This story is a sequel to "The Mew War." While it is possible to read this story independently of its predecessor, reading "The Mew War" would greatly help in understanding why the characters behave as they do in this one.

The story is independent of "The Second Mew War." It assumes that that story did not occur.

"The Mew War" was set the year after the defeat of Deep Blue and immediately following the defeat of the Saint Rose Crusaders. If Momomiya Ichigo was 13 during the TMM anime series, she would have been 14 during the Mew War and would be close to 15 for this story. Minto and Lettuce are about the same age as Ichigo. Zakuro is about five years older, and Pudding about five years younger. Berry does not appear. "The Mew War" states that after the defeat of the Saint Rose Crusaders, she was "defeated" by Ichigo in a clash over who should lead the Mew Mews, and left. "The Second Mew War" states that the Mew Mews voted, and the vote was split, so Ryou and Keiichiro broke the tie by choosing Ichigo, and Berry left at that point. That would be a good way to explain how Ichigo "defeated" Berry.

Sailor Moon and her Guardian Senshi are about a year older than Ichigo and her friends. As the story is planned now, the Outer Senshi do not appear in this story. If those plans change, I will change this introduction. It is assumed that the last of the five seasons of the Sailor Moon anime ended about the same time as the Mew Mews defeated Deep Blue.

Chapter 1: Just a Kiss on the Cheek

Fujiwara Zakuro sighed softly. The meeting had been going on for over an hour, and it seemed to be going nowhere. She was sitting at a long table with a dozen other people, all men older than herself. On one side of the table were the filmmakers, each of them affecting a hint of rebellion with the longish hair, the open shirt, and, occasionally, the dark glasses worn indoors. On the other side were the money people: generally older, and certainly stuffier, with their three-piece suits and ties. Most of them were scowling as Ohara Saburo, the director for the project, went on and on about the need to find exactly the right actress for the role they needed to cast.

Then Fuso Tamiechi suddenly interrupted him. "Enough! Enough!" he barked with a scowl. "Look, you already have Fujiwara here. You don't have to sink another big wad of our investment capital into another big-name actress."

Ohara the director was clearly exasperated. "And you look! There's such a thing as artistic integrity, you know. To cast some nobody as her antagonist is an insult to the art of filmmaking."

Fuso scowled. "We really don't care here if we fund any insults to the art of filmmaking or anyone else. Hiring Fujiwara to play the lead gives us the closest thing on this earth to an ironclad guarantee that this movie will make money, probably a lot of money."

Ohara's face turned even more sour than the old financier's. "We don't make movies," he muttered. "We make films, OK?"

Fuso pointed his finger, and his voice grew very low and deadly. "As long as we are paying for it, you're making a movie. You got that? Films are artsy-fartsy crappola that lose money. Movies make money. And if you don't want to do that, we'll hire someone else that will."

Director Ohara's eyes grew very dark and hard, but he swallowed his words and said nothing. The money was talking now, and he knew that if he did not listen, he would be looking for a new job.

"I see now we have an understanding," Fuso said. "Now, why don't you just hire Monori Hatsuyo? We could afford her, and you can't say she's a nobody."

"She won't do." For the first time a woman's voice interrupted the argument, and it was quite a shock. Fujiwara Zakuro normally had little to say about such things as who played in her movies. She worked with whatever actors were hired. But now she spoke, and, oddly, they listened. "This movie requires that both the leading lady and her antagonist seem to be sympathetic characters to the audience. If I am to play a princess, and my rival is a peasant, automatically she will have the audience's sympathy. I stand a head taller than Monori-san. And the script requires us to fight. Since she already will have the audience's sympathy, if I'm so much bigger than she is, my fighting with her will make me look like some mean old ogre picking on some little innocent. I have to win that fight, and the story won't work right at all unless she's bigger than I am. If I'm smaller, I'll still garner enough sympathy so that the result of the fight will bring cheers instead of boos."

"There aren't a lot of actresses taller than you, Zakuro-san," Fuso said. "At least, not in Japan."

"We've auditioned over twenty so far," director Ohara said. "None were close to fitting the part. We have to find someone who is taller than Fujiwara, and good-looking enough so that she would be believable as her romantic rival, and athletic enough that she could look realistic in those parts of the fight scenes where we can't use a stuntwoman. And it seems as if there is no such creature out there."

