“Akane-chan’s a bit off.”
“She’s following the concertmistress’s bow, not the conducting.”
“Rinko-chan’s not bad.”
“But she sounds more Ba-rock than Baroque.”
“Shizuki-chan needs much more practice.”
“Her half-rhythms are too perfect, so the spikes stand out too much.”
“But overall, it was very good!”
After I sent over a recording of the Valentine’s Day concert, Hanazono-sensei returned comments almost immediately.
“And tell Nogi-san this wasn’t sweet at all.”
“They might’ve gotten a ton of younger attendees this time, but if the orchestra keeps playing like this, those attendees aren’t becoming repeat customers after next year.”
She ended with a sticker of a madly-cackling rabbit.
Next year, huh…
I looked around my pitch-black room. I still felt the lingering echoes of Bach, as played by the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra, hanging about my body. The concert had only been a few hours ago, after all.
And it had only been a little less than those few hours ago that I learned they would be disbanding.
I stared at my phone, down at the LINE chat, hesitating. Should I tell her? Or should I wait for someone else, maybe from the orchestra, to tell her? But the more I thought about it, the more I started to realize that it was impossible for me to talk to her while withholding the fact that the orchestra was disbanding, when she assumed they still had a future.
And so I sent another message, one that explained how the orchestra would be disbanding after this last concert because of their member shortage.
“That’s too bad.”
“I feel bad too, because I quit so suddenly. It feels like it’s my fault.”
That’s wrong though. You weren’t responsible for any of it. Or so I wanted to send back, but my fingers refused to move.
Her being hospitalized certainly was a factor that led to the orchestra disbanding.
But I didn’t want Hanazono-sensei to blame herself, especially since she had no choice but to quit after becoming too sick to continue.
I should not have mentioned the reason — that the orchestra lacked members. I cursed my lack of tact.
After placing my phone down beside my pillow, I fell backward onto bed, pulling the covers over as I closed my eyes. In that darkness, I visualized the mallet rolling and bouncing against the taut skin of the timpani, the flutes sparkling and dazzling beneath the ceiling lights, the bows rowing across their violins and violas like the oars of boats through dark waters.
Hanazono-sensei was once there, in that place, among them.
She would have been beside Okonogi-san, handling an instrument larger than herself, twisting her body around to see the fretboard, playing bass notes like the whistling wind — supporting the orchestra.
What kind of music had that orchestra made, when Hanazono-sensei was with them?
I would never be able to hear it.
Because, even if Hanazono-sensei were to get better – even if she were discharged from the hospital – there was no longer an orchestra for her to return to.
I rolled over, causing the blanket over my body to slide off my bed and onto the floor. The cold air began settling in, so I quickly retrieved my blanket and wrapped it back around my shoulders.
Wasn’t there anything I could do?
They were an orchestra that put on such a concert — there was no doubt the members had the skill and passion for music. All they were missing was the right environment.
Wait, actually…
Finding the right environment was the most important part, but at the same time, it was also the hardest.
For me, I was blessed, that is, lucky enough to have never needed to give a second thought. It was a precious, fragile soap bubble after all, the time to spend on playing music. The orchestra members each had their lives to live, their jobs to work; no matter how old they were, they could not just live an entirely leisurely life after retirement. Simply having the skills and passion for music was not enough.
I drifted off to sleep as I thought about the gentle, comfortable environment around me.
*
“So what did you think of the chocolates?”
The next day, after classes had let out, when I encountered Rinko at the stairs on the way to the music room, she had a question to ask.
“Uh… Oh, right, sorry… I haven’t eaten any of them yet. They’ll be good for a while, right?”
“They should be. My brother just wanted to know how they tasted… Just let me know after you’ve tried them.”
I had expected her to say more – maybe something harsher – so I was relieved there was only this much.
“Though I suppose chocolate would have been the last thing on your mind after what we were told yesterday.”
Rinko added before hurrying up the stairs.
In the music room, Shizuki, who had arrived before us, seemed more reserved than usual.
“Um… Makoto-san, I don’t mind, um… waiting an entire month to hear whose chocolate you think is the best, so…”
But that consideration really only doubled the pressure I felt. Give me a break already…
As the three of us ate our lunches in the silence of the music room, Akane suddenly burst into the room.
“I went looking for places in the area for meeting up and practice and stuff!”
She shoved her phone toward us.
“But there’s nothing as good as the cultural center, and as far as that goes we could still do what you’re usually supposed to do – the applications and stuff – but there’s some fierce competition for spots, and the fee is pretty big. I mean, it’s still cheap since the ward manages the place, but it’s still pretty rough for an amateur group. Oh yeah, and about the chocolate, Makoto-chan, I won’t mind it if you don’t think mine is the best this time! I realized I didn’t give you a whole lot, which is why I decided I’ll make a whole, life-sized chocolate guitar for you next year. You can pretend like you’re Jimi Hendrix playing the guitar with his teeth, as you eat it.”
“Huh? Uh, sure..? I guess?”
