Chapter 6 – The Month of July

  (Book 1: Before I Close My Eyes)

  Recap: Anna remains blissfully unaware that Hideki has figured her out. Their public engagement continues as a spectacle, adored by the media, their romance meticulously crafted for cameras and headlines. Together, they attend high-profile events in Oslo maintaining the illusion of a perfect power couple.

  But behind closed doors, the game shifts.

  Hideki is no longer playing for fun—he’s playing for the ending.

  The cracks start to show. The dynamic tilts. Anna, still believing she has him wrapped around her finger, is unknowingly walking into her own demise.

  Late July national theatre hotel late July 2017 – Hideki & Anna’s Hotel Suite, 5:14 Am

  The hotel suite was bathed in early morning light—soft, golden, untouched.

  The mornings here where so peaceful compared to the warm Japan weather at this time of the year.

  The kind of light that made everything look gentler, more forgiving.

  Hideki wasn’t sure why he was awake.

  The silk sheets were cool against his skin, the air faintly scented with Anna’s perfume—light, delicate, something expensive meant to smell effortless.

  Beside him, Anna stirred.

  She turned onto her side, eyes half-lidded, hair tumbling against the pillows, her voice still thick with sleep. “You’re awake.”

  Hideki hummed. “So are you.”

  She exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Then, quietly—so quietly he almost missed it—she murmured, Then, quietly—so quietly he almost missed it—Anna spoke.

  Anna (soft, almost hesitant): “Do you ever think about the future?”

  Hideki let the words hang in the air, rolling them over in his mind like a cigarette he wasn’t sure he wanted to light.

  Hideki (murmuring, amused): “Why? You planning one?”

  She huffed a laugh, but it was barely there.

  Anna (whispering, almost to herself): “Maybe.”

  The golden morning light made everything look softer, like an illusion—like this moment could be something else, something real. But Hideki knew better.

  He always knew better.

  Hideki (watching her, unreadable): “Tell me then. What does your perfect future look like?”

  Anna turned, shifting onto her stomach, the silk sheets slipping just enough to reveal the elegant curve of her back.

  She could have answered easily, with one of her usual lies—some pretty, picture-perfect fantasy about love, marriage, happiness.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she studied him, as if debating something.

  Then, finally—she smirked.

  Anna (lazy, stretching): “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Hideki narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t push.

  Because Anna never said anything without a reason.

  And whatever she was planning—he’d find out soon enough.

  He just wasn’t sure if she’d win.

  Oslo Afternoon – Dior press event

  The Oslo Dior Event shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers, a carefully curated atmosphere of luxury and restraint, where the rich and famous sipped champagne and spoke in hushed, calculated tones. The scent of expensive perfume and candle wax hung in the air, soft jazz humming beneath the murmurs of conversation.

  The cameras flashed the moment they stepped inside.

  The air was thick with voices, journalists calling names, photographers angling for the perfect shot.

  Anna was stunning—draped in a custom cream white Dior gown,shining in molten metallic with every step. The deep structured bow at the back made her look like a gift wrapped in execss. Her necklace drawing attention to her delicate line of her collar bone.

  Her heels sharp and high carrying the weight of a queen that already had won a war.

  Her hair cascading in soft waves, her lips painted in the perfect shade of red. She had cut and died her blonde signature hair to mouse brown now because she where retiring from the idol industry.

  Hideki, in an all-black ensemble, stood beside her. His custom Dior suit draining his frail body walking in a way that made it impossible to tell if he where tired or just pretending for the look. The coat fell just below the knees, partially unbuttoned, revealing a sharp three-piece suit underneath—a dark vest cinching his frail frame, black silk tie loosened just enough to suggest he wasn’t playing by anyone’s rules. His hair, spiked and unruly, carried red tips that caught in the low light. And his expression?

  Unbothered, amused—like he already knew how the night would end.

  A socialite whispered: “He looks like he walked straight out of a fairytale.”

  His boots, scuffed but expensive, carried a weight that made each step resonate on the marble floor

  Close behind his twin Mamoru. Where Hideki was effortlessly chaotic, Mamoru was meticulously put together.

  His black suit had a sleek, almost military precision to it—crisp lapels, structured shoulders, red detailing along the sleeves that felt like a warning rather than an accent.

  

  
• The Tom Ford glasses had been replaced with Christian Dior ones, perched on his nose reflected the room’s golden light, making his eyes unreadable.


  

  One hand rested casually in his pocket, the other adjusting his cufflinks with the same level of patience he had when fixing Hideki’s messes.

  

  
• The contrast between his neatly styled hair and Hideki’s controlled disarray made their presence even sharper—twin flames, one burning recklessly, the other containing the fire.


  

  An older businessman watching them murmured: “The quiet ones always hold the most power.”

  Takao yawned bored. His outfit on the other hand was precise. Calculated.

  Dressed in a Dior Homme black suit, every seam tailored to perfection, he looked less like a rockstar and more like a CEO moonlighting as one.

  

  
• The subtle silver beading on the lapel caught the light with every movement, adding a quiet opulence.


  
• His trousers hung just loose enough, the chain attached to his belt swaying lightly.


  
• The gloves—yes, he wore gloves—matched his meticulous presence.


  

  He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

  His silence said everything.

  A fashion editor murmured to a colleague: “He’s dangerous in the way money is—silent, but undeniable.”

  Right behind Takao Nachi stud. Nachi had no intention of blending in.

  Dressed in a tailored blazer with an open white dress shirt underneath, he looked bored with the entire concept of formality.

  

  
• The black shorts hit mid-thigh, breaking every rule of a high-fashion gala.


  
• His boots gleamed under the chandelier light, casual but undeniably expensive.


  
• His necklaces—a mix of silver chains and a barely-there pearl strand—sat against his collarbone like a challenge.


  

  Where the others were controlled elegance, Nachi was pure, effortless charisma.

  A stylist smirked and whispered: “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Then Mimmi Honda.

  Mimmi didn’t do attention-seeking.

  She commanded it without asking.

  In a navy blue, structured Dior dress with sleek tailoring, she carried the aura of someone who made things happen behind the scenes.

  

  
• The skirt’s high slit was just bold enough to remind people she wasn’t just business—she was power.


  
• Her heels clicked against the floor with purpose, every step precise.


  
• Her necklace—a simple string of pearls—was the only soft thing about her presence.


  

  A Dior executive noted with amusement: “She’s the only one in this room actually running something.”

  They looked flawless.

  A mix of chaos and control, rebellion and refinement.

  The air crackled as they walked through, the weight of their image—carefully constructed yet effortless—making the elites of Oslo whisper among themselves.

  And in the midst of it all, Hideki, with that half-lidded, amused expression, leaned slightly toward Mamoru and muttered:

  Hideki (deadpan, smirking): “Think they can tell we’re the problem children?”

  Mamoru (adjusting his glasses, not even looking at him): “They knew the second we walked in.”

  And with that, Well of Fortune made their presence unforgettable.

  Anna seemed like she had the time of her life stealing glanses at Hideki like a cat eyeing the a fish lake .

  Their chemistry was intoxicating, effortless.

  But Hideki was the only one who knew the truth.

  This wasn’t love. This was performance.

  And he was enjoying every second of it.

  The questions started simple—industry talk, fashion, music. Then—

  A journalist cleared his throat. “Anna, your past is somewhat of a mystery to the public. Can you share a little about where you came from before entering the entertainment industry?”

  Hideki barely reacted.

  But Anna didn’t flinch.

  Her smile was soft, measured. “I was raised in Hokkaido,” she said smoothly. “I had a simple childhood, nothing particularly interesting.”

  Lie.

  Her delivery was flawless. Her voice didn’t shake. But Hideki saw it.

  The way her fingers curled slightly against her thigh. The way her breath was just a fraction too controlled.

  The only person who knew Mitsuki Shion was lying was him.

  He smirked slightly.

  Anna thought she had won this round.

  She had no idea she was already losing.

  The event was alive—socialites laughing, influencers posing for perfect snapshots, the scent of champagne and expensive perfume thick in the air. Waitstaff glided through the crowd with small silver trays, offering crystal glasses and delicately plated hors d’oeuvres. Everything was bright, glittering, staged.

  And yet, Mamoru Yano stood still.

  He wasn’t drinking. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t even looking up. Instead, he was checking his watch deliberately, fingers hovering over the screen, watching Hideki’s vitals dip and spike like a volatile stock market crash. Unstable. The numbers flickered in and out of his comfort zone.

  He shouldn’t be here.

  But he was. Because Mimmi had waved it off, called it just another of Mamoru’s overprotective acts.

  Because Hideki—reckless, infuriating, impossible—had insisted.

  Mamoru’s jaw clenched. If he went to Hideki directly, it would backfire.

  Best case? Hideki would laugh it off, call him neurotic, say something cutting just to amuse himself.

  Worst case? He’d retaliate—grab the nearest champagne flute, down it in one go, and escalate just to spite him.

  So Mamoru stood there, watching from a distance, simmering.

  And then, Takeichi Ishida arrived.

  The laid-back CEO moved through the room with the ease of someone who had long stopped being impressed by wealth and excess. He wasn’t draped in luxury—his outfit was simple, understated, but somehow effortlessly more commanding than half the men in tailored Dior suits.

