Haruki Hoshi was, if nothing else, a man who knew how to hold a grudge. And he held them tightly, like someone gripping their last piece of luggage at the airport after being told they'd have to pay extra. The worst part? This particular grudge wasn't even new. It had been festering for months, ever since the role of a lifetime—the one that would have solidified his status as an untouchable icon—went to someone else.
Kenji Tanaka.
Just thinking the name made Haruki want to throw something, preferably something heavy and expensive. Kenji, with his perfectly symmetrical face and that stupid, easy-going smile. The kind of guy who probably helped old ladies cross the street and made balloon animals for kids in his spare time. A nice guy. Haruki hated nice guys.
Because, apparently, being nice was enough to win a role that should have been Haruki's. The role that would've won him every award and had critics raving for decades about his complexity and depth. Instead, they gave it to Kenji, whose acting had the emotional range of a damp towel.
It was unfair. It was unacceptable. And in Haruki's world, when things were unfair, you didn't just complain about it. You did something.
Haruki started with the basics: passive-aggressive comments in interviews, vague subtweets that even his fans knew were about Kenji, and then, the pièce de résistance: a good old-fashioned smear campaign.
Haruki wasn't proud of it, of course. Well, not that proud. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. Whatever. It wasn't like Kenji hadn't deserved it. The guy had coasted through life with his smile and his charm, and people like that needed to be taken down a peg. So Haruki did what any rational person would do—he called up a gossip blogger he knew from his early career days. A blogger with a taste for juicy dirt and a moral compass that pointed south.
"Hey," Haruki had said casually, as if he wasn't about to ruin someone's life. "Remember Kenji Tanaka? From school? You ever hear the rumours about him being a total bully back in the day?"
Haruki leaned back in his chair, satisfied as he imagined the headline taking shape. He didn't expect it to go viral, of course. He didn't expect the whole industry to turn on Kenji, either. But, well, sometimes things just take on a life of their own. The story blew up. Suddenly, Kenji wasn't "Kenji the Adorable Movie Star." He was "Kenji the High School Bully," and people loved to hate a bully. The tabloids ran with it, and within a week, Kenji couldn't walk out his front door without someone throwing shade at him.
Haruki, naturally, had no regrets. None whatsoever. Well, okay, maybe one tiny one. But only because things had spiraled so spectacularly that even he hadn't expected what came next.
Turns out, Kenji didn't handle public shaming very well. Haruki had assumed Kenji's perfect little life would be able to bounce back from a few nasty rumors. He was wrong. Kenji's nice-guy act wasn't just for show—it was his whole fragile identity. And when that crumbled, so did Kenji.
The paparazzi started catching photos of him stumbling out of bars, sunglasses hiding dark circles, his wide smile nowhere to be found. It was almost... sad. But Haruki didn't do sad. Besides, Kenji would get over it. Probably.
Except he didn't.
Kenji spiraled hard, and fast. And then, one night, he got into his car after drinking too much, and wrapped it around a telephone pole. The next morning, the headlines were brutal. Kenji was in the hospital. The tabloids smelled blood in the water, and now everyone was asking the same question: What had pushed him over the edge?
Which brought Haruki to his penthouse, staring at the TV while the news rehashed Kenji's fall from grace for the tenth time that day. His satisfaction had curdled into something less pleasant, like eating way too much ice cream and realizing halfway through the pint that you're lactose intolerant.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ethan, his manager, stepped in, looking unusually grim. Great, Haruki thought, this can't be good.
"We need to talk," Ethan said, crossing his arms.
Haruki shrugged, not looking up from the screen. "If this is about Kenji again, I don't see what the big deal is. Guy makes a few bad choices and now everyone's acting like he's some tragic hero."
Ethan didn't laugh. That was a bad sign. "It's more than a 'few bad choices.' Kenji's in the hospital, Haruki. And people are talking. They're saying the rumors—the ones that got him into this mess—might've come from someone who knew him in school. Someone with a grudge."
Haruki forced a laugh, but it came out hollow. "What's that got to do with me?"
Ethan's face darkened. "It has everything to do with you. Word on the street is, someone was feeding gossip to the press. Old stories about Kenji bullying people back in high school."
"Well, if it's true, it's true," Haruki said, feigning indifference. "I didn't make him a bully."
"But you made sure everyone heard about it," Ethan shot back. His voice was rising, and Haruki could feel the conversation slipping out of control. "You leaked that crap, didn't you? You couldn't stand that Kenji got the role, so you sabotaged him."
Haruki rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like I caused the crash. I wasn't the one who got drunk and drove into a pole."
"No, but you set the whole thing in motion," Ethan said, his voice tight. "You pushed him to the edge."
Haruki bristled. "He's a grown man, Ethan. If he can't handle a little bad press, maybe he wasn't cut out for the industry."
Ethan stared at him, his face a mix of anger and disappointment. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't about whether he could handle it. It's about what kind of person you've become. I've seen you do some cold things, but this? This is different. You destroyed him because you couldn't stand losing. To Kenji. Of all people."
Haruki opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. What could he even say? That Ethan was wrong? That he hadn't ruined Kenji's life over some petty jealousy? He couldn't, because it wasn't true.
Ethan shook his head, turning for the door. "You know what, Haruki? I've been cleaning up your messes for years, but this? I'm done."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Haruki alone in his perfectly silent, perfectly empty penthouse. He sank back into the couch, the weight of Ethan's words hanging in the air like a bad smell.
For the first time in a long time, Haruki wasn't sure if he was the villain or the victim. But one thing was clear: whichever he was, he'd gone too far this time.