Chapter 3

The practice space for the bass section was a classroom adjacent to the music room. The writing on the plastic plaque above the door read YEAR 3 CLASS 3, and it was hazy with accumulated dust. “Bass instruments are so big. I thought I’d try to ease the burden a little, y’know?” said Asuka, stroking her instrument with a finger. The silver euphonium was evidently Asuka’s personal instrument, and larger bass instruments could be quite expensive. “Starting in June, practice will be every weekday until seven PM. Come October, we’ll end at six thirty. Basically we’ll have to start wrapping up when the bell rings.” The schedule was about the same as it had been at Kumiko’s middle school. Evidently the routine of weekday practice wouldn’t change much in high school. “Basically, normal practices will be here. We won’t do much ensemble practice until a performance is coming up, so in the meantime, practice the sheet music beginning with your instrument’s fundamentals.” “How do we do the fundamentals?” asked Hazuki, the complete novice. Midori, meanwhile, seemed mostly uninterested in Asuka’s instructions and stared out the window. Takuya was vaguely watching as Midori reached her hand out toward the window, murmuring that she could see the sakura blossoms from here. “It’s things like long tones. Beginners especially need to work on producing a steady sound.” “What’s…a long tone?” “Ah, I’ll explain about stuff like that later. First let’s introduce everybody.” Asuka stood energetically and gave the lectern a hearty smack. Going by the “Ow!” she immediately cried afterward, she’d apparently hit it harder than she meant to. Takuya wordlessly handed her the chill pack from his lunch box. “Uh, so moving right along—introductions!” A girl who was lying facedown on her desk lifted her head up with sluggish reluctance. Asuka pointed right between her eyes. “This sleepy so-and-so is Natsuki Nakagawa, second-year eupho!” “…How’s it going.” Natsuki, rather impressively, moved her head just from the neck up. The whites of her rather intense eyes were just visible as they flicked up. “And over here we have Riko Nagase, on the tuba!” “Hi there,” said the girl in question with an affable smile. She seemed quite a bit easier to get along with than the previous upperclassman. “There are seven of us in the bass section: Me, Gotou, Natsuki, Riko, and the three first-years. Up through last year we had more students on eupho and contrabass, but they graduated or quit.” “It kinda seems like there aren’t very many second-year students in the club. It seemed sorta weird to me.” “You think so?” said Kumiko, to which Midori nodded. “There were thirty-five third-years, eighteen second-years, and twenty-eight first-years…right?” “That’s right—you’ve got a good memory.” Asuka nodded, impressed. It was true—there did seem to be a significant shortage of second-year students in the band. “Why are there so few?” Kumiko asked, carried away by her own curiosity. For just an instant, Asuka’s dark eyes cooled. Behind the red frames of her glasses, her long eyelashes swept down, then back up. Her lips pursed slightly. “Well—” “No reason,” said Takuya suddenly, cutting Asuka off. “It’s nothing first-years need to worry about. You’re better off not knowing.” Kumiko flinched away as the much taller boy looked down at her. There was a sharp light in his normally placid eyes. Midori made a small sound as she hid behind Kumiko. Hazuki alone made a sound of irritation as she pouted. “What’s that all about? You’re being creepy.” “Hazuki, wait—” started Kumiko, hastily trying to get her to stop. Natsuki smiled. “Don’t worry about it. He just can’t stand up to Tanaka, that’s all.” “Shut up, Nakagawa.” Takuya shot Natsuki a glare. “Oooh, scary. I’m only telling the truth.” Riko hesitantly tugged on Natsuki’s sleeve. Natsuki regarded her classmate briefly, then sniffed in irritation before sulkily flopping over on her desk again. Takuya huffed a resigned sigh, and Riko looked hesitantly over to Asuka. Evidently the second-year students didn’t get along very well. “Now, now, no need for everyone to get all prickly,” said Asuka, clapping her hands briskly to clear the air. “Anyway, we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, so let’s pick instruments. I figure nobody already has their own personal instrument?” “Personal instrument? Do you mean one we own?” “Yep, yep. Some people do, but usually not in the bass section. A lot of trumpets and flutes do, though.” “Oh, okay,” said Hazuki, nodding. The bass section was packed with large instruments, so students tended not to buy their own, because they couldn’t easily bring them home. They were expensive, too, with some costing well over one million yen. Kumiko had always eyed the easily totable flutes and clarinets with envy. “We keep our instruments in the room next to the music classroom, so now we’ll go over and get everybody set up with one,” said Asuka as she stood to leave. Kumiko and the others hastily followed. Directly outside the music classroom was a large sink, and students in the trumpet section were busily washing their mouthpieces there, Reina among them. When she was in middle school, her parents had bought her the gold-plated trumpet she was holding, and it was visibly different from the other students’ instruments. “Oh, Kumiko.” Kumiko stopped at hearing her name called. Reina glanced briefly in Asuka’s direction and cocked her head. “Eupho again?” Kumiko nodded honestly back. “Yup, that’s right.” “Hm. Okay,” murmured a blank-faced Reina before walking away. “She a friend of yours?” Hazuki asked. “Yeah, we went to the same middle school.” “She’s a trumpet, right? She’s so pretty! Nice chest, too. Easy on the eyes all around!” Next to Hazuki stood an enchanted Midori, her cheeks blushing red. Hazuki may have been cute, but she sounded like a dirty old man. Asuka poked her head out of the instrument room and chided the stragglers. “C’mon, stop being silly and get in here!” Kumiko and the others hurried into the room, whose dusty scent tickled their noses. Hazuki murmured with fascination at the orderly stacks of instruments in their cases. “Whoa, so this is the instrument room?” “No need to sound so impressed,” said Asuka with a sardonic smile. Next to the door were four tuba cases. In the middle of the room, five euphoniums sheepishly huddled in the bottom of some storage shelves, and two contrabasses leaned against the tubas. There were obviously more instruments stored here than they needed, given the size of the band. At some point in the past, the club had probably been larger. “I’ve got my own instrument so my case is different, but all the other euphs are the same. Make sure you don’t take Natsuki’s. Which, by the way, is the one with the weird little bear charm,” said Asuka, pointing at one of the cases. And indeed a small, faded yellow bear figurine dangled from it. At a glance, the black cases all appeared identical, so to avoid problems, the students marked them in various ways. Asuka’s instrument case had a blue ribbon tied around its carrying handle. “I’d recommend the second instrument from the right. The fourth piston’s on the bottom so it’s easy to press, same as mine. It’s gold-plated, although it’s pretty well used.” “Oh, okay. I’ll use that one, then,” said Kumiko, reaching out to take the recommended instrument. Its plating had been worn off here and there, but it was still much nicer than her middle school euphonium had been. “I’ll take this one!” said Midori delightedly as she stood beside Kumiko, who was still closely examining her own instrument. Midori had set her heart on a contrabass. “I’m gonna name him…George!” “G-George?” “Yeah! George!” said Midori triumphantly. Hazuki tilted her head in confusion. “Do you normally name instruments?” “Sure, why not? It’s your precious music partner!” Hazuki looked doubtfully over to Kumiko. “Yeah, plenty of people do give them names,” said Kumiko. “George, huh?” said Asuka, folding her arms. “You’ve got good taste.” “Thank you so much!” said Midori, pressing her palms to her cheeks and sandwiching her face between them bashfully. Standing between them, Hazuki chose her instrument. “I’ll take this one.” The tuba case had wheels that made it easier to move, since it was too heavy to just carry around. Hazuki received a thorough lecture from Asuka on how to open the case, and she bobbed her head in serious nods as she took it all in. She seems happy, thought Kumiko as she took out her own instrument. Unlike Asuka’s, it had a sort of sleepy look to it. Kumiko wondered if she ought to name it. She vaguely mulled the idea over, tracing her finger along its surface. Her still-childish features reflected back at her in the dull golden metal. “Eupho again?” called out a voice from behind her, shortly after Kumiko had gotten off the train at the Keihan Uji Station. She didn’t bother looking back, and soon the sound of trotting footsteps approached. “Aw, c’mon. Why the silent treatment?” Feeling a hand grabbing her shoulder, Kumiko finally turned to look. It was, of course, Shuuichi. The English vocabulary workbook they’d been given was in his hand, and he was waving at her with it. Kumiko sighed dramatically, her brows knitting slightly. “I’m not ignoring you.” “Liar.” “No, it’s true,” said Kumiko, closing the paperback book she was holding. Midori had lent it to her. It was a crazy, lurid novel set in Tokyo, about boys and girls in some kind of game being forced to kill each other off in order to survive. Despite her adorably childish features, apparently Midori was crazy for this sort of thing. “Speaking of which, why trombone?” “What about it?” “Why’d you pick it? You played French horn in middle school.” “Ah.” Shuuichi chuckled. The thick workbook in his hand wobbled. Kumiko watched the cheap fluorescent price tag quiver. She realized there would be a test tomorrow and exhaled quietly. “I always wanted to play the trombone more than the horn. In middle school we played rock-paper-scissors for it, and I lost. But this time, I won.” “I think the horn’s good, too, though.” “Yeah, I liked it fine, but c’mon—the trombone’s just so cool!” “I guess it is.” Kumiko liked the trombone herself. Unlike all the other brass instruments, it had a slide the player used to adjust the pitch. There was something appealing about that particular trait. “Reina’s doing trumpet again. Just like in middle school.” “Oh, Kousaka? Well, she was always obsessed with the trumpet.” Shuuichi had been in the same middle school concert band as Reina. That said, they weren’t especially close, being only acquaintances at best. The middle school band had had nearly a hundred members, so many of them knew little more than the names of their fellow students. So long as they weren’t in your section, there wasn’t much need to get to know them. “I don’t know. I get kind of a weird vibe from the Kitauji band.” “Really?” said Kumiko, cocking her head curiously. She’d only done one sectional practice so far but hadn’t felt anything particularly awkward in the bass section. Shuuichi’s shoulders drooped, and his gaze flicked over Uji River as though searching for an escape. The setting sun scattered flecks of brilliance across the river’s surface. He straightened, seemingly trying to peer into the river’s depths, but the water was too dark to see into. “Well, sure, you’re in the Bass Kingdom. That’s Tanaka’s territory.” “What the heck’s the ‘Bass Kingdom’?” “I don’t really know, either, but some of the seniors were talking about it. That since Tanaka rules it, it will never fall.” “Does that mean the other sections will?” “Look, just between you and me,” said Shuuichi with an exhausted-looking smile, “there are hardly any second-years in the Kitauji