Chapter 6: Experiment

Chapter 6
EXPERIMENT

 

I

 

The television show Nighttime Hit Parade carried incredible influence. Artists who sang their new songs on the show saw a dramatic increase in CD sales the following week. On average, the program pulled in more than one in five households. Its continued success, despite the public’s generally flagging interest in music shows, was nothing short of a miracle.

Securing an appearance on Hit Parade would be absolutely critical for Kirigoe Mima’s new single to top the charts. For the best results, the performance had to come within the first three days of its release.

With those ends in mind, Tadokoro had personally visited the producer’s home so many times that he’d lost track of the exact number, but it was definitely more than ten. The manager had championed Mima’s star power to the producer, particularly stressing his desire to use the venue to unlock the singer’s hidden
potential.

The producer had thought of Mima as merely a run-of-the-mill idol, but Tadokoro’s passion began to soften the man’s opinion. Then, on one particular visit, the producer finally gave the okay. Tadokoro was so elated he nearly cried.

The show was scheduled for four days after Mima’s single hit the shelves, but the appearance could still provide the boost they needed to propel the song to the top of the charts. As he explained his success to Mima back at the office, he was again struck by his conviction that “Sexy Valley” would be a major hit.

Tadokoro said, “Mima, there’s no better venue to launch a new song. I need you to give it your all!”

Mima nodded deeply. “Thank you, Bon-chan. I never dreamed I’d be able to perform on Hit Parade. I’ll give them a real show. Everybody’s going to see the new me!”

 

II

 

The Roppongi sidewalks were as crowded as they were every other night. A fashionable woman walked arm-in-arm with a black man, stumbling occasionally as she went. A group of girls took in the nightlife, their caked-on makeup failing to hide the fact they were underaged. Young men put on their best Yakuza act, swaggering with puffed-out chests. There were heavy metal boys and punk girls alike. Most would probably still be present come morning, having tested their endurance through a sleepless night of revelry.

Cities have long been known as lonesome places. The more people get packed in together, the more individuals feel a paradoxical isolation. To distract themselves from loneliness, people seek each other out in bustling commercial districts like these.

In that sense, perhaps the gaudy neon lights, the towering cabinet signs, the marquee bulbs flashing in sequence—perhaps they all acted as a kind of bait to entice such lonely souls, much as carnivorous plants lure in insects with their brightly colored leaves and flowers.

But get away from Roppongi’s main streets, and the crowds fall off quickly. There, the sleepless district feels more like a ghost town.

Her face hidden behind large sunglasses, Ochiai Eri walked down a narrow back street. She nearly had the place to herself. Distant car horns echoed between the buildings, but the cars themselves stayed well away. Flanking the road were rowhouses whose façades had remained largely unchanged since postwar times. In their shadow, it was easy to forget one was in Roppongi.

At the end of the shabby street stood a small, two-story building with cracked and crumbling concrete walls—stores below, apartments above. Eri stopped in front of the building and looked up and down the street to make sure no one was watching. Seeing no spying eyes, she hurried into the entrance, as if she’d been sucked inside.

The musty hallway within gave no suggestion of recent activity. But that was only natural, since out of the ten units, only one was a business—and that was an office on the second floor.

Eri ascended the staircase, the familiar sound of her footsteps echoing about her.

Murky light spilled out from a windowed door at the end of the second-floor walkway. A sign next to the door read SHINKO MUSIC PUBLISHING, INC. Officially, the company handled the publishing rights for Eri’s CDs, but in truth, the company only existed as a tax dodge. It had only one employee, a female phone receptionist.

Eri unlocked the door with a key and stepped inside. The office was outfitted with a small couch and coffee table set along with two office desks. A sink in the corner was filled with haphazard stacks of dirty coffee cups.

Eri sat on the sofa and removed her sunglasses. She reached down to a mini fridge tucked in beside the couch, retrieved a can of beer, and drank it with satisfaction.

When the beer was gone, she glanced at her watch. It was after nine. Aran Naoto would be arriving any moment.

The rocker was a complete junkie and a womanizer, but when it came to his looks and physique, he was a perfect ten. But the best thing about him was his dick. Not only was it huge, but—maybe on account of all the drugs—it possessed unrivaled stamina.

Eri’s thoughts wandered toward his muscular chest, and the warmth of anticipation spread below her waist. Hurry up, Naoto, she thought. I want you now. She pressed her hand between her legs, right as the door creaked open, and Naoto stepped inside.

