“My life was always a straight line — a line with no beginning or end. None of the things happening to me seemed important enough to stay within my coordinate frame. So, after finding a reference point, I finally understood how much I had to gain and to lose. It’s you who was my point zero.”
There's no more sound, Suzuha. As much as I tried to find it again, it was all futile. Maybe there was no sound in me at all. Maybe I simply reflected it like a mirror while being close to you. Nothing more than just stealing your light.
Our broken promise haunts me to this day. I have to follow you soon, because there's still no place for me here. But why... why can't I stop my hands? Is it because of fear? Or do you think I should keep it going?
This is cruel, you know?
「 Chapter 1: Point Zero 」
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Ugh... Probably shouldn't have left the house at all.
I hope I didn't ruin those girls' pictures. They choose to stand out, but I would give anything for hair like that. Well, I can try to dye it, but what do I even do with my face? It's too hot to put on a face mask.
Though even a face mask won't save me from catching dirty looks. Shouldn't have dressed up like this, would be better to wear something black... But my ginger hair would stick out too much! What do I even wear? No matter how I look at it, it's just unsolvable!
To dress similarly and style your hair the same way... it's not weird at all. In fact, I feel like it could be so nice. I would also like to be just like others.
Sunao Yuusei was a decent man. At least he always believed he was. During school and college, he never stood out among his classmates, nor did he feel any discomfort about it. His surname, Sunao, was written with a kanji meaning ‘simplicity’, making it easy for everyone around him to remember. ‘Yuusei’ was spelled with a more appealing ‘willpower’ kanji, but even his friends kept calling him ‘Sunao-kun”. This was when he started to understand his parents’ jokes about their surname becoming their names.
At the age of twenty-nine, Sunao had only had one official job. His father’s friend had helped him to get a managerial position at an advertising company. Sunao had kept it for just two months before quitting after an argument with the higher-ups. He considered it to be an outrageous act of injustice – all he had done was point out that implicit encouragement for the staff to take overtime wasn’t a normal thing to do.
While the government promoted healthy work conditions, companies wouldn’t protect their workers from long hours. And when the overworked employee’s condition worsened, they were cold-heartedly reprimanded in front of the whole staff or even forced out to keep the stats perfect. Sunao genuinely believed the whole system to be inefficient and hypocritical. Even his older family members admitted that this obsession with the idea of everyone’s health and well-being worked poorly with the long-established conservative workaholic mindset.
After that, Sunao had been done with official employment. He had chosen freelance jobs that weren’t too bothersome – now he was doing photo editing, social media management, and graphic design all at the same time.
It was during this period of his life that Sunao came across his muse.
“Ahh, that’s it for today!” Spreading his hands blissfully, he collapsed all tabs in his browser but one: a popular video hosting page counting down to an upcoming stream.
Since he’d lost his first official job and had a fight with his parents, the young man had gotten into the oshi*[1] culture. He used to see zealous fans as weird and even obsessive; that was before he had learned more about the hobby himself. It had turned out that there was no need to interact with the whole fanbase. Each person could decide how to support their star: make fan art, post photos of official merch, visit collab cafes... Sunao’s choice was not so rich, but his idol was the most special of them all.
His favorite wasn’t some airheaded pop singer from a second-rate girls’ band. She wasn’t fooling around by hiding her face behind an animated mascot or playing computer games all day long. Sunao believed that he was a mature and serious person, so he chose an object of interest to match: a girl who was, in his eyes, already perfect, no pretense needed.
Yuu Kanae rarely appeared at public events that required active talking. Unlike many less famous actors and actresses, she never gave a single complete interview. Her comments usually concerned new roles or castmates, and every time, those comments were abrupt and positive. Despite the great attention she attracted as a person, Kanae obviously disliked drama.
