As another grueling practice with the Koto Club came to an end, the weight of exhaustion settled heavily on your shoulders. With a competition looming on the horizon, the pressure to excel had intensified, yet the progress seemed elusive. The club room emptied gradually, leaving only you and Chika Kudou amidst the remnants of the day's efforts.

Your relationship with Kudou was strained, to say the least. Like oil and water, your personalities clashed incessantly, turning every rehearsal into a battleground of conflicting opinions and bruised egos. As you both set about cleaning the room, an unspoken agreement to maintain silence hung in the air, a fragile truce born out of necessity.

Once the last trace of clutter had been whisked away, you made a beeline for the door, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. However, your departure was halted by Kudou's unexpected call, his hand grasping the string of your backpack with a surprising firmness, yanking you backwards slightly.

You turned to face him, your expression guarded, as he voiced his request in a deceptively nonchalant tone.

"Do you," he began, his eyes never breaking contact from yours, the grip on your backpack tightening slightly "do you think you can help me? You know, to practice the koto, I mean."