Chapter Thirteen: Words Spoken During a Confession

At seven o’clock on the morning of June 5th, a black Toyota sedan pulled up in front of his apartment building. Ye Zhao descended the stairs, and the young man in the driver’s seat rolled down the window, confirming, “Are you Ye Zhao?”

Ye Zhao nodded, opened the rear door, and got in. The car started at once, heading toward a certain abandoned high school in Adachi Ward, Tokyo, which would serve as one of today’s commercial shooting locations.

Indeed, today Ye Zhao’s task was to fulfill his contract with NTT DOCOMO and complete a commercial shoot.

This high school, once named Kubota Private Girls’ High School, had originally been funded by a wealthy benefactor from Adachi Ward. But as Japan’s declining birthrate became more severe, Kubota Girls’ High couldn’t attract enough students and was formally merged last year with a neighboring co-ed private high school. The building had since been left unused.

The film crew had taken over an entire floor of classrooms to serve as makeup and props rooms. As soon as Ye Zhao got out of the car, a male assistant led him into the main school building, all the way to a classroom at the end of the first floor, where a sign on the door read “Ye Zhao-san.”

His makeup artist was a woman named Okubo, in her late thirties, with a stern face but an incessant, chatty tongue.

“Your skin is great, your features are delicate—it saves me a lot of trouble. If every performer’s face were as perfect as yours, I’d be out of a job.”

Ye Zhao watched, through the mirror, that expressionless face like a Noh mask delivering dry jokes, and he couldn’t help but shudder inwardly. Thankfully, the job was easy—his natural looks meant that makeup and hair took barely more than ten minutes. Any longer, and he’d have had to close his eyes and pretend to nap.

According to the commercial’s setup, Ye Zhao would play a high school student, so his outfit was a typical Japanese school uniform: white shirt, grey checkered suit, and black dress shoes. After changing, he stepped out of the dressing room and extended his arms for the costume designer to check the fit. The uniform had been tailored to his measurements taken on the day he won the contest, so it fit perfectly.

On the way back to the lounge to wait, Ye Zhao finally met the model partnering with him in this commercial. Her name was Shiori Kudo. From Ye Zhao’s limited but not insignificant knowledge of the Japanese entertainment scene, he’d never heard of her. Perhaps she’d enjoyed a moment of minor fame in this era, but it was clear she had ultimately faded into obscurity.

Such was life—not every acquaintance would turn out to be a future superstar, like bumping into Yuko Takeuchi on the street. Tens of thousands signed with agencies in Japan every year, but only a few thousand actually debuted. Of those, fewer than thirty would ever be remembered in the business. Most were like snowflakes falling into the sea—melting quietly, unnoticed.

Shiori Kudo was eighteen, a third-year high school student. She’d been a model for Japan’s fashion magazine “SEVENTEEN” and, on an editor’s recommendation, signed with Ken-On Talent Agency last year to officially embark on her acting career. She was sweet-looking, bearing a faint resemblance to Satomi Ishihara of later years. She was tall and well-proportioned; the sailor skirt of her school uniform reached only about ten centimeters above her knees.

In the Japanese entertainment world, good manners were essential—no matter whether facing a fellow performer or staff, one must always take the initiative to greet others. Having received formal training since joining the industry, Shiori Kudo was naturally adept at this. Before Ye Zhao could even react, she was already smoothing down her skirt, bowing forty-five degrees, and saying, “Hello, I’m Shiori Kudo from Ken-On.”

“Hello. I’m Ye Zhao, not affiliated with any agency,” Ye Zhao replied in kind. In truth, the word “amateur” would describe him better, but that term, overused in certain corners of the adult industry, had acquired a peculiar connotation…

“I know—you’re the champion of this selection,” Shiori Kudo smiled. “I saw your photos at the agency. You’re even more handsome in person.”

The staff were all busy with their own tasks. It would’ve been nice to pass the time chatting with Shiori Kudo, but that hope was quickly dashed by her manager, a man of about forty. “Kudo, it’s about time to head back to the lounge. Don’t you have a script to review?”

“Yes, I understand!” Shiori answered, turning to Ye Zhao. “I’ll be heading back. Let’s do our best during the shoot.”

