COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 6
Although Kusuda had gotten Numata’s
permission to use the photos of Akizawa, he still hadn’t shown any of them to
Masamitsu. Before and after the shoot, Masamitsu had been completely holed up
on the fourth floor of the workshop, trying to finish a batch of made-to-order
wedding rings on a tight deadline.
When he's in that kind of
pre-deadline frenzy, Kusuda and Miyamoto refer to it as “nesting mode,” and
they’ve learned not to speak to him unless absolutely necessary. Metal
engraving is a delicate craft that demands full concentration.
When Kusuda returned to the office,
he found Masamitsu sprawled out on the guest sofa in a rumpled sweatshirt,
looking dazed like a bear just waking from hibernation. The job must’ve finally
been done. He raised his right hand lazily when he noticed Kusuda.
“I heard from Miyamoto-chan—sounds
like the shoot was a total disaster?”
He scratched his scruffy stubble
with a loud rasp.
“Akizawa showed up massively late
and hungover. Tohru lost it and punched him in the face, Akizawa went berserk…
it was like a scene out of hell.”
Masamitsu laughed like it was
someone else’s problem. “Tohru’s always been short-tempered. So when’s the
reshoot?”
“Well, actually… Tohru took a bunch
of photos while Akizawa was flipping out. I’m thinking we might be able to use
them.”
Masamitsu frowned. “Photos of him
flipping out? Are they even usable for the novelty materials?”
“Tohru sent me the files. Just take
a look first.”
Kusuda booted up the office PC and
opened the folder. He stood aside to let Masamitsu plop into the chair and
click open the file labeled photo 0904.
“Whoa, what the hell is this?”
Masamitsu yelped in surprise. The
first image was of Akizawa, being held down by staff as he screamed, his face
flushed red from being hit, blood dripping from his nose.
“This is intense.”
He muttered as he clicked through
image after image. At first, he kept murmuring things like “Damn” and “Scary,”
but soon he fell completely silent. The only sound in the room was the clicking
of the mouse.
He lingered on the last
photo—Akizawa running out into the rain—for quite a while.
“There’s some really powerful stuff
here. I think we can use them.”
Without taking his eyes off the
screen, Masamitsu said in a low voice, “Go get my sketchbook.”
You could get it yourself, Kusuda thought, but the force in
Masamitsu’s voice made him comply. He brought the sketchbook and a pencil down
from the workshop on the fourth floor and handed them over.
The moment he had the pencil in
hand, Masamitsu began sketching with explosive speed—like a kid who had just
been given a toy he’d wanted for ages, completely absorbed, losing track of
time.
He monopolized Kusuda’s desk and
kept drawing for nearly two hours straight. When he finally stopped, he said:
“Sign Akizawa to an exclusive
contract.”
“Just looking at those photos,
designs keep flooding into my head. It’s been ages since I’ve felt this way.
That guy—no, he’s the one. He’s my muse.”
From her desk nearby, Miyamoto burst
out laughing in a stifled snort—but Masamitsu didn’t even notice.
Regardless of the idea of
exclusivity, it was obvious even from the outside that the photos had lit a
fire under Masamitsu.
The outburst from Akizawa had lasted
maybe ten, fifteen minutes. Yet Tohru had taken hundreds of photos. Many of
them were shot in rapid bursts, as if he hadn’t wanted to miss a single moment.
From that massive volume, Tohru had
narrowed it down to a few dozen. Then Masamitsu, Kusuda, and the designer chose
twelve shots to use for the posters and novelties.
Production of the promotional
materials—both the posters and the novelty booklets—progressed smoothly. Since
they were finally using a person as a model, they paid extra attention to the
paper quality and the design of the booklet itself.
Everything was coming together, and
they were about ready to send the data off for printing—when rumors began to
spread online:
“Looks like CRUX is using a person
as a model now.”
Since the day he’d torn up the
photos, Kusuda hadn’t seen Akizawa again. The fact that there’d been no contact
from him likely meant that Numata had succeeded in convincing him. Akizawa
might still be unhappy about it, but Kusuda was confident that once he saw the
completed novelty booklets and posters, he’d feel it was worth it.
In early November, Kusuda was riding
the train home when he received a message from Miyabi.
“So CRUX is using Kaito Akizawa in
their promo? That’s a surprise. Is that what that play you went to see was
about?”
He couldn’t help but blurt out, “What!?”
in shock.
