Chapter 5

Notwithstanding the shudders that came with the return of her scores, Kumiko made it through test season in one piece. Her math grades continued to fall, but on her way to the music classroom where the band director awaited, she told herself with completely unfounded optimism that she’d figure something out. The members of the Class A ensemble would be announced today. Tomorrow, meanwhile, would see the assignment of first and second parts within the various sections, as well as the announcement of the soloists. “Wonder what’s gonna happen with the bass section,” said Midori, stroking her chin with a serious expression on her face. “My gut says everybody’s gonna pass! ’Cause we don’t have very many members to begin with.” “…I hope so.” Kumiko sighed softly. In one corner of the classroom was an expressionless Reina, and across from her to the right was Shuuichi, fooling around with some of the boys from the percussion section. First-, second-, and third-year students alike wore equally tense expressions. Well, except for Midori, who seemed fine. “I’m the only one on string bass, so I pretty sure I won’t fail,” said Midori with a smile, as though she’d read Kumiko’s mind. She probably wouldn’t miss her guess, either. Her playing was excellent, and there wasn’t anyone else in the band who could handle a contrabass. The classroom door slid briskly open, and an energetic voice filled the space. “Is everyone here?” said Michie as she strode in. She wore a stiff black suit that didn’t seem appropriate for the season at all. There was no Taki behind her. Evidently the assistant director would be delivering the audition results. “All seventy-one of the students who auditioned are present,” said Ogasawara. “I see,” replied Michie, setting a file on top of the room’s piano. “Moving right along, I’ll be announcing the Class A band members. Anyone whose name isn’t called will be participating in Class B ensemble practice, which will meet in AV Room Two.” “Yes, ma’am!” “There will be fifty-five students in Class A. When your name is called, answer promptly and loudly.” “Yes, ma’am!” “Furthermore, there will be no objections raised regarding our decisions. The band members were chosen without bias or favor. Bear that in mind. Is this understood?” “Yes, ma’am!” “Good,” she said, and opened her file. Kumiko wondered what it was about being faced with this teacher that made her sit up straighter. Something told her that everyone’s responses would be louder than usual. “I’ll begin with the trumpet section.” With these words a hush fell over the classroom. The quiet tension could have been mistaken for calm. There were eight students in the trumpet section who’d auditioned: two third-years, three second-years, and three first-years. Some of them would certainly be headed for Class B. Kumiko gulped and watched Michie’s face. The teacher’s expression was unreadable. “Third-year, Kaori Nakaseko.” “Here!” “Third-year, Sana Kasano.” “Here!” “Second-year, Yuuko Yoshikawa.” “Here!” “Second-year, Junichi Takino.” “Here!” “First-year, Reina Kousaka.” “Here!” “That concludes the five assignments for the trumpet positions.” The moment Michie said so, a second-year student’s hands went to her face in surprise. The sound of a girl’s weeping quietly filled in the classroom. Nobody was pleased. Nobody said congratulations. The atmosphere was obviously wrong for that. The air was damp and close. Tension weighed on Kumiko’s shoulders. She wanted to get the announcements over with and get out of this place. She wanted to escape. She looked down, then stole a glance at Reina. Reina was sitting ramrod straight with her eyes fixed on Michie. “Next, the horn section. Third-year—” Michie’s voice continued to call out names. The named students, when called, stifled their happiness and responded with stern expressions. Some of the students cried when they were passed over, while others bore it in silence. When the trombones’ turn came, Kumiko discreetly glanced over at Shuuichi. His eyes were tightly shut as though he was praying, but when his name was called a smile split his face. His right arm wavered, almost wandering about in the air. Was he trying to find some way to express his feelings? Failing to find anyone to share his triumph with, he quietly rested his arm on the desk in front of him. Then, seeming to suddenly notice Kumiko’s look, he met her gaze. Congratulations. She tried to somehow convey it with her eyes, but it didn’t seem to reach him. He gave her an awkward look, then quickly turned away. “Next, the bass section. Beginning with the euphoniums.” The bass section’s turn had come. Kumiko swallowed and clenched her fists. Her heart pounded. It’s all right. There are only three euphoniums. The chances that one of us will get dropped to Class B are low. As Kumiko frantically tried to calm herself, Michie began to speak. “Third-year, Asuka Tanaka.” “Here.” Next to Kumiko, Asuka’s voice rang out, calm and brimming with confidence. And surely she had been confident. Confident that her name would be called. “First-year, Kumiko Oumae.” “Wha…” Kumiko stumbled over her reply, thinking she’d misheard. But no—Michie had said it. “First-year.” It couldn’t be. A terrible shiver ran down her spine, a cold sweat dampening her back. She felt impaled on the dubious looks directed at her. Michie made a strange face. “Oumae! Your answer!” “H-here…” she finally managed. The insides of her clenched fists were wet. “That concludes the two assignments for the euphonium positions.” Michie’s voice continued on ahead. Takuya, Riko, Sapphire. All the members of the bass section after the euphoniums had their names called. Except for—except for— Her mind churned. Rationality crumbled like paper in flame, flooding her brain with memories of the past. * “G-good morning!” Kumiko gave her usual morning greeting but did not receive the usual response. Her senior took her eupho out of its case. Her silver euphonium. There were two silver euphoniums in Kumiko’s middle school band. Obviously the golden instruments were cool, but Kumiko preferred silver. It felt like there was something special about them. “Um…hello?” Kumiko addressed the other girl, who radiated hostility but said nothing. They were the only two people in the silent instrument storage room. Kumiko had only just entered middle school and still felt thoroughly uncomfortable in the space. The other girl waited for Kumiko to finish taking out her instrument as Kumiko wondered if she was ever going to say anything. The storage room was small, so normally students had to leave the room before taking instruments out of their cases. But since the girl had left her instrument case wide open in the middle of the music classroom, Kumiko hadn’t been able to put away her own case. “Hey.” “Y-yes?” Kumiko’s voice cracked at being suddenly addressed. She looked to see the older girl glaring at her. She instinctively backed away at the hostility. This kind of nonnegotiable hierarchy was the most terrifying part of middle school. Despite the small difference between the students’ ages, the older ones strode around the school like they owned it. “Are you making fun of me?” “Huh? Wh-what do you mean?” “I’m asking you if you’re making fun of me.” The girl’s glare was relentless in the face of Kumiko’s denial. She made a disgusted tongue-cluck at the silent Kumiko. She reached out and seized Kumiko’s wrist, nails digging into skin. “You think you’re above me now that you’re in A?” “N-no, I don’t—” “Yeah, you do. Pretty full of yourself for a first-year!” The girl kicked at Kumiko’s euphonium. The brass instrument with its flaking silver plating clattered to the floor. Ouch! Kumiko thought. Her vision blurred. Her precious instrument had been damaged. What if it had been dented? What if it was broken? The recital was so soon. “If it weren’t for you, I’d’ve been in A.” “I’m…I didn’t…” “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it,” the girl had said, flinging Kumiko’s hand away with enough force to knock her to the ground. Her elbow struck first, and Kumiko’s hand went instantly numb. The older girl gazed coldly down at the crumpled Kumiko. “You’re nothing special,” she spat. The words pierced Kumiko’s heart. The weight of accumulated sobs made it impossible for Kumiko to speak. The older girl snorted derisively and left the room. Even after she made sure the girl was out of sight, Kumiko’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She frantically rubbed the place on her wrist where she’d been grabbed. The friction warmed her skin, but the marks didn’t fade. She dropped her gaze and saw her fallen euphonium looking defenselessly up at her. As she cautiously reached for it, she saw her face reflected in its silver surface. * In the end, that girl had graduated without Kumiko ever really getting to know her. For her, that competition would have been her final performance in middle school. But Kumiko, a brand-new first-year student, had unforgivably stolen her seat. She’d always been nice to Kumiko up until that day, but that had changed overnight, and from then on she ignored Kumiko entirely. The mood in bass section continued to be unpleasantly awkward until she graduated, and Kumiko had considered quitting the band several times. But she couldn’t do it—she couldn’t summon the courage to say, “I quit.” That year, Kitachu won the silver prize at the Kansai Regionals. The girl’s eyes that day—Kumiko would never forget them. Kumiko loved music. She loved her instrument. But she didn’t love the school band. She knew perfectly well the ugly feelings that lurked behind the smiling faces of so many of the people involved in the band. She couldn’t trust them. She would never have Midori’s honest, innocent love for the band. “The aforementioned fifty-five students will perform in Class A. I expect Mr. Taki’s instruction will be even more intense now, so I expect those of you who were chosen to rise to the occasion.” “Yes, ma’am!” Michie’s words brought Kumiko back to the present with a start. The announcement of band member assignments was apparently over, and the assistant director was calmly putting her file back in order. The mood in the classroom remained gloomy. “Soloists and part assignments will be announced tomorrow. Those of you for whom part assignments are not relevant should attend your regular sectional practice.” “Yes, ma’am!” “That’s all for today’s meeting. Don’t dawdle on your way home. Dismissed!” “Thank you very much!” The band members all echoed the president’s words. Michie favored them with a satisfied smile, then strode out of the classroom. The students began gathering their things to leave, complicated expressions on their faces. There were those who had been chosen, and those who had not. In that moment, a clear division had been drawn between the two groups. Kumiko sighed as she packed her things into her bag. Her nervous sweat had turned cold. “What, you’re going home already?” Kumiko felt something hit her back. She looked up. The arm over her shoulder felt heavy. “N-Natsuki…” Recognizing the face behind the voice, Kumiko paled. Memories from middle school flashed through her mind. The sweat from her forehead dripped down the side of her face toward the floor. “Um, look, I…” The words caught in her throat. She winced. