pjbooks Chapter 12 helped her a little.
Chapter 12 helped her a little.
The streets of Shibuya are shrouded in darkness.
Having just finished a photoshoot for "Midnight" canned coffee, Shin Kitahara declined the brand's invitation to celebrate with drinks in Ginza.
All he wants to do right now is go home and take a hot bath.
To match today's "Urban Elite" theme for the photoshoot, the stylist specially paired him with a dark gray Burberry trench coat.
After the photoshoot, the brand's manager generously gifted him the trench coat as a "small present."
In this bubble era, this trench coat is worth two months' salary for an average office worker.
The trench coat was impeccably tailored. Kitahara Shin stood in front of the shop window by the roadside and adjusted the collar.
The man's figure reflected in the glass was tall and straight. His regular routine had improved his complexion considerably, making him look good in his expensive outfit.
As he passed the entrance to the underground parking lot of TBS television station, a noisy commotion caught his attention.
Dozens of reporters with cameras surrounded a black van like sharks smelling blood.
The flashes of light were so intense that they illuminated the dimly lit parking lot as if it were daytime.
"Ms. Nakamori! I heard that Mr. Kanai was secretly meeting with his new lover in Roppongi last night, is that true?"
"What is your response to the rumors that Mr. Kanai misappropriated funds from your firm?"
"Ms. Nakamori! Look this way! Please say a few words!"
In the center of the crowd, that thin figure was jostled and pushed about.
Akina Nakamori, with her head down and wearing sunglasses, tried to break through the encirclement with her manager and two security guards.
But there were just too many reporters; the microphones were practically shoved in her face.
Her face was pale, and her lips were tightly pressed together; she was clearly on the verge of collapse from this daily harassment.
The security guards shouted "Make way!" at the top of their lungs, but their voices were completely drowned out by the reporters' questions.
The scene was chaotic, and a stampede was imminent.
Kitahara Shin stopped in his tracks.
He stood on the outer steps, holding the briefcase containing the script.
Should we help her out?
In the past, he would have felt powerless.
But now, because of that lighter, he has been able to change his situation...
Kitahara Shin adjusted the collar of his trench coat, took out the "screenwriter's glasses" from his pocket, and put them on.
He didn't expect the glasses to give him any magical buffs; he just wanted to calm himself down.
He adjusted his glasses, and then his mind cleared up considerably.
Having been around for a long time, he'd seen it all, even if he hadn't eaten pork. He knew exactly how to act like a powerful figure with "life and death in his hands."
Moreover, his expensive trench coat could also be used as a disguise, which he could make good use of.
He strode down the steps and headed straight for a security guard who was maintaining order on the perimeter.
"Are you the person in charge here on duty?"
Kitahara Shin's voice was low and devoid of emotion, containing only a perfectly measured impatience stemming from the disruption to the workflow: "This chaos has lasted for five minutes now, why hasn't the B channel been cleared yet?"
The head of the security detail paused for a moment.
He looked at the man in front of him, who was wearing an expensive trench coat, glasses, and had a cold and stern expression.
This kind of aura, constantly talking about processes and efficiency, is just like those short-tempered executive producers in TV stations.
Instinctively, the security guard straightened his back: "I'm so sorry! There are too many reporters, we..."
"I don't want to hear excuses. If a stampede occurs, can your security company take responsibility?"
Kitahara Shin frowned, glanced at his watch, and then pointed to a gap on the left. "Take three people and separate the people from those two magazine companies on the left. Tell the driver not to stand there like an idiot, and to back the car closer to the exit. You have two minutes."
"Yes! I'll go right away!"
The head of the security detail was startled by the word "responsibility," instinctively saluted, and immediately turned and roared, "Tanaka! Sato! Follow me to the left! Quickly!"
This shout, coupled with the security guards' burst of action in an attempt to shirk responsibility, instantly tore a hole in the previously impenetrable encirclement.
Kitahara Shin did not stop.
He walked in through the opening, still maintaining that aura of "I'm working, unauthorized people stay away."
When the surrounding reporters saw such an imposing person walk in, they involuntarily made way for him, all speculating which important figure they had never seen before was this.
Kitahara Shin walked up to Akina, who was trapped.
She was hunching over, like a startled quail.
"The car is at Exit 3."
Kitahara Shin didn't look at her, but instead spoke to her panicked manager beside her, his tone as calm as if he were discussing tomorrow's schedule, "Don't look down, walk faster, don't let them capture you crying, that will only excite them more."
The agent, as if waking from a dream, nodded repeatedly, "Yes! Yes!"
Akina suddenly looked up.
Through her sunglasses, she saw that familiar profile.
It's you?!
At that moment, Kitahara Shin, dressed in a crisp trench coat, stood in the direction of the densest flashes, using an extremely skilled professionalism to shield her from those greedy lenses.
"This way, drive the car over here!" Kitahara Shin waved to the driver.
The van finally slid over.
The car door opened.
Akina got into the car with the help of her manager.
In the last second before the car door closed, she took off her sunglasses, and her red and swollen eyes gave Kitahara Shin, who was standing outside the car door, a deep look.
Kitahara Shin didn't look at her; he was looking down, adjusting his cuffs, as if he had just dealt with a trivial chore on set.
"Bang."
The car door closed, and the van sped away.
The reporters, who hadn't managed to capture any juicy scoops, looked at each other in bewilderment.
"Who is that?"
"Looks like a new producer from TBS?"
"Tsk, he has such a strong presence. I didn't dare to press the shutter button when he looked at me just now."
Kitahara Shin ignored the surrounding chatter.
He took off his glasses and put them back in his pocket. The oppressive aura of coldness dissipated, and he returned to being the slightly tired actor.
He tightened his trench coat and turned to walk towards the subway station.
……
Nine o'clock in the evening.
Kitahara Shin sat at the low table in his apartment, flipping through a book titled "Tokyo Real Estate Information".
A cup of hot tea sat on the table, and a heater hummed at my feet.
"Beep beep beep—"
The black pager on the corner of the table suddenly went off.
He had recently bought this pager to make it easier to receive work assignments, and he only gave the number to his agent, Daejeon, the director, and a few other people.
Kitahara Shin picked up the pager and glanced at the screen.
The screen displayed an unfamiliar number, followed by a short line of text:
Thank you—A
A.
Akina (明菜).
As Kitahara Shin looked at the words, the image of that disheveled yet stubborn look in the parking lot flashed through his mind.
She must have gotten his number from someone else.
For a top idol who is currently at the center of a media storm, it is extremely rare for them to send a thank-you message at this time.
If he were a twenty-year-old lad, he would probably be so excited that he would immediately call back, or start fantasizing about a heart-wrenching love story.
But Kitahara Shin just smiled and didn't seem to care much about it, instead putting the pager back on the corner of the table.
He picked up a red pen and drew a red circle around the picture of the apartment with the loft in the magazine.
"A house with a sunroof is nice; it must feel really special on rainy days."