In a few minutes, Kanae was about to appear at a press conference on the upcoming movie along with the other cast. It would be the fourth role in her filmography. Sunao could hardly wait to get to the premiere, to claim some promo cards and posters, and add them to his merch collection. If only he could find his way into the early screening and see his precious idol in person…
The screen dimmed for a moment when the countdown ended. Sunao shook his head, staring at his own smiling reflection. He was a decent man whose pipe dreams were left in the past. Despite having been to plenty of stage plays starring Yuu Kanae as the lead, he still hadn’t had a chance to say even a word to her. She never approached the audience and vanished from the events right after. It gave ex-fans a cause to say Kanae was snobbish, but Sunao never shared the opinion. He preferred to think Kanae and himself had it in common: feeling out of place when talking to strangers.
The monitor lit up again, with a brightly illuminated studio in view. There were seven places taken at the table: Sunao’s eye immediately found Kanae, who was seated almost in the middle. She winced slightly at the overwhelming camera flashes and pulled a water bottle closer to her.
The conference started with a movie presentation. Sunao couldn’t care less about the director’s chatter, so he barely even listened. The most important details had already settled in his head. In the dramatic movie called The Spider Lily, Kanae appeared in her usual lady villain role, attempting to separate the protagonist and his beloved. Unlike most of these stories, this time Kanae’s character was hopelessly in love with the female lead, not the male.
A short smile touched Sunao’s lips again. He couldn’t imagine Yuu Kanae with a girl, so he didn’t find the plot impressive. But the antagonist roles were the best to showcase her full potential. In the poster behind the conference members’ backs, Kanae’s character was in full view, wearing a long black dress, with purple lipstick on her lips – its color resembling the one she would sometimes wear herself.
If you made a list of all her characters, most of them got either an unhappy ending or justice delivered. Sitting among the audience, Sunao often couldn’t hold back tears, touched by the artistic talent of his idol. The pain in Kanae’s eyes would be so genuine and certainly telling of some personal experience seeping into the acting.
It’s easy for kind people to play villains on stage, because they are especially acute in sensing others’ mean intentions. Sunao had discussed the thought with other fans on the forum and had only grown more confident about it through the years. He couldn’t possibly know Kanae, but he knew enough about her to form this spiritual connection.
“Now Yuu-san, a few words on your character, please!”
After the section on the male lead and his lover, the journalists turned their attention back to Kanae. She folded her hands on the tabletop, feeling no more obvious irritation at the flashing shutters. Her crewmates also turned inquiringly to the diva, who was way better-known than all of them except the director.
“First things first, I’m immensely thankful to Dokuro-san for giving me a chance to appear in his fantastic work.”
With a grateful smile, Kanae exchanged glances with the director sitting on the right from her; he clearly appreciated the gesture. Dokuro Haida, famous for his dark and emotion-driven movies, had previously talked about wanting to collaborate with the rising star. Sunao didn’t follow his works, but he knew that getting a part in this one would take Kanae’s career to a whole new level.
“I play Asaka in The Spider Lily. My character may stir controversial emotions in you, which is certainly not the first time in my career.”
The press conference participants reacted to this claim of their crewmate with supportive laughter. Sunao also couldn’t help but laugh, never taking his eyes off the star’s lovely, reserved smile. Despite the grim roles she would usually take, she could always cheer up everyone in the room with a tactful joke while never crossing the line.
“Dokuro-san has mentioned before that there was a long list of candidates to choose from for this character. Please share the secret: why exactly did you get the part?”
“Let’s just say, our visions of the picture aligned,” Kanae threw a quick, curious glance at Dokuro, as if passing the mic to him as the one with the director’s capacity to speak.
“You could say Yuu-san and I…” Dokuro cleared his throat before continuing with a smile, “Are people of the same creative kind. It’s rare to come across such a person.”
Kanae nodded, and the journalist asking the question made a pointedly surprised gasp. The way the director handled it let him both avoid the question and heat up the public interest to finding out what exactly Kanae and him had in common. Sunao caught himself stiffening inside: as far as he was concerned, his idol was nothing like this shady forty-year-old dude.
