Chapter 2 God Bless You - part 4

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The reflector aimed at the sea was glaringly bright, casting an even light over Namba's face as he stood in as a double for the actor. It seemed like things were falling into place, so they’d probably settle on this setup.

“We’re good to go?” Tokame called from behind.

The lighting staff nodded, confirming, “Yeah.”

“I’ll call the actors. Once they’re here, we’ll jump right into rehearsal.” Without taking his eyes off the setup, the lighting crew member gave an “OK” gesture with his fingers. Tokame made his way over to the trailer where the actors, Kamonagi and Sato, were waiting, calling out to them, “We’re shooting now. Let’s get started.”

There was a potential issue with the extras clumping together on screen, so Tokame directed Shimabara, “Spread them out a bit more.” He also called over to the transportation crew, “We’ll start filming soon.”

The camera’s exposure and focus were already set, and everything was ready to roll. The scene involved Sakiya leading Hisae’s classmate to visit an illustrator’s house. Since they’d be climbing a steep set of stairs, they’d laid plywood on the steps and set up rails for smooth camera movement. It was a walking scene with dialogue, but since Sato hardly had any lines, Tokame predicted they wouldn’t need many retakes. They started rehearsals, and because Sato’s character wasn’t supposed to have developed any particular feelings for Hisae at this point, his performance was on point.

As Tokame peeked at the monitor, he noticed something odd in the close-up of the two actors on a different camera. Something felt off. Something…

“Wasn’t Sakiya rolling up his sleeves in the previous scene?” he whispered into Ichinose’s ear.

“What?” Ichinose gasped, quickly flipping through the notes. “He wasn’t!”

Startled, Ichinose dashed over to Sato and the costume staff, returning with a sigh of relief. “Phew! It’s fine since we’re still in rehearsal. We caught it in time.”

“Thanks for noticing. I thought I was paying attention, but you saved us there.”

Just when Tokame thought they’d start filming, the director pointed something out. “Tokame-kun, the extras look too clustered.”

He’d already asked Shimabara to spread them out, but it hadn’t been done. Annoyed, Tokame hurried down the slope to find Shimabara and remind him.

“Oh, I’ll make sure it’s right for the actual shoot!” Shimabara replied lazily. His response, dismissive as if he didn’t take things seriously, irked Tokame. He held his irritation in check.

“If it doesn’t go well and we have to reshoot, everyone loses time and energy.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll do it for the main shoot. You don’t have to work so hard just because you’re the assistant director.”

Annoyed by Shimabara’s uncooperative attitude, Tokame decided arguing would be pointless. “This is a directive from the director.”

Sighing, Shimabara turned toward the extras, clearly reluctant but finally moving to give instructions. Tokame headed back to the director’s side, checking the monitor, only to see Shimabara still in front of the second camera.

“Hey, Shimabara! You’re blocking the shot!” yelled Hasegawa, the chief cameraman. Shimabara scurried off to the side, looking flustered.

“What a rookie move,” muttered Wakibuchi, with a sigh of exasperation. With the obstruction gone, they began filming. Kamonagi and Sato’s natural performance created a good atmosphere, and they nailed it in one take, drawing murmurs of approval from the staff. They adjusted the camera position and shot about five more angles.

“Could we get that shot from a bit lower?” the director requested.

Even though the shot looked perfect, the director’s insistence on changing angles brought energy to an otherwise plain scene, giving it an interesting twist. Watching from the sidelines, Tokame felt a thrill—anticipating what new approach the director might take next. His style was refreshingly unique, different from Okume’s, and it was intriguing to see it in action.

Once the hillside filming wrapped up, the set crew quickly removed the rails and plywood from the stairs. Their efficiency was impressive. The lighting and camera crews packed up the equipment and headed to the next location by the seaside.

“Tokame!”

Just as Tokame got off the bus, Isono hurried over.

“Trouble! Hisae’s bike has a flat tire.”

Tokame checked his watch, mentally calculating the time left for setup and rehearsal.

“Can you fix it yourself?”

Isono shook his head. “I asked the props and art departments, but they don’t have the tools.”

The bike, which was supposedly Hisae’s cherished possession, was an old, rusty model that Isono had gone to the trouble of hauling all the way from Tokyo. Although they could have easily used any nearby bike as a substitute, Isono was insistent on the design of the one he had prepared.

"Take it to the bike shop and get it fixed in thirty minutes or less."

"Got it."

Isono loaded the bike into the van and sped off like the wind.

“Tokame-saaaan, you seen Isono anywhere?”

It seemed Shimabara had finally learned Isono’s name, though he still addressed him in his usual sloppy tone, lifting the brim of his cap.

