Dark Waters

Nataria's eyes, hard as obsidian, her chin lifted in quiet defiance as she faced down Takeshi's oily smile.

He'd tried.

God, he'd tried.

The words had been so clear in his head, so obvious.

Takeshi was being cruel, hiding behind the excuse of "fan feedback" to twist knives into people who couldn't fight back.

It should have been simple to call out.

Simple to stop.

But the moment he'd opened his mouth, it was like jumping into dark water without checking the depth first.

His logic, so solid in his mind, had slipped through his fingers.

Takeshi had grabbed his words, turned them inside out, made them sound like arrogance instead of decency.

Are you saying you're above criticism? That you're perfect as you are?

Senri had floundered, drowning in his own good intentions, grasping for the argument that was right there but somehow just out of reach.

And then Nataria had spoken.

Her voice had cut through the studio like winter wind, cold and lethal.

She'd taken the shapeless mass of his feelings and forged them into something undeniable.

These comments aren't from fans.

The way she'd said it, with such clarity. She'd drawn a line in the sand and forced Takeshi to step back from it.

She'd won.

The memory of it sat in his chest, hot and uncomfortable and strangely precious.

He couldn't stop thinking about Sachiko's stricken face when Takeshi had implied she was insecure about her looks.

About Momo's hands flying to her cheeks, that naked hurt in her big eyes.

About the way Hibiki's usual calm had turned to wood, his silver eyes flat and distant.

About Shou's smirk, cracking at the edges, revealing something raw underneath.

They were all bad enough. But then Takeshi had turned to Nataria.

Nataria, who'd been dealing with this kind of treatment from everyone for three months.

Not just one host on one show, but the entire internet, the entire industry, everyone with an opinion and a keyboard.

And Takeshi had called her scary.

Had praised the other girls for their "bravery" in sharing a room with her, like she was some kind of monster.

Senri's hands had curled into fists before he'd even realized he was angry. He couldn't stay silent.

Wouldn't. Not for Nataria, not for any of them.

But he'd jumped in without knowing how to swim, without seeing where he was going.

And between all of them, all five of them who'd been attacked, it had been Nataria who'd saved him.

Nataria, with eyes like black jet, hard and beautiful and utterly fearless.

His gaze drifted to her now as Takeshi droned on about next week's challenge.

She sat with perfect posture in her chair, her hands folded in her lap around that framed photograph.

The powder blue dress made her look like a piece of summer sky, soft and bright and somehow fragile, even though he knew better now.

Knew that beneath that delicate image was steel.

She was a never-ending well of strength and depth, and every time he thought he'd reached the bottom, he discovered there was further to fall.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

"...and that's a wrap! Great work, everyone!"

Takeshi's voice snapped Senri back to the present. The red ON AIR light died. Around them, the studio erupted into motion, crew members rushing to break down equipment, makeup artists packing up their kits, assistants checking clipboards.

Senri stood, his fingers tight around the picture frame. He needed to talk to Nataria. Needed to say, what? Thank you? I'm sorry? You were incredible?

All of it. None of it. Something.

He took a step toward where she was rising from her chair, but the space between them suddenly felt crowded. A cameraman passed between them, trailing cables.

A production assistant gestured them toward the exit.

Nataria looked up at him as he approached. She smiled, but not the rare, sweet smile he'd started to recognize, the one that made her whole face soften.

This was her public smile, the one that never quite reached her eyes.

"The van must be outside," she said lightly.

"We should head out."

Something in her tone made him pause. Made him look around.

They were all standing in a loose cluster now, him, Nataria, Sachiko, Momo, Hibiki, and Shou.

But nobody was actually talking. Sachiko was adjusting her purse strap with care. Momo was checking her phone, her thumb scrolling, but her eyes not really seeing. Hibiki stood with his arms crossed, his expression carved from marble.

And around them, the studio crew worked. But not all of them were working. Some were watching. Cameras on tripods, red lights dark but lenses still pointed their direction. Crew members with their phones out, angled just so.

