DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
Let me know what you think! Reviews are always always treasured and appreciated.
Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
Chapter XXVIII: Victory Without Battle, Battle Without Victory
Deriving pleasure from the crowd is an art.
"Tilt your head a little more, Kyoko-chan," the photographer was saying. "Yes, that's right—more, OK, next!"
She turned, switched poses, and looked at the camera with her eyes half-closed. The smallest of pouts graced her lips. She was dressed in the furisode she wore in the tea ceremony scene, a pattern of yuzen peonies over pink silk. Dainty, yes, that's what it was, she felt dainty, and graceful—she felt like spring. The silk was heavy, but it felt light, and…oh yes, she was going to float away in it, like a petal on the wind—
"Yes—YES! Excellent. Now I want you to move your hand, as if you're going to rest your head on it—Good!"
Flashbulbs were going off. Somewhere in the studio there was a murmur. The din got louder and louder, but the photographer was still talking—"OK, next outfit," he was saying, and suddenly she was in a new dress, deep blue and shot through with silver thread, embellished throughout in tiny star-shaped crystals. The skirt came all the way down to her feet—every bit as grand and fluffy as Dajowney's Cinderella, but more magic, so much more magic.
She looked up and saw herself in the mirror and she barely recognized herself. She was beautiful. Her face had been made up, her lips were scarlet. Her hair had been pinned upwards, tiny tendrils of it curled against the side of her face. She was wearing a tiara with star-shaped diamonds to match the dress, and when she took a step forward she saw she was wearing—
Glass slippers.
"KYOKO-CHAN," the photographer was saying, louder now, and somehow closer. She blinked, suddenly woozy, feeling the world shift and change, and now there were two photographers, each shouting contradictory words at her.
"Look here, Kyoko," one said.
"No, Kyoko, I need you over here," said the other.
"Sultry," said a voice.
"No—I need an innocent," said the other, "An angel."
And then the world shifted again, and where there had been two there were now ten—or was it a hundred?—every single one of them holding a camera with a large flashbulb on it, and the world was strobing in and out in flashes of lightning-bright light as Kyoko blinked.
Flash. "Kyoko—" said a voice.
"...Makeup!" screamed another.
"Need you to do—" Flash.
"Look over here!" Shutter. Flash. Blink.
"Show me that—"
"I need your arms back—"
"No, look at me…"
Flash.
Arms were grabbing at her. "Look to the side—"
"—Smile!"
"—Smile?"
"—Smile!"
Flash. Flash. Flash—the whirring of camera shutters, the strobing light—she couldn't help it, she closed her eyes against the chaos. She stopped posing, holding her arms around herself, instead, willing herself to be still. If only they'd give her space! Wasn't this a photography shoot? Why were there so many photographers?
3…2…1… she counted down to herself. When she opened her eyes, she was going to be ready for them. Now.
Except the studio was empty. No…not the studio. It was a room so big she couldn't see its walls. There was a single beam of light shining down on her. She shook her head as she looked around. The photographers were gone, lost beyond the bright line of her spotlight. "Hello?" she said out loud. "Is anyone there?"
Nothing. She took a step forward, the light followed. Clack, clack, clack went the glass slippers. The floor was made of polished concrete, but it didn't feel as if she was outside. She walked…it felt as if she walked forwards forever. The glass slippers weren't uncomfortably, exactly…though they were delicate. And slippery. She held her breath as she stepped forwards, waiting for them to chip, or shatter, or disappear in exactly the same manner as they'd appeared on her feet.
Giggles.
She turned, startled. She could've sworn she'd heard the sound behind her, and yet when she turned, she could see nothing in the dark.
She turned around again, walking forward. There's gotta be a door somewhere, she thought. And walls. No room could travel onwards forever.
More giggles…closer, this time.
She looked around, trying to peer past the light and into the darkness. "Hello?" she called again. "Is anybody there?"
The giggles turned into whispers, soft sibilant sounds as girls whispered to each other. She was familiar with the sound of it—all of the words indistinct…but distinct enough for her. She knew what they were talking about. All through her middle school years, Kyoko knew the sound of people talking behind her back. She had thought herself used to it. But now, dressed in glass slippers in this strange featureless room, she had to admit she was…scared.
"Look at her," said a voice. It was soft and insidious—an ojou-sama's voice, high and and girlish. "She thinks she's pretty…"
There was another giggle, somewhere behind her. "Her? Pretty? Is she blind?"
"So ridiculous for a grown woman to wear a stupid gown like that," a third voice added. "Does she think she's some kind of princess?"
Kyoko jumped. That voice had sounded as if the speaker were right next to her, and yet there was no one there.
"With that face?" the first voice asked. "No wonder her own mother didn't want her," it said.
Kyoko began backing away, but there was no safety to be found. The room was as dark and featureless as before. She couldn't even find a wall to back into.
"And she's flat as a board." There was an undertone of malevolence now. Kyoko couldn't see them, but she felt them. She was being surrounded, she knew it, even if she couldn't see beyond the bright light that surrounded her.
"But I guess that's ok if you're a slut," said a new voice. "Look at that hickey on her neck."
Stricken, Kyoko put a hand self-consciously on the love bite Kuon had left. Hadn't she covered it up? How could she leave the house without doing so!?
"Oh look, now she's trying to hide it!" The giggles had turned into all-out laughter now. "What, you think you can hide that from us?"
"She probably whores herself out," said a voice right in front of her.
"Whores herself out? Who would pay for that?"
Kyoko gasped as she felt a hand grab her wrist— "No—" she cried, surprised.
But the hand pulled, far stronger than she was, while another grabbed her other wrist. "Let me go!" she screamed, but a third hand found itself on her mouth. They had trapped her. A blindfold was placed over her eyes as she struggled, and in her struggles a sliver of her vision remained. She could see them—just their skirts, the cut and color of the middle school she'd attended with Sho.
