Recap: Through Chiryaku Iriai-chan's blog post, we learn Houshakuji Renge, Ouran's resident otaku, has approached her about... a doujinshi!? Renge wants to use Iriai in the story. Iriai refuses, but Renge pays no heed to her objections and reveals a shocking secret. Which one will give in?
Note: If you haven't actually read the previous chapter, it really would be beneficial since recapitulation's primary drawback is leaving out so much of the story. :)
Chapter 1: When in Rome...
In the upper levels of Ouran Academy's Southern Campus, at the end of the North Corridor, there was an unused room called the Third Music Room. Only, it was rarely unused and even more rarely was it a music room. Sometimes, it was a tropical forest; sometimes, it was a scene from feudal Japan; and it was almost always a cosplay party. But most of all, Ouran Academy's Third Music Room was home to—
"Irraishamase!" [1]
—a bunch of freaks.
Beautiful, exquisite freaks but freaks nonetheless. What word would better describe the cosplaying Casanova Club? Who else but a freak would think entertaining innocent high school girls as hosts a suitable club activity? Who else but a freak would consider going to the Host Club an appropriate after school activity, for that matter?
The cosplay of the day was Ancient Rome. The music room had transformed into a scene straight out of a museum: pillars, fountains, naked statues, and olive groves. But the main attraction was, of course, the hosts with scanty, chest-baring togas and golden wreaths. Their gladiator sandals were brushed with gold leaf, and braided threads of gold were draped over the white swathes of cloth.
The dual effect of gold and beautiful boys, the reflection of bright light off white skin and shiny gold, stopped Chiryaku Iriai in her tracks. She was frozen in the doorway, her hand clutching the handle and her eyes glued to the soul-shatteringly beautiful spectacle before her.
Ever-happy fan girls squeezed past her, heading en masse toward the posing hosts. They had breezy smiles and rabid, glittering eyes, and they swarmed around the six young men like hungry wolves on a poor, sickly rabbit. Iriai couldn't watch the joint attack of four girls upon the Hitachiin twins. Glancing around the edges of the crowd, she found distraction in the Adonis that stepped out from behind a curtain: Fujioka Haruhi.
The seventh young host emerged from a blocked off changing area just as his customers realized he was missing. He costume was a stola instead of a toga, and he and held his crown of laurel leaves in his hand. "Sorry! This thing is just so hard to put on," he said to the three girls.
"I'm so very happy, Haruhi-kun," the vice president of class 1-C swooned. "You now join the other members when they change."
Eager nods from groupies. "This stola becomes you, Haruhi-kun!" the shortest of the three gushed.
It was the truth. The feminine clothing suited Haruhi so well that it was almost scary. Despite being a male, his soft appearance trumped the looks of half the girls who visited the Host Club. With long hair and some makeup, Haruhi could have equaled, or perhaps even surpassed, Iriai.
And what's up with that? Iriai sulked, playing with the ends of her straight bangs. I'm not the type of girl who gets jealous of beautiful guys. I wouldn't be here if I did, would I? But she hovered uncertainly. The rabid fan girl part of her wanted to pounce on the Host Club, the envious beauty wanted to skulk away, and the tired student just wanted to go home and sleep.
"Please come in," Kyouya's smooth voice said on her left, startling Iriai out of paralysis.
Iriai turned her back on the girls that were settling down to a picnic lunch—picnic afternoon snack?—and faced the smiling Ootori. Unlike his club members, the black-haired student wasn't accompanied by girls. "You don't have any customers today, Ootori-senpai?"
"I haven't been designated for this shift. I suppose I'll take the day off to go over the club accounts," Kyouya said, tapping on his open notebook with his pen.
Iriai's chocolate brown eyes slid away from Kyouya's and focused on the Hitachiin twins. They were playing their twincest act, and their four customers acted like faint Victorian ladies. Her gut wrenched painfully. "I'll designate you today," she said on an inexplicable impulse.
"Then it'd be my pleasure to keep you company," Kyouya said smoothly, closing the notebook and slipping the pen into the pocket of his blue blazer. If he didn't find the prospect of entertaining the first year more interesting than calculating numbers, he faked it well. "Would you like anything?"
