The atmosphere backstage was tense—but electric.
Today marked a new beginning.
Sakura and Aiko were debuting as soloists.
Together—but apart.
Two stages. Two concepts. Two stories born from the same group, now standing on their own. The media called it friendly competition, fans called it history in the making. For OG, it felt surreal.
"We really made it here," Hana whispered, squeezing Yuki's hand.
Sakura stood quietly in front of the mirror, adjusting her mic, her reflection steady but her eyes filled with pressure. Across the room, Aiko warmed up her voice, calm and focused, as if she had already accepted whatever outcome awaited her.
The performances began.
Sakura went first.
The stage lights dimmed, her music started, and the crowd roared. She moved with confidence, her voice strong—until it happened.
A misstep.
Just a fraction too late. Barely noticeable, but Sakura felt it instantly. Her heart skipped.
No.
In a split second, she adjusted—turned the mistake into choreography, smiled, sang through it. To the audience, it looked intentional.
But OG knew.
Sakura walked offstage, breath uneven, hands cold.
Aiko's turn followed.
From the first note, she was flawless.
Her voice was clear, emotional, controlled. Every movement precise, every expression intentional. She owned the stage—not loudly, not desperately—but with quiet certainty.
By the time she finished, the applause was thunderous.
Backstage, Sakura lowered her head. "She was amazing," she said softly.
OG nodded. No one disagreed.
When the award segment arrived, the five of them stood together, hands linked. Sakura stared at the floor. Aiko looked forward, expression unreadable.
"And the winner for Best Solo Debut is—"
The pause felt cruel.
"Sakura."
The world tilted.
Gasps rippled through the venue. Cameras swung instantly. Sakura froze, eyes wide in disbelief. Hana's mouth fell open. Yuki whispered, "What?" under her breath. Kairi looked straight at Aiko.
Aiko didn't smile.
She didn't clap.
She simply turned—and walked away.
Sakura felt the trophy placed in her hands, heavy and wrong. Applause filled the hall, but all she could see was Aiko's back disappearing behind the curtains.
Without a word, OG followed.
They didn't wait for interviews. Didn't look back at the stage.
In the hallway, Aiko stood still, shoulders tense, eyes shining—but no tears fell.
"I thought you would win," Sakura said quietly, her voice breaking.
Aiko looked at her then—really looked at her—and smiled faintly.
"I know," she said. "That's why this hurts."
The celebration echoed behind them.
But OG walked away together—because some victories didn't feel like wins at all.