Second Serenade: Chapter 39

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Selfishness

There were rumors that the company president had fallen head over heels. But the actor in question was still a student, and not all that enthusiastic about the idea. He’d had to be persuaded into it, and the agency had ended up offering a highly unusual contract: a two-year term, and nothing more.

Wariishi Tomokazu raked a hand roughly through his already-messy hair as he sat at his desk. He hadn’t done anything particularly taxing—just handed off the actors he had been managing to their new reps—yet he was exhausted.

He dropped the folder of materials onto the top of the mountain of books piled on his desk. It had been seven years since he joined the agency. In that time, he’d managed a number of actors, but never one as completely unmotivated as this. There were more aspiring actors out there than one could count, and Wariishi had known more than a few with genuine talent who’d had to leave the industry in tears because they’d never been given a chance to show what they could do.

Even just getting the opportunity to debut was a stroke of luck. Anyone serious about their future would seize that opportunity and cling to it for dear life. But this guy didn’t show even a flicker of that drive. And what was anyone supposed to accomplish in a half-measure two-year stint, anyway?

Wariishi bit at the edge of his fingernail with a sharp snap. He always did that when he got irritated. Colleagues had told him to stop—it made him look even more high-strung with his slight frame—but he figured it was still healthier than smoking.

He had loved the theater since his student days, and that passion had led him to take a job at a talent agency. His dream—though he’d never told anyone—was to craft, with his own hands, an actor who could hold their own on the world stage.

That dream had kept him going, no matter how hopeless the newcomer he’d been assigned. He threw himself into promoting every new recruit, betting everything on the possibility that their talent might one day blossom. Just yesterday, he’d been working with a promising actor—a man with real grit and skill. Wariishi had gone all in promoting him, convinced this one might finally make it. And after all the struggle, the actor had finally landed a supporting role in a morning drama series. It was just the beginning.

And then out of nowhere, they ordered him to take on a complete amateur. Someone who’d only ever appeared in a single low-profile indie film. No experience. Nothing.

When he got the notice, he’d seriously considered jumping ship—taking the actor he was managing and moving to another agency. But he couldn’t do that. Not when it might jeopardize the actor’s rising career. He couldn’t let his own selfishness get in the way, and so, with deep reluctance, he accepted the assignment.

He never so much as glanced at the new guy’s file. That was a matter of pride. No point wasting time reading up on a kid who still had one foot in student life—he wouldn’t last.

The film he’d starred in was Sky (Sora), directed by Yamaoka Hajime. It had gained some traction in the industry, but hadn’t made much of a splash with the general public. Wariishi had even been given a DVD of it, but hadn’t bothered to watch. He vaguely remembered the director—eccentric, a bit too intense, that was all.

“Wariishi-san, are you sure this is okay? It’s been an hour already…”

The girl at the desk next to his whispered in his ear. Apparently the much-discussed “newcomer” had been waiting for him in the meeting room for the past hour.

He’d made a point of staying seated, doing nothing, for just that long. A little ‘welcome gesture,’ as far as Wariishi was concerned.

With a sigh, he rose from his chair and slowly made his way down the hall. He didn’t bother knocking. He opened the meeting room door, and the man sitting on the couch looked up.

He’d heard the guy was twenty, but his face looked more composed than expected. Neither his hairstyle nor his clothes followed current trends. His features were symmetrical, sure, but there wasn’t anything instantly striking enough to explain why the president had gone to such lengths.

The young man stood and bowed deeply as Wariishi approached.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kakegawa Susumu.”

His voice wasn’t bad. And he seemed to have at least some idea of basic manners.

“I’m Wariishi, your manager.”

He ignored the hand extended toward him and dropped heavily into the seat across from Kakegawa.

“Let’s get right to business. So, Kakegawa-kun, what kind of vision do you have for yourself as an actor?”

“Vision…?”

Kakegawa looked confused.

“What kind of actor you want to become—that determines how we promote you. We usually come up with a basic concept, but after that it mostly comes down to the manager’s discretion. I wanted to hear your thoughts too. Although, well… in the beginning, you don’t really get to choose your jobs.”

“I’d like to be in films,” Kakegawa replied.

Waraiishi gave a small chuckle, then covered his mouth and said, “Excuse me.”

“Movies are tough. There aren’t that many being made in Japan, and most of them are just—garbage. If you want to get famous, dramas are the way to go. They get you on screen fast, and you can brag to your friends right away.”

