White Album 3 (A Possibility)

by ElectronicBee8771

Twenty years after Haruki and Kazusa left their homeland for forbidden love, the product of their union flees to Japan to seize his freedom. Blessed with the talents of his parents, 19-year-old Kitahara Leon is also a conflicted, vulnerable soul. But a chance meeting with a lingering thread from the past draws him into a musical and romantic journey that will change him forever.

1. Part 1

WHITE ALBUM 3 (A Possibility)

by u/Electronic_Bee8771

NOTES:

First a content warning.

This story DOES NOT contain: significant physical violence; nonconsensual or drug-facilitated sex or sexual assault; descriptions of severe mental health crises or suicide; illicit drug use; or non-adult characters in major roles.

This story DOES contain: frequent use of profanity; references to alcohol; and (as one may expect) sexual content to the level of an "M" rating.

This scenario is based off a combination of the events of the White Album 1 anime from 2009, selected events from the White Album 1 visual novel (remastered and released in 2023), as well as the events of White Album 2, up to the end of the "Touma Kazusa True End," and including the events of "Mini After Story: The Way Back to Happiness."

For those unfamiliar with the ending of the White Album 1 anime (or for those who have only played the visual novel), Fujii Touya's fate remains undecided. The major event of note is that Ogata Rina and Morikawa Yuki ultimately disrupt the Venus Festival by performing an unauthorized surprise duet version of "Powder Snow," which is met with immense critical acclaim (despite disqualifying them from winning). In doing so, they reconcile and reaffirm their friendship despite growing professional and romantic rivalry, especially centered on Fujii Touya.

For those unfamiliar with the specified endings of White Album 2, Kitahara Haruki chooses to terminate his relationship with Ogiso Setsuna and begin a new life with Touma Kazusa in Vienna, Austria. Setsuna, though devastated, eventually finds the strength to embrace music again.

Because this is a romance story that utilizes songs to highlight dramatic events, I have inserted lyrics into the text. They have been abbreviated, as they were only intended to represent major themes brought up by the characters' performances. Full lyrical transcriptions are easily accessible online, and one may easily listen to the songs themselves through various internet media services.

Finally, a note about the use of Japanese, English, and romaji. Unless specified, the characters are assumed to be speaking Japanese. English equivalents will be used or implied for most honorifics, save for when I judged it thematically or linguistically appropriate to substitute the appropriate romaji.

I truly hope you enjoy reading these idle musings as much as I enjoyed writing them.

CHAPTER ONE

Just wanted to let you know I landed safely at Narita.

Okay. Will tell your mother.

Thanks, Dad.

You're making a big mistake.

Let's not talk about that. Should I call when I get to Obaachan's?

No. Your mother's performing for the Pope soon. You've already caused her enough heartache. Don't distract her. Don't call us. We'll call you.

Well, God have mercy on your soul or something. Bye.

I held my breath. It had taken a lot of effort not to write something truly nasty there, but the last thing I wanted right now was a shouting match with my dad immediately after I'd landed in Japan with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small wad of Euros.

I hadn't even been able to pack properly, thanks to him incessantly lecturing me about how I was making a huge mistake: how it wasn't too late to call the admissions office at Julliard and beg for my spot back (he insisted on doing it even though his English still sucks); how much stress I was causing my mother even though she was about to play a super important concert at the Vatican; how much I didn't know about Japanese culture and how they'd all regard me as a gaijin even though my parents were both Japanese (they'd long since become EU citizens); how even though I spoke the language I was going to get scammed and robbed the second I departed the plane. My father could sell shit to a manure farmer, but he'd long since exhausted his persuasive powers on me.

Without needing get anything from baggage claim, my next stop was customs. Once I'd confirmed my admission to Yuunagi University, I'd secured a student visa just to be safe, even though I also held a Japanese passport in addition to my EU passport.

"Next," the customs officer droned. I stepped forward and handed him my passports. "Huh? Why do you have both? We don't allow dual citizenship."

"I'm nineteen," I said. By Japanese law, but not EU law, I'd have to renounce one of my citizenships at age twenty. I still had a year to decide.

He grunted in displeasure. "Name and origin?"

"Le—I mean, Kitahara Leon. Vienna, Austria, European Union."

"German? Then you need to wait for an interpreter."

"Thank you, officer, but it won't be needed. I speak Japanese well enough. As well as English and French. A little Spanish and Italian, too."

"You speak too many languages, so your Japanese is pretty poor. What's your reason for entry? How long until you leave?"

"I'm enrolled at Yuunagi University in Tokyo. My student visa lasts for a year."

"Fine. Proceed," he said, and stamped an acceptance on my visa. "But a word of advice, Kitahara. You're not some white American tourist. You look like us and try to speak like us, so we expect you to act like us. Understood?"

"Yeah," I said, and hurried the hell past the cordon. Having grown up in the EU, I knew customs officers were all singularly nasty individuals (a job requirement, with the express goal of deterring immigration), but I'd thought that at least looking Japanese would have gotten me some consideration. Still, the guy had been right. Everything I knew about Japan had been second-hand knowledge from my parents. I'd never actually visited before, and my father never seemed interested in booking my mother's concerts there. "Too many memories I'd like to forget," he'd say, to which my mother always nodded her head.

So what in the hell was I doing here, having escaped my familiar, if somewhat unhappy life in Austria? Why had I "thrown my future away" as my father proclaimed, and turned down a full scholarship to the Julliard School of Music in favor of enrolling at a firmly mid-tier university in Tokyo? Even I had to agree that what I'd done was insanely stupid. But I also knew that I couldn't have stood even one more lecture from my old man, and I needed to get as far away from him as humanly possible. I had to see what life was like on my own, and make my own mistakes, instead of having him ruthlessly turn me into a male version of my mother.

He'd tried the old financial strong-arm tactics, of course. And there was no way I'd be able to secure a visa without proof I could pay for tuition, at the very least. And he'd have won, too, if not for my grandmother. If there was one person I was always thankful for in life, it was Touma Youko-obaachan.

I'd used a good bit of my remaining money on securing a cab to Iwazu-chou, where my grandmother now lived. In retrospect, I could have saved a ton by using the Tokyo metro, but there was no way I was going to figure out how to use one of the largest and most complex public transport systems in the world on day one, all while I was jet-lagged to hell. Fortunately, Japan was like many places in the EU, and tipping wasn't a thing, so I didn't spend all of my money in one go.

After a nearly two-hour drive from the airport (the Tokyo metroplex is home to nearly forty million people and covers almost fourteen-thousand square kilometers), I finally got out in front of a house that was way too large to be sensible for a single woman in her seventies. Most elderly people in Asia tended to live in smaller spaces due to the sheer difficulty and expense of keeping a large house heated and cleaned, but Touma Youko didn't give a damn. Also, she now had a nineteen-year-old grandson to help take care of the place.

I tried to smooth my greasy hair out as best I could and pressed the button on the video doorbell unit right under the "Touma" nameplate.

"Leon? Is that you?"

"Obaachan! I'm finally here!"

"Ara ara!" I heard footsteps and the door to the house practically flew off the hinges as she stormed out to embrace me. Lest there be any misconceptions about my grandmother, she may have been in her seventies, but she was still strong as a bear and tall for a Japanese woman with osteoporosis and stage four breast cancer. "Did you eat? How was your flight? Did you miss a lot of practice? Why don't you have any luggage? Did you forget your bags at the airport?" She machine-gunned me with questions as we made our way inside.

"I had a meal on the plane," I told her. "So not really hungry. More tired and getting used to the time difference. I feel like the flight lasted over twenty-four hours. It was super turbulent, too. And I didn't pack anything. Dad made it a little difficult, with his lecturing and moaning and…"

"Try to go easy on Guitar-ku—your father. Well, I knew you'd be coming today so I'll have Shibata make you dinner, and I bought some toiletries for you. Take a bath soon. You stink!"

"Thank you, Grandma. I really missed you. I'm glad to see you, and I know you've heard it a thousand times, but I'm really grateful for your help. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

She chuckled. "I didn't slave away playing the piano for forty years for nothing. If I want to spend my fortune on making my only grandson happy, then I'll do it, no matter what Guitar-kun thinks!"

Youko always had a strange nickname for my father. When I asked him why she'd always called him "Guitar-kun," he'd simply roll his eyes and tell me it was just a silly joke on her part. I'd never seen my father actually play the guitar, so I had no idea where it came from.

"But Grandma, there's probably no way I'll be able to actually pay you back in full. I mean, college tuition is insane these days, plus you're letting me stay at your house and eat your food for free. I really think you should let me pay you rent. I plan to get a part-time job, anyway."

"That's silly, dear. Concentrate on your studies for now, since that's what you came here to do. When you get a girlfriend, then you can work to pay for dates!"

"Eh, that's probably not gonna happen," I said, my face turning a bit red. My dating career had so far been a complete nonstarter. I'd kissed a few girls during my school days in Vienna, but hadn't had any serious relationships. In fact, most of the time, when women had talked with me it was because they'd assumed I was Korean, and thus a K-pop star or an actor like in their dramas. Once they figured out I was of Japanese descent, they quickly lost interest. Anime and manga were hobbies for gross nerds, after all.

"Why not?" Youko asked. "You're extremely handsome."

I chuckled. "You're obligated say that by law, as my grandmother."

"No, I mean it objectively. Remember, kid, I used to hang out with celebrities and supermodels all over the world. I know the difference between true attractiveness and everything else. And you're attractive. You're basically your mother, but in boy form. If you grew your hair out, I might have trouble telling you apart, aside from her fantastic tits."

"I, uh…okay?" I didn't quite know how to respond to that. Youko had always been blunt, but this was on another level.

"Anyway, you've got to be really careful around girls. You're going to get a lot of attention, and before you know it, you'll be involved in some silly love hexagon and everyone will get hurt. So take this advice from your grandma: don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?"

"But Grandma, weren't you like…"

"Yes, yes, I got around a lot. Can you believe this old lady? I still have old boyfriends emailing me every day! Okay, maybe I'll phrase it like this: always use a rubber. Don't listen if they tell you 'but it feels better natural!' I promise you no woman can tell the difference. Anyway, I made sure to buy some for you, but I didn't know your size, so there's a few boxes…"

"I need to take a shower!" I insisted, and raced away. This was already shaping up to be one of the stranger days in my life, and I needed things to get back to some semblance of normal.

Fortunately, Youko avoided the subject of girls and sex when we talked next, and we peacefully ate dinner together for the first time in five years, since she'd moved back to Japan from Vienna. It wasn't an exaggeration to says that I was one of those kids who'd been raised by their grandparent, rather than their "real" parents. My mother's career was always on an upward trajectory, and my father was and still is her devoted manager. I loved my mother, but she was incompetent at anything outside musical performance, so my father pretty much did it all for her. Hence, I spent a lot of my time with my grandmother, who'd deliberately wound down her career in light of my growing need for attention, her worsening arthritis, and most recently, her cancer diagnosis. The latter was one of the reasons I'd come here in the first place. "I will die in Japan," is what she'd told my parents, and I'd be damned if I let her do that alone.

"Say, Grandma, do you by any chance have a piano, or even just a digital I could use for practice?" I asked her. Of course, Touma Youko would never live in a place without a piano, but I wouldn't presume to touch her Steinway without asking. Youko laughed.

"Leon, just who the hell do you think I am? Of course I have a piano or three. Go to the basement. You'll find what you need. Use whatever you like. I don't have a favorite. I've got other instruments there as well."

"Thank you! I didn't have time to take anything over, not even a guitar," I said, ruefully.

"But doesn't your university start tomorrow? You should get some rest instead."

"It's okay, it's just getting registered for things, getting my ID photo, some orientation stuff, that sort of thing. Real classwork doesn't even begin until the day after that."

"Okay, but don't run yourself ragged."

"I'm so jet-lagged I'd have a hard time falling asleep, anyway. Thanks, Grandma, I appreciate it!"

Because of her massive accumulated wealth, most of Youko's daily needs were taken care of by housekeepers. She even had a service to deliver to-go meals, so there wasn't a ton of extra work for me to do, despite my delusions of helping her out around the house. I felt awkward not doing the dishes, but she insisted (and it wasn't like she ever did them, either).

Like all elderly people, she took to bed at an insanely early time, which was counterbalanced by getting up at an insanely early time. Fortunately, she assured me that no matter how loud I practiced, I wouldn't disturb her. "But if you bring a girl to your room, try to not make love too loudly! If you disturb me, I might even bring over snacks and drinks! Dohoho!" she'd said, unable to resist teasing me again.

"Who the hell does she think I am?" I muttered to myself. My dating life was a failure. Europe was where young mens' dreams of romance went to die. And I'd refused to go to a brothel, even though they were perfectly legal and encouraged. I still had my pride. I also had that hated V-card.

I found my way to the basement and smiled after I flipped on the lights. It was classic of Touma Youko to have a fully outfitted, soundproofed, and posh-as-all-hell recording studio in her basement. She truly was the best of all grandmothers.

I made my way to the Steinway first, of course. I'd check out the Baldwin and the Kawai later, but I was also a brand whore. I'd cut my teeth on a Steinway, even though my father later scored an insanely lucrative exclusivity deal with Yamaha and the 1928 Model B went back to Hoher Meister Flugel.

My warm up sequence started as it always had: every arpeggio in the book, as my mother taught me and Youko had drilled into me. It only took a few minutes, anyway. Then, I started to play in earnest. With no set agenda, no recital or competition to prepare for, I devolved into a lazy jam session worthy of the most self-indulgent Phish concert. Some Chopin Ballades, some Gershwin, some "easy" Rachmaninoff, and some anisongs, of course.