"Then what would you have us do?" Fuso demanded.

"The best thing would be to hire another leading lady in place of Fujiwara – someone who isn't taller than half of the men out there," Ohara responded.

But Fuso scowled again, and his eyes once more grew dark and hard. "Fujiwara means money. Profits. Just about guaranteed. We use Fujiwara, or this project doesn't go forward – unless you can find other financing. I for one am not going to risk my hard-earned yen on anyone else."

"But there's no one to play opposite her!" Ohara muttered.

"There might be." Once again Zakuro's voice interrupted the argument. They all looked to her, and she stood before continuing. "Look, it's Friday, and it's getting late. If we could meet again on Monday, one last time, I think I might be able to find someone to play the part. Give me the weekend. Will you settle for that?"

"My time is valuable, Fujiwara-san," the financier said. "I won't appreciate having to sit through another of these meetings on Monday."

Zakuro looked him in the eye. "Just one more time," she said. "If I can't find someone to play that role by then, then this whole thing's off. Just give me that much time, please."

The heavy-set financier scowled, making his heavy jowls look even heavier. "One more time, Fujiwara. Monday, 10:00, here." It was a statement, not a question. Either they would meet at that time, or it was over. Then without another word, he rose from the table and left, with the rest of the money people filing after him.

And Fujiwara Zakuro sighed again.

The sun had set and the twilight was deepening when Zakuro parked her black sports car in front of the old house. She was in a poor, old section of Tokyo, and while Japanese cities were largely safer than large cities in other countries, there were parts that were less safe than others. And by all appearances, this was one of those less safe parts. Zakuro looked around carefully before she got out of the car.

The house was old, and very small, and shabby. It probably had been built shortly after the war, when housing was needed so badly to replace what had been burned out by the bombing, but no one had any money to pay for anything. The place clearly needed painting, and the old windows looked as if they all would admit drafts with every wind. Still, the tiny yard was neat and clean, and there were flowers in boxes under the windows. Those flowers were the only sign of color; the houses on this old street all seemed to be gray, or rather that they had faded from whatever they had been to a tired gray.

She checked the address on her GPS. It had taken the private investigator over six hours to find this address, though he could usually find an address in a few minutes. He had not charged her too much, because he had been embarrassed by his failure. Still, it had cost Zakuro money to find this place. She hoped it was the right one.

Then she left the car, and, carrying a large folder, walked up to the front door. The walkway was dirt.

She knocked on the door. There was a light inside, and she hoped someone would be home. There was no landline to this house, and the investigator had not been able to find a cell number. If no one was home, or if the PI had been wrong and other people lived here, the movie deal was probably off. She had no other ideas on how to find an actress to play opposite her in the movie.

Then the door opened. A young woman stood there, very tall, wearing a cook's apron over a shirt and jeans. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a perky high ponytail. There was more light coming from behind her than in from front of her, and so Zakuro could not clearly see the girl's eye color, but she knew it was green. For several seconds, the girl said nothing.

Then she spoke, her voice dripping with disgust. "Oh. It's you," she muttered. "What do you want?"

Zakuro was not easily flustered but she was taken aback by this. The Japanese valued manners and protocol so highly that she had been sure that she would be invited in. But the big girl blocked the door. Still, Zakuro had to say her piece. She swallowed a little, and said quietly, "Kino-san." And she bowed.

The other girl did not bow, but her eyes were getting harder by the second. "I said, what do you want?" she demanded.

Zakuro could feel anger rising in her heart. As a famous idol she was not used to being treated like this, and in any case everyone deserved to be treated with better manners. Yet once again she spoke without raising her voice. "Kino Makoto. May I come in?"

"No you may not!" the big girl answered harshly. "You are not welcome here. Please leave."

Zakuro did not move. "I thought we were at peace now," she said.

The other girl snorted openly. "Will we ever be really at peace?" she asked.

Zakuro bit her lip to keep her anger from exploding. She knew well that it had been the Sailor Senshi, not the Mew Mews, that had started the fight that led to the Mew War. She knew well that Mew Ichigo had come far closer to death than Sailor Moon had. She felt the urge to call this big fool out and settle it with her, if she wanted to fight so badly. But still, one last time, she spoke in a calm, or at least almost-calm, voice. "I have… a business proposition for you, Kino Makoto. I wish you would hear me out."

