COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 11

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In the cramped restaurant filled with the aroma of garlic and miso, Kusuda and Akizawa sat across from each other at a small two-person table. Toriharatei was a well-known miso ramen spot beloved by locals, so during lunch and dinner rushes, there was always a line outside. But since it was just past 9 p.m.—a little off the typical dinner time—they’d managed to get in without waiting, and even scored a table right away. It was cold enough outside for their breath to come out white, so it felt like a lucky break.

It was Kusuda who had introduced Akizawa to this place, and apparently he’d grown fond of it—according to Miyamoto, he’d been coming pretty often.

While slurping his regular miso ramen, Kusuda glanced up at the man across from him. Normally, Akizawa would hunch so far forward it looked like he was about to cover the whole table with his torso—but tonight his back was straight, and even the way he ate was oddly refined.

“This ramen’s really good, isn’t it?”

He usually mumbled out his words, but now he was speaking clearly, his voice crisp. His hair was still styled from the shoot, and even his expression was softer. He seemed like a different person—no, it felt like Kusuda was having dinner with a character from the very drama he’d just watched.

Back when Akizawa had shown up at Kusuda’s apartment, he had recited long passages from a film he’d acted in as a child. And afterward, it had taken a while for his childish speech and mannerisms to fade. Earlier that day, when Kusuda had asked to see Akizawa’s serious acting, Akizawa had warned him, “If I go in, I might not come back out.” Maybe he was the kind of actor who, once immersed in a role, became that character entirely.

There were plenty of famous actors who said that kind of thing—“It was hard to step out of the role after filming.” Akizawa had a tendency to lose sight of his surroundings when he focused. When he was concentrating on making accessories, he’d get so absorbed he wouldn’t even hear someone speaking to him. But still—was it really okay for someone’s personality to completely change just because they were acting?

Despite having given a captivating performance, Akizawa had gone through several retakes. The director’s vague instructions—“A bit lighter,” “More like you're good friends”—were perfectly adjusted for each time, like flipping a switch. It was Akizawa's performance, not the protagonist’s, that shifted the tone of the scene. The director had clearly struggled to reconcile the gap between Akizawa and Muneishi, but in the end, seemingly giving up, he just gave the OK with Akizawa’s usual performance.

Once his part was done, Akizawa quickly left the studio with Kusuda in tow. From that moment on, he’d walked with unusually good posture, holding his head high and offering polite “Good work today” greetings to the people they passed. A few of them had even looked startled, fumbling to respond with a “Oh, good work, yes,” in return.

Akizawa’s uncharacteristic behavior continued. When they stepped outside after finishing their ramen, the warm contentment of a full stomach was instantly flash-frozen by the cutting wind. Kusuda shivered from head to toe. That’s when Akizawa quietly unwound his own scarf and gently draped it around Kusuda’s neck. If it had been a girl, Kusuda might’ve fallen in love on the spot. But knowing who he was dealing with, Kusuda could only feel one thing: deep, creeping discomfort at how out of character this gentlemanly Akizawa was.

“Ah, um… it’s fine, really.”

When Kusuda moved to take off the scarf, Akizawa pressed down on his hands to stop him and smiled brightly. “I was kind of hot inside the shop. Just keep it on until the station.”

The kind of corny gesture that could’ve come straight from a drama script made Kusuda squirm with discomfort. Akizawa being this considerate? That was definitely out of character.

Noticing Kusuda’s stare, Akizawa asked, looking worried, “Is there something on my face?”

“…No, nothing.”

He couldn’t very well say, You’re acting like a totally different person and it’s creeping me out, so he dodged the question vaguely. Akizawa just tilted his head slightly and didn’t press further. Instead, he flashed a dazzling smile that could land him in a gum commercial and said, “Let’s go get another drink somewhere.”

If it were the usual rude and self-centered Akizawa, Kusuda knew how to handle him—but this version, inexplicably polite and charming, was a mystery. Kusuda didn’t want to get drinks with someone this unreadable.

“Sorry.” Kusuda gave a small bow.

“I appreciate the invite, but I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I’m heading out of town for work.”

It wasn’t a lie. CRUX had mainly been selling through select shops and online, but starting tomorrow, they were doing a special ten-day pop-up at a department store near Osaka Station, running through Christmas. The shop would be staffed by Tani from their flagship store, with backup from a department store employee. Kusuda was just going down for the first day to check on things and help with sales. The product setup and display work had already been handled by Tani the day before, and everything seemed on track. Kusuda only needed to arrive an hour before opening—taking the first bullet train would get him there on time. It was going to be a busy day, but they couldn’t afford the cost of overnight stays before or after.

“Ah, I see. Well, can’t be helped then,” Akizawa replied—surprisingly agreeable.

Kusuda had braced himself for the usual pushback—“Come on, why not?” or “Just one drink!”—but Akizawa backed off so easily it was almost unsettling.

“I guess I’ll head home too.”

Akizawa stood first and began walking toward the station. Kusuda followed, still wearing the warm, yet oddly uncomfortable scarf that another man had wrapped around his neck.

