At the Lakeside Villa Nestled by a serene lake at a secluded villa owned by Ichigo Production—a place where the usual chaos of Tokyo seemed like a distant memory—Ai had decided the triplets needed a break. Even though the school festival had just ended, the weight of the spotlight still clung to them. In search of peace, Ai invited them out, and to her delight (and perhaps slight apprehension), Yura Kano showed up with the ever-wry Frill Shiranui. Even Miyako joined, ostensibly to supervise but really just grateful for a few uninterrupted hours.
Standing at the gateway to this temporary sanctuary, Miyako declared with a mix of relief and playful defiance, "No producers. No stages. No world‑ending weirdness." And for a moment, it seemed that there truly was no room here for the manufactured demands of the entertainment world. But even in the stillness by the water, the truth always finds its reflection.
Daytime – Lakeside Relaxation On a sunlit afternoon, Souta sat barefoot on a weathered wooden dock, his toes skimming over gentle ripples on the water's surface. In his hands, he cradled a delicately folded paper boat, its creases worn from repeated journeys across the lake. Beside him, Happy—ever the protective companion—sat with his tail flicking, his eyes betraying a quiet worry.
"You're quiet today," Happy murmured, his voice soft as if it didn't want to disturb the tranquil air.
Souta's gaze drifted over the lake, his thoughts as unsettled as the shimmering water. "I'm trying to enjoy this," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But sometimes it feels unreal… like I don't deserve it."
Behind them, the villa's atmosphere buzzed pleasantly with life. Ai's laughter rang out like a gentle chime. Ruby was bent over a sunlit patch of grass, teaching Yura how to skip stones, their giggles mixing with the lapping of the water. Meanwhile, Aqua was caught up in a watermelon-splitting contest with Frill, his blindfold and playful humiliation adding to the childlike charm of the day.
Souta watched it all and sighed inwardly. "I do want this, though… I want this so badly it hurts," he confessed silently in his heart.
Happy, sensing his inner turmoil, bumped his head softly against Souta's shoulder. "Then don't run from it. Just… hold on tighter," the little guardian urged, as though whispering that embracing life meant accepting every complication and joy it brought.
Flashback – A Quiet Morning with Ai Earlier that morning, before the villa awoke to laughter and playful shouts, Ai had already been up, brewing a humble cup of instant coffee. The cool glass of the porch cradled them both, as she sat with Souta in a moment meant just for the two of them.
"You saved them today," she had said gently, referring to the festival—a quiet acknowledgment of the moments where his hidden strength shone through the chaos.
"Barely," Souta had replied, his voice fragile as if weighed down by an ancient sorrow.
Ai's warm eyes softened as she continued, "You're sixteen, Souta. You're allowed to barely do anything sometimes. You're allowed to feel overwhelmed."
Souta's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. "But I'm not just sixteen…" he whispered, a brittle confession of feeling older than his years.
Ai reached out, lifting his chin with tender resolve. "No, you're not," she whispered, "but you're still my son. And that means you can cry, you can be scared, and you can be hurt—with me, you're safe to show it all."
In that quiet moment, Souta let his tears flow freely. He cried hard, releasing a storm of pent-up emotion—the pain of past lifetime failures, the burden of unwanted power, and the inevitable ache for genuine tenderness.
Evening The Fireworks Show– As twilight descended, the villa transformed into a magical retreat. Ichigo Production had arranged fireworks that would dance across the lake, transforming the water into a shimmering mirror of exploding pigments. Blankets were spread out like invitations to dream, bento boxes were unwrapped with excited anticipation, and citronella candles flickered to ward off the night chill. It all looked perfect—a night painted with memories and hope.
The sky erupted into vivid bursts of pink and gold. Ai nestled between Aqua and Ruby, her soft murmurings weaving familiar childhood tales that soothed the aching heart of anyone willing to listen. Nearby, Frill and Yura rehearsed a clumsy, hilarious skit that left the few around cheering, while Miyako, worn out by the day's events, dozed in an upright position, a small smile on her lips.
Souta, however, stepped away from the joyous cluster. He found a spot at the edge of the assembled crowd, where the fireworks' reflections danced on the surface of the lake like fleeting memories. Lost in his thoughts, he murmured to himself, "So… this is the world you built."
Before he could sink deeper into his reflections, a voice—unexpected and dissonant against the backdrop of celebration—cut through the murmurs. From his left, a boy appeared, standing in the shadows with a ghostly calmness. Perhaps seventeen, with pale skin, wearing an old-fashioned school uniform that seemed timelessly out of place, and eyes that shimmered like dim silver in the firelight.
"Who are you?" Souta's voice quivered with a mixture of uncertainty and defiance.
The boy smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "The one who followed you across the threshold. Don't you remember me?"
In an instant, memories and feelings he had thought were buried resurfaced. "I remember pain. I remember loneliness. But not you," Souta replied, his stomach constricting as the past threatened to overwhelm him.
"You called yourself Kagami Rei, didn't you? That was the last name you used before you gave up." The words hung heavy between them, an accusation and a lament in one.
Souta's heart pounded. "You shouldn't be here," he said, regret and desperation threaded through his tone.
"And yet here I am," the mysterious boy replied, stepping closer with unnerving calm. "You weren't the only one who wished to be reborn. But unlike you, I never got adopted by an idol with a heart too big for her chest."
At that, Happy growled low and protective, positioning himself firmly before Souta. "Back off," he warned.
"Why?" the boy asked softly. "You're real now, Souta. You're loved…and you're soft. I want to see if I, too, can be loved. But first…" His hand swept the air, and in a surreal moment, the fireworks froze—each burst locked in time like an impossible photograph. Then, as if a record played in reverse, the dazzling display rewound before their eyes, its light bending to a secret command.
"Undo it," Souta demanded, seizing the boy's wrist with a desperate urgency.
"You can't protect everything, Souta," the boy murmured knowingly. "Eventually, you'll have to choose who matters most." With that cryptic message, he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
Time snapped back into its natural rhythm. Souta remained standing, shaken and alone in the echo of his racing heart, until Ruby's soft voice reached him from behind.
"Souta?" she asked, concern lacing each syllable.
"Yeah?" he replied, still disturbed by the encounter.
"I saw that boy too," she confided, her eyes wide with the unspoken understanding that perhaps not everything was as it seemed.
After-Credits Scene: Reina's Return Back in Tokyo, beneath the crimson glow of scattered red candles in a small, circular chamber, Reina knelt in quiet concentration, her eyes closed as she whispered incantations that seemed to stir the very air around her. In the center of the chamber, emerging from the shadows like an echo of forgotten dreams, the same mysterious boy materialized.
"He remembered his name," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of old memories.
Reina's lips curved into a knowing smile as she murmured, "Then the seal is weakening. It's almost time."
After a beat, she looked up, her eyes steady with determination. "Soon—let him believe he can protect them all," she whispered, as if setting the stage for events yet to come.
In that fleeting interlude by the water and in that hidden chamber far from the bustle of Tokyo, the weight of truth, memory, and destiny intertwined. While the villa offered a shelter from the mechanical demands of fame, it also provided a quiet space for the echoes of the past to resurface. And even as laughter and music filled the air, a subtle undercurrent of loss and longing reminded everyone that sometimes, the most profound truths are found not in the light of celebration, but in the shadows of memory.