"A business proposition?" the tall girl responded. "What would the famous idol Fujiwara Zakuro have for a poor high school girl from the wrong side of the tracks?"

Zakuro paused, trying to search the girl's eyes for the truth. This girl was not acting like the Kino Makoto she remembered. "I think we should go inside," she finally said.

"No. Tell me here," the other girl said.

So Zakuro shrugged, and nodded, and said quietly, "I was hoping you'd try out for an acting job in my next movie."

"Acting? Me? Don't make me laugh!" the big girl snorted. "I don't know anything about acting. And why would anyone want me? Don't play me for a fool!"

Zakuro once again forced her rising pride and anger down. "Why you? Because we need someone taller than I am, and you are. Because we need someone who is strong and athletic for the fight scenes, and you are. Because we need someone who is young and beautiful to play my romantic rival, and you have a really cute face and a figure that would knock a truck over. And because…"

"No!" tall Makoto snorted one more time. "I don't believe a word you're saying. If you wanted someone beautiful to be an actress, you'd want Minako, even Rei. Not me! I don't know what you're trying to trap me into, but I'll have no part of it. Just get lost, leave us all alone!"

One last time the anger surged in Zakuro's heart, and this time she barely was able to keep it in. She knew she was half a breath from a fight with the big oaf, and she knew that such a fight would restart the war between the Mew Mews and the Senshi. So she sighed openly and said, "I am sorry. Most young girls would love the chance to try out for a movie part. You are different, I guess." She bowed again. "I did not know you were like this. I thought you'd be interested, at least try." She lowered her eyes. "I am so sorry, Kino Makoto." She slowly turned away and headed for the car.

But the girl's voice behind her brought her up short. "Wolf-girl!"

Zakuro turned back, half expecting to catch a magical attack in her face. The big girl was still standing in the door, framed by the light behind her. She was not looking at Zakuro, but was staring at her own feet. "Just one thing. What was the last 'because?' What was the last reason you claimed you wanted me for your movie?"

Zakuro retraced her steps until she stood again before the other girl. "I will answer that question if you answer mine first," she said, quietly but firmly. "And my question is this: why so much anger and hatred? Our war is over, Kino Makoto."

The big girl looked up. She tried to control her voice, but it rose too much. "You girls almost killed Sailor Moon, and now you think we can be friends or something? I never rest easily now, knowing that you are out there. Usagi is so naïve, she thinks that you people are really our friends now, that you would really serve her as Princess. But I'm no fool. Over and over I think that we should have killed you all then, and Usagi would be safe. We are the guardian Senshi. The reason we were born, the whole purpose of our lives, is to protect the Moon Princess, to keep her safe. And now she is not safe, because we Senshi have… failed in our duty."

Zakuro stood in silence for several seconds. "And now your answer – the last 'because.' You could have killed Ichigo. You, Kino Makoto, Sailor Jupiter the mighty and strong. I saw you there. You stood there over her as she lay helpless in a hospital bed. There was no one to protect her and she could not defend herself. Mew Ichigo, the one who defeated Sailor Moon, was helpless before you. And instead of hurting her, instead of killing the best friend I ever had, you bent down, and stroked her hair, and kissed her cheek. And because you treated her with such kindness, you, Kino Makoto, made the first step toward peace. Because you kissed her cheek, we found a way to end the fighting. Because you kissed her cheek, we all are alive today. If you had hurt her, I would have killed you then and there. I was transformed, you were not. You could not have defended yourself. Then the war would have gone on to the death. Maybe we all would have died. But we didn't, because the kindness in your heart was greater than all the anger and hatred you felt."

Makoto's head bowed, and tears began streaming down her cheeks. And Zakuro went on, "The last 'because' is this: I owe you this, Kino Makoto. I owe you for the life of my best friend, and probably for my own life, as well. And I thought this might help pay you back for that kiss on Ichigo's cheek."

And Makoto looked up, and her eyes met Zakuro's; and through her tears, she whispered, "Come in, please."

Author's note: The financier (Fuso Tamiechi), the director (Ohara Saburo), and the named actress (Monori Hatsuyo) are all fictional and are of my invention. None of them appears in the Sailor Moon or Tokyo Mew Mew mangas or animes.