The main auditorium stage felt bigger when it was empty. Echoes bounced off the high ceiling and the rows of unoccupied seats stared back like silent judges. Afternoon light filtered through dusty curtains, turning everything slightly golden and unreal.
Akira arrived at 15:45 with a printed blocking diagram, a water bottle, and zero tolerance for delays. He set everything on the director's table, checked the speaker system, and ran a quick sound test. Voice clear. Mic levels balanced. Piano track loaded.
Sora appeared at 15:58—jogging lightly down the center aisle, gym bag bouncing against her hip. She wore the school track pants instead of the uniform skirt, hair tied higher than usual, sleeves pushed up.
"Didn't think you'd actually bring water," she said, climbing the steps two at a time.
"I follow instructions when they are logical."
She snorted and dropped her bag near the wings. "Okay, control freak. Where do we start?"
"Opening block again. Full run-through with movement this time. You enter from stage left on your first line. Cross to center during the chaos metaphor. We end face-to-face for the transition cue."
Sora glanced at his printed diagram. "You numbered my steps."
"Precision prevents mistakes."
"Precision makes everything feel rehearsed."
"That is the point of rehearsal."
She rolled her eyes but took her starting position anyway.
They ran it once without music—just lines and basic blocking.
Akira delivered his opening calm and steady. Sora answered with rising energy. On the third repetition she added a small spin on "chaos pours in," turning so her ponytail nearly brushed his shoulder.
Akira stepped back instinctively.
"Too close," he said.
"That's the point. Collision, remember? Friction. Your word."
"The audience needs breathing room."
"They need tension. You're pulling away every time we get near the spark."
"I am maintaining stage spacing."
"You're maintaining personal space. Big difference."
Akira's jaw tightened. "If you deviate from the blocking again without prior agreement—"
"Then what? You'll write a strongly worded email to yourself?"
He exhaled through his nose. "We agreed on mutual approval for changes."
"Fine. I'm asking now. Can I add the spin and close the gap on line seven?"
Akira considered it. The spin did add visual chaos. The proximity did heighten the contrast between their deliveries.
"…Once. We try it once. If it disrupts the rhythm, we revert."
"Deal."
Fourth run.
Akira started. Sora entered. Lines built. On line seven she spun—smooth, quick—and ended much closer than the diagram allowed. Their faces were less than a foot apart when she finished her metaphor.
Akira froze for half a second—long enough for the silence to feel heavy.
Then he delivered his next line, quieter than scripted.
"…until the fight becomes—"
He didn't finish.
Sora tilted her head slightly. "Dance?"
The word hung between them.
Neither moved.
The piano track looped back to the beginning automatically.
Sora broke first. Stepped back. Laughed once—short, almost nervous.
"Okay. That felt… different."
Akira cleared his throat. "The proximity works. We keep it."
"Wow. A compliment."
"An observation."
She grinned. "Same thing from you."
They ran it two more times. Each repetition tightened the timing, sharpened the eye contact. By the sixth take the small group of classmates who had wandered in were no longer pretending to scroll on their phones—they were watching.
One girl in the third row whispered loudly enough to carry: "Are they actually going to kiss or what?"
Sora heard it. Her ears went pink.
Akira pretended not to.
After the run, Sora grabbed her water bottle and took a long drink. "We should add a pause there. Let the tension sit before the music crashes in."
"Agreed."
She looked at him sideways. "You're not hating this as much as you thought you would."
"I never said I hated it."
"You didn't have to. Your face does the talking."
Akira adjusted his glasses. "My face is neutral."
"Your neutral face is terrifying."
He almost smiled. Almost.
Instead he said, "Tomorrow we add the first scene after the narration. Bring the prop list."
"Already in my bag."
She shouldered it and headed for the steps.
Halfway down she turned back.
"Hey, Takahashi?"
He looked up.
"Thanks for not vetoing the spin."
He nodded once.
She left.
Akira stayed on stage until the lights dimmed automatically.
Neutral face.
Terrifying.
He wasn't sure he believed her anymore.