#28: Manhattan
Jolted awake by her personal phone’s ringtone, Akazawa Kurume glanced at the caller ID and let her disgust show openly. “Ugh.”
Caller name: Creepy Old Man.
She considered ignoring it and going back to sleep, but the ringtone showed no sign of stopping. Reluctantly, Kurume hit answer and switched her just-woke-up voice into the sultry, man-pleasing register she kept on hand for exactly this.
“Heeey, mornin’. What’s up, Kosugi-kun?”
“Ehh~, Kurume-chan. Just waking up? It’s already past noon, y’know. Sleepyhead~.”
The other end of the line: Kosugi, former division head. Swallowing back the “gross” that nearly slipped out, Kurume cut ahead to the point, wanting this over quickly.
“Sorryyy. I was just looking into something about Mii-chan, actually. Was gonna call you soon anyway.”
“Mm, mm, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear about. How’s the plan coming along?”
Mii-chan, by Kurume’s own naming, was Kurosu Mikoto.
She relayed, exactly as she’d felt it, how yesterday’s incident had gone on Mikoto’s first day.
“She’s a bit tougher than expected. Normally something like that would’ve turned into a huge scene, but she just brushed it right off. Seems pretty used to handling that kind of thing.”
Despite having her lips forcibly taken, Mikoto’s response had been remarkably composed. Kurume’s whole plan — make a scene, then flip it around and claim “Kurosu Mikoto forced herself on me” to crack a rift between the two companies — had only put Mikoto on guard instead.
The real cause of the loss was Kurume’s own impatience, desperate as she was to cut ties with Kosugi as fast as possible.
“Well that puts me in a bind~. You’re the only one I can rely on for this, y’know?”
“It’s fiiine. Just means I try something else.”
The kiss trap wouldn’t work a second time, but there were plenty of other ways to bring someone down.
Kurume flipped through the fashion magazine on her nightstand and gave a suitably vague answer.
“Something else, like what? I’m reeeally curious~.”
“Hmm, let’s see~…”
Annoying, she thought. Still, she did technically owe her Hibiya position to her connection with Kosugi. Kurume — with just enough sense of obligation to be a nuisance to herself — spoke whatever came to mind, eighty percent of her attention still on the magazine article in front of her.
“Like, instead of Mii-chan herself, go after the people around her? Bestie, or a someone, or her parents, siblings, whoever. Grab dirt on anyone, and tell Mii-chan, ‘you know what happens if this gets out, right?’”
“Whoa~, that’s scary, Kurume-chan~! So what kind of dirt, though? I mean, would something that convenient even turn up?”
“Dunnooo. I mean, I don’t even know anything about Mii-cha—”
Mid-sentence, her flipping finger stopped. The woman on the magazine page carried an unmistakable resemblance to Mikoto.
She dog-eared the page instantly and checked the name beneath the sharp, confident smile.
Actress: Kurosu Kotone.
“—Found her.”
“Really?! What is—”
“Sorry, Kosugi-kun. Bad cramps today, gotta go, byeee.”
Firing off the implicit lie of don’t bother calling me anymore, Kurume searched Kurosu Kotone on her phone. No information online tying her directly to Mikoto, of course — but old interview articles turned up easily enough: a sister four years older, occasionally mistaken for twins.
Kurosu Kotone, publicly listed at twenty-three.
If the article was accurate, the sister’s surname was Kurosu, age twenty-seven — similar enough to be mistaken for twins.
“Heh.”
Piecing it all together, Kurume grinned, wide and pleased.
Then, to the search bar already holding Kurosu Kotone, she added one more word: scandal.
＊
“To wrapping my shoot — cheers!”
“Yes, yes. Good work out there.”
The edge of Roppongi. The girls’ bar Antiqua — occasionally frequented, even, by up-and-coming young actresses.
Being the 14th, Cosplay Day, the shop’s usual dim hush had been swapped for a bright orange glow. A red banner with the character for “good fortune” in gold hung over the bar top. And, of course, sitting on the counter — that same Kurosu Kotone-autographed Lambada panda.
“Fufu. Seeing the two of you side by side like this, you really do look like twins. Mikoto-san and Kotone-san.”
