[Deserted Island Film Set – Okinawa Prefecture – Late Afternoon, September 15th]
The late afternoon sun slanted through the canvas of Director Komatsuda's command tent, painting stripes of amber across topographical maps and half-eaten bento boxes. Outside, the salt-heavy breeze carried the drone of generators and distant waves crashing against volcanic rock. The smell of diesel mixed with tropical humidity—a scent that had become synonymous with this production.
Komatsuda leaned back in his folding chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, confidence radiating from every pore of his weathered face.
This film will be my masterpiece.
He had specifically cultivated his nephew, Komatsu Takuya, to play the male lead—naturally with purpose beyond mere nepotism.
Firstly, Komatsu Takuya possessed genuine handsomeness; sharp jawline, artfully tousled brown hair, eyes that photographed like liquid honey. The boy could make a fortune as a host in Kabukicho if acting failed him.
And if Komatsu Takuya could win over Sakurajima Mai? If they collaborated intimately?
Some of the scripts Komatsuda had written—the ones locked in his desk drawer, the ones that pushed boundaries—would absolutely explode in the industry.
For this ambition, he hadn't hesitated to orchestrate situations. Other cast members became unwitting wingmen, creating opportunities for Takuya to spend time with Mai-chan during breaks, during rehearsals, during the golden hour lighting setups that made everyone look their most romantic.
Unfortunately, Sakurajima Mai's beautiful manager kept watch like a hawk circling prey.
Komatsu Takuya had made no progress whatsoever.
But Director Komatsuda remained patient. In his estimation, Sakurajima Mai and Komatsu Takuya—a handsome man and a beautiful woman—were simply a match made in heaven. Filming together, especially intimate kissing scenes, could enhance feelings between co-stars dramatically. The entertainment industry overflowed with couples who fell in love over a single production.
Furthermore, Sakurajima Mai came from wealth. She had personally invested in this production, with the Yukinoshita family as her backing.
If Komatsuda were still young, he would definitely attempt to use his mature charm on this young lady himself.
Mai-chan is really quite something. That figure, those eyes... Takuya better not waste this opportunity I've handed him.
His nephew had gotten lucky.
Already Komatsuda envisioned gaining Yukinoshita support, receiving funding from Sakurajima's connections, expanding his reputation into mainstream cinema—
Movement outside interrupted his fantasies.
Komatsu Takuya stumbled past the tent entrance, one hand pressed against his face, shoulders shaking.
What the—?
Komatsuda scrambled from his chair, nearly tripping over equipment cables, and burst outside into the humid air. He caught his nephew by the elbow.
"Takuya, what are you doing? Are you... crying?" His voice dropped to an urgent hiss. "What the hell happened?"
The question shattered whatever composure Takuya had been maintaining. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, dripping onto the collar of his costume—a tattered survivor's shirt they'd distressed specifically for the climax scene.
"Waaah, Uncle, I... I've been dumped!"
"Dumped? By whom? How can you be dumped when you weren't even—"
"Mai-chan!" Takuya's voice cracked. "I saw her in the tent. With a guy. They were—" He choked on the words. "—kissing. Really kissing. Like she meant it."
Komatsuda's blood ran cold.
"Impossible. You must have seen wrong."
"I didn't!" Takuya wiped his nose with his sleeve, a gesture that made him look far younger than his twenty-two years. "His hands were in her hair, and she was... she was making these little sounds, Uncle. Soft ones. Like..."
Like she was enjoying herself.
The unspoken words hung between them, thick as the tropical humidity.
Takuya's throat worked visibly. "I should just give up. Mai-chan has a boyfriend. I should... I should wish her well."
He attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace.
"Shut up, you idiot!" Komatsuda grabbed his nephew's shoulders, shaking him hard enough to rattle teeth. "I created so many opportunities for you two—so many—and had Mai-chan herself guide you in acting! And now you want to surrender? Are you even a man?"
Spittle flecked Takuya's cheek.
"So what if she has a boyfriend? She's not married yet! You can still pursue her! Can't you compete fairly?" Komatsuda's grip tightened painfully. "You're wasting that face of yours!"
Shame washed through Komatsu Takuya, hot and uncomfortable beneath his skin. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.
Of course he was unwilling to hand over the person he liked.
Especially since he truly liked Sakurajima Mai.
As a child who had lived with his uncle since age seven—after the accident that took both parents—he had grown accustomed to obeying without question. He dared not defy any of his uncle's decisions. His acting career had been bumpy; critics called his performances wooden, lifeless. He had wanted to quit many times but could never voice it.
After meeting Sakurajima Mai, something shifted.
Mai-chan was strict, certainly. She looked at him with disdain more often than not, her violet eyes cutting through his clumsy attempts at method acting. But she was patient. She would demonstrate blocking three, four, five times. She would explain emotional beats until he understood them not just intellectually but viscerally.
Her guidance had given him genuine insight.
So he hadn't objected when his uncle pushed him to pursue her romantically. Even when Mai-chan stated flatly that she didn't like milk tea, he continued bringing it daily.
Because he had seen her drink milk tea before. Her agent—that cool, beautiful woman with the sharp tongue—always brought her some.
What Komatsu Takuya didn't know:
That milk tea came from Hozuki Nozomi.
Mai-chan didn't dislike milk tea. She disliked milk tea from him.
Director Komatsuda studied his weeping nephew, calculations clicking behind his eyes like an abacus.
An idea formed.
"Here's what we'll do." His voice dropped to conspiratorial warmth. "We have the final island kiss scene to film today. The climax. You will perform brilliantly, and Mai-chan will never forget you."
