go.”
And she hadn’t said a thing about what was in this.
I had looked over the box with the vibrations of the train against my back. Tape had been haphazardly stuck on to keep the box closed, but the thing was considerably light despite its size, making it fairly easy to carry with even with just one hand. I couldn’t feel anything moving around inside as I moved it around, which had me wondering: what exactly was in here?
The studio Hanazono-sensei directed me to, Moon Echo, was located in the office district of Higashi-Shinjuku; it took up the entirety of a six-story building, including a live house in the basement. For a music lover like me, just looking at the floor guide was enough to get my heart racing with excitement.
The studio seemed quite busy, and the lobby was full of band members carrying around guitar cases. As I walked in, a strange, bittersweet feeling filled my chest; the people here dedicated their lives to music, just like me. But unlike me, they put themselves on a stage, played their music and sang their songs for the world to hear, bathed under a cocktail of lights. I wasn’t like them; I locked myself in a dark room, clutching a mouse tight as I organized rectangles along a sequencer’s piano roll. And unlike them, the only ‘audience’ I needed to interact with was the number that gradually ticked up at the bottom right corner of the video’s page.
I forced the self-deprecating thoughts out of my mind and headed for the counter to the left of the lobby.
Hanazono-sensei was right to say I could figure the rest out myself; I only had the name – Kurokawa – to go by, but I instinctively knew that had to be the young woman standing behind the counter. There was an aura about her that seemed exactly identical to Hanazono-sensei, with her flashy looks and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Her outfit was rather formal – a white dress shirt under a black vest and slacks – but she exuded a sort of wild charm.
“…Um, excuse me?”
I approached the woman behind the counter and spoke up.
“Is the staff member named Kurokawa-san available at the moment?”
“…That would be me.”
She hesitated for a moment before answering, and she looked over the counter to see the box I was holding.
“Oh, did Misao send you?”
“Yes, she did,” I answered; Misao was Hanazono-sensei’s given name. I was glad Kurokawa-san realized it immediately.
Kurokawa-san brought me over to a corner of the lobby, where she took the box out of my hands and proceeded to open it. Inside was a bright beige blazer, a red-and-white checkered skirt, and a gathered blouse – three identical sets, to boot. Were these school uniforms or something? They seemed a little too flashy though…
“…You’re gonna wear this?”
Kurokawa-san suddenly turned and asked, surprising me.
“Huh? Wh-what?! No way, definitely not!”
“Really? You were making a face like you wanted to.”
What kind of face was that supposed to be?! And I looked like that? Was there some specific look people had for cross-dressing?!
“I’m only kidding anyway,” Kurokawa-san continued without a smile, “We needed a costume like this for one of our showings tonight, and the only person I could think of that could pull through was Misao. ‘pologies if there was trouble.”
“Haa…”
I found myself wondering why Hanazono-sensei had a costume like this at the ready; in the first place, it was less a school uniform and more an idol outfit modeled after one. Kurokawa-san seemed close with Hanazono-sensei, so maybe she had something on her? Surely it was something I could use to turn the tables on my whole blackmail solution. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, but… no, that wouldn’t be a good idea. I didn’t want to find out what could happen if Hanazono-sensei found out I had asked.
“Oh, that reminds me. Misao told me to give you something as thanks for dropping this off.”
“Huh? Oh, I mean… It wasn’t a big deal, so no need to worry about it.”
“Once the show’s over, you can take a set home with you.” “I don’t want it!” “It’d be awkward for you to just stand around waiting until then, so you wanna watch it? It’ll be 2,000 yen, but it comes with one drink.” “You’re charging me for it? Shouldn’t this have been part of the thank-you gift?”
I was just about to leave out of exasperation when I spotted something out of the corner of my eye.
I stopped and turned, only to see the back of a familiar-looking blazer entering a soundproofed door marked ‘Studio A1’ at the back of the lobby.
I instinctively had a double take, but the door had already closed by then, hiding away the person I thought I’d seen.
They were wearing the same blazer I had on; they had a skirt on, and they had black hair long enough to reach their waist.
That was when I remembered something else.
“…Someone you know?” Kurokawa-san asked after following my gaze, “Oh, actually, you’re wearing the same uniform as that girl.”
“Yeah, uh, well, I don’t know for sure, but…”
I cross the lobby to Studio A1. There was a small, diamond-shaped window on the door; it would be rude to peek in, and it would be really awkward if the person inside actually turned out to be someone I didn’t know.
But as I worried about it, a violent beat hit my ears; the pressure of the sound coming from behind the door was so powerful I could feel the vibration against my skin, and the boom of the kicks was so grainy that it was hard to believe it came from a single bass drum. But from these sounds alone, I no longer needed to look to confirm who was inside; there was no other girl at my school who could play like this but Shizuki.
But why was she practicing in a place like this? Oh, actually… I remembered how Hanazono-sensei said she first met Shizuki at a music studio owned by an acquaintance. She must have been talking about this place.
But then why didn’t she just come by the music storage room? She wouldn’t have to pay the rental fee, and the drums there were of much better quality. Was it because of Rinko’s bullying?
“Um, about that room over there–“
I was about to ask Kurokawa-san but stopped midway. It didn’t seem proper to be asking the staff how long a customer was renting a room for; it would be like asking for personal information.
