Principal Tanaka led me from his office, my new ID card feeling like a lead weight in my clammy hand. Chiyo and Akira met us in the hallway.
"I will leave her in your care, then, Tanaka-san," Chiyo said, giving me a final, reassuring look that didn't quite reach her worried eyes. Akira just gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod in my direction. It was the closest he could come to saying 'good luck'. Then, they turned and walked away, their figures shrinking down the long, sunlit corridor until they were gone. The final link to my fragile safety net was severed. I was utterly alone.
The principal led me to a classroom door. "This is class 2-B. Your homeroom teacher, Suzuki-sensei, is waiting for you." He gave my shoulder a gentle, encouraging squeeze and then he, too, was gone.
A woman with a kind but tired face opened the door. "Abe-san? I am Suzuki-sensei. Please wait here for a moment. I will call you in."
The door slid shut, leaving me alone in the hallway. From inside, I could hear the low, energetic hum of a classroom full of students. And in that moment, the anxiety that had been a nest of eels in my stomach hatched and swarmed, a paralyzing venom flooding my veins. My breath hitched. The walls seemed to close in. This was it. The performance.
My body wanted to run, to bolt back down the hall and out into the anonymous safety of the streets. But Ryouko's training was a cage built around my very soul. A specific memory surfaced, cold and sharp. I was nine, paralyzed with stage fright before my first major showcase. Ryouko had knelt down, her grip on my shoulders like steel. "You are not a child," she'd hissed, her voice a frozen razor. "You are a machine. Find a point. A crack in the wall. A speck of dust. Focus on it. Count your breaths. One in, one out. Nothing else exists. The fear is not real. You are not real. Only the performance is real."
My eyes darted around the hallway and landed on a small, brown water stain on the ceiling. I stared at it, forcing the rest of the world to blur. One in. One out. The screaming in my head quieted. One in. One out. My trembling hands grew still. The machine was coming online.
The door slid open again. "Abe-san, please come in."
Walking through that door was harder than walking onto the stage at the Tokyo Dome. The low hum of chatter instantly died, replaced by a thick, weighted silence. Thirty pairs of eyes snapped towards me. It was a physical force, a wave of pure scrutiny. I kept my own eyes locked on the floor, walking to the front of the class and turning to face them, just as instructed.
"Class, this is our new transfer student," Suzuki-sensei announced cheerfully. "Her name is Abe Hotaru. Please make her feel welcome."
The whispers started immediately, a rustle of sound that grew into a wave. They weren't trying to be quiet. "Wow, her skin is so pale..." "She's pretty cute, don't you think?" "Look at her figure... not bad." "Her hair is kind of a mess, though."
My heart sank, a cold, heavy stone. They weren't seeing a person. They were seeing a collection of features to be appraised. The doll on the shelf. The product on display. It's always about the features, the ghost of Hoshiko whispered from her velvet prison. It's never about me.
"Abe-san, you can take the empty seat over there," the teacher said, pointing to a desk by the window in the second-to-last row.
I bowed stiffly and navigated the narrow aisle, feeling the burn of their stares on my back. The desk was worn, covered in a faint constellation of old graffiti. As I sat down, I glanced at the student next to me. He was completely oblivious to my arrival, his head down on his arms, fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. He was a small island of tranquility in a sea of judgment.
The lesson began, but I heard nothing. The teacher's voice was a meaningless drone. I was too busy performing the role of 'student'—staring at my blank notebook, holding a pen, trying to look attentive.
When the bell finally shrieked, signaling the end of the period, I flinched. The classroom instantly erupted into noise. I braced myself, expecting to be ignored, to be the weird new girl left alone in her corner.
Instead, the two girls sitting in the row directly behind me were suddenly at my desk.
One of them had a bright, sunny smile and a short, energetic haircut. She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with unabashed curiosity. "Hi! I'm Emi! It's nice to meet you!"
The girl beside her was much shyer, with long, dark hair that she partly hid behind. She gave a small, hesitant smile and a little bow. "I'm Yui. Welcome to our class."
I stared at them, my mind blank. My entire life, interactions had been scripted. Fans, staff, interviewers—everyone had a role. This felt… unscripted. Dangerous.
