The Villain Arrives First

Nataria stepped out of the van at the same time the other car door slid open.

Heat rose off the driveway. The villa loomed in front of them, built in a European style, white and excessive. The cameras swung past her, straight to him.

The guy from the other car straightened slowly.

Taller than she expected. Broad shoulders under a plain shirt. Brown hair fell over his eyes in uneven strands, the kind you got from a rushed shower, not a stylist.

He looked up at the villa.

His eyes widened.

Gold, clear even from a few steps away.

The camera operator stepped closer, lens zooming in on his face, hungry for that exact expression.

There it is, Nataria thought. Tonight’s thumbnail.

She could already hear the captions.

“Our humble hero sees luxury for the first time.”

“Senri-kun’s honest reaction is too pure.”

Someone online would loop this moment and call it healing. Screenshots of his wide eyes would end up as phone wallpapers.

Up close, he looked… exactly like a regular guy under cameras.

No practiced angle. No awareness of where the lens caught his jawline.

She looked away first.

Her heel clicked against the stone as she turned toward the entrance the PA pointed out.

It’s not adorable, she told herself.

Definitely not adorable that his whole face lit up over a building. Or that his eyes really were that honey gold colour without studio lighting.

She fixed her gaze on the door ahead.

She had no intention of finding Senri Amano charming.

A PA in a bright orange lanyard waved her toward the entrance. “Hidomu-san, if you can head inside, we’ll get your first reaction shot in the foyer.”

Nataria moved.

Out of habit, she angled her body to show the left side of her face to the camera. The muscle memory felt foreign after three months away from sets. Her cheeks had lost weight. Her jawline cut sharper in the early afternoon light.

“Just through here, Hidomu-san.” The PA jogged to catch up, still chirping. “We’ll do your solo confessional after we get everyone into the living room.”

Nataria ignored the tightness in her throat and stepped into the cool shade of the foyer.

She had forgotten how cameras sounded.

The soft whir of a focus ring. The tiny shifts of weight as operators adjusted their stance. The quiet, eager breaths of crew when they smelled a moment worth catching.

Three months without them should have felt like freedom.

It had felt like suffocation.

Every time she’d woken up and found no call sheet in her messages, no makeup time, no schedule, the silence pressed heavier. Endorsements gone in a morning. The drama she’d pinned her year on had edited her presence down to decorative scenery. Her character’s arc dissolved into reaction shots that could be cut without harming the story.

Her agency’s conference room had smelled like stale coffee and panic.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

“We’ve secured you a slot, Hidomu-san,” the executive had said, fingers steepled over a glossy folder. “A reality show.”

She had read the title on the front.

Off Stage: Young Stars Living Together.

The tagline under it had made her lip twitch.

Six stars. One month.

“You know what this is.” The executive’s gaze had carried no warmth. “The producers have a specific vision for this show. You're to follow their direction exactly. This is possibly your last chance to salvage your career. Do you understand?"

The words settled over her like a lead blanket.

“The show specifically requested me?” Nataria asked. Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to.

Beside her, Yamazaki did that thing he always did when uncomfortable looked away, cleared his throat, adjusted his tie though it sat perfectly straight.

And in that moment, Nataria understood.

The cold that had been building in her chest solidified into certainty. There was only one reason a show would ask for her by name. Only one role left for someone with her reputation.

Her fingers had tightened on the folder.

“They want a villain,” she’d said.

“They want a story,” Yamazaki had cut in, his tone weary. “You can steer how much of it you control. But you don’t get many more offers like this.”

Play the villain. Play the ice queen and get humbled. Let them see you fall at the right angles.

She had signed.

Unemployed actresses didn’t get to be picky.

The foyer swallowed sound.

Cool air brushed her skin. Marble underfoot. A chandelier overhead spilling light over the staircase. Every echo felt intentional.

A camera waited inside, already pointed at the door.

“Let’s get a clean entrance,” someone called. “Hidomu-san, if you can pause just a step in, look around, then move on.”

Nataria stepped back over the threshold.

Walked in again.

Her gaze moved up and around, tracing the banister, the chandelier, the high ceiling. Nothing in her expression changed.

“It’s big,” she said.

“That’s great,” the PA beamed.

They wanted indifference from the ice queen.

Her face gave them exactly that. Years of idol training left their mark. The brand her agency’d built around her, untouchable, elegant, Nataria Hidomu, was an easy mask to wear nowadays.

Inside, a different part of her noted the details.

The chandelier had small crystal drops shaped like flowers. A pair of ceramic rabbit figurines sat on a side table near the stairs, white glaze gleaming. Someone on the art team had chosen them.

Cute things always stood out to her.

Her fingers itched to reach for one. The impulse startled her, sudden and childish.