band, right? Do you know why?” “Oh yeah, we started to talk about that over lunch. But Gotou made us stop.” It’s nothing first-years need to worry about, he’d said. Kumiko couldn’t help but sigh at the memory. He’d been obviously displeased. Was the topic really so upsetting? “Yeah, apparently they had a huge fight with the third-years. There used to be over thirty of them, but something like half of them dropped out, I guess.” “What’d they fight over?” “You’ll never believe it,” said Shuuichi. Whatever it was, it had him fairly worked up. His normally half-lidded eyes were wide with excitement. “It’s really frustrating, but none of the third-years were practicing! Even though they all sucked! And they had the nerve to yell at the first-years not to ditch practice. So that was why the second-years—well, they were first-years, then, but—that’s why they had this crazy problem with their seniors.” “Really?” was all Kumiko could say in response. She’d never picked up on anything like that in the bass section. Asuka, a third-year student, loved the eupho more than anyone else and would happily—for whatever reason—play it nonstop. If anything, it felt like the second-year, Natsuki, would be the obvious candidate for skipping practice. Kumiko said so, at which Shuuichi smiled in surrender. “Yeah, well, Tanaka’s another story. The president, and Kaori, too. They’re all exceptions.” “Kaori—you mean the trumpet?” “Yeah. She’s really nice, really hot, and practices like crazy. I wonder if we could trade our section leader for her,” said Shuuichi with a serious face. “I know Mr. Taki’s talking about going to Nationals, but I bet it’ll be impossible so long as those third-years are around. They’re holding everybody back. Even though the new first-years are all really good.” With a faraway gaze, he murmured, “Man, I really wanna go to Nationals just once.” Kumiko wondered if he was thinking about their middle school competition. Despite having set an appearance at Nationals as their goal, Kitachu had only made it to the regional level. They’d done their absolute best, but their dreams had failed to come true. The reality was that only a handful of people ever saw their efforts come to anything. The children who slipped free from God’s hand became cynically calculating as their failures piled up. There was no need to stand and fight—you could just run away. It was an easier way to live. Kumiko exhaled softly to avoid her own thoughts. If your efforts were never going to be rewarded, there was no point in working hard to begin with. You could save yourself the pain. Playing just well enough, having a little bit of fun—what was wrong with a band like that? But there was no way she could say anything like that to Shuuichi. Every year in May, all the various high school concert bands in Kyoto would assemble for a parade in Taiyou Park. The bands would perform while marching around the spacious facility. The park hosted a variety of musical events, and the marching festival was an established annual tradition. “The…SunFest?” asked Hazuki, her head tilted curiously and her arms wrapped around a tuba that seemed in no danger of making any noise. “That’s right.” Asuka nodded. They were at the day’s after-school sectional practice. “To be more specific, the Twenty-Third Annual Sunrise Festival.” Midori nodded. “They’ve been doing it for twenty-three years,” she added, sounding impressed. She was expertly applying rosin to her bow. The bow was strung with horsehair, which tended to slip over the bass’s strings, and it was this rosin—a solid substance made from sticky pine resin—that gave the hair good traction. Without rosin, the bow would just glide over the strings and produce no noise at all. Beginners tended to have trouble knowing how much rosin to use, often applying too much, which resulted in a dry, rustling tone. “Have we decided on music yet?” Asuka nodded grandly in response to Takuya’s question. “Yup. Here,” she said, handing out sheet music. The title: “Can’t Buy Me Love.” “This year, only the first-year students who already have experience with their instruments will be performing, so no sheet music for you, Hazuki.” “Oh, okay,” said Hazuki, the sole nonrecipient of the new music. Her shoulders sagged a little. Kumiko suddenly felt vaguely villainous for having received sheet music. She shared a private look with Midori. Still, Hazuki couldn’t yet produce a proper tone from her tuba, so Asuka’s decision was understandable. “What’s Hazuki going to do for the festival?” Natsuki grinned. “Oh, y’know—the annual mystery march.” “M-mystery march…?” Hazuki looked uncertainly to Kumiko. “Don’t worry about it. You just have to carry pom-poms and march behind the band,” said Riko with a reassuring smile. “Pom-poms…” murmured Hazuki, looking increasingly uneasy. Takuya watched Hazuki worriedly. He’d opened, then closed his mouth several times during the conversation. Apparently he didn’t have much of a way with words. “There aren’t many beginners in our section this year, but there’s lots in the other sections, so don’t worry. Last year Riko and Natsuki were marching.” “You guys were beginners?” Relief softened Hazuki’s expression. “Yeah,” nodded Natsuki. “Riko’s so unathletic that she never really got the marching part down, though.” “C’mon! You didn’t have to bring that up!” said Riko, face reddening as she smacked Natsuki’s back. “Ha-ha, sorry, sorry.” After coming to band practice for several days, Kumiko had realized that Riko and Natsuki didn’t get along too badly. Or rather, they did get along—and quite well. Somehow they’d seemed sort of tense at first, but apparently that had been Kumiko’s misunderstanding. Why had it seemed that way, that first day? She thought back to their first sectional practice and rubbed her chin. It had only been a few days, but the memory was already becoming vague, and try as she might to catch it, it slipped from her grasp. “So, what kind of song is ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’?” Asuka’s eyes lit up at Hazuki’s question. Aw, crap, thought Kumiko—but Asuka had already started talking. “So, this is a jazz-style arrangement of a single that hit the charts in March 1964, from a British band called the Beatles. You’ve at least heard them played in English class and stuff, right? Now, this version of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ doesn’t start with the original’s intro, but instead comes on strong right where Paul McCartney would be singing the title line. British presales for the single topped a million copies, with two million presold in America, making it the first single in history to sell more than one million copies on reservation alone. Also—” “Okay, okay. I’ll read the rest on Wikipedia later.” Takuya’s interruption brought Asuka’s rapid-fire monologue to a halt. Asuka was a very good leader, but Kumiko wished that she would do something about her tendency to get started talking and become impossible to stop. Asuka shrugged. “Well, anyway, we’ve got about a month, so I think it’ll be fine. Once this is over, it’ll be smooth sailing on to the competition.” “The competition,” groaned Takuya. “I wonder how it’ll go this year.” He looked out the window. From the third-floor classroom, all they could see was thickly overgrown greenery, thanks to the large, forested hill that sat directly behind the school. Stirred by the breeze, the blossoms quivered as though giggling at some joke about the students they watched. The sun had been out in full force just moments earlier but now hid behind a cloud, its brilliant rays suddenly dimmed. A moist scent tickled Kumiko’s nose. There would be rain soon. “Mr. Taki told us to assemble for practice after we can properly play together as an ensemble. I figure we’ve been given about a week, tops, so let’s do our best until then.” “Okay,” nodded Kumiko in response. Ensemble practice. What kind of instruction would Noboru Taki give? Something about his features—or maybe his gentle demeanor—made him very popular with students. Especially the girls. His regular-curriculum music class was widely coveted, and any student who got into it considered themselves lucky. Kumiko’s homeroom teacher, Michie, was also fairly popular. She had the bizarre nickname “Ms. Drill Sergeant,” and while she came off as unbelievably strict, she was known for being very nice to students who took their work seriously. The concert band had lucked out in its faculty directors. Even students in other clubs and teams at Kitauji said so. Kumiko had never seen Mr. Taki teach before, but she was sure it was going to be a lot of fun. Though she had no evidence, she held the certainty in her mind as she blew through her mouthpiece. Her instrument vibrated, loosing a long, penetrating note. The first ensemble practice was held on a Sunday, about a week after they’d been given their sheet music. Before the practice could start, the desks and chairs in the music room had to be moved into the hallway, in order to fit the club’s eighty-odd students and their music stands, plus the various percussion instruments. Kumiko and the others in her section brought a small platform up from the instrument storage room and arranged it in the bass section’s corner of the music room. Woodwind instruments were in the front, with brass in the back, and the various percussion instruments at the edges, situated such that they could see the conductor. Since the music classroom had no soundproofing, they hung old blankets from the walls to provide some semblance of deadening, since the cloth absorbed sound. The beginner students hadn’t gotten to where they could properly play their sheet music yet, but since this was the first ensemble practice, they were attending along with the rest of the band—not to play, but to watch and learn. “Today is our first ensemble practice,” said Taki with a smile as he took his seat at the front, facing the students. Kumiko quietly tried to calm her nerves as she fidgeted with the bucket by her foot with the tip of her shoe. Her heart was pounding. She’d been in countless ensemble practices during middle school, but this was her first time in high school. “So, did you all do as I asked? Did you practice well enough to play as an ensemble?” Taki’s question was answered by an uneven scattering of student voices. Taki wore a somewhat pained smile, then picked up his baton. “Well, then. We’ll start by tuning.” At his direction, the band members played a tone. After practicing some simple basics for a while, they moved on to “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Taki raised his baton. The band all held their instruments ready. Kumiko, too, took up her eupho. She readied her fingers over the valves and felt a chill. Taki took a breath, then called out in a clear voice. “One, two, one, two, three, four—” The percussion section laid down the song’s rhythm as Taki’s baton sliced down, and the brass sounded, sending their notes flying over the beat. The uptempo song made you want to just get up and start moving. Kumiko’s eyes followed the baton with intense focus. The band played well up until the middle, but halfway through, the brass section fell out of sync with the percussion section’s rhythm. The slight incongruity blossomed, and all at once the various parts fell into disarray. The melody scattered into clashing notes. Bass and treble parted ways over irreconcilable differences. The messy sound could no longer even generously be described as “music.” “Okay, that’s enough.” Taki forcibly brought the playing to a halt. Students removed their mouths from their instruments, embarrassed smiles on their faces. They were all perfectly aware there was nothing to be proud of in what they’d just played. Kumiko, too, rested her instrument