Seeing a Different Stage

“So… what am I doing here again?” I ask Kubo, who is sitting across from me at a small circular table in an empty cafe.

Kubo lifts his teacup and takes a sip, only looking at me after he sets it back in its saucer.

“It’s important for us to maintain a cordial relationship, don’t you think?” he asks.

No. And not when you abuse your power to have the president switch your PA for the day.

“Maybe not over coffee?” I force a smile. He must know it’s fake by now. “And isn’t this place too conspicuous? You’re a household name. Being seen out in public with some random woman wouldn’t be good for your image.”

Kubo glances around. The staff are busy cleaning and restocking, not paying us any attention at all. Not even a single person has walked by since we arrived.

“Here? This place was chosen specifically to avoid that. Besides, you of all people should know actors don’t need to adhere to the same rules idols do.”

I hate how right he is. 

“Well, I’m not sure what you want me to say.” I trace the rim of my iced coffee for lack of anything better to do.

“Well…” Kubo runs a hand through his hair. Is that a habit of his? “Let’s begin by getting to know one another?”

I almost laugh.

"Is there a point to that?" I ask.

“You don’t trust me. For obvious reasons—and my actions haven’t helped. This is my attempt to bridge that gap. I told you the other day that being aware of your feelings doesn’t mean I’ll give up. But I should be more considerate. So this is that.”

How in the world do I tell him how wrong he is?

“I don’t think getting to know me will change my stance. My reasoning has always been that Watanabe-san’s career is still young. She needs to focus on her goals right now.”

“And you think any romance would hinder her success?” he asks.

I nod.

“I think your view on that is very limited.”

How can one person be so frustrating?! Does anything I say get through his thick skull?!

"What do you mean?"

“Couldn’t a romantic partner support her so she doesn’t have to face everything alone? Someone in the same industry could understand her struggles well enough to help. Wouldn’t that be something gained?”

In some ways, his argument makes sense. But it’s too logical—too clean. People aren’t that simple.

“Then what about when it gets hard? When you’re too busy to show you care? When resentment builds? Your example is grounded in a fantasy world, Kubo-san. Reality doesn't quite measure up. Please stop trying to have it your way."

I stand and take my half-finished glass to the dish drop-off. Kubo follows me, and we leave the cafe in silence. We don’t have another chance to talk for the rest of the day, since Kubo’s schedule is entirely filming.

I drive him to set, check in with Kamegawa, and use the time to handle miscellaneous tasks while he works. I pick up and put away his dry cleaning—and since Kamegawa mentioned he needs hair and nail appointments, I schedule those—then return to set. I mostly watch, but I make myself useful during breaks, making sure Kubo stays hydrated.

Working, it’s easy to forget my personal dislike for him. In fact, I have to admire him—he’s a great actor. He’s been in the industry since childhood, and I grew up watching him take on increasingly complex roles. It’s true I initially applied to Hartlock because I was a fan of his. Particularly because of an old camera commercial where he played a young man cherishing some memories in old photographs. It’s silly how one minute of film meant so much to me, but it did.

Watching Kubo act now is just as inspiring. This time, he’s playing a single father who lost his wife too soon and his daughter not long after. The story drifts through his life in fragments. Flashbacks to a childhood that shaped him, and flash-forwards beyond his lowest point. The audience grows with him, discovering the man he becomes, and grieves alongside him in a hauntingly bittersweet reflection of his painful present in comparison to a hopeful future.

When the first trailer aired, it sparked controversy online—people wondered who would willingly watch something so tragic. But Kubo’s performance resonated, and the pilot became a massive hit. Now, even I feel moved by his performance. The tremor in his voice, the tension in his shoulders, the glassy eyes of a man holding back tears. It feels real. And it’s captivating.

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"Good work today!"

"Good work!"

A chorus of goodbyes and congratulations fills the set as filming wraps for the day. It was a long day, and according to Kamegawa, the next few months will be just like this until filming ends. The drama is slotted for twelve episodes, backed by a renowned director and an A-list cast.

