Act 19: Natsuki's Resolve

|POV: Koba Natsuki|

The drive home was a blur of motion and noise, my pulse thudding so loudly it drowned out the engine. I stared at my phone, unmoving, as if my gaze alone could burn the screen.

The notifications had started before sunrise.
My mother.
My father.
Yuuto.
Managers, assistants, names I didn’t want to recognize.

I hadn’t answered a single one.

A photo had already spread across social media, my name stamped across every headline like a brand. It showed me mid-step, fingers laced with someone else’s. With Yukina.

They’d blurred her face. Cropped her carefully. Protected her anonymity while leaving mine exposed.

Relief and dread twisted together in my chest.

It had been careless. I knew that. I’d known it even as I’d reached for her hand. But in that moment, I didn't want to let go. I’d wanted more time. Just a little more.

Now that want sat heavy and useless.

What hurt most was the way I’d left. No goodbye or explanation. I’d slipped away before she woke, before I could look at her and risk breaking. My throat tightened at the thought of her opening her eyes to an empty room.

If she saw this…
If she realized why I’d vanished…

My fingers trembled around the phone. I’d turned it off to stop any more notifications from coming in.

I couldn’t let this touch her. I couldn’t let my world spill over and stain hers. The attention, the speculation, the cruelty that followed people like me, it could devour her whole.

A sick unease settled deep in my stomach, cold and unrelenting. The kind that made it hard to breathe.

I had to stop this.
Quiet it. Redirect it. Do whatever it took.

Even if that meant putting distance between us before the damage spread any further.

…

Getting past the paparazzi crowding the front gate was effortless with Kurogane leading the way. The moment he stepped out of the car, his presence alone was enough to scatter them. Cameras lowered. Voices faltered. Space opened.

What waited inside was far more daunting.

I had listened to my parents all my life. Followed the paths they laid out, trusted their judgment even when it meant surrendering my own. They had discovered my aptitude for stage acting before I understood it myself, nurtured it, protected it. For that, I was grateful. Truly.

At eighteen, I had even accepted the engagement to Yuuto. An arrangement decided long before either of us understood what it meant. He’d never felt like a lover. More like an older brother, someone steady at my side. We had agreed quietly, privately, that if we ever found someone we truly wanted, the engagement would end.

Up until now, every choice made fit neatly within expectations. Roles selected for me. Opportunities curated. Even my most recent performance, the one I’d struggled with most, had been chosen without regard for what I lacked.

Until I met Yukina.

This time, the choice was mine.
And I refused to let it be taken from me.

Kurogane opened the tall wooden double doors, their dark grain accented with cool silver inlays. The moment I stepped inside, sound vanished. The house looked the same as it always had, but as I stepped inside, it didn’t quite feel the way it usually did. The sense of comfort I was used to felt distant, just out of reach.

I stood beneath a sweeping archway that rose overhead, its clean lines drawing the eye deeper into the house. To the right, a pristine kitchen gleamed under recessed lighting. Marble countertops, steel appliances, everything perfectly aligned, untouched. Beyond it, a spiral staircase curved upward, elegant and deliberate, leading to the upper floors. To my room.

To the left, the living room opened wide. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with awards, trophies, framed photos. Proof of success. Proof of expectation. A carefully curated history of my career, each achievement polished and preserved like a museum exhibit.

The house was beautiful. Modern. Impeccably designed.

And utterly suffocating in this moment.

A few steps in, I noticed the television was on, though the screen displayed nothing but a paused image. My parents sat on the couch before it, unmoving.

“Natsuki.”

My father’s voice cut through the silence. I straightened instinctively and crossed the room, settling into the seriousness I’d learned to wear so well.

“Mother. Father.”

My father sat upright, composed as ever. He wore a gray vest over a pale long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest calm control. His expression was restrained, but his eyes were sharp, measuring.

My mother sat beside him, still in what might have been a nightgown if not for the way it draped like couture. Red silk, intricately woven, catching the light with every subtle movement. Her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders, elegance effortless even in distress. Her gaze held concern, but there was steel beneath it.

