Nine o’clock in the morning.
The white Toyota Crown eased back into Tokyo proper.
Morning rush-hour traffic coiled around the elevated expressways like a steel serpent.
Horns blared.
Construction sites roared.
The dead silence and strange clarity of the beach a few hours earlier already felt like a distant dream.
“Pull over at the next intersection.” Akina Nakamori, back in the passenger seat, had already put on her sunglasses and mask, once again armored as the untouchable national songstress.
“If you drop me right in front of the building, the reporters camped out there will get pictures.” Shin eased the car to the curb.
Akina unbuckled her seatbelt, hand on the door handle, then paused.
She turned and looked at him through the dark lenses.
“I’ll wash the windbreaker and give it back.” “No rush,” Shin said, both hands resting on the wheel, voice calm.
“If you ever run into someone you don’t want to see, or get dragged to some party you don’t want to attend, put it on.
Even if it’s just in your head, it might block a little of the wind.” The corner of Akina’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Mm.
I’m going.” She pushed the door open and disappeared quickly into the crowd.
She didn’t look back.
Her steps were hurried, but her back was straight.
Shin watched her go, fished a mint from his pocket, and popped it into his mouth.
The trembling shadow from the beach was gone.
In its place was a fighter who had decided to keep battling in the mud.
… Three days later.
Ota Office.
Manager Ota stood clutching a fax sheet, his hand shaking like he was playing guitar.
“Shin!
Shin, get over here and look at this!
What the hell is this?!” Ota’s face was flushed red, the cigarette in his mouth in danger of falling out.
“An audition invitation from director Kinji Fukasaku’s new film?!
And it’s a direct, named invitation for you?!” Kinji Fukasaku.
The godfather of Japanese violent cinema.
The legendary director of Battles Without Honor and Humanity.
Even landing a small role in one of his films — even playing a guy who gets beaten to death — would gild anyone’s résumé.
Shin took the fax and glanced at it.
The role was a cold-blooded yakuza wakagashira — second-in-command — with substantial screen time.
“Ota-san, calm down.
It’s only an audition,” Shin said evenly.
“This is the Fukasaku crew!
A tiny agency like ours doesn’t even have a way to submit résumés normally!” Ota was still spinning in excited circles.
“What kind of insane luck is this?
Did your seppuku scene in the taiga drama move Fukasaku-sensei to tears or something?” Shin didn’t explain.
But he knew exactly who had dropped this gift from the sky.
… At the same time, inside a van belonging to Ken On Productions — Akina Nakamori’s agency.
“Akina, wasn’t it a little reckless to pull strings with Fukasaku’s team?” Her manager watched her resting with eyes closed, voice carrying a note of reproach.
“That Kitahara guy is just a newcomer who’s barely starting to break through.
You used your own connections to push him forward — was it worth it?
What if the gossip magazines start writing that there’s something between you two…” “There’s nothing between us.” Akina opened her eyes and cut her manager off.
Her gaze was cold and carried a kind of resolve she had never shown before.
“Then why help him?” “Because in this industry…” Akina turned to look out at the blurring city streets.
Her hand unconsciously touched the neatly folded men’s windbreaker inside her bag.
“He’s the only friend I trust.” Not “lover.” Not “plaything.” “Friend.” In an entertainment world built on transactional relationships, betrayal, and lies, the word “friend” carried more weight than “lover.” Because a lover might sell you out for money.
But a real friend was the person who, when you were at your lowest, would drive you to the sea to watch the sunrise.
Her manager fell silent.
He had worked with Akina for years and had never seen this expression on her face — fragile and steel-hard at the same time.
… Shin didn’t let the Fukasaku audition go to his head.
To him, this was simply Akina returning the favor.
What he needed to do now was build a real line of defense.
Eight o’clock that night.
An old-fashioned izakaya in Shinbashi.
The place was thick with cigarette smoke and noise — a pressure-release valve for salarymen and the fastest marketplace for rumors in the industry.
Shin sat in a corner booth.
Across from him was a balding older man with a flushed face.
The man’s name was Sato.
He used to be a star paparazzo for the gossip weeklies.
After his legs started giving him trouble he retired and now traded in industry secrets.
Shin had met him on the taiga drama set.
The old man was a relative of one of the veteran crew members.
“Kid, you want dirt on that Kanai brat?” Sato knocked back a glass of sake in one go and lowered his voice.
“He’s Johnny’s golden boy.
Digging into him carries risk.” “I’m not looking to leak anything.
I just want to know what kind of hole that racing team of his actually is.” Shin refilled the old man’s glass and slid a plain envelope across the table.
It wasn’t thick, but for someone who had only recently started earning real money, it was still a noticeable expense.
Sato pinched the envelope, feeling its weight.
A sharp glint flashed in his cloudy eyes.
“Hey, since you’re being straight with me, I’ll give you the real story.” Sato leaned in, breath heavy with alcohol.
“That racing team is just a front.
What he’s really hooked on is underground stuff… Lately he’s been losing big at a few illegal casinos in Roppongi.
Word is he even dipped into the agency’s housing fund they set up for him.” “Embezzling agency money?” Shin’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s not all.” Sato gave a cold laugh.
“I also heard he’s scrambling to find someone to cover the hole.
And there’s a higher-up at his agency who’s got his own dirt to hide, so he’s helping cover for the kid.
Their current plan is simple — find some rich, stupid woman and dump the whole mess on her.” Shin’s fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop.
Exactly what he had suspected.
This wasn’t some messy romance.
This was a carefully engineered financial scam.
And Akina was the chosen scapegoat.
“Who’s the higher-up?
Any actual evidence of the money trail?” Shin asked.
“That’ll cost extra.
And it’ll take time.” Sato picked up a pair of chopsticks and grabbed some edamame.
“But I’ve got a couple old buddies who work security at those casinos… As long as the money’s right, getting copies of a few IOUs isn’t hard.” “I’ll have the money ready.” Shin’s gaze was ice.
“The sooner the better.
Especially before July.
I need solid proof.” July 11, 1989.
That was the day of the infamous “Gold Byobu Incident.” The day Kanai used a gold folding screen to announce his engagement and dragged Akina to the press conference, forcing her to publicly apologize and claim her suicide attempt had been her own selfish act, unrelated to him.
That was the day they tried to completely destroy Akina Nakamori.
It was currently April.
Three months left.
“Got it.
I like dealing with straightforward people like you.” Sato pocketed the envelope.
“Wait for my call.” … Late at night.
Back at the apartment.
Shin didn’t turn on the lights.
He sat in the dark living room, turning the silver Zippo over in his hands.
Click.
The flame jumped.
After the night at the beach and the establishment of this mutual-support relationship, he could feel the connection between himself and the item had grown stronger than ever.
Hum— A long-absent system prompt appeared in his vision.
[Equipped: Songstress’s Abandoned Silver Zippo (Purple · Rare)] [Current Compatibility: 40%] [New Entry Unlocked: The Warmth of Embers] [Entry Effect: When performing roles involving “protection” or “silent endurance,” Charm +20%.
Additionally, this item appears to be resonating with a specific person’s fate.
It may prove unexpectedly useful at a critical future moment.] “Resonance, huh…” Shin watched the small flame, the corner of his mouth curving into a cold smile.
He snapped the lid shut and closed his fist around the Zippo.
He stood, walked to the table, and spread open the script for Kinji Fukasaku’s film.
If he wanted to protect someone else, he first had to become stronger himself.