Debut, Wen Yao Girls! - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Fifth Second of Resonating Heartbeats

Morning light filtered through the blinds of the practice room, cutting the floor into alternating patches of brightness and shadow.

Edogawa Ranpo snapped her tablet shut on the desk, the screen facing the six members gathered around. Displayed were thirty-five recorded mistakes from the previous night’s rehearsal, each marked with its corresponding heartbeat curve.

“The elimination round isn’t just about technique.” Her fingertip tapped the column of plummeting red numbers labeled ‘Artistic Resonance’. “The audience isn’t watching a dance. They’re watching our hearts. Starting today, we’ll train for heartbeat synchronization.”

“Heartbeat?” Junko Tanizaki twirled a strand of hair and laughed. “What, are we supposed to strap heart rate monitors around our waists and dance with them on?”

“More troublesome than that.” Edogawa Ranpo pulled a stack of silver patches from her canvas bag. “These go right below your collarbones. They’ll track heart rate, breathing rhythm, and movement range in real time. What I want to find is each person’s most stable resonance point—the moment your emotions hold steady even through the hardest moves.” Her gaze swept over their startled faces, chin lifted. “Put simply—our heartbeats will become the metronome for the choreography.”

“You mean you want us to dance straight into each other’s hearts?” Ishikawa folded her arms with a cold laugh, the blue highlights in her hair tips swinging with the motion.

Ranpo leaned close. “More or less.” She stepped back two paces, knuckle against her chin. “Last Wednesday, when Suzuko slipped during the lift, Atsushi Nakajima’s heart rate spiked from seventy-eight to one hundred and two, and Tanizaki’s breathing sped up by three-tenths of a second. You thought that was just a mistake? No—it was your hearts failing to keep time with each other.”

The practice room fell silent, so quiet they could hear water dripping from the air conditioner.

From the corner, Dazai Osamu straightened, the red rose at her collar trembling with the motion. “I can help.” All eyes turned toward her. She tilted her head with a smile. “My ability can temporarily cancel emotional interference. If you need to test raw heartbeat data, I can let you rehearse without feeling each other’s nerves or anxiety.”

Edogawa Ranpo’s pupils shrank slightly.

It was the first time Dazai had ever offered to use her ability for the team. Before, she always said, ‘A perfection built on abilities is too fake.’

Ranpo fixed her gaze on her. That small spark of warmth felt like fire falling onto snow. “Why?”

“Because I want to see you win once—the human way.” Dazai’s fingertip traced the desk, leaving behind the faintest scent of jasmine. “Or what, Detective—are you afraid I’ll mess things up?”

Ranpo’s lips curved up. She snatched a handful of silver patches and tossed them over. “Wanna try?”

…

Three days later.

The rehearsal room was bathed in amber light. The five members’ silver patches glimmered faintly, while five interlaced curves pulsed across the wall screen.

Dazai stood at the center, eyes half-lidded, her ability No Longer Human spreading like an invisible net, filtering out every ripple of nervousness.

“Three, two, one—go!”

The piano intro rose. Suzuko’s lift lagged half a beat.

Atsushi barely dodged her trembling fingers, Tanizaki’s spin halted awkwardly, and the curves on the screen exploded into chaos.

Most glaring of all was Suzuko’s line, leaping from a steady sixty-five to ninety-two, like a cat with its tail stepped on.

“Stop.” Ranpo pressed pause, her voice calm, not angry.

She walked up to Suzuko, who clutched the hem of her shirt, nails nearly breaking skin into her palm. “What were you thinking just now?”

“I…” Suzuko’s lashes shook violently. “I remembered what Shiraishi said yesterday… she told me someone like me, who can’t even control her emotions, doesn’t deserve to stand on the finals stage.”

Smack.

The crisp sound startled everyone.

Ranpo had slapped Suzuko’s burning cheek—not harshly, just enough. “So you believed her?” She bent down until their eyes met. “Shiraishi’s ability is Mind Reader. She knows better than anyone—emotional fluctuations are the truest thing of all. She’s jealous of you. Jealous that you don’t need abilities to fake perfection. Jealous that your heartbeat speeds up for your teammates.”

“Ranpo!”

A cold voice rang from the door.

Shiraishi Yuna leaned against the frame, her silver curls gleaming harshly in the backlight, diamond earrings stabbing the eyes. “Are you encouraging your teammate? Or is it…” She strode in on high heels, bitter orange blossom perfume trailing sharp as blades. “You just won’t admit it—that your choreography is so absurd, it keeps leading your team to failure.”

Ranpo turned, chin lifted. “You’re wrong.” She seized Suzuko’s hand and pressed it to her chest. “My plan wants this kind of mistake. Because real heartbeats will always hold more power than perfect façades.” She turned to the others. “Again. This time I’ll stand by Suzuko.”

The music restarted.

Ranpo stood at Suzuko’s side, clearly hearing her rapid heartbeat through the patch, drumming against her ear like a small drum.

Ranpo slowed her own breath. Slower. Seventy-two. Seventy. Sixty-eight.

When Suzuko’s fingers trembled, she brushed them lightly with her knuckles. When Suzuko’s steps faltered, she tapped the floor with her toe, giving a secret rhythm.

On the screen, the curves began to shift.

Atsushi’s eighty-five dropped to seventy-eight, aligning with Tanizaki’s seventy-six. Mori Ougai’s breathing stabilized into a steady offset from Ishikawa’s. Finally, Suzuko’s jagged spikes softened, slowly climbing down toward Ranpo’s steady sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six…

At the explosive drumbeat of the climax, the five heart-rate curves twisted into one shining silver rope.

The lights blazed brighter than any rehearsal before, as if someone had smashed the sun into the practice room.

At the door stood Yuuma Fujiwara, a black coat draped over his arm, lips tugged in a rare smile.

By the end, sweat soaked Ranpo’s back.

She tore off the patch from her collarbone, only to meet Dazai’s eyes.

Dazai handed her a cold water bottle, fingers hooking lightly at her wrist to pull her aside. “You’ve changed.” Her voice was low, blending with the hum of the air conditioner. “Before, all you said was ‘Data doesn’t lie.’ Now you say ‘Heartbeats are stronger than perfection.’”

Ranpo twisted off the cap and drank half the bottle in one go.

Wiping her mouth, she asked, “Is that… better?”

Dazai’s gaze lingered on the damp hair clinging to her forehead, the mole at the corner of her eye soft in the warm light. “Yeah.”

From the doorway, Fujiwara called.

Ranpo answered, but when she turned, she caught sight of Shiraishi at the end of the hall, backlit, phone clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.

Her orange blossom scent was swept over by the wind, mixed with faint electronic pings of a chat notification.

“Tomorrow’s the final public rehearsal,” Fujiwara said, laying the coat over her shoulders, his voice unusually solemn. “This time… don’t let logic outweigh your heartbeat.”

Ranpo thought of the crumpled note stuffed in her locker that morning.

The messy handwriting was unmistakably Shiraishi’s: ‘You can’t win. Because real human hearts are more uncontrollable than your deductions.’

She crushed the note into a ball and tossed it into the trash.

Her own heartbeat stayed steady in her chest. Sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six.

This time, she’d see just how much chaos an “uncontrollable heart” could stir.