COLD HEART in TOKYO: Chapter 9

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The day after declaring himself Masamitsu’s apprentice, Akizawa showed up at the office at 8 a.m. Since no one else had arrived yet, he couldn’t get in and ended up sitting in front of the employee entrance until Miyamoto spotted him when she arrived at nine.

"Akizawa-san is at the office. Since Masamitsu-san is busy, I’ve given him a book on jewelry making to read."

That was the message Kusuda received from Miyamoto, so when he found Akizawa reading beside his desk, he wasn’t surprised.

The day before, Akizawa had been dressed entirely in black. Today, he wore a gray knit sweater under a deep green jacket, paired with jeans. Still, he gave off that same muted, dulled impression.

“Good morning, Akizawa-san.”

Kusuda greeted him, but there was no reply—not even a glance upward. What the hell, Kusuda thought, annoyed, as he turned to the whiteboard near the wall to write the day’s schedule.

Miyamoto quietly stepped up beside him.

“He doesn’t respond even when spoken to, does he? But I don’t think he’s ignoring us on purpose—I think he genuinely doesn’t hear it.”

She sounded certain.

“About thirty minutes ago, I made him some coffee and left it on his desk. I even told him it was there. But just a few minutes ago, he suddenly looked up and said, ‘Where did this coffee come from?’ He really hadn’t noticed at all… His concentration is impressive.”

Knowing he hadn’t been deliberately ignored, Kusuda felt the irritation melt away. For now, Akizawa was just quietly reading and not bothering anyone. Kusuda had been overly conscious of him sitting there at first, but once he got busy with work, the guy’s presence practically disappeared.

Around 3 p.m., Akizawa stood in front of Miyamoto’s desk, holding the book.

“I finished this.”

Masamitsu was in the workshop, busy working on a set of wedding rings scheduled for delivery the day after tomorrow.

“Akizawa-san, is there anything in particular you’d like to make?”

Understanding the situation, Miyamoto stepped in to guide him.

“Most people start with something simple like a ring. Would you like to try that?”

Prompted by her gentle tone, Akizawa replied quietly, “A ring.”

“Okay, then first, let’s try thinking about the design you’d like to make.”

She handed him a notebook and a mechanical pencil. Akizawa stared at them, then looked down, troubled.

“I really suck at drawing. Coming up with a design out of nowhere is kinda…”

He muttered softly.

“Ah, I see. In that case, how about starting with a few practice sketches—try copying some existing designs? As you go, you might start getting your own ideas.”

Akizawa gave a small nod. He started copying rings from photos featured in last season’s novelty catalog. He followed Miyamoto’s suggestions without complaint and never once demanded to be taught directly by Masamitsu.

From next to him, Kusuda could hear the scratch of pencil on paper. Curious, he peeked at what Akizawa was drawing.

It was… bad.

Kusuda’s own art teacher in school had once despaired at his work, saying, “Perspective doesn’t exist in your world.”

Akizawa was operating at a similar level. It was so terrible it made Kusuda worry whether the guy could produce anything that even resembled a ring design.

Still, Kusuda had no useful advice to give, so he stayed quiet. Miyamoto, on the other hand, was kind and encouraging.

She offered thoughtful, teacher-like feedback: “It’s a little thick overall—try to keep the balance lighter,” or “If circles are tough, maybe try practicing just circles for now.”

And she always finished with praise: “This line here is very smooth and clean,” or “You did a great job with the shading here.”

It was repetitive, simple stuff—Kusuda had assumed Akizawa would get bored and quit within a few days. But surprisingly, he came back to CRUX every day and kept sketching diligently.

Effort pays off.

At first, his rings had looked like lumpy donuts. But after about a week of daily visits, they began to look recognizably like actual rings. With Miyamoto’s guidance, the designs grew more polished by the day

 

The next day, when Kusuda arrived at the office, the usual figure wasn’t sitting at the desk beside his.

“Huh? He’s not here today?”

“He’s appearing on a variety show this morning to promote the drama—with the rest of the cast, apparently,” Miyamoto explained.

Akizawa had been showing up at the office so regularly that Kusuda had completely forgotten he was technically a working actor with a schedule.

“Oh, I see… Ah—crap! If he’s going on TV, we should’ve had him wear our stuff!”

Miyamoto flared her nostrils indignantly. “Now you say that?! I told you last week that his agency called and said he really liked the necklace and ring Masamitsu-san gave him, so they were coordinating his outfit to highlight them.”

Now that she mentioned it, Kusuda vaguely recalled hearing something about a phone call while he was out. But he’d been busy, and since it seemed like everything had already been sorted, the detail had completely slipped his mind.

“By the way, the variety show he’s appearing on is set to air in the new year—probably timed to match the premiere of the new drama.”

