Tokyo stretched around us like a restless dream—neon blinking against the glass, signs screaming with colors no human eye should ever process at once. I gripped the Bentley's wheel so tightly it could've snapped in half. My jaw ached from clenching.
Meanwhile, Hiroshi hummed like a drunk monk, tapping an invisible beat against the window with that smirk that meant only one thing: my impending doom was his evening entertainment.
We were heading straight for doom. Doom with chandeliers. Doom with overpriced sushi. Doom wearing cosplay.
"Velours Tokyo," he had said so casually earlier. Just the name felt poisonous. The kind of place where rich idiots played dress-up, pretending they were anime princes while charging you for drinks worth half a paycheck.
I cleared my throat, keeping my eyes on the road. "Tell me you're joking. A BL cosplay dance show with your fiancée? At a restaurant? With… food?" My lungs were staging protests.
"Relax," Hiroshi said, like the demon he was. "Cosplay is classy here. Everyone does it. It's culture. Besides, this isn't some dingy con backroom—you'll live."
He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms, wearing the smug aura of an older brother who lived to watch me squirm.
I muttered, "Yeah, sure. Nothing screams culture like watching two men fake-kiss over sashimi."
He laughed so hard the Bentley shook. "Don't be dramatic. It's just a show. Nobody's asking you to climb on stage. Unless… you want to?" He wiggled his brows.
I nearly swerved us into a taxi. "Are you insane? That's not even cosplay anymore—that's public execution."
"Execution?" He cackled. "Hiroshima, you're so uptight, it's painful. This is art. Theatre. People cheer, they cry, they tip. You'll see."
I tightened my grip on the wheel. "You mean I'll see, while you and your fiancée sit there making heart-eyes at each other."
That shut him up for a moment—until his lips curved into a lazy grin. "Jealous?"
I snapped my head toward him. "What? No! Of course not!"
"Mm-hmm." He dragged out the sound, stretching it like a rope around my neck. "Relax, little brother. You're here to enjoy yourself. Stop acting like someone's about to drag you into the spotlight and declare you the star attraction."
I nearly choked on my spit. If only he knew.
The car turned into a glittering alley, and there it was—Velours Tokyo.
The facade sparkled like a shrine and a theatre had birthed an expensive child: polished wood, banners embroidered with swords and roses, mannequins dressed in lavish uniforms frozen mid-scene. A glowing sign scrolled its name in calligraphy, daring mortals to enter.
My legs did not want to move. But the doormen made sure they did—two of them bowing low in ridiculous military cosplay uniforms, as though greeting royalty. Hiroshi strode past like he was royalty. I stumbled after him, already suffocating.
The inside was worse.
It was… stunning. Crystal chandeliers raining light across lacquered floors, golden partitions carved with phoenixes, tables draped in scarlet silk. Waiters in ornate cosplay uniforms glided around—bishounen generals carrying sake trays, fox spirits balancing cocktails, even a wandering knight pouring wine with tragic flair.
And the patrons? They lounged in elaborate costumes, laughing and posing for photos like it was completely normal to wear a dragon tail while eating sashimi.
Meanwhile, I clutched my blazer like a shield. I wanted to crawl under the nearest tablecloth and stay there until morning.
Hiroshi slapped my back. "See? Elegant. Relax."
Relax? The only thing I could relax into was a coffin.
Then—her.
Emiko Kisaragi. Not in a kimono as she used to when she was younger but a sleek, modern dress that shimmered faintly under the chandeliers—something simple yet devastating. Soft chestnut hair framed her face, her smile polite but magnetic.
My brother's fiancée. Perfect. Effortless.
"Emiko," Hiroshi greeted warmly. They shared a look so seamless it could've been choreographed.
And then her eyes landed on me—sharp yet kind. "Hiroshima. You've grown."
She extended her hand, and when her fingers brushed mine, I jolted as though branded. Too soft. Too wrong. Looking at her felt criminal, and I immediately darted my gaze down, cheeks burning.
"Y-yeah… hello," I croaked.
Her laugh was soft, disarming. Hiroshi's laugh followed, louder, teasing. "What's wrong, little brother? Can't look my fiancée in the eye? You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing," I lied, still staring at the menu as if it contained salvation.
"Oh, you are," he said with the confidence of someone who lived to torture me. He slung an arm casually around Emiko's shoulders.
" No I'm not "
" You're a bad actor my dear brother ~ " He pinched my cheek like I'm still any child . I bated away his hand , he chuckled
"Don't worry, Emiko. He's just shy. Or maybe…" He paused for effect, his smirk widening. "Maybe he thinks it's a crime to look at you too long."
"Stop talking," I hissed under my breath, ears burning.
Emiko only giggled, covering her lips politely. "You two are hopeless."
We sat, though my pulse refused to. I tried to focus on the ridiculous cocktails (Demon Lord's Kiss, Hero's Promise . How am I supposedto drink those ?! ), but my hands shook.
From nearby, the whispers started. "Kaoru's performing tonight. Did you hear? He added a new verse. Velours shows are unmatched."
Kaoru. Kaoru ?! Did I..really ? No no..maybe I'm day dreaming , right ? Oh , God.. save me this time too..don't let this be the reality .
The name was a blade across my ribs.
I gripped the menu so hard the paper threatened to tear.
Then Hiroshi dropped his bomb.
"By the way, Hiroshima—the BL cosplay dance is starting tonight. Right here." He winked at me, savoring every molecule of my horror.
My fork clattered. "You—WHAT? This is an ambush! A public assassination!"
Emiko pressed her hand to her lips, shoulders shaking with a laugh. "You two are like children."
"See?" Hiroshi beamed. "She gets it."
"She gets it," I snapped, "because she thinks this is going to be a cute little performance. Which it's not. It's going to be—" I caught myself, choking back the truth. My throat locked.
"It's going to be what?" Hiroshi leaned in, eyes glinting.
"—a nightmare," I muttered finally.
He chuckled, satisfied. "Relax. That's just a BL acting , Hiroshima. Not real "
"Sure," I muttered, stabbing the napkin with my chopsticks. "Theatre with tongue."
Emiko laughed again, cheeks pink, and Hiroshi kissed her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. My stomach churned.
The lights dimmed.
Chandeliers bathed the hall in crimson and gold. Shadows stretched long across the lacquered floors. Patrons leaned forward, eager.
The air thickened with smoke and bass vibrations.
My chest seized.
"Oh no," I whispered.
The curtains stirred.
And I realized too late—this wasn't dinner. This was execution night.