"I hate this fucking dress," a voice said, and she felt a set of hands rip away at her bodice.
"Hate it," said another. She felt a hand tear off the strap holding up the dress. Kyoko redoubled her struggle, kicking upwards, trying to free herself—but they simply secured her ankles.
Rip went the wonderful blue skirt with the diamond-like gems. "Why are you even still alive?" said a voice.
"Dumb—" The tiara was torn off her head, pins and everything—Kyoko yelped at the sudden pain but the voices just laughed.
She felt the bodice give way, leaving her exposed to the air. "Idiot…"
"...Ugly…" And now the skirt had been dismantled, torn off of her by malicious hands.
The dress's destruction hadn't revealed her naked body. Instead, she stood amongst the unseen crowd dressed in a nondescript brown jumpsuit, though the glass slippers remained on her feet. Her hair, she realized, was short and orange again, hidden underneath a cap.
She realized that it was the uniform she'd been wearing when Sho had failed to recognize her as a gas station attendant. Was this who she really was, then?
The girls tittered. "That's more like it," a voice said. "Stop stealing dresses that aren't yours," it continued. "You know who you really are." A pause. "A nobody."
Laughter followed. It was harsh laughter—hurtful laughter. It was the laughter of a mob that was playing with her for sport. Hands pushed forward and shoved her forward, other hands turned her around and shoved her back. All she could see were slivers of the action from behind her the blindfold they'd placed on her. Fortunately, no hands held her still anymore.
She took advantage of a sudden lull in action and sprang forward, taking the girls by surprise.
She threw the glass slippers off her feet. There was no point in keeping them—they'd only slow her down. She flung them off with some regret—they were beautiful, after all. But she had no choice. Beauty must give way to necessity, she told herself. The slippers fell into the dark as Kyoko's heart twinged. Even so, Kyoko ran. She ran as quickly as she could, fast and far into the abyss—until she realized she was no longer in the formless dark. She was in a long corridor, like the long hallway in the house that served as Ring Doh's set. The house was nearly pitch-black at the edges, but she could see a figure in the hall.
She knew that figure.
She would know it anywhere—those shoulders, the height, the fall of his hair, just so.
He was walking away from her.
Perhaps he hadn't heard her? She tried speaking aloud. "Ku-Kuon?" she called out. "Kuon?!"
But the figure didn't turn around. She ran after him, and her footfall echoed along the corridor. She couldn't afford to slow down. She wanted him—she wanted his comfort and his safety, wanted to remember that she was loved and loved in return. But though she ran and ran, she couldn't get any closer to him. The figure kept walking away into the distance as the hallway continued relentlessly onwards.
"KUON!" she cried. One final time, she tried to reach across the distance to him.
This time he turned around.
There was no recognition in those dark eyes, just mild annoyance. It was less than the consequence he'd given her when they'd first met at LME—at least then, there was contempt, hostility—irritation, perhaps, that she'd come to showbiz for revenge. But now? There was nothing. She was less than a fly on the wall, less than a speck of dirt on his shoe.
He turned around again and she made out to reach him—
—"Kyoko?" She awoke with a start. "Kyoko, love, wake up—" Hands were shaking her, gently. Large, capable hands, calloused from hard work and exercise, roused her from sleep.
Blearily she opened her eyes and there he was. Her Kuon, her green-eyed prince, looked down on her with some concern. She took a hand and straightened a lock of the dark-brown hair from his face. Dawn was starting to break, and the room was gray in the way the world often is right before the sun peeks over the horizon.
"Bad dream?" he asked. His arms tightened around her and she squeezed back.
She nodded. It was fading quickly now under the warmth of his embrace.
Today would be the first day of her last school term. This was it—they would part today. She'd thought they'd be apart after he began filming Ring Doh. She'd been wrong—she'd found herself pulled closer into his world. Last night, she'd succeeded in evading dinner with Takarada-san and Kuon's father—she'd intended on spending the evening in her own room again, too. But they'd ended up together back in his bedroom anyway, following what he'd had to tell her.
Today would be different. Today would bring true separation. Where she went, he could not follow. The realization left her with a twinge of loneliness—which gave way to the surreality of the situation. When she'd come back to Kyoto, school had been her highest priority. She'd been denied the chance to go to high school when she'd left to go to Tokyo with Sho. Transferring into her second year hadn't been easy, but she'd done it and was none the worse for wear. School days had been yet another regular, regimented part of the life that had been upended when Kuon had walked into it.
"I'm sorry I left you," he said. "I didn't want to leave…but then I couldn't have made you breakfast if I stayed!" He was so cheerful and proud that Kyoko couldn't help but smile back at him.
"Thank you," she said. Breakfast in bed was something hotel guests had—not her. No one—not one person—had ever made her breakfast in bed. It was unexpectedly sweet of him—a gesture which she couldn't have expected and yet felt utterly in his character. He must've woken up to work in the kitchen while the sky was still dark. She looked at the plate and noted that it didn't look half-bad. It was an American breakfast and much heavier than her normal schoolday breakfast of rice and natto, but she was touched. Clearly, he'd prepared it himself. No one else in the kitchen would ever release such a charmingly—erratic—plate.
"Does it look ok?" he asked.
The egg yolks had broken when he'd attempted to flip them, but the bacon and the toast had turned out alright.
"It's wonderful, Kuon," she said. There was only one plate, with a double portion of food on it. "Will you have some with me?"
"I was hoping you'd ask," he said. He had Western silverware in place of chopsticks. Quickly, he speared a bit of bacon and offered it to her. "Say ahhhh—"
"I'll be terribly late for school if you insist on feeding me, Kuon," she interrupted. She attempted to grab the fork from his hand as he pouted and flung his hand up to the ceiling and out of her immediate reach.
