OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 1

- Tamaro -

My name is Tamaro Saito. I'm fifteen years old, living in one of the provinces of the Philippines—specifically, in the vibrant city of Cebu. I'm half-Japanese. After my father married my mother, they decided to settle here in the Philippines, though their livelihood has often taken them beyond its borders.

My mother's side of the family are farmers in Cebu, and my father took over managing our farm as I grew up. Life has always been simple, grounded in soil and song. My father has a deep love for music—and I inherited that love from him. He's the reason I picked up an instrument in the first place.

"Dad, I want to be a musician," I told him one quiet afternoon.

"If that's what you truly want, then start by learning to play," he replied.

That was what my dad told me when I was younger—and it stuck with me. I began learning the saxophone on my own, driven by pure curiosity and love. But over time, I realized that wasn't enough to truly grow as a musician. So, every summer, I enrolled in music school. This summer marks my second year.

"Tamaro! Tamaro! The sun's already up and you need to head to school!" my grandmother called, her knuckles tapping the door again and again. Her voice filled the house with urgency, but my body protested—I was still drowsy from staying up late, memorizing new keys on my saxophone. I buried my face beneath the pillow, hoping for just a few moments more.

"Tamaro!" she repeated, this time yanking the pillow away without mercy.

"I'm still sleepy, Grandma..." I mumbled, pouting at her through bleary eyes. Silence. Then slowly, I peeked out—and saw her grinning from ear to ear.

I recognized that mischievous look instantly. My eyes widened just as she lunged forward, fingers flying, tickling me without restraint.

"Waaah! Grandma—hahaha! Stop! Stop!" I yelped, laughing uncontrollably. She knew exactly how to get me out of bed.

"I won't stop until you're up," she teased, still tickling.

"Waaah, okay, okay! I'm getting up!" I laughed, scrambling out of bed and dashing toward the bathroom. Behind the closed door, I was still catching my breath, smiling to myself.

"Better hurry—breakfast is ready!" Grandma's voice rang through the house before I heard her footsteps fade into the kitchen.

I've always considered myself lucky to be raised by my grandparents. With my parents busy running the farm, it was Grandma and Grandpa who filled my days with love, laughter, and support. They've never stopped believing in my dream of becoming a musician.

I rushed now—my first class at music school was about to start. When I entered the kitchen, Grandma was already packing up food.

"Grandma, I'm running late!" I said, grabbing a sandwich spread with strawberry jam.

"I know," she replied, handing me the lunch box. "That's why I packed this for you."

I flashed her my signature boxy grin and wrapped my arms around her.

"You're the best, Grandma," I said, kissing her cheek.

"My sweet Tamaro," she murmured fondly, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Off you go! Grandpa's waiting outside," she added with a gentle pat on my back.

"See you later, Grandma!" I called out, running out the door toward our car.

"You're late again, Tamaro—let's go!" Grandpa called from the driver's seat, already waiting.

"Good morning, Grandpa!" I greeted cheerfully.

"Morning, son," he smiled back.

"Seatbelt on?" he asked as I buckled myself in.

He started the car, and soon we were singing along to the music playing—one of our morning rituals, simple and sweet.

When we arrived at school, I quickly said goodbye to Grandpa and sprinted toward our classroom. The moment I stepped inside, the room was buzzing with excitement. Voices overlapped, laughter echoed—it was complete chaos.

I made my way to my usual seat at the back, right beside the window. Moments later, my classmate Pat slid into the chair next to mine.

"Tamaro, do you know what's going on?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"What is it? Why's everyone so worked up?" I replied.

"There's going to be an audition next week," Pat said, practically bouncing with excitement. "A talent company from Manila is coming here to scout for new trainees!"

"Whoa, seriously? That's amazing! So... can anyone audition?"

"Not exactly," he said, lowering his voice. "That's why everyone's freaking out. The school director announced that only students who've been enrolled here for over three years are eligible to audition."

"Oh, so that means you qualify, right? You're in your third year now," I asked. Our school blends new and senior students so that experienced performers can help guide those still growing into their talents.

