Miku, Teto and Neru | 🍰Baumkuchen Endroll🍰

The dorm hallway was a mess. Even though it was long past midnight—1 A.M., to be exact—that didn’t stop the two most popular girls from raising their voices right outside everyone’s doors, their words echoing off the chipped walls and scuffed linoleum. The air felt heavier than usual, as if the tension itself was pressing down on everyone behind those silent doors.

Teto stood stiff and stubborn, arms crossed tight over her chest, voice sharp enough to cut through the sleepy hush. Her red twindrills bounced a little each time she shifted, betraying her agitation even as she tried to look unbothered. Neru leaned against the wall, looking bored, her eyelids low, but the sly curl of her lips gave her away. The hallway lights flickered, making her expression seem even more unreadable.

This wasn’t just some petty argument about laundry or noise. Even an outsider could tell: the stakes were higher tonight. It was about Hatsune Miku.

Miku, caught awkwardly between them, tried at first to keep the peace. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting between Teto and Neru like she was searching for some invisible escape route. You could see how out of her depth she was—her attempts at calm, soothing words only seemed to make things worse. Teto fired off questions that didn’t have real answers, her frustration clear in every syllable. Neru kept dodging, responding with half-truths and that soft, careless tone, as if the whole confrontation was beneath her, as if none of it really mattered at all.

“You’re overthinking it,” Neru said, voice almost lazy, like she was barely awake.

“I’m not,” Teto shot back immediately, her eyes narrowing. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t act clueless.”

The cheap fluorescent lights above buzzed and flickered, casting everyone’s faces in a sickly yellow glow. Aside from that, the hallway was dead quiet. Most people were asleep by now, or at least pretending to be. No doors cracked open, no curious faces peeked out. At this hour, nobody wanted to get caught up in someone else’s drama, especially not drama involving these three.

Miku’s patience finally ran out. It was visible, because of the way her hands tightened around her bag strap, her fingers white-knuckled. She glanced up at Neru, her voice barely above a whisper, but the urgency was impossible to miss.

“Neru, let’s just go,” she pleaded, eyes shining with frustration and exhaustion.

For a second, Teto’s tough front slipped. Her crossed arms loosened, her mouth opened just a little, as if she was about to say something different, something softer.

But before she could get the words out, Miku grabbed Neru by the wrist and pulled her away, dragging her down the long, empty hallway without looking back.

Neru didn’t resist. She let herself be led, her steps unhurried, almost graceful. But just before they turned the corner, she looked back over her shoulder.

She locked eyes with Teto.

And she smiled.

Not a friendly smile. Not an apologetic one, either. It was a slow, wicked grin—one that seemed to promise more trouble ahead, one that made it clear this wasn’t over.

After that, the hallway went still. The buzzing lights hummed on, the silence settled back in, and not a single person claimed to have seen a thing. But by morning, everyone would know something had happened. The traces of tension would linger, invisible but impossible to ignore.

Two years can flip the whole world on its head — turn legends into stories, stories into footnotes. Nothing stays the same, no matter how hard anyone tries.

The charts. The hype. The rankings. People watched them like stock tickers, waiting for the next big shift.

Hatsune Miku — number one, hands down. The icon, the voice everyone chased. Kasane Teto — right behind her at two, tenacious and unpredictable. Akita Neru — holding strong at three, never letting the world forget her.

People called them legends. Unbreakable. The trio that defined a generation, a constellation you could navigate by. They were the dream team, the ones who broke the internet again and again, the ones whose names made producers tremble and fans scream. Unshakable — or so everyone believed.

Now, tonight, they’re all gathered in this pretty little mansion, just for the wedding. The courtyard is awash in warm light, golden and soft, shimmering off the windows. White flowers crowd every surface — lilies, roses, orchids, all arranged with impossible care. The night air buzzes with laughter, with the hum of old friends reunited. Every face in the scene means something — Vocaloids, UTAUloids, SynthVs, producers from every era, even the ones who swore they’d never show up to an industry event again. The air is thick with nostalgia and expectation, every conversation a blend of memory and polite applause.

It’s Miku and Neru’s night — the fairytale, the moment everyone’s been waiting for, the ending that the press will paste across every headline tomorrow.

Miku’s dress is classic white, soft and flowing, but it has these delicate teal and blue trims sewn in — not enough to be flashy, but enough to mark her as herself. She looks radiant, honestly, not in the way that cameras demand, but in the way that only real happiness brings. Her smile is different tonight. Not the kind she puts on for a stage or a photo op, but one that lingers on her lips even when she thinks no one’s watching, one that rises up from somewhere deep.

Her iris? Yellow. Bright as ever, steady and sure, reflecting the lights and the promise of a new chapter. She keeps her gaze high, her posture relaxed. She looks, for a moment, untouchable.

Neru stands next to her in another white dress, this one sharper, tailored close, trimmed in yellow so vivid it almost glows. The lines of her dress are precise, every angle intentional. She looks relaxed, but there’s a cocky tilt to her head — a silent challenge, as if daring anyone to doubt her right to be here.

In public, Neru’s iris matches Miku’s — same teal, sometimes a shade deeper, as if she’s borrowing some of Miku’s light but holding onto a shadow of her own.

Because pretending always drags your color down, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you try to match, no matter how bright the lights, the strain shows at the edges.

Privately, when the doors are closed and the world is far away, Neru’s iris goes black.

But nobody here will ever see that.

Not even Miku.

Teto stands off to the side, away from the crowd, half in shadow and half in the glow of the courtyard lights. She’s not hiding, exactly, but she’s not mingling either.

She’s in a dark red suit — sharp, perfectly tailored, not a single frill or flourish. Black shirt underneath, collar crisp. She likes the structure, the weight of it, the armor it gives her against all these bright, happy faces.

