Another month had slipped quietly into the past.
Ayaka now found herself immersed in the creation of her next novel, her world consumed once more by characters and plotlines that demanded her full attention.
Her office was a chaotic symphony of ideas—papers sprawled across the mahogany desk, crumpled notes littering the floor, coffee mugs balancing precariously atop stacked books.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she murmured under her breath.
"The Disappearance of Ms. Bella…" she whispered, her eyes narrowing as she fleshed out the details of her mysterious new protagonist.
The room was silent save for the rhythmic tapping of keys—until the sharp ring of the telephone abruptly cut through her concentration.
Ayaka groaned, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. "Geez, I'm in the middle of writing…"
With clear reluctance, she snatched up the receiver and pressed it to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Yamamoto." came the stern voice of her editor-in-chief, Daiki Takahashi. "Come to the office. Now."
Ayaka frowned. "Can it wait, Mr. Takahashi? I'm working—"
"There's someone here who would very much like to meet you."
That caught her attention. A visitor? Still, she sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine…" she muttered, hanging up with an audible *click*.
With an irritated sigh, she grabbed her cardigan and stepped out of her sanctuary.
She weaved through the bustling hallways of the publishing house, exchanging quick nods with staff who hurried past, until she reached Daiki's office.
She knocked once.
"Come in!" his voice called from within.
Ayaka pushed the door open, not expecting much—until her eyes locked on the stranger standing beside Daiki.
Her breath hitched.
The man before her was tall, maybe just as tall as Akihiko, but where Akihiko was cool and aloof, this man radiated a quiet charisma that felt like moonlight itself.
He had golden-blonde hair that fell effortlessly into place, framing his striking, sculpted features.
His green eyes—vivid and piercing—held a kind of calm mischief, like he knew a secret the world didn't.
He wore a dark turtleneck and a fitted coat that hugged his lean, athletic frame, exuding an effortless sophistication.
Ayaka blinked, stunned. "Wait a second… I remember you!"
A grin tugged at her lips. "You're the guy who's always at my book signings! You never miss one! Even that one where we held the book signing tours around the hospitals in Tokyo!"
The man's lips curled into a soft, almost bashful smile. "Guilty as charged. I apologize for missing your most recent event… That's partly why I'm here now."
His tone was respectful—far more subdued than the energetic fanboy she vaguely recalled.
There was a maturity in his voice now, laced with confidence and charm.
Daiki smirked as he backed away toward the door. "Well, he wanted to speak to you privately. I'll leave you two to it."
And with that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.
The stranger gestured to the seat across from him. "Please."
Ayaka sat down, still eyeing him with curiosity. "So... what do you want to talk about?"
He smiled again, this time with a hint of mystery. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Makoto Miura." He paused, then added smoothly, "Also known as Moonlight Sonata."
The words hit her like a bolt of lightning.
"W-wait. D-did you just say... Moonlight Sonata?" Her voice cracked slightly.
Makoto chuckled—a deep, velvety sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I sure did."
Ayaka stared at him in disbelief. "No way. That can't be true. Moonlight Sonata avoids all publicity. Nobody even knows if—"
"—he's a man or a woman." they said in unison.
Makoto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I've always preferred keeping my personal life far away from the spotlight. Too much attention… it's exhausting."
Ayaka folded her arms, squinting at him. "I still don't believe you. You could just be a really convincing impostor."
Makoto's emerald eyes twinkled. "If I can prove to you that I am Moonlight Sonata… you owe me a cup of coffee."
Ayaka arched a brow. "That's it?"
"And." he added, "You listen to my proposal. No interruptions."
She scoffed, smirking. "You're that confident?"
Makoto leaned in slightly, his voice smooth as silk. "Should I not be?"
Something about the way he looked at her—calm, assured, like he already knew the outcome—sent a flicker of excitement down her spine.
"Fine." She extended a hand, challenging. "Deal."
Their hands met—warm, firm, electric.
Makoto's grip lingered for a second longer than necessary before he pulled back, his smirk deepening.
Makoto stood, his every movement graceful and precise, like a scene rehearsed in silence.
He reached for his coat—an elegant black wool piece with silver buttons—and swung it over his shoulders with effortless poise.
The collar framed his face perfectly, making him look every bit like the protagonist from one of his own novels.
His emerald eyes caught the light, glinting with something unspoken.
He paused by the door, one hand on the knob, and looked back at her with a small, knowing smile.
"Watch the news tonight." he said, voice low and smooth like a secret whispered in the dark. "See you tomorrow… Ms. Midnight."
And with that, he was gone.
