Running a hand through her still-damp hair, Takahashi Mio pressed her eye to the peephole. The fisheye lens distorted the corridor beyond, rendering the figure outside into a blurry, indistinct shape. She couldn't make out any details. Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she called out tentatively.
"Is that you... Miki-nee?"
The woman standing beyond the door, upon hearing the timid question, took a deliberate step forward. She leaned in close, so close that her own eye pressed right up against the peephole from the other side, her breath fogging the tiny circle of glass.
"Who else would it be, Mio-chan? Were you expecting some dashing prince instead?"
A slightly husky, teasing voice filtered through the door. The unexpected proximity and the knowing tone made Takahashi Mio jolt backward as if shocked by static electricity. She shook off her momentary stupor and hurriedly fumbled with the lock, swinging the door open wide.
But the instant the door revealed its guest, every single pre-rehearsed greeting evaporated from her mind. Takahashi Mio froze on the spot, rooted to the genkan floor, staring with undisguised bewilderment at the person standing before her.
This was Takahashi Miki. And yet... this was not the Takahashi Miki preserved in her memories.
Gone was the wild, longer hair she remembered. Gone was the slightly rebellious, colorful fashion sense. In their place stood a woman who seemed carved from an entirely different aesthetic—lean, sharp, and almost severe. Light blue tailored trousers hugged impossibly thin legs.
A simple white short-sleeved blouse hung loosely on a frame that was practically skeletal. Her hair was cropped short, jet-black, and severe, framing a face where only the barest whisper of flesh remained stretched over elegant bone structure. Her collarbones jutted out with startling prominence, like delicate architectural supports threatening to break through pale skin. It was as if a beautiful silk garment had been draped over a hanger made of bones.
Noticing the girl's shell-shocked expression, Takahashi Miki's lips curled into a wry, knowing smile. She lifted her index finger and delivered a gentle, flicking tap right to the center of Takahashi Mio's forehead.
Ton.
"What's with that face? Don't tell me you've completely forgotten your favorite cousin?"
"Ah—!"
The slight coolness of the touch against her flushed skin snapped Mio back to reality like a splash of cold water. She blinked rapidly, scrambling to step aside and clear the doorway.
"M-Miki-nee! No, no, of course I recognize you! It's just... you've changed... quite a bit..."
"Heh."
Takahashi Miki let out a short, raspy chuckle. The sound was dry, like autumn leaves rustling. She stepped into the room with the sharp, precise clicks of black high heels, waiting for Mio to close the door behind her. Then, lifting the white plastic convenience store bag dangling from her fingers, she gave it a little shake.
"Your mother deployed me on a reconnaissance mission to check up on you. I can't cook to save my life—still hopeless in the kitchen, believe it or not—so I just grabbed some ready-made stuff on the way. Hope you don't mind."
"Thank you for the trouble, Miki-nee. You really didn't have to..."
Takahashi Miki waved a dismissive hand, cutting off the polite formalities. She moved to place the plastic bag on the genkan step and bent down to unstrap her heels. But as she did, her sharp, observant gaze flicked up toward the girl's face. A puzzled frown creased her thin brow.
"Mio... why is your face so red? Like, really red. Are you running a fever?"
"Eh? Is it?"
Takahashi Mio's hands flew up to cup her own cheeks. The skin beneath her palms radiated heat like a freshly heated mochi. She could feel the warmth pulsing against her fingertips, betraying her recent sprint and her ongoing panic.
Seeing her younger cousin's flustered, fumbling reaction, Takahashi Miki's slender eyes narrowed into amused, mischievous slits. A sly, catlike grin spread across her angular features.
"Oho~? Mio... you didn't hide some secret boyfriend in here, did you? Did I come knocking at an extremely inconvenient moment and interrupt something... spicy?"
The teasing words hit Mio like a sudden gust of wind. Her face, already flushed, deepened to a shade that could rival a ripe tomato. She waved her hands frantically in front of her, a wild, panicked denial.
"Wh-What?! No way! How could there possibly be someone like that here?!"
"It's just... it was really hot outside today! Super hot! And I literally just sprinted home from the station, so I'm still all sweaty and gross and—"
As if to punctuate her flustered explanation, she stomped her foot lightly against the floor, a gesture of pure, petulant embarrassment.
"Is it hot today, though...?"
Takahashi Miki's question was laced with theatrical skepticism. Her gaze drifted downward, pointedly landing on the sneakers still laced onto Mio's feet. Sneakers that were clearly intended for running. She didn't say anything, letting the silent observation hang in the air like an unspoken accusation.
Without further comment, she bent down to slip off her heels. As she straightened up, her eyes swept across the shoe rack near the door with a quick, assessing scan. Finding nothing obviously amiss—no oversized men's sneakers lurking among the flats and pumps—she padded into the small living room. Then, with the casual audacity of an older relative, she stuck her head right into the bedroom, peering around the corner with undisguised curiosity.
