"Wait, what did you just say?"
"I said I was a little tempted."
"Not that. You said Hōjō Shione is his girlfriend?"
Mio's eyes snapped open, her delicate brows knitting together. "What are you talking about? I'm his girlfriend."
"Ex-girlfriend, then. Hōjō Shione is his ex-girlfriend?"
A pause. "That's... what he said."
Mio's voice turned defensive. "But that's impossible. How could Hōjō Shione have any connection with someone like him? He's probably just another otaku with delusions. You should've seen it—he keeps promotional posters in his car like they're precious photos."
She recounted the incident—the glove compartment, the stack of posters, the complete lack of embarrassment on his face when confronted.
Reika was quiet for a moment. Then:
"Hard to say."
Mio's eyelid twitched. She sat up abruptly, irritation flaring.
Hard to say? Again?
Every time Shiratori Seiya came up, Reika said the same thing. Hard to say. It was starting to get on her nerves.
She kept her voice level, but barely. "And what brilliant insight do you have this time?"
"Think about it. He's rich. The way he treats you? He could've treated her the same way. And doesn't the internet always whisper about her having wealthy backers? How else do you rise that fast?"
Mio's lips parted. Then closed.
Her body slid back down the wall, the fight draining out of her.
"...When you put it like that, it's not entirely impossible."
Reika's voice shifted. "Wait. Mio, I thought you hated hearing people talk bad about Hōjō Shione?"
She wasn't wrong. Mio was obsessed.
From the moment she'd seen Shione perform on that New Singer Competition—that confidence, that voice—she'd been hooked. She listened to her songs daily. Sang them at every karaoke session. Defended her fiercely whenever rumors surfaced.
If friends speculated, Mio would smile and say, "I don't know about that, the media exaggerates everything. But her songs? They're genuinely good."
If strangers spread rumors online? She'd transform into a keyboard warrior, asking if their ancestors' memorial tablets were buried in radioactive soil.
Reika had learned long ago to avoid the topic during those peak rumor periods.
Now, the rumors had faded. The online battles had cooled. But still—hearing Mio entertain the possibility felt strange.
Mio hesitated. Chewed her words.
"I'm... just agreeing with you. From a logical standpoint, the possibility exists."
She didn't add the rest: I don't want it to be true. I don't want to be outshone.
Because that's what it was. Jealousy. Plain and simple.
If Hōjō Shione really had been Shiratori Seiya's girlfriend, then Mio would have to believe she'd done it out of necessity. Financial pressure. The same reason Mio was here.
And if that were true? Then she and a famous singer were in the same boat. That thought—perversely—comforted her.
"So," Reika pressed, "are you actually considering the acting thing?"
"No."
The word came out instantly.
"I said I was tempted. That's different. Even if everything he said was real, my dad would break my legs if he found out I was trying to be an actress."
Reika fell silent.
She'd known Mio since high school. Remembered the day an agent scouted them while they were shopping. Mio had that quality—the need to be noticed. It was why she wore things beyond her means, cultivated that center-of-attention aura in every group.
Reika had fully expected Mio to jump at the opportunity. Instead, she'd refused on the spot.
Later, Mio explained: her father was old-fashioned. Showa-era through and through. Girls should become housewives, support their husbands, raise children. That was the path.
In high school, Mio wore her uniform everywhere. The only "pretty" clothes allowed were yukata and inconspicuous casual wear.
Reika suspected the shopping spree—the debt, the luxury goods—was rebellion. Two million yen worth of pent-up frustration finally exploding.
"I'm just... tempted for a moment," Mio muttered. "It's nice to imagine. But realistically? All those famous actresses started as child stars. Their connections, their skills—miles ahead of mine."
"That's only partly true. Lots of people start training in university and only land their first drama years after graduating. What are you lacking compared to them?"
Mio didn't answer.
"Mio. Try it. You're already 'out' anyway. Study secretly. Do a small play or two. Your family won't know. By the time you graduate, your dad can't control you anymore."
Silence stretched across the line.
Then Mio laughed—a short, hollow sound.
"Forget it. I don't want it that badly. Too tiring. Too many rumors. The entertainment industry's a snake pit—one day you're being propositioned, the next you're being framed."
A pause.
"Besides. What if he's lying? What if he tricks me into some contract and I end up in adult films? I'd rather die."
"...Alright."
"Anyway. I'm tired, Reika. Talk later."
Before Reika could respond, Mio hung up.
>>>
The phone landed somewhere on the floor. The tiny rental room went silent.
Mio stared at the ceiling. Hollow. Empty.
Moonlight slipped through the window—cool, silver—illuminating the wall across from her bed.
A poster. Hōjō Shione.
Her gaze drifted to it. Slowly, she raised her hand, watching the singer's face through her spread fingers.
For a moment—just a moment—she imagined it was her own face on that poster.
Shiratori Seiya's words echoed unbidden:
"Have you ever thought about standing on a stage? Appearing on screen?"
"Don't say you can't. You'll never know how dazzling you can be until you try."
Outside, clouds drifted across the moon. The room plunged into darkness.
Mio blinked. The fantasy dissolved.
A self-deprecating smile touched her lips. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her head.
"Wishful thinking."