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.