Looking at the flustered girl in front of her, Amane Jingū’s face immediately showed a mischievous expression.
Seeing this, Yū Suzuki couldn’t help but sense trouble brewing in his heart.
He remembered that Aoi Hasekawa seemed to be somewhat intimidated by the President.
Yū Suzuki could already imagine what was going to happen next.
Don’t be fooled by how his club president could chat with him so casually on normal days; that was just the result of their frequent interactions.
But when it came to strangers, or people she was afraid of, she’d hide under the table the next second, and you’d have to coax and trick her out.
“Aoi-senpai, what are you doing here?”
Almost instinctively, Yū Suzuki called out to her before Amane Jingū could speak.
His voice wasn’t too loud or too soft, just clear enough for Aoi Hasekawa to hear. She jolted like a startled little animal, turned her head, and immediately saw something that terrified her.
Amane Jingū was smiling.
Aoi Hasekawa’s pupils instantly widened, the papers she was clutching trembled noisily, and she froze in place for a full three seconds before shrinking back in panic. Her lower back accidentally hit the corner of the President’s desk behind her, making her yelp in pain and jump forward—only to stumble straight into Yū Suzuki’s arms.
In that instant, every hair on her body stood on end.
Her hand happened to land on Yū Suzuki’s chest, and through his thin shirt, she could clearly feel the firmness of his muscles, even the slight movement as he breathed—nothing like the skinny look he usually gave off.
Not bad at all.
That thought flashed through her mind, but the situation left no room for her to dwell on it. All she could feel was a chill on her back—the gaze from Amane Jingū, almost tangible, light as a feather but hot enough to make her afraid to even breathe too loudly.
She hurriedly pushed herself away from Yū Suzuki’s chest, making him stumble back a few steps as well.
Right now, Aoi Hasekawa’s face was completely red, her ears burning.
“S-sorry!” Aoi Hasekawa lowered her head in a panic, clutching the documents tightly, her light chestnut hair falling forward to hide her face—only her trembling shoulders were visible. “I didn’t mean to…”
Maybe the incident just now had been too sudden; even after Amane Jingū finally spoke, Yū Suzuki still hadn’t recovered.
“Kohaku, why are you so careless?”
Amane Jingū’s voice drifted gently through the air, not a hint of reproach in it, but it made Aoi Hasekawa’s shoulders tremble even harder.
“P-President, I… I’m here to submit an application!”
As if desperate to get away, Aoi Hasekawa shoved the papers in her hand toward Amane Jingū.
Amane Jingū didn’t make things difficult. She simply took the documents and examined them carefully.
“Funding Application for Music Club Performance? Kohaku, you’ve never been the type to handle these sorts of things, have you?”
Amane Jingū looked curious, while over at the side, Yū Suzuki overheard his club president muttering under her breath:
“No one to stand guard for me, got caught by the Dean of Discipline while gaming…”
Good grief, so you only get motivated at times like this?
And Aoi Hasekawa seemed to have already prepared an excuse, explaining quickly to Amane Jingū:
“The club’s gotten too quiet lately, so I thought we should do some activities to trick—no, I mean attract new members.”
Just like how you tricked me into joining? Yū Suzuki couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that.
Amane Jingū’s fingers paused over the funding application, the smile in her eyes fading and replaced by a hint of concern.
“Hm… but the budget previously allocated to the Music Club should be enough for club activities.”
The Student Council President wasn’t wrong. Although the Music Club didn’t get much funding, it was more than enough to put on a simple performance.
The reason it was lacking now was entirely because the President had spent the money adding manga and gaming equipment to the Activity Room.
Aoi Hasekawa’s face turned pale in an instant, her fingers unconsciously picking at the edge of the documents, her breathing slowing half a beat. She averted her gaze, not daring to meet Amane Jingū’s eyes, her toes scuffing the floor like a child caught sneaking candy.
“T-that’s because…” She racked her brains for an excuse, her voice growing smaller and smaller. “The old equipment was getting too worn out, so I wanted to get some new stuff… That way we can do activities better!”
A blatant lie. In reality, although the Music Club’s instruments hadn’t been used in a long time, their quality was still excellent.
On this point, Amane Jingū could easily check the truth, so Yū Suzuki had already started silently mourning for his president.
But what happened next went against his expectations.
Amane Jingū said nothing, simply set the application on the desk, then walked to the cabinet and took out a Violin.
She handed it to Aoi Hasekawa and said,
“In that case, Hasekawa-san, please play ‘Meditation’ for me.”
Aoi Hasekawa froze mid-reach, staring at the Violin Amane Jingū was offering, her pupils dilating again.
“I-I…” Her voice quivered again. She touched the instrument gingerly, recoiling as if it had burned her. How long had it been since she last tried to play? She couldn’t even remember.
“What’s wrong? I’ve wanted to hear you play for a while, Kohaku. The last time was in middle school—it’s been so long.”
Amane Jingū added that last bit, catching Yū Suzuki’s attention.
It seemed these two had known each other a long time and were quite close, or else Amane Jingū wouldn’t call her by that nickname.
But just then, Yū Suzuki noticed his president glancing in his direction, as if seeking help.
It made sense—in the club, anything related to music usually meant writing a little music trivia, or Aoi would sometimes fill in for other departments, just following someone else’s lead.
The last time she played a theme song for Recruitment Day, she’d only crammed for three days to get by.
Now, asking her to perform again was probably a bit much for this shut-in.
But it seemed the funding was really important to her this time. Perhaps, seeing Yū Suzuki also at a loss, Aoi Hasekawa finally accepted the instrument, bit her lip, took a deep breath, and—still trembling—tucked the Violin beneath her chin.
With the instrument pressed to her cheek, she steadied herself, lifted the bow, and played the first note.
But the sound was as weak as a mosquito’s hum, with a jarring discordance to it. Even a layman like Yū Suzuki could tell.
Yet Amane Jingū said nothing, simply listening quietly, even looking a bit expectant.
Aoi Hasekawa quickly adjusted, gripping the bow tighter as she began playing in earnest. This time, her tone was steadier; the bow glided across the strings, the awkward opening gradually smoothing into a flowing melody. The gentle longing of ‘Meditation’ slowly drifted from the Violin.
The Activity Room seemed to fall still, the only sounds the music and the occasional breeze outside the window. Even Yū Suzuki subconsciously softened his breathing, his usual slouch vanishing.
He’d only ever seen this side of Aoi Hasekawa once—back on Recruitment Day.
Right now, Aoi Hasekawa’s back was straight, her fingers pressing the strings with precision, the bow moving steadily—she looked every bit a skilled performer.
Yū Suzuki, who knew a bit of music theory, tried to analyze her bowing technique, but the sound kept pulling his thoughts away, the melody’s emotion leaving him with an inexplicable sense of loss.
And when the last note faded, the girl hastily set the Violin down, as if tossing away a hot potato, shoving it back toward Amane without even daring to lift her hands. She bowed her head and murmured,
“I-I’ve pretty much forgotten it all… I made so many mistakes.”
“But I enjoyed it very much. All right, Kohaku, you passed. I’ll approve your funding.”
Amane Jingū said this as she returned the Violin to the cabinet, then pulled out the Student Council’s Stamp and pressed it down on the application.
But Yū Suzuki noticed that Aoi Hasekawa didn’t seem all that happy—just relieved.
After murmuring a thank you, the girl quickly left the Student Council room and soon disappeared from sight.