The First Rehearsal

Akari wasn’t sure what she had been expecting.

Maybe something like yesterday’s meeting? Another pristine conference room, another long table lined with identical suits and polite smiles. Clipboards. Slideshows. Carefully rehearsed speeches about image and appearances. Just something rigid and formal in a way that would have bored her while terrifying her at its stringent designs for her.

But this was nothing like she had ever imagined.

The moment she stepped into the unmarked rehearsal studio, Akari felt it.

An army.

Not soldiers in uniform, but so many people, each dressed uniquely, each carrying a quiet confidence that made her instinctively straighten her spine. The air buzzed with energy, like a stage just before the curtain rose.

And there was Matsuda.

Immaculate as always, her tailored suit crisp and her gaze even sharper. But she wasn’t alone. Surrounding her was a world Akari hadn’t realized would be waiting for her.

A relationship counselor with gentle smiles greeted her with a wave. A dance instructor stretched casually against a mirrored wall. Acting coaches whispered among themselves as they looked over scripts. A wardrobe designer was already assessing her silhouette, with a fitness coordinator and makeup artist watching as she made her way in and set down her training bag.

They smiled warmly. But watched closely.

Too closely.

Before she could gather herself, Matsuda snapped her fingers.

“Let’s begin. No time to waste.”

No greeting. No explanation.

And all at once, they moved.

The room closed in as they descended upon her, voices overlapping, hands gesturing, attention pressing in from every direction. Akari’s heart stuttered as she stood frozen in the center of it all, wondering how she had gone from an ordinary life to becoming the focus of something this overwhelming.

“Relax your shoulders,” someone said behind her.

Akari barely had time to register the instruction before hands settled there anyway. They were firm, and yet practiced, guiding her posture as if her body already knew what to do, even if she didn't. A measuring tape slid coldly along her side. Fabric lifted, smoothed, then pinned with careful precision.

The air felt suddenly too close. She became acutely aware of herself.

Every inch of skin. Every breath. Just how close everyone was.

A binder snapped shut with a decisive clap.

“So,” the woman in front of her, the relationship counselor, asked lightly, already glancing past Akari as if the answer is just another checkbox, “how many boyfriends have you had?”

The question hit too fast. Akari’s mind stumbled, tangled in the noise and movement around her, and she couldn’t dodge it in time.

“Uh…” Her mouth opened before her thoughts could catch up. Heat crept up her neck, embarrassingly obvious. “Two, I think? I-If short ones from high school count.”

Someone hummed, pleased. A pen scratched across paper.

“Arms up, please.”

She obeyed without thinking, not even sure who said it this time. Sleeves rolled back. Fingers brushed against her wrist, then her elbow, gently turning her until she’s facing the mirror.

Akari blinked.

She barely recognized herself.

Her hair half done, pinned in unfamiliar ways. Her clothes clipped and tailored into a silhouette that suggests confident poise that she doesn’t remember ever having, let alone earning. It felt like she’s borrowing someone else’s reflection. Someone greater than she was.

A voice drifted close, near her ear, almost casual as the measuring tape tightened and loosened again.

“Your three measurements?”

Her eyes widened. The bluntness of it stole her breath. But she felt a mix of emotions when she didn't have to answer the question herself, as the one working the tape read each number aloud and confirmed by another who wrote them down in their folder.

The feeling she settled on was mortified.

“Good,” someone murmurs. “Very workable.”

Workable? The word lingers, sharp and uncomfortable, like it’s pressing directly against her ribs.

A make-up brush skimmed beneath her eye. She flinched, then forced herself to still.

“And underwear,” the stylist asked absently, not looking up. “What do you usually wear?”

Her reflection blinked back at her.

“That’s…?” She swallowed. “That’s important?”

“For silhouettes,” came the easy reply. “And movement.”

What am I supposed to say? Cotton? Plain, safe, boring cotton? Or is something daring the right answer here? Is there a right answer? Should I even be answering this at all?

The words tangled in her throat. She couldn’t even make herself speak.

Around her, they kept moving. Adjusting. Assessing. Stepping back to observe, then stepping in again.

She feels seen in purely fragments.

Her posture. Her waistline. The nervous way her hands fidget when no one tells them where to rest.

And she desperately wished for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

And if things couldn’t get worse: Takumi was there.

He lounged on a couch at the edge of the studio, utterly unbothered, a cup of hot tea held in one hand while the other flipped through a training binder. He was reading like this was just another quiet afternoon, memorizing lines with casual ease.

Even sitting still, he looked unfairly perfect. Like heaven itself leaned down and decided to linger right there.

All while Akari wanted to crawl out of her skin.

Why does he have to be here? She pleaded silently. Why does he have to see me like this?

Eventually, and mercifully so, it ended.

One by one, they peel away from her, clustering together in small groups, murmuring and gesturing like scientists discussing a promising new specimen. Their interest shifts elsewhere, leaving her hollowed out in their wake.

Crumpled and exhausted, Akari sank into a folding chair. Pressing her hands into her lap, breathing slowly, trying to gather what remains of her dignity and her fraying sanity.

Then, through the fog, something cool appeared in front of her.

A bottle of water.

Matsuda stood there, fierce as ever, yet her expression was unexpectedly gentle. She offered the bottle without a word, her gaze steady and reassuring.

