Wanderers of Sorceria 

Moonlight Prism 9

In the wake of the Harmony Gala each member of Moonlight Prism grasps with their newfound success in their own ways. Hikari of Sunshine Melody sees an opportunity to advance her career. 

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## A Shared Moment

The early evening air was cool, and the soft glow of neon signs lit the street outside the theater. Kaede adjusted his jacket as he stood beside Hana, who looked subtly elegant in her nicer-than-usual outfit-- tasteful, dark colors that made her silver bob cut glow faintly under the lights. They had chosen a romantic comedy, something Kaede had picked after far too much deliberation. He figured Hana might appreciate the lightness of it, especially after everything that had happened in recent weeks.

But once they were inside the theater, Kaede quickly regretted his decision.

The film was fine-- predictable, mildly funny, the kind of harmless fluff that passed for a first date fallback. But ten minutes in, Hana had leaned her head gently against his shoulder, completely silent. He could feel her steady breathing, the way her weight relaxed into him without hesitation.

Kaede didn't move. He couldn't.

He didn't know if he was reading too much into it. Was she bored? Was she just tired? Or... was this her way of saying something unspoken? He couldn't focus on the film anymore. Instead, he spent the rest of the runtime acutely aware of her presence, warm and calm beside him.

When the credits rolled and the lights came up, Hana lifted her head and stretched slightly, her expression unreadable but content.

They exited into the street, where the bustle of the city around them served as a contrast to the silence between them.

"So," Kaede ventured, still trying to shake his nerves, "did you enjoy the movie?"

Hana glanced at him and smiled. "I did," she said. "But not because of the film."

Kaede blinked. "Oh?"

"It was nice," she continued. "Sharing a moment. With you."

He laughed, almost embarrassed. "So... the movie *was* boring."

Hana looked at him sidelong, her smile curling a bit more. "Yes," she admitted. "It really was."

Kaede scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure what kind of movie you'd like. All I really know is you go out of your way to see anything with Shizuka Minazuki in it, and those aren't exactly... 'date' movies."

"No," Hana said, "but I don't mind. Besides, it'll be a while before Shizuka's next film hits theaters."

Kaede nodded. "Maybe you could recommend something from your catalogue next time?"

"I can do that," Hana said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "We can talk about it over dinner."

Kaede looked at her, a little surprised by how easily that offer came.

"Dinner, huh?" he said.

"You're paying," Hana added, deadpan.

He grinned. "I figured."

They walked off into the night, side-by-side, no longer worried about whether the movie had been any good-- because somehow, the moment had been.

----

## Graduation Day

The atmosphere backstage was bittersweet-- giddy cheers from the audience still echoed faintly from the concert hall, but in the dressing room of Sunshine Melody, it was a quieter world. Confetti clung to glossy wigs and costume sequins; water bottles sweated on countertops, and the air smelled faintly of perfume and exertion.

Akari and Sakura were chatting quietly near the lighted mirrors, their smiles a little stiff, as if struggling to maintain the usual idol cheer. They knew what this moment was. Not just the end of a concert-- but the end of an era.

Aoi's farewell concert had gone off flawlessly, as expected. She had danced and smiled like always, the spotlight catching her every move. But now, back in the dressing room, her radiant energy had dimmed, replaced by something more reflective.

She set her bouquet-- white lilies and soft pink roses-- on the dresser and looked around as though she were memorizing every detail.

Hikari, still in costume, was sitting on a stool, legs swinging. The youngest of the group, she was the one who had cried the most during the concert... at least on stage.

"You did great out there," Hikari said, forcing a soft tremble into her voice.

Aoi smiled at her. "Thanks. You were amazing too, Hikari."

There was a pause. Aoi's gaze drifted to the bouquet again.

"I'm gonna miss this. A little, anyway," she said. "The lights, the cheers, even the endless rehearsals. But... I've always loved ballet more. This is the right move. I can feel it."

Hikari's eyes widened just slightly. "I'm sorry you're leaving, Aoi," she said, her tone drenched in sweetness and just a touch of sorrow. "It won't be the same without you."

Aoi laughed lightly, shaking her head. "You always were good at sounding like the perfect little sister."

Then she stepped forward and reached out, ruffling Hikari's hair. "You'll be a good girl from now on, right?"

Hikari pouted. "I've *been* good."

Aoi stopped, her hand still resting on Hikari's head. Her brows furrowed slightly as she stared.

"...Wait. When did you get so tall?"

Hikari blinked.

Aoi stepped back, looking her up and down. "We're the same height now?"

"I had my growth spurt a while ago," Hikari said, puffing her cheeks. "You just didn't notice."

"Huh," Aoi murmured, lips curving in a nostalgic smile. "I still remember when you barely came up to my shoulder."

Hikari's eyes softened. "That was a long time ago."

"Yeah. I guess it was."

Aoi reached out again, resting a hand on Hikari's shoulder this time. "You're a grown woman now. You'll have to take responsibility for yourself. I won't be around to pick up your slack anymore."

Hikari nodded solemnly. "I can take care of myself. You should take care of *you*, too."

The words surprised Aoi for a second-- but then she smiled. "I will. Thanks, Hikari."

She turned and walked toward the wardrobe, tugging off one glove. "Well, time to get changed. For the last time."

Watching Aoi disappear to meet her waiting assistants, Hikari stayed seated, watching the swish of Aoi's stage skirt vanish behind the curtain.

Silence settled. The dressing room seemed even more still now.

When she was sure no one else was watching-- Akari and Sakura having gone to grab drinks-- Hikari's sweet expression melted away. She smirked.

"Finally," she muttered under her breath. "Loser."

Hikari leaned back in her chair, brushing her bangs aside. The dressing room lights gleamed in her wide, ambitious eyes.

----

## A Nudge Here, A Tug There

The private lounge of Phoenix Apex Sound, the record label behind Sunshine Melody, was quiet and tastefully decorated. Low jazz filtered from discreet speakers. A mahogany table sat in the center of the room, flanked by leather armchairs. 

Souichi Yamamoto, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit with a blue silk tie, sipped his green tea without hurry. In his early sixties, he had the posture of a man who had carried the weight of the Japanese music industry on his back for decades-- his name had helped build idols, crush scandals, and push chart-toppers onto every screen in Shibuya.

Across from him sat Hikari, the youngest member of Sunshine Melody, her pink twintails tied up in glossy ribbons and her smile glowing with innocent energy.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Yamamoto," Hikari said sweetly, folding her hands in her lap. "I know you're very busy."

"Not at all," he replied, amused by her formality. "A member of Sunshine Melody is always welcome. I'm glad to see you young ladies taking initiative."

She giggled, covering her mouth with two fingers. "Heehee... I try my best."

Yamamoto took another sip of tea. "So, what brings you here, dear Hikari? A new project idea?"

There was a pause.

Hikari's smile faded, just like a light dimming. She leaned forward, her voice quiet, controlled-- *adult*. "Let's skip the pretense."

Yamamoto blinked once, setting his cup down slowly. The transformation was instant and chilling.

"I've heard Moonlight Prism is in talks to play at the Tokyo Dome," Hikari continued. "After their little performance at the Harmony Gala... 'Eclipse of the Sun' really turned heads."

Yamamoto raised a brow. "I've heard whispers. But it's not my concern-- they're not under our label."

"True," Hikari nodded. "But you *do* have friends. And friends of friends. Connections in event scheduling, media production, venue logistics. I know your reach, Mr. Yamamoto. Everyone does."

The music executive remained quiet, observing her.

"I'm just suggesting," she continued, "that such a high-profile event might not go exactly as Moonlight Prism hopes. Not if, say, rehearsals were rescheduled last-minute. If equipment permits got 'lost.' If media coverage turned 'unexpectedly' sour."

"You're asking me to sabotage them." His tone was flat.

"I'm asking you," she said calmly, "to apply a little pressure in the right places. A few nudges. Some minor delays. Let their own expectations crush them."

Yamamoto's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are *you* bringing this to me?"

Hikari tilted her head, innocent again-- but only on the surface. "Because you have the ability to make sure it happens without anyone knowing it came from *me*. Or from Sunshine Melody, for that matter."

"I don't play games with artists outside my label. And I don't deal in idle threats."

"Oh, this isn't a threat." Hikari smiled. "But... I did hear something interesting. About a certain man. A certain *young* man. Who shares your blood."

Yamamoto went still. "I don't have a son," he said sharply.

She shrugged. "Maybe you don't. Maybe the young man caught on camera at the underground club just looks like you. Maybe his recreational preferences and... more exotic tastes are nobody's business." Her eyes locked with his, unwavering. "It'd be shameful, wouldn't it?" she said softly. "If the media found out. You're a pillar of the industry. You've built your reputation on professionalism."

Yamamoto's expression remained stony, but a vein in his temple had started to pulse. "You've done your homework."

"I always do."

There was silence. The jazz track playing in the background switched to something low and slow.

Finally, Yamamoto steepled his fingers. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing overt," Hikari said, slipping back into her sweet, cheerful tone like a coat. "Just... make things a little harder for them. Little problems. Little fires. No villain to point to. No culprit. Just frustration and delays."

Yamamoto stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded once, the smallest gesture of reluctant acknowledgment.

"I'll... find a way to make things difficult for them. For now."

Hikari beamed, all teeth. "I know you will."

She rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt and bowing politely. "Sunshine Melody may be down, but we're not out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Yamamoto. I'll be in touch."

As she turned and walked out of the lounge with the same bounce in her step that her fans adored, Souichi Yamamoto remained seated, still steepling his fingers. He had underestimated her, and he hated that more than anything.

----

## Making It

The Prism Productions lounge was filled with its usual relaxed energy. Hana and Riko were nestled comfortably together on one of the plush couches, legs tucked in and shoes off, sharing a blanket and quietly giggling over a phone screen. Across from them, Itsuki lounged with one leg draped over the armrest, flicking a guitar pick between his fingers, while Kaede sat upright beside him, reading a magazine. 

At the bar, Astra scrolled through her phone with her blank expression, a single earbud in, tapping her foot to a rhythm only she could hear. 

The door creaked open, and Producer-san strode in, wearing a black turtleneck and blazer combo. He clapped his hands once, loudly, drawing the group's attention with the dramatic flair of someone who thrived on big announcements.

"Everyone," he said with a grin, "I've got news."

"Unless it's a new espresso machine, I'm not moving," Astra muttered, eyes still locked on her phone.

Riko tilted her head. "What is it this time? Another photoshoot? Radio show?"

Producer-san chuckled at the feigned enthusiasm. "Even better. I secured us a spot at the Tokyo Dome."

A moment of stunned silence followed.

"You *what?*" Riko sat up straight, blinking as if she hadn't heard right. "The *Tokyo Dome* Tokyo Dome?"

"The very one," Producer-san said, clearly savoring their reactions. "Thanks to your performance of 'Eclipse of the Sun' at the Harmony Gala, the band's profile went through the roof. Streams, social chatter, fan art-- the buzz hasn't stopped. So I made a few calls, pulled a few strings, and now... we've got a Dome date."

Hana's eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. "That's... that's huge."

"It's the *biggest*," Riko breathed. "Bands don't just get to play at the Dome. You *earn* that. This means... we made it, right? We're really *there*."

Kaede leaned back slightly, a small smile breaking across his face. "It's a milestone. You should be proud."

Across from him, Itsuki offered a faint smile, twirling the guitar pick still. "Yeah... big deal," he said with a shrug. "Guess I'll finally have to stop treating soundchecks like warm-up karaoke."

Kaede raised an eyebrow. "That's not even a good joke, and you know it."

Riko turned toward him, squinting. "Wait, are you okay? You're not hyped about this?"

"I am," Itsuki replied, a bit too quickly. He made a face like he was trying to summon his usual charm. "Come on, it's just a venue. Big, sure, but we still gotta play like always, right?"

But the lack of his usual theatrical flair was obvious. Astra paused mid-scroll, casting him a glance from under her bangs-- just a flicker, but enough to show she had picked up on it, too.

Producer-san, oblivious or simply ignoring the shift in tone, launched into the logistics. "We'll be running rehearsals next. That includes sound calibration, light choreography, and spacing. Merch will be updated accordingly-- we're looking at limited-edition prints. Oh, and practice schedules will tighten. I'll need all of you--"

His voice became background noise to Riko and Hana, who had leaned into each other again, eyes sparkling.

"Can you believe this?" Hana whispered. "The Tokyo Dome..."

"I used to watch concerts there on TV," Riko said, almost in awe. "And now *we're* the ones performing. All those tiny live house gigs... all the work we put in... it was worth it."

Hana nodded slowly, her hand resting over Riko's. "We made it through so much. This is the reward."

Behind them, Astra finally spoke-- quietly but directly. "It's a lot of eyes. Don't lose yourselves in it."

Everyone went silent for a beat. It was Astra's way of showing concern-- half warning, half encouragement, all honesty.

Kaede gave a slight nod. "She's right. But I think we're ready."

Hana squeezed Riko's hand. "We are."

But even as the energy surged through the lounge, Itsuki leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling with a faint furrow in his brow, uncharacteristically quiet amid the celebration.

----

Itsuki sat alone on the lounge couch, slouched in his usual lazy sprawl, but with none of his usual flair. His fingers idly spun a worn guitar pick over and over between them, eyes unfocused as they stared ahead at nothing. There were rehearsal notes open beside him, a cup of untouched coffee on the table, long gone cold.

When the door creaked open, he didn't look up.

"Hey," Riko said, poking her head in. She was in a hoodie and gym shorts, hair messy from dance practice. "Thought you'd be at the studio shredding your solo for the Tokyo Dome set."

Itsuki gave a soft snort. "I was. Then I got bored of hearing myself."

Riko stepped in and plopped onto the opposite end of the couch, her voice light, her eyes sharp. "What's up with you lately? You've been... weird. Quieter. That's not your brand."

He didn't answer immediately. The guitar pick stilled between his fingers. "Do you remember when we started Moonlight Prism?"

Riko blinked, then tilted her head. "Of course I do. Two rejects from opposite ends of the industry, trying to build something of their own." Her smile was bittersweet. "I got blacklisted because I told some sleazy executive to go screw himself when he tried to make me 'pay' for a spot in Sunshine Melody. And you... couldn't get into a single band despite your talent."

"Yeah," Itsuki said quietly. "That's the story."

He paused, then looked at her. "But do you remember how I looked when we first met?"

Riko grinned. "You mean the skirt, the full makeup, that ridiculous cherry red lipstick? You hit on me in the stairwell, remember?"

He chuckled, but shook his head. "Oh no, that's not what I meant. How I *was.* My attitude."

