A video played from her phone speaker, the upbeat voice of the instructor cutting through the ambient park noise.
"Alright! Step one—arm up, foot out, swing in—five, six, seven, eight!"
Children laughed somewhere in the distance. People talked while walking their dogs. Leaves rustled softly with the passing breeze. But Chieri was in her own little world.
Sitting on the grass, legs stretched out and elbows resting on her knees, she held her phone close, her brows scrunched in concentration. The dance tutorial had been playing on loop for the past hour—maybe more.
'How did my father learn all of this?' she wondered, lips tugging downward into a pout. 'I've been trying for hours… and I can only get the first one.'
She sighed. The weight of effort with no reward settled heavily on her shoulders.
Then, as if determined to wrestle against her own thoughts, she stood up. Her limbs ached slightly from sitting too long. She stretched out her arms, letting the wind brush her cheeks.
'I'm starting to think that I should give up…'
Her phone screen dimmed on the bench behind her, the video still frozen mid-pose.
Chieri stared down for a moment. Then, without a word, she put the phone down gently on the bench.
Her fists slowly clenched.
She looked up—past the trees, into the blue stretch of sky above her—and narrowed her eyes with renewed fire.
'But I know that giving up won't get me anywhere.'
She raised her fist high into the air.
"Alright!! Let's try again!!" she shouted, louder than necessary, startling a pigeon nearby.
With a deep breath and eyes focused, she stepped into position and began the routine.
Her arms flung out dramatically, her steps hitting the ground with too much bounce. Her spin was sharp, almost reckless. She moved with passion—but not precision.
"Five, six—WAAHH!!"
Thud.
She tripped on her own foot and crashed onto the grass in a flurry of limbs.
She lay there in a tangle, blinking up at the sky.
"…Ouch. That hurts," she muttered.
She closed her eyes, let out a long breath, and slowly sat up, brushing grass off her sleeves. Her chest rose and fell heavily—not just from the fall, but from everything.
She sighed.
Just as she was about to push herself fully upright, a soft engine hum entered her ears. She paused.
A car?
She turned her head toward the road beside the park. Sure enough, a sleek, luxurious black car was rolling by slowly—too elegant to be ordinary, its paint catching glimmers of light.
Chieri's eyes narrowed.
'What a luxurious car... but it kind of looks familiar?'
The shape, the shine, the way the windows were tinted—she squinted harder.
And then—realization hit her like a wave.
"Oh—"
Her lips parted.
Inside the car, through the slightly rolled-down window, she saw Haru. Seated still, eyes ahead. Her expression unreadable. She didn't seem to see Chieri.
"Haru…?" Chieri called out softly, almost breathless.
But the car didn't slow down.
It passed her and continued on its way, vanishing around the curve in the road.
Chieri stayed frozen in place, knees still touching the ground, one hand resting on the bench behind her.
"…Where is she going? I wonder…" she murmured.
The park fell quiet again, the breeze returning like a whisper.
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The quiet, almost ceremonial sound of silver clinking against porcelain echoed faintly in the vast dining hall of the Ose estate. A soft breeze whispered through the tall, arched windows, barely disturbing the flickering flames of the antique wall lamps.
Several maids in crisp uniforms moved in synchronized grace around the elongated, polished dining table, their footsteps muffled against the lush carpet. They carefully placed dishes with expert hands: intricately plated entrees, pristine soup bowls with golden rims, bread rolls still warm and tucked in white linen. Their expressions remained neutral—trained to show neither emotion nor fatigue.
As the last dish was settled, one maid gave a courteous bow. The others followed suit, then silently took hold of the silver trolleys and rolled them out of the room with soft rattles, leaving the three remaining Ose family members in a silence as thick as glass.
Haru sat in place, back straight like always, hands folded perfectly in her lap until it was time to pick up her fork. Her eyes stayed lowered slightly, focusing on the subtle floral pattern carved into the edge of her plate. She could feel the cool, refined weight of the silence that always accompanied family dinners. Not comforting, but rehearsed. Like a performance.
Across from her, her father ate with his usual detached composure—each movement calm, efficient, emotionless. At the head of the table sat her grandmother, the towering matriarch of the Ose family, clothed in elegant, deep-toned silks embroidered with golden thread. An opulent necklace sat against her collarbone like a chain. Her face, painted with quiet regality, bore an expression that could freeze rivers.
The clink of her fork was the only thing that broke the silence before she spoke.
"It's unfortunate that Midori can't attend tonight's dinner..." The grandmother speaks with a sarcastic tone.
Her gaze shifted, sharp and pointed, toward her son.
"How long has she been sick?" she asked, her voice clipped and mildly accusatory.
Her father paused mid-chew, then calmly swallowed. He reached for the fine linen napkin at his side and wiped the corners of his mouth with the same clinical precision he did everything else.
"She has been sick since the beginning of this month," he replied, as though he were reporting a mild inconvenience.
He placed the napkin down and added in a cool, rehearsed tone, "I will get her treated overseas soon, so you shouldn't worry so much about her."
There was no warmth. No hesitation. Just a distant efficiency.
