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 - A Peeling Smile — The Night I Was Called a Traitor
Kagurasaka Shuichi's fingers glided across his smartphone screen.
The office late at night. In a room at Tenrise Promotion, the smell of disinfectant hung in the air. Posters of the agency's talents, tacked to the walls, looked faded under the dim fluorescent lights.
Kagurasaka fixed his narrow eyes, behind his glasses, on a single account displayed on the screen. An anonymous account. A pitch-black icon. Zero followers. But the information sent from it was worth more than gold.
"With this, the second piece of material is in place."
His voice dissolved quietly into the empty room.
On the screen, the details of the "junior clip-spreading incident" that Maimoto Keisuke had carried out in the past were laid out. How he had anonymously clipped and spread the streams of a junior liver who was struggling to grow. How, as a result, that junior's subscriber count had increased by thirty thousand in a single month. And how no one could ever prove whether that act had been "goodwill" or "self-promotion."
Kagurasaka was preparing a report to send this information to the Nijisanji management.
"There's nothing more unsettling than someone forcing their goodwill onto others."
He smiled. Only his mouth curved into an arc. His eyes were not smiling.
"Maimoto-san. I will strip away that beautiful face of yours."
He pressed send.
Two weeks.
Two weeks had passed since that accursed meeting.
Maimoto Keisuke walked through the halls of Nijisanji headquarters. Posters of over a hundred and fifty livers lined the walls. Among them, one bore his own face. Farmer VTuber, Maimoto Keisuke. Smiling. Heartily, as if having the time of his life.
*(Can I still make a face like that?)*
Muttering inwardly, Maimoto swept back his bangs. Black hair streaked with premature gray slipped through his fingers. A small scar above his right eyebrow. His deep brown eyes looked somehow tired.
Today, he had been summoned by Producer Asagiri.
A summons under the name of "fact-finding."
Maimoto gently touched the silver ring on his left ring finger. A keepsake from his late mother. Touching it before leaving the house was an old habit.
He stopped in front of the conference room.
One deep breath.
*(It's fine. I have nothing to be ashamed of.)*
He knocked on the door.
"Excuse me."
Inside, Producer Asagiri was seated. A thirty-five-year-old woman. Formerly of an advertising agency. Calm and composed, she was one of the few people on the management side with authority to approve Nijisanji's large-scale projects. One of the few people on the management side who trusted Maimoto.
But today, Asagiri's expression was stiffer than usual.
"Maimoto-san. Please, have a seat."
"Ah, thanks."
Maimoto sat down in the chair across from her.
Asagiri slid a single document across the table toward him.
"This was sent to management from an anonymous account."
Maimoto lowered his eyes to the document.
There, the details of that "junior clip-spreading incident" were written out in meticulous detail.
When, with which account, which stream, and how he had clipped it. The reactions on social media where it had been spread. The trajectory of that junior's subscriber count. And the fact that Maimoto had "never told anyone" about what he'd done.
It was accurate.
Far too accurate.
Something in the depths of Maimoto's chest turned cold.
"...This is—"
"Maimoto-san. This report frames your actions as 'using a junior for your own fame.'"
Asagiri's voice was quiet. A professional voice, holding back emotion.
"Let me confirm the facts. Did you carry out this clip-spreading?"
Maimoto closed his eyes for just a moment.
*(No point hiding it.)*
"...Yeah. I did it."
His voice came out flat, so flat it surprised even himself.
"Why?"
"That girl was struggling. Her stream quality wasn't bad. If anything, she had something good. But no one ever found her. So I just did what I could."
"You're saying it wasn't self-promotion?"
"It wasn't self-promotion."
For the first time, strength entered Maimoto's voice.
"I thought her streams were interesting. So I wanted more people to see them. That's all."
Asagiri stared directly into Maimoto's eyes.
A few seconds of silence.
"...Understood. I've heard your side."
Asagiri gave a small nod.
"However, Maimoto-san. The account that sent this information is simultaneously spreading several other 'rumors.' Defamatory falsehoods about you are beginning to circulate on social media."
Maimoto's fingers trembled faintly on his knees.
"Falsehoods?"
"'Maimoto Keisuke uses his juniors as stepping stones.' 'The clip-spreading was all self-promotion.' ...That sort of content. It's already flooding into the comment sections of your stream archives."
Asagiri showed Maimoto her phone screen.
Displayed there was the comment section of one of Maimoto's stream archives.
*'Traitor'*
*'So you were using your juniors?'*
*'I supported you all this time, and this is what I get. The worst.'*
*'I believed in you, and you betrayed me.'*
Maimoto simply stared at those strings of text.
Somewhere in his head, his understanding hadn't caught up.
*(Ah, I see.)*
*(So that's how it is.)*
Kagurasaka's words resurfaced in the depths of his ears.
*'I'll ruin everything you've protected.'*
That hadn't been a threat.
It had been a declaration.
That night, Maimoto streamed.
A mahjong stream, just like always.
The avatar on screen laughed heartily.
"Hahaha! That's what I'm saying—mahjong shows a person's true character!"
In the comment section, the usual words of support mixed with words of malice that were anything but usual.
*'Traitor'*
*'Nice self-promotion'*
*'How does it feel to step on your juniors?'*
Maimoto ignored every one of those comments.
No—he pretended to ignore them.
In front of the screen, he kept laughing just like always.
"Come on, let's play some mahjong today! My hand's looking pretty good, you know!"
Laughter echoed through the streaming room.
A six-tatami room. Walls covered with soundproof panels. Three monitors. A mixer. A PC.
Maimoto raised his voice toward the microphone.
