The last note hung in the air like a prayer before dissolving into silence.
Ai stood in the vocal booth, her eyes closed, feeling the vibration die in her throat. The headphones pressed against her ears felt warm. She counted backwards from three in her head, letting her diaphragm relax, letting the performance high settle into something manageable. Her fingers found the chain of her necklace, a small star pendant, and she traced its edges while her breathing returned to normal.
Good session. The high note at the bridge still needs work, but the emotional delivery was solid.
The recording light blinked off. Through the glass, the sound engineer gave her a thumbs up and started packing his equipment. Ai pulled off the headphones and set them carefully on their stand. Her reflection stared back at her from the booth's dark glass. Perfect gradient eyes, flawless skin, expression serene.
Okay. Vocal training done. Get a ride from the president. Home to feed the kids and rest a little. Back here by seven for dance practice.
The compartments in her mind clicked into place like a well-oiled machine. Mom mode off. Idol mode on.
She pushed open the booth door and stepped into the main office area. The transformation happened between one heartbeat and the next. Her shoulders softened. Her spine curved into a gentler posture. The smile that bloomed across her face was sunshine distilled into human form, warm enough to make everyone in the room look up.
"Hey!" Ai's voice rang out, bright and sweet as bells. She spotted the receptionist near the copy machine and practically floated over. "Your new haircut is adorable! It frames your face perfectly!"
The receptionists cheeks flushed pink, one hand flying to her freshly trimmed bangs. "Thank you, Ai-chan! How was training? You sounded incredible, as always! I could hear you from out here!"
Ai covered her mouth with one hand letting out a giggle that somehow managed to sound both humble and delighted. "Oh no, I still have so much to work on! But I'm trying my best for the fans!" She tilted her head. "I hope I wasn't being too loud!"
That's the whole point. Five years of vocal training doesn't whisper.
"Never! You're always perfect!" Another staffer chimed in from his desk. The accountant who always smelled faintly of cigarettes and kept family photos plastered across his cubicle wall.
Ai waved her hand dismissively, the gesture choreographed to appear spontaneous. "You're all too kind to me. Really, I'm just lucky to work with such talented people."
The words rolled off her tongue like honey. Sweet. Sticky. Designed to coat everything they touched.
She glanced toward the hallway leading to Ichigo's office, already calculating. "Is the president in? I need to ask him about borrowing."
The receptionist's eyes lit up. She leaned forward across the copy machine, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still managed to carry across the entire office. "He is, but Ai-chan, you just missed it! Have you met the new boy yet? The new center for PRISM?"
Ai blinked. She arranged her features into an expression of mild, sweet curiosity, head tilting to the left like a bird noticing something shiny. "PRISM? Oh, that boy group President Saitou brought over a little while ago?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I heard they were struggling. They found a new lead?"
PRISM. Kotaro's little vanity project. Last I heard, they were hemorrhaging money and morale. A new center? How desperate.
But the receptionist clutched at her chest like she'd been shot, her expression turning almost reverent. The accountant nodded vigorously from his desk. Another staffer, whose job Ai could never quite remember, actually stood up to join the conversation.
"Ai-chan, he's not just a 'new lead.'" The receptionist's voice had gone breathy. "He's like an angel sent from heaven. But it's his voice. He sang for President Saitou right in his office, and I swear, it resonated in my soul. We all stopped working. Just stopped. And then we looked up the lyrics later because we wanted to know what song it was, and we couldn't find it anywhere. We think he wrote it himself!"
Ai's smile didn't waver. Her posture didn't change. But behind her eyes, gears started turning.
Original material.
Pretty faces were cheap in this industry. You could find a hundred beautiful boys on any street corner in Shibuya. Good voices were more valuable but still common enough. Technical skill could be taught. Stage presence could be manufactured with the right coaching and enough practice.
But a performer who created their own music? Someone who could write something that made veteran staff members stop working and search for lyrics online?
That was rare. That was dangerous.
"Wow!" Ai's voice pitched up slightly, enthusiasm cranking another notch higher. She pressed her hands together near her cheek. "An original song? He must be very talented! I'm so happy for the President! He works so hard for all of us."
Bold move. Or incredibly stupid. Let's see which.
The staffer, apparently unable to contain himself, blurted out the final piece. "He's in there right now! I think he's signing his contract!"
Right now. In Ichigo's office. Signing.
The opportunity presented itself wrapped in a neat little bow. She needed to see this boy herself. Needed to assess whether the staff's swooning was genuine talent recognition or just the usual new-performer excitement that always faded after the novelty wore off. Needed to understand if this was a real threat or just another flash in the pan.
Her gradient eyes widened as if struck by sudden realization. She gasped softly, one hand flying to her mouth.
"Oh, that's right!" The words tumbled out bright and scattered, like she'd just remembered something terribly important and terribly embarrassing. "I completely forgot! Ichigo-san wanted me to double-check the B-Komachi schedule before I left today! Silly me!" She laughed at herself. "My head would roll away if it wasn't attached!"
Ai turned toward the hallway. Let's meet this angel, shall we?
The hallway stretched ahead of her, familiar territory. She'd walked this path thousands of times. Past the storage closet that never closed properly. Past the bathroom with the flickering light. Past the practice room where she could hear muffled voices and the thump of bass.
Her heartbeat stayed perfectly even. Her breathing remained controlled. She was Ai Hoshino, center of B-Komachi. She had nothing to prove and nothing to fear from some new boy, no matter how prettily he sang.
I'm just being thorough. Professional due diligence.
She reached Ichigo's office door. The wood was old, painted white, with a small placard reading "President Saitou" in neat kanji. She could hear voices inside. Ichigo's measured tones. Kotaro's manic energy, barely contained. And a third voice she didn't recognize.
Ai raised her hand and gave three light taps against the door. Gentle. Apologetic. She was already arranging her face into the perfect expression of "oops, so sorry to interrupt!" as she pushed it open.
"President, so sorry to bother you, I just—"
The words died in her throat.
Sunlight streamed through the office window, hitting at an angle that made everything glow. Ichigo sat behind his desk, his usual controlled self. Kotaro stood beside him, vibrating with barely contained excitement, his ridiculous bow tie crooked and his sunglasses reflecting the light.
And across from them, leaning forward over a contract spread across the desk, was a boy.
The first thing she registered was the light. It caught in his hair, brilliant blond that created an almost haloed effect. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw the face. He had the kind of face that cameras loved and crowds obsessed over.
But it was his presence that made her pause. Something about the way he held himself, the confidence in his posture even while sitting. He radiated a kind of stardom that couldn't be faked, the same gravity that pulled people into orbit.
Well.
He looked up from the contract. A pen hovered above the signature line, frozen mid-motion. His eyes found hers.
Emerald green met gradient violet and magenta.
Oh. So that's him.
The moment stretched. Nobody moved. The office had gone completely silent. Kotaro's mouth had frozen mid-word. Ichigo's eyes were darting between them, something unreadable crossing his face.
Ai felt her smile freeze in place, still perfect, still radiant. But underneath, something cold and sharp and competitive coiled in her chest like a snake preparing to strike.
She was the sun of Strawberry Productions. The brightest star in the sky. The one everyone else orbited around.
And this beautiful stranger with his emerald eyes and his original songs and his presence that filled the room like smoke was sitting there with a pen in his hand, about to sign his name into her universe.