Chapter 31
The Pitch
The bar hums with a low, velvety jazz tune, the
saxophone weaving through the dim candlelight like a whispered secret. The air
is thick with oak-aged whiskey and sweet plum wine, warmth curling against my
skin the moment we step inside.
Behind the polished counter, Ruri’s smile tilts
like she knows something I don’t. "Surprise," she says, nodding
toward the golden banner stretched above the bar.
Happy Retirement, Raven.
My breath stutters.
Beside me, Raven chuckles, her fingers brushing
the small of my back—just enough to steady me. "Guess the secret’s
out," she murmurs.
O-bāchan, ever the queen of dramatics, waltzes
over with a tray of drinks, her silver hair pinned in an elegant twist. "A
toast to new beginnings," she declares, setting a ceramic cup in front of
me. Steam rises, carrying the caramel-sweet scent of umeshu.
I sink into the leather booth, its cool surface
against my bare thighs grounding me. The first sip is smooth—honeyed warmth
sliding down my throat. The taste of nostalgia.
Ruri leans in, propping herself on her elbows.
"So, what’s next?" she asks, her gaze flicking to Raven, playful but
expectant.
The question lingers, twisting into the sultry
melody of the saxophone.
Raven’s eyes find mine. Steady. Unreadable.
I tighten my grip on my cup, the ceramic warm
against my palm. Lifting it to my lips, I take a long sip—then another. The
honeyed burn slides down my throat, pooling in my chest like liquid courage.
Too fast. I know it. But I take one more anyway.
"What’s next?" she repeats, almost to
herself.
"Oi," the bartender calls out, his
British accent cutting through the moment. "Slow it down, lass. Last thing
I need is the bloody tabloids calling this place shameless."
The hostess laughs, smacking him on the shoulder.
"Honey, don’t embarrass her."
I cough, the burn catching me off guard, but I
force a smile. A sharp little jab, but I roll with it.
Raven’s voice pulls me back. "The truth
is... I don’t know."
Silence stretches.
I blink. That’s when I realize—both she and Ruri
are looking straight at me.
"What?" I wipe my face. "Do I have
something on me?"
The clink of Moon’s glass barely registers as my
brain short-circuits. The mischief in her eyes, the casual way she spins her
empty glass—it all feels too orchestrated, like a magician setting up for the
final reveal.
“Akina,” she purrs, drawing out my name like
she’s savoring the taste. “In truth, Ruri… well, she’s my new attorney. Or
rather, my new legal consultant.”
I blink, the warmth of umeshu lingering on my
tongue. “Oh… really?”
Moon nods, twirling the glass between her
fingers. “Yup.”
A beat of silence. Too easy. Too deliberate. I
narrow my eyes. “Why?”
She exhales, slow and deliberate, the kind of
pause that signals incoming disaster. “I’m moving to the States. With my
husband. And my son. He just signed a six-year contract with Worldwide
Entertainment. And… a new opportunity has presented itself to me.”
My fingers tighten around my cup. “Oh… that’s
fantastic.” The words feel flimsy, like cheap wrapping paper over something
sharp.
Moon winks. “Oh yeah. But I’m not going alone.”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Something in her tone makes my stomach drop.
“You. Will. Be. Going. With. Me.”
My lips part, but my brain is still buffering. “I
see, I’m—” The full weight of her words slams into me. “I what?!”
Ruri, ever composed, smirks from across the
table. “We’re working on a media campaign for the new Enomoto fashion
magazine.”
I stiffen. “Wait, what?”
Moon leans in, grinning. “I’m covering the sports
department. I’ll be the face of sportswear. We just need a poster child for
the… elegant design department. What do you say?”
I hesitate, pulse thrumming in my ears.
From the karaoke stage, O bāchan sways with the
hostess, microphone in hand. She leans over, voice warm and knowing. “Don’t
worry, honey. I’ll go with you, sweetheart, if you decide to do it.”
Later that night, I collapse onto my bed, the
room tilting slightly—exhaustion, umeshu, or both. The ceiling fan hums, its
slow, rhythmic whisper slicing through the quiet. My limbs ache, my head
buzzes, but before I can sink into the sheets, my phone rings.
I don’t need to check the caller ID. I already
know.
I press the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
Silence. Then—his voice. Sharp. Cutting.
Disappointed.
“You sang. In front of an audience. For free.
Do you know what this means?”
A chill snakes down my spine. My fingers curl
into the blanket.
His tone hardens, each word curling like a fist. “Tighter
reins. A shorter leash. This defiance ends now.”
I swallow, my throat tight and raw, as if I’ve
swallowed glass. I don’t argue. There’s no point. I just listen. Endure. Let
the words crash over me like cold rain.
Then—silence.
The call ends.
I stare at the screen for a long moment before
tossing the phone onto the bed. My arms feel heavy, my chest tight, but I push
myself up. Move. Breathe. Function.
Bad idea.
BUUUUURP.
Oh no.
GAGG.
My stomach twists, rolling like a ship caught in
a storm. I stumble toward the bathroom, barely making it before—
BLAAACCH.
Damn you, umeshu.
BLAAACCH.
I should have listened to that British bartender.
BLAAACCH.
By the time the dry heaving stops, I’m shaking. I
rinse my mouth, splash water on my face, and then—ugh. A dark splatter stains
my shirt. Fantastic.
Mechanically, I peel off my clothes, gathering
the mess and stuffing it into the washing machine. The hum of rushing water
fills the space, steady and mindless. I watch the clothes twist and churn
behind the glass, colors bleeding into each other.
The night replays in my mind. The laughter. The
warmth of the bar. Moon’s teasing grin. O bāchan’s knowing smile. A different
world, one I almost let myself belong to.
And then—
A tear splashes onto the back of my hand.
I stare at it, startled. Then another falls. And
another.
I press my palms to my eyes, but it’s too late.
The dam has cracked.
I lay curled up on my bed, my head still swaying,
the remnants of the night clinging to me like a heavy fog. My body feels
leaden, but my mind won’t stop. Won’t quiet.
My eyes drift to the pile of clothes from
earlier.
“Damn…” My voice barely scrapes the silence.
“Should’ve thrown those in too.”
Something peeks out from my jeans—the ones I wore
after the photoshoot. A slip of white, barely visible in the dim light.
I frown, reaching over to switch on the lamp. The
glow spreads, pushing back the shadows.
Slowly, I sit up, my limbs sluggish, and grab the
jeans from the pile. As I lift them, a crumpled piece of paper flutters to the
floor.
My breath catches.
I kneel, fingers trembling as I pick it up,
smoothing the creased edges. My heart pounds, slow and heavy, like a drum
echoing through an empty hall.
The words blur before I force myself to focus. I
read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I can see your sadness behind your fake
smile… Don’t forget to be happy, not for us, or the fame, but for yourself…
Love always, your greatest fan and admirer, Kaito. PS: Please marry me!"
A shaky breath escapes me. My fingers tighten
around the note, pressing it to my chest.
Right… Like… I even have a choice.
No, wait.
I do.
For the first time in years, the decision is
entirely mine. No contracts. No publicist. No expectations. Just… freedom.
All it takes is a little sacrifice.
I grab my phone, my pulse steady now, certain. I
dial the number.
It clicks.
“Hey, big sis…” Ruri’s voice is soft, laced with
curiosity. “Everything alright?”
I exhale, the weight shifting, lifting.
“When do we leave?”