Maimoto Keisuke. 40 years old. Single. A farming VTuber whose early graying hair is a constant worry. In front of everyone, he laughs loudly, plays mahjong, and gets fired up watching sports. But in the memo pad of his smartphone, there is a list he shows to no one.
"Have I managed to make everyone who's ever been involved with me happy?"
This is the story that unfolds far behind the image he shows on screen. The members of Nijisanji have been saved by him without even noticing. In return, wha
Behind the Blooming Score Sheets - Behind-the-scenes daily life — Maimoto Keisuke, whom nobody knows
Shinjuku, past midnight. A back alley in Kabukicho.
The neon glow blurred in the distance, and the humid air clung to his skin. It was the hour when even the touts' voices began to falter. Cutting between buildings, he spotted the sign for "Mahjong Parlor Novelba" on the third floor of an old multi-tenant building.
Maimoto Keisuke climbed the stairs. Each step echoed. Broad shoulders. A solid 178-centimeter frame. Black T-shirt and cargo pants—the same outfit he wore on stream.
Only his face was different.
His black hair, streaked with premature gray, was swept back from his forehead, narrowing his deep brown eyes. The small scar above his right eyebrow surfaced faintly under the dim lighting. The boisterous grin he showed on stream was nowhere to be seen.
In its place was the face of a man exhausted into silence.
"...Good evening."
As he opened the glass door, a man looked up from behind the counter.
Togami Genzou. Sixty-two years old. Silver hair streaked with white, slicked back, with narrow, sharp eyes fixed on him. He stood only 168 centimeters tall, but his posture was perfectly straight. Silent, he gave a small nod.
"Hey."
That was all. But for Maimoto, it was enough. In this shop, he didn't have to force a smile. He was allowed to say nothing at all. That was comforting.
Behind the counter, Genzou took out a teacup. With practiced hands, he placed tea leaves into the pot and poured hot water. Steam rose in a thin line.
After closing, there were only two customers in the shop. All eight mahjong tables were neatly tidied. The green mats absorbed the light with a cold sheen. Old mahjong tiles hung in decorative frames on the walls.
Maimoto sat at the table farthest in the back. As he leaned against the chair's backrest, the old wood creaked.
"...This place calms me down."
"Is that so."
Genzou placed the teacup on the table. Not directly in front of Maimoto, but slightly to his right. Always the same. Genzou naturally chose a spot that wouldn't get in the way.
Maimoto pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and opened a memo app. His finger hesitated for a moment before selecting the entry labeled "Maimoto List."
There, roughly eighty names were lined up.
Nijisanji juniors, seniors, colleagues. Guests he'd met through streaming. Producers. Mahjong parlor regulars. Camera operators. Video editors. Even people from his family's agricultural cooperative back home.
After each name, a short memo noted their latest situation.
The screen's light illuminated Maimoto's face. The faint stubble on his chin. The deep shadows under his eyes. The reality of being forty years old, reflected as-is.
*Everyone who's been involved with me—am I making them all happy?*
Maimoto thought this quietly, as if exhaling. He didn't voice it. There was no need. This feeling always swirled at the bottom of his chest.
His fingertip traced the screen. One name at a time, slowly.
"Yashiro Kizuku... his frequency's dropped lately. Is he okay?"
"Ex-Makina... is she worn out from looking after the newbies?"
"Tsukino Mito... is she managing the collab atmosphere properly?"
He called out to them in his mind. No reply came. That was fine. He didn't want replies. He just wanted to check for himself.
Even though he laughed so boisterously on stream.
In front of the camera, he'd shout "YOSSHAAAA!", slam the automatic mahjong table, and cry tears of emotion watching sports. That cheerful "Maimoto Keisuke" was nowhere to be found.
The man here now had quiet eyes.
"Maimoto."
"Hm?"
Genzou said nothing. He simply lowered his gaze to the teacup. After all their years together, Maimoto knew that was the signal for "your tea's getting cold."
Maimoto picked up the cup. Clear green tea swayed in the rough-hewn vessel. He took a sip. The aroma passed through his nose. He felt the core of his body soften, just slightly.
"...Delicious."
"Yeah."
The conversation ended there. Only the ticking of the wall clock remained in the shop.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Maimoto looked back down at his phone. This time, a different app. A project proposal.
The 4th Maimoto Cup.
Venue: Kagerou Hall in Koto Ward. Capacity: 200. Rental fee: 350,000 yen per day. Equipment rental: 150,000. Prizes and miscellaneous: 300,000. Total: 800,000. All of it, out of his own savings.
No sponsors.
That was what he'd decided from the start. He didn't want money to taint the tournament. He didn't want to create a place where someone lost for the sake of someone else's advertisement.
Twenty-three participants so far. Twenty-three Nijisanji livers would gather in that hall.
Maimoto thought. Reception, stream connection, commentary, analysis, timekeeping. There was a mountain of work.
The proposal he'd submitted to management. His producer, Asagiri, had said "We'll look into it." But the official go-ahead hadn't come yet. For large-scale projects, approval got complicated once participants exceeded ten. That was Nijisanji's rule.
"...Well, same as always, I guess."
He muttered to no one.
His left ring finger. A silver ring caught the fluorescent light with a dull gleam. A keepsake from his late mother. Unconsciously, Maimoto rubbed the ring with his thumb. Smoothly.
The hand stroking the ring moved slightly faster.
"Is this one going to be okay too? Will everyone go home smiling?"
He asked himself, in his mind.
No answer came.
*Clatter.*
The sound of the door opening. A man stood at the entrance.
"Whoa, you're closed already... sorry, Gen-san."
The voice belonged to a Novelba regular. A white open-collar shirt under a light coat. A man in his mid-forties who'd grown too accustomed to the air of a mahjong parlor. He wasn't drunk, but his voice was oddly buoyant.
