𝟎𝟐. 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬
you stood outside the looming black-glass building with your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the cold chrome letters above the revolving door read MIKAGE RECORDS STUDIOS, and they might as well have said TURN BACK NOW.
you glanced down at yourself – black cami top clinging just right, low-waisted star jeans sitting loose on your hips with the calvin klein waistband of your underwear peeking out, bracelets jangling at your wrist with every fidget. your adidas sambas scuffed the pavement as you shifted your weight. a groan slipped out as you pulled up your front camera to double-check the damage: curled hair holding up okay, necklace straight, all your piercings intact.
you looked hot. but also slightly underdressed to walk into the same studio that housed the world’s most chaotic rock band.
still, after five minutes of overthinking, you pushed through the doors.
the lobby smelled like money. clean, icy air conditioning. white marble floors so polished you could see your reflection. gold elevator doors. a reception desk manned by a security guard in all black, eyes scanning your figure as you approached.
you gave him your best don’t-mess-with-me smile. “hi. i’m here to see sae itoshi.”
his brows arched slightly, and then relaxed. “oh, you’re that friend.” he leaned back in his chair. “he told us someone would be coming. marketing girl, right?”
“that’s me,” you nodded, even though you hated being reduced to just that. but you were here for a paycheck, not an identity crisis.
he pressed a button under the desk, unlocking the glass doors behind him. “he said you’d know where to go.”
you froze for a split second. “right… i totally do.”
he waved you through anyway, already looking back at his monitor.
you stepped into the hallway, surrounded by tall walls and unfamiliar silence. you had no clue where the hell you were going.
the sound of bass rumbled faintly from somewhere deeper in the building. you followed it, your shoes echoing too loudly on the floor. doors lined the hallway, some marked with numbers, others with nothing at all. you passed a room with soundproof glass. through it, you saw a drum kit and someone passed out on a beanbag.
before you could double back and knock, a door swung open in front of you. you jumped.
a man blinked at you, visibly confused, before smirking wide. “wow, what a woman.”
tall, bleached-blond hair with blue streaks at the ends tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a photoshoot. kaiser. you recognized him instantly. leather pants, mesh shirt, cocky smile you’d seen a hundred times in saint ego clips.
“lost, pretty girl?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe like you were already his.
you blinked, trying to avoid staring at the slight bruise on his cheekbone. “i’m… i’m looking for sae?”
“damn. first time i meet you and you’re already breaking my heart.” he pushed off the doorframe. “you must be her. the intern.”
“PR manager,” you corrected. “temporarily.”
he grinned. “sure, sure. this way, baby PR.”
you glared, but followed him anyway.
he led you down a different hall, talking over his shoulder. “we’ve been waiting for you, you know. sae’s been acting like he’s about to spontaneously combust. and isagi–”
he stopped himself just as he pushed open a door.
inside was a lounge that looked like a musician’s version of a frat house. guitars on the wall. wires tangled on the floor. empty boba cups. rin sat on the couch, airpods in, scrolling through his phone. shidou was eating candy on the opposite end. sae stood near the kitchenette with a coffee in hand and dark circles under his eyes. bachira spun in a desk chair until he saw you, and then grinned wide.
kaiser gestured like he’d just presented a magic trick.
“gentlemen,” he said. “she’s here.”
you hovered in the doorway for a moment, eyes scanning the chaos of the lounge. the room felt alive – cluttered, loud, buzzing with a kind of boy-energy that smelled like caffeine, guitar polish, and too many late nights.
bachira was the first to shoot up from his seat and greet you. he practically skipped across the room, mismatched socks and a smile too wide to be legal.
“you’re the intern? woah. you’re pretty.”
“PR manager,” you corrected, again.
“temporary,” sae added from behind his coffee mug, voice dry.
“welcome to the jungle,” bachira grinned, twirling a piece of your hair before kaiser gently tugged him back by the collar.
“don’t harass her on sight,” he muttered.
“it’s not harassment if i say it with love,” bachira replied, then leaned in and whispered to you, “you’ll get used to the chaos. or you won’t. but either way, it’s entertaining.”
rin didn’t even glance up from his phone. he just muttered a flat, “hi.”
