….
A month had passed since Regal's meeting with Gwendolyn's father.
And a week since Keanu called - through his sister's phone. His voice, quiet. Apologetic. Something was wrong.
Within this time, behind the curtain, Gwendolyn continued maneuvering with MDC, steadily tightening the gears on the deal.
But Regal?
He hadn't resumed filming [The Hangover].
Not as planned.
Or rather - he couldn't.
The reason?
"Keanu, can you even kick that ball?"
Andrew's voice cut through the salty air with mocking ease, no sympathy behind it. His tone carried the same teasing bravado he had always had since the days of [Following], their first film together.
Keanu didn't flinch. He simply gave a half-smile, dry and laced with his signature deadpan cool. "...Maybe if the ball were on crutches."
Regal stifled a chuckle. He strolled over and picked up the stray volleyball that had rolled near Keanu's folding chair on the sand.
Wordlessly, he tossed it toward Andrew, who stood at the edge of the net with a teammate beside him. Two others stood on the opposite side, already sweating under the soft, overcast light.
Keanu sighed and leaned back, shifting slightly to accommodate the stiff, bandaged weight of his right leg, now held together more by pins and gauze than bone.
"Just wait…" He muttered, a hint of fire beneath his otherwise cool tone. "When I am healed, you are the first one I am spiking it at."
It wasn't bluster.
The injury had been no minor Hollywood mishap.
Just a week ago, Keanu had taken his new Yamaha FZS 600 out for a solo ride - a sleek, black beast of a machine he had fallen in love with.
But the danger hadn't come from speed - it came from a driver in the opposite lane, distracted. The sudden swerve left Keanu no time. His body hit asphalt at an unforgiving angle. The tibia and fibula in his right leg snapped in a jagged spiral, the kind of fracture surgeons grimaced at.
The crash didn't just shatter bone - it shattered plans.
Filming was undoubtedly halted, and Keanu, despite the pain, had spent nights sending apology after apology, his humility cutting deeper than any doctor's scalpel.
Regal, never one to panic on impulse, remembered Andrew - who informed him about his plans to once again to disappear to his now sweet vacation spot.
Immediately he asked the guy if he could bring some people over with, to which he agreed.
Within a day, Regal postponed the shoot, alerted Red Studio, and booked seven seats on a flight.
Seven travelers.
Four of them were the core cast of [The Hangover]: Zach Galifianakis, Paul Rudd, Ben Azelart, and Keanu Reeves.
The other three?
Regal himself. Andrew. And Rock.
And brought them here, where the pines towered over the sea and the wind spoke in quiet absolutes.
A place where broken bones and frayed nerves didn't feel like burdens.
Just… pauses.
And for now, that was enough.
….
[Same Day - Evening]
….
The horizon burned amber as the sun dipped beneath the cliffs of northern Malaysia, its last light gilding the waves in fleeting gold.
The beach stretched empty and quiet, wind coiling around Regal's collar as he strolled along the coarse sand. His thoughts wandered - until something interrupted them.
A voice. Low. Measured. Almost reverent.
「綺麗ですね…」
–It's beautiful…
The words brushed against him like mist off the tide. Regal's steps slowed. Japanese?
He hadn't heard another soul for hours. And certainly not here, at the edge of nowhere.
Without turning, he answered in the same language, his tone smooth, almost automatic.
「本当に,綺麗だ.」
–It really is.
A pause. Subtle, but palpable.
"…You understood me?"
Regal smiled faintly and turned, half amused, only for his voice to catch mid-breath.
Sitting on a crooked piece of driftwood was a man. Broad shoulders hunched slightly beneath a weathered jacket, posture relaxed yet alert. He stared at the sea, bald head catching the last flicker of dusk.
Regal blinked. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.
Nanami…?
He knew how ridiculous that thought was, and yet - there it was. The same composed air. The same quiet gravity.
But not quite. This man was leaner. His eyes carried less weight, none of the bone-deep fatigue Regal associated with the fictional ex-salaryman.
No scars or a curse-laced suit. Just… serenity.
And yet, the name floated up again. As if plucked from the wrong world and dropped into this one.
"I am Nanami." The man said, rising to offer a polite bow. His voice - deep, deliberate, articulate - matched the fiction far too closely. "Sorry if I interrupted your thoughts."
Regal hesitated, then extended a hand. "Not at all. I am Regal. Nice to meet you."
"…You speak Japanese?"
Regal chuckled, grounding himself again. "Yeah, I learned it while working on a film last year."
He wasn't lying.
He had indeed started learning Japanese with his skill ever since working on [Death Note].
Nanami raised a brow - subtle, not exaggerated. "You are surprisingly fluent for someone who 'just learned' it."
