I leave the studio with Azuma.
“Butter really was amazing, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah...”
Azuma was acting tough, while I had taken the full force of their performance's energy.
Dragging my heavy heart and heavy feet, I made my way toward Kichijoji Station for the time being.
It wasn’t like I was discouraged or had lost my motivation.
I was just overwhelmed by the obvious difference in our performance levels. I couldn't see a way through, yet my heart was racing as I struggled to find a way out of this.
Glancing sideways, unlike me, Azuma seemed to have a bit more composure.
Does our manager have some kind of answer...?
“Hey, Azuma. Do you think we can surpass those people by tomorrow?”
“Hmm, it’s impossible to get better than that by tomorrow. Impossible. Even if a miracle occurred or magic was cast, it wouldn't happen.”
“I thought so...”
I crossed my arms and pondered.
“Butter didn't just play music half-heartedly; they are where they are as a result of various efforts. I'm sure they've overcome the challenges we're feeling now. Since I practiced like crazy following Maika-bucho's lead, I think I understand the height of that wall all too well.”
“I guess that's true... In the first place, our experience as a band is different. They've been together for about two and a half years, right?”
“Actually? I think it’s been less than a year since they formed.”
Azuma tilted her head slightly.
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. Eriguchi-senpai and Shaku-senpai were too good, so they couldn't get along with the members of their first bands, and they were avoided and passed around in their next bands too. I heard that neither of them had ever been able to stay in one band for a long time.”
“Passed around because they were too good? Does that really happen?”
I thought anyone would be happy to welcome people that skilled into their band.
“Not everyone does it seriously, you know, being in a band. People just copy famous songs somehow, get pampered somehow, and then they might or might not get popular somehow, and before they know it, the strings on their guitars and basses are rusted red—that’s a common story, right?”
“That’s oddly specific...”
But I think that was exactly the impression I had of the Rock Club all along.
“To those people, ‘authentic’ types who talk about the rhythm being too fast or too slow, or the pitch being sharp or flat, let alone talking about expression, are just a nuisance. Since what those ‘authentic’ people say is absolutely correct, it makes it even worse.”
“Coming from a former Instrumental Club president, that has a strange amount of weight.”
She had told a similar story when she shared her weaknesses during the test of courage at the summer training camp.
“I thought I told you to forget about that...?”
She looked at me with scornful eyes, and I gave a light shrug.
“Anyway... So, when Maika-bucho retired from the Instrumental Club, she joined the Rock Club around last winter to form a band with those two, saying ‘Why are music lovers like you two just smoldering without a band?’ That’s how Butter was born.”
“I see... So it's been less than a year since they formed, and considering the entrance exams, the period they actually spent active together hasn't been that long...”
And yet, they produced music with that kind of mutual understanding...
“Well, it might not be long, but...”
Just as we reached the ticket gates, Azuma stopped and whispered while looking at her toes.
“It’s a place where they’ve finally found where they belong, for both of them. So, I think their bond—or rather, their feelings—are deep. ...You understand that, right?”
Then, she looked up at me.
“I suppose...”
Even amane has only been formed for four months, but for each of the four of us, amane is a special place.
“It feels kind of like that time.”
Suddenly, the current situation overlapped with my past self, and I gave a small “haha” laugh.
“What are you laughing at all of a sudden? It's creepy...”
Azuma looked at me with scornful eyes again.
“No, sorry. I just thought that I felt something similar toward Azuma during the school festival. ‘Can we even surpass a performance like that?’”
“Me?”
She pointed to herself in surprise.
“Yeah. Or rather, to the Instrumental Club, to be precise. ‘Can we do a better live than that?’ Even Sako was feeling weak.”
“Hmm...?”
“At that time, even though we weren't competing like this, I was comparing us on my own.”
As I spoke, I felt like I was beginning to understand the true nature of what I am facing and what I should face.
“...In the end, when you admit defeat yourself, you lose no matter what anyone else says. Conversely, no matter what anyone else says, if you can think ‘We're better’ or ‘We're good too,’ then that's probably enough.”
I nodded as if confirming it to myself.
“You know those merits best yourself. It's not about ‘deciding for yourself,’ it's more like you ‘just know.’ You can't lie to your own heart.”
