Katawa Shoujo - Akira Satou Route

Act 4-6 Crisis

The air is laced with a mix of cigarette smoke and overbearing perfumes despite being in the open, a thick crowd wandering up and down the sidewalk outside a brightly lit building.

Drum beats and random notes spring out of the open door of the jazz club as the band inside warms up, ready to begin performing at any moment, and yet Akira is nowhere to be found. Granted, she still has a few minutes until the 9 P.M. mark, but I figure if the jazz concert were such a big deal she'd be here earlier.

Then again, she's proven to me once again today that she always shows up when I least expect it. Then again, it shouldn't come as a surprise that she'd show up at my workplace, given that it's where her boyfriend also works.

It could have gone with being a bit less awkward, though, especially with me hearing a lot of things I wasn't meant to hear.

But even so, the situation between them has become clear. Tetsuo wants one thing, Akira wants the other, and they can't both get what they want. It's all Tetsuo's call -- he can't keep stringing Akira along while he continues to hop at promotions like a carrot dangled on a stick.

Either way, I'm not given much time to dwell on it as soon a familiar head of blonde hair enters my sight, this time wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, her feet clad in sandals. The set of rubies that usually hang from her ears have been replaced by shimmering silver studs, reflecting a faint green glow as they catch the light from the neon sign in the window.

She dodges through the crowd with ease, a glimmer in her crimson eyes and a smile on her face as she stops in front of me. "Aww damn, you got here before me."

"I was just getting here myself, actually." I reply.

I'm a little embarrassed that I decided to show up in work jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't seem too far off dress code considering all the loosened ties and unbuttoned collars around me. If anything, I'm already sticking out more than usual thanks to being about ten years under the average age.

Akira, however, seems to fit in even without her usual attire. She's dressed as casually as can be and yet she still radiates an aura of beauty and maturity, as though anyone would be able to tell that she's a corporate lawyer off the clock.

"Have you ever been to something like this before?" She asks as we begin to walk inside, making a beeline for one of the empty tables near the stage.

I shake my head. "Not really, no. I was invited out to a rock concert with some friends once, but I decided to turn them down. The tickets were too expensive."

"Yeah, concert tickets can eat your lunch sometimes. The club pays them to do these gigs though, so we get to just kick back and enjoy." She says, shrugging her shoulders.

We manage to reach a good table before it can get snatched up by someone else, landing a spot within perfect distance of the stage. An area in front of the performance area has been cleared out, no doubt to make it easier for other performers who may arrive later on. Or perhaps it's opened up for people who can dance to this kind of music.

I slide the chair out for Akira, who gives a short "hah, such a gentleman" before taking her seat and glancing at the stage. There are about a dozen people getting ready, each carrying a different instrument. Trumpet and saxophone players each prepare for the show while others tune their guitar or hammer beats into a drum, lacing the air with random notes.

One man at the front of the group adjusts a microphone, the mass of his belly seeming to bulge against his hawaiian button-up shirt. A pair of sunglasses rest at the top of his head and a saxophone hangs by a black strap from his neck, the stage lights glimmering on its golden surface as he wrestles with the mic stand.