The man stood near the rear entrance to Shoppers Plaza. He took the box cutter from his pocket, blade exposed. He placed its cutting edge against his palm.
Yuma, he thought, these are my feelings for you.
He pulled the knife across his skin. Blood gushed out from the wound. Letting it pool in his hand, he approached a poster advertising Kawasaki Yuma’s live performance and handshake session.
He reached for the poster and smeared his blood across the paper, as if instilling it with his feelings.
Beneath the film of red, Yuma smiled out at the world. He jabbed his pointer finger at her nose and said, “Yuma, this is the second time I’ve forgiven you. Please, I beg you, don’t betray me again. This is the last time. You get no more chances after this.”
Yuma dialed the phone number, partly resigned to the expectation he wouldn’t answer. But, much to her surprise, this time he did.
“Yukio!” She spoke somewhat louder than she’d intended. Then, a bit peevishly, she said, “What’s been going on? I keep calling you, and you’re never there.”
“Come on, don’t be like that,” Kawai Yukio protested. “You’re the one who said not to call you so much because you’d be too busy with that new song.”
“But, but…” Yuma waved the receiver, as if in denial. “But something really scary happened to me.”
Like a cord stretched tight finally snapping under the strain, Yuma broke down crying.
Yukio said, “Yuma, it’s all right. Look, we’re talking now, aren’t we?” With tenderness, he added, “If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me about it.”
“I…was so scared.”
Between sobs, she told Yukio everything that had happened, from the letter to the man who had come to the handshake event.
Yukio was silent, and then he said, “That does sound strange. I have some pretty weird fans myself, and sometimes they’ll send me their underwear or clippings of their hair—but I’ve never received a letter like that.”
“Right? It’s not normal. I think he’s obsessed—he’s crazy.”
“I’m just not so sure of the connection between the letter and the man at the handshake session,” Yukio said. “I think you might be too on edge, and you’re overreacting.”
“I’m telling you, it was him. I know it. No, I don’t have any hard evidence. But I’m sure of it. He smelled the same as the letter.”
“I feel like you’re overthinking this,” Yukio said, doubt evident in his voice. “Well, whatever the case, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you so far, and he can’t be shadowing you everywhere you go. Just be a little more cautious of what’s around you, and I’m sure you won’t have anything to worry about.”
“He’ll come,” Yuma muttered.
“What did you say?” Yukio asked.
“He’ll come. I know he will. He’ll come to my apartment!” Shivering, she added, “Maybe he’s already on his way here.”
The next day, Yuma entered her agency’s office and found Bando waiting for her with a fierce look on his face.
Full of cheer, Yuma asked, “Ban-chan, what’s wrong?”
Bando had no smile for her. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, you ask?”
He thrust a tabloid magazine at her and demanded, “What’s this?”
It was one of those low-class, celebrity gossip rags.
“What about it?” Yuma said defensively as she took the magazine and began flipping through the pages. Halfway through, she found the photograph that had fouled Bando’s mood.
The picture was of Yuma and Yukio together. It was from when they had snuck out on a date about a month ago. They were in a small, low-key snack bar, snuggled up to each other as they drank beer.
Who could have taken that picture? Yuma wondered in honest confusion. There wasn’t anyone in the bar who remotely looked like a photographer.
“You sure made a mess of things,” Bando said, “drinking with a man when you’re underage. Even worse, you’re going out with some C-grade idol, way beneath your level. If you’re going to date someone, you’d better make sure it’s a star. Then we’d have enough clout to keep pictures like this from surfacing.”
Bando put his hands on his head, pushing his fingers through what little hair he had left. “The media will be all over this. They can’t get enough of gossiping about popular idols. It’ll probably be on TV within the week.”
Feeling no sympathy, Yuma grew angry. “Look how worried you are, now. When I told you about that letter, you weren’t bothered at all. You obviously care more about my CD sales than you care about me.”
Bando glared at her. “Yes, your CD sales are important. But what I care about is for you not to become damaged goods. When these kinds of pictures go public, your fans are hurt the most. In the end, you’re the one whose career is affected.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Somewhat concerned now, Yuma thought, After climbing to the top five, “Lariat of Love” will start to slip back down—and my popularity might go down with it.
