Sunset in the Training Room

Nataria stood in the doorway of the training room, one hand still resting on the frame, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

Through the high windows, sunset poured in like liquid gold, painting everything it touched with a warm color. The mirrors lining the walls reflected it back in multiplied glory, shades of bronze and amber.

And in the center of it all, moving through the light like he was born from it, was Senri.

He wore simple athletic clothes, gray joggers and a white tank top that showed the lean muscle of his shoulders and arms. His sneakers squeaked against the practice room's wooden floor. Music blasted from his phone, which sat on the floor against the mirror, and his body moved in time to it.

It was the choreography for the commercial. A series of dynamic movements meant to convey energy and vitality.

Nataria's fingers tightened on the door frame. She should announce herself. Should step inside, clear her throat, be professional and helpful like she'd promised to be.

But she couldn't quite make herself move.

Couldn't quite tear her eyes away.

Senri was captivating doing anything and everything, she'd learned that over the past weeks.

Making breakfast, humming while cooked.

Reading manga with his legs crossed under him on the couch, his face cycling through expressive emotions as he turned pages.

It was almost embarrassing how she'd noticed some of those things before any fan did.

Like how he always touched his throat with his fingertips before he sang, as if checking that his voice was still there. How he did this little bounce on his toes when he was excited, like his body couldn't quite contain the feeling and had to let it out somehow.

Right then, as she watched, Senri took an audible intake of breath through his teeth, a focusing sound, and did that curt nod thing he always did before starting anything important.

Confirming something to himself. I can do this. Let's go.

Then he started the dance sequence over again from the beginning.

Her heart felt full. Like it was trying to hold more than it was designed for.

The memory surfaced unbidden then, clear despite the months that had passed: the first time she'd seen Senri Amano sing.

It had been on her social media feed, late at night when she couldn't sleep, when the comments on her own posts were particularly vicious and she'd been scrolling mindlessly to avoid them.

It was a little after his fire rescue incident went viral.

Someone had dug up an old video from a high school's cultural festival, with the caption: pretty sure this is Senri Amano before the fire… am I crazy?

It was of a band on a small stage, clearly amateur but earnest, and in the center, a boy with a microphone and the widest, most genuine smile she'd ever seen.

Then he'd started to sing.

His voice had been younger, slightly rougher, but even through the phone's tinny speakers she'd heard the depth in it. The soul.

He'd sung like he meant every word, like the music was something living that moved through him and became more than just sound.

That video had gone viral too, hundreds of thousands of views, shares, comments.

People declaring proudly that they'd gone to school with him, that they'd been there that day.

That they were friends.

Friends.

Nataria had watched that video more times than she could count. Had wondered, with a strange ache in her chest, what it would be like to be someone like him.

To have that bright, sunny energy that made people gravitate toward you. To look happy and safe.

He was the same age as her. And she'd wondered, in those late-night hours, if someone like Senri Amano would have been friends with her in school.

Probably not. Kids had been civil to her, but she'd never had time for friends.

Too busy training to be a star, molded and shaped by her mother's ambitions until she'd become something polished and perfect and utterly alone.

And yesterday, Senri had looked at her with those golden eyes like warm honey, and said that yes, they were friends.

Nataria of the past, the one who'd watched that video, with envy curling in her stomach, would have been happy. Would have been satisfied with that word.

Friends.

But she was learning to be more now. More honest. More open.

More greedy, apparently.

Senri stopped mid-movement, his head turning toward the doorway. His face lit up when he saw her, that dimpled smile breaking across his features like sunrise.

"Hidomu-san!"

He was breathing slightly hard from the exercise.

"Hey! I didn't hear you come in."

She stepped fully into the room, letting the door close behind her with a soft click.

"I'm here to help you practice," she said, pleased when her voice came out steady.

"The acting part. If you're ready."

"Always ready."

Senri's grin widened. He grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his face and neck.

"I've got the dance moves down okay, I think. But the acting stuff, that's where I'm completely lost. I don't know how to make it look natural on camera."

Nataria moved closer, studying him with a professional eye.

