The song ended, leaving the office wrapped in a heavy silence. Ichigo remained motionless in his chair, face unreadable behind those ever-present shades. I exchanged a quick glance with Ai, who gave me the slightest nod of encouragement.
"So," I began, "what do you—"
Ichigo held up one finger, silencing me while reaching for his phone with his other hand. His thumbs moved across the screen with practiced efficiency, searching for something. The seconds stretched into a full minute, then two.
My heartbeat quickened. Was he checking if we'd stolen the track? Looking up similar songs?
Ai sat perfectly still beside me, her posture betraying nothing, but I caught the slight tension in her fingers where they rested on her script.
Finally, Ichigo set his phone down and removed his sunglasses.
"You can't perform this at Yokohama Arena in five weeks."
My stomach dropped. "Why not? We've been practicing the—"
"Because," he interrupted, leaning forward, "that song right there deserves more."
I blinked, his words taking a moment to register.
"I've got contacts at NHK. They owe me after that stunt they pulled on B-Komachi last winter." He glanced at Ai, who suddenly seemed very interested in her fingernails. "Might be able to get you on 'Music Station' or 'Utacon.' Live performance, national broadcast, hundreds of thousands of viewers."
My mouth went dry. Those were Japan's premier music shows, typically reserved for established acts with major label backing.
"That's... ambitious," I managed.
"So is this song." Ichigo tapped his desk. "How long will it take you to develop a full performance routine? Something that matches the energy of the track?"
I did some quick mental calculations. "With choreography, blocking, transitions... while also preparing for Yokohama?"
"Yes. Both need to happen."
"Two weeks."
Ichigo nodded, already jotting notes. "Two weeks. That's tight but doable. We'll need to rent additional studio time." His pen scratched across paper. "Costume budget will need adjustment. The visual concept needs to match the sound—something raw but polished."
He continued muttering about costs and deadlines, flipping through his calendar, completely absorbed in planning. After about a minute, he looked up suddenly, as if just remembering we were still in the room.
"Right. You two." He turned to Ai. "Your matter. What was it?"
Ai stood smoothly, gathering her script. "Just the commercial scheduling conflict. It can wait until tomorrow when you come to pick me up for the photo shoot."
"Of course, of course." Ichigo was already back to his notes, mind clearly racing with possibilities. "We'll sort it then."
Taking our cue, Ai and I headed for the door. Ichigo called after us just as I reached for the handle.
"Kagami."
I turned. "Yes?"
"Tell the others... good work." He seemed almost surprised to be saying it. "Very good work."
I nodded, unable to suppress my smile. "I will."
In the hallway, with Ichigo's door firmly closed behind us, I let out a long, slow breath, then pumped my fist in silent victory.
Ai watched me with amusement dancing in her eyes. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Better than good." I pulled out my phone and opened the PRISM group chat, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Boss loved it. National TV show possible. Details when I get back. We did it.
Before I could see the responses flooding in, Ai's hand touched my wrist lightly.
"Congratulations!" Her smile reached her eyes this time. "This calls for a celebration!"
I pocketed my phone as it began to vibrate with incoming messages. "You're right. I should head back and tell them in person."
"Or," she countered, "you could give yourself a moment to enjoy your own victory before the chaos begins." She checked her watch. "I know a place nearby. Good food, private booths, no chance of being recognized."
I hesitated. My first instinct was to rush back to the others, but something in her suggestion resonated. Once I returned to the group, this would become our collective achievement. Which it was—but for just a little longer, I wanted to savor my role in making it happen.
"Lead the way," I said.
Twenty minutes later, we sat in a dimly lit booth at the back of an izakaya so nondescript I'd walked past it twice before Ai pointed out the entrance. The narrow restaurant occupied the basement level of an office building, its worn wooden tables and faded paper lanterns suggesting decades of service.
"How do you know about this place?" I asked as the elderly owner set down two cups of juice without being asked, nodding to Ai with familiar respect.
"Ichigo brought me here after my first successful audition." She lifted her cup in a small toast. "Said it was tradition. Success should be celebrated quietly before it's announced loudly."
I raised my cup to meet hers. "Wise man."
"Sometimes." She took a sip, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim of her cup. "He also said never trust anyone in this industry who doesn't have at least one secret."
