Are You Really My Muse?

──1──

While yearning for the brilliance of idols, I ended up being blinded by their overwhelming light.

For me, idols were hope, they were dreams, and in the end, they became my despair.

When idols represented hope to me, their achievements filled me with excitement.

Each had their own dream, and they sang and danced on stage for that dream, letting us become part of it.

I loved idols like that.

Before I knew it, supporting their dreams became my dream too. When my favorite idol achieved her dream, I felt like I was achieving my own.

Attending concerts, buying merchandise and CDs, supporting my favorite idol's activities—they became my reason for living. That kind of life was incredibly fulfilling.

But those feelings didn't last forever.

Because the idol I had supported retired.

And not in the way I had wanted.

The first idol I fell in love with got a boyfriend and retired, despite being in a group with a no-dating rule.

I was stunned as I watched it unfold on TV.

It wasn't that I was shocked that she got a boyfriend.

It was just that the dreams she shared with us never included "getting a boyfriend and retiring" . . .

All of us—the fans who believed in her dreams—were completely abandoned when she retired.

Despite the crushing disappointment, I managed to convince myself that idols were human too.

My second favorite idol also retired due to a scandal.

It came to light that she was bullying other members of the group behind the scenes.

She was revealed to be the ringleader of the bullying, tearfully apologized, and retired.

All that remained in my heart was a sense of emptiness.

She was the ringleader, so she retired.

But what about the members who remained?

What about the others who participated in the bullying?

Even with the main bully gone, I couldn't imagine how that group could continue operating as usual.

Conversely, even if they continued operating as usual, I couldn't help but imagine what was happening behind the scenes.

I couldn't bring myself to support the remaining members genuinely, so I stopped supporting that group altogether.

After experiencing my favorite idols' retirement twice, I found myself afraid to be a fan anymore.

In the end, I was just deluding myself and sulking about being "betrayed." I knew that.

But . . .

I wanted to believe in something. I wanted to draw strength from something. Idols were supposed to be the answer to that feeling of wanting to rely on others.

With those sweet desires crushed, I had fallen into despair.

I should stay away from idols now.

I should focus on my own life . . .

Just when I had resolved to do that, she suddenly appeared in the idol world.

She put on a performance that set her apart from all the others.

She had a strong dedication toward her dreams.

And thorough fan service.

Everything about her was more vivid and dazzling than any idol I'd ever seen.

Before I knew it, she became my final hope.

This is the last time I'll support an idol.

I decided I would be her fan until the very end of her career as an idol, and then finally start living my own life.

Right, this is the last time.

Like a prayer, I repeated it in my heart.

This is the last time, so let me believe.

──2──

Once you saw the filth lurking behind the sweet illusion of idols, that ugliness destroyed your vision.

Damn idols.

With the driver's seat of my beloved black Wrangler reclined, I stared intently at the entrance of an exclusive members-only club. I'd been sitting here for hours, with my camera resting on my stomach.

My back was aching constantly, but I was used this pain by now.

Oh.

Finally, my target emerged from the entrance I'd been watching for hours.

I quickly grabbed the SLR camera on my stomach, looked through the viewfinder, and pressed the shutter.

Not quite a top idol, but a reasonably popular one, along with a pudgy executive from a record company or something.

I captured them perfectly as they walked out of the club arm-in-arm—probably just for show—looking all chummy.

Damn idols . . .

Muttering what had become my catchphrase under my breath, I checked the camera data. It was a perfect shot.

She was one of those idols who weaponized their god-given cuteness and youth to charm men, prattling about dreams and hope while raking in money.

Behind the scenes, these idols were putting their energies into some pathetic business.

They put on a sweet act and tried to squeeze every penny they could out of people, but in the end, their careers depended on sucking up to rich men.

Absolutely despicable—both the idols running these dirty businesses and myself for making money off of them.

So, where're you off to?

I wanted more conclusive photos.

I put the camera strap around my neck, opened the door, and got out of the car. I walked slowly, maintaining enough distance to avoid getting too close to my subjects while keeping them in sight.

They've completely let down their guard . . .

