Cool Fire
22 December 1974
Masumi was smiling, cooly, as his adopted father spoke, watching with interest as his large, weathered hands tightened on the cushioned leather of his wheelchair's armrest. The board meeting, which was impromptu and on Hayami's whim- they nearly always were, as the President was hardly in good enough health to attend the ones that Masumi scheduled- was filled with people who looked tense and uneasy. Most of these meetings were like this, as Hayami was a shrewd, cold and effective businessman… Or, well, he had been, but the fall of his physical health had led a clearer picture of the company of his shaky mental health. It was more or less an unspoken rule that though Masumi held the title of vice-president, he was the one truly in charge of most of the daily operations of the company, that he had long taken the reigns from his adopted father who only held weight because he still had the majority shares in the company.
The only tell that Masumi was any sort of upset was the fact that he had a cigarette half finished in one hand, or the fact that Mizuki, his security, was shifting uneasily from foot to foot in her place somewhere a few feet away from his right shoulder. She was a worrier, that Saeko Mizuki and Masumi wondered if the woman with the constant light sensitivity* was a little too invested in his well being. At first, like many still assumed, he had thought that the otherwise professional woman wanted to sleep with him for some sort of advantage in the company. When he realized that she made no such passes, he had thought she was a spy for her father.
When he realized that the young woman genuinely cared for him, he thought her in love with him.
It had been awkward, to come to that realization- he was a few years younger then her and well aware that he was more than a little apathetic and though he had had his share of relationships, he had never felt anything akin to love in his 'romances', which was why he had stopped pursuing women early in his college career. Call him cold or unfeeling, but he hadn't really seen a point, and just figured Hayami would find him some sort of match-making service down the line and that would be that. Mizuki being in love with him made him feel odd, touched, to some degree, but also morose at the thought of losing a good employee for his more than immature* reaction to want to be as far away from the woman as possible.
When she scolded him for missing a meal for the ten thousandth time, five years into their professional relationship, he realized that she was in no way in love with him, what with her disgruntled face and rolling eyes behind her dark lenses, but rather saw herself as his friend, of all things. And in the same moment, that he saw her as one of the few people at Daito that he saw as completely in his corner, with no agenda related to his father or for herself other than to pay her bills and work well, and that he indeed, saw her as a friend back. She was an extension of him, his eyes and ears amongst the general staff and highly efficient secretary. If she nagged him, on occasion, like the nosey harpy that she was, to take better care of himself, that was their business and theirs alone. If he, on occasion, had her eat lunch with him as they bitch and moaned about the idiots in the company, or forced her to attend a premiere with him when he was desperate to stay as far away from whichever vapid starlet was starring in whatever production, that was also their business.
He sucked in some more of his cigarette, somewhere in the back of his mind telling himself to pace his last few inhales so that his father wouldn't be alerted to the damn fact that Masumi was impatient with his ramblings of a forceful takeover of other, smaller but popular production houses. Hayami was all taking and conquer, he thought, nodding thankfully when Mizuki, the busybody, refilled his empty black coffee, and no thought for the future. Masumi was more interested in the growth aspect and maintaining investments than mowing down the competition. Too much effort, too little profit as there was always someone else waiting in the wings to take someone's place. But finding the new, instead of taking the old was his area of expertise, his claim to fame in comparison to his step-father.
The only exception, Masumi found, was the production rights to The Crimson Goddess*. He would take his father's greatest and oldest obsession, and be the one to conquer it. A true victory that would show that Masumi was not just a poor adopted boy that held any position through nepotism. And, more then a little of a fuck you to his crazed step-parent for being not being as good as Masumi- for he would be winning both the woman that had haunted his beloved Mother's marriage(over, not as an object of carnal desire, of course, the woman was nearly in her fifties at this point), and the play that was slowly and surely destroying his adopted father's last grasp on sanity.
He finished his cigarette, not bothering to light another as he sipped at his bitter coffee, watching apathetically as Hayami closed up the last few points he wanted to cover in this meeting before his health failed him again. As every board member made their way out, Masumi stood, gesturing with an economic gesture for Mizuki to follow, only for his adopted father's raspy, tired voice to stop him:
"Masumi."
Masumi didn't freeze, didn't so much as blink. Annoyed, but not showing it, he turned to his adopted father. Gleaming, dark, dark eyes stared at him from a slightly weathered face. He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, gleaming white things in stark contrast to his swallow gums and puckered covered face.
