“Choices”

The weight of the light stand in his hands felt heavier than before. Maybe it was exhaustion from the long day. Maybe it was something else.

Arata kept his head down, his fingers moving on autopilot as he coiled the last set of cables and secured them in place. His body ached in places he hadn't even realized he'd strained. It was a different kind of tiredness than his usual late-night shifts.

More… satisfying.

Not that it mattered now. Because it was over.

From the other side of the studio, he could hear Kenjiro's voice, lower than usual, mixed with another familiar one—the manager.

Arata turned his head slightly, just enough to see.

And of course.

Standing in front of Kenjiro, shifting uncomfortably in his dress shoes, was the guy who bailed on him.

The original assistant.

The one who had flaked at the last minute and caused all this in the first place.

"I really didn't mean to cause trouble, Aikawa-san." The assistant's voice was thick with apology. "It was a total misunderstanding, I swear. Something urgent came up, and I—"

Kenjiro just stared at him. He looked so unimpressed that even Arata, who wasn't even in the conversation, felt secondhand embarrassment.

The manager, standing beside them, chimed in. "Kenjiro-san, we've discussed this already. He's willing to work. He has experience. Wouldn't it be better—"

Arata exhaled sharply through his nose.

That was it, then.

It made sense. Kenjiro probably wasn't even hesitating. Why would he keep some random high schooler when he had his real assistant back?

Arata rolled his shoulders, preparing to grab his bag and head out. He had already overstayed. It was a one-day thing.

Good while it lasted.

And then—

"No."

Arata paused.

Kenjiro hadn't raised his voice. He didn't need to. The single flat rejection was enough to stop the conversation cold.

"…Excuse me?" The manager blinked.

Kenjiro scratched the back of his head, sighing. "Look, I get it. Misunderstandings, whatever. But I already have an assistant."

Silence.

The assistant looked like someone had just slapped him across the face.

The manager tried again. "Aikawa-san, this boy has been with us for over a year—"

"And?" Kenjiro turned his head, finally looking at Arata, who was still standing near the equipment.

"This one actually showed up."

Arata blinked.

Kenjiro clicked his tongue. "That's worth more than experience."

The manager sighed, rubbing his temples. "Kenjiro, listen, this kid has no experience. You can't just—"

Kenjiro cut him off. "You saying I can't train a kid?"

The way he said it made Arata's jaw clench slightly.

Kenjiro smirked, stretching lazily. "You know, I never did like assistants who talk too much. This one doesn't. That's already an improvement."

Arata narrowed his eyes slightly. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.

Kenjiro's voice dropped into a more serious tone as he looked back at the manager. "It's my call. I keep him."

Another beat of silence.

The assistant—now former assistant—looked down at the floor, jaw tight.

The manager let out a slow breath and finally nodded. "Fine. Do what you want, Aikawa-san. You always do."

Kenjiro grinned. "Glad we're on the same page."

Arata didn't move for a second, his brain still processing what had just happened.

He had a job. Just like that.

Kenjiro stretched again, popping his neck. "Alright, kid. Let's get out of here."

Arata nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

As they walked toward the exit, Kenjiro threw an arm lazily over Arata's shoulder, almost making him flinch.

"Lesson one, Arata." Kenjiro smirked. "If you show up and don't talk too much, people overestimate you. Use it to your advantage."

Arata clicked his tongue. "Tch."

Kenjiro just laughed.

Arata let out a short breath, adjusting the strap of his bag. He hadn't fully processed everything yet, but one thing was clear:

Kenjiro Aikawa wasn't joking.

"…You're actually serious about this."

Kenjiro, who had just popped the trunk open and was carelessly tossing in some equipment cases, glanced at him with a raised brow. "Hah? What, did you think I'd go through all that just to mess with you?"

Arata just stared, unimpressed.

Kenjiro grinned, slamming the trunk shut. "You're a sharp kid. C'mon, do I look like someone who wastes time?"

