Candid Photo

If the pits of hell had a flavor, it’d taste exactly like EnerCharge Xtreme.

The can hissed as I cracked it open, the chemical stench alone enough to peel paint off a wall. Rin Tsukishiro’s face was printed on it, radiant and smiling.

“Cute design,” I muttered, taking a sip.

And immediately regretted it. It was like drinking battery acid mixed with gasoline.

I winced, staring at the can. “How does she advertise this without dying?”

“Probably doesn’t drink it,” one of the stagehands mumbled as he passed.

Fair point.

I wiped my mouth and glanced around the venue — a mid-sized event hall within a shopping mall dressed head-to-toe in Rin Tsukishiro. Banners, posters, light panels, even napkins had her face on them. Somewhere in that blinding, colourful chaos stood me, crouched behind a camera setup, wondering how I ended up part of this circus.

Saya walked past with her headset on, clipboard in hand. “Mikazuki, you’ll be on the left wing for the meet-and-greet shots. No flash until we start the mini-live, understood?”

“Understood,” I said, half-grimacing. “Do I get hazard pay if a fan tackles me?”

“Only if they win.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

The creative director, Morita-san, wanted tight framing and warmth for the shots — whatever that meant. I just nodded like I understood. I was a personal photographer so I didn’t exactly have to take commands 24/7 while on the job but… I couldn’t just wing it either.

The fact that more than a week ago I was a clumsy intern and now part of a whole production event was… surreal to say the least.

The meet-and-greet was about to start, and I could already hear the line of fans forming outside. Murmurs, squeals, camera shutters. A low buzz of devotion. I wasn’t even the target and I was getting nervous.

Then Rin stepped out.

It wasn’t the same Rin whom I had shared a modest meal with, or the same Rin who marvelled at a rice cooker. The moment she crossed that threshold, her posture changed, her voice brightened, and her smile… clicked into place.

“Good afternoon, everyone! Thank you for waiting!”

It was as if she had taken her normal energy levels and cranked them all the way up to 11.

The crowd erupted, hands shooting up with gifts, letters, and merch. Rin smiled at each person — bowing, shaking hands, saying something kind to everyone.

Perfectly polite. Effortlessly warm.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Through my lens, I watched her shift gears like a pro. Every expression was natural, practiced but still real. She met each fan’s eyes like they were the only one there.

“She’s really good at this,” I thought. “No… she’s really good, period.”

Not just as an idol, but as a person who could make a room of strangers feel seen.

It was almost funny. I was supposed to capture her “authentic side,” but in moments like this, the professional one was authentic.

Not fake. Not hollow. Just a girl gladly shining for everyone present.

Saya whispered over comms, “You’re supposed to be taking photos, not admiring the lighting, Mikazuki.”

I jolted slightly. “Right, right.”

Click.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t focused on the light. I was focused on her.

The line of fans coiled around the hall like a human dragon of nerves and gift bags.

Posters, bouquets, handwritten letters, photo books, even a guy in a full Rin-themed hoodie shaking like a washing machine.

The staff opened the doors, and the first wave stepped in.

Rin smiled, bowed politely, and the air changed.

The atmosphere that had been tense before now felt like someone had switched on sunlight.

She shook hands, signed photos, thanked each person like she genuinely meant it.

She remembered names, faces, even details from their messages online — things that would’ve been impossible if she didn’t actually care.

I crouched down for a new angle. The lighting bounced perfectly off her hair, the smiles in front of her genuine, the camera clicking in rhythm with the fans’ excitement.

Everything looked like it was part of a well-rehearsed dance. Then came the punchline of fate.

“Next, please!” one of the staff called.

A young woman with a tote bag full of merch approached, eyes glistening.

And before Rin could even greet her, the fan gasped.

“Ah! Isn’t that… him?”

Rin blinked. “Him…?”

The girl turned towards her friend. “Look, look! It’s the mysterious boyfriend…!”

She hissed so loud even I could hear her. Suddenly both sets of eyes turned to me.

The temperature in my bloodstream dropped ten degrees.

I froze mid-click, trying to look like the world’s most unremarkable piece of furniture.

“…Camera crew,” I muttered under my breath, in the most broken fluent English “Just a background noise. Nothing to a see here.”

The friend tilted her head. “No way… he looks exactly like the picture!”

Rin’s lips twitched — the tiniest hint of a suppressed laugh.

Saya’s voice hissed in my earpiece. “Keep. Shooting.”

I obeyed like a man with a gun to his head.

Click. Click. Click.

The fan happily chattered with Rin, who recovered instantly, giving her autograph with that same warm poise.

