Chapter 5: Determination

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.

The man narrowed his already small eyes and felt grief.

“A failure, after all,” he muttered under his breath, gazing upon that festering patch. “I might need to revise my plans.”

He impatiently rubbed at the discolored skin with all five fingers of his other hand. The flakes of dried skin mixed with the wet, sticky layer below to form gelatinous globs, which he wiped away with the cloth.

But even after the arm had been scrubbed clean, dots of a clear, oozy fluid reemerged from the wound. He pressed one with a firm finger, and yellowish pus spurted out.

The man’s eyes remained fixed on his sickly-colored forearm as he fought to bottle up the rage building in the pit of his stomach.

“Why? Why wouldn’t it take?” he shouted.

He threw the blood and pus-covered rag to the floor. “I went through so much effort to take that skin. I worked so hard for it—for Mima’s sake! Why? Why wouldn’t it stay on?”

He pounded a fist against his desk. He put his hands over his head and dropped to the floor, convulsing.

The skin must stay on. The skin must stay on. The skin must stay on…

He lifted his head.

Before him was a poster of Kirigoe Mima. Innocently smiling, she gazed at him. She spoke inside him. If you really care about me, don’t give up. Keep trying—just a little bit longer.

He felt like something had struck him on the head.

“That’s right, that’s right,” he said. He sat up in the middle of the small room. “This is for Mima’s sake. I can’t give up so easily.”

His face went red with self-reproachful embarrassment, and he slapped himself on the cheeks.

“Just because the skin didn’t stay on doesn’t mean I can let myself become discouraged. Positive thinking—that’s what I need.”

He grinned at the Mima on the poster.

“It was probably just a problem of materials. Even though I kept the skin in a freezer, it was still a month old. Plus, the girl was very young. Maybe there was some kind of cellular mismatch due to the difference in age.”

The man’s grin widened. “What good does worrying do when you can take action instead? Isn’t that right, Mima? I’m going to give it another try. I swear I am. Next time, I’ll experiment with a woman close to your age. And if I can, I probably should use another idol’s skin—don’t you think?”

The man caressed the poster-Mima’s face. “I’m all right now. Look, I’m not depressed at all.” To prove his point, he spun around once, an exaggerated, goofy display.

“Now, which idol will be my test subject?”

The man’s expression changed to that of a beast seeking its prey.

A single video cassette lay upon the desk. On its cardboard sleeve, written in a wriggling, worm-like scrawl were the words: FOR SELF-PLEASURE: IDOLS VOL. 3. The man removed the tape from its sleeve and carefully set it in his VCR.

He pressed the play button, and various idols—all in flashy costumes—began appearing on the screen. First was Izumi Haruna, then Kawano Keiko, and then Peach Pie, and so on. As was apparent from the tape’s title, the recordings featured were ones the man used when he fondled himself.

Never had he done so to images of Kirigoe Mima. Not once—not even to a fantasy of her. He didn’t want to stain her purity. He used other idols to handle his base desires.

Now he watched the tape not for pleasure, but in the hope of finding a suitable test subject.

One after another, pretty idols appeared on the cathode ray tube, but the man began to doubt this approach. Yes, he had pleasured himself to the sight of them, but their cuteness and innocence still stirred his emotions. Even in service to Mima, he couldn’t bear to take any of these spirited girls as a test subject—especially not when he intended to perform his next attempt on nearly the same scale as his final plan. He would not be merely removing a tiny patch of skin from her thigh, as he had with the little girl.

The man pressed the fast-forward button impatiently. Was there no idol he could use for his test without prickling his conscience?

As the tape approached its end, the recordings became more recent and featured newer idols.

The man’s finger lifted from the fast-forward button.

On the screen was an idol in a leotard—a leotard with quite high-cut legs at that, clinging to every curve and fold.

“Ochiai Eri,” the man whispered.

A dull feeling of pleasure came to life in his groin. He lowered his zipper and pulled himself out, taking himself gently in his right hand. He began stroking rhythmically.

On the TV screen, Eri grinded her exposed hips. For just a moment, the fabric of her leotard pulled up tighter between her legs.

The man let out a short grunt, and a thick, sticky mess spilled out into his hand. He touched his hand to Eri’s face and shouted, overcome by deep emotion, “You whore! You seducer of men. You’re no idol. You’re nothing! You bring nothing but grief to your innocent fans. That’s it. I’ve decided. I’m taking you as my test subject. Just you wait!”

 

IV

 

Excitement lifted Rumi’s voice nearly to a squeal. “This is incredible! It’s fantastic!”

Rumi, Mima, Tadokoro, and Murano Yuji were all seated on the sofa in the Moon Kids Agency’s reception area. On the table before them was a freshly printed copy of Mima’s photo album, Sexy Valley.

