Suzuki Yukino's heart erupts in a blazing melody.

***
Suzuki Yukino

I was standing on the balcony, a cup of tea in hand, enjoying the night breeze and admiring the sight of the beautiful city covered in darkness. Or at least I was trying to. Attempting to ignore something and not think about it usually backfires. It keeps haunting you and coming back against your will. The tiniest things make your mind come back to your problems. 

I was in the same state at the moment. Desperately trying to forget about the friend I used to have and the passion I used to share with her. But the cup I was holding, a gift from the past, and the faint sound of the music coming from the lower floor both reminded me of my lost dream and a never-ending sense of guilt welling up inside.

That guilt wasn't caused by the fact that I crushed my best friend's dream or that I inadvertently made her the laughingstock of the entire school. No — those were old wounds I'd long overcome. Much to my disgust, there was another reason for guilt — a more egotistic and self-centered one.

I looked at the cup in my hand, and various questions floated into my mind. Why hadn't I thrown it out, I asked myself. Or at least, why was I still actively using it? Was I punishing myself that way? If so, maybe even that punishment was nothing but a way to make myself feel better. 

I hate who I've become — a self-excusing worthless existence, desperately clinging to what little is still in her heart.

But I also hate who I'd been before — an obvious girl who didn't know her place and wasted away her happiness.

Aiko's face flashed before my eyes. She only picked up singing in middle school — in contrast, I sang from a young age. At first, I hated being forced to sing, but then I came to love music. And so, I had a lot of experience by the time middle school came around. She knew that, so she did her best to catch up. Compared to those who started early, Aiko felt like everyone left her in the dust before she even picked up singing. Sometimes that's just how it is. You grow up and finally find your passion — only to realize that those who will excel have started long ago and are far ahead of you.

That was what Aiko experienced back then. Seeing that, I tried to do my best to cheer her up. I would practice with her and give her tips. I always told her she was getting better rapidly and would reach my level in no time. Hell, I even believed those fake promises myself.

That's why the fault for what happened lies with me. Same with our current predicament. If I weren't good at singing, Mitsu wouldn't include so much of it in the play. Though, I think the script might actually be Akira's doing. But I am confident the singing bits are probably her input. In other words, it's all my fault, so I should take responsibility. 

No, maybe that's not quite it. 

I knew those two wanted to make the play way better than you would expect at a cultural festival. That's why the conflicts were unavoidable. I knew that, but the moment I sang again, my hands began shaking from fear. I wanted to find an easy way out — an excuse to stop myself from having to confront my problems. I was an Ice Queen, but the only thing I froze was myself.

There wasn't much else to say. I used to be a liar, so now I despise them. Although, I also hate how I keep people away nowadays. Scared of hurting them — no, afraid of facing myself, I push them away. An act of cowardice — a brave front, betraying my weakness.

I used to be unable to see reality for what it was, so I fed others lies. Now I can't bring myself to confront reality, so I hide behind sharp words and a cold attitude — to not be reminded of the icy indifference nested in my chest. I was pathetic before, and I am also pathetic right now. Nothing has changed since then, and nothing will change in the future. Undoubtedly — I am frozen. And it is my own doing.

***
Maegahara Shosei

It was the next day after my search for Takagi Aiko. I continued the battle for the class mood, and rather successfully. My efforts paid off, and, in no time, the tides turned. I was confident it was because Ishikawa-san and Maeda-san picked up on that initial momentum, but also because the sincere effort that Kato-san and Nakano-san put into the play reached our classmates' hearts. At least, that's what I wanted to believe. That, however, didn't mean our troubles disappeared.

There was the issue with Suzuki-san, and although the mood didn't persist, our main singer's refusal to cooperate sipped away at people's motivation. They already resigned themselves to failure. That's why today was important. If I — no, if Takagi-san failed at persuading Suzuki-san, it would already be too late to prepare things in time. It was already less than two weeks until the festival. Truthfully, even if we did solve all the issues, the sheer amount of preparations needed was too much. Our chances looked grim.

