February 13, 1989.
The night before Valentine’s Day.
Even though the social atmosphere was still lingering in the aftermath of “jishuku,” the restless energy of young people could no longer be contained.
Long lines had formed in front of department stores in Ginza — girls waiting to buy chocolate gift boxes.
But for Akina Nakamori, this night felt like a hunt with no escape.
Every gossip magazine had its eyes on her.
Cameras were camped outside her agency’s door.
Someone had even squatted in the flowerbed below her apartment building for three days and nights, just to catch a photo of her with that man.
“Akina-chan, Mr.
Kanai said he has a racing team event tonight and won’t be coming back.” “Akina-chan, tomorrow’s schedule…” Outside the car window was the constant bombardment of flashbulbs.
Inside was her manager’s endless stream of schedule updates.
“Stop the car.” “But…” “I said stop the car!” Akina suddenly exploded.
At a red light, she took advantage of the van slowing down, yanked the door open, and jumped out.
She slipped into a taxi waiting at the light.
She shook off her manager.
She shook off the shackles of being the “national songstress.” … Nine o’clock that night.
Nakano Ward.
Shin was at home making oden.
The daikon had already turned soft and translucent, soaked through with the essence of bonito broth.
The apartment was warm, filled with the comforting smell of food.
He was holding the taiga drama script, working out tomorrow’s blocking, when the black pager on the corner of the table suddenly went off.
He picked it up.
An unfamiliar public phone number.
After a moment’s thought, Shin called it back.
The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up.
All he heard on the other end was heavy breathing and the distant, muffled sound of traffic.
“Hello?” Shin said cautiously.
“…I’m downstairs at your place.” Akina’s voice was low, hoarse with exhaustion.
“I didn’t know where else to go.
After driving around for a while, I asked your manager and came here.” Shin paused.
He walked to the window, pulled the curtain back a little, and looked down.
Parked in the dark narrow alley below was an ordinary black sedan.
The headlights were off, like a wounded animal hiding in its burrow.
“Turn off the engine.
Kill the lights.” Shin spoke calmly into the receiver.
“Wait two minutes.” Two minutes later.
Shin came downstairs wearing a gray tracksuit with a down vest over it.
In one hand he carried a stainless steel thermos.
Draped over his arm was a thick wool blanket.
He didn’t go to the driver’s side.
He walked straight to the passenger door, opened it, and got in.
The car was cold.
Akina hadn’t dared turn on the heater, afraid it would draw attention.
She wore sunglasses and a mask, curled up in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Shin closed the door.
The narrow space inside the car immediately filled with the warm scent of oden.
He didn’t say anything.
He simply shook out the wool blanket and gently draped it over her.
Then he unscrewed the thermos lid, poured a cup of steaming barley tea, and placed it into her cold hands.
“Drink some.
Warm your hands.” Akina held the cup that was still releasing white steam, as if she were holding a hot iron.
She lowered her head, took off the mask, and greedily breathed in the scent of the tea.
That simple, everyday smell instantly washed away the lingering traces of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke in her nose.
“I’ll only stay a little while,” she said, her voice carrying a trace of pleading.
“If it’s inconvenient…” “No one charges for parking here.” Shin cut her off, his tone as light as if he were talking about the weather.
“Stay as long as you want.” He adjusted the seat back, found a comfortable half-reclined position, and under the dim yellow glow of the streetlight, opened the script in his hands again.
He didn’t stare at her.
He didn’t ask why she had come.
He simply read quietly, occasionally taking a sip from the thermos.
As if the person sitting beside him wasn’t Japan’s most famous female star, but just an old friend sharing a ride home.
The car was quiet.
Only the soft rustle of turning pages and the occasional whisper of wind outside.
This kind of quiet was pure luxury to Akina Nakamori, who was used to noise, screaming, and endless questions.
Slowly, her hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel.
Under the wool blanket, her body gradually warmed.
The nerves that had been stretched tight all day began to loosen, little by little, in this small, safe space.
She didn’t even know why she had come to find Shin.
It was just instinct.
After all, the last time, he had saved her too.
So if it was him… he probably wouldn’t hurt her.
It wasn’t trust.
It was simply the natural choice of someone who had nowhere else to turn.
Ten minutes later, Shin heard steady breathing beside him.
He turned his head slightly.
Akina had fallen asleep with her head tilted to the side.
Her sunglasses had slipped halfway down, revealing eyes that still looked exhausted even when closed.
Shin didn’t move.
He even slowed down the sound of turning pages.
He stood guard for forty minutes.
Until the distant wail of a police siren reached them, Akina suddenly jolted awake.
She sat up in a panic, the blanket sliding off.
“What time is it?” “Ten-thirty.” Shin checked his watch.
“You slept for forty minutes.” Akina rubbed her eyes, looking a little embarrassed.
She had actually fallen asleep defenselessly in a car with a man.
“Sorry, I…” “No need to apologize.” Shin screwed the thermos lid back on.
“Feeling recharged?” Akina paused, then nodded.
That short but complete break from the outside world’s chaos had made her feel like she had come back to life.
“Thank you.” She put her sunglasses and mask back on and placed her hand on the ignition.
“I should go.” “Drive carefully.
The roads are slippery in the snow.
Don’t go too fast.” Shin didn’t try to stop her.
He opened the door and got out.
He stood in the cold wind, watching the car start up, its taillights glowing two red halos.
The car slowly pulled out of the alley and merged into the flow of traffic on the main road, eventually disappearing from sight.
Shin stood there for a while longer, until his hands began to stiffen from the cold.
Only then did he shove them into his pockets and turn back toward the apartment building.
Upstairs, that pot of oden was probably cold by now.