Kusuda apologized with a sheepish “Sorry,” and Miyamoto handed him a printout. It was Akizawa’s schedule for the month.

Sure enough, today at 10 a.m., it said: “Recording: Guest appearance on variety show.”

Up until last month, more than half of Akizawa’s schedule had been blank. But from the second half of December onward, “drama filming” was listed nearly every other day, sometimes two days in a row.

CRUX had officially announced last week—on its own website—that Kaito Akizawa would be the new image model. But since the information had already leaked beforehand, the public reaction online and in general was pretty muted.

From the looks of things, even when the posters and novelties launched, they probably wouldn’t get the kind of buzz that the previous collaboration had stirred up. Kusuda accepted that. This whole image model initiative had been for the sake of maintaining Masamitsu’s motivation. And in that regard, Akizawa had absolutely done his job.

Still, Kusuda thought, I really should at least know what drama our model’s going to be in. He opened a browser and quietly searched.

The title was “Beyond Us” (Bokura no Kanata), scheduled to air Thursdays at 10 p.m. in the spring.

On the program’s website, Akizawa was listed fifth from the top in the cast. The lead role was played by Kou Muneishi, an actor from BB Agency—an agency famous for representing only male idols.

Kusuda had actually considered Muneishi as a potential CRUX model. But the moment he saw that even Muneishi’s lowest published commercial rate was way out of their budget, he’d eliminated him from the list without hesitation.

He clicked over to BB Agency’s site and opened Kou Muneishi’s profile. The photo showed a clean-cut young man smiling brightly, practically glowing with that flawless “good boy” charm.

“He really is good-looking, isn’t he?” said Miyamoto, passing behind him and peeking at his screen.

“I don’t really get the whole idol thing,” Kusuda replied, “but yeah, I see him in a lot of commercials.”

“He’s not at the very top of BB, but he’s definitely popular. He kind of had a mini-breakthrough this year. And—just between us—the drama filming couldn’t even start until now because they couldn’t get his schedule. It’s a next-season drama, but they only started shooting this week.”

Kusuda turned and looked at her. “You really know a lot.”

“I’ve got a friend who works as an AD—assistant director—so I hear stuff from them. I hope the drama’s a hit and that Akizawa-san gets offered more roles after this. He’s a little odd, but he’s honest and earnest. He’s got potential. And since he’s our model now, I can’t help but root for him.”

CRUX's model... yeah, technically, he was. But Kusuda didn’t feel as invested in Akizawa as Miyamoto clearly did. Does that make me cold? he wondered. Still, the memories of Akizawa’s tantrums, threats, and outbursts lingered in the back of his mind, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake them.

The day passed in unusual quiet—no sound of a mechanical pencil scratching from the next desk. As it got close to 5 p.m., and the end of the workday, Kusuda got a call from a select shop: the number of items they’d received was short of what had been agreed upon. Since CRUX’s products had high retail prices, even a single missing item could mean a substantial loss.

Both CRUX and the shop began double-checking their inventory records. It was going to take some time, so Kusuda told Miyamoto she could head home. But after re-checking their own order slips and stock, there was no discrepancy on their end. Kusuda asked the shop to triple-check and waited at the office for a reply.

No word came.

By the time it passed 10 p.m., he was starving. He went to the kitchenette to boil water for a cup of instant ramen. That’s when he sensed someone entering the office.

The sales staff from the first-floor shop had gone home, and so had the workers in the studio. Maybe Masamitsu or Miyamoto had forgotten something and come back? Kusuda returned to the office—and nearly dropped his cup noodles.

In the center of the room stood a tall, pitch-black figure—like a telephone pole had sprouted in the middle of the floor.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing here this late?!”

Akizawa turned slowly to face him.

“I saw the lights were on. Thought maybe Miyamoto-san was still here...”

Today, Akizawa wasn’t sporting his usual bedhead. His hair was neatly styled, and he wore a clean, sharp outfit with a clean silhouette. The colors were subdued, which made the standard CRUX necklace at his chest gleam all the more.

Compared to how he usually looked, he was strikingly put together—he probably went to his variety show recording like this. Until now, Kusuda had just seen him as a gloomy guy with a pretty face, but now, with his appearance polished, he actually looked the part.

“Miyamoto’s gone home. Her work hours end at five.”

Akizawa gave a noncommittal “Hmm,” and placed a hand on his stomach.

“…I’m hungry.”

His eyes locked onto Kusuda’s instant ramen. When Kusuda shifted it to the right, his gaze followed. The pressure in that stare… was intense. Kusuda caved.

“If you're okay with this stuff, want one?”

Akizawa gave a small nod. When Kusuda handed it to him, he did something rare—he said “Thanks.” Then, without a word, he sat down in his usual spot and began slurping the noodles.

