When you're a child, every new discovery is praised and considered amazing. Everyone dotes on you and shows tremendous interest in anything that is seen as new by the observer. However, as you grow up, each of these achievements becomes more commonplace, and all that joy from your accomplishments turns into a simple yet relentless wave of demands. It's as if your achievements are the bare minimum expected, and if you don't accomplish them, you're deemed worthless. You have to be the best, and even if you are the best, no one is ever satisfied. And that sums up my life and career as a child actress.
My childhood was filled with cameras and applause. After all, a 4-year-old girl with acting abilities that surpassed many adults—such as being able to fake cry and understand the emotions of the characters she portrayed like no one else her age—even though the roles were simple, I made them more elaborate than the directors expected. But with such early success, my ego consumed me, and being a great actress requires knowing how to manage your cast, production, and maintain good communication with the public in general.
Every smile I gave was headline-worthy, every line I memorized seemed to enchant the entire region. But... all of that changed. Now, the smile I force in the mirror doesn't convince even me. And sometimes, I wonder if I'm still that girl who used to light up any scene with a single glance. In the industry, only those who lie, hide their true personality, or have the necessary financial power or influence survive by imposing their ego. But a newcomer like me had so little power, as my agency wasn't as grand as those of other geniuses and actors considered renowned.
10 years ago
I was only 4 years old, but I already felt the weight of attention on my small shoulders. The room was full, packed with important people, but I didn't feel intimidated or small. It was as if all those people were there to admire me. I was in front of a camera, ready to act, and it felt like the whole world was waiting to see what I would do next. The warm light of the studio illuminated my face, and the smell of makeup powder mixed with coffee made me feel at home.
The movie was about a small kingdom threatened by a storm, and I was the younger sister of a prince trying to save his land. My role was simple: the tearful little girl who, upon seeing the storm approaching, ran to find her brother, begging him to come back home. No big lines, no action scenes or heroism. But for me, it was everything.
The director, a chubby man with a kind smile, crouched in front of me and adjusted my hair before giving me instructions.
"Hikari, are you ready? Remember, your character is scared of the storm. She needs to cry for real, okay?" he said, in that calm voice that tried to reassure me.
I looked at him, feeling the palms of my hands sweat. I knew I could do it, I thought. I just had to follow what he said. But frustration was already starting to build up inside me. I wanted more. I wanted to be the heroine, the princess, the character who saved the day. But the role they gave me seemed… too small.
My mother was nearby, smiling with pride, while my father, as serious as ever, watched from a distance. They seemed so happy with that little role, but I… I wanted more. I wanted to impress them, I wanted them to see something grand in me.
The director said:
"Okay, Hikari, now when the prince exits the scene, you're going to scream for him, and then you'll fall to the ground, as if you're helpless. We want to see the pain. Let's roll?"
The scene wasn't right. I knew it, and anyone who looked at me knew it too. The role was tiny—a little girl crying and calling for her brother—but I… I was so much more than that. I had something no one else had, and that role wasn't valuing me. It wasn't giving me the chance to shine like I deserved.
"Action!"
The cameras started rolling, the artificial wind blew hard, the fake rain fell on me, but none of it made me feel the pain my character was supposed to feel. Everything seemed too staged, and I wasn't there to be just a decorative piece. I wanted more, so much more.
"Please! Come back!" I screamed, but my voice came out softer than I wanted. I wasn't feeling the character's pain; I was feeling my own frustration. I wanted more! I wanted something worthy of me, something that would give me the recognition I knew I deserved.
"Cut!" the director shouted, and I saw him make a disapproving face. Everyone gathered around, but I already knew what they were going to say. And, as expected, they started with the empty compliments.
"That was great, Hikari! You did a great job!" the assistant director smiled, trying to be kind, but her voice was full of a falseness I quickly noticed. They were praising me, but it was just protocol. No one there understood what I wanted. What I deserved.
I didn't want to be just another little girl on set, playing a supporting role. I knew I could be the star; I knew I could do more. They had no idea who I really was, of my talent. I was indignant.
"That was garbage!" I went to the farthest corner of the set and started crying, but it wasn't a cry of sadness; it was frustration. I was furious. Why didn't they give me the lead role? Why was I being treated like just any other kid when I knew I was capable of so much more?
My mother appeared first, always trying to calm the situation. But at that moment, I didn't want to be calmed; I wanted to be understood.
