Table of Contents
Copyrights and Credits
Table of Contents Page
Newsletter
Color Gallery
Where Home Is
IT WAS SNOWING the day my family shrank by two, and once a year, on a snowy day like this one, I’d find myself wondering if it would snow when I died too.
I started to brush the snow from the gravestone, but I realized I didn’t have anywhere better to put it. It didn’t really matter where the snow ended up anyway. It wasn’t like its weight would crack the cold, hard stone that sat beneath.
Ordinary flowers would shrivel up in this weather, so instead, I brought a sprig of nandina. Amid the white and gray around me, the vivid colors of the green leaves and small red berries seemed to stab into my eyes.
With one hand blocking the wind, I lit the funerary incense. I could feel tiny snowflakes landing and promptly melting on the back of my hand, and at that, I contemplated my own body heat. My heart pumped blood through my veins, my eyes could read the words engraved on the stone, and my brain was capable of thought. All those things were only true because I was still alive.
“Lovely nandina,” my grandmother commented as she arranged it in a vase.
“Sorry it’s just leftovers from Mom’s grave.”
“I would have gone with you, you know, had you asked.”
“I can’t have you out there getting sick,” I said. “Wait, I forget, is it okay to leave nandina at a grave?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s…superstitions and sayings and stuff, right?”
“Nandina represents ‘a reversal of misfortune,’ so it’s considered a lucky symbol. That’s why you see it in those traditional New Year’s decorations,” she explained to me.
“Huh.”
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“Well, what if you reverse the reversal? Wouldn’t you just end up unlucky again?”
“I wouldn’t know, dear.”
“If you can turn something bad into something good, then the opposite is equally possible, and I’d rather not risk something good turning bad. It’s better to just keep things as they are, y’know? I mean, if it can flip around regardless of the effort I put in, then what’s the point of trying at all?”
“This all sounds very complicated… Oh my, look at the time! The news is on!” She grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. A big title, SNOWBOUND TOKYO, appeared onscreen.
“The temperature has plummeted so low that standing outside is enough to make your ears tingle. The snow is starting to let up now, but it’s still ankle-deep and could cause the roads to freeze overnight. This has impacted traffic conditions in a number of ways—”
“Oh dear, oh dear. Could you fetch me my reading glasses from over there?”
“What for? You don’t need to catch a train tonight, do you?” I asked.
“I like the young man who’s talking. He’s handsome and has a nice voice. He’s on that late-night news program too, isn’t he? The one you made the animation for?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t ask me to explain it, but whenever I listen to him talk, it makes me feel smart, even when it comes to difficult subjects. I wouldn’t call myself a die-hard fan, but whenever I turn on the TV and happen to see him, I just feel like it’s my lucky day.”
“Sounds like something a die-hard fan would say.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t blame you, though. We have a lot in common, don’t we?”
“Come again, Ushio?”
“I’m saying we have the same tastes,” I replied with a smile.
***
Once the studio lights dimmed, it felt like closing time. The tables and chairs were cleared, the set was dismantled, and just like that, the workday was over.
“Oh, sorry, gotta lock up now.”
“No problem, sir.”
After the live broadcast, we had spent an hour or so in a field report meeting. We chatted as we walked.
“Anyway, it’ll probably go live sometime next month. I wanna wait and get footage of the roadwork once it’s started.”
“Understood.”
“The scary part is our appointment with the legislators. If the Diet gets dissolved…”
“Things could get rather complicated.”
“Exactly.”
We would need to take care not to give any one politician too much screen time from the day of the announcement right up until the final vote was tallied. And besides, there was no point in interviewing candidates that weren’t going to win.
“Y’know, they’ve been going on and on about a dissolution ever since December. Are they actually gonna do it or what?”
How should I know? Go ask the Prime Minister! But I couldn’t say that out loud, of course, so I shrugged my shoulders instead. “Good question.”
“Even all our commentators have different opinions. Some people say it’s now or never, while others say it wouldn’t make a difference at all.”
“They all have such convincing arguments too. Impressive, isn’t it?”
No matter what way the dice fell, there was plenty of wiggle room to tack on an excuse after the fact. If you asked me, half of a commentator’s job was purely to be creative. I parted ways with the director outside of the waiting room and walked inside to find a familiar face lounging around, playing on his phone.
“Were you guys just talking about the dissolution?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“Think they’re gonna do it?”
Seriously, quit asking me! “Perhaps you should go and interview them yourself, Minagawa-kun,” I suggested with a fake smile plastered on my face.
“Ohhh, you’re right! Should I just go for it? Be like, ‘Hey, man, you guys dissolving or what?’”
“Perfect. Good luck with that. Maybe you should head over right now. You know, strike while the iron is hot.”
“Hell yeah! ‘This is Minagawa Tatsuki, reporting live from the Prime Minister’s mansion…’ Yeah, right, dude! There’s like a 500 percent chance my ass would get arrested!”
“Just walk it off, champ.”
“Nooo, no, no. Not happening.”
Damn. With a little encouragement, I thought he might’ve really gone for it.
“What are you clucking your tongue for? You know our show’s done for if I get arrested, right?” Minagawa snapped back.
Since it was late at night and hardly anybody was still at the station, I switched off my persona but kept my voice down. “Relax. I’ll write your letter of resignation for you. And your will while I’m at it.”
“Wait, I’m getting the death penalty?! Okay, but for real though, if they’re gonna dissolve, I hope they tell us ASAP. We’d be wasting our whole Sunday on election coverage.”
Tatsuki had a point. If there really was going to be a House of Representatives election, entire news stations would be out in full force on voting day, staking out the best spots and broadcasting victory and concession speeches from all around the country. If there was a clear winner, we could wrap up early and call it a day, but if it was a close race, we’d have to spend hours sitting around at the campaign offices—a tense, uncomfortable wait that sapped my energy. More or less every station would receive election updates within the same ten-minute timeframe, and to me, there was no point in jockeying for position, but…well, there wasn’t much point in thinking about it either. It was my job, after all.
“Oh, but then again, you’ll probably end up doing a special report in the studio, huh, senpai? With Asou as the host and Kunieda as cohost, first thing in the morning. ‘Walk it off, champ.’”
“Cram it, kid. Go home.”
He was probably right on the money, but I didn’t want to hear it. After I kicked him out, I changed clothes and returned to the newsroom.
I checked my personal phone and found a LINE message from Ushio. “What time are you coming over?”
It was rare for him to bother making arrangements. Was he busy with work? If so, I didn’t need him to make time for me. As long as he was willing to share his food and his bed—not like that!—I didn’t need anything else.
Or…was he meeting up with someone…? It was nearly midnight, but with his freelancer lifestyle, it was within the realm of possibility. Not that I cared or anything. After two back-to-back broadcasts tonight, I was tired, and I had to stay late for that meeting too. I was happy going straight home, and I wasn’t sad about it.
“I’m not,” I wrote back plainly.
“Why not?” he replied swiftly.
“I’m guessing you have plans?”
“No?”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I’m just impatient, that’s all.”
Reading those words, I could practically hear his voice, with five different layers of echo. That’s all…that’s all…that’s all… Gah! Shaking the sound mixing from my mind, I wrote back.
“Now I’m definitely not coming.”
“How come?” he asked.
“You’re totally plotting something.”
Sure, sometimes he would drop cheesy lines for the hell of it, but at this point, I had learned not to start swooning prematurely because nine times out of ten, it involved him making fun of me in some way. As I waited for his response, what I received was not a LINE message but a phone call.
“…What do you want?”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “It must be hard, being so paranoid.”
“You’re the one who made me this way, with all your curveballs!”
“I thought maybe that’s what you wanted.”
“It isn’t!” I protested.
“Hey, if I only ever threw straight pitches, you’d probably die of embarrassment.”
Not a viable cause of death, last time I checked!
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but seriously, I just wanted to know. When are you coming by? They canceled my gig, so I’m bored. Let me play with you. Wink, wink.”
“Yes, I get that it’s an innuendo, thanks!”
“All right, cool. I’ll be waiting.”
Oh, sure, now he goes for the straight pitch! And right into my strike zone, over and over! “Look, I’m still at work. And I won’t be over until after I go home and have a shower, so it’s gonna be late.”
“Just take one at my place! I’ll buy you an ice cream. What do you want?”
“A Home Run Bar.”
“Wow, you really are a cheap date… Got it.” Then, before he hung up, he added, “It’s still snowing out there, so travel safely.”
***
The taxi slowly ferried me to Ushio’s house, the snow crunching under its wheels like pale white sorbet. Truth be told, I didn’t mind sitting at traffic lights on the long, straight roads. Each light turned green, one after the next, and when it finally came time for ours, we were free to press onward. It felt like I earned permission to proceed, or perhaps it was like a summons. The colors from the lights were blindingly vibrant at night.
Outside his house, I could see two lines of tracks blurring together in the snow—outgoing and incoming, likely from the ice cream run. On a whim, I stepped in one; his footprint was ever so slightly larger than mine. The gray slush puddled under my shoe.
“Hey, welcome home,” Ushio called from the second floor as I let myself in with his spare key. “They didn’t have Home Run Bars, so I got you vanilla Häagen-Dazs. Is that cool?”
“If you had any sense, you would’ve gotten me a strawberry daifuku Garigari-kun, but whatever. It’s fine.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
I stripped off my coat and clutched it in my arms as I plopped down on the sofa. “Ugh, I’m beat. Too tired to wash my hair,” I muttered.
In response, I received a most unexpected offer.
“I’ll wash it for you, then.”
“What?”
“The water’s already hot, so go wait for me in the bathroom, okay?”
“What?”
“Okay?” he pressed. He took my coat from me and hung it on the hook by the front door.
Why is he being so generous?
To be fair, he was always the pampering type to an extent, but usually that was because he was keenly considerate of my needs and quick to act on them. Putting it bluntly, I suspected he’d treat just about anyone the same way. But tonight was a tiny bit different. However, I suddenly remembered that he said his work got canceled or something. He only mentioned feeling bored, but maybe he was sad or upset too. In that case, perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to…let him spoil me? To give him something to do with his time?
It’d be so much easier if he would just come right out and say that he needed me to comfort him, but he could be surprisingly aloof—or prideful, perhaps?—at the most critical times. Disregarding the fact that the same sentiment could easily be applied to me, I thrust out my chest and declared, “Very well, servant!”
“Uh… Who are you pretending to be now?”
“I allow you to wash me with all your heart,” I declared.
“Why are you a shogun all of a sudden…?”
Now you start acting tough? Please. You can cry on my shoulder—I won’t tell! Feeling faintly energized, I rose to my feet and strolled upstairs. But I could feel Ushio staring at me, so I looked over my shoulder. “What?”
“Nothing,” he grinned. “I’m just impressed you can walk on your hind legs.”
“I’ve been bipedal for almost three decades, thank you very much!” What, did I get the wrong idea somewhere?
For the time being, I decided to scrub myself down and soak in the tub. Sure enough, in walked Ushio. He rolled up the sleeves of his pullover hoodie. “Stick your head out,” he barked.
The hell, man? What happened to pampering me? Confused, I shifted my position and rested my head back on the rim of the tub. Lukewarm water rained down on me from the shower nozzle.
“Been a lot of talk about dissolving the House. Think they will?” he started.
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Do you journos keep reporting on it because you’re praying it’ll happen?”
“I’m not, that’s for sure. I don’t wanna get stuck doing a special report,” I complained.
“But wouldn’t it piss you off if they chose someone else?”
“Not really. I’d just hope like hell that they screw it up.”
“Sounds like a yes to me.”
He wet my hair thoroughly, then lathered the shampoo with his fingers. I was the kind of guy who generally tried to avoid having my hair washed at the salon since it was a hassle, and nerve-racking to boot. But with his palm supporting my skull, my neck didn’t feel cramped, and the soft rustling motions actually felt…nice. It tickled a bit when he passed over the hairline on my neck and behind my ears, but I could tell he wasn’t messing with me on purpose, so it didn’t lead to anything.
“Does it itch anywhere?”
“Uhh… My molars?”
“Losing a baby tooth?” he asked.
“Those are long gone, thanks.”
“Oh, right, I don’t have any conditioner. Should I use vinegar or something?”
“Nah.”
“Want your ice cream?”
“Yeah.”
“All right then, let’s get you rinsed off.”
Water dripped onto my forehead, and I could hear Ushio’s hand interrupting the stream from the showerhead. Suds whiter than the snow outside slid across my hair. I closed my eyes and found myself starting to nod off.
As he stepped away to grab the ice cream, I stared blankly up at the ceiling. Everything was fuzzy with steam. Though it was brief, this was a soothing, cozy experience that I found emotionally energizing. Perhaps the human body needed regular physical touch from someone we trusted, the same way we needed vitamins and minerals. It didn’t have to be something intense like sex either—just things like holding hands, sleeping in the same bed, or washing each other’s hair. As someone with very limited interpersonal connections, these things were exceptionally hard to come by.
Then, the folding door opened, and an upside-down Ushio offered me my ice cream. As he toweled off my hair, I sat in the tub and scooped out little bites of vanilla with my spoon. The sensation of the chilly sweetness spreading through my nearly overheated body could only be described as sublime. For that reason, I firmly believed that winter, not summer, was the perfect season for ice cream.
“Ow!” Right when I was finally relaxed, Ushio suddenly dug his fingers into my scalp. “What was that for? Hey, that hurts, damn you!”
“It’s a massage, duh.”
“Then be more gentle!” I said.
“If it hurts, then your head must be very stiff,” he explained, digging his thumbs into my skull. “The scalp has muscles too, so you’re supposed to loosen them up. That’s what this one older guy I met at my old job told me.”
“Shady much? The hell kind of job was it?”
“Bouncer at a hostess club.”
“What?”
“The manager was so nice!” he countered. “Not only did she pick me up and take me home, she even paid half my driving school fees so I could get my license.”
“Uhhh…” I hesitated. “When exactly was this?”
“Back when I was just a grasshopper.”
I scowled.
“What?” he said. “What are you mad about?”
“Well, I asked you a serious question and you gave me a joke answer.”
“I was old enough to get my license, so I was at least 18, and it would have been before I met you at 27. Why do you need specifics?”
That’s not it… Ugh, why am I so frustrated? Is it just the hostess club thing? “You and your sleazy job…”
“Oh, so you’re jealous,” he said.
“Am not!”
After all, it was a long time ago, way before he and I ever met—way back before I even considered revealing my true self to someone I was dating. Idly, I wondered what he must have been like back then.
“You know romance is forbidden between employees at basically every hostess club, right? I was so chaste, they even made me a driver.”
“Or maybe nobody wanted to fuck you.”
“Yep, I’m unfuckable. Good thing I’ve got you on lock.”
Ha ha, very funny. He completely dodged my less-than-genuine contempt. If he was truly so pristine that a hostess club would trust him that much, then he must have kept women at bay—like I did, except in a completely different fashion.
“Gimme a bite,” he said.
I scooped up a spoonful of melty vanilla and lifted it up to him. He met it with his lips. If only I could bait him into revealing his secrets this easily.
“More importantly, I’m dying to know what sorts of odd jobs Newscaster Kunieda used to have.”
“Practically none,” I said.
“What? You went to college, didn’t you? Don’t students typically work part-time?”
“I was busy,” I retorted, setting the empty pint container on the edge of the tub.
“With schoolwork?”
“No, the commute. I traveled all the way to Tokyo from my parents’ place.”
“In Shizuoka? Are you serious? How were they okay with that?” he asked.
“A bullet train pass was cheaper than an apartment.”
Not only that, but the strict train schedule was the perfect excuse to avoid joining school clubs or going out drinking. The most “work” I did was correcting papers for a correspondence course over a three-day weekend—the pay sucked, but at least I could do it at home—or that one time I was the proctor for a practice exam.
“What’d you do when you ran out of money?”
“Ironed my dad’s shirts or washed his car so he’d sneak me some allowance.”
“You truly are something else. Not that I wasn’t already aware.” Ushio seemed sincerely impressed, though by what, I wasn’t sure. “Compared to you, I really am a nobody, huh?”
“Yeah, of course. But so what?”
“Nothing is an obstacle for the great Kunieda Kei, I guess.”
In my opinion, if anyone here was stable, it was Ushio…right? I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t—because he pressed his upside-down lips to mine. It was an odd sensation with everything flipped around like this. He tasted like vanilla.
“I’ll take that as my payment,” he said.
“Excuse me? I let you wash my hair as a gift to you.”
Then he kissed my bare forehead, and my body temperature threatened to rise so high, not even ice cream could bring it back down.
***
After Ushio blow-dried my hair, I climbed into bed and shivered under the chilly sheets. The night was always coldest right before dawn.
“Cold?” He pulled me into his arms and savored the residual warmth of my hair.
“…That thing you said on the phone,” I began slowly.
“Hm?”
“Your gig got canceled. How come?”
“Beats me,” he answered flippantly. “The only reason they gave was ‘circumstances beyond our control.’ I hadn’t started work on it yet though, and besides, I know companies have to deal with budgets and staff shuffles and all that. If they tried to cancel after I already finished, that’d be one thing, but we didn’t even make it to the negotiation stage. If they reach out again, cool; if not, no big deal. That kind of thing.”
“Huh.” Maybe it wasn’t as dire as I thought.
“Sure, sometimes I feel like they don’t respect me since I don’t have an agent, but whatever. My biggest priority is to keep things flexible.”
Then he started ruffling my hair, ruining the work he’d put into it earlier.
“Hey, stop!”
“Sorry if I worried you.”
“You didn’t! It won’t be my fault if your total lack of ambition gets you blacklisted and you’re screwed out of a career!”
“Huh?!” He froze, then peered deeply, melodramatically, into my eyes. “If that happens, won’t you just make me your wifey?”
“Hell no! I don’t want some mooch!”
“But I’ll give you full-body service, top and bottom…” he teased.
“Go to hell!”
“Scratch that, I meant front and back.”
“I don’t have the money to be your sugar daddy!” I snapped back.
“Oh, please. You’re the star anchor at a flagship station.”
“I need that money for the Kunieda Kei Memorial Hall, stupid!”
“You’re gonna pay for it out of pocket…?”
I hung my head, hiding my face from sight. “It’s not like you’d want to sit around at my house anyway,” I muttered. “Making things is who you are.”
“…You think so?”
It felt like there was genuine uncertainty in the brief silence that followed. But before I could look up at him again, he pulled me tightly back into his arms.
“If you feel that way, then I guess it must be true,” he said.
Aha, he is upset! Dumbass. Why else would he sound so helpless right now? Still, I didn’t want to try to force it out of him, not if it was something he didn’t want to share with me.
Just as I was able to maintain my external façade by venting to him in private, Ushio had his own way of expressing his secret feelings through his work. Even the dark, depressing material that seemed so unlike him didn’t just fall out of the sky—it was born from something inside him. However, if I tried to pry it out, I might inadvertently kill whatever it was, so I didn’t see the need. And, of course, part of it was simply my own cowardice.
“I wonder if it’s done snowing yet,” he mumbled under his breath.
“The forecast said it’d clear up.”
“Gotcha. Do you like snow, Kei?”
“Why in god’s name would I?” After all, snow was cold, wet, and just created more work for me.
“Yeah, I hate it too,” he said. “We’ve got a lot in common, eh?”
It was unusual for Ushio to outright say he hated something. I was tempted to ask him why, but he then wished me a good night, and my only option was to close my eyes.
***
About ten days later, I had just taken a taxi home from work and was walking the final thirty feet to the keyless front door of the condo building when I heard footsteps rushing up behind me. I was used to checking my surroundings whenever I got out of a car, so this sudden presence set my alarm bells to max. I did not want to have to report on any crime where I was the victim. I whirled around.
“Oh! Sorry for startling you!” a voice called out.
It was a middle-aged man holding a voice recorder in one jaunty hand. On the bright side, he didn’t look like a pickpocket or burglar, but now, an entirely different alarm was going off in my head.
“I’m Miyamoto with Sports Daily. You’re newscaster Kunieda Kei with Asabi TV, right?”
What on earth would a sports reporter want with me? I considered playing dumb, but if he knew where I lived, the jig was already up. “That’s correct,” I answered calmly.
“Sorry to bother you so late at night when you’re tired after work. I know you’ve got a rough job.”
Suppressing the urge to say, “You too, pal,” I donned a confused smile.
“Okay, Kunieda-san, I’m gonna cut right to the chase,” he said. “We’ve heard reports that you’ll be running in the next House of Representatives election.”
“What?” It was honestly a miracle that I didn’t follow that up with “the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re well-known and popular, so if the news is true, you’d be the centerpiece of the election! That’s why I thought I’d ask you directly.”
“Pardon, but could I ask where you got this information?” I asked.
He ignored me. “Are you running or not?”
Tsk. Asshole. Frankly, there was no way he’d give up his source, if he even had one at all. Pressing him was a waste of my time.
“I am not,” I answered slowly and clearly. “I haven’t been approached on the subject, and even if I was, I would decline. I’m confused that anyone would think otherwise.”
“Ah, so you have no plans at this time. Well, it’s still hard to say if there’ll even be an election, so yeah.”
Oh, spare me your implications, bro. They can cast twenty more generations of J Soul Brothers or put out one hundred seasons ofTokyo Detective Duo for all I care—I’m not running in the damn election!
“Right, then. Thank you so much. If I have any more questions, I’ll let you know.”
Take your questions and shove them! Bowing politely, I silently prayed for his stupid recorder to detonate in his hand.
At last, I went into the building…but long after I took the elevator up to my condo, I still felt on edge, like that man was out there, looking up at my window. For a moment, I hesitated to turn the lights on, but it was probably too late to try to hide my exact address. If anything, I was lucky he caught me while I was still in work mode—someone who was used to holding stakeouts might be able to see through my usual disguise. I slammed my fist against the light switch and threw myself down on the sofa.
“The hell was that about?” I grumbled to myself.
Every election cycle, there was always some buzz about who was running. The outlets would toss out a bunch of names, half of them wildly off the mark, and no one would be reprimanded. People who had no intention of running from the outset would be treated to entire articles assuming they “gave up” on the prospect. Someone at the station must have made a comment about how I was suited to politics, the rumor got all bent out of shape, and then that stupid reporter decided to come fact-checking. Braindead plebs. I pulled out my phone and called Ushio.
“Hey hey, what’s up?” he answered.
“A sports journalist just came by my place.”
“They finally found out about your double life?”
“No, he asked me if I was running in the election!” I yelled.
“…What?” Even Ushio sounded confused by this.
“I told him I wasn’t, but I’m not sure he believed me.”
I was a news anchor, for heaven’s sake. Even if I did have secret plans to run, I would need to keep it hush-hush until the absolute last second because the instant I made any sort of political beliefs known, my ass would get yanked off the air. That was why the reporter didn’t take me at my word. The more I denied it, the fishier I’d seem. At the same time, I couldn’t say I was running either, and I couldn’t say, “No comment,” since that was functionally a yes…
Wait, am I screwed here?
“Huh… Well, where’d that come from all of a sudden?” Ushio asked.
“No clue. There’s a 99.9 percent chance they just want to BS their way into a story.”
“Hmm… So?” he prompted.
“Huh? So what?”
“Is this one of those ‘I can’t come over until it all dies down’ kinda things?”
I paused. “Yeah.”
There was no telling when that reporter might come back—or a second one, or a third. As someone who did plenty of investigating myself, I couldn’t push back too hard either. I was at a serious disadvantage.
“Alrighty then, I’ll just not go to your place,” Ushio suggested casually, sensing my qualms. “I’m sure they’ll get bored pretty quick. Don’t let it get to you.”
“…Right.”
“What’s the matter? Lonely? Wanna have phone sex like that one time?” he asked.
“Hell no!”
Impulsively, I hung up. Then I reassured myself, over and over, that the reporter would lose interest in no time flat.
***
The next morning, I woke up naively wishing last night was all a dream, but when I checked my phone, I found a message from everyone’s favorite idiot that read, “Hey, senpai, you’re on the front page of Yahoo! Japan!”
Sadly, this unwanted report forced me to confront reality. In the span of just a few short hours, my words had been printed in newspapers and posted online; such was to be expected here in the Information Age. As I bitterly brushed my teeth, however, my phone started to ring, and I hastily rinsed my mouth.
It was the newsroom department chief, and I already knew what this was about.
“Kunieda speaking.”
“Hey, sorry to bother you first thing in the morning. Have you seen Sports Daily?”
“I haven’t seen the article yet, but I’m aware they’ve reported on me. They sent a journalist to my house last night,” I said.
“Right. Well, they haven’t named any names—it’s all just ‘political speculation from a reputable source.’ Something about covertly intersecting with the ruling party’s election strategy.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner, but it was quite late at night.”
“Nah, that’s fine. So, just for the record—just to get the facts straight, if you…”
“I am not running in the election,” I answered without waiting for the question. “I don’t know where they could have heard such a blatantly false rumor. To my knowledge, I’m not on close terms with any politicians either.”
“Gotcha. Sorry about this, but I suspect the higher-ups will ask you the same thing when you come in. Just tell them the same thing you told me. I mean, I’m sure the whole thing will get cleared up in no time, but it’s just a precaution, you follow?”
“Yes, sir.”
I could understand why the station would be so sensitive about it. After investing so much time and money into my training and putting me front and center, they didn’t want me to make a high-profile escape into the world of politics. Actually, what would upset them more: this, or me going freelance to fleece them for appearance fees? I didn’t hold any particular loyalty toward them, but I liked my job, so I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Oh, yeah… Sorry to kinda tack this on, but you know how we’re presenting this year’s Broadcast Grand Prix award ceremony for the Japan Commercial Broadcasters Association this February? They want you to host it.”
Why must you drag me into these stupid internal affairs? Can’t you find some other anchor with nothing better to do? “Me, sir? Wasn’t the job assigned to someone else at the sectional meeting back in December?”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but they requested you instead.”
All right, who the hell put this idea in their heads? But I couldn’t protest—with this article looming over my head, the smartest move was to avoid rocking the boat as much as possible.
“I would be honored,” I answered modestly, and with that, I ended the call.
Suppressing my annoyance, I went in to work early, where I was promptly pulled into a meeting room with my producer Shitara, the newsroom chief, and all the bigwigs from the news and editing departments. The lineup was a lot like the meeting where they told me to be the pinch-hitter for The News, actually—the only difference was that this time, Asou was in attendance. I told them all the same thing I said over the phone, verbatim.
“I see,” the chief editor nodded gravely, though it was hard to say if he was actually convinced. “Just keep things business as usual for tonight’s broadcast,” he commanded, turning to Shitara. “There’s no need to address that gossip rag’s groundless election speculation. If we let people see that we’re taking it seriously, it’ll only backfire on us. Tell anyone who contacts PR that it’s fake news.”
“It’s already spread like wildfire online, though.”
“And if it gets a reaction out of us, they’ll write about that next.”
“What if we call up SD and complain? We could make ’em wish they’d never messed with us…”
Yeah, get their asses, I thought to myself, but the news director scowled.
“Don’t even think about it. The article’s angle may be phony, but the quote from Kunieda is real. They’ve met the minimum requirements of journalism. Besides, they’ve collaborated with our sports department in the past, so let’s keep things civil. They’re only doing their jobs, just like we are.”
And here we have a shining example of collusion culture in mainstream media.
“What about Kunieda?” asked Asou, finally breaking his silence. “Kunieda, are you willing to hold your tongue on the subject during the broadcast?”
“Yes, I’ll defer to the station’s decision.”
“…Fine then.”
After the interrogation concluded, Shitara walked over to me. “What a disaster, eh?”
“I wouldn’t say that… I’m just so confused how this happened.”
“You remember last fall when that SD reporter got drunk and molested a woman? Wasn’t much of a story, so we covered it during the late night and morning slots, and it made a few waves. However, we were the only station who broadcasted it multiple times.”
“You’re saying the sex offender tried to keep it hush-hush?”
“Not him; his boss. He was using his connections to manipulate the coverage here and there. But there was a crack in the pipeline… Anyway, if you ask me, the higher-ups are bothered by it, but they don’t want to create needless conflict.”
What’s any of that got to do with me? This little behind-the-scenes story only made me angrier. With a mean-spirited hope that all the rotary presses at Sports Daily would spontaneously combust, I went back to the newsroom.
“Oh, it’s Legislator Kunieda!” called Tatsuki.
God, I’m gonna kill you.
