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It happened at the beginning of their first year, the disbanding of the Rinmeikan Performance Department. Honami had only ever heard about it—seen the notice on the bulletin board. She wonders if they blame her at all. She doesn’t think they’d be wrong to, but then, it’s not like she left the Department. She had nothing to do with it, really.
And it’s so long ago, now, at this point. Their second year will start soon, and with it, if the rumor mills are to be believed, Shiho will leave school. There’s more than enough that surround her, and enough of them so outlandish as to not be believed, but if there’s one that Honami heard and thought might have some truth to it, it was the rumor that she was transferring. Frontier was one of the big school names thrown around, but Honami thinks that’s unlikely, given her sister, and Siegfeld seems far more probable.
Which just leaves Ichika, if the rumors are true. The only member of the (former) Rinmeikan Performance Department. She’ll see her, sometimes. They’re in different classes, and sometimes she wonders—
One of Honami’s classmates, adjacent in the small cluster of desks they’ve made, asks a question about the problem set they’re working on. She focuses back into reality, looking down at her own sheet, and trying to help explain it.
She thinks she would blame herself, in their position. She thinks it would probably be right to.
Shiho has rehearsal this evening, and then she needs to study for a quiz at the end of the week. She’s itching to get out of class, stop by the library before heading to the recital hall her troupe performs out of. A copy of the script for Elysion, on loan from Siegfeld, remains tucked in her bag.
She sits in the library during lunch, reading through a critical study of Elysion the school has a copy of, for some reason. Honami’s passed by the entrance with her classmates already. It makes Shiho scowl, but she puts no effort into making a scene about it. These things don’t matter. She’s just got to make it to the end of the year before she’s out of here.
Saki straightens out the front of the uniform, checking herself in the mirror.
“Saki,” her brother says, knocking on the frame of the open door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“It’s not ideal,” Saki says. “But it’s kind of cute in its own way, right?”
“Vintage!”
“Right! Vintage.” She beams at herself in the mirror. “Ready for tomorrow!”
Tsukasa pumps a fist in the air in agreement.
The last performance of Rinmeiki itself had happened before any of them were even born, much less old enough to see it. They only had an old VHS recording one of Shiho’s parents had gotten ahold of, for reasons they had always been too young to think or interrogate about. It was rarely—never—performed outside of Rinmeikan. Lost to history.
In retrospect, it was a play they were maybe too young to watch, but Ichika was recovering from a cold, and it was overcast in a way that spelled rain at any minute, and Shiho had found the VHS, intrigued by it. So they sat, the four of them, entirely enraptured by the story.
That had marked the start of their journey in theater, the four of them, until Saki’s health took a sudden downturn and then—with Honami—with Shiho and the Performance Department.
Ichika was just a student now. The department was shut down, Shiho was off on her own, and she just did her best to be polite to her classmates and make it through the day. It was nice, standing on stage. She liked it. But there was nothing she could do about the department. So it goes.
“We have a new student joining today,” the teacher explains to the class. Ichika is listening, half focused. “Please introduce yourself.”
“My name is Saki Tenma. I’ve actually been a student here since the start of the year, but I’ve been on medical leave. And I was originally part of the Performance Department.” She laughs awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you all. I hope we can all be friends.”
“Saki?” Ichika’s feet move faster than her brain, pushing herself standing.
“Hoshino-san, please sit down,” the teacher says.
“Ah, sorry.”
Saki beams at her.
The teacher explains a few things to Saki, her seat, when to come to the office to discuss catching up on assignments. Ichika looks down at her desk, trying to focus her brain. Saki’s back. Saki is back.
“Surprise!” Saki says, skipping over to Ichika’s desk after the bell for lunch.
“You really did,” Ichika says. “I had no idea.”
Saki grins. “I was going to tell you, but I thought this way might be more fun. I was so excited we’d be in the same class.”
“It’s great news,” Ichika says.
“You two know each other?” The girl next to Ichika asks.
“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” Saki explains.
“Oh.”
The person in front of Ichika turns around. “And you were in the Performance Department together, right?”
“Yep!”
“It’s a shame it got shut down.”
“Ah.” Ichika shifts uncomfortably.
“There was nothing we could do,” Saki says.
“Well, certainly not you, being on medical leave,” the girl says. She looks at the girl beside Ichika. “You going to the cafeteria for lunch?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll follow.”
“We should go surprise Hona-chan and Shiho-chan with my return, too,” Saki says to Ichika, letting the other two leave quietly. She should refute the idea. She should tell Saki the truth. She just smiles and agrees.
Shiho balks a bit—only a tiny bit—when they find her in the middle of the day.
