Color Gallery

Center of the World

“IS THIS WHERE I should stand?”

“Yeah, and when I give the signal, I want you to point to the building behind you and start with ‘Coming soon.’ While you’re doing the spiel, we’ll have the camera pan up.”

“Okay.”

Today, we were covering a Tokyo landmark for the umpteenth time—in this case, a brand-new commerce tower. With clear skies and no wind, it was the perfect weather for filming. Despite that, I was freezing and I wanted to get it all done in a single take so I could go the hell home already. I stood patiently with an unaffected smile on my face, awaiting the director’s cue.

Just then, a shadow passed overhead, darkening my vision, the color of my suit, as well as the hand that clutched the mic. Suddenly, it looked like I was standing in a puddle of darkness.

A cloud? On a day as perfect as this? Right as I craned my head up at the apex of the tower, a film crew member gasped.

“It’s a blimp!”

The winter sky was as cold and clear as a frosty lake, but suspended there was a single tiny blimp, trailing its shadow over the earth as it slowly chugged along.

“Is that the Jipang TV logo?”

“Zoom in with the camera!”

“One sec… Wow, it is!”

Around us, the passersby all stopped to marvel at it and take pictures, but I felt differently. That stupid blimp was disrespecting us, ruining our footage by putting a weird shadow and a different network’s logo in the shot, and it pissed me off. But because it was miles above us, we had no way of telling them to move. God, I wish I could reach up and tear off that stupid little gondola with my bare hands! Go away already!

The cameraman read the text on the side of the blimp out loud. “‘A brand-new show combining news and entertainment: Newsment, coming this spring.’ Damn, they’re using a blimp for PR?”

So? Is it any more expensive than putting ads on trains and station pillars?

“Oh, there’s a photo. Who are they?”

“Let’s see. One of ’em is… Ugh, I can’t think of his name, but he’s a veteran newscaster, and the rest…” He listed out a few people who were at the peak of their careers—or, to phrase it like a soulless network exec, people who brought in the numbers.

“Wow, that’s an all-star cast.”

“What time slot is Jipang’s news, anyway? Morning? Evening?”

“No, it’s late-night. I heard the whole story. They ran a drama series and a food show, but neither pulled in enough views, so they decided to fill the whole slot with news instead.”

“For real? Damn, that’s a huge overhaul.”

“Wait, but late-night would mean—”

“It’ll air at the same time as The News.”

The blimp lingered close by, its shadow boring a small black hole in the earth. Well, maybe it wasn’t that close, being up in the sky and all. Never had I despised sunny weather more than I did right now.

***

“Jipang TV will launch their brand-new late-night news program, Newsment, weekday nights starting this spring! Hosted by announcer Kadomatsu Nobuo and co-hosted by model talent Kizaki Ryou, Newsment will include a colorful cast of commentators and dive deep into trending news topics around the globe. It marks the first time in a decade that Jipang TV has branched out from variety entertainment programming.”

“Thus far, Asabi TV has dominated the 10 p.m. timeslot with The News. Only time will tell if Newsment can put an end to their reign,” Ushio read aloud from the sports section of the newspaper.

“Cool,” I replied dully. Now that the press release was public, every news outlet under the sun was covering it, so I already knew all this.

“Is this your competitor?”

“Any show in the same time slot is a competitor.”

There were only so many viewers and we all fought for a piece of the pie, but obviously, no amount of squinting at graphs could give you a point-by-point breakdown of what landed and what tanked. At times, the smallest offhand joke made the numbers spike; at other times, meticulously crafted pre-recorded segments made them flatline.

My producer, Shitara, once likened it to getting a report card: important, but not the end-all be-all. Of course, if our viewer count started to enter the danger zone, we’d be looking at a revamp of the content and/or the hosts, and if that didn’t get the numbers to budge, the whole show would go bye-bye. Then another show would inevitably come along—something “new,” but not too different—to fill the empty slot. On TV, nothing was permanent.

“But I mean, this one’s the same genre. Doesn’t that concern you?” Ushio asked.

“For a news show, it sounds pretty avant-garde, so it’s not gonna be my fault if they steal our viewers. If anyone’s to blame, it’d be Asou-san.”

The News was unmistakably Asou Keiichi’s baby. He was the star headliner, and the viewers tuned in for no other reason than to see him.

“Since we started before they did, I expect they’ve paid close attention to our format and commercial placement for research purposes, but we can’t do much until we know what exactly we’re dealing with,” I continued. “Besides, we only just overhauled this show last year, and Shitara himself has said we can’t start tweaking it this early on.”

“Huh. I thought you’d be more upset about it,” Ushio mused, sounding surprised. “I swear, I’ll never understand what triggers your competitive side.”

“I don’t need you to understand me, pleb.”

“Whatever you say, dear. Now, could you help me out with my plebeian work?” He handed me—or rather, forced upon me—a yard of blotchy dark fabric.

“What is this?”

I unfolded it to find that it was embroidered here and there with colored thread to form the shape of what looked like fireworks. But there were only a sparse few, so it was most likely incomplete.

“Well?” I prompted him.

“It’s for a department store—can’t say which one yet, but they wanna use it in a commercial for a big blowout sale. See, I’m doing stop motion with each individual stitch, and I want it to look like they’re going pop, pop, pop, one after another.”

“How many will there be?”

“Oh, I dunno… Enough to fill the fabric, I guess. Just do one for me, okay? I want each one to look as unique as possible, so I’ve been asking everyone I know to pitch in.”

What, like a round-robin? “You’re a masochist.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, Kunieda-kun?”

“Cram it.”

“Actually, if anything, you’re the mas—”

“I said cram it! Or I won’t help you!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Seriously, please help me. I need you.”

His acting skills needed work, and the matter-of-fact way in which he held out the embroidery needle genuinely pissed me off.

“Wow, Kunieda-kun, you’re so good at this! Go figure!”

“I’m literally going to stab you if you don’t stop.”

And so a new firework joined the fray of concentric circles, one tiny stitch at a time. The labor itself was easy; no, the real challenge was having to pause after every stitch to let Ushio take a photo. And I mean every stitch. If this was for a commercial, then he’d only get thirty seconds of footage at most, and that’s not even factoring in the post-production cuts, marketing copy, and paid actors. But as painfully inefficient as it seemed in my eyes, Ushio would happily spend an entire day on just a single second of footage.

Not only that, but apparently this mottled mix of deep navy blues was his own doing. Why did he feel the need to do everything himself? Couldn’t he have simply bought pre-dyed fabric?

“You sure love your painstaking little details, don’tcha?”

“Love ’em? Nah,” he shrugged casually. “Do I really strike you as the fussy type?”

No, he certainly didn’t. Whether it was the food on his table, the clothes in his closet, or the roof over his head, he was perpetually laid-back. Perhaps downright apathetic was a better term. That was what made him so relaxing to be around. Even when he cooked, it was never something gourmet. “But still…”

“I wanted to do fireworks since it’s summer, and when I thought about how I’d go about it, this was what I came up with. End of story. Even if something’s hard or takes a long time, that’s no reason not to do it, right? I mean, it sucks, but it’s not like I can’t afford it or something.”

Ushio’s first priority was the outcome he wanted to achieve; his chosen means to that end held no special significance. Be it clay, puppets, or stitchery, he simply chose whatever fit his vision the best. And that vision was further refined in his mind, over and over, until at last he started the development process. How did he make it look so easy? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Never in my career had I ever stopped to ask myself what I wanted to achieve. I wanted to do well, of course—I was motivated every day I went in to work. But I only ever did as I was told. As the screen displayed footage someone else edited, I read out scripts someone else wrote while following the rules of intonation that someone else had established. I offered someone else’s perfectly polished commentary on someone else’s chosen theme, all on a schedule someone else planned out.

Granted, my job was not something just anyone off the street could do, and that’s why I liked it. I was satisfied and secure. But whenever I watched Ushio at work, it made me think. What was I doing with my life? What was I achieving with my joyless hard work and ostentation? Trying to answer these questions would fly in the face of everything I’d built over the years, so I put an end to my meandering train of thought and silently focused on my needlework.

“There, all done.” I thrust the fabric back at him, needle and thread still dangling from it.

“Great job,” he murmured, impressed. “You made a perfect circle and it’s evenly spaced from the others.”

“That’s it, butter me up.”

“You really can do just about anything, huh?”

“You only just noticed?”

“Anyway, now that you’re in a good mood, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

His eyes lingered on the swaying needle. “Starting next week, I’m gonna have a lot of people spending a lot of time around here.”

“How come?”

“Well, uh… They told me they want to film a documentary.”

I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t thrilled about it. He never seemed to enjoy the spotlight; as long as his creative output could pay the bills, he wasn’t interested in anything more. To be frank, he distanced himself from fame and glory more than anyone else I knew in this industry.

“What’s it for?” I asked.

“A Touyou TV show called Persons.”

Unlike the little interviews I used to do for the evening news, Persons was a long-running documentary series with a full hour-long timeslot. They covered everyone from athletes to CEOs to the ultra-niche jobs, all with the tagline “human beings at full zoom.” And last I checked, the show had survived for nearly a decade on the air.

“Ugh.” I grimaced.

“What?”

“The presenter on that show talks like they’re reading a condo commercial, unironically. Plus, they dub in the most pretentious narration filled with needlessly dramatic pauses. ‘But Tsuzuki Ushio…knows all too well…’”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re clearly trying to go for a certain angle lately.”

“If there was a competition for being elitist, they’d take home the gold medal for Japan. We’re talking three-time back-to-back heavyweight champions of sucking their own dick. And you want to be on their show?”

“Look, I don’t have a choice here. Sometimes these things are out of my control, like when Shitara-san asked me to do it last year. Not something I generally do for fun.”

“So how long is this going to last?”

“Like a month or so…or maybe until the start of April? At first they wanted six months, but obviously I talked them out of that. In exchange, they’re gonna be all up in my business. They even told me flat-out to speak up if I have anxiety about it. All this over some boring animation work.”

“Well, I’m not coming anywhere near this place while that’s going on,” I declared. “And even when you’re alone, don’t even think about calling me or coming to my house. Not even once!”

“Is this reverse psychology?”

“Do I look like a psychologist? I’m serious!”

“So you only care about your precious image, is that it?”

“Damn right!”

“Wow. And here I was excited thinking you’d miss me.”

Excited? “Well, sorry to say, I’m gonna be pretty busy myself. Interviews, voiceover work, all kinds of stuff.” It’s hard work being a poster boy.

“Hm. In that case, maybe it’s perfect timing. Oh, yeah, and…”

“There’s more?”

“The reporter for Persons…or ‘navigator,’ or whatever his title is… It’s Kizaki Ryou.”

“Huh?”

Ushio shifted uncomfortably. “They’ve got a few different reporters they switch out on rotation, and it just happened to be him this time. So he’s gonna be talking to me and coming to my house. When they asked me who I wanted to interview me, I said I didn’t have a preference… I didn’t know he was gonna be on your rival news show too.”

He actually thought I’d be upset? How cute. Watching a pleb try to think is like watching a hamster running in its wheel.

“I sincerely don’t give a shit,” I shrugged. I knew Ushio was only doing it as part of his work, and besides, I barely had a vague idea of what this Kizaki Ryou even looked like. To me, he was just a pretty face. I mean, why would I care about some model? He worked in an entirely different field from me.

Even if we compared our shows, there was no overlap since they weren’t going to be presenting the latest news. If I had to guess, they probably just wanted to toss in a good-looking guy to pull in the young female demographic that rarely tuned in for primetime news. Like a gender-flipped version of adding a woman to a group of old men. Have fun with that! Enjoy your MySpace angle shots!

When I failed to react the way he expected, Ushio let out a sigh of frustration. “Clearly I wasted my time trying to be considerate.”

“Excuse me? You’re upset that I’m not mad?”

“I was worried you’d flip out.”

“Then maybe you should appreciate that I’m not massively insecure!”

“Oh, yes, thank you so much. I guess let’s both just do our best at work for a while.”

“You better not let the director or whoever pressure you into saying some egotistical shit on camera.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll play it at your funeral, bitch.”

“’Til death do us part? Oh, no, I’m blushing. I can’t believe you’re proposing to me already.”

“I’m not!” And you’re not blushing, you liar!

“Actually, are we sure I’m going to die first? Not that I mind, but still.” Grinning, he rose from his chair and sat down next to me on the bed. “Bury me with your intonation dictionary, all right?”

“Not funny, dickhead!” I shoved him away from me and flopped down on my side, right up against the wall, my back turned to him.

“What? Oh, c’mon…”

I ignored him.

“Kei.”

He reached out and shook my shoulder, but I smacked his hand away.

“Hey, don’t cry…”

“I’m not crying, you stupid asshole!” We were just joking around, but then he had to go and throw real-life stuff into it, and my brain conjured up this hyper-realistic scenario. My throat started to feel all tight. Stupid imagination. “It’s your fault for thinking you can lay claim to my work tools.”

“I’m not gonna die tomorrow, all right? Or are you saying you’re going to keep working until you’re 90? Talk about a workaholic.”

“Whatever.”

“Kei…” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, okay? Now let me get a good look at you while I still can.”

“Usually apologies don’t involve bossing me around…” Regardless, I rolled over. He hugged me in return. “Wait… Weren’t you going to look at me?”

“That can wait.” He buried his face into my shoulder, but while it wasn’t especially comfortable, I didn’t mind it in the least. Then, as he played with my hair, he murmured, “Right, I guess it’s been a whole year now, huh?”

Indeed, we would soon be sharing a second spring season together. “What about it?”

“Honestly, it feels like it’s been a decade.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.” I stiffened slightly. Was he saying he’d already had his fill?

He patted me on the back. “It’s a good thing, duh. By the time we have our ten-year anniversary, we’ll have been dating for a century.”

I nuzzled my face right back into him, suffocating myself in my own warm breaths. My arms tightened around him.

“Are you trying to take a screenshot in real life?” he quipped, ruining any romance the moment might otherwise have had.

I pulled my lips away slightly. “You can email me if you want…I guess.”

“Yes, dear.”

“And another thing!”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t…ch-cheat on me…”

“Speak up, silly!” As he laughed, the faint vibrations made my head spin. “Normally I’d say, ‘I’m not like you,’ but…”

“You just said it!”

“Trust me, Kei, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Also, I never cheated on you!”

“For the record, this rule still applies after I’m dead and gone, got it?”

Now, that sounds like a marriage proposal. I didn’t dare look him in the face.

***

Obviously it was stressful having to go without seeing him, but as a grown adult with a day job, those six weeks were over in a blink. Though I wasn’t personally affected by the spring renewal season, it still threw the whole station into disarray with old shows ending, new shows starting, and others getting full makeovers. That’s not even counting the outliers that didn’t fit into any of those three categories. Sets were hastily redesigned and new posters and commercials were made, all at the same dizzying speed with which my February and March flew by.

On the last Monday of March, every TV station switched into “new fiscal year” mode, and coincidentally, Newsment launched at the same time. We needed to get a look at the show if we were going to counter them, so after filming wrapped, we all met up in a meeting room to watch the recording of the first episode.

Their title sequence was ten seconds long with a rainbow of colorful CGI. In contrast with the predominantly brown set featured on The News, theirs was white with a long, curved table where all of the commentators sat in a row.

“Looks fancy with all those people sitting there,” someone in the room commented.

“But it gives me more of a morning talk show vibe,” said another.

At the center of the table sat the main show host, flanked by a commentator stage left and Kizaki Ryou stage right. Though only his upper body was on camera, it was clear at a glance that his physique was every bit as symmetrical as one would expect from a model. His facial features were velvety smooth, complete with a slender nose and jawline, but thus far he seemed no more exceptional than any other handsome TV personality.

Then the camera panned over the cast, settling on the main trio, and the host began to speak.

“Good evening. My name is Kadomatsu Nobuo, and starting tonight, I’ll be hosting our brand new program, Newsment. With so much information being reported around the world on a daily basis, it’s our goal to summarize these stories in a way that viewers can fully digest without waking up confused the next morning. Here with me tonight is my trusty partner, Kizaki Ryou-san.”

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Kizaki Ryou.”

After a quick bow, he curled his lips ever so faintly, freezing like a still image for the perfect shot. I could see his experience as a model paying off in spades here. Human facial expressions had the tendency to waver, and if you didn’t consciously hold them for a moment, you’d often come off looking sloppy.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’re competing with The News in this timeslot, so I’ll try to keep my expectations realistic. What I mean is, it’d be great if we catch up or surpass them at some point, but I’m in no hurry.”

“Now, now, don’t be so pessimistic. This is only our first episode.”

“Okay then, I’d like to catch up to them by tomorrow.”

“Careful now. Remember that this is a live broadcast!”

“Ugh, he totally name-dropped us.”

“Daaaamn…”

“Was that in the script?”

“No, I think it was ad lib. Kadomatsu-san looks a little flustered.”

“This Kizaki Ryou’s got balls…”

Normally, presenters did not comment on competitors. After all, it could inspire viewers to change the channel out of curiosity, and they generally did not need any extra encouragement to go surfing. Either this guy was emboldened by his position as the underdog or he was an idiot angling for laughs.

What surprised me the most about him, however, was his speech. How was he so good? His rhythm, his articulation, his pronunciation—all of it was flawless. He wasn’t just self-­assured; he showed signs of having attended a broadcasting school or taken special courses. Granted, it was entirely probable that his agency had trained him beforehand, but still. All this from a guy who looked like he walked off the cover of a hairstyle magazine at your local salon? His hair was bleached and messy (in that “effortless” way that an amateur would totally screw up if they tried to replicate it), yet there was a firm polish to his voice. Was that contrast intentional?

All I could say for certain was this: he was no mere fashion fanatic. It took a lot of conscious effort for a young guy with no acting experience to speak so eloquently in front of a camera. Plus—and this was more of a gut feeling than a factual observation—he had the kind of voice that made you take notice.

“Oh…?”

Just then, right in the middle of a pre-recorded segment, the feed reverted to the Newsment studio.

“Somebody hit the wrong button on the video switcher.”

“The timing on their chyrons has been pretty weird too. They must be frazzled since it’s day one.”

After the pre-recorded video, the host offered a cookie-cutter apology for the “technical difficulties,” to which Kizaki responded, “Looks like they showed the traffic-light trio for a second there.”

“What?”

“Oh, he means their clothes.”

“Ah, I get it. Clever.”

The erroneous cutaway of the studio had depicted three people who were coincidentally wearing red, yellow, and green, respectively. They all looked down at themselves and laughed in agreement, restoring the lighthearted atmosphere. Kizaki had to be pretty damn quick on his feet to think of such a good cover for the technical trouble.

Once we watched all the way through to the end of the show, comments sprang up like daisies.

“Well, that was casual.”

“That seemed to be what the host was going for. Maybe that’s their concept.”

“If we had a show like this, it would totally cause drama in the studio.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching something like this over the weekend.”

“We always take a fairly serious approach with our shows. Maybe some people find it too complicated.”

“What’s hard to understand? Just pay attention and you’ll get it.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m talking about the overall vibe…”

In summary, the conclusion was that: “Newsment seems fun, but it’s not going to change the way we do things.” No surprise there.

“Eh, not much we can say after only watching one episode.”

No matter how the numbers might tank, or no matter how hard the execs and editing department could breathe down his neck, Shitara would likely never bat an eyelash. At times like these, I was grateful to have that sly old fox as my producer. This way, I didn’t need to walk on eggshells.

“While both shows can be summed up as ‘news shows,’ they’re created by two entirely different sets of people, and as such, differences in design are par for the course. There’s no single right answer. That being said, I like The News just the way it is, and as long as we can all agree on that, we’ll be fine. If they start to outpace us, people might start telling us to tinker with the format or the commercial placement, but…well, we can cross that bridge if it comes to it. Thank you all for staying so late.”

***

In the hall on my way back to the newsroom…

“What’d you think, Kunieda-san?” Tatsuki called out. “See, I kinda like shows with a more lighthearted tone to ’em. Feels more like a talk show than a news show, but I get the sense that they’re leaning into it, y’know?”

“Indeed…” I kept up the “friendly mentor” act as I nodded, then continued, “I was surprised by how skilled that Kizaki Ryou person was.”

“What?” Tatsuki stopped short, blinking at me.

“What’s the matter?”

“Kunieda-san, uh, c-can I borrow you?” He grabbed me by the arm and proceeded to drag me into the deserted, unlit promo department.

“Minagawa-kun…?”

“All right, you can switch back now.”

After carefully checking under every single desk, I hissed at him. “Don’t talk about me like I’m Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“Wow, that was fast.”

“Cram it. So what is this about?”

“Uh, Kizaki Ryou, obviously? You do know he interviewed for an anchor position with us, right? Like, no shit he’s skilled.”

“Come again?”

“Is this seriously the first you’ve heard about it? Oh, but…I guess you did join the company under…unique circumstances…”

“Hey, don’t make it sound like I cheated.”

“Didja know he made it all the way to the final interview before they rejected him?”

“What?”

News anchor interview formats varied from station to station, but at Asabi TV, the so-called “final interview” was really just a formality. At that stage, candidates were all but hired as long as they confirmed their commitment to the job. If they dropped him, there must have been some anomaly…like a candidate who wasn’t originally going to be a newscaster at all until the CEO came along and changed his career path… I didn’t experience the news anchor interview for myself, so I never found out who else applied for my position…

“…Did it happen the year I was hired?” I asked hesitantly.

Tatsuki pointed at me with both hands. “Bzzzt! Steeee-rike out!”

“Hey, c’mon!”

“I hear he had offers from multiple different stations, but Asabi was his top choice, so he turned them all down. Of course, our hiring manager tried to offer him some other jobs as a consolation prize, like, ‘There’s a general staff position open,’ and ‘Reporters get plenty of screen time, too,’ stuff like that. But I guess it wasn’t good enough for him.”

“Either way, it has nothing to do with me.” I never asked to be a newscaster in the first place.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. And he mentioned your show right from his first episode. If you ask me, he seems motivated to get revenge on Asabi for dropping him.”

“I don’t care about some sore loser and his grudge.”

“To be fair, I’ve never met the guy, so I don’t have a clue what he’s like. Oh, yeah, and the newsroom’s having a little get-together next month.”

Long after Tatsuki walked away, I kept standing there in that dark corner, thinking to myself. When he first told me that Kizaki had applied to be a news anchor, part of me was relieved. I was scared that he had some kind of natural-born talent for the job. But in spite of everything I’d said to Tatsuki, now that I knew I’d played a part in crushing Kizaki’s dreams, it left a bad taste in my mouth.

During my interview, the CEO told me none of the anchor candidates had what they were looking for. At that point, they had already narrowed it down to one guy. Despite that, they chose to break with tradition in order to hire me instead. There were multiple positions open, so they could have easily hired both of us; instead, they dropped Kizaki because he just didn’t appeal to them. That was all it was…and yet I couldn’t shrug it off.

I had accepted this job with the same sort of “sure, why not?” that I gave whenever the fast food employee tried to upsell me on their new menu items. I wanted a job already and didn’t care what it was. I did my best to excel, of course, but I would have put just as much effort into any other position. I wasn’t extra-motivated to be a newscaster in particular.

But on the other hand, this really, really wasn’t my fault. I had no idea! Apparently this guy had known about me for years now, and when I thought about his potential motives for appearing on a competing program during my timeslot, it made my stomach turn. Not that I cared much about other people, but being outright hated made me antsy… Then again, if it turned out Kizaki was a good sport who wanted to have a fair competition, I’d probably just roll my eyes and call him a boy scout…

Ugh, now my mind is thinking of a million different scenarios. I never asked for this information! Minagawa, you ass!

And so I proceeded to shoot the messenger all the way home, whereupon I noticed a notification from Ushio on my phone: “Filming’s almost over. Good to go next week.”

I typed a reply. “How was Kizaki Ryou?”

“Just your average young guy.”

This was not a very descriptive answer, but whatever. I’ll just ask again in person, I decided, and instantly felt a lot better. Unlike last year, this year I had someone I could truly confide in.

“Be there next weekend,” I wrote back, then took a shower. Normally at this point I would review the recording of myself, but that night I chose to watch Newsment again. Once again, Kizaki struck me as talented.

***

The next day at 4 p.m., I was sitting in an empty corner of the staff cafeteria when someone called out to me. “Oh! Kunieda-kuuuun!”

What do you want, pleb? I’m on my break. Donning a pleasant smile, I greeted her. “Hello there.”

The woman wore a ton of huge, tribal-looking facial piercings, and all I knew about her was that she worked in production. She might’ve joined the company at the same time as Shitara, but I couldn’t remember.

“Listen, this is a little premature, but I wanted to talk to you about CineNight.”

“Yes?”

CineNight was a ten-minute segment on Saturday nights wherein a newscaster promoted an upcoming movie, often interviewing the director and cast. In other words, it was basically an ad block. Everyone on staff took turns as the presenter, and every three months or so, it would be my turn.

“You know how they just finished filming Caramel Days? Have you ever read the source material?”

“The best-selling shoujo manga?”

“Yeah, that!”

Like hell I’ve read it! And even if I had, I wouldn’t admit it publicly! “It would be a bit strange for a grown man, don’t you think?”

“Not at all! My little niece loaned it to me last week, and I really enjoyed it.”

No doubt it was the same old story about a high school maharaja, the chosen one, getting to enjoy a perfect life where every day was exciting. For some reason, whenever they adapted one of these school-life stories, the male actors never actually looked like teenagers and it was more like weird adults trying to cosplay as children—what was up with that?

“So anyways, it hits theaters this summer, and I was hoping you could be the one to promote it for CineNight. You’ll be interviewing the two leads.”

“Me…?”

Beneath my “perplexed” mask, I mentally stuck my tongue out and scoffed. Don’t be stupid! Sure, it was just for work, but it was implicitly agreed upon that presenters would be matched with films that fit their aesthetic. For example, Tatsuki handled a lot of action and comedy flicks, while I usually ended up with dramas and documentaries—the kind of stuff that would put me to sleep within five minutes if I actually watched them.

“If it’s adapted from a shoujo manga, then it’s a romance, right? Wouldn’t a female announcer be a better fit?”

“I thought about it, but there’s a reason I want you to do it instead. See, the male love interest is a well-mannered teacher’s pet, so it’s a perfect match for you! Well…except he’s secretly an arrogant jerk on the inside.”

Why does that sound so familiar?

Ultimately I had no right to decline, but this film preview was shaping up to be even more tiring than usual. Not only would I have to watch the movie, but I’d need to read the source material too, and I should research the actors’ work history. Granted, it was the director’s job to brainstorm interview questions and send them to the actors’ agents for approval, but if I didn’t do my homework in advance, it would become obvious all too quickly.

“When will we film it?”

“Sometime in July, I think.”

“Okay then, I’ll be sure to study up.”

“Oh, and there’s one other semi-related thing.”

You’re still not done, bitch? I thought to myself as I elegantly tilted my head to one side (though obviously she didn’t get the message).

“See, one of the movie’s selling points is that there’s a wall-slam every ten minutes.”

“I-I see…” For a movie with a two-hour runtime, that’d be twelve slams total. Why does this chick spend so much time with her back against the wall? Is she a ninja or what?

