I was this close to giving up on everything.

College life had chewed me up, spat me out, and then tap-danced on my remains. Between the endless exams, overpriced cafeteria food, and my bank account looking like a barren desert, I felt like I was living in a perpetual state of "barely surviving."

One night, after a particularly brutal group project meeting where I was, once again, the only one who did any real work, I stumbled home feeling like a soggy rice cracker. I flopped onto my bed, dramatically face-planting into my pillow, and let out a groan so guttural it probably summoned a demon or two.

That's when it happened.

As I scrolled aimlessly through my dusty old phone, my thumb, guided by fate (or maybe sheer exhaustion), clicked on a random video.

A sparkly, sugary voice burst through my cracked speakers.

"Good evening, Sparkies! It's your Miu-chan here!"

I blinked.

On my screen was a girl — no, an angel — with fluffy pastel hair, big sparkling eyes, and a smile so bright it could light up the whole campus during a blackout. She wore a ridiculously cute outfit covered in glittery stars, and her voice was like pure, concentrated serotonin.

Miu.

The center of the rising idol group Sugar⭐Spark!

I don't know what possessed me, but I ended up binge-watching their entire concert archive that night. And their interviews. And their behind-the-scenes videos. I even found a fan compilation called "Miu Being the Cutest Bean for 10 Minutes Straight."

Somewhere between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m., something strange happened.

I started smiling.

For the first time in weeks — no, months — the tight knot of stress, loneliness, and burnout inside me loosened just a little.

It sounds ridiculous, but this bubbly idol girl, bouncing around onstage with the energy of a caffeinated hamster, saved me.

Saved my heart.

Saved my sanity.

Saved my rapidly spiraling bank account, too, because I was this close to rage-ordering a giant chocolate cake and five new plushies out of pure despair.

Instead, I fell into the glittery, chaotic world of Sugar⭐Spark!, and more specifically, became a full-blown, card-carrying, poster-collecting simp for Miu.

I even made a secret shrine on my dorm wall. Just a tiny one. (Okay, fine, it covered half the wall. Details.)

Her cheerful voice became my alarm clock. Her live performances became my comfort food. Her dorky laugh became the background music of my life.

And honestly?

If it wasn't for Miu, I might have dropped out by now.

Fast forward a few months later, and life had somewhat stabilized. I mean, sure, I was still broke and barely functioning, but now I had hope. I had a reason to drag my tired butt to class every day: the promise of a new Miu video waiting for me at the end of it.

Little did I know…

The universe wasn't done playing with me yet.

Because the very idol I adored, the very idol who lifted me out of my pit of despair, the very Miu whose poster I kissed every morning for good luck—

Was a lot closer than I ever imagined.

Like, literally sleeping in the next room.

Like, literally hogging the bathroom every morning and leaving laundry everywhere.

Like, literally my grumpy, messy, antisocial roommate — Riku Aizawa.

And that's where the real chaos began.

Living with Riku Aizawa was like living with a raccoon who somehow figured out how to pay rent but never quite grasped the concept of cleaning.

Every morning, I'd tiptoe into the kitchen, praying that maybe, just maybe, today would be different.

It never was.

The sink would be overflowing with dishes—some suspiciously fuzzy with mold—and the garbage would be balanced precariously, a modern art sculpture titled "Despair."

And there he'd be, sitting on the couch in his hoodie and boxers, lazily flipping through TV channels with one hand and scratching his stomach with the other.

"Morning," he'd grunt without looking at me.

"Morning," I'd reply, gritting my teeth, stepping over a stray sock like it was a landmine.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When we both signed the lease, I thought, Hey, having a roommate will be fun!

We’ll split chores!

Maybe even cook meals together!

Like those cute sitcoms!

Reality:

I did all the cleaning.

I did all the cooking (unless you count microwaving instant ramen as "cooking," which Riku very much did).

And Riku did... nothing.

Nothing except make my life harder.

"Hey," Riku called lazily from the couch. "We're out of cereal."

"You ate the whole box yesterday!" I said, spinning around to glare at him.

He shrugged. "Yeah, but you're the one who buys it. So... you know. Chop-chop."

I gaped at him. "Unbelievable."

"You'll survive. You're good at that," he said with a yawn, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions.

How is someone this lazy still alive? I thought, staring at him like he was a scientific anomaly.

There were days when I genuinely debated smothering him with a pillow while he slept.

Days like today.