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Despite the dizzying heat that gathered at Kumiko’s face, Natsuki’s arm seemed somehow chilly. “What’re you freaking out for? What’s with the face?” said Natsuki with a laugh, flicking Kumiko’s forehead. Kumiko unconsciously covered the spot with her hand. “Um, what are you doing?” “Hm? Nothing special, really,” said Natsuki as she took Kumiko’s arm. She was strong, but not like the older girl from middle school. It was a comforting strength. “Hey, are you doing anything after this?” “I don’t really have plans…” Natsuki’s expression was open and friendly. “Great. Let’s go to McD’s.” “Mac’s?” Sure, Kumiko was about to finish, but Natsuki snorted in sudden laughter. “‘Mac’s’? A Mac is a computer.” “Yeah, but I mean…it’s Mac’s.” “Where’s that ‘a’ sound coming from? It’s obviously McD’s.” There were all kinds of contractions and nicknames for things that were different in the Kansai region than they were in the Kanto Japanese that Kumiko spoke. The intonation and pronunciation could also differ, and Kumiko frequently found herself dragged into debates about them midconversation. Eventually someone would realize they’d abandoned whatever the conversation’s original topic had been and put an end to the trifling digression. “Anyway! Let’s both of us go to McD’s. I’ll treat you if you stay under a hundred yen.” “What can you even get for a hundred yen? And also, it’s Mac’s.” “You can get stuff! McD’s is a student-friendly establishment,” said Natsuki with a smirk. The nearby fast-food joint was full of students wearing familiar uniforms. Natsuki secured the table in the farthest corner with practiced ease and set her things down on the bench side like she owned the place. This resulted in Kumiko sitting in the chair across from her. “So what do you want?” “Er, I…guess I’ll have a shake.” “Roger that.” Natsuki gave Kumiko’s shoulder a light pat and headed for the register. Kumiko wondered if she should let Natsuki act like a junior student being ordered around by a senior, but then she looked at their bags in front of her and realized it would be a bad idea to leave them unattended. She sat quietly and waited for Natsuki’s return. “Strawberry okay?” “Oh, anything’s fine!” “I mean, I’d make you drink it even if you said you hated it. I’m on team chocolate, myself,” said Natsuki when she returned, offering Kumiko one of the cups on the tray she held. Kumiko hesitantly took the cup, a bright red straw already sticking out of its top. Natsuki flopped grandly down on the bench side and sighed noisily. “Man, I didn’t get picked!” “Koff!” Kumiko had nearly forgotten about the situation, and when it was thrust back in front of her, she choked on her shake. Natsuki watched Kumiko and cackled. “Aw, were you trying to be nice about it?” “N-no, I mean…” Kumiko hadn’t been trying to be nice. She wordlessly stirred her straw around in her shake. It was just that she hated that Natsuki hadn’t been picked for Class A. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, when you think about it, it’s not surprising at all. I only started band in high school, so I’ve only had a year on the eupho. Obviously you’d be the pick.” “But…” “And it’s not like this is the last year we’re gonna go to a competition, anyway. I’ll just have to work hard to make Class A next year,” said Natsuki, taking a sip of her shake, flattening the yellow straw between her lips. “…You’re a good person.” Many thoughts were running through Kumiko’s mind, but that hackneyed phrase was the one that she spoke aloud. Natsuki’s eyes widened for a moment, but then she collapsed into delighted laugher. The straw that dropped from her mouth had bite marks on it. “No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” “But you’re being so kind to me about all this!” “That’s just because you’re being so thoughtful it kinda made me feel bad for you!” Natsuki continued. “Look, to be honest I don’t really care about the competitions. A or B, whatever.” “Huh?” “That kind of thing just seems like a pain, you know? I’ll do it if everybody else is doing it, but still,” Natsuki said with a shrug, “the reason I joined this club in the first place is because I heard you could slack off. It’s only this year that everybody’s gotten all fired up. I just can’t keep up with the change.” Natsuki looked away and brushed condensation from her cup’s surface with her fingertip. Kumiko quietly sipped her shake, its artificial sweetness sticking to her tongue. “Do you know about how our club did in competition last year?” “Bronze prize at the All-Kyoto Competition, right?” “Yup. Kyoto doesn’t have district competitions, so we were basically the worst.” Gold prize, silver prize, bronze prize—competition participants were divided into those three categories. The high school bands competed over two days, and the schools that would advance to the Kansai Regionals were chosen from among the gold prize winners. Larger prefectures would have district competitions before the prefectural level, but Kyoto didn’t. “The truth is, there were some kids last year who wanted to shoot for the gold prize. Nobody thought we could go to Nationals, though.” “…And they were the second-years I keep hearing about, who all quit?” “Yup,” nodded Natsuki. “I mean, I was just a first-year. But they tried to convince the seniors to work harder, practice more.” “They sound pretty amazing.” “It was wasted effort, though.” Wasted. Kumiko repeated the word inwardly. She didn’t like the sound of it. In front of her, Natsuki’s lips curved into a derisive sneer. “The upperclassmen crushed them, after all.” “Crushed… Do you mean…?” Kumiko paled. Natsuki shook her head. “Oh, they didn’t bully them or anything. They just ignored ’em. Everybody just pretended the people who wanted to work harder didn’t exist.” “…Uh, doesn’t that count as bullying?” “Maybe, but they sure didn’t think of themselves as bullies. They were just ignoring something they thought was annoying.” “Still…” Natsuki laughed at Kumiko’s frown. “Of course, there were some of the seniors who practiced a lot, like Asuka. But she only plays for herself, so she wasn’t any help.” “What do you mean?” “I mean exactly that. Asuka’s happy as long as she can play her own instrument. She doesn’t care if the rest of the band sucks, or whether they win a competition. Everybody around her was slacking off, but she was practicing like crazy. That’s why she’s so good.” It was true that Asuka’s skill set her apart from the rest of the band. Taki had probably chosen the compulsory piece that emphasized the bass section based on Asuka’s euphonium and Midori’s contrabass skill. “Asuka’s neutrality is scary. She didn’t support anybody. Both the kids who wanted to practice more and the ones who wanted to screw around tried to get her to come around. ‘Asuka’s special,’ everybody said. But in the end she wouldn’t get behind anybody. She’s always neutral. The other seniors, the older students—nobody had any concrete complaints they could make about her. So finally the ones who wanted to work harder just quit. Kitauji got bronze, but nobody cared, because they’d given up.” Asuka’s special. Natsuki had said so over and over again. “Aoi worried about the girls who quit, though. President Ogasawara, too. When the seniors graduated and Ogasawara took over as club president, the mood in the band got a lot better. And then Mr. Taki came…heck, plenty of the third-years now were always working hard even before, and now we’ve got some first-years with experience at Kansai and even Nationals, so overall we’re way better. Heck, we’re even considering going to Nationals ourselves. It’s crazy. But…I guess Aoi just couldn’t forgive herself.” —They’ve got no right to tell me, “Well, I’m gonna work hard!” Aoi’s words from before momentarily filled Kumiko’s ears. Her eyes had been colored with anguish in that moment. “…So, Natsuki, were you…were you friends with any of the second-years who quit?” “Why would you think so?” “Well, I mean…you sound kind of angry.” “Angry…at who?” “At the third-years who graduated last year, or…everybody who pretended nothing was happening.” Natsuki let a small chuckle slip at Kumiko’s question. She fingered her straw and stirred the thick contents of her cup. She licked clean a bit of shake that lingered on her lips and gave Kumiko a significant look. Her red tongue peeked out past her slightly parted lips. “Why do you think nobody was willing to work hard for last year’s competition?” “Huh?” “I mean, sure, Mr. Taki’s scary and all, but that’s not really a reason to push yourself. Last year there were plenty of us who thought anybody who wanted to work hard was a weirdo. But this year we’ve got people crying because they didn’t make the A band. Isn’t that kind of freakish? Doesn’t it make you wonder what the problem was up until now?” “That’s…yeah, I guess.” It did feel a little too sudden for a simple change of heart. The band had been terrible and lazy at the entrance ceremony. What had changed them? Kumiko had only started at Kitauji this year, so she didn’t know how true everything Natsuki was saying was. But it was certain that the band had changed profoundly this year. “It’s the mood.” “Sorry?” Kumiko blurted out at the sudden statement. Natsuki narrowed her eyes and repeated herself. “Like I said, it’s the mood. Our little band is really susceptible to the mood in the room. So when everybody’s like, ‘Let’s work hard,’ they do, but when they’re like, ‘Let’s not bother,’ they don’t. I think that’s the only difference between this year and last year. Nobody knows who they really are.” The final sentence slipped from Natsuki’s lips. It seemed directed at somebody else, Kumiko thought—or maybe at Natsuki herself. “So in that sense, Mr. Taki’s really good at getting everybody on board. At creating that mood.” “That’s probably true.” “Right?” Natsuki grinned, satisfied at Kumiko’s response. “Like at that first ensemble practice. Wouldn’t it have been easier if he hadn’t stopped us halfway through, and then just given us a lot of advice and stuff? Nobody would’ve wanted to go against him if he’d just done that. He’s good at it.” “I guess so.” “But that’s not what Mr. Taki did. I think he wanted to make a point from the very start.” “Make what point?” Kumiko frowned. Natsuki’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile. “About just how terrible we really were.” Kumiko reflexively gulped. “He’s an amazing strategist. Everybody was way better by just the second ensemble practice. That’s thanks to his teaching. The improvement forced us all to acknowledge his ability. Mr. Taki is a guy who really knows how to use mood.” “Mood, huh,” murmured Kumiko. Natsuki nodded firmly. “In the end, we just got caught up in the mood. That’s all,” she murmured, almost as though talking to herself. Kumiko crumpled up a few paper napkins into a ball. The mangled wad rolled listlessly across the table. The straw in her hand was the bland, tasteless color of blood. With final exams, Kumiko faced her second academic counseling week. Her previous session had been a three-person meeting including her mother, but this time it was just Kumiko and her homeroom teacher, Michie. When the assistant band director saw Kumiko’s face, her expression softened. “So, are you working hard in the concert band, Oumae?” “Ah, yes,” said Kumiko, withering. Michie was famously stern with groups of students, but one-on-one, she was distinctly more gentle. This transformation was surely part of why students both feared and adored her. “Have you gotten used to high school?” “I think so, pretty much,” said Kumiko with an honest nod. Seeing her from this close, Kumiko could see the many wrinkles that lined Michie’s face. “You were chosen for the Class A performance, weren’t you?” “Y-yes, that’s right.” “Are you nervous?” “I am. But I’m used to that.” “I see. That’s promising,” said Michie, her eyes narrowing slightly in a smile. Outside the window, the cicadas buzzed away. It felt like the sun-melted summer itself was sticking to the window’s glass. “Are you having any problems, as a student?” “Maybe…my math test grades.” “That’s certainly a problem. Make sure you review properly,” said Michie with a little chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.” Kumiko nodded her assent, absentmindedly playing with her bangs. “Have you given much thought