Since he’d given up his own portion, Kusuda pulled another cup from the stash and began prepping it.

Two men, eating instant ramen in an office after hours. He could eat ramen alone without a second thought, but somehow, with two people, the atmosphere felt lonelier.

“Thank you for wearing our product during the show recording,” Kusuda offered neutrally, trying for a safe topic.

“Whatever,” Akizawa muttered, curt as always.

He chatted casually with Miyamoto all the time, so Kusuda figured it was just him he didn’t want to talk to.

After both finished eating and Kusuda cleared the empty cups, the office phone rang—it was the select shop. They’d found the missing item—it had been stuck to the bottom of a box. The manager was on the verge of tears as he apologized.

Problem solved. Time to go home.

Kusuda grabbed his bag, then remembered he wasn’t the only one left in the office.

“Akizawa-san, we’re closing up. Can I have you come out with me?”

But the man at the neighboring desk didn’t move. He’d slumped forward. Must’ve fallen asleep in the few minutes Kusuda had been distracted.

“Akizawa-san?”

His head moved slightly—then turned away from Kusuda.

“…I don’t want to go home.”

Akizawa had always left quietly when the day ended. Why was he suddenly resisting now—of all days? Of all nights to throw a fit, it had to be when neither Masamitsu nor Miyamoto were around—the only people likely to talk him down…

"This isn’t the kind of place you can stay overnight, you know."

“I’ll sleep over there.”

Akizawa pointed to the guest sofa in the reception area.

“That’s for visitors, and there’s no blanket. It gets cold at night—you’ll catch a cold. And don’t you have drama shoots coming up?”

Akizawa’s shoulder twitched at that.

“Annoying.”

The sharpness of his voice echoed, and for a moment, Kusuda’s heart clenched. Did I really say something that annoying? All he’d done was tell him not to catch a cold...

“The guys in that drama are all annoying. They keep talking about stuff I don’t get, always making me feel like an idiot. Screw them.”

So that “annoying” wasn’t aimed at him—Kusuda breathed a silent sigh of relief. The drama Akizawa was in was based on a novel—a coming-of-age ensemble piece about twenty-somethings, according to the website. Most of the cast were his age. Apparently, he wasn’t getting along with them.

“It’s calm here.”

Akizawa reached out and hugged the desk, as if to hold it close.

“No one makes fun of me. Miyamoto-san is kind…”

Then suddenly, as if something had struck him, Akizawa lifted his face.

“I want to marry Miyamoto-san.”

Marry. M-a-r-r-y. No matter how Kusuda tried to interpret it in his mind, it still only meant marriage between a man and a woman. But had they even been dating? There’d never been any indication—and Kusuda was pretty sure Miyamoto was living with her boyfriend.

Still, he had to ask. It was too terrifying not to.

“Are you… dating our Miyamoto?”

Akizawa shook his head.

“I just like her vibe.”

Skipping the bare minimum steps of confession and dating, the guy was already spewing out delusional fantasies. Spare me.

Or was this some kind of prelude? A way of saying, Don’t complain if I make a move on her?

As her superior, Kusuda couldn’t pretend he didn’t see a potential problem. It was better to lay out the facts now.

“Miyamoto has a boyfriend. They live together.”

He said it as firmly as he could muster.

“That’s a lie! She doesn’t seem like someone who’d have a boyfriend!”

Akizawa snapped back instantly, full of indignation—but painfully, with no actual evidence.

“If you find Miyamoto-san attractive, it’s only natural that others would too. If you really can’t believe me, I can call her now and let you ask her yourself.”

Akizawa pressed his lips tightly together and—bam—kicked the desk.

Don’t break our furniture, Kusuda scolded silently.

One kick seemed to be enough to get it out of his system. But it had been strong—the tote bag leaning against the desk toppled, its contents spilling all the way to Kusuda’s feet. He couldn’t just ignore it. He picked it up.

Printed on the cover was: “Beyond Us – Episode One Final Draft.”

He held it out toward the sulking man, who merely flicked his eyes at it.

“Don’t need it,” he muttered.

“It’s the drama script, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be bad if you lost it?”

“I already memorized it.”

The script wasn’t very thick—maybe five millimeters or so. He probably didn’t have many lines since it was a supporting role. Still, Kusuda couldn’t help but wonder: what if he blanked on set? Didn’t he worry about forgetting his lines?

Then he remembered—back when Akizawa had stayed over, he’d recited every line of an old movie from start to finish. His memory had been eerily precise.

“Script’s garbage. It’s not even interesting.”

Akizawa looked down and began stomping his feet, thud thud. Kusuda had nothing to say. He hadn’t read the script, and he knew nothing about the shoot. But still…

“If you think it’s not interesting, maybe you should make it interesting yourself.”

