Looking around the cavernous room, Kuon tried not to look as nervous as he felt. But really, it was as if the President had deliberately chosen it in all its magnificence to remind him how small he was in comparison. So far from home, late at night, in a strange place, he suddenly felt a lot younger, like a lost little boy. He glanced at the door, almost hoping to see his father appear to rescue him.
He shook himself firmly. He was fifteen and he could deal with this. It wasn't like he had been kidnapped or anything, he had chosen this. Coming to Japan, staying with Uncle Lory – President Takarada, he reminded himself – he had chosen it. To escape from his father's shadow and his own mistakes, to forge a new path, and bury his old life, his old self. He could do this.
Thinking of his father did give him an idea, though. This ridiculous room was so over the top, it could almost be a film set, or a hired venue for a location shooting. He had seen plenty of both, trailing after one or the other of his parents while they worked throughout his childhood, and, of course, during his own disastrous attempt to enter the American film industry. Resolutely blocking that particular route down memory lane, he focused instead on the idea. This was a set. A particularly large, elaborate set. He was preparing for a role, gathering his character, while he waited for the director, Uncle Lory.
After all, in a way, it was no less than the truth. He wasn't just waiting for his father's friend in his mansion home. He was waiting for the mastermind behind this new start, who would direct him in the new life he was about to lead. And they weren't just going to discuss his plans for the immediate future, his career, his personal problems or his long-term goals. Together they were going to create his new character for the role he was going to perform in this strange theatre without walls, this limitless set. This crazy, dreamlike paradise of opportunity that was Tokyo. Or so it seemed to an emotionally worn, sleep deprived teenager, whisked through an intimidating array of security personnel from the airport, through the lights and neon of downtown Tokyo to the huge room in the massive mansion in which he now sat. This wasn't really happening. This wasn't his new reality. This was a play, an act.
And suddenly the whole scenario didn't seem so intimidating. He relaxed a little, enough to lean back more comfortably into his armchair. He was going to be a new person. He felt a thrill he hadn't felt in a long while, the thrill of building a character, exploring a new world through new eyes. Who would he be here? A reinvention of himself, without his faults? Polite instead of sarcastic, measured instead of impulsive, grounded instead of arrogant, patient and calm instead of short-tempered, gentle instead of violent. He would be a correction of himself.
This new self would erase all his mistakes, his old life. He'd take on the world, and his time, he would win.