[Montmartre Café, Shibuya District — Late Afternoon]
"Sorry, I'm late!"
Kazama Haru burst through the café's entrance, chest heaving from the sprint up three flights of stairs. The scent hit him first—freshly ground espresso beans mingling with butter croissants and something floral, maybe lavender from the diffuser near the hostess stand.
Ever since Ryuju Momo's warning, his awareness had sharpened to a knife's edge. On the train, he'd tracked every figure that lingered too long, every gaze that didn't slide away naturally. His shoulders only relaxed once he stepped inside, the warm amber lighting washing over him like a familiar embrace.
"Haru-chan!"
Togawa Sakiko's voice cut through the ambient jazz. She sat in her usual spot—a plush window seat overlooking the pedestrian scramble below—her arm raised high, waving with unrestrained enthusiasm. The afternoon sun caught the honey-gold of her hair, turning it luminous.
She looks... really happy to see me.
The thought warmed something in his chest.
"Miss Yuutenji, this is the Band Manager I told you about." Sakiko gestured toward him as he approached, her smile proud.
"Hmm?"
Across from Sakiko sat a figure almost comically incognito—oversized sunglasses that screamed "definitely not a celebrity," a wide-brimmed sun hat, and a cool brown-grey off-shoulder camisole that exposed delicate collarbones. Nyamu—the Nyamu, queen of guerrilla street performances—turned her head with catlike curiosity.
Her nostrils flared slightly. Sandalwood... and something clean. Like fresh laundry.
The moment Kazama Haru's face came into full view, her pupils dilated behind the dark lenses. Her breath caught audibly.
"Oh, isn't this—"
The influencer's internal "clout radar" screamed at maximum volume.
"TOKYO SWORD SAINT!"
Nyamu shot to her feet so fast her chair scraped against the marble floor with an ungodly SCREEEECH. Several patrons turned to stare. Her voice cracked with barely-contained disbelief.
"Um..." Kazama Haru scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I think some people online do call me that?"
He extended his right hand toward her. "Hello, Miss Nyamu. I'm Kazama Haru, the Band Manager responsible for Ave Mujica's development strategy. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Ah... Hello, Tokyo—no, K-Kazama-san."
Yuutenji Nyamu remained frozen, her slender fingers wrapping around his palm. She stared into his eyes—dark and calm as a winter lake—like she'd been hypnotized. His hand was warm. Calloused at the base of his fingers. Fighter's hands, she thought dizzily.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Ahem."
Togawa Sakiko cleared her throat pointedly—twice—her ceramic cup clinking against its saucer with deliberate force.
"Hah!?" Nyamu blinked rapidly, reality crashing back. She released his hand like it had burned her, forcing out a dry laugh. "S-Sorry, that was rude of me! You're just... you know, super famous, so I..."
Kazama Haru slid into the seat beside Sakiko, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. The faint scent of her perfume—something delicate, like white tea and bergamot—drifted toward him.
"I didn't expect Miss Nyamu to recognize me," he said smoothly, flashing an easy smile. "It's truly an honor. As an influencer, your ability to recall trending content so precisely... that kind of sharp instinct is genuinely impressive."
Nyamu tilted her head, cheeks flushing pink beneath her oversized frames. Her voice bounced back to its signature peppy cadence.
"Well~ Videos about you have already hit tens of millions of views, you know? That kind of insane traffic makes a small-time streamer like me super jealous~"
She leaned forward conspiratorially, propping her chin on interlaced fingers.
"Buuut, even if it looked totally real... that was definitely staged, right? All those extras must've cost a fortune~"
"Miss Yuutenji."
CLUNK.
Togawa Sakiko set her cup down hard enough to rattle the silverware. Her golden eyes—sharp as a hawk's—fixed on Nyamu with unmistakable steel.
"Today we are here to discuss Ave Mujica's collaboration. Please refrain from prying into our Band Manager's personal affairs."
A pause. Sakiko's jaw tightened.
"Furthermore—Haru-chan's abilities are genuine. Your flippant skepticism is incredibly rude."
Sakiko...
Kazama Haru's chest tightened. Beneath the table, his hand found hers—just a brush of knuckles against her thigh—and she startled, a rosy blush creeping up her neck.
She defended me without hesitation. Even against a potential business partner.
"R-Really now?"