“That girl’s usually in there for an hour,” Kurokawa-san answered me without hesitation anyway. Was she actually allowed to reveal that kind of information?
“Then, uhh, would it be okay for me to wait in the lobby?”
“That’s fine, but… you staking her out then? Like that? You should put on a disguise so you’re not so easily spotted.”
Why was she trying to hard to get me to wear that outfit?!
I ended up waiting in a corner of the lobby, wracked with anticipation. The whole time, I flipped through random guitar magazines from a nearby shelf as I anxiously checked to make sure the people around me didn’t think I was anyone suspicious; if someone did ask, I even had an excuse ready: I was just running some errands and killing some t ime here, definitely not stalking a girl! Thankfully, the only people coming into the lobby were different band members whose only thoughts seemed to be on the shining, glamorous stage called their life, meaning they paid no attention to me at all. I really needed to stop being so self-conscious sometimes.
An hour passed this way, and then — at 4:56 PM, I stood from my seat.
I went over and pretended to read the flyers advertising upcoming live shows all the while keeping the door to Studio A1 in the corner of my eye. Kurokawa-san, still working the counter, gave me a suspicious look, but I paid her no mind. My setup was simple: I would have Shizuki ‘naturally’ encounter me, and I could play it off as a coincidence rather than have her know I had been waiting the whole time.
I could feel a change in the air pressure as the soundproof door to Studio A1 opened.
I avoided looking in that direction and focused harder on the flyers before my eyes – casually now, pretend not to notice. I needed her to catch sight of me first…
“…Makoto-san? Is that you?”
I heard her voice; I had expected it, but I still couldn’t help but tremble. I turned to be sure, and there she was: Shizuki, in the flesh. With her schoolbag in hand, she crossed the lobby to approach me; her face was flushed with sweat, mostly from the exertion of an intense session.
“Why are you in a place like this?” she asked, the bewilderment clear in her eyes.
“Um, you see… Hanazono-sensei asked me to run an errand for her that brought me here… Actually, why are you here?”
As I played up my surprised act, Kurokawa-san suddenly spoke up from the side.
“Actually, the kid’s been here since four. Seems like he had something he wanted to talk to you about, but he wanted to pretend like running into you was one big coincidence.” Uh, hello, Kurokawa-san? Why the hell did you blab and ruin my plan?! Ugh, I should’ve known someone who’s friends with Hanazono-sensei would be like this!
“…You wanted to talk.. with me?”
Shizuki blinked in surprise; it might’ve just been my imagination, but she seemed nervous. I hoped it was just my imagination.
“Uh, I mean… Yeah, actually…”
“Hey, not trying to rush you out or anything, but before you get into your little lover’s spat, could you pay the bill?” Kurokawa-san interrupted again. I didn’t have a retort for her jeer; Shizuki quickly ran over to the counter, apologized as she paid, then returned to me.
“…So what did you want to talk about?”
“About that. I was just wondering why you haven’t been coming by the storage room lately.”
We had moved to the corner of the lobby; this wasn’t a conversation that needed a change of location, but I felt bad about taking up the sofa again.
“I was embarrassed to have Rinko-san listen to my poor drumming, so I decided I shouldn’t show my face until I improved enough to keep up with her.”
“You don’t need to worry about something like that. It’s not like that’s the kind of place to be having a session together anyway.”
“But still… Makoto-san, at least answer me this.”
Shizuki seemed to have to forcibly squeeze out her next few words, all the while looking at me with upturned eyes.
“My performance back then — it didn’t match up well with Rinko-san, did it..?”
A random thought crossed my mind: if I could casually lie during times like these, coasting through life wouldn’t get any easier. But I couldn’t, and that was especially true here, with music. Because when it to music, my true feelings always showed up on my face, and it was far too late for me to look away to hide it.
“It… didn’t. But it was the two of you performing together, so you can’t say it was only your responsibility.”
“I was the one who didn’t play well, right? I am at least aware of that much.”
That was all well and good, but could she not just put her face so close to mine as she spoke? My feelings on that matter would show on my face… but it was exactly as Shizuki said; her drumming at the time was dull and mediocre. From the very beginning, it had none of her usual appeal, and it even began to worsen under the weight of Rinko’s requests.
“That’s also because, y’know, Rinko complaining and just nitpicking small details.”
“No, Rinko-san’s instructions were all very precise and well thought-out. It was entirely my fault for not being able to put her words to practice. You were there and listening too, Makoto-san, so you would know.”
Why did I suddenly feel like I was the one at fault?
“Which is why I decided to do some intense training! I need to become good enough to keep up with that piano, so I can once again join in on your alone time together!”
Would it kill her not to say it like that? It wouldn’t be funny if someome really misunderstood.
“Look, I’ve said it a bunch of times already, but there’s nothing going on after school between me and Rinko. It’s not like she comes to the music room every day, either.”
“Are you using the YES and NO pillows to pick days?”
“Please stop with that, I’m begging you here!”
“Oh that’s right! I almost forgot!” Shizuki said as she clapped her hands together in sudden joy, “We won’t need to use the pillow because I also have a cellphone now!”
“…That so?”
Shizuki fished something out of her schoolbag; that definitely was a cellphone, though there was no case on it, and it was still wrapped in plastic film like it’d just come out of the box.
“Mother bought it for me last week.”
