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 XXVII: Heroes

Look upon my works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!

Kyoko had gasped as Kuon tugged on the man's nose, and in the second between before and after she realized why Mr. Smithson seemed so…odd. It was clear now—the ratios of his face and his body were off. As someone who'd spent so much time observing people to make dolls, it seemed so obvious now that the illusion had been shattered. She assessed the figure sitting next to her. He was staring at Kuon as if he were seeing a ghost; Kuon was glaring at him. Why? she wondered. He was placing a barrier between her and his father, as if the man were a threat.

"Dad." Kuon stood still. He'd imagined this confrontation for years, wondering what he'd say to his father. He didn't know how to feel. His defenses had risen instantly—his body had acted almost of its own volition out of a reflex to protect Kyoko. But that also warred with guilt—lots of it. Guilt coupled with years of pent-up loneliness threatened to overcome him. Part of him had stayed the little boy who'd hero-worshiped his action-star father—and there was a good portion of him that still wanted to run into his father's arms. But he was a grown man now, and the combined weight of his guilt and his regret kept him rooted where he stood. Instead he swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to look forward.

The word hung in the air as the three of them stood in a tableau, frozen. Kuu could see that his presence had hit a nerve. At first, Kuon had seemed so angry, so fierce and protective—it was clear that his first instinct had been to protect Kyoko. Kuu was seized by a wave of emotions—joy, pride, love, grief. To say that Kuon had grown into the man that he and Juli had hoped he'd grow into seemed shallow and incomplete. Seeing him with Kyoko made Kuu hope that his son would let him in enough to know him more.

Smithson—no, Kuu Hizuri—broke the silence first.

"Son," he said. It was a single word, a single syllable, but all of Kuu's yearning was in it.

But Kuon still stood at attention, his shoulders tense, standing between Kyoko and his father.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. The tone of his voice made Kyoko want to shiver. "Does Lory know?"

"I came here with him," Kuu said. There was a hint of embarrassment in those words. "We didn't want to cause a stir, so he proposed we come incognito."

Kuon hrmphed and then shook his head. "Of course he did. Two businessmen working on a US distribution deal? For a sequel? For a sequel to a movie that was never any good to begin with?"

"It was the most reasonable option we had. It was more realistic than coming in as caterers, you know," Kuu said defensively. "Or as animal trainers. You've no idea. I had to talk him out of coming in as a paranormal ghost hunting duo."

Kyoko could see some of the tension fall out of Kuon's stance, but he was still standing protectively between her and the man she'd met as Mr. Smithson. "Why?"

She saw Kuu Hizuri's shoulders slump. "You don't know why?"

Kuon gave a single, bitter laugh. "After everything—after all these years. Why come around like this? Am I a sideshow? Some kind of freak? You know I can't come back—"

Kuu interrupted him. "I came back because it seemed right, son. Because—"

Kuon didn't miss the way his father's eyes flitted over to Kyoko. "Because?" he asked.

"Because I thought perhaps something had changed."

For a while Kuon was silent. "Yeah," he said. "Trust Lory to keep you updated like that. What'd he do, call you?"

"Something like that," Kuu replied. "He said you were different. Said you'd had a breakthrough. Said I was going to have a daughter soon."

Neither one of them could see Kyoko behind them, blushing furiously. For a while the tension held as Kuon stood across from his father like a swordsman ready to duel.

Kuu tried to soften Kuon with an easy, fatherly smile. "In any case, are you going to formally introduce me to the young lady behind you?" he asked.

The question did not have the desired effect. The suspicion in Kuon's eyes only grew. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Hizuri." Placidly, Kuon was viewing his father through a stranger's eyes. The man was supposed to be a stranger to Ren, wasn't he? "Especially as you took advantage of the young lady's trusting nature."

Kuu recoiled. "I did no such thing," he said. "She offered—"

Kyoko interrupted them both. "I did offer, Kuon," she said. She placed a small hand on his arm. "He seemed so hungry, and I…I…"

"I thank you for the delicious bento, Kyoko-chanl" His father's voice rose an octave as he took her offered olive branch, and Kuon found himself mildly annoyed at his father's antics already. Of course they'd bond over food, he thought. Trust Kyoko to figure out his father's greatest weakness…

"It was no problem, Hizuri-san," Kyoko responded. Surely she could do something to diffuse the tension between them.

"You know the rules as well as I do," Kuon said. "I was supposed to get started here. I was supposed to work my way back—I promised Lory I wouldn't contact you and I didn't. So what is it? Did you want to see how fucked up your fucked-up son was in person? I know I fucked up Katsuki, but—"

Kyoko's heart twinged at his words. Of course they'd spoken about why he'd come to Japan, but how had she never seen this? Had he…had he thought his father would reject him? Had his father rejected him? She could sympathize with that all too well—

But Kuu Hizuri's eyes flashed when he heard Kuon's words, and Kyoko saw she was wrong. "My son is not a fuck-up. My son is an extremely talented actor whose hard work in Japan has been noted internationally. My son has never failed to make me proud, not even for a single day. And just because some critics failed to appreciate the brilliance of his interpretation of one measly little part does not make him a fuck-up—so don't you ever—."

Kyoko watched as a spark of surprise flitted across Kuon's face. Surprise…and perhaps grief…and a sadness so deep she wanted to reach out and hold him. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Even so. If you want to blow my cover, you're doing an admirable job—"

"Which is why we will re-attach Mr. Smithson's nose immediately and then wait until the day's shoot has finished," said a voice. "Obviously we have much to discuss, and this is far too public a place to have that discussion."