“Saki?”
“Surprise!” Saki beams at her.
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“Just today,” she says.
“I’m glad you recovered,” Shiho says.
“After school today,” Saki starts. “We should-”
“I have rehearsal,” Shiho says. “I can’t.”
“Oh. Then maybe another day? Or, we’re having lunch right now.”
Shiho glances at Ichika, a look that Ichika worries conveys a lot of ‘why doesn’t she know, how dare you?’
“I’m busy,” Shiho says. “Sorry.”
“Maybe another day.” Shiho hums noncommittally.
“I have to go,” she says, brushing past Saki.
Saki frowns when she looks at Ichika. “Maybe she’s having an off day?”
The truth rests on Ichika’s tongue. “Yeah,” she says.
Ichika’s feet trudge on the way to find Honami, after classes let out for the day. It’s imperceptible, but she can feel the invisible leaden weights that have been added to her shoes, making each step a painful exertion. She managed to completely avoid them during lunch, but Saki is determined to stake out her classroom until they come face to face.
Honami sees Ichika first, and Ichika already knows the polite excuse for something else she has to get to before it comes. Honami glances to the side, and freezes.
“Saki-chan?”
“Surprise!”
“You’re out of the hospital?”
“And back in school! For good, now.”
“That’s great to hear,” Honami says. “I’m glad.”
“We should hang out today.”
“Oh, um, I- well.” Ah. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. “I have my club today, so I can’t really.” A few of Honami’s class friends approach behind her.
“I didn’t know you did a club,” Saki says. “I guess you gotta find something to fill the time, after the Performance Department shut down.”
“Performance Department?” One of Honami’s classmates says. “What’s that got to do with you?”
Honami shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “I really have to go now.”
“Uh, right.” Honami spares one last glance at Ichika before passing off. Ichika doesn’t know what judgment to read into that one. Maybe that she should have told Saki. But maybe they all should have told Saki. Maybe there should have been nothing to tell Saki about.
“Do you think we should go ask Shiho-chan if she’s free to hang out?” Saki asks, with a fake smile.
“She’ll say no,” Ichika says.
“I was starting to figure.”
They go out together, just the two of them. Saki is adamant about trying bubble tea, and Ichika is happy to be brought along. She doesn’t get brought along as much, these days.
“The Performance Department shut down,” Ichika explains. They sit at a table outside the bubble tea shop. Saki shifts the straw around the ice, trying to grab at the pearls that are wedged between crushed bits of it. Ichika stares at her half-empty drink, chin resting on her folded arms. “That’s what put a rift between me and Shiho.”
“But that wasn’t your fault.”
“No,” Ichika says, although she feels like it somehow was. “Shiho threw herself into performing for different local troupes after that. She doesn’t really talk to anyone outside of school, and we’re in different classes. There are rumors that she’s going to transfer.”
“Shiho-chan would never! We always talked about going to Rinmeikan.”
“She wants to act professionally. I think it’s much harder going here, having to keep up with Rinmeikan’s course load and extracurricular acting.”
“I mean- I guess. Sure. It doesn’t seem right.”
Ichika nods. “And the truth is, I don’t know about Honami.”
“You don’t know?”
“When we started high school, she was in the General Education Department. Any time I really tried to talk to her, she’d avoid me.”
“She wouldn’t tell you anything?”
“I tried asking Shiho about it once, but she just got angry.”
“Maybe they had a fight.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe because she wasn’t in the Performance Department.”
“I still don’t know why she wasn’t in the Performance Department, though.” Ichika sighs. “I guess I can’t expect us to hold onto a promise we made as kids.”
Saki frowns. “You can’t?”
“Can you?”
“The three of us joined the Performance Department.”
“Shiho’s always wanted to act.”
“Then you and I still did. I’m just saying, I mean, she could have gone anywhere, right? She still chose Rinmeikan.”
“I want to know what happened,” Ichika says. “But I don’t think I ever will.”
“Maybe,” Saki says, unconvinced. “Or maybe things are looking up, now that I’m here.”
“Now that you’re here?”
“I’m, like, good luck for the friendship!”
Ichika smiles up at her. “Sure,” she says. “I believe you.”
“I can hear your earnest tone, so I know you’re not just humoring me.”
“Maybe it’ll be better now.”
“I want to know too,” Saki says, giving up temporarily on one pearl that’s just too perfectly stuck in the current ice position. Crushed ice was a mistake in the drink, she’s realized. To remember for next time. “It was a shame we couldn’t perform together, but I thought we’d at least still all be friends.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I just- think there’s something I could have done. Something to keep everything from falling apart.”
