(Still in Izumi Okama Perspective)
I follow the girls from behind and make our way through the bustling corridor. Students are going in and out from the doors since it is currently our lunchtime. I can even smell the faint grilled pork near the cafeteria, luring me inside. Fortunately, my stomach has yet to growl for the past hour, so I carry on with my journey. I want to sneak a peek at the handsome man they were talking about before.
However, the girls change their plans and go to the restroom.
"How am I going to meet this hot dude?" I ask myself, and walk past the adjacent hall.
Nickson has been the only one who has caught my eyes so far inside the school. There are no boys that could rival his looks. But because of his nerdy look with his eyeglasses, many girls have set him aside. They want to see him take off the lenses and become a bad boy in their mind.
Maybe because he is Korean and not Japanese? I can never know.
I do not know the entire map of the school. Every time I go inside the academy, I always get lost, unable to find my way inside. Sometimes, I feel confused about where to find the student council room. It is a good thing that our room is at the end of the hallway.
I have trouble charting and memorising any locations. My father always tells me I suck at remembering the landmarks and signs seen on the streets. He would usually hold my hands and escort me back to my home.
Before coming here to Tokyo, Japan, we lived in Singapore, right next to the school of Malang, where I met my Chinese and Malaysian friends. I saw no Japanese or any foreign people that would resemble the Americans seen on the internet. Both of my parents were Japanese people but moved to Singapore after applying for a job. But because of my mother's death, we went back to Japan and continued with our lives.
My father saved some money, so he enrolled me in an international school. He told me to learn Japanese while he runs his business around town, applying what we have learned from Singaporean people.
Despite being Japanese, we know nothing about Nihongo. My father and I occasionally study Japanese during weekends through Japanese rock songs. The two of us are big fans of anime or cartoons in Japan, and make covers on the internet.
I look above and notice a sign that says "Light Music Club" in front of me. I rub my eyes and check the poster once again. The notice did not change.
"Is this it?" I ask, while I tiptoe inside.
As soon as I am near the door, I hear various tones coming inside. I could perceive someone percussing the wooden hand drum with the strumming of the electric guitar that goes with the beat. Other instruments are playing in the background if I lean my ears closer on the stage.
I feel my head bouncing from the beat with the mixing sounds coming from the instruments. I am not a fan of heavy metal rock, but the tune fits my ears. My entire body accepts the melody, creating a tingling sense of euphoria through my nerves.
But I cannot get a good grasp of their tune despite peering my eardrums open. My feet continue to trek the narrow hallway, down the series of stairs, leading closer to the stage.
"I must go near," I tell myself and trudge towards the room.
The auditorium is as wide as a concert hall. It is vast enough to fit eight classes or two hundred students with the remaining seats. It has six or more speakers on each side, hanging on the walls. The speakers amplify the sound coming from the electrical instruments plugged in during a performance.
I lift my eyes and see a band practising on stage, playing different instruments on the boards. I can see someone playing the electric guitar, bass, drums, piano, and even a violin nestled on the violinist. It is not the mixture of instruments to play heavy music, but they pull it off like professional musicians. Although I can sense some mismatch of beats, the sound still lingers inside my head.
They sync their music with the beat as if they have been practising this performance for a long time. I can see the band members sweat dripping on the floor, even creating a puddle on the ground. Their efforts reward them with a drastic track that would captivate anyone walking near the club room.
However, in the middle of their practice, the lead vocalist, who plays the electric guitar, raises his hand. All the members behind him stop playing their instruments and look at his back.
"From the top," the man says, and strums the cords.
All the people behind the vocalist resume playing the instruments once again as they see him waves his hand. The metallic sound reverberates through the room as the band members pound, click, and strum their instruments.
Not until they hear a sudden noise upstairs.
While perching my body on the series of chairs, my grip slips on the wet floor, leading me to tumble to the ground. My body rolls like a bowling ball and eventually crashes near the stage.
I palpate my limbs, neck, and my spine, checking if I receive any wounds or broken bones from my spin. Lucky for me, I feel nothing but muscle aching around my body. As I raise my head, I discern five people staring at my figure, still lying on the ground.
"Who are you?"
"Is he a fan?"
"Do you like our music?"
"How did you get here?"
Four of them mumble to themselves and continue their conversation. The band members avert their gaze and move towards the back. The band members lose themselves in their world and completely forget about me and the song they need to practice.
The man in the middle scrutinises my body. He first looks at my feet and eventually reaches my face. The guy in front of me is the leading singer of the band, so I do not know why he wastes his time gawking at me instead of resuming their rehearsal. The Japanese guy looks into my eyes and tilts his head, wondering how I snuck inside their practise session. As he glances at his watch, he suddenly remembers that it is lunchtime.
"Lunch break, everyone!" He instructs.
All the band members respond with an "Hai!" and go to the sides. Some of them exit the room to head towards the cafe, while others remain inside since they have their own Bentos. The remaining members soon fill the room with their gossip as they talk about everything in the entire world.
But there is one person who never moved his position.
The man refuses to stray from his look at me. He locks his eyes and moves closer in my direction. I return his stern gaze and desperately try to hide my face from flushing. If there is one thing that I cannot resist, it is a handsome man staring at me.
I can see the tiniest details of his face. Up close, the man has a scar resting near his eyes and a dimple near his cheeks. His narrow and slanted eyes show that he is a Japanese person, like me. Although I do not want to be a racist, Asians have eyes stretching either upwards or to the sides. With every breath he takes, I can feel it on my face. I may faint at any second, so I might as well take the time of my life and stare at the god-sent body of his.
After a few seconds, he reaches out his hand for me to grab hold. The guy braces my hand and grips tight. I return his squeeze and stare at our clasping fingers.
"Too tight," the guy says.
I let out a faint chuckle while giving him a reply, "Sorry."
I slightly release my grip and scratch my head using my free hand. The man reveals a gleam before pulling me back up. I instantly release my hand as soon as I am standing on my two feet. I want to run away, but he already catches my shoulders.
The guy places both of his hands on me and asks me a question. "Do you know how to play the acoustic guitar?"
I nod and answer, "Yeah, a little."
I do not want to be arrogant in front of their band.
"Are you here to sign up in our club?" One member behind him asks while munching over her meal.
I shake my head and reply, "No! I mean, I could if you guys want me to."
Before I could finish my sentence, the singer waves his hand to his band members. "Do not scare or force him to join! Let him have the autonomy to do so."
"No, it is fine!" I answer. "I always want to be a part of the light music club!"