The idol and the middle-aged man walked through the entertainment district after leaving the venue. While the idol was disguised with a mask, hat, and sunglasses, she hadn't once looked around nervously or glanced back since they left.

Thinking she wouldn't be recognized in that disguise was foolish in itself.

All I wanted was to get the shots I needed and get out of there quickly.

With the completion of this job in sight, my back pain started acting up fiercely.

Damn job . . .

I clicked my tongue and walked slowly through the grimy night streets.

Hmm, boring. She might be from FairPro, but she's not an idol who takes center stage in any of their songs, right?

How is it boring?! Regardless of who it is, an idol entertaining record company executives behind the scenes is straight-up betrayal!

Seeing the editor's skeptical expression, I couldn't help but snap at him. I couldn't stand having the photos I had worked so hard to take be dismissed so easily.

However, the editor still wore a sour look on his face.

Well, you know . . . If it were someone who placed in the top three in the general election, that'd be one thing . . . but with this girl, well . . .

That's why it's not a matter of who—

Yoshiharu. Come with me.

Cutting off my protestation, the editor lowered his voice slightly. After beckoning me, he started walking toward the hallway.

I clicked my tongue quietly and followed him.

The editor led me out of the editorial department to the deserted hallway.

Listen, I'm only telling this to you. Don't say anything to anyone else.

. . . ?

Even though no one else was around, I stared at the editor, furrowing my brow as the man lowered his voice.

About FairPro's deals on idol entertainment . . . no matter how strong a story you bring me, we can't publish it.

Wha . . .

I recoiled.

Underground idol entertainment deals—that was exactly what I was showing the editor photos of.

If the editorial department of a gossip magazine couldn't publish articles about that kind of behavior—which could be called the ultimate betrayal in the idol business—then who would expose such crimes?

Why . . . ?!

As I responded in an accusing tone, the editor waved his hand dismissively while grimacing.

It's CIVX. We've been hit with some pretty strong gag orders from their higher-ups. Our upper management . . . They've taken money too.

What the hell?! Don't you have any pride as a news organization?!

When I raised my voice, the editor raised his voice right back.

I don't like it either! Well, whatever. Anyway, if you don't want to get fired, don't bring me any more idol entertainment articles.

That's ridiculous . . .

You can cover stories other than idol entertainment, right? Come on, you know the one I mean—Akira Sezai! She's at the top of the idol world now, right? Find some scandal involving her and bring it to me. See ya.

Hey, wait, wait a minute . . . !

Having said his piece, the editor waved one hand and headed back to the editorial department. There was no getting through to him.

Damn it!

Alone in the hallway, I stomped my foot hard against the ground. Pain shot through my sole.

My hand moved toward the cigarettes in my breast pocket, but when I spotted the handwritten No Smoking sign, I clicked my tongue. Lately, everywhere I went had no-smoking or designated smoking areas—it was annoying as hell. Most people in the editorial department smoked anyway, so what was the point?

God . . . I can't deal with this.

Muttering to myself, I touched the camera hanging around my neck and started walking. My feet were taking me toward the underground parking garage.

Akira Sezai.

She was the famous, red-hot top idol. She had debuted as part of a duo, but her partner had suddenly retired, and now she was continuing as a solo act.

I was sick to death of idols, but even I had to admit her performances were something else.

She had a charm that clearly set her apart from all the others. She was that kind of idol.

I got into my Wrangler and closed the door.

I took a deep breath.

Akira Sezai . . .

I turned the key and started the engine. With a deep rumble, the car shook, and the vibrations reached deep into my gut. Work mode kicked in.

If I manage to dig up dirt on you too, that'll finally be the end of idols.

Muttering to myself, I—Yoshiharu Kasugai—put the car in drive.

──3──

I had thought being an idol was just a means to an end.

At first, I had just wanted one boy to notice me.

A gentle, thoughtful, sensitive boy.

I had wanted to become one of the rays of light that caught his attention. That was all.

I had never imagined that something I had started on a whim would become my entire life.

Singing alone couldn't move anyone.

Dancing without purpose meant nothing.

A fake smile couldn't captivate anyone.

