Following the day's activities, Sho was dropped off at the front Roppongi Hills Residence B with strict orders to rest for a couple hours. He'd been looking forward to returning to his apartment. Cracking open a beer and lounging on the sofa while watching TV sounded like the best damn thing since the invention of Pucchin.

After some small talk with Botan, Sho traversed the lobby, climbed the floors in the elevator, and finally made it home despite his legs feeling like jelly. There was only one glaring problem: his code would not grant him entry.

For a third time, he stabbed at the digits with his index finger. Again, the door flashed red, beeping a short negative note.

Hissing through his teeth, Sho pulled out his phone to call the concierge desk. Before he could select them from his contacts, the device buzzed with a text alert. He would have dismissed the message as junk if not for one word that caught his eye: locked.

Peering at the screen, he swiped open the message:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Now that you're locked out

What will you do?

"You've got to be shitting me," Sho muttered.

Takarada's cloyingly innocent expression as he had explained why it was necessary to be vague with the wording for the events of Watch Me! flashed in his head. He should have listened to his gut instinct then and insisted on more limitations for what he was willing to endure, but desperation had guided his hand.

"Who would have predicted a scenario like this in the first place?" he grumbled to himself.

He dialed Shoko, line ringing twice before she answered.

"Sho?"

"I'm locked out," he growled.

"…Pardon?"

"Don't you think this is going too far?"

"...Sho, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"They locked me out of my own damn home!"

"They?"

"Shoko," he replied in a voice saturated with equal parts indignation and accusation, "you knew they were going to do this when you dropped me off, didn't you? Just like you've known about everything else."

"I can neither confirm nor deny any such knowledge."

Sho harrumphed. "Fine. I'll grab a cab and–"

"No."

"No?" Sho could count on one hand the number of times Shoko had told him no in earnest.

"No, you cannot stay with me."

"But–"

"No buts," she admonished. "We had an agreement, remember? Besides, I already have company."

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence before Sho blurted, "You do? Who?"

"My boyfriend."

"Your b-boyfriend?" Sho practically choked on the word.

Shoko found the incredulity in his voice mildly irritating. "Yes, Sho. Boyfriend. You know––when a man and woman agree to date."

Her pointed comment hit right where she wanted it to.

"You know that it's nearly impossible for celebrities in my position to date," he said in a tone as crisp as a freshly pressed dress shirt. "The woman would have to be of equal standing."

"I do know." She sighed. "But had you actually wanted to date, we would have made it possible. There were women who qualified––like Matsunai Ruriko. You even took her out in public a couple times. Where was it you went again…?"

"The Japan Music Awards and dinner after. She was too flat and too selfish and she barely qualified for a place among Japan's top ten actresses." His voice took on a stubborn edge. "I'm perfectly content to continue as I have."

"Are you really?" Shoko didn't believe that for a nanosecond. Not when she'd witnessed his chemistry with Midori Lin.

"I–"

Wait––can I truly say that when I spent the last couple months moping around like a broken-hearted school girl? he mused.

Defeat hadn't been the only emotion weighing him down then either. If he was being honest with himself, he envied what Kyoko and Kuon had.

"It doesn't matter anyways," he said. Sho ardently refused to discuss the subject over the phone. Or sober. "If you won't let me stay with you I'll get a hotel." He hung up.

Across town, the newly reappointed manager frowned as she stared at her phone.

"Can you believe he hung up on me?" she asked the man whose side she was snuggled against.

Normally the male wore glasses and a tie that lent him an air of sophisticated competence, but this afternoon he had removed both articles, unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt, and slicked his hair back, resulting in a strong handsome and sexy vibe. In her opinion, he looked the best like this and the knowledge that she was the only one to see him this way gave her a small thrill.

"Fuwa is talented but he needs to keep that attitude of his in check." Yukihito Yashiro ran a hand down her hair before kissing the top of her head. "He doesn't deserve you."

He took the phone from her hand, deliberately handling it with his own bare one, ensuring that Fuwa Sho would no longer plague Aki Shoko during her time off. Tomorrow morning he'd set up the replacement phone. Everything else could––and now would––wait.

At his residence, Sho Fuwa hit up an ATM for tipping money. Posh areas like Roppongi Hills had an abundance of four and five star hotels, but only one was a short three minute walk––the Grand Hyatt.

Making his way down the road and across the street, Sho briskly headed towards the entrance. Offering a sleek modern experience that seamlessly blended traditional Japanese aspects, the five-star hotel was the best option around, even if it was also the most expensive. Fortunately it was between lunch time and before people got off work so there wasn't much in the way of foot traffic. He strode through the lobby, past the strange, but oddly fitting black and white statue heads, to the front desk.