*(Am I managing to laugh?)*
Deep in his heart, another version of himself asked.
*(I'm laughing. Laughing is all I can do.)*
The other version of himself answered.
The stream ended after one in the morning.
Maimoto took off his headphones.
Silence filled the room.
The room that had been ringing with laughter moments ago suddenly became as quiet as a grave.
Maimoto stepped out onto the balcony.
The cold night wind brushed against his flushed cheeks.
He lit a cigarette.
*Ssss.*
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
White smoke dissolved into the night sky.
He took out his phone.
Dozens of social media notifications had piled up.
Maimoto scrolled through them in silence.
*'Maimoto Keisuke, traitor'*
*'So that person's smile was all an act'*
*'Trash who used his junior to boost his own reputation'*
*'I won't support him anymore'*
His fingers were trembling.
Independent of his will, his fingertips spasmed minutely.
Maimoto gripped his phone.
Tightly. Tightly.
The screen glowed within his palm.
"...Dammit."
His voice shook.
A small voice, unheard by anyone.
Maimoto looked up at the sky.
Through a break in the clouds, the moon peeked out.
Three days later.
A phone call came to Maimoto's phone.
The caller was Kusakabe Kasumi.
A rookie liver whom Maimoto had once saved from a scandal.
About a year and a half ago, right after her debut, her past social media posts had been dug up and she'd been engulfed in flames. Maimoto had directly negotiated with management and related companies to protect her.
"I'll take responsibility for this girl."
With that declaration, Maimoto had put his own credibility on the line to protect her.
Since then, Kusakabe had been deeply grateful to Maimoto. They kept in touch from time to time.
But the voice on the other end of the phone was not the Kusakabe that Maimoto knew.
"...Hello?"
"Hey, Kasumi. It's been a while. What's up?"
Maimoto spoke as brightly as he could.
But Kusakabe was silent.
Through the receiver, he could hear her breathing.
Ragged.
She was crying.
"Kasumi? Hey, what's wrong?"
"...Maimoto-san."
Kusakabe's voice was wet with tears.
"I... I'm going to stop associating with you, Maimoto-san."
Maimoto's heart stopped for an instant.
"...Huh?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But I... I'm scared."
"Hey, calm down. What happened? Did someone say something to you?"
"...That person told me."
Kusakabe's voice trembled.
"That the reason you helped me was because of some backroom deal. That I'd be called an accomplice too. That if I cut ties with you, he'd protect me."
In Maimoto's mind, Kagurasaka's smiling face surfaced.
That smile where the eyes weren't smiling.
"Kasumi, that's all lies. I helped you. That's all there is to it."
"But I... I don't know what's true anymore."
Kusakabe was sobbing.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Saying something like this to you, Maimoto-san—I'm the worst. But I... I'm scared. That person knows my address, my family, everything."
Maimoto couldn't say anything.
Through the phone, Kusakabe's terror came through clearly.
Kagurasaka had threatened Kusakabe.
Showing her fabricated evidence that Maimoto's intervention had been a "dirty deal."
Pressuring her: "You'll be called an accomplice too."
And then offering: if she cut ties with Maimoto, he'd protect her.
Kusakabe, overwhelmed by fear, had accepted that proposal.
How much that was tormenting her—
Her voice alone conveyed it painfully.
"...I understand."
Maimoto said quietly.
"If that's what you want, then fine. I won't blame you."
"Maimoto-san..."
"Take care of yourself."
Maimoto hung up.
He slowly lowered the phone.
And then he stood there, motionless, for a long while.
In the middle of his own room.
In that six-tatami room surrounded by soundproof panels.
Maimoto just stood there.
A sensation as if a hole had opened up in the depths of his chest.
There was no pain.
Just the certainty that something had been lost.
Shinjuku Ward, Kabukicho.
Mahjong Parlor Novel Bar.
Third floor of a building. An old mahjong parlor facing a back alley.
Maimoto climbed the stairs with heavy steps.
When he opened the door, Togami Genzou was behind the counter.
A sixty-two-year-old shop owner with silver hair streaked with white, slicked back. Narrow, sharp eyes. Even expressionless, he had a keenness about him, as if he were reading the tiles in your hand.
The moment Genzou saw Maimoto's face, he sensed something.
But he said nothing.
He simply gestured with his chin for Maimoto to sit at the counter.
Maimoto sat down wordlessly.
Genzou silently served tea.
The teacup was placed on the counter.
*Clink.*
The small sound echoed through the quiet shop.
Maimoto wrapped both hands around the teacup.
Warm.
That warmth seeped into him now with unusual intensity.
"...Gen-san."
Maimoto spoke, head still lowered.
"Everything I did—it was all my own choice. I don't remember ever causing trouble for anyone."
His voice trembled.
"Spreading that junior's clips, protecting that rookie from the scandal—all of it, I did because I wanted to. I never asked for anything in return. So why... why is this happening?"
Maimoto clenched his teeth.
"Traitor, huh. Self-promotion, huh. ...Don't make me laugh."
Head still lowered, he laughed self-deprecatingly.
But that smile was not his usual hearty one.
A cracked, dry laugh.
Genzou watched Maimoto in silence.
A long silence.
The mahjong parlor's clock ticked, ticked.
"...Just play already."
Genzou said quietly.
"Tell your story on the tiles."
Maimoto raised his head.
Genzou's eyes were as expressionless as ever.
But Maimoto knew that within those eyes, there was a certain warmth.
"...Yeah."
Maimoto gave a small nod.
The two of them walked wordlessly to the mahjong table.
Genzou washed the tiles.
The clattering sound spread through the quiet shop.
Maimoto w
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