Nine in the morning.
The white Toyota Crown slowly made its way back into central Tokyo.
Morning traffic coiled around the Metropolitan Expressway like an enormous steel serpent.
Outside the windows came the relentless blare of horns and the thunder of construction sites.
The deathly stillness and strange serenity of the beach only a few hours earlier already felt like a distant dream.
“Pull over at the next intersection.”
In the passenger seat, Akina Nakamori slipped on her sunglasses and mask, once again armoring herself as the flawless national songstress the public expected to see.
“If you drive me all the way to my apartment, the reporters waiting outside will photograph us.”
Shin Kitahara did as she asked and pulled over.
Akina unfastened her seat belt and placed a hand on the door handle, but paused before opening it.
She turned toward Shin, studying him from behind the dark lenses.
“I’ll have your trench coat cleaned before I return it.”
“There’s no hurry.” Shin rested both hands on the steering wheel, his expression calm.
“If you run into someone you don’t want to see, or get dragged into some gathering you don’t want to attend, put it on.
Even if it’s only psychological, maybe it’ll keep some of the wind off you.”
The corner of Akina’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Mm.
I’m going.”
She opened the door and quickly disappeared into the morning crowd.
She never looked back.
Her steps were hurried, but her back remained straight.
Shin watched her disappear, then pulled a mint from his pocket and tossed it into his mouth.
The fragile figure who had nearly collapsed on the beach was gone.
In her place, a fighter had awakened—someone ready to step back into the mud and keep fighting.
…
Three days later.
Ota Agency.
Shin’s manager, Ota, stood clutching a freshly received fax, his hands shaking as though he were playing an invisible guitar.
“Kitahara!
Kitahara, get over here!
What the hell is this?!”
His face was bright red with excitement, and the cigarette hanging from his lips was on the verge of falling.
“An audition invitation for Director Kinji Fukasaku’s new film?!
And they specifically requested you?!”
Kinji Fukasaku.
The legendary director behind Battles Without Honor and Humanity, and one of the defining names of Japan’s hard-edged yakuza cinema.
Landing a role in one of his films—even as some thug who got beaten to death after five minutes—could add real weight to an actor’s résumé.
Shin took the fax and skimmed it.
The role was a ruthless wakagashira—the second-in-command of a yakuza organization—and it carried a substantial amount of screen time.
“Ota-san, calm down.
It’s only an audition.”
Shin remained perfectly composed.
“Only an audition?
This is a Fukasaku production!” Ota was practically spinning in circles.
“An agency our size normally can’t even get a résumé onto their desk!
What kind of ridiculous luck is this?
Did your seppuku scene in the Taiga drama move Director Fukasaku to tears or something?”
Shin didn’t explain.
But he knew exactly who had dropped this opportunity into his lap.
…
At the same time, inside a Ken-On agency van carrying Akina Nakamori.
“Akina, don’t you think asking someone to put in a word with Director Fukasaku was a little impulsive?”
Her manager looked at Akina, who was resting with her eyes closed, and spoke with a hint of reproach.
“That Shin Kitahara is still just a young actor who’s only recently started getting noticed.
What if the gossip magazines start writing that the two of you have some kind of relationship?”
“We don’t.”
Akina opened her eyes and cut him off.
Her gaze was cool and clear, carrying a firmness her manager had rarely seen before.
“Then why help him?”
“Because in this industry…”
Akina turned toward the cityscape racing past the window.
Almost unconsciously, her fingers brushed the neatly folded men’s trench coat tucked inside her bag.
“He’s the only friend I trust.”
Not a lover.
Not someone she was fooling around with.
A friend.
In an entertainment industry built on favors, betrayal, and lies, that word could carry more weight than lover ever did.
A lover might sell you out for money.
But a true friend was someone willing to drive you to the ocean in the middle of the night when you were at your lowest, just so you could watch the sun rise again.
Her manager fell silent.
He had been with Akina for years, yet he had never seen that expression on her face before.
Fragile…
…and unbreakable.
…
Shin didn’t let the invitation from Fukasaku’s production go to his head.
To him, it was simply Akina returning the favor in her own way.
But what Shin intended to build for her wasn’t merely another favor.
It was a real line of defense.
…
Eight that evening, an old-fashioned izakaya in Shinbashi.