Riko leaned back, thoughtful. "Honestly? You haven't changed much. You were all flash and fire. You strutted in like you owned the world. Loud, cocky, too cool to care what anyone thought."

"Exactly." He sighed. "All of that... was armor. I didn't want people to see how scared I was. Because there *was* someone whose opinion I cared about. Deeply. Desperately."

Riko's smile faded. "Your dad?"

Itsuki nodded. "Yeah."

There was a beat of silence before Riko spoke again, softly. "I know what you mean. I don't talk to my mom, either. I mean, she's *Mana O Mana.* The queen of J-pop. She hated how I dressed, how I sang, who I was. But your dad... he can't be that bad. Right?"

Itsuki looked at her for a long moment, then finally said, "My father is Souichi Yamamoto."

Riko's mouth went dry. "...Wait. *That* Yamamoto? From... Phoenix Apex Sound?"

"The one that releases Sunshine Melody's music, yeah."

She blinked hard, the pieces clicking into place with a weight that settled in her gut. "That's why... you never told anyone?"

Itsuki gave a humorless smile. "My dad thinks I'm a disgrace to the family name. But now that we're about to step onto the Tokyo Dome, he's going to see me again. I will have made it along with the rest of you guys, but I won't have his approval. And I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Riko shifted closer, her voice low. "You've been carrying this alone the whole time?"

Itsuki didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She reached out, placing her hand over his. Her grip was firm-- grounding. "Then maybe... it's time you didn't. Maybe we all need to know. We're a band, right? We've fought our demons and fame and bad food together. We can handle this, too."

Itsuki was silent for a moment, staring down at their hands. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"You're right. This isn't just about me anymore. It's about *us.*"

Riko squeezed his hand once, then stood up. "Let's gather everyone. No secrets, right?"

Itsuki got to his feet, still not smiling, but lighter somehow. "No secrets."

----

Itsuki stood in the center of the rehearsal room, arms folded, his usual swagger dimmed to a slow burn behind heavy eyeliner. Riko sat cross-legged on the floor, Kaede leaned back against a speaker with arms crossed, and Hana sat with her violin across her lap, gaze locked on Itsuki. Even Astra, perched on a stool with earbuds half-out, was paying attention.

They had all agreed to hear him out: no jokes, no music, just the truth.

"I don't usually do this," Itsuki said, voice low, almost careful. "But I figure... if we're gonna stand together in front of that huge crowd at the Tokyo Dome, you deserve to know who you're standing next to."

He hesitated, then continued.

"My parents were never around. Not in the 'they were busy but loving' kind of way-- just not there. I ate alone, did laundry alone, walked to school alone. I didn't even know if they remembered my birthday half the time. I tried stuff-- anything, really-- to get them to *react.* Once, I dyed my hair purple with bathroom cleaner and food coloring-- burned my scalp. I thought maybe they'd freak out. They didn't. It didn't even warrant a mention."

A faint laugh escaped him, bitter and nostalgic.

"So I got creative. I stole my mom's lipstick, wore her skirts, and stuffed my chest and walked around the house like I was on a runway. I imagined her catching me, grounding me, yelling. Something. But nothing ever happened. They didn't *see* me."

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he was gripping the memory.

"There was *one* thing my dad cared about-- guitar. When I picked it up, my dad noticed. He got me lessons, even listened sometimes. I guess he thought maybe I'd end up in one of his label's bands. Maybe that was his plan. I didn't care-- I just wanted to keep being seen."

He paused, drawing in a breath, then looked each of them in the eye.

"And then, the big one. My dad was getting a promotion-- some fancy executive thing at Phoenix Apex Sound. Big enough that they threw him a private party. You know the type."

Kaede raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You weren't invited?"

Itsuki smirked. "Not exactly. But I *showed up* anyway. I crashed it. Full makeup. Red lipstick, smoky eyes. Corset, thigh-highs, heels that could kill a man. I walked in like I *belonged.*"

"You were the entertainment?" Astra guessed.

"Yep," Itsuki said with a slow grin. "I *suggested* I'd been arranged by Souichi Yamamoto himself. That I was there to 'congratulate him in private.' Right in front of his coworkers."

There was silence. No one interrupted.

"He turned pale. Everyone was whispering. His whole career image, shattered by his *own son.* And the best part?" Itsuki's voice dropped, suddenly solemn. "When security came, he pretended not to know me."

Riko winced. Hana looked down.

"I finally got him to pay attention to me."

Kaede spoke softly. "What happened after?"

"He threw me out of the house," Itsuki said flatly. "Didn't even wait a day. Just told me to get out. Said I'd embarrassed him beyond repair. I packed a duffel bag and left. Been couch-surfing, club-hopping, and building my own damn life ever since."

They sat in heavy silence.

"We haven't spoken since," he added. "Not once." Itsuki shrugged, but his voice cracked just slightly when he said, "But hey. I got what I wanted. He *saw* me."

Riko reached out, took his hand, and held it firmly. "You're not just seen, Itsuki. You're heard. Felt. Respected."

"By us," Hana added gently.

Kaede nodded. "And we've got your back."

Even Astra gave a small, approving nod, though she didn't say anything.

For a long moment, Itsuki didn't respond. Then he exhaled, long and deep, as if letting go of a weight he'd carried far too long.

"...Thanks," he said. "That means more than I can say. I didn't tell you all that just for sympathy," he added, voice low. "I talked about it because I still think about my dad."

He glanced around at his bandmates, each frozen in their own way.

"I don't even know if he knows I'm in Moonlight Prism," Itsuki went on. "Or if he cares. But the Tokyo Dome... that's not small." He laughed, though it lacked any joy. "I guess what I'm trying to say is-- I want to make up with him. Somehow. Even if it's stupid. Even if he's still ashamed of me. I want him to know I made it. And maybe... maybe he'll finally acknowledge that I exist."

Riko frowned, brushing a silver strand of hair from her face. "You don't *have* to do that, you know."

Itsuki looked up.

"I used to think I needed my mom's approval, too. The great Mana O Mana," she said with mock grandeur, then let it fall away. "But eventually I realized... I don't. That's her loss."

Hana looked up gently toward her best friend. "But Riko, you *did* try. You went to see her, remember?"

Riko's lips parted-- then closed.

"And that's why I think Itsuki should, too," Hana continued. "Not for his dad. For *himself.* So he won't have to wonder forever. Even if it doesn't go how he hopes."

Astra shifted her weight on the arm of the couch. "Better to know than to not know."

Kaede nodded, arms crossed. "I agree. Even a bad answer is an answer. Leaving it unresolved can eat you alive."

Itsuki let out a breath through his nose. "I'm not telling you this because I want your permission. I'm gonna do it whether you think it's smart or not."

"We know," Kaede said.

"But... I'm really grateful you're not stopping me."

Riko stood up and stretched, hands behind her head. "Then let me come with you. Not to be your shield or anything-- just someone standing beside you. If it goes bad, I'll be there."

Itsuki gave her a soft smile. "Thanks, Riko, but I need to do this myself. Just me and him."

Riko opened her mouth to argue, but decided against it.

Instead, Hana chose to speak up. "But... what if he refuses to see you? That's a real possibility, Itsuki."

Itsuki's jaw clenched.

"Which is why I think we should go as Moonlight Prism."

His eyes flicked toward her. "Hana--"

"I'm not saying we lie. I'm saying if this is about showing him who you've become-- then show him. You're not just some 'troubled kid' anymore. You're Itsuki of Moonlight Prism. If he won't see you as his son, maybe he'll still see what you've accomplished."

Kaede added, "He might brush off a single guy showing up at his office. But five artists standing together-- he can't ignore that. You'd be walking in with legitimacy *and* support."

"I don't want to drag you all into this," Itsuki muttered.

"You're not dragging us," Riko said flatly. "We're choosing to walk with you."

Astra, as usual, didn't say anything more-- but the slight tilt of her head said she agreed.

Itsuki opened his mouth to object again. Then closed it. He couldn't find a flaw in Hana's reasoning. And as much as he wanted this to be a one-on-one reckoning... maybe that wasn't realistic. Maybe he needed to show up not as a son looking for scraps-- but as the man he'd built himself into. The artist. The performer. The bandmate.

"...Okay," he finally said, looking around the room. He swallowed once, then nodded. "Let's go see him."

----

## Invitation

The meeting room at Phoenix Apex Sound was pristine and sterile, with sleek chairs lined up against a polished obsidian table. A gentle hum from the overhead lights filled the silence until the door opened and the assistant announced:

"Moonlight Prism is here to see you, Mr. Yamamoto."

Souichi Yamamoto adjusted the cuffs of his slate-gray suit, every bit the image of a powerful executive. "Send them in."

The band entered one by one, youthful and confident. First came Hana Kawamura-- soft-spoken, elegant in a flowing cream blouse and tailored slacks, violin case in hand. Then Riko Amano, whose bold silver bob and intense eyes lit up the room, her aura raw and passionate. Next was Astra-- Fumiko Kurose-- reserved, dressed in monochrome, her gaze sharp behind her concealing bangs. Kaede Takahashi came in next, calm and composed.

And then... Itsuki Yamamoto.

Souichi's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't seen his son in years-- not since *that night*. And there he stood now, casual as if nothing had happened, wearing a glam rock jacket, rings on every other finger, eyeliner faint beneath his eyes. He was, of course, older, perhaps more mature-- he was no longer the teenager who was looking to cause a scene. His hair dyed silver like the duo Hana and Riko, presenting himself in a more feminine appearance than those two, but he unmistakably his son.

Souichi kept his face passive, the practiced neutrality of a businessman who had long since buried his personal emotions beneath quarterly reports and album charts.

He said nothing, gave no sign of recognition.

Itsuki didn't flinch, either.

Riko extended a professional invitation card. "We wanted to personally invite you to our upcoming Tokyo Dome show. It'll be the biggest performance of our careers, and we thought it appropriate to extend an invitation to someone as influential in the industry as you."

Souichi took the envelope, slowly. He knew the real reason they were here, but if Moonlight Prism wanted to play this polite game, he would play it as well. "I see."

They sat. Polite talk was exchanged-- about industry trends, streaming numbers, venue logistics. All of it was surface-level. But Souichi wasn't listening. His mind spun with thoughts.

He knew now why *she* had come.

Hikari, from Sunshine Melody. Sweet-faced. Sharp-tongued. Conniving. She had approached him only weeks ago, full of smiles and poisoned words. She had whispered things only someone who had *researched* him could have known-- about *that night*, *that party*, *that humiliation*. She used it to twist his arm, to suggest he slow Moonlight Prism down. Just a little. Booking interference here, a permit delay there.

He hadn't said yes.

But he hadn't said no, either.

And now, here they were. Moonlight Prism. And sitting among them, the son he had exiled.

He looked at Itsuki again. His own blood. The boy he threw out for daring to challenge the image he had built his entire life on.

Itsuki met his gaze-- steady, unreadable.

Souichi gave a faint, professional smile. "I appreciate the invitation. I'll consider attending."

Relief passed through the room like a breeze. Hana bowed politely, as did Kaede, Riko, and Astra.

"We'd love to see you there, Mr. Yamamoto," Hana said.

The band rose. Souichi let them approach the door before clearing his throat.

"Yamamoto-- Itsuki. Could you stay for a moment?"

Itsuki and his bandmates stopped in their tracks. Then he turned back, hands in his pockets, and gave a small shrug. "Sure."

He gave a quick nod to his bandmates, who all agreed to this personal meeting ahead of time. Souichi Yamamoto knew this was the true purpose of the meeting, so it was natural Moonlight Prism was ready for this ahead of time. The door clicked shut behind the other four band members, leaving father and son alone together for the first time in years.

Souichi studied his son. He tried to find the boy beneath the glamor, the one who used to beg him to come home early from meetings.

"I didn't expect..." he began, then trailed off.

Itsuki raised an eyebrow. "That I'd show up at your office? Yeah. I didn't expect you'd pretend not to know me, but here we are."

Souichi paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he leaned on the table, steepling his fingers. "You've made something of yourself."

"I did," Itsuki replied softly. "Even if it wasn't through your label."

Souichi nodded once. "I noticed. You were always a talented guitarist."

That struck a nerve in Itsuki. "Then why did it take this long to say so?"

Another silence. Father and son stared at each other, gauging each other, playing a silent game of cat and mouse, wondering how much to budge even when it was only the two of them in the conference room.

"I was angry," Souichi admitted. "You humiliated me at the party in front of people who never let me forget it."

"I wanted you to see me," Itsuki said, voice tight. "Even if it meant tearing everything down to do it."

"You did," Souichi said quietly. "I never stopped thinking about you, but I couldn't bring myself to reach out."

Itsuki folded his arms. "I didn't come here for an apology. I came because... we're playing the Tokyo Dome. And I wanted you to know that I made it."

"I know." Another beat passed. Then he added, "You can let your bandmates know that I will attend the Tokyo Dome performance. I expect a good show, Itsuki."

Itsuki looked away, biting his lip. When he looked back, there was the smallest shimmer in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'll hold that to you, old man."

----

The back door of Prism Productions shut with a quiet thud behind him. Itsuki stood in the cool evening air, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, his guitar pick clicking softly between his teeth. The lot behind the building was empty-- just cracked asphalt, a few forgotten cigarette butts, and the faint hum of Tokyo traffic echoing down the streets.

He wasn't looking at anything in particular.

His father had looked older than he remembered. A little more tired, a little more lined around the eyes. But when he'd said, *"You've made something of yourself,"* it hit Itsuki harder than he had expected. For a brief moment, he was ten again, holding up a cheap plastic guitar in the living room, waiting for praise that never came.

He was still staring into the distance when the door creaked open again behind him.

"Thought I'd find you out here," came Riko's voice.

Itsuki didn't turn around. "Of course you did."

She walked up next to him and leaned her back against the wall, crossing her arms. "You okay?"

He let out a breath. "Yeah. I guess. It's just... I have a lot on my mind."

"You wanna talk, or you want me to pretend I didn't ask?"

Itsuki chuckled quietly. "You're better at listening than pretending."

Riko smirked but stayed quiet.

After a moment, he spoke again, voice low and honest. "He told me he was proud of me. Not in those words, exactly, but... it was there. And it messed me up a little."

She tilted her head. "That's fair."

"I always thought I didn't need that. That I'd moved past it. But hearing it?" He shook his head. "I don't know. It cracked something open. I think... maybe I should've reached out sooner."

Riko nudged his arm gently. "Hey. You were doing what you needed to survive. There's no script for this."

"Yeah, but..." he paused. "You ever think about how much crap we inherit just because of how things *are*? How people are expected to act? I mean, my dad-- he's not a bad guy. But he's been buried under this need to maintain face, to conform to what people expect of a 'respectable music executive.' He couldn't even admit he missed me."

