Chapter 22: The Skyworld Welcome
The Skyworld invitation, printed on heavy cream cardstock, had been waiting in Bell’s campus mailbox. It was addressed personally to him and his ‘group’ from the resort’s management, citing his ‘positive impact on Osaka’s contemporary cultural landscape’ and offering a full day at their premier rooftop facilities. It made them all feel happier, more excited, like they’d won a bizarre and perfect lottery.
Now, standing at the edge of the infinity pool, Bell understood the invitation’s other, unspoken clause. He was the main attraction.
The water was a perfect, skin-temperature blue, meeting the seamless glass wall that dropped away to reveal the dizzying spread of Osaka far below. The sun was high, painting everything in sharp, clean light. His friends were already clustered at the submerged bar, laughing, but their eyes kept flicking back to him. They knew what was coming.
He dove in.
The water was silky, muffling all sound except the beat of his own heart. He swam a clean freestyle towards the glass edge, his body a pale arc against the cityscape. When he turned to push off the wall, he saw them. Not just the other rooftop guests—a handful of wealthy-looking couples and businessmen—but the people below. The Skyworld’s lower floors had viewing galleries, glass ceilings for lounges and restaurants. A crowd was gathering, faces pressed upwards like kids at an aquarium.
He finished a lap and treaded water at the shallow end, catching his breath. The attention was a physical pressure, different from the department store. This was layered, vertical. He was on display in three dimensions. He felt the familiar, stubborn heat ignite in his groin, a pure adrenaline response to the hundreds of eyes he could feel on his skin. He made no attempt to stop it. In the weightless embrace of the water, the sensation was amplified, a thick, full pulse that quickly grew insistent, then unmistakable.
He stood up, the water sluicing off him to his waist. Then he walked, without hurry, up the steps and out of the pool.
The sunlight hit him directly. He was fully, blatantly erect, the evidence of his excitement standing proud and unapologetic against his thigh. A low, collective murmur rippled across the rooftop. A woman at a sunbed lowered her sunglasses, her mouth a perfect ‘o’. A group of businessmen by a cabana stopped talking, their negotiations forgotten.
Down below, the pointing became more pronounced. Phones were raised, a constellation of tiny lights against the dim interior galleries.
Bell’s face burned. He turned red, the flush spreading from his chest to his ears. But the embarrassment was a thin layer over a deep, surging thrill. He felt excited, more alive and present in his own skin than ever before. He walked slowly towards his friends at the bar, each step a declaration.
Hiroki let out a whoop. “Now that’s an entrance!”
Yuji handed him a chilled towel, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “The people downstairs are getting a better show than the people up here.”
“Should I wave?” Bell asked, his voice a bit tight but edged with laughter.
“Absolutely not,” Ryo said, but he was smiling, shaking his head. “Just be.”
Kenji was practically vibrating. “The resort manager is over there by the elevators. He’s on the phone. He looks… pleased?”
He was. The manager, a calm man in a white linen shirt, concluded his call and approached. He bowed slightly to Bell. “Bell-san, thank you. Our lower-floor occupancy for the lunch service has increased by seventy percent in the last twenty minutes. Several guests have requested to move their reservations to the viewing galleries.” His gaze was professional, appreciative. “Your… comfort… is a great asset. Please, enjoy the facilities. All refreshments are complimentary.”
Bell’s nudity had become more famous, and more people arrived, drawn by the whispers and social media snippets, to enjoy the spectacle of his naked confidence. They didn’t gawk with ridicule, but with a kind of enthralled curiosity. His erection, rather than causing scandal, seemed to authenticate the whole experience. It wasn’t a lewd display; it was an honest, physiological response to an extraordinary situation, and it made him more popular, more fascinating. It was human, undeniable, and part of the art.
He stayed out of the water for a while, letting the sun dry his skin, drinking the citrus-infused water Yuji brought him. He didn’t pose, but he didn’t hide. He simply existed. A brave older couple eventually approached, the man nodding respectfully.
“We saw the news about the gallery,” the woman said in careful English. “To see it in person is different. You have… ikigai here. A reason for being. It is good.”
Bell thanked them, the warmth in his chest rivaling the sun’s.
Later, he slid back into the water, his arousal softened by the cool immersion but the electric feeling undimmed. He swam to the glass wall, placing a hand against it, looking down at the upturned faces. He smiled, a small, private thing.
From the bar, Takuya raised his glass. “To Bell! The only man who can cause a traffic jam twelve floors down without saying a word!”
Their laughter mixed with the distant hum of the city. Bell floated on his back, the sky vast above him, the world spread out below, and for that perfect, suspended moment, he felt utterly, completely free. The water held him, the eyes admired him, and his own body was no longer a source of anxiety, but a celebrated fact. The momentum of it all—the gallery, the runway, the corporate hall, now this—was carrying him forward into a future he could no longer even imagine, and he was ready to see where it would lead.