Akizawa suddenly burst out laughing—a dry, startled sound that shook his shoulders.

“Make it interesting? Me, a supporting role?”

The sarcasm in his tone was irritating—and it ticked Kusuda off.

“Even as a supporting role, isn’t there still something you can do?”

“You don’t get it at all,” Akizawa snapped, pointing at Kusuda. “The ones in charge are the director and the producers. Actors are just pretty-faced dolls. There are tons of dolls—they can be replaced anytime. So actors just have to suck up to the powerful people and act the way they want if they don’t want to get thrown out.”

Kusuda didn’t think that was really what Akizawa believed. He recalled Akizawa’s schedule, with more than half of it blank. If he truly hated acting, he would’ve quit after that high school scandal. And yet he continued performing, even in small stage roles. Didn’t that mean he still loved acting?

“The viewers don’t see the director or the producers. All we see is the actor’s performance.”

Akizawa inhaled sharply. When their eyes met, he quickly looked away.

“…But if you don’t do what the director says, you won’t get cast again.”

Mumbling his excuse, he shoved both hands into his hair and roughly messed it up. The tidy style fell apart, and his hair returned to its usual unkempt state. Then, looking up at Kusuda, he said:

“Hey… I’m good.”

“Huh?”

“I said—I’m good at acting. When I get serious, the others don’t even compare.”

He was dead serious.

Kusuda had no idea how to respond. People who go around saying “I’m a genius” or “I’ve got real talent” are often… not. Confidence without evidence. Delusion, really.

As a child actor, Akizawa had been incredibly talented. But now, as an adult, he was just another forgettable “Actor A.” There’s that saying: Once you're past twenty, you’re just another person. Maybe he’d been a prodigy once, but to Kusuda, the adult Akizawa looked like nothing more than a regular guy.

If this were a friend, Kusuda would probably say, Forget your past glory—start facing who you are now.

“I’d like to see your serious acting someday.”

In response, Akizawa snatched the script from Kusuda’s hand, flipped through it, and slammed it on the desk.

“But this thing is seriously trash. It’s so short, and yet the character’s personality keeps changing throughout the script. It’s a mess. My head’s all over the place. I’d much rather be sketching rings here.”

“Your job is acting, isn’t it? Are you planning to study metalwork and become one of our employees?”

Kusuda meant it as sarcasm, but Akizawa’s eyes lit up.

“If I learn how to make accessories, can I work here?”

That wasn’t the point at all.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m saying your real job is acting…”

“But if I can’t keep being an actor, can I work here?”

He wasn’t listening—and the hopeful glint in his eyes made it impossible to brush off easily.

“Well… if you learn the techniques and if our president, Masamitsu, thinks you’d be a good addition to the team… I suppose it’s not impossible.”

At that, Akizawa’s whole face bloomed like a flower.

“So it’s possible. Even if I’m not an actor, I can work here.”

He hadn’t learned a single skill yet, but in his mind, he’d already received a job offer from CRUX. Even if Kusuda tried to correct him, the guy would twist it however he wanted. Anything more would just complicate things. Kusuda decided to end the topic there.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go home.”

“Ehhh…” Akizawa whined, glancing up at Kusuda as he rubbed his thumbs together nervously.

“I… I don’t want to go home. I want to talk with you more, Kusuda-san.”

The way he suddenly shifted from aggressive to meek was dizzying.

“But still…”

Suddenly, Akizawa grabbed his arm. Startled, Kusuda stepped back.

“L-let’s have a drink.”

Akizawa pleaded, his expression desperate.

“Let’s go out for a drink now. Let’s talk, yeah?”

Kusuda didn’t have anything he wanted to talk about. If anything, he was exhausted from the delivery screw-up and just wanted to head straight back to his apartment, crack open a cold beer while watching some comedy re-runs, and pass out. On a weekday, he could have used the excuse, “I have work tomorrow,” but unfortunately, today was Friday.

“Don’t you have a shoot for the drama tomorrow…?”

“My scene’s not until the evening. Please, just a little bit—really, just a bit. And if it’s too much trouble to go out, y-you could come over to my place instead…”

A difficult man—lacking in common sense and painfully single-minded. Drinking with Akizawa didn’t sound like fun; it sounded like hard work. Still… maybe if Kusuda played along for a little while, earned some favor, and closed a bit of the distance between them, Akizawa might stop pushing so many unreasonable demands later on. It could make their working relationship easier.

“…Alright then, how about we go for a drink now?”

This is client entertainment, Kusuda told himself. It’s part of the job.

As he mentally braced for the ordeal ahead, Akizawa—completely unaware of Kusuda’s dread—grinned innocently and shouted, “Let’s go, let’s go!” while shaking Kusuda’s arm enthusiastically.

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