“You…”

Megumi Kato was speechless. She had thought Aimi Izumi was just a typical tsundere—sharp-tongued but soft-hearted—the kind of person who’d say she didn’t buy her a portion but secretly did anyway.

Megumi had been just about to think, this future sister-in-law is hopelessly tsundere, but in a way that’s kind of cute, and even considered letting Aimi win once in a while during their little quarrels.

But before she could finish that thought, Aimi’s next line completely stunned her. Megumi’s mouth hung open for several seconds before she could even react.

Knocked out by pure irritation.jpg

Megumi felt humiliated. It had always been her one-sidedly teasing Aimi—but this time, Aimi had actually turned the tables. She’d landed a solid hit, leaving Megumi speechless and fuming.

Thankfully, Kotomi Izumi’s light cough came just in time to put out the little sparks of another argument before they caught fire again.

After that, everyone simply wandered around the cultural festival, passing the time through the morning. At this point, no amount of rehearsal would bring much improvement—it was better to relax and approach the afternoon performance with an easy, calm state of mind.

At one point, Kotomi found a quiet moment to ask Iroha Isshiki softly, “Iroha, didn’t your parents come today?”

Kotomi remembered that when she handed out the tickets, she had given a pair to Tetsunosuke Isshiki and Kumi Motokawa as well.

Iroha shook her head. “Dad and Aunt Kumi were planning to come, but this morning, Aunt Kumi got a phone call. After she finished, she and Dad talked about something, and then they both rushed out of the house looking really serious. Before leaving, they told me they probably wouldn’t be able to come to Sobu High’s festival this time.”

“I see,” Kotomi murmured.

She wanted to say it was fine—that the festival lasted three days—but then she remembered that the tickets themselves clearly said so. Tetsunosuke and Kumi must have known the festival would last three days, and still, they couldn’t make it.

That could only mean something important had come up.

Kotomi frowned slightly, a subtle unease rising in her chest. She didn’t know why, but it felt like something terrible was quietly stirring—something hidden in the dark, slowly awakening.

Drip… drip…

As Kotomi lowered her head, she suddenly felt something cold and wet fall on her shoulder.

Rain?

Thinking that, she looked up slowly—only for her eyes to freeze.

The sky was crimson. Blood-red rain fell from above.

A moment ago, the festival had been alive with noise and laughter—but now, in the blink of an eye, everyone was gone.

“Aimi! Megumi! Iroha! Yui! Yukino! Yuka! Tomoka! Mashiro! Where are you?!”

Kotomi spun around, searching frantically. The once-lively grounds of Sobu High were now completely empty.

No answer. Only silence. Everything was still—dead still.

Then, from beyond the heavens, came a warped, earsplitting distortion—like a melody played by an insane god.

It was both a scream and a song, filled with despair and twisted joy. From beyond the clouds, something enormous—an ancient, half-decayed form from the deepest void of the cosmos—fell toward Earth, burning as it descended. The sky cracked under its weight, and from the fractures burst blinding rays of indescribable, despairing light.

Bathed in that light, Kotomi could no longer move. It was as though invisible hands—one gripping nails, the other a hammer—had driven each nail through her feet, pinning her to the ground.

That light was like divine blood—the glow of a cursed red moon. Under the downpour of blood and the glare of that light, massive flesh-like tendrils grew upward like trees, ripping open the fabric of the sky itself. And from the rift above, it looked down.

The colossal being—the monstrous god of blood and ruin—had noticed her.

The unholy melody from the heavens grew louder, as if the thing beyond the clouds was howling in a mix of ecstasy and agony. Was it the cry of birth—or the scream of extinction?

Ignoring the tearing pain in her feet, Kotomi stumbled forward as though in a trance. She fell to her knees after only a few steps, but even then, she stretched out her small, pale hand toward the writhing, blood-soaked tendrils hanging from the sky—as if trying to reach for them, to hold them close.

In her eyes, that terrifying creature, with its forest of living flesh, wasn’t a monster.

It was a pitiful child.

