Yagami's Little Girl – Tour: Osaka (Part 1)
Written By: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters and Iori Yagami belong to SNK
"Yagami-san…how's the rib?"
"Better." The band was together in the Hatch, running through their program and preliminary rehearsals. It was also a great time for their sound team to test the acoustics of the venue, for the crew responsible for lighting to make sure the stage lights worked properly, and for them to gauge the general atmosphere of the place. Every stage was different, every venue was unique, and their band didn't make it to where they were by ignoring details. So while their side crews did their job, Iori and the other band members hunkered down in front of their sheet music, tuned their instruments or voices, and began with standard niceties.
"Good to hear. Maybe Mako-san already told you, but we said a prayer for your swift recovery."
"She did."
Kawamori nodded, acknowledging his response. Out of all the band members, Kawamori was the oldest at 26, followed by Mako at 25, Ono and Yamamoto were 23, which left Iori as the youngest at 22. Most of the band affectionately referred to Kawamori as "the band dad" – Iori just called him Kawamori and left it at that – with Mako being "band mom". It explained a lot about their saxophonist's seriousness and their lead singer's sheer lack of nonsense. Ono and Yamamoto could be goofballs but they meant well. Iori himself avoided being treated as the baby of the group by force of personality – quiet he may be, but they've learned early on to treat him as an equal and dropped all silly nicknames – which was perfect for him.
Still, they were a family of sorts. Iori was fine with that.
"So Kawa-san," Ono said, raising his drum stick in the air with a youthful flourish, "you ready for this?" Ono – real name Yoshitake Ono – might've been more in the background but with that bright patterned shirt of red and neon blue that screamed "Over here!" and black hair dyed bright blue on the tail ends, he stood out. Between him and Ono, Iori sometimes wondered if the other man was running a personal contest to see if he could out-do him in the fashion and hair department.
"I'm ready," Kawamori stated, voice steady and sure.
"That's good."
Mako gave him a quick glance, which Iori registered. It seemed they all knew of their saxophonist's concerns about his mother, but none of them were rude enough to bring it up unasked. Kawamori – real name Shin Kawamori – carried his instrument with great care, cradling it in his hands even as it hung from his neck strap. The saxophone gleamed mellow gold in the stage lighting, which reflected off his sharp white dress shirt. Unlike some of the other band members, Kawamori kept a full headful of dark black hair trimmed short and neat. He was front and center and maintained a strictly professional appearance.
Iori guessed it suited the older man. He himself found it boring as hell.
"So, we're in the Hatch for now?"
"Yep. First half of this month is split into Osaka tour. Second half we move into Kobe. You know the rest, Ono-san."
"November is Kyoto and Nagoya."
"Glad we're visiting Kyoto. Maybe I can do a few shrine stops while we're there."
Again that brief glance from Mako. Kawamori was going to make sure the gods heard his prayers about his mother's health issues. Iori expected quite a few torii in the other musician's near future and some fortunes drawn for good luck.
"Ah, Christmas we'll be in Saitama!"
"First part of December is Tokyo, Yamamoto-san." Mako said, her earrings flashing with cut blue stones and diamonds. "Our first stop in Kanto."
"Let's show those high-and-uppity Tokyoites who's boss!"
"You sure are enthusiastic, Yama-san," Ono quipped, a grin plastered on his face. "Just don't let 'em hear it within earshot."
"Ah, what you worried about, Ono-kun? They'll just say it to our faces."
"Nah. They'll whisper it behind your back."
"Yagami-kun, what'd you think?"
While Iori could do without that honorific – he generally regarded them as tedious – Yamamoto addressed all the male band members as such, even Kawamori. The older man at the black-and-whites smiled impishly. Ono was playful; Yamamoto was mischievous, even at his age. Yamamoto – Akihiko Yamamoto (also known as Aki) – carried this flair for mischief all the way through in his presentation. While Ono was loud and colorful – Iori was the same in his red leather coat, purple and red zig-zag patterned shirt, and black leather wristbands – Yamamoto looked like a cross-up between a parrot and street fashion.
"Ignore them. Let's just play our music."