All three of them jolted at the interruption and turned to see the individual speaking.

"Lory," Kuu said. Lory nodded in acknowledgment.

"Tsuruga-kun," Lory said, nodding. "Though I'd prefer that you refer to me as Mr. Douglas while we're on set," he added.

"Mr. Douglas and Mr. Smithson," Kuon said. A small, sarcastic smile was on his face. "Very well."

"I've arranged for our lodgings with Yayoi-san," Lory added. "I trust we can converse properly once we're situated this evening."

Kuon's face fell. Having Etsuro and Yayoi watching him and Kyoko was intrusive enough—but Lory and his father?

"I trust you'll take care of us, Kyoko-chan?" Lory asked.

"Of course!" came Kyoko's cheery answer. Kuon groaned. Of course she'd take care of Lory and his father. Kyoko's bent towards hospitality had been inculcated at such a young age he doubted she could ever treat a guest with anything less than perfect service.

=.=.=.=

An hour later, a Mr. Smithson, nose newly attached, sat with a Mr. Douglas from the sidelines watching the movie's principals have their photographs taken for the publicity shots. Kyoko's kimono had been changed no less than twice. Though she'd begun the session with a fair bit of uncertainty, the observers saw that she was a quick study, able to take direction well and quickly from the photographer.

"Well you certainly fucked that up," Lory said. He was leaning into his chair nonchalantly and drinking what looked to be a cabernet from an ornate goblet.

Kuu wasn't sure where the ornate goblet or the cabernet had come from, but he supposed Shingai must've rustled them up from the actual house's stores.

"I didn't expect him to be there just right then. Or to recognize me," Kuu replied.

"I guess you couldn't have known how possessive he is of her." Lory took another sip of his wine and adjusted his tie pin.

Kuu sighed and watched Kuon in full Ren Tsuruga mode, working hard to ensure the shots he took came out right the first time. He was preoccupied and unhappy, and Lory waited for the other shoe to drop. "Did you know?" Kuu asked.

"I know many things, you know," Lory said. "What, precisely, are you asking?"

"Did you know that he thought he'd failed us? That we thought he was a fuck up?"

Lory sighed. "I thought he'd grown out of it," he said. "You know I made him go to counseling when he got here, but he didn't do terribly well with it—it was easier for him to disappear into being Ren. He's not exactly an open book, you know."

"But how could you let him think—for all these years—the reason why we never called! My son thinks I hate him! That his mother hates him! Is that why he refused to see me when I came over last year!?"

"It's possible," Lory said. "I honestly thought he'd come to the conclusion that you were keeping your distance for the same reason he was. And I think for a long time, he'd been living so deeply as Ren he'd sublimated it somehow."

"I never should have listened to you—I should've bent the rules just a little—maybe just to call him on his birthdays."

"And what would that have done?" Lory shook his head. "You've seen everything he's built. He's talented, he's respected, he's the highest-paid actor in Japan. I had to turn a California boy into a paragon of Japanese manhood. You think that's easy? He's had a rough year, but he's growing—"

"And he suffered needlessly through all that, all alone," Kuu said.

"By choice," Lory responded. "He's kept everyone at arm's length. Even his manager. Everyone, until her." Lory motioned to Kyoko, who was sitting with her eyes closed in a makeup artist's chair as a final veil of powder was dusted onto her face. "Give me some credit, Kuu. I called you in as soon as I thought it would be wise and not one minute before."

"He's changed."

"Hopefully enough to be able to listen to what you say and believe it for real."

The two men sat silently after that, watching the photographer work. Kuu found that he quite enjoyed watching Kyoko pose in-character—the girl had begun to understand how to convey emotion in a single look, and all it had taken was some slight coaching from the man behind the camera.

"She's…not what I expected," Kuu said. He was looking wistfully at the girl, who was just then posing under fake cherry blossom branches.

"Good god, Hizuri," Lory was shaking his head. "What did you expect?"

"I'm not sure," Kuu replied. "She's so unlike all the girls he's dated before."

"I should hope so." Lory rolled his eyes. "She hasn't dumped him yet, for one…"

Kuu ignored the remark. "Maybe I thought she'd be…showier. You know, one of those louder types. The kind of girl that screams LOOK AT ME just when you see them out the corner of your eye. He dated a lot of girls like that back before he left."

"He's avoided that type like the plague since he got here, you know—"

But Kuu just continued. "...But instead, she's…"

"Elegant."

Kuu nodded in agreement. "Understatedly so, but yes. And yet so approachable. And kind. Not a classic beauty—"

"Someone you'd never notice—"

"—until the camera's on her—"

"—and then she's a diamond—"

"Yes." Both men nodded.

"Do you feel it from her?" Lory asked. "You feel it, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. It."

"It. Always the legendary it." Kuu sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "I hear that word a lot in Hollywood, you know. 'This girl has it. This one is the new it-girl, no wait it's that one.'" He blew out a breath and then nodded. "But yeah. I do. I feel it. Train her up a little more and you'll have a monster that'll have them weeping in the aisles at the crook of her little finger."

"I miscalculated, you know," Lory sighed. "I rejected her back then, but I thought she'd come back. I thought I'd be able to train her, give her some room to grow. But I have your son to blame for the reason why, I think."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes. Apparently he was extraordinarily cruel to her. Forcibly removed her from LME premises."

"HA!"

