Chapter 4

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At fourteen (Part Four)

Dazai Osamu had, quite unusually, not skipped work today.

But that didn’t mean he was actually going to work properly. Expecting Dazai Osamu to be productive at the office without slacking off was simply impossible.

Inside the large exclusive office for executives, the black-haired youth paid no attention to the thick stack of pending documents piled on the desk. Instead, he was curled up on the sofa, fully engrossed in playing a handheld gaming console.

Just as he was immersed in the game, a hesitant knock came from the door.

“Mr. Dazai…” The voice outside was fraught with hesitation and timidity, clearly afraid of disturbing this famously unpredictable and dangerous executive but forced to muster the courage to approach him.

All these mixed emotions were reflected in the unfortunate subordinate’s voice—it almost sounded drenched in blood and tears just to hear it.

No one answered from behind the door.

But even with a thousand breaths of courage, the poor subordinate didn’t dare to open the office door recklessly. At the same time, he couldn’t just leave the items in his hands lying around... He was caught in a dilemma.

Moreover, “Mr. Dazai, you’re clearly inside the office! Even through the door, one can hear the game sounds!”

But what could the poor subordinate do? Facing Dazai Osamu, he could only suppress his anger and say nothing.

Fortunately, this torment did not last long. Like an angel descending, another executive of the Port Mafia, Nakahara Chuuya, who was Dazai’s peer and the only conscience within the organization, approached.

He looked displeased. Beneath his reddish-orange hair, his cobalt blue eyes burned with icy flames. Each step he took on the corridor was so heavy it seemed he could shatter the floor beneath him.

Clearly, he was furious.

Yet, even so, when he saw the hesitant subordinate at the door, Nakahara spoke calmly. Although one could hear the suppressed anger in his tone, it was obvious he had no intention of venting it on the poor subordinate.

“What are you doing standing there?”

The subordinate, upon seeing Nakahara, seemed relieved, as if pardoned: “Mr. Nakahara! Are you here to see Mr. Dazai?”

Nakahara sneered coldly: “Ha, yes, I do have some things to ‘talk’ to that mackerel of a man.”

The subordinate offered the stack of documents in his hands to Nakahara with a pleading tone: “Could you please take this to Mr. Dazai…”

Nakahara, fully aware of how ordinary Port Mafia members avoided Dazai as if he were a venomous serpent, understood the subordinate’s predicament.

He clicked his tongue lightly and extended his hand: “Fine, give it to me.”

The subordinate gratefully handed over the package and then bolted away swiftly.

Nakahara then kicked open Dazai’s office door.

“Hey, Dazai, you bastard!”

He casually swung something from beside him, kicking it toward Dazai’s head with such force it could have been lethal if it landed: “You pushed all your work onto me before, didn’t you?”

Dazai dodged effortlessly.

“Scary, scary—violent little dark dwarf!” Dazai complained, “Geez, the air instantly feels polluted now.”

“You’re asking for it,” Nakahara cracked his knuckles audibly but remembered the purpose of his visit.

“Dazai, I heard you went to STORM once, looking for the PR officer’s former manager,” Nakahara challenged. “What the hell are you planning to do this time?!”

The PR officer was once a member of the Flag Society and also Nakahara’s friend.

Nakahara always blamed himself for the deaths of the Flag Society members—a forbidden, sacred wound he would not allow others to disturb.

Dazai’s contact with the PR officer’s former manager was like dancing on Nakahara’s nerve endings. So naturally, Nakahara came straight to confront Dazai to find out his intentions.

If Dazai was up to no good, Nakahara wouldn’t hesitate to send him to the hospital for a month or two.

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“Huh? I don’t understand a word of what the little dwarf’s saying. Slug language really isn’t something humans can comprehend,” Dazai said, picking at his ear with his pinky, feigning ignorance.

He nimbly dodged Nakahara’s attack and openly showed his truancy by heading out the door.

“Dazai! You’re skipping work again?!” Nakahara’s angry voice came from behind.

But Dazai paid no heed, humming a fragmented tune: “Uncultured Nakahara would never understand the joy of fangirling~”

Today was the day he and Utae had planned to watch her live recording. Nakahara’s arrival was unexpected, but Dazai wouldn’t let him interfere.

Shaking off Nakahara was effortless for Dazai. Knowing Nakahara’s habits well, he vanished from his pursuit without much effort.

However, when Utae and Dazai arrived at STORM, the man who greeted them, Nanami Ryosuke, wore an expression tinged with irritation and frustration.

Though he tried hard to conceal his emotions—and indeed did so well—Utae had some sensitivity to others’ inner feelings, and Dazai’s sharp eyes missed nothing. Nanami’s façade was quickly seen through.

“Mr. Nanami, it seems like something’s troubling you?” The black-haired youth raised his brows, but his tawny eyes revealed a dark, oppressive gloom that would instinctively make anyone want to avoid his gaze.

Nanami hesitated.

He might have wanted to keep the matter secret, but upon meeting Dazai’s eyes, he realized it was futile. It was better to be honest than hold onto naive illusions.

Understanding this, though it was somewhat embarrassing and felt like a failure to reveal his troubles to his newly signed artist—a much younger boy—it was clearly more important to resolve the issue than to cling to useless pride.

