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Entertainment Weekly Japan

Valkyrie to Expand Reach: Kagehira Mika Announces Relocation to France

In a monumental press conference held at Cosmic Production's headquarters, Kagehira Mika of the elite idol duo "Valkyrie" announced a major shift in his career trajectory. Starting next month, Kagehira will officially relocate to Paris, France, to reside with his unit partner and renowned couturier, Itsuki Shu. Represenatives confirmed that while France will be their primary residence, they will maintain a "dual-country" status, spending six months of the year active in the Japanese idol circuit. "We ain’t leavin’ our fans here behind. We’re just makin’ Valkyrie’s world a bit bigger," Kagehira addressed with a smile. … [click to expand for more]

Business Daily

Saegusa Ibara on Valkyrie’s Global Strategy

Vice President Saegusa Ibara has voiced his full support for Valkyrie’s move to Europe. "By establishing a permanent base abroad, Cosmic Production secures a foothold in the western fashion and entertainment industry. Under my meticulous planning, their six-month rotations will ensure that their domestic influence remains absolute while their global brand value skyrockets!" … [click to expand for more]

Nippon Pop Culture Crave

Exclusive Interview with Kagehira Mika: A New Chapter in Paris

Our correspondent sat down with Kagehira Mika to discuss the logistics of his move and what it means for the future of Valkyrie. Excerpt below:

Interviewer: This is a huge step, Kagehira-kun. Many fans were worried this meant the end of Valkyrie in Japan. How are you feeling about the transition?

Kagehira: Nngh, it’s a bit scary, I guess? I never thought I’d be livin’ in a fancy place like Paris. But as long as I’m with Oshi-san, I know I’ll be okay. He’s already planned it all out.

Interviewer: Itsuki-san is known for being quite strict. Will the six-month split be difficult to manage?

Kagehira: Oshi-san is just... he’s passionate! He wants everythin’ to be perfect an' I do too. The schedule is gonna be busy, but we’ve worked out the travel so we can still perform lives here. I’m just happy I don’t have to say goodbye to him every time he goes back.

Interviewer: Do you have a final message for your Japanese fans before the move?

Kagehira: Just... thank ya for lovin’ an' supportin' us. I’m gonna work hard to become an idol ya can be even prouder of. I’ll see ya all at the meet-n-greet next week! … [click to expand for more]

The air in the venue was thick with that heavy, bittersweet feeling of a long goodbye, reminiscent of their time spent in airport terminals. Mika kept his back straight, trying to mimic the regal way Shu sat next to him, but his heart was thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird. This was their last big event in Japan for a long while, and every time Mika looked at the line of smiling faces stretching out past the heavy velvet curtains beyond the stage, he felt a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away even when he swallowed.

They’d been at it for what felt like hours, and the progress was slow and steady, a rhythmic tide of people moving through the hall. To Mika, it felt like a river of memories flowing past, each person a reminder of why he’d worked so hard to become a proper idol suited to Valkyrie.

Beside him, Shu was exactly how he always was: the very picture of elegance. He sat there with his gloved hands folded, signing photocards, t-shirts and CDs with that sharp, elegant script of his. He didn't let anyone touch him, aside from the odd, rare handshake—but there was absolutely no high-fives or hand holding or cute poses or hugs—just a curt nod and a short but genuine exchange of words.

"Keep your posture in mind," Shu would tell a fan who was slouching from nerves, or "Art requires discipline," to someone showing him a drawing and asking for advice.

Shu was intimidating, sure, but their fans knew better.

Today especially, they were trying their absolute best to be on their Best Behaviour, acting all reserved and polite just like Shu always told them to. It was like they were looking at a god in a cathedral, keeping their voices low so they wouldn't disturb the peace. There was a reason, after all, why some reverantly called him Shu-sama.

Mika could feel the intensity of Shu’s presence radiating next to him, a steadying force that kept the room from descending into total chaos. It was a comfort Mika found pride in truly understanding—the way Shu’s strictness was just bringing to form his deep, unwavering proctiveness.

Mika, on the other-hand, couldn’t help himself.

Every time a fan reached out, he was grabbing their hands, shaking them, and doing all those cute poses Shu usually scoffed at and called "fan-service." But, Mika felt like he had to give them everything he had before he went away.

He was especially popular with the kids; little boys and girls would come up to the table with wide, shimmering eyes, and Mika would lean over, ruffling hair or making finger-hearts that made them giggle. He felt like a big brother to half the room, and the way they looked up at him with eyes full of admiration, made his chest feel tight with a complicated warmth he couldn’t describe.

His palms were a bit clammy from the hundreds of hands he'd held, which was one of the reasons why Shu always chose to wear gloves at these events, but Mika didn't mind one bit.

"Mika-chan, please don't go!" one little girl sobbed, handing him a plushie of a black cat with mismatched button eyes. The tag on it read Neko Atsume: Kitty Collector.

"Aw, don't cry, don't cry! I'm comin' back, I promise," Mika told her, squeezing her hand. "I’ll be back fer six months next year 'fore I leave again. We’re splittin' our time, see? I ain't leavin' ya all fer good."

He must’ve said those words a thousand times today. Six months here, six months there. He had to keep reiterating it because every time someone looked at him with those watery eyes, he felt a bit like he was abandoning them, even though he knew that wasn't the case, knew he was just finally moving toward the life he wanted. Hand-in-hand with Shu.

His side of the table was a disaster zone compared to Shu’s neat station. He had piles of sweets, well-wishing letters, handmade charms, and even a short roll of fabric someone thought he’d like. His fans were so excitable; they’d scream and wave enthusiastically and tell him exactly how much they loved him, and Mika would just giggle and try to answer every single question they had.

"Is the food in France good?"

