I woke up the next morning at 9:36 a.m. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't lonely.
I stretched slowly, careful not to wake Kurumi. The sheet brushed lightly against her cheek as I eased myself out of bed, nudging the blanket aside. I reached into the drawer beside the bed, pulled out a pair of boxers, and slipped them on in one smooth motion.
Kurumi murmured softly in her sleep.
"Five more minutes, Mom…"
I had to suppress a chuckle. A momma's girl, then. If she had daddy issues too, it would explain a lot—why a mainstream idol would end up drinking in yakuza bars.
Not my place to pry. Still, the signs were hard to miss.
I finished getting dressed and reached for my perfume. A quick spray—Comme des Garçons Play Green. Sharp citrus cut through the lingering smell of sex and her perfume.
Tetsu was coming to pick me up at 11:30 a.m., so I needed Kurumi gone by then. No rushing her, obviously. We had time—assuming she woke up soon.
Eventually, Kurumi began to stir. She shifted beneath the sheets, eyelashes fluttering open. Reaching for the blanket, she pulled it up to cover her chest.
"Good morning, rapper boy~," she murmured, her voice husky, still wrapped in sleep.
"Morning, Ku-chan," I replied flatly, though the smirk creeping onto my lips betrayed my amusement.
Kurumi pouted in mock offense, then we both broke into laughter.
She sat up slowly, letting the sheet fall to her waist. No shame, no rush—just her, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. In one quick motion, she pulled on her underwear.
I stared for half a second, then turned away, giving her space as she finished getting dressed.
"You got anything for breakfast?" she asked, stretching like a cat.
I glanced at the tiny kitchenette. "Eggs. Rice. Maybe some miso if it's not expired."
She grinned. "Good enough. Let me cook."
I raised an eyebrow. "You cook?"
"Don't sound so surprised," she said, swinging her legs off the bed. "I'm full of surprises, Takumi."
Hearing my name from her in the daylight felt… different. Softer. Real.
She moved around the kitchen like she belonged there—cracking eggs, heating rice, throwing together a simple tamago kake gohan with whatever soy sauce she could find. I watched from the doorway, arms crossed, feeling something dangerously close to domestic.
I decided to do something useful too. I made coffee.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on the floor by the low table, two mismatched bowls and cups steaming between us.
She took a bite, then looked up at me.
"Not bad for idol hands, right?"
I took a bite.
It was good. Simple. Warm.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Not bad."
We ate in comfortable silence. The morning light slanted through the window, catching the red in her hair.
After breakfast, she pulled a small joint from her bag—pre-rolled, neat.
"Want one last hit before you go be a big star?" she asked, already lighting it.
I took it from her fingers.
We passed it back and forth, smoke curling up toward the ceiling, the room filling with that familiar, sweet haze.
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
I wrapped my arm around her.
No words.
Just the quiet burn, the slow exhale, the warmth of her against me.
When the joint was down to nothing, she stood up and stretched again.
"I should go," she said, not looking at me. "You've got places to be."
I nodded.
Pulled out my phone.
Opened the Uber app.
"Ride's on me," I said, booking it. "Eleven sharp."
She smiled—small, soft, almost shy.
"Thanks, Takumi."
She grabbed her bag, and paused at the door.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she leaned in, kissed me once—slow, lingering, like she was memorizing it.
"See you in Tokyo?" she asked against my lips.
"Maybe," I said.
She laughed quietly.
The door clicked shut behind her.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she'd been.
The apartment felt bigger again.
But the warmth lingered.
Just for a little while.
Last night, Kurumi had gotten really drunk before my shift ended. Maestro had tasked me with taking her home. Yeah—that Kurumi. The idol Ku-chan, manufactured by a producer with yakuza ties.
And I'd slept with Maestro's niece.
I couldn't tell if that made me a big shot… or a complete idiot.
The thing was, in her drunken haze, Kurumi had begged me not to take her home. So I figured letting her crash at my place—just to sober up—was the responsible call.
She had other plans.
As soon as we got inside, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a small package.
Cocaine.
"Give... me a... p-plate," she mumbled.
I did. I'd never been that close to the stuff before.
She set the plate down, pulled out a credit card, and smashed the rock against it. The impact sent white powder scattering across the surface.
Then she scraped about a quarter of it into one long, uneven line. From her pocket, she produced a folded bill, rolled it tight, leaned down—
—and inhaled.
The usual Kurumi was back—clear-eyed, steady.
