Chapter 3

Fourteen Years Old (3)

Nanami Ryosuke arrived at the company more than an hour ahead of the scheduled meeting, earlier than even the agreed-upon time. As one of STORM’s top agents, Nanami Ryosuke was constantly burdened with countless tasks—yet, despite his busy schedule, he had carved out ample time for today’s meeting and approached it with utmost caution.

Before the tragic car accident that claimed the life of the former national prodigy actor Kazenichi Hanatori, it was Nanami Ryosuke who managed his affairs as his agent. Ryosuke had also served as an assistant to the brilliant actress Yukiko Fujimine, making him one of the most seasoned members of STORM. Even within the entertainment industry of Japan, Nanami Ryosuke was a figure of considerable standing.

But that only held true among “ordinary people.” Having worked closely alongside Kazenichi Hanatori as his agent, Ryosuke understood all too well the hidden depths behind the actor’s almost supernatural beauty and flawless demeanor—a darkness deeply intertwined with the colossal entity known as the Port Mafia, invisible to most.

When Ryosuke first realized this connection, both STORM and he himself were gripped by fear. However, as time passed, they learned to cooperate with the public relations officer, each side taking what it needed and maintaining a peaceful coexistence.

A year ago, when the public relations officer passed away, Ryosuke attended the funeral, offering flowers and shedding a few tears.

He had thought that would be the extent of his contact with the likes of the Mafia. Yet, just a few days ago, Ryosuke received a phone call.

“Good afternoon, you’re the former public relations officer—ah, or perhaps the name you know best, the former agent of Kazenichi Hanatori, right?”

Since the officer’s death, Ryosuke hadn’t heard that name in a long time. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t hang up immediately, but instead hesitantly replied, “Yes, this is me. May I ask who’s calling?”

The voice on the other end was undeniably young, tinged with the fresh awkwardness unique to youth—clearly, the caller was not only young, but almost excessively so.

Yet when he introduced himself, no one would dare underestimate him.

“I am Osamu Dazai,” the young man replied.

Ryosuke was momentarily robbed of speech.

Because he had once served as the agent for the public relations officer, Ryosuke had done some research into the Port Mafia after the officer’s death. If one investigates the Port Mafia, the name Osamu Dazai is inevitably encountered.

Renowned in the underworld as the “Mastermind” and one half of the legendary “Double Black,” Dazai was the youngest executive in the history of the Port Mafia—a force not to be taken lightly. This organization, with formidable influence across the Kanto region, owed more than two-thirds of its annual profits to Dazai’s efforts. This alone attested to the terrifying intellect and danger lurking within this young man, despite his age.

He was only seventeen. Yet, if anyone underestimated him—even by the slightest margin—they would pay dearly for it.

Unbeknownst to himself, Ryosuke’s tone grew more respectful and cautious.

“Mr. Dazai.” He addressed the youth, who was much younger than himself, with honor. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Could it be related to the late Kazenichi Hanatori? Ryosuke wondered privately.

But the young man on the other end laughed lightly.

“It’s not as you think~” His tone was breezy. “Actually, I’m not contacting you on behalf of the Port Mafia, but solely as myself.”

“I know a child who wants to try debuting, so I’d like to entrust her to STORM and to you, Mr. Nanami~”

Even so, Ryosuke found it impossible to fully separate Dazai and this matter from the Port Mafia. Was this to be another arrangement like Hanatori’s, outwardly unrelated but secretly serving the Mafia?

Ryosuke’s gaze sharpened, convinced he understood Dazai’s intention.

He offered a bitter smile. “Mr. Dazai, becoming a sensation and winning the audience’s favor requires luck. Hanatori was exceptionally gifted, but not everyone is suited for this…”

As the saying goes, small fame can be engineered, but true stardom depends on destiny. Forced promotion leads only to ruin. Audiences are not fools; they have their own judgment.

Even capital cannot fully manipulate such things. If the Port Mafia demanded they produce another international superstar like the public relations officer, STORM would have no choice but to say “NO” even to them.

Fortunately, Mr. Dazai seemed reasonable—though later Ryosuke would realize the very notion of Dazai as “reasonable” was sheer folly. He was not offended by Ryosuke’s candid words.

“I’m only responsible for bringing the child to you,” Dazai said. “The rest is up to you; I won’t interfere.”

This promise eased Ryosuke’s concerns somewhat, and he agreed on a time to meet.

That was why Ryosuke arrived so early, burdened with anxiety. Every minute of waiting was torment. At last, he received a call from the company’s front desk.

“Mr. Nanami, a young girl and two gentlemen are here to see you…”

“Please bring them to me immediately,” Ryosuke replied.

He straightened his appearance in the mirror, then sat upright in his chair, determined to leave a good impression.

The door was soon knocked upon.

“Come in,” Ryosuke steadied his breath.

The door opened. The first to enter was a golden-haired girl, strikingly beautiful, with an extraordinary aura. Her violet eyes resembled a vast field of flowers, with the illusion of stars fallen within.

Behind her came a youth not much older and a young man. The young man exuded reliability and honesty, inspiring confidence; but the youth…

Perhaps sensing Ryosuke’s scrutiny, the youth looked up and smiled.

Ryosuke involuntarily shivered.

He couldn’t explain why—a boy even younger, with a face so fresh it seemed he could squeeze water from it—yet Ryosuke felt an inexplicable chill of danger radiating from him.

He suddenly understood—this must be Mr. Dazai.