“I’m sure the others in the orchestra have already looked into similar things — maybe we should try approaching this from a different angle? Oh by the way, Makoto-san, I will be making next year’s chocolate myself as well, in the shape of a timpani. Grandfather said there are contemporary timpani concertos where, at the end, they play the timpani using their face. So if I make a chocolate timpani, you can play it that way and eat it at the same time.”
“Uh, sure? I mean, I think I’ve heard of that one before, but… uh, I’m getting confused here. Did you guys want to talk about the orchestra or about the chocolates?”
Shizuki and Akane exchanged looks.
“It doesn’t look like it’s working.”
“Guess that was the wrong way to be considerate…”
“You seemed pretty down after hearing the orchestra would be disbanding last night, so we thought mixing sweet-talk in today might help.”
“Plus it adds pressure to the next year, so really it’s nailing three birds with one stone.”
I didn’t get what they were talking about, but it’d be nice if they stopped… It wasn’t like I wouldn’t eat their chocolates.
“But I’m not feeling down or anything. Do I really look that way?”
“You do, though rather than just looking down, you look like you’re regretting something.”
“R-regretting something?”
“‘Why am I the only one who won’t be able to play with the orchestra?’ is written clearly on your face, Makoto-chan.”
“Huh? Th-there’s no… I mean, wh-what are you talking about..?”
They were so right on the mark that my words came out in a strange voice.
“And yesterday night, when we were waiting for the train to go home, your eyes looked really scary, Makoto-san. We weren’t sure what to say, or if we should even say anything at all, which is why we decided we would try sweet-talking you today.”
Shizuki said, looking at me with upturned eyes. In response, I planted myself into the desk.
“…Sorry about that.”
To think my desires were that obvious. I feel like I might just die of embarrassment…
“It’s perfectly fine, Makoto-san! I can take it, all of the resentment you feel!”
“I’m not sure whether I should feel guilty or uncomfortable about that…”
“O-oh, w-well, I suppose I’m happy enough that you’re paying attention to how I feel for once.”
“Could you not talk like I always ignore you? C’mon, I always have you in mind, so you don’t need to be happy over a comment like that.”
“Always — you always have me in mind?! Oh, I’m so happy right now, I think I might start hyperventilating… Oh no, I might just die if I don’t get a kiss this instant!”
“I heard the best way to fix hyperventilating is to breathe out into a plastic bag and then breathe it back in.”
“That’s such an unfunny, unappealing method! I’ll just stop hyperventilating instead!”
If you were able to stop yourself, then it was just you panting heavily, not hyperventilating…
Akane suddenly seemed to realize something and spoke up.
“Rin-chan, is something wrong? You’ve been real quiet for a while now — Makoto-chan and Shizu-chan went through a whole routine, and you didn’t even join in.”
…Now that Akane had mentioned it, Rinko seemed strangely absent-minded, even before we got here.
But after being asked, Rinko, not minding our curious stares, answered in a quiet whisper.
“I was thinking about the orchestra. Many of their problems would be solved if they were to have the ward certification again.”
The three of us exchanged looks before turning back toward Rinko.
“I mean, yeah, I think that would be ideal, but…”
“It was a bureaucratic decision, by the ward, right? So there’s nothing they can do about it.”
“It wasn’t a bureaucratic decision, it was a separate organization — a public interest group, to be exact: the Foundation for Cultural Creations of the Future.”
Rinko recited a long and complicated name without hesitation, before retrieving her phone and showing us a website of the organization she named.
At the top of the page was a little blurb.
The Foundation for Cultural Creations of the Future is a public interest group whose goal is fostering the growth of creativity through culturally- and artistically-enriching activities and promoting projects that encourage development as a unified community. To that end, we aim to create a sophisticated city, one full of diverse talents that both cooperate and promote one another —
Rinko tapped on the screen, loading a page that listed the group’s board members.
The board chairman was the mayor of the ward, and below him were the names of the other board members.
The executive director was one Saejima Toshiomi.
…Saejima?
I looked over at Rinko.
“That’s my father,” she reluctantly admitted. So that explained how she had known about this group the other day…
“So he works for the ward?” Akane asked. Rinko shook her head.
“It’s more of an external executive position. His actual job is… I’m not sure, maybe a consultant? He used to travel across Europe, before getting married — I think he used to work as a promoter for concerts there, which is how he knows so much about classical music.”
So the entire Saejima household had a history with classical music? I guess that would explain why the parents pushed their daughter to be a pianist, what with their backgrounds in classical music.
“Would that mean your father could grant the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra ward certification?”
“It’s possible.”
I did not know how much influence an executive director pulled, but seeing as he was second on the list of board members – right below the board chairman – did that make him the number two? If it did, then Shizuki’s suggestion certainly was possible.
“Still, I’m not sure they could make a decision based on a single director’s discretion. And even then I can’t imagine what reason you could have that would convince him to reconsider the board’s decision, even if it is his beloved daughter asking him to…”
Shizuki spoke worriedly, but Rinko was unconcerned; she tilted her head slightly before answering.
“That is true. But I have thought of one good reason.”
One good reason, she said, but going by the way she framed it worried me, like she would be making her case out of sophistry.
