COLD HEART in NEWYORK: Chapter 8

Previous TOC Next

A little past 10 p.m., Masahiko stood in the document storage room of the CRUX building. The day after next, at dawn, he’d be flying to New York. He’d come to pack up his things beforehand. The storage room wasn’t air-conditioned, so he opened the windows. September was nearly over, and though the days were still sweltering, the nights were cool. The air that filtered in was crisp and refreshing.

At the far end of the long table in the center of the room, Tohru was flipping through an old CRUX pamphlet. After dinner together that evening, Masahiko had remembered some materials he wanted Tohru to pass along to their mutual friend Fujishima, so he’d asked him to come along.

Masahiko’s personal items had been stored in cardboard boxes and pushed into the corner of the room. But over time, a chaotic mass of paper had piled up around them, and it was hard to tell where anything was. It seemed faster to just dump everything out on the table and sort through it.

The material he was looking for was a USB stick containing breakdowns of sales trends by store. It was categorized in more detail than usual—by design, gender, and lineup—to track which styles had sold best at each location in the past.

He could’ve just slipped the USB memory stick into Fujishima’s desk drawer without a word, but if Miyamoto or Itsuki were to find it, that would be troublesome. Fujishima had only joined CRUX after Kusuda had been hospitalized, which meant their time at the company wasn’t supposed to have overlapped. For someone with no official connection to Kusuda to possess a data file he had created personally—it would raise too many questions.

Even so, letting data this valuable gather dust and disappear would be wasteful. Instead, Kusuda had decided it would be best to have Fujishima keep it quietly at home and use it as reference material, if he could.

"I’m alive—but I need you to treat me as dead."

That absurd, outlandish plan had, in the end, become reality—reached by consensus in a discussion between Masamitsu, Tohru, Numata, and himself. Two days after the incident of violence, Masahiko Kusuda was declared to have committed suicide, leaving behind a note asking that news of his death be kept secret for a while.

Officially, he had taken a medical leave and stopped going to the office. But since he had worked in sales, his absence immediately caused disruption. Under the explanation that his recovery would be lengthy, Masamitsu quickly brought in a replacement—Keishi Fujishima, Tohru’s partner.

Masahiko had been surprised when Tohru suggested him, but he agreed without hesitation. Fujishima had once been the very first model for CRUX, and he was known for his honest character—most importantly, he was someone Masahiko could trust. Through Tohru, he was also already aware of what had happened between Masahiko and Akizawa. On top of that, the paper company where Fujishima had worked was plagued with overtime, weekend work, and worsening business conditions that had prompted it to offer early retirement options—everything aligned.

During the day, Masahiko focused on cleaning out his apartment and preparing for his trip overseas. At night, after the staff and office workers had gone home, he would quietly return to CRUX, pass on tasks and notes to Fujishima, and work through the backlog. It was exhausting, to the point of making his head spin, but keeping himself constantly busy was easier than sitting still and thinking about things.

He’d canceled the lease on his apartment the previous week. The few things he couldn’t bear to part with had been sent to his family home; the rest was discarded. Until his departure, he and his suitcase were staying at Masamitsu’s place.

It would be his first time living abroad long-term, but he wasn’t anxious. He had a college friend in New York and would rely on him at first while staying for two months. The plan was to meet people through introductions, and eventually find a business partner. If that went well, they’d establish a local office, secure a visa, and start preparing for CRUX’s first physical location overseas. In the long term, it could also double as a base of operations for Tohru, whose international photography work was steadily increasing. Though Masahiko had technically quit, he hadn’t cut ties with CRUX.

Tomorrow would mark three weeks since the assault.

Akizawa was still hospitalized.

Two days after the accident, Kusuda had received a missed call from him. He ignored it. After that, there were more missed calls, more messages, but he never responded. Just as expected, Akizawa eventually contacted Masamitsu to say he hadn’t been able to reach Masahiko. Masamitsu had brushed it off, telling him, “He’s actually in the hospital. Maybe he can’t use his phone there.”

