Her eyes were blank, unfocused, trained on the financial news playing across the television screen.
The anchor's voice brimd with barely contained excitent as he reported on the comrcial miracle that Asami Entertainnt had pulled off, attributing every bit of it to Seiji Fujiwara's "godlike investnt instincts."
Seiji finished handling the loose ends from Odagiri's side and tossed the matter aside without a second thought. He crossed the room in slow, unhurried steps and settled onto the sofa beside Mutsumi, one arm draping over the backrest behind her, drawing her into the circle of his body.
"The Odagiri situation is finally on track," he said, his tone light, conversational, his gaze resting on her.
Silence.
Mutsumi's body stiffened, barely perceptible, but she said nothing.
Seiji carried on as though he hadn't noticed. "Now I can finally relax and take my ti enjoying... Mutsumi's new common sense."
He let those last three words hang in the air, slow and deliberate.
Her fingers tightened around the throw pillow in her lap.
His smile deepened. He leaned close, lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a murmur only she could hear. "I just got you to agree to all sorts of new things. And right now is when it gets interesting."
Warm breath ghosted over the sensitive curve of her ear. A flush crept across her pale skin, a shiver she couldn't suppress.
...
At the sa ti, a long queue snaked down the sidewalk in front of Asami Entertainnt's new headquarters on Omotesando.
This was the company's first large-scale open audition since its founding. Aspiring stars from across the country had poured in, all of them chasing the sa dream, all hoping for a ticket through those doors.
At the tail end of the line, a tall girl stood alone.
She wore a black baseball cap pulled low, the brim hiding most of her face, leaving only the clean line of her jaw visible. Everything about her clashed with the nervous, buzzing energy around her. She was an ice cube dropped into boiling water: silent, distant, radiating a quiet warning to stay away.
When she reached the registration desk, the attendant didn't bother looking up. "Na?"
"Mai Sakurajima," the girl said softly.
The attendant typed it out, muttering the syllables under his breath. "Sakurajima... Mai... Hm? Why does that sound familiar?"
He frowned, glancing up to get a better look at her.
But the instant he raised his head, his colleague shouted from across the desk. "Hey! Sato, the printer's out of ink over here. Go grab a cartridge from the storeroom!"
"Oh, right, sure!" The attendant called Sato was imdiately distracted. He shoved the application form toward Mai and hurried off, already forgetting why that na had nagged at him.
Mai took the form and moved aside to fill it in without a word.
Another girl in line bumped into her shoulder.
"Oh, sorry!" The girl apologized quickly.
Mai shook her head. Said nothing.
The girl glanced at her curiously, mouth opening as if to say sothing more, but as her eyes found Mai's face beneath the cap brim, her thoughts seed to skip, like a record hitting a scratch. She blinked, turned away, and walked off as though the entire exchange had never happened.
Mai finished the form and returned to the queue.
All around her, people chattered, comparing talents they'd prepared, spinning fantasies about their futures under the spotlight.
Not a single one noticed her.
Not a single one spoke to her.
She stood in the middle of the crowd like a ghost, present in body, existing in so other dinsion entirely. Behind the shadow of her cap brim, her eyes held no trace of anxiety or anticipation. Only stillness, calm as an autumn lake.
But every now and then, when her gaze drifted across those faces that looked straight through her, sothing flickered beneath that calm surface. A loneliness so deep it barely made a ripple.
...
Night over Tokyo.
The penthouse atop Roppongi Hills.
Mutsumi padded barefoot across the floor in a silk camisole, the fabric clinging to the slender lines of her body, tracing every curve.
She'd been living here for so ti now.
Materially, it was paradise. The closet overflowed with designer labels. The refrigerator was perpetually stocked with fresh, expensive ingredients. Anything she might conceivably need, and plenty she didn't, appeared before she could even think to ask for it.
Spiritually, it was a cage.
She was an ornant, a pet kept in pristine condition, and her daily routine amounted to waiting in this vast, empty prison for her owner to return. And then, when he did, submitting to what he called "gas," though the word was a euphemism for sothing far more degrading.
She drifted through it all in a kind of fog.
On the wall-sized ho theater screen in the living room, a classic art-house film was playing. A woman in a kimono filled the fra, gentle and composed, her expressive eyes carrying an entire silent farewell. Every glance, every subtle furrow of her brow told a story that could break your heart.
