Chapter 13: When Tomorrow Smiled Back

Chapter 13: When Tomorrow Smiled Back
I used to think happiness was something loud–something you had to chase. Now I know it’s quieter. It walks beside you and waits for you to notice.” — Akane

Morning did not arrive with a whisper; it came awake and shouting. The hallway was a sea of shifting bodies, a tide of students drawn toward the noticeboard like moths to a sudden light. The air was thick with the scent of floor wax and the low, melodic static of a hundred different conversations.

Akane slowed, her instinct sensing a change in the current.

“What’s going on?” Hikari asked, her voice light with curiosity.

Minato squinted over the heads of the crowd. “Either someone got expelled… or someone got famous.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” Ryusei murmured, his hands deep in his pockets, his voice the sound of dry leaves.

They reached the board, where the highlights of the festival hung like icons in a gallery. Akane’s breath hitched in her throat.

Adam was there, captured in a moment of pure, violent grace. He was mid-sprint, his body a masterpiece of tension, defying gravity with every stride. Beneath him, the words New School Record felt heavy and permanent.

Then, she saw herself. She and Hikari, side-by-side. They looked unguarded, their hair a wild halo from the heat of the game, their eyes bright with a victory that hadn't yet faded.

Hikari’s hands went to her mouth. “That’s… that’s really us.”

Akane couldn't look away. A steady, quiet flame of pride kindled in her chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Minato said, his palms meeting in a sharp report. “I would like to announce that I am friends with celebrities.”

“You always were,” Ryusei replied, a tilt of his head acknowledging the truth.

Adam stood apart, a silent observer of his own sudden fame. He watched the students test the weight of his name on their tongues. He didn't feel the thrill of triumph; he felt the coldness of being measured, of being turned into a static image for others to own.

In the distance, by the lockers, Riku stood in a pocket of stillness. His eyes were fixed on Akane—on the soft curve of her smile, the way she gravitated toward Adam as if by some invisible magnetism. His hands curled into fists, his skin protesting the pressure.

Akane felt the prickle of his gaze. Without looking back, she reached out, her pinky finding Adam’s sleeve. It was a gesture of certainty, a quiet tether in the middle of the noise.

Adam felt it. The tension in his frame eased, just a fraction.

“Alright, everyone,” a teacher called out, herding them toward the day. “Move along.”

The moment broke. As they walked, Minato leaned in. “So, Adam. How does it feel to be officially school property?”

“Temporary,” Adam said, the word a soft shrug.

“Still…” Hikari looked back. “It feels nice.”

“Yeah,” Akane agreed, her smile soft and lingering.

The board stayed behind, but the truth remained. The season had turned. Things had changed.

RRRIIING!

The school bell sliced through the air. Just like that, the "celebrity" moment was over. The crowd dissolved into a blur of uniforms and fragmented gossip. Adam headed down the hall, but the feeling of being watched clung to him like a shadow.

Class 2-B was the same as always.The chalk-smudged board.The desks covered in old graffiti.The ceiling fans humming uselessly against the heat.

Adam took his window seat. Akane claimed the desk next to him, and Minato flopped down behind them, already complaining.

“I swear,” Minato groaned, stretching his arms over his head. “If one more first-year stares at me like I’m part of the ‘Adam Fan Club,’ I’m charging membership fees!”

Ryusei didn't even look up. “You’d still be broke.”

Hikari set her notebook down, looking a bit overwhelmed. “People were… looking at us.”

“Yeah,” Akane agreed. “It’s weird.”

Adam stayed silent, his chin in his palm as he stared out at the courtyard. Out there, everything was "normal." But inside? Every few minutes, he’d catch someone looking. Quick, sideways glances that snapped away the second he moved. It wasn't "fan" behavior. It was something sharper.

The teacher started the lesson. Notes were taken; pages were flipped. Adam gave the right answers in his usual calm voice, trying to blend in. It didn't work. The attention found him anyway.

Akane leaned over, whispering under the cover of the teacher's lecture. “They’re not looking at you like a rumor anymore.”

Adam glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different now,” she said, her expression serious. “Like… they’re measuring you.”

Adam let out a short breath. “Let them.”

Lunch felt almost normal. Minato and Ryusei argued about volleyball spikes versus sprinting skill while Hikari talked about the art room.

“I want to see the displays now that they're packed up,” Hikari said. “I didn't get to see them properly.”