"You don't believe me? It's all on video, you know."

"The gentlemanly Tsuruga Ren? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. He carried her out and then dumped her on the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes."

"And now he looks as if he'd tear anything apart with his bare hands if they even so much as look at her funny—"

"You're not wrong on that one. You're lucky you survived unscathed, eating that bento—"

"He was never jealous like that back then—"

"Precisely."

"My son—"

"—has grown—"

Off in the distance they heard a clattering. "Kyoko-chan, for the next round of photos, we'll have you pose with Tsuruga-san," they heard the photographer say. They saw Kyoko nod, Ren coming forward behind her. "We'll have a few poses, but remember—he's trying to kill you."

The two men watched as Kyoko gave a little jump at the last statement and blushed. The children stood awkwardly apart from each other. Lory grinned as the photographer set up the shot—he could see the surreptitious looks from the rest of the cast watching them.

"They're so cute," Kuu said. "Look at them, trying to look uninterested…"

"I don't think they're fooling anyone anymore," Lory responded. "Not after the way Ren went after that actress for hitting his precious Kyoko."

Kuu sighed. "How are you going to handle this, Lory? If this gets out, God only knows what'll happen to her career."

"As if I'd let any harm come to LME's newest talent."

"Oh? I thought you said you'd rejected her."

"I did."

"Has she agreed to come on as a talent? A new actress?"

"Not yet, per se. But LME can give her the training she needs—I had a whole plan set up for her and it certainly isn't too late to implement it."

"That acting school, you mean? The one Maria terrorizes?"

"My granddaughter does not terrorize the acting school—"

"She does. Your son is oddly proud of it, you know."

Lory shook his head. "I'll have to figure out who's telling my son these things, but that's besides the point—Kyoko-chan needs to come back to Tokyo."

"As part of this…plan you have? Please tell me it doesn't involve sticking her in Kuon's apartment indefinitely—they're already in love, Lory, you don't need to manipulate them anymore."

"Manipulate? Who said anything about manipulating them?" He huffed. "Oh no. No no no. This is about Kyoko-chan. Kyoko-chan's acting. She needs to get an audience to love her."

"Seems to me she's fairly on her way to being able to do that," Kuu said.

"She needs training," Lory responded. "An apprenticeship. Service. Networking." Briefly he described his intentions to a skeptical-seeming Kuu.

Kuu shook his head. For the most part, Lory was a brilliant man—a savvy tactician, a shrewd negotiator. Reading people was his hobby. His intuition was nearly prophetic—as evidenced by the feeling that compelled him to send Kuon back to Kyoto. But the man was also susceptible to the occasional nonsensical idée fixe, and only extreme efforts would dissuade him from the course of action he'd decided upon, no matter how bizarre. It was why you occasionally found an igloo in his office, and why he'd narrowly escaped coming to the set pretending to be a ghost hunter. "Have you even thought this through?" Kuu asked. "Wouldn't it simply make sense to ask if she intends to continue acting and then send her to auditions?"

"I am unconvinced she'd learn enough that way," Lory said. "It's not just about the techniques of acting," he said. "It's about wanting it."

"You don't think she wants her audience to love her?" Kuu asked. "I suppose you might have a point, but this plan of yours…sounds like a way to get free work off of unsuspecting kids."

"I know what I'm doing." Lory was indignant. The LoveMe plan was infallible—every actor worth his or her salt began humbly, didn't they? "Besides…" Lory paused "—-I've already promised your son that LME would protect her to the utmost of its ability. He demanded it, you know—how better to do that than if she were part of the organization?"

"Kuon?!" Kuu was aghast. "Kuon demanded that you give her security?"

"You should probably throw out everything you thought you knew about Kuon and girls, Kuu."

"Well, good. I would have asked you to do the same for her, if he hadn't."

"For them. Would you believe he's never asked me for anything before?"

"I believe it—" Kuu fell silent as a flurry of flashes caught their attention.

Kuon and Kyoko were posed in front of the camera—Kyoko, standing in front of Kuon, who had his hand around her neck. Her own hands were curled around his, her back arched outwards in a silent struggle that didn't look entirely…hostile. Kuu watched with growing alarm—there was a brutality and a sensuality present in the pose that would've made any father uncomfortable. But the photographer looked pleased. "Good job," the photographer called, "Now switch—look at each other—"

Kuu and Lory exchanged a glance. "Well…perhaps it's a good thing Juli didn't come on this trip," Kuu said, blushing lightly. "That was, um…"

"Yes," said Lory. He'd finished his wine and flagged down an assistant who was even now filling his wine glass for a second serving. "Rather an adult pose, I agree," he added, with a smirk.

=.=.=.=

Later that evening…

Yayoi welcomed Kuu and Lory on the ryokan's dock with a graceful bow and a small phalanx of other ryokan staffers in identical burgundy kimono. Kuon and Kyoko followed them on, accompanied by Yashiro who'd returned from the random errand Lory had given him. Kuon was glad that the stiff formality that greeted his father had softened towards him since his time fixing up the place with Kyoko. As it was, most of the hotel staff greeted him with a small smile rather than the formal distance they were showing his father and Lory.

