Karen: Today's disclaimer was going to be in the form of an interpretative dance by Iori, but he couldn't find a black leotard to fit him. Fortunately (for everyone!), Koushirou is able to take his place.

Koushirou: Indeed. Our most esteemed author requested that I inform you that she does not have possession of any of these fictional entities, nor is she gaining pecuniary benefit from this story.

Miyako: Pecuniary benefit? Is that like a harem of shirtless men with great chests? *.*

Koushirou: No. The word comes from 'pecus', meaning a single head of cattle.

Taichi: She doesn't get cows for writing this story?O.o

Karen: And that's not even true. Mom brought me a burger while I was writing it.

::Takeru and Hikari look ill::

Takeru and Hikari: A double cheeseburger? Did it come with icecream?

Koushirou: No! As cows were a form of wealth in early days, the word has come to mean monetary or financial! Like impecunious on the side of the spectrum!

Yamato: Why didn't you just say she's not getting any money?

::A vein begins to throb in Koushirou's forehead::

::Iori suddenly leaps onto the scene and does a twirl::

Iori: I found a leotard! I'm ready for my interpretative dance now!

Karen: Too late, mate. Koushirou has already done the disclaimer for us. So, all that remains is for me to say . . . ENJOY THE STORY!

*

EDUCATING MR MOTOMIYA

PART 10

"Takeru?" Mr Ishida asked, poking his head around the door of one of the dressing rooms assigned to Odaiba.

"Dad!" his son cried happily, sliding off the chair and running up to him. Mr Ishida battled to choke back his laughter. His son was dressed in the blue blazer, white shirt and grey slacks that the costume department always pulled out for the Brainbuster Challenge. A pinstriped tie completed the ensemble. Somehow, the people there had also managed to convince him to take off his hat and had slicked his hair neatly back with gel. He looked like a miniature billionaire on his way to a business meeting.

"I just came to wish you luck," he said as he ruffled his son's hair back into its customary spikes, "I know you can do it."

Takeru grinned, "Thanks, dad."

"Takeru! I feel so stupid! I refuse to appear on national television looking like this!" an female voice wailed from the next dressing room. This time, Mr Ishida could not stifle his laughter, as Hikari emerged from it. Takeru burst out laughing as well. If his son had been a junior tycoon, his best friend was something out of an old, school-girl movie. In fact, he remembered that exact costume being used in the station's production of Pollyanna. She was wearing a pleated skirt in the same grey and blue as Takeru's suit, which came down to her knees. Over it, she had a white blouse with a large, velvet bow at the collar. As a final touch, her hair was caught back in very tight, very prim pigtails.

Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there, and she dipped her head in a respectful bow, "Good afternoon, Mr Ishida."

"Hello, Hikari," he returned the greeting, "I came to wish you all the best for the contest. But where's the third member of your team?"

"Daisuke?" she replied, "The costume department is still trying to get him to part with his goggles. They say they'll catch the light and mess up the shot. He says they give him good luck, so he refuses to take them off."

"Those are the goggles Taichi gave him," Takeru explained to his father.

"Can't fault his logic. I guess you've borrowed Yamato's lucky charm," he replied.

His younger son nodded, dipping his hand into his blazer pocket and extracting an old, battered harmonica. All its tin was tarnished, and it had more than one dent in its surface. The words "Lucky Swan" were barely visible among all the scratches. It probably was no longer capable of even a false note, let alone a true one. Yet Yamato never took to the stage without it in his pocket.

"You know he cancelled a concert to come watch you tonight," he said with a gentle smile, "Your mom's there as well."

"I know," Takeru's eyes were firmly fixed on his polished shoes, "I'll try and make you all proud of me."

"We already are, Takeru, and don't you ever forget that," he rested a hand on his shoulder, before pulling him into a tight bearhug, "I'd better get going if I don't want to lose my seat. Or my other son. Yamato said he'd kill himself if I came too late and he ended up sitting next to Motomiya Jun. I can't say I blame him."

Takeru laughed, but his blue eyes were suspiciously bright. Having his entire family support him evidently meant a lot to him. Mr Ishida knew that his son still hoped that they would be one family again, that he and Natsuko would get remarried, that they would all live under one roof. Most children of divorce did. Not for the first time, guilt stabbed his chest. Natsuko and I should have worked it out. We should have gone to therapy or sat down and talked about it or just gritted our teeth and stuck it out for the sake of our kids. It wasn't like I didn't still love her - that was about the only thing that stayed right in our marriage - but love isn't always enough. It should be, but it isn't.

