CHAPTER 11
Kiyomi missed a step.
The squeak of rubber against the hardwood floor cracked through the silent studio like a gunshot.
"Again! Foot down before the beat!" the instructor barked, his voice ricocheting off the mirrors lining the walls.
Miyu spun past him, his movements fluid as water, expression calm and perfectly composed despite the heat of the room.
"Focus, Sakura-chan," he murmured as he passed, never breaking his stride.
"I am!" Kiyomi gasped, cheeks burning from both exhaustion and the weight of the wig pressing down on his scalp.
Beside him, Renge stumbled through the bridge sequence, muttering curses under his breath as he struggled to recover the timing. Miyu caught the slip in the mirror and smirked faintly, though his eyes never left his own reflection.
The instructor clapped sharply, the sound rhythmic and punishing.
"Faster. Sharper. Together! One more time!"
The music slammed back into the room.
Turns. Jumps. Corrections.
Mistakes. Tiny victories.
"Less than a week," the instructor reminded them as he paced the room like a drill sergeant. "Make it perfect."
They ran the routine again and again, sweat soaking through their practice clothes as the choreography drilled deeper into muscle memory. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the three of them began to align. Movements tightened. Timing snapped into place. Each adjustment brought them closer together until their bodies moved in response to one another without thinking.
They were beginning to move like a single creature with three heads.
By the time the music finally cut out, the three of them collapsed onto the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and heavy breathing.
"Good enough, Cerb-3ros."
Kiyomi bent forward, hands planted on his knees as he watched sweat drip from his chin onto the polished floorboards.
Miyu stretched his arms high over his head with alarming ease, his breathing already steady.
Renge simply leaned back against the wall, staring into space with the hollow expression of someone whose soul had briefly departed his body.
The studio door suddenly slid open with a sharp shink.
"Conference room. Now," Mio's voice commanded.
No one argued.
They hauled themselves upright and followed her down the hallway, their tired footsteps echoing against the polished floor.
A few minutes later, the three idols sat across from Mio as she closed a thick manila folder on the conference table.
"Bau Bau~!" Mio greeted them brightly, clapping her hands together.
Kiyomi, Miyu, and Renge echoed the greeting, their tired barks bouncing weakly back across the room.
"You have trained enough!" Mio announced, suddenly breaking into applause. "Yay!"
"Yay…" the trio replied halfheartedly, clapping along out of obligation.
Mio stopped just as abruptly as she had started.
Her playful expression vanished.
"Okay. Now the next thing you need to do is not train harder."
Kiyomi and Renge froze mid-clap, their hands hovering awkwardly in the air.
Miyu, meanwhile, leaned back comfortably in his chair, looking completely unsurprised.
"Not train harder? The competition—our debut is next Saturday," Kiyomi protested, panic creeping into his voice.
"Are you asking us to give up before we even start?" Renge added, his brows knitting together suspiciously.
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."
Miyu clicked his tongue, a smug smile spreading across his face.
"Sakura-chan and Renge-chan are so naive," he said, clearly enjoying their confusion. "Don't you know the more you train while you're stressed, the worse you perform?"
"Precisely," Mio added, tapping her pen lightly against the table.
"Less rehearsal. More personal polish. From now on, it's better if you train on your own. The only time you should practice together is for formation work—which you've already mastered."
"You mean…?" Kiyomi began cautiously.
"No group rehearsals, only personal polish until debut," Mio replied with a pleasant smile, though her eyes remained sharp.
Renge narrowed his gaze.
"Is there a catch?"
"Yes," Mio said cheerfully. "Of course there is."
She leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the table.
"You must learn to calm your mind. If your spirit is cluttered, your performance will be stiff. For your debut, you need to move smoothly. Naturally."
The room fell quiet for a moment as the three idols processed her words.
Then Kiyomi straightened in his seat.
"Got it, Bau Bau~!"
The final days before debut blurred together.
Without group rehearsals, everyone trained on their own, polishing the small details Mio had warned them about. Timing. Breathing. Expression. Every small motion had to feel natural.
By the time the calendar finally turned to May 15th, the choreography no longer felt like something Kiyomi had to remember.
His body simply moved.
Kiyomi stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the ribbon at his collar.
The idol costume looked exactly the way it had during the final rehearsal—bright, frilled, and completely impossible to wear outside without attracting attention.
He sighed.
Carefully, he slipped on a long coat hanging beside the door. The oversized fabric fell past his knees, hiding the skirt and most of the costume underneath. Once he fastened the buttons, the reflection staring back at him finally looked somewhat normal again.
Somewhat.
A small bag rested on the table behind him. Inside were the things he still hadn't put on yet—his wig, the makeup kit, spare hairpins.