“Man, wouldn’t it be so nice to get elected to the National Diet? They can ride all the trains for free! And they get a monthly allowance for…what was it, postage, communication, transportation, and accommodations? And a million yen per month on top of their annual salary! Take me to one of them fancy upscale bistros in Akasaka, sugar daddy! Oh, but wouldn’t you rather get elected to the House of Councillors? They have longer terms and never have to worry about getting dissolved!”
“Minagawa-kun,” I said calmly. If you don’t shut up, I will fucking execute you. “I’m. Not. Running.”
“Aw, c’mon! I know the whole story! I’m just joking around!”
Well, it’s not funny. At all. Not only that, but I knew what he was implying by “the whole story,” and it wasn’t cute. Worse still, every damn pleb I encountered after that had to go and ask me about the article, clearly just to be nosy. It was exhausting.
That evening, once most of the staff for The News had arrived, Shitara gathered everyone together and gave them the basic rundown: “Kunieda’s not running in the election. Tonight, it’s business as usual. I probably don’t need to explain this, but try not to do or say anything to fluster the cast prior to the live broadcast, mmkay?”
This gentle warning must have worked its magic because after that, everyone acted like nothing had ever happened. Once 10 p.m. rolled around, our news program proceeded like always.
At 10:40, after a short prerecorded segment focusing solely on straight news stories, the floor director’s cue card read: REACTION AND ABUSE STATISTICS, 30 SECS. It was exactly the same as we discussed in advance, so my guard was entirely down.
“…Now then…” Across the table, Asou shifted his posture slightly. “Will you be running in the election, Kunieda-san?”
“What?”
He was going completely off-script—a total surprise attack. All of the other staff in the studio were frozen in shock. It threw me for a loop at first, but I quickly recovered with an awkward smile.
“No, sir,” I said.
“Oh, really? I was shocked when I saw the news this morning.”
“Yes, so was I.”
The look in his eyes said, Keep talking. No words were necessary; actor to actor, I could feel it in his respiration. Summoning my resolve, I looked at the camera with the red tally lamp and inclined my head slightly.
“Some news outlets have discussed whether or not I might run in a future House of Representatives election, but I have no intention of doing so, nor has any political party made overtures to that effect. My job as a newscaster is to relay factual information to the viewers watching at home, and that won’t be changing anytime soon.”
With this confident statement, I pursed my lips together and silently transmitted a message to Asou: Okay, back to you.
“Yes, well, I suppose it’s not set in stone whether the election is even going to happen,” he commented. “After this commercial break, we’ll be back with sports.”
Slick. After I gave my serious response, he brushed it off like it was nothing, all to drive home to the viewers how little they should care. The mood in the studio immediately lightened. Still, would it have killed him to warn me? But then again, maybe he wanted to get my candid, unvarnished reaction…you know, to find out how I really felt about it.
After the broadcast, Shitara came out of the SCR. “You just had to go and screw us over, didn’t you?” he said to Asou in an annoyed tone, but his grin was obvious.
“They never told me I couldn’t say anything about it,” Asou replied. “Kunieda merely answered a question I asked him, that’s all. It’d have been a lot worse if he said something too honest, like ‘They told me not to talk about it.’”
“True… Ugh, they’re gonna rip me in half!” Shitara clutched at his hair like he was having the time of his life.
“Was that okay with you, Kunieda?”
“…It was no trouble, but…why do it out of the blue…?” I asked.
“For stuff like this, if we planned it in advance, it’d come out sounding rehearsed. Besides, I trusted that you could roll with it.”
“But…won’t the higher-ups take you to task for it?”
“They can go right ahead,” Asou said. “It’s my goddamn show, and I can ask whatever questions I want. See, if I was you, I’d want the viewers to hear the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. I assumed you felt the same, so I made a judgment call. If anyone says anything about it, tell ’em it was all me.”
His arrogance was actually downright refreshing. He wasn’t the one who wrote the scripts or edited the videos, but The News could not have existed without Asou Keiichi. It was indeed his goddamn show.
“Thank you.” I bowed my head.
He smirked wryly. “Trust me, I know this shit’s complicated.”
“You’ve dealt with a few articles along these lines in the past, haven’t you, sir?”
“At one point there was a lot of superficially plausible coverage about me running in the Tokyo gubernatorial election. And every now and then, people speculate about me going freelance—with a guaranteed salary of two hundred million yen per year. Sounds like a great offer! If only it was real.”
“When and how do these absurd rumors ever settle down?” I asked.
“With time. That’s all I can really say.”
Figures.
“With elections, once announcement day rolls around and the deadline for announcing your campaign passes, the rumors will dry up automatically. The thing is, with the House of Representatives, we don’t know when that election’s going to be. If the media ever gets sick of speculating about a dissolution, I suspect it’ll go away on its own.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just have the damn election already! Dissolve the House and end the stupid announcement deadline so I can prove my innocence!
“These things just happen when you work in television. If you’re clean, then just keep living your normal life. That’s the best advice I got.”
Great. Except my “normal life” is kind of the issue here…
WITH THE NEW YEAR’S HOLIDAYS ENDED AND THE ORDINARY DIET SESSION RESUMED, THE ENTIRE LEGISLATIVE DISTRICT IS AWASH WITH RUMORS OF DISSOLUTION. ONLY THE PRIME MINISTER KNOWS FOR SURE WHETHER HE’LL PLAY THAT TRUMP CARD, BUT MINOR PARTIES ARE ALREADY PICKING CANDIDATES AND CANVASSING.
AS FOR THE RULING PARTY, THE CONSERVATIVE DEMOCRATIC PARTY, IT SEEMS THEY’RE EAGER TO THROW IN ON A SINGLE STAR CANDIDATE: ASABI TV’S VERY OWN KUNIEDA KEI, 29, ALSO KNOWN AS THE PRINCE OF 10 O’CLOCK. THOUGH HE’S STILL YOUNG, HE’S WELL-KNOWN AS THE COHOST OF ASABI TV’S FLAGSHIP SHOW, THE NEWS. ANYONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW THE NAME OFFHAND IS BOUND TO RECOGNIZE HIM BY SIGHT.
IN ADDITION TO NATIONAL RECOGNITION, KUNIEDA HAS A HANDSOME FACE AND VOICE, NOT TO MENTION A HUMBLE AND KINDHEARTED PERSONALITY BOTH INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE STUDIO. HE’S A MAN WHO HAS IT ALL. “I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM GET ANGRY,” SAYS ONE INDUSTRY INSIDER. “HE’S POLITE TO EVERYONE, EVEN JUNIOR STAFF MEMBERS AND ASSISTANT DIRECTORS. BUT HE’S NOT UPTIGHT EITHER—HE’LL GLADLY PLAY ALONG WITH JOKES TOO. ANYONE WHO WORKS WITH HIM HAS NOTHING BUT NICE THINGS TO SAY.” CLEARLY KUNIEDA HAS WHAT IT TAKES TO WIN HEARTS.
“VOTERS ARE SICK OF CELEBRITY CANDIDATES WITH CHECKERED HISTORIES,” SAYS A FORMER ADMINISTRATOR FOR THE CDP WHO USED TO INTERVIEW POTENTIAL CANDIDATES FOR FORMAL ENDORSEMENT. “THE WHOLE SECRETARIAT IS DESPERATE FOR SOMEONE LIKE NEWSCASTER KUNIEDA,” HE TELLS US. “THESE DAYS, THERE ARE TOO MANY POLITICIANS WHO WON THEIR ELECTIONS ON FAME ALONE, ONLY TO TURN AROUND AND UPSET PEOPLE WITH THOUGHTLESS REMARKS AND SCANDALS. IF WE KEEP ENDORSING CANDIDATES WHO SEEM POPULAR, WE STAND TO LOSE VOTERS. THUS, IT MAKES SENSE TO RALLY AROUND KUNIEDA. AS SEEN ON THE NEWS, HE’S WELL-EDUCATED, AND BEST OF ALL, HIS IMAGE IS PRISTINE. THESE THINGS ATTRACT THE YOUNGER DEMOGRAPHICS. I EXPECT HE COULD WIN BASICALLY ANY ELECTORAL DISTRICT.”
CLEARLY, NEWSCASTER KUNIEDA’S WON A STAMP OF APPROVAL, BUT HE RECENTLY DENIED THE CLAIMS OF RUNNING HIMSELF DURING A BROADCAST OF THE NEWS. SO WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?
“NO ONE WOULD BE DUMB ENOUGH TO COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY THEY’RE RUNNING. THE STATION WOULD DO EVERYTHING IN ITS POWER TO PUT A STOP TO IT,” SAYS THE INDUSTRY INSIDER WE MENTIONED PREVIOUSLY. “THEY TRAINED HIM FROM THE GROUND UP, SO THEY DON’T WANT TO LOSE HIM. IT’S POSSIBLE THEY MADE HIM SIGN A WRITTEN STATEMENT DISAVOWING THE ELECTION. THAT BEING SAID, WE’RE ALL FREE TO CHANGE CAREERS AT ANY TIME. TO AVOID THE EXTRA PRESSURE, IT MAKES SENSE TO STAY QUIET UNTIL THE ABSOLUTE LAST SECOND. SOME CALL IT BEING TWO-FACED, BUT OVERALL, IT’S A SMART STRATEGY. WE ONCE HAD A CANDIDATE WHO PREVIOUSLY SAID A CAMPAIGN WAS ‘20,000 PERCENT IMPOSSIBLE’ ONLY TO TURN AROUND AND RUN FOR GOVERNOR, HA HA.”
ALL EYES ARE ON THE PRINCE OF 10 O’CLOCK. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND, THERE ARE WOMEN NATIONWIDE WHO WILL MOURN THE LOSS OF THEIR DAILY DOSE OF KUNIEDA! SO WHAT’LL IT BE, KUNIEDA-KUN?!
“Fuck off!”
I threw the magazine at the floor as hard as I could. Sure enough, there were a handful of follow-up articles about me, but at least no one else had come to hassle me about it in person. My strategy of taking a taxi home right from the station parking lot and switching up the path I took into the condo building had clearly paid off.
“How dare they talk down to me!” I complained.
“They were complimenting you!”
“Nobody wants half-assed compliments from a porn-gossip-porn mag for old men!”
“Can I open the centerfold?” Ushio asked. “Shocking Nudes From a Former National Idol…”
“That’s it. I’m gonna burn it.” I grabbed the magazine off the floor and started for the kitchen.
Unsurprisingly, Ushio stopped me. “C’mon, I was joking.”
“The worst part is fucking ‘Kunieda-kun,’ like I’m a little kid!”
“What about Karaage-kun popcorn chicken?” he offered. “Or Sakana-kun, the ichthyologist?”
“One’s a brand name and the other’s a stage name… Ugh, now I want popcorn chicken! This is your fault!”
“Want me to go buy some? Okie-dokie.”
“Get the cheesy kind. And buy some beer to go with it,” I said.
“I don’t think you need to be drinking any more tonight…”
“It’s fine! I have the day off tomorrow!”
“I thought you said you have to host an event tomorrow.”
“It’s fine! That doesn’t start until night! Just shut up and bring me my Karaage-kun! I miss him!”
“Okay, okay…”
After Ushio pulled his coat on and walked out, I found myself peering out through the gap in the curtains. No one’s out there, right? Honestly, I should have been the one to go—I wanted to check for new flavors of ramen or flan…but the thought of someone flagging me down made me hesitate. With a sigh, I pulled the centerfold out of the stupid magazine and was running it through the shredder when I got a call from my parents.
“What is it?”
“Someone just came by our house claiming to be a magazine reporter. Do you even own a tuxedo? You know, for taking group photos on the stairs of the Diet Building?”
Oh my god. “Hey, dumbass, did I ever once say I was running?!” I snapped.
“As your mother, I’d love to see it, personally. The trainwreck, I mean.”
“Oh yeah? Under Edanomics, the Nikkei index will sit at 25,000 yen!”
“Aiming for Prime Minister of all things? Good luck with that,” my mother said.
“I’m not. More importantly, I hope you didn’t blab anything to that reporter!”
“And humiliate myself by association? I think not.”
“Humiliate yourself…?!”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? Oh, your father wants to speak to you. I’ll put him on.”
“Kei, I need your help.” As soon as my dad took the phone, the first thing I heard from him was panic. “The other day, I ran a red light. No one was there, and it was a tiny intersection, but…what if someone took a picture? I don’t want to cause a scandal for your campaign…”
Scandal, my ass. “Dad, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m not even running.”
“Oh, you’re not? Okay then, I’ll give you back to your mother.”
“No, that’s okay. I gotta go to bed. Let’s talk some other time.”
My parents sure are weird, I thought to myself, conveniently ignoring any apples that may or may not have fallen far from the tree. But when I went to use the bathroom, I noticed a white envelope lying in the hall. I picked it up and found that it was addressed to “Tsuzuki Ushio-sama,” meaning that Ushio must have checked the mail on the way to my house, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and accidentally dropped it on his way out just now. The handwriting was tidy and feminine, and it didn’t seem work-related. Unable to resist, I flipped it over to see who it was from.
“Tsuzuki Sayoko.”
Oh, just a relative. What a relief. I didn’t know who this Sayoko was in relation to Ushio, but judging from the handwriting, she seemed to be getting on in years. He mentioned a grandmother at some point, so maybe this was her. According to the return address, she lived right here in Tokyo.
After a quick debate with myself, I set it on the kitchen counter. I probably didn’t need to pretend like I didn’t see it, right? After all, it wasn’t my fault he dropped it.
Later, when he returned with the chicken, Ushio spotted the envelope right away. “Oh crap, I dropped that?”
“In the hallway, yeah.”
“Shoot. Thanks for finding it.” He took it from the counter and waved it around. “It’s from my granny,” he explained, exactly as I suspected. He then stuffed it back into his coat pocket.
“Dude, you’re gonna crumple it.”
“There’s nothing important in here—just a status update,” Ushio said. “Now let’s get our drink back on!”
As we sat around drinking on the couch, the empty beer cans began to multiply on the coffee table. I managed to stack them four high before they collapsed.
“Ugh, now look at what you’ve done…”
“If you don’t like it, go take ’em to the kitchen.”
“Slave driver,” he muttered. Nevertheless, he scooped them up and rinsed them all out in the sink before walking back. “So what exactly is this event tomorrow?”
“The Broadcast Grand Prix award ceremony for the Japan Commercial Broadcasters Association. There’re awards for reporting, documentaries, radio production, presenting, all kinds of crap.”
“But you haven’t won anything?”
“Sure I did, a long time ago,” I said. “Rookie of the year.”
“That’s my man!”
“Damn right I am… Anyway, the gig sucks. I don’t see why I gotta host it.”
Grumbling, I leaned my head against his shoulder—firm, but comfy. As I nuzzled my face into his neck, however, he pushed me down.
“That tickles!”
And so I ended up with my head in his lap instead. “What was that for?” I protested.
“I see someone’s in a good mood tonight,” he said.
“No, I’m not. Didn’t I just say the gig sucks?”
“Is this award ceremony gonna be shown on TV?”
“You’ll be lucky if you see an unedited thirty-second clip on the news. It’s a bunch of internal stuff no regular viewer cares about.”
“Well, internal or not, you’re still going to bring your A-game, right?”
“Excuse me?” What kind of question is that? I rolled onto my back and glared up at him. “Do you cut corners for low-paying clients?”
“No,” he replied, gazing down at me with a smile. “It might add time or budget restrictions, but I still take it seriously.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Okay, no more alcohol for tonight. Can’t have it impacting Newscaster Kunieda’s performance.”
“I’m not drunkkk,” I whined.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re starting to slur your words.”
“’Scuse me? Wanna fight, you little bitch? Near an ear, a nearer ear, a nearly eerie—hyah!” He poked his finger in my ear, making me yelp. “Stop that!”
“What? I thought you said, ‘Knead my ear.’”
“No I diiiidn’t!” Weird—I was trying to speak crisply, but for some reason, the words came out long and limp. My tongue was tripping over itself.
“Oh, my bad. You said, ‘Nibble my ear,’ right?” he teased.
“Nooo…!”
He grabbed my face in both hands and breathed against my earlobe.
“Hey, stop! I wanna keep drinking!” I protested.
“Not allowed.”
His fingers slid under the collar of my tracksuit, strumming along my collarbones like a harp. He then pulled the fabric away. “Your skin’s flushed,” he commented, rubbing my chest.
My alcohol-addled heartbeat pounded even faster. “Stop it, stupid. That’s sexual harassment.”
“If you were drinking for fun, I wouldn’t stop you. But you’re not, are you?”
“How would you know?” Tomorrow was the start of the weekend, even if I did have to work for part of it, and with Ushio here, I had everything I wanted. So why would he think that? “This is fun, as long as I don’t think too hard.”
When I reached out to him, he took my hand and kissed my palm. “I’m saying you shouldn’t drink to drown out your thoughts.”
“Aww, c’mon…”
“Besides, I know a much better way to clear your mind,” Ushio said.
“Which is?”
“You want me to spell it out for you? Pervert.”
“Pot, meet kettle!” I taunted.
“Busted…”
“The culprit is you!”
“Arrest me, officer!”
“Death penalty.”
“Don’t you mean ‘life sentence’?” he asked.
“Solitary confinement.”
“Okay,” he whispered, and kissed the back of my hand. “Take me to the station.”
“Dumbass.” I twisted my hand so I could pinch his nose, then sat up. “Maybe you’re the one who’s drunk.”
“Maybe.” For some reason, he slid down to the floor and sat between my legs, gazing up at me sweetly. “Seeing as you won’t remember anything in the morning, can I take advantage of you?”
“Absolutely not,” I answered flatly. My earlobes felt hot to the touch—maybe I really was drunk.
“Don’t criminals have rights too?”
“You have the right to watch the NHK.”
“I think I’ll stick to the Discovery Channel and watch The Sex Files,” he replied.
“Like hell you will…”
He lifted himself up and softly pressed his lips to mine. I cupped his face with both hands and ran my fingers through his hair like I was exploring the shape of his skull. Then, in revenge, his tongue started exploring my mouth. Trapped between two pairs of lips, our breaths gradually added a degree of humidity to the kiss. Goosebumps ran down my arms like condensation. Even my eyelashes fluttered.
“Mmm…”
My hand slid from the back of his head to his neck, then lower, beneath the collar of his tee, running over his bare skin. He felt smooth like a statue, but carved from a bewitchingly soft, warm stone—pliable and sweaty. Touching him was both soothing and thrilling, making me sleepy but also stirring me awake again. He was a mysterious, captivating creature.
I stroked the shallow valley between his shoulder blades. My tongue felt swollen and clumsy from arousal, and he sucked down hard on it.
I dug my nails into his skin. “Mm…mmh!”
Ushio slotted his upper body between my legs and pulled up my track jacket. His hands painted invisible desire all over my sides and chest, stoking my growing fever.
“Aah…!” When his hands found my nipple, I reflexively pulled back from the kiss, but he nibbled my tongue. “H-hey, wait!”
“Mm?”
“Ngh, stop that!” The little pink bud on my chest quickly hardened in response to the pressure from his finger, and conversely, the rest of my body was threatening to go limp. “Let’s go to bed!”
“After we’re done.”
“It’ll be too late by then!” Shit. I was trying to be firm with him, but my voice came out sounding weak, and the alcohol rendered any physical resistance moot. “Gah…!”
Despite this, my nervous system was quick to pass the message along. He pinched each of my nipples in turn, then both at once, and then finally drew a straight line down my chest to my groin. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Stop…that…!”
“Whatever you say, dear.” Dismissing my protests, he yanked my pants down to my thighs, along with my underwear. He pulled my hips forward and put my cock in his mouth.
“Aah… Aah!”
With only my head still resting against the back of the couch, I had no choice but to witness the action. I squeezed my eyes shut and lifted my chin toward the ceiling. The overhead light stabbed through my eyelids. I didn’t want to do it with the lights on!
“Mmm… Wait…!”
The feel of his lips made me harden, and him trailing his tongue along me quickened my pulse. When he sucked to tease me, my tip grew wet. I tried covering my eyes with my arms, but the light still lingered behind my eyelids. Flashes of pleasure sparked here and there.
“Well now, someone’s horny,” Ushio commented.
“And whose fault is that, dumbass?!”
“Is this for me? Aww, you shouldn’t have.”
“That doesn’t make any grammatical sense!” I yelled.
“Guess I’ll have to start watching a grammar show. Anyway, these are in the way.” He scooted back to pull my pants down further, to my knees.
“Hey, stop…!” I flailed my limbs—but when I lifted my legs, the fabric slid all the way off. “I said no!”
He grabbed my now-bare thighs, set them on his shoulders, and buried his face between my legs once more.
“What the—gah! Mmh!” His warm mouth felt even more intense than before. I could feel his shirt tickling my heels, and once again I felt the shame of being the only one so openly exposed. “Stop it, Ushio…!”
“Weird how it still feels so good, even when you don’t consent to it.”
“Take me seriously, damn it!” I complained.
“Is it really that embarrassing?”
“Trade spots with me, right now.”
“I mean, I would, but I don’t moan as cutely as you do,” he commented.
“I swear, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Real talk, it’s your embarrassed reactions that make me wanna do this even more.” He tickled my reddening tip.
“Nnn, aah…!”
“But hey, if you could act like it was nothing, I’d probably lose interest. You are a good actor, right?”
How could I possibly put on an act in this situation? But I was too proud to say that, so instead I countered with, “I am acting!”
“Huh?”
“I’m saying when I…m-moan cutely and…get embarrassed…it’s just a little act I put on for your gratification!”
I was trying to imply he shouldn’t get so full of himself, but he simply kissed the back of my knee.
“Oh, okay. Awesome!” he said. “I guess I don’t need to hold back after all.”
“What? No, I—aah!”
He slurped down my hot, pulsing length and used his fingers to bring the saliva runoff to the small hole in the back.
“Aaahh…!”
Considering this exploration took place while he sucked at the underside of my cock, it was no wonder that my ass started twitching in response.
“Aah, gah—n-no!”
“You said this is all an act, right?”
“You asshole…!” Surely he knew I couldn’t possibly lie to his face. “Aah, aaahh… Mmh!” His slick fingers drove in deep, following the natural curvature of my body. “Ah! Gah…!”
“I feel so spoiled,” he said.
“No—aah, aah, mmh!”
He worked my stiffened shaft as he wriggled his fingers inside me. I could feel my length yearning to ejaculate, and my walls clamped down tight around him. Getting both forms of pleasure was making it impossible to think straight.
“Aah! Ushio! Ushio…!”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t…b-bully me…” I whimpered.
“…Okay.”
I didn’t dare look down to see his reaction, but he was probably smiling—I could hear it in his voice. And if I ventured a guess, it was probably the smile he wore whenever he surrendered. If only I could win without embarrassing myself in the process…
“Sorry. I won’t bring it up again.” Gripping my legs, he pulled himself up onto the couch. “Let’s kiss and make up, Kei.”
“Aah…!”
He pressed into me, pushing me against the back of the couch as he set the tip of his lust at my wet entrance.
“Hnn… Aah, aaahh!” I scarcely even registered the discomfort of being bent in half. Something hot and rigid was invading my lower body and my brain could focus on nothing else. “Ohh… Aah, no, stop! I’ll cum! I’m gonna cum…!”
“I don’t mind.”
“Aaahh!” I cried out as he thrust in, striking at my sensitive spot. My precumming cock couldn’t hold back any longer. “Hnngh…!”
Even as my whole body pulsed in time with my ejaculation, my arousal nevertheless persisted. When Ushio slid his tongue into my ear, I nearly melted like a sugar cube.
“Can I start to move?” he asked politely, pressing his forehead to mine.
“No.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll try to wait,” he replied offhandedly, but I could tell from his faintly furrowed brow and narrowed eyes that it was taking a lot of effort on his end.
“…Okay, maybe just a little,” I relented.
“For real?”
“Just a little, you hear me?”
“Okay, okay!”
Despite my insistent warning, however, his patience only lasted for two or three thrusts before he started pounding into me hard.
“Aah! Gah! I said a little!”
“Yeah, and this is a little.”
“Liar! Aah, aaahh…!” It took everything I had to just cling to him and endure the onslaught.
“I wanna fuck you until the day I die,” he murmured. He then started to test out different angles and rhythms, all the better to bone me with.
“Dumbass!” I whined. “Any more of this and you might actually kill me!”
“Works for me.”
“Aaahh…!”
At times like these, when we were tangled up in each other, I felt like I was truly alive, more than any other moments in my life. But maybe life and death were two sides of the same coin—like Kunieda-san and Kei.
What was on the other side of Ushio’s coin?
The instant that question crossed my mind, it was as if he heard it somehow, or perhaps he saw it in some part of my face.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop thinking?” he whispered.
“Aah, gah, aaahh…!” He pounded my weak point over and over, scattering my thoughts to the four winds. “Ushio…!”
In that final moment when we both reached our climaxes, I thought I heard him add, “If only for now.” But it was entirely possible I was just imagining things.
***
“…Next, we have the awards for Best Full-Length Documentary. The winners of this award are: Asabi TV’s The Foster System, directed by Azuma Shinji; Touwa TV’s A World Without Zoos, directed by Kaneko Yumi; and Jipang TV’s The Strait and Narrow, directed by Urasawa Taichi.”
At my summons, the directors rose from their seats and walked onstage, where the CEO of the Japan Commercial Broadcasters Association handed a certificate and plaque to each of them. The purpose of this event was strictly to dole out awards, so everyone already knew in advance who had won what, and only the winners were invited to begin with. There was no mystery, no excitement.
The ceremony was proceeding without incident, which was all well and good, but the sparse pity clapping was starting to get on my nerves. Even silence would have been preferable to it. The “audience” consisted of bigwig execs from every corporate sponsor and affiliate station—they didn’t care about lower-ranking employees getting recognition. It was obvious at a glance that they were only here for small talk, status updates, and the occasional business card trade. It was as if the entire stage, me included, was just a show on TV that someone put on for background noise.
Uggghhh. That was exactly why I didn’t want the gig to begin with. Most of the guests literally had their backs turned to the stage. The only person who seemed to notice me was our own CEO, who smiled and waved on occasion. And even worse, I was hungry.
As I read out the winners of the next journalism award, my focus lingered on the resplendent buffet table hovering at the edge of my vision. God, I wanna eat. If I was invisible, I’d vacuum up the whole table, end to end. Not to suggest I wasn’t taking my job seriously—I absolutely was—but the lack of tension made it impossible to concentrate. Everyone here had a career in TV, so no one was surprised or excited to see me. Then again, even if they were, that would be just as annoying.
But most aggravating of all, none of them were eating the free food and instead were flapping their gums nonstop. Eat something, you assholes! Granted, I would have been pissed to see them swarm the table like flies, but straight-up ignoring it was quite possibly worse. I mean, free roast beef and sushi? At a normal party, food that good would vanish in seconds! Instead, I had to watch the fish air-dry while the beef lost its color. It was literal, actual hell on earth. If I filmed fifteen minutes of this cruelty, I could make a tearjerker documentary of my very own. I’ll title it Eat the Rich.
Reflexively, I found myself wishing I could put a mosaic over my face in real life so I could sneak over to the sushi counter. Ikura, fatty tuna, seared salmon! I’ll take six of each! Next, we have the award for Best Roe Commercial—gah, no! I steered my brain out of the sushi zone and spoke a bit louder.
“Next, we have the award for Best Radio Commercial—”
“Sorry, Kunieda, one second!”
Out of nowhere, the operations specialist darted over to me from offstage and pushed a note into my hands.
I read the instructions, nodded, and looked back at the audience. “My apologies.”
Hardly anyone noticed the stumble. Maybe I actually was invisible. Hmph. Even dogs and cats knew to look up when someone was speaking to them.
“We interrupt this ceremony to welcome Legislator Wakamiya Homare of the Conservative Democratic Party. Legislator, the stage is yours.”
At the time, I really only knew the name—I’d seen it here and there during Tokyo elections. For better or for worse, the man didn’t get much in the way of news coverage. When I saw him enter stage left, I didn’t especially recognize his face. He didn’t strike me as unctuous, like so many other middle-aged politicians; if anything, his particular blend of straitlaced and intellectual would be right at home reporting the news. He was the kind of guy people would vote for based on appearance alone. Twenty years from now, I could picture him feeding pond fish at his luxurious retirement estate.
