COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 2

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After grabbing a quick bite at a ramen shop near the station, Kusuda headed to the theater. He was able to buy a same-day ticket without having to line up.

It was a very small venue for a stage production, with a seating capacity of maybe two hundred, if that. Miyabi liked theater, and she’d invited him to a few performances in the past. Some had been interesting, but he’d never developed enough interest to buy a ticket for himself and go alone.

Kusuda arrived early and opened the program. The lead roles were introduced with a full page, the secondary roles got half a page, and Kaito Akizawa’s profile was tucked into a quarter-page space. He knew Akizawa wasn’t the lead, but for someone who’d once won a Japanese Film Award, the treatment felt lacking.

The play was a comedy set in a school. Even right before curtain time, the theater was only about half full, and the audience was overwhelmingly female.

The show started right on time.

...And it was completely unfunny. The lead actor was awful—his voice didn’t even carry. About fifteen minutes in, the one Kusuda had come to see, Kaito Akizawa, finally appeared. He played a quirky chemistry teacher, a colleague of the lead English teacher.

Akizawa’s voice projected well. But that was it. Even though he wore flashy clothes and played an eccentric character, the moment he stepped offstage, it was as if he vanished. He left no impression. That, for an actor, felt fatal.

As a child actor, Akizawa had been full of life—his facial expressions changed constantly, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. But now, the Akizawa performing in front of him was just another face in the crowd.

It was so boring he had to stifle multiple yawns. He debated getting up and leaving midway, but forced himself to stay to the end—just in case Akizawa showed up again. But that one scene had been his only appearance. The next time he showed his face was at the curtain call. What a waste of time.

When Kusuda stepped out of the theater, night had already fallen. The ground was slightly wet—must’ve rained. Puddles on the pavement reflected the lights of the shops and neon signs in glaring colors.

“Kusuda-kuuun.”

He turned around. Across the street, Miyabi was waving at him.

“You were watching the show, right? I kept wondering—there was someone in the audience who looked just like you~”

Miyabi ran up to him, dragging out her words in that sugary tone.

“To be honest, that play was so boring, wasn’t it~?”

She laughed with a “Haha,” covering her mouth with one hand, her softly curled hair swaying with the motion.

“If you’ve got time, want to grab a quick drink?”

He had work tomorrow and had wanted to head straight home, but being invited out by a girl made it hard to say no, so they ducked into a nearby café.

“By the way, I emailed you earlier today~”

The dig came instantly.

“Sorry, I’ve been swamped…”

“Come on, at least reply to your messages,” Miyabi pouted in a way meant to look cute. Showing up to the play alone and ignoring her message—it was clear as day he’d been brushing her off. The guilt was excruciating.

“I hadn’t planned on seeing the show today, but a friend of mine was in it, and she basically guilt-tripped me into buying a ticket. This girl here.”

She snatched the program Kusuda had bought and pointed with a rhinestone-studded nail to the girl introduced in the quarter-page space—right below Kaito Akizawa’s listing.

“Kaito Akizawa was in it too. You know him, right?”

That was the whole reason he came, but if he said too much, she’d definitely start digging, so he just gave a small nod.

“He’s been doing a lot of supporting roles on stage lately. They used to call him a genius child actor, but he doesn’t have that same aura anymore. Now he’s just some guy.”

Kusuda had felt the same thing, but hearing Miyabi say it so bluntly, without hesitation, felt a little harsh.

“That play was doomed from the lead down. He was in some kid’s superhero show a couple of years back, right? I heard they cast him thinking his old fans would still show up, but he was terrible. No way they’ll do a second run with that cast.”

They talked for about an hour and parted ways in front of the café. As Kusuda retraced his steps, he noticed around ten girls gathered in front of the theater, even though the play should have ended by now. Waiting for the actors, maybe, he thought, passing by the group. But he hadn’t even taken a few steps when a high-pitched squeal rang out.

The lead actor, wearing a gray jacket, was surrounded by the girls. The former TV hero smiled warmly and signed autographs without hesitation, just as the fans requested.

The other actors, likely part of the supporting cast, slipped out behind him and dispersed onto the sidewalk. Among them, Kusuda spotted Kaito Akizawa. Wearing a knit cap and hunching his shoulders, he headed silently toward the station. No one noticed Akizawa. No one called out to him.

Even after Akizawa disappeared across the street, the lead actor was still surrounded by a crowd of girls, smiling and playing the part.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Maybe it was because he’d spent his days off watching DVDs and attending plays as an extension of work, but Kusuda didn’t feel rested at all. Even after showing up at the office, he couldn’t stop yawning from the moment morning started. Chewing gum to stay awake, he was fiddling with his computer when someone called out, “Masahiko.” Masamitsu approached, sketchbook in hand.

“They’re ready.”

The long-awaited new designs. Kusuda eagerly flipped through the sketchbook. The slump seemed like a lie—anyone, even a layman, could see the momentum in the lines. Compared to what Masamitsu had made before, these pieces had sharper edges and a harsher overall impression. They might divide opinions, but there was definitely a demographic out there who liked this kind of accessory.