"Nah uh," he said, "Just one bite? Please?"
"Fiiiiiiiiiiiine." She gave him a mock glare as he offered her the bite. Chomp went her mouth over the fork. She avoided looking at his triumphant smile—it was full of glee and yet so full of tenderness she had a feeling she wouldn't survive it if she looked head-on. She'd expected him to try and feed her. He'd been doing that since the night of the festival. Whether or not it was the intimacy of the gesture, or the way she protested it, or perhaps just the fact that the shared fork was a kind of indirect kiss—Kuon loved doing it, and she loved him for it.
He poured her a cup of coffee—it was a little ritual she'd gotten used to during their time on-set, and she took it without cream or sugar, just like he did. "I don't understand why you still insist on feeding me like that," she said. "Aren't you tired of it?"
"Tired?" he asked. "How could I possibly get tired!? The most beautiful woman in the world is eating the breakfast I made her." His smile increased in wattage. "Besides, you're so cute when you eat."
She blushed, shook her head, and then motioned him off as he attempted to feed her another bite. Flinging off the blanket, she sat cross-legged by the tray table and reached for her own set of silverware.
"Spoilsport," he said, pouting.
"It's bad enough I let you get away with using a single plate," she said.
"It seemed easier," he responded. "Plus I get to be closer to you. Is it wrong that I like knowing I had the other half of your bacon?"
She shook her head at him, and then giggled at the expression on his face. "You, sir, are ridiculous."
"And you, madam, are beloved."
He smiled at the way her dimples were showing.
"Toast?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you," she said. It was funny how he could make a slice of toast the most wonderful thing ever.
It was a good thing she'd set an alarm in advance.
=.=.=
Kyoko was readying herself to leave—and as with nearly every other day she'd left for school, she anticipated taking her bike to campus. She was dressed in her school uniform—a white shirt with a bow, a pleated skirt in a nondescript brown. She straightened the bow around her neck, grateful that the uniform's neckline was relatively high and covered the bruises from Kuon's kisses.
Showing up with hickeys on the first day of school was a ticket for disaster. She could only imagine what Those Other Girls would say and think if one were spotted on her.
"Kyoko?" she heard.
She turned around and looked at him, thrilling at the sound of his voice. She couldn't help it—she could hear how he wanted her, and she was all too aware of the heat between them. But there would be no time for that, not this morning. They'd already spent too long at breakfast. She was going to school, and no dalliance with a boy was going to change that. "Tsuruga-san," she responded.
"'Tsuruga-san,' is it?" he asked.
He was looking at her the way she imagined the Big Bad Wolf looked at Little Red Riding Hood. Eyes traveled up her legs and onto her face. When he looked into her eyes, she had to turn away from the intensity of his gaze.
"I never took you as being into josei kousei, Kuon," she said.
"ME?" he said. "If the school girl in question is you, then of course I am." He grinned at her.
"Pervert," she muttered.
"That's rather unfair, don't you think?" he asked. "I'm not a pervert at all." He felt a little abashed. There hadn't been any markers of age or rank while they'd been together over the summer. He was just Kuon, she was just Kyoko. But now that he was filming again and she was back to school, he was reminded of how young she was. Even if she'd spent years in Tokyo fending for herself, Kyoko was just a schoolgirl. He didn't like thinking of himself as an older man creeping on a younger woman—he was only four years older!
He sighed. His feelings were fixed, no matter what the world thought. Still, he recalled how she'd asked him to wait to reveal their relationship at least until her graduation. Seeing her like this only emphasized how right she'd been to ask him to wait. The image flashed in his mind—her, in this uniform, him, in one of the designer suits he often wore. The suit made him look older. And the uniform made her look so much younger. If Ren Tsuruga were photographed with a high-school girl, the press would be brutal. If he were in the U.S., they'd be talking about arresting him.
Kyoko saw him hesitate and moved towards him, placing her arms around his neck and then tiptoe-ing upwards for a brief kiss. He'd been hiding the little parcel behind him, but he moved his hand forward, offering it to her when she pulled away to look at him.
"What's this?" she asked. The bento box was wrapped in the familiar furoshiki she often used for their lunches.
"I…um…made you lunch," he said. A tiny flush appeared on his face.
"Kuon…I…" she took the little bundle, eyes misting. She'd been making her own school lunch—and Sho's—for as long as she could remember. "I…was going to make something for both of us—for you, too—"
"I know. But I figured today I'd just eat the lunch on-set. And don't worry about the food in the bento," he said, grinning ruefully. "Etsuro-san supervised me."
"I'm sure it will be delicious," she said loyally. Her right hand entwined with his as her other hand took up her schoolbooks.
"I should go," she said.
"I'll drive you," he replied, moving as if to follow her.
But she shook her head. "Impossible," she told him. "Do you know what would happen if you were spotted dropping me off at school?" She could only imagine it now—even if no one recognized him, the rumor mill would churn non-stop. Everyone knew her as a student at the top of her class, but she participated in no extracurricular activities, refused to be part of the student council, and, while friendly to all, was friend to none. She'd learned that lesson the hard way. She'd deliberately cultivated the image of a distant ice queen—it had been necessary, she thought, to stop the pranks and the bullying she was sure would come her way if she'd been less careful.
Arriving in a fancy sports car with a left-hand drive would definitely disrupt the careful isolation she'd built.
"I'm taking my bike, Kuon," she said. "I've been taking it for a long time. You needn't worry about driving me to school."
"I'm not worried, exactly," Kuon said. "It's just—I mean—wouldn't it be safer? What if something happens to you while you're on your bike?"
"Then something happens to me," she replied. "But anything may happen while we're in your car too, you know."
"But it's time you could be spending with meee," he whined.
