Shibuya, Ota Agency.
“You’ve really got a few tricks up your sleeve, don’t you?”
Ota sat in his slightly wobbly office chair, a cigarette pinched between his fingers and burned down so far that the ember was almost touching his skin.
Squinting through the smoke, he studied Shin Kitahara across the desk.
He exhaled a smoke ring, pulled a thick envelope from his drawer, and slapped it lightly against the tabletop.
“The producer at TBS just called me.
The drama’s still filming, but apparently your performance has ‘far exceeded expectations.’ They made a special exception and approved an advance on part of your pay.”
Ota slid the envelope across the desk.
There was no hiding the surprise in his voice.
“I’ve managed plenty of newcomers over the years, but you’re the first one I’ve seen convince those penny-pinching television accountants to hand over money early.”
Shin reached for the envelope.
He didn’t open it immediately.
He didn’t need to.
The weight and thickness beneath his fingertips already told him roughly how much was inside.
Two hundred thousand yen.
In the free-spending madness of Japan’s bubble era, two hundred thousand yen might barely cover half a bottle of expensive whisky in Ginza, or a few extravagant taxi rides through Roppongi.
But to Shin, right here and now, it was more than money.
It was dignity.
The dignity of finally being able to support himself with his own work.
“According to the contract, you normally wouldn’t receive this portion until filming wrapped,” Ota said, flicking ash from his cigarette.
“Thank you for going to the trouble, Ota-san.”
Shin inclined his head slightly and tucked the envelope securely into the inside pocket of his coat.
“Keep doing what you’re doing.” Ota looked at the young man, who was far too composed for someone his age, and for once his expression turned serious.
“I’ve got a feeling this two hundred thousand yen is only the beginning.”
…
When Shin stepped out of the agency, a thin, icy drizzle had begun to fall.
Late-autumn Tokyo had a damp cold that seemed to seep straight into the bones.
Shin pulled his rather thin trench coat tighter around himself and pressed a hand against his chest.
The corner of the envelope dug into his ribs.
Strangely, it felt warm.
He didn’t head straight back to his shabby apartment in Nerima.
Instead, he turned and walked into a large electronics store.
The place was brilliantly lit.
A wall of televisions was playing Seiko Matsuda’s latest music video, while enthusiastic sales pitches and promotional announcements rang out from every direction.
Shin went straight to the heating-appliance section.
His old six-tatami apartment was simply too cold.
Cold air leaked through the windows.
His bedding always felt damp.
Every morning, he woke with the tip of his nose freezing.
After the past few days, he had finally had enough. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“Looking for a space heater, sir?
This is Mitsubishi’s latest model.
Quiet operation, rapid heating—”
“I’ll take it.”
Shin pointed to a ceramic fan heater priced at eighteen thousand yen without the slightest hesitation.
Not long ago, he would have spent half an hour wandering around a supermarket just to save a few hundred yen.
Today, he didn’t even glance at the cheaper older model sitting beside it.
He counted out two ten-thousand-yen bills and handed them over, watching as the salesman gave him his change and packed the heater.
When Shin walked back into the rain carrying the brand-new appliance, even the cold drizzle seemed a little less miserable.
His next stop was the supermarket.
It was already seven in the evening, right when housewives were crowding the aisles for dinner ingredients.
Shin pushed a shopping cart past the cheap bean sprouts and discounted chicken breasts and stopped directly in front of the chilled meat display.
Even during the bubble economy, wagyu remained synonymous with luxury.
He picked up a tray of kuroge wagyu steak bearing a yellow sticker that read: BEST BEFORE TONIGHT.
It was discounted because it was nearing its sell-by time, but the beautiful snowflake marbling was still unmistakable, the fat white and glossy as polished jade.
30% OFF.
Even after the discount, the small steak still cost twenty-five hundred yen.
Shin stared at it for two seconds.
Then he placed it in his cart.
After that came a box of Hokkaido butter he normally wouldn’t have dreamed of buying, a bag of Koshihikari rice from Niigata, and a reasonably priced bottle of red wine to go with dinner.
When the total appeared on the register, a quiet satisfaction filled his eyes.
…
Back at his apartment in Nerima, nothing about the room itself had changed.
It was still cramped.
Still old.
The faint smell of mildew still lingered in the air.
But tonight felt different.
Shin unpacked his new heater and plugged it in.
Hummm…
With a soft mechanical whir, warm air immediately began pouring from the vent.
Within ten minutes, the chill that had settled into the room was gone.
Shin took off his heavy trench coat.
For once, sitting around in nothing but a shirt didn’t leave him shivering.
He rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the tiny kitchenette, barely a square meter in size.
He heated a frying pan and dropped in a small piece of butter.
The butter melted across the hot pan, filling the apartment with a rich, creamy aroma.
Then Shin gently laid the beautifully marbled wagyu steak into the pan.
The meat hit the heat with a glorious hiss.
Fat rendered almost instantly as the surface browned, sealing the juices inside.
In the quiet little apartment, the sizzling sounded better than any music.
It didn’t need complicated seasoning.
Just a little sea salt and black pepper.
Five minutes later, Shin sat at the only low table in the room.
Warm air from the heater washed over his legs.
In front of him sat a freshly seared steak still glistening with fat, a bowl of pearly white rice, and a glass of red wine.
He picked up a piece of beef and put it into his mouth.
Rich juices burst across his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of the rendered fat.
The meat was so tender it barely needed chewing.
Shin closed his eyes and slowly savored it.
Memories from his previous life drifted back to him.
Winters in Hengdian, waiting for hours in the snow just for a single background shot until his hands and feet went numb.
Then, after filming finally ended, eating a boxed meal that had already gone stone cold.
The memory of that hunger and cold had sunk deep into his bones.
But now…
The room was warm.
His stomach was warm.
Even his pocket was warm.
Shin took a sip of wine and let out a long, contented breath.
“So this is what it feels like to really live.”
The simple warmth of the room and the solid weight of a full stomach made him realize that, for the first time, he had begun putting down roots in this unfamiliar era.
He was no longer a ghost drifting through someone else’s world.
He was an actor who could put food on the table with his craft.
At that peaceful moment, a faint light suddenly flashed through his mind.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
[Significant increase detected in host’s physical and emotional well-being.]
[Only someone who understands the warmth of living can truly portray the cold within a story.]
[Compatibility with “The Songstress’s Abandoned Silver Zippo” has increased to 15%.]
[Passive Effect Adjustment Unlocked: When you are genuinely relaxed, your natural “melancholic aura” will soften into a more attractive sense of effortless ease.]
Shin set down his wineglass and took the Zippo from his pocket, turning it idly between his fingers.
The silver casing reflected the apartment’s warm yellow light.
For once, it no longer looked quite so cold or lonely.
“Effortless ease, huh…”
Shin smiled and popped the last piece of wagyu into his mouth.