Chapter 2 God Bless You - part 5

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The lingering rain had left the road wet, with puddles scattered here and there, splashing relentlessly at the feet of the staff as they hurried past.

Isono had entered the ramen shop, which would serve as the shooting location, a step ahead of Tokame and came back out with a click of his tongue, muttering, “This is going to be rough.”

“The place is cramped. There’s no room to set up the lights, so the lighting team’s struggling. Why didn’t they just do this in a studio? Same with Hisae’s house,” he added.

“They must’ve wanted the authentic atmosphere that comes with reality,” Tokame replied.

“I get that, but for lighting and cameras, it’s pure hell,” Isono said, intertwining his fingers behind his head.

“Apparently, it used to be a diner. A nearby ramen shop pitched in to help, and we were able to use all their equipment, so at least the props team got a break,” he continued.

They planned to film all eight scenes at the ramen shop today. Sakiya and Hisae had met at her workplace, a ramen shop, where Sakiya was a regular customer, so the script had plenty of scenes in the shop. They were even planning to bring in extras for the shoot.

The shop sign, with faded lettering and patches of rust, looked old and weathered—an impressive piece by the art department aiming to replicate a forty-five-year-old establishment. The shop’s entrance had sliding doors, now removed, and lights were being set up outside. Inside, the shop was about 20 tatami mats (approximately 33 square meters or 355 square feet) in an L-shape, with four tables and a counter area.

Inside, Tokame spotted Habu, his voice strong but his cheeks gaunt and face still pale. With today’s filming mainly indoors, he might fare better without direct sunlight sapping his energy.

“That guy Habu actually came back,” Isono murmured darkly into Tokame’s ear.

“This means I can finally get back to my real job,” Tokame said, patting the daypack that held his camera, which he hadn’t touched in a while. Isono shot him a sidelong glance.

“To be honest, it seemed like assistant director was more your real job. Even Ukita said, ‘Tokame’s not just knowledgeable about cameras but also lighting.’”

“In AV, we never had much budget or time, so I had to handle everything myself—camera, lighting, you name it.”

It looked like the shoot wouldn’t start for a while yet. Tokame offered to help Isono, but he said the setup was mostly complete, and food props like ramen were being handled by a professional ramen shop, so they didn’t need anything.

Tokame took a walk around the ramen shop. It was on a narrow road just a block away from the station; the street barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Behind the building, some land seemed to be under development, with scattered empty lots, giving a gap-toothed appearance. Behind the shop, two vacant lots—enough space for about two houses—served as a spot to park equipment trucks and trailers for the actors.

Through the narrow space between two trucks, he saw Shimabara emerging, still slouching along in his usual unmotivated manner.

“Hey,” Tokame called out.

Shimabara looked up slowly, and as soon as he recognized Tokame, he stiffened and shivered on the spot.

“About yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Shimabara’s left cheek was bruised, a dark red-brown, and swollen.

“Is your face okay?”

Shimabara looked down, silent for a while, then gradually raised his face to steal a glance at Tokame, looking up at him with nervous eyes.

“I-I’m not planning to go to the hospital or anything… I was messing around too, even if I was drunk. And, um, about the property damage…”

Watching his frightened expression, Tokame felt a pang of guilt.

“Don’t worry about the bag,” he said as gently as he could manage. Shimabara opened his mouth slightly, stammering, “B-but you were really mad, weren’t you?”

“That was…”

Tokame hesitated, reluctant to explain the foolish misunderstanding and the other details of his past. Usually, people just pitied him. Even if his past was unlucky, things were different now.

“That bag belonged to my parents.”

“Oh…” Shimabara gave an empty murmur of acknowledgment, then suddenly widened his eyes in realization.

“You needed to return it?”

“No. My parents have passed away.”

Shimabara blinked a few times, his mouth half-open, wearing an unmistakable look of regret.

"Um... could it be, by any chance, that it’s... a keepsake or something?"’

When he’d escaped from Kawase, the yakuza, that bag had been all he had with him. About three years ago, when he went back to his hometown to meet his friend Ninomiya, he had stopped by the place where his old rental house used to be. But the landscape had changed completely; the house was gone, replaced by a three-story commercial building. That home only remained in his memories, and he had no way of knowing what had happened to the few belongings he’d left behind.

“Now that I think about it, that bag is the only thing left from my parents.”

Shimabara, bowing his head repeatedly, said, “I was so drunk… I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Like you said, it was old and dirty, and I was planning to toss it if it broke.”

“But… it’s your only keepsake, right?”

From a distance, someone called, “Shimabara!” Tokame turned on his heel, saying, “See you,” and headed back to the ramen shop entrance.

“Hey, Tokame!” Ukita from the lighting crew rushed over, pointing up at the sky with his right hand.

“For the entrance shot, I want to flood the area with light from outside. But the equipment’s spilling over into the road. So…”

Tokame had a solution immediately: they could have someone from the transport crew direct traffic for a short time. But…

“Habu’s back now, so I’m off duty. Why don’t you ask him instead?”

Ukita paused, scratching his head before he replied, “Gotcha.”

“He’s in the shop right now.”

“If Habu’s back, I guess that makes sense,” Ukita muttered as he went inside. Since the news of Habu’s return hadn’t spread yet, Tokame still had to inform the art director and even Kamonagi’s manager of Habu’s whereabouts each time they came over to confirm shooting plans with him.

With a bit of time on his hands, Tokame started helping the transport crew guide traffic on the road when he overheard Habu’s voice. He had stepped out of the shop and was talking to Ichinose across from him.

“Sorry for all the trouble while I was gone. With that director, I was worried about how things would go, but it seems you’ve mostly kept to schedule, which is a relief. Sounds like Kon worked hard too.”

Ichinose’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were not.

“It wasn’t just me; Tokame was a huge help.”

“Yeah, I heard he stepped in. But I’m back now, so you can rest easy.”

“Hey, Tokame!” Ukita called from a spot diagonally across from the shop.

“Think you could back it up another fifty centimeters?”

“I’ll give it a shot.” Tokame answered, catching Habu’s glance in his direction before Habu turned away abruptly and retreated to the back of the shop without a word.

“…Some people never change,” sighed Yashiro, standing inside the traffic cones with a yawn. “You carried all that work while he was gone. Would it kill him to say a simple thanks?”

