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40 / Welcome to Showa

1983

Tokyo, Japan

Junko Konno, girl, idol.

Hmph.

What was so special about that girl anyway?

Kenshiro Iki was the same, a signer, an idol, a man. He had made waves back in '77 with his first solo album, and kept going, higher and higher until he was at the top, but nowadays he was struggling against the currents. Ken was getting older, heading straight to the negative twenties, his agent had not called him in a while, fans had gotten bored of him, his new and old records weren't selling as much as they used to anymore. Everything seemed just about ready to collapse from under him, and it was taking time for him to realize that he was already old news.

And then, Junko Konno happened. Like a comet, Konno appeared as if from nowhere, and now, she's the new thing, she's the big seller, she's the legend. Konno has Ken's fans, his deals, the shows, the radio, the fortune, and everything else in between. And what did Ken have?

A bottle of red wine he had bought in New Year's, some cheap chips, and a whole lot of resentment.

He had been replaced by the new flavor in town and he hated it.

A year ago, he was still singing, had fans by the hundreds, and now, he was stuck here in an empty apartment, drinking wine and eating salty chips. Meanwhile, Konno was probably out there making the big bucks, getting fans by the millions, and Ken was stuck home alone, drowning in a whole lot of resentment.

He was a nobody nowadays, and it was getting harder and harder to accept that. Now, he's just eating and drinking, getting fatter by the day and blaming Konno for his misery by the night.

Life wasn't fair.

If only that Konno brat wasn't around, he could probably make it big again but after half the bottle was finished and the chips had been crushed, Ken knew that somewhere, deep inside his little bitching heart, everything that was happening wasn't really Konno's fault.

The industry had always been harsh, and Ken always struggled until one day, he had a nice apartment, hundreds of fans, money in the bank, and a career that kept him afloat. And then, the phone's ringing.

Ring-a-ding, it goes, ring-a-ding, again, and Ken just wants it to stop. He thinks it's a wrong number, not business. It's been like that for a few days now, but he finally decides to answer it just to make it stop. He gets up slowly, his mind already making excuses in his head, trying to pretend he's got better things to do than drink and be miserable, before he answers.

"What is it?"

"Iki, there's a situation…" Kima's voice is as cold as always. He's the agent that left Ken to rust, the kind of guy who's interested in making money and connections, never friends. Ken never liked him, but he had been stuck with him because he was efficient, and look how that turned out.

"Is there now?" Ken tries his best to sound bored. He's busy being miserable.

"Junko Konno is dead."

Ken's heart almost stops; the words don't make sense, the wine's making everything fuzzy...what did he say? What? What!?

"...w-what?"

"Her tour ended prematurely," is Kima's cold reply. It's straight to the point. If it were anyone else, Ken would have thought it was all a joke. A very bad one. "Plane crash. No survivors." Ken didn't ask, didn't want to know, but Kima told him anyway.

Ken just wants to lie down, his legs are weak, mind is fuzzy. Nothing makes sense. Nothing, nothing...Konno...is...dead...

Junko Konno is dead.

(she's dead, she's dead)

"The higher-ups are already organizing a special event," Kima goes on, business as usual, as if nothing had happened. As if a plane hadn't crashed and killed all its passengers. As if Konno dying at the height of her career was but a mere inconvenience. "A memorial…quite a waste of money but that's just my opinion." Ken wasn't listening. Ken didn't care. Junko Konno was dead. "Records are still bound to sell, now more than ever, but I suppose the higher-ups can take advantage of the situation to their benefit. Anyway, Iki, I want you there. We can boost your numbers. Make a speech, you're good with those andー" SLAM! Click!

Ken just slammed the phone back in place, walking slowly towards the sofa, chips and wine forgotten. He sat there, holding his head in his hands, as the phone kept on ringing all night.

(life truly had not been fair to Junko Konno)

Present

It had been a long week and Junko wasn't used to living in an apartment again, pretending that everything was fine, and that she wasn't dead, but she just couldn't get used to it. How do you get used to being dead? You don't, you're dead, but everything was different when you were the actual living dead.

