COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 10

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“Alright then, have a good night.”

Miyamoto gave a light push off on her bicycle and glided away. As her figure quickly receded into the distance, Kusuda called out after her, “Be careful on your way home!”

The sun was setting earlier now, and by six in the evening, it was already pitch dark. Kusuda walked alone in the opposite direction of the subway station, meandering along the river. Crossing a large bridge, a gust of wind blasted through and made him shiver—it was freezing. He automatically broke into a light jog.

Once over the bridge, a large building came into view. From a slight elevation you could see its whole form, but up close, it was hidden behind a tall white wall, giving away nothing of what it was. Kusuda had vaguely assumed it was some sort of chemical plant, so he’d been shocked to learn it was actually a film studio. He gave the tote bag in his right hand a little playful swing.

…It had been just as he was getting ready to go home after finishing up work, when a ringtone echoed through the office. It wasn’t his. But it was nearby. The sound seemed to be coming from under the desk next to his—he peeked under and found a familiar leather tote bag.

“That guy forgot his stuff again,” Kusuda muttered.

As soon as he picked up the bag, the ringtone cut off.

“Did Akizawa forget his phone this time?” said Miyamoto, who had also been getting ready to leave. She sounded exasperated. Akizawa had basically become a fixture in the office, like a full-time employee, spending his free time at his borrowed desk sketching out designs. Since the desk wasn’t otherwise occupied, they’d just let him do as he pleased. But like a squirrel storing snacks for the winter, he’d filled the drawers with stockpiled instant noodles and candy—and he forgot his stuff a lot.

“Sorry about this,” Kusuda muttered, and opened the bag to check inside. Along with a script and the phone, Akizawa’s wallet was also in there.

“He even forgot his wallet?”

“That's a total fail,” Miyamoto sighed.

How had he even gotten on the train? But then Kusuda remembered:

“Oh yeah, he said the studio was close enough to walk to.”

Miyamoto buried her nose in her scarf and murmured, “If it’s around here, that’d probably be MM Studio.”

She and Kusuda exchanged a glance. They both wanted to go home, but if they closed the office now, Akizawa wouldn’t be able to retrieve his things. Ideally, someone from his agency should come pick it up—but Miyako Entertainment was quite a distance away, and waiting around for someone to arrive sounded like a hassle. So Kusuda decided he’d just take the bag over to the studio himself. Miyamoto offered to go since she had her bike and Kusuda had a business trip tomorrow, but he declined, saying it was walking distance and there was a subway station nearby anyway.

Ever since the night they’d gone drinking together, Akizawa had acted like the whole knife incident had never happened, becoming unexpectedly friendly with Kusuda. Not that Kusuda had done anything special—he’d just listened and nodded along to Akizawa’s ramblings—but apparently, that alone had made a big impression.

At the izakaya, Akizawa had said, completely serious, “I’m thinking I’ll start calling you ‘Vice President Kusuda’ from now on,” and Kusuda had nearly snorted his beer. Apparently Akizawa thought Kusuda had hiring authority at CRUX, and had started doing the math: He might be my future boss. Kusuda had wanted to say, Too late for that, buddy—your first impression couldn’t have been worse, but he held his tongue. He was an adult, after all.

Once drunk, Akizawa got very talkative. And he said it over and over again:

“I’m really good at acting.”

He said he was so good that several less-talented actors had been kicked off productions because of him. That he was too good—he’d even been told, “Could you tone it down a little?” That when he voiced his opinion to a talentless director, that director spread malicious rumors that got him dropped from the project…

Every story in Akizawa’s personal legend revolved around how good he was, and by the time Kusuda had listened to enough of them, he was full to bursting. It reminded him of a balding office manager from his old salaryman days who used to boast endlessly about his minor achievements. The nostalgia was almost comforting.

Still, Kusuda’s patience had paid off—Akizawa, apparently satisfied, now ranked him in his personal favorites list just under Masamitsu and Miyamoto. The sullen hostility had disappeared. Not that Kusuda had let down his guard—“Caution: Handle with Care” was still flashing in his head every time he looked at the guy.

