Act 4: More 'Oomph'

Walking into the auditorium I’m immediately greeted to marble flooring, bright lights shining from the ceiling illuminating the lobby. The walls filled with an assortment of trophies and awards of different contests. Photos of previous generations, it was all orientated for the arts program at this school, which I didn’t realize had a history of this stuff. I was only aware of the Sports Program being really good here, it was one of the reasons why I joined, the other being they offered me a scholarship to run. It was an offer I couldn’t really refuse.

There were two wooden finished doorways on either side of the lobby. I had opened the right side and welcomed in the breathtaking sight of the auditorium. A sea of red filled my sight, the assortment of seats neatly arranged, as if I was viewing the red carpet itself. A few seats were occupied at the front.

Before I took another step forward, movement on the grand open stage. No props, no instruments, just a lone individual in the center sporting a white long-sleeve crop top, underneath a black tank top and gray joggers caught my eye. It was like she put me under a spell I couldn’t break, watching her body sway as the words she uttered were like a chant.

Then I heard it.

That same line she’d recited at the park. 

It was yet another different version, but this one felt distinctively different to the other ones.

As I had my focus on the stage, I didn’t realize the two men in suits approaching me from the side, both who seemed just slightly bigger than Tatsumi. Their scary dark sunglasses looked straight at me as they proceeded to blow my view with their bodies covered with their black suits.

Security?!

One of them, bald with a gold piercing in his left ear, stepped forward. His deep voice was kept low, as if he didn’t want to interrupt the rehearsal. “Who are you? If you’re not a student in this class, then leave.”

That was enough to make me nod quickly and start backing away, ready to sprint out of the auditorium without saying a single word—until a voice cut through the air.

“Wait! She’s with me.”

Koba’s voice carried from the stage. I turned, giving her a helpless look.

“But Ms. Koba, what if she’s another one of those stalkers?” the other guard said. He had scruffy dark hair and a goatee, and the accusation hit me right in the pride. Before I could even react, Koba beat me to it.

She let out a warm, easy laugh. “She’s not. She’s a…” She paused, eyes flicking toward me. “A friend.”

I wasn’t sure if I deserved that word, but it seemed to be enough. Both guards bowed their heads in apology and stepped aside to let me through. I shot the scruffy one a pointed side-eye, resisting the urge to roast him for how off-base he was.

As I approached the front row, I realized the people seated there weren’t students at all. They were older—professionals, by the looks of them.

“The other students are on break,” Koba explained as if reading my thoughts. She sat on the edge of the stage, swinging her feet lightly. “These are my coaches.” She gestured toward the three individuals in the front row.

A sharp-eyed older woman with white hair tied in a tight knot sat with her arms crossed. Her glasses had such angular frames that they practically screamed discipline. Strict was the first word that came to mind—though maybe strict wasn’t enough. The two men beside her didn’t carry nearly the same intimidating presence.

“If you have time to chat, you should be using that time to perfect your performance,” the old woman said. Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “You’re still missing something. I’m sure you know that.”

Koba stood, her shoes squeaking softly on the stage floor. I could have sworn I saw the faintest flicker of a frown. “Yes, ma’am.”

“From the top,” the woman ordered, her command echoing through the auditorium.

Koba gave a small nod.

I slipped into a seat just behind the coaches. The moment I settled in, Koba began reciting her lines.

Her voice washed over me, smooth and steady. As I watched her, the world around me seemed to dissolve. The stage blurred, replaced by a vision of her standing alone in a garden of flowers. Butterflies drifted around her. The air carried a soft, aching longing.

Even before she spoke, her expressions told a story. The dip of her shoulders, the slow blink of her eyes, her entire body seemed to breathe emotion. It was mesmerizing.

When she opened her mouth again, I didn’t realize she was reciting the line I already knew.

“Why…” Her breath hitched, almost like a sob. “Why does it hurt when you’re gone? Why does it feel like the world ends when you’re not near me?”

Her voice cracked—subtle but deliberate—and something in my chest tightened. She wasn’t just delivering the line. She was living it. And she made us live it too.

I sat completely stunned.

The performance she’d been working through before suddenly felt distant, incomplete compared to this version. It was as if the missing pieces had finally clicked into place, everything connecting, resonating, burning bright.

The scene dissolved back into the auditorium. The spell faded, though traces of it clung to me. Her performance reminded me of the one during Spark Again—how she unintentionally lit something inside me she probably didn’t realize was there.

Before I could tell her how incredible she was, the older woman spoke.

“Better.” She gave a single approving nod. “But you can still do more. You may be a well-known actress with many roles under your belt, but if people discover you can’t handle something as simple as this, it will cause problems. Again. From the top.”

Around that time, students from the acting division began filing back inside after their break, several of them hurrying to their seats once they realized Koba was performing.

I lifted a hand to wave her over, but she beat me to it, hopping off the stage and walking straight in my direction.

“I have class soon,” I said as she approached, “but I just wanted to say that was amazing.”

A bright smile spread across her face. “Yeah. Sure thing. And thanks for coming. It means a lot,” my eyes drifted to her ears that seemed to be burning red, but I ignored that.