“I have been thinking about going to a music college and becoming a composition major. With that in mind, I can say that having a high-level orchestra to play in while I’m still in high school is a huge benefit.”
“But if Animal Trail is gone, couldn’t he tell you to just play with any other orchestra?” Akane asked.
“Then I would tell him there aren’t many amateur orchestra groups on the same level as Animal Trail.”
“That makes sense. Wait, you called it a good reason, but how much of it is actually true?”
“All of it is true.”
“Huh? So you really want to major in composition and not the piano?”
“That’s part of ‘all of it’ being true.”
Really now… Well, Rinko had mentioned before that she was not interested in becoming a concert pianist, so it did make sense for her to not be a piano major.
Regardless, the most important part was the fact that the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra truly was a highly-skilled group. The rest of Rinko’s reasoning might have been flimsy, but there was that one undeniable truth.
It really was a shame that such an amazing group lost their certification because they did not have enough members — it was a cultural loss, really.
…And if we could make the public interest group see things that way, it was possible for them to reinstate the orchestra’s certification.
But, that was its own matter.
“So Rinko, you do, uh, get along with your father, right? Like, the two of you are close enough that he’d listen to you if you asked?”
Rinko shrugged.
“We don’t get along very well. Like my mother, my father doesn’t approve of bands or playing in them.”
“Oh… Well, I guess we’ll have to think about what to say or how to ask.”
“I already texted him last night. I couldn’t talk to him directly because he was staying overnight somewhere else, for work.”
“Isn’t that going a little too fast?”
“I got a reply earlier saying he would be coming to school to talk with me and my teacher about what I want to do in the future.”
“What the, both parent and child go this fast?!”
At that moment, the door to the music room slammed open, and Komori-sensei rushed in, looking quite panicked.
“Ah, Saejima-san, you were here? Y-your father is here, and he wants to have a meeting with you and your career counselor, but… Wait, aren’t I, um, your career counselor?”
Things started happening in a hurry, starting with Shizuki, Akane, and I being moved to the prep room. It seemed the meeting would be happening out in the music room instead, so Komori-sensei pushed us over to the prep room just as the homeroom teacher of Class 1-4 and a man in a suit walked in.
“Why do you think they’re having the meeting in the music room?”
Akane whispered softly.
“Maybe the meeting room wasn’t ready, because this was so sudden?”
“Wouldn’t it have been better for them to hold the meeting in a classroom?”
“Maybe because there’s a lot of material that would be useful for anyone who wants to go to a music college here?”
Well, this way, it wouldn’t be our fault if we just happened to overhear what was said during the interview; we definitely were not pressed against the door, trying to listen in — their voices just happened to leak over! And that was not our fault either; the door to the music room from the outside was a heavy, metal, and soundproof door, while the door to the prep room was just a regular one.
That was just how things were — there wasn’t anything we could do about it.
And so the three of us huddled together with bated breath, closely listening in.
Most audible was the young, high-pitched voice of Komori-sensei. Yes, she has told me so before. Yes, I believe Saejima-san would do well, and I would support her to the best of my abilities.
The homeroom teacher, an inconspicuous woman in her fifties, was harder to hear, though she did not seem to have much to say about music college entrance exams. Still, her presence was probably reassuring to the timid Komori-sensei.
Rinko seemed to say something on occasion as well, but with how little she spoke – and how cold she sounded – it was difficult to hear her through the door.
Rinko’s father, Saejima Toshiomi, spoke in a beautiful baritone. Yes, I am aware, though my daughter had only informed me yesterday. Neither my wife nor I have any objections, however…
And for some reason, hearing his voice speak in its polite tone was sending shivers down my spine.
The meeting started impersonal, almost business like, but began growing heated.
“We must take into consideration Rinko’s competition records — she has already accomplished so much as a pianist. If she wants to learn about composition, the common core classes in the piano department are more than enough. Komori-sensei, please talk sense into her.”
Well, yes, but, I mean, what she wants is… said Komori-sensei in a faint, faltering voice.
It sounded like Rinko started speaking — I could barely hear her, but she seemed to say something about an orchestra? Her father started speaking again before long.
“There is no need to involve yourself with an amateur, short-staffed orchestra when you will be able to play with a real orchestra at a music college however much you like. And instead of having to play some nonsensical concerto, you will have many opportunities to play real music.”
Akane and Shizuki turned to look at me.
Some nonsensical concerto, he said. Was he referring to our Prokofiev concerto? Did that mean he had listened to it?
Well, maybe it did sound like that to an old-fashioned classical music enthusiast who was supposed to be the cultural consultant to the ward. The fact that he brought up that concerto though — was he holding a grudge over our concert?
It sounded like Rinko said more, because her father suddenly said, “You have said enough, Rinko.” It must have been something severe; knowing Rinko, she would not stay quiet after hearing our Prokofiev concerto insulted.
Earlier, Rinko had said something about bringing up ward certification for the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra when she discussed her music college plans with her father, but right now.. really did not feel like a good time to mention it. Maybe it was too much to ask for.
Saejima Toshiomi’s questioning continued.
“And why are you so set on going to this college in particular? There are plenty of music colleges in Tokyo that are at the same level. You are still only in your first year of high school — there is no need to be cutting out your other options just yet.”
