killer idle Prologue

killer idle

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Killer Idol

By Ayami Hoshino

“Killer Idol (Original Complete Edition) — An Emotional Story of an Idol Surviving Life in the City”

Dedication

This story is dedicated in honor of the great guitarist Edward Van Halen.

The music born from his fingertips resonated like the very voice of the soul, moving the hearts of countless people around the world.

His melodies transcend time and continue to inspire courage, passion, and emotion to this day.

The legacy he left behind will never fade, and the sound of his music will echo forever.

May this story serve as a small tribute to his passion and free spirit.

With deepest gratitude and heartfelt remembrance to a legendary guitarist.

“A fictional story inspired by real events, portraying the struggles and growth of an idol living amidst the chaos of the modern city. A heartfelt tribute to Edward Van Halen.”

Prologue

Of all things, I hated being looked at.

And yet, I was an idol.

No… it’s not that I ever wanted to become one.

Do you think that’s strange?

What stands before you is nothing but an illusion.

A lie.

An idol fashioned into a puppet, painted over with layer upon layer of deception.

It makes me sick.

There’s a pressure deep inside me, as though something is boiling over in my gut.

The empty shell of myself—the hollow imitation of who I once was—is the one performing as an idol.

That’s all there is to it.

This isn’t the real me.

I’ve simply been forced into submission, condemned to keep playing this role.

You all think I’m strange too, don’t you?

Fine.

Go ahead and laugh.

Hah…

This is just the kind of person I am.

An idol like me…

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?

I think so myself.

Every single day.

As for how I became this way…

I’ll tell you in time.

The intermission is almost over.

When the lights on the stage fade away, that’s when my true song begins.

If my voice can reach anyone at all, it can only reach those who dwell in this darkness.

Hah…

My breathing grows heavier.

It hurts.

I can barely breathe.

It feels like I’m suffocating.

Like I’m on the verge of collapsing from lack of air.

Nothing but darkness surrounds me.

Absolute darkness.

Kokusei and Kokuhi
(Cry of Anguish and Lament)

Lyrics: Asami Kurusu & Ayami Hoshino

A fallen idol, an angel stripped of her sacred name,
Wandering without her wings, stained by sin.
By the time she realizes the weight of her own transgressions, it is already too late.
Bound in shackles, she hangs her head, no trace of who she once was.

Her gaze glitters fiercely at everything she sees,
Like a sharpened blade, like a gun aimed to wound.
Cursing a life that betrayed her expectations, she endures endless scorn.
Her frozen heart lies silent, trapped in a state of thoughtless numbness.

A heart that neither trembles nor feels loneliness anymore,
A self that buries its rage instead of letting it run wild.
An idol stripped of individuality, seeking to return to being ordinary,
Wanders in search of the wings she cast away herself.

The monochrome extras slowly begin to move,
Struggling to reclaim the colors they once possessed.
Regretting the chaos they made of their lives,
They cry out, but it is far too late.

Swallowed by towering waves, they struggle to stay afloat,
Howling and grieving like wolves beneath the night sky.
Feigning indifference while toying with the hearts of others,
Yearning for someone to show them the path they should follow.

Crying out, screaming into the void—
A cry of anguish and lament.

With nowhere left to go, cornered and alone,
She finds herself dwelling on the past.

The idol still carried a trace of youthful innocence on her face as she danced across the vast stage prepared for this very day. With expressive gestures and dazzling choreography, she performed her signature song before the crowd.

Her colorful stage costume was almost overwhelming to look at, captivating not only the audience’s eyes but their hearts as well.

Her exceptional sense of style and natural beauty were remarkable enough to rival any idol in the industry. She possessed every quality an idol could wish for—talent, charisma, and presence.

And yet, she was the idol who wanted to be an idol the least.

…I…

Hah…

I was raised by a neglectful mother.

Maybe that’s why I became neglectful toward myself as well.

Or perhaps it’s just the negativity that has rooted itself deep inside me.

Just thinking about it makes it harder to breathe.

Fighting back the nausea rising from my stomach, I grip the microphone with all the strength I have.