  Beside him, Aiko Osawa.

  Dressed in muted blue elegance, she blended in with the other elite guests—because she had to. Because Well of Fortune had protected her from the industry’s claws by acting as though they didn’t know her. A deliberate illusion.

  To the public, she was just another high-society girl at the event. But she knew everything.

  Takeichi’s gaze flicked toward Hideki’s drink. A single, amused hum.

  “That’s his third whiskey tonight. Not smart.”

  His tone was casual, but Mamoru knew better. Takeichi was under contract—he wasn’t supposed to speak. He wasn’t supposed to interfere.

  Mamoru turned to him, narrowing his eyes, but Takeichi was already moving.

  “Stay here,” he told Aiko, before making his way toward Mamoru.

  Mamoru tensed as Takeichi stopped beside him, far too relaxed for someone about to say something serious.

  “Your brother’s numbers are dropping. Fast.”

  A flash of irritation flickered through Mamoru’s expression. The fact that Takeichi even knew meant he’d been watching, too.

  “You’re the doctor in training, not me,” Takeichi continued, gaze never leaving Hideki. “But even I know when something’s off.”

  Mamoru was already gripping his watch, already hyper-aware of the problem, but hearing it from someone else made it real.

  And then it happened.

  Hideki stumbled.

  Not dramatically—just a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable. A passing moment in a sea of movement. The influencers didn’t see it. The socialites didn’t care. But Mamoru did.

  And so did Takeichi.

  There was a pause. A silent challenge.

  Takeichi gave him a look. You gonna do something, or not?

  Mamoru moved.

  Dragged Outside Like a Naughty Pet

  One second, Hideki was sipping his whiskey, smirking at something useless. The next—

  A sharp tug on his collar.

  “Oi—” Hideki barely got the protest out before Mamoru yanked him toward the exit, dragging him like an unruly pet.

  A few heads turned. Someone laughed, amused by the sight. No one intervened. It was Well of Fortune business.

  Takeichi watched with mild interest. Aiko, too. But neither stopped it.

  The cold Oslo air hit them the second Mamoru shoved Hideki through the doors. Hideki exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half a cough, trying to adjust his collar.

  Mamoru didn’t let go.

  He spun Hideki around, gripping the fabric tight, his knuckles white. His voice was low, furious—but barely above a whisper.

  “Get it together, Hideki.”

  Hideki blinked, then smirked, utterly unbothered.

  “You haven’t taken your meds for two days.”

  “You’re drinking like nothing matters.”

  “I swear to god, if you collapse out here, I—”

  Mamoru cut himself off, teeth gritted, breathing heavy.

  Hideki tilted his head slightly, watching him, as if studying something under a microscope.

  And then—he smirked.

  Not playful. Not mocking. Something softer. Something off.

  “You’re overreacting.”

  Mamoru’s grip tightened.

  Hideki exhaled, glancing up at the night sky. The lights from the event flickered in his periphery, but he wasn’t looking at them.

  And then, without fanfare, he finally said it.

  “You have to get used to it, Mamo.”

  Mamoru froze.

  “I won’t always be here for you to watch over.”

  The words landed like a blade to the ribs.

  Hideki wasn’t teasing him. He wasn’t saying it to mess with him. He meant it.

  For a split second, Mamoru saw it. The future Hideki wanted him to accept.

  A future where he wasn’t there.

  Something cracked in Mamoru’s expression.

  Before he could respond—before he could even process it—Hideki lifted a hand, smoothed out his collar, like it was nothing. Like this conversation wasn’t shattering Mamoru from the inside out.

  “Relax.” Hideki smiled. “I won’t die tonight.”

  Mamoru shoved him off, frustrated. Annoyed. But he didn’t drag him back inside.

  He just stood there, fists clenched, heart hammering, realizing that for the first time—

  Hideki was letting go of him.

  And he wasn’t ready.

  (Oslo later that evening – Hotel Balcony, Hideki & Anna)

  Hideki lit a cigarette he wouldn’t finish.

  The air was cool, the city stretched out below, golden lights reflecting against the Seine.

  Behind him, the glass door slid open.

  Anna stepped onto the balcony, arms wrapped loosely around herself. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Hideki exhaled, the smoke curling around him. “You keep asking me that.”

  Anna smirked, leaning against the railing. “Because you never do.”

  A pause.

  Then—Hideki tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

  Anna’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before recovering.

  She thought he was talking about the industry. The pressure. The endless cycle of media and performance.

  She had no idea he was talking about her.

  She didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, she reached for his cigarette, plucking it from his fingers and taking a slow drag.

  Her gaze flicked toward the city. “As long as it takes.”

  Hideki hummed. Interesting…

  Oslo never truly went dark in the summer. Even at this hour—somewhere past midnight—the sky still carried the last traces of a Nordic dusk, a deep blue stretching above the city like ink bleeding through water. The streets were quiet but not empty, the occasional cyclist weaving through the still-damp pavement from an earlier rain.

  The air smelled like cigarettes and salt, the distant fjord breeze rolling in past the waterfront. Somewhere, a tram rumbled by, its dull hum fading into the night.

  And in the middle of it all—standing in the dim lobby of an upscale hotel—Hideki Yano was leaving.

  The faint glow of a cigarette burned between Anna’s fingers, its ember pulsing softly in the dim light. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, hanging between them like something unspoken.

  “Darling, I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” Hideki’s voice was light, almost dismissive, as he grabbed his suitcase.

  Anna blinked. “Wh—what?”

  She shifted on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets rumpling beneath her, but Hideki was already moving. He was done with this conversation before she even knew it had ended.

  In the next room, the familiar rasp of a suitcase zipper cut through the silence.

  By the time she processed his exit, he was already gone.

  The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Hideki stepped out into the lobby. The black silk of his YSL pajama set caught the light in soft, fluid waves, the top only half-buttoned, revealing glimpses of pale skin and a faint silver chain at his collarbone.

  He wasn’t in a hurry. He never was.

  But then—

  Click. Click. Click.

  A deliberate, sharp rhythm of heels against marble.

  Mimmi Honda.

  She walked toward him like she owned the room—which, in a way, she did. Wrapped in an immaculate white YSL suit, the sharp cut of her blazer framed her silhouette, tailored to precise, powerful perfection. The wide-leg trousers pooled effortlessly over her open-toe sandals, revealing a perfect pedicure, not a hair out of place.

  The contrast was impossible to ignore—she was pristine, calculated. He was effortless, undone.

  She waved the moment she saw him, but instead of her usual lazy elegance, she sprinted toward him—graceful, but fast.

  “Oh, Hideki! Good, good—you’re looking decent at least,” she chirped, breathless but still composed.

  Her gaze flicked over him—the half-buttoned pajama top, the way he hadn’t even bothered to fix his tousled hair, the suitcase hanging lazily in one hand.

  Her smirk deepened.

  “Your brother was worried, so I came to check on the lovey-dovey couple!” she announced, voice teasing but sharp. Then, gesturing at his entire existence, she added, “But what’s this? Running off in the middle of a perfect Oslo night? How very… you.”

  Hideki exhaled, reaching into his pocket. With a slow, practiced movement, he pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers.

  “Why does everyone assume I’m running?”

  Mimmi sighed, adjusting the structured cuff of her blazer, then glanced toward the idling black Volvo at the curb outside.

  “Because you always are.”

  The moment Hideki stepped outside, the warm Oslo air pressed against his skin—humid, but not suffocating. The sky above was still tinted with faint streaks of gold and deep blue, the kind of endless summer night that never quite faded into darkness.

  The city was half-asleep, but still alive.

  A couple stumbled out of a bar across the street, laughing in drunken Norwegian, while a cyclist sped past on the slick pavement, the faint spray of rainwater misting the air. The scent of sea breeze and distant bonfires lingered, mixing with the last traces of a storm.

  Hideki stepped toward the waiting black Volvo, flicking the cigarette lighter once, twice, before finally lighting the tip. He took a slow drag, exhaling toward the night sky.

  Mimmi lingered by the hotel entrance, arms crossed.

  “Where are you even going?” she called after him.

  He glanced at the Volvo, then at the reflection of city lights against the water in the distance. Beyond the fjord, the modern silhouette of The Thief hotel stood waiting on Tjuvholmen, its glass facade reflecting the endless dusk.

  Hideki smirked.

  “Somewhere that serves better coffee.”

  Mimmi sighed, shaking her head. Same Hideki, same midnight disappearances.

  The Volvo’s door clicked open. He slid into the backseat, the cigarette burning low between his fingers.

  As the car pulled away from the curb, the night stretched before him—Oslo glowing under the soft, deceptive light of a summer that never quite ended.

  The glass doors slid open silently, and Hideki stepped into the lobby of The Thief, his silk YSL pajama top still half-buttoned, the cigarette between his fingers nearly burned to the filter.

  He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and dissolve into the air-conditioned luxury of the hotel entrance.

  The lobby was quiet—high ceilings, modern art lining the walls, the faint murmur of jazz humming from the speakers. At the reception desk, a young night staff member glanced up, then did a double take.

  They recognized him instantly.

  “Good evening, Mr. Yano,” the receptionist greeted, their voice shifting into polished professionalism despite the slight hesitation.