I can’t quite pinpoint how I feel—part pity for Kamegawa who has to manage a schedule like this, part relief that Mia isn’t at this level yet. 

I watch as Kubo takes the time to speak to everyone on his way out. I wonder if he always does this, and if that’s why he maintains such strong relationships with so many people. How he doesn’t find it exhausting is beyond me. But he eventually finishes and heads to the van with me.

“Kamegawa-san gave me your address, so I’ll take you home now, alright?” I say as I buckle into the driver’s seat. I look for his response in the rearview mirror.

He doesn’t speak, just nods with his eyes closed. He’s probably exhausted from filming. And so I drive to the nicest neighborhood I’ve ever seen. Kubo lives in a high-rise condominium with underground parking. He gets out as soon as I park, then walks to the driver’s window. I was planning to leave immediately, but he gestures for me to roll the window down.

"Was there something else?" I ask.

“Come up. I need someone to run lines with.”

I check the time, then look at him. Is he insane?!

"You can't possibly mean tonight?"

He puts his hands in his pockets and nods. Does he only know how to speak when he’s lecturing someone?

I don’t have the energy to argue, so I turn off the car and follow him to the elevator. Kubo taps a small badge to the sensor before selecting the floor, and we ride up to a hallway with chestnut walls and gold accents. The hallway is decorated with floral motifs and warm lighting.

“This way,” Kubo says, leading me past gold-trimmed doors. He stops at one door and unlocks it with the same badge. His apartment is very different from the hallway—minimalist and calm.

“Very Muji-inspired…” I say under my breath.

Kubo laughs softly and hands me a pair of slippers.

“Use these. I’m rarely here, so my sister decorated for me,” he says as he switches into his own slippers.

"I didn't know you had a sister?" Relief washes through me as I slip off my pumps. I hope my heels aren't too messed up today, not that I can tell much of what's going on through my hose.

“She’s thirteen years younger—finishing her third year in high school. She lives with my parents in Osaka.”

I vaguely remember him stating he was from Osaka in one of his interviews. Exciting news for my younger self who was a fan of his. I was thrilled to know my favorite actor had, at one point, been only a thirty minute train ride away. For as big a name as he is, I just now realize how hardly anything is publicized about his personal life.

“My parents wanted to keep her away from the limelight, after everything I went through,” Kubo explains.

“Well, you did start working young. That makes sense,” I say as we head toward the living room.

A plush white couch dominates the room, with a built-in bookcase behind it, and a round stone table in front. The only color comes from a few green plants, which—on closer look—are all fake.

“So you know something about me after all,” Kubo says, taking a seat.

I immediately regret it—I don’t want him thinking we’re bonding.

He gestures for me to sit and hands me a script labeled To You in That Glassy Sky. Oh—he was actually serious about running lines. Am I terrible for assuming otherwise?

“By the way—have you gotten my reply yet?” Kubo asks, crossing his legs.

With his hands resting gently on his knees, and his head half tilted to the side, he looks down at me expectantly.

“Your what?” I ask. Please don’t say it.

“You've forgotten? But you personally delivered my letter to Watanabe-san, didn’t you?”

I resist the urge to throw the script at his head.

“Ah… well, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. She didn’t give me anything to return to you.” A half-truth. She wrote a response the very next day, but she didn't ask me to deliver it.

“So she didn’t reply?”

"She didn't." She did.

He smiles. I hate that smile.

“I find that a little hard to believe. Should I ask her directly?" 

No you may not.

"Oh, no—that’s really not necessary,” I say quickly.

“I might have to… unless…”

"Unless?"

"We come to an agreement."

“What kind of agreement?” I ask, ready to shut him down if needed—

"Lunch."

"Lunch?"

“Once a week. Schedule a weekly lunch for us. I won’t make any other requests. Does that sound fair?”

I try to find a reason to refuse, but honestly… it’s a fair deal. Especially when comparing it to how easily he can swap his PA for the day.

"Fine. Deal."