in her lap. “Ugh, that was awful,” she heard Natsuki murmur. “What was that?” asked Taki, his faint smile still in place as he tilted his head curiously. His voice was as calm as it always was, but there was a faint, sharp edge to it now. Kumiko could practically feel the temperature in the room drop. “President.” Ogasawara scrambled wildly as she summoned an answer. “Y-yes! Um, what?” “My instructions were clear, weren’t they? That you were only to assemble once your playing was at a level where you could perform as an ensemble.” “Y-yes. You did say that.” “And this is the result?” Taki’s expression had not changed, which made it worse. Ogasawara seemed somehow even smaller than she already was. Kumiko could hear Natsuki swallow nervously next to her. “What do you all think ensemble practice is for?” Nobody answered the director’s question. An unpleasant silence fell over the room. Taki sighed with exasperation, then pointed to the trombone section. “What do you think?” “M-me?” the chosen student stammered, obviously rattled. The familiar voice obviously belonged to Shuuichi. “Um, isn’t it so we can practice playing together the way we would for a real performance…?” “Right. That’s what I think, too.” Shuuichi sighed in relief, perhaps heartened to hear agreement from Taki. But the nervous energy in the classroom had not dissipated. Kumiko’s stomach clenched from the weight of it, and she bit her lip. “But we can’t practice as an ensemble like this. Each part is too riddled with faults. An ensemble can recover from a small mistake, but when your playing is this poor, the piece itself simply falls apart. Aren’t you embarrassed to be performing this badly when you play as an ensemble?” The students recoiled at the openly harsh criticism. “I hadn’t thought this was the extent of your ability. It’s disgraceful.” At this, a student toward the back of the room stood up. A third-year trombone. “Now wait just a minute. I don’t think it’s fair to talk to us like that.” Taki gave the student a look. He chuckled softly through his nose, his slight smile unmoved. “Is that so?” “It’s not like we were just playing around, and we did practice!” “You weren’t playing around? I see,” Taki said and quietly narrowed his eyes. With a slow, deliberate movement, he plucked the baton from the lectern. He turned around the metronome sitting there and adjusted the tempo. When he pulled his hand away, it began to sound a quick tempo: tick, tick, tick. “Trombones, I’d like you to begin playing to the metronome from where you come in. It’s okay to ignore the percussion parts. Understood?” The trombone players readied their instruments. Taki waited until their bells were all raised, then counted off. “One, two, three, four—” The melody arrived on his count. The section’s playing was scattershot right from the start. There were probably several players in the section whose timing was off. Taki didn’t so much as raise his eyebrow at the messy performance. “Thank you, that’s enough.” The trombones uneasily lowered their instruments at his cue. “What do you all think of this performance?” Taki’s gaze swept through an arc covering the entire classroom, but nobody met his eyes. He sighed and smiled a somewhat frustrated smile. “My thought was ‘This isn’t just the trombones.’ The other sections are just as incapable of even playing as a unit to support their parts’ performance. Why do you imagine that is?” The stifling, tense atmosphere of the classroom clung to Kumiko’s skin. “I made sure to come and visit each of your sectional practices over the past week. You all seemed to be having a delightful time. I could hear your chatting echoing in the halls. There were some rooms where I didn’t hear a single instrument playing.” Students in the sections around her wore decidedly uncomfortable expressions on their faces. Apparently Taki had hit the bull’s-eye. Kumiko suddenly remembered her conversation with Shuuichi the previous week. Apparently it was just like he’d said—Kitauji’s concert band didn’t take practice all that seriously. “I don’t necessarily want you to kill yourselves practicing. But you were the ones who decided that you wanted to make it to Nationals. So this is a problem. You must be able to achieve basic preparation for ensemble performance during your sectional practices. This is quite troubling,” he said, spitting the words out evenly, despite the smile he still wore. “I don’t know what it is that you’ve misunderstood, but I don’t come to school on my days off just to play around with you all. I come to teach. So what is this, then? The performance you just gave is not even ready for my instruction. And I would prefer not to waste my precious weekends.” Kumiko heard a girl’s sniffling sobs from a corner of the classroom. Taki’s expression, nevertheless, was unmoved. His eyes assumed the form of a smile, but their color was cold—cold enough to send chills down Kumiko’s spine. “President.” “Y-yes?” Ogasawara’s voice cracked, but nobody laughed. “It’s only two, but I’m ending today’s ensemble practice. Please practice as sections for the rest of your time today.” “Understood.” “Also, parent-teacher meetings begin next week, which means classes will end at noon. That will give you all plenty of time to practice, so I’ll be scheduling the next ensemble for Wednesday at two. Will that do?” “O-of course!” “All right. Everyone, please make sure your playing is at basic ensemble level by then. Is that understood?” There was no answer. The band was frozen, unmoving. Taki’s smile never wavered as he spoke again. “Your response?” This prompted a scattered, hesitant “Yes, sir,” from the assembled students. Kumiko said nothing. The two simple words caught in her throat. Her mouth was dry from nerves. Taki collected his sheet music and left the classroom. Nobody moved. Nobody said anything. A strange silence had fallen over them. For some reason, Kumiko grabbed her own wrist and squeezed. She looked at the white marks left behind on her slightly tanned skin, finally exhaling as she did so. Her wrist hurt a little. After a fair amount of time had passed since Taki had left the classroom, a single student finally stood. “What’s his problem?” It was one of the seniors, a French horn, who had finally cut the tension restraining the room. Immediately after her remark, students filled the room with one complaint after another. “He’s, like, so annoying.” “What was that even? So awkward.” “Pisses me off. What’s the point?” Grievances clouded the air, becoming a din that thrummed against Kumiko’s eardrums. Her brow reflexively furrowed. From the center of the room, Asuka took charge. “All right, all right! Enough complaining! Everybody head back to their section’s practice rooms! It’s time to practice, practice, practice!” At her feet was crouched a seemingly withered Ogasawara. Kumiko wondered which one of them was supposed to be the club president. “C’mon, Kumiko, let’s get going,” prompted Hazuki, slapping Kumiko on the back, and they headed out of the music classroom. Kumiko glanced over her shoulder and met the eyes of Reina, who was hugging her trumpet as though it were something gravely important. Fringed with long lashes, her lovely eyes glittered obsidian. And for some reason, they seemed to smolder with rage. There were a variety of routes from Keihan Uji Station to Kumiko’s home. Typically she took the shortest route, crossing Uji Bridge and continuing along Byoudou-in Avenue. Today, however, she didn’t feel like it. Aren’t you embarrassed? Taki’s words to the concert band continued to smolder in Kumiko’s heart. The heaviness of it seemed enough to collapse her lungs, and movement itself felt oppressive. On days when she was this depressed, Kumiko always made a stop before going home. She exited the station and walked alongside the river, and soon the entrance of Uji Shrine came into view. To the right of the torii gate could be seen the vermilion-painted Asagiri Bridge, and at its entrance was a small monument: a statue of a man and a woman wearing kimono and sitting in repose. They were the Lady Ukifune and Prince Niou, from The Tale of Genji. This area of Kyoto had been the setting for the final ten chapters of the literary classic, hence the monument commemorating them. That said, Kumiko had only ever read the excerpts of The Tale of Genji that showed up in her school textbooks, so she had no idea who Ukifune or Niou were. Kumiko sat down on the river’s embankment and stretched her legs. Gazing at the brilliant red of the Asagiri Bridge, she felt suddenly apathetic about it all. The river’s quiet murmur held a peaceful stillness that was decidedly comforting. Time seemed to slow, and the second hand of her wristwatch seemed to tick out each second only with great reluctance. “Hey,” called a voice. Kumiko looked up. It was Shuuichi. “What’s with the dirty look?” He frowned and sat beside her without asking. Wrinkles stood out on his uniform’s black slacks. “What’re you doing here?” asked Kumiko. “Probably the same thing you are. Change of scenery.” “Mm.” It seemed a suspicious coincidence to Kumiko, but she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she pursued the topic no further. Instead she said the first thing that did come to mind. “Mr. Taki was pretty scary.” “Man, that was rough. He’s terrifying,” said Shuuichi with a chuckle. He combed his hand back through his hair, his shoulders slackening. “Our section leader flipped out on him. Guess she got what she deserved, though.” Kumiko leaned forward onto her knees. Thinking about what was going to happen next with the band made her extremely gloomy. “I wonder if he really thinks we can go all the way to Nationals.” “Honestly, it’s probably impossible, at our level. It’s, like, people have to get their heads out of the clouds. And the third-years just chat all the way through sectional practices. Aiming that high is just embarrassing,” he muttered, his lips curling cynically. “He might be teaching us, but who knows if he’s even any good.” “Yeah. He did say this was his first time as director.” “He’s great, obviously! Are you kidding?” Kumiko and Shuuichi turned around, startled by the sudden voice. Being caught in the act of gossiping about someone was always awkward. Standing there glaring at the two of them and full of righteous indignation was Reina. Her trumpet case hung from her left hand. “What’re you doing here…?” Reina had gone to the same middle school as Kumiko for three years, but she’d never encountered Reina here in her own neighborhood. Standing behind them, Reina looked down at Kumiko and Shuuichi with an irritated expression and sniffed. “I live around here. By Ujigami Shrine.” “I’ve never seen you around…” “Probably because I don’t take the train. I’ve always ridden my bike to school.” “O-oh,” said Kumiko, somewhat cowed. Shuuichi, meanwhile, was stiff as a board. Kumiko remembered that he had a terrible time dealing with any girls other than her. “So? What were you two talking about?” Reina loomed over her and leaned down close. Kumiko reflexively looked away. Having a beautiful girl get in her face like this was bad for her heart. “Um, I mean…” Angling to deliver a finishing blow to the flailing Kumiko, Reina took another step closer. Shuuichi’s face went white. “I’ll have you know that Mr. Taki is amazing! I won’t let you make fun of him!” “O-okay.” Reina then snagged Shuuichi in her gaze. “You too—are you listening?” He cowered before the spear point of her eyes. “Your response?” “Y-yes.” “That’s more like it,” nodded Reina, satisfied. The imperious beauty, still holding her trumpet case, turned her attention back to Kumiko. “I’ll let it go this time, but I won’t forgive you for badmouthing Mr. Taki again in the future.” “W-we weren’t really