  Hideki flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the outdoor ashtray before stepping further inside.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill—I’m supposed to check in, but let’s skip the formalities,” he said, voice low, rasping slightly from the smoke. He tilted his head toward the elevators.

  “My brother’s room?”

  The receptionist hesitated.

  “Mr. Yano—your brother asked not to be disturbed.”

  Hideki raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “If he wanted peace, he shouldn’t have given me the room number.”

  The receptionist exchanged a glance with another staff member, before nodding slightly.

  “I’ll have someone escort you.”

  The golden glow of the elevator interior cast long shadows as the doors closed behind Hideki and his escort.

  The only sound was the faint humming of the lift as it ascended, cutting through the quiet.

  The night staff cleared their throat.

  “Do you need anything sent up, Mr. Yano?”

  Hideki barely glanced at them, shifting the weight of his suitcase in his hand.

  “Unless you’ve got a cure for self-destruction, I’m good.”

  The staffer didn’t know how to respond to that. Hideki just smirked, watching the floor numbers tick upward.

  The soft chime signaled their stop.

  “Here we are, sir.”

  Hideki stepped out, barefoot against the plush hotel carpet, and walked down the quietly lit corridor. The staff member hesitated for a moment before giving a slight bow and retreating back into the elevator.

  Now, it was just him and the door.

  Hideki raised a fist and knocked, twice—sharp but unhurried.

  Silence.

  A second passed. Then another.

  A rustle from inside. The faint sound of a chair scraping back.

  The door opened—just a crack at first, then fully.

  Mamoru stood there, still in a black Tom Ford T-shirt, his glasses slightly askew, his right hand still holding a medical textbook like he had been mid-study.

  His gaze flickered over Hideki’s half-buttoned pajamas, the suitcase in his grip, the faint exhaustion in his expression.

  “You look like hell,” Mamoru said flatly.

  Hideki exhaled a quiet laugh, leaning against the doorframe as if he suddenly didn’t have the energy to stand properly.

  “And yet, I still made it here in one piece.”

  Mamoru studied him for half a second too long, then sighed, stepping aside.

  “Come in before someone recognizes you.”

  Hideki smirked, dragging the suitcase inside as

  The hotel suite was pristine, (except Nachis side ) structured—Mamoru’s way of controlling what he could. The desk was cluttered with medical notes, a half-drunk glass of water near his laptop. The city lights outside cast a cool glow across the room, but the air inside was warm.

  Hideki dropped his suitcase by the couch before stretching, rolling his shoulders.

  Mamoru folded his arms.

  “What happened?”

  Hideki tilted his head, mock innocence flashing through his expression.

  “Can’t a guy just visit his dear twin brother?”

  Mamoru wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

  “Hideki.”

  A pause.

  Hideki sighed, ruffling his already messy hair before collapsing onto the couch, sprawling like he belonged there.

  “Nothing happened, Mamo. I just got tired of sleeping next to my fiancée.”

  Mamoru raised an eyebrow.

  “You mean the woman you were about to marry before you decided you were bored?”

  Hideki didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift toward the ceiling, the corners of his mouth twitching into something unreadable.

  “It was never about marriage, was it?” he mused, half to himself.

  Mamoru rubbed the bridge of his nose, already feeling a migraine forming.

  “Then what the hell was it about?”

  Hideki didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew the answer.

  Control. Power. The game.

  A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of Oslo nightlife below.

  Then—without looking at him—Mamoru finally spoke.

  “You should sleep.”

  Hideki smirked. “And miss out on the quality brotherly bonding? Tragic.”

  Mamoru sighed. “You can take the bed. I know you won’t, but I’m offering.”

  Hideki just hummed, closing his eyes for a second. One beat. Two.

  “You always do.”

  The words were softer than usual. Almost real.

  Mamoru said nothing. He just went back to his notes, pretending not to see the way Hideki’s exhaustion finally started catching up to him.

  The night stretched on, and for the first time in hours, Hideki didn’t feel like running.

  Mamoru wasn’t sure when the silence had swallowed them.

  Somewhere between Hideki’s half-mumbled sarcasm and the slow, steady pull of exhaustion, the night had settled into something heavy, something still.

  The hotel room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of Mamoru’s laptop screen, casting sharp angles across the half-empty glass of water on the desk. The city beyond the window flickered—Oslo’s endless summer night refusing to fully give way to darkness.

  And across the room, sprawled over the expensive, unmade bed, Hideki slept.

  Finally.

  Mamoru had been reading, or at least pretending to, flipping absently through medical notes, but at some point, his eyes had drifted away from the screen and toward the bed.

  Hideki was curled toward the center, breathing slow, his black silk YSL pajama top still half-open, exposing the slow rise and fall of his ribs beneath pale skin. The silver chain at his collarbone barely caught the light, rising and falling with each quiet breath.

  His hair, still slightly damp from the night’s humidity, was messier than usual, strands falling across his face in a way that made him look…

  Younger.

  Softer.

  More fragile than Mamoru was used to seeing.

  Mamoru shouldn’t have gotten up.

  Shouldn’t have walked across the room.

  But he did.

  His footsteps were near silent against the plush carpet, and before he could think about why—before he could stop himself—he was standing next to the bed, looking down at his twin.

  The city lights flickered against Hideki’s cheekbones, casting soft shadows, and Mamoru swallowed, throat dry for no reason at all.

  Hideki always looked like he was moving—even when sitting still, even when completely at rest, there was always something in him that felt in motion. Like if you blinked, he would be gone.

  But not now.

  Now, for the first time in hours, in days—he was truly still.

  Mamoru’s fingers twitched at his side, a strange impulse curling through him—an old, familiar feeling he didn’t have a name for.

  It was not protectiveness, not entirely.

  It was not obsession, not entirely.

  It was devotion.

  That was the only word he could place it under. A devotion so quiet yet so deeply rooted that it blurred the line between reverence and control.

  Because Hideki was his.

  Not in a way that could be owned, not in a way that could be explained, but in a way that had existed since before they even had language to name it.

  Since before they could walk, before they understood what it meant to be separate people.

  Before Aki died.

  Before Hideki started running.

  Mamoru could never run.

  Not from this.

  Not from Hideki.

  His fingers hovered, an inch away from brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into Hideki’s face.

  For a second, he almost did it.

  For a second, he almost let himself.

  But he stopped.

  And instead, he just stood there, watching his twin breathe in the slow, steady rhythm that Mamoru had memorized long before either of them had words.

  He stayed there too long.

  Long enough that if Hideki woke up, if he opened his eyes and found Mamoru standing over him like this, it would have been—

  No.

  Mamoru exhaled, stepping back, pulling away before the moment could solidify into something real.

  He turned, walking back toward his desk, back toward the glow of his laptop screen, and pretended he hadn’t moved at all.

  Pretended he hadn’t stopped breathing for a second.

  Pretended he hadn’t wanted to reach out and touch.

  Because Mamoru didn’t dream. He didn’t indulge in things like sentiment.

  That was Hideki’s game.

  And yet, as he sat back in his chair, listening to the quiet rhythm of Hideki’s breathing, Mamoru knew—

  He would do this again.

  The thief 4:37 AM

  The hotel suite was a disaster—at least on Nachi’s side of the room. Bags of half-eaten potato chips, soda cans knocked over on the nightstand, and—he grimaced—his own underwear discarded haphazardly near the couch. The rest of the band was still knocked out cold, exhaustion pinning them to their beds like corpses. Even Mamoru, who had his own damn room, had passed out at the dining table, face buried in an open medical textbook. His glasses were sliding down his nose, his phone screen still glowing beside him.

  Nachi yawned, rubbing a hand over his face before squinting toward the open veranda doors. A faint glow cut through the cold Norwegian night, the silhouette of a thin frame barely visible against the city lights.

  Hideki.

  Nachi sighed. Of course he was awake.

  Pulling on a hoodie over his T-shirt, Nachi padded across the room, stepping over a few discarded beer bottles (not his, for once) and slipped out onto the veranda.

  The crisp night air hit him first, cooling his skin instantly. The city stretched out beneath them, the dim flickers of streetlights reflecting in the Oslofjord. Hideki stood at the railing, leaning against it lazily, a thin tendril of smoke curling up from between his fingers.

  Marlboro. Again.

  Nachi rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

  Hideki exhaled, his breath fogging up in the cold. He didn’t turn around. “You always bitch about my smoking, but you never do anything about it.”

  Nachi stepped closer, the smell of nicotine and cheap cologne mixing in the air between them. “That’s because you’re an addict and I pick my battles.”

  Hideki chuckled, voice rough from exhaustion. “Then pick another one.”

  Nachi didn’t.

  Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against Hideki’s wrist before he dipped forward—too close, closer than usual. His mouth hovered near Hideki’s lips, the cigarette balanced between them.

  And then, slowly, he tilted his head and took the cigarette with his teeth, plucking it from Hideki’s lips in one fluid motion.

  Hideki’s breath hitched.

  The ember glowed between Nachi’s lips, illuminating his smirk. He exhaled, the smoke curling around them both, thick and lazy in the frozen air.

  Hideki didn’t move.

  Didn’t look away.

  The moment stretched, thin and taut, tension humming in the space between them. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic below, the faint creak of the railing as Hideki shifted just a little—just enough to make the space between them even smaller.