to your academic future? What career you’d like to pursue? Your dreams?” “No, not really.” “I see. Well, there’s plenty of time in high school. No need to rush your decision.” “Yes, I guess not.” “But do make sure you study your math. If you keep putting it off, you could wind up too far behind to improve your grades at the end.” “Y-you’re right about that.” “So long as you understand,” said Michie, patting Kumiko’s shoulder. Her hand was finely lined with wrinkles. Blue veins stood clearly out beneath her pale skin. Kumiko found the sight vaguely disquieting. She realized that Michie was around the same age as her own mother. Such were the vague thoughts that occupied her mind. Her counseling appointment concluded, Kumiko headed to band practice. Just walking through the halls, she could hear the sounds of other students practicing. She listened closely. “…We really have gotten better,” she murmured. Compared to when she’d first heard the band, the individual playing skills were much improved. Which was unsurprising given the amount of fundamentals practice they’d all done. Still, considering how well even the first-years were able to play through their music, as she admired the achievement, she felt a certain unease tugging at the corners of her heart—was she herself really good enough? She worried about being overtaken and left behind. Kumiko took deep breaths to keep the feeling of unworthiness at bay, her expanding lungs forcing her other organs aside. As she approached the music room, she heard the sounds of some kind of commotion coming from inside. She hastily checked her watch. Strange—sectional practice should still have been going on. And then she remembered that today was the announcement of the soloists. The instrument storage room was connected to the music classroom. There were already several students huddled in the storage room, all of them focused intently on whatever was happening in the classroom. “You wanna watch, too?” said one of the percussion seniors, gesturing her over. Unable to refuse, Kumiko found herself joining in and peering through the cracked door. There were still quite a few students in the classroom. Trumpets, flutes, horns, oboes…all sections with soloists. “I cannot accept this!” A shrill voice pierced Kumiko’s ear, and she winced. “Why did they pick Kousaka instead of Kaori?” It was Yuuko, the trumpet player, who was exploding in anger. Next to her, Kaori smiled nervously. “Well, but they chose Reina after the audition, so…” “I don’t accept that!” Yuuko stomped a foot. The students around them exchanged glances and whispers. “It is sort of weird for a first-year to get the solo, isn’t it?” “Shouldn’t it have been Kaori?” “She should’ve read the room and turned it down.” The murmuring voices were all talking about Reina. But as Reina gathered her sheet music into her folder, she seemed not the slightest bit concerned. “Come on, let’s try to calm down…” Ogasawara patted Yuuko’s shoulder, but Yuuko brushed her roughly away and glared at Reina. “Hey, you! Stop ignoring me!” Yuuko grabbed Reina’s arm forcefully. Reina’s music file slipped from her hand to the floor. “…What do you want?” said Reina. Her insolent tone only made the atmosphere in the room more threatening. “Don’t give me that! I want to know why you got picked for the solo instead of Kaori!” “Yuuko, that’s enough,” said Kaori, trying to hold her back. But Yuuko would not be stopped. Reina looked over the senior band member in front of her. Her lips suddenly parted as she spoke. “What do you mean, ‘why’? You know perfectly well why.” “What—” “I’m the soloist because I’m a better player than Kaori is. Simple, isn’t it?” spat Reina. Rage colored Yuuko’s cheeks. Kaori, who had frantically been trying to calm Yuuko down, now froze in shock. A skim of tears brimmed in her big eyes. “…Is that really the only reason?” said Yuuko. “What are you trying to say?” shot back Reina, narrowing her eyes. Her freezing gaze made Kumiko want to run. Her soft gasp wasn’t the only one. “You knew Mr. Taki from before he was a teacher here, didn’t you?” Reina’s eyes went wide. Her ever-neutral expression now betrayed astonishment for the first time. “Wh-why does that matter all of a sudden?” “I heard your dad is friends with Mr. Taki. That’s why he’s playing favorites—” “Don’t you dare insult him!” The instant the words “playing favorites” came out of Yuuko’s mouth, Reina’s cheeks flushed red. With her free left hand she slapped Yuuko’s grip off her arm. The smack sound echoed hollowly in the room. Kumiko had never heard Reina say anything with that much emotion. “I don’t care what you say about me, but don’t drag Mr. Taki into this! I can’t believe you’re insulting our director like this right before a competition! Do you really think he would play favorites?” Yuuko gulped, silenced by the intensity of Reina’s words. Ogasawara was no help at all as she looked to and fro uncertainly. If only Asuka were here, Kumiko thought, biting her lip. The timing of the vice president’s guidance counseling appointment had been terrible. Kaori’s voice trembled. “R-Reina, I’m really sorry! She’s just trying to stick up for me—” “Kaori!” “Yuuko, you have to stop saying that kind of stuff, too. I really don’t mind—” Kaori started to speak, but then, strangely, she paused. It was as though whatever had been holding her emotions back had broken, and tears spilled from her eyes. They reached her cheeks and slid down her smooth skin. Kumiko could tell the entire classroom had fallen silent. Kaori wiped her eyes with a fingertip and forced a shaky smile to her face. “It’s…really okay.” Her voice shook. Sympathetic murmurs rippled through the classroom. “She really shouldn’t have talked that way to a third-year.” “Kousaka’s so nasty. Poor Kaori.” “Does Kousaka really need to play the solo? Shouldn’t a senior get to play it?” Reina faced the rising voices of discontent with a sharp glare. The open emotion she’d shown a moment earlier was gone. After removing all feeling from her expression, she looked over the room. Her brows furrowed slightly. “If you want to complain, do it after you’re better than me,” spat Reina, and she left the music classroom. Kumiko gulped as she saw the way Reina’s fist was clenched. Just because she wasn’t letting it show on her face didn’t mean she hadn’t been hurt. “Reina!” Before she could think better of it, Kumiko began to chase after her. “Reina! Reina!” Kumiko frantically ran after her. The sight of someone running through the halls like that drew curious glances from the other students as she passed them, but Kumiko didn’t care. Reina didn’t look back as she stubbornly walked on ahead. It was as though she was trying to get away from Kumiko. “Wait, please!” Kumiko soon found herself out of breath, her lack of exercise catching up to her. She had confidence in her lung capacity, but she was on the wrong side of the athletic ability curve. She was only able to finally catch hold of Reina’s arm because Reina had stopped walking. “Waugh!” Kumiko cried out as her head painfully rammed into Reina’s back. It hurt. Reina said nothing as Kumiko rubbed her head. She just stood there. They’d made it all the way into the interior of the school building. In front of them was the staircase leading to the roof. There were no other students. “…Um, Reina…?” said Kumiko hesitantly, still holding on to Reina’s wrist. The black-haired girl remained silent, glaring at the floor, her jaw set. From between her lips emerged a low sound. “…ll…” “Huh?” Kumiko reflexively asked. This time Reina spoke clearly, her eyes flashing open. “I can’t stand them! I can’t stand them! God, I hate them! What the hell is their problem? Why is everyone being so shitty about this! Ugh, it pisses me off so bad! They’re so annoying!” The girl’s shouts echoed in the hallway. She was so suddenly loud that all Kumiko could do was blink. Reina’s expression turned relieved, and she exhaled a deep sigh. Her hand was at her chest. She slowly moved it to grasp Kumiko’s. “Why are you making that face?” Reina smiled. “I mean, I thought you were sad.” “I’m not sad. I’m pissed off,” said Reina with a quick smirk. Kumiko’s chest tightened at the obviously false expression. You don’t have to smile, she thought. Reina continued to look wordlessly at Kumiko, and after a few moments had passed, she slid her hand down along Kumiko’s arm. Reina’s pale skin seemed unreasonably hot. Kumiko looked down. Sweat from the sides of her face rolled down to her collarbone. She brought Kumiko’s hand up to brush against her red-flushed cheeks. “Kumiko…” was all Reina said before embracing her bodily. Kumiko was instantly flustered by the soft sensation of the other girl’s body through her clothes. Reina clasped her arms around Kumiko’s back and hugged her tightly. Hesitantly, Kumiko returned the embrace. “Kumiko,” repeated Reina. Her voice was despondent, and Kumiko gently stroked her delicate back. She could feel Reina’s spine underneath her uniform. As she slowly traced along its length, her fingers caught on the band of Reina’s bra. “Do you think I’m wrong?” “No, I don’t.” “Really?” “Really.” “Okay. Okay,” said Reina, burying her face in Kumiko’s shoulder. Kumiko could see Reina’s long, straight fall of hair. There in the shadowed corner, there was nothing to illuminate her. The two stayed there like that for a while, until Reina, seemingly satisfied, released her embrace. She scratched her cheek self-consciously, then sat down on the steps. “C’mon,” said Reina as though it was obvious, and Kumiko complied, sitting beside her. She accidentally stepped on Reina’s skirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. Kumiko noticed Reina’s pale thighs emerging from under the navy-blue fabric. “Hey, um…would you mind listening to me for a little while?” “Can I even refuse?” “No, but still.” Reina let a smile slip and leaned against Kumiko. She was mundanely heavy. “My dad’s a professional trumpet player.” “Whoa, really? That’s amazing.” “Yeah, that’s my dad,” said Reina with a little laugh. “He’s been friends with Mr. Taki’s dad for a long time.” “Mr. Taki’s dad?” “Yup. Tooru Taki—he’s a really famous concert band conductor. He got gold at Nationals over and over.” “Wow, was Mr. Taki’s dad really that amazing?” “He was. When I was little, it was my dream to be his student someday.” Reina looked down, lost in the memory. “But he was pretty old, and he retired before I started high school.” “Oh, so then…” “Yup. When Tooru retired, I decided I wanted to study under his son, our Mr. Taki. That’s why I came to this school.” The long-standing mystery of why Reina had chosen Kitauji was finally solved. But there were still questions remaining. Kumiko tilted her head. “But how did you know Mr. Taki would be at Kitauji? He just started this year.” “I leaned on my mom a little bit for that. This is just between you and me, but I actually knew he’d be coming here before he did.” “Okay, that’s just scary.” Kumiko regarded Reina’s mysterious smile and decided not to ask any more questions. Reina giggled happily, then suddenly straightened and looked up at Kumiko. Her eyes sparkled as though filled with scattered stars. Still holding Kumiko’s hand, she squeezed it tight. “The thing is, I like Mr. Taki.” “…Huh?” “Oh, but not just ‘like.’ I mean like like. Love.” That’s the worse of the two likes, Kumiko vaguely thought to herself as she regarded the suddenly bashful girl. But they said love knows no ages, so maybe even if he was a decade or more older than her, it would be okay. Reina’s eyes faintly narrowed. Her pale lips curved. “That’s why I can’t let anything happen to his reputation because of me.” Her voice was low, but it carried in the quiet space. Kumiko looked up to the end of the stairs. The doors at the top leading to the roof were chained shut, as if to prevent anyone from flying too high. “…Do you think you might give the solo up to Kaori?” “No,” came the immediate answer. “You’re gonna hear about it from everyone,” Kumiko said. This prompted a snort from Reina. She folded her arms and smirked, undefeated. “I’ll show them I’m right, then.” Kumiko couldn’t help but let slip an impressed “Ooh” at Reina’s righteous declaration. Her words stood on a foundation of absolute confidence in her abilities, something Kumiko herself utterly lacked. Reina seemed to shine, and Kumiko found herself averting her eyes. “Yeah. I bet you will,” she said with a soft smile. Reina’s eyes narrowed in a smile, and she stood, taking Kumiko’s hand. The soft palm of her hand was shockingly cold. Kumiko parted ways with Reina and returned to the music classroom. Few students remained, with just the percussion section conducting their normal practice. She wondered if Reina would go to trumpet sectionals. Yuuko would definitely be there, and Kaori, too. Kumiko was impressed all over again at Reina’s stout heart. She picked up her euphonium and made her way back along the hallway, when suddenly she heard a voice from above. When she looked up, she realized the voices were coming from the landing at the top of the stairs that led to the next floor. It was Kaori and Asuka. “So I hear there was some kind of crazy fight, huh?” “Yuuko, she kinda…yeah.” “Well, she really likes you, after all.” “Yeah, it’s nice, but…it can be a problem, sometimes.” At this Asuka loosed a loud cackle, eliciting a sulky “Geez!” from Kaori. “It’s not funny!” “Ah, sorry, sorry. So how’s the mood in the trumpet section now?” “It’s horrible. Reina came to practice as usual, but Yuuko’s still furious.” “I just wish she could give it a rest for now, with the competition coming up. I don’t want the trumpet section splitting the band.” “…Sorry.” “Well, it’s not your fault, Kaori.” Asuka chuckled. “It’s rough being so popular.” Kaori sighed. When she spoke, her voice was lowered and wetly hoarse. “…Asuka—” “Hm?” Kumiko suddenly wondered if this conversation was something she shouldn’t have been listening in on. But her interest had been piqued, and she couldn’t very well leave now. “Asuka, who do you think should do it?” “What, the solo?” “Yeah,” Kaori nodded, her voice soft and muffled. “I think whoever’s better should do it. Seems like that’s the standard Mr. Taki is using, anyway,” said Asuka. Asuka’s answer was logically sound. Kaori’s voice choked up as she replied. “So you’re saying Reina’s better?” “That’s not for me to decide.” “Now you’re just dodging.” Kumiko heard the sound of a soft impact, as though Kaori had jokingly smacked Asuka. “I don’t want you to say it, even if you’re kidding.” “Say what?” “…that Reina’s better than me.” “I never said any such thing. You’re the one saying that,” Asuka spurted. Unable to argue with that, Kaori murmured some kind of hasty response. The conversation seemed to have turned sweetly sentimental. Kumiko made a face, when suddenly a voice called out to her from behind. “Kumiko, what’re you doing here?” “Yeep!” Startled, she turned around to see Hazuki, carrying her tuba. “N-nothing!” “Oh, really? Well, whatever.” Whether or not she was actually curious, Hazuki didn’t pry further. “C’mon, let’s go,” she said. At her suggestion, Kumiko headed with her to the classroom where their sectional practice was held. Despite listening carefully, she caught no more of her seniors’ private conversation. The closing ceremonies for the first semester concluded without incident, and Kitauji High School officially began its summer vacation. On the school grounds and in the gymnasium, the various athletics clubs devoted themselves to training in anticipation of the summer tournaments. It was intensely stifling to hear their bellowing voices in the hallways and courtyard. Concert band practice entered its final spurt, becoming even more intense. Weekend practice was normally from nine AM to five PM, but it was extended to eight PM, with the approaching competition being given as the reason. The band members cried and wailed at the never-ending rehearsals and practice. After playing the music for their performance so many times, the melodies began to etch themselves into the students’ consciousnesses. Kumiko began to find herself a little frightened as she caught herself humming the music in the bath or in bed as she fell asleep. “So, the schedule for the competition day has been announced,” Taki said with a smile one day after they’d finished fundamental drills and tuning. The band’s eyes were all instantly on the director. The Kyoto Concert Band Competition was held over two days. For Class A, roughly thirty bands would perform on August fifth, with the remaining ten or so playing on August sixth. Only the top three among them would advance to the Kansai Regionals. The order of performances was decided by lottery, but this luck of the draw could sometimes have a significant effect, despite its slight unfairness. An earlier number meant less time to practice. It wouldn’t make or break a band’s chances of success, though. “Kitauji High School will perform at eleven AM on the second day, following Rikka High School.” A groan of dismay arose from the band at this information. Playing after a known powerhouse school meant they would inevitably be compared directly to it. This order was hardly fortuitous for them. “It will be all right.” Taki smiled. “Few bands have chosen ‘Crescent Moon Dance’ as their compulsory piece, and our free piece will not overlap, either. I’m sure that the judges will hear our performance with fresh ears. Additionally, I don’t believe that Kitauji’s playing will fail to measure up to Rikka’s.” The band members’ eyes all brightened at the director’s words. Having become thoroughly used to his constant criticism and scolding, they were awfully susceptible to any praise from Mr. Taki. The judges would decide the outcome of the competition. Their job was not an easy one. They heard the same pieces of music over and over again, which evidently became tiresome. There were five pieces of compulsory music to choose from, but owing to the pieces’ varying degrees of difficulty, certain compositions were often predominant. Sometimes a popular choice would be performed ten times in a row by different schools, so it might work to Kitauji’s advantage to have chosen a less-common selection. “Incidentally, Rikka’s compulsory will be ‘March for Military Band,’ and their free is ‘Music of the Spheres.’” At this there were cries of despair. Philip Sparke’s “Music of the Spheres” was well known as a difficult piece. A few years earlier, a high school from Fukuoka prefecture had won national acclaim with a performance of the notorious piece that put even professional bands to shame. Kumiko had gotten a recording of it from her middle school band director and listened to it over and over. Rikka was well known for their marching skill, but they were strong in concert performance as well. They’d surely be able to pull off even a difficult piece. Taki smiled sympathetically. “There’s no need to be afraid. We will be fine performing the music we’ve prepared. Results are proportional to effort, and I know how hard you’ve all worked.” “Mr. Taki!” a high voice cried out. Something was strange about him today. He’d been nothing but complimentary. For just a moment, his gaze met the skeptical-looking Kumiko’s. Her heart thudded at his clear eyes. His smile in that moment was full of implications, but then he looked ahead to the classroom in general. “Now then, we’ll begin rehearsal. First, a complete run-through.” The band instantly straightened at the sight of Taki’s raised baton. Kumiko readied her euphonium and set its mouthpiece against her lips. By the time practice was over, the once-bustling school buildings had fallen quiet. By eight o’clock, all the other students had gone home, and the campus became dark and gloomy. The halls were deserted. Only the green-glowing emergency exit signs illuminated the dark, silent space. The shadows that fell in the hallways were unpleasantly creepy, and Kumiko started at even slight noises. “Ugh…” Why did she have to accidentally leave her wallet in the sectionals practice room? Kumiko cursed her own absentmindedness as she walked. Fortunately, there was still a light on in the staff room. Maybe one of the teachers was still working. She wanted to borrow a key and get her wallet as soon as she could. Summoning her resolve, Kumiko slipped into the staff room. “Excuse me…” she said. The faculty had mostly gone home, and the staff room was much dimmer than it usually was. Fluorescent lights lit just one corner of the spacious room. Who was still here? As she swept her gaze over the room searching for a person, the scent of coffee tickled her nose. “What might you be doing?” Kumiko turned around to see Taki, holding a mug in his hand and regarding her with a look of surprise. White steam rose from the orange mug. “It’s eight thirty—a bit late for students to be wandering around, I think.” “Ur, um—I left my wallet in my sectionals room…” Taki sighed, mildly exasperated. “You’re a euphonium, correct, Miss Oumae? Do you practice in classroom three-three?” “Th-that’s right.” “Understood. I’ll accompany you. Let’s be brisk about it.” He set his mug on his desk and took the classroom key from where it hung on the wall. “I-is that okay?” “Excuse me?” “Um, I mean, you going along with me.” Taki cocked his head curiously. “Did you want to go alone?” “No, no, it’s just…you seemed busy with work.” “Oh, that’s fine. I was just doing some preparation for tomorrow’s rehearsal,” he said with a friendly smile. Why was this Taki so different from the one who held their rehearsals? Kumiko couldn’t help but wonder. He was a gentle soul—until music got involved. The two of them, Taki and Kumiko, walked down the silent halls. This was the first time she had ever talked to him like this, Kumiko realized as she silently followed the director. “Are you enjoying concert band?” Taki suddenly asked her, jolting her out of her reverie. “Y-yes!” “I see. That’s good to hear. The truth is, I got a bit of a scolding from the principal about how I’m making you all practice too much.” “Really?” “Really. I was reminded that the third-year students have entrance exams, and that I shouldn’t push them too hard,” he said. “But I’m not too worried about it,” he added. Be a little worried about it! Kumiko thought, but she said nothing—Mr. Taki was an authority figure, after all. “Make sure that you don’t neglect your studies, either, Miss Oumae.” “I-I will.” “Still, I was abominable at chemistry when I was in high school, so I suppose I can’t say too much.” The pair’s footsteps echoed through the quiet hallway. The mostly unlit school was dark enough that you couldn’t see to the end of the hall. Kumiko’s mouth was dry. She looked up to Taki’s face as though to beat down the vague unease that rose within her. “Mr. Taki, do you really think we can make it to Nationals?” She seemed to have caught him with his guard down. Taki froze briefly in place. “Miss Oumae, you don’t mean to tell me that you think we can’t make it, surely.” “N-no, it’s not that. Just…” “It’s no good to lose heart now. You must be undaunted in all things.” Taki began walking again. Kumiko hurried to follow, musing to herself that Taki wasn’t very quick on the uptake. She wondered if that was something Reina liked. When they reached the room, Taki produced the key and slid it into the keyhole. He turned it, producing a mechanical click. “There, it’s open.” “Th-thank you very much!” Kumiko quickly turned on the lights. Her wallet was right on the desk where she’d left it. She hurried over to retrieve it. “I found it. Sorry to bother you!” “No, it’s no trouble.” He didn’t seem the least bit concerned as he