The owner hastily changed the subject.
“Well, this world’s got a bad rep, make no mistake. In order to be recognized and accepted by the wider world, we have to change. That’s what Tatsuki believes, and that’s what she’s working toward. She’s trying all kinds of things to improve the image of the club, like dancing at collab events with the Metropolitan Police Department…using the money she earns on Impachi Live to put on performances that the general public can come to without concerns of violence. She’s working hard to clean up the neighborhood.”
“And that’s why she’s getting backlash from the gang members and the old-school hip-hop fans.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it? Hip-hop was born as a counterculture. It was supposed to be innovative, to be about breaking the mold. Now it’s so rigid—‘This is hip-hop, as it should be…’—and as a result, it’s getting left behind by the times…”
Conservative reformists.
Those who define themselves as outlaws but are unable to break free from the stereotypes of their rigid societies.
In the past, people who had no choice but to do bad things found a way to express themselves on their own terms, and thus, the subculture was born. But people are now in comfortable positions and don’t need to do bad stuff to get by. All they have to do is ride the rails someone else set up for them. It’s kind of a reverse phenomenon. Ironic, how that turned out.
“EDM, R&B, hip-hop. These days, genres of different origins get mixed together. Modern clubs are flexible. But some people don’t realize their culture is a mix of different influences. They want to fight against the establishment, to protect what they think is cool… Honestly, kids these days are beyond helping.”
The owner sighed and shook his head.
His scary face only added to the persuasive power of his words.
“But one or two rogues ain’t a problem. What I’m worried about is Haruka gettin’ included in that number.”
“What’s the problem, though, if Gokokuji is aligned with a gang?”
“What I’m worried about is whether Ryuzetsuran will break. The innocence in her dancing… I’m worried about what’ll happen if that gets lost.”
“Right…”
I could understand that concern.
“Talent” is a nebulous thing. No one can put their finger exactly on what makes a person’s X factor.
Even great talents in history have fallen into slumps over petty matters and lost their brilliance in the blink of an eye.
Take Shiika, for instance. We still have no idea where her synesthesia power comes from. Or why exactly it is that she’s able to use it to sing songs that captivate people’s hearts.
Talent is just the end result. And those we call talented are merely skimming along on the surface of some very thin ice.
Conflict with her friend Haruka Gokokuji, the pressure from a community that believes what’s bad is what’s good… Those things could combine to chip away at Ootsuka’s brilliance and drag her down into the swamps, never to emerge again… And who could say with any certainty that this awful sort of nightmare wouldn’t one day become reality?
“I’d like you all to stay friends with Tatsuki.”
“…”
I didn’t respond and just looked at Shiika.
I’m just a bystander in this story. Me being friends with Ootsuka won’t amount to much, after all.
Only Shiika, who’s also struggled with her own genius and with peer relationships and fitting in…only Shiika can do it.
Shiika, who had been staring the whole time at Ootsuka continuing to shine onstage with her dancing, turned to the owner.
“Mmn. All right.”
“Thank you, miss. You can have another drink on the house.”
“Two drinks, right?” Shiika asked.
“Oh, you’re a shrewd negotiator, huh? All right, anything for the kids.”
“Sure.”
Shiika gave him an expressionless thumbs-up. The sunglasses propped up on her head actually kinda suited her as she spoke with an unusual confidence.
“I understand Tatsu now. I’ll make the ultimate dance song, just for her.”
A groundless statement.
But either way, it was fine.
The only way to prove talent is through results.
Maybe one day, for whatever reason, Shiika might lose that talent, or she might stop being able to produce results. Until that day, though, her genius would remain beyond question.
Out on the roof of the club building, it was already pitch black. Night had fallen before I even knew it.
Shiika sighed heavily as she gazed through the wire mesh at the glittering city lights.
“Ahhh… Fresh air. Yummy.”
“It was so crowded in there. It’s much nicer out here.”
A nice breather for brother and sister… Not.
There was someone else here.
“Ah-ha-ha! Are you drunk?”
Ootsuka caressed Shiika’s back with a genuine smile. She’d been dancing until just a few minutes ago, and it looked like she was still on a high.
“It’s not alcohol. It’s all the people.”
“Your first time at a club, after all! How was it? Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. An unknown world. I was able to see a lot of new colors. Thanks.”
“No, no, no, no! Thank you! I’m so happy you came just to see what exactly it is I do!”
Ootsuka looked bashful.
Though she may have been used to the adulation of a crowd, she might not have gotten many compliments from people outside the hip-hop scene. Maybe she was pleased at the thought that she’d been able to bring hip-hop one step closer to the general public.
Perhaps out of embarrassment, Ootsuka changed the subject.
“More importantly, Shi… You said you wanted to talk to me on the rooftop… You don’t want a battle, do you?”
“No.”
“Why’d your brain immediately leap to expecting a battle, huh?!” I shouted.
“Then…you want to confess your feelings for me?!”
“No,” Shiika replied.
“The lily of girl-on-girl love, suddenly blooming… Nope, not gonna happen,” I said.
“Then what did you summon me here for?!”
“I want to know more about you, Tatsu. Why did you start hip-hop dancing?”
That was Shiika’s question.
Ootsuka was dumbfounded for a moment. Clearly, the question had taken her aback.
She scratched her cheek a little, then smiled wryly, saying, “You know, I’ve never really talked about my past.” As Ootsuka turned her gaze toward the night city and grasped the wire netting, her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she was filled with nostalgia.
“I used to get sick a lot when I was little. I had a weak constitution.”
“Huh?” I grunted in surprise.
Looking at Ootsuka as she was now, I found it hard to even imagine.
“When I was in elementary school, I spent most of my time in the hospital. I went to school about once every two weeks. By the time I entered junior high school, I got sick less often, and by the time I entered Ryouran, I had become so sturdy that I barely ever caught a cold anymore.”