Still, that wasn't a reason to give up. Besides, Ishikawa-san said he would deal with the preparations. I was sure he would figure something out, hopefully. I wanted to trust him on that.

Takagi-san was to come to school after classes that day. Traveling from her school to ours would take some time, so the after-school preparations will already be over by then. I asked Maeda-san and Kato-san to convince Suzuki-san to stay after. My role was essentially over — everything else would depend on Takagi Aiko. Still, I couldn't help but be nervous and mull over our chances of success.

Suzuki Yukino's behavior puzzled me. Did she stop singing because her talent hurt her friend in the past? Did that remind her of the bond she'd lost? Or maybe she was scared of hurting others? Those would be the simple logical conclusions, but they didn't sit right with me. After all, if they were correct,  there was something that stuck out to me.

She met Maeda-san and the others after she quit. She also refused to sing the last time we'd been to karaoke. Maeda-san lamented the fact, regretful that Suzuki-san's beautiful singing voice would remain unheard. Still—

How would she know that if Suzuki-san never sang in front of her? How would she know that if Suzuki Yukino had already quit singing before meeting all of them?

The answer was simple — she still tried to sing from time to time.

What was on Suzuki Yukino's mind as she remained frozen, unable to let go of her dream but also unable to pursue it? What did she feel guilty about, and why did she participate in the play in the first place? I felt the answers to those questions were also the answers to our troubles.

I was also curious as to why hadn't Maeda-san, Ishikawa-san, and everyone else not done anything. Or, perhaps, that logic was wrong in the first place. I was the one who was abnormal for moving to interfere in others' lives as if that was a natural thing to do.

Nothing changed since then, and I was confident — if I failed, I would slump into depression as I did in the past. I would become discouraged, recover, and return to making the same mistakes. But I liked that about myself. That was my resolution and my way of living. I wouldn't trade it for anything else because I felt that the moment I lost that resolution —

I would crumble into dust, and what made me myself would disappear with that.

***

The classes were over, and the preparations were shortly coming to an end as well. I looked over at Suzuki-san. She was talking with Maeda-san and Kato-san. Undoubtedly, at the moment, they were asking her to stay in the class for a bit. I couldn't hear them, but I saw a light nod of her head, probably indicative of her agreement. With this, everything was in order. Now — the most crucial part, Takagi Aiko.

I went outside, getting ready to greet her. While I headed downstairs, I remembered our conversation the day prior.

***

"So, what did you want to talk about?" she began the dialogue with a question. I looked at her, wondering where to start. Takagi-san didn't shrug me off or try to escape when she heard Suzuki-san's name. That meant she wasn't trying to forget her past. Whether it was a desire to confront Suzuki Yukino or to make up with her, I didn't know. Still, I decided to be honest with her.

"Suzuki-san quit singing after what happened back then."

"I see...," Takagi-san replied curtly. She didn't ask me how I knew the details or question whether I really knew Suzuki Yukino — she merely accepted it as a fact. I didn't know if that was because she was gullible or because she could tell from my tone that I wasn't lying.

"I... I want you to help her overcome the past," I voiced my request and stared at Takagi-san, gauging her reaction. The reply that followed was calm and reserved.

"Sorry, I'm not planning to tell her what to do with her life. Being talented brings its share of troubles, you know? Quitting is also an option," Takagi-san explained candidly. I couldn't sense any malice or hostility toward Suzuki-san — only concern and sympathy. I wondered — was that an act or the real deal? Regardless, I wasn't ready to back off.

"But Suzuki-san doesn't want to quit. She wants to sing but is hesitant to make the first step. That's why, please, help her!" I pleaded, trying to appeal to her emotions. She eyed me suspiciously.

"How would you know what Yukino wants? I doubt she would tell you that herself."

It was true I hadn't heard that from Suzuki-san personally, nor did she ask me for help. It was merely my speculation. However, I was confident she didn't want to abandon singing. After all... after all—

The moment she gave up on this play — her face was overflowing with sorrow and resignation. Like she was bidding farewell to a long-time friend.

"I know because, otherwise, she would never agree to participate in the play."

"In the play?"