Besides, they were in the same boat now; honesty was necessary, and there was no reason to hide anything.

With this resolved in his mind, Nanami led them toward the recording studio, bitterly smiling as he explained what had happened.

“There are three top-tier managers at STORM,” he said. “I am one of them.”

Because until a year ago he had been serving the international superstar PR officer, Nanami held the highest status and power among the three.

But that was in the past. After PR officer’s death, and before Nanami managed to develop another star with comparable clout, even a former top-tier manager could barely hold his head high before his two colleagues.

More importantly, due to past work conflicts, their relationship was far from harmonious—only civility remained on the surface; beneath, it was a storm of hostility.

For Nanami, Utae’s arrival was a lifeline. He saw terrifying potential in the young girl and resolved to use all his resources to back her, making a bold gamble.

“They found out I signed Utae-san and that her first single CD will be released soon,” Nanami confessed, embarrassed to admit he had brought trouble to his artist. “From what I hear, they might pit their own strong singers against you, deliberately releasing new songs simultaneously.”

For a singer who hasn’t even officially debuted, this was terrible news. And it was entirely Nanami’s fault. He wished he could bury himself in the ground out of shame.

Unexpectedly, the girl’s violet eyes flickered briefly to him, her expression calm and indifferent, showing no hint of resentment.

“Mm,” she responded softly, closing her eyes lightly, simply acknowledging the news without any emotional reaction.

Nanami was stunned. He had never anticipated this. Until now, burdened by guilt, he had braced himself to accept any displeasure or anger from Utae without protest. But this reaction...

Nanami, usually a smooth operator, suddenly found himself at a loss.

Dazai, nearby, snorted with laughter.

“Come on, old man, Utae-chan clearly isn’t mad at you,” he chuckled, sounding like a deflating bellows. But in an instant, his smile vanished, replaced by an expression so cold it could chill anyone.

“To Utae, those guys are nothing but insignificant little dogs barking behind her back,” Dazai stated, voicing Utae’s thoughts.

Surprisingly, Utae did not object but simply nodded in agreement.

“I will become the best singer. My voice will echo through every street and alley in this country. Everyone will know my name.”

The girl’s calm declaration was undeniably bold, yet no one present doubted its feasibility.

She was not exaggerating but stating an inevitable future. When she spoke like this, the light radiating from her eyes and presence shone too brightly to ignore.

It wasn’t reckless bravado born of ignorance, but a fierce confidence grounded in knowing precisely what she was capable of and what she was achieving—a brilliance rivaling the world’s most dazzling diamond and the most beautiful stars.

For a moment, Dazai felt almost scorched by the light emanating from her.

Usually eloquent, he found himself momentarily speechless.

Finally, the boy raised his hand to his forehead, covering half his face and concealing the emotions flickering in his eyes.

“Sounds pretty good, huh?” Dazai said. “Then I’ll be waiting with great anticipation.”

He tried to mask his inner turmoil with a tone that sounded exaggeratedly cheerful.

For a moment, Nanami felt that he, the genuine adult among the three, was actually the least mature and composed, as if their ages had reversed.

“Let’s head to the recording studio, Mr. Ryosuke,” Utae said. “I don’t think I’m going to lose this battle.”

Her calm confidence seemed to infect Nanami. He thought of “Butterfly in the Maze,” recalling the song’s overwhelming passion and power, and suddenly felt his prior worries were almost laughable.

“You’re right, Utae-san,” Nanami said earnestly. “You will surely become the youngest diva.”

—Because you seem born for the stage, born to sing.

***

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This year, Yokohama’s first snow came early.

Yet, compared to the cold weather, the single charts were burning fiercely.

Popular singer Shinichi Kikai and veteran powerhouse singer Azuma Arima both released new songs as if by agreement, both of high quality. Their fans naturally rallied passionately, pushing sales and sparking discussion—like a blazing fire in the snowy winter.

“Those two guys…” Nanami set down his headphones, his expression somber.

Though he trusted Utae, after listening to the “opponents’” two new songs and confirming their quality, worry still weighed heavily on Nanami’s heart.

“Mr. Nanami!” Urgent footsteps came from outside the office, followed by somewhat rude knocking. His assistant pushed the door open, wearing an expression of surprise mixed with overwhelming shock and indisguised joy.

Nanami’s heart skipped a beat: “How is it?”

He had sent his assistant to check real-time sales figures for the current singles.

The assistant swallowed hard with excitement.

“It’s exploded, Mr. Nanami! Utae-san’s song has exploded!”

“‘Butterfly in the Maze’ has now topped both the Oricon and Billboard Japan singles charts. As of now, the number of CDs sold is…”

“Two hundred thirty-seven thousand one hundred eighty-four!”

Despite having raised his expectations, Nanami’s heart nearly stopped at hearing the figure.

Not even a full day had passed since release, yet sales had already reached 230,000 copies. Nanami dared to optimistically and boldly estimate first-day sales at around 300,000.

If so, first-week sales surpassing one million would be a certainty.

His breath quickened. He grabbed his phone and dialed the top contact.

“This is Utae,” the girl’s cool voice answered.

Nanami took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, though his voice still trembled with excitement.

“It’s exploded, Utae-san!”

“‘Butterfly in the Maze’ has exploded!”