Chapter 7: Helsinki Games

  Bergen – Third Day

  The first sound is a note. Aki’s bass.

  Takao plucks the strings idly, fingers tracing the wood worn by a ghost’s grip. It’s heavier than he expected, heavier than it should be. The weight of the dead, still lingering.

  From the hallway, Mamoru stirs. Barefoot, half-trapped in a dream.

  “Aki.”

  He says it softly, as if she’s in the next room. As if she might answer.

  Hideki, sprawled across the couch, watches from behind lidded eyes. He doesn’t react. He knows better than to touch the moment.

  Mamoru blinks at Takao. Sees the bass. His expression tightens. In an instant, the walls snap back up. He rubs his face, erasing whatever rawness had slipped through.

  “That thing’s not yours,” he mutters.

  Takao doesn’t look up. “Didn’t know she put your name on it.”

  There’s a beat. A line between past and present. Takao, for once, doesn’t cross it.

  Mamoru exhales, turning toward the kitchen. The moment passes.

  The next few days blur into a cycle of exhaustion and refinement. Mimmi books them into a high-end studio, no distractions, no outsiders.

  “Just you and the music,” she says.

  Hideki fake-yawns. He’s already bored.

  Somewhere between drum tuning and vocal warmups, his phone buzzes.

  Anna.

  Yano. Helsinki?

  He smirks. Of course she’s waiting.

  But instead of replying immediately, he reaches for the watch.

  The Swiss watch he had gotten her in Norway. He had gotten a matching one for himself sleek , in silver dripping with elaborate elegance. It’s smooth against his palm. Custom-made, polished. The kind of expensive that is whispered in hush voices

  Twelve numbers. Twelve weeks.

  A ticking clock for their game.

  12 weeks = 3 months. Starting now, ending when I say so.

  Anna doesn’t know the real reason he gave it to her. Each number isn’t just a week—it’s a move. A countdown until she breaks.

  By week 10, she’ll be unfaithful.

  By week 12, her engagement will be dead.

  Anna thinks she’s playing. She doesn’t realize she’s being played.

  Hideki rolls the watch between his fingers, then finally types back:

  See you soon.

  Rehearsals are tighter. No one is allowed to slack. Hideki doesn’t even glance at his phone, letting Anna wonder.

  The grandeur of Grieghallen felt suffocating in its silence. The air was thick with anticipation, the audience settling into their velvet seats, expecting something magnificent. The Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra was already seated, their bows poised, their brass gleaming under the stage lights.

  In the wings, Takao adjusted his bass strap, fingers already slick against the strings. The weight of the moment pressed against his chest. This wasn’t just another concert—this was his first real test in Well of Fortune, and he knew Hideki wasn’t going to make it easy.

  Nearby, Mamoru sat beside the grand piano, hunched over a thick medical textbook, completely absorbed in his notes. His lips moved slightly as he reread a passage, fingers tapping the edge of the page in thought.

  Hideki, passing by, barely looked up as he murmured, “You know, I study medicine too.”

  Mamoru didn’t even glance at him. “You only read when you feel like it. That doesn’t count.”

  That was enough to make Hideki stop. He leaned against the grand piano, smirking. “Yeah, but at least I actually remember what I read. Unlike you, who sits for hours cramming.”

  Mamoru’s grip tightened on the book before he snapped it shut, exhaling through his nose. “That’s not true.”

  Takao, watching the exchange from the side, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had seen pointless twin debates before, but something about the casual venom between them felt like watching two opposing forces locked in an eternal war.

  Nachi, completely entertained, nudged Takao and muttered, “Here we go again.”

  Takao barely reacted. His focus was on the conductor, now calling them onto the stage. This was it. The moment of reckoning.

  The lights dimmed. Silence fell over the hall, the kind that made every breath feel louder than it should be. Then, from the vastness of that silence, a single note from Mamoru’s piano rang out—delicate, slow, haunting.

  A soft swell of violins and cellos followed, rising like an ocean tide, carrying the melody in waves of sound. It was the opening of “Nocturne Requiem”, a song they rarely played live.

  Takao gripped his bass tighter, taking a steadying breath. He knew this song inside and out, but it didn’t matter. Hideki was going to throw something at him.

  Then, Hideki’s voice cut through the stillness, raw and near-whispered into the mic.

  “This one is for the ghosts who never leave us.”

  The audience held their breath.

  The orchestra carried the song forward, each note a thread in an intricate tapestry of sound. Mamoru’s fingers glided across the keys, steady and composed, each note precise. The hall, once grand and imposing, now felt like a cathedral, every sound reverberating with aching beauty.

  Takao felt his pulse in his fingertips as he locked into the rhythm, letting the low notes of his bass weave underneath the symphony, grounding it. He focused, listening, absorbing every change—until he saw it.

  A shift.

  A fraction of a second too late, but he caught it.

  Hideki’s subtle cue.

  The setlist had changed.

  Mid-performance.

  Takao’s breath caught for a split second. His body reacted before his mind could process it. His fingers shifted on the fretboard, adapting to a new melody that hadn’t been rehearsed.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Hideki watching him. Smirking. Waiting to see if he would crack.

  Keep up.

  The words weren’t spoken, but Takao felt them.

  Takao’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to break. Not tonight.

  His fingers danced across the strings, finding new harmonies, shifting seamlessly into the improvised section. The tension between bass and orchestra became electric, something no one in the audience knew wasn’t part of the plan.

  From the other side of the stage, Mamoru glanced at Hideki, then at Takao. His expression unreadable. Nachi, standing off to the side, raised an eyebrow—impressed.

  Takao could feel the energy in the room shifting. The performance was no longer a delicate fusion of J-rock and orchestra. It was a battle.

  His pulse thrummed in his ears as the orchestra swelled—violins crying, timpani pounding like war drums. The music rose to a fever pitch, twisting into something bigger, bolder.

  Mamoru’s final piano note hung in the air, soft but commanding. Takao’s last bassline thundered beneath it, defiant, unwavering.

  Then, Hideki leaned into the mic and whispered—so softly it felt like a secret between him and the entire audience:

  “Are you still listening?”

  Silence.

  A heartbeat later, the audience erupted into a standing ovation.

  Backstage, Takao tossed his bass onto the couch, exhaling sharply. His heart was still racing, but not from adrenaline.

  It was from anger.

  He turned to Hideki, eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”

  Hideki, still drenched in sweat, grinning like a wolf, shrugged. “It’s your first tour where we play with an orchestra like this. Had to make sure you could handle it.”

  Takao scowled.

  Mamoru, toweling off the sweat on his forehead, watched the exchange, then turned to Hideki. “You already knew he could.”

  Hideki tilted his head, his grin lazy, unreadable.

  “Yeah. But now he knows it too.”

  Takao clenched his jaw. He hated that Hideki was right.

  Before he could snap back, Nachi, who had been watching everything, clapped a hand on Takao’s shoulder.

  “Welcome to Well of Fortune, man.” His grin widened. “You survived your initiation.”

  Takao scoffed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Barely.”

  From across the room, Hideki leaned against the wall, watching him with that same damn smirk.

  “Oh, by the way,” Hideki said, his voice mocking, teasing. “Tomorrow’s setlist? I might change that too.”

  Without thinking, Takao grabbed a bottle of water and chucked it at him.

  Hideki dodged, laughing.

  The energy inside Det Akademiske Kvarter was suffocating in the best way. The air was hot, thick with sweat and anticipation, the scent of beer, damp clothing, and old wood mixing into something uniquely unforgettable.