“And so I was thinking… It’d be great if you could do a wall-slam with the camera!”

“What?”

“I mean, the whole highlight of the movie is seeing a ‘mild-mannered’ sort of guy turn dominant all of a sudden. It’ll totally be a hit, I promise! Everybody on the team wants to see it! And since Asabi directly financed this movie, we wanna get people talking about it as much as possible.”

“Erm…” Careful to rein in my facial expression so my frustration wouldn’t show, I tried to think of a way to get out of this farce. “I-I mean, hasn’t the wall-slam trope stopped being trendy in recent years…?”

“Correct. It’s no longer ‘trendy’—it’s expected,” she declared firmly, and I couldn’t help but falter.

“But…I…I do have to consider the optics here. As someone who reads the weekday news, I’m not sure I should…you know… I mean, what would people say about me?”

This was my trump card…but even then, she was one step ahead of me. “Oh, don’t worry! I already got clearance from Shitara-kun.”

You went around behind my back? How thirsty are you for this stupid wall-slam?

“The film shoot’s still a long ways off, so you’ll have plenty of time to think of your own original smokin’-hot pick-up line!”

Come up with something myself? Ugh, is that better or worse than reading out someone else’s script on command?! For the time being, I typed in “wall-slam” and added an entry to my cell phone calendar for July. Absolutely ridiculous.

***

“They say she was an ordinary hard-working employee.”

“But you never know who people are on the inside.”

Today’s topic: an elementary school teacher who made a killing moonlighting as a professional pachinko player.

“To be fair, I think we all have a hidden side we’d rather keep private. What about you, Kizaki-kun?”

“Well, whenever I don’t have plans with anybody, my wardrobe is a hot mess. I’m talking schlubby.”

“Yeah, right!”

“No, I’m serious!”

“We actually have a photo of Kizaki-kun in his lazy day attire…” An image of Kizaki appeared on screen, dressed in a tracksuit.

“Oh, gimme a break!” Reflexively, I jumped to my feet. “I’m easily ten times more schlubby than that!”

“Is that something to brag about?” Ushio asked wearily.

“I mean, he’s wearing a designer tracksuit! That’s the kind of thing you wear while walking your toy poodle to the park! Or going to an overpriced cafe for your caffeine fix! And clearly it’s not that private if he’s willing to broadcast it on TV!”

“You get competitive over the absolute dumbest shit, I swear to god. You don’t have to keep watching it, remember?” Once the show transitioned to the weather forecast, he turned off the recording. “Y’know, for a guy who claims he doesn’t care, you sure are hyper-focused on him.”

“No, he’s focused on me!”

“Oh, you mean how he said he wants to outdo The News? Yeah, I saw it online.”

On the day of their launch, our ratings were 16 percent and theirs were 10 percent. Clearly they were no match for us—at present. There was no way to predict what would be popular with viewers.

“…I heard he applied for a position at our station before,” I mumbled as I shifted around on the bed.

“Who, Kizaki Ryou?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, no wonder he’s so articulate at his age! He ends his sentences very…crisply, I guess? Each syllable is distinct. Meticulous word choice too. All in all, great to talk to.”

Ushio’s glowing praise made my scowl deepen. “You didn’t tell me that when I emailed you about it!”

“It’s too exhausting to type all that. That’s why I’m telling you now, in person.”

“Your animation shit is a thousand times more exhausting, and you do it every day!”

“Yeah, because it’s my job, same as you. Anyway, go on.”

“Huh?”

“Wasn’t there more to the story?”

“…He applied the same year I got hired.”

“Aha. So you screwed him out of the job.”

“Jesus, you’re such a dick! Not that I didn’t know that!”

“What are you so mad about?” He switched the TV off. “You told me you got in through dumb luck. But so what? If this guy wants the job so badly, then all he has to do is keep applying every year, right? There’s no rule that says only new grads can apply.”

“I mean…sure, but…”

“If you ask me, the modeling industry’s gotta be a billion times more competitive, but he seems to be doing just fine.”

The same could be said of me, so his argument didn’t really hold water, but it was reassuring to hear nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t normally care, but…stupid Minagawa had to go and tell me the guy probably wants to get revenge on me.”

“Yeah, because he knows it’ll get under your skin.”

“It’s not! Just stop talking about him already!”

“You’re the one who brought it up!”

“Okay then, I’ll change the subject. Tell me how to do a good wall-slam!”

“What?”

I briefly explained the task that had been foisted upon me. Obviously I would have rather kept it to myself, but here in the era of the internet, he was bound to find out one way or another. Besides, the longer I tried to keep it a secret, the more annoying it would be when he inevitably taunted me about it. Therefore, my strategy was to reveal it right out of the gate. Master tactician Kunieda Kei, that’s me.

“You’ll really do anything for your job, huh? I’m impressed.”

“I don’t have a choice when these plebs force me into it! Now give me a good wall-slam!”

“No way. It’s your job, so figure something out on your own. Golly, I can’t wait for Anchor Kunieda’s dreamy wall-slam… If it makes me pregnant, I’m gonna make him pony up…”

“Go to hell!”

Ugh, I never should have told you! I tried to kick him in the shin, but he dodged easily by hopping onto the bed. Then he scooted back against the wall.

“Here, I’ll help you practice.”

“Practice?” I scowled dubiously at his fishy word choice.

“Oof, that’s one ugly mug.”

“If I’m ugly, then 99.9999 percent of humanity is hideous!” Wait, no, that would still leave about 7,000 people. That’s way too many. It should be zero!

“Now, now, it’s your job, remember? Perfection is your motto, Kunieda-san, so you’d better do it right. Of course, if you’re too embarrassed, I won’t force you…but I feel like it’d be a lot more embarrassing to do it to a blank wall at your place.”

He had a point. Kneeling, I straddled his lap and pressed both palms against the wall on either side of his face.

Am I doing this right? Okay, now I say something romantic or whatever. “I love you” is too easy… Since it’s all about dominance, I need something aggressive that’ll make the girls squeal… Got it.

I looked down my nose at Ushio and said, “Empty your pockets.”

“Seven points.” He rebuffed me without batting a lash. “What is this, a shakedown?”

“I’m trying to be a bad boy.”

“It’s pretty bad, all right. Shouldn’t you say something more…anchor-like? A newscaster pickup line?”

“Hm… Okay, I’ve got one.”

“That was fast. All right, let’s hear it.”

I cleared my throat and said, “Would you like a private traffic update regarding your highway exit?”

“Five points.” He sighed loudly. “Are you even trying?”

“It’s useful information! What’s not to like?!”

“Everything! Y’know what, quit trying to be clever and just say ‘I love you’ flat out.”

“C’mon, that’s way too boring to make a video segment out of it.”

“Then fluff it up a little! ‘I love your blank’ or ‘I love you so much, I’m gonna blank!’ Stuff like that!”

“All right, I get it.”

“Are you sure? Okay, take three, here we go!”

“Seems like everybody these days is obsessed with creamy pudding, but I love the firm stuff.”

“Three points. I can’t believe you used your sexy voice for that.”

“Now wait a minute! The pudding is a metaphor for the girl in this scenario, okay? It’s an advanced technique!”

“Two points.”

“Also, just to be clear, these scores are out of ten, right?”

“Don’t get full of yourself. These scores are out of 20,000.”

“How could they possibly be that bad?!”

“I’m starting to think you’ve never dated a woman in your life.”

“Excuse me?!”

“How is it you can’t think of any normal pick-up lines?”

“Because I never needed to use this crap!”

As long as I put some effort into setting the scene, my date would gleefully fill the blanks with her own idea of romance. Clearly Ushio’s heart was made of stone.

“Riiight…”

“What, you think you’re better than me? You use your ‘awkward nerd’ schtick as a ploy to sweet-talk your way into people’s pants, is that it?”

“What are you talking about?” He looked up at me and laughed. “I’m a shut-in with a boring job and nothing else going for me. Obviously you’re the only one who’s ever tried to have a serious relationship with me. So…be gentle, okay?”

He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, and the sheer audacity of it set me off. “Screw you!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t lie to my face!”

“If anyone’s lying here, it’s you.”

“Cram it!”

What the hell, man? I was the one in the dominant position, yet he somehow managed to make my heart flutter instead. It was infuriating. I had boxed in a tiny piece of the world, and here we were at the center, just the two of us. He leaned in until our faces were close enough to kiss.

“Mm…”

He slid a hand under the wristband of my ratty track jacket and began to play with the round bump of my elbow. It was an innocent gesture, and yet there was something provocative in the way he caressed the hard joint beneath my skin. Then, with his free hand, he hiked up the hem and his fingers traveled up and down my spine until eventually he plunged into my underwear, exploring its contents.

“Hey! Slow down, perv!” The orifice in question was dry and firmly shut. As eager as he was, my body needed time to get the message.

“I know, I know. Go grab the good stuff.”

“Why me?”

“Because you can reach it easier than I can. What, are you still embarrassed about lube after all this time?”

At times like these, he always looked so very pleased with himself for teasing me and it pissed me off. “Oh, shut up. I’ll grab it, all right? I’ll grab a hundred if I have to.”

“You wanna make this into a water park or something?”

I reached all the way to the headboard drawer, pulled out the bottle of lube, and turned back to Ushio, who already had his palm outstretched. “Hit me.”

“…How much?” Normally, he was the one in charge of this stuff, and he moved so quickly, I never had time to take note of such details.

“However much you want.”

Ugh, not helpful. Reluctantly, I twisted off the cap and turned the bottle upside-down, spilling the foamy, sticky fluid onto his palm. It felt like I was making him dirty…and it was kind of hot.

Once I had created a small puddle, he rolled it down his fingers and mused, “Hey, it’s not freezing cold for once.” Weird to think we could feel the changing of the seasons through our sex lube. “Here.”

“Aah…”

His wet hand returned to my rear, massaging my tiny hole. “See? It’s wetter than before.”

“I wouldn’t…know…!” When I had sex with Ushio, all I ever noticed was the heat. “Nnng…!”

I held my breath and wrapped my arms around his neck. There was now a finger—well, half of one—inside me. But my depths hadn’t yet awakened to the pleasure, and the gentle rubbing made a wet, sticky sound. My skin tingled with anticipation for what was yet to come, but without any other foreplay, it kind of just felt like an unwelcome foreign presence in my ass. Frankly, I could never remember how I got any pleasure out of this.

“Kei.” He gave me a look, and we kissed lightly, over and over. Over time, I could feel our lips softening against each other.

“Mm…aah…” As he appeased my upper orifice, the discomfort below melted away like candy. “Mmmh…”

The moment I thought he was done kissing me, he stuffed his tongue straight into my mouth. Then I realized its motions were mimicking those of his finger, and my ears burned red. He was penetrating me in two holes—slightly, then more deeply. The root of my tongue was going numb, and something beyond his finger’s reach was starting to ache.

The lube was now fully warmed to our heat. What if all the sex made me too stupid to go back to work on Monday? Every time he nibbled the tip of my tongue, I could feel my lust dribbling out like juice from an orange.

“Hah… Mmph…” The fingers stroked me from the outside in, and it was both hot and a little alarming. “Aah, aah, gah!”

His finger pressed down hard on the lump of pleasure embedded in my body and my back arched, like a cat trying to wriggle free of its owner’s grasp. But what I wanted was quite the opposite—I wanted him to keep going. He put one arm around my waist and pulled me close, granting my wish.

“Mmmn, aaahh, aah…!”

An invisible conducting wire lit up with sparks, causing my untouched genitals to swell. With two fingers now inside, my insides had forgotten all pretense of stiffness. Why hadn’t it felt this good at the start? I could no longer remember.

“AAH!”

The harder he rubbed, the more I could feel my spine undulating. At this point, I was struggling to support my own body weight, and my kneeling gradually shifted to sitting—sending his fingers even deeper into me. Reflexively, I threw my head back.

“Enough! No more…touching…”

“What, you want to stop?” he asked, despite knowing exactly what I meant.

“No—aah, aah, gah!”

The intense stimulation made me writhe, all the way to my fingertips. Now that my hips had lowered, Ushio’s face was inches from mine at nearly the same eye level; I looked away in shame, knowing my everything was on full display. As usual, he saved his sweetest smiles for moments like this. As much as I wanted to look at him, I didn’t dare.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t, stupid!”

“Don’t worry. I’m shy about it, too.”

“You’re a liar!”

“It’s the truth!”

“Aaahh, gah…!”

The excess lube made raunchy squelching sounds as he tested my hole’s obedience. I could feel his scorching breath against my eyelids, threatening to singe my eyelashes.

“Y’know,” he whispered hotly, “you’ve got a pretty face.”

“Changed your tune?” You just called me ugly like a minute ago!

“It was my honest opinion at the time…and I’m still being honest now.” I wasn’t sure if this was something to be happy about. “You’re a real enigma sometimes.”

Pot, meet kettle! How in the world did he accept my obnoxious personality as “entertaining”? He touched my deepest parts and changed me for the better, both figuratively and literally. Who was Ushio, really? Something told me I’d never find the answer until the day I died…but I didn’t really need one.

“Kei, lift your hips.”

I pushed myself up onto my knees again, and he pulled my pants and underwear down. My exposed cock was now standing at full mast, veins throbbing from the pleasure of the fingers leaving my rectum. Likewise, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his own engorged member.

“Okay, now sit back down. I’m putting it in.”

“Nnng…”

“Easy does it, now.”

The same fingers who ravaged my insides now helped to spread the hole wide for penetration. But when his tip touched my entrance, the heat and rigidity intimidated me, especially in this unfamiliar position.

“Wait, no, I’m scared…!”

“It’s okay. It’s the same thing we always do.”

“No!”

“It’s not going to hurt.”

He gave my dick a little stroke, and when the tension drained away, my legs promptly folded. He dug into me, his length and girth far bigger than any fingers.

“Aaahh…!”

“Your ass feels so good. Let me go all the way.”

“Aah, aah, aah!”

The sweat on the backs of my knees should have felt gross, but whenever I had sex with Ushio, I stopped caring about anything wet or slimy or sticky. It felt like these fleeting moments of getting dirty helped cleanse my naked heart. Countless layers of masks, peeled off one by one.

“Aaahh, aah… Ushio…!”

“Ahhh, there, it’s in. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Yeah…!”

He rubbed my tailbone, drawing my attention to the intruding presence. With his dick now fully in my ass, we pounced on each other, kissing. Our flames of lust fused together, burning sky-high.

“Mmmn, aah…!”

“Not scared anymore?” He pulled my arms from around his neck and guided them to the wall.

“Wha…?”

“Go on, fuck it yourself.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s…too much effort…”

“Don’t be a dead fish in bed.”

“But…!” You’re the one making me go limp!

“Go on.” He wiggled his pelvis, penetrating me deeper than usual, making pleasure flare up inside me.

“No… Aaahh…!”

“Start moving, Kei.”

Goddamn it, you think I’m going to follow your every order? Because you’re right, dumbass! “Nnnnn…nngh…”

Clinging to the rough texture of the wall, I slowly raised my hips. As he slid smoothly out of me, it felt like I was losing him, and it was torture. Then, exhaling, I lowered back down and felt him fill me all over again. The sensual pleasure set all the hair on my body on end.

“Aah… Aaahh…!” I couldn’t move much more than a wiggle, but the quick pace made it feel like a series of bullets to the prostate. My cock swelled with lust. “Aaahh…!”

As I hit my own weak spot, I reflexively pulled my hands away from the wall, but Ushio grabbed my wrists and pushed them back. “Stay there.”

“Why…?”

“It’s a special kind of wall-slam, just for me.”

In what world is this a “wall-slam”?

“Because I don’t enjoy the thought of you flirting with all your thousands of viewers, even if it is just for work.”

“Dumbass… Seriously, I can’t do this…”

“Liar. You’re bouncing on my dick just fine.”

“I don’t—want to—!”

“Kei.”

“You do it! I…I wanna hold you!”

Our foreheads accidentally slammed together. “Ow,” Ushiro grunted. “Ugh, man… Just when I thought you were gonna kill my boner, you actually said something slick.”

“Unlike you, I’m not a liar…!”

“I know.”

Don’t you grin at me like that! You’re supposed to argue back!

“Aaahh…!” The hand at my waist pushed me down hard onto his cock, then hoisted me up again. “Aah, aah, oh, god! Aaahh…!”

He fucked me harder and deeper than I could ever achieve on my own, and in moments, my fully swollen member reached its climax.

“Nnngh! Aah, aah, wait, no!”

“Not happening,” he spat back coldly as he started an aggressive rhythm.

“Aaahh, aah, gah, aaahh, aah…!”

The pleasure was painfully intense right after an orgasm, but the penetration was quickly building me up to a second round. My walls were sucking on him like a popsicle.

“Aaahh…!”

“On second thought, this position is too hard. It’s annoying.” After a round of hard pounding, Ushio leaned forward and pushed me backward, down onto the bed sheets, all without pulling out.

“Gah…!” As our position shifted, the girth inside me dug into my walls. “Nnn…aah!”

He was now fucking me so hard, he made my hips bounce. My walls were glued to his dick as he gouged out my prostate.

“Aah—oh, god, I’m gonna fall!”

The bed was only so wide, and now my head was hanging over the side. Sexual pleasure was dominating my body so completely, it felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience, falling headfirst endlessly through time and space. When I clutched at his biceps, he yanked my torso up toward his neck.

“You said you wanted to hold me, right?”

“Yeah…!”

I clung to him like my life depended on it as he filled my every crevice, waiting for his hunger to be sated at last. He embraced me, too, as he pierced my bowels.

“Aah, aaahh, aah…!”

“Nnng…!”

And so we held each other tight, like two statues, until our racing heartbeats slowed once more.

***

The newsroom’s get-together was stated to be “a social gathering for employees under 30,” which meant we were, at the very least, spared from interacting with annoying older men.

“I hear she started kissing up to the producer, like ‘I wanna be in it too!’”

“Oof. No way.”

“Well, she’s probably under pressure, since one of her peers just got engaged to a pro baseball player.”

“How the tables have turned, am I right? Before that, she totally looked down on her for only ever doing radio work.”

But of course, it was still just as vapid as any other get-together—gossiping about other people in the industry, trading horror stories about sexual harassment from toxic directors, criticizing each other, all that boring crap. Still, I was professionally obligated to stay for at least half of it.

“Awww, if that’s all it takes to be a regular, then put me on too! I wanna be on The News!”

“Not happening, sorry!” Tatsuki pushed his female peer’s face out of his personal bubble—a surprisingly coldhearted move, coming from him. “Go ask Shitara-san or Asou-san, not me.”

“Okay! But really, though, your show doesn’t have enough women in it.”

“What about the meteorologist?”

“She only gets, like, five minutes at the end!”

It was mostly Asou’s preference that we had no regular female commentator, and for a very simple reason: “If we could find one who can speak properly, we’d use her, but none of our options are good enough.” Evidently, he wasn’t interested in a pretty face who could only nod and smile.

“If we wanna give the viewers something cute to look at, we’ll get a studio cat. Y’know, like Station Master Tama, except a kitty producer. It could work, am I right?”

Despite Tatsuki implying she was less valuable than a cat, the woman merely pouted. “You might be in trouble soon, you know. Newsment seems like a wild, fun show. This week, I think I heard they got up to 15 percent. Really seems like they’re going places.”

“Yeah, but our numbers haven’t gone down.”

Oh my god, shut up! “It seems they’ve taken a small number of viewers from every station,” I cut in gently. “Though it’s hard to predict where they’ll be six months or a year from now.”

“Well, they might have good numbers, but I heard their studio presence is still kind of iffy,” someone else added.

“Wait, what? Is there drama between the hosts or what?”

“No, it’s all behind the scenes. The executive producer is from the production team, which is why the tone’s so casual, but it rubs a lot of people the wrong way on the news side of things. From their perspective, they don’t want comedy to get in the way of reporting, but they can’t complain, since it brings in the views.”

“Oh, man, I can totally see that. Jipang’s news crew has always struck me as high-and-mighty.”

“Apparently, their beef with the production team goes waaay back. Meanwhile, production’s like ‘You guys waste our budget with your snooty, self-important reporting and it doesn’t even bring in views.’ So this show is like a compromise between the two where the production team gets a chance to strike back, I guess?”

“Very interesting,” said a voice directly behind me. And when I turned around, I saw the same face I’d seen on TV peering at us over the divider between the izakaya tables.

***

Tatsuki was the first to recognize him. “Oh, it’s Kizaki Ryou!”

“In the flesh?”

“I sure hope so!”

Kizaki’s soft smile was no different from the one he usually gave the camera. When his eyes met mine, his expression turned to guilt. “Sorry, I was sitting two tables away when I heard ‘Newsment,’ and…yeah. You guys are with Asabi TV, right? I notice there’s a legend among you. Mind if we join?”

“Sure, no problem! How many are you with? Party of six? Then let’s ask ’em to push another table over—Excuse me!” After flagging down an employee, Tatsuki looked back at us and asked, “You don’t mind, right?”

Little late for that one, dumbass. Ugh, this sucks. “Of course not,” I replied amiably, then gestured to Kizaki. “Join us.”

“Thanks. I’ll go call the others.”

After our newly merged group toasted their drinks, Tatsuki got right down to brass tacks. “Is it true you guys have a faction feud?”

“Seriously? Is that the kind of question you ask someone you just met? You Asabi anchors are something else.”

“C’mon, it’s a special occasion! Right?”

“I wouldn’t call it that…”

Kizaki sat directly beside me, happily sipping his oolong tea. Surreptitiously, I snuck a glance at his face in profile—an angle the cameras didn’t often utilize—and determined that, categorically speaking, he and I were the same. Not that we were especially similar, but if we were to be broadly classified, we’d end up in the same group. So it made sense that, when it came down to it, the hiring manager had to drop one of us. There was no benefit to hiring two anchors with the same vibe.

Then the face turned in my direction. “So, what brings you all here today?”

“No particular reason; our spring renewal season is finally coming to an end, so we thought we’d have a little get-together for employees of the same age group. You?”

“Erm…this is kind of embarrassing, but…we were having a private staff celebration for achieving 15 percent.”

“Oh, I see. Why is that embarrassing?”

“Well, we still haven’t caught up to The News… I was worried you’d think we’re getting cocky.”

Caught up? Don’t get full of yourself. Your show’s only been on the air for a month! “What do you mean?” I blinked, eyes wide. “We were just saying how it seems like your show is going places—oh, right, I suppose you overheard that.”

“Yeah, sorry. But it really means a lot! I’ve learned so much from The News.”

“Well, just keep up the good work.” Ugh, I hate humoring this douche. I wanna go home! Damn you, Minagawa!

That being said, if Tatsuki hadn’t taken the initiative, someone else would have. While anchors were full-time employees, “TV personalities” were contracted through external agencies, and we were expected to treat them like station personnel.

“Want to order something?” I offered Kizaki the menu…but he simply stared at me. “Um…?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just admiring your perfect teeth.”

What? I could tell this was headed in a weird direction, and it threatened to impact the very smile he was complimenting. You’re not hitting on me, are you? No offense, but I don’t need any more men in my life.

“You think so? Why, thank you. Though I will say, yours are—”

Barf. This is so cringe. What is this, a girls’ night where we all praise each other’s hair and makeup? But Kizaki merely smiled and said, “Oh, these are implants.”

“Huh?”

He parted his lips and tapped a fingernail lightly on his front teeth. Upon further inspection, they did seem a little too perfect to be natural.

“Originally I had my teeth straightened, but the sizing was kind of uneven, so I went ahead and got implants for my front teeth, top and bottom.”

“That sounds…”

For once, I had opened my big mouth without preparing a comment in advance. If I told him “That sounds rough,” it would sound massively condescending, but what else could I say?

He didn’t seem bothered, however. “There’s a lot of competition to be a news anchor,” he continued. “In my case, I had work done on my tongue, too, though that might be a bit uncommon.”

“Your tongue…?”

“My articulation was poor, so I had them surgically remove my lingual frenulum. It didn’t dramatically change anything, but psychologically, it helped my confidence a lot.”

“So did you get plastic surgery on your face to make yourself hot too?” Tatsuki cut in, and frankly, he won a bit of respect from me for having the balls to ask.

“If I had, I’d look a lot hotter than this, trust me,” Kizaki answered with a sardonic grin.

“Oh, please! So anyways, I hear you were almost my senpai, huh?”

My heart nearly stopped. Hey dumbass, don’t bring that up! It’s gonna get weird!

“Yes, but what can I say? It didn’t work out. And from his first broadcast, Kunieda-san was hailed as an exceptional talent.”

Did he wish that praise had been directed at him instead? I was kind of scared to imagine it. I didn’t mind a little envy within reason, but when it came to hardcore jealousy, I preferred to avoid it.

“But I mean, you probably coulda made it in the year after, right?” Tatsuki pressed.

“Hard to say,” he muttered, smiling evasively. “It really took the wind out of my sails… See, I’ve wanted to be a news anchor since I was a kid, and I especially liked Asabi TV. Each station has a certain preferred type of anchor, right? Well, Asabi was my favorite. I only started modeling in high school because I thought it’d help me get hired there.”

Kizaki wasn’t even speaking that loudly, and yet his voice had a way of carrying over the din of the busy izakaya. Dude, stop. Don’t use your announcer voice to tell me your stupid sob story.

“But right when I thought I was hired, they called and said I didn’t make it. I was in shock… I just couldn’t find the motivation to try again the next year. I was scared they’d pass on me again.” He paused, then continued brightly, “But I do enjoy my current job. I love working in the news industry. And besides, you really are talented, Kunieda-san. It’s no wonder the CEO chose you. Some people are just naturally gifted.”

“No, no, don’t be silly,” I replied.

“How did you feel when they told you they wanted you to be a newscaster? Can I ask what made you decide to accept?”

“Wh—”

“PEEPEE!” Tatsuki bellowed out of nowhere. “Bathroom! Kunieda-san, I gotta peepee!”

“Er, Minagawa-kun?”

“What’s wrong with you, Tatsuki?”

“Are you drunk or what?”

“Hurry, hurry! I’m gonna pee my pants!”

“Don’t you dare. Come on, stand up.”

I wanted to smash my beer mug over his skull, but instead I dutifully put an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the gentlemen’s room at the back of the pub. When I opened the door for him, however, he suddenly grabbed me, dragged me in, and locked the door behind us. This single-occupancy washroom was large enough for a full-sized sink, so two adult men could fit inside with room to spare.

“The fuck is this?” I stammered.

“Look, senpai, you need to pull yourself together.” He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms, all semblance of drunkenness gone.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re really cowering to Kizaki Ryou? He sees us as the competition to beat, so for all we know, he might’ve come here to spy on our get-together and gather intel. Don’t cave to the pressure—that’s just giving him what he wants.”

“So what exactly do you expect me to do here?”

“Quit playing nice and clap back already! Put on your winning smile and tell him, ‘Yeah, I’m so talented, I got in without even trying!’ Dunk him like Serena Williams!”

“Wrong sport, genius…”

“It just feels like you’re being an even bigger doormat than usual, and I hate to see it, man.”

