I couldn't stop thinking about it.
It was ridiculous.
Why did Takumi have to fly all the way to South Korea just to collaborate with that Daeun slut? I literally told him he could make a song with me.
I could've arranged it.
It wouldn't even have been that difficult. Uncle would just need to make a few calls to the label, pull some strings, and I'd get permission.
Not officially, obviously. They'd complain. They always complain.
But they would've done it for me.
So why her?
Why did he have to cross the sea for some Korean bitch when I was right there?
The thought kept scratching at the inside of my skull.
Was he trying to make me jealous?
...Did he cheat on me?
The moment the thought appeared, I almost laughed.
Cheat?
Since when was he even my boyfriend? We've never made anything official.
I've never introduced him as my boyfriend.
Never posted about him.
Never held his hand in public.
Never done any of the things normal couples do.
And yet...
I never corrected him when he called me his girlfriend.
Worse.
I called myself that.
As if saying the word out loud enough times would somehow turn it into reality.
It's so pathhetic.
This shouldn't bother me.
Takumi was always impossible to control. He always did what he wanted.
That was part of the reason I liked him in the first place.
So why did every picture from Seoul feel like a knife under my ribs?
Why did I keep imagining him laughing with her?
Talking to her.
Looking at her the way he used to look at me.
My chest ached.
Maybe I was overthinking everything and they were just making music.
Maybe nothing happened.
Then why did it hurt so much?
Why?
"Is something wrong, Kuku-chi?" Yui asked, leaning closer with a smile that didn't quite hide the concern in her eyes. "You've been staring into space for, like, ten minutes."
"Yui's right," Nono added immediately. "You haven't said much all afternoon. Are you feeling sick? Did you sleep properly?"
There she was.
The group mom, on duty again.
If one of us so much as sneezed, Nono would probably appear with meds, a blanket, and a whole recovery plan.
We were on tour with SIX STAR, moving between venues as late November settled over Japan.
Yui and Nono were both watching me now, concern written all over their faces.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Aika was busy talking to Minami and Saya.
"...And then that annoying Shiba-kun guy from my class said he'd come to the cultural festival," Aika complained loudly, crossing her arms. "Honestly, if he didn't show up, I'd have dragged him there myself."
Minami laughed.
"That's a lot of effort for someone you supposedly can't stand."
"I don't like him!" Aika shot back immediately. "He's just... irritating!"
"Sure, sure," Saya said.
I blinked slowly.
How adorable. Nobody cares about your pathetic little boy toy, princess. Go play your shallow romance somewhere else.
Then, my gaze drifted back to Yui and Nono. They were still waiting. Still watching me like I might shatter.
"...I'm fine," I said eventually. "Just thinking about some things."
Yui tilted her head, still smiling but clearly not buying it. "Hmm… that sounds kinda dangerous coming from you."
Nono nodded, looking genuinely concerned. "Yeah, when you get quiet like this it makes me worried."
I rolled my eyes, the corner of my mouth twitching into a tiny smirk. "Relax. It's nothing you guys need to fix. I'm good."
Yui opened her mouth like she wanted to push more, but I was already drifting.
Some things. Yeah, it was really just one thing. One annoying person.
I drifted back into my own thoughts, tuning the others out.
Yes, I had known Takumi was Forsaken the moment I recognized his voice outside that booth.
No, I wasn't really expecting to meet him at the bar Uncle frequented.
That place was too familiar in the worst way.
Not because of the yakuza.
Because of the violence.
I grew up around people who could mess someone up without blinking.
My father was the kind of man who couldn't tell the difference between an ashtray and his daughter's arm once he got drunk enough. Drinking and gambling always came first. Family? Us? Never.
Most women would've endured it quietly.
Mom didn't.
She fought back.
For me.
And when I got older, I started fighting too. Chucking a plate or a pan at his head, bitting him. Anything.
Mom's brother was involved with the yakuza. Maybe that's why she spent years pushing him away. Until shit got too heavy.
Until they started talking again.
Until the day that bastard choked me so hard I thought I was done.
I still remember everything. The panic, the quiet hatred building up inside my chest, the certainty that I was about to die.
Then Uncle appeared. One shot. Everything stopped.
I pushed the memory away before the girls could notice me zoning out harder.
In real life, I was just Tachibana Kurumi. And Uncle intended to keep it that way.
Still.
Anyway, I knew more about Takumi than I let on. I knew about his debt problems. I knew that hearing what happened to those girls made him lose his mind badly enough to go full vigilante, putting a hit on him.
I knew about the wager. I knew that song with Daeun was pure clout-chasing so he could stop washing dishes and serving drinks behind that bar counter.
Freedom. A label deal. More exposure.
And yet...
I was right here.
The thought lingered like a thorn under my skin.
I was right here.
So why fly across the sea?
Why chase a Korean bitch when I offered him a collaboration myself?
Or was he still angry?
Was this revenge?
Revenge for what?
For not following him outside that night?
That thirsty classmate of his followed him anyway.
Was dissing me in front of a crowd not enough?
Now he has to cheat too?
Fucking idiot.
I clenched my fingers tighter around the fabric of my sleeve.
So that's how you want it to be.
I spent the rest of the tour glaring out the window like a moody vampire, barely saying shit. Sometimes Aika would shoot me these puzzled side-eyes, like she was trying to figure out what my problem was this time.