bad-mouthing, we just…” Hearing Shuuichi’s halfhearted defense, Reina flicked her sharp gaze back to him. Her pale pink lips curled into a sneer. “Were you saying something?” “Uh, n-no, nothing…” The boy raised a white flag. “So long as we’re understood. See you,” said Reina, striding off as though nothing had happened. Kumiko wondered where her fury had come from. The area around them was suddenly quiet again. She and Shuuichi just stared at each other for a few moments, then finally stood. “…Let’s go home.” “Yeah.” A swell of innocent laughter rose from a group of boys running along the embankment’s path. Kumiko felt suddenly fatigued and rubbed the corners of her eyes. Shuuichi gazed down at her as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he remained silent. The next day, when Kumiko walked through the door to the classroom where her sectional practice was held, she was surprised to encounter Mr. Taki. “Good day, Miss Oumae.” “Oh, um, hello!” Kumiko scrambled to bow properly in response to Taki’s polite nod. Apparently he’d already memorized his students’ names. “Kumiko, today Mr. Taki’s going to be leading our practice, so hurry up and get set up,” explained Asuka. “Ah—okay! I will.” Kumiko hastily made for the instrument storage room. She took the euphonium that she was finally getting used to out of its case and pulled her folder of sheet music off the shelf. The standard music folder for the band had antireflective transparent sheet protectors inside it—reflections during concerts could make the music difficult to read. By the time Kumiko returned to the bass section’s practice room, most of the rest of the section had already assembled. “Sorry to keep you waiting!” she said. The only one missing was Hazuki, who was absent thanks to her parent-teacher meeting. “Feel free to sit where you usually do.” “Ah, all right.” Kumiko hurried to her seat. Taki looked over the gathered students, and his expression suddenly softened. “I came today to hear what sorts of sounds you’re producing on your instruments. Unfortunately, I have parent-teacher meetings beginning at four o’clock, so I hope you’ll help me see where you are before I have to leave. Is that understood?” Taki looked to Asuka. The bass section leader smiled her always-crafty smile and answered with a hearty “Yes!” “All right. First of all, I’d like you to sing your tuning together.” Tuning, simply put, was the act of adjusting the pitch of an instrument. Unless this was properly done, instruments that ought to be playing the same note would instead produce dissonant tones that collided unpleasantly with one another. When the entire band played the same long note together, a wobbling, vibrating sound was proof that their tuning wasn’t correct. This wasn’t something that you had to worry about while listening to music, but for performing, the issue of correct pitch was of critical importance. Incidentally, the euphonium was tuned by pulling out or pushing in a length of tubing. “Sing…?” asked Riko. “Yes, that’s right,” said Taki with a nod. Next to him, Asuka stroked her chin. “Mr. Taki, are you by any chance planning to introduce solfège into your instruction?” “Very astute, Miss Tanaka,” said Taki, seemingly impressed. Natsuki tilted her head, mystified. “Sol-what? What’s that?” “Solfège is a form of basic music training that emphasizes sight-singing. Before we begin practice, I thought I’d have you try singing a few of the songs from the textbook I’m about to hand out. This kind of drill will improve your sight-reading and pitch sensitivity.” “I did this kind of practice in middle school, too!” said Midori excitedly from where she sat next to Kumiko. If the powerhouse Seijo school practiced like this, then maybe there was something to it. “That said, since we’re a bit short on time today, I thought we’d start with tuning and see how that goes,” said Taki. He played a B flat on his laptop. “I’d like to have each of you sing this note in turn, clockwise.” “Okay.” Asuka nodded, then sang in tune with the note that was playing. Though she was a girl, Asuka’s voice had a low, mellow quality that flustered Kumiko a bit just listening to it. After her, each student sang in turn. Kumiko assumed that all of them would have some basic aptitude for music, since they had already joined the concert band, but— “…Gotou, is it possibly the case that singing is not your forte?” Takuya looked gloomily away at Taki’s obliquely worded question. Evidently he was moderately tone-deaf, since his singing voice possessed considerable destructive potential. Taki smiled wryly. “Don’t worry. It may seem unfamiliar now, but once you get the hang of it you’ll get better and better. Let’s give it a shot, shall we?” “O-okay.” Takuya was thoroughly deflated, his big body hunched over. Asuka cackled and smacked him on the back. “Don’t sweat it! I know someone even more tone-deaf than you.” “Who’s that?” Kumiko asked. “Haruka,” answered Asuka lightly. “The president is incredibly bad at singing,” murmured Natsuki, sounding as though she spoke from experience. “Setting aside the issue of who’s more tone-deaf than whom, now I’d like you to try playing the same note on your instruments.” The students played the tone one by one. Oddly enough, Takuya had no trouble producing the correct tone on his instrument, despite his catastrophic singing performance. “Now, this time, you’ll play together. The same note as before.” Everyone did as instructed and played a B flat. The bass notes overlapped, producing a distinctly wobbling sound against the note coming from the computer. They were out of tune. “Try to concentrate on making the computer’s tone disappear into your instrument’s sound. Don’t just blow through your instrument, make it part of the sounds around it.” Make the tone disappear into your sound. Kumiko concentrated on the words and listened carefully to the sounds around her. They rippled, blending together, and the quavering slowly faded. Euphonium, tuba, and contrabass. The timbres of the three instruments melted together, forming a single spirit. And just then, Kumiko heard a high tone that seemed impossible. It was an F—almost like a French horn would make. “There, that’s enough.” At Taki’s signal, Kumiko lowered her instrument. It was the most beautiful unison she’d heard them manage to play so far. Back in middle school their teachers had lectured them endlessly about pitch, but this was the first time she’d paid such close, serious attention to it. “Did you all hear that F?” The bass section’s members all nodded. “That was the harmonic overtone. It’s much easier to hear when you’re playing together in tune. If you can attain this sound while performing, it has the same harmonic effect as playing in just intonation. It can be quite difficult to stay in tune, but a beautiful ensemble performance is simply impossible otherwise. Ensemble playing isn’t about simply demonstrating brilliant instrumental skill—the beauty of a band’s performance comes from the layering of each sound, which means that when playing together, you must listen to each part in the ensemble around you and adjust to match.” “Yes, sir!” replied Kumiko and her bandmates energetically. Despite the brief instruction, she felt like they’d grasped how to play in tune. She wanted to try playing this way with the rest of the concert band as soon as she could. Taki’s eyes narrowed in a smile, as though reading Kumiko’s mind. “So, before I go, shall we try playing something together, just as the bass section?” he said, picking up his baton. The day of the band’s second ensemble practice there was a strangely heightened nervous energy among the students. Even the seniors who’d last time just chatted and hung out until Taki arrived were now all carefully scrutinizing their sheet music. Kumiko set her folder on her music stand and got her tuner out of her pocket. Tuning was something that absolutely had to be done before any concert band ensemble practice. Put simply, it was the process of adjusting an instrument’s pitch. The tuner was a device used to accomplish this, and Kumiko had bought one for three thousand yen in middle school. Tuners ranged from cheap to wildly expensive—mechanical strobe tuners often cost upward of five hundred thousand yen. When Kumiko brought her tuner close to her horn’s bell and played a note, its little display told her whether the note was sharp or flat. Other tuners would simply play the correct note themselves, which the user would listen to and then adjust their instrument to match. The president stood at the front of the room and led the band through a final ensemble tuning. They all played the same note, then adjusted their instruments sharp or flat. Brass instruments tended to play sharper in warmer environments and lower when the temperature fell. When it came time to perform in a competition, they would have to consider not only the location’s weather, but also the venue’s air conditioning and the travel time to get there as well. The ability to consider minute details like these was what separated the schools with high-level bands from the rest. “Everybody’s pretty hyped today,” chuckled Natsuki, sitting next to Kumiko. Natsuki had her sheet music at hand, and Kumiko noticed some handwritten notes on it here and there that hadn’t been there before. “Well, nobody wants to get yelled at like last time.” “Yeah. I don’t think that’s the only reason, though,” said Natsuki, looking over to the edge of the classroom. A group of third-year students had clustered there, murmuring secretively to each other. Snippets of their conversation cut through the horn sounds in the room, unmistakably audible—I hate that guy. We’ll show him. According to rumor, Taki had put in after-school appearances at every section’s practice over the past few days, and apparently he had delivered some rather harsh words during some of them. There had been several sightings of students reduced to tears as they tried to play. “Looks like there are some grudges,” said Kumiko. “They’re just assholes.” At Natsuki’s harsh pronouncement, Kumiko reflexively looked around, but fortunately it seemed like nobody had overheard. “Natsuki, I really think it would be better if you didn’t say stuff like that so loudly…” “What? It’s true,” said Natsuki, completely unapologetically. “I mean, don’t you agree?” “Wha—” Kumiko began to stammer, but she was saved from having to say anything further by the arrival of their fresh-faced director. The noisy classroom instantly quieted. Taki took a seat at the front of the room and opened his conductor’s score. The eyes of the entire band were on him. His own beleaguered gaze fell to the sheet music in front of him, but he looked back up as something seemed to occur to him. His kind-seeming eyes swept once over the classroom. “It looks like everyone is here,” he said mildly. “So—do you feel like you’re playing a bit better?” “We’ve definitely improved,” said the president. Taki narrowed his eyes in a smile. “I see. Well, let’s make sure you’re all properly tuned, then. And as you play, please keep in mind what you learned during this week’s sectionals,” he said, then played a B flat on the classroom’s organ. He then gave his baton a light wave, and the band all played the same note together. A clear, pure sound filled the room—totally unlike what had happened at the previous practice. There was no wobbling in pitch, and the sound’s superior fullness was immediately obvious. The way they were playing itself felt different, as each instrument’s tone had utterly changed. The instruments themselves sang. “Thank you,” said Taki, bringing the baton down. At the gesture, Kumiko and the rest of the band all stopped playing. The dramatic change in their sound over such a