"Will you do more photoshoots over there?"

"Will Shu-sama make you eat snails?"

Mika laughed at each one until his cheeks ached. "Snails? I think I’ll stick to candy," he’d whisper conspiratorially, leaning in like they were sharing a big secret. The kids loved when he did that.

Every few minutes, Mika would steal a glance at Shu. His presence was an anchor; as long as Mika could hear the scratch of his pen or the soft huff of his breath, the chaos of the room felt manageable to his easily frayed nerves.

His partner was currently carefully scrutinising a fan’s handmade embroidery with a critical but not unkind eye. Fans often brought their work to him for feedback, and Mika knew Shu enjoyed it; that it had his pride preening. 

And sometimes, when he'd glance over, as a bonus he'd catch Shu watching him out of the corner of his eye, usually with a tiny, almost imperceptible frown twinging between his eyebrows that meant Mika was being too loud or too informal. It was the exact same look Shu gave him across the breakfast table—the one that appeared whenever Mika got too excited and started talking with a mouthful, or when he’d accidentally track a dusting of dirt across their apartment floor. Even when Shu looked away to address a fan, his shoulder remained angled toward Mika. 

The overall support was overwhelming. Even the fans who were clearly upset about the move were cheering for him. They talked about Valkyrie's "global stage" and how they’d wait for their return and welcome them back every year like it was a festival. It was a little too much to take in, that he somehow meant so much to all these people, but Mika was grateful nonetheless.

As the hours trickled by, the physical exhaustion began to settle deep into their bones. Mika's voice was getting a bit raspy, and his rigid spine was begging him to slouch, but he kept his smile pinned firmly in place.

The pile of "goodbye" gifts had grown so large that staff had to start moving them backstage, and his hand was starting to cramp from all the signing and shaking. No doubt, his hair was scuffed up and messy from the amount of cat-ears, flower crowns and other silly headbands he'd worn throughout the day.

Mika shifted in his seat, his leg brushing against Shu’s under the table. Shu didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned just a fraction of an inch closer, although his face gave away nothing. It was a wordless gesture of support that filled Mika’s chest with warmth and tugged a small, private smile at the corner of his mouth.

Mika looked at the next person in line, a tall boy with a nervous smile, and felt a rush of gratitude. He wanted to remember every single face in this room. He wanted to take all this warmth with him across the ocean, so when he was doubting his place in a big city like Paris, he could remember that here, in Japan, he had a place where he was welcome. Anzu was at the end of the table, nodding encouragingly at him as she directed the line of fans, scanning their wristbands as they shuffled on stage.

Thanks to their efforts, most of the fans had already passed through, and the line was gradually thinning. Mika took a deep breath, trying to settle the painful buzzing in the nerves running up his wrist. He was tired, his side was cramping from sitting so long, and his throat was dry. But he was happy. He was so, so happy. He chanced another look at Shu before the next fan approached, soaking in the sight of him. He felt so lucky—not just to be an idol, but to be the one who got to stand by Shu's side and be closer to him than anyone else.

"Next, please!" Mika called out, his voice a bit hoarse but tone bright, reaching out his hand in a wave to welcome the next person into the beautiful world Valkyrie had built for the afternoon.

The next fan was a young man. He had fluffy, dark hair that looked soft even from a distance and a pair of reddish-brown eyes that sparkled with a nervous, boyish energy. He was dressed simply in a denim jacket and matching jeans, looking like any other university student who’d spent his meagre savings on a ticket to see his idols.

As he stepped up to Mika’s station on the stage, urged on by Anzu, he seemed to hesitate, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.

"Hello! Don't be shy, come over," Mika chirped, trying to force the slight rasp from his voice. He reached out, offering a hand before the boy could even speak. "It’s real nice to meet ya."

The fan took his hand, his grip slightly shaky and a little sweaty. "I... I'm Saito," he whispered, his face flushing a deep pink. "I’ve waited a long time for this… I can’t believe you’re actually real."

"In the flesh!" Mika teased, giving his hand a playful little squeeze.

Saito let out a small, breathless chuckle, his shoulders finally relaxing. "It’s just... you’re really special to me, Mika-kun."

Mika felt that familiar, tugging warmth in his chest. "Thank ya kindly, but really, I'm just like anyone else."

"No," Saito said, his voice suddenly earnest, dropping an octave. He leaned in closer, his reddish eyes locking onto Mika’s mismatched ones with an intensity that made the hair on Mika’s forearms stand up. "I grew up in a orphanage, too. Like you. I didn't have anyone. I felt like... like a piece of trash that nobody wanted. But then I saw you. I saw how you worked so hard, how you became something beautiful. You gave me a reason to keep trying."

Mika’s breath hitched. He briefly forgot about the cameras, the managers, and the thousand people who had come before. In that moment, he just saw a mirror of his younger self. "Saito-kun... thank ya. Truly. If I could help ya feel like that, then everythin' I went through was worth it. Ya ain't trash. Yer human, and yer supportin' us, and that makes ya part of our world too."

"Can I... can I take a photo? Just one?" Saito asked, pulling out a smartphone with a cracked screen.

"Course ya can! Come 'ere!"

Mika didn't wait to corral over a staff member. He leaned bodily over the table, pressing his cheek near Saito’s so they could both fit in the frame. He flashed a peace sign and his brightest, most lopsided grin.

The camera snapped.

"Thank you," Saito whispered, staring at the screen with a look Mika couldn't quite place. "You really are perfect."

At the end of the table, Anzu caught Mika’s eye. She tapped her watch with a gentle, apologetic smile, signaling that they were behind schedule and needed to move Saito along to Shu. Mika gave her a helpless, "just one more second" look.