“Tell us, Yuu-san, what was your motivation to accept?” Another man with the camera in the first row continued the previous one’s question.
Sunao was especially interested in this answer. As he had noticed, Kanae only accepted a part in a project if she liked it. Her fans never knew all the specifics, but she was probably offered many potentially viral roles other than The Spider Lily. The broadcast camera switched over to Kanae, highlighting her among her castmates. After a short pause, she intertwined her fingers, considering her answer and twirling a ring around her thumb.
“Asaka, this character, reminded me of what I want to embody the most.”
An indistinct noise of voices and surprised gasps ran through the studio. Sunao gripped the handles of his chair, pressing closer to the table. The cameraman kept Kanae in a close-up shot; she stopped talking, satisfied with the audience’s reaction.
This could become a newsworthy moment. Yuu Kanae sharing something deeply personal was a rare, if not a singular, occasion. Camera shutters exploded with noise again, and Kanae’s face, pale as it was, almost vanished in the flashes.
“And what is it, exactly?” The journalist took initiative again after his momentous question. “What is this idea you want to embody so much?”
The people with cameras and microphones in the front row were prepared to catch every second of the breaking news. Kanae shrugged, as if showing the audience there was nothing much to be expected. But then her next words did quite the opposite.
“A confession to someone dear to me,” Kanae smiled with tenderness so unfamiliar on her face. “A love letter, if you please.”
The composed manner in which she shared the news stood in stark contrast with the enthusiastic outcries of the press and guests. Even the main lead of The Spider Lily covered his mouth in mock astonishment.
“What?!” Even not being in the studio, Sunao couldn’t hold back.
The air temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Grasping the edge of his table with ice-cold palms, Sunao had to restrain himself from shaking the computer and demanding answers from it.
A love letter? Was this Yuu Kanae speaking? Of course, she probably has an affair or two, but there’s no need to just spill it! Even more than that, it should be kept top secret!
Wiping cold sweat from his forehead, Sunao suppressed the urge to turn off the livestream and convince himself nothing had happened. His Kanae simply couldn’t do this to him; no, to all of her fans. It was a dumb joke, a bit for the promo campaign – anything but truth.
Because Yuu Kanae hated rumors and drama. She was a reserved and fragile woman hiding behind her out-of-reach diva persona. She cared about her fans’ peace of mind, too, no matter what people said. It was true; otherwise, Sunao couldn’t have…
“Of course, there will be no details yet,” Kanae added to her confession, vague as usual, tilting her head slightly. “Both because you still have to see The Spider Lily from start to end first…”
Sunao couldn’t catch a single question from the explosion of voices. Judging by occasional passing words, the journalists were making their own assumptions: a director, a friend, a stage partner? It all sounded less and less like a joke.
“And also because I’m still looking for that someone.”
For a split second, Sunao felt like Kanae’s lipstick tint made her smile look venomous. The director of The Spider Lily politely raised his hand, calling the press to calm down and return to discussing the movie.
“Can we move to the next question, please? Though Yuu-san is amazing at agitating our viewers…”
“Not at all; it might be the scarce results of my theater education.” Kanae herself seemed to be glad for the attempt to push the topic to a conclusion. It was probably not the last of her responses, but Sunao hurried to close the tab and shut down the computer. The reflection that looked back at him now seemed blank. He couldn’t collect his thoughts and decide if Kanae’s last words felt reassuring or disappointing.
She said she was looking for someone. She could be either avoiding the question or hinting at who her beloved one may be. Had she lost contact with him? Or was she saying that she was still looking for a partner? The unpleasant ruminations weighed Sunao’s head down so much that he hung it lower and squeezed his temples with both palms.
“Kanae… What do I even believe now?”
Dozens of pairs of familiar green eyes, staring from the pictures all over the walls, responded with uncaring silence.
✧✧✧
It had been three days since the livestream. That time Kanae had appeared in public was considered the most recent one. The plays she was part of were suspended due to her work on the movie, and the theater promised no new announcements.
