VOLUME #4 - EPISODE 3
[CONTENT WARNING: MA17+]
[NARRATOR: Some people perform for strangers because strangers are easier than family. Some people collect followers because numbers feel safer than a single person's love. And some people become idols hoping that if they shine bright enough, maybe—just maybe—the one person who matters will finally look at them. Meet Owari Shi—social media sensation, million-follower idol, and the person whose brother hates her so completely that no amount of fame will ever make her worthy in his eyes. Today, she transfers to Jeremy High. Today, Riyura meets someone whose performance makes his own look amateur. Today, desperation wears a smile so perfect it's deep. Welcome to the stage where validation dies but the show continues anyway.]
PART ONE: THE PERSON WHO SMILED TOO PERFECTLY
Friday. First week of senior year almost complete. Riyura walked through Jeremy High's gates still thinking about Pan's exhausted eyes, about Joyū's dead stare, about people drowning while performing survival.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I visited Pan's bakery again yesterday. Bought bread. Left a positive review online. He didn't acknowledge me. Just kept working. Kept baking. Kept existing in that space between giving up and holding on. And Joyū—I tried talking to him three more times. He smiled professionally and walked away every time. I'm failing. Again. Just like I failed to save Yakamira until it was too late. Some things never change.]
The morning assembly featured another transfer student announcement. Principal Jeremy looked particularly tired—the corruption network investigation was ongoing behind the scenes, the school's reputation was kind of damaged, and new students kept arriving because apparently Jeremy High's chaos was now nationally famous.
"Please welcome our final transfer student for this semester," Principal Jeremy announced with resigned politeness. "Owari Shi. Please make her feel welcome."
A student walked onto the stage and Riyura immediately felt something was wrong. Not obviously wrong. Subtly, perfectly wrong.
"Hello everyone!" Her voice was bright, cheerful. "I'm Owari Shi! I'm so excited to be here at Jeremy High! I've heard so many wonderful things about this school and I can't wait to make friends with all of you! Please take care!"
She bowed. Smiled with warmth. And her eyes—her eyes were desperate. Absolutely, completely, devastatingly desperate.
Not dead like Joyū's. Not exhausted like Pan's. Desperate. Like someone drowning who'd learned to make drowning look graceful. Like someone screaming while smiling. Like someone performing joy so perfectly that nobody would notice she was dying inside.
The assembly ended. Students immediately swarmed Owari—some recognized her from social media. She handled them all perfectly. Remembered names instantly. Laughed at jokes. Took selfies with fans. Performed accessibility while maintaining fans.
"That's Owari Shi," Miyaka whispered to Riyura. "She's famous. Like, actually famous. Over a million followers online. Does idol content, singing videos, lifestyle posts. Why would someone like that transfer to Jeremy High?"
"Same reason anyone transfers here," Riyura replied, watching Owari's desperate eyes behind her perfect smile. "Running from something. Or toward something. Or both."
PART TWO: THE LUNCH WHERE MASKS FRACTURED
Lunchtime. Riyura found Owari surrounded by admirers in the cafeteria, holding court like royalty while her desperate eyes scanned the crowd constantly. Searching. Looking for someone who wasn't there.
He approached during a brief gap in her attention. "Mind if I sit?"
Owari's smile brightened impossibly further. "Of course! Riyura Shiko, right? I've heard about you! The student who exposed corruption! That's so brave! Please, sit!"
Too enthusiastic. Too performed. Riyura sat. "You're good at this." "At what?" Still smiling.
"Performing. Making people feel welcomed. Making crowds feel like individuals." He gestured at the students still orbiting nearby. "It's impressive. Also exhausting to watch."
Owari's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "I don't know what you mean. I just like meeting people."
"You like collecting people," Riyura corrected gently. "There's a difference. One is connection. One is accumulation. You're doing the second while performing the first."
Her smile vanished entirely. "Who are you to analyze me? We just met."
"Someone who recognizes performance when he sees it," Riyura replied. "I used to do the same thing. Aggressive cheerfulness. Crooked bow tie. Comedy as armor. Performed joy so hard that nobody noticed I was drowning. You're doing that but with idol aesthetics instead of class clown energy."
Owari stood abruptly. "I need to go. Nice meeting you." "Wait—" Riyura started. But she was already leaving, still smiling for the crowd, still taking selfies as she walked, still performing even while clearly distressed.
