"You... you actually have a girlfriend?"
Shiratori Seiya was focused on the road when Takahashi Mio's voice cut through the silence with that utterly nonsensical question.
"Hmm?"
He glanced over while waiting at a traffic light. Mio had her hand raised, fingertips tracing something on the car roof. Apparently unsatisfied with just feeling it, she'd pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, and now held the screen up for him to see.
"This must be her exclusive seat, right?"
The photo was clear. Handwritten words on a pinkish-white sticker:
Seiya's first car. I hope to be with him forever.
"..."
The light turned green. Shiratori Seiya faced forward, pressed the accelerator, and said nothing.
Mio lowered her phone, studying his profile for a moment. Then, curiosity getting the better of her:
"So... did you two break up?"
"Yes."
"Ah."
She nodded, somewhat relieved. At least she wasn't accidentally becoming a homewrecker.
She didn't doubt his word. With a personality as infuriating as his? Most people probably couldn't stand him for long.
But he was so rich. What could have happened to make someone dump him?
Lying back in her seat, Mio's mind churned with possibilities. And then, unbidden, a flicker of competitive spirit ignited.
She found herself wondering: what did his ex look like? Was she as pretty as me?
Probably not, right?
By the third traffic light, she couldn't hold back anymore.
"What did your ex-girlfriend look like? Can I see a photo?"
She emphasized the word ex deliberately. Not to assert dominance—well, maybe a little—but mostly out of pure feminine curiosity.
"Glove compartment. There are pictures inside."
"Oh."
Mio kept her face neutral, but internally she was already rolling her eyes. Keeps photos of his ex? Still hung up on her. What a scumbag.
Suppressing her irritation, she popped open the glove compartment.
And froze.
They weren't photos. Not really.
A stack of promotional posters. Concert flyers. Magazine cutouts.
All featuring the same face.
Mio's breath caught. She knew that face. Everyone knew that face.
She pulled one out, holding it up with a disbelieving eyebrow raise.
"You're saying Hōjō Shione is your ex-girlfriend?"
"Yes."
Shiratori Seiya's voice was calm. Completely calm. Eyes still on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
Mio's lips parted. Then closed. Then parted again.
She stared at his profile, searching for any trace of irony. Any hint that this was a joke.
Nothing.
She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the word that wanted to escape her throat: Hysteria.
Hōjō Shione. Debuted second semester of her second year of high school. In one year, she'd won the grand prize for young singers in the Kansai region. Her voice was celestial, her looks were stunning—easily on par with Mio's own. She had a powerhouse team behind her, writing lyrics and composing music that became instant classics.
Yakimochi. Sakura Kimi Watashi. Mio had cried watching her perform those on TV.
And this guy was claiming to be her ex-boyfriend?
Mio wanted to laugh. Wanted to mock. Wanted to say something cutting and sarcastic.
But he'd given her money. A lot of money. So she just offered a strained, fake smile.
"I've been following her since she debuted. I know all her songs."
So please. Stop pretending.
That's what she meant. That's what anyone would mean.
But Shiratori Seiya, apparently oblivious to her skepticism, asked:
"You've seen her perform on TV, right? What do you think of her on stage?"
Mio blinked, caught off guard. "What do I think?"
"Yes. Your impression."
She hesitated, then let her genuine thoughts slip out.
"She's... beautiful. Dazzling. Never gets stage fright. So cool. So composed..."
Shiratori Seiya almost smiled.
Never gets stage fright.
If only she knew.
Her first performance hadn't been on TV. It had been at a high school competition. Hōjō Shione had been so nervous her sweat had soaked into the microphone, shorting it out mid-performance. The sound died completely.
He'd swapped it out in seconds, kept things moving. But backstage afterward, she'd collapsed into his arms and cried for what felt like forever. It had taken a long time to calm her down.
The memory flickered through his mind—warm, distant, irrelevant now.
He turned to look at Takahashi Mio. For a moment, he saw an echo of Shione in her. The same potential. The same uncertainty hiding beneath the surface.
A gentle smile crossed his face—rare, unguarded.
"Actually, you could do it too. If you wanted. Stand on a stage. Let the spotlight hit you. Dazzle everyone."
Mio's expression froze.
Her heart stuttered. Once. Twice.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Eh?
EH?!
What are you even saying?! Dropping cheesy lines like that out of nowhere—I'm embarrassed FOR you!
Idiot.
>>>>>
7:00 PM.
Takahashi Mio stumbled into her apartment like a zombie, arms laden with over a dozen shopping bags. The elevator had felt like an eternity. Now, finally, she was home.
Clatter.
The bags hit the floor the moment she crossed the threshold. She kicked off her shoes—couldn't be bothered with slippers—and padded barefoot through the living room straight to her bedroom.
Thump.
She face-planted onto the bed. The soft mattress welcomed her like an old friend. Every ache, every sore muscle, seemed to fade just a little.
She couldn't keep her eyes open.
A date. How is a date this exhausting?
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Weren't dates supposed to be sweet? Romantic? Not... whatever this was. She felt like she'd spent the day moving bricks at a construction site.
Her arms ached. Her back ached. Her waist ached. Her legs ached. Her knees ached. Her ankles ached. Even her toes felt sore.
And Shiratori Seiya? Completely fine. Like he was made of iron.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Her phone vibrated somewhere in the bags on the floor.
Mio stared at the ceiling.
Her brain said answer it. Her body said never move again.
The vibration stopped. Then started again.
With a groan, she slithered off the bed like Sadako climbing out of a well. Arm stretched. Fingers hooked the bag strap. Dragged it close.
She fished out the phone. The screen glowed: Reika.
She answered.
"Hello...?"
Silence.
"Mio? You there?"
More silence.
"MIO."
"I'm here... I can hear you..."
Reika paused. When she spoke again, her voice was cautious.
"What's wrong with you? I thought our cycles were synced?"
"Not that... Just... tired."
Talking while prone was exhausting. And uncomfortable. She twisted like a pretzel, searching for a better position.
Reika's voice went sharp. "Wait. You didn't... you know... give it to him, did you?"
"Tsk. Don't be gross." Mio's eyes stayed closed. "We walked. For over six hours."
"A marathon?"
"Exaggerated. But... yeah. Basically."
She counted on her fingers. "Shopping. Dinner. Hair salon. Movie. Fashion show..."
"That's a lot, but it doesn't sound that bad?"
"Reika."
"Yeah?"
"You know you've never beaten me in a physical fitness test, right? High school too. And I was in gymnastics club."
"...Yeah."
"So if I'm this tired..."
Reika went quiet.
Mio stared at the ceiling, replaying the day in her head. The clothes. The salon. The way he'd looked at her when he said those cheesy words.
"That guy... he's not right."
"Not right? What do you mean?"
"Everything." Mio's voice was distant. Thoughtful. "He asked me today if I wanted to be famous. An actress. In the spotlight."
A pause.
"He told me Hōjō Shione is his ex-girlfriend."
Reika inhaled sharply.
"And... Reika?" Mio's voice dropped. "Except for that last part? I was a little tempted."