"I gotta let ya go to see Oshi-san now," Mika said softly, patting Saito’s arm. "But remember what I said, 'kay? Ya ain't trash, yer a human. Don't give up an' keep fightin'."

Saito nodded slowly, gifting him another sweet rosy-cheeked smile.

However, as he shuffled the few feet to the left and came to a stand before Shu, his expression shifted into something more guarded.

Mika tried to focus on the next person in line—a young girl with an artbook—but his peripheral vision stayed glued to Saito, his instincts gnawing at him.

Usually, when fans moved from Mika to Shu, there was a transition from high energy to hushed reverence. But as Saito approached Shu, the air around them seemed to chill in an entirely different way.

Shu didn't look up immediately; he was finishing a flourish on a poster. "Your name?" Shu asked, his voice crisp and professional.

"Saito," the boy said. That sweet shyness was gone. His voice was flat, almost mechanical. It was as if a mask had slipped, revealing cold marble underneath; as if the boy who had been blushing just mere seconds ago was replaced by a hollowed out shell. Mika tensed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Do you have an item for me to sign, or a question?" Shu reached for a fresh poster, his movements fluid and practiced.

"...You're taking him away," Saito murmured quietly. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

Mika froze in shock, his hand halfway through signing the artbook for the girl in front of him who gave him a puzzled look, his gaze snapped towards Shu so fast he almost felt dizzy.

Shu had paused, his pen hovering an inch above the paper. He looked up, his violet eyes narrowing with sharp disdain.

"I beg your pardon?" Shu asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "Valkyrie is expanding its horizons. If you were a true patron of the arts, you would understand that stagnation is death."

Saito’s hands were trembling now, but it didn't seem to be from nerves like before. He reached into his denim jacket, pulling out a photo-card of Mika for Shu to sign. "He was fine here. He was happy here. You're the one who wants France. You're the one who’s stealing him from us because you’re selfish. You think you own him."

Hearing such accusations levelled at Shu, Mika felt a hot, angry flush tense his entire body.

"Hey, Saito-kun—" Mika started, his tone stern. But the boy didn't even spare him a glance. Saito’s gaze remained fixed on Shu with an obsidian focus.

"Silence, Kagehira," Shu snapped, though not really at Mika. He stared at Saito down his nose, unafraid. His was voice a whip-crack of authority, "I do not answer to the whims of those who view our craft as an unchanging commodity. If you cannot respect our decisions, you are no fan of mine nor his. Now, do you want this signed or do you want to be escorted out?"

For a moment, it seemed as if Saito would back down; the boy slouched his shoulders, the tension bleeding out of his frame as he stuffed his hands deep into his denim pockets.

Shu huffed, reached for his fountain pen, uncapping it with a sharp click.

However, in that split second, the world slowed to a crawl. The ambient noise of the hall melted into a low, detail-less thrum.

Mika saw it first, his gaze sharpened with a terrifying clarity focused on one point; the subtle, creasing shift of fabric in Saito's right-hand pocket and the way the overhead stage lights caught on a glint of cold metal as it was slowly being fished out.

Saito wasn't looking at Shu's face anymore. His eyes were fixed on Shu’s throat, a look of twisted, righteous fury painted across his features.

In that vacuum of a split-second, Mika realised with a jolt of shooting adrenaline what was about to happen.

He didn't stop to think it through.

Mika's body acted on an instinct honed by years of catching Shu when he fainted, of holding him close as he silently trembled, of protecting the only person who ever gave him a chance to be something more. It was a muscle memory born from a thousand quiet emergencies they'd suffered through together.

"Oshi-san, move!"

He tackled Shu, his shoulder slamming into Shu’s chest with a force that knocked the breath from both of them, but successfully knocking him backwards and out of the line of danger.

The sound of the impact was dull—a sickening thud followed by the sound of tearing fabric.

For a heartbeat, Mika thought he’d just bumped into the table's edge. But then came the cold. A freezing, numbing sensation in his side, followed instantly by a white-hot bloom of agony that felt like someone had dumped a bucket of molten lava on him.

Mika’s body twisted as he stumbled, the momentum dragging him across the blade. The serrated edge caught on his clothes and sliced a jagged, deep path upward along his side as he collapsed in a heap of pain.

"Kagehira!"

He hit the floor hard, his head bouncing off the polished wood with a loud crack. Everything instantly went blurry. The ceiling lights morphed into long streaking halos of white as his eyeballs pulsed. He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt like they were full of broken glass that cut him with every inhale. He caught a bleary glimpse of Saito’s distraught face—not a monster’s face, but a boy’s face, all too painfully human. 

"Get him! Secure the stage!" A voice—maybe Anzu?—was barking orders. There was the sound of heavy footsteps, the crashing of a table, and a chorus of shouts from the terrified onlookers. Distantly, he could hear some sort of evacuation alarm blaring.

Mika tried to look down, but his neck wouldn't move. He felt something wet. It was soaking into his shirt, hot and heavy. He’d worked so hard on this outfit. Shu had spent hours teaching him how to perfect a ladder stitch.

Sorry, Oshi-san, he thought, his mind lost in the haze of shock.

Then, a blurry face appeared in his doubled vision, blocking out the aggressive white of the ceiling lights.

It was Shu. His hair was disheveled, a few strands falling over eyes that were wide with a naked terror.

"Kagehira? Kagehira! Look at me!"

He wanted to, but his neck wouldn't move.

Shu was on the floor with him, oblivious to the blood staining his own pristine trousers. He slid his arms under Mika’s shoulders, lifting him into his lap with a desperate, trembling strength.

"Don't... don't cry..." Mika tried to say, but only a wet, wheezing sound came out. He coughed, and more of that sticky wetness crawled up his throat. 

"Be quiet! Don't speak!" Shu’s voice was hysterical. He was shouting at someone. "Where is security?! You! Call an ambulance!"