Walking alongside the tall white wall that bordered the road, Kusuda spotted an entrance up ahead. A small building stood in the middle, like a tollbooth, separating the vehicle lane to the left and the pedestrian entrance to the right. A uniformed guard stood outside on the left side, checking each car one by one.

Well, if there are celebrities inside, I guess it makes sense security’s tight, Kusuda thought, and approached the building with a polite “Good afternoon.”

The security guard, a man who looked to be around fifty, gave a curt nod. “Hello. Please present your entry pass.”

The guard held out his hand through the small window.

“I’m not affiliated with the studio,” Kusuda explained. “I believe the actor Kaito Akizawa is here today for a shoot…”

The moment he said the name, the guard’s face hardened.

“I’m not authorized to give out any information.”

Instant stonewall. Kusuda gave a wry smile. Understandable—security policies and all that. Still, he couldn’t exactly go home without delivering the bag, so he tried a softer approach.

“I’m really sorry to trouble you. I’m just going to wait here, so would you be able to check whether Akizawa-san is inside? If he is, could you let him know Kusuda from CRUX is here with something he left behind?”

Kusuda held out the tote bag along with his business card, but the guard didn’t even glance at them.

“Rules are rules. I can’t accept any deliveries.”

Stubborn old goat, Kusuda thought. But he couldn’t turn back now.

“This bag has important belongings he forgot—he won’t even be able to get home without it. If it’s absolutely out of the question, could I at least give you just his phone and wallet…?”

“Enough already!” the guard suddenly barked.

“I said we can’t take your stuff or pass messages, didn’t I? We’ve had way too many damn cockroaches trying to sneak in here lately with every trick in the book. If you want in, show me an entry pass. Right now! Otherwise, get lost.”

Kusuda flinched at the sudden outburst. And then—from behind him, a light chuckle.

A tall man had appeared at his back, the brim of his cap pulled low over his face. Kusuda couldn’t see his eyes, but his lips were curved in a faint smile.

“Mind moving?” the man said, flicking his hand like he was shooing away a dog.

Annoyed by the gesture but aware he was blocking the way, Kusuda took a few steps back. The man held up a pass and went through the security check. Something about that profile looked familiar…

Wait a minute...

As the man stepped through the gate into the studio grounds, the memory clicked. It was Kou Muneishi, lead actor in Beyond Us. One of Akizawa’s co-stars.

“Muneishi-san!”

Kusuda called out. Muneishi stopped in his tracks.

“Could you tell Kaito Akizawa that Kusuda is here to return something he forgot?”

“Hey, you!”

The security guard leaned out the window, barking at him. Muneishi just shrugged and said, “I’ll let his manager know,” before disappearing into the studio.

“Keep this up and I will call the police!”

The guard now threatened him outright. Kusuda had no interest in sneaking inside or bothering celebrities—he just wanted to return something. That’s it. But no matter how long he stood here, it was clear the security guard wouldn’t help. And judging by his smug attitude, Muneishi wasn’t going to lift a finger either.

Resigned, Kusuda turned to leave. The guard gave a triumphant snort through his nose, like he’d just scored some sort of victory. Great. Should’ve just called Akizawa’s agency and waited for someone to pick it up. Now it’s a pain, and I feel like crap.

“...Kusuda-san.”

He heard his name being called just as he started walking away. When he turned around, he saw Numata hurrying toward the iron gate from inside the studio.

“I thought it might be you. The way you were standing, I had a feeling…”

Kusuda felt his body slump in relief. If he’d known Numata was accompanying Akizawa today, he would’ve just called ahead and asked him to step out. They could’ve avoided the whole scene with the gate guard. Still—at least this way, the delivery could be completed.

He handed over the tote bag.

“Akizawa-san left this at our office—his wallet and phone are in there. I figured he’d be in trouble without it, so I brought it over, but I couldn’t get past the gate…”

Numata’s expression turned apologetic. He bowed deeply.

“I’m terribly sorry. Akizawa did say he left his wallet at CRUX, so I was just about to head over there myself. I can’t thank you enough for bringing it all the way out here.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I was on my way home anyway…”

From the corner of his eye, Kusuda noticed the guard watching them, casting occasional glances. But when their eyes met, the guard looked away abruptly, as if pretending none of it had happened.

