Chapter 17: Fine
The silence that followed wasn’t mere quiet. It was a vacuum, sucking all sound, all warmth, from the neon-lit room. The only movement was the frantic, discordant dance of anime characters on the silent screen, their joyful battle a grotesque mockery of the freeze-frame on the sofa.
Yuna’s phone lay on the floor between them, a tiny black monolith on the sparkling rug.
Ren’s brain short-circuited. Every possible lie, every excuse, evaporated like alcohol on a hot plate. He was caught. Naked-faced, in his own clothes, with a fellow idol on his couch. The gig was up. The god of gaming was about to be dethroned in the most humiliating way imaginable.
Mina’s eyes darted from Yuna’s stunned, perfect face to Ren’s paralyzed one. Back and forth. Her eyebrows knit in confusion, then slowly began to rise in dawning comprehension.
Ren braced for the scream. The accusation. The end.
Then Mina snorted.
It was a small, stifled sound that erupted into a full, gasping peal of laughter. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. “Oh! Oh, wow!” she wheezed, pointing a trembling finger between them. “I get it now! I totally get it!”
Yuna remained statue-still, her stylist’s mind clearly racing through catastrophic headlines. Ren just stared, unable to process this reaction.
“You’re sisters!” Mina exploded, dissolving into another fit of giggles. “Of course you are! Look at you! The hair, the eyes… it’s so obvious! Rena-chan, you never said your sister was the Yuna Matsumoto from the agency! No wonder you’re so private!”
The relief that washed over Ren was so intense it felt like nausea. He slumped back into the cushions, a weak sound escaping his lips that could have been a laugh or a sob.
Yuna’s posture unlocked, one vertebra at a time. A flawless, practiced smile slid onto her face, a mask clicking into place. She bent, retrieving her phone with inhuman calm. “You caught us,” she said, her voice a smooth blend of amusement and chagrin. “Ren here is desperately shy about the connection. Thinks people will say she only got into C4 because of her sister’s influence. You know how it is.”
Her eyes, sharp as broken glass, flicked to Ren. A silent command: Follow my lead.
“Y-yeah,” Ren croaked, then cleared his throat, forcing Rena’s softer cadence. “Sorry, Mina-chan. It’s… complicated.”
“No, no, I get it!” Mina waved her hands, beaming. “It’s actually really sweet! And here I was, thinking you were some mysterious, lone wolf type. But you’re just a cute little sister living with her cool big sis!” She sighed, a happy, dreamy sound. “That’s so much better.”
The next thirty minutes passed in a surreal blur. Yuna, the consummate performer, shifted gears without a hint of strain. She draped her garment bags over a chair, kicked off her heels, and floated into the kitchen as if she hosted surprised idols every Tuesday night.
“You two must be starving after your little adventure,” she called, her voice bright. “I’m assuming there was an adventure, given the state of you both. Ren, put the rice cooker on.”
Ren moved on autopilot, grateful for the simple, physical task. The rhythmic click of the cooker being programmed was a tiny anchor in the swirling unreality.
Mina chattered from the sofa, recounting the mob scene with dramatic flair. “—and then Rena-chan just grabbed my hand and we flew! It was like something out of an action movie! I didn’t know she could run that fast!”
“Desperation is a powerful motivator,” Yuna said dryly, pulling vegetables from the fridge. Her eyes met Ren’s across the kitchen island. The message was clear: We will talk about this later. Extensively.
On the TV, the anime ended, replaced by a late-night commercial for a chain of family restaurants. A giant, sizzling plate of fried rice filled the screen, the grains glittering with oil and flecked with vibrant peas and pork.
“Oh,” Ren said, the word escaping before he could stop it. His voice was completely his own, flat and hungry. “That. Let’s have that.”
In the living room, Mina piped up, “Yeah! That looks amazing!”
Yuna paused, a glossy eggplant in her hand. She looked at the screen, then at her brother’s unguarded, yearning expression, so utterly Ren in that moment. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. “Fried rice it is,” she said, her tone impossibly normal.
The familiar sizzle of oil in a wok, the scent of garlic and ginger hitting the heat, filled the apartment. It was a domestic sound, a normal smell. It pushed the lingering terror of the chase further away. Ren chopped scallions, his movements neat and efficient, while Yuna worked the wok with a chef’s confident flair. Mina talked from her perch on a kitchen stool, her earlier melancholy gone, replaced by a contented curiosity about their “sisterly” life.
The food was simple, delicious, and eaten mostly in a comfortable quiet broken by Mina’s happy murmurs. The crisis had been averted, transmuted by a misunderstanding into something mundane, even cozy.
Finally, Mina’s phone chirped. “My ride’s here,” she announced, standing and stretching. “Thanks for the rescue, and the food, and the… well, the sister reveal!” She grinned, pulling on her jacket. “Your secret’s safe with me, Rena-chan. Cross my heart!”
Yuna saw her to the door, a picture of elegant hospitality. “Take care, Mina-chan. See you at practice tomorrow.”
“You bet! Bye Yuna-san! Bye Ren-chan!”
The door clicked shut.
The echo of Mina’s bright goodbye seemed to hang in the air for a fraction of a second before it was swallowed by the heavy, glittering silence of the apartment.
Yuna didn’t move from the door. Ren didn’t move from the kitchen island, where he was staring at a lone grain of rice stuck to his chopstick.
Slowly, Yuna turned. The hospitable mask was gone. Her expression was cool, analytical, and utterly terrifying.
Ren finally looked up.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. The disco ball lamp cast shifting diamond shapes across the space between them.
“So,” Yuna said, her voice dangerously quiet. “We are not doing that again.”
“No,” Ren agreed, his own voice hoarse. “We are not.”
“No more bringing strays home. No more near-misses. The next time you’re about to be mobbed, you run to a love hotel, a police box, a condemned building—anywhere but here.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She took a step forward, her heels silent on the plush rug. “Because for a second there, I saw my entire career, your entire career, and possibly our freedom flash before my eyes. All because you felt bad for a girl with a cold.”
Ren flinched. The truth of it was a physical sting.
Yuna let out a long, controlled breath, the anger bleeding out of her shoulders, replaced by a weary tension. “Get some sleep. You have vocal drills at nine. And for the love of all that is stylish, remember who you are tomorrow. Little Sis..”
Before Ren could utter another word, Yuna turned and walked towards her bedroom, the sequins on her pantsuit catching the light with every step, a retreating constellation.
Ren remained at the island, surrounded by the dirty dishes and the lingering smell of fried rice. The apartment felt different now. Not a sanctuary, not a stage set, but a gilded cage whose door had just been rattled by the outside world. The silence was no longer peaceful. It was the quiet of a close call, holding its breath, waiting to see if the walls would hold.