short period of time had to be because of Taki’s instruction. As the band saw so clearly the fruits of their own improvement, a chattering murmur rose among them, their cheeks flushed with excitement. Taki clapped his hands to silence the clamor. “I can see that you’re all very happy, but band practice is not the time for personal chatter. Let’s move on to fundamentals. We’ll start by playing number three from the sheet music you’ve been given.” Fundamentals practice continued for some time thereafter. Kumiko wondered why, if they’d assembled in order to practice their SunFest piece, they were doing so much of these tedious basic drills. And she didn’t seem to be the only one who was thinking the same thing—Kumiko noticed many bored-looking faces around her. But then there was Asuka, who fixed the band director firmly in her gaze as she played the simple pieces with a serious expression on her face. “Suzuka, on clarinet—you’re a bit sharp.” “Ah—thank you.” Kumiko rested her chin in her hands as she thought it over. What was with Taki’s ears? Even listening to the entire band playing at once, he could accurately catch the slightest mistake in playing. “…All right. Let’s try playing ‘Can’t Buy Me Love.’” Hearing this, the students—thoroughly bored with practicing fundamentals—all looked up. Taki readied his baton with a wan smile. And all the instruments that had been laid down now faced forward. “One, two, one, two, three, four…” He brought his baton down, and the drums started playing the rhythm. Then the brass and woodwinds added the melody, and the music’s cheer intensified. The song used a brisk tempo, but once they’d grasped the feel of it, it would carry them through to the end. Kumiko followed the sheet music intently, putting everything she had into keeping up with the notes’ fingerings. Even as the many sounds threatened to tangle, the baton whipped them free. Even as the flute runs and trumpet melodies stumbled, or the percussion and bass sections ran into problems, the tune went on. And then when they reached the finalé—the baton froze. …It’s finally over. Kumiko was sure she wasn’t the only person thinking as much. She spotted relieved sighs all around her. She was shockingly tired—playing in her middle school ensemble had never demanded such concentration or been so exhausting. Taki closed his eyes in thought for a brief, quiet moment. His lips softened. With a long, slender finger, he flipped through his sheet music. “Well, I suppose we can call that a passing grade.” Asuka knitted her brow. While the performance they’d just given was clearly superior to last week’s, evidently it still wasn’t the level Taki was looking for. “Your performance will be in early May. We do not have many days left to practice. And the SunFest is a parade. You will need to memorize this music and perform it while marching. Are you confident you’ll be able to do so?” said Taki provocatively, looking over the classroom. The band’s eyes were downcast to avoid meeting his gaze. “Well, I am. Confident, that is,” he finished. Kumiko blinked at Taki’s statement. He picked up a stack of papers from his desk and handed them to the clarinets in the front row to pass back to the rest of the band. On the cheap, newsprint-like paper, there was a rigorously detailed practice regimen. Natsuki couldn’t help but scowl at the schedule’s precision. “Ugh, are you kidding me?” she mumbled. Hearing this, Kumiko took another look at her own copy. It described in minute detail not only how to do fundamental practice but also how they should carry out their sectional practices. Fitting it all in would make for a seriously difficult schedule. “Um, Mr. Taki,” said Ogasawara, as though she couldn’t help speaking up. “Are we really going to do all of these practices?” “Why wouldn’t you?” said Taki, his head tilted curiously. “I would think that if you use all the time you fritter away on simply being young, this amount of practice would be no problem. You should be able to complete it within the time you’ve spent on club activities so far. Oh, of course the first-year beginners have a different course of practice, so make sure to keep that in mind.” His expression was gentle, but what he was saying was quite severe. Next to the president, Aoi stared down at the practice schedule, her sax hanging from her neck. On the palm of her right hand was a math formula written in red pen. She wondered what the scribble on Aoi’s palm was and whether she herself would someday have to memorize something like it. Kumiko held her aching head in her hands. “The SunFest is where schools from all over the area display their skill. I will not accept the sort of careless performance this band has given in previous years. From now on, I want you to take each and every public performance very seriously.” “It’s not like we’ve just been screwing around up until now,” somebody murmured, but Taki overlooked the grumble with a smile. Natsuki chuckled through her nose. “Our director’s really going for it.” Kumiko personally thought he was pretty full of himself but kept quiet. “In any case, for today’s ensemble practice I’d like to focus on the places where the mistakes were the most obvious. So, let’s begin from the trumpet melody in the middle…” At Taki’s signal, the band readied their instruments. Among them, of course, was Reina. She looked straight at Taki, and although Kumiko couldn’t see her eyes, she could tell his expression was perfectly reflected in Reina’s serious features. After that fateful ensemble practice, the sounds of sectionals became much more prominent all over the school. Kumiko wondered if the students who’d been ditching had started attending again. She didn’t know how much of it was thanks to Taki’s instruction, but she knew for sure that some of the students newly applying themselves to practice were doing so out of spite. During trips to the girls’ bathroom next to the music classroom she heard plenty of muttering about “that asshole teacher” or “the sneaky bastard,” but—they could complain as much as they liked as long as they came to practice. “Wait, no, I don’t get it.” When Kumiko arrived at the day’s sectionals, she found Hazuki looking up to Takuya in confusion. He was pointing at the sheet music and scratching his head, clearly at a loss. “Like…you just have to use your throat and tongue…I think. Probably.” “No way. That’s impossible.” “You can do it. It’ll be fine.” “Uh-uh. This is just too hard.” Kumiko peered over at what the two were discussing. It was the practice regimen that Taki had devised. It came with sheet music that had been numbered—#1, #2, and so on—which was probably for fundamental skills practice. The most important skill for a brass instrument was the long tone. Playing the notes of the scale was a basic technique, but practicing long tones helped stabilize the player’s sound. The more time spent practicing conscious control of the breath that produced the sound, the more beautiful the sound would become. Taki put great stock in long tones, and he had handed out quite a bit of sheet music on the subject that was meant solely for practice. Hazuki was currently engaged in a furious struggle with lip slurs, which were an especially important technique for instruments that could produce different notes with a single fingering. The exercise consisted of playing different pitches without moving the pistons. The key to this was trying to change the sound not with the lips but rather by controlling the muscles of the mouth and the speed of the breath simultaneously. Hazuki, having just started with her instrument, seemed to find this too difficult, wincing and groaning at the prospect. “Hmm. I don’t know anything about brass!” said Midori, sounding weirdly proud as she looked at the sheet music in question. With no other contrabass players in the band, Midori had no seniors to instruct her. Nonetheless, she was a force to be reckoned with, readily able to play the parts asked of her. Her middle school was known for its music program, after all. “What’re you grumbling about? Forget about playing it on the horn—you gotta master it on the mouthpiece by itself, first!” Of course it was Asuka who burst in on the conversation. She was supposed to still be in the middle of a career guidance counseling appointment, but here she was, standing next to Hazuki and brimming with enthusiasm to play. Takuya made a long-suffering face. “Tanaka, what about your guidance counseling?” “I wrapped that bad boy up in five minutes! Career guidance? I’d like to see someone try to stop my career!” Takuya sighed in capitulation, apparently lacking the energy for a comeback. “…Okay.” “So, Hazuki! Having trouble with your lip slurs?” “Er, yes,” nodded Hazuki, overawed. “I’ll show you how I do it. Put your horn down and try just blowing through the mouthpiece.” Hazuki did as Asuka instructed and set her tuba down on the floor. Like other brass instruments in the bass section, the proper way to stand the tuba up was on its bell. Hazuki’s instrument was battered and worn, with its shiny plating flaking off here and there. The sheer size of a tuba meant it was expensive, and given that several of its smaller cousins could be purchased for the same cost of just one new tuba, replacing them tended to be put off. “Now, first. Can you make a sound with just the mouthpiece?” “Um, yes. Like this?” Hazuki pressed her lips together, and held against the opening of the small metal component, they produced a rather unbeautiful buzzing sound. Asuka nodded, satisfied. “That’s the way.” She then brought her own mouthpiece to her lips. “Now, try changing the pitch. Like this.” Asuka demonstrated shifting the note that was coming out of the mouthpiece. The change in sound was so obvious that Kumiko was surprised. She’d never known that you could get such clearly defined tones out of just a mouthpiece. “The problem is it’s hard even before I get that far,” said Hazuki, her eyebrows drooping in consternation. Asuka continued her instruction, but Kumiko couldn’t restrain her curiosity. She furtively put her own mouthpiece to her lips, trying to avoid anyone noticing. “…” She did manage to play some notes, but she was far from Asuka’s skill. For one thing, her tone wasn’t nearly as clean. Maybe there was a problem with her breathing. Unlike Asuka’s long, steady sound, Kumiko’s tended to waver and drift flat. She wondered what she would have to do to sound as beautiful as Asuka did. “You’re pretty good.” “Wyaah!” Kumiko shouted in surprise at the voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see the deadpan Takuya peering at her. “Nakagawa can’t do that at all.” “You mean Natsuki?” “Right. She can’t blow without the horn on.” “Oh, I see.” “I mean, I’m not as good as Tanaka is, either, but still,” said Takuya, hunching his huge body over. “So, Gotou—when did you start playing the tuba?” “What, me?” He pointed to himself and tilted his head. “Natsuki and Riko started in high school, right? So when did you start playing in a band?” Takuya folded his arms as though thinking it over, eventually murmuring an answer. “I guess…the winter of my first year in middle school, maybe. I quit track and joined the concert band.” “You did track?” “Yeah. But ever since then it’s been all tuba.” “You haven’t gotten bored with always playing the same instrument?” “I do not,” Takuya answered immediately. “I like the tuba.” He looked down, perhaps embarrassed by his own words. A faint crimson flush rose to his round cheeks. His face in profile was somehow so resplendent that Kumiko couldn’t help but look away. The month of April seemed to evaporate in the repetition of ensemble practice, then sectionals, then ensemble, then sectionals. Kumiko looked down at her day planner with