She glanced back at twins' customers and pointed with a manicured finger to the golden cups in front of their customers at the horseshoe-shaped table. "What's that?"
"It's mulsa, a mixture of honey and water that was commonly drunk in Ancient Rome," he informed her, sounding like a history textbook. "We've copied their customs today: olives, cheese, mulsa, juice—no wine, of course—and the traditional dress."
The dark-haired girl was already regretting her decision to switch from Hikaru and Kaoru to Kyouya. Her eyes slid away from Kyouya's face again. "Very well done; the scenery is nice" she said robotically. "But I think I'm all right for now, thank you."
"In that case, please sit down."
Before Iriai could take a seat, her wandering eyes spotted the light-haired monstrosity flouncing around on the opposite side of the room.
Houshakuji Renge.
Twisting and turning, craning her head over the gathered fan girls, the spoiled, rich brat looked for all the world like a child searching for candies.
Iriai ducked her head when she saw Renge's face angle in her direction. Shit. She saw me. Resisting the temptation to dive behind the odd U furniture, she began to power-walk towards the door. "Oh, Ootori-senpai," she called to him over her shoulder, "I just recalled—I have an important meeting today. I'm very sorry. Please enjoy reviewing your—yaaah!"
Houshakuji Renge.
In front of her, blocking the door, barring Iriai's escape.
"I. Found. You." Renge declared vehemently. Her bony fingers in a death grip around Iriai's slender wrist to keep her from running.
Iriai stared in horrified disbelief at the fanatic. She'd been all the way on the other side of the room. Could she teleport? Did all obsessive fan girls possess such powerful abilities? Iriai edged as far from Renge as she could without dislocating her shoulder.
Kyouya was moving toward the pair with a look of curiosity. He addressed Iriai, "Is something the matter?"
"Nothing, Kyouya-sama! Nothing at all!" Renge answered in her hurried way. "By the way, Kyouya-sama, thank you for the favor. Now, we'll be going!" She waved happily to the rest of the room and, demonstrating surprising strength for such a slight girl, dragged Iriai bodily from the Third Music Room.
The last thing Iriai saw as she was taken away was Kaoru shrug and laugh at one of the girls' vapid comments. Feeling dejected for no good reason, she sighed and stopped struggling against Renge. "Where are we going?" she asked monotonously.
Ignoring Iriai's question, Renge complained, "It took me so long to find you! Didn't you get my text?" Without waiting for a response, she plowed on, "You can go get your things now, all right? We will rendezvous outside by the gates," she specified before flitting away.
Iriai watched her light brown locks disappear around a corner, heart sinking and temper rising. Just who did Renge think she was? The obvious answer: an empress. A pampered, bossy, delusional empress wrapped in patterned silk and decorated with sparkling jewels, wielding a mundane paper fan like a saber and surrounded by a retinue of sycophantic otaku.
The image fit the Host Club's manager so well that Iriai, oblivious to her fellow students in hall, burst into laughter. She collapsed against the smooth white wall in insuppressible mirth, imagining Houshakuji Renge dish out orders while flourishing the paper fan.
Iriai's lively laughter continued until she felt two soft hands caught her narrow shoulders and shook her back and forth. Wiping the tears from her eyes and panting softly, Iriai regained control and straightened.
"Geez, Iriai," a girl from her class scolded, "you can't go laughing like that in the middle of the hall! You'll lose fans if you break the cute image—you're lucky to have a nice laugh, but don't push it."
Iriai grinned at her plump classmate, unable to contradict her first and most vocal supporter.
The girl was Sasaki Bunko, one of Iriai's more birdbrained friends. She had an awful sense of fashion compounded with an intense interest in the subject matter and was, in the politest terms possible, a busybody.
"Right, we shouldn't make a scene in the hallway." Reinvigorated by her laughter, Iriai waved to the students that had gathered to stare at her.
Some waved back weakly, some enthusiastically. Some did neither, and a pair of unkempt boys from class 1-D called out, "Dykes!" as they passed.
Iriai tensed, but rolled her eyes instead of flipping them off to avoid conflict. "Jerks," she muttered, shaking off Sasaki's hands. She hadn't realized until then that they were still on her shoulders. "Some people have no respect, am I right?"
