"So where's that sister of yours?"

Ren glanced briefly at Murasame, then resumed staring in the distance without answering.

"Don't ignore me, you bastard! Do you think that you can go a whole day without talking to anyone? Or do you plan on actually participating like a human being!"

In the confines of his sleeve, Ren's hand balled into a fist. He really needed to invest in a stress ball. Possibly one that was shaped like Murasame's head.

"Answer me!"

"To what?" Ren asked. "You're so scatterbrained, I can't be bothered with following your convoluted ramblings."

Murasame looked ready to start a fight, but then director Konoe called him over to discuss something in the script. When Murasame complied, and a little distance was put between him and Cain Heel, the whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Ren sighed quietly. He'd promised director Konoe that he wouldn't get into more fights with Murasame, and he didn't want to break that promise, but the boy was just compulsively hateful. He didn't remember being so irritated with someone since Fuwa.

Thoughts of Japan's favorite teenybopper idol brought him back to Kyoko. The thought made him restless – she had only left Tokyo two days ago, and it felt like an eternity. If he had his way, he'd be on the first train to Kyoto, ready to make his excuses, on his knees if necessary. Little details like professional engagements and not knowing where she stayed be damned, he was willing to scour the city on foot. But Director Konoe hadn't been the only person he'd made promises to.

"Ren, I want you to swear it," the President had said. "No matter how long it takes her, you will not try to influence her returning in any way."

"But you have no idea where she went or who those relatives are. She could be held by the yakuza for all we know."

"In any way, Ren. You won't call her, you won't text, you won't manipulate her or twist her arm around."

"I would never… What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"The lonely kind," Lory had said. "Listen to me, Ren. I know you don't mean to take advantage of her, but you are. The girl's a pathologic people pleaser, and on top of all, she holds your opinion in very high regard. This falling out you had can either work out great, or it can toxify your relationship forever. Think about that."

Ren sighed again, this time louder. A stage hand that was walking past him started, and then scurried away as fast as he could. Ren kicked himself mentally. He was on set. He had to stay focused. Daydreaming wouldn't help, anyway – things were complicated enough as it were.

His phone buzzed, and he smiled when he saw the caller ID.

The President had forbidden him from calling Kyoko. He hadn't said anything about Kyoko calling him.

"Setsu," he said, smiling. Everyone in hearing range strained to listen.

"Brother. How's the filming going?"

He chuckled. Straight to the point as usual. "How do you think?"

"Did that idiot pick a fight already? He usually waits until after lunch."

"Alas. One can't get a moment's rest. How's Kyoto?"

"How do you think?"

Good. Too good. So good that it makes you reconsider coming back at all.

"That boring, huh?"

"You have no idea. It's only a few more days, but it's a pain," Kyoko said. Ren tried to discern how much of the petulance in her voice was real, and how much – for the sake of the act. It tallied pretty evenly. Too evenly.

"Really? Is it such trouble?" he asked, hoping to tip the balance a little in his favor.

"No," her tone dropped to her more natural timber. It almost felt like he was talking to her again. "No. Everyone's really nice, and I'm not doing any particularly hard work. It's just that…"

He held his breath.

"It's just that… this place is weird."

Ren frowned. "Weird how?" If she felt like she was in some kind of danger, he'd get there for her, promises be damned. He remembered what had happened last time she'd called him to say she was afraid, and he hadn't come on time. He didn't want to think what might have happened if it hadn't been for Fuwa's intervention.

"Just… nostalgic, I guess. It's like I've been here, once." Her tone dropped further, acquiring an odd, dreamy quality to it. "Everything is so familiar, and yet so different, like it's from another life."

"Maybe it is."

"Hmm," she said, then giggled. "Brother… you know that legend they have here, that lovers who killed themselves are reborn as siblings?"

Ren blinked. Yes, that bit of unrelated weirdness was all Setsu. "I'm glad to hear you're enjoying your visit," he said. "Don't call me during the shoot, or I'll pick up."

"Fine, fine! Gotta go anyway, they're calling me. Miss you."

"I—" she hung up.

Kyoko closed her phone and took a deep breath to calm her galloping heart. Really? Lovers who killed themselves are reborn as siblings? Did she really just say that? To Tsuruga-san of all people? She felt like she might burn up in shame.

At least you didn't say that to his face, she thought, but it wasn't much consolation.

"Kyoko-chan?" Sho's father called from inside the room. She shook herself, hid the phone and went back inside. "I thought I heard your voice. Were you talking to a guest?"