Finally, the entrance to the subway came into view beyond the intersection.

There was major construction happening near the crosswalk, making the sidewalk narrow enough that people could barely pass each other. As they walked, a young woman coming from the opposite direction bumped into Akizawa, and her bag dropped to the ground.

Akizawa picked it up and handed it to her, asking, “Are you okay?”

The girl was petite, with light brown hair pulled into a bun or a ponytail—somewhere in between. She wore big earrings and a bright red coat, giving off a fashionable vibe—maybe someone in the apparel industry.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl apologized.

Akizawa flashed a grin—a perfect, TV-ready smile. Sensing his good looks, the girl’s expression softened with a flirtatious glow.

“These shoes are brand new, and I’m still not used to walking in them,” she said, her voice bouncing up at the end like a question.

She was wearing high-heeled boots with little ribbons on them.

“Cute boots,” Akizawa said.

A compliment to a woman—completely unlike the usual Akizawa. He was supposed to be shy around people, and now here he was, morphing into some flirty dude from a teen drama.

“Thanks,” the girl giggled, shoulders shrinking bashfully.

“Not just the boots—you’re really cute too,” Akizawa added without a shred of hesitation.

The girl’s cheeks flushed.

“Are you heading home now?” he asked.

She nodded, still blushing.

“I was thinking of heading home too, but I’m not quite done for the night. Want to grab a drink somewhere? I’d love to talk to you.”

This was—without a doubt, and with complete confidence—a pickup attempt.

“W-well…” The girl hesitated, but it was the kind of hesitation that just needed one more push.

"Actually, I was supposed to have a drink with this guy, but he turned me down,"

Akizawa said, blatantly pointing at Kusuda.

"But I don’t want to go home just yet. If you’re worried, take me to one of your usual spots. As long as I can drink beer, anywhere’s fine."

The girl’s hesitation lasted only a moment.

"Well… just for a little while."

An ominous wind stirred in his chest. Akizawa was a grown man, so who he hit on or had drinks with was entirely his freedom. But right now—just now—this felt like a bad idea. Akizawa wasn’t acting like Akizawa. Before he knew it, Kusuda had grabbed the man’s arm across from him with a firm grip.

"I— I think I’ve changed my mind… I’d like to have a drink… after all."

Akizawa looked straight at Kusuda.

"There are some things I’d like to talk about—just the two of us."

With a smile that revealed no clear intent, he turned back to the girl.

"Actually, I’ll go have a drink with him. I was the one who asked you, so I’m sorry."

The girl glared at Kusuda and spat out coldly, "Oh, I see," before stomping off down the street, her heels striking the pavement hard.

"Where should we drink?"

The wicked man asked cheerfully.

"Do you always invite girls like that?"

"‘Always’ as in whose always?"

Kusuda swallowed the urge to say, "I’m talking to you—who else would I mean?"

"You, Akizawa-san."

When he spelled it out, the pick-up artist crossed his arms.

"Kaito Akizawa probably wouldn’t, but since Ito Ryotau hasn’t worn off yet, I guess I’m still Ryota."

Akizawa described himself with an unsettling objectivity.

"Ryota probably likes girls like her."

With a face too beautiful, his eyes carried a charm about thirty percent more seductive than usual.

"And she looked like the type who’d let you do it if you pushed a little, didn’t she?"

Even vulgar lines, coming from a good-looking guy, sounded strangely refreshing—unfair, really.

"I’d feel better if we did it, but it’s still a hassle with someone I just met. I'd rather drink with you, Kusuda-san."

Even if the role hadn’t worn off and he was acting like a different person, there was no changing the fact that this was Kaito Akizawa. Kusuda hesitated, then finally found the courage to say what had been on his mind.

"Your personal relationships with women are private, and I have no intention of intruding. But as an image model, I’d like to ask that you act with some discretion…"

Akizawa shrugged lightly.

"You mean I shouldn’t act recklessly while I’m still stuck in a role. Got it."

As if pretending to salute, he raised his index and middle fingers to his temple with a crisp snap. Whether he was being serious or joking, Kusuda had no idea. In the end, he felt uneasy about drinking outside with a not-quite-normal Akizawa, so he suggested they drink at home. They picked up some alcohol at a convenience store and headed back to Kusuda’s apartment.

Akizawa sat down on the sofa without hesitation, but unlike last time, he sat with good posture. When Kusuda began tidying up the cluttered low table, Akizawa asked, "Need any help?" It was a simple, ordinary gesture, but not something Kusuda ever expected from Akizawa. The last time he visited, he stuck around even when Kusuda said he was going to work, claiming he "wanted to eat toast."

"When you really commit to a role, your personality completely changes, doesn’t it?"

"Exactly. That’s why I told you I might not be able to come back before the shoot started."

He couldn’t have imagined it from that brief explanation.

"So… how do you return to being the usual Akizawa-san?"

Akizawa propped his elbow on the sofa, resting his cheek on his hand and crossing his legs.

