Chapter 10 | Pajamas in the Sunset

A nagging worry gnawed at me, one I couldn’t resolve on my own. It was something I wouldn’t know until the day itself, and all I could do was offer a silent prayer to the gods.

“Oh, it’s clear now, huh!” Makura exclaimed at three in the afternoon, pulling back the room’s curtains to peer outside.

“Yeah, what a relief.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “The weather radar said it’d probably be fine, but when it was drizzling this morning, I was seriously sweating.”

Exactly. The one uncertainty that lingered until the very end was the weather. When I stepped out at noon and felt raindrops, despair hit me like a punch. I checked a weather site on my phone, confirming it was just a passing shower, but my nerves stayed frayed until the clouds parted. Now that it had cleared, though, this rain might even play into our strategy’s favor.

“Alright, shall we get going?” Makura stood by the window, clasping her hands and stretching her upper body with a soft groan. At my words, she finished her stretch and zipped up her school gym uniform jacket.

“Let’s do this!” she replied, a slight smile curving her lips.

She looked ready—completely in the zone. Together, we left the house, heading toward the school.

“Manamichi-kun, you had a mock exam yesterday, right? How’d it go?” Makura asked as we walked.

“Yeah, I gave it everything I had.”

“Nice! Good work. You were really hitting the books for it, huh? Studying? Exam prep? You worked hard!”

“…Yeah. Harder than ever before.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at me. “Harder than ever?”

“Yeah.”

She seemed curious, probably wondering why this mock exam mattered so much. Well, there was a reason. On top of that, I’d been diving into video editing at the same time, so in that sense, I’d pushed myself to the limit.

“How about you? Finished preparing?” I asked, steering the conversation before she could probe further.

“Of course!” Makura’s voice brimmed with confidence. “It’s just one song this time, and I’ve got the lyrics down pat with repetition. …Now it’s just about doing it!”

“Got it. …Think you can pull it off?”

“Yup! I trust you, Manamichi-kun. I’m gonna nail this, so make it an awesome video!”

＊

The staff room was nearly deserted on a weekend, a stroke of luck. Posing as a student using a special classroom for club activities, I strolled to the keybox and snagged the rooftop key without issue. Climbing the stairs of the north school building, I found Makura waiting in the stairwell by the rooftop door. To avoid the busier hallway near the staff room, I’d sent her up first.

“How’d it go with the key? Whoa, you’re totally out of breath!” she said, noticing my heaving chest.

“Yeah, I got worried about letting you go alone… Like, what if you ran into someone or something.”

“So you ran up here for me? It’s fine, it’s fine. Just passing by someone’s no big deal. I’ve done it tons of times heading to the infirmary. Totally chill.”

“That so? Well, good thing nothing happened.” I held up the rooftop key for her to see.

“Really, thanks a bunch!” she said with a little giggle.

Stepping toward the door, I inserted the key. It turned smoothly with a slight push, and I eased the door open. Bright light flooded the dim stairwell. We stepped onto the rooftop and took in the view.

“Wow, what an amazing sunset!”

“Whoa, this is beautiful.”

A shoulder-height chain-link fence surrounded the area, offering an unobstructed view beyond. The town, bathed in the sunset’s glow, stretched out before us. The rooftop itself—our stage for the plan—shimmered with a soft orange hue.

I mentally pumped my fist. Perfect!

To show Uyama a shining Makura, reminiscent of her idol days, a simple video of her performance wouldn’t suffice. If the video didn’t gain traction—if it didn’t rack up views—it wouldn’t truly capture her radiance. A basic shoot wouldn’t cut it; the video needed a composition that would draw people in. I’d scoured SNS and video sites, studying trending, viral content. Among amateur high schoolers’ singing videos, it wasn’t just about a pretty face or vocal talent—videos with a nostalgic, melancholic vibe, the so-called “emo” aesthetic, tended to dominate.

So, I got meticulous about the stage. To avoid identifying the school, we’d steer clear of showing the outside scenery, but framing it clearly as a rooftop would scream “high school girl.” Add the sunset, and you’ve got that emo vibe locked in. And there was one more crucial gimmick for this stage.

“It’s about time. Shall we prep?” I said.

“Yup!” Makura nodded eagerly.

We set our bags down near the center of the rooftop. As I pulled out the video camera borrowed from Yako-san, Makura rummaged through her bag. She drew something out and held it up to the sunset with both hands.