"Hikari, sweetie, please don't do this. They said you were great, that you did everything right. Let's go home and rest a bit."
But I didn't want to go home. I wanted them to give me what I deserved.
"I'm not a supporting character!" I shouted, looking at her angrily. "I'm a star! I deserve more than this! Why didn't they give me the role of the princess or the heroine? I'm better than this!"
My father soon joined the conversation, and when I saw him, I felt like he would truly understand what I was going through. He had always been demanding of me, always told me to give my best. But at that moment, he was on my side.
"Director, what's going on here? Hikari deserves more than this. This role is ridiculous for someone with her talent. I don't understand how this happened," he said, his voice filled with disapproval. "This isn't what we promised her. She's not here to be just another crying kid. She can be so much more!"
The director tried to explain, but he seemed out of his depth. He didn't know what to say under the pressure from my parents, let alone my growing anger. He looked at the production team, as if trying to find support, but no one seemed willing to take sides.
"Hikari has all the potential to be the star of this movie! You can't just give her this insignificant role!" My father's voice was firm, and I could see the displeasure in his eyes. He wouldn't accept that I was being treated this way.
"I'm a star! I'm so much more than this role!" I shouted, no longer caring who was listening. "I can be the heroine; I can save the story! Why doesn't anyone see me that way? Why does everyone just see me as a little girl playing a supporting role? I'm so much more!"
But, as always, no one listened to me. The director just looked at the other members of the production and let out a tired sigh.
"Hikari, you're frustrated, I get it. But this is the role you were given, and you're going to continue with it. It's not the biggest part of the movie, but you have your importance," the director said, trying to be conciliatory, but his voice was full of exhaustion, as if he already knew nothing could change my mind.
I looked at him with disdain, impatient.
"I'm not going to continue with this. If you don't give me a real role, you can forget about me!" I crossed my arms and turned my back, feeling my anger explode. I knew I was right. I knew I deserved more, so much more than that. And, in the end, it didn't matter what they thought. I knew my worth.
My mother and father fell silent, exchanging glances, until my father nodded.
"Let's go. Let's go home. We're not wasting any more time with this."
After the commotion on set, we left for home. The frustration still bubbled inside me, but I knew that one day they would see what I could do. I was a star, and sooner or later, everyone would realize it. I wasn't just any little girl; I was the actress everyone was waiting for.
A few months later, the movie finally premiered in theaters. My family was excited, thinking I would be a big name, that I would finally get the recognition. But as I watched the movie, reality hit me like a punch to the gut.
"Hikari, you're… you're not in the movie!" my mother shouted, her voice full of disbelief. She looked at the screen, and when the scene I was supposed to be in didn't appear, silence filled the room. I was cut. Cut from the movie.
"What is this?! Where's my daughter? How did this happen?" my father exploded with anger. He started shouting, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Frustration overwhelmed me. I knew this was possible, but seeing it happen… It was too much.
"It can't be!" my mother screamed, her eyes wide, as anger consumed the room. "They cut you, Hikari!"
The tension in the air was unbearable. They looked at me with eyes full of fury. "This is all your fault, Hikari! You had everything and threw it away! This was your chance, and you destroyed it!"
I looked at them, but I couldn't say anything. I knew what they were thinking. I knew my arrogance had cost me more than I imagined. And now, I was just a faded memory in a movie I had been cut from.
10 years later...
I was in my room, knowing the conversation was coming. I couldn't put it off any longer. My father had called me earlier, and his tone wasn't good. They were waiting for me in the living room.
I took a deep breath, tried to organize my thoughts, and walked there. When I entered, my father and mother were sitting, tense, with closed expressions. There was no more running away. I knew this conversation would be difficult.
"Hikari, we need to talk," said Tatsuya (my father), his tone serious and straightforward.
I stood there, feeling the weight of his words. I didn't respond immediately, but anxiety was consuming me.
"What's going on?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He sighed, as if he already knew everything he was about to say would hurt me.
"You're 14 years old and haven't landed a single role since you were 4. An acting career isn't something you can pursue without an agency and support." He looked directly at me, not hiding his frustration. "You know that, right?"
I froze. I knew this moment would come, but hearing those words still cut deep. I took a deep breath, trying to hide what I was feeling.
"I can come back, I know I can," my voice came out softer, but no less determined.
