All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

When Aimi Izumi returned to Sobu High School, she had just stepped through the gate when she saw Iroha Isshiki waiting not far away.

”Iroha, have you been waiting for me this whole time?” Aimi asked as she hurried over.

”Yeah. I was worried you might not know where the school auditorium is and get lost when you came back, so I waited here for a bit. You walk pretty fast though—it’s been exactly forty-three minutes since you left.”

”My house isn’t that far from Sobu High... wait a second! How could I possibly get lost inside the school?!”

”Then tell me—do you know where the auditorium is?”

”Uh... no.”

”There you go. Come on, the show’s about to start. Even though senpai’s performance is the finale, if we don’t go early, all the good seats will be gone.”

”Oh, right! We’d better hurry then. Let’s run, Iroha!”

”No need to run. The auditorium doors aren’t even open yet...”

...

Time quickly passed into the afternoon.

It was already winter, and compared to standing outside in the cold wind, most people preferred staying in the warm auditorium watching the students perform.

The host had already stepped onto the stage for the opening speech. This part was always rather boring—no matter how well-written the opening remarks were, given the limitations of both the venue and the host’s ability, it was hard to stir up excitement in the audience.

This year’s host, however, had figured it out.

His opening speech was remarkably brief. He thanked the audience, thanked the performing students, thanked the school, added a couple of short lines, and that was it.

He wrapped up within two minutes, earning a round of cheers. Finally, Sobu High had a host who could speak simply and get straight to the point!

The first group of students then came on stage to kick off the performances.

Some shows were excellent, full of energy and polish, drawing waves of applause. Others were mediocre or poorly prepared, with various mistakes—boring and awkward to watch.

Of course, there were also those programs that were dull at first but suddenly became hilarious because of a perfectly timed mistake, transforming into unexpected comedy gold.

Good or bad, each performance had its own charm. For the first-year students, this was their eagerly anticipated first cultural festival; for the third-years, it was their last precious memory of high school life.

Applause, cheers, and laughter echoed throughout the auditorium—but amidst it all, a quiet melancholy lingered in the hearts of many students.

In February, the college entrance exams awaited.

Some would be forced to part ways with lovers, others with close friends and classmates. There was anticipation for the future—but also anxiety.

What exactly was university life like?

Would the people beside them now still be there when they got there?

Although high school graduates didn’t face the same immediate employment crisis as college graduates, smartphones now made information flow faster than ever. Every day, students were bombarded with news and updates from all directions. This constant influx brought not only awareness—but also unease.

It made them feel the harshness of society ahead of time, and the growing pressure of job competition.

It wasn’t that there were no jobs left in the world—but after over ten years of hard study, who could feel content ending up delivering parcels or food? There was no shame in honest work—but the pay gap between jobs was undeniable. Who wouldn’t yearn for something better?

The worries that plagued college students were now being sensed by high schoolers too.

So, for many third-year students, once the exams ended, their thoughts were no longer about how to enjoy university life—but whether they could even find a job after graduating.

And for those who weren’t planning to go to university at all, life after graduation loomed even closer. Some had once thought that skipping college would be easier—no need to study so hard for exams—but now they could feel the pressure building.

Those who decided not to continue studying weren’t all poor students. Some were excellent in their studies—but forced to give up their university dreams for financial reasons.

There were simply too many places at home that needed money.

Everyone had their struggles. Everyone was doing their best, in their own way, just to keep living.

Backstage in the auditorium, Kotomi Izumi glanced at the time on her phone. There were twenty minutes left before their performance.

”I just snuck over to the main entrance to take a peek,” Yui Yuigahama said, gulping down a bottle of cold mineral water in one go to calm her nerves. But her voice still carried a trembling tension. ”There are so many people out there.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration—every seat in the auditorium was taken. Though chairs filled the entire hall, it was still standing room only for many spectators.

”Eh? But when the afternoon session started, there weren’t that many people, right?” Yukino Yukinoshita asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

”There are always some people who only come to watch the finale performance,” Kotomi explained with a smile. ”Before that, they usually wander around the cultural festival outside. It’s only when the finale’s about to start that they come rushing into the auditorium.”

Then, with a teasing grin, she added, ”Which means—they’re all here for us~.”