“I heard on the first day of filming he threw a fit about you not greeting him properly. But he can’t even give a word of thanks after you covered for him. Hypocrite.”

Even just a simple “thanks for the help” from Habu, even if insincere, would’ve left a better impression, not only on him but on everyone else too. But Habu, lacking that adult maturity and acting purely on emotion, was still like a child.

“Hey, someone get me some duct tape!” Ukita shouted. But each lighting crew member was tied up with their tasks, leaving no one available. They moved equipment in small vans, so if they had tape, it’d be in one of those.

“Sorry, but could you handle things here for a bit?” Tokame asked Yashiro, then headed toward the parking lot in the empty lot behind the shop. As he made his way through the vehicles, he heard Shimabara’s voice. Under a tent set up at the south corner, he was holding a script in one hand, raising his right hand to get attention. In front of him, a few people stood with their backs to Tokame.

“Alright, everyone, please go to your assigned places in the shop and just eat ramen as usual. No special acting needed.”

They had planned to use six extras for today’s shoot, and it seemed Shimabara was giving them instructions.

“But it would look odd if everyone’s just slurping ramen at the same time, so try to mix it up—maybe read a manga, fiddle with your phone, things like that. The main character will be sitting in the middle of the counter, and your seating arrangements are already set, but we’ll adjust positions to balance the shot. If you’re asked to move, please follow the instructions. Got it?”

From where Tokame was standing, he could only see the extras from behind. There were two who looked like manual laborers, one with a business-casual look, one student, and two middle-aged men in everyday clothing—a mix that fit well for a ramen shop clientele. Sometimes, if they needed only a few extras, staff from other departments, like transport, would fill in, but the director preferred not to use people from the crew.

…The student-looking extra’s back seemed a bit like Yorozu’s. Tokame chuckled at the thought—it couldn’t be. He hadn’t heard from Yorozu in nearly three weeks, and he himself had been too busy these past few days to send a message. There was no way Yorozu would come here just to track him down.

After retrieving the duct tape from the van, Tokame saw a young lighting crew member running down the alley. “Here,” he said, tossing the tape over, which the younger staffer caught deftly. “Thanks!” he called, heading back.

“Excuse me.”

The voice made Tokame stop in his tracks. Turning around, he saw the student-looking extra raising his hand under the tent.

“Do they have any manga prepared in the shop?”

His heart thumped wildly. It wasn’t his imagination. That voice was definitely Yorozu’s.

“I think they should have some,” the assistant said. “Extras, please wait here until filming starts. We’ll call you when rehearsal begins, so try to stay close. If you need to use the restroom, go now.”

The six extras had taken their seats on folding chairs arranged under the tent, and Yorozu was seated at the far left, starting to read a book.

His boyfriend was right there, and yet Tokame couldn’t bring himself to approach. After three weeks without any contact, he was suddenly in front of him. He wanted to believe Yorozu had come here to see him, yet even with Yorozu sitting there, he couldn’t be sure.

Tokame considered pretending he hadn’t noticed him, but they’d end up facing each other during filming anyway. Yorozu had probably guessed that there was a good chance of running into him here, and he must have known Tokame would be at this shoot.

With a surge of determination, Tokame strode toward the tent. Sensing his approach, Yorozu looked up from his book. The moment of surprise on his face faded quickly, replaced by an angry, irritated glare, the same look he’d had when they’d parted after their fight. It shook Tokame.

“What are you doing here?”

He kept his tone steady to hide his own unease. Yorozu averted his gaze, muttering, “Sightseeing and part-time work.”

“I told you not to come to the set. And as an extra, no less…”

Tokame found himself sounding accusatory, even as he realized his own tone was off. Yorozu shot him a sharp glare.

“My plans fell through, so I decided to travel alone. Just think of me as invisible and ignore me.”

Tokame bit back his retort; there was no way he could just ignore him. But arguing now would only repeat the fight from three weeks ago.

“…Fine, do what you want.”

Yorozu bit his lip. He was the one who’d asked to be ignored, yet he clearly didn’t like being dismissed so easily. Seeing Yorozu’s expression, on the verge of tears, Tokame couldn’t help but feel he must still care about him after all.

“Where are you staying?”

After a pause, Yorozu replied in a stiff tone, “I don’t want to tell you.”

Despite the awkwardness and stilted conversation, Tokame felt an intense urge to hold him close.

“Oh, Tokame! You’re here!”

Turning at the voice, Tokame saw Namba leaning out from the actor’s trailer.

“Kamonagi-san was looking for you. I told her you were probably near the shop.”

“Got it.”

Turning back to Yorozu, he said, “Catch you later,” and walked toward the shop entrance. He couldn’t understand what Yorozu was thinking. Ignoring all his calls and messages, yet showing up here at the filming location. If he really wanted to sever ties, he wouldn’t have come.

Though Yorozu had clearly gone to considerable effort to follow him here, he still acted cold and indifferent whenever they faced each other, cloaked in the same irritation from three weeks ago. Tokame ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He had apologized so many times—on voicemail, in emails. What more could he do? If Yorozu would only tell him directly, he’d know what to do, like when his previous boyfriend would get mad at him for not keeping in touch.

The set was still being prepared, and it wasn’t yet time for rehearsal. Tokame could see Kamonagi wandering restlessly among the staff coming and going from the shop.

“Kamonagi-san,” Tokame called out, and Kamonagi approached with a look of relief.

“Namba said you were looking for me.”

“Sorry for troubling you while you’re busy,” Kamonagi replied, bowing her head slightly.

“I have a friend who’s coming here to visit next week. He wants to become an actor, and I was hoping he might be able to observe the shoot—he won’t be in the way.”

It wasn’t uncommon for actors’ friends or relatives to visit the set.

“As long as he can show some form of ID, it should be fine. Filming is restricted, so as long as he doesn’t record anything…”

As he spoke, Tokame realized something.

“Sorry. Habu is back, so could you ask him or Ichinose-san about the visit?”

“Oh!” Kamonagi’s face lit up with a slight gasp. “Sorry—I’d heard from my manager that the chief assistant director was back, but…”

Muttering, “I’m really hopeless,” Kamonagi lightly tapped her own head.

“You were so dependable that I totally forgot you were filling in.”

“Honestly, I was barely holding it together,” Tokame replied with a laugh.

