Natsumi kept her head down, but Jun reached out and gently placed her camera back into her hands. "Just keep talking to me through the lens," he said. "It seems to be your preferred language."

  The moment her fingers gripped the camera, Natsumi’s expression shifted. The stuttering girl vanished, replaced by a focused professional staring at the viewfinder. "Yumi wants to go over the shooting schedule. Let’s head in."

  Jun marveled at the transformation. It was like watching a complete personality transplant. "Why aren't you in the Photography Club?"

  "The Photography Club?" Natsumi glanced up. "They’re boring."

  "But you love filming."

  "The Photography Club is just a bunch of pretentious narcissists with no actual aesthetic," she said, her voice rising with a rare touch of disdain. "They spend all day trying to film 'artistic' shorts to go viral, but they have no soul. Ko’s Journalism Club is better. I get to capture real things. Like that argument between the brass players earlier—that was pure 'youth.' That was real."

  She leaned in, holding the camera up to show him the playback. Because the strap was still around her neck, Jun had to lean in close to see the small screen. For a moment, the high-definition footage and the girl’s proximity were the only things in his world.

  Jun watched the clip with practiced nonchalance, then they walked back into the room.

  The hallway felt even hotter than before.

  Yumi was waiting for them at the back of the practice hall. Natsumi scurried to her side, whispering, "It’s all Yumi’s fault... making me go get Matsue-kun..."

  "But watching you two interact is so much more entertaining," Yumi teased with a lazy grin. She turned to Jun. "So, Matsue, any brilliant ideas for the Band Club segment?"

  "Actually," Jun said, "I think we should follow Natsumi’s lead."

  "Oh?" Yumi’s eyes darted between them, sensing a new "chemical reaction." "What’s the verdict, Natsumi?"

  "Um..." Natsumi’s finger traced a nervous pattern on her thigh, digging into the fabric—a tell-tale habit of hers. "We treat it like a raw documentary. No scripts, no staging. We just record everything and act like spectators. We let the story find us."

  Realizing she had spoken more than five words in a row, her face flared red again. She looked down at her camera, then stole a quick, hopeful glance at Jun.

  "It’s a solid, low-risk strategy," Jun agreed. "We stay behind the scenes for now."

  "Works for me," Yumi added.

  Natsumi hurried off to adjust her tripods.

  "She’s interesting, isn't she?" Yumi asked suddenly.

  "She’s a puzzle," Jun admitted. "Makes me want to poke at her a bit just to see what happens."

  Yumi grinned like she’d found a fellow conspirator. "I like you, Matsue. You can call me Yumi-chan. That’s what my real friends call me."

  "You’re a piece of work, Yumi-san," Jun chuckled.

  "Hey! If you start getting into me, the dynamic gets way less fun," Yumi joked, though she didn't look away.

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching Natsumi crouched over her gear. Suddenly, Natsumi stood up too quickly, her chest catching the edge of the camera rig. The tripod wobbled and crashed to the floor.

  "MY A7M4!" Natsumi shrieked, dropping to her knees. She looked like she was about to vomit.

  Yumi rushed over to comfort her. Jun stayed back until he heard Natsumi’s frantic muttering.

  "The lens... the body... that’s four thousand dollars... how do I tell my mom...?"

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Four thousand dollars?

  Jun walked over immediately. Not to comfort her, but because the thought of four thousand dollars hitting the floor made his own wallet ache in sympathy.

  In the front row, Yuka and Maki watched the chaos.

  "Jun hasn't looked at me once since he walked in," Yuka whispered. She stared at her saxophone, imagining the mouthpiece was something else entirely, and began to blow a series of aggressive, mournful notes.

  Maki stood beside her, offering a pained, weary smile. The sound of Yuka’s "Jealous Saxophone" echoed through the room long after everyone else had left.

  _______

  Jun lay on his bed, staring at the blank ceiling. It was almost 11:00 PM.

  He had just showered, but he was already starting to sweat. The Japanese summer was a relentless, humid beast.

  I should have bought that bamboo cooling mat, he thought, missing the bedding from his old life.

  His phone chimed. It was Tamaki Okuhara, the CEO of the Vanishment Service.

  [Tamaki]: Jun? You still awake?

  Jun groaned. Please don't tell me there's a midnight move. Even the Hustle King had limits.

  [Jun]: I’m up. Something wrong, Auntie Tamaki?

  [Tamaki]: Let’s talk on the phone.

  The ringtone cut through the quiet of the apartment.

  "Jun, sorry for the late call," Tamaki’s voice was warm but carried an edge of concern. "Something happened today that I thought you should know about."

  "I’m listening." Jun sat up and walked to the window. The streetlights were the only spots of light in the darkness.

  "A man came to the office today. He asked me to fire you."

  Jun’s grip tightened on the windowsill.

  "I refused, obviously. Then he offered me a 'substantial gratuity' if I agreed to let you go. Honestly, the amount was almost enough to make me consider it," Tamaki joked lightly, though her tone remained serious.

  "The man claimed you were actually a 'Young Master' from a wealthy family. He said you had run away from home in a fit of teenage rebellion and were working odd jobs to spite your parents. He said they just wanted you to 'stop being stubborn' and come home. If I hadn't seen your files from the orphanage, I might have actually believed his story."

  Jun let out a dry, mirthless laugh. That’s a creative script, he thought.