Jimiko appeared beside Riyura. "That went well." "I'm developing a pattern," Riyura said tiredly. "Meet broken person. Notice they're broken. Try to help. Get rejected. Repeat."
"Maybe stop trying to help," Jimiko suggested. "Maybe just exist near them. Let them come to you when ready." "What if they're never ready? What if they drown while I'm waiting?"
"Then they drown," Jimiko said with brutal honesty. "And it's tragic but not your fault. You can't save everyone, Riyura. You couldn't save Yakamira. Can't save Joyū or Pan or Owari. Can only offer presence and hope they accept it before it's too late."
Riyura knew he was right. Hated that he was right. But knew nonetheless.
PART THREE: THE ROOFTOP WHERE TRUTH LIVED
After school. Riyura was heading home when he heard it—not crying exactly, more like desperate muttering. Coming from the rooftop.
He climbed the stairs quietly. Pushed open the door. Found Owari sitting against the fence, phone in hand, scrolling through social media with increasingly frantic movements.
"Please notice," she whispered to her screen. "Please notice. Please just once. Look at me. See me. Acknowledge me. Please."
She hadn't noticed Riyura yet. Was too focused on her phone, on scrolling through her own posts, through comments, through numbers that kept climbing while meaning nothing.
"1.2 million followers," Owari said to herself, voice breaking. "1.2 million people who 'like' me. Who watch my videos. Who comment on my posts. And he still—he still won't even look at me. Still won't acknowledge I exist. Still hates me for being myself."
She threw her phone, watched it clatter across concrete. "What's the point? What's the point of any of this? The performances, the videos, the desperate attempts to be perfect enough that maybe—maybe—he'll finally see me as family?"
"Who?" Riyura asked, stepping forward. Owari spun, saw him, tried to reconstruct her smile. Failed. "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough," Riyura said. "Who are you trying to reach? Who won't notice you?"
"Nobody. It's nothing. I was just— "Don't," Riyura interrupted gently. "Don't perform for me. I've seen enough performance. Just—just be honest. Please."
Something in Owari cracked. "My brother. Heitā. My biological brother. The only family I have who actually shares blood with me. And he hates me. Has hated me since our parents adopted me when I was six. Hates that I exist. That I share his last name. That I dare to call myself his sister."
She retrieved her phone with shaking hands. "I thought—I thought if I became successful. If I became famous. If I had millions of people who loved me—then maybe he'd see me. Maybe he'd be proud. Maybe he'd finally accept me as real family instead of the adopted charity case who ruined his life."
She showed Riyura her social media—1.2 million followers, videos with millions of views, comment sections full of adoration. "But he doesn't care. Doesn't watch my content. Doesn't acknowledge my existence. I could have a billion followers and he still—he'd still look through me like I'm invisible."
"Why do you want his validation?" Riyura asked carefully. "If he's treated you terribly, why does his opinion matter?"
"Because," Owari's voice broke completely, "because he's the only real family I have. Our parents—the ones who adopted me—they're kind but distant. They took me in because it looked good, because they wanted to seem charitable, not because they actually wanted a daughter. Heitā is my only sibling. The only person who could make me feel like I actually belong somewhere."
She sat back against the fence, tears streaming freely now. "I became an idol thinking success would make me worthy. Thinking if I was special enough, talented enough, loved by enough people—then maybe one person would love me for real. But it doesn't work like that. You can't earn love. Can't perform your way into someone's heart. Can't collect enough followers to equal one genuine family connection."
"You're right," Riyura said, sitting beside her. "You can't. I tried the same thing. Tried being cheerful enough that my father would love me. He hated me anyway. Since childhood. Nothing I did made me worthy in his eyes. He literally tried to kill me."
"Then what do we do?" Owari asked desperately. "How do we survive when the people who should love us don't? When we're fundamentally unwanted by the ones we need most?"
"We build new family," Riyura replied. "We find people who choose us instead of people who are obligated to. We accept that blood doesn't mean love and love doesn't require blood. We—" He paused. "We stop performing for people who won't see us anyway and start existing honestly for people who will."
"I don't know how to exist honestly," Owari admitted. "I've been performing for so long. Since I was six and realized I needed to be perfect for my adoptive parents to keep me. Since I was eight and realized I needed to be successful for Heitā to maybe notice me. I don't remember what genuine feels like anymore."