“I’m thinking of calling this theme ‘go to hell.’”

…It felt fleeting. Young. Masamitsu had once said he wanted to “grow old alongside the exclusive model,” so Kusuda had assumed the designs would skew more conservative. But this was the complete opposite.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Masamitsu’s words made Kusuda flinch.

“A person who starts out mellow from the beginning just isn’t interesting. I think it’s better if someone who’s sharp and hard to approach slowly softens over time. But if it’s too edgy, the fans we have now won’t be able to keep up—so I’ve toned it down a bit.”

Now that he mentioned it, the designs had bite, but the construction was pretty standard.

“But still, ‘go to hell’? Really?”

“‘Go to hell’ means you’ve reached the bottom. That’s where it ends. Which means from there, the only way left is up.”

Whether anyone would grasp that intention just by looking at the design was another matter—but it definitely seemed like something that could strike a chord with people.

“By the way, what’s going on with the exclusive model?”

Kaito Akizawa’s face immediately flashed through his mind. The blinding glory of his past. The utter neglect of his present. Masamitsu’s phrase—“the only way left is up”—resonated in his ears.

“You know Kaito Akizawa?”

“Aki…sawa?” Masamitsu tilted his head.

“Remember about seven or eight years ago, the high schooler who won a Japanese Film Award?”

Masamitsu folded his arms and thought for a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell…”

“He’s mostly doing stage plays now. He’s twenty-four.”

“So he’s your model candidate?”

Kusuda fell silent.

Was he serious about wanting Akizawa as their exclusive model?

“Yesterday, I went to see a play he was in. He only had a small role and disappeared almost immediately. His acting wasn’t very good, either… but watching him, I don’t know—it just felt kind of… pitiful…”

“I don’t get it. Are you saying he was pitiful because his acting sucked?”

He felt frustrated that he couldn’t properly put what he felt into words.

“I think Akizawa fits the theme you came up with. Someone who used to be in the spotlight, who’s fallen from grace, trying to climb back up but getting no recognition at all…”

The former lead actor, swarmed by girls, and Akizawa slipping away unnoticed—that contrast stayed with him. It made him want to do something for the guy.

Masamitsu stared into Kusuda’s eyes for a moment, then asked, “Do you have any photos of Akizawa?”

Kusuda pulled up the actor’s profile on his agency’s homepage, and Masamitsu leaned in, staring at the image intently.

“He’s got a beautiful face, but the vibe’s kind of dark. By the way, does he dye his hair?”

“When I saw him in person, it looked the same as in the photo—black.”

“Someone with a bit of a shadow to them isn’t bad. …You think he’s the type who’ll age well?”

Masamitsu furrowed his brow in front of the monitor and let out a thoughtful hum. He muttered, “Yeah, but still…” a few times like he was debating with himself, then turned to Kusuda.

“You’re the one who thought he’d be good, right?”

Kusuda couldn’t bring himself to admit that even he wasn’t exactly sure why he was recommending Akizawa, so he just gave a vague, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Then let’s give him a shot. Try him once.”

Masamitsu was the intuitive type, so Kusuda was surprised he gave the okay, even while still uncertain.

“To be honest, I can’t really picture how Kaito Akizawa will come across in our stuff. But I don’t dislike that kind of face. And even if we call him our exclusive model, we won’t really know what he’s like until we actually work with him, right? So instead of saying ‘this guy is it’ from the start, we just try it once, and if it doesn’t work out, we can switch to a different actor for the next season. In the end, we pick someone everyone agrees on as the exclusive.”

It was a positive, realistic approach.

“So, Kaito Akizawa it is. I’m counting on you now.”

Masamitsu clapped Kusuda on the back with a sharp thwack, like giving him a shot of motivation, and returned to the workshop. Almost like she’d been waiting for the conversation to end, Miyamoto called out to him.

“So the exclusive model is going to be Kaito Akizawa?”

“I still need to negotiate with his agency, but yeah.”

“Kind of feels like he came out of nowhere, huh?”

“Same here,” Kusuda said honestly, but Miyamoto gave him an exasperated look.

“You’re the one who pitched him so passionately. What are you talking about?”

After Masamitsu had walked off, Kusuda couldn’t stop hearing the theme from Rocky playing in his head. He’d never seen the movie, but he knew it was about an underdog rising up to beat someone stronger—the quintessential American dream anthem.

Kaito Akizawa—fallen, stripped of his former aura. Kusuda imagined him making a comeback through modeling for CRUX. A glorious return of the former child prodigy. More than casting a popular actor, a story like that was way more compelling.

Plus, budget-wise, judging from the kind of roles he was getting on stage, Akizawa’s contract fee would probably be dramatically lower than the other actors they’d negotiated with up to now.

This time, it would probably go well. With a spring in his step, Kusuda called Akizawa’s agency.

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