"I was just surprised that Taki actually apologized so straightforwardly. Just wanted to express my shock."
The green-eyed girl who had suddenly appeared was the same one Kyo had seen earlier at the request board in RiNG. Back then, she had been facing away, so Kyo hadn't gotten a good look at her face. Now, she could see her clearly.
The girl bent down to pick up the milk pudding she had dropped, then walked over and took a seat on a barstool at the counter, just like Kyo. She placed the panda-patterned package directly in front of Taki.
Meanwhile, the instrument case she had been carrying all this time was set down beside her on the floor.
"Consider this milk pudding a reward for finally learning how to be honest, Taki."
"Ha—?!"
That was the loudest "Ha?" Kyo had heard from Taki all day.
Taki crossed her arms, the awkward hesitation from earlier completely wiped away, replaced by an outright scowl. She glared at the girl with fierce intensity, but the newcomer remained perfectly composed, showing no sign of being intimidated. In fact, her demeanor was entirely unchanged from when she had been teasing just moments ago.
She's probably one of those deadpan humor types—the kind that says the most absurd things with a completely straight face.
Kyo blinked, watching their interaction closely—one person launching a one-sided attack, while the other coolly deflected with teasing remarks.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Yahata Umiri, a friend of Taki's. Just call me Umiri."
The girl introduced herself as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her voice steady and unhurried, completely devoid of the usual awkwardness that came with meeting someone for the first time.
Another cool type, huh? Just like Taki. Guess the saying is true—birds of a feather flock together.
Taking advantage of the moment as Umiri sat down, Kyo quickly took another look at her.
She appeared to be the same age as Taki and herself, but her choice of clothing was bold—an extremely short black skirt that barely reached her thighs, revealing her long, toned legs without a hint of shyness. Her upper half was equally striking—a bright red top beneath a studded black leather jacket, screaming rock star energy.
Combined with the slight but steady smile on her face, Umiri exuded the confidence of someone older and more experienced. The way she had casually introduced herself, as well as how she had carried herself earlier at the request board…
This one's a pro.
Kyo could tell at a glance—this girl had played as a support musician for other bands before. And judging from her presence alone, she was terrifyingly strong.
"Nice to meet you, Umiri. I'm Kikukawa Kyo, former rhythm guitarist of Taki's old band. You can call me Kyo, or Kikukawa, just like Taki does."
Kyo didn't hesitate in the slightest, smoothly exchanging introductions.
"So, Kyo, you play an instrument too?"
Umiri's pale green eyes landed on Kyo's hands, which were wrapped around her coffee cup—soft, fair fingers that bore no visible signs of regular guitar practice.
"Apologies, I didn't notice earlier."
"Well, I haven't practiced in a long time."
The wording of that was a little… delicate.
Kyo's expression remained unchanged, and she made no effort to hide her hands from Umiri's gaze. Back when she was in the band, she had barely practiced to begin with. And now, she hadn't touched a guitar in ages. It made perfect sense that Umiri wouldn't have noticed.
But somehow, coming from Umiri, it felt like there was an extra layer of meaning hidden beneath the words.
Not exactly friendly, huh?
But why would she be hostile toward someone she had just met?
The answer probably had something to do with the still-fuming Taki standing beside them.
Did she only start acting like this after finding out that Kyo had been in Taki's old band?
If that was the case, then Umiri and Taki must be pretty close. Close enough that Umiri felt the need to step in for her over band-related matters.
A potential third party with a grudge—but Kyo wasn't flustered. She only had one goal today: Taki. Whatever distractions popped up along the way, she could simply ignore them.
Even as she kept up the conversation with Umiri, Kyo remained keenly aware of Taki's reactions.
After Umiri's earlier teasing, Taki was still scowling and rolling her eyes, but Kyo could tell—her stance, the tension in her arms—she had already relaxed quite a bit.
Originally, Kyo had planned to use coffee as a way to gradually close the distance between them after their time apart. But with Umiri's unexpected entrance, that process had become much easier.