My thoughts wandered, uninvited, to my father's lectures only twenty hours prior. I'd never really been able to argue against him with words. So I always phrased my retorts to him with music, which was a trait of my mother's. Only, unlike her, I usually sung it, too. My keystrokes started to become more violent and I started to sing.

September '75

I was forty-seven inches high

My mom said by Christmas I would have

A badass mother GI Joe

For your little minds to blow

I still got beat up after class

Yeah, now I'm big and important

One angry dwarf and two hundred solemn faces are you

If you really wanna see me

Check the papers and the TV

Look who's tellin' who what to do

Kiss my ass, goodbye!

You'll be sorry one day

Yes you will, yes you will!

You shouldn't push me around

'Cause I will, yes I will

You will be sorry when I'm big

Yes you will, yes you will

You will be sorry

Kiss my ass

Kiss my ass goodbye now

Kiss my ass

Kiss my ass goodbye now

CHAPTER TWO

The next day was hell. I ended up playing and singing for way too long into the night, and then slept for only an hour before my body forced me to get up because it was three in the morning in Austria or something. I groggily ate breakfast with Youko, couldn't taste anything, and then stumbled my ass to the Iwazu-chou station to take the metro to Yuunagi University. She'd insisted I needed to learn how to use the metro eventually, and since the university was only three stops away, it was a simple commute to learn on. Fortunately, she'd already bought me a transit pass (did all grandmothers spend all their time preparing for every situation their grandkids would get into?) and I had no excuse to skip school.

Somehow I managed to get off at the right stop, despite the crush of commuters that made it hard to actually leave the train. The doors almost took my arm off, but I struggled through. I spent the next few hours wandering the campus in a daze, going from the opening ceremonies to the registrar offices, then to the student union for additional mandatories that flew over my head.

One thing I almost immediately realized was that most of the student body had already formed their own cliques based on where they'd gone to high school. And although there were limited dormitory facilities available, most students either lived with their families in the area, or had their own apartments shared with however many roommates. So that avenue of socialization was a dead end. Still, I had one more option, which was joining an interest club. I took a flyer for the Light Music Club and shoved it in my backpack.

Right before that, however, I needed to take care of one thing that I'd promised myself. I wanted to at least try to give Youko something for her kindness, even though she'd never ask me for it. Even though she'd flatly refused my offer to pay rent, at least I'd be able to get her a nice gift, if I had a part-time job. Fortunately, Yuunagi seemed to have a decent work-study office, with plenty of postings for local jobs.

Or at least, I thought I'd find a lot of job opportunities. In reality, most of the postings had already been spoken for by the time I made it to the office. My plan had been to teach English or German or French at a cram school, but nothing seemed available. The backup option, teaching music, was also nonexistent because of the shitty economy and the ravages of the recent pandemic. I was too much of a wuss to survive a manual labor job, too. I sighed. This was a failure so far.

At the last minute, my eye caught a posting that seemed to have been ignored. "Private English tutoring for entrance exams," it read. Hell yes, I can do this, I thought. I grabbed the posting and took it to the nearby help desk, where a staff member could start making calls to the posting agency. There was a student manning the desk, so I handed it to her.

"Hey dude," she said, rather informally for what I expected from a customer-facing role in Japan. "This won't work, sorry."

I blinked. "Huh? But I'm fluent in English. I went to high school in Europe."

"Oh! That explains your weird Japanese. You kinda sound like a really high-level expat, except not fifty and fat and only here to chase tail. I respect you, bro," she said to me.

What the fuck? Now I took a closer look at the clerk. She wasn't dressed in any sort of special way, but I realized, upon looking at her, that she was extremely attractive. Deep, large chestnut eyes, an upturned button nose, and a wide mouth with generous lips on a softly-featured heart-shaped face crowned by unruly chestnut hair gathered into a lazy ponytail tied with what looked like a red beaded scrunchy. The kind of girl who you'd expect to see in a romance movie (or more shamefully, a visual novel) as the main heroine that captivates the protagonist from the start and never lets go. To be honest, she took my breath away and I couldn't retort.

"Anyway, the problem is they only want females," she said. "It's not obvious, the way it's written."

I blinked. Focus. She's really hot but that's not the important thing here. "Oh, thanks for explaining. Hey, can you help me out? I don't see a lot of other options here and I really need to find a job. Anything that's maybe not posted yet? Or word of mouth only?"

"Yeah, totally," she said. "It's called 'OnlyFans!' Just sign up on the website, take a few pictures and videos, and you're good. You can work whatever hours you want and with your face, the cash is gonna flow on in, baby!"

I rolled my eyes. She was hot, but kind of an asshole. "Yeah, thanks, I know about OnlyFans. I was hoping for something that didn't involve selling my body to strangers on the internet."

"You sure? The alternative kinda sucks."

"Yeah, I'll take the alternative, if you have a real one."

"Hold on," she said, and took a piece of paper out from the nearby printer. She hurriedly wrote down what looked like an address, a name, and a phone number on it. Then, she wrote down another name and another number. "Here."

"N54 TV, hiring manager Iwata…" I read out loud. "For an 'assistant director' job? Sounds great! Thanks, I mean it. Are you sure that's an entry-level position?"

She laughed. "Yeah, it is. A fancy title for a scut-monkey. It's an all-around shit job and it pays terribly, but they're always looking. And look, it's not too far from here."

"Hey, I'll take it," I said, with relief creeping back into my features. "Thanks! What's this other name and number here? Ogi-so… Another manager?"

She shook her head. "No, that's my name, and my number. I'm Ogiso. Ogiso Yukiko."

"Oh! Nice to meet you, then! I'm Kitahara Leon," I reached over to shake her hand, but realized I was in Japan and not Austria and abruptly stopped. A total gaijin move, to be sure. "Anyway, yeah, I'll totally call the number and give you great feedback. You really helped me out here."

She shot me an incredulous look. "Huh? Feedback? Is that some kinda foreigner thing?"

"No! I mean, like, you know, you gave me the office number to call to leave you a great review and stuff, right? I will, Ogiso-san, I promise. Seeya!"

"Hold on a second!" Her dumbfounded look morphed into a frown. She leaned over the counter, almost butting foreheads with me. "Are you like…Forrest Fucking Gump or something? That's not a bullshit corporate survey number. That's my cell phone number. I gave it to you because I think you're cute. Do you understand now, you twit?"

I swallowed on a dry throat. "Y-yeah! I do now, sorry! Jesus, I didn't mean to offend you. I just didn't expect anything like this. Sorry again!" I bowed, but ended up smacking her nose with my forehead. I couldn't have pulled off a better surprise attack if my life depended on it. She stumbled back, blood dripping from a nostril. A wave of nausea passed through me.

"Oh! Oh shit! I'm so sorry! I've got tissue, let me help you…"

"Piss off!" she roared at me, clutching her face. "Out! Get out! Don't come back here again!"

I didn't need to be told twice. I ran out of that office with my tail between my legs. I was pretty sure she'd call campus security on me, and I'd probably get expelled on my first day for assaulting another student. Why had I given her my name? I wiped my sweaty brow with a piece of paper that I still clutched in my hand. In the chaos, I'd somehow managed to hold onto the paper with the TV station job information. And of course, with her information on it. I weighed just chucking the whole thing in the trash.

But, I still needed work. I needed to make good on my promise to Youko. And, it also looked like campus security was nowhere to be seen, so maybe I was in the clear. I decided to go back to Youko's—to my home, for now, and lie low. I'd call the number tomorrow. As if warding off an ill omen, I carefully tore away the part of the paper with Ogiso Yukiko's information on it, and threw it in the trash.

The next day, I hadn't received any calls from the university administration summoning me for a disciplinary hearing. Maybe she hadn't reported me, but it was still better not to attract attention. My sleep had also improved a little, so I wasn't as groggy as I went to face the day. The metro still took some time getting used to, but I was ever so slightly better a pushing through the crowds even on day two.

My first classes began that day, as well. There were a lot of mandatory classes for first year students, ranging from physical education to Japanese literature to Computer Science. Yuunagi was mid-tier as far as university rankings went in Japan, but it was also known for being a significant tech incubator as well. It graduated more future Alphabet, Meta, NVidia, and OpenAI employees than the University of Tokyo or Waseda (which were always fighting for the number one spot on the rankings). The Silicon Valley companies thus took a special interest in the school, and had over the years turned it into a pipeline of sorts to the worldwide tech sector. Hence, the mandatory Into to CS class.

The lecture, given by a famous professor who'd had a hand in the invention of artificial intelligence (I promptly forgot his name), was nothing special. He basically took an hour to tell us that most of the class wouldn't take the next level course and that some animals were more equal than other animals. Also, that he'd been special friends with Sergey Brin (of Google fame) and had fucked a lot of American girls in his college years. I was pretty sure most of the lecture qualified as blatant sexual harassment.

After that, we were divided into small labs, where the TA's would actually do the grunt work of teaching us to code. This was the same way any university in the world worked, so I went with it.

The actual lab, though, was far from what I'd expected. I had envisioned diligent Japanese university students punching out code like robots. Yeah, that had been a little racist of me, even though I looked just like everyone else. The reality was that most of the lab hadn't shown up, and those who'd deigned to come were doing anything but the actual coding assignment. At least a handful were browsing 2Chan or NicoNico, one was playing CounterStrike (with akimbo Desert Eagles), and I swear one guy was clicking through H-scenes from "Fruit of Grisaia." I didn't have the balls to just outright disregard the assignment, so I went through it, using the instructions on the syllabus. Eventually, I finished it and hit "print" to show my work. I stapled it and brought to the TA's desk, only to find there was no TA.

Instead, sitting at the TA's spot was a girl who looked much younger than I, and not just because of the stereotypical bottle-blond twin-tail hairstyle she sported, or the plaid miniskirt, or the prosthetic fang she wore over one of her canines…but because she was literally wearing a high school uniform. Although I had no clue where "Houjou Academy" was, the look was unmistakable.

"I've finished the assignment," I said, regarding her with skepticism.

She didn't look up. "Cool. You're free to leave."

I frowned. Not only was this TA-impostor obviously playing the-award-winning-massively-multiplayer-online-role-playing-game-known-as-Final-Fantasy-Fourteen-including-award-winning-expansion-Heavensward-and-free-expansion-Stormblood, but also made no effort to even hide it. I had to suppress a snort of disdain as I heard the unmistakable sound of a Tiamat Dive Bomb. Sadly, I knew exactly what raid she was playing.

"Hey, uh… I was wondering if you could like, give me some feedback on this? Considering it counts toward our grade and all…"

The girl shot it a cursory glance. "Little sloppy, but fine for your first day. See you next time, fam!"

Now that was annoying. "I don't mean to be rude, but like, did you actually look at it? I don't want to fail out of my first year."

Another Tiamat Dive Bomb. The girl smacked the desk with her palm. "Really? I told you bastards to eat! Who didn't have their Garlean Pizza? Dipshits!" She turned to me, "pissed off" writ deep on her features. "I was like, about to beat that raid before you interrupted me. Thanks, bro."

I sucked my teeth. "Okay, there's so many things wrong here, I can't even… First of all, I know you're playing Ultimate Coils of Bahamut, Turn 5, and you guys were screwed from the start if you didn't all eat and max out your buffs. It's not my fault you all died. Are you playing with a punch of pugs? It takes even the most organized statics months to clear that."

"Well, my static's being shitheads right now!"

"So don't play with pugs during class! Also, like, what happened to the normal TA? Why is his little sister subbing in for him? Isn't that like, illegal or something?"

She leered at me. "Did you call me 'imouto' just now? Oh shit! That's awesome! Do it again!"

"Uh, whatever. Imouto-san. You happy now?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Please tell me your brother's okay and coming back next time… Where the hell is Houjou High, anyway?"

The high schooler laughed. "It's about an hour by metro from here. Where my parents used to go to school."

"Cool, I guess. Anyway, you shouldn't just waltz in here wearing your school uniform. What if campus security tosses you out?"

"Relax, fam. It's just cosplay. Although mine is a genuine jacket, not a shitty repro. I actually graduated from Houjou four years ago."

"Oh…sorry." When you assume it makes an ass of u and me, the saying goes. "So you're a CS major here?"

She laughed. "I finished undergrad like two years ago, bra. Going for the PhD and taking my sweet time."

"Huh? You're a grad student?"

"How the fuck else did I get landed with this babysitting job? I gotta make money to pay Squeenix for the privilege of playing this piece of shit game!"

"Oh…" I put a hand over my mouth. My lips twitched in embarrassment. This was the second girl I'd deeply offended here in only two days. At this rate, I could kiss my college dating prospects goodbye. "Shit, I'm sorry. I just…you looked younger than I expected. But like, you're also playing games in the middle of class, so I didn't know what to think."

"Plus one and minus one equals zero," she said with a smirk. "That's a defeatist attitude!"

"Yeah, yeah, Jack White, I know," I said. Was she some sort of walking meme factory? "Anyway, look, if you have some time, I'd like to take this class seriously, so if you have some time to look over my code, I'd appreciate it. I'm sorry about assuming stuff about you earlier."

"Look," she said. "It's a tiny bit sloppy. You could stand to be less redundant. Combine operations as much as you can. You also don't have to comment on stuff that any normal programmer knows. Otherwise, you just need practice. Also, you're the only one who's turned anything in, so I'll give you a solid '90.' You're not a native, so I'll spell it out for you. In Japanese college, it's only the final that counts to your grade. That's why everyone else is browsing NicoNico and 2Chan and shit."

"Thanks for the pointers. And thanks for not calling me a gaijin, too."

"Welcome!" she said, brightly. "Okay, later man."

"Sorry, one more thing," Leon said. "Can I have your name? I'm Kitahara Leon."