The two men had been shown to their rooms and then informed that a private dining room would be prepared for the meal—the four of them, including Kuon and Yashiro, would be sequestered away from prying eyes. Kuon had attempted to protest at the party of four, wanting Kyoko by his side. But Kyoko herself shook her head expressively and then moved towards her own room to change into work clothing. "It's different when it's just you, Kuon," she said, "And Yashiro-san, of course. But Lory and Hizuri-san are strangers to me and are guests—you must know my intrusion would be highly unprofessional." Kuon had balked at this, of course. Hadn't she tried to slither away when Yashiro had arrived? What made this any different? But this time, practicality won out. Kuon had warned her about his father's appetite and she'd insisted on prepping the extra portions herself in the kitchen.

Consequently, Kuon found himself sitting through the most awkward dinner he'd had in a long time. It was the first time in weeks he wasn't sharing the meal with Kyoko, for one, and the first time in years he'd seen his father in action.

What was I expecting? he thought.

In his normal gregarious fashion, Kuu had come into the room, declared his undying love for traditional Kyoto cuisine and then promptly began complimenting his hosts of the excellence of their kitchen. "Excellent soup, Yayoi-san," he'd said, inhaling that soup from an exquisitely embellished lacquer bowl. "I especially adore the addition of the yuzu. Chefs in L.A. never quite know how to utilize it." This was followed immediately by a nearly surgical dismemberment of the grilled fish course—Kuon never did figure out which fish it was—it simply disappeared too quickly. He sighed. No doubt it was something in season and rare, prepared with all due care. He had no doubt Kyoko was in her element in the kitchen, prepping and cooking alongside the chef and Etsuro. His old man had eaten through all of the omakase courses that had been put in front of him, and now was busy having his eighth—or was it ninth?—bowl of rice.

Kuon poked at his food, taciturn and sullen, as Lory and Kuu attempted to draw him out first with questions about how Ring Doh 2's shoot was going and then with some good-natured teasing about the state of his relationship with Kyoko. Yashiro mumbled affably in the background, but Kuon was having none of it. His head was a muddle. Part of him felt like a sideshow…a pet…an exhibit. He knew that as a celebrity, much of his life was always going to be under some kind of scrutiny. But he'd expected some consideration from his father and his Shachou. They were family, weren't they? Perhaps some…discretion. Perhaps a little less ghoulish glee over the fact that there was A Girl in His Life now, and he was In Love. Was he being observed like an animal in a zoo? He had a terrible image of Lory and Kuu in some back room, betting over how many offspring he and Kyoko would have—all the better to market merchandise to the masses, announcing their family's milestones the same way they announced newborn baby pandas.

Perhaps it wasn't so much confusion over how to feel, he surmised. Perhaps he was just feeling too much. He could cling onto his righteous indignation over their meddling all he wanted, but he also had to admit to himself that part of his discomfort in seeing Kuu was guilt. He knew that he'd been avoiding the inevitable. Seeing his father talking to Kyoko—it shouldn't have triggered so much emotion in him. In many ways, his father's presence almost erased the six years that had passed between the events of that night and this one. He might as well have been fifteen years old again—reasonable, he supposed, as "Kuon" had been placed in stasis like a sci-fi character in cryosleep while Ren Tsuruga had gone out and conquered the world. So long as he was Ren Tsuruga, Kuon didn't need to worry, or grow, or change.

But whether he willed it or not, Kuon was awake. Kuon needed to be awake, it was Kuon who Kyoko loved, not Ren. It was Kuon who was being dragged kicking and screaming into the spotlight again—Kuon, who held the key to the missing depths of Ren Tsuruga's acting. But Kuon had demons, and the demons had to be addressed—and posturing like an enraged chihuahua in front of his father wasn't going to fix anything.

Tina he'd made peace with. But he realized that the conversation with her might have been easier than the one he needed to have with his father. The wrong done to Tina had been done in one massive, epic blow. But the wrongs he'd done to his father and to his mother—those were far more subtle. He thought back to the ways in which he'd acted out, long before that night—the fighting, the smoking, the lying. Every time he'd defied them do something stupid was cause for shame now. The worst part of it all was having known better—he could not plead accident or ignorance as an excuse. The night of Rick's death, Kuu had demanded he stay home. Kuon had given him the finger and left anyway.

All of these things rankled. What was he supposed to say to his father? Hey Dad, I'm sorry I told you to fuck yourself right before I went and killed someone? He shook his head. Tina had been insistent he change that self-dialogue. He'd committed to doing that, for her sake. So then what? Hey Dad, sorry I was a teenage asshole?

That wasn't it, either.

There were so many things left unsaid.

Hey Dad, sorry I took everything you ever taught me and shit on it.

That was closer. His first memories had been of his father teaching him how to stand, how to make a fist, how the most important thing to remember was never to strike in anger and only in self-defense. His father had taught him about honor, and honesty, and chivalry—about turning the other cheek. His father had taught him not to give into bullies. His father had taught him that physical violence was the last recourse. His father had taught him how to be a hero. And yet, when pushed to a crisis, Kuon had not just forgotten these lessons, he'd done the very opposite.

Kuon knew that in himself lay the capacity to kill for the joy of killing.

How could he face his father after that? How could his father—any father—be proud of such a son?

He was nursing a cup of tea when his father cleared his throat and Kuon realized they were in the little dining room…alone.

"I guess I should say I'm sorry," Kuu said without warning. "I should've told you I was coming."

Kuon looked at him, and shrugged. "I don't think I would've gone to meet you if you had." He'd refused to meet Kuu the last time the man was in Japan, after all.

