Three in the morning. Already. Nights were never long enough. Ken was stretched out on his futon, headphones clamped over his ears, his gaze lost in the void. The cover for the single he was working on haunted him. This new single by Tokyo Neon Waves would be released in one month and was unlike any of their usual melodies. It was special. This song was the intro to their next album and had no lyrics. At least, no intelligible ones. The sounds were electronic, enigmatic, and most of all, experimental. Tokyo Neon Waves had given him free rein, which only made the task harder.
Ken closed his eyes and restarted “Renewal” for the hundredth time. He felt his walls and ceiling melt away. The notes produced by the synthesizer transformed into drops of water, trickling down and disturbing the calm surface of an ocean. Voices distorted by the DJ rose among the echoes, sounding like they were from another planet. The electric guitar produced short, sharp notes, as if communicating in Morse code. Sometimes, deep and saturated rumblings reminded Ken of a submarine locked in the depths of the abyss. The closer the track came to its conclusion, the more the sounds blended together. The submarine was rising to the surface. It floated in space, emitting a thousand waves. Or was it receiving them?
Ken let out a long sigh and threw all his drawings for “Renewal” into the trash. He laced up his sneakers and left his apartment, slamming the door behind him. His feet carried him down the apartment stairs and to the nearest convenience store, open 24 hours. Ken bought a large iced coffee and a waffle filled with ice cream. At the cash register, he fumbled through his pockets for his yen. Suddenly, he heard drops of water hitting the store floor behind him. Ken instinctively reached for his ears, thinking he’d forgotten to take off his headphones and that “Renewal” was still playing. But he was only wearing his cap.
“Her hair’s soaking wet,” two high school girls by the counter snickered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ken noticed a young woman with wet hair. She stood still, staring at a mirror in the cosmetics aisle. When Ken looked at the reflection, his blood ran cold. It was her. The girl from the Tokyo Neon Waves concert. She was watching him through the mirror, her eye wide open like a gaping, bottomless pit.
Ken abandoned his change and bolted out of the convenience store, heart pounding. He instinctively pulled out his phone and started a video call with Miyaki, his best friend. As he sprinted down the dimly lit street, every echo, every shadow seemed to stretch and follow him. His breathing grew ragged as he heard footsteps syncing with his own. She was close—too close.
When Miyaki finally picked up, Ken’s voice was frantic. “Can you see her?” he panted, thrusting his phone over his shoulder to show the street behind him. “Tell me you see her!”
There was a pause on Miyaki's end, then her voice crackled, “Wait… Ken, I think I see... someone behind you.”
A hand clamped down on Ken’s shoulder, sending him lurching forward with a strangled shout. He whipped around, only to find the convenience store employee, his face apologetic, holding out the forgotten change.
***
Instead of going home, Ken headed to Kabukicho, Tokyo’s red-light district. The neighborhood that never sleeps, its neon lights flickered like electric veins against the dark sky, illuminating streets teeming with revelers, hostesses, and shadows lingering just out of sight.
His friend Miyaki worked as a host at a well-known club and had just finished his shift.
“A stalker?” Miyaki repeated, downing a can of highball outside his host club.
“I swear it. She knows my real name and got close to me during a concert. And I just saw her at the convenience store down the street. She was staring at me.”
Miyaki raised an eyebrow.
“That’s my life, you know. And I’m still alive. Some of my clients have found out where I live. Just last week, my parents even got a letter asking for information about me—my blood type, birthdate, baby pictures, the whole thing. I knew right away it was from Toka, my most loyal client.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Are you nuts? If you knew the millions of yen she spends at the club every week... Thanks to her, I’m about to become the club’s top host. No, I just asked her to respect my privacy, and she apologized. I even made her believe she’d meet my parents one day. Anyway, if you’ve got a stalker, we’ll find her in your Instagram DMs. Social media is always the first step for girls like that.”
Miyaki grabbed Ken’s phone and searched through his messages.
“There’s nothing here. Do you delete your Instagram requests?”
“No, I never get fan messages. I’m a VJ; people rarely know what I look like. I work in the shadows of musicians, and no one really gets what I do.”
“You’re working too hard if you ask me. Join my club; it pays ten times better than your light effects and album covers. You look exhausted; I can tell. You must’ve imagined it. At your next concert, keep an eye on Ame* just in case, but don’t get too paranoid.”
“Ame? Like the rain?”
“Yeah. You’ve gotta give your first fan a name, right? Hand her a flyer for my host club next time.”
***
By the time Ken returned to his apartment around five in the morning, he felt calm and inspired, thanks to Miyaki. The ideal visual for “Renewal” floated clearly in his mind. He imagined a surface of water rippling with the wind, deep blue and white reflections. It was hollowed out in the middle, signaling the arrival of a wave. Small, vivid orange squares, almost red, formed a frame in the center of the image. They were topped with cryptic numbers. In the bottom left corner, a solid, geometric red shape hinted at a spaceship. Or a submarine.
When Ken grabbed his graphics tablet to start working, he noticed a file already open in his design software. “Renewal Cover.” He opened it.
“What the hell?” he whispered, breathless.
The album cover was already complete. Exactly as he’d imagined it. The modification date was four in the morning, the time he’d met up with Miyaki in Kabukicho. But another detail froze him in terror. In the top left corner, a face reflected on his computer screen. The white, dripping face of Ame. Ken screamed and fell backward, bringing all his equipment down with him.
When he finally stood up, wild-eyed, body shaking with violent tremors, he was alone in his apartment.
*“Ame” means “Rain” in Japanese.
