Morning sunlight spilled into the small apartment, painting the floorboards in pale gold. Aya stretched on the futon, still groggy from sleep, when a sudden knock on her door jolted her upright.
"Aya! I mean—Akira!" Ren's voice carried through the thin walls. "Lesson two starts now. Get up!"
She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Ren, it's barely eight—"
"Exactly! The landlord makes his inspection at ten. We don't have much time."
That snapped her awake. She threw on one of the oversized hoodies they'd bought yesterday and padded into the living room. Ren was already there, standing like a drill sergeant with his arms crossed.
"You look half-asleep," he declared. "Rule number one of Akira: never look fragile. Sleepy is fine. Fragile is not."
Aya yawned. "I'm regretting this already."
Ren ignored her. "Today's focus: voice and habits. You did decent with posture yesterday, but your voice—" He wrinkled his nose. "Still way too soft."
Aya frowned. "What's wrong with my voice?"
"Nothing, when you're Aya. But Akira needs to sound… different." He cleared his throat, then dropped his tone an octave. "'Yo, what's up.'"
Aya snorted. "You sound like a wannabe gangster."
Ren grinned. "And you sound like you're about to apologize for existing. Balance, my dear. Balance."
Aya tried, lowering her voice. "Uh… hey."
Ren burst out laughing. "You sound like a frog with stage fright!"
Heat rose to her cheeks. "I can't do this!"
"You can." Ren's laughter softened into encouragement. "Think calm. Not forced. Like you're not trying to impress anyone."
Aya inhaled, exhaled, then tried again. "Morning."
Ren tilted his head, considering. "Better. Less frog. More… shy boy next door."
Aya sighed. "Great. Just what I wanted to be."
---
After half an hour of practice, Ren shifted to mannerisms.
"Rule two: don't fiddle with your hair. Boys don't do that."
"But it's short now," Aya muttered, tugging unconsciously at the ends.
"Exactly!" Ren slapped her hand away. "Rule three: stop sitting with your knees together. Spread out. Own the space."
Aya awkwardly parted her knees, feeling ridiculous. "This feels… rude."
"It's confidence." Ren smirked. "Besides, no one's going to buy Akira if you sit like Aya."
She glared at him, but followed along. It was clumsy, awkward, and at times humiliating, but she could see the spark of determination in Ren's eyes. And for that alone, she kept trying.
---
By ten o'clock, her stomach was in knots.
The landlord's footsteps echoed up the creaky stairs. Ren quickly handed Aya a baseball cap. "Hide some of your face. Just act normal. And let me do most of the talking."
Aya swallowed hard, tugging the brim low.
A firm knock rattled the door. Ren opened it to reveal Mr. Sato, their landlord—a stern man in his fifties with sharp eyes that missed nothing. He peered into the apartment like he was inspecting soldiers' quarters.
"Morning, Takahashi," Mr. Sato said briskly. His gaze flicked to Aya. "And this is?"
Ren's voice was smooth, casual. "My cousin. Akira Lin. He's staying with me while he works an internship nearby."
Aya bowed stiffly, forcing her voice low. "Good morning, sir."
The landlord's eyes narrowed. For a terrifying second, Aya thought he could see right through her. Her palms grew clammy beneath the hoodie sleeves.
Mr. Sato finally gave a curt nod. "Follow the rules, Takahashi. No disturbances. No… inappropriate relationships under my roof."
Aya froze, her heart pounding. But Ren only smiled. "Of course, sir. We understand completely."
The landlord gave one last suspicious glance before turning on his heel and leaving. The sound of his footsteps faded down the stairs.
Aya collapsed onto the couch, exhaling shakily. "That was awful. He definitely knew."
Ren plopped beside her, grinning. "He bought it. You did great!"
Aya buried her face in her hands. "I was shaking so badly."
"Yeah, but you kept your voice steady. That's what matters." Ren nudged her shoulder playfully. "See? Akira is real."
Aya peeked at him, lips trembling between relief and disbelief. "I can't believe I just lied like that."
Ren's expression softened. "I know it feels heavy. But think of it this way—this lie is just a shield. Four months, Aya. Four months, and you'll be free."
She swallowed, his words settling deep inside her. A shield. That's what Akira was. Not a betrayal of who she was, but protection until she could stand on her own.
Still, as she glanced at the cap and hoodie she wore, Aya couldn't help but wonder: if Akira was her shield, how long could she really hold it up before it cracked?
---