“He went to get the bike repaired. If you’ve got questions, ask Momoe.”

“Repairing a bike?”

Shimabara pursed his lips. “Right before shooting, huh? He should’ve done maintenance properly in the first place.”

Muttering complaints, Shimabara went off in search of Momoe. Those exact words right back at you, Tokame thought, then dashed over to the convenience store across the street. By the side of the building, he found a mamachari—a city bike—parked. It wasn’t parked out front, so it was probably an employee’s. Sure enough, it belonged to a store employee, so Tokame explained the situation and borrowed it for an hour to use for the rehearsal.

“Tokame-kun! Hey!”

He entrusted the borrowed bike to Momoe, then jogged over to Hasegawa, who was calling him from the back of a small truck.

“This thing’s rattling a bit on top. Do you have anything to keep it steady?”

Hasegawa was trying to mount the camera with a specialized tripod onto the back of the truck, but due to grooves in the bed, it wasn’t staying secure.

“A large plywood board would probably do the trick as a base. I’ll arrange it.”

Tokame called the art director and quickly arranged to have a plywood board they’d used during a previous uphill shoot sent over.

“Thanks, much appreciated.”

It was the kind of errand that felt like grunt work, but he couldn’t refuse when someone asked for help. The actors arrived, and once the setup was complete, they started rehearsing. This scene was a solo bike scene with Kamonagi, so it went smoothly. Just before they wrapped up the rehearsal, Isono returned with Hisae’s repaired bike, barely making it in time.

They quickly reset the bike, and then filmed Hisae’s bike scenes in three patterns: running alongside it, towing it with a car from the front, and chasing it from behind.

Although it was a challenging shoot, it went surprisingly smoothly. The next scene was back at the house on the hill, where they’d be filming in the garden. Since outdoor shoots sometimes didn’t require lighting adjustments, half of the lighting crew had already been sent ahead to the house to set up, so the lighting should be ready quickly.

So thirsty. But going to a vending machine felt like a hassle. He was also hungry, but there was no time to eat. Tokame chugged lukewarm water from a nearby park fountain.

Once he boarded the bus to the next location and the vehicle started moving, Ichinose approached his seat and handed him a plastic bag from the convenience store.

“You haven’t had a chance to eat yet, right? Here’s a nutritional boost.”

Inside the bag was a jelly-type nutritional supplement. Since taking on the assistant director duties, Tokame hadn’t had a proper meal at lunchtime. With Sato’s constant retakes, there were barely any breaks, and the staff took turns eating whenever they could. But Tokame, being so busy, hadn’t managed to take a lunch break even once. Even when he went to wash his hands, they’d come chasing after him for things.

Gratefully, he accepted Ichinose’s thoughtfulness and staved off his hunger. Back at Hisae’s house, while various setups were being done in the garden, he and Ichinose retreated to the staff break room on the first floor to go over the next day’s shooting schedule.

They’d originally started their discussion in the kitchen, but every time the staff found Tokame, he’d get pulled into requests, confirmations, or consultations, interrupting their conversation. Eventually, Ichinose, exasperated, said, “We’ll never get through this at this rate!” and dragged him up to the second floor.

Tomorrow, filming will be at Hisae’s part-time job, a ramen shop. The forecast is for rain in the morning and cloudy skies in the afternoon. Since the weather is supposed to improve in the afternoon, they’ll shoot indoor scenes 14 and 15 in the ramen shop during the morning, with the scenes heading outside depending on the weather. If it’s just light rain, they’ll go ahead with a cover. But if it rains heavily, they’ll have no choice but to move it to the following day.

“Everything’s going so smoothly, don’t you think?” Ichinose said, closing the schedule with a satisfied look across the table.

"Sato-san’s gotten a bit better than when he started, but he still needs a lot of retakes, huh? I guess it’s no surprise filming’s running late, but so far things are still under control. I know he’s right here, but Tokame-san, you’re pretty amazing, you know? You plan things out so smoothly, and you’re so dependable. We really owe Isono for recommending you."

Taking advantage of the moment, Tokame opened his boxed lunch. It was almost four o’clock, so it was practically dinnertime by now.

"Come to think of it, Tokame-san, you don’t smoke, right? Honestly, I can’t stand it, so it’s a huge relief."

"I used to, though."

Between bits of conversation, he stuffed his lunch down.

"Really? How’d you manage to quit?"

A brief silence as the image of his partner flashed through his mind.

"Someone I was dating said they hated cigarettes."

Ichinose gave a thoughtful "Hmm," clenched her fists tightly, and said, "I’d love to tell Isono that a million times!"

