COLD THE FINAL: Chapter 4

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COLD HEART – Fujishima WORKS 1

When Keishi Fujishima went to deliver an order to a select shop, the store manager was apparently not around, and a young clerk with dyed golden hair led him to the back, saying, “Would you mind waiting a moment?”

The small room, about 4.9 square meters (roughly three tatami mats), had a modest table and chairs in the center, and shelves crammed with what appeared to be merchandise lining the right wall. Compared to the neatly arranged storefront, it had the unmistakable look of a storage space—a proper backroom. Through a small window on the left side, he could see the neighboring park. It was already mid-October, and the trees were beginning to drop their withered leaves one by one, as if anticipating the cold season ahead.

The door opened, and a man in his early thirties with short hair and glasses stepped inside. Tilting his head to the right and giving a small “Oh?” of surprise, he then bowed and said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fujishima from CRUX. I’m here to deliver the order.”

“Oh, uh…” the man said, pressing his fingers to his chin. “Are you new?”

“Yes.”

“I was expecting Kusuda-san to show up.”

Fujishima bowed. “I apologize. Kusuda is currently on a medical leave, so I’ll be handling his accounts for the time being. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you sooner to formally introduce myself.”

The man looked genuinely surprised. “Is Kusuda-san okay?”

“It may take some time, but I believe he’ll recover.” It was the third time that day Fujishima had told that lie.

Masahiko Kusuda, former vice president of the accessory brand CRUX and its PR and sales head, had fallen into a relationship with Kaito Akizawa, who also happened to be their image model. When that relationship fell apart, Kusuda fled the country. Fujishima didn’t think that running away was irresponsible or cowardly. People had moments where they simply couldn’t face reality.

When he’d heard from Tohru about Akizawa’s erratic, borderline violent behavior, the details had been so far beyond comprehension that it had made him physically ill. It wasn’t the kind of situation one person could manage alone. So Fujishima had resolved to support Kusuda fully—even if that meant faking his death and helping him take refuge overseas.

It had only been a week since Fujishima left the paper company he’d worked at for years and joined the accessory business in Kusuda’s place. In this industry, he was nothing more than a rookie. Though he assumed his previous sales experience would carry over, the jewelry world was a different field entirely. He had to start from scratch, beginning with learning the very names of the different accessories.

What stood out the most as he visited various stores, large and small, was how deeply trusted Kusuda had been. Whenever Fujishima explained that Kusuda was on medical leave, the recipients would ask in a familiar tone, “Kusu-chan?” or “Is Kusuda-kun okay?”—worried like friends. Fujishima had known Kusuda for a long time too, and he knew him to be a kind, considerate, and earnest man. He could only imagine why someone like Kusuda had gotten involved with Akizawa, or how things had spiraled into such a mess… but love wasn’t something you could stop just because you wanted to. Even if it destroyed you completely.

The store manager began checking the items against the invoice, confirming the types and quantities. There were no issues, and as he signed off, he looked up and asked, “Fujishima-san, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wear CRUX accessories yourself?”

“…I’ve tried on a few things in the store, but… well, they don’t really suit me.”

When he answered honestly, the manager let out a little laugh.

“You don’t really give off a jewelry rep vibe—you seem more like a banker.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Still, it felt like a subtle jab at how he lacked the flair needed to handle jewelry—something that gnawed at him.

Back at the office, Miyamoto, the administrative assistant, greeted him with a “Welcome back.” It was thanks to her skillful management that Fujishima, a complete novice when it came to jewelry, could get by at all. Tohru had told him that Kusuda had deeply trusted her too.

“Wasn’t it still hot outside?”

Miyamoto, her sleek bob neat and fresh, tucked her side-parted hair behind her ear. A dangling earring swayed gently from her lobe.

“Not too bad,” Fujishima replied. “The sun’s strong, but there’s a breeze.”

Perhaps he’d been staring too intently, because she tilted her head and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“That earring… is it a CRUX piece?”

“Oh, this?” she said, touching it lightly with her fingers. “It’s an original piece Masamitsu-san gave me for my birthday—back when we didn’t even have a women’s line. Everyone says it’s cute. I really like it. Oh, and this ring—” she raised her left hand and showed the two rings stacked on her ring finger, “—I bought this one with the employee discount.”

“…I suppose I should be wearing CRUX pieces myself more regularly.”

Miyamoto blinked a few times, then gazed steadily at Fujishima’s face.

“One of the shop staff asked me today if I wear CRUX accessories.”

