“They had the cameras at a pretty low angle, didn’t they?” Mima said. “I felt a little conscious of them at the start, but I got used to it pretty fast.” She gave a satisfied chuckle.
Rumi was busy pouring hot water into a drip coffee setup. She said, “You’re cute no matter what you’re wearing. I don’t know how you did it, but you made even that sexy costume cute, too.”
Mima looked happy enough that she could fly away. “I think this song is going to make it, Bon-chan,” she said. “Singing’s seriously never felt so amazing!”
Tadokoro thought he understood what she was feeling. She’d kept herself bottled up in her idea of what an idol was, but now this song had set her spirit free. Making the change hadn’t been easy, but he was profoundly glad he had challenged Mima to expand herself.
“All right!” Tadokoro said. “Tonight, we’re going to celebrate the beginning of Mima’s new journey. Rumi-chan, bring out the beer.”
Rumi opened the refrigerator and shook her head. “Sorry. Looks like we’re all out.”
Mima stood. “Let’s go buy some more, then.”
Tadokoro held out his palm to stop them. “Wait, wait,” he insisted. “I’ll go. You two sit down.” He extracted himself from the couch. “I’ll be right back. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing a vending machine around the back.”
Several half-liter beer cans in hand, Tadokoro stepped into the elevator. He took it to the third floor, then jogged down the walkway to Mima’s apartment. Just as he reached for the doorknob, his eyes happened to glance toward the fire escape.
It was difficult to make out, but there, in a void of shadow untouched by the nighttime lights, something was stirring. Tadokoro placed the beer cans quietly on the floor in front of Mima’s apartment and tiptoed toward the exit.
Someone there, whoever they were, was watching.
Keeping his voice down, Tadokoro asked, “Who’s there?”
The figure in the shadows moved, responding to his voice. Tadokoro broke into a run.
“Damn it!” he heard the dark shape mutter, and then it fled down the fire escape.
The manager gave pursuit. “Stop!” he shouted, running down the twisting steps. He came out below the apartment building’s rear exit, near the tenants’ small covered parking lot.
Tadokoro looked from left to right and saw a long-haired man fleeing from the garage.
It’s that damn pervert!
Tadokoro sprinted after the man as fast as he could. Before long, his heart was pumping so hard it felt like it might leap from his throat—but Tadokoro refused to slow his chase.
The fleeing man turned onto an unlit street—this neighborhood was well removed from any shopping districts, and most of the roads lacked street lamps. On top of that, the man wore a black shirt and jeans that melded into the shadows; Tadokoro nearly lost sight of him several times.
I can’t let him go, Tadokoro thought. Not him. His tenacious resolve wouldn’t allow him to lose sight of the man. The high school judo fighter wasn’t a fast runner—but he still had stamina.
After several minutes, the distance between them began to close. The fleeing intruder was wearing out first. On a riverside gravel path, Tadokoro managed to grab the man by the back of the neck. He got a good grip and yanked him back inwards, down to the ground. The manager pressed his elbow against the base of the man’s neck, while his other hand restrained his enemy’s left arm.
“Who are you?” Tadokoro demanded. “What were you doing outside that apartment?”
The man grunted in pain, but he glared up at his captor with stubborn intensity.
So, he still thinks he can defy me? Tadokoro thought.
The manager felt disgust stir in the pit of his stomach. He put more force behind his elbow. “I’ll ask you one more time,” he said. “Who are you?”
The man twisted his lips, his expression radiating hatred. He didn’t say a word.
Then, despite Tadokoro restraining him, he used his free legs to strike back, kicking at Tadokoro’s shoulder with the top of his right foot.
Caught off guard, Tadokoro stumbled off the man, who quickly broke free and immediately launched a punch.
Tadokoro tried to dodge the strike—too slow. The man’s fist glanced off his cheekbone.
Without hesitating, the stranger threw a second punch.
This time, Tadokoro was ready for him. He read the man’s attack instinctively, bent his arm into a V, and drove his elbow into the back of the man’s neck. He put all his weight into his arm, slamming both his opponent and himself to the ground.