"And so our fount of wisdom speaks!"
Ah, yes. Besides the tri-colored mohawk dyed orange, blue, and red and the leather top and black leather pants with buckles that outnumbered Iori's own, Yamamoto liked a clever turn of phrase. Or he thought it was clever; Iori thought they were cliché as hell and unimaginative to boot. Stringing together a creative combination of curse words showed more innate talent – he still recalled Kyo's blue streak on that rainy day – of which Iori had infinite capabilities for.
"Okay, Yamamoto-san. Lay off the ribbing."
There was Kawamori being "band dad" again.
Iori flipped a page of his sheet music and played a chord just for something to do. "That leaves January. Kawasaki and Yokohama." It also meant New Year's, which he didn't celebrate usually because it used to be just him, was going to be spent in Kanto with his bandmates. He reminded himself to put a note on his phone's calendar to check in on Uchida, Ayase, and Aoi on January 1. No doubt his in-laws would be celebrating with all the traditional foods and customs.
"Hey, so that means we all get to eat osechi together!"
"Well, those of us who want to. Right, Yagami-san?" Mako addressed him while keeping an eye on Ono, whose smile could beat out Nikaido's model whites.
"Do whatever you want to."
"Ah, typical. Yagami-kun, don't you just relax on New Year's? Kick back with a beer or something? Watch the fireworks?"
Iori shrugged and adjusted his shoulder strap. "If that's fun for you, do it, Yamamoto."
"Always the killjoy."
"Yama-san, maybe he just doesn't like it."
"But New Year's, Ono-kun! We should treat him to ozoni and sake!"
"Maybe you should treat us all, Yamamoto-san, since you seem eager to do so." Mako being "band mom". He saw Kawamori nod in agreement.
"If we do good in Kanto, maybe I will!"
"Holding you to that, Yamamoto-san."
"Yama-san, that sounds fun!"
Iori played another chord, the deep bass thrumming through him. Mako was right. He was relaxed the very moment he played anything. Even the standard run through chords, which he never stopped practicing despite being a professional. Groundwork and foundational techniques were his bread-and-butter. It was the height of arrogance for a musician to assume that the basics were beneath him. Iori was arrogant on a lot of things but not on this.
"Counting badger skins beforehand? I'll wait to see what our audience is like first."
"Throwing a proverb out, Yagami-san? Maybe Yamamoto-san isn't far from wrong about you."
"Hmph."
"Okay. So now that we've discussed the scheduling and gotten caught up, I'd suggest going through the second song again. Mako-san, good work on the last run, but can you make it sultrier? Treat it like a torch song."
Mako nodded, earrings scintillating in the light. "Of course, Kawamori-san."
The Hatch was a full house. A thousand seats and all of them sold out. The sound and light crews did their work with professional pride; their band returned the favor by pouring all their heart and soul into the program's line-up of songs. They were locals, so some of the songs were favorites of their fans, because it never hurt to bring back what put them on Osaka's musical map. The light blue glow sticks in the audience waved to each song.
Mako's newest vocal – song number two – was a smash hit.
Iori expected it to be on the latest CD after they were done with the tour. They were probably going to have a few recording sessions to make that a reality. Besides the physical release, the songs were also going digital, since music was more readily affordable and available that way. He even had a few songs on his phone, which he had with him just in case.
Their first concert in the Hatch spelled promise ahead.
Iori was caught up in the wave of euphoria himself. He started off their first song with the bass beats, riding that rhythmic high and then heard the others join in. As the instrumentals layered, with Mako lending her voice as accents, the piece took off and their audience was captivated. Knowing the song, knowing the notes, he closed his eyes and played with all his heart. Kawamori's sax lent warmth and suave chill to the composition, Ono had his own drum solo midway through the piece, and Yamamoto tickled the ivories with such improvisation that Iori was proud of him. No one could say they were amateurs or didn't know their craft.
The rest of the night went by in a blur as their program went through fusion, blues, and even a nod to some modern takes in the international jazz scene.
