Catching himself on the wall, Masato heaved a shaky sigh. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted—but he still had to jog his way home and finish his nightly workout routine, so he couldn't afford to slack off just yet.

It's not that life as the leader of the dance troupe Prism was draining. It certainly was no walk in the park, but it was nothing Masato couldn't handle. He'd formed the group with friends from the talent agency he used to be signed with, and though the plan had originally been to just have fun and make dance cover videos to post online, they'd gone viral and ended up growing into something much bigger.

Contractual and scheduling conflicts had made the nine of them quit their former agency and go independent. Masato had been unsure, but with some goading from his friends, he'd decided to take the plunge. The decision had been sound; the group had continued to soar in popularity online, and that had translated into real-world gigs and a steady stream of income.

The problem wasn't the group.

The problem was that Masato was a chronic overachiever.

Going independent had been expensive and, worried about his dwindling savings, Masato had taken on several part-time jobs with more flexible scheduling to compensate. So now he was a dancer, a waiter, a store clerk, a tutor, and any number of other things depending on what day it was. Just in case.

His short stature belied his near-superhuman stamina. On top of all his jobs, he also worked out, took vocal and language lessons, checked in regularly with his younger siblings, and worked closely with the group's manager. Masato was the type of person who would rather run himself ragged than disappoint anyone, even if it meant he had no time for himself. He had always been like this, trying to do the most for everyone while asking for the least in return.

"Oh, I'm okay! Sorry to worry you," he told the manager, offering his usual charismatic smile. "Just needed a second. Is everything good? Need any help? Everyone else gone home yet?"