"Ah, now the real reason comes out," she said. She smiled at him. "I promise we'll have time for each other."
"Do you promise promise?"
"I promise if you promise," she told him.
"I promise."
He pulled her in, gently, holding her head between his hands and looking into her eyes before finally placing the gentlest of kisses on her lips. "I'll miss you," he said.
"I'll miss you too." She put a hand on his chest and pushed him away softly. "I'll see you later on-set after school," she said. The Ring Doh set was closer to her school than it was to the ryokan, and its proximity meant that Kyoko could make it there in good time. It was a fortunate decision.
"I'll count the minutes."
"Don't. Shingai's counting on you to shoot those scenes in one take."
"It occurs to me that—"
"The great Ren Tsuruga would do that?" she asked. She knew what he was going to say. The longer the film took to shoot, the longer he'd stay in Kyoto. "Really?" She raised an eyebrow. She had a hard time believing that the Ren Tsuruga would ever intentionally flub a scene just to draw out the shoot.
"I guess not," he said. "But I don't want to leave before I have to, either."
"You'll visit," she said, "and so will I."
She knew as well as he did that his next project, Tragic Marker, would start shooting soon. And he'd agreed to go undercover and uncredited for the role. That movie would require his presence back in Tokyo, and then later on, overseas. Part of her knew it wouldn't be the same, even with all their best intentions. She entertained the small flame of doubt in her mind, imagining it—how he'd have less and less time for her, how he'd sink slowly back into the life he'd been living, just as she'd slide back into her old routine of school and then work. She shunted the thought aside as she put her shoes on and made her way to the boats. Her bicycle was stored on the boathouse by the bridge.
He walked her to the dock, kissed her, and for the first time, stayed there and watched as the boat bore her away.
When it was done, he turned and saw Lory a few meters behind him, watching the scene.
Kuon saw him, scoffed, and then turned away. He walked past him and into the ryokan to begin his day as Ren Tsuruga. Lory looked as if he hadn't slept much last night, but Kuon walked by him without a word.
=.=.=.=
School was…just as she'd remembered it. She arrived in plenty of time, securing her bicycle to the rack by the gate. Students—her classmates, she thought with a jolt—were congregating all over the campus, none of them noticing her. She walked along the periphery of the crowd, observing. She wasn't the transfer student anymore, no one looked at her with curiosity the way they had when she'd first joined the school. She'd perfected the art of invisibility not by being invisible, but by being utterly ordinary. She made her way to her locker, changed shoes, and checked her schedule.
Kyoko heard a high, tinkling laugh behind her and sighed heavily. It was Hana, ringleader of the school's 'elite' squad. Every school had them. Kyoko's middle school had been no different. Back then, she'd been terrorized by the girls of her class. It had partially stemmed from being 'the girl who lived with Sho,' but it had been more than that. Kyoko had believed her virtue would win people over. She thought she'd be like a fairy-tale heroine, rewarded for her kindness and her patience with the love of her life and a lifetime of happiness. Kyoko had been so terribly eager to please, so shabby, so guileless that it had taken her those years in Tokyo to understand how easy a target she'd really been. People didn't like virtuous maidens. People liked people to be just like them—and a virtuous goody-two-shoes who happened to live with a prince? She would need knocking down a peg or two. Or three.
Tokyo had knocked the scales from her eyes in more ways than one.
She was no longer any elite squad's target. For all his sins, she acknowledged that Sho had turned whatever iron had been in her to steel. These were the girls who had done all sorts of things when she'd first transferred in. None of their tricks had worked—and most of them had been tricks she'd seen before. She scoffed at them silently even as her face remained impassive. She'd bitten back the urge to give people scorecards critiquing their bullying efforts on a scale of one to ten.
Soon enough, rumors of her status as an heiress began to circulate. Coupled with her commanding performance in classes and her reputation as an ice queen, the girls had left her alone to find and focus on some new target.
Kyoko still kept her guard up. It would not do to ever be caught by these girls all alone. She was ready to leave for her first class when she heard Hana's voice.
"Did you hear?" she overheard.
"What? Hear what?" another voice answered. Yui? Kyoko thought. She couldn't quite remember their names.
"Ren Tsuruga—yes—Ren—is filming in Kyoto."
Numerous squeals met this pronouncement while Kyoko rolled her eyes.
"Ooooooh," said Yui. "I looooove Ren Tsuruga!" She was squealing and jumping up and down. "He's so hot," she said. "Where? Do you know where he's filming? Come on, Hana, spill."
"Welllllllll…." Kyoko rolled her eyes again. Hana loved creating drama. Ordinarily she'd ignore the little group and head to her classes, but she found herself staying. She wanted to hear them talk about Ren, she realized.
"So…I can't really be sure," Hana said, "But the old Yamaguchi place is close to our house…"
"Yessssss…!" Yui said.
"And you know how they've been wanting to sell it for the longest time because everyone thought it was haunted?"
Yui was standing still now, mouth wide open.
"Well last month," Hana said, "we noticed a bunch of trailers along the old house's fence. They were…you know. Big. And they opened them up and there were all these lights and cameras and wires." She paused for dramatic effect, looking into the rapt faces of the girls surrounding her. "You know…movie stuff."
The girls squealed in the way only a gaggle of girls can do, and Kyoko finally made to move away.
"Who is he shooting with?" asked a voice. "Do we know? Especially now that we know he's not with Kana."
"You know, I think it's actually Ring Doh's sequel," Hana said. "His website said something about it a few months ago."
"That makes sense." It was Yuka. "I mean, I wasn't crazy about the movie, but he's so beautiful it didn't matter. So he'd gotta be shooting with Ruriko-chan, right?"
"That doesn't make sense," Hana said. "I follow her on Instagram and there's nothing about going on about shooting in Kyoto." She flashed her phone's display. "See? She says she's hosting her family in Los Angeles tomorrow."