She kept her hands at her sides.

No touching props.

No leaning into the part of herself that still slowed down in front of crane game machines to look at round-faced plush toys.

Cute things didn’t fit the Ice Queen image.

“Hidomu-san, wardrobe looked you over already, right?” Another staff member walked up with a tablet. “We just need to mic you, then we’ll take you to the living room.”

The wardrobe team had dressed her in dark lines on purpose black blouse, pleated skirt brushing her knees, and high heels. “Elegant,” they’d called it. The makeup artist had drawn the sharp eyeliner wings she was famous for.

“You look mesmerising like this,” the woman had said, blending foundation with quick strokes. “Very… intense.”

Very like the version of her frozen in that phone video, eyes narrowed over a paper cup of coffee.

She lifted her arms without comment to let the sound tech tape a transmitter at the small of her back. The wire slid under her blouse, cool against her skin.

“Any discomfort?”

“No.”

“Okay, if you can follow me to the living room, then.”

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The living room took up most of the ground floor.

White sectional sofas arranged in a square. A low glass table in the center already dotted with name cards and bottled water. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled one wall, opening onto the deck.

Three cameras covered the space from different angles.

Four people sat scattered on the sofas when she arrived.

A familiar black haired guy sat on the side closest to the windows, arms crossed, looking serene and princely. Hibiki. Her childhood friend. Next to him, a girl with less intense features and a high navy ponytail perched at the edge of the sofa, knees together and hands on her lap, gaze flicking over everything with interest. The gymnast girl.

On the other side, a guy with blond hair lounged with affected ease, one arm draped along the back of the couch, an earring catching the light when he turned his head. Beside him, a petite redhead girl in a pink dress clutched a cushion comfortingly. The center of ZURE, and the famous influencer.

The last spot, near the end of the far sofa, stood empty.

Conversations dipped when she stepped in.

The petite girl’s eyes widened. Her grip on her cushion tightened.

“Ah… Hidomu-san.”

Not the tone of a celebrity meeting another.

Recognition tinged with nerves, like someone watching a tiger walk into a dog park.

The blond-haired guy’s mouth curved. “Visual just went up a level.”

The ponytail girl glanced from Nataria to the nearest camera and then back, interest sharpening. “So they really got you.”

Nataria walked to the single-seater armchair in the corner and sat. The fabric sighed under her weight. She crossed her legs, ankles neat, hands resting against her knee.

“We’re all here to work.”

Hibiki’s silver eyes never once looked her way the entire time. Nataria's heart clenched. He was pretending he didn’t know her.

Senri Amano stepped into the living room.

The staff replaced his plain white T-shirt with a light button-up, the sleeves casually rolled as if he’d done it himself. His jeans were darker and somehow made him look taller.

Someone ran their fingers through his hair, pushing it back just enough that his golden eyes were no longer hidden. He still looked like himself just a version that seemed ready to be noticed.

He stopped on the threshold.

For a second, his gaze bounced over the room sofas, the deck, the cameras, the people.

Then it landed on her.

She waited for the recognition.

You didn’t share the top of a trending chart with someone for weeks and not learn their face. His had been under headlines like Everyday Hero Saves Children. Hers had sat beside words like Idol’s Cruelty Exposed and Ice Queen Melts Down.

His expression didn’t change, though.

No visible judgment. No frown. Just a tiny flicker, like a cut in film.

The PA clapped her hands once. “Okay! Everyone together now. We’ll start with a brief introduction circle, then move into the first activity.”

Senri walked to the empty spot on the far sofa and sat.

He adjusted himself, knees close, hands on his thighs, back straight. The posture of someone aware he was being watched and not sure where to put his limbs.

The petite redhead leaned forward, eyes bright. “I’m Momo Miyata! I’m a variety show regular, and I’m a huge fan of your ”

The PA cut in. “We’ll do introductions once the main camera’s rolling. Hold that thought, Momo-chan.”

Momo pressed her lips together, cheeks flushing.

Nataria knew they were not recording yet; Momo, as a famous model and influencer, must have known too.

Senri gave her an encouraging smile, and the embarrassed look disappeared from Momo’s face immediately.

She was charming and cute. Unnaturally so.

Nataria let the murmur wash over her.

Her last variety show taping before the scandal had ended with the host asking if she ever smiled in real life.

She’d answered as rehearsed.

“Only when it’s worth it.”

The clip had gone viral for the wrong reasons after the scandal.

Now, a red tally light blinked to life on the main camera.

The director’s voice came from somewhere behind it. “We’re live on the main unit. Off Stage, Day One, scene one. Sound?”

“Rolling.”

“Great. Welcome shot. And…”

The clapboard snapped.

“Action.”