As Kotomi spoke, Yui kept her head lowered, quietly taking deep breaths.

Yukino shot Kotomi a meaningful look before walking casually over to her. In a low voice that only the two of them could hear, she murmured, ”Yui went to the restroom earlier and cried for a bit. She’s still too nervous.”

Kotomi gave a small nod. She had already noticed the faint traces of tears on Yui’s cheeks earlier. But before coming here, she had used her privilege as the finale performer to extend their stage time by an extra thirty minutes.

Of course, it wasn’t that they would use the entire half-hour strictly for performance. The extended time was just to give them breathing room—to make sure they could perform comfortably without rushing. If they finished early, they’d simply step down from the stage when done.

After all, once the two songs were over, Kotomi still had one more solo piece to perform—the third song, dedicated to Shizuka Hiratsuka.

Having settled the timing issue, Kotomi turned her attention back to Yui.

”Yui, are you still nervous?”

”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t... but it’s okay. I won’t freeze up, and I won’t mess up. Because on stage, I won’t be alone—you and Yukino will be right there with me.”

Yui smiled brightly, her face clear and determined, with no trace of the earlier gloom.

”Yeah. Then the three of us will do our best together!”

”Mm. There’s no room for hesitation anymore. Whether nervous or not, the only thing we can do now is focus on one thing—give it our all!” Yukino declared firmly. As the performance drew closer, even her normally composed demeanor began to crack, excitement rising in her voice.

She couldn’t help but feel puzzled by her own surge of emotion. Why was she feeling so fired up now, of all times?

Then she understood.

Because this time—this performance—was her own choice. She wanted Kotomi to have a perfect, successful show. That’s why she willingly sat down at the piano again, even though she’d always disliked it—perhaps even resented it.

Yukino had never liked the piano.

She hadn’t liked it in the past, and she knew she never would in the future. Back when her mother forced her to practice every day, that pressure had bred a quiet but lasting aversion.

Yet, during these past weeks of rehearsal—and for the moments ahead on stage—Yukino truly wanted to pour her heart into her playing.

”Everything okay, Yui?” Yukino asked, glancing toward her.

Yui nodded. Yukino had to admit it—Yui’s singing talent was beyond her reach. There was nothing left for her to teach. All she could feel now was admiration... and a little envy.

Envy for such natural talent. Regret that Yui hadn’t had the chance to pursue music properly when she was younger.

”No problem at all!” Yui replied with a radiant smile.

At that very moment, applause erupted from the audience. The curtain on stage slowly fell.

”The second-to-last performance has ended. Three-member band, please get ready!” called a staff member from backstage.

The three girls exchanged glances, nodding in silent understanding.

”Alright,” Kotomi said, taking a deep breath. ”Let’s get on stage and make it count.”

Backstage staff helped carry the heavy sound system and musical keyboard onto the stage and assembled everything carefully. Several upperclassmen from the music department assisted in tidying up the cables on the floor. For art and music majors like them, handling equipment wiring was second nature.

Yui Yuigahama kept adjusting the height of her microphone stand until Yukino Yukinoshita reminded her that she was better at singing with the microphone in hand. Realizing this, Yui laughed awkwardly and removed the stand.

After connecting her guitar, Kotomi Izumi strummed a few notes to test the sound. The vibrations from the speakers on both sides of the stage sent a shiver down her spine.

”What’s wrong? Are you scared?” Yukino asked with a teasing smile.

”A little bit,” Kotomi admitted, smiling wryly. ”But if I were the type to get stage fright, I wouldn’t have decided to form a band in the first place—and I definitely wouldn’t have just finished writing a third song.”

”Eh? A third song?” Yui almost bit her tongue in surprise. That was a close call—if she really had, she might not have been able to sing later.

”Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Yukino said with exasperation, her mouth twitching slightly. ”Even if we tried to memorize the lyrics and melody before the curtain rises, there’s no time!”

She knew Kotomi had a habit of improvising, but there were limits! Suddenly announcing a new song now—there was no way they could learn it in time. Even if she had mentioned it an hour earlier, it would’ve been something.

Seeing the two’s reactions, Kotomi chuckled softly and motioned for them to calm down.

”Don’t worry. After the second song, you two can step off the stage. The third one’s meant to be a solo—I’ll sing and play it myself.”