The rush of customers who came specifically for Shandy had already cleared out earlier in the evening. The only two left drinking inside Antiqua now were Mikoto and Kotone, freshly back from her American shoot. Standing across from the Kurosu sisters, bartender Shandy had, true to her word, gone all out in a vivid red qipao.
“People mix us up all the time. Especially lately, with Kotone getting more popular — I keep getting asked for autographs and photos meant for her, it’s a real headache.”
“Just say ‘I’m Kotone’s sister.’ I do the same thing sometimes when it’s a hassle — ‘thanks for looking after my little sister, be nice to her~.’”
“Hey. Don’t go around doing weird stuff pretending to be me, okay? I’ve had enough bad luck lately as it is…”
“Oh yeah? Shan-sis?”
“Yes.”
Probably because the first drink she’d served — a Shirley Temple — had been drained already, Shandy reached for a bottle to prepare the second round. The mismatch of a qipao and liquor bottle in the same hands was, frankly, considerable.
“She very nearly got charmed clean off her feet by some awful woman. And here I am, right in front of her.”
“Seriously? That’s rough, sis.”
“There’s some real misrepresentation happening here!”
Holding her head in her hands at Shandy’s mischief, Mikoto explained what had happened to her.
What am I even telling my own little sister, she thought, feeling conflicted about it — but she at least wanted it clearly established that she was the pure, innocent victim here.
“There’s a woman like that out there? I wanna punch her.”
“Like, atcha! hoah-tah! That kind of thing?”
“Exactly that! Like Bruce Lee in Game of Death.”
Probably a callback to some ultra-B-tier V-cinema role she’d once had — a bishoujo kung-fu fighter battling an onmyoji — Kotone made a scowling face and rubbed her thumb under her nose. Truly, a committed idiot for her craft, though whoever greenlit that movie was probably a bigger one.
“Well, now that we’ve got an audience, shall we get started on the… match — no, the game, Mikoto-san?”
“Could we possibly skip the audience portion of tonight’s match?”
“No. As tonight’s bartender, I’d like to offer Kotone-san the pleasure of watching her big sister’s flustered, blushing face.”
Shandy’s eyes glinted, sharp. Taking that as her cue to continue, Kotone flashed a grin and shifted her seat closer. Uncalled-for meddling, practically harassment in its own right.
Mikoto, seated in her prized spot against the wall, faced off against Shandy, standing within the bartender’s own sanctuary in her qipao.
What put Mikoto at a disadvantage tonight wasn’t just her sister’s presence. Antiqua was bright tonight. If her face flushed even slightly, there’d be no hiding it.
Drawing a deep breath, steadying herself, Mikoto readied her resolve for the game, pressing down the smile threatening to break through, and drew herself up to her fullest composure.
“Then let’s keep tonight’s game close to basics. How about we whisper words of love to one another, Shandy-san?”
Shandy’s amber eyes settled into a waxing crescent as she answered.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say exactly that, Mikoto-san. Rule: whoever gets flustered and stumbles over their words first, loses. Does that suit you?”
“That’s fine. Do your worst, if you can manage it.”
“Then — if I win, we move in together. If Mikoto-san wins, it’s a room-share.”
“Wait, that’s—?!”
Her words caught instantly. Kotone, watching from her seat, wore an appraising “ohh~?” expression.
“Oh my, finished already?”
Determined to fight back against Shandy’s opening strike, Mikoto forced her words to continue.
“No. I only meant that being loved this deeply left my chest tight with emotion. Either way, it seems I’ll be living with you regardless of who wins.”
“Yes. Both Mimosa and I have been longing for you, Mikoto-san.”
Even mid-banter, Shandy had the composure to show Kotone the latest Mimosa video. Unfortunately, dog-person Kotone wasn’t especially moved — though her gaze toward Mikoto never wavered.
Got reeled in by a cat, huh, her grin seemed to say.
“Ah, but — if living together doesn’t sit well with you, Mikoto-san, I’m happy to adjust the terms.”
“Just move in already. Save on rent, right?”
“Peanut gallery, quiet please!”
Making a show of zipping her lips, Kotone returned to spectator mode.
“…It’s true that living together would require quite a few decisions.”
Determined to somehow win against Shandy, Mikoto deliberately switched to a graver tone.
“Setting my own things down in your tidy, well-kept apartment doesn’t sit quite right with me. I’d need to do a proper decluttering first, so as not to spoil the place.”
