Early December, the streets of Tokyo were already strung with Christmas lights and decorations.
Winter Sunflower had officially aired its fourth episode.
Monday 9 p.m.
slot or not, the ratings were climbing steadily.
What surprised TBS the most was how the “mute painter,” originally written as pure background, had sparked real talk among female viewers.
In the high-rise offices of Ginza, lunch-break office ladies huddled in the break rooms, voices low and excited.
“Did you watch last night?
That painter.” “I did, I did!
The way he looked at the female lead… not a single word, but my heart was breaking the whole time.” “Compared to the male lead who only knows how to yell, this kind of quiet man has way more flavor.” … Ota Office.
“Five hundred thousand.” Manager Ota slapped the contract onto the desk.
His usual worried face was creased with smiles in every fold.
“Half a day’s shoot for a print ad.
That’s the number they came back with.” Shin Kitahara picked up the contract and glanced through it.
The client was a major beverage company.
The product was a new canned black coffee launching in the new year — “Midnight.” “They watched the drama.
The head of their advertising department took one look at you and was sold,” Ota said, lighting a cigarette, pride thick in his voice.
“He said the idols out there are all too sweet these days.
You’ve got this ‘bitter aftertaste’ thing going on.
Perfect for a black coffee aimed at the overtime crowd.” “‘Bitter aftertaste,’ huh?” Shin let out a quiet laugh.
The description was dead-on.
“And they specifically want you holding that…” Ota pointed at Shin’s pocket.
“That silver lighter.
They think the ‘playing with fire’ gesture looks especially sexy.” Shin touched the Zippo through the fabric of his jacket.
“When’s the shoot?” “Tomorrow afternoon.
Studio in Shibuya.” Ota flicked ash into the tray.
“This is your first commercial, Shin.
Just print for now, but if it moves, TV spots could follow.” … The next day, at a commercial photography studio in Shibuya.
Shin showed once again why he was an old hand at this game.
The ad theme was “Solace in the Urban Night.” A massive black backdrop, cool-toned lighting meant to feel like Tokyo’s late-night streets.
Shin wore a simple black turtleneck, the can of “Midnight” in his hand.
“Alright, Kitahara-san, give me that look — stayed at the office until midnight, exhausted but still can’t bring yourself to go home.” The photographer directed from behind the camera.
Shin gave a small nod.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and activated the Songstress’s Abandoned Silver Zippo.
[Equip Effect: Story Sense — Medium Output] At the same time he put on the Screenwriter’s Glasses.
He quickly parsed the subtext behind the ad copy.
“Click.” He thumbed the Zippo open with one hand.
The orange-yellow flame flickered against the dark background, lighting up half his face.
He wasn’t looking at the camera or the coffee.
His eyes stayed on the flame, deep and distant.
Like it was the only warmth he could still reach in this city.
The sudden wave of loneliness made the busy studio sounds drop a few notches.
“Perfect!” The photographer’s shutter rattled off like automatic fire.
“That’s the feeling!
That lonely bubble-era individual!
Hold it!” The client rep standing nearby nodded hard.
“Print that look on the poster and every salaryman on the last train home is buying a can.” What was supposed to take four hours wrapped in two.
… Three days later.
Shin stopped by the bank to update his passbook.
Staring at the new balance with its extra zeros, he exhaled a long cloud of white breath.
After the agency’s cut and taxes, he cleared about three hundred fifty thousand yen.
Adding what he already had saved, his account had crossed six hundred thousand yen for the first time.
In 1988 Tokyo that kind of money wasn’t enough to buy a place — pure fantasy — but it was more than enough for something he’d been wanting to do for a while.
He left the bank and walked straight into a real estate office.
“Welcome!
Looking to rent or buy today?” The young agent greeted him with a bright smile.
“Rent.” Shin grabbed the latest housing magazine off the rack, voice steady.
“Nakano or Koenji area.
One condition: private bathroom with a bathtub I can actually soak in.” The six-tatami dump he had now only had a shared toilet.
Showers meant the public bathhouse down the street.
For someone who pulled all-nighters and came home soaked in sweat, it was a real pain in the ass.
Especially in winter.
Walk home from a hot bath with wet hair and it could freeze solid.
“Private bath…” The agent flipped through the listings.
“1DK units with their own bathroom are hot right now.
Rent runs sixty to eighty thousand yen a month, and the key money’s steep.” A month ago, eighty thousand yen would have sent him walking right back out the door.
Not today.
“Take me to see a few.” Shin closed the magazine.
“Clean and quiet is all I care about.
Money’s not the problem.” … That same afternoon he found a place he liked in Nakano.
Second floor, but good natural light.
The real draw was the small white enamel bathtub — scrubbed clean and just big enough for an adult to stretch out in.
Standing in the empty room, Shin could already picture himself sunk in hot water, glass of red wine in one hand, script in the other.
“I’ll take it.” Contract signed.
Key money paid.
When you had the cash, decisions moved fast.
He stepped out of the agency into the evening dark.
Tokyo’s neon had already come alive, painting the city of desires in bright colors.
Shin stood on the pedestrian bridge, watching the river of headlights flowing below.
A month ago he’d been a nobody extra scraping by on cheap bentos, sleeping in a freezing, leaky room.
Now he was the third lead on a hit drama, had a commercial deal, and was moving into an apartment with its own bathtub.
All of it because of the silver Zippo Akina Nakamori had left him.
He pulled out one of the sample cans of “Midnight” the company had given him, cracked the tab, and took a long pull.
Bitter.
Cold.
A faint sweetness lingering at the back of the throat.
“Not bad at all.” Shin smiled and banked the empty can into the nearest trash bin.