Angels in the Architecture
Part 2: Molto Ritmico
Chapter 5: Sweet Potato
Hashimoto made his way through the trembling crowd of students, which immediately parted for him, and taped the paper listing audition results and rankings to the chalkboard. From his past experience, it was not a good idea to stay at school while the students learned of their scores, so he turned tail and strode quickly back to his office.
Once he reached the door, Hashimoto collapsed in his swivel chair, grimacing. He'd felt terrible all day since he dropped off Niiyama's cat, Sweet Potato, at the vet this morning. For the first half of the day, he suffered through a stomachache so painful that he had to sit down when delivering his music class lecture. Now it had mellowed to a vague nauseous pulsing in the back of his throat.
All things said, Hashimoto was just grateful that he hadn't actually puked in class. That alone would have been embarassing enough to ruin his teaching career for life.
Meanwhile, chaos exploded behind him in the music room as his kids discovered their results. Hashimoto sighed in annoyance. Every single audition at Kitauji inevitably led to screaming and moaning and crying. He swore the amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth in the band room was more than Satan himself had heard in all of hell.
They'll understand one day, he told himself. And it was true; third-years and college students were typically more calm about audition results than underclassmen. They knew that somebody had to come out on top and somebody had to be last chair. That was just a fact of life. Hashimoto tried to be as forgiving as he could- which was why he allowed four auditions a year and enforced a rotational seating system, so that nobody was last chair for long- but the kids still complained. They still lined up outside his office to argue and sob and yell.
Which was why on days like these, Hashimoto went home early. The kids needed the time to calm down, and he needed some peace and quiet.
But today, aside from that and his piss-poor health, Hashimoto had an even more pressing reason to leave. He picked up the last folder from his desk, containing paperwork and veterinary information for Niiyama's calico cat. Sweet Potato had been extremely ill for the past few days, culminating in a vomiting episode early this morning that let to Niiyama begging Hashimoto to help take Sweet Potato to the vet. Hashimoto had agreed, since Niiyama had to be at school extremely early this morning for a staff meeting, when the vet wasn't open yet. For Hashimoto, the vet was on his way to work, so he was happy to help now.
Then, this morning, he immediately felt sick after handling the cat. Now he was suspecting that Sweet Potato was contagious. That though was still an unsatisfactory explanation, because Niiyama showed no signs of illness even though her cat had been sick for days. But it was the best diagnosis for his own misery that Hashimoto could come up with.
Slinging his work bag over his shoulder and carrying the folder, Hashimoto shut and locked his office door, then headed downstairs. In the stairwell he passed the eupho-girl who looked like an ice-cream scoop- what was her name? Ah, right, Oumae Kumiko- curled up against the wall, staring blankly into space as if she'd just returned from a traumatizing war zone.
"More audition drama," he muttered under his breath, and continued down the stairs.
Unfortunately he heard Oumae erupt into tears behind him, and regretted it. There she goes. Everybody was crying, because everything was Hashimoto Masahiro's fault, and christ, he just wanted to go pick up Satomi-chan's dying cat from the vet right now. He just wanted to go home, take advil, and stop feeling like utter shit.
At the bottom of the stairs he ran into the virtuoso first-year, Kousaka Reina, who was apparently late to the dramatic unveiling of results.
"Hey kid," said Hashimoto, pulling Kousaka aside, "have you seen the scores yet?"
The girl shook her head, so Hashimoto decided to save her the trouble.
"Congratulations," he muttered quietly, "on earning principal trumpet. Now, it would be wise to avoid the band room today. Let's just say that there are some upperclassmen who need time to adjust the new rankings."
Kousaka bowed politely. "Thank you," she said. "I understand."
"One more thing," Hashimoto added. "You play like a champ, but you're new to Kitauji. So you're principal, but Nakaseko-san will be section leader. She'll take care of admin duties while you play all first parts and solos. This is bound to cause some talk, but I think it's best for the band and best for you. Do you have any questions?"
Kousaka shook her head, then thanked him again. Hashimoto smiled and whacked her lightly on the head with his folder before carrying on to the parking lot...
...wherein it became apparent that he'd forgotten his car keys in his office.
Swearing mentally, Hashimoto did a 180 and strode angrily back toward the building. Why, today, on all days, did he have to make a second trip up three flights of stairs to his godforsaken office... why...
