[44] Sticks and Stones

July 31, 2025

I settled onto the couch next to Marin, a bowl of popcorn balanced between us. The familiar jingle of LoveforReal filled our living room as the latest episode began.

"I can't believe we're already halfway through the season," Marin said, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the screen. "Yeah, time flies when you're manufacturing drama."

Marin playfully swatted my arm. "Oh, come on. It's not all manufactured. You can't fake that chemistry between you and Yuki."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Jealous?"

She stuck out her tongue. "As if. I know it's all for show."

As the episode progressed, I found myself scrutinizing every interaction, every edited glance. It was strange watching myself on screen, seeing the persona I'd crafted for the cameras. Was that really me? Or just another character I was playing?

The episode neared its end, and I tensed up, knowing what was coming. The scene shifted to the school courtyard, where Akane confronted Yuki and Nobuyuki.

"I can't believe they're actually showing this," I muttered.

Marin leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Showing what? What's going on?"

On screen, Akane's face contorted with anger and frustration. "Stop throwing yourself at every guy you see!" she shouted at Yuki.

I winced, remembering the raw emotion in Akane's voice that day. The camera zoomed in on Yuki's shocked expression just as Akane's hand connected with her cheek.

The screen went black, and the words "To be continued..." flashed across it.

"Holy shit," Marin breathed. "Did that really happen? Is Yuki okay?"

I stood up abruptly, my fists clenched at my sides. "That bastard," I growled.

Marin looked up at me, concern etched across her face. "Akira? What's wrong?"

I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to push down the anger bubbling in my chest. "It's nothing," I said, plastering on a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just... surprised they showed that, that's all."

Marin stood up and placed a hand on my arm. "Are you sure? You seem really upset."

I shook my head, avoiding her gaze. "I'm fine, really. Just tired, I guess. Think I'll head to bed early."

"Okay..." Marin said, her voice laced with doubt. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

I nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating to our bedroom. Once inside, I let out a frustrated groan and flopped onto the bed.

Kaburagi had promised to at least consider not airing that scene. But there it was, broadcast for millions to see, ending on a cliffhanger that would have social media buzzing for days.

I pulled out my phone, tempted to call Kaburagi and give him a piece of my mind. But what good would that do? The damage was already done. Akane would wake up tomorrow to a storm of comments and criticism, all because the show valued drama over the well-being of its participants.

I thought about texting Akane, offering some words of support or advice. But what could I say? "Sorry you're about to become Twitter's main character for the week. Better turn off your notifications!"

No, there was nothing I could do now. The industry had chewed up another young talent and spit her out for entertainment. And I had played my part in it, hadn't I? I was just as complicit as Kaburagi, as the editors, as the viewers who would tune in next week to see the fallout.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. This was the game I'd chosen to play. I'd known the rules going in. So why did I feel so... dirty?

The bedroom door creaked open, and I felt the bed dip as Marin sat down beside me.

"Hey," she said softly, running her fingers through my hair. "Want to talk about it now?"

I turned my head to look at her, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes. For a moment, I considered spilling everything – my frustration with Kaburagi, my worry for Akane, my growing disillusionment with the whole industry.

But I couldn't burden her with that. Not when she was just starting her own journey in this world. So I forced another smile and shook my head.

"It's really nothing," I said. "Just overthinking things. You know how I get sometimes."

Marin nodded, though I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. "Okay. But remember, we're partners in this. You don't have to shoulder everything alone."

I reached up and squeezed her hand. "I know. Thanks, Marin."

She leaned down and kissed my forehead before standing up. "I'm going to take a bath. Join me if you want to relax a bit."

As the bathroom door closed behind her, I stared up at the ceiling, my mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions. I'd wanted fame, hadn't I? I'd clawed my way to the top, reinventing myself, playing whatever role was necessary.

But at what cost? And was it worth it?

I closed my eyes, trying to push away the doubts creeping in at the edges of my mind. Tomorrow was another day. Another performance. Another mask to wear.

I just hoped I wouldn't lose myself completely in the process.

{Akane's POV}

I stared at my phone screen, the harsh blue light illuminating my dark bedroom. My thumb hovered over the Twitter app, trembling slightly. I knew I shouldn't look. I knew it would only make things worse. But I couldn't help myself.

With a deep breath, I tapped the icon and typed my name into the search bar. The results loaded instantly, a flood of tweets filling my screen.