”Are you sure about that?” Yukino asked, still a bit uneasy.

”Relax.” Kotomi gave a thumbs-up. ”I’ve got it covered.”

”Wow, Kotomi, you’re amazing! You wrote a song in just one afternoon!” Yui said, eyes sparkling with admiration. She couldn’t write songs herself, but she listened to music often enough to understand how hard composing truly was.

That Kotomi could write a complete song from scratch in such a short time felt unbelievable—yet, somehow, perfectly natural for her. Kotomi had that kind of presence, the kind that made people believe she could make miracles happen.

”Haha, well, to be honest, I’d been thinking about this third song for a while,” Kotomi explained with a sheepish grin. ”It’s just not fully polished yet. I’ll make some adjustments on the fly while singing, depending on how I feel.”

She then glanced at the microphone in Yui’s hand. ”Oh, right—Yui, when we finish the second song, don’t take your mic with you when you go offstage. I’ll use yours for the third song.”

”Ah... o-okay!” Yui nodded eagerly. Just the thought of Kotomi singing with the same microphone she had used made her cheeks blush a soft pink.

Yukino wasn’t sure why, but a strange feeling rose in her chest—something faintly unpleasant. ”Kotomi, do you need my keyboard for your third song?” she asked casually.

Kotomi didn’t catch the hint of jealousy in Yukino’s tone. After briefly recalling the melody in her mind, she shook her head decisively.

”I know a little bit about keyboards, but I’m not that confident. And since it’s a solo, I’ll just sing and play the guitar.”

”...Suit yourself. Do your best,” Yukino said, turning away with a faint huff.

Kotomi blinked, puzzled. What’s with this sudden attitude? Is she sulking again?

Just wait until you’re my wife someday, Kotomi thought playfully, then I’ll teach you how to behave properly!

She cleared her throat, adjusting her mood for the upcoming performance. To make sure she could deliver her third song flawlessly, she decided to warm up her voice and test the mic.

”Yui, can I borrow your microphone for a second?”

”Sure!”

Without hesitation, Yui handed her the microphone, not even asking what she planned to do with it.

To Yui, everything Kotomi did was always right.

Even if no one else understood, Yui would still think, I may not get it, but whatever Kotomi’s doing—it must be right!

”Testing~ testing~ ah~” Kotomi spoke into the microphone to check the sound connection, and the moment her voice came through the speakers, a wave of ecstatic cheers erupted from beyond the curtain.

”Goddess!!!”

”Kotomi baby, Mommy loves you!”

”I want to be Miss Kotomi Izumi’s dog!”

”Ah—your voice is too beautiful! It’s breaking my heart!”

”Wife—!!!!”

The roar of the crowd was like a stormy sea, powerful enough to shake the curtains. The shouts came from both male and female students alike—girls screamed no less fiercely than the boys, and the boys matched them in volume. Everyone from Sobu High seemed to pour their entire energy into cheering for Kotomi.

”Next, please welcome Year 1 Class F’s Kotomi Izumi, Yui Yuigahama, and Yukino Yukinoshita! They’ll be performing an original musical ensemble!” the host announced loudly at the perfect moment.

The second the audience heard Kotomi Izumi’s name, their attention locked onto the stage as if electrified.

Finally—it was Kotomi’s turn!

Even the third-years who had been weighed down by the stress of their uncertain futures set aside their worries and focused entirely on the performance, applauding with renewed vigor.

At least, for this moment, they could forget their troubles and simply enjoy Kotomi Izumi’s live performance—a comfort in itself.

From first-years to seniors, there was hardly anyone at Sobu High who didn’t know Kotomi Izumi. Though she had never entered any school beauty contests, she had long since—and effortlessly—become known as the school’s number-one beauty.

It was a title universally acknowledged, one that no one dared dispute.

”Wow, it really is a full house,” Kotomi said with a laugh, handing the microphone back to Yui.

”Calling it a full house doesn’t even cut it,” Yukino remarked with a faint smile, her hands already resting on the piano keys. ”It’s practically your concert, Kotomi.”

”It’s our concert,” Kotomi corrected with a cheerful grin. ”The three of us together.”

”It’s finally starting,” Yui said, her tone playful. ”It’s so weird—before getting on stage, I was super nervous, but now that I’m standing here, I just want to rip open this curtain and shout at the top of my lungs, melody be damned!”

