The assistant led me through Strawberry Productions' modest office space. It didn't take long—the entire operation fit neatly into less than 1,300 square feet. A small reception area, Saitou's office, an open workspace with six desks, a conference room that doubled as a practice space, and a kitchenette barely larger than a closet. Not exactly the entertainment empire I'd imagined.
"This is where magic happens on a budget," she said, gesturing to the conference room. "We transform this space for preliminary rehearsals. Those mirrors on the wall slide out, and we move the table against the wall."
I nodded, mentally calculating the square footage. Fifteen feet by twenty at most. Enough for basic blocking, but nowhere near sufficient for full choreography.
"Where do the groups actually rehearse?"
"We rent space at SYNC Dance Studio a few blocks away for serious practice," she explained. "Most of our technical production is outsourced too. We're lean by necessity."
Smart. Saitou kept overhead low while investing in talent. The opposite approach of my previous life's management company, which maintained gleaming offices while shortchanging artists at every turn.
"And recording?"
"Stardust Recording in Shibuya. It's mid-tier but solid. We book weeks in advance to keep costs manageable."
As we walked back toward the reception area, I noticed a wall covered in B-Komachi achievements—gold records, magazine covers, and framed photos of their performances. One image dominated the display: a young woman with gradient-colored eyes and blue-purplish hair, her expression captured mid-performance. Something about her face transcended mere beauty. Even in a static image, she radiated an almost supernatural magnetism.
Ai, I realized. The company's crown jewel.
"She's something else, isn't she?" The assistant had noticed my attention. "Everyone falls a little in love with Ai-chan when they see her perform."
Before I could respond, her phone buzzed. She checked it and frowned.
"I need to handle this. Feel free to look around. Just don't wander into any meetings."
I nodded, and she hurried off, already answering the call.
Left to my own devices, I continued examining the wall of achievements. The photos told a story of B-Komachi's evolution—earlier images showed a different dynamic, with another girl positioned centrally. Later photos featured Ai prominently, her presence commanding even in group shots.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since morning coffee. I glanced at my watch: 2:15 PM. Plenty of time before meeting PRISM.
I stepped out, taking the creaky elevator down to the street level. A small café occupied the building's ground floor—Café Melodie according to the sign. Perfect.
The café was busy but not packed. I ordered a sandwich and coffee, finding a small table near the window. As I ate, I pulled out my phone, searching for more information about PRISM. If these guys were going to be my bandmates, I needed all the intel I could get.
The search results painted a picture of a promising group that had stumbled after losing their center. Originally created by a different agency, they'd shown potential before their main vocalist and center— Tadashi—abruptly left for a solo career. The remaining members had been acquired by Strawberry Productions in what industry blogs described as a "surprising rescue operation."
I found performance videos from before the split. Their sound was decent but formulaic—standard K-pop inspired tracks with predictable structures. Nothing revolutionary, but solid. The comments section revealed a small but passionate fanbase devastated by Tadashi's departure.
I studied the remaining members' profiles:
Ryota Yasuda: Main dancer, sub-vocalist. Known for explosive performances and striking visual contrast between his muscular build and pretty face.
Ryuu Murata: Lead vocalist, former sub-center. Meticulous and technically precise. The group's unofficial organizer.
Seiji Nakatani : Youngest member, lead rapper. Natural athlete with infectious enthusiasm.
Daisuke Tanaka: Oldest member, composer and lyricist. The group's emotional anchor.
An interesting mix. Four distinct personalities now missing their center. And I was supposed to fill that gap.
I sipped my coffee, contemplating the challenge. Working with a group—especially one with established dynamics and the shadow of abandonment—would require a different approach.
I paid my bill and headed back to the building, checking my watch: 2:45 PM. Better head up and prepare to meet my new colleagues.
As I pushed through the café door, I collided with someone entering.
Coffee splashed between us, mostly landing on the floor, though some spattered my white shirt. I looked up, an apology ready—and froze.
Gradient eyes. Blue-purplish hair.
Ai stood before me, looking nothing like her polished promotional images. In person, she wore minimal makeup, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings—standard dance practice attire. A small coffee stain marked her sleeve.
But those eyes... those damned eyes—they were exactly as photographed. Extraordinary.
For a suspended second, neither of us spoke. I registered several things simultaneously: she was shorter than I expected, her presence was indeed magnetic even in casual clothes, and despite her apparent fatigue, her posture remained performance-perfect.
"Crap! Sorry about that!" She laughed, looking down at the splash zone between us. "I was totally spacing out."
"Equally mine," I replied, grabbing napkins from a nearby dispenser and offering her some. "I wasn't looking where I was going either."
She took the napkins with a grin, dabbing at her sleeve. "No biggie. Though your shirt looks like it lost the coffee battle."
I glanced down at the brown splotches on my white button-down. "Battle scars from my first day."
"First day?" Her eyes lit up with curiosity. "Where at?"
"At Strawberry Productions. Just signed this morning."