He hadn’t minded if people knew they
were using a model, but the fact that it was Akizawa had still been
under strict wraps. The official announcement wasn’t scheduled until right
after New Year’s.
Panicked, he did a search online. A
few hits turned up—blog posts, social media chatter. The information had
leaked.
Kusuda clicked his tongue in
frustration.
Anyone involved in the project
could’ve let it slip—Akizawa’s agency, CRUX staff, even the printing company.
The list of possible sources was endless. What frustrated Kusuda the most was
that they’d been aiming to recreate the same buzz as last time—with the
surprise reveal of the Tohru and Fujishima poster. A “Who is
that?!” moment.
But this time, the secret had gotten
out first.
Reactions to Akizawa’s casting
included the usual “Who?” and “That’s unexpected,” but also
harsher takes from self-proclaimed CRUX fans:
“Ugh, seriously? Akizawa? Terrible
choice. They should’ve just stuck with no models like before.”
Kusuda bristled reading them—but
this was the honest truth of public opinion. Still, he thought, Just wait
two more months. You’ll see. You’ll all be stunned when you finally look at
those photos.
…But what if they weren’t?
What if people weren’t
stunned?
What if their reactions stayed the
same?
That fear rose in him, and he shook
his head to drive it out.
No. Choosing Akizawa wasn’t a
mistake. Believe in yourself.
Those photos were incredible. They
had impact. They fit the concept perfectly. And most importantly, they’d
reignited Masamitsu’s creativity. That alone had made everything worth it.
It’s okay. It’s okay… He kept repeating it until he began
to calm down.
If the info had already leaked,
maybe it was better to shift the strategy. Instead of waiting for the planned
New Year’s reveal, they could release just the model’s name early—on the CRUX
homepage, for instance. That might even feel more transparent.
As he walked home, still mulling it
over, his apartment building came into view. He stepped into the elevator and
pressed the button for the fifth floor. The little metal box shot up without
pause, carrying him straight to his door.
If they were going to reveal
Akizawa’s name, sooner was better. He’d talk to Masamitsu and Miyamoto about it
tomorrow at the office, and if they agreed, he’d contact Numata…
He was running through the plan in
his head when he reached the outdoor hallway—and stopped.
He hadn’t noticed it at first, but
there was someone standing in front of his door.
His eyes lifted slowly—and the
moment he registered who it was, a strange sense of wrongness made his feet
freeze.
A tall man, dressed entirely in
black. Black trench coat, black V-neck, black pants, black shoes… like a crow,
or maybe a grim reaper. He glared out at Kusuda from behind a curtain of long
bangs.
“…Akizawa-san?”
Kusuda asked softly.
There was no reply.
The gauze was gone from his left
cheek, as it should be. Tohru had punched him back in early September.
Why is he here?
Who gave him my address?
If he wanted to talk, he could’ve
contacted the office and arranged a meeting…
Something in Akizawa’s hand caught
the light.
A faint glint reflected under the
dim hallway bulb—and Kusuda realized it was the gleam of something sharp.
A blade.
His entire body froze.
“…Don’t use those photos.”
Akizawa raised his right hand
slowly, weapon in hand.
“Don’t you dare use them.”
There was no question which photos
he meant—the ones Tohru had taken at the abandoned hotel.
But even if he said that, the
posters and novelty booklets were already in their final stages of approval.
“If you do… I’ll kill you.”
The look in Akizawa’s eyes told
Kusuda he was serious. Dead serious. His mind instantly flashed back to the
rampage at the hotel. If he said the wrong thing and pushed the man further, he
could really get stabbed.
“S-sir… a-about that… issue, we…
we’ll need to talk it over very carefully…”
His words stuttered. His tongue felt
stiff, refusing to move.
“Promise me you won’t use them!” Akizawa
roared, raising the knife high overhead.
Kusuda hugged his work bag to his
chest as a shield and staggered back several steps, shaking.
“Al—alright! I understand, I
understand! Just—please put the knife down!”
BANG—a door between them suddenly flew open.
“Oh, Kusuda-san. Good evening~”
It was Yamashita, his
next-door neighbor. She was a full-time homemaker in her fifties who lived with
her husband. They usually exchanged greetings when they passed each other. She
smiled pleasantly as she closed the door behind her, holding a wallet and
wearing a sweatsuit—her usual “convenience store outfit.”