Mika felt Shu’s hands fluttering across his face. They were gloved, but Mika could feel the shaking through the fabric. Warm droplets began to fall onto Mika’s cheeks—one, then two, then a steady rain from above.

"Oshi... san..."

"I'm here, I'm right here," Shu gasped, pressing his forehead against Mika’s and staring into his eyes, unblinking. "You idiot. You complete and utter fool." He hissed through angry tears, teeth clenched.

Mika’s vision started to fade, the edges turning a dull red. The pain in his side was changing, moving from a sharp twist to a heavy, thrumming beat that vibrated in his very bones with each pounding kick of his heart. He felt so cold he thought his teeth would start chattering.

He looked up at Shu, and for a moment, he wasn't in a convention hall. He was back at Yumenosaki, standing on a dark stage, watching the world he loved fall apart. He saw the same look in Shu’s eyes now; that lost helplessness, that devastating heartbreak.

But this time… this time, Shu was the one holding him. As if Mika were the only thing in the universe that mattered.

Shu’s face was the last thing Mika saw—twisted into a painful expression and eyes reddened with tears—before the world tilted on its axis and dumped him into the cold dark.

Entertainment Weekly Japan

Flash Update: VALKYRIE MEMBER STABBED DURING FAN GREETING

Reports are flooding in from the Tokyo Metropolitan Event Hall following a violent altercation at Valkyrie’s end of year meet-and-greet. Witnesses describe a chaotic scene where a fan lunged at unit leader Itsuki Shu with a concealed weapon, only for Kagehira Mika to intercept the attack. Kagehira was seen being rushed to an awaiting ambulance, his condition is currently unknown. The assailant was apprehended by security and remains in police custody. Representatives for Cosmic Production have cordoned off the area, and the remainder of the event has been canceled. Fans are speculating… [click to expand for more]

Crime Watch Japan

A Targeted Attack? The Updated Investigation into the Kagehira Mika Stabbing

The Metropolitan Tokyo Police Department has identified the suspect in the Kagehira Mika stabbing as 23-year-old Takahasi Saito. His motives have not been made public. Questions are being raised regarding the security protocols at the venue, as the suspect managed to smuggle a weapon past initial checkpoints. Fans have gathered outside the hospital in Shinjuku, holding a silent vigil. Cosmic Production has released a brief statement: "Our primary focus is Kagehira’s recovery. We ask for the public to respect their privacy during this sensitive time." … [click to expand for more]

Pop-Pulse Tokyo

"No Mercy": CosPro Vice President Saegusa Ibara Vows Legal Retribution

In a brief, fiery exchange with reporters outside the precinct tonight, Saegusa Ibara looked visibly shaken but remained characteristically sharp. When asked about the status of the investigation, Saegusa stated, "This was a calculated strike against our talents. We are cooperating fully with the authorities to ensure the maximum sentence is pursued." … [click to expand for more]

The Backstage Pass

The Move Interrupted: What the Attack Means for Valkyrie’s Future

Just days after their triumphant announcement of their relocation to France, Valkyrie faces its darkest hour. Sources close to the duo say that Itsuki Shu has not left the hospital since the ambulance arrived. The idol industry is reeling, with many artists calling for a total overhaul of fan-interaction safety. Speculation remains high on whether Kagehira Mika will be fit for international travel in the coming months, or if the dream of Paris has been permanently deferred by a single senseless act of violence. … [click to expand for more]

Official Press Release: Cosmic Production

Statement on the Health of Kagehira Mika

"We are relieved to announce that Kagehira Mika has successfully undergone emergency surgery and is currently in stable condition. He is being monitored closely by a team of specialists. Out of respect for the recovery process and the ongoing criminal investigation, no further public comments will be made at this time. We thank the fans for their overwhelming outpouring of love and support."

Mika woke to the plush hardness of the bed beneath him. It was a strange, unforgiving sort of sensation that made him feel simultaneously comforted but also unwelcome to stay. A thin sheet was draped across his lap, but it was useless against the persistent draft of cool air blasting from a vent somewhere above him.

Mika’s eyelids felt as though they had been super-glued shut. He struggled against the weight of them, consciousness slowly rolling over him in tides, accompanied by a dull headache. As he blinked awake, the world began to sharpen into a blur of pale blues and sterile whites.

He made the dazed realisation: this is a hospital.

Mika shifted his head just an inch to get a better look around—the movement sent a sharp, electric jolt of pain radiating from his waist up to his shoulder—and spotted a figure in pale green scrubs moving near the foot of his bed; a nurse.

The nurse was methodical in a way that reminded him of Shu as he danced around his atelier. She was currently checking the plastic bags hanging from a metal pole, her pen scratching softly against a clipboard. Mika watched her through half-lidded eyes, his mind struggling to categorise what he felt. There was a tightness around his middle, probably a thick layering of bandages. It forced his every breath to feel shallow, clipped short by a responding sharp stinging tug at his gut that made him feel like he had been stitched back together too-tight.

The nurse moved closer, then she reached out to gently lift the edge of the stiff hospital sheet, and that’s when Mika finally saw it. A clear, thin plastic tube snaked out from beneath the heavy mountain of gauze taped to his side, carrying a pale red, trickling fluid into a bulb laid on the side of the bed.

Mika’s breath caught in his throat, an intense flood of revulsion crawling up his throat as he realised the tube didn't just sit on top of him—it disappeared directly into the hole in his side beneath the gauze. He followed the line of the plastic tubing with a dulled sort of horror, struggling to comprehend the sight.

Was that tube really inside him?

The thought made him feel lightheaded, his stomach rolling with a dizzying nausea.

