COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 12

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In the darkness, a sharp beeping sound cut through the air—pipip, pipip. Kusuda reached in the direction of the noise and silenced it. The smartphone display read 5:00 a.m. Just thirty more minutes. I’d pay ten thousand yen if I could just sleep that much longer... Making fruitless deals inside his head, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Something... was by the bed. A tall, black shadow swayed eerily.

“UWAAAHHH!”

He let out a shout and scrambled backward on the bed. The ghostlike figure rocked from side to side. Terrifying. He slapped at the switch on the bedside lamp. In the dim glow, a man’s silhouette began to emerge from the darkness.

“Ah… Akizawa-san…?”

Relief washed over him to see it wasn’t a ghost, but that relief quickly twisted into confusion. The man had been asleep in the living room—why was he now standing in the bedroom? Kusuda glanced instinctively at the man’s hands—no knife, no scissors, nothing that could be a weapon.

“I… wanted to talk,” Akizawa said, voice low and muffled.

“That’s something you could’ve woken me up for…”

“I don’t like being woken up when I’m sleeping, so I figured Kusuda-san wouldn’t either…”

Just standing there like that by the bedside in the dark—he was like something out of a horror movie. Kusuda pressed a hand to his chest and took a deep breath. His heart, galloping like a racehorse in the final corner, slowly began to settle.

As his head cleared, he remembered why he’d set the alarm this early. He had to catch a Shinkansen in the 6 a.m. hour—there was no time to be dawdling. He stepped out of the bedroom and into the washroom, Akizawa trailing behind.

“About yesterday…”

The man tried to speak as Kusuda washed his face—like he could respond mid-rinse.

“I was… weird, right?” Akizawa continued. “When I really try to do things right and dive in, that’s what happens. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull out, but…”

Kusuda half-listened as he shaved and brushed his teeth.

“I have a business trip today, so I really need to leave soon,” he explained, pulling on a dress shirt and suit in the bedroom.

“Yeah, I know… But it really only goes away after I’ve slept. I’ve tried all kinds of things…”

Even though Kusuda had made it clear he was pressed for time, Akizawa kept going, talking however and whenever he pleased. His self-centered, thoughtless nature had returned in full force. Kusuda knew that about him, but it still grated harder when he was trying to rush.

“You’re leaving already?”

The man asked it clumsily, childishly, from behind as Kusuda checked the contents of his work bag.

“I’ve got to go to Osaka. I’ll be back today, but it’ll be late, so… let’s talk another time, okay?”

He tried to hand over the house key, but Akizawa refused to take it, saying, “I’ll head out too.” He was apparently going to head home.

Because the street in front of the apartment was too narrow, Kusuda walked out to the main road to hail a cab. For some reason, Akizawa slid in beside him.

“I’m headed to Shinagawa Station. If you’re going home, this is going to be out of the way…”

“Yesterday, Kusuda-san said he wanted to see my real acting, right? So I went all in. I usually don’t, you know. I’m too good, and if I do, it just makes the bad actors look even worse. But I was annoyed with Muneishi treating me like an idiot, and I kinda wanted to impress you too.”

He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he picked up right where he left off. Inside the enclosed space of the cab, Kusuda was doomed to listen to Akizawa’s monologue all the way to the station.

“It’s not like I hate getting into character. I wanted to go in yesterday. But once I do, I can’t get back out. I should’ve explained that to you better. You probably just thought I was a weirdo.”

Akizawa’s eyes darted restlessly around the cab, his body twitching with nervous energy. Kusuda was surprised to realize that even this man cared about how he was perceived.

“I actually talked to the version of you that was in character yesterday,” Kusuda said. “Being an actor is a very particular job, so… I figured things like that must happen.”

Getting stuck in character and acting a little strange—that was still preferable. At least there was no harm done. What he should be reflecting on is how he threatened and raged around in the beginning.

“…Really?”

Akizawa looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

“You didn’t think I was weird?”

Expecting someone not to be suspicious of a guy who makes phone calls to imaginary family and talks about an imaginary university is asking too much, Kusuda thought, but instead forced a smile.

“I just thought you seemed a little different from usual, that’s all.”

Akizawa pressed a hand to his chest and let out a long breath of relief.

“…I’ve been acting since I was little, right? And back then too, when I got into a role, I’d stay in it for a while. I thought that was normal. I didn’t know most people snap back the moment they hear ‘cut.’ When I was in elementary school, I always played cheerful, energetic kids, so I’d stay all hyped-up even at home. My mom was happy when I was bubbly like that. But once I hit middle school, I started getting offers to play gloomier or delinquent roles. And I’d come home still in character, like always… but my mom started saying I’d changed. I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t snap out of it just because she said so…”

He raised both hands to cover his mouth.

“When I’m playing a delinquent, I want to hit people. I want to smoke, shoplift. Even if part of me knows I shouldn’t, the urge to do it is stronger. So… things got more and more messed up between me and Mom… But I can’t work without getting into the role. She took me to the hospital a few times, but after a while she said she couldn’t deal with me anymore and dumped me on my dad, who she’d already divorced.”