"Um," I managed, my voice a rusty croak. "Hello."
Emi's smile didn't falter. "You're from Chiba, right? That's so cool! It must be so different here. Do you want to eat lunch with us later? We can show you around!"
An offering. A simple, unconditional offering of friendship. I had no idea what to do with it. Before I could process an answer, the sleeping boy next to me stirred, lifting his head with a quiet groan. He blinked a few times, ran a hand through his messy dark hair, and then his sleepy eyes landed on me. For a moment, he just stared, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. Then, without a word, he stood up and shuffled out of the classroom, presumably in search of a quieter place to nap.
"Lunch?" I repeated, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "With... you?"
"Yeah! Unless you have other plans?" Emi's sunny expression didn't waver, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, as if she was suddenly worried she'd been too forward.
The truth was, I had no plans. My plan was to find the most deserted corner of the school and try not to exist for forty-five minutes. But looking at their expectant faces—Emi's open and bright, Yui's shy and hopeful—a different kind of fear surfaced. The fear of disappointing the first people who had shown me a sliver of kindness.
"I... I don't have plans," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Okay."
Emi's face lit up. "Great! Let's go grab a spot on the rooftop. The view is the best from there."
She grabbed my wrist with a casual familiarity that made me flinch. Her hand was warm. No one had touched me without a purpose—for makeup, for wardrobe, for a photo op—in years. Yui followed us, a quiet shadow to Emi's bright light.
The journey to the rooftop was an ordeal. Every eye in the hallway seemed to follow our small procession. The whispers were a constant hiss, like static from a broken radio. They weren't just looking; they were dissecting. The whispers followed us up the stairs, a swarm of invisible insects crawling over my skin.
We found a spot on a bench overlooking the sea. The view was breathtaking, a vast expanse of glittering blue that met a cloudless sky. For a moment, it was quiet.
"So, what do you think of it here?" Emi asked, unwrapping her bento. "Pretty different from the city, huh?"
I just nodded, pulling out the simple onigiri Chiyo had packed for me.
The peace was short-lived. A group of boys came clattering onto the rooftop, their voices loud and boisterous. They weren't subtle. Their conversation, pitched just loud enough for us to hear, immediately turned to me.
"Hey, did you see the new transfer?" "The one in 2-B? Yeah, she's seriously cute." "I'm gonna ask for her LINE account later." "No way, I'm going to. You'd just scare her off, Kenji."
My blood turned to ice. My hands, holding a rice ball, began to tremble. I could feel their gazes on me, heavy and appraising. It was the same look I'd seen on producers, on photographers, on executives. The look that stripped you down to your marketable parts. The look that said you are a thing I might want to possess.
My skin began to crawl, a visceral, horrifying sensation. It felt like I was back on stage, under the heat of a thousand lights, with a million eyes on me, but this was worse. There was no stage, no music to hide behind. There was just me, the product, being assessed by potential consumers. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to tear my own skin off.
I lowered my head, my new black hair falling like a curtain, and took a bite of the rice ball. It tasted like ash.
"Hey."
Emi's voice was quiet, but it cut through my panic. I looked up. Her bright, sunny smile was gone, replaced by a look of sharp concern. Even Yui was looking at me, her brow furrowed with worry.
"You okay, Abe-san?" Yui asked softly. "You look really pale."
They had noticed. They had seen past the shy girl facade and seen the terror underneath. I couldn't speak, so I just shook my head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
Emi's gaze flickered over to the group of boys, who were now snickering amongst themselves. A hard, protective glint came into her eyes. She stood up abruptly, her movements loud and deliberate.
"Oh my god, Yui, did you see the season finale of 'Starlight Detective' last night?! The twist was insane!" she exclaimed, her voice practically booming across the rooftop. She launched into a loud, incredibly detailed, and completely distracting monologue about a TV show, gesturing wildly and pacing in front of our bench, effectively creating a wall of sound and motion between us and the boys.
The boys, their conversation interrupted, looked over, annoyed. After a moment of watching Emi's one-woman show, they seemed to lose interest, their attention drifting elsewhere. They eventually packed up and left, grumbling about an upcoming class.