  Nachi let the cigarette hang between his teeth before pulling it out with his fingers, holding it up. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Hideki exhaled sharply, his smirk returning, but his eyes stayed locked on Nachi’s mouth. “Cute. But now your lips taste like me.”

  Nachi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Like you? Please. It’s just nicotine and bad decisions.”

  Hideki finally leaned back, breaking the tension, but his smirk remained. “Same thing.”

  Nachi flicked the cigarette over the railing, watching as the ember spiraled down into the night. He turned toward Hideki again, watching him, his expression unreadable.

  “Get some sleep,” Nachi muttered, voice quieter now.

  Hideki didn’t reply, just hummed in acknowledgment, turning back toward the city.

  Nachi lingered for a second longer before stepping back inside, the scent of smoke still clinging to his skin.

  Neither of them mentioned the way their fingers had brushed.

  Or the way Hideki had stopped breathing for just a second.

  Scene Continued: Oslo Hotel Suite – 4:42 AM

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Nachi stepped back inside, letting the warmth of the suite wash over him, but something made him hesitate at the door. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Hideki lifting another Marlboro to his lips, flicking open a lighter.

  Nachi let out a long, suffering sigh.

  Unbelievable.

  Without missing a beat, he turned right back around, stepping onto the veranda and snatching the entire cigarette pack from Hideki’s hand.

  “Oi—!” Hideki started, but it was already too late.

  Nachi shoved the pack into his hoodie pocket and crossed his arms. Hideki blinked up at him, wide-eyed and caught off guard—just for a second. And in that fleeting moment, Nachi swore he saw something eerily pet-like in his expression.

  Like a dog caught digging through the trash.

  But just as quickly, Hideki’s expression shifted—that smirk creeping back, sharp and mischievous.

  “So, what, you’re my babysitter now?” Hideki drawled, tilting his head. “Should I call you Mama Nachi?”

  “Don’t tempt me. I’ll start making you eat vegetables.”

  Hideki fake-gagged but then leaned against the railing again, watching Nachi with a lazy kind of amusement. “Fine. You win. Smoking’s off the table.”

  “Good.” Nachi turned to go back inside again, but Hideki wasn’t done.

  “Take me out for coffee.”

  Nachi paused mid-step, one hand still on the sliding door.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I found five places,” Hideki continued smoothly, pulling his phone from his pocket. “The top coffee houses in Oslo. Thought I’d try them before we left.”

  Nachi turned, skeptical. “You researched coffee houses?”

  “Of course.” Hideki tapped at his phone, scrolling through his notes. “You know how I get when I hyperfixate. It’s between this and figuring out if I can replicate the exact way this city roasts their beans. Honestly, I’d rather just taste it myself.”

  Nachi narrowed his eyes. “And you’re telling me this now?”

  Hideki grinned. “You were too busy stealing my cigarette like a cheap host club extra. I didn’t want to interrupt your moment.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “But you’ll take me, right?” Hideki tilted his head, voice dipping into something more coaxing. “Come on, Nachi. It’s our last morning in Oslo. What’s one little adventure?”

  Nachi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. He hated how good Hideki was at this—at knowing exactly how to push him into agreeing.

  “Fine,” Nachi muttered. “But only if you get some sleep first.”

  Hideki pouted. “Sleep is for the weak.”

  “And yet you look like shit right now.” Nachi poked him in the forehead. “Six hours, minimum. Or no coffee tour.”

  Hideki grumbled something about authoritarian governments but eventually sighed. “Fine. But I’m waking you up at ten.”

  “Make it eleven.”

  “Ten-thirty. Final offer.”

  Nachi rolled his eyes. “Deal.”

  With that, Hideki finally flicked his lighter shut, stepping past Nachi with a smug little smirk.

  “Sweet dreams, Mama Nachi.”

  “Go to bed before I smother you with a pillow.”

  Hideki only laughed, heading toward his and mamorus room.

  Nachi lingered for a second longer, rubbing his temple, wondering how the hell he got roped into this.

  Scene: The Morning Coffee Tour Begins

  10:30 AM – Hotel Suite, Oslo

  Nachi barely registered the sound at first.

  A faint shuffle. The rustling of fabric. A breath too close to his ear.

  Then—a weight pressed onto his bed.

  His instincts kicked in too late.

  “WAKE UP, PRINCESS.”

  Nachi’s eyes snapped open just as a pillow smacked him in the face.

  “The fuck—?!” He flailed, barely managing to shove Hideki away before his second attempt.

  Hideki grinned, unbothered, still sitting cross-legged on Nachi’s bed, fully dressed, his hair somehow already styled. “Morning, sunshine.”

  “You’re way too fucking awake for this,” Nachi groaned, rubbing his face. “Why did I agree to this again?”

  And then it hit him.

  Coffee tour.

  He groaned even louder, because another realization immediately followed:

  Hideki can’t have caffeine.

  “Why the hell did I say yes to this?”

  He peered at Hideki, still half-asleep, wondering if the bastard had somehow planned this in advance.

  Hideki, ever the little shit, was already putting on his boots. “Get up, old man. We’re blending in before we go.”

  Nachi blinked. “What?”

  “Clothes. First stop—Glassmagasinet. We need to blend in.”

  “Blend in? The fuck are you talking about?”

  “Look at us, Nachi,” Hideki gestured vaguely. “We scream ‘out-of-place J-rock musicians on tour.’ If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. New clothes first. Then we hit the first café.”

  Nachi stared for a long moment.

  Then flopped back into the pillows. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever agreed to.”

  “Too late to back out now.”

  11:30 AM – Glassmagasinet, Oslo

  Despite his initial reluctance, Nachi had to admit—Hideki had a point.

  Glassmagasinet was one of Oslo’s high-end shopping districts, and their usual band aesthetic? It stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Hideki, always the perfectionist, was painstakingly selecting new outfits: fitted wool coats, muted sweaters, tailored trousers—everything clean-cut and decidedly Scandinavian.

  Nachi just grabbed a black wool jacket and some neutral sweaters, too exhausted to argue.

  The final result? They looked like they actually belonged.

  Nachi checked the time. “Alright, first stop?”

  Hideki grinned, shoving his hands in his new coat pockets. “Fuglen Oslo. Let’s go.”

  12:00 PM – Fuglen Oslo

  The café was a perfect mix of vintage and minimalist aesthetics, tucked away from the more tourist-heavy streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hit them instantly as they stepped inside, the quiet hum of conversation and soft jazz playing in the background.

  Nachi glanced at Hideki. “Alright, what are you drinking?”

  Hideki, without hesitation, went to order a double espresso.

  Nachi grabbed his wrist immediately.

  “No.”

  Hideki sighed dramatically. “Oh my God, Nachi.”

  “You’re getting decaf.”

  “That’s not real coffee.”

  “You’re not real alive if you drink caffeine.”

  Hideki glared. Nachi glared back.

  The barista behind the counter, mildly amused, looked between them. “So, one decaf espresso, then?”

  “Yes,” Nachi answered firmly.

  “No,” Hideki shot back, smirking.

  The barista just laughed and prepared both orders.

  Nachi settled into a seat near the window, keeping an eye on Hideki as he begrudgingly accepted his decaf.

  Except, of course, Hideki was a little shit.

  With a smug look, he reached over and stole Nachi’s cup, taking a slow, deliberate sip before finally pushing it back.

  “There,” Hideki said. “Now I’ve had real coffee. Happy?”

  Nachi gave him the most deadpan look imaginable. “You’re actually insufferable.”

  Hideki just hummed, perfectly content as he returned to his decaf.

  And then—he switched gears.

  Looking up at the barista, Hideki effortlessly switched to fluent Norwegian.

  “Hvordan er kvaliteten p? b?nnene her sammenlignet med de andre topp fem stedene?”

  (“How’s the quality of the beans here compared to the other top five places?”)

  Nachi, who had been in the middle of drinking his coffee, choked.

  “What the fuck?”

  Hideki just glanced at him, completely unbothered. “What?”

  “You speak Norwegian?”

  Hideki blinked innocently. “Did I forget to mention that?”

  The barista, now highly entertained, responded in equally fluent Norwegian, going off about the bean origins, roasting methods, and Fuglen’s approach to artisanal coffee.

  Hideki nodded along, fully engaged in the conversation.

  Nachi, meanwhile, just sat there staring, feeling like an idiot for underestimating him.

  Again.

  Oslo Coffee Tour – Stops 2 to 5

  (Nachi drowning in caffeine, Hideki starting to crash, and an unexpected detour for a Swiss watch.)

  Stop 2: Tim Wendelboe

  Location: Grünerl?kka, Oslo

  Vibe: Minimalist, serious about coffee, almost clinical in its precision

  By the time they stepped into Tim Wendelboe, Nachi was officially regretting everything. The first two coffees had already pushed him to his limit, and now they were in a place where coffee was treated like fine art.

  The interior was stark, clean, intimidatingly serious. The baristas moved like scientists in a lab, carefully measuring out beans and pouring water at precisely controlled temperatures.

  Nachi barely glanced at the menu. At this point, everything was starting to taste the same to him—just different shades of too much caffeine.

  Hideki, on the other hand, was thriving. He leaned lazily against the counter, engaging in an animated conversation with the barista in fluent Norwegian like he’d lived here his whole damn life.