Sasaki made a childish face, drawing giggles from some members of the crowd as they dispersed. "Man, that is so not what I wanted to hear today. I was going to say something happy."
"Well, shoot."
Sasaki rummaged around briefly in her messy school bag. Then, with a happy squeal, she produced a magazine. Iriai's porcelain face smiled shyly at them from the cover. "It came in the mail this morning!" she gushed excitedly. "I loved the Dear Alice expo you did. I ordered the black jumper, and the heart boots were adorable."
"Oh... great." Iriai sighed.
Characteristically upset by the smallest detail, Sasaki demanded, "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Look, I've got to go, uh, meet someone. So I'll see you Monday."
The single-minded girl gasped and declared in a scandalized whisper, "You'll lose fans if you have a boyfriend! Turn him down!"
Oh my God... Iriai flushed and just walked away, wondering just how much more embarrassing the day could get.
The poor girl realized just how vast the day's potential for humiliation was when she trudged to classroom 1-C to pick up her bags and saw Renge sitting at her desk in the back row. The girl was nodding to herself and murmuring rapidly.
Iriai held back a groan and backed out of the room, careful not to make a noise. Then, she turned and ran all the way back to the Third Music Room. She eased the door on the left open and slid in unobtrusively.
Everyone in the peaceful room was talking and laughing, and only a few of the girls bothered to look away from the hosts' dazzling, bared bodies. Iriai smiled halfheartedly at them and shut the door softly behind her.
Kyouya, the host who seemed to lurk behind every pillar, greeted her with a surprised question, "Could you have forgotten something, Chiryaku-san?"
"Ah, Ootori-senpai. I just, erm..."
Ever shrewd, Kyouya nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "Hikaru and Kaoru will be free in seven minutes if you would like to designate them."
Seven minutes. I can wait seven minutes, Iriai thought, nodding. She opened her mouth to thank him, but a sudden feeling of déjà vu made her freeze. I see a monster. A monster in yellow is crawling out from behind an olive tree. The medusa is coming towards us... It's coming for me...!
"Iriai-san~" the terrifying medusa sang, looking insanely happy and pissed off at the same time. "Did you get lost, coming to the Third Music Room? Or did you forget? Let's go, let's go; I have your satchel here."
How did it find me here? Did it follow me? Actually, how did it get in!? I'm standing in front of the door. Is there a secret entrance? Does God hate me? Does He?! Well?!
The stream of distraught thoughts left Iriai too exhausted to fight against the undertow of Renge's enthusiasm as the girl from class 1-A latched onto Iriai's arm. AIn a frightening repetition of earlier events, Renge spirited her tired victim away to the spacious and luxurious interior of a luxury limousine.
Perhaps she was in a state of shock, for Iriai simply fastened her seat belt and allowed a man in a dark suit to close and lock the car door. In the passenger seat beside her, Renge finally relinquished her too-tight grip on Iriai's arm.
"Utenshu-san, I've got her," Renge said to the man in the driver's seat, as though he weren't peering at Iriai in the rear view mirror. [2]
Che, Iriai scoffed mentally. She doesn't even bother learning the names of her own staff.
Renge ordered him, "Let's go."
Iriai protested, "But my driver—"
"Don't worry, Iriai-san! I already called your chauffeur and your butler to tell them you would be visiting my home."
How did she get Ogawa's number? More Otaku Power? Iriai closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the limo's tinted window. She had the nagging suspicion that Renge kept her level of Otaku Power at maximum by sucking away the life force of those around her. A loud sigh escaped her. "May I ask why?"
Renge clapped to hands together. "I know I said Saturday, but I honestly could not wait that long. We can initiate the preliminary steps today and finish the sketch Monday. I'm too excited. Oh, Utenshu-san, call Suifu-san and tell her I want five bowls of rice today!" [3]
"Yes, Renge-sama."
Iriai thumped her head against the cool glass. And tell her I'll need five aspirins today...
"Go on," Renge encouraged her kidnapped schoolmate. "Take a seat!"
