Akira didn't comment.
They ran Act 1.
Akira's voice was flat. Sora's energy was gone.
During notes, Advisor Yamada frowned. "You two sound like strangers. What happened?"
Sora shrugged. "Bad day."
Akira said nothing.
Yamada sighed. "Fix it. The festival is in six weeks. We can't have dead air."
He left.
Sora turned to Akira. "We need to talk."
"No. We need to rehearse."
"Rehearsal isn't working when you're acting like I'm invisible."
Akira finally looked at her. "Maybe it's better this way."
Sora froze. "What?"
"You're leaving. You've already decided. So let's keep it professional until the performance. After that, you go to Tokyo. I stay. Clean break."
Sora stared. "Who told you I decided?"
Akira's voice was quiet. "I heard enough."
"You heard wrong."
"Did I?" He stepped closer. "You laughed with him. You considered the offer. You said you're tired of second place. What else was I supposed to think?"
Sora's eyes flashed. "You were supposed to ask me. Not assume. Not delete my notes. Not treat me like I'm already gone."
Akira's expression flickered. "I saw the document history. You didn't fight the changes."
"Because I was trying to give you space! Because I thought maybe you needed it!"
"I don't need space. I need reliability."
Sora laughed—bitter. "Reliability? You mean control. You want me to stay exactly where you can predict me. Second place. Chaos on a leash. Well guess what? I'm not your prop."
Akira's voice dropped. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
Silence stretched.
Sora's voice cracked. "I haven't decided anything. I was going to tell you. I wanted your opinion. But clearly that was stupid."
She turned to leave.
Akira caught her wrist.
Not hard. Just enough to stop her.
Sora froze.
He spoke quietly. "Don't go."
She looked back. Eyes shining. "Why not?"
"Because…" He swallowed. "Because if you leave now, we don't finish this. And I need this to finish."
Sora searched his face. "The project?"
"No." His grip loosened but didn't release. "This. Us. Working together. Fighting. Fixing. Whatever this is."
Sora exhaled shakily. "You're an idiot."
"I know."
She didn't pull away.
They stood like that—wrist in hand, inches apart—until the auditorium lights flickered to night mode.
Sora spoke first. Soft. "I'm not leaving yet. But if you pull away again without talking to me… I will."
Akira nodded once.
She gently tugged her wrist free.
Then she surprised him.
She stepped forward and hugged him—quick, fierce, gone before he could react.
"Don't be stupid again," she muttered against his shoulder.
Then she walked out.
Akira stood frozen.
The spot where she'd touched him burned.
He didn't hate it.
He didn't hate her.
And for the first time, he let himself admit:
He might actually like her.