  The students, packed into the tiny, dimly lit venue, were already chanting before the band had even stepped on stage. Bodies pressed together, voices rising, a feverish tension rolling through the space, ready to explode the second the first note hit.

  The walls, covered in layers of posters and graffiti, felt like they were trembling from the sheer weight of the moment. It was a completely different world from the polished elegance of Grieghallen. This was pure chaos.

  Then Hideki stepped onto the stage.

  A sharp, deafening cheer erupted from the crowd, nearly drowning out the feedback from the amps. He paused, tilting his head slightly, scanning the room with sharp, almost predatory eyes. A slow grin spread across his face.

  The second he reached for the mic, the room fell into electric silence.

  He took his time, dragging a hand through his already damp hair, fingers brushing over his collarbone before gripping the mic stand loosely. His voice, when it came, was low, rough, teasing.

  “Bergen, we played fancy for you yesterday. Tonight? We ruin your hearing.”

  The crowd detonated.

  The opening guitar riff ripped through the speakers, cutting through the tension like a blade. The first hit of drums sent a shockwave through the floor, and suddenly, the entire venue was moving.

  Bodies collided, people jumped, shoved, screamed, fists in the air. The energy was raw, unfiltered, the kind of chaos that blurred the lines between music and war.

  By the second song, Hideki’s shirt was already half-unbuttoned, clinging to his skin from sweat. He moved like he owned the room, commanding the audience without effort.

  Takao, standing slightly to his right, felt every bass note reverberate through his bones, the heavy pulse grounding the song beneath the layers of distorted guitars and pounding drums.

  The audience was relentless. A wall of heat, hands reaching, voices screaming, bodies surging toward the stage. The venue had no barricades—nothing separating the band from the crowd.

  The energy was so wild, so unchecked, that the moment Hideki leaned forward, teasingly extending a hand toward the front row, they nearly pulled him in.

  He laughed into the mic, breathless, voice dripping amusement.

  “Not yet.”

  But by the next song, he was in the crowd anyway.

  He threw himself forward, body caught by dozens of hands, lifted effortlessly into the sea of bodies below. The moment his feet left the stage, security lost their minds.

  The crowd roared, carrying him, pushing him, gripping his shoulders and arms as he sang directly into the mass of screaming voices.

  For a full minute, Hideki let himself sink into them, surrendering to the movement before shoving himself back up onto the stage, laughing breathlessly.

  Takao barely looked at him. He was too busy trying to hold the rhythm down, too aware of the way Hideki kept changing the pace, throwing the band off just to see if they could keep up.

  Mamoru, from behind the keyboard, barely glanced at his brother, as if this kind of recklessness was so normal it wasn’t even worth a reaction.

  Nachi, however, was having the time of his life. At one point, he was spinning mid-riff, nearly knocking over a mic stand, catching it at the last second without missing a beat.

  When the final song hit, the entire venue felt like it was on fire.

  Hideki stood at the edge of the stage, panting, eyes half-lidded, breath ghosting against the mic. His fingers curled loosely around the stand as he tipped his head back, letting the crowd’s screams wash over him.

  He waited.

  Then, just as the noise hit its peak, he let his voice drop into a whisper.

  “One more?”

  The walls shook from the force of the response.

  Without hesitation, they launched into the encore, and the world collapsed into sound, heat, and madness.

  The backstage area was just as suffocating as the concert hall, thick with lingering heat, adrenaline, and exhaustion.

  Takao, still buzzing, dropped onto the couch, kicking off his boots and rubbing the back of his neck.

  Mamoru, predictably, pulled out his med school textbook and started flipping through pages like he hadn’t just played one of the wildest shows of the tour.

  Hideki, sprawled out with a half-empty water bottle, smirked as he watched the others. He looked completely in his element, his breathing still a little uneven, but completely victorious.

  Then the door swung open.

  Two Norwegian students—Ania and Marion—stepped inside, still breathless from the concert. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide with lingering excitement.

  Ania (grinning, voice still shaking): “That was insane.”

  Marion: “Seriously. Best concert of the year.”

  Mamoru didn’t even glance up from his textbook—until Ania noticed it.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  Ania: “Wait… are you studying?”

  Marion: “You study medicine? A rockstar AND a med student? That’s insane.”

  Mamoru finally looked up, adjusting his glasses slightly.

  Mamoru (calm, nonchalant): “It’s just time management.”

  The girls practically melted.

  Then, of course, Hideki had to ruin it.

  He leaned lazily against the armrest of the couch, watching with that signature half-lidded, amused gaze, and grinned.

  Hideki: “I study medicine too.”

  Mamoru’s entire expression shut down.

  Mamoru: “You don’t study. You skim.”

  Hideki shrugged, unbothered.

  Hideki: “Yeah, but I actually remember what I read. Unlike you, who sits for hours cramming.”

  Mamoru scowled.

  It looked like another fight was about to start—until Nachi swooped in.

  Stepping forward, flashing his best charming smile, he locked eyes with the girls and lowered his voice.

  Nachi (confident, smooth): “Well, ladies… I may not be a med student… but I am an expert in anatomy.”

  Silence.

  Unbearably awkward silence.

  Ania and Marion exchanged a look.

  Ania let out the most forced, uncomfortable laugh imaginable.

  Ania: “Uh… cool.”

  Marion nodded too fast.

  Marion: “Yeah. That’s… cool.”

  The pause dragged.

  Mamoru, Hideki, and Takao stared at Nachi.

  Then Hideki, smirking like the menace he was, leaned forward.

  Hideki (mocking, grinning): “Wow, Nachi. That was smooth.”

  Mamoru sighed.

  And with that, Well of Fortune had officially conquered Bergen.

  ?? Last Day in Bergen – Troldhaugen & The Afterparty

  The final day in Bergen was quieter, almost eerie in its calmness after the absolute chaos of Det Akademiske Kvarter the night before. The band had already torn through a high-class orchestral fusion at Grieghallen and an unhinged, sweat-drenched student riot at Kvarteret. Now, they were standing in a place so far removed from all of that, it felt almost surreal.

  Troldhaugen.

  The former home of composer Edvard Grieg, perched on the edge of a still lake, surrounded by tall, whispering trees. The house itself was quaint, with its slanted roof and old-world charm, but it was the silence that stood out the most. The kind of silence that pressed against the skin, as if waiting to be filled with something.

  For the first time in days, there was no screaming crowd, no pulsing bass shaking the floor, no flashing stage lights. Just the wind. Just the faint rustle of leaves, the occasional ripple across the lake.

  Mamoru stood near the edge of the water, his arms crossed, taking in the atmosphere with quiet fascination. Takao, usually composed, seemed strangely introspective, his fingers twitching slightly, like they weren’t used to being still for this long.

  Nachi, meanwhile, had wandered off, likely trying to chat up a museum guide.

  Hideki, of course, had found the piano.

  The small concert space, Troldsalen, was nothing like the venues they had played before. The room was intimate, lined with wood that made every sound resonate just a little deeper, a little longer. It wasn’t made for screaming—it was made for listening.

  It wasn’t a formal concert, just an impromptu performance. Something to end their time in Bergen on a different note.

  Hideki ran his fingers lightly over the keys, testing the weight of them, the way they felt under his touch. The piano wasn’t just any piano—it had been designed specifically for this space, the acoustics molding around each note like a perfect frame.

  He played the first notes of a soft, stripped-down version of one of their songs—something slow, something delicate.

  Mamoru followed instinctively, his own fingers moving over the second piano, weaving in an accompaniment.

