Chapter 76: Under the Scream Mask

Following the Google Maps link Sakura sent me, I arrived at a lounge bar in Ginza.

The entrance led down a narrow staircase into a basement, and when I opened the door, a black and red, antique-styled space appeared before me.

‘What kind of restaurant is this supposed to be?’

Even at a glance, it was clear this wasn't an ordinary restaurant.

As I looked around, a woman in her 40s, wearing a silver halter-neck dress that clung tightly to her body, approached me.

“お探しの方はいらっしゃいますか? (Are you looking for someone?)”

Stammering, I kept repeating, “Watashi wa kankoku desu.”

After repeating it a couple of times, the woman exclaimed, “Ah!” and led me further inside.

As we passed through the spacious hall, an odd feeling crept over me.

At round tables with semicircular sofas, groups of middle-aged men in their 40s and 50s were seated, while women dressed similarly to my guide—young, beautiful, and in tight dresses—sat beside them in ones or twos, pouring their drinks.

On the tables were dishes that weren't your typical restaurant fare—sushi, steak, fruit, all scattered together in no particular order.

Even I, who was not the most perceptive, could instantly tell this was no ordinary place.

‘This… I think I’ve been invited somewhere strange.’

I was about to call Sakura, but just then, the woman guiding me stopped in front of a room.

She knocked politely, opened the door, and Sakura, who had arrived earlier, greeted me with a bright smile.

“Sensei! I’m so glad you came.”

The sofa looked plush, the table round. Not much different from the seating outside, but the room felt much more private.

Sakura approached me with a wide, dazzling smile.

The style she wore now was completely different from how she’d ever met me before, and without thinking, I instinctively took a step back.

The dress she wore was gold, skintight, and cut deep at the chest, revealing her figure without reservation.

Her sparkling, ornate earrings and long, straight hair brushed to one side made her look as if she’d just stepped off an awards show stage. I didn't know where to rest my eyes.

“This way, please.”

Sakura gently slipped her arm through mine and led me to a seat.

Her body pressed close, and I caught a subtle, flowery fragrance from her.

“But, what is this place, exactly? It doesn’t seem like a regular restaurant, Sakura.”

“Ah. You can have whatever you want here. If you order it, they’ll bring anything.”

Her Korean was much better than before; she looked steadily into my face and smiled warmly.

“What would you like to eat?”

Seeing Sakura’s beautifully made-up face, a sudden sense of discomfort surged inside me.

No matter how generously I tried to interpret what I’d seen on the way in, this was unmistakably a nightlife establishment.

I didn’t know why Sakura had brought me to a place like this, but—

I didn’t like the idea of Sakura appearing as one of those women sitting beside the men outside.

I quietly untangled my arm from hers and opened my mouth to speak.

“Sakura. Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

“Huh? Why? We could eat comfortably here.”

“That’s true, but… Um, the weather’s nice today, and it feels a bit stifling to stay indoors, now that we’ve come all the way to Japan.”

Caught in a sudden, confusing situation, I fumbled for an excuse, avoiding Sakura’s gaze as I babbled.

If I kept looking at her dressed so boldly, I was afraid I’d just end up saying more nonsense.

“……”

Sakura stared at me for a while, then finally said, “Alright,” and stood up.

I let out a quiet sigh before I even realized it.

Maybe she was upset? But if I stayed here any longer, I felt like something would go wrong for me, so I had no other choice.

Sakura glanced back at me as she walked ahead, but I forced a smile and nodded as if nothing was wrong.

Sakura didn’t say anything else, but called the woman who had guided me and exchanged a brief conversation in Japanese, then said, “Let’s go.”

Unlike the entrance I had come through, there was another exit at the back of the room.

I guessed this was a private entrance for well-known faces like Sakura to come and go discreetly.

Sakura led the way. The dress she wore had long slits on both sides, so each step revealed her legs.

“Umm.”

I struggled to keep my composure in the still-dizzying situation.

Soon enough, we managed to safely escape that odd, dark place.

---

“Wait here for a bit.”

Lee Junghyuk put Sakura into her car, parked at one corner of the parking lot, and then disappeared.

Sakura couldn’t help but notice how often the man sighed with a pale face, as if something weighed on his mind.

Usually, if a man saw Sakura dressed like this, it would be unthinkable for him to say, “The weather’s nice. Let’s go outside.”

Naturally, most men would desperately try to stay alone with her in a private setting.

Of course, they’d think they’d “won” Sakura for themselves, but that was just a foolish man’s delusion.

It was like a dragonfly that felt cozy, only to find itself tangled in a finely woven spider’s web.

For Sakura, this whole process was simply a means to obtain what she wanted.

It was the first hurdle that made most men fall for her.

And once they did, there was no way they’d ever escape.

That’s why Lee Junghyuk’s reaction was not something Sakura had expected.

‘Hmm. What on earth is he planning?’