“Nah. Shiho-chan’s stubborn, and Hona-chan’s uh, um, well- I guess she was also stubborn, back in the day. She just wasn’t so, uh-”
“Aggressive?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe now that you’re back,” Ichika says. “We can find out. What happened.”
“Ah.” Saki reaches for her pocket. “Sorry,” she says. “My phone, for some reason.”
“No,” Ichika says. “That’s mine. I can feel it vibrating in my pocket.”
When Ichika arrives in the theater the first thing she notices is a woman—blue hair, stranger—standing in the audience with them. Them, her other two childhood friends. Saki moves quickly to the bottom of their section of seats, gripping onto a railing and looking out across the stage in front of them. Shiho and Honami stand with her, near the strange woman.
“Welcome, students of Rinmeikan Girls School,” the blue-haired woman says.
“Where are we?” Ichika asks.
“Right now, you’re in the audience seats,” she explains. “The performance is happening on stage.”
“They’re fighting,” Saki calls, holding onto the barrier rung at the edge of the balcony seats.
“Who?” Shiho and Honami follow her down.
“I don’t know, it’s-”
“Oneechan!” Shiho exclaims.
“Yoisaki-san,” Honami gasps.
“A revue,” the woman says. “The brilliance of Stage Girls clashing against each other as they battle for victory.”
“This is?” Ichika asks, watching the two girls, far off on stage, dancing around each other, slashing at the other.
“This is the nature of a Stage Girl. They are steeped in sin.”
“The nature of a Stage Girl,” Ichika says.
“The stage of Rinmeikan has been lost,” she says. “But it can be returned.”
“Could it?” Saki asks, turning away from the stage, back to Ichika and the woman. “Could we get it back?”
“If you put everything on the line. “
“Everything?” Shiho asks, turning back as well.
“As Stage Girls.”
“If it’s to get the department back,” Saki says. “Of course we’ll try.”
“It’s not enough just to try,” Shiho says. “You’d have to take it seriously.”
“I get that,” Saki says.
“Sacrifice everything for the sake of the stage.”
“Honami?” Ichika asks. She hasn’t looked away from the fight on stage since it started.
“Huh?” She whips around, looking at them, bewildered.
“This stage offers the path to top stardom,” the woman says. “If you choose to stand on it.”
“To get the department back.”
“It’s fighting,” Honami says. “We’ll be fighting others.”
“Ah,” Saki says.
“We wouldn’t make it on halfhearted convictions,” Shiho says. “Fears of fighting. If you’re afraid of getting hurt, there’s no place for you on stage.”
“A time will come where we’ll have to face them, too,” Honami says. “Your sister, Yoisaki-san. Others, as well.”
“We’ll just do our best,” Saki says. “As long as we stick together, we’ll make it out okay.”
“Are you afraid of losing?” Shiho asks. “Or is it winning?” Honami glances back to the stage. “That’s weak, too.”
“Then you won’t stand on stage.”
“Without a department, the time is limited,” Honami weakly excuses.
“We aren’t committed,” Shiho says. “There’s no point in wasting time on a halfhearted effort like this.”
“Calling it a halfhearted effort isn’t right,” Saki says.
“Isn’t it? You keep saying we’ll all try our best, but so will everyone else. Just trying doesn’t matter if we aren’t committed.”
“We’ll commit! We will, right?”
Shiho looks at Honami.
“I can’t do it,” Honami says. “I’m sorry.”
“Exactly. This is a waste of time.”
“Shiho-chan-”
“I’m leaving,” Shiho announces.
“I should go, too,” Honami says.
“I see,” the woman says. “So you won’t participate.”
“Don’t count us out just yet,” Saki tries to say, trying to smile convincingly. “Right, Icchan?”
Ichika grimaces in response.
“I understand,” the woman says. “For now.”
Saki clears her throat next to Ichika, who’s staring intently at the bubble tea she ordered as if there is something interesting on the order slip, or floating amongst the ice and tapioca pearls in the tea.
“So,” she starts.
“I should have told you,” Ichika says.
“Well, it’s not like you knew or anything! I mean, underground stage and revues and things like that. It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Saki.”
“The other things, too.”
“I knew enough,” Ichika says. “Honami’s been avoiding me and they shut the department down around Shiho and I. There’s too much now, for us to go back.”
“Then why is Shiho against fighting for it?”
“I don’t know,” Ichika shrugs pathetically. “The rumor is that she’s planning to transfer to Siegfeld. Frau Platin is scouting her, supposedly.”
“So she doesn’t care about Rinmeikan?”
“We both just let the department close down. I had just,” Ichika hesitates. “Hoped it would work out somehow.”