I blinked in surprise; why had her mother suddenly done that? I had her pegged as the strict and old-fashioned kind of parent, one that was tough on her daughter’s upbringing. Was I just jumping to conclusions?
Shizuki seemed completely clueless when it came to apps, so I ended up walking her through installing LINE on the spot. It took some time to get through the verification and stuff, but we were able to complete registration without a problem. I wondered if it was fine for me to be her first LINE contact – for some reason it felt like I was somehow deceiving her, and guilt tug at my heartstrings.
Once she saw my ID – the only one on her list – Shizuki gave me a bright smile.
“I always wanted to do this you know, having a LINE conversation with Makoto-san…”
Did she have some strange preconception about LINE? It’s just a way of communicating with people, you know?
“Well, feel free to message me whenever, and if it’s too annoying to type, you can just send a sticker instead.”
“I’ve always wanted to use stickers as well! So how do I use them?”
After I taught her, Shizuki’s eyes sparkled even brighter as she browsed the store. She ended up buying a set that appealed to her strange tastes: cute, deformed animals dressed in heavy metal outfits. She began sending them to me at random, and my phone’s notifications continued for a while after.
“Please send me a sticker back, Makoto-san! Anything, any kind of sticker would make me happy!”
I was in the middle of deciding which sticker from the ‘Hundred Faces of Pillbugs on their Bellies’ set – a collection I’d bought on impulse but never used – to send when I noticed Shizuki was now looking past my shoulder and toward the entrance of the building. Her expression had suddenly stiffened up.
“…Mother..?”
I turned in time to see a middle-aged woman wearing traditional Japanese clothes quietly walk through the door, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one surprised by how out-of-place her elegant attire and mannerisms were, going by how some of the other customers were reacting. I instinctively knew, even if I hadn’t heard Shizuki’s murmuring, this was her mother.
“Shizuki-san.”
Her mother spoke in a voice that sounded like ice being crushed underfoot.
“I noticed you have been falling behind with your training, and you are more distracted than ever as of late. I did not expect to find out you have been sneaking off to a place like this.”
Shizuki seemed to cower behind me, shrinking in fear, but she mustered up the courage to ask a question in return.
“Mother, h-how did you know I was here–“
Instead of answering, her mother turned a scornful gaze to the phone in Shizuki’s hand. The implication horrified me; did she have GPS tracking on that phone from the very start? Actually, from the very start, had she bought it specifically to monitor what her daughter was doing outside of school?
Shizuki’s mother seemed to notice my unease, and she now turned her intense look at me.
“…Thank you for always taking care of our Shizuki. Are you in the same year?”
“Um, yes.”
Her overly polite tone was frightening.
“As she may have already told you, Shizuki will one day become the headmistress of our family’s school. She needs to earn her teaching certification as soon as possible after finishing high school, and as part of that process, we need her to spend more time practicing. While her interest in music is wonderful, I am afraid she will simply not have as much time for socializing or playing music from today on.”
She bowed so deeply that I began to shiver. Hey, Shizuki? Why are you just silently standing there? I tried signaling to her with my eyes, but she continued standing still, her lips trembling.
And in the end, the Yurisaka mother-daughter pair left in a taxi.
I couldn’t forget the apologetic look Shizuki gave me as the door closed, and I spent the remainder of the evening feeling sick to my stomach.
*
When I arrived at school the next morning, the first thing I noticed was how the flower arrangement had changed.
It was dull and uninteresting compared to the one from before that I figured someone else had put it together, but I was in for a surprise when I read the nameplate: Yurisaka Shizuki. Was this really something she made? It looked so uninspired, like something that came out of exactly following the instructions of a textbook. Well, I guess I wasn’t really an expert on flower arrangement or anything, so it could be that this was actually too advanced for me to understand.
Still, I wasn’t about to lie to myself about how I felt.
It was a very well-put-together bowl of flowers, but that was all; I felt nothing from it.
A random thought drifted across my mind — what if this had been the flower arrangement I saw that day, the day of that first encounter with Shizuki?
Things would have played out the same but with one exception: I would probably not have encouraged her to try playing the drums. Instead, I would have finished cleaning in silence before parting ways. I would never have discovered her drumming skills, and that would have been the end of our relationship.
And it was all because of the flower arrangement I saw that day — that arrangement that was like a radiant ball of fire suffocating within the glassy confines of its small world.
I wondered how she was doing now.
Ever since that parting at Moon Echo, I’d neither seen nor spoken to Shizuki, not even through LINE. I chalked it up as a complicated family matter, and, as a stranger, I shouldn’t be getting myself involved.
The best I could do was to purposely make my way across the connecting hallway to the north building during breaks to use the restroom there.
I only had to repeat my plan over a few days before I was rewarded for my effort, and I came face-to-face with Shizuki at the stairwell during lunch break.
“…Ah…”
Shizuki had been coming down the stairs when she noticed me and stopped. From my place at the landing, I awkwardly smiled up to her as I put my hand against the stairwell wall.
“Oh hey, it’s been a while.”
Her reply was a formal and distant bow.
She had a clear carrying case slung over her shoulder, and I could see purning shears, a pick, and some wires inside.
“You’re, uh, going to the flower arrangement club right now?”
“Oh, yes…” she gave an apologetic nod as she answered, “Senpai and the others wanted me to guide them again, just a little more.”