Emi plopped back down on the bench, suddenly quiet again, a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Sorry about that," she mumbled, not looking at me. "They're idiots."
I stared at her. She hadn't done it for a camera. She hadn't done it because a manager told her to protect the brand. She had seen that I was uncomfortable, and she had protected me. A person. My throat felt tight.
"Thank you," I whispered. It was the first honest thing I'd said all day.
The walk back from the rooftop was different. Emi walked beside me, chattering away about the TV show she'd used as a social shield, while Yui trailed slightly behind, adding a quiet comment here and there. The whispers from the other students were still there, a constant background hiss, but they felt different now. Less like a direct assault. It was as if Emi's cheerful, protective orbit deflected the worst of it, creating a small pocket of safety for me to walk in. For the first time, I felt less like a specimen under a microscope and more like a person walking with her friends.
The word hung in my mind, alien and fragile. Friends.
Afternoon classes were a blur. I tried to listen, I really did. I stared at the complex chemistry formulas on the blackboard until my eyes watered, trying to decipher them. It was a language I'd never been taught. My education had been tailored to interviews, talk shows, and basic conversation. I knew how to charm a host and recite approved anecdotes; I knew nothing about the periodic table.
The boy next to me, the one who had slept through my introduction, was awake now. But only just. He spent the entire afternoon staring out the window, his chin propped on his hand, a look of profound boredom etched onto his face. He never once looked in my direction. He wasn't whispering about me, he wasn't staring at my hair or my face. As far as he was concerned, I simply didn't exist. In a strange way, his complete and utter indifference was the most comforting presence in the entire room. He was a void where the judgment should have been.
When the final bell chimed, signaling the end of the day, I felt a wave of relief so powerful it almost made me dizzy. I had survived. I had made it through the first day. As students began packing their bags, Suzuki-sensei clapped her hands to get our attention.
"A reminder for our transfer student," she said, her eyes landing on me. "This is the last week to sign up for an after-school club. Abe-san, please make sure you submit your form to me by Friday."
My stomach plummeted. A club. Another performance. Another place where I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't, to have interests I didn't possess.
"Ooh, what club are you gonna join, Hotaru-chan?" Emi asked, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She had started using my first name, and each time she said it, it felt both startling and strangely pleasant.
"I... I don't know," I stammered.
"Yui and I are in the Art Club!" she said brightly. "It's super chill. We mostly just paint and gossip. You should join us!"
Yui nodded. "You would be very welcome."
Art club. I pictured myself holding a paintbrush, facing a blank canvas. What would I even paint? My world had been a palette of stage lights, grey hotel rooms, and the black interiors of hired cars. My mind was as blank as the canvas.
"I... I'll think about it," I lied.
As we walked out of the classroom, we passed the large bulletin board in the hallway. It was covered in colorful, handmade posters, each one advertising a different club.
Kendo Club!Go Club!Literature Society!Photography Club!Track and Field!
Emi and Yui pointed out their poster, a beautiful watercolor of a sunflower. I scanned the list, a cold knot of dread tightening in my chest. Sports were out of the question; my body was conditioned for choreography, not athletics. Debate club? I only knew how to speak lines someone else had written. Calligraphy? My hands only knew how to hold a microphone.
My entire life, I had been a vessel, filled with the ambitions and desires of Ryouko Yorukawa. There was nothing inside that was my own. No hobbies. No passions. No interests. I was a beautifully decorated, completely empty doll. There was no club here for a ghost.
And then, my eyes landed on it.
A simple, plain poster, with just two words written in neat, black ink.
Light Music Club.
The breath caught in my throat. It was like seeing a snake in a flowerbed. A visceral, full-body revulsion seized me. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Music. The thing I had run from. The weapon that had been used to shape me, to break me, to sell me. The soundtrack to my own personal hell. It was the one place in this entire school, this entire world, that I could never, ever go.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the words. The laughter and chatter of the hallway faded into a dull roar.
I had to get away from it. I had to.
But as my mind screamed run, a colder, quieter thought slithered in.
What else is there?