In truth.
“The song I want to make the most is obviously the ‘song I want to hear most in the world’.”
I had realized that long ago.
We make mistakes over and over, standing up again and again, and we move forward.
“That's exactly why... I don't want to lose. I don't want to think that I've lost. No matter who the opponent is.”
When I looked to my side, which had suddenly become quiet, Azuma was staring at me blankly.
“...What?”
“...I-It’s nothing.”
Azuma, her cheeks flushed, looked away.
“S-So, how did Konuma reply?”
“Reply to what...?”
“You know, when Sakohasu said, ‘I wonder if we can do a better live than that.’”
I recalled.
“...I replied, ‘We just have to do it,’ I think.”
“Heh, that's pretty cool...”
I thought she would look at me with a smirk, but she was staring at the ground, scratching her cheek with her ears turning red.
“...Then, I guess we just have to do it.”
Then, after whispering that, she looked at me with a serious face.
“Konuma. Actually...”
“Yeah?”
“...I have a strategy.”
“A strategy...?”
I tilted my head.
“Um... first of all! Like Konuma said earlier, music isn't originally something to compete over, right? Both Butter and amane, and other bands too, are wonderful—everyone is different and everyone is good, right? I'm sure the judges think so too.”
“Well, that's true.”
The phrase ‘music is not something to compete over’ is a cliché. Apparently, Mr. Children didn't appear on Kohaku because they disliked that, and Ichikawa also said something similar once.
“But in a situation like this where we absolutely have to compete, and the judges have to give scores, technical skill is ‘logical.’ It's easy to quantify, easy to evaluate, and easy to compare.”
“I see... Then, for us to surpass Butter tomorrow, after all...”
“Yeah. If this were a sports competition, we wouldn't be able to win no matter how much we struggled. I think it would be the same in a wind instrument concert too.”
“I thought so...”
Figure skating, synchronized swimming, wind instrument concerts... I could think of many examples where scores are given in artistic fields where it's said they shouldn't be compared.
“But you know, Konuma. Tomorrow is a band live contest. So, there's a way to overturn technical skill. That’s not the only axis we’re fighting on. There's a way for us to show a strength that neither Butter nor any other band has tomorrow.”
“And that is...?”
I looked at Azuma searchingly, as if clinging to her for an answer.
“It's the ‘quality of the song’ and ‘how much emotion can be poured into it’.”
“That's... quite vague again...”
I felt a bit let down. Does she mean ‘emo’ or something?
“Well, that’s what it means. But to make it sound a bit more decent, shall I say it like a formula? ‘(Magnitude of emotion you want to express) x (How many percent the song/lyrics can draw that out) x (What percentage of performance skill you have to draw that out) = [Strength of Expression].’ That’s what I’m saying.”
Azuma held up three fingers toward me.
“I see...?”
“The only part where we have to admit we're losing to Butter is the ‘what percentage of performance skill you have to draw that out’ part.”
Azuma folded her ring finger. Two left.
“And then, ‘how many percent the song/lyrics can draw that out.’ Regarding this, we can say with pride that it's wonderful.”
“Yeah, I think so too.”
“Ahaha, look at you.”
Azuma smiled happily and folded another finger.
The index finger remained.
“And finally, the ‘magnitude of the emotion you want to express.’”
“Yeah... but, isn't that something we can't do anything about from now on...?”
“No. Even during Rock-On and the school festival, it wasn't just the accumulated emotions up to that point; the emotions that exploded at the venue must have been the source that created the moving experience. Right?”
“I see...”
Indeed, during Rock-On, it was Ichikawa's stance of trying to get her voice back. At the school festival, it was Sako's message to Ichikawa, the final line of ‘Kyousou’ that Azuma told me just before, and the lyrics Ichikawa sang after her struggle.
The emotions poured into it until then were large, but the range of emotions expressed at that moment was also vast.
“Exactly. So, as for how to do that...”
Having said that much, Azuma's tone dropped slightly as if she were hesitating.
“What's wrong?”
But she shook her head slightly, nodded as if she had made up her mind, and...
“So, Konuma.”
She looked straight into my eyes with a sad yet strong gaze.
“I'll cast a special ‘charm’ on you.”