CHAPTER 14
The road leading toward the station was unnervingly quiet.
Above, the streetlights had already begun to hum, casting pale, jaundiced circles of light across the pavement. Behind them, the university campus had dissolved into a dark silhouette.
Takumi walked beside Kiyomi, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets that his shoulders were pulled tight. For once, the constant stream of idol-talk and cheerful rambling had dried up.
Kiyomi kept his eyes fixed forward, his pulse still erratic.
(He's thinking…)
Without warning, Takumi's footsteps stopped.
"Kiki."
Kiyomi halted instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"What did Izumi want?"
Takumi's voice was calm—too calm—but the question landed with the weight of a physical blow.
"Nothing," Kiyomi answered, the lie slipping out with practiced, desperate speed. "He was just talking. You know how he is."
Takumi's brow furrowed, his expression hardening under the dim amber light.
"He kissed your neck."
Kiyomi's heart didn't just skip; it felt like it had stopped entirely.
"That wasn't—it wasn't what it looked like—"
"Don't lie," Takumi interrupted, his voice sharpening. "I was right there. I saw it."
The air between them turned suffocating. A passing car's headlights swept briefly across their faces—a flash of white light that exposed the guilt in Kiyomi's eyes and the growing confusion in Takumi's. Then, just as quickly, the world plunged back into the orange-hued dark.
Takumi rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling a breath that sounded more like a growl.
"That guy… he creeps me out. He's been acting like—"
Kiyomi forced a small, hollow laugh, though it felt like glass in his throat.
"He's just weird, Takkun. He likes to get under people's skin."
Takumi studied him for a long beat, his eyes searching Kiyomi's face as if looking for a truth that was hidden just beneath the surface. He wasn't convinced—not even close—but he finally turned and started walking again.
Kiyomi followed a half-step behind, his legs feeling like lead.
(He didn't hear it… he didn't hear the name.)
But the memory replayed in his mind anyway, echoing Izumi's voice with terrifying clarity.
"Right, Sakura-chan?"
As they walked into the shadows between the streetlights, Kiyomi's fingers drifted unconsciously to his neck. He touched the spot where the skin still felt unnaturally warm—where Izumi's lips had branded him with a secret that was slowly starting to burn.
Kiyomi lowered his hand quickly when he noticed Takumi glancing at him.
"What?" Takumi asked.
"Nothing," Kiyomi replied.
"I might miss tomorrow's lecture," Takumi said. "Our basketball club has a practice match."
None of them thought much about it as they continued walking toward the station together.
The next day, the university felt different.
Kiyomi sat through his morning lectures with his back straight and his shoulders tense. It wasn't the material that made him nervous; in fact, Kiyomi was naturally gifted at Business and Economics. He could balance a ledger or predict a market trend with ease.
But he couldn't calculate the what's in the mind of the person observing him.
(Izumi is looking at me again…)
He tried to keep his eyes locked on the whiteboard, focusing on the professor's diagrams of supply and demand. But the sensation of that cold gaze was impossible to ignore.
When the next class began, the tension shifted.
Kiyomi risked a quick glance across the lecture hall. Hotaru sat a few rows away, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. She was looking back at him, her expression unreadable—somewhere between regret and curiosity.
(Is Hotaru looking in my direction?)
But just beyond her, leaning back in his seat with a terrifyingly calm smile, was Izumi.
He wasn't even pretending to take notes. His eyes were fixed squarely on Kiyomi, tracing the lines of his profile as if studying a script he had already memorized. Every time Kiyomi's gaze drifted in that direction, he found Izumi already watching him—sharp, patient, unwavering.
The day after that was worse.
For two straight days, Kiyomi kept his head down, moving through the hallways like a ghost. He tried to blend into the sea of students, but the awareness of Izumi's presence clung to him like a dark shadow.
It didn't matter whether they were in a crowded cafeteria or a quiet corridor.
Kiyomi always knew where Izumi was.
He could feel the proximity of the secret.
By the time Wednesday's rehearsal arrived, the psychological strain had begun to crack his composure.
