Photo of Parallel Lights

The studio was loud again.

Cables snaked across the floor, staff shouted time codes, someone was arguing about lens filters like it was a matter of national security. The familiar chaos of Arclight Productions had returned right on schedule.

And yet—

Something felt… lighter.

I adjusted my camera strap and scanned the set. The pastel panels were already being assembled, gold and violet lights warming up in staggered rows. The Parallel Lights music video shoot was officially underway.

“Oi. Rookie.”

Takano-san’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.

Great…

Something within me screamed not to turn around. Yet the social ladder in a workplace was brutal.

“Yes?” I turned, a smile plastered on my face. I learned that ability from Rin.

“You’re staring off into space again. Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”

I blinked, “No sir, I’m just simulating how my idols work.”

Takano straightened, “And who would that be...?”

“Have I told you how much I admire you, Takano-san?”

“Y-You little—!”

Time for a tactical retreat.

“Mikazuki, take your place!”

“Roger!”

Nice assist Saya-san!

As I made my way to my post… I saw her.

Rin Tsukishiro stood near the mirrors at the edge of the set, already in costume. Soft white fabric, gold accents catching the light, her hair tied neatly but looser than usual. She was speaking quietly with a stylist, nodding along, calm and composed.

The same Rin as always.

Except—when her eyes met mine—

She smiled.

Not rehearsed.

Not polite. Just… warm.

My hand almost slipped on the lens.

She looked away a second later, cheeks faintly pink, pretending to check her mic pack. But the smile lingered, like she hadn’t meant to hide it at all.

“Wow,” Yoru’s voice chimed beside me. “Something happen between you and Rin-senpai, camera boy?”

She grinned mischievously.

I flinched. “You didn’t see anything.”

“Hm… you sound suspicious…” She leaned closer.

“You didn’t hear anything.”

“You can’t escape my eye, cameraboy!”

“I… didn’t hear anything.” I turned away from her. Sometimes acting like a piece of furniture was a viable tactic.

“Yoru-san, time to begin!”

“Got it!”

She moved over to her starting position.

Yozora Yoru looked exactly as she always did—black-and-neon jacket, silver accents, energy dialed up to eleven.

Sugawara-san clapped his hands sharply.

“Alright, everyone! Positions! We’re starting with the full run-through!”

The chatter died down. Lights flared to life. Rin stepped forward to center stage.

The music started.

And for the first time since this collab began, Rin Tsukishiro didn’t look like she was racing anyone.

She looked like she was running alongside.

The lights dimmed.

A low synth hum rolled through the studio, soft at first—like the moment right before a city wakes up.

“Rolling,” Sugawara-san called.

The screen behind the set flickered to life.

Stars. Neon streaks. Two lines of light cutting through a deep indigo sky.

The beat dropped.

Yoru moved first.

She stepped forward with effortless confidence, boots striking the floor in perfect sync with the rhythm. The camera loved her—sharp angles, fast cuts, her presence burning bright and bold.

“—Two lights running through the dark,

never crossing, but never apart—“

Her voice sliced clean through the track, playful and daring, a comet blazing its own path.

Then—

Rin stepped in.

…And the room changed.

She wasn't louder or flashier.

But… Clearer.

“—In the flash of a beat, we shine,

your rhythm, your dream, your line with mine—“

Her voice was steady. Warm. Free.

No tension in her shoulders. No tight breath between phrases. She wasn’t forcing anything—not the pitch, not the emotion, not the smile that curved naturally across her lips.

She trusted the song.

I raised my camera without thinking.

Click.

The shot was perfect.

Rin turned, ribbons catching the light as she spun, her movement fluid and unguarded. When she met Yoru’s gaze this time, there was no sharpness there—just confidence. Not competition.

“—Two lights side by side,

different colors, same sky—“

They moved together now. Yoru leaned into the choreography with her usual spark, but her eyes flicked to Rin more than once—quick, surprised glances she didn’t bother hiding.

Because Rin wasn’t chasing. She was shining all on her own.

The camera followed her as she stepped into the center frame, light blooming behind her like a sunrise. Her expression was open, alive—nothing rehearsed about it.

This was Rin Tsukishiro without armor.

And she was breathtaking.

“—Never crossing, never fading,

we don’t disappear tonight—“

The final chorus swelled.

Rin lifted her chin slightly, eyes drifting—just for a second—toward me.

Not searching.

Not uncertain.

Just… there.

Click.

The last note rang out.

Silence.

Then—

“That’s a wrap!” Sugawara-san’s voice cut through the air, sharp and triumphant. “Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!”

