CHAPTER 12
His heart raced like ocean waves crashing against jagged rocks.
"Less than a week!" the instructor had said. "Make it perfect!"
(For Rin!)
(For Takkun!)
(For my dream!)
The stage lights burst across the park in a blinding wash of color.
In that instant, the pounding of Kiyomi's heart was drowned out by the roar of the crowd—cheers, whistles, and excited shouts rolling across the open air.
Kiyomi could barely see the audience beyond the glare of the lights.
Only a vast sea of shifting shadows and glowsticks stretched across Fujimori Grand Park.
Thousands of eyes were watching.
They cheered and shouted, their voices rising like a tide—but they weren't chanting their name.
Not yet.
To his left, Miyu dropped into a low pose.
To his right, Renge mirrored the stance perfectly.
For one brief heartbeat, the three stood frozen beneath the lights.
Then the music began.
Cerb-3ros ignited, a spark catching the gaze of all,
Every eye was tethered, every heart drawn into their sudden orbit.
Each step was a siren's call, every gesture a velvet summons,
Until the stage itself bent willingly beneath the gravity of their will.
(Are you watching?)
Bodies mirrored and entwined, moving as one deliberate thought,
Patterns folded into perfection, each member a rhythm's sharp echo.
And there, amidst the flickering glow of ten thousand lights,
He stood—Takumi—his attention claimed, anchored and unshakable.
(There you are...)
Spins and arcs spiraled toward him, invisible threads pulling tight,
Every motion was a promise kept, every leap a word left unspoken.
Kiyomi's eyes locked with his, and the very air trembled between them,
A song of longing and urgency, a secret shared in a blur of motion.
(Do you desire me?)
Each soul flexed its essence, distinct yet flawlessly fused,
Miyu's icy precision, Renge's jagged fire, Kiyomi's desperate fervor.
A tapestry of intention woven in shared beats and heavy breaths,
Until Takumi's gaze found Sakura again—a sudden pulse of recognition.
(I know~)
The final crescendo erupted, the ground was theirs to forever claim,
Every shadow and every note now echoed with their absolute dominion.
The crowd roared, but the stage remembered its true owners,
Cerb-3ros imprinted the floor, their essence remaining unbroken.
By the time the music ended, the stage echoed with their name.
"Cerb-3ros! Cerb-3ros! Cerb-3ros!"
The last notes of the song drifted into the night air. Cheers surged through the crowd as performers were called back to the stage.
Within moments, the competing idols stood in a single line, hands linked beneath the glare of the lights, facing the judges' table as the results were prepared.
(Watch me…)
A judge stepped forward with a sheet of paper in hand. The rustle of the page sounded strangely loud in the sudden quiet as he approached the microphone.
"And the winner is…"
Fujimori Grand Park held its breath.
For a moment there was nothing—no cheers, no movement—only the faint hum of distant traffic drifting in from the streets beyond the park.
On stage, hearts pounded like distant thunder.
"Aurora Prism."
The crowd exploded into applause.
All five members of Aurora Prism stepped forward as the stage lights shifted, bathing them in bright white beams. Staff members quickly moved into position, signaling the other idols to exit through the backstage corridors.
One by one, the contestants were guided toward their respective mini panels for the post-show handshake sessions.
Aurora Prism delivered their victory speech before launching into an encore, the audience cheering loudly for more.
Meanwhile, the line for the Cerb-3ros panel slowly began to form.
It wasn't long by idol standards—barely three dozen people—but among them stood one familiar figure.
Eventually, he reached the front.
The fan stepped up to the table where Sakura waited.
Their hands met.
"Hey," the fan said with a small smile. "I liked your energy on stage."
"Oh? You like me?" Sakura—Kiyomi—replied with a soft giggle.
Then, suddenly, Kiyomi tugged him closer across the table.
The fan blinked in surprise.
Their faces were so close now that, with the slightest movement, their lips might have touched.
Kiyomi leaned in just a little more, pink hair brushing forward.
"Do you like my smell, Takumi-san?~" he whispered teasingly.
Takumi's eyes widened.
"You know me—?"
Before he could finish, a staff member gently but firmly guided him aside to keep the line moving.