Kamonagi’s gaze drifted to the sidewalk, where staff splashed through lingering puddles from yesterday’s rain.

“It really poured yesterday, didn’t it? We had to cancel shooting. What do the staff usually do on days like that?”

“Everyone just does whatever they want. Yesterday, a bunch of us threw a party in our rooms during the day.”

“A party?”

“Yeah, about thirty of us staying at the same inn. They said if we started drinking early, we’d be sober by the next day.”

Kamonagi covered her mouth, chuckling.

“I’ve never heard of ‘preemptive hangovers.’ What about you, Tokame-san—what happens when you drink?”

“I don’t change much, but apparently, I just suddenly fall asleep. I’m out cold, so I don’t remember a thing.”

“You fall asleep? That’s adorable.”

As they chatted, Kamonagi’s manager approached, calling her away. It seemed there’d been a mix-up with her costume, and she needed to change. Before heading back to the trailer, the manager shot Tokame a sidelong glance—not malicious or hostile, but perhaps a subtle warning.

Tokame found it annoying to be under suspicion for nothing, but just then, he noticed the extras filing into the ramen shop. He quickly grabbed his camera and followed them inside.

The extras were spread evenly throughout the frame, and Yorozu had taken a seat at a table in the middle, absorbed in a manga. When Tokame began filming rehearsal shots, he couldn’t help but keep his gaze on Yorozu, despite his attempt to separate personal matters from work. But the more he tried to rationalize, the more he realized his attention to Yorozu wasn’t solely because he was his boyfriend.

Yorozu had sharp, handsome features, though his plain, modest style and serious personality usually made him unassuming. But with a touch of makeup today, he looked subtly polished, standing out in a way he normally didn’t. In short, enhancing his natural appeal had made him more noticeable.

The focus of the scene, though, was Sakiya, played by Sato. They didn’t need any unnecessary distractions, anything that would draw the audience’s eyes. It might be better to position Yorozu with his back to the camera or move him further to the background.

As Tokame lowered his camera, Ichinose suddenly grabbed his arm, pulling him outside.

“Come here!” she said excitedly, her cheeks flushed as if she’d just come out of a sauna.

“That extra in there—the good-looking one—isn’t he your boyfriend?”

Before he could respond, she pressed on, “He has to be, right? He looks just like that photo of him!”

"Well, yeah."

Ichinose clasped her hands together, beaming. "I heard you two were fighting, but you seem close!"

“We hadn’t been in touch at all… Then, suddenly, he signed up to be an extra here.”

“Oh, come on!” Ichinose grabbed Tokame’s shirt and shook him. “That boy followed you all the way to Onomichi just to see you! It’s so touching. You said it might be over, but trust me—it’ll be fine. I guarantee it.”

She stole a glance over Tokame’s shoulder, peeking inside the ramen shop, and laughed softly. “He’s been watching us this whole time… Ah, he just looked away. Of course, he’d be curious about someone close to his boyfriend. But if we’re too cozy, he might misunderstand.”

Muttering something about “work, work,” Ichinose slipped back inside. Kamonagi, Sato, and the other actors were now on set, and full rehearsals were beginning.

…According to the script, Sato’s character enters the ramen shop and sits at the counter. A colleague from the same publishing house notices him and calls out, prompting him to move from the counter to a table. Yorozu had been positioned at a table seat just behind this colleague—right in the frame. Perhaps he was placed there to add a touch of appeal to the shot, but it wasn’t going to work.

Tokame didn’t need to check the monitor to be sure. Yorozu’s build was similar to Sato’s, and when they shared the same frame, it threw off the visual balance. His good posture and striking features drew attention—enough that he could rival Sato.

"Tokame," the director said, still looking at the monitor.

“Could you swap the young extra sitting behind them with the guy in the work clothes by the wall?”

Tokame was about to respond, thinking, I knew it, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t the assistant director anymore. Habu, who was standing beside the director with a scowl, glared at the back of the director’s head from his seat in the director’s chair.

As Tokame hesitated over whether to clarify, Wakibuchi smoothly stepped in. “Director, Tokame is handling the behind-the-scenes camera.”

“Oh!” The director clapped a hand to his knee. “I’ve been relying on you lately, Tokame—I forgot.”

Habu’s face was tense as he spoke up forcefully. “The visual balance looks fine as is. There’s no need to rearrange the extras.”

True, the positioning itself was fine. But… The director looked up at Habu, who was standing just behind him.

“The extra behind the two of them is quite striking and distracts from the scene.”

“If it’s his face that’s the issue, why not have him lean further forward and focus on his manga?”

The director fell silent, then nodded. “Have him do that, then.”

Habu went over to Yorozu to adjust his posture. Yorozu leaned forward as directed, but it looked unnatural. His naturally upright posture didn’t suit such a slouched position.

“How does it look now?”

Habu’s tone was confident, almost challenging, but the director shook his head. “That posture looks unnatural.”

“Isn’t that posture normal enough? If you want more realism, maybe we should be hiring actors, not extras.”

The director fell silent again, and Wakibuchi glanced sideways at Tokame, sending him a look that clearly said, Looks like this is going to be a hassle.

“Is my suggestion unreasonable?” Habu pressed.

Wakibuchi, unable to hold back, stepped in with a weary “Come on now.”

“It’s up to the director to make the final call. You can’t just bulldoze your opinions.”

Habu’s face turned visibly sour, his lips tightening.

“I was simply stating my opinion. This is a large production with many people, so it’s natural that there’d be various viewpoints. It seems like Wakibuchi-san is just biased if he thinks I’m pushing too hard.”

Wakibuchi scratched his bearded chin. “It’s not about that… Even if there are various opinions, the final decision rests with the director.”

A hint of frustration entered Wakibuchi’s voice. Tokame walked over to Ichinose and said, “Can I get a piece of paper?” She handed him the entire board, and he tore a fresh sheet from the bottom and jotted down a note.

Slipping between Isono, who was checking the placement of props, and the makeup artist touching up Sato, Tokame quietly placed a note near Yorozu’s hand so no one would notice, then returned to his position by the camera.

“If each scene seems fine on its own, but the tone and flow aren’t consistent, the final edit ends up feeling disjointed. In short, the visuals need to align,” Wakibuchi was explaining to a scowling Habu.

“Um…” Yorozu raised his right hand.

