The culture festival's stage performance hadn't even started yet, and Kotomi Izumi had already picked out the restaurant for their post-performance celebration dinner. One couldn't quite tell whether to say Kotomi was confident in their performance—or that she was just being a little too carefree.
Or perhaps, Kotomi simply wanted an excuse to go out for a big meal. Regardless of how the performance turned out, she was determined to treat herself to a feast afterward.
"Shouldn't you be focusing on rehearsing right now instead of wasting time?" Yukino Yukinoshita said helplessly. She acknowledged Kotomi's musical talent and skill, but seeing her in such a relaxed state made it hard not to worry about the upcoming performance.
Although Sobu High wasn't an art university's affiliated school, it was still Chiba City's top academic high school—and many students there had successfully entered art universities through entrance exams.
What's more, when it came to musical ensemble work, the three of them weren't exactly professionals. Especially their lead vocalist, Yui Yuigahama—everything she knew about singing so far had been taught to her by Yukino herself.
Their competitors, however, were professionals.
The choir club, the light music club, the violin club—almost every music-related club had signed up to perform at the festival.
Among them, the violin club was one of the strongest groups on campus.
Not to mention Momoka Mito, who was currently considered the violin club's brightest hope.
In the past, her upperclassmen had repeatedly won gold and silver medals in the National High School Violin Competition. When Momoka herself entered the competition for the first time, she astonished everyone by winning a silver medal among many strong contenders.
To compete against opponents with professional training despite not being formally trained themselves—it wasn't just about winning; even standing out would be difficult.
Yukino, who had studied music as a child, understood this all too well. To her, the only way to win in music was through professionalism.
—Whoever was more professional, whoever performed more perfectly, would win.
That was something Yukino's mother, Chiaki Yukinoshita, had always emphasized when teaching her piano.
Because of that, Chiaki never allowed Yukino to have any personal interpretation when playing. Every melody had to be played exactly as written in the score.
Even if Yukino happened to make a small mistake and accidentally discovered that the altered version sounded unexpectedly good—adding a new emotional touch to the music—Chiaki would never acknowledge it. She would never encourage Yukino to think about music from her own perspective. She would simply demand that her daughter play exactly as written, without the slightest deviation.
If Yukino didn't follow her mother's strict instructions, what awaited her would be her mother's furious, throat-tearing screams.
The music knowledge Chiaki had instilled in Yukino was like a row of nails hammered perfectly straight into a board—precise, evenly spaced, rigid.
Unchanging. Traditional. Coldly professional.
It was almost impossible to associate that sort of technical rigidity with the romantic essence of music.
Professionalism was important, yes—but to demand it to the point of erasing emotion from music? That, Chiaki could never understand, and thus never taught her daughter.
Perhaps because her mother's teaching had been so suffocatingly strict, even after Yukino had given up piano for a time in rebellion, the moment her hands touched the keys again, everything returned instantly—the posture, the melody, the knowledge. All the lessons from her childhood came flooding back.
Chiaki hadn't only taught her piano—she'd also taught Yukino some vocal techniques.
And now, for the sake of their culture festival performance, from the moment their three-person band was formed, Yukino had resolved to pass on every singing technique she knew to Yui Yuigahama.
The techniques Yukino taught Yui had indeed helped her improve rapidly in a short time. Over the past few days, Yui had felt her singing become noticeably better, filling her with confidence and joy.
But Yukino Yukinoshita, who had studied music professionally, understood very clearly that Yui Yuigahama's progress wasn't solely due to her teaching. The techniques she taught contributed only a small part—the real reason was that Yui's natural singing ability was terrifyingly high.
And that was no exaggeration.
When Yukino first began teaching Yui to sing, Yui made frequent mistakes. But after carefully listening and comparing her singing before and after the lessons, Yukino was completely stunned. She had thought Yui might have a little talent for singing—but after truly hearing her voice, she realized that Yui's gift was that of an uncut, magnificent gem.
Realizing this, Yukino couldn't help feeling regret. Having studied music from an early age, she knew better than anyone how crucial childhood training and accumulation were for a musician.
If Yui had been training her voice since she was little, she might already be a wildly popular singer by now. Her voice could very well have become the kind of classic that would be remembered and loved for decades.
Even a handful of sand—this world never divides things evenly among people.
This line Yukino had once read in a book flashed through her mind as she listened to Yui's singing. For the first time, she thought she might truly understand what it meant.
Just like with access to musical education.
Yukino herself had no real interest in music at all, but because her family was wealthy—and because her mother had once been a moderately well-known pianist—she'd been forced into it. Perhaps out of frustration over never achieving greater success in her own musical career, Chiaki Yukinoshita had poured money and effort into molding Yukino into a world-class pianist.