He finally turned to look at her. His eyes were sharp, but tired.

"That kind of mindset-- it warps people. Traps them. Makes them scared to show they care. Everything that was so screwed up between me and him... it wasn't about music. It was about appearances. Expectations. Social damn harmony."

Riko didn't say anything at first. She stared up at the sky, then said softly, "That's just part of being human, isn't it? Getting messed up by things bigger than you. But... sometimes people still find their way back to each other anyway."

Itsuki smiled faintly. "Yeah."

A breeze ruffled his hair, carrying the scent of city pavement and distant rain.

"I think he meant it," Itsuki said. "What he said. I think he really was proud."

"He should be," Riko replied, nudging him again. "You're annoying and cocky, but you're a damn good guitarist."

He laughed for real this time. "Thanks."

Riko pushed off the wall. "So. What now?"

Itsuki turned to face her fully, his usual grin replaced with something quieter, more resolute.

"Now," he said, "we give the kind of performance he can be proud of."

Riko's smirk returned, this time warmer. "Yeah. Let's melt the roof off the Tokyo Dome!"

----

## The Real Plan

Souichi Yamamoto sat alone in his office as the Tokyo skyline shimmered in the window behind him. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the city in gold and shadow, its glow washing over the clean lines of his polished desk, the shelves lined with awards, and the carefully placed vinyls of bygone idol groups he had helped elevate.

His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the armrest of his leather chair.

The meeting earlier that day with Moonlight Prism lingered in his thoughts like a stubborn tune. Not with the band itself, but with its guitarist, Itsuki-- his son.

He hadn't expected to see his estranged son walk into the office with such bold confidence. There was something disheveled about Itsuki's silver hair, the eyeliner, the way his boots scuffed the floor-- but there was a fire in his voice that struck deeper than Souichi wanted to admit. They spoke afterward-- tense at first, with old wounds still fresh. But despite that, he had agreed to watch his son perform along with his bandmates at the upcoming milestone performance at the Tokyo Dome.

Now, sitting in his office, he understood: Hikari's visit weeks prior had played like a different kind of performance-- coldly calculated, dressed in lace and sparkles, a performance that masked something much darker. At the time, he hadn't thought much about *how* she'd learned about his connection to Itsuki. He had assumed his past had simply caught up with him.

But after talking to Itsuki... after seeing his bandmates, and the fierce loyalty they shared... he knew Hikari hadn't discovered the connection by accident. No, she had *dug* for it. She'd *used* it.

Moonlight Prism had humiliated Sunshine Melody at the last Harmony Gala. 'Eclipse of the Sun' wasn't just their newest hit song-- it was an endcap for public perception that Sunshine Meleody was in its sunset. And Hikari, a smiling predator in a tutu, wanted revenge against the band who dared to defy their image.

*Revenge*.

Souichi leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He still remembered the party where Itsuki had embarrassed him-- crossdressing at a formal event, suggesting he was 'entertainment' brought by himself, that there was something 'special' planned for such an occasion. At the time, Souichi was furious and humiliated. His co-workers never looked at him quite the same way again, even if no one dared to speak of it in his presence.

As much as Souichi disliked some of his son's choices, he couldn't deny what he had built. Not just music, but a bond with his bandmates that mirrored that of a family Souichi wished he had with his son.

And though he'd missed years of his son's life, of supporting his journey, of being a *father*-- he hadn't missed *everything*. Not yet, at least. Time passed and bands rose and fell under Souichi's watch; idols came and went, musical acts made one hit and disappeared forever. But it was clear that Moonlight Prism was still on its way up, and he could witness one of the great marks of its success himself, even if it came from a rival label.

His phone buzzed, disturbing his thoughts. He looked down and saw it was a message from Hikari.

> "Just checking in. Is the plan in place?"

Short. Cheerful. Vague. So very *her*.

Souichi stared at it for a moment. A different plan had formed in his mind after meeting his son and his bandmates-- quietly, without any meetings, without any blackmail. A plan with no malice, only the intention of sitting in the VIP booth at the Tokyo Dome, watching his son perform.

He typed his reply slowly, deliberately.

> "The plan is in place. You have nothing to worry about."

He hit send, and smiled. Let her interpret it however she liked. She wouldn't find out the truth until the lights dimmed at the Tokyo Dome, the crowd roared, and Itsuki stepped onto that stage in a blaze of sound and light. Souichi would be there, watching alongside other industry veterans and reporters, not to sabotage-- but to *witness*. He had spent his career crafting stars from shadows. But sometimes, a star didn't need shaping. Sometimes, it just needed *recognition*.

And if Hikari wanted to play games... well. She had just challenged the wrong player.

With that, Souichi stood and walked to the window, watching the city pulse with life below. Somewhere out there, his son was rehearsing for the biggest performance of his life.

And Souichi would be there. Not as an executive, but as a father.

----

## Sunshine Melody in Decline

The peppermint candy cracked between Hikari's teeth as she sat cross-legged on the tufted pink couch inside Sunshine Melody's Tokyo rehearsal studio, a strawberry cream puff resting half-eaten on the plate beside her. Her cheeks were puffed out-- half from sugar, half from frustration.

The studio was quiet today. Too quiet.

Outside the tinted glass, a few junior trainees from the agency shuffled past, casting sidelong glances into the room before quickly looking away. They were fresh-faced, eager, and exactly the kind of idol material the corporate execs had in mind for "restructuring." Not that any of them could match the star power *she* brought to the group. Not even close.

Still, *mandatory restructuring*-- what a joke.

First, they lost Yui to "creative differences" and Aoi to a selfish decision to pursue ballet. That left Sunshine Melody a limping trio of Hikari, Akari, and Sakura. The board's grand idea of fixing it was by *recasting* the lost two. But that had gone nowhere. Most promising girls either didn't want the baggage, or worse-- they openly scoffed at the idea of joining what the internet was now calling *"the sinking ship of idols."*

Hikari let out a long sigh as she dropped the candy wrapper onto the table. "What is this, a charity ward for broken pop dreams?"

Her new stylist flinched slightly as she gently tugged at a lock of Hikari's platinum-pink hair. "I-I'm sorry, Miss Hikari, but this style is trending right now--"

"It's *not* the right volume," Hikari snapped. "My old stylist knew how to work with my angles. You're making me look like a backup dancer for an off-brand magical girl show."

The stylist froze, eyes downcast, hands trembling slightly as she tried again.

Across the room, Akari and Sakura sat far too close together on the vocal booth's bench, sharing a pair of earbuds and giggling at something on Sakura's phone. *Again*. Hikari could practically hear the whispers forming in the building's corners.

"Did you see how Akari looked at Sakura during rehearsal?"
"They're practically inseparable lately..."
"Do you think they're...?"

It wouldn't take much for a studio assistant-- or worse, a rival talent-- to feed that to a gossip rag. And if that happened, it was game over. Sunshine Melody was barely hanging on as it was. Even the recent interview schedules had them lumped in the middle of graveyard segments. At its zenith, Sunshine Melody commanded attention, but now they were background noise.

And yet-- Hikari still had *her plan*. 

Her fingers reached for her phone, almost by muscle memory. She tapped open the last message from Souichi Yamamoto, the unflappable executive from their own music label.

> "The plan is in place. You have nothing to worry about."

She reread it for the twelfth time that week.

Hikari smirked, chewing the inside of her cheek. That old man may have had a stick up his back, but he knew how to hold grudges. And she *knew* how to get things done. Her leverage on him-- a quiet trail of backroom favors, minor scandals he wouldn't want revealed-- should've been enough to make sure Moonlight Prism's precious Tokyo Dome performance went up in flames.

Except... nothing was *happening*. No cancellations, no rumors, no lost permits. Nothing.

She bit into another cream puff, almost viciously. [Too subtle. Was that the problem? Was the sabotage supposed to be some kind of... *slow-burn political chessboard?*]

"Why isn't it falling apart yet?" she muttered aloud, sticky cream smearing her lip. Her stylist tensed, unsure whether she was talking to her or herself.

Hikari suddenly tossed her phone onto the couch, face-down.

"Fix my hair," she barked. "Make me look like the *idol* I am, not some rejected background extra."

The stylist nodded quickly and resumed brushing.

Outside the booth, Akari laughed again, brushing a lock of Sakura's hair behind her ear. The gesture lingered a moment too long.

Hikari's gaze darkened.

If *they* were going to drag down the group with their stupid little secret romance, and if Souichi Yamamoto wasn't going to move fast enough... maybe it was time to take matters into her own hands.

----

## A Taste of Revenge, Extra Frosting

Hikari stared at her phone, jaw slightly open, thumb frozen mid-scroll. The brightly colored promo for 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' glowed mockingly on her screen.

**Special Guest Stars Next Week: Hana Kawamura & Astra from Moonlight Prism!**

Her eye twitched.

That overly precious baking show with the pastel sets, rainbow sprinkles, and that annoyingly chipper host Lily was somehow getting *Hana and Astra*. On *her* turf: kid-friendly television; a domain Hikari had spent *years* cultivating with forced smiles, sugar-themed photo spreads, and sickeningly adorable catchphrases.

"Why them?!" she hissed through clenched teeth, slamming her phone down on the vanity desk. The sound startled her producer, who'd been trying to quietly sip coffee in the corner of her dressing room.

"Miss Hikari, what's--"

"I need to be on that show," she barked. "'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' They're putting *Hana* and *Astra* on. *They're not even idols!*"

Her producer blinked. "Well, yes, but the host is a huge Moonlight Prism fan. I think she was trying to get Astra specifically--"

"That girl?" Hikari snapped, folding her arms. "That weird, gloomy one who sings about space and feelings? You're telling me *that* is what's hot with the children now?"

"Actually," he said cautiously, "Astra's song 'In the Stillness', hit top five in the streaming charts, and kids love her aesthetic. And Lily, the host-- she's your age-- has openly said Hana is her musical inspiration."

Hikari's lips pursed so tightly they disappeared.

"And," the producer added carefully, "I'm told Lily invited Astra first, and Hana only agreed to come because Astra didn't want to go alone."

That made it worse. It meant they weren't even *trying* to be idols anymore-- and they were still outshining her.

"I want their slot," Hikari declared.

Her producer blinked. "That's not how it works. They're already confirmed. The kids love Moonlight Prism. We can try to get you on the next episode--"

"No." Her eyes gleamed coldly. "I don't want the *next* episode. I want *their* episode. Cancel them. Make it happen."

Her producer looked like he wanted to slide into the nearest potted plant.

"...That's not really feasible. Lily's been planning this for months--"

Hikari turned slowly, her voice dipping to an almost too-sweet whisper. "Do I need to remind you what happens when you don't get me what I want?"

The color drained from his face. He swallowed.

"I'll... make a call. But don't get your hopes up."

----

The answer came back: *No.* The studio wasn't rescheduling. The Moonlight Prism episode was locked in and filming was set. The producers, subtly nudged by Lily's very firm preference, were *delighted* to have Astra and Hana. Sunshine Melody was gently told they'd "consider" Hikari for another segment "down the line."

Hikari was not just angry now. She was *seething*.

If she couldn't take their spot, she'd make sure they *regretted* taking it in the first place.

----

The 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' studio was bursting with color. Backstage, Astra sat on a stool, arms crossed, hair still damp from styling. Her expression was flat, but not annoyed-- just tired. Hana stood beside her, tying her apron in silence, her calm aura soothing the chaos around them.

"Do we... have to smile the whole time?" Astra mumbled.

Hana smiled faintly. "Only when we're on camera. I'll do most of the talking."

Astra nodded. That was fine.

----

Out in the parking lot, Hikari watched the back entrance from inside a nondescript black van.

"Do it now," she hissed into her burner phone.

From a distance, an unassuming deliveryman walked into the studio with two large boxes labeled "FOR: HANA & ASTRA – URGENT."

Inside those boxes were frosting bags that had been replaced with ones pre-filled with rapidly-melting icing. The fondant was made from sabotaged material that wouldn't set properly. It wasn't dangerous-- Hikari wasn't *stupid*-- but it *would* make their segment a sloppy, drippy mess.

And the best part? No one would trace it to her.

She giggled into her hand, delighted. "Enjoy your 'Sprinkle Slop Disaster Time', Astra."

She popped another strawberry marshmallow into her mouth.

And waited.

----

Backstage, Lily, the peppy host in her mint-green apron and glittering strawberry hairpin, stared down at two unopened delivery boxes marked *FOR: HANA & ASTRA – URGENT* in chunky black marker.

"I didn't order these," she said, brows drawn tight with suspicion. "We already have everything we need for the moonlit cupcakes. Why would someone send *extra* decorating kits just for the guests?"

The studio's floor producer, a harried man juggling three walkie-talkies, blinked. "They're from catering? Or... maybe someone from the sponsor? I'll check."

"Please do," Lily said, frowning. "I'm not touching those boxes until I know where they came from. In the meantime, we've still got a show to tape."

She patted her cheeks, switched on her camera-ready smile, and trotted to the stage as the producer gestured for someone to quietly inspect the boxes backstage.

----

The studio lights twinkled like gumdrops over the pastel set-- lavender counters, bubblegum pink tiles, and a cheerful mural of dancing cupcakes. The overhead boom mic swung into position as the camera light flicked red.

Then, the theme began: a sugary jingle layered with shimmering chimes and cartoonish *boing!* effects, signaling the start of another magical episode of 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!'

"Good morning, everyone!" chirped the host, bursting onto the soundstage like a sugar-powered comet. "Welcome to a *very special* episode of 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' I'm your host, Lily, and today we have *two* magical guests joining us from the hit alt-rock band, Moonlight Prism!"

From stage left, Hana Kawamura stepped gracefully into frame, dressed in a soft lavender apron over a pale blue dress. Her silver hair was tied up neatly in the back with a pink ribbon, and her smile-- modest, yet heartfelt-- fit perfectly in the pastel world.

Beside her, slightly behind, shuffled Fumiko Kurose, stage name Astra. Short, choppy black hair fell across her face in tousled layers, half-concealing one golden eye. Her apron, plain white and pristine, was worn stiffly over a black hoodie and leggings. Astra stood like a ghost caught in a candy-colored dream, arms locked at her sides, mouth barely opening. Her nod to the audience was so small it could've been mistaken for a nervous twitch.

"Hana!" Lily squealed, her pigtails bouncing. "It's *so* good to have you back! You're just as elegant and kind as always!"

Hana dipped her head, her voice calm and gentle. "Thank you, Lily. You always put together such a lovely set. I'm really happy to be here again."