“Still, transferring away.”
“Even when we would put on productions, the two of us, people would say how much she outclassed me. I think, maybe, she wants to be around Stage Girls of her own caliber.”
“We could always match her as kids. Even if she was the strictest.”
“It’s been a while since then. She acts in local troupes after school.”
“I don’t like the idea that she’d transfer,” Saki says.
“There’s no way for her to perform here,” Ichika says. “I guess, I don’t know, I understand why.”
“What if we do it,” Saki says.
“What?” Ichika asks.
“Re-form the department.”
“I don’t think we can,” Ichika says. “We only had two people, and were shut down.”
“But we don’t! We’ve got four.”
“But Honami and Shiho don’t want to-”
“I think they’re just scared,” Saki says. “I think they’ll come around.”
“Really?”
“When they see how much fun we’re having, how could they not?”
Ichika frowns, unconvinced. “I don’t think it’s that easy to get a department back together.”
“Then we can start with a club.”
“The Rinmeikan Performance Club?”
“Association has a more official ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. Right?”
“We’ll do it. Start a club—get back the department.”
“Perform Rinmeiki.”
“Perform Rinmeiki.”
“The four of us, right?”
Ichika doesn’t know if she can believe it’s possible. She doesn’t know if she’s willing to let herself. “Yeah,” she says. And decides she’ll try.
They begin rehearsing just the two of themselves. It’s not officially a club, or organization, or anything like that, but they can make due in an empty classroom after classes are out, together.
“That’s better, right?” Saki says one day. Her stamina is still low, so she’s more out of breath than Ichika, but they’re both tired from finishing the warmup routine.
“Better,” Ichika agrees.
“It feels like we’re missing something.”
“It does.”
“But I don’t know what.”
“Me neither,” Ichika says. “The way things are going, I don’t think we’d be good enough to get the department back.”
Saki’s face scrunches up in frustration. “But we’ve gotta!”
Ichika nods. “We need to figure out what’s missing.”
“Right. We’ll put our heads together and figure it out.”
Shiho squats on the ground in front of them, watching their rehearsal. It all happened as a sort of whirlwind; Saki suggesting she had an idea of how they could further improve themselves, and the next thing Ichika knew they were standing in Shiho’s classroom begging her to sit in on a rehearsal and give them advice.
Shiho agreeing was more surprising. She doesn’t think Shiho’s the kind to be embarrassed to turn someone’s request down in public like that, even if it caused a scene, but she does agree, and Ichika recognizes enough that she shouldn’t say something that might ruin the position they’ve found themselves in.
“It’s bad,” Shiho says.
“I thought it was better,” Saki says.
“Still bad.”
“But we’ve improved, right?”
Shiho frowns at her. “Are you serious about this or not?”
“Of course!”
“The two of you aren’t acting off of each other. This isn’t like when we were kids, anymore.”
Saki grimaces. “Right,” she says.
“It’s obvious you don’t feel any connection with your character,” Shiho tells Ichika. She nods. “You have to find something, or this is all pointless.”
“Right.”
“It’s obvious that you’re both new. Any performance would feel amateurish.”
“We are new,” Saki says.
“It doesn’t matter. An audience has no reason to forgive you for it.” Shiho sighs, seeing the determined look on Saki’s face. “Keep doing the routine I taught you, every day. Until you can do it perfectly. I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve seen what I need to see,” she says.
“Would- would you ever come back?” Saki asks. “And watch another rehearsal?”
“Maybe. If I have time.”
Saki nods.
“Thank you,” Ichika says. “For today.”
“Yeah.”
“Right,” Saki shrugs.
They do what she says, practicing the routine she taught them over again each day, perfecting each movement. Taking turns watching each other’s pirouettes and plies, trying to persuade each other’s forms into perfection.
Shiho doesn’t show up for a rehearsal again, although she seems to disappear as soon as the school day ends, heading off to off-campus rehearsals. So maybe it isn’t a matter of hating them.
Ichika stays back—classroom duties—and sends Saki ahead. She has an appointment—general checkup—a bit later in the day, so they’ve taken it as a day off from rehearsing in the empty old classroom.
It feels weird to leave the school grounds on her own. She realizes she hasn’t done it once at Rinmeikan, always leaving with Ichika.
She slows to a stop near the entrance. She recognizes Shiho, first, and then, standing in front of Shiho, a stranger, with the pristine white blazer jacket of Siegfeld Institute of Music, arms crossed over her chest.
“You’ll have to submit by next week,” the Siegfeld student says. “I get you some preferential treatment in getting you in the room, but you have to prove your own worth.”