Standing on the idol stage without any mental preparation, I felt stunned by my own powerlessness.

We couldn't even fill a theater that held less than a hundred people.

There are idol groups that pack venues with thousands of seats.

Every time I realized the enormous gap between us, my heart burned with determination.

Because I knew just how brilliant and expansive the world that captured my beloved's attention was.

I have to shine even brighter.

I have to become a light that outshines everything else and is watched by countless people. And hopefully, he would be one among them.

I struggled desperately with these thoughts.

I noticed the abyss that opened up beneath my feet.

It was a vortex of evil waiting with its gaping jaws directly beneath idols' dreams.

That girl who had started her idol journey with me had been swallowed by that darkness and disappeared.

Let's sing together on the Budokan stage.

Such pure promises had turned to dust in an instant.

I can't forgive it.

That anger drove me forward.

Singing cheerfully.

Dancing gracefully.

Smiling brilliantly.

No one knew that anger lay at the heart of it all.

If only I could burn away the darkness at my feet with my radiance.

With that prayer and anger in my heart . . .

I continued to live as an idol.

Finally . . . tomorrow . . .

I stared intently at the meet-and-greet ticket in my hand.

Even though the event was tomorrow, my heart was pounding and my hand was trembling as I held the ticket.

Akira Sezai's live performance was playing from the tablet on my desk.

The flawless idol, Akira Sezai . . . Her first solo meet-and-greet.

I took a slow, deep breath.

After carefully tucking the ticket away in my wallet, I sank deep into the sofa.

This was going to be my first meet-and-greet.

I had first discovered and fallen in love with idol culture in my third year of middle school. It had been quite a while since then, and I was currently a sophomore in college. Despite supporting idols for so long, I had never once attended a fan meet-and-greet due to certain circumstances.

But this time was special.

This was Akira Sezai's first solo meet-and-greet.

I thought it was worth participating, no matter what else was going on in my life.

After watching the idols I had supported announce their retirement one by one, just when I was steeling myself to give up on idols entirely . . .

Akira Sezai burst onto the idol scene like a comet and quickly rose to the top.

Her smile was always perfectly polished. Her impeccable fan service—the way she seemed to have complete control over every emotion she showed to fans—was what made her so popular.

She didn't get too close to fans, but she didn't keep them at arm's length either.

I was gradually drawn to her professionalism in maintaining that delicate balance. Now I was completely captivated by Akira.

This is the last time I'll support an idol.

That was what I had decided.

If Akira had an unwanted retirement or scandal, I'd never be able to support an idol again.

I picked up the tablet on my desk and looked down at the footage playing.

On the screen, Akira was moving with incredible energy and freedom.

Her dancing stood out even among today's top idols. Her ability to maintain perfect pitch while singing and dancing simultaneously had earned widespread praise.

And . . . what drew me to her was her smile.

Her smile, which showed she truly enjoyed performing for fans, had completely captivated me and countless others.

Sometimes innocent, sometimes bold, sometimes enchanting . . .

Her different smiles had an indescribable charm. They were so captivating that once you saw them, you couldn't get them out of your head.

Actually meeting her face to face . . .

Just imagining that situation made me break out in a sweat.

Tomorrow . . . I get to shake hands with Akira . . . and say something to her . . .

Even as I said the words aloud, they somehow didn't feel real, and that unsettled me.

The weight in my chest suddenly lifted, giving me this lightheaded feeling.

I leaned back on the sofa and spaced out for a while.

I-I need to decide what to say . . . !

I shot up from the sofa, grabbed a notepad, and started brainstorming.

Joy, fear, and anticipation swirled together inside me, creating an overwhelming excitement.

With my heart racing, I scribbled frantically on the notepad. Unable to decide on anything, I tore off page after page and tossed them aside.

It was an elation I had never experienced before.

And just like that, the night before the meet-and-greet slowly wore on.

* * *

Despite all my excitement, exhaustion hit me hard that night, and the moment I closed my eyes in bed, it was suddenly morning.

Before I knew it, the day of the meet-and-greet arrived.

