"Huh?" Natsumi blinked, snapping out of her trance. She looked at Jun, and that familiar, vivid blush immediately painted her cheeks.

  There she is, Jun thought. Back to normal.

  "Natsumi is always like that once she picks up a camera," Tamaki said with a knowing smile.

  "I have to ask," Jun said, looking at the girl who had reverted into a nervous penguin. "Why is a 'Night-Moving' company operating in the middle of the day?"

  "Because," Natsumi whispered, her face heating up as she remembered the 'action movie' incident in the club room, "sometimes it’s easier to vanish during the day. When the 'target' is at work... and the house is empty."

  "Our motto is simple," Tamaki added. "Whatever makes the escape more efficient."

  They pulled up to a modest, detached house. They didn't get out immediately.

  "The key to a 'Daytime Vanish' is naturalism," Tamaki briefed Jun. "We have to look like friends dropping by for a visit or a casual move. No suspicious movements. Don't leave a single breadcrumb for the neighbors to follow."

  "Go."

  Five people stepped out of the two vans. They moved with the relaxed, leisurely pace of people out for a stroll. They reached the front door and knocked.

  A woman opened it. Her face was gaunt, her eyes darting around in a state of constant, low-level panic. There was a faint, greenish bruise on her temple.

  As soon as the door closed, the team exploded into silent, practiced motion. They began packing and sorting belongings with surgical speed. Jun, as the rookie, was assigned to the heavy lifting. He stood by the door, watching these specialists work with a quiet, intense focus.

  Natsumi was leaning against the wall, her camera out. She was recording everything, her expression stone-cold and professional. Noticing Jun’s confusion, she leaned in.

  "We record every interior for the archives," she explained. "In case of a lawsuit or if the 'target' comes to the office claiming we kidnapped her or stole her jewelry. It’s our insurance policy."

  Jun was floored. The shy girl from the club was a seasoned operator in the world of disappearing people.

  Once the vans were loaded, the group piled back in. This time, Jun sat in the second van with two of the men. The client sat in the lead van, where she immediately changed her clothes and put on a wig and a hat.

  They drove for an hour, weaving through traffic until they left the city limits and stopped in a desolate, open field for a break. Natsumi got out, camera still in hand, documenting the transition.

  "We’re in the clear for now," Tamaki told the woman in the wig. "The next step is the safe house. Once we’re there, you cut all ties. The old 'you' is dead."

  Tamaki moved on to the final billing. "The target isn't connected to organized crime—he’s just a salaryman. For a single woman’s standard cargo, the fee is 150,000 Yen ($1,000). That doesn't include the rent for the new place; I assume you've already handled the deposit with the new landlord as we discussed."

  The woman nodded. It was all in the contract.

  "The final rules," Tamaki said, her voice turning stern. "Quit your job. Burn your bridge with every mutual acquaintance. Change your number. Trash your credit cards and delete any shared family accounts on shopping apps. We recommend zero contact for at least two years."

  It’s basically social suicide, Jun thought. A total reboot.

  "Even my best friends?" the woman stammered, her voice trembling. "They were the ones who kept me sane. I don't think I can do this without them."

  "That is the price of 'Vanishment,'" Tamaki sighed. "We won't force you, but think back: has a 'well-meaning' friend ever let a secret slip to the wrong person? Has a friend ever 'accidentally' checked in at a location that gave you away?"

  The woman froze. She pulled out her phone and began deleting contacts. As she did, the dam finally broke. Tears began to stream down her face, pooling into a frantic, ugly sob.

  "Why...?" she wailed. "I just wanted a normal life. I just wanted someone to love me. Why do I have to pay this price? Why am I the one who has to lose my home, my job, and my family just to keep him from hurting me again?"

  "I’m leaving the only city I’ve ever known to go to a place where I don't know a soul... I’m so scared! Can I really do this? Will he find me? Will I ever be safe?"

  She looked up at the team, searching for a hand to hold, a word of comfort, a spark of strength.

  Jun was shocked to see that no one moved. No one spoke.

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  Then he looked into the woman’s eyes and realized the truth.

  They won't help you because they can't carry the weight of your life.

  Natsumi stood apart from the group, her face slightly flushed as she watched the woman weep. Her lens glinted in the afternoon sun, faithfully capturing the raw, jagged edges of human misery.