His being here wasn’t mentioned to me during the planning meeting, and I could tell the showrunners were all in a flurry. He apparently must have shown up unannounced. What, did you get hungry for sushi? I actually would’ve loved it if that were the case. As he stepped out in front of the crowd, I clapped my hands to encourage the audience to join in, but it was hardly necessary—the room burst into thunderous applause at the sight of him.
What the hell?
All of a sudden, the crowd—the same decrepit old men who were too engrossed in banal conversations to give a shit about me—turned their attention to the stage, their eyes drawn to Wakamiya Homare like magnets. I froze halfway through a clap, overwhelmed by the sheer authority he exuded.
Granted, I’d worked with far more famous politicians during the pilot broadcast of The News, but back then, I was too flustered to really care. Plus, Shitara wouldn’t even let me greet them at the door since we were supposed to treat them the same as any other guest. What was so different about the House of Representatives’ members anyway? There were nearly 500 of them all across Japan, some of them blatantly stupid and corrupt. Was a single measly rep really special enough to bring TV execs to heel?
Bunch of disingenuous sellouts, I spat silently behind my perfect smile. Not that I was much better myself, obviously. But the sheer audacity to wag their tails for some politician’s surprise appearance when they couldn’t be bothered to respect the people who set up his stage… I knew this was simply how the world worked, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
No one moved to bring him a mic, so I pulled mine from its stand and walked it over to him. “Here, use this. It’s switched on.”
“Thank you.”
Wakamiya’s voice matched his appearance perfectly—deep and easy on the ears. He could give the average newscaster a run for their money. It carried a certain kind of innate, unpretentious gravity that no amount of public speaking could train into someone. His was the kind of voice that could just reach people.
There was a long moment of silence as the applause faded out and he gazed around the room, making the attendees all feel seen on an individual level. He looked at them the same way I only ever looked at a camera. Then, finally, he spoke at just the right moment.
“As you’ve heard, my name is Wakamiya. I apologize for the interruption, but I could hear you all having a great time in here, and I couldn’t help but poke my head in. And as a fun bonus, they told me I could go on stage.”
With the way the crowd was so eager to suck his dick, I assumed he was gonna be full of himself, but his tone was, in fact, shockingly soft. As a result, the laughs he got from the audience felt genuine.
“I’ve had many opportunities, both privately and professionally, to speak to those who work in the television industry. Time and time again, I’ve been floored by the level of responsibility and devotion required to work so tirelessly, day and night, all so the citizens of our great country might enjoy their favorite public television networks. I suspect events like the JCBA’s Broadcasting Grand Prix are truly indispensable—both as a reward for past efforts and as a motivation for the future. May you all put this experience to good use to improve Japanese broadcasting across the board.”
Another standing ovation. Wakamiya’s lips curled up into a smile.
“However, there is one thing for which I must apologize,” he continued in a stern voice. He waited until every last person in the room had tensed up a little to finish his thought. “I won’t pay for cable.”
The audience burst out laughing. This man was a pro at pacing his jokes. I couldn’t say for sure if it was how he got elected, but with this kind of charisma, he could probably find success in just about any field.
“Anyway, that’s all from me. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ceremony.”
I walked over to take the mic back. “Thank you, sir.”
“Likewise.”
But the moment our eyes met, for some reason, an icy shiver ran down my spine. The mood in the room was as peaceful as it ever was, but it felt like I just swallowed a ball of cold, hard lead. The mic nearly slipped out of my hand.
Tightening my grip, I walked back to my spot on the stage and constructed a smile. “Thank you, Legislator Wakamiya. Let’s get another round of applause!”
What the hell was that? Long after he exited stage right, I kept mulling it over. I didn’t sense any hostility from him, but on the other hand, I was certain I didn’t imagine it. After a lot of internal debate, I concluded that it had to be the election rumor going around—he heard about me flirting with a career in politics and wanted to assert his dominance, to put me in my place. You’d think an actual politician would know the rumor was bunk, but what else could it be? I had never even met the guy before.
God, I hate this crap. For the last time, I’m not running! My head ached like some kind of super-delayed hangover.
After another two hours, the ceremony came to an end, and I returned to the waiting room to find a LINE message from Ushio.
“How’d it go?”
I debated writing out all my grievances, but I knew it would wear me out, and besides, I was in the mood for something a little different. “Fine. Only thing that happened was some guy from the House of Representatives showed up unannounced to give a speech.”
“Did he recruit you into the fold, Kunieda-kun?”
“Didn’t seem interested.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“I realized the word ‘seared’ automatically makes anything sound delicious.”
“Uh, you WERE actually doing your job, right?”
“Aww, is ‘seared’ too big of a word for a wittle pleb?”
“Whatever you say, Seared Newscaster Kunieda.”
“That sounds like a violation of the Geneva Convention.”
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t even taste good.”
“Says who?!”
We were both being stupid, but at the same time, it came as a relief. I was hanging in there. And though more stressful days were surely ahead of me, this time I wouldn’t have a mental breakdown and lash out. As I watched the typing animation pop up again and again, I knew I was going to be just fine.
***
When I went to work on Monday, something unbelievable happened: Asou walked over to my desk.
“How’d it go on Saturday?”
“Oh, perfectly uneventful, as expected.”
“The CEO was raving about how good you looked on stage,” he said.
“Don’t be silly… Er, that wasn’t the only reason I was chosen, was it, sir?”
“I wasn’t told the details myself.”
“To be honest, no one was really listening to me, so I’m not sure it mattered how good I may have looked up there,” I remarked.
“Ah.” He seemed to glean something from that, then shrugged. “Well, don’t forget, these things are functionally just council meetings for the old fogies.”
“…Are you sure?” There was something in my tone that I accidentally let slip.
“Hm?”
“Well…” After a moment of debate, I decided to come right out and say what was on my mind. “I suspect things may have been different if you had been onstage instead.”
I couldn’t get a proper read on his reaction. It seemed to me like there was an equal chance that he might shrug it off or that he might lean into it. Waiting to find out which way it would go felt a lot like waiting to hear back after an interview.
I knew I never should have tried to have this conversation, especially not with someone who often came close to seeing through my persona.
But when Asou finally did respond, it was with an invitation.
“Kunieda, are you free? Let’s grab coffee.”
“Sounds great.” Oh god, am I in deep shit? Playing it cool to hide my terror, I followed him to the break room.
“I’m not some kind of hypnotist, you know,” Asou began, crossing both his arms and legs. “I can’t magically captivate people who don’t give a shit about me. But I do have ways of speaking to people who don’t intend to listen.”
“May I ask how?”
“I can’t explain it like it’s a specific technique,” he said. “It’s like how a carpenter knows how many times to use his hand plane—small, negligible details. Incidentally, how many voices would you say you have?”
“Voices, sir?”
“Well, you wouldn’t report on a murder the same way you’d talk about the birth of a baby panda, would you?”
“I mean, I am mindful of my tone to an extent…” I said.
“Yes, from what I’ve heard, I’d say you have around ten.”
“What about you?”
“About a thousand, give or take.”
I stared back at him in shock.
“It’s nothing special,” he continued. “When it comes down to it, you never report the same story twice, right? We’re not movie stars or voice actors; it’s not our job to speak with emotion. But there are still ways of going about it. Take disaster reporting, for instance. There’s a vital difference in tone when it comes to a general word of caution, you know, as opposed to the locations of evacuation shelters and other specific information that everyone needs to know ASAP.”
I got what he was saying, but I couldn’t imagine how I’d go about it myself. How could anyone take an intrinsic part of their body and treat it like an external tool? The job of a newscaster was already limiting. Now he was saying I should finely hew my levels of inflection, modulation, and tempo at will?
“See, I like watching foreign news broadcasts.”
“You mean like CNN?” I asked quietly. My coffee was going cold without me taking a single sip.
“Well, with English, you can get the gist of what they’re saying, right? We all learned a little English in school. Instead, I pick a channel in a language I have zero familiarity with, like Persian or Hindi, and I try to imagine whether they’re reporting on politics, crime, or the economy. You want a more extreme example? Take our show’s intro.”
“The animation?” I asked.
“Yeah, with the astronauts. Whenever I see it, I wonder what it’d be like if they watched our show. How they would interpret it.”
Oh my god, this guy is insane. But at the same time, I knew this was simply the kind of man he was.
“…Guess I’m getting off-topic,” Asou said.
“No, that was really interesting. Thank you.”
He uncrossed his arms, lowered his head, and looked up into my eyes with a grin. “You know, you’ve been improving lately.”
“Improving how?” I asked.
“You were angry, weren’t you?”
“What?”
“First, you got stuck with a job you didn’t want, and then, nobody batted an eyelash at you. You must have felt like a mannequin up there, didn’t you?”
“That’s…not…” I started, trailing off.
I thought about all the applause and attention Wakamiya Homare stole from me. Admittedly, yes, the stark contrast upset me. But I didn’t wish I was him—I just wanted to command respect as Kunieda Kei, and the fact that I failed…well, yeah. It angered me.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he told me. “Whether you’re reading sutras or reciting digits of pi, you’re allowed to expect people to listen to you. As television personalities, we get to be greedy. So if those feelings are finally starting to sprout in you, I say it’s something to celebrate. You’ve changed a little.”
What greed? I always told myself I was satisfied with my lot in life. I wanted just enough success that other people could see it, but I never really considered climbing higher. It was too much effort and hassle. Instead, I decided my world had a six-foot radius, and the only thing I needed to protect was myself—and to be honest, I still felt that way. In my eyes, nothing had changed about me at all. I had no ambitions, I hated going into work, and I loved being a slob.
That being said, hearing that I changed didn’t especially frighten or bother me. It was simply the way things were. And no matter what happened, I wouldn’t have to handle it alone. Ushio was with me, and that would never change. Ushio made me strong.
“That reminds me—is it common for people like Legislator Wakamiya to come and say hello?” I asked, as we were waiting for the elevator.
“No…?” Asou frowned slightly. “Wakamiya, as in Wakamiya Homare?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, his daddy used to be the Minister of Posts and Telecommunications, so maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe somebody sent him.”
If memory served, that department was then merged into the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications. Boss of Telecommunications, eh? No wonder everybody was sucking his dick.
“Second-generation politician, I take it?”
“Third-generation, actually, but in his case, it’s not just nepotism. Even if you take the bolstered foundation into account, it’s still incredible that his victories number in the double digits and he’s undefeated. Even when his party loses power, he keeps his seat.”
“You sure know a lot about him,” I said.
“He serves Tokyo’s first district, remember? The man’s at the top of every list.”
“Yes, but even so, all I know offhand is that he wins every election he’s in.”
“He’s never caused a news scandal with a thoughtless remark, nor does he put on a performance to win brownie points. If the media can’t find fault with him, it’s proof that he’s doing his job right,” Asou explained.
“I see. Will he run for a minister position eventually?”
“Looking at his trajectory and track record, he could have run ages ago. That being said, landing a post like that involves a lot of careful timing. Besides, a lot of folks believe you have to be a certain age, and that’s another big hurdle.”
“The world of politics is complicated, it seems.”
“More complicated than ours, at least… Were you actually scouted?” he asked.
“Perish the thought.”
Back at the newsroom, I checked the station blog and found that someone already wrote an article about Saturday’s award ceremony. It aired during the middle of the day on Sunday when absolutely no one was watching TV, so apparently someone took it upon themselves to give a more thorough report—and included more than ten photos. Dude, the viewers aren’t going to read this crap.
As I scrolled past shots of the highly photogenic Wakamiya, some small part of my heart hesitated. At the time, I didn’t get a good look at him from the front, but looking at these pictures, his face seemed…familiar.
Well, of course it did, right? He was a famous politician, and I literally just met him in person. So what was this weird sense of discomfort? It was like when you’re trying to think of an actor’s name, but you can’t quite remember it…
“Kunieda! Got a minute? I wanna go over next month’s schedule.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll be right there.”
Whatever. It’s all in the past now. With that thought, I closed the browser window, rose to my feet, and decided to switch gears.
***
“No, no, don’t worry about it. If you ever change your mind, please feel free to reach out… Right… Great… Thank you… Mm, bye.”
After I hung up, I let out a sigh that only irritated me further. I glared at my computer monitor.
“Why, after all this time…?”
Of course, no one was around to answer. Resting my elbows on the desk, I pressed a hand to my forehead. The hell am I going to do now? I was in trouble, and I didn’t know why. I needed to figure out a plan for the foreseeable future…and yet my mind kept wandering back to the past.
My mother wanted me to be a respectable man like my father and she made damn sure I knew that. When I came home with a report card that had A’s in all the “wrong” subjects, she told me my father would be ashamed. Then, there was that time I punched him, and he punched me back… And the day I walked out for good…
I tried to shake the memories away. For a few seconds, my vision flashed white behind my eyelids.
Snow…no, fog.
It grew brighter and brighter, stabbing at what felt like the borderline between my brain and nervous system. But the pain quickly faded, leaving behind only an image of Kei. He was both sensible and stupid, half-cowardly and half-bold, a lazy workaholic, mean-spirited yet easy to read. And I loved him dearly.
Kei once told me that “making things” is who I was.
If I stopped making things…if I couldn’t do it anymore…who would I be then?
***
When I got home, Ushio was waiting for me. I didn’t mind, of course; it was always great having him around to cook and clean and change the bedsheets… Not that I thought of him as my maid or anything. All I truly needed was to see his face. With the added tension of being on guard all the way to my front door, it was a relief having someone there to greet me.
I guess it just felt weird since I used to spend most of my time at his place, where he did his work—messed around on the computer, tidied up his equipment, took pictures, and so on. Sometimes he would get so engrossed in it that he’d forget I was there. But that was fine with me, since a lot of the time I’d just watch TV, eat, and sleep as I saw fit.
Wait, I get it! I was so used to watching Ushio work that it struck me as weird now that he was just sitting around at my place. It was reassuring, yes, but something felt like it was missing all the same. This revelation came to me at dawn, when I randomly snapped awake. Then, when I looked over at him in bed next to me with his back turned…
“What is it?” he asked suddenly.
“Whoa!”
“What?”
“You scared me…” I said. “How did you know I was awake?”
“I could sense your energy,” he answered without rolling over to face me. What are you, some kind of martial arts master? “Did you have a bad dream?”
“No, I was just thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“You know you can work on your projects while you’re here, right?”
Granted, he might have been trying to be respectful of my paranoid tendencies, but at the very least, he could bring his laptop or sketch out some storyboards… Basically, I wanted him to know that he could—should—pursue his hobbies.
“I don’t feel like it.” In the darkness, his shoulder blades shifted as if in place of his lips. “I think I need some time to recharge.”
As far as I could remember, this was the first time I ever heard him sound so unmotivated. But to be fair, his job required a lot of creativity, so it was possible I simply hadn’t seen him burn out until now. Still, when he kept his back turned, it put dark thoughts in my head—like maybe he was stuck in a major rut…
Naturally, at that exact moment, he rolled over to face me.
“Gah! Quit reading my mind!” I said.
“It’s your fault for being so obvious.” His smile was as jovial as always, with nary a trace of melancholy. “Kei?”
“What do you want?”
“Can I kiss you?”
Where did that come from? My breaths grew hot. In my small, cramped bed, there was nowhere to escape.
“Uh… N-no,” I mumbled.
“Ouch. That hurts my feelings.”
Bullshit! But his expression was so smug, I knew there was no point in calling him out on it. “Th-that’s what you get for putting me on the spot!”
“But the last time I did it without asking, you slapped me… I’m still traumatized…” he said, pouting.
“That was forever ago!” Back when nobody knew my secret, way before we started dating.
“Okay then, you kiss me.”
“Why should I?”
“Just do it!” He closed his eyes, prompting me to do so too.
At this point it’d be more embarrassing to keep refusing. “This is stupid,” I grumbled as I leaned in. But as I did, he wrapped his arms around my torso and pulled, rolling me over by ninety degrees. “Aagh!”
“Ha ha!” He grinned up at me from below.
“Don’t do that! You’re gonna give me a heart attack!”
“Is that your way of saying it skipped a beat?” he asked.
“More like a hundred!”
Seriously, that can’t have been good for my heart! Not only that, but now the blanket was all screwed up, and it was cold, and feeling his bare skin was making me all flustered… As our hearts beat together in perfect sync, I gently laid my lips on his.
***
I was surprised to find I still remembered my father’s confidant’s phone number, and it surprised me all the more to learn it was still in service.
“Oh, it’s too much hassle to have to tell everyone I changed it. I have upgraded the model, though.”
He held up the smartphone for me to see, and I wondered how many thousands of entries its address book contained. More pressingly, it was bizarre to have someone from the family I abandoned sitting in front of me at my current home. It felt like a dream. And by “dream,” I meant a nightmare.
“Thanks so much for making the trip all the way out here,” I told him, as a formality. “Isn’t there an election coming up soon?”
“The House of Representatives is a perpetual battlefield,” he answered, dodging my trick question with a boilerplate response. “Long time no see. You’re all grown-up.”
Having been entirely “grown-up” for years now, the observation was embarrassing to hear. “Likewise, you’ve aged like a fine wine, Saijou-san.”
“You can simply say I’ve gotten old, you know.”
“Nah, it’s more than that, I can tell. You’ve gotten craftier over the years,” I said.
“I suppose we both have.”
When I was a kid, I never understood why other families didn’t have someone like Saijou around—an unrelated adult who lived under the same roof, trailing my father like a shadow, often helping my mother as well. She’d ask him about tea ceremony dress codes or the proper messages to include on holiday postcards. As for me, I remembered him helping me decide on a theme for my research project and showing up for Bring Your Parent to School Day. If other families didn’t have a Saijou, then who helped them with the small stuff at work and at home?
To me, he wasn’t family, but he didn’t feel like a servant either. If I had to call him something, he was our secret weapon—our wish-granting genie. The mental image made me smile.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s nothing.”
“So, I hear you’ve been hard at work.”
“Not really,” I said. “Especially not lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“All my clients canceled on me, so my schedule’s dead as hell. And when I try to ask for details, they all give me vague, mealy-mouthed answers. It’s depressing.”
“Well, all work has its low points.”
“Yeah, but it’s never lasted this long before… It’s almost like someone’s sabotaging me.” I shot him a meaningful look, but it bounced off like water off a duck’s back.
“You must be burned-out, and after all those years of hard work in solitude, I’m not surprised,” he said. “Why not come home and take it easy for a change?”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. You’d be returning to the house where you were born and raised. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” Grimacing, I turned away and cast aside my shapeless anger. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to say that to me. Look, admit it—you’re the one fucking up my work, aren’t you? Not suggesting I have proof, so don’t you dare ask for any.”
Saijou’s mild, chilly expression remained unfazed. All my life, I had scarcely seen him look any other way.
“Well, that saves us some time, then,” he said. “This little make-believe ‘career’ of yours has gone on long enough. It’s time you came home.”
“Make-believe?”
“Am I wrong? I won’t tell you to give up your pastime altogether, but you have a far more important role to fulfill.”
“I’m not going to carry on the stupid family legacy,” I said. “It’s too late to make amends, and you and Dad are both cuckoo if you think otherwise.”
If only I had a foul mouth like Kei, I thought to myself. Vicious, but funny at the same time. Then I could really rip him a new one.
“The stupid family legacy? Stupid? After all these years, you still talk like a teenager in the midst of a rebellious phase. Do you mean to suggest you understand even a fraction of your father’s work? Walk a mile in his shoes—no, even a single step, and I’m certain you’d change your tune.”
“I didn’t leave because of some rebellious phase,” I hissed back, unable to keep the anger from seeping into my voice. “I cut ties because I was sick of it.”
“You cannot simply cut ties with your own flesh and blood. It’s also laughable to think there’s such a thing as ‘too late,’” he started. “You’ve spent nearly half your life away from your family. Enough is enough! Are you not satisfied, having lived on your own terms for nearly fifteen years? You’ve made the most of your twenties, but now it’s time you accepted your duties and responsibilities. ‘I never asked to be born into this family’ is a child’s argument. I won’t hear it.”
“What, so you were just letting me roam free out of the kindness of your heart?”
“I never said that. How about you calm down a little?”
He was right; the moment I lost my temper, I gave him the upper hand. I knew that, and yet my blood still boiled…not just because I was once again confronted with my family’s unchanging values, but because I suspected they had me backed into a corner.
“You can continue your current ‘work’ as a hobby, of course. I imagine it will be more popular with young voters than specializing in ’80s hits at karaoke. Perhaps they’ll even ask you to produce our political ads, though I don’t expect it would pay well.”
“You think this is a hobby?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Wrong. It’s my career. Unlike some people, I put pride in my work.”
“I don’t think pride pays the rent, sadly.”
“Look here.” I leaned forward slightly. “I don’t appreciate you talking like I don’t have a say in this. Like, do you seriously think I could be a politician? Me?”
“Of course I do.”
“With no academic background, no aptitude, and being dumb as a brick? Did you forget what my report cards looked like?”
“Oh, I remember. Your teachers wrote ‘energetic, kindhearted, and quick to make friends,’ as I recall.”
I was the one who brought it up, but when my mother’s laments echoed in my ears—“You have to do better, Ushio, this is an embarrassment to your father”—I quickly started to regret it.
“I myself have never once thought of you as dumb,” he began. “On the contrary, you have a good sense for a great many things—the type who can learn how to operate a piece of tech through trial and error without ever reading the instruction manual. That’s why you struggled with book learning. But that’s no insurmountable obstacle. I mean, we’ve had Prime Ministers with an eighth-grade education. We’ll guide you through the election process, and after that, we need only teach you the proper Q&A format in the Diet. Good looks and natural-born popularity, however—those are things no amount of formal education can instill.”
“So you just want me to stand there, like a mannequin with a badge?”
“You’ll be trained thoroughly, of course. First, you’ll serve as a secretary for your father. I’ll drill you on how to hold his briefcase and umbrella. Then, we can discuss introducing you as the future successor at the fundraising party after Golden Week.”
“Ha ha!” I let out a strangled laugh, then spat, “Very funny. You don’t get to decide my life for me. I want nothing to do with you people, so stay out of my business.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“And my father thinks this is a great idea, does he?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I did, of course, confirm it with him, and he didn’t stop me. Is the prospect really so terrible?” he asked.
His fingers tapped together, pressed neatly in his lap. The more I stared at it, the more it threatened to hypnotize me.
“No one’s telling you to figure it out on your own,” he continued. “As long as you do what we tell you, we can guarantee your maximum possible freedom. And if you behave yourself, we’ll even help you hide your…alternative lifestyle.”
The implication in his tone confirmed my suspicions. “How much do you know?” I growled. “Tell me everything you’ve dug up about me. Now.”
“Oh, I haven’t learned much,” Saijou replied coolly, like he was placating a child. “But I know who visits you here, and I know where you go on the rare occasions you leave the house. One of the gentlemen who visits you wears glasses and a face mask like he’s got something to hide, and the other is a well-known television personality who dresses in a sharp suit. Not only that, but these two men appear to live in the same nearby condo you yourself frequent! An incredible coincidence.”
Reflexively, I jumped to my feet. My vision swam and my head ached as denial and confirmation wrestled for dominance.
He continued. “They both exude wildly different auras, so it’s hard to tell at a glance, but they’re one and the same, aren’t they? Kunieda-san from Asabi TV. Young, yet highly regarded.”
“So it was you.”
As shameful as it was to admit, my voice threatened to quaver. Keep it together, damn it! If I didn’t do something fast, everything I built over the past fourteen years—and everything Kei had fought to protect—would fall apart like a house of cards.
“You spread those rumors about him running in the election,” I said.
“I did nothing of the sort. I simply reached out to a few different connections to find out what sort of person this Kunieda Kei fellow was. I do apologize if some journalist caught wind of third- or fourth-hand information and ran with it.”
You don’t mean a word of that, do you?
“No matter who I asked, no one had a single bad thing to say about him. He’s quite talented, isn’t he? And I mean it. No matter how he chooses to dress when the cameras are off, it doesn’t invalidate his skill at his profession. In the Tokyo legislative district, you get people with all sorts of private inclinations. If his street clothes became common knowledge, it might only make him more relatable to the average viewer.” Saijou looked up at me and smiled faintly. “Judging from your reaction, I take it you’re more than just friends?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I was told Kunieda-san has no especially close friends. I suspect he’s the type who keeps his distance from other people whenever possible… And yet he seems to trust you in particular, Ushio-san. Enough to reveal his disguise to you, anyway.”
“So what are you trying to say to me?” I asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, though we will ensure you stay firmly in the closet. After all, it’s what Kunieda-san would prefer, right? Like you, he’s not afforded an ordinary life.”
“What happens if I say no? Are you gonna spread more info around? I’m sure you took a bunch of creepshots of him, right?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” In my rage, I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they might crack. “This has nothing to do with him.”
“Well now, isn’t that a bit heartless? He is your boyfriend, isn’t he? Or have you not told him about your family? That won’t do—we humans can never run from our heritage, you know. It is as essential to us as light and shadow.”
“Shut up.” Balling my fists, I glared down at the man I once considered family. “If you drag him into this, I’ll kill you.” And I was dead serious.
“Be my guest,” he replied without missing a beat. “I am prepared to give my life for Wakamiya Homare. But, somehow, I doubt your boyfriend would want that, would he? You could kill me to keep me quiet, but your father couldn’t possibly cover it up. And once everyone found out that his son murdered his private secretary, his reputation would hit rock-bottom. Maybe you would be satisfied with that, but what about Kunieda-san? When he learns the truth of what happened, he won’t be able to simply shrug it off. Am I wrong?”
“The hell do you know about him?” I snapped back.
“About Kunieda-san? Very little. But I believe I know you fairly well, Ushio-san. You would never care so deeply for someone unless they were a good person.”
I heard his tone go soft. This is exactly why I call you crafty.
I was fine going toe-to-toe with my father—I would gladly destroy his status and reputation. But I would truly rather die than have the blowback hit Kei. I sank back onto the sofa and sighed weakly into my cupped hands.
***
“Sup.”
“Hey!”
Tatsuki was so chipper, you wouldn’t think he’d just finished a late-night broadcast. I couldn’t help but wonder: am I getting old? Maybe it was just the fatigue, but I couldn’t help but feel like these glamorous television personalities were all leeching my life force.
“Beer?”
“Sure, thanks,” I said. “Is something wrong? Did senpai hit his head again?”
“Weren’t you just with him?”
“Oh, true…”
“I just wanted to drink with you, that’s all.”
“Wait, for real? Aww, that’s so sweet of you. You should come play baseball with us in Osaka sometime.”
“What?”
“The Kyocera Dome lets you rent it out by the hour, and it’s super cheap late at night. Like, less than 10,000 yen per person.”
“Huh. Are you gonna commentate while we play, or what?”
“No way! I’m the star player, obviously!”
He said it so seriously, it made me laugh. “Sure, sounds fun,” I replied offhandedly.
“I know, right?”
“Be sure to invite him too, won’t you?”
“Who, Kunieda-san? No way! He wouldn’t come even if we took his parents hostage at gunpoint!”
“Tell me about it. How’s he been?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, is he doing okay with everything?”
“Don’t you see him in person, like, all the time?”
“When I’m around, he’s not ‘Kunieda-san’ anymore.”
“Ugh, you two are so complicated. As far as I know, there hasn’t really been any…” Just then, he stopped, blinking. “Actually, maybe there is something.”
“What’s up?”
“I noticed Kunieda-san’s kinda changed lately. The other day, I was saying how our show would be over if I got arrested, and he was like, ‘I’ll write your letter of resignation.’”
“So?” I asked.
“Well, wouldn’t you expect him to be more like ‘who cares if the show ends,’ or something? There are plenty of other producers who’d love to work with him.”
“…Ah, I see.”
“These days he even asks Asou-san questions about stuff. And the way he treats the other staff has changed too.”
“What, like, he’s rude to them?”
“No way! Well…maybe in a sense? He’s started making more specific requests. Like, for example, ‘Could you use a paper clip on my script instead of stapling it?’ He was never the type who could ask for stuff like that before—he’d just fix it himself without saying anything, y’know? Me, I’ll ask for anything with a ‘pwetty pwease’ on top. But Kunieda-san would rather handle everything himself than risk wasting time and getting annoyed when someone else screws it up.”
“Oof, yeah.”
By default, Kei put no stock in other people. There weren’t many whose hard work and results could rival his own, and even if there were, he would hate them. Granted, I loved that obnoxious, closed-off part of him, but still.