Neither of them looked pleased.

The room felt smaller with every breath I took.

My father sat across from me with his arms crossed, posture rigid, gaze unblinking.

“I’m sure you understand why we asked you to come here,” he said.

I nodded, my hands folded neatly in my lap to keep them from shaking.

He slid his tablet across the table. The screen displayed the image that had already begun circulating online. Yukina and I, fingers intertwined as we walked through her neighborhood. This version was clearer than the one I’d first seen. No blur. Her face wasn’t fully visible, but it was enough.

“This appeared overnight,” my father said, his voice level as he slid the tablet closer. “Tell me who this person is.”

My throat tightened. I lifted my gaze anyway. “She’s someone I met near the university where I was rehearsing. We ran into each other by coincidence.”

“Coincidence,” he echoed, not dismissive, but deliberate. “How long have you known her?”

“A little while,” I answered.

“And she has no ties to the industry?” he asked.

“No,” I said without hesitation. “She’s a student.”

His brow creased, just slightly. “Then she understands even less what it means to be seen beside you.”

The words settled heavy in my chest.

“I never intended for her to be seen,” I said. “I took steps to avoid that.”

My father leaned back, folding his arms, though his attention never wavered. “Precautions aren’t guarantees,” he said. “You know that better than anyone. Has she been contacted yet? Reporters, messages, strangers?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I won’t let it reach her.”

“You say that as though the choice is yours alone,” he replied calmly. “Is she prepared for what follows if this continues?”

A flicker of hesitation betrayed me.

“That isn’t something I’ll decide for her,” I said carefully. “I won’t corner her with consequences she didn’t ask for.”

His gaze sharpened. “And if her name circulates? If her home becomes a destination? If her life fractures because of yours?”

My fingers curled against my palm. “I won’t allow that.”

“You can’t promise what you can’t control,” he said. “This isn’t about affection, Natsuki. It’s about whether the person standing next to you can withstand what comes next.”

I drew a measured breath. “She never chose this world,” I said quietly. “That’s exactly why I’m being careful.”

Silence stretched, thick and unmoving.

Then he spoke again.

“There is also the matter of the Sterling family.” His tone cooled. “Yuuto is still your fiancé. The public knows this. If this story grows, it will not be framed kindly.”

My shoulders stiffened.

“This will not damage only your image,” he continued. “It will implicate his. And his family will respond accordingly.”

I lowered my head, my hands clenched together.

My father leaned forward, elbows resting on the table now.

“Does Yuuto know who she is?”

“He knows of her,” I said. “Not… the extent of our relationship.”

His jaw tightened. “And you assumed that would be acceptable?”

The pressure mounted.

“You assumed,” he continued, voice rising just enough to cut, “that he would accept this without discussion? That his family would tolerate being blindsided?”

I opened my mouth, but the words refused to form.

He noticed.

“The Sterling family values order,” my father said. “Consistency. Loyalty.”
A pause.
“They do not request explanations. They extract them.”

“I understand,” I said, my voice barely steady.

He let the silence breathe, then asked, “Does she know you are engaged?”

“Yes.”

“And she still chose to remain with you?”

“Yes.”

That earned something unexpected. Not anger. Concern. Perhaps even faint curiosity.

“Then she is either reckless,” he said slowly, “or profoundly unaware of the cost.”

“She’s neither,” I said, sharper than before.

The room seemed to draw inward.

“If questions come,” he continued, “they will come for you. For Yuuto. And eventually, for her.”

He straightened, finality settling into his posture.

“And when that happens,” he said quietly, “you will be forced to decide whether appearances matter more than the person you’re trying to shield.”

His gaze held mine.

“If you intend to protect her,” he finished, “you’d better be prepared to dismantle more than a rumor.”

“I—” My voice broke before I could stop it, rising despite myself. “If it wasn’t for her, I don’t think that show would’ve ever turned out the way it did.”

My hands trembled in my lap, nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to keep going.

“She saw something I couldn’t. When I was lost in that role, when I kept hitting the same wall over and over, she told me the truth. Not what I wanted to hear. What I needed to hear.” My breath came uneven now. “She was the first person, aside from Miss Velvet, who treated my acting like something real. Not something perfect.”