exhaustion on her face. The SunFest was next week. After much thought, she realized it would be her first performance as a high school student. And right after that would be her first midterms as a high school student. Imagining the number of practice questions she’d face beforehand did not improve her mood. “Okay, we’re going to distribute the uniforms we’ll be wearing for next week’s performance.” At the sound of Ogasawara’s voice, Kumiko drew a sharp breath and looked up. The clock’s hands were both pointing straight up at the 12. Noon brought with it their outdoor practice in the courtyard, which made Kumiko’s gloom even heavier. The prospect of practicing under direct sunlight was not an appealing one. “First-year students, please make sure to come and get yours. Now, starting with percussion…” At the front of the classroom, Asuka took bags out of a cardboard box. Probably the marching uniforms, Kumiko guessed. They’d taken all the first-year students’ measurements a week earlier, which Kumiko just now realized must have been for this. “Pretty exciting, right?” Hazuki was seated next to Kumiko, and her eyes shone. Next to Hazuki was Midori, murmuring grimly. “What if they’re gross? I swear I’ll die if they make me wear something lame.” Kumiko had never heard Midori sound so serious about anything. Evidently she cared more about fashion than the average person—in which regard she couldn’t have been more different from Kumiko, who would wear anything that fit. “Next! Bass section!” “Ah, coming!” The three girls hastily stood at Asuka’s call. The plastic bags they received were much heavier than Kumiko had expected. “A jacket, huh? That’s gonna get hot!” cried Hazuki upon ripping her bag open. Next to her, Midori carefully cut her bag open with a pair of scissors. For Kumiko’s part, she felt for the bag’s small opening, then forced it wider with her fingers. From within the bag she produced a black dress shirt, black pants, a blue jacket, and a black fedora with a blue ribbon. “We’ll start midday practice once everybody’s changed, since this is a rehearsal. Anybody whose uniform doesn’t fit, make sure to let me know.” The president was met with a listless, albeit affirmative, response. Midori stared at the outfit for a while. “…Oh well, could’ve been worse!” she finally murmured. “We’ll use this room for the girls, and Class Three’s room next door for the boys, so everybody hurry and get changed, then bring your instruments down and assemble in front of the big pine tree in the courtyard.” “Okay!” The band confirmed Asuka’s instructions, and then there was chaos. The boys practically fled the room, and once they were gone the girls began to take off their sailor-suit uniforms without any particular shyness. Kumiko caught herself looking away from the seniors as they strode around in their underwear. She tried on the outfit. The sizing seemed just about perfect, since it felt completely familiar even though she was wearing it for the first time. The stripes that ran down the sides of the pants were decorated in blue sequins that sparkled with Kumiko’s every move. The shoes they would wear in the performances matched, as well—simple black sneakers with blue lines. “Whaddaya think? Look good?” Hazuki said with a smug look on her face as she approached Kumiko. The uniform did indeed look very good on an athletic girl like Hazuki. “You’re so lucky. I wish I could march with my bass,” muttered Midori, standing next to Hazuki and trying on the hat. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” “I know, I know,” said Midori, pouting. Since the contrabass was not an instrument that could be played while marching, Midori wouldn’t be performing. Evidently she would be walking ahead of the band along with the beginners, waving to the spectators. “Kumiko, make sure you put on sunscreen, okay?” The voice was Aoi’s, calling out to Kumiko from behind her. With the saxophone hanging from her neck, she looked quite put together. “Oh, you think I’ll burn?” “You definitely will. And just your face, too.” “Ugh, nooo.” “Then be careful. The long sleeves will keep your arms from burning, at least.” Aoi smiled pleasantly, but then from behind her a girl’s voice rose in a shrill cry. “Eeeee! Kaori, you look adorable! You’re seriously, like, an angel!” Everyone’s gaze turned to the source of the sound. It was a second-year trumpet player named Yuuko Yoshikawa, breathing raggedly through her nose and clenching her fist with conviction. Her eyes, meanwhile, were fixed intently on Kaori. “R-really?” A flush came to Kaori’s cheeks. And indeed there was something angelic about the loveliness of her shyly upturned gaze as she looked back to Yuuko. Then—the already-changed Asuka jumped in. “Whoa, that’s Kaori for ya! So cute!” The bass section’s fearless leader, with her outstanding proportions, was the absolute opposite of “cute.” Her long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, taking her well past anything resembling feminine allure and straight into handsome territory. Her gallant figure seemed particularly effective on the more boy-crazy girls, and some of the poor first-years staggered as they whimpered, “Hold me!” or “I could just die!” Asuka and Kaori did indeed make a lovely picture, standing together like that. “You look awesome, too, Asuka.” “Heh-heh. Thanks.” Asuka flashed her signature grin at the blushing Kaori’s compliment. Kaori gently reached out and pulled on the other girl’s arm. Her jacket wrinkled with the motion. Asuka’s sharp profile turned toward Kaori. “…What’s up?” She tilted her head curiously. Kaori’s eyes widened at this, and she reddened still further, hastily letting go of Asuka’s arm. “N-nothing, never mind!” “Okay,” said Asuka. A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth as she patted Kaori on the shoulder before looking over the rest of the classroom. “All right! Everybody who’s changed, let’s get moving!” At Asuka’s direction, everyone hastily started getting ready to leave. For a moment, Kaori looked at Asuka as though she wanted to say something, but in the end her lips were unable to form the words. “Ugh, so heavy…” Riko was usually gentle and sweet, but the sun had even her grimacing. Around her coiled that famous marching instrument, the sousaphone. The tuba she normally played was too heavy for a parade, and it was for that exact purpose that the sousaphone had been created. Kitauji’s sousaphones were made mostly of fiberglass, and more of their weight was distributed over the players’ shoulders, making them easier to carry. However, they still weighed ten kilograms each, which was more than enough for them to feel awfully heavy in the students’ arms while they played. “Oh man, so I’m gonna have to wear one of those when I march…” said a pale-faced Hazuki, next to Riko. Next to Hazuki was Midori, who was happily waving a red-and-blue flag. Band members like her, who marched with flags, were called the color guard. “I haven’t done guard for a while. Hope I’ll do okay.” “Wait, don’t you just have to, like, wave?” asked Kumiko. “That’s what I asked,” said Midori, looking worried. “But then I got asked to do more. I guess it’s just going to be me and one of the flute seniors, so hopefully it won’t be too hard to get in sync.” “Midori, you can do color guard? You’re really handy!” said Riko, impressed. “For real, she can do anything,” added Hazuki. “Aww, you guys!” giggled Midori, pleased. Natsuki approached her from behind, hanging a languid arm over her shoulders. “So, did you master the mystery step?” “Th-the mystery step? Oh, you said something about that before, too,” said Kumiko, to which Natsuki nodded. “That’s right. Kitauji High School’s famous mystery step! It’s tradition for first-year beginners to perform it at the SunFest.” “Sounds tough.” Since Kumiko had experience on her instrument, she had nothing to do with this “mystery step” business. During the actual performance, all she would have to do was walk and play her instrument. Natsuki, meanwhile, enthusiastically launched into her explanation of this year’s marching formation. “So since all the conducting has to happen while we’re walking, Mr. Taki won’t be conducting us. The drum major will be marching at the front. That’ll be Asuka.” “What’s a drum major do?” asked Hazuki. “They’re like the conductor for a marching band. They’re like the face of our band, leading us and waving their baton around.” The drum major often acted as the coordinator for the band as a whole, giving them direction when it was required. It would be ideal to choose someone popular, with both technical proficiency and excellent interpersonal skills. On those counts, there were no problems with Asuka at all. No problems at all. But. “…So President Ogasawara isn’t going to be the drum major?” Riko’s expression clouded at Kumiko’s question. “Ogasawara doesn’t really have the right mind-set. She’s not really cut out for it.” “But she still became the club president?” said Hazuki curiously. Riko scratched her head nervously. “Yeah. I mean, really everybody wanted Asuka to be president, but apparently Asuka hates stuff like that. She didn’t even really want to be vice president, but after we begged her she finally gave in.” “I dunno about that,” said Midori. “Asuka seems super leader-y to me.” Kumiko nodded at Midori’s words. Asuka was definitely the type of person who wound up in charge. But Natsuki snickered as though she had read Kumiko’s mind. “But being good at something and being interested in doing it are two different things, aren’t they? And Ogasawara’s doing a good job as president. Kinda feel bad for her always being compared to Asuka,” she said, sighing bodily. She pushed her short, neatly trimmed hair back behind her ear and continued her explanation. “So first come the two guards. Then the drum major. Then after a little gap comes the brass. And by the way, the trombones march in front! Anybody in front of them would get their head knocked by those slides. Then between the brass and the woodwinds are the battery—the percussion section. See the guys with the drums hanging off ’em? When people say ‘the battery,’ that’s who they’re talking about,” said Natsuki, pointing to the percussion section as they practiced. They were carrying snare drums and bass drums, and receiving instruction from the seniors on how to play while marching. “The first-year beginners follow behind the woodwinds. They wave around pom-poms—you know, like the cheerleading club has—and perform the mystery step.” After all that, despite the explanation, the nature of the mystery step was still entirely mysterious. Midori had lost interest halfway through and was now happily waving her color guard flag around. Natsuki suddenly heaved a deep sigh, her arm still hanging around Hazuki, She was looking at the second-year student from earlier—Yuuko. Yuuko, meanwhile, circled around Kaori like a small, adoring dog. “Yuuko sure does love Kaori,” murmured Hazuki, prompting a meaningful grin in agreement from Natsuki. “Okay, time for practice!” announced Asuka. Everyone stood. As soon as they stepped out from beneath the shade of the tree, they were in full sunlight. Patches of brilliance skittered here and there from the light reflecting off the glittering instruments. There were close to eighty students in the courtyard, and seeing them all together outside like this made the size of the band very clear. “We’ll start with step practice for the first-years. Everybody stepping, line up!” At these instructions, the first-year beginners all filtered to the center of the yard in a line. There were twenty-eight new first-year students, but only ten lacked previous instrument experience. “The step is just like how I explained earlier—right, front, return; then