Kuon looked away, ashamed, from his father's wounded gaze. He was studying the grain of the table's zelkova wood as shame bloomed inside him. It was a fine table, a luxurious table—the kind of table an establishment like Kyoko's ryokan would have, all but screaming the fact that it had been made in the workshop of some-skilled-artisan-or-other. He could see the tree's history behind the lacquer—a cold winter here, a warm summer there. A whorl of denser material where a branch had been. "Do you hate me so much, then?" Kuu asked. "We failed you, son."

The voice was quiet but shook Kuon to his very core. "What are you talking about?" he asked. His voice sounded sharper to his ears than he'd intended. "I fucked up, Dad." He stopped talking; he was afraid his voice would break. Tears were threatening to spill out of him, and he did not want his father to see them.

"You fucked up? You were fifteen. A child."

"I was old enough to know better."

"There were twenty of them."

"And I could've run."

"To what end? To run into them again the next day? No. Your mother and I knew you were having trouble with Cedric." Kuu shook his head. "We could've talked to Eltra. We could have called the police on him."

"You would have made it worse if you'd done that."

"Would we? It would've been the right thing to do. Instead we let you deal with it all on your own."

Kuu moved closer to him. Kuon was slumped on his zabuton, ashamed to look at his father. "You don't even know what I did—"

"What, you mean the fight clubs?" Kuu asked. "The gang? The smoking? Boosting cars? You think we didn't know?" He looked out of the window to the view of the river. "We didn't know about all of it, but we found out, eventually." Kuu sighed. "It was our fault. Your mother and I."

He put a hand on Kuon's slumped shoulder, leaning close to his son. "I must've sounded like such a phony to you," he said. "All those empty words about honor and chivalry and what it meant to be a hero." He paused. "I couldn't even make time for my own son. All those years when you were growing up—I talked a good game, but when push came to shove, I was off being a fake hero instead of being a real one." The hand tightened. "No one was there to protect you. We should have been there."

"I got here and everything I tried to do was to be better," Kuon said. "I tried to be the son you deserved—"

"The son we deserved? Kuon—your mother and I—we love you. We love you so much—we were proud of you then and we're proud of you now—"

"How?" Kuon asked. "How could you be proud of a son who took everything—everything—you taught him and ignored it? I forgot everything you ever taught me about being a hero. I was about to kill those fuckers, Dad—"

"But you didn't," Kuu said.

"If Rick hadn't been there, I probably would have."

Kuu turned his son around and looked him in the eyes. "I know my son, Kuon," he said. "And I have faith in him. I know my son would've done the right thing."

"You have too much faith in me, then."

"You're my son. Faith in you is the same as faith in myself—you're part of me."

Kuon breathed in sharply. "I thought—I thought you hated me—" he said. "All these years. I told myself that you didn't call because of Lory's rules, but I always thought—"

"We should have called," Kuu said. "That was a mistake. Lory's not infallible, son. He just knows things sometimes, but he's not right all the time. Lory thought it might be for the best—to help keep you in character and keep you focused but—if the price was having you believe all these years that we hated you—that we were disappointed in you—then calling you would have been worth it."

An unmanly sound escaped Kuon's throat as he found himself grabbed into one of his father's trademark bear hugs. For a while, tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back frantically, unwilling to admit how his father's admission had affected him.

"I still won't come back," he said, "Not until I can come back on my own successes."

"And I wouldn't expect you to," Kuu replied. "But you've never been alone. And we've been watching all the work you've done this entire time." Kuu released him, and Kuon was left standing under his own power again. He was lightheaded—first, Tina…and now his father. He needed time to process this—whatever his father was saying, resolution could not come overnight. The poison in his long exile could not be waved away with a hug and a few words. Kuon knew there would be more to discuss—more to find out, especially regarding his mother. But he breathed freer, feeling as if yet another obstacle had been removed.

"Even if I do succeed over there," Kuon said, "Kyoko—"

"Of course," Kuu responded. "She's home. Your mother and I can't wait to actually speak to her properly, by the way. I couldn't help but come over after Lory sent that picture."

Instantly, the goodwill and warmth that Kuon had been experiencing came to a screeching halt. He froze. "Picture?" he said. "What picture?"

"Oh, you know Lory," Kuu smiled. "He said he had to ask Ruto to do some photography one day. Of your date?"

"Ru..to..?" Kuon echoed. An uncomfortable realization had just dawned in him. He remembered that day—that day, the day he and Kyoko had sheltered in the hotel room—how the photographer had seemed to know where they were, and who they were…as if he'd been tipped off. As if he were on an assignment.

"Lory was saying you were being really cute, so—"

"He sent Ruto to take photographs of us," Kuon said, grimly.

Kuu had also been looking forward to the release of tension between them, but upon hearing the tone of Kuon's voice, he stopped abruptly. "Well, yes, but—"

There was a troubling glint in Kuon's eyes. "Which photo did he send you, exactly?" he asked.

"You and Kyoko-chan at an ice cream shop," Kuu said. "It was such an adorable picture, Kuon," Kuu added. "Of course we couldn't see Kyoko-chan's face, but we could see you. Your mother squealed for ten minutes straight."

Kuon knew exactly when that day the picture had been taken. Kuu was scrolling through his phone, finally stopping when he found it. "See?" he said. "Look at how cute the two of you look."

Kuon didn't need to peep at his father's phone to know what the screen would show, but he did, anyway. There he and Kyoko were, with a huge sundae between them.

Kyoko's face hadn't been visible.

"So Lory specifically sent Ruto to take pictures?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," Kuu said happily.