Once he managed to tear his eyes away from the sight with a grimace, he realised the nurse had noticed he was awake, her face had softened into a kind, professional smile.

"Welcome back, Kagehira-san," she said softly, her voice a soothing contrast to the low hum of the room. "You gave us quite a scare."

Mika tried to respond, his lips parting to form a name—Shu—but all that came out was a pathetic, sandpaper-dry rasp. His throat felt like it had been lined with sawdust, and his tongue felt three sizes too big for his mouth. He felt a sudden, frantic spike of panic—was his voice gone?

"Easy now," the nurse cautioned, reaching for a plastic cup on the bedside table. "Would you like some water? Anesthesia tends to dry out the throat."

Mika nodded with as much enthusiasm as his stiff neck could manage. The nurse supported the back of his head with one hand, tilting a thin plastic straw toward his lips. The first sip was a cold heaven and soothed his throat. He sipped greedily until she gently pulled the cup away.

"Slowly now," she reminded him. "We don't want you getting nauseous."

Mika swallowed, his voice returning in a shaky gasp. "Wha... what happened? Where...?"

The nurse pulled a chair closer, her expression turning serious and her tone clear. "You’re in the Shinjuku Hospital. You were brought in yesterday afternoon with a severe stab wound to your lower right abdomen. You underwent emergency surgery to repair the muscle wall, which is why you have a drainage bag. It's keeping your wound from swelling."

Mika blinked at the information overload, understanding less than 50% of what she had just said, even though she had spoken slowly and carefully. Memories began to surface like bubbles in a soda.

A denim jacket. Reddish eyes. A glint under the light. Shu's hands cradling his face.

Fear gnawed at his insides.

"Is... is Itsuki Shu...?" Mika’s voice trailed off, his heart rate spiking on the monitor.

"He’s perfectly fine," the nurse assured him, reaching out to pat his hand.

Mika let out a shuddering breath, the tension leaving his frame so suddenly it felt like he was sinking through the mattress.

But the relief was short-lived as the nurse continued, her voice professional yet tinged with a gravity that made the air feel thin.

"The knife missed your iliac artery and your colon by less than a centimetre. You can consider yourself incredibly lucky, Kagehira-san."

Mika tried to process the information, but it was all foreign concepts that felt far away. Technical terms for the messy, fragile things that kept his body somehow moving.

So all he could focus on was the "less than a centimetre" part. 

A centimetre. The width of a button on one of Shu's waistcoats. The distance between two stitches on a lace cuff. Such a pathetic, microscopic amount of space to hold the weight of a human life. A centimetre away from never making it to Paris. A centimetre away from never seeing Shu smile or laugh or kiss him again. If he had tripped a second later, or if the blade had been angled just a fraction differently, the "forever" they had promised each other would have been cut short.

The gravity of it settled over him, heavy and cold, making his chest feel tight.

He thought of the apartment waiting for them across the ocean—the two coffee mugs in the cupboard, the two pairs of worn slippers tucked neatly by the door, the two toothbrushes leaning toward each other in a single ceramic cup. He felt indescribably small in the face of it all, shivering under the hospital blankets as the monitor continued to beep, a persistent reminder of his life.

Yet, even as the chill of the "what-if"s settled into his bones, a quiet, stubborn spark of certainty flickered in his chest. He looked down at his bandaged side, feeling the rhythmic throb of the wound, and realised he didn't regret a single second of it. If that centimetre was the price for Shu standing whole and unscarred, Mika would have paid it a thousand times over until he was a unrecognisable bloody smear on the floor, if need be.

Mika glanced around the room, his eyes searching the shadows in the corners.

"Would you like us to contact him?" she asked, already moving toward the door.

He nodded so hard his headache throbbed anew. "Mhm! Please! Tell 'im... tell him that 'm up!"

As she slipped out into the hallway, Mika tried to pull himself together—to look a little less like death warmed over before Shu arrived.

He tried to smooth his messy hair with one hand, but the IV line tugged at his skin, and his arm was heavy like it was made of tungsten steel. He settled for trying to tuck the thin hospital blanket more neatly around his chest. He wanted to look like the strong boy who had protected Shu, even if he currently felt like a oily slab of raw meat. He wondered if he looked scary with all these tubes. He didn't want Shu to be afraid of him. Or grossed out.

Left in the quiet alone once more, he felt whatever cocktail of medication he was on starting to pull at his eyelids again. Mika tried to blink himself awake again, but his eyes felt impossibly dry and the lights were just so bright.

He let his head loll to the side on his pillow, and resisted the painful urge to curl up in a ball. The steady beeping of the monitor started to sound like a lullaby, reminding him that he's alive.

He'd just rest his eyes for now. Only until Shu arrived.

The second time Mika woke up in his hospital bed, the world didn’t feel quite as blurry. He blinked, the dryness in his eyes still persistent. But as his vision locked onto a familiar silhouette, any lingering fog of sleep burned away instantly.

Shu was sitting stiff in a metal armchair pulled right up against the bed, leaning toward the nurse who was finishing her rounds. He looked completely unraveled; haggard in a way that made Mika’s chest ache far worse than the wound ached at his side. His usually perfectly styled, pink hair was limp and oily, clinging to his forehead in messy clumps. His violet eyes were bloodshot and underlined by bruised shadows, and remnants of eyeliner smudged across his cheeks. Even his posture was compromised by a slight slouch, as if the weight of the last few hours was physically crushing his shoulders.

"—and his temperature is stable?" Shu was asking, his voice low but sharp with a jittery edge to it. "And the drainage—you are certain the color is within the normal parameters?"

"All things considered, he’s doing very well, Itsuki-san," the nurse replied patiently in the face of his relentless nagging.