Life was so different now, more so than it had been back then. Different values, different fashions, different people; everything was so modern, so unknown, so hopeless. At least, that's how Junko had felt the first few days after she had woken up and realized that the plane had crashed and she died, her last moments of fear and panic but a mere memory going almost forty years back. Everything was so fast, so unreal.

Even Ai couldn't really get used to living with her mother again. Aoi hadn't seen her daughter for years, and Ai just woke up a year ago, the phone call she had made a day before Saga Rock to her mother, laughing and telling her she'll bring her a few souvenirs, buried somewhere in the back of her mind. The doctor understood, there was just no way around it.

And then there was Franchouchou, their friends, and Kotaro Tatsumi.

Tatsumi was still a sore subject between mother and child. Ai hadn't really been entirely truthful of what Tatsumi had done this past year, but Aoi had suspected it. The doctor had concluded long ago that Ai and Tatsumi did not get along, mostly a guess upon noticing Ai's expression when she told her about the whole business with Franchouchou. Ai didn't really confirm or deny the accusations. Both of them knew that despite being a terrible boss and caretaker, he wasn't as cruel as Aoi was probably imagining.

Fear, perhaps, was what drove Aoi to be wary of Tatsumi altogether. That little stunt of bringing them back to life to play idols hadn't really won him any favors in Aoi's book, and Junko could sympathize, Ai understood.

They had felt the exact same way those first few days, miserable, their life had reached its end and they were dead and now, they had nothing. Death by nature, death by air and metal.

Ai had acted exactly as her mother was now, suspicious, asking questions, and wanting to go back home, see her mother, pick up her life where she left off, and...and...but reality hit them like a brick, like lightning upon their fingers, air and metal tearing them apart, and life whispering, telling them that their time was up and it was time to die.

/…..

Aoi had left some time ago to get groceries, leaving Ai in charge of the phone; the idea had been to treat her daughter as a part-time assistant, and she was taking calls whenever Aoi was out. It didn't happen often, but it helped get a level of normalcy back in their lives. The doctor had suggested Ai deepen her voice, in case someone recognized her, she didn't think anyone that knew her personally would call, but there had been a particular phone call that had left all three of them confused.

The caller hadn't actually called back; a woman Ai didn't recognize. Didn't leave a name, nor phone, for contact. She just greeted Ai, and after Ai had greeted her back, voice deep and confident, the caller had stayed silent for a bit, laughed, and apologized for taking her time, and that she'll call Dr. Mizuno at a later date.

Her mother was used to those kinds of calls. It happened. Patients would suddenly forget why they called, and were too embarrassed to admit it so just pretended nothing had happened. The only time Aoi told her daughter to hang up on someone was if it was that salesman again.

But it just wasn't patients and unknown callers, and salesmen that called. Saki had called them just two days after they started living with Aoi in her apartment. Ai had been surprised, and then annoyed when Saki told her Maria, Reiko's daughter, had accidentally found her out, not even bothering to ask how Saki even got her number and when Ai asked her mother, Aoi just blinked and said, "Huh. Mrs. Amabuki is more resourceful than I thought," and left it at that. Sakura had called too, a day after Saki had, asking them how they were, Tae and Romero howling somewhere in the background. Nothing had seemed wrong when she called, she asked them how they were, how Aoi was, explaining to them, before they asked, that Saki had given her the number yesterday. Yugiri had been talking to Lily on Genji's phone, but her voice had appeared in the call at some point before they said good-bye. It wasn't until Saki called them on Friday that she told them what was really going up in the mansion. Tatsumi was being an idiot and causing Sakura all sorts of worry. The ex-biker told them that she was planning to kick his butt on Monday for making Sakura worry for his sorry ass. And then, she had asked them if they were planning to visit.

"Doesn't have to be with us, ya know?" Saki had told them, and Ai had just said they'll try and their friend understood.

Sakura and the others weren't the problem. Tatsumi was. Her mother didn't have a problem with the other girls. It was Tatsumi that made her blood boil, Tatsumi that made herー

And the phone was ringing.