Kuon's hands formed into fists as Kuu continued his raving on the adorable scene.

Lory would have to answer some questions.

=.=.=.=

"Fuwa-san? I'd like to talk to you, if I may," Lory said. He'd finished his dinner, leaving father and son to their own devices. Yashiro had followed his lead, slinking out of the room quietly. Lory had found Yayoi in the ryokan's office, sorting receipts for the produce.

Yayoi nodded her head in acquiescence. "Of course, Takarada-san. How may I help you?"

There was an informality to their dialogue, a feeling of being co-conspirators. She supposed they were—it was passing odd to be so familiar with a guest of the ryokan, but the entire summer had been odd.

"Please, take a seat," she said, gesturing towards a non-descript chair. "I apologize for the state of the office." She smiled. "We've been short-staffed."

"I understand completely," Lory replied. He sat. "This is about Kyoko-chan," he said.

Yayoi looked up with interest. "Kyoko?" she asked.

"Did she ever tell you that she auditioned for my agency, Yayoi-san?" Lory asked.

"I did not know that," Yayoi replied.

"She was quite good, you know," Lory said. "But ultimately I rejected her—I told her that she didn't understand what a performer's purpose was." He sat back into the chair and drew out a cigar. "Would you mind if I smoked, Yayoi-san?" he asked.

At her nod, he prepared the cigar and promptly lit it. "A performer must want to be loved," he said. "By his or her audience. It's the secret that makes LME talent so good. But the day of her audition, Kyoko swore off love."

"Ah." Yayoi nodded. That sounded like the old Kyoko—the one who'd gone to Tokyo with Sho. She'd been apt to outbursts back then. And knowing how Sho had treated her, she could only picture the scene.

"She did it at the end of her last scene. I was disappointed, to say the least. She stood out from the crowd, even then—didn't look like any of the other girls, didn't talk like them, either. And she was stubborn. She'd been so persistent before that audition that I thought perhaps she'd be back. I put together an entire training program for her—an apprenticeship, if you will—but I wanted her to come back to LME and claim it for herself." He sighed.

"Except she didn't come back," Yayoi finished for him.

"No," Lory said. "She didn't."

"When she got back here, she seemed so defeated," Yayoi said. "So quiet. So bitter."

"I have it on good authority that Ren Tsuruga threw her out of LME and told her not to come back."

Yayoi snorted. "The irony of it."

"They keep finding each other," Lory said.

"They really do." But Yayoi shook her head. "But Takarada-san," she said. "What did you want to discuss?"

"I'd like her to come back," Lory said. "To LME. To Tokyo. To act."

Yayoi was silent for a moment. What Lory was proposing sounded like no less than a pathway to stardom—and hadn't she told herself, all along, that Kyoko would be free to go if she wanted to?

"I can put her into the program I was talking about—she's a natural and she's already learned so much about acting…"

Just then they were interrupted by a cheerful Kyoko, carrying tea on a tray. "Yayoi-san?" Kyoko chirped.

"Kyoko-chan, sit down," Yayoi said.

Kyoko quirked an eyebrow at older woman. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said. "I had thought to help the staff finish the rest of the dinner service."

"Not at all, Mogami-kun," Lory replied. Yayoi looked over at the man. He'd arrived in a conservative suit but had changed into a sheik's robes. With the cigar he was smoking, he cut a strange, fairy-tale figure in her otherwise mundane office. Never mind that it was her office, not his—he was overstepping somewhat—but as it was his proposal to Kyoko, she kept her silence.

"I have been very impressed with your work," Lory said. "And Shingai-kun has, as well."

Kyoko looked at him awkwardly. "Thank you," she said. "I've been drawing upon my own experiences in the role."

"And so you have. You know, Mogami-kun," Lory said, "...I may not have known immediately, but once I knew your name, I remembered you—quite well, actually."

Kyoko fidgetted. That he remembered her was not something she relished. She'd been mortified by the memory of that day for more than a year now—the humiliation of it: being made fun of by the starlets on-stage, called a dowdy housewife, feeling like an ugly duckling with no hope whatsoever of turning into a swan. "Do you, Takarada-san?" was all she said in response.

"How could I forget?" Lory uncrossed his legs and placed both feet on the floor. "We couldn't take our eyes off of you, you know. Not me, not Sawara-san, not Ruto. I had hoped you would come back," he said. "I had a whole regimen set up for you—something to train you as a new actress—"

"But I didn't."

"No, you didn't." Lory sat back and sighed. "To my everlasting consternation. I should've given Ren a sterner talking to but—"

"It wasn't his fault," Kyoko said. "I chose not to come back. I decided to put those dreams behind me."

"But you needn't have," Lory said. "In fact, I think you shouldn't. I came to ask Yayoi-san—and you, of course—if you would come back to Tokyo."

"But—"

"You could transfer schools, of course, for the last few months of your final year—I know a good high school with a performing arts program."

"That's not the only—"

"And of course Yayoi-san has been saying all along that if you wanted a career away from the ryokan, you were free to pursue it."

"And I would…?"

"Be the first member of a special section of LME," Lory said proudly. "The LoveMe Section."

Kyoko looked at him askance. She had a feeling he'd do a little dance and flourish if he'd been a little bit more prepared for her presence in Yayoi's office. The man was truly bizarre. "The…Love…Me…Section?" she asked. It was an absurd name that seemed somehow…thoroughly in character for a man dressed like some kind of mythical sultan from the Arabian Nights.