  "The security cameras got a good look at him," Tamaki continued. "I’ll send you the photo. I don't know what’s going on, Jun, but be careful."

  "Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll handle it."

  Jun hung up and fell back onto the mattress.

  "So that’s it," he whispered to the dark. "I was wondering why the Hustle King was suddenly failing every interview."

  The path to his fortune was being systematically sabotaged.

  "Who else could it be?"

  He thought of the girl who had been trying to buy his life since day one. The girl who wanted to "vet" him. The girl who offered him a "live-in" position the moment his bookstore job vanished.

  Haruka Mochizuki hadn't appeared in a while, but it seemed her shadow was everywhere.

  Jun closed his eyes and turned on the AC, deciding that the electric bill was a problem for future-Jun. As he drifted off, he realized the ceiling wasn't perfectly white—there was a small, dark stain in the corner, spreading like an inkblot.

  The next morning, Jun checked the photo Tamaki had sent. It was a man in a crisp black suit—the universal uniform of corporate security. It matched the suit worn by the woman who drove Haruka to school every morning.

  Why not just wear sunglasses and complete the look? Jun thought as he wheeled his bike out.

  He headed to Mitaka Forest first. He hadn't forgotten the phone call, but he needed to keep his routine until he was ready to strike.

  The morning air was thick and heavy. Above him, the clouds were boiling—masses of white turning into jagged grey peaks. A storm was coming.

  When he reached the convenience store, he saw Mr. Kashida—his Geography teacher—standing by the shelves. Jun wasn't surprised to see him, but he immediately sensed the tension in the room.

  Hana and Momoe were in the back courtyard, peering through the glass door with wide, nervous eyes. Grandpa Kashida was behind the counter, staring at a ledger in total silence, ignoring the world.

  So the teacher and the shopkeep ARE family, Jun confirmed. And they’re having a bad day.

  "Grandpa, I’m here for the crates," Jun said, deciding not to meddle in family drama.

  The old man gave a curt nod. Mr. Kashida adjusted his glasses, looking shocked to see his honor student in a pair of work overalls.

  Jun finished the move in record time. By the time he emerged from the warehouse, the store was closed, and the three Kashidas were gone. Only Momoe was left, holding a set of keys in the courtyard.

  "Momoe-san, are you free?" Jun asked. "I have a place I need to go. Could I hitch a ride?"

  Momoe’s eyes lit up. For a second, she thought the "Spring of her Youth" had finally arrived. Then she saw the look in Jun’s eyes.

  "My dad told me to come straight back..." she stammered, fiddling with her keys.

  "Please, Momoe-san." Jun looked her directly in the eye.

  "...Get in the truck."

  The silver Isuzu truck pulled out of the lot. The clouds were bruised and heavy now, racing across the sky. The first scent of rain was in the air.

  "Where to, Jun-kun?"

  Jun showed her the GPS coordinates. The truck began the climb toward the Mochizuki Estate.

  "Looks like a nasty one," Momoe said, trying to break the silence.

  "It’s going to pour," Jun replied, watching the white sky be swallowed by the black front.

  He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Haruka.

  [Jun]: I never properly thanked you for the engineering team you sent to the Home. I’m coming over this afternoon to express my gratitude. Hope I’m not intruding.

  The message was marked "Read" instantly. No reply.

  Then, his phone buzzed. Incoming call: Haruka.

  "You're coming to my house? Now?" her voice was sharp, melodic, and held a hint of something Jun couldn't quite place.

  "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  "Wait." The audio went muffled—she had covered the receiver. He heard the faint sound of footsteps and a hushed conversation with another woman. "Don't bring a gift. Just tell the guard your name when you get here."

  She hung up.

  The truck was silent, save for the roar of the engine and the whistling wind. Even the "indestructible" Isuzu seemed dwarfed by the massive black wall of clouds descending on the city.

  "Visiting a classmate, Jun-kun?" Momoe asked carefully.

  "Yeah. Family friend. Just doing the polite thing." Jun watched the road rise. The Tama district was hilly; the sudden summer squalls were always more violent here.

  "I see..."

  The iron gates of the estate appeared through the gloom. Jun thanked Momoe and hopped out, telling her to drive safe.

  The Mochizuki Manor sat against a small, wooded hill. There were no other tall buildings nearby, just lush greenery and open space. On a sunny day, it would have been breathtaking.

  Now, at 1:00 PM, it looked like twilight. The city's color had been drained away. A massive, suffocating cloud hung directly over the gothic architecture, lit from within by occasional flickers of lightning.

  The rain is coming. It’s finally going to cool down, Jun thought. I can put off buying that bamboo mat for a few more days.

  The embossed gates swung open. Jun stepped inside.

  __________

  The Mochizuki residence was built like a Western castle—grim, stone-faced, and imposing. Before Jun even reached the main entrance, he saw a figure standing outside the heavy oak doors.

  Under the bruised sky, at the end of the long driveway, the black-haired girl stood waiting.

  If I didn't know her, I’d think I was about to be the victim in a horror movie, Jun thought.

  "I told you to call me when you arrived," Haruka said. The wind was whipping her hair into a frenzy; she was constantly tucking strands behind her ears.

  "The wind was too loud for a call," Jun replied.

  "Just get inside."

  Haruka pushed the doors open. Jun followed her, and the world of the storm was replaced by the hushed, golden glow of the manor.