Ryosuke averted his gaze, unwilling to meet the eyes of this demon-like youth, and instead focused on the golden-haired girl, today’s protagonist.

Judging by appearance alone, she was flawless. Even without Dazai’s connection, she was the kind of girl talent scouts would rush to approach on the street, begging her to sign with reverence.

Ryosuke’s fear and unease, born from Dazai and the Port Mafia, were set aside; his professionalism prevailed.

Even if the girl had no other talents, her face and noble, proud bearing alone would be enough to make her Japan’s top idol. Ryosuke was confident of this.

“Mr. Nanami? We had an appointment, remember?” The black-haired youth spoke—the same voice Ryosuke had heard on the phone.

“Yes… Mr. Dazai.” Ryosuke was still unaccustomed to speaking with him, so his performance was somewhat lacking.

But Dazai didn’t mind, merely stepping aside to make the diminutive girl, Kouta, the absolute center of attention.

“This is Kouta!” he announced cheerfully. “Her goal is to debut as a singer~”

Ryosuke’s smile felt bitter.

In Japan’s entertainment industry, there exists an unspoken hierarchy: actors—singers—comedians—idols. Idols, with the lowest entry threshold, need only a pretty face to be halfway to success, but their status is lowest… Singers, second only to actors, face an even harsher battlefield where only the truly gifted prevail.

Only monsters who stand out among countless prodigies can claim a place in this bloodless war.

Were it not for his apprehension toward Dazai, Ryosuke would have wanted to grab Dazai’s shoulders and shake him so hard his brains mixed.

If the Port Mafia’s long-suffering underlings—who’d formed a support group to commiserate over Dazai’s tyranny—heard Ryosuke’s thoughts, they’d surely find common ground.

“I’ve prepared a song in advance,” Kouta said, handing over a USB drive.

“May I play it now?” Ryosuke asked politely.

Kouta nodded indifferently.

“Butterfly in the Maze” was the calling card Kouta offered. It wasn’t her favorite among her creations, but it had been market-tested in her own world. Though the Revival Society had played its part in its success, the song’s quality was undeniable.

That was why she chose it as her first offering.

As for its value as a calling card…

The song began with a long, piercing organ melody. Sharp, but not jarring—it immediately seized the listener’s attention. Piano and a rising drum beat joined in, each note striking straight to the heart.

Then—the girl’s deliberately lowered voice, slightly raspy and enchanted, like dazzling moonlight bursting through dense, black clouds, or like a hard shell breaking to let in a blinding light that stirs tears from within.

You are defenseless, surrendering to her charm, your defenses shattered, becoming a slave to the song.

“Open your shiny eyes in the silent night.”

Fluttering butterflies, the silent black night, the sudden rise of a silver moon splitting the shimmering, undulating sea, reflecting unparalleled brilliance.

“Thump. Thump.”

“Thump. Thump.”

Dazai pressed his hand to his chest.

His heart pounded so violently it felt as if he might die. Dazai actually possessed a secret skill to control his heartbeat, but this time, he wanted to let it go.

Was this what a song could do? Even at a distance, even without a live performance, just hearing it could drown one in the emotion it conveyed, as if plunging into the depths of the sea?

Such a song…

His hawk-colored eyes grew darker, emotions flickering within, hard to decipher.

“It feels as if any praise or glory would be fully deserved,” Ryosuke murmured in awe.

All his previous anxiety and uncertainty were swept away by the song; Ryosuke even stood up in excitement, disregarding Dazai’s presence, his gaze shining with unusual brilliance as he looked at Kouta.

He knew he had found a dazzling diamond, whose radiance would astonish everyone who saw her.

Never mind her tenuous connection to the Port Mafia—even if she were one of them, Ryosuke would fight to sign her, just as he had with the public relations officer!

This was a star on the rise. Anyone who heard her song and analyzed it even briefly could see it.

Ryosuke dared to predict that within ten years—perhaps even sooner—they would witness the birth of a new queen.

“Miss Kouta, I am Nanami Ryosuke.” He bowed deeply to the girl, who was so much younger than himself, showing utmost respect, with no hint of condescension.

“I am honored to be your agent. I hope we will work well together.”

He extended his hand, and the girl, after a moment’s gaze, placed hers in his.

“I look forward to your guidance.”

The negotiations over the contract naturally fell to Dazai. Frankly, it was almost a waste of talent for the executive responsible for two-thirds of the Port Mafia’s yearly profits to handle such matters.

Meanwhile, Ryosuke discussed with Kouta, “I plan to produce this song as a single as soon as possible. Miss Kouta, which day would suit you to come to the company for recording?”

“One week from now!” Before Kouta could answer, Dazai’s voice interjected, “Mori-san has assigned me some work I can’t postpone… Let’s do it a week from now! I want to hear Kouta-chan sing live!”

If at first Dazai was merely helping out because “this is one of Oda’s children,” now he was genuinely interested in Kouta as a person.

Ryosuke glanced at Kouta for confirmation.

Considering how much Dazai had helped her, such a small request was not unreasonable.

“A week from now, then.”

Dazai: “Yay! I knew Kouta-chan was the best!”

He changed his tone so quickly that Kouta almost began to doubt herself.

Had their relationship really grown so close, so rapidly?

***

A little more. Let him see more.

More compelling than words… More powerful than any text or performance… She had never imagined that a song could wield such force.

At the end of the maze where the butterfly awaits, would he find the answer he had sought in vain?