At that moment, I could only hear Rinko, her answer coming across so very clearly.
“I decided I want to major in music composition. And I chose this college because a teacher I look up to attended it.”
I simply stared at the door.
Rinko once said she wanted to attend Komori-sensei’s alma mater. And since Komori-sensei was Hanazono-sensei’s underclassman…
…That was why she chose music composition?
From there, it seemed like Komori-sensei and the homeroom teacher tried to talk it over, but they were too vague for me to follow. But for some reason, I could clearly picture Rinko’s expression as she sat in silence, sandwiched between the teachers and her father.
She was neither yielding nor hurting, simply expressionless like a pool of mercury swallowing everything around it.
Rinko had made her decision. She was determined to follow that path; her heart was committed.
A while later, I heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. There came an Allow me to excuse myself before it suddenly felt as though something had left the music room, and then things returned to silence.
I carefully observed Shizuki’s and Akane’s faces. They seemed withdrawn, wearing unsure expressions.
I quietly rose from my chair, making sure to make no noise as I approached the door.
After cautiously opening the door, I peeked out into the music room. Nobody was in there now; all four of them were gone.
“So Rin-chan left with them? I guess she went to see her father off.”
Akane left the prep room, walking over to look out the window of the music room.
Suddenly, our phones all began vibrating, at the same time.
There was a new message from Rinko, in our LINE group chat.
“I’m going home with my father today.” “I’ll try to convince him.”
It felt as though her skeleton of a message should have continued with a Wish me luck.
I dashed out of the music and practically flew down the stairs.
Somehow, I caught up with the Saejima father and daughter pair in the parking lot. They were about to get into a white Lexus, but Rinko, noticing me, withdrew her hand from the handle of the backseat door.
“Murase-kun?”
Her father also turned at her voice.
His face was so perfectly balanced – from the contours of his face to the bridge of his nose, and even the eyebrows – it was almost uncanny. It was as though everything had been precisely measured and drawn using a ruler. Our eyes met, sending a chill that made my stomach shrivel up.
Just seeing his perfect eyebrows furrow was making me want to run away.
“…Did you need something?”
But when he asked, nothing but an ache in my throat came from my mouth. I had not thought of what I was going to do; I just ran out of the music room. I had not even thought to take my blazer with me, and my body began to shiver as though it just remembered the cold.
“Uh, no, but, well actually…”
As I fumbled for an answer, Rinko sent a severe glare my way. What are you even doing here? her eyes seemed to ask. I wanted to ask myself the same thing, really.
“…I’m Murase Makoto. I, uh, play in a band with Rinko…-san.”
The wrinkles in Saejima Toshiomi’s brow seemed to lighten up as he looked me over. After a moment, he nodded.
“Ah, so that’s you. It is good to meet you. I am Rinko’s father.”
He paused to take a breath before continuing.
“As I am sure you are aware, both Rinko and my wife have spoken of you.”
I shuddered when he said ‘my wife’; he was definitely aware Rinko’s mother and I were not on good terms. In fact, his deliberate mentioning of her was most likely his way of telling me he knew exactly what I had done.
“So did you need something from me? There is much I need to discuss with Rinko after this, and I cleared my afternoon just to do so.”
The fact that he continued speaking politely to me – someone much younger than him – was like a wall between us. I deliberately moistened my lips as I carefully found the words I wanted to say.
“Were you aware that… Rinko-san has already composed a number of songs?”
Saejima Toshiomi tilted his head in confusion.
“…I was not. What about it?”
“And we listened to what she wrote. They were all great. But we could not make arrangements out of any of them that were suitable for playing in a band. And I just think there is a lot she can gain from being a composition major.”
“Okay, and so what do you expect from me, now that I have learned about this?”
That was a follow-up question I wasn’t expecting in the least, and I found myself at a momentary loss for words.
“Uh, well… I guess I just wanted to say that she’s been working on a lot of things, figuring stuff out, because she really put thought into becoming a composition major, and…”
“And I find all of that irrelevant. In fact, I find it quite detrimental.”
“…Huh?”
Worried I might have misheard, I focused on Saejima Toshiomi’s lips.
“The reason she wants to be a composition major is your rock band, isn’t it? And the matter with the amateur orchestra — that, too, is about your rock band. I intend for Rinko to stop with this rock nonsense.”
I found myself swallowing back my spit before letting out the hot breath and question that had settled in my chest.
“What, exactly, is wrong with rock music?”
“It is indicative of poor taste.”
Saejima Toshiomi’s response left me so bewildered that I had no response.
“While it is common courtesy to not involve myself in someone else’s affairs, Rinko is not simply ‘someone else.’ As such, she – and others that are not ‘someone else’ to me – should be demonstrating appropriate, sophisticated tastes.”
The winds of winter swept through the very core of my body.
For a long moment, it was not anger I felt but shock — surprise, to find that such a person existed.
But when I noticed Rinko turn her face away like she could no longer bear to listen to any more, I felt the warmth in me seep down to the pits of my stomach.