  Nachi, appearing just in time, pulled out his acoustic guitar, strumming along in hushed reverence.

  Takao hesitated.

  Then, almost reluctantly, he joined in.

  The result was something ghostly, something unlike anything they had played before. It wasn’t for an audience. It wasn’t for cameras. It wasn’t even for their careers.

  It was just… for them.

  The last note faded into the silence, and for a long time, no one spoke.

  Then Hideki, breaking the moment, let out a small smirk.

  “Guess we’re capable of playing like actual musicians when we try.”

  Mamoru exhaled, shaking his head. Takao just ran a hand through his hair.

  Nachi stretched, already restless. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s not get used to it.”

  By the time night fell, the stillness of Troldhaugen had long since faded.

  Now, they were in a high-rise apartment overlooking the city, the afterparty in full swing.

  The room was filled with industry people, local musicians, models, actors, and a handful of die-hard fans who had somehow managed to talk their way inside.

  The bass from the speakers thumped through the floor, drinks were spilling over the edges of expensive glassware, and the entire room felt charged with post-tour energy.

  Ania and Marion had somehow found their way in.

  They had barely spoken to each other since Nachi’s catastrophic flirting attempt at Kvarteret. Still, they weren’t about to pass up a party like this.

  Mamoru, for once, had been dragged away from his textbooks, forced into a conversation with some record executive about investment strategies for new artists.

  Takao, ever the observer, stood near the balcony, drink in hand, watching the chaos unfold.

  Nachi? Already deep in conversation with someone who was very clearly too rich for their own good.

  And Hideki?

  Somehow, he was with Ania and Marion.

  They had found him sprawled on a velvet couch, looking half-bored, half-amused, swirling a drink in his hand.

  “So,” Ania started, leaning slightly forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Do you guys always go this hard on tour?”

  Hideki tilted his head slightly, watching her with that familiar, unreadable expression.

  “Harder,” he murmured.

  Marion took a sip of her drink, eyeing him skeptically. “You don’t seem all that wild right now.”

  Hideki smiled.

  Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just a small, knowing smile.

  “That’s because the night’s not over yet.”

  At that exact moment, a glass shattered somewhere across the room.

  Nachi, turning toward the sound, muttered, “Oh, for fu—”, before pushing his drink into someone else’s hands and rushing toward the scene.

  Hideki let out a breath of laughter, then turned back to the girls.

  “See?” he said, lifting his glass slightly. “Show’s just getting started.”

  They where leaving the next day at 12:00 so getting back at the hotel at 05:30 in the morning didn’t exactly leave much room for rest. So everyone where scrambling the hotel room in a hurry, the next day Hideki rummages through Nachi’s suitcase in search of food. The minibar is overpriced, and he’s too wired to sleep.

  His fingers brush against a box of Pocky.

  He doesn’t think before opening it. Slides a stick between his lips. Bites down.

  The taste is too familiar.

  He freezes.

  It takes a second to place it. Then—the memory rises.

  Aki, sitting cross-legged on their futon back at the institution. A box of Pocky in her lap, snapping each stick in half before eating it. She never ate them whole. Always in halves.

  “What’s the point of breaking them first?” Hideki had asked once.

  Aki had just shrugged, chewing deliberately.

  “Maybe I don’t want the whole thing.”

  At the time, it had meant nothing. Just one of her weird habits.

  Now, it feels unbearably her.

  Hideki chews slower.

  It’s a hitch in his rhythm. A moment where something doesn’t compute, and he has to recalibrate.

  His chest tightens—but he doesn’t know why.

  He eats another Pocky stick. Then another.

  The memory doesn’t go away.

  Two days pass before he finally makes his move.

  He texts her. A location. No words.

  She shows up. Of course she does.

  The hotel suite is dimly lit. Anna walks in like she owns the place, like she owns him. Hideki lets her believe it.

  He lets her think she’s won.

  Lets her think she’s pulling the strings.

  Lets her think he’s giving in.

  And when it’s over, when her fingers curl around the collected evidence of their encounter, Hideki watches without expression.

  The watch on her wrist ticks forward.

  Week 1: Complete.

  Eleven more to go.

  Anna lies back against the sheets, lazy satisfaction in her eyes.

  “Enjoying the game, Yano?” she purrs.

  Hideki buttons his shirt, barely looking at her.

  “I’m already thinking about the next move.”

  She tilts her head, amusement flickering. She still thinks she’s winning.

  Good.

  Let her think that.

  Later, after exhaustion finally catches up, Hideki collapses onto the hotel bed. His body aches, his head buzzes.

  The adrenaline fades.

  The watch.

  Anna.

  The game.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Pocky.

  The memory lingers, still fragmented, still illogical. Still unfinished.

  “Maybe I don’t want the whole thing.”

  Why is that repeating? Why does it matter?

  Why is it the only thing he can think about?

  He falls asleep before he can answer.

  The morning sun barely pierced through the heavy curtains of the hotel room in Bergen. Mamoru stirred awake, the lingering haze of last night’s afterparty clouding his mind. As he blinked away the fog, he realized he wasn’t alone—Hideki was lounging at the small kitchenette, a steaming cup in hand, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Hideki drawled, taking a leisurely sip.

  Mamoru rubbed his temples, the weight of impending responsibility crashing down. “What time is it?”

  “We’ve got two hours to get to the airport,” Hideki replied, entirely too calm.

  Panic surged through Mamoru. “Two hours? Where’s Nachi?”

  Hideki’s grin widened. “Still MIA after last night’s escapades.”

  Mamoru shot up, frantically searching for his belongings. “This is a disaster. Takao’s going to lose it.”

  As if on cue, Takao stormed into the room, his expression a storm cloud. “Where the hell is Nachi? We’re going to miss our flight!”

  Hideki chuckled, unbothered. “Relax. He’ll show.”

  Minutes felt like hours as they scrambled to pack. Just as the tension reached its peak, the door swung open, and Nachi stumbled in, looking disheveled but unapologetic.

  “Morning, all,” he said with a lazy salute.

  “We’re leaving NOW,” Takao barked, grabbing his bag.

  The drive to Bergen Airport was a blur of honking horns and frayed nerves. Upon arrival, the band members bolted from the car, dashing through the terminal like men possessed.

  All except Hideki.

  He sauntered behind, spotting one of those electric airport carts. With a charming smile, he convinced the driver to give him a lift, lounging comfortably as the cart whirred past his sprinting bandmates.

  “See you at the gate,” he called out, waving cheekily.

  Breathless and on the verge of collapse, Mamoru, Takao, and Nachi reached the gate just as final boarding was announced. Hideki arrived moments later, looking as relaxed as ever.

  “Told you we’d make it,” he said, breezing past them onto the plane.

  Once seated, Hideki reclined his chair and closed his eyes, the hum of the plane’s engines lulling him into a deep sleep.

  In his dream, he was seven years old again, the world bathed in the golden light of late spring. He found himself in a familiar meadow, the air filled with the sweet scent of blooming dandelions.

  The steady hum of the plane’s engines blurred into white noise, drowning out the sounds of the other passengers. Hideki wasn’t trying to sleep, but exhaustion crept up on him anyway, pulling him under like a slow tide.

  The moment he closed his eyes, the world shifted.

  He was seven years old again, back in a quiet meadow, the warm breeze carrying the faint scent of dandelions. The colors were softer, the air heavier—the kind of dream where everything feels real and distant all at once.

  Aki was there.