A mother who abandoned her child…

Until recently, I believed I had grown up without ever knowing love.

Perhaps I inherited that emptiness.

Even as I sing powerfully before the crowd, thoughts of my own shortcomings leave me breathless.

My chest tightens.

I clutch the sweat-soaked microphone harder.

Every day feels like a battle against my own limits.

Cold sweat, almost oily in texture, trickles from the idol’s forehead down her cheeks, falling in droplets onto the brilliantly illuminated stage below.

As she finishes the final song, thunderous cheers erupt from the audience.

Countless smartphone lights rise into the air, drawing circles of light throughout the venue.

Then, as one, the crowd begins to sing.

The dazzling spectacle resembles a sky full of stars.

The finish line for today’s performance is finally within reach.

The concert hall trembles beneath a tidal wave of sound.

Roaring cheers, passionate voices, and the overwhelming energy of the fans fill every corner of the venue.

The audience’s voices alone seem powerful enough to shake the building like an earthquake.

I made it through today.

Somehow.

Repeating those words to myself, I struggle to remain standing.

Barely able to catch my breath, I force myself onward, gathering the last of my strength.

I raise my head.

And put a smile back on my face.

“Everyone! Thank you so much for coming to my concert today! ♪”

“I’ll see you again!”

As the final song comes to an end, she faces the audience, places her hands together before her, and bows deeply.

Her long, beautifully arranged hair falls toward the floor like cascading willow branches.

Even someone as emotionally immature and incomplete as me…

I still fight desperately to play the role of an idol.

Every time I step onto the stage, I struggle with everything I have.

She runs from one end of the vast stage to the other, waving as though greeting every person in the audience.

The passion and aura radiating from her reach the hearts and eyes of the crowd without fail.

At last, she turns her back at center stage.

Raising both hands above her head, she forms a heart shape before slowly walking toward the rear of the stage.

Clack…

The sharp sound of her heels echoes throughout the venue.

Each step carries the weight of exhaustion.

A symbol of someone approaching her limit.

Why am I singing on a stage this large?

The question repeats itself day after day.

I ask it over and over, only to sink deeper into self-doubt.

A foolish question.

Yet I cannot stop asking it.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I can stand before my fans, smiling, sweating, and pouring every ounce of effort into singing songs that were chosen for me by someone else.

At this point, I’m surviving almost entirely on willpower and determination.

All I have to do is perform the songs and follow the script I’ve been given.

That’s all.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as bitter thoughts swirl through my mind.

I’m like a bird trapped inside a cage.

I have no freedom of my own.

I’m not even allowed to control my own life.

After the curtain falls, I stagger down the hallway toward the dressing room.

Why am I doing this?

Why am I living as an idol singer when I don’t even like being one?

I want to become a rock artist like my father.

And someday, I want to stand on that legendary stage.

As I walk, bumping into the hallway walls, a staff member rushes over.

“Are you alright, Asami?”

Supporting my shoulder as I nearly collapse.

But—

“Yeah… just leave me alone. I’m fine. Thanks…”

I weakly brush away the staff member’s hand and continue walking.

My face has turned pale, yet I force myself forward toward the dressing room.

I have less than three minutes before I’m needed again.

Just thinking about how many people are working behind the scenes during those few minutes makes me feel sick all over again.

That’s why I’m constantly struggling inside myself.

Every day.

Every single day.

A battle against my own mental strength and willpower.

There is nothing more painful than being forced to continue doing something you hate.

Someday…

Someone might find out.

They might discover the real me.

The neglected, broken version of myself.

I couldn’t bear that.

No one wants their deepest thoughts exposed for the world to see.

So I stay on guard.

Always.

Making sure no magazine uncovers the truth.

Making sure no one sees through the mask.

These days, all it takes is one mistake.

Someone uploads it to social media.

People turn it into entertainment.

A joke.

A trending topic.

I’d rather die than become that.

The anxiety never leaves me.

I’m not suited to being an idol.

Not at all.

I always have problems.

I lack mental strength.

I lack motivation.

I lack stamina.

I don’t even possess the desire required to keep pretending to be an idol.

