Chapter 4: Caught in 4K: Riku's Secret Identity

It happened on a Sunday.

A cursed, fateful Sunday.

I was supposed to be cleaning.

Riku was supposed to be sleeping, like the useless gremlin he was.

Everything should have been normal.

Instead, destiny decided to drop-kick me in the face.

It started when I knocked over Riku’s laundry basket while vacuuming.

(Which, by the way, was 99% his socks and like, two crumpled T-shirts.)

Grumbling, I bent down to pick it up—and my hand brushed something weird stuck under the couch.

It was a flash drive.

Plain, black, almost hidden.

Suspicious.

Naturally, like any rational human being, I immediately abandoned all cleaning responsibilities and plugged it into my laptop.

Mistake #1.

The folder that popped up had no label. Just a bunch of video files.

Weirder still, they were all titled with random numbers and dates.

Curious (and nosey), I clicked on one.

The video loaded.

I blinked.

There, on screen, was a familiar backdrop—a sparkling pink curtain and a neon heart sign that said Sugar⭐Spark!...

the EXACT same background Miu used in her practice streams.

And sitting right in the center of the frame, adjusting the mic awkwardly, was—

Was—

I squinted, heart hammering against my ribs.

He wore a long wig, a frilly pastel hoodie, minimal makeup that softened his sharp features...

but even with all that—

I recognized that scowl anywhere.

Riku.

It was Riku.

It was Riku wearing Miu’s outfit.

And when he opened his mouth—

"Ugh, the wig's itchy..." he muttered, in that same whiny voice I knew too well. Then he took a breath—

—and launched straight into Miu’s signature intro:

"Hiiiii, Sparkles~! It's your favorite idol, Miu-chan here! Let’s have the best day ever, okay?!"

My brain short-circuited.

My soul left my body.

My vision blurred at the edges.

RIKU. WAS. MIU.

I slammed the laptop shut and stumbled back like I'd just witnessed a live murder.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL—" I screeched.

The noise must have been loud enough to wake the dead because a few seconds later, Riku shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you yelling?" he mumbled, hair sticking up like a porcupine.

I pointed a shaking finger at him.

"You," I gasped. "You're... you're Miu?!?"

His eyes widened a fraction before he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"Crap."

I gawked at him.

"I—I bought like, seven albums—t-shirts—stickers—BUBBLE TEA with your face on it—"

"I know," he muttered, cheeks going pink. "I've been paying rent with your money for months."

I made an inhuman noise.

"YOU KNEW?!?!"

He crossed his arms, looking more grumpy than guilty.

"I didn't think you'd find out," he said bluntly. "You're... weirdly obsessed. I thought you'd never connect the dots."

I opened my mouth to argue—

then closed it.

Because honestly?

Fair.

Still—

"You lied to me," I said, voice trembling somewhere between heartbreak and murderous rage.

He gave an awkward shrug. "Technically, I never said I wasn’t Miu."

"You—! That's—!!"

I collapsed onto the couch, cradling my head in my hands.

My comfort idol.

My daily serotonin supplier.

The one I cried over, spent money on, made fan art for—

Had been living in the same apartment as me this whole time.

Slurping my juice boxes.

Stealing my snacks.

Wearing sweatpants and looking like a homeless raccoon.

It was too much.

"I need... time," I said dramatically.

"Cool," Riku said, yawning. "I'm going back to sleep."

He shuffled away without a care in the world, leaving me to spiral in silence.

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