By the time the concert ended, even Kawamori was immensely pleased and suggested they celebrate by having an obligatory drink at the local bar. Mako added to that by also recommending they get something to eat. Iori, not much for the mandatory drinking parties since time immemorial in Japan, chose to remain silent. He'd have one cup at most and then leave cup number two full. He just wanted to go back to his hotel room, see if Uchida texted him, and then wash up and go to sleep.
Stamina was needed for a long tour that they'd just started.
Getting his sleep would be an excellent way to maintain it.
But obligations called and he'd be remiss to leave after the successful opening night and not attend the business side of things. That meant sitting at the bar and raising the first cup along with his bandmates in celebration.
"Kanpai!"
He downed his sake like everyone else, slamming the cup on the polished wood counter. Usually, this meant drinks until the late night – everyone filling someone else's cup – and then probably the usual drunken jokes, singing, and light horseplay that Ono and Yamamoto were notorious for. Even Kawamori seemed more effusive, which mellowed out the seriousness of his personality. Mako's eyes shone as much as her earrings – she did bring down the house – and Ono and Yamamoto were filling each other's cups, starting a drinking competition.
This was usually when Iori clocked out, considered himself done.
The sake bottle reached past Yamamoto's personal zone and into his own, tipping into his cup. The clear liquor filled it to the brim. Iori left it alone, not wishing to engage in a foolish drinking game with the two older men.
"Ah, Ya-san! Don't look so serious! Have a drink!"
With how Ono truncated surnames, Iori had to consider the one given to him the worst. It made him sound old – older than Ono or even Kawamori, like some grandpa – and it still jarred him to this day. However, with Yamamoto appending kun to everyone's surname (except for Mako) and Iori himself disregarding the polite forms entirely, he didn't have much to say. So he accepted it and tried to ignore how much it irritated him.
"I've had enough. You can take my cup."
"See what I mean, Yama-san? He's no fun!"
"You're our junior, Yagami-kun. You can have some fun. We allow it."
"It's late," he said, looking at the simple digital clock on the bar's facing wall. "Two more hours and we're looking at midnight. I prefer to turn in early."
"But you'll miss out!"
"On what?" he deadpanned.
Before things could get awkward – Yamamoto and Ono had more than a few drinks under their belts – Mako appeared by them, arching an eyebrow. "Problems, gentlemen?"
"Yagami-kun doesn't want to join. He should, Mako-san."
"Yeah, he needs to relax! It's our big night!"
"No more drinks for you, Yagami-san?" It wasn't a question; this was Mako delicately wedging him out of a social situation that forced other people to cave in against their better judgment. While Iori refused to bend, having the "band mom" on his side helped and this wasn't their first time doing this. "Did you try any of the snacks?"
"Too salty."
Their lead singer smiled. "Of course. I take it you're ready to turn in for the night?"
"You know me, Mako. Tell Kawamori I'll be in the hotel if he needs me."
"All right, but I doubt it."
Iori stood up, gave a quick glance backwards at Ono and Yamamoto, who shook their heads and returned to their cups, and left. It was a busy night in Minatomachi with plenty of young people about. Couples walked side by side and young men and women, not currently taken, went about their own business, either looking for a club, a bar, or some other delight of the area. Iori knew their hotel was near and headed in that direction.
At night, the tall hotel building was an interplay of glass and light, fitting right into the scenic nightlife surroundings of the place. Iori looked up, recollected that the rooms were non-smoking, and decided to light up before he headed inside. Producing a cigarette – he always had a pack with him – he lit up, using a minimal bit of purple flame from his fingertip. Even that caused a slight edge of pain but the nicotine smoothed that out. Releasing his first exhale of smoke, he remained standing, observing the activity circulating around him.
They had one more concert at the Hatch. Then, their tour manager booked them at another spot for the following week. Staying at one place too long tended to cut into their profits and dwindled audience numbers. Iori knew they wouldn't end up in small live houses or places they'd been before. Why go backwards when they could only go forward?
Finishing his cigarette, he dropped it, ground it out, and headed for the hotel's main doors. The place was plush and stately – money spent to make them feel good? – and he was greeted as he entered. One small nod to acknowledge and then he made for the stairs. Most people took elevators because of convenience. That meant more people crowded in a box. Less people took stairs nowadays. That meant less interaction from strangers. Better for him.
