Hojo Suzune's words, though spoken to the air, were aimed squarely at Fukada Fuyuna. The unspoken weight behind them was something only someone who had witnessed the whole story could truly grasp.
Long before the manager had ever entered the picture, Shiratori Seiya had been by Hojo Shione's side. Not just since her debut—he had been there before the spotlight ever touched her, back when she was just a girl with a dream and a voice that cracked when she was nervous.
He wasn't merely a manager or a supporter; he was the architect of her sound. He composed the melodies that haunted your heart. He wrote lyrics that felt like pages torn from your own secret diary. Song after song climbed the charts, each one a comet brighter than the last, and every single one of them he handed to her and her alone.
Suzune had overheard things she probably shouldn't have. The company, smelling profit like sharks scenting blood, had once tried to pressure Shione into making Seiya write for their other artists.
Just one song, they'd said. A duet. A side project. Think of the exposure.
They didn't understand. Seiya had looked them dead in the eye, his easygoing smile never faltering, and delivered an ultimatum so calmly that it froze the room solid.
"You can try to freeze Shione out if you want. But don't forget—her contract with you is short-term. A year and a half. After that, you won't get a single note from me. And surely… you don't think your little company is the only one in Tokyo, in Japan, in the entire world, do you?"
No one had expected it. This cheerful, affable young man who always seemed to be humming something under his breath—he had a core of absolute steel when it came to her. No one wanted to make an enemy of a composer who was practically a walking goldmine. Not every song was a guaranteed hit, but each release outperformed the last. The trajectory was undeniable. Shiratori Seiya was the goose laying platinum eggs, and he nested only in Hojo Shione's palm.
Which was why their separation felt so incomprehensible. When he stopped writing, when the music world held its breath and whispered about A-sensei's swan song, the skeptics had crawled out of the woodwork. The question hanging in the air then was the same one Hojo Suzune had just voiced, sharp and undeniable: Can Hojo Shione stay popular without A-sensei composing for her?
As her manager, Fukada Fuyuna had watched Shione grow by leaps and bounds over the past six months. She'd seen the sweat, the tears, the sheer stubborn willpower. And yet, even she couldn't entirely silence that small, nagging voice of doubt in the back of her mind. But she swallowed it down.
A-sensei wasn't the only composer in the world, after all. The company, acutely aware of Shione's soaring potential, would undoubtedly pour resources into finding the best songwriters. Her contract was nearing its end, and she still hadn't renewed. They were walking a tightrope—desperate to keep her, eager to milk the last drops of profit from A-sensei's two newest songs and the explosive publicity surrounding them. This concert was the grand result of that calculation.
Still, Fukada Fuyuna spoke only of Shione's future, of her flying higher and further. Shiratori Seiya's name never crossed her lips. And in Hojo Suzune's eyes, that omission was a sin of the highest order. It was as if all his sacrifices, all his sleepless nights, all his stubborn genius had been casually erased. She knew Fukada meant no real harm. The woman had probably just forgotten to mention him—or thought it inappropriate. But understanding that didn't soothe the thorn of irritation pricking Suzune's heart.
She had been a witness to everything. She knew that Seiya's efforts were not a single ounce less than her sister's. If anything, he had worked harder. You didn't need to see the daily grind—the way he managed her schedule, soothed her anxieties, fought her battles. You only needed to know one impossible fact: Shiratori Seiya had been tone-deaf. Completely, utterly tone-deaf.
And yet he had devoured music theory like a man starving, taught himself composition from scratch, and somehow, impossibly, poured out melodies so beautiful they made your chest ache. That alone told you everything.
Feeling the injustice of it all burning in her small chest, Hojo Suzune walked into the venue with a face as dark as a storm cloud. Fortunately, the lights were dimmed for rehearsal, cloaking her expression in shadow. She dismissed Fukada with a murmured assurance that she was fine, then slipped into a seat in the front row, right at the edge of the stage.
There, bathed in the half-glow of the work lights, stood Hojo Shione. Instruments swelled around her, a tide of sound supporting her voice as she launched into the climax of a song. The lyrics soared through the cavernous space, clear and radiant:
"Tomorrow, I will climb the cliff toward the dragon's feet…
And shout, 'Let's go! Let's set sail now!'"
The melody wrapped around Suzune like a silken thread, tugging at something deep inside her. Her lips moved, mouthing the words she knew by heart. Her soft fingers tapped unconsciously against the armrest. And in her eyes, there flickered a complicated light—admiration, yes, but laced with a sharp, green-edged jealousy.
He wrote this. For her. Every note, every word, chosen to make her shine like this.
When the last note faded and the rehearsal concluded, Hojo Shione bowed to the staff one by one, her gratitude genuine. Then she disappeared backstage, only to re-emerge minutes later in casual clothes—a simple blouse and jeans—and make her way directly toward her little sister. A gentle, welcoming smile curved her lips.
"Thank you for your hard work, Suzune. I'm so happy you came all this way alone to support me."