My heart is unstable.

Fragile.

As I make my way back toward the dressing room, the cries for an encore echo against my heavy back.

It feels as though the expectations of every person in the audience are pressing down on me.

The smile vanishes from my face in an instant.

Each chant strikes my mind like a hammer.

“Encore!”

…

—I don’t want to go back.

God…

What a pain.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

I don’t want to go out there.

The thought of stepping in front of that enormous crowd again makes my spirit freeze.

It’s not my legs that fail me.

It’s my heart.

Whether that’s the correct expression or not doesn’t matter anymore.

I cover my ears with both hands, trying to block out the sound.

Why am I an idol?

Sometimes I want to quit altogether.

But I can’t.

I have no choice.

There are contractual obligations.

Agreements with the production company.

Pressure from my manager.

Pressure from society.

All I can do is obey.

And yet…

I can’t betray the fans who support me.

I can’t turn my back on the countless people who continue to stand behind me.

My mind is anything but calm.

Conflicting emotions crash into me from every direction.

A piercing high-pitched ringing grows inside my head, like a frequency screaming from deep within my ears.

It’s reaching its limit.

I feel like I’m losing my mind.

Behind the stage, staff members rush frantically from place to place, drenched in sweat as they begin dismantling equipment.

Meanwhile, I push my way through the crowd of workers and slip into the dressing room.

Finally.

I collapse into a chair.

At last, I’ve made it back.

A long breath escapes my lips.

Almost a sigh.

Almost a groan.

A mixture of irritation, exhaustion, and emotions I can’t even put into words.

Back then, every single day felt like a living hell.

Maybe it was something like angina.

Maybe not.

I hate doctors.

Hospitals are places I want nothing to do with.

The sight of a white coat alone makes my skin crawl.

The way they look down at me.

The way they corner me with those patronizing eyes and attitudes.

“…Tch.”

I spit onto the floor and click my tongue.

Searching.

Always searching.

Living a life divided between light and shadow.

One face for the public.

Another hidden underneath.

Repeating the same performance over and over again.

That’s what being an idol is.

At least, that’s how I see it.

And frankly?

To hell with all of it.

The media.

The sponsors.

The fans.

Every time I stand before them, I force another smile onto my face.

A smile so strained it feels as though it might crack.

Sometimes I feel as if my mind is splitting apart.

As if I’m only one step away from collapse.

I’ve even suffered facial nerve pain before.

I stretch out across the dressing-room bench and cover my eyes with one hand.

“Haa…”

A long, exhausted breath escapes me.

Reaching toward the table, I twist open a bottle of room-temperature water and take a small sip.

Then, in a burst of frustration, I slam the bottle onto the floor.

Water splashes everywhere.

I rise to my feet and turn my attention toward the catering table.

Among the many refreshments the staff prepared for me, I reach once more for a bottle of water.

I drink.

Wipe the sweat from my face with a towel.

Then I close my eyes.

Slowly.

Quietly.

For one full minute, I breathe deeply.

Trying to steady myself.

Trying to gather what’s left of me.

Trying to find the strength to keep going.

On the table sit several portable oxygen canisters.

I pull one closer.

Attaching the mask to the nozzle, I place it over my mouth and begin inhaling.

“Hoo…”

Hiss…

I focus on the oxygen entering my lungs.

I imagine it spreading throughout my entire body.

The oxygen canisters are indispensable to me.

I never go on tour without them.

Without them, I’d probably collapse.

I picture the oxygen flowing through my veins.

Reaching every corner of my body.

I concentrate.

And visualize.

Oxygen enters the bloodstream through the alveoli of the lungs.

It becomes arterial blood.

Red blood cells carry it throughout the body.

Hemoglobin binds to it.

Delivering life to every cell.

Every tissue.

Every part of me.

I empty my mind.

As though sweeping away every distracting thought.

I send oxygen to my brain.

Imagining it racing through my bloodstream.

Focus.

I can do this.

“Hoo…”

I repeat the words to myself, raising my awareness little by little.

As if igniting an explosion deep within my chest.