  _______

  Tamaki finally broke the silence.

  "We can't promise you a perfect life or a fresh start with no worries. But we believe this is the only way to earn a chance at a better one. We can't hold your hand forever. You have to be the one to decide your future. For your new life to begin, the old one has to die."

  The lack of emotional support seemed to shock the woman back into a state of whimpering.

  "Maybe... maybe it's too much," she whispered. "Maybe I should go back. He’s been acting nicer lately. If I just pretend nothing happened..."

  The unknown is the ultimate terror. For someone who has become numb to a toxic reality, the "Devil You Know" often feels safer than the "Ghost You Don't." Change requires a level of courage that most people simply don't possess.

  Tamaki stepped forward and gripped the woman’s shoulders. "Don't be afraid. I escaped my husband too. That’s why I started this company."

  The woman stopped crying for a heartbeat. "You did?"

  "I did. A friend helped me get away, and the police suggested I use my experience to help others. I can't tell you it’ll be easy, but I can tell you this: of all our clients, and including myself, not a single one has ever regretted the decision to leave."

  The woman fell into Tamaki’s arms, sobbing again—but this time, with relief. "Thank you..."

  As the group moved to comfort her, Jun stepped back. He looked at Natsumi. The girl was practically vibrating with a strange, high-voltage excitement as she filmed the reconciliation.

  "You look... very into this," Jun noted.

  "Mmhmm. The emotions are so... vivid," she whispered, licking her lips. "It’s a beautiful shot."

  "Are you even the same Natsumi Imukawa I know at school?" Jun wondered if she had a split personality or was possessed by some kind of artistic demon.

  "?" She tilted her head, not understanding the question.

  The break was over. The client had stabilized. They were back on the road. Natsumi put the camera away and immediately reverted into the "Nervous Penguin," scurrying back to the van.

  After the client was delivered to her new life, the atmosphere in the van finally relaxed. While Natsumi was in the restroom at a rest stop, Jun turned to Tamaki.

  "How did Natsumi end up in this business?"

  "She’s my niece," Tamaki explained. "She’s obsessed with cinematography. She begged me to let her work here—said she’d do it for free just to capture 'real' human moments. I pay her a salary, of course."

  Tamaki sighed. "At least here I can keep an eye on her. I’m terrified she’ll get tricked by some shady agency if she tries to go pro on her own."

  Jun nodded. He realized that in this industry, trust was worth more than skill. The fact that Tamaki let him work after a single recommendation from the Director showed how deep those roots went.

  Natsumi joined the Journalism Club because she loved the lens. That was why she volunteered for the promotional video. Jun finally felt like he was getting a handle on his partner.

  But why didn't she join the Photography Club? He decided to save that question for later.

  Summer Intensive for the Band Club began shortly after.

  Jun stepped into the practice room, which was vibrating with the noise of sixty teenage girls. On the blackboard, three words were written in bold chalk:

  "GOAL: NATIONAL GOLD"

  The room was massive, but once the girls assembled with their instruments—the gleaming brass of the tubas and the intricate silver of the flutes—the space felt cramped and high-pressure.

  Jun stood at the back with Ko and Yumi. They were the outliers—the "Observers."

  Natsumi was already at work, setting up a tripod. The girls nearby watched her with curiosity.

  "They’re really filming us?" a girl with a trumpet whispered.

  "It’s for the recruitment video next year!" a tuba player replied. "Try not to look like a mess."

  "Don't worry about us," a girl with a euphonium teased. "The tuba players are safe—the camera can't even see their faces behind those giant bells."

  "Hey! At least we don't get smacked in the back of the head by the trombones every five minutes!" the tuba player shot back.

  Jun watched the banter. So this is the 'elegant' Band Club, he thought. Less 'Classical Grace,' more 'High School Locker Room.'

  Natsumi was silent, her finger already on the shutter, recording the bickering with professional glee.

  "Alright, people! Positions!"

  Maki Yamami and Yuka Tomatsu walked in. The room went silent. Yuka naturally looked toward the corner to find Jun. She gave him a small, possessive wave, but he didn't react.

  "I thought Yuka 'caught' Matsue?" the seniors whispered. "Looks like a one-sided hunt to me."