Lory continued as if he couldn't see her bewildered expression. "A section designed to train you in how to make your audience love you," he said. "To train you how to give and receive love—as an actress, mind you—and to expose you to personas in showbiz to help build your network...a magical section!"

Kyoko looked at Yayoi, who was studiously looking back at her. She'd fallen silent as Lory had continued his rant, fancifully describing all the things she'd learn and the people she'd meet. But the more he talked, the more questions she had. The "LoveMe" section seemed as fanciful as his costumes. "So…Takarada-san," she asked, "The LoveMe section will have formal classes, then? As part of the training program?" He had been vague on the details, speaking about a book of stamps and a 'points' system after completing tasks. Kyoko wasn't entirely sure how this would lead to training.

Lory looked uncomfortable. "Not classes, per se. This is on-the-job training. Though if you wish, you could certainly enroll at LME's acting school on your own time and at your own expense." Looking nervously at Yayoi, he added, "Though of course we could negotiate a special rate for you, as you come in with prior experience."

"And…" Kyoko continued, "will LME be providing board and lodging as part of the program…?"

"Well…no," Lory responded. He was looking slightly more abashed as Kyoko stared him down. "LME doesn't really have dorms for their talents. I'm afraid board and lodging would be at your expense," he said. "Though I'm sure you could live with Kuon…?"

Kyoko didn't dignify that with a response. "Can you explain to me what a typical day would be, then, for a LoveMe member?"

"You'd be the very first member, you know," Lory said defensively. "Your days would depend very much on the assignments given to you by other talents at LME."

"And…so…there wouldn't be a graduated set of training tasks?" Kyoko asked. "The way minarai are taught in the geisha houses, perhaps?" Yayoi, watching Kyoko, was reminded for the first time that she was, after all, an attorney's daughter. The questions came fast, terse and demanding—nothing shy about them.

"Not quite, no."

"And the tasks others may give me are…?"

Lory hemmed uncomfortably. The truth was, the LoveMe section had seemed like a wonderful idea when he'd been mulling it over more than a year ago. He'd been excited. It would be a way to redeem a loveless young girl, rehabilitate her, give her a purpose. He was certain Sawara and the others had an idea that the girl would be a kind of jack-of-all-trades, but that hadn't been his intent. He was sure his intentions had been…better. He was sure he'd thought this out a little more. But under that same girl's questioning, he found he had no answers. "Whatever the actor or actress would need, Mogami-kun. You may be a substitute manager one day, and you might need to take care of wardrobe the next. It would be a true apprenticeship."

"But not an apprenticeship to one specific actor or actress."

"That is correct."

"So anyone could request a LoveMe task of me?"

"Indeed."

"How long is the apprenticeship program?"

"As long as it needs to be."

"Do you give young and aspiring actresses notices for parts that may suit them?" she asked.

"That's highly dependent on your section manager," Lory said helplessly.

Kyoko shook her head. "And the pay for such an apprenticeship position?" she asked.

"None. It is a volunteer position—but the expectation is that you would acquire acting jobs once you receive the requisite training," he said. "You'd be compensated for the parts you earn on a per-project basis, of course."

For a long time, Kyoko was silent. When she spoke, it was quietly—though Yayoi found herself holding her breath. "So what are you really offering, Takarada-san?" she asked. The voice was as calm as a koi pond in winter. "An apprenticeship with no guidance, no mentorship, no focus, and no compensation for my time or my efforts? Is that what you're offering?"

It had been a long time since anyone had told Lory no. He was the Shachou, for heavens' sake. In Tokyo, he could dictate the rise and the fall of an actor's career—it was all within his power. He was used to arranging the lives of his actors—perhaps none so thoroughly or completely as Ren Tsuruga's, but for the most part, no one challenged Lory. His vision of the Love-Me-Section-that-could-have-been featured a cheerful Kyoko running up and down the halls of LME with the same frantic energy she'd exhibited during her audition, learning how to serve and perhaps to love serving with the passion she'd used to hate on Sho Fuwa.

The girl who was looking at him soberly today was not that young lady. This girl was a little harder, somehow, older…wiser.

"It would be an apprenticeship at the most prestigious talent agency in Japan," Lory responded defensively. "It would be access to LME's best and brightest. You would learn patience…the behind-the-scenes of the showbiz industry…and you would learn to love your acting and your audience…"

"I know patience," Kyoko said. "And I know love. But most of all, I know what it's like to be taken advantage of." She sighed. "You came here to offer me an apprenticeship when I am already bound to one." She nodded to Yayoi and to the office around her. "Had you said, 'please, consider acting as an LME talent in the future,' I might have nodded and agreed. I might have listened," she said, "I might have considered leaving everything Yayoi-san and Etsuro-san have done for me to follow whatever improbable dream you're offering me."

Kyoko drew herself up straight. Her eyes were flashing a particularly brilliant gold. Lory felt goosebumps rise on his skin. "But I know all too well what it's like to work without pay for love," Kyoko said. "I know what it's like to bite my tongue and tell myself to be patient."

Yayoi flinched in the background, again aware that she'd worked tirelessly for the sake of her inheritance would even so much as an actual stipend.

"So no, Takarada-san," she said. "I will not be joining LME as a member of your…'LoveMe'...section."

She stood up and bowed, stiffly. "I thank you for the opportunity," she said.

Yayoi and Lory watched as she turned and walked out of the room.