If she already made plans, then I couldn’t do anything about that. It’s not like I had a special reason for seeing her — actually, I came here without a reason in the first place.
“That so? All right, good luck.”
I waved, planning to go downstairs when the sound of footsteps chasing me from behind caused me to turn around.
“Please wait, Makoto-san!” Shizuki called out to me, aggressively skipping down the remaining three steps of stairs between us, looking like she wanted to keep me from leaving, “I’m, um, sorry for what happened last week!”
Her sudden rush had been so surprising I nearly bumped my head against the wall stepping back.
“…Uh, what? I, uh… I don’t think there was anything that happened that you need to apologize for.”
“Back at the studio, you had to see something embarrassing…”
“That didn’t really bother me, but I was worried about you. That was your mom, right? Did she scold you afterward?”
“She did…” Shizuki answered hesitantly with downcast eyes, “and she also said I should be focusing more on my ‘actual responsibility’ than on music.”
Was that supposed to mean the whole flower arrangement thing? What’s with that? She’s just a high schooler!
“And she forbade me from ever going back to the studio… I have no choice but to give up on the drums.”
“But why?!” I found myself yelling, unable to hold back, “That’s just a waste of your talents, your skills! At least she only knows about the studio, right? So it’ll be fine if you practiced somewhere else — no, wait, you could just practice with the drums in the storage room!”
But Shizuki slowly let her head drop before answering as though she were squeezing her next words out.
“I’m still not yet at the level where I’m ready for Rinko-san to hear me play again… Maybe the god of arts is trying to tell me I shouldn’t be doing both flower arrangement and music at the same time – that I shouldn’t be half-heartedly dividing my attention between the two.
“The only kind of god that would say that is one that should shut up and be ignored” – was what I wanted to say, but I swallowed those words. I felt myself getting angry; it was the same as back then with Rinko — it was irritating for someone as mediocre as me to have to see someone with real talent throwing it away like this.
“So is flower arrangement that important to you? Is it so important that you would give up the rest of your life for it?”
At the time, I hadn’t realized just how cruel those words were. Shizuki visibly winced, like I had struck her.
“…It’s part of the family business, so…”
“But you don’t actually like it, do you?”
“Th-that’s not how it is…”
“Then explain that flower arrangement that’s up at the entrance. It doesn’t even compare to last week’s, so how can you say you–“
I stopped myself when I realized what I was saying. Why had I said all that? I didn’t know the least about flower arrangement, let alone Shizuki’s own circumstances, so what gave me the right to condemn her like this? I felt my embarrassment rise through me, but because I couldn’t bear to face Shizuki like this, I turned and pressed my forehead against the wall instead, all the while regretting my words.
“…No, uh, sorry, that was wrong of me to say… I shouldn’t be lecturing you when I don’t really know anything.”
“No, um…” I could almost see Shizuki’s bashful smile through the mixed emotions she answered me with, “What you’re saying is right. It’s obvious to anyone looking that this week’s arrangement of kasumisou, koutenguwa, and doudantsutsuji is no good at all.”
“Err, I wouldn’t say it’s no good, but uh…” I carefully picked what words to say next, “I guess I just preferred last week’s arrangement because it was, um, more flashy, or something?”
“I feel the same, but the advisor for the flower arrangment club didn’t and said the arrangement was actually too flashy and strayed too far from what is traditionally taught. Furthermore, if I was to assist with the club, I needed to make arrangements better suited for high school students. I tried doing that for this week’s arrangement, following their direction, but the result was… Well, I know better than anyone how much I still have to learn…”
I was at a loss for words; if it was just following instructions, then Shizuki definitely did everything perfectly. That arrangement was so blatantly a textbook example – without any sort of creative or adventurous spark – of what would come out of a high school club. And that was the sort of direction that I found myself completely at odds with.
“Which is why I have to focus more on flower arrangement from here on out.”
I turned back in time to see a soft smile of melancholy float across Shizuki’s face, like frost that formed over a window on an early winter morning.
“Still, it was a lot of fun to have Makoto-san listen to me play and to perform together with Rinko-san. From now on… it would be fine if it only happened occasionaly, but I hope I can hear the two of you performing together again, even if it’s from somewhere far away, out of reach.”
And with that, Shizuki walked past me, going down the stairs.
The sound of her footsteps faded into the distance, beneath the noise of the school during lunch break. All I could do was scratch the back of my head and sigh as I leaned against the wall, looking up at the dark ceiling.
*
Later that day, when I filled Rinko in about Shizuki, all she had for me was a glare of contempt.
“So you had nothing more to say and just ran away? Pathetic, absolutely unbelievable. You’re always able to blabber nonstop about nothing, but where does that silver tongue of yours go when it comes time for something actually important, huh?”
“And why do you have to say it like that?”
“Moreover, does it not bother you? Do you not feel anything when you see someone with that kind of musical skill and talent about to give it all up?”
Uh, hello? I don’t wanna hear that coming from you, a walking example of that very same scenario.
“Of course I do, and it frustrates me so much. But still, it didn’t seem right to try and interfere, which is why I didn’t say anything. And wait, hold on a minute…”
I studied Rinko’s face out of curiosity.
“If you’re referring to Shizuki as ‘someone with that kind of musical skill and talent’ doesn’t that mean you are acknowledging her? So why were you so harsh with her back when the two of you were performing together?”
