Unlike at the aquarium, where the flowing water had brought her into a near-trance-like state of creative clarity, Kyo wasn't experiencing that same effortless flow today.
But that didn't matter.
Her years of honing her acting skills were more than enough to let her become Sakiko.
After all, she only needed to mimic Sakiko's mannerisms, personality, and tone—not the deeper, subconscious emotions that lay beneath. Besides, those were things that couldn't easily be expressed through outward imitation alone.
All she needed was for Taki to remember Sakiko.
And so, Kyo's posture and aura shifted once again—subtly, but unmistakably.
Gone was the easygoing bartender act.
From the slight tilt of her chin to the precise distance between her feet, every movement now carried an air of refined elegance. Even the way she reached for her tools was measured and deliberate—graceful in the slow, composed manner of someone born into privilege.
"Now then, I'll begin the demonstration."
After preparing everything she needed, Kyo placed her hands gently atop one another, lowering them naturally before offering Taki a small, polite nod. Only then did she prepare to start brewing the coffee.
"…"
Taki stared at her, saying nothing.
Everything about Kyo's demeanor was undeniably graceful.
And yet, it immediately reminded her of someone who filled her with nothing but complicated emotions.
Her lips pressed together in irritation.
"The biggest issue with your coffee earlier was the way the milk was poured and blended at the end," Kyo explained, her posture poised and upright. She placed a confident hand against her chest—a gesture meant to convey absolute self-assurance.
"So I'll speed through the espresso-making process. Of course, you're free to watch and ask any questions. I'd be more than happy to answer—I am quite confident in this, after all…"
"This is my responsibility as the composer. I will make sure to write a song worthy of Tomori's lyrics."
The words overlapped in Kyo's mind—blurring together, fusing with her own voice.
It clung to her, an echo that refused to be shaken off or ignored.
But by this point, it didn't even matter if Kyo was deliberately mimicking Sakiko or not.
The moment she had stepped behind the counter—no, perhaps the moment she had arrived at RiNG—Taki's mind had already begun flashing with fragments of her.
The girl with blue hair.
Both Kyo and Sakiko possessed talents that felt impossibly out of reach—so far beyond Taki's own abilities that even trying to chase after them felt suffocating.
The only difference was that, back in the band, Kyo had always gone along with the others, rarely putting herself in the spotlight. But even so, even just those rare glimpses of her talent had been enough to make Taki feel stifled.
In that regard, maybe Kyo was even more formidable than Sakiko.
And now, Kyo wasn't just hinting at her skills—
She was openly displaying them, effortlessly radiating the same blinding confidence that had once made Sakiko both admirable and infuriating.
That feeling of suffocation in Taki's chest—
It was only growing stronger.
Until—
"Taki."
A calm, level voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.
"Pay attention."
Umiri's voice wasn't harsh, but it was precise—like a sharp, icy stone pressing against the back of her neck.
The sudden chill brought her crashing back to reality.
She turned to her longtime friend and knew—this was Umiri's own quiet way of keeping her in check, always striking at just the right moment.
Taki had once told her, "I don't want to run away."
And now, here she was, sitting before Umiri, wavering.
Taki forced herself to focus, watching Kyo's every move with the same seriousness Kyo had shown earlier when critiquing her failed attempt.
Kyo picked up the portafilter filled with coffee grounds and swiftly scooped some from the container, gauging the weight with a practiced feel. After a slight shake to remove the excess, she placed it on a scale. The display showed exactly 20 grams—the standard amount for a café-quality espresso.
"The coffee beans Ririko-san buys are the same ones I use regularly, so I can estimate the weight just by feel. But don't try to copy me—this took a lot of practice," she said lightly.
Her tone made it sound difficult, but her movements were effortlessly smooth as she used the distribution tool and tamper to evenly spread and compress the grounds.
"This part's easy. These days, we have tools to help distribute the grounds evenly, but back then, I had to poke at it slowly with a needle."
After clearing away the stray coffee grounds on the counter, she flushed the espresso machine to remove any water at inconsistent temperatures, then attached the portafilter. Beneath it, she placed a cup to catch the coffee as it brewed.
"And now, we get to the part where you struggled the most."
After confirming that Taki was following, Kyo poured whole milk into a steaming pitcher.
"Milk with a higher fat content produces richer foam and creates a more stable microfoam that doesn't dissipate as easily."
As Kyo lowered the steam wand into the milk, Taki immediately asked, "Why aren't you placing it in the center? Wouldn't that heat the milk more evenly?"
It was a solid question, but Kyo didn't miss a beat.
She activated the steam wand, letting it hiss to life, and then subtly shifted her position, leaving a space for Taki to move closer and watch.
Taki leaned in. The steam wand was small, so they had to stand pretty close together. Kyo tilted her head slightly and explained,
"To create the best microfoam, we don't just introduce steam—we also need to whirl the milk. By placing the steam wand closer to the edge of the pitcher, the pressure causes the milk to swirl naturally. That movement helps incorporate air more effectively while also ensuring the heat is distributed evenly. In the end, it actually heats the milk better than if I had placed the wand in the center."
Taki gave a reluctant nod, still processing the explanation as Kyo continued.
The angle and depth of the steam wand, adjusting based on milk expansion, determining the ideal foam thickness, and reaching the optimal temperature for bringing out the milk's natural sweetness—
Kyo went through each step methodically, demonstrating every detail.
When it came time to pour the milk into the espresso, she followed exactly what she had pointed out during her critique—lifting the pitcher higher, increasing the flow speed without hesitation, and finally, as if showing off just a little, finishing with an elegant swan latte art pattern.
Smooth. Flawless. The entire process took just over a minute, leaving a perfectly crafted cappuccino sitting on the counter, steam curling gently from the surface.
"So, who wants to give it a try?"
Kyo set the cup down, her left hand resting behind her back while her right hand extended slightly in invitation. She even threw in a playful wink.
Taki could tell—Kyo had complete confidence in her coffee.
It didn't matter who took the first sip. She knew she would get a glowing review.
If it were her… could she ever display her own work with such certainty?
Whether it was coffee—
Or the song she had once written but never showed anyone.