"Yeah, and I'm definitely going to try," he said, eyes gleaming. "You know how badly I've wanted this. It's my dream to be someone people look up to... maybe even an idol."

Pat was my first friend when I started here, and I've seen firsthand how hard he's worked—how much he's grown.

"Good luck, Pat. I'll be right there cheering you on at your audition," I said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Honestly, I didn't mind not being eligible to audition. I knew I still had a long journey ahead to hone my skills—and I was okay with that.

In the days leading up to the audition, the upperclassmen were busy rehearsing nonstop. Energy filled the halls—songs, choreography, instrumentals echoed from every room. Meanwhile, my days stayed the same: home, then school. My routine never changed.

When audition day finally came, I tagged along to support my friend Pat. I even ended up backstage with the other hopefuls, sitting quietly on a chair, casually scrolling on my phone while everyone around me fine-tuned their final moments.

One by one, performers stepped onto the stage. From where I stood, I could see the judges—serious, stone-faced, and sharp-eyed. Their presence alone made the air heavy.

Pat was the last to go. As he walked onto the stage, I could feel the determination radiating off him. He gave it everything he had. I watched him perform with pride and cheered the moment he stepped down.

"You were amazing, Pat," I said, grinning. "I just know they'll choose you."

But before Pat could reply, a staff member approached us.

"Excuse me—are you auditioning?" he asked, looking straight at me.

"Me? Oh—no, I'm not," I replied, caught off guard.

"The judges want to see you. Go ahead, take the stage," he said—and before I could protest, he ushered me forward.

My heart pounded. I wasn't ready. I hadn't planned this. Still, I walked slowly to center stage, took a deep breath, and gave them my best boxy smile. To my surprise, they smiled back.

"Hello, my name is Tamaro Saito," I introduced myself.

"Do you sing?" one judge asked.

"Yes."

"Do you dance?"

"Yes."

"Do you play an instrument?"

"Yes, but I don't have mine with me right now."

"Okay. You're in," one of them said abruptly.

My eyes widened. The audience burst into murmurs and whispers. I hadn't performed. I hadn't even demonstrated anything. Yet I was in?

"I—I made it? You mean... I passed the audition?" I stammered, still processing.

"Yes, you're in. The staff will speak with you," the judge said, and just like that, they stood and exited the area.

I turned back toward where I'd left Pat—he was watching me, eyes sharp, face unreadable.

"Pat?" I called softly as I approached.

He didn't answer. He just smirked.

"What was that?" Pat snapped. "Everyone poured their hearts into their performances, and you—what did you do? Just stand there? Yet somehow you got in? That's completely unfair."

"I... I didn't expect this, Pat," I said, trying to meet his eyes. "You know I wasn't prepared. I'm sorry."

"But if you're not ready—then quit," he said, his tone sharp and unwavering.

I froze. My chest tightened. Was this really coming from my friend? The same person I'd stood beside all this time, cheering him on without question?

"No. Why should I?" I answered quietly, but firmly. "This is a chance I never thought I'd have. I can't just walk away from it."

I could feel the sting in my own voice, even as I tried to stay calm. I had hoped he'd celebrate with me, the way I had always celebrated him. But clearly, I had hoped for too much.

"Then our friendship's over," he said coldly, turning his back and walking away.

I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. So this is how it ends—because of one unexpected audition, one moment I never asked for. Maybe I should be thankful. At least now I know who Pat really is.

Later, a staff member told me they wanted to speak with my parents regarding the offer. The excitement in me was tangled with nervous energy.

It was the weekend, and my parents had come to visit. When I walked into the living room, I saw Mom seated with Dad and Grandpa.

"Ma," I said softly, my voice still shaky from the day's whirlwind.

"Tamaro," she exclaimed, standing up to hug me tight. Dad followed, wrapping his arms around me in silence. I had missed them more than I realized.

"Where's Grandma?" I asked, scanning the room.

"I'm here—missing me already?" she teased, entering with a tray of sweets. Grandpa rose to take the tray from her, their teamwork gentle and familiar.