Mio, having finally kicked off her own sneakers, caught sight of this blatant reconnaissance. A wave of embarrassed indignation washed over her. She snatched the forgotten plastic bag off the genkan and tossed it onto the living room table with a theatrical huff.
"Miki-nee! I told you, there's seriously no one hidden here! Stop snooping around like a detective in a drama!"
"Pfft—ahahahaha!"
The indignant outburst shattered Takahashi Miki's composure entirely. She burst into loud, unfiltered laughter, clutching her stomach and bending forward until her spine curved into an exaggerated arch. The heavy, invisible curtain of awkwardness that had hung between them—the years of separation, the unanswered messages, the distance—was swept away in an instant by that single, genuine peal of laughter.
When her chuckles finally subsided, Miki straightened up and wiped a phantom tear from the corner of her eye with her knuckle. She looked back at the girl before her, a genuine, warm smile replacing the earlier sardonic smirk.
"Sorry, sorry. I can't help it. Direct orders from your mom. She told me you haven't called home in nearly a month—said she was terrified you'd been sweet-talked and tricked by some shady yabai guy. So she gave me explicit instructions: conduct a thorough, top-to-bottom investigation. Leave no cushion unturned."
She paused, her smile shifting into something more knowing, more conspiratorial.
"But honestly, Mio... aren't you exactly at the age where you should be dating? Your mom mentioned you've never had a single boyfriend. Like... ever. Don't tell me you're seriously planning to stay single all through university and then just let your parents arrange some awkward omiai with a stranger after graduation?"
"If you don't get some practical experience early on—learn how to read a guy, figure out what you actually want—you're gonna end up getting completely duped by the first smooth-talker who comes along. And then you'll really suffer. Trust me on this one."
Hearing her cousin's blunt, world-weary advice, Takahashi Mio pursed her pink lips into a tight line. She lowered her eyes, her dark lashes casting faint shadows across her flushed cheeks. Her voice came out soft, almost a whisper.
"...Actually, I do. Have one, I mean."
"Hm?"
Takahashi Miki tilted her head, not quite catching the murmured confession. "What was that?"
"I said..." Mio's voice gained a fraction more volume, a hint of defiant pride creeping in. "I actually do have a boyfriend. Right now."
The admission was louder this time. Firm.
Her cousin's words had already pushed the conversation to this point. If she denied it now, if she continued to hide him away like a shameful secret, it would feel like she was admitting Shiratori Seiya wasn't worth acknowledging. Like he wasn't someone she was proud of.
Besides, the road ahead with him was long and complicated. The tangled web of ex-girlfriends, the ambitious three-year plan, the whole absurd, wonderful, terrifying situation... her family was going to find out eventually. It was unavoidable.
"You have a boyfriend? Seriously?"
Takahashi Miki blinked in genuine surprise. Her earlier teasing had been mostly just that—teasing. The possibility that her shy, sheltered little cousin had actually been hiding a secret romance was, frankly, unexpected.
"Then why haven't you told your mom? She's completely convinced you're still an innocent maiden untouched by the ways of love."
"I haven't..." Mio shook her head slightly, a sheepish expression crossing her features. "I just haven't found the right opportunity to bring it up yet."
The truth was less about opportunity and more about sheer lack of a coherent narrative. She still hadn't figured out how to spin their origin story into something her mother could digest without immediately dialing the police. "Hey Mom, so I got scammed by a host club promoter, fell into massive debt, and this guy I barely knew paid it all off for me and then decided to make me a star!"
Mio-chanMio-chanYeah. No.
Sensing that her cousin's curiosity was about to shift into full-on interrogation mode—the kind with deeply uncomfortable follow-up questions—Mio quickly played her escape card.
"Ah, Miki-nee, I'm seriously all gross and sweaty from running home! Let me just take a super quick shower first, okay? You can wait just a little bit, right...?"
"It's fine, it's fine. We can chat while we eat after you're done. Go wash up."
Mio didn't wait for a second invitation. She turned on her heel and practically dove into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a note of desperate finality.
Takahashi Miki watched her flee with an amused, knowing smile. Some things never change.
Left alone, she surveyed the compact living space with a critical, appraising eye. The sofa was low and looked uncomfortable for eating. After a moment's consideration, she carried the plastic bag of food into the bedroom, settling herself cross-legged on the tatami mat. She unfolded the low table, arranged the containers of oden and side dishes with practiced efficiency, and then took a moment to examine the room's decor.
It was a little messy. A little cramped. But unmistakably the sanctuary of a young woman—soft touches here and there, plush cushions, a faint floral scent lingering in the air. A nostalgic, almost melancholic expression flickered in Takahashi Miki's eyes. Once, she'd had a room like this. A space that was purely, unapologetically hers.
