If Sol ate a few extra pieces of tamagoyaki at lunch the previous day, they would inevitably appear on the dining table the next.
If he happened to stare out the window in a certain direction for a while, she would quietly ask whether something unusual was over there.
This careful observation and cautious concern did not stir much emotion in Sol, but he accepted it without comment.
His task was simple: keep them safe until the threat was eliminated, or until the person behind it finally revealed themselves.
Two more peaceful days passed.
The sensation of being watched vanished completely. Even the weakest Cursed Spirits rarely lingered around the apartment anymore, as though the area had been cleansed by an unseen force.
The tension weighing on Hoshizuki Hikari and the others had noticeably eased. Occasionally, laughter could be heard throughout the apartment as they practiced new dance routines together.
Sol's presence was unmistakable, yet most of the time he remained quietly in the living room or guest room, like a silent guardian watching over them.
The manager visited less frequently, choosing to communicate by phone instead, while the security personnel continued their diligent watch outside the apartment.
That afternoon, Sora Mirai and Natsukawa Haruka were practicing a new choreography routine in the living room. Nearby, Hoshizuki Hikari sat beside Sol on the sofa, looking down at her phone with a faint frown.
"What's wrong?"
Sol noticed the subtle shift in her mood and spoke up.
His voice remained as flat as ever, but it still startled Hoshizuki Hikari. She clearly hadn't expected him to show concern on his own.
"Ah, it's nothing."
She instinctively tried to brush it off. However, under Sol's crimson gaze, which seemed capable of seeing through every excuse, her resistance quickly crumbled.
Turning her phone toward him, she sighed.
"It's just some messages from fans. Since we've had to cancel several events recently, there have been a lot of rumors... and some pretty extreme comments."
The screen displayed a mixture of private messages and social media comments. Some were filled with concern and support, while others contained malicious speculation and vicious insults.
Beneath the spotlight of a popular idol, criticism and pressure far beyond what ordinary people faced were unavoidable.
Sol glanced at the screen.
To him, those words overflowing with negativity were no different from meaningless background noise.
At the same time, he felt he understood a little more about why she had become a target.
"No need to care."
His response was immediate.
"The barking of those people can't affect reality."
The words were blunt, almost harsh.
Yet somehow, they brought Hoshizuki Hikari an unexpected sense of comfort.
She lowered her phone and softly nodded.
Compared to the life-and-death danger she had experienced recently, those comments really did seem insignificant.
Still...
"Sometimes I feel like this job is glamorous on the surface, but it's also like being trapped inside a transparent cage."
Hugging her knees, she spoke so softly that it almost sounded like she was talking to herself.
"Countless people watch you. They love you, but they also pry into everything. The smallest things get magnified. I can't make mistakes, and I can't freely show how I feel."
Sol listened quietly.
He didn't interrupt.
Sora Mirai and Natsukawa Haruka had also stopped practicing. They looked over in silence, their expressions carrying a similar understanding.
"But whenever I stand on stage and hear everyone cheering, whenever I see people smiling because of our performance, I feel like it's all worth it."
Hoshizuki Hikari looked up.
The smile on her face was slightly forced, yet still bright.
"I just want to sing and dance."
Sol met her gaze.
Within her eyes was a faint but unwavering determination.
He nodded.
"Then do what you want to do."
His voice remained calm.
"No one can truly trap you."
There was no dramatic emotion in his tone.
Yet his words carried an unquestionable certainty.
Hoshizuki Hikari froze briefly before smiling again, this time far more naturally.
"Thank you, Sol-kun."
At that moment, Sol's gaze shifted toward the apartment entrance.
Almost simultaneously, the doorbell rang.
A bodyguard's voice came through the intercom.
"Miss Hoshizuki, someone from the company has arrived with new stage costumes and some documents that need your confirmation and signature."
Hoshizuki Hikari blinked in confusion.
"New stage costumes? We don't have any performances scheduled."
Even so, she stood up.
"I'll take a look."
Sol rose as well.
He was far too familiar with situations like this to overlook something so obvious.
Without a word, he followed behind her.
Outside the apartment stood several on-duty bodyguards.
Beside them was a man wearing a courier company's uniform, complete with a cap and face mask. A clothing rack covered by a protective garment bag stood next to him.
"Please sign here."
The courier kept his head lowered.
His voice sounded muffled as he offered an electronic signature pad.
Hoshizuki Hikari saw nothing suspicious.
She accepted the device and prepared to sign.
Sol's eyes settled on the courier.
His movements were standard.
His breathing was steady.
His heartbeat remained normal.
Yet the hand holding the signature pad carried a faint callus between the thumb and index finger, the kind formed through years of gripping a specific tool.
More importantly, the so-called stage costumes beneath the garment cover did not carry the scent of fabric or dye.
Instead, there was a trace of carefully concealed Cursed Spirit energy.
Cold.
Sticky.
And carrying an ominous sense of corruption.
Just as Hoshizuki Hikari's finger approached the screen, Sol moved.
His hand gently pressed against the back of hers, stopping her.
The cool touch made her tremble slightly.
She looked up at him in surprise.
The courier's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Leave the items."
Sol's voice was cold and absolute.
"You can go."
The courier kept his head lowered.
His eyes flickered.
"But the company requires a signature."
Sol did not respond.
He simply looked at him.
There was no emotion in those dark crimson eyes.
Yet the courier felt an invisible pressure descend upon him.
A suffocating weight.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
Instinctively, he released the clothing rack and attempted to retreat.
Then his expression changed.
His feet refused to move.
It felt as though they had been welded to the floor.