Iriai lowered herself cautiously onto the suede reclining chair across from Renge's loveseat. Her dark eyes were on the beige carpet, the only area of the Western style sitting room that wasn't decorated with images of Uki Doki Memorial, the Host Club, or other dating simulations. Even the coasters on the coffee table, Iriai saw when a maid hurried over with two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin, were tributes to bishounen.
"Would you like anything else, Renge-sama? Iriai-sama?" The poor French girl, who looked like she could use some aspirin herself, curtsied and wobbled slightly in her exhaustion. Well, catering to Houshakuji Renge did seem like a torturous, soul-consuming existence.
Renge waved her maid away impatiently. "No time for any of that. Let's get started!" The otaku flipped up the leather flap of her satchel and withdrew the Uki Doki Memorial-themed pen and notebook Iriai had seen yesterday. She laid the spiral notebook lightly in her lap. "I have many questions for you, Iriai-san."
She regarded the other girl incredulously. "Questions?"
Laughing, Renge said, "What else would one ask during an interview? Iriai-san, you write your name with the kanji chi and koyomi for Chiryaku and the counter shio and affix ai for Iriai?" [4]
Startled and relieved, Iriai nodded. Her name was not classified information. She'd expected much worse.
But then the fearsome girl went on, "Date of birth: December 31, 1988; current age: 15; height: 171 cm; weight—"
"Wait a minute!" She held out her hands, indication for Renge to stop.
Renge was undeterred. "No, dear, weight is measured in kilograms, not minutes. Weight: fifty—"
Iriai threw her hands in the air. "You don't need to say it aloud!"
"—six kilograms; BWH: 87—"
Disregarding all etiquette she'd been taught, Iriai lunged furiously across the table and snatched the notebook away from a shocked Renge. The first page fluttered to the ground, and Iriai felt a stab of guilt for her rough ministrations. Then, upon retrieving the fallen page, she realized that the A4 paper was a photocopy bearing the letterhead Ootori Co. and a detailed profile of none other than herself.
I am way out of my league, Iriai thought helplessly as she dropped back onto the chair. "Is this a background check or an interview?"
"Ohohoho," Renge chortled, covering her open mouth in a decidedly suspicious manner. "What kind of doujinshika would I be if I couldn't find a moderate to advanced background check on the model of my characters? I already know all the basics to being Chiryaku Iriai: physical traits, family history, hobbies, career plans, pet peeves, intelligence quota—"
"That would be intelligence quotient," Iriai, who could never resist the urge to correct people no matter the situation, interrupted. "And I have never taken an IQ test. And everything you just said creeps me out beyond words. If you know so much about me—and I don't even want to know how—why bother kidnapping me? Just use your blasted background check and let me go."
Renge's hazel eyes, which were always lit with a mysterious energy, fairly sparkled as she absorbed (or deflected?) Iriai's words. "I've decided!" she screeched jubilantly.
"I have not given you permission to use me in your crappy—"
"In three months," Renge proclaimed, further raising her high-pitched voice to drown out Iriai's objection, "I can make you Hitachiin Iriai."
I Wish I Could Write Stories in Japanese to Preserve the Integrity of the Language (But, alas!)
[1] Welcome
[2] Utenshu: chauffeur
[3] Suifu: cook
Basically, Renge is calling them "Mr. Chauffeur" and "Mrs. Cook," which doesn't strike Iriai (or me) as too polite.
[4] For those who are interested: 治暦 入相– Chiryaku Iriai
Mah Notes
I couldn't keep writing in first person, even though that was my intention. Oh, well. It works out this way, too. You'll see why. ;)
Also, please remember: although this is no longer in first person, the POV is still limited, third person limited. We see the story through Iriai's biased eyes, which I want to make clear before I hear anything about Renge's OOC-ness.
;_; I'm insecure. What can I say? Sorry for the rant, especially if it sounded too harsh ;_;
I less-than-three You
Muchly
I never thought I'd have so much fun writing romance with no overarching good/evil/in-between theme. There's a first time for everything, eh?
I know it's been a while, guys, but what do you think? Good? Bad? Unspeakably ugly?
;_; Please, be kind. But feel free to raise questions and critique, even about Renge. I promise, I don't bite. :) I really appreciate every bit of feedback you guys give me.
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