“Eri,” he said, “for the last time, you’ve got to stop telling me to meet you with so little notice—”

Before he could finish complaining, her fingers were on his zipper.

 

Naoto got up from the sofa, stretched his arms, then reached over to put on his T-shirt. As he watched Eri, lingering on the couch in nothing but her slip, he put a light to a Caster Mild.

Somewhat exasperated, he said, “You’re as rough as always.”

Eri pouted like a spoiled child. “I can’t help it. I’m in love.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“No.”

“But you’re in love.”

“With sex!” Eri said, then she sprang to her feet. With her milky skin, ample breasts, narrowed waist, and plump, firm bottom, she made a near eye-dazzling picture.

Naoto said, “I still can’t believe you’re doing the idol thing. You know, some of your fans would kill themselves if they saw us like this.” He put on his leather jacket and turned to leave. “But what’s that matter to me, anyway? See you later, Eri.”

Eri shouted, “Wait!” She thrust out her hands and said, “Naoto, you promised.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved a photograph.

“Don’t you go forgetting on me. I didn’t call you here for the sex, you know.”

She snatched the photograph and stared at it intensely.

In the photo, Naoto had an arm around a woman’s shoulders, holding two fingers up in the V-sign.

The woman was, without a shred of doubt, Kirigoe Mima.

Eri’s expression twisted. The edges of her mouth shot up as she laughed, the sound gleeful and ominous in equal measure. “This is it,” she said. “This is all I need.”

Her smile was not that of an idol, but of a wild beast that had caught sight of its prey. For a second, the sight gave Naoto a start. “What are you going to do with that? It’s from two years ago.”

Eri’s eyes snapped to him. Her voice was cold. “That’s none of your concern. All you need to know is it’s going to help me.” Once again, Eri flashed that feral smile.

 

III

 

At an intersection in Roppongi, Eri stood waiting for a taxi when someone called her name from behind.

Startled, she looked over her shoulder and saw a lone man standing there. With the neon lights at his back, she couldn’t make out the details of his face, but something about the man’s silhouette unsettled her.

A chill ran down her spine, but even if she felt creeped out, she felt more irritated than anything. Damn it! she thought. I even took the back streets so that no one would see me. Why now, of all times, did she have to get cornered by some weirdo fan?

She ignored him and returned her attention to the street. After a little time the man repeated, “Eri-san,” but this time, she didn’t turn around.

She needed that taxi to come before she’d be forced to deal with some miserable fan.

“Eri-san,” he said again, this time loud enough to startle her.

Eri turned around to face him. Behind her sunglasses, anger burned in her eyes.

“Listen, you,” she said. “Don’t talk to me. This is my private time. Can you get that through your head?”

Undaunted, the man stepped toward her.

On reflex, Eri took one step back.

The man was larger than he had seemed at first glance. Long, messy hair hung down in front of his face and cast a gloomy shade over his features. He wore an old, ratty T-shirt and dirty jeans.

“Eri-san!” the man shouted. Behind his dangling bangs glistened two tiny, gleaming eyes, staring at her.

Eri glared back with all the intensity she could muster. “You just don’t shut up, do you? What do you want with me? If it’s my autograph you’re after, then fine—you can have it—but then leave me alone!”

The man licked his dried lips and muttered, “E-Eri-san, I don’t need your autograph.” He held something out to Eri. It was a small disposable camera.

“You want a picture?” Eri asked. “All right. Just be quick about it.”

The man shook his head. “I don’t want your picture.”

In full irritation, Eri demanded, “Then what? What do you want? Aren’t you a fan of mine?”

“I’m not your fan.”

“If you’re not my fan, then just go away.”

“I’m not going away,” the man said firmly. “I need something from you. So I’m not going away.”

Eri gave him an exasperated shrug. “You’re making absolutely no sense at all. You don’t need my autograph, you don’t want my picture, and you’re not even my fan, and yet you need something from me? Just tell me what the hell this is about!”

The man sniffed. “I have a favor to ask of you. Although, technically speaking, it’s less of a favor and more of a command.”

“A command?”

“That’s right. I want you to come to my room.”

For a moment, Eri appeared confused, but eventually her cheeks turned red with rage.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” she demanded. “You’re insane. Why the hell would I ever go to your room? Get real!”

The man held out a palm to stop her outburst. “It’s an order. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

“Y-you’re crazy. Get away from me. If you don’t, I’ll scream for help!”