"Iizuka Saeko."

"Nice to meet you, Iizuka-sensei."

"Ell oh ell, you gaijin ass. Just call me 'Saeko Bicchi,' okay? It sounds badass in English!"

"I refuse to do that, Iizuka-sensei. Have a good day!"

Before she should protest, I left class. If yesterday had been strange, today had become even stranger. I'd only dealt with an n of 2, but a hundred percent of the women I'd talked with so far had been feral creatures with sewers for mouths. That had to count for something, even if it weren't statistically significant by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe if I joined a club, I'd have better luck finding normal people to interact with. But first, the issue with work took precedence.

Now that I had free time, I dug out the paper with the TV station information on it, and plugged it into my cell phone. Within two rings, someone picked up.

"Moshi-moshi?"

"Yes, hello. My name is Kitahara. I was looking for Iwata-san. I was told he's looking for job applicants."

"Yes, this is Iwata! I'm glad you called! We're always looking for hard workers. Are you interested in the AD position?"

"Yes, do you have a minute to tell me about it?"

"Actually, can we meet for an interview?"

I grinned. This was going unexpectedly well. Maybe too well. "Sure, that's doable for me. What's convenient for you?"

"Are you free this afternoon? Say around thirteen?"

"Yes, I should be," I said. I didn't have any classes left in the day. "Should I come to the station?"

"I'll meet you nearby. There's a cafe called 'Echoes' right across the street. It's a lovely place. Don't worry, it won't be busy. See you and thanks!"

With that, Iwata hung up. I pumped my fist in silent victory. Finally, something was going right. I knew that such eagerness on an employer's part meant the job was probably shit, but I was willing to do almost anything.

The station was only a metro stop away from the university, which was always a good sign. It meant I wouldn't be spending all my wages and time commuting back and forth. I didn't need a car for this, even though Youko had offered me use of the '93 BMW 5 series that was still garaged at the house. And though I appreciated having access to a vehicle, that car had been damaged in the past and never repaired.

The station itself was humdrum-looking, like it had been constructed in the seventies and had its glory days in the eighties, but still looked occupied. Broadcast television hadn't yet been marginalized by internet streaming content in Japan, mainly because of the insatiable appetites of Baby Boomers and now Generation X (looking at you, Dad). But I wasn't going in there today. I headed to the cafe Iwata had told me to meet at.

A small shop, it nevertheless had a cheery, homey, and serene atmosphere to it that reminded me of my favorite cafes in Europe. Seeing that the best cafes in the world were in Vienna, that was no small feat this place pulled off. Plus, the coffee smelled delicious. This wasn't fast food garbage—it was coffee for addicts.

A middle-aged man, probably in his fifties, stood behind the counter manning an espresso machine. The 'master,' to use an izekaya term. "Welcome," he said. "Sit anywhere you like."

"Thank you. Is a gentleman named Iwata here?"

"Oh! You're the job seeker. He's not here yet, but feel free to order a drink. It's all on him, of course."

"Thanks again. I'd love to try your house brew. Black, of course.

"Excellent choice," the master said, and a few minutes later, slid a cup on a saucer over to me.

I knew something about how to appreciate coffee, so I took my time and took a deep whiff of the stuff before anything else. The smell was seductive, with hints of merlot, orange, and cinnamon. I took a sip. "This is…awesome, Master. Where are the beans from?"

He smiled. "Glad you like it. It's a limited-edition honey-fermented roast from Rwanda, a small farm I visited a few years ago. They were looking to regrow after the genocide there, and I was in the market for great coffee."

"French press? Or possibly Chemex?"

"Nope, straight Hario V60."

"I'll have to get one for myself, then," I said, taking another sip and savoring it. "I can't believe this place isn't packed to the brim."

"Ha!" The master shrugged. "It's been like that since before I owned it. But we pay the bills. It's sometimes a mystery to me, even though I own the place."

"Oh! Well, I already love the place! Can I have your name, sir? I'm Kitahara Leon. A first-year student at Yuunagi University."

"Certainly. Nanase Akira, at your service. I'm also a Yuunagi graduate. Class of '91."

"Oh, cool! Do you get a lot of business from the TV station over there?"

"That's probably most of our customers. Oh, looks like Iwata's here. Good luck with the interview. I never worked there, but I had a close friend who did. He got into a lot of trouble, but…part of being young."

Iwata, who looked every bit the pudgy salaryman stereotype, came over. I stood and started to bow to him, but to my surprise, he reached out to shake my hand. "Kitahara, correct? Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm guessing you're from overseas, based on your accent. German?"

"Yes, I am. Austria, actually, but close enough. Don't worry, I'm legally cleared to work part-time and can provide my student visa on request."

"Your Japanese is still excellent. Did your parents emigrate from here?"

"Thank you. Yes, they did."

"Great! So you want to know about the AD job?"

"Yes, please."

"Basically, you're going to do anything and everything to help the station function. That means anything from building and taking down sets, to passing messages, answering the phone, cleaning the toilets, and, if you're lucky, giving an idol a foot massage!"

I laughed nervously. "You don't say. Sounds interesting. I don't have a lot of experience in show business."

"It's an entry-level position. If you stick with it, you'll get promoted to Production Assistant in a year, give or take, and maybe one day you'll help run the place. It's how I started."

"Sounds great. Can I inquire about the hourly rate and scheduling?"

"Ah, you're a foreigner, so I know you're not trying to be rude. But usually, in Japan, we don't talk about pay up front. That's a bridge we'll cross when you earn your first biweekly check. For the scheduling, it's very flexible. You can almost show up whenever you please, but we expect you to stay for at least six hours once you do. We run twenty-four-seven."

Sounds scummy, I thought. Compared to Europe, where unions dominated everything, Japan seemed like a libertarian hellhole. But I was here, and had to play by their rules. "That's fine. I'm a university student, so I should be free most weekends and some evenings."

"Wonderful," Iwata said. He dug out some papers from his briefcase and handed them to me. "Fill these out as soon as possible. Can you actually start tomorrow? We're going to be both pretty busy and pretty understaffed."

"Can I come after morning classes?"

"Of course! Most of our work is done in the afternoon and evening, as well as late at night. That's why we all says 'good morning' to each other at work, no matter what time of day."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"See? Already fitting in. Well, see you tomorrow afternoon. Wear comfortable clothing you don't mind sweating in, and closed-toed shoes. Sneakers are best. We'll give you everything else and have your ID card ready. Enjoy your drink." He looked over to master Nanase behind the counter. "Got you another regular…I hope!"

I decided to keep my job hunting success a secret from Youko for the moment. I didn't want to stress her out, but rather, surprise her nicely once I'd scraped together enough to buy her something nice. That would take a while, since she essentially wanted for nothing. But perhaps she'd enjoy some seasonal treats. Winter wasn't too far away, after all. The season of White Album, I thought to myself.

The next day, I attended yet more mandatory classes, including, of all things, English 101. For reasons unclear to me, the university hadn't granted an exemption, even though I'd spoken to the course director in nothing but perfect English (and much better than they could muster). At least it was an opportunity to catch up on email. I'd been sending my mother an email a day, despite my father's attempted ban on communication with her. They were short, and obviously I hadn't told her about how I'd physically assaulted a beautiful girl on my first day or how my Computer Science TA was some sort of insane otaku with a sailor's mouth. No, I mainly told her about how Youko was doing, and how I'd be starting a part time job at a local TV station. My mother hadn't responded, probably because she was literally practicing for eighteen hours a day continuously at this point.

After my mandatory classes were over, I headed to the station. It worked out in my favor to start out as soon as possible, since I hadn't even the funds to buy new clothes. Fortunately, none of my classmates seemed to notice that I'd been wearing the same outfit for three days straight, but time was against me. The last thing I wanted was to be cast as "that poor guy." That was a social death sentence in Europe, and Japan was likely no different.

This time, I bypassed Echoes, although getting another cup of their amazing coffee was tempting. No, I had work to do. After I explained to the security staffer that I was here to see Iwata, they buzzed me in and told me to go to the third floor where the offices were.

Along the way, I stopped to check out a building directory that had the names of all of the studios, production companies, and even individual acts who used this place as home base. It was impressive, to say the least. One of the most prominent of these was a company called "Double-O Productions." Their tagline: "All Killer, No Filler!" I whistled in appreciation. Someone there was a Sum 41 fan.

It took me a minute to appreciate how truly busy the place was on the inside. People were constantly on the move. Including a group of six young women in unmistakable Japanese Pop Idol getups who hustled down the hallway like flashy geese. I'd never seen something like this in real life. Almost instinctively, my hand went for my phone to snap a picture. I stopped, however, when I caught a death glare from a pair of suits right behind the idol group. Recording was absolutely not permitted.

Finally, I found Iwata's den. "Good morning, Iwata-san, I'm here to start. The papers, as you requested."

"Good, thank you. I'm glad you're here today." He handed me a blank access card on a lanyard. "This is a temporary one, but should get you in everywhere you need. Don't forget to have your access card on you at all times, or everything will be locked. Welcome aboard!"

"So, uh, what should I do now? Do I report to anyone in particular? Where should I clock in?"

"Talk to Tsuji, he'll walk you through next steps. If anyone asks you to do anything until then, you can tell them it's your first day. Remember, that excuse won't fly for long, though. Thanks, and enjoy!"

"Sorry, where do I find Tsuji? What does he look like?"

He motioned to shoo me off. "Ah, sorry, young man, I've got a Zoom appointment right now—look, just ask the other AD's. They're all supposed to wear their IDs like you. Work hard!"

With that, Iwata gestured me out of the office. This does not inspire confidence, I thought. It was time to try to find this Tsuji, wherever he was. Whoever he was. It also dawned on me that I didn't know a thing about the layout of the station.

Fortunately, someone who looked like a staff member happened to be passing by. She wore one of those form-fitting T-shirts whose neckline had been deliberately stretched to reveal her shoulders and bra straps, jeans, and a ball cap, and her face was obscured by the near ubiquitous surgical mask that most Japanese wore nowadays in the wake of the recent pandemic. She carried what looked like a heavy pedal board for an electric guitar under one arm, as well as a heavy guitar case in the other. I couldn't see her name on the ID card hooked to her lanyard.

"Excuse me," I said. "Do you know where I can find Tsuji? I'm completely new here."

The woman, upon meeting my gaze, nearly dropped what she carried. Her eyes seemed to widen in realization of something, but I couldn't see her expression due to her mask. "He actually did it, the little shit," she muttered.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you clearly," I offered a conciliatory smile, although he was confident in what he'd actually heard. "Also, can I help you carry some of that?"

The woman's eyes narrowed in a way I couldn't help but interpret as an evil sneer. "Totally. In fact, you can take both." She held out both items so I could take them, which I quickly and foolishly did. And then almost dropped them.

"Hrk!" I gasped, steadying my balance. That had been unexpected, to say the least.

"Whoa there, pleb!" the woman cackled. "That stuff's worth more than your freshman-ass life! Did you know? Inside that case is a goddamned Paul Reed Smith that Tom Morello spit on! If you damage it, I'll enslave you! Hope you like munching rug forever, dickweed!"

Her voice…sounds familiar, if a little unhinged. I forced a smile. Was every woman in Japan certifiably insane? Were my anime and manga lying to me?

"I truly apologize," I said. "I promise I won't drop this. Now, where do you want me to go?"

"What, you don't like eating out?" She shrugged. "Boring. Whatever, just follow me. It's close by."

By close by, she fortunately meant no more than a staircase and a few hallways' worth away. We were now on the second floor of the studio, above the main soundstages, and on the levels mostly used by renters and streamers. Despite her incredibly foul mouth, the woman at least opened and held the door for me as we entered a generic-looking recording room. I hurriedly but carefully placed the pedal board and case down. It looked like they were almost completely set up for a standard rock/pop ensemble, with a drum set, bass guitar, and keyboard already ready. A microphone stand also stood ready, topped with a Beyerdynamic M160. The drumset was already occupied by someone wearing a tracksuit, a beanie, and huge sunglasses.

"Who's the roadie?" the drummer asked the woman who'd abducted me.

"Some freshmeat I grabbed off the street, who else?" she scoffed.

"You hear from Jackoff-kun? He actually gonna show today?"

"No idea! And fuck that guy!"

"But like, we're already down a bassist. If the singer doesn't show, we're kinda fucked?"

"I mean, I'll just do it then. I can tie my gum and blow shoes at the same time, you know."

"But Yukiko, you fucking suck. You're like Cheryl Crow, but bad."

"Eat my ass."

Yukiko? I shook my head. Can't be. Anyway, I'll just slip out now. Can't really help them with their staffing problems.

"He'll do it, then. Something tells me he can sing." The woman pointed at me. I looked side to side, knowing it was a futile gesture.

"I'm sorry, what?" I said. "I've gotta go find Tsuji. Later."

"No you're not," the woman said, drawing up to me and crossing her arms.

"Look, oneesan. I'm a studio employee, not your roadie, and I'm definitely not in your band. Please let me leave. I'm not getting fired on my literal first day here." I opened the door, but the woman again blocked my egress.

She slowly took off her ballcap and then ripped away her mask. I gasped as I realized that Ogiso Yukiko stood before me. Her nose was slightly swollen. "That's senpai to you, dork. You wanna tell the cops you broke my fuckin' nose? We can call them right now."

"Jesus Christ, it was an accident! I apologized already. What more do you want from me?" I bit my lip.

"You can sing, right?"

"I…" I briefly considered lying but decided against it. "A little, yeah."

"Can you sing in English?"

"Sure," I said, switching to English. "I actually like a lot of American and British pop punk and rock," I continued, with some arrogance creeping into my tone. No matter what, I was leagues better than they were at that crapsack, bastardized-German descendant tongue.