left, front, return; then repeat. Your hands alternate—first up, then down.” “Yes, ma’am!” replied the first-years to Ogasawara’s instructions. Asuka clapped her hands together twice. “All right, we’ll start marching practice from here! At the event we’ll be doing one lap around Taiyou Park, so it’ll be about one kilometer. It’ll be rough, but keep that smile going!” “Yes, ma’am!” “Okay, line up!” At Asuka’s words, the band naturally lined up into formation. Kumiko stood next to Natsuki. Without Asuka, they were down to two euphoniums. Behind them were Takuya and Riko—evidently the large bells of their sousaphones would get in the way otherwise. “First we’ll do circuits around the courtyard.” Asuka stood at a short remove and began to clap her hands. “Five, six, seven, eight…” At these words, the entire band brought their right legs up, knees high, then began to march to the percussion section’s rhythm. The front ranks and the rear advanced, the band members taking care not to slip out of formation. Walking while playing wind and brass instruments made the mouthpieces jiggle up and down, which caused the sound to fluctuate. Actually doing it made it obvious how different playing while marching was from playing in a sitting position. Unlike in ensemble practice, the smallest trigger could wreck the music. Since sound had to travel through the air, the front ranks and rear ranks heard slightly different rhythms from the drums between them. Preventing those differences from turning into mistakes was the drum major’s job, but it was hard for Kumiko to keep her eyes on Asuka when she was so focused on moving her legs correctly. Her left hand, which supported the weight of her euphonium, was starting to tremble from the effort. “Today’s all about walking! Don’t stop moving your feet!” Asuka barked. Kumiko gave a desperate, silent howl. Kumiko regarded the pamphlet for the Twenty-Third Annual Sunrise Festival and let loose a great sigh. Sitting in the bus, she caught snippets of her classmates’ conversations here and there. “Whoa! Did you see that? A four-leaf clover taxi just went zooming by!” An excited Midori, staring intently out the bus’s window, tugged on Kumiko’s shirt. Was Midori really even a high school student? Kumiko felt like a kindergarten teacher as she answered with a patronizing good-for-you! smile. Midori seemed satisfied by the response, since she let go of Kumiko’s shirt and returned to gazing out the window. The SunFest began at nine AM, so the band’s arrival and assembly schedule was quite early. The park and the school itself were not very far removed from each other, so the actual transit time wasn’t too long. Since the percussion, tubas, and other large instruments had been trucked over the night before, there wasn’t too much left to do the day of the event. But between changing into her marching uniform, getting her hair ready, and reviewing the marching formation, the time vanished quickly anyway. “Okay, guys, hurry up and get on the bus!” Everyone followed the president’s instructions. Seating inside the bus was a free-for-all, and there was a considerable amount of bargaining to be done before it was settled. Cliques with an odd number of members would obviously not fit neatly into the bus’s two-seat sections, so everyone was vaguely trying to find a partner to pair up with. Leftover students tried to appear unconcerned as they furtively glanced around in a hasty attempt to avoid being branded a sad loner. The mundane churn of the students concealed countless tiny dramas—here, someone saw the friend they’d planned to sit with sit next to someone else. There, a carefully planned, even-numbered group was scattered by seating availability. It was in times like these that Kumiko found it dreadfully tiresome to have to be a high school student all the time. “Let’s all do our best today,” Taki said, speaking up as soon as he boarded the bus. His tone of voice made it seem like he was talking about something that had nothing to do with him at all, and he wore the same pleasant smile he always did. Next to him stood a sleepy Michie, her arms crossed. “Hey, Kumiko! Have you ever listened to ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’? The original Beatles one, not the band arrangement we do,” asked Midori. Apparently bored with staring out the window, she tugged on Kumiko’s arm. Lost in her rumination, Kumiko didn’t immediately move her head to react to the question. She finally responded to the question with a quiet “Huh?” “The Beatles version! Like I was saying!” “Um, no, I don’t know it.” “How can you not? It’s so cool! I adore the Beatles. ’Cause my dad loves ’em.” “Ah, okay.” “You should really give ’em a listen, Kumiko! ’Cause they’re so cool,” Midori said, then started humming her part from the song. “Well, let’s play it together at the competition,” replied Kumiko. Midori’s only answer was to intensify her smile as she continued to hum. Her voice flowed into the chatter that suffused the bus’s interior, but the tenuous, lovely little melody never reached anyone’s ears before it dissolved into the din. The students exited the bus into a great crowd made of participants and spectators alike. Kumiko and the rest of the uniform-clad band hurried to the truck where their instruments awaited. Bands from other schools were already warming up on the park’s green lawn. She heard long tones sounding from here and there and wondered if they were tuning. “Okay, people! Get the percussion unloaded first—trumpets, clarinets, and anything else you can carry yourself can wait. Don’t start setting up until all the instruments are unloaded!” Following Asuka’s directions, the students rapidly began to take the instruments from the truck. Kumiko pointlessly wondered why the sousaphone was so strangely shaped as she tried a variety of different approaches to carrying it. Once the instruments were unloaded, the band swiftly set about making ready, with everyone opening their own cases and putting together their instruments. Midori carried her flag over to the senior band member responsible for the color guard and consulted her about something. Hazuki held her pom-poms and practiced her steps. And with nothing else to do, Kumiko held her euphonium and exhaled a short sigh. “We’ve got this!” said Riko as she approached Kumiko. From her face, she looked like she was already beat. The giant sousaphone might have been exhausting to carry, but it was exciting to see. The giant, pure-white bell made a pleasing contrast with their dark blue uniforms. Natsuki approached, carrying her euphonium and holding out a small pink tuner. “You better tune up, or you’re gonna run out of time. Here, you can use mine.” Kumiko hastily readied her instrument. Natsuki frowned as she indicated pitch adjustments sharp or flat. Kumiko pushed and pulled the tuning tube accordingly, eventually arriving at a stable, correct note. “Rikka’s gonna be here soon, so we gotta wrap up and be ready to hand over the space.” “Rikka High School…” Kumiko murmured. There wasn’t a concert band student in Kyoto who didn’t know about Rikka High School. It was an elite private school that boasted a lengthy and impressive record in band competitions and marching festivals. They were often on television, so even people without much interest in concert bands knew the school’s name. “Did you hear they call ’em ‘the powder-blue devils’?” “The powder-blue devils?” It was an unsettling name for an all-girl group. Riko nodded. “That’s right. They go jumping and dancing all over the place with these crazy smiles. You should definitely see them sometime. It’ll make you realize what it takes to compete at the national level.” “I swear they’re demons wearing human skin. I’m barely even joking,” said Natsuki. It was rare for her to get so worked up. Kumiko had seen Rikka a few times on TV but never in person. If she was lucky, today might be the day she got to hear them perform. The day’s potential outcome had improved by one good thing, Kumiko mused, but just then a high, beautiful tone from a trumpet interrupted her thoughts, piercing through the chatter around her. There was no mistaking it—it was the sound of Reina tuning. Realizing as much, Kumiko stopped short—why was Reina’s sound so clear? There had been quite a tumult surrounding Kumiko, after all. The answer arrived surprisingly quickly. Everyone else had stopped playing. Even students from other schools were looking at Reina, and an odd silence had fallen. The girl in question either did not notice or was pretending not to with a completely unconcerned expression, as she played another tone on her trumpet. “Who’s that girl? She’s good.” “What school’s she with?” “That blue jacket…that’s Kitauji, right?” “Huh? What’s someone as good as her going there for? What a waste.” “Waste is right.” “She could’ve at least picked a school that would’ve actually used her.” The whispers of students from other schools were audible even from where Kumiko was. Reina’s expression was unmoved as she continued to play her long tones. Some of the third-year students watching her seemed to be getting irritated. Kumiko glanced over at Ogasawara, who was hastily turning her head this way and that as though at a loss over what to do about the situation. Finally, Asuka clapped her hands twice—it seemed like she couldn’t stand to watch the situation play out any further. “Okay, attention, everybody! We’re gonna be moving out soon!” “Okay!” came the band’s reply as they sprang into a flurry of brisk movement. Asuka had completely dispelled the momentary awkwardness. She really was a superb manipulator of mood. “I’m sorry I’m so useless, Asuka,” whispered Ogasawara into the vice president’s ear. Ogasawara normally stood up straight, but now she hunched over gloomily. The ever-reliable vice president flashed a white-toothed grin. “What’re you talking about? I didn’t do anything.” “But, I mean…” “Who cares about these silly little details, anyway? You should be thinking about today’s main event!” Asuka chuckled and slapped Ogasawara on the back. A junior band student approached. “Um, Asuka, about the formation today…” “Hm? Sure, I’ll be right there. Okay, Haruka—later!” said Asuka before trotting jauntily away. As she receded, her uniformed figure was as reliable as ever. Ogasawara watched her go and finally heaved a big sigh. “…At this rate, I’m not even sure who’s the president anymore,” she murmured. Her voice was small and thin, with interweaving threads of self-mockery and impatience. As Kumiko looked on, Haruka—though she was two years older than Kumiko—almost sounded ready to cry. “I’m very much looking forward to your performance.” “And you won’t get away with slacking off!” With these comforting, kind words from its director and assistant director, the Kitauji High School Concert Band formed up to march to their assigned place. This year’s SunFest featured sixteen ensembles. At fixed intervals, each of them would begin to march along the parade’s route. Kitauji was fifth from the front, and Rikka would be marching last. Depending on when Kitauji finished, if they hurried, they might be able to catch Rikka’s performance. “I’m kinda…more nervous than usual, today,” said Takuya as he lined up behind Kumiko. His expression was certainly tenser than usual. Natsuki cackled. “Well, that’s what we get for practicing so hard.” “Yeah. I mean, this is the hardest any of us have practiced since joining the band,” said Riko with an emphatic nod. And it was true—the amount of practice had been truly stupendous. And while the schedule Taki had distributed was bad enough, most of the psychological impact had come during the ensemble practices. “He’s just such a stickler,” said Kumiko quietly. Takuya nodded in emphatic