That woman was her mother. Minami Mori.
A national treasure. An actress who had won every award worth winning.
Mutsumi watched her mother's radiant image on the screen, and a thought took shape.
"Acting..."
The word left her lips in a whisper ant for no one.
Yes. Acting.
Wasn't that exactly what she did every day? Playing shaful roles, reciting humiliating lines, performing degrading acts to please the man who controlled her entire existence.
If it was all performance anyway, then why not perform on a bigger stage, for a real audience, in a role that was... normal?
She had inherited Minami Mori's flawless face. She'd grown up surrounded by caras and sets. The craft wasn't foreign to her.
And more importantly, with Seiji behind her, she could reach heights most people couldn't dream of in a lifeti.
"Maybe this is the one thing I can do right now," Mutsumi murmured.
...
That evening, when Seiji ca ho, Mutsumi approached him with a request.
"I want to be an actress," she said, her voice level.
Seiji paused mid-step.
He turned, studying her with open curiosity.
"Sure." He agreed as casually as if she'd asked for takeout.
He picked up the phone and dialed Odagiri.
"Odagiri. I have a new talent here, nad Mutsumi Wakaba." His tone was flat, like he was arranging sothing beneath his notice. "Get her enrolled in Asami's actor training program."
On the other end of the line, the man who had just consolidated half the entertainnt industry's resources through sheer ruthlessness, the man the press was calling the godfather of a new era, responded with instant deference: "Yes, Fujiwara-sensei. I'll see to it imdiately."
Seiji hung up and turned his gaze back to Mutsumi.
"Next ti you go in for training at the company," he said, sothing playful and predatory threading through his voice, "let's try sothing new."
Mutsumi went rigid.
At the company?
She looked up. In those golden eyes that rarely betrayed anything, a faint tremor passed.
"That's a workplace," she said quietly, pressing her lips together.
Seiji didn't answer. He simply held her gaze, his expression brooking no argunt.
Silence.
Mutsumi understood. Objecting was pointless.
She lowered her head, long lashes falling like curtains over whatever lay in her eyes.
...
A few days later. The top-floor actor training studio at Asami Entertainnt's Omotesando headquarters.
The room was spacious and bright, floored in expensive hardwood. One wall was a massive mirror stretching floor to ceiling; the opposite held state-of-the-art display equipnt. A dozen girls, culled from thousands of applicants, moved through rigorous physical training drills under their instructor's barked commands.
The air humd with unspoken competition.
Mai Sakurajima stood at the very back of the group, tucked into a corner where no one would notice her.
The sa as every other day, she experienced the world's refusal to see her.
During roll call, the instructor's eyes skipped over her na without conscious thought. The girl beside her pivoted during an exercise and collided with her shoulder, only to mutter a belated "Sorry" as if she'd bumped into furniture she hadn't known was there.
Mai was transparent. Present in the room, but impossible for anyone to truly register.
Then the studio door swung open.
Mutsumi Wakaba walked in.
She wore a simple white training outfit, her face bare of makeup, black hair gathered loosely behind her. The mont she appeared, the room seed to hold its breath.
Every pair of eyes in the studio drifted toward her, pulled as if by gravity.
That innate, otherworldly coolness, paired with the exquisite features she'd inherited from the legendary Minami Mori, set her apart even among a room full of beautiful girls. A moon among fireflies.
She's stunning.
Even Mai felt a flicker of surprise.
It passed quickly.
Mutsumi Wakaba. Minami Mori's daughter. Born to stand in the spotlight, a star from the cradle. Of course she was breathtaking. That was simply the hand she'd been dealt.
I didn't expect her to end up at Asami too. Mai turned the thought over. Joining mid-program, no less. Whoever's backing her has serious pull.
...
Halfway through the training session, the studio door opened again.
This ti it was Odagiri, the company president himself.
The man who terrorized the industry, the so-called godfather whose na made established talents go pale, entered wearing an affable smile.
He ignored the instructor and every other trainee in the room, walked straight to Mutsumi, and presented a folder with both hands.
"Miss Wakaba," his voice carried clearly across the studio, "this is a welco gift arranged by Fujiwara-sensei."