“And not just about the bag—he’s always barging in at your office like that… Honestly, I’m really sorry. He’s just so inconsiderate. I’m constantly worried he’s causing problems for everyone…”

That Numata could speak like a normal, decent person just made it even more baffling how his son had turned out like that.

“Well, when he’s at our place, he keeps pretty quiet and focused on his work. Our designer, the president, is honestly thrilled that our image model is even interested in jewelry-making at all.”

It was partly lip service, but not entirely untrue. Akizawa had already finalized a ring design and was now in the phase of carving it from hard wax. Masamitsu would give him pointers, and Akizawa would then hunch over his workspace, completely immersed in the craft.

“Do you have any plans after this?” Numata asked.

“No, I was just heading home…”

“If you have a few minutes, would you like to watch the shoot? Akizawa’s scene is about to start.”

Kusuda didn’t particularly care to see the set, and he had a business trip to Osaka in the morning—but a part of him did want to walk through that gate, pass in hand, just to throw it in the face of that condescending security guard. So I really am a legitimate guest after all, huh?

“Okay, sure. Just for a bit…”

Numata ducked back inside and returned with a neck-lanyard entry pass, which he handed to Kusuda. Slipping it around his neck, Kusuda passed confidently through the gate, head high. Numata led him through to the studio’s interior.

He had always imagined that drama sets, with their celebrities and camera crews, would feel glamorous somehow. But the reality was much messier—gear, wires, lights, and props were piled up everywhere outside the frame of the camera, like an unkempt garage or a glorified storage shed.

The shoot hadn't started yet. Inside a set resembling a one-room apartment, a few staff members in T-shirts bustled about, preparing equipment.

Off to one side, Muneishi was chatting with two young women—both beautiful and well-dressed, likely actresses.

In stark contrast, Akizawa sat alone on a folding chair like a lost sheep, watching the set with a dazed expression. When he noticed Kusuda, his face lit up with surprise.

“Huh? What are you doing here?”

The bluntness of the question—without a shred of tact—was so typically Akizawa. From beside him, Numata snapped in a sharp tone, “Don’t say what are you doing here. He came all the way to return something you forgot.”

“Oh, really? Thanks,” Akizawa said with a grin, entirely unfazed by the scolding. Numata sighed and corrected him, “It’s thank you very much,” before turning to Kusuda and apologizing. Then, his phone rang. “Excuse me a moment,” he said and stepped away.

“I’ve been waiting here for over thirty minutes now,” Akizawa muttered, leaning far back in his chair with a groan. “I know waiting is part of the job, but still.”

Kusuda took in the scene—it was his first time on a TV set. Everything was unfamiliar and interesting, but the atmosphere made one thing clear: this place wasn’t for him. He felt awkward and out of place. He was just about to leave without seeing Akizawa perform when Numata returned.

“Kaito, something urgent’s come up. I have to leave early. Make sure you do your job properly.”

With that, Numata turned to Kusuda and said, “I’m sorry to leave before you—thank you again for today. When you head out, just return your visitor’s pass at the reception.” And then he rushed off.

As soon as Numata was gone, Akizawa curled his legs up on the chair and pouted. He looked sulky. Kusuda remembered how Akizawa had once complained that Numata hadn’t come with him to the CRUX shoot—maybe he still had lingering feelings about that.

Laughter rang out. Across the studio, Muneishi and the girls were chatting and playfully teasing each other.

“Don’t you talk to them?” Kusuda asked.

“They’re annoying,” Akizawa muttered, shooting a look of pure disdain at the laughing group. “Every time I say something, they laugh. It pisses me off.”

On TV, Muneishi had the image of a clean, gentle, “healing-type” of guy. But after his smug behavior at the gate, Kusuda had a different impression altogether.

“They’re all terrible actors, anyway,” Akizawa added flatly. When Kusuda leaned in and whispered, “Even Muneishi-san?” Akizawa replied without hesitation, “He’s the worst of them.”

That made Kusuda feel oddly satisfied. God, I’m petty…

Suddenly, the laughter across the room died down. When Kusuda looked over, all three of them were staring in his direction. Muneishi’s mouth was moving, but they were too far to hear. Then Muneishi pointed in their direction, and the girls burst into giggles.

