"Forgetting the old”

The confrontation with Ren in the vintage store had been necessary, a final, furious act of self-preservation, but it had left her emotionally hollowed out. She had severed the last toxic tie, but now she had nothing to fill the void but the sheer, scary uncertainty of her future.

She changed into one of her mother's soft, oversized t-shirts and crawled back into bed. Neko, who had been meticulously cleaning herself on the desk, immediately recognized the distress radiating from her human and padded over, jumping lightly onto the comforter.

Airi reached out a shaky hand and pulled Neko close, burying her face in the cat’s warm, dense fur. The rhythmic purr started instantly, a deep, restorative motor against her ear. Airi stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar, heavy ache of betrayal settle in. She had been completely right: Ren didn't care about the consequences; he cared about the music.

She had just closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memory of Ren's horrified, pleading face, when her phone vibrated on the pillow beside her—not with the urgent chime of a work email, but the soft, gentle notification of a private message.

It was Saki.

Airi held her breath, staring at the screen, unsure if she could handle another confrontation.

SAKI: Airi, are you okay? I just saw the morning news digest. I saw the pictures of you being swarmed by the paparazzi. That looked terrifying. I’m really worried. Please just tell me you’re safe, wherever you are. I don’t need to know anything else. Just tell me you're safe.

The simple, unforced concern instantly pricked the hard shell of Airi’s anger. Saki hadn't asked about Ren, the album, or the firing. She had asked about Airi's safety after seeing her friend cornered.

Airi’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. She swallowed the massive knot in her throat and began to type, forcing herself to be completely honest.

AIRI: I’m safe. I’m at my parents’ house. Thank you for asking. And Saki, about the other day—I was a complete idiot. I was fired, I was scared, and I took it all out on you. I am so incredibly sorry. I had no right to accuse you. Please forgive me.

A few agonizing moments passed. Airi stared at the little bubble that indicated Saki was typing, her heart pounding with the desperate hope that her friend wouldn't slam this door, too.

SAKI: Stop. Don't apologize. Honestly, I should apologize, too. I completely overreacted and slammed the door. I was wearing stupid pink heart pajamas and feeling judged, and I acted like a child. When I saw that video of you being chased by those vultures, I felt sick. My first thought was, 'I should have gone with her.' Please, just forget it. We’re good. You have way bigger problems than my hurt feelings right now.

A profound wave of relief washed over Airi, so intense it made her dizzy. The last piece of her sanity, her decade-long friendship, was intact.

AIRI: Thank you, Saki. Seriously. I needed that. I needed you.

SAKI: Always. Now, put the phone down, get a hot tea, and tell me everything. Start with the apartment break-in—I heard rumors. And then tell me about him.

Airi pushed herself up, resting the phone against the pillow, and recounted the entire devastating sequence of events: the firing, the break-in, the relief of Neko being safe, and the furious, final confrontation with Ren in the vintage store.

Saki listened patiently, sending back short, furious emojis (mostly the red, angry face) until Airi was finished.

SAKI: Okay. I’m done. I need you to listen to me now, Airi. And I need you to forget that ridiculous, self-important, pretty boy idol right now.

AIRI (Text Message):

I already confronted him. I told him he was an asshole and left him alone in a store full of used kimonos.

SAKI: Good. But that’s not enough. You need to understand the fundamental reason he did all of this, and why he ran the second things got messy.

SAKI: Ren Ichijō is famous. He is wealthy. He has incredible stage presence and charisma. But, Airi, he is not a naturally talented songwriter. He is not a composer. His early work was generic and disposable. When he found you, he found the thing he lacked—that raw, defiant, beautiful, honest chaos he needed to turn his brand into an actual artist.

SAKI:You are his genius. You are his muse, his hidden engine. He didn't rush this second album because of agency deadlines; he rushed it because he knew your corporate promotion would take away your time, and he’d lose his supply. He needed to feed off your talent while he still had access.

SAKI: The moment you became a liability, a problem that required Junpei’s ‘management’—he disappeared. He put PR first because you are secondary to the brand. He doesn't care about you; he cares about what you give him. You are right. He got what he wanted, and now he is treating you like nothing.

Saki’s blunt, brutal assessment was like a cold splash of water across Airi’s face. It was harsh, but it was honest. It cut through the hazy, romanticized memory of the kiss and left only the clear, painful structure of their professional relationship. Saki, the media marketing expert, had laid out the logistics of Ren's self-interest perfectly.

The shame Airi felt about being fired and the anger she felt toward Ren suddenly crystallized into a cold, hard resolve.

AIRI: You're right. You’re completely right, Saki. Every word. He called my corporate life a chain, but he just tried to chain my creativity to his comeback. I see it now.

SAKI: Good. See it. Accept it. Grieve the loss of your old job, grieve the betrayal, and then move on. You're Airi Komatsu, and you are far more talented than any idol who needs you to make his songs good. You don't need his chaos, Airi. You create your own.

SAKI: Now, are you ready to eat some terrible takeout and let me help you figure out compensation and apartment security? And promise me you won't write a single lyric for him until Junpei sends a proper, formal contract compensating you for your lost income. Make him pay.

AIRI:I promise. Let me call you in ten minutes. I need to hug my cat and breathe for a second.

Airi put the phone down, the screen darkening. The fear had finally subsided, replaced by a cold, purposeful focus. Saki's fierce loyalty and harsh truth had restored her footing.

She settled back onto the bed, the mattress protesting slightly under her weight. Neko, sensing the shift in her mood from frantic to resolved, began purring again, nuzzling her chin against Airi’s neck.

Airi stroked the cat's back, looking up at the familiar, safe white ceiling.

"You are right, Neko," Airi whispered, the words meant only for the small, warm creature on her chest. "I should just forget this guy. He's not worth the rent I can no longer pay, and he's certainly not worth losing my best friend over."

She closed her eyes, no longer fighting the exhaustion. The chaos still existed, but now, she knew exactly where to aim her defiance. It was time to stop being Ren’s muse and start being the architect of her own next move. The music was still hers, and now, so was the narrative.