With my eyes gently closed, I narrow my concentration to a single point.

The image forms between my eyebrows.

At the center of my forehead.

Sharpening my senses there.

Centering myself.

It’s nothing unusual.

Just another day.

The entertainment industry…

It’s a living hell.

Every year, thousands of hopeful girls step into it dreaming of becoming idols.

To be honest, I envy those pure, sparkling eyes of theirs.

Coming from someone like me—a fallen idol wandering the depths of hell with the eyes of a dead fish—it sounds almost laughable.

Once you’re caught in the trap, there’s no escaping it.

Like sinking into a swamp you can never crawl out of.

No matter how much you struggle or suffer, no one reaches out a hand to save you.

All you can do is stumble forward into an invisible future.

Even if you’re fortunate enough to reach what looks like the finish line, there’s no guarantee it’s truly an exit.

There may be an even deeper hell waiting beyond it.

If that’s the case, perhaps it’s easier to simply obey.

To do exactly what you’re told.

At least then, you don’t have to think.

So I put on a calm face.

I hand out smiles.

I keep projecting an aura that never fades.

An idol must always shine.

Must always sparkle.

Must become a light that brightens everything within sight.

Yet behind those eyes lies something entirely different.

Cold.

Expressionless.

Like the dark side of the moon.

The black of my pupils gradually fades into gray.

The only thing keeping that sparkle alive is sheer willpower.

The songs and dances carved into my body have become instinct.

Even in my sleep, I doubt they would ever stop.

Whenever someone looks at me with innocent admiration, guilt begins to grow inside me.

A guilt born from the doubts and conflicts that constantly tear at my heart.

Please…

Don’t look at me like that.

While performing, I notice a young girl in the front row waving enthusiastically.

And suddenly I remember.

I used to be like that too.

Little by little, I move closer to the edge of the stage.

Still singing, I hand her my towel.

It’s the least I can do.

A small gesture of gratitude.

And a silent prayer.

I only hope that ten years from now, she won’t find herself standing on the same cliff’s edge as I am.

…

I’m feeling a little better now.

My breathing has finally settled.

“Can I do this?”

“Am I okay?”

I ask myself quietly.

“Asami… it’s almost time.”

One of the band members peeks into the dressing room.

Concern is written all over his face.

He’s worried about me.

“Yeah. I know.”

The words leave my mouth more harshly than intended.

This is how I always am.

The way I calm myself down is something I developed back in my school days.

No one taught me.

I figured it out on my own.

Whether it’s the right method or not, I have no idea.

Honestly, I don’t even want to know.

I lower my head over the dressing-room table.

I’ve never spoken to a therapist.

I’ve never asked a counselor for help.

I hate meeting people.

Doctors.

Counselors.

Just thinking about them makes me nauseous.

My fists clench before I even realize it.

I don’t want anyone seeing what’s inside me.

And it’s obvious why I’ve become this way.

My father’s death changed everything.

The connection is impossible to ignore.

But more than anything else…

Every morning, I hesitate before stepping outside my front door.

The moment I think about another long day beginning, something rises from deep within me.

Something heavy.

Something painful.

As if old wounds are being dug up all over again.

At the same time, I can feel bitter stomach acid rising in my throat.

Another nightmare of a day is beginning.

Whenever that happens, I remember the words of Dale Carnegie.

Those words help calm the turmoil inside me.

Without forcing myself to believe them, I wouldn’t even be able to take a single step outside.

They’ve become my personal motto.

“Take one step at a time…

The shortest path to success.”

Please…

Give me that courage.

I pull the towel away from my face and toss it aside.

Then I rise from my chair.

Opening the dressing-room door, I head out to join the band members waiting in the hallway.

“Let’s do this!”

“Yeah!”

We gather in a circle.

Each of us places a hand into the center.

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got!”

“Ready… GO!!”

…

My mother now lives in a care facility where she receives treatment for her illness.

In my current state, I don’t have the emotional strength to take care of her.

I’m broken too.

Not as badly as she is.

But broken nonetheless.

The truth is, I rarely feel motivated to do anything.