“I know that. I’ll have it in.”
“And your audition?”
“You won’t have to worry about that.”
“I hope not.” She turns and leaves, looking at Saki—openly staring at the both of them—but saying nothing as she passes by her. Shiho shakes her head. She doesn’t look over at Saki. She turns the other way, and leaves.
Saki looks down at the hatchet in her hands. The revue uniform is nice, she thinks. Cute.
“Under the bright skies of history, the empress tree blossoms, time flowing forward around it. Our past and present combine to be reborn into a beautiful future. Rinmeikan Girls School, Saki Tenma. I won’t let us fade into memories.”
She looks across the stage, at the sole spotlight that lights Shiho up, frowning over at her from behind the rapier in her hand.
“This stage isn’t something you can just pick up and put back down again,” Shiho says. “Brilliance pierces through the artificial shades that block it. If you only stand on stage with half-hearted convictions, it’s my duty to drive you away. Stage Girl Shiho Hinomori. I will rise above the stage of yesterday.”
A revue. A spellbinding performance of song and dance. The brilliance of Stage Girls, clashing against each other.
“If I win,” Saki says. “You have to join the association.”
“What?”
“The Rinmeikan Performance Association. Icchan and I are making it. You have to join.”
Shiho scowls. “If you win.”
Shiho is an offensive revue participant. Her focus is on quick, light slashes. A strong foundation gives her the wherewithal to take on flashier moves, technical force and visual display. It contrasts with Saki enough to be comical, the way the hatchet feels unfamiliar in her hands, the fact her body is more pulled by it than pulling it with each swing.
It’s not a fair fight, and there’s not a single advantage that belongs to Saki.
“Why won’t you join up with me and Icchan?” Saki asks. She can barely keep up enough to knock away Shiho’s blows. It’s dizzying. “Even if the department is gone—even if we’ve lost that forever, it doesn’t have to be over for us!”
“You’re just here because it’s interesting.” Shiho shouts. “That interest will fade—you’ll move on.” Shiho knocks Saki’s hatchet out of the way. “I won’t waste my time on unfocused stages!”
“Don’t count us out!” Saki retorts. “Just because we’ve come to this later doesn’t mean we’re less serious!”
“It’s not coming to it later. This isn’t just playing at acting like when we were kids! Your commitment-”
“Who cares? Who cares if I don’t have a fully mapped out dream exactly like you do! Who cares if I don’t know exactly where I want to go or what I want to do. Acting with you all was fun! It always has been. Don’t discount our feelings just because they don’t look the same as yours!”
“But would you? Reject your normal school girl life just for the stage? That’s what it takes to be a Stage Girl, you know. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Saki says. “I really don’t. Maybe I’ll just fizzle out on stage. But I’m not willing to give up without seeing these feelings through; without honoring them. The life of a Stage Girl can be another kind of high school experience, can’t it?—No, I know it is.”
Shiho shouts, coming at Saki again. She tries to push off her blows, but Shiho overwhelms her, finally, cutting the rope at Saki’s shoulder. The arm guard falls to the ground.
Shiho stares at her, taking in a deep breath, before removing her sword from near Saki, shifting it so it faces away from her.
“So,” Shiho starts. Saki stares at her. “You lost.”
“That was so cool?”
“What?”
“That was so cool! The way your sword moved, the way your feet moved, that was amazing!”
“I’ve put in a lot of hard work,” Shiho says.
“Do you think Icchan or I could ever be that good?”
“If you dedicated yourselves, maybe.”
“We’ve gotta! We’ve got to be at least that good, if we want to get the department back.”
“I don’t think 3 people is enough to create a new department.”
“It’s just me and Icchan right now.” Shiho glances at her. “Unless you mean?”
“Do you really need me to say it directly?”
“I thought you wouldn’t do it if you won.”
“I didn’t plan to,” Shiho says. “But—the two of you—your passion—it’s its own form of brilliance. I don’t want it to just go to waste.”
“Shiho-chan–”
“Without me being there, you’ll probably end up slacking off anyway, and that’ll be bad for Rinmeikan’s image.”
“We wouldn’t!”
“No?”
“I mean, not too much?”
“What changed your mind?” Ichika asks, pushing one of the desks over to the corner.
“You’re serious about it,” Shiho says simply.
“We are,” Ichika says. “But-”
“But?”
“She changed her mind!” Saki cuts in. “I think that’s all that matters.”
Ichika isn’t convinced, but leaves it alone.
“Let’s begin warming up,” Shiho says.
Saki tries to find Honami the next day, after classes. She’s thrilled with the development, Shiho joining their association. The name is starting to grow on Ichika.