"Comes with the job." Regal replied. "Writer. Director."
Nanami nodded once, considering. "Hollywood?"
"Kind of." Regal grinned. "Taking a break with my team."
"And you?" He added casually. "What do you do?"
There was the faintest shift in Nanami's expression. A stillness, a pause. Like someone bracing before answering a question they had rehearsed a thousand times and still hadn't found the right words for.
"I was a financial advisor." He said simply. "Handled restructuring plans, debt negotiation. Helped clients - businesses, families - stay afloat."
Regal raised a brow. "Sounds noble."
Nanami gave a quiet, short laugh.
"It sounds that way." His voice wasn't bitter, just... tired. "But the truth is, the system is rigged to wear people down. Most of the time, all I did was delay collapse. Stretch pain into something slow and manageable. Some families thanked me. Others didn't survive the wait."
He turned slightly toward the water, letting the wind brush against his face. His gaze didn't waver from the horizon.
"Eventually I realized I wasn't saving anyone. I was just keeping them busy while they sank."
Regal said nothing at first. He didn't have to. In Nanami's tone, he heard something heavier than defeat, it was the echo of someone who had carried too much, too long. And then, out of some cruel design of fate, had been forced to stop carrying it at all.
"Is that why you left?" Regal asked, softer now.
Nanami nodded. "I didn't want to become numb to it. Better to leave when I could still feel something."
There was silence. Regal let it stretch, not out of awkwardness, but respect. And when he finally spoke, his words came like a shift in the wind - gentle, but deliberate.
He looked back at the sea.
"Sometimes helping… doesn't mean saving."
There was a quiet moment between them. Regal studied the man. The posture. The phrasing. The voice. Everything about him aligned with what shouldn't exist.
He tilted his head slightly. "Have you ever acted?"
Nanami glanced over. "Is that an offer?"
"I don't direct Japanese films." Regal said lightly. "But your voice - it has weight. Calm. Controlled. Familiar, even."
Nanami chuckled. "I have been told I sound like I narrate documentaries for a living."
Regal's tone shifted, serious now. "I have a project. A Japanese dub of a film I made. We haven't released it yet - never found the right voice for one of the character. It should be stoic. Precise. Someone who carries the burden of purpose."
"Sounds heavy."
"It is." Regal paused. "But so is your voice."
Nanami was quiet for a beat. Then. "I have never done voice work."
"You would need to train." Regal nodded. "But if you are interested, I can arrange it. It won't be easy, but I don't offer roles unless I mean it."
"You are serious?"
For a fleeting second, Regal almost laughed.
Why did they always ask that? Every time he extended an offer, an opportunity, it was met with the same skeptical line.
And every time, without fail, he gave the same answer.
He met Nanami's gaze, unblinking.
"Deadly."
After [Death Note] released with Japanese subs and received far more attention than expected in Tokyo indie circuits, Regal had quietly planned to dub it properly - but paused the plan due to his tight schedule.
He could have handed it over to any distribution company from Japan, and let them oversee it but he was unwilling to settle for generic VO talent.
Until now.
Because standing before him was something uncanny.
Not just the name - Kento Nanami. Not just the timbre of his voice.
But the faint, uncanny echo of - Kenjiro Tsuda - himself, if a little younger, a little less hardened.
Nanami studied him for a long moment. Then: "Let me think about it."
Regal handed him a slim card. "I will be here for a few more days."
Nanami took it with a nod, pocketing it without fanfare.
As he turned to leave, Regal called out. "Nanami."
He paused, glancing back.
"Do you think it's peaceful here?"
?...?Nanami blinked, caught off-guard. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted back toward the sea. The wind curled through the air, brushing against them with the hush of something ancient and kind.
The sky above the water burned faintly orange, softening into the hush of evening.
And after a long silence, Nanami answered - not to Regal, but to something deeper.
"…Yes." He murmured. "It is."
And maybe, that was the whole point of this encounter.
.
….
[To be continued…]
====
[Note:
Yeah, I know - this chapter is kinda surprising… even for me.
I have never. Never - intended to include any fictional characters in this fic. In fact, I have a slight dislike of the idea. But here I am, doing exactly that.
Still I do want to confirm that - Nanami will be the first and last.
That said, now that he is here, I intend to let him appear from time to time. Quietly. Meaningfully. Because honestly… I just thought his character deserved what he always wished for.
And it is sad, watching the end he got. So think of this not as a crossover or a gimmick, but as an ovation.
A quiet tribute.
To Nanami.]
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
Author Note:
Visit Patreon to instantly access +1 chapter for free, available to Free Members as well.
For additional content, please do support me and gain access to +10 more chapters.
–> [email protected]/OrgoWriters