=.=.=.=

Half an hour later, Lory found Kuu alone in the lounge, nursing what looked like a scotch. It was late enough that the lounge was otherwise empty, and he could hear the sound of the river outside.

Kuu looked up balefully as Lory walked into the room.

"Well you certainly fucked that up, old man," Kuu said.

Lory glared back. "Don't know what you mean," he mumbled. But he did. Kuu knew it and Lory knew it. Lory had to admit defeat. He'd been so sure—his feelings had sent Kuon back to Kyoto, hadn't they? And hadn't those same feelings led him back to the girl that had haunted him? "OK, so the apprenticeship was a bad idea," he said. "It seems I failed to account for her growth and maturity."

Kuu kept glaring. "I'm not talking about that apprenticeship," Kuu said. He motioned with his hands as he took a sip of his whisky. "...though I"m sure that went over well, if the look on your face is any indication." The amber liquid in the glass sloshed as Kuu gestured. "No," he said, "I'm talking about your picture."

"My picture?"

"You know? The one that you sent me in the middle of the night," Kuu said. "The one that was so cute, the one that made Juli cry? That one?"

"Yes?"

"You said you had Ruto take pictures of their date."

"I did."

"You didn't tell me they didn't know it was Ruto." Kuu had stopped fidgeting. His foot had stopped tapping on the floor. He'd placed the whisky on the table. "You didn't tell me they thought they were being pursued," Kuu said. "You didn't tell me that Kuon thought he was going to have to explain to the public—before he was ready—who he was. You didn't tell me that he thought he was going to have to defend Kyoko before the entire country—Lory, no wonder he's protective of her!"

Kuu slammed his glass down on the table. "And you let him think it was the paparazzi," he said. "Honestly, Lory, I know you like to play with your actors, but they aren't a game. Is this how you've been treating him this entire time?"

"I wanted to prove a point to him," Lory said.

"And what point was that? That his girl would be hunted just for being his girl? That he'd have to spend his life running?"

"All of that is true, Kuu, and you know it," Lory retorted.

"So what if it is? You had to ruin their first date! For what? For your own prurient interest!?"

"I wanted him to know what it was like to want to protect something!"

"As if his identity and his career weren't enough!" Kuu shook his head. "As if he hadn't been protecting all of that for years! How can you expect him to trust you if you play games like this?" he asked. "You'd never get away with such a thing in the States," Kuu said. "Especially not with a minor."

"Thankfully we aren't in the States, then, Hizuri," Lory responded.

"What are you going to do now?" Kuu asked. "Now that you've managed to alienate both my son and my future daughter-in-law in a single day? How can he expect you to protect her when you're taking advantage of her yourself?"

"I'm most certainly not taking advantage of her!" Lory exclaimed.

"An unpaid internship? It certainly sounds like you're not," Kuu replied. "They're furious. They're both furious. I followed him into the kitchen, you know—she came in after your proposal and he told her everything. I just happened to be there to watch."

"I'll fix it," Lory said. He looked grim.

"How? At this rate, I hope you haven't put her off acting for good," Kuu said. "But if she continues—and my god, what a waste it would be if she didn't—she'll still need an agency and she'll still need training. And you know what other agencies are like—that pack of rabid mongrels will chew her up and spit her out all because you had this crazy idea in your head about teaching her how to love."

"She does need training. I maintain the apprenticeship would've been good for her back then—"

But Kuu interrupted. "And she needs to be able to trust people, Lory." Kuu put his head in his hands. "So does Kuon. You've played puppetmaster for five years," he said. "...and I admit you've had good results where it mattered. But would it kill you to treat them like real people?"

"I'll fix it," Lory repeated.

Kuu gave him a look of disgust, picked up his whisky, and loped off.

Lory sat alone in the lounge, admiring the view out over the river. He was in a state of chagrin—to have all his plans upset like this, when everything seemed to be going so well! He knew Kuu was right. He knew he hadn't thought things through, particularly where Kyoko was involved. He'd gotten carried away his plans—had gotten carried away in the aesthetic. But in the balance, he knew it wasn't too late to salvage the situation. Reluctant though she might be, Lory knew that acting was a two-way street. It was entirely possible that Kyoko thought she would do this single project and then go back to her life at the ryokan. Perhaps, once there, she'd never think to act again.

But Lory was willing to bet otherwise. He had seen Kyoko act—whether or not she was prepared to acknowledge her own talent, he knew she'd be compelled to return in front of the camera sooner rather than later. The drug was in her veins, and he knew she'd want more.

All he could do was to be there when she acknowledged that.

That night, LME's lawyers got a call requesting a new contract.

Lory had it in-hand by the next morning.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading. I apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter out. If you don't count the mid-August omake, this is the longest I've ever let DoK go without a real chapter update. I left for a trip and was gone for much of the second half of August—and then promptly fell ill with Covid. And then after that, work went to hell. I'm in a state of constant anxiety and depression, and will likely remain in that state until I finally have a resolution to my problem. It won't be easy, so I'm asking for your indulgence. I haven't been responding back to your reviews—please know how much I appreciate them, and I'm sorry if I haven't gotten back to you! In fact I'm not above begging for review. I'm in a particularly low point in my life and I'm like "PLEASE VALIDATE ME." Shameless? Absolutely. But honestly? September has been very bad indeed and I am just trying not to drown.

This particular chapter is one I've had in mind since I started DoK. Whether or not I executed it in the way I'd wanted to is debatable, but I hope you like it.

Epigraph: From "Ozymandias," by Percy Bysshe Shelley