Pajamas.

“Huh, you brought those?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup! I’m wearing them for the video shoot.”

“Hold on, we said we’d avoid showing your face and your body as much as possible, right?”

“It’s fine! These pajamas are my battle outfit. People watching might catch the vibe of what I’m wearing anyway. Plus—” Makura paused, her gaze dropping to the pajamas in her hands. “You told me to act like I’m a new version of myself, Manamichi-kun. So, I’m done dwelling on my idol days. I’m gonna do this my way now, with my own style. That’s why…”

“Got it. If that’s the case, I’m all for it. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me what you wear.”

Her own style—singing and dancing in pajamas. Maybe she was breaking free from her past by doing this. If so, I was happy for her. That said, I might’ve spoken too soon. Hearing my response, Makura flashed a bright smile and, still clutching her pajamas, stepped about three meters away. With alarming enthusiasm, she began shrugging off her gym uniform jacket.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” I shouted, panic surging through me as a major issue reared its head.

“W-What’s wrong!?” Makura’s voice spiked with alarm as she froze mid-motion, her T-shirt halfway off, a glimpse of her stomach catching the fading light.

“Y-You’re changing right there?” I stammered, my face heating up despite the cool rooftop breeze.

“Oh, right, sorry!” She tugged her clothes back down, glancing around sheepishly. Even in the sunset’s glow, her flushed cheeks were unmistakable. “I thought I could just change real quick. Back in my underground idol days, we’d do quick changes in cramped backstage spaces with everyone around, so it was normal…”

Still, sending her off to change elsewhere felt risky. The stairwell wasn’t safe—if someone passed by the fourth-floor hallway and noticed her, we’d be in trouble. “I’ll absolutely face the other way,” I said firmly, “so you’re good to change there.”

“Th-Thanks. Alright then…” Makura’s voice softened, tinged with relief.

I turned away, the rustle of her changing clothes filling the air. Don’t look back, I told myself, gripping the video camera tightly. I fumbled with the controls—flip the switch, adjust the screen for the light, focus on—damn it, why was her perfectly shaped navel flashing in my mind? I shook my head, forcing my attention to the camera.

“All done!” Makura called out.

I turned to find her standing in the slanting sunlight, clad in loose, navy-blue pajamas that shimmered faintly, the quintessential sleepwear. “Whoa, those are the ones you wear all the time, huh?”

“Yup, my go-to for relaxing. My battle pajamas,” she said with a grin.

“Nice. They suit you.”

She giggled, a soft “hehehe” escaping her lips. The setting sun flared brighter, and I checked my phone: 5:15 p.m. Perfect timing. “Shall we start?”

“Let’s do it!” Makura nodded, her grin fearless.

＊

We had to avoid showing Makura’s face, but a mosaic filter would ruin the emo vibe of the singing video. Filming her with her back turned felt like a waste, and sunglasses or a mask would be too cliché. So, I devised a setup: we’d shoot Makura as a silhouette against the sunset’s backlight, capturing her at the moment the sun dipped low, its zenith angle casting a dazzling glow. After the rain, the air was crisp, free of impurities, amplifying the sunlight’s clarity. The conditions couldn’t have been better.

Makura stood at the designated spot, and I adjusted the camera angle from about five meters away. As expected, her figure in the lens was a dark shadow, her features obscured. “How’s it look?” she asked, clutching her phone with both hands in front of her stomach.

“Perfect. Start whenever you’re ready, Makura.”

She glanced down, shifting her feet to settle into position, then took a deep breath and faced forward. “Here we go,” she murmured.

Makura had prepared a small speaker for the music, connected via Bluetooth to my phone. I tapped play for the karaoke version of a familiar song, its sharp guitar strums kicking off the intro. As the melody swelled, Makura swayed to the rhythm. She’d chosen a popular track, recently featured as a movie theme, one most people would recognize. In the sunset, her black hair danced vividly with each movement.

Before the A-melody, she raised her phone to her mouth like a microphone and began to sing. Her clear voice, gliding over the quiet melody, seemed to stretch endlessly through the air. I was instantly captivated. Her vocal range was staggering, and despite my worries about the open rooftop’s acoustics, the camera picked up her voice flawlessly.

It was a beautiful sound, one I couldn’t tear myself away from. But at the end of the A-melody, her voice cracked on the final note. For a split second, I thought she’d faltered—but no, it wasn’t a mistake.

