Escaping the airport was an ordeal. It took the full effort of their security team to carve a path through the throng of hysterical fans and paparazzi to a waiting black van with tinted windows. We all piled in, the doors sliding shut and finally sealing us in a bubble of surreal silence.
"Whew! That was crazy!" Inoue chirped, plopping down next to me and immediately grabbing my arm, mirroring Ayumi on my other side. "Japanese fans are so passionate!"
A low growl emanated from Ayumi. An instant, unspoken war had been declared over the territory of my arms.
"So," Izuwa said, her voice a little shaky as she tried to regain her composure from the front passenger seat. "You're... idols?"
"We're part of a group called 'Crimson Rush'," Azuwa explained from the seat behind me. She was trying to sound nonchalant, staring out the window, but I could see her reflection. She was watching me. "We're pretty popular in Korea. And a few other places."
"'Pretty popular'?" Hina scoffed, her shock finally morphing into professional curiosity. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "You're Azu and Ino! Crimson Rush topped the global charts for eight weeks straight! Your last music video got a hundred million views in three days! I know everything about you!"
Inoue giggled, pleased. "Wow! We have a fan! See, Azu? I told you our style was catching on here."
Azuwa just shrugged. "It's whatever."
The van ride home was a masterclass in tension. It was a tug-of-war, both literally and figuratively. Inoue clung to my right arm, chattering about their training schedules, their favorite foods in Seoul, and how she remembered I used to be terrible at climbing trees. On my left, Ayumi clung to my arm with the fury of a woman scorned, periodically trying to wrench my limb away from the "invader" while whispering threats under her breath.
I sat perfectly still, a human rope in a sibling-cousin grudge match.
When we finally pulled up to the house, the idols' mountain of luggage was already there, delivered by a separate truck. There were at least fifteen massive suitcases, all from luxury brands.
"Wow," Inoue said, her eyes wide as she took in our normal, two-story suburban home. "It's so... quaint. And quiet."
"Don't worry, you'll fix that," I muttered.
The chaos truly began with the unpacking. I had assigned them the room Izuwa and I had cleaned, thinking its calming beige walls might soothe their celebrity souls. I was wrong. The moment the door was opened, it became ground zero for an explosion of glitter, silk, and technology.
Suitcases were flung open, revealing an endless torrent of designer clothes, stage outfits covered in sequins, and shoes that probably cost more than my entire monthly budget. One case was filled entirely with professional-grade makeup. Another held microphones, in-ear monitors, and a portable recording setup.
"Where should I put my limited edition skincare fridge?" Inoue asked, holding up a small, pink refrigerator.
"Just... on the floor for now," I said, feeling my brain begin to short-circuit.
Azuwa, meanwhile, was directing their two roadies-who had apparently followed them in a separate car-on where to place several large, mysterious black trunks.
"This is not a vacation," Ayumi hissed in my ear. "This is a hostile takeover."
She wasn't wrong. Within an hour, their room looked less like a guest bedroom and more like the backstage of a major concert. Mannequin heads wearing colorful wigs sat on the dresser. A massive poster of Crimson Rush was already taped to the wall. The scent of expensive perfume overpowered the lemon-scented cleaner Izuwa had used.
I watched as Inoue bounced on the bed, testing the springs, while Azuwa meticulously arranged her collection of throat lozenges on the nightstand. They had moved in, and it was clear they had no intention of being quiet, temporary guests. They were here to stay, and they had brought their entire world with them. My world, my quiet, orderly world, was officially a thing of the past.