-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE — THEATRE ARTS CLUBROOM, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-3:14 PM, NOVEMBER 10, 2017-
The Theatre Arts Clubroom buzzed with low voices and anticipation.
Chairs were arranged in neat rows facing a small stage framed by dark curtains. A clipboard rested in the instructor's hands, names written carefully in ink.
"Today is audition day," the instructor announced. "New members will perform a short piece of their choosing. It doesn't need to be perfect. I want to see sincerity."
Students shifted in their seats, some whispering, others practicing lines under their breath.
Rikuu Arakawa sat near the side, arms crossed loosely, gaze unreadable.
Auditions were nothing new to him.
He had stood on this stage countless times—spoken lines until they burned into his chest, replayed emotions he couldn't afford to show elsewhere.
But today, something felt… off.
The instructor checked the list.
"Next—Ichika Komori. Class 1-B."
Rikuu's head snapped up.
…What?
His red eyes locked onto the stage.
Ichika Komori stepped forward slowly, hands clasped in front of her. Her long pink hair fell softly over her shoulders, her posture composed but tense.
The room seemed to quiet on its own.
Rikuu stared.
She's… here?
She didn't look at him.
Instead, she took her place at the center of the stage, drew a slow breath, and lifted her gaze toward the empty seats.
"I'll be performing an original monologue," she said softly.
The instructor nodded. "Begin when ready."
Ichika closed her eyes.
For a brief moment, she looked like she might turn back.
Then—
She spoke.
"There are things we learn to hide," her voice began, gentle but steady.
"Not because they are ugly… but because they are fragile."
The room stilled.
Rikuu didn't blink.
"We smile. We nod. We pretend we are untouched."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"But some nights, the silence feels louder than any scream."
Her voice trembled—not from fear, but restraint.
Rikuu's chest tightened.
Why does she sound like that?
"I wonder," Ichika continued, eyes opening slowly, "if being seen is more frightening than being alone."
A pause.
Her gaze lifted—briefly, unintentionally—and met Rikuu's.
His breath caught.
Just for a second.
Then she looked away.
"And if someone reaches out…"
Her voice softened.
"Will I have the courage to stay?"
Silence.
The final words hung in the air like falling snow.
Ichika bowed slightly and stepped back.
No one spoke at first.
Then the instructor exhaled.
"…Thank you, Komori-san."
Light applause followed—soft, genuine.
Ichika returned to her seat quietly, heart racing, fingers cold.
She didn't look at Rikuu.
But she felt him.
Rikuu remained frozen.
That wasn't acting.
That was truth.
Masayoshi leaned over from two rows back, whispering,
"Dude… is that the girl you keep pretending not to care about?"
Rikuu didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because something inside him had shifted.
She hadn't just stepped onto a stage.
She had stepped into his world.
And for the first time—
he didn't know how to stand still.
The instructor cleared their throat.
"Next audition—"
Rikuu finally exhaled.
Slow.
Careful.
His eyes stayed on Ichika Komori.
And he realized something he hadn't expected.
This stage—
was no longer his alone.