Chapter 48: The Multi-Headed Monster

“Stop.”

Accompanied by a crisp clap, Meihe pressed pause on the deafening dance track in the B1 practice room.

The instant she heard the command, Haruka’s spine seemed to vanish.

Her whole body collapsed, and she plopped down onto the wooden floor, sitting sprawled.

Her hands braced against the ground as she gasped for air, sweat from her forehead dripping onto the floor with audible plops.

“Rest for ten minutes.”

Meihe made a mark on her clipboard, expressionless.

Haruka struggled to straighten up, dragged her leaden legs to the corner, grabbed a towel, and roughly wiped it across her face.

Underneath the towel, her expression was awful.

Two hours ago, the flawless recording had given her the illusion that “I was born for this.”

Two hours later, in this room surrounded by mirrors, reality slapped her hard across the face.

The afternoon rehabilitation training was a nightmare.

Her performance was appallingly bad.

During the high-intensity core stability test, she gritted her teeth and powered through with sheer “I will not lose” stubbornness.

But once they moved to the basic dance step test, her cover was blown.

Dancing requires the brain to send extremely precise and complex coordinated commands to the limbs.

Hoshino Haruka’s body certainly possessed top-tier flexibility and explosive power, but Matsumoto Hidetoshi’s soul—the most complex micro-operations he’d ever done in his life was probably tracking with an R301 and executing QWER combos.

The incomplete compatibility between software and hardware made her move like a marionette half-heartedly relying on the body’s residual muscle memory.

The result was disastrous.

A bouncy, rhythmic sequence of small steps turned into a zombie rehabilitation routine that sent chills down the spine.

Her mind screamed “left foot step then right turn,” but her body, suffering from high-ping network lag, twisted a graceful slide into a stumble where the left foot tripped the right foot, sending her crashing down.

Movements stiff as wood, let alone keeping the beat.

One full six-count phrase after another—total collapse.

Her condition was even worse than yesterday when she’d first tested core strength.

The moment she moved, everything fell apart.

She had taken dancing seriously, yet physical issues turned the afternoon rehabilitation into a mess.

She hadn’t expected it to end like this.

After wiping off the sweat, Haruka took a deep breath, walked up to Meihe, and bowed deeply.

“I’m sorry, Meihe Laoshi.”

Her voice was full of chagrin and impatience.

“My movements are too stiff. Many of the force points are all wrong, and I didn’t hit the beat. Please give me a little more time. I’ll adjust quickly and get back to normal!”

The morning’s success had made her float too high.

She wanted too badly to continue that “perfection” and completely cement her identity as “Hoshino Haruka.”

But Meihe just looked at her calmly and shook her head.

Meihe had seen everything during the afternoon training.

She knew those balance moves were Haruka’s desperate struggle not to compensate, and she knew that the terrible dance steps had already exceeded the limits of someone just recovering from a serious injury.

Seeing this usually energetic child now bowing and apologizing with such fear and trembling, Meihe sighed almost imperceptibly.

She walked to the storage locker, took out a bottle of electrolyte water, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Haruka.

“You don’t have to push yourself like this.”

Haruka was stunned and unconsciously took the bottle.

“If I can’t get back on stage…”

“Listen to me.”

There was no reproach in Meihe’s eyes; instead, there was a tenderness and pity that made one’s nose sting.

“Haruka, have you forgotten what you just went through? Surviving that serious car accident, and even standing here dancing now—that itself is a huge medical miracle. Logically, you should be lying in bed for a year or so, but here you are, bouncing around.”

Meihe reached out and patted her shoulder very lightly.

“A disconnect between the nervous system and muscles is completely normal. Your foundation is still there. Take it slow. We have plenty of time to find those lost movements. Don’t rush. No one will blame you.”

“But…”

“No buts. You are first a person, an ordinary high school girl, and only then an idol.”

Meihe cut her off sternly.

“Today’s training volume has already far exceeded your physical limits. Training more will only increase the burden on your joints. Go home early and rest.”

“…”

Haruka opened her mouth, a thousand words stuck in her throat, but not a single syllable came out.

In the end, she could only stare blankly as Meihe packed up and left.

In the empty practice room, she stared intently at her exhausted reflection in the mirror.

—

That evening, at the apartment.

Haruka took a shower and, without even drying her hair, collapsed straight onto the living room sofa.

The room was dead silent, except for the ticking of the wall clock.

Outside the window, Tokyo’s bustling neon nightscape was a world away.

None of that noise had anything to do with her.

An immense wave of sadness and self-loathing engulfed her like black tide.

It was ten thousand times more intense than the feeling she’d had as a NEET, lying awake at night wondering, “Am I just a total wreck?”

Those pleasant moments of the past few days had now turned into blades carving up her heart.

Singing had gone smoothly in the morning because she already knew that song, plus the body’s muscle memory and a bit of musicality were enough to bluff through.

But dancing couldn’t be faked.

A guy who spent years duo-queuing with a gaming chair didn’t have the word “dance” in his dictionary.

Once or twice she could bluff, but three or four times?

Sooner or later she’d have to stand on stage again, face the fans who held such high expectations for her, and bring them happiness with her singing and dancing.

What if she couldn’t do it?

What would others think?

What would become of Hoshino Haruka’s reputation?

Meihe Laoshi insisted that the flawed movements were due to the lingering effects of her injuries, and comforted her gently.

Ritsu had quietly cut back those deadly heavy schedules behind the scenes.

The president was running around filling the gaps left by her absence… They were all being kind to Hoshino Haruka.

But did any shred of that warmth belong to him, “Matsumoto Hidetoshi”?

No.

It all belonged to “Hoshino Haruka.”

Dazed and disoriented, she got up, drifted back to the bedroom like a ghost, and slumped down before the vanity.

The mirror again reflected that overly beautiful young girl’s face.

“Who are you?”

She murmured to the mirror.

The person in the mirror mouthed the same question back at her.

“And… who am I?”

Just this morning, she had smugly thought she was perfectly “ feminized” and play-acting flawlessly, believing she could handle this identity with ease.

But now, that filter made of lies had been brutally shattered by Meihe’s words, “miracle.”

‘—What medical miracle? I’m nothing but a magpie occupying a nest. A thief hiding inside a young girl’s skin, shamelessly stealing other people’s affection.’

“An idol is built on lies…”

This intense impostor syndrome triggered a real, physical nausea.

She suddenly felt that this perfectly disguised mask was too heavy.

Even though she’d worn it for only a few days, it was already strangling her soul, making it hard to breathe.

‘…I’m so tired.’

She buried her face deep in her arms, letting out a suppressed sob.

‘“After all… that night in the hospital, I should have just jumped out the window. Then I wouldn’t have to endure this painful torment anymore.”

‘“Lies, lies. I really can’t lie like the real Hoshino Haruka…”’

‘“You’re a monster.”’

Just as this abyssal self-loathing was about to drive her completely insane—

“Buzz buzz—”

The phone thrown on the bed suddenly vibrated violently.

Haruka jolted as if shocked.

Instinctively thinking it was another work notification from Ritsu, she roughly wiped her face and slowly shuffled over to grab the phone.

But the caller ID on the screen was simply two words:

[Grandma]