locked the classroom back up again. As Kumiko gazed vacantly at his long fingers fluidly turning the key, a question popped into her head, and she suddenly asked it. “Mr. Taki—how did you become a band teacher?” “Are you really that curious?” Taki’s eyebrows drooped in exasperation, and his cheeks faintly colored. It was rare to see this sort of reaction from him. Kumiko’s curiosity was now intensely piqued, and she nodded firmly. “Yes!” Taki seemed to consider it for a moment, then finally shrugged and gave in. “My father was a concert band teacher. It was probably his influence.” “Your father—that’s Tooru Taki, right?” “My, you’re well informed,” said Taki with a look of surprise. “I heard from Reina,” said Kumiko, looking down. “Ah, that’s right. You’re good friends with her, aren’t you?” “Ah, yes. We are quite friendly.” Taki chuckled, apparently finding Kumiko’s statement amusing. “My father was the concert band director here ten years or so ago, so I was quite pleased to be assigned here myself.” “Really?” This was news to Kumiko. “Really.” Taki nodded with a happy smile. Had the golden age of concert band at Kitauji High School been Taki’s father’s doing? “Did you always want to be a teacher?” Kumiko asked. Taki smiled softly. “No, not at all. I was a child with all sorts of dreams—I would read a comic book and announce that I wanted to become a comic book artist, then watch a movie and want to become a film director or actor. I think I wanted to do pottery at some point, even.” “That’s…that’s really something.” “However,” said Taki, giving Kumiko a significant look. “However, in the end, this is the work I chose.” “…Do you regret it?” “That’s a good question.” His chuckle echoed down the hallway. Kumiko suddenly realized that he only ever seemed to smile. “Thank you very much, Mr. Taki.” Kumiko made sure to properly express her appreciation as soon as they returned to the staff room. “Not at all,” replied Taki with a little nod. Kumiko wondered if the cooling coffee on his desk would wait for him. “It’s quite late. Take care on your way home.” “Yes, sir.” Kumiko nodded, holding her schoolbag. She’d put her wallet deep in the innermost pocket, the better to avoid losing it. “Oh, Miss Oumae.” “Yes?” Kumiko had almost left the room when Taki called out to her. She looked back and saw him regarding her with a serious expression. Right there was the only bright place in the entire darkened school. The glow of the cheap fluorescent lights stretched weakly out through the staff room’s windows. Taki stood there as though treading on the shadows. His usually gentle eyes now suddenly burned with a keen brightness. “I do believe that this band can go to Nationals. I believe so very seriously.” Kumiko held her breath. She instantly understood that this was the answer to her question earlier. He believed in them. The idea filled her chest with warmth. Her throat caught on something. She took the happy, embarrassed feeling she had and flung it back at Taki. “I’ll…I’ll do my best at the competition!” Witnessing this artless expression of emotion, the director silently showed her a wide smile. With each moment the competition drew nearer, the mood in the band grew tenser. It was surprising how thoroughly they’d learned the compulsory piece, given how impossible it had seemed at first. Their rehearsals grew more and more polished, and as the days went by, Taki’s instruction shifted from the basics of rhythm and pitch to higher-level guidance on nuances of expression. As the students applied their best efforts to taking Taki’s words and making them reality, their passion compounded their labor. And while it would be easy to see this and imagine that the club was unified, there were some who intensified their opposition in order to resist the trend. “The sheet music says affettuoso, so why are you playing the melody like you’re grumbling? Let’s try to play it more smoothly.” Taki flipped irritably through the score. “Yes, sir!” replied the trumpet section he’d addressed. Their reply was quick and attentive, but exhaustion was written all over their faces, which was hardly surprising. This was the thirteenth time they’d played through this section at Taki’s direction. Kumiko was getting tired of just hearing it, never mind playing it. “We’ll do this as many times as it takes,” said Taki with a preemptive smile, as though having read the band’s mind. The trumpet section scrutinized their sheet music, scared into submission. “Now, then, trumpets and percussion, one more time.” “Yes, sir!” Kumiko could not hear any difference between the fourteenth version of the section and the thirteen that had come before it, but Taki evidently could. It was heartening to have a band director whose ear was so finely attuned to the smallest disparity in sound, but when it was your own performance being scrutinized, it was simply terrifying. “That’s enough. Let’s try playing it one by one. Starting with Miss Nakaseko.” “Yes, sir.” At Taki’s direction, each member of the trumpet section played through the section individually. “Miss Kousaka, would you please play it again? I believe your F was a bit sharp.” Taki’s correction elicited nasty giggles from around the room. Reina remained expressionless, simply answering, “Yes, sir,” and playing the phrase again. “That level right there is about acceptable,” said Taki. “Next, Miss Yoshikawa.” Taki’s instruction had moved onto the next student, but the laugher from a moment earlier lingered in Kumiko’s ears and refused to fade. Since the day of the audition, the rift between Reina and the older students had only deepened. The maelstrom of ill feelings was pulling other students in and disturbing the overall mood of the club. With the seniors supporting Kaori and the juniors backing Reina, the only thing stopping the situation from exploding might be the shared goal of the competition. And if that was so, what would happen after the competition was over? Kumiko mulled the situation over as she polished her instrument with a cloth. “All right, now everybody together, one more time.” “Yes, sir!” replied the members of the desperate, exhausted band. “Ugh, this sucks!” cursed an irritated Hazuki, not even bothering to hide her ill temper. “You mean the thing with Kaori?” replied Midori innocently, eliciting a flinch from Kumiko at her willingness to plunge directly into the sensitive subject. Kumiko glanced around warily, but it looked like the rest of the band members had already gone home and weren’t lingering at school. She slumped as they continued on down the road that led away from Kitauji. “What do you think, Midori?” asked Hazuki. “About what? Whether I’m on Kaori’s side, or Kousaka’s, you mean?” “No, obviously you gotta pull for Kousaka. I mean, I like Kaori, but I sure don’t like the girls around her,” said Hazuki, displeased. “I dunno, I mean, I kinda get it. It’d be super annoying to have a younger student steal the solo out from under you. It’s gonna be Kaori’s last competition and all.” “Don’t tell me you’re on Kaori’s side!” Midori shook her head vehemently at Hazuki’s question. “No, no. I want to do well in competition, so I totally think Kousaka should do it. There aren’t many students as good as she is even at the national level. But, like…” Midori trailed off and heaved a sigh. “But?” Kumiko prompted. “But I wonder if that’s all that matters.” “What do you mean?” “I think there are things that matter besides competition results. It seems kinda sad to just decide everything by skill,” Midori explained, her long eyelashes lowered as she looked down. Kumiko quietly encouraged her to continue. “We got the gold prize all three years I was in middle school. Seijo’s an all-girls school, and there was drama like this all the time. Everybody fought over stuff like auditions, who was gonna be in the A band, all that stuff. Juniors would get totally ignored by the seniors, or juniors would badmouth the seniors. I mean, we still basically all got along, but still.” “Ugh, that sounds like the worst,” said Hazuki, scowling. “But that’s when I started thinking, what if I hadn’t gone to that school—what if I’d gone to a school that only ever got as far as regional competitions, and we all just aimed for a gold prize there and kinda just took it easy? We might never make it to Nationals, but I bet it would still be pretty fun.” “So you’re saying that competition results aren’t everything?” At Kumiko’s question, Midori folded her arms and thought for a moment, then nodded lightly. The cat keychain attached to her schoolbag bounced with the movement. “Yeah! I think that’s pretty much it,” she said with a smile. Hazuki gave her an exasperated look. “That’s fine and all, but I don’t think a nice sentiment’s gonna be enough to fix this. People want results.” “I think we could still aim pretty high even with Kaori doing the solo, though. To be honest, Kaori’s really good. It’s just that Kousaka’s abnormally good.” “So you really do think Kaori should play the solo, then.” “I mean, if she did, then all this fighting we’re having now would go away! And Kousaka can play the solo next year.” “But wouldn’t you feel bad for Kousaka, then? She’d be giving up the solo to someone who’s not as good as she is.” “But I hate that kind of thinking!” said Midori. “Sometimes it’s okay to just give it to somebody who tried really hard!” “Well, if that’s what it’s about, then Kousaka’s been practicing like crazy, too.” “Yeah, but she’s the reason everybody’s fighting now.” “But that’s not her fault!” “I know, but there’s no other way to fix it!” Midori and Hazuki normally got along very well, but they tended to argue about the most trivial things. As the one to whom it fell to break them up, Kumiko found it intensely frustrating. “What do you think, Kumiko?” “Yeah! Kumiko, what’s your take?” Midori’s and Hazuki’s voices overlapped, and Kumiko’s face involuntarily twitched. In times like these, it was better not to endorse either position. Her eyes wandered here and there as she tried to think of a way to change the subject—and then someone entered her field of vision. “Hey—” she said. The two other girls followed her gaze. There, coming out of the convenience store next to the station entrance, was Shuuichi. As soon as he caught sight of them, he visibly winced. “Oh, it’s Tsukamoto,” said Hazuki. “Heey!” she called, waving him over. As far as Kumiko knew, he’d rejected her just two months earlier, but it didn’t seem to be bothering her. As soon as he spotted Kumiko, he ducked back into the convenience store as though trying to escape. She was aware that he’d been avoiding her, but to see it happening so obviously was irksome. “Eep, Kumiko, you’re making a scary face!” said Midori in delight, poking Kumiko between her eyebrows. It hurt a little. Next to Midori, Hazuki snorted. “That awkward weirdo.” “Ooh, Hazuki, your face is nasty, too!” cried Midori, clearly happy for some reason as she continued to poke at Kumiko’s face. Kumiko smacked her hand away, then exhaled in relief. Midori’s treatment was irritating, but it didn’t really matter if the subject stayed changed. “Thank you very much!” The band members all bowed. For once, the day’s band practice had ended before the sun went down. The reason was simple: Taki was out on a school-related trip. It was the first time in quite a while she was off by midday, and Kumiko walked along the school hallway in pleasantly high spirits. “Hey, Kumiko. Good work today!” Reina approached, having already finished getting ready to leave the school. “You going home?” asked Kumiko. “Yeah. What about you?” “I’m gonna stay a little longer.” “Okay. See you tomorrow!” “See you!” Reina smiled and waved, and Kumiko returned the gesture. As soon as Reina was out of sight, the senior students all around them immediately began whispering. “She’s going home