"Father?" he intoned, smoothly, allowing Mizuki to gather his leather suitcase.
Hayami narrowed his eyes, clutching at his armrests as his aid rolled him towards Masumi.
"What progress do you have to show me about Chisuga?" he rasped, and like always, part of Masumi felt a faint tint of disgust at the possessive tone and informal way his father addressed the old actress. But like always, he shoved aside, regarding his stepfather in a well-practiced look of disinterest and a placid face of obedience.
"I've made inquiries around home-owners and sellers. I also made sure to snap up as much real estate that would fit her usual taste under a series of shell companies," he started boredly, ignoring the way his adopted father's grin widen or how he leaned forward in sheer eagerness, "And I'm also in the process of finding where she is currently. So far, it seems that she is heading to live in Yokohama, but for what purpose, I've yet to find. Her description and that of her butler's is out and will be reported back to us if our intelligence is correct."
"Good, good," muttered the old man, slumping into his fine, leather padded chair, "She's tried so many times to avoid us. This time she will see… You, at first. She won't associate you with me. That pretty face that you have will trick her… Just like that damn playwright's. We'll ease her into it. Approach her well, Masumi. And when you have the rights to the play… She will know who she has sold herself to. She will be finally… Mine."
Masumi nods but internally decides that he will do no such thing. His quest is not tricking an actress well past her prime for his step-father's obsessive lust. But rather his own ambition to bring the older woman to heel. He will be the one to produce the play. He doesn't give a damn if the woman still owns the script rights* or who plays the fabled, almost mystical Crimson Goddess- rather he is interested in his name, Hayami Masumi being credited in its production, the only that has a touch of this old man in front of him is the surname that gave Masumi president as a 'member' of an old family. Nothing else of his step-father would ever touch this play.
He will own The Crimson Goddess, turn the obsessive fire that ruined his mother's happiness into his own triumph. His own quiet victory and revenge a man that had allowed his mother to waste away while he chased after a frankly uninterested woman with a fever that destroyed his mind.
"Yes father," he muttered, giving him a cool smile that did not reach his eyes, never with this man, "I will handle everything perfectly."
He was dismissed with a coughing fit, both he and Mizuki leaving with cool and blank expressions as his adopted father was carted back to his estate and his oxygen mask. It wasn't until they reached the sanctuary of his office that Mizuki's face lost its stone qualities, her thin mouth parting and her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting. She gently placed his briefcase on his desk, lounging easily on the top of his desk as Masumi dropped into his own chair with grace and procession, his own stiff face relaxing.
"How much of his plans are we redacting?"
"More than half," he barked, opening his case and looking over his notes of the presentation, "It just isn't feasible to enact so many takeovers at once. And more than a quarter of them he proposed are to production companies we actually have good partnerships with. We'll lose too much face if we go through with them. Send the memos to the department heads. Though keep the list of the talent he pointed out, run it through finance and see if buying out their contracts are worth an investment. "
"Yes sir," said Mizuki, flipping through her notes, "What about the directors he wanted to hire?"
"Ask the ones we have, which ones are old hacks that he half-remembers and which ones can mesh with our current set of divas."
It was a huge industry secret that it was really the directors that had the most power beyond the directing production house. Masumi knew the consequences of stepping on too many toes. Honda, a rather competent one in his employ, was a good example of someone who did not like to play nice and share his toys. Masumi started half the time he was an unofficial babysitter for the creatives that made his money.
"Honda?"
"Honda," he said, finding himself giving her a sarcastic, cool grin. Mizuki returned it, adjusting her dark frames with a delicate gesture of her long, manicured talons.
How she worked a keyboard* was beyond him, but he would never bring that up to her. Never mind that he thought that color of green was obnoxious on her. She would retort with a smartass reference to his choice in ties. It wasn't his fault that purple and pink looked good on him.
"Anything else, sir?"
"Schedule me a day off tomorrow, I will need to save face with him and make another round around Yokohama."
"Yes, sir. The meeting ran a bit late, what would you like me to send up for lunch?"
Unbidden, at the mention of food, he thinks of her suddenly, that little girl with the even teeth and the horrendously tiny hands waitressing at a Chinese restaurant. He wonders, briefly, what she had spent her money on. He hopes it had been something nice, perhaps some new shoes? He had noticed that the sneakers she had on had been beyond scuffed, and closer to grey that what he assumed had been originally black. Maybe candy… What do kids even like these days? Maybe she had bought herself a movie on videocassette* of a favorite movie as she seemed to love that kinda a thing so much.
