I don’t usually talk about the past.
Not because I forgot it.
But because it never really left.
People see me now and think I’ve always been like this.
Quiet.
Distant.
Hidden behind a mask.
Like I was born this way.
But that’s not true.
There was a time when I wanted the exact opposite.
Back in middle school…
I used to talk too much.
I used to laugh too easily.
And I used to… want to be seen.
Not just noticed.
Actually seen.
I wanted attention.
Not the kind people hate.
The kind people think they want.
Approval.
Recognition.
A place where I mattered.
I used to raise my hand in class even when I wasn’t fully sure of the answer.
I used to stand in group activities just a little too forward.
I used to smile too much in photos.
Because I thought…
If people see me enough times…
I’ll become someone they remember.
But reality doesn’t work like that.
At first, people noticed me.
Then they started labeling me.
Then they started deciding who I was before I even spoke.
“Too loud.”
“Trying too hard.”
“Attention seeker.”
I didn’t understand it at first.
I thought I was just being normal.
But slowly…
the classroom started feeling different.
Conversations stopped when I walked in.
Smiles disappeared when I joined groups.
Even silence started forming around me.
Not the peaceful kind.
The uncomfortable kind.
And that’s when I realized something.
People don’t always reject noise.
They reject you inside the noise.
Days passed like that.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Until I stopped talking as much.
Stopped trying to join conversations.
Stopped raising my hand.
But even then…
it didn’t stop.
Because attention doesn’t just disappear.
It changes shape.
One day, I remember standing alone after class.
Everyone had already left.
I thought I was alone.
But I wasn’t.
Not completely.
There were still whispers.
From far away.
Not loud enough to hear clearly.
But enough to feel.
And that feeling…
stayed with me longer than anything said out loud.
That was the first time I understood something I didn’t want to accept.
Being seen isn’t always safe.
After that, I started changing.
Not instantly.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like adjusting a part of myself bit by bit.
I stopped looking for attention.
I started avoiding it instead.
I became quieter.
Less visible.
More… controlled.
But something strange happened.
Even as I rejected attention…
a part of me still wanted it.
Still reached for it.
Still remembered what it felt like to be noticed.
And that contradiction… stayed.
Inside me.
Time moved forward.
Middle school ended.
High school came.
And I became what I am now.
“Akira Tamyama.”
That name stopped being used.
Not officially.
But practically.
Because I created something else.
A separation.
A distance between who I was…
and who I became.
In the entertainment industry, I didn’t use my real name.
I became someone else.
“Isamu Sawada.”
A name that didn’t carry history.
A name that didn’t carry mistakes.
A name that wasn’t known by anyone from before.
At first, it was just a shield.
A way to perform without being “me.”
A way to exist without being judged for who I used to be.
But slowly…
Isamu Sawada became real to other people.
Fans.
Audiences.
People who only saw the version I allowed them to see.
And I kept it that way.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Distant.
Because distance is safer when people are watching.
But even then…
something inside me never fully disappeared.
That part of me that still remembered wanting to be seen.
Still remembered wanting attention.
Still remembered what it felt like to step forward instead of stepping back.
It didn’t die.
It just stayed quiet.
And sometimes…
when everything is silent…
I can still feel it there.
Like it never left at all.
But I learned how to hide it better than before.
Because now I know what happens when people see too much.
And that’s why I keep distance.
That’s why I stay silent.
That’s why I became what I am.
Not because I don’t care.
But because I care too much about what happens when I do.
And that’s the truth behind “Isamu Sawada.”
A name built from everything I tried to escape.
And everything I still haven’t fully let go of.
CHAPTER 4.2 THE MASK AND THE NAME
After middle school ended…
I thought things would change.
But the truth is…
I changed first.
High school didn’t fix anything.
It just gave me more space to hide.
More people who didn’t know my past.
More silence I could blend into.
But the world outside school was different.
It doesn’t care if you’re ready.
It just pushes you forward.
That’s how it started.
The industry.
It wasn’t planned.
Not something I dreamed about as a child.
It just… happened.
A random opportunity.
A door that opened when I wasn’t even looking for one.
At first, I didn’t want it.
Too many eyes.
Too many voices.
Too much attention.
But something inside me hesitated.
That same part that I thought I buried.
The part that still wanted to be seen.
So I said yes.
But not as myself.
Never as myself.
That was the condition I made in my own mind.
If I’m going to be seen…
I won’t let them see Akira Tamayama.
I created a name.
A different identity.
A version of me that wasn’t tied to anything before.
Isamu Sawada.
At first, it felt fake.
Like wearing clothes that didn’t belong to me.
Walking into rooms that weren’t meant for me.
Speaking lines that didn’t sound like my voice.
But slowly…
people started reacting.
They didn’t know me.
So they accepted me.
Easily.
Naturally.
“Who is that?”