“Let’s go after class!” Akane said.

Minato saluted. “Art room pilgrimage, let's go!”

“I’ll follow wherever food is,” Ryusei added.

Adam checked his phone. “I’ll grab a matcha from the vending machine and meet you there.”

Akane gave him a look. “Don’t wander off.”

“I won’t.”

When the final bell rang, the room exploded into motion. Adam waited for the rush to end before stepping into the hall. He stopped. At the end of the lockers, a lone figure was waiting.

Riku.

Their eyes locked. No fake smiles this time. Riku didn't look away. His gaze was sharp, like a blade that hadn't finished its work. Adam didn't flinch. He held the look for a beat, then turned and walked toward the machines.

He left the moment hanging in the air—unresolved and dangerous.

The noise of the school faded behind him. And with it, the last hope that things were still simple.

...

The hallway near the vending machines was a different world.

The frantic energy of the main wing didn’t reach this far. Here, the air was thick with the low-frequency hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic clunk-thud of cans falling through mechanical gullets. It was a transitional space. A place for people who didn’t want to be found.

It was exactly the kind of place Adam liked.

He stopped in front of the glass, scanning the rows of colorful labels.

Matcha Latte.

The little red light glowed mockingly. Out of Stock.

Adam frowned. He pressed the button anyway, a habit of stubbornness he couldn't quite shake.

The machine whirred. A coil groaned. The can moved forward, wobbling on the edge of the spiral—and then stopped. It hung there, suspended at a precarious angle, as if it had simply reconsidered the effort of existing.

Adam stared at the stuck drink.

"…Figures."

"You have to hit it from the side."

The voice was calm, appearing out of the silence without the warning of footsteps. Adam turned his head.

Standing beside him was a boy with a Student Council pin fastened to his lapel. It was polished to a mirror finish but worn with an understated ease. His posture was relaxed, hands buried in his pockets, his gaze steady. He was the kind of person who didn't need to rush to be on time.

Adam studied him. The stranger didn't look away.

The boy reached out and pressed a button on the adjacent machine. A soda dropped cleanly into the tray. Clunk. He bent down, retrieved the can, and took a measured sip.

"Angle matters," he added, finishing the thought as if they had been talking for an hour.

Adam exhaled. He raised his leg and gave the machine a sharp nudge with his knee. The vibration did the trick; the matcha can dropped with a dull thud.

"…Thanks."

The boy gave a slight, elegant tilt of his head. "Kaito Itsukushima."

"Adam."

They stood in the mechanical hum of the corridor. It wasn't an awkward silence. It was a tactical one—the kind where two people spend the stillness measuring the weight of the person standing next to them.

Kaito glanced at the green can. "Matcha. Unexpected."

Adam shrugged, popping the tab. "Keeps me awake."

"So does pressure," Kaito said mildly.

Adam’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "Is that what this is?"

Kaito smiled. It wasn't a smirk or a taunt. It was pure, unfiltered curiosity.

"You don’t react when people stare," Kaito observed. "Most students in your position would either bask in the glow or fold under the heat."

"I don't care," Adam replied flatly.

"That’s not true," Kaito countered. "You care. You just don’t perform for them."

Adam didn't deny it. He couldn't.

Kaito leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "People like you don't chase authority, Adam."

Adam took a sip of the bitter tea. "Because authority usually chases trouble."

"Exactly," Kaito said, his eyes brightening. "Which is why it keeps finding you."

Adam looked toward the corridor leading back to the art room. He felt the trap closing. "If this is about the Student Council—"

"You should be President next year."

The words landed with the weight of an ultimatum. No buildup. No fluff. Just the raw proposal.

Adam turned fully to face him. "No."

Immediate. Final. Absolute.

Kaito didn't even blink. "I assumed you’d say that."

"Then why ask?"

"Because refusal tells me more than agreement ever could," Kaito replied. "You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t crack a joke. You didn’t even ask what was in it for you."

Adam felt his jaw tighten. "I don’t want a title."

"Neither did I," Kaito said softly. "Not at first."

Adam looked at him again—really looked at him. The stillness in Kaito’s frame wasn't just confidence; it was the weight of responsibility. This wasn't a student playing a role. This was a leader looking for a successor.

"I’m not interested in managing people," Adam said.

Kaito nodded. "Then help me manage reality."

