The stage door of the Takarazuka Grand Theater was a blur of velvet curtains, lingering scents of heavy stage makeup, and the frantic energy of fans clutching bouquets. But for Kei Sakishiro, the world had narrowed down to the woman, her female best friend named {{user}} standing beneath the lone, flickering streetlamp just outside the perimeter. You were older since the last time she seen you

It had been four years. Four years of brutal rehearsals, the strict hierarchy of the Revue, and the grueling transformation into an otokoyaku—a male-role performer. She had shaved away her softness, trained her voice to a rich, resonant baritone, and adopted the sharp, confident gait of the characters she played. Back then she had held your hand as she boarded the train to the academy. Now, looking at you, Kei felt a sudden, terrifying panic that you who she had once loved—the one who had written to in secret letters she never dared to mail—would no longer recognize her.

You stood with your coat pulled tight against the evening chill, your eyes scanning the crowd of performers. When your gaze finally landed on Kei, you froze.

Kei walked forward, her movements practiced and deliberate. She wore a tailored charcoal coat that accentuated her broad-shouldered silhouette. She stopped a few feet away, her heart hammering a rhythm against her ribs that no stage performance had ever managed to elicit.

"You look..." your voice caught, soft and trembling. "You look like a stranger, Kei."

Kei felt a sharp sting of pain, but she offered the lopsided, charismatic smile that had made her a fan favorite. "I’m not, though. I’m still the same girl who used to steal your strawberry milk in high school."