Years of fighting had strengthened him and he surmounted the stairs without breaking a sweat. This time, there was no broken rib or post-funeral stress and exhaustion to deal with. They were on the fifth floor – he was in the room four doors away from the stairs – which meant a decent view from their windows. Fitting the key into the lock, he entered into his room and closed the door behind him.
He hadn't drawn the curtains yet. Outside, Osaka – at least Minatomachi – was a blaze of color. Multiple lights from the buildings around the hotel winked red, green, and blue. On some buildings, neon signs broke the inky darkness. If he looked closely, he would see the light trails of cars and buses below, interweaving their colors into the nightlife's vivid palette. From where he stood, his window framed it all into a still shot of the city – glittering and entrancing.
Iori tossed his room key onto the table, ignored the television and its remote, and sat on the crisply made bed. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he noticed he had a message. Upon checking, he realized Uchida had texted him sometime during the concert. It was simple.
*She's doing well. Was looking for you, I think.*
A familiar feeling enveloped him. That tightness in his chest.
His fingers tapped out the characters, formed a question.
*What do you mean?*
He hit "Send". Went to stand over by the window, looking down at the mesmerizing night scene. He didn't expect an immediate reply. Uchida was older than him by decades and this time of night usually was for the young and wild. Or the older man could be busy. He'd be foolish waiting for a message that probably wouldn't show up until morning. If he was wise, he'd hit the shower and go to sleep like he'd originally planned.
Somehow, that one short little message changed everything.
He heard a few doors open and close. There was movement past his door, murmuring voices, and then silence. Outside, the streaming flow of traffic moved like lit skeins of silk thread, winding around the infrastructure of the city.
His phone hummed.
Glancing down, he read the response in one immediate take.
*She knows your face, I think. She was looking side to side, away from me and Ayase. Do you know video chat, Yagami-san? If you do, let me know.*
It was getting hard to breathe and not because anything was wrong with him.
That feeling that had emerged since Michiru's funeral resurged, hitting him hard. It was a physical pain – so much suppressed grief and so much love (he couldn't deny that word) – striking him at his most unguarded, most vulnerable moment.
His fingers closed tight around the phone, preventing it from dropping onto the carpeted floor. He was afraid he would, dealing with this sudden onslaught of emotion. The city outside his window was a wash and blur of multiple colors melting into the darkness. It didn't look like that a second ago. Was he crying? Why wasn't he able to stop?
All other times before, he was unaware of letting his barriers down.
He couldn't stop this.
He could only let it continue until it passed.
It took some time – longer than he'd expected – leaving him on his knees on the carpet, almost curled over himself. The tension, the tightness, the shortness of breath – all of that bled out of him, gently, leaving him exhausted and oddly relieved. He didn't feel like getting up just yet. Nor did he want to know how much time passed; it just felt like forever and yet not. He could fall asleep right here and not mind.
So he waited. He was at ease.
Silence hovered, a constant presence in his much-isolated life and welcome. He wasn't sure if he made any noise. He couldn't remember. Everything just happened so fast. His fingers ached – he was still clutching his phone, as if holding on for dear life.
In a way, he was.
He could've stayed like this for several minutes, perhaps half an hour, or longer, if his phone didn't vibrate a moment after he thought it. Raising his head up from the soft carpeted floor, Iori blinked to clear his vision – it was still blurry – just in time to see a message notification from Mako. His phone was password-locked. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he forced himself to sit up, settling onto his heels, and reopened his phone.
Mako's message was straightforward.
*We're coming back now. Don't know if you're asleep already. If you want us to bring some food back, give me a text.*
There was Mako, looking out for everyone but especially him.
He wondered if she knew his other reason for returning to the hotel so early. After all, she was the only one in the band who even knew he had a daughter. Nothing in their conversation hours ago – it was close to midnight by now – gave him any indication that she did. If she hinted at it, it must've been subtle but Iori assumed Mako wouldn't take chances like that. If anything, she saw him growing impatient with Yamamoto and Ono's shenanigans and gave him an easy out.