Kusuda’s face flushed red. They’re definitely talking about me. Probably about the argument at the gate with the security guard. A sticky sweat bloomed under his arms. I have to get out of here. I can’t take this anymore. Forget watching the shoot.

“...It’s getting late. I think I should head home,” Kusuda said.

“Wait a bit longer,” Akizawa pleaded. “My scene’s the first one—they’ll wrap it up quick. You haven’t had dinner yet, right? I want to go to Toriharatei for ramen. Come with me?”

Like a child begging for a treat, Akizawa tugged on the sleeve of Kusuda’s suit.

“Um…” Kusuda couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. Or rather, he couldn’t look in the direction of those three. He felt like they were still laughing at him, and the thought made his skin crawl.

“All right, we’re ready. Rehearsal starting!”

A staff member called out from inside the set. Muneishi offered a cheerful, “Thanks in advance!” and stepped into the mock-up apartment. Akizawa stood from his chair.

“I’ll wait here until you’re finished.”

Glancing back, Akizawa gave a firm thumbs-up. “Then it’s settled—ramen afterward!”

“While I’m waiting, show me your best performance,” Kusuda said.

Akizawa’s expression turned suddenly serious.

“Not half-hearted acting. I want you to go all in and show me just how far above Muneishi your skills are.”

“Hmm…” Akizawa looked diagonally upward, thinking.

“All right, but once I go in, I might not be able to come back out. Still okay with that?”

Kusuda didn’t really understand what he meant, but nodded anyway. “Go for it.”

“Akizawa-san, we’re ready for you!”

The staff called out again, and Akizawa quickly made his way into the set.

Muneishi, the protagonist, was already waiting inside the mock room. Akizawa was guided by staff to stand outside the set door. Watching the actors’ movements, Kusuda realized the scene was one where the protagonist’s friend, played by Akizawa, drops by the main character’s apartment.

Akizawa carefully rehearsed how to open the door, how to take off his shoes—checking each movement with focused intent. Then, a voice called out through the studio:

“Going for rehearsal.”

Despite there being over thirty people gathered, the studio fell completely silent.

Akizawa, holding a plastic convenience store bag, knocked on the apartment door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called out.

The sound of his voice made Kusuda’s eyes widen.

It was nothing like Akizawa’s usual tone. Not even close. It was like hearing a completely different person.

“Train got stopped halfway, man.”

As he entered the room, there wasn’t a trace of his usual gloom or immaturity. He radiated the laid-back charm of a friendly college student.

“So, what was that thing you wanted to talk about?”

He smiled—a bright, dazzling expression Kusuda had never seen before.

Even though Muneishi was also speaking his lines, for some reason, it was Akizawa’s voice that cut through the space, clear and direct. His enunciation was impeccable.

“Y’know, I’m not great with messy relationship stuff. But you’re a good guy—if you talk it out, I’m sure Miyu’ll understand.”

Who was this guy?

The man casually chatting inside that fake set, acting so naturally like the protagonist’s best friend… Kusuda found himself gulping.

“Come on, don’t be so down. Cheer up, will ya?”

Akizawa placed a hand on Muneishi’s shoulder.

“Cut!”

The call rang out, and the rehearsal ended. But the atmosphere remained silent and heavy.

A man in his fifties, seated beside Kusuda, tapped him on the shoulder with a rolled-up script and muttered, “…That friend character is dangerous.”

He meant it as praise.

Akizawa had been incredible in that scene. By far, he had outperformed Muneishi.

Even someone like Kusuda, a complete layman, could tell. So why did the older guy sound so critical?

As if reading his thoughts, the man glanced at Kusuda. “You know that guy, huh?”

“Yeah, kind of…” Kusuda replied.

“He’s a hell of an actor. But he’s too good. Makes the lead look like a background extra. Throws the whole balance off.”

Noise began returning to the studio as the staff moved about. Even though the camera had stopped rolling, Akizawa hadn’t dropped the role.

With that same cheerful smile, like a mask fused to his face, he stood there—still playing the part of the best friend.

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