"You know, Honami, a lot of parents started noticing me back then," Kitagawa Ryo said with a trace of mockery in his tone, "and suddenly it was like they'd found a shortcut. Every day, a bunch of adults would show up asking the troupe director to let their kids become stage actors too."
"But most of them had no idea what they were doing. They just thought it was an easy way to make money."
"Other troupes tried to ride the wave too, using child stars as their selling points. The success of a few drove the madness of many."
"The stage acting industry and the idol industry are essentially the same. It doesn't matter whether you're good or bad at acting—what matters is how well you're packaged and promoted. Even a once-in-a-lifetime genius will fade if they can't manage their image. But if you're packaged well, even someone with mediocre skills can be a hot topic for about... three months, maybe?"
He looked at a photo of Sakura Airi on his phone.
"Sakura was sent to our troupe during that boom. Her parents had some connection with the director, so he couldn't exactly refuse. He just let her stay and said we could see if she had any talent. Maybe she could make a living from it one day."
Honami rested her head on her hand, trying to remember. "But I don't recall ever seeing her perform."
Though she hadn't seen every one of Ryo's plays, she'd followed his schedule closely enough to have remembered that name.
"That's because Sakura never got on stage."
Ryo shook his head.
"She was forced there by her parents. When she first came, she wouldn't say a word, hunched over like a little turtle, couldn't even look people in the eye."
Honami glanced at the photo of the poised idol on stage. It was hard to reconcile that image with the girl Ryo was describing.
"Here," he said, flipping through his phone again and showing her another picture.
The girl in the photo had beautiful red hair and delicate features, but she looked timid and evasive.
"That's her when she first joined the troupe."
Ryo sighed.
"The director tried to help her get over her social anxiety, but nothing worked. He made her cry a few times just trying to talk to her."
"So then what?" Honami asked curiously.
"So he tossed the problem to me, of course. Said we were the same age and might get along better."
Ryo tapped the table with mock annoyance, though Honami knew he had a good relationship with the director and was probably just teasing.
"Actually, it was something only a peer might notice. Like..."
He cut himself off.
"Hm? What is it? Was there something wrong at home? Like abuse or something?"
"Not that serious," Ryo mumbled, a little embarrassed. "Just... you know, girl stuff."
Honami, ever perceptive, nodded after another glance at the photo.
"Once we figured that out, it was easier to help her. Plus, Kei was in the troupe at the time, so having another girl around helped. She got a bit less withdrawn."
"Even though Sakura left the troupe later, she stayed in touch with Kei. They seem pretty close."
"Next time, have Kei let her know. There's no way I can finish all these treats alone."
"It's getting late. Let's head to school."
"Okay," Honami replied sweetly, helping clean up the table.
"You go change shoes. I'll take care of the dishes."
"Thanks."
As Ryo headed to the entrance to change, Honami quietly closed the snack boxes and put them away.
What Ryo said sounded harmless enough, but it didn't explain everything.
If their relationship was really that simple, why hadn't Ryo stayed in contact? And why had Sakura suddenly started sending him things now?
Handmade, delicate sweets.
"Ryo."
Honami called out to him as he stood by the door, already in fresh shoes that glinted under the morning sun, sipping oat milk through a straw.
"Hm?"
He looked back, puzzled.
"It's been a while since I saw you go to school. How does it feel?"
She couldn't bring herself to ask the real question.
This was her first time seeing him in a school uniform. With his perfect posture from years of stage work, the simple black-and-white outfit somehow dazzled. Bag in one hand, he turned slightly, bright eyes shining.
The straw made a loud slurping sound against the now-empty carton.
"How does it feel?"
"Feels great. This is the life I wanted."
Ryo smiled after a brief pause.
"Mm."
Honami didn't ask more. She stepped forward, rising slightly on tiptoes.
"Wait, your tie's crooked."
Her delicate fingers reached for the knot.
The silence was awkward, but it didn't stop her.
She carefully smoothed out the creases.
After fixing it, she took a step back, giving him a satisfied once-over.
"There. Perfect."
-------------------------------------
"Airi, you have another performance tomorrow. Take a bath and get to bed early, okay?"
Through the frosted glass of the bathroom, even her mother's voice sounded muffled and unclear.
Airi responded with a casual murmur and then heard the sound of the door closing.
Ever since she had become a famous idol, even her parents' attitudes had subtly shifted.
Sakura Airi looked around at the spacious bathroom, still feeling a slight sense of unreality.
She extended her hand out of the water. The bathtub, large enough for two adults, had already been filled with hot water before she entered. On the nearby shelf were various bath products, including a bright yellow rubber duck that squeaked oddly when pressed.
The warm-toned lighting, an expensive installation for unknown reasons, bathed the white walls in a gentle glow. Thanks to the cleaning staff who came three times a week, there wasn't a single spot of mold, and the pristine surfaces reflected a drowsy hue.
Estimating the time, Airi stood up from the tub and dried herself with a towel.
The mirror above the sink was fogged with steam. She reached out and wiped a clear streak across it, revealing her pale white neck in the reflection.
Bit by bit, Airi wiped away the condensation on the mirror and began dressing.
Standing in front of the mirror, she deliberately left the top two buttons of her pajamas undone, exposing her snow-white shoulder on the right.
Her bra strap hung loosely, one side undone, the ribbon limply draped over her bare shoulder.