Still feeling lightheaded, I opened my closet and picked out the cleanest outfit I could find, even though nothing I owned was particularly stylish.

Standing in front of the mirror, I fussed with my hair and carefully arranged my bangs, even though I knew they'd get messed up once I started walking.

Akira would shake hands with countless fans today, so there was no way she could remember each individual face. Despite knowing that, I still felt embarrassed about how much effort I was putting into looking presentable.

I wondered if people with romantic partners always felt this nervous before seeing their significant other. If so, I had to give them respect. I thought I would only feel like this a few times in my life. Well, not even a few times—just once would be enough.

After spending more time getting ready than ever before in my life, I left the house.

By the time I got on the train, I had no memory of walking to the station. The entire time I walked that familiar route, I was thinking about Akira.

The train ride should've felt long, but before I knew it, I arrived at the station near the venue.

This was the first time I'd ever felt so lightheaded.

By the time I passed through the ticket gate and exited the station, I was shaking.

I'm about to meet Akira.

We're going to shake hands and exchange words.

Every time I thought about that fact, I could feel a cold sweat break out all over my body.

Am I really capable of doing this?

While walking, stiff with nerves, something suddenly slammed into my shoulder from behind, and I stumbled.

Whoa!

Eek! Sorry!

The person who bumped into me was a woman in a suit. She must've been in a hurry and collided with me while trying to get past.

. . . !

The moment I realized it was a woman who had bumped into me, I froze completely.

I wanted to tell her it was fine, but the words got stuck in my throat and I couldn't get them out.

As I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly, the woman in the suit approached with a worried expression.

A-are you okay . . . ? Are you hurt anywhere . . . ?

I-I'm! I'm f-fine!

While forcibly wringing the words from my throat, they came out louder than I expected, and the woman jumped back in surprise.

I was sweating profusely and shaking my head frantically.

I-I'm really okay. I-I-I'm the one who should apologize . . . !

Oh, okay . . . I'm glad you're all right . . .

The woman in the suit looked at me as if I were some kind of weirdo, gave a slight bow, then walked away quickly.

Watching her back recede, I exhaled deeply as if I just remembered how to breathe.

The core of my body felt cold.

Hahhh . . . Maybe I really . . . can't do this . . .

I leaned against a nearby wall.

People passing by gave me sideways glances.

After repeatedly taking deep breaths, my racing heart finally began to settle down.

I was afraid of women.

When I'd been in elementary school, something terrible had happened between me and a girl I'd been close to, and that was when my gynophobia first took root. It had grown gradually over time, and by the end of high school, it had become a defining part of who I was.

Now, just having a woman speak to me up close left me unable to get words out properly, and my body wouldn't move the way I wanted it to. Even merely passing by women created tremendous anxiety. It made life incredibly difficult.

Of course, it wasn't that I disliked women. I had a normal interest in the opposite sex, and as a healthy young man, I even had sexual desires toward them.

But separate from that, I felt a fundamental fear about interacting with women.

Being looked at, being approached, being spoken to—it was all frightening.

That was precisely why idols were perfect for me.

Idols never gazed at just me. I knew their eyes were directed toward all their fans, and they never looked at me specifically.

Idols didn't approach me. Unless I went to meet them, our paths would never cross.

Idols didn't speak to me. Their words were directed equally toward all their fans.

My act of gazing at idols was one-sided, and that was precisely what made it comfortable.

The reason I was heading to Akira's meet-and-greet was because I wanted to give her words of encouragement, even if it meant suppressing these fears.

This was a major decision for me, and this time I believed I could suppress my gynophobia through sheer willpower.

But, of course, here I was again.

If I could overcome something I'd never been able to cure through sheer willpower, I wouldn't have struggled with it for so long.

Maybe I really . . . should just give up . . .

I hung my head while muttering to myself.

But then, Akira's smile immediately came to mind.

Akira is special.

She doesn't smile just for me. I'm only one of countless fans who want to meet her, and I don't need to worry about the gender difference between us.

That's right. I've come this far.

I forced myself to look forward, as if trying to convince myself.

I've taken the time to think of what to say to her.