“He’s good…”
“That presence…”
It wasn’t instant fame.
It was gradual recognition.
The kind that builds without permission.
And with every step forward…
Isamu Sawada became more real to others.
And less real to me.
I learned quickly how attention works in that world.
It’s not like school.
It’s sharper.
Cleaner.
More focused.
People don’t whisper there.
They watch.
They analyze.
They remember.
So I adapted.
I became calm.
Precise.
Controlled.
Every expression measured.
Every movement intentional.
Every word limited.
Because mistakes aren’t forgiven there.
They’re remembered.
And slowly…
the mask stopped feeling like a mask.
It started feeling like structure.
A way to exist without being overwhelmed.
A way to survive being seen.
But something strange happened again.
The more I controlled attention…
the more people gave it.
They called it “mysterious.”
“Cool.”
“Untouchable.”
“Gloomy”
They built a version of me I never agreed to become.
And I let them.
Because correcting them would mean revealing too much.
So I stayed silent.
I stayed distant.
I stayed “Isamu Sawada.”
But inside…
there was still friction.
That old version of me…
the one that used to raise his hand in class…
it didn’t disappear.
It just learned how to stay quiet while watching.
Sometimes, after filming…
when everything went silent again…
I would feel it.
That same emptiness.
That same contradiction.
Not wanting attention…
but not knowing how to live without it.
And that’s the part no one sees.
Not fans.
Not classmates.
Not anyone.
Because Isamu Sawada is only what people are allowed to see.
And Akira Tamyama is what I don’t allow anyone to reach.
But sometimes…
those two don’t feel so separate anymore.
Sometimes I wonder which one is real.
And which one is just survival.
CHAPTER 4.3 THE MASK AND THE NAME
I was all alone.
That’s what I believed.
That’s what I chose to believe.
Until someone decided not to listen to that choice.
Even when I pushed them away…
they didn’t leave.
Even when I stayed silent…
they kept talking.
Even when I acted like I didn’t care…
they still stayed close enough to matter.
It was like they were pulling a rope.
Harder.
And harder.
Not letting go.
No matter how much I tried to cut it.
That girl…
she didn’t react the way others did.
She didn’t laugh at distance.
She didn’t fear silence.
She didn’t step back when I pushed forward.
She stayed.
Even when I raised my voice internally…
she didn’t disappear.
Even when I acted cold…
she didn’t turn away.
Even when I built walls…
she just found another way to stand near them.
And slowly…
without me noticing…
she stopped being just “someone in class.”
She became something else.
Something constant.
Something I couldn’t ignore.
Hanoka Todoka.
People called her “Miss Hanoka.”
The school’s angel.
Someone untouchable in their eyes.
Someone placed above everyone without permission.
But I didn’t see that version of her.
Not really.
What I saw was different.
Someone who didn’t care about distance.
Someone who didn’t measure people by appearance.
Someone who didn’t ask what I looked like under the mask.
Someone who didn’t try to decode me like others did.
She just… stayed.
And that confused me more than anything else.
Because I understood attention.
I understood admiration.
I understood fear.
I understood rejection.
But I didn’t understand this.
Being accepted without conditions I could see.
No questions about who I was supposed to be.
No expectations about what I should become.
No reaction to the face I showed or hid.
Just presence.
And somewhere along that silence…
I stopped noticing when she became important.
It wasn’t sudden.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was slow.
Unfairly slow.
Like something growing without permission.
And now…
I realize it.
She is the one I think about when silence gets too loud.
The one I notice even when I pretend not to look.
The one whose presence feels heavier than anyone else’s attention ever did.
And that realization is dangerous.
Because I understand myself well enough to know what this is becoming.
But I also understand fear.
If I say it…
if I name it…
if I make it real…
there is a chance everything changes.
And not in a way I can control.
She might reject it.
She might step away.
She might start seeing me differently.
Like everyone else eventually does.
And that possibility…
is worse than silence.
Because silence I can handle.
Rejection I can survive.
But losing what this is before it even becomes anything…
that’s something I’m not ready for.
So I stay here.
Between distance and closeness.
Between silence and words.
Between what I feel…
and what I refuse to say.
Sometimes I wish time would stop at the way things are now.
Just stay like this.
No endings.
No changes.
No risks.
Just her smile.
Just that presence.
Just this strange peace I don’t understand.
Because when she smiles…
everything becomes quiet for a moment.
Not the world.
Me.
And in that silence…
I realize something I can’t fully admit out loud yet.
She is not just someone I noticed.
Not just someone who stayed.
Not just someone who broke my distance.
She is the one I don’t want to lose.
Even if I don’t know how to hold on properly.
Even if I don’t know what comes next.
And even if I’m afraid of what that means.
I still find myself hoping…
that these days don’t end.
Hey Isamu here, I just wanted to say “SHUT UP I WANTED TO DRIVE IT” see you in next volume!