Out of sheer, ingrained habit, her hand drifted toward her pocket, fingers seeking the familiar shape of a cigarette carton. But before she could fish one out, her gaze dropped—
And landed on something.
A corner of paper. White, slightly crumpled, peeking out from the shadowed gap beneath the bed frame. A page of manuscript paper, covered in dense, handwritten text.
Hmm?
Her slender eyes narrowed with feline focus. She reached down and, with a careful, almost delicate tug, pulled the page free from its hiding spot. Her gaze swept across the handwritten lines, her expression shifting into something unreadable.
"Done! Just give me one sec, let me throw on some clothes."
Barely ten minutes had passed. The bathroom door swung open, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam and the scent of floral shampoo. Mio emerged wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, her damp hair clinging to her neck in dark, glossy tendrils. She padded quickly to the wardrobe, fished out a comfortable set of cotton pajamas, and changed with efficient, practiced movements.
When she stepped into the bedroom, freshly scrubbed and finally feeling human again, she found Takahashi Miki already seated at the low table. An open can of beer was cradled in her cousin's long, slender fingers. She was drinking alone, her gaze distant. The disposable chopsticks still rested on the table, unbroken. Untouched.
Noticing Mio's presence, Takahashi Miki glanced up and gave the beer can a little waggling shake.
"Want a sip?"
A beat later, she seemed to remember a crucial detail. Her eyes swept over Mio's radiant, just-bathed face.
"Ah, scratch that. Forgot you're not twenty yet. The legal drinking age isn't just a suggestion, Mio-chan."
Takahashi Mio pressed her lips together, a retort hovering on the tip of her tongue. Actually, I've already smashed right through that particular boundary.
The memory of her drunken confession session with Reika surfaced involuntarily—the embarrassing things she'd apparently blurted out, the tears, the way she'd clung to Shiratori Seiya like a limpet. Her cheeks flushed with residual shame. Right now, alcohol was the absolute last thing she wanted.
But more than that, her cousin's mood felt... off. There was a weight behind her eyes. A heaviness. Mio settled herself across the table and pursed her lips with quiet concern.
"Miki-nee... are you okay? You don't seem very happy. Did something happen?"
"Let's not talk about gloomy adult stuff right now. Your love life is clearly the way more interesting topic."
Takahashi Miki leaned forward, reaching out to pop open the lid of the oden container. She pushed the steaming, fragrant assortment toward her younger cousin, a bright, gossip-hungry smile replacing the earlier shadow in her expression. Her chin propped on her hand.
"Soooo? Spill the tea. Tell me absolutely everything. How did this mythical boyfriend happen?"
"Uh..."
Mio's hand drifted up to rub the back of her neck—a nervous tell she'd never managed to shake. Her eyes dropped to the steaming oden, and her voice came out soft and shy.
"Well... it was last semester..."
She had already prepared the entire backstory while standing under the shower's steaming spray, carefully borrowing the framework from a friend's perfectly ordinary love story.
The gist was simple and wholesome: she had been struggling terribly in two subjects last semester, teetering dangerously close to failing. In her academic desperation, she'd met Shiratori Seiya in the university library. He had offered to tutor her—quietly, patiently—and as they spent more and more time hunched over shared textbooks and borrowed notes, she'd discovered how incredibly talented he was. Naturally, inevitably, she had fallen for him.
It was a story so ordinary, so pleasantly common, that it could have been lifted straight from a shojo manga's filler chapter. It completely lacked the chaotic, debt-ridden, ex-girlfriend-haunted magic of the actual situation.
But Takahashi Miki simply nodded along, her expression calm and unreadable. When the tale concluded, she offered a simple verdict.
"As long as you genuinely like him, that's what matters most. But..." She leaned forward, her eyes sharp with the protective instinct of an older sister. "What does he actually look like? Is his character okay? Give me the details."
"Ah, well... I posted about him. Online. On my social media."
Takahashi Mio conveniently neglected to mention whether her cousin was blocked from seeing those posts or not. She also masterfully sidestepped the second, far more dangerous question.
After all, that bastard's character... how could she possibly summarize it? "He's the kindest, most reliable person I've ever met, and also a total scumbag who's apparently collected ex-girlfriends like limited-edition figurines, and I'm not even sure where I rank in his harem protagonist lineup." Yeah. That evaluation would go over splendidly.
"Oh? You posted something? Hold on, I haven't logged into that account in literal ages."
Setting down her chopsticks with a decisive click, Takahashi Miki fished out her phone and began tapping through screens, switching to her dormant social media profile. She navigated to Mio's timeline and scrolled until she found the most recent group photograph. Pressing her lips together in analytical assessment, she studied the image.
"Huh. He looks... surprisingly honest. Kind of plain, actually. Gentle eyes. That's good—doesn't give off player vibes at all."
