CHAPTER 10
By the next morning, the clip was everywhere.
"My boyfriend hasn't reincarnated yet."
The ten-second moment from Cerb-3ros' interview had already been reposted thousands of times across the internet. Clips titled "Idol waiting for boyfriend to reincarnate" were climbing the trending page.
Takumi was currently obsessed with it, replaying the same clip for Kiyomi over and over as they sat together in the quiet corner of the university library.
(Takkun likes chuuni-type idols?)
"Okay… but we actually need to study," Kiyomi reminded him gently, tapping the end of his pen against the open textbook in front of him.
"Wait, their debut is on May 15th, right?" Takumi asked, completely ignoring the problems on the page.
Kiyomi nodded, his heart doing a small, nervous flip in his chest. He quickly pulled up the event link on his own phone, pretending to check something so he wouldn't have to look directly at Takumi.
"They're going to perform here," he said, turning the screen slightly. "At Grand Park."
"Yeah, you sent me the link…" Takumi paused for a moment, glancing sideways at him. "So… wanna watch them together?"
(Together? Really? This is not a dream?)
"Just the two of us?" Kiyomi swallowed hard. His heart suddenly felt loud enough to echo in the quiet library as he waited for Takumi's answer.
"Yes," Takumi said simply.
A brief beat passed between them.
"Wait, I should invite Miyu—"
"No!"
The word burst out of Kiyomi's mouth before he could stop it.
Takumi blinked. One of his brows slowly furrowed as he studied Kiyomi's face in silence. Instantly flustered, Kiyomi's eyes drifted up toward the ceiling, anywhere but Takumi's gaze.
(What? Why are you looking at me like that, Takkun?)
"Did something happen between you and Miyu?" Takumi finally asked.
Kiyomi released a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Nothing at all…"
"Then it won't be a problem if I invite him, right?"
(Yes… it will be a massive problem…)
"You can invite him then," Kiyomi muttered quietly, already sounding defeated.
Takumi didn't hesitate and tapped Miyu's contact, putting the call on speaker.
"What's up, Takumi?" Miyu's voice crackled through the phone.
"Do you wanna watch the amateur idol competition together? On May 15th?"
"Sure…" Miyu replied.
(Miyu…)
"Three of us then?" Takumi asked again, casually confirming the headcount.
"Oh, actually…"
Miyu's voice trailed off for a moment before a sharp, knowing giggle came through the speaker. On the other end of the line, he had already understood the situation perfectly.
"I just remembered," Miyu continued smoothly, his tone slipping into that effortless, breezy charm he used when teasing. "I'm already booked solid that day. A previous engagement I can't exactly skip. You two go ahead and enjoy yourselves."
(Yes, yes Miyu! Good job!)
Takumi ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"Okay…" he said with a small shrug. "I guess it's just us then."
And just like that, Kiyomi's heart started racing all over again.
In a small apartment in the Northern district, Renge stared at his laptop screen, a dull hum of tension vibrating in his chest.
(So… this is what the world sees of me…)
"My boyfriend hasn't reincarnated yet."
The words glared at him from every feed, every trending page, every notification. Last night's interview clip wasn't just viral—it was explosive. Thousands of reposts. Thousands of comments. "Reincarnation-kun" memes. Half the internet was laughing at him.
Renge pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
(Why am I even alive? No, don't go there. Calm down. You can handle this.)
He scrolled through the comment section:
"This is peak chuuni energy."
"Prince of the Abyss pending reincarnation lol."
"I stan."
Renge groaned, snapping the laptop shut.
(And I have to perform in front of all these people in two weeks? Perfect. This is going to go… really well… not.)
He paced the small apartment, the faint scent of incense lingering from Rin's care package weeks ago. His thoughts flicked to his sister.
(Focus! It's all for Rin!)
"Onii-chan, you're not going to work?" Rin greeted him, leaning against the doorframe. She was still half-asleep, her voice soft but teasing.
"I'm about to," he replied. "Aren't you supposed to be studying? Midterms aren't until late-May, right?"
Rin puffed out her chest, tapping it with a proud little grin.
"I'm the world's best sister. I won't disappoint my brother."
Renge allowed a small, genuine smile to break through his mask. He bent down and tapped her head once. Rin responded immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Being twins of the same height, she could embrace him fully, anchoring him to the spot.
