DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the work of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters.
Author's Notes at end of chapter.
Chapter III: Inauspicious Beginnings
A week later, Kuon found himself on the highway, eyebrow twitching as his rental car accelerated s-l-o-w-l-y over 100 kph. (1)
The kei car was definitely no Porsche. It was about the size of a large lawn mower and had all the charm of a dilapidated cardboard box. It responded to his foot on the gas pedal like a sleepy whale, and cornered like one, too. Kuon sighed. The rental car had been Lory's idea. Given his fame and the need for discretion, Lory had vetoed the Shinkansen and flights, leaving him to drive the six hours between the two cities. Ren Tsuruga's silver Porsche 911 was well-known in paparazzi circles, and there would have been no hiding his identity if it were spotted.(2) And so a rental had been secured. Lory made a point of gleefully handing over the keys to Kuon.
Because he knew it would annoy me, Kuon thought. He had crammed his 190cm-tall frame into the small box as Lory smirked. Now he was watching his rental's tachometer struggle upwards as he tried to accelerate up a hill. He tamped down the irritation he'd been feeling since this entire adventure started. Kuon wasn't the type to buy exotic cars for no reason-he thought of his Porsche as purely utilitarian. He kept it well-maintained, but for all intents and purposes, it was the car he used on his daily drive. It fit his "gorgeous star" image. It was reasonably fun. And weren't fast cars de rigueur for handsome movie stars? Dad certainly had his little collection. No one knew those cars better than Kuon, who'd used a fake license back when he was sneaking them out. But he'd never had to drive one of these toy cars. Couldn't Lory at least have rented a Corolla? he thought. This whole under-cover but out in the open business that Lory had him doing had unexpected irritations. Being stuck in the slow lane was one of them-because who in their right minds would stick to the speed limit? The scenery passed by slowly as he trundled towards Kyoto like a mere mortal.
The car helps, though, he thought, I feel too exposed as it is. Putting Ren Tsuruga into whatever the hell this car is would be absurd. It's camouflage.
Black hair and brown eyes were camouflage, too, and without them he felt naked. He wore a baseball cap pulled over his restored blonde hair and dark sunglasses over his green eyes. It was bad enough that he was much taller than the average dude walking the Tokyo streets, but having his blond hair out in Japan felt like waving a flashing beacon for attention.
I'll never understand what he's thinking, Kuon thought. Surely he knows how unusual it is for any actor to just disappear for a month? To remember what it felt like to be happy? What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Was anyone really "happy"? Was it possible to be an adult and be "happy"? And a person like me doesn't deserve to be happy. Kuon supposed his parents had been happy, though he had resented them as a child because their happiness had been so self-contained that he felt left out.
He wondered whether that ryokan was as he remembered it. He hadn't been lying to Lory. It was the last place he could remember being happy. It was the only time in his life that he'd felt a little bit of magic. Being the child of actor parents meant seeing magic broken down into nuts and bolts. Little Kuon knew Superman couldn't fly, because he'd seen the actor flailing around on wires in front of a green screen. Other children could get lost in a movie about dragons and princes-but Kuon? Kuon was probably on the set watching a team of cranky special effects artists dismantle a prop for the fiftieth shot the director wanted to re-take, while simultaneously keeping an eye out for co-stars who wanted to shove his face into a toilet. Kuon knew which Wizards were dirty old men to be avoided, particularly when alone. Kuon had seen Prince Charmings rutting hapless extras in trailers and Cinderellas doing lines of coke. He'd seen love manufactured by producers in suits, and he'd seen actresses sell it for a chance at an audition.
Kuon had seen firsthand that the dead do not come back from the grave.
He'd seen that real blood never washes clean.
Hollywood was not magic. Hollywood was as real as it got.
Six hours of driving in silence with just his thoughts for company had heightened the feelings of unease that had started in Lory's office earlier that week. Ren Tsuruga never had the time or the inclination for self-reflection, he always had his next job booked. In the five years since he'd left California behind, he'd lived so deeply as Ren Tsuruga he'd forgotten what it was like to be a foreigner in Japan. As he came to the launching pad of the ryokan's guest boat, he felt a curtain drop over the noise and dross in Ren Tsuruga's life. He was Kuon for now. Kuon, whose most treasured role was the brief stint he'd had as a fairy prince. Kuon, who was past redemption but certainly not past regret.