“Fufu, thank you for the consideration. But we do have a spare room, so please, feel free to use it without any hesitation.”
“I appreciate that, but… there’s still something else I’m worried about.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Pushing Kotone out of her awareness and field of vision as best she could, Mikoto wove words meant to flush her opponent’s face red.
“…I’m rather intense, at night. I worry whether you’d be able to handle it, Shandy-san. That I might end up wanting you so much I’d break you.”
Deploying the last resort she’d never used before in any of their games — outright innuendo — Mikoto watched carefully for Shandy’s reaction. Of course, she had neither the certainty nor the resolve that she could actually love Shandy that way. Pure bravado, through and through.
Shandy’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. If anything, she broke into a satisfied grin.
This is bad.
“Oh my, my. To think I’d cause you that kind of worry.”
Propping her cheek in one hand against the counter, Shandy smiled. Styled for the qipao, her hair was pinned into twin buns, one on each side. Nothing obstructed the pure line of her porcelain features, and her eyes, lined tonight in an unusual red rather than her usual style, gleamed with the full splendor of Chinese beauty.
An entirely different face. Mikoto found herself drawn in, captivated.
“Come to think of it, I never did explain the specifics of how I’d love you. For your peace of mind, shall I walk you through my ideal night?”
Her own trump card, turned completely back against her.
Mikoto tried desperately to correct course, but no words came.
“Ah, no…”
“Words caught. My turn.”
Smiling “fufu,” mischievous and alluring, Shandy continued.
“First, a kiss. Like this.”
Their lips brushed lightly together.
Purely on the defensive now. Bracing herself as best she could based on every prior game, Mikoto scrambled to hold her expression together. What surfaced in her mind was Yanase Sanae — that hollow, unreadable stare, the stony, deadpan expression, as if she’d killed someone once and thought nothing of it.
“Next, we whisper words of love, just like now. I love you, Mikoto-san — don’t you?”
“Yes. I… love you too.”
“That won’t do, Mikoto-san. Right now, I’m the one confessing how I’d like to spend the night. You need to follow my instructions, and play the role of my ideal.”
And only then did she realize — she’d been completely, thoroughly caught in the trap.
In this game, Mikoto now had to perform Shandy’s ideal night — the ideal version of Mikoto that lived in Shandy’s own imagination.
“Go on, say it. ‘I love you, Shandy’?”
“Ah…!”
“Caught your words?”
Mikoto pinched the back of her own hand under the counter, hard. Forcing her way through the embarrassment with pain instead.
“…I love you, Shandy.”
“Yes. I love you too, Mikoto-san.”
Mikoto found herself repeating deeply embarrassing lines over and over, while Shandy’s expression never wavered once. A true master of the game.
“Now then, next… let’s see. Allow me to stroke your head, Mikoto-san. I can never help myself when I see a cute girl — I always want to pet her.”
“Y— yes… if that’s what you’d like…”
Shandy’s slender fingers traced through Mikoto’s mid-length hair. Not pressing down, but playing with the strands, drawing them gently from root to tip. Every so often, her fingertips brushed against her ear, feigning accident.
“…Does that feel good, Shandy-san?”
“That’s my line. I’ll be the one asking. Mikoto-san, please answer with a ‘meow.’”
“Wh— what?! I’m not Mimosa!”
“Mikoto-san’s line is ‘meow.’ Does that feel good, Mikoto-san?”
She couldn’t look at Shandy’s smiling face in front of her. Trying to look away only brought Kotone into view instead.
Mikoto turned to face the one wall that promised no one watching, and mewled exactly as instructed.
“M— meow…”
“No. Face me, won’t you? My cute little kitten?”
“…Meow.”
“Fufu. I can’t quite hear you?”
“Me! Ow!”
“Ahaha, sis, your face is bright red!”
“Quiet!”
“Now then, next…”
“S— stop! I concede, tonight’s my loss!”
She couldn’t take it anymore. Mikoto raised the white flag.
Antiqua was bright tonight, and Kotone was right there besides. Worse, the innuendo she’d deployed to catch Shandy off guard had been turned completely back on her — she’d been utterly, thoroughly played.