Before he'd gotten his own place and entertained nightly visitors for the first few weeks, attempting to distract himself from his misery, several women had accompanied his stays at various suite-level rooms. The place offered the height of luxury, comfort, and privacy. Truly, the best money could buy.

Sho spotted a woman behind the desk. Perfect.

"Good afternoon," Sho said, offering a charming smile.

The young woman stammered, "G-good afternoon," looking like she might faint on the spot.

It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. Of course, it had sucked when said fainter had tried to sue him alleging that Sho was somehow responsible and should be liable for alleged medical expenses incurred during said individual's nose-dive. Traumatic brain injury my ass, he thought as he said a silent prayer that this woman would get ahold of herself. There was no way he'd make it behind the counter in time to catch her.

"I'd like to reserve a Grand Suite for the next three evenings." He took out his wallet and slid over his ID and Hyatt Gold Passport.

With trembling fingers, she took the proffered items, swallowing hard. Sho pretended to study a painting on the far wall as she brought up his information in their system. Experience had taught him that avoiding eye contact could help a flustered fan calm down. He stole a peek at her from the corners of his eyes. While she was still notably flushed, her movements were surer.

She clacked on the keyboard another moment before a surprised exclamation of, "Oh!" came out. Sho turned his gaze back down at her with furrowed brow only to discover that the woman had paled considerably.

"Is there a problem?"

"Um, just one moment please," she said with a small bow. She made a hasty retreat to a back office area and picked up a phone. Through the glass, he watched as her expression changed from one of dismay to alarm.

I'm getting a bad feeling about this, he thought.

After another minute, she slowly replaced the handset and came back out of the office.

She bowed low. "I-I apologize for the delay. The managing director is on his way here now to speak with you."

"Sato-san?" As an affluent patron, Sho had had the opportunity to meet manager Sato Akira on a couple occasions. Though young to be in his position, Sato gave the impression of wisdom and competence beyond his years. Sho thought he was a decent guy.

Surprise flashed across her face at the mention of the manager's name. "Y-yes."

No sooner had his identity been confirmed than the click and scuffle of dress shoes hurriedly crossing the lobby floor filled Sho's ears. Turning, he saw a harried looking Sato flanked by a couple of guys that looked like they could moonlight as bouncers at a nightclub.

Sato's smile was tense as he greeted the musician.

"Fuwa-san," he dipped his upper body briefly, "I'm glad you returned so promptly."

Sho's eyebrows shot up. "Returned?"

The managing director cocked his head as though he couldn't understand why Sho would be confused.

"Yes. I assumed you must have received my messages. When you checked out earlier, you left your room in a state of…disrepair. I was hoping to discuss the matter with you. In private," he urged, tight smile still plastered to his face. "If you'll come this way please."

What the hell is this guy on about? Sho wondered. He had half a mind to give voice to that question, but…he glanced around the lobby and chose to remain silent. Though it was oddly deserted, it was still unwise to make a scene in front of the employees who were watching with rapt attention. Not to mention the damn bodycam.

"Sure," Sho shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he joined the hotel staff cadre, but the bad feeling in his gut intensified with every step. He didn't know whether this was a legitimate issue or some trumped up scenario orchestrated for Watch Me! Either way, it wasn't good.

Once inside the office, Sato gestured for Sho to take a seat. One of the hotel security men stayed inside while the other was placed just outside the door. The manager was so visibly filled with tension that Sho was tempted to give his arm a little poke just to see if he'd pop. If the circumstances had seemed less serious, he would have.

Sitting on the edge of the seat, the musician leaned forward with his palms resting on his knees and pinned his gaze directly onto Sato Akira's dark brown eyes, opting to speak first to address what the man had said in the lobby.

"Akira-san, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I spent my evening at my own place across the street."

Sato narrowed his eyes. "Given the number of empty liquor bottles left in your room, I can understand how you might not remember events from last evening. However, I assure you, you were here."

Sho gritted his teeth. Now I know what it feels like to be falsely accused, he thought ruefully.

"There are only so many ways I can say the same thing, Akira-san. I. Was. Not. Here."

"Fuwa-san, I greeted you in person last night."

Sho's eyes went wide before narrowing again. "Well, whoever you greeted wasn't me." He shook his head. "You said the room was messed up. And there was a bunch of booze?"

Sato nodded sharply.

"What's the damage?"

"Severe."

"Look, I've left empty bottles in my rooms before, but do I honestly seem like the type of guy who'd trash his room and leave without covering the cost?" Sho scoffed. He was actually feeling a bit hurt. "I thought my reputation was better than that."

