On the 7th, Fuma Kikuchi of the eight-member group timelesz held a press event in Tokyo to commemorate the release of his first photobook, Latido (published by Shueisha). He reflected that the initial trigger for the project came from a remark made by Ryosuke Yamada of Hey! Say! JUMP, a fellow member of the YouTube channel Yonino Channel.
For Fuma Kikuchi, the beginning of his first photobook didn’t start with a grand plan or a long-held ambition. It began with a single, casual remark from Ryosuke Yamada—a friend, a fellow traveler, someone who had already crossed that same threshold of turning 30 and decided to leave proof behind.
“You should release a photobook.”
That was it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing ceremonial. And yet, it landed.
“That one comment really made me stop and think,” he shared. “It might have been an offhand remark for Yamada-kun, but for me, it became the reason to seriously reconsider it. I thought, if I can leave something behind like this at the milestone of turning 30, that would be wonderful—and that’s how this book came to be.”
Standing at the press event for Latido, Fuma spoke about that moment not as a push, but as a mirror. A sudden realization that maybe this age—this in-between place of youth and adulthood, momentum and reflection—deserved to be held still for once. Not rushed past. Not laughed away.
Since debuting in 2011 as part of Sexy Zone, Fuma has, alongside his group activities, built a wide-ranging career spanning acting, variety shows, stage performances, and more recently, a leader navigating uncertainty and rebirth with timelesz. The whirlwind years of timelesz project -AUDITION- didn’t just test his stamina—they sharpened his sense of responsibility, identity, and continuity. By the time he turned 30, he wasn’t just older. He was fuller.
Latido—Spanish for “heartbeat”—feels like the most honest possible title for what this book represents. Not because it sounds romantic, but because it describes something Fuma has always been: the quiet, persistent pulse that keeps moving even when the rhythm around him falters. But loud when it matters.
This isn’t a showcase of perfection. It’s a record of continuation. Of breath taken in and let out. Of the small, human moments between performances where emotion settles into the body before it ever reaches words. These pages don’t ask him to pose as an ideal—they allow him to simply exist, and that’s what makes them disarming.
Fuma has always carried a kind of emotional stamina. Through changes, pressure, reinvention, and the long, uneven road of growing up in public, he has remained present—sometimes visibly, sometimes invisibly—but always beating. Always there. To see that constancy translated into still images feels almost surreal, like trying to photograph a rhythm rather than a face.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and Latido feels like an extension of that truth. Not a declaration, but a glimpse. Another opening. Another place where what he carries inside is allowed to surface without explanation or performance. The expressions captured here are not louder than his voice—they’re softer, closer, and perhaps more revealing because of it.
In that sense, this photobook doesn’t immortalize a moment so much as it preserves a feeling. The proof that even as time moves forward, the heartbeat remains. Steady. Human. And unmistakably his.
When members like So Matsushima and Masaki Hashimoto praised him—“I didn’t know you could make expressions like this,” “You look especially cool here”—the compliments came with laughter and a gentle sting of self-awareness. Fuma joked that hearing “you’re different here” made him briefly wonder if his usual self was somehow lacking. But he settled on a kinder truth: this book gathers the faces he doesn’t normally show. And that, too, is part of being 30.
Asked to rate the finished work, he didn’t hesitate: “250 points.”
It wasn’t bravado—it was relief. Pride. Gratitude for a shoot filled with warmth, for a staff that created safety, and for a moment in life that finally felt ready to be archived. Latido carries not just beautiful images, but the collective weight of everything he has been up to now—the years of accumulation, missteps, growth, and quiet resilience.
He hasn’t yet handed the book to Ryosuke, but he already knows where he hopes it will end up: placed gently among the beautiful art and figures in Ryosuke’s shelves, not as a trophy, but as something lived with. Something that beats.
Fuma Kikuchi didn’t just release a photobook.
He chose to leave behind a heartbeat—and trust that it would still be heard.
