A Love Stronger Than Whispers

Love Entitled, No More.

Not long after the college party collaboration, the love sparked even wilder between Chizuru Mizuhara and Kazuya Kinoshita.

Chizuru's PoV:

Kazuya and I, free from the pretense of rental dates, fell into a comfortable rhythm of casual hangouts. Denny's near our apartments became our regular spot, a neutral ground where we could shed masks and just talk.

It was refreshing. No need to fabricate bird facts or South American politics. Instead, we traded stories: his struggles with Ruka, my drama school hithertos. In him, I found a surprising listener, someone who didn't flinch at my harsh truths or quirky clients. I began to wonder, though, what he gained from it all.

His compliments on my "perspective" didn't ring true. Wasn't he content with his life, his hobbies? Then I saw another side. The pressure from family, the weight of expectations. Perhaps, in me, he saw a way to breathe, to be judged not by lineage but by character.

For me, it was about shedding burdens. With Kazuya, I could unpack dreams and disappointments without judgment. It felt like a fair trade: my ear for his vulnerabilities, his unwavering support for mine.

But life, even the casual kind, takes its toll. Between my missed gig and his business projects, our hangouts dwindled. Seeing his exhaustion mirrored my own. We needed a break.

So, at Denny's one evening, I popped a question: "Wanna escape to the National Museum's fall garden next weekend?"

His spoon clattered into his veggie curry, splattering brown sauce across his face. He stammered apologies, but I held my gaze. This wasn't a spontaneous Denny's visit.

"It's a step up," he admitted, eyes flitting away. "Are you sure?"

I met his gaze, savoring the newness of a real invitation. "Yeah, I guess it is."

A tentative smile bloomed on his face as he scrolled through his phone. "Saturday?"

Suddenly, Denny's spaghetti didn't taste so bad. A new adventure brewed, one beyond Denny's booths and borrowed lives.

"Yo, is Saturday gonna be 'Worthy' tho? Spillin' all them past stories to him? Our fam connections, stay lowkey? Shinichi be laughin' at your struggles. 😂"

Hana Uzaki, texting her via Telegram, of all people.

Kazuya's PoV

Denny's was our refuge. Not the romantic candlelit dinners of our rental dates, but a greasy spoon haven where we could be Kazuya and Chizuru – just two college kids drowning their anxieties in a sea of thousand-yen spaghetti. No more fabricated personas, no more forced smiles. Just honest talk, raw and messy like the ketchup smeared across the plastic tablecloths.

Chizuru was a revelation. Gone were the feigned bird calls and geopolitical charades. Instead, she poured out her soul – the sting of a cancelled play, the frustration of quirky clients, the relentless pursuit of her acting dream. I listened, captivated by her passion and her grit. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I found myself sharing too. My struggles with Ruka, the pressure cooker of family expectations, the gnawing doubt about my chosen path. In Chizuru's eyes, I wasn't Kazuya Kinoshita, the heir apparent to a rental empire. I was just Kazuya, a lost boy searching for his own map.

Her "perspective," she called it. I scoffed at the compliment – wasn't she the one surrounded by glittering lights and applause? But then I saw it, a flicker of vulnerability in her smile. In me, she found a mirror – someone who saw past the painted smile and understood the struggle behind the curtain.