CHAPTER 25
The recording was supposed to take three days at most, but Izumi's interference had stretched it into a grueling four-day marathon.
The first three days were dedicated to group recording. When Saturday finally arrived, it was time for the solo takes. Even though each member had different solo time slots, no one chose to leave. They stayed—waiting, watching—until the very last recording was finished. By then, evening had already settled in.
"Congratulations!" Mio declared. "We finally have enough footage for the MV. All that's left now is the editing."
"How long does that usually take?" Kiyomi asked, his voice carrying quiet curiosity beneath the exhaustion clinging to his body like a second skin.
"With the earlier complications gone, it should take about five… maybe seven days," Mio replied.
"The Lord of Light needed seven days to create the oceans of stars…" Renge proclaimed, rising as if addressing a grand audience. "On the seventh, the world shall witness my darkness!"
Everyone clapped—not out of awe, but out of pure amusement. Renge broke into exaggerated laughter, loud and unrestrained, the sound ringing through the room like a cracked bell.
When the noise settled, Mio continued.
"Starting next week, the rehearsal will include some adjustments…"
"For the live performance on FBC TV?" Kiyomi asked. Even after everything, the thought of appearing on national television still dropped heavily into his stomach.
"Yes, Sakura-chan," Mio confirmed. "A TV studio is smaller than an open stage, so the adjustment is mostly about positioning. We need to make sure you don't end up colliding like runaway pinballs."
Renge raised his hand.
"Yes, Renge-chan?"
"When can we start selling goods?"
Mio paused, her gaze turning cold as she looked at him.
"Ahh… so your motivation is money," she said evenly. "That's an impure thought for an idol," though the edge in her voice made it hard to tell if she was joking.
"Let's just celebrate finishing the recording," Miyu cut in smoothly, stepping forward before the mood could sink further. His voice was light, polished—but it couldn't fully hide the fatigue underneath.
"You're right, Miyuko-chan!"
Glasses were raised—idols and staff alike. For a brief moment, the weight of the past four days lifted, replaced by a shared spark of relief.
"Bau Bau!"
Their voices rang out together, filling the space with energy that felt earned.
That evening, the Inferno Talent office was alive with laughter, chatter, and the quiet relief of finally making it through.
The next morning, Kiyomi slept a little too long, the exhaustion from the four-day recording finally catching up to him.
He was pulled awake by the persistent buzz of his phone vibrating against the wooden surface of his desk. Groaning softly, he reached for it, squinting against the pale wash of morning light spilling through the curtains.
(It's still 9…)
But the moment his eyes focused on the screen, everything changed.
(Takkun?)
He read the message once. Then again—slower this time, as if the meaning might shift. His heart reacted immediately, flipping and stumbling over itself in his chest before settling into a rapid, uneven rhythm.
(It's a date! I'm sure of it! There's no other reason for this!)
Kiyomi shot out of bed and headed straight for the shower. What followed was not just routine—it was preparation. Careful. Intentional. He spent nearly an hour getting ready, adjusting every detail until it felt right. The "soft boy" look came together piece by piece, leaning into something gentle, approachable, quietly attractive.
Before leaving, he stood in front of the mirror, studying his reflection. His fingers lifted, fixing a stray strand of hair.
(Yes. I'm cute.)
They met at the station.
The moment Kiyomi saw him, his steps faltered for half a second. Takumi stood there in a crisp white shirt, the clean lines of it sharpening his already athletic frame, making his shoulders look broader, his presence heavier.
"You look so hot, Takkun," Kiyomi said, the words slipping out before he could steady them.
(He's so handsome with those glasses on…)
"Thanks," Takumi replied evenly, though his gaze lingered just a second longer than usual. "You look cute too… Are you dressing up for someone?"
"No—no, I'm not!" Kiyomi blurted, his face heating instantly.
"Ah, okay…"
They boarded the train to the Central District. The steady clatter of the tracks filled the space between them, rhythmic and constant, like a quiet countdown neither of them acknowledged.
When they arrived, they took a taxi the rest of the way.
The newly opened Astra Mall rose ahead of them, a massive structure of glass and steel reflecting the midday sun. It stood tall and pristine, almost intimidating in its scale. To Kiyomi, this didn't feel like a casual outing.
They started at the food hall. It was already past noon, and the place was packed—a sea of people, lines curling in front of every stall like waiting serpents.
Takumi didn't hesitate. He moved from one vendor to another with quiet decisiveness, ordering small portions as if he had already decided they would taste everything the mall had to offer.
Kiyomi followed half a step behind, his hands constantly filled with whatever Takumi passed to him next. Fried, sweet, savory—it all blurred together. Every now and then, their fingers brushed when a tray changed hands. Each time, the contact lingered in Kiyomi's mind like a faint, persistent spark.