"There's always a first time," Sato said, resting his folded hands on the table in front of him. "But it is true that staff interactions and booking experiences had been positive ones previously. The maids in particular mentioned that you were courteous and a generous tipper."

Most of that was not his own doing. Shoko had gone in to clean up after his escapades, leaving a sizable tip for the help too. But Sho wasn't about to admit that he hadn't been the one taking those measures.

"Exactly. Obviously someone impersonated me."

"Very well. Let's say that is true. How would said impersonator possess your Gold Passport, identification, and Amex Black Card?"

Holy shit, Sho was flabbergasted. Then again, if someone wanted to frame him, they'd need all that to be truly convincing. Still––he wondered how they managed to fool Sato-san? As Sho continued on that train of thought, he realized it probably wouldn't be all that difficult. There was ample footage online of his public mannerisms.

Sho ran a hand over his face. "I don't know how they got all that. What I do know is that I am a victim of identity theft." He paused for a moment as a sudden thought came to him. "Let me see the security footage."

Sato took out a tablet from his desk, tapping and swiping it here and there before handing it to Sho.

Sure enough, a tall muscular guy with spiky blonde hair walked in with a well-endowed woman on each arm. Even the tattoos on the imposter's arms were an exact match. Sho watched as the guy checked in. The cameras had even caught Sato's interaction with him. Whoever had played the part of Fuwa Sho had done so flawlessly. Sho didn't know whether to be impressed or pissed, but he was leaning towards the latter.

"Damn. That really does look like me."

"Indeed."

Sho handed the tablet back. "But it's not."

"Are you willing to file an official report?"

"Of course."

"I see. We'll need your signed statement, but Fuwa-san," Sato paused to emphasize his next point, "I'm afraid we will be unable to accommodate you while this matter remains under investigation. I'm sure you understand."

Oh, I understand all right, Sho thought bitterly. He knew all too well that Sato clearly still assumed he was guilty, but with such a perfect imitation, he almost couldn't blame him.

Almost.

"Of course. I'll head to the police box immediately after I sign whatever you need."

"Very good."

Sato spoke into the intercom on his desk and an assistant brought in some papers.

After signing the documents and receiving one of Sato's business cards to take to the police, Sho reported his credit card as stolen, bought a hat, sunglasses, and a mask from the boutique and left the hotel. With a little luck, his disguise would hold until he could talk to the police. It was only a ten minute walk.

People were everywhere now–on the sidewalks, crossing the streets, in and out the doors of shops and businesses, scurrying frantically around like ants in the tunnels of an anthill. Sho's tall sinewy frame garnered a lot of attention, particularly of the female variety. A light sheen of sweat broke across the musician's brow. If he was recognized here, he'd be surrounded in an instant. In hindsight, he should have ordered an Uber to take him, but he'd wanted to walk off the frustration that had been building despite the soreness in his legs. Wandering around without a driver, car, or manager was far from ideal.

As he passed the cat cafe that was the last business before the police box, a woman came barrelling out the door, slamming into Sho.

"Shit!" he yelled as they collided and he was knocked off balance.

"Ah!" she shrieked, landing atop the musician.

Sho found his face buried between soft twin peaks. As pleasant as he found the circumstances—what guy didn't want to bury his face in a big rack—suffocation was a real danger. But what a way to go, he thought as the woman struggled to get off him.

Finally, she managed to roll to the side, allowing Sho to suck in a deep breath.

Judging by the redness of her entire face, she was beyond embarrassed. She immediately bowed and offered a stuttering apology.

"It's no big deal," Sho replied smoothly as he stood up. "I'm just happy to have given you a soft landing." He straightened his hat, thankful for its snug fit. "Are you all right?"

"N-no I'm fine," she waved her hands in front of herself emphatically, "I should be asking you that!" She gasped as she noticed a bit of dirt on his clothing. "Here." She began brushing it off him without care of where she was brushing, forcing Sho to step quickly back.

"Thank you," he said as graciously as he could through his teeth, "but I've got it covered. No harm done." Except to my squeezed goods, he thought. "Have a nice day."

Not bothering to give the woman a chance to subject him to any more of her tender loving care, he moved back into the flow of human traffic, letting it carry him over to the next building.

At the police box, Sho heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped inside. A lone officer was sitting behind a desk, reviewing paperwork with one hand as he sipped from the steaming mug held in the other. Hearing Sho's footsteps, the policeman looked up. He was a younger officer, probably around Sho's age. Annoyance and suspicion flashed across his dour face.