"And *Astra!*" Lily turned, as though addressing a shy woodland creature. Her voice lowered a notch, soothing, coaxing. "You're our *newest guest!* I've wanted to meet you for *so long.*"

Astra's lips parted. She tried to speak, paused, then quietly said, "...Hi."

It was barely audible, but Lily lit up as if it had been a declaration of friendship.

"You're always so quiet and *cool* on stage," Lily gushed, "and your music has this dreamy, mysterious *vibe!* I *love* it."

Astra blinked, her eyes darting toward the camera, then to the floor, then back up. Her discomfort was evident, but she wasn't fleeing.

"Especially your latest song, 'In the Stillness'." Lily turned toward the camera. "I've listened to it, like, a *hundred* times!"

Astra froze. Her head turned slightly, confused. "...You have?"

"Of *course!*" Lily turned to address the camera again, radiant. "For those of you watching at home, 'In the Stillness' is this beautiful, trance song about confusing feelings and friendship and maybe something *more*-- and guess what? *Astra wrote it herself!*"

Astra stared at the floor, her pale cheeks tinged with pink. Her usual icy detachment seemed to melt a little.

"It felt like..." Lily continued, softer now, her gaze sincere. "...like you were talking about someone important. Like you put your *whole* heart into that song. When I listened to it, I felt like you understood what it's like to meet someone who makes you feel... a little special. Even when it's hard to say it out-loud."

Astra looked at Lily, studying the young host. Her guarded mask faltered. A slow breath escaped her lips.

Then, in a voice quieter than usual but with genuine warmth, "...I did write it about someone. A friend I made recently."

Behind her, Hana said nothing-- but her expression softened. Her eyes shone with a delicate light, and she reached to gently rest a hand on Astra's shoulder.

"I didn't think anyone would understand," Astra added, almost to herself. "Thank you... for listening."

Lily beamed, clearly impressed she made a connection with Astra. "I *always* listen."

The rest of the interview completed without incident. After a quick break and a change of the set, the baking segment, where Lily planned to create 'moonlit cupcakes' with Hana and Astra, began in earnest. Although Lily, as was customary for taping the show, had already made a finished batch of cupcakes to be presented at the end of the show, the true fun of 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' was the preparation stage with the guest of the day-- in this case, Astra and Hana. Although Hana was already experienced in baking the cupcakes, Lily insisted on making these 'commemorative' cupcakes with Astra as well.

Hana helped stir the batter with careful, slow movements. Her voice, low and calm, narrated, "We like to do it like this. Don't forget to scrape the sides."

Astra stood at the far end, cracking eggs with suspicious care, as though they might explode. She flinched the first time she got yolk on her fingers, but didn't complain.

Lily was in her element, whipping frosting in three separate bowls while addressing the audience through the camera with cheerful chaos.

"And remember everyone," she announced, brandishing her trusty spatula, "you don't need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes, the quietest voices make the most *beautiful* songs!"

Astra looked toward Lily, then she quickly focused back on the bowl before her, as if pretending not to care. For a moment, the camera caught her from the side: a rare expression forming. No smirk, no sarcasm. Just the barest curve of her lips. It was a small, real smile.

----

## A Brat Unleashed

Hikari sat hunched over her phone at the end of the long, gleaming conference table in Sunshine Melody's production office. Around her, the junior staff hovered like nervous moths-- none daring to meet her glare.

Minutes earlier, she had finally received the clip of 'Sprinkle Sparkle Bake Time!' from her "inside person" on set. She had replayed it three times:

- No disastrous frosting explosion
- No awkward on-air slip-up by Hana or Astra
- Most painfully: Astra's *quiet, sincere smile* at Lily's heartfelt words

Her sabotage had *completely failed*. Worse, the segment was going viral, praised for its warmth and Astra's unexpected vulnerability. Every fan account celebrated "the best kids' show appearance ever."

Hikari slammed her fist on the table. "Why didn't *anything* go wrong?!"  

Her nearby assistant fumbled with a stack of scripts. "W-we don't know, Miss Hikari... maybe the frosting kits never got used?"  

"Never got used?!" Hikari snapped, rising so fast her chair clattered. "Then why were my orders followed? Why did you *deliver* them at all if no one used them?!"  

Her voice turned shrill, echoing through the glass-walled office. A young assistant let out a small whimper.  

"Answer me!" Hikari pointed accusingly. "Where's the footage of them opening those boxes? The meltdown? The *fire alarm* going off?!"  

A bead of sweat traced its way down the assistant's temple. "T-there was no fire alarm. Security said everything was normal. And they didn't even open the second box once they smelled the frosting was off."  

Hikari pressed her palms to her temples, breathing rapidly. Her perfectly painted nails dug into her skin. "So *nobody* even tried my sabotage?"  

She whirled on her stylist, who had crept in to offer calming tea. "You! You were supposed to--"  

"Miss Hikari," the stylist stammered, holding the teapot like a shield. "I... I didn't know about--"  

"Save it!" Hikari screamed, flinging herself back into her chair. She picked up the teacup and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the glass wall-- sending cracks spidering outward. The entire office went deathly silent.  

Hikari's chest heaved. Tears of fury stung her eyes. She had never lost control like this on camera-- let alone in front of her own staff.  

Finally, she leaned forward, voice low and vicious. "If *this* is how it's going to be," she hissed, "then *something* will go wrong. And I *will* be the one who controls it."  

She snatched up her phone and punched in Souichi Yamamoto's number. While it rang, she pressed the phone so hard against her ear her fingers trembled.

When he picked up, she spat the words out so fast he could barely follow them. "The plan-- you promised! I *demand* you make it right. Cancel their Tokyo Dome run, delay their next single release, *something*! Or I swear--"  

She cut herself off, realizing her own threat. Her voice dropped to a tremble of rage and panic. "Or I'll expose you. Do you hear me?"

The line went quiet for a heartbeat-- then Souichi's calm, measured voice. "Of course. I'll see what I can do."  

Hikari slammed the phone back down and buried her head in her hands. The office was a ruin around her-- shattered teacup, broken confidence, and a rage that even she couldn't fully contain.  

----

## Girl Talk

The knock came at the door just as Astra was finishing up another filter layer on a patch she was building-- low wave modulation through a soft analog buzz, meant to mimic distant thunder. Her fingers paused over the keys of her synthesizer, and for a moment, she simply stared at the door, expression unreadable.

Another knock, softer this time.

She rose silently, feet padding across the bare floor of her dim apartment. The door creaked open.

There stood Riko Amano, Moonlight Prism's lead vocalist, dressed in ripped jeans and an oversized band hoodie that clearly wasn't hers. She looked uncharacteristically sheepish.

"Hey," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Can I come in?"

Astra didn't answer. She stepped aside.

Riko blinked. "...Thanks."

She entered slowly, glancing around. The apartment was even more sparse than she had expected-- bare walls, a single shelf stacked with old vinyls and cassettes, a couple of mismatched folding chairs by a low table. The only light came from a tiny CRT TV perched on a cardboard box in the corner, tuned to a muted local news broadcast with flickering subtitles. A couple of flickering panels on music equipment illuminated the rest.

And in the center, on the floor in front of the synthesizer, sat a worn floor cushion. Astra returned to it without a word.

"So, uh," Riko began, glancing at the chairs and choosing the one that looked least like it might collapse, "Nice place. Very... you."

No response.

Riko sighed, flopping into the chair and stretching her legs out.

"So, Hana and Kaede are on another 'date,'" she said, air-quoting as she spoke. "They say it's not a date, but come on. They're at *our* apartment right now, watching 'Vampire Princess Luka 2: Twin Shadows' and being all domestic. I didn't want to sit there pretending like I wasn't a third wheel, so... I left."

Still nothing from Astra. The soft hum of the synth deepened slightly, but that was all.

"And I didn't feel like going to Itsuki's either," Riko continued. "His place smells like incense and he keeps rearranging his furniture to make it more 'feng shui,' and honestly? I think it's just to confuse delivery people."

No reaction. Astra was tweaking a dial now.

"So I came here. To talk to you. Or at you. Whatever." Riko stretched again, casually slouching. "Hope you don't mind."

Astra's only reply was a faint shift of her eyes, indicating she heard-- but didn't object.

Riko smiled a little to herself.

"You know," she went on, voice lowering slightly, "Hana's lucky. Kaede's cool about how close we are. Most guys I meet get all weird about it. Like they're scared I'm gonna take her for myself over them or something." She paused. "Which I could. But I wouldn't."

Astra's hand hovered over a key, but didn't press it.

Riko tilted her head. "You ever have that problem?"

Astra finally looked up, her gaze flat and steady. "I don't date."

"Oh." Riko blinked. "That... checks out."

There was a silence. Riko leaned her chin on her hand, watching Astra fiddle with her instrument.

"...So how's your friendship with Tsukiko? Blossoming?"

Astra froze.

Just for a second, the air caught between them. Then slowly, Astra's cheeks, pale in the blue glow of her equipment, began to color faintly.

"She told me she's not gay," Astra said, evenly.

Riko lifted a brow. "And?"

"I accepted that," Astra added curtly.

"That doesn't mean *you're* not gay," Riko teased, leaning forward. "I mean, 'In the Stillness' has serious sapphic energy, you know. That part near the chorus? Full-on yearning. You don't just write that kind of thing by accident."

Astra didn't look at her. "Be quiet."

Riko grinned like a shark. "Oh nooo. Did I hit a nerve? Astra, are you pining? A tragic, beautiful romance for an unavailable woman?"

Astra exhaled through her nose and turned her head slightly. "Go date Itsuki."

Riko sat up. "I *can't.* He keeps calling me his 'big sister.' He's older than me, closer to Hana's age, even, but insists he's the 'younger sibling energy' in the group. He insists it'd be weird."

Astra turned back to her synth. "Too bad. You and he are both noisy."

Riko blinked. Then blinked again.

"That's... your way of saying drop it, huh."

Astra said nothing.

Riko kicked her legs lightly, letting the silence settle. The faint hiss of the analog TV played under the soft hum of Astra's gear. For once, Riko didn't mind the quiet.

Then she leaned forward again, propping her elbows on her knees.

"So," she asked, a little more thoughtful now, "How do I get Itsuki to change his mind?"

Astra didn't respond. She just stared at Riko, like she was trying to calculate if she was being serious.

Riko stared back.

"...You're hopeless," she said flatly.

Riko just grinned.

----

That evening, Hana and Kaede sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the small couch in Hana and Riko's apartment, the lights dimmed as 'Vampire Princess Luka 2: Twin Shadows' played on the modest wall-mounted screen. The film had reached the midway point, where golden-haired Ruka confidently walked down the school hallway, her entourage parting the crowd as she locked eyes with Luka-- her silver-haired twin-- standing alone by the lockers. The moment oozed with tension, made all the more striking by the fact that both roles were played by Shizuka Minazuki, where she won a Best Supporting Actress award for playing Ruka-- the first prominent award she received in her acting career.

Kaede, arms loosely folded, shifted a little. "This is... kind of intense," he murmured. "I mean, I get that it's an action horror movie, but the way Ruka gaslights her own twin like that? It's brutal."

Hana, eyes on the screen, nodded slightly. "Yeah. It's a hard watch the first time. And the second." She sighed. "No, actually, it never gets easier."

Kaede glanced sideways. "I didn't expect Shizuka to play both parts. They're *so* different. Luka barely speaks and looks like she's drowning inside. Ruka's this charismatic manipulator with fire in her veins."

"She made a choice," Hana said, her voice quiet but clear. "Shizuka fought to play both."

Kaede blinked. "Seriously?"

"Mm-hm," Hana said, eyes still on the screen. "She said it was about duality. That you can't really understand one sister without the other. But it wrecked her. After the wrap party, she went on her first real break. It was the first one she *let* herself take."

Kaede leaned back, thoughtful. "How long was she off?"

"Six weeks," Hana said with a small exhale, as if the number still surprised her too. "That's the longest break she's taken since she started acting."

Kaede looked stunned. "That's not a vacation. That's a nap."

Hana gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. But for Shizuka, that's like a sabbatical. She's always working. Modeling gigs, voice work, film shoots. Back-to-back. Like there's a clock running out and she's trying to fill every second."

Kaede ran a hand through his hair. "That's no way to live."

"No," Hana agreed softly. "But it's how she lives. And... she's *good* at it. I can't imagine her sitting still."

The movie continued in silence for a while. Luka sat silently in the school infirmary, her hands clutching a book as voices echoed down the hallway-- Ruka's laughter among them.

Hana turned slightly, looking at Kaede. "Hey. Next week. Do you want to come to lunch? Shizuka and Riko always join. Yuki, the photographer at the agency, sometimes joins, too. We eat at a place down the street from Moon River."

Kaede blinked. "I mean... wouldn't that be kind of intrusive?"

"We're a couple now. That means you get to meet my *friends*. That's the rule."

"I didn't know there were rules."

"There are," Hana said with mock sternness. "And if you're lucky, Shizuka might even talk to you."

Kaede chuckled. "Isn't she famously reserved?"

"She's... quiet. But worth getting to know."

The movie shifted toward its climax-- Luka, in her black lace-trimmed Gothic Lolita-style gown, finally confronting Ruka, who wore a white version of the same dress. The lighting flickered as if the sun and moon were locked in an eclipse.

Kaede, watching intently, shook his head again. "Man. She *really* nailed both of them."

Hana smiled. "She always does."

A quiet beat passed, filled only by the swelling soundtrack. The climactic battle began with Ruka dominating, using her sway over a false promise of sisterhood to systematically destroy Luka's dress. A second wind and Luka's realization that Ruka is not truly her sister had her turn the tables on her evil twin, destroying Ruka's dress in the same way before plunging her silver sword into her. Ruka, a shocked expression on her face, exploded in an enormous shower of slime, coating Luka from head to toe in her grisly remains, standing frozen, resolute, even dressed only in her underwear and the tattered remains of her dress.

"I think I would like to meet her," Kaede said, finally.

Hana leaned her head against his shoulder with a soft smile. "Good. I think you'll really like her."

----

## The End of the Melody

The sun had barely risen over Tokyo, casting soft golden light through the tinted windows of the Sunshine Melody studio building. Akari and Sakura stepped through the lobby together, their matching oversized sunglasses and pastel coats shielding more than just their identities-- they hid the quiet intimacy of a night spent together, away from the glare of cameras, away from the fake smiles.

They often entered together-- there was nothing unusual about that. But this time, Akari still had Sakura's perfume on her skin-- the remnant of a night of passion only they knew.

As they passed the security checkpoint, a pair of men in black jackets stepped forward.

"Miss Akari. Miss Sakura," one said politely. "Could you come with us to the third floor conference room?"

Akari froze. "Wha-- did something happen?"

