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“Sumire-chan, that concludes all the filming!”
After the clapboard snapped and the tape check was done, a staff member announced loudly. I always think that the sense of accomplishment and the relieved exhaustion I feel in that moment is what makes all the effort worthwhile. It’s like finally finishing all the homework you’d been putting off during summer break — that kind of feeling.
Warm applause filled the room as the director and the scriptwriter, who had come knowing today was my final shoot, approached me with a bouquet. Holding the large bouquet that almost hid my face, I thanked them. The schedule had been incredibly tight because of various complications, but it wasn’t just me who pushed through — the cast and crew all worked hard, so we were all in it together.
I took the opportunity to promote myself, saying, “If there’s another chance, I’d love to work on a sequel or any other projects.” They both nodded firmly in agreement, and I hoped my intention came across clearly.
I also greeted the sponsor representatives and the costume staff who had helped me along the way. As I was doing so, Yoko-san returned from a call she had stepped out to take. There was something about her expression — a slight stiffness, maybe — that caught my attention.
“Yoko-san, the shoot is finished… Did something happen?” I hurried over to her as she approached, reporting the wrap and asking the question.
After opening and closing her mouth a few times, Yoko-san seemed to steel herself and looked at me intently.
“Sumire, I’ll explain everything in the car. For now, filming is done and you just need to change clothes and get ready to leave, right?”
“…Yes. I just need to take off the costume and change into my own clothes.”
“I’ll handle the greetings with the others, so please change quickly. You didn’t leave any personal items behind, right?”
“I took everything home yesterday, so there’s nothing left.”
After responding promptly to her instructions, Yoko-san raised her hand lightly and said, “Alright, see you later,” and I headed to the dressing room. Even though the costumes would be sent for cleaning later, I made sure to fold them properly and hand them to the costume staff — it’s only polite.
I slipped on the button-down shirt over the T-shirt I’d worn underneath, put on a lightweight skirt, and slung my tote bag over my shoulder.
“Sorry for the rush, and thank you so much for everything!”
“Oh, Sumire-chan! You haven’t taken off your makeup yet!”
Just as I handed over my clothes and bowed to the costume staff in the dressing room, the makeup artist called out to me. I wasn’t wearing lipstick or anything noticeable, but I had foundation and primer on to make my skin look nice. I thought I could just remove it at the dorm, or maybe even go home as is. But the costume staff grabbed my shoulders lightly from behind and guided me in front of the mirror.
“I know you’re in a hurry, but people tend to get hurt or make mistakes when they’re like this. Let’s take a moment to calm down, okay?”
They made me sit on a stool, then wiped my face gently with a soft cloth dampened with makeup remover. There were no all-in-one disposable sheets like those from the late Heisei era that could remove heavy makeup in one go, so even light makeup like mine took some time to remove. Still, these professionals had done this so many times that they quickly restored my bare face.
During that brief moment, I told them what I knew of the situation. Seeing Yoko-san so flustered, the makeup team also understood something serious was going on. They quickly tied my hair up and sent me on my way from the dressing room with a gentle push. I thanked them briefly and headed back toward the studio.
It must have taken longer than expected, because Yoko-san was already waiting in the hallway outside the studio when I arrived. Normally I’d re-enter to greet everyone properly, but Yoko-san seemed to be in a rush and had arranged for me to skip it this time. So I joined her, and we hurried to the parking lot.
As soon as we got in, Yoko-san started driving immediately, and I braced myself — this was no ordinary matter. Looking out the window, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t been able to say goodbye to some of the cast. Not everyone, of course, but maybe a few — especially Ryuya-san, who seemed like he wanted to say something to me. If I could get through whatever was coming, I’d return to the studio tomorrow by train or bus to properly thank them, even if it was just a few.
“Well then, I’ll explain,” Yoko-san said after clearing her throat. “But, Sumire, it might be a tough story for you.”
I nodded, then said out loud, “Yes,” so she could hear, since she was driving.
“Apparently, your sister is at the office right now. I honestly doubt she’s even really your sister, given how completely unreasonable she’s been acting.”
“What!? My sister’s here? You said ‘is here’ — so this is happening right now?”
I was momentarily frozen, unable to fully process it. My sister — who would have said she never wanted anything to do with me — had somehow come all the way to Tokyo and was currently causing a huge disturbance at the agency. It was hard to accept. But even if she was a problem, she was still family, and as far as I knew, I was the only one who could try to apologize for her or smooth things over. Running away wasn’t an option.
When I asked for confirmation, Yoko-san nodded.