  Nachi, still wired from the last two stops, barely processed a word of it. He rubbed his temples, groaning softly.

  “How are you fine?” he muttered. “You’ve been drinking coffee all morning.”

  Hideki just smirked, sipping his decaf pour-over like a smug bastard. “Maybe your constitution’s just weak.”

  “You are the one with a heart condition, Yano,” Nachi snapped, pointing at him accusingly.

  Hideki’s smirk widened, but he said nothing. He just toasted his cup to Nachi, took another slow sip, and strolled over to their table like he wasn’t defying science itself.

  Nachi, meanwhile, felt like he was about to ascend into another plane of existence.

  Stop 3: Supreme Roastworks

  Location: Torshov, Oslo

  Vibe: Laid-back, industrial, small-batch specialty roasters

  By now, Nachi was officially suffering.

  His hands shook slightly as he picked up his third cup, his brain buzzing like an overcharged battery. Every sound in the café felt too sharp, too loud, like his senses had been dialed up past their limit.

  Hideki, of course, looked completely fine.

  It was unnerving.

  “You should be dead,” Nachi muttered under his breath, watching Hideki take another casual sip of his decaf.

  Hideki just arched a brow. “You really don’t have to keep drinking, you know.”

  “Oh, now you care?” Nachi gave him a sharp glare, feeling irrationally betrayed by how normal Hideki still looked. “You’re supposed to be the one suffering right now. Not me.”

  Hideki shrugged, infuriatingly calm. “Guess I’m built different.”

  “You’re built like a porcelain doll held together with duct tape.”

  Hideki chuckled, setting his cup down. “And yet, you’re the one about to vibrate out of your seat.”

  Nachi rubbed his face, groaning. “I hate you.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  Stop 4: Java Espressobar

  Location: St. Hanshaugen, Oslo

  Vibe: Cozy neighborhood café, locals’ favorite

  Nachi officially reached his limit.

  He slumped into his chair, his entire body buzzing, stomach protesting violently against the sheer amount of caffeine he’d forced into it.

  “I swear to God, if I drink any more coffee, I’m gonna fucking die,” Nachi groaned, resting his head on the table.

  Hideki, sitting perfectly composed across from him, tilted his head. “Then don’t drink it.”

  “I have to,” Nachi grumbled into the wood. “We’re committed now.”

  Hideki smirked, swirling his completely harmless, non-lethal decaf in his cup. “You know, for someone who complains so much, you sure are dramatic.”

  “Shut up,” Nachi mumbled, refusing to look at him. “I don’t want to hear it from you.”

  Hideki hummed, amused. “Your funeral.”

  Interlude: The Jewelry Shop

  On their way to the final stop, Hideki suddenly turned on his heel and stepped into a high-end jewelry shop.

  “The hell—?” Nachi barely had time to react before Hideki was already inside.

  The store—Wessel Watch & Jewelry—was sleek and quiet, the kind of place where wealth whispered instead of shouted.

  Nachi sighed, exasperated. “What now?”

  Hideki, already browsing the glass cases, barely glanced at him. “Buying a watch.”

  “For who?”

  “Anna.”

  Nachi blinked. “You’re buying Anna a watch?”

  Hideki didn’t explain. He simply tapped the glass, pointing at a sleek silver model—understated but elegant. The kind of watch someone would wear for years, never flashy, just quietly timeless.

  Within minutes, Hideki had paid for it in full, pocketing the velvet box without hesitation.

  Nachi frowned as they stepped back onto the street. “You could’ve just bought her a bracelet or something.”

  Hideki shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Watches last longer.”

  Nachi said nothing. He just watched Hideki quietly, wondering—was this just another one of his impulsive purchases? Or was it something else?

  Whatever it was, Hideki didn’t elaborate.

  “Come on,” Hideki said, stepping ahead. “One last stop.”

  Stop 5: Kaffebrenneriet

  Location: Various locations in Oslo

  Vibe: Popular chain, consistent quality

  By the time they reached Kaffebrenneriet, Nachi was practically dying.

  His head throbbed, his hands twitched, and his stomach felt like it was going to rebel at any second.

  But more importantly—Hideki was finally looking off.

  At first, it was subtle. He still held his usual posture, but his breathing had changed—shallower, more measured. His fingers tapped against the table, not in impatience, but in controlled rhythm.

  Nachi noticed immediately.

  “You good?” he asked, watching Hideki carefully.

  “Yeah,” Hideki said, too quickly.

  Nachi narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”

  Hideki exhaled slowly, setting his cup down. His hands had a slight tremor.

  “Okay, yeah. Maybe I’m not feeling great.”

  Nachi immediately pulled out his phone.

  Hideki blinked. “Wait—”

  Too late.

  Nachi was already calling a cab.

  “No arguments,” Nachi said firmly, grabbing Hideki’s arm and hauling him up. “I’m not getting Mamoru pissed at me for taking you on a coffee tour just to have you die in a fucking café.”

  Hideki sighed but didn’t resist. That alone was enough for Nachi to know he was definitely not okay.

  Within minutes, the cab pulled up, and Nachi all but shoved Hideki inside.

  As they drove back to the hotel, Nachi glanced at Hideki, who was resting his head against the window, eyes half-lidded.

  Nachi exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.

  “Never again,” he muttered.

  Hideki barely cracked an eye open, smirking faintly. “You say that now.”

  Nachi groaned. “Shut up and sleep before I kill you myself.”

  Scene: Hotel Return – Mamoru’s Fury & Rehearsal Rush

  1:07 PM – Oslo, The Thief Hotel

  The Oslo summer wasn’t harsh, but even with the warm air drifting through the open balcony doors, the atmosphere inside the suite was icy cold.

  Because Mamoru was already furious.

  The second the suite door swung open, Mamoru was waiting—arms crossed, glasses low on his nose, perfectly still.

  That was worse than shouting.

  Because when Mamoru was this quiet, it meant he’d already decided who was going to suffer.

  “Seven minutes.” His voice was calm, clipped, every syllable razor-sharp. “Do you two have any idea how much time we don’t have today?”

  Nachi barely had a second to react before Mamoru grabbed his wrist and shoved Hideki’s monitor display in his face.

  Hideki’s vitals were off.

  Oxygen saturation below normal. Heart rate not where it should be.

  Nachi winced. Shit.

  Mamoru’s jaw tightened. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  Nachi groaned, already done with this conversation. “Oh, come on, Mamo—”

  “You took him on a coffee tour, Nachi,” Mamoru snapped, his voice cold. “Coffee. Are you actually insane?”

  Hideki, completely unbothered, sprawled lazily on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  Mamoru whipped around immediately, eyes flashing. “Your heart rate says otherwise.”

  “It was decaf.”

  Mamoru’s eyes snapped back to Nachi. “Was it?”

  Nachi hesitated. Only slightly.

  Mamoru’s stare sharpened. “You hesitated.”

  “Okay, technically—”

  Mamoru pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God, Nachi—”

  “Alright,” a voice cut in smoothly, stepping between them.

  Takao.

  He moved with precision, positioning himself directly between Mamoru and Nachi, keeping a casual stance—but in a way that blocked Mamoru just enough.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Takao said evenly. “You’re mad, fine. I get it. But Hideki’s done rehearsals on worse stats than this. Getting him worked up now isn’t going to help.”

  Mamoru bristled. “You think I’m overreacting?”

  Takao met his gaze without flinching. “I think we’re wasting time.”

  Mamoru’s jaw clenched, but Takao wasn’t wrong.

  Rehearsals were already tight.

  Mamoru exhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses. “Fine. We’re leaving now.”

  Takao nodded once, stepping back as Mamoru grabbed Hideki’s jacket and pushed him toward the door.

  Nachi, rubbing his aching temples, shot Takao a silent look of gratitude.

  Takao didn’t acknowledge it—he simply followed them out to the car.

  As the elevator doors slid shut, the polished metal reflected their strained faces—tense, tired, but moving forward anyway.

  Takao’s gaze drifted downward, unfocused.

  For just a brief second—he saw a smile.

  Ryuichiro’s smile.

  Soft. Gentle. Frozen in time.

  His brother had always worried too much.

  Just like Mamoru.

  And yet, despite knowing that, Takao still understood.

  Because if it were Ryuichiro instead of Hideki—

  He wasn’t sure he’d be any different.

  Scene: The Drive to Rehearsals

  (W?F’s Volvo XC90, Heading to the Venue – Chauffeur-Driven)

  The black Volvo XC90 glided smoothly through Oslo’s sunlit streets, the summer breeze drifting through the slightly cracked windows.

  The city was alive—tourists filled the harbor promenade, couples biked along Aker Brygge, the scent of espresso and fresh waffles lingered in the air. The sky was endless blue, no clouds in sight.

  Inside the car, the atmosphere was opposite.

  Tense. Silent.

  Hideki sat in the passenger seat, head leaned against the window, pretending to sleep. His breathing was too controlled. His fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to check his own pulse.

  Mamoru sat directly behind him, staring at his phone—but he wasn’t reading.

  Nachi sprawled in the third row, legs stretched out, tired as hell.

  Takao, sitting in the middle row, was watching Mamoru carefully.

  Mamoru’s fingers twitched, subtly tapping against his knee.