"Well then," Kyo suddenly straightened her posture, her expression turning serious. "Time to taste Taki's coffee."
She picked up the cup with an air of great importance—despite the thick blob of foam ruining the latte art so badly that she still couldn't tell what pattern Taki had been aiming for.
Just because Umiri had helped speed things along didn't mean she was going to skip the coffee.
Free drinks? No way she was passing that up.
"Wait—"
Taki had just started to protest when Kyo swiftly lifted the coffee cup to her lips. The moment she heard the first syllable of "Wait", she abruptly stopped—then deliberately gave the cup a little shake, as if her hand had trembled.
"Tch."
Clicking her tongue, Taki—who had been the cause of Kyo's burned hand earlier—sighed in exasperation and waved a hand dismissively. "Do whatever you want. Just so you know, it's a failed attempt. It's nowhere near as good as Ririko's."
"Hehe, come on now. Ririko-neesan has been making coffee for ages, but you only just started. Even if you set high standards for yourself, don't put too much pressure on it."
Kyo's lips were already touching the rim of the cup, and she let out a muffled hum. At this close range, she could clearly smell the espresso and the heat of the steamed milk.
"Besides, I'm not picky about drinks. No matter how bad it tastes, I'll finish it properly."
As if to prove her point, Kyo took a sip. Though she only drank in small, measured mouthfuls, she let it flow down in a slow, drawn-out motion—like a beluga whale taking in water, savoring every bit of flavor as she sipped.
By the time she placed the cup back down, half of the coffee was already gone.
"So? How is it?"
Despite calling it a failed attempt, Taki couldn't hide her anticipation. She was waiting—hoping—to hear even the slightest bit of praise.
Kyo smacked her lips thoughtfully, her expression turning… complicated. Then, she spoke:
"The flavor has a lot of layers."
Umiri blinked. She wasn't exactly an expert on coffee, more used to drinking convenient, ready-made milk puddings. But from the way Kyo said it, it sounded like a compliment?
"Is that… a good thing?"
"No."
Taki answered for her—then fell silent, as if disappointed in herself.
"Taki only made a simple cappuccino, which consists of just espresso, milk, and foam," Kyo began, slipping effortlessly into her drinks expert mode. "Even though there are three components, the drink should only have two layers—the thick milk foam on top and the blended coffee-milk mixture beneath it.
"The first issue is that you poured the milk too slowly, which caused the foam to separate. In the end, it all clumped together on the top layer. The first sip was practically all foam. Even in a cappuccino—where thick foam is expected—some of it should still integrate with the coffee below."
As Kyo reached the midpoint of her analysis, the trace of disappointment on Taki's face faded, replaced by deep concentration as she took in every critique.
"The second issue is that your pitcher was too close to the cup when pouring. If you don't raise the height a bit, the milk and foam don't mix properly when they land, making the flavors too distinct—rich coffee and sweet milk, but with a sharp contrast rather than a smooth blend."
"That said, the texture of your foam is fine, and the espresso extraction doesn't have any obvious flaws. Those parts are solid."
"Alright, Kyo, you don't have to add that last part. This coffee is a failure—I'm not so stubborn that I won't admit it."
Taki had already picked up an empty cup and pitcher, mimicking the motions of pouring as she processed Kyo's critique.
Kyo watched her intently, resting her chin on one hand.
It was obvious—next time Taki practiced, she'd push her standards even higher.
Kyo remained quiet for a moment.
There was something else she hadn't said out loud.
Drinking this cup of coffee, made personally by Taki, Kyo could feel the emotions behind it.
Nervousness. Determination. And… anxiety.
The first two were easy to understand—any beginner would be nervous and eager to do well. But the anxiety, the weight behind it—that was something else.
Why was Taki pushing herself so hard? To the point where it made her feel anxious?
It might not be the key to convincing her to rebuild the band.
But Kyo still wanted to know.