“If you want to scream, then go right ahead.” Again, he showed her the disposable camera. “Do you know what this is? Sure you do. It’s a camera. But do you know what pictures are in this camera?”

The man’s expression contorted into something nasty. “You know what’s in this camera,” he said. “The sex you just had. You and that tall man. That’s what’s in there. I have his penis going into you. That’s what happens when you don’t lock the door.”

Eri felt like a hammer had just knocked into her skull. After she had been so careful not to be seen with Naoto, this man had found her. And worse still, he’d taken pictures. Eri’s mind went on overdrive.

If these pictures go public, my life as an idol is over. There’s no talking my way out of being naked, on a couch, in the arms of a lover. For now, I need to do what he says until I can think of some way to take that camera from him. If he wants me to go to his room, he must be after sex. That would be a small price to pay for that camera.

Eri gave him a grin. “Oh, so you have pictures?” she said casually. “Guess I don’t have a choice, then. All right. I’ll go with you to your room.”

 

IV

 

As soon as Eri set foot into the man’s room, she began to cough violently. The stench of rotting meat filled the dwelling.

“It stinks in here,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face in a futile attempt to clear away the smell.

The man locked the door behind her and flatly stated, “It’s rotting skin.”

In confusion, Eri said, “Skin?”

“Yeah. A little girl’s skin.”

Eri nodded, just to move things along, but she failed to comprehend the gravity of what he’d just said. Then, noticing the piles of video tapes that filled the room, she spoke in surprise. “What are all those tapes?”

The man kept an eye on her as he slid open the door to his closet and dug around for something within. Finally finding what he sought, he emerged with a roll of brown packing tape.

Watching for an opportunity to steal the camera and run, Eri made her herself sound pleasant. “Oh, so you want to box up all these cassettes, is that it? Let me help you with that.”

The man peeled off a strip of tape and lunged at Eri, taking her by surprise and tackling her to the floor.

Flailing her arms and legs, Eri shouted, “Wh-what are you doing?”

Putting his entire weight upon her, he efficiently worked the tape to bind her limbs together. First wrists, then ankles.

Robbed of her freedom, Eri rolled about on the floor like a caterpillar. She unleashed a barrage of curses at him, adding, “Do you think I’ll let you get away with this? This is a crime. Once I tell the cops, they’ll arrest you in no time. But look, if you take off this tape—just take off this tape—then I won’t say a word to the
police.”

The man’s face remained placid throughout her verbal assault. As she struggled on the floor, his beady eyes kept flicking to the opening of her skirt. These glances didn’t escape Eri’s attention.

“How about we make a deal?” she said. “You want to fuck me, don’t you? That’s fine. I’ll let you. But in return, you’ll untape me first. Untape me and give me that camera, and my body is yours.” She punctuated the offer with a suggestive twist of her hips.

The man loosed a howl and flung himself upon her with crazed desire. With her hands and feet still bound, he tore off her clothing. With his powerful muscles, her lightweight blouse and black leather skirt were quickly reduced to shreds.

“W-wait a second,” the idol protested. “I told you I’d have sex with you, didn’t I? So—so just take off this tape!”

Ignoring her words completely, the man brought his lips to slither around her nipples. Their pink, firm tips pushed back at him inside his mouth.

Eri moaned, her face twisted in pain.

The man sucked in her breast so forcefully she feared it might come right off her chest. At the same time, he ran his right hand across her face. His hand moved from her face to her neck, then down to her chest, and further—to her stomach, and below. When his hand reached her black, low-rise panties, he tore the garment away.

 

V

 

Her hands and feet still bound by tape, Eri regarded the man with scorn. A sticky mass coated her partway below her stomach. The sensation disgusted her, but her mind worked at finding a path to freedom.

Kicking her feet, she said, “Well? You’re finished, aren’t you? Are you satisfied now? Then let me go.”

With the post-release spasms still running through his body, the man desperately fought to keep his rising anger in check.

Twisting herself, Eri whined, childlike, “Come on, let me go. That’s the deal.” Each kick of her legs introduced a slight change in the shape of her exposed pubic mound. As he watched the shifting shape, something snapped in his mind, and suddenly he was straddling her.

“You!” he howled and slapped her face. “You bitch!”

Crazed, the man slapped her, again and again.

