Holding hands, Kikukawa Kyo, Anon, and Tomori walked together all the way to the auditorium entrance before finally letting go. Their linked hands had certainly drawn plenty of attention along the way.
Anon, overwhelmed with embarrassment, kept her head down the entire time, too self-conscious to meet the gazes of the onlookers. However, she couldn't help but perk up her ears, trying to catch what people were saying about them.
To her surprise, those who had known Kikukawa Kyo since middle school were certainly a bit surprised to see her holding hands with two people, but they didn't seem particularly shocked.
"Hey, look at those three over there…"
"Huh? Let me see… Oh, isn't that Kyo? Must be another case of those two getting into a fight, and Kyo stepping in to make peace?"
"You must've only joined in high school. That girl in the middle is our famous 'peacemaker' from Haneoka. She's always helping classmates resolve their conflicts."
…
Kyo's amazing. Anon couldn't help but admire her from the bottom of her heart.
Back in middle school, Anon had been a widely adored student council president. Naturally, whenever conflicts arose, her classmates would seek her out—the one they trusted most—to mediate.
But handling disputes wasn't easy. She had to carefully consider the feelings of both parties, sometimes even more people. If she said the wrong thing, she might make things worse instead of better. It was exhausting work for her.
Despite having many devoted admirers and craving the spotlight, Anon had never been the type to befriend just anyone. She preferred to keep a small, close-knit circle of friends rather than spreading herself thin.
But Kyo wasn't just popular—she actively took it upon herself to maintain harmony among those around her.
Because they had similar experiences, Anon understood just how impressive Kyo truly was. Even setting aside how difficult it was to mend relationships, simply choosing to do so required an immense amount of energy.
...
"Alright, I should head back to my class now."
They had already entered the auditorium, where each class had settled into their designated seats. Since Kyo wasn't in the same class as them, she naturally had to part ways.
"If you ever want to find me, Tomori, feel free to come anytime."
"…Mm." Now that she had Kyo's promise, Tomori didn't hesitate this time. She gave a small nod and let go of Kyo's hand properly.
After reassuring Tomori, Kyo turned to Anon and winked. "Of course, that goes for you too, Anon. We already agreed on it before, remember?"
Taking back the thermos she had left in Tomori's hands earlier, Kyo waved at the two of them with a smile before walking off toward her class.
Watching Kyo's graceful, unshaken demeanor—always flowing like water, unaffected by others' gazes—Anon took a deep breath and gave herself a pep talk.
Come on, Anon! If I can become as amazing as Kyo, then I'll definitely be even more popular!
With her newfound role model in mind, Anon, now full of determination, turned to Tomori, who was still watching Kyo's retreating figure.
"Alright, Tomori, let's go find our seats."
"…Mm… Huh? O-okay, Ano-chan."
Tomori snapped back to reality as Anon eagerly pulled her along to find their seats, their footsteps tapping lightly against the floor.
A short distance away, Kikukawa Kyo glanced back just in time to witness the scene. Phew. If Tomori can have more friends who genuinely care about her, that would definitely be a good thing for her.
Maybe, at this rate, Tomori wouldn't even need to form a band anymore?
…Hmm, no. It would probably be best if she still had a chance to sing her heart out.
Kyo found her seat. In class, she usually sat next to Sakiko, and following the same arrangement, they were seated together again here.
Sakiko, who had left in a hurry earlier, was already seated. Though her eyes were facing forward, they seemed unfocused, as if she were lost in thought.
It wasn't until Kyo took her seat in front of her that Sakiko snapped back to the present, though she didn't speak right away.
Kyo's here… which means Tomori must have arrived too.
Sakiko had the urge to turn around and check on Tomori, but in the end, she resisted. Instead, she leaned forward slightly and asked in a hushed voice:
"How is Tomori… right now?"
"Thanks to a certain someone, I had to do quite a bit of coaxing just to stop her from bursting into tears."
"…Thanks."
The speech hadn't started yet, and the students were still noisily settling into their seats. Kyo casually turned her body sideways, resting an arm over the back of her chair so she could see Sakiko's face.
"Was that really necessary? Even if it was just one word… Turning away like that—don't tell me you don't know how fragile Tomori is inside."
She was calling her out directly.
Sakiko fell silent. After a long pause, she murmured, her voice uncertain and lacking its usual confidence:
"We've already said our goodbyes. There's no need to see each other again."
"I've read that line in a novel before. In that book, the two characters who said it were a pair of ex-lovers."
Kyo's tone was completely merciless, and even in her mind, she couldn't help but grumble.
So, am I the one who misunderstood how relationships work in fiction? Is this kind of clean break actually common in real life, too? Or… does being in a band together basically count as dating?
Kyo fell into silence herself. She couldn't help but wonder if her own lack of understanding about different types of relationships meant that Sakiko's way of handling things was actually correct—that maybe she was the one in the wrong.
Meanwhile, Sakiko assumed that Kyo's sudden silence meant she was disappointed in her, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say.
In the end, Kyo was the first to speak again.
"So, Sakiko—do you hate Tomori?"
If she couldn't untangle the complexities of the situation, then she'd start by breaking it down to the simplest possible question—the kind that even she could judge clearly.
"…No. I really like Tomori's voice. Her cries, her shouts… When she sings, I've truly felt something move me."
"Then you shouldn't treat someone you like—or someone who likes you in return—with such cold indifference."
Kyo stated it as a clear, undeniable truth.
"What do you think of the relationship between me and my sister?"
Before Sakiko could answer, Kyo threw another seemingly unrelated question at her.
Sakiko was used to this by now, so she answered honestly, "Miss Yuu cares about you a lot. And even though you're always… not exactly polite to her, it's clear that the two of you are close."
"That's exactly my point. There are many kinds of love, and there are many ways to express it. I don't know exactly what it is between you and Tomori, but I do know that cold indifference should never be part of it."
Kyo was serious—far more serious than she had been even that night when she and Sakiko had shared drinks.
Because at this moment, Kyo wasn't just speaking from reason. She was speaking from the one kind of bond she understood best—the most important lesson she had learned from the only relationship she truly grasped: family.
The very first thread of vitality that had ever set Kyo in motion.