Too heavy for five a.m. in a taxi en route to a business trip, Kusuda thought grimly.

“I felt like you were looking at me the same way my mom did…”

I’ve never even met your mom, Kusuda wanted to say, but how could he respond to that?

“I tried explaining it to her—that once I get into a role, I can’t get out so easily. But because I have self-awareness, because I can remember what I do, she thought I was just using that as an excuse to get away with bad behavior. Said I was doing it on purpose to make her life harder…”

Akizawa looked down, rubbing his thumbs together nervously. His whole frame was taut, like a stretched wire. For a child, not being understood by a parent was surely devastating. Kusuda almost felt sorry for him.

Then suddenly, Akizawa snapped his head up and glared at him.

“This is your fault, Kusuda-san!”

Kusuda furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“You said you wanted to see me acting seriously, right? That’s why I got like that. I usually don’t go all in. Nothing good ever comes from doing it seriously once you’re an adult.”

Finally, Shinagawa Station came into view. Kusuda kept his tone calm as he said, “We can talk more another time,” and handed the driver a ten-thousand yen bill. It should be more than enough to cover Akizawa’s ride home. But for some reason, the guy got out of the cab along with him.

Even while Kusuda bought his Shinkansen ticket, Akizawa was muttering in his ear, “Say something,” “Don’t ignore me,” nonstop. A few paces before the ticket gates, Kusuda stopped and turned toward the clingy man trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

“I really don’t have time. I’m sorry. I’ll be going now.”

Akizawa pressed his lips into a tight line, then turned his back on Kusuda and ran off.

He was clearly angry. Ever since he’d started trying to shift the blame onto Kusuda, he’d been stonewalled and ignored. That must have gotten under his skin. Sure, Kusuda had asked him to act “seriously.” And when Akizawa did, he had been genuinely impressive. But if the result was that awkward mess of a personality shift, Kusuda couldn’t be expected to take the fallout for it.

He passed through the ticket gate and headed toward the platform. It was still early, so he hadn’t reserved a seat, figuring the non-reserved section wouldn’t be crowded. He got in line for the unreserved car, staring absentmindedly at the collar of the person in front of him, when suddenly his arm was grabbed and he was yanked from the queue.

Akizawa was glaring at him with a bitter, indignant expression, radiating fury from every pore.

You’ve got to be kidding. How had he gotten in here? Did he seriously buy an entry ticket just to follow him in? The announcement said the train would be arriving in a few minutes.

“You didn’t let me finish talking!”

A station announcement blared about the approaching train.

“I’ll be back tonight. I need to catch this train…” Kusuda said quickly.

“I’m going with you. I’m going to Osaka.”

Did he really just buy a shinkansen ticket to Shin-Osaka just to keep complaining at me? You’ve got to be kidding.

“You don’t have anything to do there. That’s a waste of money.”

“So what? It’s my money!”

Kusuda felt a wave of dizziness. Was he really going to be stuck next to this guy for the entire two-and-a-half-hour ride to Osaka, just getting chewed out?

As the train glided into the platform, Kusuda resigned himself. He couldn’t afford to miss this one—the department store opening time wouldn’t wait.

He boarded, feeling Akizawa’s presence tailing him like a second shadow. The non-reserved seats were fairly empty, so he took a window seat in a pair of seats, and of course, Akizawa plopped himself right down next to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m only allowed to go all-in when I’m the lead,” Akizawa began, practically spitting the words. “If I do it when I’m a side character, I get glared at by the lead and then replaced. It’s happened to me more than once.”

He didn’t even wait for the train to get moving. His tirade began the moment he sat down. Kusuda had planned to nap on the way, to make up for his sleep-deprived morning, but that plan had already derailed.

“But you had to go and say you wanted to see me acting seriously—like you were egging me on!”

As if Kusuda were the villain here, being painted more and more black with every word.

Kusuda had tiptoed around him more times than he could count. He’d tried so hard to accommodate the guy—for the company’s sake, because he was a difficult model, because it was his job. But now, with sleep deprivation dragging at his nerves, his irritation slipped loose. He knew he shouldn’t, but the words came tumbling out.

“So the audience has been watching your ‘half-assed’ performances this whole time?”

He saw Akizawa’s jaw clench, saw him bite down on his lower lip.

“And on stage, people have been paying good money for tickets just to see that ‘half-assed’ acting of yours. …That’s ridiculous.”

Akizawa’s face flushed crimson. “A-ah… ah—!” he stammered, a strangled sound of outrage.

“What the hell do you know about me!?” he yelled.

People around them glanced over, clearly disturbed.

“I don’t,” Kusuda said. “I’m not an actor.”

“I—I want to do it right! But if I do, I stand out, and when I can’t get out of the role afterward, people look at me like I’m a freak—”

“So that’s the excuse for not doing your best? Well, guess what? The audience doesn’t care. They just think they wasted their time and money.”

The color drained from Akizawa’s face, which had been flushed with anger just moments before. The roaring fireball of his fury abruptly burned out, and the noisy tension between them dissolved into an eerie, unnatural silence. Kusuda was grateful for the quiet, but the shift was so sudden it was unsettling in its own way.

