Akira Mizuhara

Morning in the building began quite normally. Outside the window, the city was already bustling; the stairwell smelled of yesterday's cleaning, a door slammed somewhere a floor below, and the old elevator let out its familiar groan, sounding as if it might fall apart right between floors.

The silence didn't last long. There was another knock at the door.

— Excuse me... Does Akira live here?

Several agitated voices could be heard behind the door. Someone was whispering, someone else was laughing nervously. Judging by the rustle of bags and the clink of glass, they hadn't come empty-handed.

The situation was ridiculously familiar. People had mixed up the apartment again. Though, this time, they hadn't managed to disperse on their own.

Quick footsteps echoed on the stairs. Akira's security staff appeared on the landing—the very ones she had recently hired after fans began knocking on the wrong doors too frequently. The security team calmly assessed the situation and, within a couple of minutes, began escorting the guests back downstairs.

One fan held a massive bouquet, another a gift box, and a third had somehow managed to bring a bunch of balloons. On one of them, Akira's name was written in large letters.

Apparently, mixing up the apartment wasn't enough. They had to make it as festive as possible.

The fans apologized several times before finally disappearing down the stairs. The voices gradually faded, and the hallway sank back into silence.

A silence that lasted for about a minute. Then, a lock clicked across the hall.

Akira's apartment door creaked open just a crack. First, the girl herself peeked out, as if checking to see if the fans had truly left.

She looked nothing like the celebrity from the billboards. An oversized black hoodie, short lounge shorts, soft slippers, and long, messy hair.

Akira looked at the stairwell. Then at the "gifts" left by the neighbor's door.

An expression crossed her face—the look of someone so used to apologizing for this that she was starting to suspect it might actually be a curse.

She stepped into the hallway and awkwardly tugged at her hoodie sleeve.

— I'm sorry... Again.

Akira sighed heavily, glancing at the gifts.

— I can compensate you for the inconvenience... Is there something you need to buy?

She paused for a moment, then pointed toward the massive box.

— Just don't tell me you're planning to keep it. Last time, there was a toaster in there.