In that world of torrential blood rain, Kotomi Izumi vaguely felt a soft touch against her palm—one of the massive tendrils had brushed her hand. The moment she sensed it, a faint, sorrowful smile curved her lips… and her consciousness faded away.

When Kotomi came to again, everything around her had returned to normal. The lively sounds of the cultural festival filled her ears once more. Aimi and the others were still there. Reflexively, she looked up—the sky was a cloudless, brilliant blue, promising a perfect day.

Was that… just an illusion? Kotomi thought silently.

“Senpai, you totally spaced out just now. Were you thinking about some cute girl?”

Iroha Isshiki’s teasing voice reached her ear, pulling her tense mind back into calm.

“Of course not,” Kotomi replied with a soft smile. “I was just thinking about this afternoon’s performance.” She spoke as if nothing unusual had happened.

Ever since Kazumi had fallen into her deep sleep, Kotomi’s eyes seemed to have gained a strange form of sight—visions that appeared without warning. Sometimes, they showed indescribable, despair-inducing scenes that made her feel the smallness of humanity itself. And along with them came the sound—the same eerie noise, like countless overlapping whispers and cries, laughter and sobs, love and hatred, all woven together in a maddening symphony.

Thankfully, this time the illusion hadn’t lasted long. She hadn’t lost consciousness completely, which meant she didn’t have to worry Megumi and the others again.

With that thought, Kotomi exhaled in relief. She had to shake it off—there was still the afternoon performance ahead. She couldn’t let that bizarre vision affect her state of mind.

And the best way to change her mood was…

Kotomi went to a nearby barbecue stall and bought sixty skewers of lamb.

During lunch, she went over the details of the upcoming performance with Yukino Yukinoshita and Yui Yuigahama. The initial excitement they had felt upon learning their performance was scheduled as the closing act had long since settled—and what replaced it was pressure.

After all, it was the final performance.

As the name implied, it meant Kotomi, Yui, and Yukino’s musical ensemble would be the most anticipated event of the entire day.

Kotomi herself wasn’t particularly nervous, but the realization hit Yui and Yukino hard. Knowing that all eyes would be on them, both girls began to feel their nerves creeping in.

It was understandable—this would be the first time any of the three had performed on stage like this.

Yukino had indeed performed piano before, but only in formal competitions. Those events were serious, almost solemn, and the audience was always sparse. All she had to do then was focus on her piano, blocking out everything else.

This performance, however, was different. If it had been a regular time slot, maybe there wouldn’t be that many people watching. But as the closing act, the audience would definitely be huge—many attendees skipped the earlier programs just to watch the finale.

In short, the closing act had to meet the audience’s highest expectations.

Could their musical ensemble live up to that?

It should be fine… right?

Kotomi, Yui, and Yukino all thought the same thing in silence.

“Even though I’m really grateful to Mai Sakurajima-senpai for helping us move our performance to the closing time slot—and I bet a lot of classes are jealous of us right now—when I first heard we’d be performing as the finale, I was honestly really happy. But now… I’m starting to get nervous again. If our musical ensemble is going to be the final act, I don’t know if my singing is good enough to deserve being the main vocalist,” Yui Yuigahama said, her small face tense with anxiety.

From the very start, Yui had worked incredibly hard to build up the courage to stand on stage. To make herself confident enough to take the lead position, she had put in a lot of effort—not only practicing every day after school with Kotomi Izumi and Yukino Yukinoshita, but also standing in front of her mirror at home after finishing homework, singing quietly for hours so as not to disturb her family.

Her effort, combined with Kotomi and Yukino’s encouragement, had gradually built her confidence. She no longer trembled at the thought of performing. But now, hearing that their act had been moved from an ordinary time slot to the finale, that tension she’d worked so hard to suppress began to rise again.

“Yui…”

Tomoka Yuigahama looked at her daughter with concern. She knew her child well—not reclusive, exactly, but quietly insecure. Yui wasn’t antisocial, but she always worried about saying the wrong thing, about making someone unhappy. She’d never raise her hand to speak in class, not because she was shy, but because she feared making a mistake.

