The world had collapsed into the size of my phone screen. The frantic, incessant buzzing in my hand was the only sound I could hear, a physical manifestation of my life derailing in real-time. Nami's confession, a bombshell that should have been the most significant event of my day, of my year, hung in the air between us, completely overshadowed by the digital mushroom cloud that had just detonated. My quiet life hadn't just been discovered; it had been conquered, colonized, and carved up for public consumption.
"Get them out of here. Now."
Hina's voice sliced through my shock. The idol mask was gone, replaced by the hardened expression of a field general in the middle of a losing battle. She was barking orders into her headset, her words sharp and precise. "No, not the main exit! Route gamma, now! Get the van to the service entrance. And someone get Kurosawa-san on the line. Tell her it's a Code-Red."
Ayumi was standing frozen, her face pale, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at me. The triumphant joy from her on-stage announcement had curdled into horrified guilt. "Onii-chan… I… I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was just so proud… I didn't think…"
"It's okay," I said, the words feeling hollow and automatic. I wasn't angry. I was too far past anger, adrift in a sea of numb resignation. The dam had finally broken, and all I could do was watch the floodwaters rise.
Izuwa, ever the pragmatist, was scrolling calmly through her phone, her expression a mixture of clinical analysis and grim satisfaction. "The narrative is already spinning," she announced to the chaotic room, her voice cutting through the panic. "They're not calling you the 'unemployed brother' anymore. It's 'Genius Engineer,' 'The Brains Behind the Music.' Reika's little sabotage stunt is being reported online as you 'saving the show with your technical wizardry.' This is a disaster, but it's a manageable one. It's an opportunity."
Her words were like a splash of cold water. They were turning my life into a brand, my actions into a story arc. My horror must have been evident on my face, because Nami, who had been standing awkwardly beside me, put a tentative hand on my arm. "Takeshi?"
Before I could answer, a frantic-looking staff member herded us towards a back corridor. "This way, quickly! The paparazzi are starting to gather at the main gates!"
The escape was a blur of concrete hallways and echoing footsteps. We were smuggled out of the service exit and bundled into the sleek black van, the doors sliding shut with a heavy thud that felt like a coffin lid closing. The five of us- me, my three sisters, and the completely out-of-place Nami- sat in tense silence as the van sped away from the campus, leaving my old life behind in a cloud of dust and flashing camera lights.
The silence in the van was thick and suffocating. I finally managed to turn my phone off, and the sudden absence of the buzzing felt even more ominous. Ayumi finally broke, her quiet sniffles turning into full-blown sobs. She launched herself across the seat and buried her face in my shoulder.
"I'm so, so sorry, Onii-chan!" she wailed. "I ruined everything! I just wanted everyone to know how amazing you are, and I ruined it!"
I patted her head awkwardly, my mind still struggling to process everything. "You didn't ruin everything, Ayumi," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "It was going to happen eventually." It was a grim truth I had always known but never wanted to face.
Hina finally finished her call, her face etched with stress. "The agency is in full crisis mode. They're preparing a statement."
"A statement isn't going to put the genie back in the bottle," Izuwa said coolly, not looking up from her screen. "But we can build a better bottle." She looked directly at me, her gaze sharp. "Reika's agency will spin this to make us look unprofessional. The only way to counter that is with a stronger narrative. And right now, you're the strongest narrative we have."
I felt a chill run down my spine. This wasn't just about damage control anymore. This was about appropriation. They were going to take my life, my skills, my identity, and weave it into the Mikuyi brand. I looked at Nami, who was watching the exchange with wide, concerned eyes. Her simple, straightforward confession felt like something from another lifetime, a relic of a world that no longer existed. My world now was one of spin, narratives, and crisis management. And I was the star of the show I never wanted to be in.