The words spilled faster, hotter.

“At first, it was just admiration. Gratitude. But the more time I spent with her, the more I realized I didn’t want to step away.” My voice softened, just slightly. “I fell in love with her.”

The admission felt like tearing something open. Terrifying. Liberating.

“When she confessed to me, I didn’t hesitate,” I said, a fragile smile pulling at my lips. “I chose her knowing exactly what this world is like. Knowing the risks. Knowing what it could cost.”

I inhaled sharply, steadying myself.

“But if this turns ugly,” I continued, voice firm now, steel threading through the emotion, “if it puts her in danger…then I will talk to her about our future,” My gaze lifted, unwavering. “So that we may both live our lives without any regrets.”

Silence slammed into the room.

My father’s brows furrowed, his mouth opening as if to argue, then closing again. No rebuttal came. Only tension.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother’s hand slip over his, her smile faint but knowing, grounding him where words could not.

I stood abruptly, the scrape of my chair sharp in the quiet. Without another word, I took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps echoing as I reached my room and slammed the door behind me.

The sound felt final.

I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face into the pillow as the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free.

“Yukina,” I whispered, my voice dissolving into the fabric. The words I’d said echoed in my head, but I did not want them to come true no matter what. Just to satisfy him. I didn’t mean it.

The quiet didn’t last long.

My chest still ached with the thought of her when a soft knock sounded at my door.

“Natsuki… may I come in?” My mother’s voice was gentle, careful.

I didn’t lift my head from the pillow, only let out a small sound that passed for permission.

The door opened, then closed. The bed dipped beside me, and a familiar warmth followed as her fingers brushed through my hair. It was something she used to do when I was younger, when words felt too heavy. It had been a long time since she’d done it.

I leaned into her touch without thinking.

“Your father was… impressed,” she said quietly. “With how you handled yourself just now.”
I turned my head enough to see her expression. There was a soft smile there, tired but sincere.
“He worries too much. He always has.”

“But he didn’t have to say all of that,” I muttered.

She let out a small laugh. “I said the same things you said once. To my father.”

That made me sit up.

“When we were younger,” she continued, eyes distant with memory, “your father came from a farming family. I grew up surrounded by expectations, status, appearances. People thought it was ridiculous that I chose him.”

Her smile softened. “But he was the first person who looked at me and saw just me. Not a name. Not a role.”

I hadn’t known that. Somehow, it made my chest tighten.

“When our relationship became known, everything fell apart,” she said simply. “I was cut off from my family. We had nothing but each other. It was difficult. Painful. But your father promised me one thing—that no matter what, he would make me happy.”

Her hand came up to cup my cheek, warm and steady. “He never broke that promise.”

She leaned closer until our foreheads touched.

“So when he asks these questions,” she said softly, “it isn’t because he doubts you. It’s because he wants to know whether the person you care for is ready. For the weight, for the noise, for the things you can’t protect them from forever.”

My gaze dropped to the sheets.

“I… I thought if I was careful enough,” I said quietly, “I could keep her safe. At least until the right time.”

My mother didn’t correct me. She only brushed her thumb along my cheek once more.

“And that,” she said gently, “is something you’ll have to face together.”

I let my mother’s words settle, the tight knot in my chest slowly loosening. The ache didn’t disappear, but it changed into something sharper, more urgent. Waiting for the noise to die down suddenly felt unbearable.

I wanted to see her. Now.

“Mom, I—”

Voices rose from downstairs, overlapping, hurried. My breath caught.

I was on my feet before I realized it, moving instinctively toward the door. The spiral staircase blurred beneath me as I descended, my pulse quickening with every step.

Halfway down, I stopped.

At the archway of our home stood my father, no longer seated, his posture rigid. Beside him was Yuuto who seemed to be discussing something.

And across from them—

Yukina.

She stood perfectly still, hands clenched at her sides. Worry flickered across her face, but it was held in check by something stronger. Resolve.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

She was here.