Chapter Text
The air in the hallway of Vocaloid High didn't just feel heavy it felt combustible.
Len Kagamine leaned against his locker, the cold metal pressing through his thin uniform shirt. He was adjusting his yellow necktie for the tenth time, but his eyes were fixed on the far end of the corridor. He didn't need to see the shock of messy red hair to know who was coming. He could smell the faint, metallic scent of cheap hair dye and peppermint Fukase’s signature scent.
"Look at him," Kaito muttered, standing next to Len while casually scrolling through his phone. "He looks like he’s looking for a fight already. Just ignore him, Len. We have the rehearsal for the Vocaloid Showcase today."
"I can't ignore a stain on the floor, Kaito," Len spat, his grip tightening on his bag strap.
Fukase didn't walk he swaggered. His mismatched eyes one sharp and mocking, the other hidden behind that ridiculous hatwere locked onto Len's. Behind him trailed Flower, looking bored as usual, and Oliver, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
As Fukase drew level with Len, he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He simply jerked his shoulder, slamming it hard into Len’s, sending the blonde stumbling back against the lockers with a loud clat-bang.
"Watch it, Kagamine," Fukase’s voice was like gravel over silk rough and irritatingly smooth at the same time. He stopped, turning his head just enough to flash a jagged, toothy grin. "You’re blocking the view of someone who actually matters."
Len felt the heat rise to his face instantly. He pushed off the lockers, stepping right into Fukase’s personal space. "The only thing 'matter' about you, Fukase, is that you’re a waste of it. Get out of my face before I make sure that red hair of yours matches the floor."
"Ooh, scary," Fukase laughed, a dry, mocking sound. He stepped closer, leaning down until their foreheads almost touched. "I’d love to see you try, Blondie. But we both know you’re all bark and no bite. Just a pretty little backup singer."
The hallway went silent. Miku and Luka, who were chatting nearby, stopped to watch. The rivalry between the Kagamine circle and Fukase’s crew was legendary, but today, the tension felt different. It felt like something was about to snap.
Len didn't think. He grabbed the lapels of Fukase’s distorted blazer. "I’ll show you who’s a backup," he hissed. Len’s knuckles turned white as he bunched Fukase’s collar in his hands. The fabric was rough, smelling faintly of old smoke and something sweet, like rotting candy. He expected Fukase to push him back, to start a brawl right there in front of the lockers. Instead, Fukase stayed perfectly still, his grin widening into something sharp and cruel.
"Go ahead," Fukase whispered, loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. "Hit me. Prove everyone right. Prove that the 'Golden Boy' is just a volatile little brat who can't handle a bit of pressure."
"Shut up," Len hissed, his voice trembling. "You don't know anything about me."
"Don't I?" Fukase tilted his head, his mismatched eyes gleaming with predatory delight. He stepped even closer, lowering his voice to a murmur that only Len could hear. "I know why you practice in the music room until your fingers bleed, Len. I know why you look at Rin with that pathetic mix of love and absolute resentment."
Len’s heart skipped a beat. The air in his lungs felt like lead.
"You're terrified, aren't you?" Fukase continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Terrified that without her, you’re just a hollow echo. A secondary track. You’re so desperate to be 'The Best' because you’re scared that if you aren't perfect, nobody will have a reason to look at you at all. You’re not a lead singer, Len. You’re a placeholder."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Len felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. It wasn't just a taunt it was a strike at the one insecurity he kept buried under layers of ego and hard work.
Behind Fukase, Flower shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting toward the classroom doors. Even she seemed to think he had gone too far. Kaito stepped forward, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by a protective sharpness. "That’s enough, Fukase. Back off."
But Len didn't wait for Kaito to intervene. The roar in his ears was too loud. With a snarl of pure, unadulterated rage, he shoved Fukase back. It wasn't a tactical move it was a desperate attempt to push those words away.
Fukase stumbled back, laughing a jagged, manic sound that echoed off the linoleum walls. "There he is! There’s the real Len Kagamine. Not the idol, not the star student. Just a fragile little boy playing dress up."
"I am going to destroy you," Len said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm level. He wasn't shouting anymore. His eyes were cold, focused on Fukase with a hatred so intense it felt physical. "At the showcase, in the halls... I don't care where. I’m going to make sure everyone sees you for the pathetic, red headed glitch you are."
Fukase straightened his hat, his expression settling into a mask of cold arrogance. "I look forward to it, Placeholder. Try not to cry on stage."
With a flick of his wrist, Fukase turned on his heel and walked away, his cape-
like coat fluttering behind him. Flower and Oliver followed, though Oliver threw a lingering, worried glance back at Len. The bell for first period rang, a shrill, metallic sound that signaled the dispersal of the crowd. Students shuffled away, whispering and casting lingering glances at Len, who remained frozen by his locker. His chest was heaving, his fingers still curled into tight, trembling fists.
"Len?"
The voice was identical to his own in pitch, yet infused with a brightness that currently felt like sandpaper against his nerves. He didn't turn around. He didn't have to.
Rin stepped into his line of sight, her yellow bow bobbing as she tilted her head. She looked concerned, but there was also that spark of energy she always carried the one that made people naturally gravitate toward her. The one Fukase had just weaponized against him.
"I heard there was a scene," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Was it Fukase again? Len, you shouldn't let him get under your skin. He’s just a provocateur. He does it because he knows he can."
Len flinched away from her touch, the movement sharper than he intended. "I'm fine, Rin. Just drop it."
"You don't look fine. You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin," she countered, her concern shifting into that sister mode she fell into so easily. "What did he say this time? Something about your singing? Your hair? You know he's just jealous that—"
"He’s not jealous, Rin!" Len snapped, finally looking at her. His blue eyes were clouded with a mix of anger and something that looked dangerously like shame. "Not everyone is obsessed with us. And maybe he’s right. Maybe everyone is just 'nice' to me because I’m your brother. The other half of the set."
Rin blinked, taken aback by the venom in his voice. "Len... that’s not true. You work harder than anyone in the Vocaloid track. You’re brilliant on your own."
"Am I?" Len let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Then why is it that every time we book a gig, it's 'The Kagamines'? Why is it that when I try to compose something solo, the first question the teachers ask is 'Where’s the harmony part for Rin?'"
He slammed his locker shut, the sound echoing through the now empty hallway. The silence that followed was heavy. Rin looked hurt, her lip trembling slightly, and for a second, Len felt a pang of guilt. But it was quickly drowned out by the echoing ghost of Fukase’s voice: A secondary track. A placeholder.
"I need to go to class," Len muttered, not looking at her.
"Len, wait! We have the duet practice during lunch," Rin called after him, but he was already walking away, his strides long and frantic.
He didn't go to class. Not yet. He ducked into the nearest restroom, leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He hated how much he looked like her. He hated the yellow of his uniform. Most of all, he hated the fact that Fukase that chaotic, red-haired disaster had seen right through the armor he had spent years building.
Fukase wasn't just an enemy because he was mean. He was an enemy because he was the only one who dared to say the things Len feared most about himself.
Len wiped his face with the back of his hand, his expression hardening. If Fukase wanted a villain, he would get one. If Fukase thought he was just a "placeholder," Len would make sure that by the end of this semester, the only name anyone remembered the only name Fukase would be forced to scream in frustration was Len.
He left the restroom, the guilt over Rin tucked away in a dark corner of his mind.