Chapter 4: Scheme

Chapter 4
SCHEME

 

I

 

The woman moaned, her long hair bouncing. Her back arched, again and again, unexpectedly sensual creases appearing along the sides of her body. Legs straddling her partner, she gyrated her hips smoothly, moving forcefully, up and down. Playing counterpoint to the woman’s moans, an obscene slapping sound rang through the room, like a wet towel smacking against hallway floorboards.

The man moved his hands to the woman’s waist, holding her tight while he set the pace, hips pushing up and down. Each time he thrust into her, she let out another cry. Then she was curling forward, body pressed against him, breasts against his abdomen, their touch making him even harder than before.

His fingers tightened around her, and he rolled her to the side, and then under him. Looking down at her face, he felt a deep, warm satisfaction spread through his chest.

So this is what an idol feels like. I can hardly hold back…

He thrust harder now; the woman’s perfect features twisted in pleasure. A hand grasped her breast and played with its softness; the volume of it filled his hand. He began to rub and squeeze, roughly, as if to separate that volume into tiny pieces.

“O-ow,” the woman said, wincing. But she seemed to enjoy the pain. She reached her hand to her untouched breast and squeezed it herself.

The man’s thrusts picked up more speed, and he felt a warmth building between his legs. He sensed the end was near. Hoping to enjoy himself a little longer, he slowed his movements, but it was too late to hold back the surging force.

He felt her spasming around him, and then the next moment, her flesh contracted, hugging him.

“P-pull out,” she said.

Warm liquid shot through his shaft, and the sticky mass of it spilled out onto her stomach.

 

The man lay down in the bed. In a half-whisper, he said, “How old are you?”

The woman drew the bedsheets over her chest and curled up beside him. “Don’t worry, silly. I’m plenty old enough—that’s all that matters, right?”

From the nightstand, she took a menthol, lit it, and put it in her mouth.

“The magazines say otherwise, but there’s no way that’s true. Not with that body.”

She tossed the bedsheets aside, so that not even a stitch could conceal her from his sight. From her supple skin down to the last proportion, her body was perfect—but the most erotic part of the view was the way the light and shadows fell across her waistline and below. As the man looked at her naked body, he felt his manhood mustering strength for a second battle.

The woman was Ochiai Eri.

She’d only recently made her debut as an idol singer, but she’d already made her first huge hit with her new song, “Rock, Love, Dream!” The performer had quickly attained a spot in the public consciousness as a top idol and enjoyed a high demand on television and for photo shoots.

Her provocative photo book, Mermaid Trap, had raised quite the buzz after its summer release. The collection broke photo book sales records. Even the man laying in bed beside her had bought a copy. He’d pleasured himself many times to the picture where she covered her nipples with only her index fingers.

“Even though you’re an idol,” the man said, “being with you like this, I can see you’re as human as the rest of us.”

Enjoying another drag from her cigarette, Eri said, “Being an idol is just business. In my private life, I’m normal as can be.”

The man reached beside the bed where he’d placed his black leather briefcase. He opened it and withdrew a notepad.

The man’s name was Sakuragi Shin—an entertainment reporter.

“So then,” he asked, “when is Kirigoe Mima’s new single coming out?”

“I’d guess the end of next month.”

“That’s not much time,” Shin said, shaking his head. “I might not be able to dig up a scandal on her before then.”

“Don’t worry,” Eri said. “I didn’t come to you without a lead. Have you heard of a rocker called Aran Naoto?”

“Sure I have. He’s a big name.”

“Nobody knows this,” the idol said, “but he and Mima have a thing.”

Sakuragi was speechless. If what Eri was saying were true, it would be a big scoop.

“I know they’re together,” Eri said, “but I don’t have any proof. That’s what I want you to find.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Sakuragi said with a wry smile. “You’re sending me to catch them out together, is that it?”

Eri gave him a meaningful grin. “Yes, that’s what I want you to do.”

“You sure don’t pull any punches. You got close to me just so I’d get your rival caught in a scandal.”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’d never sleep with someone like you otherwise.”

“I suppose a mere reporter isn’t quite on the same level as a producer, after all. But if it means I get to have some fun with Ochiai Eri in the flesh, then fine by me.”

Sakuragi, hard again, moved in toward Eri, but the idol slid from the bed and quickly got into her clothes.

“Not so fast,” she said. “If you want me, you’ll have to catch Mima with her secret date!”