I returned her smile with a small one of my own before making my way out of the building.

~~~

Attending class right after watching a performance like that was probably the worst idea. While the professor lectured, all I could hear was the lingering echo of Koba’s voice. The auditorium scene replayed in faint flashes, her silhouette, her trembling breaths, the cracked line that still clung to my ribs. Even from my seat in the middle of the lecture hall, the world looked slightly dimmer, washed over by the phantom glow of her performance.

At some point, my pen stopped moving across my tablet.

Even on days when practice left me drained, I could still manage to take notes. But now? My mind refused to cooperate. I sank forward, resting my forehead against the cool surface of my desk, trying to jolt myself back into the present. It didn’t work.

And then the old woman’s voice resurfaced too, sharp and unforgiving. You can do better. Maybe it was because I wasn’t part of that world that I couldn’t see what she saw. To me, Koba was flawless, but there was a small inkling inside me that agreed with that old woman. She could do more.

The rest of my day passed in a haze. I wasn’t sure when I ate lunch. I didn’t remember walking to the weight room. My body moved through every routine—lifting, stretching, cooling down—but mentally, it felt like I was watching myself from somewhere outside my own skin.

By the time I snapped back to myself, I was standing in front of the track again, the sky painted in warm late-afternoon tones. I had no memory of deciding to come here. I was just…here.

Without even changing into proper workout clothes, I stepped onto the track. Jogging pants, sweater—whatever. I just needed to run. I started at an easy pace, letting my body fall into a familiar rhythm. Step, breathe, swing. The more I moved, the more the noise in my head thinned out. Slowly, everything except the cadence of my breath and the steady beat of my strides drifted away.

The setting sun washed the track in deep orange, the stands glowing as if lit from within. The world felt suspended, quieter than usual, as if holding its breath while I ran. My focus narrowed with each lap, sharpening until all that remained was motion.

Eventually my chest tightened. My breathing grew heavy, scraping against the inside of my throat. My legs trembled slightly with every step—but I didn’t stop. Not yet. Not until the last remnants of that morning finally stopped clinging to me.

I slowed to a jog, then to a walk, steadying my breathing as I headed toward the stands where I’d left my belongings. My legs felt heavy, but lighter than they had all day. Digging through my bag, I pulled out my purple towel and wiped the sweat from my face and neck, the cool air brushing against my skin.

“I didn’t expect you to be practicing this late.”

The voice drifted in so suddenly it snapped the last of my focus trance in half. I jerked back in surprise.

Koba was sitting in the stands, just one row above my things, leaning forward with a playful grin. I had been so absorbed in running that I hadn’t noticed her at all. My eyes widened, my mouth partway open as I tried to process her presence.

It took a moment before words finally returned to me. “I was just… getting more reps in.” My gaze lifted to the familiar blue baseball cap perched on her head. She nudged the brim up with a finger so she could see me more clearly, and our eyes met.

“You’re pretty diligent,” she said, resting her chin in her hands, elbows propped on her knees. “When you told me you were struggling that day at the park… looking at you now, I would’ve never guessed.”

The words It’s thanks to you flashed through my mind, but I kept them to myself.

“How did the rest of your rehearsal go?” I asked instead, draping the towel around my neck.

She shifted, crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms as she let out a sigh. “Miss Velvet—the older woman who gave me most of my feedback—she might seem terrifying, but she’s the real deal. Sharp tongue, sharper standards, but all of it comes from a place of care.”

I listened quietly as she continued, her voice softening.

“That was the first time I’ve heard her give me any kind of compliment, so it threw me off for the rest of rehearsal.” She paused, her expression thoughtful beneath the shadow of her cap. “But… that moment felt like I actually reached something. Like the thing I’ve been chasing is finally within reach.”

And for a brief second, her eyes lit up—bright, fierce, almost sparkling as if fireworks were bursting behind them. Something had clicked inside her, and I could feel it from where I stood.

“It seems your hard work is paying off,” I said, warmth rising in my voice despite myself. Pride—unexpected but genuine—welled up in my chest. “I honestly couldn’t get that performance out of my head. I kind of… spent the whole day fantasizing about it. But I think that old woman–Miss Velvet was on to something. I truly think you’re more than capable of something that can leave people in awe. Just got to give it more of an oomph, ” I scratched the back of my head, letting out a nervous laugh.

Koba stood, brushing off her joggers as she straightened and chuckled. “I’m glad you liked it. And… I know it was only once, but you’re welcome to stop by anytime. If you want to watch rehearsals, just come in. I already talked to my guards, so you shouldn’t run into any trouble again. Plus, I wouldn't mind giving it more 'oomph'.” Her tone was reassuring.

My shoulders tensed. Was that really okay?

I had no background in acting. No training, no insight, nothing that could possibly be useful to someone like her. If anything, I felt like I would only be in the way, a pair of unqualified eyes taking up space she didn’t need to spare.

I studied her face, half-expecting to find hesitation, or maybe politeness dressed up as generosity. Something that said she was just being kind.

But there was nothing like that.

She looked genuinely hopeful.

That made it harder to dismiss. And harder to understand.

Why invite me at all?

Even so, a small, unwanted thrill crept in at the thought. The realization landed all at once, leaving me a little breathless.

I’m being invited to watch Koba Natsuki rehearse. And not once, but twice she’s asked me.

Benio and Chiaki would lose their minds if they knew I was even having this conversation. The whole thing felt oddly secretive, like I was crossing a line I didn’t quite understand yet. Not wrong, but close enough to make my heart beat faster.

I lifted a hand to my mouth, failing to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

“I’ll go when I can,” I said, quieter than I meant to. “If… that’s really alright with you.”

Her face lit up instantly, unguarded and bright, the same way it had when she first invited me.

And just like that, the doubts I hadn’t sorted through yet were pushed aside.

All I could do was smile back.