“Basically, he’s started outsourcing a teeny-tiny bit of that stuff, and whoever he asks is absolutely stoked to do it, since it makes them feel like he’s counting on them. So yeah, the show’s been going great these days. I like where we’re headed,” Tatsuki said.
“Right.”
“Maybe it’s because of his happy love life…”
“Shush, you.”
I was glad I asked Tatsuki because Kei probably hadn’t even noticed these things himself. Going forward, the struggles he’d overcome would only serve as fodder to make the great Kunieda Kei an even greater newscaster.
“If you hadn’t called me when you did, I probably would’ve chickened out. For the first time in my life, I felt alone…and for the first time, I realized I truly wasn’t.”
These days, he probably wouldn’t say either of those things. He could do anything on his own—even reach out to other people, if he so chose. If he really meant business, no one else stood a chance. He was something special, all right.
As we parted ways, Tatsuki kept insisting that we should seriously meet up for baseball sometime. I just kept on smiling and waving.
***
Tonight, there were no major crimes or accidents, which made for a boring weekday at my job, but conversely, it made things a lot less stressful…or so I thought. But that evening, as I was headed from the newsroom to the elevator that would take me to my show’s staff room, the doors slid open.
“Oh, heyyy! Hard at work?”
Behind the sliding doors stood Ushio. I nearly screamed out loud, but my perfectly trained vocal cords held it back on reflex. I retreated a few steps and caught my breath.
“…Tsuzuki-san?” I said.
“Get in here.”
“Oh, right. Thank you.”
He was joined by Tatsuki, of all people. Once the elevator started to rise, I lowered my voice. “The hell are you doing here?”
“Man, I’ll never get used to how quick you switch over,” Ushio mused.
“He’s like a cartoon character,” Tatsuki nodded.
“Hey!”
“Anyway, just thought I’d get the official tour,” Ushio said. “Cleared it with Shitara-san and everything.”
“And security called me down to authorize his guest pass!” chimed in Tatsuki.
“But why in the”—the elevator stopped, and the doors opened—“why would you come all this way for a tour?”
“I’m kinda burned-out,” Ushio answered, clearly fighting to hold back laughter. “You told me you tend to carry on like normal when you’re stressed, but I’m the opposite. I wanted to shake things up for a change.”
In other words, he was looking for inspiration, apparently. I didn’t realize he was struggling so much. How about you open up to me instead of acting like everything’s fine, dammit? Not that there was much I could really do. Or was there?
Whenever I was worried or conflicted, Ushio usually cheered me up with tiny gestures or words of encouragement. Now that the roles were possibly reversed, what could I do to help him? I had been wrestling with this question for some time already.
“Tsuzuki-san…” I started.
We were in public, and Tatsuki was standing right there, and I didn’t know what to say, so I called his name—addressed him like a stranger—but then—
“HEY!!!”
I flinched as a deafening scream echoed down the hallway. I was used to some amount of yelling at my workplace, usually at incompetent assistant directors. However…
“KUNIEDA KEI!!!”
What? Me? What did I do?! Hastily, I looked in the direction of the voice. An old, white-haired man in a kimono was walking my way, and quite briskly at that. I recognized him, but I wished I didn’t. It was the old grump who threw a fit during the pilot episode of The News.
“Oh, it’s Grandpa Eba!” Tatsuki pointed gleefully. “Wow, this is my first time ever seeing him in person. He looks just like he does on TV!”
“Stop that! Don’t point and gawk at the elderly!”
Grandpa Eba, aka Eba Sougen—leader of the center-left Civil Progressive Party, political advisor for the loud minority. Special skills: heckling and performative rage. Long time no see! Never really wanted to see you again if I’m being honest. Now what exactly did I do to you?
“It’s been a long time, sir,” I said with a deferential bow.
“No kidding,” he scoffed. “I never did get that bottle of booze.”
“I’ll be sure to remind my producer.”
“More importantly, I hear you’re running as a Conservative Democrat? After all I did for you?!”
As he screamed about my biggest current headache at the top of his lungs, I felt the urge to slap him upside the head with my intonation dictionary. I suspected he wouldn’t even flinch if I did. At least use your indoor voice, you decrepit old bag!
“You think you can start out with the ruling party and hog all the prestige? Think again! Naw, you gotta run as a Civil Progressive!” he yelled.
Even if I did take about a hundred missteps and ended up in politics, I wouldn’t waste my shot on a tiny minor party with only twenty seats total.
“…If you do, I’ll make you one of my top three,” he added.
Am I supposed to want prestige or not?! Also, three out of twenty isn’t very high!
“This all sounds pretty complicated, so I’m gonna wander around for a bit,” Ushio suddenly whispered in my ear.
“Huh?”
“See ya later!”
He stuffed something into my chest pocket and disappeared down the emergency stairs. Traitor!
Forcing a smile, I turned back to Eba. “There’s been a misunderstanding, sir. I have no intention of running in the election.”
“Eh, that’s what they all say at first…”
Will. Someone. Please. LISTEN?! “Yes, and I’ll be saying it until the end of time. I would never fancy myself a politician,” I said.
“Well, that’s boring.” Do you want me to run or not?! He frowned and reached into his kimono sleeve. “Here, hold out your hand. You too, kid.”
“Wait, do you literally have something up your sleeve?” asked the world’s dumbest junior employee as he gleefully held out both hands.
“Wait, but… Sir, we aren’t supposed to receive gifts from our guests…”
“What, they won’t even let you have candy?” he said. “How miserly can one company be?”
“Candy?”
Sure enough, what landed into Tatsuki’s eager hands was some kintaro candy with a cartoon triple-knockoff fantasy creature printed on it.
“This is the Civil Progressive Party’s new mascot character, Kyou-chan. Debuting this spring.”
Yep, looks like something that would come in dead last in a “Design Our Mascot” contest.
“Wow, it’s so ugly! Can I have another one?”
“If you switch parties, sure.”
“Wait, how come you won’t ask me to run in the election?” Tatsuki asked.
“I don’t need you,” Eba said. “Too shallow.”
“That’s not true! I’m as deep as the ocean!”
Oh my god, who cares? Just go away! Fortunately, my rescue arrived just in the nick of time.
“Legislator Eba, the meeting is about to start!”
“Right, right, I’ll be right there!” The old man waved to them amiably, then turned back to me. “If you change your mind, come find me. I’ll make it official.”
Not happening! Period!
“Man, you sure are popular, huh, senpai?” said Tatsuki. “But only with men! Ha ha ha!”
“Quit yapping,” I hissed quietly. “What is that old guy doing here, anyway?”
“I hear they made him a regular on a satellite TV show. Ever since he made waves that time you hosted The News, he’s been getting a lot more screen time.”
And he had the nerve to imply I owed him?
“So where’s Tsuzuki-san?”
“Wandered off somewhere,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”
“Think he’ll come by the studio at 10 p.m.? What if you get so nervous you flub your lines?”
“I won’t,” I replied in my softer tone as a different elevator stopped at our floor. “Work is work. No matter who’s in the studio, it’s the viewers who matter most.”
“Daaamn.” Tatsuki scratched the back of his head. “Senpai, you can act like a real suck-up sometimes.”
Excuse me? I think you mean “all the time”!
Switching gears, I sat through the advance briefing, rehearsed my script, and entered the studio thirty minutes early. Sure enough, I found Ushio brazenly hanging out with the production team, playing with the cameras. When he spotted me, he greeted me with his eyes only.
At a TV station, once you had a guest pass, you could actually get away with a lot. Our security was tight for music programs or variety shows with lots of celebrities, but generally we were used to seeing a bunch of different faces every day. Most were involved with some production company or other, so it was risky to flat-out ask what someone was doing here; after all, if they turned out to be someone important, it might offend them. That’s why Ushio was free to wander around like an unattended child. But hey, if it made him feel better, I wasn’t going to complain.
“So you use three cameras for three different angles? One of them focuses on the host, so…what do you do with the other two?”
“They’re positioned diagonally.”
“Doesn’t that make it hard to see the teleprompter?” he asked.
“They look at the one mounted on the ceiling up there.”
“Gotcha. What about handhelds?”
“We don’t really use ’em. Program policy generally doesn’t call for any motion in the studio.”
Ushio’s frank attitude seemed to put the staff at ease. He could honestly fit in anywhere—like Tatsuki could, but in a different way. Did he pick up this skill at that part-time job from his younger days? I half-wondered if he’d keep at it after the broadcast started, but naturally, even he didn’t go that far. Instead, he moved to a quiet corner and simply watched.
“Now, at today’s press conference, the PM repeatedly stated that he wanted to ‘break the jinx.’ Should we interpret this as foreshadowing for an upcoming election?”
“Well, a tax hike will inevitably damage his approval rating, which is all the more reason to use this debate to play the dissolution card as an aggressive appeal to the voters. The opposition is also stirring to submit a motion of no confidence against the Cabinet in response to a series of scandals involving its Minister for Internal Affairs and Communications. If that passes, we’re left with either a dissolution of the House or mass resignation of the Cabinet, and ideally we want to avoid a forced dissolution.”
“To pass a no-confidence resolution, the House will need a majority vote. Considering the opposition’s total seats, it’s a high bar to clear, but it’s possible that some in the ruling party will vote against party lines. The gulf between the factions has grown even wider than it was when the Cabinet was first formed. Kunieda-san, back to you.”
“Well, the intergenerational conflict in the CDP is only growing in intensity. We spoke to several Cabinet hopefuls about their frustrations as they wait on standby with no hope of landing a seat…”
I read out the lead-up to the prerecorded video without a hitch. I obviously wasn’t going to let some tourist throw me off my game. I seldom looked at the script in my hands, instead keeping my eyes on the prompter. It was captioned to an almost excessive degree, so I only really needed to scan over it a few times to get the gist.
I loved feeling my voice sync up with the visuals, even more so these days. The edited video, the script, the sound effects, the music—all of it wrapped up together with a tidy bow by the newscaster and delivered to the viewer. There was a level of egotism to it, derived not from some invisible benefit to me alone, but rather the desire to produce a single complete package, no matter how shoddy the footage or the script was.
Just before I finished reading my line, I shaped my expression so the cameras would be able to pick it up. Beyond the glow of the tally lights, I made eye contact with Ushio, but this didn’t fluster me, nor did it excite me; my brain merely processed that he was there. He was part of the background, I suppose I could say—just like the drumming of raindrops at night, or the sight of the distant ocean through a car window.
Then I remembered: he once said having my idle motions in the background was comforting to him. Maybe the feeling was mutual. The thought was kind of nice.
“…Commercial!”
But the warm fuzzies must have knocked something loose in my chest because as soon as I saw a female staff member bring him a folding chair, it pissed me off. Your job is to do hair and makeup, lady! Plus, offering somebody coffee had to be the cheapest, laziest way to win points with them. Offer him a sacrificial goat if you wanna kiss up so badly! Naturally, our well-connected tourist politely declined.
The broadcast ended without incident, and about when we gathered up for a quick postmortem in the studio, Ushio disappeared again. Evidently, someone who was good at inserting himself into conversations was good at removing himself as well.
I changed out of my work clothes and into my personal suit, but I suddenly remembered there was something in my chest pocket and reached for it. It was thin and hard. When I pulled it out, I learned it was a thick folding-style card holder. Embossed in gold foil cursive script was the name of a hotel not far from here. Inside was a keycard with the room number noted on the card stock. The hell is this?
I mean, obviously I knew what it was. You know what I mean.
“Where are you?” I asked over LINE.
“In a taxi,” he replied.
“Going where?”
“The hotel. Didn’t I give you a keycard?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then I’ll see you in a bit.”
Was this another attempt to “spice things up”? It wasn’t one of our birthdays, was it? Nope. It also wasn’t the anniversary of the day we met, nor the day we started dating… Granted, Ushio wasn’t really the type to celebrate anniversaries at all. He liked surprises, however…
Maybe when I got there, he and Tatsuki would jump out of the closet and yell, “Pranked you, bro!”
Ugh, I can totally see it.
As I sat there, dubious, in the nearly deserted newsroom, my biggest suspect came waltzing over. “Hey, Kunieda-san, I thought you would’ve left by now.”
“Nice try! You can’t fool me!”
“Huh? Whaddya mean?” He blinked back at me, wide-eyed. It didn’t seem like an act, but he was the crafty kind of dumbass, so I couldn’t be sure. I looked back at him suspiciously.
“Oh, did you want my candy from earlier?” he said. “I already ate it.”
“No, you idiot!”
I couldn’t let my guard down completely, but he seemed innocent. Anyway, no amount of thinking would solve the mystery, so I instead got in a taxi in the basement parking lot and told the driver the name of the hotel. Even though it was late at night and I had a keycard, I didn’t feel great about having to linger in the front lobby. Fortunately, the hotel was outfitted with a porte-cochère leading to an elevator that was keycard-activated.
The carpet absorbed the sound of my footsteps as I walked down the hall, flanked by doors on both sides, until I found a number plate that matched the four digits written on my card holder. I tried ringing the doorbell and got no answer, so I tapped my keycard to the sensor under the doorknob. The little bulb lit up green and I quietly pushed it open. The door was heavy and required the full support of my arm, but eventually I cracked it open just enough to peer inside without crossing the threshold.
Just then, the bathroom door slid open to reveal Ushio, who saw my cautious entry.
He laughed. “What are you, a cop?”
“Well, I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t answer, so…”
“I was in the shower.” Dressed in a bathrobe with a towel around his neck, he started digging through the minibar while I watched from the door. “You can come in, y’know.”
“…Okay.” The door closed loudly behind me. I saw my reflection in a mirror, looking perplexed.
“You can come closer, y’know.”
“Okay.”
It was a large twin room with a sofa against the window at the exact height of the sill—perfect to sit on with your legs stretched out to enjoy the cityscape at night.
“You can sit down, y’know.”
“Okay.” I slid his briefcase into the corner, placed my suit jacket on top, and kicked back like I owned the place.
“You can breathe, y’know.”
“I am breathing, thanks!”
“I was worried you might need the reminder.” Ultimately, he settled on our usual unsophisticated canned beers, one for each of us, and sat down next to me.
“You’re plotting something, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Where did that come from?”
“You wouldn’t get a hotel reservation for no reason.”
“My horoscope told me to ‘get a room’ this morning,” he said.
As if they’d print such a salacious phrase in the morning paper. Without even trying to hide my skepticism, I took a beer from him. For some reason, this made him laugh.
“Seriously, there’s no secret plot. After the broadcast, I thought it’d be fun to stay somewhere different tonight, that’s all. Am I bothering you?”
C’mon, that’s not fair. “Well?”
“What?”
“How’s your burnout going, or whatever?”
“Ah…” He touched my hair, then ruffled it. His usual habit. “Sorry if I worried you.”
You didn’t worry me, dumbass! If I said this out loud, it’d be our usual banter. But I didn’t say it. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Huh?”
“Is it wrong for me to worry about you?”
Ushio was my safe space. No matter what happened in the world, as long as I was with him, I knew I would be fine. Knowing that gave me the courage to go back out there. He knew everything about me and said he loved all of me. But what about him? Thus far, I had never stopped to imagine him feeling vulnerable and needing help.
The condensation on the aluminum can dampened my fingers as Ushio withdrew his smile—not to a total blank slate, mind you, but to something softer, weaker. It was so unlike him that it made my heart skip a beat.
“If I worry about you, will it ruin the economy?” I asked. “The birth rate? The air quality?!”
Why was it that silence made me panic, anyway? Was it a side effect of my job? Or was I just a coward? Ugh, I shouldn’t have said that. He’s just going to play it off as a joke, isn’t he… Fortunately, his answer came in a calm, serious tone of voice.
“No, I don’t think that at all. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
But serious answers were nerve-racking in their own way. I looked everywhere but at him, sputtering out a “g-good.” It was funny—I’d never have this much trouble recovering from a broadcasting hiccup.
“It’s just…hard to drown out the self-loathing long enough to accept it.”
“You’re an idiot!” I reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Having someone care about you when you hit a rough patch means you should hate yourself? How arrogant can you possibly be? You’ve always been a little too full of yourself. You wanna act like a free spirit? Then ditch the ego! Gimme a break!”
“Yeahhh, you’re right.”
“Stick to low hurdles like the pleb you are!” I said.
“Very convincing, coming from the guy whose bar is raised through the roof.”
No, that’s pole vaulting! Totally different! “Look, this isn’t about me.”
I refused to lower my hurdles, and if I tripped over them and made Ushio worry, all I had to do was get back up and keep running. So why couldn’t he take a page out of my book for a change?
“Yeah… You always make it look so easy, don’t you?” he murmured, planting a kiss on the back of my hand. He smiled. “You were handsome up there. As always.”
“Damn right I was.”
“But you shouldn’t lose your temper just ’cause some girl talked to me. When it comes to competition, I have way more to worry about than you.”
“I did not lose my temper!” I countered.
“Wait, you didn’t? I was trying to make it up to you and everything!” He confiscated my beer and put both cans on the windowsill.
“I was gonna drink that!”
“Save it for later.”
I never noticed the rustle my necktie made when I removed it myself, but with his hand at my throat, the sound was making my eardrums tingle.
“You’re pretty tough stuff, aren’t you?” he whispered wistfully as he draped the fabric over the back of the sofa.
“Yeah, what of it?”
“And so modest too. I was just thinking it must be hard work to have to wear stuffy old suits every day.”
“Every office worker in this country officially hates you now,” I said.
“How come?”
“It’s not ‘hard work’! We’re all forced into wearing them! You no-schedule types love to say how it’s ‘so cool’ that we go to work at a set time and ride around on packed trains, but we all know you’re just humblebragging!”
“You think I don’t have a schedule?”
“How else could you show up at someone else’s workplace and reserve a hotel room on a whim?” But, of course, I knew his calendar wasn’t literally empty.
“Well, I think you rock the hell out of a suit, Kunieda-san,” he remarked as he smugly unbuttoned my shirt.
“I mean, pretty much anyone can make a suit look decent. That’s why it’s standard office wear.”
“Okay, well, I like it when you wear them.”
“Gee, sorry I don’t always dress up for you!”
“Oh, relax. I like your scuzzy old tracksuit too,” he said.
“That’s not a compliment.” As we bickered, my shirt was spread wide open. “Wait, but you said you like it when I wear my suit…”
“Dumbo.” He said it in the tone of voice reserved exclusively for the bedroom. “Obviously, I like you best when you’re wearing nothing at all. That’s a view I don’t have to share with anyone else.”
“Gah! You’re the dumbo!” I shot back.
“Yes, yes, I know, I know.”
I thought he was going to take me to the bed, but instead, he turned me around to face the back of the couch and embraced me from behind. It was a deep couch, so there was plenty of room, but with my elbows supporting my weight on the windowsill, I could see my reflection overlapping with the nightscape. Suddenly, I didn’t know where to look anymore. I thought about asking him to lower the blinds, but knew it’d be no use; on the contrary, it’d probably have the opposite effect. I thought I suppressed my memories of having sex in front of a mirror, but here they were again at the forefront of my mind. Why did this make my gauge flip from rejection to arousal?
“Oh, are you getting into it?” he asked.
“I told you, quit reading my mind!”
“I’m not. I can just…feel it, I guess.”
My undershirt was just a thin fabric that did little to conceal my pounding heartbeat. The slightest brush of cotton against my bare skin made me feel as though he could practically see it throbbing in my chest.
“Mmm…”
To avoid having an awkward date with my reflection, I lowered my head and fixed my gaze on the untouched beer cans—their labels, their countries of origin, alcohol content, all the little details I never even thought to notice until now. But of course, my brain processed exactly none of it.
A hand slid down my back. He hiked up my shirt and undershirt in a single swipe and then slowly, painstakingly caressed the curve of my spine, admiring its feel and structure. Unlike my hair or face, that wasn’t a part of my body I paid special attention to, so it was both arousing and embarrassing.
“Beautiful,” Ushio muttered, perhaps to himself. I could feel my heart melting.
“Just call me handsome and be done with it.”
“Does it really matter?” he laughed. “I mean it. It’s beautiful.” He planted a kiss there. “Not a single mole or freckle. A perfectly blank canvas… Did you know that?”
No, I didn’t. Obviously, I didn’t spend a lot of time examining my own back.
“Well, I’d hate to spoil it, but I think I wanna give you some hickeys. They’ll fade soon enough.” His whisper tickled my skin, and the next moment, a small prickle of pain shot up my spine.
“Mmh!”
Again and again, I felt pillowy-soft lips pressed against my skin, followed by a sucking sensation. Simultaneously, his deft, firm hands slid around to my front to tease and grope my already-hard nipples. As the tiny peaks swelled from the stimulation, he flicked them with his fingers.
“Aah… Aah!”
Forced to straddle the line between pleasure and pain, I cried out. The can in front of me glistened with condensation, reminiscent of the scales of a fish. The little beads of water were smaller before, but like me, they were starting to melt.
Ushio pulled away from my back and traced over the peppered hickeys with his finger. I couldn’t imagine what they looked like, but I could tell it was turning him on. And if my body was making him horny, that in turn was making me horny, and back and forth and so on. Our lust was snowballing. We didn’t need words or even eye contact—we were communicating on our very own wavelength. By the time he unbuckled my belt and lowered my pants to my knees, I was ready.
“Aah… Mmm!” The pleasure stemming from his hands was slowly rousing my cock. “Aah, aah, ngh!”
He engulfed every inch of my length, stroking upwards to encourage it to grow even more. His fingers felt more like parasitic tendrils, intent on absorbing every last drop of my arousal and paralyzing me in return. After all, that would explain why I couldn’t move my limbs.
“Mmm… Aah, aah…!”
It was strange how my blood and desire made my cock swell so thick, but it didn’t lower itself whatsoever. Instead, it curved skyward, exposing the seam on its underside, practically begging for its most sensitive spot to get some attention.
“…Your back’s turning pink,” Ushio commented as he ran his free hand along its gentle slope. I suspected the flush of heat was more visible through the thin skin there. “I went to all that trouble to put hickeys on you, and now I can’t even see ’em. Alas.”
“Shut up…!”
“I should’ve sucked harder.” He curled his fingers into a circle shape and teased the edges of my glans. “Should’ve left bruises…”
“No!”
“What do you care? I’m the only one who’ll see ’em.”
“It sounds painful!”
“…Well now, that just makes me want to do it more.” His fingers moved just below my shoulder blade, and he dug his nails in lightly.
“Stop!” I whined.
“I’m just teasing,” he smirked wryly. At that, my tensed body relaxed again—and at that exact moment, he dragged his tongue up my back, making me shudder like a fever chill.
“Aaahh!”
“You only love pleasure, don’t you?” he teased.
Doesn’t everyone? But then he started coating his hand with my precum, and suddenly my tongue felt too sluggish to work properly. And here I called myself a newscaster.
My nasally moans begged sweetly for more. “Aah, mmm… Haah, aah…!”
“Stuff like this…?”
His fingers formed a tunnel around my exposed glans and squeezed, adding tight friction. My precum on his hand added a loud, sticky sound to his motions, and at that point, I was basically having sex with his hand.
“Ngh! Aaahh, mmmm!”
His stroking grew faster and faster. My breaths turned shallower, and all my senses focused solely on my cock.
“You love this, don’t you?”
“Mm, yeah,” I moaned. “Ah, aah, aah…!”
The pressure from his fingers vanished, but it was fine, as I was long past the point of no return. I squirted into his palm as he held it over my tip.
By this point, tiny trails of water trickled down the silver beer cans. For whatever reason, be it the airflow in the room or some sort of microscopic indentations, the streams were corrupted—twisting and turning and refusing to stay straight. It was oddly sexy.
As my body went limp, I nearly flopped onto the sofa, but then I felt something cold and sticky touch my ass, prompting me to stay on my knees.
“You even brought the lube…?” I asked.
“You do know what ‘get a room’ means, right?”
His fingers were lubed up, but he didn’t slide them inside. Instead, he simply pressed the clear fluid against my tiny orifice, then traced it up and down my perineal raphe.
“Mm…!”
Now that it had learned the pleasure of sex, my entrance gradually grew impatient and contracted on its own accord. Ushio traced along the rim, tugging on the invisible strings of my lust and making me tighten. The tiny hole writhed, frustrated by what wasn’t yet inside it.
“Stop that, Ushio…!” I whined.
“Hm?”
“Why are you doing that?”
“I was worried it might hurt.”
He rubbed me gently, but it only had the opposite effect on me. I bucked my hips in frustration.
“You don’t like pain, right?” he asked.
“But…”
“Well?”
“This is different, stupid!” I knew it wouldn’t hurt because he would make sure of that. And even if it did…I wouldn’t care. “I…I thought I told you not to bully me…!”
“Oh, right.” He nuzzled against the back of my ear. “You’re just so cute, I can’t help myself.” Naturally, his excuse was flimsy at best, and obnoxious at worst. “Will you stop loving me if I keep doing it?”
“Your approval rating is crashing at the speed of light.”
“For real?”
“Aah…!” I cried out suddenly. A tiny fraction—no more than the length of a fingernail—slid into me. As he wriggled his finger in my entrance, my depths ached.
“Well, your ass sure seems to approve of me.”
“Ha ha, very funny…!”
“What?”
“Who do you think made it that way, huh?!” If it wasn’t for him, my ass wouldn’t feel arousal, or take cocks, or bring me to climax at all.
“Want me to stop?”
“…No…” I relented. “So just…!”
I wanted him to hurry up and touch my furthest depths—the parts of me only he knew.
“Nnngh!” His lube-slickened finger felt like a long tongue as it entered me. “Aah…! Mmph!” Lust boiled impatiently in my gut, giving rise to another erection.
“Wow, even your depths are soft.”
No shit, idiot! My insides were already begging for something bigger than a finger, but they weren’t warmed up enough for sex yet, and I was left to endure the agonizing wetness. This was all Ushio’s fault for teasing me.
“You…are such…a dick…!” I panted.
“What’s my approval rating at now?” he asked. He seemed to have some awareness of the torture he was putting me through because he added a finger and started prodding at the button that would make my walls soft and compliant. He was taking shortcuts and I was jostled along for the ride, which made the pleasure almost painfully intense.
“Aaahh, gah…aah, aah! Fif…ty…five…percent…!” In reality, I was just reading the ABV on the beer can in front of me—
5.5 percent.
“That’s not great. I’m in trouble.”
Two fingers spread me open while a slick third thrust in and out. The hotel lights were dim by default, but I knew Ushio could surely see my hole asking for penetration. “No, knock it off!”
“I gotta fix my approval rating, don’t I?”
And at last, the cock my whole body lusted for was positioned at my entrance. In fact, I was embarrassed by how easily it slid right in. For Ushio, it must have disappeared from sight in the blink of an eye.
“Aaahh, aaahh!”
My walls shamelessly pulled him in deeper, toward the male body’s most sensitive spot. In my head, I knew he was all the way in, but my ass kept trying to take more. Naturally, the pleasure from doing so shot straight to my dick with a shudder.
“Damn… Feels like you’re sucking me dry…” he groaned.
“Aah…! Gah, aaahh, nnngh!”
He gave a few experimental thrusts, my insides easily adapting each time. The large, well-crafted couch supported our weight without so much as a creak. As a result, the wet squish of the lube was more audible than ever, as was Ushio’s heavy breathing; he almost sounded like an angry predator animal, the sound ravaging my ears in time to the rhythmic motions. Did my moans sound like the cries of his prey, reserved only for him?
“Haah…!”
“Aah, nnn, nngh, aaahh…!”
Every time his engorged length pounded into me, my walls became hotter and softer. And as the pleasure steadily took over my brain, I no longer cared if my whole body melted into syrup, muscles and organs and all. He switched between rough and gentle, shallow and deep, taking me up the staircase to climax with no way down—and once I ran out of stairs, I knew I would fall headfirst. But the fear of orgasm taking over my thoughts was quickly vaporized by him pummeling my prostate.
“Hnnn—aah! Ushio! Ushio…!”
Under the beer cans, the cold condensation had fully devolved into a shallow puddle of lukewarm water. If we kept fucking, would our lust turn it into steam next? Weird, sure, but my body felt so hot, it seemed well within the realm of possibility. My senses kept jumping between the raw pleasure and the heat like someone flipping channels on a remote. It was sweet, delicious torture.
“Gah, nngh, aaahh!” I cried out. He reached for my fully reloaded manhood, and the pleasure hit me twofold, penetrating all the way to my spine. “Aah, aah! Ushio!”