 

II

 

Murano Yuji is a nice guy, Rumi thought. The photographer was unpretentious in both attitude and appearance, unlike his peers (at least all the ones Rumi had met) who put on grandiose affectations and quirky artist personas—not to mention the many who were unsavory and lecherous.

But Murano Yuji wasn’t like the others. He was kind and incredibly considerate of the people he worked with.

With an affable grin, Yuji declared with mock formality, “Mima-san, your manager has hired me to capture you in pictures both cute and sexy, and that’s what I’m going to do. Think of my voice as the voice of God and obey it absolutely.”

The grin was easy, infectious. Mima bobbed her head and followed along, joking, “Yes, Yuji-san. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.” Upon entering the photo studio, she’d gotten so nervous she thought her heart might stop. But when she met Yuji, her worries settled immediately.

Drinking a cup of coffee Rumi had brought him, the photographer said, “You know, I’ve met you before, Mima-san. It was right after your debut—though I’d be surprised if you remembered.”

Mima’s eyes widened. “Really? Was it for the cover photo?”

“No, we’ve never worked together before now. I went to the Moon Kids office to see Tadokoro-san, and you happened to be there. If I remember right, you were having a planning meeting for your first song.”

“Oh! I remember that day well. That was the first time I’d gone to the office… But I’m afraid I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Yuji said. “Back then I had a beard all over my face.”

“Wait? You’re not saying…” She flashed a broad smile of recognition. “You were Mister Bear?”

Yuji beamed back at her. With a laugh, he said, “Is that what Tadokoro-san called me? Yes, that was me. Back then, I was just starting out, and I didn’t even have the money to afford a shave.”

“Wow, so that was you!” Mima said, happily shaking his hand. “What a time that was. It’s nice to remember.”

Reassured, Mima thought, With him behind the camera, I don’t have to be worried.

 

Mima left the photo studio with a bounce in her step. The shoot had proceeded at an incredibly vigorous pace, but the hard work had been accompanied by a commensurate sense of fulfillment.

Not only had the pace been tough, but once Yuji began taking pictures, the gentle man transformed into a completely different person. Through his camera he pursued his subject with machinelike coolness. Mima hadn’t minded, though. His cold manner made her feel that she was in the capable hands of a professional.

When Mima walked down the staircase and exited the studio, darkness had already fallen. Rumi was waiting for her outside the entrance; when Mima saw her, the idol gave a broad wave. Then she noticed her assistant had already summoned a taxi, whose open door accepted them both.

“How was the photoshoot?” Rumi asked.

Mima hummed in thought, then said, “It was tough, but satisfying.”

“Yuji is a really nice guy, isn’t he?”

“He really is,” Mima agreed. “I’m not sure I could have made it through the day if not for him. I might have gone running for the hills.” She dropped her gaze.

Rumi understood how Mima felt. This wasn’t just a simple change to her image, this was a sudden leap from innocence personified to being photographed in the semi-nude. No matter how resilient she was, the change must have been mentally and emotionally exhausting.

Mima said, “It really was satisfying; I wasn’t just saying that. I found myself thinking, I actually am pretty sexy. At a certain point, I wasn’t doing the photo shoot just to do it—I truly wanted to make the best pictures I could.”

“I hope I’m not out of line saying this,” Rumi offered, “but I find that your brand of sexiness is refined and still has a certain innocence to it. It’s far superior to Ochiai Eri’s straight up vulgarity.”

Rumi’s voice took on a sharp edge when she mentioned Eri. Apparently, she shared Mima’s hatred for the young upstart—a sentiment Mima noticed. The singer grinned and said, “It sounds like you don’t care for Eri, either.”

Rumi puffed out her cheeks. “She’s no idol. She’s a nobody. She doesn’t even give you a hello when you run into her in the studios. And… and, she’s a slut—I can just tell!”

Mima let out a little gasp. “Rumi-chan. You shouldn’t say such terrible things.” She gestured to the driver with her eyes.

Rumi got the message. To Mima, she impishly stuck out her tongue—and then, for the driver’s benefit, apologized with a straightforward “Sorry.”

The taxi reached its destination, and the rear passenger door swung open as Mima stepped out. She leaned back in and said, “Meet me here at ten a.m. tomorrow,” and then headed up to her apartment. Rumi waved goodbye from inside the taxi.

 

Mima took the elevator to the third floor and walked toward her room, down a long hallway that was open to the exterior on one side. Her apartment was number 304, a southern-facing corner unit. Her name, of course, was not displayed on the placard.

