Volume 13 Chapter 320 At the Edge of Broadway
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
This is New York—Manhattan, Main Street—no, a small theater far from Broadway’s dazzling lights.
They call it off-off-Broadway, one of those tiny venues where experimental, avant-garde plays are performed night after night, driven by passion and the need to survive.
I stepped out of the taxi and walked toward the theater. I’ve worked in the entertainment industry across the States for years, so this kind of scene isn’t new to me—but tonight felt different.
”Wow, long time no see,” the theater manager laughed. “What brings someone like you to this little hole on the edge of Broadway?”
”Maybe I’m hunting for a raw gem,” I said lightly.
She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.
”In this rundown theater? You know what people call this place? The Sleeping Theater.”
Of course, I knew.
Once, it was a vibrant space filled with ambitious young actors. That changed when it fell into debt and the ownership shifted. The old owner was willing to lose money to give young people a stage. The new one? She only cares about the rent.
Looking around, I saw people asleep in their seats, others working on laptops balanced on their knees.
”Hotels and coworking spaces are expensive around here. So this is what we’ve become. Still want a ticket?” she asked.
”Yeah. Give me the best seat. Not for napping—for watching.”
The truth is, I came back because the last student play I saw here blew me away. The cast’s acting was a disaster—I could barely watch—but the girl who wrote the script… she had something. A spark I couldn’t forget.
That’s why I’m here tonight, excited to see her new piece.
”Well then, enjoy yourself. Have a good night.”
”Thanks.”
Ticket in hand, I headed to my seat, hoping the cast would be watchable this time. I tried to relax, savoring the quiet moments before the show began.
”Grrr… guaaah…”
I turned toward the snoring a few seats away.
For god’s sake. I knew this place was cheap, but really? You had to kill the mood right away?
Click-clack, click-clack…
Of course—there’s always one person who types like a maniac. Every office has one!
Can’t you stop hammering the keyboard like it owes you money?!
”Waaah!”
And there it was—a crying baby. Perfect.
Oh, come on! Maybe I should just go home.
No, no. Breathe. Patience.
Tap-tap-tap-tap…
Who the hell is shaking their leg behind me?!
Damn it! I pressed my eyes shut and held my head, trying to choke down the boiling irritation.
”Haah…”
How am I supposed to focus on her work like this?
Just as I thought that, the opening buzzer rang, and the lights dimmed, plunging the theater into darkness.
Tick. Tick. Tick…
A soft beat echoed through the silence.
Then, a spotlight struck the stage, catching the edge of someone’s shoe.
The rhythm shifted into an eight-beat pulse, and the feet began to move.
Sharp, controlled, graceful steps.
I can judge a dancer’s skill by their footwork, and this one was good. Damn good.
I leaned forward without thinking, and the light over his feet faded.
”He’s coming. That’s the sign,” a man’s voice rang out.
A man? My mind spun. Given my work, I know nearly every male actor, model, and artist in the States.
But this voice… I’d never heard it before. Smooth. Strong. And his singing was incredible.
The spotlight widened, washing over the stage.
Yeah. Definitely a man.
He wore a white jacket and a matching hat pulled low, hiding his face.
Tall—maybe one-eighty-five. His size gave his movements power and elegance.
Even through the jacket, I could see his muscles—firm, but not bulky. Refined. Balanced. Elegant.
Even the woman beside me—the one click-clacking on her laptop—had stopped typing, completely mesmerized.
Could he be… not from the States?
But he was singing in perfect English—smooth, natural, no accent. Maybe he was from Europe? A musical actor or singer from the Stars, perhaps.
No… I’ve never seen anyone, not even from the Stars, move and sing like this.
Even Charlie—the guy everyone’s been talking about—has nothing on this.
This man was on another level.
”Come on, honey. Stop hiding and let me catch you,” the man sang.
Every tap, every shift of his weight was mesmerizing.
When he spun, the hem of his white jacket sliced through the air, and everyone’s eyes followed, hypnotized.
He snapped his fingers to the beat—just once—and it hit me like a rush of heat through my chest, an aching, impossible longing.
”Honey, say my name. You already know it, don’t you?”
Then he planted both feet together and leaned forward—far forward.
What the hell kind of core strength is that?! No—it’s more than that.
He could do this only because his body was perfectly trained—every muscle in harmony. Even through his jeans, I could see the smooth line of his thighs, the tight curve of his calves. His spine and abs held everything balanced, strong but fluid. His joints—ankles, hips, shoulders, wrists—all moved with shocking flexibility.