“Well, I don’t exist to please you, all right? I just…can’t stand that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Sad backstories.” I was fine with horror and gore, but grounded human suffering made my skin crawl. “He had his teeth pulled and his tongue surgically modified? I’d rather cut my ears off than have to listen to that.”

“What? That stuff’s hardly more painful than losing your virginity was, right?”

“I need you to die, ASAP.”

“Wanna hear about the time I scratched my back on the faucet at my grandpa’s house and stained the bathtub red?”

“Stop! Wait, that was basically the whole story!”

“That reminds me, I was dating this bikini model trainee once, and she had a whole rib removed just to have a smaller waist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Sometimes you have to take drastic measures to make your dreams come true or else you’ll regret not committing all the way. She never made it as a model, but she got a job as a receptionist at a luxury members-only gym and married a rich guy, and I hear she’s happy with her life. Likewise, I’m sure Kizaki Ryou’s satisfied with his popularity as a TV personality. Didn’t you literally say it has nothing to do with you? I don’t get why you feel so guilty about it.”

Because I can’t just shrug it off like you can. Loath as I was to admit it, when he told me “you don’t have the guts to be the bad guy,” he was right.

“That reminds me, you said you only applied because your friend did, right? Are you still friends?” I asked him.

“Yep, still the same old friends. He wasn’t set on being a news anchor specifically. But honestly, even if he resented me, I wouldn’t care. Like it or not, passion and effort don’t always lead to results. You learn that after you’ve been to a few mixers. Speaking of which, you should come with me to one sometime! They’re full of life lessons.”

“Hell no.”

After Tatsuki walked out, I gazed into the mirror on the wall. I wasn’t so vapid as to become entranced by my own reflection, but I liked my appearance well enough. Anyone with conventional tastes would surely find me attractive. And my teeth were indeed perfect, whether Kizaki meant it or not. But these things were merely given to me on a whim by my DNA. I hadn’t earned them outright. Sure, my sperm cell won the fertilization race, but anybody could say that.

Most people would probably agree that Tatsuki was right. If every job was predicated on working hard and caring a lot, the economy would cease to function. And if some guy showed up and told me he’d been in love with Ushio for twenty years, I wouldn’t just step back and let him have him—I’d tell him to fuck off.

But the look in Kizaki’s eyes when he asked me how it felt… His expression and tone were both soft, but the question itself was pointed. How does it feel to stand in the very spot I spent years working my ass off to reach?

To be clear, I had never once taken my job for granted. In several aspects, I’d invested five times the effort anyone else would have. The fact remained that I was at least partially forced into the job, but surely no one at the station could say it was a mistake. I worked wholeheartedly and got results because I didn’t want anyone to look down on me, whether it was those who wanted the job and got it, or the vast majority who wanted the job and failed.

But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, my heart still felt heavy. I pulled out my personal phone and placed a call to my mother. She answered right away. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“What is it? Want me to send you something?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

“Uhhh…”

“Look, if it’s not urgent, can we do this later? My show’s on.”

Apparently I ranked lower on her list of priorities than Saturday Night at the Mysteries. “Mom!”

“Fine, fine…”

“…Th-thank you for giving me such great teeth,” I mumbled awkwardly. The other end of the line went quiet for a second, and then I heard a crunch. What was she eating?

“Ah, so that was the culprit’s motive…”

“Hey!”

“I’m listening, okay? I’m just confused! Look, I don’t know if you ate some funny mushrooms or what, but you’re very welcome, dear. Need some Pepto-Bismol?”

“Mom, I’m not on shrooms!”

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better personality.”

What’s that supposed to mean? God, I never should have called you.

***

It was the Monday after Golden Week that Newsment finally overtook The News. When I got to work and checked the ratings at my newsroom desk, theirs was 16.1 and ours was 14.9. Our market share was lower, too. But I mean, that feature on single fathers was pretty good. The “married with kids” demographic must have loved it.

Oddly, part of me was relieved. Every day I came to work, the possibility that they’d beaten us always loomed over my head until I checked the ratings. So you’d think I would have preferred to avoid a day like today at all costs—but now that it was here, it sapped away all my negative emotions. What happened to not giving a rat’s ass, huh? I rolled my eyes at myself.

These days I couldn’t go anywhere in the station without hearing somebody talking about Newsment.

“Shitara-san! Did you see their numbers spike? What’ll we do about it?”

“Good question… I know! Let’s add a horoscope segment and call it ‘Tonight’s Two-Hour Fortune,’ since the day’s practically over with by that point. Original, am I right?”

“No one wants that!”

But how long would we be able to play it off as a joke?

“Kunieda, have you had lunch?” asked Asou as he approached.

“Not yet.”

“Then let’s grab a bite together for a change.”

This was a rare invite from a man who generally didn’t seem to care about playing mentor to the junior employees. I could feel the newsroom turn electric with wordless interest. And needless to say, I was alarmed.

“Hey hey, I wanna come too! Sushi, chicken, or ramen! Sushi, chicken, or ramen!”

So much for wordless interest.

“You’re not invited, Tatsuki. Your incessant babbling drives me insane.”

“Awwww…”

I was in full agreement, of course, but without someone there to babble, it would just be awkward. Fight harder, Dumbagawa!

“Mind if I pick the restaurant?”

“By all means, go for it.”

And so I was brought to a hole-in-the-wall soba noodle bar in a back alley about a ten minute walk from the station. Lunchtime had long since passed, and there was a “closed for cleaning” sign out front, but Asou slid the door open regardless.

“Hello, there!”

“Yes, yes, come on in,” answered a stooped old lady who gestured to a table in the back without hesitation. Clearly this was his go-to restaurant. He ordered the mori soba.

“Ever since my stomach surgery, I haven’t been able to eat too much in a single sitting, but I’m always hungry for a little something. What’ll you have, Kunieda?”

“I think I’ll have the tenzaru soba… How are you feeling these days?”

“Better, now that I’m going to the hospital on the regular.”

“That’s good.”

As we discussed inoffensive topics like the newsroom sectional meeting and the upcoming broadcasting terminology workshop, our two plates of noodles arrived at last. He picked up a pair of disposable chopsticks.

“Inside the Jipang station, rumor has it they’ve got six foot tall posters that say ‘BEAT THE NEWS!’ on them.”

“Wow. That’s…impressive.”

“I haven’t seen them for myself, so they might not really be six feet tall, but I also heard they ordered a confetti ball and cracked it open right there in the studio.”

“Well, they are on the upswing.”

Matcha salt, grated daikon radish, and crispy tempura with a fancy dipping sauce. It was all delicious, of course, but deep down in the dungeon of my heart, I yearned for deep-fried garbage with tons of mayo and teriyaki sauce.

“What do you think of their show, Kunieda?”

With Asou asking me questions across the table, it felt like an interview from hell. “I enjoy it,” I answered. “I suspect the casual tone is divisive for a lot of people, but the hosts seem relaxed and unrestricted.”

I didn’t know if the rumors I heard at the get-together were true, but at the very least, I couldn’t detect any strife on-screen. If the viewers couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist.

“Unrestricted indeed,” he replied, eating his noodles at a torturously slow pace. “In this industry, there is nothing more ­precarious than an unrestricted program.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say, for the sake of argument, that a sex worker was murdered.”

This was not the sort of hypothetical story that I wanted to hear in a noodle bar.

“Some might think she brought it on herself for engaging in such a high-risk profession. But would we ever say that on air? No, we would not, and neither would any of the guest commentators we brought on. It’s never ‘prostitute,’ it’s ‘escort.’ We never say ‘hookups,’ and instead say ‘personal relationships.’ That’s just the way it is on TV, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But Newsment is different. Their hosts are free to say things like, ‘I hear she hooked up with a lot of different men.’ Who’s going to fact-check that statement? They weren’t there at the crime scene. What gives some random commentator the right to blab about secondhand information they saw online? If you ask me, they have no business putting informal conversations on the air just to seem relatable for the views.”

I could feel all twenty years of broadcasting experience behind every word and it packed a punch, especially since I knew he wasn’t the type who just wanted to hear himself talk. As the faces of their TV station, anchors were required to be very careful about what they said. Not just politics, but any strong opinion—no matter how minor—could be construed as representative of the station as a whole. For us, restrictions like these kept us out of trouble.

“But hey… Maybe I’m just being a sore loser, you know?” He chuckled and reached for his cup.

“Does it bother you that they beat us?”

“Not really. As far as I’m concerned, we’re doing things the right way. So if they wanna give my job to someone else, they can go ahead.” He spoke with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn’t be replaced.

“Asou-san…” I paused, then continued, “What made you want to be a newscaster?”

“I take that to mean you never planned it yourself. I mean, I know the story of how you were hired, of course. The CEO asked me for advice about it, and I said, ‘Trust your gut reaction and just hire the guy.’ Worst-case scenario, there’d be more hires next year.” His tone suggested it was only natural for those without skill to be cut loose, and he took no pleasure in it. “Anyway, we were talking about me, right? It was so long ago that I forget my original reason, but I love this job. What about you?”

“It’s very fulfilling work.”

“Spoken like a true teacher’s pet.” For some reason, Asou’s gaze felt like the dull, dark gleam of a camera lens—as though he alone controlled the narrative.

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m not criticizing you. To put it crudely: no matter how beautiful a woman is, after sleeping with her five days a week, you get bored of it, right? But I’ve never gotten bored of broadcast television. Every time I’m about to go live, I feel the thrill of it, never quite knowing how it’ll play out. Not once have I ever gone to work purely out of obligation. I eagerly look forward to our show every single night.”

The twin lenses of his eyes glinted like the studio lights were shining on them. At last, I understood what drew the public eye to him. It wasn’t his appearance, his voice, or his speaking skills—it was his ceaseless devotion. And now it felt like he was probing me, demanding to know why I was here.

“…I don’t think I’m anywhere near that stage yet.”

“You don’t have to strive for it. You can move at your own pace. But you do have the tendency to be too well-mannered, and sometimes I wish you’d push back a little. Like you did during our first episode.”

“That was just… I was caught in a tailwind, so to speak.”

Did I really have my own pace? When someone set a goal for me, I put in the work to reach it, but it was only because someone else told me to do it.

Asou suddenly grabbed the bill and rose to his feet. “Shall we head out?”

“Thank you for lunch,” I replied with a bow.

“Anytime. If you ever need advice, come see me.”

“Thank you very much.”

“…But I already know you won’t take me up on that offer. I just wanted to sound like a proper mentor.” Way to invalidate your own statement. “Because you’re the kind of guy who’ll never reveal your true colors.”

“That’s not true…”

“Sure it is. I don’t know if it’s stubbornness, pride, or fear, but something in there keeps you from asking for help. Granted, I’m not here to be somebody’s therapist, so I appreciate you having your shit together—you and Tatsuki both. The young hires these days all have their heads screwed on straight.”

I’ve asked for help plenty of times! Like when you got sent to the hospital and your show got dumped on me instead! To hear Ushio tell it, I pulled through all on my own, but no. I asked him for help, and he helped me.

This time, however, my fears didn’t start and end with one specific broadcast. The ratings weren’t supposed to matter. Kizaki Ryou wasn’t supposed to matter either, but here I was, obsessed with these things against my will. No matter what anyone said, I just couldn’t shake it off.

***

When I arrived at Ushio’s house, the first thing he said was, “You’ve been coming home late a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I’m busy.”

“Oh, really…”

In truth, these days I went straight home after work to watch the latest recording of Newsment before heading over, but I didn’t dare tell him that. After how hard I tried to act like I was above it all, I couldn’t imagine how he’d react if I told him I watched all their episodes on my own time. I didn’t want him to know about my very real feelings of panic and frustration.

When I flopped down face-first onto the bed, he asked, “Aren’t you going to watch The News?”

“Not tonight.”

“How come?”

“…Because I messed up my pronunciation, okay?! And it’s just gonna piss me off!”

They were closer to minor flubs than outright mistakes, and I managed to keep a straight face each time, but a professional might have noticed them—like Kizaki. When I imagined him pointing and laughing at his TV screen, or pictured him reciting the same line flawlessly, well… Suffice it to say, it was bad for my mental health.

Not once in my academic or professional life had I ever obsessed over a specific person. I didn’t want to compete with people who thought of themselves as future Olympic athletes or government officials. I had set a realistic benchmark for myself, one that was just high enough that I would get attention and feel satisfied. I was an all-rounder in all aspects, including my looks, so I didn’t care if other people surpassed me in one random category. For better or for worse, I was only ever focused on myself.

But now if I saw that name, or that face, my whole day was ruined…and yet, despite knowing this full well, I went out of my way to seek him out for some reason. How was I meant to cope with this?

“Helloooo? Kunieda-kuuuun?” The bedsprings creaked as I felt Ushio sit down. “Are we upset about something?”

“No, I’m just tired.”

“Really?” He leaned his upper body over me, suffocating me.

“Get off! I’m going to sleep.”

“If you’re honestly just tired, that’s fine, but you better not be overthinking things. You’re not smart enough for that.”

I didn’t even have the energy to protest against his insult. “Leave me alone,” I muttered in a small voice, knowing he was almost certainly staring at the back of my head with a puzzled look on his face. I knew I was acting like a child, but I couldn’t help it—I didn’t want to talk about it, but I didn’t want to act like everything was fine, either.

“Seriously, you gotta let that stuff go. You’re way more awkward than you realize.”

“Don’t call me that!” Using both arms, I pushed him away and sat up. “I hate that word. It’s insulting. People say ‘Oh, I’m awkward’ as an excuse to be rude and entitled. It’s their get-out-of-jail-free card, while everyone else has to pay the price for their weird-ass behavior. Sorry, but if you can say you’re ‘awkward’ with no shame whatsoever, then you’re not really that awkward at all. Even I have more self-respect than that.”

Ushio sat there and watched me rant away, and when I was done, he patted me on the head with nary an ounce of remorse. “Sorry. I can see that you’re tired, so I’ll let you sleep. I’ll be working downstairs if you need me. Night.” Then he switched off the second-floor lights and shuffled off down the stairs.

Great, now I’ve taken it out on him and he’s worried about me… No, he seems pretty normal, so there’s gotta be something else. Look, I am not awkward—I work like hell to conduct myself with perfect poise, and I don’t want him of all people to invalidate that! Otherwise this whole house of cards is going to come crumbling down!

I never asked to be in this position. That’s why I put in so much effort. So how was I supposed to compete against people who were powered by things like love and dreams?

Love was a tyrannical weapon—the ultimate trump card. As long as you had love, you were guaranteed to triumph over someone without it. Love was the greatest motivator. In this world, love conquered all. And that was the source of my insecurity. But Ushio had spent his whole career doing what he loved…and for that reason, I couldn’t possibly confide in him about it.

***

The next morning at 6:30 a.m., I woke to a phone call from Shitara. The fuck do you want at the ass-crack of dawn? I needed a few seconds to step into my “professional” persona; then, after a quick warm-up, I answered the phone. “Good morning.”

“Sorry to call so early. I need you to switch to field reporting for a bit.”

“What?”

“There’s been a string of convenience store robberies right near your house, so I figured you were the perfect choice. Cameras are already on their way; grab a taxi and meet up with ’em. The director will bring you your armband.”

“Yes, sir.”

It had been quite a while since I was assigned any unscheduled field reporting. Surely any reporter would have sufficed, so why send a nightly news anchor? Were we really that strapped for human resources? I checked the news on my phone, but didn’t see any sign of a major robbery. The hell is going on?

Confused, I put on my face mask and glasses, then headed downstairs, where I found Ushio asleep on the sofa. He must have decided to give me some space. I knew the right thing to do was to wake him and say goodbye, but I couldn’t swallow my pride and apologize for last night even if you paid me. Besides, I’m in a hurry, or so I told myself as I quietly left the house.

At the scene, we filmed our report while the morning talk shows were airing. Then we got word that there might be a new development by noon, so we hung around for interviews, but nothing ever came of it, so our whole crew grabbed lunch and decided to call it a day. I finally arrived at the station just past 2 p.m., whereupon I noticed an email from Ushio in my inbox.

“Where are you?”

Oh, crap. I’d meant to find time to email him, but we were busy nonstop. Maybe I could apologize if it’s over text… Ugh, who am I kidding?

“At work. They called me in last-minute to film,” I sent him.

“Well, you should have let me know,” came the prompt reply.

Great, now he’s pissed. I would be, too. “But you were asleep,” I wrote.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t bother with the flimsy excuses.”

Sure enough, he saw right through me. To be fair, though it was 80 percent my own embarrassment to blame, the other 20 percent genuinely didn’t want to disturb him…but if I told him that, he’d probably get even more mad… Still, anything had to be better than no response at all… Right as I was having this debate with myself, however, I got a call on the internal phone system.

“Kunieda speaking.”

“Great work out there! It’s Shitara. Sorry for the last-minute shuffle this morning.”

You’d better be. “It was no trouble.”

“You haven’t been on one of those in a while, right? How was it?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. The director ran a tight ship, and thanks to that, we didn’t encounter any problems.”

“Good to know. Talk to you later.”

Despite the lack of issues, I was still extra-nervous working outside of the studio, and as a result, I was physically fatigued. I considered sleeping in the nap room for a few hours, but I hadn’t yet read the morning paper, nor had I reviewed last night’s recordings. I was terrified of deviating from my usual routine—what if it led to a mistake from which I could never recover? I’d lived my whole life in service to the fake persona I had established for myself. And while I wasn’t alone anymore, there were still things I couldn’t talk about.

We were losing by 0.5 percent in the ratings and 1 percent in the market shares. Suppressing the urge to sigh heavily (because I was in public), I rose to my feet and walked to the newspaper rack, focusing more than usual on my posture. I didn’t have time to sit there and spiral—I needed to focus on the work in front of me.

So I pushed all thoughts of Ushio from my mind. I couldn’t apologize, and I wasn’t good at making up after a fight like he was. The next time we saw each other, he’d probably rip me a new one, I’d get mad, we’d fight, we’d fuck, and then we’d be back to normal.

Around 7 p.m., after a lot of painstaking work, I was thinking about heading to the all hands meeting for The News when my internal phone rang yet again.

“They found part of a corpse in a reservoir in Saitama. Get over there. There’s a van waiting for you in the B1 parking lot.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re sending me?”

“Yeah. Oh, and be sure to grab an armband from the office. You know what form to fill out, right?”

“Wait, I—”

“Have you never had to do that before?”

“I know which form it is. But if I’m headed all the way to Saitama, I won’t be back in time for the show.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

Now I was starting to question his sanity. “What?”

“We’re planning to switch over to you during the show for a remote broadcast. Or if you’re still investigating, we’ll play it by ear at the studio. So don’t worry about us.”

What are you talking about, you stupid old man? “But…who’s going to read the script?” I asked, half-dazedly.

“We’ll get someone to do audio-only narration. The video segments are all finished, so it shouldn’t be hard. Besides, Asou can read the ledes himself. Relax—we’re not trying to replace you.”

Was this why he said, “Talk to you later”? It seemed more than a little extreme to have a regular miss his show just to do some field reporting. We weren’t short on hands—what was he thinking? But I didn’t have time to ruminate on it. I had to get ready, fast.

***

For the short term, you’ll be focusing on field reporting. That was all Shitara said to me. No explanation, no specified time period. But he was my superior, and my only option was to do as I was told.

I was required to be “on call” at all hours of the day; unlike a studio broadcast, there was no fixed end point. On the scene, a lot of time was spent on standby outdoors, and naturally, chairs were hard to come by. Some days, depending on the distance, weather complications could lead to hotel stays. Other days, if news was slow, I would sit around at the studio like usual.

Frankly, this wildly unpredictable schedule was stressing me out. Some people might enjoy the thrill of never knowing what your job had in store for you until the day it happened, but for me, it was draining. If only Shitara would have told me where the finish line was, I could have used it as motivation to keep going, but nope. And on top of all that…

“Hey, kid!”

“My name is Kunieda.”

“Tell me what shots you want! You’re the director today, remember?”

The size of the crew was always strictly limited—one cameraman, one sound guy, one lights guy, one assistant director, each with a huge list of responsibilities. Unlike in the studio, there was no one to hand me my script, no one to call for me when it was time, no one who handled the filming and editing and pre-recorded segments.

Still, would it have killed them to give us a director, at least? Not to suggest it was entirely unheard of for news anchors to manage an entire film shoot like a police reporter, but my whole career was centered around the studio. When it came to what shots I wanted, the best I could do was comb through my cultivated experience and choose the safest bets.

“Could you start with a close-up of that, then zoom out?”

“What? Are you serious? The framing’s gonna look sloppy, y’know.”

And how am I supposed to know what that means? “In that case, what would you personally recommend, Nishikido-san?”

“You said start with a close-up and zoom out, didn’t you? Well, how far back? Out with it already!”

Here we had the root of my stress: this walking personification of the phrase “stubborn as a mule.” Every now and then in this industry you’d come across self-styled “experts” who made life hell for the technical staff. As a studio star, it didn’t typically affect me; I could write it off as “just another day at work” and keep walking. But unfortunately, this grump was now my cameraman. I understood how annoying other people’s mistakes could be, but why couldn’t he discuss them calmly at a normal volume? Or consider the merits of my ideas before criticizing them? Or even remember my goddamn name?

Whenever these shifts came up, the crew was staffed with whoever happened to be available. In theory, it should have been a roll of the dice each time. So why, pray tell, did this man seem to show up on nearly every trip with me? Was I just paranoid?

Nishikido had worked as a news cameraman all his life, but he continued to lug his equipment around on short-term contracts long after it came time to retire. He was an ornery old nut who wouldn’t crack even if you dropped 25 metric tons of Gundam robot on his head. Every five minutes I spent on an assignment with him, I found myself wishing I could hire Golgo 13 to take him out. I’d give my life savings for someone to put a bullet right between those furrowed eyebrows.

Ignoring his quibbling, I was compiling the shot list in my mind when a man in a black suit stepped out of the leather goods store next door and suddenly walked up to us. “Excuse me—may I ask what you’re doing?” he asked.

“Come again?” growled Nishikido, like he was the king of the world. Interpreted more generously, he didn’t try to hide who he was inside. “Restaurant next door’s been givin’ folks food poisoning, so we’re here to report on it. What about it?”

Act civilized or I’ll sell you to the damn circus, you mountain gorilla!

The other man frowned. “We can’t allow our business to be depicted in a negative context.”

“’Scuse me? Don’t you sell purses in there? Nobody’s gonna associate purses with food poisoning!”

“Well, it can still impact our brand image, so we have to ask you to refrain from filming. Or if you insist, then we ask that you only use footage that doesn’t show our store.”

“FUCK OFF!” Nishikido screamed, loud enough that I half-expected the camera lenses to crack. “We’re here to do our jobs! Who the fuck do you think you are, barking orders at me, you snot-nosed kid?! The viewers at home need to know what street this damn restaurant’s on! If you’re so afraid of being in the shot, then I’ll give you 60 seconds to run back and throw a tarp over your fucking logo!”

If he wasn’t holding a camera, one might think they were witnessing a yakuza shakedown in broad daylight. His assistant, who was barely more than a part-timer, was already quaking in his boots. Ugh, what if he makes us all look like thugs?

Then, as the man in the suit ran back into his store, Nishikido turned to me. “Hurry it up, kid, before more of ’em come bitch at us.”

“My name is Kunieda,” I repeated patiently.

Somebody, anybody, give me your Swiss bank account number and just name your price.

***

“Kunieda!”

Back at the news station, after I returned my armband, someone called my name as I was typing up my report notes to share information with the other reporters. It was one of my peers from the news team.

Damn it, I don’t have the energy to keep playing nice. “Yes?”

“You’ve been juggling a lot the past few days, eh? Hanging in there?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Must be hard doing all that field work! So much footage ends up on the cutting room floor. It must seem like a total waste of time to a guy who’s used to being on TV every day.”

“It’s disappointing when something doesn’t make it to the air, but I wouldn’t call it a waste of time.”

For as often as Ushio called me oblivious, I was at least shrewd enough to know that this was sarcasm. And I knew a portion of the reporting team saw me as an outsider. They had every right to.

Field reporters only got to say two or three lines at most; there was no need to make some well-spoken news anchor do it. Hell, even the cameraman would suffice in a pinch. In fact, some directors specifically refused to let anchors report at all, lest it “destroy the realism.” But now here I was, stealing up all their screen time. Little wonder some of them felt threatened.

Well, I don’t give a shit. I’m not here because I want to be. Go get some tooth implants if you care so much. The deeper my rage, the tighter my smile became. At this point, I was starting to prefer Nishikido’s infantile screaming.

“Actually, I was wondering…” The reporter lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Off the record—did you screw up or something? Why are they sending their sheltered little prince out to do hard labor? Maybe it’s your producer’s policy, but still, isn’t it weird that the whole newsroom is just letting it happen?”

Trust me, pal, I wish I had the answers. To me, the newsroom’s silence indicated that Asou approved of Shitara’s decision, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Did I offend him at the noodle bar? No…neither of these guys were the type to let personal grudges spill over into their work. That was what made this whole thing inscrutable.

Relax—we’re not trying to replace you, Shitara had said.Not yet, maybe.

“I confess, I don’t know what’s going on myself,” I said, switching to my “uncertain” mask as I prayed to a sky I couldn’t see for this dude to get canceled on every social media platform under the sun.

I was dying to get home as soon as possible, but I was too exhausted to commute all the way there. So instead, I bought a sugary coffee drink at the vending machine and headed to the deserted staff cafeteria when work hours were over. With the lights turned way down low, the main source of illumination came from the wall of television screens set to display the current programming for each individual station.

The pale glow in the darkness threatened to lull me to dreamland. Gah, I can’t sleep here! I shook my head, then downed my coffee and looked back at the TV screens. One in particular caught my eye: Kizaki Ryou’s face next to the Persons logo. Hastily, I took a chair over, stepped onto it, and reached up to crank up the volume on that particular TV.

“Good evening, and welcome to Persons, the show that brings you a close-up look at someone who shares this earth with us, whether they live next door or on the other side of the globe. I’m Kizaki Ryou, and tonight, I’ll introduce you to a very special creator.”

The green tile set served to accentuate Kizaki’s polished appearance, and I couldn’t help but feel like shit by comparison, sitting here tired and alone in a dark, empty cafeteria.

“Now, when I say creator, I don’t mean a writer of books. Have you heard of stop-motion animation or claymation? It’s a profession that involves a lot of painstaking effort just to convey a single second of motion, repeated again and again to create a full-length feature.”

As always, his articulation was aggravatingly fluid.

“So tonight, let’s take a look at just how much time and passion goes into each and every imperceptible frame.”

The screen shifted to a pre-recorded segment featuring a smiling Ushio. Instantly, my drowsiness vanished. Ushio. Smiling. But…he wasn’t here. My heart felt like someone was wringing it out to dry. He hadn’t sent any more emails, and since I was so busy with work, I couldn’t visit him at home. But now that I was suddenly looking at his face, I wanted nothing more than to see him again.

“Could you help me with this?” Ushio asked the camera with a grin, holding out a sheet of black fabric. It was the very same fireworks cloth I myself had contributed to three whole months ago.

“What is this?” Kizaki asked.

“Every person who visits my house has to do a set amount of sewing. That includes the camera guy, the sound guy, all of you.”