Mima dug her key from her purse and put it in the lock. Just then, she heard a rustling under her feet. Curious, she looked down and saw a red object. What’s that? she thought, stooping down to pick it up.

It was a red rose.

Something about the rose felt alarming, sinister. Attached to the stem like a little branch was a rolled-up piece of white paper. Hurriedly, she removed the page. Something was written on it. She read it in the hallway’s light.

The blood drained from her face.

On the outside of the folded sheet of paper was written “Your Darling Rose.”

He’d come.

He’d really come.

This man who she feared more than anyone else had come to her home.

Her hands shaking, she opened the letter and saw the now-familiar unsteady handwriting.

 

This might be my final request.

Why? Because you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been telling you.

I delivered my previous letter to you (well, strictly speaking, to your assistant). I can be fairly confident you read it.

I’ve called you many times.

I went to all these great efforts to tell you one, simple message: Please do not change.

And yet, look at you! From your costume to your new song, to the soon-to-be-released photo book, you’re becoming a Mima completely different from the Mima you’ve always been.

But fine. I won’t ask you again.

It appears it is now time for me to act. I will save you from this wicked path by my own means.

Like I said—I won’t ask you again.

I’ve made up my mind.

I will take action.

Sincerely,
Your Darling Rose

 

When Mima finished reading the letter, she sank to the floor on the spot.

 

III

 

In Mima’s apartment, Tadokoro exploded with rage. “I’ll never forgive that bastard!” he shouted. “Who does he think he is, threatening Mima like a goddamned coward? If he had any balls, he’d come out and show himself!”

Mima lightly shook her head. The shock of receiving the letter had kept her awake almost the entire night, so physically, she wasn’t doing well—but emotionally, she’d calmed down for the most part.

Seated beside Mima on the sofa, Rumi watched Tadokoro with an anxious expression. The assistant said, “This isn’t the time for anger, Tadokoro-san,” she said. “This has gone too far now. We need to inform the police. We’re beyond worrying about Mima’s image if it goes public. That freak came to here--to her home.”

Rumi’s eyes were serious.

Tadokoro nodded deeply in agreement. “I understand. You’re right, Rumi. This is no joke. This is a full-on crime. I’m friendly with a few detectives, and I can notify them today. They’ll grab this pervert by his neck and haul him in.”

Tadokoro couldn’t forgive anyone who would cause such a good girl to suffer. He had managed many performers, and Mima wasn’t his first idol. All of them had been selfish and petty. None of them had treated him as their manager.

But Kirigoe Mima was different.

She was dutiful and treated both Tadokoro and the rest of the agency’s staff with consideration—and she possessed incredible perseverance. To Mima, Tadokoro said, “Just you see. Against the full might of the police, that creep doesn’t stand a chance. They’ll catch him, and for good. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Mima put her hand to her face and smiled weakly. “Thank you, Bon-chan. I’m glad that you feel that way…but don’t tell the police.”

Rumi turned to Mima in shock and said, “What are you saying? Look at how much distress he’s caused you.”

“She’s right, Mima,” Tadokoro said. “This is no time to worry about the agency. This is about you now—as a person.”

Mima looked down, shrinking into her shoulders. “I understand how you both feel—believe me, I do. You want the police to protect me. But think about it: What are this guy’s crimes? Making prank phone calls and delivering weird letters—and that’s it. I don’t think that’s enough to move the police into action. Even the letters’ contents—while they’re very frightening to me—it wouldn’t be impossible to read them as being mere fan letters, if that’s what someone wanted to see in them. Besides, I don’t want to have to go through being interviewed by the police. My new song comes out next month. Starting tomorrow, my schedule will be consumed by promoting it on TV. I don’t have the time to waste on some creep.”

Her speech genuinely moved Tadokoro. She’s so resilient, he thought. A normal idol in this situation would have been hysterical, probably lashing out at her assistant and manager. But instead, Mima was thinking of Rumi and Tadokoro.

Rumi also appeared to have been moved, as she looked at Mima through teary eyes.

Tadokoro patted his fist to his chest and said, “All right, Mima—this is what we’ll do. I won’t contact the police. We’ll stick to your TV schedule as planned. But I’ll stay at your side the whole time. Of course, that includes me staying here in your apartment for a while.” He looked to Rumi. “I’d like you to be here as much as you can. After all, an idol and her manager entering and leaving her apartment with no other company? Who knows what people would say.”

“Okay!” Rumi said enthusiastically.

To Mima, Tadokoro said, “Everything will be fine. I may not look it now, but as a student I made first dan in judo. Black belt. If that creep comes anywhere near you, I’ll knock him out with my trademark ura-nage back throw.”