“Shiho-chan’s agreed to join the department—well, association, for now,” Saki tells Honami, when they finally find her. There are only so many places you can hide in a school.
“Oh!” Honami seems surprised. “That’s wonderful news.” She glances over at Shiho.
“They’re serious about it,” she grumbles.
“We were thinking,” Saki says. “Maybe you’d want to join too?”
“Ah, well, that’s a bit-”
“Even just sit in on a rehearsal, see how we do.”
“I haven’t really acted since middle school,” Honami says. “I don’t think I’d be much use to you.”
“You won’t?”
“I’m sorry. I hope it works out for you, but I just-”
“Do you?” Shiho asks. “Do you care what happens to us at all?”
“That’s, Shiho-”
“You didn’t care the first time it got shut down.”
“I-”
“If you did, you would have joined to try and save it. You wouldn’t have just watched it get shut down and done nothing.”
“I would have just been a burden.”
“You’re lying! Those are just excuses you made up to avoid-”
“Shiho-chan!” Saki cuts her off. Shiho scowls, crossing her arms. “That’s too much.”
“I’m sorry,” Honami says. “But I really can’t. I do hope it goes well for the three of you. Honest.”
Rehearsal is tense that day. Shiho shrugs off any attempt at small talk during breaks, focusing entirely on acting.
“What happened?” Saki asks Ichika and Shiho. They’re walking home after rehearsal together. “To Hona-chan, do you know?”
“Just what I’ve already told you,,” Ichika says. “She wasn’t acting when we entered high school, and she was avoiding me.”
“She participated in her middle school’s theater program,” Shiho says. “They did pretty well, in the junior high performance circuit.”
“Maybe she didn’t like acting?” Saki questions.
Shiho sighs. “Supposedly,” she says. “I guess her costars didn’t like something about her. There were a lot of rumors.”
“About Honami?”
Shiho nods at Ichika’s question.
“So she quit,” Saki says.
“She was weak,” Shiho says. “She was a better actor, but she cared too much about other peoples’ jealousy.”
“I don’t think that’s weak,” Saki says.
“For a Stage Girl. That’s why she’s like that now.”
“Like what?”
“She just bends over backwards for anyone—just to avoid people saying something bad about her. It’s disgusting.”
“She’s being considerate,” Saki tries. “It’s her way of being kind.”
“There’s no kindness in a Stage Girl who holds herself back.”
“Maybe,” Saki says. “Maybe it’s time to accept that Hona-chan isn’t a Stage Girl anymore.”
“What?”
“We’ve just been forcing her, but maybe she’s really not a Stage Girl anymore. Maybe she really won’t ever become one again. I think,” Saki hesitates. “I think the right thing to do is just leave it alone.”
“Do you agree with this?” Shiho asks, glaring at Ichika.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.
“If we force Hona-chan on stage, we’re weakening her and ourselves. So I think it’s best to just leave her alone.”
“How do you plan on performing with just the three of us?”
“I’m not giving up,” Saki says. “On the department or any of it.”
“Just on Honami.”
“Just- just on her being there with us.”
Shiho glares at the ground, clearly contemplating through what Saki’s said. “Fine,” she says finally. “You’re right. Fine.”
It doesn’t sit right with Ichika either, to give up on Honami. Saki becomes determined about it. It makes Shiho scowl any time she’s brought up now, and if anything their rehearsals become tougher. Shiho gets more exacting, like she’s compensating for something, somehow.
Shiho bows in the entrance to the teachers offices, before sliding the door shut behind herself. That’s the last of the papers she was supposed to drop off—class things—and then she has to go to rehearsal. She still has local productions to participate in, and still has–
“Ah.”
Shiho glances up, staring directly at Honami, holding a couple of papers close to her chest. Probably the same as Shiho’s, for her own class.
“Shiho-chan.”
“Honami.”
“Um, sorry. I need to,” she points to past Shiho. She needs to enter the office.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Shiho says instead. She doesn’t move. “Saki says I should, but I won’t.”
Honami purses her lips for a moment, then nods. “That’s okay,” she says.
“That’s okay?” Shiho snaps.
“Shiho-chan-”
“I should be harsher,” Shiho says. “What happened to the Stage Girl Honami Mochizuki. Why won’t you stand on stage?”
“I can’t,” Honami says. “I can’t do something like that. Pitting our desires against others, it’s only going to result in people getting hurt.”
“People will get hurt either way. People are already hurt!” Shiho retorts. “Saki’s only pretending to be strong. She’s only pretending to be okay with you giving up the stage. Do you care?”