Seeing I had nothing more to say, Saejima Toshiomi turned and made his way to the driver’s seat. I needed to say something.
But I did not let out even a single word.
Rinko gave me another sad look before climbing into the back seat. I could not see her father as he climbed in from his side of the car; I only heard the sound of a car door opening then closing.
I reflexively stumbled backwards, as though an invisible hand had pushed me back.
The Lexus’s engine was like the cough of an elderly person, dry and quiet. Even after the car was past the school gates and gone, I remained in place at the edge of the parking lot, shivering in the cold.
Something was suddenly draped over my shoulders, easing the chill.
I turned around to see Shizuki, who had brought my blazer over.
“You’ll catch a cold like this, you know.”
She said with a gentle expression on her face as she looked toward the school gates.
Akane was standing beside her, staring off in the direction of where the car had taken Rinko away.
“…You really held yourself back, Makoto-chan. I really thought you were gonna lose your temper.”
She said, forcing a chuckle.
I looked down at my feet.
The truth was, I could not get angry.
But as a result, not having the spine to get angry meant I avoided the worst possible outcome. After all, there was no point in getting angry at Rinko’s father, not when we still needed ward certification for the Animal Trail orchestra. In other words, I did the right thing, right? It was the right move to stay calm.. right? But as I tried to reassure myself, a cold disgust settled at the bottom of my stomach.
What did it matter if that was the right thing to do, when all I did was sit there and take it — all in front of Rinko.
We returned to the music room to find Komori-sensei waiting for us in the prep room.
“Murase-kun! Are you all right? You were ready to pick a fight with Papa Saejima in the parking lot, weren’t you? You can’t just rush into your marriage proposal like that, you know!”
“I wasn’t picking a fight, I just wanted to talk to him.” And what was that ‘marriage proposal’ bit about?
“You made us get anxious, too; we really thought you were about to get physical.”
Shizuki wore a bitter smile as she served hot black tea. I could feel reality beginning to return, seeping in through the fingers that held the mug. With it was the chill of regret, and I hung my head, slumping over as I wondered about what I had even wanted to accomplish to begin with.
“So, I guess there really are parents like that, huh? Hanazono-senpai had mentioned they existed, but still… I knew Saejima-san had problems at home, but this was more than I expected.”
The ever-positive Komori-sensei was still cheerful, despite all that had happened.
“And that father of hers, he’s the director of that Foundation or whatever, right? It sure surprised me when he brought it up. I mean, he’s still the kind of dad that’ll listen to whatever his cute daughter says, right? At least, I sure hoped he was, but that ended up backfiring. Anyway, it seems like things aren’t looking too great, neither for Saejima-san’s future nor for Animal Trail.”
Seeing how things had turned out earlier, she was exactly right. Things might have turned out better if we had brought up each matter separately.
“And I also want Animal Trail to continue playing music if they could, but…”
Komori-sensei whispered as she took her seat and pulled her mug closer.
“Komori-sensei… Did you already know beforehand? About Animal Trail disbanding.”
Shizuki gingerly asked.
“Yep. When I was asked to conduct, I was also told this would be the last time. That’s why I wanted it to be a complete success, and why I asked you guys for help, too… Ahh, how will I ever face Hanazono-senpai? She told me to take care of the orchestra while she was away, only for them to disband…”
“But Komori-sensei, that isn’t your fau–“
“Maybe not, but still, it does feel that way.”
Komori-sensei brought her steaming mug to her mouth, only to set it back down on the table without taking a sip.
“If only I had been a better, more amazing conductor. Like, so good that the audience would keep cheering and applauding that it’d sound like an actual storm, and then, after the concert was over, they’d come backstage and beg and cry like ‘Oh please, won’t you come and play again next month?’! And then one of them will be this wealthy guy who says something like ‘Please let me sponsor your orchestra!’ and then we’d never have to think about money for once! Yeah, right… Haha, what a fantasy…”
Komori-sensei spoke jokingly, but there was real misery clouding her eyes. We could not laugh in return.
“If only Hanazono-senpai were around, there might have been something that could be done. All I can do is wave around a little stick; I wouldn’t be able to get people all organized, certainly not as well as she could have…”
If Hanazono-sensei were around, I wonder what she would have done?
She would wear that carefree smile while acting like there was nothing wrong, and after doing all sorts of things behind the scenes, everything would just work out perfectly in the end.
Well, rather, the person in question wasn’t here with us now. And it’s because she wasn’t here that it was up to us to do something ourselves, for when she did return.
Suddenly, I realized there was someone outside the music room door.
“Komori-sensei! Are you in there?”
A voice called out as someone began knocking on the door. Komori-sensei stood and made her way to the door before opening it.
There stood two second-year boys, both familiar — cantata participants. They were holding a large cardboard box together, between them.
“There was a delivery for you, Komori-sensei, so we brought it over.”
There was an audible thud as they placed the box down on the floor.
“Oh no! I’m sorry, I should have carried it over myself!”
“It wasn’t any trouble, Komori-sensei. Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to carry it yourself, with those arms of yours.”
“Yeah, this thing would probably crush you, y’know?”
“How rude! I can certainly carry this myself!”
“Let’s see it then.”