Whispers rippled through the group like a stone dropped into still water.
One bold girl craned her neck to glimpse the logo on the folder's cover.
"That's Vogue! She's getting a cover shoot for one of the Big Five on her first day?!"
"The president delivered it personally... and Fujiwara-sama arranged it..."
"That kind of resource? We're still drilling basics and she's already on covers."
Jealousy, awe, admiration, resentnt... it all swirled through the room in a tangle of stolen glances.
Mutsumi, at the center of it, accepted the folder without expression. Not a flicker of joy or excitent crossed her face.
"Understood," she said flatly, and set the folder aside as if it were a takeout flyer.
Was that deliberate?
From her corner, Mai watched the entire scene unfold.
She studied Mutsumi, standing untouched and composed inside that storm of envious stares, and understood.
This girl was clearly terrible at building relationships. That was exactly why the president of Asami had co down in person to make a show of support. Otherwise, a simple cover shoot hardly warranted a visit from the man at the top.
Must be nice. A wistful ache flickered through Mai's chest.
As expected of Minami Mori's daughter. Blessed with those looks, backed by the president's personal attention... her future was guaranteed to shine.
Compared to that, Mai thought, soone the world had forgotten might as well be dust on the ground.
Her expression dimd.
She'd been famous once. A child star, celebrated across the industry. But when she was forced to do a swimsuit shoot in middle school and refused on the spot, everything fell apart. The industry turned hostile. Her peers mocked her. Her mother's talent agency went bankrupt.
The family's finances collapsed.
And then, for reasons she still couldn't explain, she began to lose her "presence." People around her stopped noticing she was there. They couldn't hear her voice, couldn't see her standing right in front of them. They couldn't even retain basic information about her.
Ironically, that sa curse was what allowed her to re-enter the entertainnt world, because nobody rembered her past.
Now she was trying to debut again, relying on the acting skills she'd honed as a child, scraping together what she could.
But the invisibility was getting worse.
Will I just... disappear completely one day? Will the world forget I ever existed?
The thought left a cold weight in her chest.
...
One week later. The advanced acting workshop. The atmosphere was heavier than usual.
The instructor was Sosuke Saito, a veteran acting coach the company had poached at great expense. Past fifty, gray at the temples, he possessed eyes so sharp they seed to cut through pretense like a blade. He'd seen countless pretty faces with nothing behind them, and a precious handful of genuine talents among thousands.
He never wasted words. His classes consisted of rciless standards and surgical criticism.
The Asami trainees feared and respected him in equal asure.
In his studio, family connections, backgrounds, even the president's favoritism counted for nothing. The only currency that mattered was craft.
Mai occupied her usual ghost's perch at the back corner of the room.
She watched quietly.
Mutsumi stood near the front. Even in the sa training outfit as everyone else, she looked like she belonged to a different species. Her posture wasn't the most textbook-perfect in the room, but that bone-deep detachnt, that sense of existing slightly apart from everything around her, generated its own gravitational field.
Mutsumi never looked at anyone. She simply stared at the enormous mirror ahead, eyes hollow, as though she were gazing at a wall, or perhaps through it, at soplace far away and empty.
"Today's exercise is improvisation."
Saito's voice snapped every spine straight.
He folded his arms, pacing slowly, his gaze sweeping over each tense face like a hawk surveying the ground.
"The prompt is simple." His lips curled into sothing close to a sneer. "You have three minutes. Without words, convey the pain of losing soone you love."
Dead silence.
Silent performance was the ultimate test of an actor's foundation. It stripped away the most direct tool for emotional expression, dialogue, and forced everything onto the eyes, the micro-expressions, the body.
And "the pain of losing a loved one" was one of the easiest thes to overact, to render hollow and false.
Mai's pulse quickened.
As soone once hailed as a generational prodigy, a child star who cos along once in a century, she understood the difficulty of this prompt better than most. It was a filter, designed to burn away every formulaic trick and leave only what was real.
"Who's first?" Saito's voice cut through the hush.
The girls who were usually the most eager to volunteer suddenly found reasons to avoid his gaze.
Finally, a girl nad Erika steeled herself and stepped forward under his stare. She was the sweetest-looking of the bunch, and always the most enthusiastic.
She drew a deep breath, gathering herself.
The performance began.
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