“I never said anything bad about her playing in the first place,” Rinko said as she curled her lips into a scowl, “I was just pointing out the areas she was falling behind in. If I really thought she didn’t have the skills, I wouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”
“…I guess that’s true.”
“Likewise you may think I only ever tell you off, Murase-kun, but I have also pointed out where you can improve, right? Besides, I wouldn’t be making fun of you if I didn’t think you could live up to my expectations.”
“…That’s also true… Wait, no! I know what you’re trying to say, and I’m not falling for it! You’re always making fun of me anyway!”
“So is this it then? You’re just letting Yurisaka-san go just like that?”
Rinko continued, ignoring my protest as usual. I absentmindedly scratched my head.
“‘Just like that’, huh… I really don’t want to, but…”
“You’re still hesitating? Even after all the times you dragged Yurisaka-san off for a late night tryst in the music storage room?”
“There was no ‘late night tryst’ nor did I ‘drag her off’! I just listened to her play the drums after school! Stop trying to ruin my reputation!”
Thankfully classes had long let out for the day, and as usual, we were the only ones in the music room. My reputation was still safe for the time being.
“So what are you planning next? Since you’re a pervert whose only standard is if the woman in question is breathing, I assume you’ve already exchanged LINE IDs with Yurisaka-san.”
“What are you trying to say… I mean, I guess I did get her LINE info, but…”
“See? What did I tell you?”
“Okay, but what’s your point? If my goal really was just to flirt with girls, wouldn’t I have tried to get your ID first?”
“I was just about to get to that.”
Rinko crossed her arms, nodding sagely as though she were acknowledging something obvious. What did she mean by that?
Her eyebrows furrowed with irritation.
“Why, exactly, do you have Yurisaka-san’s LINE ID but not mine? I honestly cannot believe you could have done such a thing.”
“I’m even more confused than ever before why you’re angry.”
Rinko suddenly held out her hand.
“Give me your phone.”
“…Why?”
“I’ll message Yurisaka-san on LINE for you, since you don’t know what to say.”
“What the… Is that really a good idea…”
“No need to worry. All I have to do is say all the usual sexual harassment-esque things you do and maybe throw in some obscene stickers to go with it.”
“That is exactly the kind of thing I would worry about!”
“But Yurisaka-san would probably be even more confused if the sexual harassment coming from your LINE ID also had ‘from Saejima Rinko’ attached to the messages.”
“Why can’t you just leave our the sexual harassment part?”
“True, true, I suppose I must. It’s decided then: when you lend me your phone, I won’t use it to send anyone a message that could be taken as sexual harassment.”
So you decided it just like that? But how? And for what reason?”
Still, I was getting a little tired of our exchange not getting anywhere, so I just unlocked and handed my phone over to Rinko. She frowned when she saw my phone wallpaper.
“What’s with this scary-looking bird? You have some weird tastes.”
“I just think shoebills are cute, that’s all! Leave me alone!”
Rinko opened the LINE app, and, after tapping at it for a minute, poked me with my phone to indicate she was done using it. As I took my phone back, I glanced at the screen to read the message she wrote.
This is Saejima Rinko from Class 1-4. I borrowed Murase-kun’s phone to contact you. You don’t need to think too hard about my relationship with Murase-kun. I would like to speak with you regarding your decision to quit playing the drums, so please come to the music storage room after school tomorrow.
…Was the bit about our relationship really necessary? Actually, because of how Rinko wrote it, Shizuki was more likely to do the opposite.
“Okay, what now? What’re you calling her over for?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To play together. So don’t forget to bring your guitar and effects unit tomorrow.”
*
The next day began with rain that felt warm enough to have been boiling water that hadn’t fully cooled off.
I left home with my trusty partner – a white Washburn Single Cut guitar – slung across my back in a soft case. Among my guitars, this one had the fewest quirks to its sound, and because Rinko hadn’t told me what songs we would be playing, it would be for the best to use my most well-rounded guitar.
Unfortunately, my beloved instrument, safe and dry in its vinyl bag, was also a major inconvenience to the other passengers on the Saikyou Line, packed like sardines already, due to its size. I squeezed myself against the door and apologized in my mind to the people I’d inadvertently inconvenienced.
And then there was all the attention I started getting in class.
“That your guitar, Murase?” “Never knew you could play!”
“Oooh, lemme see!” “Play us a song!”
…Which was why I didn’t want to bring my guitar to school, to say nothing of how I was nearly late and of the rain. Fortunately that also meant the bell for first period ran shortly after, and everyone took their usual seats. As for me, I stashed my guitar in a gap between the lockers and a wall before returning to my seat.
It was hard to focus on the lesson, so I ended up spending the time gazing through the fogged-up, rain-slicked window at the drizzle outside.
Across the courtyard, I could see the gentle rain washing down the wall of the north building. I imagined the row of windows was like one long film strip, with one window representing one frame. Going from the far right to the far left of the building would be enough for one and a half second of screentime.
With each passing break period, I took my phone out to check LINE.
I had been checking for messages from Shizuki, but nothing had changed from yesterday; the only reply was a solitary ‘Okay’.
It was a short and simple message, but I couldn’t guess how she might’ve felt after sending it. Had she been surprised? Confused? Or maybe even frightened?
