Chapter Text
PRELUDIO I
noun pre·lu·dio \prāˈlüdyō\
: a short piece of music that introduces a longer piece
“I’m leaving for America.”
Kumiko looked straight into luminous violet eyes and read determination, defiance and pride—but also apprehension, loneliness and grief.
Below, the lights of Uji glittered, the merriness of their sparkle a sudden sharp contrast to the budding ache in her chest. She hadn’t expected anything in particular on this year’s Agata Festival—but she certainly hadn’t anticipated having to say goodbye either.
To make matters worse, the memory of the promise she’d made to Reina last year surfaced with an accusatory clarity. How on earth did you stay with someone who moved at the speed of light?
“When?” was all she asked in reply. She knew with a conviction that only ever applied to her intuitions about Reina that to say anything else would simply upset the dark-haired girl’s fragile equanimity.
“Next month. Interlochen’s Music Conservatory Program begins in August and I’ll need the time to get settled.”
Kumiko nodded. Reina had briefly mentioned the one year immersive course for gifted musicians months ago in the context of post-graduation plans. She wasn’t at all surprised that Reina, in her second year of high school, had qualified for a program that was designed for secondary school graduates.
“You’ll need to up your game then,” she spoke mildly. “It probably takes a bit more effort to be special in America.”
“Mmm,” the black-haired girl nodded. After a moment’s pause, a slender finger jabbed directly at Kumiko’s heart. “You’d better not slack off either.”
“You can kill me if I do,” Kumiko intoned solemnly.
“I really would, you know.”
“It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
They stared at each other and, for the second time in her short life, Kumiko understood that only death could crown the perfection of a moment that contained the proximity of Reina on a moonlit night.
“Kumiko…” the sudden quaver in the normally steady voice and the tell-tale glimmer in over-bright eyes broke the spell, and with the surety of an instinct that applied to Reina and Reina alone, Kumiko gently tugged the other girl to the space next to where she sat.
“Shall we start?”
In answer, Reina put her trumpet to her lips and the characteristic confidence of her first few notes told Kumiko all she needed to know.
We’re so much better now than last year, Kumiko thought as the sounds of their instruments blended seamlessly together. But also, she thought as the ache in her chest grew, so much more…melancholy.
Image illustrated by artist Maruki Nobuaki.
𝄥𝄞 ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ 𝄇
Life seemed normal enough when Reina left—the usual merry-go-round of classes, rehearsals and hijinks with Midori-chan and Hazuki-chan. But the days passed with a curious and lethargic flatness and it seemed as if a gauze had descended between herself and the world.
Kumiko learned quickly enough not to succumb too much to the sensations of quicksand. Everything occurred to her as a nearly unbearable bother, including Midori-chan’s and Hazuki-chan’s concern, and it was much easier to pretend that things were exactly as normal as they seemed.
“Puberty,” her sister had harrumphed with a roll of her eyes when their mother had evinced her worry over Kumiko’s unusually deeper level of inattentive preoccupation.
The only time she felt the gauze lifting was when she and Reina exchanged messages. By unspoken agreement, they communicated exclusively through text, preferring to avoid the agony of hearing the other’s voice or seeing the other’s face.
Things would likely have gone on the same way if a chance remark by Hazuki-chan hadn’t pierced the veil:
“It’s just not the same without Kousaka-san!” Hazuki-chan’s lament had been occasioned by Taki-sensei’s dismissing yet another ensemble rehearsal to have the sections practice by themselves instead.
The innocuous line clarified the many weeks of numb and vapid despair and Kumiko finally realized with a sense of shocked desolation why she’d made her promise to Reina on that moonlit night so many months ago.
Nothing, indeed, was the same without Kousaka-san. Not just life in the band, but life in school, life outside of school, and probably all of life itself.
The magnitude of the realization was jarring, to say the least.
“She’s ruined me for everything,” Kumiko wailed after a long and pregnant pause—and stopped immediately upon realizing that she’d actually said the words out loud.
What had followed was a week of agonized soul-searching, during which Kumiko weighed her need to be with Reina against the demands that need would make.
The various paralyzing doubts and distressing fears all boiled down to variations of the same tiresome theme: How could a painfully ordinary girl like her keep pace with a dazzlingly extraordinary girl like Reina?
In the end, she turned to the one person who rivalled her in Reina’s regard.
“Taki-sensei…” she ventured hesitantly at his desk one day, “do you think I could make it to a music conservatory?”
He regarded her steadily, not the slightest bit perturbed by either her interruption or her inquiry.
“You’ll need to work very, very hard, Oumae-san, but yes, if you start redoubling your efforts now, you could enter a good college of music after high school.”
And just like that, life became simple once again. After all, getting into music school was a straightforward if difficult affair, involving only the clear-cut calculus of diligence and effort, patience and persistence.
Explaining why she suddenly wanted to be a professional musician, however, was another matter altogether.
“I really like the euphonium,” was all she said when pressed by the mother she’d bewildered, the sister she’d exasperated and the friends she’d surprised by the sudden and unexpected call.
Even to herself, her actions seemed impetuous and strange. She couldn’t even account for why Reina mattered all that much. Reina was special, yes, but there were lots of exceptional people around—like Asuka-senpai, for instance—but none of them moved her the way Reina did, in the way that only Reina had ever had.
At any rate, Kumiko had neither the inclination nor the patience for over-analysis. She had less than a year to work her way up to a level where she could keep up with Reina in some fashion.
And besides, music school was just the start. As a professional trumpet player, Reina would be pressed for choice between classical and jazz ensembles, whereas Kumiko’s vocational future would be limited to the world of band. She couldn’t afford to be near-sighted and, to use a phrase she’d heard from Asuka-senpai, “win the battle only to lose the war.”
Which was why just a week after she’d spoken to Taki-sensei, she found herself in a café with her former senior.
“Asuka-senpai...” she started, then paused and re-gathered her courage with a sharp intake of breath, “would you like to start a jazz ensemble with me?”
Across from her, she saw her senpai’s eyebrows shoot up in a mixture of amusement and delight. The dark-haired beauty stared at her for a long and unnerving moment before giving her reply.
“You really are interesting, Oumae-chan. And here I was thinking that nothing left in life could ever surprise me.”
Kumiko regarded her steadily. “Will you do it?”
The older woman’s lips curved in their familiar enigmatic style. “Why not? It’s not like I’m doing anything important anyway. I might as well have a bit more fun.”
And just like that, Kumiko’s year was set.
The only thing left to do was to actually survive it.
Or, Reina really would kill her when she got back.