“Thank you,” Mima said, as tears finally filled her eyes.

 

IV

 

Hardly stirring a muscle, the man stared at the knife on his desk. The weapon’s blade gleamed in lamplight. The longer he gazed into its sheen, the more the man felt his calm return. A soft, warm comfort enveloped his body.

Maybe it was the same feeling as a mother’s warmth. Or maybe it was that elusive emotion—love—which he had never once tasted.

He took the knife in hand and rubbed the handle with his fingertips. The grip was made of wood, and he bobbed his head as he enjoyed the sensation of its rough texture against his skin.

Something had been carved into the handle—a human figure. The man rubbed insistently at that figure. When he eventually stopped, he brought the carving up to his eyes for a closer look.

The figure was a woman, a full-body carving.

The man spoke to it. “Mima-san,” he said, and the woman smiled back at him. At least, that’s what it seemed like.

He had spent many dogged months carving the figure into the handle. He copied her likeness from several photos of Mima from the time of her debut and put great care into the details. Both the face and the overall proportions were nearly identical to the real thing.

“Mima-san,” he said, “you really were great back then. Of course, you still are—to an extent. But…” He poked his finger at the carving’s face. “But you can’t keep going on like this—like you’ve been doing lately. How many times have I asked you to stay how you were? Why don’t you listen to me?”

He gripped the knife by the handle and tightened his lips. “I’ve decided. My mind won’t be changed. It feels like I’ve been thinking about what to do for years. Now’s the time to do it.”

The man pulled a record from the shelves. It was Kirigoe Mima’s debut single, “Innocence Forever!” The song was his favorite, so much so that when the 12-inch remix version came out, he bought two copies.

“You were still pure back then. I thought you would remain innocent your whole life. I thought you would never betray me.” A savage cast came over his eyes. “But maybe I was wrong. That’s why I’m going to take action. I’ve thought about this for ages, but now it’s time to act.”

Still holding the knife, the man stood. He walked across his room into an adjoining wood-floored kitchen. Even there, the piles of video tapes and idol magazines intruded.

From the freezer of a mini fridge next to his sink, he retrieved a blackened object bundled in cling wrap. He placed it on the countertop with a thunk. For a moment, he studied the bundle, then left it on the counter and returned to his room, muttering, “Probably best to let it thaw naturally.”

Seated at his desk, he resumed gazing at the front jacket of “Innocence Forever!” From the cover, Mima looked back at him, her hair short, her eyes big and round, her clothing cute and frilly. Her smile was as innocent as a baby’s.

As he looked at the picture, his eyes began to water.

I have to protect this smile, he thought. That’s why I need to act.

He bit down on his lip.

 

The wrapped object gradually softened and turned spongier, and an unpleasant smell began to permeate the kitchen. The grinning man peeled apart the plastic wrap, thinking, I figured it might stink a bit. When the wrap opened, the stench immediately intensified.

The object within appeared to be a thin strip of flesh. The top side was yellowish, the underside an unnatural black.

I shouldn’t have waited so long before attempting my experiment, he thought, but it was too late to change anything. He grasped the fetid thing between his fingers and placed it on a bath towel. Grim determination replaced his smile.

He held the knife in his right hand and pressed the blade’s tip into his forearm.

He ran the blade up his arm. Red streaks of blood coursed across his skin.

The man grunted. Sharp jolts of pain tore through his brain.

But this was for Kirigoe Mima. For her, he bore the pain. The knife did not relent. When it had nearly reached the crook of his elbow, he pulled away the edge. But he adjusted his grip and cut again—first across his arm, then back down toward his wrist.

By the end, he’d made the bloody outline of a perfect rectangle.

The man slid the knife beneath the wound. He began to separate his skin from the layer of fatty tissue beneath. Sticky globs of blood oozed out from the open cut. The pain began to dull; heat surged through the whole of his arm.

A distant part of him thought that, at least where the cutting was concerned, the sensation felt similar to peeling the skin from a raw piece of chicken. As he severed the connections between skin and meat, his flesh began to lift away.

Occasional jolts of intense pain tore through his body. He wondered if that signified nerve damage.

In his mind he repeated, This is for Mima, this is for Mima, like an incantation.

At the end of this minutes-long struggle, he finally peeled off the patch of skin.

Patchy spurts of blood leaked from white fat and red flesh, both equally exposed. Droplets fell from his arm, absorbed into the towel, but less blood came out than the man had expected.