The place was thick with cigarette smoke and noisy conversation.
It was where exhausted salarymen came to drink away the day’s frustration—and where rumors traveled faster than almost anywhere else in Tokyo.
Shin sat in a booth tucked into the corner.
Across from him was an elderly man with thinning hair and a flushed face.
His name was Sato.
He had once been one of the star paparazzi reporters for a weekly gossip magazine.
After problems with his legs forced him to retire from fieldwork, he had begun making a living trading industry rumors and inside information.
Shin had met him through a veteran crew member on the Taiga drama set.
“Kitahara, my boy, you’re asking me to dig into Kanai?”
Sato drained his sake with a loud slurp and lowered his voice.
“That kid is one of Johnny’s precious favorites.
Poking around him isn’t exactly risk-free.”
“I’m not trying to leak a scandal.” Shin poured more sake into the old man’s cup.
“I just want to know what kind of hole that racing team of his really is.”
As he finished pouring, Shin took an envelope from his pocket and slid it quietly across the table.
It wasn’t particularly thick.
But for someone who had only recently begun earning decent acting fees, it was still a significant expense.
Sato squeezed the envelope between his fingers.
A sharp glint appeared in his cloudy eyes.
“Heh.
Since you’re willing to be this straightforward, I’ll give you something to start with.”
He leaned closer, his breath heavy with alcohol.
“That racing team is mostly a front.
What he’s really gotten hooked on is the underground stuff.”
Sato’s voice dropped another level.
“Lately, he’s supposedly lost a lot of money at a few underground gambling rooms in Roppongi.
I’ve even heard he dipped into funds his agency had set aside for him to buy a house.”
“He used agency money?”
“That’s not all.”
Sato gave a humorless laugh.
“From what I’ve heard, he’s desperately looking for someone else to fill the hole.
There’s also a senior executive at his agency who’s helping cover things up because Kanai has some kind of leverage over him.”
He picked up a piece of edamame.
“Their current plan is simple: find a rich woman gullible enough to inherit the mess.”
Shin’s fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop.
So that was it.
Exactly as he’d suspected.
This wasn’t some messy romantic dispute.
It was a carefully constructed financial trap.
And Akina had been chosen to take the fall.
“Who’s the executive?” Shin asked.
“And can you get actual records of the money changing hands?”
“That’ll cost more, and it’ll take time.”
Sato popped the edamame into his mouth.
“But I still know a few old friends who work security around those gambling places.
If the money’s right, getting copies of a few IOUs shouldn’t be impossible.”
“I’ll prepare the money.”
Shin’s eyes were cold as ice.
“As quickly as possible.
I want something solid before July.”
July 11, 1989.
In the history Shin remembered, that was the date associated with the infamous “Gold Screen Incident.”
Akina would be lured to a press conference under the impression that a marriage announcement awaited her, only to be pushed into publicly apologizing and taking the blame for her own breakdown while distancing Kanai from responsibility.
It would become one of the most devastating days of her career.
But right now, it was still April.
Three months remained.
“All right.” Sato tucked away the envelope.
“I like doing business with people who don’t waste time.
Leave it to me.”
…
Late that night, Shin returned to his apartment.
He didn’t turn on the lights.
Instead, he sat alone in the darkened living room, turning the silver Zippo over between his fingers.
Click.
A small flame sprang to life.
After that night by the sea—after the two of them had silently accepted that they would stand behind each other when it mattered—Shin could feel that his connection with the item had become stronger than ever before.
Bzzz—
A long-absent system notification appeared across his vision.
[Equipment: The Songstress’s Abandoned Silver Zippo — Purple / Rare]
[Current Compatibility: 40%]
[New Trait Unlocked: Warmth of the Embers]
[Trait Effect: When portraying characters defined by ‘protection’ or ‘endurance,’ Charisma +20%.
At the same time, this item appears to be resonating with the fate of a particular person.
At some crucial moment in the future, that resonance may produce an unexpected effect.]
“Resonance, huh…”
Shin watched the flame dance.
A cold smile slowly appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Click.
He closed the lid and tightened his fist around the Zippo.
Then he stood, crossed to the table, and spread out the script for Kinji Fukasaku’s film.
If he wanted to protect someone else…
…then first, he had to become stronger himself.