“I feel too sick to keep going. Can I step outside for a bit?”

He pressed his hand to his mouth and leaned forward, heading out of the shop.

“…We can’t keep the actors waiting for an extra. Let’s change the seating arrangement,” the director said. The crew repositioned the extras, replacing Yorozu’s spot with a man in work clothes. Sure enough, the scene came together better visually without Yorozu, and the director had no objections.

The filming proceeded smoothly until the final take of Scene 15, where Sato struggled to capture a subtle moment of interest in Hisae. Despite the director’s specific guidance, Sato couldn’t quite internalize it, and Kamonagi, who had to repeatedly act out the same part for the retakes, was starting to look exhausted.

Tokame felt it was time for a break, but the director showed no sign of stopping. Habu’s pallor was also concerning—though he’d returned to work, he was clearly still recovering.

Finally, Wakibuchi spoke up at just the right moment. “How about a break?”

But before the director could reply, Habu interrupted. “We’re almost through this scene. It’d be more efficient to keep going.”

Wakibuchi frowned, his expression saying Here we go again, as the director also hesitated to call for a break.

“Would be more efficient…” Habu’s words were cut short when his body suddenly tilted sharply to the right. He seemed on the verge of collapsing but managed to brace himself, though his legs gave out, and he sank to his knees.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tokame rushed over, placing a hand on Habu’s shoulder, which Habu weakly shook off. Trying to stand, Habu braced his feet but couldn’t straighten his knees, leaning forward heavily.

“It’s just… a dizzy spell…”

His face was pale, and his elbows and knees were trembling as he supported himself on all fours.

“You really should rest,” Wakibuchi said.

“I’m fine,” Habu replied, shaking his head without looking up. “I can’t afford to trouble everyone any further…”

“Um, this has been going on a while,” Ichinose interjected. “How about we take a break here? That way, Habu-san and everyone else can rest a bit.”

Perhaps Ichinose’s suggestion finally got through, as Habu reluctantly agreed. “Alright… a break, then.”

“Fifteen-minute break!” Ichinose announced. Shimabara helped Habu upstairs to the second floor of the shop as the staff and cast looked on in concern.

“His color was off from the moment he got here. Would’ve been better if he’d taken it easy and returned when he was fully recovered. We can manage,” Wakibuchi sighed.

Following some staff members out for a smoke, Tokame stepped outside, aiming to head to the vacant lot in the back to talk to Yorozu. But on the way, he heard his name.

“Tokame-san,” called the staff member who usually handled their boxed lunches, stopping him.

“Here, it’s a treat,” she said, handing over a large plastic bag.

“For me? Who’s it from?”

“It’s from Yoshida-san,” she replied with a smile. He remembered Yoshida had mentioned in an email wanting to bring something by as a morale booster.

“He said he stopped by on his way back from location scouting. He noticed you were busy and didn’t want to interrupt. I’ve worked with Yoshida-san a few times, but I didn’t know he knew you. Oh, and he left a message: ‘Make sure to patch things up.’”

Though it was rare for extras without agency connections to join big productions with casts of fifty or a hundred, Tokame couldn’t shake the feeling Yoshida might’ve had a hand in getting Yorozu onto this set. Yoshida had always kept an eye on him, especially after Yorozu had joined their circle. They stayed in regular contact, and it seemed Yoshida had been looking out for him.

Inside the bag, there were three identical boxes. When Tokame opened the lid of the top box, he found it filled with individually wrapped, small cream puffs. Reflecting on all the effort Yoshida had put into helping him, especially with matters concerning Yorozu, Tokame decided to hand one of the boxes to the staff.

“Here, share these with everyone.”

The staff hesitated, saying, “Oh, um… Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that’s why Yoshida sent them. Don’t hold back.”

The staff accepted with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much!” and took the box away. Tokame gave another box to Ukita from the lighting crew outside, and he handed the last box to Ichinose, who was still inside the ramen shop.

Ichinose was delighted by the sweet treat and quickly started sharing it with nearby staff, cheerfully announcing, “These are a gift from Tokame-san’s friend!” Tokame grabbed one cream puff for himself and hurried to the back of the building. There wasn’t much time left on the break.

In the middle of the dispute between the director and Habu, Tokame had managed to slip Yorozu a note that read, “Please pretend to feel sick and step out of the shop.” He wanted to explain why he’d written that message. But when he reached the tent in the empty lot where the extras had gathered, Yorozu was nowhere to be seen. Tokame circled around the area, but there was no sign of him.

Left holding the unclaimed cream puff, Tokame returned to the shop just as the break ended. The actors were already back inside, standing by for the next scene.

“Oh, that cream puff was absolutely delicious!” Ichinose, looking dreamy, rested her hand against her cheek.

“It’s a limited edition from a famous local shop, right? I heard Wakibuchi-san loves them so much he even orders them by mail, and he was thrilled to get some,” she added.

“Mail order? What’s that about?” Kamonagi asked, tilting her head.

“Tokame-san gave us some cream puffs,” Ichinose explained.

“Cream puffs?” Kamonagi repeated, surprised. Noticing her puzzled expression, Ichinose suddenly fell silent, realizing she might not have gotten one. Tokame glanced at the cream puff he was holding.

“Kamonagi-san, would you like this one?”

Kamonagi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Is that okay?”

“I’ve already had one. Besides, I’m not really a fan of sweets,” Tokame lied a little. Kamonagi accepted the cream puff with a grateful smile.

“I was getting hungry anyway, so I’ll eat it before filming starts,” Kamonagi said, tearing open the plastic wrapper and, contrasting with her graceful appearance, bit into it with gusto.

“Bold eating style,” Sato remarked, impressed by Kamonagi’s enthusiasm. Kamonagi blinked a few times and, looking at the half-eaten cream puff, said, “It’s so good!”

“It’s delicious, right? Did you get one, Sato-kun?” Kamonagi asked.

“Yeah, I had three. They were too good to resist,” Sato admitted.

“Hey, that’s unfair!” Kamonagi said in mock indignation. Caught off guard, Sato fumbled to explain, “Um, I… I thought there were extras…”

Ichinose, observing, laughed. “Sato-san, you really like sweets, don’t you?”

“Oh, not really… I was just hungry…” Sato stammered, his cheeks reddening as he rubbed them in embarrassment.