Frustrated that things weren’t going her way, Sakura bit down hard on her lower lip.

Lee Junghyuk, who had asked her to wait just a moment, hadn’t returned for ten minutes now.

Usually, Sakura could immediately sense what a man was after, just by looking at his eyes or behavior.

It was an instinctive sense she’d learned working in bars before her acting debut.

But with this man, Lee Junghyuk, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.

She could only infer that he was lost in thought.

‘He can see me like this and just keep thinking? What a dull man you are, Lee Junghyuk.’

Judging by the countless conversations they’d had before coming to Tokyo, he’d certainly shown some interest in Sakura.

That was why, when he said he’d come to watch her shoot, she’d boldly decided to make a move.

Sakura took off her white, thin-heeled high heels, thinking she’d have to try a different approach.

It seemed a different tactic was needed, unlike with Japanese men.

Knock, knock.

Just as Sakura was considering various strategies, Lee Junghyuk appeared, tapping on the window.

“Did you wait long? Sorry, it took some time to find a place that sold this.”

What he handed her was a horror-movie killer mask.

“What… is this?”

“It’s Halloween today. I saw people outside dressed in all sorts of costumes. Why don’t we try it, too? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Eh…?”

---

I looked at Sakura, who now wore a Scream mask.

This would certainly keep people from recognizing her, but the flashy dress was still a problem.

I took off the jumper I was wearing and draped it around Sakura’s shoulders.

She was so petite that my clothes practically swallowed her.

It looked really cute.

Gone was the mature aura from the strange bar; she now seemed like a girl sneaking out for a night’s adventure.

“You smell like Sensei.”

“Pardon?”

“…It’s warm.”

“I’m glad. Shall we go?”

We left the parking lot and headed out to the street.

The area around Ginza was overflowing with Japanese and foreigners dressed in all sorts of Halloween costumes.

There were Harley Quinns, masks, vampires, pumpkins, snowmen, Pikachu—so many unique looks drew the eye, but in Japan, where individuality is respected, no one seemed to care.

Wearing our Scream masks side by side, Sakura and I strolled through the streets of Ginza like any other people.

“Sensei. Do you usually enjoy Halloween?”

“No. This is my first time wearing a costume like this, too.”

“…For me?”

“How about that food stall over there? Huh, what did you say?”

Sakura said something, but the sounds overlapped and I didn’t quite catch it.

I pointed toward the alley where a row of food stalls stood.

People in all kinds of costumes were eating and drinking together, both inside and outside the stalls.

After I pointed, I wondered if this sort of atmosphere wasn’t Sakura’s style, but unexpectedly, she strode right up, spoke to the staff in Japanese, and came back with a table at the very end outside.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Hmm. Mochiridofu and a yakitori set.”

“How about a highball for drinks?”

“Great. Highball, hontoni oishii.”

We toasted by clinking our highball glasses, packed with lemon, Korean-style.

Because of the masks, we had to sip through straws, so it wasn’t as refreshing, but it felt like we were making a fun memory.

Sakura pulled a piece of chicken thigh from her yakitori skewer with her chopsticks and popped it through the oval-shaped hole in her mask.

“Sensei.”

“Yes?”

“The bar we went to earlier… I worked there before I became an actress.”

I stopped cutting my mochiridofu with my chopsticks.

“I was a pretty popular worker there. Then one day, a TV producer noticed me, and that’s how I started acting.”

Sakura’s story was raw and honest enough that I wondered if I should even be hearing it.

Luckily, the surroundings were noisy, and Sakura’s low-pitched voice didn’t carry beyond me.

Her Korean was now fluent enough that no one could have guessed she was Sakura, Japan’s first love.

She sold smiles to men.

Then she met someone.

Their romance was joyful and happy.

Thanks to him, she debuted as an actress and found a new dream.

But he was married. And so on.

Sakura recounted her past quietly and calmly.

As I listened, I wondered why she was telling me all this.

Instead of feeling pity or admiration for her life, I found myself simply searching for a reason.

“Why… are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to be honest with you, Sensei. You gave me genuine warmth.”

Sakura fiddled with the cuff of the jacket I’d lent her.

She went on, explaining that she was no longer Japan’s first love.

Now that she was in her thirties, not only did schoolgirl roles no longer suit her, but even playing unmarried characters felt like a stretch.

Scripts sent her way in Japan now included roles like a married woman or a chaebol family madam from time to time.

The time when Sakura, the nation’s first love, would be out of work was drawing near.

“I’ll be honest too. I want Junghyuk-san to write a story for me here in Japan. I need a new image.”

Only then did I finally understand, as if the puzzle pieces suddenly fit, why Sakura had told me all this, and what our correspondence had meant.

She needed me now.

Not as Lee Junghyuk the man, but as Lee Junghyuk the writer.

Not for Sakura the woman, but for Sakura the actress.