But when he passed the same stairwell where Oumae sat sulking, he now saw Kousaka sitting with her, speaking in low tones. Kousaka's hand was caressing Oumae's bright red cheeks. Knowing that he was intruding on a rather intimate moment, Hashimoto continued without comment, but their conversation made him pause at the top of the stairs where he was out of sight.
Perhaps it was wrong to eavesdrop. But what Hashimoto heard made him feel very proud to have these two kids in his band, and he wanted to know more.
"A good musician would look toward the future now," Kousaka was saying. "Learn from your weaknesses."
A few moments of silence, broken by Oumae's hiccuping sobs, before the euphonium player stammered, "You're p-principal trumpet now. And I'm... I'm last chair. I shouldn't e-even be around you... it'll look..."
"What?" said Kousaka.
Oumae sniffed.
"People would think... that I'm... not worthy of you," she whispered. "You shouldn't b-be seen with me."
A quiet huff of laughter from Kousaka. Then she said, "When have I ever cared about other peoples' opinions?"
"Y-you cared so much about what I said in middle school that you avoided me f-for an entire trimester."
"Well, you're not other people."
"Kousaka-san-"
"Reina," corrected Kousaka. "Call me Reina."
A pause. Then Oumae mumbled, "Okay. Reina."
Another stretch of silence, before Kousaka said softly, "Can we walk instead of sit here? I need to go home soon, or my stepdad won't be happy."
There was a brief shuffling as the two girls stood up, and Hashimoto knew it was time to leave. Standing on his feet for that long had brought back his stomachache, so he needed to go home soon.
He'd only heard a few words during their exchange, but it was enough to tell him a lot about their personalities. Firstly, he felt that Kousaka's words to Kumiko were quite wise. With that knack like that for giving advice, combined with her unbelievable level of musicianship, she'd made a killer section leader in three years. That is, if she could acquire better teamwork skills and improve from what Hashimoto had heard she was like.
As for Oumae, the more Hashimoto he learned about her, the more he liked the kid. At first she'd seemed quite plain- just another euphonium player entering high school. But she'd showed up to his office with a question, even though most of the other first-years were too fearful to approach him. And he constantly heard the girl practicing before classes every morning, though her audition had been a let-down. But it was undeniable that the girl was a hard worker.
Now, from what he heard her saying, he knew Oumae was also thoughtful and considerate.
Kids like them were Hashimoto's favorite part of his teaching job. He would never say this out loud, but he cared less about his students' ability to play notes on a page, and more about what kind of human beings they became under his tutelage. Above any awards they won each year, he wanted them to gain more important things like kindness, musicianship, and persistence. And with challenges like stage fright, intense competition, and chains of command, the concert band was an ideal place for character building. Hashimoto felt privileged to watch his students grow while overcoming those hurdles.
Meanwhile, the downside of his job was that Hashimoto had to monitor his kids for signs of domestic abuse or neglect. Of course he didn't hate looking out for his kids, but it was sad when things happened that he had no way of preventing.
In his years of teaching, Hashimoto had only dealt with one case of abuse- Tanaka Asuka, whose mother had physically slapped her right before Hashimoto's eyes. Even then, it wasn't anything that he could legally do about besides being there to comfort Asuka.
At Kousaka's mention of her stepfather though, Hashimoto felt the same unease as when Tanaka had come to speak with him about her mother. Kousaka had said nothing more than that her stepfather wanted her to be home on time. For a parent to have expectations of timeliness was nothing strange. But given what Niiyama had told him about Kousaka, it was information to be noted.
When Hashimoto finally arrived at the vet, paperwork in hand, the veterinarian greeted him with an odd sort of smile before handing him a clipboard.
"Sir, if you'll sign here, Sweet Potato is all ready to be picked up."
"Wait," said Hashimoto, confused, "what kind of treatment did she receive? Is there anything I should know about what medication to buy?"
The veterinarian blinked before saying, "Sir, you brought this cat in today with absolutely no health issues. We weren't sure what you needed from us, so we performed a routine health check. Those regular fees will apply, but there was no medication administered."
Hashimoto frowned. Sweet Potato had been extremely ill for days, and had probably gotten Hashimoto himself infected with some disease. Now the vet was saying the cat arrived feeling fine this morning?
Deciding that Niiyama's cat was probably just very lucky, Hashimoto thanked the confused veteranian and picked up the fuzzy cat, who meowed demurely. As he returned to his car and gently coaxed Sweet Potato into her carrier cage, he thought about how ragged the ailing cat had appeared in the morning. He wondered what could have caused her to feel better so quickly.
Well, at least Niiyama wouldn't have to worry anymore.