Supernova

In his mind, Takumi remains grasping the fragments of the stage, kneeling.

The rigid edges rip through his skin.

Blood is dripping down his hands, continually lining the floor around his knees, and the ever-present black swells with dark red.

The fragments themselves are coated, the once glimmering yellow stage a painful red.

The internal Takumi looks up, back to spectating Takumi Sora.

In reality, Takumi mindlessly scrolls social media. All comments about him.

A notification pops up on his phone, offering him a guest role on a slice of life show.

Takumi doesn’t hesitate, and accepts the role.

I need more exposure.

He scrolls his inbox, seeing more roles he never considered before.

Clicking on all of them, he barely reads them.

All the interviews, smaller roles, articles, talk shows.

All of them, accepted without a second thought.

There’s no need for a second thought.

He messages his agent about these roles, and turns the phone off without consideration of a reply.

He lays down on his bed, blankly staring at the ceiling.

He directs his attention to the ceiling fan, spinning endlessly.

Takumi lets his attention linger on the fan, engrossed by it for an unknown reason.

The pale blue moonlight casts a gray shadow on most of Takumi’s room.

Instead of pulling the blinds down, he shifts himself out of the moon’s shadow on his bed, and into the light.

Before going to sleep, he takes one more look at the fan, perpetually in motion.

Something about this unnerves Takumi, so he switches the fan off, and goes to sleep.

…

The next morning, Takumi’s alarm wakes him up at 7 am, as normal.

He rolls out of bed, from the shadow of the sun into the present morning warmth.

His routine remains constant; showering, brushing his teeth, getting ready, eating breakfast and leaving for school.

On his way out the door, he doesn’t stop to check himself in the mirror, or polish off the smile or imperfections.

There’s no need.

His walk to school is insignificant, the route, the colors, the noises, none were worth mentioning.

He’d gone down this route so many times, those details weren’t important anymore.

Entering the school gates, people look at him. Like they always do.

That’s what they’re there for anyway.

The halls are crowded with people having small talk, pre-class gossip, catching up with each other.

But every time, without fail, Takumi passes them.

And they can’t help but look.

Proof that Takumi is there.

“Good Morning, Takumi-san!”
“Good morning” Takumi replies, because that’s what he’s supposed to say.

These greetings continue, all the way to class, and even after he takes his seat.

“Did you hear about the test tomorrow?” a female student asks.

Takumi nods.

The words go right through him.

The bell rings, and the teacher begins instructing,

Instead of focusing on the board, or the lesson, Takumi’s focus is on the clock, sitting above the chalkboard.

Tick

Tick

Tick

….

The day ends, Takumi only noticing this when the class is dismissed and people leave.

“Do you want to walk home today?” A blonde girl approaches his desk.

Takumi just stares at her. She continues on and on about a story from when she was walking home, and ends it with a joke.

Well, she was laughing. So it must’ve been a joke.

Takumi gets up, politely refuses, and heads outside the school, being picked up by a car sent by his agency.

Over the next week, Takumi goes through all the roles he accepted.

While shooting his guest appearance, he walks on screen at a park.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Takumi softly says.

The female actress sits on the swing, rhythmically going back and forth.

“He’s looking for you, you know” Takumi approaches her.

“You don't know that,” The actress replies.

Takumi’s face stays blank.

“Yes I can….”

The actress looks over confused

“...I asked him”

The audience laughs, and he pauses for them to finish.

The echoing laughter, once it passes through Takumi, is nothing but a whisper.

“He isn’t looking. You’re lying.” the actress replies sarcastically.

Silence.

Takumi misses his mark.

The director steps in, telling them to reset to the first mark.

She must’ve done something. It’s never me.

They redo the scene, this time it runs smoothly.

In his internal world, some of the fragments begin to glow red.

This shine feels like the spotlight.

Feels like the attention he wants.

This is what I want.

With every passing moment in the spotlight, over interviews, over articles, over guest appearances…

More of the fragments glow, the warmth reassuring Takumi.

If anything, he grabs them tighter.

This is the right way.

It’s warm here.

The warmth of the spotlight…

This is my glow.

Evidence of my existence.

A week passes like this.

The burning fragments of the stage grow even hotter.

The last thing Takumi committed to is an interview, about his role as Polaris in Stellar.

Before the interview, Takumi sits in his dressing room, his eyes glued to his phone the entire time.

“They’re ready for you, Sora-san!” a well-dressed assistant opens his door to inform him.