  She sat a few feet away, small fingers deftly weaving a dandelion necklace without hesitation, completely absorbed in her work. She had that hyper-focus, the kind where she forgot the rest of the world existed.

  Hideki, watching her, felt a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe. A need to understand what had her so focused.

  When she finally finished, Aki turned to him, expression unreadable for a second before she hesitated, cheeks flushing slightly.

  Then, without a word, she leaned forward and placed the dandelion necklace around his neck.

  It felt warm. Fragile. A little scratchy.

  Hideki blinked at her, processing.

  Aki quickly looked away, pretending to inspect the remaining dandelions, but he caught the way she fidgeted slightly, like she wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  He didn’t know how to react either.

  But something about it made his chest feel tight, so—as if to prove he could do it too—he immediately grabbed his own handful of dandelions and started clumsily weaving them together.

  It was harder than it looked. His fingers weren’t as precise as Aki’s, his movements more frustrated, impatient. The stems kept slipping, the petals bent the wrong way. He could feel Aki’s eyes on him, amused but silent.

  After what felt like forever, he finally finished. It wasn’t perfect, but it held together. It was enough.

  Without meeting her eyes, Hideki placed it around Aki’s neck.

  They matched now.

  Aki blinked, touching the necklace lightly. Then, just for a second, she smiled.

  Hideki wasn’t sure why, but something about that moment felt important.

  And then—

  The dream ended.

  The plane hit a small bout of turbulence, jolting him awake.

  For a few seconds, he stayed completely still, staring at the overhead compartment, his breathing slow and controlled. His body still felt half-stuck in the dream, like something had lingered too long in his chest.

  But instead of smiling, Hideki’s expression remained neutral.

  He didn’t wake up feeling warm, or comforted, or aching for childhood memories. Instead, he felt… off.Like his brain was trying to process something it didn’t quite have the right emotions for.

  A dandelion necklace. Aki’s flushed cheeks. The way she’d fidgeted when she gave it to him. The way he’d instinctively made one back.

  What was he supposed to do with that?

  Slowly, he exhaled through his nose, then turned his head toward the window.

  The sky stretched out endlessly beyond the glass, a pale blue expanse, the early morning sunlight cutting through the clouds.

  By the time the plane started descending, the dream was already being buried under everything else. Just another memory. Just another thing he wouldn’t talk about.

  The wheels of the plane touched down smoothly on the Helsinki-Vantaa Airport runway, the early August sun filtering through the thin layer of morning clouds. The air outside was cooler than Bergen, carrying the faint scent of pine and sea from the distant coastline.

  As the band moved through passport control, stretching off the stiffness from the flight, they were met by a group of assistants and industry personnel, waiting with polite smiles and clipboards.

  But it wasn’t them Hideki noticed first.

  It was Anna.

  She stood slightly to the side, wearing oversized sunglasses that didn’t quite hide her sharp gaze. She was perfectly poised, her arms crossed, lips curved in a knowing smirk.

  The moment their eyes met, it was instant. That same unspoken electricity, the kind that had always hummed between them.

  She tilted her head slightly, a silent mocking acknowledgment, as if to say, “So, you’re finally here.”

  Hideki exhaled through his nose, his expression remaining flat, unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. A flicker of amusement, of calculation.

  But there wasn’t time for her today.

  Without breaking stride, Hideki pulled out his phone, typing a quick message.

  Hideki: Kaisaniemi Park. Ravintola kagome restaurant 11:30 PM.

  Anna’s phone vibrated a second later. She didn’t check it immediately, but the subtle twitch of her lips told him she’d read it.

  Satisfied, Hideki looked away, falling in line behind the assistant manager Mimmi had assigned to them in Finland.

  Anna watched them go, her expression unreadable behind her dark lenses.

  The band was whisked from the airport straight to the rehearsal venue, a high-end studio space booked exclusively for them.

  Takao didn’t even pretend to be in a good mood—he was exhausted, pissed off, and already regretting agreeing to this leg of the tour.

  Mamoru, still wound up from the chaotic morning in Bergen, barely spoke, already checking his emails and schedules, deep in work mode.

  Nachi, ever the adaptable one, immediately made himself comfortable, stretching before plugging in his guitar. “We running the setlist once or twice?”

  “Once,” Hideki murmured, pulling out his in-ears. “If we don’t suck, we’re out of here early.”

  “Ambitious,” Takao muttered, but he didn’t argue.

  The practice was efficient, calculated, professional. Well of Fortune had long since perfected the art of making chaos look effortless, but behind it was a machine built on precision.

  By the time they wrapped, the sun was already setting, dipping below the Helsinki skyline.

  The dinner was held at one of the kind of place where the air itself reeked of money and corporate alliances.

  Mimmi was in full-blown networking mode, effortlessly weaving through conversations, dropping carefully curated compliments, securing sponsorships without breaking a sweat.

  Takao, seated slightly apart, pretended not to hear anything.

  But internally?

  He was disgusted.

  The way these people spoke in numbers instead of music. The way Mimmi laughed at their terrible jokes, how she sold Well of Fortune not as a band, but as a product to be exploited.

  Mamoru, for his part, was professional, measured, engaging when needed.

  Nachi? Absolutely devouring the food like this was his last meal.

  And Hideki?

  Bored.

  He leaned back in his chair, barely listening, fingers idly tapping against his thigh. Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone.

  ?? Hideki: Come to this place. Now.

  ?? Anna: What do I get out of it?

  ?? Hideki: Entertainment.

  ?? Anna: Tempting.

  ?? Hideki: Wear something scandalous.

  ?? Anna: Darling, I always do.

  Hideki smirked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

  Fifteen minutes later, the entire atmosphere of the restaurant shifted.

  Anna walked in.

  The moment she stepped through the doors, every conversation at the table faltered.

  Her outfit was exactly what Hideki had asked for—scandalous.

  A form-fitting black dress with a plunging neckline, impossibly high heels, red lipstick so sharp it could cut through glass. She exuded confidence, the kind that was intentional, lethal.

  Mimmi, mid-sentence with a Finnish sponsor, nearly choked on her wine.

  The entire table went rigid.

  The sponsors exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure of what was happening.

  Mamoru, seated across from Hideki, gave him a look so deadly it could kill.

  Takao, biting the inside of his cheek, was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

  Nachi, completely unfazed, continued eating it when he looked up and spotted her begun to droll.

  Anna, to her credit, only realized the setting after she had already walked in.

  Her confidence faltered—for just a second.

  This wasn’t just a dinner. This was an industry dinner.

  And she had walked in dressed like someone’s worst PR nightmare.

  To her credit, she recovered quickly, offering a flawless, polite smile.

  “I didn’t realize this was such a formal occasion,” she said smoothly. “Apologies, I won’t intrude.”

  Before anyone could react, she turned on her heel and walked right back out.

  Mimmi set down her wine glass.

  Then, very slowly, she turned to Hideki.

  “You and I,” she said, voice deceptively sweet, “need to have a word. Alone.”

  She stood up from the table, straightening her blazer. Hideki followed her without protest, his smirk never fading.

  The second they were out of earshot, Mimmi spun on her heel, furious.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Hideki, completely unbothered, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Entertainment.”

  Mimmi exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just spent an hour securing sponsorships for this tour. And you—” She gestured wildly toward the restaurant. “You bring in a half-naked Anna Hoshikaze like we’re at a goddamn scandal press conference?”

  “She wasn’t half-naked,” Hideki mused. “But maybe next time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Mimmi genuinely looked like she wanted to strangle him.

