I drummed my fingers on the armrest, fighting the urge to check my phone. The clock on the wall ticked away, each second stretching into eternity.
A woman emerged from around the corner, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on me. Her sleek black suit and perfectly coiffed hair screamed 'professional,' but there was an edge to her that set my nerves on edge.
"Akira-kun?"
I stood, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in my jacket. "That's me."
She gave me a quick once-over, her gaze analytical. "Mio Sato. Follow me, we'll get you into hair and makeup."
I trailed after her to the elevator, hyper-aware of every step. The doors slid shut with a soft ding, trapping us in a mirrored box.
"So, Akira-kun," Mio said, not looking at me. "What made you want to model?"
I leaned against the wall, aiming for casual. "Seemed like fun. Plus, I've got the looks for it, don't I?"
She snorted, the sound at odds with her polished appearance. "Confidence. Good. You'll need it."
The elevator stopped, doors opening to reveal a bustling studio. Mio strode out, leaving me to hurry after her.
"This is Kenji, he'll be doing your hair and makeup," she said, gesturing to a man with wildly colorful hair. "I'll be back to check on you in twenty."
And just like that, she was gone.
Kenji grinned at me, wielding a comb like a weapon. "Ready to become a star, pretty boy?"
I smirked back, settling into the chair. "Born ready."
Kenji's hands flew through my hair, tugging and styling with practiced ease. I winced as he yanked on a particularly stubborn knot.
"Sorry, kid. Gotta make you camera-ready," he said, not sounding sorry at all.
I forced a laugh, letting a hint of nerves creep into my voice. "No worries. Just hope I don't end up bald before the shoot."
Kenji chuckled. "Trust me, I've worked miracles with less."
As he continued his assault on my scalp, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror. The face staring back was mine, but not quite. Younger, softer. I swallowed hard, pushing away memories of another life.
"So, first time modeling?" Kenji asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I nodded, careful not to disturb his work. "That obvious, huh?"
"Nah, you're doing alright. Just saw your hands shaking a bit."
I glanced down, surprised to see he was right. Traitor hands.
"Guess I'm not as cool as I thought," I admitted, aiming for self-deprecating charm.
Kenji patted my shoulder. "Nerves are good. Keeps you sharp. It's the ones who think they've got it all figured out that crash and burn."
I mulled over his words as he moved on to makeup, dabbing and blending with expert precision.
The door burst open, and Mio strode in, all business. "We're ready for you on set, Akira-kun."
I stood, smoothing down my clothes. "How do I look?"
Mio's eyes raked over me, clinical and assessing. "You'll do. Now, remember - confidence, but not arrogance. Mystery, but approachability. Think you can manage that?"
"Watch me."
As I followed her to the set, I felt the familiar thrill of performance settling in my bones. This was just another role to play, another mask to wear. And I was damn good at wearing masks.
I stepped onto the set, bright lights flooding my vision. The photographer, a wiry man with thick-rimmed glasses, waved me over.
"Akira, right? I'm Takeshi. Let's see what you've got."
I nodded, settling into my first pose. The camera clicked rapidly as Takeshi circled me.
"Good, good. Now, give me mysterious. Like you've got a secret."
I tilted my head, letting my eyes go distant. Another barrage of clicks.
"Nice. Okay, now playful. You're teasing the camera."
I smirked, raising an eyebrow. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mio watching intently, her arms crossed.
"Perfect!" Takeshi called out. "Let's try some standing shots."
As I moved through various poses, I caught snippets of conversation between Mio and another staff member.
"...natural talent..."
"...could be big..."
I pushed their words out of my mind, focusing on the task at hand. This was my chance, and I wasn't about to blow it by getting cocky.
"Alright, last set," Takeshi announced. "I want emotion. Real, raw feeling. Can you do that for me, Akira?"
I hesitated for a split second. Emotion wasn't exactly my strong suit. But I'd be damned if I let that show.
"Sure thing."
I closed my eyes, reaching deep into the well of memories I'd been trying to ignore. The sting of betrayal, the crushing weight of loneliness, the fierce hunger for something more.
When I opened my eyes, Takeshi gasped.
"Holy shit," he whispered, snapping photo after photo. "That's it. That's exactly what I wanted."
I held the pose, letting the turmoil show on my face. It felt uncomfortably real, like I'd cracked open my chest and put my heart on display.
"And... we're done," Takeshi said, lowering his camera. "Fantastic work, Akira. Truly impressive."
I blinked, snapping back to the present. Mio approached, her expression unreadable.
"Well," she said, eyeing me critically. "It seems we may have underestimated you, Akira-kun."
I shrugged. "I aim to surprise."
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "Indeed. We'll be in touch about future opportunities. For now, go get changed. Kenji will help you remove the makeup."
As I walked back to the dressing room, my heart pounded. I'd done it. I'd actually impressed them.
But as the adrenaline faded, a familiar emptiness crept in. I'd given them a taste of my true self, and they'd eaten it up. Just like before.
I stared at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, wiping away the last traces of makeup. The face looking back at me was a stranger - young, unblemished, full of potential. But the eyes... those were still mine. Old and weary, despite the fresh start.