Takumi takes a deep breath, the smallest bit of exhaustion leaving his body with it.

At this moment, the heat from the fragments disappears.

But who cares.

He just needs more of it.

He leaves the dressing room, heading onto the stage, met with applause and cheers from the crowd.

“Thanks for coming, Sora-san!” The host greets him, shaking his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to be here” Takumi replies, taking his seat next to the host.

“So, tell me about your role as Polaris. Did you like the atmosphere around the movie?” the host asks.

“I enjoyed it, truly. The more I talk about it the more I miss the people around the set.” Takumi humbly replies.

Takumi looks around the room subtly, then up at the lights pointed down at him.

The fragments glow once more.

See? There was never a risk of them burning out.

Burning out?

Takumi confuses himself, not once considering himself burning out.

“Deep down, you’re a nice person, I mean…we can all see it. Taking these lower-quality projects just for the love of honing your skills is truly admirable”

“You’re being too kind,” Takumi humbly laughs, “we’re all looking for something to do to pass the time.”

The crowd laughs.

The resonating echoes in his mind light the fragments even brighter.

“...But really, how does Takumi Sora go about his day to day life?” the interviewer asks.

“I suppose I live like the rest of the people my age. My days end up being pretty average. I go to school, talk with classmates, study when I don’t understand things…nothing out of the ordinary”

Takumi’s mind flashes with bleak, gray images of school, being completely empty.

“Really? That’s a bit hard to believe. Someone as famous as you are must have an interesting personal life, right?” the host says, in an attempt to be charming.

The audience laughs, growing silent as they approach Takumi’s ears.

The fragments he’d been holding on to, one’s he’s hurt himself to keep.

They aren’t warm anymore.

They’re hot.

The once calming warmth the stage gave him is gone, and left in its wake is an incinerating feeling.

The cuts all around his body deepen, but the searing heat singes any blood.

“My days are busy. Filming, interviews, magazines, fans, friends, family…people always want something from me.”

The host smiles in return to Takumi’s reply.

The fragments flare violently, the red tint burning off into an orange inferno.

“Doesn’t it get tiring? Being Takumi Sora all the time? You must like your days off!” the host, in an attempt to sound warm, asks Takumi.

There.

Right there…

…was the trigger.

Not the “Doesn’t it get tiring”
Not “You must like your days off!”

“Being Takumi Sora”

That would have to mean there’s someone underneath.

Someone else.

Someone he thought they couldn’t see.

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference. What you see is what I am” Takumi replies.

A sharp, burning heat emerges in Takumi’s chest. His heart beats faster than it’s ever needed to.

He clenches his fist, attempting to hold the truth back.

“So you’re like this all the time? This charmin…” the host continues.

The audience chuckles, but Takumi barely hears it.

Everything is muffled.

So you’re like this all the time?

The host’s question lingers, the heat in Takumi’s chest getting more intense.

The hum of the studio lights.

The fragments in his internal world crack further, burning white.

The vast black emptiness recoils at the sight of the fragments.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m like this all the time?”

The host and audience stop muttering, and Takumi is left in complete silence.

“I’m doing this so that people are happy? What’s wrong with that?” Takumi passive-agressively asks the host.

“You all love to see Takumi Sora on the big screen, because that’s what you are to me. Observers.”

The black in his mind completely recedes, and the fragments crack for the last time.

In the next moment…

…they all explode.

Something is gone. Someone.

Nothing remains.

“What do you see when you look at me? An actor? A performer? A person?”

“When you look at me and talk about Takumi Sora, I can’t even remember who that person is.”

“Why do you care what’s below the surface? You just look at me and see Takumi Sora. There’s no point in looking deeper. Not for people like you”

He gets up passing the host, the cameras, but nothing sticks. His agent hurries after him, but his empty footsteps make no sound.

The world continues to spin.

Takumi gets home.

Expressionless, he sits on the couch.

His internal world is a blank white.

Nothing shakes.

Nobody left inside of it.

Takumi is left unsure of what to do, unsure of what he is.

RING

Someone rings the doorbell.

Takumi gets up, and walks to the door, dragging his feet.

He stands before the door, pausing for a moment.

He doesn’t know why he’s not moving.

Nothing compels him to open the door.

But he decides to open it anyway.

…

He reaches for the door.

And opens it.

Takumi finds himself face to face with someone unexpected.

Yuna Yamaguchi.