No matter how nice her mother's words sounded, they all boiled down to one thing: "The dream I failed to achieve—you, my daughter, must achieve it for me! Whether you like music or not!"
The heavy, suffocating burden of constant training didn't make Yukino love music—it only filled her with boredom. Every time she looked at the piano, she felt nothing but weariness, and an urge to get practice over with as soon as possible.
Yui Yuigahama, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.
She possessed incredible natural talent for music. Even without any formal lessons, the songs she sang purely by instinct could outshine the voices of many who had studied professionally.
But because she'd never had access to proper training, it was, bluntly put, as if sixteen years of innate talent had gone to waste.
Sixteen years. Sixteen precious years—for a musician, that was nothing short of a tragic loss. Yet even so, Yui had no intention of pursuing music seriously.
Did she like singing? Yes—very much.
It was obvious during their practice sessions. No matter how tired she was, the moment she began to sing, she would throw herself into it completely, her emotions fully immersed. For her, singing wasn't tiring—it was a source of joy, a kind of spiritual comfort.
But no matter how much she loved it, Yui would never study music formally. The reason was simple—money.
Yukino knew a little about Yui's family situation. Her father had died years ago in a car accident, and since then, her mother had been the sole provider, running a small cake shop to support the family. Bearing the financial burden of daily life and paying for two daughters' tuition—Yukino could easily imagine how difficult that was.
And studying music professionally? The yearly expenses alone were far beyond what an ordinary family could afford.
Yui wouldn't—couldn't—think about studying music. To even suggest it would be out of touch with reality. To phrase it politely, it would be "naïve." To be blunt, it would be "why don't they just eat meat gruel?"
Every time Yukino taught Yui, she often thought—if only she could give Yui all the training and musical resources she'd been given as a child, then Yui's singing now would be on an entirely different level—like heaven and earth apart.
When Yukino suggested that they should focus all their attention on rehearsal right now, Kotomi showed not even the slightest trace of nervousness. The moment Yukino finished speaking, Kotomi immediately asked:
"Yukino, for the celebration dinner—do you want sushi or teppanyaki?"
"Teppa—wait, did you even hear what I just said?"
Yukino instinctively started to answer but caught herself before finishing the word teppanyaki, realizing that Kotomi had completely derailed the conversation. She quickly tried to correct herself.
"I want teppanyaki too!" Yui Yuigahama raised her hand excitedly.
"You two… really have no sense of tension at all, do you? Tomorrow's the culture festival," Yukino said, exasperated.
"What's there to be nervous about? We're not the first ones performing anyway."
Kotomi was utterly calm. She even began thinking about what time would be best to hold their celebration dinner after the festival—when there would be fewer other customers at the restaurant.
If they were going to book a private room, it'd be best to go when the place was quiet, after all.
That way, they could really enjoy it in peace~
Yukino was briefly stunned by Kotomi's reasoning. She wanted to refute her but couldn't find the words. After opening and closing her mouth a few times, she simply gave up.
After chatting and joking about the celebration dinner for a while, it was getting late, and this time, Megumi Kato truly intended to leave.
"Yui, you and Yukino head to the second music room first. Help me push my suitcase, okay?"
Kotomi said before following Megumi out of the classroom. She planned to walk Megumi to the school gate, then head straight to the music room.
"Got it!" Yui replied.
Kotomi Izumi and Megumi Kato walked side by side down the school corridor.
"As the band's leader, you really don't seem nervous at all," Megumi said with a small laugh. She had actually been thinking of ways to help Kotomi relax, but as it turned out, Kotomi didn't need any of that. Not only was she calm before their big performance, she was already thinking about where to eat afterward.
Kotomi shrugged and smiled. "What's there to be nervous about? It's just a high school culture festival performance, not some big commercial event. If we do well, great—we'll get applause. If not, well, it's not like we'll lose points or money."
"Sometimes, you really don't seem like a high schooler at all. You feel more like an adult," Megumi said sincerely.
Since she'd started dating Kotomi, Megumi had lost count of how many times she'd felt that way. A single offhand comment or casual gesture from Kotomi would make her feel as though they weren't even the same age. Megumi was still very much a high school girl—but Kotomi already felt like a grown woman.
Maybe it was just her imagination, but sometimes Megumi couldn't help wondering—did Kotomi ever think she was childish?
That thought had always lingered quietly in the back of her mind.
"Kotomi," Megumi said softly as they neared the school gate.
"If you really plan on having that celebration dinner, I think I'll find an excuse not to go. You, Yukino, and Yui should go together and enjoy it."
In the past, whenever Kotomi invited her somewhere, Megumi always agreed without hesitation. But this time, she refused.
To Kotomi, however, it wasn't surprising at all. She nodded naturally and replied calmly:
"Alright, I understand."
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