It was Tadokoro’s trademark back throw.
The wind was knocked from the intruder’s lungs, escaping in an unnatural-sounding grunt. The man stopped moving.
VII
Sounding worried, Mima muttered, “What’s taking Bon-chan so long? How far did he go to find some beer?”
Rumi, busy slicing cheese, stopped her work to glance over at Mima. She asked, “Would you like me to go look for him?”
“Maybe. Well, no. I shouldn’t be worried like this.” Mima put on a confident smile. “He can handle himself… In any case, let’s give him a little longer. If he’s not back in five minutes, we’ll go find him together.”
Rumi brought a serving tray piled high with sliced salami and cheese to the living room table and set the wine glasses next to the tray. As much for her own benefit as Mima’s, she suggested, “Maybe the vending machine out back ran out.”
The door opened.
When Mima saw Tadokoro standing in the doorway with blood flowing from his cheek, she reflexively shouted, “Bon-chan!” Then quieter, her voice strained with worry, she asked, “What happened to you? You’re bleeding.”
Rather than answer, Tadokoro stepped to the side and presented a dirty, long-haired heap of a man beside the doorway.
Her eyes wide open, Mima looked to Tadokoro’s face and asked, “Who is that?”
“This is him. That pervert. I found him watching your apartment. But everything is all right now. I caught him.” Tadokoro laughed heartily.
Mima looked to the man who was collapsed in her entryway. His hair and clothing were meant to look youthful, but he was far from young—maybe even thirty-five. She felt angry, disgusted even, thinking of this old letch calling her again and again, writing her those nasty letters.
“It’s not him,” Rumi said, now standing beside Mima.
Mima asked, “What?”
Tadokoro asked, “What did you say?”
Looking troubled, Rumi lowered her head and said, “I don’t think it’s him…”
Tadokoro’s face became serious. “Are you telling me that this isn’t the stalker?”
“I’m don’t remember what happened very clearly, but I think the man who handed me the letter in the TV station was younger than this. And…”
“And what?” Tadokoro pressed.
“I think he was smaller, too.”
Hearing this, Tadokoro grabbed the long-haired man by the shoulders and squeezed. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you?”
Seemingly irritated, the man brushed off Tadokoro’s hands. He said, “Would you shut up already? How many times are you going to ask that?” With hate in his face, the man glared up at Tadokoro. “All you need to know is I’m no pervert stalker. I was there for my job.”
“Your job?” Tadokoro scoffed. “What do you mean, your job? Your job is to lurk outside someone’s apartment door?”
“Yes,” the man spat, “that’s my job.” Then he clammed up.
Mima strode up to the man confidently. “Listen here, you. You think there’s a job out there that pays money for spying on a single woman’s apartment? Are you nuts?”
“Stuff it,” the man said. “There is a job like that. I’m a reporter. Maybe you’ve heard of them? Specifically, I’m an entertainment reporter.”
At once, Mima, Rumi, and Tadokoro all said, “A reporter?”
The three exchanged glances.
Then, sounding fed up, Tadokoro said, “Wait just a moment. I’ve been earning my living in this business for twenty years now. I know every entertainment reporter big and small, but I’ve never seen your face.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re out of touch. All right, maybe I don’t look it, but I’m an exclusive reporter for the Weekly Thriller. My name is Sakuragi Shin. You want my card?”
Tadokoro snorted. “The Weekly Thriller, huh?” The manager pictured the magazine’s garish cover. It was a tasteless, third-rate rag. “If that’s true, then what’s a tabloid reporter doing here?”
The man grinned. “I can’t tell you that. It’s what you call a trade secret, got it?”
Tadokoro scowled. “Just who do you think you are, you bastard?! You can’t talk to me like that. Trade secret? Don’t make me laugh. If that’s how you want to play it, I’ll turn you over to the police and have you arrested for trespassing in a private residence. Or how about I give you another taste of my judo, first?”
A second later, Tadokoro had the man hoisted up across his back.
