Chapter 1 - Unforgettable

Present

”Taste it.”

Haru leans in and lifts a bite of Nishin soba toward my mouth. His chopsticks are steady and precise, like always. The warm aroma of sweet, savory broth and buckwheat rises into the air, nostalgic and comforting. Nishin soba is a staple winter dish in Kyoto, his hometown, and he perfected this recipe long before we started filming this show.

I take the bite and let the broth soak my tongue. It’s rich and umami, warming me from the inside out. “Oh my God, it tastes so good,” I say with an exaggerated groan and wide eyes. "How come you’ve never cooked this for me before?"

Haru looks at me with that fond but exasperated expression, the one that makes it seem like he is deciding whether to argue or laugh. Instead, he reaches out and wipes a drop of sauce from the corner of my lips. My skin is still warm. His fingers are cool and damp.

Before either of us remembers we are being filmed for a national cooking show, Haru casually brings those fingers to his mouth and licks off the sauce.

I blink.

He blinks.

The cameraman audibly chokes.

Perfect. Day one and we’re already trending material.

Yukiko enters the kitchen as if on cue, carrying a tray of order tickets. She is a rising rookie actress known for stealing attention in supporting roles, and today she plays a waiter-in-training on "Celebrity Cook-in Duty."

Haru hands over his neatly plated bowls of Nishin soba. I turn to the sushi station, my safe place. After five years in Japan, sushi is the only dish I can confidently make without Haru hovering behind me and correcting my knife angle. Sometimes I make sauces and sides under his instructions or the Head Chef’s supervision.

Haru and I are assistant chefs here, working under a legendary Kyoto master whose name alone can summon a line of customers around the block. Yukiko handles the tables, the charm, and sometimes the chaos.

It is our first day, yet we cook what feels like a month’s worth of orders. By 7 p.m., the last ticket is cleared. Cameras are put away. Staff members are dismissed. The three of us sit together and eat the leftover Nishin soba. The warmth spreads through my tired limbs.

"Do you like it?" I ask Yukiko. We once acted as sisters in a drama, and the bond stuck long after filming ended.

"Yes," she sighs, nearly collapsing over her bowl. "It tastes so good after a long day of work. I am exhausted."

"Same," I say with another groan. "I feel like my soul left my body sometime around 4 p.m."

We laugh, finish dinner, and head to our rooms. The credits roll for Episode 1 with Yukiko’s soft, melodic theme song playing over shots of our chaotic kitchen.

A Few Weeks Later

"They really make us look so romantic," I say, giggling at the montage on the TV. Sparkling filters, exaggerated heart sound effects, dramatic zoom-ins on Haru licking his fingers. "Look at this! They added pink petals behind us."

Haru takes the remote and switches off the TV with a smirk.
"So you are saying we are not romantic?" he asks dramatically.

"We are romantic," I say with a laugh. "Just not PDA-type romantic."

"We could be," he says as he stretches out his legs until his foot nudges mine. "If you stopped running away every time I kiss you in front of people."

"That was one time."

"And the time at the airport."

"Haru."

"And the time you ducked behind a vending machine."

"That one was justified," I say defensively, crossing my arms.

He gives me the look that says he absolutely does not believe me but finds my excuses adorable. We sit at opposite ends of the couch, and it hits me how easy everything still feels. Four and a half years into the relationship, and we still tease each other like teenagers.

A small memory pops into my mind and makes me smile.

Once, I made the mistake of telling Haru I kept missing my morning classes because I couldn’t wake up. The next morning, my phone alarm went off with Haru’s recorded voice saying:

"Aurora. Wake up! You promised you would. Don’t make me come drag you out of bed."

I almost threw my phone across the room.

He texted me seconds later:

Haru: Did it work?

Me: HOW DID YOU EVEN...

Haru: You gave me your phone to take a picture yesterday.

Me: I TRUSTED YOU.

Haru: You shouldn’t.

But I got to class on time. He smirked the whole day. I am about to remind him of that when...

Ping. Ping.

Both our phones light up at the same time.

We freeze.

Shared notifications are normal. Managers, co-stars, and friends constantly send us rumors, scandals, fan edits, or "Is this actually you two?" articles.

"Probably our manager sending another scandal," I say.

"Or Yukiko spamming memes again," Haru adds.

We reach for our phones casually. Then we freeze again. The notification preview shows no contact name. No icon. No saved number. Only a strange international code neither of us recognizes.

A chill runs down my spine.

"My personal number is only with my team and family, right?" I ask slowly.

Haru nods. "Same."

I open the message.

A video. Grainy CCTV footage with a timestamp.

The old trainee building. Smoke in the hallway. Fire alarm lights flashing.

Four figures stumbling through the smoke. Rie, Abby, Haru, and me.

Carrying someone. Dragging him. Pulling him toward the exit.

Akira.

My breath catches.

This is the night of the electrical fire at the old training building five years ago, back when we were all trainees. The night we rescued Akira and the company rushed him to the hospital. The next day we went to visit. He was gone.

Without a trace.

The screen goes black.

Then another message appears.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You four were the last ones with Akira before he disappeared. The world deserves to know what really happened. I have the footage to prove it. I will contact you soon with instructions. Do not try to be clever. I am watching.

My heart pounds hard against my ribs.

Haru stares at his screen, jaw tight and eyes dark.

Another message appears.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Episode 1 was cute. Let’s make Episode 2 unforgettable.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

This isn’t a prank. This isn’t a rumor.

This is a threat. A warning. A promise.

Someone out there knows everything. Even the things we don’t.

Things we buried. Things we promised never to drag back into the light.

Maybe the only way to understand what’s happening now is to go back to where it all began.