The office had gotten a few calls as well. Miyamoto and Itsuki truly believed he was hospitalized, so they simply told Akizawa, “It seems to be some kind of complicated illness. We heard he’s in a hospital in Osaka. Even we haven’t been able to go visit yet.” Fujishima had relayed that back to Masahiko.

Yesterday, Masahiko had canceled his phone line and switched to a provider with better overseas coverage. He only gave his new number and email to Masamitsu, his parents, Tohru, and Fujishima.

As he finished sorting through the documents spread out across the long table, he finally found the USB stick. It had been stored in an old CRUX-branded paper box, and he’d nearly thrown it away thinking it was trash. That was close.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Tohru. Can you give this to Fujishima-san?"

When he handed it over, Tohru gave a short "Mm" in response, took it, and stuffed it into the chest pocket of his shirt.

"...What are you looking at?"

"Ah, no..."

Masahiko deliberately averted his gaze.

"I was just thinking... if you leave it in your pocket, you might forget it’s there and accidentally toss it into the laundry or something..."

Tohru’s face flushed slightly, and without saying another word, he took the USB memory stick out of his pocket and shoved it into his body bag. The move was suspicious as hell, but Masahiko didn’t press the issue. Still, he couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto his face.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Nah, I’ve just always had this kind of face."

"Okay, sure, I did once throw an SD card into the washing machine because I left it in my pocket—but it was just once, alright?"

Wow, he confessed all on his own... Masahiko thought, but just played it off with, "Hey, people make mistakes."

Tohru hadn’t said a word about the mess with Akizawa since that day in the hospital. Not once. Whether it was because he wasn’t interested, or because he was deliberately choosing not to ask, Masahiko didn’t know—but the fact that he left it alone was a relief. Masahiko didn’t want a single part of his relationship with Akizawa or that night dredged up again.

Ever since then, he kept having dreams of being assaulted by faceless monsters. He didn’t know the faces of the two who’d raped him. He hadn’t seen them. So the monsters in his dreams had no faces either. They only had grotesquely long arms and obscene genitals.

He was terrified—just terrified—and he’d desperately try to run. But he was always caught, always swallowed whole by those black monsters. He’d jolt awake to the sound of his own screams in the middle of the night. And whenever that happened, he’d be drenched in sweat, tears spilling uncontrollably.

"...I’m heading out."

Tohru slowly stood up.

"Ah, yeah. I’ll stay and finish up here. Sorry for keeping you this late. Thanks for—"

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. At this hour? When they arrived, the lights in the office had been off. There hadn’t been anyone left, as far as Masahiko knew. Maybe one of the office staff or jewelers had come back for something they forgot?

Tohru seemed to have noticed the sound as well. "Any idea who it is?" he asked.

Masahiko shook his head.

If they were walking on this floor, it was probably a staff member—Miyamoto or Itsuki. If it was just for something forgotten, they’d likely head to the office. There was little reason for anyone to come into the records room...

The door suddenly slammed open without a knock. Masahiko froze in place, but the moment he saw who stepped inside, he let out a relieved breath.

"You should at least lock the door, ghost-boy. You’re too careless," Masamitsu said, grinning as he strolled in wearing sweats.

Masahiko's obvious shock amused his older brother, who continued with a teasing smile.

"I figured it was you when I saw the light still on, but Tohru-kun’s here too."

"Hey," Tohru replied seriously, as always.

"I’m just doing some cleanup," Masahiko said. "What about you? What are you doing here this late?"

Masamitsu scratched his head. "Ahh, I remembered I’ve got a deadline coming up. Thought I’d get some of it done tonight."

"You mean the wedding rings?"

"Yeah, those."

Masamitsu was meticulous in his craft, but he wasn’t the kind to pull all-nighters. Masahiko figured his sudden departure must’ve left a lot of extra work behind for his brother to handle.