"No way!" Her entire demeanor shifted to excited interest. "You're with us? That's awesome! What's your thing—singer? Actor?"
"New addition to PRISM."
"Ohhh." She nodded knowingly. "The new center guy. Tadashi's replacement."
"I prefer to think of it as a new beginning," I said.
She laughed. "Smart answer. Those boys need someone who can think on their feet." She studied me more openly now, her gaze unexpectedly shrewd beneath her casual manner. "You don't seem nervous at all."
"Should I be?"
"Most newbies meeting Ichigo are terrified. He's got that whole scary boss vibe going." She mimicked putting on sunglasses with an exaggerated serious face.
"We got along fine."
"Huh." She cocked her head to the side. "Either you're super chill or he really likes you. Probably both."
A small crowd had formed at the counter, customers waiting to order. We were blocking the doorway.
"I should head up," I said, gesturing toward the elevator.
"And I need caffeine before rehearsal kills me dead." She pantomimed collapsing dramatically. "Rui's choreo is brutal today."
We moved past each other, but she suddenly spun around.
"Hey, what's your name anyway? Gotta know who to blame for my coffee casualty."
"Toshiro. Toshiro Kagami."
"Well, Toshiro-kun..." For a split second, something flickered behind her casual cheerfulness—a flash of calculation, of professional assessment. Then it vanished behind a genuine smile that lit up her entire face. "Welcome to the Strawberry family! Fair warning—it's total chaos, but the good kind."
She gave a little wave before turning toward the counter, already greeting the barista like an old friend.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding. As I stepped inside, I caught her watching me with that same brief analytical look from before.
The doors closed, and I exhaled slowly.
So that's Ai.
Saitou had said I reminded him of her. Now I understood why he'd made the comparison. Not just talent—there was something in her eyes. A certain guardedness. Calculation behind the charm. The look of someone who's learned to weaponize their own appeal.
The orphanage creates that look. The constant need to assess, adapt, perform to survive.
The elevator reached the sixth floor, and I stepped out, making my way to the restroom to clean up my shirt. Cold water and paper towels removed the worst of the coffee stains, though faint brown shadows remained.
I heard voices from the direction of the conference room. Checking my watch—2:55 PM—I headed that way, mentally preparing to meet my new bandmates.
The conference table had been pushed against the wall as promised, creating a makeshift practice space. Four young men stood in various poses of waiting—stretching, checking phones, chatting quietly. They fell silent as I entered, four pairs of eyes assessing me with expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion.
The tallest, a slender young man with straight black hair and glasses, stepped forward. "You must be Kagami-san," he said formally, adjusting his glasses. "I'm Ryuu Murata. Lead vocalist and group spokesperson." His tone carried a hint of challenge beneath the politeness.
Before I could respond, a muscular guy with long dark hair pushed past him. "Ryota is the best dancer in PRISM!" he announced, striking a pose that showcased his impressive physique. "Can you keep up with Ryota's moves?"
The youngest-looking member, pink-haired and athletic, grinned and extended his hand. "Ignore them. I'm Seiji Nakatani . Welcome to our group!"
The fourth member, slightly older with soft dark hair and thoughtful eyes, simply nodded in greeting. "Daisuke Tanaka," he said quietly. "Good to meet you."
The dynamic was immediately clear: Ryuu the cautious intellectual, Ryota the physical powerhouse, Seiji the friendly bridge-builder, and Daisuke the reserved observer.
"Toshiro Kagami," I said, shaking Seiji 's extended hand. "Looking forward to working with all of you."
"Saitou-san says you're our new center," Ryuu stated, the words carrying an unspoken question: Are you worthy?
"That's the plan," I replied evenly. "Though I understand I have big shoes to fill."
Ryota snorted. "Tadashi's shoes were tiny. Ryota has much bigger feet."
That broke the tension, with Seiji laughing and even Ryuu's mouth twitching slightly.
"What Ryota means," Daisuke said softly, "is that we're ready for a fresh start."
The conference room door opened, and Saitou entered, his expression unreadable behind those ever-present shades.
"Good, you've all met," he said briskly. "We'll head to SYNC in fifteen minutes for proper introductions and initial compatibility assessment."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Kagami-kun, a word?"
I followed him into the hallway, aware of the others watching curiously.
"Your shirt," he noted, eyeing the faint coffee stains.
"Small accident downstairs. Met Ai-san coming in as I was going out."
His eyebrow raised slightly above his sunglasses. "And?"
"And we apologized to each other for the collision."
He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "The others will test you. It's natural. They're protective of their group."
"I understand."
"Do you? They've been burned. Trust won't come easily."
"I don't expect it to."
He seemed satisfied with that answer. "We'll see what you're made of at SYNC. Vocal and dance assessment, plus group chemistry."
As he walked away, I returned to the conference room. The four members of PRISM had formed a tight cluster, heads bent together in conversation that stopped when I entered. Their expressions ranged from Seiji 's open curiosity to Ryuu's guarded assessment.
This is going to be interesting.