The call came late.
"Meeting room. Now," the manager said, voice clipped, leaving no space for questions.
OG gathered in silence. The room felt smaller than usual—air thick, lights too bright. Sakura still held the trophy from earlier, its shine now dull in her hands.
The manager cleared his throat and forced a smile. "First of all… congratulations, Sakura."
No one responded.
"But," he continued, folding his hands, "there's something you all need to understand. Our new group is flopping."
Yuki frowned. "So… we help promote them?"
Aiko looked up. "We can do joint stages. Variety appearances. Anything."
The manager shook his head. "No. None of you can."
Confusion rippled across the room.
"Then who?" Kairi asked.
The manager's gaze landed squarely on Sakura. "Only Sakura."
"What?" Hana blurted.
Sakura stiffened. "Why me?"
The manager sighed, as if tired of pretending. "Because after OG started flopping, someone stepped in. Again."
The word again rang loudly.
Aiko's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, again?"
"There's a person," the manager said carefully, "who has been… influencing things behind the scenes. Streams. Exposure. Opportunities."
Sakura's grip tightened around the trophy.
"And this," he added, nodding toward it, "was bought. For you."
Silence crashed down.
Aiko stood abruptly. "That's impossible."
"I wish it were," the manager replied. "That person had only one demand."
Everyone turned to Sakura.
"To have dinner with Sakura."
The words felt unreal—like a joke told too late.
"No," Aiko said sharply. "Absolutely not."
"This isn't her responsibility," Hana added, voice shaking.
Sakura stared at the table, her mind racing—temple lights, a tissue, a chocolate, a smile remembered too clearly.
"Who is it?" Sakura asked quietly.
The manager hesitated. "You don't know the name. But you've met before."
Aiko's breath caught.
Sakura felt cold spread through her chest.
"This dinner," the manager continued, "is the condition. Refuse—and the support disappears. For you. For OG. For the company."
Aiko slammed her hand on the table. "So you're asking her to pay for all of us?"
"I'm asking her to save us," the manager corrected.
Sakura finally looked up.
The trophy in her hands felt heavier than ever—no longer a symbol of victory, but of debt.
"I need time," she said.
The manager nodded. "You have one night."
As they left the room, OG closed in around her.
"We won't let you do this alone," Yuki said.
Aiko met Sakura's eyes, hurt and fear tangled together. "You don't owe anyone your life."
Sakura tried to smile—but it didn't reach her eyes.
Because deep down, she already knew.
This wasn't a request.
It was a claim.