Morning rehearsals started early and ended late.
By the third round of vocal drills, Haru's throat felt like it had been lined with sandpaper, and the soles of his feet ached from dancing across polished studio floors that never seemed to forgive mistakes.
"Again, from the chorus!" Mizuki's voice rang through the practice room.
Haru snapped into position, sweat sticking his shirt to his back. Daiki, beside him, shot him a thumbs-up—cheeky but encouraging. Jin gave a small nod of acknowledgment as the music cued up.
They launched into "Start Line" once more. The choreography was starting to feel less foreign, movements flowing with more confidence. Haru's voice wobbled at the bridge, but Ren—on his opposite side—covered smoothly, harmonizing without missing a beat.
When the music stopped, they all dropped to the floor like dominoes.
"I'm going to melt," Daiki groaned, wiping sweat from his neck with his sleeve.
"You already are," Jin said bluntly.
Ren rolled onto his back, arms sprawled. "Are we sure we haven't actually died and this is just idol purgatory?"
Haru chuckled softly, sitting cross-legged with his bottle pressed to his cheek. "If it is, at least the soundtrack is good."
Daiki leaned in with a smirk. "You're getting better, Haru. I saw Mizuki nod at you. That's, like, a miracle."
"Maybe she was just nodding in disappointment," Haru joked, but the small praise stayed with him. It meant something—coming from a team that was slowly learning to move as one.
Later, after their cooldown and a quick break, Aoki entered the room.
He didn't need to raise his voice to command attention. The group straightened up immediately, even Daiki pulling himself upright from his sprawled spot on the floor.
"Vocals are improving," Aoki said, clipboard in hand. "But your transitions are still messy. Especially from pre-chorus into the hook."
Ren raised a hand. "It's the syncopation, isn't it? We're not landing at the same time."
Aoki gave a nod. "Good ear. Let's fix it before it becomes habit."
He started breaking down the section, demonstrating with sharp, efficient movements. When someone missed a cue, he corrected them quickly but didn't linger. It was the most focused Haru had ever seen him.
Then Aoki turned to him.
"Haru. Try the pre-chorus solo again. Just you."
Haru's heart thudded. He stood, nerves biting at his heels, and sang.
The notes came out shakier than he wanted, but he kept going. When he finished, he braced for critique—but Aoki just nodded.
"You're anchoring your breath better. But drop your jaw more on the 'stay' vowel. You're clipping it."
Haru blinked. "Oh. Right."
Aoki stepped closer, lightly tapping just beneath Haru's chin with the back of his finger. "Relax here. You're tightening up."
The touch was brief, professional. But Haru felt it like a spark beneath his skin.
"Try again."
He did. And it was better.
Aoki gave a faint smile—so fleeting it almost didn't count. "Good. Don't overthink it."
After the session ended, most of the group filtered out for dinner. Haru lingered, coiling cords and stacking sheet music. He wasn't entirely sure why he stayed—just that something kept him there.
"You can go," Aoki said from the corner, not looking up from his notes.
"I know." Haru hesitated. "I just wanted to ask something."
That got Aoki's attention. He glanced up, expression unreadable.
"What is it?"
"You said once that being an idol is like burning." Haru's voice was quiet. "But do you regret it?"
Aoki was silent for a long moment. Then he leaned back against the wall, arms folded.
"No," he said eventually. "But I regret not knowing how to protect myself."
Haru sat down on the edge of the stage, facing him. "You don't seem like someone who needed protecting."
"That's the problem," Aoki said. "Everyone thought that, but afterall I was still young I couldnt protect myself."
There was a beat of silence.
"You were really good," Haru said. "I watched your performances from when I was still in the countryside. You made it look effortless."
Aoki huffed a breath—part laugh, part sigh. "It wasn't."
Haru glanced down at his hands. "I'm scared sometimes. That I'm not enough. Or that I'll mess up and everyone will see."
"That fear doesn't go away," Aoki said. "But you learn to live with it."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you break," Aoki said simply. "But you're not there yet. You're still standing."
Haru glanced up at him. "You notice everything, don't you?"
Aoki's gaze shifted, voice quieter. "It's hard not to. I've been where you are once."
The room felt heavier for a moment. Then Haru noticed something—just the barest glint beneath Aoki's collar.
Scales.
Black and faintly iridescent, like they shimmered beneath his skin. Only for a second before Aoki adjusted his shirt.
"You're not—" Haru started, then stopped.
Aoki raised a brow. "Not what?"
Haru shook his head quickly. "Nothing."
But the thought stayed with him.
Not a geoko like Ryu...?
***
That night, back in the dorm, Haru lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Shiro hadn't said much when he came in. But after lights-out, Haru heard him shift below.
"You sang better today," Shiro said quietly. "In that solo."
Haru blinked. "Thanks."
A pause.
"It's nothing" Shiro muttered. "Just... don't waste the chance."
Haru smiled in the dark.
"Okay," Haru said softly.
They didn't speak again, but something had shifted—just slightly.
Haru closed his eyes, heartbeat steady.