"Takahashi-san... I feel like I'm no longer needed."
"Eh?"
Sitting in the corner of the empty classroom, the late afternoon sun casting long amber rectangles across the polished floor, Takahashi Mio felt her breath catch in her throat. She stared at the girl seated across from her, certain she must have misheard. Her eyes—those distinctive, expressive eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them—widened to comical proportions.
Her hand shot out on pure instinct, fingers wrapping firmly around Nagata Nanase's forearm as if physically anchoring her to the spot.
"What are you even saying?! Where is this coming from all of a sudden, Nagata-san? Did I do something wrong? Are you upset with me?"
Seeing the genuine alarm flickering across Takahashi Mio's face, Nagata Nanase realized her choice of words had been catastrophically poor. She shook her head quickly, her usually stoic expression softening with a hint of sheepishness.
"No, no... that's not what I meant at all. I just mean... Takahashi-san, you're fully capable of studying well on your own now. You don't need me hovering over your shoulder anymore. I genuinely don't think I can offer you anything more of value."
The transformation she had witnessed in Takahashi Mio over the past two weeks was nothing short of staggering. The girl who had once stared blankly at lecture slides, her attention drifting like a lost balloon, was now matching Nagata's own performance on practice tests. Her analytical insights into various plot structures and character motivations were sharp, original, and occasionally brilliant. This wasn't the same person who had sheepishly asked for tutoring help just weeks ago.
There was simply no way Takahashi Mio had achieved this level of growth through classroom attendance alone. That meant she had been burning the midnight oil in private, pouring hours of unseen effort into her craft. And if that was the case, then Nagata's designated role as a supervisor—the watchful senpai making sure her kouhai stayed on track—had become entirely redundant.
"Huh? How can you say that?"
Takahashi Mio released her grip and reached up to scratch the back of her head, a habit she'd never quite managed to break. A sheepish, almost embarrassed smile tugged at her lips.
"Honestly? I've actually gotten really used to this rhythm, you know? Studying together, working through practice problems side by side, bouncing ideas off you during discussions. If we're talking about 'meaning' or 'purpose'... maybe it's more of a psychological thing?
Like, having someone who's willing to put in the effort with you, to move forward together... if that person suddenly just disappeared one day, I definitely wouldn't be able to handle it. Not right away, at least."
"..."
Nagata Nanase's lips parted slightly. The words sank in, their full implication blooming slowly in her chest like a flower greeting the morning sun. A rare, genuine smile—small but unmistakable—curved the corners of her typically expressionless mouth.
"Well then, if that's really how you feel... you don't have to pay me tutoring fees anymore, Takahashi-san."
Takahashi Mio froze. Her brain temporarily blue-screened.
Nagata Nanase smiling was already a legendary-tier event, rare enough to be catalogued in some kind of naturalist's journal. But those words—no more tutoring fees—hit her with the force of a critical hit in an RPG boss battle.
No more payments!
It's free! FREE!
Her internal monologue erupted into a triumphant victory fanfare, complete with imaginary confetti and a cheering crowd. This meant she could save an additional hundred thousand yen every single month! Another step closer to obliterating that soul-crushing loan, to standing debt-free and victorious!
But on the surface, she carefully arranged her features into an expression of reluctant hesitation. The perfect mask of someone who didn't want to take advantage of another's kindness.
"Wouldn't that be... I mean, are you sure? I feel like you've actually helped me so much, Nagata-san. Like, so much."
"It's fine. Really."
Nagata Nanase shook her head with quiet finality, clearly ready to close that particular chapter of discussion. Instead, she pivoted to the question that had been hovering at the edges of her consciousness for days now.
"Takahashi-san... have you had some kind of epiphany recently? Some moment of satori? I'm serious—your progress has been remarkable. It's like watching a completely different person."
"Epiphany...?"
Takahashi Mio blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. She hesitated, her thoughts churning beneath her carefully neutral expression.
"Not exactly an epiphany, I don't think. It's more that I've been watching a ton of movies lately—like, an absolutely ridiculous amount—and I've been drilling the basic acting fundamentals over and over again until they're burned into my muscle memory. I guess... things just started clicking into place a bit more?"
The truth—about the special training sessions, about Shiratori Seiya, about the grueling hours under Araki-sensei's stern gaze—hovered right on the tip of her tongue. But in the end, she swallowed it back down.