(Is this what people do on dates…?)
Takumi didn't say much. He just kept walking, his gaze occasionally sweeping across the crowd as if searching for something. He never explained what.
Kiyomi noticed—but said nothing.
Every pause felt deliberate, like Takumi was checking something off in his head.
(He's picking these places carefully…)
They drifted through the upper floors, where bright storefronts mirrored their reflections as they passed. Takumi slowed near the clothing sections, his eyes scanning racks and displays with a quiet, deliberate focus before moving on again.
Kiyomi pretended not to notice.
By the time they reached the cinema, the crowd had thinned, leaving the lobby feeling quieter—almost private.
"Tickets for two?" the clerk asked.
"Yes," Takumi replied, his tone steady. "Isn't there a discount for couples?"
(Co—co—couple?!)
Kiyomi's thoughts froze mid-process.
"Yes, only for the first Sunday of the couple's campaign this month," the clerk answered.
Without hesitation, Takumi reached out and took Kiyomi's hand, lacing their fingers together. He lifted their joined hands just enough for the clerk to see.
"Ah, I see. Tickets for a couple," the clerk said, already applying the discount.
Inside, the theater was dim, the air cool against their skin. They sat side by side, the armrest between them suddenly feeling too small to matter. At some point, their shoulders brushed. Neither of them pulled away.
(Does he think of us this way?)
Kiyomi kept his eyes on the screen, but the story never reached him. Every small movement from Takumi echoed louder than the film itself.
(There's no way… or is he hinting at something?)
When the lights came back on, a heavy, uncertain weight settled in his chest—left behind by the way Takumi had held his hand so easily.
They walked in silence for a while. The noise of the mall returned slowly, but neither of them spoke.
It wasn't until they reached the first floor, heading toward the exit, that he finally stopped walking.
Kiyomi stepped in front of Takumi, blocking his path.
"Takkun!"
Takumi blinked, tilting his head slightly. The air between them shifted, something tight and electric snapping into place. Even Takumi felt it—his heartbeat picking up without warning.
"About earlier…" Kiyomi began, his voice unsteady. "Do you—"
Before he could finish, a burst of loud, rhythmic music exploded through the atrium.
Both of them turned at the same time. So did everyone else nearby.
On a makeshift stage stood three girls in striking gothic outfits, black layered with sharp flashes of pink.
Takumi's expression changed instantly. The romantic tension vanished, replaced by something bright and immediate—pure excitement.
"Look! Idols!"
He grabbed Kiyomi's hand again—this time without hesitation, his grip firm and energized—and pulled him toward the growing crowd gathering around the guerrilla performance.
(Another misstep…) Kiyomi thought, his heart still struggling to slow after the aborted confession.
The idols on the makeshift stage were doing their best, though the lack of coordination was obvious. Their formations wavered, steps slightly out of sync—but the energy they carried was raw and undeniable.
(Their voices are actually great…) Kiyomi noted, caught off guard by the strength hidden beneath the unpolished performance.
When the first song ended, Kiyomi and Takumi clapped along with the crowd.
Standing there, watching them push through imperfections without hesitation, something settled into place in Kiyomi's mind.
(Cerb-3ros… we're actually really good.)
The thought came with quiet clarity.
(We're on a completely different level.)
The realization didn't linger long. Before the idols could begin their second song, mall security appeared. Staff moved in quickly, breaking up the small stage and shooing the girls away like strays. The idols scrambled, gathering their things and rushing toward the exit, while the staff bowed repeatedly to the surrounding shoppers.
The space emptied almost as quickly as it had formed.
"Being a guerrilla idol is brutal," Kiyomi said, watching the now-empty spot where they had stood. "They perform in public, hoping to catch attention… and get chased away the moment they do."
(We're lucky…) he added silently, thinking of the studio, the support, the structure behind them.
"Kiki!"
Takumi's voice cut through his thoughts—sharp, urgent.
Kiyomi turned.
"Yes, Takkun?"
"The truth is…" Takumi began, his expression suddenly serious.
Kiyomi's chest tightened again, his pulse spiking. The moment returned, heavier than before.
(The truth is? Is this finally it?)
"Help me buy swimsuits!"
Takumi clapped his hands together and bowed his head, the seriousness collapsing into a desperate plea.
(Eh?)
Takumi peeked up with one eye, watching for Kiyomi's reaction—more like a pleading puppy than anything else.
(So the 'date'… was just an excuse?)
The tension drained out of Kiyomi in a slow exhale. And then—he laughed. He couldn't stop it. The absurdity of it all broke through whatever expectations he had been building.
"It can't be helped then, Takkun," Kiyomi said, his tone light, amused.
"Thank you so much, Kiki!" Takumi's energy snapped right back, his face lighting up. "I'll repay you, I promise!"
"Just take me to the beach or something…"