People in Mygo are emotional firefighters.

Then, she reverted to her mischievous and playful demeanor and stuck out her tongue.

"To be honest, the way you were a little flustered but obedient just now was actually quite interesting! I still prefer to be able to be more unrestrained in front of you, to say whatever I want and do whatever I want, without having to worry too much."

“So,” Mio Serizawa blinked, as if sharing a little secret only the two of them knew, “this gentleness I’m showing now is an investment I’m making so I can appear more ‘energetic’ and more ‘whimsical’ in front of you, senpai! You’d better remember this favor!”

Hearing Mio's series of frank yet slightly cunning "truths," Ishikawa Mayu was momentarily speechless.

"...I understand." He finally nodded slightly, a slightly helpless yet relaxed smile unconsciously curving his lips. "...Whatever you want."

These words were like a small permission, instantly making the light in Mio's eyes shine even brighter.

She stopped talking and just sat quietly on the stool, resting her chin on her hand. Her gaze occasionally swept over Mayu's fingers as he tuned the strings, as if she were thinking about something important.

So the only sounds in the rehearsal room were the occasional sound of Mayu plucking the strings to test the music, and the peaceful, alternating breathing of the two of them.

This quietness wasn't awkward; on the contrary, it had a rare sense of comfort.

Suddenly, Mio Serizawa turned her head, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Mayu, her voice filled with a hint of excitement: "Ah, senpai!"

"Hmm?" Ishikawa Mayu stopped what he was doing and turned his head to look at her.

A bright yet mysterious smile bloomed on Mio's face. She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on her knees, and said in a light tone, "Didn't you say before that you would promise me a 'compensation'? I've already figured out what I want!"

Chapter 175 The Pretense Is Running Out

When Ishikawa Mayu heard Mio say that she had thought of the "compensation" to be made, he was about to listen carefully—after all, it was a promise he had made himself, and no matter what the other party asked for, he would do his best to fulfill it as long as he could do it.

“Senpai,” Mio placed her hands on her knees, leaned forward slightly, and stared at him with her beautiful eyes, her voice filled with expectation and a hint of nervousness, “I want—”

She paused, as if confirming her final wording, and then said clearly:

"—Could I have a family ticket for the senior band's performance this Sunday?"

This desire had actually taken root in her mind before rehearsals even began, when she heard from Kana that Masahiro-senpai had an important performance that weekend. This might be the last chance in the near future for her to spend time with her senior outside of work, in a relatively special capacity.

Kana also mentioned that Ishikawa-senpai at school was the same way—always keeping to himself and rarely getting close to anyone except for Chihaya, the pink-haired girl.

Would such a senior really have many "family and friends" who want to invite him to watch his performance?

Mio even imagined the scene of her senior holding two thin family member tickets, somewhat troubled, wondering "who should I give them to?" Perhaps in the end she would quietly put them away, or simply not intend to give them away at all.

If that's the case...

If I ask him for one, it shouldn't be too difficult for him, right?

Once the thought arose, it entwined her heart like a vine.

Yes, she wanted that ticket.

It wasn't a perfunctory "compensation" but a genuine, very real desire to sit in the audience and watch the seniors shine on stage.

But she didn't want to put her senior in a difficult position.

That's why she chose this moment—to exchange it with that "promise." This way, the senior wouldn't feel that she gave the vote out of pity or charity, but rather that it was a fair and square "exchange."

My senior promised me.

So... it should be fine, right?

Mio looked at him, waiting for his answer. Her smile remained bright, as if she were simply asking for a piece of candy.

The rational voice within her spoke clearly.

Judging by the standards of "strategy veterans," this was an absolutely terrible move.

What a valuable opportunity it is to get a senior to promise "anything that doesn't violate the rules and that they can do." You can use it to arrange a date alone, ask the senior to play a song just for you, or even create more opportunities to get to know each other better.

What else can a family ticket offer besides allowing you to sit in the audience and watch a performance?

But I don't want to "strategize" anymore.

Mio said this softly but firmly to herself.

The closer she got, the more she understood, the more clearly she realized that she was uncontrollably sliding towards a dangerous edge.

