All characters are created and owned by Yoshiki Nakamura. I claim no ownership for the characters she's created.
Comments and reviews are greatly appreciated!
"So lame," a tall man muttered, glancing at the magazine display.
At an even six feet, he towered over the other shoppers in the AEON supermarket. He was, in fact, a good deal taller than the entire Japanese populace. A jet-black wig covered his usual blonde spikes and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of blue flash Ray-Bans. Flawless pale skin peeked out at the V of the long-sleeved shirt he'd donned to cover the myriad of tattoos woven across his corded arms despite it being an unusually warm day.
His eyes flitted back to Fleur's May 29th Special Edition. Splashed above the image of a woman in a gorgeously flattering evening gown holding hands with an equally striking blonde-haired man, were the words: Before They Say 'I Do'–The Full Scoop On Hollywood's Hottest Couple. It promised to dish all the details on the A-list couple's private wedding. The guest list. The wedding dress. The flower arrangements. Blah, blah, blah. The man turned away with a snort. Who the hell would fawn over those two sappy idiots?
"Kyaaa!"
A sudden shrill cry made him jump, nearly sending his sunglasses flying. He turned his head sharply to the left and noticed that a group of uniformed teenage girls had entered the store while he'd been preoccupied. The one who screamed addressed the others, animatedly pointing towards the illustrated collection of celebrity-focused texts.
He slipped around the corner and the teens clamored to fill the vacated space, curiosity getting the better of him.
"See!" cried the same voice. Pretending to examine the contents of the adjacent shelf, he watched the girl nab a magazine from its slotted haven and finger through it roughly, jabbing at the unsuspecting pages. Of course it had to be that one. "I knew they'd have a copy of it here!"
He cringed. If this is how she treats the things she likes, I feel sorry for the poor sucker who's her boyfriend, he thought. Upon closer inspection, he deemed it unlikely to be an issue. No way she had one.
"Oooh!" squealed a girl with pigtails. This one was even more energetic, bouncing frantically up and down on the epoxy floor. "I'm sooo glad you were right Akari!" She caught sight of something in the magazine and gasped. "Oh–my–gosh," she said, placing a palm over her chest. "Her dress. Is. To. Die. For."
"No, the groom is to die for," another teen interjected, making the whole group laugh. They were a gaggle of girls giggling over celebrity gossip.
He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes, sauntering over to a row of frosty glass doors. Tugging at a chilled handle, he reached inside to retrieve his favorite beer. There was going to be a party later and he planned on getting a head start.
They were still snickering as he headed towards the counter to pay. One girl caught his movement and her eyes widened as he came into full view. She gave her friend a vicious jab to the gut and not-so-discreetly pointed in his direction, stealing glances through lidded eyes.
He flashed them a crooked smile and watched with amusement when they both blushed.
Between the Kikkoman otsuyu and Nissin noodles he felt his iPhone buzz in the pocket of his black Valiant jeans and fished it out, answering it without glancing at the screen. "Yo."
"Happy birthday Shotaro," said a soft feminine voice. It was a voice that spoke like heaven but delivered hell, a voice that grabbed him by the throat–and squeezed.
"You found time out of your planning to call me. How gracious."
All the woman heard was his usual snark. "About time you acknowledged my grace. And you know I always have time for a childhood friend." She was silent a moment as though hesitant to continue. "I was surprised to hear you decided not to reschedule your tour."
Three and a half months ago they'd announced the cancellation. The plans had originally been publicized just prior to a certain Hollywood couple's engagement and a month after the reveal that rocked the global entertainment industry–the talented handsome Japanese actor Ren Tsuruga's real name.
"Yeah? Who'd you hear that from?"
"Shoko first, but it's been all over the media."
Of course it was. Stupid question.
"Didn't know you two were still talking."
A heavy pause. "We keep in touch, though she's no longer your manager."
"Well, that's great. You always wanted more girlfriends."
She sighed into the phone.
"Look, Kyoko, I'm fine. I mean it's been years since I took a break so I decided it was time. No big deal." His words were as smooth and fake as the brown lenses behind his Ray-Bans.