“Are you sure you want that? Because I failed my home ec class.”

“That’s perfect, actually. See, I want each one to look different.”

“Wow, so this is one of your projects? I’m nervous already…”

When I last saw it, that night sky was mostly empty, but now there were several big fireworks blooming on the cloth. Clearly Ushio had kept himself busy while I was away. But unlike me, he sincerely enjoyed his work, and he was the one who decided when it was finished. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even think of what shots I wanted. Just normal footage for a normal broadcast, please.

How many other hands had touched that tapestry besides mine?

I stood there, transfixed by the sight of Ushio on screen. Everything about him and his life seemed so different through the camera lens. These were all things I never knew. Because when he and I were together, he didn’t talk about himself—he sat back and let me take the wheel.

He always insisted his life was nowhere near as interesting as mine, but anyone who watched this segment would disagree. One minute they were discussing things at his house, then the next they were traveling somewhere for a different meeting, or filming at the Persons studio, or helping design students put together a puppet video. And in between these scenes, every time they showed candid footage of Ushio standing in his kitchen, I felt some combination of blood and tears drip from my wrung-out heart.

I was fine with footage from the first floor, since that was Ushio’s workspace. But I hated the thought of Kizaki and his cameras trespassing in the kitchen, the dining area, or the space beyond with the bed. If I’d known this would happen, I would have told Ushio to cancel filming, and he probably would have. But I never imagined I would feel like this.

Why are you just standing there, laughing with him? That’s my spot! I finally found a place to belong, and it’s mine! Don’t let some total nobody in there! Get him out! Give it back!

I loathed—no, despised Kizaki from the very bottom of my heart. Jealousy clogged up my chest like black tar. And when I imagined Kizaki feeling this way toward me a few years ago, it terrified me.

“What made you decide to pursue a career in this field?” Kizaki asked, sitting on the same couch I knew firsthand.

Ushio gazed into space for a moment to think. “I wouldn’t say there was any particular reason… It just sort of worked out this way. I suspect it’s simply the one thing I’m good at.”

Personally, I couldn’t relate to that. I was Kunieda Kei—I could learn to master just about anything I tried, even work I didn’t especially like. Because Kunieda Kei was good at everything…and passionate about nothing.

***

My body was exhausted, but when I tried to nap in the taxi, I found that my eyes were wide awake. My mind was awash with memories of Ushio and Kizaki—their faces, their voices. But I would have to go back out for another field report at noon. I was told something about a Supreme Court ruling regarding the Chiba serial killer, and…something else. Crime and politics and law stuff all blurred together in my head, and as you might expect, I couldn’t fully iron it out.

My head hurt. I opened the door to my apartment, and when I saw Ushio’s sneakers on the floor, the pain inexplicably sharpened. Why? Didn’t I want to see him? For a while I stood there, dumbfounded, staring through the frosted glass, until eventually I saw a fuzzy shadow approaching from the living room. He must have lost his patience.

“Welcome home.”

“…What do you want?”

Even I could tell I was screwing up right out of the gate. Screwing up was all I ever did these days. But now that Ushio was right in front of me, the urge to lash out welled up in the back of my throat like vomit. Why was I suddenly the station’s errand boy? Why did some other station start competing with us? And why did he pick tonight of all nights to ambush me at my house? I was angry, queasy, conflicted.

“Is that what you should be saying to me right now?” In spite of his scowl, his voice was still soft…for now, anyway. “Don’t ghost me like that, man… Though to be fair, I’ve been busy myself.”

“Then what does it matter?”

“Kei.” His voice tensed slightly. “C’mon, what’s got you so prickly these days?”

“It’s nothing… I’m just tired. I’m gonna take a shower and sleep.” So go home, I added silently. But when I tried to walk past him, he grabbed me by the arm. “What?”

“Why haven’t you been on The News lately?”

This was the absolute last thing I wanted to talk about right now. “I’m still doing news stuff,” I protested brusquely, a grimace on my face.

“Yeah, random little segments here and there. I’ve seen them. But I’m asking about The News, as in, the show you’re supposed to be on.”

“My boss told me I gotta do field reporting, and there’s only one of me, so I can’t be everywhere at once.”

Why was I seemingly incapable of having a normal conversation without being snotty? Surely there had to be a better way of asking for emotional support. Silently, I cursed myself. I knew I didn’t want him to walk out on me, yet I couldn’t stop pushing those buttons. Self-loathing bounced around inside my head like a pinball until it flew out into Ushio’s face.

“So you got reassigned? How come?”

“How should I know?”

“What are you talking about? Of course you should know!” he pressed. “If you didn’t request it yourself, then that means some higher-up made the call, right? Go ask them about it! You look exhausted, and not in a happy, fulfilled sort of way. If some part of it doesn’t sit right with you, then you’re allowed to demand an explanation!”

“It doesn’t matter what their explanation is. It’s my job, and I have to do it either way. Unlike you, I’m a full-time employee.”

“What, so newscasters are slaves now?”

“Go ahead and believe that if you want.”

“Knowing you, I’ll bet it’s killing you inside. Just open up a little and talk to Shitara-san! Trust me, he’ll understand.”

“Are you fucking stupid?!” I smacked his hand away. Did he seriously think that was helpful advice? “I can’t just ‘open up,’ dipshit! You should know better than anyone!”

“Look, calm down, all right? I’m not saying you should go to work in your ratty old tracksuit and cuss him out. Just be honest about what’s on your mind! Ask him questions! Shitara-san cares about his subordinates—I’m sure he’ll give you a serious answer. Besides, your show’s not gonna last unless you can communicate.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?!” I roared back. By this point, I no longer cared what time of night it was. “My show sucks because I’m an asshole who can’t communicate?! Is that why our ratings are crashing?! Is that why we’re losing to Kizaki fucking Ryou?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied, and I could feel his frustration.

See? I knew there was no point in talking to you about this.

“You’re the one who said I don’t have to change. You told me to stay exactly the way I am!”

“Well, that was—”

“Forget it!” I flung my briefcase at the floor and covered my ears with both hands. “I’m sick of people telling me do this, do that, then asking me to think for myself! I’m tired! I’m doing my fucking job, aren’t I?! Doing it better than anyone else! What more do you people want from me?!”

“Kei—”

“I can’t take this. My head’s gonna explode. I need to be alone… Please, give me space right now.”

With my hands over my ears, the whispered words reverberated in my skull. Ushio started to speak at first, then looked around at the walls and floor like he was searching for something. Eventually, he pursed his lips together, put his shoes back on, and walked out. Through the door, I heard him put his spare key in the lock and watched as it rotated right in front of me.

I left my briefcase on the floor where it lay and staggered into the living room, where I collapsed onto the sofa. My emotions had long since surpassed the breaking point, leaving me with only lethargy. I was aware that I had treated Ushio poorly, but it would take some time yet before it truly sank in.

I reached for the TV remote and hit the play button. Clearly I must have been some kind of hardcore masochist to want to watch Newsment after all that. But it didn’t matter whether I avoided it or sought it out—I felt miserable either way. Hard to say which was better on my psyche.

After the standard news came a pre-recorded segment about pet euthanization, and when the cameras cut back to the studio, Kizaki’s eyes were damp.

“I’m sorry—I have a little pupper at my parents’ house, so…”

“It hits different when you have a pet, doesn’t it?”

As a newscaster, he’d get a failing score. A professional would never cry on the air. But Kizaki wasn’t a newscaster, so he was allowed to get emotional, even if he was just acting. After all, there were tons of viewers who would relate to those tears. As long as his pretty face pulled in views, he’d get no complaints.

Not that I wanted to be in his shoes, but sometimes being typecast as an anchor made me feel like an unfeeling, script-reading robot, no different from Siri. If anything, I deserved to cry! Maybe then I’d actually feel better!

Alas, my eyeballs were painfully dry whether they were open or closed.

***

Right as I arrived at the station, my cell phone rang. It was Shitara, and it took a small amount of courage to answer the phone.

“Good morning! Kunieda speaking.”

“I went to the newsroom, but you weren’t there. Are you outside?”

“I’m just about to board the elevator.”

“In that case, could I borrow you? Let’s grab coffee at the cafe on the tenth floor.”

“Yes, sir.”

What was it this time? Was I finally getting my pink slip? No, surely I hadn’t done anything to deserve that. I briefly entertained the possibility that Ushio had gotten involved… Well, it wasn’t zero, but he wasn’t generally the overprotective type.

We sat down on opposite sides of a table, and the moment our coffee arrived, Shitara started giggling to himself. “Sorry, it’s just… Tatsuki was pretty funny last night.”

“He was?” Did he invent a fun new pronunciation for something?

“He came and complained to me. Asked me why I was shutting you out.”

Oh, that. I wasn’t being “shut out”—if anything, I got more screen time than ever these days, from “good morning” to “good night.” So quit running your mouth, dipshit!

“He yelled at me, insisting he had a right to know what was going on with you since you’re co-stars. I tell you, the kid’s got balls—I hear he even went straight to Asou about it! Anyway, milk or sugar?”

“No thank you.”

“So then I started thinking… ‘How come Kunieda hasn’t said a word?’”

Oh, now you started thinking? I spat internally. Don’t play dumb, shithead.

“Anyone would at least wonder why they’ve been doing nothing but field work, but you never came to me.”

“Well, I was certain there had to be a good reason for it. And if it’s what’s best for our show, then as an employee, my duty is to follow orders.”

“Ah. So you trust me, in other words.”

“Of course.”

That much wasn’t a lie. Shitara knew how to use his brain, which was what made asking him such a frightening prospect. That was why I got so irritated at Ushio when he told me to do it. He acted like it was easy.

“I see…” He looked at me with watchful eyes, evaluating my every word as he lazily propped his chin in his palm. It felt like I was auditioning for something. “Tell me, Kunieda, what’s the one thing we want to avoid for the good of our show?”

“Well…poor ratings, I would say.”

At this, his eyes turned to ice, and I could practically see the coffee freezing over in his cup. “Wrong. Is that all you’ve got?”

“What…?”

Technical difficulties? Spreading misinformation? Conflict between the cast and crew? Romantic entanglements? With each idea that rose to mind, I knew it was wrong before it ever left my lips. Under the table, I clenched my hands into fists. The silence was brief, and yet my stomach was already knotting up.

“Ignoring our audience,” he said quietly, and the look in his eyes suggested he was judging me for not knowing the answer. “There’s a lot of office politics to navigate when you’re at the helm, and I know it might sound like sappy idealism, but that’s the one point I won’t budge on. If we start planning our show around what somebody else is already doing, it’s all over for us.”

See? This is why I didn’t want to talk to him. He knows exactly what I don’t want to hear.

“I like the way you read the news, Kunieda. Not just because of your skill. You’ve got the kind of voice that folks can listen to while they work. It digs into the mind—in a good way. Makes you perk your ears up. It’s not talent, it’s the firm understanding of information and the desire to convey it to the viewers. Your voice has power.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “However…”

I didn’t want to hear the rest. If this was Ushio, I would have plugged my ears.

“Y’know, I can’t quite put my finger on it. It seems to me like you still take the job seriously and haven’t let it go to your head, but…ever since this spring, your voice has changed a little. Any idea what that’s about?”

I looked directly into his eyes. “No… I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”

I could hear Ushio’s voice taunting me in my head: Why can’t you just open up to him? But I couldn’t. It simply wasn’t possible for me.

“I see. Well, the fact of the matter is, I can’t hear your voice these days. Now, it’s not our fault that our ratings are on the decline, but it’ll certainly have an impact on the show in the long run, so I wanted to nip it in the bud ASAP. But you know me—I’m not the kind of producer who can give you the ­advice you need. So instead I took the nuclear option and sent you out into the world for more hands-on experience with the viewers.”

Whatever he was angling for, it sadly wasn’t working—even I could tell. I rose from my chair without ever touching my coffee.

“I apologize, but I need to get ready for the next field report.”

“Right, sorry to bother you while you’re busy… Oh, one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“I know you might be getting a lot of mixed signals right now, but the news team does approve of you. While other anchors make the directors do the footwork and reserve the easy parts for themselves, you do your interviews and fact-checks without hesitation. It’s not always comfortable, yet you never complain. No matter where we send you, you put in the same amount of effort… While I admit it can be frustrating at times, I have a lot of respect for you. You never cease to amaze.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Are you kidding? Outside of work hours, I’m a wreck who explodes like a volcano at the slightest criticism! I’m falling apart across the board, sir!

If I confessed these thoughts, would he let me off the hook? I knew the source of my stress was Kizaki, but even if he were to resign from his show, would I automatically recover? Would the end of Newsment solve my problem?

No, probably not.

***

Yes, this is Kunieda, reporting to you live from Talking Gorilla Central.

“Hey! You’re trembling again, limp-dick! Are you really so incapable of holding a fucking fork?!”

The gorilla appears to be ugly and annoying and no one wants him around. So there you have it! Kunieda, signing off!

As I wrapped up my mental broadcast, I watched as Nishikido leapt down the assistant director’s throat with the force of a thousand suns.

Settle down, grandpa. You’re investing way too much energy in this. Let me plug in my USB cable so you can charge my phone instead.

Nevertheless, I did not want to have to waste time and ­delay our schedule, so I approached the assistant director myself. “Could I have a minute?”

When covering food stories, it was essential to get a “fork shot” of the food in question being lifted from the plate. Believe it or not, this was a skill that took practice.

“If you use your left hand to support your right elbow, it should stabilize.”

“Oh, my god, it works! Thank you so much!”

“Hey, kid, we’re filming your taste-test after this. Better get ready.”

“My name is Kunieda.”

We were covering an American roast beef restaurant that had just opened its first branch in Japan. It was a collaborative effort with their PR team, so I didn’t need to direct anything. We were shooting indoors, and I would get to eat free food. It should have been an appetizing job in more ways than one, but the recent stress had done a number on my stomach, and I wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

The meat was bigger than my face, juicy and dripping with sauce, and accompanied by a whole bowl of mashed potatoes. By all accounts, it should have enticed me. I knew I needed to eat; food was an important source of energy, with added benefits for my skin and complexion, and without it, I’d look like shit on camera. But these days, whenever I ate solid food, my stomach screamed like it was being flattened by a rolling pin.

“Okay, on my signal, your line is ‘Time to dig in!’ Then you’ll cut the meat and lift it to your mouth. Pause to look at the camera, then take a bite and give your thoughts.”

“Got it.”

Don’t make me eat it! I don’t want to! I couldn’t even bear to look at it glistening in the light. But if I didn’t nail it on the first try, we’d have to do a second take, then a third. Summoning my courage, I erased all fear from my face.

“Time to dig in! Wow, this thing is huge. Not sure if I can finish the whole slice… Mmm, the sauce packs a punch! You can really taste the garlic and red wine, and it pairs perfectly with the robust flavor of the meat. Delicious.”

“Okay, perfect! One quick review…”

Pipe down, I silently growled at my stomach as I gazed at the little camera screen located behind the director. I already wasn’t looking forward to watching it—while there was no need for a retake, my poor condition would be clear as crystal on film.

“Time to dig in!” said the Kei on screen.

At this, I did a double-take. Why did I look so alive? My smile was flawless and brimming with delight, befitting my princely reputation. Was I always this charming? Did modern cameras come with some kind of added filter for that? If the viewers didn’t already know me, they’d call the station to find out who I was! Either that, or I was now so fatigued that my standards were dropping.

“Great job! Okay, now let’s get a fork shot.”

I chose a piece of meat dripping with sauce, stabbed it with the fork, and held it up. The shot was less than ten seconds (of 30 minutes total spent filming on set), but the moment I saw the footage, my stomach rumbled faintly. Luckily no one nearby heard it, so I held a straight face, but internally I was startled to find that my appetite had roared to life. I’d literally eaten the same thing moments ago and thought it tasted like rubber—but through the camera lens, I suddenly craved it.

“I gotta say, Nishikido-san has a real talent with filming food! He always uses his magic to make it look delicious. I’m full just looking at this footage!”

Despite the director’s praise, however, the man in question didn’t even crack a smile. “We’re interviewing the owner next, right?” he demanded impatiently. “Quit flappin’ your jaws and hurry it up!”

“Okay, okay…”

Evidently it wasn’t a camera filter—it was Nishikido himself.

Thus far I had only ever teamed up with him on crime coverage, so perhaps he simply hadn’t needed this technique up until now. All this time, I thought the camera was just equipment, that a cameraman’s only skills were composition and timing, that it all got edited into something decent by sheer luck. I figured it was brainless work that even I could do. But now, I could see the difference.

Back at the station, we climbed out of the news van and were just about to part ways in the parking lot when Nishikido called out to me. “Hey, kid.”

“My name is Kunieda.”

“Lemme borrow ya.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not far. Won’t take long.”

Just the two of us? Instantly I thought of about ten different work-related tasks I could invent to get out of it, but instead I chose to do as he asked. I wanted to know how he turned that boring, everyday footage into something so captivating, even if I ran the risk of getting another boilerplate “I love my job” type of answer. But if he says something creepy like “I put my love into the camera,” I’m calling the cops, just FYI.

We took a familiar path, and sure enough, we arrived at the same noodle bar that Asou had brought me to.

“One katsu curry bowl and one mushroom rice soup, thin, easy on the rice.”

“Sure thing.”

What the—did he just order for me without asking? He closed the menu with no explanation other than “You need to make sure you eat.”

“I apologize. I wanted to make sure I’d have room for the beef today.”

“Liar. You been skippin’ more than one or two meals. I can see it on your face.” And with that, he fell into a grumpy silence, arms folded.

“Um, Nishikido-san,” I began hesitantly, “what made you want to be a cameraman?”

“I never wanted to. They assigned me to the camera crew when they hired me, and that was that. It’s hard work, the equipment weighs a ton, and sometimes they send you out to dangerous countries where the camera on your back looks like a weapon. There ain’t nothin’ good about this job, I tell you what.”

“Then why didn’t you just stay retired?”

“For the money, obviously! My youngest is still in college. Dumbass thinks he’s smart enough for grad school.”

I was expecting a self-important “master of my craft” spiel, but instead what I got was dry, tasteless reality. I could hardly believe it.

“What, that not good enough for ya? If I had to pick something, I’d say I like going to the tech seminars they hold at the other O&Os. It’s like a free vacation.”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with your answer. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Want an even bigger surprise?”

“What’s that?”

“I originally applied to be a newscaster.”

“What?”

I was glad we weren’t eating during this conversation, because otherwise I might have sprayed a mouthful across the table. Nishikido, a newscaster? With his caveman-looking face? He didn’t stand a chance unless he laundered his DNA through seven generations of marrying models like Triendl Reina, and even then, it was a gamble.

He took note of my stunned silence and clucked his tongue. “I’ll bet you think it’s out of my league, don’tcha? Well, for your information, they didn’t care so much about looks back in those days!”

Sure, but still… I decided to dig deeper. “Why a newscaster?”

“I loved baseball, and I wanted to be a commentator. ‘Going, going…aaand it’s gone! That’s a home run, folks!’ Fun, right? Kept asking ’em to transfer me to the sports department, but it never worked out.”

“I see.”

“Slapped the shit out of a dumbass for getting in my shot at the scene of an accident. Then he went on to become a big deal, and there went my chances.”

Somehow, I suspected there were at least a hundred more people with a similar grudge against this man. He heaved a sigh, and with it, his tone shifted from “hard as a rock” to…I don’t know, “hard as a tree” or something.

“The guy who got hired as an anchor over me, well, he was a player. Voice like butter. In the group interview, it was clear he was different from the rest—I’m sure every damn one of us must have seen it. And sure enough, he proved popular. But it wasn’t long before all that praise and attention turned him into a braggart. He’d go out drinking with a woman on his arm every night, and eventually he ended up missing two broadcasts. After that, he got shut out of the industry, and for good reason. No matter how handsome and talented he was, nobody’d wanna risk hiring him again.”

“What became of him after that?”

“After he quit, I never heard from him again. With his rep, he couldn’t go freelance either.”

Word traveled fast in an industry like ours. That was how everyone at the station knew the story about how I came to be hired.

“Everybody said it was karma,” Nishikido continued, his tone steeling up again. He was angry—no, that wasn’t it. He was sad. “He got too cocky and dug his own grave. And yeah, they’re right, but don’t the folks who kissed his ass share a part of the responsibility? What if one of you assholes had bothered to train him up right? Like, gimme a break here.”

He paused for a moment, then suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Y’know… I really liked him as an anchor. His talent proved to me that he deserved the job more than I did. And because of that, I let go of my resentment and started feelin’ proud of him instead.”

***

Once our food arrived, all trace of sentimentality evaporated. Nishikido inhaled his katsu bowl in a matter of seconds, complained that I was taking too long, then left the restaurant without me. He at least paid our bill, though. My rice soup was mostly broth, and it was delicious. For the first time in days, my stomach was happy to eat something.

My next filming wasn’t until later tonight, so I killed time in the newsroom, watching the evening news. There, I could see myself from a few hours ago, Nishikido’s magic touch in full effect. I looked like a real-life prince, and I loved it. For as much as I was struggling with work right now, at the same time, it offered me solace.

Ushio once said to me that when you create for a living, the only way to get over your mistakes is to make something new. That was back before I ever thought I’d fall for him. But now I finally understood what he meant.

“Oh, there you are! Kunieda-kuuun!”

Right as my mood was finally starting to lift, some shrilly voice came along and smacked it right back down. What do you want, pleb?

“I’m so glad I found you! Just so you know, the interview’s next Thursday.”

Oh, right, CineNight. Completely slipped my mind.

“I figured you’re probably too busy to make it to the film preview, so I got you a copy on DVD. Give it a watch sometime before the big day, okay?”

“Thank you so much.”

“And don’t forget the wall-slam!”

Ugh. “Of…of course.”

Just then, the department chief perked up. “Thursday? Can you shuffle that?”

“We can’t, sorry! The actors have tight schedules, so there’s really no wiggle room. Why do you ask?”

“We’ve been dumping too much work on Kunieda, and now we’re getting a ton of complaints from the Department of Labor,” he explained with a grimace. “He didn’t get a summer vacation last year, either, so I was gonna give him two weeks of paid leave starting that Thursday.”

“What if you start his vacation at noon? We’ll finish recording by then.”

“I guess that’s what I’ll have to do… You all right with that, Kunieda?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Oh, sure, now you want to clear it with me? It was hard to feel excited about a vacation that was dumped on me in the exact same fashion as the field work.

“I’ll tell Shitara and Asou myself. Those two will go hog-wild if you let them team up on you… You know, you should do some traveling for a nice change of pace. Get as far away as you can manage—that way, they can’t call you in.”

Thanks for the ominous advice, but I’m not going to all that effort. At most I’ll go to Mom’s house so she can take care of me.

That night, after filming, I went straight home and played the DVD from start to finish. Only then did I finally get around to reading the mountain of shoujo manga I had ordered a while back and left sitting on my living room coffee table.

What the…? Why do the panels look like geometric patterns? What order do I read them in? This was my first experience with female-targeted manga, so I didn’t know what was standard. After tentatively reading through the first two or three, however, I started to get a grasp on things, and at that point, I was able to follow the story beats. To study up for my wall-slam, I read out the male lead’s lines as I turned the pages:

“Would it kill you to open up a little?”

“Christ, you’re hard to like.”

“Eh, I don’t mind that about you.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up! Who put you in charge of nitpicking this random chick? Don’t act like hot shit when you don’t even have a job!” I ranted down at the ink on the pages.

Human beings don’t open up on command like a refrigerator door! If it was that easy, we’d all be open books—wait, but then no one would complain about it in the first place. Ugh, now I’m confused.

Now that I had acclimated to this googly-eyed art style, I was fully emotionally invested in the female lead. That’s the power of shoujo manga, I suppose. Plus, since the story was 95 percent romance, it made me reflect on my own love life.

“Ugh!”

I flopped down onto the sofa and flailed my legs. Time for my regularly scheduled anxiety! Why couldn’t I manage a calm, civil conversation with Ushio? To make matters worse, he always forgave me for lashing out at him. He was so open and accepting, he made me painfully aware of my own narrow limits. But I didn’t mind being inferior to someone, as long as it was him.

Just a little longer, I thought to myself as I returned to the manga. Once my vacation starts, I’ll go straight to your house and apologize. Wait for me.

***

After we finished recording, the mastermind behind the wall-slam was all smiles. “What a relief! Thank you so much, Kunieda-kun!”

“Oh, it was no trouble.”

“They were delighted that you knew so much about the source material! Between you and me, the host before you was majorly under-prepared, so I was gonna be pissed if that happened again. Clearly I didn’t need to worry!”

“I’m honored to have been of assistance.”

“And oh my god, that wall-slam! The makeup team was totally squealing… I’m gonna record it when it airs and save it forever!”

“Ha ha…” That shit was mortifying. Never make me do that again.

Either way, starting now, I was free from work for a good, long while. To ensure I wouldn’t get saddled with anything else at the last minute, I slipped out of the building. Then, when I got home, I deep-cleaned my apartment for the first time in ages, washed all my linens, and remade my bed. I hadn’t changed my sheets in ten days, after all, and besides, it was looking like I might spend the next two weeks here. Then I took a long shower—not that I’m hoping for anything, I clarified to the Ushio in my mind—and once night fell, I headed out to see him in person.

Considering how much time had passed, I was relieved to find that my spare key still fit in the lock, even though I should have known Ushio wouldn’t change it. Steeling myself, I opened the door with just enough force—not too fearfully, but not too eagerly.

Inside, the house was dark, and his shoes were gone.

I walked through each room in turn, flipping on the lights as I went. The second floor was just as deserted as the first. The hell?

It felt like all my apprehension was for nothing. Had I just wasted my time? Or was this an ideal situation? This way, when he came home, I’d say, “Welcome home,” and he’d say, “What do you want?” like an ironic callback… No, Ushio would never say that.

Was he out grocery shopping? Or eating dinner at a restaurant? I decided to watch TV upstairs and wait for him. It was 8 p.m.

Then 8 became 9, and 9 became 10, and there was still no sign of him.

What’s taking him so long? I’m starving. Jeez. I checked my phone, but of course he wouldn’t email me; he didn’t know I was waiting here. That being said, I didn’t dare initiate contact myself, lest I somehow make things worse over text. I happened to be watching Jipang TV at the time, so Newsment came on, but my brain was already in vacation mode, and I was too focused on Ushio to care.

Then, at the tail end of the show…

“All right, folks, quick announcement! Seeing as the international soccer match will be broadcasting in this timeslot tomorrow evening, Newsment will be taking the night off. Kizaki-kun, you said you’re going on vacation, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the weekend at a hot spring with the cast of a different show. Everyone else is already there, so I gotta leave right after this.”

“What show?” someone shouted from the audience.

“C’mon, you know I can’t tell you that!”

“Cheating on Jipang?”

“Oh, stop it, you…”

A hot spring, huh? In this heat? Weird, but you do you. A hot spring trip…with the cast of a different show… Nah, it couldn’t be.

I turned off the TV, rose to my feet, and flung open Ushio’s closet. He didn’t own a lot of clothes, so it was basically a storage area. And since he didn’t own many travel bags, I could tell right away that one was missing—the one made of sturdy canvas, perfect for short trips. Next, I checked the fridge. Plenty of bottled stuff, but nothing perishable.