Adam’s brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"Temporary," Kaito said, holding up a finger. "Observe. Assist. No speeches. No 'authority.' Just… help me."

Adam hesitated. He thought of the photos on the noticeboard. He thought of the eyes following him in the classroom. The world was shifting around him whether he liked it or not.

"…Fine," he said at last. "For now."

Kaito’s smile grew genuine. "That’s all I wanted."

He pushed off the wall and gestured down the hall. "Come on. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the board."

Adam followed, a strange unease curling in his stomach. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't exactly regret. It was the realization that he had just stepped onto a path that didn't make much noise…

But once it noticed you, it never let go.

As they walked, Adam felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He didn't check it.

For the first time all day, he had a distinct, undeniable feeling—

Something had just begun.

The Student Council room was brighter than Adam had expected.

Tall, expansive windows lined the far wall, inviting a flood of sunlight that gleamed off the polished surfaces of the desks. They were arranged in a perfect U-shape, radiating an aura of absolute order. Bulletin boards were plastered with color-coded schedules, meticulous budgets, and event posters that practically screamed control.

The room didn’t feel stiff, exactly. It felt efficient. Like a well-oiled machine where every variable had already been calculated.

The moment the door swung open—

"Oh. My. God."

Adam blinked.

A girl sprang from her seat so violently her chair screeched against the floor. She was tall and sharp-eyed, carrying herself with the kind of high-voltage confidence that felt permanently wired for mischief. A few rebellious strands of hair escaped her high ponytail, defying the school’s grooming standards.

She marched straight into Adam’s personal space.

"You’re Adam, right?" she demanded, her hands already reaching out.

Before he could process the question, she snatched his hand in both of hers. Her eyes sparkled.

"I LOVE YOU."

The room fell into a dead silence.

Adam’s brain stalled. A mental error message flashed across his vision.

"…What."

She burst into a fit of unrestrained laughter, nearly doubling over. "Relax! Relax! I’m joking—mostly. You were insane at the sports fest! That spike? Criminal. Absolutely illegal."

Adam tried to retract his hand. He failed.

"I’m Mika Kanzaki," she continued, her energy levels hitting a new peak. "Vice President. Welcome to the most stressful room in the school."

From behind them, Kaito let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed his temple. "Mika. Let him breathe."

"But I am letting him breathe," Mika shot back. "I’m just doing it enthusiastically."

Adam finally managed to reclaim his hand, taking a tactical half-step back. His expression remained a cool, unreadable mask. "Nice to meet you."

Mika tilted her head, inspecting him like a rare specimen. "Wow. Calm. Mysterious. The strong, silent type. I like him already."

"Please ignore Mika."

The voice came from a desk nearby. A girl was looking up from a tablet, her glasses perched neatly on the bridge of her nose. Her expression was that of someone who spent her life cataloging the world’s chaos.

"I’m Ayane Fujimoto," she said, her voice measured and precise. "Secretary. Mika is like this with everyone she finds interesting."

Mika gasped, clutching her heart. "That’s a lie! I’m only like this with people I love!"

"Exactly," Ayane replied flatly.

At the far end of the U-shape, a boy closed his notebook with a soft thud and offered a single, stiff nod.

"Daichi Moriyama. Auditor."

Adam nodded back, keeping it brief. "Adam."

And then—there was Ellie.

She was standing near the window, arms folded lightly over her chest, a thick file tucked under one arm. Her uniform was immaculate, not a single wrinkle in sight. Her expression was a study in neutral composure.

She looked at him.

For a fraction of a second, their eyes locked.

Then, Ellie looked away.

It wasn't a sharp movement, or an angry one. It was just… quick. As if the eye contact had carried a physical heat she wasn't ready to handle.

Adam noticed. He didn't say a word.

Clap. Kaito struck his palms together, the sound clean and authoritative. "Alright. Enough introductions."

Mika pouted, finally retreating to her desk. "You’re no fun."

"You have enough for the both of us," Kaito replied. He turned his attention to Adam. "Adam is here temporarily. Treat him like a human being."

Mika gave a dramatic, over-the-top salute. "Understood, Fearless Leader!"

"We need to deliver some financial and event files to the staff room," Kaito continued, handing out the work. "Ellie will handle half. Adam, you take the rest."

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened by a visible margin. After a beat, she gave a small nod. "Understood."

Adam took the stack without a word. "Alright."

