Smoke hung thick inside Ota Office.
Manager Ota held a cigarette between his fingers, the ash grown long and forgotten.
His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Shin Kitahara, who had just walked through the door.
“You’re saying…” Ota swallowed hard.
“TBS didn’t just cast you — they took the role that was already promised to that Johnny’s newcomer… and gave it to you instead?” “Yeah.” Shin pulled out a chair and sat down, his expression calm as he poured himself a glass of water.
“My god…” Ota slapped a hand to his forehead.
Ash scattered across his pants.
“That’s TBS’s Monday 9 p.m.
slot!
Even as the third male lead, do you have any idea how many big agencies are fighting over that piece of meat?
How the hell did you pull that off, kid?” Shin smiled but offered no explanation.
“Pay negotiated yet?” “It is.” Ota perked up immediately and pulled a contract from the drawer.
“Since you’re new, it’s fifty thousand yen per episode.
The whole drama’s about ten episodes, so five hundred thousand total.
But TBS promised a bonus envelope if the ratings break twenty percent.” Five hundred thousand yen.
In the middle of the bubble economy, that amount wasn’t even enough for the big players to open a bottle at a Ginza bar.
But for Shin, who was still living off discount bentos, it was the first brick he had managed to set in this industry.
“Sign it.” Shin picked up the pen and wrote his name in clean strokes.
For a moment, decades of his previous life at Hengdian flashed behind his eyes.
Last time around, he could never land a role that even had a name.
This time, he had finally pried the door open.
… Three days later.
Akasaka.
TBS Television.
The costume fitting went smoothly.
When Shin stepped in front of the camera with slightly wavy long hair, a paint-stained linen shirt, and the equipped effect active, the lazy atmosphere in the studio changed instantly.
The photographer didn’t shout instructions.
He simply started hitting the shutter at a frantic, relentless pace.
Click-click-click-click!
That rapid-fire shutter sound was the highest form of praise an actor could receive.
Shin’s fragile, artistic presence even seemed to overpower the harsh glare of the studio strobes.
During a break, Shin headed to the restroom.
The corridor was busy with people coming and going.
He washed his face and was about to return to the studio when a familiar figure made him pause at the corner of the fire escape.
Akina Nakamori.
She was here today to record a music program, wearing her signature glamorous full skirt.
But right now she was backed into the corner by a middle-aged man in a suit.
The man had his back to Shin, his tone sharp and angry.
“…What the hell is wrong with you?
Why didn’t you cooperate with the press conference for Kanai-san?
Do you have any idea how much money the company spent suppressing those stories?
Who exactly are you throwing a tantrum for right now?” Akina kept her head down, fingers gripping the lace hem of her skirt so tightly her knuckles were white.
She didn’t say a word.
Shin didn’t step forward.
He knew his place.
He was just a small actor who had barely landed a role.
Rushing in to play hero would only make the situation more awkward and wouldn’t solve a damn thing.
He simply stood quietly in the shadows of the corner and took out a cigarette.
Click.
The crisp metallic sound of the Zippo opening cut clearly through the noisy corridor.
The middle-aged man who had been scolding her paused and glanced back.
He saw a long-haired young man lighting a cigarette, his eyes cold and indifferent — the equipped effect still active.
The man was thrown off by that “stay away” aura.
Plus, this was a television station corridor.
He didn’t dare keep yelling.
“Reflect on yourself properly!
And don’t screw up when you go on stage later!” He threw the words over his shoulder and hurried off.
Only Akina remained in the corner.
She slowly lifted her head and looked toward Shin.
Her eyes were red, but her face was dry.
She had long since learned to swallow her tears in this industry.
Shin didn’t speak either.
He simply closed the silver Zippo in his hand.
Click.
It was a sound she recognized.
Akina stared at the lighter, then at Shin.
She remembered him — the stranger from that night a few days ago.
She glanced left and right to make sure no one was paying attention, lifted the complicated hem of her skirt, and walked quickly over to him.
“Borrow a light.” Her voice was soft, carrying a faint nasal tone from the scolding she had just received.
Shin didn’t ask why she had been yelled at.
He didn’t show any over-the-top concern.
He simply flicked the lighter open again.
The orange flame danced.
Akina didn’t actually smoke — she was about to go on stage and couldn’t have the smell on her.
She just stared at the small flame for a while, as if confirming something, or maybe just using that tiny bit of light to catch her breath.
“Fixed it?” she asked.
“Added some oil,” Shin answered.
The exchange was simple, like two strangers making small talk while waiting for a traffic light.
“That’s good.” Akina drew in a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and put the “national songstress” mask back on.
The vulnerability and embarrassment from moments ago disappeared behind practiced ease.
Before she turned to leave, she glanced once more at the lighter in Shin’s hand.
“Then just keep it with you for now.” She didn’t say “it’s yours” or “take care of it for me.” She left only that ambiguous sentence behind and walked toward the stage.
“Anyway, I always end up losing it.” Shin watched her glamorous yet slightly lonely back disappear around the corner.
The Zippo in his hand felt faintly warm.
[System Prompt: Bond formed with key character “Akina Nakamori.”] [Status Obtained: Songstress’s Gaze (Level 1)] Note: She remembered you.
In this suffocating world of fame and profit, you had become a slightly special passerby in her eyes.
Shin slipped the lighter back into his pocket and turned toward the studio.
This was just an interlude.
What mattered more to him right now was whether the costume photos would satisfy the producers.
After all, that was what guaranteed his next meal.