"Mago: You should have just stayed a bottom-tier Idol. Once you lay a hand on someone your life's over, right? Please never show your face again. #LoveNow #AkaneKurokawa #QuitTheShow"

I flinched, but kept scrolling.

"mmmm: The pathetic desperation with which she tried to make a comeback in the show's final stages was plain to see. She should have just quit before pulling a stunt like that. Why did the show ever select a girl like her? #LoveNow"

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep reading.

"Tara: Never before on this show has someone been so completely finished. You suddenly show up and cause trouble for everyone, and with that personality of yours, your personality is a lost cause. Everyone would be happy if you weren't around #LoveNow"

I blinked back tears, my vision blurring.

"Yumeshi: Who's Akane? It's like, 'Wait, you were on the show? lol' #LoveNow"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"Pyuuki: I was thinking that the quality of Love Now was getting boring recently, and I realized it started when you kept trying to insert yourself, lol. You should just get lost! #LoveNow"

I lowered my phone, letting out a shaky breath. "I figured this would happen," I whispered to the empty room.

My fingers moved almost on their own and starting a new tweet. I typed out the words slowly:

"I have heard the views of a great number of people. I am so very sorry."

I stared at the draft, my thumb hovering over the 'Tweet' button. If I apologized sincerely, maybe everyone would forgive me. Our contracts forbid us from discussing anything not shown on TV, but if I explained myself and asked for forgiveness...

My finger inched closer to the button, ready to send my apology out into the world. But something stopped me. A small voice in the back of my mind, telling me it wouldn't be enough. That no matter what I said, they'd already made up their minds about me.

I deleted the draft and tossed my phone aside, burying my face in my pillow. The darkness of my room seemed to press in on me, suffocating and oppressive. I wanted to disappear, to fade away until everyone forgot I ever existed.

But I couldn't. I had to face this, had to find a way through it. Somehow.

I reached for my phone again, my fingers shaking as I pulled up my contacts. I scrolled down to a familiar name, hesitating for just a moment before pressing 'Call'.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. I was about to hang up when a groggy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Akira?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I know it's late. I just... I didn't know who else to call."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, then Akira's voice came through clearer. "Akane? What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "Have you seen... have you seen what they're saying about me? Online?"

A pause. Then, softly, "Yeah, I've seen it. I'm so sorry, Akane. It's not fair."

"What do I do?" I asked, hating how small and scared I sounded. "How do I make it stop?"

Akira sighed. "I wish I had an easy answer for you. The truth is, you can't make it stop. Not completely. But you can choose how you respond to it."

"I was going to apologize," I admitted. "I thought if I just said sorry, maybe they'd forgive me."

"And did you send it?"

I shook my head, then remembered he couldn't see me. "No. I... I couldn't."

"Good," Akira said, surprising me. "Look, Akane, I know it feels like the whole world is against you right now. But apologizing for something that was clearly manipulated by the show... it won't help. It'll just give them more ammunition."

I bit my lip, considering his words. "So what should I do?"

"For now? Step away from social media. Block the hashtags, mute the keywords. Give yourself some space to breathe and think clearly. This will blow over, I promise. But you need to take care of yourself in the meantime."

I nodded, feeling a small weight lift from my chest. "Okay. I can do that. Thank you, Akira. I'm sorry for calling so late."

"Don't apologize," he said firmly. "That's what friends are for, right? We've got to stick together in this crazy industry."

"Right. Friends."

"Try to get some sleep, okay? And if you need anything, day or night, just call. I mean it."

"I will. Goodnight, Akira."

"Goodnight, Akane. Stay strong."

I woke up with a knot in my stomach, my hand already reaching for my phone. Akira's words from last night echoed in my head, warning me to stay off social media. But I couldn't resist. I had to know what people were saying.

As soon as I opened Twitter, a flood of notifications hit me. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the comments.

"Akane is such a fake!"

"Did you see her slap Yuki? What a psycho!"

"She's just jealous because no one likes her."

Each word felt like a punch to the gut. I kept scrolling, unable to look away from the train wreck of my reputation.

"I always knew she was putting on an act."

"Bet she's not even a real actress. Probably just got lucky."

"Can't believe I ever supported her. Unfollow!"

My vision blurred as tears welled up. I tossed my phone aside and curled up in bed, pulling the covers over my head. The thought of facing anyone today made me feel physically ill.

After what felt like hours, I dragged myself out of bed. The clock showed I was already late for school. I stumbled through my morning routine, barely tasting the toast I forced myself to eat.