When he finally arrived, it was early twilight. The ryokan rose like a lit lantern above the river's banks, nestling into a wooded hill. Its windows cast a warm golden glow into the deepening blue. It sat alone on the river bank, no other establishments nearby. It looked like a beacon into another world, one inhabited by youkai and fairies. Nestled in the green hills of Arashimaya, It was easy to believe that the veils between the worlds had thinned, that spirits could play tricks on you, or grant the prayer you made at the temple bell. It was easy to believe that princesses could be found in the bamboo forest. Or playing by the stream.
Kuon stood on the bow of the little boat, feeling like a prince walking into a Miyazaki film. (3)
Kuon was sure his little princess wouldn't be there anymore, and he wasn't sure whether to be glad or sad about it. Any way I think about it, it's absurd, he thought. A crybaby girl that I told stories to because I was lonely. A crybaby girl who I've probably idealized into absurdity. Maybe I was just happy to rescue someone else.
A girl named Kyoko would be near-impossible to find in Japan.
She'd be seventeen now. Who knew what she'd be like? For all he knew, she could've grown up to be a vicious, shallow girl. Or maybe she'd ended up putting away her childish fancies in favor of a passionate interest in accounting. Did she end up with her Sho-chan? He remembered being jealous of a six-year-old boy when his princess refused to allow him the liberty of calling her without honorifics. He hadn't thought of her in years, not till Lory asked his question. Even so, Kuon had to admit-her sweetness had left a mark on him. Indelible, all but invisible, but permanent. Maybe he hadn't realized it before, but he'd looked for it in every other woman he'd ever kissed.
Goddammit. I'm a fucking idiot. Lory's getting to me.
He'd expected an obligatory phalanx of nakai and other hotel staff waiting for him to welcome him inside. Instead, a single woman in a plain, dark kimono stood at attendance with a proprietary air and a ramrod-straight back. She gave him an appraising look as he ambled towards the entrance.
The Okami-san? Lory must've given them the rundown, he thought. Money, and non-disclosure agreements with hefty breach provisions. Minimal exposure to staff.
She gave him a bow and welcomed him into the ryokan in English, once she saw him. "Welcome, Mr. Hizuri. I hope your travels went well. I am the Okami-san."
I don't think she recognizes me, thought Kuon. Good.
"Thank you, Okami-san," he responded, also in English. Yosh. Let them think I don't speak Japanese. It'll keep them from being too chatty with me, he thought.
He followed the woman into the ryokan, his large duffel bag in hand.
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The night before this so-called Hizuri-san's arrival, they'd received a call.
"Make sure he eats at least a full breakfast and a decent dinner," a voice had stated. "In fact, please ensure that he gets dinner about an hour after he arrives. He's notorious for forgetting to eat."
"Of course, sir," Kyoko responded. "I am a firm believer in breakfast. It is the foundation for the day. A man can skip lunch or dinner if he has to, but never breakfast."
"I see we are in agreement then, ojou-san," the voice said. "He will require a firm hand with eating. Don't let him intimidate you. Don't take no for an answer, even if he slams a door in your face. I leave him in your hands. Just-make sure he eats. And let me know if he leaves food on the plates."
"Call this number and ask for Takarada-san if he gives you any trouble."
"Hai, wakarimashita," Kyoko had told the voice.
Was the guest so difficult, then? Kyoko thought. Perhaps he's a grumpy old man that needs to be forced to eat. Only the very old and the very young are this difficult with meals, aren't they?
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An hour after Kuon's arrival...
Kyoko stood outside the new guest's door with trays of food balanced precariously as she knocked on the door in her kimono. She had narrowly missed Hizuri-san's arrival earlier, leaving his welcome to Yayoi-san. She had been busy completing her homework in advance of the upcoming summer break. No matter, she thought, I'm meeting him now. She had prepared the meal herself, the kitchen being otherwise occupied with other guests that evening.
Now, Kyoko stood in the hallway.
"Hizuri-sama?" Knock knock.
The ryokan had taken on many high-profile guests in the past. Kyoko was used to being discreet about things the rich and famous did while they were away from the prying eyes of the world. Even so, the strictures around this new guest were...suspicious? Mysterious? At the very best, they were certainly eccentric.
Kyoko waited a few minutes or so before knocking again. "Ano...sumimasen, Hizuri-sama," she called. "I have your dinner."
Rustling from the inside.
A disgruntled voice answered, "I don't speak Japanese."
Ah ha, Kyoko thought. So it IS a cranky ojii-san after all. The voice had been deep but wavery, shaky. An old man's voice. I shall have to cajole him into eating healthily. He must have kids and grandchildren-that must be why someone was so insistent he eat regular meals.
