By early December, Tokyo’s streets were already glittering with Christmas decorations.
Winter Sunflower had officially aired its fourth episode.
With a coveted prime-time slot behind it, the drama’s ratings were steadily climbing.
What surprised TBS most, however, was that the mute painter – a character originally meant to exist almost entirely in the background – had unexpectedly become a hot topic among female viewers.
In Ginza office buildings, female office workers were already whispering about him in break rooms during lunch.
“Did you watch last night?
The painter?”
“Of course!
That look he gave the heroine…
He didn’t say a single word, but I swear my heart broke.”
“Exactly.
Compared with the male lead who does nothing but shout, a quiet man like that has so much more charm.”
…
Ota Agency.
“Five hundred thousand yen.”
Ota slapped a contract onto the desk.
The manager’s usually gloomy face was now creased with such a broad grin that even his wrinkles seemed cheerful.
“Half a day’s work.
A print ad.
That’s what they’re offering.”
Shin Kitahara picked up the contract and skimmed through it.
The client was a major beverage company, and the product was a new canned black coffee scheduled to launch in the coming year: Midnight.
“They saw you in the drama, and the head of their advertising department took one look at you and decided you were exactly what they wanted.” Ota lit a cigarette, unable to hide his pride.
“According to them, every idol on the market right now is too sweet.
You, on the other hand, have this…”
He paused, searching for the phrase.
“A bitter taste with a sweet aftertaste.
That’s how they described it.
Apparently, it’s perfect for a black coffee aimed at salarymen working late into the night.”
“A bitter taste with a sweet aftertaste, huh?”
Shin smiled.
It was surprisingly accurate.
“There’s one more thing.” Ota pointed toward Shin’s pocket.
“They specifically requested that you use that silver lighter during the shoot.
They saw the way you handle it and said the whole ‘playing with fire’ gesture looks sexy.”
Shin brushed his fingers over the Zippo in his pocket.
“When’s the shoot?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, at a commercial studio in Shibuya.” Ota flicked ash from his cigarette.
“Kitahara, this is your first real commercial endorsement. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
It’s only print advertising for now, but if the product sells well, a television commercial could come next.”
…
The following afternoon, at a commercial photography studio in Shibuya, Shin once again demonstrated the efficiency of a veteran who knew exactly what a camera needed.
The concept for the advertisement was ‘Comfort in the City After Midnight.’
A massive black backdrop filled the studio, while cool-toned lighting recreated the lonely atmosphere of Tokyo’s streets late at night.
Shin wore a simple black turtleneck and held a black can of Midnight coffee in one hand.
“All right, Kitahara-san,” the photographer called.
“Give me the expression of a man who’s worked until the middle of the night.
He’s exhausted, but for some reason…
he still doesn’t want to go home.”
Shin gave a small nod.
In his mind, he activated the Silver Zippo.
[Equipment Effect: Sense of Story – Medium Output]
At the same time, he activated the Screenwriter’s Glasses and instantly broke down the emotional logic hidden beneath the advertising brief.
Click.
With one hand, Shin flipped open the Zippo.
A small orange flame danced against the darkness, illuminating only half of his face.
He didn’t look at the camera.
He didn’t look at the coffee either.
His gaze remained fixed on the flame, distant and unfathomably deep.
As though it wasn’t merely fire, but the last bit of warmth he could still hold on to in this enormous city.
The loneliness in that expression was so immediate that even the noisy studio seemed to quiet around him.
“That’s it!
Fantastic!”
The photographer’s shutter began rattling like a machine gun.
“Hold that!
That’s exactly what I want – the loneliness of one person buried beneath the glitter of the bubble era!”
The brand representative standing nearby nodded repeatedly.
“Put those eyes on a poster and every exhausted salaryman riding the last train home is going to want a can.”
The shoot had originally been scheduled for four hours.
They finished in two.
…
Three days later, Shin stopped by the bank to update his passbook.
When he saw the new figures printed beside his balance, he slowly breathed out a cloud of white mist into the winter air.
After the agency’s commission and taxes, he had received roughly three hundred and fifty thousand yen.
Added to the money left from his acting salary, his savings had finally passed six hundred thousand yen for the first time.
In 1988 Tokyo, six hundred thousand yen wasn’t remotely enough to buy a home.
But it was enough for something Shin had wanted to do for a long time.
He walked out of the bank and headed straight into a real-estate agency.
“Welcome!
“Rent.”
Shin picked up the latest property magazine from a rack.
His voice was calm, but there was no hesitation in it.
“I’m looking around Nakano or Koenji.
I only have one absolute requirement: a private bathroom, and it needs a bathtub I can actually soak in.”
His current six-tatami apartment only had a shared toilet, and whenever he wanted a bath, he had to walk to the public bathhouse on the corner.
For an actor who frequently worked late and often came home drenched in sweat, it was painfully inconvenient.
Winter made it even worse.
After stepping out of a steaming bathhouse, the walk home was cold enough to make his wet hair feel as though it might freeze.
“A private bath…” The agent flipped through his listings.
“One-bedroom-and-kitchen apartments with private bathrooms are in high demand right now.
You’re probably looking at sixty to eighty thousand yen a month, and the initial move-in costs – key money and deposit – will be fairly high.”
A month ago, hearing the words ‘eighty thousand yen a month’ would have been enough to make Shin turn around and leave.
Now, however…
“Show me what you’ve got.” Shin closed the magazine.
“As long as it’s clean and quiet, the price isn’t a problem.”
…
That same afternoon, he found an apartment he liked in Nakano Ward.
It was on the second floor and received plenty of natural light.
More importantly, the white enamel bathtub was small but spotless, and just large enough for an adult to stretch out and soak properly.
Standing in the empty room, Shin could already picture himself submerged in hot water with a glass of red wine nearby and a script in his hands.
“I’ll take it.”
He signed the lease and paid the initial fees.
When you had money in your pocket, even decisions became easier to make.
By the time Shin left the real-estate office, night had fallen.
Tokyo’s neon signs had come alive once again, bathing the city of ambition and desire in brilliant color.
Shin stopped on a pedestrian overpass and watched the endless stream of headlights flowing beneath him.
Only a month ago, he had been an unknown extra worrying over a few hundred yen for dinner, sleeping in a drafty old room that barely kept out the cold.
Now he was the third male lead in a popular television drama, had landed his first commercial endorsement, and was about to move into an apartment with his own bathtub.
And all of it had begun with the silver Zippo Akina Nakamori had left behind.
Shin reached into his pocket and pulled out a complimentary sample can of Midnight black coffee the company had given him.
He opened it and took a long drink.
Bitter.
Cold.
And after a moment, just a hint of sweetness lingered on his tongue.
“Not bad.”
Shin smiled and tossed the empty can cleanly into a nearby trash bin.