"Excuse me, are you also a Ragdoll fan?"
"I'm not a Ragdoll fan."
"Then may I ask, who are you supporting here today?"
"I'm here for Airi-chan. She made it into the finals!"
At the entrance of the Yoyogi National Gymnasium in Shibuya, a Weekly Bunshun reporter was interviewing fans who had gathered to support their idols.
At this moment, the arena's exterior was packed tight, layer upon layer of people. It felt like winter—everyone bundled up in undershirts, sweaters, and padded jackets, wrapped securely against the cold.
The billboard at the gate clearly displayed today's event titles: The Woman of Suiko, The Woman of Chu, Would You Like This Kind of Woman? It was the live grand finale of the audition for the lead female role in a music video.
Ōmori Gento, the event organizer, had never expected that hundreds of young women from across the country would pass the auditions. Since he had chosen to stir hype, he decided to go all the way—placing the finals directly in a stadium.
Judging from the billboard, however, the title The Woman of Suiko was risky. Anyone could guess Sony Music might get slapped with a fine from the market regulators. After all, Suiko was the name of Japan's very first reigning empress.
"Marina-chan will definitely be the final winner."
"I'm a fan of Marina. She's the perfect candidate for The Woman of Chu. As long as the judges are fair, there's no problem."
Everyone in Japan knew that Chu Zhi had countless fans. But strangely enough, half of the support teams at today's venue were male.
Once reporters began asking questions, they realized these men were fans of the contestants.
The journalists exchanged bewildered glances. It hadn't even been that long. Even if Sony Records had gone all-out with promotion—live-streaming the top twenty, top twelve, and top eight—these young women were still fresh faces. How could they have built such a large fan base already?
The answer soon revealed itself.
A Subaru minivan pulled up. Subaru's vans in Japan had a peculiar design—the front looked chopped short, almost as if someone had lopped off the nose.
Out stepped a pretty girl in a school-uniform-style outfit paired with mid-length socks, brimming with energy.
Her skirt swayed like waves with each step. When the hem lifted slightly, the lacy garter straps tied to her thighs peeked out. The male fans instantly erupted into frenzied screams.
"Kayoko! Kayoko!"
"I love you, Kayoko!"
"You'll always be my choice!"
"Kayoko, I was at every single one of your Live House shows!"
The reporters flinched at the sudden roar but quickly understood—this Kayoko must be an underground idol.
A Live House was a small venue for performances, usually holding two to three hundred people. Thanks to Japan's thriving subculture, the underground idol industry flourished.
But flourishing didn't mean glamorous. Underground idols lived tough lives, hopping from one tiny theater to another. Their chances of appearing on TV or in print media were slim.
The lesser-known ones even had to work part-time jobs and invest their own money just to keep performing.
It wasn't just "doing it for love"—they all carried a dream of being admired, surrounded by starlight.
"No wonder I couldn't find her performance records," muttered a reporter. He had assumed she was just an ordinary girl.
Kayoko, Airi, and Marina were well-known underground idols in Osaka and Tokyo. With show after show, they had gathered a loyal army of fans.
The greatest advantage of Live House performances was how close idols stood to the audience. The intimacy made it easy to win diehard supporters.
Imagine being able to touch your idol's hand at a show. A certain pigeon-like webnovelist had once seen another fan do just that with his favorite idol's cat-eared character. His envy was boundless… cough, cough.
"Too noisy. Haven't you ever seen a woman before? You sound like a horde of zombies."
"Useless Reiwa shut-ins!"
"Unbelievable that our country has this many shut-ins."
"What's so great about these girls? None of them deserve to be the MV's lead actress. Not when Ragdoll exists."
"Can you quiet down? Cheer properly. This is still a public place."
…
Ōmori Gento arranged for the eight contestants under Sony's wing to arrive one by one. Each time, waves of cheers erupted. Female fans, their ears buzzing, lashed out at the male fans, who shouted right back. The scene quickly grew chaotic.
Unlike the previous eight Subaru vans, a black Lexus LX600 now rolled in—the most expensive SUV available for purchase in Japan. Instantly, the female fans abandoned their squabble with the men.
Chu Zhi stepped out.
Today's outfit was strikingly flamboyant: a black blazer cut in the style of a naval officer's uniform, sharp lines with broad shoulders as if fit to carry epaulettes. The peaked lapel was spliced with scarlet fabric, the metallic buttons shining in harmony with the red waistcoat beneath.
No shirt, just the waistcoat with its open lapels, baring his collarbone. And collarbones always looked good, provided one was slim.
At the waist, the jacket carried two rows of eight tightly spaced buttons. Even fastening only the middle, it revealed no skin.
This was one of the best designs Chu Zhi had created for his Mu Chire brand. As long as the wearer was decently tall—say, around 180 centimeters—and in decent shape, the suit would look stunning.
The only part Chu Zhi disliked was the choker. It felt uncomfortable around the neck, especially since a small bell of matching metallic color dangled from it. Indoors, every step would have jingled. Thankfully, the outdoor noise drowned it out.
When Chu Zhi descended from the SUV, it was as if all the beauty in the world suddenly had something to do with him. The roar from his female fans instantly forced many of the male supporters two steps back.
Yes, they literally retreated. Some out of instinct, others simply shoved back by the wave of people.
"Sexy man, Ragdoll wearing a choker—top-level sexy man!"
"Yong-san, Yong-san, I love you!"
"Ragdoll, my Ragdoll, ahhhh!"
"The red Ragdoll!"
Those were still relatively coherent responses. The majority of the girls simply screamed "Ahhhhhh!" at the sight of their idol, or cried out Chu Zhi's name in blind excitement.
The shrill shrieks pierced the ears of nearby male fans. Their eardrums throbbed painfully. Weren't they just talking about keeping quiet in public?
This wasn't just zombies. This was a zombie siege.
Tch, women—what terrifying claws.
Then again, it wasn't accurate to divide them into "male fans" and "female fans." After all, plenty of men were also devoted to Chu Zhi. Take Ojima Matsushika for example—how could he possibly miss such an event?
He stood in the front row, shouting nonsensical cries like "Oooh oooh!" and "Awooo awooo!"
Many Chinese had also gathered. According to customs data, there were over 800,000 Chinese nationals living in Japan, with students and trainees making up a quarter of them. Chu Zhi's popularity among the Chinese diaspora needed no explanation.
The fans were too passionate, stretching their hands desperately toward him like drowning people grasping for a lifeline.
Everyone wanted to be just a little closer to their idol, so they surged forward instinctively.
The tide of bodies was unstoppable. The iron barricades encircling the area crumbled like dirt dams under a flood.
Security staff tried to maintain order, but a dozen guards were nowhere near enough. The wave of people broke through with a loud crash.
This could turn into a stampede.
The reporters' eyes lit up. They shifted to safer spots, cameras ready. A breaking-news scoop was about to unfold.