As Eri cried out, she kicked up her entwined legs at the man’s back, catching him by surprise and sending him teetering. She curled up her body like a shrimp to evade his next strike.

“What are you doing?” she shouted. “Don’t you see you’re hurting me? Have you lost your mind?”

The man’s shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, and once again he was on top of her, grappling with her.

As if possessed, the man shouted, “You, you, you!” He begin pinching her, all over her body.

With each rough pinch, Eri cried out in pain. She spat on his face. “Stop it!” the idol yelled, as rage burned in her eyes. “What did I ever do to you? You’re the one who brought me here. You’re the one who tied me up. You’re the one who had his way with me.”

The man wiped away her spit with a finger and pointed at her in total earnestness.

“It’s you women. You’re all crazy.” As the man spoke, his anger built and he started swinging his arms in the air. “And you are too, always putting yourself on TV dressed like a whore. Am I wrong? You’re always wanting men to put their things inside you. You women are filthy through and through.”

Eri laughed out her nose and sat up and faced him. “Call me a filthy whore all you like, but who’s the one who brought me here and did filthy things to me? That was all you.”

The man grabbed her arms. “That’s not true! I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Yes, I brought you here. But—but it wasn’t to have sex with you. You’re the one who made me do all that! You’re the one who made me want it.”

Eri showed him a shrug. “Believe what you want. But if that’s how you think it works, you could say it about any woman. There isn’t a woman out there that doesn’t make a man feel desire. If there is, she’d have to be really ugly.”

The man responded with an almost inhuman shriek. His already high-pitched voice took on an even more ghastly edge as he cried, “Is that what you have to say for yourself?”

Not following him, Eri furrowed her eyebrows.

The man repeated, “Is that what you have to say for yourself?”

He continued, saying, “That’s how you women always talk. You try to conceal your depravity. Well, I’ll state this as clear as can be—whatever else is true, you, Ochiai Eri, are filthy. You don’t deserve to be an idol!”

The man scooped up an armful of video tapes from the piles around him. “I love idols. You see all these mountains of tapes? They’re all recordings of idols. I want women to have purity, and these idols symbolized that innocence.”

Eri snorted and said, “I hate to shatter your fantasy, but I’ve seen a lot of idols, and not one of them is pure.”

The man threw the cassettes against the floor. “You… you don’t have to tell me that. I already know it. Again and again and again, they tricked me with their false appearances.” Tears began to well in his eyes. “But rather than give up… I’ve kept on seeking that purity—believing it was out there somewhere. Knowing that one innocent idol had to be out there. That’s why I’ve kept watching them.”

The man’s voice began cracking into a tearful falsetto. “But there’s something I need for you to know.” He leveled his stare right at Eri. “Kirigoe Mima. She’s your exact opposite. She’s nothing like you at all. She is every bit the innocent girl an idol is supposed to be.”

Eri tossed him an exasperated look before laughing deep from her throat. “Kirigoe-chan, you say? I hate her. That cutesy act of hers is as fake as they come!” As Eri spoke, she caught sight of the life-size poster of the idol on the wall. Understanding now, she nodded and said, “You’re her fan, aren’t you? What could you possibly see in her?”

The man slapped her across the face. “Don’t you dare speak that way about Mima-san! Unlike you, she’s pure to the core of her soul.”

Face contorted by stinging pain, Eri still managed a sarcastic laugh. “It’s impressive how little you know. I take it from this huge collection of idol tapes that you’ve never actually dated a real woman, so how could you be expected to know how women feel? Well, you know what? Maybe an idol like Kirigoe Mima suits a pervert like you after all.”

The man pinched her lips shut. “Have you said enough yet? I’m only going to tell you once. If you utter one more groundless insult toward her, I’ll stop being so forgiving.”

Eri shook her head to free her lips and said, “I’m not finished. Open my handbag and take a look inside. You’ll find something interesting.” She jerked her chin toward the purse near her feet.

The man picked it up and asked, “In here?”

Eri nodded.

The man opened the purse and looked inside. He saw a notebook and some makeup supplies among the jumbled assortment of objects.

Eri said, “Look down at the bottom. There’s a photograph. Do you see it?”

The man reached inside the bag and found a single photograph near the bottom. Hurriedly, he pulled it out. The second he saw what was on it, the blood drained from his face.

It was a picture of a man with his arm wrapped around Kirigoe Mima’s shoulders—and hers wrapped around his.

