COLD THE FINAL: Chapter 19

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COLD THE LAST

in Hollywood

The moment Masahiko Kusuda stepped into the theater, his legs went weak. The space was enormous. Tiered box seats lined the left, right, and rear walls in layers, and the ceiling stretched impossibly high. There were theaters of this scale in Japan as well, but somehow, this one felt even more decorative, more grand. The weight of the atmosphere was in a whole different league.

Fifth row from the back, aisle side—he sat down next to Kuma, and stared vacantly at the semicircular stage glittering like it had been dusted with sequins. About fifteen minutes remained before the awards ceremony began. The seats were nearly filled, tuxedos and gowns draped over elegant men and women.

Famous movie stars he’d only ever seen on screen were now filing in one after another, seating themselves in the front rows near the stage. It still didn’t feel real, that he was sharing the same space with these stars. He couldn’t relax; it felt like he was floating one centimeter above his seat the entire time.

“It’s kind of nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” he murmured to Kuma.

“It’s my first time seeing it live, too,” Kuma replied calmly. Adjusting the edge of his bow tie with a neat tug, he added, “Since it’s Akizawa’s first nomination, it’s unlikely he’ll win. So in that regard, it’s easier on the nerves.”

He’d said something similar over the phone. “When it comes to the Academy Awards, the actor’s performance is just one factor. Things like the actor’s ethnicity, release timing, and prevailing social narratives all come into play,” Kuma had explained. “Akizawa is a natural-born talent, but he’s Japanese. Hollywood rarely makes big-budget films with Asian leads. Still, the number of directors who want to cast Akizawa is growing. They’re mostly indie films with little money, but even so, a few—like this one—break through into the awards circuit. This nomination… I see it as a good opportunity to get his face out there.”

Kuma’s cool-headed analysis was probably the only reason he could manage someone as reckless and unrestrained as Akizawa, despite being younger.

Last summer, Akizawa had starred in The Shoes of Dorvan as the best friend of the main character. It was a low-budget indie film, plagued with funding issues that halted production midway. A year later, filming resumed, and they somehow managed to complete it.

Both the lead actor and Akizawa were highly skilled, the script was solid, and the film turned out to be genuinely good. The scene where Akizawa’s character mourns the protagonist’s death was heart-wrenching, gutting—no matter how many times Kusuda watched it, he couldn’t hold back his tears.

During the first week of its release, Kusuda went to the theater after work every single day.

Initially, it had a very limited release. But word of mouth began to spread, bolstered by rave reviews from critics. More theaters picked it up, and it became a surprise long-run hit. Riding that wave, the Academy Award nominations were announced.

The Shoes of Dorvan received nominations in four categories: Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Director, and Best Picture. Akizawa was named one of the five nominees for Best Supporting Actor.

Kusuda had seen all of Akizawa’s films. He knew The Shoes of Dorvan was well received, but he hadn’t realized it was creating this much buzz—enough to enter the Oscars conversation. He hadn’t even known Akizawa was nominated until he got a message from his brother Masamitsu: “Hey, Akizawa-san got nominated for an Oscar.”

At the time, Akizawa had been visiting during his break and was playing with Tabby in the garden. After reading the message, Kusuda leaned out the window and called, “Hey, did you get nominated for an Oscar?”

Akizawa looked back and nodded. “Yeah.”

“…That’s incredible.”

As soon as Akizawa came running to the window, Tabby scrambled after him with desperate determination.

“Everyone keeps saying it’s amazing or congratulations,” he said, “but it’s just a nomination. I mean, the Academy Awards, right? Sometimes people I really respect—who I think are amazing—don’t win, and then someone I think is kind of terrible gets the prize. So I don’t really get it.”

Kusuda replied with a simple, “I see.” Maybe there were politics involved behind the scenes, but as someone on the outside, he didn’t feel qualified to say anything more.

Ever since Akizawa was nominated for Best Supporting Actor, people in the CRUX network—clients and acquaintances alike—had frequently remarked, “That’s incredible! Your model’s an Academy Award nominee!” Kusuda would just nod and say, “Yes, it would be wonderful if he actually wins,” brushing it off with practiced politeness.

Then, less than two weeks before the awards ceremony, Kuma called, asking for help. Apparently, Akizawa had suddenly started insisting he didn’t want to attend the event, even though he had no real reason not to. He claimed it would be pointless to go. Kuma had tried to talk him down repeatedly, but Akizawa’s stance remained firm. So Kuma turned to Kusuda in desperation, asking if he would attend the ceremony under the “family guest” allotment. If you say you want to see the Academy Awards live, Akizawa will definitely go, Kuma promised.

According to him, unless there’s a clear reason like illness or a filming conflict—or unless you’re a major veteran actor—skipping the ceremony as a nominee leaves a very bad impression among industry professionals. No matter what, he wanted to avoid that. He had already tried explaining this directly to Akizawa, but the actor wouldn’t listen.