“Kamonagi-san, I think you bring out Sato’s true self,” Ichinose teased.

“No way,” Sato protested, though his blush deepened.

“You look so relaxed and boyish around her,” Kamonagi smiled. “I wish you’d look this happy in scenes with me, too.”

“My expression doesn’t change that much,” Sato mumbled.

“Oh, you’re smiling without even noticing. Makes me a little jealous. Being young is nice.”

Just then, the director entered the shop. Tokame was about to pull out his camera from his daypack when he realized he wouldn’t have time once filming resumed. He needed to explain the reason for the note he’d given to Yorozu. Maybe he could quickly send him a message…

But as he flipped open his phone, the director called over to him. “Tokame-kun, could you come here?”

“It seems Habu-kun still isn’t able to stand up. I’ll let Ichinose handle the progression, but would you mind helping her out again?”

“That’s fine, but…”

Even though Habu had clearly been at odds with the director, Tokame couldn’t help feeling conflicted about Habu, who had shown up on set despite still recovering.

“We can’t afford to delay filming just to accommodate Habu.”

Extending the shoot by even a day would incur enormous costs, and there was no time to hesitate.

“I understand.”

Before starting the shoot, the director briefly announced that Habu was unwell, that Ichinose would handle the progression, and that Tokame would step in to support her. No one questioned it, and Ukita even muttered, “Honestly, Tokame, you should’ve been doing it from the start.”

A new batch of ramen was prepared, and filming resumed. Perhaps the break-time chat had relaxed him, as Sato’s acting had softened considerably, creating a more natural exchange with Kamonagi. Tokame could tell mid-take that they’d get an “OK” from the director. Sure enough, after “cut” was called, there was no request for another take.

With Sato finally in the right groove, Tokame quickly moved on to prepare for the next scene. Since the setting had shifted to after midnight, they needed a full replacement of all extras. During a brief pause, he tried calling Yorozu, but the line didn’t connect. So, he sent a message instead: “We’ll work you into the next scene, so come back to the set,” and then asked Shimabara, “Can you use the extra who left during the first scene?”

“You mean the one who walked out on his own, saying he was sick?”

“I’m the one who asked him to leave,” Tokame admitted.

Shimabara responded with a nasal “Huh?” revealing his surprise. Tokame inwardly regretted it, realizing he’d just admitted to manipulating the situation to smooth things over.

After a brief silence, Shimabara glanced at Tokame and muttered, “Whatever.”

“…Fine, as long as the total number doesn’t increase. He’s still within the budget for extras.”

“Thanks.”

“With all the back-and-forth between the director and Habu about the extras, it kind of worked out for the best that he left anyway.”

Having observed the chaos on set, Shimabara seemed to have come to his own conclusions.

“Oh, and one more thing—do you have any colors you’re not fond of?” he asked suddenly. It wasn’t uncommon to ask someone’s food preferences at a meal, but color preferences?

“Not really. I don’t mind any colors…”

“Hey, we need a stand-in!” someone from lighting called. Tokame quickly said, “I’ll leave the extra arrangement to you,” and stepped onto the set.

As Tokame endured the heat from the lights, the extras entered the shop. Relieved, he spotted Yorozu among them, apparently having read his message. This time, Kamonagi and Sato were seated facing each other at the counter, engaging in conversation. The extra placements would only appear briefly in the frame, so as long as Yorozu wasn’t in a prominent spot, it should be fine. Tokame thought a corner seat at the front table would be ideal, and, as if in sync, Shimabara placed Yorozu there. Shimabara’s methods might be casual, but he had a decent sense of balance.

After about thirty minutes, the lighting adjustments were finally complete. Tokame started to approach Yorozu for a quick word, but Ichinose caught him before he could reach him. By the time their conversation ended, rehearsal had already begun.

“The extra at the edge of that table—he’s the one who left, right?” Wakibuchi asked Tokame, pointing straight at Yorozu.

“Yes, that’s him,” Tokame replied.

“Yorozu, he really has good timing. He must’ve sensed the mood,” Wakibuchi said with admiration.

Being talked about like this left Tokame feeling both pleased and slightly self-conscious. Ichinose’s knowing glances only heightened his awkwardness, so he was relieved when the director returned, putting an end to Wakibuchi’s comments.

Filming resumed, and though they had to shoot from several angles, there were no retakes. Sato’s expression even looked somewhat more relaxed, as though he had finally begun to embody the character of Sakiya, going beyond merely aiming for the director’s “OK.”

They were down to the last shot from the left when a quiet “Excuse me” was heard. Habu had returned to the set, still looking pale.

“Sorry for causing trouble. But I’m fine now. I can handle it. Really, I’m sorry.”

Sitting in his chair, the director looked intently at Habu, as if scrutinizing his face.

“You still look unwell.”

“No, I can handle it,” Habu replied, though he immediately wobbled, using the wall behind him for support.

“I appreciate that you’re trying to push through, but this is work. Even if you’re not at your best, please take a bit more time to get back in shape,” the director said, his tone almost cold. He signaled that the conversation was over with a call for “Action.” Habu, his face like that of a lost child, watched the director’s back before Shimabara urged him, “You should rest,” and he left the set.

Filming continued without Habu, proceeding smoothly, and they wrapped all scheduled scenes for the day by about ten that evening. As soon as they heard “That’s a wrap,” the crew began packing up. Just as Tokame was taking a breather, Ukita approached him, asking about the shooting schedule for tomorrow.

Tokame mentioned that Habu might be back the next day, but Ukita, folding his arms, responded, “Still, he looked pretty unwell. Just in case, let’s make plans assuming things might not go as scheduled.”

“Oh? What’s the schedule for tomorrow?” asked the set designer, joining them. Left with no choice, Tokame discussed the schedule with Ichinose, finalizing it and communicating it to each team. By the time they finished, it was nearly eleven at night. The set and prop crew were in the middle of cleaning up. They had to return the borrowed store location to its original state and remove all equipment by the following morning, meaning the prop team likely wouldn’t finish until after midnight.

Once Tokame finally had a moment, he walked to the vacant lot behind the building. The tent and chairs that had served as the extras’ waiting area were already packed up, leaving nothing behind. He made nearly ten calls, and was just about to give up when the line finally connected.

“Yorozu?” he asked.

