The last chord from Poppin'Party, which was a bit more in tune, lingered in the air for a moment. Its sound seeped into the soundproofed walls, creating a brief, shared silence as everyone held their breath.
A blend of tiredness and a flicker of hope locked five pairs of eyes on Haru.
He stood quietly, like a statue, leaning against the control room doorframe throughout their second attempt.
His arms were crossed over his chest, and his face showed a focused expression that was difficult to read.
He pushed off the frame slowly and carefully, the gentle scuff of his boots on the floorboards being the only noise in the quiet room.
As he strolled into the living room, the five girls couldn't help but sit up a little straighter, his presence making an impact on the atmosphere around them.
He paused right in the middle of their semicircle, the exact place where their sounds came together, or more precisely, where they had been clashing pretty fiercely just moments ago.
"Better," he said, his tone straightforward and matter-of-fact. Just that one word seemed to lift a weight off Kasumi's shoulders, and she visibly relaxed with a sense of relief. "However, you are still relying on your intellect instead of trusting your instincts."
"It looks like you're doing some math with the rhythm instead of actually playing music." His words were tough, but they carried a lot of truth.
He pointed at Rimi, the bassist, and she flinched like she had just been zapped by a live wire. "You."
"You're doing some mental counting. One, two, three, four. I can notice the gentle throb at your temple."
"Please, stop that. you've got to really connect with the rhythm, let it resonate in your bones and in the soles of your feet."
He shifted his attention to Tae, the lead guitarist, who was fixated on a water stain on the ceiling, as if it contained all the mysteries of the universe. "And you."
"It seems like you're not keeping track at all." He walks closer and stands directly in front of Tae.
"You're floating in your own musical world, totally free from the beat of the rhythm section pulling you down."
He then let out a soft sigh. "It's important to locate that point; what I mean is the exact balance between the bass and the kick drum."
He squatted down, his knees making a soft cracking sound, and drew an imaginary line on the dusty floor that separated Rimi from Saaya, the drummer. "This right here," he said, lowering his voice to a soft, engaging tone.
"This is your foundation."
"The bass and the kick drum really set the stage, kind of like the heartbeat of the music. Everything else," he said, gesturing effortlessly to include Kasumi's singing, Tae's flowing guitar riffs, and Arisa's crisp piano notes, "is like the house you build on top of that."
"Your foundation is a bit shaky right now, and it seems like everything could fall apart at any time."
Arisa, the keyboardist with a thoughtful look in her eyes, finally chimed in. Her voice carried a straightforward skepticism that sliced through the tension in the room.
"So, how are we really meant to 'feel' the foundation?"
"Your word is more of a philosophical idea rather than something we can actually put into practice."
Her tsundere personality and stubbornness really come through in her expressions.
Haru glanced at her, a subtle smile barely forming at the edges of his lips. He really valued a mind that could take on uncertainty and make sense of it.
"You've got a point."
It's pretty straightforward. It's just something that comes naturally. He strolled over to Saaya's simple drum kit and gave the hi-hat pedal a light tap with the tip of his boot.
"Hey, Saaya." He called the girl in a really relaxed manner, probably because he was older than her. It felt like he wasn't too concerned with being formal or acting shy, unlike the typical awkward characters you often find in those funny manga or anime romances.
"Just go ahead and play a straightforward, steady four-four beat. It's all about the kick and snare. It should be both neat and rhythmic. Just that, nothing more."
Sayaa nodded, her face showing deep focus as she started a steady, simple thump-crack-thump-crack that filled the room with a raw, rhythmic beat.
"Rimi," Haru said, his tone steady and firm, making it clear there was no room for debate.
"Go ahead and play your root note."
"Rimi," Haru said calmly, leaving no room for argument. "Play the root note; nothing particularly fancy is required... There are no runs. Match the sound of your pluck with the kick drum. Do not play near or around it. I want it to sound like a single instrument on it."
Rimi took a deep breath, her fingers poised delicately above the thick strings, and then she commenced to play.
A simple yet profound note emerged, deep and resonant, gradually intertwining with the unmistakable thump of the kick drum, creating a solid foundation for the rhythm to build upon.
The two distinct sounds seamlessly blended together, creating a singular, potent, and palpable throb that resonated deeply within your chest, making it an experience that was both intense and immersive.
"Currently," Haru began, his voice taking on a nearly mesmerizing quality, "We have reached the most crucial aspect."
"Cease focusing on the individual notes. Pay attention to the silence that exists in the intervals separating them."
"Pay attention to the profound silence that gently embraces every heartbeat. The essence of the true groove resides within that negative space, serving as the birthplace of the feeling itself."
"The silence that envelops us serves as the very conversation that you are all meant to engage in."
For an extended, drawn-out minute, the room resonated solely with that fundamental, collective rhythm.
In that moment, an elusive change occurred, something that could not be easily defined or grasped.
Rimi's shoulders, previously drawn up tightly towards her ears, gradually began to ease and relax.
Her head started to gently sway, not in response to an unspoken rhythm, but rather to the profound, resonant heartbeat of the sound that enveloped her.
The connection transcended mere auditory perception; it evolved into a physical resonance that was naturally shared together.