Kusuda had hesitated at the idea of being used as bait, but Kuma insisted: Attending could lead to new connections with directors he’s never met before. It absolutely won’t be a waste. If it could benefit Akizawa in any way, then Kusuda was willing. And so, he casually remarked in front of Akizawa, “I’ve always wanted to see the Academy Awards in person someday.” The response came immediately—“I can get you a ticket. Wanna come?”—and just like that, Akizawa decided to attend. Kuma had been right.

When Kusuda told Jessica about it, she warned, “You know there’s a dress code, right? You’ll be okay?” He hadn’t known that attendees were expected to wear formal attire—long gowns for women, tuxedos for men—so he scrambled to get everything ready.

Now, seated in the theater, he looked around and noticed that while everyone wore formalwear, many still seemed just a bit awkward in it. They must have been family or associates of the nominees—much like himself.

Turning to Kuma, Kusuda smiled wryly. “I’m not used to tuxedos. It feels a little tight.”

“I feel the same,” Kuma said, giving a small shrug.

“But still… I’m happy.”

The corners of Kuma’s mouth lifted into a gentle smile.

“When I was working at an izakaya, I never would’ve imagined that a few years later, I’d be managing an actor with an international career—and attending the Academy Awards as his manager. It’s a lot of work now that we’re based in LA and coordinating with agents over here… but still.”

He glanced at the stage, then added, “This might be the only time I get to experience something like this. I want to enjoy the moment.”

Despite being younger, Kuma exuded a calm confidence that made him incredibly reliable.

“If I’m being honest,” he continued, “Akizawa-san seems more like someone who belongs at Cannes or Berlin rather than the Oscars. Not that he seems particularly concerned with awards.”

The soft background music that had been playing faded out, replaced by an upbeat orchestral flourish. The volume gradually swelled. The stage lights flared on. The ceremony had begun.

This year’s host stepped onto the stage—it was a comedian popular from TV. He opened with lighthearted jokes, and the room erupted with laughter, though none of them really struck Kusuda as particularly funny. Worse, the monologue was long. Kusuda glanced to his side—Kuma wasn’t laughing either. Their eyes met, and Kuma leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“...The Academy Awards don’t actually come with prize money,” Kuma whispered. “But just being nominated for Best Actor or Best Supporting Actor comes with a gift bag. They include things like travel vouchers. Akizawa said he’d like to go with you. If you’re willing, please join him.”

“Is that okay? Aren’t those managed by the agency or something?”

Kusuda responded just as quietly, so as not to disturb the audience. “It’s fine. Those are given to the individuals themselves.”

Finally, the comedian’s monologue ended, and the announcements for the awards began. Kusuda unconsciously straightened his back.

The order of the award announcements wasn’t disclosed in advance, so no one knew which category would come up when. The first to be announced was Best Actress. Kusuda had looked at the nominee list and prediction sites beforehand, and just as expected, the award went to a seasoned actress in her sixties.

Next came the awards for Makeup & Hairstyling, Sound, and Art Direction. Even though he knew Akizawa’s chances were slim, as the remaining categories dwindled, Kusuda found his nerves steadily tightening with every announcement.

When it came time for Best Picture, it was won by Köln, a fantasy blockbuster that had topped box office charts. The Shoes of Dorvan didn’t take it. Then came Best Actor, which also went to Köln’s lead. Kusuda began to wonder if indie films simply didn’t stand a chance and whether Köln would sweep the entire ceremony. But then, for Best Director, the prize went to neither Köln nor Dorvan, but instead to the director of a romance film starring a Black actor. Kusuda had seen the film—it was emotional and well-crafted, albeit understated. Everyone had expected a showdown between the directors of Köln and Dorvan, so this upset caught many by surprise.

“Aaah,” Kuma sighed. “I thought Dorvan’s director might actually get it this time. If this keeps up, it might go down as just a nomination across the board. Much tougher than I expected.”

And then, finally, it was time for Best Supporting Actor.

The presenter walked out from backstage. Even though he knew the odds, Kusuda’s heart pounded, and he clenched his molars. He glanced to the side and saw that even calm, collected Kuma—who had resolved to just “enjoy the moment”—was gripping his hands together, his face damp with sweat. When he noticed Kusuda watching him, he quickly looked away, embarrassed.

“I know it’s unlikely... but I do kind of hope he wins,” he admitted quietly.

Kusuda felt the same. And Akizawa had the talent to deserve it.

The presenter opened the envelope, looked up with a smile, and said:

“Kaito Akizawa.”

The auditorium erupted in cheers. On the enormous screen appeared Akizawa’s stunned face. Pushed forward by the people around him, he slowly climbed the stage. The Oscar statuette was placed in his hands.

Is this really happening? Kusuda turned to Kuma, half-expecting it to be some sort of prank, but Kuma only muttered in a daze, “Seriously?”

Then came Akizawa’s speech:

“Um, is this a mistake?”