"Sick!" the drummer squealed. "He's good! Like really fucking good! Sounds like an American from Texas or something!"

"Good, he'll do," Yukiko said with a devious smile. "Leon, right? For some reason I remember your stupid name. Can you play anything?"

I should have lied, but I was in too deep. "Yeah, I can. A little."

"Bass?" Yukiko picked it up and shoved it in my hands. A Gibson—older but it looked loved. I nodded, and slowly slung its strap across my shoulders.

"Final question, any Sum 41 songs you know well enough to sing and play bass?"

"Um…" I looked around. Drummer who looks like a stalker, bassist who's me, vocals who're also me, lead guitar who's a crazy chick, check. Missing a rhythm guitar but whatever. "Do you know 'Underclass Hero?'"

Yukiko grinned. "That's a rudimentary song, choom."

"Okay, Adam Smasher. Let's get it over with. Everything tuned up and sound checked?"

"Give me a minute. I was so excited I forgot to uncase my guitar." Yukiko hurriedly opened the case and pulled out a genuine PRS Goldtop. To my surprise, it looked like it'd been spat on by someone famous. She plugged it into her pedalboard, and the pedalboard to a nearby set of amps. Deftly, she strummed and quickly fined tuned it. "Hey, is it me, or does everything sound extra rich today? I've got a great feeling!"

"You actually do sound different," the drummer said. "You sure everything was plugged in correctly? Isn't there some weird thing with the wiring here? Your mom told us to be careful."

"That's a stupid rumor," Yukiko said. "Like, no fucking way would our feed leak into the sound system for the entire studio. Now shut up and play, homey!"

E-major. We've literally never practiced before. I haven't played or sang this in a year. I know the bass part the least. Fuck my life, and it can't be helped.

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

Well, I won't be caught living in a dead end job

While praying to my government, guns, and God

Now it's us against them

We're here to represent

And spit right in the face of the establishment

And now I don't believe (in havin' faith in nothin!)

Stand on my own (got no sympathy!)

Wasting the youth (while being young and useless!)

Speak for yourself (and don't pray for me!)

Fuck, I was off key. Drummer's going too fast. And what the hell is with all this Engrish? Still…

Well, because we're doing fine

And we don't need to be told, that we're doing fine

'Cause we won't give you control

And we don't need anything from you

'Cause we'll be just fine

And we won't be bought and sold, just like you

What's with this solo? She's…she's actually really good! No, better than good! It sounds like Dave Baksh is shredding right next to me!

One, two, three, four

We're the saints of degeneration

We don't owe anyone an explanation

Fuck elitists

We don't need this

We're the elite of just alright

And well, because we're doing fine

And we don't need to be told that we're doing fine

'Cause we won't give you control

And we don't need anything from you

'Cause we'll be just fine

And we won't be bought and sold just like you

I opened my eyes. I was sweating bullets. My throat felt scratchy, although I thought I'd been careful to hold back and not belt everything out. No, I'd let my tension and frustration seep through. I'd probably be sore tonight. It would be best not to speak at all the next day, to ensure a quick recovery. I'd also definitely banged my teeth against the microphone a few times. All rookie mistakes. And yet…

Oh fuck, the door! My eyes opened in realization. Had I failed to close the door before starting the song? We'd been playing on full volume, whether deliberately or by accident. Without the soundproofing layer keeping the music insulated from the rest of the studio, it was almost guaranteed that everyone else in the place had heard our little performance. Which meant that I'd just disrupted almost four minutes of regular broadcasts and recordings. Four minutes of station time was worth millions of yen, in fact.

My heart nearly stopped when I realized, of course, that I'd been right about the situation. A small crowd of people had gathered around the open door, including Iwata, a few of AD's, a portly-looking businessman who screamed "Studio President" all over, and one other.

Dressed like any other standard music executive in a pencil skirt, blouse, and tastefully-tailored pinstriped jacket, the woman was probably the shortest of all of them, but also the one who immediately commanded all my attention. It wasn't just because hers was a famous face known worldwide. Even without that, she'd have drawn my attention regardless. Her gently heart-shaped visage was crowned by generous lips and a pair of deeply entrancing chestnut eyes that gave no respect to time, and threated to drag mine into eternity with her. Her hair, wavy and barely controlled by the suggestion of two clips that attempted and failed to pull everything into tails, was the same color as her eyes, and undulated in a way that made men lose their souls. And while everyone else looked like they were about to disembowel everyone in the band on the spot, her expression was a strangely enticing, deeply haunted amazement.

"Do you know how many broadcasts your little shitty stunt just interrupted?" the President roared at them. "Iwata, who the hell is this? One of yours?"

Iwata paled and barreled past me. "Y-yeah. I apologize for this. He's brand new! I sent him to look for Tsuji—I had no idea he'd do something egregious! Ah, look! He mixed up the connections and sent their feed right to the station PA. Sabotage!"

"Iwata… why the hell is… anyway, just fix it and never let this happen again." The studio president's veins poked through the skin of his receding hairline. "And you, Ogiso! What's the meaning of this? There are your people, right? Are you going to compensate us for the downtime?"

"A-anyway, Kitajira, or Kawamura, or whatever your name is," Iwata sputtered. "You're fired! Get off the property before we call the cops! You'll be hearing from our lawyer!"

"It's Kitahara," I said, before I unslung the bass and carefully returned it to its cradle. "Sorry, I fucked up," I grumbled at Yukiko. "See you at school, I guess."

The woman in the pencil skirt took a deep breath. "All of you shut up!"

"Setsuna?" The president suddenly looked deflated.

"Ogiso-fuku-shacho to you," she said, icily. "Double-O productions will of course compensate the studio for this incident and apologizes to our fellow creators for the disruption. Contact my legal team for payment. The matter is concluded. Now, I'd like to talk with my daughter and her band in private."

To my surprise, the President, Iwata, and the other AD's obediently filed out of the recording room, even shutting the door behind them. I let out a sigh of relief and headed to the door. As an afterthought, I removed my lanyard and ID—I wouldn't need those again.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?"

Ogiso—or rather, Vice President Ogiso's arm shot out, blocking my path out. It would've been a funnier situation if I hadn't been on the hook for potentially millions of yen that I didn't have. "I'm leaving. As I was ordered to."

"Aren't you a band member?"

I sighed again. "No. I'm just an AD who got hired and fired today. I carried some stuff in here for her…" I gave Yukiko my best side eye. "And she wouldn't let me leave without, well, you can see how things just went."

"What's your family name again?"

"Kitahara."

"Kitahara?"

"Yes." I found it hard to meet her gaze.

She promptly corrected that by grasping my chin in her hand and forcing my eyes to meet hers. "Your full name, Seinen."

"Kitahara Leon. First year student at Yuunagi University. I guess I'm a former studio employee, too, mmph!" I said with her fingers squishing my cheeks in.

"Her eyes." The intensity of her gaze made it hard to breathe. "Her…everything." She exhaled forcefully through her nostrils. "Except the jaw. That's his. Young man, where are your parents?"

For some reason, her voice gave off the slightest tremble. I opened my mouth to tell her, but she suddenly shook her head and shushed me.

"Never mind, forget I asked," she said, before giving me an easy smile that was just the slightest bit forced. "I realize I haven't properly introduced myself. You probably heard it from the studio president, but I'm Ogiso Setsuna. Vice President of Double-O Productions. We're a minor record label who represents—"

"Morikawa Hanako!" I blurted out, before realizing how rude I probably seemed. "Sorry, that just came out."

"Yes, we represent Hanako-chan. You seem to know a thing or two about the industry."

"A little bit, Ogiso-fuku-shacho."

"You can call me Setsuna."

"Is that truly okay?"

"That's what my fans all called me at one point. Are you saying they were presumptuous? Or rude?"

"I guess you have a point…S-Setsuna."

Obviously, she hadn't been wrong about anything. Anyone who'd been listening to pop in any country over the last twenty years knew about Ogiso Setsuna, although during her singing career she'd tended to spell her given name out in large block letters. Her story was the stuff aspiring suburban wannabe idols' dreams were made of. Despite never having formally trained in singing, dancing, or any other seemingly set-in-stone requirements for idol-hood, Setsuna seemingly burst onto the scene from nowhere about twenty years ago, racking up over thirty top-forty Oricon hits and several number ones over the course of her career.

In America and Europe, she was regularly compared to the likes of Michelle Branch and Avril Lavigne, and in Japan, with Nana Mizuki and Ayumi Hamasaki. The legend is that seeing her during an indie concert compelled the legendary songwriting recluse Ogata Eiji to come out of retirement just so he could hear her sing his pieces. Her collaboration with Ogata Rina, Eiji's sister and one of the biggest pop stars of the eighties, also ended up revitalizing Rina's all-but-dead career and ensuring she continued to track on the top forty decades after any reasonable idol would have "graduated."

Setsuna's legions of fans, including me, collectively wept when she announced that she was retiring from performing. To meet her in person, so close I could touch her—and her having touched my face, to boot—I'd fantasized about something like this, and wasn't ashamed to admit it. That said, I didn't actually think she'd become a scummy record label executive.

"Then I'll call you Leon, if that's okay with you," Setsuna said, with a smile, this time unforced.

"Then…" I inhaled, tension leaving my body, "I just wanna say it's an honor to meet you in person! I'm a huge fan! Y-you're even more beautiful in real life!" My cheeks flushed. Even I had to admit that was extremely cringe, but I'd never met a beautiful pop idol in real life, either. "I, uh, this is going to sound corny, but I have the first pressing of your debut CD. Can I please have you s-sign it sometime…"

"Of course! And thanks for your support!" Yet despite probably having heard this sort of disgraceful screed hundreds of thousands of times in her performing career, Setsuna seemed genuinely pleased. Or at least, she was great at faking it. Star power, for sure.

"Okay, okay! You're both making me sick!" The other Ogiso, Yukiko, stormed up and pushed herself between us. "Dude, will you stop drooling all over her feet already? It's embarrassing for all of us! And Mom, it's not actually his fault we messed up the cabling. Well, it kind of is because we all have a duty to check, but I swear I wasn't the one who…"

"Yukiko," Setsuna said, too sweetly, before giving her a resounding flick on the forehead. "You were irresponsible. If you'd been diligent instead of trying to seduce boys, no matter how hot they are, we wouldn't be out millions. How many part time jobs are you going to take to pay off that debt, anyway?"

To my surprise, and frankly disgust at how well-practiced it seemed, Yukiko's eyes started to well up with tears. "Have mercy! I'm already working three jobs, Mom! I barely have time to sleep or eat or anything! Can't you just do me a solid and forgive me?"

"Don't forget you also cost me my job here," I said to her, feeling the sinful but satisfying urge to pile on the hurt. "Will you compensate me for lost wages?"

"You broke my fuckin' nose, douchebag!" She whipped around and punched me in the gut. Fortunately, it was clumsy and didn't hurt too badly. "Payment enough!"

"He didn't break anything, Kiko, but I will," Setsuna growled. "Hey!" she grabbed the drummer's collar, despite their ninja-like attempt to slip away. "I said I wanted to talk with you guys. All of you."

"Hi," I nodded nonchalantly at the drummer, who for all intents and purposes was the most normal individual here. "Nice to meet you."

"We've met already," the drummer said, and removed her sunglasses and beanie. "And you're definitely a douchebag."

I clenched my jaw as I realized that our drummer was none other than Iizuka Saeko, the high-school-student-impersonating graduate student TA from my introduction to Computer Science class. "I'm sorry about that," I said. "But I wasn't the one playing FF14 during an actual class session."

"Focus," Setsuna commanded us. Unconsciously, we fell into line like a trio of soldiers. "Now, for some honest feedback. Aside from the fact that your negligence cost us a little money, I have to say I liked the performance. You guys played like a real band just now, and your sound is finally…exciting to hear. I didn't like the last vocalist you used—it was obvious he was just here trying to suck up to me, and he had no drive. Leon, on the other hand, has that special energy that a male pop vocalist needs, even though you're falling flat on a lot of notes and you're expending way too much breath early on in the bridge, leaving you struggling to deliver at the chorus. That's why your throat hurts right now, by the way."

I instinctively rubbed my throat. She was absolutely right, like a professional voice coach would have been.

"Yukiko, I've said it a hundred times and I'll say it again. You're arrogant, you disregard the score a lot, and use distortion to mask flaws in your technique. Just because you can hammer out a complex solo doesn't mean you can shirk the rhythm. And I'm not even going to start talking about the amount of emotional turbulence that leaks out from your playing. Just know that people can sense it, and it makes them uneasy."

Yukiko shrugged.

"Now, Saeko," Setsuna continued. "You're doing the thing again where you get too excited when the tempo picks up and your pacing immediately goes all over the place. How many times have I told you to practice with a metronome? You should really just be more like a metronome in general."

"I tried, but, like," Saeko shrugged. "The sound gets drowned out the minute I start playing. And like, calling someone a metronome is kind of an insult. Means a rigid, boring, dense guy." She pointed at me. "Like that dude."

"Okay, then practice with a unit that has a visual flash. They cost a measly two thousand yen on Amazon. You can afford one."

"I can't, though?"

"It's because you buy too many ecchi doujin with your meager earnings," Setsuna said, fixing Saeko a contemptuous grin. "Save those sen, young lady. Just flick it to your old stuff for a bit if you have to."

"It's not just porn!" Saeko pouted. "It's like, art and shit!"

"I know porn when I see it. Anyway, get a metronome and actually practice, or you'll mess everyone up, including our new vocalist…who you're shamelessly undressing in your mind right now."

"So are you, Mom," Yukiko said.

"And?" Setsuna retorted, effortlessly.