"Miso," he finds himself responding, not noticing the odd look that Mizuki gives him, "I'm in the mood for some miso ramen."
AN:
...
Should I be disturbed that I can write from the perspective of a twenty-three-year-old Japanese man with apathetic tendencies really really quickly? Cause I feel a little concerned. I had only meant to start his damn chapter and I find myself finishing it in under an hour. When I should be studying.
I'm a bad noddle.
Well, to be fair, I am studying the 1970s art movements at the moment, so it kinda fits? I mean the fic and manga are set in the 70s to the later 80s when Maya will be an adult... But I digress. I hope whoever is reading this loved this chapter because I had a hell of a lot of fun writing it. As stated in the chapter posted a few hours ago(gosh me and my muse have to have words) I'm keeping the point of view alternating. I was going to add a Mizuki excerpt, but I found that she fits better a lot later in the fic, maybe around chapter ten or twelve when Maya and Masumi start interacting more. I also want to point on that I totally on purpose made it so that Maya has a passing mention in this chapter, unlike Masumi being constantly referenced in Maya's chapter.
Masumi is an adult male, and even in the manga he really doesn't admit to feeling something other than amusement at Maya's reactions until the incident at the acting comptition where Maya rips into him for ruining the play she has worked so hard in(and also before for critic blasting their little woman). He acts super dismissive towards her until after they meet for the third time- when the kids at the Daito acting house sic dogs on Maya and he protects her. And even then its more an of a distant, oh look there's that girl that Chigusa is obsessed with, what's so damn special about her? She seems really normal. She stood on her tippy toes for how long? Is she touched in the head?
Que Beth scene and he's all like: Holy fucking amazeballs this little girl is fucking crazy what the fuck is the matter with her? She's super insane... But she is trying and loving what's she's doing... PURPLE ROSE to her! There. That's traditional to show I'm a fan right?
Now how can I express how cool she is? Calling her Chibi-chan! Genius. Totally inspired! Here she comes! *Metaphorically pulls on her pigtails like an immature child that has no idea what to do with himself*
1*: I always though Mizuki had light sensitivity. I mean she wears those damn glasses even in night scenes and at formal events. It was just head-canon for me.
2*:... I really do think that Masumi reacts really childishly to Maya. Like a little kid pulling a girl's pigtails- half the time, he doesn't understand what to do with himself around her. And though he can fake the social thing I always assumed he is very socially repressed because of his upbringing. Hence him reacting to situations like a toddler and being head over heels with a girl nine years younger than him- because Maya is everything he's not. Driven for her own sake, talented and passionate at something other than cool perfection, young and naive while he feels old and jaded. Which he really isn't, just a lonely boy who grew up in so many ways past his years but didn't in others.
3*: When I refer to the character, no italics. When I refer to the play, italics.
4*: Script rights verse production rights. Script is the content of the play, obviously, while production is the right to perform it. Most sell both of these rights in conjunction or use them interchangeably, but it can be separate. I figure Masumi wouldn't give a damn if he owned the script rights as long as he could make it a Daito production property. Some play rights more or less 'rent' their plays production rights out and keep the rights to the actual script for themselves, controlling when a production can be done. Chisuga owns both rights.
5*: Computers were a thing by the early 70s. Crappy, huge green screen tinted monsters, but totally a thing. Daito has the best of the best, yo!
6*: Of course Masumi fails to realize that though the Home video was a thing at the time, it wasn't really popular until the 1980s, where more people could start affording them and their price dropped drastically. Most players would have cost upwards of a few hundred dollars, even if the cassettes themselves were relatively cheap in comparison depending on what type you got(I still remember how in the early 2000s how a VCR could cost 80 dollars, which is ridiculously steep in comparison to other players we have today). I always figured that Masumi has a sort of disconnection to the wealth gap between him and Maya, until he saw how much she was struggling in later parts of the manga through Maya's not boy toy(I am so sorry, completly forgot his name off the top of my head, it is very long and very Japanese... Something with a S? Sauriyoji-kun? Darn it I cannot remember it) telling him how she was working on the side for tuition for school.
~Happy Reading,
Moon Witch '96
P.S. I will hardly, if ever update so often. The gap between chapter one and chapter two are more of a reasonable estimate for my time frame. My muse just hit me over the head with this for whatever reason.