Arata didn't answer. Because the truth was—yes. He absolutely did.

Kenjiro didn't wait for a response. He clapped his hands together. "Anyway, about your pay."

Arata's jaw twitched slightly. Ah. There it is.

He had expected the classic: "It's more about the experience than the money." or "You're young, don't worry about the salary yet."

Instead—

"I'll pay you ¥— per hour, plus bonuses for longer shoots. If I sell an exhibition piece you helped with, I'll cut you in. Decent enough?"

Arata froze.

That was… a lot.

He had worked how many jobs? Late nights, endless deliveries, bullshit customer service shifts—and none of them came close to this.

Kenjiro gave him a lazy grin, clearly amused by his silence. "That bad, huh?"

"…Not bad." Arata finally said, deadpan.

Kenjiro clicked his tongue. "Good. Then it's settled."

Arata had no clue how he had ended up here. Again.

He watched as Kenjiro dusted off his hands, then pulled his keys from his pocket. "Alright, kid. Get in, I'll drop you off."

"No."

Kenjiro blinked. "Hah?"

Arata adjusted the strap on his shoulder, shifting his weight slightly. "I'll walk."

Kenjiro actually looked confused. "You serious?"

Arata didn't respond, just looked at him like the answer was obvious.

Kenjiro studied him for a moment, then let out a laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. You're the independent type."

He spun his keys around his finger before shrugging. "Do whatever you want, but don't be late tomorrow. Same time."

Arata gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

Kenjiro watched him a second, then exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Damn kids these days.

With that, he unlocked his car, climbed in, and pulled out onto the road.

Arata adjusted his bag, exhaled sharply through his nose, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Tomorrow. Same time.

Fine by him.

The headlights of Kenjiro's car disappeared down the road, swallowed by the city lights. The distant hum of the engine faded, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional passing car.

Arata stood there for a moment, exhaling sharply through his nose. Then, as if realizing something all at once—

A grin spread across his face.

Holy shit.

For the first time in who even knows how long, he actually felt good. Not just "not miserable"—but good!

His hands dug into his pockets, shoulders loosening as he turned in the opposite direction of where Kenjiro had gone. His usual deadpan expression softened as he walked, the reality of what just happened finally sinking in.

The pay was insane.

More than insane.

For a damn high school student? It was basically robbery.

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. Silent mode. Tch. No wonder he hadn't noticed all the messages.

His lock screen flooded with notifications.

A ridiculous amount from Rika.

Arata sighed through his nose. Not now.

He scrolled past them with ease. Ignored. Again.

Instead, he clicked on another contact.

[Sent to: Bar Manager]

I quit.

Message delivered.

He locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket. Finally.

No more working late nights, no more shitty tips, no more cleaning up after drunk businessmen. Finally!

He could sleep!

The thought alone made his shoulders loosen even more. He stretched his arms behind his head, inhaling the cool evening air.

School?

Tch. He'd manage.

As long as he kept his head down, stayed quiet, and didn't get caught skipping too much, he'd be fine. His mother would lose her damn mind if she ever found out, but—

Who cares?

He had a real job now. A job that actually paid.

For once, he didn't have to scrape by, counting loose change or splitting tips from shitty delivery shifts. For once, he didn't feel like he was running in circles, breaking his back for nothing.

The thought sent another rush through him, something close to excitement, but not quite.

Maybe he should celebrate.

But how?

His thumb hovered over his phone screen, checking the time again. Still some time before Yuki got out of school. His mother had the day off too.

A pause.

Something sweet?

Yeah. That'd work.

He'd buy some sweets. No reason, no special occasion—just because.

If he brought something home, his mother wouldn't ask too many questions. Yuki would be happy. He wouldn't have to explain anything.

Perfect.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, he turned on his heel, heading toward the nearest konbini.

The konbini doors slid open with a soft chime as Arata stepped out, a plastic bag swinging from his wrist.