I tried my best and utterly failed to maintain my composure. Music execs were truly something else.

"Anyway, this was good." Setsuna's expression took on a seriousness I hadn't seen from her in all the times I'd ever seen her perform. "The best I've ever seen out of you, despite a ton of mistakes. So, Yukiko, Saeko, I'm ready to take you seriously now. I'm ready to offer a deal, so long as you have this young man as your vocalist and the face of your band. But as I've always told you from day one, this is a business. Only a tiny minority of acts last more than a year, or play more than a few hundred people a show. Statistically, you've already failed."

"Jeez, Mom, way to encourage your own kid," Yukiko sniffed.

"If you're ready to step into this filthy world for real, then we're business partners, not mother and daughter. Can you handle that?"

Yukiko's expression had not a shred of doubt. "I can. I'll do anything to succeed. I'll eat a pile of dogshit for the promise of a record deal. I'll crawl a mile naked over broken glass and used syringes to have Eiji write me a song. So yeah, Ogiso-fuku-shacho, let's fucking do it."

Involuntarily, I shivered. I hadn't thought that silly, vulgar woman had such drive in her.

"Saeko, are you in?" Yukiko asked.

"Fuck yeah," Saeko said.

The energy between the three women was palpable. Blinding. It was one of the most brilliant things I'd ever seen. In this moment, stars had just been born. I raised my hand as it about to perform that silly all-hands high gesture that sports teams do in movies. And then, of course, chided myself for being a silly idiot. What was I thinking? I was just some random AD who got sucked into a wild stunt that garnered attention from a famous music exec whose daughter happened to be a god-tier guitarist. There were hundreds of vocalists better than me out there—one would easily show up next day. I had no place here among these brilliant stars. I had no right to be here.

"H-hey," I said, finally. "Best of luck, guys. Looks like something really cool happened. Thanks for forgiving me, and it was an honor to meet you, Setsuna." I bowed politely and started to back out the door. "See you two sometime at school, I guess…"

In a flash, both Saeko and Yukiko had my arms bent at unnatural angles and forced me to my knees. "Dude, the HELL you say?" they screamed in unison in my ears.

"What's your damned problem?" I winced. "I'm trying to leave! Like, I clearly don't belong here, so just…"

"I just offered them the chance for a record deal and a real shot at the big leagues, and you…just want to leave them?" Setsuna looked at me with a mix of disbelief and contempt. "You know what, just execute him, girls. We'll find you another vocalist. I'll even make Eiji do it if no one else will."

"Whoa!" I shouted. "Whoa! Like, that's too far, even for a singer I really admire! Also, I don't remember actually agreeing to be part of a band or anything. I didn't think you guys were serious about wanting me to actually sing for you."

"He's so dense, I think I might die," Yukiko sighed, mournfully.

"It's because he's a friggin' harem protagonist," Saeko said. "I didn't think it was possible in 3D! We should kill him before he infects other men."

"Just like his father," Setsuna muttered, rubbing her temples. "Leon. Let me spell it out for you, simply and clearly. I've learned to do that over the years. I, the VP and talent scout for Double O records, am offering a record deal and concert promotions for this as-of-yet unnamed band, composed of Ogiso Yukiko on guitar, Iizuka Saeko on drums and bass, and you, Kitahara Leon, on vocals and whatever other instruments are needed. You must all agree to this together, or the deal's off. We will negotiate terms later, including deadlines, compensation, and material and technical support. We will assign your band a manager to keep you on track. These are the initial conditions. Do I have your verbal agreement for now?"

Yukiko and Saeko may as well have been holding blades to my throat. I could tell they wouldn't take "no" for an answer. But…if I'd ever anything I learned from my father—who Setsuna seemed to instantly understand even if she'd never met the guy—it's that no good comes from rushing headlong into major decisions. Particularly those decisions where others might get hurt. I can't be responsible for them failing. Especially since I'm also a goddamned runaway from my own destiny.

"I'm sorry, Setsuna. I'm sorry, Ogiso-san and Iizuka-sensei. I am NOT saying 'no.' But I'm not ready to commit to a decision yet. I need time. Please give me a week to come to a decision. Is that reasonable to you?"

To my surprise, Setsuna's expression softened dramatically. I'd expected her to get angry—I was potentially denying her daughter a chance to break into an industry only a tiny sliver of humanity ever got to take part in, much less succeed. An experience unlike any other. I knew this well. After all, my mother was the one and only Touma Kazusa. "And yet, how unlike him," Setsuna whispered. "Fine. I'll accept that. Yukiko, Saeko, give him space. He needs to truly want this, otherwise you're doomed from the start. One week, no more. Do you need a ride home, Leon?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you. This is close to where I live."

"Then I'll talk to you in a week," Setsuna said. "You probably have Yukiko's number by now. She'll get you in contact with me. Safe travels."

I bowed to her, without looking at Yukiko and Saeko's faces, and hurried out of the studio. Along the way, I passed Iwata, who looked away as I tried to make eye contact.

CHAPTER THREE

Six days later, I hadn't come to a decision. In fact, I hadn't even devoted any careful thought to the matter. Every time I sat down and thought about it, I almost instinctively fled from the burden. Strangely enough, Yukiko and Saeko seemed to be keeping to their word. I hadn't seen Yukiko on campus (and I fastidiously avoided the work study center now), and the next time I ran into Saeko, she only briefly critiqued my code before returning to her FF14 raid. Time had stopped, and I wasn't doing anything to advance it. Frankly, I wasn't sure how the hell I was going to find Yukiko to tell her my answer. There was no way I could go back to the TV station after what had happened.

I lay in bed reading the latest volume of Kasumi Utako's "Koisuru Metronome" series. It was perfect for me, since it was incredibly engrossing and a perfect way to waste time. The story was a bit unbelievable—the standard "hopeless nerd gets into a love triangle with two chicks way out of his league" trope—but Kasumi Utako made it compelling anyway. It also helped that the writer herself was crazy beautiful in real life. Maybe I'd get lucky and meet her one day. Maybe she was normal, compared to the women I'd encountered so far.

My phone rang. I dismissed it—probably spam. Then, it rang again with the same number.

"Kitahara here," I said, against my better judgment. Just because I moved to Japan from Vienna, didn't mean scam calls and telemarketers were any less prevalent. "Who's calling?"

"Yo, Leon. It's been a while," a woman's voice sounded. She had a breathy, husky quality that reminded me strongly of… I sat up in bed.

"Mom?" My heart raced. "I didn't recognize the number, sorry! Your voice also sounds a bit different. What's going on? I thought you were playing in Rome. Is everything okay? I missed you!"

"What are you… holy shit, did you seriously…" Wait. A burst of laughter confirmed it. "No, dude, this is Yukiko! Ogiso Yukiko. From the studio, you remember? You thought I was your mommy?"

"Yeah." I sighed in exasperation. "Over the phone you kind of sound like her. It's a little unnerving, so I'd like you to stop."

"I'm totally going to fuck with you forever, you know that?"

"How about a hard 'no?' How'd you get this number, anyway? I'm pretty sure I never called you."

"Iwata had it. It was on your application for the AD job."

"Oh yeah, the one you got me fired from. I remember it well!"

"It was all our faults, not just yours. I forgive you, though."

"That's rich. Anyway, I thought your mom, who's also your boss, told you to leave me alone until I decide."

"And I swear I won't bug you about that."

"So why'd you call?"

"You're a Morikawa Hanako fanboy, right?"

"Yeah. Me and thirty million other people. There a problem?"

"She's doing a small show at Troy tonight. Invite only. Not advertised. One of those secret word-of mouth things, and only if you're cool."

"And you're cool?"

"Cooler than you, my brother in Christ. Anyway, you wanna go with?"

"How? Do you have tickets or something?"

"Do I have to literally spell everything out for you all the time? Of course I have tickets! Show's starting soon, so finish jacking off or whatever and be at Ibuki-chou station, stat!"

"Are you doctor or something?"

"Professor of Doctorology. And try to look cute."

"I flew here with the clothes on my back and some socks in my luggage. I haven't had time to go shopping or anything."

"Then put on a dress. You'd be super-hot as a girl. You know…oh shit! I'm a genius! You should cross dress while singing! I'll name the band 'Thirty Femboys to Mars!' Doesn't that sound awesome? It sounds awesome to me! Now I feel like furiously masturbating! You do it, too!"

I hung up. The offer—to go to a secret concert, not the other drivel—was certainly tempting. It was already devilishly hard to get Morikawa Hanako tickets without paying hundreds of thousands of yen to scalpers, and I could only imagine how difficult it was to obtain tickets to an intimate live show. But if I took her up on the offer, wouldn't that put me in some kind of debt to her? What was Yukiko thinking? It would violate her agreement with her mother to use underhanded tactics like that. But still, a small live show with Morikawa Hanako… To garner experiences like this was one of the unspoken reasons I came to Japan in the first place. Because I was, despite all sense and reason and taste, a huge fan of this bullshit.

A half hour later, I waited in front of Ibuki-chou station. Youko, perhaps sensing that I was in desperate need of "something cute," had provided me with a pretty decent-looking outfit perfect for going out. "It looked good on Guitar-kun," is what she told me. And despite my misgivings about my grandmother literally buying clothes for me like I was twelve, I was grateful for her foresight and love.

It didn't take long for me to find Yukiko milling about, either. Besides checking her phone incessantly like she'd been waiting for someone, I had to admit that she stood out in a crowd. I'd first noticed it at the work study office, but she really had inherited her mother's unimpeachable good looks. The alluring chestnut eyes, the flawless skin, and the wavy hair that seemed to go everywhere and look damned good doing so. If Setsuna had been a dead ringer for Ogata Rina in the eighties, Yukiko was a dead ringer for Setsuna in the early aughts. Except, of course, for the fact that Yukiko's mouth was a literal cesspit. I couldn't imagine Setsuna speaking or acting like that, ever.

"Were you gawking at me?" Yukiko teased as she grabbed my hand. Involuntarily, I blushed. "Are you also… Well, whatever! Come on, We're going to be late!"

It was enough of a challenge pressing our way through a crowd of shoppers, pedestrians and commuters that I couldn't come up with a suitable retort for her, much less our usual banter. Instead, I simply held onto her hand for dear life as she dragged me through unfamiliar streets. I'd never been to Troy, although I'd heard about it plenty. A famous underground club that was, well, underground, it was a popular venue for live acts both famous and obscure. Yukiko and I descended a long stairway that I noted was missing any sort of escalator or disabled accommodation, and finally made our way to the end of a nondescript—actually, really sketchy—hallway where three hundred pounds of pure Nigerian muscle barred the door.

"Alex-kun! What's up, bro?" Yukiko greeted the bouncer cheerfully and gave him our tickets.

"Kiko-chan! Who's the man-meat this time?"

"Aha, it's not like that! I'm trying to convince him to join my band, so I figured I'd bribe him with Hanako-chan!"

"So you are trying to influence me," I started to say, but Yukiko wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise. True to her predictions, we were late. The show had already started, and though the club was dark, smoky, and packed to the brim with sweaty members of the social elite, I heard her clearly enough to make my heart surge into my throat.

Surechigau mainichi ga fuete yuku keredo

Otagai no kimochi wa Itsumo

Soba ni iru yo

Futari aenakute mo heiki da nante

Tsuyogari iu kedo tameiki majiri ne

Sugite yuku kisetsu ni

oitekita takaramono

Taisetsu na piisu no kaketa pazuru da ne

Shiroi yuki ga machi ni

yasashiku tsumoru you ni

Arubamu no kuuhaku wo

zenbu umete shimaou

At this point, "White Album," written by Ogata Eiji and first sung by Morikawa Yuki for her debut, was literally an oldie. Probably a golden oldie, at that. I didn't care. It was still one of the purest and loveliest expressions of longing I'd ever heard. I think the first time I'd ever heard the opening bars was when my mother would absentmindedly slip into the melody during a break from practice (yes, she was still playing even on a break, just not whatever Rachmaninoff concerto she was working on). When I finally asked her more about the song, I remember her sitting me alongside her and taking me through it. It took an afternoon to master the piano part, and another to synchronize the lyrics with the melody. "Your father, my best friend from high school, and I of course played this at our school festival," she had told me in a wistful tone that I didn't really understand or care about as a child. I really wasn't interested in asking her about her best friend from school, so I never obtained more details.

And just like my parents had, dozens of artists had covered "White Album" both officially and unofficially, to the point where some covers had more airtime and internet views than the original. Ogata Eiji probably received enough in royalty payments every year to buy himself a new Porsche 911. I'd heard every criticism of the piece, of course. "Shallow," "crassly commercial," "babby's first love song," "perfect for your third through fifth weddings," and other burns. I didn't care, it was still one of my favorite songs, so I couldn't help but clap and cheer my heart out for Morikawa Hanako's rendition less than thirty feet away from me.

And although she was a bit further away from me than Setsuna had been, seeing Hanako in person was no less of an eye-opening experience. Whether it was because she'd inherited the Morikawa name and all of its associations, or simply because of her innate beauty, Hanako was always striking to behold. She was one of the few pop idols that effortlessly and flawlessly pulled off the "I just rolled out of bed and didn't have time to put on makeup but I'm still hotter than every other girl in the world" look. Her jet-black hair actively fought against the white hairband she always sported, creating messy bangs that framed a classic oval face with creamy cheekbones contrasting with a pointed chin. Her generous eyes were the sort of dirty amber that easily looked crimson to purple, depending on the lighting, and her mouth, while narrower than Yukiko's, had arguably fuller lips to compensate. And despite how entrancing she was, it was also difficult to stare at her for too long—I always had the irrational urge to look away after a while, as if my gaze would stain her. I remember finding it hard to masturbate to her behind locked doors, she was so heavenly.