As I changed back into my street clothes, my thoughts drifted to the shoot. They'd loved it. Loved me. Or rather, the version of me I'd shown them. It was a familiar dance, one I'd perfected in my previous life. Give them a taste of vulnerability, let them think they've seen the real you, and watch them fall all over themselves to get more.
But this time, it felt different. Hollow. Like I was going through the motions without any real purpose.
I stepped out of the dressing room, nearly colliding with Mio.
"Ah, Akira-kun. Good, I caught you," she said, her tone brisk. "We'd like to offer you a contract. Exclusive representation with our agency."
My heart skipped a beat. This was it. My ticket to stardom, to adoration, to... what? Fulfillment?
"That's great," I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. "When do I start?"
Mio's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Eager. I like that. We'll need to discuss terms, of course. Perhaps over dinner?"
I recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same one Hidetora used to get when he saw a particularly promising new talent. Hungry. Calculating.
"Dinner sounds great," I replied, matching her smile with one of my own. Two could play at this game.
As we walked out of the building, my mind whirled with possibilities. Fame, fortune, adoration - all within my grasp. If I played my cards right, I could have thousands, maybe millions of people hanging on my every word, desperate for a scrap of my attention.
But would it be enough? Would their love fill the gaping void inside me?
I thought of Hana, of the warmth I'd felt when I was with her. For a moment, just a moment, I'd believed that her love could heal me. Make me whole.
Look how that turned out.
No, I couldn't make that mistake again. People always wanted something. Mio wanted a cash cow. My future fans would want an idol, a fantasy to project their dreams onto. None of them would want the real me.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe if I collected enough fragments of love, enough scraps of adoration, I could piece together something that resembled happiness.
It was worth a shot, anyway. What else did I have to lose?
I stepped into the restaurant, hit by a wave of déjà vu. The soft lighting, the hushed conversations, the clink of expensive silverware - it all screamed wealth and power. Just like the places Hidetora used to drag me to, parading me in front of his clients like a prized show pony.
Mio led us to a secluded table in the back. "Order whatever you like, Akira-kun. My treat."
I scanned the menu, my stomach turning at the exorbitant prices. "Thanks. I'll have the wagyu steak."
She raised an eyebrow. "Expensive taste. I like that in a model."
The waiter took our orders and disappeared. Mio leaned forward, all business now.
"So, let's talk contract. We're prepared to offer you a two-year exclusive deal. Full representation, guaranteed bookings, the works."
I took a sip of water, buying time. Two years. The thought of being tied down for that long made my skin crawl.
"That's... generous," I said carefully. "But I was thinking more along the lines of freelance work. Strictly modeling, no long-term commitments."
Mio's smile faltered. "Freelance? But Akira-kun, you have so much potential. We could make you a star."
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Maybe I don't want to be a star. Maybe I just want to model."
She studied me, her eyes narrowing. "Is this about money? Because I assure you, our offer is very competitive."
"It's not about money," I said, surprised to find it was true. "I just... I need my freedom."
The waiter returned with our food. I cut into my steak, the rich aroma making my mouth water. But as I chewed, I barely tasted it. All I could think about was getting out of this gilded cage before the door slammed shut.
Mio watched me eat, her expression unreadable. "You're an interesting one, Akira-kun. Most people would kill for this opportunity."
I set down my fork. "I'm not most people."
She laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "No, I suppose you're not. Alright, let's talk freelance options."
As we hammered out the details, I felt a weight lift off my chest. No long-term contracts, no suffocating obligations. Just me, the camera, and the freedom to walk away whenever I wanted.
I pushed away my half-eaten steak, appetite gone. Mio tapped her manicured nails on the table, eyes calculating.
"Very well, Akira-kun. I'll have my lawyers draw up a contract with these terms. It should be ready in a few days."
I nodded, relief washing over me. "Thanks. I appreciate your flexibility."
She leaned back, swirling her wine glass. "Don't thank me yet. We'll still expect top-notch performance from you, contract or no contract."
"Wouldn't give you anything less," I said, flashing my most charming smile.
Mio's lips twitched, almost smiling back. "We'll see. Now, tell me more about yourself. What drives you, Akira-kun?"
I paused, caught off guard by the question. What did drive me? Survival? Revenge? Or something else entirely?
"I want to be seen," I said finally, surprising myself with the honesty. "Not just looked at, but really seen."
Mio's eyebrows rose. "Interesting. Most models are content with being looked at."
I shrugged, picking at my napkin. "Guess I'm not most models."
"No," she murmured, studying me with newfound interest. "You certainly aren't."
The conversation drifted to safer topics - upcoming shoots, industry gossip. But Mio's question echoed in my head. What did drive me? And would I ever find what I was looking for in this world of smoke and mirrors?
As we left the restaurant, Mio handed me her business card. "I look forward to working with you, Akira-kun. Don't make me regret giving you this freedom."
I pocketed the card, meeting her gaze. "I won't. You can count on that."
She nodded, then turned and walked away, heels clicking on the pavement. I watched her go, feeling like I'd just made a deal with the devil. But at least this time, I was the one holding the pen.