(A/N: I know it's been a while. And I'm SORRRRYYYY. But I was seriously stuck on the whole reunion thing...)
My absolute and sincere thanks to Aizawa Li Syaoran Vessalius, deadflo, Mishrav Mikura, SakuSyaoLvr, kazumicute, SeafoamMist, cupid17, redeyes143, boreum dal, ai-chan97, LadyMidnightGuardian, LeeMeru, mochiusagi, EndlessSugar, Belle Melodie, and KawaiiArny13 for amazing reviews. I can't believe how much support I'm getting for this story, and I feel so privileged! I hope this chapter does not disappoint. (But it might. Who knows.)
5
::-::
Tomoyo Daidouji had always been a romantic at heart.
She thrived on drama, bloomed in adversity, flourished in theatrics, prospered in the sensational... Well, you probably get the picture.
Perhaps that is why Tomoyo made such an excellent (albeit somewhat crazy) manager. She had the true discerning eye: Which projects had the ability to become ravishing masterpieces, which projects would fail, and when to turn down a major studio's offer and replace it with a promising idea from an upstart company. She also knew exactly how Sakura liked her coffee (or rather, lack thereof; Sakura disliked coffee, instead choosing to go with frappuccinos in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter).
Tomoyo's discerning eye had saved Sakura from both uncomfortable and impossible circumstances. It would not be an exaggeration to say that behind every great actor is a great manager. (If you don't believe it, think of it this way: Would an actor get very far with a bad manager?)
Thus, both Tomoyo's discerning eye and her penchant for romance knew that she had to interfere, and fast.
It wasn't that she didn't want Sakura to be happy—a blight upon her flawless face if she wished for such an evil thing!—but, as much as she loved dramatics, she could tell that things were developing way too fast to be healthy.
She linked eyes with Eriol Hiiragizawa, somewhat surprised to recognize the same reaction of faint panic in his eyes. They nodded in silent agreement before moving to act.
"Let's go, Sakura-chan," Tomoyo said, roughly linking her arm through Sakura's and dragging her towards the entrance. She noticed Eriol doing the same thing to Syaoran from the corner of her eye.
As expected, Sakura didn't even fight. She was in shock.
I'm sorry, Sakura-chan, Tomoyo thought. We can't risk anything happening... Not when you two aren't in your right minds.
::-::
Director Tsukimoto was in a noticeably bad mood by the time the managers had pulled their charges offscreen.
"Who are they?" he barked to Takashi. "Get me background profiles on them immediately. Name, birth date, address, criminal record, everything! There will be blood spilled tonight..."
Takashi frowned. "Director, you are aware that they are the managers...?"
"Managers? They ruined my scene! And nobody. Ever. Ruins. A Tsukimoto scene." Tsukimoto leapt from his chair—an amazing feat considering his rather stout frame—and leaned over on his tiptoes in an attempt to compensate for his lack of height. "Yamazaki. Do you know why I am a successful director?"
"Because you have a good secretary," Takashi said proudly.
"WRONG!" Tsukimoto barked. "It's because my films are works of art. Art, I say! And what happens to art?"
"It's exhibited in a museum?" Takashi asked timidly.
"WRONG!" Tsukimoto barked. "Art is not vandalized! You will never find a stroke of graffiti, a scrap of toilet paper, or whatever else marring the surface of a masterpiece!"
"Actually, Director, some would say that art has a penchant for being van—"
"Let me ask you a question, Yamazaki. What just happened on the camera—what would you consider that?"
"An... outtake?" Yamazaki squeaked.
"WRONG!" Tsukimoto began to pace back and forth across his office. "It is vandalization, Yamazaki! Vandalization of art!" He slammed his hand on his desk. It creaked ominously. "What happens to those who vandalize art, Yamazaki?"
"They, er, probably used spray paint and toilet paper—"
"Not what they used, Yamazaki! What happens to them? What happens to the worst kind of lowlife criminal to exist on Earth?"