“I don’t want to do anything except film work.”

A brat who didn’t know how to listen. Waraiishi clicked his tongue.

“Only films, huh? You realize if that’s how you think, you’ll barely get any jobs in a year. Don’t you want some spending money? Well, unless you’re okay with doing AV—adult videos—then maybe you’d get a bit more work.”

He laughed dryly. What a joke. ‘Only films,’ huh? Maybe if he were some theater veteran with some real stage experience, but this rookie? Get real. He could already see Kakegawa’s face stiffen. Good. Setting the tone early was important. You can’t spoil them right out of the gate.

“I mean, I get where you’re coming from,” Waraiishi added, recrossing his legs and folding his arms.

“I’d like you to forget this meeting ever happened.”

Oh, so that’s how it is? Waraiishi rubbed his nose with a finger.

“Did my tone bother you that much? Look, like it or not, you signed with us. Even if you’re trash, you’re still our product.”

The pleasure of tearing him down replaced the rising irritation. But Kakegawa tilted his head slightly.

“I haven’t signed anything yet. I insisted on meeting the manager first.”

Waraiishi’s eyes went wide. What do you mean, the contract’s not signed yet?!

“I made it clear in advance that I won’t do anything outside of films. And I’m not interested in pocket money or getting famous.”

Kakegawa stood up.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

He was the president’s favorite. If he blew this and the kid got pissed off, he really would get fired.

“I wanted to do film. I know people in the industry would probably laugh at me for saying something like this, but… I wanted to live on as someone in a film, left behind in someone else’s memory.”

The cocky little punk, barely in his twenties, walked out without another word. Waraiishi just sat there, dumbfounded. He didn’t try to go after him. If the kid wanted to quit, then so be it. Even if it got him fired, oh well. Bracing himself, he headed to the president’s office. He was ready for a scolding—but the rage he encountered was far beyond what he’d expected.

“Get the hell out of here!”

The president jumped out of his chair, fists clenched as he shouted.

“And before you’re gone for good, you’d better bring Susumu Kakegawa back. That’s the least you can do. Do you have any idea how hard I worked to convince him? He was getting offers from all over the place. The only reason he picked us was because I promised he’d only do film work. That was written in the materials I gave you too!”

After getting absolutely chewed out, Waraiishi ended up shouting back in frustration, “I’ll bring him back, no matter what!” Then he stormed out of the office.

This was bad—really bad. And it was all Kakegawa’s fault. Still worked up, Waraiishi returned to the agency, and the first thing that caught his eye on his desk was the envelope with the materials and DVD—still unopened.

“Waraiishi-san, you met Susumu Kakegawa, right? What kind of kid is he?” one of the office girls asked eagerly.

“Arrogant little brat,” he muttered.

“Really? So different from how he seems in movies, huh…”

She looked down, disappointed.

“You’ve seen his movies?”

“Well, I’m a fan of Director Yamaoka, so it was just by chance—but Kakegawa starred in Sora, right? He was amazing. He didn’t have many lines, but you could really feel how kind and strong he was… I’d never seen an actor like that before. So when the president said he was obsessed with him, I kind of understood why.”

Waraiishi grabbed the documents and DVD and shut himself inside the screening room at the office. Sure enough, the materials stated clearly that Kakegawa’s contract was only for film work. After reading through all the documents, Waraiishi set the DVD into the player.

Images flickered onto the small screen. At first, Waraiishi didn’t recognize Kakegawa—it was a different impression from the young man he had seen today. In the film, Kakegawa wasn’t a university student but a 25-year-old ceramic artist. Waraiishi stared at the screen, completely absorbed, so much so that he forgot to breathe.

His fingertips began to tremble—violently, uncontrollably. He bitterly regretted letting his petty pride keep him from reviewing the materials or watching the DVD earlier.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Waraiishi grew increasingly irritated every time the car stopped at a traffic light. Today was the day Kakegawa would participate in his first film shoot as a professional. If it were a seasoned actor, he could’ve gone on his own without issue. But Kakegawa was still new to the industry. Waraiishi had to go with him to make the rounds, greeting the director and staff together.

He’d promised to pick Kakegawa up at his apartment by nine, but he was already five minutes late. They still had enough buffer time, so it wasn’t a problem per se—but there were a few things he wanted to go over beforehand.