Somehow, he still managed to grin at his son, say a cheerful goodbye to Hikari and get out of the room without disgracing himself. He even made it past the corner before slumping against the wall. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He had to regain some composure, or else he would be a wreck when he met up with Yamato and Natsuko in the studio audience. He could see the headlines now: Reporter at Battle of Minds Loses His.

"What are you doing here, Mr Ishida?" an unfamiliar voice asked, "You're meant to be in make-up."

He opened one eye to see an impeccably groomed, impeccably dressed woman looking back at him. There was no trace of humour on her severe, ascetic face. An earpiece's wire snaked up from her pocket, and she had a clipboard in her hands which she was tapping impatiently with a pen.

"Make-up?"

"Didn't you get the memo?" she detached a piece of paper from her clipboard and thrust it at him, "Ms Yamada, who was going to host the show, called in sick. Or her agent did, because she's lost her voice. You're her replacement. So, get to make-up now."

Too shocked to speak, Mr Ishida stared at her numbly. He could not present a show. He had never presented a show in his life. He was strictly the man behind the scenes, chasing down stories, compiling reports, filing them at regular intervals. He got the news so that others could read it.

"I . . . I've never presented," he said eventually.

"It isn't hard. You just have to read off the cards and the autocue. Besides, we need a serious reporter to give this show some credibility," she shrugged her padded shoulders, "You're him."

"But . . . but my son is a contestant," he protested, trying another tack, "If Odaiba wins, think of the scandal."

She pursed her red lips, running a finger down the list of names: "Naturally, that would be a problem. However, I don't see any Ishida here."

"His name is Takaishi," he explained, "His mother and I are seperated. He uses her name."

She lifted her eyes from the paper, looking coolly, "Takaishi Takeru from Odaiba?"

He nodded in relief. He had never loved his younger son more than at that moment. There was no way they could get him to present the show now. The public fallout would simply be too great. He could see the situation already: the Brainbuster Challenge would be declared a farce, Tamachi would probably sue, and heads would roll at the station. No, there was no way they would get him to present. There was no way at all . . . .

"It's too late to find someone else," she said decisively, "We'll just have to risk it. Besides, it's not like you could have gotten the cards ahead of time and passed them onto your son. That aspect of the show is strictly audited. So, come with me to make-up."

Mr Ishida, too stunned to argue, followed silently in her perfumed wake. Around him, the last minute preparations for the Brainbuster Challenge were happening. The entire station was abuzz. Editors were finalising the script for the show. Electricians toted rolls of wire between places. Sound engineers were doing their final checks, as were the lighting crews. Anxious gofers ran to and fro with endless cups of coffee. He barely noticed any of it.

The woman paused before a door and motioned for him to enter, before clicking her way down the passage towards the stage.

"But my son is a contestant. There'll be a scandal," he repeated helplessly, as a short, plump woman manhandled him to the nearest chair and forced him to sit down in it. She was evidently the make-up artist, because she produced an enormous bag of cosmetics and began rummaging in it. Eventually, she produced a giant, black compact and opened it with a professional snap.

"You wish, sweetie," she drawled, as she patted his face with an enormous powderpuff. Clouds of powder puffed up from it, causing Mr Ishida to cough and wave his hand in front of his face to disperse it, "Between you and me, your only job is to read the cards and to look pretty for the cameras."

"B-but the producer told me I bring journalistic credibility to the competition," he stammered.

Snorting in amusement, she extracted a tube of lipstick from her bag and tested it against her hand for colour. It blended almost invisibly against her skin. She nodded in satisfaction, before applying it carefully to his lips, "All you bring to this contest is your good looks and cute tush, honey."

Mr Ishida swallowed, feeling oddly cheap. He had worked his entire life to be taken seriously as a reporter. He had won many major awards for journalistic excellence, not only in Japan but overseas. It was an insult to him and his profession to say he had been chosen for his cute tush! He was about to say so to the woman, when she cut him off, reproachfully shaking a bottle of liquid concealer at him: "Now, let's do something about those bags under your eyes. You do know you really need to get more sleep, sweetie."

*

NEXT TIME: Join us for Round One of the Brainbuster Challenge! (Hosted by "Cute Tush" Ishida!)

*

Important Note:

The author would like to say she has never examined Mr Ishida's tush. Yamato's tush is a completely different matter - she has been known to sing "Go turn around, so I can see what's behind you"instead of the proper words - and she assumes cute tushes are genetic. ^.~