As they moved toward the exit, Mika leaned over the desk and stage-whispered, "If you survive this place, Adam, you’re officially one of us."

Adam paused at the threshold. "That doesn’t sound reassuring."

She flashed a predatory grin. "It’s not."

The door clicked shut behind them.

Sunlight stretched across the tiles of the empty hallway. As Adam and Ellie stepped out side-by-side, the atmosphere grew instantly heavy—thick enough to choke the air out of the corridor.

Neither of them spoke.

The only sound was the rhythmic echo of their footsteps. The stacks of files they carried felt like a physical barrier, a convenient excuse to keep their eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Ellie’s grip tightened on her folders until her knuckles turned white.

Adam walked with a calm, steady gait, his gaze focused on the far end of the hall. On the surface, he was unbothered.

But he felt it.

The crushing weight of the distance between them. The gravity of the things left unsaid.

Some silences were louder than any argument could ever be.

And behind them, inside the room where the school's future was decided, eyes were still following.

The hallway outside the Student Council room felt narrower than it had only minutes before.

Adam maintained an even, rhythmic pace, the weight of the files balanced effortlessly against his arm. Beside him, Ellie trailed by half a step, her folders clutched to her chest like a suit of tactical armor. Their footsteps echoed in the corridor—a syncopated beat that never quite found a shared rhythm.

Neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t the sharp, jagged silence of hostility. It was something far more fragile. Cautious. Deliberate. The kind of silence built from a mountain of shared memories and a sudden, aching lack of words.

Adam didn’t rush to fill the void. He wasn't the type to break a silence just because it was heavy.

Ellie, however, seemed to be fighting a silent war with herself. Her mouth would open slightly, then press thin again, as if she were testing sentences in her head and finding every single one of them wanting.

They passed a classroom, the brief burst of student laughter sounding like it belonged to another world before the door slid shut, cutting the noise off.

Finally, Ellie’s grip on her folders tightened until the plastic groaned.

"…You did well," she said. The words were sudden, brittle.

Adam glanced sideways, his expression neutral. "At the festival?"

She gave a small, stiff nod. "All of it. Sports. Everything."

"Thanks."

Another silence settled in—heavier this time, now that the seal had been broken.

They reached the staff room. Adam used his shoulder to prop the door open, gesturing for Ellie to go in first. Inside, the atmosphere was mundane; teachers looked up from their grading, murmured their thanks as the files were deposited, and went back to their work. Routine.

Outside again, the stairwell waited for them. It was a pocket of stillness, washed in the amber glow of the afternoon. Dust motes drifted lazily through a sunbeam that lanced through the high window, making the air look thick and golden.

Buzz.

Adam’s phone vibrated. He checked the screen—one missed message—and then it started ringing.

"Hey," Akane’s voice drifted through the speaker. She sounded light, but there was an underlying note of curiosity. "Where are you? We’re already at the gate."

"Near the staff room," Adam replied, his voice softening just a fraction. "I’ll be there in two minutes."

"Okay," she said, a hint of a smile in her tone. "Don’t get kidnapped again."

He huffed a short, dry laugh. "No promises."

The call ended. Adam slid the phone back into his pocket and turned to face Ellie. "I'll see you later."

He took a step away, ready to disappear into the mundane routine of the afternoon.

"Adam."

The way she said his name stopped him. It wasn't a shout or a plea—it was just hesitant.

He turned back.

Ellie stood on the stair landing, her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her folder. She looked toward the window, her eyes tracking the dust motes, before looking back at him. She looked like she was bracing herself for an impact.

"The fireworks festival," she began. "It’s coming up."

Adam understood immediately.

A memory of Minato’s frantic group texts surfaced—we’re all going next month. Plans were already crystallizing. A group outing. Laughter. Noise. The safety of a crowd.

"We're already planning to go," he said gently, bridging the gap for her. "You should come, too."

Ellie blinked, her composure wavering. "I—"

"Akane would like that," he added.

That was the key.

Her shoulders dropped, the tension bleeding out of her frame as if she’d been holding her breath for an hour. A beat of silence passed. Then, a small, tentative nod.

"…Okay."

A smile touched her lips. It wasn't bright, and it wasn't confident, but for the first time that day, it was real.

"I'll tell her," Adam said.

He didn't wait for the moment to turn awkward or overstay its welcome. Some things were better left exactly as they were.

