The Character

Akari stood frozen in place, her nerves still buzzing, her skin burning from the surprise attack on her butt.

It had shocked her back into herself, cutting through the fog that had been smothering her thoughts and tightening around her heart. But it hadn’t set her free. Not completely. The invisible weight pressing down on her chest remained.

She could still feel it. The eyes. All of them.

She wanted to run. To hide. To give up on everything altogether and disappear somewhere no one could look at her like this.

When she turned her face away from the acting coach and Takumi, both were waiting patiently for her to return and try again, she caught sight of something unexpected.

A new pair of eyes met hers

Akari stared into her reflection in the mirrored wall. Her hair was still pulled back neatly, her posture already straighter than it had been an hour ago, as if her body remembered something her heart had forgotten. The girl looking back at her still didn’t feel like her, but she was close enough.

But it was her eyes that made her breath hitch.

Who is that? That can’t be me?

She clenched her jaw, pressing down on the thought before it could unravel her.

That’s not me.

Akari drew in a slow breath through her nose and released it just as carefully. Her eyes slowly shut, fingers curling into her palms, nails pressing lightly into skin she could feel growing warm.

Then—pop!

The sound echoed sharply in the quiet space, her palms still cupping her reddening cheeks.

I’m an actress!

The thought struck clean and steady, like a line she’d practiced so many times it no longer belonged only to her mind, but to her body. This wasn’t some personal failing. This wasn’t humiliation for humiliation’s sake.

This was a rehearsal.

She had stood beneath hot stage lights with an audience waiting to tear her apart if she faltered. She had delivered lines while her knees shook and her voice threatened to crack. She had learned how to smile while terrified, how to breathe through panic, how to make fear look intentional. Beautiful, even.

This wasn’t different. It was just another role.

A difficult one. An embarrassingly vulnerable one. But still a role.

When she opened her eyes again, her hands fell to her sides, and her posture shifted. Relaxed, but intentional. Controlled. Something she chose rather than something imposed on her.

And people noticed.

“Alright,” the coach called, a confident grin tugging at her lips as she took in the change, “Let’s run it again.”

Before doubt could catch up to her, Akari stepped forward.

This time, when she walked, she paid attention to the pacing of her breathing. To the floor beneath her feet. To the rhythm instead of the watching eyes. She matched Takumi’s pace, though not perfectly, but close enough that it didn’t feel like she was chasing him anymore.

Close enough that she noticed when he adjusted, too.

Takumi moved with infuriating ease, hands loose, shoulders relaxed. He tilted slightly toward her, just enough to signal attention without crowding her space.

“You’re lighter on your feet all of a sudden,” he said softly, his smile easy, like it was just a passing thought and not something meant to linger. “You’re looking amazing now.”

Her jaw tightened, heat growing faintly beneath her skin. “Thanks.”

As they kept their practices going, she smoothed down to a calm and playful pace next to Takumi’s confident and poised gait. And when they interacted she performed her best warm and friendly girlfriend she knew they wanted from her.

When he spoke his lines, she answered with just the right tone, the kind that made heads nod unconsciously. When they stood close and still, she rocked lightly on her heels, lending a soft warmth to the space between them.

Even when they practiced holding hands, heat rushed up her arms the instant their skin touched, as if the contact alone had set her nerves alight. Her joints stiffening from just his presence, but she followed every instruction given to her and did not let her discomfort show.

She nodded at each adjustment the coach suggested, repeating the motions with quiet determination, smoothing every movement until it looked effortless. Though she still struggled to be that perfect girlfriend, she took everything in and gave back the best performance in her.

Around them, the murmurs shifted.

“That’s better.”

“She’s adapting fast.”

“It’s finally clicking. She’s got it now.”

“We are doing it now,” Takumi leaned in to whisper in a way no one else noticed while they were practicing posing together for pictures on a red carpet, “And it’s all because of you. I can’t do this alone, after all.”

Her chest tightened.

Don’t fall for it. She chided herself, even as she smiled and nodded in time with him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Akari caught their reflection in the mirror. They looked… good. Easy. Like a real couple caught mid-conversation, unaware they were being watched.

The sight twisted something deep in her chest.

Why would someone like him need a fake girlfriend?

The thought came intrusively, sharp and defensive.

That was why he required this. Why he had agreed so easily. Why he wore that expression like a second skin.

This wasn’t about her. It was about him. About cleaning up whatever mess his reputation had left behind. About presenting something safe. Wholesome. Controlled.

And she was just… convenient. A safe girl. An innocent actress. A believable cover. A role dressed up as sincerity.

So that’s it, she thought, bitterness curling quietly inside her, This is just another role for him.

He’s a playboy. Plain and simple. And she was a means to an end. Nothing more. And nothing less.

