Whoever this obsessive fan was, he was probably a bitter, pathetic excuse of a man, someone who never went out on dates, never played any sports, and just sat shut away in his room all alone. When she pictured him in her mind, the image filled her with bristling irritation.
Though the more unsavory type of fan had been more prevalent in the past, these days, the men who followed idols were a mostly pleasant sort. Fan or not, she wished the police—or anyone, really—would crack down on all the nasty ones like him.
She couldn’t even relax in her own bed anymore. How could she, when he could call again at any moment? Each time her phone rang, her heart froze for just a second. Even worse, he might have tracked down her address by now. What if he came in person?
She made a sour face, like she’d just stepped on a slug with her bare foot.
Sniffling, Mima told Rumi, “I’ve decided to tell Bon-chan.”
With her hair artlessly gathered in the back and her face showing little if any makeup (though naturally still cute), her outward appearance spoke of an inner weariness.
Rumi set a cup of coffee in front of the idol. The assistant nodded and said, teary-eyed, “I was wrong for thinking to keep it to myself. I hope you can forgive me…”
“It’s fine, Rumi-chan. What’s done is done. The person I can’t forgive is that creep. Look at all the trouble he’s caused us—that so called ‘Darling Rose.’ Give me a break!”
When Mima debuted as an idol, she’d been given the slightly offbeat English tagline, “The Charming Rose.” That must have been where the man came up with his pen name.
“I’m going to talk with Bon-chan,” Mima said. “We’ll come up with a plan. I’ve told him about this guy before. Bon-chan thought he was merely some dreary, miserable fan and that we should just leave him be. But now that this freak came into the studio, we can’t ignore him anymore.”
Mima balled one hand into a fist and punched at the air. “If he shows up in front of me, I’ll beat the living daylights out of him.”
Mima grinned devilishly, and Rumi, taken in by the smile, formed a small one of her own. The sight came as a relief to the idol, who hadn’t seen her assistant smile since the night Rumi admitted to hiding the letter.
Rumi said, “And if I see him again, I’ll grab him with my own two hands and give him what he has coming.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mima said. “You know he’s bound to be a total wimp. If we stand up to him, he’ll go running with his tail between his legs.”
Mima gave Tadokoro the letter to read. Later, in a small storage room at the rear of the recording studio, perched upon folding chairs, Mima and Rumi told him what had happened at the television station.
“Did you see his face?” he asked, drawing in one corner of his mouth and pushing air out through his teeth.
“No. The light was coming in directly behind him.”
Tadokoro downed the rest of his now tepid coffee and ran his hands through his thinning hair. He glanced at Mima, who gave him the sort of smile that didn’t really say anything.
Tadokoro said, “This guy must be a fan—albeit a crazed one. He’ll have shown himself at concerts and events. Rumi-chan, are you sure you can’t remember anything?”
Rumi shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. Between the sunlight and how scared I was, I didn’t see much of him at all.”
“It happened so suddenly, Bon-chan,” Mima intervened. “No one could be expected to remember what he looked like. What we need to discuss is what we’re going to do about him.”
“Do you think it’s the same man who’s been calling you?” her manager asked.
“I’m almost certain of it. The man on the phone said he’d come see me, and the letter talked about having tracked down my phone number.”
Tadokoro spread open the crumpled letter and read it again. He’d already read it many times since Mima had brought it to him. Each time he did, he felt even more deeply disturbed than before.
Almost to himself, he muttered, “At first, I dismissed the calls as just the work of some obsessive fan. But now that he’s come to the TV station and gotten a letter to you, we can’t wave this away as simple harassment.” He gave an exasperated shrug.
Sounding less than confident, Rumi offered, “Do you think we should notify the police?”
Tadokoro hummed in serious thought. He wanted to tell the police, but as of this moment, the stalker hadn’t committed any crime. He hadn’t made a direct threat or caused any harm. The police wouldn’t act just because the guy was being unpleasant. And if word of the matter leaked to the public, the entertainment media would make a big joke out of it at Mima’s expense. It could harm her image.
“Maybe I’m being selfish here,” Tadokoro said, “but from the agency’s standpoint, I don’t want this to become a police matter. We need to find this man by our own means and set him straight.”
Mima understood where he was coming from. Part of her thought she shouldn’t let herself be so afraid of some troubling phone calls and a letter. But another part of her thought Tadokoro didn’t understand how frightening the stalker was.
“Regardless,” Tadokoro said, patting her firmly on the back, “we’ll wait and see what he does next. In the meantime, worrying about it won’t get us anywhere.”
Mima and Rumi looked at each other and sighed. The idol said, “You’re right. There’s nothing else we can do now but wait and see.”
Tadokoro stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Mima, I want you to take a quick break, and then we’ll go over your new song. Forget about that creep and focus on the music.” With a small wave, he rose and left them.
Mima and Rumi stood immediately and followed Tadokoro out. As the three walked down the dim hallway, he muttered to no one in particular, “There’s so many freaks and weirdos these days. Crazed fans, pedophiles… Speaking of which, they never found the guy who killed that girl—the one who cut the skin from her leg. Who the hell goes around cutting off people’s skin, anyway?”
Over his shoulder, Tadokoro tossed Mima a grin. “Mima, be careful not to get your skin cut off.”
For a moment, Mima felt a jolt of pain, as if she could feel the knife in her flesh.
The manager gave her a carefree chuckle and said, “I’m kidding, Mima. It’s just a joke.”
But Mima didn’t laugh. It may have been meant in jest, but it was nasty, all the same. And as little as she appreciated the joke, she hoped it would stay one.
III
The man’s body shook in big, shoulder-rocking waves. He sensed that some great calamity was going to befall him, though he didn’t know what it was, or when it would come, or what form it would take. An immense and shapeless dread had grown deep within his heart, and it warned him that the thing he held dearest would be brought to ruin.
But what did he hold dearest? He searched inside himself for the answer.
Was it love? Was it dreams? Family?
No, it wasn’t any of those things. Not a chance.
His own life? Now that was something dear. But was it the dearest? He wasn’t confident that it was. There had to be something more important than that.
Suddenly, in his innermost thoughts, a word formed: purity.