"Commercial acting is about being a heightened, idealized version of yourself. The trick is to look authentic enough to be relatable, yet dazzling enough to sell a product."

"That sounds impossible," Senri said with a laugh.

"It's a skill, like anything else."

Nataria stepped into the center of the room. She hadn’t changed before coming here, but her t-shirt and jeans allowed easy movement, even if her heeled ankle boots might slow her down.

"Let me show you what I mean. Do you have the script breakdown?"

Senri nodded, moving to grab his backpack. He pulled the commercial's storyboard and shot list folder, showing her the sequence script.

"So I do the dance routine, then there's this moment where I finish and I'm supposed to look at the camera.Then I grab the drink, take a sip, and deliver the tagline."

"That first look is key,"

Nataria said, studying the breakdown.

"You need to shift from physical performance to emotional connection with the camera. You want to find the middle ground, look vibrant but intimate. Like you're sharing a secret with the viewer."

"Show me?" Senri asked, his eyes bright with interest.

Nataria nodded. She moved to the center of the room, taking a breath to center herself.

It had been a while since she'd done this kind of demonstration, but muscle memory was a powerful thing.

She moved through an abbreviated version of physical activity, nothing as complex as the actual dancing choreography, just enough movement to simulate exertion.

Then she stopped, letting her breathing settle. Her expression shifted, a smile on her face.

She mimed reaching for a bottle, brought it to her lips, took an imaginary sip.

The satisfaction on her face was so genuine it looked real. Then she lowered the bottle and looked directly at where a camera would be.

"Yellow-Rush," she said conversationally, like she was talking to a friend. "Feel the Energy Flow."

When she looked at Senri, he was staring at her with something like awe.

"That was..." He blinked, seeming to search for words.

"You made it look so easy. So natural. Like you genuinely believe in the product."

"Well… that's the trick,"

Nataria said, feeling heat creep into her cheeks under his intense gaze.

"You have to find something true in the moment. It doesn't have to be about the drink, it can be about the feeling of accomplishment after exercise, the joy of doing something you love. Find your truth, and the camera will believe you."

"Teach me,"

Senri said immediately, moving to stand where she'd been.

"How do I do that?"

They worked through it together, Nataria coaching him through the transitions. Senri was a natural performer, his stage presence was undeniable, but camera work required a different kind of energy.

"Think of it like this,"

Nataria said after his third attempt.

"On stage, you're performing for hundreds of people. You have to project to the back row. But for camera, you're performing for one person sitting in their living room. It's intimate."

Understanding dawned in Senri's eyes. He tried again, and this time when he hit his final pose and reached for the imaginary bottle, something shifted. His energy condensed, became a laser point of genuine warmth directed at an invisible viewer.

"Yellow-Rush," he said, and his voice carried that perfect blend of enthusiasm and sincerity.

"Feel the Energy Flow."

His dimpled grin looked natural.

"Yes!" Nataria couldn't help her excitement.

"That's it! That's exactly it!"

Senri's expression transformed into pure joy.

"Really? That felt right?"

"Perfect."

The word came out softer than she'd intended.

"The camera is going to love you."

They were standing close.

Closer than she'd realized.

She could see the faint sheen of sweat still on his skin from his earlier practice, the way his chest rose and fell with slightly quickened breathing.

His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her feel pinned in place like a butterfly under glass.

"You're an amazing teacher,"

Senri said softly.

"I'm really impressed. You made that look effortless, but it takes incredible skill."

"You're a quick learner,"

Nataria managed. Her heart was beating too fast.

"And you have that natural charisma that makes people want to watch you. That's something you can't teach."

Senri's grin widened, those dimples deepening in his cheeks.

Those dimples.

Whenever they were in sight, it was hard to think. Hard to look away.

Before Nataria could stop herself, before her brain could catch up with her hand, her finger was reaching out, touching one of those dimples.

Pressing gently into the small indentation in his cheek.

"These are distracting," she complained, her voice barely above a whisper.

The moment the words left her mouth, heat flooded her face.

What was she doing?

That was… that was completely inappropriate, unprofessional, revealing…