"..."
Takahashi Mio clamped her mouth shut, physically suppressing the tidal wave of retorts that threatened to erupt. If only you knew, Miki-nee. If only you KNEW. Desperate to steer the conversation into safer waters, she poked at her oden with her chopsticks and pivoted hard.
"Anyway, Miki-nee! It's been so long since I've seen you. How have things been on your end? I remember you once said you wanted to become a model. Are you still pursuing that?"
"Heh. I really have changed a lot, haven't I?"
Takahashi Miki caught the unspoken meaning beneath the question—the careful dance around her drastic physical transformation. She took a long, slow swig of her beer, the aluminum can crinkling slightly under her grip.
"But the modeling thing... it's probably not going to happen. The industry is brutal, Mio. Way too competitive. I went to another casting yesterday and got rejected. Again."
A bitter, self-deprecating smile flickered across her angular features. She shook her head slowly.
"It's honestly so tough to break through. The barrier is insane. I've been thinking... maybe I'll pivot. Try moving toward acting instead. See if that door opens any wider."
The words hit Takahashi Mio like a sudden gust of wind, startling her.
"Acting?" she echoed, her voice betraying a note of sharp, instinctive surprise.
"Mm. In this whole entertainment world, there aren't that many viable paths, you know? You either slink behind the scenes—but I don't have that kind of technical knowledge or training—or you stay in front of the camera. Acting seemed like the logical next step."
She paused, setting her beer can down on the low table with a hollow thud. Her intense, tired eyes fixed on Mio with sudden, unwavering focus.
"But enough about my dead-end dreams. Mio... have you actually thought about your plans? For after graduation?"
"Ah—"
The spotlight swung back onto her with dizzying speed, and it was aimed at the exact topic she least wanted to discuss. Mio faltered, her eyes dropping to stare fixedly at her chopsticks as if they held the secrets of the universe. Her voice emerged as a hesitant mumble.
"Well... for me, I chose the Literature Department, so... I guess afterwards I could try to become a screenwriter? Or work in advertising, or maybe become a teacher, or something like that? I haven't really... settled on anything yet. Still figuring it out."
"I see."
Takahashi Miki nodded thoughtfully, a wistful smile softening the sharp lines of her face.
"Then my advice? Just don't enter the entertainment industry. Seriously. I actually kind of regret chasing this path. It chews you up." A dry, humorless laugh. "But hey, if you do become a screenwriter someday—write amazing scripts and make it big—remember to let your poor, struggling cousin act in some suitable roles, okay? Throw me a lifeline."
Hearing those words—seeing the hollow, desolate look that had settled between her cousin's brows, so starkly different from the fiery, confident Miki-nee preserved in her childhood memories—Mio felt something lurch painfully in her chest.
All those professional topics she'd been devouring lately. Character psychology. Emotional arcs. Narrative motivation. She had unconsciously slipped into her cousin's perspective, reading the story behind the tired eyes.
Takahashi Miki, at this very moment, felt like a candle trapped inside a thick, swirling fog. No matter how desperately its flame flickered and strained, it couldn't shine through. The damp, gray world was smothering its light.
A wave of suffocating empathy washed over Mio. And then, that stubborn, defiant, absolutely-refuses-to-admit-defeat streak that defined her very core surged upward like a geyser. She couldn't stop herself.
"But—!"
Ding-dong.
The electronic chime of the doorbell sliced through her outburst, clean and sudden.
Mio jolted, her impassioned momentum scattering like startled birds. She blinked rapidly. "I'll get it—"
"I'll go. I need to use the bathroom anyway. Two birds, one stone."
"Huh—?"
Mio's mouth opened to protest, but her cousin had already unfolded herself from the tatami with surprising speed, striding out of the bedroom before any objection could be voiced.
In the dimly lit apartment hallway, Shiratori Seiya stood frowning at his phone. A string of unanswered messages. Calls that had gone straight to voicemail. His thumb pressed the doorbell with a decisive, impatient push.
Ding-dong.
His hand had barely lowered back to his side when the door swung inward.
The face that greeted him was not the one he expected. He stared blankly at the gaunt, sharp-featured woman standing in the doorway, her collarbones jutting like knife blades beneath pale skin.
"...Who are you?"
"..."
Shiratori Seiya's mind raced. His gaze flicked upward—confirming the doorplate number—then back to the stranger. His eyes narrowed, a cold, assessing edge entering his voice.
"Where's Takahashi Mio?"
Before the emaciated woman could respond, a figure burst into view behind her. A girl in soft cotton pajamas, her damp hair clinging to her neck, her peach-blossom eyes flying wide with a mixture of relief and sudden, acute panic.
Their gazes locked over Takahashi Miki's bony shoulder.
Mio's lips parted, and the name slipped out on pure, unfiltered instinct.
"Seiya...?"
"..."