"...Me quitting the company has probably caused a lot of trouble, huh. I’m really sorry."

He bowed his head. Masamitsu just shrugged.

"What’re you even apologizing for? You’re about to go off to the States and sell the hell outta my jewelry, aren’t you?"

For a moment, Masahiko felt like he might burst into tears. I'm such an idiot. He had burdened everyone, forced them to lie, and was running away all by himself. Maybe... maybe there was a better way than this.

“I’m heading upstairs to get some work done.”

Masamitsu stepped out of the records room. Masahiko wiped at his forehead, disguising it as rubbing at his eyes. Tohru stood silently nearby, watching him without saying anything. Holding back the tears, Masahiko drew in a deep breath. There was no turning back now. This was the path he had chosen.

Tohru suddenly glanced toward the door. The sound was back again—footsteps echoing in the hallway. Not Masamitsu’s. The alternating click-clack, click-clack—were those heels? A woman, maybe?

Tohru turned the inner lock on the records room door. The footsteps grew more erratic, faster, until a loud thud shook the air. A heavy crash. Had someone fallen?

The steps started up again, steady this time. It sounded like whoever it was had entered the adjacent office. The sharp metallic clatter of desks being kicked rang out. Something was... wrong.

“I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”

Tohru placed his hand on the doorknob, just as the sound of someone rushing down the stairs reached them. Masamitsu, probably—maybe he’d heard the ruckus and come to check.

“Kaito-san, what the hell are you doing?!”

Masamitsu’s voice rang out clearly through the door. Akizawa? That noise was him? Masahiko’s legs suddenly went weak. He couldn’t stand—he grabbed the corner of the long table for support. Even he was surprised by how violently his body reacted. He tried to stop the trembling, but it only worsened.

Tohru came quietly to his side and whispered at his ear.

“Hide.”

But where? There was no good place in the records room except under the long table, and that would be the first place anyone would look. Masahiko’s gaze darted around—he dragged out a few cardboard boxes stacked between two shelves and squeezed himself behind them.

He didn’t want to be found. If Akizawa saw him, everything he’d worked for would fall apart. More than that—he didn’t want to see that face again. He was terrified.

The sound of footsteps—scuffling, struggling—drew closer.

“No one’s going to be in the office at this hour.”

Masamitsu’s voice now echoed from the hallway.

“I saw the lights from outside—downstairs—!”

Akizawa’s voice.

“That’s the workshop. I was working in there,” Masamitsu replied.

“No. It was lower down…”

Tohru gave Masahiko a quick glance, then quietly switched off the room’s light. The windows were wide open. There was still just enough light from the streetlamps and signs outside to make out the general layout of the room.

“I can’t have you tearing up the office, man. We’ve got work tomorrow, and we don’t need delays on top of everything. If you want to talk, come to the workshop. There, at least…”

Masamitsu’s voice was gentle, trying to coax him away.

“…Masahiko’s phone isn’t working.”

Akizawa’s voice came quietly, forlorn.

“I could always reach him before. Even if he didn’t pick up, the calls went through. I could send messages. But now, suddenly it says, ‘This number is no longer in service.’ That’s weird, right? That’s not normal, right? So I told my dad I wanted to visit Masahiko in Osaka… and he said… he said Masahiko’s dead. That he died. I didn’t understand. I went to Masahiko’s apartment, and the neighbor told me he’d already moved out…”

Masahiko pressed his trembling hands to his chest.

“That’s a lie, right?!”

Akizawa’s shrill voice stabbed into his eardrums.

“Dad lied to me, didn’t he?! I mean, even you, Masamitsu-san, and Miyamoto-san, all said Masahiko was hospitalized. That it was a serious illness. But then…”

“Kaito-san.”

Masamitsu’s tone cut in firmly, silencing him.

“Masahiko worked with us as the face of CRUX, and I sincerely regret that he had to step away so abruptly. Going forward, we plan to have someone named Fujishima take over his responsibilities.”