"Yeah. We're holding a performance for the cultural festival, and Suzuki-san plays a role that involves a lot of singing. If she wanted to quit, she wouldn't agree to participate. But now..."

I told Takagi-san about the current situation. I mentioned that we needed to convince Suzuki-san, or the play would fail. That's why I needed her help.

"I..." she wavered, unsure of what to say. Her face was down, but I could see the hesitation in her features. Finally, she answered.

***

And that brings us to today. As I finished remembering the previous day, I went down the stairs. I left the school building and approached the gates. I looked in the distance, waiting for Takagi-san when suddenly a voice called out to me.

"Yo, Sho-Sho."

A hand rose in the air, greeting me. Its owner, Nakano-san, smiled at me.

"What's wrong, Nakano-san?"

"I was just wondering what you guys are up to."

I was sure he was talking about the whole affair with bringing Takagi-san to school. Somehow, he seemed to notice what was happening. That's what his question was about.

"We... we're trying to persuade Suzuki-san," I said, eliciting an exasperated sigh from him.

As he sighed, he closed his eyes and scratched his head awkwardly. Then, he directed his gaze to one of the school windows, the one that was protruding from our classroom.

"Hah, I told you, didn't I? You don't have to bother — I don't want to force Suzuki-san to sing for the play."

"That's not it," I interrupted him.

"...Hm?"

Nakano-san didn't seem to expect that reply, and as a result, his reaction was delayed.

"We're trying to persuade her not to give up singing. That's what we're doing," I stated. Nakano-san slightly opened his mouth in surprise. Then, he closed his eyes for a few seconds, pondering my words. 

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. Nakano-san looked at me warmly and smiled, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

"...Is that so? Good luck then — I'm cheering for you guys!" He left an encouragement and began walking away.

"Nakano-san!"

My words stopped him, but he didn't turn around. Instead, he listened to me while still facing forward.

"Will you help us convince Suzuki-san afterward? To sing for the play, I mean."

"Heh, I don't think she will need any convincing if you succeed. So, I guess the answer is no. I need to focus on my troubles, you know?" Nakano-san replied. I didn't doubt he had his own challenges to overcome.

And he resumed walking. As he disappeared into the distance, I screamed.

"Good luck, Nakano-san!"

He didn't react, but I was sure my words reached him.

***

After Nakano-san left, I waited for a few minutes, staring at the sky that began to gradually turn red. The setting sun changed the color of the usual blue expanse and illuminated the surroundings in a scarlet glow.

Finally, a figure appeared on the horizon. Takagi Aiko was here.

***
Takagi Aiko

Today is the day I prove you wrong, Yukino. What I want to see isn't the arrogance of a genius. She's so complacent that she believes it's right to feel guilty merely for having talent. Like she thought there was an insurmountable wall between us, and it was her fault it existed. 

I need neither your pity nor your consideration. I also don't need your guilt or repentance. You, a self-centered idiot, will learn the stubbornness of a disappointing failure today.

What I want to see isn't the arrogance of a genius.

I want to see the pride of a brilliant gem shining haughtily without a care for the world — showing off her radiance for all the masses to see. Captivating envious mobs and malicious fools so they can't protest. Reaching others' hearts and inspiring them through nothing more than your sheer brilliance.

That's what I truly want to see.

I want to see you shine, Yukino.

***
Suzuki Yukino

Fumiko-chan and Mitsu asked me to stay after school. For reasons unknown, we stayed in the class, waiting. Finally, the sound of a received message played from Fumiko-chan's phone. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. Her eyes ran along the lines of text, then she nodded and turned to me.

"We're going to the school gym."

Knowing they wouldn't back off, I reluctantly agreed to follow, and we began making our way through the school halls. I didn't know what they were planning, but I was sure it had to do something with the play. Their attempts at persuasion persisted ever since I claimed I wasn't singing. They were sure to try to pull something off, but I wasn't about to budge. My decision was final, and I was confident no one could change that — especially not me.

