Chapter 59: Searching for Tomorrow

Searching for Tomorrow

A literal translation of the song Asu wo Sagasou would be Searching for Tomorrow.

The song Sugo-sensei had chosen for our class’s choir performance was a well-known piece, even included in middle school music textbooks. A quick look at the lyrics made it clear—it was a song about holding on to dreams of tomorrow, embracing hope, and pushing forward.

For someone like me, who had been forced to part ways with his original body… for someone like me, who had lost the tomorrow that belonged to that former self, the song carried a tinge of irony. Of course, Sugo-sensei had no way of knowing that.

As the melody played from Sugo-sensei’s phone, we first hummed along, familiarizing ourselves with the tune. After a few minutes, we prepared to start singing in earnest.

“Sensei?”

The one who raised her hand was Tachibana-san. She wasn’t the type to speak up often, making this an unusual sight.

“What is it?”

“I played this song in middle school. I can already play it. Since we have a conductor, I think we should start practicing with everyone, too.”

Sugo-sensei’s eyes lit up.

“Seriously? Let’s do that, let’s do that. …I picked this song just because I wanted to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, but if Tachibana already knows it, then that was the perfect choice.”

So that’s why he picked this song…

Well, it wasn’t like anyone in class had been particularly eager to suggest songs, so a little teacher’s privilege wasn’t exactly a problem.

Tachibana-san made her way to the piano, while Hirota-kun, who had some musical experience, stood in front of the class.

The two of them exchanged a brief glance, silently syncing before beginning.

In that moment, a sharp, fleeting pain pricked at my chest. Was it just my imagination?

As she had declared, Tachibana-san’s fingers danced smoothly over the keys, filling the music room with a delicate, polished accompaniment.

“I couldn’t play because Yuka-chan was there. It was suffocating.” She had said something like that before. That’s why this surprised me. When had she even taken piano lessons?

Thinking back… Tachibana-san and Yuka-chan were nearly ten years apart. She must have learned when she was still in early elementary school.

Knowing how thorough she was with things, she had probably quit long ago. And yet, for something she had learned years prior, her playing was unexpectedly skilled. At least, to my untrained ear.

“Whoa, this is great! Really great!”

Off to the side, Sugo-sensei clapped, his face glowing with satisfaction.

He seemed pleased just to see her playing at all, even though she was likely still a work in progress.

And so, our choir practice continued in that same rhythm.

During the competition rehearsal period, club activities were pushed back an hour. The end time, however, remained unchanged, sparking outrage in certain circles. But regardless, with time running out, we wrapped up today’s practice.

Club activities.

Heading home.

One by one, my classmates set off on their separate paths.

“Tachibana-san.”

Amidst the dispersing crowd, I approached her, relieved that rehearsal was finally over.

There was something I needed to talk to her about.

Naturally, it was about the incident at the shrine—the one that had left casualties.

“Got a moment?”

“Sure, but first… I have something to say about practice just now.”

“Huh?”

She caught me off guard, and I let out a weird sound.

Wait—does this mean Tachibana-san is the type to be particular about music?

“You need to sing louder.”

“Uh… yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Are you bad at staying on pitch?”

Gulp.

I lowered my gaze, careful not to let my face give anything away.

Truth be told, I had always been tone-deaf. In choir practice, I kept my voice low—or, when possible, just mouthed the words—to avoid disturbing everyone else. Today had been no different.

Part of my relief at practice ending was that I could finally talk to Tachibana-san. But just as much, I had simply been glad to escape that torture session.

And yet, she had figured it out in a single practice.

“Training.”

“B-But…”

“You need to face it.”

“…Okay.”

Facing it.

For the first time in my life, those words felt suffocating.

The moment to bring up the shrine incident had slipped away completely.

Instead, it felt like I was about to be thrown into one of her strict training sessions—just like when she helped me study.

I let out a small sigh, shoulders drooping in resignation.