"I haven't heard any new songs either."
He swallowed hard. "I'm taking a music break, Kyoko. Dabbling in a few different things."
"What about your contract?"
He imagined her troubled golden eyes and the way she was undoubtedly worrying at her lower lip. "I'm still trending on Twatter and NokNok. Sales are phenomenal, as always."
"Oh? Well that's great." She was doing that fake cheerful thing he'd seen her do on more occasions than he could count when they were younger. "Your birthday gift will be even more perfect than I thought. It might already be waiting for you at your condo as we speak."
Of course she knew he purchased a condo too. "Uh," he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He frowned as he heard a husky masculine voice in the background.
"All right well, thanks again. Later," he finished and hung up. The thought of her cursing at him from across the ocean restored a bit of his good humor, but it was like slapping a band-aid on the gaping wound of a severed limb.
Sho went to the checkout, paid for his wares, and stepped out into the bright spring light, grabbing a taxi back to his Roppongi Hills condo. Located in the corner of the eleventh floor of the highly sought after and secure Roppongi Hills Residence B building, his 1,100 square foot home was practically a mansion for luxury Tokyo living. Of course, that's what a little over two million US dollars bought you.
Botan was working the security desk now, his ever-studious eyes simultaneously monitoring the entry and screens. Though Sho had a few inches on the guy, the security guard was built like one of those linebackers from American football, the outlines of his muscles visible through the layers of his suit. He enjoyed flipping the guy shit immensely.
"Yo, Hana," Sho called to the man.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Fuwa-san," Botan rumbled, face impassive as ever. If Sho ever managed to rankle him, he never showed it.
Sho smiled and kept walking towards the elevator.
He punched the code and his stomach lurched as physics and senses played their tug-of-war. He winked at himself in the mirrored walls and took out the irritating contacts, deciding to wait until he was home to remove the wig. Other residents entertained guests occasionally. His own guests never lasted more than a night, though they could sometimes be found in the hall, sullen shadows accompanied by Roppongi Hills security, rapping on his door in pursuit of a missing earring or forgotten phone. Or an article of clothing.
Once inside kicked off his shoes and flung the wig off his head. It landed atop the nest of crumpled pages on the kitchen table. He placed the Asahi Super Dry, sans one, in the fridge and opened the vertical blinds in his living area. Sunlight spilled into the room, warming his bare feet. He brushed the old wrappers off and flopped onto the sofa, stretching out. Cracking the beer open, he drank deeply, enjoying the view, the lush greenery of Arisugawa-no-miya Memorial Park and the cityscape spanning the horizon.
He'd definitely made the right choice, even if he'd lost out on a hundred square feet. A slightly larger room on the twenty first floor of Residence A had been available, at a costlier price point of course, but the view had killed it. That damn thirty foot steel spider would've been visible every time he opened the shades. Celebration of mothers everywhere his ass. Thing was creepy as hell.
Tipping his head back, he drained the last of his beer and rose to grab a shower before the party. He was halfway across the room when a knock broke the silence. Remembering Kyoko's words, he walked to the door but something slipped in from underneath, sliding to a stop at his feet. An envelope with his name embossed on its thick face in fanciful Old English script.
"What the hell…" He flipped it over. It was sealed in a way that matched the antiquated lettering–with a stylized wax stamp of an eye surrounded by what appeared to be a moon, star, and sun. Leave it to Kyoko to send him something so weird–she'd been stuck in la-la land for her entire life and had worked for that eccentric Takarada guy for far too long.
Grabbing a steak knife from its wooden sheath, he slit the envelope open.
井の中の蛙大海を知らず.
(A frog in a well knows nothing of the great ocean).
was at the very top of the insert. He recognized the neat handwriting. Was Kyoko calling him a frog? Hell, no. He was the bloody prince. Underneath it read:
Congratulations!
Uh-huh.
You are cordially invited to participate in Watch Me!,
an exclusive celebrity-focused, transformative reality television event where all the world's the stage and you're the star!
We would be honored for you to join us in the challenge of a lifetime!
