Angels in the Architecture
Part 2: Molto Ritmico
Chapter 21: Black Cat
Hashimoto had been sitting on his apartment balcony, enjoying the pleasant dusk breeze and studying the score to Dance Movements: Molto Ritmico with a pad of sticky notes and a bundle of highlighters in his fist, when he'd heard the first soft "meow."
The band director looked up from the music in mild confusion.
I live on the ninth floor, he thought. There's no way a cat could have wandered up here.
He returned his attention to the score, flipping through tall pages of dense notes and marking in rehearsal notes on the sticky pad. But then he heard it again:
"Meow."
The whine was louder and more insistent this time, and clearly emitting from just nearby.
Hashimoto frowned.
He set the score aside on the rickety table on the balcony and put down the bundle of highlighters, then slowly rose from his wicker porch chair toward the railing. Beyond the brown-painted metal bars was a sheer one hundred-twenty foot drop to the apartment courtyards below. A fall from that height would instantly kill any human or animal. But there wasn't anything extraordinary there, so Hashimoto bent over the railing and checked both sides of the concrete walls framing his apartment.
And then...
"Meow!"
... sounded from below. Hashimoto looked down and saw two small black paws clinging to the concrete edge of the balcony floor.
"There you are," he muttered. "Hold on, I've got you..."
He fell on his knees and reached underneath the lower rungs of the railing, feeling over the edge of the balcony until his hands wrapped around the warm body of the furball just over the edge. Carefully he lifted the animal until it was able to climb up and scoot itself under the railing. It was a coal-black and very fluffy cat. The fuzzy animal darted forward on little paws and lept up into Hashimoto's lap. It curled up there in a warm ball, purring while its little claws clung onto his khaki shorts.
Hashimoto knelt there on the concrete and dusted off his hands. Then he picked up the cat and held it out at arms length.
To his surprise, this cat had striking blue eyes, which wasn't common in black cats. It had no markings; it was just very soft and inky-black all over. He didn't have the knowledge to identify its exact breed. He checked its neck; no collar, no tags. Yet its fur seemed clean and well-groomed; plus it was too fat to be a stray. Maybe it had a tracer surgically implanted like Niiyama's Sweet Potato.
Holding the cat a bit closer, Hashimoto couldn't help but ask aloud, "So who do you belong to?"
The cat meowed again. Then it reached forward with two black paws and planted them on Hashimoto's scruffy chin.
Hashimoto laughed heartily. Me? he thought.
"Okay," he said with a grin, "you can stay here for now, but I can't keep you."
Still holding the cat, he got up from the balcony floor and ducked back into the apartment. He let the cat down on the carpet before retrieving his phone from the dining table to search up what to do after finding a stray. He sat down on the floor next to the black cat, which had wandered over to smell his bookshelf or something. Multiple sources on the internet said to report it to local found lists and veterinarians. It was also probably a good idea to notify the landlord, and to take the cat to a vet and check for a tracking chip.
He glanced briefly at the black cat. It turned and met his gaze with those striking blue eyes. Hashimoto looked away and continued browsing search results. Those eyes reminded him of Taki Noboru's sea-blue eyes, of Taki's slender but strong figure beneath that black cassock, his elegant and delicate movements.
To be fair, it wasn't just this cat. Lately everything reminded Hashimoto of how sly and classy and cruel Taki had been. He compared movie characters and people in real life to Taki. He always thought about what venomous words Taki would say in different situations. Western food made him think of Taki. Churches made him think of Taki. It was maddening and confusing and shameful. He told himself that it was because he really, really hated Taki, to the point of fascinated obsession- and perhaps it was- but he'd be lying to deny the presence of something else underneath.
Have you actually felt attracted to any guys in real life? Niiyama had asked, back when she'd picked him up from the hospital. You don't have a clear type of guy?
Hashimoto cringed at himself, not actually reading anything on the phone screen.
I guess I do now, Niiyama, he thought, inwardly admitting to himself the reality of his abnormality. Maybe I'm really just that disgusting.
Suddenly a patter of little paws interrupted his thoughts. And then-
"- Hey, wait!"
He saw the black furball streak toward the balcony and jump onto the railing. The band director bolted to his feet and rushed after it, but he was too late. The cat hurled itself into oblivion. Hashimoto could only watch as it plummeted a hundred and twenty feet...
... and hit the ground running. Its tiny figure scampered out of sight somewhere into the courtyard below.
At least it survived. He'd forgotten that cats almost always landed safely on their feet. Hashimoto leaned against the balcony for a moment, catching his breath. Then he collected the score and highlighters and went back inside.
He sort of wished the black cat had stayed.
Ever since Hashimoto's disastrous meeting with Taki Noboru, Kousaka Reina had not attended any rehearsals. He checked with the main office and learned that she hadn't been going to classes either. In fact, she hadn't been showing up to school at all. It was difficult not to blame himself; Hashimoto continually reminded his conscience that it was Taki's fault for being manipulative and abusive in the first place. But he always thought about how the current situation might be better if he had handled Taki differently at L'iniziò Dellafine.