No matter how much I stumble over my words, I should at least get what I want to say across before going home.

When I arrived at the venue, the sheer number of people caught me off guard, even though I'd expected it. The organized queue zigzagged back and forth so many times that from a distance it looked less like a line and more like a chaotic crowd.

My entry ticket was number 332. Even at roughly thirty seconds per person, I was looking at nearly three hours of waiting.

Unlike most 3-D idols, Akira had many female fans. Women were scattered throughout the queue, and every time the line moved forward and I found myself near one, I hunched my shoulders.

Perhaps due to nervousness, the line seemed to move faster than time itself.

As my turn approached, I could see Akira on a raised platform bathed in spotlights.

She shook hands with each person while greeting them warmly, listening to every fan's words, and responding with a smile—she embodied everything I thought an idol should be.

I took the small piece of memo paper from my pocket and stared at it intently.

I love your dedication. I'm rooting for you.

I repeated the words I had carefully thought out over and over in my mind.

This meet-and-greet meant everything to me. If I froze up or had a breakdown on stage, it would ruin everything and inconvenience so many people.

I'll keep it brief, get my words of support across, and get through it quickly.

I nervously stared at the memo over and over while the line kept creeping forward.

As my turn drew closer, I glanced up at the stage just as one fan finished their handshake and the next person stepped up.

While waving goodbye to the fan who had just finished and turning to greet the next person, Akira briefly looked in my direction.

Even though it might've been by chance, the thought that our eyes almost met made my heart skip a beat.

But Akira's gaze, which I had expected would immediately turn forward, lingered in my direction for several seconds.

I quickly turned around. However, the person behind me just gave me a puzzled look and wasn't even looking at Akira.

When I looked at Akira again, she was still looking in my direction.

I thought time had stopped.

I couldn't dismiss it as a misunderstanding—Akira was clearly looking at me. It was obvious our eyes had met.

And after staring at me for several seconds, Akira smiled with an absolutely angelic expression.

I eventually panicked and looked away.

Did she really smile at me? Why?

As these thoughts raced through my mind, I cautiously glanced her way again, only to see Akira interacting with the next fan as if nothing had happened.

Am I so nervous that I'm seeing things?

Akira giving someone special treatment—that should never happen.

Akira treats all her fans equally, returning smiles and handshakes to everyone who comes up on stage. There's no way she'd single out one specific person still waiting in line.

It was just my imagination.

I began to feel nervous all over again. Fewer than ten people remained ahead of me.

From there, everything happened fast—before I knew it, my turn had arrived.

I forced my trembling legs to move as I slowly climbed onto the stage. There she was, Akira, right in front of me.

I took a breath but couldn't seem to let it out.

There she was—Akira. The flawless idol, Akira Sezai.

For a moment, my legs felt frozen and I almost couldn't take another step. But I summoned my courage and managed those last few steps forward.

I faced Akira across a plain old table.

She looked me for several seconds as I failed to say anything, then smiled warmly.

Hello!

H-hel . . . hello.

Ahaha, you're so nervous! Come on!

She teased my nervousness just enough to be playful without making me feel bad, then cheerfully extended her hand toward me.

My body temperature felt like it was dropping. I was incredibly nervous.

I had thought it would be okay because it was Akira.

But still, it was scary.

Hm?

Akira tilted her head, looking puzzled.

I hurriedly reached out my hand. My shoulders were tense and my whole body felt stiff as a board.

Akira slowly placed her hand in mine.

The moment I felt the softness of Akira's hand, sweat broke out all over my body. I was worried about whether my palms were clammy, but then . . .

When Akira tightened her grip on my hand, I felt something strange against my palm.

. . . ?

It felt like something was pressed between Akira's hand and mine.

So, is there anything you want to talk about?

When Akira asked me that, I came back to my senses. I remembered what I had been planning to say.

Ah, um . . . well . . .

Hm?

I l-l-l-love y-your . . . dedication.

I worked up the courage and completely stumbled over my words. Akira's eyes widened as if surprised, then she smiled warmly.

Wow, that was kind of . . . like a confession.

As Akira said that with a slightly bashful look, the surrounding fans responded enthusiastically.