We left the school building and arrived at the gym. Fumiko-chan opened the door, and beyond it, complete darkness greeted us. Ignoring that, both Fumiko-chan and Mitsu walked into the gym. I followed them.

I made one step after another, unable to see anything around me. The darkness made me feel slightly uncomfortable. After walking in silence for about half a minute, I raised my voice, asking the girls a question.

"So? Why are we in the gym? Also, did you really need to turn off the lights...?" I asked. A few seconds passed, but no reply followed. Surprised by the lack of answer, I tried looking around, darting my gaze from place to place, but of course — I still couldn't see a thing.

"Fumiko-chan? Mitsu? Where are you? Is this your idea of an amusing prank? It isn't funny, you know?"

Again, only silence replied to my questions. My face twisted in discomfort, and I felt slightly panicked. My patience started running dry, and I decided to head back.

"What the hell...? Where did they go...? I-I better go back, then...," I said and began turning to the exit. However, something unexpected interrupted me.

Suddenly, a bright light lit the darkness-clad gym. The abrupt appearance of a light source blinded me, and I hastily covered my eyes. In front of me, the stage was illuminated in an otherwise entirely dark space, making me feel like I was at a concert. The only difference was that there was no audience aside from me. And, standing on the stage — was a lone figure, microphone in hand. Despite the dark room, the distance between us, the changed haircut, and the now more mature figure, it was someone I immediately recognized.

"Aiko..." 

As her name quietly fell from my lips, familiar music began playing. I hadn't heard it in over two years. We used to love this song and picked it every time we went to karaoke. The melody began reverberating through the surroundings, causing my heart to cry in pain. The lyrics hadn't yet started, and Aiko stood on the stage, tapping her foot to the beat. Shortly after, the intro ended, and the tune went quiet. Then suddenly, the music became louder, and Aiko's hand shot in the air. At the same time, her mouth opened, and her voice enveloped the gym.

Her singing, while a massive improvement compared to the past, was nowhere near the professional level. What reached me was the emotion seeping through Aiko's voice. 

It was a straightforward song about ideals and reality. 

We set out on the path leading to our dreams, but as we walk on the road of life, we gradually settle on compromises and stop having faith in our ideals. Instead, we begin believing in excuses. By the time we realize it, the path that was supposed to lead to our dreams is no longer in sight. 

That's what she sang about — that's what I loved singing in the past. For me, It used to be a reminder, a conviction, and a belief. With time, It turned into a wound, a weakness, and a disappointment.

The song was approaching its climax. I focused my attention on Aiko's performance. That climax had a bit she could never do, a high note she could never hit before. I waited with bated breath, my gaze locked on the stage, my ears submerged in her singing. The tension increased, and the moment of truth got closer and closer. Aiko's voice ascended higher and higher — to the peaks it had never reached in the days of our friendship. Finally, it reached the long-awaited point and—

—she hit it.

Aiko conquered the insurmountable height. That was her answer. I stopped singing this song while she never did. She was still on the path to her dreams, doing her best every day — meanwhile, I wasted away in a frozen coffin of my own making. Her song told me more than the words ever could, yet much was left to be said.

Aiko looked at me, sweat glistening on her skin, and took a deep breath. The lights turned back on, and the gym was now lit. She descended from the stage and approached me. Her gaze was sharp and focused, determination lighting up her eyes.

"It was beautiful...," I said, watching Aiko with a thin self-deprecating smile on my face. She replied in a faint voice, still gasping for breath.

"Thank you..."

"I can't believe how much you've improved — nothing like me who hasn't moved an inch since then. I re—"

"Why did you stop singing?"

I started praising Aiko, only for her to interrupt me.

"...Why? It's obvious, isn't it? It's because of what happened over two years ago," I replied, pretending to be confused by her question.

"That's not the answer, and you know it. I'm asking for the exact reason. Is it a sense of guilt? Did you feel horrible that your genius humiliated your friend?" Aiko asked. Her frankness shocked me, and I reeled back. I thought through her questions, wondering if she was right. Finally, I answered.

