No Other Choice

“Have a great break during Obon, everyone!” Ms. Makima said joyfully.

A week off. That’s what students get during Obon week.

Gold Brooch Academy didn’t shy away from Japanese traditions, though they certainly dressed them up in couture.

The week leading up to August 13th, the school was chock-full of decorations and commemorations that celebrated the dead. The usually pristine hallways were lined with paper lanterns, and the main foyer displayed calligraphy scrolls detailing family lineages—not too out of place from what Western schools usually did.

For Hayami, it was a bittersweet reminder.

Her heritage called for Qingming—the Tomb Sweeping Festival—which had passed months ago. She had missed it, just as she had missed the timing for the last four years.

Obon was Japan’s closest equivalent, and she wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers again.

But she couldn't do it alone. She needed an anchor.

Akira was that anchor. She took full advantage of her new status to keep him close. It came with its own dangers, of course. Sometimes, desire got in the way of doing what needed to be done.

Of course, Akira played his part well. He framed every hand hold and shared lunch as a narrative beat for Rocketblast—playing the part of the boy with the heart of gold, finally melting for a common girl.

It was working. The company’s stocks were climbing.

However, Akira was slightly concerned that the Agency hadn’t fought back. During the meeting with Saeki, the manager just silently nodded along.

Saeki would rather let hell freeze over than let him get his way.

“So…” Akira started, escorting Hayami into his limo. “Your version of Obon actually involves you going out in this heat to clean a grave by hand?”

Hayami sighed as she secured her seatbelt.

Akira phrased the question innocently. Hayami chalked it up to Akira being a godless, pampered class traitor.

“What a bother,” he sighed as he jumped in. “Why not just hire a service?”

Hayami looked up at him.

He was sitting casually as the limousine glided away from the school gates. They had been "together" long enough that the thrill of the car ride had faded into a comfortable routine.

“You don’t have any ancestors you want to honor?” she asked.

“None worth talking about.”

“Ouch.”

Akira shrugged, looking out the tinted window. “My family didn’t go that hardcore into religious stuff. We did the bare minimum required by Shintoism for PR appearances. A shrine visit here, a donation there.”

“I can’t say it’s popular in modern Japan either,” Hayami admitted. “But it was important to my grandmother.”

“So, despite you not really believing in the supernatural, you still go?”

“It’s like visiting the grave of anyone. It’s about honoring their memory. Not letting it go.”

‘Not letting them be lonely,’ she thought, but didn’t say. The past years of her own loneliness made that endeavor feel like a sacred duty.

The limousine pulled up to the curb of her apartment block. The contrast between the sleek black car and the peeling paint of the building was as sharp as ever.

Akira got out of the car and opened the door for her.

“Well, I guess this is where I leave you, Hayami-san.”

She stepped out, bowing slightly. “Thank you for taking care of me today.”

Akira leaned against the open door, a small, genuine smirk playing on his lips.

“See? You are stuttering less and less now. Not the least bit scared. You’re going full commit.”

Hayami felt a flush of pride. She adjusted her bag strap.

“Just because I don’t stutter around you, doesn’t mean I don’t stutter a-around anyone else.”

“Bullshit. You’re just saying that to make me feel proud of myself.” Akira’s expression softened. “Frustratingly, that really seems to work on me.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but for some reason, stopped himself.

“Y-You sure you don’t want to talk about what’s happening on your end?” Hayami asked. “I don’t even want to think about what the rest of Perchance to Dream thinks about… this.”

Akira scoffed. “You don’t know half of it. But let me worry about me, and you worry about you.”

He hurried her along. “You still have those smart devices I gave you?”

“Only because you were so annoying about it.”

“A better alarm will fix your sleep schedule. Just trust me.”

“Whatever you say. See ya!” she said, turning back as she walked.

“See you too, Hayami.”

She smiled, turning away from the Prince and walking toward her reality. She felt a bounce in her step as she walked up to the front door.

