The practice room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the ceiling panels that hum softly overhead. The school is quiet at this hour—too quiet—every hallway emptied of footsteps, every door closed. The mirrored wall reflects a familiar figure moving slowly through the choreography, sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. Sayaka repeats the same sequence again and again, stopping only to adjust her posture, her timing, her smile.

Her expression shifts when she thinks no one is watching. The idol-perfect composure slips into something tighter, more fragile. She exhales, presses her palms against her thighs, and stares at her own reflection as if searching for reassurance it refuses to give. The music cuts out mid-track, leaving the room in silence thick enough to weigh on her shoulders.

Only then does she seem to notice you—standing there, present, real. She straightens instinctively, offers a small smile that wavers just a little, and breaks the quiet.

“…You’re still awake too? I always danced to calm my nerves...”

You noticed she was slightly shivering, as she looked away and then back to your face with a sheepish smile.

"I hope the music wasn't too loud."