"...Yes... Yes, I feel guilty. I feel horrible for making you go through that because of my hypocrisy. I didn't want to discourage you from your dream, so I didn't tell you the truth — I believed if we kept at it, you would improve in no time. However, the time of the competition approached, and your singing wasn't yet up to par. And still, because of my weakness, I couldn't tell you — couldn't confess I was lying to you!"

As my confession continued, I became more agitated, and my voice got louder. The emotions I'd long buried in my heart were unleashed one after another.

"I can't forgive that my arrogance nearly ruined someone's dream!" I screamed, hoping to expel all of the guilt from my chest. Even if I knew it was in vain.

Aiko looked at me, betraying no reaction. Her mouth opened, and she spoke calmly, not perturbed by my emotional confession.

"But that's not all there is to it, right?"

I was shocked into silence. Aiko continued.

"I've heard about how you are nowadays. You got over that long ago. That's why now you speak bluntly, without mincing words. That's also why you now try to sing from time to time. So — it's not about feeling guilty for what happened long ago — so what is it?"

Her words struck where it hurt. Excuses had long ago buried the guilt for what happened.

It's not my fault I have talent.
I've made a mistake, but now, I will reform my behavior, so I should move on. 
My quitting singing doesn't help anyone but only serves as self-reproach.
I have to keep moving forward — after all, everyone makes mistakes.

Pathetic rationalized attempts at justification served their purpose. Spurred on by such thoughts, I desperately tried to pick up singing again, yet something felt off. This sinking feeling in my stomach didn't disappear. Every song I sang, that feeling deepened as if feeding on my desperate attempts to escape my weakness.

While I hesitated, Aiko resumed her assault, squeezing the truth out of me.

"You tried to sing again and move on from the past, so what happened? Why are you still stuck here, unable to come back on the path of your dreams? You used the first weak excuse you came across to stop. You're desperately searching for a reason not to sing, so tell me, why — why do you want to escape!?"

Her voice shook me. I stood in place, my gaze on the ground. Hesitation overtook me, and I was unable to face Aiko. I bit my lip and clenched my fists so hard I thought they would bleed, hoping that would bring me out of my stupor and allow words to form.

"Yukino! Answer me, you complacent genius!"

That was the last straw. Finally, she broke the lock on my heart. The emotions overflowed, and it felt like they would burst my chest open. And what came out of my mouth —

—was a weak, self-deprecating laugh.

"Haha... Me, a genius? Don't make me laugh," I spit, my words so faint they would disappear in the wind if we were outside. But we were in a gym, under a roof. There wasn't any outside noise, so my voice was definitely heard.

"A true genius would be someone to reach people's hearts — I, on the other hand, have only brought people humiliation and envy with my singing."

"...Eh?"

Aiko reeled back in shock as if she didn't expect my words. That was the first time during this conversation she showed any reaction whatsoever.

"My words never reached anyone! I wanted to bring positivity into this world! I tried to share a part of what music brought to my life!" I continued laying my heart bare, exposing all the bitterness that accumulated in my chest.

Music saved me. Without purpose, I wasted my life, spending every day worthlessly. I could bring happiness neither to myself nor to others. Nothing interested me, nothing brought me joy, and nothing mattered — my whole life was nothing!

It was music that changed that. It brought colors into the world, taught me to appreciate, taught me to feel, taught me to enjoy myself — taught me what it truly meant to live! As my perspective shifted, my surroundings changed in no time. The previously annoying masses became fascinating people, the previously puzzling sentimentality moved me, and the words which used to mean nothing resonated in my heart.

"I wanted to bring color into everyone's worlds like songs did for me!"

That's what I always wanted. But reality had different plans.

"The only thing my singing brought was negativity. Not only that, but it also gradually stole the color from my world! Failures piled up and slowly extinguished the flames of my passion! I've never successfully sung! Not a single time has my song reached someone! Not even once!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, expelling the words stuck in my throat since that day. Tears started streaming down my face, but my confession wasn't over yet.

"The more I went on, the less confidence I had in my so-called talent. In the end, a good vocal range, a sense of rhythm, or an ear for music — all of those mean nothing if your words only reach people's ears and not their hearts! Did I really have any talent? With time, I became confident that I didn't."

I didn't have genuine talent, and I wasn't anything close to a genius. My voice meant nothing — not to others, nor even to me. If anything, my failures convinced me that I had a disposition for bringing people misery.

"I feel guilty! I was scared of my failures, so I clung to the pain I caused you, Aiko! I used it as an opportunity to escape. I was afraid that if I kept singing, I would eventually strip my world of its color like it once was. And so, I ran away— to the comfort of my friends' kindness and the warm embrace of mundane happiness. But it was useless..."

Yes, my attempt to escape with my happy little colorful world failed.

"...The color faded on its own..."

Escaping didn't help. Because in the process, I lost the one thing that brought me out of a worthless world.

 "...as if the fire lit in my heart by music slowly cooled down. Eventually, it became encased in a prison of ice..."

Not because it burned away and only cold was left. No, it's because I froze it myself. I kept it tucked away deep inside, hoping for it to warm me for at least a second longer. It was scary — I was slowly returning to the heartless world I'd long left behind. In front of my eyes, the previously fascinating people turned into annoying masses, the moving stories into puzzling sentimentality, and the resonating words — into meaningless sounds. And so I clung to the little colors that were still left.

"But I can't bring myself to sing! I'm sure that if I try again, I will only extinguish the fire still burning inside under the layers of ice. There is no way out for me — only eventual emotional death! Aiko, your singing was beautiful. It moved my heart — I felt a bit of the lost color come back to my world. You're the true genius here — I, on the other hand, am different. No one has ever wanted me to sing. I—"

My words were interrupted by a teary-eyed Aiko. At some point, tears started running down her cheeks. She screamed, her voice piercing my heart.

"Yukino! I want you to sing!"

Once again, her words stunned me.

"I want to hear your voice reverberating through my soul once more! I've never told you why I wanted to perform with you in the contest, right? I loved your singing, so I wanted to hear you try seriously! I thought if it were a contest, I would finally see Yukino go all out! That's why I roped you into it!"

Her face was a mess, and, by this point, Aiko practically bawled.

"Your singing reached my heart! Remember one time when we went to karaoke — I suddenly declared I would become a singer? Back then, you introduced me to your favorite songs, and you thought they impressed me so much my heart shook. Well, you were wrong! What shook my heart, touched my soul, and brought color to my world were you! Everything suddenly clicked, and I finally found my path!"

Aiko threw herself at me, embracing me with her warmth.

"Your song reached me! I want you to sing! Please! Let me hear your singing once more! I want to hear it because...  because it brings colors to my world!"

The words I wanted to hear, the affirmation I aspired to reach — I finally heard it. Aiko's scream pierced my heart, and I burst out crying. We both bawled, hugging each other and affirming the warmth in our hands.

At that moment, the ice melted, and my heart sang with a blazing melody, putting its past flame to shame.

***
Maegahara Shosei

A song pierced the surroundings. The setting sun colored everything in scarlet red as if setting the area on fire. Suzuki-san's voice reverberated with a blazing passion, shaking my heart.

I didn't know a single thing about singing, and I certainly wasn't well-versed enough to give anything even remotely resembling a profound critical opinion. But it took my breath away and made an intense emotion well up in my chest. And I knew how valuable that was.

I stood outside the gym, waiting for the song to be over — no, I couldn't move from my spot as the passionate voice enraptured me. Soon, the performance ended, and a figure emerged from the building. It was Suzuki Yukino, reborn like a phoenix.

She looked at me intensely, making me slightly uncomfortable, and started speaking.

"You were the one who called Aiko here, right?" Suzuki-san asked.

"Y-yeah," I answered, stammering from the intensity in her voice. She hesitated a bit before she spoke up again. Her voice was trembling, and she stumbled on her words.

"...I-it helped me a lot, s-so—"

She stuttered here before finally squeezing her words out.

"—t-thank you," she said and turned away.

After that, Suzuki-san hurried her steps and walked away.

I blamed it on the setting sun that her cheeks looked slightly red when she said her gratitude.