Takuya blinked, tears still wet on his lashes. "But if she has a boyfriend—"
"Don't worry about that. I'm the director." Komatsuda smiled, revealing nicotine-stained teeth. "If I'm not satisfied with a take, we do it again. And again. And again. Until it's perfect."
Until she associates your lips with this film forever.
Komatsu Takuya's expression transformed. Hope flickered where despair had been.
He thought of what he had witnessed in that tent—Mai-chan's fingers curling into dark hair, the way her spine had arched, the soft mnn that escaped her when that stranger's mouth moved against hers—and his heart ached terribly.
He wanted to kiss Mai-chan too.
Since it was for filming, it was unavoidable. He couldn't be blamed.
I'll make her feel something for me. I have to.
The beach set sprawled before them: artificial debris scattered across white sand, a constructed cliff face rigged with safety harnesses, reflectors catching the dying sun.
Crew members bustled with last-minute adjustments, their chatter forming pleasant background noise.
"—did you see the rushes from yesterday? The underwater shots are gorgeous—"
"—catering's finally got decent coffee, thank god—"
"—twenty minutes to golden hour, people, let's move—"
When Director Komatsuda called for the principals, Sakurajima Mai arrived with an unfamiliar young man at her side.
She wore the tattered costume of the film's female lead—a strategically ripped blouse that exposed one shoulder, shorts stained with prop blood and sand. Despite the dishevelment, she looked stunning. Dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, catching bronze highlights in the low sun. Her violet eyes held their characteristic sharpness.
The young man beside her drew immediate attention.
Tall. Lean but defined, the kind of physique that suggested disciplined training rather than gym vanity. Dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that seemed effortless but probably wasn't. His face was... striking. High cheekbones, full lips, eyes that glinted with barely concealed amusement as he surveyed the crew.
Who the hell is this?
*FYI, we finally have a concept image of our mc
Komatsuda's eye twitched.
Before he could speak, Sakurajima Mai's voice cut through the ambient noise.
"Director Komatsuda." Her tone carried the impatience of someone accustomed to getting her way. "I believe I mentioned at the very beginning that I won't film kiss scenes with male actors. Not even fake ones."
"Let me introduce Hozuki Nozomi." She gestured to the man beside her, possessive pride evident in the tilt of her chin. "My boyfriend. I want to complete the final scene with him."
Boyfriend?
Komatsuda's jaw worked silently for several seconds.
"Miss Mai, are you joking with me?"
"I never joke about my work."
"I am the director!" His voice rose, cracking slightly. "The plot requires the female lead and male lead to kiss passionately before jumping off the cliff together! If the film quality suffers because you insisted on some... some amateur—" he jabbed a finger toward Nozomi, "—can you take responsibility?"
Sakurajima Mai puffed out her chest, financial confidence radiating from every pore.
"If it loses money, it's on me. I'll pay you back."
She actually has the capital to do that, Komatsuda realized with a sinking sensation.
"Besides—" Mai continued, a smile playing at the corners of her lips, "—the final kiss scene can be changed. For example: the female lead's childhood friend appears, rushes to save her from the cliff, and then she kisses him in gratitude. Wouldn't that be more interesting?"
Komatsuda opened his mouth to refuse.
"At worst, you could establish the original male lead as the secret villain who orchestrated everything. Then Nozomi appears as the true protagonist at the climax." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "A twist ending. The audience loves those."
Something clicked in Komatsuda's brain.
He turned the concept over, examining it from every angle. The subverted expectations. The dramatic reveal. The audience gasping as the romantic lead is exposed as the mastermind...
His eyes lit up completely.
"Miss Mai." His voice had changed entirely, now warm with professional admiration. "Did you conceive this plot revision yourself?"
"Of course." She straightened, radiating righteousness. "Who else?"
But her gaze slid sideways, just for a moment, toward Hozuki Nozomi.
He smiled at her—a slow, knowing expression that transformed his features from merely handsome to devastating.
That's my girl.
Warmth flooded Mai's chest.
He's going to haveh me however he wants tonight, she decided privately, heat rising to her cheeks despite her composed exterior. And I'm going to let him. I'm going to enjoy every second.
The idea had been Nozomi's, naturally. He simply enjoyed twists. Had mentioned it offhandedly while his fingers traced lazy patterns across her hip in the privacy of her tent.
More importantly, even if he and Mai-chan filmed an intimate scene together, the final cut would still show her kissing Komatsu Takuya if the script remained unchanged. That was unacceptable.
So he revised it. Hozuki Nozomi would be the male lead.
As for Komatsu Takuya's dissatisfaction?
Who cares?
He was already being lenient by not teaching this kid a lesson. The boy had pursued his Mai-chan without permission for weeks.
"Excellent! We'll follow this script!" Komatsuda clapped his hands together, all previous objections forgotten. His gaze raked over Nozomi appraisingly. "Young man, your name is Hozuki Nozomi? Tsk, tsk... upon closer inspection, you're even more photogenic than Takuya. Quite handsome!"
Behind them, Komatsu Takuya stood frozen.
Uncle... what about me?
His throat constricted.
What about your dear nephew? You said we'd film the kiss scene repeatedly to build feelings! You said—
And if he had heard correctly, he was about to transform from a gentle, warm-hearted protagonist into a cunning, scheming villain at the story's climax.
His gaze drifted to Hozuki Nozomi, who stood casually beside Mai-chan, one hand resting at the small of her back in unconscious possession.
Komatsu Takuya's shoulders slumped. A whisper escaped his lips, audible to no one.
"You can't just hit someone like that..."