As he jogged down the stairs toward the exit, Ellie remained on the landing, her eyes fixed on his back until he vanished around the corner.

She pressed the folders tighter against her heart.

Some distances aren't carved out by anger or betrayal. Sometimes, they are simply born from bad timing.

And timing is a cruel thing.

The school gates were a wall of sound.

It wasn't the jagged noise of a crowd, but something more rhythmic—the "end-of-day" heartbeat of a campus. Backpacks thudded against shoulders, bicycles clicked, and a hundred different conversations overlapped into a single, blurred hum. The sun hung low in the sky, bleeding gold over the pavement and stretching their shadows into long, thin giants.

Akane spotted him first.

"There he is," she said, her hand lifting in a small, welcoming gesture.

Adam slowed his jog as he approached. His breath was steady, his face a mask of calm—you wouldn’t have guessed he’d just walked out of a room where the school’s power dynamics were being recalibrated.

Minato squinted at him through the glare. "Wow. He lives."

Ryusei didn't even look up from his phone. "Barely."

"Did you get your drink?" Hikari asked, her smile warm and genuine.

Adam let out a slow exhale. "The vending machine betrayed me."

Minato gasped, clutching his chest with theatrical agony. "Unforgivable. A betrayal of the highest order! I’ll write a formal complaint to the board myself."

Akane, however, wasn't looking at his hands or the machine. She was studying his face, her head tilted at an angle that suggested she was reading between the lines. "You okay?"

He met her gaze. Just for a second. Long enough for the noise of the gates to fade into the background.

"Yeah," he said. And this time, the word didn't feel like a mask.

Satisfied, Akane nodded. Without a second thought, she reached out and hooked her arm through his. The movement was so natural, so casual, that it felt like a law of physics. Adam didn't say a word; he simply adjusted his pace to match hers.

The group began to move.

"So," Minato started, stretching his arms toward the sky, "are we celebrating our debut as celebrities now, or later?"

"We’re not famous," Adam countered.

Hikari gave a soft, melodic laugh. "People were whispering quite a bit, though."

Ryusei shrugged. "People whisper about the weather. Doesn’t mean it matters."

"Still..." Akane’s voice was quiet, a small smile playing on her lips. "It’s kind of nice."

They reached the intersection where the sidewalk split into different futures.

Minato checked his watch with a flourish. "Alright, art room crew! Operation: Cultural Display is a go. Move out!"

Hikari perked up instantly. "Yes!"

Adam came to a halt. "I’ll walk Akane home."

Minato’s eyebrows did a suggestive little dance. "As expected of our star athlete."

Akane rolled her eyes, though she didn't loosen her grip on Adam’s arm. "Text us when you get home," she called out to the others.

"Don’t do anything scandalous!" Minato shouted back over his shoulder.

"Too late for that," Ryusei muttered, his voice trailing off.

The group’s laughter faded as they drifted away, the noise thinning out until the world was reduced to just the two of them and the steady rhythm of their footsteps on the pavement.

For a long stretch, they walked in silence.

Then, Akane glanced up at him from the side. "You really didn’t disappear this time."

He huffed a soft, dry sound that was almost a laugh. "I told you I wouldn't."

She smiled, looking content, and leaned a little closer into his space.

In the golden light of the fading day, the world finally felt manageable again.

The street leading toward Akane’s house was a sanctuary of quiet compared to the school grounds. Small shops were lowering their shutters for the evening, their signs flickering off one by one. Above, the sky had softened into a delicate pastel palette—peach melting into a deep lavender—as if the world were gently coaxing them into the night.

Adam walked on the traffic side. It was a habit of his, born of instinct rather than conscious thought. Akane noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

“You do that on purpose,” she said, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

“Do what?”

“Walk like you’re shielding me from rogue bicycles and bad life decisions.”

He glanced at her, his expression unimpressed. “Bicycles are a legitimate threat.”

She laughed, the sound warm and loose in the evening air. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet here you are,” he replied dryly.

She hummed in agreement, swinging their joined hands once before letting them fall naturally between them again. They were halfway down the block when Akane’s phone vibrated.

She frowned, slowing her steps as she pulled it out. “Huh.”

“What is it?” Adam asked.

She turned the screen toward him. “I got an email. From… an ad agency?”

Adam stopped dead in his tracks.