Wait, wait, wait—seriously?

I wandered around both floors of the house, but couldn’t find any more circumstantial evidence, so I decided to investigate a different angle. I pulled up the Persons official Twitter, and using their following list, I soon found a staff member. Their latest tweet, posted seven hours ago, read: Already drunk!!! Attached to it was a photo of a train car window and a hand holding a can of beer. Combing through this account’s followers, I found even more travel tweets. The “different show” Kizaki mentioned was undoubtedly Persons.

As I snooped, I kept hoping Ushio would walk in the front door, but no dice. Well, now what? I couldn’t make a fresh account just to ask if Tsuzuki Ushio was there—it’d be creepy. My cyber-sleuthing had already hit a dead end.

No, wait…I can just ask! I closed my browser window and placed a call.

“Hey, there! Oh, yeah, a staff worker brought a cake into the studio for you, but since you weren’t here, I ate it for you. You don’t mind, right, Kunieda-san?”

I could not give less of a fuck. I nearly said as much out loud, too, but instead I donned my formal persona and asked, “Minagawa-kun, are you in private at the moment?”

“Uhhh… Yeah, I mean, I’m at the station… One sec. I’ll relocate.” Tatsuki’s razor-sharp intuition could be a real hassle at times, but just this once, it was helpful. “Okay, it’s safe. I’m in the tool closet outside Studio D. Nobody’s gonna come here at this time of night. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Good, good… Look, you’re friends with everyone on Earth, right? Know anybody who works on Persons?”

“What, the Touyou TV show? And since when am I friends with everyone on Earth?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I…could probably get in touch with someone,” he replied in a dubious tone.

“A big group of them went on a trip to a hot spring today. I want you to find out if he’s with them.”

“He who? You’re not talking about Kizaki-san, are you? I’m really starting to think you’re obsessed. It’s not healthy, senpai.”

“No, not him! Him!”

“What?”

Damn it, you used to be smarter than this! “There’s only one guy I could be talking about! Figure it out!” I snapped.

“Huh? Wait…could it be Tsuzuki-san?”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

“C’mon, you can at least say his name, can’t you? Are you so tsundere that you can’t address him as anything other than ‘hey, you’?”

“Shut it.”

“While we’re on the subject, what do you call him in private? Ushy?”

“I said shut the fuck up and go to hell.”

“Shouldn’t you just ask Tsuzuki-san directly? Need me to ask him?”

“No! Don’t you dare say a word to him. You owe me since you ate my cake.”

“Okaaaay… Oh, I know! Is this an adultery investigation?”

Endure it, Kei, endure it. Don’t kill him. At least not yet. “You know he wouldn’t cheat on me.” That wasn’t my arrogance talking—it was a testament to Ushio’s morality.

“Yeah, you’re right. Tsuzuki-san would never cheat. Unlike you.”

“You don’t get to say that to me when you’re the reason it nearly happened!”

Why did one single request have to be so goddamn draining? With a course of action in place, all that remained was for me to go to bed and check again in the morning…but in fact, less than an hour later, Tatsuki called me back. For once, he actually proved useful to me. Now if only he’d do something about that obnoxious personality.

“Yep, they confirmed he’s there with them. They’re out in Nagano, apparently, and I found out the name of the inn they’re staying at. Ready?”

As he relayed the information, I quickly wrote it down. Then I ignored his request for souvenirs and promptly hung up. A Google search of the inn’s name brought me to their website—not that I was planning to go there. I only wanted the truth, really. Besides, if I went after him, I’d look like a total stalker. He’d be back on Sunday, anyway. And I hated traveling, and I didn’t have any interest in hot springs.

If anything, having my suspicions confirmed only pissed me off.

Why would you go on a trip now, of all times? And with Kizaki’s circle of friends? Talk about adding insult to injury! Didn’t I tell you to wait for me? Uh…actually, no, I didn’t. Wait, yeah, I did! I told the Ushio in my head! Get out of that sauna and read my mind for once!

I thought knowing the truth would make me feel better, but instead, it only gave me more anxiety. And although I knew I shouldn’t cave…my finger was drifting ever closer to a link labeled Where To Find Us.

***

I got off the bullet train, boarded a limousine bus, and 90 minutes later, I arrived at a rustic hot spring inn nestled in the mountains of Nagano. God, why did I come here? Well, okay, technically my boss did tell me to go on a trip. If they asked me how I spent my vacation and all I said was “with my parents,” they’d think I was some kind of overgrown man-child.

My nerves were shot, thanks to the double whammy of “taking a private vacation as my news anchor persona” plus “yikes, I’m a stalker.” I had made the reservation online under my real name, so no amount of disguises would help me here.

“Thank you for your patience, Kunieda-sama. You’ll be staying one night with us and leaving tomorrow, on Saturday, correct?”

“Yes, thank you.”

At check-in time, there was another group standing in the lobby, so I smiled and signed in, eager to retire to my private room ASAP.

“All right, I’ll show you to your room: the third-floor suite.”

“Yes, please.”

I had reserved the most expensive room in the inn—not to flaunt my wealth or treat myself, but because it was the only room available. On top of the two train seats I bought to ensure no one would sit next to me, this trip was costing more than I expected. Good thing they just gave me a bonus at work.

The young server led me into my needlessly large suite, then walked around explaining all the amenities and emergency exits and what have you. At the end, I tipped her, as dictated by custom. “Sorry it isn’t much.”

“No, no, I really appreciate it! Enjoy your stay!” But right as she was about to leave, she pressed her hands together at her lips. “Um…I know I really shouldn’t ask you this since you’re on vacation, but…I’m a huge fan of The News! Could I get your autograph?”

Normally I’d decline with a smile, but since I was feeling insecure in unfamiliar territory, I ended up agreeing, on one condition: “As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

“Really? Thank you so much! Gosh, I’ve been a fan of yours for years! My favorite was that late-night variety special where they had you read the periodic table in a sexy voice at a love hotel!”

“Oh, r-right…I nearly forgot about that.”

How did these people manage to remember things I did during my first year at Asabi? My smile stiffened. I was already feeling like crap—I didn’t need her ambushing me with the skeletons in my closet! You know that no one in this industry enjoys talking about their early work, right?

“Are you ever going back to that? When you said ‘most technicians rub Rod’s pale silver Cadillac’ for period 5, I swear, my heart stopped! I’ll never forget it!”

If I give you my damn autograph, will you at least try?

“Anyway, I’ll bring an autograph board when I come by with your dinner. Thanks in advance!”

There was no time to relax and savor the beauty of the mountain streams or brief glimpses of clear sky between rain showers. Drained, I plopped down onto a wicker chair.

According to the inn’s website, there were places nearby for tourists to go fishing or canoeing; since it was the middle of the day, Ushio was probably out there with the rest of his group. Not that I’d have the guts to go talk to him if he was still here. But at the end of the day, it was better for my mental health to waste time and money cooped up in this room for the next twelve hours than it would have been to stay in Tokyo and stew in my feelings. Period.

As I sat there with nothing better to do, I realized what a boring person I was. I’d never be the type of guy who spent time with colleagues outside of work obligations. I’d never gush about a hot spring trip on the air like Kizaki did. I just didn’t have fun with anyone who wasn’t Ushio—I didn’t like any of them. Without him, I could keep working just fine, but I needed him to keep the rest of my world on its axis. To my own ears this sounded overly intense, but knowing Ushio, he would probably accept it.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Back already, eager beaver? Fine, let’s get this over with. The suite was furnished with a luxurious lattice door, no peephole, no chain; I slid it open without really thinking. “Yes?”

“Sup.”

Leaning against the wall outside was none other than Ushio himself.

***

“Huh…?”

I didn’t think to shut the door—just stood there like an idiot.

“Pardon my intrusion,” said Ushio as he kicked off his slippers and walked in. “Whoa, it’s huge! This room is awesome! Oh, and it comes with its own open-air bath!” Then, after doing a lap around the whole suite, he noticed me still standing in the same spot. “Shall I make us some tea?”

“Uh…sure…”

“Have a seat.”

“Okay…”

I went back to my wicker chair while Ushio took command of the mini-kitchen like he owned the place. He dropped a tea bag into a cup for each of us, then poured in hot water from the kettle.

“Oh, hey, you got fancier snacks than us!”

He arrived back at the table with our drinks on a tray, then sat down across from me. He was acting so normal that I couldn’t decide whether to panic or play it cool, and the result was a weird, fluctuating fusion of the two.

“Can I say one thing real quick in my defense?” he began.

“…What is it?” Personally, I would have liked to defend myself as well—or maybe just flat-out lie. I could tell it wasn’t going to happen, though.

“I made friends with a few people while filming for Persons, and we wanted to make plans to go on a trip somewhere. It was only three or four of us at first, but at some point it blew up, and then someone invited Kizaki-san, and I honestly didn’t know what to do. They’d already picked the inn and everything—I couldn’t just cancel.”

I didn’t know how to react to this, so I just threw out a noncommittal response. “Okay.”

“Are you okay with it, though?”

“I mean, yeah, but—more importantly, how did you know I was…?”

I started to wonder if maybe he really was a mind-reader after all, but the truth, as it turned out, was nothing supernatural.

“Isn’t it obvious? Your little pet sleuth told me himself.” He pulled his phone out and started to read aloud what was apparently a text conversation between himself and Tatsuki. “Kunieda-san said not to tell you, but I figure that means he really wants me to, so here goes…”

“Does no one on this earth take me seriously?!” Why did they all try to read into everything all the time?

“Anyway, I figured you might show up, so I hid behind the souvenir stand and watched the lobby at check-in time.”

“Stalker!”

“Takes one to know one! Actually, why’d you go out of your way to ask Minagawa to do it, anyhow? You could’ve just asked me.” I could hear the slightest hint of complaint in his tone, but when I fell silent, he changed tactics. “No, that’s not right. Ugh, wrong again.”

“Huh?”

“Gah, too hot,” he hissed under his breath after a sip of tea. “Okay, I’ll just cut to the chase.”

All at once, a spike of tension slapped me in the face. First I asked for space, and then when he gave it to me, I chased him across the country? Anyone would be sick of my shit; I at least had that much self-awareness.

“I read your manga while I was waiting at your house that night—the one you had stacked on the coffee table. At first I ­really struggled with the panel order though.”

Funny that we’d have the exact same reaction. But why would he bring that up?

“It was a total slog, but then you came home, and…stuff happened, and it pissed me off. But after I thought about it, I regretted what I said. I should have known you’d lose your temper if I pressed the issue—it’s hardly the first time that’s happened anyway. But I screwed up.” He smiled softly. “You’d think I’d have the controls memorized by now.”

“Hey, what do you mean, controls?!”

He ignored my protest and continued, “Reading that manga made me irritated. I wanted them to quit dancing around the subject and communicate already. But when I look at you, I start to realize that sometimes it’s just not possible. Every suggestion I had was something you must have thought of way before I did. And I know the prospect of failure is paralyzing for you, but I kept trying to push you, and it only made you shut down harder.”

At this point, I couldn’t even look him in the face anymore. All I could do was sit there and wring my hands in my lap. The more he tried to frame it like it was his fault, the more pathetic I felt.

“I’ve always wanted to be your safe space—someone who can be there whenever you feel you need me. But it’s been a little over a year now, and…I guess it’s something I need to work on. Because when I see those empty cans of Red Bull in your kitchen, it drives me crazy. And it’s hard to just sit on the sidelines without saying anything.”

“…I know.”

“Kei…”

He slid the tray to the side and leaned forward over the glass table, reaching out with both palms up. Slowly, I raised my head, and for the first time in ages, our eyes met.

“I’m sorry, Kei.”

“Ushio…” I placed my hands in his. “Can you…hear my voice?”

He must have been at least slightly confused by the question, but nevertheless, he answered, “Loud and clear.” His voice was soft and sweet, and when he squeezed my hands, as if on cue, tears streamed from my eyes.

“He said…he couldn’t…”

“Hm?”

“…said he couldn’t hear my voice…”

Slowly but surely, everything I had held inside started to trickle forth. I didn’t yet have the courage to admit that those words had hurt me, but I had taken the first step to confronting my pain. I took deep breaths, filling my chest, anything to keep from sobbing. Meanwhile, Ushio didn’t try to encourage me in either direction. He simply squeezed my hands in time with my breaths, waiting silently.

“He who?” he asked, finally.

“Shitara-san…”

“Ah, I see. Man, what a jerk. Can’t he see how hard you work every day?”

At this point, I didn’t know how to keep going anymore. Whether I did as I was told or went the extra mile, everyone seemed to judge me, all because I didn’t love my job. Was it so wrong to pursue a career simply because I was good at it? I confessed it all to Ushio in a messy mix of tears and mucus and hiccups. Puddles of salt water formed on the clear surface of the glass table.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the trees; the hum of the air conditioning was punctuated with the chirps of birds I’d never heard back in Tokyo. For some reason, it reminded me of those boring stretches of summer vacation when I was a kid. The sun would finally set, and Dad would come home, and Mom would serve us dinner, and we’d eat as a family. Back then, I never mourned today or feared tomorrow…

Oh, so that’s what “safe space” means. My face itched where the tears had dried.

After I finished speaking, Ushio asked, “How long are you off work?”

“Through the end of next week.”

“Gotcha. You don’t have to go back there, y’know.”

“Huh?”

“It’s soul-sucking work, and you don’t owe them shit. You’re naturally gifted at a lot of things—you can take as much time as you need, and if anyone complains, I’ll fight them myself. In fact, I’d love it if you quit your job and just moved in with me.”

Come to think of it, he asked me about it once. “If I offered to be your sugar daddy full time, would you quit your job and move in?” At the time, I outright refused, but what about now? Was the fact that I was asking myself this question an indication of the answer? Honestly, it was a miracle I lasted this long living a double life for the sake of appearing regularly on national television. If I’d known how hard it would be, I would have rejected the CEO’s offer.

He’s right—if I don’t love my job, then I can quit at any time. I could get a desk job somewhere. Everyone would forget about me once they replaced me on The News; no one would be upset.

I rubbed my eyes and cheeks, then leapt to my feet.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” I roared from the depths of my gut as my spine grew back. “If I quit my job right now, I’ll look like a sore loser! When I quit, I want every executive at Asabi to chase me out to the parking lot, begging me to keep their shitty station afloat! They’ll build a Kunieda Kei Memorial Hall next door, and you’ll be the receptionist, so just sit pretty and WAIT!”

As I pointed in his face, he reached up and grasped my finger with a smile. “See, I knew you’d say that… What a shame.” His tone was both playful and a bit disappointed. “I can’t believe you proposed to me a second time.”

“Did not!”

“You just said you’re gonna support me with your career, right? Also, are you sure you don’t love your job? Because it sure looks like it to me.”

“What?!” No, no, no! Don’t just invalidate half of my anxiety like that!

“You tend to say the opposite of what you mean, that’s all. You really love it, don’t you?”

“Not even slightly.”

“What about me? Do you love me?”

“…What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Okay, whatever. I made my point.” Ushio rose to his feet, stretching widely, and I realized he’d been nervous to have this conversation, too. “Welp, let’s go.”

“Go where?” We may have resolved our conflict, but surely we weren’t going to pack up and go back to Tokyo just like that, were we?

“Isn’t it obvious?” He rolled his eyes. “What else do you do at a hot spring?”

***

They charged nearly 10,000 yen per night for this suite, and as such, the bath was large enough for several guests. Technically it wasn’t fully open-air; you had to raise the blinds and open the glass door in order to enjoy the scenery. Otherwise, the bath was strictly private.

I don’t think they intended it to be used for this, though!

“I thought you wanted to take a bath!”

“Yes, well, traditionally you’re supposed to give yourself a good scrub first, right? Let me help you with that.”

“Aah! Nnn…!”

A hand slid around to my front, slick with body wash, searching for my nipples. Teased by slippery fingertips, they rose to attention amid the suds.

“Aah!”

Even the gradual descent of the milky white soap felt like a teasing caress. Two pink seeds rose to the surface of the lather. But no amount of pinching made them vanish; if anything, the familiar ache only swelled further.

“Gah…!”

My moans echoed in the enclosed space, dampened by steam. But this foreplay was scarcely necessary—the feeling of his warm skin pressed against my back was more than enough to make my heart pound uncontrollably. His tight embrace made my chest ache with love. Strange how my body and heart were both drawn to him in the exact same way.

“Nnngh!”

Ushio’s hands seemed to almost assimilate with the soap as he rubbed it under my chin and down my sides. He returned to the backs of my ears again and again, whisking away not just the droplets but entire strands of wet hair. I sat on a small stool, writhing in his arms as he knelt behind me, knowing full well any protest would only encourage him to continue.

“Aaahh…!”

He ran a hand over my groin and cupped my pronounced lust. The slipperiness of his strokes was unlike any soft palm or firm tongue I had felt before, and it elicited a moan from my lips. Even the tightest grip still moved fluidly thanks to the soap—a taunting lack of friction. The white lather that oozed between his fingers made it look like I was cumming from every pore… I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Kei.”

“Nng! Aah!”

He shouldn’t have been able to see me do it, yet he punished me for it with a wet nibble to the ear.

“Is this okay?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s slippery and…immoral!”

The moment I said it, I knew I’d chosen my words poorly. Ushio burst out laughing. “Immoral? What are you, a nun?”

“Shut up!”

“Fuck, that turns me on.”

“How?!” I could feel his length pressed against the small of my back, so I knew he wasn’t joking.

“You don’t know the first thing about men, do you?”

“I am a man!”

“Yeah, I know.” He teased my tip.

“Aaahh!”

Intense pleasure shot through me, and I grabbed his hand. For some reason, the anxiety of being unable to see him only heightened the sexual gratification. Especially when I could feel his swelling cock sandwiched between his stomach and my back.

“Gah! Aah!”

He pinched my twin buds of lust as he rubbed his arousal against me from behind. Clear fluid mingled with the soap; my shamelessly exposed tip flushed pink as its output steadily increased. And the instant I felt climax approaching, his strokes grew rougher.

“Aaahh! Aah! Ushio…!”

He sped me along so quickly, in fact, that my semen refused to accept its constraints and all but exploded out onto the fogged-up mirror in front of us.

“Aah… Aah…”

It was the most intense orgasm I’d had in a while. A familiar feeling of lethargy enveloped my body…accompanied by a thirst for what would inevitably follow. Biologically, my needs were already met, but a part of me still ached—a part I couldn’t reach alone.

“Hey, can you get up? I’m gonna move the stool.”

“Okay…” At his request, I knelt on the tile. He instructed me to put my hands on the shelf with the complimentary shampoo bottles, thrusting my ass out. “Gah!”

The light fixtures offered a blend of brown and orange that was by no means bright, but they provided enough light to see what we were doing. Even the thought of the phrase “doggy style” made me cringe, but I didn’t have time to protest before a finger was inside me.

“Aaahh!” It was coated in something that helped it slide right in without resistance. “Wh-what is that?”

“It says ‘moisturizing olive oil’ on the bottle,” Ushio answered, fingering me with so little difficulty that I felt ashamed. “I found it in the ‘luxury amenity kit’ in the bathroom. This fancy-schmancy suite really has it all, huh?”

“Dumbass…!” You know that’s not designed for this!

As he persistently worked my entrance, my limbs felt like they were practically melting away. It had been quite some time since we did this last, so by all accounts my orifice should have been locked up tight, yet the olive oil helped him slide in all the way to the mass of lust embedded deep within.

“Gah! Aaahh! Aah!”

Normally, he would start shallow and work his way in, but now my depths were writhing, opening, pulling him in deeper. My walls were gripping him so tight that I could practically feel the difference between his skin and fingernail.

“Aaahh, gah…!”

He followed the gentle slope of my spine all the way to my tailbone, and using the orifice just below, he worked my insides in the same fashion as my cock, with back and forth movements. His hands pleasured me inside and out until I could no longer feel the pain of kneeling on the hard tile. They often compared sexual stimulation to chills, yet my steamed skin was rapidly approaching its boiling point.

“Aah… No… Too fast…!” The raunchy squishing sounds threatened to melt in the heat and spread throughout the inn.

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” he asked me, despite already knowing the answer.

“No, the sound!”

“Ah, I get it.” He pulled his finger out all the way to the nail, placed a second next to it, and shoved them all the way back in.

“Gah! Aaahh…!”

“I think it makes that sound because you’re so tight.”

“Sh-shut up!” I never asked my ass to crave violation, nor was it lubed up and twitching with lust on my command. “Aah… Gah… Fuck…!”

“It’s really clamping down… Can I go deeper?”

“Yeah…!”

I nodded. I wanted him so deep inside me that he would penetrate my heart. In response, he pressed something against my entrance that was far more rigid than any finger. Sex with Ushio was so rough that it bordered on violence, yet I could feel the love in it every time. Even when his pulsing cock buried itself inside me to the hilt, gouging my walls.

“Aaahh, aah…aah, aaahh…!”

Reflexively, I reached out a hand, but with nothing to grab onto, it touched only the mirror in front of me. For that brief moment, the chill of the glass was refreshing.

“…Kkhh!”

“Aaahh…!”

In a single impatient breath, Ushio slammed the rest in, and the impact made my hand slide off the mirror, wiping away my cum along with the condensation.

“Aah…!”

With the surface now mostly clear save for a water droplet here and there, I made eye contact with my own reflection. My expression was pained, but there was clearly more to it than that—I was drunk on lust.

“Oh, thanks. That helps.”

Then I saw Ushio looking in the mirror with me and hastily averted my eyes. The blood had rushed to my head, making me dizzy.

“Dumbass… I wasn’t…!”

“You might as well get a look while you can. Same thing I get to see all the time,” he teased as he thrusted. I imagined what I must have looked like every time we had sex, even if it was out of my control, it made me want to disappear.

“Nng! No…!”

“Go on, look.”

“No way! It…it’ll…”

“Hm?”

“It’ll ruin my wholesome image…!”

Behind me, Ushio laughed. “You can’t talk about wholesome with my dick in your ass.”

“Aah…!”

He’d seen a lot of me, sure, but that was a two-way street. Countless times I’d seen Ushio sweaty with lust, hungry for my body. But with our reflections right in front of us, it felt like we were on camera, and I didn’t dare look straight at it. It felt like my heart was going to stop.

“Nnng! Aah…aaahh!”

Sweat and water trickled down my body with every thrust, punctuated by ragged breaths. Pleasure rampaged deep inside me. His cock traveled all the way to the source of my desire, which was twitching for attention. The more he drilled into me, the more my walls ripened.

“Your body never ceases to amaze me,” Ushio muttered as he continued his assault, clutching my hips like a predator seizing his prey. “It’s soft and tight at the same time.”

From my perspective, his cock had made me this way. It wasn’t something I could control—not with my mind hazy with ecstasy.

“Aah, aaahh, aah…!”

The tighter I clamped down, the more Ushio swelled; and the more he swelled, the tighter I got. Our intercourse was spiraling out of control. But just as I feared I was past the point of no return, he pulled me back to reality with his climax.

“Oh, fuck…!”

“Aaahh!”

As he ejaculated, it triggered an orgasm of my own, and at last, my desire was truly sated.

***

We soaked in the tub until our fingers were wrinkled, and then we flopped down in the main room to cool off. Before we knew it, the sun had set.

“I gotta head back and eat dinner,” Ushio muttered beside me as he sat upright. “Our schedule’s pretty strict, since there’s so many of us.”

“What were the rest of them up to today?”

“Either fishing or cycling through the canyon on rental bikes. I told ’em I was feeling sick, so I didn’t go.”

The thought of him skipping out on fun activities just to wait for me made me feel guilty all over again. Why would he waste his vacation like that? He seemed to read the question in my eyes.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. “I already did plenty of fishing. Reeled in a whopper.”

“Are you referring to me?”

“Well, you sure are lying there like a dead fish, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and get going already!”

I was having dinner delivered myself, and I didn’t want him around when it arrived. God, I can never relax in public. I walked him to the door; he hugged me, and we shared a long kiss.

“I’ll be back later tonight.”

“What time?”

“Not too late. They’re all probably exhausted from having fun, so I bet they’ll get drunk after one beer. Just wait for me,” he whispered.

My eardrums quivered, along with my lips. “Okay.”

“You know, this whole ‘secret tryst’ thing isn’t half bad.”

I was actually thinking the same thing, but I was way too embarrassed to admit it, so I pushed him out of the room instead.

Less than an hour later, an obscene amount of food arrived, subtly accompanied by an autograph board and a pen like it was a normal part of the meal. I sent the server away, then sat there alone, trying each of the dishes in turn. Thanks to the extra exercise, I was starving, and it was nice to kick back and flip through TV channels while I ate.

After I finished my dinner for one and the dishes were all cleared away, I sat down in the recliner situated by the window in the hardwood corridor. At long last, I had the composure to enjoy the scenery. That being said, there wasn’t much artificial light here like there was back in Tokyo, so I could only vaguely make out the silhouette of the mountains against the night sky. The moon was clouded over.

For as expensive as this little vacation was, I seemed to be enjoying myself quite a bit. I had a nice long bath, followed by a hearty meal, and now for once in my life, I could forget about work and simply relax. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the recliner.

Just then, I heard a boom in the distance. Was that thunder? Hastily, I straightened up and squinted out through the window. The lush trees growing on the other side of the riverbank were now illuminated by a red glow that most certainly wasn’t there before. A trail of dark smoke rose into the air.

Fire.

By the time the realization hit, I was already on the move. Whatever was happening out there, I wanted to see it for myself.

“Whoa!” Right as I dashed out into the hall, I nearly collided with Ushio, who had just arrived. “What’s going on?” he asked, sensing something urgent in my body language.

“Did you hear that ‘boom’ just now?”

“The thing that sounded like a firework?”

“Yeah, that. Something’s on fire nearby.”

That was all the explanation I could offer. My first move was to run to the lobby; Ushio tagged along. I asked the front desk to call 119, then spotted the server from earlier at the souvenir stand and called out to her.

“Excuse me!”

“Oh, hi! Thanks again for…”

“Don’t worry about it. More importantly, can you lend me two bicycles?”

“What? But our bike rental service only operates during the day…”

“Please, it’s urgent! I’ll make sure to return them, I promise!”

My puppy-dog eyes were soon rewarded with a pair of numbered keys. I thanked her profusely, then hurried out to the bicycle rack.

“What’re you gonna do when you get there?” Ushio asked.

“No clue.” In fairness, maybe my brain was poisoned from all the field reporting, but I just had to get out there.

After biking up a gentle slope for about ten minutes, the source of the blaze came into view. In the middle of the forest clearing stood a tall gate, and beyond it was a large building that was unmistakably on fire. I parked my bike on the side of the path, then started combing my way through the crowd of onlookers.

“Can you tell me what this building is?”

“Beats me…”

“I’m just here on vacation, so…”

Then, finally, I struck upon a middle-aged man who was clearly a local. “Used to be an inn, but it got old, so they started remodeling just this spring,” he told me.

“Might there be someone inside?”

“This time of night? I doubt it. Used to get a lot of urban explorer types crawling around, but then they started locking the place up tight. Get a load of that barbed wire!”