I wonder if he's here to recover from health issues? Her heart twinged in sympathy.
Kyoko repeated in English, "I am sorry, Hizuri-sama, I did not realize. I have your dinner."
"I did not order dinner."
Ahhh haha ojii-san's getting cranky. I hear it! A grudge crept out.
"I am sorry, Hizuri-sama, we were given strict instructions to ensure you ate. I have been told to report back if you do not partake of your dinner."
She paused as she heard...cursing? Was the man cursing? In English? Her vocabulary of English idioms and curses was sadly lacking.
"Leave it by the door. I'll grab it."
"Ano, Hizuri-sama-"
"What now?"
"I shall also bring you breakfast tomorrow. What time shall I bring it? Would you like anything in particular? Would you prefer a Western breakfast, or a Japanese-style breakfast?"
"No breakfast, please."
Kyoko deflated. So it was to be a battle, after all. "I am very sorry, Hizuri-sama, but I am sure your family members are very concerned about your health and they will be extremely sorry to hear that you will not eat dinner. And if you do not eat breakfast, your entire day will be in jeopardy! You must take care of your health. Breakfast ensures you can win the day-"
"I don't want breakfast, goddammit!"
Old men can be such children sometimes, Kyoko thought. Maybe I ought to treat him like a drunk guest…
"Hizuri-sama, perhaps you will feel better in the morning. However, if you do not have breakfast, I shall be forced to call Takarada-sama. Perhaps it would be best if you were to discuss your nutrition and diet with him."
"OK. I understand. Get me a light breakfast. Something not too heavy." The voice was testy.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I may have gone too far, Kyoko thought. What was it about this guest? She knew she had crossed the line of deferential politeness, and yet-well, hadn't the voice said "Don't let him intimidate you"? He sounded sick, the poor man, sick...and all alone in his room. At the very least, she would ensure he would eat well while he stayed with them. Perhaps he wouldn't be so cranky tomorrow morning.
"What time shall I bring it, Hizuri-sama?"
"Later. Ten in the morning. I do not wish to be disturbed too early."
"Alright. Hizuri-sama, there are quite a few plates here. Once you are done, please call down to the desk and I shall clear them for you."
"Right. Go now. Good job," Hizuri-sama drawled.
Kyoko placed the tray on the floor and gave a small bow to the door.
"I shall go now, Hizuri-sama. Please, enjoy your dinner."
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Kuon sighed as he heard the footsteps disappear down the hall.
What am I playing at? he asked himself.
He'd inadvertently fallen asleep when the knock had jostled him out of a familiar dream. Tina's high, keening scream. Rick's blood pooling onto the street. He'd woken, disoriented and breathless, heart racing. So when he'd heard a sweet voice calling out his name-his real name-he'd frozen for a moment.
And then promptly decided to fake an old man's voice to keep her from bothering him. He'd spoken in that voice before he'd had a chance to consider exactly what he was doing. He could only hope the ryokan had a large staff that wouldn't notice the person in the suite was not actually a decrepit old man, otherwise he'd be stuck in this room just to keep them from figuring it out. Clearly, he hadn't thought this through. And far from repelling her, the girl had apparently come to the conclusion that he WAS a decrepit, cranky old man. Perhaps one with health issues. An old man she wanted to take care of, from the sound of it. An unusual response from ryokan staff, really. Pushy, even. In the five years he'd lived in Japan, he'd never been yelled at to eat breakfast before. By a faceless stranger, no less, who no doubt believed she was yelling at a guest many decades older.
Family members? Concerned about my health? Where in the hell...
Lory's clearly been meddling here. "Report uneaten food" my ass. What in all the fuck...He was going to wring Lory's neck when he got back.
Creakily he got up off his futon and opened the door to bring the tray of food in.
It was a typical Japanese cha-kaiseki dinner, ichiju sansai and a few other dishes. It was exactly the kind of food one would expect in a ryokan like this. Everything arranged 'just so.' A clear soup in a lidded, lacquered bowl. Ayu and hamo fish for summer. A small croquette of some kind. Pickled vegetables. Rice. And an exquisite wagashi that looked like castella topped with a clear gelatin and a carp made to resemble a cool river. (4)
He took the tray and arranged the small plates on the dining table.
The first bite was surprisingly delicious. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all.