Yuka, who had been silent until then, finally spoke, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
"The industry has moved on, Hikari. The media has forgotten you. No one will give you another chance without the right support. There's no point in clinging to something that doesn't work anymore."
She looked at me, and there was sadness in her eyes. "You'll be starting high school soon. Without a solid foundation, without an agency to represent you, you won't get anywhere."
Those words hit me like a punch. I knew they were right. I felt like time was slipping away, and my chance had gone with it. But I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to give up.
"I'm not giving up," I said, anger rising in me. "I can come back, I know I can. I just need a chance. I'm not just any kid."
Tatsuya looked at me, serious, without a hint of compassion.
"It's not about not trying anymore. It's about understanding where you are. Reality won't change just because you don't want to accept it. Without an agency, you can't continue. And in a few months, you'll start high school. You'll need something more concrete. This career won't sustain you anymore."
The pain tightened, but I didn't know how to respond. They were right, I knew it. But I still wanted to believe I could change. I wanted to feel like it hadn't all been for nothing. But reality seemed to be crushing me.
"I don't know what to do…" My voice faltered, and I couldn't look at them anymore. I didn't know how to react.
Tatsuya raised his hand, as if trying to calm me, but his voice was cold.
"Hikari, we're saying this for you. It's not easy, but it's the truth. You need to start thinking about your future."
I stood there, motionless, feeling the weight of my father's words like a punch to the gut. I didn't want to believe it, but at the same time, I knew I couldn't ignore reality. They were right, but I refused to accept it.
"I can still come back. I know I can!" I said, forcing more firmness into my voice, but it came out weaker than I wanted. "If I get the right chance, I can do it all over again. I'm not giving up on anything!"
Tatsuya looked at me, as if analyzing every word I said.
"You've had your chances, Hikari. Look around you. No agency wants to take you, the media isn't looking for you anymore. The reality of the industry is harsh. You're 14 now, you're not that 4-year-old prodigy who charmed everyone anymore. The industry has moved on. There's no point in clinging to something that won't come back."
My throat tightened, his words sounded so cruel, but I didn't want it to be this way. I looked at Yuka, who was sitting beside me, her expression tired and disappointed.
"Hikari, what your father is saying is the truth. There's no point in insisting. You'll be starting high school soon, you'll have to deal with other things, other responsibilities. The acting career… you know you won't get anywhere without a strong agency. Without someone to support you, you won't achieve anything."
I clenched my fists, trying to control the anger growing inside me. They didn't understand. I still had something to offer. I couldn't let it all be for nothing. I had worked so hard to get here, I couldn't just abandon everything.
"It's not fair!" I shouted, unable to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. "I was at the top, I know I can be great again. I'm good, I know I am! I just need one more chance, just one! I'm not just some kid who's going to be left behind. I can be a real actress!"
Tatsuya sighed, seeming irritated but trying to stay calm.
"It's not about being good, Hikari. Everyone can be good. But without the right foundation, without an agency to back you, without someone betting on you, you'll stay stuck in the same place. It's not just about talent. The industry is political, it's about who you know and who gives you space. And unfortunately, you don't have that space anymore."
I looked at them, feeling their words sinking into me, but anger kept me from accepting.
"I won't accept this!" I didn't know what else to say, I just knew I didn't want to hear this conversation anymore. I wanted to get up and leave, but I stood firm, trying to show I still believed. "I won't stay here, in this house, doing nothing! I won't! I'll keep trying! I just need a chance!"
Yuka put her hands on her face, looking tired.
"Hikari, you need to understand that's not how things work. You've tried everything and… nothing. You can't keep wasting time. It's been years since anyone last reached out to you. And you'll be starting high school in a few months, you'll grow up, and the career will get even harder. People will forget you. What do you want to do now? Wait another year for a chance that will never come?"
I felt a knot in my throat. Their voices sounded more like a sentence than a conversation. I didn't want to believe it, I didn't want to accept it. I tried to hide how hurt I was, but the pain was overflowing.
"It's not fair!" I said, my voice breaking, and then I took a step back. "I can't stop now. It's not the end! It can't be!"
Tatsuya and Yuka exchanged glances, as if deciding something. I knew I wasn't being heard anymore, and that made me feel even more powerless.
"Hikari, you need to understand it's not just about what you want. Life is about what you can do to survive, what you need to sustain yourself, not about chasing a dream that doesn't make sense anymore." Tatsuya was relentless, his words cutting deep. "You can't keep fighting against something that doesn't exist anymore."