“Was there something you needed from
us…?”
“Ah, no—it’s nothing like that…”
But then she must have noticed
Kusuda’s gaze aimed down the hallway. She turned to follow it—and saw the tall
man in black. In his hand… a knife.
“Kyaaaaaahhh!”
Yamashita screamed and clung to
Kusuda in terror.
Startled by the scream, Akizawa
dropped the knife. It clattered and bounced loudly on the concrete floor.
“W-w-what is wrong with that
man!? HONEY! CALL THE POLICE!”
Her husband shouted “What’s going
on!?” as he came running into the hallway.
Akizawa stood frozen in place,
gasping for breath, trembling violently, but making no move to run.
“Call the police! Call the police,
now!” Yamashita shrieked.
That can’t happen. The police are
bad. Really bad.
If this turned into a public
scandal, they wouldn’t be able to use any of Akizawa’s images in the CRUX
posters or novelties. Worse, if he got pulled from the project altogether, it
could crash Masamitsu’s motivation—and that might bring down the whole company.
The entire livelihood of Masamitsu, his brother, and all their employees was
riding on this.
Kusuda ran over to Akizawa, who was
standing there like a lamppost, and grabbed his arm.
“I—I’m really sorry for all the
commotion. He’s… he’s a friend of mine.”
He said it to the neighbors,
half-laughing, half-pleading, then forcibly dragged the reluctant Akizawa into
his apartment. He shut the door behind them—carefully, quietly.
The room was pitch dark. Kusuda
immediately turned on the entryway light.
He didn’t lock the door. Just in
case he had to run.
Being alone in a room with this guy
feels like being locked in with a rabid dog.
It was terrifying. Horrible.
But he didn’t want this incident to
blow up—he had to keep it under wraps, for Masamitsu’s sake.
Akizawa’s arm, the one he was
holding, was slim—almost like a woman’s. Come to think of it, when he’d fought
with Tohru, he hadn’t been able to throw a proper punch. His body had the
proportions of a model, but it probably wasn’t built for combat. Kusuda himself
had never been in a fight, either. The only “martial arts” experience he had
was high school judo class. If it came down to a brawl… it’d be 50/50 at best.
He scanned the entryway for anything
that could be used as a weapon—just in case. The only thing in reach was an
umbrella.
THUMP THUMP THUMP—someone pounded on the door from
outside.
“Kusuda-san, are you okay in
there!?” came Yamashita’s husband’s voice.
“I-it’s fine. Really, he’s a friend
of mine… um, he’s an actor, and he was just… rehearsing a role, that’s all.”
Kusuda threw out excuses as fast as
he could think of them. Akizawa shook off his grip and slumped to the floor,
holding his head and trembling. His behavior was so terrified, it was almost as
if he were the victim here. He completely lost control when he snapped,
but maybe he was actually just a weak-natured man at heart.
“You’re not being threatened by that
strange man, are you?” Yamashita’s husband asked, kind but suspicious. He had
the persistent air of someone who wouldn’t let things go easily. Kusuda was
grateful for the concern—but right now, he just wanted to be left alone.
With Yamashita’s husband still
pounding at the door, Kusuda crouched beside the man huddled on his floor and
whispered:
“…Akizawa-san, please say something
too.”
Akizawa looked up at him,
frightened.
“You don’t want this to turn into
something even worse, do you? Just let the people outside know you’re not a
threat.”
“I… I’m sorry for the trouble…”
He muttered like a dying kitten.
“They can’t hear that. Louder.”
“I—I’m sorry for the trouble!!”
Akizawa shouted.
The pounding on the door stopped
immediately.
“If it’s really nothing, then that’s
fine. But if anything happens, come talk to us, alright?”
With that, the voices faded away
from the hallway.
As soon as the noise outside was
gone, the silence between the two of them became unbearably heavy.
Akizawa wobbled to his feet and
rasped, “Move,” as he faced Kusuda standing at the door.
“Please just stay here a little
longer.”
Akizawa glared at him, but his eyes
no longer had the terrifying glint from earlier—when he’d been wielding a
knife.
“If you leave now, the neighbors
will definitely get suspicious. They’ve seen your face. If you show yourself
again, they might panic.”
Akizawa tapped his right foot
anxiously against the floor.
“How long…” he mumbled, barely
audible, “do I have to wait?”
“…About thirty minutes.”
