Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. However, I do own Michiyo Akiho, Michiyo Terasu, Michiyo Hajika, and Adelaide Schmidt.
Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews/favs/alerts! Please continue to do so. :) I apologize for the excessive horizontal rulers and the short chapter.
How did you describe it? The world's at her feet, and she's falling apart in front of them.
There's only so long you can hide behind that curtain.
It took her four years of work and eleven years of studying to build her own empire. It took her ten years of training to become a track star. It took her twelve years of practice to become a piano prodigy. It took her less than one year for her to start falling apart while trying to piece all of them together within a twenty-four frame, and her perfect world started to come crumbling down.
It's not possible to be perfect.
"You've got one minute to sell me your offer." Akiho turned on her racing stopwatch.
Kyouya faltered and started to improvise his speech about how Akiho Corporation was not even worth that much--no offense--so she should just accept the money.
"And you just failed. Rule one: Never insult your prospective taker's company. Rule two: Never belittle your prospective taker's fortune." The deal was impressive in itself; twenty-five billion dollars. What he said was true; the rip-off wasn't that Akiho would lose money (quite the contrary), the rip-off was that it would eventually bait in the Michiyo family business—worth much more than twenty-five billion dollars. Besides, they had too much money anyways.
Why do I even bother with this?
"Akiho."
"Yes?"
Akiho yawned coyly as she stepped onto the stage and smiled at the audience, her thin lips curling slightly upwards. A flowing black and gray silk dress was wrapped around her body, much to her disgust. I hate being dressed up.
"Today, we'll be playing the Piano Concerto in D Minor, Op.30 by Sergei Rachmainoff." The conductor looked at Akiho, waiting for instruction. Akiho quickly scanned through the people behind the piano. Two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, a tuba, timpani, bass drum, snare drum, cymbals, and strings. Good. She nodded.
Fingers laid themselves over the ivory keyboard, tan against white. She could never stand those pale rich men's ladies, porcelain dolls that they were.
The orchestra began, its quiet voice filling the already packed room. Fingers danced as they flew gracefully through the piece without using any of the authorized cuts. After all, it was a piece of art, one that should be cherished in whole. Emotion filled her as the music swelled and dropped, and she wiped her brow lightly with a silk handkerchief at the breaks. Forty minutes. Forty minutes of escape, of beauty, of emotion.
A single bow threw the previously-silent crowd into fits of excitement, and they threw lavish gifts onto the stage. Akiho passed the best bouquet to the conductor. "Thank you." Akiho chose to tuck a daisy behind her ear: simplicity. "Good day."
Michiyo Akiho walked off stage, brushing off the makeup around her sunken eyes. The insomnia was getting to her. A few attendants rushed to her as they fussed over her makeup; "The press is waiting outside!"
"You need to stop living like this."
"I know."
"That was excellent!" Michiyo's father proclaimed as they walked out of the concert building, cameras flashing all around the family. "You played like Horowitz."
Akiho laughed shyly, looked down, and replied in the ideal submissive-daughter voice, "I doubt it. Thank you though, Father." After all, she had to give off the appearance of a prospective perfect trophy wife.
A large hand settled on her head. "Hey, sissy," Hajika stated as he soaked up the limelight. Rich ladies squealed as they whipped out their cellphone cameras.
"Hajika. Please be kind enough to remove your hand from my head," Akiho replied scathingly, dropping the facade slightly. Hajika's ruining our image.
Michiyo Hajika shook his head childishly and stuck out his tongue. "Don't want to." More fangirls. Shouldn't he be acting like a refined gentleman?
"Don't be so immature." Akiho put her hand up to her head and forcefully pulled off his arm, smiling apologetically at the media and the rich ladies who were fawning over him. The idiot was getting to her.
Michiyo Terasu sighed as he watched his children bicker, muttering irritably. Goodness. Then again, he did marry a woman that seemed to pass on all of her genes--minus the intelligence to her son. They might as well switch bodies. They completely smashed the Japanese stereotypical useless woman and strong man image.
"That would be somewhat awkward, father." Akiho shook her head and groaned almost imperceptibly as she stepped into the limousine. Terasu sometimes wondered whether she had ESP. "It's just called listening to you talk," Akiho stated.
"What?" Hajika yelled. To shut him up, Akiho passed him a small note. "Ew! That'd be gross!" Hajika went into a spaz attack, his blonde hair flying all over the place. My God, he's annoying.
"So when will you?"
"Someday."
-Aoi
