Chapter 18: A-sensei
Reality had a cruel habit of twisting expectations into something unrecognizable.
“But you don’t have to worry, brother-in-law,” Akari Honne said brightly into the phone, her voice bubbling with forced cheer. “Sis said she knows you’d rather not see her, so she’s only bringing me along.”
On the other end of the line, Alan fell into a long, heavy silence.
“Brother-in-law?” Honne pressed. “You still there?”
Catching the hesitation, the excitement in her voice dimmed, as though someone had turned down a dial.
“Yeah,” Alan replied at last. “I’m here.”
“…Do you not want me to come to Tokyo, brother-in-law?”
Her voice shrank, turning small and fragile. Even through the phone’s speaker, Alan could picture it perfectly: her lashes trembling, eyes glistening, lips quivering just enough to sell the act.
In truth, he’d developed a kind of immunity.
Honne had pulled this instant-noodle crocodile tears routine so many times he’d lost count. The timing was always impeccable, the delivery flawless, the tears switching on and off like a faucet.
When he didn’t answer right away, she seemed to realize that angle wasn’t working.
“If you don’t believe me,” she said quickly, “I’ll let Sis talk to you.”
Before he could agree or refuse, the phone was already being passed to someone else.
“Hello?” came a familiar voice. “Alan.”
Akari Hojo’s voice slid through the receiver, soft and calm, brushing against his ears like a familiar melody.
“Hey,” he answered.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said gently. “Rehearsals have been intense, and the agency’s got me running in circles lately. I really can’t get away… so I’ll have to trouble you to look after Honne for her birthday in Tokyo.”
“…Alright,” Alan said after a pause. “Got it.”
There wasn’t much else he could say. Still, a question gnawed at the back of his mind.
How had Hojo agreed so easily?
He knew Honne had a crush on him. Hojo knew it even better.
When he and Hojo were still dating, she’d bristled at every overly familiar hug her sister gave him. Honne would cling to him shamelessly, curl up against his chest, whispering complaints or jokes meant only for his ears. Hojo had pleaded with him—sometimes openly, sometimes in roundabout ways—to keep Honne at arm’s length.
More than once, Hojo, usually gentle and patient, had exploded in frustration. She’d yelled at her sister for draping herself over him like a scarf, only to lose the shouting match. Later, she would collapse against his chest like a wounded kitten, tears soaking his shirt, asking him to stroke her hair until she calmed down.
Two days ago, she’d clung to him as though letting go would break her. Now, she was calmly giving permission for Honne to spend an entire week alone with him in Tokyo.
None of it made sense.
Alan had assumed Honne would refuse outright, banking on Hojo’s jealousy. He’d made the request lightly, almost carelessly.
Instead, the situation had flipped completely.
He couldn’t tell what Hojo was planning.
Sensing his silence, Hojo spoke again. “Alan, can I ask you something?”
“I might not answer,” he said honestly.
She sighed. “You’ve changed. Do all men turn cold after a breakup?”
The sigh was deliberate, heavy with emotion. Then she pressed on, quieter now. “We’re still friends, right?”
“…”
“I’ve come to terms with it,” Hojo continued. “Like you said before, two people can love each other and still not reach the end together. Happiness isn’t the only reason we’re alive.”
Her voice softened further, steady but sincere.
“If I can’t be happy myself, at least I can help someone else be. So… I hope you and whoever you choose will be happy, Alan.”
She paused, then added, almost tenderly, “But no matter what, I’ll never forget the time we had. I’ll carry every expectation you ever had for me and keep chasing my dream. So please, watch me from the audience.”
“That,” she said quietly, “will be my happiness.”
Listening to her words, Alan drew in a slow breath. When he released it, the tangled questions inside him seemed to loosen, if only a little.
“I will,” he said.
“Mm.”
After a thoughtful silence, Hojo spoke again. “Oh, right. I passed your message to Miss Kaguya. She said there’s still a copyright issue you need to sort out. She asked you to contact her as soon as you can.”
“Copyright?” Alan frowned. “Didn’t we already sign the contract?”
“I don’t know the details,” Hojo replied. “She didn’t tell me.”
“…Alright. I’ll call her.”
“Good night, then.”
Click.
The call ended before Alan could say anything else.
“…?”
Honne spun around, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Eh?!”
She stared at Hojo, sputtering. “Why’d you hang up?!”
Hojo placed the phone calmly on the coffee table and turned a gentle smile toward her sister.