As a newcomer, Shiori Kudo had no authority before her manager—even walking, she had to follow behind him. That was the nature of the Japanese and Korean entertainment industries. Their highly developed markets meant that artists had minimal autonomy, while agencies wielded immense power. Even a moderately capable manager could hold a rookie’s fate in their hands.

…

At nine o’clock, filming officially began.

The commercial’s plot was simple: a boy uses his pager’s voice memo function to invite a girl to the school rooftop and confesses, “Will you be my girlfriend?” The girl doesn’t answer, only runs off in a hurry. In the evening, as the boy walks home alone, his pager suddenly beeps, displaying the message: “I will.”

The first scene had Shiori Kudo chatting with classmates in a classroom when her pager beeps. She takes it out to see a message: “Can you come to the rooftop? I have something to tell you.” The classroom was set up as it was; the two girls playing her classmates were extras recruited from the staff.

Director Kyohei Inamura called “Action,” and Shiori Kudo slipped effortlessly into character. With her ample experience, she nailed both her expressions and camera awareness, passing the simple scene in one take.

The second scene was the commercial’s centerpiece: Ye Zhao stood before the wire fence, turned at the sound of the door opening, and slowly walked toward Shiori Kudo. She asked, “What is it?” He confessed, “Will you be my girlfriend?” Without replying, she dashed off the rooftop. Ye Zhao watched her departing back with an expression of forlorn disappointment.

The rooftop had marked positions on the ground. Standing by the fence, Ye Zhao turned as the door opened. Up to that point, all his takes were natural, but as he approached Shiori Kudo and replied to her question, almost as soon as he delivered his line, the director called “Cut.”

“Ye Zhao, your earlier performance was acceptable, but what’s with your demeanor and tone when confessing? You’re confessing to Kudo, not borrowing money—why so awkward?”

They shot two more takes, but Ye Zhao’s performance was still mediocre. Even the director, who had been especially tolerant of a newcomer’s inexperience, was growing impatient. With noon approaching, the director sighed, ruffled his unruly hair, and said, “Let’s take an hour for lunch. Ye Zhao, give the script some more thought.”

After consecutive failures, Ye Zhao’s spirits were low. But since it was he who kept causing trouble, he had no right to show his frustration. The crew had ordered Jinbei’s grilled meat bento boxes. Japanese bento always looked impressive, though the taste was another matter.

As he sat in the lounge eating, a knock sounded at the door.

“It’s unlocked, come in.”

With that invitation, the door eased open, and Shiori Kudo peeked in, cradling her own bento and smiling. “Eating alone is so boring—mind if I join you?”

Ye Zhao, still chewing, patted the seat beside him, answering with the gesture.

“It’s tough shooting your first commercial, isn’t it? Actually, you’re doing very well. When I first started modeling, I was constantly scolded by photographers for not getting my expressions and poses right.”

“Thanks for saying so. But, isn’t your manager keeping an eye on you?”

“He wouldn’t begrudge me a little lunch break.” Out of her manager’s earshot, Shiori Kudo’s tone was much more relaxed. “By the way, since we have some time, shall we rehearse?”

“What is it?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

…

“What is it?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

…

“What is it?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes!”

On the eighth run-through, Shiori Kudo suddenly responded this way.

“Wait, that’s not in the script,” Ye Zhao protested.

“I know,” Shiori Kudo replied with a cheerful smile, “but if it were me, I wouldn’t use a pager to answer a confession. If I planned to accept, I’d just say it outright!”

Ye Zhao laughed at her words. “Honestly, if it were me, I wouldn’t confess with ‘Will you be my girlfriend?’—it’s too lame.”

“So what would you say?” Shiori Kudo rested her chin in her hand, looking at him with lively curiosity.

Ye Zhao grinned mischievously. “I’d say, ‘I want to sleep with you.’”

“You…” Shiori Kudo blushed. “Are you teasing me?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“That won’t do—I have to win this round!” With that, Shiori Kudo took a step forward, placed both hands on Ye Zhao’s shoulders, leaned in slightly, and pressed her soft lips to his.

Ye Zhao’s eyes widened.

It was nothing deep—just lips against lips, lasting five or six seconds. Then Shiori Kudo pushed him away, her cheeks flushed but her expression triumphant.

“You, you, you…” Ye Zhao mimicked her earlier tone, pointing at her. “Did you just take advantage of me?”