"But someone's got to be the new Choko."
"Ooo, do you think they would have recast her? You can't shoot that movie without a Choko."
Both girls screamed. "What if there's an open audition!?"
Kyoko kept her face away from them, keeping her back ramrod straight. If this little group found out her little secret, her hard-won days of peace in school would be over. She shuddered at the thought. If girls were brutal simply because she was Sho's childhood friend when he was nothing but a cute middle-school boy, how cruel would they be once they found out she was acting across Japan's number-one-sexiest actor? She could see it happening all over again—the bullying, the constant attacks. The normal stuff wouldn't bother her in the least; she'd developed a healthy disdain and a thick skin after her sojourn in Tokyo. But it would be annoying. And if they escalated to more novel tortures, it could be problematic. Kyoko was no innocent; in her darkest moments, she'd dreamed up these novel tortures herself. What if they poured acid on her, or burned her with a liberal application of pure acetone and a flick of a lighter? She had no doubt as to her ability to escape and evade, but having to do so was a suboptimal outcome. It was best to keep silent. Best to keep herself in the background and out of everyone's scrutiny. Best to keep the little fairy tale she'd been living in a little box far, far away from here.
The girls were still squealing as Kyoko made a beeline to her homeroom and took her favored seat by the window.
Class, she hoped, would be relatively safe.
=.=.=.=
Lory found Yayoi the next morning as she piled invoices for processing in her office.
She smiled wanly at him. The poor man looked utterly deflated—and she had a feeling that he did not often feel utterly deflated. Yayoi had been proud of Kyoko yesterday. For someone who'd spent most of her life trying to please everyone but herself, she'd shown them all a core of steel.
"Oh, don't look like that, Takarada-san," she told him.
He looked tired, but he smiled. "He won't talk to me, either. Neither will his father. His mother has been accusing me of kidnapping since he was fifteen."
"You have…unorthodox methods," Yayoi responded. "Kyoko would have been free to accept your offer, of course, but speaking as her guardian? I would've counseled her against it."
"I've always been surprised at how willing you were to let her go, you know," Lory said. Here, at last, was someone who wasn't mad at him. "Given the fact that you and Etsuro-kun made her your heir."
"It was more difficult for Etsuro than it was for me," Yayoi said. "We argued over it. Quite a bit, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I sometimes feel as if I ought to be agreeing with him and insisting that she stay." Yayoi sighed. "I wasn't born to this ryokan, perhaps that helps. I chose it by marrying Etsuro. I didn't have to marry him."
"Kyoko chose, too."
"She did. But a choice made when one has no other choices is no choice at all."
Lory nodded thoughtfully. Yayoi had told him all about Kyoko's past—how she'd come back from Tokyo with nothing, not even her mother's love. Given a choice between the drudgery that was the nakai's lot and an education with a future, what would any reasonable young woman have done? And Kyoko was nothing if not eminently reasonable.
"And in a way, it's atoning for what Sho became," Yayoi added.
"You blame yourself for your son's actions?" Lory asked.
"I do. If I hadn't been—" She stopped, paused, started again. "...He would have run this place into the ground," Yayoi said. "Sho has no work ethic. He has no sense of responsibility. He would have taken the money and run and then he would've sold it to the highest bidder."
"And Kyoko wouldn't."
"Never. Not even if you took her far away from here and made her the brightest star in the firmament."
"You're so sure of that."
"I am. And now Etsuro is, too." Yayoi smiled. "And now that she's met her fairy prince, do you think she could ever give up her castle? She's remarkable, you know. She's really quite efficient. She sees trends on these sheets that I don't, and it takes her just minutes—it would take me hours. And then she turns around and does her homework like it's nothing. I have faith in her. No matter how busy she gets, she'll always have time to meet with some kind of general manager."
"It seems as if she doesn't want to leave." Lory crossed his arms. "You know she should be acting."
"I do."
"But?"
"It's her choice, isn't it? I know she loves it—she comes alive in a way that didn't seem possible when she first got back here. But you haven't exactly left her with the best impression of the showbiz world, now have you?"
"No…I suppose not." Lory frowned. Yayoi Fuwa had a gift. Just by raising her eyebrow, Lory understood how ridiculous she'd thought him. She didn't need to say it out loud, but Lory knew she thought he'd fucked up. Rather spectacularly, at that. The reproach was wordless but it echoed loudly in his mind nonetheless.
"And she desperately wants to go to university," Yayoi added. "She still tries to please her mother—god help that woman—even after all these years. She says it's for herself, but the way she takes this savage pleasure in coming in first—"
"It feels cold."
"Her mother is cold. Just like that. Fierce, sharp, and cold. It's pleasure, but it's not anything true. I'd far rather see her murdering King Duncan a hundred times than looking like that. I want her to go to university, of course, but not to please some unreachable mother who'll never give her the love she deserves—or meet some illusory standard of success."
They were silent for a few seconds.
Yayoi knew he wanted something. Why else would he have come back here looking like a chastened dog? "Why are you here, Takarada-san?" Yayoi asked finally.
Lory scooted closer to the desk, removing a document from his portfolio. A stack of small books accompanied it.
"I bring you a peace offering," he said. "For Kyoko. A second proposal."
Yayoi pursed her lips and picked up the document. A contract, she realized. It was thick, and densely written. She looked over at the stack of books—scripts, she thought. Scripts for Kyoko.
"You're her guardian," Lory said. "Obviously you must read it, too. But I think you'll find it far more favorable than the last proposal."
"I should hope so," Yayoi responded. She raised a single eyebrow at him. "You…treat all your talent like that?"
