Harumi smiled sweetly as she poured coffee into one of the patron's cups. The steam curled around her hand as she held herself perfectly still.
The young man looked at her bashfully, but then his eyes drifted down.
At first, she thought he was looking at her outfit, a sailor's costume that was far tamer than her normal idol outfits, but his eyes drifted to the side. She tensed and lowered her head, struggling to keep her hand steady while she followed his gaze.
There was a shoe sliding along the floor from the table opposite of her. On the toe, there was a mirror.
Harumi blanched and the coffee pop wavered. The stream of coffee almost missed the cup. She grunted and lifted up the pot to stop the flow. Forcing the sweetest smile she could, she stepped neatly to the side and bowed. “Thank you.”
The young man on the opposite side, a brother of the one she was serving by appearances, yanked his foot back. His heel thumped against his chair and he almost twisted his ankle trying to hide the mirror.
She bowed again to the one trying to get a view underneath her skirt and then backed away. Turning around, she carried the pot into the kitchen and set it down. “There is a boy with a mirror on his shoe,” she said to one of the cooks.
The older man looked up from the grill and sighed. The glare of a small television nestled underneath the counter bridging the cooking area and her cast his belly with a flickering glow. He lifted his head to peer past her and then sighed. “Better tell Kichiro.”
She nodded and came around into the grilling area. As she did, she smoothed down her sailor's uniform. Her shoes tapped quietly on the hard floor as she crossed the room.
Just as she reached up to knock on the door, she heard a voice from the tinny speakers of the television. “… Yutaka, now known as the man responsible for the downfall of Kikuchi Harumi, a former idol who had disappeared from public view two months ago, has been attacked by an apparent fan.”
She froze as a pang of fear rose inside her. She spun around and hurried to the grill.
On the screen, a young man was being led out of the arcade wearing cuffs. His face was bleeding and a bruise was already forming on his cheek. It wasn't the stranger who ruined her life but a different boy, maybe a few years older than herself. He looked straight at the camera. “I did it for her! He ruined her! She was perfect and now she's gone!”
His voice faded out as the announcer spoke up. “And reporting from Shinobi Gardens Arcade, an assault in broad daylight of the young—”
Harumi's world faded out as Yutaka, the man who ruined everything, came on view. He fared far worse than the other boy. His nose was broken and blood poured out. One eye had already swollen up from the bruising. There was a clearly visible hand print around his throat and scratches along his cheeks, hands, and forehead.
Even though it wasn't appropriate, the corner of Harumi's mouth curled up into a smile. She couldn't do anything about Yutaka, not then and not now. But seeing the young man with a goatee brutalized by an apparent fan.
She was also stunned that she still had a fan left. It took very little time for the screaming hordes to abandon her. As fast as she disappeared from the public view, so did everything else. No more shows, no more mailings, nothing. As if she never existed before.
The cook looked at her and gestured at the door. “I thought you wanted to talk to the manager.”
“Oh!” Harumi bowed. “Sorry.” It took all of her effort to turn away from the television and the sight of Yutaka's brutalized image.
Gulping she hurried over to the manager's door and knocked twice.
“Come in,” said Kichiro from the far side.
She opened the door.
At first, she saw her manager, Kichiro. The middle-aged man had black hair streaked with gray and large bushy eyebrows. He wore a black, American-style suit. He was smiling and holding a cup of sake between his palms.
On the other side of the desk was a guest, a younger man with pitch-black hair slicked back. The hint of a tattoo stuck over the collar of his collared shirt. The stranger was thin and tall, almost as tall as Harumi despite sitting down in a chair.
She froze at the sight of the two men. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a guest.” She bowed frantically and started to close the door.
“No,” Kichiro said, “we were talking about you.” He gestured for her to come in. “Is there something wrong?”
Blushing, she entered the room with her eyes downcast. “There is a young man at table twelve. He has a mirror on his shoe and he was trying to….” She blushed.
Kichiro stood up. “I'll deal with it.”
“Y-You will?”
“Yes.” Kichiro came around but then gestured to his seat. “Please, talk with Teruo. He has a proposal for you.”