  “Do you even understand what I’m trying to do here?” she hissed. “We’re building longevity, credibility—”

  “Longevity is boring,” Hideki interrupted.

  Mimmi closed her eyes for a second, muttering something in Finnish.

  Then, sighing, she pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him. “You owe me.”

  Hideki raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “For fixing this,” she snapped. “For keeping your impulsive, self-sabotaging ass from tanking the entire brand.”

  Hideki, still leaning lazily against the wall, tilted his head.

  Then he grinned.

  “Mimmi,” he said smoothly. “I am the brand.”

  She groaned. “I hate you.”

  “I know.”

  Without another word, Mimmi spun on her heel and walked back toward the restaurant.

  Hideki, watching her go, let out a quiet chuckle, pulling out his phone.

  Hideki: Meet me later. The hotel Scandia marina

  Anna: You’re infuriating.

  Hideki: You love it.

  Anna left him on read.

  Hideki grinned.

  Helsinki was already looking very, very interesting.

  ?? Scandic Grand Marina – Midnight Invitation

  The summer air in Helsinki was mild but crisp, carrying the faint scent of the Baltic Sea. The sun had only fully set an hour ago, leaving behind a deep twilight glow that still lingered on the horizon. The harbor was quiet, the distant sound of water lapping against the docks mixing with the occasional hum of passing cars.

  Anna stepped out of the taxi, adjusting the strap of her bag as she took in the sight of the Scandic Grand Marina.

  The historic red-brick building stood solid against the night, its arched windows reflecting the city lights. It wasn’t ostentatious like the five-star hotels she was used to—but it had a kind of quiet, expensive charm. The kind that suited Hideki.

  She already knew which floor. Seventh. Room 713.

  She didn’t ask why he had invited her.

  She already knew.

  Inside, the lobby was calm, a few late-night travelers lingering near the bar, sipping cocktails, their conversations low and unhurried. The scent of lemon-scented polish and clean linen filled the air as she walked past them, heading straight for the elevator bank.

  She didn’t need to check the room number. She already had the text.

  She pressed the button for the seventh floor.

  The door wasn’t locked. Typical.

  She stepped inside, pushing it open just enough to slip through. The suite was quiet, the only light coming from the open floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Helsinki harbor.

  The room itself was modern but understated. A king-sized bed, crisp white sheets, a sleek black couch near the window, and a half-open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. The curtains swayed slightly from the breeze rolling in through the window.

  And Hideki?

  He was already there.

  Sitting at the edge of the bed, one leg bent, the other resting on the floor, leaning slightly forward as he toyed with a cigarette between his fingers. He didn’t look up immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, rolling the unlit cigarette between his thumb and index finger.

  Then, finally—his gaze flicked up to her.

  “You’re late.”

  Anna smirked, setting her bag down on the armrest of the couch.

  “You should be grateful I came at all.”

  He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. But instead of responding, he reached into his jacket pocket.

  Something small. Velvet.

  A jewelry box.

  He flicked it open effortlessly, revealing a diamond necklace nestled against the black lining. The light from the city outside caught against the facets, making it sparkle.

  For the first time, Anna hesitated.

  “…When did you buy this?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

  “Norway.” Hideki’s tone was careless, casual—like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t been carrying it in his pocket for days, making sure Nachi never saw it.

  He stood up, closing the small distance between them, lifting the necklace slightly between his fingers.

  “Turn around.”

  Anna did. Without thinking.

  The cool brush of metal against her collarbone made her shiver slightly, but it wasn’t cold. It was just unexpected.

  Hideki’s fingers were light, careful, as he clasped it at the back of her neck. He didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he leaned in—close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin.

  And then, in a voice low, smooth, deliberate, he murmured:

  “I knew it would look good on you.”

  Anna barely had time to process the warmth curling in her chest before she turned sharply, her hands pressing against Hideki’s chest as she pushed him back onto the bed.

  He barely resisted—letting her.

  His smirk was lazy, knowing, his arms falling back against the mattress like he had already won.

  “Is this how you thank someone for a gift?” he murmured, voice edged with amusement.

  Anna leaned down, her lips grazing his—then, without warning, she bit down on his lower lip, just enough to sting.

  Hideki let out a quiet hum of amusement, his hand sliding against the curve of her waist.

  And then, in a single motion, he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him.

  His lips ghosted along her jaw, behind her ear, down her throat.

  Anna exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt before pushing it off completely.

  She loved this.

  She loved the way he made her feel like she was the only woman alive.

  Later, when the heat of the night had faded and the room had settled into soft silence, Anna lay half-draped across Hideki’s bare chest, fingers absently tracing the outline of his collarbone.

  She felt… good.

  No, more than good. She felt like she had won.

  Maybe—just maybe—she didn’t need revenge anymore.

  Maybe she could just… have him.

  Her mind wandered—a life together, a marriage, a home, a child. A small, delicate thing with dark hair, wide eyes, and a soft heart. A child that looked like the old her.

  For the first time in years, she felt happy.

  And then, in an instant, the thought shattered.

  Her fingers stilled against Hideki’s skin.

  No.

  Not yet.

  Not before Nachi paid for what he did.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing closer to Hideki as if that could erase the thought.

  But when she opened them again—he was already moving.

  Sitting up, pulling on his black jeans, fastening his belt, reaching for his shirt.

  Already walking away.

  “Leaving already?” she murmured, voice still lazy with exhaustion.

  Hideki, halfway to the door, glanced back at her, expression unreadable—but amused.

  “Can’t stay. Got a concert tomorrow.”

  Anna watched him walk out, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Her fingers curled against the sheets, her breath coming slow, controlled.

  And for the first time that night, the happiness started to rot.

  The next morning, the band was already at the venue before the city had fully woken up.

  Helsinki Music Centre loomed before them—sleek, modern, and pristine. Hideki didn’t say a word about the night before.

  Mamoru, ever suspicious, watched him carefully. He had dissapared again last night off to somewhere . But Hideki gave nothing away.

  Takao was already annoyed, flipping through sponsorship contracts, muttering curses under his breath.

  Mimmi was in full business mode, controlling every aspect of the event, making sure nothing went wrong.

  Nachi? He was already warming up his drumset, humming to himself like nothing had happened.

  The first concert of the Finnish leg of the tour was happening the next night.

  A stadium packed with people.

  The kind of performance that would set the tone for the entire leg of the tour.

  Hideki, sitting at the edge of the stage, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck.

  When his fingers touched his guitar, the world narrowed to a single point.

  Everything else—the diamonds, the whispers, the fleeting warmth of last night—disappeared.

  The Stage Was Calling.

  And Hideki was ready to answer.

  Hideki stood center stage, his silhouette cut against the blinding glow. His voice poured through the speakers, smooth, effortless, wrapping the audience in the illusion of a perfect show.

  The Helsinki concert was over. The adrenaline had barely faded, the echoes of the crowd still ringing in their ears as Well of Fortune boarded the high-speed train heading north to Tampere.

  The train whirred smoothly along the tracks, the gentle vibrations barely noticeable beneath them. The business-class cabin was dimly lit, hushed conversations from other late-night travelers filling the air.

  Mamoru sat next to Hideki, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Hideki hadn’t spoken much since they left the venue—his fingers were tapping idly against the armrest, his gaze locked onto his phone screen.

  Mamoru leaned in slightly, voice low.

  “You need sleep.”

  Hideki didn’t respond.

  Mamoru sighed, pushing forward. “Your levels are dropping again.” His voice was quiet but firm.