agreement. “It was rough.” “Making us play stuff a million times, over and over again! And don’t you think he’s crazy about tuning? Like, being so picky when you can’t even hear the difference…” said Natsuki. “Yeah, I would never have guessed Mr. Taki would be that type. Our director last year was so much nicer…” said Riko with nostalgia in her voice. “Whoops, we’re gonna start.” Natsuki’s words brought everyone out of their reveries. Asuka raised her drum major’s baton. At her whistle, the drums began to sound their rhythm, and the performance commenced. Kumiko began to march, leading with her right foot as she kept the formation in her mind. Parades were fun—physically demanding, but fun. Kumiko marched in her rank, moving her body to the rhythm. Taki’s instruction had been intense, but not for nothing; the students could feel the difference. Their once-messy playing was now synchronized, each instrument sounding out properly. Drilling the fundamentals seemed to have stabilized their tone. Taki’s fixation on details had made all of them that much better. He was an excellent teacher—which was why his inability to recognize their increasing skill was so frustrating. “They look great!” “Dang, Kitauji’s pretty good.” “That girl at the front’s a hottie!” “Was this school always this good?” As she heard the voices of the onlookers, something hot began to overflow from inside her mind, melting Kumiko’s tension away. The heat carried her thoughts to a place far, far away from reason. Although her feet were leaden and heavy, her spirits weren’t the least bit dampened. She felt like she could march forever. The music didn’t stop. When they reached the end of the score, the band returned to the beginning. Over and over they repeated it. She didn’t have to think about the sheet music. Her body remembered it. She heard the sunny cheers coming from behind her, surely directed at the energetic performance of the snare drums. Their complex rhythms were in perfect sync, not even a millisecond off. When the percussion section finished, they waved and received warm applause in response. Then the trumpet melody sounded, followed by the bass section—the latter never stood out, though. That was fine with Kumiko. That was the fun part of playing in the bass section. Kumiko spurned the part of her that quavered from exhaustion and summoned what remained of her strength. She’d lost feeling in her left hand from supporting her euphonium. And still, she didn’t want to stop—it was too much fun! A mysterious elation controlled Kumiko’s body, though she didn’t clearly remember how she had come this far. Finally the end of the parade route came into view. Asuka’s drum major baton thrust high into the air. Forcing her exhausted legs on, her thighs burning each time she raised a knee, Kumiko somehow managed to finish. Their performance over, the band members hurried to put away their instruments—if they lingered too long at the finishing area, they’d be in the way of the bands coming behind them. Taki calmly addressed the sweaty, ragged group. “Now that you’ve finished putting away your instruments, you’re free until three o’clock. Feel free to take a break, but considering the summer competition, I suggest going to listen to the other bands’ performances. In particular, Rikka High School won a gold medal at last year’s national competition, so I strongly recommend seeing them play.” It was Midori who reacted the most strongly to Taki’s advice. “Kumiko, quick, hurry! We gotta go see Rikka play!” She tugged on Kumiko’s and Hazuki’s arms, her eyes sparkling. “C’mon, we don’t hafta hurry that much…” moaned a ragged Hazuki. “Yes we do!” objected Midori, her cheeks puffing out like a stubborn squirrel’s. “We’ve got to see them! I’ve been looking forward to it all day! It’s what got me through!” “Really?” “Yes!” There was nothing to do in the face of such strength. Kumiko and Hazuki let Midori drag them in search of a place to watch from. There were obviously more spectators now than there had been when Kitauji had passed along the route, and it was clear that Rikka was the main event. “We should be able to see them soon!” said Midori, delighted. Despite running around here and there all along the route, the girl seemed to have a bottomless well of stamina. Turning away from the dazed Hazuki, Kumiko directed her attention toward the parade. “There they are!” cried Midori. From across the way, the pale blue band approached. Despite that considerable distance, their sound was already very clear. The flawless tones that issued from their instruments pierced the air and resounded cleanly in Kumiko’s ears. The lively, simple sounds landed amid the cheers of the crowd. “‘Anchors Aweigh’! Cool!” said Midori. The familiar music was a march that had been composed by Charles Zimmerman in 1906, when he was a lieutenant in the United States Navy. Rikka High School’s marching band uniforms were extremely cute. The smart, crisp powder-blue dresses stood out pleasantly against the park lawn’s green. The finish line was not far away. Despite having marched for nearly a kilometer, the band’s members smiled proudly as they went. They didn’t look remotely tired. Kumiko suddenly understood why people called them “the powder-blue devils.” They practically danced as they played—the woodwinds springing up and down and the brass swinging their bells side to side as they marched. The most terrifying part was that despite their exaggerated movements, their performance was rock-solid. How much did you have to practice to be good enough to pull that off? Kumiko wondered if there was some kind of secret to it, as she stared at the faces in the band. “Hm?” Suddenly she met the eyes of a particular member. “Wait, that’s Azusa.” Azusa had been a classmate of Kumiko’s in middle school. She’d played trombone at the time, and evidently still did, for that was the instrument on which she was performing at that very moment. “You know her?” Midori asked. Kumiko nodded and waved to the Rikka High School band. Azusa’s eyes squinted, and she swung her instrument happily. Kumiko wasn’t sure, but she thought Azusa had noticed. “Still, I was really surprised! Never thought we’d run into each other like that,” said Azusa. After the SunFest had ended and the bands had been dismissed, Kumiko had met up with Azusa. When the two had been friends in middle school, they’d often used the JR Uji Station as a meeting spot. The station had been designed to evoke the ancient Phoenix Hall of Byoudou-in, and Azusa was terribly fond of it, stopping to take snapshots of it with her cell phone at every opportunity. There was a giant tea jar at the station’s south entrance—it was actually a specially made mailbox—and this, too, was a favorite of Azusa’s. She always stopped to take a picture. “Still, I had no idea you were going to Rikka.” “That’s right. I went for the band. They’re total diehards, though.” Azusa grinned over the matcha soft-serve ice cream cone she’d bought at a tea shop. Kumiko returned the smile, then glanced down at her own roasted tea-flavored cone of soft serve. She wondered if she should’ve gone with matcha. Even in times like these, her chronic indecisiveness showed its face. “But Kitauji’s gotten way better, too. They’re totally different from last year.” “Probably ’cause we have a new director.” “Seriously, you guys have gotten really good. On the bus everyone was like, ‘a new challenger appears’!” “Rikka was really good, too.” “I guess, but, you know—of course we were. It’s Rikka,” said Azusa, straightening proudly. Her unabashed pride in her school was backed up with effort and results, though, which Kumiko envied a bit. Kumiko looked away and licked her ice cream. The two were quiet, and for a while they wordlessly walked along the riverbank. The evening sun sank lower, its redly ripened circle melting down between the buildings of the city. A lingering shade of red tinged the edges of the indigo sky. The white moon rose hesitantly, the announcement of night’s arrival. “Hey, Kumiko. Why didn’t you go to Minamiuji High School?” asked Azusa. The question was so sudden that it took Kumiko a moment to realize what it actually meant. “Why would you expect me to have gone there?” “I mean, most of the students from Kitachu wound up at Minamiuji, so I figured that was where you’d gone, too.” Azusa stopped walking. A drop of her melting ice cream fell on the grass at their feet. Kumiko smiled. “There’s lots of reasons to pick a school. Academics, or distance, say.” “Sure, but Minamiuji’s closer, and their grades are about the same.” “That’s true, but…” Pressed on her reasoning, Kumiko fell silent. Azusa waited for a proper reply. “I guess there wasn’t a specific reason, but…” Kumiko began. “…I wanted a reset.” “A reset?” Azusa tilted her head. The river glittered under the city’s evening lights. The water’s surface was beautiful, but Kumiko had no notion of what was beneath it. What might be lurking in that night-colored water? She couldn’t know. “I just wanted to start over. I wanted to go to a school where I didn’t know too many people. So that’s why I went to Kitauji. That’s all.” Kumiko smiled. She didn’t much like putting her own thoughts into words. It hurt too much when they were criticized. Azusa nodded thoughtfully. “I see,” she said with a smile, and for some reason she looked incredibly relieved. A trace of childishness remained in the soft lines of Azusa’s features. Kumiko’s gaze wandered down along her neck to where her collarbones peeked out from behind her shirt, the swell of her chest distinct through the fabric. Though a certain girlishness remained, Azusa was steadily moving toward adulthood. Leaving Kumiko behind. “So you really thought it over, then,” said Azusa. “Thought what over?” “Sorry, sorry—I just figured when you picked schools, someone had pushed you to just go with the flow again.” Azusa smiled a pleasant smile. She popped the last bit of what remained of her ice cream cone into her mouth, then stretched. “The next time we see each other will probably be the competition.” “Probably.” “We couldn’t pull it off in middle school, but…for high school, I really want to make it to Nationals.” “Yeah.” Kumiko smiled softly. She didn’t really think she’d be able to go, but it would be awfully nice. “You’ll definitely make it, Azusa. I mean, it’s Rikka.” “Yeah, probably.” The corner of Azusa’s mouth curled in a fearless smile, but then her expression quickly changed. Her fine eyelashes fluttered, and she seemed to remember something. “Oh, wait—didn’t Reina end up going to your school?” “Yeah, why?” “Why’d she go to Kitauji?” Ugh, this again? Kumiko thought to herself, her brows furrowing as she remembered what had happened earlier. Sure, Reina was a talented player, and sure, maybe her ability was kind of wasted on the Kitauji Concert Band—but you didn’t have to come right out and say it like that. Azusa seemed to notice Kumiko’s displeasure and hastily shook her head. “No, no, I mean—I know she was offered a full scholarship to Rikka, is all.” “Yeah, she’s really smart…” “And I’m sure she had a recommendation for the band, too, but for whatever reason, even though she was admitted, I never saw her. I always thought it was strange, but I never guessed she was at Kitauji,” said Azusa, confusion on her face. “Why didn’t she come to Rikka? If she’s really serious about band, we’d definitely have been the best choice.” “That’s true…” Kumiko was just as puzzled. The more she learned about Reina, the more mysteries there were. What had she been thinking when she’d decided on Kitauji High School? “Anyway. Let’s both practice hard!” said Azusa, waving. Kumiko returned the wave. This classmate she hadn’t seen in quite a while seemed, somehow, just a bit more grown-up.