After hastily making myself a cup of coffee—because caffeine was the only thing holding my sanity together—I trudged back to my room, locking the door behind me.

I needed peace. Solitude. A moment away from the chaos that was Riku Aizawa.

And what better escape than tuning into Sugar⭐Spark!'s morning livestream?

I plopped down in front of my laptop, clicked on the notification, and there she was—

Miu.

Smiling sweetly at the camera.

Waving with those tiny, delicate hands.

Her soft voice like sunshine on a rainy day.

"Good morning, Sparkles!" Miu chirped, doing a little twirl. "Did you sleep well? Remember to eat breakfast, okay? You’re important!"

I nearly cried on the spot.

Miu understands me. Miu cares.

Unlike a certain lazy sock-goblin in the living room.

I typed furiously in the chat, showering her with hearts and sparkly emojis.

Forget Riku. Forget the moldy dishes. Forget my suffering wallet.

At least I had Miu.

At least, that's what I thought.

Because soon, I'd find out that the boy ruining my kitchen... and the idol saving my soul... were the same person.

And once that truth unraveled, there'd be no going back now.

Bad days had a pattern.

First: Step into the kitchen. See the mess. Die inside.

Second: Trip over Riku's abandoned sneakers. Stumble dramatically.

Third: Realize you forgot to buy groceries (because you were too busy rage-cleaning the day before).

Fourth: Cry internally. Or externally. Whichever came first.

Today was no exception.

I stood in front of the fridge, staring into the abyss of expired yogurt and a single, sad slice of processed cheese. My stomach growled pathetically, and I clutched it like a tragic heroine in a soap opera.

"Hey, turn off the fridge if you're just gonna stare into it," Riku called lazily from the couch, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

I slammed the door shut with unnecessary force.

"Maybe if someone went grocery shopping once in a millennium—"

"Not my job," he interrupted, scrolling with a yawn. "Division of labor. You buy food, I eat it. It's called teamwork."

Teamwork, my butt.

Seething, I stomped back into my room, flopping face-first onto my bed.

Starvation was looming.

Death by roommate-induced neglect.

My biography was basically writing itself at this point.

I needed comfort.

I needed food.

I needed—

Miu.

Opening my laptop with a newfound sense of purpose, I clicked on my saved folder: "Emergency Miu Videos (for Tragic Days)."

The screen lit up with Miu’s bright, cheerful face, and instantly, my mood lifted by approximately 45%.

"Today, we're making chocolate pancakes together!" she chirped, holding up a whisk and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

Chocolate pancakes.

My stomach howled like a wounded beast.

"Miu..." I whimpered, reaching toward the screen. "Teach me your ways."

She giggled sweetly as she listed the ingredients.

Flour, cocoa powder, eggs, milk... basic stuff.

Stuff I didn’t have.

But I wasn’t about to let reality stop me.

Fueled by desperation and blind Miu-worship, I scrambled up from bed, grabbed my wallet (which had about $8 left to its name), and sprinted to the nearest convenience store like a woman possessed.

Fifteen minutes later, panting and victorious, I burst back into the apartment with a small bag of supplies.

I would make Miu's pancakes.

I would find comfort.

Even if it killed me.

---

An hour later, I sat cross-legged on the floor, triumphantly devouring a stack of slightly burnt, lopsided pancakes drizzled with chocolate syrup.

They were terrible.

They were dense.

They were crunchy in places pancakes should never be crunchy.

They tasted like regret and too much baking powder.

But they were mine.

More importantly, they were Miu-approved.

And as I stuffed another awkward bite into my mouth, I played her video again, watching her smile as she flipped a perfect, golden pancake like a professional.

"You're doing amazing, Sparkles!" she cheered.

I snorted, syrup dribbling down my chin.

If Miu said so, then it must be true.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Riku finally looked up from his phone, wrinkling his nose.

"What's that smell?" he muttered.

"Love and determination," I said through a mouthful of pancake.

He raised an eyebrow. "Smells like burning."

"Love and determination," I insisted louder.

He gave me a weird look but said nothing, stretching out lazily and letting his phone drop onto his stomach.

I stared at him for a second.

It was weird, wasn't it? How he sometimes had the same sleepy, squinty-eyed smile as Miu during her casual streams...

Nah.

Must be coincidence.

I shrugged it off, shoveling another bite of pancake into my mouth.

Everything was fine.

Everything was normal.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.