One in the morning. Tokyo sank into a silent picture of distant blinking neon lights and the occasional echoing car horn.
He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the balcony to catch the breeze, holding an ice cold can of black coffee in his hand. Tonight's broadcast was another brilliant success. He had crushed dozens of opponents while using his scalpel sharp words to strip bare the vices of the online crowd. Attention was pouring toward him more and more, and his personal finances were swelling along a perfect chart.
Yet, he could not bring himself to feel happy. Rather, he was so preoccupied with the Ruka incident from two weeks ago that he paid no attention to his surroundings.
Above all, he was doubting himself. Was he gradually becoming what he hated, or was everything he had done so far still right?
He was not sure. And he could not understand it either.
He took a sip of coffee, leaning back against the cold iron railing. The night wind brushed past his slicked back hair.
Right then, a choked sound broke the silence.
It came from the adjacent balcony, Ichinose Chizuru's room. Through the thin dividing wall, he could clearly hear suppressed sniffing, mixed with broken lines of dialogue read in a trembling voice soaked in despair.
"Why... Why did you leave me... I did everything..."
That was not the cry of a heartbroken girl. Based on the rhythm, pauses, and articulation, his analytical brain immediately realized she was practicing acting. But the emotion behind those lines was so dark and heavy it felt suffocating.
He frowned, feeling his perfect quiet invaded. He set the coffee can on the windowsill and stepped close to the partition. With a steady, cold voice, entirely devoid of any intention to comfort, he spoke.
"One in the morning is not the ideal time to scream scripts, neighbor. You are polluting my hearing."
The crying on the other side stopped instantly. Chizuru seemed extremely startled. A moment later, her voice echoed back, forced to hide her weakness. "Sorry. I will go inside right away."
He recalled fragments of memories from the original storyline. Sayuri. The hospital. The dream of acting. All of these were plot points orchestrated by the original author to create cheap drama. But now, they were real.
"Your grandmother, Sayuri. Time is running out, isn't it?"
On the other side of the partition, Chizuru's breath hitched. The prolonged silence acted as a bitter admission.
A few minutes later, a heavy sigh rang out. Chizuru, seemingly too exhausted from wearing her perfect armor, finally revealed the truth. In a shattered tone, she spoke of her dream to be on screen, of her grandmother wasting away in a hospital bed with terminal cancer, and of her burning desire to show her a movie she starred in before she passed away. She did this even knowing this guy would likely mock her to the point she might jump off the building.
"I need money to produce an independent film." Chizuru choked out, her hands gripping the railing tightly. "That is why I have to do this job. I have to save every penny, endure all kinds of clients. Just a little more, but... her time is not waiting for me anymore."
He stood with his arms crossed, listening to that whole tear soaked story. If he were a normal man, he would be moved, shed tears, and swear to do everything to help this pitiful girl.
But the person standing on this balcony was a machine of extreme rationality.
He froze for five seconds. Not out of emotion, but because his brain was processing an unbelievably stupid pile of logic.
He ruffled his hair and let out a scoff full of absolute sarcasm and contempt.
"Working a job selling fake smiles, enduring all sorts of societal trash for years, just to scrape together pennies to make a movie?" He muttered, but intentionally loud enough for Chizuru to hear. "Either there is another reason, or there is no way you are using your brain at the level of an amoeba."
"What did you say?!" Chizuru was stunned, feeling her newly sparked sorrow instantly slapped with freezing water.
"I said you are a fool, and your plan is pure dogshit." He did not hesitate to insult her economic mindset.
"In the era of digital media and an interconnected world, you choose to sell your dignity and time cheaply to grind for pennies? Have you never heard of Crowdfunding? A humanitarian project, a filial granddaughter, a story with weight. All of those are gold mines to attract investment from the masses. Yet you choose the darkest, most idiotic, and most time consuming detour. It truly lowers the intellect."
Chizuru stood rooted to the spot. The concept of Crowdfunding hit her awareness like a lightning bolt. Why had she never thought of that? Why did she blindly dive into this humiliating rental girlfriend profession?
His words, though incredibly harsh and hard to hear, carried absolute realism. They pierced the tragic filter she always wrapped herself in.
...
The next day, Chizuru proactively knocked on his door.
She had cast aside all of a girl's pride. She bowed her head, hands clasped tightly together, her determined eyes looking straight at the man who had constantly humiliated her.
"Kazuya, I am begging you. Teach me how. I am not good with media, and I do not know where to start. Help me, as a consultant."
He sat cross legged on his swivel chair, his cold eyes looking down at his neighbor.
His room was now set up as a true control center, with a high end computer rig, lighting system, microphone, and professional camera.
"What makes you think you have the right to demand things from me?" He spoke evenly, lightly spinning a pen on the desk. "Fine. Considering that watching you struggle with this idiotic financial mindset is an eyesore, I will map out a path for you. However, I have my rules."
He leaned forward, his eyes sharp as a razor. "I will not spend a single penny out of pocket. I will not appeal on your behalf, and I certainly have no obligation to beg anyone. You want to be an actress, right? Then use your own face and mouth to convince the public. I only set up the platform and map out the strategy. The rest is on you. If you fail, it proves your acting talent is truly only worth one star on that cheap app."
