CHAPTER 27
"Today, we have two rising idol groups that are gaining massive popularity within the otaku circles..." the host began, his voice booming over the studio speakers. "But I don't want to waste your time any further. Without further delay—from Archive Entertainment, please welcome... Aurora Prism!"
The studio thundered with applause as Aurora Prism made their entrance. The five members walked out with a practiced grace, their glittery makeup reflecting the studio lights like blue diamonds in motion.
As they moved into position, the crowd fell into a hushed silence, holding their collective breath.
Then, the music exploded.
The group moved as one; their frilly dresses flowed like water, while their feet took powerful, rhythmic steps. The lighting highlights their every expression, their movements as smooth as flower petals caught in the wind. Aurora Prism performed with surgical precision. Each member seemed to know exactly where the camera was at all times, offering a calculated, perfect smile the moment the red light hit them.
Their formation tightened unnaturally during transitions—each shift so precise it felt pre-measured, as if the entire stage had been mapped out before they even stepped onto it.
The audience roared as the music faded. Fans stood up, screaming the members' names until their voices cracked.
The host gestured for the idols to join him at the center. "Here they are... Aurora Prism!"
He waited for the cheering to die down before leaning in. "So, what is your true motivation for being an idol?"
Haruka—the leader—stepped forward. She faced the camera directly, a smirk of naughty confidence playing on her lips.
"You're here, aren't you?"
The audience traded confused glances. Sensing the brewing drama, the host played along. "Woah! Who exactly are you talking to?"
"Our rival, of course," Haruka declared.
Behind her, two of her members facepalmed in embarrassment, while the Kagura twins jumped in excitement, feeding off her energy.
"Cerb-3ros," Haruka's voice sharpened. "Come out!"
The audience stirred—whispers spreading like static.
Then—
The studio lights cut to black. In the darkness, the members of Aurora Prism and the stage crew scrambled to clear the floor. The studio filled with the frantic whispers of the audience, the tension thick enough to taste.
When the lights slammed back on, the trio was already there.
Miyu, Kiyomi, and Renge stood in the center of the frame, locked in their opening pose.
The music exploded, and the Dogs of Inferno began to move. Their outfits—sharp black with aggressive red accents—slashed through the air, a violent contrast to the cool blue elegance that had occupied the stage moments before.
Their energy was relentless. Their motions were so sharp they seemed to pull the studio cameras toward them by sheer force of will. Every few bars, they would drop into a deliberate, slowed-down sequence—a calculated pause that ensured the cameramen caught every ounce of their cuteness before the storm restarted.
Kiyomi's melodic tones anchored the track, while Miyu's high-pitched vocals soared over the bass, mesmerizing the crowd. Then, Renge's rap hit—a jagged, intentional break in the flow that kept the audience off-balance.
They moved exactly as they had practiced. On the monitors, Cerb-3ros appeared almost perfectly. Not a single limb strayed outside the frame. They were very polished for a group that just debuted weeks ago.
When the music finally faded into a heavy silence, the crowd didn't just clap—they erupted. The cheers were just as loud, just as frenzied.
As the noise settled, the host moved to the center of the stage, gathering the two groups. Aurora Prism stood on his right, glowing with blue light; Cerb-3ros stood on his left, still radiating the heat of the Inferno.
Before the host could even open his mouth to start the interview, Haruka spoke.
"That's the level you brought?" She let the question hang for a beat, her eyes scanning their sweat-soaked stage outfits. "Then we'll just have to go higher."
"Not if we fly higher," Kiyomi answered. He didn't flinch instead he was radiating.
"Funny thing to say for a dog," Takamine Aoi—the member standing closest to Haruka—muttered with a sharp, sideways glance.
"Dogs?" Miyu asked, tilting his head slightly, his cute persona still perfectly engaged for the cameras.
"Dogs don't fly!" Mizuki Nao chirped from the other side.
The Kagura twins burst into synchronized laughter at the comment, their voices echoing through the studio.
"Rocks aren't supposed to talk," Renge shot back, his expression twisting into a smug, dark grin. He immediately broke into his usual exaggerated laugh, the loud, boisterous sound cutting through the tension like a blade.
The studio audience whispered, the "Rematch" narrative writing itself in real-time.
Haruka didn't seem bothered by Renge's bite. She simply smiled—a friendly yet fiercely competitive expression—and extended her hand toward Kiyomi.
"We'll see you again, Sakura-chan," she said. It was a promise of war wrapped in a professional courtesy.
