“How is it, Ootsuka? Does everyone’s dancing look good?”
“…”
Huh. Maybe she didn’t hear me.
Ootsuka stared solemnly at the screen without responding. She seemed to be deep in thought…and strangely serious.
“Ootsuka…? Was there something about it that bothered you?”
“Huh? Well…”
She seemed to finally notice me after I called out to her again, and her wide-open eyes shimmered.
She was clearly upset. I wondered why. Was there something wrong with the dance just then?
I was getting nervous.
But then Ootsuka gave me a big toothy grin and a thumbs-up, and in her usual perky voice, she said, “It’s okay! It’s the perfect dance routine!”
“Really? If there’s anything lacking, don’t hold back. Speak up, okay?”
I mean, it wasn’t me who was dancing. And it wasn’t me who was tired out.
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Everyone followed my choreography perfectly! They were all brilliant!”
“I see. Well, I hope so…”
Ootsuka had on a strange expression. Her gaze was fixed on her phone screen. Or was it just my imagination?
I’m neither a psychologist nor the CIA. Unfortunately, I don’t have the special ability to know, just by looking at their eyes, when someone was telling the truth. If Ootsuka said it was okay, I had no choice but to believe her.
“Okay, let’s just go ahead and shoot the real take now!”
““““Yeah!””””
In contrast to Ootsuka, who was full of energy, the voices of the members of the Shibuya Gang were already showing signs of fatigue.
What a sloppy bunch, I thought, smug in my position as a nondancer.
The recording of the dance video proceeded smoothly.
Under Ootsuka’s guidance, Shiika and the others danced to Komae’s music while we filmed from every angle.
The filming continued slowly and methodically, with us getting all the shots we needed for some cool editing. Thanks to everyone’s efforts, the finished video ended up being super high quality.
We posted a video centered around Shiika on Shiika’s Impachi Live account, and a video centered around Shibuya on Shibuya’s account.
In conclusion, the video was…a big success.
Compared to previous streams and uploads, our viewing figures had jumped.
We had almost twice as many likes as usual. I checked the comments, and saw that Shiika, despite her plain appearance and lack of exercise, had impressed the audience through her hard work and determination.
Even a perfect performance doesn’t guarantee big numbers.
The viewers of Impachi Live are a tricky bunch, after all.
“La-la-la. ♪”
“You’re in a good mood, Shiika.”
“Dancing is fun. It was hard, but it’s fun.”
“You’ve learned not only music but also some new tricks. My splendid little sister.”
“I can’t do it live, though.”
“That’s okay.”
Even with lots of breaks and sports drinks, Shiika barely made it through the video shoot.
Her dancing was still far from perfect, riddled with mistakes, in fact. Though the video was well received, you couldn’t exactly call the response a true evaluation of one’s dance skills. Shiika’s viewers tended to be current fans, so that meant their impression of Shiika’s efforts was colored by their fondness for her.
But that was all we really needed for the video.
We played within the allowed format and within the rules.
No one had any right to complain. The Shibuya Gang had put their all into this video, fair and square.
Now, to deliver this enthusiastic result to Azusa Harajuku!
All I could do was offer my prayers to the queen of the Fashion Department.
“I’ve decided to provide costumes for Sengoku’s group.”
“…HUH?!”
“Sorry,” Azusa Harajuku cooed, in a soft voice that seemed to melt my brain.
I just stared at her, my mouth hanging open.
The new week had begun. The fated day had arrived.
I spent the whole day keeping my palpitations in check, thinking about how the decision would no doubt be made today.
But Azusa Harajuku, when she arrived at the Music Department classroom, took one look at my face and said no.
“Uh… Are you serious? This isn’t some kind of prank?”
“The past few days, I’ve been checking out your channels and those of Sengoku’s team. I really thought hard about this decision, you know?”
Even in her soft, slow voice I could feel her professionalism.
She didn’t seem to be kidding.
“Well, what was it that swayed you in their direction?”
I knew it was probably awkward to ask this, but I had to know.
Harajuku put a hand to her cheek and smiled softly.
“It looks like you don’t know… Well, that’s the difference, you see.”
“…”
No one had anything to say in return.
Shiika, who usually never asserted herself, was silent of course. But even the strong-willed Shibuya bit her lip and said nothing. We must have failed to convince Harajuku. But Komae’s music was high quality, and Ootsuka’s choreography was top-notch. I’d been checking the Sengoku team’s videos every day, and they hadn’t uploaded anything new that stood out. So in other words, our very best efforts had been beaten by Sengoku’s regular uploads and streams.
All right, our dancers weren’t as skilled as Sengoku’s team. But we all knew that going in. I mean, Sengoku was a dance specialist. Of course he’d be better than us. But wasn’t this whole wager about seeing how well our team’s video fared against theirs? But Sengoku’s camp hadn’t uploaded a new video. So how come they were chosen?
“Well then, good-bye. You’ve all got wonderful talent. ♪”
Harajuku smiled like a villainess toying with a naive man.
And with that sardonic remark, she walked away with her hair blowing gracefully in the wind.
In the end, the reason for our defeat remained unknown.
We were left with nothing but a feeling of intense frustration.