Inside—two custard-filled taiyaki, a pack of dorayaki, and a small keychain shaped like a chubby cat. For Yuki. He wasn't the type to buy random gifts, but she'd been eyeing something similar last time they passed a toy shop.

Better to give it before she started asking questions.

He adjusted the bag in his grip and was just about to turn down the street when—

"Arata-kun?"

A familiar voice.

His feet stopped before he even registered the name, head tilting slightly as he caught sight of Miss Sakamoto walking toward him.

She was dressed sharp, as always—pencil skirt, tailored coat, heels that clicked softly against the pavement. A structured leather bag was tucked under her arm, and a coffee cup rested in her other hand. She looked like she'd stepped straight out of a high-end office, which… knowing her, she probably had.

She always carried herself the same way—effortless, composed. The kind of woman that turned heads without even trying.

Unlike the usual office workers shuffling by, she actually looked happy to see him.

He gave a slight nod in greeting. "Miss Sakamoto."

"You're out early" she commented, her gaze flickering to the bag in his hand. "Did you get the day off?"

Arata exhaled through his nose, shifting the weight of the bag. "Something like that."

Miss Sakamoto hummed, clearly unconvinced, but let it slide. "I was just heading to see my mother. You should stop by too—she was complaining about not seeing you lately."

That sounded about right. The old woman had a habit of treating him like one of her own, even when he didn't deserve it.

"I'll drop by soon" he said simply.

Her expression softened. "She'd like that."

There was a pause—comfortable, but expectant.

She took a sip of her coffee before tilting her head slightly. "So? How's work? Still running yourself ragged with all those late shifts?"

"Not anymore." He glanced at her, testing the words in his own head. "Got a new job."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Oh? That's rare. You don't switch jobs often."

"I don't take shitty ones often."

She chuckled. "Fair enough."

Arata wasn't the type to elaborate, but Miss Sakamoto had a way of prying without actually prying. She didn't nag. Didn't push. Just looked at him—and somehow, that was enough.

"…It pays well" he finally muttered. "Better than the last ones."

That alone made her lips curve in approval. "Good. You deserve something better."

That was the problem.

He didn't.

Not that he'd argue with her about it.

She took another sip of her coffee, then glanced toward the street. "Well, I won't keep you. You seem busy."

He wasn't,but he nodded anyway.

She smiled, shifting the bag under her arm. "Take care of yourself, Arata-kun. And really,come see my mother before she starts thinking you've abandoned her."

With that, she turned, heels clicking against the pavement as she disappeared toward the residential blocks.

Arata watched for a second before sighing and shaking his head.

Women.

Tucking his free hand into his pocket, he adjusted the bag and kept walking.

Yuki was waiting.

(*´∇`)┌θ☆(ﾉ>_<)ﾉ

SMS

Told ya, Rika-chan, I never lie~

Shun smirked as he tapped send, watching the message deliver instantly.

He leaned against the railing of the pedestrian overpass, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes lazily following the scene below.

There he was.

Arata.

And there she was.

The woman from the station.

Shun didn't need to get any closer to recognize the dynamic between them—she was too comfortable, leaning in just slightly, her polished, office-girl aura clashing almost comically with Arata's usual deadpan indifference.

But oh, was Rika-chan going to love this.

With a flick of his wrist, he snapped a photo.

Click.

Perfect.

It was a clean shot—Arata standing there, dark red hair tousled, bag hanging loosely in one hand, and her—coffee in one hand, dressed in that too-expensive-looking coat, looking at him like she actually cared.

Shun's smirk widened.

There was no better fuel for chaos than misinterpretation.

Another tap. Another send.

Attachments sent.

He could already picture Rika's reaction—her perfectly glossed lips twisting into a scowl, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to jealousy.

And then? Oh, she'd snap. She always did.

How fun!

Shun let out a low chuckle, tucking his phone away as he stepped off the railing, stretching his arms above his head.

"Ahh~ I love this game."

With that, he strolled off, whistling to himself.

The drama was only just beginning.