 

VI

 

In a green room adjacent to CRS-TV’s basement-level recording studio, Mima sat drinking bitter coffee. She had hardly touched the pork cutlet sandwich Rumi had brought her. Nighttime Hit Parade was upon her, and the idol felt so nervous she worried she might break out in a cold sweat.

“Rumi-chan, Rumi-chan!” Mima called out to her assistant, waiting in the next room over.

“Yes?” Rumi called as she came jogging in.

“Could you get me another cup of coffee? Black.”

With a friendly smile, Rumi said, “Mima-san, you must be pretty nervous.”

“I feel like my chest is going to explode,” Mima said, but she returned the smile regardless.

When Rumi came back with a fresh cup of coffee, Mima stood before the full-length mirror, checking her costume. The idol tugged at the hem of her micro skirt, muttering, “It’s so short. If I try to dance in these, they’ll get a panty shot for sure.”

Giggling, Rumi set Mima’s coffee cup down on the counter. “You look very sexy—and that ribbon on the back is totally cute. Your fans will be delighted.”

Mima took the cup in hand and gulped down the hot coffee. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Less than twenty minutes now.” Then she said, “I’m going to do the best I can. I’m going to think of it as the first performance of my new life. I’ll give it my all. Just you watch.”

 

VII

 

The man felt shaken to his core. It can’t be true. It can’t be. It can’t be. Again and again he thought to himself, It can’t be true. Not her. Not Mima-san….

He had believed in her purity. Surely she must have been a virgin—or so he had thought.

But now his faith had been cruelly dashed by that single photograph, the grinning couple with their arms over each other’s shoulders. The man stared at the picture with eyes so wide they threatened to leap from their sockets.

“Well?” Eri said, sounding vaguely irritated. “Now do you see who she really is?”

The man turned his stare to her. His expression was strange, unreadable, like he could just as easily laugh or cry.

He said, “Yes, I see it now. I know what I must do. To be honest, right up until this moment, I still had some doubts. But now everything is clear. If there’s no future for my convictions, then there’ll be no tomorrow for her—or for me.”

The man reached into a paper bag and withdrew the cloth-wrapped knife.

Eri spoke firmly. “I’ve shown you who Mima really is, so set me free. You don’t need me anymore.”

But the man shook his head. “No, I still have a use for you. There’s something you must do… for my and Mima’s sake.”

“For you and Mima? I’ll pass. Now come on, get this tape off me!” Eri thrust her bound wrists in front of the man.

As if exasperated, he put his palm to his forehead. He said, “You don’t understand anything, do you? You…” He sighed and started over. “Look, do you have any idea why I brought you here?”

“Of course I don’t!”

“That’s what I figured. If you knew, you wouldn’t be feeling so brave. All right, I’ll tell you. You see, you’re my test subject—my guinea pig.”

Eri’s eyes went wide. “Your test subject?” The words filled her with immediate dread.

“That’s right,” the man said, flashing a yellowed smile. “In my experiment.”

“Experiment?” Fear filled her eyes as she tried to back herself into the corner. Her voice trembled. “What experiment?”

“Well, that’s not so easy a question to answer. I’d give you the full explanation, but we just don’t have the time for that now. I can give you the short version: I want to take off your skin.”

Eri gaped at him. “What? My—my skin?” She couldn’t wrap her mind around the words.

The man approached the curled-up idol singer where she lay in the corner of the room. He lifted her to her feet.

“I’m going to take off your skin.” His voice rose higher, until he began to yell. “How is that so hard to understand?”

With incredible strength, he pushed her back until her spine was pressed against a beam in the kitchen. He bound her to the support, wrapping the tape around and around, layer over layer, until escape was impossible.

Inspecting his work with pride, the man said, “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

Using her head and her feet—the only parts of her body she could still move—Eri struggled fiercely, but for some reason, didn’t say anything. Maybe she had imagined the dreadful fate that awaited her and sheer terror had stolen away her words.

The man unwrapped his treasured knife from its cloth and let out a deep breath. No matter how many times he looked at the weapon, it always had the ability to calm him. At the same time, the feel of Kirigoe Mima’s image in its handle gave him a high. The sharpened blade glimmered with power and danger.

His heart cried out for him to act.

Putting the knife in his right hand, he stepped toward Eri. He felt a primal energy building within him. His heart began beating faster, more intensely. Sticky beads of sweat dripped from his forehead.

