Mikoto was tired, but she wasn't allowed to show it. The cameras caught everything. The studio's lights were bright. Too bright. They burned her skin, made her sweat. She knew they could see it. The creases in her makeup. The weight of her uniform, the heavy skirt, the loose blouse. The uncomfortable shoes. The way her heels clicked across the polished floor.
She wasn't alone in the practice room, but she might as well have been. There were others, girls she'd trained with, but they moved as though they were ghosts. Figures in the background. Always smiling, always laughing, always performing like the puppets they were. Always pretending they were happy. Mikoto wasn't sure if they even knew the truth anymore. They all seemed... hollow.
The monitor flashed with a new number—another month. Another milestone. Another number to break. She wasn't the top. Not yet. But she would be.
At least that's what they told her.
"Good work, Mikoto!" A voice called out from the corner. It was her manager, a man who always smiled like he was reading a script. But there was nothing kind in his eyes. No matter how hard she tried, Mikoto couldn't remember the last time she had looked at someone with warmth.
"Thanks," she replied, her voice strained. She didn't have the energy for it. She didn't know how long she'd been rehearsing, but it had been hours, and she was tired. So tired.
The man walked closer, his eyes never leaving her. "You've got it in you, Mikoto," he said. His tone was a little too pleasant. He didn't mean it. "Keep up like this, and you'll be number one. Soon, you'll be a star. People will be crying for you."
The words weren't comforting. They weren't even real. They felt empty. She forced a smile anyway, though it was weak. Just another performance.
The air was cold when she stepped out into the hall, and Mikoto wasn't sure if it was the temperature or the loneliness that made her shiver. The hallway was narrow. The walls were gray. No windows. No lights except for the harsh fluorescent overhead. The same dull walls she passed every day. The same dull halls. The same dull routine.
Mikoto closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut it all out. But it didn't help. The lights, the cameras, the constant pressure. The demands. She had no one left to talk to, no one who would understand. Not here. Not in this place.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence. She opened her eyes, and for a moment, her heart skipped a beat. There was another girl in the hallway. She wore the same kind of outfit, the same colors, the same everything. She even looked like Mikoto. Too much like Mikoto.
She blinked.
"Excuse me, do you know where the rehearsal space is?" The other girl asked, her voice soft but strained. The girl's face was pale. Her eyes wide, unblinking.
Mikoto just stared at her, unsure what to say. The girl was... strange. There was something about her that wasn't quite right. Her face looked familiar, but Mikoto couldn't place it. She should have known her, but she didn't. There were so many faces, so many girls that came and went. She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Just down the hall," Mikoto said, pointing to the far end. She didn't wait to see if the girl was going to follow her.
She didn't care.
Mikoto turned away, heading toward the elevator. She was tired. She wanted to be alone, even though that wouldn't happen here. In this place. In this cage.
The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside. The buttons lit up one by one as Mikoto pressed the floor she needed. She leaned against the cold metal walls, eyes shut, her face blank.
The elevator jerked as it started its slow descent. Then a voice echoed inside, like a whisper.
"You can't escape. You can't outrun us."
Mikoto's heart stopped for a second. She whipped her head around. But there was no one.
She was alone.
But the voice was still there, buzzing under her skin. In the back of her mind.
The elevator stopped. The doors opened with a soft, metal sound, but Mikoto didn't step out.
Instead, she heard the thud of footsteps.
Heavy. Quick.
And then, before she could even think, a hand grabbed her arm, yanked her out of the elevator.
"Mikoto-chan," the voice said. The same voice as her manager. But it was too quiet. Too low. "You can't run away from this."
The girl who had been standing there before? She was gone.
Mikoto's chest tightened. Her breath hitched, and she tried to pull her arm back, but the grip was strong. She couldn't escape.
And then she saw it. The back of her manager's head, his usual fake smile gone. It twisted. The skin stretched as if something was trying to break free from beneath. His smile widened, impossibly wide. His eyes no longer gleamed with that hollow "hope" he'd always worn.
His eyes were black. Empty.
Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time, but Mikoto never realized it until now.
Her breath caught in her throat, and panic twisted her insides, but she couldn't speak.
"Don't worry. You'll be perfect." The voice rasped from his throat, barely human. It didn't belong to him.
Behind him, Mikoto saw something moving in the shadows. Figures. Hundreds of figures. Girls she had known. Girls she had worked with. They were no longer standing upright. They were... crouching, crawling, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways. Their eyes glowed. Blank, hungry. But they didn't speak. They just watched her. Watched and waited.
"No!" Mikoto choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
The man's fingers dug into her skin, pushing deep. She could feel the bones in her arm groan under the pressure.
"Mikoto," he whispered again, a little softer. "You have to be perfect. You'll be perfect. You will."
A sharp, painful crack echoed in the room.
Mikoto screamed. Her head spun as she fell to the floor, trying to crawl away. Her body felt heavy, sluggish.
But the girls... the girls were everywhere now. She could see them all, watching. Watching her. They were too close. Too close. She tried to push herself up, but something kept pulling her down.
She wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly, her legs weren't under her anymore. Her spine cracked as she collapsed. The walls, the girls, the man—they all blurred into one overwhelming mass of motion. The light was too bright. It hurt her eyes.
Her skin peeled. Her limbs twisted. Bones snapped and folded in ways they shouldn't. Her body didn't belong to her anymore.
"Don't worry," the man said, his face smiling, still. But Mikoto couldn't hear him anymore. Her mind was shutting down. "You're perfect now."
And then, she was nothing.
Just another girl in the machine.