“Everything that needed to be said was said,” she replied. “Alan agreed to show you around Tokyo.”
“But I wasn’t finished!” Honne protested, her face scrunching up as frustration made her tremble.
She’d endured that syrupy speech, stomach churning, all so she could grab the phone again and start planning their Tokyo itinerary. Instead, Hojo had taken the last word and cut the call short.
Keeping all the dessert to yourself, huh?
Hojo, unruffled, studied her sister from head to toe.
Honne was only about 155 centimeters tall, but the Akari family’s beauty genes had done their work. She had a delicate oval face, cherry-colored lips, and naturally flirtatious eyes. Her chest was smaller than Hojo’s, but still more than “adequate.”
Hojo estimated that Alan could probably circle one of them with a single hand.
What truly drew attention, though, were her legs—slender, straight, almost luminous under the light, faint blue veins visible beneath pale skin. Paired with her petite frame, they practically screamed “protect me” to anyone who looked.
White, slim, young.
That summed it up nicely.
Hojo nodded in quiet appraisal.
Under the scrutiny, Honne felt as though ants were crawling over her skin. She pressed her knees together.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped.
Hojo lifted her gaze to meet Honne’s slightly moist eyes.
“Save your words for when you see him,” she said calmly. “But first, Honne, you need to promise me something. Otherwise, I’m not taking you to Tokyo.”
Honne’s eyelid twitched.
“Tsk.”
***
Beep. Beep. Beep.
After ending the call with Hojo, Alan locked his car, went upstairs, and once everything was settled, dialed another number.
“Hello?” a tired voice answered. “This is Kaguya. Who’s calling, please?”
“Miss Kaguya,” Alan said. “It’s Alan.”
There was a two-second pause. Then excitement burst through the line, quickly reined in.
“A-sensei?”
When Alan had first debuted, he’d used the pen name “Friend A” to maintain anonymity. Kaguya knew his real name, but out of professional respect, she still called him A-sensei.
Alan had always found it awkward.
“It’s me,” he said.
“I heard from Akari Hojo that there’s still some unfinished copyright business on my end.”
“Eh?”
The firm confirmation he expected didn’t come.
“No, A-sensei,” Kaguya replied, surprised. “Your old contract is fine. I was calling about the copyright for your two newest songs.”
“My newest songs?”
“Yes. ‘On the Back of the Silver Dragon’ and ‘Snow Flower.’”
Alan fell silent.
Those were the songs he’d included in the breakup letter to Hojo. Wracked with guilt, he’d written that she could have full lyric and composition rights.
Apparently, she hadn’t accepted the gift so simply.
“…Did Miss Akari mention any of this to you?” Kaguya asked hesitantly.
Alan said nothing.
If Hojo had refused the songs, why route him through Kaguya instead?
After a moment, he asked, “What exactly did Akari Hojo tell you? Did she say she wanted to perform them?”
The question caught Kaguya off guard. “Aren’t those songs meant for Miss Akari alone?”
“When she showed them to you,” Alan clarified, “what did she say?”
Though puzzled by his tone, Kaguya switched into professional mode, replaying the conversation in her mind.
“She said something like, ‘As long as the agency holds the rights, I can perform these at the concert.’”
“I see.”
“About the contract, A-sensei—”
“I’ll come by your office tomorrow morning,” Alan said. “We’ll settle it then.”
“Understood. One more thing… Miss Akari mentioned you’re not planning to write more songs. Is that true?”
“More or less.”
“Ah…”
Kaguya dragged out the sound thoughtfully. After a pause, she said, “Would you let us use that angle?”
“Use it how?”
“Miss Akari’s concert is coming up. She’s always sung your work. If we bill it as your farewell piece, the publicity could be enormous. It would benefit both of you…”
***
In a classroom somewhere else, Nozomi Sakura was doing what she’d done more often than almost anything else in her life.
She was drifting off.
Her senses blurred. The teacher’s voice slowly transformed into something distant, like a lullaby her mother used to hum when she was small.
Her eyelids slid shut without permission. Her head bobbed in time with the teacher’s hand movements, repetitive, meaningless. The tip of her ballpoint pen smeared a small black cloud across the page.
The classroom felt like one vast, ritualistic lullaby.
For Nozomi, lectures had that effect. It wasn’t just the words; it was the cramped but quiet space, the steady monotone of the teacher, the strange sense of safety.
Sleep washed over her like a rising tide.
Just as she was about to surrender completely, something long and hard jabbed sharply into her side.
“—!"