"You're drooling," Yukiko said, roughly pushing her fingers against the corner of my mouth. When I turned to protest her trolling, however, I noticed her expression had no humor to it. Perhaps aware of that fact herself, Yukiko quickly resumed her trademark smirk. "I know. She's super-hot, right? If was into munching rug, you know I'd go for her. I'd win, too. No one out-lesbians Ogiso Yukiko!"

"Gay or straight, makes no difference to me, Ogiso," I said, nonchalantly. "You're still an asshole."

"Thanks!" Yukiko said. "Shit, we were later than I thought we'd be. It's already intermission. Sorry. I guess I spent too long fapping to the thought of you in a dress."

"Gross," I said, and lightly punched her shoulder. "Don't talk to me about that. Anyway, I just appreciate that you got us in here at all. I can't imagine how much something like this would cost. You got tickets because of Set—your mom, right?"

"Duh. I'm a broke musician without any prospects, who's about to get expelled from college. I'm not ashamed to use family connections to get cool shit."

"Why're you about to get expelled?"

"Because I don't go to class!"

"But you at least do okay on the exams, right? Iizuka-sensei told me that's how the school works."

"Failed a few." Yukiko shrugged. "Couldn't be fucked to study."

"Sounds like a personal problem. Do you, uh, want a beer or something? Least I can do."

"Yeah, get me a Kirin. The big can."

Yukiko hadn't lied—this was truly a small show. I wondered if Hanako was happy with this, or why Double-O Productions would waste their time on a small club when they could be filling arenas with their talent pool. But then again, I wasn't a part of the industry. There were probably machinations that I couldn't comprehend at work right here and now. Before I could break away to the bar, however, an imposing-looking woman in a business outfit patted Yukiko on the shoulder and whispered in her ear. Yukiko grabbed my arm.

"Cancel that!" she said. "We're going backstage. Hanako wants to chat."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hanako…wants to chat? Like, with us?"

Yukiko laughed at me. "Japanese, motherfucker, do you speak it?"

"Yeah…okay!" Dumbfounded, I let her drag me again toward the stage, past the bouncer manning the "Staff Only" entrance, and into the cluttered, bustling backstage that I was intimately familiar with. My father is my mother's manager and representative. When she performs, he's almost never sitting in the audience, but rather, coordinating efforts backstage to ensure the show goes smoothly. Once I was old enough to not throw regular tantrums, I ended up back there with him.

Hanako's green room was a glorified closet, since Troy was the type of club that prided itself on being hip. Yukiko marched in there like she was going to tear up the place and beat the hell out of whoever was inside. Fortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, Hanako herself caught Yukiko in a bear-like embrace.

"Kiko-chan, hey! Thanks for coming! Why so late?" Hanako complained, still laughing.

"I swear to Baby Jesus it's not my fault!" Yukiko said, extricating herself from Hanako's arms. "He took too long to get ready!" She pointed at me.

"I…" My words lodged in my throat as Morikawa Hanako herself, now within arm's reach, gave me her full attention. If Setsuna's gaze had been enough to suck me into eternity, then Hanako's was a black hole eating the universe. She was breathtaking—as in literally causing me to stop breathing when I beheld her. Even the smell of her sweat (all performers sweat like crazy during a show) was intoxicating, like fentanyl mixed with Everclear and mainlined into my brainstem.

"It's okay, I know she's lying," Hanako said, sweetly, and gently touched my forearm with her fingertips. That was enough to jolt me out of my stupor. I instinctively jerked my arm away, not because her touch was unpleasant, but because it was the exact opposite. A moment later, I realized how much of a tool I must have looked like to her, and promptly wanted to throw up and die. If Hanako had taken offense, however, she didn't show it. "I'm Morikawa Hanako! It's a pleasure to meet you! Um…"

"K-k-" I started to cough. Hanako immediately swiped a can of ubiquitous Liquid Death from the table behind her and offered it to me. I didn't realize that it had her lipstick on the opening already before I'd nearly chugged the whole thing. I wanted to die some more. "Kitahara! Kitahara L-leon. I'm a first year at Y-Yuunagi. And, I…it's like, an honor to m-meet you—this is the first time I've seen you in person so it seems unreal to me—and…"

"Thanks for your support, Leon!" Her smile made me more embarrassed, even though she glittered. "I'm guessing Kiko here dragged you over, right? I apologize in advance if the show's a bit boring. I'm just doing covers and older stuff today. Any requests?"

"This is great! Ogiso got me a ticket, so I owe her a lot. And, I also love all your songs! This isn't boring at all! I…I wouldn't presume to tell you what to sing, though."

"Kiko," Hanako said. "He's really cute! Don't act like a vampire and suck him dry, please! Is he part of your band?"

"Our new vocalist!" Yukiko said, proudly. "And don't worry, I'll behave. Maybe."

"I still haven't agreed to anything—" I tried to protest, but Yukiko ignored me and started a rapid-fire exchange with Hanako, which I could only assume was the latest campus gossip.

"Hmm, Kiko, help me out," Hanako said. "I've got 'Glass no Hana' next, then 'Shin-ai,' 'Akku Onna,' and I was going to end with the 'Powder Snow' duet by Yuki and Rina, but my keyboardist got Covid at the last minute, so I need to sub in something else."

Yukiko seemed to be sniffing around for snacks and drinks. "You just need a pianist, right? How about using Leon? He can totally play that."

"Oh!" Hanako said, brightening. "That's awesome! Leon, can you do it? Are you familiar with Morikawa Yuki's original arrangement? Sorry, I know this is a lot to spring on you. Don't feel pressured to say yes. I'll just sub in something else. I don't know…'Todokanai Koi.' It's always a crowd pleaser."

I gave Yukiko an accusatory stare. "Why do you assume I can play the piano? Much less well enough to accompany a literal superstar on stage?"

Yukiko, who'd been stuffing her face from a bag of popcorn nearby, gave me an innocent, puffy-cheeked look. "But isn't your mom Touma Kazusa? The big-shot pianist? Why wouldn't you play piano like a boss?"

"How do you know about that? I never told you anything of the sort."

"Oh! Mom told me after you met her at the studio!" Yukiko continued to nonchalantly shove handfuls of popcorn through her maw. "Our moms were besties in high school n' shit! Small world, right?"

"She never talked about that to me…" I frowned.

"Anyway, dude, you're a famous pianist's kid! Can you play for Hanako or not? Otherwise she'll have to do 'Todokanai Koi.' I friggin' despise that song."

"It's a good song!" Hanako protested. "It's sweet and sincere and sad at the same time!"

"It's hot garbage and you know it! 'Boo hoo! I can't move until my love reflects in your mirror! Please let me fingerbang you, girl, waaaah!' Whoever wrote it needed to grow a pair. And whoever composed it was a kind of a musical whore."

"I…" I looked at my hands. By all rights, they should have been shaking, but under my mother's instruction, I knew how to will tremors away. "I can play. I'm also familiar with the Yuki arrangement. It was one of the first pieces of sheet music I tackled independently. I need to dry-practice on a spare keyboard first, just to get the memory going. But I'll do it, if you're okay with trusting me, Morikawa-sama."

"Call me Hanako, please," Hanako said, with a genuine smile. "Or Hanacchi, if that's less intimidating."

"I will…Hanako."

"Great! Thanks! I trust you, too. Besides, I'm looking forward to it. You don't get to have Touma Kazusa's son playing for you every day, you know? We have plenty of spare keyboards laying around. I'll make sure they have one ready for you."

The imposing woman from before appeared from out of nowhere and whispered to Hanako. Hanako nodded and murmured something back.

"Sorry, intermission's over," Hanako said. "Yayoi will show you where to warm up, Leon. Kiko, you can find your way back. Later!"

Yukiko gave me a corny thumbs-up, which I ignored, and I let Yayoi, who I now realized was Hanako's manager (essentially, a cross between a bodyguard and a commissar), wordlessly lead me to an area just off-stage, where a Korg Nautilus stood ready for me to rub my sweaty fingers all over her. Remembering the lessons learned at the TV station, I made doubly sure the headphone were plugged in, and not actually connected to anything that might screw Hanako's performances. "Thanks," I said to Yayoi.

"Are you actually able to play this?" Yayoi asked me, her suspicion obvious. "I will make sure you're not embarrassed if you back out."

"Plug in another pair of headphones and you can listen in. I need a minute to run some arpeggios, then another two to speedrun the piece with chords only, then we'll do a dry run at a hundred BPM to make sure I can do the normal eighty-four." I wasn't confident about a ton of things in life, but I was confident about my piano skills. "They say Morikawa Yuki had never touched a piano before tackling this as her first ever self-accompaniment. She mastered it in a month. Or at least, that's the legend. I have a sixteen-year advantage over where she started, though, so I think I can handle it."

Yayoi gave me a long look before reaching for another pair of headphones. "It's true, what you said about Yuki."

"How would you know?"

"Because I was there," Yayoi said, and gestured for me to begin.

I closed my eyes and started my warmup sequence. From bottom A to C5, all 88 keys got their turn. Every major and minor plus the enharmonics. Forward, reversed, in harmony, and in dissonance. My mother likened it to warming a jet fighter engine up before takeoff. If things weren't working perfectly, then the plane would crash and Maverick was dead. Highway to the danger zone. I threw in some Kenny Loggins just to see Yayoi's reaction, but if it provoked anything from her, she didn't show it.

Now that my fingers were warmed up, I was ready to engage. Too close for missiles, Goose! I'm switching to guns! I knew Morikawa Yuki's arrangement by heart. Pieces learned by age sixteen were permanently engraved in one's muscle memory, if you didn't give the instrument up. Still, it was best to approach every piece systematically. So, as I'd promised Yayoi, I took the song through a chord-only speedrun first. Six minutes and thirty seconds compressed to roughly a hundred seconds. Only the first section, Yuki's intro solo, was considered difficult. The rest was just accompaniment to one's own singing, so by necessity it had to be simple. Next, and finally, the individual notes got their due, but at roughly one and half speed. And…no major mistakes. I missed a few notes here and there, but not enough to be noticeable.

"You've proven your point," Yayoi said, taking her headphones off. "We're almost ready. When prompted, go on stage and sit at the instrument. Don't say a word. Start when you're ready, but don't take too long. Hanako will join you when appropriate. And, no stupid jokes or improv."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'm a Hanako fan, too. And a lifelong Yuki fan."

For a moment, I swore I might have seen a glimmer of gentleness in her flinty gaze. "You're up," she said.

By now, the applause had died down after Hanako's rendition of "Akku Onna" and the crowd stood silently and expectantly. It was a myth that professionals didn't have stage fright, by the way. Everyone, even my mother, had stage fright. The difference was that the pros dealt with it much faster. I took a deep breath over a few seconds, then let it out over a few seconds. I did this all the way to the keyboard on stage, and also while adjusting the seat to my height. Powder Snow, E flat minor, but quickly switches to B flat minor. The ultimate love song. Also the ultimate 'fuck my life' song. I began.

Yuki's solo wasn't anything special for an advanced player, but for a beginner, it was inappropriately difficult. I had no idea what Ogata Eiji was thinking, making this her first piece, much less making her play it solo at the Venus Festival. But she did it because Morikawa Yuki kicked more ass than Maverick. So, I naturally had to nail it for her. With the solo complete, Hanako now glided onto stage and let the crowd have it.

konayuki ga sora kara; yasashiku orite kuru

te no hira de uketometa; yuki ga setsunai

dokoka de mite masuka; anata wa tachidomari

omoi dashite imasuka; sora wo miage nagara

ureshi sou ni yuki no ue wo aruku anata ga

watashi ni wa hontou ni itooshiku mieta

ima demo oboeteiru ano hi mita yuki no shirosa

hajimete fureta kuchibiru no nukumori mo wasurenai

I still love you…

The sheer loveliness of hearing her sing no more than a few feet away from me all managed to distract me a few times, but again, no major mistakes. Her backup band with its guitars, sax, drums, and bass, also did a fine job. I'm sure they were all biting their nails at seeing a total stranger sitting at the piano, but hopefully I didn't piss anyone off too much.

The applause was deafening, even in as small a space as Troy was. I was too busy gawking at Hanako to realize that she'd come over to me, grasped my hand, and was trying to pull me up from the bench. Instead of bowing like a normal musician, I gave some kind of lame wave before trying to duck backstage like an animal. Hanako wouldn't let me, though, and insisted on walking back hand in hand.

Fortunately, she let go of me the moment we were out of sight. Just in time for Yukiko to crush me in an embrace.

"Dude! That was so fucking cool! Like, you couldn't have been cooler if you'd burned the place down! You really are Touma Kazusa's spawn! I swear I had visions of her playing. Like, slinky dress and everything!"

"Okay, okay, enough of that, Ogiso!" I pushed her off me. "By the way, you're completely insane. What if I'd screwed up and made everyone laugh at Hanako?"

"Oh, I knew that wouldn't happen," Hanako said. "I asked Yayoi to test you, and my engineer had a backup piano recording ready to go. We'd have cut the mic to the synth the moment you made a mistake."

"Smart. I was wondering why you'd set me up at a Nautilus set in front of a baby grand," I said to her. "Can't really cut off an acoustic in a place like this."

"To quote the famous philosopher Revolver Ocelot, 'you're pretty good,'" Hanako said, making finger-guns at me.

"Yo, Hanako," Yukiko said. "Where's the after party?"

"Kanrai, of course," Hanako said. "All you can eat and drink. You and Leon can go, of course. Passcode is 'Fumiaki Maruto.'"

"Hell yeah!" Yukiko said. "I love you, Hanacchi!"