Sakura frowned. "Is this about the Harmony Gala again? Because I *told* her not to bring up Moonlight Prism again--"

"No," the guard replied, neutral. "This isn't about that. Please."

Akari's heart raced. [Not again.] Had she tweeted something? Forgotten an interview? Was she going to get another scolding from the producer for her "emotional volatility" like last time?

But something felt off. If *they* were in trouble... where was Hikari?

When they reached the third floor, the heavy oak doors of the conference room opened to reveal their producer, two executives from their agency's board, and a third man they didn't recognize-- an investor, judging by the tailored suit.

"Please," the producer gestured to the seats across the table.

Akari sat stiffly, Sakura beside her. The air was too quiet.

The producer folded his hands on the table. "I'll get straight to the point. Hikari made a direct threat against Souichi Yamamoto yesterday afternoon. He's one of our primary label partners at Phoenix Apex Sound. Security footage and chat logs back up the claim. Effective immediately, Hikari is suspended. A formal press release will go out before lunch."

Akari blinked. "She... what? But... Hikari? She's the *cute* one. She always went along with what I said--"

"She was always so polite," Sakura added. "Kind of a doormat, honestly."

The producer shook his head. "That's the image, yes. But behind the scenes... Hikari has always had an attitude problem. She was passive-aggressive and demanding toward her assistants. Yesterday wasn't just a tantrum, it was career suicide."

The executive to his left sighed. "We've tolerated a lot. But the label isn't interested in continuing business with Sunshine Melody, and frankly... neither are we."

Akari sat upright. "Wait. What does that mean?"

The investor spoke this time, curt. "It means your brand is no longer profitable. The feud with Moonlight Prism alienated your core demographic. The Harmony Gala scandal didn't help. And now one of your members just threatened an industry heavyweight." He flipped a folder closed. "We're shifting investment toward new idol projects. Fresh faces, fresh starts."

Sakura calmly nodded, as if the full weight of the investor's words had not sunk in yet. "So... that's it. Sunshine Melody's done."

The producer didn't say it directly, but the silence confirmed it.

For a while, they just sat there, listening as the producer rattled off formalities-- contract dissolutions, upcoming media blackouts, phased public appearances. Sakura didn't care about any of it.

She glanced at Akari, and Akari glanced back. They said nothing. But in that look, everything passed between them-- *we're free.* No more fake smiles. No more pretending to uphold an image. No more sneaking around. Just a little longer. Let it all burn quietly, and when it does... they could walk away hand-in-hand.

----

Hikari sat in the waiting room of the studio's upper-floor office, her legs crossed tightly, foot bouncing. Her pink twintails were tied with extra care that morning, makeup flawless, lips glossed to perfection. She looked every bit the innocent, sweet-faced idol-- if one didn't see the fire smoldering behind her eyes.

They had called her in "for a conversation." They always *said* that. They always *smiled* like everything was fine.  
But she *knew*.

[Akari and Sakura get to stroll into the studio all calm like nothing happened, but I'm the one called up here first?]

She was the *cute* one. The *marketable* one. The *real* face of Sunshine Melody. If not for her, the group would've sunk years ago. That idiot Akari readily threw tantrums in public, and Sakura barely even *tried* to be interesting. Not to mention the cast-offs: Yui, the washed-up has-been who kept deluding herself into thinking she was still relevant, and Aoi, the flat-chested dancer who kept patronizing her like she was some cute mascot. Hikari *carried* them.

She adjusted the ruffles of her pastel jacket and scowled.

When the assistant stepped out and quietly motioned her in, Hikari rose with practiced grace and entered the conference room like a queen expecting applause.

Instead, she saw stern faces: the producer, two executives, and Souichi Yamamoto himself, seated like a stone idol behind the polished table.

That fake smile froze on her face. [What was that old man doing here?]

The producer didn't waste time. "Hikari, effective immediately, you are suspended from Sunshine Melody."

The room fell still.

"What?" she asked sharply. "Excuse me?"

The producer didn't blink. "A threat was made yesterday toward Mr. Yamamoto. We've reviewed footage and internal messages. The decision was unanimous."

"Are you *insane?!*" she shrieked, voice rising like a tea kettle. "You're suspending *me*? Over a *misunderstanding*?! I *am* Sunshine Melody!"

Souichi raised an eyebrow.

"You--!" Hikari pointed at him with a trembling finger, her voice cracking. "You're the one ruining everything! You're the one who pushed that disgusting Moonlight Prism trash in everyone's faces! You're the one who made Akari look like a fool!"

"Hikari--" the producer tried to interject.

"No! Shut up! All of you!" She spun around, grabbing a decorative flower vase off the nearby shelf and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall with a *crash*.

Two security officers were already moving, but cautiously-- they knew better than to manhandle an idol in front of press-sensitive executives.  

"You think you can just cut me loose?" she snarled, wild-eyed. "*I made this group cute!* I'm the one the fans liked! You'll regret this-- *I'll make sure everyone knows what a scam this industry is!*"

"You already made that clear," Yamamoto said flatly.

That sent her over the edge.

She grabbed another object-- this time a framed group photo of Sunshine Melody-- and hurled it to the ground, glass cracking beneath her heels as she stomped toward the table.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! I'M HIKARI!"

Security finally closed in, taking her arms firmly, but carefully. She thrashed and screamed, knocking over a chair as she kicked.

"AKARI'S THE USELESS ONE! NOT ME!"

"SAKURA'S A BORING DOLL!"

"I DESERVE TO BE A SOLO ACT! I DESERVE--"

The door slammed shut behind her as she was forcibly escorted out, her muffled shrieks still echoing down the hallway.

The producer sighed and glanced at Yamamoto. "I apologize for the scene."

Yamamoto stood, brushing off his coat. "No apology necessary. I think we all just witnessed the real Hikari."

He turned, hands behind his back.

"And that's not an idol we want in our portfolio."

----

The soft glow of her phone screen was the only light in Hikari's childhood bedroom. Posters of pop stars and magical girls still lined the pale pink walls from her tween years, remnants of a persona she once used to get everything she wanted. She lay curled up on her frilly comforter, scrolling through the latest headlines with her thumb clenched so tightly her nail left dents in her skin.

**BREAKING: Idol Hikari Suspended Amid Unprofessional Allegations**  

The youngest member of Sunshine Melody has been officially suspended following a private altercation with Phoenix Apex Sound executive Souichi Yamamoto. The agency has released a short statement citing "unprofessional behavior unbecoming of an idol." Sunshine Melody's future remains uncertain.

Hikari sneered. "Unprofessional behavior." [That's what they were calling it now?]

She tossed the phone onto the mattress and sat up, her candy-pink twintails undone, falling like limp ribbons around her shoulders. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying earlier-- but not the gentle, TV-drama kind of crying: it had been full-on guttural, screaming, pillow-punching rage.

She glanced to her desk. A sheet of notebook paper sat there, carefully written in glitter pen.

**HIKARI'S HIT LIST**  
1. Akari – fake, loud, *idiot*, thought she could run the group  
2. Sakura – boring, smug, *traitor*, secretly dating Akari behind everyone's back  
3. Souichi Yamamoto – backstabbing liar, she *had* him under her thumb, and he *still* threw her away  
4. Moonlight Prism – media pets, fake "cool girls," undeserved popularity

Each name had a few hearts scratched over, like angry doodles. Every time she looked at it, her vision tunneled.

They were going to get away with it.

Akari and Sakura were still in the studio: still smiling, still acting like they didn't stab her in the back. Nobody knew they were sleeping together-- not even the fans who shipped them had *proof.* They were going to walk away from the burning wreckage of Sunshine Melody, hand-in-hand, with Hikari left behind to be the "unhinged idol" who ruined everything.

And Souichi Yamamoto... She gave him *everything* he needed to make him cave-- threats, blackmail, a little fear-- and he still went and exposed her the moment she wasn't useful anymore. Her hands shook just thinking about it. He should have been scared of her. Instead, he just walked away. Like she was *nothing.*

Then there was Moonlight Prism. They didn't wear matching costumes. They weren't even choreographed. They were just a bunch of weird, dramatic, emo girls and some wooden drummer they picked up off the street playing instruments, and yet the internet worshipped them like they were *gods*. Riko this, Hana that, "ohhh their songs are so deep and meaningful--" Hikari wanted to scream every time she saw their smug little faces in a headline.

She clenched her fists.

[Fine. Let them smile. Let them enjoy their moment.] Because Hikari had *nothing left to lose*-- and *so* much time on her hands.

Her parents weren't going to stop her; they were halfway through a holiday in Okinawa and didn't even call to ask about the suspension, if they ever found out at all. As long as she didn't torch the house or stop her branded merchandise checks from rolling in, they didn't care.

She opened a private burner account on her backup phone. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she began typing.

> *what if i told you sunshine melody's "golden couple" are more than just besties? receipts soon. stay tuned.*

She hit send.

Then she opened another account. Then another.

She would plant rumors, start threads, leak doctored screenshots if she had to. She had been in the idol business long enough to know how to weaponize gossip.

She smirked, the first real smile since the suspension.

"Let's see how they like it when the world starts watching *them* for once."

But what Hikari didn't realize-- what she *never* could-- was that her suspension had sparked interest from a very different crowd. Former stylists, assistants, a few past backup dancers... people who had *seen* things. People who had *heard* her behind the scenes.

And one of them-- just one-- had finally had enough, breaking social decorum and professional courtesy to post the dirt online. The first leaked clip hit social media two hours later. It was grainy footage, taken in a rehearsal room months ago, but the voice was unmistakable: Hikari, berating a junior staff member to tears over the temperature of her bottled water.

Then came another. And another.

By the next morning, #RealHikari was trending.

Hikari woke up to the buzzing of her phone vibrating non-stop on her nightstand. She groaned, blinking against the sunlight. For a second, she thought it was all a dream-- that she'd wake up, do her skincare routine, head to the studio, and smile for the cameras. But the ache in her chest and the crusted tears on her cheeks were very real.

She reached for the phone, unlocking it with a lazy swipe. And then she froze.

Her name was *everywhere.*

> *#RealHikari trending #1 in Japan*
> *"The Cute Idol With a Temper: Fans React to Leaked Behind-the-Scenes Clips"*
> *"Multiple Ex-Staff Speak Out About Hikari's Behavior"*

"...What...?"

She sat up, heart pounding. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each article, each tweet, each screenshot was like a jab to her ribs.

One after another, anonymous testimonies showed up: a makeup artist who said Hikari once forced her to redo her eyeliner *five times* until she cried. A choreographer who got screamed at because she was "too sweaty and gross to be around." A former idol trainee who admitted Hikari told her to "give up and quit" because she "wasn't cute enough to make it."

There were *videos* too. Blurry, shaky-- but damning. One showed her on a lunch break, barking at a delivery guy for bringing her food that was "too lukewarm." Another captured her snapping at former fellow Sunshine Melody member, Yui, the eldest member of the quintet, offstage during a fan event: "Do you ever *shut up*? No one comes here for *you*."

It was all real; all of it surfacing *now*-- the moment the industry had decided Hikari was no longer worth protecting.

"No, no, no, this isn't--!" She threw her phone across the room. It bounced off her plushie collection and clattered to the floor.

She leapt up and began pacing in circles, muttering to herself. "This is a hit piece. Someone's doing this to me. This is sabotage. They're jealous. That's all. They're *jealous*."

But she wasn't convincing even herself anymore.

She checked her DMs. The once-constant stream of compliments, collab requests, and fan art was now a wasteland. Brands she had partnered with had quietly unfollowed her. Her talent agency's account had removed her from the profile header. Her merch store had a *"Currently Unavailable"* banner.

And worse-- her own fanbase was turning on her.

> @HikariSunshineFan101: "I *wanted* to believe she was just misunderstood... but this is too much. I feel sick."  
> @CutieHikariLover: "I used to defend her online. I feel like a clown. She's a complete bitch."  
> @ExHarmonyIdolStan: "She was never the innocent one. The others were just too scared to speak up."

*"No,"* she whispered, dropping to her knees. *"They were supposed to believe in me. I was the idol they loved..."*

But love in the idol world was fleeting, manufactured, and conditional. And for the first time, Hikari realized she had spent so long treating everyone around her like pawns that she forgot what it meant to have allies. Real, genuine allies. She actually wished Aoi was around to shield her from this nonsense, but she was long gone.

Now, with Sunshine Melody in hospice and her name radioactive, there was no one left to spin the story in her favor. It was now just the truth, and the truth was not cute.

----

## Another World Apart

The early morning breeze rustled Aoi's coat as she exited the train station, her ballet shoes hanging in a mesh bag slung over one shoulder. Her strides were sharp and light, as if she couldn't help walking on half-pointe, still adjusting to this new life, this quieter rhythm, yet one that was more personally satisfying.

Tokyo buzzed around her, but Aoi's thoughts were calm and focused. A prestigious ballet studio had invited her to rehearse again-- maybe even test her for a proper apprenticeship. Her transition from idol to ballerina had been unconventional, but Aoi had never been one to follow a clean script. She danced because it made her feel alive.

She paused at the crosswalk and glanced at her phone out of habit. The second she unlocked it, a familiar name assaulted her timeline.

> *#RealHikari*
> *"Idol's Fall from Grace: Former Sunshine Melody Member Hikari Faces Backlash"*
> *Leaked Staff Testimonies: "A Monster in a Cute Girl's Skin"*

Aoi blinked. She stopped walking.

[Hikari?]

She scrolled slowly, her expression unreadable. The articles, the shaky footage, the anonymous and not-so-anonymous posts. Some were bitter, some angry; a few were disappointed. None of them were surprised.

Aoi's lips pressed together as she absorbed it all. There it was: the wide-eyed, pouty Hikari the fans adored... caught mid-tantrum in a dressing room. Throwing something and screaming, her face twisted in a way Aoi had never seen before.

Or maybe... never *wanted* to see.

She leaned against the wall outside a convenience store and stared at the screen.

Hikari had been the baby of the group when Sunshine Melody formed. The bright pink twintails, the sweets obsession, the childish voice-- it was all curated, of course. But Aoi had bought into it just enough to believe there was a sweet girl under the idol polish. Someone who just needed guidance.

She remembered staying late to practice with Hikari when she was struggling with choreography, coaching her through pitch drills, offering snacks, and giving encouraging words. Aoi had never said it out-loud, but she wanted to be a role model for her: an older sister and a steady presence. It was one of the few things during her time in Sunshine Melody she had no regrets for.

And now...

Aoi's thumb hovered over the message icon. [Should I reach out?] she wondered. [Maybe she just needed someone to tell her it's not too late. Maybe--]

She stopped herself, her hand curling into a fist.

[No.]