Akizawa sat down again, this time
resting against the shoe cabinet. Kusuda stepped carefully around him, avoiding
contact, and entered the living space.
Being so close to someone who
clearly harbored hostility toward him was mentally exhausting.
If thirty minutes passed, Akizawa
would leave. At least they’d avoided the police.
But the dissatisfaction about using
the photos still burned in him. So Numata hadn’t fully convinced him after
all—or maybe Akizawa had pretended to agree, only to stay bitter underneath.
The same pattern from the photo shoot.
Kusuda wanted to convince him, but
in his current state, Akizawa wouldn’t listen to anything. He needed to cool
down first.
The two bedroom apartment had a
narrow hallway with the kitchen leading to the dining room. Kusuda stood at the
gas range, boiling water, and kept glancing down the hallway toward the man
sitting by the door. Watching him made him anxious. But not watching him
was worse—who knew what he might do? It was an impossible contradiction.
He brewed two cups of coffee and
offered one to Akizawa at the entrance. Akizawa didn’t reach for it, just
stared silently at the mug.
Kusuda placed the cup gently on the
hallway floor and backed away, returning to the kitchen.
After a moment, Akizawa moved. He
crept forward and picked up the cup—like a wary stray cat.
He blew on the surface of the coffee
and took a sip. His face twisted immediately in a scowl.
“…Bitter.”
Kusuda quickly grabbed a spoon and a
stick of sugar, offering them like a zookeeper feeding a wild animal.
Akizawa reached out and took them.
He dumped the entire sugar stick
into the mug—far too much for Kusuda’s taste—and stirred with loud, aggressive
clinks before taking another sip.
From his vibe, Kusuda had assumed he
took his coffee black.
But apparently… Akizawa had a sweet
tooth.
Just drink the coffee and calm down
a little… Kusuda
thought silently, watching Akizawa.
Coming all the way to his home,
threatening him with a knife—Akizawa clearly hated the idea of those
photos being used. Sure, to Kusuda and the CRUX team, they were great shots.
But to Akizawa, they were a humiliating display of himself throwing a tantrum
in public. It wasn’t hard to understand why he wouldn’t want those out in the
world.
To pacify him, Kusuda had agreed not
to use the photos. But if he were honest, he still wanted to. Once Akizawa
left, he could call the agency and claim the promise was made under duress. But
if Akizawa found out and still wasn’t satisfied, he might just show up
again—and threaten him all over again. Probably with the same reckless,
amateur-level planning.
If Kusuda was going to persuade him,
he couldn’t do it head-on with “But they’re such great photos.” That
would just get him slapped down again. It might be better to ease into it—start
with small talk, then gently nudge him toward changing his mind.
“…How did you find out where I
live?”
No answer from Akizawa.
“Did someone at the CRUX office tell
you?”
Still nothing. Kusuda didn’t really
care who had told him—he just needed a way to start the conversation.
“…I followed you home from work
yesterday.”
The man who’d been ignoring him
until now finally muttered something.
“I saw you go into this apartment.”
A shiver ran down Kusuda’s spine. That’s
stalking, isn’t it? He walked from the station through some dark, unlit
streets. Just imagining being stabbed from behind in one of those deserted
stretches made his heart pound.
This guy is seriously creepy.
“You know, you really could’ve just
contacted us through your agency. That would’ve been a lot easier.”
Kusuda tried to sound calm, but
Akizawa slumped his head forward.
“If I did that, Dad would’ve gotten
mad. No matter how many times I said I didn’t want those pictures used, he
wouldn’t listen. I was trying not to think about it, pretending it wasn’t
happening. And then one of the guys in the play said to me, ‘Hey, I heard
you’re modeling for CRUX.’”
So that’s what triggered it.
The information leak online.
“There’s no way I’m letting those
pictures be used. Just thinking about it makes me sick. But I couldn’t say
anything to my dad. That’s when I realized—if you decided to drop me,
it’d all be over.”
So to avoid being scolded by his
father, he threatened his client with a knife.
Does he not even know the word
‘discussion’?
Or that waving a knife around might
get the police involved?
Kusuda had known from the beginning
that something was off about Akizawa—that he lacked basic social norms—but he
hadn’t realized he was this far gone.
Akizawa suddenly snapped his head
up.
“Those photos—don’t use them.
Everyone keeps saying they’re good, amazing or whatever, but I
don’t see it. It’s just… me throwing a fit, that’s all.”