  He was checking Hideki’s stats. Again.

  Overprotective.

  But… understandable.

  But this time, Takao couldn’t blame him.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but after seeing Hideki’s vitals, after seeing Mamoru’s reactions, the thought had become impossible to shake—

  Hideki’s aplastic anemia was back.

  It was the only thing that made sense.

  For years, Hideki had been in remission, free from the disease that nearly killed him. But relapses weren’t unheard of. Takao had researched it himself—bone marrow failure could return even after years of stability.

  The exhaustion. The oxygen levels. The way Mamoru monitored him like he was about to disappear.

  Because if that were the case—if Hideki’s condition was worse-

  And Takao—he still believed that, too.

  If he had known the truth?

  If they knew what Mamoru was really afraid of?

  Takao’s grip on his knee tightened slightly.

  Because if that were the case—if Hideki’s condition was worse than they all thought—

  Then maybe…

  Just maybe…

  Mamoru wasn’t overreacting at all.

  The second they stepped into the rehearsal hall, the sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor greeted them.

  Mimmi.

  Arms crossed, expression thoroughly unimpressed, her sharp blue eyes cutting straight through them.

  “You’re late,” she said, not even bothering with a greeting. “I’ve been waiting here for—” she glanced at her watch dramatically, “—seven minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

  Nachi, still buzzing with caffeine, groaned. “For fuck’s sake, it was seven minutes.”

  Mimmi’s expression did not change.

  “Do you have any idea how many deals I can close in seven minutes?” she asked flatly. “Do you?”

  Hideki, still looking half-dead but entirely unbothered, raised a lazy hand. “Is it zero?”

  Mimmi shot him a death glare.

  Takao stepped past them, adjusting his cuffs. “They’re here now. Let’s start.”

  Mimmi exhaled through her nose—clearly biting back several choice insults—before stepping aside. “Fine. But if we run over time, I’m sending you the bill, Suzuki.”

  Takao smiled. “As always.”

  Rehearsal – Smooth Run & Hideki’s Performance

  Once they were on stage, everything else fell away.

  The setlist had already been run a dozen times, but today, Hideki was sharp.

  His voice cut through the air effortlessly, his range steady, his performance electric.

  If anyone had been worried about his morning crash, they wouldn’t have been able to tell now. Not on stage.

  Even Mamoru, who had been tightly wound the entire drive here, was relaxing slightly, his fingers moving across the keys without their usual tension.

  From the soundboard, Mimmi folded her arms, watching intently.

  Nachi, adjusting his guitar strap, leaned toward Takao. “He’s on today.”

  Takao, nodding slightly, kept his eyes on Hideki. “Yeah.”

  It was impressive, but Takao had seen this before.

  The way Hideki could go from exhausted, pale, barely holding it together—to this.

  The mask.

  The effortless performance. The way he controlled the energy of the room, letting no one see what was happening underneath.

  Even if it was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

  Anna’s Arrival – A Sudden Pause

  Midway through rehearsal, a shift in energy caught Hideki’s attention.

  Near the back of the hall, standing just out of view from the main lights, was Anna.

  Watching.

  Cool. Poised. Sharp-eyed.

  Not speaking. Just… studying him.

  Hideki barely hesitated.

  Before anyone else noticed, before even Mimmi had time to react—

  He jumped off the stage.

  A fluid movement, a graceful dismount, landing with the kind of ease that came from years of being a performer.

  He approached Anna slowly, his expression unreadable.

  She didn’t move.

  Didn’t blink.

  Her gaze flicked to the watch in his hand before drifting back to his face.

  A beat of silence.

  Then—

  “I take it this is mine?” Anna’s voice was cool, unimpressed, like she’d already expected this.

  Hideki twirled the velvet box between his fingers before flipping it open, revealing the sleek silver watch inside.

  “Figured you wouldn’t buy one yourself,” he murmured.

  Anna tilted her head slightly. “And why would I need one?”

  Hideki smirked. “Time’s running out, isn’t it?”

  Something in her expression flickered—barely noticeable, but there.

  A slight parting of her lips. A brief shift in her stance.

  Tension threaded the air between them, something electric and sharp, like the kind of game they’d played too many times before.

  A game neither of them wanted to lose.

  “How considerate,” Anna murmured, finally reaching out to take the watch.

  Hideki let her.

  Didn’t pull back.

  Didn’t break eye contact.

  For a single moment, the air between them felt like a slowly tightening wire.

  Then—just as quickly as he had approached—

  Hideki turned on his heel and walked away.

  Jumped back onto the stage.

  Slid seamlessly into the next verse, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Anna, still standing there, glanced down at the watch in her hand.

  The rehearsal continued.

  But for her, for just that second—

  The timing was off.

  Scene: Post-Rehearsal Rush – Preparing for the Concert

  6:45 PM – En Route to Telenor Arena

  The black Volvo XC90 cut through the streets of Oslo, heading toward Telenor Arena as the sun began to dip below the skyline. The Norwegian summer meant the sun wouldn’t set fully for hours, but the city was already glowing with anticipation.

  Inside the car, the band was dead silent.

  Five hours of rehearsal had drained them, and now they had to flip the switch—get changed, prep for the stage, and perform like they hadn’t just spent the entire afternoon perfecting every song for the setlist.

  The only sound was the faint buzz of Mamoru’s watch tracking Hideki’s vitals.

  Hideki, pressed against the car door, let his head rest against the glass. He was too still—not asleep, but not fully there either.

  Mamoru didn’t like it.

  Takao, sitting beside him, glanced over, catching the way Mamoru’s fingers twitched against his knee.

  “You’re overthinking,” Takao murmured.

  Mamoru didn’t respond.

  Because if Hideki’s numbers dropped further during the show—

  Mamoru closed his eyes briefly, pushing the thought away.

  They’d figure it out.

  They always did.

  Scene: Backstage at Telenor Arena – Norwegian Fashion & Last-Minute Conversations

  7:15 PM – Telenor Arena Dressing Rooms

  The dressing room was a blur of movement.

  Stylists moved efficiently, adjusting outfits, fastening accessories, and perfecting the final details.

  Tonight’s costumes were all sourced from Norwegian designers—custom-tailored, high-end pieces that blended rockstar edge with Scandinavian minimalism.

  Hideki’s look was sharp yet slightly undone, playing into his usual effortless stage presence.

  Mamoru’s was structured, polished—precision in every line and fold.

  Takao’s was classic and dark, while Nachi’s had a touch of rebellion, asymmetrical layering that fit his persona perfectly.

  As the final adjustments were made, Anna appeared.

  She didn’t announce herself. She didn’t need to.

  She simply walked in, her presence enough to shift the energy in the room.

  And, of course, she went straight to Hideki.

  “Do you always make a habit of buying women expensive watches?” she murmured, leaning against the vanity table beside him.

  Hideki, halfway through adjusting his jacket, met her gaze in the mirror.

  “Only the ones who know how to tell time,” he replied smoothly.

  Anna smirked. “Lucky me, then.”

  For a moment, their reflections held each other’s gaze, the air between them threaded with the same tension as earlier.

  Then—the call came from the stage manager.

  “Five minutes!”

  Anna tilted her head slightly, voice lowering just enough for only Hideki to hear.

  “Try not to collapse before the encore, will you?”

  Hideki smirked. “No promises.”

  And just like that, she was gone.

  8:00 PM – Telenor Arena, Oslo

  The lights dropped to black.

  A roar erupted from the crowd, tens of thousands of voices colliding in a wave of sound.

  Then—a single spotlight.

  Hideki, standing center stage.

  No introduction. No build-up. Just him.

  And when he spoke, it wasn’t in Japanese.

  It wasn’t even in English.

  It was fluent Norwegian.

  “God kveld, Oslo. Hvordan har dere det i kveld?”

  (Good evening, Oslo. How are you tonight?)

  The arena exploded.

  Nachi, already chomping on gum at his mic stand, smirked. “Yeah, yeah, don’t hype him up too much. We still have to get through the setlist.”

  The crowd laughed.

  Hideki, grinning, held up a hand. “Actually, before we start—” He scanned the audience, then pointed to a girl near the barricade.

  “Tessa, isn’t it?”

  A small ripple of confusion went through the audience before a young woman—Tessa—was suddenly being guided up to the stage by security.

  Nachi and Takao exchanged glances.

  Mamoru’s jaw tensed slightly.

  This was a tactic.

  It looked organic. It felt spontaneous. The audience wasn’t frustrated—they loved it.

  But Mamoru knew better.

  Hideki was tired.

  And when Hideki was too tired to sing, he talked.

  Engaged. Stretched the moment. Bought himself time.

  And the worst part?

  He was too good at it.

  The transition was seamless.

  “Tezz.o.pink, right?” Hideki asked, handing Tessa the mic. “That’s your Instagram?”

  Tessa, visibly stunned but ecstatic, nodded. “Y-Yeah! Tezz.o.pink!”

  The crowd cheered, the moment turning into a genuine career boost for her.

  Mamoru exhaled through his nose.

  It worked. It always worked.

  But he was watching the clock.

  9:30 PM – Midway Through the Set

  Hideki was holding up.

  Barely.

  As the band powered through their setlist, something shifted.

  Mamoru noticed it first.

