CHAPTER 24
Miyu didn't remember exactly when it started.
It had started years ago, in the corridors of middle school, long before the world outside cared about him.
"Oi, Miyu-chan~!"
The voice dragged his name out just enough to twist it into something else. Something softer. Something wrong. Laughter followed, sharp and jagged, cutting through the room.
"What… is it?" Miyu asked, his voice small.
"If you're a guy, why's your name Miyu?" Kaido sneered, leaning forward with a grin that already knew it had won.
"His eyes are getting glassy!" another boy shouted, pointing.
The group burst out laughing, loud and relentless. They laughed at him for the simple crime of trying not to cry.
(I'm not crying…)
Kaido reached out and grabbed a fistful of Miyu's hair. No warning. Just force. He yanked hard.
Miyu slammed onto the floor with a heavy thud, the air knocked clean out of his lungs.
(It hurts…)
Before he could even react, Kaido's foot came down on the side of his head, pressing him into the cold linoleum.
"Miyu-chan, show us you're a guy like us, then…"
The classroom went silent. Not quiet—silent. The kind that pressed down on the ears.
"Kaido, I think that's too much—" a girl's voice came from the back, hesitant but trying.
Kaido snapped his head toward her, his glare sharp enough to cut. She shrank immediately, her voice dying in her throat. No one else moved. No one else spoke.
"Show us your wee-wee, Miyu-chan~!" another boy jeered.
A few snickers slipped through the silence.
The class held its breath.
Miyu's hands trembled as they hovered near his waistband, his vision blurring, his chest tight, his thoughts collapsing into noise.
And then—
Something crashed into Kaido
A blur of motion. Fast. Violent.
Kaido was sent sprawling across the floor.
(Takumi!)
Miyu's face lit up, a fragile spark of hope breaking through the tightness in his chest as he saw him. Despite being a year younger, Takumi stepped forward without hesitation, placing himself between Miyu and the wolves like an immovable wall.
"That's Demon Takumi from the second year!" one of the boys shrieked, his voice cracking with fear.
The group didn't hesitate. They scattered immediately, chairs scraping harshly against the floor as they stumbled over one another in a frantic rush to escape, tripping, shoving, desperate to get away from the boy whose reputation reached them before he ever had to.
Silence returned just as quickly as it had been broken.
"Thanks again, Takumi," Miyu murmured, his voice still trembling slightly.
Takumi reached down and pulled him back to his feet in one firm motion. His grip was steady, grounding, as his eyes flicked over the state of Miyu's uniform, lingering on the dirt and creases left behind.
"You… should learn to defend yourself," Takumi muttered, the words coming out rough, carrying something heavier than simple advice.
Miyu let out a small, helpless chuckle. He had no answer for that, no way to explain that some people were born to stand in front of the hit, and others were only ever meant to take it.
The following days passed in a fragile, borrowed peace. No one dared to touch the Demon's cousin, and for a while, it was enough.
But the wolves were patient, and they were watching closely. The moment they learned that a fever had kept Takumi at home, they moved.
Kaido and his group were already waiting at the school gate, cutting off the exit before Miyu could even think about slipping away.
"Hello, friend," Kaido greeted, his voice calm in a way that made it worse.
Miyu swallowed, his throat tightening.
"Kaido-kun…?"
"It's a shame we didn't get to play together today," Kaido said, circling him slowly, each step deliberate.
Miyu forced a hollow chuckle, the sound barely holding together.
(I'm in danger…)
"But I'm willing to overlook that," Kaido continued, pulling out his phone.
He turned the screen toward Miyu, the light cutting through the dimness. A photo filled the display—a girl, soft-featured and unaware. Most importantly, she resembled Miyu.
(Yui?!)
The blood drained from Miyu's face, and Kaido's smile widened as he caught every second of it.
"I'm glad you know her," he said quietly, his voice dropping into something heavier. "If you introduce her to me… I'm willing to forgive you."
The world seemed to tilt under Miyu's feet. Fear moved faster than thought, crushing everything else beneath it, and before he could stop himself, he nodded.
"That's good."
Kaido stepped aside with a mocking gesture, letting him pass.
Miyu took a step forward, then another—
"You forgot something, Miyu-chan."
He stopped instantly. The weight of every gaze at the gate pressed into his back as he slowly turned around. Then, without a word, he lowered himself into a deep bow, forcing his body down until it hurt.
"Thank you… for letting me breathe, Kaido-sama…"
Kaido approached, his shadow falling over Miyu's bent form. Without hesitation, he spat directly onto Miyu's face.
He didn't wait for a reaction. He simply turned and walked away, his laughter echoing faintly behind him as if it would never fully disappear.
The walk home blurred together into something shapeless. Streets passed without meaning, voices without clarity. Miyu cried as he walked, the tears hot against his skin, mixing with the drying mark on his cheek. He slipped into alleyways whenever it became too much, his shoulders shaking as he let everything spill out where no one could see him.
But the moment his house came into view, it all stopped.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning on the camera and holding it up like a mirror. Carefully, he wiped his face clean, removing every trace of what had happened.
Then he practiced his smile, adjusting the corners of his lips again and again until the pain disappeared beneath it.
As he entered the house, he didn't even have time to breathe before his sister greeted him with a happy shout. Yui grabbed his arm, dragging him inside immediately.