He’s impulsive and simple-minded.
But that might actually make him easy to manipulate—if played right.
Kusuda took a deep breath and let
out an exaggerated sigh, like an actor onstage.
“…Understood. If you really don’t
want the photos to be used, our company will consider that seriously.”
Akizawa’s tense face softened
slightly, a look of relief flickering across it.
That was Kusuda’s cue.
“In that case, you’ll need to pay
damages.”
“…Damages?” Akizawa repeated the
word, puzzled.
“It’s written clearly in the
contract. You’re welcome to check it. If you had told us earlier, it would’ve
helped—but now, between the design costs for the novelty materials and posters,
the rental fee for the location, staff wages, and other related expenses, I’d
estimate the total at over a million yen.”
It hadn’t cost nearly that much, but
Kusuda figured he’d inflate the number for effect.
Akizawa’s face immediately changed.
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then I’ll have to go through your
agency.”
“No! That would mean Dad finds out!”
“Akizawa-san.”
Kusuda said his name slowly and
deliberately.
“This project involves a lot of
people. If you don’t want to do it, we won’t force you. But even if the job is
canceled, we still have to compensate the people who worked on it. We can’t
make them work for free.”
Akizawa pursed his lips in a
childish pout.
“But… I just really, really don’t
want this…”
The whiny tone grated on Kusuda’s
nerves, but he kept his irritation off his face.
“If that’s how you feel, then
fine—we’ll cancel. But you’ll need to pay the damages. It’s just money we’re
asking from you, but for us, this project required days of preparation. All of
that time would be wasted. If you hated the idea that much, you should’ve
discussed it thoroughly with Numata-san and declined from the very start.”
“I did try to suck it up. But
that photographer punched me…”
“We’re truly sorry for that.”
Yes, Akizawa had shown up late and
hungover. His attitude had been awful. But that didn’t make it okay to hit him.
Kusuda had no problem admitting their own wrongdoing.
Hearing that, Akizawa fell silent
and hung his head.
It had been about thirty minutes
since he’d stormed into the apartment. If he left now, the neighbors wouldn’t
be suspicious.
But now that he’d been confronted
with the idea of damages, maybe—even with his not-so-bright brain—he was
finally starting to think seriously.
Still, Kusuda felt a wave of dread
rise in his chest. What if he decides to steal something instead? Figures he
can’t pay, so he just takes something by force?
No—he couldn’t totally rule
it out.
“…Cold.”
Akizawa shivered lightly.
“It’s cold here.”
The entranceway was chilly,
but Kusuda didn’t want to let him into the actual room. Still, saying something
like “Why don’t you leave, then?” would sound too much like kicking him
out. He hoped he might leave on his own.
But Akizawa made no move to stand.
He just kept trembling.
“…It must be cold by the door. Would
you like to come into the room?”
Akizawa looked at Kusuda, then
slowly got up. He took off his shoes and hunched his back as he crept into the
room like a borrowed cat.
Kusuda led him into the living room,
though it was far from tidy. The table was littered with magazines and plastic
bottles, and the sofa still had a wrinkled suit draped over it, waiting for the
dry cleaners. The floor was dusty. He couldn’t remember the last time he
vacuumed.
Akizawa sat on the edge of the sofa,
fidgeting uncomfortably, adjusting his upper body as if unsure how to sit.
Under the bright fluorescent lights,
the black clothes that had earlier made him look like some kind of demon just
made him look like a try-hard, failed visual kei singer.
Masahiko Kusuda took a seat across
from Kaito Akizawa.
"Do you like wearing black clothes?"
Feeling that if he kept talking only
about modeling, he might corner Akizawa too much, Kusuda tried changing the
subject. It seemed to be the first time Akizawa had even realized it, as he
looked down at his own clothing.
"I thought black would make me
stand out less," he said.
"But if you're dressed all in
black, wouldn't that actually attract more attention?"
"Last year, I played a murderer
on stage. One of my lines said that black doesn't show blood stains, so I
figured black was a good idea..."
Kusuda had no idea how to respond to
that. Was Akizawa seriously planning to kill him if he didn’t agree?
"Do you usually wear black
clothes too?" Kusuda asked.
"Bright colors feel gross. Like
sea anemones. Don't you think so too?"
Normally, Kusuda would just nod to
something that trivial, but on this point, he hesitated.
"I've never seen a real sea
anemone," he said.