"There are so many smokers in this industry, and I guess it’s understandable with all the stress, but smoking isn’t good for your health, after all."

"Come to think of it, mine said something similar."

While Tokame alternated between talking and eating, Ichinose watched him intently and smiled.

"Tokame-san, you’re dating someone nice."

"It might already be over, though."

He muttered this self-deprecatingly.

"What? Why?"

"We had a fight before I left for this location shoot, and now I can’t get in touch… Well, if it’s over, it’s over."

A trickle of sweat from his brow slid down his cheek as he felt his throat dry up.

"It’s too early to give up. Just apologize properly, even if you fought."

"If it’s meant to last, it’ll last."

"No, you have to want it to last and make it last."

How was he supposed to keep something going when he couldn’t even reach them? The mood grew heavier until Ichinose changed the subject, trying to break the tension. "Oh, by the way, the director mentioned that working with you is really easy."

"Why’s that?" Tokame asked, looking up from his meal.

"Your planning’s solid, and no matter how many takes the director does, you just wait patiently without a word. Many first assistant directors get stressed when filming falls behind, worrying about the actors’ schedules or trying to keep everything on track. It’s common for their frustration to spill out, but you’re calm, like, ‘Take your time.’ I think the director finds that reassuring."

Ichinose smiled mischievously and pressed her index finger to her lips. "Don’t tell Habu-san I said this, but when he was here, he was like a live wire, snapping under pressure whenever things got tight. Plus, there was always something a bit snarky about him. He comes off as the rich kid type—never seemed to have gone through much hardship."

She let out a quick laugh, stretching. "Working with you is way more comfortable, Tokame-san! When I suggested changes to Habu-san’s schedule, he’d make it clear he didn’t appreciate my input. He’s smart, sure, but he’s also a bit self-centered and not exactly warm. Honestly, I wish you’d stay on as the chief forever!"

Tokame chuckled. "I’m just filling in until Habu returns."

Ichinose looked a bit hesitant. "So, Tokame-san, you don’t want to be more involved in this film?"

It was a hard question to answer. The work of an assistant director was busy but rewarding. Still, he had his initial assignment, and while filling in temporarily was fine, he didn’t want to take Habu’s place outright.

"I just want this film to turn out great. I’m sure everyone on the crew feels the same way."

Ichinose seemed on the verge of saying something more but ultimately stayed silent.

Filming in the garden dragged on as Sato required twenty-five takes, forcing them to readjust the lighting as night fell. Yet, despite all that, they wrapped up around 8 p.m., ending the day’s shoot on the same day for the first time since they’d started on location.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, it was raining. At first, it was just a light drizzle, but, defying the weather forecast, a torrential downpour began before noon. Within three steps outside, everyone’s legs were soaked up to the knees. With heavy rain and flood warnings adding to the situation, Tokame and the director ultimately decided to cancel filming for the day by one o’clock in the afternoon.

After cleaning up the set, Tokame and Ichinose headed to a nearby café to reorganize the shooting schedule for the following days. The café had an extensive waffle menu, and Ichinose stared at it longingly, though she only ordered coffee, saying, "With such an erratic schedule, I’m already putting on weight."

In the middle of their conversation, Ichinose’s smartphone, lying on the table, chimed with a gentle ringtone.

“Go ahead and take it.”

Ichinose glanced at the screen, shook her head, lowered the volume, and tossed the phone into her bag.

“It wasn’t from Isono?”

He wondered if he’d overstepped by asking, but silence from a partner can be rough. Ichinose shook her head. “No, it’s from the Retake King.”

Her tone was icy and dismissive. …Sato had so many retakes that the staff had started calling him the “Retake King” behind his back.

“Does he contact you often?”

“Usually by email. Two or three times a day. Today, since filming was canceled, I bet it’s something like, ‘Want to have dinner together?’”

Ichinose rested her chin on her hand, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Does Sato not know you’re dating Isono?”

Ichinose leaned forward. “Listen to this!” she said, clearly frustrated.

“The messages are constant, and I figured this was getting out of hand. So, I asked Namba to casually mention in passing that I’m seeing someone.”

Namba, the second assistant director, was known to be kind-hearted if a bit slow with his work. As the costume manager, he interacted with the actors frequently, so he was well-suited to spreading this kind of info.

“But it didn’t work at all. I bet Sato just thinks he’s got the edge over Isono. I mean, I’ll admit, he’s probably better looking.”

In an uncharacteristic moment, Ichinose ordered a waffle.

“It’s a long shoot, and we’re short on women on set, so maybe that’s why he’s so fixated. And the messages aren’t even all that personal—they’re mostly about his acting, which means they do affect his motivation, so I can’t just brush him off. When I told Isono, he just said, ‘Play nice and handle it diplomatically,’ like it was no big deal.”