Mika shifted, wanting to sit up, a small sound escaping his throat as he jostled his wound. Shu’s head snapped toward him instantly. The transition in Shu’s expression was instantaneous—from a defensive frown to a raw, naked relief that looked almost painful.

"Kagehira," Shu breathed, his hand, bare now, instantly finding Mika’s resting atop the stiff sheets. "You’re awake again. How are you feeling? Do you have pain?"

"I’m okay, Oshi-san," Mika whispered, his voice still a bit thin and rasping. He turned his palm upward and squeezed Shu’s fingers as best he could. "Where'd ya go? I woke up 'fore an' ya weren't there…"

Shu’s expression darkened for a second, a shadow of lingering fury darkening his face. "The authorities," he spat, though he kept his voice low. "I had to fill out a formal report. They had me in a small room for over an hour, wheedling out all the gruesome details."

Mika felt a wave of overwhelming exhaustion just hearing about it, if he weren't already laying down perhaps he'd be toppled over by it's force. The police, the reporters, the reality of what Saito had done—it was all too much to process while his body ached at the joints like it was held together by gauze alone.

He really didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to look at Shu.

"Oshi-san," Mika said softly, his mismatched eyes searching Shu’s tired face. "Are ya okay?"

The question seemed to strike Shu like a physical blow and he recoiled, his breath caught in his throat.

He looked down at Mika, and a flicker of incredulous anger crossed his features. "Am I okay? You—you absolute buffoon! You are lying in a hospital bed with a... a hole in your side, and you have the audacity to ask if I am okay?"

Despite the harsh words, Shu’s grip on Mika’s hand tightened with a desperate, trembling strength. He was breathing hard. 

Then, with a sudden, fervent movement, Shu brought Mika’s palm to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there as if he were trying to breathe life into him.

"I saw you fall," Shu whispered, his voice cracking. He didn't look up, his forehead coming to rest against Mika’s knuckles. "I saw that man dive forward... and then you were there, and then you were on the floor. You were gasping, Mika. Your eyes... they were hazed over, seeing nothing. I thought I was watching the life drain out of you."

Shu fought against the cries that had begun to rack his chest, a bundle of raw vulnerability pressed against Mika’s hand. Mika felt a surge of desperate protectiveness. He tried to sit up again, his other hand reaching out to cradle Shu’s face, but the movement pulled sharply on the fresh stitches in his abdomen.

"Nngh—!" Mika groaned, the pain lancing through him like a hot blade. He slumped back, his breath hitching as he remembered the reality of his mangled side.

"Stay still, you idiot!" Shu scolded through sniffles. He angrily wiped at his eyes with the back of his other hand, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought... when you were in surgery... I realised I had never truly said it. Not properly. I was paralysed by the thought that you might vanish before you knew how much I love you. That… I might never get to tell you at all."

Shu’s hand moved from Mika’s knuckles to his cheek, his palm warm and trembling weakly against Mika’s skin. The weight of the words washed over Mika like a wave—Shu expressed his love through the delicate care of every outfit he made, the hours spent guiding him into new skills, the late-night calls and daily "Good Morning" messages, the gentle attentiveness with which he carried out maintenance—but hearing it spoken aloud, stripped of all artifice, made Mika’s heart stutter in his chest. He wondered if that would be reflected somewhere on the machine display.

Struggling against the growing wave of emotions, Mika felt his own eyes wet with tears. "I know, Oshi-san. I always knew. But thank ya fer sayin' it." He gave a watery smile, trying to comfort the man he loved. "When it happened… I just moved on instinct. I saw him comin' fer ya, and my brain just... it just knew I had to be in the way. I couldn't let anythin' happen to ya."

This only made Shu tear up again, his shoulders shaking violently as a fresh wave of grief rolled down his cheeks. Mika reached up, fighting through the pain, and gently wiped at a stray tear on Shu’s face. "Yer lookin' real snotty right now, Oshi-san. It ain't a very elegant look fer the great Shu-sama."

Shu let out a wet, indelicate snort, a sound so uncharacteristic that it made Mika giggle.

Shu rubbed at his face with his sleeve again, looking embarrassed but slightly more himself. "Be quiet. You have no right to critique my appearance right now."

The moment was interrupted by the door swinging open with a flourish. Saegusa Ibara marched in, his phone pressed tightly to his ear and his voice a sharp staccato of orders. Behind him, Anzu trailed in, looking utterly drained. She settled quietly at the opposite side of the bed from Shu, her expression grim behind her fringe.

"I don't care about their 'exclusive rights'! If one more reporter even breathes in this direction, I’ll have their credentials revoked!" Ibara barked down the line, before decisively hanging up. He looked at Mika and exhaled. "Kagehira-shi. I'm glad the surgery was a success. We are suing everyone—the venue, the security, the organisers—hell, throw in a couple of those nosy reporters as well."

Shu scoffed, rubbing at his own forehead, "If those cowards have even a shred of self-preservation, they won't try fighting it."

Anzu leaned in, her voice soft. "Mika-kun... I'm so sorry. I should have stopped him. I let him past."

"Anzu-chan, don't," Mika said firmly. "It wasn't yer fault. I’m just glad everyone’s safe." He looked between Shu, Anzu, and even the frantic Ibara buzzing on the spot from stress. He felt a profound sense of warmth; he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared if he lived or died. It was a strange, dizzying realisation for someone such as himself.

Ibara reached into his bag and handed Mika a familiar phone, now adorned with a spider-webbed screen. "Your phone. It was stepped on in the rush, but it still functions. Your roommates and friends are blowing it up. Do me a favour and send a message before they storm the building."

Shu glared at Ibara, frowning. "Kagehira is on strict bedrest, the screen will strain his eyes."

"It's okay, Oshi-san," Mika said, scrolling through and checking the dozens of missed calls and text messages.