“Okay, watch — a-agh, why’s this so heavy?!”
The boys burst into laughter, seeing as the box moved not a single millimeter off the ground. It seemed Komori-sensei got along well with other students, though not in the same way Hanazono-sensei had.
“Oh, were you guys in the middle of a band meeting? Sorry for interrupting.”
“Yeah, see you at practice tomorrow, Murase.”
The two gave a wave of their hands as they left.
Komori-sensei sliced through the packing tape with a box cutter and opened the box. Jammed inside were stacks upon stacks of paper — no wonder why it was so heavy.
“Is this… all sheet music?”
Shizuki peeked over, looking into the box before asking. Komori-sensei pulled a bundle out, briefly flipped through them, and nodded.
“Yep. I asked Okonogi-san to send all of this over. This is everything Animal Trail has ever played, and I was thinking looking through these would help me think up what we could play for the next concert… Not that there would be a ‘next concert,’ anyway.”
Everything, she said.
So the entire history of the orchestra.. was right here?
“Could I look through this too?”
Akane asked, crouching down beside the box. Komori-sensei nodded.
“They’ve played so many things… There’s Sibelius, Mahler, Richard Strauss — they must’ve been a much bigger group then. And there are a bunch of concertos too, from Japanese composers even — Ikufube Akira, Ikebe Shinichiro… I don’t recognize some of these. Maybe they’re something modern?”
I took the bundle Akane held out to me and began flipping through its pages. It really was quite a variety of music; I expected amateur orchestras to just be a gathering of enthusiasts that wanted to play specific kinds of pieces, but as I looked through the Animal Trail orchestra’s repertoire, what I felt was a transcendent hunger that would not hesitate to sink its teeth into and consume anything that seemed interesting.
Quite a few copies of pages with handwritten scores came out, and those shared similar quirks — the curl of the treble clef’s tail, the flag of the eighth notes. It felt strangely familiar, until I realized with a start that this was how Hanazono-sensei wrote them. In other words, these were arrangements she had written with the Animal Trail orchestra in mind, and there were detailed instructions written all over the pages, everything from using the bow to playing the accents to changing the tempo. Some of the instructions even mentioned specific members.
“Okonogi-san should come in here, a little sooner than the cello.”
“Just Tabata-san should be shining here.”
“Hiramori-san shouldn’t forget the breath here.”
I could not stop myself, pulling more and more sheet music out of the box, reading, finishing, pulling out more, and repeating. I was buried in the orchestra in my mind, and yet I dug further into the history of the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra.
And then, for the twentieth: the sheet music for a certain piece.
I began freezing up as I read the first page; I could not even breathe. All I could do was continue reading the cutesy, handwritten musical notes with my eyes.
But Shizuki, next to me, noticed.
“What’s wrong, Makoto-san? Is it the sheet music? What piece is it for?”
Akane turned as well, staring at the sheet music in my hands.
“Medvedev’s, um, Twenty-Six Variations on a Mid-Renaissance Theme? That’s a long title… I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. Have you, Makoto-chan?”
I gave her a nod. I did recognize it — the piece, at least.
I flipped to the next page, and after reading more of the sheet music…
There was no doubting it; I definitely knew this piece.
After straightening out the pages, I handed the sheet music over to Shizuki.
“I’m going over to the student council room.”
“Huh? Uh, sure? What are you–“
Shizuki stopped herself from finishing, swallowing back her words after meeting my eyes.
There was nothing for me to say yet, not when I wasn’t even sure if what I wanted could be done. There were still so many walls in my path — walls I had to overcome.
Not only was the student council president in the room but also the members of the music festival committee as well. As I explained what I wanted, their expressions turned serious.
“A real orchestra as the accompaniment for the cantata — did I hear you right?”
The head of the committee, a second-year girl, stared at me in disbelief as she repeated my words back at me.
“That’s right. Originally, I was going to use a sequencer to create an orchestral accompaniment, because having just a piano for it feels a little disappointing, especially when we’re playing something like a cantata. But then I realized, wouldn’t having a real orchestra make it thousands of times better?”
“You do also realize that the music festival is just two weeks away, right?”
The student council president gave me an awkward smile as she asked.
“Yes, I know. But still, I want to do this.”
I pulled out my phone to show them a recording of Animal Trail’s Valentine’s Day Concert.
“So this group, they call themselves an amateur orchestra, but they actually play very well; for example, they played this Bach extremely well. Two weeks should be more than enough for them, and with how fast our cantata group is learning, as long as we have one full rehearsal together, on the day before the performance, we should be fine.”
“Only one full rehearsal together? Are you sure that will be enough?”
The deputy of the committee asked in surprise. He, a second-year boy, was also a part of the cantata group.
“That’s what they do in operas and big concerts, like for Symphony No. 9: the singers and the orchestra practice separately since it’s difficult for them to match schedules, and they only have one or two full rehearsals together before the actual performance.”
Even if I brought up professionals though, I knew they would still have their own reservations — it wasn’t the most reassuring explanation, that much I knew, but I told them nonetheless.
“Well, at least as far as performances go, I trust you, Murase.”