She stepped toward Bando and clasped her hands around his. “I think it’s going to be fine. These days, it’s okay for idols to drink and go on dates. People appreciate honesty more than the fake innocent act. Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”
Bando shook his head slowly, then said, “Well, we can’t take back what’s already printed. Maybe you’re right, and we’ll get some publicity out of it.” He let out a deep sigh. “You completely shut down the president of Sanshin Denki, but you’ll date a cheap idol like this. Yuma, I don’t think you were made for the entertainment world.”
“Maybe I wasn’t,” Yuma said with a grin.
Bando returned her grin and joked, “You’d better watch out for the crazy fans. If they see this picture, they might lose it. Those fans can be scary sometimes.”
He’d meant it just as a joke and nothing more. But Yuma didn’t take it as one.
He’s right, she thought. Ban-chan is right. If that man sees this picture…
For a second, everything seemed to go dark.
“I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them!”
At a tiny bookstore near the train station, the man stabbed a tabloid magazine again and again, shouting repeatedly. At the cash register, a female clerk averted her eyes from the spectacle. Apparently, she’d decided that ignoring him was the best way to ensure her own safety.
“I’ll kill them! I don’t know when, but I’ll kill them!”
He’d slashed and shredded the picture in the magazine until the paper barely hung together.
The photograph was of Kawasaki Yuma and Kawai Yukio. Yukio had his arm around Yuma’s shoulder.
Jealousy filled the man’s heart, and his chest felt painfully tight. In that moment, his jealousy was so strong that he thought it might kill him. He resented that picture for making him feel this way. He resented the couple in the picture.
At some point, he began to cry; tears dripped down from his chin. He felt a burning sensation in his nose as salty snot began to stream out his nostrils. He felt sorry for himself. Why did he have to be hurt like this?
Suddenly, he looked up in realization. A glimmer came to his dull eyes, and he thought, I’ll tell Yuma. He smiled. I’ll tell Yuma to break up with him. If I can just talk to her, she’ll understand.
But then he remembered how Yuma had looked at him during the handshake session. He pictured her expression of terror and contempt. Dejected, full of self-doubt, he turned his face down.
She might not understand. The thought struck fear into him. What if she doesn’t understand? What if she hates me? He squeezed the box cutter’s handle. Then I won’t have any other choice. I’ll have to find strength in this blade. I’ll have to turn to my last resort.
Having found a new determination, the man was calm once more.
After finishing her recording for a TV talk show, Yuma took a taxi back to her apartment. She got out of the cab and looked around, as was her habit, to make sure no one had followed her home.
Seeing no one, she went in through the front entrance. The door wouldn’t open for anyone without a matching key and number code. Thanks to the security system, the apartment provided complete safety. As long as she was here, she need not be afraid.
But that man had come inside. At least once, he had come.
Yuma exited the elevator and hurried to her door. She shut it quickly behind her and engaged the lock, then the door chain.
It still wasn’t enough to put her at ease. She ran to her phone and called Yukio. He didn’t have any work tonight and when they had spoken earlier, he’d said that he would come over.
The answer machine picked up.
“Yukio, it’s me,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “Come over as soon as you get this message. I’m in my apartment. Please, come right away.”
Her sixth sense was trying to get through to her. She could feel something—something beyond words. She sensed that something terrible was coming for her. It was getting close.
She thought she heard footsteps.
The doorbell rang. Yukio had come. Yuma unchained the door.
Yukio is here. She could think of nothing else. The sound of the doorbell had erased all fear.
As she opened the door, she pouted. “You’re late. I’ve been waiting for—”
A man slid inside, through the open doorway.
It wasn’t Yukio.
It was a man she didn’t know.
She didn’t know this man, but she’d seen him before.
Somewhere in her memories, he was there.
But who was he?
“You’re Yuma-san,” he said in a high-pitched voice, shrill enough to rattle the lid of hell itself. “You’re Kawasaki Yuma-san.”
The moment he had opened his mouth, her nose caught the smell. It was familiar. She knew, beyond any doubt, this was the man. This was the man who had filled her with terror at the handshake session. This was the man with those elephant eyes.
Her voice trembling, Yuma said, “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The man calmly locked the front door from the inside and moved the chain into place.
“I…I’m a huge fan,” he said. He looked away in embarrassment. Even his ears had flushed red.
“If you’re my fan,” Yuma said as firmly as she could, “then come see me at a concert. This is my private space. It’s not a place for fans to come.”
That’s right, she told herself. He’s your avid fan. You need to be strong with him.
Staring him down, she ordered, “Now leave!”
The man’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, but he said, “No. I won’t leave.”