Ai and Junko had been busy on the couch, the younger idol switching channel after channel in the television to try to find something to watch, while her girlfriend was busy eyeing a magazine.

Both girls glanced at each other, their makeup hiding their death, a simple precaution in case they needed to answer the door, they usually removed it to sleep or when Aoi was around.

Ai sighed, turned off the TV, and walked over to the phone, answering in her deep voice, "Hello?" Her expression changed when a familiar voice called back. "Oh, Saki!" Junko is a little surprised but happy to hear from their friend, but that surprise turns to worry when Ai's expression changes to one of horror. "What!? A BEAR!?"

Kotaro is on his second bottle when the old master takes the glass away. "Go away, old man," the young man slurs, trying to reach for the heavenly drink, but the old man has already hidden it somewhere behind the bar.

"Why do you feel the need to waste in my bar?" the man asks, frowning. "Are you giving up so soon?"

"It's too late," Kotaro tells him, head slamming on the counter as his hand reaches uselessly for the bottle. "Franchouchou's done for." And all it took was a damn reporter. That Okoba what's-his-name broke it all apart. He had told Kotaro everything, his research, the parents, and finally about the stabbing he witnessed, and Kotaro knew that his good luck had finally run out. They had been lucky that the stalker bastard hadn't come calling but he hadn't noticed Okoba at all. That reporter was the missing variable that had screwed everything up. And he had been worrying about Sakura's brat brother and his headbutting friend, that he had to worry about some unknown weirdo that started doing homework.

Franchouchou was as dead as its members, there's no doubt in his mind about it. Dead and gone. Dead for a hundred, forty, twenty, ten, and seven years, all dead, all dead, all for Saga, all for nothing.

"You're drunk," the master remarks, slapping him softly on the head with a discarded towel as he puts the bottle out of his sight. "Go home and rest. Take care of Yugiri and those two that remain, that's your job, is it not? Stop drinking and think. You've always been a good thinker…" After a while, the master sighs, and tells him, "I'll call you a cab."

"...fine." Kotaro had taken a taxi to avoid those stupid zombies and the living idiots back home. They probably thought he was still locked in his office, hiding behind his desk, miserable. He couldn't even remember if he had bothered to lock the door before he came here, but he knew they were still a few bottles of whiskey somewhere in there.

"Alright…" The master disappeared to the back, and returned a few minutes later. "A cab's picking you up in five minutes...one is close by…" Kotaro nodded, head still on the counter as the master grabbed a glass and began cleaning it. Five minutes later, the two men hear the taxi, already sounding its horn.

Kotaro just groaned as he got up, as slowly as possible, made sure he still had some cash, and stumbled out of the bar, almost crashing against the stern-faced fellow that was walking in. The younger man mumbled a quick apology and disappeared, soon enough the car drove off and the master and the stranger were alone.

"Is he not taking it well?" the stranger suddenly asks, walking over to the counter as the master puts the glass away.

"He's a fool," the master remarks as the stranger takes the seat Kotaro had abandoned.

"I suppose. He's disappointed...Franchouchou is...broken, so to speak...what man doesn't drink to charm the troubles away?"

"He's a fool," the master repeats with a shake of his head.

"Aren't we all? But I'm sure not everything is a lost cause...Franchouchou will get back on track. He'll just have to believe." The master shrugs.

"We shall see...he was determined enough to cheat death just to save this place…"

"He's braver than I will ever be," the stranger replies and the old master nods with a secretive smile.

"What will it be today? Your usual?"

The stranger nodded. "Of course. I come all the way from Tokyo for that water." The master laughed, and as he was walking to bring the pitcher and fill a glass of water, a little cat, bloated and dead, appeared from out of nowhere, having heard the voices of the stranger. It purred, it's dead body pressing against the stranger's arm in affection. With one last purr, the cat curls it's tiny rotten body on the counter as the stranger scratches it's little ears. "It's good to see you too, Fushi…"