The real trouble began when a new streaming service, , entered the Japanese market. Unlike traditional TV, Kaleidoscope didn't care about the "clean image" that terrestrial networks worshipped. They made gritty, realistic omote to ura (front and back) documentaries. And they wanted Airi.

On the red carpet, a young Japanese reporter called out: “Matsuki-san! Are you still the National Little Sister?”

She was a product of the Johnny & Associates —style system, though she was part of a rival female idol group that had long since disbanded. Now, she was a tarento (talent): a face who could sing, act a little, cry a lot, and sell everything from instant ramen to life insurance.

On take forty-seven, Airi didn't say the line. She just started crying. Real, ugly, heaving sobs. Not the pretty, single-tear-down-the-cheek crying she did on variety shows. This was a dam breaking.

The producer, a sharp Korean-Japanese woman named Rina Kim, was not fooled. “We’re not making a PR video, Matsuki-san,” Rina said quietly after a shoot. “We’re making art.”