Prologue

The air in the practice room was always thick. It was a mixture of floor wax, stale sweat, and the electric hum of the industrial speakers, but tonight it felt different. We were in the zone. The beat was a heavy, pulsating heart that we all shared. Through the wall of mirrors, I watched our reflection. There was Haru with his sharp movements, Abby with his effortless grace, and Rie with her infectious energy as she let out a breathless laugh between counts.

Then the smell hit me.

It was not the usual scent of hard work. It was acrid, sharp, and invasive. It tasted like scorched metal. I stopped mid rotation, my sneakers screeching against the wood floor.

"Do you guys smell that?" I asked, but my voice was swallowed by the bass.

I walked toward the window, pulling back the heavy blackout curtains. I expected to see a neighbor’s chimney or perhaps a trash fire in the alleyway. The streets below were dim and quiet, the pavement shimmering under a light drizzle. There was no smoke from the nearby convenience store and no fire in the houses across the street.

The smoke was drifting upward, thick and black, from the floor directly beneath us. It was coming from our own building.

"Fire!" I screamed, my voice finally cutting through the music like a knife. "There is a fire in the building!"

The music died instantly as Haru lunged for the power switch. The silence that followed was terrifying. We did not need to speak. We scrambled to grab bags and phones with trembling hands. The adrenaline turned our movements jerky and panicked. By the time we burst into the hallway, the air was already a grey haze.

"This way! The emergency stairs!" Abby shouted. His usual wit was replaced by a raw, jagged authority.

We ran, our footsteps echoing like gunshots. The heat was rising through the floorboards, a physical weight pressing against our lungs. We reached the landing of the second floor when Rie suddenly stopped. Her eyes went wide with a horrific realization. She pointed through the thickening veil of smoke toward the end of the corridor.

"Akira! He is over there!" she shrieked. Her voice dissolved into a fit of violent coughing. "He is in the vocal booth! Akira!"

Rie stumbled, her knees buckling as the smoke began to take hold of her balance. I rushed to her side, catching her before she hit the floor. Abby and Haru did not hesitate. They rushed into the the hallway together, their silhouettes swallowed by the fumes.

Seconds felt like hours. I crouched over Rie, shielding her face with my flannel shirt while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Then I heard them through the roar of the fire. Haru and Abby emerged from the darkness. They were covered in soot and carrying a limp Akira between them. His head hung low and his skin was a sickly, pale grey in the flickering orange light.

"Move! Now!" Haru roared.

We tumbled out of the heavy fire doors and into the cool, damp night air just as the windows of the third floor shattered from the heat. We collapsed onto the wet pavement, gasping for breath as the sirens of the fire trucks wailed in the distance.

The paramedics arrived quickly, ushering us all into the back of ambulances. When we reached the hospital, the four of us were kept in a shared observation bay to receive oxygen and rest. We watched as Akira was wheeled away. The nurses told us he was being taken to a different, more specialized room because he had fainted and they needed to monitor his vitals more closely. We were exhausted, our lungs burning, and we eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, the world was a different color. The sun was too bright and the air was too cold. I woke up and looked at Rie, whose throat was still raw and stinging. We stood up, eager to find Akira and see if he had regained consciousness. But when we approached the reception desk to ask for his room number, the nurse looked confused.

"Akira Sato?" she asked, her voice clinical. "I am sorry, but we have no record of a patient by that name being admitted last night."

"That is impossible," Rie argued. Her expressive eyes filled with tears. "He was brought in with us! He was in the room next door!"

Frantic and confused, we rushed to the new company headquarters to find answers. We pushed through the sleek glass doors, our clothes still smelling of smoke. We cornered the first staff member we saw at the reception desk, but they looked at us with blank, guarded expressions.

"We are here for Akira Sato," Abby demanded, his voice echoing in the polished lobby. "He was injured in the fire. Where is he?"

The staff member did not even look at their computer. "I have no information on that individual. You should go back to your dorms."

We tried to push past, but a head trainer stepped out from the elevator. He looked at us with a cold finality that made my blood run cold. He glanced at the trainee board behind him, where our names were listed for the new quarterly schedule. I scanned the list, my breath hitching in my chest.

Haru Takahashi. Abby Williams. Rie Nakamura. Aurora Adams.

The space where Akira’s name had been was gone. 

"Where is he?" I whispered.

"Akira Sato is no longer a trainee at this company," the trainer said, his voice flat. "He is gone. If you want to keep your own spots, I suggest you forget that name and get to the practice room."

The words hung in the air like ash. Akira wasn't just gone. He had been erased. He had disappeared as if he never existed at all.