"And do you? Have secrets?"
Her smile turned enigmatic. "Everyone does. The question is whether they're secrets worth keeping."
The owner returned with a plate of perfectly grilled yakitori and two bowls of rice. Again, we hadn't ordered—apparently Ai's connection here came with a predetermined meal.
"Is this also tradition?" I asked, gesturing to the food.
"Mmm." She nodded, taking a skewer. "Best yakitori in Tokyo, if you ask Ichigo. Though he says that about six different places."
I tried a piece, the char-grilled chicken practically melting on my tongue. "He might be right about this one."
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. My phone continued vibrating in my pocket, but I let it go.
"So," Ai said eventually, "what's your secret, Toshiro Kagami?"
I nearly choked on my rice. "What makes you think I have one?"
"Everyone does," she repeated. "Especially centers. We're chosen because we have something others don't—something magnetic that draws people in. Often, it's connected to whatever we're hiding."
If only she knew how right she was. My entire existence in this life was built around the secret of my past one.
"Maybe my secret is that I don't have any secrets," I offered with a half-smile.
She laughed, the sound rich and genuine in the quiet restaurant. "Now that would be truly unique in this industry."
"What about you?" I countered. "What's the great Ai Hoshino hiding behind all that talent?"
"Nothing interesting," she said lightly. "Just the usual idol stuff. The gap between who I am on stage and off."
"I don't believe that," I said softly.
Ai's fingers paused on her chopsticks. Her expression remained neutral, but something in her eyes shifted—a door closing.
"You don't know me well enough to make that call." Her voice carried no edge, just quiet certainty.
"Fair enough." I reached for another skewer. "But I recognize a performer when I see one."
She tilted her head. "We're all performers. That's literally the job description."
"Not what I meant." I set down my chopsticks and leaned forward slightly. "There's performing on stage, and then there's performing every minute of every day. The way you shift between Ai-chan the idol and whoever you are right now—it's seamless. Most people can't do that without practice."
She studied me for a long moment, her gradient eyes unreadable in the dim light. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"You're dangerous, Toshiro Kagami."
"Me?" I pointed to myself with mock innocence. "I'm just a rookie idol who got lucky with his first song."
"No." She shook her head, still smiling. "You see too much. That makes you dangerous in this industry."
"Or valuable."
"Sometimes they're the same thing." She took a sip of her drink. "So what's your story? Orphanage to idol group isn't exactly the standard career path."
The mention of the orphanage caught me off guard. "You know about that?"
"Ichigo mentioned it. Said you reminded him of me."
"Did he?" I felt a strange tightness in my chest. "And do I?"
"In some ways." She picked up another skewer, examining it before taking a bite. "There's something in your eyes sometimes. A kind of... distance. Like you're seeing things the rest of us can't."
If only she knew.
"Occupational hazard of growing up without parents," I said lightly. "You learn to watch people carefully."
"True." She nodded. "You learn to read intentions before words are spoken. Useful skill for survival. Even more useful for an idol."
"Is that what happened with you? Turned survival instincts into stage presence?"
She laughed. "Something like that. Though I doubt Ichigo would phrase it so poetically in my marketing materials."
"'B-Komachi's Ai Hoshino: Traumatized But Talented.'" I framed the imaginary headline with my hands. "Probably wouldn't sell as many photobooks."
Her laughter deepened, head tilting back. The sound felt genuine, unrestrained by the careful control she usually maintained.
"God, can you imagine?" She wiped at her eyes. "The poor PR team would have collective heart failure."
"They'd deserve it for some of those saccharine bios they write." I cleared my throat and adopted an announcer's voice. "'Ai-chan loves puppies, sunshine, and making her fans smile! Her favorite food is strawberry shortcake!'"
"Hey!" She pointed her chopsticks at me accusingly. "I do love puppies."
"And the rest?"
She shrugged. "Too much sunshine gives me headaches, and my favorite food is hamburger steak. But two out of three true statements won't sell merchandise."
"The great idol illusion," I said. "Give them what they want to see."
"Exactly." She nodded, then paused. "Though sometimes I wonder if that's all it is."
"What do you mean?"