Ibara asked the nurse about the discharge, but Shu cut in, reciting the medical details with accuracy. "They’re keeping him overnight for supervision to monitor the drainage and ensure there’s no post-operative fever."

Ibara raised his eyebrow at the curt reply, but nodded. He turned to ask something else, but his phone rang again, and he left as quickly as he arrived. Anzu gave Mika one last tired smile before following him out alongside the nurse, talking to her in a low voice about providing a formal medical report to the police.

Mika stared at the cracked screen of his phone, the weight of the concern from his friends settling over him. He saw multiple messages from his friends and his roommates, but his thumb hovered over one name in particular. He knew Naru-chan would be the most inconsolable; she wore her heart on her sleeve just as much as he did. It's what made them such great friends.

Without hesitating, Mika called her. She picked up on the first ring, crying into the phone. "Mika-chan?! Oh my god, are you okay? I saw the news!"

Mika answered softly, a smile creeping across his lips. "I'm okay, Naru-chan. Stitched up an' tucked in. Oshi-san is here takin' care of me."

"Hmph," Shu huffed under his breath, crossing his arms but leaning closer to hear the call. "As if I would trust anyone else with such a task."

"He better be!" Arashi threatened tearily. "I swear, Mika-chan, my heart stopped when I found out. You have to promise me you'll just be a pampered little princess for at least a month! No dancing, no exercising, just rest!"

Mika smiled, feeling a bit of his old energy return. "I promise, Naru-chan. I'll be the best patient ever. Oshi-san won't let me do anythin' anyway."

"He certainly won't," Arashi sniffled, her voice gaining that familiar, playful edge. "And don't you think for a second that Itsuki-senpai is the only one who's going to be doting on you."

Mika giggled, though he winced slightly as the movement pulled at his side. "That sounds real nice, Naru-chan. I'm lookin' forward to seein' ya."

They ended the call with Arashi promising to bring flowers tomorrow to brighten the "drab, boring room." Mika looked at the plain white walls and thought that he’d really like that.

With just the two of them alone, the room fell into silence.

"Oshi-san?" Mika asked, glancing at the TV. "Can we watch somethin'? It’s too quiet."

Shu usually loathed television, but today, he didn't argue. He passed Mika the remote and Mika flicked to a random channel showing an unfamiliar kids' program with colourful animals. Something harmless and friendly that wouldn't upset either of them.

Feeling a little emboldened, Mika wheedled in a soft voice, "Oshi-san... can I have a kiss too?"

Shu huffed, seeing exactly what Mika was doing, but he didn't refuse. He leaned over the bed, his hand coming up to cup Mika’s jaw.

"You can be dangerously manipulative," Shu whispered, though there was no bite in the words, and a small smile curled at his lips.

"No one would ever believe ya even if ya tried to tell 'em," Mika teased, his voice a low, playful thrum.

Shu’s gaze softened, his thumb tracing the curve of Mika’s lower lip with a focus that was almost painful in its intensity. "A misconception that will surely be my undoing," he murmured.

Mika's breath hitched as he closed the distance, his eyes fluttering shut.

The kiss was slow, careful, and filled with a desperate, quiet relief. It tasted slightly of the salt from Shu’s tears and Mika was sure his own taste wasn't any better, but it was the most grounding thing Mika had ever felt. Shu’s thumb lightly stroked Mika’s cheekbone, his touch lingering.

They pulled apart, staring deeply into each other's eyes. Shu’s gaze was searching, tracing every line of Mika’s face as if reminding himself that he was still there.

Mika didn't ask for permission this time. He tilted his head up just enough to bridge the gap again, his lips meeting Shu’s in a second kiss. It was deep press of heat that made Mika’s heart hum a steady rhythm against his ribs. Shu let out a low, shaky exhale against Mika’s mouth, his fingers tangling slightly in the messy hair at the nape of Mika’s neck, holding him close with a gentle, fierce possessiveness.

As Mika took him in after they finally broke away, he saw how truly spent Shu was. His movements were heavy and sluggish. Even if it was under medication, Mika at least had been able to sleep and get some semblance of rest; Shu looked like he hadn't had a moment of peace since the day began. The dark circles beneath Shu's eyes were stark against his pale skin, and the way his hand trembled as it left Mika's jaw didn't escape Mika's notice. The fine lines around Shu's eyes seemed etched in place by hours of agonising uncertainty. 

If it was Shu laying in this bed instead, Mika didn't think he’d fare any better.

In fact, he was certain he’d be a total wreck—probably worse than Shu was now. He’d be wailing and clinging to the doctors' coats, unable to even form a coherent sentence through the sheer, blind panic of a world without Shu. He would have been pacing the halls until his heels bled, or perhaps he’d be frozen in that armchair, unable to breathe or speak until Shu opened his eyes.

A heavy realisation settled over him: Shu is just a man who loves Mika, and that love has made him agonisingly vulnerable.

Mika shuffled to the side of the bed as much as he could, gritting his teeth against the aching pull in his side, and patted the small space. "Come lay here, Oshi-san." 

"Absolutely not," Shu denied quickly, but his voice was tired and his tone lacked strength. "I will not risk hurting you further. The space is far too narrow, and the risk of aggravating your wound is—"

"It'll be fine," Mika interrupted, his voice soft but unyielding. He reached out, his fingers catching the hem of Shu’s sleeve. "I care 'bout ya. Look at ya, Oshi-san... If ya don't lay down, yer gonna collapse, and then I’ll really have somethin' to worry 'bout."

Mika pouted, and pulled out the big guns. "Please? I’ve been so scared, Oshi-san... I need ya close. It hurts an' I’m cold..."

On a wrung-out day like this, Shu’s resistance crumbled without much press.