It had been a long road to get to this day… Waraiishi nodded slowly, remembering all the struggles. The day Kakegawa said he was quitting the contract, Waraiishi had run straight to his university after seeing the film he appeared in. He found Kakegawa outside the lecture hall and bowed his head so low it nearly touched the floor as he apologized. He didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed, even in front of a crowd. If that was all it took to manage this man, he thought it was a small price to pay.

Somehow, he had convinced Kakegawa to sign again and pleaded with the furious company president to let him stay on as his manager instead of firing him. But the real hardship came after that. Film roles were limited, and casting was no easy feat. Waraiishi had pulled every string he could to finally wedge Kakegawa into a minor role in a romance movie starring popular talent.

Ideally, Waraiishi had wanted Kakegawa to debut in an artistic film by a prominent director. But big-name directors weren’t that generous—they wouldn’t cast a newcomer who’d never even done TV, had no name recognition, and whose acting ability was still unknown. First and foremost, Waraiishi decided, they needed to get his name and face out there, no matter what kind of film it was.

Kakegawa was well-mannered, courteous, and not at all demanding. And yet, he had a strong sense of self. He didn’t have that grating smoothness often found in people like that. Everything about him was ideal.

Five minutes late, Waraiishi finally arrived at Kakegawa’s apartment. He ran up to the second floor and rang the intercom at Room 206.

No answer.

Waraiishi had a bad feeling. He rang the intercom again. Was he still sleeping? Or maybe he’d gone out to a friend’s place and hadn’t come back yet? But today was the shoot, and he’d even called yesterday to confirm he’d be picking him up at nine…

He rang once more. At last, there were signs of someone stirring inside. So he had just been asleep. Waraiishi let out a sigh of relief when he heard the door being unlocked.

“Kakegawa-kun, good morning.”

“Who the hell are you?”

That voice was different. Waraiishi stared closely at the face that appeared through the gap in the door. Definitely not Kakegawa. For a moment he wondered if he had the wrong apartment, but checking the nameplate confirmed it—this was definitely Kakegawa’s place. He looked again at the man’s face.

The man looked deeply irritated. Even so, Waraiishi could see he had a strikingly beautiful face—perhaps in his late twenties. He brushed back his long bangs.

“Is this the apartment of Susumu Kakegawa?”

“Yes, but… who are you? I asked you first. How about answering my question?”

The man’s unusually aggressive tone ticked Waraiishi off, but he pressed on.

“I’m Waraiishi, Kakegawa-kun’s manager. I’m here to pick him up for work…”

The handsome man sighed.

“Wasn’t the appointment for nine o’clock? He was waiting for you since an hour ago, but you were so late he went ahead on his own. Told me to tell you that if you showed up. Said he also sent you a message.”

“…I see.”

He hadn't noticed the call because his phone had been turned off while driving. The man crossed his arms and glared at Waraiishi with sharp, narrow eyes.

"I heard today was your first day on the job. For a manager to show up late on a day like this—completely unprofessional."

The scathing words made Waraiishi's face flush with embarrassment. At the same time, he felt a surge of indignation—why did he have to be spoken to like that by this man?

"The roads were congested, so..."

"And you think an excuse like that will fly in front of everyone when you're the one who's late? You really need to think things through a bit more."

"I'm very sorry."

Unable to talk back, Waraiishi simply apologized. He heard a dismissive snort. The man was handsome, but there was something infuriatingly smug about him. The more Waraiishi thought about how unpleasant the guy was, the less attractive that handsome face seemed—those narrow eyes now looked downright mean.

"Why on earth would the agency assign an incompetent guy like you to be a manager?"

The man's muttered words were loud enough to hear clearly, but Waraiishi pretended not to and turned his face away. He rushed into the car, slammed the door shut, and then shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Who the hell does that high-and-mighty prick think he is?!"

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kakegawa had arrived at the filming location ahead of time on his motorcycle. Waraiishi had scheduled their meeting quite a bit earlier than the actual start of filming, so Kakegawa had arrived far too early—and apparently had been mistaken for one of the set crew. By the time Waraiishi arrived, he found Kakegawa hammering nails into a post among several other prop assistants.

"Kakegawa-kun, what are you doing?!"

While Waraiishi panicked, Kakegawa remained unfazed and even laughed, saying, “This is actually kind of fun.”

"You're an actor, okay? An actor. For now, just focus on your role."