I was waiting for classes to end for the day, and the passing time flowed like the raindrops on the window, moving at a slow crawl until, in a single breath, the droplet suddenly found itself sliding down all at once, only for the process to repeat itself with another raindrop. Did I feel this way because of the anticipation? Was it fear?
After all, I had no idea what Rinko was planning to do with Shizuki.
I mean, I knew Rinko was trying to get Shizuki to play the drums again, but were Shizuki’s issues really something that could be solved by making some music? Back when I brought Rinko to the rooftop, that had worked because playing was directly correlated to a personal, emotional hang-up she was going through. Compared to now, where the issue involved not only a family matter but also Shizuki’s own future, what could a single session do for that? In the first place, was it really fine for us to get involved, to try and change it at all?
The bell finally rang.
The boisterous rush of students standing from their seats brought my attention back to the class. I did my best not to think too much harder about it, and I retrieved my guitar from its hiding spot before leaving the classroom.
Shizuki had been the first to arrive at the storage room, and she was on her knees by the bass drum, in the middle of detaching the drum head.
And beside her was a brand-new, hole-less drum skin.
“Ah, Makoto-san.”
Shizuki, noticing my entrance, stopped what she was doing to turn and give me a bow.
“What’re you doing?”
“Well, since I was the one who selfishly went and cut out a port hole, I thought I should replace it.”
“But why? It wasn’t that big of a deal, and it wasn’t like anyone else was gonna use these drums.”
“Still, I decided I wouldn’t be playing these drums–“
“No, no, wait, hang on, you read that LINE message, right? We’re playing a session together with Rinko today. Look, I even brought my guitar for it.”
Shizuki’s eyes widened in surprise. Wait, why was she surprised?
“…A session? But why…? I thought she just wanted to talk with me.”
I turned my head to stare at the ceiling as I tried to recall what the message had said exactly, and I realized Rinko had never explicitly mentioned having a session. It was possible she thought Shizuki would decline if she said something about it. Actually, no, it would’ve been better to just invite her over on the pretext of playing a song or two rather than the ominous message she ended up sending. In fact, as I thought about it, it was more surprising that Shizuki ended up agreeing to come in the first place.
“She actually meant to say she wants to play together today, so let’s get these drums set up again. I’ll even help you out with the tuning and stuff again.”
“…But…”
Shizuki cast her eyes downward and brushed along the rim of the hollow bass drum with a fingernail.
I went ahead and picked up the stuffed animals Shizuki had removed before returning them to the drum. Next I reattached the drum head and hoops and finally retightened the bolts.
“So, how should we tune it this time?” I asked, forcing myself to sound more cheerful than usual. I figured in this situation, it was better to keep the conversation simple and force it onward without giving Shizuki the chance to have second thoughts about playing. It was a good plan… maybe.
“Um, well,” Shizuki hesitated, but it seemed her eyes had regained some of their clarity, “I know it should be tuned, but… it really depends on what songs we’ll be playing. I would need to re-tune the drum to match the song.”
“Haha, funny that you mention it, since I don’t know what we’re playing either.”
It might’ve been late to feel this way, but I was starting to get irritated with Rinko. From the start, why hadn’t she explained anything? She even dragged me into this only to leave me in the dark! And to top it all off, despite calling us together like this, she was the one who had yet to show up.
Left with no other choice, we ended up tuning the drums according to my preference like we always did. After that, Shizuki took her seat on the stool, repeatedly stepping on the hi-hat pedal to test its stiffness all the while looking like she was about to walk across a frozen lake.
Meanwhile, I took my guitar out of its case and connected it through my effects pedal to the Roland amp that sat in a corner of the storage room before turning it on.
Now, how was I supposed to tune the guitar? It would be much harder to tune compared to the drums if I didn’t know what song we would be playing.
But as I thought that, the faint sound of a piano suddenly came across the wall.
It was a quiet arpeggio, a simple harmonic progression that faded in and out every two bars like light, gentle steps.
That had to be Rinko; she was playing from the music room two doors down the hall, but…
…this wasn’t enough to tell what song we would be playing. I turned my attention to Shizuki, still seated behind the drum set. She held her sticks at the ready but had a look of confusion similar to the one I was probably wearing.
But before long, Shizuki took a deep breath and added to the piano, starting with a simple 2/4 beat. After a few notes, she seemed to sense Rinko’s dissatisfaction from beyond the wall and added a sixteenth backbeat with the kick from the second loop on. The hesitant footing she had earlier began to dissipate as she played.
And just like that I understood what the song was; the drumming became smoother at about the same time, so Shizuki must have figured it out as well. I realized now why Rinko hadn’t told me what song we would be playing, but I knew what I needed to do with the guitar and effects.
I quickly adjusted the effects pedal and set its volume to zero so as not to disturb the gentle rhythm. After slinging the guitar strap over my shoulder, I began to mumble the lyrics to the song almost to myself; I was loud enough to still hear myself over the crashing of the drums but not so loud that my voice might muddy their sound.
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so fuckin’ special
Creep by Radiohead.
It was a song from when they were just five students from Oxford dreaming big dreams, not yet the monster band they would go on to become, the same one that broke new grounds in the icy sea of music like an unstoppable icebreaker. Thom Yorke had apparently written this song on a university bench, while in the throes of melancholy from watching people indulging in young love around him. It was a song that went on to define Radiohead and stamp their name over the world — and a curse that shackled them.
