The Cost of Fame

CHAPTER-15

The label’s office was nothing like campus.

The walls were too white, too clean, as if sound itself had been filtered out before it could settle. Even the air felt different conditioned, neutral, stripped of personality. I sat on a leather couch that was far too expensive for how stiff it was, diploma folder resting on my lap like a prop from another life.

Graduation still felt unreal. The cap. The stage. The applause.

And yet here I was, less than three hours later, being summoned like I had already crossed some invisible line.

A woman I recognized from previous meetings.

My manager’s assistant, smiled politely from across the room. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes, professional and practiced.

“They’ll be with you in a moment,” she said.

I nodded. “Okay.”

My phone buzzed again.

I didn’t need to check it to know what it was.

Notifications had been piling up since I left campus. Mentions. Tags. Screenshots. Someone had already posted the photo from earlier, the one with me in my gown, Issei beside me, close enough for speculation to bloom.

Who’s the guy?

Is that her boyfriend?

Didn’t know she was dating.

The comments weren’t cruel. Not yet. Mostly curious. Mostly excited. But curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity spread faster than hate.

I slipped my phone back into my bag without opening anything.

The door across from me opened.

“Kana,” my manager said, stepping out. “Come in.”

The conference room was glass-walled, overlooking the city. Afternoon light poured in, reflecting off sleek surfaces and polished tables. Two executives sat at the far end, tablets already in hand. Coffee cups steamed faintly beside them.

I bowed slightly out of habit before catching myself and offering a polite smile instead.

“Congratulations on graduating,” one of them said, gesturing for me to sit. His tone was warm. Congratulatory. Almost kind.

“Thank you,” I replied, sitting straight, hands folded in my lap.

“You’ve had quite a week,” the other added. “The numbers from your release exceeded our projections.”

“I saw,” I said. “I’m grateful.”

And I was. Truly. The song mattered to me. Every lyric, every note had come from a place that felt fragile and honest. Seeing it resonate with people still felt unreal.

They exchanged a look.

“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about,” my manager said gently. “Momentum.”

Here it is.

“The song’s performance has accelerated your timeline,” she continued. “Media interest is increasing faster than anticipated. Interviews, features, potential live appearances. We’re entering a very visible phase.”

I nodded slowly. I had expected this. Prepared myself for it. Or at least, I thought I had.

“One thing we need to address,” the first executive said, folding his hands, “is public perception.”

The words landed quietly but heavily.

“Specifically,” the other added, tapping his tablet, “your personal associations.”

My chest tightened.

I didn’t respond immediately. I didn’t need clarification. Not really.

My manager slid her tablet across the table toward me.

A photo stared back.

Me in my graduation gown, diploma in hand. Issei beside me, expression calm, familiar. Not touching. Not hiding either.

Timestamped. Tagged. Already circulating.

“I didn’t post that,” I said automatically.

“We know,” my manager replied. “But that’s not the issue.”

The executive leaned forward slightly. “You’re still in the early stages of establishing your image. Right now, the narrative is very clean. Focused. Music-first.”

I swallowed.

“And relationships,” he continued, “especially unvetted ones, complicate that narrative.”

Unvetted.

“He’s not a celebrity,” the other executive added. “Which makes it harder to control speculation. Fans project. Media invents.”

I looked down at my hands.

“So what are you saying?” I asked quietly.

The room felt smaller.

“We’re not asking you to make a statement,” my manager said carefully. “Not yet. But we do advise discretion.”

“Meaning?” I pressed.

“Less public appearances together,” she said. “At least until things stabilize.”

I thought of the campus fountain. The casual photo. The way Issei had looked at me earlier, steady and proud, like none of this scared him.

My throat felt tight.

“I wasn’t trying to-” I stopped myself. Rephrased. “I didn’t think walking on campus would be an issue.”

“It’s not about intent,” the executive said smoothly. “It’s about visibility.”

There it was again.

Be careful.

The word echoed in my mind like a warning I’d been hearing for weeks but hadn’t wanted to translate.

“This phase requires focus,” he continued. “We want the conversation to be about your artistry. Not your dating life.”

Dating life.

The phrase felt invasive, too big for something that still felt quiet and private and not fully defined.

“I understand,” I said finally.

And I did. Intellectually.

Emotionally, something inside me recoiled.

“Good,” my manager said softly, relief flickering across her face. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s protection so that you can flourish further without having too many controversies or troubles.”

Protection. Controversy. Trouble.

The meeting wrapped quickly after that. Schedules discussed. Talking points outlined. Smiles exchanged. Hands shaken.

When I stepped back into the hallway, my chest felt hollow.

I walked out of the building slowly, the city noise rushing back in all at once. Car horns. Footsteps. Distant voices. Life, loud and unfiltered.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, I stopped.

I pulled it out.

Messages stacked on my screen.

From fans.

From classmates.

From people I barely knew.

And one from Issei.

You okay?

Just three words.

Simple. Concerned. Sincere.

My fingers hovered over the screen.

I thought about the glass walls. The word discretion. The way his name hadn’t been spoken, only implied.

I typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Still nothing felt right.

Across the street, my reflection stared back at me in the darkened glass of a storefront. Cap gone. Gown folded away. Just me, standing on the edge of something that felt both earned and frightening.

I looked down at my phone again.

You okay?

I exhaled slowly.

I didn’t know how to answer that.

Not right now, anyways.

END CHAPTER-15