I turned to leave the room, not knowing whether I would cry or scream, but the last thing I wanted was to stay there, listening to everything I already knew. I didn't want to hear about the reality crushing me anymore. I just wanted to be applauded again, I just wanted a chance to show I've changed.
I woke up with my body broken and my soul even heavier. The cold floor of my room felt more comfortable than any bed, as if it were the only place I had left. The dried tears on my face still marked the humiliation from the night before. For a few seconds, I lay there, staring at the empty ceiling, letting the silence consume me.
I got up with difficulty, every movement bringing back the memory of the conversation with my parents. Their words echoed, raw and relentless. "You need to accept it's over." There was no room for dreams in the world they saw.
I changed clothes without thinking, as if dressing were just an automatic reflex of someone who doesn't want to face the day. I grabbed any coat and left the house before the anguish suffocated me again. The silence of the streets was my only solace.
The first lights of morning began to illuminate Kichijoji, but nothing seemed different. The narrow alleys, the faded facades, the shadows of the past that insisted on following me. The smell of fresh bread came from a bakery, but it was just another reminder of what I no longer felt: pleasure, desire, anything.
I arrived at Inokashira Park and walked to the lake. The still water reflected a pale sky, as if the world were also tired. I leaned on the wooden bridge, staring at the trembling reflection. There I was, a distorted, broken, unrecognizable image.
"What did I expect?" I murmured, my voice hoarse, almost inaudible.
The memories came like stabs: the spotlights, the applause, the smiles that now seemed as fake as my own talent. With each scene that returned, the bitter taste of failure drowned me even more.
"There's no way back…" The words came out lifeless. "I'm just a shadow of what I thought I could be."
I looked at the movement of the carp below, their bodies gliding through the water as if the world didn't weigh on them. They existed, and that was enough. But for me, existing wasn't enough.
I felt the cold wind hit my face, but it brought no relief. I closed my eyes, trying to escape from myself, but even there my mind insisted on reminding me of the past, the crushing expectations, the disappointed looks.
"I don't even know why I keep trying…" The sentence was lost in the air.
I walked aimlessly, passing through streets that hadn't changed.
The sounds of the city waking up around me were muffled, distant, as if I were watching someone else's life. I passed by the shops that were starting to open, the bicycles cutting through the streets, the people moving forward. And me? I was just there, existing, without direction, without purpose.
Kichijoji wasn't a place. It was a mirror. And in it, all I saw was a reflection of what I'm no longer.
I walked aimlessly, my steps heavy as if each one dragged me deeper into the abyss of my own mind. The street was crowded, but everything seemed distant, muffled. I passed by a storefront, and something made me stop. A huge poster, illuminated by the city lights. There she was, the same girl I had competed with as a child. Her face was plastered on it, now a star in a famous production. Her name shone in golden letters, as if the world had bowed at her feet.
My anger exploded suddenly, a pain that consumed me. "She made it... while I was left behind." The memories came all at once: the minor roles, the broken promises, the feeling that the world no longer wanted me. She had won, while I was here, lost.
I clenched my fists, my throat tight. I punched the poster with all the strength I had left, but the paper gave me nothing in return. No release, no relief. Just frustration.
The anger had blinded me. I kept walking, trying to escape the reflection of failure that the poster had brought me.
I went to the nearest café, my steps quick and directionless. The cold air cut through my skin, but I couldn't feel anything but emptiness. When I entered the café, the door closed behind me, and I felt a little safer. The warmth of the place didn't comfort me, but it seemed like the only place where I wouldn't be judged.
There, in the midst of my attempt to hide everything, someone entered. It was a boy, tall, with silver hair and blue eyes. He had a guitar on his back, a calm presence.
He looked at the poster outside, then at the ground. There, his attention turned to the wallet I had dropped without noticing.
He hesitated, picked up the wallet, and followed me without me realizing.
The boy entered the café, his blue eyes fixed on Hikari, who was sitting in a corner, her hands trembling around a cup of tea that had already gone cold. He approached carefully, as if afraid to startle her, and held out the wallet to her.
"You dropped this outside," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I'm Haruto Takahashi. I don't think we've met, but... well, here you go."
