“5 million...!?”
A little over two weeks had passed since we lost the listener vote.
After school, I peeked at the YouTube screen, and a voice leaked out of me.
Just last night, IRIA uploaded a cover video of ‘Omamori,’ and in less than 24 hours, it had exceeded 5 million views.
As I scrolled down, the comments were flowing too fast to keep up with.
‘I thought she only did intense songs, but her ballads are perfect too. IRIA is insane.’
‘IRIA has made another god-tier song.’
‘It says this is a cover. Of some unknown newcomer. Maybe it’s IRIA’s alias?’
‘It’s true. Even if you look up the person who wrote the lyrics and music, you can't even find their SNS.’
‘This proves that even a song by an unknown person can become a god-tier song in IRIA’s hands.’
“Why can’t they imagine that an unknown person might just be capable of making a good song...?”
“Whoa, Ichikawa.”
A voice came from my right ear. When I turned around, Ichikawa was right there, scowling with an unusually irritated expression.
I flinched at the refreshing scent that wafted from her, and her finely textured skin and beautiful face that I could never get used to no matter how many times I saw them. She glanced at me and spoke.
“It’s got amazing momentum, IRIA-san’s ‘Omamori.’”
“Y-Yeah...”
Feeling a sense of awkwardness as if I had been caught doing something I shouldn't, I quickly locked my smartphone screen.
Our eyes met, and after letting out a light sigh from her nose, Ichikawa said, “...Let's go to the studio,” and left the classroom.
“Oh... okay.”
Today was amane's practice day.
“I didn't think that first-year would get this much attention.”
“No, even for IRIA's videos, it's rare for the views to rotate this quickly...”
Sako said, raising her eyebrows by a fraction of a millimeter in surprise. Azuma replied with a look of half-daze.
Naturally, after going to McDonald's with Ichikawa, we had consulted with Sako and Azuma before giving IRIA permission for the cover.
The two of them had essentially agreed immediately, saying things like, “If Ichikawa-san is fine with it, then it's fine,” and “I am a bit curious to hear it.” But they probably never expected it to reach this level.
...Then, the bassist duo from Class 2-4 quietly looked over at Ichikawa Amane, who had been looking irritated for a while now.
“...So, even though Ichikawa-san was the one who suggested it, why do you look so grumpy?”
Instead of Azuma, who was intimidated by Ichikawa's expression, Sako asked point-blank.
“Grumpy...? I mean, did you see the comment section?”
“...I saw it,” Sako answered quietly.
“Then you should understand!” Ichikawa raised her voice.
“It's all about how the creator is unknown and stuff like that! What do they think of the people who actually made it—Konuma-kun and Yuri!?”
“Phew...”
With that, Azuma let out a sigh of relief. I felt the same way, though I barely held it in.
I had thought Ichikawa might be angry about something else entirely.
Just as Sako said, Ichikawa was the one who suggested it, so no matter how much this video went viral, we shouldn't have to feel guilty.
—No, the real reason I feel guilty is probably inside my own heart, though.
“Amane, that’s just how it is. There are plenty of people who think unknown people have no value. Being famous alone makes someone worth supporting to them.”
“Why is that? Whether they’re unknown or not, if the thing presented to you is good, shouldn't it have value?”
“If your favorite succeeds, you can feel like you have a good eye for supporting them. On the other hand, if you support someone who fails, people will think you have no sense, right? That’s why they don't bet on unknown people. They only support those with a high probability of success.”
“Hmm, I can't accept that...”
“Well, well, that’s just how it is. Whether it’s horse racing or whatever, people don't necessarily cheer for the horse they like, they bet on the horse that seems likely to win.”
“Even though they don't make money if the thing they like succeeds?”
“Because they’re betting something more important than money. Things like trust, the desire for approval, and so on. So, conversely, if something is popular, they’ll desperately try to keep up with it even if they don't understand it. They pretend to understand.”
Azuma laughed softly, as if mocking herself.
“...In this modern age, the risk is too great to be proud of liking what you like.”
“Hmph...”
Ichikawa, still pouting, was somehow adorable.
“Looked at another way, even if you're unknown, if you have the strength to make people believe you'll ‘definitely succeed,’ they’ll support you. In the end, it’s a matter of skill. ...But thanks for getting angry for us, Amane.”
“No. I love the music and lyrics the two of you make. No matter what happens in the future.”
“Amane-sama...!”
“Hey, you believer...”
“By the way, I think ‘no matter what happens’ is a bit heavy...”
Sako gave a wry smile of a few millimeters and made a retort.
And then.
Outside the window, the blonde first-year, Airi Hirosue, peeked her head in.
“What is it, first-year?”
“Hello... it is, Hasusako-senpai. I have business with Takuto-san and Azuma Yuri-san... I do.”
When Sako opened the soundproof door, Hirosue responded in strange formal language. Wait, is her sample for formal speech Taira-chan?
“Hmm? Us?”
Azuma tilted her head.
“Yes. I was contacted saying someone wants to know your contact information.”
“From who...?”
“Vector Co., Ltd. It's the music production company that has been reaching out to me.”
“That’s...”
Vector is a major music production company that stands as a rival to Buddy Music.
“Yes,”
Looking at Azuma and me as we widened our eyes in realization, Hirosue announced with a serious face.
“It seems they want to scout you as a composer and lyricist affiliated with their agency.”
“Seriously...?” “No way...!” “...!”
While the three of us were marvelling at the news,
“...Yeah, just as I thought.”
Only Ichikawa Amane had a faint smile on her face.