All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

”But if we’re going to change the strings, we’ll need spares first. Even though we’re in the music room, that doesn’t mean we have the right kind of strings. Kotomi, do you have any spare strings and a string cutter?” Yukino Yukinoshita asked.

Since she had already determined that the change in tone came from the strings, replacing them as soon as possible was the logical next step.

However, they weren’t at home right now—and unless Kotomi had brought her own strings, they’d have to rely on whatever the second music room had available. Unfortunately, Yukino had already checked earlier and found an old box of strings coated in a thick layer of dust. One glance was enough to make anyone wonder—just how long had those been sitting there?

They probably dated back several student generations.

Even though the box hadn’t been opened, Yukino couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Strings that old might have long since deteriorated, no matter how well they were sealed.

Moreover, she had done a bit of research before—the strings in the music room were an entry-level model from many years ago. The factory that had produced them had gone out of business a full decade earlier and officially declared bankruptcy two years after that.

If Kotomi were still a beginner, that wouldn’t matter much. But based on her recent performances, Kotomi’s playing was far beyond beginner level—she was practically professional. Every note she struck was sharp and precise.

If one didn’t know her age and only listened to her play with eyes closed, they might even assume she was a veteran guitarist. Someone might mutter in awe, ”Which professional guitarist decided to stop composing new songs and come show off at a high school culture festival?”

Clearly, a cheap beginner’s string set wasn’t worthy of Kotomi Izumi’s skill.

But if she didn’t have spares, then what could they do? Even if they went out to buy new ones now, would any music stores still be open?

Music shops tended to open late and close early.

In Japan, many people who ran instrument shops were already wealthy. They didn’t open stores to make a living—they opened them to relieve boredom. After all, doing nothing all day at home could get dull, but running a low-pressure store that didn’t require aggressive business tactics? That was another matter.

They’d invest a bit of money upfront—buy a space, renovate it, stock up on instruments and accessories—and then simply run it at their own pace. Because they weren’t desperate for profit, they didn’t care how long it took to earn back what they spent.

Most of them would just sleep in, show up late, sit around the shop to kill time, and close early. Customers or not, it didn’t matter.

And since the cost of opening a music shop was practically nothing compared to their wealth, they didn’t even worry about inventory. If someone needed a specific model, they’d simply order it on demand.

In Japan, if you chatted with any music store owner long enough, you’d quickly notice a pattern. Either they were well-off young heirs with a casual interest in music, opening a shop to stave off boredom—or older, semi-retired business veterans who had already made their fortune and were looking for a calm, simple life after years of intense competition.

The latter group often found retirement surprisingly dull. They didn’t want to keep chasing profits, but doing nothing felt unnatural. So, they opened a small instrument shop, went there whenever they pleased, and closed up the moment they felt like going home.

As for when they’d open again? Completely up to their mood.

Money wasn’t the goal—peace was.

And that’s precisely why most music stores in Japan were run in such an unhurried, almost Buddhist fashion.

Which was why, if Kotomi needed to buy new strings now, finding an open shop this late at night would be quite the challenge.

Just as Yukino Yukinoshita was wondering how to solve the string problem, Kotomi Izumi—who had been quietly crouched by her guitar case, rummaging through it—suddenly let out a delighted exclamation.

”Oh—! Found it! I knew I’d put everything in the side pocket of my guitar bag!”

”There’s so much stuff in there,” Yui Yuigahama said, leaning over curiously. ”If you attach all those accessories, wouldn’t that make it your guitar’s final form?”

Kotomi nodded seriously. ”Now that you mention it, it really would be a ’Guitar—Final Form!’ And after that, maybe I could even go for a ’Guitar—Overdrive Mode!’”

The two of them giggled as they went back and forth.

Following the sound, Yukino looked over and saw Kotomi holding an unopened pack of brand-new guitar strings.

”So you do have spare strings,” Yukino said with a relieved sigh. ”I was just worrying whether any music stores were still open at this hour.”

The moment she said it, Yukino realized how anxious she had felt just moments before—and the realization left her oddly unsettled. Since when did I start worrying about Kotomi’s problems like this?

”Did you bring a string cutter too?” she asked.

”Sure did.”

Kotomi pulled out a specialized pair of wire cutters from her guitar bag. To be honest, when she had first gone to the music store to buy her guitar, she hadn’t even known there were tools made specifically for cutting guitar strings. She’d always assumed people just used regular pliers.

”Do you want me to show you how to replace them?” Yukino asked. Given Kotomi’s impressive performance skills, she found it hard to believe the girl wouldn’t know something so basic—but given how often Kotomi lacked knowledge about the finer details of guitar maintenance, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Nope, Kotomi thought to herself.

But after focusing for a second and activating her ”musical proficiency,” she smiled confidently.

Now I know how.

”Of course I can change strings,” Kotomi declared proudly. ”It’s such a simple task! Don’t forget—I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid.”

Yukino blinked. For most musicians, changing strings was an ordinary, routine task. But the way Kotomi said it made it sound like she was boasting about mastering some kind of groundbreaking technology.

Still, when Kotomi began using the cutters to remove the old strings and replace them with the new ones, her movements were perfectly standard and precise. Yukino finally relaxed. The strings Kotomi had brought weren’t cheap—it would’ve been a real waste if she’d ruined them through inexperience.

Once the strings were successfully changed, the three of them decided not to rehearse any further that night. Instead, they opened their suitcases and began setting up their makeshift beds for the night.

”Are we still rehearsing after we finish making the beds?”

As they spread out the bedding, Yui Yuigahama asked curiously.