Hikari looked up, surprised. She hadn't noticed the wallet had fallen. For a moment, she was silent, watching the boy. He seemed genuine, but she wasn't in the mood to trust anyone.
"Thank you," she murmured, taking the wallet with trembling hands. "I... I didn't realize."
Haruto hesitated, looking at her with an expression that mixed curiosity and concern.
"Can I sit?" he asked, pointing to the empty chair in front of her.
Hikari looked at him, hesitant, but finally nodded. "Sure."
He sat down, placing the guitar beside the chair. For a moment, the two of them were silent, the noise of the café filling the void between them. Haruto was the first to break the silence.
"Sorry if I'm being intrusive, but... you were crying outside. Do you want to talk about it?"
Hikari looked at him, her eyes still red. She opened her mouth to say she was fine, but the words didn't come out. Instead, she felt a lump in her throat, and the tears began to fall again.
"I... I don't know," she began, her voice faltering. "It's just... I feel so lost. Like everything I fought for means nothing. And now, she's up there, at the top, and I... I'm here, not knowing where to go. I was a known child actress, but nowadays not even my parents know me anymore, and I don't even have an agency for the specialized high school in performing arts."
Haruto listened in silence, his eyes fixed on her, without judgment. When she finished, he took a deep breath, as if choosing his words carefully.
"I understand how it feels to be like that," he said, his voice low but filled with emotion. "I've been through moments when it seems like the whole world is against you. But... I think the important thing is not to give up. To find something that keeps you moving forward, even if it's hard."
Hikari looked at him, her eyes still full of tears, but now with a glimmer of curiosity.
"And you? What keeps you moving forward?"
Haruto smiled slightly, a smile that seemed to carry as much weight as hope.
"Music," he replied, gesturing to the guitar beside him. "It helps me let everything out, you know? And tonight, I'm playing at a small show nearby. If you want to come, maybe it could help distract you a little."
Hikari hesitated, looking at her hands. The idea of going out, of being in a place full of people, seemed scary.
"I... I don't think I can," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.
Haruto didn't insist, but he was silent for a moment, thoughtful. He seemed to be pondering something, as if trying to find a way to help her.
"I understand," he finally said. "But, look, if you want, I can try to help you in another way. I work at an agency, and... well, I can try to get you a spot. I can't promise anything, but... who knows?"
Hikari looked at him, surprised. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."
Haruto shrugged, a shy smile on his face.
"Because I think everyone deserves a second chance. And, well, it seems like you need one. And honestly, it would be nice to have friends in the city, since I don't know many people since I moved here."
Hikari was silent for a moment, then finally nodded.
"Okay. Thank you."
Haruto took out his phone and handed it to her.
"Give me your number. If I get something, I'll let you know."
She typed the number with her still trembling hands and handed the phone back. Haruto pocketed it and stood up, grabbing his guitar.
"Take care, Hikari. And if you change your mind about the show, you know where to find me."
He gave her one last smile before leaving, leaving Hikari alone with her thoughts. She looked at the cup of cold tea, feeling a small weight lift off her shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Hikari arrived home, her hands still cold, holding the cup of hot chocolate and the bag of sweets she had received at the café. The house was silent, as usual. Her parents would still be at work, and she knew they wouldn't be back until late at night. Loneliness was something she was used to, but today it seemed to weigh heavier than usual.
She took off her shoes at the entrance, placing them carefully in the closet, and walked to the kitchen. She left the cup of hot chocolate on the table and the bag of sweets beside it, not really feeling like eating. She went upstairs to her room, where she changed out of her day clothes and into a comfortable pajama set made of soft fabric, patterned with little cats. It was one of the few things that still made her feel a bit of comfort.
She sat on the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. She quickly flipped through the channels until she found a shoujo anime that seemed interesting. The title was "Stars of Our Destiny," a story about an ordinary girl who dreamed of becoming a famous singer but faced countless obstacles along the way. Hikari quickly got absorbed in the plot, her eyes glued to the screen as the protagonist battled insecurity and rejection.
At one point, the main character received an unexpected opportunity, and Hikari felt a pang of envy. "Why doesn't that happen to me?" she murmured to herself, her eyes welling up. Despite that, she kept watching, rooting for the girl, as if, somehow, her success could bring a bit of hope to her own life.
When the episode ended, Hikari sat for a moment, absorbing the emotional ending. The protagonist had taken an important step toward her dream, and Hikari felt a mix of inspiration and frustration. She knew real life wasn't as simple as an anime, but still, that story touched something inside her.