"Thank you," I said, "but I should probably head home. I have class tomorrow."

"Really?" Yukiko looked disgusted at me. "You're skipping the after party because of school?"

"This is why you're failing out," I retorted.

"And this is why you don't have a girlfriend," Yukiko shot back.

"You did just make my poor backup band really nervous," Hanako said, a mischievous smile on her face. "You owe it to them to drink a bit, put them at ease. Besides, word's gotten out that you're Touma Kazusa's son. I'm sure they'd love to talk shop. Also, someone needs to keep Yukiko from eating the restaurant's entire meat supply."

"I…" I couldn't say no to Morikawa Hanako. "Okay. Are you going to be there, Hanako?"

She chuckled. "No, I have to be ready to record a show at six in the morning, sharp. But we'll see each other again, won't we? You're part of Yukiko's band, and we're all part of Double-O. So I'm sure we'll run into each other at the station. See you later!"

With that, Hanako quickly retreated to her green room, followed by Yayoi. Yukiko grabbed my arm and started to pull me toward the exit. "Let's roll, I'm starving!"

"Didn't you have dinner already?" I asked her.

"My dinner was a Seven-Eleven onigiri dunked in leftover broth from a spicy chicken cup ramen. Who are you to deny me beef? I'll kill you if you stand in my way!"

"You'd be so much prettier with a filter," I grumbled.

"And you'd be so much prettier with a cute dress. Now move!"

Kanrai was a chain of Korean yakiniku places scattered all over the Tokyo metroplex, and was known to be a little pricy, but also delicious. Only fools turned down the chance to eat and drink there for free, so in retrospect I was glad I went. Over the rest of the evening, I gorged on yakiniku, downed way too many beers, and had my first brush with Shochu. Hanako's backup band was a decent bunch of pros who'd been touring with her on and off for years, and were naturally curious about my mother, and why I was attending Yuunagi instead of studying music at a place like Julliard. By the time the party was ready to disband and then go to the after-afterparty, though, I could barely stand.

"Let's take a cab. My place," Yukiko purred in my ear, her words slurred in drunken contentment. I nodded, groggy and unable to shrug her off as she slung her arms over my shoulders. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask where she actually lived. We stumbled outside the restaurant, where she whipped out a ten-thousand yen note and started waving it around at the line of nearby cabs. It was unnecessary, and highly gauche, of course. Japanese cabs were the best in the world. A few minutes later, one of them picked us up and then deposited us at the steps of an apartment in Ikoku-chou. I noticed it was near the local Onjyuku Books. We stumbled over each other up a few slights of steps holding hands—apparently, the idea of taking the elevator evaded both of us—and she fumbled with her keys for a while before finally throwing the door open and pushing me inside.

"I've got beer," she said, before rummaging in her fridge. "Make yourself at home! Sorry not sorry 'bout the mess!"

"Okay," I said, trying to get my bearings. Hers was a standard bachelor pad, with a futon, kotatsu, television, and desk. There were dirty clothes, food wrappers, and convenience store boxes all over the place, too. Plus, what looked like a box of condoms on the floor near the bed. Not what I expected from a Japanese girl's living space. The Paul Reed Smith I'd seen her play in the studio was cradled on its stand, and I admired it from a distance before Yukiko came back from the kitchen with two bottles of Tsingtao.

"Chug!" she commanded. "Or not, I don't care," she said, giggling as she sat next to me and leaned her body on mine. Her softness gave me goosebumps. I resisted the urge to try and sneak a glimpse down her shirt.

"You can afford beer but not real food," I sniffed.

"It's how I keep my killer figure," she said. "This industry's rough, you know. Women gotta be thin or no one'll listen to your songs!"

"That's not true, look at Lizzo."

"Lizzo's the fuckin' bomb, and she's American, too. They like their women thick. Anyway, I know I said this before, but…thanks for helping Hanako out. It was awesome seeing you play. Shit, now I have to rearrange things so you can play piano instead of bass guitar. You could pull off the Elton John thing. Or we could be the second coming of Ben Folds Five."

"Don't compare me to those guys. They're actually stars, like Hanako."

"Your mom's a star!"

I opened my mouth to protest her poor excuse for a "Your Mom" joke, but found I couldn't. "Uh, yeah, I guess. So's yours."

"I heard a rumor."

"Yeah?"

"Remember how our moms were BFFs in high school? I heard from Saeko's parents that they both liked the same guy. Like, really liked him, enough to bone him behind each other's backs. That's why their friendship ended. Isn't that stupid? Like they plagiarized a K-drama. Cliché hot garbage."

"I've also never heard of this from my mother."

She leaned in uncomfortably close, enough that I could feel her lips against my ear. "You know what would have solved things? If they'd like, just talked it out and shared the guy! 'Setsuna, you can have him on even days, and Kazusa can have him on odd days.' That way each one can get enough boyfriend time, but also not get annoyed by some judgey salaryman hanging around all the time. God, I'm a genius! At guitar and at life! I'm the reincarnation of Keanu Reeves!"

I cringed a bit, since she'd just yelled in my ear. "You're delusional, Ogiso. Also, Keanu's not dead yet. Neither is Ben Folds. At least, I think they're not dead yet."

She buried her face against the side of my neck. "Ugh, Saeko was right about you."

"Huh?"

"You really are a dense little asshole straight out of a visual novel."

"How?"

"Here you have a pretty girl shoving her tongue in your ear, who's wearing no bra or panties and giving you drinks at her expense, and you're still arguing with me about pointless shit like we're college freshmen trapped in a dorm or something?"

I swallowed. Hard. "We are freshmen…and not like I can see the other things…"

"I'm actually a second year, and I'm older than you by a year. I'm your senpai, you know. You need to address me with more respect. Repeat after me: 'Yukiko-senpai is always right.'"

"No thanks."

"Stupid kouhai. Have you ever been with a girl?"

Despite all the conflicting impulses simultaneously tearing at my heart, soul, and loins, I got defensive. "I have! In fact, I dated a French girl. Laeticia."

"Did you bang her?"

"Well, yeah!" I clenched my jaw.

"Bull. Shit." Yukiko grabbed at my hand and pressed my palm against one of her breasts. She hadn't been lying about not wearing a bra. My manhood started to ache—painfully. "I'm not gonna let you go further if you lie to me, Kouhai."

I relented. "No. I didn't."

Then, she started to chew and suck on my neck. I couldn't breathe. I'd never gone this far before with anyone.

"See how easy it was to tell the truth? Anyway, Laeticia or whatever her name was, was a stupid bitch. I, on the other hand, have superior taste."

I expected her to kiss me, like in a movie, but instead, she wordlessly yanked my pants down to my knees. Despite my awkwardness, my anxiety, and my inexperience, I was still a man, and had the physiologic responses expected of one. She took me in her mouth, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine to my head. My breathing turned raw and my vision began to dim. Fortunately, I didn't end up climaxing instantly like a pathetic male protagonist in a romantic comedy. At least I had a shred of dignity, even if I hadn't started with much to begin with.

And after a few false starts, almost losing the mood because of her teasing, and still finishing way too early, I was no longer a worthless virgin. I'd accomplished the goal of every young college kid in the world (minus perhaps those in specialized religious orders). Now I was a worthless non-virgin.

The next morning, I groggily looked over at Yukiko, who snored something fierce nearby. I swear the girl probably had severe sleep apnea, which would have explained a lot of her unhinged personality. I considered asking her for Setsuna's number, but decided against it. I was in that foggy, blissful state where the oxytocin in my veins commanded me to treat her tenderly. Idly, I opened her nearby phone. No password protection, of course, since it was a dumb phone straight out of the nineties. I scrolled through the contacts and found who I was looking for. I pressed the call button.

"Yukiko?" Setsuna answered. "What's wrong? You never call early."

"Sorry, it's Kitahara. I'm borrowing her phone. She's asleep right now."

Oh no! The realization seared my grogginess away. Fuck me! Did I just literally confess to Ogiso Setsuna that I banged her daughter?

Silence. I considered hanging up. Well, goodbye music. it was time to concentrate on school, like I'd originally planned.

"Thanks for keeping to the schedule. What's your answer, Leon?" Setsuna seemed completely unfazed. Even her voice was pleasant and professional. This woman has ice in her veins.

"Before I continue, I want to clear up any misunderstandings… You see…"

"My daughter is an adult and can make her own decisions. We're not talking about her right now. We're talking about you, Leon. Your answer, please? I'm a very busy woman."

"I'll do it. I'll sing for the band. And whatever else you need me to do."

"Is that so? I want to confirm a few things first," Setsuna said. "Are you making this decision after careful thought? And not just because Yukiko took your virginity and you want to be close to her like a puppy who's found an owner?"

God, that stung hard. How did she even know I was… Do women automatically sense this shit or something? "I'd be lying if I told you that had no bearing. And I'd also be lying if I told you I'd devoted a week of careful thought to this. In truth, I was avoiding the issue until late last night. But I realized something."

"When you played with Hanako?"

"Yeah. I guess you were in the audience?"

"Obviously. And before you ask, I didn't ask Hanako or Yukiko to do anything with you. I didn't expect to see you there at all. In fact, I didn't expect to hear from you ever again."

"Okay, I was curious. But yeah, I realized that I do enjoy playing for a crowd. I enjoy performing. But I don't want to do it for prizes or prestige, or so I can emulate my mother's career. I want to do it for pure enjoyment, and selfishly, I also want to do it along with talented people I really, really admire, like Hanako. Or Yukiko."

"Are your parents okay with this?"

"I haven't asked them."

"I know what your mother would say. How about your father?"

"He'd lecture me about how this was a terrible idea and use every trick in the book to get me to change my mind. He'd try to convince me to leave Japan and go to Julliard like a good little boy."

"And what would you say to him?"

I clenched my jaw. "Kitahara Haruki, you can kiss my ass."

I heard Setsuna giggle on the other end, and then start laughing in earnest. Her laughter was of course, intensely musical like the rest of her. "Kazusa's going to murder me. Very well, I'm satisfied. Welcome aboard, Leon. Yukiko will give you specifics later. Enjoy your last free weekend."

With that, Setsuna hung up. I could have sworn I'd heard her hum something that sounded like 'teenagers scare the living shit outta me…' before the line went dead.

I inhaled deeply, contemplating the magnitude of what I'd just agreed to. I knew, from growing up as Touma Kazusa's son, what would be demanded from a professional musician in terms of time, commitment, and energy. I could forget joining a university club, hanging out with classmates, drinking myself silly on the weekends, or trying to date anyone. Frankly, even continuing my education was sounding like an impossibility. Ogata Rina never graduated high school. Morikawa Yuki dropped out of Yuunagi after her first year. Kisaragi Sayoko was still on "indefinite leave" from the same institution. Actually, the only idol out there I knew to have actually graduated college was…Ogiso Setsuna, and that was because her music career hadn't actually started until afterward. She was a complete anomaly in that world. Maybe she'll have mercy and let me study, at least.

And besides the glaring issues now facing my plans for a four-year degree, there was a whole separate problem sleeping naked next to me. I silently regarded Yukiko, who, unbelievably, still slept despite my conversation with Setsuna right next to her. Part of me still didn't believe that what had happened last night had been real. I smiled, despite my swirling emotions. I'd lost my hated V-card in the first week of school. And not only that, I'd lost it to an extremely beautiful rockergirl who happened to be the daughter of a famous pop idol that I was a fan of. That had to count as some sort of quintuple-win for any red-blooded man.

Her serious case of bed-head and loud snoring didn't diminish her beauty, either. The gentle dawn light actually made her features even more appealing. And in turn, it excited me, as a man. I knew it was sexist as all hell, but I'd made her mine. And having the chance to be close to her was worth any trouble Setsuna would throw my way. I bent down and kissed Yukiko's lips.

"Mm," she said, and opened her eyes. "Hey, dude…"

"Hey, yourself. Don't freak out, but I used your phone just now. I gave Ogiso, your mother, that is, my answer. I'm in. I'll sing for you guys. Do whatever you need me to."

"Hell yeah," she said, contentedly. "Thanks for doing me a solid. Just so you know, I didn't fuck you so you'd join, okay? And I didn't hate it, either."

"I appreciate you not laughing too hard," I said, looking away in embarrassment. My "performance" had been nothing sort of dismal, by any objective standard. Yukiko had been downright compassionate through the entire thing, even if she'd spent some of the time teasing me. "And don't worry, I reached that decision myself. Playing for Hanako really opened my eyes."

"Sweet." She sat up and groggily wiped the crusts from her eyes. "Alright, I guess I'll see what Mom has in mind for us. Probably wants to sit down with us and shit on Monday. I'll send you her info."

The sheet had fallen away from her breasts, and I looked away in illogical embarrassment. "Great! Thanks." I laughed, nervously. "She said it was our last free weekend. I kinda know what that means. It's gonna get real tough to have time to ourselves, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Yukiko said. "I hung around Hanako a lot, I know what it's like."

She lurched out of bed without bothering to cover anything up. I couldn't help but stare at her curves, even though I'd touched many of them last night. She was strikingly beautiful. I wanted to take her again right there. Before I could think of something witty to say, however, she quickly picked up a pair of panties off the floor and pulled them on, followed by a Metallica T-shirt. No matter, I thought.

"So," I said, also pulling on my clothes from the other night, "seeing as this is our precious remaining free time, do you wanna have breakfast together? Or, if you're feeling anxious about school, we could study for the afternoon."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, I guess I was being too indirect. I want to hang out and get to know you better, now that we're in a relationship."

She sighed, to my surprise. "Shit, I hoped this wouldn't happen."

"What's going on?"