Genzou looked at the man wordlessly. He didn't turn him away. Instead, he brought out a second teacup.
"Excuse me. Oh, Maimoto-san, you're here too."
Maimoto switched to his usual face. Instantly, he manufactured a smile. His eyes narrowed into crescents, and deep wrinkles spread across his face.
"Hey, good evening. Just stopped by after my stream."
His tone was different. Not the low, quiet voice from moments ago. Bright, energetic—the usual big-brother voice.
"Is that so. So, that tournament of yours—you're doing it again this year, right?"
"Yeah, the 4th Maimoto Cup. Already announced it."
"Looking forward to it."
The man grinned.
"Though, Maimoto-san."
His tone suddenly dropped.
The man sat on a counter chair and rubbed his hands together.
"There's a strange rumor going around about this Maimoto Cup. That someone's pulling strings behind the scenes."
Maimoto's hand, which had been stroking the ring, stopped.
Dead still.
A strange rumor. Pulling strings behind the scenes.
For a moment, Maimoto almost caught his breath, but he hid it behind a smile.
"No way. Who'd try to badmouth my tournament?"
"Who knows. But if talk like that's circulating, it means someone's making moves somewhere. Watch yourself."
The man waved his hand dismissively and drained his teacup in one go.
"Gen-san, thanks for the tea. I'll be back."
He left briskly.
What remained was the quiet shop and air gone completely cold.
Maimoto couldn't move, his smile still frozen in place.
(*...Someone, behind the scenes.*)
Deep in his heart, an ominous feeling sprouted. A black, heavy, tiny seed.
His left thumb began rubbing the ring again. Much harder than before. The pad of his finger scraped against the silver surface. Scraped. Scraped. Scraped.
"Maimoto."
A low voice. Maimoto snapped back and looked up.
Genzou was watching him from across the counter. His narrow eyes pierced straight through Maimoto from beyond the air still tinged with the smell of alcohol.
"...Ah, sorry. I was spacing out."
He deflected with a smile. But Genzou wasn't fooled.
*This old man sees through everything.* It was always like this. At mahjong, and in life.
Silence continued for a while.
Outside, a drunkard's laughter passed by. A distant car horn. Shinjuku's night ran deep.
Maimoto slowly stood up.
"Old man, sorry. Always coming here alone, not even venting or anything."
He scratched his head sheepishly. His gray-streaked bangs fell softly out of place.
Genzou cleared away the teacup and replied curtly.
"Quiet customers are a blessing."
"...Haha."
He laughed. But even that laughter felt somehow weak.
He paid the bill and pushed open the glass door. The outside air brushed coldly against his face.
"See you, Gen-san. I'll come borrow some tiles soon."
He said it without looking back.
"Maimoto."
The voice flew from behind. Maimoto stopped. When he turned, Genzou stood in the back of the shop, his eyes dark.
"If your load is heavy, choose who you set it down with."
A short sentence.
Maimoto opened his mouth to ask what he meant. But Genzou had already turned his back toward the shop's light. A click. One of the lights inside went out.
Maimoto stood before the darkened door for a while.
*If your load is heavy, choose who you set it down with.*
(*...A load, huh.*)
Who was he talking to? What was he referring to? He didn't know. But the words seeped slowly into the unpleasant part of his heart.
Maimoto descended the stairs slowly.
One step. Then another. Only his footsteps echoed, strangely loud.
The back streets of Kabukicho were still bright. Pink and blue neon reflected off the wet pavement.
Foot traffic was sparse. Young people who'd apparently missed the last train. Foreigners loitering in front of the arcade. Groups of drunk, laughing salarymen.
Maimoto walked as if avoiding the crowds. Head slightly down, gaze toward his feet.
"...I can't cause anyone any more trouble."
His voice echoed faintly into the night street.
The boisterous big brother in front of the camera. The man who laughed while talking about farming and slammed mahjong tiles. But the man walking through Shinjuku's night now was a forty-year-old with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.
The silver ring on his left hand.
It had been on his left ring finger ever since his mother died. Every time he touched it, the memory of her hands came back.
He remembered her saying, on a path between the rice paddies long ago, "You're too kind to everyone." He'd been in high school then. He never imagined he'd hear the same thing at forty.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Maimoto checked the screen as he walked. A message from Nijisanji management.
[Regarding the approval process for the 4th Maimoto Cup. Coordination with relevant parties is taking time. Please wait a little longer.]
A businesslike message.
Maimoto looked at it and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
It was dragging on longer than expected.
He'd submitted the proposal, waited for a response—if things had followed the usual flow, the go-ahead should have come long ago.
(*Something's stuck.*)
In the corner of his mind, the regular customer's words clung stubbornly.
*Someone's pulling strings behind the scenes.*
Rumors taking on a life of their own was common. But the rumor's source had appeared at the same time as the slowdown in management's approval.
Coincidence? Or—
He boarded the train from Shinjuku. The Yamanote Line, just before the last run. His hand gripping the strap was sweaty.
His own face reflected in the window.
Not the bright Maimoto Keisuke of his streams, but the exhausted, unadorned man.
Maimoto looked away.
About fifty minutes to his apartment in the Tama area.
A small 1LDK, eighteen years old. At 72,000 yen a month, this room was Maimoto's castle.
When he opened the door, the hum of the air conditioner and the smell of a life lived alone greeted him. The six-tatami room held his full streaming setup. PC, microphone, three monitors, mixer, soundproof panels on the walls.
He opened the heavy curtains and stepped onto the balcony.
In the distance, the lights of Tokyo Tower were visible. Orange light flickered quietly beyond the residential streets.
Maimoto leane
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