"Just the ones that matter to me," he grinned. "To be perfectly honest, perhaps it's just Kyoko and Kuon. It was drafted to be extremely favorable to her," he told Yayoi. "Representation by LME. No recurring fees, a single token percentage of each role she wins from parts sourced by our agents, no percentage taken at all from auditions she goes to on her own. Full access to LME resources, including a full scholarship to the acting school should she choose to attend. Access to LME security once she gets popular enough to need it. Mentorship with any senior LME talent, including Ren Tsuruga." He winked at Yayoi. "A manager. Yashiro-san, to be specific."
"How do I know your agents will work to get her the best parts?"
"There's a requirement to deliver at least three roles for her consideration on a monthly basis unless she requests more or less from the agents or asserts that she's fully booked."
"What if she decides she wants out of this contract?"
"I only ask for a thirty day notice period. No termination fees or any other strings attached."
"So your only upside is…a 2% fee from any of the parts she wins from auditions you find for her?"
"A commission. Yes. If she decides to audition for any of the roles in those scripts, for example." He motioned to the small pile that had accompanied the contract. "Of course I'd send over more opportunities for her to consider in the future as they become available."
"Why?"
"Because? Because I've never seen anything so magnificent as that girl shoving my own delusions into my face? Because she deserves it? There are going to be other agencies out there, you know. And all of them will take advantage of her." Lory took a hard look at Yayoi's face. "If you're going to tell me that I was going to take advantage of her too, I won't deny it. But you have no idea what this industry is capable of. I can tell you that perhaps I would've made her do things that challenged her acting, but I never would have abused her—nor would I ever have allowed her to be abused." Lory took out a cigar, looking to Yayoi for permission to light it. She nodded, and as he took a lighter to it, he added, "And lest you think this is entirely altruistic on my part, it's really not." He paused to take a puff. "Kyoko is an investment. If I'm right about her—and I have to tell you, I usually am right about these things—just her association with LME alone will pay dividends in the future."
"She probably would have considered this contract with far greater attention than she gave your half-baked offer last night."
"I know."
"You know it might be too late."
"I know."
"You know I'm not going to push her into signing this contract."
"I would never ask you to. I know she's meant for this. But she has to decide." Lory rose to leave. "Kuu will be up by now," he said. "And he'll be mad. We're both leaving for Tokyo on the morning train."
"Hizuri-san?" Yayoi asked.
"He's protective," Lory said ruefully. "Probably too protective now, after the kind of childhood Kuon had. But he's always loved his son."
"Sometimes you just don't see the mistakes you've made until it's too late to change them," Yayoi added. "Hizuri-san. Me. Etsuro. And Kuon is a good boy."
"He turned out ok," Lory said, smiling.
"I trust him with Kyoko," Yayoi said. "Which is more than I can say about my own son."
Lory turned to leave the little office. "The offer in this contract will never expire," he told Yayoi. "All she needs to do is sign it. No matter the day, or the time—she has my phone number."
"I'll tell her."
"And give her my apologies," Lory said. "My hope is that we'll have a long and fruitful partnership in the future."
Yayoi nodded as Lory turned and walked down the hall. Turning to her desk, she piled up the scripts neatly on top of the contract and resolved to take Kyoko aside after she got back from this evening's shoot.
Yayoi hadn't been happy about the extended hours—she knew Kyoko would go, work on-set, and then insist on coming home to work some more before sitting down to do her homework. But she understood that many of Kyoko's scenes had been filmed before her school term had started—she hoped that the girl would get some rest.
She sighed. Lory Takarada's first proposal had been an untenable and ill-considered plan for Kyoko, but this second offer looked viable. He'd done better.
She resolved to do better, too.
Sho's room—Sho's room needed to be emptied. It was indecent to have Kyoko living in a closet while a perfectly decent room went unused.
She was off and walking briskly down the hall. She wanted that done by the end of the day, at least.
=.=.=
"Stop moping."
"I'm not moping."
"You are." Yashiro raised an eyebrow at Kuon, who was sitting in his car and pouting. The actor was dressed and ready long before Yashiro was, though his night had been much later. Yashiro had expected a bit of a rough morning—Kyoko wouldn't be with them. He could see that the actor had devolved into his icy Ren Tsuruga persona. Perhaps a cranky Ren Tsuruga, even.
Kuon sighed. "I'm not, I swear I'm not."
"Then why have you been staring out into space for the last five minutes?"
Kuon took a look at Yashiro, who was sitting patiently in the passenger seat with his arms crossed. "I—"
"—didn't realize you were looking out into space, I understand." Yashiro interrupted. "Now get yourself together. We'll be late."
Kuon gulped, pulled Ren Tsuruga on like a coat, and started his engine. He'd still been thinking of Kyoko's figure retreating from him on the boat that morning, of the fact that he wouldn't have her little bento wrapped in the bunny furoshiki. He'd miss the way their eyes would secretly meet on-set. And he'd miss just having her near him.
Just a few hours, he told himself. He pushed the thought of having to leave Kyoto altogether to the back of his mind. One day at a time, he told himself. He could do this. He had to do this.
He thought about her surrounded by her classmates—male classmates, perhaps—and was irrationally jealous for a brief moment. They got to spend their days with her. Perhaps they would be a better fit for her—wouldn't it be nice if she had someone who wouldn't have to hide her away from the press?
"You're doing it again," Yashiro said.
"Oh. Yeah." Ren shook off his doubts and got them on-set just as scheduled. Kyoko had promised they'd spend time together later, after all.
=.=.=
"Mogami-san!"
Kyoko nearly jumped as the words cut through her haze. "Yes! Sorry Sensei!" she responded, standing up out of reflex. A frisson of embarrassment coursed through her as the class tittered at her expense. Ugh, she thought. She was blushing. She had an inkling of how she must look right now, frazzled and caught unawares.