  Hideki’s fingers stilled against his phone, but he still didn’t look away from the screen. Mamoru could see the faint glow reflected in his pupils—the unmistakable blue-tinted light of a text message.

  Mamoru narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you texting this late?”

  Hideki finally sighed through his nose and turned the phone slightly, just enough for Mamoru to catch a glimpse of the name at the top of the screen.

  Anna.

  And beneath it—a single message.

  ?? Yano. See you in Tokyo.

  Mamoru’s frown deepened. “She left?”

  Hideki exhaled, tipping his head back against the seat. “Guess so.”

  It wasn’t disappointment. Not exactly.

  It was more like… mild irritation.

  Like a game piece had been removed from the board before he was finished playing.

  His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment—as if debating a response.

  But in the end, he just locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

  Beside him, Mamoru shook his head, rubbing his temples. “Don’t waste your energy thinking about her. You need rest.”

  Hideki didn’t reply. He just turned toward the window, watching the blur of darkened landscapes flash past.

  The train was silent for a moment—until a voice piped up from behind them.

  Nachi, leaning forward from his seat, holding out a box.

  “You want Pocky?”

  Hideki blinked, turning just enough to glance at the chocolate-covered sticks.

  For a second, he looked at Nachi. Then at the Pocky.

  Then back at Nachi.

  Then, slowly, he reached out, took a stick, and bit into it without a word.

  Nachi grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

  Mamoru, exhausted, groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  The train continued gliding toward Tampere, disappearing into the quiet Finnish night.

  Anna.

  She hadn’t said it outright, but he saw it in the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. The way she had looked at him before he had left ghe hotel last nights —too calm, too resigned.

  She was slipping away.

  And he?

  He was letting her.

  The moment Well of Fortune stepped off the plane, the heat hit them like a wall.

  Thick, humid, unrelenting—the kind of Tokyo summer heat that felt like it could drown you in sweat before you even reached baggage claim.

  Mamoru exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his carry-on. “We’re home. Finally.”

  Takao grunted in response, already loosening his collar. “I forgot how bad the summers are here.”

  “Maybe we should just head back to Scandinavia,” Nachi joked, wiping his forehead dramatically. “Finland had the right idea with all those saunas. At least the heat there is voluntary.”

  Hideki was too tired to laugh.

  His bones ached from exhaustion, his temples still thrumming from the adrenaline crash of the tour. Home or not, Tokyo felt suffocating after months on the road. He barely even registered the crowd, the murmurs of travelers, the occasional stolen glances from fans who had spotted them.

  And then—he saw her.

  Anna.

  She stood just past security, her blonde curls now cut shoulder-length, slightly damp from the humidity. She had always been doll-like, but now—something was different.

  Her skin looked pale, her eyes dull and swollen, like she’d been crying.

  But the moment she saw him, she smiled.

  It wasn’t one of her usual smirks, sharp and teasing.

  It was a tired smile.

  “Welcome home, Yano.”

  Hideki slowed his steps. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away.

  Before he could, Anna beamed, brightening in an instant—almost like she had flicked a switch.

  “I think we should throw a welcome home party,” she announced, clasping her hands together.

  Mamoru gave her a skeptical look. “A party? Right now?”

  “Obviously not now,” Anna rolled her eyes. “But soon. To celebrate.” She tilted her head, gaze locked onto Hideki. “What do you think?”

  He was tired. So tired.

  But she was watching him carefully.

  And for some reason… he agreed.

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Anna’s smile widened.

  And as Well of Fortune made their way toward the exit, too exhausted to think twice about it…

  Hideki had no idea.

  Anna was done playing fair.

  She was playing to win now.

  The penthouse in Roppongi Hills was already buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the lingering scent of expensive alcohol. The Welcome Home Party that Anna had orchestrated was in full swing, and despite Well of Fortune’s exhaustion, the night had taken on a life of its own.

  Hideki sat on the balcony, half-sheltered from the neon glow of the Tokyo skyline, swirling a glass of whiskey with too much ice. He wasn’t drunk, but he was relaxed, detached. He had been watching Anna flutter around the room like she owned it—because in her mind, she did.

  But Hideki’s attention shifted when the door opened again.

  And in walked Yuuki Carter.

  Unlike the music producers, models, and actors in attendance, Yuuki looked like he had just come from work.

  He had.

  A plain button-up, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, dark slacks. No tie. His hair was messy but not styled, like he had run his fingers through it a few too many times. He wasn’t here for Well of Fortune—he was here for Aiko.

  His eyes scanned the room until he found her.

  She was standing near the bar, laughing, head tilted back slightly, eyes shining—but not at him.

  At Takeichi.

  Yuuki’s jaw tensed.

  Takeichi was his usual self—charming, easygoing, effortlessly smooth. His hand rested on the bar, fingers tapping rhythmically as he spoke, and Aiko looked… comfortable.

  Yuuki hadn’t seen her look like that in a while.

  His grip on his phone tightened slightly.

  This wasn’t why he was here.

  He had been looped into this mess because of his part-time work with Well of Fortune’s medical tracking system. His mother, Dr. Cameron Carter, had been deeply involved in Takeichi Ishida’s health-tech developments, and when Takeichi had decoupled the app for Well of Fortune Productions—giving Mamoru full, independent control over Hideki’s vitals—Yuuki had been reluctantly roped in.

  But even with Mamoru’s obsessive tracking, there were still things that only a trained doctor could catch.

  As Yuuki stood there, debating whether to walk toward Aiko or pretend he hadn’t seen her, a smooth, knowing voice cut through his thoughts.

  “You look like you need a drink, Dr. Carter.”

  Yuuki turned sharply.

  Hideki was still lounging on the balcony, whiskey glass in hand, gaze unreadable.

  Yuuki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he walked past him. “Not here for you, Yano.”

  Hideki hummed, tilting his glass slightly. “No, you’re here for her.” His eyes flicked to Aiko and Takeichi.

  Yuuki’s shoulders tensed.

  Hideki smirked. Predictable.

  “Relax, Carter.” Hideki took a slow sip of whiskey before murmuring, “We all lose sometimes.”

  Yuuki exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t lose anything.”

  Hideki arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

  Yuuki’s fingers curled slightly. He was too tired for this. He had come for one reason—to check on Hideki’s stats in person, make sure the app wasn’t giving Mamoru a false sense of security. But now?

  Now he was wondering if he had made a mistake coming at all.

  Here’s the cleaned-up version with no major changes—just tightened flow, improved pacing, and polished prose for maximum impact.

  The penthouse in Roppongi Hills was in full swing, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and industry elites plotting their next moves.

  Somewhere across the room, Mimmi was still securing sponsorships, Hideki was pretending to care, and Mamoru was already thinking about how soon he could drag Hideki back home to rest.

  But Anna?

  Anna was here for one person only.

  She spotted him by the bar, sipping whiskey with that carefree charm that had always been his trademark.

  Natsuhiko Yamaoka.

  Anna adjusted the strap of her dress, fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone—just enough to draw the eye as she approached.

  “Nachi.”

  Nachi wasn’t really paying attention.

  He had just come back from the balcony, passing by Hideki and Yuuki, who were caught in some argument about Aiko and Takeichi.

  Something about how close she was getting to the CEO.

  Something about Yuuki looking vaguely pissed off.

  Something about Hideki grinning like he was enjoying every second of it.

  Nachi looked up, blinking before offering that classic, lazy grin.

  “Anna. Thought you’d be glued to Hideki all night.”

  She smiled, leaning against the bar beside him.

  “Can’t a girl enjoy a little variety?” Light, casual.

