Chapter 55: Rivalry

Alan’s confidence in Nozomi Sakura wasn’t baseless.

He admired, above all, the way she handled money, and if he set aside what she’d said in the restaurant that night—how she claimed not to care whom he’d dated—everything still made sense.

She already knew he’d been with Akari Hojo and Nino. For a girl who had never been in love to fall for a self-confessed scumbag like him? The odds felt vanishingly small.

Still, he couldn’t afford to relax. Distance had to be managed, stray emotions must never be allowed to taint a transaction that ought to remain purely financial.

Outside the private training room reserved for Nozomi, Alan stood behind one-way glass, jotting in a notebook while she ran drills with her coach. He had also brought a training schedule and a stack of textbooks.

Nozomi had never received any formal instruction, so the crash course began with fundamentals: breath-and-voice work (resonance control, emotional line delivery), body-and-expression control (micro-expressions, camera-ready body language)... Today was voice work.

"Keep your vocal cords steady when you speak, eyes forward," the coach instructed. "Anger quickens tempo, sorrow slows it. For grief, add the faintest tremor... Watch me, then read the lines yourself."

A woman in her forties demonstrated, then handed Nozomi the sheet. Nozomi scanned it, lips parting, then hesitated.

The words kept dragging her thoughts back to the Akari sisters and to Nino. If I were them, facing Alan... Anger, grievance, forced cheerfulness...

She inhaled, opened her eyes, and the air around her shifted. Lines poured out:

"You’re really leaving?"

"You’re not coming back?"

Minutes later, the coach pressed her lips together and simply stared. Nozomi came back to herself, heart skittering. Two days had taught her how exacting Fujiwara-sensei could be.

"Fujiwara-sensei, did I do something wrong?"

She had been about to ask, You’ve had professional training, haven’t you? Instead she only shook her head. "Don’t direct those lines at me as if I’m your lover. Try again, this time imagine your mother, your father, a friend."

"Ah... Okay."

Beyond the glass, Alan’s brows drew tight. As Nozomi spoke, he had caught glimpses of Hojo, Honne, Nino—different ghosts flickering across her face. So this was what S-grade acting talent looked like.

See a person once, and the mimicry was instinctive. Admiration warred with a prickling unease he couldn’t name.

***

Six in the evening. After a day of relentless drills, Nozomi followed Alan to the car, face blank, words spent.

She felt like a candle burned down to a stub in a temple gutter, ready to crumble into ash and let the wind take her.

When Alan suggested dinner out, she refused flatly, all she wanted was to lie on a bed like a statue and sleep.

In the car he glanced at her, then pulled a sheaf of notes from his bag. "I wrote down today’s problems. Review them before next Friday’s session. And buckle up."

Nozomi took the pages with zombie fingers and clicked the belt into place.

Leaning back, letting the night air brush her face and neon lights streak by, she felt something inside her loosen. Bored, she began leafing through his notes.

Under the dome light, the handwriting was neat, meticulous. Every tiny flaw she’d shown had been logged, even Fujiwara-sensei’s comments transcribed word for word. She wasn’t fighting alone, after all. The thought warmed her, the barest smile tugged at her lips.

Noticing her exhaustion, Alam hit the button for music while waiting at a red light. A familiar voice filled the cabin:

"About the one you used to date—

the night you told me everything..."

He reached to skip the track. Nozomi caught his wrist and shook her head. "Leave it. I like this one."

Akari Hojo’s signature song. Hearing the track she herself had sung countless times at karaoke, Nozomi glanced up at the ceiling where Hojo had once left a sticky note. A laugh threatened to spill out.

Hojo, I’m sitting in your seat, are you jealous?

The more she read his notes, the lighter her mood became, until she reached the final section. "Script Analysis Notes," "Basic Framework for Writing Drama"... Page after page of tiny characters, dialogue breakdowns, annotations. She closed the folder and turned to him.

"...Are you studying scriptwriting?"

"Hm?" He flicked a glance sideways, saw the pages in her hand, and shrugged. "Yeah, doing some research."

"So... you’re writing a script for me? Planning to cast me in something you wrote?"

"Sounds unrealistic?"

She opened her mouth, Isn’t it? But the chorus hit just then, and memory slammed into her.

"Hey, Alan, do you know Friend A...?"

"The post said it plainly, he’s burned out, doesn’t want to write songs anymore."

"Is he really just one person?"

"If he’s not a person, what is he?"

"So he’s a guy?"

"Yeah."

"Aren’t you jealous?"

"Not really..."

Lightning seemed to crack inside her skull, every puzzle piece snapped into place. She stared at the boy beside her, speechless.

Alan is Friend A.

Nozomi hadn’t heard him admit it outright, but she was ninety-nine percent certain.

The logic clicked into place like a solved puzzle. Why was Alan so loaded? Why did Friend A’s songs only ever go to Akari Hojo? And why, after they broke up, had Friend A chosen to retire...?

Yet from the moment she stepped out of his car until she was lying on her bed, shoes kicked off and lights dimmed, the revelation barely stirred her. It felt like opening an opaque parcel you’d half expected to contain a watermelon, only to find a coconut instead. Odd, anticlimactic, but hardly earth-shattering.

Maybe she was just too tired to care.

Questions still buzzed, but her mind felt like a browser with too many tabs open. Too lazy for the full nighttime routine, she peeled off her clothes in one motion, tossed them onto the tatami, and slipped under the thin blanket wearing only a sleep shirt.

A minute later she was too warm, one long leg slid out, hooked the blanket aside, and fished the AC remote from under her pillow.

Beep.

Cool air swept the room. Still, when she closed her eyes, heat flared behind her ribs. She padded to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, then opened her phone and hovered over Hojo’s chat window.

Is Alan Friend A?

Her thumb froze. Sending that line would feel like admitting Hojo knew him better, and Nozomi’s pride refused the concession.

She’d simply met him first, that was all. In time, Nozomi would know Alan more deeply than anyone.

What she really wanted to ask was why they had broken up. Deep down she suspected the answer, he’d been the one to end it. The look in Hojo’s eyes that day had been too raw to fake, unless she’d taken master-level acting classes.

Nozomi didn’t want to believe it, because it hinted at her own possible future.

She switched to Akane Mia’s chat, stared at the blank input, and drifted off midsentence.

That night she dreamed Alan had written a script just for her.

She starred in it, burned brighter than Venus, became the nation’s darling.

Her father grumbled but secretly binge-watched every episode.

The story of their romance turned into a hit drama.

The sword-obsessed lunatic could only rage in impotent envy.

Then, at the altar, the lights snapped off. Hojo appeared in a wedding gown, kicked Nozomi aside, and linked arms with Alan.

"He never loved you. It was all in your head."

Nozomi jerked awake, sunlight slicing through the curtains. Her skin felt clammy, the dream had already blurred except for Hojo’s last sentence.

Dreams lie. If Nozomi truly outshone Venus, Alan would never let her go.

And when they married, she’d make Hojo her maid of honor, payback for that nightmare.

She had to surpass her.