“M-Me?” She blanched.
Teruo stood up and turned. He had a long face with a ridged nose and piercing eyes. He bowed deeply. “Good evening, Kikuchi Harumi. I am Ito Teruo.”
Kichiro patted Harumi on the shoulder and slipped past her. He headed out of the kitchen and toward the front dining area. No doubt, to actually deal with the boy with the mirror.
Harumi shivered and turned back to Teruo. “H-Hello.”
“Please, have a seat.”
She gulped and entered the room. Her shoes tapped on the ground and her uniform rustled as she circled Kichiro's desk and delicately sat on his chair. It felt wrong to be in her boss' chair, more so since he was the only one who gave her a job when she desperately needed one.
As soon as she sat down, Teruo sat down himself and leaned forward. “I know you were an idol.”
Harumi froze, her hands still on the arms of Kichiro's chair.
Teruo smiled broadly and leaned back. “Don't worry, I'm not here to take advantage of you.”
“W-What do you want?”
“Kichiro is a friend of mine, back when we were both in school together. He's always looking out for young girl who need a helping hand.”
She blushed at the memories. Kichiro found her cowering in an alley, clinging to her last thousand yen bill and regretting buying sweet buns. She couldn't help it. A few years of living with Satomi as a rising star had done little to help with her common sense. It was a long time since she had to order anything for herself and a few mistaken words resulted in her losing most of her money in a flash.
“H-He got me a job.”
“Yes, and paid for your room at the hotel until you could get on your feet.”
Her blush darkened and she could feel it burning on her cheeks. “It's just for a few more months. I've almost made enough to pay for my own way.”
“Would you like to make some more?”
Harumi gasped and her grip tightened on the chair. She thought about the tattoo she saw and whimpered. “I… I don't want to work for the yakuza.”
Teruo chuckled and reached up to cover the back of his neck.. “I'm not yakuza. I just play one. The whole gangster thing is pretty much dead, except in drama.”
“P-Play one?”
“Yeah, we make videos. A little role-playing, a couple scenes. It would bring you about a million yen a tape. It can be a steady gig, about once every three or four months, but it would help you pay the bills.”
Shock slammed into her. “Five… hundred thousand?” It was a huge amount of money, enough for ten months of a nice apartment in the middle of Tokyo. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, drowning out the rest of Teruo's words. She slumped back.
Teruo smiled and pulled out a card. He set it down on the table and use both hands to push it over to her.
Gulping, Harumi picked up the card. It was neatly printed and professional-looking, just like every other agent's business card pushed in front of her when she was an idol. She looked at it carefully, the feeling if discomfort rising inside her.
“Gajin Love Pictures.” There was a naked woman printed on the bottom of the card.
The blush on her cheeks grew hotter and her stomach twisted.
“The videos are tasteful,” Teruo said, “and everything will be consensual. We can play up your formal idol status or not, up to you.”
“T-This is for porn?”
He nodded.
“Y-You,” she choked on the words, “you want me to make porn?”
He nodded again.
“I-I can't. That would ruin—”
“What? Your image? You've been abandoned by society already.”
Her chair rattled from her trembling. “I-I…”
He smiled at her, almost comforting despite the horror he was offering. “How about three, no let's make it four million yen for the first tape? No obligations. Just one tape, a couple scenes. It will help you pay the bills and then you can come back here,” he gestured to Kichiro's office, “for all I care.”
She wanted to shove him away, to tell him to go away. But, four million yen was a lot of money.
Harumi was a virgin, but she had broken her hymen years ago on a hair brush one late night. She had never felt the touch of a man. She had always wondered what it would be like, but she never would imagine it would be in front of a camera.
And somewhere, deep inside, she felt the familiar prickle of excitement. The hope that it would bring back the drug of feeling an audience, the rush of pleasure and pounding beats.
Tears burned in her eyes as she considered it. It would ruin any last shred of dignity she had left. Any image of pristine innocence remaining. She would have truly fallen and there would be no way she would ever be able to shine again.
She was crying when she nodded.