She had told Hikari, back when she graduated from the group: "You're a grown woman now. You'll have to take responsibility for yourself. I won't be around to pick up your slack anymore."

If Hikari never learned that, Aoi couldn't blame herself. She had tried to be the big sister. And eventually, she had to walk away, because idol life had started to eat her from the inside out, and ballet-- pure, expressive, honest ballet-- called to her like a second chance.

She slid her phone back into her coat pocket and stepped back onto the sidewalk. She didn't need to see Hikari's story unfold any further. Not today. Probably not ever again.

The studio's white awning appeared down the street, like a stage waiting for her to enter. Aoi took a breath, and her posture straightened, back tall, chin up. The same form she practiced every morning. The past wasn't a burden. It was a lesson.

And if Hikari wanted to change... she'd have to decide that on her own.

Aoi didn't look back.

----

## Quiet Refrain

Yui adjusted the collar of her blouse as she stepped into the glass-paneled office tower that housed Sonic Azure Records, the music label now known for backing a certain atmospheric alt-rock band that seemed to grace every awards show and trending topic these days-- Moonlight Prism.  

A few months ago, she wouldn't have imagined herself here, but her resume and experience gave her an edge she did not realize she had.

The elevator chimed, and Yui entered with a small, polite nod to the others inside. She wasn't recognized as the former Sunshine Melody idol. Her hair was darker now, tied in a practical bun. Her outfit was plain. Her voice no longer had that airy, camera-ready lilt.

But what she *had* was experience-- a decade in the idol industry, managing schedules, coordinating appearances, memorizing choreography, negotiating with costume designers, smoothing over fan incidents, and above all else, acting as the *strategist* of Sunshine Melody.  

She had made it work on stage. And now, she was starting to make it work behind a desk.

Her job wasn't glamorous by any means. Her fingers sometimes ached from typing. Her inbox overflowed with tasks she was behind on. She made coffee runs for her boss more than she liked. And yet... there was a strange satisfaction in it. Being part of something, helping creative teams run smoothly without having to perform a single smile that wasn't real.

The elevator doors opened onto her floor. She walked toward her desk.

Yui sat down, checked her work email, and then-- out of curiosity-- flicked open her personal feed.

> *#RealHikari*
> *"The Downfall of Sunshine Melody's Star Idol"*
> *"Hikari's True Face Revealed: Former Staff Speak Out"*

Yui exhaled through her nose. She didn't look surprised. Just... tired.

She scrolled past the trending videos-- one clip showed Hikari screaming at someone off-camera, her face twisted in fury-- and paused at a particular photo that caught her eye: one taken backstage, during the Sunshine Melody golden years. She remembered the shoot. Hikari had been late, as usual. And when the stylist tried to fix her ribbons, Hikari had slapped the comb from her hand. Yui had intervened, like she always did. She was the "calm" one. The older sister who got between Hikari and the fallout.

"She's just a kid," Yui remembered saying back then. "Give her time."

But time hadn't helped. The fame seemed to only amplify her worst traits. And without the group holding her steady... well, the headlines spoke for themselves now.

Yui's gaze drifted to the window near her desk, watching sunlight flicker against the nearby buildings. Sunshine Melody, once the sparkly darlings of J-pop, now felt like a dream fraying at the edges.  

A sigh escaped her lips. She *hated* that it ended like this.

But she also wasn't surprised.

She leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. Akari and Sakura were still there-- the last two standing. How long before the curtain closed on them, too? They were good singers, decent dancers... but it wasn't about that anymore, was it? Idols couldn't last forever.

Yui drummed her fingers on her desk, then pulled out her phone. She hesitated before opening a new message thread. She still had Akari's number. And Sakura's too. They hadn't talked in months. But the thought had taken root.

What if they *did* something different? Not as idols; there were to be no fake smiles and cutesy songs. Perhaps something more mature. Something they could shape with their own hands.

Something that didn't involve Hikari.

Yui didn't hit send.

[Not yet.]

She glanced at the pinned sticky note on her monitor-- her to-do list for the day. A talent schedule to finalize, travel details to confirm, studio availability for a recording session. It was her job, and she had work to do.

But maybe... there was still one more song left for the last of them.

Yui smiled faintly-- a small, private smile. She turned back to her screen and resumed typing. Her idol days were behind her, but music would always be part of who she was.

----

## After the Spotlight

Akari's apartment was quiet. Not silent-- the hum of the refrigerator, the faint rustle of curtains swaying near the balcony, the occasional car rolling past outside-- but quiet enough that the absence of music, of choreography drills, of rehearsal calls, felt deafening.

Sakura sat cross-legged on the floor, her blazer draped over the back of a chair, nursing a warm cup of barley tea. Across from her on the low table, Akari stared out the window, her orange ponytail slightly messy, her face bare, vulnerable in a way fans had never seen.  

No makeup. No poses. No idol persona. Just *Akari*.

"They're not even going to announce it," she said softly, almost to herself. "Just... wind everything down. Like it never existed."  

Sakura didn't answer immediately. She took a sip of tea, watching the steam curl into the air. "We knew it was coming," she murmured.

Akari's laugh was dry and sharp. "Yeah, but not like *this.* Not with Hikari's name splashed across every gossip blog and subthread. Not with *that* video getting millions of views in twelve hours." She shook her head, eyes glistening. "We were *so close*, Sakura. We had fans. We had merch lines. We sold out tours. We were on our way to the Tokyo Dome."  

"We *were*." Sakura's voice was calm. "But that was then."  

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," Akari whispered. "Without being an idol... I don't even know who I am."

There it was. The truth that had haunted her since the cracks began to show: ever since Yui left, ever since Aoi walked out. Since Hikari--

No. Even before that. Since Hana. Akari knew the source of Sunshine Melody's decline was her fallout with Hana. The rest of it was simply consequences of her own hubris.

Akari's voice cracked as she added, "I'm just... adrift. Out in the ocean on a rowboat with nothing left to paddle toward."

Sakura set her cup down gently. "You're not adrift alone."  

Akari stared at her companion blankly.

"We're both in the same boat now," Sakura said, sliding closer. "I don't know what comes next, either. But I *do* know I'm here... with you. That hasn't changed. You won't have to row that boat by yourself."

Akari looked down at her hands. She clenched them into fists, then loosened them again. "I keep thinking about what could've been different. If I'd been less stubborn... less ambitious. Maybe if I hadn't tried to one-up Moonlight Prism. If I hadn't accused Yui of betraying us. If I hadn't pushed Aoi so hard..." Her voice was unraveling now, and she didn't fight it. "And maybe, if I hadn't turned Hana into an enemy, we wouldn't have lost our *heart.*"

Sakura didn't flinch at the name. She had always known how much Hana meant to Akari-- not just as a rival, but as a friend. Maybe even more than that.

"You didn't lose her all at once," Sakura said. "You burned that bridge slowly, one plank at a time. And yeah... maybe it's gone now."

"Do you think she'd ever talk to me again?" Akari asked, the question barely a breath.

Sakura hesitated. Then, with gentle honesty, she said, "I don't know. Maybe not. But even if she doesn't, that doesn't mean you're beyond redemption."

Akari turned toward her, eyes glassy, tears just barely held back. "I screwed up. Not just for me. For everyone."

Sakura reached across the table and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. "You didn't screw up *everything.*"

They sat like that for a while-- two girls no longer idols, no longer chasing the spotlight, just sitting in the quiet aftermath, together.

Akari gave a faint, watery laugh. "You always say the right thing."

Sakura shrugged with a smile. "Only to the right person."

Their eyes met. A moment passed-- soft, still, and honest.

Then Sakura leaned in, slowly. Akari didn't move.  

Their lips met in a kiss-- tender and unhurried. Not for fans. Not for image. Just for them. When they pulled apart, resting their foreheads together, there were no fireworks. No spotlight. No roaring crowd.

But there *was* warmth. There *was* a future. No matter how much Akari doubted herself, she knew for certain that Sakura would be with her every step of the way.

----

## The Last Echo of #RealHikari

A week had passed since #RealHikari trended, and now the silence was deafening.

Hikari sat cross-legged on her bed, the late afternoon sun casting faint lines across her childhood bedroom. Her phone lay on the floor beside her, the screen black-- a dead battery, or maybe she just couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

When it first started, she felt *powerful*. Her "hit list" was a statement, a blaze of truth she believed would finally expose everyone: Akari and Sakura's secret romance, the embarrassing Souichi Yamamoto incident involving his son Itsuki, and a few other petty grievances she could twist into stories. For a moment, it even *worked*-- her claims gained traction, gossip rags published speculative headlines, and hashtags flew like sparks.

But then... nothing.

Sunshine Melody's management quietly confirmed what everyone already suspected: the group was dissolving. No farewell tour, no final song-- just silence. There was no scandal to cancel, no public image to preserve. The production company had already wiped their hands of everything and moved on, looking for fresher idol projects.

And to her disbelief, *the fans loved it*. The Akari–Sakura romance was something fan communities already had full threads of shipping them, complete with gifs and old tour footage showing stolen glances and gentle touches. Now they were praising Sakura for keeping Akari grounded after that Harmony Gala debacle, painting their bond as something beautiful. Fanart exploded. "Let them be happy," someone tweeted. It had thousands of likes.

The Souichi Yamamoto story was worse. There had never been any videos-- just whispers from industry circles Hikari no longer had access to. Even if it *had* happened, nobody would speak out-- not about *Souichi Yamamoto*, not without risking their careers. And then the fan theories took over: the idea that Itsuki had crashed a party to mess with his father only *added* to his legend. "Classic Itsuki behavior lol," one post read, with a clip of him winking at the camera from a Moonlight Prism concert.

She scrolled through it for hours, then deleted the burner accounts.

Now she sat in the room where she once practiced dance routines for hours, humming to backing tracks and dreaming of center stage. All of that felt like a different lifetime.

Her emails from sponsors and merch partners had gone cold. Contracts dropped. No more Sunshine Melody-branded handbags, no more branded candy collabs. Her name had become a *liability*, her reputation too volatile for any agency to touch.

And her parents were due home tomorrow from their Okinawa vacation, blissfully unaware that their daughter, once a rising star and brand ambassador, had just scorched every bridge behind her.

Hikari stared up at the ceiling. The walls didn't feel like hers anymore. She felt like a ghost haunting her own past.

She never liked Akari. She thought she was an idiot who ate up Hikari's undeserving praise without question and received favors as a result. Sakura was a soulless doll, Yui a washed-up 'strategist' trying to cling to the limelight, and Aoi-- stupid, condescending Aoi-- left the group like a princess stepping off a sinking ship with her own farewell concert. Aoi, of all people, the same one who lost a bet with Hana and performed on stage dressed as a baby, managed to get out of Sunshine Melody looking good.

And yet, they all had something now. Akari and Sakura had *each other*. Yui had a new career and dignity. Aoi had her ballet, and probably even a show lined-up somewhere.

Hikari had a dead phone, a wrecked image, and a room full of trophies she couldn't bear to look at.

"...What now?" she whispered to no one.

The only answer was the ticking of her wall clock.

She didn't know. All she knew was that she'd finally won-- she'd burned it all down.

And she was the only one standing in the ashes.

----

## Meeting the Idol

The usual cafe nestled on a quiet street down from Moon River Talent Agency buzzed with lunchtime chatter, but at one particular table by the window, the atmosphere was a little more quiet. Shizuka Minazuki sat with her usual upright posture, dressed in a pale lilac blouse and black slacks, silver crescent pendant resting neatly against her chest. In front of her: a perfectly arranged chicken salad, barely touched.

Across from her, Kaede sat stiffly, unsure of what to do with his hands. Next to him, Hana leaned in with a warm smile, and Riko-- wearing mirrored sunglasses indoors, for no reason other than being Riko-- slurped from a melon soda.

"So," Hana said brightly, stirring her iced tea, "I thought it's about time I officially introduced my boyfriend."

Kaede blinked, caught off guard by the sudden declaration, even though they had talked about it on the walk over.

Shizuka looked up from her salad, her lilac eyes calm and unreadable. "Congratulations," she said, her voice polite and quiet. "I hope you're happy."

Kaede nodded. "Thank you," he said, unsure whether to bow or smile, so he sort of did both at the same time.

Riko smirked and leaned forward on her elbows. "Shizuka's approval is *big*," she stage-whispered to Kaede. "Like meeting the queen. Or Hana's mom."

Kaede chuckled under his breath. "Honestly, this kind of *does* feel like meeting Hana's mom."

Hana shot him a sideways look. "Hey!"

"No, I mean it in a good way," Kaede said quickly, lifting his hands in defense. "Just... important. You've always talked about how much Shizuka means to you."

Shizuka blinked, pausing in her methodical way of slicing her chicken. "I'm not her mother," she said plainly.

"You're kind of her idol, though," Riko cut in, waving a fry around. "Every time we go see one of your films, Hana spends the next three days sighing dramatically like she's in a period drama."

"I do not!" Hana gasped, scandalized. "Okay. Maybe just once."

Shizuka allowed the smallest tilt of her lips.

The conversation didn't exactly take off from there. As expected, Kaede and Shizuka both leaned into listening more than speaking. Shizuka returned to her salad, occasionally making a soft comment when prompted. Kaede mostly nodded, sometimes chiming in with brief, to-the-point observations.

"So," Riko said after a while, "Kaede, you've met Hana's *real* mom, right? Is she as 'terrifying' as Hana makes her sound?"

Kaede shook his head. "Terrifying? Not really. She was very sweet."

"Hey!" Hana said, arms raised in exasperation. "Nobody believes me when I say my mom's scary. But she *is*! She has this look when she's disappointed, and it's worse than being yelled at."

"She gave me cookies," Kaede said, still puzzled. "And called me 'young man' like I was in a Taiga drama."

"She's a *ninja* of guilt," Hana muttered. "You never see the emotional damage until it's already done."

Shizuka nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds efficient."

Riko burst into laughter, nearly choking on her drink. "God, that's exactly what *you'd* say."

The table fell into a rhythm after that-- Hana and Riko chatting animatedly, Kaede and Shizuka occasionally offering their soft responses, but content to let the conversation wash over them like the ambient hum of a song they both liked but didn't feel the need to sing along to.

As the meal wound down, Kaede leaned back and glanced at Hana beside him. He still felt a little out of place, like a guest star in someone else's story-- but he could see now how this was Hana's second family. Riko, chaotic and loud; Shizuka, serene and quietly formidable. And here he was, awkwardly adjusting to it all. He wondered who else he had yet to meet on the other side of Hana's world-- a world he barely knew.

Hana chose that moment to reach under the table and gently squeezed his hand. So maybe that was all he needed to know.