Arms and legs flailing uselessly in the air, the man said, “A-all right. I’ll talk. I’ll talk! Just let me down.”
“Fine,” Tadokoro said, releasing him.
Realizing that he wouldn’t be getting that second round with Ochiai Eri, the man reluctantly explained then what he had been sent to do.
Rumi’s lips trembled as she said, “How low can that woman get?”
Tadokoro said, “I’ll never forgive her.” His rage had reached its peak.
Mima said nothing, instead biting at her lip.
Sulking, the man said, “I’m telling you, I’m just the hired hand. All I was supposed to do was catch Kirigoe Mima and Aran Naoto on a date.”
The manager said, “I don’t know what Eri told you, but our Mima has never even met that guy.” His voice raised into a booming shout. “So you listen good—if I find out that you’ve been spreading any false rumors, you can be sure you’ll be hearing from me!”
Meanwhile, Mima’s thoughts fixed on Aran Naoto, who she had gone on several dates with two years earlier.
Chapter 5
DETERMINATION
I
The day was busy from the start.
Mima made three TV appearances in just the morning alone. Added to a spate of magazine interviews and other obligations, even her assistant Rumi had trouble keeping track of the full schedule. But no matter how frantic the day got, Mima did it all without a single complaint.
Only after she’d finished her guest role on an afternoon variety program did Mima and Rumi finally have time for lunch. The pair went into a small café adjacent to the Aozora TV studio. The lunch crowds had mostly cleared out. No one recognized the singer.
Rumi ordered a salad, and Mima went back and forth on a few items before deciding on the pilaf.
With a displeased twitch of her nose, Rumi said, “I still can’t get over what she tried to do to you.”
“She’s always hated me,” Mima said, “but the feeling is mutual.”
“Do you remember that magazine interview where she said she thought of you as her rival? Even back then, she sounded so full of herself.”
“She’s ambitious.”
Rumi’s frown brought creases between her eyebrows. “It’s not a matter of being ambitious. She’s delusional. You know what I think? I think she’s not right in the head.”
Without meaning to, Mima let out a sigh. “Rumi-chan, you shouldn’t talk like that. Badmouthing her won’t help anything.”
“I mean it. She’s crazy,” Rumi said, twirling her fork in the air for emphasis. “Look at how she used that reporter to try to drag you down. I wouldn’t put it past her to…” Rumi lowered her voice. “To be behind those calls and letters.”
Mima gently waved her hand, dismissive. “I don’t think so. I almost wish she’d put that man up to it—I’d feel safer, at least—but no, I don’t think he has anything to do with her.”
“I’m not so sure,” Rumi said, lips pouted. “I don’t mean to speak out of place, but you don’t know what that Eri is capable of doing. She even came up with that nonsense about you and Aran Naoto.”
Mima lowered her head and kept it that way for a while. Rumi watched her with concern, then asked, “What’s wrong, Mima-san?”
Mima snapped her head up. “Okay. I feel like I can tell you this.” The singer downed the water in her cup with a single gulp, then said, “She didn’t make up that story about Naoto.”
Rumi’s eyes went wide as she exclaimed, “What?”
“We dated, but it was just for a little while, and it was more than two years ago. I was serious about the relationship, but I could tell he wasn’t, so I broke it off.” Mima stared off into the distance. “He’s nothing more than a happy memory now.”
“But… but…” Rumi looked right at her. “You’re not dating him now, right? Eri is trying to make it sound like you’re still a thing. How low can she go? And you know what? Even if—if—you were still dating him, that’s your own business. Anyone who’d go tattling to some sleazy reporter doesn’t deserve to be an idol!”
II
Entering the K-TV studio building, Mima passed the open door to the makeup room and saw Ochiai Eri inside, standing before a full-length mirror. Her self-proclaimed rival was talking with the director of Sunday Studio, but Mima couldn’t make out their conversation save for the man’s occasional booming laughter.
Keeping her expression casual, Mima entered the room.
The director noticed her. “Hiya, Mima-chan.”
