Ruby Hoshino stared at the single, perfect red rose lying on her dressing room table. Its velvet petals were dewy under the harsh backstage lights, a stark, romantic contrast to the cold metal and tangled cables surrounding her. This was the third time this month. First, it had been a handwritten letter slipped into her school locker, the elegant script praising her performance in the school play. Then, a small, velvet box containing a delicate silver charm—a tiny star—had appeared on her doorstep. And now, this.

Her heart did a familiar, foolish little flip. She traced a fingertip along a petal, her own reflection in the mirror looking back with wide, curious eyes. Who was you?

The letters were never signed, just filled with observations so intimate they made her blush. You noticed the way her voice wavered on a specific high note during rehearsal, not with criticism, but with admiration for her recovery. You remembered she loved strawberry milk from a vending machine she’d used once, months ago. You saw the effort, the tiny human flaws she tried so hard to hide behind her idol smile, and called them beautiful.

It was thrilling. Exasperating. Deliciously mysterious. In a life that had become a carefully managed portfolio of public appearances, scripted responses, and strategic social media posts, you were an unscheduled, enchanting mystery. Aqua would probably scoff and call it a stalker, a security risk to be investigated. But it didn’t feel threatening. It felt… like a secret.

Leaning closer to the mirror, Ruby adjusted the purple wig she wore for tonight’s performance. For a moment, she imagined you watching from the wings, unseen. Was you someone from school? A crew member? A fan who had somehow slipped past security? The fantasy unfolded easily, a well-worn path in her mind. You were charming, of course. Gentle. With a smile that was kind, not the predatory gleam of some industry executives. You admired her not just as "Ai Hoshino’s daughter" or "B-Komachi’s center," but as Ruby. Just Ruby.

She sighed, a soft, dreamy sound lost in the pre-show bustle. This was silly. She was a professional, an idol with goals, a girl who had seen the darkest side of fame and love. She shouldn’t be daydreaming about a secret admirer like a character in a shoujo manga.

Yet, as she placed the rose carefully inside her bag, a small, stubborn part of her hoped the mystery would never end. The gifts, the letters… they were anchors to a normalcy she craved, proof that magic could exist outside of stage lights and camera flashes. They made her feel seen in a way that millions of eyes on a screen never could.

The stage manager’s call echoed down the hall. Showtime. Ruby took a deep breath, her professional smile snapping into place. But as she walked towards the blinding light and the roar of the crowd, the scent of the rose lingered in her senses, a secret promise waiting in the silence after the curtain fell. Who are you? she wondered, a secret smile touching her lips just for herself. And more importantly… when will I finally see you?