“Any idea how the fire could have started?”

“Hmmm… The pipelines, maybe? This whole area’s got a lotta pipes pulling hot spring water from underground.”

The word gas came to mind, and I shivered. I couldn’t smell anything strange, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there. “When you say pipelines, are we talking sulfur, or…?”

“Nah, none of that. It’s all natural gas. I’d be too scared to come out here myself otherwise!”

“Ah, I see. Thank you so much. Will you be here for a while? I’d like to speak to you again in about five minutes, if that’s all right.”

“Wha…?”

“Okay, great, thanks.”

After forcing the man into an agreement, I went back to Ushio and handed him my personal phone.

“Start filming.”

“What?”

“Film the scene of the fire and email it to Shitara-san, please. The show’s official email address is already saved in there. Let’s see… We’ll want one video about 15 seconds long and another that’s like 30 seconds. Doesn’t have to be exactly that length.”

It was just past 9 p.m., and The News started at 10; if we were quick, they might toss it on the air. Sensing my intentions, Ushio asked, “You sure you want me filming?”

“You’re a pro, aren’t you? Not that you’ll be paid, or even credited beyond ‘viewer submission,’ but them’s the breaks.”

Asabi generally paid 5,000 yen for footage. Maybe they’d throw in some mascot merch.

“Okay then,” Ushio nodded. “I’ll go find a good spot to film.” He started running, then quickly looked back. “Hey, Kei?”

“What?”

“I’m really starting to think you love your job.”

“I don’t love it,” I answered, “but my job’s the whole reason I’m here with you right now, so…yeah. Talk later!” Ending the conversation, I spun around and called Shitara on my work phone.

“Explosion at an old hot spring inn? Nagano, you say?”

“Yes, sir. No one appears to be in danger, but it could lead to a forest fire on the mountain.”

“Hold on a sec… Sorry, yeah, the news team got word from the fire department. Sounds like they’re sending a helicopter.”

“I’m in the process of filming some insert footage, which I’ll send to you when I’m done. After that, I’m going to interview one of the locals, and I’ll pass that along as well.”

“Got it. Ideally I’d like to get a broadcast going out there, but…you’re pretty far out from town, right? Guess I could reach out to Asabi TV Nagano for whatever it’s worth.”

“I suspect The News will already be on the air by the time they arrive. Plus, I imagine the police and fire departments will show up soon.”

“Roger that. I’ll be in touch if I hear anything.”

“Right.”

The local man from earlier agreed to an interview under the condition that his face was not to be shown; I filmed it on my cell phone, then sent it off. The video quality wasn’t perfect, but still, I was blown away by how far modern cell phone technology had come. When he gave me the name of the old inn, I looked up their website and called the associated management company, but no one answered.

Before I knew it, a procession of fire trucks arrived. They broke open the barbed wire gate and carried their hoses onto the premises while the fire grew in speed and intensity. Hot gusts of wind tousled my hair. I could hear the sound of wood splitting—possibly a support beam collapsing inside the building. In a flash, the police roped the whole area off with yellow caution tape.

I sent each piece of information off as I acquired it in the hopes that it would give them time to write a script for it. Then Shitara called me back. “Got a film crew headed your way. They’ll be there any minute.”

“That fast? How?”

“They were already in town to cover the local farmer’s market for the morning news tomorrow. And they’ve got LiveU.”

“Got it.” By using a compact remote broadcast system like LiveU, they wouldn’t need a news van—they could carry the camera equipment in a backpack.

“When they get there, get in touch with the SCR and run through final checks… We’re really cutting it close. Hard to say if we’ll make it in time, but we gotta try.”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t ask who was on the crew, but when I saw a taxi tagging along behind the line of police cars, I walked over just in case.

***

“Quit dragging your feet and pay the man, for god’s sake! Why would you wait until the car’s stopped to get your wallet out?! And get a receipt, dumbass! Hey, open the trunk, pal!” The voice filled me with dread, and sure enough, when Nishikido hopped out of the passenger’s seat, he scowled at me. “Hm? Whatcha doin’ here, kid?”

“My name is Kunieda.” I should ask you the same question… Oh, right, didn’t he say he gets loaned out to other branches all the time?

At first my enthusiasm plummeted, but after I thought about it, I realized I’d have a much easier time working with a cameraman whose personality and skill I was already familiar with. I briefly explained the situation to him.

“You’ve become a news magnet, haven’tcha?” he remarked. “Every now and then, when someone works on field reporting for long enough, the scoops start following ’em like a shadow wherever they go. Even on their days off.”

Hard pass. Miss me with that Detective Conan shit. “Did Shitara-san tell you about the remote broadcast?”

“Are you kiddin’? All I got was a call out of nowhere! He says to me, ‘Get over there, now!’ Right when I was about to hop in the tub…”

I ignored his complaints and looked around at the rest of the crew. The LiveU equipment was designed for maximum portability, and the team itself was as small as possible—probably because they were originally only here to film a soft news piece for a morning show. In addition to Nishikido manning the camera, we had lighting, sound, and a young guy who was ostensibly the assistant director. Four total.

“Excuse me,” I called out to Nishikido as he shuffled along the very edge of the caution tape, looking for a place to shoot. “Where’s the reporter and live director?”

For this to work, we needed a guy to stand in front of the camera and a guy to listen to the television feed and give cues.

“Not here,” Nishikido answered.

“What?”

“The ‘reporter’ we have scheduled for tomorrow is a local girl. She’s not a real journalist; she can’t cover this kind of news. As for the live director, his wife went into labor this evening, so he went back to the city to be there for her. Fella cried and begged us to let him go—said the baby might not make it, and promised to come back by the 4 a.m. film shoot tomorrow morning. Obviously we didn’t dare stop him.”

Fair enough, but still. “Then…we can’t do this broadcast.”

“I tried to tell Shitara that, I really tried, but he kept yellin’ at me to get my ass out here!”

Just then, Ushio walked back over. “Sorry, are you in the middle of something? Ooh, I’ve never seen LiveU equipment before! Can I play around with it after this is over? Do you even get service out here?” he blathered cheerfully while Nishikido stared back at him like an 11th-century Buddha statue. Dude, don’t talk to him. His ugly is contagious!

“I reckon we just need to film the scene of the fire. Up here in the mountains, I’m terrified we’ll lose service tryin’ to send a signal all the way to Tokyo, but… Wait, who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s an acquaintance of mine, and he’s been assisting me. Filming B-roll, that sort of thing…” Then it hit me: Ushio. Ushio could help with something. Thinking quickly, I pointed over at the young and very flustered assistant director. “Is the AD not Nagano branch staff?”

At a glance, he seemed useless, so the fact that he was standing here at all suggested that he was obligated to come for one reason or another.

“Oh, that’s Narayama,” Nishikido sighed wearily. “Technically, he’s an anchor like you.”

“Technically, sir?”

“Newbie who screwed up his debut performance. There was a miscue with the prerecorded segment—production’s fault, but the kid couldn’t recover. Deer in headlights on the air. They cut to commercial to salvage it, but ever since that incident, he’s too traumatized to speak on cam. So his only other option’s director training, and here he is.”

Can’t report, can’t direct—how useless is this pleb? I started to curse my rotten luck. I’m on vacation, damn it… I was gonna pass the baton and go back to my inn room… This stupid job’s nothing but catastrophe after catastrophe…

“What’ll it be? You wanna call the whole thing off, then say so.”

“We’re doing it,” I declared firmly. “We’ll toss it back and forth with the studio. He’ll do the reporting—I’ll be the live director.”

“You?”

“I’ve done a lot of field reporting lately, so I know the process. It’s more realistic for me to handle it than a beginner.”

“Tryin’ to get that wooden plank to talk is realistic? I dunno about you, but most folks get cold feet about going on national TV. Not only that, you think he can toss?”

“It’s less risky than trying to make him read cold copy. I’m confident Asou-san can smooth over any slip-ups.”

“Y’know… It’s crazy, but it just might work.”

We were quite literally scrambling to throw this thing together, but the grin on Nishikido’s face suggested he was having a ball. Next, I walked over to Narayama. “Could you tell me your full name?”

“Huh?”

Like most hired for an anchor position, he was reasonably good-looking, but his baby face made it hard to take him seriously. Or maybe I’d forgotten what the average college grad looked like.

“We need to give the SCR your full name so they can put it on the chyron.”

“Wait, but…”

“Sorry, but there’s no time for a debate. Narayama…Takahiro?” I asked, squinting at his employee ID badge.

“Uh… Y-yeah…”

“I don’t know if you overheard just now, but in short, we need you on camera.”

“I can’t.”

Oh, sure, now you grow a spine! “It’s okay—you’re not flying solo. I’ll make cue cards in advance. All you have to do is read them.”

“I can’t.”

Who do you think you are, punk? I’m giving you my most compassionate smile, goddamn it! “It doesn’t matter if you can or can’t. This is your job.”

We were flying by the seat of our pants—we didn’t have time to coddle this one guy and his insecurities. Nishikido put me through to Asabi; we tested the connection, then planned out the questions and answers. Meanwhile, Ushio attempted to reassure Narayama that he’d be fine. “There’s a soccer game tonight, remember? Nobody’s gonna be watching the news.”

“That’s not the issue…”

“Tsuzuki-san,” I called, then handed Ushio the cell phone currently connected to the SCR. “I need you to stay on the line and give us updates. Once the broadcast goes live, I’ll be listening to the studio and directing Narayama-kun, so I need you to stand next to the camera and relay everything you hear—how many seconds we have, things like that.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, you’re in the way! What are you people doing?!”

Just then, a cop came bristling over, waving his hands. After all the field reporting I’d been sent on, I’d learned to tell the difference between “you’re sincerely in the way” and “I’m just annoyed that you’re here.” This was the latter.

Before Nishikido could pipe up, I held out a hand to stop him, then bowed in greeting. Times like these, a little fame came in handy.

“Hello, there, officer. I’m Kunieda with Asabi TV, here to report on the incident. We’re outside the caution tape and we’re not obstructing the fire hoses, so I don’t think we’re violating any regulations. But if there’s anything specific you’d like us to adjust, we’re all ears.”

“Well, no, but… Gah…” The cop faltered at my unwavering eye contact, then walked off, grumbling.

“You’ve got balls, kid.”

“Hey, Nishikido-san?”

“Whaddya want?”

“A while ago, when we were covering that food poisoning story…did you pick a fight with that man on purpose to divert him away from me?”

“Yeah, so?” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s our job to protect the talent, and in return, you talk to the camera. Ain’t that right, Narayama?!”

“Eeegh!” Narayama let out a shriek as Nishikido suddenly rounded on him.

“Your flagship station senpai’s busting his ass over here! If you call yourself a man, then grow a pair!”

But of course, a live broadcast didn’t operate purely on grit. We didn’t even have a reference monitor, so we’d have to wing it with no knowledge of how the footage would look on the air.

If I took my cues from Shitara, then it would likely be better for the viewers that I reported this; I’d be tossing back and forth with Asou, so we could probably figure it out without a live director at all. But if I didn’t throw Narayama in front of this camera for some off-the-cuff shock therapy, he was likely to drop out of the industry altogether. Sure, maybe he could do radio or something, but he’d still be branded a failed news anchor.

Granted, not that it would impact my life whatsoever. I’d just met the guy; it wasn’t my responsibility to accommodate his needs.

But come on, man, isn’t this your dream? Didn’t you work like hell to make it happen? And now you’re wussing out with an “I can’t”?

These were the thoughts on my mind as I scrawled out a script in magic marker on a sketchbook I found in the equipment bag. I could feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

“They say we’ve got five minutes,” Ushio reported, still on the line with the SCR. And at that exact moment, my phone rang. I answered, thinking it would be Shitara. It wasn’t. It was Asou.

“Sorry, but I’m not tossing with that amateur.”

Just like that, all of our efforts to make this happen were threatening to come to naught. I nearly caved, but somehow managed to push back with, “He’s not an amateur. He was trained to be a news anchor.”

“If he has no experience with field reporting, then to me, he’s an amateur. National television? Are you out of your mind? Stick to local news if you want to parent him so badly. My show is not your training ground!”

“Don’t worry, sir, I’m going to coach him.”

“For what purpose? Instead of wasting your breath, you should do it yourself. My point is, I’m not speaking to him.”

“Asou-san, please,” I pressed.

In response I was met with mirthless laughter bordering on derision. “This isn’t like you, Kunieda. What are you so fixated on? It might be a big fire, but it’s out in the mountains, and there are no casualties. It’s just not the kind of story that’s worth slapping together an unplanned broadcast that has every chance of falling apart.”

He was right, of course. At this very moment, some small part of me was tempted to call the whole thing off to avoid the potential blowback. And yet, I…

Before I could find the right words, however, someone snatched the phone from my hand. “Asou, you pompous prick! Are you throwin’ yet another goddamn tantrum? Why am I not surprised?”

“Nishikido-san, don’t—!”

“Kunieda wants to do this thing, so just let ’em, would ya?”

For the first time, Nishikido actually said my name—but more than that, he made me realize something. Yes, I wanted to do this. Despite everything that could go wrong, I wanted to try to pull it off.

Then he handed the phone back, so I took it and raised it to my ear.

“Kunieda, what the hell kind of magic trick was that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nishikido-san! That old geezer’s never been the type to coddle the younger staff!”

“I’m not sure why myself…”

“Fine, whatever. Out of respect for the elderly, I’ll do your damn broadcast. But if it goes sideways, it’s your problem, Director. And we will have a lengthy chat after you get back from your vacation.”

“Yes, sir.” The implied threat made it clear that the argument had only been postponed, not resolved. Nevertheless, it was one more hurdle down. After the call, I turned to Nishikido. “Thank you for backing me up.”

“Eh, I can’t stand that guy. Massive egotist in sore need of an attitude adjustment. The world’s full of ’em…” His eyes grew distant for a moment.

“Two minutes,” Ushio called.

I wedged the IEM into my ear and walked over to Narayama, who was just standing there like a statue. “Are you all right?”

“I can’t,” he repeated, his complexion ghostly pale.

His quavering voice mingled with the detergent commercial playing in my ear. If only those enzymes could lift the stain of his failure from his brain, we wouldn’t be struggling right now. Alas, my only option was to scrub him myself.

“I just can’t do it…”

I understood exactly how he felt. I was in those shoes once, and if Ushio hadn’t given me the encouragement I needed, I wouldn’t have even tried. But right now, my job wasn’t to commiserate. “Then why did you want to be an anchor in the first place?”

“Huh?”

“You did want to be a news anchor, right?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered in a tiny voice.

“Ninety seconds!”

“I couldn’t get into any of the flagship stations or affiliates like my friends did… When I got the offer letter from Asabi TV Nagano, they all laughed, but…it honestly meant the world to me…”

I nodded in understanding. Then I put a hand over the lavalier mic pinned to his collar so the SCR wouldn’t hear my voice. “Well, I can’t relate to that shit.”

Shit, I said “shit”! Eh, fuck it. I donned a condescending sneer.

“Huh…?”

“Sixty seconds!”

“I got in without even trying. They begged me to be an anchor. So I can’t begin to fathom being over the moon about some no-name station out in the sticks.” One of his lapels was inside-out, so I fixed it for him. “How’s that make you feel? Bitter? Angry?”

“Thirty seconds! Hey, it’s starting!”

I glared into Narayama’s eyes, frozen with fear, and whispered, “If it pisses you off, then show me.”

“Sh-show you what…?”

“Show me someone who loves this job more than I ever could.”

Then I crouched down under the camera, set the stopwatch, and used my free hand to hold up my sketchbook.

“Ten seconds to title!”

It was my first time doing a countdown. “Starting now,” I announced in a loud voice, and it kicked my ass into gear.

Our only option was to make it happen. But more than that, I wanted to make it happen.

“Nine, eight, seven, six, five!” The rest I counted down on my fingers: four, three, two, one. Over the IEM, I could hear the familiar opening melody as the cameras panned to Asou in the studio.

“After Asou, they’ll cut to our footage,” Ushio reported.

“Good evening. Tonight on The News, we have footage of a fire taking place at a hot spring facility in Nagano Prefecture. The fire is ongoing, and our correspondent Narayama from Asabi TV Nagano is on the scene. Narayama-san?”

“Okay, broadcast is live!”

I held up the cue card.

“Narayama-san?”

Despite Asou’s tosses, Narayama stood stock-still. With my marker I tapped the cue card, where I’d written BRIEF SUMMARY, and silently ordered him to start talking.

“Narayama-san, can you tell us what’s going on out there?”

“Narayama-kun, read the cue and respond.”

It was like he couldn’t hear us. He just stood there, frozen in place, eyes locked on Nishikido’s camera lens. No brain activity.

“Narayama-san, can you hear us?” Again, no response. After three more seconds of dead air, Asou continued, “I apologize, folks, but it looks like our connection’s unstable out there. Can we switch to the footage from the helicopter?”

We were screwed. The broadcast was toast, and when I went back to work a few days from now, my career would be toast, too…or so I thought.

But just then, Ushio yelled from somewhere behind me: “Hey, dumbass! You’ve got a mouth, so use it! Say something! Don’t make a mockery of Kunieda Kei!”

Jesus, dude, are you trying to turn this into a news blooper? What are you mad about, anyway? It was the middle of summer, yet a cold shiver ran down my spine.

But somehow, inexplicably, this seemed to break Narayama’s hypnotic state because he suddenly started babbling.

“This peaceful hot spring village is in an uproar. I’m r-reporting to you live from the scene of the fire: a building which was once a traditional inn. The whole area smells like charcoal, and though it’s hard to see at night, thick black smoke is rising into the sky. Currently there are six fire trucks here on the scene, f-fighting hard to keep the blaze from spreading to the surrounding forest.”

His voice was loud and clear, if a little shaky in places. Not only that, he was reading my cue cards.

“Can you tell us if anyone’s been hurt?” Asou asked, as if nothing was amiss.

“According to locals, this inn closed for renovations at the start of the spring season, and luckily, the building was empty. As for the source of the fire, some say the hot spring pump may have malfunctioned, causing a boiler explosion.”

“That looks like one vicious blaze out there. How has it progressed since you first arrived?”

“Well, I’ve been here for about half an hour, and I’d say the fire’s slightly more contained than it was previously.”

“Wrapping up and cutting back to the studio,” Ushio reported.

“Thank you, Narayama-san.”

It’s over. Thank Christ.

But right before I could heave a sigh of relief, I caught a glimpse of someone on the other side of the caution tape—and they weren’t wearing a uniform.

“Nishikido-san! Over there! Zoom in!” I shouted, pointing, then looked over at Ushio. “Don’t cut the feed! Someone’s inside!”

“Still live!” Ushio reported back succinctly.

Then I heard Asou over the IEM: “It looks like we’re getting some new footage.”

We were still on the air. Excellent. The only problem was that I hadn’t scripted out any cue cards for this. Narayama would have to actually report on it, in the truest sense of the word. Right when he thought he could relax, he was now at maximum panic; his face was utterly blank.

“Narayama-kun, just talk,” I told him. “Tell them exactly what you see. It’s okay. You can get through this.”

Because I’m fighting like hell to make sure you can. Just keep talking until this thing is over—that’s how this job works, isn’t it?

“It appears there’s someone on the premises, beyond the caution tape. With assistance from two firefighters, he’s able to walk. They’re heading to the ambulance… Oh, there’s two more. All appear to be male, ages unknown… It’s unclear why these men were present at the scene.”

I pinched my fingers together over my head, signaling that he was done speaking. “The ambulance is passing by—let’s get some audio of that. Nishikido-san, tight on the ambulance, please.”

“You got it.”

“Tsuzuki-san, tell them to prepare the insert footage. Wipe transition away from Narayama-kun’s face. I want them to get another good look at the blaze.”

“Roger that.” Then, as the ambulance siren faded into the distance, Ushio announced, “Starting insert footage! Once ­Asou-san’s done talking, the broadcast is over!”

“As you can see here in this footage, it appears three male victims have been rescued from the burning building in Nagano Prefecture. All were able to walk with minimal assistance to the ambulance. There are no further details at this time.”

This unexpected twist didn’t even faze Asou-san, who neatly wrapped up the messy story without batting a lash. He was so calm, I started to wonder if my barometer for “shocking” was off or something. No wonder the guy was in love with himself—his sense of presence was so strong, surprises and slip-ups bounced right off of him.

“We’ll keep you up to date as we hear more. Now, our next news story…”

“Back to the studio. Broadcast over,” I reported. In response, Nishikido lowered his camera.

Then Narayama dropped to his knees. “It’s over… I did it… Thank god…”

Did what? You barely looked at the camera, your voice was all over the place, and you were talking too fast! You couldn’t even handle a five-minute broadcast! You get 20 points—out of 20,000!

But since he was crying, all I said to him was, “Good work.”

Then I got a call from Shitara. “Hey, great job! The beginning and ending had me sweating bullets there, but overall I’d say it was a pretty good broadcast, wouldn’t you?”

“I am so terribly sorry about that…”

“Nah, if anything, I should apologize for interrupting your vacation! You can all pack up and head home now. I’m sure Asabi TV Nagano will handle it from there.”

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” Then I turned to the crew. “Thanks for the broadcast, everyone.” And lastly, I addressed Ushio. “Shall we head back to the inn?”

“Sounds good,” he replied with a bright smile, and at last, it set in: we were done. It was a wild and crazy night, but at least it was over.

Or so I thought.

But on my way back to the place where we parked our bikes, I slipped in some mud, and my skull made a strange, metallic sound when I landed.

***

I loaded Kei and our two bikes into a taxi and went back to the inn. It was actually Nishikido, the camera guy, who helped me get him back to his room.

“How’s it look?”

“Mmm… I think I see some swelling.”

There was now a misshapen lump on the back of Kei’s head where it had slammed into an exposed tree root. Touching it made him grimace, so he had to be at least partly conscious. I laid a cold, damp washcloth over his head.

“Gotta say, I didn’t know the kid was dumb enough to trip over his own two feet and pass out on the ground,” the old man remarked.

“Uhhh… Tell me about it…” As someone intimately familiar with Kei’s bouts of stupidity, I couldn’t really comment. I gazed down at him as he lay in bed and whispered affectionately, “Must’ve let his guard down after the broadcast was over. He’s been really stressed lately.”

“He’s still so young, but when I look at him, I start thinkin’… The folks who can are really just folks who refuse to say they can’t.”

I felt the same way. I was starting to like this ornery old cameraman, his neck and shoulders thick and muscular from years of manual labor.

“Looks like they’ve nearly got the fire out. In a way, we were there at the perfect time. Oh, yeah, you’re the one who filmed the inserts? Lemme see.”

“Here you go.” I handed him the phone Kei had given to me.

He stared down at the footage. “Not bad,” he murmured, “but I think it’d feel better overall if it was just a second shorter. And at a lower angle.”

“Ooh, you’re right…” It was rare to find someone who could talk at length about the feel of something rather than just the facts.

“I’ll bet you weren’t expecting him to put you on the line with the SCR, eh? You did a great job. Lotta dumbasses out there woulda sputtered in a panic their first time.”

“It was nerve-wracking. I even broke character and shouted…”

Relaying information back and forth with a stranger in real time felt a lot like being a tightrope walker. I was starting to understand just how much pressure Kei was under at his job every single day.

“Incidentally, did the mic pick that up?”

“Nah, I doubt it.”

“Oh, yeah, I was planning to buy a new tripod. Any recommendations?”

“Depends on if you want somethin’ light or somethin’ sturdy. Personally, I like Libecs over Vintens, since—”

Right as we were about to talk shop, however, Kei let out a little groan and opened his eyes a crack.

“Oh, hey, back with us, Kunieda? Remember who I am and all that?”

“…Nishikido-san…”

“Yep, you got it. Your head hurt? Any nausea?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” he answered firmly, though his gaze was unsteady.

“All right then, I’m headed out. Head injuries are no joke, so get yourself to an actual hospital to get it looked at, yeah? ’Til then, get plenty of bed rest.”

I walked Nishikido outside to call a taxi, and when I returned, I found Kei sitting upright in bed, still dazed. I crouched down to meet his eye level. “Want a drink?”

In response, he just stared back at me.

“What?” I asked.

At first I thought maybe he wasn’t fully awake, but his eyes were sharp. Something wasn’t right—I could feel it in my gut. Usually he would never gaze into my eyes in private; he’d always get embarrassed and look away. But right now, he was making so much eye contact, it was actually uncomfortable.

“…Uh, hello…?”

“Sorry, um…” He paused, then asked, “Could you tell me your name?”

The Kei I knew would never make that kind of joke. I froze as my brain refused to process reality.

“Oh, sorry!” Kei (I guess?) quickly grew flustered. “I must still be a little confused, because somehow I’ve completely forgotten it. I do recognize your face, though; I’m confident you’re someone I know. But the details are fuzzy in my mind…”

“Tsuzuki Ushio,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice level.

“Tsuzuki-san…” He rolled my name on his tongue, but his expression stayed cloudy.

“Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No…”

“Do you remember why you came here?”

“I wanted to travel somewhere for summer vacation, and a junior colleague recommended this place to me… Then I saw a fire break out in the mountains, so I rushed over there to help with a news broadcast. It just so happened that the cameraman was someone I knew, which was a tremendous help.”

It was as if Kei’s mind had erased all traces of me from the story… No, this wasn’t Kei, it was “Kunieda-san,” the news anchor. So where was Kei? Was he simply hiding his real personality because he thought I was a stranger? I decided to bait him.

“What happened to your glasses and face mask?”

“Huh?” He blinked at me, wide-eyed. “My eyesight is fine, so I don’t need glasses. I do wear a face mask sometimes, though, when the air is dry.”

It really didn’t seem like an act. Both Ushio and the real Kei had been erased entirely, leaving only the “Kunieda-san” half, and his subconscious mind had spackled over all the holes in his memory.

Maybe I should punch him again in the same spot…

It was a horrible idea, even for me, and naturally, I didn’t dare follow through. Careful to keep my panic suppressed, I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Eh, you’ll remember eventually. For now, you’ve had a long night, so just get some sleep.”

“I will, thank you. Have a good night.” He regarded me with his classic Kunieda-san smile—the kind I hadn’t seen in person since before we started dating.

Out in the hallway, I stopped short. What do I do? I mean, obviously, there wasn’t much I could do, seeing as I wasn’t a doctor. Maybe he’d be back to normal in the morning. Praying that would be the case, I went back to my room.

***

“Ah, good morning!”

The next morning, when I went back to his room, it was Kunieda-san who greeted me. I forced a smile to hide my disappointment. “Have you remembered anything?”

“No, nothing in particular… Oh, right!”

“What is it?”

“The victims of last night’s fire only had slight burns—no major injuries, thankfully. Turns out they’re a group of urban explorers who just so happened to have broken in on the night of the explosion.”

“Uh…cool…” This time, my disappointment was obvious. I was really hoping he’d remembered something relevant.

“Right, that doesn’t matter… I’m sorry.”

But when he gave me that sad puppy-dog look, I couldn’t stay mad at him. “Nah, there’s no rush. I’m gonna be staying another night; what about you?”

“I’m checking out today.”