I don't hate her. I don't think I ever did. She's just… not my type. Too bright and stubborn.
Too obsessed with doing the right thing. And that cutesy fashion of hers always gave me the ick. It's like she walked out of some fairy tale and accidentally ended up in the real world.
We just don't click. Simple as that.
But in this industry, nobody gives a fuck if you vibe or not. Agencies probably throw girls together like a bad ChatGPT prompt and pray it works. "Generate me a marketable idol group."
Our group was functional enough, at least. A lot of others fall apart after two shitty shows.
I didn't even want to be an idol in the first place. Uncle swore it'd just be a stepping stone. Get popular, then bounce. Become an actress. Go solo in music. Something real.
Being an idol? Fuck that. I hated all of it. The fans who treat you like their personal property, the producers who see you as nothing but product.
Smile more, wave here. Say this, don't say that.
Pretend.
Pretend.
Honestly, they can all go die.
At some point, like the universe was trying to fuck with me personally, a DM from Takumi popped up.
"Good luck on your show, honey. Rooting for ya. 🙃"
I stared at it for a few seconds, then left it on seen.
No reply. I didn't feel like saying shit.
Honey. How fucking cute. Keep playing the supportive guy after what you did.
Whatever.
When the bus finally rolled into Tokyo, we headed straight to the venue. 10.000 people. We barely scraped 2.000 this summer, and now look at us. SIX STAR actually blew up over the fall.
I almost laughed to myself.
Takumi would probably scoff at those numbers, call us corporate puppets, and brag about pulling five hundred people on his own.
Jealous hater.
Then again...
Maybe I'd rather sing for 500 people who came for me than 10.000 who came for a character I was pretending to be.
Funny.
The stage lights hit me like a bad migraine as we launched into the set. Ten thousand voices screaming our names. I moved through the choreography on autopilot while the bass vibrated through my ribs.
The others were doing their own thing across the stage, while Aika stood in the center, singing her sickeningly sweet hooks she loved so much.
I hated them.
And yet the crowd was losing it, chanting, singing every word. For a minute it almost felt good.
Almost.
But even with all those people screaming for us, the hollow feeling in my chest just got louder.
The lights, the screaming, the sea of glowsticks moving like waves beneath the stage. It was intoxicating.
Then the performance ended. The lights went dark.
And I was just me again.
After the show, I went straight back to the hotel, changed into a little disguise— short black dress, heavy eyeliner, my black wig — and called an Uber.
Fuck the group chat. Fuck "team bonding." I needed noise and numbness.
The club was everything the stage wasn't. Cheap neon, trashy EDM thumping so hard it made my teeth vibrate, people moving like brainless puppets. It felt more honest than any idol venue.
I slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a drink.
"Miss, aren't you a little young to—"
A deep voice cut the bartender off. "She's good. Put it on my tab."
I turned and sized him up. Spiky bleached blonde hair, buff, baggy streetwear, the kind of cocky smirk that screamed "I run my hood."
Honestly...
He looked more like a rapper than Takumi ever could.
The bartender looked between us, sighed quietly, and poured the shot.
I picked it up.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
I downed it. The burn slid down my throat.
Worth it.
"You don't seem like the club type," he said.
"And what does the club type look like?"
He shrugged.
"Louder, I guess. You're just sitting here looking like you wanna kill someone."
I couldn't help smiling a little.
"Maybe I do."
He laughed.
"That's kinda hot."
God.
That was so unbelievably stupid.
"...You use that line on everyone?"
"Nah."
"So I'm special?"
"You can decide that after a couple more drinks."
I rolled my eyes.
What a cocky idiot.
Still...
It beat sitting in a hotel room thinking about someone who was probably halfway across Japan by now.
"You seem like a tough guy," I said dryly after a while.
He grinned, leaning on the bar. "Most respected where I'm from. Name's Ryo. You?"
"Kurumi," I answered, smirking back. "Just Kurumi."
We ended up talking for a while.
Nothing important. Music, clothes, the city.
He told me he boxed a little. I told him I sang.
I didn't tell him where.
We knocked back a few more shots. The alcohol loosened the knot in my chest a little. When he jerked his head toward the dance floor, I let him pull me in.
His hands were on my waist. Mine stayed on his shoulders at first.
"So… you got a boyfriend?" he asked against my ear, voice low.
"It's complicated," I replied, half-laughing.
"Well fuck that guy. Tonight you're with me. I'll treat you like a queen."
I almost rolled my eyes. Queen. How fucking original. But I didn't pull away. Instead I pressed closer, letting the music and the heat swallow me.
"So what? You're gonna sweep me off my feet?," I asked.
"Nah."
He held out his hand.
"But I can make you forget him for a couple hours."
...Maybe that was exactly what I needed.
So I took his hand.
At some point the dancing turned into grinding. Then he leaned in. I met him halfway — a messy, hungry kiss that tasted like vodka and bad decisions.
I didn't stop him when his hands slid lower. Didn't stop him when he asked if I wanted to get out of there.
"Yeah," I muttered against his mouth. "Let's go."
That night I ended up at his place. Clothes came off in the dark. I let him fuck me like I was someone else's girl to steal. Every thrust felt like revenge and self-sabotage at the same time.
When it was over and he was snoring beside me, I stared at the ceiling, the hollow feeling still there.
There. Now we're even, you jealous hater.