Is There Boot Camp for Boot Camp?

I don’t think there’s a worse actor-in-training than me. Even Kubo looks like he’s at his wits’ end. His forehead has been scrunched into a permanent crease ever since we started reading lines together. I didn’t realize a script reading could go so poorly—and I’ve stood around for my fair share of them.

“You’ve attended readings before?” Kubo asks.

“I have.”

“You’ve been a corporate office employee before, correct?”

“I have.”

Kubo pinches the bridge of his nose, then sets his copy of the script down.

"You struggled last time because you couldn’t find a way to relate to the role. You now have a way to relate to it, and yet you’re still coming off monotone. Do you have an explanation for that?"

I don’t. I don’t even understand where the disconnect is coming from myself.

"Don’t you think my situation and the character’s are a little too different?" I ask, shaking the script in frustration.

"How am I supposed to relate to a man going into finance when I've only done administrative work?" 

Kubo stares at me blankly, and even I think I sound childish for complaining like this. 

"Maybe we should end for today," he suggests with a deep sigh.

I glance at the clock on the ledge between the kitchen and living room. This early? It isn’t even noon yet. Am I really that much of a lost cause?

"Are you sure? Your manager won't be back for another couple hours," I say. 

Kubo nods and readjusts his position on the couch, settling into the corner between the back and armrest.

"We’ll just have to pass the time another way. I don’t want you to feel stressed out by all this. We all start somewhere," he says.

Oh, that reasoning is actually kind of sweet.

"You were a model before you got into acting right?" I ask, making my way to the kitchen.

"Tea?" I offer. If we’re not training, I’d feel more comfortable with something to drink. Anything to avoid sitting through a long conversation with Kubo on my couch, honestly.

Kubo chuckles, pushing his hair back from his face again. It's an action I can’t help but notice every time he does it.

"That's right. And sure," he replies.

"I was out Christmas shopping with my mom in Tokyo. She wanted to buy something special for my father that year. I got scouted in the mall almost immediately. I remember her being completely frazzled. She’s never been good with the city, and then some stranger asks to make her five-year-old a star."

I laugh at his recounting. He paints a vivid, amusing picture that’s easy to imagine.

"I'm surprised she let you do it. Green or black?"

"Black. If I'm being entirely honest, I am too. But I guess the recruiting manager did their job well. I had my first photoshoot by the end of the next month."

"What did you shoot?" I can’t help my curiosity. I only became a fan when Kubo switched from modeling to acting in high school. I never looked too deeply into his past, and unless he was credited with his current name, I’d never have recognized him.

"A backpack ad. The one I wore was this deep red. I thought it was going to be my new school bag and cried when I couldn’t take it home."

I turn from the kettle to look at him in disbelief and laugh again.

"You must have loved school!" I say.

"I did. I was very studious. My mom encouraged it. She graduated at the top of her class, and it was always her dream to see me do the same."

Kubo’s reputation for balancing high school with his acting career has always been a hot topic. As someone who graduated at the top of his class while maintaining the demanding schedule of a rising star, he naturally serves as a role model on projects with younger talent. Not many can say the same, and it’s what inspired Mia and me to take our studies seriously when we were younger, too.

"What do you like about Mia?" I ask absentmindedly while pouring hot water into two cups.

His surprised expression reminds me this is not the kind of question to ask out of nowhere!

"You don’t have to answer that! I was just thinking out loud. I mean, someone like you—clearly you don’t lack popularity, and Mia’s just barely gotten her foot in the door…" I should stop talking. I really should know when to stop talking.

"No, that’s fine. I just didn’t expect you to be so… forthcoming? That might be the wrong word here," Kubo says.

Is there anywhere I can hide in my own apartment?

"The answer's simple enough, I don't mind. Watanabe-san is like a breath of fresh air in this industry. She’s so dedicated to her craft, and she’s just… genuine. Someone like that is rare these days. I’ve been captivated by that for a while now. What do you like about Watanabe-san?"

Ah, maybe this is a good opportunity then? To finally clear up this misunderstanding?

"Me? I don't like Mia like that. Not in that way. We’ve just been friends since childhood. Our families basically grew up together, and we were always in the same class. For some reason, I’ve always been the one collecting and delivering her love letters… even yours. When did that become my job again?"