"Right, sorry."

Kakegawa apologized. Waraiishi had come on strong, but remembering that he himself had arrived late made him feel a little sheepish.

"I should be the one apologizing. I was late today..."

"The traffic’s usually bad around that area in the morning. I should’ve warned you."

Not only was he not being blamed, but Kakegawa even showed concern for him—which made Waraiishi feel even more awkward.

"But your brother or friend—whichever he is—was really pissed. Said it was totally unprofessional to be late on a day like this."

As Waraiishi gave a strained smile, Kakegawa’s expression suddenly turned a little troubled.

"Did he say anything else? Don’t worry too much about what Hashimoto says. That’s just how he is."

"Yeah, well... your friend’s pretty intense."

"He’s not my friend. He’s my boyfriend."

Kakegawa said it plainly, without hesitation. The words threw Waraiishi off, and before he could fully react, Kakegawa went on.

"I should go greet the director and the cast, right?"

"Yeah, that’s right, but..."

"I don’t really know the names of many actors. Could you introduce me?"

"Sure, no problem, but..."

Hurried along by Kakegawa, Waraiishi helped him greet each of the cast members. By the time they’d made the rounds, filming had begun. Kakegawa only had a bit part and would barely appear on screen for more than a few seconds. Still, for those few seconds, he had to remain on-site all day.

During a break when Kakegawa wasn’t needed on set, Waraiishi pulled him outside the studio to a quiet corner near a vending machine.

"Kakegawa-kun, about what you said earlier..."

"What about it?"

He hoped it was just a misunderstanding, but he needed to confirm it.

"You were joking when you said Hashimoto was your boyfriend, right?"

Waraiishi wanted that to be the case. But the answer came back immediately.

"He is my boyfriend."

He didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest. Kakegawa was completely at ease, and Waraiishi, more shaken than expected, gulped nervously.

"So you're... gay?"

He was almost afraid to ask.

"Seems that way. Oh, and sorry for not telling you. I wasn’t trying to hide it or anything."

"Uh... well..."

He’d heard it from that fresh-faced, cheerful expression—as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Waraiishi had dealt with his fair share of heterosexual scandal coverups, but this was his first encounter with this kind of situation. He couldn't even begin to picture Kakegawa with that guy.

“No, it’s fine if you have a lover. I might ask you to keep it a secret, though. But you know how it is with men… No, I mean, you’re just about to launch your career, and a scandal could be fatal. So if it’s just a fling, I want you to tidy up your personal life as soon as possible.”

Kakegawa shook his head firmly at Waraiishi’s indirect suggestion that he should break up.

“Anyone but Hashimoto is fine. If breaking up with my lover is the condition for continuing as an actor, then I’ll quit acting.”

“Hey now, no need to go that far…”

“I’m serious.”

Waraiishi was suddenly reminded of the first time they’d met—when Kakegawa had said he wouldn’t act unless his conditions were met. He had the same look in his eyes now as he did then.

“F-fine, fine. I’ll stay out of your private life. But please, just make sure the press doesn’t find out.”

“…Understood.”

Waraiishi held his head in his hands. He’d thought this guy was the perfect actor without a single flaw—but this was the one blemish. He started to bring his thumb to his lips, a habit when he was deep in thought, then stopped.

“How long have you been seeing this guy?”

“It’ll be about a year soon.”

“Huh… What does he do?”

“Right now, he’s unemployed. Oh, but he’s doing some part-time programming. After quitting a job he’d been at for a long time, he tried two different places but didn’t last a month at either. So now, I support him with my part-time gigs. He’d get really mad if he heard me saying that, though.”

Kakegawa leaned against the vending machine and gave a small laugh.

“But honestly, I prefer when Hashimoto doesn’t work and just stays at home.”

“Isn’t that a financial strain?”

“Yeah, kind of. But there’s something about supporting him—it makes him feel really like mine, you know?”

Waraiishi wanted to say a guy like that doesn’t belong to anyone, but he held his tongue. To each their own. Still, he couldn’t make peace with it. Why that guy, of all people? Sure, he had a beautiful face, but he didn’t seem like he had a decent personality in the slightest.

Kakegawa was called over for makeup prep. He’d be needed soon.

“Talk to you later…”

Watching Kakegawa’s back as he walked away, Waraiishi began to mentally formulate a quiet plan, drawing on his past experience—how best to make them break up without causing a fuss.

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