“Gotcha.” I grabbed the memo pad off the side table and quickly jotted down my phone number, email address, and home address, because I suspected they weren’t saved in his work phone. “Here’s my contact info. Reach out if you need anything.”

“Thank you… Oh, you live near my apartment.”

“Yeah, I do. We’re neighbors, so you come by every now and then. In fact, we first met when you came over to interview me.”

“I see…”

It didn’t seem to ring a bell whatsoever. Biting back a sigh, I said, “Well, take care on your way home.” And with that, I left the room.

***

It was Sunday evening. Like the world’s worst traveling companion, I zoned out in silence until my group parted ways at the Tokyo train station. Then, once I was alone, I headed to the next meetup spot.

“What? So now he’s just Mr. Perfect? For real? That’s hilarious!”

I didn’t expect Tatsuki to start crying or anything, but this was a little too flippant. If Kunieda-san was “Mr. Perfect,” then what about the real Kei? Then again, he did refer to himself as schlubby that one time.

“Man, when you said you needed to talk about something important, I was scared it was some kinda catastrophe! Oh, excuse me, can I get another beer? And an order of grilled mochi with cheese!”

“This is a catastrophe.”

“Well, I mean, he remembers the basic stuff, right?”

“Yeah, and he seems to remember everything about how his job works, too. But if he regains his memories in the middle of a broadcast, even he won’t be able to play it off. So you’re the only person I can ask to look out for him.”

“Sure thing!” Tatsuki shot me a spirited thumbs-up. “I’m always prepared to cut to commercials!”

“I didn’t mean that. Won’t that get you fired?”

“Well, why don’t you try to jog his memory, then? He doesn’t even know what he’s forgetting, right?”

“I mean, that’s true, but…”

I was still in possession of his personal phone—I wasn’t sure I should give it back to him right now, knowing he’d see all the rude text exchanges we’d had. In contrast, his work phone contained no traces of the real Kei.

“If I show him who he really is, he might really freak out, don’t you think? He’s already scared enough as it is, knowing there’s something missing.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s true. If I was in his shoes, I’d probably wanna curl up and die if I found out. Either that or I’d refuse to believe you and try to sue you for defamation.”

“Exac—Hey, wait a minute!”

“Dang, I almost had you.”

On the upside, talking to Tatsuki was at least better than ­agonizing over it alone, but on the other hand, getting him to stay on topic was like pulling teeth.

“Okay, well, what if you just casually bring him to your favorite places? Or show him little trinkets from your favorite moments?”

“I could do that…”

“Or do him in your favorite position.”

“Hey!”

What kind of newscaster talked like that in a public izakaya? For as much as I scoffed at Kei’s paranoia, this guy’s total lack thereof seemed…concerning.

“I’m just saying! Sometimes the body remembers things!”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Whaddya mean? Just go for it!” he shrugged with a carefree grin.

“Yeah? And if it doesn’t work, what does that make me? A rapist?”

“Nah, no way! He’s still the same guy, so I’m sure he’ll fall in love with you all over again. Just, like, start the relationship over and hope he remembers someday!”

“And how do you think the other him would feel about that?” At this point, he was legitimately pissing me off, but he was too dense to notice.

“Look, if it was me dating him, I’d be fine if he went back to normal, but also, pretty entertained if he didn’t. I mean, it’s a mental issue; there’s nothing you can do. So what about you, Tsuzuki-san?”

“Huh?”

“Are you saying you can’t see him that way unless his memories return? You can’t love him if he’s only half-there?”

“Whatever.” I threw some money down on the table and rose to my feet.

“Hey, that’s too much.”

“Consider it payment for the last-minute notice. Like I said, I’m counting on you to look out for him.”

Outside the pub, the sweltering heat rising from the asphalt made it hard to breathe. Even when the sun went down, the summer atmosphere remained in full force. It reminded me of the night before last—the last night Kei was still Kei. If only I’d told him to watch his step—if only I’d been there at his side, ready to catch him—he’d still be himself. He was so close to overcoming his struggle at work, too. What an idiot.

“My job’s the whole reason I’m here with you right now.”

Was that a premonition or something? What perfect universe conspired to have that sweet, uncharacteristically smooth line be the last thing Kei said to me? He buttered me up just to leave me behind?

For once I was grateful for the Tokyo crowds, forcing me to spend my energy weaving through them in the opposite direction. Because if the streets were empty, I probably would have just stood there.

***

Monday night, Kunieda-san visited my house for the first time.

“I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced…”

“Nah, come on in.” I hesitated for a moment, but decided to allow him upstairs, thinking maybe the familiar environment would remind him a bit.

“You’re a filmmaker, right?” he asked, peering around curiously as he sat in a chair. “I spent yesterday and today searching through my apartment, and I found the Evening File recordings from last year. I thought, Ah, so this is what Tsuzuki-san was talking about.” He spoke as though it was something he had learned rather than recalled.

“Yep.”

Obviously, the sensible thing was to talk about specifics and wake up that sleeping brain of his; I didn’t need Tatsuki to spell it out for me. But it was painful for me to have to teach Kei about his own memories. So was acting like I was fine. I’d gained a newfound admiration for his ability to stay in character at all times when in public.

“Have you eaten? I was just about to cook. Nothing fancy, but you’re invited if you’d like.”

“You don’t mind?”

His face brightened. He must have been lonely, and since he couldn’t gauge the distance between us, he was relieved for me to take the lead. His smile always warmed my heart, no matter the circumstance.

“Need any help?” he asked.

“Nah, just take a seat.”

The real Kei would never make such a kind offer—no, surely, the real Kei was still in there somewhere. Was he snarking silently at me in his head, right this minute? If not, then the sweet, princely Kunieda-san was no longer just a mask…it was more like a toy brought to life. But in that case, he technically wasn’t the same as Kei’s mask… Ugh, this is complicated.

I chopped up some onions, bell pepper, and ham, fried it all up with some cooked pasta noodles, and added tomatoes and ketchup for flavor. In private, Kei would eat every meal with chopsticks regardless, but this time I intentionally gave him a fork.

He smiled brightly. “It looks delicious.”

“I just threw some stuff together, that’s all.”

Then he saw me pull a jar from the fridge and tilted his head slightly. “You eat pasta with pickled scallions?”

“Huh? Oh, er…”

“Everybody has little quirks like that,” he reassured me, sensing my mild panic. “And those little Chinese scallions are delicious.”

“Yeah…ha ha…”

I grabbed them for you, you idiot! No matter the type of sauce, Kei always ate his pasta with sweet pickled scallions, so by this point I had developed a “curry and rice” association with the two. I’d only grabbed them out of habit.

“Anyway, let’s eat.”

“Thank you so much for cooking.”

The way he pressed his palms together, he was the paragon of a well-mannered young man. This Kei would never ask for a chicken and rice bowl from KFC as his final meal, eat half of it normally, then make risotto with the rest. If I remembered correctly, he said his second choice was to eat a bowl of rice stirred up with the leftover egg dip from a sukiyaki restaurant.

Shit. The longer he’s gone, the weirder he starts to seem.

“Oh, wow, this actually pairs really well. Refreshes the palate.” I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or not, but he looked quite content eating pickled scallions between bites of pasta.

“Glad to hear it. Did you go to the hospital?”

“Ah, yes, I was meaning to tell you about that. I spent half the day taking all sorts of tests.”

“And?”

He furrowed his brow slightly. “No abnormalities detected. I even had them do a head MRI, but they didn’t see any blood clots… When I told them I have partial memory loss, they said it’s probably just the lingering shock from the fall. As long as it doesn’t impact my daily life, they said to just wait and see.”

“Right. Well, I’m glad there’s no clots up there.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but if I let it show, it would hurt Kunieda-san. So I rose to my feet and turned away. “Want something to drink? Wine?”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

I chose a white wine in hopes that it would remind him of the night we went out drinking with Shitara. For some reason he drank a lot that night; it was cute. He was still in Kunieda-san mode back then, so you’d think there’d be a lot of overlap with the guy currently sitting at my table…and yet…

“…Tsuzuki-san?”

Crap, I zoned out. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”

“Um…” Kunieda-san swirled his wine hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“When I went back to my apartment…I was fully aware that it was my place, but I kept finding things I didn’t recognize.”

“Like what?”

“Fake glasses.”

“Those are for whenever you need to go incognito. You just forgot them when you went to Nagano.”

“And the bookshelves full of manga?”

“Oh… Well, sometimes you have to research stuff for work. Like a while ago, when you had to read a shoujo manga series to prep for an interview.”

“Really? Then what about that really old tracksuit?”

“I think you wear that whenever you take out the trash.”

“Ah, I see. In that case, do you have any idea about the other key on the same ring as my house key?”

It’s the key to my place, obviously. “Maybe you rented a storage shed somewhere? Or it’s for something at work? You’ll probably remember once your vacation’s over.”

I wasn’t great at off-the-cuff cover stories, and my heart was racing. Damn it, why should I have to hide you from yourself? The second you go back to normal, you owe me big time… You will go back to normal, right?

After about half a bottle of wine, Kunieda-san started dozing off.

“I’m so sorry—I should go home…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you like. Maybe take a nap for half an hour? I bet you’ll feel better.”

“I couldn’t possibly…”

“It’s fine!”

Without thinking, I grabbed his hand to lead him to the bed. Instantly, I felt alarm ripple through him, and on reflex, I flung his hand away. Awkward.

“Sorry… I shouldn’t be so pushy.”

“No, I’m ashamed to say I completely overreacted. I apologize.”

“I’m gonna take care of some work real quick, so you can nap or watch TV or whatever you like.”

It sounded like an excuse—no, it was an excuse. An excuse to put distance between myself and the overly cautious dance of two people with secrets to hide. An escape from the feel of his warmth, magnified by the alcohol.

I knew I’d never be able to focus, but nevertheless, I booted up my computer. And as I aimlessly started sorting my folders—a task with no deadline, and thus, I’d perpetually put it off—I heard the television turn on upstairs. Typical, I thought, and bit back a smile.

About a half hour later, when I went up to check on him, I found him nodding off in front of the TV. I was just happy he was relaxing. Careful not to make a sound, I washed the dirty dishes, then peered at the bed.

Asleep, he really looked no different from Kei—well, duh. I reached out to stroke his hair, hesitated, then pulled back. What if he flinched awake? Damn it, I wanna touch you! I wanted to ruffle his hair like a dog, or caress him like an easily bruised fruit. No matter what I approached him with, Kei would always entrust himself to me. I wanted to make love to him—gently, roughly, mapping over every last familiar inch.

Where are you, Kei?

As if tickled by my question, Kunieda-san scrunched his nose faintly. It was the same expression I’d sometimes glimpse during the night, maybe whenever he had a bad dream. He’d always feel around for me with a hand, pull in close, then go limp like he was relieved to find me. But this time, Kunieda-san remained still as his eyes opened a crack.

“Sorry, did I wake you? You can go back to sleep,” I said, as if I’d only just walked in. That way he wouldn’t know I was watching him sleep.

“That’s okay,” he replied with a weak smile, and it was so unlike the usual Kei that it made me flustered. And guilty.

“You can’t love him if he’s only half-there?”

At the time, I dodged the question, but the truth of it was that I didn’t know the answer. I loved both sides of him; his two halves existed to complete each other, so I never imagined one of them might disappear. But now here he was right in front of me, and as a guy, I couldn’t help but waver a little.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Really? It felt a lot longer.”

Bashfully smoothing his hair, he sat up. Then, out of nowhere, he shot a confused stare into the distance.

“For some reason, I can never get much sleep at my apartment,” he explained. “But it’s probably because I’m not used to being on vacation,” he added quickly. Like the real Kei, he wasn’t comfortable admitting to feelings of fear or loneliness. “Oh!” Just then, he leaned around me to look at the TV screen.

“Sorry, am I in the way?” Curious, I turned to have a look myself. A commercial was on.

“I just love this commercial. I saw it on TV last night and thought it was great. But it’s impossible to predict when they’ll run the same one again, you know?”

“…Yeah…”

It was an ad for an early summer clearance sale featuring my fireworks animation—stitched flowers blooming in the night sky. Belatedly, I remembered that they’d started airing it at the end of last week.

“Oh, it’s over… I wish I could see more of it. And without the text all over the screen.”

Evidently he didn’t remember that I was the creator. I have the raw file, I wanted to say. It’s on my computer, so you can watch it as many times as you want. Technically, he wasn’t quite the person I wanted to show it to—but that was rude to poor Kunieda-san. Still, I couldn’t treat him like Kei or it would feel like a betrayal. For the time being, I needed to keep these feelings hidden.

“Come back anytime,” I told him as he was leaving. “I don’t have any errands to run this week, so I’ll pretty much be at home the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you…” But no amount of demurring could hide the joy on his face. God, he’s as obvious as Kei. Just in a different way.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be. Not like I could really entertain you anyway, since I’ve got work to do… Besides, I’d like you to remember me.”

“I’m sorry…” I had attempted to keep my tone casual, but he hung his head dejectedly. “It must feel awful, having someone forget everything about you.”

“Eh, not like you did it on purpose. Nobody decides which memories they’ll get to keep, right? Don’t feel bad. Your struggle’s way worse than mine.”

“Right, but…I just feel so pathetic. How could I have forgotten someone so kind and wonderful?”

“Now you’re just buttering me up,” I scoffed dismissively.

“No, I’m not!” Kunieda-san insisted. “You’re a great guy!”

“…Well, thanks…”

“Thank you for dinner. Have a good night.”

“Take care.”

“I will. See you tomorrow!”

I could hear the joy in the word tomorrow. It echoed in my head over and over as he disappeared down the street. Then, after he was gone, I shut the door and crouched down on the spot.

What the hell is going on? You can’t call me a “great guy” with that stupid smile on your face! You can’t just say things the real you never would!

I wasn’t confident that I’d managed to play it off without blushing. This shit was bad for my heart, man—both the way he imprinted on me like a duckling and the way he left without looking back.

***

“Oh, hi, there, Tsuzuki-san!”

“Minagawa?”

“We’re doing something a little different for today’s sports segment! Do you know where your boyfriends are? One of these fine bachelors was just carried off down the river after sumo wrestling a bear. Was it Bachelor #1: perfect Kunieda-san? Or Bachelor #2: schlubby Kunieda-san?”

“I’m not sure I get any of these references…”

“Just answer the question! Which will it be?”

“I dunno. Both.”

“Bzzzt! You’re out! You can’t get so greedy, mister!”

“It’s not greedy if he was like that to begin with!”

“Sorry, but you can’t have everything you want. Welp, now you lose both!”

“Wait!”

“Uh oh, looks like we’re out of time. After our commercial break, we’ll take a look at the weather. Is the rainy season finally over?”

That was when I woke up, and as my brain processed reality, the energy drained from my body. What a stupid dream. Most infuriatingly of all, he told me I couldn’t have everything I wanted—and I had decided he was right.

Half of my bed was empty. Was Kunieda-san having trouble sleeping alone?

***

The next day—and the day after that—Kunieda-san showed back up at my house. I was grateful for it, since I didn’t want him to get bored and go home to his parents in his current condition. They’d surely notice something was wrong with him, and the situation would spiral out of control. Then, because it was a work-related accident, his company would get involved. And I knew Kei wouldn’t want that.

It was easier overall for him to stay within eyeshot—for his own good, or so I told myself, but I couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling that I was only in it for myself. Especially when Kunieda-san seemed so happy here. His daily life wasn’t much different from Kei’s; he read a lot of newspapers and watched a lot of news shows.

“Don’t you wanna kick back and be lazy during your vacation?” I asked over dinner.

“If I’m not caught up on the latest news when I go back to work, it’ll cause problems. Besides, it’s easier to read a little each day than to let a backlog build up.”

The table was laden with pan-fried pork belly lettuce wraps, eggplant with balsamic vinegar, and pickled plum noodle soup—all of it made by Kunieda-san, if you could believe it. Kei never cooked (at least, not around me) so I was sincerely amazed to watch his skills in the kitchen. The guy was capable of literally anything.

“Aren’t you tired, Kunieda-san?”

“Huh?”

“I get why you have to be perfectly poised on TV, but in your free time, like…I dunno, shouldn’t you loosen up a little? It feels like you’re the exact same guy you are on the news. Makes me wonder when you switch off.”

He paused to think for a moment, then answered, “At my house.”

“Yeah, but reading all those newspapers is like an extension of work, right?”

“Arguably, yes, but…I suppose I’m simply stubborn. If I don’t put in a level of effort I’m personally satisfied with, it makes me uneasy. So it doesn’t really feel like work, but rather something I do for my own sake, or maybe half and half.”

“Yeah, I know.” You overburden yourself and refuse to break.

“Perhaps right now is when I’m truly ‘switched off,’ as it were.”

“Huh?”

“I feel so comfortable when I’m here at your house…or relaxed, you could say. Like this is a place where I feel safe and secure… Sorry, maybe that’s weird.”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “I’m glad to hear it. Really glad.”

For but a few wordless seconds, we gazed into each other’s eyes. Then we both snapped out of it and went back to our food.

“Is the eggplant too vinegary?”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” I answered, hoping this subject change would serve to clear away the tension in the air. “So tell me, Kunieda-san, do you like your job?”

I asked this question on the off-chance that it would feel familiar to him. Maybe some scant traces of that turmoil still lingered in his mind somewhere.

“It’s not easy, but that’s precisely what makes it so worthwhile.”

“Gotcha.” It was a goody-two-shoes answer, nothing more.

Then, as we stood at the sink washing dishes together—something else Kei would absolutely never do with me—Kunieda-san mumbled, “Are you sure I’m not a bother?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been here nearly the whole day. Isn’t that rude to whoever you’re dating?”

“Huh? When did I ever say I was dating someone?”

“Er, well, you didn’t…” His hands froze in the middle of drying a dish. “But I’m convinced there’s someone else who likes it here just as much as I do.”

This was so frustrating. I knew Kei had to be in there somewhere, but I didn’t know how to get through to him or if he could even hear me at all. If only I could just tell Kunieda-san to switch to the other guy… But Kunieda-san was Kei, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Under no circumstances could I pretend it wasn’t him.

“There’s no one else.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to tie yourself into knots, okay? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Really? But you’re so desirable!”

His tone was questioning, yet his eyes were sparkling with delight, and I could feel this getting complicated fast. Better than him falling for someone else, I guess…? I hadn’t believed a word of Tatsuki’s optimism, but this was too blatant to dismiss. What now? I didn’t have the confidence to play it cool. Not when he was being so direct.

“If anyone’s desirable, it’s you.”

“Hmmm…I doubt it. I’m a very boring person.”

“No, you’re not,” I shot back reflexively.

“Huh?”

“You’re incredibly fascinating, Kunieda-san. You just don’t remember.”

“Wh… Erm… Is that a compliment…?” he asked timidly, sensing something hinted in my voice.

I was speechless for a moment. “…Yeah.”

“What was that long pause?”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I am…?” He fixed me with a suspicious look, then suddenly started grinning.

“What?”

“I’m sorry—that deadpan look was just too funny. Well, I feel better now.”

“Hm?”

“You never talk about what I used to be like, and I haven’t pressed you on it, since I figure you want me to remember it on my own. But it’s nice to hear.”

I could feel his arm brushing against mine.

“I promise, I’m going to remember,” he whispered. “I’ll do my best to remember as fast as I can… Just wait for me, okay?”

Personally, I was grateful we weren’t facing each other. Otherwise I would have hugged him.

***

On Saturday evening, Kunieda-san’s short summer vacation was quickly coming to an end and I was starting to feel the pressure. I had hoped that he would snap back to normal before he was scheduled to return to work, but clearly that was wishful thinking on my part. His time was almost up, and if he didn’t regain his memories by the time he went back to work, I’d have to bite the bullet and consult his parents.

“The rain still hasn’t let up,” Kunieda-san murmured as he sat on the bed with his knees tucked to his chin.

“Yep.” Meanwhile, I sat at the dining table, working on my laptop.

The skies were clear during the day, but now the rain was pouring down so hard that an umbrella wouldn’t stand a chance—hence I’d told Kunieda-san he could stay here until it eased up. I didn’t realize it would take quite this long, however. Granted, I didn’t mind him crashing here, but ideally I wanted to go to his apartment so I could test something out. Not that I really expected his memories to return purely by seeing a memento, but I didn’t have many other options at this point.

I gotta go there and show him his…

“That reminds me,” Kunieda-san began. “On my way here, I was sorting through my work briefcase, and I found an intonation dictionary.”

“Huh?”

“While flipping through it, I saw a little doodle in the corner… By any chance, were you the one who drew it? It’s a doodle of me, right?”

“…Yeah…” Welp. Beat me to the punch.

“You’re such a great artist! That must have taken you a long time. But I noticed I have a little transformation partway through. When do I ever look that sloppy?”

He smiled bashfully at me, almost like he was ashamed of it. But to me and Kei, that little doodle was special. It was a secret message—a love letter from me to him, telling him I knew his secret, that I supported him…and he accepted it. More recently, when I’d joked about being buried with that dictionary, he actually got angry.

So why was he sitting there now, smiling like it was nothing? That doodle was the one thing I thought might bring him back. Without it, what else did I possibly have?

Kunieda-san noticed my silence and frowned. “Tsuzuki-san?”

I didn’t know what to do anymore, and at long last, panic and frustration won out. “It wasn’t me.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t draw it. No clue.”

No sooner did the words leave my lips than the self-loathing sank in. I wanted to be nice to him, not push him away—but the man on my mind was Kei—but Kunieda-san was Kei! The more I looked at that face, the more I missed Kei, and feelings akin to anger built up inside me, resentful that I couldn’t have him back.

“…You’re lying,” Kunieda-san whispered, his expression twisted in pain. Truth be told, my heart ached at the sight of it, but I forced it away.

“How do you know that?” You didn’t even know I made the fireworks. “You don’t remember, right?”

“I don’t need to remember to recognize certain things. Like the other day, for instance…” For once, his soft smile was gone, replaced by a resolute stare. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? You’re in love with someone.”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“You’ve always been really kind to me, but you feel…distant. At times, you seem as hazy as my memories. I come here to try to escape my loneliness, but…sometimes, being with you makes it even worse.”

As I struggled to find the words, the sound of the rain became a cage with no door. No one was getting in or out.

“Tsuzuki-san?” Kunieda-san called. “Could you come closer? Just for right now?”

I couldn’t say no to that. As I sat down on the bed, the creak of the springs stabbed at my conscience.

“Laugh at me and call me crazy, but ever since I woke up and laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted to spend more time with you. I don’t know what happened between us before—maybe I’m only an acquaintance to you. But I can say this for sure: the reason I forgot you, specifically, is because you occupy so much of my mind.”

He spoke under his breath, haltingly, cheeks flushed, unlike any news anchor I’d ever seen on TV. He exhaled, as if to vent the excess heat.

“I’m surprised I feel this way toward another man. Again and again I’ve questioned it, wondering if maybe I’m just confused. But no, I’m sure of it. Whoever I was before I lost my memory, and whoever I am now, I’m in—”

“Stop,” I cut in hastily, pressing an index finger to his lips.

I couldn’t let him finish that thought—I was already on the cusp of losing my self-control. He kept firing off these romantic lines that Kei would never say, one after another, and at this point, I was feeling like a slice of Swiss cheese. Just go for it, echoed Tatsuki’s voice in my mind, threatening to sever my last lingering thread of rationality. If only I could get amnesia.

“Don’t say another word.”

“Can’t I say it, at least?” he asked, looking directly at me with eyes as wet as the rain outside.

“I’m in love with someone else, sorry. You’re right; I lied.”

“What are they like?”

“It’s hard to describe—hey, don’t change the subject! Seriously.”

“Where are they right now?”

I wasn’t expecting Kunieda-san to be so persistent. If it was Kei, he’d never act like this; his cowardice and pride would get in the way. The subtle differences between them hurt me just as much as the similarities, and yet, I could feel myself being drawn to him. His gaze was so firm, I didn’t dare look away.

“He’s…on a trip, you could say.”

“When will he get home?”

“I don’t know.”

“In that case, I won’t ask for much of your time. Just until he comes home.”

“Stop.” I was speaking to myself more than him. Stop letting him wear you down—ah, fuck, I’m jinxing it, aren’t I?

“You’re not interested in me?”

“Look, I—”

“If I don’t have a chance, then I’ll go home right now and never come back.”

“Look, you idiot!”

Purely on reflex, I grabbed him and pinned him against the wall with both hands. My heart was pounding in my ears so hard it hurt. I couldn’t hear the rain anymore, and I suspected he couldn’t either. My hands were practically fused to the wall. I was inches from crossing the line. He looked so identical to Kei—I tried to tell myself it wasn’t him, but it just wasn’t working.

“…Kunieda-san…”

“Yes?”

I took two or three deep breaths and said…

“Empty your pockets.”

“Huh?!” Draped in my shadow, he stared back at me, wide-eyed. “My pockets…? Um, what do you mean?”

“Ugh, I should’ve known it wouldn’t work.”

This wasn’t the kind of “position” Tatsuki was talking about when he suggested it, but it was certainly memorable, even if technically flipped around. Alas, I embarrassed myself and made Kunieda-san uncomfortable, all for nothing.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“No, I—”

Just then, a cell phone alarm went off. I pulled away from the wall with surprisingly little difficulty.

“Oh, it’s my phone. Sorry.” Kunieda-san awkwardly pulled out his cell.

“You have an alarm set for this late?”

“No, it’s some sort of calendar reminder… ‘CineNight’?”

“Ah, so it’s tonight.”

Kei must have set that reminder so he could watch the broadcast. It felt like he had indirectly reached out to stop me from going any further, and I quickly regained my senses. I could practically hear him cussing me out.

“Let’s watch it.” I turned the TV on, and Kei appeared onscreen.

“Good evening and welcome to CineNight, the Saturday night show where we talk about the latest and greatest films. Just recently, I read my first shoujo manga. At first it was a little cheesy, but I quickly got more and more invested, and by the end, I loved it. Tonight, we’ll discuss the film adaptation of that very manga: Caramel Days. Not to mention plenty of behind-the-scenes stories from our two lead actors…”

And so, with the film’s poster serving as the backdrop, the interview began. Kunieda-san watched with rapt attention.

“Do you remember this?” I asked.

“Well, when I hear myself speak, I remember saying the words, but I can’t recall what comes next until it happens. Sort of like rediscovering an old mystery novel I read once a long time ago.”

On screen, Kei was a patient listener, asking just the right questions at just the right time. I could visibly see the interviewees relaxing and opening up to him, and it really drove home just how talented he was. Why was he nervous about this? He was a natural.

“The Caramel Days film adaptation is coming to theaters next month. I encourage you all to give it a watch.”

At the end of the interview, the screen cut to black, and with a pop, the message “Newscaster Kunieda Does a Wall-Slam!” appeared in bubbly white font. In the next shot, Kei sat alone, directly facing the camera.

“Can I have a moment to get into character?”

Laughter erupted in the background.

“…Okay, I’m ready.”

Summoning his resolve, he rose to his feet and walked up to the camera. Was he gonna do the traffic thing? The pudding thing? Or something new? I was on the edge of my seat as he leaned in close to the lens and extended his arms out of frame on either side. He tilted his head down for a moment, then slowly lifted it back up.

