Ponytail and Protein Bars 2
“――Yes, I’d like to order the tiramisu and honey toast, both in L size please. Could you bring the tiramisu first and then leave some time for the honey toast? We can’t eat them both at once. ――Yes, that would be great. Thank you very much.”
Having arrived at the karaoke room, Chika, who had accomplished one of her desired tasks, showed him a smug face.
This smugness must also be due to her high spirits.
“We haven’t had lunch yet, but isn’t L size for both of us a bit too much? Isn’t that meant for parties?”
“No problem! I worked really hard studying for the tests, so I want to eat something sweet!”
He clapped half-heartedly and asked, and she confidently declared.
“Well, that’s fine, but it would be a waste if you can’t finish it, so make sure you eat it all, okay?”
“It’ll be fine with you and me here, Sōma-san! More importantly, about the songs, why don’t we request songs that we want each other to sing?”
“Don’t request obscure songs. Let’s keep it to something like Yonezu at most.”
Sōma’s interest was completely focused on the sweets, so he wasn’t very familiar with songs. He only knew about the ones that were popular on SNS or video sites or those recommended by friends.
He operated the provided terminal, searching for a song to make Chika sing.
“I’m even less familiar with female singers. Would Ryokushaka or HoneyWorks be okay? Or should we go for something more typical idol songs?”
He wondered if Chika would look good in idol cosplay while he tapped on the touchscreen to select songs.
Choosing a song for someone else to sing is surprisingly difficult, especially when he has never heard Chika sing properly before. He doesn’t know if she has a wide vocal range or a narrow one or if she’s a good singer or not.
He was about to pick something safe from the daily rankings when,
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“I’ve decided!”
Sitting across the table, Chika energetically pointed the terminal towards the karaoke machine.
“You’ve already decided?”
“I’ve been thinking about this song that I really want you to sing.”
She handed him the microphone with a gesture of ‘come on, take it’.
“I’m going to skip it immediately if it’s a song I can’t sing.”
“Don’t worry! It’s definitely a song you’ve heard before.”
He gave a slight nod to the server who brought the tiramisu and took the microphone. He felt he could sing better while standing, so he did that.
Chika excitedly gripped the maracas in both hands.
While checking if the microphone switch was on, the intro of the song began to play through the speakers.
An acoustic guitar played a slow and melancholic melody, and a desolate recorder’s sound slowly layered over it.
“…What is this song?”
He couldn’t help but make a weird face.
It was unlike any song he had imagined.
“This definitely isn’t Yonezu, right?”
“No, it’s Zeppelin.”
“Western music!?”
He hurriedly checked the large monitor, and there it was: the name of a song by a legendary band that had been a huge hit in the 1970s.
“Why would you choose such an old song!?”
“Well, isn’t it incredibly famous? You know it too, don’t you, Sōma-san?”
Well, he did know this song. He has heard it somewhere before.
But that’s about it. There’s no way he can properly sing it.
“Why do you even know such an old song?”
He apologizes to the fans inwardly, but it’s hardly a choice typical of high school girls.
“My mom loves it.”
“Your mom is surprisingly likes rock, Chika.”
He pictures Chika’s mother, who never loses her gentle smile and tilts his head, finding it completely different from the image he had.
But then again, it might not be so strange considering the generation. Chika’s parents had her later in life.
“It’s impossible for me to sing this song. Request something more suitable for high school students to sing.”
He ended up pressing the stop button on the performance without singing a single phrase.
“Ah, no good?”
Chika shook her maracas with a look of disappointment.
“Actually, this song is eight minutes long. I thought it’d be fun to shake maracas the whole time, so I chose it.”
“What a childish reason. And the song just now definitely doesn’t go well with maracas.”
No matter how you listen to it, it’s not a song that gets you pumped up.
Sighing in resignation, he said,
“Then, I’ll sing two or three songs in a row for you. That should be fine, right?”
“Really? Then, how about the Pistols—”
“Please, move away from the hardcore Western music…”
In the end, he sang three J-pop songs. It had been a while since he last did karaoke, so he wasn’t confident I sang well, but Chika still seemed happy as she shook her maracas around.
Chika clapped for him when he put down the microphone.
“It’s fun to shake maracas along while someone else is singing! I should have done this sooner.”
“If you’re satisfied, then it was worth singing.”
He poured cola down his throat, which was sore from singing for the first time in a while. The carbonation felt good.