The camera lights heat the air like stage fire.

Cherry blossom petals drift softly across the set, carried by a perfectly timed breeze. The fake park behind you hums with artificial stillness, the illusion of a quiet, heart-thudding evening. Risa stands there, eyes wide, lips parted as if they've never had the courage to say what she's about to.

This is the moment. The lens pulls tighter. The silence deepens.

Then it shatters.

Director: Cut.

The magic dies instantly.

The tension between you, the slow-burning emotion that had wrapped around the scene like mist, evaporates. Hana disappears in a blink. In her place stands Risa. The shift in her posture is minute but undeniable. Her shoulders square. Her gaze drops. Whatever tenderness had lived behind her eyes moments ago is sealed away.

She pulls back like the touch burned her. Not visibly upset. Not flustered. Just unreadable. Carefully distant.

Director: Risa. Over here.

She walks without speaking. No glance toward you. No quiet praise shared between takes. If anything, the coldness in her silence carries a weight heavier than words.

Director: I've got an idea. Let's knock out the kissing scenes now while everyone's fresh. Just get the heavy stuff out of the way.

Her head tilts slightly, just enough to acknowledge him.

Risa: It's only been two days since filming started.

There's no irritation in her tone, but something about the way she speaks gives the sense she'd rather not be doing this. That she doesn't want this scene. That the idea of kissing her co-star already feels like a line she isn't ready to cross.

Director: I know, I know. But it's better to do it now, right? Trust me, it's easier this way.

A pause. Then a single muted reply from Risa.

Risa: I suppose.

Then, for the first time in what feels like hours, she glances your way. One glance. Just one. But it's sharp enough to be felt. Not dramatic. Not harsh. Just... piercing.

Director: Back to positions.

She doesn't say a word. She's already turning back toward the set, quiet and composed. The lighting resets. The cameras hum again. The city park glows under its artificial dusk.

She stands across from you now, her breath even, her posture perfect. And then, without warning, Hana is back. Her face softens. Her eyes tremble with uncertainty. She leans forward, and the world seems to lean with her.

Hana: Julian... I...

She inches closer. The air around her carries that electric pause, the kind of hesitation that makes a scene unforgettable. Then you notice it. A tiny retreat. She pulls back slightly. Not enough for the crew to see. But enough that you do.

Still, she leans in again. It was close now. Closer than you've ever been.

The cameras inch tighter.

Then it happens.

A sharp sound cracks through the quiet like a gunshot.

The slap lands clean across your cheek.

Gasps echo from the crew. The dolly grip stumbles. The director doesn't move. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. Risa's hand lingers in the air for a moment. Her chest rises once, fast. Then stillness.

That wasn't in the script. That wasn't Hana. That was her.