"I need to tell you something," I said, settling nervously between Mom and Dad. My grandparents sat across from me, their faces attentive, full of quiet curiosity.

"What is it, son?" Dad asked, patting my back with that familiar steadiness.

"I went to the audition. Not as a participant—just to support a friend," I began. My voice faltered as I looked around the room. They waited, patient and silent.

"He didn't make it. But... I did. Somehow, I was chosen."

Their reactions came at once.

"What?" they echoed.

"Honestly, I wasn't planning to audition," I said, rubbing the back of my head. "It just happened—the judges called me up on stage out of nowhere. I didn't even perform."

"Ha! That's my grandson," Grandpa beamed. "It's the charm—you look just like me."

We all turned to him, then burst out laughing.

"So, what's your plan now?" Mom asked gently.

"The staff wants to speak with you about what happens next," I replied, looking between her and Dad.

"Do you really want to go through with this?" Dad asked, his tone steady and thoughtful.

"I think I should try, Pa. Better to take the chance than regret not trying at all, right?"

He smiled and reached over to ruffle my hair. "That's my boy."

Grandma, sitting quietly nearby, finally spoke—her eyes glossy with emotion. "If you go... does that mean you'll be staying in Manila?"

I walked over and sat beside her, wrapping my arms around her small frame.

"Do you want me to quit, Grandma?" I whispered.

"Of course not," she said softly, holding me close. "You know I'll support whatever you choose."

If anyone would miss me the most, it was my grandparents. They raised me, filled my life with love and laughter. I was grateful beyond words—but I couldn't deny the nerves creeping in. Manila was unknown territory, and my heart ached with uncertainty.

I tried reaching out to Pat, but he wouldn't respond. He was still angry—still hurt. I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, yet guilt lingered. Pat was a summer friend; someone I grew close to at music school. But my oldest friends? They were waiting.

I didn't enroll for the upcoming school year—I'd be moving to Manila. So, I reached out to Samuel Mondragon and Chino Placido, my best friends from middle school. I had to tell them the news. They had no idea I'd even auditioned.

"Classes start next week, so why'd you call us up this early?" Sam asked, raising a curious brow.

"I... I needed to tell you something," I said, nerves prickling at the edges of my voice. They didn't interrupt, just watched me quietly, waiting.

"I'm going to Manila."

"What?!" they both shouted in unison, making me flinch and immediately cover my ears.

"Can you please stop shouting and let me explain?" I pouted.

They nodded, faces now serious.

"A couple of weeks ago, an entertainment company came to my music school to hold auditions. I didn't go there to audition—I only went to support Patrick. You remember him, right?"

"Yeah, that jerk," Sam muttered, and we couldn't help but laugh.

"He didn't make it. But... somehow, I did. And he hasn't spoken to me since. He thinks I stole his dream."

I looked down at my hands, unsure how to explain the strange guilt that lingered. Chino reached over, placed a hand on my shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Tam, I've always believed you'd become a musician. You've got something special—and we're proud of you," he said, steady and kind. "If going to Manila is part of that dream, then go for it. We'll be here. We'll always be your best friends, cheering you on from wherever we are."

Sam moved beside me and threw his arm around my shoulder. Their quiet support meant everything.

We spent the rest of the day together—laughing, watching movies, soaking in every last moment before my life would start changing. I didn't know how long it would be before I saw them again.

Later that afternoon, just as we stepped out from the theater, we ran into Patrick. He walked straight toward us, annoyance written all over his face.

"So, you didn't quit? Still clinging to that offer, huh?" he sneered.

"What if he did accept it?" Chino shot back. "It's none of your business. Besides, Tamaro's got more talent than you'll ever admit."

Patrick's eyes narrowed.

"You won't succeed, Tamaro. I'll make sure of that," he said coldly, then turned and walked away.

"Pathetic jerk!" Samuel called out after Patrick left—and all three of us burst into laughter. Even in moments like this, I'm reminded how lucky I am to be surrounded by people who genuinely have my back. My family, my friends—they believe in me. I promised myself I wouldn't let them down.