“The desk manager dealt with her. After identifying herself, your sister said she came to collect money from you. When they tried to send her away, she threw a tantrum. The men had to physically restrain her, tie her up, and lock her in a storage room.”
That sounded harsh, but I could imagine just how wild she must have been. There might even be some broken glass or other damage. I wasn’t responsible for this mess, but since the agency was involved, I needed to apologize and make reparations. If nothing else, I had to at least repay and apologize properly to settle my conscience.
“Could this be related to that time you told me about on the phone — your sister demanding money?”
Yoko-san’s comment brought back the memory of that call. “If you don’t give me all your savings, I’ll take you back home.” It had been a ridiculous demand, of course, and despite my refusal and even advice to her, she’d gone and done this. Truly, the ultimate betrayal of kindness.
I muttered how well she remembered that incident, and Yoko-san scolded me with a stern look: “This is a serious matter — even if it’s family, it’s a form of harassment against a talent. Of course I remember.”
I accepted her rebuke and reflected on my own lack of vigilance.
“She’s really hopeless, doing something this foolish.”
Hearing Yoko-san’s bitter words, I tried to think through how to handle my sister. When we were younger, I thought she could still be reformed — I’d tried to talk to her and warned my parents. But now she was in her third year of middle school, old enough to take responsibility for her own life.
If she caused damage or injury at the agency, it was a crime. She needed to take responsibility. And so did my parents, who had failed as guardians. When we both lived under the same roof, they might have been torn between us. But with me gone, they should have been able to focus on my sister. Even if they initially couldn’t reach her, persistent communication over the last four years could have changed this.
(I promised myself to face my sister properly before leaving home…)
I’d thought our family situation had improved this time around compared to my previous life, but perhaps not. Back then, my parents would shut down conversations and ignore me when I argued — maybe to avoid violence, but it left the children with unresolved resentment. I’d bottled up that pain, and it contributed to my illness.
I think my parents can only open up to those who listen and respond. Since they couldn’t reach my sister, who rejected them, they couldn’t have the kind of mature discussions I could have with them. If they’d talked to her like they did with me, maybe things would have turned out differently.
I might have tolerated my sister’s selfish behavior if it only affected us at home, but now she was threatening the relationships and environment I’d worked so hard to build in Tokyo. That was unforgivable. If being a “second chance” meant tolerating her behavior, that was a mistake. I was determined to confront her firmly this time. People might say I was small-minded for suddenly getting angry, but I didn’t care.
Riding on that swelling anger, the car pulled into the agency parking lot. As I moved to enter, Yoko-san grabbed my shoulder firmly and stopped me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go in first,” she murmured, moving ahead slowly while shielding me with her back.
Inside, the desk manager rushed over, looking exhausted but relieved to see me. Everyone looked worn out. I bowed deeply and apologized immediately.
“I’m so sorry! My sister caused you so much trouble…”
“That’s not your fault, Sumire-chan. She’s the one to blame. You’re family, but it’s not your responsibility to apologize,” the manager said firmly, gently patting my bowed head. Others chimed in with words of comfort: “Don’t worry about it,” “It must be tough having a sister like that.”
Hearing this made me wonder what kind of behavior my sister had displayed. When I asked about any damage, the manager sighed but led me to the break room.
“Wow…”
There was a metal-legged table bent out of shape, the tabletop detached, and shards of a broken ceramic object in a trash bag. Judging by the pattern, it was a large vase from the guest area. The damage made me worry someone might have been hurt, but the manager assured me no one was injured.
Relieved beyond words, I tried to steady myself.
Next, we went to the storage room where my sister was locked up. It had been so long since I last saw her, and I didn’t know what to expect. Anxiety made my legs tremble, but Yoko-san gently patted my back, sensing my unease.
That small encouragement helped me put one foot in front of the other. I needed to face my sister head-on.
A familiar male employee stood guard at the door, his shirt sleeve torn as if from a struggle. I guessed he’d been the one to restrain her.
“I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll make sure it’s paid for.”
“No, no, Sumire-chan. You don’t have to worry about that. You’re the victim here. If anyone should pay, it’s the person inside.”
His cold eyes betrayed his anger, and I felt the agency’s clear stance: they treated me like their own family and would protect me.
The door was unlocked and opened slowly. Inside, my sister sat on the floor, knees drawn up, hair messy, and eyes red from crying.
Our eyes met briefly. She looked tired and hopeless, but at that moment, I no longer felt fear or resentment. Instead, I felt pity and an unexpected warmth.
I spoke softly, “Let’s talk. There’s a lot we need to sort out.”
That was the start of a long, painful conversation.
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