“When I’m with you, your love makes me weak. But I can never be weak with anyone else.”

Fuck, I thought. He got me good. It should be illegal to air this on public television.

Then Kunieda-san looked away from the screen and over at me, and I could see a different light shining in his eyes. It grew stronger and stronger until eventually, his entire vibe transformed.

“…Kei…?”

After a pause, he spoke. “Total score?”

“Huh?”

“How many points was that worth?”

“Twenty thousand,” I answered. “Out of ten.”

“I know, right?” he smirked, thrusting his nose into the air.

The man I loved was back.

***

I hit my head, and the next thing I knew, I woke up at Ushio’s house during the climax of the CineNight broadcast. In the same way dreams didn’t need logic, I didn’t really think about the one-week gap in time. But the simple word “Right?” caused a domino effect, triggering all sorts of memories inside of me all at once. In a blink, all the puzzle pieces were in place, and I had regained myself.

If anything, it was Ushio who struggled to keep up with the sudden change. He stared back at me in blank shock. Then I pointed a finger in his face.

“You bastard. You were going to reject me, weren’t you?” How could you say no to this angel face? Wait, no! “Scratch that—you were going to cheat on me! First you push me away, and then a minute later it takes a cell phone alarm to stop you from jumping my bones?! You’re scum! From now on, we’re even, so don’t even think about bringing up my old mistakes. Got that, cheater?!”

As I screeched like a banshee, Ushio reached out and hugged me as hard as he could—so tightly, I thought I might suffocate.

“Hey! I can’t breathe, dumbass!”

My bones were creaking at this point, so I started to struggle…but when I felt his hands trembling against my back, I stopped. His breaths were interspersed with sobs, and I got the sense that he was the one who really wanted to be held right now.

“Ushio…”

I was finally feeling brave enough to apologize—but then.

“Huh?”

First, he released his grip on me, and the next second, he started grinding his knuckles into my temples.

“OW!”

“How dare you scare me like that!”

“Stop—that hurts—you’re gonna break my skull! I’ll get amnesia again, seriously!”

I flailed my limbs until he finally unclenched his fists and cupped my cheeks. “You do nothing but give me trouble, you know that?”

“Don’t lie! You were into it!”

“Well, okay. I admit it was cute to act like newlyweds.”

“See?”

“But I only wanna do it with you.” As he spoke, he pulled me into another hug, gently this time. “Welcome home, Kei.”

“…Glad to be back, Ushio.”

Because this is the one place where I truly feel safe.

***

After Ushio stripped me bare and laid me down on the bed, I grabbed his arm.

“What?”

“…So, is it true?” I asked.

“Huh?”

Don’t give me that look! You were acting like a different person yourself not ten minutes ago! Sure, Ushio was a nice guy, but the memory of that pure sugary sweetness was enough to make me envy myself. Lucky bastard, getting him to fawn over you.

“I’m asking, do you like the well-mannered type? Or…prefer it, I mean?”

“If I did, I would have made a move on you way before now.”

“You almost did!”

“Okay, fine. Yes, I like it.”

Oh, god, he does!

“I mean, I never imagined I’d get to experience the Kunieda-san in private, y’know? Now that you’re back to normal, I can safely say it was fun.”

“Hmmm…”

“Are you convinced?”

“Well…I could…do it more often…i-if you want,” I offered, summoning all my courage—yet this was met with a full-on scowl.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

Oh, to hell with it! “I SAID I’ll use my MOUTH!” I yelled.

“No, thank you,” he replied in a businesslike manner.

Must you constantly humiliate me?! “Why not?!”

“Kunieda-san would never do that.”

“Are you actually serious right now?!”

“Honestly, I just don’t want to tarnish the memory, I guess? You know, ‘ruin your wholesome image’ and all that.”

“What, so the real me is dirty?! Is that it?!”

“I don’t think you’d be good at it, that’s all.”

Sure, I’d be offended if he thought I was a dick-sucking pro, but considering how talented I was at everything else, it pissed me off to hear him underestimate me.

“Screw you! You should know I have a very skillful tongue!”

“Is that relevant? Well…okay, if you really want to.”

Considering what a selfless act it was, I’d hoped he would have been happier about it, or at least a little embarrassed, but instead, he gave me permission like he was my boss.

“Here.” He pressed his…finger…to my lips. “Call it a test run.”

God, why are you so condescending? That being said, as an amateur, I could appreciate the opportunity for a rehearsal. So I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around his finger.

“Hey, genius, I can already feel your teeth.”

For fuck’s sake, quit complaining! I’m practicing, okay?! I puckered my lips and sucked. As he wiggled his finger against my soft inner cheek, I wrapped my tongue around it, guiding it back to the front of my mouth, licking the fleshy pad and teasing the sensitive space where nail met skin. I sucked so hard, my cheeks dimpled. His living warmth turned me on.

“Mmh…!” As I licked blindly, I could feel the base of my tongue growing stiff, but whatever—I could keep going. I wanted to prove to him that not all amateurs were cut from the same cloth. “Mmm…mmh…”

Over time, however, the finger grew impatient and started fooling around, tickling my cheeks and tongue, and I couldn’t help but moan through my nose. As it tapped on each of my teeth in turn, I could feel the heat of lust building in my deepest recesses. And every time I swallowed my overflowing saliva, I could feel the ache grow stronger. Wait, what? I wasn’t expecting this. But then the finger started thrusting, and I quickly forgot my confusion.

“Mm… Mmmh…”

His long digit was careful not to surpass the threshold that would trigger my gag reflex. As he thrusted, he tapped playfully on my tongue, then slipped just behind my lips. The lining of my mouth grew hot and wet with the stimulation. Thinking of this as penetration turned me on, and before long, I was licking and sucking on that finger like it was candy. Delicious candy. I sucked in my cheeks.

“Hey, that hurts,” said an amused Ushio. “Feels like you’re gonna suck my insides out.” With a grin, he pulled out and tapped on my lips, wet and gleaming like a ripe fruit.

“Not bad, huh?”

“Mmm… I withhold my judgment for now.”

“What could you possibly have to complain about?!”

He suppressed my protests with a kiss, his lips hot against mine. And as he traced over all the same areas, this time with his tongue, I could feel my mouth melting like whipped cream from the inside out.

“Tonight, I want to touch you and lick you to my heart’s content. Save it for next time, okay?” he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine, gazing deep into my eyes. He had me right where he wanted me, and it was completely unfair. But at the same time, it pressed all the right buttons.

“…There won’t be a next time.”

“Alas, what a shame.”

I poked my tongue in through his parted lips, then I nibbled on his lower lip. He stroked my hair…and then suddenly, his hand slid down to my groin.

“Mmmh!”

“It seems I’m not the one in need of service.”

The lightest grasp was all it took to make my rigid member pulse. As he stroked it, he peppered me with faint kisses.

“Shut up… Aah…ah…”

He caressed my bare chest with his lips—like he was drawing something out, or perhaps injecting something into it, that only he could see. And when my nipples inevitably flushed pink, he went straight for them.

“Nnn…aah…!”

With every flick of his firm tongue tip, my twin electrodes sent a rush of arousal straight to my heart. Usually I forgot they existed, but now I could feel them swelling. They’d learned to derive pleasure from torment via tongue or fingers, but no matter how deep they reddened, these little buds would never mature further. That was what made it so erotic.

“Aah! Aah…gah!”

When he sucked on my shamelessly engorged nips, it made my whole back arch. After all that oral loving, they felt like berries drenched in syrup…and my third leg was begging for the same treatment.

“Aah…”

Below my navel, he pressed his lips to the smooth, delicate skin of my member, savoring its rigidity again and again. That alone was giving me plenty of stimulus, but then he ran his tongue down the length.

“Aah! Aagh…aaahh…!”

Like a shot of morphine straight to my muscles and nerves, ­every last scrap of tension and resistance drained away from me, yet my hands and feet still flinched in response. My body was being pulled to two different extremes—it was confusing, yet arousing. The tepid warmth of his mouth on my cock was just enough to foster my lust. It brought to mind the memory of our faux fellatio, turning me on in two different ways.

“Aah, aaahh—Ushio, I’m…gonna…!”

“Cum?”

“Yeah…!”

Though there were times that he would, despite being the source of my affliction, sit back and make me work for my orgasm, this was thankfully not one of those times. Tonight, he used his hand and mouth to help me right along.

“Aaahh, aah…!”

The pulse of sweet relief may have emptied my balls, but it was not enough to purge my desire entirely. In the hollow of the space between my cheeks lurked a pale starfish that only Ushio would ever see; as he licked and sucked at me, my dick swelled before I even realized I was horny again.

“Aah, gah, it’s back—”

“Your erection?”

“Aah! Yeah! Nnn…!”

Despite having only just climaxed, my lust sloped smoothly upward, and while I wrestled with the shame of it, my ascent quickened. His deft hand jostled me along.

“God… Aaahh…!”

There was no stopping my body’s physiological reaction to the licking and stroking. The hole at my engorged tip was really little more than a slit; when he spread it with his fingers, there wasn’t much to see, save for a translucent droplet that rose up to greet him. Every time he licked it away, another would take its place, and gradually, the fluid grew thicker and stickier.

“Aah!”

As he lay buried between my legs, he suddenly grabbed them and shoved them up toward my chest. Then, with my rear exposed, he reached a hand down.

“Nnng…!”

Tracing over the short hop of my perineum, he found my twitching orifice, which was already soft after soaking in his saliva. It hungrily consumed the first joint of his finger, and meanwhile, my cock was begging for seconds.

“Aah! Aah, aah…!”

As he stroked the sides of my incandescent length with his fingers, he ran his tongue back and forth along the raphe on the underside. So much for a refractory period—I was already approaching climax again. He traced his lips over the rim of my head, drawing my attention to it, then slid his tongue into my rear.

“…Gah!”

The feeling of a soft mass wriggling inside me made all the hair on my body stand on end and the blood in my veins run cold. It worked in tandem with his firm finger, spreading the opening.

“No… Ushio…stop that…”

“No.” Rejecting my rejection, he used the lubrication of his saliva to add a second finger, burying it in deep.

“Stop…!”

“I said I’m gonna fuck you to my heart’s content, remember?”

“But… I…I never gave you permission…”

“I don’t need it.” His tone was so sharp, I half-thought he was angry. “With you, I’m allowed to do whatever I want. You know that.”

For some reason, this delighted me.

“Aah, aaahh…!”

My walls, having learned to welcome visitors, ceased all pretense of resistance. Pleasure radiated from the sweet spot at the end of the tunnel, and a different sort of arousal swirled in my loins. It felt like I was pregnant with a typhoon…and Ushio was fingering the eye of the storm.

“Gghh…aaahhh…!”

At about 80 percent, my cock erupted as if this whole thing was one long, drawn-out orgasm. The semen that splattered on my chest cooled quickly, but the fire of my lust only burned hotter. He waited for me to go limp before teasing my inner walls again, making me twitch and pucker even more wantonly.

“It looks practically inflamed,” he commented as he licked the sensitive, swollen rim. “Does it feel hot?”

“Aah… No… I’m scared…!”

“Of what?”

“I don’t wanna cum again… I’m scared, Ushio…!”

Scared that my body had a mind of its own—that I’d never be in control again.

“I know.”

I was being totally serious, yet he kept right on ravaging my weak spot. “Nngghh! Seriously, stop…!”

“No, you’re the one who needs to stop.” He sat upright and grabbed both of my legs. “I’m gonna make sure you never forget me again, no matter what.”

“Aaahh…!” As he pressed his hard tip to my entrance, my walls slowly stretched to encompass him. “Aah! Aaahh! Aah…!”

I could feel every inch of him clearly—his heat, his rigidity, his desire and carnality. I writhed, fearful of the intruding presence.

“Aaahh…aah…gah… It’s too tight…!”

“Don’t steal my line, dumbass.”

Once he’d buried it to the hilt, his erection pulsed and began to ravage my deepest depths.

“Aaahh…ghh… Nnngg!”

Again and again, he impaled me with a cock that was so unwaveringly hard, it was impossible to imagine him ever flaccid. As our hips slapped together, the intense yet painless pleasure threatened not to preserve the memory, but to wipe the whole slate clean. At first he slammed into me while tickling the backs of my knees, but then he dropped my legs and put both hands right above my shoulders.

“Hold your legs up for me.”

“I don’t…want to…”

“Do it. Now.”

Maybe if he’d asked prior to penetration, I could’ve. But right now, my hands were too limp to achieve much more than a few new wrinkles in the bedsheets.

“I can’t get it in all the way.”

“Aah, wait, don’t…!”

He pinned my wrists, preventing me from sliding with the motions as he pounded my hole, ensuring no escape from the steady pleasure. Feebly, I clawed at the backs of my legs, assuming a position that gave him a full view of our intercourse.

“Aaahh…!”

Instantly, his cock slammed even deeper into the sweet spot, gouging my walls and making my reflexes go crazy.

“Aah, aah, aah…!”

His tip spread me open in a circular motion, plundering my guts. Even the feeling of his sweaty hands digging into my skin made me euphoric.

“Ushio… Ushio…”

“Kei,” he whispered back, his sweat dripping onto my body. “I love you, and only you. Don’t ever leave me again.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Just tell me you love me.”

Normally, he’d never beg for this sort of thing, so to hear him ask for it with that manly look on his face… It was sweet. Stupidly sweet. Or sweetly stupid. All I knew was that it couldn’t be healthy for my heart to pound this hard.

Honestly, how dare you make me feel like this. I…

“I love you…so much…” I wrapped my arms and legs around him and bucked my hips in time with his motions, helping us both achieve climax at maximum bliss.

“I’m gonna…cum…!”

“Nnng, aah… Yeah… Aaahh…!”

Long after we both emptied our loads, I refused to let him go. I embraced him as he laid his weight upon me, reassuring him that I wasn’t going anywhere.

***

On Monday, I went to work with the Nagano souvenir sweets I’d bought online in tow. But when I arrived at the newsroom, nearly everyone was crowded around the TV in the lounge area.

“What’s going on?” I asked Asou, the only person still sitting at his desk.

“Jipang,” he answered. “Someone’s filed a civil suit against them for slander and defamation on Newsment.”

I hastily weaved my way through the crowd to see the screen for myself. There, I found a close-up shot of a woman’s throat and collarbones while her hand raised a white handkerchief in and out of frame.

“After they made me out to be a criminal, my whole life changed.”

The list of charges included emotional distress, violation of civil rights, and a formal complaint to the BPO media watchdog group.

I walked back over to Asou. “Was this the Yokohama insurance fraud case?”

“Yep.”

Many outlets had covered the story of a woman whose husband had died under suspicious circumstances after buying a disproportionate amount of life insurance. She had spoken to the cameras with her face blurred out.

“It all started when one of the studio cohosts said, ‘Crimes like these have been happening a lot lately.’ Even if it’s only a matter of time before the cops arrest her, the second you try to implicate a witness, you’ve crossed a line.”

The cohost’s comment would have been fine at a casual get-together, but not on live television.

“I admit, the woman looks guilty as all hell, but that’s exactly why you have to tread lightly, whether you’re reporting or commentating. Cops don’t like it when you try to jump the gun on their investigation. After all, you might drive the culprit to suicide.”

“What will happen to Newsment?”

“Word has it they were already struggling with internal conflict, so I’m sure they’re busy trying to point fingers at each other. I feel bad for the director they subcontracted since that’s who’s probably gonna end up taking the fall. Hard to say if this scandal will kill the show outright, but if not, the higher-ups will put a tighter leash on it, and it’ll lose all the unique charm it had. If it was my call, I’d tell ’em to recast the lineup during the next shuffle, or maybe just have it fade out altogether.”

“Asou-san… Did you know this would happen?”

“No, I’m not psychic—I’m just not surprised, that’s all. This is what happens when someone makes a show without knowing just how scary TV can be.”

Yes, this industry was scary. Talented individuals could vanish in the blink of an eye, or find themselves traumatized over one single mistake. I had witnessed that fear myself, if only a small glimpse. There was no way I was going to celebrate this scandal as a victory over a competitor when I knew damn well it could happen to me someday. Ugh, if only they’d said one of the seven dirty words or something so we could all laugh it off!

“Speaking of scary,” Asou continued with a thin smile, “that little broadcast of yours. Granted, it aired during a soccer match, but even then, it got quite a bit of buzz.”

“Thanks again for all your help with that.”

“There won’t be a next time, hear me? That newbie’s worth thirty points at most. He should take a long, hard look at his future, both in this field and elsewhere.”

Yeowch. Well, at least it’s not thirty points out of 20,000.

***

After the broadcast, the assignment desk editor came into the studio and called out to Shitara. “Hey, can we borrow Kunieda tomorrow? There’s an interview we wanna cover. Starts at 7 p.m.”

“Mmm, sorry,” Shitara replied, pressing his palms together with a grin. “I kinda got in trouble for overworking him lately, so suffice it to say that his services are no longer available! Besides, the studio looks a little empty without him.”

“The hell, man? I thought you wanted me to assign him all over the place!”

“Yeah, but…eh. It’s been long enough.”

“What?! God, you do this every time and it drives me crazy!”

“I’m really sorry, I swear!”

I didn’t see the need to speak up, so I left the studio. Just as I hadn’t felt my condition worsen, neither did I feel any improvement, but whatever. Then I heard footsteps rushing after me.

“Seems like you’ve been through hell lately, huh?”

“Yes, but I hear you helped. Thank you so much,” I answered with a flawless smile.

At this, Tatsuki’s voice dropped. “Aww, what happened to ‘Oops, All Kunieda-san’? I wanted to see it.”

“I’m not your fucking show pony, kid,” I growled under my breath, then started walking faster.

“Wait! We need to talk!”

Alas, he gave chase. With no other choice, I led him to the elevator lobby on the opposite side of the building.

“Okay, so I heard from a mutual friend that Kizaki-san wants to meet up with you.”

“What?”

“Are you up for it?”

“Well, I mean… What does he want?”

“Beats me. But since you’ve got the opportunity, I say you make up for last time! Make him chug his drink while you shout B-P-O! B-P-O!”

“I’m starting to think you’re a way bigger asshole than I am.”

Frankly, I was over Kizaki, and not because of his show’s scandal—I hadn’t even given him a moment of thought the entire time I was in Nagano. That being said, I was a little curious about what he wanted to say to me. So I told Tatsuki I’d go.

On Friday, after my broadcast, I went to the specified private room at the specified bar. Tatsuki tagged along as our mediator of sorts. If anything went awry, my plan was to dump it all on him and bail.

“Hey, welcome,” said Kizaki, rising from the sofa to bow to us. Last time we met up, he didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, but this time there was a whiskey bottle on the table. “Sorry I started without you.” Then, as we were waiting for our drinks (ginger ale for me, beer for Tatsuki), he asked, “How are you doing? I heard you fell and hit your head while you were in Nagano.”

Ugh, don’t bring that shit back up! Not exactly my finest moment! “Yes, I’m much better now, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Somehow, I got the sense that he was being genuine. Part of me was tempted to read more deeply into it, but in all likelihood, he wasn’t that kind of guy.

“More importantly, how are you doing, man? I hear it’s been rough for you!” Tatsuki exclaimed, gleefully cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“It has,” Kizaki conceded. “There’s been talk of ending the show… It’s unfortunate, but that’s the way life goes sometimes.”

“But, like, it sucks that you have to pay the price for some other cohost’s faux pas!”

“No, I screwed up, too.” He shook his head, his expression hard. “I knew it was a problem the moment it happened, and I thought about saying something, but we were about to wrap up and move to the next segment. That was my excuse, anyway. In reality, there was time to apologize, but since neither the host nor the producer said anything, I just assumed I was being overly sensitive. Since I wasn’t an anchor, I didn’t want to…presume above my station.”

His eyes were red—from the alcohol or the self-loathing, I couldn’t be sure. He clearly had the quick thinking needed to avert the situation, so I could understand the depth of his regrets.

“Meh, you don’t gotta take it so hard. It wasn’t your fault. Right, Kunieda-san?”

“Right.”

It wasn’t clear if we were actually cheering him up. He was already pouring liquor from a fresh bottle into a glass of ice. “I was at the scene of that fire, too, you know.”

“Huh?”

“I went just to watch, but when I got there, I saw you directing a remote broadcast. You were so focused, like nothing else mattered… It was incredible. Not just because you were the director, but because you worked so hard to get someone else to report it. Most TV personalities expect others to roll out the red carpet for them, but not you. I swear, no other anchor can do what you do. And pretty soon after, I stopped caring about the fire at all. You had me captivated. In that moment, I knew I’d never hold a candle to you…and you know what? I’m not even mad about it. In fact, I feel a lot better now that I don’t need to wonder why I wasn’t hired. At last, it all makes sense.”

“You flatter me, but really, I was scrambling all over the place—”

“I…!” He interrupted me in the middle of my modest demurral; was he drunk already? “I applied to Asabi because I wanted to work with Sou-chan, damn it!”

“Sou-chan?” Tatsuki and I asked in unison. Kizaki clapped a hand over his mouth and burned even redder.

“Seriously, who the heck is Sou-chan?” Tatsuki pressed.

“He’s, uh…the host of your show…”

“Wait—Asou-san?”

“We were neighbors back when I was a kid, and that’s what I used to call him. Look, uh, please don’t tell him I told you that, okay? He very strictly told me not to tell anyone that he and I know each other.”

“No can do,” Tatsuki shot back with a grin. “Monday morning, I’m totally calling him Sou-chan.”

God, he might actually go through with it, too.

“Please don’t! He’ll be so pissed at me!”

“Oh, relax. So, what’s the story with Sou-chan?”

“Well, I’ve always looked up to him. Always wanted to be just like him. And when I told him I was gonna apply to Asabi, he was like ‘Knock yourself out. I won’t stop you, but I won’t help you either.’ I was fine with that, though, since I wanted to get the job through my own merits. But…I didn’t…and later on, when I found out he recommended Kunieda-san over me, I was shattered. It’d be one thing if we both got the job, but it was me or him! I just felt so betrayed, like ‘What happened to not stopping me?’ So…I kinda blamed it on you, Kunieda-san. I regret it, and I’m sorry.”

Meanwhile, Tatsuki was very clearly enjoying himself. “You should be! If anyone deserves the blame here, it’s Sou-chan!”

“Okay, but seriously, please don’t call him that to his face.”

“Well, I feel like Sou-chan was a bit of a jerk in that situation. Does he secretly hate you or something?”

“Wh—no, that can’t be… That can’t be… That…cannot possibly be the case…” Triggered by the word hate, Kizaki started stirring up his glass with a cocktail muddler.

“Minagawa-kun, have you considered perhaps keeping some of those thoughts to yourself for a change?”

“Well, I mean, if you’ve got two applicants and you already know one of ’em has talent for sure, wouldn’t you generally pick him over the mystery guy?”

“He made the right choice, though,” said Kizaki, after downing his drink. “To this day, I’m sure he’s glad he chose Kunieda-san.”

“Damn right.”

“Huh…?”

“Sou-chan, my ass. You were just jealous this whole frickin’ time? Gimme a break. What a trash-tier motivation. For your information, that self-important old geezer’s put me through hell.”

“Wha—huh?” He looked all around for the source of the mysterious voice while I sat there with a perfect smile on my face.

“Like I give a shit. You’d never reach my level in 30,000 years. You’re Paleolithic and you know it. Now lick my shoes, worm—lick them until you wear a hole in the sole, then buy me a new pair. From now on, live a humble life within your lowly means and go to your grave, bragging that I was generous enough to beat you.”

I honestly didn’t hold much ill will toward him anymore, but I needed to repay him for last time. With interest.

“Senpai, I think his pupils are dilating.”

“Oh, yeah, and don’t breathe another word of your sob story in my presence or I’ll fucking kill you. Period.” Whew. Much better. I downed my ginger ale and placed a consolatory hand on the empty shell that was Kizaki’s back. Then I switched to my “nice” voice and said, “Kizaki-san, are you feeling all right? Perhaps you drank too much.”

“Wh… Huh? Wha…?”

“Hmm, it seems you’ve fallen into a stupor of sorts. Well, you must be exhausted. Why don’t you head out and get some well-deserved rest? Minagawa-kun, go have the bar call a cab for him.”

“Okie-doke! What about you, Kunieda-san?”

“I think I’ll wander for a bit before I go home.”

It was hot and muggy outside. Weekend nights were always awash with people and neon and normally I’d hail a taxi ASAP, but tonight, I was in the mood for something a little different. As I made my way through the crowd, however, I started to question if what I’d done was perhaps too risky. What if he didn’t chalk it up to an alcohol-fueled hallucination?

Meh, whatever. The weight that lifted from my shoulders was totally worth it. Besides, if he started getting suspicious, I could easily bluff my way out of it. I’d done it a hundred times before, and I wasn’t stopping anytime soon. I wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. I was prepared to live my life this way.

In a little corner of the world, at the very center, there was a place where I’d stashed my everything. From there, I could go anywhere and do anything…and when I was done, I’d always go back.

My legs carried me to Ushio so quickly, I nearly burst into a sprint.

The End of the Summer

The End of the Summer

IWOKE UP PAST NOON, hazily scrolled on my phone, and ordered some souvenirs online to bring in to work. Then Ushio cooked me breakfast and I read the newspaper. My body was still feeling lethargic from everything he did to me the night before, so I laid around for a while…and the next thing I knew, it was evening.

“Damn it, I haven’t relaxed at all!”

“What?”

“I go back to work tomorrow afternoon!”

“Oh, please. You’ve done a lot of relaxing! You remember it all now, don’t you?”

Indeed, I wasn’t missing any memories anymore (to my knowledge), but that stuff was all in the past. I didn’t feel like I’d actually lived it. “I barely even did anything.”

“Sure you did! You had a whole summer vacation, so don’t forget to write an essay about it for school.”

Like hell I will. “I’ve been robbed, I tell you! Turn back time!”

“I can’t help you with that. Try asking God or whoever.”

“If anything, you’re the one who got a fun summer vacation, you thief!” The thought of those fleeting days with “Kunieda-san” pissed me off all over again.

“Yeah, that’s true. Must be all that good karma! Thanks, God or whoever!”

“Argh! You don’t even care!”

This argument was, of course, only wasting even more of my precious little time. The Sunday night blues were stronger than ever.

“Uggghhh, I don’t wanna go to workkkk!”

But to be fair, when it came to summer vacation, clutching at every passing second was the greatest tradition of all.

Afterword

Afterword

THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME writing a sequel rather than a spin-off, and I enjoyed it. If this is the first book of mine that you’ve read, then I encourage you to pick up the first volume of this story, entitled Yes, No, or Maybe?

For a long time, I struggled to choose a title for this sequel—debating whether or not to simply leave it at “Volume 2” and be done with it. I had a specific theme I wanted to stick to in order to tie them together, but in the end, you can’t really tell.

Like last time, I really enjoyed seeing Takemiya-sensei’s lovely illustrations. The covers look so adorable side by side—I love it! Heavyweight champion of kissing faces! Our dear Newscaster Kunieda looks like he’d wait with his eyes closed for about three minutes before losing his temper.

Thank you all so much!