When the waffle arrived, Ichinose dove into it like a ravenous beast.

“Don’t you think Habu and Sato are a bit alike? It’d be nice if they’d think a little more about others’ feelings and the trouble they cause.”

They lingered in the quiet café for about two hours, during which Ichinose vented her frustrations. As they left around four, Tokame treated her to the waffle. She tried to refuse, saying, “I feel bad,” but finally smiled, “Thank you so much!”

“If you keep being so nice, Tokame-san, I might just fall for you,” she said with a laugh.

“That could be trouble.”

He laughed, but she looked more serious this time. “No, I mean it.”

She continued, “Isono doesn’t seem too bothered about the Retake King, but he did tell me, ‘Don’t fall for Tokame.’ I think in his way, he recognizes you’re capable and a solid guy.”

“Well, that’s one worry he doesn’t need to have. I’m gay.”

Outside the café, Ichinose gave a loud “Whaaaat!” as if she’d been struck with shock.

“Could you keep that under wraps until we’re done with this shoot? We’re all staying in shared rooms at the inn, and I wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Ichinose nodded like a child, wide-eyed and eager. “So, um… your partner is a… guy?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“What’s he like?”

“Pretty normal, I guess.”

“Show me a photo! You must have one on your phone—please!”

Her face lit up with excitement. Tokame didn’t mind, so he showed her a photo of his partner, saved on his phone. Ichinose’s face burst into an enthusiastic grin.

“Whoa! He’s so good-looking! Super cool!”

She made quite a scene outside the café, but then, for some reason, her excitement quickly faded. She sighed softly and handed his phone back.

"…So, Tokame-san, you really go for looks, huh?" Ichinose remarked, a playful smile on her face.

Not denying it outright, Tokame fell silent. Ichinose placed her hands on her hips and shrugged, saying, “Not that it’s a problem!” With that, they parted ways in a slightly awkward atmosphere. Returning to the inn, Tokame found it had transformed into a lively banquet hall. The single low table in the room had somehow multiplied into three, now loaded with sushi, pizza, fried chicken, dried squid, snacks, and towering bottles of sake among scattered beer cans.

Nearly thirty staff members squeezed into the small space, creating an atmosphere as crowded as a midsummer beach. Tokame hesitated to join the chaos until Isono, his face flushed, raised a hand and called out, “Tokame! Welcome back!” He nudged the person beside him to make room and gestured for Tokame to come over.

As soon as Tokame sat down next to Isono, a paper cup filled with sake was thrust into his hand. “You drink, don’t you?”

"…When did you start drinking?"

Wobbling a bit, Isono tilted his head. “Since I got back here, so maybe around two?”

“By the time tomorrow comes around, I’ll be all sobered up.”

Wondering just how much Isono planned to drink, Tokame took a sip of sake and bit into a slice of cold pizza. Most of the crowd was in their twenties and thirties, mainly younger crew members from the art, props, camera, and lighting departments. Shimabara and Namba, assistant directors, were also present, and the oldest among them seemed to be Wakibuchi.

Everyone was already drunk, tossing around bold, unfiltered stories. Taking advantage of the absent crew members, they joked about things like the chief lighting technician definitely wearing a wig, how Yashiro from transportation was dating the hostess at a bar called Gohan-no-Tanda, or about how someone in the art department supposedly had an enormous—well, it was like a conversation you’d expect from middle schoolers. Even though he wasn’t saying much, Tokame enjoyed the noisy, bustling atmosphere. It was rare for his surroundings to be so full of chatter—unless he was at a gathering like this. Had he always been lonely on his own? …It was hard to say; it had been so long he could hardly remember.

Isono’s grandfather, a well-known props master in the period drama industry, came up in conversation, and even some of the younger crew nodded, saying they’d heard of him. Since Isono’s father had no interest in the film industry, his grandfather had brought him to sets from a young age, giving him an early education in period drama props.

“Thanks to my grandpa, I thought samurai movies were the peak of Japanese cinema. So when I told my first girlfriend in middle school all about Seven Samurai, she was totally weirded out,” he admitted, earning laughs from the group. With so many people at the banquet, food and drink disappeared in the blink of an eye like they’d been unleashed into a den of hyenas. Just as the beer supply ran out, junior crew members, Momoe and a rookie from transportation, returned from a beer run with crates of cold beer to applause from all around.

Momoe, covered in sweat or possibly rain, plopped down next to Isono and helped himself to the beer he’d just brought. “Oh, by the way, I heard Habu-san’s getting discharged tomorrow and will be back on set.”

