Toka’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the dim light in the room. Today, she had plans to meet Miyaki’s best friend to find the perfect birthday gift. She had never been this in love with anyone before. She loved waking up early to spy on him when he went out for his morning coffee. Sometimes he slept in, but she always waited patiently. Soon, she would wake up beside him every morning. And she would be the one to prepare his breakfast. Nights at the host club were no longer enough.
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through her skull. A jolt like an electric shock burned through her nerves, and a warm liquid trickled down her temple. Blood. The acrid smell of cigarettes and cold noodles filled her nostrils, making her nauseous. Blinking painfully, she realized she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t at home.
A blinding blue light snapped on in the center of the room, illuminating a chaotic space filled with computer equipment, pencils, and torn scraps of paper. Miyaki’s friend stood holding a tablet, its glow casting ghostly shadows across his face.
“I’m not supposed to show you this design, Ame,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “But this stays between us. I was working on it when you were following me to the konbini downstairs. But first, I need to know—why were your hair wet? Were you trying to scare me? Drive me insane?”
Toka was paralyzed with fear, her mind scrambling for answers. She tried to remember. She’d gone to see Miyaki’s friend, just as they had planned. But after that?
“My hair has to be perfect for Miyaki,” she mumbled. “If I see him in the morning and at night, I wash it twice a day. I let it air-dry because he likes it when the ends curl slightly. People laugh at me, but I don’t care.”
“You do know he’s a host, right?” His voice turned sharp. “Every glance, every sweet word, every time he ‘accidentally’ brushes your shoulder… It’s all calculated. Every single client gets the same treatment. That’s how he makes a living.”
Toka knew that. Deep down, she had always known. Miyaki wasn’t in love with her—yet. But she was convinced her devotion would eventually be rewarded. One day, Miyaki would see that no other client loved him as much as she did. She’d be willing to put herself in danger for him. Without him, her life was an endless void.
After dropping out of school, she had become a disgrace to her family. Her father had thrown her out of the house. Kabukicho had become her world. At first, she slept on the streets with other runaway girls, using alcohol to keep warm. Then men approached them with offers to model for underground magazines. The pay was attractive if Toka agreed to wear the costumes—or nothing at all. Eventually, her employers offered her housing in exchange for “extra assignments.” Toka was tired of sleeping in the streets or dingy manga cafes, so she accepted.
Sometimes, for just a few seconds, she would step away from her obsession with Miyaki to confront reality. And in those fleeting moments, standing on the edge of an abyss, the urge to die consumed her. But then she’d wash her hair and return to Miyaki’s arms. For him, she had to be clean. For him, she had to live. Of course, he wasn’t in love with her. But at least he pretended.
“Is that your new creation?” Toka asked, her eyes darting to the apartment door.
Her throbbing head made it impossible to focus. She felt frozen in place.
“This is the visual for the new Neon Tokyo Waves track. It’s exclusive. Once I send it to them, they’ll forgive everything and take me back as their VJ.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, fighting back tears.
“Wait! You need to hear the track to really understand. You’ll see—I synchronized every shadow, every wave to match the synth melody. There are no lyrics, so I let my creativity run wild. I must have been in a trance—I don’t even remember working on it.”
As the track Renewal filled the room with sharp guitar tones, eerie vocal distortions, and a relentless drumbeat, despair washed over Toka. She had been through worse—much worse. So why did this feel like the end?
“I think we should call Miyaki,” she sobbed uncontrollably. “He’s your best friend. He’d love to see your work.”
She hadn’t told Miyaki she loved him enough. She hadn’t thanked him enough for lending her his jacket when she was still sleeping on the streets. She hadn’t proved her love enough. If she had, he would have quit his job as a host. They would have rented a nice apartment in Shibuya, spent nights singing karaoke and laughing, and she would have cooked for his parents on Sundays.
“I have to show you the video I made for that pretentious pop band… I can’t believe they fired me. They’ll regret it—I’m VJ Yamato, the best in Tokyo. That’s why you’re stalking me, isn’t it?”
As Miyaki’s friend rummaged for a mini projector, Toka painfully propped herself up on her elbows. The moment the multicolored lights burst from the projector, she lunged toward the first door she saw. A scream tore from her throat when she realized it was just the bathroom. Miyaki’s friend grabbed her by the waist and hurled her into the freezing bathtub.
“You’re not going anywhere!” he shouted. “Not until you tell me how you found out my real name. Which concert, which album cover, which photo, which piece of merch made you interested in me? Why are you so obsessed with me? Why did you notice me? Leave me and my friends alone! You ruined my life.”
Toka had put herself in enough dangerous situations to know this one was different. This one would only have one ending. So, for the last time, she fled reality and retreated into her dream.
As dozens of knife wounds tore through her body, Toka thought only of Miyaki’s smile. Of his bleached hair falling over his eyelids, highlighting his long lashes. Of his warm embrace, his laugh when she ordered the most expensive champagne in the club. Of his gaze meeting hers—filled with tenderness and false promises.