Nyamu blinked, momentarily thrown by Sakiko's intensity. But her skeptical expression toward Kazama Haru remained. Switching back to her trademark cutesy voice, she pressed her palms together in mock apology.
"Sorry, sorry~ If I accidentally offended you, Kazama-san, then I sincerely apologize, okay?"
She twirled a strand of ash-blonde hair around one finger.
"But honestly... those video clips are just too unbelievable, you know? Like something straight out of a shounen battle anime. Even if Togawa-san vouches for you so confidently, it's still suuuper hard for me to accept~"
"It's fine."
Kazama Haru waved dismissively, his smile unchanged.
"Whether people believe it's real or fake—none of that matters to me."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted sideways to Sakiko. She'd ducked her head, golden lashes lowered, fingers fidgeting with her teacup handle.
She's embarrassed about snapping earlier.
The urge to reach over—to tuck that stray lock of hair behind her ear—burned in his fingertips.
Later, he told himself. Focus.
Clearing his throat softly, Kazama Haru redirected his attention to Nyamu, steering the conversation back on course.
"As Togawa-san mentioned, we're here to discuss Ave Mujica's future. She's already briefed you on the band concept and musical direction, hasn't she? What are your thoughts?"
"Hmmm..."
Nyamu's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, one manicured nail tapping against her lower lip.
"On paper? Sounds like major hype material. Wakaba Mutsumi—daughter of comedian Wakaba Ryuu and actress Mori Minami—she did all those TV interviews as a kid, right? And Misumi Uika from the idol unit Sumimi... both names carry serious weight."
"But—"
Her tone shifted, a knowing smirk curling her glossed lips.
"This whole masked performance thing... you're serious about that? Between myself and Sakiko-san, everyone's faces are definitely eye-catching beauties, wouldn't you agree~?"
She spread her hands dramatically.
"If we could just take off the masks, our popularity and buzz would absolutely skyrocket. Like, no question."
"I'll address this."
Togawa Sakiko straightened in her seat, exchanging a quick glance with Kazama Haru—a silent understanding passing between them in an instant.
"Regarding the masks—they represent one of Ave Mujica's core identity elements." Her voice carried the measured cadence of someone who'd rehearsed this explanation. "Our performance style, worldview, aesthetic... everything revolves around a dark fairy tale motif. Decay and slumber. Dreams and dolls."
She traced the rim of her teacup absently.
"Within our narrative framework, the audience is invited by these masked figures to participate in our dances and rituals. Therefore—even at the temporary expense of individual member recognition—the masked format is non-negotiable."
"Ehhh~"
Nyamu deflated dramatically, slumping forward until her forehead nearly touched the mahogany table.
"What a waste~ But... given the caliber of the members, I guess I can reluctantly agree. For now."
"Reluctantly." "For now."
Kazama Haru filed those words away, his internal alarm prickling.
She hasn't truly accepted it. Not deep down.
Even after Sakiko's careful explanation, Nyamu's expression betrayed lingering resistance—an influencer's bone-deep addiction to visibility warring against artistic principle.
If this isn't addressed... she might still go rogue eventually. Contract penalties or not.
As if reading his mind, Nyamu suddenly straightened. A sly grin spread across her face.
"Ah~ Now I get it." She drummed her fingernails against her coffee cup. "That's why the breach-of-contract penalty was set so absurdly high, isn't it? To guard against exactly this."
Her catlike gaze flicked between them.
"Whose idea was that, I wonder~?"
Glancing at Sakiko—who'd pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with barely-suppressed laughter—Kazama Haru shrugged nonchalantly.
"Mine, obviously. I am the Band Manager." He leaned back, arms folding behind his head. "Think of it as a gentleman's agreement. If you never intend to violate the terms, you can treat that clause like it doesn't exist."
"Hmm... that actually makes sense..."
Nyamu's finger pressed thoughtfully against her lips, her gaze distant. Something seemed to click behind her eyes.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Togawa Sakiko drew a slow breath. She set down her black tea with deliberate care, crossed her arms beneath her chest—the motion pushing her modest curves together—and met Yuutenji Nyamu's gaze with unwavering confidence.
"Miss Yuutenji Nyamu."
Her voice dropped an octave, soft yet commanding.
"Are you willing to entrust the rest of your life to me?"