Suzune pouted, her expression a mixture of affection and lingering resentment. "Tomorrow, I won't be the only one supporting you. And honestly… you'll probably be a whole lot happier when you see Seiya, won't you?"
The words were out before she could stop them. She could already picture it: her sister standing on this magnificent stage, bathed in the adoration of thousands, with Seiya watching from somewhere in the crowd.
Must feel incredible. To be praised by everyone while he looks on. To know you've made it.
She wanted to add something sharp, something about how her sister's pride must be soaring. But she bit her tongue. Tomorrow was Shione's big day. Even Suzune wasn't cruel enough to start a war the night before the battle.
"Hehe, Seiya isn't nearly as important as my own precious sister. I love Suzune the most, you know."
Shione reached out and gently stroked Suzune's hair, her touch affectionate. But Suzune clicked her tongue in annoyance and swatted the hand away with a familiar protest. "I told you not to touch my head! I'm never going to grow taller if you keep doing that!"
A pause. Then, in a smaller voice: "You're done with rehearsals now, right? Can I go back to the hotel? I've been traveling for half the day and I'm exhausted. I want to rest."
Shione's elongated eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She looked at her sister deeply, as if peering straight through the flimsy excuse. "You say you want to rest… but what you really want is to go see Seiya, isn't it?"
Exposed, Suzune pressed her lips into a tight line and said nothing. The silence was confession enough.
Shione let out a soft sigh. The smile faded from her face, replaced by something more serious. She bent down until she was at eye level with Suzune, her gaze earnest, almost pleading. "Suzune… tomorrow is my concert. Before then, I have a very, very important favor to ask of you. Will you grant it?"
Even with the concert and her heartfelt plea as shields, Hojo Suzune did not fall easily into the trap. She eyed her sister warily. "You first. What is it?"
"I need you to promise me… that you won't go looking for Seiya before tomorrow."
A dry, humorless gasp escaped Suzune's lips. She frowned, her expression twisting into a silent "Are you serious right now? Are you okay in the head?" glance. Do you honestly think I traveled all the way from Kyoto—alone—just to watch your concert? Even Mom and Dad didn't bother to come. Do you imagine I'm closer to you than I am to them?
Seeing the rebellion written all over her sister's face, Shione remained patient, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Seiya came here with that Takahashi woman this time. You know that, right?"
"So what?" Suzune's reply was flat, indifferent. A perfect mask.
"If you go to see Seiya now, and you run into her… you'll end up arguing, won't you? And what happens after an argument? Do you really think Seiya will just stay in Kanagawa after a scene like that?" Shione paused, letting the logic sink in. "I know you probably can't stand Takahashi. You think she's nothing special. But right now, she's Seiya's girlfriend. You know what Seiya is like. Do you honestly believe he'd ignore his girlfriend for our sake?"
Another pause. The final blow was delivered softly, with a faint, sad smile. "Right now, Suzune… we are just his friends."
Those two words—girlfriend and friends—stabbed into Hojo Suzune's heart like twin needles. A sharp, aching pain radiated through her chest. And close on its heels came a surge of pure, undiluted hatred. Hatred for Hojo Shione, for her weakness, for letting everything slip through her fingers. And hatred for herself. A bitter, helpless hatred. If only I had been born just a little bit older. A year. Just one single year. Everything could have been different.
"So, Suzune… please? Promise your sister, okay? Don't go looking for Seiya today. Trust me. In the future, there will be plenty of time for you to be together with him…"
Hojo Suzune looked into her sister's hopeful eyes. Silently, she nodded.
But deep within her heart, she could not suppress the bitter thought that bubbled up like acid: If you really had a way to make that happen, would it even be my turn? When it comes to stealing things, who could ever beat you at that game, Nee-san?
Still, she agreed. The pretty picture her sister painted was obviously an illusion, but some of the practical points were hard to dismiss. If she really did run into that vixen, sparks would fly. And if that woman made a scene—if she cried or yelled or made Seiya choose—he would be put in an impossible position.
Suzune didn't want that. She never wanted to be the reason for his discomfort. So she would endure. Just a little longer. She could wait until tomorrow, after the concert, when everything was calmer.
That was what she told herself. That was the plan.
But later, back at the hotel, alone in her room with the door locked tight, she checked the GPS on her phone. A tiny dot blinked on the map, so close it made her breath catch. Two streets away. Barely a few minutes on foot. Shiratori Seiya was right there. The realization hit her like a thunderbolt, and suddenly her heart began its wild, uncontrollable doki-doki drumming, so loud she could hear it in her ears.
The desire to see him flooded her senses, overwhelming every rational argument. She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. She glanced at the door, then back at the dot. Her fingers trembled around the phone. Just a little peek. Just one distant, secret glance. He'll never even know I was there. That's not really breaking the promise, is it?
Before she fully realized what she was doing, she had already slipped on her shoes, eased open the hotel door, and vanished into the cool Kanagawa night, her silhouette swallowed by the spaces between the streetlights.