  The way Hideki’s shoulders dropped just slightly between songs. The way his breathing changed.

  And then—the chair.

  From the shadows of backstage, Hideki dragged a chair onto the stage, settling into it with carefully staged nonchalance.

  Nachi barely reacted.

  Takao blinked, glancing at Mamoru.

  Mamoru, without a word, checked his watch.

  It made sense.

  Hideki was saving energy.

  Mamoru leaned against the keyboard, reaching out subtly—and turned it off.

  Takao’s brow furrowed. He mouthed, What’s going on?

  Mamoru didn’t answer.

  Because Hideki had already launched into an acoustic improv session.

  No warning. No transition.

  And yet—

  The audience was completely hooked.

  Mamoru exhaled. Fine. Let him have this.

  Takao, still slightly thrown off, glanced at Nachi—who was casually eating chips.

  “Seriously?” Takao whispered.

  Nachi, completely unfazed, shrugged. “What? It’s a good show.”

  Takao just shook his head.

  Because for all the chaos, all the unpredictability—

  It was working.

  Scene: The Grand Finale – Pushing to the End

  11:25 PM – Final Encore

  The last three songs felt like a blur.

  By the time they hit the final chorus, all of them were running on fumes.

  But Hideki—Hideki pushed through.

  The final notes rang through the arena, the crowd chanting for more.

  And Hideki—ever the performer, ever the strategist—

  Gave them everything.

  Even if it nearly killed him.

  Scene: The Aftermath – Exhaustion Hits

  11:30 PM – Backstage, Post-Concert

  The moment they stepped off stage, Hideki let out a sharp breath, his posture slipping.

  Mamoru was already grabbing a towel, eyes scanning his vitals.

  Takao, still watching, exhaled.

  Nachi?

  Nachi just grabbed another bag of chips.

  Because at this point?

  He was used to it.

  Scene: Oslo Gardermoen Airport – Mamoru’s Intervention

  12:45 AM – Gardermoen Airport, Oslo

  The exhaustion was setting in.

  Fresh off the Oslo concert, Well of Fortune had barely enough time to grab their things and make it to Gardermoen Airport for the last flight of the night to Bergen.

  The private terminal was nearly empty at this hour, with only a few late-night travelers and airport staff moving through the dimly lit space.

  Hideki, running on adrenaline and bad decisions, headed straight for the café counter.

  Mamoru saw it coming.

  He didn’t need to guess. He already knew.

  The moment Hideki opened his mouth—

  “En svart kaffe, takk.” (A black coffee, please.)

  Mamoru cut in before the barista could even respond.

  “En koffeinfri drikke til ham, takk.” (A non-caffeinated drink for him, please.)

  Hideki’s head snapped toward him.

  The barista blinked, caught between them. “Vi har kamillete.” (We have chamomile tea.)

  Mamoru didn’t even hesitate. “Perfekt. Ta det.” (Perfect. We’ll take that.)

  Hideki stared. Expression blank. Processing betrayal in real time.

  Mamoru handed him the tea, unfazed. “Drink it.”

  Hideki exhaled through his nose. Took the cup.

  “…I hate you,” he muttered, voice flat.

  Mamoru didn’t blink. “Drink the tea, Hideki.”

  Scene: Finnair Private Lounge – Dead Tired, Planning for Bergen

  1:15 AM – Finnair Private Terminal, Gardermoen

  The private lounge was dead silent.

  Not because they had nothing to say, but because no one had the energy to talk anymore.

  The band collapsed onto the lounge couches, bodies heavy, adrenaline fading into bone-deep exhaustion.

  Mamoru, still running on sheer willpower, flipped through the itinerary.

  “Load-in is scheduled for four hours after we land,” he muttered, voice even. “We’ll do a short soundcheck this time. No need to overwork before showtime.”

  Takao, leaning back against the armrest, gave a slow nod. “Fine by me.”

  Nachi, who had somehow claimed an entire couch for himself, made a vague grunt of agreement.

  Hideki?

  Hideki was already half-asleep, tea still warm in his hands, eyes barely open.

  He wasn’t even pretending to be awake anymore.

  Mamoru checked his watch.

  Finally.

  At least now, he’d rest before Bergen.

  Scene: The Next Morning – Hideki’s Revenge

  10:00 AM – Bergen, Airport Hotel

  The room was dead silent.

  After stumbling into the hotel at nearly 3 AM, the band had barely managed to collapse into their beds before exhaustion claimed them.

  The blackout curtains kept the morning light out. Everything was still.

  And so was Hideki.

  But not for long.

  Because for once—he was the first one awake.

  And Hideki?

  He never let an opportunity go to waste.

  He scanned the room, assessing his targets.

  

  
• Mamoru – Sleeping on his stomach, face turned into the pillow, one arm hanging off the bed. Easy access.


  
• Takao – Half-buried under a blanket, his face completely still. Too light of a sleeper. Risky.


  
• Nachi – Mouth slightly open, limbs sprawled out, breathing deep and even.


  

  Hideki grinned.

  Target locked.

  Step 1: Hand-in-Warm-Water Trick

  The oldest prank in the book.

  Supposedly, if you dipped someone’s hand into warm water while they were asleep, it would trigger their bladder reflex, making them pee themselves.

  Did it actually work?

  Didn’t matter.

  What mattered was convincing Nachi that it did.

  With ridiculous stealth, Hideki slipped out of bed, tiptoeing toward the bathroom.

  He filled a glass with warm water, testing the temperature.

  Then, moving back to Nachi’s bedside, he gently, carefully, lifted Nachi’s limp arm and lowered his hand into the glass.

  Now, he just had to wait.

  One second.

  Two.

  Then—a twitch.

  Nachi’s fingers curled slightly. A faint, uncomfortable grunt.

  And then—panic.

  Nachi bolted upright, yanking his hand back, eyes wild—

  “WHAT THE FUCK—”

  His half-asleep brain short-circuited, panic flashing across his face.

  And that was the real trick.

  It wasn’t about whether the prank actually worked—

  It was about making the victim THINK it worked.

  For a solid two seconds, Nachi sat there frozen in horror, before his sleep-fogged mind caught up.

  He checked himself.

  Realized he was fine.

  Then turned his entire wrath toward Hideki.

  “You absolute motherfu—”

  But Hideki was already halfway across the room, laughing.

  Step 2: Shaving Cream Disaster

  Takao, stirring from the noise, groaned, shifting under his blanket.

  Perfect.

  Hideki grabbed the hotel’s shaving cream, squeezed a generous amount onto Takao’s hand, and waited.

  Takao, half-conscious, instinctively lifted his hand—and immediately wiped his face.

  A thick layer of foam smeared across his cheek.

  There was a brief pause.

  Then—

  “Are you FUCKING serious?” Takao’s voice was flat, deadly.

  Hideki?

  Losing his shit in the corner.

  Step 3: Ice Cube Attack

  Mamoru, the only one left untouched, had started to shift—his overactive brain pulling him toward wakefulness.

  Time for the grand finale.

  Hideki silently grabbed an ice cube from the minibar.

  Then, with surgical precision, he slipped it down the back of Mamoru’s shirt.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Mamoru’s entire body jolted.

  His eyes snapped open.

  His back arched violently as the freezing sensation hit.

  And for a solid three seconds, he looked completely, utterly disoriented.

  Then—

  Murderous silence.

  Mamoru slowly turned his head toward Hideki.

  The look on his face was worse than shouting.

  It was calculating.

  Measuring his revenge.

  Then, with zero hesitation, Mamoru grabbed a pillow—

  And threw it directly at Hideki’s head.

  Aftermath: Chaos Ensues

  

  
• Takao, still half-covered in shaving cream, groaned, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”


  
• Nachi, still clutching his hand, grumbled, “I swear to god, I thought I pissed myself for a second.”


  
• Mamoru, fixing his glasses, voice completely calm: “You have approximately ten seconds to run.”


  
• Hideki, already backing toward the door, grinning like a satisfied little demon: “Good morning, everyone.”


  

  The chase ensued immediately.

  And just like that—their morning in Bergen had begun.

  Scene: Bergen Adventures – Sightseeing, Souvenirs & Seafood in Stage Clothes

  Late Morning – Bryggen’s Historic Wharf

  After finally getting a few hours of sleep, the band found themselves standing at Bergen’s iconic Bryggen Wharf—a row of vibrant red, yellow, and white wooden buildings, leaning slightly with age, their colors popping against the bright summer sky.

  The air was crisp and salty, carrying the scent of the harbor mixed with fresh-baked bread from nearby cafés.

  And yet—despite the picturesque scenery, the band looked like absolute misfits.

  They were still in their wrinkled, high-fashion stage clothes from last night.

  

  
• Hideki had on an asymmetrical black Holzweiler blazer, unbuttoned, paired with sleek leather pants and a high-collared Aadnevik shirt, now slightly untucked. His hair was a mess, his usual lion-like spikes looking a little more disheveled than usual.


  
• Mamoru, ever the clean-cut one, was wearing a deep navy Cathrine Hammel coat over a fitted black turtleneck and tailored pants. Despite the fact that he had slept in it, he still somehow looked annoyingly put together.


  
• Takao had gone for a more laid-back Holzweiler knit sweater, but the Fam Irvoll statement pants he had been given—bold, artistic, and covered in avant-garde details—made him look like an art curator who had been kidnapped mid-gallery opening.