But as soon as the girl stepped away, Rin glanced my way for just a moment.

I nodded faintly, pretending to adjust my lens. Totally fine. Just considering shaving my head and growing a Viking beard.

The rest of the session passed without further spontaneous combustion, thankfully.

The last few fans bowed, thanked her, and were guided by staff toward the main floor where the mini-live would take place.

The room buzzed again with soft excitement — the kind that builds before another round of chaos.

Rin bowed one final time before slipping backstage, her smile lingering even as she disappeared behind the curtain.

The moment she was gone, I finally exhaled — long and slow.

“Okay,” I muttered, lowering my camera. “We survived.”

A hand landed on my shoulder.

“Good work,” Morita-san said, passing by with his headset still half-on, “Just try to relax those shoulders, kid. You don’t need to be stiff when holding the lens.”

“Right, thanks boss.” I gave him an honest grin and a thumbs up.

The staff hustled around me, clearing tables and rearranging the stage setup. The low hum of speakers testing bass filled the air, fans already pressing closer to the rope barriers with glowsticks in hand.

Then my earpiece buzzed with noise, and a voice came through.

“Mikazuki, go to Rin-san’s dressing room. Director’s orders. He wants some behind the scene footage.”

Her dressing room? That’s screaming “scandal” in all caps.

“Got it.”

But who was I to say no to a scary manager?

I slipped past the crew area, camera slung at my side.

The hallway buzzed with the pre-show rush. Hair stylists shouting for touch-ups, stagehands running cables, somebody yelling about missing glowsticks.

Typical Arclight mayhem.

Rin’s dressing room was at the far end, door slightly ajar, warm light spilling into the hall.

I peeked inside.

Empty… for now.

Perfect chance for a quick candid setup shot.

Except… there was no good angle. Nothing natural.

No “authentic pre-live moment” in sight. Just a table, a mirror, and some stage outfits hanging neatly on a wheeled rack.

And then my brain, in all its questionable glory, whispered to me.

If she doesn’t know you’re there, the photo will be more natural.

I blinked.

“Yeah, that’s… definitely a terrible idea.”

Pause.

“…but also kinda genius.”

Before logic could protest, I crouched behind the rack, tugging one of Rin’s sparkly jackets forward to cover myself. The world suddenly became sequins and faint perfume.

A staff member rolled the rack straight inside, completely unaware of the idiot hiding within.

Door shut. Lights brightened.

And then — Rin entered.

I froze.

I held my breath and prayed to God she didn’t start undressing. Because if she did then I’d just bite my tongue clean off and apologize in the afterlife.

She walked over to the mirror, humming softly as she fixed her mic pack.

There she was — Japan’s number one idol, alone in her dressing room, completely unguarded.

I raised the camera slowly. One photo. Just one natural, honest photo.

Click.

The shot came out angled slightly from below, framed by a hanging jacket — her reflection in the mirror, half-lit by the vanity bulbs, her beautiful face glowing with focus.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was honest.

Maybe that’s why I liked it.

Rin tilted her head, oblivious, adjusting her earrings. Then, she let her posture drop for a moment, and a soft sigh left her.

“I wonder if Hajime-san will like the live…”

I nearly dropped the camera. She smiled faintly in the reflection.

“He didn’t seem bothered by the rumors at all… I was scared he might avoid me.”

The camera strap tightened around my neck.

Okay. Now was the time to reveal myself, apologize, and die with dignity.

Except she looked so calm, so quietly sincere, I couldn’t bring myself to embarrass her.

Still… thinking of me like that… I can’t help but feel a slight flutter to my chest. She really is sweet.

I’ll just… wait until she leaves. No harm done.

“Rin-san! We’re ready for soundcheck!” a voice called from the hallway.

“Coming!” she replied, standing and starting to head outside. Perfect. I’d sneak out right after—

Click.

What click? What’s a click?!

I rushed to the door and turned the handle.

Nothing.

“Oh…”

I tried the handle again.

The door was locked.

“Oh no…”

I repeat. The door was locked. From the outside. I was seriously cooked.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Locked in an idol’s dressing room. Right before her live show. AND I’M THE PHOTOGRAPHER!

If there was a world record for career suicides, I’d just broken it.

I glanced around for escape routes — vents, windows, divine miracles — anything.

Nothing.

“Okay, Hajime,” I muttered. “Think. You’re not just a man. You’re a photographer. Problem-solving is your middle name!”

…

“Yeah, I’m screwed.”

The bass test thumped through the wall, shaking the mirror slightly. The concert was about to start.

And if I didn’t make it out soon, not only would I miss the live — I’d also probably end up arrested for trespassing.