She saw Hana's eyes meet Yui''s as they grinned at each other.
Stupid Kyoko, she thought to herself. One of her central tenets was to never be caught off-guard, and here she was, very much caught off guard. She could see Professor Tanabe's disappointed glance and flushed even redder. English was, after all, one of her very best classes—and she'd been a model student. Never show weakness was another of her tenets, and until today, she hadn't.
"So glad you could join us," Tanabe-sensei said. "Which of the assigned plays did you enjoy the most?"
Embarrassed, she kept standing awkwardly. This was a class discussion—she thought he'd been asking her to read a passage. That was one of the reasons her mind had wandered off—she had enjoyed the plays immensely, probably due to the context in which she'd learned them. But the rest of her classmates hadn't had the pleasure of working with a renowned actor and had been flummoxed by the language. Her mind had wandered out the window and over the treetops as one of them, and then another, had been called to read a passage. The Romeo and Juliet Prologue had been mangled over and over beyond recognition, and she'd sought refuge in the memory of Kuon by the stream, drinking cold barley tea as she played Tybalt.
"Macbeth was my favorite," she responded. Most of the class had chosen Romeo and Juliet, a far more familiar work. She'd made peace with the work by now, but to her, Macbeth would always be the superior play.
"Because?" Tanabe-sensei asked.
"Because I thought it was a remarkable exploration of greed. Because it asks the question whether or not there's such a thing as free will, or if one's fate is predetermined. Because it asks questions about whether a good man may be turned to evil. But most of all, perhaps, because Lady Macbeth is a splendid character."
Tanabe-sensei looked at her thoughtfully. This one appeared to have read and understood the assignment. Most of the class had certainly read the plays, of course. But he figured understanding the plays would be the work of the semester. Advanced English notwithstanding, Shakespeare was not particularly easy to understand for those studying a second language. "Your favorite passage, then?"
To his surprise, he saw Kyoko change.
She straightened and hunched over at once. He could have sworn he saw a man there, standing, instead of a slender girl in a high school uniform.
"There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
The hoarse voice she'd spoken in stopped. The speech had been delivered in English, with perfect diction. She had not taken out the book to read the passage—she'd plucked it out of the air itself, and for a while, everyone who heard her felt the hairs on their neck rise.
There was dead silence in the classroom.
Tanabe-sensei knew Kyoko Mogami as an excellent student but even he hadn't expected such a performance. The girl had memorized it! Memorized it and then delivered it with the aplomb and the confidence of a performer. He mentored the drama club—why wasn't she part of it? She was a natural—
"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "That was remarkable, Mogami-san," he said. "Thank you."
Hana and the girls were not tittering any longer.
Kyoko sat down. She could feel their eyes on her, their curiosity burning along her skin. She did not know if she was blushing, but she willed herself to stillness. She'd broken a third tenet already: never call attention to yourself. And yet she could not have delivered the passage with any less than what she'd already done. To do so seemed disrespectful—the words deserved gravitas, and gravitas was what she'd given them. But she would pay the price for it. An outsider like her always did.
Tanabe-sensei watched her for a moment. She had been entirely present just a second ago, but already he could see how the room had failed to hold her attention. He was going to move on to the next student, he knew, but for a while he watched, fascinated. He had the impression that she'd left her body behind in the class while her soul traveled elsewhere. Did that matter, though? A girl who could recite Macbeth's soliloquy like that didn't need his class. He didn't blame her for her boredom.
=.=.=
Later…
Kyoko was looking at the remains of the bento Kuon had so carefully and lovingly packed for her.
It was on the ground, where it had fallen right after Hana had 'accidentally' bumped into her at her table.
"Sooooorrryyy," Hana had said. The girl delivered the line with a smirk on her face and a hand on her hip, elongating the word as Kyoko had looked on in surprise.
Surprise which quickly turned to rage.
Kyoko sighed, placed her chopsticks delicately on the table and then stood. She thought she'd put a stop to the bullying. She'd even developed a system to keep herself off of their radar. But each semester, it seemed, came with a need to reassert oneself. A need to remind bullies that she was not prey.
Hana's eyes widened as Kyoko drew herself up to her full height. Kyoko was not a particularly tall girl—163 cm at the most. And yet Hana felt herself dwarfed before her. Slowly, Kyoko walked towards the girl, looking her in the eye.
And quietly, she said, "I accept your apology, Hana-chan." She could sense the other students watching carefully. Kyoko stopped in front of her, a polite distance away. "Thank you for cleaning it up," she said cheerfully.
There was a collective gasp. Hana's eyes bulged, but Kyoko merely continued staring at her. Kyoko was smiling a smile which did not reach her eyes. They were at an impasse—a small, invisible battle of wills. But Hana was at a distinct disadvantage. Kyoko was the veteran of a thousand battles with customers far more fractious than she—customers with money, who she had a duty to serve. The experience showed. Kyoko had thrown out drunks, had calmed fractious Americans, had come between two patrons throwing fists. For all of her posturing, Hana didn't scare her in the least.
"Cleaning it up?" Hana was attempting to sneer, but the voice everyone heard was querulous at best.
Kyoko's smile turned feral. "Indeed. I wanted to thank you in advance, as I know how sorry you are."
Hana gulped and looked at Kyoko, who was standing casually. She wasn't threatening in the least—no one looking at the scene would have expected violence from her. And yet Hana felt it—Kyoko's rage. That Kyoko would win the fight was not a threat. It was a certainty.
Hana looked around nervously. Yui had slithered off into the crowd which was forming. She wasn't alone, it seemed, but the eyes surrounding her were not friendly. Too many of her classmates, it seemed, had seen the "accidental" bump she'd landed on Kyoko at the table.