Eri’s eyes were so wide her eyelids threatened to split apart entirely. Cracked and dry, her lips trembled like the beak of a trapped bird, as she finally managed to squeak out, “What—what is that? What are you doing? What are you going to do with that knife?”

Paying no heed to her questions, the man grasped her head, fingers like an eagle with talons in its prey. With his other hand, he pressed the knife’s tip at the base of her scalp.

Eri’s body froze solid.

And then she screamed with everything she had, her shrieks ringing through the room. She shook her head back and forth in crazed panic.

The man tightened his grip. “If you keep moving, you could ruin everything! You can’t move. If you move, I’ll cut into places I shouldn’t, so just stay still. I don’t want to harm your skin.”

He leaned his arm in against the base of her neck to keep her head in place. “Eri-chan,” he said. “This won’t hurt. I promise it won’t hurt.” He put the knife back into position at the base of her hairline. Slowly, smoothly, he moved the blade.

A red line appeared and traced across her scalp. Sharp and bitter pain twisted her expression. “Stop! No, stop!” Eri cried, vainly trying to kick her legs.

But the man’s powerful arm kept her head firmly in place.

“Now, now, don’t struggle,” the man said gently. “If you struggle, it’s only going to make this hurt more than it has to.” He kept moving the knife. The blade’s tip passed across her temple, then followed the line of her jaw all the way back up to the opposite side.

The man was impressed by how easily the edge cut. He hardly had to apply any pressure at all as he glided the blade across her skin.

At last, the knife had finished a full circuit. Streams of blood draped down across her torso like a veil of reddest silk.

The whites of her eyes blotted out by red, Eri mumbled in machinelike repetition: “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts…”

 

VIII

 

Mima’s soft but athletic thighs peeked out from her white wrap skirt. Every time she stepped to the beat, the skirt offered further glimpses, while her hips swayed in seductive rhythm. Her low-cut tank top bared the deep valley between her breasts, and when she shook her body, it set her bosom swaying. Droplets of sweat traced little arcs as they danced from her forehead to the base of her neck.

Tadokoro watched Mima’s performance on the monitors in the studio control room.

Next to him, the director of Nighttime Hit Parade said, “This is great television.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tadokoro replied. “And I’m not just saying that as her manager.”

The director said, “Looks like we can call her new image a success.”

Tadokoro nodded in great satisfaction. “A huge success, if you ask me. But it’ll all depend on how the viewers take it.”

Rumi came into the control room. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Tadokoro-san,” she said, “I just heard from our office. Our phones have been ringing off the hook!”

“What for?” Tadokoro said.

“What do you mean, what for? Everyone’s calling about Mima-san’s new song. The moment she came on the TV, our office has been flooded with calls!” Rumi punctuated the news with a little fist pump. Tadokoro smiled so wide his cheeks flushed red.

“That many, huh?” the manager said. “That’s a relief. It means all of Mima’s hard work has paid off.”

Tadokoro glanced at the monitor bay where Mima was finishing the second chorus. Then he looked back at Rumi and gestured her closer. “Rumi-chan,” he said, “let’s give Mima a little surprise. I want you to put together a party, but don’t tell her a word about it. It’ll be you and me—and let’s invite Yuji, too. We’ll celebrate Mima’s new image.”

Rumi’s eyes sparkled. “That’s a great idea! I’m sure Mima-san will be thrilled.” She couldn’t have been more excited than if the party had been for her.

Gentle admiration in his eyes, Tadokoro instructed, “Go to Mima’s apartment and get everything ready. You can buy anything you need at the convenience store down the street. The agency can write off the expense.”

He pulled a few ten-thousand yen notes from his pocket and handed them to Rumi, who bobbed her head in thanks before going back out of the room.

Tadokoro popped his head out from the door and shouted after her, “I’ll take care of Mima and Yuji. You just make sure everything is ready for us!”

Rumi, who was already jogging down the hall, glanced over her shoulder and called back cheerfully, “Got it!”

Tadokoro waved at her and went back into the control room. Mima had just finished her song.

 

IX

 

Talking to himself, the man said, “This is the hard part,” and then he pushed the knife-edge into the incision.

With his other hand holding Eri’s bangs up out of the way, he slid the knife in between her skin and the flesh underneath. He wielded the blade carefully, like a chef skinning a prize fish.

Between the loss of blood and the psychological shock, the bloody-faced idol had no more energy to resist. But she still kept throwing off his concentration. Every once in a while, her body jolted as if she had touched a high voltage wire, and she kept on mumbling curses and vows of revenge.

