“It wasn’t my voice. To fulfill Konuma-kun’s, Yuri’s, Sako-san’s... mine, and amane’s dream, it wasn’t my voice.”
“No, —”
The screen of the smartphone she held up silenced the words I was about to say in denial.
“But, no... that’s why. At the very least, so we can think it was good that we formed amane, so that someday we can think, ‘We are who we are today because amane existed,’”
“Hey, Ichikawa...!”
“Amane, surely you don't mean...!”
“Ichikawa-san...”
Ignoring our attempts to stop her, Ichikawa Amane smiled softly with her eyebrows turned down in a troubled look, and then—
“...So we can feel glad that amane met,”
Her expression turned serious as she stated clearly.
“Let’s... properly end amane.”
“What is this... does this mean we failed?”
Inside the Rock Club studio.
The four members of amane were all peering into my laptop.
After scrolling from top to bottom several times, Yuri Azuma opened the search bar and typed in 'amane.' Seeing that the name still didn't appear, she slumped back into her chair with her body going limp, as if she had turned into slime.
Sako Hasu closed her eyes and furrowed her brow by a fraction of a millimeter, while Ichikawa Amane let out a small sigh, like someone watching water slip through their fingers.
As for me, I wasn't sure if it had sunk in yet or if I just didn't feel the frustration, but I think I muttered something like, “Well... I guess that’s how it goes.”
Those words didn't make the other three angry, nor did they convince them; they simply dissolved into the sterile air and vanished.
...Actually, to be honest, it was unexpected.
The screening for 'Seishun Rebellion,' a band contest for those under 18 with a debut from the major label Buddy Music on the line, was split into four stages.
Demo screening -> Listener voting -> Regional live qualifiers -> Final live performance.
We had applied with our demo and passed the first stage.
Whether we passed 'easily' or 'just barely,' I couldn't say without asking the judges. However, when we saw the site listing the bands that passed the demo round, we had talked as if it were a given.
That was why we assumed we would pass the listener voting stage as well.
We had convinced ourselves that the next thing we needed to prepare for was the live qualifiers.
Listener voting.
During the two-week voting period, listeners could vote daily, and those votes determined who moved on to the live screening.
On the webpage that looked like a list of exam results announcing the passing bands and songs—
The words 'Omamori / amane' were nowhere to be found.
It seemed we had failed the second screening.
I didn't know if that was by a landslide or just barely either.
To ensure fairness, vote counts weren't visible, and the bands were displayed in a random order every time the page was opened.
However, everyone around us—the four members of Cherry Boys plus their manager Erina-san, our top junior Taira-chan from the Rock Club, the current and former members of the Instrument Club like Hoshikage-san, the new captain Mano, and Yutaka Otomo-kun, as well as the three members of Butter—had all told us, “I voted today!”
In other words, maybe we could only reach the number of people we could count on our fingers. There are 120 million people in Japan, and those who know amane are just a tiny fraction of that.
Even so.
“I wonder how many people actually listened to this...?”
Did they listen and choose not to vote, or did they not listen at all?
“The conditions should have been the same for every band, right? If it's about votes after being heard—”
“They weren't ‘exactly’ the same, Konuma.”
“Why...?”
“That’s...”
Yuri bit her lower lip, looking like she found it hard to continue.
“SNS, huh...”
Ichikawa muttered the answer.
“I see, that makes sense... because we don't use SNS...”
It was such a simple reason that I felt almost appalled.
“...Sorry.”
Sako was the one who apologized.
The reason amane didn't use SNS was because Ichikawa couldn't touch it, and Sako was the one who caused that.
“It’s not Sako-san’s fault. We settled that a long time ago,” Ichikawa said firmly.
“But Ichikawa-san is still...” Sako trailed off.
“Even so,” I spoke up, having understood the situation.
“...Even so, the song wasn't strong enough to overcome that handicap. That’s what it means, right?”
“True. It’s no one’s fault, and it’s everyone’s fault. Well, I guess that’s what it means to be in a band.”
Yuri nodded at my words.
We hadn't completely ignored the idea of SNS when the listener voting started.
However, I...
“—I thought we’d be able to overcome something like that easily.”
“I’m surprised...”
“Yeah...”
The Chuo Line ran through the deep twilight, leaving a dotted line of light in its wake.
After a half-hearted practice session for the December Lock-on, we trudged home. Sako had promised to head back with Erina-san and went toward the school bus, while Yuri waved to us at Musashisakai Station.
The swaying inbound train was empty, and Ichikawa and I sat side by side.
“I guess I got ahead of myself without realizing it... I was only thinking about the live screening. ...I was being way too conceited.”
Ichikawa laughed awkwardly, looking embarrassed.
As expected, there wasn't even a millimeter of the sweet-and-sour atmosphere of a couple between us.
“Me too.”
“Really? You don't look that depressed about it.”
“Ah...”
It wasn't that she had hit the nail on the head, but it felt like she had touched something vague and muddled in my chest.
“Oh, I don't mean I want you to be depressed, okay?”
Ichikawa waved her hands in front of her chest apologetically.
“It’s just that you don't show much emotion on your face, I get that. But even so, you look like you don't feel anything at all.”
“No, well... I guess somewhere in my heart, I might have considered this possibility. Like I was preparing myself... or setting up a safety net.”
I chose my words carefully, chewing over my own thoughts.
“Of course, I thought we could do it, and it was my best effort. But I also felt like things don't always go that well... Or maybe I’m satisfied because I gave it my all. As long as I’m satisfied, it’s fine... something like that?”
“Ahaha, I don't know the answer even if you ask me. But I can tell you haven't sorted things out yet either.”
“I guess so...”
“Sorry for asking so many things.”
“No, it’s fine. Well,”
I spoke up as if to clear the air in my lungs, making an effort to sound bright.
“Seishun Rebellion isn't everything.”
“That’s true. Our dream is to debut as the band amane.”
“Yeah. And the debut itself isn't the goal, it’s just a milestone.”
“Right, it doesn't end just because we debut.”
Ichikawa caught onto my intent and joined in to brighten the mood.
“Hey, if that’s the case, what’s your dream, Konuma-kun?”
“My dream is...”
I quietly recalled that scene from that day.
‘Hey, is there even one thing that only I can do?’
That scene when I first saw her.
“—I think my dream is to change someone’s life.”
“Someone’s life...”
I spoke the thoughts I had been having recently with unusual honesty.
“Just like amane’s—singer-songwriter amane’s music did for me. I’d be happy if the songs I make could become that for someone else.”
“I see. So that’s it.”
Ichikawa smiled bashfully.
“I’m happy to know that’s how you feel.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Normally, you wouldn't have told me that, right?”
“I guess not...”
It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but today my mouth felt like it was talking on its own.
“Anyway! We have to work hard again for the December Lock-on. If we give a bad performance there, then it really will be over.”
“...Yeah.”
Our music doesn't stop just because we failed one contest.
Our dreams haven't been crushed; in fact, nothing has even started yet.
But I wonder why.
The words that should have washed away all these muddled emotions—
The words that everyone must have said to move on—
“There’s always a next time.”
For some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to say them.