“Back on duty at last,” Wakibuchi murmured thoughtfully, having somehow ended up next to Tokame, a strip of dried squid dangling from his mouth.

“Food poisoning, and four days in the hospital—that’s a long stretch. Shimabara, wasn’t it the bento you picked out?”

One of the younger sound technicians called out, putting Shimabara on the spot. Flustered, Shimabara waved his hands defensively. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault! I leave bento arrangements to the staff anyway.”

He added quickly, “Besides, Habu-san himself said the problem was the oysters he ate the day before. He got hit hard with diarrhea and dehydration, and then the heat and fatigue just took him down.”

“You guys hog all the good food for yourselves,” someone from the art team grumbled, causing Shimabara to fall silent. Tokame had also heard through the grapevine that Shimabara and Habu had gone out to eat oysters, only for Habu to end up sick as a result.

Suddenly, Wakibuchi draped an arm heavily around Tokame’s shoulders.

“You were pretty impressive as assistant director, Tokame-kun. It’s a shame to see you go—running things so smoothly on set,” Wakibuchi said.

Though he’d mentioned he didn’t care for alcohol, he was now holding a paper cup filled with what looked like sake in his right hand.

“Hey, is it true Tokame-san used to be an AV director?” one of the younger lighting crew asked suddenly, sparking a wave of excitement and murmurs of “Ooooh!” throughout the room.

“Hey, hey, so if you’re an AV director, does that mean you get to… you know… with the actresses?” a set worker asked, eyes wide as he leaned over the table.

“There were some directors who did double as actors, but it’s usually more efficient to leave it to the professional actors. Most directors just stick to their job.”

That bit of industry insight was enough to set the room abuzz. “So it is a thing!” someone shouted.

“D-did you ever work with Takahashi Maya?” Namba asked hesitantly.

“I tried to get her once, but she’s so popular, the fee was just too high, so we had to pass,” Tokame replied.

A chorus of “Too bad!” filled the room, followed by laughter.

“When you’re filming a scene… you don’t, uh, you know… get aroused?”

“Nope,” Tokame said matter-of-factly. “But sometimes the actors can’t get aroused, and that’s a problem. Waiting around for them to get in the mood can extend shooting, and the studio fees really start to add up.”

Every time he spoke, the room erupted with deep-throated cheers and “Oooh!”s.

“T-t-Tokame-san, if you ever get the chance to shoot with Maya, give me a call. I’ll do anything—I’ll work for free,” Namba said, entirely serious.

Isono laughed, patting Namba on the back. “Dude, you’re desperate.”

“Well,” Tokame said, scratching his chin, “I haven’t directed anything in about two years. I kept working part-time, but the company I worked for went under recently. Still, I’ve got contacts, so if something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Namba’s face lit up as if flowers had just bloomed. Seeing this, Isono, who’d been teasing Namba, protested, “Hey, that’s not fair—why just him?” This was definitely not a conversation they could have in front of Ichinose.

“About AV…” Shimabara’s voice cut through the chatter.

“The shooting quality is just so low, right? It’s laughable, really. I mean, you get to see naked women and get paid even if you half-ass it—it’s a sweet deal!”

The room, which had been buzzing with bawdy excitement, suddenly fell silent. Realizing he might’ve killed the vibe, Shimabara mumbled, “Oh, uh, did I go too far? My bad, my bad,” to no one in particular.

In technical terms, AV shoots could indeed lack polish compared to mainstream films, but everyone knew that wasn’t really the point. Tokame had never hidden his past work in AV, and no one had ever made snide remarks about it—until now.

Suddenly, there was a loud slap on the table, hard enough to make a sake bottle jump. It came from one of the senior lighting techs.

“I did AV for a while, too, but it’s not as slapdash as you think,” he said, voice tense with anger.

Momentarily intimidated, Shimabara rallied back. “But the quality is objectively low, right? I mean, it’s not like an AV could ever be submitted to Cannes. That says it all.”

The lighting tech’s face flushed with anger, and his shoulders tensed as if he might lunge forward.

“All right, all right—no fighting,” Wakibuchi stepped gracefully between them, cup in hand. “Shimabara, read the room. No one’s watching a Cannes award-winner when they’re in the mood, right? Each genre has its place. You’re smart enough to get that, aren’t you?”

Rebuked by the older Wakibuchi, Shimabara frowned and grudgingly muttered, “Yeah, I guess…”

“To be honest,” the young transport crew member said, scratching his chin, “I did AV work back in college. An upperclassman got me into it.”

“About five years ago, there was this series with a real SM mistress; it was super popular. There was this famous masochist guy, too, and he kinda reminds me of Shimabara-san.”