The train’s trolley service rolled down the aisle. Kusuda bought a sandwich and a drink, and politely offered one to Akizawa as well. But Akizawa neither looked up nor reached for it.

It felt awkward to eat alone, but Kusuda figured the “I did offer” excuse would have to suffice and took a bite of the sandwich. For the next hour, Akizawa didn’t say a single word. He stayed hunched over in silence, his head bowed. The weight of guilt from showing audiences a performance he hadn’t fully committed to must have been significant.

Watching him sulk like a scolded dog, Kusuda began to wonder if he’d been too harsh. But then he tried to remember how this whole argument even started. That’s right—it was when Akizawa got stuck in his role and couldn’t break out of it, and started blaming Kusuda for it.

Akizawa had been acting since he was a child. His anxiety about not being able to exit a role probably stemmed from the fact that it had led to the breakdown of his relationship with his mother.

“…Even if I half-assed it, as long as I didn’t mess up my lines, no one said anything.”

A voice, so faint it nearly disappeared, came from beside him.

“If I didn’t get into the role, no one gave me strange looks. No one ever praised me, but I figured that was just how it was supposed to be…”

Akizawa clutched at the chest of his cut-and-sew shirt with a trembling hand.

“I really like Masamitsu-san and Miyamoto-san. I don’t care what people who hate me say. But if those two ever started looking at me like I’m a freak, I think I’d want to die.”

So that was why he’d been standing like some horror movie ghost at the foot of Kusuda’s bed this morning. Because of his history—being abandoned by his mother after she couldn’t handle him when he couldn’t break out of a role—Akizawa was terrified that Masamitsu and Miyamoto, the people he liked most, might come to hate him too.

“If you explain to Masamitsu and Miyamoto ahead of time about how the role sticks to you, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“There’s no guarantee of that! I don’t want the people I care about to hate me anymore!”

His eyes were red, and he looked like he was about to cry. Just a little while ago, Kusuda had wanted to punch him, but human emotions are fickle—now, all he saw was a man drowning in his own distress. He reached out and gently patted Akizawa’s hunched back.

“I’ll explain it properly to Masamitsu and Miyamoto myself.”

“But if they see me when I’m fully in it, they’ll definitely be disappointed…”

“It’ll be fine.”

“What’s fine about it? Last time I went full in, I got into a fight while I was still in the role, and it got really bad!”

Akizawa clenched his fists tightly, trying desperately to convince Kusuda of just how dangerous he could be.

Thinking it over, Kusuda realized that the real issue might not be about how Masamitsu or Miyamoto saw him. It was that even when Akizawa knew he was fully immersed in a role, he couldn’t control himself and continued to think and act in character. That was the bigger problem.

There must be a solution… Kusuda thought, then suddenly it hit him. If a single night of sleep was all it took for the role to wear off, then wouldn’t it be best to simply avoid people entirely while he was still in the role?

“If you know you’ve gone in deep, you could just take a taxi straight home after the shoot, avoid seeing anyone, and go to sleep before you interact with anybody.”

Akizawa folded his arms and kept his gaze down, seeming to consider it seriously.

“What if filming finishes around noon? I’ve never gone to bed in the middle of the day before. And if there’s no food at home, I might want to go to the convenience store…”

“Then just stock up the day before with things you can eat.”

“Ah, right,” Akizawa said, nodding in what seemed to be genuine agreement.

He’s not a kid anymore, Kusuda thought. You’d think he could at least manage that much without needing instructions.

"Numata-san knows that you get too deep into your roles, doesn’t he? Why not ask him for help too?"

Akizawa shook his head. “No way.”

“Dad’s too busy. He can’t come with me to every shoot…”

Now that he mentioned it, Numata wasn’t managing only Akizawa. It wouldn’t be easy for Akizawa to ask his father to leave another job just to bring him a bento.

“If it’s a weekday, why don’t you come to our office?” Kusuda suggested. “During weekday daytime hours, either Miyamoto, Masamitsu, or I will be there. If you’re with someone who knows the situation, you won’t have to worry, and if you’re okay with instant cup ramen, we always have some stocked. If I’ve got a little time, I can go pick something up for you too.”

Akizawa looked up at Kusuda with a gaze so desperate it was almost clinging to him.

“That much of a backup, I’m happy to offer,” Kusuda said. “On a personal note, I’d really like to see more of Akizawa-san when you’re giving a performance from the heart.”

It was the truth, plain and simple. Whatever else Akizawa was, watching him act was something Kusuda genuinely wanted.

Akizawa took a slow breath in, then suddenly reached out and gripped Kusuda’s left hand—hard enough to hurt. He leaned in close, eyes dark and intense, like they might swallow him whole.

“Is it okay… if I trust you, Kusuda-san?”

Those eyes were heavy with something deeper—something dangerous.

“…Of course,” Kusuda replied.

“You swear you’ll never, ever betray me?”

It was the kind of absolute, childlike promise that should’ve been easy to give. And yet, even as he answered, “Yes,” a shiver ran down Kusuda’s spine. He had a sinking feeling that if Akizawa ever decided Kusuda had “betrayed” him, no amount of apologies would be enough to make it right.

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