Before Ayaka could even open her mouth to ask what he meant, the door clicked shut, leaving only the soft echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Her heart stuttered. "What the hell does that mean? Why the news? Is he a journalist? A politician? A secret agent?!" She raked a hand through her hair, still spinning from the emotional whiplash of the day. "Who the heck is this man?"
------
Rain tapped gently on the windows like fingers urging her to stay awake.
Ayaka was curled up on the couch, cocooned in a thick blanket, a steaming mug of chamomile tea forgotten on the coffee table.
Her laptop sat beside her, blinking with unwritten words, but her mind was elsewhere—looping over every word, every smile, every glance Makoto had given her.
The television glowed softly in the dim room, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
"What could he possibly mean by 'Watch the news'? Was that his way of bragging? Or warning me?" she wondered, hugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Suddenly, the screen flashed with a dramatic transition and upbeat music.
"And now! What you've all been waiting for!" the host's enthusiastic voice boomed. "For all the romance readers out there, this one's going to make your hearts flutter! We are thrilled—no, honored—to finally introduce you to the elusive literary legend... the one and only Moonlight Sonata—Mr. Makoto Miura!"
Ayaka's jaw dropped.
The camera cut to a sleek, stylish studio, where Makoto sat effortlessly poised in a dark suit that hugged every line of his lean frame.
The lighting played off his golden hair, casting a soft halo as he gave the host a warm, relaxed smile.
He looked like he belonged in a luxury magazine ad—devastatingly handsome and composed.
Ayaka's heart slammed against her ribs. "He… He was telling the truth..." she whispered, stunned.
The audience erupted in cheers and surprised gasps.
Even the host's expression betrayed her excitement.
"Wow! I mean—wow!" she gushed. "I've followed your work since your debut. Like most of the world, I assumed Moonlight Sonata was a woman. But a very handsome man with such poetic prose? Be still my heart!"
Makoto laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.
The host leaned in, curious. "You've avoided the public eye for years. No interviews, no signings, not even a single photo until now. You're not tied to any publishing house. So, what made you step out of the shadows?"
Makoto's smile softened, something almost wistful gleaming in his eyes. "My favorite author just released a new book."
A ripple of "awws" spread across the audience, and Ayaka felt her chest tighten.
The host tilted her head. "Can you tell us who this author might be?"
Makoto chuckled, cool and collected. "She's one of the most beloved authors out there. I think most of you know her already."
Ayaka was frozen, eyes wide, blanket half slipping off her shoulder.
The host laughed, fanning herself. "Still so cryptic, huh? Alright then, if you had the chance to talk to this favorite author of yours—what would you say to her right now?"
Makoto turned to face the camera.
His gaze pierced the lens—but somehow, Ayaka felt like he was looking straight at her.
Like the screen had melted away, and he was standing right there in her living room, stealing the air from her lungs.
His voice dropped to something intimate.
"Ms. Midnight." he said, lips curving into that signature smirk. "You owe me a cup of coffee."
The audience gasped. The host's eyes widened.
"Wait, wait, wait—hold up! Did he just say Ms. Mid—"
Ayaka yelped and slammed the remote's power button, shutting the television off in a burst of static. The room plunged into silence.
Her face turned scarlet. "Oh my gosh!!!"
She scrambled upright, pacing the living room in a panic. "No no no. That did not just happen. That was live. On national television! Everyone saw that!"
She stopped mid-step, clutching her head. "What have you done, Miura?!"
Her phone buzzed on the table—texts pouring in from colleagues, fans, even Kei.
Yuki: OH MY GOD AYAKA! THAT WAS YOU HE MEANT YOU I'M SCREAMING
Keiko: So you guys are going on a date soon? <3
Kei: Coffee, huh?
Kai: Is that your new type? Smooth, and nationally televised?
Kazumi: No Ice Prince anymore?? *0*
Yuriko: You're all over the internet too! That guy is so handsome by the way!
Ayaka spun around in a panic, hands flying to her head. "No no no. This cannot be happening. The whole country just saw that!"
And then—her phone rang.
"Takeshi!" she muttered, staring at the name flashing on the screen.
She picked up, already bracing herself.
"You. Idiot." Takeshi's voice was sharp and annoyed. "Did you read the book I gave you? His Melody by Moonlight Sonata?!"
"What?" she sputtered. "Now?!"
"You haven't read it yet have you?!" he snapped. "You said you'd read it weeks ago!"
Ayaka winced. "I—I've been busy, okay?!"
He said darkly. "Read it already!"
Then he hung up.
Ayaka stared at her phone in horror.
"Everyone's gone crazy!" she muttered. "I'm surrounded by crazy people!!!"
She sank into her couch with a groan.
And under the panic, the embarrassment, and the media storm she knew would come by morning… was something else.
Makoto Miura—Moonlight Sonata—had chosen her to step out of the shadows for.