Kijuro swiped his subway pass on the card reader and pressed through the turnstile once it blinked green. He rubbed his head out of pity as he strolled through the underground mall for the exit. The subway was packed more than usual. He never sat down even when given the option, but he could barely even stand back there.

As the people from the subway raced past him, his jacket floated upwards, the echo of their laughter following after them. A majority of them were high school girls judging by their uniforms, though there were a few older people sprinkled into the mix as well. Perhaps there was another concert happening in Tokyo today? 

Still, this early… 

The hit of sunlight that highlighted his ghostly skin as he stepped out of the mall was no match for his sunscreen, and even more, his white parasol. It had been awfully bright with the arrival of autumn—almost as if the sun somehow burned brighter this time of year. He couldn’t risk even a three minute walk to ZENEN.

It was a tiny shop. Barely bigger than a shed, with an annex that was part greenhouse in the back. The exterior walls were oak wood with beige trimmings around the windows and rooftop. The windows were dark paneled and dainty, but the shop retained its brightness from the skylights. Every piece of the wall on the inside was coated with foliage or carved bamboo. Together, tied with the soft tingles of a shishi-odoshi until it knocks the plank, brought a peaceful scenery that Kijuro wished to one day achieve at home. 

The second he entered, he heard a, ‘Welcome!’ from the store owner standing beside the door. Kijuro nodded to the man and waved his head to the gorgeous atmosphere he painted in his head. It was different…

The displays were perfect. Not to the image in his head, though.

The pots were perfectly arranged into a pyramid shape. The bamboo carvings hung from the ceiling in perfectly straight lines. Every herb and flower and tree had its own perfect spot in its correct category on the shelf he didn’t know was there. How was he going to find anything?!

He couldn’t remember why he was there for a moment. Slowly, he rotated back around.

“Excuse me,” he called out to the shopkeeper. “What happened to the store? Did you get employees?”

The shopkeeper shook his head and laughed. “Oh no, it’s still just me. There’s a special celebrity here today for a photoshoot, so I cleaned up a bit. Isn’t it nice?” he asked.

Kijuro formed his lips in an ‘o’ and smiled to avoid the question. “Thank you.”

He turned towards the door. It would be better to come back another time. 

No, it would be rude. He shouldn’t.

He made one more turn and began wandering with no destination. He wanted to get chamomile and a garden statue at least. If he bought small things, it would look suspicious next to his large purchases. Those should stand out enough to be able to find and go.

The baby pearl petals and their yellow buttons protruded from the other flowers which were thick with color. He opted for the one with the least amount of flowers in full bloom—if only he’d bought them earlier.

Lastly, the stone decor should still be in the annex. And as he suspected, the sign above its entrance read ‘BONSAIS AND DECOR.’ A smile jumped on his face and he pushed open the door.

And it was met with restraint.

He hugged the plant with his arms as he peeked over the other side of the door. There were dozens of people occupying the small space. And instead of the nice clank of the bamboo knocking the plank, there were the clicks of hundreds of cameras going off every second.

He squeezed through and glanced around for paths. How did so many people find out about this photoshoot, anyway? Weren’t they usually private? 

There was nowhere to move in a place so small, it would be better to buy more plants. Not without a quick look, though. With the crowd being so static, he could perfectly align his eyes through a row of heads. 

A ray of light brushed the angles of the celebrity’s complexity elegantly, melting into honey stolen by the sun to grace the canyon of muscle his unbuttoned shirt had to offer. His loose robes were the purest tint of titanium white, radiating its glow off to the tropical plants that surrounded him. His caramel hair met the grooves of his neck were more than enough for the serotonins to set off in Kijuro’s head, and above all the sharp line that molded his jaw. As the head slowly turned, Kijuro blinked beforehand so as not to miss the reveal.

A chill shocked his spine. The man he was idolizing just now was… Nijiaki?!

He stumbled back into the door. His lost gaze made contact with the lustrous man, Nijiaki’s poker face breaking with a scowl for a split second. In the coming seconds, Kijuro became the enemy to all of his fans.

Nijiaki caught his disgust with heaps of sneezing. He flipped himself away from the cameras and sneezed into his sleeve. His management team were quick to block the crowd from taking photos.

“Stop the cameras! Five minute break!”

They huddled around him with tissues and water. Nijiaki lowered his arm and seared the crowd with his crescent eyes. “Is someone… wearing chamomile…? I’m— achoo! Allergic.” He nabbed a tissue and patted his nose. 

The crowd was activated. Everyone’s heads started wandering like they were all Nijiaki’s nosy bodyguards. This was no good. 

Kijuro made an attempt to open the door himself—it was the one time he wouldn’t want someone to open a door for him. Unfortunately, it’s what he got. The back of the crowd’s eyes craned down to the pot in his hands and news traveled quickly to the front. The group effort could’ve trampled him if he tripped. One second later, he was at the front door, barely grabbing his parasol before the door slammed in his face, the pot vanishing behind it.

He hadn’t realized until then that he was gasping for air. Is this how deranged fans can be nowadays?!

The squabbles of a crow perked his attention. He turned around after patting down his hair and opened his parasol, spotting a single crow on the powerlines across the street. He exerted a heavy sigh.

This was going to be a horrid fall…

Kaneko, you won’t go down easy, will you?

Nijiaki tilted his head back as the gentle pats of makeup sponges took away the redness in his nose. His blazen metal irises drifted to the side, hidden through the thickets of his eyelashes.

I will do anything to get this role. You’ll see eventually, Adachi.