Band Girls’ Mixology Mission [188]

When people hear that Kikukawa Kyo loves rainy days and dislikes the kind of heat that makes her chug water, they assume she must hate sunny weather, right?

Hmm… okay. Not entirely wrong, in a way. Kyo’s fondness for sunlight usually comes with conditions—usually involving water.

Like light filtering through the tiny bathroom window, soft with steam. Or a lazy weekend on the balcony, half-submerged in a kiddie pool, soaking up warmth while the water keeps her cool…

But to Kyo, sunlight that isn’t too harsh—ideally winter-soft—makes a nice garnish.

Like that golden slice of lemon perched on a shot glass, a little sour on the air—yes, that’s how she sees the sun.

Today, though, the sun wasn’t just a garnish—something to brighten a drink without changing the taste.

It was as if someone, annoyed by that lemon slice, tossed it straight into the glass.

And the key was—surprisingly, the drink got better.

Kyo always says mixing drinks is “just combining things,” but even she knows you can’t just throw ingredients together.

Will they cancel out bitterness, or play to each other’s strengths? You have to think it through.

If you want a cautionary tale about random mixing: “strawberry dumplings,” “pineapple pizza,” and a dozen other pairings some people love to hate.

Sun and rain—two things that hardly meet, even seem opposed—yet when they blend, they can be startlingly harmonious.

Water’s a shapeshifter; even as “rain,” a tiny shift changes the mood.

Sunlight’s more direct, more fixed—heat and light, as straightforward and earnest as a hero’s justice. Simple, but deep.

Fine threads of rain, lit by warm sun, shed their usual chill. Each drop shows its path, each impact crisps into focus. The rain borrows the sun’s warmth, loses its bite—and reflects it back, turning the light to molten gold.

A drink worth savoring, with a long aftertaste—that’s Kyo’s honest take as a fan of mixing.

Then there were the two beside her—Sakiko and Soyo. What were they as ingredients? Irreconcilable—spoiling the glass just by touching? Or, with a patient bartender’s hand, could they become something uniquely good?

So Kyo started her own quiet tasting.

First step—study their notes.

What did Sakiko and Soyo mean to her? What were they to her?

Former bandmates, friends, tangled fates, companions who’d warmed each other…

But pinning down relationships precisely is hard for Kikukawa Kyo. Lines blur. Sometimes she even wonders whether anyone else can really keep them straight.

So, step back—define each one first.

Sakiko—soft and stubborn at once. Pride like a hedgehog’s spines. She looks rigid, but wavers inside. Even so, there’s a strong engine pushing her forward.

After that sudden upheaval, the once-confident Sakiko carries a stubborn self-reliance. If Kyo hadn’t caught her at her lowest, Sakiko might trust no one now.

Kyo admires that strength that keeps going through setbacks—weak points and all, she still fights on for herself.

Soyo, in Kyo’s eyes, is almost the opposite.

She leans on others. Constant interaction drains her, forces her to adapt just to fit in, but she has no choice. She needs to feel needed. That contradiction breeds another flaw:

She struggles with changes in relationships.

A stable life—ordinary words, deeply coveted. Sometimes just staying afloat uses up everything you’ve got.

Soyo clings hard to anything warm enough to hold.

Seen that way, the gap between Sakiko and Soyo really does look unbridgeable. Two opposite flavors; just picturing them together feels like a guaranteed mess.

Kyo’s answer to that:

Maybe that’s fine.

If something doesn’t work, why force it? You can spend forever hunting for a third—or fourth—ingredient to glue them together, but isn’t that just a forced blend of incompatible tastes? Is that worth it?

With so many people in the world, is it truly bad to let go of someone fundamentally mismatched?

If Kyo were in either of their shoes, she’d lay it all out, say goodbye cleanly. If they crossed paths later, she’d smile, say hi, and keep walking.

To Kyo, the core conflict—why Sakiko left, and whether their bond was real—doesn’t have to be fatal. If either side fully opens up—really bares what’s inside—it can be solved.

But who goes first? Should Sakiko set down her pride, or should Soyo drop her carefully kept mask? It isn’t fair for just one to carry it—both messed up.

They could go harder—argue it out, tear the wound wide, and make a decisive break. Simple, in its way.

Or they could butter it over with gentle lies and flour-sweet pretense, let time bake it into bread, and forget the crab and persimmon you should never eat together.

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This is a fan translation of 乐队少女调饮行动 by 林明卿. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!