Haru sat staring blankly into his bowl of cereal. He was supposed to be fueling up for the Third Round announcement, but his spoon had been hovering mid-air for three minutes.
"Earth to Haru," Ren said, waving a hand in front of Haru's face. "You've been staring at that cornflake like it's going to tell you the future."
Haru jolted, his spoon clattering against the ceramic. "Oh! Sorry, I was just... thinking."
Ren leaned in closer, his fox-like eyes narrowing with a playful glint. Beside him, Shiro was sipping a cup of black coffee, watching Haru over the rim of his mug with an uncharacteristically observant gaze.
Ryu next to Ren teased, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And you have this... look. It's a very specific kind of daze, Haru."
Haru murmured "..I'm just nervous about the next round. Aoki said it would be difficult."
"Aoki, huh?" Ren interjected, carrying a hint of a smirk. "Usually we call him 'Mentor' or 'Instructor' when we're in the studio. You're getting comfortable."
Ryu cackled, poking Haru's flaming red cheek. "He's in love! Our little bunny has finally fallen for the Ice Prince. Look at him, he's melting!"
"I'm not!" Haru squeaked, ducking his head to hide behind his cereal bowl. "He was just... being a good mentor. He showed me something... inspiring. That's all!"
Outwardly, Haru shook his head vigorously, his black hair flopping over his eyes. But inwardly, his mind betrayed him. He thought of the way Aoki's hands had felt and the way Aoki had looked at him—not as a trainee, but as Haru. It wasn't just admiration anymore. It was a terrifying, beautiful weight in his chest that made him want to run toward the dragon instead of away from him.
I really am in trouble, Haru thought, his heart doing a little somersault.
***
The atmosphere in the main auditorium was heavy with anticipation. The remaining trainees stood in neat rows, the digital board behind the stage dark and silent. When the lights dimmed, the mentors stepped onto the stage.
Haru's eyes instinctively sought out Aoki. The man was back in his professional attire—a tailored grey suit that made him look untouchable. His expression was once again the "Ice Prince," but as his gaze swept over the trainees, it paused on Haru for a fraction of a second. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Haru's breath hitched, and he quickly looked at his feet, his heart hammering.
"Congratulations on making it this far,"
"The Third Round is the Semi-Finals. We are moving away from covers and pre-written tracks. This round is titled: 'Homecoming.'"
A murmur rippled through the room.
"You will be divided into three groups of five," one of the mentors continued. "Your task is to co-write and perform a song that captures the essence of your roots. Where you came from, what shaped you, and what you left behind to be here. This is about your soul. If you can't show the audience who you truly are, you don't belong on our stage."
The screen flickered, displaying the group assignments. Haru found his name in Group A.
Group A: Haru, Shiro, Ren, Daiki, Kenta.
"Wait," Ren whispered, leaning over. "That's our entire 'Echoes of Me' team. They kept us together?"
"Because we have good chemistry," Daiki grinned, though he looked nervous. "But 'Homecoming'? I cant even think of an idea."
Haru felt a lump form in his throat. He thought of the quaint little cottage and his parents' gentle smiles. He thought of his childhood in the fields, and his dream being an idol watching Aoki on stage.
How could he put all of that into a song? It would be embarrassing...
The first practice session for Group A was unusually quiet. They sat in a circle on the floor of Studio 4, notebooks open but blank.
"My 'roots' aren't exactly pretty," Shiro said, breaking the silence. He was leaning against the mirror, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"And my home is just... loud," Ren laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Too many siblings, too little space. I ran away to the city to find my own space."
Haru looked at his teammates. He realized that for all their talent, they were all hiding parts of themselves.
"Maybe it doesn't have to be directly about our actual home from childhood." Haru said softly. "Home could be a sanctuary. Anywhere you can feel at peace."
He looked at Shiro. "And Shiro, maybe your roots are what made you so strong. That's a kind of beauty, too."
Before they could dive deeper, the door opened. Aoki stepped in, carrying a stack of music manuscript paper.
"I will be your primary supervisor for the songwriting process," Aoki said, his voice professional and cool.
He walked to the center of the circle, his presence commanding. He looked at each of them, but his gaze lingered on Haru. He saw the faint daze in Haru's eyes, the lingering glow from the night before, and he felt a surge of protective warmth that he had to fight to keep off his face.
Aoki warned them. "Most trainees will try to write something 'relatable' or 'commercial.' But the audience will see through that. To win this round, you have to be vulnerable. You have to show them the part of you that you're most afraid to lose."
He looked directly at Haru. "What is the first word that comes to mind when you think of home?"
Haru didn't even have to think. The memory of the dragon's flight and the cottage's hearth merged into one feeling.
"Peace," Haru whispered.
Aoki's expression softened, "Then start there. Write the melody of your peace."
As the others started to hum ideas and scribble lyrics, Haru found himself drifting again. He watched Aoki move across the room to help Kenta with a chord progression.
Ren nudged Haru's side, whispering, "You're doing it again. The 'daze.' "
Haru turned bright red and frantically started writing in his notebook. Peace, he wrote in large letters. And then, in a tiny script at the very bottom of the page where no one could see, he added: The sky.