Kyoko kept standing, unmoving but not tense. She emanated darkness without ever changing her stance. Hana let the tension build until she felt she would break. She knew she'd made a mistake—had recalled how Kyoko had reacted to their efforts as a new transfer student. She'd just wanted to bring the bitch down a peg or two, especially after that little performance in Tanabe-sensei's class. But she couldn't walk away this time. Too many people were watching her—had seen her aggression. And…if she was honest with herself…she was terrified of Kyoko. "Yes, of course," flew from her lips. "I'll clean."
Kyoko kept standing as Hana scurried to grab a dustpan and broom, watching with regret as what remained of the rice, the omelet, and the little bacon-wrapped tomatoes were disposed of. That sentiment she kept to herself. If the other girls found out the bento had been made by her boyfriend, the victory she'd just won would be hollow. No amount of posturing would stop the gossip and then the inevitable targeting Kyoko would face. And there would be efforts to find out who she was dating. That was too big a risk. If she'd been dating a nameless high school boy, she could simply put it behind her after graduation. But if word got out that she was dating Ren Tsuruga? The world would know.
The fact that Kuon's efforts had gone into the trash because of some petty schoolgirl bully—what would she tell him? She felt an irrational jealousy—as if Hana's destruction of her bento was tantamount to her having stolen the food. Which was absurd, wasn't it? It wasn't as if she was particularly hungry, especially after that experience, but it was the principle of the thing. Sadly she put the empty bento away, reaching for the furoshiki to wrap it in.
As she did, a single piece of paper fell out of it.
"I love you," the note said, and nothing else.
She grabbed it quickly, afraid someone would see, and then she crumpled it in her palm, pretending as if it didn't exist. As quickly as she could, she placed the incriminating piece of paper into her pocket, wishing all the while that she could be with the person who'd written it.
=.=.=
Ren Tsuruga was in the middle of filming an action sequence when Kyoko arrived on-set. Security hadn't recognized her that day—they'd been used to Ren's co-star arriving with the man himself, not arriving on a bicycle dressed in her school uniform. They'd mistaken her for 'yet another one' of the 'kids' they'd evicted earlier. She'd been nearly thrown off the property—only Shingai's timely intervention had prevented it.
She'd waited half an hour before leaving school, watching Hana and her little clique leave before heading to the shoot herself.
At least now she knew she'd been right—they had tried to infiltrate the set, and if she'd left the same time they did, they would've known about her involvement.
She was hungry.
She was exhausted.
She was angry, too—primarily at herself.
The lunchtime incident had set the tone for the day. She'd never been popular, but the incident had made her visible again. Her fellow students stared when they thought she couldn't see them but scurried out of her way as she passed through. This was fine with her. She knew it would pass as time went by. It was helpful to re-establish herself as someone Not to Be Messed with; alienation was simply the price she paid.
Lunch ended but she found herself unable to concentrate. She was distracted by everything, and therefore was caught off-guard more than once. For the first time since transferring in, school was boring. She'd never understood classmates who whined about how boring classes were. As far as Kyoko was concerned, she'd nearly lost her chance at attending school altogether. Why would she jeopardize the second chance she'd received? Perhaps her classmates didn't know or understand, but she knew exactly how hard, how thankless, how brutal working could be when one didn't have a high school diploma.
She reproached herself, told herself that she ought to be grateful.
But the day had stretched on, interminable and unending. It hadn't made the slightest bit of difference before—school had been the only thing she did outside the ryokan. Kyoko had never had a hobby. Before Kuon's arrival, she'd never done something just because she enjoyed doing it. The cooking, the tea ceremony, the ikebana—all of that had been in preparation of her future as Okami of the ryokan. But now…well, now school simply felt like a barrier that kept her from her acting. For your own sake, Kyoko, she thought to herself, get yourself together.
Teachers had noticed her preoccupation. One had even taken her aside after classes had ended to ask if everything was alright at home.
"Yes," she'd said, and smiled her brightest smile. "Of course." She wasn't about to tell them she was shooting a movie with Japan's most popular actor. And she certainly wasn't going to tell them she'd been living with him for what amounted to an entire summer.
The fact that she'd managed to call attention to herself rankled. The fact that she'd been distracted rankled. She had become exactly what she'd sworn she'd never be again—a love-crazy woman who'd lost sight of her personal goals and ambitions. And worse, she'd allowed it to affect her schooling.
Who are you, Kyoko Mogami? she asked herself. Are you really so pathetic? All summer long she had warred with herself. She thought she'd surrendered and chosen her prince and her happy ending. But was that really the right decision? Part of her had forgotten what the real world was like. She'd needed time away from Kuon and the ryokan to understand.
When Kuon finally finished his scene and saw her, her eyes stopped him dead in his tracks.
He hadn't seen those eyes since the day they'd met—they were cold, distant eyes.
"Tsuruga-san," she said, bowing.
"Kyoko?" he asked. He extended his hand, wanting to touch her, but she evaded it. He looked at her with the question in his eyes, but her own remained shuttered.
"Shinga-san is waiting for me," she murmured.
Kuon watched, speechless, as she walked away from him. He had the sinking feeling her distance wasn't acting.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note:
1. Victory without battle - Sun Tzu, "The greatest victory is that which requires no battle."
2. Epigraph: Charles Baudelaire, Les Foules
3. Update on yours truly: I want to thank you all for your encouraging words and the kind reviews. They've kept me going. It's been a crazy few weeks—I'm frantically interviewing for a new job while my current one overloads me with work, so I really haven't been sleeping much. Next week I've got nine hours of interviews scheduled. (DESPAIRS.) I'm over Covid but I have a cough that won't go away. My cat has peed on something in the hallway and I cannot find it, therefore everything smells like pee. I forgot to water my plans and went downstairs just to find them all wilty and sad. Etc. Etc.
...and by all this I just mean to say...thanks for reading.
Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.