Yukino Yukinoshita glanced toward Kotomi Izumi, silently signaling, You’re the leader—you decide.

”No, we’re done for today,” Kotomi replied while adjusting her pillow. ”We’ve practiced enough. If we keep pushing ourselves all night like some others do, it’ll only affect our performance tomorrow. Let’s rest early tonight.”

”An all-night rehearsal? People actually do that?” Yui asked, wide-eyed. It was the first time she’d heard of anyone choosing to stay up the entire night during after-school rehearsals.

”Some think they haven’t practiced enough, while others just find it fun,” Kotomi explained. ”Most of the students who pull all-nighters do it because they think staying overnight at school with their friends is something new and exciting. Once that idea takes hold, they stop feeling sleepy and decide to stay up chatting or practicing all night.”

”Those people are amazing. I couldn’t do that,” Yui admitted sheepishly. ”If I don’t sleep when it’s time to sleep, I completely lose energy. It’s like my brain starts yelling at me—’Go to bed already!’ The latest I’ve ever stayed up was eleven at night, and that was only because I had too much homework. I nearly fell asleep on my desk several times.”

Kotomi chuckled softly. She knew that feeling well.

Don’t get the wrong idea—it wasn’t because of anything strange. It was just that one time, Kotomi had gone to Yui’s house to tutor her in math, and it had run late.

The problem they were working on was a long, complex equation. Yui, who wasn’t exactly fond of thinking deeply about numbers, couldn’t wrap her head around it no matter how many times Kotomi explained. Kotomi kept trying different, simpler ways to teach her, taking deep breaths and reminding herself to stay calm and not lose her temper.

It was the first time Kotomi truly understood how painful it must be for parents to help their kids with homework.

If I ever have kids, I’m hiring a private tutor from day one, she had decided right then and there. Otherwise, I’ll end up dying of frustration before they even graduate elementary school.

No matter how she explained it, Yui couldn’t grasp the concept. And when she tried solving it herself, every single step was wrong.

They were stuck on that one problem for hours—torturing each other until ten at night.

By then, Kotomi was mentally exhausted, still brainstorming how to make it easier for the little dumpling to understand. When she turned to check on Yui, she found that the girl, who had been full of energy just minutes ago—despite getting every answer wrong—had suddenly gone quiet and listless.

Kotomi thought she might have been too harsh earlier and was about to comfort her, to say, ”It’s okay, let’s skip this one and move on.”

But when she leaned closer, she realized the truth.

That silly little dumpling had fallen asleep—right in the middle of her unfinished math homework.

Ever since that day, every time Kotomi went to Yui’s house for tutoring, the same thing happened. Once the clock hit ten, Yui’s energy would vanish like magic. By eleven, she’d be completely out cold, no matter how important the task.

That’s how Kotomi learned that Yui had a built-in ”shutdown” timer—an early sleeper through and through. At least, from Kotomi’s perspective, it was very early.

For Yui Yuigahama, eleven at night was her absolute latest bedtime.

For Kotomi Izumi, on the other hand, eleven p.m. was when the night life began—when she’d fire up Apex Legends.

Knowing how early Yui tended to sleep, Kotomi had checked her phone earlier and noticed it was already nine-thirty. That was why she’d suggested they start setting up the beds.

Otherwise, with Yui’s personality, she would’ve been too embarrassed to admit she was tired and wanted to sleep.

Yukino Yukinoshita quietly went about making her bed, not saying a word. When she finished, she took a glance at the placement of the futons and noticed something peculiar—Kotomi Izumi had laid hers right in the middle.

Kotomi’s futon was in the center, Yui Yuigahama’s was on the left, and Yukino’s was on the right.

Normally, Yukino wouldn’t have thought much of it. But ever since she learned that Kotomi liked girls, looking at how Kotomi had deliberately chosen the middle spot made her start to overthink things without meaning to.

Maybe it’s just because this is our first time staying overnight at school and she feels more comfortable being in the middle… but why does it look like she’s planning to sleep surrounded on both sides?

And wait—why did Yui put her futon so close to Kotomi’s?

Yukino frowned slightly. Between Kotomi’s futon and Yui’s, there was no gap at all. But between Kotomi’s and her own… there was still a tiny bit of distance.

It wasn’t much—but compared to Yui’s side, hers was definitely farther away!

Once she realized that, an inexplicable feeling of discomfort bubbled up inside her. She didn’t want to admit it, of course. So instead of saying anything, she quietly squatted down and nudged her futon closer to Kotomi’s.

When the two futons were finally touching, Yukino felt an odd sense of satisfaction, and her mood instantly improved.

Kotomi noticed the little movement but pretended not to. In truth, she had been watching Yukino’s subtle actions the entire time and couldn’t help but think,

This tsundere little Yukino—too proud to say anything, but still unwilling to lose when it comes to closeness… she’s way too cute!

Kotomi was tempted to tease her. If it were any other day, she probably would’ve already said something like, ”So, Miss Yukino, trying to close the distance, are we?”

But she remembered that tomorrow was the culture festival. Yukino was easily embarrassed, and if Kotomi called her out now, she might actually lose sleep over it.

If that affected her performance on stage, it wouldn’t be worth it.

”Kotomi, why are you smiling?” Yukino suddenly looked up and caught her staring. The look on Kotomi’s face made it seem like she was struggling to hold something back.

”N-no reason…”

For the first time, Kotomi realized how hard it was to suppress laughter without proper training.

”Really?” Yukino tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

”Really,” Kotomi said quickly, nodding with exaggerated seriousness—then promptly buried her face in her pillow.

I can’t hold it anymore!

Pff—ahaha!

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