Currency and Heart

The conference room at Heartbeat Entertainment was the kind of sterile space that sucked the warmth from everything: white walls, a glass table, and uncomfortable leather chairs that creaked with every shift of weight.

Senri sat across from Ogawa, his manager, and watched the older man's face cycle through varying shades of displeasure.

Thirty minutes. Ogawa had been lecturing him for thirty solid minutes.

"...absolutely reckless behavior on national television,"

Ogawa was saying, his fingers steepled in that way that meant he was trying very hard to remain professional.

"Do you understand what could have happened if Hidomu-san hadn't stepped in? Your entire image could have been compromised. You'd have been painted as arrogant, argumentative, unable to take constructive feedback…"

"But it wasn't constructive,"

Senri said quietly. He couldn't help himself.

"What Takeshi was doing…"

"Was standard reality television practice,"

Ogawa interrupted sharply.

"Which you would know if you'd listened during your media training sessions instead of nodding along while clearly thinking about chord progressions."

Senri had the grace to look sheepish. Ogawa wasn't wrong about that.

The manager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look. I understand your instinct was to defend your housemates. That's admirable, even. But you can't just…"

He made a frustrated gesture.

"You can't charge in without a strategy, Senri. When you want to make a point, it better be a one you thought through."

"I know,"

Senri said. And he did know. The way Nataria made her point.

"If it weren't for Hidomu-san,"

Ogawa continued, his tone softening slightly,

"Your image would have taken a significant hit. She managed to salvage the situation, turn your impulsiveness into something that looked like passionate defense rather than a rebellion."

He pulled up something on his tablet, turning it to face Senri.

"Your fans have actually been rallying to support her. As a thank you for defending you."

Senri leaned forward, his heart lifting.

The screen showed social media posts, dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Comments from his fanbase, people with usernames he recognized from his livestreams and music posts.

@SunnyBoyAmano: I’m a Senri fan… thank you, Nataria.

@softidolhours: Fans don’t attack idols. She was right.

@hoshi_no_ko: You could see Senri relax when she spoke.

@quietviewer: Say what you want about her past, tonight she was right.

A smile tugged at Senri's lips.

People were supporting Nataria.

Actually supporting her, not just tolerating her presence or waiting for her to slip up.

The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with his own reputation and everything to do with seeing her name surrounded by heart emojis instead of the previous laughing ones.

"That's great,"

He said, looking up at Ogawa.

"That's really…"

"No."

Ogawa's voice was flat. He pulled the tablet back.

"No, it's not 'great,' Senri. You should be thinking about hoarding your fans like treasure. Growing them. Keeping them loyal to you. Not directing them toward another contestant who could potentially become a rival once this show ends."

Senri blinked. The warmth in his chest chilled to something uncomfortable.

"They're supporting her because it's the right thing to do. Because she helped me."

"And that's very sweet and idealistic,"

Ogawa said with the patience of someone explaining basic arithmetic to a child.

"But this is a business. Your fans are your foundation. Your currency. The more you have, the more projects you can book, the more music you can release, the more freedom you have to do what you actually love."

He leaned forward, his expression serious.

"I'm not saying you should be cruel or manipulative. I'm saying you need to think strategically. Every action, every word, it all affects your brand."

Brand.

The word sat heavy and wrong in Senri's mouth, like something he couldn't quite swallow.

But he nodded.

"I understand. I'll follow PR instructions."

Ogawa studied him for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether Senri actually meant it or was just saying what he wanted to hear.

Finally, he seemed satisfied.

"Good. Because I have some actual good news that I'd rather not have to take away from you."

He slid a folder across the table. Senri opened it, his eyes scanning the documents inside.

A job offer. A real one.

"A sports drink commercial,"

Ogawa explained, a hint of pride creeping into his professional tone.

"They want you to sing and appear in the ad. It's a significant opportunity, the brand has major market presence, and the commercial will air nationally during prime sports programming."

Senri's heart kicked in his chest. Singing.

An actual singing job, not just background work or demo recordings.

He could feel his smile stretching wider as he read through the creative brief.

Then he paused.

"Do I get to write the song for it?"

The hope in his own voice was painfully obvious, even to himself.

Ogawa's expression shifted to something that might have been sympathy.

"The company already has a melody and lyrics. They want you to perform their composition. It's all here."

He tapped the folder.

"You'll have rehearsals starting the next day, recording sessions the week after. They specifically requested you because of your authentic 'sunny boy' image."

The disappointment was a small stone in Senri's stomach.

Not heavy enough to crush the excitement, but present enough to be felt. He'd hoped, stupidly, maybe, that he'd get to contribute creatively.

To put a piece of himself into the work.

But singing was singing. And this was experience. Exposure.

Another step toward the kind of career where he could write and share his music freely, where he'd have the platform and the credibility to make his own choices.

Senri had to stop for a moment.

He didn’t know when he’d started thinking about this whole idol thing as more than a money source.

He was loving it, the villa, the singing, the practice. All of it.

When had he stopped thinking in terms of I need to do this for Hana and Yuki, and started thinking, I wish I could share my songs?

His old dreams, unnamed even in his own mind, were no longer hidden. They were out in the open.

"Thank you," he said, and meant it. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will."

Ogawa leaned back, his expression calculating.

"Have you written any new songs lately? Original material?"

Senri shook his head.

"Not since before the show started. I've been meaning to, but with everything happening…"

"Do it while you're on the show,"

Ogawa said immediately.

"Document the process. Film yourself working on lyrics, composing melodies. That kind of authentic, creative content is gold. It reminds people why they fell in love with you in the first place, the hard-working, normal boy wanting to make it big."

Senri's face split into a wide grin. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed those small moments; he used to steal an hour here, and an hour there, between work and multiple shifts. Now he can all the time to do it. To lose himself fully in the process.

"Really? You think people would want to see that?"

"I know they would,"

Ogawa said.

"Just... try to do it in a way that's somewhat watchable, alright? Not three hours of you staring at a blank page, humming the same four notes."

Senri laughed.

"I'll do my best."