He thought about stabbing her right in the heart to stop her for good, but he wanted the skin of a live subject, and so he preserved in the face of temptation, patiently continuing his work. As he slid his knife into the cut, he slowly and gradually severed the connection between her outer skin and the dermis beneath.

If he went too deep, the skin would be too thick and fleshy. But if his cuts went too shallow, he would destroy the precious outer layer. Finding and keeping that balance was incredibly difficult and had him working with great caution.

Because of this, it took several minutes just to peel the skin from her forehead alone. As he carefully inspected the drooping strip of skin, he muttered, “This is going to be tougher than I thought.”

 

Some time later, the VCR’s recording timer went off. Its spools whirred to life, and light came to the TV’s tube.

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, reflexively turning to the screen.

Nighttime Hit Parade was on.

That’s right, the man remembered, Kirigoe Mima’s live performance is tonight. The man had set the timer three days before. She’s supposed to perform at the top of the show.

The man set the bloody knife—which he was still clutching, though his bloody work was through—down on the table and sat in front of the TV.

Shortly after, the opening of “Sexy Valley” came over the speakers. Mima appeared, center screen.

When he saw her appearance, the man swallowed thickly. The large ribbon in her hair, the lively eyes, those still felt like Mima, but the rest of her was an entirely different person—seductive cleavage, a waist tightly bound, a skirt short enough to reveal the plumpness of her thighs.

The man had seen her in costume on Music Town, and now, as then, the shock of it came like a hammer blow to his head. Only this time, the shock felt good, for no longer did he have to sit and watch her change into someone she wasn’t.

Through his painstaking efforts, he had tested out his means of saving her, and the results had been most favorable. The man glanced to the kitchenette, where the skin from Eri’s face clung to a countertop of stainless steel.

The forehead area had been hard work, but once he got the hang of it, he was able to let go of his excess caution and make bolder movements with the knife. The part from the cheek to the chin especially had gone easier than expected.

He felt ready.

The man switched off the VCR and got to his feet. He picked up the knife and wiped off the sticky mixture of blood and oil with a tissue. On the kitchen counter lay a small whetstone made for sharpening cooking knives. He brought the weapon over to it and began passing its edge across the stone. When he was satisfied, he wrapped the knife in a cloth and deposited the bundle in a paper shopping bag. Then he took down the life-sized poster of Mima from the time of her debut, rolled it up, and dropped it into the bag with the knife. Finally, he took a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans from their hangers in his closet and changed into them.

This was it. He was ready now. All that remained was the execution of his plan.

He would finish this today.

He believed he knew where Mima would go after her live performance—her apartment, almost assuredly. And it was late enough in the evening that her manager and assistant were unlikely to come by.

The man would catch her alone and take her to the place he had in mind. There, he would perform the ritual—the ritual of transformation, the ritual to make Mima herself again.

He felt an indescribable power swelling up from the innermost part of him. A sublime and noble power, he felt, born from purity of will and his selfless conviction to sacrifice himself for Mima.

The man turned his gaze to Eri, who was still strapped to the support column. Her body had gone slack and remained completely still. The blood that had dripped from her face formed a pool around her on the kitchen floor.

Originally, the man had planned on flaying her completely. But he didn’t have the time for so extensive a test anymore.

It’ll be fine, the man told himself, brimming with optimism. The rest of the body should skin easier than the face. He didn’t need practice to succeed at the real thing. All that worried him was how long he would be able to remain alive after his own skin was off. Judging by the motionless idol in his kitchen, it wouldn’t be that long.

But I’m not Ochiai Eri, the man thought. I’m stronger. Through willpower alone, I’ll stay alive for at least a few hours.

He couldn’t die until Mima was truly saved.

No matter what happened, he needed to live that long.

Feeling the weight of his responsibility, the man trembled with the excitement of a warrior anticipating battle. He put on his leather shoes and gave his room one last look over his shoulder. He gazed upon the mounds of video tapes and seared the image of the place into his memory.

Then a question came to him. What should I do about Eri?

If he left her here, the police would eventually come and bother him.

But then the man laughed out loud. What am I thinking? Everything will be over by the end of the day. Who cares about the police?

He opened his apartment door and stepped out toward the destiny he had made for himself. A deep, emotional exhilaration rushed from his heels to the top of his head.

Soon, he and Mima would be one.