He decided to leave both texts unanswered.
Let Mako think he was asleep. It was easier that way.
As for Uchida's text…he didn't read it again, the words imprinted in his mind.
Video chat?
Might as well ask him to rip his heart from his body. He hadn't known how much he'd bottled up, tried not to face as the days went by. Now that he knew – the weight was gone – he didn't want to risk anymore tonight. Video chat meant seeing Aoi and seeing Aoi meant he was probably going to lose sleep as he reacted the way any young dad would. Which meant probably making a total fool of himself and having to explain why he overslept to his bandmates the next morning.
He was avoiding that at all costs.
Getting up, legs slightly numb, Iori closed the curtain on the neon world outside. The nightlife moved on, but he was done. His night was over.
"Everything all right, Yagami-san?"
Mako was sharp and he hadn't said anything to them yet. Just nodded as he joined them for breakfast – the band always got together in the morning – dug into his food and ignored everyone for the next few minutes as he satisfied his appetite. He was hungry once he awoke, still somewhat stunned by his reaction – overreaction, perhaps – to that one text, and relieved that he hadn't overslept and was in time for the morning meeting.
Yamamoto and Ono sat opposite him at the round dining table, looking sheepish. He didn't need to ask to know they probably were up to their usual horseplay. Either Kawamori or Mako would bring it up or they wouldn't, preferring to forget the duo's usual antics. Iori supposed they got deep into their cups last night, which was exactly why he left early. He didn't want to get identified with them when they did something stupid.
"So," Kawamori opened up, putting his fork aside – they had opted for a Western-style breakfast, "last night was a success. I can only hope we all put our best efforts in the next few performances."
"You know we can." Ono sat forward, the blue highlights of his hair catching the early morning sunlight spilling through the window. "Hatch is ours."
"We can but less breakage from you and Yamamoto-san, please. That comes from our pockets."
"You're lucky the owner didn't kick us out."
"Just a few drinks, man!"
Mako made a tiny unrefined sound. "That was more than a few drinks, Yamamoto-san. Were you trying to go through the bar's liquor in two hours?"
"Just the sake."
Iori snorted.
"You sleep well, Yagami-san?" Kawamori to his right, turning his attention to him, which got the whole damn table looking at him. Well, shit.
"Well enough," he said, parrying the saxophonist's concerns.
"You've been awfully quiet."
Once again, leave it to Mako to see what others didn't. How did she do it? "Look who you're talking to. Shouldn't surprise you by now."
"Ya-san, you missed out."
Again with that butchered surname of his. "What did you break this time, Ono?"
Ono clammed up, looking sheepish again.
He directed his gaze to Yamamoto, who studied his empty plate like it was the keys on his keyboard or piano. Both men refused to speak. It must've been something big. Something that could've gotten them kicked out of the bar but Kawamori and Mako defused.
"Not saying, huh?"
"Let's just leave it at that." Kawamori closing that part of the discussion with a deft stroke. "Onto business. Yagami-san, we need you doing solo for these arrangements." The pristinely-dressed man slid a typed list at him. He took it, gave it a quick glance, and nodded. It looked like they were doing some change-ups in the pieces chosen – something fresh for the upcoming performances. "I need you on stage for warm-up and private rehearsal within two hours."
Not a problem. He was punctual.
"Yamamoto-san, Ono-san – meet with the tour manager. We'll convene at the venue in three hours from now. No, you're not in trouble. Just need to make sure this doesn't happen at every location."
"We can only do so much for you two," Mako interjected, sounding every bit like the mom of the band. "Don't make it more difficult for us."
"I take it you'll be joining Yagami-san down at the Hatch?"
"Yes, Kawamori-san. Need to warm up my voice."
"Okay. I'll see you all. Work hard!"
With that, the breakfast was over and the new day started.
"How'd you figure it out?" he asked Mako after he went through the first solo, improvising along the way. By then, her voice was in tune and mellowing out; their lead singer sat on a stool, sipping from a bottle of water.
