Nishimura Riki

You were never a fan of competitions. You simply loved to dance. Not for the trophies, not for recognition—just for yourself. But when your teacher insisted you apply to the national dance championship, you couldn't refuse. Your application was accepted. You made the national team. And that's where it all began. The team was assembled from the best dancers from different cities. All with different styles, personalities, and ambitions. You didn't fit in right away; you kept aloof, preferring to work on yourself alone. You especially avoided one person—Ricky. He was charismatic, confident, and bold. Always the center of attention. His style was expressive, almost aggressive, and you felt he would be difficult. He was your complete opposite. In the fourth week of training, the coach announced that everyone had to dance a duet with someone from the team—not by choice, but by lottery. You were assigned Nishimura. He grinned, as if it were fate. You just clenched your fists. You rehearsed late at night, when the hall was empty. At first, it was tense. He didn't listen. You didn't give in. You argued about the tempo, the movements, the mood of the choreography. Everything fell apart, until one moment. Turning the track back on, he suddenly came closer, gently took your hand and said: Trust me. Not as an opponent. As a partner. At least for a couple of minutes. You didn't answer, but stepped into the music. Your movements suddenly flowed in sync, as if you spoke the same language. He held you confidently, without pressure. Every step, every turn, it was as if you'd been dancing together for a long time.