"…Come on, that just sounds like something you're saying to make me feel better."
Maybe it was because Kyo's tear-streaked face had been too much of a shock, or maybe it was because her words—so unexpectedly sincere—had struck a vulnerable spot in Taki's heart. Either way, Taki turned her head slightly to the side, avoiding Kyo's gaze.
"But you look really happy right now."
Umiri, who had been quietly observing the whole time, was now the most at ease among them. She wore a contented smile, slipping back into her usual playful teasing with Taki.
"…True."
Kyo, having just finished praising Taki, still hadn't fully shaken off the weight of her earlier emotions. But now that the worst of it had passed, she found herself starting to absorb what she had taken in—letting the lingering emotions settle.
That said, she was far too lazy to maintain any kind of proper posture. She lay with her face resting sideways on the table, staring straight at Taki.
Taki, for her part, had tilted her head away, one arm resting flat on the table while her other elbow propped against it, a hand half-covering her mouth.
Even though she was deliberately avoiding eye contact, the flush of red creeping all the way to the tips of her ears completely gave her away.
She was obviously embarrassed.
For once, Taki didn't argue back, and Umiri simply watched the two of them with amusement—one who had been sobbing just moments ago, the other sulking like a kid.
With the silence giving them all a chance to breathe, Kyo took the opportunity to reorganize her thoughts.
Her original plan had derailed into something completely unrecognizable, spiraling into chaos and landing her in an unexpected emotional storm.
But at the very least, she had achieved one goal—she had gained insight into the real reason behind Taki's self-imposed pressure.
Having obtained such a critical piece of information, Kyo now understood: Taki's drive came from her own feelings of inferiority. She wanted to be acknowledged for her abilities. Coupled with her naturally serious and competitive personality, this had led to a pattern of constantly setting impossibly high standards for herself.
However, with the lesson learned from Sakiko, Kyo wasn't about to assume that inferiority was the only factor behind Taki's struggles.
She needed to dig deeper.
One thing was certain—Taki didn't feel inferior about everything.
Even just now, her outburst of self-doubt wasn't because of coffee-making. Rather, it had been triggered by Kyo's skill and confidence in the field, reminding her of someone else.
That someone was Sakiko.
But what exactly about Sakiko made Taki's inferiority complex worse?
It wasn't musicianship—Taki had no reason to feel insecure about technical skill across different instruments, and besides, her drumming ability was more than impressive.
It wasn't appearance either. Sakiko was beautiful, yes, but Taki had a strong presence of her own—though perhaps it would be even more striking if she spoke less.
That left two things:
Sakiko's talent for composing music.
And her ability to lead a band forward.
Kyo had a strong hunch that Taki both admired and envied these two strengths—and because she couldn't do the same, she felt inferior.
Taki clearly adored Tomori. That much was obvious to anyone.
But at first, she had been cold toward her.
It was only after Haruhikage was written that she truly warmed up.
That song had deeply moved Taki—so much so that it pushed her to try composing herself, in an effort to write melodies for Tomori's lyrics.
And that was when she had started to see Sakiko as someone she needed to chase after.
One by one, Kyo mentally connected the dots—each external clue weaving into an invisible thread of inferiority, forming what now seemed like a cohesive story.
And then, there was the band's breakup—which had only amplified Taki's feelings of inadequacy.
Sakiko's departure had led directly to CRYCHIC's disbandment, forcing everyone to realize that the band had only existed because of her.
No one—not Taki, not anyone—had been able to step up as the new center to keep it going.
Even Taki, who had desperately wanted Tomori to stay, had ultimately failed to hold onto her—and in the end, she had left too.
If Kyo's theory was correct, then…
Taki still wanted to form a band again.
There were still a lot of unanswered questions.
The depth of the inferiority Kyo had tasted in that coffee couldn't have been built up in just one month of band activity.
It must have been growing for far longer—shaped by her family, her school, her environment.
But those past causes didn't really matter.
All Kyo needed was the end result.
Because that was what she could use to predict the future.
And her conclusion was:
Even if Taki wanted to restart a band… she wasn't the one who would make it happen.
She was waiting—indefinitely—for the right moment.
Putting aside the band for now, there was one more thing about Taki that puzzled Kyo.
And that was—Umiri.
"School's starting soon… I hope I can still come here to practice when the time comes."
A small group of girls carrying instruments entered RiNG Café, pausing when they saw the three of them sitting in silence.
"Uh… excuse me, can we place an order?"
"…Looks like it's time to go."
Kyo slowly stood up.
Her face was still streaked with dried tears, but her expression had already returned to its usual calm.
"I'll come back for coffee another time. Maybe tea, too."
"Oh."
Taki finally turned back to face her. The red tinge on her face had mostly faded—though she still seemed a bit out of sorts, her voice was quieter than usual.
"…See you, Umiri. Kyo."
"I haven't even said goodbye yet."
