"By the way, Takizawa-kun, you free later?"
After wrapping up the promo, Director Omori, in high spirits, pulled him aside.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"My wife's at her parents', my kid's renting while studying. Work kept me busy, but now going home alone's dull, and cooking and dishes are a hassle. You're of age, right? Wanna grab a few drinks?"
"Count me in!" Takizawa agreed eagerly. "I'll keep you company till you're satisfied!"
"That confidence—think you're a heavyweight?" Omori eyed him skeptically.
"Just a reckless guy, that's all."
"Ha, youngsters rely on brute stamina. But the bar table's a battlefield—schemes and traps lurk. As the seasoned elder, I'll school you."
"Fruit wine to whet the appetite, candy shots as sides, sake for thirst, beer to rinse, whiskey with sukiyaki, tequila in lamb broth?" Takizawa saluted.
"…You play that wild?" Omori clutched his stomach with wary.
"Wild or not, you call the shots," Takizawa waved off.
"Alright, there's this cozy alley joint I hit up. Home-brewed liquor, small batch, top-notch. Tasty snacks, too. We'll sip to old Showa tunes from a vintage player, chat life under the moon—slow, serene, perfect."
"Sounds great. How about I treat? A thank-you for all your support," Takizawa said sincerely.
"Nah, you're a student—how much cash you got? I invited, I pay," Omori thumped his chest.
"Sweet. When we heading out?"
"I'll wrap some things up. You say your goodbyes. I'll find you in a few."
"Cool."
Takizawa went around, shaking hands, patting shoulders with staff, chatting briefly with the outgoing ones before parting. In the green room, Sakura was removing makeup with her young mom's help, sweaty from the stage.
Polite to fans, fierce to partners—I'm too soft, never calling out her immaturity.
"Takizawa-kun's here?" Shinobu raised a brow, smiling. "We were just talking about you."
"Oh?"
"Sorry, Ayane didn't mean to give you a hard time on stage. Just kid stuff to hide nerves," Shinobu said, exasperated. "Apologize to him."
"Sorry…" Sakura's voice crackled like dry wood.
Hearing that from her, even half-hearted, touched him.
"No big deal. Like when I, a preschooler, teased cute classmates to get close—it's harmless joking to bond," Takizawa said lightly. "We're friends. Don't scold her. Stage needs some flair, and I'm fine catching her jabs."
"Thoughtful," Shinobu said, then her parental sternness surfaced. "But even close friends can't be reckless. Words cut. You can call out her rudeness—partners lift each other up."
Such grace and wisdom, her cool voice enchanting—a flawless beauty.
"Got it. I'll help you guide Sakura-chan!" Takizawa said, ignoring her sour face.
"Great," Shinobu paused. "Free later? Wanna grab some food?"
"Uh, sorry," Takizawa said awkwardly. "I already made plans with the director."
"Oh, another time then," Shinobu said, disappointed.
A man's drinking pact is sacred. Her regret stung, but he had to decline with a heavy heart.
Forgive me, Sakura-san. Next time, for sure.
---
When Omori returned, he found a lanky figure slouched on a hallway bench, radiating gloom—like a gambler who'd lost it all, a student flunking after sleepless study, or an overconfident gamer crushed in seconds.
What happened in mere minutes to make him look like he'd lived through a tragic romance?
"What's wrong? Your favorite idol announce a wedding?" Omori concerned.
Takizawa glanced at the director—middle-aged, sociable, the backbone of society. Witty, approachable, never aloof, but right now, chatting with an older guy felt unappealing. He sighed.
"Nothing. Let's go."
"Down in the dumps? Got troubles? Spill over drinks." Omori comforted.
"I don't like dumping negativity on others." Takizawa shook his head.
"No biggie. I've got more. Hair loss, high blood pressure, kid's marriage worries, car and house loans…" Omori recalling those who'd lit his darker days. He reached out, mimicking a cool coach from inspirational films.
"Being glum's not for college kids. Here, take my hand."
Takizawa nodded, then stood on his own.
"…"
They walked out together. Takizawa was about to fetch his pink moped when he saw both Sakura ladies waiting for a cab.
"Oh, Sakura-chan heading back?" Omori smiled and approaching. "Your mom went all out coming here. When it releases, please watch—your daughter's performance was stellar."
"No, thank you for looking out for her," Shinobu bowed gracefully. "You and Takizawa-kun off to eat?"
"Yup—uh, you knew?" Omori blinked.
"I wanted to invite him for dinner, but you beat me to it. He's quite the catch."
The seasoned director, one foot past midlife crises, furrowed his brow. Countless family dramas and artsy films flashed through his mind.
His face seamlessly shifted to, "I just remembered a critical thing I overlooked."
Really a master of directing actors, no trace of fakery.
"Oh no, I forgot—my wife needs me to sign for a package. Been delayed days." Omori smacked his hand, turning to Takizawa with deep regret. "Sorry, kid, today's no good. I'll reschedule. Gotta run."
Embodying a henpecked husband, he darted past the Sakura ladies, snagged the first cab without a shred of chivalry, waved from the passenger seat, and vanished in a trail of exhaust.
"?"
Too fast.
Takizawa was still processing.
Seconds later.
"Anything you're craving?" Shinobu stood before him, clutching her bag, pulling out the card symbolizing her loved one. "My treat!"
***
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