E-book Exclusive Short Story: “A Certain Night’s Indoor Live”

“Phew, I’m beat…”

The words slipped out as I collapsed onto the floor, drained from the indoor workout with Makura and Uyama. We’d been following a muscle-training dance Makura had once taught Uyama, a full-body workout synced to a video blaring on the TV. It was brutal, and the moment it ended, my legs gave out.

“Manamichi-kun, you okay?” Makura asked, holding out a plastic bottle of water with a concerned glance.

“Thanks,” I managed, twisting off the cap and gulping down the remaining half in one go, my throat parched.

“Wow,” Uyama chimed in, wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel she’d pulled from her bag. “You look like someone who survived on baumkuchen in the desert for three days and finally found water.”

“What kinda obscure metaphor is that?” I shot back, catching my breath.

“I was trying to express extreme mouth dryness,” she said with a grin.

“You don’t need a desert diet to feel like this. That dance in a stuffy room is enough to dry you out completely.”

“Eh, really?” Makura tilted her head, her expression cool and unruffled. She’d done the same dance as us—hell, her moves were sharper, more intense, and she’d kept perfect form until the very end. How was she not exhausted?

As if reading my mind, Uyama piped up, “You’re so lazy every day, yet you’ve got that much stamina. As expected of Senpai!”

“Seriously,” I added, still sprawled on the floor. “Those didn’t look like the moves of the Fallen Cult’s leader.”

Makura’s face froze, her eyes widening in mock panic. “Oh no, what have I done? I actually exercised seriously!”

With an exaggerated groan, she flopped onto the bed with a gude, sprawling out dramatically.

“What’re you talking about? You were totally into it,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ugh, I couldn’t help it,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the bedsheets. “When I hear music, my body just… moves on its own…”

Uyama, who’d been listening quietly, suddenly pressed her fingers to her chin, letting out a thoughtful mumu as if struck by an idea. Before I could ask what was up, she snapped her head up.

“Your body moves on its own… right!” she muttered, lunging for the TV remote on the floor. She exited the workout video and typed “Seven Little Elves” into the search bar with purpose.

“What’re you doing?” Makura asked, lifting her head slightly.

“Senpai! You remember this song, right? Your debut single. It’s gotta be burned into your heart and body!”

“Wha—hold on!” Makura protested, sitting up.

The video started, filling the room with the upbeat melody of a live performance by the Seven Little Elves. It looked a bit dated, but there was Makura, center stage, dressed in a frilly white-and-red outfit, her smile radiant under the spotlight. I couldn’t help but glance at the real Makura, then back at the screen. Uyama’s eyes were glued to her too.

“Wait, wait, I’m not dancing!” Makura said, shaking her head vigorously. “I’m already wiped out.”

“Even so? Your body’ll move on its own, won’t it?” Uyama teased, her tone playful.

“It won’t move! I only got into it earlier because I was already up and moving, and the music was familiar. Right now, I’m completely powered off.” Makura buried her face back into the bedsheets with a huff.

“Ugh, Senpai, you’re no fun,” Uyama pouted, letting out a dramatic buu.

“Say what you want. Goodnight.”

“Whoa, she’s actually going to sleep!”

I turn my eyes to the TV screen. The idol Makura danced with boundless energy, a stark contrast to the current Makura, self-proclaimed leader of the Fallen Cult. The difference was almost jarring.

“Please, Senpai! Just a little bit!” Uyama pleaded.

“No way!” Makura shot back.

“Muu…” Uyama bit her lower lip, casting her eyes downward with a sad tone. “I won’t force you, but I was really looking forward to seeing your dance after so long…”

At that, Makura peeked over her shoulder, her resolve wavering. The song on the TV moved through its first and second verses, heading into a long interlude.

“…Since we’re already warmed up, maybe just a little,” Makura muttered reluctantly.

Uyama’s face lit up. “Yes!”

“Just this once. Absolutely this once,” Makura emphasized, standing up. She did a quick warm-up, lightly lifting her thighs and twisting her body. As the final chorus kicked in, she began to dance.

“Wow!” Uyama gasped, and I found myself holding my breath.

It was mesmerizing. In the cramped room, Makura’s arm movements were sharp and precise, her turns perfectly balanced without a hint of wobble. She swayed her hips, pointed forward, and flashed a peace sign with a dazzling smile. Her movements matched the idol Makura on the TV flawlessly, as if no time had passed at all.

Even after nailing the chorus, she held her poise, striking poses until the music faded. With a short fuu of breath, she spun to face us.

“Good enough?” she asked, a hint of pride in her voice.

Uyama, who’d been staring in awe, snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly. “Uh, I-I-I’ll pay you, thank you so much!” she stammered, fumbling for her wallet.

“No, no, stop that!” Makura said, waving her hands to stop her. “I just danced a little. Besides, Kuruha-chan, you’re part of the same idol group, aren’t you?”

“But still! That was seriously amazing!” Uyama insisted, trying to pull out a bill while Makura attempted to block her. The scene was absurd, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Still, I agreed with Uyama’s enthusiasm. “It was great to see up close. Thanks,” I said sincerely.

Makura turned to me, her expression softening into a proud grin. “Hehe!” she said, her eyes sparkling with quiet satisfaction.