"It's not that you're quiet, Yagami-san. We all know that."
"Then what?"
"There's quiet and then there's quiet. You had that this morning."
"Not sure whether to be impressed or frightened."
"Frightened? You?" Now it was Mako's turn to snort, an unladylike sound that made Iori grin. "Come now, Yagami-san. I'm not a fool. I know you're a part of that fighting tournament."
"And you're not scared of me?"
"We all have dark sides, Yagami-san. Some of us just have it buried a little deeper than others."
Damn, this woman was uncanny. "You sure you're not moonlighting as a singer? You a shrink or medium?"
"Pah! Now you're telling jokes, Yagami-san."
"I don't joke."
"I don't know."
Mako swung off her stool, dress swishing. It was an elegant green, accented well with simple gold earrings and a hairstyle that Iori knew took skill to make. Being up front along with Kawamori, both of them needed to present their best and he'd never known them to fail yet. While the concert itself wasn't for several hours, Mako lived by dressing her best from sunrise to sundown. Iori found that bothersome but for Mako, evidently, it worked.
"Just four months. Hang in there."
"I know."
The rest, they left unsaid. They were in public, after all.
Discretion was part of secrecy. If she'd inferred it from his change in demeanor – he didn't feel anything was different – then he didn't need to spell it out. They had several performances to practice for, to be ready for. After the Hatch, next place in Osaka and then the jump to Kobe by train. That would wrap up this month.
Mako began to sing.
Iori went through his second solo, immediately at ease.
Second performance was just as great, if not better. If they hadn't made their names in their home city by now, Iori'd be surprised. Thankfully, Kawamori and Mako bypassed celebratory drinks and declared a free night out for all. They were left to their own devices, could do whatever they wanted short of property damage and being drunken public menaces.
No one had to point out to whom that bit of advice was for.
He didn't know what Kawamori did in his spare time. He wasn't interested. Mako probably did more than just shopping. She had to with brains like that. Yamamoto and Ono…well, Iori knew it'd be best if they went their own way tonight. By themselves, nothing much would happen. Together, they drank often and broke stuff and he still didn't know what the hell they broke. Apparently, it was best left unspoken and forgotten.
Iori decided to take a walk through the area. Minami also encompassed Shinsaibashi but the cat cafés were probably closed by now and he didn't feel like riding trains at this hour. Post-concert, he went back to the hotel and changed into something casual, opting to keep his leather coat just in case. Osaka was still relatively mild, so he didn't need to worry about a drop in temperature. He had options tonight.
He could stay up relatively late, enjoy the sight of the city at ground level, and worry about the rest of the Osaka itinerary afterwards. Or, he could have an early dinner, linger in one spot for hours like a park or just some bench and watch the foot traffic go by, and then go back to the hotel, prepare himself and call it a night. Sometimes, routines were meant to be broken and Iori wondered if this was one of those times.
Part of his mind kept going back to Uchida's text.
Video chat.
He pushed it out of his thoughts, kept it locked away, and opted for an early dinner.
He needed to find a nice quiet spot. He never liked having too many people around, be they staff or other customers like himself. The problem was finding such a spot in a busy city that didn't stop even at night.
At least he wasn't in Shinsaibashi or Dotonbori.
After navigating the crowds, taking in the skyscrapers with their scattered lights – some poor son-of-bitches still slaving away – lit signage, the occasional storefront, and a few restaurants, he finally ducked into one that seemed unoccupied. That didn't always mean the food was bad. Trendier spots were where the young people gravitated. It was a running joke among their band – not mean-spirited – that he didn't count himself as one. He'd simply quipped back that he wasn't one of those kinds, if they got his drift.
He'd never counted himself among his peers.
The owner of the small restaurant smiled and asked him to sit wherever he wanted. The place was more traditional with the character-emblazoned cloth hanging from the entrance, the sturdy but somewhat rude wooden tables, and the standard seats before the kitchen where one could grab a drink while watching the chefs work. Iori parked himself in the corner, back to the wall so that he was farthest from the entrance and had a clear view of the entire premises.
Old habits die hard.