Later that week, my parents met with the representatives from the entertainment company. They explained everything in detail: I'd be living in a dorm with the other trainees, continuing my studies while undergoing training. To my relief, both my parents and grandparents supported the opportunity wholeheartedly.

I was in my room, quietly packing my things, when Grandma knocked and slowly stepped inside.

"Tammy, are you finished packing?" she asked, her eyes misty.

"Don't cry, Grandma," I said softly, pulling her into a hug. "It's already hard enough leaving you and Grandpa."

She wiped her eyes and managed a smile. "Okay, I won't cry. But I will miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Grandma. I'll call every single day," I promised, holding her tighter. This would be the first time I'd ever live apart from my grandparents. The weight of that was sinking in fast.

I said my goodbyes to Grandma, Grandpa, and Mom—each parting full of quiet tears and whispered encouragements. It was painful, yes. But also deeply affirming.

Dad accompanied me to Manila, wanting to make sure I arrived safely at the dorm. We took the ferry—a full twenty-four hours of open sea and quiet talks—before docking at Manila Port.

From there, we hopped into a taxi to head toward the company dorm. The map said it should've taken only thirty minutes from the train station. An hour passed, and we were still winding through the unfamiliar streets.

Finally, we reached the building. Dad paid the fare, his brow furrowing.

"Tamaro, I think we got scammed," he muttered after stepping out.

Being from Cebu, the city felt vast and unfamiliar. We were clearly new to this rhythm.

"What do we do now, Dad?" I asked, unsure but trying not to show it.

"Let him go," Dad murmured. "Let's head inside."

We entered the company building, and a staff member welcomed us, assisting with the final steps. There were a few more things they needed to discuss with Dad, so we sat down while details were arranged. After the meeting, Dad turned to me quietly—his time in Manila was brief. He'd be staying overnight at a nearby hotel, then catching an early ferry back to Cebu. The farm needed him.

"Tamaro, I have to head back now," he said, his voice both steady and soft. "I'll be leaving you here. Are you going to be, okay?"

"Don't worry, Dad. I'm a big boy now," I smiled, hugging him tight. "I can manage."

He chuckled lightly. "Just take care. And don't go pulling any pranks in the dorm."

"I won't," I promised. "You take care too."

We exchanged one last hug, and as he turned to leave, I felt a sudden sting behind my eyes. I quickly wiped the tears away and forced a smile.

From now on, it's just me. I need to be strong.

While waiting in the lobby for the staff who'd escort me to the dorm, I noticed a group of trainees pass by—faces flushed, shirts damp with sweat. They had probably just come from practice.

And then I saw him.

A boy trailing quietly behind, shy and gentle in his steps. His Bambi-like eyes, soft nose, and delicate lips caught my attention like a still note in a loud room. I couldn't help but watch, heart oddly fluttering as he disappeared down the hallway.

What was that? I tilted my head, hand instinctively resting over my chest.

Soon, the manager returned and led me down a corridor to the trainees' dorm. We entered a cozy space where four young men sat in the small living room. They looked up, puzzled.

I offered a grin and waved. "Hi, I'm Tamaro Saito. From Cebu," I said, bowing politely.

They stood, exchanging looks before facing us.

"These will be your dorm mates during your training," the manager said, still beside me.

"I'm Renz Arcenal—and these are Stephen Cruz, Harly Chan, and Joshua Castillo," Renz said warmly as he introduced the dormmates. I greeted them with a grin, full of nerves and curiosity, peppering them with questions about what to expect. Thankfully, they were patient and welcoming, answering each one without complaint.

Renz mentioned there was one more member I hadn't met yet—Akiro, the youngest of us all. Hearing that made me smile. It felt like I was about to gain a little brother in this new chapter of training.

Even though it was late, the dorm buzzed with quiet activity—everyone immersed in their own routines. I, on the other hand, was restless. Bored and bursting with leftover energy, I ran around the living room, shouting nonsense and jumping onto the couch. In my peripheral vision, I saw heads turn, their tasks interrupted by my impromptu chaos.