There was a contact number next to the producer's name. That fact that LME Productions was listed below the number in fine print did not escape his notice. He tabled it and went to shower, wondering if he was desperate enough to stoop to a stint in reality tv.
An hour later, clean and dressed and slightly buzzed after a second beer, his driver drove past the PRIVATE EVENT sign placed at the front of Gyopao and into the small reserved lot. It looked like a hole in the wall tourist trap, but the food was delicious. They'd rented out the entire restaurant for a two hour block, all you could drink. He imagined he'd be drinking a lot, especially if Shoko was in attendance.
"Come on, my treat," he said, motioning to his driver. Guy lit up brighter than a Times Square Christmas tree. "But only one drink." This driver was a temporary replacement for his usual who was on vacation. So far he'd been competent enough.
"You got it Fuwa-sama." If he had any complaint towards the guy, it was that he was an obvious suck-up.
Sho strolled through the lot, hands buried in his pockets, driver trailing closely. He spotted Daisuke leaning against the wall through the window, checking the time on his cell and smiled. Nothing quite like being twenty minutes late to your own birthday party. When you were the agency's biggest money-maker you could get away with pulling shit like that. Hell, with the revenue he brought, he could probably get away with murder.
Sho's recently appointed manager caught sight of him at last and moved to intercept.
"Fuwa-san," Daisuke smiled pleasantly, opening the door for him. A vein was popping out at the man's temple, throbbing in intervals like one of those Mogura Taiji arcade games. "You're fashionably late."
"Daisuke," Sho greeted coolly. He had to give the guy points for resolve. Clapping a hand on the manager's shoulder, he leaned forward and sang, "It's my party and I can be late if I want to," into his ear. With a final pat, Sho stepped past him, but not before witnessing the flash of annoyance that rolled across Daisuke's dark eyes. Like an Okinawan islands thunderstorm, it vanished in an instant. Then a hand firmly gripped his arm, halting him.
"Unless those are part of the lyrics to a new song, I don't want to hear it. We need to have a chat." Daisuke adjusted the glasses on his face with a finger. "It can wait until after the party if you wish."
Sho nodded curtly, not bothering to turn around and continued moving deeper into the restaurant.
The rest of those gathered caught sight of his arrival and a smattering of happy birthdays blended into the artificially cooled air. Sho scanned the room. The group was mostly staff though there were some people he'd worked with before that didn't belong to the agency. All the small tables had been arranged to form one long seamless table at the center of the room.
"Happy birthday Sho," said a familiar voice. The F-cups that brushed against his arm were familiar too.
He turned and leaned down to place a kiss on her upturned face. "Thank you for coming," Haruki.
The woman looked into his eyes affectionately. Her silky light brown hair was swept to the side In some kind of relaxed braid, a few tendrils curling alluringly above her large breasts. He thought, not for the first time, that she seemed more attractive each time he saw her. She caught his frank appreciation and smiled at him again, this one a clear communication of not going to happen. He grinned and shrugged and resumed exchanging pleasantries with the other party-goers.
One of the staff announced the food was ready and everyone took their seats.
He spotted Shoko and Pochi, both women on the far side of the room, one actively avoiding his gaze, the other trying to claim it. Another set of interested eyes found his–the hot new interns. He smiled at her, slow and sexy, and watched her flush a lovely soft shade of pink as she drank deeply from her glass.
As The Premium Malts Master's Dream and stronger alcoholic options began to flow freely, so did people's tongues. Sho always learned a lot about his associates on these kinds of occasions.
The Akatoki section manager lifted his glass of Shochu, "To Fuwa-san. Happy Birthday!"
The others cheered and raised their own glasses, but Shoko stood up. His former manager looked haggard–her long hair was flat and dull, but she burned with such a fierce intensity that it was impossible to look away.
"To plummeting popularity and declining sales," she said, picking up and draining her cocktail. Then his former manager grabbed her belongings and swept through the room, a whirlwind of hair and heels heading towards the door. Maybe he should have stopped her, but he didn't. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to. Maybe he just didn't give a damn.
