The situation had shifted, but this time, for the better.
Sure, Kyo had been a little shaken by Umiri's questionable display of theatrical talent, but at least she had gained an unexpected ally—one who could help her get the answers she wanted without asking too directly.
Despite this being their first time meeting, Kyo had already sized Umiri up from their brief conversation and concluded that she was reliable. First off, Umiri was Taki's friend—a different position entirely from Kyo's, which was more like a coworker in the band. Sometimes, a friend could ask the deeper questions that a bandmate couldn't. And if she was Taki's friend, then she had to be just as curious about why Taki had suddenly quit the band she had once been so happy in. That meant she wouldn't be working against Kyo on this.
Secondly, everything about Umiri—from her sharp, well-put-together outfit to her concise, no-nonsense way of speaking—suggested she was someone who knew how to handle herself. And judging by her earlier interactions with Taki, she also knew how to handle Taki. Despite constantly teasing her, she had never actually angered the ever-serious, quick-tempered girl.
"You two seriously just met today?"
Taki crossed her arms, one brow raised, her voice laced with exhaustion. She would rather serve ten more customers than sit here and watch these two team up to mess with her.
Both Kyo and Umiri had their moments of being carefree and unserious when alone. Kyo, for one, was always lounging around with a drink in hand, exuding a chill vibes only energy. Umiri, on the other hand, would occasionally mess with her, then promptly retreat before Taki could retaliate, leaving her with no idea how to deal with her.
But this? This was new. Together, they were like a chemical reaction—one that consisted entirely of poking fun at Taki in perfect sync. It was annoying, yet not quite enough to make her snap.
"I think we just met today? Right, Umiri?" Kyo turned to her with a barely-there smirk, like she was holding back a laugh.
"Perhaps," Umiri answered, much more composed, yet just vague enough to make Taki groan and press a hand to her forehead.
"Is it really that hard to answer…? Ugh, I shouldn't have even asked." Taki gave up, knowing she'd only get more nonsense if she kept pushing. "Kyo, you still haven't answered my question."
She dropped her arms and leaned forward on the counter, arms resting against the surface as she peered down at Kyo, her sharp gaze carrying a weight that made it clear—this wasn't a question she could dodge.
"What are you really doing here today? If Soyo sent you to convince me to rejoin the band, then don't bother. My answer hasn't changed."
Damn, Taki is stubborn.
But Kyo didn't flinch under her scrutiny. Instead, she simply blinked, her blue eyes looking perfectly innocent as she replied,
"Oh? Soyo talked to you about it too?"
With just one question, she completely overturned Taki's assumption. Taki, who had been bracing for a debate, suddenly looked thrown off. The tension in her posture eased just slightly.
Slippery one, isn't she?
Umiri, watching from the side, made a mental note about Kyo—too smooth.
She hadn't answered Taki's question at all. Instead, she had avoided locking horns with her when her frustration was at its peak, letting the momentum slip away like a well-placed dodge in a fight. Then, with a simple counter-question, she turned the tables and took control of the conversation.
…Maybe Umiri was overthinking things.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that Kyo was like an iceberg—there was a lot more hidden beneath the surface.
And yet, maybe it was exactly that kind of person who could finally break through to Taki.
Umiri had known Taki for years, long enough to understand the core of her frustration—being constantly compared to her older sister, Shiina Maki.
She hated it.
She hated hearing people talk about "the Shiina sisters," because no matter what, they always ended up talking about Maki, as if she represented them both.
And underneath all of that was something deeper—
A deeply ingrained sense of inferiority.
A little over a month ago, Taki had suddenly told Umiri that she had joined a band.
That alone wasn't a big deal. Sure, it was a bit of a shame—Umiri had been thinking about inviting Taki to form a band herself, but someone else had beaten her to it. Still, it wasn't anything worth dwelling on.
What really caught Umiri's attention was how much Taki changed after joining the band.
In the first few weeks, she pushed herself even harder than usual. And Umiri knew—this was a sign that Taki's deep-seated feelings of inferiority were growing worse.
Did that mean someone in the band was so talented that it shook her confidence?
For a while, Umiri even debated whether she should try to convince Taki to leave. In the end, she did bring it up—confronting her outright about the unhealthy mindset that was eating away at her.
That conversation led to a few days of cold silence between them.
Umiri knew exactly what had happened—Taki had been forced to face a wound she had spent years trying to ignore. And, predictably, she had lashed out in frustration.
But sure enough, a few days later, Taki came back to her. In a clumsy, roundabout way, she apologized for snapping.
Then, she said:
"I don't want to run away. That would only make me fall even further behind them."
Her voice wasn't loud. But there was a quiet, unwavering conviction behind it.
For the first time, Umiri found herself feeling envious of that band—CRYCHIC.
After that, Taki continued playing with her band, and Umiri's plans to start one with her naturally fell through.
But it wasn't until she heard Taki say those words that she truly started to take an interest in bands.
Umiri had never been tied to a single band. With her exceptional bass skills, she had spent her time as a freelance bassist, moving from one band to another.
And what she discovered was that playing in a band was fun.
Even if she was only a temporary member, even if she only played one live show with them—sometimes even just practiced a few times—the feeling of being connected through music, of freely playing the songs they loved, of challenging themselves with more difficult pieces together—it was exhilarating.
At the same time, Taki's band seemed to be growing stronger as well.
Their very first live performance had featured an original song—"Haruhikage"
"Umiri, that was like… like screaming out my soul!"
Taki's excitement had been something rare. She had gone on and on, raving about how sweaty her hands had gotten during the performance, how she had almost lost her grip on the drumsticks, how incredible it felt to sing her heart out, how the members were getting closer and closer—
That was when Umiri had realized something.
A band wasn't just a stage where she could freely play bass.
It was something more.
A home.
This time, Umiri wasn't just envious of CRYCHIC.
She was envious of Taki.
She had found something that made her genuinely, wholeheartedly happy.
Maybe… if things kept going this way, the inferiority complex that had haunted Taki for so long would finally start to fade.
Umiri had watched her leave that day, a sheet of music in hand.
Taki had started learning how to compose.
She refused to let anyone else be the only one writing the melodies for lyrics that so perfectly expressed her feelings.
This time, her determination wasn't born from insecurity.
And so, Umiri continued moving from band to band.
Maybe, someday, she would find one that truly belonged to her.
Everything seemed to be moving forward, toward something bright.
Until that downpour.
That storm that changed everything.