"You truly are a terrifying creature, Kagehira," Shu reiterated under his breath, though his voice was dripping with a tenderness that betrayed him. "To use your own suffering as a weapon against my better judgment..." With a weary sigh, he carefully climbed in next to Mika, mindful not to jostle the small bed too much.

Mika happily settled himself onto Shu’s chest, the sound of Shu’s steady heartbeat the best song he'd ever heard. Shu wrapped an arm around him, pressing another soft kiss to the top of Mika’s head.

Mika shoved one of his bony legs between Shu’s so they'd be inseparable even in sleep and sighed, feeling finally at peace, surrounded by Shu’s scent and grounded by his touch. He turned his face into the crook of Shu’s neck, breathing in the faint lingering scent of his cologne; something expensive and floral, though now tainted by the salt of sweat and musk. 

Mika felt Shu’s fingers begin a slow, rhythmic stroke through his hair as they relaxed, the weariness seeping from their bones.

"Oshi-san?" Mika whispered into the fabric of Shu's shirt, his voice muffled and thick with sleepiness.

"Mm?" Shu hummed, the vibration of his chest rumbling pleasantly against Mika's cheek.

"I love ya. So much. More than anythin'," Mika murmured, his hand clutching a handful of Shu's rumpled shirt. 

The stroking of his hair paused for a heartbeat, then resumed, softer than before. Shu shifted, tucking his chin over Mika’s head. "And I you, Mika. Now, be silent and rest. I am not going anywhere."

In this small, cramped hospital bed, the rest of the world temporarily ceased to exist. There was only the warmth of their bodies, the distant chatter of the television, and the steady, shared rhythm of their breathing.

Mika drifted off again, but this time, he wasn't falling into the aimless dark alone.

The transition from the sterile, fluorescent halls of the hospital to the warm, domestic chaos of their Paris apartment had been a blur of long-haul flights and Shu’s constant, sharp-eyed vigilance.

Now, three weeks into recovery, Itsuki Shu, the Great Artiste, had transformed into a relentlessly nagging nurse.

"Kagehira! What did I tell you about trying to reach things on high shelves?" Shu’s voice rang out, his tone terse.

Mika, who had only been trying to reach a jar of strawberry jam for his toast, froze with his hand mid-air. He winced, not from the pain in his side—which had long since faded to a dull, manageable thrum—but because he was certain that Shu had been looking away, safely distracted by their growing collection of potted plants.

"I was just gettin' the jam, Oshi-san," Mika wheedled, turning around with a lopsided grin and a guilty sparkle in his mismatched eyes. "The doctor said I gotta start movin' more so I don't get all stiff."

"Moving, yes. But under the guidance of professionals," Shu huffed, sweeping into the room. His expression was one of severe disapproval. He plucked the jar from the shelf and set it firmly on the counter. "Sit. I will prepare it for you."

Mika sighed happily, hopping onto a stool and admiring Shu’s hands. 

"Yer real good at this, ya know," Mika teased, leaning his chin on his hand. "Maybe ya missed yer callin' as a chef."

"Do not be absurd," Shu snapped, though the corner of his mouth twitched with the faintest ghost of a smile. "And sit up straight."

Mika straightened his spine, eyes sparkling. He looked around their apartment—the two coffee mugs drying by the sink, the two pairs of slippers by the door, and the sunlight hitting the two desks they had finally pushed together. It was exactly as he had imagined it.

Shu placed the toast in front of him, but before Mika could take a bite, Shu leaned in, his fingers catching Mika’s jaw. He didn't say anything at first, his violet eyes searching Mika’s face with that lingering, quiet intensity. He was checking—was always checking, these days.

"Does it hurt today?" Shu asked, his voice dropping to a low, private register.

"Nah," Mika whispered, reaching up to cover Shu’s hand with his own. "Jus' feels a bit tight. I'm okay, Oshi-san. Really."

Shu let out a long, slow exhale, the tension shedding from his shoulders. He leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to Mika’s forehead, his lips warm against the skin.

"Now, eat. Slowly," Shu murmured against his hair. "And after that, you are to lie on the chaise longue while I read to you. I’ve decided we are finishing Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal today. No arguments."

Mika beamed, taking a large, bite of his toast that definitely sent a few crumbs scattering onto the clean counter. He kicked his dangling legs. "Wouldn't dream of it, Oshi-san."

Shu huffed, already turning away to hide his exasperation, but Mika saw the small, satisfied smile he was trying to hide.

They were home. At last.

Nippon Pop Culture Crave

Exclusive Follow-up: Kagehira Mika on Healing, Home, and Saying "I Do"

Following the news of their engagement, we caught up with Kagehira Mika during a brief stopover in Tokyo. The idol appeared radiant, sporting a bespoke, antique-inspired band on his left hand.

Interviewer: Congratulations, Kagehira-kun! The fans are absolutely buzzing. Tell us, how did the proposal actually happen?

Kagehira: Ah, thank ya! To be honest, it wasn't some big stage show. We were just havin' tea in our apartment. Oshi-san was lookin' at me real serious-like, and then he just... he started talkin' about how he couldn't imagine his life without me in it. I started cryin' before he even finished askin'!

Interviewer: It’s been two years since the incident. Does this feel like a way of finally closing that chapter?

Kagehira: Yeah, I think so. Fer a long time, we were just glad to be alive. Back then, we already knew we didn't wanna waste another second bein' apart. Now, it's just bein' made offical. We're buildin' somethin' new on top of it.

Interviewer: And the ring? We heard it was a custom design?

Kagehira: Mhm! Oshi-san made the sketches himself. He said the metalwork is meant to look like intertwined thread. It’s the most precious thing I own. I’m just... I’m the luckiest person in the world, aren't I? … [click to expand for more]