"No, Fuwa-san," she said. "I had to take a… work-related call."

"Ah, yes, you were speaking in English. I wasn't sure, you know. You sounded so different."

She froze for a second. Had he understood her? She knew that his wife spoke English fluently, but she wasn't in the family rooms now, and she thought that the Taisho had never bothered to learn it. She imagined them asking her about those shameless things she said, and felt like dying of embarrassment.

"I don't know. Competent, I suppose." He coughed, distracting her. She went to fetch his medicine, and for a few minutes, they said nothing. "I'm sorry for burdening you like that, Kyoko-chan. Really, if my worthless son had done his duty, you wouldn't be in that position."

"Sho has his… work," Kyoko said. "I'm sure he means no disrespect."

Fuwa-san snorted, but didn't argue with her. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Feels like I haven't seen you in ages. And yet you're just sixteen."

"Seventeen now, Fuwa-san."

"Really? I could have sworn we took you in only eight years ago. But oh, well. My head is playing tricks on me." He sighed – his medicine tended to make him sleepy. Kyoko watched him carefully, then tucked the blankets around him and set about straightening the room.

It really was a mess. Pillboxes, clothes, paper – it was clear that nobody had time to clean up around here. She didn't remember the ryoken ever being so busy, but then again, it had been a while. Perhaps, if Fuwa-san didn't need her, she could help downstairs, greeting the guests, or maybe lend a hand in the kitchens…

What are you doing? You're not their servant.

Kyoko stopped and frowned down at the papers in her hands. True, she didn't live with the Fuwas anymore, but that didn't mean she had to sit around, picking her nose when there was so much work to be had.

There's no need to break your legs running around, either. Just do what you're doing and call it a day.

She shook her head and focused on the task at hand. She really didn't understand her head sometimes.

Something caught her eye, and she turned the paper over to get a good look at it. It looked like a letter from a bank, denying an extended loan.

Kyoko frowned, realizing that quite a lot of the papers she was sorting out were of a similar sort. Requests for a loan, requests for extending the loan, bills, bills, bills. Not at all surprising, of course – once, when she had been fifteen or so, Sho's mother had given her a glimpse of the ryoken's financial documents, just so that she had an idea what kind of sums were standard.

But there was a letter from the insurance company, refusing refund for some piece of broken equipment because it wasn't properly registered. And another from a food supplier, giving third warning about a delayed payment. Kyoko wasn't a very skilled accountant, but she knew that being late on payments wasn't a good thing.

She shook her head. This was none of her business – she was an actress, after all, not a mathematician. She stopped her work and stepped up to the window to enjoy the view – surely, the peacefulness of it all would calm her right down.

But worry had already wormed its way into her heart, and she looked upon the woods and groves, not with a nostalgia of childhood, but with the critical eye of someone trained to be an okami from a very early age. And what she saw bothered her. The park looked well enough, but there were signs that it wasn't being kept like it had been. The lanes were narrower because nobody would bother to cut up some branches for a good path. The staff running around seemed depleted.

Perhaps if she were a customer, coming for the first time, this would not have bothered her. But she had lived here for most of her life, and she prided herself on knowing it as well as Setsuie-sama. She could tell when there was something rotten.

Kyoko glanced at Fuwa-san. He was still sleeping deeply. Surely, he wouldn't begrudge her if she checked out the account books, just gave them a quick glance to settle her fears. And since he was the one who kept record, she wouldn't even have to leave his room to do it.

Ignoring the thought that she was snooping, Kyoko knelt by the table holding the books and started searching.

"Cut! That's a wrap. Good job everybody!" Director Konoe said, dismissing them.

Ren stepped out of the shooting range, and went directly to his bag. No new messages, no missed calls. Not at all unsurprising, but he had been holding out some hope.

Meanwhile, Murasame went up to the director.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, before the other man could get a word in edgewise.

Konoe nodded and they walked up to one of the private rooms. "What can I do for you, Murasame-kun?"

"It's about Cain Heel," Murasame hesitated. "Director, where is his translator?"

"Heel-san says Setsuka-san had to go visit some relatives they have in the country. She should be back by Friday."

"Isn't that irresponsible? After all, he needs her, doesn't he?"

Konoe didn't reply immediately. He measured the younger man's tone, took in his stance, tried to gauge the hidden meaning. Everyone knew, at this point, that Cain Heel could speak Japanese, but Murasame had a special grudge against him and his sister.

