Chapter Six
[A week later]
With a loud sigh, the manager of the agency entered his office and dumped his bag carelessly on the ground, nudging the door close with his foot before trudging to his desk. A tray of envelopes and letters, spilling with long-winded contracts and documents, made Myou Jyuan wish, at that very moment, for a cup of scalding hot black coffee. With three cubes of sugar.
He flipped through the mail, scanning through the ones that looked important, and throwing the ones that didn't back into the tray for tomorrow. "Advertisements, billboards, magazines," he mumbled, thumbing through the stack when his eye suddenly fell on a plain brown envelope. On it was scrawled, in his chief photographer's slightly loopy handwriting, 'Chinoarov Competition Results'. He looked at the large brown envelope, back to the stack of papers, and then made a snap decision, shoving the remainder of unsorted mail into the drawer and reaching for the former instead.
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The cold shock as water suddenly dribbled down his neck and into his shirt was sufficient to make Genrou open his eyes in a murderous rage.
"Wake up, pig!" Miaka sang above him, completely oblivious to her brother's fury. "Mom wants to go to the grocery store and she wants you to go with her to carry the bags! Oh and also—ack!"
Genrou wrapped his fingers tighter around his sister's neck, shaking her wildly as she began to turn blue. "I TOLD YA ALREADY, STOP THAT CRAP WITH THE WATER!" he screamed, jerking her violently as she batted at him, her expression torn between that of laughter and panic.
"Genrou, dear?"
He let go of Miaka instantly, propping her against the wall and jumping to the bed, rearranging himself in as harmless a position as was possible, hugging his yellow pillow as the door opened and his mother peered in. He smiled at her. "Morning, mom."
She smiled back. "Genrou, honey, I want to go to the store. Can you be ready in ten minutes?"
He waved nervously, his eyes darting to Miaka still gasping for breath behind the door, and leapt to his feet. "Of course! No problem! I can be ready in five!" He moved to the door, holding it just close and grinning tightly at his mother.
"I'll see you downstairs then."
Genrou nodded.
His mother turned to leave, then stopped and looked around inquisitively. "Oh. Didn't your sister come up to call you?"
He shook his head wildly and laughed; sounding suspiciously strangled even to his ears. "No! No, I haven't seen her! She's probably in her room messing with her stuff as usual."
His mother raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "Well, something arrived in the mail for you today, dear. Miaka has it, so just get it from her later, okay?"
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He walked around the large desk and planted himself in the soft, high-backed chair with an exhalation, still holding the envelope in one hand. With a silent prayer, he opened the flap, and shook the photographs out onto the tabletop.
The first photo that caught his attention was of one of the agency's own models, Nuriko. The backdrop was a cloudy shade of sky-blue, and the object of advertisement was a brand of drink. Houjun had captured the model's tall, willow-like profile superbly on his lens, but the picture had only obtained a third placing in the Photographic Section.
He made a reminder to himself to put the photograph of Nuriko into the violet-haired man's portfolio, and then continued looking through the pictures, when he saw the brightly-labeled photograph from deep within the stack with the words 'First Prize for Cover Girl Section' scribbled on it. He pulled it out, and blinked.
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"GIVE IT TO ME!" Genrou made a wild swipe at the brown envelope that was nestled in the vine-like arms of his sister.
Miaka shook her head and stuck out her tongue at him. "Forget it, Genrou. You shouldn't have hit me earlier. And when I tell Mom—"
"You started it!" he growled, making another attempt to retrieve the envelope. She made a face at him and turned her back, waving the mail tantalizing in the air in front of her. "Hmm? Let's see…who would send my insane brother anything?" She peered at the name.
"What's this…some sort of posting…hey! Tasu? Isn't that the nickname you hated when we were younger?"
Panic flooded him. It's the results of the competition! Oh shit…I wrote my address on the form…
Miaka shrugged. "Well! Let's open it and see what's inside!"
Pure terror lent him supernatural reflexes as he lunged for the envelope, ripping it from his sister's hand as she squeaked in indignation. Before she could say another word, he had grabbed her arm and opened the door, shoving her outside and slamming the door shut, locking it.
Ignoring her squeals of outrage, he leant back against the door, his heart pounding as he stared at the envelope in his hand.
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The model had been captured against a soft, pastel turquoise background, and was turned half-away from the camera with the face looking full into the center. And it was the face that captured Myou Jyuan.
Smooth, with high cheekbones and straight, charmingly asymmetrical features, half-lidded eyes that were outlined with smoky mascara, immediately expressed both sensuality and definition. Lips painted a light pale pink were slightly parted in a small smile, and there was a stubborn, almost masculine tilt to the lines of the jaw and face itself. A smooth curtain of rich, deep-rose colored hair framed and fell lightly to the sides of the face. Clothed in a simple black dress, with only a silver choker around a slender neck, the model practically radiated with inner light.
Below the photograph, in a small, neat print that marked the official tag of the competition entry was the name Tasu Leika.
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Miss Tasu Leika,
We are pleased to inform you of the results of the Chinoarov Cover Girl section, in which you have been placed FIRST. The prize money of $5000 can be collected at our studios, as well as a free customized portfolio. It is recommended that you come within a week, or the second-runner up will be notified to take your place.
Yours truly,
The Management
Capri Studios
He stared at the paper in shock.
"I won," he whispered, disbelief raging in every fiber of his being as the news sank in. I won.
A slow grin spread on his face.
I. Won. Five. Thousand. Dollars.
He whooped, flinging the envelope to his bed and flying after it, smashing into the pillows and laughing uncontrollably.