The deputy crossed his arms and stared upwards into the air.
“So there are… about thirty in that orchestra? If you add in everyone in the cantata group — can we all fit? This place they’re playing at, in this video — it’s bigger than where we’ll perform.”
“I mean, I guess, but what about the other part, about adding another song to play? How long will that take?” the head of the committee asked.
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes..? If it’s just fifteen minutes, then… It wouldn’t be impossible, but…”
“I honestly just think a real orchestra would make the performance even more exciting — I’m sure the parents and guests will love it. And more importantly, I think it’d make for a once-in-a-lifetime experience for our students.”
I shamelessly spouted buzzwords that actually meant nothing to me; the truth was, this was all my own selfishness, something I wanted to do for myself. And this entire time, the student council president’s smile had not changed; it felt as though she had seen through to what my heart truly felt.
“Have you even spoken to the orchestra about all of this, Murase-kun?”
“Well, I mean, no, but…”
I averted my gaze.
“Not… yet.”
“Rather hasty of you then, don’t you think?”
“Y-yeah, sorry… But, um, you see, I just thought that if I’d asked them first, but then if, after they agreed, there was an issue – like with management or something – that made it impossible for them to play, it would be really rude to have to then tell them otherwise, right?”
“And you didn’t think it would be rude to burden us instead?”
“Uh…”
It was exactly as she said. In the first place, I was not even sure if the members of the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra were willing to play.
Still, I didn’t have the time to make sure both parties were fine with this, and if I had to cause trouble for someone, I concluded it would be easier to smooth things over with my own schoolmates.
And besides, the student council still owed me a favor — I had not only listened to the president’s request and performed at the Midnight Festival but also cross-dressed for the beauty pageant, though if I brought that up, it would feel like I was a yakuza member or something.
The person in question narrowed her eyes as she looked me over.
“Well, I guess we do still owe Murase-kun a favor…”
Phew, she was the one to bring it up first.
“So next, if this orchestra is performing, they’ll bring their own instruments, right?”
“Uh, y-yeah, of course.”
“And we won’t be able to pay them, you know.”
“You won’t have to worry about that…”
…because they’re just an amateur group, I almost finished saying, until I realized that did not matter since we were directly asking for them to perform; we should be expecting to compensate them instead.
“…I mean, I can pay them myself, if necessary.”
How much, exactly, would it cost to have an orchestra of thirty people play for a day? I felt my stomach churn as I thought it over, and no matter how I looked at it, the cost would hurt; I would probably have to upload more videos to the channel to make up for it… I wasn’t even sure if that would really help…
“Hmm, well, all right, let’s do it then. This is starting to sound pretty fun. And what does the festival committee think?”
She gestured over to the head of the committee, who gave a troubled smile.
“I had a feeling you were going to do this, you know…”
“Well then, I guess I’m off to the staff room! I’ll leave the venue and readjustments to you guys.”
“Ah… Thank you very much!”
I gave a deep bow to the student council president as she left the room.
Later that evening, I visited Okonogi-san’s cafe. I was the only customer, so I ordered a cafe latte; I did not know a whole lot about coffee, but my drink did smell nice, not to mention the comfort of enjoying a hot drink after walking through the cold.
“You want us to be the accompaniment.. for a cantata?”
Okonogi-san, in the middle of polishing cups behind the counter, stopped what he was doing to come over. I presented pages of sheet music to him.
“This is Bach’s Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben. We’ll be doing the first and last movements.”
“We’ve played this before, but since we’ve never had a choir, we never performed it for a concert.”
“Oh, you have? That’s great — what a relief!”
“No, I mean…”
Okonogi-san turned to look over the sheet music again.
Outside, past the window, the evening sky of winter was already dark, and I began wondering if someone might come by. I was well aware that everything I was doing now was my own selfishness, but having to face Okonogi-san alone was almost overwhelming…
Oh, calm down, you idiot. Stop relying so much on others! I scolded myself.
“You see, we’ve already decided to disband, so…”
“Please, Okonogi-san, just one more time,” I pleaded, “I know it’s just for an amateur choir of high school students, but they’ve been practicing so hard over the past six months, and they’ve really gotten quite good. I don’t think they’ll get another chance to perform a cantata with a real orchestra, so it’d be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for them. And furthermore…”
I carefully pulled out a different set of pages that had been sitting under the Bach sheet music.
“There is another piece — I got permission for us to perform this one as well. It’s just an instrumental piece to play at the end, but I really want to see it performed.”
“Hm, Medvedev’s Renaissance Variations? And isn’t this…”
Okonogi-san caressed the face of the page, with all of its handwritten notes, before looking straight at me.
“This… is quite the special piece. I can see the thoughts and feelings that were put into this.”
“Yes, and, well… I really am sorry about how selfish this request of mine is, but still, I want to hear this piece played, more than anyone.”
“I see.. Yeah, I see…”
He whispered over and over. It was like he wanted to remind himself of something.
“We practiced this piece quite a lot as well, but we never got to play it, after Hanazono-sensei was hospitalized.”
