MOCHIZUKI 美織

"does it make me a bad senior if i admit i haven't really seen it yet?" it's not for lack of trying, but the upload of kismet's new music video had coincided with work and travel. natsumi had found herself first unable to catch enough of a break to watch it uninterrupted and then too unconcentrated, her gaze sliding off her tiny phone screen until she realised she'd been staring at nothing at all for a handful of seconds at a time. she'd eventually given up the venture entirely, vowing to get on it back home in her bed, after a long rest. nobody would ask about it until they were back home anyway.

but earlier, in the car, she'd at least listened to the single. "it's a cute song though. feels a bit like something we might've done, back when." not that natsumi holds much nostalgia for serene's earlier, cuter releases. kismet's take on it is a little more interesting. there's a bit more edge to it. "feels like it'd suit them. how'd you like it?"

“No. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think if anyone deserves a break from idoldom, it’s us. I just have—” Her fingernail catches on a flaw in the grout, and she snatches her hand away with a quiet, annoyed hiss. “—reasons. That I made sure to watch it.”

She feels a little awkward, so she observes the new chip in her nail instead of Natsumi. It’s ridiculous to feel awkward—many of the Serene members are well aware of what’s been agitating their leader lately. It’s especially ridiculous to feel awkward in front of this specific Serene member.

“It was great,” Miori says. “Kismet’s great.” She thinks for a second, feeling like she should say something else, but there it is again, that discomfort whenever she thinks about the group as a whole, even if it’s only one member that leaves a foul taste in her mouth—even if it’s realistically nobody’s fault. She’s beat herself up about this enough, told herself to just grow up and get over it, tried forcing herself to be nice, tried taking Mio on sister outings, but nothing’s seemed to work. She barely even likes thinking about Mio, much less talking about her. So it’s something of another way for her to push herself when she asks Natsumi, cautiously, far too casually:

“What do you think of Mio, by the way?”

Miori’s talked circles around the topic more times than she can count, and yes, mostly with Natsumi. Nothing, though, seems to budge the wall that’s forged itself between the Mochizuki sisters. That familiar, nauseous feeling that builds in Miori whenever Mio’s a topic of conversation is starting to well up. So, as usual, she chickens out. And, as usual, that comes in the form of her switching immediately to logic mode.

“Her dancing’s good,” she babbles before Natsumi can answer her question. “I think her singing is okay, but she’s young and still has training to do. She’s pretty good with variety, and I think she fits the concepts. But Kismet is doing great. They’re going to make a real big splash in the industry. I'll probably be a Cosmo sometime soon.”

they've been through this a number of times, so often that the repetition's morphed from mind-numbing to soothing back to infuriating. or maybe natsumi's just that edge of tired, worn out like the decade-old t-shirt she sleeps in when she's staying with her parents, that last remnant of girlhood she can hold onto with clenched fists.

she shifts again, the fourth time within the minute, but the chairs aren't going to get more comfortable no matter what. the carefully curated airport fit is inconvenient in that the knot tying her blouse keeps digging into her spine when she leans back. she's wired, but a glance around tells her that this isn't an affliction shared by many: half her groupmates are drowsing, two of the managers are bent over a laptop discussing things natsumi wants nothing to do with. she lets her gaze travel around the lounge, a little furtively. moments later she spots the ray of light shining through the dark clouds of her night: miori's scrolling on her phone.

far be it for her to assume that the duty free will be in the least interesting, but a distraction is needed, and so natumi gathers her purse and checks that her phone's in her pocket before she approaches. there's space on the leather couch on miori's left, enough that she could sprawl out and try to close her eyes, passing time until boarding in that haze between awake and the sort of half-asleep that you need to force. natsumi doesn't sit.

She swipes away each video with barely concealed impatience. She just wants to see recipe inspiration, dammit—but her algorithm is totally screwed, now thinking that she’s some sort of K-pop fan. She’s been discretely analyzing Kismet videos trying to get a read on her sister, and now, all she’s getting is content about junior groups. Serene, she thinks, was lucky: they debuted back when the grind didn’t have so many other things to consider. Work hard—very hard, in Serene’s case—improve always, and keep the fans happy. That, and no small bit of luck—that was all you really needed back then.

Now, everything is in such excess. There’s so much a rookie needs to consider by way of image, so many complicated concepts out there. There are groups debuting so fast the numbers make Miori downright dizzy. She’s a girl of languid, decadent taste—she’d rather spend thousands on one quality purse than hundreds on mid-tier multiples. So long as everything in her world is done with careful intention, she’s happy. She can’t pretend to be some artful connoisseur of music itself—realistically, she’s just a girl who got lucky her stepfather shared his love of music with her so thoroughly.

A snippet of Kismet’s “Style” music video comes on. It’s cute, she has to admit. Her eyes track Mara—ironically the member of Kismet she’s closest to, and not her own sister. Miori anticipates KH will drop her right back into the fray as soon as they’re back home, and have her film a dance challenge with Mara. Nothing against Mara, but the thought of doing something so shallow exhausts her; she can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like being in the actual group. She can barely tolerate it even in her own group, where the company lets it slide just a little bit more for them not to be doing so many little snippets. So many little displays of excess that’ll just be forgotten within days.

“Like fast fashion,” she murmurs to herself, shaking her head in pity.

So it’s welcome when her friend approaches her with a distraction.

“I’d love to.” Miori stands and stretches. Duty-free may well give her the same volume exhaustion that consuming new groups did. But, at least, it’s better than trying to keep up with whatever she’s expected to keep up with nowadays.

It was a rare free day for Kismet, which meant Mio was going to fill her day with a checklist of bakeries she wanted to try and stationary stories she wanted to visit. Her phone was loaded with saved TikToks and Instagram reels of tourists and locals trying strawberry and cream filled salt bread and perusing through Sanrio stickersheets.

A loud thud drew her attention away from her daydreams of having a pastel colored accent wall and a Cinnamoroll stickered phone case. She glanced over to see a woman with a baseball cap, face mask, and oversize sunglasses nearly face to face with the wall. Even with her disguise in place, Mio would recognize Miori anywhere; after all, she used to have a Serene poster hanging above her desk as motivation to finish studying. Mio's face lit up immediately, her eyes crinkling into crescents as she smiled. While she knew in her heart that the past three years hadn't been as smooth sailing into sisterhood as she had dreamed, she was still excited to see Miori.

She skipped over to where Miori stood, bouncing on her feet as she came to a stop in front of her older sister.

Miori’s heart clenches as she pulls down her face mask and rests her sunglasses on the bill of her hat. She gives a smile to the younger girl. Miori’s never been good at hiding her emotions—what you see is usually what she’s thinking. So she hopes that, as her father’s eyes crinkle into crescents in Mio’s happy face, Mio isn’t seeing a grimace on Miori’s lips.

No, she doesn’t want to get pastries. No, she doesn’t really want to talk about Everland. She was, honestly, hoping to get this done quick so that she could go relax after this. Some days it’s easy to talk to Mio; some days it’s not. Most days, it has to be an interaction she plans into her calendar, with a good block of self-care time after. Today is one of those days; Miori has a date with her new bespoke dress, a single-person reservation at La Yeon, and miles upon miles of an engine purring down Han River roads.

She checks her watch. Her reservation isn’t for another two hours.

“I’d love to get pastries,” she says, and turns around and starts walking without waiting to see if Mio's begun to follow.