"I'm not sure how you want me to respond," the director said. "Heel-san can handle the everyday interactions well enough, and today's filming went without a glitch."

"Yes, but…" Murasame opened his mouth, then stopped. "But he's loose. I don't like that."

"I don't understand."

"When we fought…" the actor began. "When I dropped us from those boxes… she was there. I heard her scream, and he let me go."

Konoe didn't answer.

"Forgive me, I must speak plainly. That man you've hired is unstable," Murasame said. "The only times when acts halfway normal is when his sister is near. Now she's not here to hold his leash – how long do you think it'll take before a tragedy strikes, director? Are you really going to allow it."

The director locked his jaw. He didn't want to admit it, but Murasame's fears were justified, very much so. Even with Tsuruga-san's assurance that everything was an act, he still felt a little scared. In the back of his head, he knew that such a powerful response was impossible – nobody was that good an actor.

"You certainly noticed a lot, Murasame-kun," Konoe said, at length. "However, I don't know what you want from me."

"Isn't it obvious? Fire him for disobedience and get someone else in to do the part. He's clearly too dangerous to have around."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Murasame-san."

"But…"

"Hear me out. Heel-san is very rash, yes, but he's a foreigner who is used to doing things his own way. Furthermore, if I fired him for disobedience, I would have to let you go as well."

"You can't tell me you think that, Director," Murasame said, but his voice lacked conviction. The wheels were starting to turn in his head, and he didn't like the score he got.

"I'm just telling you how this will look like from a lawyer's point of view. Which, undoubtedly, it would come down to if I fired Heel-san without good justification. We've signed a contract, and so far he's been fulfilling his obligations – to act. If we terminate his contract, we would have to pay handsomely. Furthermore, we're already a long way into the productions – changing the actor means we need to reshoot the scenes we have already done, which means more time and more money. Lastly, there's the engagement on the other actors' time, which is already agreed upon – we need to give them compensation as well."

"Director—"

"Let me finish, Murasame-kun. I'm trying to explain that from the producers' standpoint, letting Heel-san go will just not do, not without good justification."

"So we're going to let him go, and hope he doesn't blow up?"

"I'm afraid so."

Murasame seemed deep in thought. Finally, he said, "Director, am I to understand that you need better justification to let Heel go?"

"Yes."

"And that we can't use any of the old footage?"

"Not without paying another hefty sum, no."

"And if there was a good reason? A reason which even the police can't ignore?"

"Murasame-kun…"

"We're speaking hypothetically here, director. If Heel-san was arrested, then the producers would have no other choice than to find a different actor, and nobody would have to pay anything, right?"

"In theory, yes, but Murasame-kun…"

"No, I understand. That would not be a good thing. I will trust your judgment, director, and do my best not to provoke him further."

With that, he bowed and left.

Kyoko's legs were cramped from kneeling in the same position for too long, but she daren't stretch, for fear of waking up Fuwa-san. She'd looked through the main ledgers for the past three years, comparing and contrasting notes and finding no great differences in the accounts. And yet, unlike past years, the ryoken was running a pretty hefty loss because of unpaid bills.

She started chewing on her nails, before realizing what she was doing. A suspicion was one thing, but this? The numbers certainly looked serious. She knew she was no expert, but it didn't take a genius to compare the numbers from previous years and to tell that things weren't going so well. And they would be, if the Fuwa's avoided the overtime costs, but they couldn't. For some reason, money just wouldn't come in.

There were a few accounts that didn't make sense – they were written off as investments from various accounts, but as far as Kyoko knew, the hotel was owned by the family. The biggest shareholder, a company known only as "M", had stopped paying a couple of years ago, about the same time as Kyoko had left for Tokyo with Sho.

The coincidence surprised her, and she tried looking it up, but there was little to be found – Fuwa-san had kept no record of the company, no description, no contracts that she could find. Really, the only note of it was the monthly payment it made, and a phone number.

As she put the books away, she wondered for the umpteenth time why she was so worried. Surely, the Fuwas knew what they were doing. They'd been running this show for a while now, and they'd pulled through well enough.

But… still…

Sho's father started to stir. She hurried to put away the things, and copied down "M"s number. She'd have to check things out more carefully later on.

A/N Sorry this chappie took so long, y'all. I was swamped these last weeks, so there was very little time to do anything. I also decided to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo this summer, so there's also that to take care of. I will, however, do my best to wrap this story up soon, you can count on that!

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