already?” “She shouldn’t be leaving ahead of her seniors.” “The competition’s so soon—she’s sure taking it easy.” The unpleasant murmurs seemed to cling to Kumiko’s ears. She pretended not to hear them and hurried toward an unoccupied classroom. She wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Lately it was always like this. No matter where Reina went, criticism seemed to follow. One more thing to endure until the competition was over. Kitauji High School’s southern building had four floors, and climbing to the top one was an exertion. Kumiko usually practiced in the north building, but she’d wound up here in an effort to find someplace thoroughly deserted to practice. The southern building’s fourth floor was notably unpopular, which made it perfect for solo practice sessions. “…Huh?” As she climbed the stairs, Kumiko stopped when she heard the notes of a familiar musical phrase. It was a trumpet’s soft tone—the solo section of the free performance. Hiding herself behind the corner, Kumiko peered down the hallway. Evidently someone had gotten here first. Kumiko’s favorite practice spot was already occupied by Kaori, looking at her sheet music as she played. Her posture was straight, and Kumiko realized that Kaori must have completely memorized the solo; her eyes were not actually on the music, but looking somewhere far in the distance. “Why is she…?” Kumiko murmured to herself—but just then, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Kumiko gasped and turned to see a smiling Asuka, carrying two plastic drink bottles and holding her index finger to her lips in a shh gesture. She gestured silently to Kumiko to follow. Kumiko stared blankly at Asuka as the girl descended the steps, then came to her senses and hastily followed. “You saw, eh?” Asuka asked with a mischievous smile once they’d reached the third floor. Flustered, Kumiko stumbled over her reply. “I-I’m sorry! Should I not have?” Asuka giggled. “Just kidding,” she said, sitting down on the stairs. Kumiko wondered if the drink bottles Asuka was carrying were for Kaori. She wondered if the two of them were going to practice together. “So why are you here, Kumiko?” “I was going to practice here…” “By yourself? Ah, sorry we took your spot,” said Asuka, but she didn’t seem particularly sorry. The older girl’s hair was tied back, and she yawned. “Are you surprised?” “Huh?” “By Kaori, I mean. She’s been privately practicing the solo. That’s a secret, by the way.” Asuka narrowed her eyes slightly. Behind her glasses’ lenses, her eyes betrayed no emotion. “So Kaori, she…” “She doesn’t want to give up, looks like.” “I…I see.” Kumiko looked down at her feet, unable to hold Asuka’s gaze any longer. With nowhere to go, her bewildered euphonium leaned against her. “So Kumiko, you’re friends with Kousaka, right?” “Ah, yes…” “Is that why you’re making that weird face? Don’t worry, Kousaka’s gonna be the soloist anyway,” said Asuka, her voice sounding as though she didn’t care what happened one way or the other. “B-but…” “I mean, Kaori knows that Kousaka’s better, too. But she doesn’t want to give up. C’mon, let the girl practice.” “No, I’m not criticizing her or anything, I just…” “Heh-heh. Is it sympathy, then? ‘Aw, poor Kaori…’” There was a palpable edge to Asuka’s voice now. Kumiko gulped. Asuka took one of the plastic bottles and twisted the cap off. She swirled its liquid contents around. Light reflected off the water’s transparent surface. “The people around her don’t quite understand. Kaori doesn’t want sympathy, and she doesn’t want to argue her way into getting the solo. She just wants to be satisfied.” “Satisfied?” “Yup,” said Asuka, taking a drink of water. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Kumiko inwardly debated whether to ask the question, and after a few moments, she finally spoke. “…So are you on Kaori’s side?” Asuka stopped drinking. The moment she took the bottle from her mouth, droplets of water made dark spots on the floor. She forcefully wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled a wry, troubled smile. “Why would you ask me something like that?” “Natsuki said that you were ‘special.’ I just thought that was a little weird. I thought you’d be neutral, as usual.” “Yeah, that girl overthinks about me sometimes.” “Really?” “Yup. Still, she’s not exactly wrong.” “What do you mean?” Kumiko tilted her head, and Asuka giggled. “I’m not especially on Kaori’s side, but I’m not on Kousaka’s, either. I’m the vice president, after all. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to express my personal opinion like that,” said Asuka, standing. Kumiko wondered if that meant the conversation was over. “Okay, then, but…I’ll keep it a secret, so please just tell me.” “What?” “Your personal opinion.” Asuka’s eyes widened for just a moment—she seemed not to have expected Kumiko to go that far. But the expression of surprise was soon swallowed by her usual smirk, and she answered with an amused, throaty chuckle. She touched her index finger to her bright red lips. “Can you keep a secret?” “I-I’ll try.” “At least you’re honest.” The plastic bottle in Asuka’s hand sloshed. On the water’s transparent surface, foam appeared, then vanished. Her long eyelashes swept up and down. Her obsidian eyes suddenly focused on Kumiko. “To be honest, in my heart of hearts, I don’t care. I don’t care about who plays the solo or any of the rest of that crap.” The chill in her voice froze Kumiko to the ground where she stood. Asuka noticed this reaction; the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. She patted Kumiko’s shoulder, then nudged her back slightly, as though sending her on her way. Her fingers, much longer than Kumiko’s own, fluttered through the air as she waved. Kumiko doubted she could ask any more questions of that tightly closed mouth. Kumiko smiled wordlessly. Asuka said, “Bye-bye,” as she disappeared back up the stairs, presumably to where Kaori was. Kumiko watched her go before moving. She descended the deserted stairs. She still wanted to put the question to Asuka’s smiling face: You actually want to cheer Kaori on, don’t you? But she couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough to peel that sturdy mask from Asuka’s face. Kumiko sighed. Even now, she could hear the faint voice of a trumpet lingering in her ears and refusing to fade. It was the day before the competition. The band had reserved a small performance space in the neighborhood for the day’s rehearsal to practice the performance, as well as entering and exiting the stage. The municipal concert hall near Mt. Oubaku charged a very reasonable rental fee and thus became a great ally of band students. “Sh-shuddup!” cried Hazuki, covering her ears. The Class B band in which she played would have its competition performance two days after the A band, on August eighth. Their duties today involved helping the A band with transporting their instruments—as well as appreciating their performance. She’d worn a simple jersey shirt today, perhaps to make the physical activity easier, and as the wail of a siren sounded within the hall, she looked exhausted. “You mustn’t tell the band to shut up. Although it is pretty loud,” said Riko from behind Hazuki with an exasperated smile. At the moment, the percussion section was putting the final touches on its performance. The instrument with the most impact in “East Coast Pictures” had to be the siren that sounded during the finale. Many schools settled for using a siren whistle for the piece, but Taki had gone to the trouble of borrowing a hand-cranked emergency siren from another school. According to him, its sound had a different weight. Given how loud it was, no mistakes could be made in its playing. The terrible weight of this responsibility fell to a first-year percussion student, who looked about to cry under Taki’s instruction. “Hey, Kumiko—don’t get nervous and screw up, okay?” said Asuka with a malicious grin from where she sat next to Kumiko. As she applied oil to her instrument’s valves, Kumiko nodded, her face obediently serious. “I-I’ll do what I can!” “Even I’m getting excited! I can’t believe tomorrow’s the real thing!” chattered Midori, seemingly delighted. Midori really was tough as nails. She seemed utterly ready for the performance and untouched by anything like stage fright. “Well, it’s not like you have a solo or anything to worry about. Let’s just try to have a good time,” said Natsuki, looking to Kumiko with a grin. Behind Kumiko, Takuya nodded. “…We’ll do our best.” “We will!” It was still just a rehearsal, but Kumiko felt somehow heartened nonetheless. She responded to Takuya with admirable energy. When she looked around at the other sections, they were all busily engaged in their own crucial practice. The instruments’ melodies mixed in the air, each one a grain that formed part of a huge, complicated, swelling din. It might have sounded like a tremendous noise to an outsider, but strangely, those swept up within it felt nothing of the sort. Only the hall’s stage was lit, and there were only a few audience members in the seats. Given how nervous Kumiko felt in the modest hall, she imagined that it would be much worse at the actual event. She had never been much good with crucial performances. Her brain went blank with nerves. The competition was held every year at the Kyoto Kaikan concert hall, which was in the city of Kyoto proper. It was a large venue, and on the days of the event it would be swarming with students. The competition performances might have already started there; it was the first day of the All-Kyoto Concert Band Competition. Which bands had already scored well? Kumiko felt strangely ambivalent; she both did and did not want to know. “Good. All right, everybody, let’s do a full run-through, with the percussion.” Taki stepped up to the conductor’s lectern, apparently satisfied with the state of the siren. At the sound of his voice, everyone scurried to their places, and the clamor from a moment earlier vanished as though it had never been, leaving the hall quiet. The almost painful silence bore down on Kumiko’s shoulders. “Um—!” Suddenly there was a raised hand at the edge of the hall. The soft voice was a familiar one. “What is it, Miss Nakaseko?” Taki’s eyes fixed on Kaori. “I would like to redo the audition for the solo section,” said Kaori. At these words a loud murmur rippled instantly through the band. The sheer timing of the request was incredible. Kumiko drew a sharp breath and looked to Reina. Her expression was as unreadable as it ever was, but her fingers trembled a bit, holding her sheet music. “We only have the use of this hall for a limited time. We don’t have enough time to test all of the members of the trumpet section again.” Yuuko bolted to her feet. “I withdraw! I have no desire to play the solo.” Following her lead, the other second- and third-year trumpets also stood. Reina did not move. She stared at her sheet music as though to hide her dismay. Taki looked down, considering the possibility. Finally he took a deep breath, exhaling it in a sigh. The moment he cast his gaze back over the band, the murmuring instantly evaporated into silence. “Understood. Very well. We will now hold another audition for Miss Nakaseko and Miss Kousaka to decide the trumpet soloist. Will that do?” “Yes, sir!” Kaori nodded fiercely in response to the director’s question. The cornet solo was indisputably the highlight of the second movement of “East Coast Pictures.” The beautiful tune pulled behind it a grand melody. It was more relaxed than the third movement, which only further emphasized the passage’s beauty. Sloppy technique would not suffice. “We’ll begin with Miss Nakaseko. Everyone who comes in at the top, please make sure to play. Is that understood?” “Yes, sir.” Taki brought his baton down. Kaori’s soft, delicate playing