The clock struck three in the afternoon when Yumi led Arthur down a narrow hallway in the Azabu district, in the heart of Tokyo. The golden light of the sunset filtered through fogged windows, bathing everything in a warm hue. Outside, the distant hum of trams could be heard, but inside, there was only silence.
"Arthur, I want to introduce you to someone," Yumi said, stopping in front of a wooden door with a hand-carved sign that read: Atelier Mizuno.
Inside was a sanctuary of mirrors, soft lights, and shelves filled with jars, pigments, and brushes. A thin man with neatly combed gray hair bowed slightly.
"This is Kenji Mizuno," Yumi explained. "He used to work in kabuki theater. Now he does something more... discreet."
Mizuno approached without a word and gently took Arthur's face in his gloved hands, studying it carefully.
"Blond hair, pale skin, gray eyes," he murmured. "A rarity in Tokyo... and a problem if you wish to remain unnoticed."
Arthur didn't respond. He simply sat down in front of the large round mirror illuminated by a circular lamp.
Mizuno began preparing his materials with slow, almost ceremonial movements.
"Your mother told me you wish to become someone else," the makeup artist said as he placed a protective cloth around Arthur's shoulders. "In the theater, we call that killing the face."
"And what does that mean?" Arthur asked.
"It means the face you know must die so that another may be born."
The process lasted over an hour. Mizuno started by dyeing Arthur's blond hair with a dark, almost bluish mixture that shimmered under the light. He then straightened each strand, giving it the thick texture of Japanese hair.
After that, he applied a warmer foundation to hide Arthur's natural paleness, softening his Western features. Small prosthetics on the eyelids and cheekbones subtly changed his face.
With each stroke, the foreign teenager who had entered began to disappear.
When he finished, Mizuno turned off the lamp and stepped back.
"Look," he said softly.
Arthur lifted his eyes. In the mirror, a man of about forty stared back —black hair, thick eyebrows, calm expression. The traces of his American heritage had vanished beneath a reserved, distinctly Asian appearance.
"Is this how they'll see me?" he asked in awe.
"They'll see you this way if you believe it yourself," Mizuno replied. "AOI isn't just a face. It's a way of moving, speaking, breathing. If you doubt, the disguise breaks."
Yumi stepped closer, inspecting every detail.
"Perfect," she said quietly. "No one will suspect a foreigner if they see a Japanese man in his forties."
Arthur —now AOI— looked at his reflection once more. For the first time, he felt that the face staring back didn't belong to him.
The blond-haired boy had vanished.
Moments later, Masato arrived at his sister's house. He noticed she was talking to a man, so he waited until the man greeted him.
"Uncle, what brings you here again?"
Masato blinked in confusion. His sister burst into laughter and looked at the man —it was Arthur, transformed into AOI.
"Masato, I'd like you to meet AOI," Yumi said with a teasing tone.
Masato stared, puzzled, then remembered Arthur had once said his alias would be AOI. Yumi simply nodded.
"So it's true, Arthur… I didn't recognize you. It's really strange," Masato admitted.
AOI smiled. "Well, uncle, look on the bright side —this way the Yakuza won't know who I really am."
Masato chuckled. "But Arthur, you dyed your hair? Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"
"Many Japanese dye their hair blond," Arthur replied with a grin. "I dye mine darker —it's only fair."
Masato burst out laughing at the joke. "Well then, Arthur, if you're fine with it, I'd like you to meet someone from the clan as AOI. He should know your ideas could be crucial for the company."
Arthur nodded silently and followed his uncle to the car. After saying goodbye to Yumi, they drove off —heading toward the Sumiyoshi-kai clan.