“I do, but-”
“But. But you care more about everyone else’s opinion than ours.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re fine with us getting hurt—you’re fine with hurting us. Anything so long as you’re safe.”
“Shiho-chan-”
“No. I don’t care. Do whatever you want, but don’t act like it isn’t just callous self-preservation.” Honami doesn’t say anything. She grips the papers so tight her knuckles are turning white. Maybe she’s forcing her feelings down. “You can’t say anything,” Shiho says. “Because refuting what I’m wrong about means accepting what I’m right about. But you used to put your foot down, hearing someone talk like this.”
“Well,” Honami starts, lamely. “Well.”
“You’re using me to shame yourself,” Shiho says. “That’s worst of all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. There’s no talking to you.” She sighs, pushing past Honami to leave.
“You’re helping them form a club,” Honami says suddenly.
“I am.”
“Then you aren’t transferring?” Shiho says nothing, glaring away from her. “Do they know?”
A week passes. Saki tells Honami in person that they’ve decided to drop it, with Shiho standing behind her glaring at the ground, perfectly mastering the space between a guard dog and a scolded puppy. Ichika doesn’t think it’s possible, but Honami seems to avoid them more than she did before, opting to openly redirect course to stay as far away from them as possible.
When Ichika finds Honami, standing by the window in the hallway alone, looking out over the courtyard, for the first time the desire to turn and walk away tugs at the inside of her. Maybe that’s Saki’s desires talking through her.
“Honami,” she says.
Honami turns to look at her. “Ichika-chan.”
“Can we talk?”
Honami looks tired. She wonders if that’s why she says okay. “I have a bit of time,” she says. Still an excuse to get out, if need be.
“Are you okay?”
“Just a little tired is all,” Honami says.
“Is your club a lot of work?”
“Oh, no. It’s not too bad. I’ve just been thinking.”
Ichika hesitates. And she looks up, and she knows Honami knows. And she doesn’t say anything. She waits, that patient look on her face. She waits, and she listens through all their hesitation, and tripping over themselves, and poorly worded thoughts. Her and Saki and Shiho. All of theirs.
There’s something that’s been missing in their group, and Ichika has assumed the whole time it’s been Honami. And it has. One thing. But there’s something else. Something she’s lost. Something she’s forgotten.
“Are you happy?” She asks. The question she’s wanted to ask Honami the whole time.
“Huh?!”
“Leaving behind the stage. Are you really happy with that?”
“Ichika-chan,” she says, pained.
“I’m just curious,” Ichika says. “I know what you’ve said but, well, I loved seeing you on stage. We all did.” She course corrects. “I always thought, if any of us was going to go pro, it’d be—well—it’d be Shiho.”
A small smile ghosts Honami’s face for a moment. “I was worried you were going to lie to me,” she says quietly.
“I thought you’d be right on her heels, though.” Honami looks away from her. “You’re tall, you have a good voice; I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”
“Well-” she doesn’t continue.
“And you looked happy there. On stage. I’m sure it’s - difficult, now.”
Honami smiles wryly. “It never seemed to affect anybody else.”
“Shiho and I, too, for letting the Performance Department fall apart. We did nothing. They told us it would close, and we just let it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Maybe Shiho’s right about some things, though.”
“Yes.”
“I understand,” Ichika says. “If you’re scared or you don’t want to do it, we’ll leave you alone. But the things you’re scared of on stage aren’t going to happen. I don’t want you to refuse just because of something you’re afraid might be there. Even if you devour us on stage, we won’t turn our backs on you or leave you alone. It just means Saki and I need to work harder to keep up.” She feels at her phone in her pocket. “Whatever you’re afraid of you doing at your most selfish self, we’ll accept all of it.”
Honami’s phone buzzes in her pocket, jolting her away from staring at Ichika, pulling it from her pocket and mumbling an apology. She looks down at the lit up screen, taking in a breath and letting it out.
“Um,” she starts.
Ichika nods. “Me too.”
“Guided by the light of the stars, I walk along a new and uncertain path. The future surrounds me, drawn to the melody of our song. Rinmeikan Girls School Ichika Hoshino. Against the flow of history, a new hero awakens.”
Ichika lacks the confidence to perform flashy maneuvers with her shortsword—and to say, it’s a far less flashy blade—compared to Shiho and her rapier. She looks over to Honami beside her, holding what looks like the bottom half of a spear in both hands.
“It’s broken,” Shiho says, as if reading Ichika’s mind. Maybe she could. “Because you’ve lost your brilliance.”
“Is that it?” Honami asks.
“You threw it away.”
“Shiho-chan,” Saki says quietly.
