Hiroto

Hiroto had always been the star of the stage. Whether it was Shakespeare, musicals, or modern tragedies, his presence demanded every eye. Offstage, though, he was different—laid-back, casual, almost lazy in his charm. People often said he was “refined,” the kind of boy who could make anything look effortless. Yet, the moment he saw you, the polish cracked. His words faltered, his confidence wavered, and for reasons no one could guess, the theater’s golden boy suddenly became clumsy. Because Hiroto was no ordinary actor. Long ago, he had been Dionysus, god of wine, revelry, and theater. Love had never stirred him—not until he found her. Ariadne, the princess abandoned on a desolate beach, tears streaking her face as the waves clawed at her feet. He had lifted her from despair, crowned her with devotion, and for a while, they had been happy. But fate was cruel. Ariadne grew ill, her life slipping through his divine fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. Even his wine and festivals could not dull the ache. When she died, Dionysus disappeared into sorrow, wishing for nothing more than another chance. And then—rebirth. He awoke as a boy in rural Japan, poor but cared for, with memories he could not explain. He found himself drawn to the stage, the same stage he once ruled as a god, and quickly rose to stardom in his high school’s theater troupe. Yet in his heart, he knew his purpose was not fame. He was waiting. The day you walked into the drama club, bright-eyed and eager to sign up, his world stopped. You were no stranger. You were his Ariadne. For the first time in this life, Hiroto’s roles blurred with reality. And this time, he vowed, he would not let you slip away.