She seemed to consider her words carefully. "When you perform enough times, the line blurs. The stage persona starts to feel as real as whatever's underneath." She absently traced the rim of her cup. "Sometimes I wonder if there's still a difference, or if I've just become what everyone needed me to be."
The vulnerability in her admission struck me. Here was Japan's top idol, questioning her own authenticity in a dingy basement restaurant with someone she barely knew.
"I think there's always a difference," I said. "Even if only you can feel it."
Her eyes met mine, searching. "And what about you? Who's the real Toshiro beneath the center position?"
"Still figuring that out," I answered honestly. "Sometimes I feel like I've lived multiple lives crammed into one body."
"That's an interesting way to put it." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Multiple lives."
"Just feels that way sometimes." I shrugged. "Like I've seen and done things that don't match up with being seventeen."
"Old soul syndrome," she said with a small smile. "I get that too."
The elderly owner appeared with a small cast iron pot of green tea, setting it between us without a word before shuffling back to the kitchen.
"Did you order that?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Tradition again. Tea after the meal."
I poured for both of us, the fragrant steam rising between us like a veil. "So many traditions in this business."
"You have no idea." She accepted her cup with a nod of thanks. "Wait until you experience your first group vacation where the cameras follow you 'spontaneously' having fun."
"That sounds horrific."
"It is." She sipped her tea. "But the fans eat it up. They want to believe we're all best friends having the time of our lives."
"And are you? All best friends?"
Something complicated passed across her face. "We're... family. Which means sometimes we love each other and sometimes we want to strangle each other."
"Sounds about right." I smiled. "PRISM's heading that way already. Ryota nearly threw Ryuu's schedule book out the window yesterday because it had him down for extra English practice."
"Did he need the extra practice?"
"Absolutely," I laughed. "But don't tell him I said that."
"Your secret's safe with me." She mimed locking her lips.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Fair enough." I set down my cup. "Why did you really want to hear our song? The truth."
She considered the question, her fingers tapping lightly against her teacup.
"Curiosity, partly," she finally said. "But also... I needed to know if Ichigo was right about you."
"Right about what?"
"That you could do for PRISM what I did for B-Komachi."
The weight of her words settled over me. "And your verdict?"
She met my gaze directly. "I think you might do more."
"That's..." I struggled to find the right response. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Her tone turned serious. "This industry will try to devour you, Toshiro. The brighter you shine, the more they'll want pieces of you."
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
She didn't answer directly, just continued, "Success in this world comes with a price tag. Always. The question is whether you're willing to pay it."
"What was your price?" I asked quietly.
Her eyes flickered with something raw and honest before she masked it with a small smile. "That's a secret for another day."
She glanced at her watch and made a small sound of surprise. "I should go. I have an early rehearsal tomorrow."
I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment that our conversation was ending. "I should get back to the guys before they send a search party."
She flagged down the owner for the bill, but he waved her off with a gruff, "Ichigo's account."
Outside, the evening air had cooled, bringing relief from the day's humidity. Street lamps cast pools of yellow light on the sidewalk as we stood awkwardly, neither quite ready to part ways.
"Which direction are you headed?" I asked.
"Setagaya. You?"
"Shibuya."
"Opposite ways, then." She nodded, but made no move to leave.
"I could walk you to the station," I offered.
"Better not." Her smile turned rueful. "Fans have eyes everywhere. 'B-Komachi's Ai Spotted with PRISM's New Center' isn't a headline either of us needs right now."
"Right." I felt foolish for suggesting it. "Of course."
She looked at me for a long moment, then reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. "Give me your number. For... professional reasons."
I blinked in surprise but recited my number as she typed it in. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a message.
Now you have mine too. Professional reasons only, of course. - Ai
"Of course," I echoed, unable to suppress my smile.
She took a step back, shouldering her purse. "Congratulations again on the song. It really is exceptional."
"Thanks for helping convince Ichigo."
"He didn't need convincing. He just needed confirmation." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Good luck with the choreography. Two weeks isn't much time."
"We'll make it work."
"I know you will." She turned to go, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "And Toshiro? About secrets..."
I waited, heart inexplicably racing.
"Sometimes the best ones are the ones we choose to share with the right people." Her gradient eyes caught the streetlight, turning them almost luminous. "See you around, Center-kun."
"See you around, Ai."