After a long pause, as if the other person’s voice had vanished, he finally heard a quiet “Yes.”

“Where are you right now?” he asked, but the voice was too faint to catch.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked again.

“A little south… of where the tent was,” came the quiet reply. Tokame hung up and dashed southward. About twenty meters across the lot, under a streetlamp, he spotted a dark figure.

Even though he’d been sprinting, his steps slowed as he got closer to Yorozu, and he stopped about a meter away.

“Yorozu,” he called softly.

The slender figure trembled slightly, as though startled.

“The filming’s over. What were you doing?”

Although he wanted to ask if Yorozu had been waiting for him, he couldn’t bring himself to ask directly.

“I heard… it was supposed to be daily pay, but I haven’t received my wages yet.”

“What?”

Now that he thought about it, an extra had also come by about an hour ago asking about payment. Shimabara was in charge of the extras, but Tokame hadn’t expected such a lax attitude when it came to money.

“Well, fine. I’ll go check for you.”

As he turned to leave, he felt a tug at the back of his shirt. Looking back, he saw Yorozu’s fingers clutching his shirt tightly.

“What’s wrong?”

Yorozu said nothing, and when their eyes met, he slowly looked down.

“You can’t go home without getting paid, right?”

“It’s… it’s fine, really.”

So, was he really just waiting for his wages? Or was that just an excuse to wait for him? Yorozu wasn’t one to talk much and wasn’t great with words. Tokame knew that, but without Yorozu speaking up, he couldn’t understand what was going on.

Patiently, he waited for his reserved partner to find the words. Finally, Yorozu spoke, dropping the words out of nowhere.

“Weren’t you going to film a making-of video?”

"That's right."

"You were acting like the director."

"The actual director was the older guy sitting in the chair. The assistant director wasn’t feeling well, so I was kind of filling in for him."

"I see," Yorozu replied with a nod, though he still didn’t lift his gaze. He seemed both curious and a little sulky, like a pouting child. You still like me, don’t you? If that’s the case, come on, cheer up already… The words were right at the tip of Tokame’s tongue, but he swallowed them back down. Leaving the decision up to the other person—he knew it was because he was too afraid to make the first move.

Unable to hold back any longer, Tokame reached out and touched Yorozu’s downturned cheek. He must have come to Onomichi just to see him. If that was the case, maybe it was alright to pull him into an embrace…

But in an instant, Yorozu brushed his hand away, snapping Tokame out of his thoughts. A sharp pain pierced his chest, and at the same time, frustration began to rise. If you don’t even want me to touch you, then why do you keep chasing after me? Why won’t you just leave me alone?

It was then that he realized Yorozu wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed somewhere behind Tokame. Turning around, he saw Kamonagi standing there. Her expression, initially surprised, quickly shifted back to her usual friendly smile.

"Kamonagi-san, what are you doing here at this hour?"

By the time filming had ended, the cast had already left. The clock had long since passed eleven.

"I was consulting with Ichinose-san about bringing a friend to observe the set."

Now that he thought about it, she had indeed mentioned an observer before shooting started. She must have waited until work was finished, noticing that Ichinose seemed busy.

"I’m heading home now as well. Goodnight, then," Kamonagi said, starting to walk off into the sparsely lit area.

"If you’re taking a taxi, I’ll go get one for you."

She turned and shook her head.

"It’s less than a ten-minute walk to my hotel from here."

But no matter how close it was, he couldn’t let her walk alone at this hour.

"I’ll walk you to your hotel."

Kamonagi hesitated, saying, "Oh, no, really, I’ll be fine," but if anything happened, there’d be no going back.

“…I’ll take my leave, too,” Yorozu said, about to head off. Tokame hurriedly stopped him. "I’ll be right back; wait for me here." Without responding, Yorozu remained where he was as Tokame escorted Kamonagi to her hotel.

As she’d said, the hotel was indeed nearby, just a three-minute walk along the coast. Soon, a tall hotel building—unusual for the area, standing over ten stories high—came into view. Walking beside Kamonagi, Tokame’s thoughts kept drifting to Yorozu. Would he still be waiting when Tokame returned?

"…That young man from earlier was one of the extras, wasn’t he?"

Lost in thought, Tokame had only half-heard her. "I’m sorry, could you say that again?"

"The boy you were talking to earlier—he’s an extra, right?"

"Yes, that’s right."

"Is he an aspiring actor?" she asked.

It seemed odd to Tokame that she’d assume that. Yorozu wasn’t particularly interested in the acting world of movies or dramas.

"No, he’s just an ordinary college student."

Kamonagi looked surprised.

"He’s so handsome, I just assumed he was an aspiring actor. And he has a bit of… charm, don’t you think?"

Though Yorozu did have a pretty face, Tokame had never considered him charming in that way. …Though, he was certainly intriguing.

"I’d like to have more of that kind of charm myself," Kamonagi remarked, stretching her arms with her hands clasped together.

"The other staff have mentioned that you have a mature appeal," Tokame replied. Wakibuchi seemed to be drawn to her, too, and even in her first scene, Tokame had sensed a certain feminine allure.

"Thank you. Even if you’re just saying that to be nice, I’m still happy to hear it. But I feel like Sato-kun doesn’t quite see me that way. Every time he has to redo a scene, I find myself thinking that if I had more allure, if I could really spark something in him, it might go better. But I can’t go all out with makeup or clothing because of the role."

Kamonagi had clearly noticed that Sato was sensitive to mood as well. For someone with such keen instincts and talent, it was to be expected.

"Actors like Sato-kun, if given roles not too far from their true selves, could probably deliver even better performances with ease," Kamonagi remarked.

There are often countless things beyond control—like sponsor expectations, popularity, and the timing of a star's debut. Commercial projects are all about making the best of these constraints.

"Though it may be presumptuous of me to say, Kamonagi-san, I believe you're an excellent actor," Tokame replied.

Kamonagi stopped in her tracks, smiling. "Thank you."

"And I think you’re incredibly perceptive, Tokame-san. If you ever work on another project, please reach out to me."

He responded with the polite "If the opportunity arises," but she firmly insisted, "I mean it—promise me."

"I really love your work, Tokame-san. I could be wrong, but when I saw Michi Yuki at the film festival for the first time, I had this sense that the person who made it must be… a bit lonely."

The sound of the waves swelled around them.