"Ah, so it’s a childhood-friend sort of situation…" Kubo says in a way that makes me think he doesn't quite understand that I'm trying to say I'm not in love with my best friend.

"I've been thinking a lot about the lunches," Kubo says before I can reattempt to correct him.

"The lunches?" I ask, caught off guard by the sudden topic change.

"“The ones between me and Watanabe-san. You don’t have to worry about them anymore," he explains.

Not that I’m not grateful, but—“Why?” I ask.

Kubo gestures to me, then to himself.

"The scandal between us," he says. 

I feel my ears grow warm as the image on my desk flashes through my mind. Thankfully, that one wasn’t published—no idea how Yoshida managed that—but I swear it’s burned into the back of my eyes.

"I was talking about it with Ito-san earlier, and it wouldn’t be good for me to be seen with another actress at the company right now. Especially not for Watanabe-san’s reputation. I wouldn’t want to cause any bad publicity for her," Kubo continues.

You could’ve thought of that before acting all cozy with me after your smoke break! But that’s an argument for another day.

"Ah..." I say, for lack of anything better.

"Instead..." 

That mischievous glint returns to Kubo’s eyes as his lips curve into a smile I’m beginning to fear.

"Let’s do this again, shall we? We’ll be spending a lot more time together, and I’d love to hear more about Watanabe-san as a person," he says.

And there it is: Renji Kubo’s next ridiculous request. I’m starting to doubt the man knows shame. Or restraint.

"I’d really much rather train!" I say.

"Even though you’re the one who brought it up?" he asks.

My cheeks are definitely red at this point.

"You said everyone starts somewhere—so how do you think I should interpret the emotions in this scene?" 

Surely, deflecting will save me.

"You seemed to understand quite well what I suggested during the Diome shoot. So what’s the disconnect here? Akihiko’s worried he doesn’t deserve his promotion, afraid of letting everyone down. He can’t afford to fail or get fired—he still has to provide for his sister. Is there truly nothing in that you can relate to?" Kubo asks.

What is the disconnect, I wonder. For starters, our situations are completely different. It’s not like losing my job would let anyone down at home. The only person I’ve ever supported is Mia…

Oh. I get it.

I’m not sure if Kubo noticed the exact moment I understood, or if he planned it all along, but he picks the script back up and flips through the pages until he finds the spot we’ve been stumbling over this whole time. He looks up at me, expression completely changed. No longer teasing or playful—he’s someone else entirely. Sharper.

"The company has high expectations for you, Toshima-san," he says. 

I set our teacups on the table and retrieve my script. For some reason, I can feel it this time—what Akihiko must be thinking.

"Thank you, Sanda-san, I..." I say.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry, this is highly unprofessional. It's late, I shouldn't be here—my sister doesn't even know where I am—" 

"Toshima, is there something you need to say?" 

I know this scene well. Akihiko was Kubo’s role. Amidst the dark backdrop of a late-night restaurant, under dim lighting, this was the first time Hiyori Sanda dropped all formalities with him. Akihiko had been denying himself permission to pursue any sort of relationship with Hiyori. They’d had history before, and things hadn’t worked out then. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. After all, his younger sister had to come first. But under the influence and warring with so much at this point in the story, he let himself be honest just this once.

"I love you."

"That's—I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but we—"

"No. I can't stand loving you. Seeing you at the office all the time, acting like we’re strangers despite everything we’ve been through. I despise you, Sanda, Hiyori." 

This was the moment Akihiko bid farewell to his lingering emotions and said goodbye to his first love. In an interview, Kubo explained that the director originally wanted him to look angry with Hiyori, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Akihiko’s mental state was too tangled to direct all his anger at her. And he could never hate her completely. The result was what was kept on film—an expression of woeful longing that perfectly matched the moment the actress raised a hand to his face and began apologizing for her past wrongdoings.

Kubo’s thumb wiping a tear from my cheek reels me back to reality.

I blink rapidly to clear the excess moisture from my eyes. Kubo no longer looks at me with the sharp gaze of Hiyori Sanda. Instead, his features are soft. Perhaps concerned? I can’t quite place the look in his golden eyes before he’s smiling—and it’s gone.

"Maybe there's a promising actor in you yet," he says, tone playful again.