He took the thawed-out, putrid scrap of flesh and pressed it onto the flayed-open wound upon his arm. It felt unpleasantly slippery to the touch, but that sensation was immediately dwarfed by biting, stinging pain. He wrapped a white cloth around his arm, the better to keep the thawed flesh from separating from his own.

 

V

 

Blushing, Rumi came back to Mima’s green room.

“How was it?” Mima asked. Standing in front of a full-length floor mirror, the idol applied her makeup.

“Well, it’s a tough song,” Rumi said. “That part in the chorus, where the line goes ‘Oh, run away with me,’ has a tricky interval. If you’re not careful, it’ll want to go flat.”

Not pausing the makeup, Mima replied, “You’re right. I’ll have to be careful there.”

Mima always left the soundchecks to Rumi, since the pair had almost the same vocal range and ability to project.

This was the first time Mima would perform her new single, “Sexy Valley.” Mima didn’t typically fret this much over a soundcheck, but she was especially nervous today, as was Rumi.

“It’s got a catchy beat, though,” Rumi added. “It just makes you want to dance.” She started humming the rhythm. Mima moved her arms to the music and gradually her anxiety melted away.

“Thank you,” the idol said. “I feel a lot better now. I’m going to nail this song today. I can feel it.”

 

Standing half hidden behind an open door in the corner of the TV studio sound stage, Mima waited for her cue.

Whenever she was on standby, she liked to wait wherever she was unlikely to be seen. Her poor eyesight—probably worse than 20/200 in both eyes—meant that she didn’t always recognize people she knew, even if they walked right past her. That was all the more true in the typically dim light backstage. She preferred to minimize the risk of awkward situations before a performance.

Music Town was about to start. The show, a live broadcast, permitted no mistakes—especially when Mima’s performance topped the episode. Live performances were hardly new to the singer—yet her heart raced, and her body felt numb. You’ve got this, she told herself.

Then an intense feeling of being watched overcame her. Reflexively, she looked over her shoulder.

It was Ochiai Eri, wearing an outrageously gaudy costume. Feathers crowned her head like a cockscomb. Even larger feathers extended from her back and a tight-fitting lamé mini dress completed the cabaret dancer look. She resembled a peacock, but on Ochiai Eri the lewd ensemble completely worked.

The idols’ eyes met.

Eri scoffed and turned her head away, then spoke just loud enough to be heard. “Just how old is she supposed to be, anyway? First she put on that innocent act, and now she’s in that smutty getup? I hope I never age. Apparently when a woman gets too old she can’t pull off innocent or sleazy.”

Mima locked eyes with her rival and grinned, as if to say, Is that all you got?

For a moment, Eri’s bravado wilted, but she quickly recovered. Under her breath, the rival singer muttered, “Just you wait.”

 

VI

 

Tadokoro sat on the couch in Mima’s apartment, drinking a glass of wine.

He expected Mima and Rumi to arrive soon. Music Town finished at around 8:50. From the K-TV studio, Mima’s apartment was about thirty minutes by taxi. Tadokoro glanced at the clock on a table in the corner of the room. It read a quarter past nine.

Wine glass in hand, Tadokoro got up and walked to the window. He opened the curtains and looked outside. He’d been repeating this process about once every ten minutes, not because he was nervous about when Mima would return, but because he was watching the apartment’s front entrance for any lurking strangers. He’d been paying particular attention to the bushes beside the entrance.

The manager had remained stationed in Mima’s apartment since a little after seven in the evening, and no such stranger had come loitering. The second anyone even the slightest bit suspicious showed up, Tadokoro was prepared to run out and capture him.

Just as he was about to close the curtains, a slash of light fell upon the bushes, likely from the headlights of a passing car. Moments later, a midsize taxi came around the front and stopped beside the entryway. Mima and Rumi stepped out.

Tadokoro closed the curtain and sank into the sofa to await them. A short three minutes later, he heard their voices outside the door, followed by the sound of the key sliding into the lock. The door opened, and Mima and Rumi rushed in, their expressions elated.

“I’m home!” Mima said in as cheerful a voice as he’d ever heard.

Tadokoro met her and put his arm around her shoulder. “You did great, Mima! Absolutely fabulous!”

With a ticklish scrunching of her shoulders, the singer made a victory sign with her fingers and said, “It was great, wasn’t it? I’ve never performed a song so satisfying as that one.”

“And that was one sexy costume,” Tadokoro said. “It even got my heart beating a little faster.”

“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.