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Forty-five minutes later, Kyoko received word from the front desk that Hizuri-san had finished his dinner and had placed his dishes outside of his room for collection.
"Kyoko-chan, he said to thank the chef for him. Apparently it was a lovely meal," the clerk said, "You cooked it, right? Because Chef-san was busy with that other party?"
Kyoko smiled, went up to collect the dishes, and waltzed them back to the kitchen where the Okami-san was finishing up for the day. Compliments still made her giddy, and she had been glad to have been of service to an old man in need of good nutrition and a nice rest in their little ryokan.
"Okami-san! Hizuri-san liked my food! Look, it looks like he ate everything!"
Yayoi looked over at a Kyoko who was happily buzzing around the kitchen as she washed and tidied the remains of the day's dinner service.
"Of course he liked your food, Kyoko-chan. You're an excellent cook."
"I do hope he'll get better soon. Do you think he's here because he's convalescing? Perhaps it was his son or grandson that called us and told us to make sure he ate."
Yayoi looked at her, flummoxed. Grandson? Son? Kyoko-chan, what…
"Okami-san, I am sure his family wanted him to have a quiet place to heal. He sounds like such a nice Ojii-san, even if he is a little cranky tonight. We'll win him over."
Kyoko was oblivious to Yayoi's confused look. "Ojii-san? Kyoko-"
"Oh, don't worry, Okami-san. Of course I won't forget to call him Hizuri-san. But I want to help him! I'm sure with my cooking he will recover from whatever is making him so cranky."
And with that, Kyoko flitted out of the kitchen.
Yayoi stood there wondering if the bishounen who'd stepped off the boat was a tanuki pranking them all. (5)
Ojii-san? Are we talking about the same person?
Because whatever else he was, Kuon Hizuri was certainly no Ojii-san.
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Author's Notes:
I may end up revising these chapters as I go along in order to 'true up' things, so I apologize in advance. I'm already regretting not building in more about Kyoko's student life and Kuon's Rick complex in the first two, but I think it's a little late for that now. I just don't want future chapters to not have a foundation in these earlier three. Oh well. This chapter is what I call an in-betweener chapter and I think it could use a little bit more refinement. I figure I can do that as I go along, though.
Regarding timelines: The original intent was for Kyoko to come back to Kyoto around the rainy season in June, after her failed LME audition. This means she would have worked at the Darumaya a few months before leaving for Kyoto. A little over a year passes before Kuon gets to the ryokan in late July the next year, right before Kyoko's last summer break in her third year of high school.
1. 100 km/h is approximately 62 mph. 100 km/h seems to be a standard speed limit in Japan. I think Kuon would hate driving a kei car. These are small economy cars (like Smart cars) that have a self-imposed limit of 140km/h (87 mph).
2. To my knowledge, Nakamura-sensei has never directly identified Ren's car, but it looks so much like a 911 I don't know what else it could be.
3. That scene from Spirited Away is a favorite. You know which one I'm talking about.
4. You'll have to indulge me again. Kaiseki dinners follow a fixed form and order. I didn't think Kuon would be up for a multi-course dinner so he got the cha-kaiseki set instead, which features a set number of dishes at one sitting. Ichiju sansai means 'one soup and three dishes,' and many set meals follow this set-up. A cha-kaiseki set would likely have the ichiju sansai and perhaps a few more dishes in addition. Ayu (sweetfish) and hamo (pike conger eel) are both 'summer fish,' with both ayu and hamo being popular in Kyoto from June to August. The original (Japanese) Iron Chef had an entire ayu episode wayyyy back when, if you want to look for the Ayu battle between Iron Chef Michiba and Challenger Katsumi Hanato. There was also a hamo battle between Iron Chef Morimoto and Yoshimi Tanigawa. I'm sure both battles are available on the Tube of You. As for the dessert-castella is a Japanese sweet (wagashi) that is thought to be based on cake brought to Japan by Portuguese traders. This particular version I'm describing is based off of a castella by the Japanese confectioner Toraya given to me by my tea sensei...it was basically a cake with a clear gelatin on top featuring a summer river scene, complete with fish. If you look up Toraya Wagashi, they still have their summer yokan wagashi up on their website. I can't find the castella/gelatin cake, though. Shipping is exorbitant but not impossible. Minamoto no Kitchoan in New York occasionally has similar summer sweets but I think Covid's had an impact on their manufacturing and supply.
5. Is Kuon too old to be bishounen? Anyway, tanuki are raccoons. In Japanese folklore, tanuki are also shapeshifters.