My inferiority complex has become so strong that it feels as though everyone I meet looks down on me.

As if they’re silently judging me.

Ignoring me.

Back in my school days, I constantly sent messages to the few friends I had.

“I want to die.”

Those words appeared over and over in my direct messages.

I was consumed by despair.

I had no dreams.

No hope.

I spent my days wondering where I could die.

Wondering how I could make everything easier.

That’s all I ever thought about.

Eventually, my friends began distancing themselves from me.

The more I reached out, the further away they drifted.

Before I knew it, I was alone.

Everyone had left.

Everyone except one person.

My best friend.

The only friend who stayed by my side.

The only one who spoke to me with kindness.

The only one who never gave up on me.

“I’ll always be watching over you, Asami…”

“I’ll always be cheering for you…”

Her words alone became the pillar that supported my heart.

“Asami? You good? One more song. Can you handle the encore?”

“Quit worrying about me. Just keep up with me, alright? You should be asking yourself that.”

“Hah! We’re all right behind you!”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Taking a deep breath, I step out from behind the curtain and return to the stage.

The moment the guitar rings out, I let my voice soar with it.

My throat feels incredible today.

Almost perfect.

Carefully matching every note to the melody, making sure my pitch never slips, I can’t help but think—

Me, of all people…

Heart’s Lacuna

Lyrics: Asami Kurusu / Ayami Hoshino

(Chorus)

Love each other…

Comfort each other…

Lick each other’s wounds…

Forgive each other…

Ah…

With the cold winter wind raging behind us,

I carry my regrets through the city streets.

Yet I cannot keep my eyes fixed on the future.

I simply stand still.

All the love you gave throughout your life,

I could never accept honestly.

So I turned my back on it…

Only your overflowing smile

Spills out from within my heart.

Even when I try to hold it close,

It slips through the gaps between my fingers.

All I can do

Is stare at the road ahead

And watch it pass by.

(Chorus Repeat)

Love each other…

Comfort each other…

Lick each other’s wounds…

Forgive each other…

Ah…

I want to be consumed by you…

Steal my heart away.

Force your way inside.

Whatever hides behind those eyes,

Within that unreadable heart,

Fill my emptiness with you.

(Chorus 2)

Your kindness.

Your consideration.

Your breath.

Your deep voice.

Yet something is missing.

Kindness alone is not love.

A misunderstanding crossing another misunderstanding.

How can you be so oblivious?

You don’t notice.

It never reaches you.

These feelings.

They never resonate.

Ahh…

Ah…

Even someone like me has something I’m proud of.

Perhaps it’s the only thing.

When it comes to singing and dancing, I refuse to lose to anyone.

Maybe my sense of pitch came from my father.

What people call perfect pitch.

They say perfect pitch is something you’re born with.

In my case, I grew up surrounded by music.

My father taught me more than lessons ever could.

Or perhaps it was simply because the sound of his guitar was always nearby.

Above all else, singing came naturally to me.

Far more naturally than it did for most people.

But…

The smile that should have accompanied it never came.

My heart and my outward appearance were always moving in opposite directions.

I don’t want to be an idol singer.

I want to become a rock artist like my father.

The moment a concert ends is when I finally feel relieved.

It’s like sprinting through a storm and somehow making it to the other side.

Most of all, I’m relieved that another day has passed without anyone discovering who I really am.

I leave the venue as quickly as possible.

I want to get away from this place.

Even one second sooner.

But I can’t let my guard down until I reach my front door.

The anxiety never leaves.

I can’t allow myself to relax yet.

The frightened walk home, hiding from the world as if I were being hunted, has become routine.

That was who Asami was in her private life.

Yet the moment she stepped onto a stage, she became someone else entirely.

Her dedication to professionalism exceeded what most people could imagine.

That unwavering commitment inspired countless people to follow her.

Despite her youth, Asami possessed remarkable character.

She carried an aura and presence far beyond what her appearance suggested.

Nothing irritated her more than people who judged others by looks alone.

And yet—

The moment work was over,

that dazzling aura vanished completely.

Chapter 1

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感情のない純情第4章

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