The attention initially presented as "passion for shipping," the tentative advances explained as "driving the relationship," and the intimacy disguised as "role-playing"... have all shed their veneer of excuses through repeated real interactions.

When a senior colleague promises to bring her her favorite dessert, saying, "I'll secretly bring it for you next time."

When her senior accepted the milk tea she had bought because she had been scolded, he whispered "thank you."

When a senior is tired, you let your guard down in front of her and let her help you wipe your face and guide your breathing.

When a senior looks her in the eyes and says, "Whatever," allowing her to be even more willful in the future—

Each time, it left an even deeper mark on her heart.

I can't keep up the act anymore...

This realization terrified her.

She could accept having feelings for her senior, even that those feelings might be deeper than she imagined. But what she couldn't accept was falling completely for him, knowing full well that he might already have someone else in his heart.

That would be too embarrassing.

[Furthermore... the collaboration with the agency should also come to an end tomorrow.]

The recording and promotion period for the new song will eventually end, and the intensive training phase will also conclude. At that point, what reason will she have to consistently appear before her seniors every week?

Should she start racking her brains to find excuses? "How do you play this chord, senpai?" "Senpai, I'm just passing by, do you want to meet up?"—just thinking about herself like that made Mio feel embarrassed.

Even if she likes someone, Mio Serizawa must maintain her pride and dignity.

and so……

Let's put a period here, in a perfectly fitting way.

Let's use that concert ticket as the end of this brief encounter.

She would sit in the audience, watching his focused profile as he played the violin, observing his seamless interaction with the band members, and noting the relieved yet triumphant smile he might wear after the performance.

Then, amidst applause and cheers, silently say in your heart, "Senior, good luck" and "Senior, goodbye."

Let's capture this time we spent together as a warm, slightly regretful yet beautiful memory.

The story of the energetic junior Mio Serizawa and the gentle senior Maya Ishikawa has come to an end.

As for those feelings that quietly sprouted but hadn't yet been expressed...

Let it remain outside the stage lights.

Mio told herself this, her smile remaining bright, as if she were truly just looking forward to an interesting performance.

"What's wrong, senior?" She tilted her head, her tone light. "Have all the tickets... been sent out yet?"

Ishikawa Mayu frowned subconsciously, her eyes darting around, her fingers tracing the edge of the violin case. She had just given away the tickets; there really weren't any more to give away…

As Serizawa Mio looked at Mayu's troubled expression, her smile, like a candle flame extinguished by the wind, visibly dimmed little by little.

As expected... it still doesn't work.

It seems that even a decent, warm farewell ceremony is a luxury they cannot afford.

Well, that's fine... It's all cleanly cut off, leaving no lingering thoughts.

She quickly lowered her eyes, and when she looked up again, a brighter, more cheerful smile had returned to her face, as if the moment of disappointment had never existed.

"Haha!" She even let out a slightly exaggerated laugh on purpose, waving her hand, "Your expression is so serious, senior! I was just kidding!"

She tilted her head and said in a playful tone that was a mix of coquetry and a successful prank:

"As for family tickets, I know my senior has already arranged them! Why would I make a request that would put him in such a difficult position? Besides, it's not like I can't buy my own tickets to the concert."

Seeing her sudden change in attitude and that smiling face, Zhenyu felt a slight pang in his heart, not relief, but a deeper, heavier sense of guilt. He opened his mouth: "Serizawa, I..."

“So—” Mio raised her voice slightly, interrupting any explanation or apology he might have given. Her smile remained unchanged, but her gaze shifted slightly, landing on the water dispenser in the corner of the rehearsal room, as if she were seriously considering an alternative.

"That request was just a joke! The real 'compensation' is—"

She paused for less than a second, then said in a light, almost casual tone:

"—Then buy me a milk tomorrow! Just the kind of plain milk that's sold in convenience stores, the kind in a cardboard box!"

She turned her face to look at Zhenyu again, her eyes curving into crescents, her tone as relaxed as if she were discussing the weather.

"This is very simple, isn't it? Surely you can't even do this, senior?"

After Mio finished speaking, she even winked playfully.