The realization settled in her stomach like a stone.

But Akari turned back to the other coach working with them and flashed her perfect smile once more, the one she was famous for.

Takumi noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asked under his breath as he leaned in time with a fake camera flash.

“I’m fine,” she replied too quickly, her gaze lifting to meet his.

He studied her for half a second longer than necessary, then smiled and nodded, slipping seamlessly back into that perfect, attentive partner routine as if nothing had happened.

It only confirmed what she already suspected.

Their training continued until–

“Take fifteen,” Matsuda ordered. “Just the two of you. Practice natural interaction.”

She pointed between them as she turned away with the other trainers. One by one, the voices drifted off, footsteps fading toward the far end of the studio, until the space around Akari and Takumi felt strangely exposed. Too open. Too quiet.

Akari’s shoulders tightened.

Takumi, meanwhile, stretched his arms above his head and let out a lazy yawn. All of which felt painfully practiced to Akari now. “Training like this always makes me hungry,” he said lightly. “We’ve got bentos over here. Want one?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away, rolling his shoulders as he picked one up. He settled onto the couch in the corner, rested the box on his knees, bowed his head in thanks, then opened it to eat.

Every movement was smooth. Blocked and practiced to look perfect on any camera from every angle. The thought left a sour twist in Akari’s stomach.

“I-I’m good,” she said, staying where she was as she lifted her water bottle and took a sip, pretending that was enough.

Growl!

The sound cut through the silence far louder than she expected. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she caught Takumi turning away, a quiet laugh clearly being swallowed. Gritting her teeth, she huffed and crossed her arms, turning her back to him.

“Fine,” she said, nearly stomping over to the folding table stacked with bentos. “But I’m standing while I eat.”

Takumi only nodded. “Whatever works best for you, Akari.”

She had already popped the lid open and taken her first bite when she froze. “What did you say?” she asked, slowly turning toward him.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You said my name.”

“Yeah,” Takumi said, flashing her a playful smile, one eyebrow lifting with easy confidence. “Of course I’d use your name. We’re a couple now, after all.”

“For the cameras only,” Akari shot back, quick and sharp, her eyes narrowing in clear frustration.

Takumi laughed softly, lifting his hands in surrender. “Right, right. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” he said lightly. “To give everything we’ve got to the roles we’re playing.”

Akari took another bite, then huffed. “I just don’t like you acting like you know me outside of it.”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “maybe I want to.”

Akari felt frozen in place, yet painfully aware of the heat creeping through her chest as Takumi watched her, that familiar playful smile resting on his lips.

“Either way,” he added, almost casually, “I like your name. It’s pretty. It suits you.”

“I think I just lost my appetite,” Akari muttered, an uncomfortable sensation settling low in her stomach. It wasn’t nausea, but she didn’t want to think about what it really was. She snapped the lid closed on the plastic container and turned to toss it away.

But as she crossed in front of the couch, her foot caught for a moment on the loose carpet. It happened quickly, suddenly she was falling, her breath hitching as she prepared to land hard on the floor.

Instead, she landed against something warm and solid, arms catching her before she could fall. Her eyes squeezed shut instinctively, heart pounding as she waited for the pain that didn’t arrive. When she dared to open them, she found two gentle eyes looking down at her.

She was sitting in Takumi’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around her, holding her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, voice low, unguarded.

For just a moment, the careful polish was gone. His brow was furrowed, his grip firm but careful, his attention wholly on her in a way that didn’t feel performative at all.

Just concern. Open and real.

Her pulse spiked, heat rushing up her neck as something bloomed in her chest. Not awe. Not nerves.

Something softer. Something warmer. Something sudden.

Dangerous.

“I-I… yeah,” she said quickly, pulling herself free, “Just… clumsy.”

The moment snapped like a thread under tension. She stepped away, reestablishing distance like it was armor.

Playboy, she reminded herself firmly, This is what he does.

Takumi hesitated, as if there were something he wanted to say. Instead, he smiled again, softer this time, but still practiced.

“Good,” he nodded. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

She turned away before he could see the color returning to her face.

He was still playing a role. That was all.

Soon, the others began filtering back into the space, voices returning, footsteps filling the room. And whatever had almost taken shape between them dissolved as quietly as it had appeared.

Someone laughed. “You two really are close now, huh?”

Takumi laughed along with them, easy and warm.

Akari matched it without missing a beat.

From the outside, they were flawless.

Inside, unease lingered. Her thoughts circled around that moment she refused to look at too closely. Something too fragile, she didn’t trust herself to name.

Stay in character, she reminded herself as training resumed.

Whatever that moment had been, it didn’t matter. This was still just an act. And she would not let herself forget that.

No matter how real it had almost felt.