Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

TWENTY SEVENTH ACT: The Enemy

Infer the Unintelligible

For a long time, I lived as a lamb disguised as a wolf. With my head held high, projecting a confidence I never had. Makoto took away the disguise. I tried to face the world, and fled.

Meeting Kazuhiro was what made me land, open my eyes, and stop running without purpose. He, holding my hands, taught me to use the claws I always had. He helped me defeat the wolf. But the wolf never existed. In the end, it was time that devoured me.

Then, the breeze caressed me, and in the distance, beyond the tide, I saw the sun rising, spreading its orange light and reflecting in the purest blue: the blue of Kazuhiro's eyes.

I thanked Makoto.

☻☻☻

With a bottle in hand, the night carried on. When Manami arrived at the bar, Makoto moved away, sitting with her at a table near the entrance.

And while they were all lovey-dovey, and Kazuhiro whispered in Nanako's ear, I, alone and abandoned on my stool, went from bottle to bottle. Slowly, as the hours passed, exhaustion crept in, numbing my limbs. My eyelids, heavy, eventually closed, and I collapsed onto the bar.

In the distance, I heard voices.

"What do we do now?"

"If she's not good at drinking, why does she do it?"

"She does it to forget those annoying wannabe celebrities who make her bitter."

"Or to avoid putting up with rude rats."

"Me, rude?!"

I didn't need to open my eyes to know who was talking.

Suddenly, I felt someone's hand gently stroking my forehead, this feels nice, I thought.

"Poor thing must be exhausted from both work and her rude friends. I'll take her home," he stepped away. "Hey, you, know-it-all, help me carry her."

I heard a sigh followed by footsteps, and soon, hands embraced me, pressing me against their chest, lifting me into the air. The scent of men's cologne, maybe oak or cypress, was so familiar.

"Come on, walk with me to the car. The rest of you, clean the tables."

"Huh?! Why?!" I heard some complaints.

"I've treated you all to beer, you owe me!"

Then, between footsteps, I felt myself being gently rocked in the air, cradled in his arms. I buried my face in his chest, and his scent, his warmth, lulled me back to sleep.

☻☻☻

That night, in secret, Kazuhiro took me back to my aunt's house. He left me asleep on the couch, covered me with the same blanket he always used to tuck me in, patted my feet softly as a goodnight gesture, and disappeared into his room.

That would be the last night I'd see Kazuhiro. Since Mystical Key had finally committed to composing a new repertoire from scratch, the hours at the production company had skyrocketed, not only for composing but for devising marketing strategies—they had to go viral.

Despite having attended many of their previous rehearsals, the record label decided to ban me from the studio, fearing I might leak details of the new album before its release. Although their manager, Okamoto, knew Kazuhiro and I shared an apartment, the producer and the rest of the team were still unaware. If they found out, it could jeopardize all my work.