Facts have an uncomfortable habit of twisting themselves into shapes that defy expectations.
"But you don't have to worry, Brother-in-law! My sister said she knows you don't want to see her, so she's only bringing me."
Shiratori Seiya held the phone to his ear, listening to Hōjō Suzune's cheerful voice chirping through the speaker like an overly energetic bird at dawn. He said nothing for a long moment.
"Brother-in-law? Are you still there?"
Suzune's voice softened, sensing something amiss in the silence.
"Yes. I'm here."
"Brother-in-law... do you not want me to come to Tokyo?"
Her voice shifted instantly—suddenly aggrieved, trembling on the edge of tears. Even through the phone, Shiratori Seiya could picture her expression: lower lip caught between her teeth, eyes glistening with manufactured moisture, the very picture of wounded innocence.
He was, unfortunately, completely desensitized to this particular performance.
Hōjō Suzune had deployed this tactic more times than he could count. Her fake crying was, arguably, her most refined skill—second only to her actual musical talent. She could summon tears on command like a weather mage calling rain.
When her words received no immediate response, Suzune seemed to sense his skepticism. She pivoted smoothly.
"Brother-in-law, you don't believe me? Then I'll let my sister tell you herself!"
Before he could object, she'd already thrust the phone toward the girl beside her.
"Hello? Seiya."
Hōjō Shione's voice flowed through the receiver—exceptionally gentle, warm as honey, caressing his ear with familiar intimacy.
"Hello."
"I'm sorry to trouble you with this. I'll be busy with rehearsals in a few days, and there are so many agency matters to handle..."
She paused delicately.
"I truly can't spare any time. So I'm afraid I'll have to impose on you to take Suzune around Tokyo for her birthday."
"Understood."
The word came automatically, a reflex. But even as he agreed, questions churned beneath the surface of his calm response.
Why would Shione agree to this?
He knew Suzune liked him. Shione knew it too—better than anyone. During their time together, she'd often curled into his arms after Suzune had been particularly clingy, pouting and complaining about her sister's "inappropriate behavior." She'd wanted him to maintain distance. Boundaries. The kind of clear lines that kept things from getting complicated.
More than once, Shione—who rarely lost her temper—had argued with her sharp-tongued sister over this very issue. She'd never won, of course. Suzune's verbal jabs were legendary in the Hōjō household. But afterward, Shione would always end up in his arms, crying like an injured kitten until he comforted her.
She'd been so reluctant just two days ago when she'd come to see him. So clearly still carrying feelings.
So why this sudden generosity?
He'd been so certain Shione would refuse that he'd made the request to Suzune with absolute confidence. Now that confidence had backfired spectacularly, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what angle Shione was playing.
The silence stretched. Through it, Shione seemed to sense his confusion. After a moment's thought, she spoke again.
"Seiya... can I ask you something?"
"I might not answer."
A soft sigh traveled through the phone line.
"You've changed so much. Do all men become this cold after a breakup?"
She paused, as if gathering herself, then continued with a hint of playful sadness.
"We're still friends, aren't we?"
He said nothing.
"Actually..." Her voice softened, became thoughtful. "I think I understand now. Just like you said—two people who love each other don't always end up together."
Listening to her gentle tone, Shiratori Seiya's lips parted slightly.
"No matter what, I hope you're doing well."
"Mm." She sounded almost peaceful. "After all, happiness isn't the only purpose of life. Even if I can't be happy myself, it's enough to know that I've helped make happy people happy. So I hope Seiya will be happy with whoever you end up with."
She took a breath.
"But no matter what, I'll never forget the time I spent with you. Not in this lifetime. I'll carry the expectations you once had for me and keep moving toward my dreams."
A pause. When she spoke again, her voice held a quiet smile.
"So please, just watch me from the audience someday. That's also the happiness I want, Seiya."
The words landed softly, sincerely. The doubts that had been forming in his mind began to dissolve, replaced by something quieter.
"Mm."
"Oh!" Shione's voice brightened suddenly, as if remembering something important. "I almost forgot."
"I passed along your message to Miss Aoki like you asked. But she mentioned there seem to be some copyright issues that need your attention. She asked you to contact her as soon as possible."
"Copyright issues?" Shiratori Seiya frowned. "We already signed the contract before."
"She didn't give me the details. I'm not sure what the situation is."
"Understood. I'll contact her."
"Mm. Well then—good night, Seiya."
Click.
The line went dead.
Shiratori Seiya stared at his phone, the dial tone humming in his ear.
She hung up? Just like that?
In the Hōjō living room, Hōjō Suzune's head snapped toward her sister so fast her neck crackled.
Eh?!
An incredulous sound escaped her lips, followed by an outraged cry.
"Why did you hang up?! Why did you just hang up?!"
Hōjō Shione pursed her lips, placed her phone delicately on the coffee table, and turned to face her sister with an expression of serene innocence.
"Everything that needed to be said has been said. Seiya already agreed to take you around Tokyo. What more do you want?"
"I had more to say! I still had things to say!"
Suzune's small face trembled with barely contained fury. Her delicate brows drew together, her lips pressed into a thin line of betrayal.