Mima offered the pair a slight bow, which Eri returned.
Mima approached Eri and asked, “Do you have a moment?”
The younger idol responded with a nod that said she knew full well what this was about.
The two women made their way to a small, plainly-decorated café inside the K-TV building, where Mima got straight to the point.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mima demanded.
Eri’s lips formed a knowing smirk. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You can feel however you like about me,” Mima said, brushing aside a stray lock of hair with a casual flick of her hand, “but I’d like you to stop these cowardly attempts at sabotaging my career.”
Eri laughed through her nose and replied, “Mima-san, I respect you. That’s why I chose you as my rival. I even said as much in that interview. Surely I would never try to sabotage someone who I admire.”
Mima returned the laugh. “Eri-chan, let’s drop the pretenses just for today, shall we? I want us to both say what we mean. Now, you know a man called Sakuragi Shin, don’t you?”
“I’ve met him,” Eri replied. “He’s a reporter for a third-rate magazine. He did an article on me.”
“And that’s all?”
“Of course that’s all. Are you suggesting there’s something more?”
Anger colored Eri’s expression, but Mima’s stare remained unflinching.
Mima said, “This Sakuragi was watching my apartment. My manager caught him and loosened his lips. Do I have to say more?”
“It sounds like you’re suggesting that I sent Sakuragi to your apartment.” Eri rose from her chair and let out a deep laugh. “Mima-san, you really are getting old and out of touch. I’ll tell you how the world works. It’s a reporter’s job to dig through famous people’s private lives. I don’t tell him where to go—he goes wherever he decides. I never put that Sakuragi up to anything.”
Mima slapped her hands on the table and stood from her chair as well. “I see how it is. Well, I know what you are. I won’t ‘suggest’ that you seduced that reporter into doing your bidding. But I’ve got one thing to say to you. You keep saying I put on an innocent girl act. But I believe that an idol has to have some real innocence in her. If that comes across as an act, or as being out of touch, then so be it.”
Mima looked Eri right in the eye and continued. “I’ll make this as clear as
I can. Eri-chan, you can make yourself as sexy as you want. But sexy and promiscuous aren’t the same thing. Idols who are loose with men always end up hated by their fans. The core of an idol’s pride is the innocence deep within her heart. You’d do best to remember that.”
Eri doused Mima with the water in her cup. She shouted, “I don’t care what you think!” and ran from the café.
When Ochiai Eri got to her green room, she immediately took out her cell phone. She called a number twice without getting an answer, but her third connected.
“Hello, Naoto?” Eri said, irritation edging into her voice. “Are you free tonight?”
Aran Naoto spoke with the hoarse voice of someone who had just woken up. “Is this Eri? Why are you calling me so early?”
“Come on, I can call you whenever. So, are you free tonight?”
“I need a little more notice than that,” Naoto said. “How about another day?”
“If that’s how you’re going to be, then fine. I don’t need to see you again, anyway!”
“Hey, hey, wait a minute.” Naoto sighed. “You always have to have it your way, don’t you?”
Eri said, “So you are free tonight. Roppongi. 10 p.m. You know the place. Don’t be late.”
Naoto clicked his tongue. “You’re not giving me much choice.”
Eri hung up, cutting off any further protest. Her lips formed a tight smile as she thought to herself, I’ll show that poseur. We’ll see what she has to say for herself then.
She looked at her own face in the green room’s mirror, affording herself a deep nod.
III
The man carefully began unwrapping the cloth from his arm. Sharp pain flashed across the limb, and the pungent stench of rotten flesh filled the air. Clinging to the cloth were splotches of blackened blood and dried out flakes of skin.
The man closely inspected his bared forearm, the middle of which had turned a blackish red. The area stung with a prickling, itchy pain.
The man probed the painful patch with his fingernail. With each little scratch, the discolored flesh flaked away and scattered. The layer beneath was sticky and wet. He gave the area a wipe with the scrap of cloth and intense pain spread through his entire arm.
Perfect Blue: Complete Metamorphosis Page 6
