Jet-Black Obelisk — Oshi no Ko: Kamiki Hikarus Ambition - Light Blooming in the Frozen Soil

Shinjuku's night was always made of lies. Every time the neon signs flickered, every time the laughter of drunks drifted down the street, Kamiki Hikaru felt something inside his chest grow colder. Black skinny jeans, a black V-neck long-sleeve shirt—dressed to melt into the darkness itself, he wandered aimlessly through the crowds of Kabukicho. Not a place for a fourteen-year-old. He knew that much. But after finishing his work in the entertainment industry, this neon-lit district was where he belonged. "Hey, kid, we've got some cute ones!" A tout called out to him. Hikaru glanced at the man's face and saw right through the lie. Beneath the smile plastered across his mouth, his eyes were clouded with nothing but greed for money. Hikaru could see it all. He'd been observing this city for years. His fingers unconsciously traced the silver star-shaped pendant hanging at his neck. It wasn't a gift from anyone—just a cold sensation left on his fingertips. The shoot had run long. It had only just ended. It was a drama job. "A boy who lost his parents—and his journey to recovery." The kind of story you could find anywhere. He'd cried in front of the cameras, the staff had applauded, and the producer had patted his head saying, "Just as expected, Hikaru-kun." Those adults knew his tears were an act. And yet, they all nodded with satisfied looks on their faces. (They all know. They know it's a lie, and they pretend to be fooled.) Hikaru let out a small breath. Even his exhale felt somehow fake. Everyone walking through this city was performing something. The happy-looking salarymen, the happy-looking hostesses, the happy-looking couples—they were all just pretending to be happy. He headed east along Yasukuni-dori. The light from a convenience store facing the street was painfully white. The laughter of youths loitering in front of the automatic doors grated on his ears. (So loud.) The words surfaced in his mind. But he didn't say them aloud. No point. Nobody wanted to hear the truth anyway. His jet-black hair swayed softly in the night wind. Beneath his bangs, obsidian eyes holding deep darkness reflected the city's lights with cold indifference. Eyes that revealed no emotion—the eyes the TV station adults praised as "so mature for his age." The truth was different. He wasn't mature. He'd simply gone cold. Suddenly, his feet stopped. Off a side street from Yasukuni-dori, there was a multi-tenant building—Tomizawa Building. On the wall of the old structure, which looked at least thirty years old, hung a hand-painted sign. "Live House Pulse Beat B1F" Stairs leading underground. The paint on the walls was peeling, and one of the fluorescent lights was half-dead. The flickering, unstable light cast an eerie glow over the steps. (Why here, of all places?) Even he didn't understand. He had no interest in live houses. He thought all music was just deception. And yet his feet carried him down the stairs on their own. Underground. Deeper underground. He stood before a heavy iron door. A live schedule was taped to the wall. Next to today's date, scrawled in marker: "19:00~ Ai" Hikaru clenched the iron ring on his left ring finger. He wore it as a reminder to himself, and touching it at times like this was a strange habit. The door creaked open. A stuffy gust hit his nose. The smell of cigarette smoke, sweat, and mold from the old building, all mixed together. The ceiling was low, the soundproofing material on the walls exposed. Capacity couldn't have been more than thirty people. Pulse Beat—a tiny live house tucked in a corner of Shinjuku, unknown to anyone. It was the first place Hikaru had ever set foot in. The floor was dim. On a simple stage, a single girl was singing. About his age, maybe. Slender, clutching a slightly outdated microphone. Only two pin spots for lighting. The rest was cheap color LEDs washing her in red and blue. Five people in the audience. All of them were fiddling with their smartphones. Not one was looking at the stage. This underground idol—apparently named Ai—was smiling anyway. A smile that looked like it might break at any moment, but she was holding it together with everything she had. Hikaru leaned against the wall and watched her. Reflexively, his mind began its observation and analysis. (Calculation—hypocrisy—self-production—) The numbers that always surfaced in his head when observing people in the entertainment world. Most adults easily exceeded twenty or thirty points. The worse ones hit ninety. But. (Zero...?) Hikaru furrowed his brow. (Hypocrisy, zero? Calculation, zero?) Impossible. His insight, honed from observing hundreds, thousands of people, had errored out for the first time. There was no lie in that smile. Not a trace of wanting to look good, or wanting to deceive anyone. "What's that, an underground idol? Lame." Beside him, a college-aged guy said to his friend. "Who'd even watch that?" Malicious laughter. Hikaru's temple twitched. (No.) For some reason, that's what he thought. (No. That smile isn't what you think it is.) Then—unexpectedly, a memory flashed back. Five years ago. Hikaru, still nine years old. The headquarters building of Nichiei Television in Akasaka, Minato Ward. An enormous structure, eighteen floors above ground and three below. Back then, he'd frequently come and go as a child actor in dramas. With a staff pass hanging from his neck, he'd walk the dressing room corridors underground. Dim hallways. The smell of mold. That day, Hikaru had found himself alone between takes—not because he was lost. He was just walking out of curiosity. To the far end of an empty corridor. And that's what he saw. "If you inject this, it'll get easier." An old man known as a big-name producer was handing a syringe to a young actress. Her hand was trembling. But the light in her eyes was already clouded beyond saving—she held out her arm herself. The producer's laugh. "Good girl. Now work will be easier again." And she collapsed to the