"P-pardon me for saying this, Director," Yamazaki mumbled, "but that was just a hidden camera stunt—"
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"Nothing!" Yamazaki instantly fell down in a dogeza. "A thousand apologies, a million regrets, a billion—"
To his surprise, Tsukimoto only sank back into his chair and sighed. "Perhaps you are right, Yamazaki. At any rate, the reading team is to meet in Conference Room 2B. Would you get the place ready?"
Yamazaki shot to his feet, nodding fervently. "It will be ready within the second, Director."
Tsukimoto chose not to point out that a second had already passed. "Go," he said.
"Yessir!" Yamazaki saluted before striding out the door. Once he was out of sight, he gave a long, heavy sigh.
Director Tsukimoto really wasn't all that bad, he mused. Occasionally he would get into these 'moods' where he would sway from giggling schoolgirl to thundering madman; but most of the time he was a wise, commanding, and competent director. Thankfully he seemed to have calmed down from his earlier rage.
It was only until after the reading room was assembled that Yamazaki realized he'd left the scripts in Tsukimoto's office.
Well... maybe he'd get them later.
::-::
"Wake up, cousin!" Eriol hissed, elbowing Syaoran in the ribs. "You've seen every single one of her movies. You know what she looks like! Why the freeze-up now?"
Eriol's admittedly sharp elbow seemed to have no effect on Syaoran. He only stared blankly at the tiled wall of the gentlemen's restroom.
"Cousin. Syaoran. Syaoran Li!" Eriol shook his shoulders violently. "Yes, it's wonderful that you saw Sakura after so many years—but you're an actor, and I don't understand why you'd be so shaken by—"
"The moon," Syaoran said.
Eriol stopped. "The moon?" Quite cryptic. Quite useless.
"You can't fully capture its glow on camera," Syaoran said, and Eriol understood.
Sakura was faring slightly better. Ironically enough, Syaoran was a hopeless romantic, while Sakura had been forced to counteract Tomoyo throughout the years.
"It's okay, Tomoyo," she said as they strode to Conference Room 2B. "I won't freeze up next time. I was just... surprised."
"By how handsome he was?" Tomoyo said with a grin.
"I simply haven't seen him in a long while," Sakura said neutrally. "I'll be better during the reading."
"Sakura-chan, that's not the point," Tomoyo said mournfully. "You don't have to hold yourself back... Hiiragizawa-san and I pulled you two away because we were afraid you wouldn't think clearly, and something bad might—"
"It's okay, Tomoyo." Sakura opened the conference room door. "I know that you're looking out for me. I'll do better next time." She smiled quietly. "After all, I do want to make a good impression on Syaoran...san."
Tomoyo smiled back as she slipped inside the conference room... but she couldn't help thinking that Sakura was acting very strangely.
Eriol and Syaoran were already in the room along with two of the scriptwriters who were typing furiously on bent and battered laptops. Tomoyo forced Sakura in the seat next to Syaoran, then bent by Eriol to communicate briefly.
"How is he?"
"In love. It's been great fun."
"Has it?"
"Well, a bit frustrating, I'll gather, but mainly fun." Eriol glanced at his charge. "His feelings are much deeper than I'd originally suspected."
"I think Sakura-chan is suppressing herself. She did this when her mother died, too."
"Kinomoto-san seems quite... changed."
"She is." The door creaked. Director Tsukimoto marched into the room. "I can elaborate later. Coffee, Hiiragizawa-san? Four o' clock?"
"I prefer tea. Natsumi's, perhaps."
"Done. The table should be in the back. I don't want any unwanted publicity."
"None shall be given." Eriol unlocked his phone, tapped the screen three times, and pushed it back into his pocket. "I will see you then."
Tomoyo nodded and slipped back into her chair. Sakura didn't seem to notice her brief absence.
"Well! Would you look at that," Director Tsukimoto marveled. "Marvelous! How marvelous."
He took his place at the head of the table. The rest of the crew poured around him into their own seats.