"I imagined the director would be a quiet, sensitive, almost literary type of man. So, when someone rugged and handsome, the complete opposite of my expectations, came out on stage, I was stunned. But as we worked together on this project, I felt the connection between you and that film grow stronger."

Michi Yuki was a documentary-style road movie that followed a woman traveling by train to her rural hometown. She was bright and straightforward, someone who saw the world in black and white. On her journey, she encountered people and inevitably parted ways with them, again and again. There were no major conflicts or obstacles. It wasn’t a dark film, but another person had also called it “lonely”—Director Okume.

“Tokame-san, you’re a kind person,” Kamonagi said.

“Who knows,” Tokame replied with a wry smile. At least, he didn’t think of himself as particularly kind when it came to Yorozu.

“People who understand others’ pain are kind,” she said. “Someone who’s totally absorbed in themselves can be interesting in their own way, but they might not be suited for collaborative work.”

Though he wondered who she was referring to, Kamonagi offered no names.

After walking Kamonagi to her hotel, Tokame ran back to the streetlight where he’d told Yorozu to wait. Adults rarely get the chance to sprint like this, and as he ran, he recalled a dream he’d had a few days ago. In that dream, he’d also been chasing after Yorozu’s back, desperate to catch up. He wondered how things had ended there—had he ever caught up?

Though barely fifteen minutes had passed since he’d left, Yorozu was no longer there. Beneath the dim streetlight, the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

He took out his phone, but hesitated to call. Yorozu had probably left without waiting because he didn’t want to speak with him. So… Tokame couldn’t decide whether to reach out or let it go. Just as he was about to circle back toward the front of the store, he heard someone shout from a nearby alley beside a ramen shop.

"I'll call the police, the police!"

It was Sato’s voice. After hearing him deliver the same lines in retakes hundreds of times, there was no mistaking it. Talk of the police—this didn’t sound good. Could it be a fight? Tokame peeked down the alley. Under the dim streetlight, he saw Sato clutching his left cheek, his face illuminated, with Yorozu standing across from him, pale as a ghost.

"What’s going on here?" Tokame asked, hurrying over.

Sato whipped around, enraged.

"This guy just suddenly punched me!"

Sato’s left cheek was red and swollen, and his index finger pointed straight at Yorozu, who stood in silence with his mouth drawn into a tight line.

"Is that true?" Tokame asked. Though Yorozu didn’t answer, the redness on the back of his right hand spoke to the truth of Sato’s words.

"Why did you do this?" Tokame asked. Yorozu wasn’t the kind of person to attack someone out of the blue. But without an explanation, Tokame couldn’t understand what had happened.

"I’m an actor!" Sato shouted, working himself into an even greater fury. "If my face is swollen, I can’t be in front of the camera tomorrow!"

Growing angrier by the second, Sato pulled out his smartphone, looking as though he was about to make the call. Alarmed, Tokame quickly took the phone from Sato’s hand.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Sato’s anger shifted toward Tokame.

“Can you let us hear what happened before calling the police? I’m sure that Yorozu—no, he must have his own side of the story, too.”

Sato narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You know this guy?”

“Yes,” Tokame replied. Sato clicked his tongue in irritation.

“How am I supposed to work with someone who’s friends with a violent thug? You should take responsibility and quit!”

Of course, Tokame thought. Just as he was mulling this over, Yorozu, who had remained silent until now, spoke up.

“What I did has nothing to do with Tokame-san.” Yorozu paused, looking awkward as he continued, “You… you were trying to force yourself on a woman, so I stepped in to stop you.”

Sato’s face twisted oddly before he yelled, “What woman? There was no one here!”

“I told her to run, so she left. I remember her face. She’s probably one of the female staff from the shoot…”

“Stop making things up!” Sato bellowed. Hearing the mention of a female staff member, Tokame recalled the short-haired script supervisor. He’d noticed Sato making advances toward Ichinose before, but could it really be…?

“It’s you who’s making things up!” a voice cut through the darkness. Ichinose stepped forward from behind Tokame.

“I… I felt uneasy, so I came back to check, only to hear you twisting the truth to suit yourself! Blaming Tokame-san is just childish. You tried to force yourself on me, and this guy stepped in to stop you! And now you’re trying to call the police, ignoring what you did?” Her voice was filled with anger, and tears welled up in her eyes. Sato hesitated for a moment, then lifted his chin defiantly.

“All I was doing was confirming tomorrow’s schedule. Why would I bother with a lame woman like you? You’re so full of yourself.”

Ichinose’s face visibly stiffened.

“I’m going to the police. I’ll make sure they deal with this assault against me. And if you want to press charges, go ahead—report that you were attacked by Sato Kon. I’ll bring in my lawyer and take this to the bitter end. I’ll prove that you’re lying.” Sato spat out his words in a single breath, then spread his arms, laughing.

“To hell with this! I’m quitting. I’m done with this movie, and it’s all your fault! Every single one of you is to blame!”

As Sato stood there, looking triumphant, Tokame couldn’t help but sense that this was just an excuse—perhaps he’d been wanting to abandon the project for a while. The repeated retakes, the gradual erosion of his confidence and time…

“I’m sorry…” Yorozu muttered in a trembling voice, bowing his head. “I was wrong to hit you. If you’re going to press charges, press them against me for assault. Tokame-san is just an acquaintance—he has nothing to do with this. So please, don’t quit the role.”

“It’s not your fault. He’s the one in the wrong!” Ichinose shouted. By now, Tokame had grasped most of the situation and began to consider how to resolve it. He slowly approached Sato, who took a step back, like a frightened dog, its bark worse than its bite.

“You tried to force yourself on Ichinose, and he stepped in to stop you. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” Tokame asked.

Sato’s lips quivered as he stammered, “I was just… checking the schedule…”

Tokame cut him off, shutting down the repeated lies.

“Do you really think anyone’s going to buy that story? You’re alone, while Ichinose has Yorozu as a witness. The police aren’t going to go easy on you just because you’re a celebrity. If anyone stands to lose from this, it’s you.”

Sato fell silent. Tokame turned to Ichinose.

“Do you want to report this to the police?”

Ichinose hesitated. “Well… I…”

“It’s okay, be honest,” Tokame urged gently.