"I go back to normal after one night of sleep."

Apparently, a simple reset through sleep did the trick. Taking the beer Kusuda handed him, Akizawa drank it with evident pleasure.

"Are there many actors who get so into character they basically become someone else?"

"Well… who knows?"

Tilting his head, Akizawa picked at the nuts served as drinking snacks and tossed one into his mouth.

"I don’t really know about other people," he said. "But when I get into a role, I can only see the world through that character’s perspective. It’s more comfortable being that person."

So even now, in this very moment, Akizawa was likely still living inside that role.

"But I don’t exist in the world that Akizawa-san was acting in, do I? How do you reconcile that world with reality?"

Akizawa covered his mouth with his hand and let out a low chuckle, as if he found something amusing.

"If I really believed the world of the role was real, that would be a serious problem. If I were shooting a sci-fi movie, I’d have to spend every day terrified that aliens might invade tomorrow. I’m Ito Ryota, but I do know that the base is still Kaito Akizawa."

Then, as if remembering something, Akizawa pulled out his smartphone and made a call.

"Ah, it’s me. I’m going to be home late tonight... No, really, don’t worry about it."

After a few brief lines, Akizawa placed the phone on the table.

"Who were you talking to?"

"My mom. I still live at home. If I don’t call her, she gets all fussy."

He let out a sigh full of weary resignation—but if Kusuda’s memory was correct, Akizawa’s parents were divorced, and he lived alone now.

"Good thing tomorrow’s Saturday. If I had early classes, I wouldn’t be able to deal."

Stretching his arms high above his head, Akizawa gave a long, lazy yawn.

"Classes... you mean university?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"But I thought Akizawa-san wasn’t attending university."

"True. But Ito Ryota is a university student."

On set, reality and fiction are separated by a single call of “Action” and “Cut.” But for Akizawa, “Cut” didn’t end it—he kept performing as that character until he went to sleep. Even if there were no actual phone call, even if he didn’t go to university, he predicted what Ito Ryota would do or think—and acted accordingly.

So what would happen if Akizawa played a dangerous role, like a serial killer? Would he want to kill someone even after the shoot wrapped? …Kusuda didn’t even want to imagine it.

"I’ve got a part-time job tomorrow afternoon too."

That must’ve been part of Ito Ryota’s character setting, Kusuda thought as he replied with a neutral, “I see.”

As he continued talking with Akizawa-as-Ito Ryota, it began to dawn on him—this conversation had no real meaning. The man sitting across from him was ‘Akizawa’, but not really Akizawa.

Talking about meaningless things started to wear on him. Hoping that Akizawa would drink himself into a stupor, Kusuda kept pouring him beer. After about six cans, Akizawa’s movements finally began to slow, and then he stopped altogether.

Kusuda had planned to send him home by the last train or hail a taxi, but Akizawa had passed out before that could happen. After covering the now-sleeping man on the sofa with a blanket, the Akizawa Theater finally came to a close. When he woke up, he would likely be back to the usual Akizawa.

Kusuda took a quick shower and climbed into bed. It was already past 1 a.m. To catch the Shinkansen at six-something, he’d need to be up by at least five.

He had to sleep, but his mind was too alert. Arguing with the security guard, watching the shoot at the studio, interacting with the possessed version of Akizawa... The past few hours had been weirdly dense.

He recalled the acting he had witnessed on set. A single scene could leave a completely different impression depending on how Akizawa played it. Watching TV or movies, it’s common to think, “That actor’s pretty good,” but seeing Akizawa live—how versatile, how magnetic he was—was something else entirely.

Actors were amazing. …Well, okay, there were exceptions. Like Muneishi.

“Talent, huh.”

The words floated softly in the dark. Akizawa, still stuck in his role, behaving like someone else entirely—it was strange. And yet, with the crown of "talent" on one’s head, even that kind of strangeness could be excused. Maybe anyone who excelled at something was a little bit off. Even Masamitsu was occasionally out of touch with the world.

Kusuda was surrounded by people with talent. From the vantage point of an average man like him, that kind of recognized brilliance could only ever be envied.

He remembered when Masamitsu first began metal engraving and had given him a ring. It had a tiny bird-shaped motif etched into it. Wow, it’s amazing someone can actually make something like this, Kusuda had thought at the time. But never once had he thought, I want to try that too.

…To feel curiosity. To want to do something. To act on that feeling. Maybe that’s where talent begins.

If God came down and offered him one thing—just one thing to excel at beyond others—what would he ask for?

He thought about it for a while, and then was struck by a sharp realization: There’s nothing I can think of. That was what shocked him most. Sure, he wanted to be respected and praised, but… that was all he had.

To dream. Maybe he even lacked the imagination to do that. The fact that he couldn’t even find his own starting line made him feel, all over again, pathetically small.

He let out a quiet, dry laugh.

Don’t go getting all sentimental now. All he could do was handle the work in front of him, steadily, one thing at a time. Probably, he was just an average man. But that in itself… wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

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