“A real one?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she said, her eyes scanning the text at high speed. “What if it’s fake? Or spam? Or—worse—one of those weird talent scams?”

Adam leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. The proximity made her pulse jump, but she stayed focused. “There’s a contact number. Legit formatting. No obvious red flags.”

She looked up at him, her usual confidence replaced by uncertainty. “Can you… call them?”

He blinked. “Me?”

“Please,” she pleaded. “I’ll panic and say something embarrassing.”

“You always say embarrassing things.”

“Yes, but on purpose!” she shot back.

He sighed, already pulling out his phone. “You owe me.”

“I’ll buy you matcha,” she promised instantly.

“That’s extortion.”

“And it works.”

Adam dialed.

As the line rang, Akane hovered beside him like a nervous bird. She mouthed words at him—What should I say?—then immediately began making exaggerated hand gestures, mimicking a high-society smile.

He covered the receiver briefly. “Stop doing that.”

“I’m helping!”

The call connected.

Adam’s posture straightened, his voice shifting into a calm, measured professional tone. “Hello, this is Adam Tsuda. I’m calling regarding an email sent to Akane Hayasaka.”

Akane watched him, mesmerized. She saw him through new eyes in that moment—how easily he seized control, how steady he sounded under pressure. She gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, then froze, worried she was being a distraction.

He asked a few precise questions. He clarified timelines. He confirmed the fine print.

She leaned in, whispering urgently, “Is it real?”

He gave her a single, firm nod.

Her eyes widened to saucers. She covered her mouth with both hands, bouncing silently on her toes as the reality set in.

Adam turned slightly away to finalize the conversation. “Understood. I’ll pass that along. Thank you.”

He handed the phone to her. “They want to speak with you.”

She stared at the device as if it were a live grenade.

“You’ve got this,” he said quietly.

She took a breath. Then another. And answered.

As she spoke, her body took over. She started gesturing excitedly, then nervously, then emphatically. Adam watched, amused, as she nodded too hard at empty air, bowed slightly despite being on the phone, and then laughed at a joke the agent made.

She ended the call and stood frozen for a long beat, staring at her phone as if the screen had just rewritten the script of her entire life.

“Well?” Adam asked.

She lifted her head slowly. Too slowly.

A smile began to creep across her face—but it wasn’t the bright, innocent beam he was used to. It was something sharper. Something… dangerous.

“I got it,” she said.

He gave a single, firm nod. “Told you.”

She rocked back on her heels, hands clasped behind her back, swaying with a sudden, playful energy. “It’s a small part, but it’s real. Paid. Contract and everything.”

“That’s good,” he said, his voice grounding her. “You earned it.”

She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with a familiar, mischievous light. “Wanna know what the ad is for?”

He sighed, his internal alarm bells already ringing. “If this is another trick—”

She stepped into his space. She moved close—close enough that he could see the faint flicker of excitement in her pupils and the way her lips curved as if she were guarding a secret meant only for him.

“It’s for…” she paused, letting the silence stretch for maximum effect, “…my darling.”

Adam froze. The world seemed to stop spinning for a second.

“…What?”

She nodded with mock solemnity. “Yup. Apparently, my darling is very marketable.”

Adam stared at her, his brain working overtime to process the words. “You’re joking.”

She leaned in even further, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “They want close-ups, Adam. Soft lighting. Emotional resonance.”

Adam’s ears turned a vivid shade of red instantly. “Akane.”

She finally broke. A peal of unrestrained laughter escaped her as she doubled over, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the tension left his body. “You’re cruel.”

“It’s accessories!” she chirped, her eyes dancing. “Bracelets and necklaces.”

He pointed a finger at her, though he couldn't keep the sternness in his voice. “One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble.”

She straightened up, her expression suddenly softening as she met his gaze. The playfulness didn't disappear, but it was joined by something deeper. “You were really worried, though.”

“…A little,” he admitted.

Her smile turned gentle. “Thank you for calling for me.”

He shrugged, trying—and failing—to regain his usual cool composure. “Someone had to keep you from panic-signing your soul away to a stranger.”

She hummed thoughtfully, her gaze drifting. “Still… if there was an ad for my darling…”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

She leaned closer, just enough for him to feel the warmth of her presence in the cooling evening air. “I’d totally take it.”

His heart skipped a beat. A clear, physical thud against his ribs. “Akane.”