The rest of the attendees were looking at anything and everything but Sho Fuwa.
Sho stood up. "Thank you all for joining me here today," he grinned confidently. "Not sure what her problem was," he gestured towards the door and laughed.
Nervous laughter joined his own. Junpei, head of Artist Management, breezily waved a hand and said, "Too much to drink."
Sho picked up his highball. "To Akatoki," he said.
Cake appeared on the table just as everyone seemed to have had their fill of dim sum and dumplings. Sho was taken aback to discover that it was a remarkably detailed likeness of his face with "Happy Twenty-Third Birthday" written on the forehead. Who the hell's idea was this?
"Allow me," his driver, who was suddenly at his side, said. He eagerly began slicing up his face. Raspberry filling oozed from between the cuts.
Sho rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Whoever ordered this must really hate me."
His driver paused mid-slice and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah," he said, staring at the bleeding cake. "Kinda seems that way." He glanced at the door. "The woman?"
"Most likely."
"I'm sure it'll taste good though. Chocolate and raspberry are my favorite. "He was half drooling over the already as he finished the cutting and began plating.
"I'm allergic to raspberries."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Makes me break out in hives."
"Guess you don't want a slice then."
"Yeah, no." His driver placed a hand on the plate and slid it down to the next person.
People finished their dessert and began filing out of the restaurant with a bow or a wave. Pochi sidled up to him and wrapped herself around his arm.
"Sho," she simpered. "Let me keep you company tonight." In the brightly lit room his eyes were a cold, pale blue. She never expected his attitude would match.
"I'm busy tonight Pochi," he said, shrugging her off.
The intern had been eyeing him all night and by the time she got to the dessert she had his full attention and she knew it. Each bite was taken with exaggerated care, her little pink tongue tracing slowly over the fork before thrusting it into her mouth like a lollipop. Yup, he was definitely going to be busy tonight. After he'd ensured she'd thoroughly rinsed her mouth, at least–he couldn't be seen with hives.
He was just about to make first contact when Daisuke stepped in front of him. Cockblocked by his own manager. Shoko never–he stopped, not allowing himself to finish the thought.
Sho crossed his arms and glared at the man. "What do you want?" Out of the corner of his eye he caught the intern's wistful expression as she gathered her belongings and headed for the door. When she passed by he caught the scent of dark cherries and almonds and something floral. Of missed opportunity.
Junpei shuffled past, sharing a significant look with Daisuke before taking his leave. All that remained were the staff, who had made themselves scarce, and Sho and Daisuke.
"What I want is for you to be actively creating music again. And what I want is what the agency wants." He adjusted his glasses again. "Remember, you signed a contract guaranteeing a particular level of productivity. You've had a remarkably successful career to say the least thanks to Akatoki and your own efforts, but the agency put up several billion yen to get you to that point."
This conversation was not headed in a good way.
"You haven't been in the red for some time now, but we're not going to back a sinking ship. We require at least five original songs and a minimum of two public appearances by the end of the two weeks," the man's hard gaze never faltered, "or we're terminating our relationship on the grounds of breach of contract."
A hot pulsing anger coursed through the musician's veins. "Terminating?" he snarled. "Just because I've been in a slump? After all the money I've made for you?"
Daisuke continued his impassive study of his charge. "This little get-together doubles as your farewell party should you fail to achieve the minimum requirements."
The manager walked to the door.
"No way in hell! That's impossible!"
The pedestrians passing by could hear the shouting, though they couldn't make out the words–only that someone was throwing a public fit.
"Damnit!" He kicked out and his chair went flying onto the table, flattening the bits of his face that remained.
"You are a talented man Sho Fuwa. We have every confidence you will rise to the challenge." The word challenge sparked Sho's mind and he felt his anger leak away, replaced by hopeful possibility. Just like that time with Vie Ghoul, Kyoko was helping him, even if she was the source of the problem this time.
"Daisuke, wait. P–," he thought he would choke on the word, but it came out, burning his throat like acid, "Please. I have an alternative proposal for you."
A/N
Botan means peony. Hana means flower.