‘Today’s the day,’ she thought, clutching her bag. ‘I finally have the time off. I have the money for the train. See you soon, Grandma!’

For the first time in four years, she wasn't dreading the weekend. It was Friday afternoon. She had requested tomorrow off work. She was free.

She reached for the door handle, completely unaware of what was waiting on the other side.

The smell hit her first. Way too expensive and smelled too much like sandalwood to be any regular incense.

Then Uncle appeared from the corner.

“Happy Obon, Hayami!”

“U-Uncle?”

The apartment was unrecognizable. It was spotless.

In the center of the living room, Uncle Kenji had set up a proper altar. Sake bottles arranged by height, fresh fruit, and a black-and-white photo of the extended family framed on the altar.

Uncle Kenji held a platter of cut melons as he walked toward the dining table.

“Take your shoes off,” he said. “And put these on.” He kicked a pair of guest slippers toward her.

Hayami stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

“Uncle,” she whispered. “W-What are you doing?”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time,” Kenji said. “It’s Obon. The spirits return. And now… so does the family.”

He walked past her to the front door.

“But you didn’t t-tell me a-any of this.” Hayami turned. “I-I have plans tomorrow to—”

CLICK.

Kenji had turned the deadbolt. Then, he slid the chain lock into place. Finally, he pocketed the key in his slacks.

“Why did you lock it?”

“To ensure privacy,” Uncle Kenji said smoothly. “And to make sure you don’t run off. We have a schedule to keep.”

“But…”

“This week,” he announced, “we are hosting. Auntie Mei is driving down from Saitama. Cousin Ryu is coming with his new wife. Ah, silly me. You are not in the family group chat. They’ll be here within the hour.”

Hayami’s stomach dropped.

“Who knows? Maybe you can recuperate your good standing… now that you’re officially together with Akira.”

“I haven't seen Auntie Mei since the funeral. She’s been no-contact, and I l-liked it that way because s-she just hates my guts—”

“She hates the memories,” he corrected. “But she loooves Obon. And she loves to gossip. If we host her well, if we show her we are getting back on our feet...”

“Uncle…” Hayami took a step back, clutching her school bag. “I requested time off work. I—I have to go to the cemetery tomorrow.”

Uncle Kenji laughed.

“I know! I wanted it to be a surprise. A family reunion. Just us living folks, reconnecting.”

He walked over to her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“You’re going to be very busy, Hayami. Cooking, pouring tea…”

Hayami stiffened.

“You want to honor her, don’t you?”

“...I do.”

“Well then, I suppose I have to point out all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. First of all, it’d be like visiting a, ehh… a criminal, you know? Imagine someone, a relative, who just took your money, ran away, and recently died. That money that could’ve gotten you out of all sorts of trouble. Why would you want to honor someone as disgraceful as that?”

“Doesn’t matter what s-she did, or didn’t do,” she replied sternly. “She was kind t-to me when she needed it most. That’s w-what counts.”

“Oh, so just because the Yakuza hands out candy to kids on Halloween, you should honor them because they did this specific good thing?”

…

“Wow, that analogy really fell flat,” he noted. “Look, I-I thought, since, you know, you haven’t spoken to your relatives, I gave you guys a space to reconcile.”

“Grandma didn't do close to any of that—”

“She gave it away, Hayami!” Kenji snapped. “She wrote a check to those ‘spiritual masters’... it’s no wonder the rest of the family doesn’t want anything to do with… look, just think of the optics. 'If I supported a thief who stole money that could have gone to paying off housing debts, is that not the least bit inflammatory to you?”

Uncle Kenji walked to the window, looking out at the street.

“You don’t really have a choice here. You either admit you hate the rest of the family, or you don’t. There is no middle ground. Just… help fix Grandma’s mess here, with the living, rather than trying to fix it at her grave.”

Kenji sighed. He stepped closer.