Clapping his hands, Tadokoro said, “It came out even better than I had hoped.”

Indeed, after flipping through the pages, Mima felt more confident in the photos than she might have expected.

To Mima, Tadokoro said, “You’re satisfied, aren’t you? I can tell.”

The singer nodded and smiled. “Y-yes. I like it.”

“It’s great,” Rumi said. “I just know it. It’s got that shock value, but it’s not obscene. Mima’s charm and Murano’s talent with a camera delivered a win for sure.” Rumi glanced to the photographer, then quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing a little.

With an embarrassed twitch of the nose, Yuji said, “I’m flattered, but for this collection, any success is entirely owed to the subject. She’s the one who made it work, not me.”

Mima said, “No, Rumi-chan is right. If you weren’t such a skilled photographer, these pictures wouldn’t have been so tasteful. Look at this page,” she said, opening the book. “If this photograph hadn’t been taken just right, it would have ended up trashy.”

The picture was of Mima wearing a little apron, and nothing else. A slash of light obscured her nipples from view but still left the picture remarkably risqué.

Rumi turned to another page and said, “This one is incredible, too.”

Mima was standing fully nude behind a pane of glass. Here and there the glass was slightly clouded over, the hazy patches conveniently obscuring only the most vital parts. But the rest of her was captured in perfect clarity. A quick glance might have given the impression she was on full display.

The collection was packed with pictures sexier than Ochiai Eri had ever managed, and Tadokoro felt sure that even people who weren’t Mima’s fans would want a copy.

The manager said, “These will be lined up at the front of the stores starting tomorrow, and Mima’s CD single comes out the same day. That cross-promotion effect will be like nothing else. And since we haven’t leaked any of the photos, I can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces when they pick up the book.”

He loosed a heartfelt belly laugh, then added, “All right, listen well, because I’m about to make a promise. Mima has put her heart and soul into this, and I won’t let her efforts be wasted.” With conviction in his voice, he stood. “‘Sexy Valley’ will take number one. You hear that, Mima? Number one. I guarantee it!”

Swept up by Tadokoro’s impassioned vow, Mima found herself standing with him. “I’ll promise, too,” she said. “I’m taking number one! Say goodbye to the Charming Rose and say hello to the bombshell!”

 

V

 

As night fell outside, the man sat in deep thought in his newly darkened room. With a furrowed brow, his mind fixated on one single thing—how to obtain his test subject, Ochiai Eri.

He had some measure of confidence in his physical strength, but no matter how strong he was, he was still human. Abducting her alone was a near impossibility. Rather than relying on his strength, perhaps he could devise some maneuver to lure her to his room?

He picked up the knife with Kirigoe Mima’s relief in the handle. Whenever he held the weapon, an uncanny calm settled over him. Now it provided him with a spark of hope, the confidence that the right idea was somewhere inside him, waiting to be found.

He stared into the weapon’s blade. His reflection looked back at him from the sharpened and polished metal. His own face unnerved him—those fierce eyes reminded him of the evil cat-spirits in old ghost stories.

He attributed the look to the depth of his conviction.

He considered his options. What if I soaked a rag with chloroform and hauled her in a taxi? The man placed the knife back on his desk and folded his arms. No, that won’t work. Obtaining the drug would be difficult and getting caught with her unconscious body isn’t something I could talk my way out of. Under his breath, he muttered, “That won’t do.”

No matter how he went about it, abducting her carried too high a risk. The best way would be for Eri to come to his room of her own volition.

But how could he make her want to do it?

First, he imagined himself in her position. If he could put himself in her shoes, he might be able to understand the way she ticked. If he pulled that off, he might just be able to devise a scheme to get her here.

And so he pondered.

Eri had no morals. She lusted after men and had no reservations against taking them. The sooner the world was rid of her, the better. But promiscuous or not, she was still an idol.

Even a tramp like her still had to appeal to her fans as an idol. No matter what her character, she was no porno actress. That made her vulnerable to scandals. One that involved sex would be fatal even to her.

By holding the threat of such a scandal over her, the man reasoned, he could manipulate her freely. Getting her to come to his room would be easy.

The man picked up an idol magazine from the floor beside him. He turned through the pages and found the listing for the phone number of her managing agency, New Clear Vision. His plan was to call the office and ask for her fan club’s contact number. Once they got to talking, fan club members tended to divulge an idol’s schedule in much greater detail than their agency ever would.

Once he had her complete schedule, he would work backwards to find her free time—that’s when he’d sleuth out the scandal he needed. He was prepared to follow her for days, if that’s what it took.

But still, he needed to hurry. Time was running out; he couldn’t afford to waste it. Every hour and every minute counted.

To save the Charming Rose, he needed to know the feel of an idol’s skin.