Takumi stumbled away from the booth, still looking back.
Surprised.
Confused.
And most of all—
Intrigued.
Behind the table, Kiyomi watched him go, barely suppressing a grin.
(Sorry, Takkun…)
(But you made me cry earlier.)
Teehee~
The moment the waiting room door closed, the noise of the festival faded into a distant hum.
Mio crossed her arms and grinned at them.
"Alright, girls. Second place isn't bad—especially against Aurora Prism."
"Bau Bau~," the trio replied.
One by one, the idols began filing out of the room, the tension of the competition finally loosening from their shoulders.
Just as Kiyomi and Renge were about to follow the others, Miyu reached out and stopped them.
"Hey," he said casually. "Do you want to stop by my apartment? We could have our own little celebration."
Kiyomi glanced at Renge.
Renge shrugged.
"Sure," they answered.
Not long after, the three of them boarded a train heading toward the Central District. The late evening carriage was quieter now, most of the festival crowd still lingering at the park.
City lights streaked past the windows as the train rattled through the night.
By the time they arrived, the streets had grown calmer.
They walked the short distance to Miyu's apartment building, their footsteps echoing softly along the pavement.
Tonight, there were only Cerb-3ros.
"Welcome to my home," Miyu declared.
Renge glanced around the apartment, taking in the spacious living area. "Your house is big."
"Your sister isn't home?" Kiyomi asked.
"Just follow," Miyu replied, already walking ahead without answering.
He led them into the living room.
On the table sat a hotpot burner with the empty pot resting on top. Beside the table stood a small mini fridge.
"Hotpot, yes!" Kiyomi and Renge said excitedly.
Miyu opened the mini fridge.
Inside were trays of sliced meat, vegetables, instant ramen, and several cans of beer packed tightly together.
The three of them gathered around the table as Miyu filled the pot and switched the burner on. Kiyomi and Renge started pulling ingredients from the fridge, setting them down as they went.
Before long, chopsticks were moving constantly—dropping meat and vegetables into the pot, fishing them out, and eating almost as quickly as they cooked.
Cans cracked open one after another.
They ate eagerly, barely pausing between bites while chugging the beer.
Not long after, warmth settled around them. The room grew comfortable, their faces slowly turning red from the heat and alcohol.
"I want to confess something," Kiyomi suddenly said.
The other two turned toward him.
"My name isn't Sakura, it's—" he continued, his hand lifting to touch his wig.
"Stop!" Renge cut him off.
"I don't want to ruin the moment," he said, shaking his head lightly. "Let's keep the thrill for a bit longer."
Before Kiyomi could respond, Miyu stood up.
He walked over to Renge and placed his hands on his shoulders.
"I want to make my own confession."
Renge swallowed as Miyu gently pushed him down onto the floor, pinning him beneath his weight.
"I think you're cute," Miyu said softly, leaning closer until his lips met Renge's.
For a moment, Renge didn't resist. The excitement of the night, the alcohol, and the lingering rush of the performance blurred his thoughts.
Beside them, Kiyomi giggled.
He crawled over and leaned in, pressing a playful kiss against Renge's cheek.
Miyu leaned back slightly, but Renge caught him by the sleeve.
"Don't stop!" Renge demanded.
Miyu didn't pull away this time. Instead, he pressed Renge back against the floor, the fabric of their stage costumes rustling softly against the hardwood. His movements carried the same rhythm he had on stage—deliberate, controlled, every shift of his weight precise and confident.
Beside them, the world seemed to blur for Kiyomi. His hands moved with a frantic sort of grace, fingers working quickly as he undid buttons and shed the layers of his idol costume until the cool air brushed against his skin.
He watched them.
Watched the way Miyu and Renge's mouths collided again and again, messy and desperate. When they finally pulled apart for a breath, their saliva stretched between them in a thick, glistening strand before snapping, leaving their faces damp and flushed.
By the time Miyu finally broke the kiss, Kiyomi was already bare.
He knelt a short distance away, skin flushed a deep rose beneath the apartment lights. The last layers of the idol costume lay discarded around him, leaving nothing to hide the delicate curves of his body, the soft pink cherries on his chest, or the vulnerable depths he no longer bothered to conceal.