"Then learn," Riyura said. "With people who won't judge you. Who understand performance because they've done it too. Who—" His phone buzzed. Text from Miyaka: "Emergency. Joyū collapsed in the hallway. Ambulance called. Get here now."
Riyura stood immediately. "I have to go. Friend emergency. But Owari—" He looked at her seriously. "You don't have to earn love through performance. You just have to find people who see you without requiring perfection. Those people exist. I promise."
He ran, leaving Owari alone on the rooftop with her tears and her phone and her million followers who loved a performance instead of a person.
PART FOUR: THE HOSPITAL WHERE MASKS FELL
Riyura arrived at the hospital to find his entire friend group in the waiting room. Joyū was being treated for exhaustion and malnutrition—hadn't been eating properly, hadn't been sleeping, had finally collapsed from accumulated neglect.
"He's stable," the doctor said. "But he needs rest. Real rest. And probably psychiatric evaluation. His physical symptoms suggest severe depression and possible self-harm."
They were allowed to visit briefly. Joyū lay in the hospital bed looking somehow more alive than usual—maybe because he was too exhausted to maintain his mask, maybe because hospital lighting revealed what performance usually hid.
"You came," Joyū said weakly when he saw them. "Of course we came," Riyura replied. "You're our friend. Even if you keep trying to convince yourself you're not."
"I'm not your friend," Joyū said. "We barely know each other. You shouldn't waste time on someone like me." "Too late," Subarashī declared. "We've decided you're our friend. You don't get input. That's how friendship works here. We claim you and you're stuck with us."
"I'm broken," Joyū whispered. "I'm dying inside. I read death threats like morning affirmations. I can't—I can't let you close. Can't let anyone close. Everyone I care about sees what I really am and leaves."
"Then they were stupid," Miyaka said firmly. "Because what you really are is talented and exhausted and traumatized by harassment that would break anyone. That's not shameful. That's just honest."
Joyū's professional mask cracked completely. He started crying—real tears, real emotion, real vulnerability finally breaking through years of performance.
"I don't know how to accept help," he admitted through tears. "Don't know how to believe people care. Don't know how to exist without performing survival."
"Then learn with us," Riyura said. "We're all learning. We're all broken. We're all performing various versions of 'I'm fine' while drowning. You're not alone in that. You're just alone in thinking you have to stay alone."
The hospital visit ended with Joyū agreeing to psychiatric evaluation, to actual rest, to considering that maybe—maybe—accepting help was possible.
It was small progress. Fragile progress. But progress nonetheless.
EPILOGUE: THE BROTHER WHO HATED
Elsewhere. A different part of Tokyo. Heitā Shi sat in his expensive apartment, scrolling through his sister's social media with an expression of pure disgust.
"1.2 million idiots who don't know her," he muttered. "Don't know she's fake. Don't know she's performing. Don't know she's the adopted charity case who destroyed my family's peace."
His phone rang. Their adoptive mother. "Heitā, your sister transferred to Jeremy High. The same school as you. Please try to be kind. Try to include her. She's trying so hard—"
"She's pathetic," Heitā interrupted. "Desperate for attention. Desperate for validation. Desperate for me to love her when love isn't earned through follower counts and performance."
"She's your sister—"
"She's NOT my sister," Heitā said coldly. "She's the fool our parents adopted because it made them look charitable. She shares our name but not our blood. She exists in my space but not in my family. And no amount of idol performances will change that."
He hung up. Looked at Owari's smiling face on his screen. And felt nothing but resentment for the person who'd invaded his life and refused to understand she wasn't wanted.
Monday would be interesting. Seeing her at school. Watching her perform. Watching her desperately try to earn his love. He'd make sure she understood: no amount of trying would ever be enough.
Some people were simply unwanted. And Owari needed to accept that.
[NARRATOR: And so the idol's story crashes into Riyura's world. Owari Shi—desperate for love, performing for millions, dying inside while smiling. Her brother Heitā—cold, resentful, convinced that adoption destroyed his family. Joyū finally accepting help after collapsing. Pan still baking alone. And Riyura—trying to help everyone while still broken himself, learning that healing others doesn't erase your own pain. Next episode: Jisatsu makes his first real move. The shadows speak. And everyone discovers that the antagonist isn't just dangerous—he's desperate. The battle accelerates. Stay with us.]
TO BE CONTINUED...