filled the hall. She performed everything perfectly—including the difficult high notes, and the tricky passages where each note had to be smoothly connected to the next. There wasn’t a single fault in her bright, sparkling tone. Kumiko closed her eyes and let it flow over her. Kaori’s performance had noticeably improved. It spoke clearly of the exhausting effort she’d put into it. Taki smiled when the performance was over. “You’ve certainly improved. I’m impressed.” Kaori’s tense expression immediately brightened, and the students around her burst into spontaneous applause. Kumiko looked to Reina. It would be hard to follow this. Reina placed her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. For the first time, the obvious fact of Reina’s own nervousness occurred to Kumiko. “Now then, it is Miss Kousaka’s turn. Are you ready?” “Yes, sir.” Reina readied the cornet. Her back was ramrod straight; her gaze, directly ahead. Taki brought his baton up, and Reina took a breath. From the moment the first note leaped from the trumpet’s bell, Kumiko clearly heard the difference between this and the performance that had just ended. The shock seemed to strike her brain. The high notes stirred the air and penetrated deep into Kumiko’s ears. Reina’s tone was forceful while still preserving its beauty as it reached to the end of the concert hall. The same sheet music ought to produce the same sound—but the two performances were undeniably different. Kumiko swallowed reflexively at the thrilling, electric sound. Her heart thudded; goose bumps stood up on her skin. The smooth melody seemed to have no seams at all between its notes, and passion suffused the sound. The performance ended, and silence fell in its wake. No one moved. No one spoke. Traces of what they’d just heard still lingered in the air. This…this isn’t fair, thought Kumiko. How can someone like that be my classmate? “Thank you very much,” said Taki. At this, Reina lowered her instrument. The band members came out of their reverie and began to murmur, giving their thoughts on the performances as though they’d forgotten they were in the middle of ensemble practice. Every face seemed flushed with excitement. “Quiet, please!” Taki clapped his hands. The chattering students finally fell silent. Taki wrote something on his score, then finally looked to Kaori. He smiled, and spoke. “Miss Nakaseko, would you like to play the solo?” Kumiko heard held breaths from all around. Reina’s eyes went wide, her pain obvious on her face. Her pupils strained. Surely Taki could hear it, too. There was an insurmountable wall between Reina and Kaori. Kumiko glared at Taki with all the protest she could muster. Taki’s countenance, however, never changed. He continued to regard Kaori with that kind, gentle expression. After several seconds of silence, she answered. “No.” She looked down, and tears fell from her eyes. “…I can’t.” Reina looked up in surprise. Kaori regarded the junior trumpet evenly, and even Reina, surprisingly, shook away at her gaze. “I think you should play the solo.” Kaori’s voice quivered, and her eyes were red. She gave voice to her true thoughts, surely, but her expression spoke of emotions that were very different. The trumpet in her hand sparkled innocently. Reina closed her mouth and dipped her head forward in a short bow, her black hair rippling. “I’m sorry I was so full of myself, before.” Next to her, Yuuko’s eyes widened. Kaori looked down. “It’s okay. It was true, after all.” Her voice was so serious that Kumiko had to look away. She just wants to be satisfied. Asuka’s words suddenly echoed in Kumiko’s ears, and for the first time she understood them. Kaori had probably known the truth all along—that her playing wouldn’t measure up to Reina’s. But she didn’t want to give up. She wanted to truly lose. To have the overwhelming difference show. To have her heart broken. She had practiced a solo she would never perform, over and over, just so she’d be able to accept her loss. “Miss Kousaka,” Taki said, carefully articulating her name. “Yes,” answered Reina, her face still stiff. “You will play the solo. Not Miss Nakaseko. You.” Kumiko saw Reina’s finger twitch. The gentle curve of her back straightened. “Yes,” she said again, her voice ready and confident. Taki smiled gently, then looked nonchalantly down at his score. “Now then, back to the subject at hand. Let’s play it from the top.” The ensemble practice began again in earnest. “You mean you don’t hate it?” Reina had asked after their final middle school competition. She was normally so collected, but in that one moment, she had betrayed her feelings. Kumiko had wordlessly looked on, unable to do anything else as Reina sobbed. In middle school, Kumiko had chosen concert band out of something like inertia. She wasn’t particularly athletic, nor did she have any other serious interests. She’d become used to having her hands on an instrument and was frightened of severing her connection to music—so she’d chosen concert band. She’d done her best, practicewise, but also hadn’t been especially serious about it. She mostly did it because everybody around her was doing the same thing. Her place in the concert band wasn’t so desperately important to her that she wouldn’t be able to quit even if the seniors started shunning her. She was just afraid of losing it. That was all. Reina had cried, but Kumiko had not. She simply wasn’t very attached to the outcome. She hadn’t worked terribly hard for it. She hadn’t come to a place that demanded her tears. And while Reina sobbed, Kumiko had looked away, because she had realized that truth. That this was her final competition in middle school—and still. And still. She hadn’t regretted the outcome at all. This was their last stage rehearsal, Taki had said. The members of the Class B band sat in the audience seats of the little hall, their attention on the stage. The spotlights were bright white. In the thoroughly air-conditioned hall, the stage was the one hot place. “Let’s perform as though this is the competition itself.” “Yes, sir!” Backstage, Michie held a stopwatch. Kumiko clung to her golden euphonium and took a deep breath. Her lungs inflated, then deflated as she exhaled. “The Kitauji Prefectural High School Concert Band,” said Michie in place of a proper announcer. The students all moved immediately, walking to their standby locations. Kumiko sat in her seat, steadying her euphonium on her lap. Taki readied his baton. Kumiko watched him. She heard the sound of a breath. There was a moment’s stillness—then, as if to shatter it, the trumpets’ melody. Then, layered above it, the flutes’ melody and the solo came in. The tubas’ thick sound shook the air. The euphs would be coming in soon. Along with Asuka, Kumiko readied her still-silent instrument. With her breath came the sound. Pressing the valves down changed the sound. It was so simple, yet such a delight. And so difficult. Her eyes on the baton, Kumiko desperately followed the music. The clarinets and flutes ran throughout the score, tearing through their phrases with terrific speed. The oboes’ and bassoons’ counterpoint. The melody moved from the woodwinds to the brass, then back to the woodwinds. The soul of the sound contracted, then expanded, again and again, charging toward the climax. Atop the French horns’ brilliant tone and the forceful refrain of the euphoniums and trombones, the trumpets sent their melody soaring. A sudden crescendo. The band’s volume reached a peak, then slammed to a finish. The sound of the compulsory piece still echoing, the band members turned their attention to the free performance. In the silence, first the trombone harmony sounded out, joined by a clear, high flute solo. Following it, the cornet solo began. The music flowed. It was gentle, the beautiful tones melting into the air. Then, as if to add just a bit of color, the euphoniums added their timbre. The sounds layered, and layered again, gradually building in energy. They came to a grand, final crescendo, then plunged ahead into the third movement. The movement began with a magnificent brass melody, accompanied by runs from the woodwinds. It was lively music, a deliberate contrast with the compulsory piece’s obscure, hard-to-grasp melodies. Here, the melody danced from section to section, constantly moving. Each grain of sound sparkled, the rhythm light, sprightly. Then the raucous melody suddenly fell silent, and the hall was filled with a leisurely, flowing sound, its phrases harmonious and beautiful. Then—interrupting it, a piercing siren. The peace of a moment earlier vanished, and sound flooded the hall again. With the end in sight, the band’s performance grew feverish. The music accelerated, the sound suffused with urgency. The band held the swell and pushed through to the end of the score. The performance hit its ultimate climax just as Taki’s baton signaled the final note. “…Perfect,” Taki said. A compliment like this from Taki was completely unprecedented, and the students looked at each other in surprise. Before them, the members of the Class B band were standing and applauding. Kumiko, too, believed that it had been a perfect performance. It felt so good. There hadn’t been a single mistake. A fresh, light sensation unlike anything she’d experienced before ran down her back. This is fun, she thought. Playing this music is so much fun! “Let’s play tomorrow just like we played today. We will be fine. You can do this,” said Taki, setting the baton down on the music stand. His gaze swept across the faces of the whole band. “We will absolutely go to Nationals.” There was confidence in his voice, and a corner of his mouth pulled up in a daring smirk. It would be great to go to Nationals. Kumiko had often thought as much, ever since middle school. But it had only ever been so much lip service, and she’d never actually believed it could happen. Expectations invited humiliation. It was the height of stupidity to have a dream that could never come true. She’d always felt that way. But an unspoken wish could never become reality. Kitauji High School was absolutely going to Nationals. Kumiko made a fist as though to strengthen her resolve. “Yes, sir!” There beneath the white-hot spotlights, the students’ energetic voices rang out. It was the day of the competition. The band boarded the bus, each of them wearing their school uniform and a serious expression. Kumiko and the rest of the band had assembled early that morning for one last run-through in the music classroom. They’d then packed their instruments up in their cases and made one final check to make sure nobody had forgotten anything. Since the percussion instruments were both very heavy and very particular about how they preferred to be carried, loading everything up had taken some time. On way to the SunFest, the bus’s cabin had been cacophonous, but today it was excessively quiet. A few students even looked downright ill from nerves. “Hey, look! I spotted another four-leaf clover taxi! That means everything’s gonna go great today!” Next to Kumiko, Midori gazed out the window innocently. She giggled. “I can’t wait to perform. I was so excited last night I didn’t sleep at all! This is gonna be great!” “…Midori, you are incredible.” “Huh? What do you mean?” “Oh, all sorts of things.” Midori tilted her head curiously at Kumiko. Her expression was entirely normal, without so much as a hint of nerves. As she gazed at the girl’s face, Midori suddenly reached out and pinched Kumiko’s cheek. “Kumiko, don’t tell me, are you nervous?” “Noh ah alhh!” “Wow, you are such a liar!” said Midori, releasing Kumiko’s cheek. Thanks to hauling that giant contrabass around, she was surprisingly strong. Kumiko rubbed her still-throbbing cheek and regarded Midori. Midori noticed her gaze and grinned in response. “Listen, the reason you’re nervous is