From across the table, someone in the set crew piped up, “Oh, I know that one! The Black Rose series from Red Cow, right?” He looked at Shimabara with narrowed eyes and then stifled a laugh behind his hand.

“Now that you mention it, he really does look like him.”

“Right? When I first met him, I honestly thought he might be the real deal. I wanted to ask but figured it might be a touchy subject,” said the younger staffer, glancing at Shimabara.

Shimabara scowled, pouting in silence. Just then, someone smirked and held up their smartphone. “Found it!”

“Oh man, what’s this?”

The crowd of drunk staff gathered around, peering at the screen.

“This is insane. The resemblance is spot-on!”

“Come on, that’s gotta be him,” someone muttered.

The smartphone eventually made its way to Tokame. On it was an AV cover featuring a man strikingly similar to Shimabara—it could easily have been Shimabara himself or his long-lost twin. Tokame couldn’t help but do a double-take, glancing between the cover and Shimabara’s face.

“Shimabara, I had no idea you had such a colorful past,” Wakibuchi teased.

Shimabara’s face turned pale as he stammered, “I—I was never in any AV films!”

“No big deal if you were,” Isono said with a grin, seizing the chance to rib him. “Nothing illegal about being a Masochist-actor, after all.”

“From now on, we’re calling you ‘Masochist-guy.’ Goes well with ‘Retake King’ Sato, don’t you think?” Isono continued. A wave of laughter swept through the group.

“Shut up!” Shimabara snapped, his shout only drawing more mock cheers of “Hey, Masochist-guy!” from the lighting crew.

“Anytime you’re looking to be tied up, just say the word. I can rent out some heavy-duty rope for you at a discount,” a props worker chimed in, drawing even more laughter as Shimabara’s face grew dangerously close to tears.

Eventually, the group lost interest in teasing Shimabara and shifted to a safer topic: Habu’s return to the set.

“Honestly, though,” a senior lighting crew member remarked, “things move so much smoother with Tokame-san in charge than with Habu-san.”

“Oh, you’re not holding back, are you?” someone chuckled. In moments like these, it was hard for Tokame to know how to respond.

“Sure, Tokame’s got years of experience on set, so he’s more efficient and better at managing people,” Wakibuchi interjected diplomatically. “But nobody starts out a pro. Habu’s still learning and has a lot of room to grow.”

Tokame hoped the topic would move on, but a props worker brought it right back.

“Look, inexperience is one thing, but Habu’s never humble about it. It’s his attitude that gets me—like he just assumes we’ll do whatever he wants.”

“Same here,” others chimed in. “And he has a short fuse,” one of the younger lighting techs added. “You can tell he’s angry just by looking at him.”

Isono, not one to mince words, added coolly, “The guy’s just a jerk, plain and simple.”

With the critiques piling up, Shimabara suddenly raised his voice in protest. “Come on! Habu-san has it tough, too!”

Everyone turned to look at him as he continued, “His dad’s a famous director, so everyone sees him through that lens. The pressure’s intense! Up until now, he’s only ever worked on his dad’s sets, but this time he’s working for someone else. He took on this job to prove himself—”

“So what?” the props worker cut in coldly.

“Sure, he gets pressure, but he also reaps the rewards of being Jin’ya Habu’s son. I’d love to have his ‘problem’—he’ll get big-name sponsors and a debut as a director without breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, my mentor can’t even afford to shoot the films he wants because he can’t get sponsors.”

“That just means your mentor doesn’t have any talent,” Shimabara muttered, his tone sharp.

The props worker glared at him. “Then what talent does Habu have? Riding on his father’s coattails and nitpicking everyone else’s work?”

Just as the tension escalated, Wakibuchi clapped his hands loudly. “Alright, that’s enough. I get that everyone has opinions, but there’s no point in arguing over who has talent and who doesn’t. Let’s end it here.”

Though the atmosphere remained tense, the two backed down in deference to Wakibuchi. After enduring all the taunts about looking like an M-actor and listening to Habu get trashed, Shimabara’s frustration seemed to reach a boiling point, and he began chugging his beer in retaliation.

Fights were common at drinking parties… Fortunately, someone always stepped in to prevent them from escalating into brawls. Tokame sipped his sake slowly, thinking about Habu, who would be returning to the set tomorrow. Habu’s father was a famous director, and a commercial film debut in his twenties was practically guaranteed for him. Born with every advantage. Tokame couldn’t help but feel a bit envious, though not so envious that he’d lose sleep over it.