"Let me introduce myself again," Tsukimoto said. "I am Daichi Tsukimoto: director, producer, and occasional scriptwriter of The Law of Love." He slapped his binder on the table. "Let me warn you right now: Your life is about to become torture."
He saw everyone's resulting expressions and decided to have pity.
"But it'll be torture with complimentary snacks."
::-::
The place was dark. Musty. Obviously unused. A single fluorescent light bulb flickered overhead, casting a ghoulish shadow on the molding wooden walls. People would guess it was a crypt. Perhaps a basement. If any who saw it came out alive, that was.
No one would guess that it had once been a vacationing spot; a cabin perched on the edge of a lake, full of happy memories and laughing families. Now it was reduced to this.
"Checkmate."
A single sleek hand materialized from the shadows, pushing a black queen forward three squares. The white king was hedged between the queen, a rook, and a bishop.
"I love chess," the owner of the hand sighed.
"Y-y-yes, ma'am," muttered the figure on the other side of the chessboard. He was the only one illuminated by the lightbulb. Tall, stocky, and with beefy arms, he seemed like the type to be unfazed by anything.
"But what is this, Kishida-san?" The sleek hand paused over the cash placed beside the chessboard. "I don't believe this is the agreed amount."
The burly Hisao Kishida wiped at the sweat beading his brow. "Yes. I could only get three quarters. The other quarter will be in by tomorrow. I swear."
A light tinkling laugh. It would have been a beautiful laugh, Hisao mused, if he wasn't on the receiving end of it. "Oh, Kishida-san. You really know how to keep a girl hanging."
Hisao let out a slow breath as the hand snatched his money. "It will be in your box by noon."
"I am glad. Because you will be staying here until it does."
Hisao froze. "P-pardon?"
Something shifted in the darkness. "We have a little... holding facility. It is all ready for you, actually. Its last resident just died yesterday." A pair of giddy hands clapped together. "What perfect timing! I believe I already had Ando-san air out the sheets, but if they still stink, just let us know."
"But I—"
A pale hand slapped itself on his neck, clutching it with an iron grasp. Hisao began to choke. "Now, now, please cooperate. I hate spilling blood here. It ruins the carpet."
Hisao nodded vigorously. The hand slackened. He gulped in as much oxygen as he could, afraid it would return.
"Before I have the boys take you away, would you like to see my collection?"
Hisao knew there wasn't a choice. He nodded again.
The hand slunk away from his neck, then slammed a large wooden chest on the table before him. It expertly undid the five locks secured around the edge, then swung open the lid. Inside lay hundreds—no, thousands of newspaper articles, all having to do with...
"Sakura... Kinomoto?" Hisao murmured confusedly.
A purr. "Yes. Sakura. What an... extraordinary girl. Go ahead, pick an article. Any article."
Hisao reached inside the chest with trembling hands and gingerly selected an article, holding it as if it were radioactive. He gasped.
The picture of Sakura was mutilated. It had been ripped, torn, scrawled on, and sprinkled with either red marker or blood—Hisao had a feeling he knew which. One more glance into the chest showed him that all the other articles were the same: Every picture of Sakura was ruined, frighteningly so. Her eyes were gouged out, or her chest was cut, or her gorgeous hair was modified until it was laughable.
"I... I don't understand," Hisao mumbled.
"That's alright." The hand came slinking over his shoulder. "You don't need to. Boys!"
The door of the cabin creaked open. Three large men marched into the room.
"Take him to the holding facility."
And Hisao was dragged away without another word.
A woman emerged into the flickering fluorescent light. One half of her pale face was perfect—was beautiful, gorgeous beyond words. The other half was marred with scars, ugly red things that tore at both her skin and her sanity.
"What an amusing boy," she said, and leaned over her wooden chest of mutilated Sakuras. "Wouldn't you say so too... my daughter?"
And Nadeshiko Kinomoto smiled.
(A/N: Would you believe me if I said that I also had no clue this twist was coming?)