"What're you staring at like an idiot?~" she teased. "Wanna try some?"
No. Fucking. Way.
…Damn it.
I sat beside her on the couch as she calmly rearranged the remaining powder into five neat lines, like she'd done it a hundred times before.
She held out the rolled bill and tilted her head, a lazy smile on her lips.
I inhaled, sharp heat flaring through my nose as my eyes watered. One second. Two. Then the world thinned out—sound dropping away, edges blurring—like someone had turned the volume knob all the way down.
For ten silent seconds, nothing existed.
Then everything snapped back into place.
"Yeah…" I said, unable to hide the awe creeping into my voice. "This is cool."
She smirked.
"It can get dangerous for a beginner," she said casually. "So I'll leave you one line. The rest are mine."
Then she leaned over the table, bill already rolled, and sniffed all three lines in one smooth motion.
Holy… shit.
I stared, dumbfounded.
Yeah—you're the one lecturing me about self-control.
I folded forward, the rolled bill still clenched in my fingers, and inhaled the remaining line.
This time it hit harder.
The exhaustion vanished all at once—flattened, drowned out—replaced by a sudden surge of energy that rippled through my body, sharp and electric, sending shivers down my spine.
Kurumi's lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"First time?"
She leaned in close, her smile turning sharp and hungry. Without waiting for an answer, she closed the distance and claimed my mouth in a deep, greedy kiss.
"Coke always makes me like this… so fucking horny~" she purred against my lips.
In one fluid motion she peeled off her jeans, letting them drop. I caught a teasing glimpse of her black thong. Then she shoved me deeper into the couch, already climbing over me.
I shook my head, voice low but firm.
"At least let's make it to the bed."
Before she could argue, I surged up, scooped my arms under her thighs and lifted her in one clean motion. A startled, delighted little "eep!" escaped her as her legs instinctively wrapped around my waist.
I carried her toward the bedroom, her wicked laughter vibrating against my neck the whole way.
And... you can tell what happened next.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of my door bell ringing. I checked my phone. It's 11:30 a.m.
I quickly grabbed my backpack, wallet and keys and rushed to the door.
"Sup, kid?," Tetsu greeted nonchalantly.
"Just finished breakfast. I'm all set," I said, puffing my chest for emphasis.
"Aight, say nothing less," he replied.
We descended down the stairs and made our way to the parking lot, with Tetsu leading me to his car.
Audi A8.
I took the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me.
Tetsu pressed the keys in contact and the car sped through the streets.
2 hours and a half until Tokyo.
I let out a yawn and sank back into the seat. A nap didn't sound so bad. I hadn't slept much—thanks to a certain red-haired devil.
"Rough night?" Tetsu asked, smirking.
"You have no idea," I said flatly. "I'm gonna nap for a bit."
First time leaving Matsumoto, and I wasn't even in the mood for sightseeing.
The irony.
The road trip blurred into nothing.
I woke up just as we were about to reach Tokyo.
Even though it was so close, I'd never been here before.
Never had a reason to.
The car slowed as the skyline thickened.
Concrete rose higher, tighter. Roads stacked over roads, signs flashing past in kanji and English, glass and steel catching the afternoon light.
Tokyo didn't announce itself with fireworks—it just appeared, massive and unbothered, like it had always been there and always would be.
I sat up a little in my seat.
So this is it.
People everywhere. Suits, school uniforms, tourists dragging luggage, bikes slipping through gaps that shouldn't exist. Trains rattled overhead, perfectly on time.
Billboards stacked on buildings like layered thoughts—ads, idols, brands I'd only seen on screens.
Matsumoto felt like a postcard by comparison.
Then, we went to the airport. Everything moved smoothly, like an invisible metronome was keeping time.
Announcements echoed softly through the terminal. Rolling suitcases, muted chatter, the smell of coffee and recycled air.
We parked near arrivals.
"You good?" Tetsu asked, killing the engine.
"Yeah," I said, though my pulse said otherwise.
Inside, we waited near the exit gates. People spilled out in waves—families reuniting, business types already on their phones, tourists blinking like they'd just landed on another planet.
Then I saw him. Bro was hard to miss, anyway.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dreadlocks tied back loosely. He moved with that easy confidence you don't fake—like the space around him adjusted automatically.
Versace jacket open, chains catching the overhead lights, sunglasses still on indoors like he didn't care.
Lil V€xxx.