“Hnngh…!”
“Aaahh, aah… Ngh, aah…!” The ejaculation from his monstrous erection felt both forceful and heavy inside me. I felt myself twitch and take it all in, and in that very same thrust, I came on his hand a second time.
“Kei…”
He yanked me up, straightening my torso so that he could kiss me with his dick still in my ass. We were both already out of breath, so we pecked hungrily at each other’s lips before coming up for air at last. With my head turned, I caught a glimpse of the window—which I hadn’t given much thought to in the heat of the moment—and in it, a glimpse of Ushio’s reflection.
Was I seeing things, or…was there a dark emptiness lurking in his eyes?
An icy shiver rooted me to the spot in an instant. The deep charcoal black I saw seemed to absorb all light…but I only saw it for a split second. Maybe it was just the night sky?
Then our kiss deepened, and as I felt the dick in my ass start to harden again, I soon lost interest in that mystery.
***
In bed, as I was drifting off, I heard Ushio muttering to himself. “Next, I wanna make a sequel for those astronauts…”
From our show’s opening?
“Yeah.”
I was so drowsy that I couldn’t tell if I was actually speaking out loud or not, but since he replied, I guess I must have. Or maybe this was a dream. Wait, but if this was work, wouldn’t he need to consult with our intellectual property lawyers to reuse those characters…? It seemed complicated.
About what?
“They’ll go on a journey and find a new planet to live on.”
What kind?
“Haven’t decided yet. What kind of planet would you like?”
…Roast beef… Sushi…
“Okay, I’ll make a note of it.”
Seriously?
That time, I don’t think I really said anything. I was sliding down, down, down—from reality into dreamland, or from a shallow sleep into something deeper.
***
“…Okay, I’ll be there shortly. I should get there in the evening… No, thanks.”
When I woke, once again, the first thing I heard was Ushio’s voice. The feel of an unfamiliar pillow stirred me awake, and I rolled over. Then I remembered—Oh, right, we spent the night at a hotel.
“You awake?” he asked. He must have heard the bedsheets rustling.
“Mmh…”
“Breakfast is ready when you are.”
Being easily bought, I snapped myself awake and sat up in bed. Ushio was already dressed and packed up.
“You can stay here until 2 p.m. at the latest. Just be sure to drop your keycard off in the little box in the underground parking lot. I’ll pay for the room.”
Curiously, I peered at the room service cart, sitting there decked out in a white tablecloth. When I lifted the shiny silver cloche lid, I found an omelet with strips of bacon, a basket of bread, a cup of yogurt, and some fruit—a classic American-style breakfast.
But there was only one portion.
“…What about you?” I asked.
“Urgent work stuff came up. I gotta get going.”
Was that who he was talking to over the phone? Did someone enlist his help to film or edit a video?
“Gotta hole up and work overtime for a while.”
“At your house?”
“No, I won’t be home,” he said.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Depends on how long they need me. I’ll be in touch. See you later.”
The hell? One minute he was free as a bird, and the next, he was all business. Then again, at least he wasn’t burned-out anymore. I turned on the TV, poured myself some fresh coffee from the pot, and sat down to eat.
Did that conversation about the astronauts actually happen in real life? I forgot to ask. Oh well—it wasn’t important. It could wait until after he got back. As I spread some fluffy whipped butter onto my toast, I watched it melt in mere seconds.
***
Exactly one week had passed since the day Ushio showed up at the station for a surprise tour. In the newsroom, I rose from my chair and was about to head to my nightly meeting when Tatsuki came chasing after me.
“Kunieda-san! Did Tsuzuki-san break his phone or get a new one or something?”
“What?”
“Tell him he should have told me he got a new number, will you?” Tatsuki said. “Sheesh, he can be a real heartless jerk sometimes…”
“…What?” The hell are you talking about? Confused, I stopped short and looked at him.
He looked back at me with some confusion of his own. “Last time we went drinking together, we talked about going out to Osaka to play baseball, yeah? So here I am, getting the boys together, but when I went to ask him about his schedule, all of a sudden…”
He pulled out his cell phone and opened LINE. The on-screen text read: Account not found.
“I was like, ‘WTF, man?’ So I tried texting his number, but it wouldn’t send… Wait, are you telling me you didn’t know about it?”
“Well… He told me he was going to hole up and focus on his work, so I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
Thus far, there were times when he’d sleep over at some studio to get work done, and I always made sure not to contact him while he was there. The last LINE conversation we had was last week, which was also the last time I saw him in person, when he said “See you later” on his way out of the hotel room. As far as I could recall, his behavior seemed pretty normal at the time.
“…Senpai, let’s grab an elevator real quick,” Tatsuki suggested, seeming to read the silent alarm in my eyes. Once we were in private, he continued. “Are you able to see his LINE account on your end?”
“I only brought my work phone today.”
“Well, it’s possible he dropped his phone in the toilet or something and had to buy a whole new one… Or like, maybe he wanted to get a number that’s easier to remember?”
Perhaps he was just waiting until his work was finished to reach out and let me know. Maybe it really was that simple. I could picture him calling me up later on and saying, “Oh, did I scare you, Mr. Worrywart?” when I tried to complain.
“I mean, he’s not the kind of coward who’d dump a guy by ghosting him, right?”
“Don’t jinx it!” I hissed.
“What? I was trying to reassure you.”
“Well, it’s not working!”
Seriously, I was completely blindsided. Was he mad about the roast beef and sushi thing? How was I supposed to think of a decent fantasy setting when I was half-asleep?! Before I could sort out my thoughts, the elevator arrived at its destination, and the doors opened to reveal Ush—no, of course it wasn’t him.
It was the worst possible alternative: that grumpy old politician again.
“Whoa!” Having lost my composure, I inadvertently let out a little yelp of surprise.
“That’s not very respectful,” Eba scowled. Yeah, well, maybe you should be respectful of my fucking emotional crisis right now!
“Got another recording session, Grandpa Eba?”
“I do, but I also had a question, so I was waiting for you.”
“You could have used the PA system, sir.”
“Nah, I couldn’t ask ’em to go to the trouble over my personal business.”
“I take it your question’s for me? Because if it’s about the election, I’m afraid my answer hasn’t changed,” I told him calmly, if a little annoyed. Stubborn old geezer! I don’t have time for this!
“No,” he said, shaking his head. I couldn’t imagine what else he might want from me. “Well, I guess technically it is. See, you were palling around with Wakamiya Junior last week, remember?”
“What?” I asked.
“That’s why I thought you were setting up to move in that direction.”
“You mean Tsuzuki-san?” Tatsuki asked on my behalf as I stared blankly.
“Tsuzuki?” Eda replied.
“That’s the name of the guy who was with us. I think you might have the wrong person, sir. His name’s not Wakamiya.”
“It’s not?”
Clearly this doddering old fool had the wrong guy. Not once had Ushio ever said the name Wakamiya. And yet…my heart was pounding in my chest.
Wakamiya Homare. At last, I understood why he gave me such a fright when our eyes met—he looked like Ushio, but with all the love and affection surgically removed. It was terrifying. And not only that, but I was starting to think there was a reason I was asked to host that event. I mean, was it really normal for a high-ranking politician to “swing by to say hi”?
Fighting to keep my composure, I asked Eba, “Are you on close terms with Legislator Wakamiya?”
“Ehhh… More so with his father. Back in those days, we used to paint the town red all night long. So in that sense, I guess I should’ve said Wakamiya Junior-Junior. I was so sure it was him since it felt like he was avoiding me on purpose… Then again, I haven’t seen his face in years. Guess I’m getting old… It’s my job to recognize people, damnit…”
“How many years has it been, exactly?”
“The last I saw him was at his mother’s funeral, so that would have been more than a decade ago. He was still in junior high or thereabouts, and I’ll never forget the sight of him standing there alone, holding a framed photo of her and not a single tear in his eye. I tell you, after all the horrors his family’s gone through…” The old man’s voice was uncharacteristically sentimental. “Anyway, sorry to bother you.” And with that, he left.
Tatsuki elbowed me lightly and pointed to a studio that was still mercifully empty. As soon as we entered, he turned to me. “What’s this about Wakamiya?”
“Wakamiya Homare. You’ve heard the name, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, the politician? Wait, so…that’s Tsuzuki-san’s dad…?” He fell silent for a moment, then gently placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hang in there, pal.”
“Hang in where?!”
“I’m just saying, it’s gotta be rough dating on opposite ends of the class divide.”
“Are you dissing the Kunieda name, asshole?”
“What, you guys rich or something?”
“I’ll have you know, I hail from a respectable middle-class family!” I snapped. “Besides, I don’t know for sure if it’s true. If it is, though, he’s got a lot of nerve to be some politician’s spoiled son…and with a hoity-toity rich-person name like Wakamiya…”
“Uhh… You guys are dating, right…?”
Was Tsuzuki just a fake name? No, it couldn’t be. He got a letter from his “grandma” with the same last name as him. Clearly, the name came from his mother’s side… But then again, I had no concrete proof that the woman was actually his grandmother either. The more I thought about it, the deeper the rabbit hole went…
“You seriously don’t know if it’s true?” He shot me an exasperated look. “Don’t people normally tell their significant others about their families at some point over the course of a several-year-long relationship? Then again, I guess you’re not normal…”
“Oh, shut up!”
Sure, I had wondered here and there, but it wasn’t like I was planning to follow all the traditional steps to marry him. Our relationship was between the two of us. I didn’t want the outside world peeking in and getting all up in our business. That was why I didn’t know a single thing about Ushio’s social circles, and as a result, I had no clue where he was working or who to even ask. No matter what happened, he would choose me, and he would always be waiting for me when I got home. Surely that hadn’t changed.
“…Oh, that reminds me,” Tatsuki muttered suddenly.
“What?”
“Well, it might be totally unrelated, but the other day…like, week before last? When we were drinking, he asked me how you were doing.”
“He did? What’d you say?”
“Well, it seemed like you’ve…opened up to people, I guess?”
“Hey!” I grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t fill his head with bullshit! I have not!”
“Look, man, it was just the impression I got!”
“Well, what’d he say?”
“Not much. Just kinda like, ‘Oh, cool,’ and that was it.”
Why would he ask that? I wanted to find out, but the person with the answer was currently AWOL and possibly ghosting everyone. It was so frustrating. And the more I thought about the things I didn’t know, the more I started to get scared and wonder what exactly I did know. Sure, he wasn’t an open book, but I didn’t need him to be; he was a very communicative boyfriend, and our relationship was going well.
Or…maybe it was all just in my head.
Maybe he never actually meant a word of it.
***
After the broadcast, I dashed out of the studio, hung up my work clothes faster and sloppier than ever before, and ran down to the basement parking lot. I didn’t even have the composure to make up an excuse about some urgent, last-minute assignment. First things first, I’d go back to my condo and check my personal phone. Next, I’d grab my spare key and go to Ushio’s house. And then, once I combed his place and determined I had the wrong idea, I’d tear him a new one for giving me that wrong idea in the first place. I planned it all out in the taxi.
Tonight, I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to worry about spying reporters. I ran into the condo building, mashed the elevator button, fidgeted the whole way up to my floor, and when I finally reached my front door, I put in my key and unlocked it. And there…I came to a stop.
The lights were on, and Ushio’s sneakers were in my entryway.
This same scenario had happened once before, back when I was on the verge of a breakdown. Back then, I wasn’t happy to see those shoes since I knew I’d lash out the second I saw his face—but this time, things were completely different. Clearly I was worried for nothing. He was done with his job, and now here he was. This was, by all accounts, a relief.
So why couldn’t I bring myself to feel even the tiniest bit happy? If I kicked my shoes off, walked into the living room, and said hi, we could have a normal night…and yet I didn’t budge. My heart, my stomach, my lungs—they were all quivering in my chest, afraid that something bad was going to happen the moment he opened the single door that kept us apart.
“…Welcome home,” said Ushio as he peeked in from the living room. But I couldn’t bring myself to say, “I’m back.” No, what I said was…
“Wakamiya Homare.”
His expression clouded over, and I knew Eba was right. Tsuzuki Ushio was, in fact, Wakamiya Ushio.
“Old man Eba was concerned about you when he saw you the other day.”
“…Ah.” He let out a breath. “Man, he’s something else. I knew he might recognize me, but I figured it’d been long enough since we last met in person. At my mother’s vigil, after we lit the funerary incense, I remember him walking up and ruffling my hair real hard… Totally caught me off guard, but I appreciated it.”
There was so much I didn’t know, and I had no clue where to start. The invisible balloon over my head swelled and swelled, like in one of those TV game shows. If I didn’t give the right answer, it would pop—but what was the right answer? Instead, all that filled my mind was formless panic.
“See, my mom died when I was in my third year of junior high… Wait, let me back up.” He frowned and scratched his forehead. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one having trouble thinking straight. “It’s hard to talk about my life in chronological order. My father was a politician, my mother was a ‘politician’s wife,’ and neither of them felt much like parents. I can’t remember having many conversations with my dad… What I do remember is back in first grade, I won an award for a drawing I did over summer break. My dad was home that day, so I went to show him, and he said to me in a deadpan voice, ‘Ushio, you don’t need to do these things.’”
His fingers tapped his temples like they were knocking the memories loose.
“If he said it was a shitty drawing, or that he was too busy to bother with me, I would’ve understood. ‘Oh, okay, Dad’s in a bad mood.’ But instead I got, ‘You don’t need to do these things,’ and I was like, ‘What does that even mean? Don’t draw? Don’t come show you? Don’t try to bond with you?’ Honestly, I still don’t get it.”
“…What about your mom?” I asked.
“Well… Everything she ever said revolved around him. ‘You’ll embarrass your father,’ or ‘Your father would like that.’ One time I asked her what she thought, and she looked at me like I grew a second head. I suspect she honestly didn’t understand what I was asking. Even as a kid, I could tell she only cared about being a politician’s wife. Every election, she’d get way more invested than Dad himself, holding meet and greets every day, making a mountain of onigiri for the supporters’ association… It was crazy to watch.”
There was a palpable distance in his last sentence, more like it was something he watched on TV. He seemed to sense this.
“Man, I suck at telling this story, don’t I?” He shook his head. “Anyway, my parents were both super serious and worked their asses off, and I knew it was for that reason we had a big house and I went to a fancy private school and all the other aspects of my life. Whenever I walked down the street, people would say, ‘Tell your father I said hi,’ or they’d brag to me about how they took a picture with him. Because of that, well, I had a decent amount of respect for him myself. People were always coming in and out of our house. We had housekeepers and my dad’s secretary too, so I didn’t need attention from my parents anyway. But I knew for a fact I didn’t want to have the same job as my dad, no matter how special or important it was. I wasn’t trying to rebel—I just sincerely wasn’t interested.”
He told me how he hated schoolwork and would always doodle in his textbooks. All talk of money aside, I could easily imagine how uncomfortable it must have been to live at the esteemed Wakamiya estate.
“The winter of my third year of junior high, the House got dissolved right at the start of the new year. All of a sudden, it was election season, and just as I was prepared to watch my house turn into a battlefield all over again…my mom got sick and died.”
Just like that, he tossed it out so abruptly. Maybe it was a representation of how sudden it felt to him at the time.
“Caught pneumonia from running around in the snow. She must have been enduring a lot—it was a cold year, and the election wasn’t looking too good for us. But of course, my father’s secretary always said there’s no such thing as an easy election. Anyway, she was pregnant at the time. I would have had a little brother or sister, not sure which.”
Their family would have grown by one…if only his mother had taken better care of her health? If only there was no election that winter? If only his father wasn’t a politician? I wasn’t sure what Ushio was thinking.
“I was just a kid, so I was confused why people kept caring about the election after she died. I figured they should take time off for mourning, like I did from school. But they didn’t. At the vigil, I overheard people talking about it. ‘Why did it have to be now, when we’re so busy?’ ‘Well, Wakamiya-kun’s basically guaranteed to win after this.’ ‘The voters love a good sob story’…” He paused. “C’mon, don’t look at me like that.”
It was only then I realized I was grimacing.
“To this day, it still doesn’t upset me, oddly enough. All those strangers joking about asking their wives to die strategically, and yet it feels more like I caught a glimpse of someone else’s dream. You know, it’s funny—after my pops won his election, they put a photo in the paper of him standing at my mom’s grave. It was a beautiful shot, pure white snow all around him…and I fucking despised it.”
For the first time, anger rose up in his eyes, visible even to me.
“I thought it was fucked up to use her death for his own ends. He could have told those reporters to get lost and let him grieve in peace, but instead he let them take photos and write their shitty articles. For the first time in my life, I fought with him. He wouldn’t listen. And when he knocked me flat on my ass…I just thought about Mom. Sure, I was mad, but would she be upset? No, absolutely not. As much as I hate to say it…it was exactly what she would have wanted.”
The whole time he told this story, his hands were clenched into tight fists. I worried he might pop—my balloon, that is. But I didn’t know what I could say or do to help.
“That was the first time I ever felt alone,” he continued. “I realized I didn’t belong there. So after I graduated junior high, I left. From there, I got help from my grandma, worked a few part-time jobs, got my GED…and when I made it to my twentieth birthday, it was a huge weight off my shoulders. At that point, I didn’t need anyone else. I worked until I could support myself with just one job…and here I am.”
Here, as in, here with me. All we needed was the present and future. I couldn’t talk to the past Ushio—he was beyond my reach—so…
“But that’s all in the past, right?” I asked.
“Right.”
“Here you are. It’s over. Right?”
That time, I didn’t get a “right” in return.
“When rumors started going around about you running in the election, I suspected the worst. I tried to shake it off—told myself that these things happened all the time. Even when my clients canceled their projects with me, I told myself it was just a matter of bad timing. But I heard someone from the Diet came to your event, so I looked it up on the Asabi TV website and saw my dad’s name. That was when I knew it was no coincidence. I had to confront him. So, I met with his secretary for the first time since ninth grade.”
“…And then what?” I asked.
“Their long-term vision is for me to carry on the family legacy. Me, the prodigal son who’s been wandering around for half of his life. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”
He let out a flat laugh—mirthless, to be sure, but the anger from earlier was gone. Like everything was all beyond his control and he didn’t have the energy to fight it.
“But you’re not going to, right?” I asked, fear driving my voice louder than normal. “You’re not going to. You can just ignore it. Right?”
“I don’t know,” came his answer. “They don’t expect me to turn into a politician overnight, so I don’t know what’s going to happen. But they do expect me to move back home, so…I did. I’ve spent the past week contacting people to clear my schedule. All I know for sure is…I need to find a permanent solution for this or my family problems will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was naïve to think I actually cut ties with them.”
“So you deleted your LINE account? And changed your phone number? You were planning to vanish, weren’t you?”
This was the home he’d spent the past ten-plus years building for himself, all alone. Meanwhile, I was living at my parents’ house, never thinking twice about what it’d feel like to be so lonely.
He simply stood there, staring back at me with a look of mild sympathy, like I just told him about a war happening in some distant country. Even in a literal crisis, he somehow had no complaints, needed no advice.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked him the biggest question on my mind—the one I was most desperate, and simultaneously most terrified, to have answered.
“…Is it because of me?”
These people were harassing me, not Ushio himself. That meant they had to know at least a little about our relationship, or possibly the whole story. I was the one with two faces; I was the one with secrets to hide. And Ushio was always there to protect me…
“No.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
How could I keep him here? What were the magic words? I wished I could give him back even an ounce of the same strength he gave me.
“Don’t… Don’t leave.” I nearly said, Don’t go home, but fuck that. I grabbed him by the wrist. “Just ignore them and don’t go. If I can’t be a politician, then there’s no way in hell you can!”
He smiled softly. “I agree with you 100 percent.”
Don’t give me that! “I mean it. Don’t go.”
“I really wish I didn’t have to, but the absolute last thing I want to do is cause more problems for you. I’ve thought it over a hundred times, and I just can’t do it.”
“Why not?!?!” I screamed. “I’ve always trusted you with my problems! All of them! And I have no intention of stopping!”
“Okay, but this time the problem’s on a whole different level. You get that, right?”
“No! I don’t!” Because I knew the second I accepted it, it was over. “Look, I don’t care what kind of dirt your shitty old man has on me. He can spread it around to whoever he wants. I’ll just quit my job, and everyone will stop caring! That’s all I have to do!”
Let’s run away and find a happy life together in a place where no one will bother us. Let’s go on a journey to find that new planet… Wait, is that what you meant? You still gotta make that sequel, right? It can’t end here! The sleepless night with your back turned, the dark look in your eyes when we made love—I’ll pay more attention from now on! There is going to be a “from now on,” right?
“You can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not? You think I wanna let you take the fall while I go on TV like everything’s fine?!”
“No.”
“Then—”
He shook my hand from his wrist, then pulled me into a tight hug. I could smell his scent, feel his warmth…and feel his whole body shaking.
“I know you don’t want this. It’s not you, it’s me…” he said. “I want to keep seeing you on TV every day. So if I forced you to lose your career for good, I’d never forgive myself, and I’d never be able to look you in the eye again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love your news persona. When I visited the studio, I was nothing but impressed with you. You may still think you don’t love your job, but I know you’re wrong. You love it—even the parts you hate. That’s why you sparkle out there. And I refuse to damage your professional reputation.”
“That’s not what you said a while ago,” I replied. “You said you hated me going on TV.”
“Yeah, and if I’m honest, it still aggravates me. But it makes me happy too. I love seeing the great Kunieda Kei doing his best. The man I love meets responsibility head-on without missing a beat.”
“But that’s…!” I choked back the panicked urge to bite down on his collarbone. “That’s only because you were there for me… The pilot episode, the remote broadcast… With you there, I knew I could do anything I tried… I can’t do those things alone…!”
I wanted to change his mind, even if it meant I had to disgrace myself by crying and throwing a fit. I was willing to wail and flail and make him feel like an absolute monster if he walked out on me. So why wouldn’t the stupid tears come?
“Yes, you can.” The delivery was sweet, but the sentiment was cruel as anything. “You’re strong enough to do anything you put your mind to. No one else stands a chance.”
“I’m telling you, I can’t!”
“If anything, I was the leech in this relationship,” he said. “You supported me, protected me, and gave me a place to belong.”
“I don’t want this!”
“I’m sorry for getting you involved in this.”
“That’s not the issue!”
“Thanks for everything.”
“Ushio!”
He hugged me so tightly I could scarcely breathe, let alone speak.
“…It’s okay. I’ll see you again,” he told me. “Until then, I’ll see you on TV.”
What, am I going to bump into an overdressed Wakamiya Ushio onstage at some stupid ceremony? That’s not the real you!
“Thank you, Kei. I love you,” he whispered. “That’s why I have to leave now.”
And in that instant, the balloon over my head silently burst.
***
My cell phone alarm snapped me back to my senses. It was early afternoon, the usual time I woke up, but I found myself sitting on the sofa with my coat still on. Either I fell asleep or I simply zoned out, and I wasn’t sure which.
Oh, right. Time to go to work. As I wobbled to my feet, I felt a strange weight in my coat pocket, so I reached inside. There, I found something cold and hard: a key. It was the spare key to my place, which I’d given to Ushio. Last I remembered, he was clenching it in his fist, but at some point he must have slid it into my pocket and left. I rolled it around on my palm. It was surprisingly weightless.
The events of last night had happened just a few short hours ago, and yet my memories were fogged up like frosted glass. My brain must really not want to accept it, I thought to myself with detached clarity.
First, I took a shower and skimmed the morning news. Next, I poached an egg in a pot of instant miso soup, poured it over a bowl of rice, and ate it for breakfast. Then I got dressed and left for work at the usual time. If not for the strict schedule of my show, I might have dawdled between.
Before I stepped out the front door, I noticed that it was locked. Ushio couldn’t have done it, so that meant I must have locked the door behind him at some point—a smart move, though I couldn’t remember it whatsoever. My spare key to Ushio’s place still dangled from the hook inside the shoebox door. If you’re going to leave yours, you should at least have taken mine, I scoffed silently. But then I realized he probably didn’t have the capacity to think that far, and for the first time, my heart ached sharply.
I grabbed the key and ran outside. It was so cold that I imagined my exhaled breath tracing an arc behind me. The shortened daylight hours were already on their way out; the sun slipped beneath the cloud cover and refused to offer me its warmth. As long as it doesn’t snow, I thought to myself. Ushio doesn’t like snow.
The jagged metal stabbed into my palm as I clenched it tightly in my fist, heading to Ushio’s house like a little kid running an errand. What if he was still there? Would it just be a repeat of last night? And if he wasn’t there, what would I do then? Gather up my things—just clothes, really—and leave my spare key in the mailbox like a good sport?
I did have a basic understanding of what was happening. But in my mind, Ushio smiled at me, sitting and working at his computer, or washing dishes, or doing laundry.
—Look at you, running on your hind legs! What are you in such a hurry for?
—I had a bad dream.
—Let me guess: you couldn’t eat your roast beef and sushi?
—Yeah.
—Poor thing.
If only I could use the thoughts in my head to create something, like Ushio could. If only I could mold a new reality for us to live in—a dollhouse, just for us. We wouldn’t need anyone or anything.
And so I ran all the way to Ushio’s house. But then I arrived at what I could only describe as the place where Ushio’s house once stood.
I could still picture it perfectly: the first floor with its vaulted ceiling, and a second floor slapped haphazardly on top. The stains reminiscent of motor oil, the traces of a bird’s nest. But now, as if those memories had been surgically removed, there sat a square of empty space—a vacant lot between the buildings on either side. No sign, no fence, just dry earth and pebbles, as if it had stood empty for decades. As if I had hallucinated every last minute I’d spent here.
The sky spun in dizzy circles overhead. I didn’t hit the ground, but the spare key did, and I couldn’t pick it up again.
Was this really how far he went? Or was forced to go? What about his equipment? His computer? His sofa? The table and chairs? Pots and pans? The espresso maker? If he stored them somewhere, then I wished he would have put me in storage too. That way, I could have slept until the day he came back for me.
***
There was another gap in my memory because the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the train. It was the same train I took to work every day, and when I checked the time on my phone, I found that less than an hour had passed since I left the house. From that, I could only conclude that I must have gone to the train station in some kind of fugue state. Since no one was giving me funny looks, I must have seemed pretty normal.
What kind of half-assed breakdown was this? No rampage, no self-isolation, no running away—I was just doing my daily routine. Was this what he meant when he said I could do anything? I would have scoffed at myself, had any of it seemed real. Instead, it felt like half of my soul had simply wandered off somewhere else.
As the train jostled me back and forth, a thought casually crossed my mind: What if I quit my job today?
Now there was an idea. If Ushio wanted to make a bunch of one-sided decisions, so could I. “I’ll see you on TV,” my ass! What did it matter if I couldn’t see him too? Why bother working hard when I wouldn’t have anyone to brag to? Screw it—they’d have dozens of replacements lined up in no time. Plus, I had enough savings to play around for a while, and if I went back to being a regular guy, none of the dirt Wakamiya had on me would impact me much at all. Maybe then Ushio would take responsibility for his actions and be my sugar daddy.
This sounded better and better by the minute. In fact, my heart felt lighter. Was there such a thing as a breakup high? I knew my mind couldn’t possibly be thinking logically when it was half-dissociated from reality, but I greatly preferred mania over depression. Maybe I could even announce it on the air. Breaking news: as of this broadcast, I will be retiring from my post. That way, I wouldn’t get cold feet later.
Ushio may have wanted me to keep working, but I was under no obligation to grant the wishes of some guy who abandoned me. I’d sooner destroy it all to punish him. Then maybe he’d be sorry for what he did to me and come crawling back to apologize.
“Good morning.”
I arrived at my newsroom desk at the usual time. When Tatsuki turned up a short while later, he walked straight over to me.
“Kunieda-san! How’d it go yesterday?”
“How did what go?” I asked.
“The stuff with Tsuzuki-san…?”
“Ah.” Once again, I observed that smiles were far easier to create than any other human expression. “He really did break his phone. But he’s busy at the moment, so I suspect he’ll reach out later on.”
“I sure hope so.”
He didn’t seem fully convinced, and I found myself wishing he would just go away. The more I talked, the more likely I would let something slip.
“Kunieda! Got a minute?”
With perfect timing, the department chief waved me over. Relieved, I rose to my feet.
“Meeting Room D.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t pause to consider what this was about, but when I walked in, I realized all the bigwig execs were in attendance, just like last time—except Shitara and Asou were absent.
