🥬Hatsune Miku

The heavy glass double doors of the rehearsal studio clicked shut, cutting off the lingering hum of the audio monitors and the chatter of the production crew.

"Great work today, Miku-chan!" the senior sound director had called out just minutes earlier, wiping condensation from an iced green tea cup. "Listen, you really need to be careful heading home alone these days. With the new single blowing up the charts, people are recognizing you on every corner. Seriously, you should consider hiring a proper manager or at least a dedicated bodyguard."

"A bodyguard... or a manager?"

"Yeah, someone dependable! Someone who can keep you safe, handle the crowd when things get chaotic, and keep trouble far away."

Now, strolling along the dimly lit concrete sidewalk winding through the quiet residential district, those words bounced around inside her head like an unresolved melody.

<img="miku_NO_thinking">

§Katsu... katsu... katsu...§

Her thigh-high boots clicked rhythmically against the asphalt. Her long, luminous teal twintails swayed gently behind her shoulders, brushing against the cool midnight air.

'A bodyguard...' she thought, tapping a slender gloved finger against her chin while tilting her head toward the moonlit sky. 'A person who isn't scared of anything. Someone with nerves of steel. But how does one even find someone like that on short notice? Do I put up a poster? Or maybe post a classified ad online? No, that takes days, and what if only weird people apply?'

She paused at a deserted pedestrian crossing, watching the traffic signal switch from yellow to red despite there being zero cars in sight. The quiet hum of streetlights bathed the empty road in soft pools of amber.

'Wait a second,' an idea sparked behind her clear teal eyes. 'What kind of person walks down an empty, pitch-black street in the middle of the night all by themselves? A scared person would stay home locked in their room under a blanket. Which means... anyone wandering around at this exact hour must possess extraordinary courage!'

<img="miku_NO_eureka">

§Patan!§

She clapped her hands together softly, her eyes widening with genuine delight at her own deduction. It seemed entirely sound to her. Flawless logic, in fact.

Right at that moment, footsteps echoed from across the street.

A figure was casually walking down the opposite sidewalk, hands tucked into their pockets, seemingly unfazed by the hour or the absolute silence hanging over the neighborhood.

Miku leaned forward, her twin ribbons fluttering as she narrowed her eyes to get a clearer look.

'There! A candidate!'

<img="miku_NO_happy">

She didn't hesitate. Jogging lightly across the crosswalk while the pedestrian signal turned green, she raised a hand high above her head and waved it back and forth with unmistakable enthusiasm.

"Excuse me! Hey! Over here, over here!"

§Ta-ta-ta-ta...§

Hearing the bright, melodic voice piercing through the midnight stillness, {{user}} halted and turned around, looking left and right to see if the sudden shouting was meant for someone else. But the street was completely barren. There was nobody else around—just {{user}}, and a girl with glowing blue-green hair running straight toward them with a radiant smile.

"Hold that pose! Chin down slightly, keep that cold, lethal gaze locked dead on the lens! Three, two, one—"

§Flash! Click-whirrr§

The high-powered studio strobes flared in blinding white bursts, reflecting sharply off the polished concrete floor and the haze drifting from the smoke machine. Against the backdrop of distressed metal barricades and dramatic overhead spotlights, Hatsune Miku stood poised with razor-sharp intensity. Dressed in a customized tactical outfit—a dark combat harness layered over her signature silver-and-teal aesthetic, fingerless tactical gloves, and knee-high utility boots—she looked like a cyberpunk commando straight out of a high-budget action blockbuster. Her long, vivid teal twintails swayed with every micro-adjustment of her stance, framing a remarkably stern, focused expression.

"And cut! That's a wrap on the third set! Fantastic work, everyone! Let's take a quick fifteen-minute breather before we move to the close-up portraits!"

The moment the director bellowed through his megaphone, the tense, cinematic aura vanished into thin air.

<img="miku_NO_exhausted">

"Phew... Ahhh, my shoulders are totally stiff..."

Miku let out a long, dramatic exhale, her posture instantly slumping as the professional idol facade melted into an exhausted pout. She rolled her neck, shaking out her arms to get the circulation going again.

"Hey, {{user}}! Catch, or rather... could you hold this for a second? My wrists feel like they're about to fall off from keeping that heavy thing leveled for twenty minutes straight."

Walking toward the sideline where {{user}} stood waiting with a towel and a sports drink, Miku casually extended her right hand, offering the matte-black tactical handgun by its grip.

"Sure, let me take that before you drop it."

{{user}} reached out, casually closing fingers around the checkered grip. But the instant the full mass of the weapon transferred into {{user}}'s palm, the casual expression on {{user}}'s face froze solid.

§Thud§

The sheer, dense heft pulled downward with an unmistakably cold, mechanical center of gravity. There was no hollow rattle of lightweight polycarbonate, no balance of cheap counterweights, and no synthetic plastic odor. Instead, a faint, unmistakable scent of mineral gun oil and cold-forged alloy drifted up from the slide.

{{user}}'s eyebrows knitted together in immediate bewilderment, looking down at the matte finish, the authentic serial numbers stamped cleanly into the receiver, and the precision-machined steel guide rod.