Life isn’t fair. Equality for all doesn’t exist. Complaining about such things or questioning them would be pointless. It was like the debate over talent that Wakibuchi had mentioned—completely fruitless.

Tokame didn’t have powerful connections like Habu, so he might never get the chance to direct a commercial film. But he could still be a part of the film industry, and he enjoyed that. He didn’t feel unhappy. This was simply what life had handed him, and he accepted it.

He thought back to how things had always balanced out in his life. When he’d been hungry, he’d had family to share those struggles with; now that he had enough to live comfortably, his family was gone. He pictured Yorozu’s face. Was his partner too good for him all along? Is that why things hadn’t worked out? He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. It didn’t make sense to think that way—putting arbitrary limits on oneself.

…Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he’d left school after middle school to work and bring money home. Instead, he’d gone to high school, only to end up dropping out without studying. If he’d worked, Koharu’s life might’ve been a bit easier, and Shunsuke might’ve been able to live like a normal kid and avoid being bullied.

Would things have really changed, though? Koharu would still have suffered under Kawase’s grip, maybe even worse. But maybe if Tokame had been earning money, Koharu wouldn’t have stolen from the factory. Thinking of how Koharu, who knew right from wrong, had still been driven to cross that line made it hard to breathe even now.

Even if that had been their fate, he wished they could’ve lived through it. He was glad to be alive, after all. …Maybe the sake was starting to hit him. He’d accepted his family’s loss long ago. Acceptance was the easiest way to deal with death.

“Damn it! This pisses me off,” Shimabara muttered, suddenly standing up and staggering across the room. Leaning heavily to the right, he collapsed onto the futons lined up along the wall with a loud thud, stretching across Tokame’s and Isono’s.

“Hey, Shimabara! Don’t puke all over the futons!” someone called out.

“I’m not gonna!” Shimabara shot back, but he didn’t move. He seemed to have fallen asleep, but then he suddenly yelled, slurring, “Who owns this dirty, nasty bag?”

Shimabara had grabbed Tokame’s sports bag. It had been in his family since he could remember, worn with a reddish-brown layer of grime and a cracked, unreadable logo on the side. The fabric was fraying at the edges, and nylon fibers poked out in places.

“Even a homeless guy would carry something cleaner than this, don’t you think?”

The word “homeless” stirred something unpleasant in Tokame’s chest. It was true, after all; the bag wasn’t clean, and he had used it while living on the streets. But it felt invasive and wrong to have it mocked like this. He didn’t feel angry, but he wished people would just leave him alone.

“Hey, don’t go grabbing other people’s stuff without permission!” Isono yelled, but Shimabara just laughed, looking slack-jawed and loose-limbed.

“You should throw out this garbage already! Just looking at it is embarrassing,” Shimabara sneered as he swung the bag by the handle. Suddenly, with a loud rip, the handle tore away, shredding the bag like paper. Tokame’s clothes scattered across the futons.

Shimabara looked dazed at first, as if he didn’t realize what had happened. When he finally grasped it, he burst into loud, mocking laughter. “This is too funny!”

Isono lunged toward him, but Tokame held him back and stepped in front of Shimabara, extending his right hand.

“Give it back.”

Shimabara, still chuckling, turned to look at Tokame, his smirk fading.

“Wait, this bag was yours, Tokame-san? Sorry about that—it just tore when I lifted it,” Shimabara said in a singsong voice.

He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, but it didn’t matter. Tokame knew he wasn’t truly sorry.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you a new one to make up for it,” Shimabara said, tossing the now-tattered bag back to him with a careless gesture. He’s just drunk, Tokame reminded himself, trying to brush it off. Gathering up the scattered clothes, Tokame heard Shimabara mutter, “What’s this?” He was holding a small, round white fragment, no bigger than a thumbnail. Tokame’s breath caught.

“What’s this, so light…?” Shimabara turned the piece between his fingers. Suddenly, a wave of memories—gray, murky images—flooded Tokame’s mind. The choking smell of burned bone, a tasteless cake that had once been creamy but had long since hardened. White fragments, sinking into a dark river…

“Shimabara, give that back,” Tokame’s voice wavered. He thought maybe… maybe it was something left behind when his family’s remains had been scattered in the river. The bag must’ve torn, releasing it…

“This thing’s just garbage. I’ll toss it for you,” Shimabara said, flicking the fragment across the room toward the trash can. He missed. The piece hit the wall and rolled under the TV stand.

“Oops, missed,” he snickered.

In an instant, Tokame saw red. Before he knew it, he had grabbed Shimabara by the collar and punched him hard. As Shimabara crumpled against the wall, Tokame kicked him with all his might.

“Argh! Damn it, that hurts!” Shimabara yelped.