What else did I know? What else had my life been? Ryouko had taken everything, stripped me bare, and filled the void with this. She had taken music—something that should have been beautiful—and twisted it into a cage. She had stolen it from me and made it hers.
My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. The fear was still there, a cold, sickening dread. But underneath it, something else was stirring. A flicker of something hot and sharp. Anger.
She took it from me.
I stared at the poster, at those two simple words. To truly be free of Hoshiko, to truly kill the ghost, I couldn't just run from her. I had to face the ruins of the world she had built. I had to walk back into the fire.
And take it back.
"Hotaru-chan?"
Emi's voice pulled me back from the edge of my own personal war. I blinked, and the hallway, with its noise and its people, rushed back into focus. I was still standing in front of the bulletin board, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles were white.
"Are you okay?" Yui asked, her voice small. "You were just... staring."
I took a shaky breath, forcing my hands to unclench. The fear was still there, a coiling serpent in my gut, but the anger was a shield. "I'm okay," I said, and the words didn't feel like a complete lie. I turned to them, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I think... I think I know which club I want to join."
Emi's eyes followed my gaze back to the simple, stark poster. Her jaw dropped slightly. "The Light Music Club? Seriously? But... you don't seem the type."
You have no idea what type I am, I thought. "I want to try," I said, the words tasting of metal and resolve.
"Wow! Okay! That's... cool!" Emi recovered quickly, her default setting of cheerful support kicking in. "It's in the old building, down the hall from the art room. We can walk you there!"
Every instinct I had screamed at me to say no, to do this alone. But the thought of walking that hallway by myself, of facing that door without the small comfort of their presence, was a fear too great to handle. I just nodded, a single, jerky movement.
The walk to the old building felt like a funeral procession. My feet were leaden weights, each step a monumental effort. The polished floors of the main building gave way to the worn, scuffed linoleum of the older wing. The air grew cooler, smelling of dust and old paper. My composure, the carefully constructed mask of the calm transfer student, was beginning to crack. I could feel my breathing grow shallow, my palms begin to sweat. I was walking back into the cage.
We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a small, grimy window. A piece of paper was taped to it, with the same two words from the poster: Light Music Club.
From inside, I could hear a sound that was both alien and painfully familiar: a single electric guitar, playing a clumsy, disjointed riff over and over again. It was full of mistakes—a buzzing string here, a missed note there. It was raw and imperfect. It was everything the music in my life had never been allowed to be.
"Well, this is it," Emi said brightly, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. "We're just next door. Knock 'em dead, Hotaru-chan!"
She and Yui gave me encouraging waves and disappeared into the art room.
And then I was alone.
Just me and the door. Me and the sound of my past, my present, and my terrifying, unwritten future. For a full minute, I just stood there, my hand hovering inches from the wood. I couldn't do it. This was a mistake. I was going to open that door and Hoshiko was going to be standing there, waiting for me.
She took it from me.
The thought was a jolt of electricity. I squeezed my eyes shut, took one deep, ragged breath, and knocked.
The guitar abruptly stopped. I heard a muffled curse from inside, then the sound of footsteps. The door creaked open a few inches, and a face I recognized peered out.
It was him.
The boy from my class. The one who slept by the window. Ren Takanashi, according to the class roster.
He wasn't bored or sleepy now. His dark hair was messy, and there was an intensity in his eyes I hadn't seen before. They scanned me up and down, a flicker of recognition followed by pure, undisguised annoyance.
"What do you want?" he asked. His voice was flat, dismissive.
I flinched. The carefully rehearsed greeting I'd prepared died in my throat. I suddenly felt small and stupid, like a child who had wandered into a place she didn't belong.
"I..." My own voice was a pathetic squeak. I cleared my throat, forcing the Hoshiko training to kick in. Straighten your back. Chin up. Modulate your voice. "I saw the poster. I'm... I'm here to join the Light Music Club."
Ren Takanashi stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he did something I didn't expect. He laughed. It wasn't a kind laugh. It was a short, sharp, incredulous bark.
"You?" he said, as if the very idea was absurd. "No thanks. We're not looking for new members."
And he started to close the door.