Whoo!

Feeling like I was being teased by everyone around me, I suddenly became embarrassed. My body temperature, which had felt cold just moments before, shot up.

I-I'm rooting for you . . . ! Well, then . . . !

Just as I pulled back my hand, bowed, and was about to hurry away from the stage, something dropped from between Akira's hand and mine.

Oh, you dropped something?

I looked down at the stage floor in surprise.

There was a small, folded piece of paper that had fallen there.

Thinking I had dropped the paper on which I'd written my thoughts for Akira, I frantically searched my jacket pocket. But my memo paper was still safely inside.

Oh, um, I don't think that's mine, but . . .

Oh, really? Then it's probably just trash. I'll toss it!

When Akira said that cheerfully and crouched down to pick up the paper, I panicked again.

N-no! If it's trash . . . I-I'll take care of it . . . !

I couldn't just stand there and let my idol pick up trash.

Really? You're so kind. Thank you.

Akira smiled brightly and watched as I hurriedly picked up the piece of paper that had fallen on the stage.

Well, then . . .

After picking up the paper, just as I was about to step down from the stage . . .

Wait!

Akira tugged on my sleeve. My heart skipped a beat.

I couldn't tell whether the way my whole body went rigid was because of my gynophobia or because I was nervous about Akira touching me.

It looked to me like it fell from your hand.

Huh?

So I think you should check if it's really trash before throwing it away, don't you?

Akira gazed at me with her round eyes.

Here I was, so close to Akira, looking into her eyes, having a conversation that had nothing to do with her being an idol.

It felt so unreal.

Ah, y-yes . . . You're right . . . I'll do that . . .

Yeah! Do that! Well then, see you!

Akira waved lightly.

Her expression confused me.

My body wasn't cooperating, and I descended the stage stairs with jerky, awkward movements.

I could hear other fans whispering.

Isn't he way too nervous?

That guy must be a romantic fan.

After hearing those comments, I hurried out of the venue.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.

Just thinking about Akira on stage made my heart race again.

What unsettled me and made my heart race was that expression of hers.

I had never seen such an expression on Akira.

It made me feel dizzy.

What was that? What kind of emotion was she showing?

On stage, Akira always has complete control over her expressions. Even to an amateur like me, they always look flawless.

Even at today's meet-and-greet, every expression she showed was pure fan service.

I should've been moved by that.

But what was that expression she directed at me?

Since I wasn't good at reading people, all I could tell from Akira's expression was that something felt off about it.

What kept bothering me was that I'd never seen her make that expression before.

My mind racing with confusion, I hurried home.

Ah.

On the way home, I remembered the scrap of paper I had picked up on stage.

I pulled it out of my pocket and carefully unfolded it.

Huh . . .

There, written in neat handwriting, was a short message.

Tonight at 8 p.m. I'll be waiting in Akihabara. Look up the address below and make sure you come. Akira Sezai

Below the message was an address that I could only make out as being somewhere in Akihabara.

What. Is. This?

I felt confused all over again.

Akira wrote me a letter . . . ?

Why?

Simple questions kept spinning through my head.

And the conclusion I eventually came to was . . .

It's got to be some kind of prank, right?

Akira said it looked like it fell from my hand.

Someone must've slipped it into my pocket while I was waiting in line, and then I dropped it on stage. That has to be the only explanation.

The idea that Akira would reach out to some random fan like this was so absurd that I couldn't just accept it at face value.

And honestly, I didn't want her to do something like that either . . .

Akira Sezai is flawless.

There's no way someone like her would carelessly reach out to fans like this.

It's definitely a prank.

I repeated this to myself and crumpled up the paper in my hand.

Then, I tossed the paper into a trash can sitting in front of a convenience store I was passing.

The moment I did that, my racing thoughts calmed down and my body felt lighter.

At the same time, a wave of exhaustion hit me.

All that nervousness must have worn me out.

I'll just go home. Go home and . . . savor the afterglow.

I nodded to myself and headed home.

The only thing replaying in my head was the memory of how soft Akira's hand had felt when I had held it for that brief moment.