Tokame picked up the white fragment that had rolled to the base of the wall, clutching it tightly in his right hand. Shimabara, writhing on the futon, was in the way, so Tokame grabbed him by the collar and threw him aside. Shimabara collided with the corner of the TV and curled up on the spot.

“Ugh… ugh…” Shimabara whimpered. Tokame looked down at him, and their eyes met. Shimabara’s groans stopped immediately. There was a trickle of blood from his nose, but no sign his nose was broken, nor did it look like he’d lost any teeth. Considering he’d acted purely on impulse without holding back, he’d held up surprisingly well.

As Tokame stared at his face, he felt an urge to kick him in the stomach just once more. Sensing the hostility, Shimabara shrank back even smaller.

Turning his gaze from the source of his anger, Tokame walked out of the room, which was so silent it felt like he was the only one there. Outside, the rain was relentless. Even with an umbrella, his feet were soaked within a few steps. He headed toward the nearby sea. Even with all this rain, the Seto Inland Sea remained surprisingly calm.

Under the streetlight, with the downpour pounding into the water’s surface like tiny spears, Tokame slowly opened his clenched right hand—and laughed. What he’d been gripping was a piece of plastic. Maybe a broken clothespin? He’d probably left it in the bag from his days working lighting gigs. Because it was white, he’d thought it was… a bone fragment.

Tokame swung his arm back and threw the plastic into the dark sea. It vanished as soon as he released it. An empty feeling seeped through him, spreading slowly from his chest.

The rain grew heavier. He couldn’t bring himself to return to the noisy inn, so he took shelter under the eaves of a closed shop. He flipped over a yellow beer crate and sat down, staring blankly at the torrential rain. Memories of his time on the streets came back to him. On rainy days, the people he gathered with in the parks would scatter, each finding somewhere dry to wait out the rain.

He remembered sitting on someone’s lap, waiting for the rain to stop. He thought it might have been his father’s lap… or maybe it was someone else, someone who liked kids. He recalled a faint smell of alcohol, so it was probably his father.

…Looking back, his family might have been unlucky in the eyes of others, but they hadn’t been unhappy. If someone were to offer him his family back, he’d want his same parents, his same siblings.

The downpour felt like it was cutting him off from everything—the present, himself. His eyelids grew heavy, and he let them close as he sat there. Drifting into a light sleep, he dreamed. His family appeared, all of them. They were in Hisae’s house, eating together in the kitchen. It was a scene that had never happened in reality. He knew it was a dream, but he let himself sink into it, savoring it.

Outside the kitchen window, he saw the figure of Yorozu. Hastily, he put down his bowl and dashed outside. “You haven’t finished eating yet,” his mother’s voice called out behind him.

When Yorozu noticed Tokame, he ran. Tokame chased after him, and before long, the surroundings transformed into the familiar streets from his high school days. Yorozu neither stopped nor looked back. Tokame, still in his school uniform, ran on and on.

“Hey, wait!”

As he called out, his foot plunged into a puddle. Slogging through the wide, deep pool of water, he lost sight of Yorozu.

“Come on, I already said I’m sorry!”

…His own shouting woke him. During his nap, his body had slouched considerably, and his shins and feet were jutting out past the overhang, now thoroughly soaked. He shivered as a big sneeze escaped him.

The rain had weakened somewhat, and his drunkenness had faded. The clock was already pointing to two in the morning. Tokame scrubbed his fingers through his hair and pulled his cold, weary legs up toward his body.

When he returned to the inn, the room party had wound down. The table was still a mess, and people were crammed around it, curled up like cats as they slept.

In the dim light, he stepped over the others to his spot. It seemed like two or three more people than the room allowed were squeezed in, and various limbs had encroached onto his futon, but there was just enough space for him to lie down. Peeling off his wet pants, he lay down in his underwear.

“…Welcome back,” came a voice from the darkness. Isono looked over at him.

“Was I loud? Sorry about that.”

He thought he might have woken him up, but Isono just yawned, saying, “Nah, I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Out for a walk.”

When Tokame tried to bluff, Isono muttered, “That was one long walk,” and pulled his blanket up to his shoulder.

“Yorozu, when you get angry, it’s terrifying. Shimabara was freaking out, and Wakibuchi was white as a sheet.”

…Yeah, he had probably gone overboard with that punch and kick at Shimabara.

“I was pretty immature.”

“Shimabara deserved it. For a fool like him, that’s a good lesson.”

Tokame thought he’d have to apologize tomorrow, but as he closed his eyes, he dreaded the idea of dreaming like he had earlier. He didn’t want to sleep, yet he felt himself being pulled down into a deep slumber.

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