----

## Finding Clarity in the Stillness

The city air was still laced with the scent of sweat and resin from the studio, the sharp echoes of ballet slippers on wood still fading in Astra's mind as she and Tsukiko stepped into the quiet corner cafe. The lights were dim, cozy, warm against the cool early evening. A bell chimed gently as they entered, and the barista gave them a quiet nod of recognition-- they'd been here before, after all.

Astra didn't speak. She hadn't really said much since ballet practice ended. Today, she walked with her hands deep in the pockets of her long coat, eyes hidden under her bangs, gold gaze dulled by some internal fog.

Tsukiko, dressed in a soft grey sweater and black skirt, was quiet, too, but she always was. Their coffee "dates" usually passed like this, with the two of them sitting in a familiar, comforting silence, watching people pass by outside the window, their drinks slowly cooling between them. Silence wasn't a problem between them, but this silence felt different.

They sat across from each other, drinks ordered-- Astra's usual espresso, Tsukiko's jasmine tea. The world felt suspended around them. 

Tsukiko watched Astra stir her coffee even though she took it black. A small, repetitive motion. Something to do. Something to *avoid* doing.

"You're quieter than usual," Tsukiko said gently, her voice soft and even.

Astra flinched, ever so slightly, before turning her face away, looking out the window as if the fading sun might answer for her. "I'm just tired."

Tsukiko didn't buy it, but she didn't push. Instead, she sipped her tea and said, "'In the Stillness' is still charting. That song has staying power."

Astra closed her eyes.

Tsukiko put her teacup down quietly and leaned forward just a little. She reached across the table and placed her hand lightly over Astra's.

"What's wrong, Astra?"

Astra looked at the hand over hers. The skin was warm. Light. Gentle. She didn't pull away, but she didn't meet Tsukiko's gaze, either.

Finally, after what felt like the passing of a silent season, Astra spoke. "...Lily said something. On that baking show. About me and you. And then Riko, too. In my apartment." Her voice was low. "They said I might be in love with you."

Tsukiko nodded slowly. "I see."

Astra's jaw clenched. "I don't know if I do. If I *can*. I don't know what I feel." She finally looked up, her gold eyes stormy and conflicted. "I don't *understand* love. Or you. I don't want to lie to you."

Tsukiko's expression didn't change. If anything, she looked thoughtful. Then she gave the faintest smile.

"I don't mind," she said softly. "My love for you... isn't romantic. Not in the way people think."

Astra's brows knit slightly. "Then what is it?"

"It's close. Unusually close," Tsukiko said. "Important. Deep. I understand you don't know how to name what you feel. But that doesn't make it any less real, or any less of love. And it doesn't make you gay, if that's what you're worried about."

Astra didn't reply, but her eyes flicked down.

Tsukiko continued, "Shizuka and Yuki are as close as anyone can be. But they're not a couple. They found their own way to love each other. And Hana and Riko," she added. "You know how close they are. That didn't stop them from loving you, too. As their friend. Their bandmate. Their family."

Astra stared at her. The fog in her eyes began to clear, just a little.

"So," Tsukiko said, gently tightening her grip on Astra's hand, "if you don't know what kind of love you have for me, that's okay. I'm willing to help you figure it out, if you'll let me."

There was a long pause. Astra didn't say anything. The cafe sounds faded. The world grew small, just the space between their hands.

Astra finally, slowly, squeezed Tsukiko's hand.

Tsukiko smiled softly, nodding to herself.

----

The weeks passed in a blur of sound and light, makeup brushes and set calls.  

Astra-- real name Fumiko Kurose-- spent most of her time buried in synth layers, fine-tuning tracks with Moonlight Prism in preparation for their biggest performance yet: the Tokyo Dome show. She didn't talk about it, but everyone in the band could feel the tension in her fingers as she played. She was all focus and frost, her usual clipped words made even shorter by long nights and the countdown clock in her head.

Tsukiko Kisaragi had slipped into a different kind of rhythm. Days spent on location for 'The Shogun's Bodyguard', a historical epic featuring Shizuka in the lead role and Tsukiko played one of the noblewomen, a woman of quiet cunning and restrained nobility. It was a demanding role-- especially under Shizuka's sharp eye-- but Tsukiko flourished in the quiet discipline of it. She learned to hold her poise even under the thick, ceremonial wigs, to convey heartbreak with only a look.

Their schedules no longer overlapped. No more ballet workshops. No more coffee dates. No more sitting together in stillness.

But somehow, that stillness found a way to return.

Each morning, as Tsukiko settled into the makeup chair with half-lidded eyes and a thermos of tea, she would prop her phone up. Astra would already be on the line-- no greeting, no smile. Just the low, steady hum of studio monitors or public noise on Astra's end. She never said a word. Neither did Tsukiko.

Astra never showed her face, only a low-angled view of a keyboard, mixer, or passing Tokyo streets. But she kept one earbud in, listening to Tsukiko's world. To the quiet chatter of stylists, the rustle of her costume being adjusted, the occasional sigh as Tsukiko studied her script.

And Tsukiko... she simply looked at Astra. Or rather, Astra's phone, where her friend's presence hummed like a silent signal in a world that moved too fast.

It was always only a few minutes, but they did it every morning.

One morning, Moonlight Prism-- band members and crew-- were packed into a single train car, bound for an out-of-town show. Hana and Kaede sat together, with Hana's head resting against the drummer's shoulder, her trusty violin at her side. Itsuki, for his part, was pestering Producer-san with another pie-in-the-sky, spur-of-the-moment idea that was very likely getting shot down. Riko was leaned back lazily across two seats, fiddling with her guitar pick as the train rocked gently along. Astra sat across from her, phone perched against her knee, one earbud in, eyes fixed.

Riko narrowed hers. "What are you staring at?"

Astra didn't respond. Just the barest shift in posture, as if annoyed to be disturbed.

Curious, Riko leaned forward and peeked at the screen. Then grinned. "Is that... oh, hey! Tsukiko!"

Tsukiko blinked, her expression lifting with mild surprise. "Ah... hello, Riko."

Riko waved cheerfully. "Look at you, getting pampered like a princess. Astra didn't tell me we were calling royalty."

Astra's eyes narrowed into a cold glare. It said one thing very clearly: *Buzz off.*

Riko smirked. "Yeah, yeah, I get it." She leaned back, hands up in surrender. "She's telling me to get lost."

Tsukiko chuckled softly, lips curved as a stylist dabbed powder on her cheek. "It's fine. Please give everyone my regards, Riko."

Riko saluted dramatically. "You got it. Break a leg, Kisaragi."

Tsukiko inclined her head gracefully. "You too. I heard tonight's setlist is intense."

"Always is." Riko gave Astra one more glance-- Astra had already shifted her phone slightly to angle away from prying eyes-- and then turned her attention elsewhere, humming under her breath.

And so the call returned to its natural state: quiet and undisturbed.

Tsukiko watched the side of Astra's face, barely visible in the reflection of a train window.

Astra listened to the sound of Tsukiko's breath and the rustling of silk robes.

It wasn't romance. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was love... in some form. They both understood it didn't need to be anything else. Not right now, at any rate.

----

## This Time, We'll Do It Right

The finality of Sunshine Melody's disbandment came not with fireworks, but with a quiet message on the agency's site and a muted sigh of relief. No farewell concert. No final tearful handshake event. It was just... done.

Akari and Sakura didn't waste time mourning.

They'd already been at work-- rehearsing in private studios, laying out lyrics Akari had kept hidden like old love letters, and revisiting the kind of unfiltered music that had no place in the pastel-sweet, perfectly choreographed world of idols. Akari had always known she wasn't just a bubblegum smile and a cute wink. She was spitfire and stage dive. And she had the songs to prove it.

Some of those songs had quietly found life before-- Hana and the rest of Moonlight Prism had performed a few under the barely-concealing pseudonym she was forced to use as a writing credit. But there were others: dozens of unused, unpolished and definitely unapologetic songs were waiting in her notebook to be unleashed upon the world.

Now, they had time. Now, they had a band to build.

Akari stood with her guitar slung low, her fingers running familiar patterns across the fretboard. Sakura sat nearby on a folding stool, tuning her bass by ear like she used to before their idol days. It was like rewinding time... only now they had the battle scars to prove they'd survived it all.

"We should call in Yui," Sakura said, adjusting a string. "She offered to help. She said she still had some connections who'd be willing to listen."

Akari hesitated. "I'm surprised she still wants to talk to me. After the whole drama at the Harmony Gala."

"She forgave you," Sakura said. "And she's not one to say things she doesn't mean. If she's offering help, it's because she believes in us."

Akari strummed a low chord and exhaled. "We need to show we're marketable first. This isn't idol pop. This is J-rock. It's a different crowd."

Sakura nodded. "True, but our old fans stuck with us through all the rumors and the disbandment. They shipped us even before they knew it was real. They're still here. We don't have to start at zero."

"And we didn't burn our bridges," Akari said. "We have people who still want to see us succeed."

They had already recruited a drummer-- an older girl they knew from their trainee days who used to moonlight as a street performer-- and a synth player from a local college scene who was obsessed with retro shoegaze. It wasn't the clean, curated energy of an idol unit. It was very, very messy, and there were certainly growing pains to look forward to.

Still, something felt like it was missing.

"I wish Aoi could've joined," Sakura said quietly, adjusting her strap and looking out the dusty studio window. "Like the old days. Just the three of us."

Akari smiled gently. "Yeah. But she's happy now. We shouldn't pull her back just because we miss her."

"I know." Sakura sighed. "She always danced like the world would disappear if she stopped."

"She'll be fine," Akari said. "Hell, she'll probably come to every show and scream louder than anyone else."

Sakura chuckled. "We should go see her. Support her, like she supported us."

They stood together in the middle of the rehearsal room, their instruments slung and hearts wired tight with anticipation. The air smelled of sweat, wood, and hope.

Akari reached out her hand, and Sakura took it without hesitation.

"This time," Akari said, eyes steady, voice firm, "we'll do it right."

Sakura squeezed her hand. "Second time's the charm."

And with that promise, they returned to their instruments. The amps buzzed to life. The first chords rang out-- loud, imperfect, but such was the process of tuning their own equipment.

They weren't idols anymore, but they were musicians, ready to find their own way.

----

## Mending Fences

The little cafe in Harajuku was tucked behind a boutique that sold handmade leather notebooks and obscure vinyl records. It was Hana's choice-- neutral territory, quiet, off the idol radar. Akari hadn't set foot in a place like this in years. She felt like she was walking into sacred ground. Sakura had picked out their table, ordered a matcha latte, and waited patiently while Akari sat with her notebook clutched like a lifeline.

Across the table, Hana sat in crisp, muted fashion, posture elegant, unreadable. Beside her, Riko tapped her fingers on the table with a rhythmic impatience, her silver bob twitching every time she glanced Akari's way. 

The silence stretched until their drinks arrived.

Akari took a slow breath and laid the notebook on the table between them.

"This... I used to show you these songs, remember?" she said softly to Hana, eyes low. "Back when we used to go out and have fun together, like friends do. Before everything."

Sakura nodded in encouragement. Akari looked up.

"I don't expect anything from this," she continued. "Not forgiveness. Not understanding. But I need to say this."

She glanced at Riko. "You were right, you know. I *did* try to turn you into little idol drones. I tried to force the mold that I was trapped in onto you, and when you broke out of it, I lashed out. I dragged your names through the mud during the 'Veiled Echoes' mess, and I let the Harmony Gala forfeit become a circus."

Her voice wavered. "I thought I was protecting what we built, but really, I was scared of losing control."

She looked directly at Hana now. "I know I can't undo the past. But I want you to know that I'm starting something new. With Sakura. Just us, playing the music I was never allowed to sing. The music I used to show you, back when I thought we could take on the world together."

She wiped at her eyes, not even bothering to hide the emotion. "I want to be someone worthy of following in your footsteps. Someone who deserves to make music-- not for applause, not for popularity-- but because it means something."

The table fell quiet.

Riko raised an eyebrow. "Well. That's the most self-aware thing I've heard you say since this whole mess started." Her voice was sharp, but not cruel. "But you don't get bonus points for finally figuring it out after setting the whole house on fire. You've got a lot of nerve, Akari."

Akari nodded. "I know."

Hana hadn't said a word. Her gaze stayed on Akari, unreadable, distant, but not cold. When she finally did speak, her voice was calm and measured.

"You're not making a martyr of yourself. That's... an improvement." She folded her hands in her lap. "I believe you mean what you say. I believe this is the first time in months where you're not performing for an audience."

Akari blinked back more tears.

"But," Hana said softly, "I'm not ready to forgive you."

Those words landed with the weight of a stone. Akari lowered her head.

"I understand."

"However," Hana added, gently this time, "if you really are serious-- about making music without the trappings of idol culture, without turning everything into a drama about yourself... then maybe, someday, I could."

Akari looked up, breath hitching. "Thank you. That means more than I can say. Thank you for being the bigger woman."

Sakura rested a hand on Akari's shoulder, her smile warm, proud. She turned to Hana and Riko. "Thank you for listening. Please, let us pay for lunch."

Hana shook her head. "Maybe... some other time."

Riko scoffed playfully, crossing her arms. "I'll hold you to that."

As they stood to leave, the tension that had shadowed the table began to dissolve-- not gone, but softened. Walking away from the cafe, Akari glanced back just once, notebook under her arm, Sakura beside her.

"Well," Sakura reasoned, reaching for and squeezing Akari's hand, "maybe we can do this again, Akari."

"Yeah," Akari sniffed. "Next time."

----

## Proof of Concept

The basement club in Shibuya smelled like vintage amps, cheap beer, and dreams held together by guitar strings. It was the kind of place you earned, not the kind that was handed to you for winning some idol competition. Which made it perfect for Akari and Sakura's first live gig as a rock band.

The signage outside just read:  
*"AKARI & SAKURA – ONE NIGHT ONLY – NEW SOUND, SAME HEART."*

Inside, the room was packed. Hardcore fans in pastel glowstick gear rubbed shoulders with indie music regulars, curious passersby, and even a few photographers who couldn't resist the word that two former J-pop idols were jumping genres.  

Backstage, Akari paced. She kept glancing toward the corner where an "inconspicuous" cooler sat like a forgotten prop from a birthday party. Sakura followed her gaze, arms crossed.

"You're really going to do it?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Akari smirked, though the nerves showed in the tight grip she had on her guitar. "Just follow my lead. When I put the guitar down, that's the signal."

Sakura sighed, shaking her head. "You're crazy."

"Yeah, but you love it."

She rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately." Sakura had no idea why she agreed to this, but she couldn't say 'no' to Akari this time.