Akizawa snorted a "hmph"
through his nose and reached for a plastic bottle on the table. It was the
carbonated water Kusuda had been drinking two days ago; it was still about half
full. Akizawa idly swirled the water inside.
"When I was in elementary
school, we had a drama shoot down in Okinawa. On a day off, I went to play at
the beach and stepped on a sea anemone. It was so gross... Ugh," he
said, suddenly tossing the bottle aside and hugging himself with both arms.
"Even now, just remembering it
gives me chills."
Talking to him, Kusuda could not
help but find Akizawa a little strange.
"I stepped on another one
during filming too, but back then, I was in character, so it didn’t gross me
out. I was delivering the line 'No, I don't want to go. The waves are bigger
this way,' when a wave came crashing in and the scene got messed up anyway,"
Akizawa said.
Although Kusuda had always thought
of him as the silent type, it seemed Akizawa talked quite a bit about himself.
…It was exhausting.
"You remember your old lines
well," Kusuda said.
"I don't forget," Akizawa
replied immediately.
"You don't forget... your
lines?"
"Once I memorize something, I
never forget it."
Including his years as a child
actor, Akizawa's career spanned nearly twenty years. There was no way he could
remember everything. Skeptical, and a little mischievously, Kusuda decided
to probe him.
"You were in a movie as a kid,
the one where you run away from home with your dog, right? Could you say some
of your lines from that?"
"'Goodbye, Grace,' right? Sure,
I can," Akizawa said, closing his eyes smoothly.
Two minutes passed… three minutes…
nearly ten minutes.
The man in black didn’t so much as
twitch. Watching him, Kusuda thought, Well, if you take that long, anyone
could probably remember at least one line, but then Akizawa's eyes suddenly
snapped open. With an expression of pure, childlike innocence Kusuda had never
seen on him before, Akizawa smiled brightly and said:
"Dad, I'm home!"
The voice was low, but somehow, it
sounded like a child's.
"You got home early today! Did
you bring me something? Yay, thanks!"
He raised both arms up in a
celebratory pose.
"I'll go wash my hands properly
first!"
"Hey, hey, can I eat the cake
you brought me?"
With each line he spoke, Akizawa’s
expressions shifted vividly and fluidly. Adding small, precise gestures to
every word, he continued acting. Even though it was clearly an adult
performing, it genuinely looked like a child. His movements were so natural it
was almost frightening.
There was no scene partner, so only
Akizawa's lines continued, and yet, the flow of the story remained clear.
"I really know the truth. I
know that after I go to sleep, Dad and Mom are fighting."
"The only one I can tell the
truth to is you, Grace."
"Haha, that tickles! Grace,
Grace…"
Rolling around on the sofa as if
playing with an invisible dog, Akizawa suddenly let a tear slip from his eye.
Watching him, Kusuda felt a sharp, unexpected pain pierce through his chest.
In the middle of his lines, Akizawa
gave a rough cough, and Kusuda was yanked back into reality. He realized he had
been completely drawn into Akizawa’s one-man performance.
"You're amazing," Kusuda said
before he could stop himself.
...This man might truly be a genius.
Clearing his throat with a few more
coughs, Akizawa let out a long breath.
"Because you're here, I'm not
lonely," he said, his voice steady, as if the coughing had never happened.
Kusuda thought the interruption
would bring the scene to a natural close, but Akizawa’s performance simply
continued. He must have been speaking for nearly twenty minutes by now.
"Um, Akizawa-san. I can already
tell that your memory and acting skills are truly incredible, so... it's okay
now," Kusuda offered, trying to gently bring it to a close.
Akizawa looked at him with
sparkling, childlike eyes.
"It feels really good right
now. Can I finish it?"
Without waiting for Kusuda's answer,
the performance resumed.
...It was impressive—remembering old
lines, delivering them with such rich emotion, all of it was impressive. Yet
the more Akizawa kept acting, the more a chill began to creep into Kusuda's
heart.
To test it, Kusuda stood up and
said, "Excuse me for a moment," heading to the restroom. When he
returned, Akizawa was still speaking, unchanged.
He wasn’t performing for an
audience. Even when Kusuda placed a glass of water on the table, worried that
his throat must be dry, Akizawa didn’t even glance at it.
"I hate you, Dad!"
That line came—one that Kusuda remembered
clearly. He had only caught the movie partway through, so even if Akizawa had
altered the script, he wouldn’t have noticed.