  
• Nachi, the most visibly tired of them all, was wearing a slightly oversized byTiMo wool coat, giving him the air of an eccentric professor who had partied too hard the night before.


  

  They absolutely did not blend in.

  Tourists and locals alike glanced at them, some recognizing them, others just wondering why four rockstars looked like they had just rolled out of a fashion editorial and directly onto Bergen’s cobbled streets.

  Mamoru, arms crossed, surveyed the area. “Are we tourists today?”

  “We are experiencing the culture,” Nachi corrected, adjusting his coat.

  “You look like you committed tax fraud,” Hideki pointed out, smirking.

  “And you look like you got in a fight with a hotel carpet,” Takao shot back.

  Hideki grinned. “Maybe I did.”

  They strolled through the historic dock, weaving through narrow alleyways lined with timber buildings, where small artisan shops and cafés were tucked into every available space.

  “This area was originally built in the 12th century,” Mamoru said, adjusting his glasses. “After the great fire of 1702, they reconstructed it, preserving as much as possible.”

  “I like how you sound like a tour guide,” Nachi muttered. “Very informative. Very sleep-deprived.”

  “We are sleep-deprived,” Hideki pointed out. “So let’s get coffee.”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “No,” Mamoru, Takao, and Nachi all shut it down immediately.

  Hideki sighed dramatically. “You’re all so predictable.”

  Midday – Souvenir Shopping at Bryggen

  Their first stop was a small souvenir shop, nestled between two historic buildings. The inside was packed with wooden Viking statues, intricate troll figurines, and thick Norwegian wool scarves.

  Hideki immediately grabbed a Viking helmet and shoved it onto Mamoru’s head.

  “Perfect,” Hideki declared, stepping back like an artist admiring his work. “Now say something threatening.”

  Mamoru, expression unreadable beneath the ridiculous helmet, simply said, “I am going to kill you.”

  “See? Very authentic,” Hideki smirked.

  Takao, ignoring them, was inspecting a case of handcrafted silver rings, running his fingers over the detailed engravings.

  “For your lawyer?” Nachi asked lazily.

  Takao didn’t even glance up. “She collects postcards. But rings last longer.”

  Nachi, meanwhile, had wandered to a wall of knit sweaters, pulling one out with genuine curiosity. “You think I could pull this off?”

  “You already dress like an uncle,” Hideki replied. “Might as well commit.”

  Their next stop was an art store—one of those small, independent shops selling local prints, handmade pins, and quirky illustrations.

  The clerk, a young woman with an undercut and oversized sweater, glanced up when they entered.

  Her eyes widened slightly. Recognition.

  But she didn’t freak out.

  Instead, she just nodded and said, “You guys look like you had an interesting night.”

  Hideki, without missing a beat, replied, “We are suffering for the sake of fashion.”

  Mamoru picked out a sleek modern print of Bergen’s harbor, simple and monochrome.

  Takao grabbed handmade postcards and a small leather journal.

  Nachi held up a grumpy troll pin holding a coffee cup. “This speaks to me spiritually.”

  Hideki, meanwhile, bought a stack of stickers that said things like:

  

  
• “I Survived Norwegian Weather.”


  
• “No, I Will Not Eat Fermented Fish.”


  
• “Why Are There So Many Fjords?”


  

  He slapped one onto Takao’s back when he wasn’t looking.

  Takao noticed ten minutes later.

  And revenge was promised.

  Afternoon – Rehearsal at the Venue

  After shopping, it was time to work.

  The venue was mid-sized, with a warm, intimate atmosphere, perfect for their week-long residency.

  They ran through the setlist, playing loosely, letting the music breathe.

  At one point, Nachi forgot his own riff—instead of stopping, Hideki just improvised something entirely different, forcing Nachi to keep up.

  The result? Weird. Unplanned. Kinda cool.

  “Let’s not do that again,” Mamoru muttered.

  “Or let’s do it every night,” Hideki suggested.

  Takao, exchanging looks with Mamoru, sighed. “I feel like he’s going to decide mid-show to do it anyway.”

  Hideki just smiled.

  Evening – Fish Market Dinner in Last Night’s Stage Clothes

  By the time they wrapped rehearsal, everyone was starving.

  The Bergen Fish Market was still bustling, even in the evening. The air smelled like salt, fresh seafood, and grilling fish.

  And of course—

  They still hadn’t changed.

  The second they walked in, all eyes were on them.

  They looked wildly out of place among the casually dressed locals.

  “We look iconic,” Hideki declared, flipping his jacket collar.

  Takao, giving him a once-over, muttered, “You look like you got lost on the way to an afterparty and ended up at a seafood stall.”

  They ordered way too much food—grilled salmon, fresh shrimp, king crab.

  Nachi, holding a massive crab leg, looked at Hideki. “You think this thing had a name before it ended up on my plate?”

  “His name was Bj?rn,” Hideki said solemnly.

  Nachi paused. “Damn. RIP Bj?rn.”

  By the time they finished eating, the sky was softly glowing, the fjords catching the last golden light of the day.

  Takao stretched. “Are we actually going back to change now?”

  Hideki licked sauce off his fingers. “Or we commit and stay like this for the rest of the trip.”

  Mamoru, adjusting his watch, sighed. “We are not staying like this for the rest of the trip.”

  “Coward,” Hideki muttered.

  Scene: Midnight Tension – Takao’s Unsettling Discovery

  3:27 AM – Bergen, Airport Hotel

  The hallway was silent, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner.

  Takao, half-asleep, shuffled toward the bathroom, his socks muffling his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

  As he passed by Mamoru and Hideki’s shared room, his hand brushed against the doorknob—unlocked.

  He wasn’t trying to snoop.

  But something caught his eye.

  Through the barely open door, Mamoru was standing next to Hideki’s bed.

  Completely still.

  Just… staring.

  Looking down at his twin, his expression unreadable, dazed.

  Takao stopped in his tracks.

  It wasn’t just brotherly concern.

  It was something else.

  Something too intense for Takao to process at this hour.

  He exhaled quietly, careful not to make a sound, and continued walking past.

  Not his business.

  Scene: The Next Morning – An Even More Unsettling Sight

  7:00 AM – Bergen, Airport Hotel

  Takao was the first one awake.

  Again.

  Still groggy, he moved toward the kitchen, passing by Mamoru and Hideki’s room one more time.

  He glanced inside.

  And this time—

  Mamoru wasn’t standing.

  He was curled up in fetal position next to Hideki, face partially buried against his twin’s shoulder.

  Hideki was still dead asleep.

  Takao stopped. Stared.

  For a moment, he considered saying something.

  Then he thought, Nope. Absolutely not.

  He turned on his heel and walked straight to the kitchen.

  If he was going to deal with this family’s bizarre twin dynamic, he needed some orange juice first.

  Scene: The Living Room – The Bass That Shouldn’t Be Touched

  7:45 AM – Bergen, Airport Hotel – Living Room

  Takao sat on the couch, drinking his orange juice in peace.

  It wasn’t long before he noticed a bass guitar lying on the sofa beside him.

  It looked older, well-maintained, but untouched.

  Casually, he picked it up, running his fingers along the neck.

  He plucked a soft note, testing the sound.

  The moment he strummed a clean, warm note—

  Hideki entered the room.

  And froze.

  His breath hitched, his pulse spiked, and for a moment—Takao swore his expression darkened.

  Hideki’s body tensed, like a wild animal backed into a corner.

  Takao, completely unaware of what he’d just triggered, looked up casually.

  “Didn’t know you played bass,” he remarked, tilting the guitar slightly. “I’ve never seen you use this.”

  Hideki didn’t answer.

  Didn’t move.

  Takao blinked, frowning. “What’s with that look? It’s just a bass, Yano.”

  Hideki’s fingers twitched.

  “It’s not just a bass.” His voice was low, barely controlled.

  Takao raised a brow. “Then what is it?”

  Silence.

  For the first time in a long time, Takao saw something in Hideki’s eyes that wasn’t sarcasm or arrogance.

  It was raw, seething emotion.

  Something dangerously close to panic.

  The air felt heavier.

  Takao, finally picking up on the shift, slowly set the bass down.

  “Didn’t know it was off-limits,” he muttered, watching Hideki closely.

  Hideki exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not.”

  A blatant lie.

  Takao, ever the observant one, didn’t press—yet.

  Instead, he leaned back, studying him. “Then why don’t you ever play it?”

  Nothing.

  Just Hideki’s sharp inhale as he tried to force his heartbeat back to normal.

  After a long moment, Hideki’s expression shifted—anger replacing whatever else was there.

  “You think you can play?” he challenged, voice sharp. “Then play something.”

  Takao, unfazed, picked up the bass again.

  And played.

  A smooth, intricate riff—something flawless but effortless.

  Something that made Hideki’s jaw clench.

  A sound that was too good. Too familiar.

  Then—a voice from the doorway.

  “Aki?”

  Both of them turned.

  Mamoru was standing there, still groggy from sleep, hair a mess, eyes unfocused.

  For a moment—he looked like he had just woken up from a dream.

  Like he had heard something impossible.

  Like he wasn’t fully sure what reality he had just stepped into.

  And Hideki, still frozen in place, suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.