Tides Turning, Part Two

She loses hours scrolling on her phone.

Her carefully-curated algorithm of cute animals and music analyses has never seen an idol fancam before: she mows over it, searching Ren’s name without letting herself linger. Ren Mikazuki.

The resultant barrage of information is almost impossible to process. Were people making thirst traps for his Adam’s apple? She gets it, truly, it’s impossible to ignore—

Anyway.

She scrolls past those and down to the seedier gossip sites, the ones that read out the headlines in AI-generated voices, the ones that engagement farm through clickbait. REN SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMN, says the caption of one.

The clip looks like shit. Someone has mirrored it, cropped it too tight, slapped a watermark over the corner. The angle is wrong— tilted, low — and she can see her own shoulder cutting through the frame at a slant. She remembers the moment. The heat of the room. The weight of the camera when she stepped forward.

Ren is the focus, but the angle’s so close that her face can be clearly seen. In the video looks like a thin, wan ghost that’s haunting Ren. She registers it the same way she does her reflection: as a testament to how far she’d let herself go, now that no one really looked at her anymore.

But Ren is looking.

Even with his stalkers in the room with him—tired beyond words, harangued by her snippy attitude—he looks at her like he’s obsessed. Like she’s a distant star that he maps every night, the planes of his face curious and baffled and longing. He is, pretty transparently, grotesquely, in love.

She slams her phone down.

It is a testament to how well-versed she is at ignoring her feelings that she immediately picks it up again. She’s on a mission, after all. The clip is still looping, so she ignores Ren and opens the comments instead. Mechanically filters out the sycophantic top comments (Rooting for Ren as always!) and goes to the most recent ones.

I know people online have been saying they’re just coworkers grabbing dinner, but holy shit his face. We lost him.

She’s nodding along, until she gets to the last few words: Good for him.

Huh.

It seems…off. Wasn’t he their idol?

It’s nice to see that Hakaze is still like if a guard dog was an idol.
Finally someone responsible in the room.
I love how Ren looks like he’s writing his next song about her and she’s just trying to get him to eat his food, this is so funny.
She saved his ass omg!!! I hate that stalker with a passion why can’t Astreon get a restraining order already ugh

She scrolls harder, looking for the turn. The suspicion. The bored venom that always comes eventually. It doesn’t arrive.

Someone’s looking out for him, thank God.
That’s an industry senior for you!
I’ve never seen Ren not clock a camera, man’s DEEP in the sauce

“What the fuck,” she mumbles to nobody.

She was maybe too ready for a repeat of Reina’s press: a scandal in all but name. Her vague plan had been to direct attention that way, so that Neonite would be back in public consciousness, but—

She’d never seen fans indulge an idol’s relationship before.

She thinks of Harua saying, things aren’t like back then, when Reina had her scandal. So he hadn’t been lying.

The internet has already decided that they’re—close, even if it’s not convinced they’re dating. There’s the usual sentiment, of course: how dare she steal him from us, one fan keeps posting and she’s almost relieved at the familiarity. How dare she indeed.

She’s so surprised that she ends up picking up her phone on automatic.

“How do you have this number,” says Sakura, who is kind of a nightmare.

“Your mom gave it to me when she came by last night,” replies Hakaze, who is also a nightmare: she has a buzzing in her ears that made it hard to even focus on her words. She exhales quick and rough and says, “Why’s everyone being nice about this?”

“What? Oh. Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking Ren Mikazuki? You’re the least useful source ever.”

“I’m NOT--” she says forcefully before she makes herself clear her throat, lower her voice. “It’s just a picture. Why’s everyone so convinced?”

“My best guess?” Sakura says. “Ren’s image is so carefully managed that people assume he wouldn’t let himself be seen with anyone he wasn’t serious about. That, and public sympathy for Eclipse, especially you, is doing a lot of work here.”

“What,” Hakaze says flatly.

A huff. “You really live under a rock. Look, Neonite fans would’ve torn you apart if you were from a hot new group. But you’re retired. You’re a senior. That gives you legitimacy. And Eclipse had a mostly female fanbase that aged right into Neonite’s demographic. There’s crossover goodwill. You’re safe.”

Safe.

“It’s about Ren,” Sakura continues. “People are weirdly supportive of you.”

“And Harua,” Hakaze says immediately. “What about him.”

“Him too. It’s all crab-bucket stuff. No confirmation, no real backlash. They’re the top two idols by sponsorships and engagement. People are just inventing narratives to pass the time.”

Hakaze closes her eyes for half a second. 

A long time ago, Nao had asked her, aren’t you tired of playing nice with people who look down on you.

Hakaze had never seen it that way. Shame wasn’t a currency she could spend when things got ugly. Playing stupid was cheaper. Execs forgot her history, forgot what she’d survived, and talked too freely. Every that’s so interesting, senior! she’d ever smiled through had paid dividends, and she’d collected them all.

Ren, with his clean ideals, would never understand that. Keeping Eclipse upright had been a trial of teeth and nails. And she hates, viscerally, that he’ll never have to do this to protect what he loves. The privilege. The connections. That grotesque, undeniable talent.

In my fucking dreams, he’d said.

“Good,” Hakaze says, ignoring the pang in her chest. “Then I want to steer it.”

“Steer it how?"

“I want it circulating that Harua’s busy,” Hakaze says. “That he’s working on something. Nothing explicit. Just enough that people connect the dots.”

“That’s barely a story,” Sakura says. “I thought you’d want to clear your own name.”

“I don’t care about my name,” Hakaze says. “Is anything bad being said about Ren?”

“No. If anything the opposite. That shot you blocked was from a known stalker — fans have been pushing Astreon for a restraining order for years.”

Hakaze exhales. The decision is the easiest thing she’s ever done.

“Then run the Harua angle,” she says. “Let this burn warm. Not hot.”

There’s a pause. Then Sakura laughs, soft and sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You owe me,” Hakaze says mildly.

“I know,” Sakura replies. “I just want it noted that this is the first time I’ve seen you actually do anything except mope in that basement of yours. About time.”

“So what?”

“You really must care about Ren if you’re fighting for his group.”

“I’m doing this for Harua, but okay.”

Sakura snorts. “It’s like you’re allergic to being direct, you tiresome asshole. The world’s sexiest man is obsessed with you and you won’t even let yourself like him back. You’re an embarrassment.”

Hakaze hangs up wordlessly.