Umiri willingly gave up her turn. "I don't really understand coffee that well, and the one who needs to learn how to make it is Taki. Let her do it."
"Then, Taki?"
Kikukawa Kyo turned her head toward Taki, her confident blue eyes reflecting none of the complicated, bitter emotions stirring inside Taki.
In Kyo's eyes, that cold, still surface of water could only show Taki's subtly clenched fists, the faint imprint left on her lips from pressing them together, her gaze seemingly fixed on the cup of coffee yet slightly unfocused…
But to Kyo—who remained unaware that she had just struck Taki's most fragile spot—her only thought was that imitating Sakiko seemed to be working quite well.
She was merely analyzing, calmly trying to decipher the meaning behind Taki's reactions. From Kyo's perspective, these responses were rather intriguing.
At first, she had assumed Taki's feelings toward Sakiko were purely emotions like anger or resentment. But if that were the case, her expression should have been more indicative of such feelings—like a furrowed brow. Yet Taki's current demeanor, from a behavioral psychology standpoint, was more akin to intense self-directed emotions.
Like a lamp, she was blaming herself for the band's breakup? That didn't seem right. In their LINE conversations, Taki had clearly attributed the disbandment to Sakiko leaving without giving a proper explanation.
Perhaps she could try a little more subtle probing to make the underlying emotions more apparent… Kyo was eager to test her theory when a voice suddenly interrupted her.
"Kyo-san."
Umiri locked eyes with her, her gaze unwavering. Her expression was unreadable, her body language just as restrained, offering Kyo no further clues.
"Make one for me too. I'll pay."
Kyo glanced at Umiri, a silence so brief it barely counted as a pause, her eyes flickering for an instant.
"Alright, I'd be happy to."
She flashed a friendly, accommodating smile. This time, she dropped the deliberate imitation of Sakiko, reverting to her usual, more relaxed style of making drinks. As a result, she finished the second cup even faster than the first.
While Kyo prepared the second cup, Taki discreetly let out a sigh, lifted the coffee Kyo had made, and took a sip.
The thick cappuccino foam was dense yet airy, like a cloud drifting in the sky. With just a slight parting of the lips, this cloud was gently carried in by a breeze of sweetness and milkiness.
Then came the core—a perfect blend of espresso and steamed milk, filling in the previous lightness with substance, stretching that drifting cloud into an island solid enough for the drinker to set foot on. Rather than disrupting the dreamy texture of the foam, it provided a tangible space to immerse oneself in.
This is incredible.
Taki had always viewed making coffee as just a job, something she wanted to do well simply out of responsibility.
But now, in an instant, Kyo had opened the door to an entirely new world—the art of drink-making, a field just as rich and full of endless possibilities. And she… she wasn't even at the starting line yet.
She glanced at the now-clean cup that had once held her failed attempts, and a thought surfaced—one she hadn't recalled in a long time.
That song she had once written, the one she had wanted to share with the band.
Even if she hadn't dared show it to someone as skilled at composing as Sakiko, even now, when she looked back at it herself, she knew—that piece was so naive, so ignorant.
She had sworn she would catch up with effort, but… could she really?
What if her hardest efforts were nothing more than what others could achieve effortlessly?
After finishing the second cappuccino and handing it to Umiri, Kyo quickly noticed something off about Taki.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Damn. I overdid it.
Her original intent had only been to guide Taki into recalling more about the CRYCHIC era. After that, she had planned to use the excuse of "the teacher demonstrates, and the student follows" to get Taki to make a second cup—one influenced by Kyo's lead, infused with the emotions she had subtly steered her toward.
But now, Taki's mood had sunk too low. At this point, forcing her to continue making coffee would be entirely inappropriate. This was one of the fundamental missteps in human interaction.
Still… why had it turned out like this? Kyo couldn't understand it. After she had mimicked Sakiko, Taki had indeed shown signs of evasion, but the true loss of control had only happened after she drank the coffee Kyo had made.
Again. Every time she thought she could keep everything in line with careful planning, emotions would suddenly break through like an unforeseen mist, shrouding her vision.
But this time, at least, she had come prepared. She had already anticipated the possibility of such a situation and had a response in mind:
Minimize unnecessary actions, avoid further provocation, and prevent an emotional outburst. If things escalated to the point where Taki was completely overwhelmed by her emotions, Kyo would only find it harder to manage the situation.
Since the problem had stemmed from the coffee she made, then she had no choice but to abandon the plan of using drinks to guide the conversation. The best course of action now was to change the topic.
Just then, at yet another crucial moment, Umiri—who had just been sipping her cappuccino—spoke up.
"Kyo-san, this coffee is really good. Even someone like me, who doesn't usually drink coffee, is starting to get interested."
A rare smile appeared on Umiri's face. "Taki, I'd love to taste the coffee you make too."
Kyo couldn't quite decipher the meaning behind Umiri's seemingly simple smile, but Taki—who had been her close friend for years—seemed to pick up on something within it.
"…Alright."
She still hadn't fully shaken off her earlier state, but she stepped forward to the coffee machine and began to brew.
In a world Kyo could never step into, Umiri and Taki had shared an unspoken emotional exchange.
Kyo realized it then.
It wasn't like her approach—cautiously feeling her way through people's emotions, groping in the dark to find their boundaries.
It was something else entirely—an indescribable, intangible connection between emotions. Whether it was the silent understanding between Umiri and Taki at this moment, or the way the band had once performed songs that cried out from the heart, it was the same.
Emotion always brought conflict and contradiction—CRYCHIC was the perfect example. The world of feelings was riddled with gaps, fragmented and inconsistent… yet, at the same time, it brimmed with endless colors and sensations that Kyo couldn't help but find fascinating.
Sakiko struggled, caught between reality and the past.
Soyo clung to the warmth of yesterday's memories.
Tomori longed for a future where she could finally be understood.
And Kyo, who prided herself on being a romantic, found herself slipping through the cracks of that emotional world. She couldn't immerse herself in it, only forcefully siphoning fragments of color to catch even the faintest glimpse of what it held.
Yet Kyo alone could clearly see it—every subtle movement, every fleeting expression. She could recognize the radiant emotions woven into their actions, shining like precious gems, impossible to ignore.
It was truly… something to be envied.