She grinned, then leaned in and kissed his cheek—a quick, light, devastating strike.

“Good night, Adam!”

She turned and bolted for her front door before he could even think of a recovery.

Adam stood on the sidewalk a moment longer than necessary, his hand hovering uselessly at his side. He touched his cheek, the skin still warm where her lips had been.

“…Menace,” he muttered to the empty street.

Hayasaka Mart was a place that never truly slept.

Even in the evening, the store hummed with a low-voltage energy. Fluorescent lights flickered softly over shelves half-stocked for the morning rush, and the lingering scent of fried snacks hung heavy in the air. Akane had barely kicked off her shoes before the peace was shattered.

"NEE-CHAN!"

Sora erupted from behind the counter like a heat-seeking missile, nearly tackling her into the display rack.

"I’m home!" she laughed, catching him with practiced ease and spinning him once. "Careful, Sora. You’re getting heavy."

"No I’m not!" he shouted, pointing a finger at her. "You’re just getting weak!"

From the kitchen, a voice drifted out, laced with amusement. "Sora, don't lie so confidently."

Yumi Hayasaka emerged with a dish towel draped over her shoulder. Her eyes instantly locked onto her daughter’s face. "You’re glowing," she said simply.

Akane froze. "I am not."

"You are," Kenji Hayasaka added from behind the register, adjusting his glasses with a proud smile. "Big day?"

Akane hesitated, the secret bubbling up in her chest until she couldn't hold it back anymore. "The ad... they called me back. I got it."

The shop fell silent for half a heartbeat.

Then—chaos.

"That’s my daughter!" Kenji exclaimed, clapping his hands so loudly that Sora actually jumped.

Yumi’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes shimmering. "Akane… really?"

Akane nodded, a rare shyness overtaking her. "It’s a small role. Just accessories. But it’s real."

Sora began bouncing on his heels like a pogo stick. "Does that mean you’ll be on TV?! Will you be a superstar?!"

"Maybe," Akane laughed, ruffling his hair. "But don't tell anyone yet. It's a secret."

Kenji was already pulling ingredients from the fridge with newfound vigor. "We’re celebrating. I won't hear any arguments."

"I already made dinner—" Yumi began to protest.

"We’re upgrading dinner," he replied firmly.

The kitchen erupted into motion.

Pans clanged, oil sizzled, and Sora was officially drafted for "High-Priority Assistant Duties," which mostly involved washing vegetables and sneakily eating raw carrots. Akane leaned against the counter, watching her parents move in their familiar, practiced harmony. Her chest felt tight—not with stress, but with a soft, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Later, they gathered around the small dining table, plates piled high with celebratory food.

"To Akane," Kenji said, raising his glass high. "For chasing something bigger than her fear."

Yumi smiled, her gaze tender. "And for coming home with that smile."

Sora thrust his juice box into the air. "And for buying me all the snacks when you’re famous!"

The room filled with laughter.

Akane felt it then—the warmth, the safety. The simple, unshakable truth that no matter how far she traveled or how famous she became, this place would always be waiting to catch her.

After the meal, she helped with the dishes, listening to her parents talk excitedly about schedules and possibilities. Eventually, Sora drifted off on the couch, his game controller still clutched in his small hands.

When Akane finally retreated to the quiet of her room, the house had settled into a peaceful hum. She changed into her pajamas and sat on the edge of her bed, letting the weight of the day sink into her bones.

Her phone buzzed.

She picked it up absently, only to feel her heart stop.

[Message] Adam: Congratulations, darling.

Her breath hitched. The timestamp showed he’d sent it a while ago—probably right after they’d said goodnight. She stared at the screen, heat crawling up her neck and staining her cheeks crimson. Finally, she let out a muffled groan and collapsed backward onto her mattress.

"He said it again..." she murmured into her pillow.

She hugged the pillow tight, burying her face in the fabric as her heart raced at a ridiculous speed.

Somewhere across the city—

Adam lay on his bed in the dark, his phone resting on his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s highlights like a film loop: her laugh, the way her hands moved when she was excited, the weight of her leaning against him.

He closed his eyes, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips.

But it was her smile that lingered behind his eyelids.

Back in her room, Akane rolled onto her side, the phone pressed against her heart. Her cheeks were still warm.

Tomorrow would be busy. The future would be loud.

But tonight? Tonight was gentle.

And for now, that was enough.