She had just endured her sister's nauseatingly sweet performance—forcing herself to sit through that whole saccharine monologue—all for the chance to snatch the phone back and actually discuss plans with Shiratori Seiya. Where to meet. What to do. How long he'd spend with her.
But the moment Shione had finished her little show, she'd cut the line without warning.
Was she addicted to hogging everything?! First Seiya, now phone calls with Seiya—what's next, breathing the same air as him?!
While Suzune fumed, Shione studied her calmly. Her gaze traveled from the top of her sister's head to the tips of her toes, cataloging with clinical precision.
Hōjō Suzune wasn't tall—barely scraping 155 centimeters—but she'd inherited the Hōjō family's striking features with interest. Oval face, cherry-red lips, eyes that held a natural allure even when she was mentally composing her sister's obituary. Her chest was... considerably more modest than Shione's, certainly. But adequate. Functional. Probably exactly the size Seiya could cup in one palm, if Shione were being precise about it.
But all of that was secondary. In Shione's professional assessment, her sister's true weapon was her legs.
Straight. Slender. Pale as fresh milk under the living room lights—so pale you could trace the faint blue veins branching beneath the skin like river systems on a map. Combined with her delicate overall appearance, they triggered something primal. Protective instincts. The kind of response that made men want to shield her from the world.
The so-called "fair, thin, and young" trifecta that men allegedly found irresistible.
*Is it an Asian thing?
Shione nodded with quiet satisfaction.
Perfect.
Under this silent scrutiny, Suzune felt like ants were crawling across her skin. She pressed her thighs together defensively.
"What are you looking at?"
Shione raised her eyes, meeting her sister's suspicious gaze.
"If you want to talk to Seiya, you can talk all you want when you see him in Tokyo."
Suzune's expression brightened—then immediately darkened as Shione continued.
"But you have to promise me one thing first."
"What?"
"Otherwise, I won't take you."
Suzune's eyelid twitched violently. She clicked her tongue.
"Is your mouth on your ass? First you agree, now you're adding conditions?"
Shione's smile remained serene.
....
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Shiratori Seiya ended the call with Hōjō Shione, locked his car, and trudged upstairs. After settling in, he dialed Aoki Yayoi's number.
"Hello? This is Aoki Yayoi. May I ask who's calling?"
The voice that answered was slightly tired—the particular exhaustion of someone who'd spent too long staring at contracts.
"Hello, Miss Aoki. It's Shiratori Seiya."
Two seconds of silence. Then her voice brightened considerably—before immediately cooling to professional politeness.
"A-sensei?"
When he'd first started releasing songs, Shiratori Seiya had used the pseudonym "Friend A" to maintain anonymity. Aoki Yayoi knew his real name, of course, but out of professional respect, she'd always called him "Teacher Friend A." He'd found it awkward and asked her to shorten it to simply "A-sensei."
"Yes, it's me."
He got straight to the point.
"Hōjō Shione mentioned you have unresolved copyright issues regarding my contracts?"
"Eh?"
The expected confirmation didn't come. Aoki Yayoi sounded genuinely confused.
"No, A-sensei. Your previous contracts are fine. The reason I needed to contact you is about copyright for two new songs."
New songs?
Shiratori Seiya's eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm.
"That would be 'Riding on the Silver Dragon's Back' and 'Snow Flower'..."
Aoki Yayoi paused, then added hesitantly, "Um... didn't Miss Hōjō tell you this?"
Silence.
Shiratori Seiya's grip on the phone tightened almost imperceptibly.
He remembered those songs clearly. He'd given them to Hōjō Shione along with his breakup letter—a parting gift, a compensation for the hurt he'd caused. In the letter, he'd explicitly stated that she owned full rights to both the lyrics and composition.
It seemed she hadn't cashed that particular check.
But if she wasn't keeping them, why have him contact Aoki?
After a moment's thought, he asked carefully, "What exactly did Hōjō Shione tell you? Did she mention wanting to perform these songs?"
The question seemed to catch Aoki Yayoi off guard.
"Aren't all your songs written exclusively for Miss Hōjō?"
"Just tell me what she said when she showed you the songs."
Aoki Yayoi sensed something unusual in his tone—as if he and Hōjō Shione hadn't actually discussed this at all. But professionalism won out, and she sifted through her memory.
"What did she say... Ah, the gist was something like, 'I'd like to sing these two at my concert, as long as the agency handles the copyright properly.'"
"I see."
"So, A-sensei... about the contracts?"
"I'll come to your office tomorrow morning to discuss the details."
"Understood. Oh—" Aoki Yayoi's voice shifted, suddenly more hesitant. "One more thing. I heard from Miss Hōjō that you're planning to stop writing songs entirely. Is that correct?"
"More or less."
"Ah..."
The drawn-out syllable carried weight—the particular weight of a professional calculating angles.
After a pause, she continued carefully, "In that case... would you be open to us leveraging that angle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Miss Hōjō has her concert coming up. She's always been associated with your songs. If we added the narrative of your 'retirement from composition' as a selling point... the publicity could be significant. I think it would benefit both you and Miss Hōjō, financially and otherwise."