The promo posters for The Spider Lily covered the electronic billboards all over the city streets, shopping malls, and news websites. In Sunao’s head, Asaka was starting to displace Kanae’s real image. It would actually happen, if not for the photos of her he saw every day.
The young man dropped most of his freelance side jobs and never left home unless he had to. Several times a week, on random days, he’d take the subway to the theater where he last saw his favorite perform. Sometimes he caught the actors and actresses coming and going – the ones who shared the stage with Kanae, but never Kanae herself.
Was she taking a rest after the production? What if she finally started to look for the person to whom she wanted to convey her feelings? Or had she found him already?
Sunao was tortured by pointless guesswork that ruined his mood, his sleep, and his life in general. Within the short span of time, he had grown to hate the restrainer bracelets and the whole system more than ever. His health condition dropped to the orange zone, but he had zero motivation to climb back up.
Sometimes he would wake up from nightmares where he’d chase Kanae for a long time, trying to catch her by the hand. Despite the obviously violent act, the bracelet on Sunao’s own wrist wouldn’t react at all. Kanae’s face would freeze in shock and terror, and then he’d wake up.
He called this dream a nightmare just to stay secure within his own borders of decency. It wasn’t what he felt, though, and at times, he’d wish for this dream to continue.
A faint voice of common sense reminded Sunao that he’d better seek help. At least book a couple of medical appointments to avoid the trouble of ending up in the red zone. But today, just like the day before, he put the plan on hold and left his trash-filled apartment, heading towards his usual destination.
Because of slight vertigo and the slackness his seclusion had given to his motions, he arrived at the theater a bit later than usual. It was almost evening, and the weather forecast promised a high chance of rain after six. The sterile-white sky was cast over with a thick veil of clouds, hiding the sun. Quite an unusual sight for March; some passers-by even took out their phones to take a photo of the scenery.
Circling around the building out of boredom, Sunao stopped at the rear façade, warming cold hands in his pockets. The deserted stage door meant there would be no one to stare at him. Having no better place in sight, the young man perched on the wide border of the stone flowerbed, facing the road and observing the cars passing by.
If a security guard or someone else from the theater staff saw him there, he’d be chased away like a schoolkid. A humiliating and stupid situation for a day that sucked enough as it was. Monotonously contemplating the idea, he was watching the traffic until a whirlwind of moving details blurred together into an indiscernible kaleidoscope.
As if by coincidence, his parents’ apartment was close to the nearest subway station. They hadn’t kept in touch with Sunao for two years prior, but, if he just appeared uninvited at their doorstep and sincerely asked for help, maybe they’d answer?... Because he had no actual idea what he was waiting for.
One of the cars turned to the theater and stopped at the sidewalk. In a minute, a person appeared out of the passenger door; then the luggage trunk was flung open. By this time, Sunao already had his eyes closed in exhaustion and was only making guesses from more and more sounds around him.
Another new sound was the rattle of suitcase wheels against the concrete rolling past at Sunao’s right. Someone pulled their suitcase near him, apparently sneaking out of the stage door, and left it near the car. The cargo was loaded into the trunk with a forced grunt.
“How many more?” A low voice of a young man pierced through the stir of noises.
“Two more bags. Don’t just stand there, pick them up at the doorway.”
Sunao sharply opened his eyes just as the first word left the speaker’s lips. The stranger accompanying Kanae moved towards the stage exit instead of her. Kanae herself brushed back a strand of hair ruffled in the wind, wrapping herself tighter in a coat draped over her shoulders.
“Ka… nae…”
Kanae briskly turned toward the one calling her name. Looking down at Sunao, she crossed her arms on her chest, as if defending herself against unwanted attention.
“You got the wrong person.”
Less friendly and more fatigued than she was in the photos, this was, without a doubt, Yuu Kanae herself. Jumping up from the flowerbed, Sunao almost tripped over his own feet, taking a wide step towards his goal.