Those would wait until he reached the venue.
His phone buzzed.
Takumi: I'm already on my way.
Kiyomi grabbed the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and pulled the coat a little tighter around himself.
The train rattled across Fujimori City toward the Central District.
By the time Kiyomi stepped out of the station, crowds heading toward Fujimori Grand Park had already begun to swell. Music drifted through the air from distant stages, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional cheer.
He spotted Takumi waiting near the entrance.
"What's with the coat?" Takumi asked immediately.
"Nothing!" Kiyomi replied a little too quickly. He swallowed. "Do I look weird?"
"No, but…" Takumi leaned closer, frowning slightly before sniffing the air. "You smell fruity."
Kiyomi stiffened.
(Of course I do! Wait—)
"Takkun… you don't like it?"
Takumi wrinkled his nose slightly.
"It's not bad," he said after a moment. "Just… strong."
Kiyomi forced a small laugh and nodded.
The two of them stepped into the park.
They wandered past rows of small stages where amateur idols performed for scattered crowds. Colorful banners fluttered in the wind, and speakers blasted energetic music from every direction.
"Look at that idol," Takumi said, pointing.
Kiyomi followed his finger.
"Takkun, she's dressed like Alice-chan from Idolmistress," he said, watching the girl perform with sparkling enthusiasm.
Takumi nodded, clearly entertained.
While Takumi's attention remained fixed on the stage, another thought slowly crept into Kiyomi's mind.
(This is so fun…)
Then another followed.
(I hope he doesn't notice…)
Kiyomi's heart started beating faster.
Carefully—slowly—he reached out from behind Takumi.
His hand hovered for a moment before lightly touching Takumi's arm.
Takumi didn't notice.
(Please… please… please…)
Kiyomi's fingers slid down toward Takumi's wrist.
Then lower.
Until his hand gently brushed Takumi's.
For a brief moment, their fingers almost intertwined—
Takumi suddenly pulled his hand away.
"Woah… what was that for?" Takumi said, stepping back in surprise.
The moment shattered.
Heat rushed to Kiyomi's face.
Embarrassment flooded his chest like ice water.
Before Takumi could say anything else, Kiyomi turned and ran.
"Takkun—sorry!"
And he disappeared into the crowd.
Kiyomi didn't look back.
The festival swallowed him almost instantly—crowds, music, and flashing lights blurring together as he pushed through the mass of people.
Only when he reached a quiet corner behind a row of food stalls did he finally stop.
His chest heaved as he bent forward slightly, trying to catch his breath.
(Idiot…)
Takumi's surprised voice echoed in his mind.
(Why did I even try…)
After a moment, he straightened and forced himself to move again, slipping into an empty restroom nearby.
The fluorescent lights hummed softly above him.
Kiyomi reached into his bag and pulled out the pink wig.
Standing before the mirror, he began the familiar routine.
He set the wig in place.
Adjusted it carefully.
Pinned stray strands where they belonged.
A quick touch of makeup followed—light, precise, practiced.
Then he slipped off the long coat and stuffed it into the bag, revealing the frilled costume beneath.
For a moment, he simply stared at the reflection.
Soft pink hair framed a delicate face. Bright eyes. Idol makeup.
Sakura stared back from the mirror.
Kiyomi let out a slow breath.
(Let's do this.)
By the time Kiyomi slipped through the backstage entrance at the main stage, Miyu and Renge were already waiting.
Miyu leaned casually against a stack of equipment cases, scrolling through his phone, while Renge sat nearby, nervously bouncing one leg.
Miyu looked up first.
"Well, well," he said with a teasing smile. "How was your date?"
Kiyomi didn't answer. He simply walked past him.
But Miyu reached out and caught his hand.
"Hey."
Kiyomi stopped.
Miyu's playful expression softened just a little.
"Calm down," he said quietly. "I'm here with you."
Kiyomi nodded. "Thanks."
Miyu studied him for a moment. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Kiyomi's.
Renge's eyes widened instantly.
A few nearby staff members froze mid-conversation.
Two idols standing near the curtain gasped and immediately lifted their phones.
"Kyaa—!"
"Did you see that?!"
Renge nearly jumped out of his chair.
"Kyaa—! You two are perverts!" he blurted, covering his face in shock.
Kiyomi and Miyu pulled apart and burst into quiet giggles.
Then, almost in perfect sync, the two turned toward Renge.
Renge froze.
His eyes flicked nervously between the two idols slowly approaching him.
Kiyomi leaned in first.
Then Miyu.
They kissed Renge on the cheeks at the same time.
Renge's brain completely shut down.
He stood there, red-faced and stiff as a statue, while laughter and excited squeals rippled through the backstage area.
Cerb-3ros... Ready to unleash!