His voice was overly formal—an intentional shift from his usual tone. A nervous, airless chuckle echoed from Akizawa.

“Why are you talking like that? What’s with that weird way of talking?!”

The silence dragged on. Only the sound of his own breathing rang in his ears.

“Masahiko is no longer with us. In his will, he requested that news of his death be kept quiet for a while. Most likely… he didn’t want to cause a stir.”

“…His will…?”

To that question, Masamitsu offered no reply.

“I was the one who canceled Masahiko’s phone. I knew you were trying to contact him, Akizawa-san, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond.”

“That’s a lie…”

Akizawa’s protest sounded feeble.

“It—it doesn’t make any sense. I really loved Masahiko. I… I wanted to see him, just to hear his voice, I was losing my mind. But I was injured, I couldn’t move… I kept telling myself that as soon as I was discharged, I’d go visit him…”

“I understand how hard this is to believe, Akizawa-san. I feel the same way. You and Masahiko were very close, weren’t you? …Did he ever confide in you about anything? None of us truly understand why Masahiko would’ve taken such an action.”

Neither of them spoke again. The silence stretched on.

“Akizawa-san… aren’t you still hospitalized? That’s the hospital pajama you’re wearing, isn’t it? Was it really okay for you to be out at this hour?”

Perhaps Akizawa shook his head—Masamitsu let out a sigh.

“I thought so. If you snuck out, you should go back. Everyone must be worried. I’ll call you a cab. Can you stand?”

“…You’re all trying to fool me, aren’t you. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense. Just disappearing all of a sudden like that… it doesn’t make sense. This isn’t a drama or a video game…”

“Isn’t that just how death works?”

After a short silence, Akizawa’s frail voice whispered, “Was it… my fault?”

Masamitsu said nothing.

“Masahiko said he wanted to break up with me. He was furious about me sleeping with someone else. But I apologized. I did apologize. So why? It’s not fair. Masahiko did awful things to me too. I was hurt too. None of it makes sense. I forgave Masahiko even after he did terrible things. I forgave him—and yet… why…? I love Masahiko. I’ve never loved someone this much. And even so, why would he do something that would hurt me like this? If Masahiko’s gone, what the hell am I supposed to do from now on?!”

“Akizawa-san. Masahiko’s decision isn’t your fault. But if you continue to let it torment you, then that’s your own responsibility.”

“…What…?”

“Breakups happen. It’s normal. You think someone’s the one, and then you realize you’re not a good match—it happens all the time. You were two different people, and your feelings just weren’t balanced. You felt more than he did, that’s all.”

“But, I… I loved Masahiko…”

“If you truly cared about him, wasn’t there any part of you that could’ve respected his wish to end things?”

“If I did that, we couldn’t be together.”

“Even so… loving someone means being willing to let them go. Being near someone physically isn’t the only way to show love.”

“I don’t know that kind of love! If we’re not together then I—”

“You fucking moron!”

With a thunderous crash, something slammed—Masahiko sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s because you kept whining like a little girl that Masahiko gave up on you! ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’—like a broken record! Are you a damn toddler?! Even a three-year-old can say ‘I love you!’ But then when things don’t go your way, you lash out with violence? That’s lower than scum! You did something you wouldn’t even be able to complain about if the cops were called. Of course you’re hated like a fucking maggot!”

Even through the door, the voice roared like a thunderclap. Masamitsu… Masamitsu had never raised his voice like this. Masahiko had never known he could be so angry.

“You got dumped because you’re a boring piece of shit. A violent, selfish, hopeless fucking bastard!”

A shrill cry erupted, drowning out Masamitsu’s voice.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I know! I know I’m a useless fuck-up! I’ve always known! I’m nothing outside of acting. But Masahiko said he loved me. He said he loved me, even like this… So why…”

“You might’ve known what it means to love someone, but you never learned how to cherish them. That’s why you lost the one thing that mattered!”