That means he’s not just building muscle. He’s training precision. Every part of him works in exact calculation.
The woman who’d been snoring was now wide awake, eyes blown open, staring like she’d seen a ghost.
Could it be… him?
”Honey,” the man sang again, softer this time, “stop hiding and tell me your name.”
What—?! My mouth fell open. It looked like he was walking forward, but his feet were moving backward. I could only stare, utterly caught in his dance.
Even the woman shaking her leg behind me had gone still. The crying baby in the front row? Quiet. Completely.
Everyone in that tiny theater was frozen, eyes locked on him—the man who had stolen the air from the room with his voice and dance.
Then, the song ended.
In one slow, deliberate motion, he took off his white hat and revealed his face.
For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the room. Nobody breathed.
”…Shirogane… Aqua…”
Someone whispered the name, barely audible, but it was enough. The audience stiffened. Even the theater manager at the back, who’d been standing there like it was just another night, froze solid.
And for a split second—just one—the same name flashed through my mind too.
But I dismissed it immediately. No way. It couldn’t be him.
I bit my lip hard, heat rising up my neck as embarrassment burned through me.
God, how pathetic.
Sure, I’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. Even if you didn’t follow the industry, you could look him up online and see how good he was.
But I’d underestimated him—deep down, I’d looked down on him. Just another idol from East Asia, I’d thought. My pride as someone from the States, someone who lived and breathed this industry, had blinded me. Now, I was ashamed.
”Hey,” his voice slid through the silence, smooth and confident. “The night’s just getting started, right?”
He tossed aside the white jacket and slipped into a red leather one, like he was stepping into the heartbeat of New York’s night.
Every move he made pulled every eye in the room toward him—effortless magnetism.
Yukishiro Mikuni… Her image flashed in my mind—that same brilliance, that same way of capturing hearts with a single blink.
No… not quite the same. Mikuni never bothered with tricks or polish. She didn’t need them. Her charisma was overwhelming, her beauty divine, silencing any room without effort.
But he was different. Every detail, down to how he threw on a jacket, was calculated. He studied it. Refined it. Perfected it.
And I get it now.
Some of my colleagues—the ones on the world stage—were pissed at Kohina Yukari, the woman who “remade” Shirogane Aqua. They said things like, “He doesn’t need those gimmicks” or “He could stand out without that overdesign.” Mikuni’s diehard fans especially hated what she did to him.
But me? I prefer this version.
Mikuni was a genius, but she wasn’t the kind to throw everything into the fire for her art. Her brilliance was effortless—god-given beauty, an untouchable aura.
He, though—he’s alive.
He’s got talent, but he’s also clawed his way here with effort, with raw drive that screams through every heartbeat of his performance.
And damn, I like that fire. That reckless, hungry energy.
”Come on,” he said, snapping his fingers to the beat. “Let’s ride the rhythm of the night.”
The rhythm pulsed, and he clicked his fingers again—sharp, clean, electric.
From the lyrics and movement, I could tell—the story was about a girl locked away at home, drawn out into the city to dance under the stars.
Minimal dialogue. Mostly music and motion. I loved that.
The spotlight slid sideways. A group of women dressed like gangsters strutted in, fingers snapping in sync with him.
”Didn’t your mom tell you?” one of them sang. “The city at night is dangerous. Stay inside.”
Ah—so the dialogue was part of the lyrics.
The gang-girls circled him, moving in tight formation.
”Don’t worry,” he sang, voice low and tender. “Leave this to me. You can run from this night if you want.”
What kind of dance is this?
It reminded me of old Japanese films—the way fight scenes looked like choreography, precise but emotional.
Except here, no one was thrown around. It wasn’t acrobatic. It was musical, rhythmic, pure stagecraft.
If you looked closely, the other dancers weren’t that skilled. Honestly, some were rough.
But somehow, the whole performance worked. No—it more than worked. It shone.
My eyes followed Shirogane Aqua’s every move.
I noticed something—when he spread his legs in a step, he deliberately nudged his partner’s toe with his own, subtly guiding their motion.
And when he pulled someone’s hand, he wasn’t just pulling. He was adjusting their center of gravity, balancing their bodies with his core strength.
This guy… holy hell.
No, “genius” doesn’t even cover it. Talent alone doesn’t explain this.
He was elevating everyone around him. No matter their level, he pulled them into his rhythm, into his control—and together they became flawless.
That kind of ability is terrifying.
If Yukishiro Mikuni’s dominance turned everyone else into background extras so she could shine, then Shirogane Aqua’s dominance dragged everyone up with him—he made everyone else better.