The walk to school felt like a death march. Every person I passed seemed to be staring, judging. I kept my head down, praying no one would recognize me.

As I approached the school gates, my stomach churned. I couldn't face my classmates yet. I veered off towards the restroom, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself.

I locked myself in a stall, leaning against the cool metal door. Just a few minutes to breathe, then I'd go to class. That's what I told myself.

But then voices drifted in from the sinks.

"Did you hear about what Akane did? Crazy, huh?" 

My breath caught in my throat.

"I had a feeling she would do something like that," another girl chimed in.

"She always says she's busy with work like she's some big star," a third voice added. "It's like she's not satisfied until she shows she's better than us."

"What a bitch," someone muttered.

"Right? She gives off this aura like she's better than us. She's probably off somewhere being comforted by the stable of guys she has."

"I know, right?"

Their laughter pierced through me like knives. My stomach heaved, and I barely had time to turn around before throwing up what little breakfast I'd managed to eat.

As I knelt there, shaking and sweating, their words kept replaying in my head. Is that really how people saw me? Some stuck-up bitch who thought she was better than everyone else?

That wasn't me. It couldn't be. I just wanted to be a good actress, to make people feel something when they watched me perform. How had it all gone so wrong?

I don't know how long I stayed there, hunched over the toilet. Eventually, the bell rang and the bathroom cleared out. I stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on my face. The girl in the mirror looked pale and hollow-eyed. I hardly recognized her.

I dragged myself through the school, every step feeling like I was wading through mud. The hallway buzzed with activity, but as soon as I entered, a hush fell over the crowd. Heads turned, eyes locked onto me, and whispers erupted in my wake.

"There she is."

"Can you believe what she did?"

"Psycho."

I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, willing myself to become invisible. But their words wormed their way into my ears, each one a tiny dagger.

In class, I slumped into my seat, feeling the weight of stares boring into my back. The teacher's voice faded into background noise as I tried to focus on anything but the suffocating atmosphere around me.

A crumpled paper ball landed on my desk. With trembling fingers, I unfolded it.

"Fake ass whore. Go home."

I crushed the note in my fist, blinking back tears. The clock on the wall seemed to mock me, its hands moving at a glacial pace.

When the bell finally rang, I bolted from my seat, desperate to escape. But as I hurried down the hallway, the walls seemed to close in. Whispers and pointing fingers followed me like a cloud of gnats I couldn't swat away.

"Did you see how she ran? Guilty conscience much?"

"Bet she's off to slap someone else."

I burst out of the school building, gulping in air like a drowning person. The walk home stretched before me, an endless gauntlet of judging eyes and cruel words.

As I trudged along, even strangers on the street seemed to recognize me. A group of girls my age huddled together, shooting glances my way and giggling behind their hands. An old woman tsked and shook her head as I passed.

By the time I reached my front door, I felt like I'd run a marathon. I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking so badly I could barely get the lock open.

Once inside, I collapsed against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. The silence of the empty house pressed in on me, almost as suffocating as the whispers at school.

Days blurred together. I moved through them in a fog, barely aware of my surroundings. Food lost all appeal. The thought of eating made my stomach churn.

On the third day, my mom's voice cut through the haze.

"Akane, you haven't eaten in days. What's going on? Did something happen at work?"

I shook my head, not meeting her eyes. "Just not hungry."

She frowned, reaching out to touch my forehead. I flinched away.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

The concern in her eyes was too much to bear. I retreated to my room, closing the door softly behind me.

Alone again, I found myself reaching for my phone. Before I could stop myself, I was scrolling through comments on the latest episode.

"Scum like Akane are the product of a mother who didn't raise them right. It's a vicious circle lol."

A reply caught my eye: "A case like this really gives away someone's upbringing. Those raised with a parent that beats them become people who are quick to lay their hands on others."

My heart clenched. I'm so sorry, Mom, I thought. You don't deserve this.

My phone buzzed with an incoming call. My manager's name flashed on the screen. I answered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Akane? Are you there?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm here."

"Listen, for the time being, it might be best if you steer clear of social media. After all, whatever you see will just add fuel to the fire. Consult me first if you want to make a statement, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled.

"Hang in there, kid. This'll blow over soon enough."

The call ended, leaving me alone with the echoes of cruel comments and judgmental stares. I curled up on my bed, pulling the covers over my head like I could hide from the world forever.

But I knew I couldn't. Tomorrow would come, bringing with it more whispers, more pointing fingers. And I'd have to face it all again, whether I was ready or not.