"Congratulations on going viral, Ren," she whispered into his shoulder, her voice earnest. "I'm your number one fan. Always."
Renge ruffled Rin's hair gently, careful not to mess up her hastily tied ponytail.
"Thanks, Rin… I… really need that today," he admitted, letting himself soak in a brief moment of calm before stepping into the chaos outside.
He grabbed his bag, double-checked his notes and wig, then stepped into the crisp Northern District morning. The streets were quiet, the soft hum of early traffic blending with the distant clatter of trains.
At the station, the automated announcements echoed across the platform like a countdown. The train doors slid open with a smooth hiss, and Renge stepped inside. The carriage was mostly empty, and he claimed a window seat. Outside, the city blurred past—a streak of morning light with the remnants of neon still clinging to the glass.
His reflection stared back at him. Despite the wig and the posture, he felt exposed. The viral clip replayed in his mind, static and sharp behind his eyes.
As the train car slowly filled, Renge adjusted his bag strap, the vibration of the rails humming through the soles of his shoes. People murmured around him, scrolling through their phones. He tucked himself into a corner seat, pressing his back to the wall, trying to disappear into the upholstery.
A man a few seats away laughed too loudly, the glow of his phone cutting through the dim morning light.
(Is he… watching the interview?)
Renge's fingers tightened on his strap. Across the aisle, a girl covered her mouth, giggling at her screen. Another man's eyes flicked between his phone and Renge, smirking.
(Don't look at me. Don't look at me!)
He ducked his head, shrinking into the collar of his jacket. Every notification ping from a stranger's phone felt amplified—a constant reminder that he was public property now.
(Breathe… it's just a train. You can handle this. For Rin…)
By the time the train eased into the Southern District, his palms were clammy and his heart thudded like a drum against his ribs.
Stepping onto the platform, he forced his shoulders back. The harbor air hit him, salty and sharp, washing away some of the claustrophobia. Deep down, he knew the world—online and offline—was watching. But he had a job to do.
Every step he took away from the station felt like a slow climb up a staircase where the world was already waiting at the top.
(Focus. I can do this.)
The air inside the café was thick with familiar scents: sweet cream, roasted coffee, and strawberry syrup.
"Welcome back, Princess!"
The greeting didn't come from a customer. One of Renge's co-workers leaned against the breakroom doorframe, phone in hand, the screen paused on Renge's panicked face from last night's interview.
"I see the Prince of the Abyss still hasn't made his appearance," she teased, voice low enough to seem private—but just loud enough to make Renge's ears turn red.
"Don't start," Renge muttered, sliding past her toward his locker. "I've already had a morning full of strangers staring at me on the train. I don't need this here."
"Strangers staring? Renge-chan, you're a hit!" another coworker—tall, slender, adjusting her lace apron—chimed in. "The group chat blew up all night. Even the Manager said engagement numbers for the café are through the roof thanks to your tag!"
Renge drew a deep breath, letting the flustered, embarrassed version of himself fade away. He straightened his spine, adjusted his lace headpiece, and squared his shoulders. Behind the persona, Renge still worried—about Rin, about the performance, about everyone online watching—but Renge had a role to play.
(My sister… I can't falter. She's counting on me.)
When he turned back to his co-workers, his eyes were sharp, his expression a mask of regal authority.
"My fellow children of the night," he intoned, voice dropping into that familiar, exaggerated theatrical trill.
The other maids froze mid-motion, turning toward him. Teasing ceased instantly, replaced by a tangible surge of anticipation.
"Today, like any other day, we shall show the children of light our perfection," Renge declared, sweeping a hand through the air as if gathering the shadows themselves. "The world may whisper, the digital winds may howl, but within these walls, we are the masters of service. Let them taste the eternal. As always!"
"As always!" the maids cheered in unison, spirits lifted by the dramatic Princess standing before them.
Even as he gestured toward the café floor, Renge's eyes flicked to the customers. Some were already holding phones, screens glowing faintly. One girl whispered,
"Is that… the guy from that viral clip?"
(Don't let them see the panic. Focus, Ren. Rin…)
He adjusted his skirt and lace gloves, anchoring himself in the role. Behind every curtsey and delicate step, every smile aimed to charm, was a promise to Rin: he would protect the secret, maintain his poise, and perform.
The days ahead would be long. But the Princess of Eternal Night was ready.