Chapter 1: The Idol's Secret Longing
The roar was a living thing. It vibrated through the worn floorboards, up through the soles of her custom boots, and settled deep in her bones. Hana Shimizu watched her own reflection in the brightly lit mirror—Hoshimi, the leader of Starlight Dreams, stared back. The girl in the mirror was perfect. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkled with manufactured joy, and the signature pink streak in her otherwise jet-black hair was a splash of electric energy.
“Three minutes, Hoshimi-chan!” a stage manager barked, his voice cracking with static from the headset.
“We’re ready,” she said, her voice calm, a stark contrast to the frenzy around her. She adjusted the sequined cuff of her top, the tiny mirrors catching the light and throwing fractured rainbows across the cramped dressing room. The air was thick with the sweet, chemical scent of hairspray and the waxy perfume of stage makeup.
Yuna, one of the other members, was doing vocal warm-ups in the corner, her voice a steady, practiced hum. “My throat feels weird. Do you think it’s weird?”
“It’s just nerves. It’s always nerves,” Hana said, not turning around. Her gaze drifted from her own flawless reflection to the clutter of her vanity. Among the pots of glitter and tubes of lip gloss, a single piece of paper, folded neatly, stood out.
It was the fan letter. The one she’d read three times already today.
The crowd’s chant—Ho-shi-mi! Ho-shi-mi!—pounded in rhythm with her heartbeat. It was usually a fuel, a narcotic. Tonight, it just felt loud. Her fingers, slick with a faint sheen of nervous sweat, brushed against the paper. She unfolded it again.
The handwriting was neat, almost artistic.
‘Dear Hoshimi,’ it began. ‘Your voice during the ballad in Osaka felt like you were singing just for me. It’s funny, isn’t it? How you can feel so alone in a crowd of thousands. I think you might understand that. You give us all so much light. I wonder sometimes where you go when the lights go out. Who you are when you’re not her. Thank you for the dreams.’
It was signed simply, Aiko.
Who you are when you’re not her.
The sentence hooked something deep in her chest, a restless longing she’d been refusing to name. It was a quiet ache beneath the sequins and the smiles, a hollow space the cheers couldn’t quite fill.
“You’re staring at that thing again.” Yuna appeared behind her, leaning down to rest her chin on Hana’s shoulder. Her reflection was a picture of concern. “Another love letter? Is it creepy?”
“No,” Hana said, her voice softer than she intended. She folded the letter, the creases sharp and precise. “It’s not creepy. It’s just… thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful is for teachers and grandparents. We get adoration. We get obsession. We don’t get ‘thoughtful’.” Yuna straightened up, stretching her arms over her head. “Come on. Game face. They’re waiting for their star.”
Hana stood, the heavy boots making a solid sound on the floor. She smoothed down her shorts, the motion automatic. She was Hoshimi. Charismatic. Energetic. Unshakable.
But as she followed Yuna into the dark wing of the stage, the paper felt heavy in her palm. The stage lights hit the curtain, casting a blinding white glow from the seams. The chants were deafening now, a wall of sound waiting to crash over her.
The stage manager gave the signal.
Hana took a deep breath, the kind that was supposed to center her. Instead, all she could think was Aiko. A name. A feeling. A question.
The curtain began to rise. The noise swelled, a physical force. She plastered on her brightest, most radiant smile and stepped into the light, the letter a secret, crumpled in her tightly clenched fist.