"Excuse me officer," Sho pulled his mask down and bowed. He'd been raised to be respectful of law enforcement. "I need to report an incident of identity theft."

The officer tucked his papers into the desk and waved him over, pulling out a new set of documents.

"Fill this out to the best of your ability," the man ordered, gesturing towards a small corner desk.

Folding himself into the seat, Sho set to work relating the events, his own whereabouts, and the hotel contact information. He fished into his pocket for his wallet to copy down his ID. Nothing was there. Frowning, he tried again, this time with both hands. It was then that he realized that not only was the wallet missing, his tip cash was gone too. Sho leaped up and began patting himself frantically. Empty pockets.

Then he knew. He just fucking knew. The handsy woman with the big bosom.

"Shit!"

The policeman glanced up sharply, displeasure evident in his eyes.

Sho bowed and mumbled an apology as he sat back down, taking deep deliberate breaths to calm himself. He still had a 10,000 Yen note tucked into his shoe. As children, Kyoko had taken it upon herself to lecture Sho about the dangers of travel and how one should carry their money separately from everything else as well as keep some tucked in a special spot for emergencies. He'd rolled his eyes at her back then and teased her. She'd never been anywhere and was just regurgitating what she'd heard on some travel show or something. But secretly, he had heeded the advice even though it felt like a total grandpa move to hide cash in a shoe.

In his estimation, Takarada seemed likely to be behind the hotel incident. Although, it wouldn't be the first time someone had elaborately targeted him in the hopes of ruining his reputation so he couldn't rule out the possibility of a third party completely. And while there was a chance the female pickpocket had simply targeted him based on his affluent appearance, it seemed more probable that she was also a part of the Takarada scheme because the odds of that coincidentally occurring directly after the hotel stuff seemed too low.

If all of this is all for Watch Me!, what's their end game? Sho questioned. He had no clue and he really wanted a nice chilled beer, but the Demon Lord had locked him out and made it impossible for him to stay anywhere else while simultaneously cutting him off from his money. Sho wondered how difficult it was to learn how to use a curse doll.

He finished the paperwork, explained how his wallet had been stolen and was instructed on where to go to get a new Basic Resident Register Card issued for ID. As he was leaving, Sho texted Shoko with the details and asked her to have the agency send over the copy of his ID on file just in case. Better than nothing.

The sky was darker now, sunshine giving way to gray clouds gathering in large clumps. Sho wasn't sure what to do next. Shoko still hadn't responded to his texts and while he could take care of getting a new ID issued, it would take up a lot of time and a good portion of what little cash he had. As he contemplated his next move, fat drops began falling from the darkening sky.

Perfect––like the icing on a fucking cake, he thought.

He set out back the way he'd come, trying to remember if he'd seen any shops that might carry an umbrella.

Turn right in 500 feet, said a loud robotic voice and Sho nearly jumped out of his skin before realizing it was his own phone, feeding him directions.

"What the hell?" he said aloud as he peered at his phone. The destination was almost an hour away by foot, in Nakameguro. By the time he reached that destination he'd be drenched.

Fuck that, he thought, shoving his phone out of sight. Just because they were setting him up for something, didn't mean he had to play along. The device chimed and Sho reluctantly pulled it back out, wishing he could toss it in a dumpster instead.

Reach the destination in twenty five minutes and receive a reward, it read.

That ruled out waiting for an uber or a cab. The location was a little under two and a half miles and with Sho used to running a couple miles a day, it was barely doable, even with his sore legs. When he thought about their physical evaluation, it made sense––they knew exactly what pace he could run at.

Still, a part of him hated going along with their crazy shit. Running in the damn rain was something only losers did. He'd seen plenty of them in middle and high school—dumb suckers who'd forgotten their umbrellas. Sho had never even needed to bring one because he'd had a never ending supply in the form of a line of girls eager to please.

Sho typed a short response: The reward better be a damn good one. A grinning emoji popped up on the screen a second later, followed by a timer counting down.

Sho rolled his eyes and took off, the relentless rain beating down on him as he ran through the humid Tokyo streets. Focusing on his feet and his breathing, he paid no attention to the pedestrians surrounding him. He could feel people's focus fall on him, but they rolled quickly off, like the droplets of rain descending from the sky, as he passed by.

With two minutes to spare, Sho arrived at the destination, which was a condominium building called Century Forest. The musician sloshed his way to the sixth floor, using the access code provided, and stopped in front of condo number three.

Alright, where's my reward, he texted.

Ring the buzzer, it read.

With a watery sigh, Sho pushed the buzzer.

As always, let me know what you think!