Her iris? Black. Not faded, not flickering, just a bottomless well of midnight. It draws in the light but gives nothing back.

It’s been a long time since Teto loved anyone romantically. She’s stopped even considering the possibility, as if it’s an old habit she finally broke. The ache that used to twist through her chest is gone now, replaced with something quieter, emptier.

She only showed up because skipping would start a firestorm — headlines, speculation, drama, theories stacked on top of theories. Miku would get hurt, the narrative would spiral, and Teto would become the villain of someone else’s story.

Teto doesn’t care about Miku’s feelings anymore, not really. That part of her is dead and buried.

But she’s never liked lighting unnecessary fires.

The ceremony wraps up — vows, rings, a promise said in the hush that only means something to the people saying it. Applause erupts, a sea of sound. A kiss, caught in a hundred flashes. Cheers bounce off the courtyard walls, echoing into the night.

Miku laughs — a real, bright burst of sound, pure in a way stage laughter never is — and squeezes Neru’s hands, eyes shining with something too honest to fake.

Teto claps because it’s expected, her hands meeting with the bare minimum of enthusiasm. No one notices.

Then she heads straight for the dessert table, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

Baumkuchen. Layered, sweet, so precise it’s almost mathematical, every ring a testament to control and patience. Teto admires the precision, the discipline it takes to make something so perfect.

She grabs a slice. Takes a bite — the sugar melting on her tongue, the flavors simple and clean.

Old, ugly thoughts try to rise up — flashes of violence, of anger, of words she’d never let herself speak. She feels them pressing at the edges of her mind, hungry and sharp. She shuts them down, clamps a lid on the darkness before it can spill over.

She takes another bite.

The sweetness helps. It drowns out the noise, fills the empty space where feeling used to be.

Another layer. Another bite.

She keeps her face blank, the mask she’s perfected over years of interviews and staged photos.

After the formal part, Miku and Neru start making the rounds — shaking hands, hugging old friends, thanking every guest with gentle words and practiced gratitude.

“Thank you for coming.” “We’re so glad you made it.” “It means a lot.”

They say it a hundred times, and they mean it every time, or at least Miku does. Neru’s smile sharpens at the edges, but she never lets it drop.

Eventually, Neru nods toward Teto, her gaze flicking over.

“We should talk to her,” she says quietly, voice low enough that only Miku hears. “She’s our best friend, right?”

Miku’s eyes light up, her smile softening. “Of course.”

And she means it, without a shred of doubt.

Teto still shows up for events. Still stands beside them in interviews sometimes, still helps out in the studio when they ask. She still lends her voice to a song every now and then, still keeps up the illusion that nothing’s changed.

So to Miku, nothing has. She doesn’t see the gap where friendship used to be. She doesn’t notice the distance, the way Teto’s laughter never quite reaches her eyes.

She has no idea Teto’s gone, emotionally. Years ago, actually — long enough that Teto can’t even remember when the shift happened.

She doesn’t know what’s really between Neru and Teto, the undercurrent of rivalry and resentment, the games they play when no one’s watching.

The media loves the “best friends” story, too. Teto and Neru joke together on camera, swap teasing jabs, play along like nothing’s ever been wrong. To the world, they’re inseparable, the perfect supporting cast.

No one realizes that once, Teto’s pain was Neru’s secret thrill — a private satisfaction Neru never bothered to hide.

And nobody knows how dark Teto’s buried thoughts get — dark enough to scare even herself sometimes, a bottomless pit she never lets anyone peer into.

Neru wants something tonight.

A crack. A reaction. Some kind of look, anything to prove she still matters, that she can still get under Teto’s skin.

But Teto gives her nothing, and it frustrates Neru more than any obvious pain ever could. It’s like trying to draw blood from stone, and Neru hates to lose.

They finally walk over, shoulders squared, faces bright.

Teto stands at the dessert table, finishing her cake, calm as ever, her poise unbreakable.

Her black iris catches the warm light, but doesn’t reflect anything back. It’s a void, a wall.

Miku smiles, eager, hopeful. “Teto—”

Teto swallows her bite, wipes a crumb from her lip.

“Congratulations,” she says. Flat, not cold— just distant, like she’s speaking through glass.

Neru watches her, searching for a flicker of emotion, some sign of jealousy, regret, longing — anything.

There’s nothing.

No tremble, no bitterness, not even a hint of nostalgia. Just indifference, pure and absolute.

It gets under Neru’s skin, a subtle sting she can’t shake.

Miku keeps smiling, a little confused, still trying to bridge the gap. “I’m really glad you came.”

Teto gives a small nod, polite but empty.

“Yeah.”

That’s it. No warmth, no elaboration, just a word to mark her presence.

After a moment, Teto sets down her empty plate, straightens her blazer with careful hands.

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” she says. Not a lie, but not the real reason.

She lets the silence settle. Her iris stays black, unchanging.

She walks out — no drama, no looking back, just steady steps across the marble, her shoes echoing in the hush that follows.

The doors close behind her, sealing her out of the golden light and the laughter.

Inside, the party keeps going — music swelling, glasses clinking, guests lost in the magic of the night.

Miku moves on, back to greeting the guests, her smile never dropping, her hope undimmed.

Neru watches the door just a bit too long, her jaw tight.

And for the first time that night, she feels a real sting of irritation — sharper than she expected, deeper than she admits.

Because Teto didn’t give her anything.

Not even pain.

Just emptiness — a perfect, impenetrable blank. And somehow, that hurts Neru more than any goodbye ever could.

'Baumkuchen is a German cake that is especially popular in Japan. It is commonly associated with celebrations—particularly weddings, where it is often given to guests as a token of gratitude.'

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