"Good," Haru said quietly, his sharp eyes taking in every little detail. "That's all."
"Alright, Kasumi. Can you hum your tune for me?"
"No words, Only the tune. And don't hum at them. Join in and hum along with them."
"Feel it in your heart, stay focused, and remember, you're not just singing; you're part of the rhythm section, and your voice brings a unique texture to the mix."
Kasumi, her earlier bravado now transformed into a deep sense of curiosity, gently closed her eyes, allowing the rhythm to envelop her completely.
As she started to hum, her once powerful voice transformed into a gentle instrument, gracefully weaving and dancing within the snug embrace crafted by the bass and drums.
At first, it moved with uncertainty, feeling its way, but soon it blossomed, radiating strength and assurance as it nestled into the groove, finally at home.
Haru's eyes subtly shifted, a barely noticeable movement toward the back door. It was now wide open, a full three inches.
He could distinctly make out the deep hue of Hitori's jacket, and in the dim light, one wide, watchful eye shimmered subtly from the shadows.
Her presence was too oblivious, completely absorbed in the enchanting tapestry he was crafting in the living room.
Haru cannot help but let out his usual soft sigh and smile before redirecting his attention to the last two, pouring his energy into the moment.
"Tae. Arisa. It's your turn." He looks at them.
"Look for a single note, a simple harmony, or a pattern that repeats. Anything. However, your only task is to fit it within the designated space provided for you. Don't crowd them. Don't fight them."
The sound that emerged then was a stark contrast to their original, frantic tune. It was a vibrant, ever-changing, dynamic jam session.
The keyboard rested like a gentle, sparkling cushion.
The guitar brought in a light, catchy riff that playfully swirled around the vocal hum.
It might not have been perfect, but for the first time, everything just clicked together nicely.
It shared a rhythm. They were truly, genuinely, playing together as one cohesive team.
When Haru finally lifted his hand, slicing through the air to call for a stop, the silence that followed felt deep and completely unlike the tense quiet that had met their initial setback.
The air was filled with a cozy, contented quiet, humming with the warmth of what we had just achieved together.
"That," Haru said, his voice settling back into a calm, steady rhythm, "is the target. Without fail. That's the vibe you're after. Alright, time to get everything together! That's a wrap for today!"
As the band started to gently take apart their gear, their conversation turned into a soft, excited murmur of "Did you feel that?"
"The way the bass locked in…" Haru said, casually strolling back to his console.
He took out a little leather notepad and started jotting down his thoughts—not only the things that could be improved, but also the unique qualities in Kasumi's voice and the natural rhythm in Saaya's right hand.
At the same time, he could feel the back door gently closing with a soft, final click, watching as Hitori's shadow faded from the gap.
A little while later, Kasumi walked over to him, her wallet held firmly in her hands, an expression of anxious resolve on her face. "Hey, Haru-san?"
"So, what's the total we owe you for the time and… you know, the lesson?"
He kept his gaze fixed on the notepad, his pen dancing across the page. "You really don't."
"But… the studio time… your expertise…" she said, her voice trailing off as she waved her hand around the room, unsure of what to say next.
"Think of it as an investment," he said, finally looking up at her, his eyes calm and unwavering.
"I caught a glimpse of something in that first chaos."
He let out a soft chuckle. "Something genuine and authentic that, with some effort, might turn out to be quite enjoyable to hear."
"Why not swing by again tomorrow? At the same time. Get ready to put in the effort until your fingers ache and your voices grow weary."
It was almost painful to look at the gratitude that blossomed in her eyes. "We will!" We swear! Thanks, Haru-san! Thanks a lot!"
He offered a brief, decisive nod, his gaze lingering on them as they slipped away into the shrouded twilight, the rain now a mere whisper of its former self.
The studio fell into silence once more, yet the resonance of their promise, that fiercely earned moment of togetherness, hung in the atmosphere like an enchanting fragrance.
When he was completely alone, he went to the back door and opened it. There was no one in sight, and the damp alley reflected the light.
However, another little, pale pink guitar pick lay on the ground, just outside the threshold, carefully placed on a dry patch of concrete.
This one was placed exactly where his feet would land, next to a little, perfectly formed puddle.
He crouched down and grabbed it, the plastic feeling cool from the alley breeze. It was beyond just a thank you; it was a nod, a hidden message between us.
I was here, you know. I caught all of it. I'm all ears.
He returned to his console and set the second pick next to the first in the small tray.
Currently, there is a two pick.
A quiet, talented observer concealed within the architectural shadows, alongside a lively, tumultuous sunburst of untapped potential discovering how to channel its own energy.
A warm smile appeared naturally on his lips.
He then settled back into his chair, the dripping faucet having become a familiar, almost comforting companion.
His empty studio was gradually coming to life.
Not with the sound of coins clinking or the glimmer of commercial success, but with something far more vital.
The struggle of beautiful sound, the perspiration of sincere effort, and the initial, delicate, undeniable threads of a community being woven together, one imperfect note at a time.
For the first time since he had turned the key in the lock, the sound of dripping water from the back room no longer resonated as a countdown to failure;
Instead, it resembled a patient metronome, establishing a slow and steady tempo for the symphony that was destined to unfold next.