because you’re thinking you don’t wanna mess up. You gotta stop thinking like that, and start thinking like, ‘Gaze upon my flawless technique!’” “…Midori, is that what you’re thinking when you play?” “You betcha! I’m supergood, so I want lots of compliments from lots of people!” “I…I see.” “Yeah!” Midori smiled, carefree. Kumiko couldn’t help but be a little envious of her ability to brag so easily. Midori laughed, then set about humming the compulsory piece. Her songbird-like voice followed the part of the contrabass. Kumiko joined in, humming the euphonium part. Singing the bass parts, the two of them could not complete the song’s body, but behind them Asuka began to sing out loudly as well. Kaori grinned wryly and started singing the trumpet part. Once a pair of third-year students began to sing as well, the whole band rapidly joined in, each singing out their own parts. At first they were hesitant, but then their voices grew louder and more confident, a grand chorus in the bus. They sang the compulsory, then the free, then the compulsory, over and over, not stopping until the bus reached its destination. After unloading their instruments from the moving truck, the band quickly set about preparing for their performance. Kumiko opened the case and took her old friend out. Polished with a cloth, the euphonium sparkled with the color of the sunlight that bathed it. Kumiko realized that she’d been with the euphonium ever since fourth grade. Seven years. Seven years, she’d lived with this instrument. When she’d first heard its name, it had struck her as a rather dull instrument. It seemed kind of plain. And it was obscure. It didn’t look cool at all. But Kumiko had grown to like the euphonium. It was plain and obscure, but its sound was warm and beautiful. She had often wanted to switch to a different instrument, but in the end, she had been the one who chose the eupho. Kumiko liked the euphonium. She didn’t just like it. She loved it. And she had just realized it for the first time. “Have you finished tuning?” Asuka asked, walking over and carrying her own eupho. It gleamed moonlight-silver in her arms. Gold and silver. They were the same instrument, but with a simple change in color, they impressions they gave off differed quite a bit. “Ah, not yet.” “Oh? Well, you better be quick about it.” “Okay!” Kumiko blew several long tones, tuning it to compensate for its warmth. All the while, Asuka stood next to her, waiting for her to finish. “Asuka, are you nervous?” Kumiko asked, putting her tuner in her pocket. Asuka shifted her instrument in her arms and stuck her tongue out a bit bashfully. “Just a little.” “I’ve been a wreck since yesterday. Midori’s fine, though.” “She’s amazing, that girl.” Asuka laughed, and Kumiko nodded her agreement. “…It’s kinda sad, though.” “What is?” “This has been so much fun, but it’s gonna be over soon. I don’t want the performance to be over. I just want summer to keep going,” Asuka said, then smiled a self-reproachful little smile. Her long eyelashes lowered. With her eyes downcast like that she looked terribly grown-up, and seeing this Kumiko couldn’t help but feel a certain forlornness. She shook her head to throw the feeling off. “What are you talking about, Asuka?” “Hm?” “Today isn’t our last performance. We’re going to Nationals, after all.” Asuka’s eyes showed alarm at Kumiko’s statement, and then she exploded with laughter. Her delicate, pale fingers lightly patted Kumiko’s shoulder. “…Hah, that’s right, we said we were gonna go to Nationals.” “That’s right!” “Heh. Well, let’s both do our best,” said Asuka with a wave. Her pale hand seemed to melt into her euphonium’s silver surface, as though the two were one. As the moment of their performance approached, Kumiko moved with the band to a small hall for their final sound check. The competition had already started in the main hall, and a special room had been prepared where bands could play without disturbing the performance. This rehearsal hall was near the main hall, and it was functionally the last place where the students would be able to make sure they were ready to play. “Everyone! Gather round!” Taki clapped his hands. Instead of his normal clothing, he was smartly dressed in a black suit. It made him look extremely gallant and stylish, and girls from other schools who passed him in the halls had squealed when they’d seen him. “We don’t have much time until we go on, so I’d like to check the first opening.” “Yes, sir!” After they had played the opening phrases of both the compulsory and free pieces several times, Kitauji High School’s practice time came to an end. The most terrifying aspect of playing a brass instrument was making a mistake with the very first sound. The higher the note, the higher that risk was. And once you stumbled over the first note, it was difficult to recover. Kumiko supposed this was why Taki had wanted to make doubly certain of each piece’s opening. “If you play with the same energy you use during practice, each note will naturally lead to the next. Don’t think you need to play with more energy or power than you usually do. Let’s play the way we always do, and go home smiling.” “Yes, sir!” The students’ faces were bold and resolute. Taki regarded them, satisfied, then slowly smiled. “Well, then, Miss Ogasawara. Please give us some final words as our band president.” “Huh? Me?!” the suddenly called-upon president cried out. She looked to Asuka for salvation, but Asuka seemed entirely disinclined to answer any such pleas, instead flashing a thumbs-up. Good luck! was all she was going to offer, apparently. “Well, um,” Ogasawara stumbled over her words, obviously flustered as her gaze flicked to and fro. Finally she seemed to find some resolve; her hands balled up into fists. “I-I think everybody’s worked really hard to get this far. Now all we have to do is bring that hard work together for ten more minutes. So…let’s have a cheer for Kitauji!” She then paused for a deep, lung-filling breath. “Kitauji, fight!” “Yeah!” The band responded in unison, the sound echoing in the hall. The energy made the air tremble. “Kitauji High School—It’s time.” A woman from the event staff opened the door. Once the door was open, any noise was prohibited. After they ascended the dimly lit stairs before them, they would be at the backstage of the main hall. As the other students milled about around her, Kumiko froze in hesitation. Then—someone tapped her shoulder. “Let’s do this.” The figure who spoke as she passed jauntily by was Reina, holding her trumpet. Despite her impending solo, she seemed utterly calm. Kumiko took a step forward, swearing to herself that this year—this year—Reina would have nothing to cry about. On stage, Rikka High School had already begun their performance. A black curtain blocked the view, but at the corners, the dashing figures of a few Rikka students were slightly visible. Rikka had already moved on to their free performance, which meant that Kitauji would soon be taking the stage. As everyone in the band silently strained to hear Rikka’s playing, over on one side Kumiko tried to calm her heart. The closer the main event drew, the louder its pounding became. It had long since passed the “pitter patter” threshold, and was now much closer to “boom boom.” She’d been nervous before competitions in middle school, too, but none of those compared to this. Backstage was dim, but the stage itself was brilliantly lit. Just imagining herself in that light was enough to send her heart racing still faster. An unpleasant sweat oozed from her forehead. She couldn’t hear the other school’s performance at all. Her hands trembled. Wait, how does that melody go? How do I move my fingers, again? Basic questions fell from her brain. A single worry sparked a dozen more. Things she should have memorized, things she should have been able to do without thinking, suddenly they all became impossible. What am I gonna do? I’ve forgotten how to play! Her feverish confusion wiped away all traces of remaining calm. Rikka’s performance was nearing its climax. It would be over soon. What should I do? I can’t play! This has never happened before! Her vision seemed to go dark. A sudden desire to flee the stage seized her. What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? Uncertainty ruled her consciousness. The heat of her body was collecting behind her eyes. Kumiko covered her face, hoping that nobody would notice. “Hey.” Suddenly someone tugged on her shirt. Kumiko reflexively turned. Standing right there was Shuuichi. She got the feeling that it had been quite a while since the two of them had stood face-to-face like this. He leaned in close to her ear, perhaps out of concern for the backstage rule against talking. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper. “You okay?” “I’m fine. No problem.” Kumiko quietly shook her head. Shuuichi frowned sourly. “That’s not a ‘no problem’ face.” “I’m just a little nervous.” “Just a little, huh,” said Shuuichi, exhaling an exasperated breath. Despite having avoided her for so long, he was acting very normal. Finding this suspicious, Kumiko silently stepped on his foot. Ow, he mouthed. “What was that for?” “Nothing.” “Jerk.” Shuuichi slumped. Kumiko caught the traces of a smile at the corners of his mouth but couldn’t say anything—because she’d realized what he’d been doing. He roughly patted her back. His fingertips were trembling. “It’ll be fine. Think of all the practice we did.” Despite the encouraging words, his face as he turned his attention back to his own instrument was somehow pathetic. This seemed terribly funny for some reason, and Kumiko felt her nervousness give way and crumble with a snap. Warmth returned to her frozen fingers, and her worry-addled brain started working again. From the other side of the black curtain she could hear thunderous applause. There in the backstage gloom, she saw Shuuichi’s expression stiffen. Kumiko held her euphonium close. The golden horn in her arms sparkled even here, where there shouldn’t have been any light. It would be okay. She could do this. A strangely warm certainty welled up inside Kumiko. Wanting to share it, she gently brushed Shuuichi’s finger. He drew a sharp breath and turned to look her way, surprised. Their eyes met. Their touching fingers gradually intertwined. From the places where skin met skin bloomed a comforting warmth. “—The next performance will be program number thirty-three: Kitauji Prefectural High School.” At the sound of the announcer’s voice, the band moved together. Kumiko went to the euphoniums’ seats, and Shuuichi to the trombones’, each band member proceeding to the place from which they would fulfill their roles. The concert hall’s lights dimmed, leaving them surrounded by a dim gloom. “The performance will be ‘East Coast Pictures’ by Nigel Hess, with Noboru Taki conducting.” With the announcement, light flooded the stage. Taki bowed his head, and applause seemed to burst from the hall. He rose from his bow, then ascended the conductor’s podium. Blazing light overflowed upon the stage. The stage was always thus—too bright to see anything else. The audience, the judges. Everything unnecessary was brushed aside, leaving behind only the music. There was a pregnant silence. Murmurs quieted as the audience turned their attention to the stage. This was the entire world, or at least that was how it felt. The baton rose, and the band readied their instruments. The energy in the hall concentrated to a point. Tension burned like fire in Kumiko’s throat. The members of the band had given everything in service to the next twelve minutes. Kumiko wanted to win with all her being. The euphonium in her arms twinkled as though it were a living, breathing thing. And then the baton came down. The music carrying the dreams of Kitauji High School had only just begun.