With a sigh, she got up and went to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and grabbed some ingredients: rice, eggs, green onions, and a bit of ground beef. She decided to make omurice, a simple dish that always comforted her. As she cooked, her thoughts wandered. She remembered Haruto's words, his offer to try to get her a spot at his agency. "He doesn't even know me," she thought, stirring the rice in the pan. "Why would he care? It's easy to say, but doing... that's another story."
After finishing the dish, she placed the omurice on a plate and sat at the table. She ate in silence, each bite feeling heavier than the last. The food was good, but the taste couldn't distract her from the thoughts that kept invading her mind. She felt trapped, as if she were running in circles with no way out.
After washing the dishes, Hikari went back to her room. She looked at the guitar leaning in the corner, covered in dust. It had been a while since she last played. Music, which had once been her passion, now seemed like just another painful memory. She lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Physical and emotional exhaustion took over, and soon her eyes closed.
As she drifted off to sleep, one last image crossed her mind: Haruto's face, smiling, offering a hand she wasn't sure she could trust. "Maybe..." she thought, before sleep completely took her. But the "maybe" lingered in the air, like an unfulfilled promise, or maybe, just maybe, a hope she wasn't ready to let go of yet.
Hikari woke up five hours later, the room dark, with only the light from the hallway creeping in through the crack in the door. She heard soft voices coming from the living room and realized her parents were already home. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, still groggy. The clock on the nightstand showed 9 PM. She got up, stretched, and left the room.
In the living room, her parents were sitting on the couch, the TV on at a low volume. When they saw her, her mother was the first to speak.
"Hikari, where were you earlier?" she asked, her tone a mix of concern and reproach.
Hikari pointed to the bag of sweets on the kitchen table. "I went for a walk... and stopped by the bakery. I bought some things."
Her father looked at her, arms crossed. "A walk? Hikari, you need to stop running away from your problems. Sit down and face reality."
Hikari felt a lump in her throat but tried to stay firm. "I'm not running away. I just needed to think."
Her mother sighed, exchanging a glance with her father before continuing. "Hikari, we know you have dreams, but... I think it's time to accept that maybe this path isn't for you. We don't want to be harsh, but... we can't keep investing in something that isn't working out."
The words felt like a stab. Hikari opened her mouth to respond, but tears started flowing before she could say anything. She wanted to argue, but deep down, a part of her knew they were right. She was about to agree, to give up for good, when the sound of her phone ringing interrupted her.
She looked at the phone, surprised to see Haruto's name on the screen. She hesitated for a second before answering.
"Hello?" she said, her voice still shaky.
"Hikari? It's me, Haruto. Sorry for calling so late, but... I managed to get you an audition at the agency. If you pass, you could get a spot at a technical school for performing arts. The audition is in three days. Are you in?"
Hikari was silent for a moment, his words taking time to process. When she finally understood, a wave of joy and hope washed over her. The tears that had been of sadness were now of happiness.
"I... I'm in!" she said, her voice full of emotion. "Thank you so much, Haruto. Really."
"No problem. I'll send you the details by text, okay? Good luck, Hikari. I believe in you."
When the call ended, Hikari looked at her parents, her face still wet but now with a smile she couldn't contain.
"It was the guy from the bakery. He got me an audition at his agency. If I pass, I can get into a technical school for performing arts. It's a real chance!"
Her father frowned, clearly skeptical. "Hikari, how many more chances are you going to want? We've already said we're not investing in this anymore."
Her mother agreed, her tone softer but still firm. "Sweetie, you need to understand that things don't always work out. It's better to give up now than to suffer later."
Hikari felt anger rise, but this time it wasn't the anger of frustration—it was the anger of someone who finally had something to fight for. She looked at them, her eyes shining with determination.
"Shut up!" she said, her voice firmer than ever. "I'm not giving up. I don't need you to believe in me, but I'm going to do this. With or without your help."
Without waiting for a response, she turned her back and went to her room, locking the door behind her. She sat on the bed, her heart pounding, but this time it wasn't from sadness or despair. It was from hope. She grabbed her phone and looked at the message Haruto had sent, with the details of the audition.
"I'm going to make it," she murmured to herself, her eyes fixed on the screen. "I'm going to show everyone that I can."