He scanned the crowd once, then locked onto us. A grin split his face.
"Ayy," he said, pulling his shades down just enough to look me over. "You Forsaken?"
"That's me."
He laughed, stepping in for a quick dap, firm grip, no awkwardness. "Bro, that track? Shit goes hard. Didn't expect that from someone all the way out here."
"Appreciate it," I said, meaning it.
He glanced around, taking Tokyo in like he was already cataloging it for lyrics. "Man… this city different. You should come to America one day. I'm in New York, I come from the Bronx."
I nodded. "Yeah. I'd sure love to."
Then his eyes drifted to Tetsu.
"Yo," V€xxx said, chin lifting, grin sharp. "This dude look like yakuza. That your homie?"
Tetsu didn't even blink. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loose, relaxed. He glanced over, eyes calm, unreadable.
"If I told you the truth," he said evenly, "I'd have to kill you."
There was half a beat of silence.
Then V€xxx burst out laughing. "Ayy, I fuck with that answer."
I sighed. "He's kidding. Mostly."
Tetsu smirked. "Mostly."
V€xxx leaned back in his seat, chains clinking softly. "Nah, I get it. Where I'm from, everybody gotta have that friend. The one you don't ask too many questions about."
"Smart man," Tetsu replied. "Questions get expensive."
V€xxx clicked his tongue. "Crazy thing is, you say that like a joke, but I hang around killers for real. Ain't no cap."
Tetsu glanced at him this time, a thin smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Then you know the difference between people who talk about it… and people who don't."
V€xxx nodded slowly. "Yeah. Loud ones usually don't last."
The car rolled forward, Tokyo sliding past the windows in streaks of light and concrete.
After a moment, V€xxx laughed again, lighter this time. "Still though—long as nobody dying today, we cool."
"Today?" Tetsu echoed, amused.
I groaned. "Can we not schedule murders on the way to a music video?"
Tetsu chuckled. "Relax. Today's about business."
V€xxx snapped his fingers. "See? That's my type of energy."
The tension dissolved, replaced by something almost friendly.
Two men from very different worlds, recognizing the same rules.
First, we dropped into the hotel V€xxx had booked.
It was the Cerulean Tower— one of the most stylish and upscale places in Shibuya, rising up like a glass monument above the district, its lobby sleek and hushed, staff moving with careful precision.
We made it to the room.
It was ridiculous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around one side of the suite, giving a full view of Shibuya below, neon bleeding into the glass like the city was trying to climb inside. Soundproof, too.
The bed was massive, hotel-white sheets pulled so tight they looked untouched by human life.
A low leather couch faced a wide flat-screen TV, and under it, a PlayStation 5 already hooked up, controller resting on the table like it was part of the decor. A minibar stocked with stuff I couldn't pronounce.
We stood by the minibar in the green room, the bass from the main floor still thumping through the walls like a heartbeat that wouldn't quit.
V€xxx grabbed a bottle of Hennessy from the shelf, uncapped it with his teeth, and poured three heavy glugs into the glasses.
"Cheers, my niggas," he said, voice low and easy, raising his glass like the night was already won.
I lifted mine. Tetsu did the same beside me.
The three glasses met in the middle with a clean, bright clink that cut through the muffled roar outside.
For a second, that was the only sound in the room—just the glass ringing, the ice settling, the quiet promise of whatever came after the show.
I took a sip.
The cognac burned smooth down my throat, warm and heavy, chasing away the last of the stage adrenaline.
V€xxx watched me over the rim of his glass, smirking.
"You good, lil' bro?"
I exhaled slow, feeling the liquor settle in my chest.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm good."
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a short, dark cigar—thick, tightly rolled, no label. He bit the end, spit it aside, then flicked his lighter. The flame caught quick, and the first puff sent a heavy, resinous cloud rolling out.
V€xxx smirked, holding it out. "You ever smoked cannabis?"
"Yeah," I said, blinking through the haze. "Why?"
He passed it over without answering. I took it between two fingers, brought it to my lips, and pulled.
The smoke was thick, coating my tongue like tar—bitter, heavy, almost medicinal.
I coughed hard, once, eyes watering.
"T-this is weed?" I rasped. "But it doesn't smell like…"
He laughed low, taking it back. "That's the point, bro. This ain't regular weed. It's hashish. No bullshit smell. Totally safe."
Fair enough.
We had some time to kill until it got dark, so we just smoked, drank and talked our way through it.