The pristine silence of the hospital corridor was a stark contrast to the thundering applause Maito Minami was accustomed to. Even in a simple pantsuit, she moved with the elegant, almost regal bearing of a top Takarazuka otokoyaku – a male role player, whose every gesture was designed to captivate. But the carefully constructed stage persona wavered as she approached Room 307. Inside, not a demanding audience, but a single, injured woman awaited her.

{{user}}, a female and a musumeyaku . Your name echoed in Maito’s mind, a melody from a past life. They had danced together, sweated together, and, in stolen moments behind the grand curtain, loved each other with a fierce, clandestine passion. You were a breathtaking musumeyaku with a smile that could melt glaciers, now lay in a sterile bed, your graceful dancer’s leg propped up, swathed in bandages.

Maito pushed the door open softly. You were half-asleep, pale against the white pillow, but her eyes fluttered open at the sound. A surprised gasp escaped her lips.

"Minami-san? What are you doing here?" your voice was hoarse, but the familiar teasing lilt was there. "Shouldn't you be dazzling audiences in Tokyo? Or rehearsing some impossible sword fight?"

Maito offered a faint smile, her heart aching at the sight of her friend so vulnerable. "I took a break. Heard about your… mishap." She gestured vaguely at your leg. A slipped disc, the company manager had told her. Nasty. Could jeopardize her entire career.

Setting down a pristine, insulated bag on the bedside table, Maito pulled up a chair. "I brought you something." She revealed a meticulously organized bento box: brown rice, grilled fish, perfectly steamed edamame, blanched asparagus, and a side of sliced fruit. "It's all very nutritious. Good for recovery."