When he tried to call Kousaka's home, Taki never picked up. Emails also yielded no response. So eventually Hashimoto turned to Oumae Kumiko for status updates on Kousaka's wellbeing.
"She doesn't text me a lot," Oumae said quietly in his office, scrolling through her messages with Kousaka. "She keeps saying she's feeling sick this week."
"Has she said anything about her stepfather?" asked Hashimoto.
"She said he wants her to 'stay home and feel better,'" said Oumae, the skepticism evident in her tone.
The next day the main office received a doctor's note forwarded from Taki, concerning Reina's health. The adminstrators all agreed that it was okay for Kousaka to miss class and band so long as she was contagious.
And there was nothing Hashimoto could do.
The long weekend approached quickly. Before anyone knew it, the first day of band camp arrived upon the Kitauji Concert Band. The ensemble packed their luggage and instruments, and boarded buses to camp without Kousaka Reina.
Band camp was rigorous and exhausting for both Hashimoto and his students, as it was each year. The morning began with extensive fundamentals before the students scattered throughout the facility to rehearse in sectionals. After lunch, the B band practiced moving equipment out onstage as efficiently as possible, while the A band rehearsed the required piece and Dance Movements: Molto Ritmico again and again in mind-numbling loops to perfect the timing of the entire concert to fit within the required limit for prefecturals. Hashimoto monitored how exhausted and drained his kids were, particularly the brass players, but he forced himself not to allow them prolonged breaks. The idea was that if they could perform at an award-winning level despite debilitating exhaustion, then they would be more than prepared for the real competition.
On his end, Hashimoto's arms, shoulders, and back were all sore and cramping from conducting by dinnertime. He could have simply stopped conducting at noon and resorted to tapping his baton on the stand like a metronome, but that wouldn't have been fair to his students. If they were working so hard, then he needed to work twice as hard in order to respect their efforts.
At dinnertime, Hashimoto sat with his students. He joked around with them, devoured a giant tub of fried rice and gulped down half a gallon of miso soup (to the kitchen staff's horror), and then let Tanaka-san take over the evening bonding activities while he went up to his room for a two-hour break. Later he'd join them for fireworks and ice cream; then it would be time for unannounced midnight rehearsals. Only the third-years were briefed on what time and where the rehearsals would take place. The idea behind such brutal rehearsals was to force students to hold themselves to the same high standard of playing despite being sleepy and unprepared.
It all meant that this two-hour break was all Hashimoto would have to himself for the day. He intended to spend it lying on the floor like an limp vegetable.
Sighing and wincing as he lay down on the clean futon, his shoulders and back igniting with soothing pain as he stretched them out properly, Hashimoto lay sprawled for several minutes staring at the ceiling.
Then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to check notifications. There were plenty of social media alerts, a low battery warning, and several news and weather bulletins. He reacted to a message from Niiyama with a cat sticker, and replied to some emails from parents.
When he checked his texts, there was a string of messages from one person. Unknown Number, the sender line read.
Hashimoto frowned, but deep in his stomach he felt a low thrill. He tapped open the texts:
Unknown Number: She can still participate.
Unknown Number: The Agata Festival is next week. Agree now to attend and speak with me.
Unknown Number: I will drive her over as soon as you do.
Unknown Number: Do you accept?
The band director blinked and crinkled his nose in disbelief. He sat up from the futon, holding his phone and staring at the texts with wide eyes.
How Taki had procured his private cell phone number was beyond him. It was extremely unsettling; he suddenly felt as if he were being watched by Taki right this moment. He felt hairs rising on the back of his neck; a mixture of fear and anticipation.
After some consideration, he decided the best and most obvious choice was not to respond. Besides, the Agata Festival was next Friday, the day before prefecturals, so he couldn't go anyway because he needed to sleep early and prepare himself mentally. Then Hashimoto reminded himself that he was just thinking about that as a technicality, and in reality wasn't actually considering going on a festival date with a child-abusing psychopath.
He reached up to block Taki's number. His finger hovered over the "block" button for a while.
Then he canceled the option, and just closed the text.
Hashimoto had to admit that he was morbidly curious as to what Taki might try next.
Author's Note: a HUGE shoutout to Bloke for drawing gorgeous beautiful fanart of Kumiko with angel wings! Please go like and reblog it from them at their Tumblr: blookity-bloke, tumblr, co m/post/166752436957/i-revisited-the-sound-euphonium-fandom-and-now
Be sure to follow them if you like their content! love their drawing style :)
Also, I drew art of Hashimoto and the black cat! Here at taki-sensei, tumblr, co m/post/166810277738/hashimoto-and-the-cat-from-angels-in-the
Thanks for reading!