The live show had ended.

But they were still being watched.

Senri's stomach sank.

Of course. Of course they were.

Every moment was content.

Every reaction, every word, every gesture, it was all being captured, catalogued, and saved for later dissection.

"Amano!"

An arm landed across his shoulders in a friendly gesture he wasn’t used to. Shou grinned at him, all white teeth and easy charm, but his voice was pitched loud. Too loud for someone standing right next to him.

“Congrats on the win! Savor it, because I’m claiming the next one!”

The words were meant for the cameras, Senri realized. A sound bite. A moment of friendly rivalry to package and sell.

“Right,” Senri mumbled, forcing a grin back at Shou. “We’ll see about that.”

His hand tightened on the picture frame until the corners bit into his palm. He looked down at it, at the photograph of him and Nataria. Her in shadow. A pearl in her shell of darkness.

He felt his lips turn into a soft smile despite everything. Despite the cameras and the act and the weight of Shou's arm across his shoulders.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

They moved as a herd to the waiting black van, the silence clinging to them like fog. Only when the van doors slid shut, sealing them in the dim, plush interior, did the atmosphere crack.

Shou let out an exaggerated sigh, dropping his performative bonhomie. “Okay. We can talk now. Probably.”

Hibiki, who had been a coiled spring, turned in his seat. His silver eyes were sharp as surgical tools, fixed on Senri.

“What,” Hibiki said, his voice dangerously quiet, “was that?”

Senri blinked. “What was what?”

“That little display of heroic indignation.”

Hibiki didn’t raise his voice, which made it worse.

“You spoke without thinking. Again. You jumped in, made a scene, and painted a target on all our backs.”

The accusation hit Senri like a physical shove.

“I wasn’t trying to make a scene! He was being unfair! He was hurting all of you!”

“And your solution was to give him exactly the reaction he wanted?”

Hibiki’s lip curled.

“He’s a provocateur, Amano. His job is to mine for drama. You handed him a shovel and pointed to the richest spot. You’re naive if you think you can charge at every windmill in this industry and not get trampled.”

A hot flush of anger and shame climbed Senri’s neck.

“So we just sit there and take it? Smile while he calls Tamaki-san insecure and Miyata-san fat?”

Momo flinched at the blunt word. Sachiko sucked in a quiet breath.

"And look how well that worked out for you," Hibiki shot back at Senri.

"He twisted your words in seconds. Made you look like an arrogant idiot who can't take criticism."

“Hibiki, stop.”

Nataria’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension. All eyes turned to her. She was looking out the window at the passing city lights, her reflection superimposed on the glass.

“Takeshi wanted a reaction,”

She said, turning to face them. In the van’s shadowy interior.

“He wasn’t going to stop until he got one. And Amano-san is not who you are really angry with.”

Hibiki's jaw worked, but he subsided. His eyes traveled to Sachiko, who was gazing at him with a concerned expression, then he turned to face forward again, arm crossed.

When Senri looked at Nataria, her eyes were softer than he had seen them all night as they met his.

"The show dipped slightly in viewership in the last two episodes,"

Momo said suddenly. Her voice was subdued, smaller than usual.

She was staring at her hands.

"I looked at the numbers yesterday."

Nataria nodded slowly.

"We've been getting along since..."

She paused, and something flickered across her face.

"Since my argument with Amano-san."

Guilt twisted in Senri's gut like a living thing. He opened his mouth to apologize, again, always again, but Nataria continued before he could.

"I was meant to be the source of conflict," she said.

Her voice was matter-of-fact.

"And I wasn't doing my role."

"That's not your fault,"

Sachiko said immediately, leaning forward. Her kind face was earnest.

"Nataria-chan, you can't think…"

"You did your role tonight, though, didn't you?" Hibiki interrupted.

The anger had drained away from his voice, leaving only weariness.

"Gave them the Ice Queen in all her glory."

"I am the Ice Queen," Nataria said softly.