As I hummed along to Rinko’s piano in the distance, I imagined what it must have been like back when they first made this song. They were gathered together, listening to Thom’s sample, then Colin and Phil laid the foundation with simple but powerful rhythm, then Ed strung together the gentle and clean arpeggios. They might’ve known at the time — that this would be the song to be listening to, the one that would draw crowds to their shows; it had it all: the melody was sweet and catchy, and the lyrics that could hook listeners in.
But the band’s fifth member – Jonny – was looking down at his Telecaster, frowning with disapproval from behind the other members.
So what was I supposed to do with my guitar here? Layer it over the long tones? Fill in the gaps of the vocals with an obbligato? It was all too mundane, and all that we’d get was an ordinary performance — it would be like fireworks, climbing high on the charts for one glorious moment before fading away, forgotten into nothing. Would everyone really be satisfied with that?
Like hell I was fine with that. I would break us free.
And I realized then that was the role Rinko had assigned me: to throw my vulnerable self right into the song and let my emotions that grew from nothing break down the walls. And that was why she hadn’t told me the song beforehand — knowing would have dulled the energy I could bring forth.
But this was fine too. I’ll play along.
I stomped down hard on the effects pedal, bringing up the sound pressure. It felt as though every molecule of air had become charged with excitement. Without looking back, I could sense Shizuki – still playing – felt the same; she knew how the song went, and we both anticipated what would come in the two bars before the chorus.
I tore through the strings with my pick.
The distorted sound that came out wasn’t so much music anymore as it was the ominous shriek of a train whose wheels were scraping against the track and threatening to derail. I did this once, then twice, then a third time as a lead-in to the scream of the chorus.
I released the mute and strummed an open chord, and then I launched into the vocals, straining my voice to channel every last ounce of passion I could into the lyrics.
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
It suddenly dawned on me that our song still continued strong, unbroken. The walls around us seemed like they would crumble under the force of the distortions, but I projected my voice into them as though to stop the collapse. Then there was the dazzling reverb of the ride cymbal and the heavy thumps of the ride drum to support my voice, having fallen back when the piano had stepped forward. I snuck a peek to my side and caught a glimpse of Shizuki, with glistening beads on her long lashes and radiant bronze wings shining on high. There was no emotion on her face; it was as though it had flowed out to the music.
And I could still hear the piano in the breaks of the song. It was unbelievable; we were so far from Rinko, separated by concrete, distance, misunderstandings, and yet…
The second round chorus arrived, and it felt like I was being torn apart. Shizuki’s harsh, violent rhythm closed in on me from the side, my fingers felt numb, raw, and bloody, and my throat ached with a dry, desperate thirst as I continued to sing the self-loathing lyrics of the song. And inbetween it all, where I stopped singing, the piano returned like a surging tide, closing the distance between us as well.
I didn’t need to look back at Shizuki, not that I had the leeway anymore. Her feelings came through clearer than ever through the repeated intrusions of sound — yes, intrusions. It was a pitfall to try and sync up together, especially for the drummer that didn’t need to match the others. And that was the true essence of music: coming together only to strike, to hurt, to devour, to steal everything from each other. Each member was like a crashing wave, threatening to sink everything under water, but as each wave grew fiercer and fiercer – selfishly taking more and more – they would all come together to become a great river that split the earth.
And the three of us were that river now, cutting through the plains and heading straight for the mouth that opened into the wide, free sea. I extended the sigh of the feedback for as long as I could, not wanting to let the reverb go out so quickly. From the side, Rinko’s piano formed the waves that ebbed and flowed while Shizuki’s cymbals crashed against the waves to scatter as grains of light. And finally, I gave the last verse, spitting it out like a final act of defiance to the sky.
I don’t belong here
Thom Yorke was the odd one out among his peers, at odds with their obssession with football or nightclubs, romance or volunteer work. But then he found a place of his own: a studio of rust, smoke, and electicity. And it wasn’t just a sanctuary for himself; no, here was also where his four fellow friends and enemies challenged each other and supported each other, where body and soul came together. That was Radiohead.
As I quietly zeroed the guitar’s volume, Shizuki followed and silenced her cymbals by pressing a palm against them, and the piano in the distance faded into the concrete walls. The air of the storage room finally began to settle.
I dropped my guitar pick into my chest pocket and took a deep breath before checking on the left hand that still gripped the guitar’s neck; try as I might, I couldn’t move my fingers very well — they had cramped up and were now stuck to the strings. On the fingerboard was a faint sheen of sweat that seemed to reflect a pattern of light.
With a little effort, I was able to peel my hand off the guitar, and I proceeded to wipe my palm off on my pants.
As I unslung the guitar from my shoulders, my eyes suddenly met with Shizuki, who was beginning to stand from her seat.
Her face, already cherry pink, blossomed rose red with embarrassment, and she quickly got to her feet. WIth sticks still in each hand, she gave me a deep bow.
“…Thank you very much for playing with me.”
“Huh? …Oh, uh, of course. I feel the same, so thank you too.”
I wasn’t expecting her to thank me, so I only managed a half-hearted reply. After hearing my answer, Shizuki quickly stowed her sticks away in her bag before exiting the room.