  "Quiet!" Maki commanded. "Today we finalize the repertoire. We’re listening to the 'Required Pieces' for this year’s competition. Everyone, ears open."

  Maki signaled Yuka to start the recording. Yuka had been demoted to "President's Assistant"—a punishment for her recent lack of focus.

  The swell of orchestral brass filled the room.

  "There are four thousand schools in the National High School Band Competition," Ko whispered to Jun, playing the part of the narrator. "Only twenty-nine make it to the National Stage. It’s a bloodbath. Tokyo is the hardest bracket—there’s no 'regional' qualifier here. You win the Metropolitan Championship, or you go home."

  The music shifted into a powerful, rhythmic arrangement. This was Piece No. 3: The Fairy Tale.

  "We’re in Group A," Ko continued. "We perform one 'Required Piece' and one 'Free Choice.' We pick our required track today. Then the real work starts."

  "Alright," Ko said, standing up. "My job here is done. Matsue, Yumi, Natsumi—the 'Band Club' segment of the film is yours. Find the story. Find the stars. Don't screw it up."

  Ko vanished like an NPC who had finished his dialogue tree.

  Jun and Yumi shared a look of mutual exhaustion. They looked at the sixty girls now arguing over the nuances of the music. This is going to be a long summer.

  Jun eventually slipped out into the hallway to give his ears a break.

  Footsteps echoed behind him.

  "Mochizuki," Jun said without turning around. "I know you’re there. You’ve been following me since I got to campus."

  He turned, expecting to see the sharp-eyed heiress.

  Instead, he found Maki Yamami, her hands tucked behind her back.

  She blinked her bright, clear eyes at him and smiled.

  Jun felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Where have I seen this pose before?

  ________

  It was August. The Tokyo sun was a physical weight, turning the city into a giant steamer basket. The sky was a hard, brilliant blue, decorated with the white graffiti of heat-clouds.

  "Are you waiting for someone, Matsue?" Maki asked.

  They were alone in the hallway. Outside, the cicadas were screaming with a desperate, dying energy.

  "No. Just thinking."

  Jun was already sweating. The heat was starting to seep into his bones. Maki, however, looked perfectly composed. She was wearing a light blue sundress with a beige cardigan draped over her shoulders. She looked like a portrait of summer elegance—cool, calm, and unreachable.

  How do women do it? Jun wondered. It’s a hundred degrees and she’s wearing two layers without breaking a sweat.

  He tried to peek behind her. Maki shifted, playfully blocking his line of sight.

  "Are you curious about what’s behind me?"

  "I’m just checking for knives or bento boxes," Jun admitted, thinking of Yuka’s usual "surprises."

  "Knives? Lunch?" Maki laughed, a sound like silver bells. She pulled a small, wrapped package from behind her back.

  "I never properly thanked you for getting Yuka back into the fold. These are for you. My mother and I baked them yesterday. The girls in the club loved them."

  "Cookies? I’ll take them," Jun said. He might turn down money or favors, but he never said no to free food.

  "Good. I should get back inside. Don't stay out here too long, Matsue. The heat is dangerous." Maki gave him a polite bow and disappeared back into the room.

  Jun watched her go. Maki was exactly what her name implied—a "Jasmine" flower. Fragrant, elegant, and self-contained. She didn't need an audience to be beautiful.

  Unlike Yuka, whose "perfect girl" act was a performance for an audience of one, Maki was the real deal.

  The temperature in the hall seemed to drop when she left, only to skyrocket again when Natsumi appeared.

  Natsumi was wearing a bright yellow sundress that ended at her knees, cinched with a white belt. The outfit did nothing to hide her impressive silhouette. Her heavy DSLR was hanging around her neck, bouncing slightly as she walked.

  "Um... Matsue-kun... Yumi said it's time to come back in..."

  Jun realized that in his entire circle, Natsumi was the only one who still used his full name and honorific.

  "Are you afraid of me?" Jun asked bluntly. He was too hot for "polite" acting today.

  Natsumi jumped, her head ducking into her shoulders like a startled bird. "N-no! It’s just... every time I see you, I think of... the club room... and that movie..."

  Jun sighed. "I told you. Forget it. It doesn't matter."