Laughter burst from the crowd.

“I mean, I’m Japanese. Is it really okay for me to take this?”

The laughter faded, replaced by a low murmur of tension.

“Ah, whatever. If me winning brings attention to the film, it’s good publicity. The Shoes of Dorvan—the script is amazing, the director’s got a great eye, the crew’s super talented, and the lead? The lead’s incredible. Of course, I’m incredible too.”

His usual “I’m amazing”. Thankfully, it came across as a joke, and the audience laughed again.

Then Akizawa said:

“I’ve been acting since I was a kid, but around twenty, I hit a slump. I forgot what it meant to act with feeling. I was just a hollow shell. The people who saved me back then were from this brand, CRUX—the one that uses me as their image model. If it weren’t for the people at CRUX, I wouldn’t have been able to start over, not as a person, and definitely not as an actor. I certainly wouldn’t be standing here. I’ll always treasure CRUX, because they treasured me. And lastly, to Masahiko, my everything. I love you more than anyone in the world. I’ll love only you, Masahiko, until my last breath—and even after that, for eternity.”

Akizawa’s eyes looked straight into his. Just him. And then, smiling softly, still gripping the Oscar in his hand, he walked calmly offstage amid a storm of applause. Another presenter stepped up to announce the next award, but Masahiko Kusuda couldn’t process anything beyond what had just happened. He sat, dazed in the aftershock.

Beside him, Kuma was trembling, tears streaming down his face.

"Um, Kuma-san…" Kusuda tried calling out, only for Kuma to mutter over and over, "This is bad, this is bad."

"What do we do? He actually won. He really won. I knew he was good—I knew he was very good—but... I never thought, not on his first nomination, not as an Asian actor... I never thought he’d actually win. I wasn’t ready for this. It’s going to get crazy now. What do we do, what do we do…"

For now—at least—we should report to the president and to Numata-san, Kuma said, fumbling for his phone. Even though it was on silent mode, his smartphone lit up with an overwhelming flood of SNS messages and a string of missed calls piling up one after another.

From that point onward, Kusuda could barely follow the rest of the ceremony. As soon as it ended, he returned to the hotel. Kuma had told him Akizawa would be at the afterparty and wouldn’t return until later.

Alone in the room, Kusuda sat blankly on the bed. He wasn’t overwhelmed like Kuma had been, but still, messages poured into his phone too. He understood what a huge deal it was—he really did—but somehow it didn’t quite feel real. Then again, it wasn’t he who had won the award. It was Akizawa.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when the hotel door suddenly opened.

“I’m back~”

Akizawa, who had just been standing center stage on that dazzling set not long ago, entered the room, clutching the golden statue tightly. Kusuda scrambled to check the time. Barely an hour had passed since the ceremony had ended.

"…Why are you back so early?"

Kuma had said the party would last several hours. Akizawa tossed the Oscar casually onto the bed.

“Hey, don’t just throw that!” Kusuda hurried to pick it up.

He carefully placed it upright on the bedside table. For such a small statue, it had a tremendous presence.

Akizawa sat down next to him, pressing close like a cat, and then pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Masahiko’s neck.

"The party was boring," he said.

"How was the Academy Awards?" Akizawa asked, his voice thick with satisfaction.

…Come to think of it, Kusuda remembered that he was supposed to be playing the role of someone who had wanted to attend. He had almost forgotten about that.

"It was glamorous. Like stepping into a dream world," he said honestly. "When you won… I was so shocked, I can barely remember anything after that."

"I was shocked too," Akizawa laughed, kissing him softly on the lips.

Slipping his fingers behind Kusuda’s collar, he unfastened the bowtie. Kusuda could feel the desire in those fingers. There was no reason to resist it anymore. No fear. He knew those hands were gentle, and would never hurt him again.

He reached out, touching Akizawa’s cheek, and the fingers working at his shirt buttons came to a pause.

"You're amazing," Kusuda murmured.

"I've always been amazing," Akizawa replied, narrowing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against Kusuda’s.

"Even with this shiny gold statue, nothing about how amazing I am has changed. I’ll always belong to you, Masahiko."

His fingers worked to slip off the tuxedo, unbuttoning the shirt beneath. And in that moment—perhaps because it was such a surreal time—Kusuda suddenly thought of the garden at the house in Brooklyn.

"...I was thinking, when you come home next time, I might have you trim the trees in the yard," he said. "You planted all sorts of stuff on your own, and now the branches are completely out of control... But I wonder if it’s really okay to make you do something like that."

"I'll do it. If you say to trim trees, paint the walls, patch a leaky roof—I'll do anything for you."

How can he be this cute?

How can someone be this unbearably cute?

It was maddening—this man was just too adorable. The shock of it, the emotion, the intensity of Kaito Akizawa as a person—all of it hit like a crashing wave, and Kusuda felt himself being completely swept away, engulfed by the tide.

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