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Originally, I might have pondered over it if it were a usual day.

Nevertheless, even if it was merely a symbol and had no power, there was still something to gain.

But now, it was quite troublesome.

With the landslide and the Yatadoarangkryu issue…

Right now, there were piles of issues he needed to address.

Furthermore, due to the overlapping bad news, he also had to somehow reduce the internal noise that was rising.

If his mood became too gloomy, it would hinder his training.

He had the duty to resolve the situation as quickly as possible and return them to their everyday lives.

Thus, Kazuo firmly rejected it.

“No way.”

He couldn’t leave right now.

He needed them to understand.

And so, the letter containing the Emperor’s request was outright refused.

As expected.

And starting with these two, rejections began to cascade.

Ranking 3.

Ranking 4.

Ranking 5.

…

…

…

Well-known warriors, just like Sotaro and Kazuo, rejected the Emperor’s request. Some expressed their apologies with an air of regret, while others rejected it very coldly and decisively. One even pretended they hadn’t received the letter and left for abroad before it arrived, and another used the excuse of secluded training to avoid receiving the letter altogether.

The reasons varied, but…

Regardless, the outcome was the same.

Not a single renowned warrior answered the Emperor’s call.

Even though the Emperor felt an urgency to resolve this before the Cabinet caught wind of it and launched a political offensive, things did not easily come together.

So, time flowed gradually.

Without resolution.

* * *

Those affiliated with a group are nothing more than mere components.

They can be replaced at any moment, and the utility of each individual as a part is prioritized over their own will; this is a law of society.

And this holds true even in the entertainment industry.

“Hoo…”

In the cramped van, there was a woman sighing.

She had makeup on her face, likely having come from an event, and she wore an outfit adorned with cumbersome ornaments. Though the outfit seemed neat, it was quite revealing, reminiscent of a cheongsam, with a side slit exposing one leg. Moreover, there were holes here and there revealing skin, surrounded by sparkling decorations demanding attention, naturally drawing one’s gaze.

She sprawled in the back of the van in that outfit.

Ignoring her clothes getting wrinkled, she leaned against the pile of garments piled up, making it resemble a laundry shop, and closed her eyes.

With her eyes shut, she let out a very small sigh.

So small that the manager holding the steering wheel couldn’t even hear it.

“I’m exhausted…”

Even though her face was covered in makeup, it couldn’t hide her fatigue.

Beneath the white-painted areas under her eyes were shadows, the weary expression clearly indicating she was overworked. Moreover, her blurry gaze and eyelids that kept trying to droop showed that she wasn’t getting enough sleep.

“I’m sleepy…”

She murmured to herself in the cramped back seat.

It’s hard.

I’m tired.

I’m sleepy.

I want to rest.

Please. I really want to rest.

However, no matter how much she muttered that, she couldn’t take a break.

Why, you ask?

Because there was a schedule.

“Ha…”

In her heart, she wanted to quit everything and collapse onto a bed.

To smash the alarm clock with a hammer and sleep for 24 hours, lifelessly. No, ideally, she wanted to just sleep for three whole days.

But she couldn’t.

Because there was a schedule.

There was a company schedule!

“No matter how close the contract is to ending…”

Her planning agency had been driving her like crazy.

As if completely devoid of humanity.

With the contract period drawing to a close and showing no sign of renewal, they were determined to squeeze every ounce of value from her before it ended. Not figuratively but truly cramming her schedule so tightly she could barely stay afloat, calculating every distance and time to maximize profit by mechanically funneling her into events.

Rest?

Humanity?

Decency?

None of that existed.

The agency treated her like a replaceable part, and their mindset was that as long as she didn’t collapse while the contract was active, they wouldn’t need to provide her with proper rest.

Forced marches.

A terrible forced march.

But could she refuse? Absolutely not.

She had to make it through this soulless schedule somehow.

Why, you ask?

Because if she didn’t somehow provide profits to the company, retaliation would surely follow.

This was a type of transaction.

Even if she went to another agency, they wouldn’t damage her image or use connections to hinder her, as long as she provided as much profit as possible before the contract ended.

It was an unfair transaction, but…

What could she do?

Just because it was unfair didn’t mean she could disregard it.

She had no choice.

At least the silver lining was that after a couple more months, it would be over.

For that moment, she was holding on.

As long as there’s hope, she could endure.

Even the forced march of having to eat and sleep in the van without returning to her lodging.

Even the fact that she became sharp with others and her reputation worsened due to being excessively tired.

Even being treated coldly by the manager and stylist she had spent years with, as if they were strangers during their first meeting.

She could endure it all.

Yes.

All of it…

But it was still hard.

She could endure it, but it was tough.

Had she looked like merely skin and bones like other idols, it would have been no surprise if she had collapsed long ago; it was just too hard. Thankfully, because of the healthy image that demanded a sexy concept with voluptuous legs, she had managed to cling on.

Once more, she sighed at her situation and difficult life.

Or perhaps the sighing came first, and the thoughts followed.

But just then, as if someone had heard her sigh, a sound pierced through.

Knock, knock.

Someone was tapping on the car window.

It was the knock sound.

Startled.

She was taken aback by the sudden knock sound right beside her as she let out a sigh.

It was so impeccably timed, it felt as if someone had been pressing their ear against the car, listening to her sigh before knocking.

And besides, hadn’t she been internally venting her grievances about the agency?

She glanced over at the window with a nervousness akin to that of a thief caught in the act.

Knock, knock.

Perhaps it was the heavy tint on the windows or the dark parking lot, but she couldn’t see outside clearly.

All she could perceive was a pitch-black darkness like passing through an empty country road at dawn, with merely a faint outline of something that seemed to be present in front of the window.

‘Who is it? A drunk? A fan? A journalist?’

It was certainly a person.

However, who were they, and what was their purpose in tapping on the car?

A drunk just randomly banging on cars?

Or perhaps a strange person trying to play tricks after spotting someone in a car in the eerie parking lot?

A fan who followed after the event?

Or a reporter?

‘Let’s just stay quiet.’

While feeling curious about who the person outside could be, she sealed her lips tight.

Acting as though there was no one inside the car.

Because she felt that talking or engaging with the person outside wouldn’t yield anything good.

Was it possible that this thought was conveyed to the person outside?

Knock, knock.

The mysterious man outside spoke.

“Excuse me. Ms. Chaine.”

The man seemed confident that there was someone inside the car and knew that this person was the celebrity Chaine. He spoke to Chaine, who was holding her breath inside, in a tone that seemed to draw strength from an empty place.

“I’m a journalist. I would like to conduct a brief interview if that’s okay.”

A journalist.

An interview.

Hearing those two words made Chaine scowl.

Getting entangled with journalists usually didn’t turn out well, and interviews seldom remained unaltered.

Even what the agency arranged was distorted to that extent, so how could she expect any good to come from someone who approached her personally in such a desolate place?

Moreover, how could she trust him?

How could she know whether this guy was a journalist or merely a stalker disguising themselves?

Chaine pulled out her smartphone and texted her manager.

There’s a suspicious person outside the car, so hurry up and come.

Out of concern that he might dismiss her, she added, ‘If you don’t hurry, I will call the police.’ It was a threat to ensure he would come quickly before she accidentally turned the situation into a news piece.

Perhaps because she added that threat?

Her manager quickly checked the message and replied, “I’ll be right there.”

Seeing that message, Chaine felt relief and leaned back in her seat.

And then she waited.

For her manager to arrive.

For him to chase away that person.

 

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