Page 58 of The Encore’s Crown

“I know, but I’m exhausted. A spa near Sakae messaged me after yesterday’s posts blew up. They offered a full treatment if I feature them, so I’m taking the afternoon off. I'll meet you all at the concert.”

She eyes me suspiciously, “It's the last day and you’re skipping soundcheck?”

The relief that crosses her face is unmistakable. She thinks I’m returning to myself, that whatever she noticed between Kiri and me has already burned out.

“I’ve seen soundcheck, I haven't seen Mizuha. I could use a few hours without listening to anyone yelling about cables. A rest and a reset before a whole day on planes. Plus, influencer stuff, connections. That was a big reason I even came, remember?”

“Yeah… that's fair, and a spa sounds nice when you put it that way. If you're sure, I’ll leave your pass with security.” She turns back. “Are you okay?”

I give her the bright smile everyone believes. “I’m amazing.”

Once she’s gone, I check my phone. No message. “Enjoy your distance.”

The spa sends a black car, and I film Nagoya through the tinted window before turning the camera toward my bare face. “Recovery day, because sake, it turns out, is not a recognized skincare ingredient despite my dedicated research.”

Mizuha occupies the upper floors of a hotel that smells like white tea and old money. I accept every treatment they offer. If I’m avoiding Kiri, I may as well emerge glowing, smooth, and moisturized enough to be visible from space.

I post a tray of oils beside a folded robe with Today's Office and check the viewers ten minutes later. Kiri watched it. No heart. I smile. Oh, kochany, are you disappointed I’m not beside the stage admiring your bass and pretending I don’t remember what those fingers did to me? I post the steaming bath, city view, and my bare legs beneath a white robe. He watches every one without liking anything. I laugh to myself, at first it's just a giggle and then it erupts into something borderline hysterical.

He's pouting.

Isn't it funny, men insist they don’t want you, then take it personally when you stop presenting yourself for their convenience. During the massage, I finally put my phone down. Warm oil, strong hands, cedar and yuzu, it's bliss. Here, no one needs me to comfort them, perform grief correctly, or think about what Kiri and I are. I only have to lie still, and it’s glorious.

After lunch, the manager asks about a future campaign. I give her my business email and leave feeling like a more expensive version of myself. I still have time to catch soundcheck, but an adorable nail salon across the street is advertising a sudden opening in the window according to the translation on my phone. That confirms it, the universe supports revenge.

I choose short almond nails in translucent pink, elegant despite what these nails were doing two nights ago. I post them with Fresh Set. Kiri watches but still no heart. The technician catches me laughing, and when I explain by just saying men, she nods with immediate understanding. Some truths are universal.

Back at the hotel, I realize soundcheck is nearly over. I could hurry, but my pass will get me backstage whenever I make my entrance. There's no harm in being late, except to Kiri, and that isn’t harm. It’s education. I choose a black minidress that looks restrained from the front and exposes my back when I turn, then add sheer tights, tall boots, sharp liner, and glossy nude lips. Kasia sends a text.

Råvind starts in ten.

On my way.

I reply, and it's technically true, at least, once I find my purse again.

Traffic slows me further but I don't hurry once I arrive. When security checks my pass, Råvind has finished and the arena is going dark. I hear Kiri before I see him. The bass rolls through the concrete beneath my boots, deep enough to rearrange everything I spent the day pretending was settled. A runner leads me to the side-stage guest area, where Kasia stands at the rail and Råvind gathers behind her. She looks me over and whisper-shouts into my ear.

“The spa went well.”

I nod back, then lip-sync the word more than say it, “Perfection.” She smiles.

The band is three songs into the set when I finally settle into the side-stage light. Kiri notices, his fingers never falter, but his shoulders tighten as his gaze moves over my face, mouth, dress, and bare back before his jaw locks.

There it is: all the irritation he withheld from my stories. I lean against the rail like I haven’t spent all afternoon tracking his views. His next bass line lands harder and dirtier, and the crowd screams as he moves toward the front wearing Bomos’s detached expression beneath the veil. I know better now. When his eyes cut back to me, that isn’t Bomos. It’s tired, hungry, irritated Kiri, who watched everything and refused to reward me with a single heart because we’re at war. A war of wills.

I give him a tiny wave with my fresh manicure. His eyes narrow, and I smile sweetly. You wanted me out of your orbit? Well, just look how well I’m doing in my own. My victory is short-lived, it dies the moment the music gets inside me. His hands move over the strings with the same attentive precision he used on me, patient until patience becomes torture. Heat slips beneath my skin, and I pick at some invisible lint on my dress as a distraction. This is why I skipped soundcheck, not because I don’t care, but because I care so much it makes me stupid.

I stayed away because Kiri and I have started playing the same game. He can avoid dinner, I can miss soundcheck, and he can refuse to heart my stories while I arrive three songs late looking like every bad decision he's begging to make.

But the distance between us is still a lie. Even across the stage, I’m still caught in his gravity, and judging by the way he's looking at me, he’s still caught in mine.

Chapter 25

Play Nice

Natalia

While I’m busy pretending I’m not watching Kiri, Rafe and Rithy head down the runway that cuts into the crowd. Rithy moves with the rhythm like the whole arena belongs to him, swaggering toward the end of the catwalk while his fingers fly over the guitar with effortless precision. It irritates me to watch him be this good after his little comment at dinner, but even I can’t deny it. He’s incredible. He isn't flashy for the sake of it, he doesn't need to beg to be noticed. He simply knows exactly what he’s doing, and the confidence of it pulls every eye toward him.