A shiver ran down my spine. I grinned without meaning to.
Kohina Yukari… the crazy woman who “remade” him—now I really want to meet her.
What kind of wild, unhinged genius looks at a man like this and decides to push him further?
I don’t know her, but she’s got to be nuts—the brilliant kind of nuts.
”So what’ll it be?” his voice crooned. “Run back home to mommy and stay a little girl forever? Or come with me, and I’ll show you what the night really means.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
His dance—on a different level. His voice—same story.
If he debuted in the States right now, he’d blow up instantly. No question.
No—thinking like that is too small.
He wouldn’t just sell. He’d make history.
And when he finally comes to the States… I’ll make sure he has the stage, the light, the world he deserves.
I can open doors—Broadway, TV, radio, producers, even Hollywood. I know the people. I have the pull.
There’s a lot I can do for him—more than most could even imagine.
After finishing his second song, Shirogane Aqua pointed toward the theater’s exit.
”Well then, that’s the way out. If you want to run from this night, now’s your chance.”
Of course, not a single person stood.
For the next hour, the stage belonged entirely to him. Every second was his—and when it finally ended, that rundown theater erupted in thunderous applause and cheers that shook the walls.
I lingered for a moment, letting the afterglow sink in, then slowly rose and walked toward the counter.
”Hey,” someone said beside me, “did you know he was coming?”
”Me? No way. You did?”
The manager shook her head.
”When I saw the lineup, it had a different name.”
”I see.”
So it must’ve been some last-minute change, an accident maybe — someone dropped out and he filled in.
Still thinking that over, I stepped outside for some air. That’s when I saw him again — Shirogane Aqua, walking out with a woman at his side.
The woman… that was Atori Ako, the president of Beryl Entertainment.
She laughed softly. “Ha! Who would’ve guessed? I just came to check out the venue during the school trip, got lost, ran into some panicked staff because their actor didn’t show, and somehow ended up here. You really do keep life interesting, Aqua-kun.”
He smiled. “Told you. I promise, Ako-san — I’ll never let you get bored.”
Atori Ako laughed again.
To think he learned all those lyrics and lines in such a short time — impossible. And the choreography? He didn’t even have time to learn it. That means it was all improvisation. Unbelievable.
I took a slow breath, steadying myself, and walked toward them.
”Nice to meet you,” I said. “I was watching from the audience. Your dancing and singing — they were incredible.”
”Thank you so much!!”
He grinned like a boy his age — open, honest, too damn adorable for his own good.
So that’s his real face, huh? No wonder he melts older women. Who could resist that kind of sweet, genuine charm?
”Tell me,” I asked, “are you interested in Broadway?”
”Yes! Tonight was more about singing and dancing, but I’d love to try a real musical someday!”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my business card, and handed it to Atori Ako.
Her eyes widened when she saw my name.
Heh. Judging from her reaction, she already suspected who I was.
”If you’re ever around Broadway,” I said, “show this to any theater manager. It’ll open doors. And if you ever come to the States for work, call me. I’ll introduce you to good studios — proper rehearsal spaces too.”
”Wait— what?! Are you… are you someone big?” he asked, eyes wide.
I chuckled. Such a pure kid. If I were the type of woman with bad intentions, I’d have taken him home and devoured him by now.
Before Ako could say anything, I turned away, waving a little.
”Well then… see you around.”
”Ah— thank you so much!!”
”Thank you! I’ll be in touch soon!”
I started toward the taxi stand — and stopped dead.
Damn it. I forgot to give her the other card.
Ugh, seriously?! So much for a cool exit!
I turned back, pretending like nothing happened, and walked right up to them again.
Then I handed Ako the second card.
”Uh… what’s this?” she asked.
”That one’s for Kohina Yukari,” I said quickly. “I heard she’s struggling to get work here — probably because she’s short, and this country’s industry is still obsessed with Yukishiro Mikuni’s cult followers. But talent’s talent. The States respects that. So… consider this a chance. Or a door. Pass that card to her, would you?”
Before either of them could reply, I turned on my heel and headed straight for the taxi, speaking fast enough to hide how flustered I felt.
God, I’m hopeless. Why can’t I ever pull off a clean exit? And I’m supposed to be the cool, composed type!
Inside the taxi, I buried my face in my hands and groaned, the embarrassment burning through me.
…Well, that Kohina-senpai couldn’t exactly use the card anyway — she failed her jailbreak and is still stuck in prison.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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