“Oh, there you are. Have a seat,” the news director said in an uncharacteristically amiable tone. The newsroom chief briskly pulled out a chair for me.
What’s with the warm welcome? Did I already submit my resignation during my fugue state? Are they trying to get me to stay? No. No, I’m quitting, most definitely. Don’t worry, I won’t go freelance.
“Kunieda, could we get you to sign this?” A sheet of paper was slid toward me. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but…well, just think of it as reassurance, for both of us. You understand, right?”
The text on the paper was short and to the point, and I processed it in about two seconds. They wanted me to sign a statement saying I wouldn’t run in the election.
“You don’t have to think too hard about it. Oh, do you have a pen?”
See how stupid these people are? There’s no benefit to me sticking around here. I’m sick of everything and everyone!
With a smile rigidly in place, I began to speak. “I—”
“Coming throoough!”
Just then, the door swung open without warning, and everyone in the room looked past me to the unexpected visitor. Likewise, I hastily turned around.
“Sorry! Am I interrupting?”
“Shitara…” The news director sighed. “We’re in a meeting.”
“If it involves Kunieda, then I think I have the right to be present.” Shitara swiped the written statement sitting in front of me and waved it in the air. “This is your little meeting?” Despite his smile, he looked visibly angry.
“Some here at the station are still nervous about it. Kunieda’s young—I’m sure he doesn’t want to seem like he’s flirting with politics…”
“But he already denied it on the air.”
“And to some, that only added fuel to the fire. As I recall, he was told not to touch the subject at all.”
“Well, as the producer of his show, the authority is mine.”
Shitara’s unhesitating counter nearly made my heart stop. Whoa there, pal… No, wait, it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I’m quitting.
“Looks like you want him to sign a statement! Shall I have Asou mention it on the air?”
“Knock it off, Shitara.”
“So you admit it’s not something you want publicized. Of course not—if it was, it’d be an HR scandal. This scrap of paper isn’t legally binding whatsoever. You want him to sign it just to prove his loyalty? That’s unbelievably insulting. As a producer, it’s my duty to protect my talent. I’m not letting you make Kunieda sign this shit.”
He crumpled up the sheet of paper and left the room with it. With a sidelong glance at the scowls that filled the room, I hurried after him.
“Shitara-san!”
“Hmm?” When he turned to look at me, he was back to his usual lighthearted self. “Sorry about that. Some director must be getting paranoid. I’ll cover for you as much as I can, so just hang tight and tell yourself it’s proof of how much they wanna keep you.”
“…You don’t have to worry about me,” I said.
“Huh? Why’s that?”
“Because I…” I’m going to quit, so you don’t have to throw yourself into the fire to save my skin. “I’m not the kind of person everyone thinks I am.”
“What? I mean, sure, everybody’s like that, right?” He shrugged casually, and I couldn’t tell if he was dodging the subject intentionally or purely by coincidence. “Good lord, kid, you’re too uptight!”
“That’s not it.”
“Trust me, it is.” He tossed the wad of paper into the hallway trash can. “You could be a mustache-twirling villain for all I care—well, ideally not a felon, I guess. But as long as you’re sincere to the camera, that’s all that matters. The camera never lies; it shows the viewers way more than we realize. You haven’t betrayed anyone or anything, Kunieda. That’s why the staff and I enjoy working with you. Period. What more do you need?”
I stood there, searching for a response and coming up empty-handed.
Instead, a staff member suddenly came running down the hall. “Shitara-san!”
“What is it?”
“There’s been an outbreak of food poisoning at a local European chain restaurant. Twenty people were taken to the hospital, some apparently unconscious. Same restaurant had an identical scandal last year. The CEO’s holding a press conference at six.”
And a moment later, I swear to you, my mouth moved of its own accord.
“I’ll go.”
Wait, what am I saying?
“I reported on the incident last year, so I can pull those files ASAP. I can get in direct contact with a health care official too.”
“Good. Get on it, Kunieda. We’ll wedge a remote broadcast of the press conference into the evening news, and then give a more detailed fact report during the late-night slot to cover last year’s incident.”
“Right.”
What do you mean, “right”?! I’m quitting! Enough with the worker bee act!
And yet, in spite of my brain’s protest, my body acted on autopilot. I went to the scene, reported on camera for the live broadcast, and asked questions at the press conference. When I made it back to the station, the director and I edited it into a prerecorded segment. Then, after a slapdash meeting, we dropped it into the late-night show.
My first day without Ushio came and went in the blink of an eye.
“Sorry, but would it be all right if I stayed behind in the studio a little longer?” I asked.
“Oh, sure, that’s fine. Once you’re done, just call my extension and I’ll come lock up. Is it okay if I turn the lights down low?”
“Yes, thank you.”
With the set cleared away and covers on all the cameras, the newly deserted studio seemed to have forgotten all about the rush of one hour prior and drifted off to sleep until tomorrow night. I asked myself: when tomorrow night rolled around, what would I be doing? The answer, of course, was obvious. I would be here, reading the news. Same as the next night, and the night after that. Because I was a newscaster.
I wanted to scream so loud it would shake the ceiling above me. What the hell was I supposed to do except wish for Ushio’s stupid dad to drop dead (in his sleep, ideally, so I wouldn’t have to feel bad about it)?
Regardless of whether Ushio was watching, regardless of whether Ushio was by my side, I wanted to be here. I couldn’t imagine myself not being here. I wanted people to want me here, and I wanted to exceed their expectations every time. I didn’t want to let them down or betray them.
Did that mean he was right all along? Was I supposed to thank him for nobly sacrificing himself so I could retain the privilege of standing here while he had to give up his own career? Was there truly no way we could keep both?
In the silence of the empty studio, I could hear a faint mechanical sound. I looked around and realized the source of the noise was my own briefcase in the corner of the room. My phone—my personal phone—was buzzing. Which meant it could only be Ushio or my parents.
Ushio… Parents… Ushio… Parents… Ushio… Parents… With every step I took, the options in my head alternated like petals plucked from a flower. With a deep breath, I plunged my hand into my briefcase and grabbed the vibrating device.
The display read: DAD.
Don’t be sad! Don’t be disappointed! I cautioned myself as I answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kei. Sorry to call so late. Could we talk real quick?”
“Sure.” It was highly unusual for my father to speak to me directly, without my mother as a middleman.
“See, your mom’s going in for surgery tomorrow.”
“Huh?!”
“Oh, well, technically today, I should say. She was admitted yesterday,” he explained.
“For what?!”
“Uterine fibroid. But it’s just a laparoscopy, so she’ll only need to stay for two or three days afterward.”
He sounded casual about it, but as far as I knew, it was the first time my mother had been admitted to the hospital since I was born. Plus, the word surgery was always scary…even scarier when it was an organ the male body didn’t have…
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” I was so flustered, the words came out sounding like an accusation.
“Well, I mean, we did try to tell you last time, but you seemed busy…”
“Oh…” Now I remembered: I was the one who blew them off with “some other time.”
“Your mom told me she’d tell you, so I assumed you knew already. But when we were eating dinner at the hospital last night, she saw you on the news and told me she forgot to mention it.”
“Gee, great timing…”
“Sorry, son. Your old dad should have been more proactive.”
“No, it’s fine…” I said. “What time is her surgery?”
“Eleven.”
“I gotta record a voiceover first thing in the morning, but I’ll head over after it’s done. Just tell me which hospital.”
“You sure? Your mom said she doesn’t mind if you can’t make it.”
“Nah, I’ll be there. But I’ll have to be back at the station in the evening, so it’ll only be a quick visit.”
“Gotcha. Well, that’s great to hear! She’ll be delighted to see you.”
And with that, the call ended. Maybe it was for the best that everything was raining down on me all at once, since it kept me busy. Because of that, I found the strength to switch gears and head home.
***
In the taxi to Shinagawa after my recording session, I got a LINE message from my dad. “She made it out of surgery!”
One bullet train ride later, I took another cab to the general hospital where my mother was staying.
When I arrived, the anesthesia had already worn off, and she was back in her hospital room. But while I knew the surgery was over, seeing her lying in a bed in a hospital of all places put me on edge. She was wearing an oxygen mask, and her complexion was deathly pale. Given that she was the kind of woman who could sleep off a cold overnight, this was easily the most ill I’d ever seen her…and I was surprised to learn that deep down, some part of me was still a little kid, afraid my mommy might die.
Now that I was living on my own as a grown adult, I was in full control of my daily life. If anyone would be impacted by her death, it was my poor dad… He probably wouldn’t have a clue how to handle it…
While I was waxing sentimental, however, my mother slid her mask to the side. “Oh, is Kei here? Show him, honey! Show him the thing!” she exclaimed gleefully.
“No, let’s not…” he protested.
“Why not?”
“What thing?” I asked.
“The fibroid they took out—I had your father take a pic. You wanna see it, right?”
It was a good thing she was in a private room.
“Are you brain-dead?!” I snapped. I regretted getting sappy for even a single second. “Don’t you dare show me that shit. C’mon, Dad, why would you even take a picture?!”
“Because your mother insisted…”
“Oh dear, 2 p.m. already? Kei, have you had lunch?” she asked.
“Not yet.” Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to kick back with a train bento on the way here.
“Then you must be hungry. Honey, go take him to get something.”
“Say, what about the castella cake my coworker brought in as a get-well gift? You could take it back with you, right?” he suggested.
“No, he can’t. You know our little boy hates the sugar-crusted kind. He says it’s ‘too gravelly’ and refuses to eat it.”
Little boy? Then again, to them, I probably was. Never mind that I was a famous newscaster constantly on national TV—my parents were always going to ask if I was hungry and remember my food preferences. Not all parents were like this, but mine were.
“All right then, let’s go.”
Since I didn’t have time for a leisurely lunch, I asked my father to drive me to the train station.
“I really appreciate you coming out to see her,” he said. “I know you’re busy and all.”
“Sorry I didn’t bring a gift.”
“Seeing our son living well is the best gift of all.”
He beamed brightly at me, and I realized something. He had never yelled at me, not once in all my life. My mother was a nag, but not unreasonably so, and neither of them tried to invalidate my life choices or force me to change. They gave me a place to belong, and they never made me feel alone.
Alone. The memory of Ushio’s voice echoed in my ears, and my eyes suddenly welled up, but I blinked the tears back. Not the time for that. Granted, I didn’t know if the time would ever come, but for right now, I needed to hold it in.
And another thing: I decided I needed to learn more about Ushio—more than he ever told me himself. Even if it wouldn’t lead me back to him, I still wanted to know.
***
“Kunieda-san!” After our broadcast, Tatsuki walked over with an unusually serious expression on his face. “I need to talk to you.”
“Hmm?”
He whispered in my ear, “You’re hiding something about Tsuzuki-san, aren’t you?”
“…Minagawa-kun, are you hungry?” I asked with a smile.
“What?”
“I didn’t get to have lunch today.”
“Aha… Well, wanna go somewhere? If we need a place with a private room…”
“Ramen,” I said.
“Huh?”
“I’m in the mood for ramen. Know anywhere around here that’s still open?”
“I do, but, uh… It’s not a classy place…”
Dude, it’s ramen. Of course it’s not going to be classy. “Could you take me there?”
“Seriously…?”
And so we left the station. On the walk there, Tatsuki started to panic.
“For real, man, are you okay? ’Cause you kinda seem like you got dumped and now you’re losing control of your…”
“Finish that sentence within my earshot and I will burn you at the stake.”
We soon arrived at what looked to be an incredibly standard ramen bar with the employees all wearing black T-shirts and towels on their heads. Without hesitation, I ordered an extra-heavy tonkotsu ramen, jumbo size.
“Um…” The waiter who took my order hesitated. “Our ramen is on the oily side… Is that okay?”
“And extra char siu pork.”
“Oh, uh… Right away!”
My jumbo ramen arrived not ten minutes later, covered by a lid of char siu. The broth was so oily it was practically a roux. I pressed my palms together in thanks and started eating like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. I even ordered an extra helping of noodles and ate that too. Afterward, I paid for both of us and casually sauntered out onto the street.
Tatsuki quickly followed. “Okay, seriously, what’s the matter with you?”
“I was hungry, so I ate. What’s the issue?”
“I mean, I get that, but…”
“The brain needs a little grease to function,” I said.
“Riiight… So you’re saying you have no intention of talking to me, or what?”
“Don’t worry. You’re a great pawn. I’m thinking of a few different ways to use you.”
“What am I, your side piece?! Not cool, man!” After his protests, he eventually concluded, “Well, I guess it’s good that you have energy and an appetite.” Surprisingly, he didn’t try to weasel anything out of me like usual. “But I’ll only offer my services equal to the value of the ramen.”
“For now, just casually set up a get-together with the politics department and invite me. Even better if you can get people from the newspapers or other stations.”
“The politics department? Kinda sus, man… You know people are still gossiping about you running in the election, right? Isn’t this kind of a bad time?”
“That’s why you have to set it up. And don’t worry about the higher-ups hearing.” I knew that after Shitara-san yelled at them, they were guaranteed to leave me alone for a good while.
“Are you going to stop putting on an act, senpai?”
“No.” Besides, it wasn’t an act. From the moment Ushio said he loved both sides of me, they both became equally Kunieda Kei. I simply switched between them as needed.
“So what are you gonna say to these political people?” he asked.
“Nothing much. If anything, it’ll be like an informal interview, I guess.”
I didn’t need to target Wakamiya Homare specifically. I wanted to talk to people who had been in that space—learn the behind-the-scenes speculation and gossip and other random details only they would know. Luckily, journalists were chatty by nature. Whenever something was unverified and therefore unfit to disclose to outsiders, they loved to preface it with “off the record…” and spill the beans anyway.
Fueled by the grease in my gut, my head and stomach were warm and fuzzy. I wasn’t giving up—not yet. I was going to keep charging forward, even if I was just spinning my wheels and wasting my time.
“You know, Kunieda-san,” Tatsuki muttered, “you never complain, do you? Not about work, not about personal stuff, nothing.”
“Complain? To you? I’d sooner complain to that stop sign.”
“Rude!”
Normal people vented their frustrations, asked for advice, or even consulted a horoscope. The fact that I often couldn’t do those “normal” things was one of my greatest weaknesses. There was only one person in this world whose shoulder I was willing to cry on—and now he thought he could leave me? Ridiculous.
For the record, I never knew Ushio was the son of a politician, and he was the one who initiated all this. Why the hell was I getting punished for it? Maybe if his dad wanted to give me two billion yen to formally apologize, that’d be one thing, but instead, he poked around in my business and spread fake rumors. Fuck off! I’ll show you what happens when you mess with us regular folk!
I was delighted to find I was still capable of anger.
“I’m not letting him get away with this…” I said.
“Senpai, you sound like a cartoon villain.”
***
From Friday night to Sunday morning, I slept like a log. Despite that, whenever I woke up, my arms and eyes still searched for Ushio of their own accord. In public, I could use my persona to keep a lid on my feelings; but alone in my condo, I would get so utterly depressed and lonely that I’d turn on all the lights and crank up the heater, all the while telling myself not to give up.
I could vaguely remember the return address written on the letter from Ushio’s “grandma” (unconfirmed). At the very least, I remembered the name of her district and that her apartment complex had some kind of French-sounding name, like Ratatouille or Mille-feuille. I googled a combination of those keywords until I finally struck upon Sofille, a luxury retirement community offering assisted living services. That had to be it. I didn’t know the woman’s phone or apartment number, but maybe I could find out if I went there. It was a philosophy I learned through field reporting: if you wanna get somewhere, you gotta take that first step.
Seeing as I’d be dropping in unannounced, my next thought was to bring a gift, but I didn’t know a thing about her likes or dislikes. Plus, as an elderly woman, she probably had certain health restrictions… I didn’t have a grandma of my own to ask, so I decided to send a LINE message to the next best thing: my own mother, fresh out of the hospital.
“What’s on your wish list right now?”
“Hawaii.”
She was not helpful.
I put on a nice suit and stopped by the TV station. There, I filled out an order form to acquire some “promotional materials” in the form of Asazou mascot merch: a hand towel, a set of ballpoint pens in three different colors, and a plastic file folder. These items weren’t meant for commercial sale, would help prove my identity, and they were probably a safer bet than bringing something edible.
Two train rides later, I arrived at the community in question. The first thing I did was walk around to the back and check the cluster mailbox for nameplates. Thankfully, I found the name Tsuzuki listed under apartment 705. With that information in hand, I walked back to the intercom system at the entrance and punched in 705.
“Hello?”
A soft, feminine voice answered. Likewise, I readied my “approachable, non-threatening male” voice.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. My name is Kunieda… I’m acquainted with your grandson, Tsuzuki Ushio-san, and I was wondering—”
“What?!” Before I could even finish, her voice raised sharply. “By any chance, are you that newscaster from TV?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My goodness, I see you on all the time! Oh, err, please do come on up!”
And so I easily gained access inside, to the elevators. When I arrived at the seventh floor, she was waiting for me with the door open. Being famous had its perks sometimes.
“Nice to meet you.”
She ignored my standard greeting and purred, “You’re even more handsome in person.”
Somehow, I had already maxed out her affection meter. I was used to this with strangers, of course, but with Ushio’s own grandmother, it was a little embarrassing.
With the bog-standard “pardon the mess,” Tsuzuki Sayoko let me into her one-bedroom apartment—but the place was so lightly furnished, a mess didn’t seem physically possible. The entryway was adorned with trophies and plaques, possibly awards Ushio received for his animation work.
When I handed her the mascot merch, she said, “My, how adorable!” and kindly poured me some tea. She really did seem like a normal, sweet-and-tidy little grandma.
“My grandson did some work for your station, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s how we first met.”
“Oh, that Ushio—he never even hinted that he was friends with you! Didn’t want me asking for your autograph, I suppose.”
“About him, actually…” To add a pause to the conversation, I took a single sip of tea before returning the cup to its saucer. “Ever since he moved back to his parents’ house last week, I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. Has he spoken with you at all?”
“He hasn’t, no…” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to reach him. Would you like me to call their landline?”
Evidently, Grandma Tsuzuki was still in contact with the Wakamiya estate. I hadn’t expected that. “No, that’s all right. I’m sure the issue will resolve itself eventually. I’ve come to you because I realized I hardly know anything about him, and if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like you to tell me what you can.”
Another hard-and-fast rule of field reporting: keep the lies to a minimum.
“Ah…” She gazed into the distance for a moment, then smiled stiffly. “I understand completely. He can be so stubborn about the strangest things…but you do know a little already, yes?”
“I know that he lost his mother at an early age, that he and his father don’t get along. And that he cut ties with the family at fifteen years old.”
“Yes. But he doesn’t like to talk about his time living at the Wakamiya house, not even with me. Honestly, we’re not very close, the two of us. I generally kept my nose out of my daughter’s business, so I’d say I usually only saw him about once a year.”
“What about after he left the Wakamiya house?” I asked.
“I was shocked, I tell you. But he begged me on his knees to let him stay, swore up and down he wouldn’t be any trouble… What else was I supposed to say? I just lost my daughter, and my husband the year before that, and I was still raw. Looking back, though, I suspect he was worried I might drag him back there. It would explain why he spent all his time at school and work and generally avoided me. But he paid rent every month and never asked for anything except my signature on any papers that called for a parent or guardian… I’ll bet he’s been aloof with you too, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered with a smile.
“I knew it!”
Once she had warmed to me, I decided to take another step. “Could I ask a…slightly personal question?” This particular skill of cleverly steering the conversation wasn’t something I could assign purely to work, and as such, I didn’t enjoy it. Regardless, I shooed my guilt back into the shadows. “About Tsuzuki-san’s father…”
“Ah, Homare-san, yes. It seems he’s really made a name for himself over the years.”
According to Ushio, his mother lost her life while supporting his father’s political campaign. Naturally, I suspected that his mother’s mother might have some complicated feelings toward the man. Instead, she spoke casually and rather candidly.
“When they say power changes people, they sure aren’t kidding,” she said. “He used to be so laid-back!”
“He did…?” I couldn’t picture that at all.
“Homare-san was the younger of two sons. The elder was a competent young man, and of course, he was originally going to carry on the family legacy. He even served as his father’s secretary. Meanwhile, Homare-san was off working at a design company or some such, always drawing things in his spare time. Not to be rude, but his life was rather carefree. I mean, he never would have been allowed to marry an ordinary girl otherwise. Financially, our two families were about this far apart!” She gestured with both hands to indicate opposite sides of the class divide. “I imagine Wakamiya Senior wasn’t too interested in his second son or any of us in-laws. But that was just fine for Homare-san; he left home to live with my daughter, and Ushio was born soon after… But then, when Ushio would have been about two years old, Homare-san’s parents and older brother were all tragically lost in a car accident.”
Eba’s words replayed in my mind. “After all the horrors his family’s gone through…” Now I finally understood what he meant by that.
“I’m not sure what I can say about it, but…well, it was a very lovely funeral,” Grandma Tsuzuki said with a sigh. “All sorts of politicians came to pay their respects—enough to staff an entire national assembly. Never have I felt more out of place than I did in that moment. They seemed to live in a totally different world from us, but I suspect my daughter felt it much more than I did…and perhaps Homare-san did too.”
As the comparatively “unimportant” second-born son, he’d spent his whole life exempt from all manner of responsibilities…until the day it had all gotten dumped in his lap.
“I can’t even fathom how he must have felt back then. But he quit his job and chose to pursue a career in politics.”
“Did your daughter ever talk to you about it?” I asked.
“She came and warned me and my husband to start minding our manners in public now that Homare-san was going to be in the election. I’ll be honest—it set me off something fierce. What gave her the right to criticize her parents’ behavior? Then, her father said, ‘A girl like you can’t handle being a politician’s wife,’ and she replied, ‘Well, I don’t have a choice!’ She was always such an absent-minded girl—it was like she changed overnight! After that, my husband and I kept our distance from their affairs… Oh, your tea’s gone cold, hasn’t it? Shall I pour you a new cup?”
I didn’t really need more tea, but I could tell she needed a break to collect herself. “Yes, please.”
“…I got a few letters here and there,” she continued after she returned, watching the steam rise from the refilled teacups. “Full of complaints and things she didn’t dare say elsewhere. ‘I’m no good at arranging flowers or preparing matcha! I can’t cook gourmet meals for my guests! I’m ashamed to be compared to the other wives! I don’t want to subject my son to this!’ And I thought, ‘Well, of course you’re struggling.’ We only ever taught her how to manage a normal household. And now our grandson was suffering as a result too? Part of me was angry on Ushio’s behalf, but…well…” For the first time, her voice grew strained. “When I remember how besotted she was with Homare-san, always gushing about how wonderful he was, I just… I felt so sorry for her. That’s why I don’t have any ill will against Homare-san himself.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I knew exactly how miserable it was to have to micromanage every aspect of public-facing life, and I could see how much worse it would be if it was forced on someone who never wanted it in the first place. It reminded me of the pressure I felt when I was suddenly made the poster boy for a brand-new show. Even so, the conflict and anguish must have been a hundred times worse for the Wakamiyas.
As a result, I suspected they had no choice but to abandon any attempt at being “normal” parents. Instead, they committed themselves to being “a politician and his wife,” the way Ushio described them—otherwise, they would have lost control altogether. Hell, when I first met Ushio myself and the balance between my two halves started going out of whack, it really terrified me. All I could do to keep the seesaw steady was to put a rock on one end.
Wakamiya Homare strived to be the perfect politician from every angle, no exceptions. How many obstacles did he overcome to get that far?
“Does Tsuzuki-san know all this?”
“No…” she said, trailing off for a moment. “From the way he acts, it seems he’s not interested in hearing about it, much less talking about it. Besides, I’m sure he knew the position his parents were in.”
“Right.”
He told me he did understand and respect them, even if he couldn’t agree with it—but he still couldn’t make peace with it. Perhaps if he walked a mile in his father’s shoes, the two could finally reconcile their differences. But, of course, I wasn’t planning to back down whatsoever.
“I apologize for taking so much of your time,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Leaving already, dearie? Have I been helpful?”
“Yes, very much so. Thanks for having me.”
“Next time I do hope you’ll bring Ushio with you,” she said.
“Of course.”
I left the condo building and paid a visit to the library near the train station since I still had some time. I selected a few books and magazines pertaining to politics and then searched them for any mention of Wakamiya.
The year Wakamiya Kai passed away, there was a special election held to fill his seat two months later in April, followed by a House of Councillors election in July. That was the year his son Wakamiya Homare made his political debut. At the time, the CDP was fighting an uphill battle.
Aha, I mouthed silently to myself. Special elections preceding national elections were widely considered preliminary skirmishes; if you won at that stage, it would give you a leg up. But if you lost, it would weigh you down—especially if you lost Tokyo’s first district. While Wakamiya Homare was a total amateur, as his father’s only surviving son, the optics were on his side. Conversely, if the party chose to rally behind someone else and still lost, they’d sustain a ton of damage in the process… Yeah, if I was a political strategist, I’d want to put him in the race at any cost, even if I had to kidnap him. And it wouldn’t come as a surprise to me if there were veiled threats levied as early as the funeral—like the heartless comments fifteen-year-old Ushio had overheard, for example.
Wakamiya Homare won the special election by a landslide, and possibly as a result of that, the CDP just barely managed to retain their power during the summer Councillors election. His political debut generated a lot of buzz. People regarded him skeptically at first, but through hard work, he gradually proved he wasn’t merely riding his father’s coattails. He gained experience both as a young director-general and parliamentary vice-minister and established himself firmly in Tokyo’s first district.
That was the general outline, anyway. With no visible flaws, there was no way for his opponents to tear him down. I had faintly hoped I might dig up some hint of a mistress or child born out of wedlock or something, but I suspected I was wasting my time.
They had a computer full of newspaper archives at this library, so I searched for the photo Ushio had mentioned—the one taken at his mother’s grave. It was indeed a beautiful picture: a lone man dressed in a black coat facing a gravestone, surrounded by snow. The pure white backdrop highlighted his silhouette, and even from behind, he looked quite a lot like his son.
I understood why Ushio despised the framing of his mother’s death as a touching sob story. But…as an outside observer, I guess…to me, this shot of Wakamiya Homare from behind conveyed a tremendous sadness. The camera never lies, as Shitara would say. And besides, everyone had a side of themselves—a secret truth, a place to call home—that only they knew.
What do I do? I asked myself for the umpteenth time. Outside, twilight peeked out from behind the clouds. As it did, the loudspeaker announced that the library would soon be closing.
***
Late one night, a few days after I had officially moved back to my father’s house, I came face-to-face with him for the first time. He had spent so much time away that I had half a mind to ask where the hell he’d been. According to Saijou, there were a lot of important bills to discuss, so he had been staying at the office building on weekdays for group study sessions or whatever. On weekends, he was expected to travel out of town to attend lectures and other ceremonial occasions. Evidently, his constantly packed schedule was proof of just how successful he was.
“Still awake, Ushio-san?” Saijou asked.
“Got nothing better to do.”
As for my dear old dad, we exchanged exactly one look. That was our touching family reunion after fourteen years. What a joke.
“We need to talk,” I said to him.
“What is it?”
Wow, he actually answered. “I don’t want to be a politician.”
“Then leave,” he said.
The audacity. “Give me a fucking break,” I said loudly. “If I leave, you’re gonna harass an ordinary citizen.”
“That’s right.” My father handed the shoehorn to Saijou, stepped barefoot into the house, and casually turned back to me. “You’re here because you want me to leave him alone, correct? Why must we go over this all over again? Did you think you could appease me with your presence just long enough to talk me out of it?”
He saw through me so completely that it rooted me to the spot.
“You must be stupid,” he continued in a flat voice. “Stupid indeed to think you could possibly get your way. I have nothing to say to you right now.”
“Then you should choose a smarter successor,” I said. “Or maybe stupid runs in the family.”
“It’ll take some time, but we merely need to whip you into the sort of shape that won’t disgrace me in public.”
As I expected, he completely shut me out, and I suppressed the urge to punch him in the face. At this age, I could probably kick his ass, but resorting to violence would only be an admission that I failed to beat him with words. A loser’s tactic. And besides, he was right—I came here with no real plan in mind other than “keep Dad away from Kei.”
When I walked into my old room, I found a cold, empty void furnished with only a desk, a chair, and a bed. With the door shut behind me, the space was so pointlessly large I could no longer sense other human life nearby. As I was lying on the bed, struggling to quell my directionless anger, I heard a knock and sat up.