Her grandmother narrowed her eyes but said nothing more for a moment. Finally, she leaned back and gave a small nod.
"Fine then."
The coldness of the exchange made the expensive food on Haru's plate seem inedible.
Then the attention shifted—abrupt and sharp—falling directly onto Haru.
"And Haru, how are you doing at school? I suppose you are doing great?"
Haru blinked once and slowly lifted her chin to meet her grandmother's gaze. She placed a measured smile on her lips, the kind that didn't belong to her.
"Yes, I am doing great," she said softly, her voice carefully balanced—just polite enough, just pleasant enough.
Her grandmother's lips curled into something like approval.
"Good," she said. "I've been thinking of sending you to study in the UK. Around May."
Clatter.
The fork slipped from Haru's hand and fell onto the plate with a sharp metallic ring. Her eyes widened just slightly, heart thudding in her chest like a warning bell.
She stared at her plate for a moment, frozen. That wasn't part of the plan. She had no plan for this.
Study in the UK?
When did they decide that?
Why wasn't she told?
Her father didn't miss a beat. His eyebrows creased into a frown.
"Watch your manners," he said coldly.
Haru quickly lowered her eyes, her hands now trembling just slightly beneath the tablecloth.
"Pardon me for my rudeness..." she muttered, her voice small.
A maid was at her side in seconds, placing a new fork gently beside her plate. Haru picked it up with a soft, barely audible "Thank you," but her grip was tighter this time—too tight.
"So?" her grandmother's voice came again, expectant. "Are you happy with that news?"
Haru's lips parted but no words came out at first.
Happy?
She looked down at the new fork in her hand, her fingers now clenched tightly around the handle like it was the only thing anchoring her.
"I... I'm grateful. Thank you."
The words came out hollow.
Her grandmother smiled faintly. "Good." She nodded in approval and turned back toward her son.
They began to speak about matters Haru could no longer follow. Business mergers. Real estate. The market. Things she had heard at dozens of dinners like this, where emotions were banned and ambitions were cold and inherited.
But her eyes didn't move. Her hands didn't loosen.
She sat still as stone, her fork forgotten in her grip. She couldn't even feel her food anymore.
Their voices blurred into the background.
'I'm tired of this…'
'Why?'
She asked herself again.
Her eyes stared blankly at the delicate dish in front of her, untouched. The food was beautifully arranged, crafted by some of the best chefs money could buy—but she couldn't taste any of it. Her appetite was gone, replaced by a weight in her chest.
'They decide it without even asking me first…'
Her hand lightly trembled over her lap, hidden beneath the table.
'Why do they do this?'
She bit the inside of her cheek.
'Why do they always decide everything for me?'
'Isn't it enough?'
'If you're going to be like this—'
The thought formed, sharp and rebellious.
But she caught herself, blinking.
'No... What am I thinking about?'
She lowered her gaze, scolding the flash of anger trying to surface.
'I shouldn't say something like that…'
'They're only doing what's best for me.'
That was the truth she had been fed all her life.
That was the truth she forced herself to believe.
Just then, her grandmother's voice sliced through her thoughts like a knife, crisp and cold.
"Is the food to your liking?"
Her tone was polite, but her eyes scanned Haru sharply, reading her every twitch, every hesitation.
Haru quickly lifted her head, and without missing a beat, she smiled—a perfect, well-rehearsed smile.
"Yes, it's perfect," she replied softly, her voice as smooth and polished as the porcelain dishes in front of her.
She picked up her fork again—steady now, calm—and continued to eat, as if her heart hadn't just been screaming a moment ago.
As if everything was fine.
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"Idol, huh…?" Mayu murmured absentmindedly, wiping the kitchen counter in slow, rhythmic circles. Her eyes were distant, caught in thoughts that clung to her even as she worked. The soft sound of the cloth brushing the countertop was the only thing that accompanied her quiet contemplation—until a small, excited voice broke through.
"Onee-san! Onee-san! Can you open the TV?"
A boy, around five years old, peeked his head into the kitchen. His wide eyes sparkled with anticipation, hair slightly messy from having just run in. His little hands clutched a toy car, which he had clearly abandoned just to make this urgent request.
Mayu blinked, her hands freezing on the cloth before she turned,her lips slowly opening.
"Oh… Sure."
She wiped her hands quickly and walked out of the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath her socks as she entered the small living room. The boy trotted behind her eagerly, watching her every move with silent excitement.
Mayu picked up the remote from the low table and pressed the power button. The TV screen blinked to life with a brief static hum.
Just as the screen came into focus, it lit up with vibrant color—an interview featuring a popular girl idol group was playing. The group members were seated in matching, glimmering outfits, their faces perfectly made up, their voices bubbly and confident.
The sound of their laughter and upbeat background music filled the room.
Mayu stood still, remote still in her hand, as she stared at the screen.
The camera zoomed in on one of the girls mid-sentence:
"We worked so hard for this comeback! Practice every day, no matter how tired we are—we just keep pushing ourselves!"
Her words rang louder in Mayu's ears than anything else in the room.
She stared, silent.
'What is this feeling?'
'I'm kind of annoyed..'
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To be continued