“You don’t need to force it,” she replied casually. “Men’s suits don’t really go with accessories in the first place. Kusuda-san didn’t wear much with his suits either. He used to go with simple pieces when he did.”

“Would it help if I wore something in a slightly lighter color instead of dark navy? The manager at the store I delivered to today said I looked like a banker…”

At that, Miyamoto burst out laughing—loudly. “Oh—! I’m sorry,” she said between giggles, but she couldn’t stop. “It’s just that you’re so calm and proper, Fujishima-san. You give off such a serious vibe! But that’s a good thing!”

She emphasized it sincerely, but the words didn’t quite dispel his uncertainty. Still feeling somewhat unconvinced, Fujishima excused himself with a “I’ll go check the inventory in the stockroom,” and stepped out of the office into the next room. This was where they kept all the items waiting to be delivered. When laid out individually in stores, accessories gained an aura of rarity—but seen in bulk, stored away in boxes, they somehow lost that sense of brilliance. It was a stark reminder of how much presentation matters.

I wonder if there’s anything I could wear myself. If he found something, he thought, maybe he’d buy it. He began opening each box carefully, checking the stock one by one.

CRUX designs tended to be bold and solid. For someone as slender as Fujishima, wearing them felt like a student swimming in an oversized uniform—it just didn’t sit right. The newer women’s line, with its more delicate designs, suited him better. Still, the idea of a man wearing women’s accessories gave him pause.

As he dusted the slightly dusty shelf—figuring he might as well clean while he was at it—he came across a box tucked beneath it, unmarked and without a label. Inside were accessories, none of which he’d ever seen before. Each one had a design unfamiliar to him.

Among them, something blue caught his eye—a ring. Its design coiled around the blue stone, reminiscent of grass entwining it… but when he looked closer, he realized it wasn’t grass. It was a snake. It was so thin he hadn’t noticed at first. The deep blue of the stone called to mind the indigo dyeing business his family had once run.

Fujishima held complicated feelings toward the family trade. His parents had loved the business deeply—but perhaps too deeply, to the point it warped their family. He eventually passed it on to someone else, and now that both were gone, that shade of indigo appeared gentle, even tender, in Fujishima’s eyes. It struck him—Maybe I did love that color after all, a realization that came far too late.

There was only one of that snake-wrapped blue ring. Maybe it had been leftover stock. With that thought, he took it in hand and returned to the office.

“I found this ring in the stockroom. Is it dead stock?”

“Hm?” Miyamoto leaned over to peer at Fujishima’s palm as he held it out to her.

“That’s a type of ring I haven’t seen before... It might be one of Masamitsu-san’s prototypes.”

“Would it be possible for me to buy it?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. You should try asking Masamitsu-san,” Miyamoto replied, picking up the ring and holding it up to the window light. “It’s kind of an ornate design for Masamitsu-san, isn’t it?”

“But I think something like this would really suit you, Fujishima-san. Why don’t you try it on?”

Following her suggestion, he slipped it on over the other ring he’d gotten from Tohru. Miyamoto smiled and took his hand, tilting it this way and that to check how the ring looked from different angles.

“It has a stone, but the design is simple. It suits a suit just fine.”

Suddenly, the office door opened without even a knock. When Fujishima turned around, he saw Tohru peeking in, a silver camera bag slung over his shoulder. His expression shifted instantly, like a switch had been flipped—into an unmistakable scowl.

“Good afternoon, Tohru-san,” Miyamoto greeted him, as usual.

“Hey,” Tohru replied curtly, even more bluntly than usual.

“I’d like a male perspective too—do you mind taking a look at this?” Miyamoto asked brightly, unfazed by his rudeness.

Tohru stomped into the office with heavy steps and grabbed Fujishima’s arm, tugging him sharply. Miyamoto’s hand naturally slipped away.

“Don’t you think this blue ring suits Fujishima-san’s vibe?” she asked.

“Ring?” Tohru echoed, tilting his head. He took hold of Fujishima’s left hand and lifted it near his face, narrowing his eyes to look closely.

“…It’s the color of the end of the night,” he said.

That phrase burst something open.

Old memories came rushing back all at once, like something overflowing—his spine trembled. A soft, indigo-dyed yukata. It had looked so good on little Tohru. And back then, when he first saw the garment, Tohru had said the exact same thing. This man had seen the same color he had. That connection had lived inside them both all this time.

The realization of that shared memory, that shared color, brought tears to his eyes—tears of happiness he barely held back.

“…Why are you shaking?” Tohru asked, puzzled.

Fujishima lowered his gaze with a small, gentle smile. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

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