“Hayami… I just want this weekend to go well. I don’t want Akira to distract you from important family business.”

He held out his hand with a palm open.

“So, just for the weekend… please. Because it’s clear to me that he’s been giving you ideas while he doesn’t have the slightest idea about our family situation.”

Hayami looked at his hand. Then she looked at the pocket of her skirt where her phone was vibrating—probably Akira asking if she was excited about tomorrow.

“We can put our history behind us. Just… let’s focus on doing good for one week. Please? For me?”

Hayami gulped.

Slowly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

She stared at the black screen for a second—her lifeline to the outside world.

She placed it in Kenji’s palm.

“Good girl,” Kenji beamed, winking. He pocketed it immediately. “Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, patting it.

“Now, go wash your face.”

Hayami turned. She walked stiffly down the hallway and through the cramped bathroom.

She looked at the new incense on top of her toilet, meticulously arranged with a towel.

She slid down to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed.

\\

“Young master, I have far more disturbing news related to Ms. Sato,” Butler Watari said, keeping pace just a half-step behind him.

Akira didn't stop walking. He reached the heavy doors of the Rocketblast compound, swiping his access card and holding the door open so Watari could slip in.

He had been bracing himself for yet another verbal lashing from his bandmates, but this was much worse.

“We just dropped her off… she seemed happy.”

“But remember her Uncle? He’s keeping, no, trapping her there for the entirety of Obon.”

“No wonder she’s so stand-offish sometimes. Her whole life has been a source of misery for her!”

“Family matters. The extended family are coming to visit, and he’s not letting her leave. She’s very begrudgingly ‘agreed.’”

“God… I know how much this means to her. And surely this is illegal?”

He pulled out his phone. The screen showed his last three messages to Hayami.

Read 4:00 PM.

No response, huh?

He typed quickly.

Your Brightest Star in Osaka: Hey. Still on for tomorrow? I bought some good incense you could ‘borrow’.

He saw three dots nearly immediately.

Miss Laurens: Hiiiii!!~ ✨ No thank you! 🙅‍♀️ I am actually having a SUPER wonderful time with my amazing family right now! 👨‍👩‍👧 We are reconnecting, and the vibes are so wholesome! 💖 I do not wish to be disturbed this weekend because I am so happy here! 🥰 Please do not come! Byeeeee! 👋

“Well, now I know it’s not Hayami. She doesn’t use capital letters at all.”

“I’d suggest intervening… but that alone puts us in a bind. She has expressed no consent to be reached. And if we go anyway, well, how did we know to go at all? Kenji will eventually figure out they are being monitored.”

“I… I don’t want to lose her trust.”

“But you already have,” Watari reminded him. “By ordering us to install those taps after I reported the incident to you. The fact I was spying at all was not in good faith!”

Akira flinched.

“It was for her safety! I couldn't just leave her, and I…”

He didn't finish that sentence.

“We thus find ourselves in a rather difficult position,” Watari concluded. “Kenji can turn this against us. He could sue for invasion of privacy. It will be a scandal the likes of which haven’t been seen in K-pop history.”

He looked at Watari.

“Give me the monitors to her smart devices,” Akira said.

“Sir?”

“I won’t do anything stupid like notifying the police. Even sending police officers to the building will tip him off. I certainly won’t knock on her door.”

‘But I can’t watch her suffer like this…’

Akira walked past Watari and sat in the ergonomic chair in front of the console.

He placed his hand on the mouse.

“I’ll just… I’ll just watch.”

He looked up at Watari.

“If I’m going to be a creep, Watari, I’m going to be a vigilant one.”

Watari stared at him for a long moment.

“I do hope you know what you’re doing, Young Master,” Watari eventually sighed.

He handed Akira the tablet.

‘At this point… Did I even care if she trusted me?’

He imagined her rotting in that room, thinking she was completely alone.

‘I’d trade her trust for her safety. Even if she ends up hating me, her safety comes first.’