Umiri stood up smoothly, as if switching gears with professional efficiency.
They nodded briefly to the confused band girls before stepping out of the café, making their way back into the main lounge of RiNG.
Just as Umiri was about to head toward the practice rooms, Kyo called out to her.
"…Umiri."
Umiri turned around, as if she had expected this.
"What is it?"
Kyo met her gaze.
Before anything else, there was something she had to say.
"…First of all, I owe you an apology."
"An apology?"
Umiri blinked.
She didn't seem surprised that Kyo had stopped her—but she was clearly confused by this.
"Why are you apologizing, Kyo-san? Did you do something to me?"
"There's no need to pretend you don't know. But if you really want me to say it out loud… I'm apologizing for interrupting my own plan when you suddenly asked me to make you a coffee earlier. At the time, I wasn't considering Taki's state at all—I was even thinking about pushing her further."
"Huh. And here I thought you were the type to handle things more tactfully, yet you're being so direct now?"
"I adjust based on who I'm talking to. With you, Umiri-san, I don't think there's any need to hold back."
"…Is that so."
Umiri blinked, clearly a little surprised by Kyo's bluntness.
"Well, in that case, I accept your apology."
The moment she said that, she noticed Kyo's lips curve slightly higher.
"…So, you do care about Taki, don't you?"
She'd been played.
By accepting Kyo's apology, she had essentially admitted that she had been upset about the whole thing. And that, in turn, was undeniable proof of just how much she cared about a certain someone.
Umiri fully turned to face Kyo.
"…So what exactly are you trying to do here, Kyo-san?"
"Taki's problem still exists. Just now, she seemed to relax a little after being praised, but that didn't fix the root cause."
The inferiority complex she carried—Kyo's talent might have triggered it, but it definitely wasn't the core reason behind it.
"You can see it too, can't you? So what I don't understand is—if you care about Taki this much, why haven't you tried comforting her yourself?"
Kyo's gaze drifted toward the instrument case Umiri had been carrying this whole time.
"Especially when you clearly want to form a band with her."
"…What makes you say that?"
"Your instrument."
Kyo gestured toward the case.
"RiNG's practice rooms usually need to be reserved in advance during break periods. If you had been invited by another band to practice, this particular time slot would be the first session of the day. That means no other bands were using the practice rooms before this.
"So if you really were just here for a session, you could've left your heavy instrument in the practice room first and then gone to see Taki."
"But instead, you showed up in front of her while still carrying it."
"Would it be wrong to assume that was a deliberate signal?"
"And considering how you've been floating between different bands, taking on temporary roles rather than settling into a permanent one… could it be that you've been waiting for one particular person all this time?"
"The reason I haven't comforted Taki…"
For the second time in a row, Umiri avoided giving a direct answer.
Kyo blinked.
The first time, she had deflected by questioning why Kyo had asked in the first place.
And now, her second response had circled right back to that same point.
If you don't want to answer, that's fine.
But if you spark my curiosity and I end up digging out the truth myself, you only have yourself to blame.
"…Because I'm an outsider."
"Hm?"
"A band is like a home."
Umiri's voice was calm, steady.
"And right now, Taki is still clinging to the home she lost."
"But I was never a part of that home. So it's not my place to interfere."
Kyo didn't understand.
"But you're her friend."
"Exactly."
Umiri nodded.
"Because I'm her friend—because I care about her—I can't cross that line."
Restraint.
That was the word that came to mind.
Umiri dressed in bold, mature leather jackets, but her actions were steady and disciplined. Every interaction she had with Taki was carefully measured, maintaining a firm but respectful distance.
It was different from the feeling Kyo got from Uika.
Uika buried her emotions, hiding them entirely.
But Umiri—Umiri felt them. She simply controlled them.
The end result was the same.
Kyo quietly added another layer to the mental label she had assigned to Umiri—a difficult opponent to deal with.
"…So, we're stuck in a stalemate."
Kyo let out a small sigh.
Since reuniting the original band was already impossible—a reality shaped by Sakiko's departure—the only solution was to bring in new people.
And yet…
The most promising candidate, Umiri, wouldn't step in.
"…So why don't you bring the band back together, Kyo-san?"
This time, Umiri was the one who posed the question.
"To me, you're exceptionally good at reading people."
"At first, I thought you were a purely logical person."
"But when you spoke to Taki just now… your words were so sincere."
"You're the most suitable person for the job, aren't you?"
Kyo hesitated, then smiled faintly.
"…Sorry."
"Maybe I am the biggest problem here."
"…I see."
Umiri didn't press further.
For the first time, Kyo truly felt the way Umiri handled relationships—with a controlled, carefully maintained distance.
It was comfortable.
It was freeing.
It allowed both sides to speak as they wished, without overstepping.
"…Kyo-san, do you want to add me on LINE?"
"Oh?"
Kyo raised an eyebrow, then grinned.
"Sure."
"Who knows? We might end up with a lot to talk about."