But this line was unmistakable. Even
though Akizawa's voice had shifted slightly, it was exactly the same as what Kusuda
had once heard on TV.
Akizawa wasn’t cheating.
A shiver ran down Kusuda's spine.
As a child actor, Akizawa had been
called a "genius." If he had kept performing at this intensity all
these years, then yes—he really would be a genius. But when Kusuda had seen
Akizawa on stage as an adult, he hadn’t had this same overwhelming presence or
aura.
After about an hour had passed,
Akizawa finally quieted down. It was as if the movie had
"ended." At last, his mouth closed, and he slumped down onto the
sofa.
"You must be tired. Are you
alright?" Kusuda asked gently.
Akizawa tilted his head slightly.
"Where did Grace go?" he
asked in a child's voice.
Grace was the name of the dog that
had co-starred with the child role Akizawa had been playing just a moment ago.
Was he joking? Kusuda wondered uneasily.
"Hey, where's Grace, big
brother?"
Akizawa pressed on, his face utterly
serious, making it impossible for Kusuda to brush him off by telling him to
stop fooling around.
"I don't know that dog,"
Kusuda replied, playing along as best he could.
From the corners of Akizawa’s long,
narrow eyes, a large teardrop suddenly spilled.
"I want to see Grace," he
said plaintively.
"Wouldn't Akizawa-san know more
about that dog than I do?" Kusuda offered.
Akizawa shook his head hard from
side to side.
"I don't know. Because... the
script doesn’t go any further. The story’s over."
He slipped off the sofa and
collapsed onto the floor in a miserable heap.
"Are you alright?" Kusuda
asked again.
Curled up like a cat, Akizawa let
out a raspy sigh.
"I'm tired."
"You should go home and rest.
I'll call a taxi," Kusuda suggested.
"I don't want to move," came
the mumbled reply.
Maybe he meant he wanted to stay the
night. But Kusuda couldn’t allow that. He didn’t want to be alone in a room
with Akizawa—not after everything that had happened. There was no telling what
he might suddenly pull in the middle of the night.
"You won’t be able to relax in
someone else’s home. Why don’t you rest at your own place…" Kusuda urged
him.
But Akizawa didn’t even open his
eyes, much less move. When Kusuda grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up with
a firm, "Please get up," he was brushed off irritably.
If he tried to forcibly drag him out
of the room, would Akizawa lash out and cause a scene? Maybe it would be better
to contact Numata and have him come pick Akizawa up. But if he did that, Numata
would undoubtedly demand an explanation for why Akizawa was at Kusuda’s
apartment—and Kusuda couldn’t begin to explain.
...There was no choice but to
compromise.
"If you're going to stay, at
least use the bed," Kusuda said.
If it had been just a friend, he
would have left them where they fell. But this was still—however messily—a
professional actor.
As the image model for CRUX, he
couldn't very well let him sleep covered in dust on the floor.
Oblivious to Kusuda’s concern,
Akizawa was already emitting defenseless sounds of sleep. The fact that he
could fall asleep so easily in someone else's home—even someone he had once
threatened with a knife—was a testament to either overwhelming nerve or
complete obliviousness.
Did he not worry about possible
retaliation at all?
Kusuda stood there, staring down at
the infuriatingly peaceful sleeping figure. Even his sleeping face was
ridiculously well-formed, and that somehow only made Kusuda angrier.
Out of spite, he ground the heel of his shoe into the hem of Akizawa's black coat.
The model selection had been a struggle
from the very beginning. Just when they had finally found someone, there had
been trouble at the photoshoot.
Even after barely managing to get
the posters printed, he was still constantly being dragged into chaos.
Looking down at the sleeping man, Kusuda
realized there was no winning against this. With a sigh of resignation, he
threw a blanket over Akizawa's body. Maybe this man really was a genius.
...But Kusuda couldn’t shake the
feeling that he was also just a hopeless idiot.
I’ve heard that sometimes when actors are acting it can be hard to extricate themselves from the roles since they’re so immersed. I wonder if Akizawa is like that? Either way he’s a bit odd. But aren’t all geniuses a little odd?
ReplyDeleteThat’s such an interesting observation! I’ve heard that too—actors can sometimes lose themselves in their roles. Akizawa definitely seems like he blurs that line, a lot, which makes him even more intriguing. 🫢
Delete