Renge's eyes darkened at the sight. He scrambled up, and together with Miyu, they closed in on him.
Renge leaned in first, his tongue brushing across one of Kiyomi's soft pink cherries, while Miyu claimed the other. The sensation shot through Kiyomi like an electric current, forcing his back into a sharp arch as his fingers dug into the hardwood floor.
The dual friction, the warmth of their breath against his chest, and the intensity of their attention sent his head rolling back, a shiver running through his body as the two of them worked in unison.
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, thick with the mingled scents of spilled beer, sweat, and a faint, sharp tang of salt. The polished perfection of the stage had vanished completely, replaced by something raw and unguarded beneath the unforgiving apartment lights.
Kiyomi's moan drifted helplessly toward the ceiling as his body betrayed him. The relentless friction and the heat of their mouths sent a shock through him so intense he couldn't hold it back. A sudden warmth spread, soaking into the expensive lace and silk of Miyu's and Renge's stage outfits, the same costumes they had worn proudly on stage only hours earlier.
For a moment, the room fell quiet.
Only Kiyomi's ragged breathing broke the stillness, accompanied by the faint sound of the hotpot continuing to bubble softly in the background.
"No turning back," Miyu declared, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly tone. He didn't look annoyed. If anything, the ruined costumes seemed to strip away the last of his restraint. He began undressing, discarding the soaked fabric with ruthless efficiency, as if shedding the final layer of an idol.
Kiyomi's face burned a deep crimson, nearly matching the shade of his wig. He bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out again. His hands trembled, but he reached toward Renge anyway, fingers fumbling with the damp fasteners and buttons of Renge's outfit until the clothes slipped free and pooled onto the floor like discarded skins.
Cerb-3ros sat there—fully bare, stripped of their personas and their defenses. The three of them were nothing but pale skin and frantic heartbeats tangled in the same charged space.
"You look cute…" Kiyomi whispered. His voice trembled as his gaze wandered across Renge's naked form. The words came out simple and honest, cutting through the haze of alcohol and adrenaline.
Renge didn't answer with words.
Instead, he let out a breathless, giddy giggle—the sound of someone who had finally stepped past the edge of hesitation. Then he leaned forward and captured Kiyomi's lips in a kiss that tasted of desperate validation.
Miyu, ever the strategist, reached for the remaining ingredients on the table. He grabbed three whole cucumbers, their cool surfaces a stark contrast to the sweltering heat of the room, and distributed them to the others with a dark, knowing look.
"Crawl..." he commanded.
There was no hesitation. In fact, a surge of excitement rippled through them as they dropped to their hands and knees, forming a tight circle on the hardwood floor. It was a new kind of choreography: Kiyomi followed Renge, Renge followed Miyu, and Miyu followed Kiyomi, their breath hitching as they moved in a slow, deliberate loop.
As if they shared a single mind, a collective giggle broke the silence. The masks were off, the costumes were ruined, and they were finally bare to the thrill.
"Here it goes!"
With a synchronized push, they drove the cool cucumbers into the hole of the one in front of them, the sudden intrusion sparking a roar of sensation. A collective moan erupted from the trio, echoing off the apartment walls
The stroking started slow, a rhythmic, grinding pulse that mirrored the bass of their debut track. Then, as one of them shouted for more, the intensity spiked. Their movements became frantic and uncoordinated, a blur of sweat and desperate friction. The sheer, overwhelming peak of the sensation hit them all at once, and simultaneously, they peed in a surge of pure, primal excitement.
Not letting a single drop go to waste, the circle tightened. All of them leaned in, driven by the manic high of the night and the salt-heavy air. They pressed their faces close, drinking the warm release directly from the sources.
Yet—they didn't stop there. Driven by lust, they began stroking each other using only their mouths. They leaned into the heat, sucking and claiming the little ones with a desperate, frantic rhythm. It was a messy, uncoordinated symphony of friction and breath, fueled by the lingering adrenaline of a thousand screaming fans.
Not long after, the tension finally snapped. They finished together in a collective, shuttering surge, spilling their juice into their friends' mouths. It was the ultimate communion, a shared secret swallowed in the dark of the Central District.
Cerb-3ros finished.