The studio was dark, lit only by the soft glow of Mitsunari's laptop. A blank session file stared back at him on the screen. There was no beat, no chords, no lyrics, there was just silence.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The last few weeks had been packed with mentoring EKO, attending meetings, checking in with VIRE whenever he could. Now all eyes were about to turn back to him.
Tao's solo comeback was scheduled for the following week. After that, Mitsunari would have roughly six to seven weeks to prepare his next release. Mitsunari pushed back "Ashes to Stardust" cause people would suspect a song like that currently from him and the pressure was rising.
"I need something different," he muttered, standing and pacing the studio. His last track had been praised for its lyricism, but he didn't want to repeat himself. He wanted something more vulnerable, more honest.
Still, nothing came. Every melody he tried felt recycled. Every beat loop sounded flat. He couldn't even settle on a genre. R&B? Pop? Melodic rap?
Complicating things even further was the ache in his chest. He hadn't seen Mizuha in two weeks. Not even a moment.
EKO had gone on a small promotional tour across Korea and Japan. With Mizuha's schedule packed, their texts had become infrequent, and calls were rushed.
VIRE had been on tour for nearly a month, sweeping across Southeast Asia. He had barely seen the guys except through fan cams and news updates.
"Everyone's out there," he sighed to himself. "And I'm just here… stuck."
The isolation weighed on him more than he expected. He had been alone before but this time, he felt disconnected, like the world was moving without him.
He left the studio and wandered out into the city, hoodie up, mask on. It was nearly midnight, but Seoul never truly slept.
He walked aimlessly through the streets of Hongdae, passing buzzing cafes and neon-lit alleys. He watched groups of friends laugh under streetlamps and couples holding hands as they window-shopped.
His steps slowed as he passed a group of young dancers practicing in front of a closed storefront. They moved with raw energy with no cameras, no stage, just passion.
He paused for a long moment, leaning against a pole and watching. The way they moved reminded him of his early days, before the fame, before the drama.
He remembered being that hungry, starving even. Every move was a cry to be seen, every verse a piece of himself begging to matter.
The weight in his chest eased a little. He kept walking, passing a mural painted across a brick wall. It depicted a boy, headphones on, standing in front of a massive crowd as his shadow loomed large behind him like a monster, but he stood smiling.
Mitsunari stared at it for a long while, something stirring inside. "That's me," he thought. "That's how I feel. Everyone sees the smile, but they don't see the shadow."
He opened the Notes app on his phone and typed one line: "Smiling in shadows."
Suddenly, the lyrics started to come as it was slow at first, then flowing faster. "You see the shine, not the burn. I made it out but never returned. Still dancing on wounds that never healed, still singing songs I never revealed."
He rushed back to the studio, adrenaline replacing the weight in his bones. He opened a new session and started recording rough vocals with just a metronome.
The melody took on a darker, minor tone. Something eerie but addictive. He didn't want it to sound like a typical pop song. He wanted it to feel like a confession.
He layered a pulsing bassline under a simple piano riff. It wasn't polished, but it had character that's raw and honest, just like the mural, just like the city at midnight.
Over the next few days, Mitsunari buried himself in the studio. The song, tentatively titled "Shadowlight," started taking shape.
He included small, subtle nods to Mizuha in the lyrics with lines that only she would notice. "Your voice on the line, a memory in static. Our moments play back like cinematic magic."
Even though they hadn't seen each other, the distance somehow added to the emotion of the track. It made every line more real.
On the fifth day, Jun dropped by and listened quietly as Mitsunari played the second draft. "It's not like anything you've done before," he said. "But it's you. Don't lose that."
Encouraged, Mitsunari started crafting visuals in his mind with stark contrast lighting, city shots at night, subtle silhouettes behind him. Everything about Shadowlight needed to feel personal.
He wrote a verse from the perspective of someone who feels invisible even when they're the center of attention. "All eyes on me, but I still fade. Spotlight don't reach where I'm really made."
Tao checked in from his own rehearsals and told Mitsunari to take his time. "Don't rush it. This one's going to mean something as long as he doesn't rush it."
Still, Mitsunari's heart ached a little every time he opened his messages and saw the most recent text from Mizuha was three days old.
Late one night, she finally called. Her voice was tired but full of excitement. "I heard the snippet Jun posted. That's your new one?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "You're in there, you know."
"I thought so," she whispered. "I miss you."
"I miss you too but… maybe the distance helped. It made the song real."
"Then let's turn this pain into art," she said softly. "You've always done that."
Mitsunari finished the final mix the following night. He added a subtle outro with just a recording of city sounds and one last whispered line: "I see you in every light I thought was gone."
The title was officially confirmed: Shadowlight. It would be released six weeks after Tao's comeback, marking Mitsunari's most personal solo release yet.
He created the concept teaser video himself with flashes of night walks, anonymous city faces, shadows dancing behind the glass.
The day he submitted the final version to Stax for rollout, he stood outside the studio and breathed in the summer air. Alone, but not empty. Tired, but inspired.
He didn't know how well Shadowlight would chart. He didn't care. This one wasn't for the stage. It was for him, for Mizuha, for anyone walking the city alone, hoping to be seen.