“Ushio-san, might I speak to you for a moment?”
“…Come on in.”
In walked Saijou. “Shall I pour you some coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll make you some if you want, though.”
“No need to trouble yourself.” He sat down in the desk chair and chuckled.
“What?”
“It’s quite amusing just how poorly you and your father get along.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I snapped back.
“I apologize… So, how did you spend your day?”
“Cleaning,” I answered. “Nothing else for me to do. I was kinda surprised, actually, since I thought you guys were gonna force me to study.”
“I’m afraid I’m too busy at the moment to get around to that. Consider it a brief respite. Are you unsatisfied with your housekeeping work?”
“Technically, it was 20 percent cleaning, 80 percent snooping.”
“Snooping for what?” he asked.
“Dirt I could use to blackmail my dad… Hey, don’t laugh at me!”
“Care to check his campaign expenditure reports? Perhaps you’ll find some nebulous entries in there,” he teased with a straight face.
“I wouldn’t know what the hell I’m looking at… Real talk, doesn’t it make more sense for you to be his successor? People know you, and you know how to do the job, right?”
“I am the last person who would take up the mantle,” he told me.
“Why not? I hear about secretaries taking the reins all the time.”
“My greatest wish is to fulfill my duties. Even on the off chance we failed to bring you up to par, your father has plenty of younger, more capable secretaries who could theoretically…”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Something the matter?”
“…You’re telling me you’re not his only secretary?”
“Indeed. There are two executive secretaries and a policy secretary. But they’re considered government officials, so they work at the office building and generally don’t set foot here.”
As Dad’s personal secretary, however, I suspected Saijou was the most important of them all.
“So there’s four of you in total? Why so many?” I asked.
“It’s not many at all when you consider that some legislators have ten.”
“What do they even do every day?”
“How very blunt. There’s no shortage of work to be done—standing in at meetings and events, organizing schedules, analyzing elections and policies, serving as an extra pair of eyes, ears, hands… To be a real politician, you need as much help as you can get,” he explained.
“Hm.”
“Piqued your curiosity a little?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m not good at managing people. And if I lose the election, they’ll all lose their jobs, right? That’s terrifying.”
His eyes gleamed. “That’s what makes elections so thrilling.”
“It’s just not my bag,” I replied.
“Yes, well, bags reshape themselves to suit their contents. That’s how Wakamiya Homare has kept his career going all these years, and not a soul would say it ‘isn’t his bag.’”
“You really do have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”
“In this line of work, it’s vital… That reminds me, I was watching television at the office building. The late-night news.”
“Yeah?”
“That Kunieda fellow truly is a master of his craft. His words have weight to them. He must work very hard to hone his talent,” Saijou said.
“…Let’s just say he’s not the kind of guy you might think he is.”
“Did you speak with him before you came here?”
“None of your business,” I replied. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d still be together.”
“Point taken. I apologize. In that case, I’ll be going now.”
“Night.”
Once the door was shut and Saijou’s barely audible footsteps receded into the distance, I was once again left with only silence. Back when Mom was still alive, this place was constantly buzzing with visitors. Maybe Dad used the lack of wifely hospitality as an excuse to trim down his contact list. But without some kind of distraction, my mind kept wandering back to the soulless look on Kei’s face the last time I saw him. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep.
***
Lately, the bitter cold was starting to wear out its welcome, but the dawn was gradually creeping in earlier and earlier. Our cocktail party started after midnight and lasted until nearly 6 a.m., and after a night of no sleep, the morning sun was vicious.
“Are you taking the train home, senpai?”
“Nah, I’m grabbing a taxi and going back to work,” I said.
“Huh? What for?”
“Got a backlog of videos I wanna watch in the AV room.”
“Busy little beaver, huh?” Tatsuki said. “Did you learn anything from the get-together?”
“Not sure yet. Gotta organize my thoughts a bit more.”
We talked about the potential dissolution, political scandals, faction battles—the kind of idle gossip you’d hear at any bar, really, just with a bit more technical jargon—but no leads regarding Wakamiya Homare. He was a veteran Diet leader with a crystal-clean personal life, and the reporters present had nothing bad to say about him. Gee, thanks.
“Want me to try again sometime?” he asked.
“Put it on pause for now.”
“One of the girls was saying she’d love to go to a mixer with y—”
“Hell no!” I shot back.
At the TV station, I took a shower to wake myself up and set up camp in the AV room at one of the little manga café-style cubicles. A list of videos popped up when I searched “Wakamiya Homare,” so I went down the list, one by one. The first time he won an election, he must have been about the same age as Ushio—the resemblance was even stronger. But that was the only observation that came to mind; the rest of it was just boring Diet hearings or unremarkable election footage. Almost none of it afforded me a deeper look at him. As I watched it all on fast-forward, my head started to droop, and before long, I was dozing off.
In my fitful dreams, Ushio never made an appearance, but his astronauts sure did, wandering around the darkness of space in their little spaceship. They were probably in search of their missing creator, now that I thought about it. And in search of a new planet to call home…if it was even out there…
Suddenly, Wakamiya Homare’s voice cut through the void of space: “I never would have won this great election without help from all of my voters.”
“How do you feel, looking back at the election?”
“I hate to call Tokyo’s first district my voter base—it sounds too clinical. It’s my hometown, after all. The whole thing feels like one big house to me.”
Oh, shut up. I don’t care about your stupid house. Not after you destroyed Ushio’s.
Just then, my folded elbow accidentally knocked over a pile of video tapes sitting on the desk. As my headphones slid off my ears, the loud crash shocked me awake.
“Are you okay?” Though it was early in the morning, the room was by no means deserted, and a few heads popped up like daisies to investigate the sound.
“I apologize for the disturbance,” I said.
I hastily gathered up the tapes, checking each of their numbers to make sure I wouldn’t put them back in the wrong cases. Man, that scared me. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute… Huh?
Was my heart really only racing from surprise? Because it felt a bit…deeper than that… What was I just thinking about? Clutching at my chest through my clothes, I squinted at the computer monitor.
***
And so I gave my pawn—er, Tatsuki—his second mission: “Could you pass this along to Grandpa Eba? He’s here today, isn’t he?”
He looked down at the blank envelope I was holding in his direction. “What is this, a love letter? A challenge to a duel?”
“Open it and I’ll kill you.”
“Dude, I can’t just sneak around the satellite TV studio for no reason. They’ll think I’m up to no good,” he complained.
“Maybe you got lost.”
“How stupid would I have to be…?”
“Look, when you find him, say it’s a thank-you for the candy or something, and make sure he takes it,” I pressed.
“You’re such a slave driver…”
“I’m pretty sure this’ll be the last thing I need from you.”
He tucked the envelope into his inner suit pocket and then regarded me with a serious look. “I don’t mind running errands, but you better not disappear on me too, okay?”
This is why I can never let my guard down around you. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh yeah, and I do have one piece of good news for you, senpai.”
“What’s that?”
“You know that ramen place we went to? They taped up a piece of paper that says, ‘Visited By Newscaster Kunieda’!”
“Burn it. Now.”
***
I had a plan and something resembling a script, but no clue what my chances of success were—in other words, it had a level of sloppiness on par with “After this commercial break” or “Now for our next segment.”
No cast, no crew, no rehearsals, but I was gonna do it anyway.
I checked my cell phone multiple times during the taxi ride. No notifs. I had made sure to include my phone number in the message I wrote to Eba, and I figured he’d at least let me know if he was planning to decline, but the fact that he hadn’t even demanded an explanation suggested to me that he might have simply ignored my letter altogether. This was my first gamble, predicated on both his surprisingly compassionate side and his fondness of me.
My destination: the hotel where Ushio and I had spent the night. Please be there, I prayed as I boarded the elevator and rode it up to the room I had reserved in advance. I knocked twice before putting my keycard in the slot and opening the door. The lights were on.
“One minute I see you on TV, and the next you’re right in front of me. Feels funny.”
Eba sat comfortably in the recliner, feet on the ottoman, watching television. The coffee table was littered with cans of beer and mini-bottles of wine and whiskey—all empty.
Jeez, man, you drank all that?
“I gotta say, can you newscasters really afford this kind of room? Even when I’m on the campaign trail, I only ever stay at business hotels myself.”
“I reserve this sort of thing for special occasions,” I said.
“Right. Now tell me, how the hell do I find the porn channels on this thing?”
In response, I switched off the TV. He didn’t protest.
“So?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Let’s hear why you dragged this old fart all the way here, shall we?”
“I have a…small personal favor to ask,” I began.
“Does a small favor warrant this kind of red-carpet treatment?”
“It’s just…something I’d rather keep out of the public eye, to prevent more rumors.”
“Go on, tell me what it is.”
I sat down on the bed and looked him in the eye. “I’d like to visit Legislator Wakamiya’s estate.”
“Wakamiya?” he said, surprised. “Why in the world…?”
“Again, personal business.”
“You hardly need my permission, surely! You don’t know his address?”
“Oh, I do.” And I already checked out what it looked like on the internet. If I had to guess, the property taxes alone cost more every year than an entry-level salary at my job. “But if I go there alone, I suspect they’ll turn me away at the front gates. Plus, if it turns into an argument, someone might report it, and I don’t want to bother the neighbors…”
“Then just ask for an interview or something,” he suggested.
“I can’t involve my company in this—I’m going there on purely private business. As an uninvited guest, however, I’m in desperate need of someone who can vouch for me.”
“So I’m your Trojan horse, is that it?”
“Yes, sir.”
He took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, then turned his eyes on me sharply, probing for something. “There’re two types of people you should never ask for a favor—politicians and the yakuza. That’s if you know what’s good for you.”
“I certainly wouldn’t ask the latter,” I said.
“His secretary’s a real nag, you know. I don’t wanna get in his bad books by bringing him trouble in a handbasket. What do I get out of this?”
“My gratitude.”
“What?”
“I will be deeply indebted to you, Legislator Eba. Nothing more.”
“Out of the question.” He shooed me away with his free hand.
“It would be improper to bribe you with money or services, wouldn’t it?” I said. “It would certainly be a violation of compliance with Asabi.”
“You said this is personal business.”
“Right, but I am still a newscaster there, after all.” I donned a smile. Knowing this grumpy grandpa, I was most likely better off confidently pushing my luck than any amount of begging and kowtowing. “But at the very least, I’ll pay for this hotel room.”
“Damn right you will! You’re the one who invited me here!”
“Yes, but I didn’t know you’d be sampling the entire minibar. And besides, you already owe me a favor, don’t you, Legislator?”
“Beg your pardon?” he asked.
“That debate I hosted gave you a massive popularity boost, and thanks to that, they made you a regular on that satellite TV show.”
“Now you’re out of your damn mind!”
I knew it. He’s having a great time arguing about this.
“Your precious Asabi pays peanuts for cultural commentators, kid,” he continued. “That money wouldn’t even pay the electric bill at my office. Now, if it was a cable show…”
I cut to the chase. “Admit it—you’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Of what?”
“Trust me, I know what it’s like to have someone you barely know try to introduce you to their ‘newscaster friend.’ It’s okay if you’re just not as close to Legislator Wakamiya as you let on.”
“I changed Homare’s diapers, stupid! And every time they forced a vote, Kai and I would team up and smack down anyone we didn’t like!”
“Really now…?”
“Tsk! Just you wait and see!” He reached into the folds of his kimono and pulled out an ancient flip phone attached to a lanyard; apparently, he wore it around his neck. “Lost this damn thing three times. Wife was furious. Since then, I keep it on a leash,” he explained as he dialed, possibly out of embarrassment. “Hello? Hey, it’s me. I drank a little too much, and if I don’t sober up somewhere, the ball and chain will lose her shit. Lemme swing by like old times, would you? I’ll be there in thirty minutes. See you then.” After that, he tucked his phone away and stepped into his sandals. “Let’s go.”
“Right now?” I asked.
“That’s right, I’m taking your bait. You’d better be eternally grateful, kid.”
“I am. Thank you, sir.” I rose to my feet and bowed deeply.
“Sloppy posture,” he scoffed.
And with that, we hastily checked out of the hotel.
“Let me ask you just one question,” he said to me a few minutes later as the taxi was driving us over. “That really was Homare’s son I saw the other day, wasn’t it?”
After a moment of hesitation, I admitted it. “Yes, sir. When I spoke to him about it, he said he recognized you, and he regretted not having the chance to catch up with you.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that,” he replied in a surprisingly gentle tone. “I figure he’s got a lot going on, just like Homare did when he was that age. Everybody’s got a lotta shit on their plates, don’t they? Just depends whether they can stomach it all.”
“…Right.”
The stoplights ahead of us turned green in sequence, starting with the farthest and progressing steadily toward us. It felt like I was headed to Ushio’s house, but then I remembered that the whole building was gone now. My chest ached. Still, I knew I was better off having met his grandmother and learning the whole story. And now I was going to get him back.
“Here.” Eba offered me a piece of candy with Kyou-chan’s warped, ugly mug on it.
“What’s this for?”
“When you see a kid on the verge of tears, you give him candy. That’s the rules,” he said.
“…I’m not going to cry.” Nevertheless, I gratefully accepted the candy and crunched it into dust in my mouth. Crafty old coot. “Do you have any kids, sir?”
“Two sons, five grandkids.”
“Neither of them became politicians like you?” I asked.
“They told me they’d rather die. After they saw the hell their mother went through, it’s only normal that they’d wanna spare their own wives the misery. I couldn’t exactly argue with that, could I?”
“So you’ve accepted it?”
“If they don’t wanna do it, what else can I do? ’Sides, we don’t have some kinda ‘family legacy’ like the Wakamiyas—I’m just a guy who showed up one day. Oh, hey, pal, could you pull over right about here? Much obliged. And can I get a receipt?”
We got out of the car about a block from our destination. From there, Eba walked briskly along the tall, roofed tsuiji fencing until he reached the majestic sukiya-style front gate. After a beat, he pressed the button on the intercom.
Good lord, could you ask me if I’m ready first?!
No one answered, but the wooden gate slowly slid open; then, once we were through, it slid shut and audibly locked itself behind us. For a traditional Japanese house, this place was surprisingly high-tech. As we walked up the long cobblestone path leading to the front door, the sensor light came on, revealing a front garden that was clearly well-maintained, even to an amateur like me. I could hear Grandma Tsuzuki’s voice in my head: a totally different world from us.
The front doors, though large enough to accommodate a horse-drawn carriage, were not similarly automatic. Eba twisted the handles and flung them open.
Behind them, a man stood in the entryway. “I cannot allow this, Legislator,” he told Eba, disregarding the other man’s casual wave without so much as a smile.
So this is the naggy secretary.
“Don’t be such a square, Saijou,” Eba said. “Where’s Homare?”
“In the middle of a meeting. After your sudden phone call, he sent me back here without him.”
“Gotcha. Then I guess I’ll wait around.”
“By my estimate, you don’t appear to be drunk, not in the slightest.”
“Hey now, you really gonna leave an old man out in the cold? How will you ever sleep at night knowing I froze to death because of you?”
Saijou didn’t humor him. “And who is this?” he asked with a glance in my direction. The look in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.
“Oh, him? New secretary-in-training. Thought I’d bring him by to introduce him. Hope you can show him the ropes.”
“…Well now,” Saijou replied.
“C’mon, let’s not have the whole conversation at the front door, shall we?”
“Says the man who dropped in with no warning. I repeat—I cannot allow this, Legislator. I don’t know how you and your ‘secretary’ know each other, but I must ask you both to leave.”
Rejected with cold indifference, Eba slowly stroked his chin…and when he next spoke, his voice was like steel.
“You know, I’m surprised. Not that long ago, you were a clueless rookie who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Now you think you can talk to me like you’re a big shot?” Eba’s angry-man television persona couldn’t hold a candle to the sheer thunder with which he growled. “Is there some special reason this kid can’t come in?”
“Of course not.” Saijou sighed dramatically. “Right this way.”
There was no sign of Ushio anywhere to be found, but since the house was so huge, he might not have heard us.
We were then directed to a European-style lounge room, but no sooner had we sat down on the sofa than Eba shot back up onto his feet again. “You know, I should pay my respects to the deceased. Me and Kai have a lot to catch up on, see. Oh, and we won’t be needing any refreshments, thanks.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was intentionally removing himself or merely chasing a whim. Nevertheless, Saijou and I were left alone in the room together. He was the first to break the silence.
“Have I seen you somewhere before?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged casually.
“That reminds me, I never got your name…”
I cut him off. “Your acting sucks.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“I said your acting fucking sucks.”
Then, I rose to my feet and took a deep, deep breath, consciously filling every last corner of my lungs. I needed my voice to reach him.
“GET THE HELL OUT HERE, DADDY’S BOY!!!”
I screamed so loud, the glass rattled in the display shelves. There was an immediate flurry of footsteps, and a moment later, the door flew open so hard I thought it might fall off its hinges. Lo and behold, there stood Wakamiya Junior-Junior.
See? I knew he’d hear me.
“What are you—h-how did you…?”
I ignored him and turned back to Saijou, who stared blankly at me in shock. “Allow me to introduce myself,” I said with a smile. “My name is Kunieda Kei.”
“…I see.” He nodded slowly. “You are certainly quite different from how I imagined.”
What’s that supposed to mean?!
“Now, care to explain what brings you—” But just then, there was a sound at the front door, and he rose to his feet. Evidently, the boss was home. “Excuse me for just a moment.”
After he left, I looked at Ushio. “Have a seat.”
“Good god, Kei…!”
In his face, I could see panic, confusion, and a hint of poorly concealed joy. At last, I gave him a taste of his own medicine. Very satisfying indeed—but unfortunately, I didn’t have the composure to savor it or the time to explain myself.
“Just sit down and watch what I’m about to do,” I said. “I don’t want to hear a peep from you, got it? Just trust me.”
He choked back something I couldn’t parse. “O-okay.” He sat down directly across from me.
At nearly that exact moment, the master of the house walked in. Without a word, Wakamiya Homare sat down in the center seat and looked at me with emotionless eyes.
“State your business, sir,” Saijou said to me from behind him.
Too good to speak to me yourself, Your Majesty? “I came to introduce myself and say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For spreading rumors about my potential election campaign,” I said.
“I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about.”
“At first, it was frustrating and infuriating, but now I’ve developed an interest in politics. I think I might really run in the next election,” I said.
Ushio got halfway out of his seat but stopped and laced his hands in front of his face. He must have remembered my warning.
“Well now. Good for you,” Saijou replied patronizingly with a thin smile. “I wish you the best of luck.”
“This leads me to my next point. Do you know a good realtor in this area, and if so, can you introduce me?”
“I’m sorry?” he said.
“Read. My. Lips.” I tapped on the table in front of me with my fingernail. “I’m going to run right here, in Tokyo’s first district, as an unaffiliated candidate. And since I don’t know when this dissolution might happen, I need to move here and get my resident’s card. I’ll need an office too.”
Saijou’s brow instantly furrowed.
“That’s why I figured I should introduce myself. I’m not sure if I’ll be running against you, Legislator, or perhaps your idiot son, but either way, I have no intention of losing.”
It’s like Ushio always says: whenever I really mean business, no one else stands a chance.
“Have you really come here in the middle of the night to joke around?”
“About what?” I said. “I’m just exercising my fundamental civil rights.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but it seems you don’t know how elections work. Running as an unaffiliated candidate is a major handicap, but you seriously believe you could win?”
“Oh, I know. Unaffiliated candidates are excluded from party election broadcasts, and the usage of flyers and posters is restricted as well. But why do you think that would matter? They already broadcast my name and face on national news every night during the prime-time slot.” Sure, I didn’t have a supporters’ association or campaign fund, but I did have the equivalent of a giant billboard in the form of my reputation.
“As I recall, you denied any interest in the election on that very program,” he countered.
“We all have to lie sometimes. The voters will understand.”
“You seem quite confident in your own popularity.”
“Of course,” I declared.
The moment I showed any weakness or hesitation, it would all be over. If I tried to bluff, I didn’t stand a chance against a true pro like him. All I could do was keep pushing.
Focus. Don’t get distracted. Speak loudly. Sharply. Overwhelm him. As an election guru, he already knows I don’t stand a chance. I just need a tiny little opening, enough to make him think I’m a threat.
“Feel free to spread around any dirt you happen to have on me, by the way. They’ll all assume a rival candidate’s trying to smear me…which means we’re on even ground. So what’ll it be?” I asked Wakamiya, who still had yet to utter a word to me himself. “If I lose the election, I can always find work as a freelance reporter. You, however, have a great deal more to lose. Or will you hide behind the proportional electoral system as a safety net? It’d be a cowardly move for the undefeated Wakamiya Homare, though.”
Saijou’s face twisted with displeasure. “I’ve had quite enough—”
“No, I’ve had enough, NIMROD!!!” I roared, slamming my hands on the table as I jumped to my feet. “You people started this fucking fight, and frankly, you should be honored that I’m willing to finish it! If you’re going to rob me of the place I call home, then it’s only fair that I do the same to you! I’ll make your life hell, I’ll steal your precious turf, I’ll rip down all your posters and burn them! The first district sheep will all flock to me instead! Now choose: do you wanna leave us the hell alone, or do you wanna duke it out in an election?!”
I stared straight into the great politician’s unreadable eyes. A cold sweat dripped down the back of my neck. No one said a word. Everyone was looking at Wakamiya Homare.
What finally broke that silence…was the ringtone of a cell phone.
“…Hello?” Wakamiya answered his phone so casually, it was like the rest of us didn’t even exist. “Yes… I see. Very well. I accept. Right. Talk later.”
Once he finished his brief phone call, before he could tuck his phone back into the interior pocket of his suit, I spoke.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
For the first time, something flickered to life on his face—or so it seemed, at least.
“That was the Prime Minister, right?” I continued. “I saw an old video of you talking to him on the phone, and it was the same ringtone as the one just now.”
That alone made for a weak argument, but it was clearly someone whose call he couldn’t ignore despite the present circumstances, plus his reply of “I accept”…
I decided to press harder. “After all this talk of elections, it seems the current Diet session won’t be dissolving after all. That’s what he decided, right?”
Then, for the first time, Wakamiya spoke directly to me. “How…?”
“The current Minister for Internal Affairs and Communications, Ozaki—he’s under investigation for some shady financial dealings and it might go to court, right? But he was only appointed to appease the whiny old geezer faction, so now they want to take the opportunity to stick you in that seat. Problem is, the opposition will freak out and submit a motion of no confidence against the Cabinet. So, the smart move is to strike first with a confidence resolution.”
Assuming it passed, it would take non-confidence right off the table. But it would only buy them a little bit of time, and it was generally agreed that they wouldn’t win the election that followed.
“When the PM kept going on and on about a ‘jinx,’ he didn’t mean tax hikes—he meant the confidence resolution, right? He pretends that he might dissolve the House at any second, but he won’t. He wants a confidence motion to pass first. So, to make damn sure the opposition doesn’t get any stronger, he’ll give you this Cabinet post in exchange for your help with some behind-the-scenes negotiation. You weed out the rebels, he cuts them loose and frames it as reform to win points, and after the Diet closes, he builds a new Cabinet with the lineup he actually wanted—and of course, you’ll slide right on in, Minister Wakamiya. That’s why there won’t be a dissolution until this fall at the earliest.”
At some point while I was talking, Wakamiya quietly closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. It almost looked like he was sleeping peacefully, but I suspected he just didn’t want me getting a read on his inner emotions.
At last, he opened his eyes a crack. “Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“Oh, no one in particular. I put the pieces together on my own. I guess you could say I’m just…theorizing about what I’d do if I was Prime Minister.”
“If you were Prime Minister?” he repeated disdainfully, scoffing at my arrogance.
“That’s right,” I replied with a smile. “Newscasters aren’t just talking mannequins, asshole.”
At this, of all things, Wakamiya actually smiled—not his stock politician’s smile, but the genuine grin of someone who witnessed something funny. His shoulders quivered as if he had a hiccup, then quickly fell still. “Saijou,” he called calmly.
“Yes, sir?”
“Call a cab and escort them out. Both of them.”
“…Understood.”
With that, Wakamiya rose to his feet and started to leave the room.
“Hey!” Ushio called after him.
Wakamiya didn’t look back, but he stopped walking.
Ushio didn’t seem to have anticipated that. He stared down at the floor for a second, then looked up again and said…
“Thanks for raising me for those fifteen years.”
Gratitude and a farewell, all wrapped up in one.
But Wakamiya didn’t respond to it directly. Instead, all he said was, “You’ve hooked yourself a real firecracker.”
***
Outside the gate, we waited for the taxi Saijou called. At some point, it started snowing—tiny flakes that heralded the end of winter and the start of spring.
“Ushio-san,” Saijou called.
“Yeah?”
“I was the one who called the mass media to your mother’s grave.”
Silently, Ushio shoved both hands into his coat pockets.
“When your grandfather passed, I lashed out at Homare-san. I told him I wished it was he who had died instead. To this day, I suspect those words have never left him.”
“Right,” Ushio replied in a tiny voice. Then a wry smile spread on his face—a surprisingly genuine expression—and he shrugged. “Thing is, it still pisses me off. To this day, I can’t bring myself to hate you; I remember you camping out at the polls on election day, from morning to night. But with my dad…it’s complicated. And I bet it’s complicated for him too. We share the same blood, so it’s impossible to stay impartial. There’s no love or affection, but hey, sometimes father-son relationships are just like that.”
“…As long as you can accept it…”
Just then, Eba reappeared outside the gates. “Brrr, it’s cold! Hey! Come set up a guest bed!” He had to have heard me screaming my head off, but evidently, he was committed to keeping his nose out of it.
“A guest bed? Aren’t you going home?”
“Homare said I could spend the night… Oh!” He saw Ushio and grinned. “Hey, hold out your hand.”
Perplexed, Ushio did as asked. Like a magician, Eba produced some candy from his kimono sleeve and dropped them into his palm, one after another.
“There, lots of candy for you.” Then he reached out and ruffled Ushio’s hair with a soft smile.
“…Thank you…”
“You’ve really grown up, kid,” he said. “You’re all grown up… I’m glad to see it.”
It was like Ushio was fifteen again, way before I ever met him. A pair of headlights approached. But just before we got into the taxi, he whispered, “If anything, I think you were the one who hooked me. You jumped in front of my bike like you were angling for the insurance money.”
“Shove it, daddy’s boy.”
I hadn’t given any thought to what would happen after I successfully reclaimed him, and to be honest, I was a little nervous, but it felt like we were back as our normal selves. Ah, the luxury of normal. But when I heard the address Ushio gave to the taxi driver, I reflexively grabbed his arm.
“Hey, wait!” I said.
“Huh?”
I mean, there’s nothing there… Does he not know that? Now I was sweating for an entirely different reason.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Uhhh…” How could I begin to tell him? It was impossible. Man, what am I gonna do now? Should I have punched his dad while I was there?
“Sorry, what address am I taking you to…?” the driver asked.
“The one I just said is fine, thanks,” Ushio said firmly. He patted me lightly on the back as I fumbled. “Don’t worry, I think I know where this is going. I just need to see it for myself.”
“…Okay.”
I wanted to tell him everything—meeting his grandmother, my mother’s surgery, what I heard from Eba—but I was so sick with anxiety, I couldn’t volunteer anything more serious than, “So what’s this about playing baseball in Osaka?” Then, when we arrived at what was once his house, he seemed to intuit what had happened and stared up at the sky.
“Ugh, they screwed me over… At least my equipment’s safe in that storage unit,” he muttered to himself, then turned to me. “Sorry about this. Did you see it after I was gone? That must have freaked you out. I’m so sorry.”
I reached up and slapped him in the face—not with my full strength like usual, but enough to make an airy sound. He stared back at me, his mouth hanging open.
“That’s not the fucking issue here!” An itchy heat spread across my palm; a single snowflake landed upon it and instantly melted. I clenched my hand into a fist and pressed it against his shoulder. “You know it’s not!”
You always put my feelings first, and I hate it!
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Kei.” He embraced me tenderly, like I was something fragile. “My house is gone, and I’m devastated. But I still have what matters most, and it’s all thanks to you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and held him back as tightly as I could. At long last, the time had come…to bawl my eyes out.
***
Back at my place, I collapsed to my knees in the entryway as I heard Ushio locking the door behind us.
“Kei?”