Now alone in the room, I stood around, absentmindedly fidging with my guitar.
That performance just now… I think it went well.
Still, that didn’t mean anything had changed – or would change, even. I could even say I was hoping for too much by expecting change to happen.
I dropped down to sit on the floor and placed the guitar down flat before me. After individually wiping down the strings with a cloth, I returned it to its vinyl case.
The storage room door suddenly opened; I turned to see who had entered, expecting Shizuki to have returned, but it was just Rinko, stomping in with large steps. She looked around the room with an irritated expression on her face before speaking to me.
“What happened with Yurisaka-san?”
“…She went home, probably. Why are you angry? Was the performance not good enough?”
“It was perfect, actually. And so intense that I felt like I would suffocate at some points.”
“That’s good then.”
“No, it’s not. I was actually planning to lecture her.”
“A lecture? For what? What would you even say to her..?”
“I would tell her its stupid to give up on the music she loves this much for something as basic as personal issues.”
Seriously, was this girl purposely forcing herself to disregard her self-awareness?
“Well I suppose if Yurisaka-san has already left, there’s no choice but to lecture you instead, Murase-kun.”
“About what?”
“Your guitar was fine, but I didn’t hear your voice. Did you even sing?”
“Of course I did! In the first place, it should be obvious that you wouldn’t be able to hear me all the way over in the music room, especially between the loud drums and guitar and the lack of a microphone! Actually, it’d be weirder if you could somehow hear my voice from two rooms over — supernatural, even!”
“So you’re saying you’re okay with letting Yurisaka-san hear you sing but not me?”
“Is that what this is about? Why are you even angry about that? …If you really want to hear me sing then, uhh, I mean I could sing right now. It’ll only have a guitar for accompaniment though.”
Rinko’s face twisted in a frown; it was an exceptionally terrible look, one that described the feeling of finding a cockroach on the plate after finishing a meal.
“I’ll pass. I imagine hearing it would give me the creeps. In fact, it seems a little crazy to me that you’re perfectly fine singing the lyrics to Creep to a girl. Are you really that shameless? It’s probably like the fifth worst thing you could give as a present.”
I mean, that was just the lyrics, right? I understood where she was coming from, but she could have said it in a nicer way…
“Just for reference, what’s the fourth worst thing?”
“Fourth is ‘A List of Movies That Changed My Life. Third is a custom mug with the specific details of ‘100 Things I Love About You’ written all over it. Second is…”
“Okay, okay, I get it already! I’m sorry for asking, it was my mistake!”
*
The answer to a number of questions I still had would come the next week, as I stepped into the school’s entrance hall.
The first thing I saw was a new flower arrangement in front of the shoe rack, and the sight of it left me speechless and standing motionless in awe.
There was no longer a glass case enclosing it. A white cloth now covered the top of the table, and atop the cloth was a large bowl containing shirakaba branches boldly tied together and surrounded by crimson shakunage flowers that seemed to almost to be dancing around the branches. It was an exceptionally tall piece, which may explain the lack of a case this time, but to me, it felt more like the branches and flowers were so overflowing with vitality that they had broken free of the glass on their own accord. And yet, despite the freedom the arrangement exhibited, there was nothing crude or base about it; no, that one bowl was like a secret forest that thrived on a distant star.
And the arrangement was so great that it partially obscured the nameplate crediting the creator; I only saw the last character of the name, but it wasn’t like I needed to see it to guess the creator.
I purposely slowed down after I passed the arrangement, as I made my way to the stairs. I imagined the flowers and branches grew more the longer I kept my eyes off it, so I ended up taking more and more backward glances as I left it behind. In the end, that contrast of dull white and vivid red stayed in my mind for a long time.
It was after school now, and I was busying myself with cleaning the guitar amp in the storage room when the door violently opened.
“I’ve come to play!”
Making a gallant entrance into the room was Shizuki.
Now, in addition to her schoolbag, she carried a second handbag that contained not only the usual drumsticks but different mallets and brushes – drumstick substitutes for different techniques.
“Now, without further ado, it’s time to get in the way of the special afterschool time you two are having!”
“Haa…”
I was glad she did come back.
“And like I’ve been trying to tell you, Rinko doesn’t actually come here every day. In fact, she doesn’t come here more often than she does.”
“Which means today is just me and you, Makoto-san? That’s also convenient in its own way!”
But just as I was about to ask what was so convenient about that arrangement, the sound of a piano crashed through the wall.
It was a rapid fire fortissimo so clear that for an instant it seemed like there were no music prep room separating us. Actually, wasn’t that the fourth movement of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 – the funeral march? That Rinko… what was she even so mad about?
But the sudden, savage boom of drums drowned out any further questions; Shizuki had begun playing, beating hard on the set like she was trying to compete. As for me, I was caught right in the middle of this brutal but perfect ensemble that threatened to grind me into dust; there was no doubt that I was the intruder here.
And so I reluctantly and quietly left the storeroom, doing my best not to be noticed. It wasn’t like I could do anything — I had no guitar, no microphone, and most importantly, no talent. It simply wasn’t a place for me; I belonged in the dirt, creeping along back home to my dark room, where I would write new songs, practice until my fingers bled, and make a vow as I watched the angels dance in the sky: one day, I too would sprout wings of my own and join them.
Headcanon TL 
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