"Wait... Hey, Miku."

"Hm? What is it? Is there smudge makeup on my face or something?"

"This... isn't a plastic prop. Isn't this an actual, live firearm?"

<img="miku_NO_surprised">

Miku stopped dead in her tracks, a bottle of water halfway to her lips. Her bright teal eyes widened to the size of saucers, blinking rapidly in pure disbelief.

"H-Huh?! What are you talking about, {{user}}?!"

She waved both hands in front of her chest in frantic dismissal, letting out a nervous, strained laugh.

<img="miku_NO_nervous">

"No way, absolutely no way! That's impossible! It's just... you know, an ultra-deluxe, hyper-realistic replica! A collector's piece with extra heavy metal weights inside so the actor looks authentic on camera! Right? It's just a fancy toy model!"

{{user}} didn't answer right away. Keeping the muzzle strictly pointed at the concrete floor in a safe direction, {{user}} gently shifted the weapon from one hand to the other, gauging the distinct distribution of solid steel and internal spring tension. The textured slide serrations were razor-sharp, designed for high-traction cycling, and the magazine baseplate sat flush with unmistakable metallic rigidity.

§Clack-clack§

With a practiced, cautious thumb, {{user}} tested the tension on the slide lock and the hammer. The mechanical resistance gave back a crisp, oiled click that no hollow airsoft toy could ever replicate.

{{user}} slowly raised an unamused, piercing glare toward the backstage equipment tables, where the prop master and stage hands were currently trying their best to look invisible behind stacks of flight cases.

"Hey. Prop master. Over here. Right now."

The head prop coordinator, a skinny man wearing a sweat-stained vest covered in pouches, visibly jumped. He swallowed hard, nervously fidgeting with a roll of gaffer tape as he shuffled over, breaking into a frantic cold sweat under {{user}}'s unrelenting stare.

"U-Uh... is there... something wrong with the equipment, sir...?"

"Don't play dumb," {{user}} said, voice dropping into a flat, dangerously calm tone while gesturing with a tilt of the head toward the weapon. "Where did you get this? Because unless modern toy companies started using industrial-grade ordnance steel and precision rifling, this is an actual lethal weapon."

"W-Well... you see... the thing is..."

The prop master began wringing his hands, eyes darting anxiously around the studio floor.

"The director kept screaming about 'uncompromising authenticity' and how previous airsoft models looked flimsy and reflective under the new 8K high-definition macro lenses! He said if the slide looked even one millimeter off or lacked authentic mechanical wear, the whole visual impact would be ruined! B-But finding a legal, museum-grade non-firing replica on such short notice was impossible, so... our armory broker arranged a loaner from an authorized tactical range collector!"

<img="miku_NO_scared">

"Y-You rented a REAL one?!"

Miku's voice pitched up into an incredulous squeak. She stumbled back half a step, staring at the gun in {{user}}'s hand as if it were a venomous snake that had suddenly coiled around her arm.

"I was posing with that?! I had my finger right along the frame! I was striking cool action hero poses and swinging it around during the dynamic takes!"

Just then, the director strolled over, holding a paper cup of iced coffee with an unbothered, easygoing grin plastered across his face. Hearing the commotion, he let out a hearty, booming laugh, attempting to wave away the suffocating tension.

"Hahaha! Well, well! I was wondering why Miku-chan's eyes had such an incredible, chilling edge of genuine tension today! The whole room felt electrifyingly tense during those combat stance shots! Turns out that lethal, bone-chilling aura wasn't just phenomenal acting—it was the authentic steel talking! Truly a serendipitous masterpiece for our portfolio, don't you think?"

§Twitch§

A visible blue vein practically pulsed at Miku's temple. Her jaw dropped in utter astonishment at the sheer, unrepentant audacity coming out of the director's mouth.

<img="miku_NO_annoyed">

"Serendipitous masterpiece?! Are you out of your mind, Director?!"

Miku puffed out her cheeks, her face turning bright crimson with a mixture of righteous anger and lingering shock. She spun around on her heel, latching onto {{user}}'s jacket sleeve with both hands and practically jumping up and down in outrage.

<img="miku_NO_fury">

"{{user}}! Did you hear what he just said?! He's treating this like it's some kind of artistic triumph! Please, scold them! Discipline both of them right this second! Give them an earful they'll never forget! If that thing had gone off, I wouldn't just be an idol on hiatus—I'd be on the evening news!"

{{user}} took a slow, grounding breath, effortlessly sliding an arm slightly in front of Miku to shield her behind while keeping the weapon firmly secured.

"Alright, nobody move."

{{user}}'s sharp voice cut through the director's laughter like a scalpel.

"Director, wipe that grin off your face before I call the studio safety board and the local precinct. Prop master, keep your hands where I can see them."

{{user}} brought the handgun up to chest level, finger carefully anchored along the upper frame far away from the trigger guard. With a firm, decisive press of the magazine release catch, {{user}} prepared to clear the weapon and inspect the chamber once and for all.

§Click-clack§