“…I’m tired…”
Tired of thinking, tired of being on edge, tired of talking, tired of panicking, tired of crying… A hamster could pick a fight with me and win. All the tension drained from my body until I was quite literally a puppet with its strings cut. Every muscle felt sore.
“Hey, you okay?” Ushio asked.
“What do you think, genius?! Your dad’s fucking terrifying! Talking to him is harder than hosting a 24-hour broadcast! Not that I’ve ever tried!”
“Ah, yeah… Sorry about my shitty dad.”
“He ought to learn a thing or two from my dad!” I yelled. “God, I’m hungry. I’m out of grease…”
“Want me to make something?” He headed to the kitchen, but quickly came back. “You’ve got nothing but instant or prepackaged foods in there. Should I go buy something?”
“Forget it.” I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t ever leave me again.”
He crouched down to my eye level and grinned. “That’s the same thing I said to you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t go anywhere physically…” I countered.
“I mean, it was still hell for me, but…you’re right. You didn’t.”
“I’m not saving your ass a second time, you hear me?”
“If I promise I won’t go anywhere, will you carry me bridal-style to the bed?” he asked.
“Are you seriously demanding more from me right now? I’m so tired, I don’t even want to pick up a Wiimote.”
“Yeah, but you’re the dashing prince in this scenario.”
“You think they make princes do heavy lifting?”
“Okay then, I’ll carry you.”
“Wait, what—” I started.
“Hold on tight, Your Highness!”
He slid his arms under my legs, and when I realized he was serious, I hastily threw my arms around his neck. It didn’t feel like I was in any danger of falling, but it had been far too long since the last time he lifted me up, and I wasn’t prepared.
“Put me down, put me down!” Any blushing bride who could just lie back and swoon clearly had bigger balls than me.
“We’ll be there in a second, so just hang tight.”
“Drop me and you’re dead! Off with your head!”
“Calm down, Queen of Hearts.”
And so, like a true gentleman, he repositioned me onto the bed. That much I was grateful for, at least.
“Shall I remove your attire, Your Highness?” he asked.
“No, I can do it myself… You just…”
“Yes?”
“…You strip too,” I commanded with a scowl.
He planted a kiss on my forehead. “Yes, sir,” he answered obediently and promptly got naked. Two outfits’ worth of clothes fluttered to the floor. “Now say, ‘I allow you to approach me, servant.’”
“What, am I a shogun now? This role-play is all over the place,” I commented.
But on the bed, at long last, nothing could keep us from each other.
“…I swear, I was thinking there was a bunch of stuff I needed to say to you,” Ushio explained. “But now all I can come up with is… I’m sorry, thank you, I love you.”
“That’s it,” I said. “You get the death penalty.”
“For what?”
“You missed one.”
“…Aha.” He hugged me tight. “I’m home, Kei.”
“Welcome back.”
The brief farewell, the brief journey, the brief battle—it was all for this moment. He kissed me gently, again and again, like he was trying to make up for every ounce of anxiety and loneliness I felt in his absence. He would brush against me, then look down at me with renewed eyes, like he was waking from a dream, or questioning if this was a dream, or perhaps seeing me for the first time and falling in love at first sight. It felt so ticklish. With every peck of his lips was an I’m sorry; with every kiss, a thank you, an I love you, an I’m home.
After a plethora of kisses too numerous to count, targeted mostly at chaste areas like my arms and shoulders, he looked at me with an almost childlike expression.
“Feels kinda scary, huh?”
“Yeah,” I answered curtly. Ugh, don’t say that! You’ll make me nervous!
“Originally, I was thinking I’d just…break up with you, with no explanation. Tell you to find someone else. For more of a clean break, you know?” Like a cat, he nuzzled his nose against mine. “But I couldn’t—I just couldn’t do it. I was only ever thinking about myself… I’m really sorry.”
I gently cupped his face in my hands, leaned back, and smiled. Then I slammed my head forward and attacked him with a headbutt.
“OW!!!”
The element of surprise had more of an impact than my particular choice of weapon. He buried his face in a pillow and groaned.
“Like hell I’d forgive you, you pleb!” I declared, tugging hard on his hair. “You think you get to call the shots all on your own? I’ll never let you live this down—I’ll bring it up seven days a week, right until you die!” That way you never think of leaving me again!
“…Why do our arguments always have to turn violent?” he complained, rubbing his forehead. But then he leaned in for a deep kiss and whispered, “Stay with me until I die.”
I couldn’t answer him because his mouth was on mine. The repeated joining of our lips had made mine highly sensitive, like they were missing a layer of skin. The slightest nibble from him sent a bolt of electricity through me. As he traced his tongue along my teeth and the roof of my mouth, I started to feel warm, and my mouth turned into a tropical climate.
“Mmm…!” I moaned.
The fever of arousal was already spreading through my entire body. My nipples perked up of their own accord in search of stimulation; he nibbled and sucked on them until they looked like two little red stains on my chest.
“Aah…”
My hardened nipples felt like they were filled with condensed lust, protesting and glowing bright red through my thin skin and demanding to be licked. Ushio teased them with his tongue and fingers, and pleasure crackled in my veins like a summertime sparkler. Then, he pressed down on them with his nails, burying their heat inside me.
“Mm! Ngh, aah…”
My body was exhausted from hours and hours of extreme tension and extreme relief, and arousal came quickly. Once we were done here later, I was seriously concerned I might sleep for three days straight…but that wasn’t going to stop me now.
“Aaahh…!”
My cock was already standing at attention, flaunting its sensitive underside to Ushio. He met its demands with his lips.
“Mmm, aah! Aah…!”
As he was wringing me dry, I felt my length enter his mouth, and my hips bucked shamelessly—once, twice, then a third time, flailing like a fish out of water from fighting the urge to cum.
“Hnn…nngh… Aah!”
He pressed on my pelvic bone with his hand while the inside of his cheeks hugged my glans. That wet warmth and softness moved back and forth against me in tiny, tantalizing intervals until my whole lower body was inundated with intense pleasure.
At that point, I could only choke out, “Too much!”
“Too much what?” Ushio asked as he rubbed his lips across my swollen tip.
“Stop! Don’t talk!”
“What’s too much?” His tongue traced over the faintly protruding ridge.
“Gah… N-no…! Too much…to hold back…!” I panted.
“So? Nobody said you have to hold back.”
“But I… Aah, no!”
Not only would I feel bad cumming in his mouth, I’d feel bad cumming so quickly.
He brushed my concerns aside. “Come on,” he insisted, sucking on my cock again. And my cock very much wanted it.
“Stop… Nnng… Aah, aaahh…!”
Lust built up in my gut until it reached its limit, bursting forth all at once from the slit at the tip of my cock. As the full-power orgasm tore through me, my hips bucked for what seemed like an eternity. I felt floaty and weightless, like my entire body’s weight shot out through my cock. But when I finally sank back onto the bedsheets, when I could feel every ounce of my body again, I was grateful for gravity’s pull.
Ushio teased me. “Whenever I tell you to hold back, you cry and complain, but if I don’t tell you to, you do it anyway?”
“Shut up!”
It wasn’t like I wanted him to stay meek and apologetic forever, but…he seemed to be bouncing back a little too quickly. I couldn’t really explain it. I tried to kick him, but he just grabbed my heel instead. After kissing my calf, he promptly brought my leg toward my chest.
“No!” I protested.
“Just suck it up.”
“I’m telling you, that’s not—”
After I watched him ravish my rear entrance with his eyes, he pressed a finger to its rim and stroked it. It was already damp from our bodily fluids, and it relaxed and opened slightly in response to the external stimulus. As a primitive organ, it was highly susceptible to direct pleasure.
“Aah, aaahh… Nngh!”
Once he penetrated me, even slightly, the game was basically won. Sure enough, my orifice easily took in an entire finger. From there, all that remained was to widen me up enough for more—he was using both a thrusting finger and a tongue so vigorous that I half-believed my ass was salivating on its own.
“Aaahh! Aah, gah, aah…!”
Two wildly different sensations fought for dominance, filling my cramped entrance. My walls twitched eagerly around them, hungry for both. The chill of our sinful behavior quickly evaporated in the heat, and before I knew it, an electric current of lust buzzed through my whole body.
“Ngh… Aaaahh…!”
“Kei,” Ushio called as he worked the moisture into me. “Let’s do it together.”
“What?”
I didn’t understand what he meant at first, and when he grabbed my wrist, I thought he was going to make me touch my returning erection. But no, he led my hand further back, back to the hole loudly sucking in a finger on his other hand.
“…No!”
“It’s okay.”
“I said no, dumbass!”
My finger brushed over the naughty part, and I felt his finger moving in and out of me. I could also tell that my entrance was now as soft as pulp.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” he asked, nibbling on each of my fingers as I clenched them in fear.
“I’m scared.”
“This isn’t scary! We’ve done it tons of times, haven’t we? Feel how soft you are?” He demonstrated for me, thrusting some more.
“Aaahh!” Pleasure flared up within me with no trace of resistance or pain. “Nngh… No… You do it!”
“No.”
“Why not? I don’t want to! It’s embarrassing!” I protested.
“That’s why I want you to.” One minute he was a cruel bully like usual, and the next, he was suddenly gazing deep into my eyes. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed. And when I think about how badass you were not that long ago, the contrast gets me off. I want your pride, your shame, all of it.”
“…No fair…”
His eyes were dark—but not from despair, like that one night. This time, they gleamed with lust, unwavering and steadfast. I could tell it was no mere biological urge, but a desire from the depths of his very soul. It was beautiful and pure, and I found myself giving in to it.
“Aah… Nn…nngh…” As I timidly uncurled my index finger, he guided it inside me.
“Slowly now… See how it takes you in on its own? I like that.”
“Aah…”
With his finger right beside mine, I began to shallowly explore myself. My inner walls could feel my finger, and my finger could feel my insides. My brain was confused.
“How is it?”
“I…don’t know…? It’s warm, I guess…?”
“Yeah, it’s hot and tight, and feels good on my finger. I love your slutty ass.”
Once my finger was in about halfway, he started wriggling his own ever so slightly, almost like he was spelling out letters inside.
“Gah! What are you doing?”
“…This right here…” He pressed down on my nail inside me, guiding my finger to the lump on the other side of a fleshy wall.
“Aaahh…!” I cried out.
“That’s your weak spot. Can you feel it?”
“Oh! Aaahh, ngh!”
It was the seed of my lust; I couldn’t see it, but I sure could feel it. Whenever Ushio massaged it, I writhed endlessly until my whole body threatened to melt… Well, everything except for my cock, which remained rock-hard.
“Ngh! I don’t want to do this…!” I whined.
“Doesn’t it feel good? Playing with this makes you get even wetter.”
“Aaahh…!”
Wrapped around my finger, my walls felt like the tongue of some other creature. Yet it was unmistakably me who was getting off to the motions of his own hand. Me, who could no longer control the volume of his moans. Me, who was now masturbating shamelessly. Long after Ushio removed his finger, I kept on thrusting my own rapidly, playing with my aching lump of lust.
“Aah, aah, nnng!”
“Does it feel good?” he asked me.
“Mmm… Y-yeah…!”
Having lost its patience, my ass puckered brazenly. My hips bucked up to match the writhing within me, wrinkling the bedsheets beneath.
“Should we get you off again first?” Ushio mused.
Admittedly, my cock was so close to another climax that it was dribbling sticky fluids all over my stomach. But more pressing by far, for me, was a desperation for his dick.
“Forget it…” I shook my head. “Just…hurry up already…!”
I opened myself wide, begging that the next time I came was from penetration. When Ushio looked down at me, my swollen, wet walls tensed up yet again.
“I want you…” I whined.
It was humiliating and I knew I’d regret it later, but I needed him to know how crazily my body yearned for him more than anything. He had set a fire within me, and it was cooking me alive. I heard him swallow.
“Shit, you’re making me drool.” Evidently, he was on fire too, because the cock he pressed to my entrance was searing hot.
“Aaahh…” The blazing, rigid length brushed past my fingers, and when his tip kissed my hole, I was already in ecstasy.
“I’m gonna rock your world, so get ready,” he told me.
We’re making love… The thought made my heart soar.
“Hnn…!” At long last, my body gleefully took him in. His cock spread me open to my limits, parting my wet walls. “Aaahh, aah, aaahh…!” It was hard to take, but I didn’t want to let it go. My insides boiled with lust. “Nnngh…Ushio…!”
“Agh… Fuck…” he groaned. “I’m gonna cum in seconds…”
“Nnngh!”
Once my insides created a perfect mold of his cock, he thrust all the way back in and promptly came inside me. The mental image of his thick, sticky semen filling me up made me blow my own load.
“Nnn…!”
Even so, our bodies knew we were nowhere near finished. My feverish walls clamped down on him, forcing life back into his length, and his cum became the lubrication for his renewed efforts.
“Aah…! Aah, aah, no!” I whimpered. “Don’t pull it out slow!”
“Then how’s…this?”
“Hnn! Gaah…!”
He slammed all the way into me, and for a second, it truly felt like my heart and lungs were both knocked out of my chest.
“Not like that either…!”
“Then you want me to just lay here? I’m not made of stone, you know,” he said.
“Aah!”
“I just can’t resist your hot bod.” As he slowly bucked his hips against me, he ran his tongue over my nipples. They were swollen and red, unable to vent their lust like other parts of me.
“Aah, aah… Aah!” My vision was getting blurry. I thought it was sweat getting in my eyes at first, but then I realized it was from my tears.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head. My bangs were wet and sticking to my forehead. Every part of my body was melting—something I could only experience with Ushio. No one else would suffice. “It feels so good…”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Don’t stop…” I moaned.
“As if I could.” He grabbed my legs and lifted them up until the angle of our pairing had shifted by practically 90 degrees.
“Aaahh…!”
My body and mind were both so full of Ushio that I didn’t have room for anything else…and I was happy. Don’t ever leave me again! The very thought made my hole clamp down on its visitor, and Ushio responded by increasing his rhythm. Everything I wanted was right here—all of it. Everything he did gave me only pleasure. Every time his cock slammed into my internal organs, I felt a small explosion in my gut. My ass was squeezing him like crazy, and Ushio was sweating buckets.
“…Are you cumming?”
“No… It’s weird…!” I wasn’t ejaculating, but there was definitely some sort of lengthy climax happening in my loins. “Aah, aaahh! Ushio… Ushio…!” I threw my lifeless arms toward him and gestured. “It’s too intense—I’m scared—come here!”
“Okay.”
He let go of my legs and embraced me, bringing us chest to chest. I could feel his throbbing heartbeat next to mine.
“How’s this?” he asked.
“Nng, aah, aaahh…! Closer! Come closer!”
“Okay.” He buried himself even deeper inside me as he continued his motions.
“Aaahh, yeah…!” I moaned.
“I love you… I love you, Kei…”
“Me…too…!”
“Aahh, fuck, I can’t—I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
“Good… Cum in me… Hold me…!”
We squeezed each other so tightly, I half-wondered if our arms would leave indents.
“Kei…”
“Nnngh…!”
Be it during sex, during climax, during sleep, or even during nightmares—I wanted to be right there in his arms, forever.
***
Not that long ago, I remembered seeing cherry blossoms gleaming in the darkness on the taxi ride home each night. Now, the pink had been fully superseded by green.
In light of his predecessor’s scandals, Wakamiya Homare was appointed as the new Minister for Internal Affairs and Communications. He apparently even visited Asabi TV, but I never saw him. I could, however, foresee many more situations—unrelated to his son, mind you—where I’d likely end up in the same room as him. But eh…I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Part of me also wondered if this momentum of his might carry him all the way to the seat of Prime Minister, but that, too, was a quandary for another day.
As for the Kunieda Kei election rumors, some outlets clung to them stubbornly, but with no new developments and plenty of other exciting news to report on, they were mostly on their way out. In fact, I was almost a little offended at how easily they lost all interest! But such was the nature of the industry that put a roof over my head, so I decided to simply shrug it off.
Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Sometimes, looking back, you realize that your “crisis” was actually no big deal. But until you get to that point, for better or for worse, it’s not over—you’re still in it. Some people try to get to the end ASAP, while others fight to keep it going as long as possible, but time flows the same for everyone regardless.
I was generous enough to let Ushio move in with me (as long as he paid rent), but he only stayed for a few days before finding himself a furnished apartment with a month-to-month lease as a new temporary base of operations. Apparently, he didn’t feel comfortable unless he was fully in control of his food, clothing, and shelter. He seemed to be looking for a more permanent housing solution in between gigs, but I didn’t know the details. It pissed me off that he had no interest whatsoever in the empty room at my place though, so I hadn’t talked to him about it.
My official stance was “knock yourself out, pal.” He’d never find a place I could love more than that cozy, no-frills house that used to be right down the road. No matter where he settled, I knew I’d find something to complain about.
I knew it would only bum me out, but every now and then, I went and passed by that empty lot. Sure enough, it broke my heart every time. If Ushio happened to visit on one of those nights, I’d quietly cuddle up with him and go to sleep…because only in his arms with my eyes closed could I ever visit that house again.
***
“Kunieda-kun! Come out and plaaay!”
Ushio showed up bright and early that morning, 6 a.m. on a Saturday, after I was finally freed from the weekday grind. Emotionally speaking, it felt like I had just gone to sleep. Fuck off.
“Maybe laaater…”
“I rented a car,” he said. “Let’s go for a drive!”
“I’d rather play Mario Kart.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m too tired, okay? Go enjoy the mountains or whatever by yourself.”
“Don’t you wanna come see my new house?”
“Huh?” Only then did my eyes open wide. “You already settled on one?”
“Yep.”
Although I was trying to act like I didn’t care, and although I had every intention of nitpicking it to death, I assumed he would at least consult me once he narrowed down the candidates… I considered going back to sleep in protest, but I did want to see it… But then again… As I debated it, however, he snatched the blanket off me.
“Good, you’re awake.”
“I haven’t decided yet!” I protested.
“At this hour, we won’t run into anyone. Just wear your tracksuit.”
I could have kept fighting him, but then I saw how excited he was and decided to offer him the privilege of my company. That said, I wore my Kunieda-san clothes, just in case. Then we grabbed breakfast at a drive-thru.
“…Isn’t this kinda far?”
“I went out of our way for breakfast,” he told me. “I’d say the TV station is about the midpoint between your place and this one.”
That’s still far! Would it have killed you to stay no more than two train stations away? Do you even care? Now I wanted to see it even less.
“You don’t look happy. Still hungry?”
“It’s nothing!”
Behind the wheel, Ushio seemed just as chipper as always, and it only made me feel worse.
Our destination was located near a canal. After we left the car in a metered parking spot, he led me to a five-story apartment building. That’s right—an apartment, not a condo. The building was square, blocky, and screamed “antique” with its dark brown walls and eye-catching bay windows. I could see its age everywhere I looked, even in the compact yet intricately decorated façade. It seemed right at home with the small, outdated buildings surrounding it that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’80s. In fact, you wouldn’t notice the generational gap at all unless you really stopped to look up at it.
“How old is this building?” I asked.
“Like eighty years old, I think?”
Seriously? That’s as old as Grandpa Eba! Then he pulled a keyring out from the pocket of his hoodie. Several heavy keys jangled together.
“Jeez, how many keys do you need?”
“I mean, all of them, depending. But right now, just the front door key.”
The double doors were wooden and embedded with old-timey frosted glass. Inside, we were greeted with the cluster mailbox and building directory board.
“Where’s the elevator?”
“Stairs only.”
“And there’s how many floors?”
“Five.”
“Uggghhh…” I don’t wanna have to walk all the way up there… Is this some kind of sick punishment…?
The nameplates were full of tax professionals, paralegals, and other businesses, save for 5F, where a name had been crossed out.
“The fifth floor is the only one with apartments. B1 is supposed to be the tenant storage area, but there’s an empty room down there that I’m planning to use as my studio. The building is basically deserted on weekends, and they lock the front doors at 11 p.m. every night, hence all the keys.”
The cold concrete staircase was furnished with chocolate-colored handrails. Sunlight streamed in through windows at each landing. It was like walking through an abandoned school building, and I completely understood what Ushio saw in this place. At the fourth landing, there was a NO ENTRY sign posted in front of the last set of stairs. We walked right past it to an automatic-locking metal door that felt jarringly modern.
“They had to install one of these to deter urban explorer types,” Ushio explained as he produced yet another key.
One for the front doors, one for his mailbox, one for the storage area, and now this was his fourth key? Beyond the auto-locking door was a hallway, and down at the end, I could see three more doors.
“That one at the end leads out to the emergency staircase,” he added as he slid a fifth key into the closest door. If a cop saw him walking around with all these keys, he might call for backup. And if I was going to visit this place, I’d need copies of all the same keys, which meant I’d have to carry SIX. Ugh, what a hassle!
The cramped entryway and low ceiling immediately struck me as old-fashioned, but the interior was very clean. It was a two-bedroom apartment with a closed floor plan and a view of the canal from the balcony. On the other side of the water, I could see a cluster of pitched-roof warehouses so painstakingly identical, they looked copy-pasted.
“The plumbing is already updated, so all I gotta do is knock down this wall to make one big room.”
“You can just do that…?”
“Yeah, totally.” He pulled one of the keys off of the ring and held it out to me. “Here, this one’s for your place.”
“You mean a spare for your place, right?”
“Nah, I’ll let you have it.” He then pointed to the wall. “It’s for the apartment next door.”
“Wait…what?”
“Isn’t this place great? People only ever come here during the day on weekdays and there’s a great view of the water… It’s a bit of a walk to the train station, but it’s more or less the same distance to Asabi, so I feel like it’s a good location. The floor plans are mirrors of each other, by the way.”
So that’s why he said Asabi was the midpoint.
“Well, uh…” Admittedly, it wasn’t a bad idea, but it was so sudden that my brain couldn’t quite keep up with his words. What about packages? Would I just send him down to get them? “Wh-what’s the rent like…?”
This apartment was bigger than mine, but mine was newer and in a more walkable location. Then again, retro apartments were trendy these days—but some landlords capitalized on that trend to charge an arm and a leg. As long as Ushio could afford it—
“Oh, right, rent…” He nodded gravely. “How much should I charge?”
“Huh?”
“I technically own both of these apartments.”
“What? You bought them?!” I mean, it’s a free country, but where the hell did a freeloader like you get that kind of money?!
“No, I inherited them.”
“From who?!”
“Grandma.”
He explained that this office building, as well as the lot it was on, originally belonged to his great-grandfather on his father’s side. At one point, he took the top floor and remodeled it into a residence—as a gift for his newly married grandson, Homare.
“I actually lived here for the first two years of my life, apparently. I don’t remember it at all though. Then, when we were forced to move back to the Wakamiya estate, my mother decided she liked the place so much that she didn’t want to do anything with it except pay for basic upkeep. So when she died, Grandma claimed the rights to the fifth floor as a sort of…memento, I guess.”
Because of her chronic lower back problems, Grandma Tsuzuki couldn’t live in a building without an elevator. She hired a property management company to rent out the apartments for a little income on the side. There were conflicts, however, and then these rooms were left vacant for several years.
“You had a free place to live this whole time and you never told me?!” I said.
“I didn’t know it existed until now! I just happened to mention to her that I was house-hunting and she dropped this bomb on me!”
“Aha…”
It all made sense. Grandma Tsuzuki wouldn’t have volunteered the information of her own accord, since she was afraid Ushio wouldn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want him to think she was one of them, after all. But, clearly, she had decided he was ready to know.
“Can’t believe my mean old grandma was holding out on me all this time…” he muttered to himself, but I was sure he understood her intent as well as I did.
“But why would your parents have two separate apartments? Shouldn’t they have knocked down the walls and turned it into one big one?”
“About that…” He grinned like my question was hilarious. “Apparently, they were going to use one of them as my dad’s atelier. He wasn’t even a professional painter—can you believe how spoiled he was? Free real estate from his grandpa! What a mooch! And he thinks his shit doesn’t stink!”
Wakamiya Homare was once described as having a “carefree” life. If it was never upended…if Ushio had grown up here…what sort of person would he have become? Would we have still met? I knew there was no point in thinking about it, but still.
“I’m thinking I wanna put a door here,” Ushio continued, patting the wall. “That way we’ll have separate apartments on paper, but we can still see each other as much as we like. See? I’ve got it all covered.”
“Aren’t you gonna have guests over?”
“If I do, I’ll hide it with a bookcase or something—maybe get one of those sliding ones they have at the library,” he said. “Ooh, that way I won’t need to buy more than one fridge or washing machine…”
“Oh, so that’s what you’re really after.”
“Well, how about it? There’s still time to make customizations, so I can put in shelves or whatever you want.”
Truth be told, my heart was already mostly made up, but I didn’t want to look eager. I waffled a bit. “Let me see the place first.”
“All right, fine.”
The apartment next door had been remodeled with exactly the same layout. Ushio designed the kitchens and bathrooms himself, but I didn’t have any preferences there, so I didn’t mind. A rise-and-grind prince had no time to be looking at home improvement catalogs. Then, I noticed the ivory wallpaper was peeling.
“You’re gonna replace this, right?”
“Yeah, totally. You want it to look like TV static? How about SMPTE color bars?”
“That would drive me insane.”
Seeing as he was going to have it all replaced anyway, I gave the wallpaper a tug and ripped it down. It was surprisingly fun, like breaking the factory seal on something brand-new.
“What are you, five?” Ushio scoffed, but he then went back to devising his secret passageway.
Meanwhile, I crouched down, grabbed the loose flap of wallpaper near my feet, and ripped it up with all my strength. And when I did…
“…Hey, look!” I shouted.
Startled, Ushio turned around. “What, did you find a skeleton?”
“Look here!”
When I failed to play along with his joke, he came walking over with a dubious look on his face. Then he crouched down with me…and gasped.
There, I had discovered three old, faded handprints in small, medium, and large—a child, a mother, and a father. They were all in a beautiful shade of blue, just like the sky outside. The prints were rather low to the ground, the perfect height for a little toddler to have waddled over and slapped his hand to the wall while his parents were repainting. They were each autographed with a single letter—U, H, and H.
“…Hana,” Ushio whispered. “That was my mom’s name.”
Ushio, Hana, and Homare.
He didn’t have any memory of this place, and obviously I wouldn’t know either. But a young Ushio must have put his handprint on the wall, and instead of scolding him, his parents joined in to celebrate the occasion. They were a happy family with no inkling of the way their lives would be changed forever… At least, that was my headcanon.
Ushio stroked the wall, then looked down at his hand, now much larger. He and his parents had lived here once upon a time, and his mother had loved this place. How had his father felt, entrusting it to his mother-in-law’s care? How did Ushio feel now that it ended up with him? He must have been thinking about all these things, swallowing some of them and wrestling with others.
As his palm floated helplessly in midair, I laid my own upon it. His tears fell onto the back of my hand. Meanwhile, the morning sun streamed in bright and pale through the window, with no curtains to obstruct it. We were all alone, holding hands in an empty space, illuminated by the light of a new beginning.
Secret Signs
“WHAT DO YOU wanna do about your apartment?” Ushio asked.
“Meaning?”
“Like, if you wanna trade me, there’s still totally time for that.”
“Why would I?”
“Even with new wallpaper, it’d still be weird having someone else’s handprints on your walls, right? I kinda assumed you’d want the other one.”
“Eh, I don’t care. If you wanna trade, then—wait, no, this one has a window in the bathroom! I want this one!”
“I wouldn’t get too excited about that. Pretty sure you’ll need to keep it shut most of the time unless you want people to hear.”
Hear what, exactly?! “Well, I don’t see why we have to cover them up with wallpaper anyway,” I told him magnanimously…because I didn’t care.
“…Wait, really?”
“It’s not like they’re bloodstains or anything.”
“Right. Okay then, we can paint around them.”
And so the walls of my new apartment were painted sand beige, save for a tidy square frame around the handprints. And in an area hidden by the bed, Ushio and I added two new, sky-blue handprints of our own.
“Man, your life line is super long…” he commented.
“You seriously believe in palmistry? That’s stupid. I already know I’m gonna live a long-ass time.”
“Uh-oh, you’ve got some weird lines too…”
“Liar! Which ones?!”
“Not telling.”
I lay down on the bed and pressed my palms to the walls. They were cold and hard to the touch, but knowing there were secret signs hidden here, I felt nothing but love from them. Sometimes, while spooning, Ushio would reach out to the walls the same exact way. Visible or not, these signs were ours alone.
From the Author
From the Author
Thank you all so much.