“No good. Your face still isn’t red enough yet. Mikoto-san, do you remember? The recipe for the Mikoto we made once before.”
“That’s… yes. Vodka-based, wasn’t it, with grenadine and lime. And a cherry as garnish…”
The Mikoto, visually, was near-identical to the queen of cocktails — the Manhattan. Inside an amber glass, a vivid red maraschino cherry sinks below the surface.
The original it was arranged from, the Beautiful Star, used green — a mint cherry — instead of red.
“Fufu. I used a vivid red cherry for the Mikoto because I pictured your face, Mikoto-san, flushed bright red during our games. Did you never notice?”
“Ngh, ah…”
“Which means this faint pink you’re wearing right now simply isn’t Mikoto-worthy. I’ll need you at least as red as a maraschino cherry.”
Tonight, Shandy was on the offensive without mercy. Determined to overwhelm Mikoto with embarrassment completely — an overwhelming, almost cruel act of suggestive violence, like kicking someone already down.
“Please, have mercy…”
“Now, what should I do? After all, Mikoto-san was the one who chose night as tonight’s theme. I assumed you’d finally worked up your resolve.”
“No, I only meant…”
“You shouldn’t bring up such racy topics without the resolve to back them up, you know?”
Pricked by Shandy’s gentle jab, Mikoto quietly regretted ever choosing “night” as tonight’s theme.
“I’m sorry…”
“Well then, one last thing. Grant my one ideal wish, and I’ll forgive you.”
“What… would that be…”
Shandy’s expression made the answer plain before she even spoke.
A small-devil smile, one that took genuine, heartfelt delight in toying with Mikoto.
“Say, ‘please spoil your little kitten’?”
Mikoto instinctively covered her face with both hands. Shandy’s own hands moved at once to pry them away. Face to face, at the same eye level, across the counter. Mikoto and Shandy stared at one another.
“Go on, then. Say it exactly as I’d like, and I’ll leave the decision about moving in entirely up to you.”
“Is that… really true…?”
“Yes. I’d love nothing more than to live with you, but you have your own circumstances to consider too. I’m not so inconsiderate a person as to disregard someone else’s situation entirely.”
“I appreciate the consideration…”
The stakes of moving in versus room-sharing were no longer riding on the game at all. Whether that was a relief or a disappointment, Mikoto couldn’t quite say — but either way.
She had to say it, or this wouldn’t end. The prize was gone, the outcome already decided — but a game was still a game.
“Ki…”
“All in one breath.”
“Kitt-en…”
“Once more.”
“Please spoil your little kitten…”
“No good.”
Drawing in a full breath, throwing away every last shred of dignity, Mikoto shouted it out.
“Please spoil your little kitten!”
“Yes. Tonight’s win goes to me again.”
No room left to argue against so brief a victory declaration, Mikoto collapsed face-down onto the counter. Needless to say, her face had gone every bit as red as a maraschino cherry.
“Yooo, nice one! And sis, you totally lost!”
“Quiet!”
Kotone returned to the seat beside her. Mikoto covered every gap between her buried head and the counter with both arms, determined not to let anyone catch even a glimpse of her expression.
“Now then. Shall we powder that embarrassed face with a little more alcohol? Tonight’s second round, dedicated to Kotone-san, freshly back from America — a Manhattan. Please, enjoy it with its own vivid red maraschino cherry.”
Served the Manhattan — nearly identical in color to the Mikoto, right down to the vivid red cherry — Mikoto knocked her forehead against the counter, again and again.
“I don’t want to see another maraschino cherry for a good long while…”
“Fufu.”
—Tonight’s game of love: total defeat for Mikoto.
＊
Leaving Antiqua behind at the edge of Roppongi, Kurosu Kotone took a taxi home to her place in Yokohama.
An order was arriving. A product she’d requested.
Making a purchase like this was entirely her sister’s fault, and Shandy’s too, as far as Kotone was concerned. Watching the two of them whisper love at each other without a thought for her presence had left her, admittedly, a little envious. A little jealous, even.
Even so, her own position wouldn’t allow her the same freedom.
Kotone was a public figure, forced to live under constant scrutiny. If any hint of desire or lust ever came to light, the reputation she’d built up so carefully, piece by piece, would collapse overnight. So how, exactly, was she supposed to settle this restlessness?