As the B-melody began, the song’s tempo quickened, and Makura’s voice trembled with raw emotion, soaring with a quivering intensity. Listening closely, I realized the lyrics spoke of a girl’s suffering. She pointed forward, then swung her arm down sharply, leaning into the melody with fierce determination.

In the chorus, the girl’s anger erupted. The song shifted to a fast-paced rock vibe, and Makura’s voice took on a gritty edge, her words rolling with a raspy vibrato that lingered in my ears. Goosebumps prickled my skin—her singing felt like she was pouring her soul into every note.

Her silhouette tilted toward the sky, the sunset glimmering through the strands of her hair. I’d planned to stop after the first verse, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut the recording.

For the second A-melody, Makura ran her fingers through her hair, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, her voice softening yet still cracking as if on the verge of tears, maintaining that electric tension. I was so mesmerized I forgot to breathe.

I’d heard about her rigorous idol training. Uyama, her fan, had claimed her performances outshone any active idol. I’d even watched some of her old live footage. But to think her skill was this extraordinary.

She raised her hand, fingers grasping at the air with a dancer’s grace. Her theatrical voice was one you could listen to forever. As the C-melody began, she barked each word with a raspy edge. In the final chorus, raised a half-step, her voice never wavered, resonating into the distance. With a clenched fist thrust skyward, she nailed the last phrase, then lowered her head, waiting for the outro to fade.

It felt like I’d just witnessed a world-class live performance. There was no trace of the idol Kamakura Koyuna in her, yet she was far beyond a talented high school singer. A professional? Anyone watching would be desperate to know who she was.

This is definitely going to be an incredible video—

As the song ended, Makura exhaled, her body relaxing. She lifted her face, and like flipping a switch, a soft smile spread across her lips. I snap out of it, suddenly feeling like I’m back in reality.

“Hehe, how was it? I might’ve gone a bit overboard,” Makura said, her voice light but tinged with a hint of self-consciousness.

“No, that was seriously amazing. I couldn’t even imagine it,” I replied, still reeling from her performance.

“Really? I never sang like that as an idol, so I doubt anyone’ll figure it out.”

“It had so much intensity… Honestly, I’m at a loss for words. It’s like all your hard work came through crystal clear.”

“Haha. Hearing that from you, Manamichi-kun, makes me feel like it was all worth it. Thanks for watching.”

“No, thank you—”

A loud clank cut me off—the rooftop door swinging open behind us. My heart skipped a beat. Makura flinched, her shoulders jumping.

Her voice had rung out so powerfully, it was no surprise someone in the school building noticed. At least we’d finished filming. Bracing myself, I turned around cautiously.

“I got a report that someone was on the rooftop—but it looks like no one’s here, huh?” Kumada-sensei stood there, scanning our faces with a small chuckle.

“W-What the heck, Satomi-chan, don’t scare me like that!” Makura slumped, her head dropping as if all the air had left her body.

I exhaled deeply, relief washing over me.

“Someone from the sports field, where the clubs were practicing, tipped me off about people on the rooftop. I jumped up and said I’d check it out,” Kumada-sensei explained. “So? You done with whatever you were doing up here?”

She’d saved us from a real mess. “Yes, we’re done. Thank you,” I said.

“Sorry, and thanks, Satomi-chan,” Makura added.

“No problem. In return, you’ve gotta tell me what you guys made.”

“Yup!” Makura nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm infectious.

Kumada-sensei smiled and held out her hand to me. “Alright, Negoro-kun, hand over the key. I’ll say I grabbed it when I came up here and return it to the keybox later.”

“Sorry, and thanks.” I fished the key from my pocket and handed it over.

“Okay, someone else might come up to check, so get out of here quick.”

“Yes!” we replied in unison.

Makura and I scrambled to pack up, leaving the rooftop behind. There was no time to bask in the afterglow, but the heat of her performance still simmered in my veins. Unable to contain the rush of emotions, I turned to her as we descended the stairs.

“Makura!”

She stopped, tilting her head with a curious “What’s up?”

I thrust out a clenched fist in front of her. It was the fist bump we’d done before—her move last time, but now it was mine. Makura met my fist with a light tap, a small knock that felt like a shared victory.

“Good work, Makura.”

“You too, you must be beat, Manamichi-kun. Thanks.”

We shared a soft laugh, our footsteps quickening as we hurried down the stairs.