"I can do it!" Chizuru replied decisively. Her despair had turned into a stubborn fire in her eyes.
"Good. Then let us start right now."
...
Thirty minutes later, the makeshift studio was set up.
The camera light flipped on. He stood behind the lens with his arms crossed, playing the role of a director, a producer, and the most ruthless censor Chizuru had ever met.
"Take one. Action." He ordered.
Chizuru took a deep breath. She faced the lens, and immediately, a radiant, perfect smile bloomed on her lips. Her voice rang out, sweet, affected, and heavily styled as the ideal girlfriend, Mizuhara.
"Hello everyone! I am Ichinose Chizuru. Today I am making this video to share about an independent film project I deeply cherish..."
CLICK.
He outright hit the button to turn off the camera, ruthlessly cutting her off.
"Cut cut cut! What the fuck was that!?" He frowned, grabbing the stack of scripts and throwing it straight onto the desk, creating a harsh noise. His face hardened, his usual foul mood pushed to the absolute limit.
"What is your problem? I was speaking very fluently!" Chizuru protested indignantly.
"Fluently? What cheap trick are you pulling?" He stepped forward, unleashing criticisms sharp as glass shards. "Are you planning to raise funds from creeps lusting after your looks? Do you think the masses are affection starved idiots like the clients on your app? Crowdfunding audiences need to invest in a film project by a filial granddaughter with genuine passion, not throw tips at a talking doll!"
"I..." Chizuru froze.
"Drop that nauseating industrial smile right now!" He shouted, showing no mercy for her pride. "Peel that mask off! Strip it clean! If you do not dare show the world your helplessness, your despair, your pathetic state, and your true desperation for your hospitalized grandmother, then pack up this camera! Get back to your room and go back to your cheap entertainment job!"
The cruel words pierced straight into Chizuru's heart like thousands of needles.
Being yelled at so fiercely, her pride as an actress was dealt a fatal blow. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. Tears welled up in her eyes, not out of weakness or grievance, but because the pent up emotions she had held for so long were finally shattered by the man in front of her.
He was right. He was always ruthlessly right. She was too used to acting perfect, too used to hiding her weakness behind fake smiles in exchange for money. But to earn the genuine empathy of the masses, perfection was the absolute worst trash.
She bowed her head, taking labored breaths. Her shoulders trembled violently.
He did not say another word. He did not step forward to pat her shoulder in comfort, nor did he offer a tissue. He merely stepped back behind the lens, his finger pressing the record button once more.
"Action." The sound rang out coldly.
This time, Chizuru raised her head. Gone was the radiant smile. Gone was the affected posture. Before the lens, there was only a raw Ichinose Chizuru, full of flaws and carrying a bleeding heart for her only dying relative.
Her gaze locked straight into the lens, determined but red. Tears rolled down her cheeks endlessly. She spilled her guts, talking about grandma Sayuri, about her dream of being on screen, about her own uselessness, and about the cruel limit of time. Her voice trembled, sometimes choking up, her words occasionally messy and imperfect. But it was genuine, carrying the weight of a true actress using her very life to perform.
Standing behind the lens, his pitch black eyes were glued to the monitor.
The corner of his lips curled up into a tiny arc, just enough to show the absolute satisfaction of a master media manipulator. He realized that this woman's strongest weapon was not a fake smile, but her stubbornness and absolute authenticity.
When Chizuru finished her final plea and slumped onto the desk, sobbing loudly, his voice rang out, still evenly emotionless.
"Cut. Keep this version. No editing needed, no background music. It is ready to go online."
...
Three days later.
The fundraising video was released on the Crowdfunding platform. Using his crowd manipulation experience, he applied a few minor tricks, cross sharing it across anonymous forums and social networks to create an initial push.
For the rest, Chizuru's heartbreaking authenticity and stellar performance naturally created a viral effect. Without the barrier of hypocrisy, the video directly touched the compassion of thousands.
The funding numbers on the screen began to dance. From ten thousand yen, to a hundred thousand, then surpassing the one million yen mark at a dizzying pace.
In the evening, Chizuru sat on the wooden floor in his room, her eyes glued to the computer screen. When the number surpassed the estimated amount to produce the film, her chest felt like bursting.
She covered her mouth, tears falling freely out of absolute relief. The financial burden that had weighed on her shoulders for years had been resolved in just one short day.
She looked up at the man sitting on the sofa not far away.
He was casually drinking black coffee, his eyes skimming financial news on his tablet. He had absolutely no intention of taking credit, did not offer a word of congratulations, and absolutely would not step closer to soothe or comfort her. His existence remained as cold and distant as the first day they met.
Yet, looking at that quiet profile, Chizuru suddenly realized a strange truth.
The man with the toxic mouth, who always used words like daggers to tear apart her pride, was the only person in this world who forced her to stand on her own two feet.
He did not use fake pity to win her favor, nor did he exploit her weakness for profit. He merely threw her a fishing rod coldly, kicked her into the water, and forced her to learn how to swim on her own.
In the quiet room filled only by the hum of the computer's cooling fans, the relationship between client and service provider had completely evaporated. All the lies of the original plot had been smashed. Between them right now, there was only a fair exchange and an absolute respect characteristic of true partners.