”If you can still joke like that, then you’re not nervous anymore,” Yukino said, her voice steady and composed. ”Kotomi, Yui—if either of you feel lost or hesitate during the performance, just calm down and focus on my playing. I’ll guide you through the melody, help you find the rhythm again, and remind you of the lyrics.”

She flexed her wrists lightly, her cool expression softening—the ice seemed to melt.

”Then we’ll leave it to you, Yukino,” Yui said with a bright smile. ”You’ll be the ’lighthouse’ in our performance!”

”Yeah!” Kotomi laughed. ”Little Yukino, you’re the lighthouse among us three—you’ll shine the way! Let’s surprise everyone out there and show them what we can do!”

”Y-you two... are exaggerating a little...” Yukino stammered. She wasn’t used to being praised—and now, being complimented by both Kotomi and Yui at once, her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.

Kotomi looked at the two of them with a warmth that came from the heart. How lucky she was—to be able to stand here on this stage with them.

”Yukino, Yui... thank you. Thank you so much for staying with me through this whole journey—through our rehearsals, our long days, and all my selfish moments. I’m so grateful to both of you for standing on this stage with me.”

”Save those words for after the performance,” Yukino said, folding her arms, though her voice carried an uncharacteristically gentle tone. A faint smile played across her usually calm face.

”Then let’s do this together!” Yui declared, raising a clenched fist high. ”Let’s enjoy every second of this performance! Don’t worry about the audience—this show belongs to us! Let’s make today an unforgettable memory for the three of us. And why just ’the best’? Because someday, we might create even better ones! There’s no ’best’—only ’better’!”

It was the same belief Kotomi had held from the very beginning.

Let this first—and last—cultural festival performance become a beautiful memory shared between her, Yui, and Yukino. No matter how many years or decades passed, the three of them would be able to recall it instantly.

Kotomi Izumi, Yui Yuigahama, and Yukino Yukinoshita exchanged glances once more. The same understanding appeared in all three of their hearts, wordless yet perfectly in sync.

—This isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. As long as the three of us are together, even more beautiful moments will keep being born.

”Yeah, you’re right. No need to worry about the audience—this is our time! Yui, Yukino, if I mess up the guitar later, you’re not allowed to laugh at me, okay?” Kotomi said with a grin.

”Of course we’ll laugh!” Yui replied immediately, chuckling mischievously. ”You’ve never made a mistake playing guitar before. If you really do slip up, that’ll be such a once-in-a-lifetime sight that I’ll have to remember it forever.” Even the cheerful airhead had her moments of sly humor.

”If you mess up playing your own song,” Yukino said coolly, ”I’ll point at you and laugh.”

”Point and laugh at me? Oh, great—now I suddenly feel like doing it on purpose,” Kotomi teased. ”I’ve never seen you laugh out loud, Yukino... Ow! Hey, Yukino, the show’s about to start—don’t hit me on the head!”

”I’m doing it to make sure you take the performance seriously. Besides, you’ve hit me before,” Yukino replied matter-of-factly.

This little ice queen really held grudges... Kotomi puffed her cheeks slightly, vowing to herself that one day, she’d find a thousand ways to fix Yukino’s stubborn attitude.

After steadying her breathing, Kotomi snapped her fingers. The upperclassman in charge of the curtain understood the signal and pressed the button.

Yui stood in the center, Kotomi and Yukino on either side.

The three of them faced forward, gazing at the curtain as it began to part.

Kotomi took a deep breath. In her mind, memories played like a film—the day she first invited Yukino and Yui to form their three-member band, every moment since then had been a miracle. Buying her very first guitar. The endless hours of practice they’d poured their hearts into. Singing with Yui at karaoke. That night she spent at Yukino’s home. And just last night—staying at school late with both of them to rehearse, then falling asleep side by side.

Every one of those memories made her lips curl into a faint smile. Those moments were the reason she wanted to give her all in this performance.

Kotomi tightened her grip on her guitar’s neck and stared straight ahead.

Her fingers trembled slightly—but that was fine. The trembling born of excitement would only make her play with more passion.

And then—

The curtain rose, and the stage lights burst into brilliance.

—

—

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