Then the door creaked open.

I lost my footing and tumbled to the floor, laughter still lingering. But when I looked up... my breath caught.

Standing in the doorway was the boy I'd noticed earlier at the company—the one with Bambi eyes, quiet presence, and a gaze that held stillness like water. He stared at me, wide-eyed. I stared back. For a heartbeat, the dorm disappeared. It was just the two of us, suspended in silence.

My thoughts snapped back when Renz gently tapped my shoulder.

"Tamaro, this is Akiro—the youngest in the group," he said. Akiro glanced down shyly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

I smiled and stepped forward. "Hi, I'm Tamaro Saito," I said, extending my hand.

"I'm Akiro Yamamoto," he replied, accepting it.

The moment our hands touched, a strange warmth passed between us—a light jolt like electricity that raced down my spine. We held on for a moment longer than expected, eyes meeting, unsure, curious.

Joshua's voice brought us back.

"Akiro, were you practicing until midnight?" he asked casually, settling onto the sofa.

"Yes," Akiro answered, glancing briefly in my direction. "There's another dance practice tomorrow morning."

"You and Tamaro will be training together," Renz added as he headed toward the bedrooms. "Make sure to bring him along."

It was already past midnight. The other trainees drifted into their shared room, while I stood there in the quiet—feeling everything begin.

Our dorm is small—just one shared room with three bunk beds lined against the walls. Six of us live under one roof, each with a different personality, different rhythm. I couldn't help but wonder: can we truly get along? I felt a flicker of anxiety about what lay ahead... but seeing Akiro gave me a quiet kind of courage. Despite his age, he managed to live far from his parents with grace and determination.

I sat beside him on the sofa, surprising him a little.

"Are you tired? Can you tell me what our training's like?" I asked gently, my hand resting on his arm.

He smiled and began to explain, his voice soft and thoughtful. Even with his shyness, he kept talking, sharing what he knew. I listened closely, quietly inspired. His dedication was evident in every word, and it stirred something hopeful in me.

Days passed quickly as training began—mostly with Akiro by my side, and sometimes with the rest of our group. Among them, Renz, Stephen, and Harly stood out. They formed the rap line, and to me, they already felt like celebrities in the making. Renz had been chosen as the leader, and under his direction, our practices were intense, often stretching late into the night with barely enough time to rest.

During one of our short breaks, I turned to Akiro, catching my breath.

"Akiro, can you help me with the new steps later? I couldn't keep up earlier."

"Sure," he said with a reassuring smile. "We'll stay after practice."

As the weeks passed, our bond grew deeper. Akiro wasn't just talented—he was quietly ambitious, with dreams so vivid they seemed to burn behind his Bambi eyes. I knew, without question, he'd make a name for himself.

Then one afternoon, the manager entered our cramped practice room with another young boy in tow. The room was tight—we often bumped into one another mid-dance—but it held a sense of belonging. The six of us had officially been selected to form Phonix, and the reality that we would debut in the P-pop world within a year was both thrilling and terrifying.

Manager Brandon introduced the boy beside him. We had seen him once before at a trainee gathering. He was from Davao, just like Akiro. His name was Jemuel Tan.

I walked over to welcome him, sensing his uncertainty. I remembered that feeling—the quiet fear of entering a room full of strangers.

"Hi, I'm Tamaro Saito. I'm from Cebu," I said, extending my hand to the newcomer.

He took it with a smile. "I'm Jemuel Tan from Davao."

We shook hands and exchanged an easy grin. Soon, the rest of the members took turns introducing themselves to Jemuel as well.

It didn't take long for Jemuel and me to grow close—we were both born in 1995, though he was a few months older, born before winter swept in. We trained together, stumbled together, even got scolded together... especially with Akiro in the mix. The three of us formed the youngest line, and sometimes the older members lost patience with us when we weren't serious enough during practice.

