Chapter One

"Can I have ya order?"

Ayuru barely concealed his distaste at the street slang of the waiter, but managed to keep a remarkably straight face as he placed an order of steak and vegetables. "Oh, and add a bottle of red wine. Vanilla."

As the red-haired waiter left, he folded the menu and placed it on the table, tucking it neatly into the holder. His dinner companion, the manager of the company, sat opposite him with a smile lurking at the corners of her lips.

"Being fastidious again, Ayuru?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "Come now, Soi. People should never speak like that. This is a top-grade restaurant, for goodness sakes. I do wonder how that boy managed to get himself a job here."

Soi laughed. "Perhaps he has high connections," she said, arching one eyebrow slyly at the boss of the company, who suddenly broke out into a boyish smile, flipping his blond fringe over his brow with one hand.

"Perhaps. I doubt it. Here's a toast to you for tomorrow. For luck. Not that I think you need it."

They shared a smile.

@@@

Genrou grabbed the plates from the counter before waltzing off with the tray balancing precariously on his arm. He didn't like this place, posh and stiff as it was, but he needed the money.

*Flashback

"Hey, Genrou!"

He turned to see Kouji, one of his better friends, who had already obtained his degree and was currently working at a manufacturing firm in town. He had made friends with the older boy when he had first entered school, and Kouji had been assigned to be his mentor because the latter was in his final year. Even though Genrou had dropped out a year later due to sheer lack of interest, the friendship had remained.

Kouji caught up to the redhead, then slung an arm casually around the younger man's shoulders, his briefcase hanging casually from two fingers and his checkered jacket over one arm. "What have you been up to lately, kid?"

"Trying to get a job," he replied glumly, walking alongside Kouji. "Seems like there's no place that wants me. I'm too stupid."

He felt his friend pause, and sigh. "You're not stupid, Genrou. I've told you that before. You're just…well…"

"Lazy," Genrou supplied, earning a laugh from Kouji.

"That's right."

Genrou exhaled loudly as they continued walking. "My mom's going to kick me out of the house soon, I swear it. Says I'm a bad influence on my sisters. I wanna have the cash to live on my own, ya know?"

Kouji chuckled. "If you really want one, I guess I could pull some strings, Gen."

His friend brightened. "Ya could?"

They rounded the corner, and came face to face with a dark, almost antique-looking building across the street. The lights within and without were soft, and Genrou could almost see the luxury oozing from the carpets before the tall glass doors.

"My friend owns that restaurant," Kouji said affably, unwinding his arm from around the younger man and smiling. "Think you could handle being a waiter? One of his people just quit, and he wouldn't mind the help."

Genrou raised his eyebrows. "Is the pay good?"

Kouji nodded towards the door. "What do you think?"

*End of Flashback

As he tripped slightly and muffled a curse, he thought about that day, two weeks ago. Now he had to deal with fussy customers, women with big hair, and men who thought that they could rule the world with their fancy cars and huge Rolexes. What had possessed him?

Money, his brain chimed happily.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself.

He was so lost in his own brooding that he didn't notice the double-breasted suit in front of him. Not until it met him head-on, sending the plates flying through the air. And to his horror, it was the blond man he had served earlier, with a decidedly less than compassionate look on his face for the sauce that was now trickling its way down the expensive-looking material in a dark brown stain.

@@@

He was fired.

@@@

Genrou walked along the dark street, his head hanging, his hands shoved into his pockets glumly.

I can't ask Kouji for help again. Shit, what am I gonna do?

Life sucks.

He continued walking, his thoughts turning darkly in his head, alternating between wanting to hex the blond man who had screamed and threatened for his release from the restaurant, or from wanting to kick himself for being such a klutz.

No, it definitely wasn't my fault. The idiot should have watched where he was going…I had a huge tray in front of me loaded with his food…he has nerve pointing his dirty finger at me…

Not that it changed anything. He was officially out of a job. Again.

He crashed into a lamp-post.

Five minutes, a litany of curses in four different languages, and a throbbing headache later, Genrou picked himself up, dusting himself off and scowling at nothing in particular, when a flash of white paper tacked to the post caught his eye. He bent closer to read it.

CHINOAROV PHOTOGRAPHIC/MODELING COMPETITION

20TH JANUARY 2002

THINK YOU WANT TO MAKE IT BIG? BE A COVERGIRL? THINK YOU'VE GOT THE X-FACTOR? COME ON DOWN TO CAPRI STUDIOS AND GET A FREE PORTFOLIO! JOIN THE CONTEST! WINNING PRIZE IS $5000 AS WELL AS A CHANCE TO BE THE FACE THAT EVERYONE WILL BE TALKING ABOUT!

Genrou stopped reading the moment his eyes caught the prize money figure.

Five thousand dollars…

His mind whirled with the information, processing, thinking hard. The 20th was…tomorrow, wasn't it?

He ran all the way home.

@@@

[The next day]

Houjun fiddled with the camera, tugging at the sleeves of his loose yellow button-down a bit, and adjusting the focus on the lens as he set the tripod up in the studio. He was one of the many photographers who was there for the Chinoarov competition organized by Capri Studios, a conglomerate well-known for it's talent scouting. He and the rest of the selected photographers would be submitting their pictures, and the winner would be picked from the entries, which meant that a hefty commission would be in for the photograph that had taken the photo as well. He could hardly wait.

It was almost ten-thirty. There was already a line of girls waiting outside, some tapping their feet impatiently, clutching bags of clothes, and huge make-up boxes that almost made him wonder if they were planning on careers in Chinese opera instead.

The clock struck the half-hour. The doors were opened.

Shrieks and screams stampeded into the cool, air-conditioned, formerly quiet hall, as Houjun grinned and stretched. It was going to be a long day.