“We can find it again,” Ichika says. She shifts her sword in a ready position for fighting.
“There’s no point if she’ll just throw it off at the first sign of criticism.” Shiho matches with a fighting stance.
“You don’t know she will!”
Ichika meets Shiho first. She’s weaker, a less able fighter, a less able Stage Girl, but she supplements. Skill for passion, direction for potential. Maybe these are just platitudes.
Still, she tries to do what she can. Where she can’t outmaneuver, she deflects, where she can’t keep up, she pushes harder. It all redirects around.
Saki and Honami are engaged in their own fighting. Ichika can’t focus on it long enough to see how it’s going, barely keeping her head up.
“I won’t let you defend her,” Shiho says. “I won’t let you stand for how pathetic she’s become.”
“That’s not your choice to make!”
“If she dares to stand on stage, she’ll stand on it alone!”
“You’re wrong!” She doesn’t know where she finds the strength to force Shiho back. Saki pulls away from Honami, blocking Shiho so Ichika can’t get closer to her. “Even if I stand alone on stage, part of me is your discipline, and Saki’s enthusiasm, and Honami’s passion. And that’s true for the three of you as well. We can’t be alone, together. Never.”
Shiho stares at her. Ichika hopes her words pierce through.
“You’ve gotten weak.”
“No. This is my determination. The stage will respond to it.” Shiho nods.
“Honami!” she shouts, cutting through around Saki, letting Ichika take Saki’s focus away from them. “Why are you fighting?”
“That’s-”
“You said yourself you don’t want to continue, yet you’re here.”
Honami winces, trying to block Shiho’s onslaught of attacks.
“It’s just like before. You’ll go with something until you face the first resistance.”
“It wasn’t the first resistance! The things they said about me, they-”
“So what? They talk about you because they’re jealous of you! What’s wrong with that?”
Honami grits her teeth, blocking the force of Shiho’s next swing with the center of the pole.
“They’re jealous because you’re better, or more talented. That’s not your fault, that’s not a bad thing!”
“I- I can’t-”
Shiho slashes at Honami, but Ichika steps in front of her, catching the rapier and pushing it out of the way. Honami has no time to react, having to block a swing from Saki’s hatchet.
“You think we’ll let people get away with saying things like that about you again?” Saki says, grinning at her.
“You can only control yourself,” Shiho says. “But letting other people’s opinions decide what path you take, that’s nothing but cowardice.”
“Whatever you decide to do,” Ichika says. “It should be because it’s what you want.”
“What I want?”
“If you want to keep going or part ways,” Saki says. “Whichever you choose, we’ll respect it.”
“The end of a Stage Girl,” Shiho says, and steps past Ichika, stabbing forward.
Honami spins the pole in her hand, sticking one end at Shiho’s stomach. She grunts, pulling away from the stab and stumbling a few steps away from them, gripping her stomach.
Saki’s smile is wide, though her partner just got jabbed in the stomach. Ichika’s is more restrained, but still- it still-
“In the night sky, illuminated by the sun, the lonely moon is surrounded by stars. Hiding between myself and comfort, I kept safe my fragile heart. But alone, the stage is meaningless. Rinmeikan Performance Association, Honami Mochizuki. I don’t want to stay in the margins of our lives!”
Saki lets out a low, content sigh, lying on the floor of the theater. Ichika sits near her, her legs stretched out. Honami sits on the floor cross-legged, examining her weapon. Shiho is still standing, frowning down at Saki with her arms crossed.
“It’s really broken,” Ichika says, noticing the splinters in the wood at one end of the weapon.
Honami nods.
“It could come back, I bet,” Saki says. “Eventually.”
“I wonder what it was,” Honami says. “Before it broke.”
“Harpoon,” Saki says.
“Scythe,” Shiho says.
“What?”
Saki gasps. “Honami.” Ichika makes an ‘o’ with her mouth.
“No! What? It’s got a-” Shiho tries to explain, looking at Honami. “I didn’t- I wouldn’t just-” she sighs. “Whatever,” she says.
“I understood,” Honami says. “Well, I thought you probably weren’t saying—that.”
“Shiho-chan, lie down with me!” Saki says.
“I’m not going to do that.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I don’t have to be fun.” Saki huffs.
“That was a nice thing you said,” Honami says to Ichika. “About us being part of each other.”
“I meant it,” Ichika says. “It’s how I feel. I’ve made it this far because of the three of you. I want to make it even further with you, as well.”
“Yeah!” Saki agrees. “And next time we do this, we can fight another school together. Problem solved!”
Honami looks over at Shiho, who pointedly avoids eye contact.
Ichika nods. “We can look forward to it.”