  She gestured toward the other side of the room, where Hideki was still lazily teasing Yuuki.

  “You know how he is.”

  Nachi smirked.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  That explained why she was here.

  But it didn’t explain why she was talking to him.

  Anna leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make it sound intimate.

  “Tell me something, Nachi.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Depends on what you’re asking.”

  “Do you ever wonder if things could’ve been different?”

  Nachi let out a slow, amused breath.

  “That’s a loaded question.”

  His eyes flickered with something unreadable.

  He had known Anna for years, but tonight, she was different.

  Softer. Sadder.

  Still, he played along.

  “And here I thought Hideki was the one engaged to you.”

  Anna smirked, setting her glass down between them.

  “That’s business.”

  Nachi’s grin widened, but there was an edge to it now.

  “Oh? And this?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  Instead, she reached out, fingers trailing lightly along his wrist, just above the bracelets he always wore.

  The touch was light, fleeting—but enough to make him pause.

  “This is something else.”

  For a second, Nachi didn’t move.

  He wasn’t stupid.

  He knew how Anna worked.

  But this?

  This felt different.

  A little too real.

  And then—she said it.

  “You ever think about kids?”

  Nachi blinked, thrown off by the shift.

  “What?”

  She smiled, almost to herself.

  “Having them.”

  He let out a small breath, shaking his head.

  “That’s a hell of a topic shift.”

  Anna tilted her head, watching his face.

  “You never wanted them?”

  Nachi shrugged.

  “Never thought about it seriously. Maybe. Someday.”

  Her fingers tapped lightly against the bar, eyes drifting away for a moment.

  “I used to.”

  Nachi’s expression shifted slightly.

  He didn’t like the way she said that.

  “What happened?”

  Anna exhaled through her nose, shaking her head as if shaking the thought away.

  “Nothing. Just reality.”

  Nachi watched her carefully.

  There was something off about her tonight.

  The way she was talking, the way she was touching him—

  It wasn’t just seduction.

  It was something else.

  Something desperate.

  And then—she gave him a chance.

  “I’ll stop.”

  Nachi frowned.

  “Stop what?”

  She turned to face him fully now, her lilac eyes locking onto his.

  “Everything.”

  The words were softer than a whisper.

  “If you just give me one reason to.”

  Nachi’s heart skipped a beat.

  For the first time all night, she looked vulnerable.

  Not the Anna he knew.

  Not the Anna who destroyed people.

  Not the Anna who planned her revenge for years.

  She looked like—

  Someone he used to know.

  Nachi swallowed, something in his chest tightening.

  And then—his gaze flickered to her eyes.

  For a second, he swore he had seen them before.

  That soft lilac color.

  Something rare. Impossible.

  Something he should remember.

  Anna’s breath hitched slightly, just watching him.

  Waiting.

  Nachi frowned.

  Something wasn’t clicking.

  And then—he blew it.

  He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

  “Damn, those are some nice contacts.”

  Anna froze.

  “They really suit you,” he continued, completely oblivious.

  “Never seen such good ones before.”

  Her throat tightened.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  “They’re not contacts,” she murmured.

  Nachi tilted his head.

  “Huh?”

  “They’re my eyes.”

  His smile faltered.

  And then—for the first time all night—the realization started creeping in.

  Anna saw it hit him.

  The small shift in his breathing.

  The way his fingers curled slightly against his glass.

  She knew this moment.

  She had imagined it.

  Planned for it.

  But now?

  Now, it wasn’t enough.

  “Let’s go somewhere quieter,” she interrupted smoothly, stepping back toward the hallway.

  “We should talk.”

  Nachi blinked.

  “You want to talk to me?”

  “Why not?” She tilted her head slightly.

  “Unless you’re afraid.”

  Nachi scoffed.

  “Afraid of what?”

  Her gaze flickered toward the helipad’s private elevator.

  “Come on. Unless you’re scared of heights.”

  Mitsuki.

  Nachi didn’t move.

  For the first time, the past felt real.

  The penthouse hummed with life—the distant pulse of music, the low murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from a tipsy executive trying to impress some model.

  Nachi had tuned most of it out.

  Until now.

  Until her.

  And just like that—

  He followed.

  Because he always did.

  Because he always would.

  The party moved around him, but Hideki’s mind was already elsewhere.

  From his spot near the balcony, he watched.

  Anna—leaning in close to Nachi.

  Anna—touching his wrist, speaking low.

  Anna—leading him away.

  For a brief moment, Hideki’s eyes narrowed.

  She was jumping the gun.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen tonight.

  But then—he shrugged.

  Whatever.

  She knew what she was doing.

  If she was accelerating the plan, it just meant one thing.

  Nachi had already fallen for it.

  He took another sip of his drink, turning back to Yuuki, who was still looking vaguely pissed off about Aiko laughing with Takeichi.

  “Relax, Doctor Boy. She’s just playing the game.”

  Yuuki glared.

  “You enjoy this way too much.”

  Hideki grinned.

  “I really do.”

  And then—he let it go.

  This was her move to play.

  All he had to do now—was wait.

  The music pulsed in waves beyond the thick walls, the bassline reverberating through the floor, blending with the low hum of conversation, laughter, and the quiet clinking of crystal against crystal. The penthouse was alive, glowing with the luxury of an untouchable world—where industry elites whispered deals over whiskey, where models draped themselves over producers who pretended they weren’t leering, where no moment existed without a contract ensuring it could never leave these walls.

  And here, away from all of it, in the dimly lit corridor near the private helipad, everything was about to end.

  Nachi leaned against the wall, his breath slow, his grin lazy as Anna pressed into him, her warmth pressing through the silk of his dress shirt. It felt so natural. The way her fingers trailed against his jaw, the way her lips brushed just beneath his ear, the way her voice—low, knowing—whispered things that made his pulse stutter.

  It felt familiar.

  It felt like the past.

  Like the ghost of a girl he once knew, one he had left behind in a life long buried.

  She knew exactly how to touch him, exactly how to move, how to lead him deeper into the moment without him ever realizing he was already trapped.

  “Do you love me, Nachi?” she murmured, fingers tracing the veins on his forearm.

  A soft huff of amusement. “Why are you asking that now?”

  She kissed his throat, slow, deliberate. “I just want to hear it.”

  His hands skimmed the curve of her waist, settling on the small of her back. “I used to.” A breath. “I think I never stopped.”

  Anna’s fingers tightened slightly in his hair.

  She almost hesitated.

  Almost.

  But this wasn’t the time for doubt.

  Her lips curved against his skin, and in a breath, her fingers slid lower, undoing the first button of his belt, teasing over fabric, the soft brush of fingertips against him sending a shiver up his spine. He exhaled sharply, head tilting back, fingers pressing into her hips.

  This was it.

  This was the moment.

  His body tensed—

  And she moved.

  A flick of her wrist.

  A single, merciless slice.

  A tearing pain unlike anything imaginable.

  At first, his body didn’t understand.

  A hot, white-hot flash of sensation, spreading too fast, too deep for his mind to catch up.

  Then, the blood.

  A flood of warmth gushing instantly down his legs, soaking through his pants, pooling at his feet.

  His hands flew down instinctively, desperately pressing against the wound—

  But there was nothing left to hold.

  For one, frozen second, Nachi couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t breathe.

  Couldn’t think.

  And then—

  Then the scream came.

  It tore from him, raw, broken, animalistic, something so deeply unnatural that the walls seemed to absorb the sound rather than carry it. His body lurched violently, his knees buckling, his vision swaying as his mind tried, frantically, hopelessly, to process what had just happened.