“Waaaaahh! Waaaahhhh!” Like a child throwing a tantrum, Akizawa’s screaming sobs tore through the night. Waaaahhh, waaaahhhh, waaaahhh… It stabbed at Masahiko’s chest like shards of broken glass. He clutched his ears with both hands to block out the sound.

“B-but… I… I just didn’t want to lose anything else. I didn’t want to lose something I loved again. This time I was gonna treasure it. I was. So please… give him back. Give Masahiko back to me. I’ll do anything—anything. I really will, anything…”

Something slid down Masahiko’s cheek. When he blinked, droplets fell onto his knees. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He was the one who wanted the breakup. But… if Akizawa had realized all this just a little sooner, maybe…

“Akizawa-san, even if you beg, there’s nothing I can do now.”

The desperate, guttural scream that followed made Masahiko’s chest clench like it was being carved open. Eventually, the sobs broke apart into rasping whimpers. There was the sound of fists—maybe feet—slamming against the wall in frustration, but it soon faded into silence, like a battery finally giving out.

“You need to get back to the hospital. Can’t use crutches like that—lean on me.”

It was Masamitsu’s voice.

“I… I… wanna die…”

“Don’t say shit like that. Come on, up you go.”

Unsteady, uneven footsteps echoed down the hall, fading away. A tide of silence followed in their wake.

“Finally gone,” Tohru exhaled as he walked over to Masahiko.

The tears wouldn’t stop. Masahiko wiped at his eyes with his palm, roughly, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. Akizawa’s storm of emotion had swept him up, pulled him under, and shaken him to the core.

He said he wanted to die. Maybe he really would. The moment the thought crossed his mind, a sharp pain gripped his chest. There were times I truly wished he would die. I didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t even want to feel his existence... but now, I don't want him to die. I don't want Akizawa to die. I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want him to die.

“He’s still a damn wild dog, huh… What the hell did you ever see in that guy?”

Masahiko, his eyes still wet, looked up at Tohru.

“…What if Kaito really dies?”

“Then he dies. That’s all.”

Tohru’s voice was flat.

“But… I lied. I told him I was dead…”

“It’s not your fault. If he dies, that’s his choice. You never once told him to die. Whatever someone thinks, whatever choices they make, that’s their own responsibility.”

Even so… could Masahiko really say he bore no responsibility, after deceiving him like that? If Akizawa died because of this, Masahiko would carry the regret for the rest of his life. Even if others said it wasn’t his fault—he would still feel it was. If someone died in an accident or from illness, that was one thing. But to be the cause of someone’s end… he couldn’t live with that.

Masahiko walked over to the supply shelves. He pulled out a pack of copy paper and a ballpoint pen. In the dim light, he scrawled his message hastily, folded the page in four, and with a trembling hand, offered the note to Tohru.

“Give this to him… Say it was found when they were sorting through my belongings.”

Tohru unfolded the note with a flick. Masahiko lowered his eyes, unable to watch.

To Kaito Akizawa-sama: As the exclusive model of CRUX, I humbly ask for your continued support going forward.

(It's a polite, businesslike sentence often used in formal letters in Japanese, especially to express continued goodwill or cooperation.)

Tohru slowly read it aloud. As long as Masamitsu kept creating jewelry, Kaito Akizawa would still be necessary. Masahiko had hoped that by expressing his desire for Akizawa to remain as the face of CRUX, it might act as a brake, stopping Akizawa from doing anything reckless.

Tohru stared at the note in silence. Then he exhaled softly and folded the paper back up.

“You’re cruel,” he said under his breath.

“W…why?”

"You're trying to be forgotten by Akizawa, yet you're making sure he won't ever forget you."

Would keeping Akizawa tied to CRUX only cause him more pain? If so...

“Then don’t give it to him. …Throw it away.”

Tohru hesitated, as if thinking it over. Then he said lightly, “I’ll figure something out,” and slipped the folded paper into his body bag.

Previous TOC Next