It wasn't about distrust. Nagata Nanase had proven herself to be genuine and reliable. It was something more complicated, more tangled in the messy wiring of human pride.
If she mentioned the professional training, it felt like it would somehow... discount her own efforts. As if Nagata might think, "Oh, so that's why. She only improved so much because she had special instructors holding her hand."
And if that thought ever crossed Nagata's mind—even for a fleeting second—wouldn't all her late nights, all her exhaustion, all her stubborn determination be erased? Rendered invisible?
Besides, if she was being brutally honest with herself... there was a small, vain part of her that wanted to hear praise. The kind of pure, unqualified praise that came from someone believing your growth was entirely self-made. Limitless praise. The kind that made your heart soar.
Nagata Nanase, however, furrowed her brow at the response. Her next question came directly, without preamble.
"Takahashi-san. Are you seriously planning to pursue acting? As an actual career path?"
"Yes."
The answer came without a heartbeat of hesitation. Firm. Absolute.
Nagata Nanase found herself studying the girl before her with fresh eyes. She had to concede the obvious: Takahashi Mio possessed striking features and a figure that could stop traffic. Just looking at her, one might easily mistake her for someone already in the industry—a model, an idol, a rising starlet.
Even so...
"You need to think about this very carefully," Nagata said, her voice taking on a grave, almost somber tone. "If you throw yourself completely into this path, the future might not unfold as smoothly as you're imagining. The entertainment world isn't a kind place."
"What do you mean?"
"Takahashi-san... what do you believe is the single most important factor for an actor's success?"
Takahashi Mio tilted her head, considering. "Looks? Acting ability? Charisma?"
"Neither."
Nagata Nanase's eyes were serious, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as if sharing a forbidden secret.
"It's opportunity. Chance."
"If you lack opportunities—if you can't find a platform to stand on—then it doesn't matter how breathtaking your acting skills are. You'll never have a stage to prove it. You could be the greatest undiscovered talent in all of Japan, and it would mean absolutely nothing."
She leaned forward slightly, her intensity unwavering.
"And you're from the Literature Department, Takahashi-san. Even the students in our department—the ones who've dedicated their entire university lives to performance—would crawl over broken glass and fight tooth and nail just for a supporting role that appears on screen for less than three seconds. A role with maybe two lines of dialogue. That's the reality."
"Only after you've secured that first opportunity to actually perform... only then can you even begin to whisper the word 'dream.'"
"..."
The words hung heavy in the quiet classroom air.
Takahashi Mio felt something shift deep within her chest. Nagata's words echoed, reverberating, and then collided with a memory—Shiratori Seiya's voice, calm and certain, telling her about learning scriptwriting. About writing something specifically for her.
A strange, warm, almost overwhelming emotion swelled up from somewhere near her heart.
To specifically write a script... just for me...
Shiratori Seiya... you...
For a long, suspended moment, she didn't even stop to consider the practical question of whether he could actually write a good script. The sheer weight of the intention—the fact that he had looked ahead, seen this exact obstacle Nagata was describing, and had already started carving a path through it—was enough to make her chest feel tight.
He must have already considered everything Nagata just said. He knew she wasn't from a performance background. He knew the deck was stacked against her. He knew she'd be pushed aside, overlooked, dismissed. And so, without fanfare or grand declarations, he had simply... started learning. Started preparing. Started building a door where there wasn't even a wall.
The joy that blossomed inside her was too large to contain. It spilled out onto her face in a radiant, uncontrollable smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
She opened her mouth, ready to say something—anything—when her phone on the table suddenly buzzed twice in rapid succession. The screen lit up with an incoming message notification.
Hojo Shione.
Takahashi Mio's expression flickered. She quickly manufactured an excuse, sending Nagata Nanase off with a wave and a promise to catch up later. Once alone, she unlocked her phone and opened the chat.
A single line of text glowed on the screen:
"We haven't had a chance to meet up lately, and it's been a while since we talked. Takahashi-san, how did things go last time?"
Ah. So she finally broke. Takahashi Mio felt a surge of petty, victorious satisfaction. She finally gave in and messaged me first.
Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous, almost autumnal light—like red maple leaves catching the setting sun. Even though Hojo Shione couldn't possibly see her, she still carefully arranged her features into her most earnest, innocent smile. Her thumbs danced across the screen as she typed her reply.
"Last time? Are you referring to the situation with Shiratori Seiya's first love?"
"Yes. I'm a bit curious about how it all played out."
"I'm not entirely sure of the details, but everything seems fine now. She's not at our school anymore."
Takahashi Mio wasn't technically lying. She was merely... omitting with artistic flair.
Across the city, in the sleek, minimalist lounge of her agency's office, Hojo Shione stared at the message. Her elegant features darkened like a summer sky before a thunderstorm.
This attention-hungry peacock...
Shiratori Seiya and Hasegawa Saori had definitely reached some kind of resolution. Takahashi Mio's unnerving calmness was proof enough. If the situation between those two was still unresolved—if they were truly innocent of any renewed connection—there was no way Saori would have resisted reaching out to her, her only confidante in this mess.
This behavior... it was exactly like a child who had received an unimaginably precious gift. Clutching it tightly to her chest, terrified that someone might snatch it away, she pretended to be mute. Saying nothing. Revealing nothing.
An ominous premonition coiled in Hojo Shione's stomach like a cold serpent.
Hasegawa Saori might have already gotten exactly what she wanted.
That would explain the radio silence. That would explain why her messages had gone unanswered, floating in digital limbo.
She had thought—truly believed—that Shiratori Seiya would never agree to anything so drastic. Not directly. Not with Takahashi Mio hovering in the periphery as a complicating factor. That was precisely why she had felt secure enough to orchestrate their meeting in the first place.
Of course, there had been another, more calculated objective: to gauge exactly how far Shiratori Seiya was willing to go for Hasegawa Saori. To measure the depth of what remained between them.
But now... it seemed the situation had spiraled far beyond her projections.
This stupid, useless peacock.
Hojo Shione cursed Takahashi Mio silently, but she couldn't spare the mental energy for extended frustration. She was too pragmatic for that. Taking a slow, measured breath, she leaned back into the plush lounge chair and frowned in deep concentration.
After a long, contemplative silence, she made her decision. She picked up her phone again, but this time, she navigated to a different chat window. A name she hadn't messaged directly in far too long.
Shiratori Seiya.
Her fingers hesitated for just a moment before she typed and sent:
"I'm sorry, Seiya..."
In the quiet of his apartment living room, Shiratori Seiya had just set down the freshly exchanged LV2 scriptwriting manual onto the coffee table. The worn leather cover gleamed dully under the lamplight. He reached for his phone, intending to call a producer contact he'd been cultivating—laying groundwork for his future ambitions behind the scenes.
But before he could even open his contacts list, a notification banner dropped down from the top of the screen.
Hojo Shione: I'm sorry, Seiya...
His brow furrowed. An apology? Out of nowhere?
He was about to tap out a simple question mark in response when another message from her appeared.
"I recently heard from Takahashi-san about what happened with the Kendo Club at your school. I'm truly sorry. I never should have told Hasegawa about your relationship status in the first place. That was wrong of me."
Shiratori Seiya's frown deepened into a pronounced crease.
Heard from Takahashi Mio?
Why would Takahashi Mio be reporting to Hojo Shione about this?
A memory surfaced—Takahashi Mio showing him her chat history with Hojo Shione. It had been practically barren. A digital wasteland of minimal interaction. So when exactly had this conversation taken place?
His eyes narrowed. The gears in his mind began turning, clicking through possibilities. Something here didn't add up. Something felt... off.
But he filed that particular mystery away for later dissection. Right now, there was a more immediate conversation to navigate. After a measured pause, he typed his response.
"I understand. Is there anything else?"
"Hojo Shione: Um... she didn't cause you too much trouble, did she? Hasegawa, I mean."
"Shiratori Seiya: Not really. She made some requests. I agreed to them."
"Hojo Shione: Requests? They weren't anything too unreasonable, were they? This whole situation is my fault. Please, let me help take responsibility somehow..."
Shiratori Seiya stared at the screen. His thumb hovered for a long, deliberate moment. Then, with the same calm, measured finality one might use to place the last stone in a game of Go, he typed his reply.
"Shiratori Seiya: I promised to marry her."
"..."