floor. Vacant eyes. Mouth hanging open. Nine-year-old Hikaru could only stand there, frozen. A few days later. He heard the actress had "dropped out due to health issues." The producer was still working on his next show. No one said anything. No one was punished. That was the entertainment industry. Something inside Hikaru had changed decisively that day. The flashback ended. Before him, Ai was still singing. (...Why?) Hikaru bit his lip. (Why is someone like you smiling in a place like this?) The live ended. No one applauded. The audience headed straight for the exit. Of the five, three had left midway. The remaining two left without even glancing at Ai's face. She bowed deeply anyway. "Thank you very much." Her voice trembled slightly. But her smile didn't falter. Near the exit, at the merchandise corner—just a folding table with a few CDs laid out—Ai stood alone. A marker pen in her hand. She was prepared, just in case someone bought one. Hikaru found himself walking toward her. "Ah..." Ai let out a small sound. She seemed surprised that a customer was still there. Hikaru stopped in front of the table. He picked up a CD. The jacket design was cheap, like an amateur had shot it. On the back, a handwritten message from her was printed. "I'll do my best." Just one line. (This must be genuine.) No calculation, no hypocrisy, no self-production. Just the words "I'll do my best"—how could they resonate so purely? "Would you like one, if you're interested... wait, you're younger than me, aren't you?" Ai tilted her head. She'd reflexively launched into her sales pitch, but caught herself when she realized the customer was a younger boy. Hikaru silently held out the CD. "You'll buy it?" "...Yeah." He placed a thousand-yen bill on the table. Ai hurriedly grabbed her marker. "Thank you! I'll sign it! What's your name?" "Hikaru." "Hikaru-kun. That's a nice name." Ai wrote the signature on the CD with practiced ease. Through it all, her smile never changed. Even with so few in the audience, even with no one listening, for the one customer right in front of her—she looked genuinely happy. He took the signed CD. Her handwriting was round and bubbly, somehow childlike. "Thank you so much for today. It was lonely with so few people, but just having someone come means so much to me." Something creaked deep in Hikaru's chest. The words of all the adults he'd known—for numbers, for money, for self-preservation—rang nothing like this. "...Your." The words left his mouth on their own. "Your smile is beautiful." Ai froze. For a moment, it was as if time had stopped. Her large eyes stared at Hikaru in surprise. And then—in the next instant, they began to well up. "No one's ever... said that to me before." Her voice was shaking. She desperately tried to turn the tears into a smile. But it wouldn't work. Her lips trembled, the tip of her nose went red—she covered her face with both hands. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I wasn't going to cry." Hikaru didn't know what he'd done. But. (I have to protect that smile.) An obsessive compulsion he couldn't explain. His heart—something deep in his chest was pounding violently. Emotions frozen for so long seemed to crumble with a cracking sound. "...Can we talk?" Before he knew it, he'd said it. They sat on stools in the corner of the venue, talking until the staff began cleaning up for closing. Ai spoke haltingly about herself. "I grew up in an orphanage in Saitama. An old place called Himawari-en." A children's home in Tokorozawa. The budget was always short, and snacks came only once a week. Few toys, few picture books. Amid all that, the only thing she'd been captivated by was the idols on the facility's old television. "They sparkled so much, they looked so happy... and I thought, I want to be someone's light too." Ai laughed embarrassedly. "Pretty presumptuous, huh. Someone like me." "...That's not true." Hikaru shook his head. "I've... seen the underbelly of the entertainment world. I know a lot about the ugly side of adults. So honestly, I'd stopped being able to trust people." "...Yeah." "But your smile is different. From any smile I've ever seen." For the first time, he told someone fragments of the corruption he'd witnessed. The scene in the TV station's basement. That no one was punished. That everything was made of lies. Ai listened in silence. And as the conversation flowed, he drew out information about her agency. "It's called Propstar. Just one room in a condo in Shibuya." "What are the contract terms?" "Um... eighty percent of sales goes to the agency, transportation and costume costs are my own. A five-year exclusive contract, and if I quit midway it's five million yen... I think." In that instant—Hikaru's eyes changed. (Eighty percent...?) The contract clauses were analyzed in his mind in an instant. (Do you understand what that means?) The exploitation system rampant in the entertainment industry—binding rookie talents under the guise of a "business outsourcing contract," siphoning off most of their earnings, threatening them with penalty fees if they try to quit. Skirting the legal line, it was the industry's standard tactic. (Dojima Kengo—Propstar's president.) Just hearing the name, Hikaru understood everything. A typical small-time production. All their talents were underground idols or unknown models. Zero track record, surviving solely on a business model that siphoned profit through exploitative contracts. (This contract was designed to make a meal out of her.) "Hikaru-kun...?" Ai peered at his face anxiously. Hikaru closed his eyes and took a deep breath. (I'm still fourteen.) (No power, no money. I can't do anything.) But. (If it's to protect that smile.) Something began to bud in the depths of his heart. The prototype of the mad vision that would later be named the "Obelisk Plan"—a dark, heavy conviction th

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Name: Jet-Black Obelisk — Oshi no Ko: Kamiki Hikarus Ambition
Author: Novelia

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