“he’s dry,” bachira whispered loudly.
you were about to reply that you already knew rin when the door behind you creaked again.
someone stepped in, hoodie pulled over his dark hair, earbuds in, a notebook under his arm. he looked up – slow, sharp, unreadable.
isagi yoichi. lead singer. band’s main songwriter. center of the storm last week.
his gaze landed on you like a spotlight. not the loud kind, the quiet kind. intense. observant. he took in your outfit, your expression, your stance. all of it. in a second flat.
you were prepared for cocky. aloof. maybe even rude.
you weren’t prepared for the way he blinked once, then nodded politely and said, “hey. i’m isagi.”
his voice was smooth, but low. not overly friendly. not cold either. just… level.
you didn’t realize you were staring until kaiser bumped your arm. “don’t mind him. he’s quiet around girls he thinks are cute.”
you pursed your lips together. you were here for work, not a boyfriend.
isagi rolled his eyes and walked past you, dropping onto the farthest couch with his notebook and pen. he didn’t look flustered. not exactly. but the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was amused. like he’d already read this whole situation ten steps ahead.
“i’m not quiet,” he said, flipping open the notebook. “i’m just working.”
“he’s writing a song,” bachira whispered dramatically. “he’s been brooding for like, four hours.”
“three,” isagi corrected without looking up.
sae sighed, rubbing his temples. “can we sit? i brought her here for a reason.”
you straightened up, shoulders back. “right.”
you stepped further into the room, eyes darting around for the cleanest surface to put your laptop bag. there wasn’t one. you settled for the edge of the coffee table, nudging aside a crushed monster can and what looked like a guitar string wrapped around a chopstick.
“so,” you started, voice clear, “i know things have been... messy. which is why i’m here.”
rin made a sound like a scoff. kaiser hummed a fake violin. shidou laughed. bachira leaned forward like you were about to tell a ghost story.
you met their stares one by one, steady. “i’m here to manage your public image. and if i’m doing my job right, no one will remember the livestream fight in a month.”
“bold of you to assume people will forget the highlight of the year,” rin said from the armchair, lazily flipping a pick between his fingers.
“i’m not asking them to forget,” you replied. “i’m giving them something better to remember.”
that earned a few raised brows.
“a documentary,” you continued. “seven episodes. behind-the-scenes, raw, real. your comeback arc. your redemption tour. a perfectly curated mess.”
bachira clapped once. “ooooh. like keeping up with saint ego.”
“more like surviving saint ego,” rin muttered.
“same thing,” kaiser grinned.
you didn’t look away. “we control the narrative. not the fans. not the headlines. us.”
"i was thinking of making isagi and kaiser film an apology video with a black and white filter over it," sae admitted blankly.
"no, the fandom is already divided. an apology video would be picked apart like crazy and nothing would change," you explained, voice steady with confidence.
“and you think people will buy the documentary?” isagi asked. his eyes were still on the notebook, but his pen had stopped moving.
you turned toward him. “they won’t have to. they’ll just watch.”
there was a pause. a flicker of something passed behind his eyes. curiosity? respect? maybe even… interest?
“we start filming in two days,” you said. “you’ll each have individual interviews. group sessions. footage from rehearsals, the studio, the tour. the camera will follow you around.”
“do we get hair and makeup?” bachira asked, already pulling out his phone. “i wanna wear eyeliner like rodrick heffley.”
“you can wear whatever you want,” you said. “you’re just gonna pretend the camera isn’t there.”
“you’ll regret saying that,” sae muttered.
kaiser leaned back in the armchair, legs sprawled. “and who’s behind the camera?”
“a guy named hiori. also my uni classmate that majors in film production. he’s perfect for this because he’s discreet. professional. nonjudgmental. which is more than i can say for most of you.”
shidou smirked. “you’re fun.”
“so are we,” isagi said quietly, closing his notebook.
the room stilled. his tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight. suddenly everyone was looking at him. but he looked at you.
“you think you can fix this?”
you matched his gaze. “i think you need to let me try.”
“fine,” he said, standing. “but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. no fake smiles. no scripted bullshit. you want the real story?”
“that’s the only story worth telling,” you said.
his lip quirked up. a near-smile. just for a second.
bachira whooped and flopped onto the couch beside you. “this is gonna be so much fun.”
“this is gonna be a disaster,” rin corrected.
“same thing,” kaiser said again, laughing.
you sat down, heart still racing from adrenaline. but they were listening. and that was half the battle.
well, that would come later. when the cameras were rolling. when the cracks started to show. when secrets slipped out between songs and smoke breaks.
but for now, you had their attention.
masterlist | ch. 01 | ch. 03 (coming soon)
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