Still, while Jemuel and I bonded over shared experiences, I found myself becoming closest to Akiro. He was introverted and easily overwhelmed by crowds, and I instinctively stayed close to him—to comfort, to protect. The moment I first saw him, something inside me told me he needed someone beside him.

A few weeks later, management asked if I wanted Jemuel to join the group officially. I said yes without hesitation. That's when he became the final member of Phonix.

Once our group was complete, preparations began to introduce us to the public. But strangely, I was not included. I was to be kept hidden. They never explained why—and the silence felt like rejection.

We were gathered one afternoon in the small office of Mr. William Anderson, the company's CEO. While the others chatted amongst themselves, I sat beside Akiro, exchanging quiet thoughts.

After more than a year of training, I'd learned so much—especially from him. Akiro helped me endure the exhaustion, the pressure, the long days.

Then the door opened, and Mr. Anderson entered, his expression unreadable but familiar. He sat in the single chair and looked at each of us, his smile subdued.

"Are you ready to debut?" he asked.

Anxious silence swept the room. We were all nervous—and it showed.

He continued, calmly.

"Next week, you'll be officially introduced as members of the new boy group Phonix. But Tamaro," he said, locking eyes with me, "you'll be hidden. You won't appear during the announcement."

My chest tightened. My heart skipped, and my throat suddenly felt dry.

"But why?" Renz asked, breaking the silence.

"As I said," Mr. Anderson replied calmly, "he'll be introduced as a hidden member. His reveal will happen the day before the group's official debut. The debut is scheduled for June 10 —just one month from now."

No one asked further. No one explained why I had to be hidden.

I should've felt excited—we were finally debuting. But all I could think was, why me? What purpose did it serve to keep me out of the announcement? I searched for a reason, any reason, and came up empty. All my training—all those endless, sleepless nights—felt suddenly dismissed. Forgotten.

I wanted to cry, to ask for answers. But instead, I swallowed it all. Smiled. Laughed. Acted as if everything was fine.

The others tried to comfort me, but I masked my feelings with my usual bubbly energy. I didn't want them to worry, didn't want to become a burden. We were young, still at the beginning of our journey. And I didn't want to weigh them down with my hurt.

Back at the dorm, the others had already gone into the room. I slipped out to the small balcony that connected to our living space. I sat down quietly on the floor and looked up at the moon. Its soft glow felt colder than usual.

Tears fell freely as I hugged my knees, burying my face between them. The ache in my chest was sharp and silent. What hurt most wasn't being hidden—it was not knowing why.

As I sat in silence, the glass door slid open. Someone stepped out and sat beside me. I didn't need to look—I already knew it was Akiro.

He gently tapped my back, and that simple gesture undid me. I began crying all over again.

"I understand how you feel," he murmured. "Even I don't know the reason."

I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision. For a moment, we simply stared. His soft gaze—those Bambi eyes—were filled with quiet empathy. My heartbeat quickened.

He reached out, wiping the tears from my face with delicate fingers. His touch was gentle, steady, and kind.

"Tamaro, why are you crying... and still looking handsome?" Akiro asked with surprising seriousness, eyes fixed on mine.

I felt my cheeks flush instantly. All the blood rushed to my face, and despite everything, I let out a soft laugh. His poker face made it even harder to believe he'd just said that.

"Seriously, Akiro? You're asking me that while I'm clearly falling apart?" I replied, half exasperated, half amused. He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I'd come to know well—his signature response whenever shyness overtook him. After more than a year of living together, his quirks were familiar, comforting.

He stayed beside me in silence, offering quiet companionship under the moonlight. We didn't speak for a while. I stared at the sky, but my thoughts were tangled—and one stood out more than the rest.

It was about him.

My feelings toward Akiro had shifted since the very first time I saw him in the company lobby. His Bambi eyes held something I couldn't shake. At first, I told myself it was admiration—something protective, like caring for a younger brother. But over time... it grew deeper.

I had begun giving him more attention than the others, softening around him in ways I didn't fully understand. I told myself not to linger on those thoughts—not now. This wasn't the time to get swept up in something so confusing, so quietly overwhelming.

More pressing things weighed on my heart.