  It didn’t make sense.

  It couldn’t be real.

  And yet, the pain was all-consuming.

  Blinding.

  Unfathomable.

  He gasped, sharp, strangled, the breath catching violently in his throat as he staggered, hands still clutching uselessly, helplessly at the wound that wasn’t there anymore.

  The blood wouldn’t stop.

  It soaked through his fingers, dripping onto the pristine marble floor in thick, violent splatters.

  His body convulsed, legs trembling, a violent shudder ripping through him.

  His vision swam, darkening at the edges, his balance slipping.

  And Anna?

  Anna just watched.

  Her chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, her fingers still curled tightly around the knife, the blade gleaming, dripping.

  For a moment—just a moment—her lips parted.

  She had almost hesitated.

  Almost stopped.

  But that moment had passed.

  She crouched down beside him, pressing a hand to his blood-soaked shirt, watching as his pupils dilated, unfocused, body trembling violently from the rapid drop in blood pressure.

  Her fingers skimmed his cheek, slow, almost affectionate.

  “You should’ve remembered me sooner,” she murmured.

  Nachi’s lips parted, a soundless breath, his body beginning to sway.

  And then he collapsed.

  Takao had been in the hallway.

  Not far enough to be out of earshot.

  Not close enough to be involved.

  Just… standing there.

  Watching.

  The sound of Nachi’s shattered, strangled breathing had stopped him cold.

  Then the scent of copper.

  Then—Anna.

  She was stepping away from him. Calmly.

  Her hands were not shaking.

  Her breathing was not erratic.

  Her expression was perfectly composed, as if she hadn’t just destroyed a man.

  Takao should have said something.

  Should have moved.

  Should have stopped her.

  But his body refused.

  He had seen a lot of things in this industry.

  Contracts that were legally slavery.

  Careers built on blackmail and coercion.

  Labels that signed young idols just to chew them up and spit them out.

  But this?

  This was not business.

  This was personal.

  And it was terrifying.

  Takao wasn’t a coward.

  But he wasn’t stupid either.

  So when Anna’s eyes flicked to him—just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge his existence—

  Takao just stood there.

  And let her walk away.

  Because he knew what would happen next.

  And when Mimmi rounded the corner, when she saw the body, when she screamed for the medics—

  Takao still did nothing.

  The blood led the way.

  A thick, dark trail smeared across the marble floors, dripping in a slow, steady pattern toward the private hall.

  Mimmi was the first to notice.

  She stopped mid-conversation, mid-sentence, her glass still hovering near her lips.

  She blinked once.

  Twice.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Then, she followed it.

  The moment she rounded the corner, the moment she saw him—

  She froze.

  Natsuhiko Yamaoka was lying in a pool of his own blood, barely conscious, twitching violently, the rise and fall of his chest growing shallower by the second.

  Her mind snapped into action before her emotions could catch up.

  “Fuck—GET ME MEDICS.”

  Phones were already out, calls being made.

  Security moved fast.

  No leaks.

  No press.

  No police report.

  They had protocols for this.

  Everyone in this penthouse had signed a contract.

  No one saw.

  No one heard.

  No one would ever speak.

  By the time anyone outside this room learned what happened—

  It would already be rewritten.

  Hideki didn’t handle stress like normal people.

  He analyzed first.

  Cataloged information.

  Replayed things at high speed.

  That’s why, when he first heard the helicopter lift off, when he first saw the way security shifted, his immediate thought was not concern.

  It was calculation.

  Who was missing?

  Who was panicking?

  Who was trying too hard to look normal?

  That’s why, when his eyes finally landed on Anna, standing by the bar, still holding her untouched drink, still looking so damn calm—

  He knew.

  The glass in his hand stopped halfway to his lips.

  The penthouse still moved around him.

  Voices, music, conversations—it all continued.

  But his brain had already split the world into two parts.

  Before.

  And after.

  Anna lifted her gaze.

  Met his.

  And smiled.

  Something inside him shifted—like the wrong note in a song, like a string pulled too tight.

  This wasn’t part of the plan.

  He had let Anna play her game because he thought he knew how it would end.

  But this?

  This was off-script.

  His pulse thundered against his ribs.

  He wasn’t angry.

  Not yet.

  Because anger wasn’t immediate for him.

  It was delayed. Processed later, after the facts were in order.

  Right now, he needed data.

  His brain spun wildly, backtracking, analyzing, replaying.

  Nachi had left the party.

  Anna had followed.

  Takao had been missing.

  Now Nachi was gone.

  Fact.

  Fact.

  Fact.

  His fingers twitched, the urge to check his watch immediate, obsessive.

  His brain desperately tried to find a pattern—

  Make sense of the timeline.

  And then—

  His stomach dropped.

  Because his mind was blank.

  Because he couldn’t place the exact moment Nachi was gone.

  He had been watching Yuuki.

  Teasing him about Aiko.

  Drinking his stupid drink.

  Looking the wrong way.

  His fingers tightened around his glass.

  Everything was wrong.

  The penthouse was too loud.

  The lights were too bright.

  The air was too thick.

  His own heartbeat was too fast.

  And then Yuuki touched his shoulder.

  That was the final sensory overload.

  He jerked away like the contact had burned him.

  Yuuki frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  It wasn’t a conscious answer.

  It just fell out.

  Yuuki blinked. “What?”

  Hideki’s breath came out sharp, thin, too controlled.

  He wasn’t okay.

  Because Nachi was in a helicopter.

  Because Anna had just smiled at him like she had won something.

  Because he had been stupid enough to let it happen.

  His body felt wrong.

  His skin felt too tight.

  He wanted to leave.

  Right now.

  But he couldn’t.

  Because Mamoru was still here.

  Because Mimmi would be coming for answers.

  Because if he moved too fast, if he lost control here—

  Then he would be next.

  His fingers pressed into his palm, nails digging in hard enough to sting.

  Force focus.

  Stop spiraling.

  Breathe.

  “Hideki, what the fuck is wrong?” Yuuki’s voice was lower now. More urgent.

  Hideki exhaled slowly.

  And just like that—he smoothed over.

  “Nothing.”

  His voice was perfectly calm.

  Yuuki’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”

  But Hideki was already turning away.

  He had what he needed.

  Anna was playing a new game.

  Nachi was bleeding out in a hospital.

  And now, Hideki had to figure out if he was going to clean this up—

  Or let it burn.

  The private helipad was prepped in under three minutes.

  The emergency medical team—trained for high-profile, high-secrecy extractions—had already stabilized his vitals as best they could.

  But his body was losing too much.

  They didn’t need words.

  Mimmi’s stare was enough.

  This was contained.

  No press. No police. No story.

  He was loaded onto the helicopter, barely conscious, fingers still twitching weakly.

  As the doors locked, the aircraft lifted from the rooftop, the wind from the blades scattering the pool of blood left behind.

  The moment he was gone—

  The cleaners moved in.

  Within ten minutes, there would be no evidence left.

  From across the penthouse, Hideki watched it all unfold.

  The sudden shift in energy.

  The urgent way security moved.

  The way Mimmi’s normally composed expression had shattered.

  His fingers tightened around his glass.

  He turned his head, gaze scanning the room—

  And then he saw her.

  Anna.

  Standing near the bar, expression perfectly calm.

  Her eyes lifted.

  Met his.

  And then—

  She smiled.

  His lips parted, but before he could speak, before he could even react—

  The sound of the helicopter blades drowned everything else out.