With fingers trembling slightly, Akari took it. Even the faintest curve of Matsuda’s smile felt like warmth spreading through her chest. For the first time since she walked into the studio, Akari exhaled.

“You’ve done very well so far,” Matsuda says, her tone crisp and unyielding as Akari cracked the seal on the bottle and started drinking, “But this is just the beginning. It’s only going to get tougher from here. Be prepared.”

Akari’s sanity promptly shattered.

She sputters on her water, coughing just in time to see Matsuda turn on her heel and march back toward the cluster of professionals, rallying them like a general calling her troops to order.

Tougher? This was the easy part? Akari felt her face twist at the thought.

But a sound cut through her pity party like a knife. A small chuckle.

Then a sound cut through her spiraling.

A laugh, soft yet restrained.

Her eyes snapped toward it.

Takumi. Turned slightly away, he was covering his mouth with his wrist as if the chuckle were just a cough, valiantly trying to keep his composure. Failing.

Her eyes narrowed, sharpened into daggers. A rush of emotions surged through her, but one rose above the rest. Annoyance. Not only had he laughed at her suffering, he had done it while looking flawless…

When he glanced back and caught her stare, his expression shifted. He straightened at once, cleared his throat, and offered her a small, reassuring wave.

And somehow, that, too, was perfect.

Which annoyed her more.

“Alright,” the acting coach clapped sharply. “On your feet. Both of you.”

Akari barely had time to groan before hands were at her wrists, tugging her upright, the water bottle still clenched in her fingers. Takumi stepped in beside her, close enough that she caught the clean, subtle scent of his cologne.

He smiles at her. Not flashy, not forced. Just effortless. Of course.

“Ready to begin?” he asked while rolling his shoulders, loosening up for whatever training exercise was coming for them.

“Yeah,” Akari stiffened slightly at his proximity, “I guess so.”

Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest. It wasn’t the timid awe she felt yesterday. That had been smothered, pushed aside by something sharper. A prickling tension that made her want to take a step back, even as she stayed rooted in place.

A voice whispered in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite catch the words.

“We are going to practice casual walking,” the acting coach said, grabbing Akari’s shoulders, bringing her back to Earth. “The paparazzi love seeing cute couples out and about. You have to sell that closeness without being too close. So give me your best casual walk. And don’t forget to talk while you do.”

Akari gulped dryly. Casual. Right…

On cue, Takumi and Akari began their walk, the weight of dozens of watchful eyes pressing in from every direction. Takumi moves first, unhurried, effortless. His hands slid into his pockets, his stride loose and confident with a faint sway to his steps that made it all look natural. Like he has done this exact walk a thousand times before.

Akari on the other hand, did not.

Her arms swung awkwardly, never quite in sync. Her steps uneven as she stumbles forward half a beat behind him. Her lips forced into a shape she hoped passed for a smile, though if felt more like her face was seized up entirely.

Pivoting closer to her, Takumi leaned in just enough, “How has your day been so far?”

“G-good,” came the gurgle from her throat in reply.

“Cut!”

Matsuda’s gaze snapped towards them, sharp enough to make Akari’s stomach drop. A direct hit doesn’t land only because the acting coach intercepted first.

“Let’s try that again,” the coach said quickly, her tone gentle. “More like this.”

Before Akari could protest, warm hands took a hold of her wrists, repositioning them. One now rests lightly against Takumi’s arm. Her feet nudged closer, closing the space between them.

Takumi adjusted without hesitation, leaning in just a fraction. Not touching, Just close enough for Akari to feel the heat of him at her side. An unfamiliar warmth that makes her chest tighten again.

“No closed-off posture,” the coach said immediately. “Relax. Angle towards him. You have to listen to each other with your bodies, not just your ears.”

Her breath caught.

From the outside, it probably looked easy. Intimate. Real. To her, it felt like being maneuvered into place against her will.

They started walking again. And once again, she moved painfully stiff next to the seeming god of grace beside her.

“You’re doing good,” Takumi whispered, leaning in just a bit more, “Just be natural, you got the rest.”

Heat floods her face.

Instincts take over before thought can intervene. She jerked away, missing a step, nearly stumbling as her pace falters. Takumi stopped immediately, turning back toward her, concern flickering across his expression.

Akari froze. The room goes silent. Every gaze has settled on her, heavy and unblinking. Her heart slammed against her ribs, loud enough that she was sure everyone could hear it. Her lungs forgot what they were supposed to do. She can’t move, barely breathing.

Until a sharp smack cracked through the rehearsal space.

“EEP?!”

The sound echoed through the studio as Akari yelped and jumped, hands flying instinctively to her backside as she spun around in shock. Heat flooded her face, equal parts pain and embarrassment, as she stared at the acting coach, who was calmly tightening her grip on a rolled-up script. Clearly, she was preparing for another strike.

“I said no closed-off posture,” she huffed, lightly tapping the script against her shoulder. Her tone was more mischievous than angry, “But now look at you.”

Akari’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You’re much more open already,” the coach continued cheerfully. “Back to one. We’ll run it again.” She leaned in just enough for Akari to catch the devious curve of her smile. “And we’ll keep running it… until you’re perfect.”

Akari swallowed hard.

Somewhere behind her, she could feel Takumi’s presence, trying very hard not to laugh again. And that knowledge alone made her want to sink straight into the floor.

Perfect, right…