Applause broke out around the studio. Stylists, crew, assistants—everyone talking at once, buzzing with that unmistakable lightning energy we just caught.

Rin exhaled slowly.

A real breath.

She laughed—soft, genuine—and bowed lightly toward the staff. When she turned, her eyes met mine again.

This time, she didn’t smile shyly.

Yoru bowed too, same energy, same spark as always. Later, she stood a few steps away, hands on her hips, watching Rin with an unreadable expression.

Then she let out a quiet whistle.

“…Damn,” she muttered.

Later—once the set dissolved into teardown chaos and the crew scattered to coil cables and pack lights—Sugawara-san waved me over, already scanning the monitors.

“Mikazuki,” he said, tapping the screen with two fingers, “before anything else—offload the footage. Studio B server. I want a clean backup before we strike the set.”

“Understood,” I replied, lifting the camera strap higher on my shoulder.

I slipped away toward the quieter side hall near the storage rooms, the hum of the studio fading behind me. Equipment cases lined the walls, monitors glowing faintly in standby.

I set my bag down, connected the drive, and watched the files begin to transfer—frame after frame of light, movement, and something I still couldn’t quite name.

“Camera boy.”

I turned.

Yoru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, grin softer than usual.

“Got a minute?”

“Depends,” I said cautiously. “You planning to kabedon me again? Should I be afraid?”

She laughed. “Relax. I retired that move.”

We stood there in the hum of distant voices and rolling carts.

She glanced back toward the studio. “You saw it too, didn’t you.”

“…Saw what?”

She looked at me, sharp but honest.

“The difference.”

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

Yoru clicked her tongue. “Guess… it didn’t work, huh?”

“What… are you talking about?” I raised a brow at her.

She pushed off the wall and stretched, hands laced behind her head. “Alright. I’ll say it straight.”

Her eyes met mine.

“I was messing with you.”

I blinked.

“Not because I liked you,” she added quickly. “Well—okay, you’re objectively cute. But that wasn’t it.”

“Glad to hear it…” I muttered, “I wouldn’t know how to handle an idol having the hots for the camera kid.”

Yoru giggled, “No, it’s not like that…” She smirked. “I just wanted to see her crack.”

That landed heavier than I expected.

“Rin-senpai’s untouchable,” Yoru continued. “Perfect image. Perfect control. Everyone puts her on a pedestal.” Her smile faded. “I wanted to know what would happen if someone shook it.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Because the idol industry is competitive. And number 1s don’t stay number 1s forever. I want to take that spot for myself.”

“And? You wanted to hit on me and rattle her?” I almost laughed at how ridiculous that sounded.

Although… it kinda almost worked. Now that was absurd.

She looked back toward the studio again—toward where Rin was laughing with Saya-san, brighter than I’d ever seen her.

“Yeah but turns out…” Yoru said quietly, “she doesn’t fall.”

She straightened, eyes clear.

Looking at her like that… yeah. Rin Tsukishiro really was unbeatable. Not because she couldn’t be knocked down. But because she always got back up.

Yoru glanced back at me, expression teasing again—but gentler now. Her eyes softened, a melancholic smile tugging at her lips.

“So yeah. I admit defeat. She beat me fair and square.”

“You can always be the number 1 in a different sense, right?” I blurted out the words without realizing.

Yoru raised a brow, mischievous “And how would I do that?”

“I don’t know how idols work but… I don't think you have to knock Rin down to be the best you can be.”

I tried to be as honest I could with my answer. After all, doing your best didn’t mean you had to undermine someone else’s work. Sure showbiz was… brutal. But that didn’t necessarily mean you had to be too.

Yoru turned to look at me, eyes wide like I was half crazy, half deluded. Hey maybe I was?

But that didn’t stop her from laughing,

“You really are a piece of work huh, Mikazuki?”

Mikazuki. That was the first time she didn’t teasingly call me cameraboy or Hajime-kun.

“I get that a lot.” I scratched the back of my neck, “Mainly from my mom.”

“I think Rin-san won’t be easy to reach, after all…” Yoru started, “Turns out she found the right person to stand beside her.”

I swallowed. “You don’t mean—“

Then she grinned, cutting me off, “Take good pictures of her, okay?”

Before I could respond, she turned and jogged back toward the others, calling out something loud and cheerful like nothing serious had just been said.

I stood there for a moment longer, camera heavy in my hands.

Across the studio, Rin caught my eye one last time.

No jealousy.

No doubt.

Just a fraction of her brilliant light.

And for the first time, I realized…

Parallel Lights wasn’t about rivalry at all. It was about choosing to shine together. For different reasons.