Chapter 10: Net
The walk back to the table was the longest twenty feet of Ren’s life. The velvet dress, which had felt like a costume before, now felt like evidence. Every sequin, every ruffle, was a blinking neon sign announcing his deception. He could still feel the cold sweat plastering the fabric to his spine.
The group was in motion, a cheerful chaos of gathering purses and cardigans. Mina was laughing about something the manager had said. Suki was carefully folding a paper napkin into a tiny crane.
Hikaru looked up as he approached. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, scanned him from head to toe. They lingered on his face, on the tight set of his jaw. “Everything… sorted out?” she asked, her stage-voice sweet, but with a faint, icy edge underneath.
Ren managed a jerky nod. “Fine,” he mumbled, forcing ‘Rena’s’ voice up from where it had fled. It came out thin and strained.
“Good! Period cramps are the worst,” Mina commiserated, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You want some of my painkillers? I have, like, the industrial strength kind.”
“No. Thank you.”
Yuna’s arrival was heralded by a gust of perfumed air and the sharp click of heels. She appeared at the entrance to the private room, a vision in asymmetric black leather. “My darlings! You’ve fed, you’ve bonded, it’s a wrap.” Her gaze zeroed in on her brother. “Rena, sweetie, you’re pale. The lighting in here is murder on complexions. Tomorrow, we’re doing a heavier contour.”
Ren just stared at her, mute. Contour was the least of his problems.
The goodbyes were a blur of air-kisses and scheduled reminders for the next day’s vocal practice. Mina bubbled about a new game she wanted to try. Suki gave a soft, nearly silent “see you tomorrow.” Hikaru’s goodbye was a slow, knowing smile aimed directly at him before she turned and led the others out into the main izakaya, their chatter fading into the din.
The manager handled the bill with Yuna, leaving Ren standing alone by the ravaged table, surrounded by empty plates and the ghosts of his panic. He felt hollowed out.
“Come on, superstar,” Yuna said, hooking her arm through his. “I’ll drive you home. You look like you’ve been run over by a kawaii-themed truck.”
The night air was a slap, cool and damp. The neon glow of the city painted the wet pavement in streaks of garish color. The izakaya’s parking lot was small, mostly emptied now. He saw Mina’s tiny, bubblegum-pink car zip away with a toot of the horn. A sleek, silent town car swallowed Suki. He stood on the curb, waiting for Yuna to pull her convertible around, the borrowed heels biting into his feet.
A presence settled beside him. He didn’t need to look to know it was Hikaru. She was leaning against a light post, looking up at the hazy sky. The innocent, doe-eyed stage persona was gone, stripped away like a discarded costume. What remained was something far more still, and far more dangerous.
“You know,” she said, her voice casual, conversational. “You handle a controller like someone who’s spent a lifetime avoiding sunlight. All aggressive thumbs and furious focus. It’s very specific.”
Ren kept his eyes forward. “Lots of girls game.”
“True. But most don’t get that look on their face when they win. That sheer, unadulterated ‘get rekt, you casual scrub’ look. It’s a very male sort of triumph.” She pushed off the post and took a step closer. He could smell her perfume, something light and floral that clashed violently with her tone. “And the bathroom thing tonight.”
His blood turned to ice. He said nothing.
“The men’s room,” she clarified, as if he might have forgotten the scene of his personal crime. “A real gamble. Bold. Stupid, but bold.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he forced out, the lie brittle as glass.
Hikaru laughed, a short, dry sound. “You’re a terrible liar, saw you clear as day.”
“I have a younger brother,” she continued, her words falling like precise drops of water. “Lives in his head, lives on his console. He has the same tells. The same grumble when he’s frustrated. The same way he shifts his weight when he’s uncomfortable in a crowd. The exact same, deeply awkward relationship with anything resembling a skirt.” She turned fully to face him now. The parking lot’s overhead light carved shadows under her eyes, making her look older. “You slip out of ‘Rena’ all the time. It’s in the shoulders. The walk when you think no one’s looking. The sheer, profound misery in your eyes when Yuna puts you in lace.”
He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He stood frozen, caught in the spotlight of her quiet, devastating observation.
“Why?” was all he could manage to whisper.
“Why haven’t I blown the whistle?” She tilted her head. “It’s more interesting this way. And Yuna would eviscerate me. She’s terrifying when she’s invested.” A small, genuine smirk played on her lips. “Also, the group’s ratings have gone up 18% since your debut. ‘Rena’s’ relatable shyness is a hit. You’re making us all money.”
The brutal pragmatism of it was almost a relief. “So, what? You own me now?”
“Something like that.” She closed the final step between them. She was taller than him, especially in his heels. Her pink hair brushed his cheek as she leaned in. Her expression was unreadable—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something else he couldn’t name. “Don’t have another bathroom crisis. It’s a weak move. And for god’s sake, learn to sit in a skirt without looking like you’re guarding a state secret.”
Before he could process the insult, she did something completely unexpected.
She kissed him.
Not on the mouth. On the cheek. A quick, dry press of lips against his skin. It lasted less than a second, but it sent a jolt through his system so violent he forgot to breathe.
“A secret for a secret,” she murmured, her voice now barely a breath by his ear. “Mine’s that I think your real self is infinitely more fascinating than the doll Yuna’s building. And that I’ve known since the first day you tried to copy Mina’s dance steps."
She pulled back. The stage-persona sweetness flooded back into her features like a mask clicking into place. “See you at practice tomorrow, Rena-chan! Get some rest!” she chirped, waving a girly little wave before turning and walking, with perfect idol grace, toward a waiting taxi.
Ren stood rooted to the spot. The ghost of her kiss burned on his cheek. The smell of her perfume mixed with the city’s exhaust. His mind was white noise.
The piercing blare of a car horn shattered the stillness. Yuna’s convertible sat idling at the curb, passenger door open. “Are you sleepwalking? Get in!” she called.
Mechanically, he walked to the car, lowered himself into the low seat, and pulled the door shut. The leather was cool. The world outside the windshield was a smear of light and motion.
“You’re even more out of it now. What did Hikaru say to you?” Yuna asked, glancing at him as she pulled into traffic.
Ren stared straight ahead. The rain began to fall, just a faint drizzle that speckled the windshield. He touched his cheek where Hikaru’s lips had been.
“Nothing,” he said, his own voice strange to his ears. “She didn’t say anything.”
And for the first time, it wasn’t entirely a lie. The words were just the smallest part of it. The rest—the knowing, the kiss, the precarious bargain—was a silent bomb now ticking in the center of his chest, and he had no idea what would happen when it went off.