Before long, he had ordered and was served and started eating. It wasn't much. Just some rice, some soup – couldn't order a traditional meal without it – a few pickled sides, and some skewers of chicken and beef. He also had tea but drained his soup and left the drink to cool. As he wrapped up, he noticed a few more customers swinging by, seating themselves, and talking. Yeah, it was time he left.
He settled his check and rejoined the exuberant flow of Minami's nightlife. It was just getting started. Tapping a cigarette out of the box in his coat pocket, he lit it and began his walk back towards the hotel. There were a few benches along the way. So long as the couples and old people didn't take them all, he was going to find one and sit there and watch the sky. If he got lucky, there might even be a moon tonight.
He was sure his ancestors were fans of the moon-viewing parties. Hell, they probably drank sake and did poetry by moonlight in the days before the Yasakani-Kusanagi clan feud. Maybe they did it after, too. There was a reason why it was his family crest, after all.
Iori inhaled, drawing the smoke in.
There was a bench.
Promptly claiming it, his body language making it clear there was only room for one, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared up at the sky. From here, it was an expanse of black – hard to see the stars with all the city lights – dark as Japanese lacquer and vast. He was at peace, seeing it. There were stories and anecdotes of people feeling small, insignificant when looking into the wide space of the universe. Perhaps it was like that for others.
It wasn't like that for him.
His cigarette continued to burn. Ash fell.
No moon. That was okay. He wasn't in the mood for poetry tonight, anyway.
Some girls came by, asked if they could take a few pictures of him – the nice ones did that – and not looking to sour his mood or theirs, he acquiesced. That didn't mean he looked at them. He continued his study of the sky, of the infinite darkness and ignored the flashes coming from their smartphones. Some of the girls squealed – was there ever a more annoying sound? – thanked him and left, giggling.
Well, that was interesting.
He sat there until his cigarette lost all its ash. That meant it was time for him to turn in. Taking care of the leftover smoldering butt, Iori stood, brushed the ashes from his coat, and returned to the hotel. He wanted to check out the next venue online, run through the remainder of the Osaka tour schedule, dry-run through the next few songs (he'd brought his guitar back for that purpose), and figure out which train to hop for destination Kobe.
Maybe their tour manager already had the details.
He needed to ask him.
But he'd made up his mind on something tonight. He needed to take care of that first.
Closing the door behind him, he tossed the key onto the table. Turned on the light. Sat on the bed next to where he put his guitar case, rumpling the smooth comforter. The phone was in his hand. The thought he'd kept locked away now came back and he was ready for it. Uchida's text was in front of him. He tapped away, characters forming the belated reply.
He didn't need a quick response to this one.
He could wait.
*Video chat? Of course I know it. Which one do you use? Let me know and I'll get it. Can't do tonight. Next week? Let her know I miss her, too.*
Notes:
* Torii are the Japanese gates for Shinto shrines and majority of them are painted red. They signify the divide between the real world and the world of the divine/supernatural.
* Osechi are traditional New Year's foods that eaten on that holiday in Japan. There are several dishes and usually presented in especially set-aside lacquered boxes for the occasion. Apparently, this tradition is steadily getting lost with the younger generation and pre-prepared foods can be bought like any other product for convenience's sake nowadays.
* Ozoni is one of the many dishes in the osechi spread. It is a soup with mochi (chewy and sticky rice cakes) that also contains vegetables and meat. It is prepared differently in each part of Japan. Kanto has it one way and Kansai does it another way.
* Counting badger skins – Iori is referring to a Japanese proverb 捕らぬ狸の皮算用 (Toranu tanuki no kawa-zan'you) which is loosely translated to "Counting the skins of badgers which have not been caught". Found this translation on . /~fgandon/miscellaneous/japan/. (from a CMU student's webpage, which I cross-checked with another site to make sure it is accurate). It is their version of "Don't count the chickens before they hatch".
* Kanpai is the Japanese equivalent of "Cheers!" when toasting drinks.
* Minami is "south" Osaka, which includes quite a few places. Minatomachi is one area, Shinsaibashi is another, and Dotonbori is yet another.