"Yo, come in! I saw this idol yesterday..."
Miyu let himself be pulled along, a silent prayer echoing in his mind.
(I'm glad Yui doesn't go to the same school as I do!)
Yui didn't drag him to the living room where the TV was. Instead, she hauled him straight to her room, her eyes sparkling with a frantic kind of creative energy.
"Sit!" she demanded.
Without hesitation, Miyu played along. He sat at her desk, noting the sets of makeup already laid out like a soldier's kit.
"What are we doing?" Miyu asked, his curiosity momentarily dulling the ache in his chest.
"Be still!"
The brushes began to move. Yui worked with a feverish pace, tracing the lines of Miyu's face. Under her hands, Miyu's pale skin became vibrant; his eyes deepened with shadow, and his lips were painted a soft, delicate pink.
When she finally pulled back, Miyu looked into the mirror and blinked.
"You have a great talent," Miyu teased, "for doing makeup for a clown."
Furious and laughing, Yui hit his head hard. The sound of their shared laughter filled the room, momentarily chasing away the ghosts of the school gate.
But later, back in the quiet of his own room, his sister's antics stayed with him. An idea began to take root—a desperate, brilliant spark. He spent the entire afternoon hunched over, learning the art of the brush, tracing the contours of his own face until he fell asleep with his skin still covered in layers of makeup.
By the next morning, the obsession had taken hold. After his shower, he tried again and again. He didn't even go to school in the morning; the world outside didn't matter as much as the face in the mirror. He redid his makeup with surgical care, blending and highlighting every detail.
By chance—by luck alone—he managed to make himself look cute. It was almost convincing.
(I need a wig!)
He crept into his sister's room and scavenged through her things until he found a long, blue wig. He pulled it on, adjusting the synthetic strands until they framed his face. He looked at the mirror and froze.
(I didn't know I was this cute!)
He didn't hesitate. He didn't change back. Clad in the blue wig and the perfect mask, he headed toward his school during lunch—ready to face the wolves as someone they wouldn't recognize.
As he walked onto the school grounds, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The rowdy chatter of lunch break died down, eyes turning toward the "mysterious girl" moving with quiet confidence. The figure in the blue wig drew stares, but none so sharp as the ones from Kaido and his group. Their predatory instincts froze, short-circuited by a new, overwhelming curiosity.
Before Kaido could make a move, a boy from the crowd stepped forward, his face flushed. "I'm Izuku. Takahashi Izuku."
Within moments, more boys crowded in, jostling for position, their voices overlapping as introductions spilled out. The wolves were suddenly wagging their tails.
Miyu took a steady breath, feeling the weight of the wig and the makeup. Then he let out a cheerful, melodic lilt he had practiced countless times in front of his bedroom mirror.
"I'm Miyuko," he said, smiling radiant and untouchable. "Miyu's sister."
The crowd went wild. And then Kaido stepped forward, puffing out his chest, preparing to confront the girl he had hunted for days. Miyu didn't wait. He cut him off with a cold, devastating smile.
"Sorry. I don't talk to losers."
The words landed like a physical blow. Kaido's face twisted with rage and humiliation. He lunged, hand snapping toward Miyu's arm—but never reached him. Izuku moved with lightning speed, catching Kaido's wrist in an iron grip.
"What are you doing?!" Kaido hissed, disbelief sharp in his voice.
Izuku didn't flinch. His gaze locked on Kaido's, voice flat and final.
"We don't talk to losers."
The betrayal was total. The very group that had once followed Kaido's every command turned against him, shoving and barking insults as they drove him away from Miyuko. Kaido struggled, red-faced and furious, but he was outnumbered, powerless before the crowd he had once ruled.
Miyu watched from behind his blue bangs as his tormentor was dragged off by his own henchmen. From that day forward, no one ever dared to bully Miyu again.
What he had learned to survive then now shaped the rhythm of every movement he made.
—
"Again."
The director didn't hesitate this time. His voice carried a sharp, newfound authority that cut cleanly through the studio air—unburdened and absolute.
No one interrupted him. No second voice rose to fracture the rhythm. The suffocating weight that had hung over the set since yesterday had vanished along with the man who brought it.
Cerb-3ros reset immediately. The studio moved with a clinical clarity it hadn't possessed before, everything finally allowed to function.
Near the monitors, Daichi stood with his arms crossed, a silent, looming anchor. He didn't speak. He simply watched, his gaze heavy with expectation—the kind that came from a man who had just cleared the path and now demanded results.
"Positions."
The call was clear and unchallenged.
Kiyomi stepped into place, the soles of his shoes gripping the polished floor. He adjusted his footing, eyes fixed forward. He waited for it—the familiar disruption, the petty interruption that would snap the rhythm apart and drag everything to a halt.
It never came.
The studio moved the way it was meant to. The music didn't just play; it took control, and this time, nothing was standing in their way.
When the recording finally ended, the lights dimmed, and the high-octane energy of the dance began to settle, Daichi pushed off from the monitors and walked over to the trio. He stopped right in front of Miyu, leaning in close enough that only he could hear.
"Remember…" Daichi whispered, his voice low, heavy, carrying the weight of authority and warning.
Miyu didn't flinch. The cheerful, idol-perfect smile didn't waver for a second, but his response was immediate and sharp.
"Yes, daddy~"