Chapter Text
When Xichun first heard that her brother was in an idol company and doing concerts, she thought it was a joke or that she was insane… or both. Probably both.
Until she saw him on a stage, singing and dancing with others. It was strange to see her brother like that… she didn’t even have the words to describe it.
Strange? Weird? Awkward?
Well, as long as he was happy with it, she wouldn’t complain.
Still, that didn’t explain why the hell she was sitting on the floor of a dance studio in the Limbus building, watching her brother train with part of his group. She wasn’t even that into idols. Sure, she found some of them cool or cute, but that was it.
She almost didn’t notice the person standing in front of her. Her pink eyes lifted and found someone holding out a bottle toward her.
It was a woman with black hair and golden eyes. In the pupil of her left eye were Roman numerals in white, arranged from I to XII.
And in her right eye, instead of a normal pupil, there were the hands of a clock—thin white pointers, unmoving, perfectly centered.
“Uh… you look like you’re about to pass out just from watching,” the woman said, holding the bottle a little too stiffly. “Hydration is important. I think.”
Xichun stared a little too long.
The woman blinked. “Is there something on my face? Wait—don’t answer that. Actually, you can answer that. Is there?”
Xichun slowly took the bottle.
“You’re weird,” she said flatly.
The woman straightened slightly, looking almost offended—then immediately uncertain.
“Ah. I’ve been told that before. Usually in less polite ways.”
Behind them, the music stopped abruptly.
“Five, six—no, wait, that was off! Sorry! Again!” the woman suddenly shouted, spinning around toward the boys with frantic energy. “You were half a second late on the turn! And the expression—uh—more sparkle! But not too much sparkle! Controlled sparkle!”
The group groaned but reset into position.
Xichun raised an eyebrow.
“…I guess you’re the manager?” she asked, standing up.
The woman turned back to her, almost bumping into a chair in the process.
“Yes! I mean—correct. Manager. Technically. Among other things.” She cleared her throat and tried to stand straighter. “Dantalian. But you can call me Dante.”
There was a strange pause.
Then she added, quieter this time, “I’m in charge of keeping them together. And on schedule. And alive. Preferably in that order.”
“Jia Xichun.” She shook Dante’s hand firmly. “Thanks for taking care of my brother. I know he can be… a handful.”
Dante’s golden eyes flickered toward Hong Lu for just a second—sharp, assessing, protective.
Xichun noticed.
Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
From awkward duckling to something almost dangerous in less than a heartbeat.
Hong Lu had certainly picked up an interesting manager.
But just as quickly as it appeared, that sharpness vanished.
Dante nearly tripped over her own words when she focused back on Xichun.
“Oh! Well—yes. I mean. That’s my job. Mostly. He’s… energetic.” She hesitated. “And expensive. Emotionally. And sometimes financially.”
A beat.
Then, more quietly, “But he’s working hard.”
Across the room, Hong Lu laughed brightly at something one of the members said before snapping back into formation.
Dante’s clock-hand pupil shifted almost imperceptibly toward him—just a slight adjustment, like time correcting itself.
Then she looked back at Xichun, her awkward smile returning.
“So. You’re here to supervise me? Because I should warn you, I don’t have a performance evaluation form prepared.”
“Oh, no,” Dante added quickly, waving her hands a little too fast. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to wait for your brother out here. If you’d prefer, you can stay in another room. It’s quieter. Less… glitter.”
Xichun considered it for a moment before shaking her head.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I rarely get to see the Honorable Jade of the family like this.”
Dante didn’t miss it.
The way Xichun spoke Hong Lu’s title—sweet words wrapped around something sharp enough to draw blood.
Her head tilted slightly.
“Should you change your mind, just ask,” Dante said evenly. “After all, you’re the guest.”
“I’m more curious how you convinced him to join an idol company,” Xichun admitted.
“It’s not really an idol company,” Dante began, frowning slightly as she tried to organize her thoughts. “It’s more like… a mix of everything. Performance, media, events. We even have a women’s group performing in another Nest recently. On its own, it’s just a giant group with too many schedules and not enough sleep.”
She paused.
“And about Hong Lu… I have no idea.”
Xichun’s eyebrow rose slowly, and Dante shrugged helplessly.
“Even if I did know, it would feel weird to talk about something personal while the person is literally in the room… and most of the time, he does what he wants.”
As if on cue, Hong Lu suddenly did a small, shameless twerk mid-transition.
The entire room burst into laughter—everyone except Meursault, who did not even blink.
Even Yi Sang looked like he was physically restraining a chuckle, lips pressed thin as if fighting for composure.
Hong Lu only grinned brighter at the reaction before slipping flawlessly back into position as though nothing had happened.
Dante pressed her fingers against her temple.
“…See?” she muttered. “He does whatever he wants.”
“…Can you please bring me to another room,” Xichun said slowly, voice hollow, “and give me a bottle of bleach?”
Dante nodded with a solemn little smile and gently guided Hong Lu’s sister out of the dance studio.
They talked lightly while walking through the corridor, their footsteps echoing against polished floors and high ceilings. Posters of past performances lined the walls—glittering outfits, dramatic lighting, carefully curated smiles.
Neither of them noticed the rapid footsteps approaching from around the corner.
Dante did.
Her instincts as the manager of twelve deeply problematic individuals kicked in instantly. She stopped just before the intersection.
Xichun, unfortunately, did not.
She took one more step forward—
—and walked directly into two solid bodies moving at full speed.
For one absurd, crystalline second, a single thought crossed her mind.
“Is this how I die? Run over. Inside a FUCKING building?!”
Xichun braced for impact.
But instead of pain, she felt… warmth.
And softness.
“I told you not to run, Chiquita!” a female voice scolded from somewhere very, very close—so close that Xichun could feel the vibration in her back.
Another voice, directly in front of her, spoke in a rapid stream of breathless curiosity.
“Art thou another idol recruited by my manager, esquire?! What is thy name? How old art thou? Hey—art thou injured?”
Xichun slowly opened her eyes.
She was greeted by a pair of sparkling hazel eyes, far too close for comfort.
When she tilted her head back slightly, she met another pair—clear, bright blue, peering down at her with equal parts concern and confusion.
Only then did her brain begin assembling the pieces.
Her back was pressed firmly against the woman behind her.
The back of her head was resting—no, sinking—into an impressively generous chest that was currently functioning as an accidental pillow.
Meanwhile, seated directly on her lap was a blonde woman wearing a white tank top and pink dolphin shorts, very short Dolphin Shorts, apparently unconcerned with gravity, physics, or personal space.
The softness currently occupying her lower half was… alarmingly noticeable.
Very noticeable.
Extremely.
Somewhere in the background, someone let out a low whistle.
Another person coughed in a way that was absolutely not an attempt to hide laughter.
Dante, several steps away, covered her face with one hand.
“…I looked away for three seconds,” she muttered.
The blonde woman on Xichun’s lap blinked down at her, then smiled brightly.
“Oh! Thou art quite comfortable!” she announced cheerfully, as if this were a perfectly normal observation, letting her Chest Bounce with the movement.
The woman behind Xichun adjusted her grip slightly to steady her.
That only made things worse.
Xichun’s brain officially shut down in self-defense.
There was only one reasonable response to this situation.
Her face turned redder than a tomato.
A thin line of blood slipped from her nose.
And she released a shriek so sharp and high-pitched it could have rivaled a boiling kettle.
The sound echoed dramatically down the corridor.
Several doors opened.
Someone clapped.
Dante sighed—the sigh of a woman who had accepted that this was simply her life now.