She hugged her arms tightly, her soft chest pushed together in an alluring arc.
It was a pose she had once imagined—a photo she had planned to anonymously post online.
A fleeting thought flashed through her mind, the kind she once clung to but now found absurd.
But in the next instant, Airi clenched the hair tie in her teeth and quietly dressed herself properly.
That knowledge was long useless now, forbidden by that person.
Neatly wrapped within her pink pajamas was a completely different kind of beauty.
Her body was growing rapidly compared to two years ago, but everything else remained frozen in time.
Academics, sports, socializing—compared to girls her age, she felt like an empty shell who knew nothing.
Even though she had followed his words and worked hard to become an idol, a sense of unreality still lingered.
"What kind of future do I really want?"
Sakura Airi lowered her gaze, whispering to herself.
Suddenly, she remembered the sight of Kitagawa Ryo a month ago, standing in the audience and applauding her from the crowd.
Her heart fluttered.
[Azabu Junior High, Drama Club.]
That was the information she had gotten from Karuizawa Kei.
Her slender finger traced circles on the fogged mirror.
She wanted to see him again.
-------------------------------------
Azabu Junior High School.
Horikita Suzune walked alone along the school path, entirely unconcerned by the slightly curious glances cast her way by the other students.
She had spent a little extra time fixing her hair that morning, so her steps were somewhat hurried.
After her brother, Horikita Manabu, once casually remarked, "I like long hair," she had started growing hers out. Perhaps it was in her nature; within just a few short years, her hair had reached down to her waist. Every morning, when she untied her ribbon, her black hair would spill over her shoulders like flowing water.
Because she had transferred in during her second year of middle school, most of the social cliques in her class had already formed in the previous year, making it genuinely difficult for Suzune to fit in.
Not that there weren't opportunities.
During just the first week of school, several boys from both her class and other classes had left love letters in her shoe locker. Yet she never showed the slightest interest in them. Unlike other girls who might call the sender out for a direct response, Suzune ignored them completely.
If she received a letter in person, she would bluntly hand it back. If it was left in her locker, she would promptly throw it into the trash the moment she discovered it, the colorful paper collecting in a pile of rejection.
Suzune neither entertained unnecessary thoughts nor desired social interaction. After a week of consistent rejection, she was naturally isolated. But she adapted to this cold shoulder with ease. It was the way she had always lived—and if things ever escalated to violence, she knew she could handle herself.
Even at a new school, Suzune quickly became the outlier. But it didn't affect her.
She devoted her after-school time to the drama club—but soon, her situation there began to deteriorate as well.
At some point, aside from Kushida Kikyou, almost no new students were willing to talk to her. Yet her name frequently popped up in whispered conversations. Whenever she tried to listen in, the moment she got close, the conversation would cease.
Her acting talent clearly wasn't as stellar as Kushida often praised it to be. Even so, Kushida continued to gently and patiently teach Suzune the basics of theater. But every time she misspoke or forgot a line, she'd hear subtle, mocking laughter from nearby.
Kushida would always defend her in those moments, standing up to speak on Suzune's behalf, then return to comfort her.
But the constant one-on-one guidance despite slow progress only fueled discontent among the other new drama club members. Everyone was still waiting for the final evaluations and hadn't officially joined the club yet. Why was Suzune the only one receiving this special treatment from their adorable upperclassman?
At first, they tried to rationalize it by assuming Suzune had hidden talent. But after all this time, she hadn't shown a hint of ability.
And so, the label of "connections and favoritism" was naturally slapped onto her. As long as she remained in the club, the rumors gave her no escape.
The stories twisted further. Some said they'd seen her with Kitagawa Ryo when school started. Others claimed she'd known him before. Some even speculated that Kushida was only nice to her because she was forced to—because of Suzune's "powerful backing."
In those tales, Horikita Suzune became a self-important loner, using her connection with Kitagawa to act superior.
Kushida silently watched the rumors spiral out of control. On the surface, she continued to scold the gossipers and protect Suzune's reputation.
But like trying to wipe away ink with water, her defense only made the rumors spread faster.
Eventually, the new drama club members united and demanded that Horikita Suzune be disqualified from the final evaluation. They believed it was unfair to compete with someone who had entered through the back door.
It was only then that Suzune truly realized the extent of her situation.
Worse still, she had no way to fight back. With no allies, no one even dared speak up for her.
This was the first time Horikita Suzune's lone-wolf philosophy had backed her into a true corner.
What would her brother, Horikita Manabu, do in this situation?
She tried imagining it. But she couldn't picture a response.
Then she realized something:
Her omnipotent, genius older brother—the one she had always chased after—had never once involved himself in drama.
Until now, Suzune had followed in his footsteps—matching his academic excellence, mirroring his physical training, and even applying to the same school he attended: Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School.
But now…
There was no image in her mind of him practicing drama.
She had no idea what might come next. And that uncertainty crept through her like a cold, invisible mist.
Horikita Suzune had always been the master of self-deception. She could simply turn back now, retreat to the familiar comfort of the path her brother had walked.
But—
"If you pass the final evaluation and perform well," Kitagawa Ryo said casually when he finally approached her again, as if just mentioning a trivial matter,
"I'll take you to this year's cultural festival at Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School."
Someone had pushed her to the edge of the Sphinx's cliff, lifted her chin, and forced her to face the monster directly.
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