“Kanae… Kanae-san!”
“I said, you got the wrong person!”
Sunao desperately reached for Kanae and brushed his fingers against the bracelet on her wrist in an attempt to touch her hand. His balance immediately failed him, as if getting back at him for the sleepless nights and months of isolation. Kanae snapped her hand away in disgust and stepped back, watching as her admirer gracelessly fell to the ground.
She didn’t seem surprised or scared like she had been in the dream. It seemed more like she was about to squeamishly step over the body splayed on the sidewalk and keep on with her chore like it was nothing.
Staring at Kanae from below, Sunao finally understood why she was so natural in playing her characters. If only this very real scene was just an act, too...
“Wait, Kanae-san!..”
Sunao broke into a scream, but Kanae’s face didn’t change. They were interrupted by the hasty steps of the stranger returning; he put the bags on the ground and shielded Kanae with his body. Squatting near Sunao, the guy pulled the black medical mask down his face and furrowed his eyebrows in sympathy.
“Oh, that’s unfortunate… Let me help you.”
Sunao grabbed the hand offered to him, leaned onto it, and rose to full height. He moved involuntarily towards Kanae, but was immediately stopped by a hand softly pressing against his shoulder.
“Don’t invade other people’s personal space, will you?”
Hearing the noise, the driver walked out of the car and helped Kanae load the rest of her bags into the trunk. The stranger, who had just stopped Sunao from acting rashly, made a friendly smile and leaned closer to his ear.
“Good choice; nobody likes to be stuck at the police station.” Backing off, the young man patted Sunao’s shoulder and squeezed his palm in a farewell handshake. “Get home safe!”
Then he returned to the car and flung the door open for Kanae, who threw her coat into his hands. When both passengers were in the salon, the car started and drove into the street, disappearing in the rushing stream of traffic. And there was nothing Sunao could do about it. Slumping heavily onto the flowerbed border, he pulled out his phone from the pocket, his fingers numb from the cold.
He should have just kept admiring her from afar. This accidental encounter had been so sweeping that Sunao’s brain still couldn’t process the sheer amount of shock and disappointment. His expectations weren’t just fractured – they were stomped into pieces so hard that there was nothing left of them.
Smirking bitterly at his own foolishness, the young man stared at his phone screen, where Kanae was smiling from the background, and dialed his mother's number from memory.
That same evening, Sunao visited his parents, who gave him a surprisingly warm reception. Father promised to help find a permanent job, this time swearing to listen to his preferences in the line of work. What was waiting for him at home, though, was a heap of garbage and unsorted clutter, and he had to start figuring it out.
In a month, half of his merch with his favorite star was sold to other fans. But Sunao couldn’t get rid of it all at once: some of the promo pics of Kanae, instead of passing into the trash or some other hands, stayed in his desk drawer.
The news about The Spider Lily release stopped causing him acute pain, which gradually turned into indifference. After all, the more ads you see in the streets, the easier it is for the eye to skip them.
Only the ill-fortuned chasing dream kept coming back to Sunao from time to time. Sometimes, waking up with a sense of pulling hollowness in his stomach, he’d lie in bed for a long time, trying to recall who he had just been dreaming of. Kanae’s face was losing its features, becoming just one of many faces disappearing in the crowd. At times, she wouldn’t even look like a person and turned into a wisp of light that Sunao tried to reach, not even knowing why.
Yuu Kanae wouldn’t just vanish from his life without a trace. And something was telling the young man that the strange sense of loss would never leave him alone.
[1] oshi — a japanese fandom subculture popular among young people, in which a person spends significant amounts of time and money to support an idol or favorite character, primarily as a form of fan identity.
My life was always a straight line — a line with no beginning or end. None of the things happening to me seemed important enough to stay within my coordinate frame. So, after finding a reference point, I finally understood how much I had to gain and to lose. It’s you who was my point zero.