"Or a part of me is. I was the one who said those words at that set. I'm not going to deny it."

Her gaze swung to Hibiki, and her voice turned to steel.

"So stop blaming others for my actions."

For a moment, Hibiki held her stare. Then, surprisingly, his shoulders dropped.

"Fine," he muttered. "Point taken."

Silence settled over the van again, heavy with unspoken things.

The city lights painted moving patterns across their faces, shadow and illumination.

Senri swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

The words felt inadequate, but they were all he had.

"For making things worse. For not knowing how to…"

He gestured helplessly.

"I just couldn't sit there and listen to him hurt all of you. But I know I messed it up."

He took a breath. "But I can't promise to be silent if Takeshi does it again. I will just have to make sure not to cause any of you problems."

Everyone turned to look at him. Sachiko's eyes were wide. Momo's lips parted in surprise. Hibiki's expression shifted to something that might have been exasperation. Shou shook his head, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth.

And Nataria…

Nataria was smiling at him. Her real smile, which turned the hard obsidian of her eyes to something softer.

"What?" Senri asked, confused by the looks they were all giving him.

"What you see is mostly what there is," Momo said, but her voice was fond. Affectionate, even.

"A well-meaning idiot is what we're saying," Shou added with a laugh.

"You're going to get eaten alive in this industry."

"I think it is admirable," Sachiko offered, smiling despite everything.

Hibiki sighed. "You remind me of a puppy that keeps running into glass doors. You never learn."

Senri frowned. He'd seen those looks before, on his sisters' faces when he did something they considered simultaneously foolish and endearing. On his friends' faces when he jumped into situations without thinking them through.

Mild exasperation mixed with reluctant amusement.

He didn't know whether to be offended or not.

"The point is,"

Momo said, pulling the conversation back on track,

"Amano-san was defending us. And so was Nataria-chan. That should be enough content for now, right? Enough... drama?"

"It won't satisfy them forever," Hibiki said darkly.

"Then we give them more."

Shou leaned forward, his eyes bright with sudden energy.

"We keep viewers entertained with content we decide on. Viewership numbers remain high, everyone is happy."

"Something we choose ourselves,"

Nataria said. Her voice was eager now, almost excited. Hopeful in a way that transformed her entire face.

"Something that's actually us."

The hope in her expression did something strange to Senri's chest.

Made it feel too tight and too full at the same time.

He didn't need to know the details of whatever plan they were forming. Didn't need to understand the strategy or the long-term implications.

He just needed to see that look on Nataria's face.

"I'll do it," he said firmly. "Whatever it is. I'm in."

Nataria's smile widened. Around them, the others exchanged knowing, amused glances.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The ideas began to flow, tentative at first, then faster.

Senri listened, watching the transformation. The defeated group from the studio was gone, replaced by a council of war, their faces animated in the passing streetlights. His gaze kept drifting to Nataria. She was in her element here, her creative mind negotiating, planning, her earlier vulnerability tucked away behind a wall of determination.

By the time the van pulled up to the villa, the energy had shifted entirely. The oppressive weight of the studio, of Takeshi's calculated cruelty, had lifted. In its place was something electric and purposeful.

They spilled out of the van and into the villa's warm light. Shou was already talking, gesturing animatedly as he outlined ideas. Momo had her phone out, pulling up statistics and viewer trends. Hibiki, despite his earlier anger, was adding analytical suggestions. Nataria listened to everything, her mind clearly cataloguing and connecting pieces into a larger picture.

Senri and Sachiko trailed slightly behind. They were the least media-experienced in the group.

"I think it's nice,"

Sachiko said softly, falling into step beside Senri as they crossed the threshold.

"That we're all working together like this."

Senri nodded.

Through the doorway ahead, he could see Nataria in profile, her powder blue dress bright against the villa's white interior. She was gesturing as she spoke, her usual composed stillness replaced by animated energy.

"Yeah," he said quietly, more to himself than to Sachiko.

"It's really nice."