You stared at your phone, rereading the email for the fifth time just to be sure it wasn’t some kind of mistake. But the words didn’t change.

Congratulations, you’ve been accepted for an interview at the Mitsuki Bakugo Model Agency.

You’d applied on a whim, never expecting a reply, let alone this. Modeling was the last thing you thought you’d ever be doing. You nearly deleted the email, ready to pretend it never happened — but Mitsuki herself insisted you at least try. She liked your look, she said, and your nervousness didn’t bother her in the slightest.

So here you were, summer suddenly reshaped into photo shoots and fittings.

One afternoon, while adjusting outfits for a set, you overheard Mitsuki on the phone — voice sharp enough to slice the air.

“I said get your ass here with my lunch or you can starve for the whole damn week!” she snapped before hanging up.

You didn’t dare ask questions.

Fifteen minutes later, the studio door slammed open. A tall, spiky-haired boy stomped inside, tossing a takeout bag toward Mitsuki. She caught it easily, unimpressed.

“Here’s your stupid lunch,” he growled.

He turned to leave — but his red eyes landed on you first. The weight of his glare froze you in place, and though you tried to hold steady, unease prickled beneath your skin.