“…This sucks, but there’s nothing else for it.”
Her apartment was far too large for a 23 year-old woman living alone. Sunk deep into the sofa, her mind drifting somewhere far away, the electronic chime of the doorbell pulled Kotone back to reality.
“This is Rin, from Aromatic. Is this the Takahashi residence?”
“Yes. Coming.”
Glancing briefly at the delivery on the door monitor, Kotone pressed the unlock button. Through the tightly secured, high-end apartment’s automatic doors came a woman with long, soft black hair.
A short while later, the apartment’s own doorbell rang. Not bothering with a mask or glasses to avoid being recognized, Kotone welcomed the product in exactly as she was.
“Good evening. Aromatic—”
The product — an on-call escort, Rin — froze the instant her eyes met Kotone’s.
Recognition had been growing more common lately, along with her rising fame. Kotone’s face was becoming steadily more widely known. The more she appeared in dramas, films, commercials — the more her private life eroded away.
“I’m Takahashi Mikoto, the one who called. Please, come in.”
“E— excuse the intrusion. Ah, I’ll just check in with the office.”
Rin made a brief call and set a kitchen timer for a hundred and twenty minutes. Once the formalities and payment were settled, Kotone spoke to her.
“…Sorry, Mikoto’s actually my sister’s name. I use it whenever I need to call myself something else — figured if I ever got recognized, I could just say ‘that’s not me, that’s my sister.’ Heh.”
Reading Rin’s reaction, keeping up the fake name any longer felt pointless. Her identity was already known. Realizing that made the pretense feel almost embarrassing to maintain.
“So — you really are her? I’m actually a fan!”
“Yeah, Kurosu Kotone, guilty as charged. Sorry to shatter the dream a little. If sleeping with your own idol’s a dealbreaker, feel free to head home — you can keep the money too.”
“No, I— it’s fine. I’ll treat you not as Kotone-san, but as Mikoto-san, the one who actually called.”
“That’s professional of you. Cool. Also, drop the polite speech?”
“Ah, thank you. But…”
Rin hesitated, then continued.
“…I’m actually quitting the agency today. So you’re my last customer.”
“Ah, getting stalked by some creep? It’s pretty rare to find someone cute like Rin-chan working a top role.”
The profile Kotone had read stated it quite clearly:
Rin (27): Tachi (switch).
In other words, she could play either role depending on the situation.
“No, well… I fell in love with someone. For real. Doing this kind of work while feeling that way feels like I’m deceiving and betraying them, so it’s not right.”
Kotone felt like cold water had just been dashed over her. Having the person she was about to sleep with—either as top or bottom—talk about their crush was the last thing she expected, and Kotone instantly regretted asking.
As if sensing Kotone’s mood, Rin quickly tried to smooth things over.
“I’m so sorry! We’re just getting started, and I totally killed the vibe, didn’t I?”
“It’s fine, it’s strictly business anyway. Hey, how about this? Pretend I’m the person you love, and we can take it from there?”
“Huh…?”
“I’m a switch, you see. Is your crush a top or a bottom? I’ll match whatever they are.”
“Then—not Kotone… Mikoto. Don’t move.”
“Yeah.”
With those words, Kotone was pulled into a tight embrace by Rin.
A faint scent of perfume drifted from Rin’s soft body, which was slightly shorter than Kotone’s. Kotone recognized the unique fragrance: it was the scent of aroma oil frequently used during massages.
“…Ylang-ylang?”
“It’s my last job, and I was in the mood to unwind.”
“You can’t exactly unwind with that aroma, you know. That’s the kind of stuff they use to set the mood.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Hmm. It’s all right, I guess?”
With that, their lips brushed together. Since they both knew it was a strictly transactional relationship, heavy conversation wasn’t necessary.
For Kotone, as long as she could temporarily vent her irrepressible desires, that was enough.
She didn’t care if the other person had someone else in their heart.
As long as she loved her—even if just for now—that was all that mattered.
“Go ahead and project the image of the person you love onto me, Rin-chan.”
“Then call me Rinko. It’s my real name.”
“And what’s the name of the person Rinko loves?”
“……It’s a secret.”
Kotone and Rin, no… Mikoto and Rinko, exchanged a kiss.
Their strictly business night deepened, carrying a quiet heat.