“What do you mean?”
“The way you’re approaching your work today! It’s just one issue after another,” she scolded. “Think of the rumors people will start spreading!”
“Don’t worry about rumors,” he replied.
“I can tell you’ve been in a bad mood since this morning, but you need to stop dragging it into your work!”
“I’m not in a bad mood. I’m acting normally.” This was true—he was certainly keeping up his guard while in unfamiliar environments, but that didn’t mean his mood was poor. As always, Sousuke was acting in a clear-headed manner.
“Hmph. I-If you insist, I’ll have to inform the director and ask for instructions.”
“I don’t entirely understand,” he said, “but perhaps you should.”
Kotomi was shocked to hear this. Everybody knew that Kira Kousuke was intimidated by the agency director. “You’re sure about that? Really?”
“Reporting to headquarters when you’re uncertain of what to do is standard behavior,” Sousuke reasoned. “I don’t want to work with anyone who falls into the class which von Seeckt labeled, ‘industrious and stupid.’”
“I don’t quite understand, but... f-fine, I will tell him. Is that understood?!” Kotomi pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and spoke to their agency’s director for a while. Then she hung up and said, “He’s very angry.”
“Irrelevant,” Sousuke announced shortly. “Now, please give me the briefing for the next job.”
Kotomi fumed silently, but did so anyway. “It’s a photo shoot. Please promise to treat Shinomiya-sensei well, won’t you?”
“Who is ‘Shinomiya’?”
“A major photographer! It will be a huge blow to both you and the agency if you mess this one up! You have to greet him politely!”
“A photographer? I’ve known photographers. Don’t worry,” Sousuke said confidently.
About thirty minutes later, they got out of the car and entered the studio.
Shinomiya-sensei, the photographer in question, stood before them. “Ah, so you’re Kira-kun,” he said enthusiastically. “You have a great look!” Then the photographer, an oily man in his 50s, clapped him on the shoulder while reaching out for a handshake. It was a fairly common gesture in the entertainment world, and Shinomiya was a major artist—the natural response would have been to put a professional smile on his face and return the gesture.
But the sight of an unfamiliar man—one who was shouting at him while rapidly approaching, and holding out both hands to reach for his shoulder—sparked Sousuke’s mercenary instincts, honed by his time in war-torn regions. He ducked out of the way with a grunt.
The photographer stumbled, then caught himself and looked back at Sousuke, half in surprise and half in outrage. “Wh-What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Force of habit,” Sousuke said stoically.
It was the worst possible first impression. Both the assistant and the magazine editor turned pale. Kousuke’s manager, Kotomi, also began pacing around in the studio in panic.
“Wh-What do you think you’re—” the flustered photographer started.
But Sousuke interrupted the impending tirade with a blunt question of his own. “Where have you taken pictures in the past?”
“What?”
“I met several of you in Afghanistan and Cambodia,” he continued. “I even saw some die from stray bullets.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are a photographer, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yes, but...”
“The best place to get pictures right now is the Baliq Republic,” said Sousuke. “Their Civil War has been in a lull for a long time, but starting around next month, the government army will begin a wide-scale resistance.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the photographer.
“You don’t know about the Baliq Republic?”
“No!”
Sousuke looked genuinely taken aback. “What kind of battle photographer are you?”
“B-Boudoir photographer?!” Shinomiya shouted, misunderstanding him. “What makes you think you can talk to me that way?!”
“Well, I certainly seem to know more about the subject than you.”
“How dare you! How would a young man like you know anything? I’ve shot hundreds of stars!”
“So what? I’ve seen hundreds of bodies,” said Sousuke, who genuinely seemed to think he was bragging.
As the entire venue watched, frozen, Sousuke’s unproductive argument with the photographer continued on and on.
●
Kousuke, meanwhile, was in fourth period gym class doing the 1,500-meter run.
Despite what he told the world, Kira Kousuke was very bad at long-distance running. The notion that jogging was his hobby had been completely fabricated by his agency. Which meant that after about a thousand meters, Kousuke, third from the end, was reduced to walking—bowlegged, heaving for breath, and dragging his feet.
The students, who still thought he was Sousuke, couldn’t help but find it bizarre.
“What’s with him?”
“Look! He’s exhausted!”
“Maybe he’s really sick or something?”
When it came to long-distance running, Sousuke was unbeatable. In short sprints up to one hundred meters, there were runners who were faster than him, but runs of four hundred meters or more were Sousuke’s time to shine. Had he joined the track and field club or participated in city tournaments, he would easily have won them. Experienced soldiers tended to excel in endurance more so than in instantaneous power. The body of a sprinter couldn’t handle running dozens of miles through thick jungle, carrying dozens of kilograms of equipment, while under pursuit and trading fire with merciless enemies.
But this version of Sousuke...
“Huff... wheeze...” After finally reaching the finish line with a time of seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, he simply collapsed.
One of the boys in the class, Onodera Kotaro, hauled him to the edge of the track as he coughed and groaned. “Hey, Sagara. Are you okay, man?”
“Hrk... hnn...” Wiping the copious sweat off his brow, he picked himself up unsteadily. He noticed a water fountain located on the edge of the athletic field, and began stumbling towards it. “Water...” he gasped, “water...” There was a flower bed between him and it, which he cut straight through, so thirsty that he trampled on the plants rather than detouring around them.
Kotaro panicked. “H-Hey! Wait, Sagara, that’s—”
Blam! Suddenly, the flower bed exploded. There was a roar and shock wave as flame burst from the ground. Kousuke, trailing smoke, flew meters up into the air, then landed hard on his back.