Before the host could regain control of the segment or stop the momentum, the members of Aurora Prism turned as one. They walked away, exiting the studio with the same diamond-sharp precision they had used on stage.
Cerb-3ros was left standing alone in the spotlight, the blue diamonds of Aurora Prism already gone.
"Well, we still have Cerb-3ros to interview..." the host said, smoothing over the abrupt exit. "At least..." He paused for comedic effect, and the studio audience broke into laughter, the tension finally snapping.
"Would you like to talk about our Lord and Savior in the Abyss?" Renge asked, his tone dropping into a devilish, pitch-black register. His face remained dead serious.
The interview continued despite the missing rivals. Though the program had originally planned for a joint segment, the audience was clearly entertained by the trio's sharp wit and Renge's exaggerated antics. On the screen, they were stars.
But once the cameras cut and the studio lights dimmed, the personas began to peel away.
After the program wrapped, the staff and Renge went their separate ways, leaving only Kiyomi and Miyu in the quiet hallway outside the studio.
"Miyu-chan, you promised—" Kiyomi called out, catching up to him from behind.
Miyu stopped. He turned slowly, and the smile he gave Kiyomi was hollow—a ghost of the expression he'd worn on stage. His eyes were dark, and even his casual movements felt practiced,beven though they were no longer on a stage.
"What a coincidence," Miyu said softly. He reached out and grabbed Kiyomi's hand, his grip surprisingly firm. "Come..."
He didn't wait for an answer. He dragged Kiyomi out of the station and into the central district. They crossed block after block, moving from the dense, neon-lit commercial areas to a quieter, more secluded neighborhood.
(Where are we going?)
The area wasn't far from the FBC TV station, but the atmosphere was entirely different. This was a neighborhood of the elite—the kind of place where the houses were elegant mansions and rows of supercars sat silently in the driveways.
(Can we even be here?)
Kiyomi wondered, feeling out of place in his civilian clothes after the flash of the stage.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a particularly imposing gate. Mounted on the stone pillar was a brass plate. On it, engraved in sharp, clean letters, was the name: SOUTA.
(That name!)
Without a word or a moment of hesitation, Miyu pushed the gate open. He walked in as if he owned the air inside, pulling a stunned Kiyomi alongside him.
"Miyu-chan, I don't think we're supposed to be here," Kiyomi whispered, his voice trembling.
The heavy doors groaned shut behind them, the click of the lock sealing out the rest of the world. The silence of the mansion was oppressive, thick with the scent of expensive floor wax and cold stone.
Miyu finally released his grip, his fingers leaving red marks on Kiyomi's wrist.
"You said you wanted to know what happened, right?" Miyu asked. That hollow, practiced smile was still fixed on his face, but his eyes were like glass.
(I'm a fool...) Kiyomi swallowed hard, the grandeur of the foyer making him feel small and exposed. "I shouldn't have asked—I should have minded my own business..."
"Mhm... and?" Miyu tilted his head, watching him with a predatory curiosity.
"And I think we should leave..." Kiyomi's eyes drifted nervously around the room. Everything was too much—the polished marble tiles, the jagged modern art on the walls, and the massive crystal chandelier hanging like a threat from the ceiling.
Miyu chuckled. The sound was dry and sharp; he clearly found Kiyomi's fear amusing.
Just as Kiyomi took a tentative step back toward the door, the atmosphere shifted. Miyu moved with a speed he hadn't shown in training. He lunged, pushing Kiyomi down to the hard floor and pinning him. Kiyomi's scream tore through the air, echoing down the long, dark hallway beyond.
"Miyu?" Kiyomi gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled against the weight.
Miyu leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from Kiyomi's ear. "You're not going anywhere, you know," he whispered, his breath hot against Kiyomi's skin.
"Please, let me go..." Kiyomi begged, his resolve crumbling.
"No~"
Miyu slowly exhaled against the side of Kiyomi's neck. The sensation was a sharp, ticklish graze that sent a shiver through Kiyomi's entire frame, weakening his limbs. He let out a soft, involuntary moan.
Miyu seized the moment, pressing his full weight down, locking Kiyomi's body firmly against the cold marble. He began to lick a slow, deliberate path up Kiyomi's neck.
As they struggled in the shadow of the door, a heavy footstep sounded from the hallway. A man emerged from the gloom, his silhouette tall and imposing.
"What are my puppies doing down there?"
The voice was rough, low, and instantly recognizable. It was the voice that had dictated their lives for the last few weeks.
Miyu didn't stop, but he turned his head toward the figure, his voice chirping with a sickening, playful sweetness.
"Daddy!"