Despite the slips during rehearsal, Kiyomi managed to force his mind back into focus for the meeting. Daichi, the producer, sat at the head of the conference table, his presence commanding the room's attention.
"Okay, girls," he began, his voice echoing against the sleek walls of the agency room. "First off, congratulations on taking second place in the amateur idol competition."
The room erupted into applause. Renge and the staff clapped enthusiastically, but the sound was hollow in Kiyomi's ears. Beside him, Miyu remained perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest.
Daichi's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, landed on him immediately.
"Miyuko-chan? No applause for your own success?"
"I'm just… not satisfied with second place," Miyu stated flatly. The coldness in his voice made the air in the room drop a few degrees.
"Second place is a fantastic start for a debut—" Mio began, trying to soften the tension.
But Daichi raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"No, Mio. That right there is the mentality of a victor," he said, giving Miyu a slow, pleased nod. "We shouldn't be satisfied. Satisfaction is the death of growth."
He leaned back, his gaze traveling across their faces.
"In fact, we've already planned our revenge—a way to reclaim the crown that belongs to Cerb-3ros."
Excited murmurs rippled through the room. Kiyomi felt a spark of nervous energy.
"Two weeks from now, we move into Phase Two," Daichi announced.
Renge leaned forward, his brows knitting together.
"What exactly does that involve?"
"First, the easy part," Daichi replied. "We hit the studio. We record the debut single and begin an aggressive online promotion cycle using our established talents to boost your reach."
He flashed a small, confident smile.
"Can you guess the second part?"
Miyu's eyes narrowed as he connected the dots.
"Guerrilla lives?"
Daichi pointed at him, grinning.
"Exactly. Unannounced, high-impact street performances. But we're doing it smart. We choose the locations for maximum visibility, time the social media leaks perfectly, and push the high-quality clips instantly."
He leaned over the table, his voice dropping into a low, intense hum.
"The goal isn't just to reach number one on the charts, girls."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"The goal is to become legendary."
The room broke into another round of applause, louder this time. Daichi continued with the usual corporate vision speech—promises of bright futures and neon lights—but Kiyomi could barely hear him over the sound of his own racing heart.
(I wonder what this is...)
When the meeting finally adjourned, the idols filed out one by one. Kiyomi stepped out into the cool evening air, ready to disappear toward the train station, but a firm hand caught his shoulder.
Miyu stepped in front of him, blocking his path. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by a look of clinical observation.
"Kiyomi-chan," Miyu said softly, his voice dropping into a low, private register. "We need to talk. And don't tell me 'it's nothing.' I watched you stumble through the choreography for two hours."
"What is it?"
"Is there something on your mind?"
(Should I tell him?)
"Miyu-chan… what if—" Kiyomi began, but the words died in his throat, lost to the sudden tightness in his chest.
(Maybe not…)
"Is this something about love? Is it Takumi?" Miyu asked, his eyes searching Kiyomi's for any flicker of a confession.
"Y-yes."
"Try not to let the public find out. It will keep you safe," Miyu said calmly, his tone carrying the weight of someone who knew the high cost of a single rumor.
(But… maybe he doesn't need to know…)
Miyu exhaled slowly, the professional mask slipping just enough to reveal the fatigue beneath.
"To tell you the truth, I'm worried."
"Worried?"
"Second place in a competition might sound good to the staff, but the idol industry is brutal," Miyu said, his gaze unwavering. "If you can't grab the world's attention early, your career will die before it even starts. We're standing on a glass floor, Kiyomi."
"Miyu-chan…"
Miyu reached out, placing his hands firmly on Kiyomi's shoulders. The grip was grounding, yet heavy.
"Kiyomi-chan, if you have to get into trouble… make sure it doesn't give us a bad reputation. We have too much to lose. But if you do—" he paused, his voice softening into something genuinely kind, "I'll be by your side."
"Thank you, Miyu-chan…"
The two hugged, a brief moment of quiet sanctuary under the agency's harsh fluorescent lights.
(I'm sorry… I can't tell you anything about Izumi.)
Kiyomi felt a false sense of relief for that moment. Unfortunately that moment wouldn't last.