Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Seeing the broken phone fragments on the floor, Kondo Masahiko, enraged, shouted, "You crazy woman! You're in your apartment, aren't you? I'm coming right now!"

Meanwhile, in Akina Nakamori's apartment...

Akina Nakamori, who had just coldly told the receiver, "Your pain means nothing to me," seemed to vanish the moment she hung up the phone.

The remaining person was a girl huddled in the corner of the sofa, shivering.

At this moment, Akina Nakamori's hands were trembling violently. She was panting heavily, as if her chest was stuffed with a wad of waterlogged cotton, and each breath was accompanied by a suffocating feeling of drowning.

Fear is physiological.

This is a conditioned reflex left by long-term PUA tactics employed by Masahiko Kondo.

After a long while, Nakamori Akina finally reacted, frantically reaching out her hand and searching frantically on the coffee table before finally landing on the thick stack of manuscript papers.

At this moment, she was like a drowning person grabbing onto the last piece of driftwood in a storm, her fingers trembling as she stroked the cold lead type, trying to draw strength from these words, trying to tell herself: I am Yuko Moriguchi now, I am not just Akina Nakamori who can only cry.

However, reality is always more oppressive than the script.

Boom... Boom boom...!

After an unknown amount of time, a piercing engine roar suddenly echoed through the streets late at night.

This is the distinctive roar of a modified heavy motorcycle, like the howl of a wild beast.

Akina Mori recognized that voice so well that every nerve ending in her body started screaming.

In the past, whenever this sound came from downstairs, she would rush to the entrance and unlock the door, afraid that being a second late would upset the big star.

But this time.

Akina Nakamori staggered to her feet, rushed barefoot to the entrance, and gripped the door lock knob. The cold metallic touch sent a chill down her spine.

She didn't open the door.

Click.

Instead, the knob was turned in the opposite direction.

Lock the door.

After completing this action, Akina Nakamori seemed to have exhausted all her strength, and she slid to the ground with her back against the door panel.

The next second, an overwhelming sense of loneliness, along with the deathly silence after the motorcycles downstairs were turned off, swept over me like a tidal wave.

What if he actually breaks in?

What if he goes crazy and yells at me like before?

With this thought in mind, Akina Nakamori picked up the phone with trembling hands, flipping through her contacts as she tried to make a call.

But his finger stopped just as it brushed over the name.

Nayuki Fusashi.

This is her agent.

No.

Mr. Nayuki would only say in that businesslike tone, "Akina-chan, Kondo-san is Johnny & Associates' cash cow, so you have to be patient. Only if you two are a golden couple will the audience buy into it."

Slide your finger down.

Minghui.

This is her younger sister.

Akina Nakamori's fingers suddenly froze.

Just last week, her mother brought Minghui to Tokyo to visit her.

That was the first time in Nakamori Akina's more than 20 years of life that she learned to say no.

She made the excuse that she was too busy with work and didn't see them.

She originally thought that by doing this, she could make her family understand that she also has a temper and gets tired.

However, she was wrong.

The next day, her mother called without a single word of concern, asking if she was feeling unwell. Instead, she said, like a cold bill, "Akina, since you're busy making money, why don't you send the money over?"

"The family shop needs renovations, and... Minghui is insisting on going to Hawaii to shoot a photobook. You're the older sister, you should be able to afford this kind of expense, right?"

When Akina Nakamori fell silent, her mother's final, scathing remark truly pierced her heart: "Also, I heard from Mr. Fusano that you've been having problems with Kondo lately? You'd better tone it down. As long as you two are still the golden couple, you'll remain the adored superstar of all Japan."

"If we break up and ruin your image, how will you support us?"

Tears fell silently onto the phone book.

In this glamorous world, not a single family member was on her side.

Everyone clung to her like leeches, and then complained that her blood wasn't sweet enough.

Through her blurred vision, her finger inexplicably stopped on the newly added name in her contacts—

Northern original rock.

This man always has a cold face, yet he can see through all of my pretenses.

This is the man who tells himself, "You can become the Avenger."

This was his only lifeline.

beep...beep...

The phone is on.

"Kitahara-san..."

Akina Nakamori's voice trembled with undisguised sobs as she said, "I... I just said what you wrote in your book. But... he said he's coming over now."

"I'm so scared, my hands are shaking... Did I do something wrong?"

It was quiet on the other end of the phone, with only the occasional rustling of the wind through the window.

At that moment, Kitahara Iwa's voice came through the receiver, unusually steady, like a pair of strong hands supporting her falling soul.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You just stopped being that nice-natured Akina Nakamori."

"But I'm all alone here..."

Akina Nakamori curled up, looking like a wounded animal, and said, "My manager, my mom... they won't help me. What if he hits me? What if..."

"Listen, Akina."

Kitahara Iwa's voice lowered: "You are no longer living for your family's greed, nor for men."

"You are now Yuko Moriguchi from 'Confessions.' Would Yuko Moriguchi be afraid of the incompetent Shuya Watanabe?"

Akina Nakamori took a breath and shook her head vigorously. Even though the other person couldn't see her, she still replied earnestly, "...No."

"That's right."

Kitahara's tone finally revealed a hint of approval as he continued, "Keep that thought in mind until I appear. Where are you?"

Akina Nakamori then gave the address of the apartment.

"Don't hang up. Go and lock the door, including the security chain."

Immediately afterwards, heavy footsteps came through the receiver.

"I'm in Roppongi right now. At this time, it only takes me 10 minutes to get there by taxi."

"But Kondo..."

"There are no 'buts'. Listen, Akina."

With Kitahara Iwao's final command, those words were etched into her heart like a nail: "The director won't leave before the play ends. I'll definitely be there. Wipe away your tears, don't let that clown see them."

The call was not disconnected.

Akina Nakamori held the phone in both hands as if it were a fragile treasure and gently placed it next to the manuscript of "Confession" on the coffee table.

The occasional faint static from the receiver was amplified infinitely in the deathly silent room.

This was no longer noise, but an invisible lifeline connecting her and Kitahara Iwa.

"I will definitely get there."

These words, along with the faint breathing sounds coming from the receiver, became her only faith at that moment.

However, the messengers of hell arrive faster than the knights of salvation.

Boom, boom, boom.

Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed on the iron staircase, the sound of leather boots slamming into the ground.

Each step felt like a heavy hammer blow, striking Akina's heart.

Closer and closer.

until--

boom! ! !

With a loud bang, the apartment door shook violently, as if it would be kicked open at any moment.