I stared at Okonogi-san’s face. His white beard looked like snow that had accumulated at the base of an old tree, hiding a complicated history of bygone years a kid like me could hardly imagine. Even as I stared, his dry, cracked lips remained motionless.
You can still do it, can’t you? I asked, without speaking aloud, The song is here, the orchestra is still there, there is a venue, there are listeners. What else is needed?
But even without getting an answer, I already knew.
We were missing something to ignite the fire in his heart.
And I was out of options. All I could do now was wait.
Eventually, Okonogi-san let out a sigh. He got up from his stool and moved behind the counter. I wanted to ask, to know for sure, if my request was impossible to fulfill, only for him to give a little smile as he picked up the receiver of a retro-style telephone.
“You said two weeks from now, right? I can’t guarantee everyone’s schedules will be free then, but…”
“Ah..! Thank you so much!”
And so, with the scent of coffee all around me, I watched as Okonogi-san called up every member of the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra, and it felt like I was praying all the while.
It was already late night by the time I was able to send a message to Rinko on LINE.
“How did it go with your father?”
For some reason, my message came out rather formally.
It was a little terrifying to imagine the conversation that must have taken place between Rinko and her father, after they returned home. Surely it had not turned physical, right…
“Nothing really happened.” “We argue all the time about my future anyway.”
Could she really say ‘nothing really happened’ if they argued all the time? I tamped down my growing anxiety as I sent my next message.
“There’s something I need you to tell your father for me, but I’m not sure if now’s a good time anymore.”
“If it’s just passing a message, then it’s not really a big deal.” “So what is it?”
So how big of a deal was it if it wasn’t really a big one? Surely it wasn’t a big enough deal that she would consider running away from home again, right..?
It was in the middle of typing up what I wanted to say that my fingers suddenly froze up.
This… was not right. This was not the kind of message to be relayed, not when it was to be the start of it all.
I deleted everything I had typed and wrote a different message to send.
“Actually, could I speak to your father myself, instead?”
An incoming call from Rinko came immediately.
“Are you sure? You’re not going to call him a stubborn idiot or a blockhead, are you?”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m not trying to start an argument.”
“I see. I did earlier though.”
Wait, she did? Doesn’t that mean it was a big deal?!
“Anyway, I just have a request for him — or an invitation, I guess, so I think it would be better for me to speak to him myself.”
For a while, Rinko stayed silent, and just as I began to wonder if she was actually considering what she should do, I realized I could hear the sounds of movement coming from over the phone, followed by knocking on a door. Dad? Are you free right now? I faintly heard Rinko ask. That really put me on edge.
Before long…
“…This is Saejima speaking.”
It was frightening how clear the man’s voice sounded.
“Uh… Um, I apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour. This is Murase speaking — we, uh, spoke earlier today, in the afternoon.”
My own voice was so pathetic and flustered in comparison.
“Was there something you needed from me? If so, I would prefer for you to keep it short.”
I did not intend to speak with him for long, either — my nerves would not be able to bear it.
“…On the Saturday of the week after next, our school will be hosting a music festival. Could I ask that you attend?”
“I was already planning to.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, low enough so as to not be heard.
“So, um, after the class choir groups have finished, there will be a volunteer group performing a Bach cantata.”
“I have already known about this, through Rinko.”
“And performing the accompaniment to the cantata is the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra — I asked them to do so.”
No answer came back. Was it because there was nothing for him to say? What about it? the oppressive silence seemed to ask in his stead.
“And after the cantata will be another piece but with just the orchestra. I want you to listen to that as well.”
“Since I am attending, I already intended to listen until the end, so…”
I wondered if he was only doing so out of courtesy as an upstanding, adult member of society.
Besides, that wasn’t it — that alone wasn’t all of it. But the rest of it was not anything that could be conveyed with just words.
“All I ask is that you really listen, for yourself, and hear how great that orchestra really is. That’s all. Thank you for your time.”
I ended the call.
I sent another LINE message to Rinko afterward, thanking her, before placing my phone down on the desk.
And what I picked up instead was a stack of sheet music.
That is, the sheet music for the Bach cantata and one other: Twenty-Six Variations on a Mid-Renaissance Themes.
Just like that, with the help of so many people, I was able to climb over almost all the walls that had blocked my path. Now only one obstacle remained.
And when the day came, they just have to put on the greatest performance they could.
But for now, there was nothing more I could do. From here on, it was up to the performers — everyone in the Animal Trail orchestra, as well as their conductor, Komori-sensei.
All I could do was pray.
But the next morning, when I reported to Komori-sensei that the Animal Trail Symphony Orchestra would be performing at our music festival, she said something unexpected.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I wasn’t the one doing the conducting?”
“What..?”
Komori-sensei placed her hands over the pile of sheet music for the cantata and Renaissance Variations as she stared right at me.
“I mean, seeing how things are turning out, this has basically become your concert, hasn’t it? So I think you should be the one to do the conducting, Murase-kun.”
Huh? Me, conducting? As in, I’m the conductor?
While I struggled to answer her, Komori-sensei, wearing a mischievous smile on her face, took my hand and forced a conducting baton into it.
“Why not give it a try, Maestro!”
Headcanon TL 
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