Her personality wasn’t truly introverted—just burdened with self-doubt. Every word she spoke was carefully considered: Is this okay to say? Will it sound weird? Will it make someone uncomfortable? That constant overthinking was exhausting, so she often stayed quiet. And when she did talk, she used extra words to make sure her meaning couldn’t possibly be misunderstood. If one word could express something clearly but risked ambiguity, she would use ten to make sure no one took it the wrong way.

That was why Yui sometimes came across as talkative.

Not because she wanted to chatter—but because she was trying too hard to be careful.

Tomoka had always noticed this self-consciousness and carried a quiet sadness over it. But changing a person’s nature—even a small part of it—was never easy.

That was why, when she heard her daughter had agreed to join Kotomi’s trio and sing as the center vocalist, Tomoka had been stunned. She couldn’t believe Yui had overcome her timidity enough to stand under the spotlight and sing.

Now, though, the pressure had increased even more. Tomoka worried Yui might not be able to handle it—that she might give up at the last moment.

If that happened, all her practice and effort would be wasted. More importantly, this festival was the perfect opportunity for Yui to grow—to break free from her shell. As her mother, Tomoka couldn’t bear to see her retreat now.

Just as she was about to speak, Yui spoke first.

“I’m so nervous, so nervous,” Yui said, laughing shakily. “No matter how much I tell myself to relax, as soon as I remember that our act’s been moved to the finale and that I’m the lead singer, the nervousness just won’t go away. But even so… this afternoon, I’m going to sing! Call it pride or stubbornness, I don’t care. It’s the cultural festival—there’s no reason to back out now! If I give up here, I’ll never forgive myself for the rest of my life.”

Her words were simple, but they carried a quiet, invisible strength.

Yukino Yukinoshita’s eyes widened slightly as she listened. Then she nodded firmly, her expression softening.

“You’re right,” Yukino said. “Even though I didn’t invite my foolish sister to the festival, if she ever found out that I joined a performance but backed out at the last moment, she’d definitely mock me for it—probably for ten years straight.”

Compared to her usual calm and cold demeanor, Yukino Yukinoshita’s tone was unusually animated now. But she didn’t seem to care, and even added with a hint of dry humor, “Every time she mocks me, I get so irritated. Irritated enough that I want to beat her up.”

Your foolish sister is already here at Sobu High… Kotomi Izumi thought to herself, suppressing a laugh.

The Yukinoshita sisters really were alike—both calling each other “that foolish sister” as if it were a family tradition.

Hearing Yukino and Yui speak so firmly made Kotomi’s heart warm. Just moments ago, she had been worried that their nerves might make them hesitate or even consider backing out. But now, she realized she had been overthinking it.

Even if they were nervous inside, they had the courage to push through it. Even with the pressure of performing as the closing act, they were ready to adjust and face the stage with confidence—maybe even doing better than ever before.

Kotomi had originally planned to give them a long, heartfelt speech to encourage them, but now it felt unnecessary. Instead, she decided to joke around a little, to ease the mood and help them relax.

“Speaking of which, you two probably don’t play console games much, right? I play them all the time—and I preorder a lot, too. You know those games where the trailers look super exciting, but when the real thing finally releases, the gameplay is boring, the optimization’s a mess, the characters are ugly on purpose, or the story’s brain-dead? And somehow, those game companies still dare to slap a high price on it and sell it like it’s worth it.”

Kotomi chuckled. “At least Sobu High’s festival doesn’t charge admission. People can watch or leave whenever they want. So there’s no need to get nervous. Even if we’re the finale, it’s not like this is a professional concert or something. We’re not charging tickets. If we sing well, that’s awesome. If we don’t—well, that’s fine too. We’re not pros yet. Having room to improve just means we’ll get better next time. All we need to do is give it our best.”

Then Kotomi raised a finger and smiled softly.

“No matter how it turns out, there’s one thing I know for sure. The time we spend together on that stage—it’s something we’re building for each other. A memory that’ll belong only to us.”

In the end, she couldn’t help saying something from the heart.

No matter the result, as long as the three of them gave it their all—just like they did in rehearsal—and didn’t waste all the effort they’d poured in, this performance, their first and last cultural festival together, would become a beautiful and irreplaceable memory shared between them.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep