After walking a distance from the station, Ayanokouji led Takamatsu Tomori onto the pedestrian overpass near her home that spanned the main road.
The curtain of night had completely fallen, and below the overpass was the endless stream of evening rush hour traffic.
The roar of engines and the occasional sound of car horns intertwined to form a noisy wave of sound.
Ayanokouji walked to the railing of the overpass, looked at the torrent of flashing headlights below, and slowly spoke:
“Takamatsu, today in the practice room, you were afraid to speak up because you were actually afraid that your voice couldn’t meet Togawa and the others’ expectations, right?”
Takamatsu Tomori clutched the corner of her clothes and silently nodded.
Ayanokouji pointed at the traffic flow below: “Takamatsu, do you know?
Under a complex white noise environment, the human auditory threshold will drop significantly.”
Takamatsu Tomori blinked blankly, somewhat not understanding why he suddenly brought this up.
Ayanokouji explained: “My point is, if you sing here, or shout, no one will laugh at you, and besides me, not a second person will even hear it.”
“Do you want to give it a try?”
Hearing this, Takamatsu Tomori shrank back instantly and shook her head, looking as if she still didn’t dare.
Ayanokouji had long anticipated this.
If it were Sakiko standing here right now, she would probably not hesitate to head into the night wind and take the lead in shouting.
Using her passionate sensibility, she would drag Takamatsu Tomori along to gather courage.
Such an approach was something Ayanokouji could not achieve even by profiling and mimicking her mindset.
From this perspective, this was a unique kind of boldness possessed by people like Sakiko.
This let Kiyotaka further recognize his own shortcomings compared to Togawa, something that the White Room had failed to teach him.
But at this moment, he would not dwell on these shortcomings of his own, instead choosing to solve the problem in a way he excelled at.
For example, utilizing his existing cards to expand his advantage.
“Takamatsu, are you willing to trust me?”
Recalling every interaction Ayanokouji had with her over the past few days, as well as the sincerity when he openly told her on the way that “we are the same kind of people,” Takamatsu Tomori nodded.
“Ayanokoji-kun is very patient…
Staying with you, I…
feel somewhat at ease.”
Although her voice was faint, the trust she conveyed was firm enough.
Tomorrow, try treating the practice room as this overpass, and treat the others as the meaningless traffic flow below.”
Ayanokouji looked into Takamatsu Tomori’s eyes, “Just like the traffic flow below, Togawa and the others are good people without exception.
Even if you mess up, absolutely no one will laugh at you.
But if you still feel scared…”
“If, as you said, my presence can make you feel at ease, then when you sing tomorrow, you don’t need to look at anyone else; you only need to look at me.”
“Sing your lyrics, and those thoughts in your heart, to me.”
“I will take charge of receiving all your emotions.”
The night wind blew across the overpass.
Takamatsu Tomori stared dazedly at Ayanokouji before her, and at that instant, she felt the clamor of the entire world recede into the distance.
As her gaze sank into that pair of emotionless amber eyes, Takamatsu Tomori felt for the first time that the long-standing sense of loneliness of being rejected by the world was being dissolved by the sense of security contained within them.
After a fledgling breaks out of its shell, what it sees for the first time should…
probably be a scene just like this.
Therefore, even if weeping, even if lost, it is willing to continue living and sing praises to life.
Looking at Kiyotaka before her, Takamatsu Tomori couldn’t help but generate such a thought.
“Well then, see you tomorrow, Takamatsu.”
Right below the overpass was the downstairs of Takamatsu Tomori’s apartment building.
Having fulfilled the responsibility of a manager and safely escorted the entrusted Band member to her door, Kiyotaka prepared to head back.
Yesterday, he had selected a suitable new target again, so he needed to return to his quiet residence as soon as possible to formulate an approach plan.
“Uhm…
Ayanokoji-kun!”
Just as he was about to turn and leave, Takamatsu Tomori suddenly called out to stop him.
“Is there anything else?”
“If…
if I still can’t sing tomorrow…
will the Band dissolve because of me…”
Looking at Ayanokouji who turned back around, Tomori finally gathered her courage and asked the words suppressed deep within her heart.
Now, this could ensure that the “big talk” he made tomorrow wouldn’t fall to the ground, and he could give Shiina Taki an explanation.
Hearing her personally confide these things to him at the very end when parting ways meant that the time spent accompanying her home today hadn’t been wasted, achieving the ideal effect.
Up to this point, he basically understood the essence of the disordered thoughts within Takamatsu Tomori’s heart.
From Takamatsu Tomori’s unique perspective of observing the world and her slightly pessimistic view of life, this was her deepest fear.
Just like the emotions contained in the scribbled words and phrases in her diary: each advancement to a higher school and the alternation of seasons were, to her, cruel reconstructions of relationships time and time again, and the loss of “bonds” time and time again.
Therefore, every time a new connection was established, she would develop a subconscious fear, and what she feared most was that the connection would be severed once again.
Especially…
fearing the breakdown of a relationship because it was caused by her own reasons.
Kiyotaka stopped in his tracks, turned around, and looked at her calmly.
“Takamatsu, why do you think a Band dissolves?”
“Because…
everyone’s feelings don’t match…” Takamatsu Tomori answered softly.
“There’s no problem with saying that either.”
Ayanokouji said patiently: “But in my eyes, the dissolution of any group is essentially due to uneven distribution of benefits or out-of-control emotional management among members.”
“And the lack of an anchor capable of forcibly dominating everything.”
Under the dim yellowish halo of the streetlamp, Ayanokouji extended his hand toward Takamatsu Tomori, but not to hold hers.
Instead, his palm was facing upwards, spread out steadily.
Viewed from a distance, this action looked like gently cradling this petite girl in the palm of his hand, providing protection.
But viewed from another angle, it looked like grasping everything about her tightly, about to control her like a marionette.
“You like collecting stones that won’t change, right?”
Ayanokouji’s voice was flat and waveless, yet his words carried a promise that fragile sensibility could never provide.
“Then starting today, you can treat me as that largest stone.”
“I promise you.
Tomorrow, as long as you can stand in front of the microphone and speak up, even if you sing terribly, even if you just read the lyrics without any tune…”
Kiyotaka closed his palm.
“This Band, you, Togawa, Shiina, Nagasaki, Wakaba…
will definitely be able to join hands and step onto a true live stage.”
“This is not as a Band manager, but an absolute promise given to you by me personally.”