They stepped onto the stage in coordinated outfits that felt like a defiant evolution of their idol past. Both wore cropped, tailored black blazers with frayed lapels over white dress shirts, the collars undone and loosely tied with narrow plaid ribbons like lazy neckties. Akari’s ribbon was red and black; Sakura’s was navy and silver. Their pleated skirts were short, but not scandalous, worn over dark patterned tights-- Akari’s in ripped fishnet, Sakura’s in sheer stripes-- with buckled ankle boots that clacked confidently on the stage. Safety pins, chain loops, and enamel badges decorated their jackets, while Sakura had a small silver treble clef charm hanging from a pocket chain. Their hair was styled just enough to hint at effort: Akari wore her orange hair tousled in a controlled mess, while Sakura’s blonde was straight and blunt, with one clip on the side that looked more decorative than functional.

They were immediately engulfed by cheers that hit like a tidal wave. Akari blinked at the crowd. They weren't cheering for an idol group; they were cheering for *her*. For *them*.

It hit her like a punch to the heart. These weren't just fans of the past-- they were believers in the future.

Akari took a shaky breath and stepped up to the mic.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice cracked, and she laughed awkwardly. "I wasn't expecting this. Not all of you. Not like this."

The crowd hushed.

"I... I messed up. A lot. I broke friendships I wish I hadn't. I made decisions I thought were right at the time, but weren't. And for the people who aren't with me on this stage anymore... I hope they're shining in their own way."

There was a pause. A breath.

"Aoi-- I hope everyone checks out your ballet. You're amazing. You always were."

A few fans in the back cheered her name.

"And Hana. Moonlight Prism. You're all the real deal. I only hope tonight comes *close* to what you've built."

There was an emotional buzz in the room. Sakura gave her a small nod, and Akari wiped her eyes, grinning through her tears.

"This first song," she said, lifting her guitar, "was written a long time ago, during lunch breaks and stolen moments. It's called 'Glitter and Gears'. It's weird, I know. But I promise, it's all us."

The first note rang out sharp and bright. 'Glitter and Gears' turned out to be a jangly, punchy track with off-kilter lyrics and playful riffs. It was undeniably *not* J-pop-- and the crowd *loved* it.

By the second chorus, fans were bouncing, clapping, shouting the hook. Akari's smile widened with each beat, her confidence growing, her heart racing. They *got it.* They *got her.*

The rest of the set was raw, loud, and passionate. Sakura played bass like she'd been born for the stage, and Akari let her voice crack and soar without filters or expectations.

When they wrapped their last song at the end of their concert, the crowd chanted their names. Akari returned to the mic one last time.

"I want to thank you for tonight. For giving us a chance to be ourselves. But before we go..." She set her guitar down slowly. 

Sakura groaned audibly. "Oh no," she muttered, putting down her own guitar.

Akari walked over to the cooler and popped it open, the silver lid clinking as she reached inside... and pulled out a glorious, perfectly fluffy *cream pie*.

The room exploded with anticipation.

"I promised something unforgettable," Akari grinned. "So here it is!"

With dramatic flair, she turned-- and *splat!*-- planted the pie squarely in Sakura's face.

Laughter, cheers, camera flashes. The crowd *lost it.*

Sakura stood frozen for a second, cream dripping from her chin and bangs. Her jaw dropped slowly, as if the shock of the cream pie on her face suddenly registered to her. Then, deadpan, she slowly wiped her eyes and stared at Akari with exaggerated disdain-- playing the perfect straight man. The fans started chanting her name.

With comedic gravitas, she stomped over to the cooler, reached in...

"Oh no--"

*Smack!*

A second pie nailed Akari in the face, her ponytail flopping backward from the force.

The crowd chanted both their names now, stomping, clapping, screaming.  

Covered in cream and grinning like idiots, the two bowed together, hand in hand, bathed in sticky victory and the bright lights of a new beginning.

Somewhere in the back, someone shouted, "*Encore!*"

Maybe next time. For now, Akari and Sakura had made their mark. Not as idols, but as musicians.

----

## The Girl in the Back Row

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above Hikari as she made her way down the hallway, polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. Morning announcements echoed through the old speakers, blending with the low murmur of students talking about pop quizzes, weekend plans, and the latest gossip. No one looked twice at her-- just another transfer student trying to disappear into the scenery.

Her black hair, freshly dyed and pulled into a modest, low ponytail, swayed slightly as she walked. The once-pink twintails were gone, and with them, the sugary persona she had built for Sunshine Melody. Gone was the bubbly idol who twirled on stage in glittering skirts, who smiled wide enough to mask everything wrong beneath.

Now, she was simply Hikari, 2nd Year, Class 2-B. No one here recognized her as the idol from Sunshine Melody. No one squealed at her voice, asked for selfies, or whispered behind her back. Her uniform was neat, her skirt hemmed just right, her ribbons tied with care. She looked like everyone else. That was the point.

It had taken a long time to get here-- both physically and mentally. After the meltdown of Sunshine Melody, the management collapse, the public scandals, and the social media storms, Hikari had fled Tokyo like a ghost escaping its own haunted house. She enrolled in a quiet school tucked deep in the countryside, somewhere even the diehard idol fans wouldn't bother to search. No flashy city lights, no billboards, no stage-- just early morning commutes, rainy fields, and an unfamiliar skyline.

She stepped into the classroom and bowed slightly, giving a polite "Good morning" to her classmates, most of whom barely looked up from their phones or textbooks. That suited her fine. She took her seat near the back of the room, by the window, where she could look out and not feel quite so trapped.

The teacher entered and began attendance. As usual, no one said her name with the same sparkle as the fans used to. No dramatic reactions, no whispers. Just a checkmark on a roll call sheet. A reminder that she was, in every way that mattered, *nobody* now.

And yet...

The buzz in the classroom shifted slightly. Girls in the front were whispering, phones discreetly angled under their desks.

"Did you see the preview for Moonlight Prism's Tokyo Dome concert?"

"Yeah! I heard they're even performing 'Sweet Summer Dreams' with Hana on violin!"

"Riko's stage costume is so wild. She's seriously cool."

Hikari looked down at her notebook, trying to ignore the pang in her chest. Of course they were talking about *them*. Of course Moonlight Prism made it.Hana, Riko, the rest-- they hadn't just survived the fall of Sunshine Melody. They *transcended* it.

She couldn't be bitter. They earned it.

Still, a part of her couldn't help but ache. Not for the fame, not for the spotlight... but for the feeling of being alive under the lights of the stage. The unity of a song, a moment shared with an audience. For all her flaws, all her missteps, she *had* loved being on stage. She *had* loved music.

But she also knew what it had cost her.

That night, alone in her modest apartment near the school, Hikari sat cross-legged on the futon, scrolling through her phone with the lights off. Moonlight Prism's concert was trending everywhere. Clips from rehearsals, interviews, leaked photos of the stage. The whole world was watching.

She watched, too.

Hikari stared at her phone screen like she was watching another life-- a life that could've been hers in some alternate world. One where she hadn't lost herself trying to be the cute, perfect idol. One where she hadn't sabotaged everything that could've mattered more.

But she didn't cry. She didn't wallow.

She turned off her phone and lay back in the dark. She knew these previews were nothing compared to what Moonlight Prism was going to show at the Tokyo Dome. After all, a truly worthy rival must have been that good to overcome and transcend Sunshine Melody. It would only be the natural order of things that Sunshine Melody was no match for the real deal.

Hikari's thoughts wandered back to her current situation: she had money saved up, enough to not worry, even if her parents occasionally tried to guilt her into sending more. She had peace; a clean slate. And she still had time to figure out what came next. Maybe it wouldn't be music. Maybe it wouldn't be anything flashy or exciting. Maybe she would join the Art Club and paint something terrible just to remember what it felt like to create for fun.

The world wouldn't notice, and for once, that was okay.

Because Hikari-- the real Hikari-- was still here, quietly picking up the pieces.

----

## The Milestone Event

The cavernous expanse of the Tokyo Dome reverberated with distant echoes-- techs checking lighting rigs, speakers humming with white noise, the occasional crackle of a mic being tested. From the backstage area, Moonlight Prism moved like seasoned pros, yet each one carried the unmistakable tension of the biggest night of their careers.

Under the soft stage lighting, Hana Kawamura stood at the side of the wings with Yui, the assigned liason with Sonic Azure Records, carrying a clipboard. It was an unexpected surprise to see the former idol working at their music label, much less be assigned to coordinate with the label at the Tokyo Dome, but it was no less welcome to see that Yui had indeed recovered from her professional setbacks.

"So we're opening with 'In the Stillness'," Hana said, finger tracing the printed set list. "Then into 'Whispers in the Cards', and we transition straight into 'Gazing into the Storm' for the heavy instrumental break."

Yui nodded, flipping through her own annotated version. "We're keeping 'Eclipse of the Sun' for the finale?"

Hana smiled faintly. "We *have* to. That song's what brought us here."

From across the stage, Kaede Takahashi was crouched behind his drum kit, adjusting mic placements and double-checking his in-ears, while Riko Amano stood nearby, hands on her hips, inspecting the backup wireless packs with a practiced eye. Her choppy silver bob gleamed under the overhead lights, and her red-tinted lips were pressed into a line of concentration.

"Kaede, you good?" Riko called.

"Yeah, just tightening the tom mics. You can thank me when your vocals don't get buried," Kaede replied.

Meanwhile, off to the side of the backstage area, Fumiko Kurose, better known by her stage name, Astra, stood with a rare, genuine smile on her face as she spoke with her best friend, Tsukiko Kisaragi. The actress, quiet and graceful, was dressed in a minimalist, elegant black dress, her VIP pass swaying gently from her neck.

"You really going through with it?" Tsukiko asked, folding her arms.

Astra shrugged, her gold eyes reflective. "We're all here for a reason. Might as well see it through."

Tsukiko smirked. "That's the most I've heard you say about your feelings in a month."

"Don't get used to it."

Alone, sitting on an amplifier with his guitar across his lap, Itsuki Yamamoto quietly adjusted the tuning pegs, letting each string ring out with gentle precision. He wasn't talking much-- but he was thinking about how everything had clicked together so neatly.

After the meeting with his father, music executive Souichi Yamamoto, months ago, the logistics for the show had started falling into place. Venue permissions, work schedules, VIP seating-- all of it handled with an efficiency that reeked of subtle power. His father hadn't said a word about it. No calls, no messages. But the invisible hand was unmistakable.

And Itsuki knew that was his way of showing love. Not in hugs or praise, but in leverage, in silent support. The same way he'd built a legacy in the industry-- quietly, competently, without sentiment. Itsuki had hated it growing up, but now he understood it.

And he could accept it.

He exhaled slowly and smiled to himself.

"Hey."

Riko's voice brought him back. She walked over, her leather stage boots clicking against the floor. "You ready to give the performance of your life, or what?"

Itsuki grinned up at her, his usual smirk sliding back into place. "I was *born* ready."

"Yeah?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You *better* be."

He leaned back slightly, one leg crossed over the other. "After this, I'm thinking I'll start coordinating my stage outfit to match yours."

Riko laughed loudly that turned a few heads nearby. "As long as you don't *wear* mine, we're good."

"I make no promises."

She shook her head, walking off with a wide smile and a flick of her hair. Itsuki watched her go, then looked down at his guitar-- his hands steady.

Tonight wasn't just for the audience. It wasn't even just for the band. It was for all of them: the ones who believed in them, the ones who doubted them, the ones who left, and the ones who came back.

He stood up.

It was time.




===========================================================================

This story is written with heavy AI assistance.

The finale of the Sunshine Melody trilogy ends with its demise, but not in the same way as in the other universe. This time, Akari and Sakura get to walk off into the sunset, Aoi decides to lean into ballet dancing, and Yui finds a different way to take on the administrative side of the music industry. Hikari, on the other hand, becomes the 'villain' whose downfall is marked by her lack of maturity and understanding of how the music industry worked; as the 'kid' of Sunshine Melody it's clear that the other four, especially Aoi, shielded her from the reality of the situation, punctuated in how she still has her virginity while the others lost it for their careers.

The goal of this story was to give Itsuki and Hikari some time in the spotlight. Itsuki up to this point had no set story behind him, but tying him to a powerful music executive gave him an angle to be a part of Hikari's opportunistic plans. As for Hikari, her plan was initially going to be more 'dark' than it turned out to be, but as I developed Souichi Yamamoto more I realized he wasn't the kind of predatory executive that would sleep with the Sunshine Melody girls in their backstories-- just very career-focused, business-like, and very much a product of Japanese society.

Souichi and his wife being largely absent in Itsuki's teenage life is not that uncommon of a thing; teenagers in some cases are expected to take care of themselves to a certain extent and do their part for their family. But of course the lack of attention paid to him in the parenting department fueled a lot of Itsuki's behavior-- his flamboyance, his willingness to crossdress, his rather likely pansexual behavior (not really addressed in the story), all to get his parents to pay attention to him, even to the point of disciplining him. Because at some point he believed even negative attention was better than no attention, and that ended up getting him thrown out of the house (while it seemed extreme for Souichi to do that, you have to remember just what Itsuki was doing at the party, basically dressed as a woman and claiming he was an 'escort' there on Souichi's behalf).

In a way, the story as a whole is a study on the Japanese social concepts of 'group harmony' and 'saving face'. Souichi Yamamoto's treatment of his son is an extreme example of maintaining the 'group harmony' of his job and 'saving face' among his peers, but at the same time, he failed to maintain the 'group harmony' of his own family. Hikari, on the other hand, foregoes both concepts in favor of getting revenge on Moonlight Prism, and eventually, her own bandmates, both which lead to her downfall as an idol. In a lot of ways, Hikari relied on the 'group harmony' of Sunshine Melody to shield her from the downsides of the idol life, and without it, she failed. Ironically, by trying to paint Akari and Sakura's secret romance as a scandal, fans instead interpreted it as Sakura maintaining 'group harmony' by reigning in Akari's bad impulses after the Harmony Gala fiasco, so their relationship was more 'accepted'. And in the end, Souichi Yamamoto wielded his own 'group harmony' power for 'good': by suspending Hikari, and by agreeing to attend the Tokyo Dome performance to watch his son.

For the time being, this is the last we'll see of a few of the Sunshine Melody girls. I do have ideas on what Aoi is up to (considering her ballet path isn't really addressed here is because I have something else in mind that just isn't relevant to Sunshine Melody's implosion), and Yui is probably going to pop back up here and there, but Akari and Sakura, and Hikari are going their own ways.

Producer-san is basically a gag name because of a funny prevalence in stories to NOT name the character. Of course he has a name, but it is so generic that Moonlight Prism just calls him 'Producer-san' just to make fun of him.



~ Razorclaw X