486.jpg

Chapter 176 What to Do If You Don't Need It

With just a glass of the most ordinary milk, you can fulfill that once incredibly precious promise of "any request," and from then on, you're even, with nothing to lose.

She waited for her senior to nod and say "okay," or even just give a helpless smile. Then, everything could be over.

However, the expected nod or agreement did not materialize.

She saw that after hearing her new "request," Ishikawa Mayu shook her head slightly, almost without any hesitation.

That subtle yet clear movement was like an extremely fine needle, unexpectedly piercing into Mio's heart, which she had just managed to compose herself.

The deliberately maintained, light and bright smile on her face froze instantly, as if the pause button had been pressed. The light in her eyes dimmed and went out little by little, leaving only a blank, incredulous look of bewilderment.

How could this be... not even this?

All I wanted was a bottle of milk to end things cleanly and decisively. Is that not even allowed?

A strong surge of embarrassment mixed with rejection welled up inside her, wiping out the last bit of strength she had left to hold on.

Pride, dignity, and a "clean farewell" all seem pale and laughable at this moment.

She couldn't even muster a fake smile anymore.

The forced smile crumbled completely, her bright eyes drooped, and her long eyelashes cast a tired and dejected shadow beneath them. The "vitality" she had just cultivated vanished as quickly as the tide receded, leaving her with an undeniable air of listlessness and dejection.

"...Senior." Her voice was soft, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. Gone was the previous lightness or playfulness; only utter confusion and a hint of... hurt remained. "What does this mean?"

She raised her eyes and looked at Zhenyu. In those big eyes that were always full of smiles or slyness, confusion and a faint accusation were clearly reflected at this moment.

"Can't I even have a glass of milk every day...?"

As Zhenyu watched the light on her face fade rapidly, and saw the confusion and hurt clearly appearing in her eyes, his heart felt as if it had been suddenly clenched by something.

He subconsciously moved closer to Mio. The two weren't far apart to begin with, and his movement caused their shoulders to lightly touch. The summer clothing was thin, and the warmth of their body heat was clearly transmitted through the fabric.

Mio trembled slightly at his sudden approach and instinctively tried to shrink back, but there was a wall behind her. She raised her eyes, still filled with confusion and hurt, and looked at Mayu, who was so close to her.

“Mio,” Ishikawa Mayu’s voice rang out, lower and much more serious than usual. He did not avoid her gaze, but looked directly into her large eyes, which seemed particularly vulnerable at that moment.

"You are my favorite junior."

He spoke these words clearly, without hesitation or any hint of joking, as if he were simply stating a perfectly natural fact.

Mio's eyelashes trembled violently, and her pupils dilated slightly.

"Moreover," Mayu continued, her tone serious and unwavering, "she just did me a huge favor. She saved me from losing face in front of Hatsuka-senpai and Kana, and she also helped me... calm down."

He paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he felt his expression was inaccurate.

“So, if it’s just asking for a glass of milk…” He shook his head, his expression not one of refusal, but of an almost stubborn “disapproval,” “This doesn’t even qualify as ‘compensation’.”

"On the contrary... if bringing you milk makes you smile, that would make me very happy."

The moment the words left her lips, Mio was completely stunned.

My senior said... seeing her smiling face would make him "very satisfied"?

How could he say something so natural, something that sounded almost like a confession and was so touching!

"As for the concert tickets," Mayu, oblivious to the tsunami churning within Mio, continued earnestly, following his own train of thought, "I'll definitely find a way. Give me some time, okay?"

Mio listened intently to every word Mayu said. Each word was like a warm raindrop falling on her already frozen heart, yet it did not stir up the slightest ripple, leaving only a deeper, damp sorrow.

Yes, my senior is really kind.

So gentle that he felt even offering a glass of milk as "compensation" was too hasty, and insisted on giving her something "better".

But... in the end, I still have to say goodbye.

This thought was like a boulder constantly falling, dragging her heart deeper and deeper into a cold abyss. The more she felt this pure and selfless tenderness, the clearer she saw the line between them—that clear and unyielding boundary called "inevitable separation."