Ichinose finally managed to speak. “I don’t want to blow this out of proportion. Yes, it was scary, but he stepped in to stop it, so it was only a little… touching. If this gets out, the shoot might have to pause, and we’ve all worked so hard to get here. So, no, I won’t go to the police.”

Having confirmed her intentions, Tokame turned his gaze back to Sato.

"Ichinose won’t report what you did. In exchange, you won’t press charges against him. Let’s call it even."

“There’s no way I’m accepting that!” Sato shouted, his face red with anger, unaware that he was the one saved by Ichinose’s forgiveness.

“Take responsibility for my injured face! You should be the one to quit!”

His arrogance and his misguided sense of superiority made it all too clear that he couldn’t bear the thought of being in the wrong. Tokame understood this mindset, even though he had no desire to. Could the rest of the filming go smoothly with such resentment lingering? If Sato were just a random passerby, he’d let him deal with it on his own, but Sato was central to this film. Without at least one concession to placate him, Sato would likely remain dissatisfied.

After a moment of thought, Tokame spoke up.

“If I step down from this film, will that satisfy you?”

“Of course it will,” Sato sneered. The film could be completed without Tokame, but without Sato, it couldn’t move forward.

“Alright, then. I’ll tell the producer tomorrow. But in return, you continue with the film.”

“Tokame-san, you can’t agree to this!” Ichinose gripped Tokame’s arm, shaking him urgently.

“It’s fine… So, that settles this matter, right?” Tokame said.

Though Sato still looked unconvinced, he turned on his heel and walked away in silence.

“That guy is the worst,” Ichinose muttered, glaring at Sato’s retreating figure.

“You… that was rough. Are you alright?” Tokame asked. At his words, tears filled Ichinose’s eyes, brimming with the fear she’d hidden behind her brave facade. It must have been terrifying. If it weren’t for the film, if Sato weren’t an actor, Tokame might have kicked him himself.

"Do you want to head back to the hotel?"

Ichinose shook her head.

“I still have things to discuss with the remaining staff. Isono will drive me back to the hotel.”

She wiped her eyes, then turned to Yorozu.

“Thank you for stepping in. I’m sorry you had to go through that because of me.”

“I’m… I’m fine. Really, I am,” Yorozu said, shaking his head.

“Thank you. That was… kind of you,” Ichinose murmured, then looked up at Tokame with her reddened eyes.

“Tokame-san, you absolutely can’t leave. If anyone should leave, it’s me. I was foolish to follow him to such a secluded spot, even if he did say it was just to confirm the schedule. I let my guard down.”

“This isn’t your fault. He’s the one who’s out of line for approaching a crew member during the shoot.”

Ichinose repeated her plea for him not to quit before finally heading back to the front of the store, leaving Tokame and Yorozu alone in the narrow alley.

Though the night was humid enough to make one sweat, Yorozu stood there, trembling slightly, clutching his own arm.

"I… I was waiting around and heard her scream." His voice was so faint it almost disappeared into the night. "I went to check, and he was yelling. I thought he was assaulting her, and I… I just reacted. I didn’t even see his face. I didn’t even realize I was hitting him."

He looked down at his reddened right hand. When Tokame reached out and grasped his wrist, Yorozu flinched so hard it startled him.

“Does it hurt?”

Yorozu kept his head down, shaking it vigorously from side to side.

“I… I’m going to the police after all. If I get arrested, maybe he’ll be satisfied and stop demanding that you quit, Tokame-san.”

“Going won’t accomplish anything. Ichinose doesn’t want to report it, and Sato won’t say anything that makes him look bad.”

“But I hit him. I was the one in the wrong…”

“No, Sato’s the one at fault. Not you.” Tokame’s voice was firm. Yorozu’s face contorted, as if he were on the verge of tears.

“Then… then why do you have to leave? This has nothing to do with you, Tokame-san!”

“It’s fine. Besides, the making-of video is just a bonus. Whoever shoots it won’t affect the main film.”

“But it’s a project you finally got to film! Didn’t you want to work on it?” Yorozu’s voice was anguished.

“Well… it can’t be helped,” Tokame replied.

It wasn’t that he was quitting simply because Sato had demanded it. He had a growing sense that he didn’t quite belong with this crew. While his experience meant he could handle the work and share a similar vision with the director, he was still only a “stand-in.” He had no intention of taking Habu’s place. And as long as he was there, the staff couldn’t help but compare him and Habu. This wasn’t good for either Habu or the team.

“Tokame-san.”

Yorozu looked directly at him.

“I want to break up with you.”

The unwavering gaze in Yorozu’s eyes sent an icy chill through Tokame’s entire body. What was this about? Weren’t they just talking about the issue with Sato, about whether or not Tokame should quit? How had this turned into a breakup?

His mind swirled with confusion. …He’d sensed something was off ever since Yorozu stopped replying to his messages, but Yorozu had followed him all the way to Onomichi. Didn’t that mean he still wanted to be with him?

…Tokame didn’t want to break up. But he could also think of reasons why Yorozu would say this. He’d broken promises, and there were times he hadn’t been there for him. If Yorozu wanted to end things, there was no point in dragging it out on his own. A relationship only works if both people want it. The conclusion wouldn’t change.

A sharp pain cut through his stomach, and he gently pressed a hand to his abdomen.

"Well, if that’s how it is—"

“So that’s it, huh?” Yorozu interrupted him mid-sentence. “You’re just going to say it’s fine, just like that?”

Yorozu’s face was twisted with a fury Tokame had never seen before.

"Why are you so quick to end things?"

“Quick? You’re the one who brought it up first—”

“You love working on films, don’t you? You look so busy, but you’re so alive while you’re doing it. Yoshida-san even said that filming this making-of could get your name out there and lead to new opportunities. So why are you just giving it up so easily?”

Fueled by Yorozu’s passion, Tokame’s voice rose in response.

“I’ve got my own reasons too, you know.”

“Sure, you have your reasons. But are you the only one responsible here? Isn’t everyone partly at fault?”

Yorozu shook off Tokame’s grip on his wrist. And then, in a swift movement, he lunged forward. Grabbing Tokame’s shoulders hard enough to hurt, he kissed him roughly. Tokame was caught off guard, barely registering Yorozu’s scent or the pounding of his heart before he was pushed back, almost thrown aside.

And with that, Yorozu took off, running. Overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions, Tokame could only stare in a daze after his retreating figure.

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