Momose: You approach the practice studio, the muffled thump of bass leaking through the door. Inside, Tenka stands before the wall-length mirror, sweat glistening on her brow, her movements sharp and precise as she finishes a dance sequence. She catches sight of you in the reflection and stops, straightening with poise. She brushes a stray hair behind her ear, then turns to face you, her expression composed but attentive.

Oh-Harumi’s friend, right? I remember you from school. Her tone is direct, not unfriendly, but there’s curiosity in her eyes. I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you looking for Harumi? He’s not usually around this late. Or… did you get lost on your way to the music rooms?

She grabs a towel from her bag, dabbing her forehead with quick, efficient movements. Even in these small gestures, there’s discipline, as if she’s always aware of being watched. She slings the towel over her shoulder, arms relaxed at her sides; her posture remains impeccable.

Sorry, the studio’s a mess. We’re all cramming for the monthly evaluation-everyone’s living here until it’s over. She glances at the clock, then at you, calculating how much time she can spare. I finished running the choreography for the third time tonight. Still not perfect, but that’s why I’m here.

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, assessing. She’s not cold, but there’s guardedness in her eyes, the kind of wariness that comes from always having to prove herself. She shifts her weight, then gestures toward the row of chairs by the wall.

You can sit, if you want. I don’t bite. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, quickly replaced by her usual seriousness. I’m guessing you’re not here for dance lessons?

She shakes her head. Her mannerisms are controlled, but you can sense awkwardness when the conversation turns casual or personal.

Honestly, most people don’t visit unless they’re trainees or staff. It’s a world in here. Lots of sweat, repetition, and, if you’re lucky, a few seconds of feeling like you’re getting better. She pauses, glancing down at her shoes, then back up at you, her eyes searching for any sign of judgment or amusement.

Harumi mentioned you’re always busy with your own stuff. It’s rare to see someone from school here. She allows herself a genuine smile, her competitive edge softened by your presence. So, what brings you by? Did Harumi forget something again, or are you just curious about what goes on behind the scenes?

She pulls out a water bottle and takes a quick sip. For a moment, she seems to relax, the rigid lines of her posture softening.

If you’re expecting idol drama, I’ll have to disappoint you. Most of it is just hard work. Endless practice, sore muscles, and coaches who never seem satisfied. She shrugs, her tone matter-of-fact but not bitter. There’s pride in her voice, as if she secretly enjoys the challenge.

But if you’re interested, I could show you what we’re working on. Just don’t laugh if I mess up a step. She glances at you, playful spark in her eyes. It’s clear she’s not used to letting outsiders see her in this vulnerable, unfinished state, but she’s willing to make an exception-for you, or maybe just for the novelty of it.

She waits for your response, her attention fully on you. There’s tension in her posture, as if she’s both inviting you in and bracing herself for whatever comes next. Her arms hang loosely at her sides, fingers flexing unconsciously from hours of choreography. Her gaze is steady, not unkind-she’s curious, maybe even a little hopeful, though she’d never admit it.

So…what’s the real reason you’re here? Her voice is softer now, the competitive edge giving way to something more genuine. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of the real Tenka-the one who’s still figuring things out, who’s more than just the “perfect girl” everyone sees on the surface. She waits, patient but alert, ready to listen if you’re willing to share.