"Leon, you're a hot, talented guy, and I had fun. I mean it. Yeah, you weren't some kind of magical sex prince from an otome game, but no guy is. But, the truth is, I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone right now. It's too much responsibility. I need my freedom, or I won't be happy."

As pathetic as it was, I felt my chest burn. I'd just been rejected. I'd just been dumped, no matter what her reasons were. Fuck, I thought, bitterly.

"Also, I'm not hiding a boyfriend or husband or something. If you don't believe me, just ask Saeko, or even my mom. And it doesn't mean I don't want to see you again or something ridiculous like that! For fuck's sake, we're bandmates now! We're gonna work hard for that record together!"

"Then why did you sleep with me last night?" I probably sounded petulant. Because I was.

"Because I like sex? And I also like you. I mean, I still wanna do it with you again. Let's just keep it 'no strings attached,' okay? Hey! I know what'll cheer a guy up. How about a BJ before you go?"

I clenched my jaw. "You're not making any sense. How can you say that stuff and…" My eyes watered. My voice was on the edge of shattering.

"Shit, Leon, I…" she said, unable to meet my gaze now. "I shouldn't have… I'm sorry…"

"No, it's fine! It's all fine!" I headed toward the door and fumbled into my shoes. "I'm the only one being an idiot!" With the last of my composure, I threw open the door and stormed out. Again neglecting the elevator, I stomped down the stairs. Don't cry, you little shit, I screamed internally at myself. You fucked a hot chick on the first date. You won the game, bro! You fucking won! You fucking won!

CHAPTER FOUR

Youko, like any grandmother I didn't deserve, knew something was wrong. On the other hand, I hadn't been very subtle about showing how morose I was. Right after leaving Yukiko's apartment, I'd come back home and promptly crawled into bed and stayed there all afternoon. I hadn't been crying while clutching a stuffed animal or anything—I'd just laid there. Eyes open, head empty, not caring.

Finally, she'd just let herself in. I felt her sit on the edge of my bed and tried to think of some excuse to shoo her off with. But I also felt too dead to the world.

"I heard you played piano right onstage with Morikawa Hanako," Youko said. "I wanted to tell your mother, but Guitar-kun has been such a tyrant lately, taking her phone and email away! Ara, I should call him 'Kim Jong Un-sama' instead! So, why are you feeling so shitty? Did you end up catching Covid at the show?"

I shook my head.

"Sadly, we can't really wear masks at these things. Do you know that I caught influenza once after a show in Paris? And not the influenza that makes you cough and sneeze, either. Mine gave me terrible diarrhea, and had to play the next day, anyway! I wore an adult diaper just in case anything happened!"

Despite myself, I had to laugh.

"Did something nice happen with the girl who invited you?"

"I guess," I admitted. "How'd you know she was a girl?"

"Leon, it's the oldest trick in the book," Youko said. "'Oh my! I happen to have an extra ticket for this expensive show and it would be a shame to waste it! Come with me, handsome guy who I want as my boyfriend!'"

"She didn't really buy the tickets or anything. And I ended up playing for my supper, anyway."

"So why are you moping around? Don't you want to go shopping with your new girlfriend? Ara, are you still broke? Are you embarrassed? Don't worry, Granny will give you some spending cash!"

"No, it's not that," I said, covering my face. "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know if I want to explain it."

"That's okay. How about I ask the questions and you just say 'yes' or 'no?'" Without waiting for me to respond, Youko started. "Did you get into bed with her?"

I considered just balling up in embarrassment. I never imagined having to talk about my sex life with my grandmother. "Maybe," I said.

"Congratulations! But did you use a rubber?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Good boy," she said. "So… did something bad happen the morning after?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Did her sumo wrestler boyfriend barge into the room, forcing you to jump out the window?"

"No, nothing stupid like that."

"Did your other girlfriend barge into the room, holding a positive pregnancy test?"

"Obaa-chan!"

"Okay, okay, I had to be sure. More realistically, did she tell you she was just drunk and horny last night and didn't actually want a relationship? Or just wanted to be sex friends?"

I sighed and drew the covers over my face.

"Bingo!" Youko threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. "Oh! You're unbearably cute! I have the world's cutest grandchild!" She squealed to herself in happiness while I shook in embarrassment.

"You got your answer, can you leave me alone now?" I whined.

"Sugoi! You really are your mother's child! Kazusa's exactly like this. A silly, idealistic romantic, and oh so easily hurt when she feels like she's been rejected."

"Yeah, great," I said, dejected. "Look I'll be fine. I just got a little depressed. I'll…get over it. Besides, not like she strung me along for years or something before dumping me."

"Will you be seeing her again?"

"That's part of the problem. I will. I'm sorry, Grandmother, I didn't tell you until now, because I didn't know until now. I'm going to be singing and playing in a band with her. They've been offered a record deal by Double-O Productions."

"Ara, Ogiso and Ogata?" Youko's eyes widened. "Does that mean you did it with…Morikawa Hanako? You can't blame her for rejecting you! A relationship with a man will destroy her career!"

"No, no! Absolutely not. It wasn't Hanako. She's way above my league. Like, on another planet. The girl I was with, she plays guitar. We have a drummer, too. I guess I'll fill in for whatever's needed."

"What will you do about school?"

"Well, this semester it's mostly mandatory classes, including English. I'll pass them with my eyes closed. After that, I'll need to figure it out."

"You won't have much time. Remember, your student visa runs out in a year, and then you'll have to decide on your citizenship. I don't need to tell you how much commitment is demanded from professional musicians."

"I know."

"If you're committed, then you can't let your feelings for this girl get in the way of your performance. I don't mean to sound harsh, but that's part of the job. Our job."

"Are you going to tell mom and dad?"

"How could I? 'Kim Jong Un-sama' has forbidden communication with Japan! Ha!"

I had to laugh along. "Thanks, Obaa-chan. I guess I'll get out of bed now. I have to practice at some point, right?"

CHAPTER FIVE

Hey, I talked w/VP Ogiso. She wants to meet today after ur classes. Echoes. Go w/Saeko, she's coming 2

Ok. Thank you.

BTW, her deets. Don't fukkin give these 2 anyone else

With a single tap, I downloaded a few bits of information that, for any Setsuna fan, were more valuable than all the gold, moon rocks, and printer toner in the universe. Her personal and work cell numbers, email, and home address were all mine now. Consequently, this stuff was downright catastrophic to lose. I'd have to make sure I kept an extra tight leash on my phone.

I grinned at the thought of being able to call Ogiso Setsuna at any moment. What if she picked up while luxuriating in the bath? What if she told me to come over and wash her back? I bit my lip at the titillating fantasy, but knew that in real life she'd probably just block me without picking up.

My fingers twitched to reply to Yukiko's text. I wanted to call her. I also didn't want to endanger whatever fragile bond we had by looking too pathetic and clingy. In the end, I decided not to respond. It was the Tuesday after my triumphant-turned-terrible weekend. Classes on Monday had been a blurry haze, and I was glad that Yukiko apparently never attended class. Still, though, I had to deal with another bandmate on Tuesdays.

"You look like shit," Saeko said as I turned in my code.

"And you look like…" I couldn't think of anything witty to say. "Forget it. We're supposed to go to Echoes, I guess. I'll head out there, then."

"Hold up, choom. I have to stay here and babysit for another half hour. We'll go after that."

"Huh? Why do we have to go together?"

"Because you don't know how to get into the secret basement."

"Secret basement?"

"Yeah, the secret basement. It started as a BDSM dungeon, then Ogata Eiji used it to stash his collection of stolen art and shit, and now it's just a boring hidden room for when celebs wanna pretend they're supervillains or illuminati or some shit."

I blinked. "Why is it below a coffee shop?"

Saeko rolled her eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to know? Anyway, just look at Pornhub or something and wait for me."

"Fine, whatever," I said, and sat back down at my workstation. I considered annoying her by navigating to a porn site, but she was still wearing her annoying cosplay outfit and I didn't want to cause some sort of misunderstanding with campus security. Instead, I did the diligent thing and started to pick away at next week's assignment. Eventually, time was up and Saeko stood to leave. Wordlessly, I logged out and followed her. We walked in silence for a bit to Yuunagi station.

"Why do you look so depressed, anyway?" she asked. "It's annoying."

"Sorry," I said, and pushed the corners of my mouth up with my fingers, ala Ayanami Rei. "Thish better?"

"You know, you're not a terrible-looking guy for 3DPD. You should smile more."

"I can't believe there are people who actually talk like this in real life," I replied. "Like, how much anime can you possibly consume to act like this?"

"Not just anime. You're forgetting about manga, VNs, CRPGs, doujin, hell, everything else."

"I'm going to regret asking this, but what's your favorite visual novel?"

"Maggot Baits."

"Fuck! I shouldn't have asked!"

"It's actually extremely feminist, but you plebs won't look past the torture scenes. I bet you're a normie who likes School Days or some stupid shit!"

"I have slightly better taste than that."

"So what's the most hardcore VN you've played?"

"I couldn't get through Euphoria."

"Aw, that's kinda cute." She sneered at me, but I could have sworn her ears turned a little red. "You're like, surprisingly moe for a dude from Austria, the land of scheisse porn. Hey, is it true there's a town named 'Fucking?'"

"They changed the name to 'Fugging' because British tourists kept stealing the street signs," I said.

"Aw shit, what a waste! Anyway, why are you so depressed? Didn't get get to go to a cool Hanako show? That was my ticket, by the way."

"Oh, sorry. I never asked her why she had an extra. I didn't mean to take it from you."

"It's cool. Kiko got it without asking me if I'd be able to go, anyway. My static was trying to clear The Omega Protocol that night, so I had to say no."

"I'm glad it worked out for both of us, then. So what do you think of this whole record deal thing?"

"Honestly, it'll be a pain in the ass," Saeko said with a shrug. "I'll have to cut my gaming time down and I'm going to be backlogged on shows. I hate having a backlog!"

"Then why do it?"

"Because the stuff I like isn't exactly free, dude. In fact, otaku drive the economy with how much stuff we buy. If our record's a success, that means I'll have royalties coming in."

"Don't you already have a day job?"

"Oh, you mean the CS thing? Yeah, I've talked with some headhunters. They all want me to go overseas immediately and start working for them, but I like it here better. Ain't no Comiket in America, bro! So I'll finish my degree first. They'll have to pay me more if I'm a PhD."

"What companies?"

"Like Google, NVidia, Microsoft, those guys. I even talked with a dude from TSMC, but the living conditions there are horrible! Plus I don't wanna get nuked by China."

Google and Microsoft? How the hell? "Just because I'm curious, what kind of salary were they offering?"

"Hundred million, give or take."

I threw my hands up. "You could afford whatever sick bullshit you wanted with that salary! Any record label will pay peanuts, by comparison!"

"Ugh, you're sounding like my parents," she said. "Just stop."

"Sorry," I said, unable to argue with her on that point. "I'll drop it. I didn't mean to lecture you or anything."

By now, we'd already gotten off the metro and were heading on foot to Echoes. Before we went in, I silently prayed that I wouldn't see Iwata or the studio president there. Fortunately, the place seemed as dead as ever, with only a cheerful-looking woman at the counter. I could have sworn I'd seen her before, too.

"Welcome!" she said. "Sit where you'd like."

"Thanks," Saeko said. "We're just going to use the bathroom."

"That's super rude!" I chided her. Fortunately, the woman behind the counter simply smiled and nodded.

Saeko led me down toward where I assumed the bathrooms were, and stopped in front of what looked like a janitor's closet. She opened it, stepped in, and motioned to me.

"Make sure no one sees you, and get in."

"This does not inspire confidence," I said.

"Don't be a douchbag," Saeko retorted.

I reluctantly stepped into the cramped space and closed the door. Saeko, meanwhile, reached past a mop leaning against the wall and flipped a grungy-looking switch. To my surprise and relief, the back wall of the janitor closet swung open to reveal a nicely-appointed stairway going down to another set of doors.

"Let me guess," I said as we walked down the stairs. "Secret casino?"

"I wish. No, it's just another bar and some soundproof rooms. You know, for celebrity shenanigans."

"This must've been insanely expensive."

"How would I know?" Saeko said, and opened the inner doors.

True to her word, the space was basically a refinished basement with its own bar and some adjoining private spaces, but it was obvious that a lot of love and care had been invested into it. Behind the counter, the master I'd met earlier, Nanase Akira, stood and bowed.

"Iizuka-san, and…Kitahara-san, right? Welcome back."

"Thank you, Master." I guffawed. "I, uh, it's impressive down here!"

"And useful. Would you like a coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll bring it over. I think your companions are already here."

Now, I noticed Setsuna and Yukiko already seated at one of the nearby tables. Setsuna waved us over, while Yukiko tried not to meet my gaze. On Setsuna's other side, however, was another woman whose face was almost instantly recognizable.

Ogata Rina needed no introduction. With songs occupying the upper echelons of the Oricon Top 40 every year from 1983 to 2001, she might as well have had her picture in the dictionary next to the term: "Idol." Her fans numbered in the hundreds of millions, and her 1987 smash hit "Sound of Destiny" was one of the few songs on Youtube to have hit over 1 billion views since release.

With the life she must have led, no doubt saturated with booze, late nights, plastic surgery, and shattered relationships, one might have expected her to look haggard in real life, but in truth she didn't look a day over forty. In fact, seeing her, Setsuna, and Yukiko sitting in a row was like seeing three iterations of the same beautiful woman, from alluringly older to perkily younger.

"Saeko, Leon, thanks for coming," Setsuna said. "Leon, this is President Ogata of Double-O productions."

I started to bow, awkwardly, only for Rina to gracefully stand and proffer a hand. I stared at it, not knowing what to do. Was I supposed to kiss it? Was I meeting with a company president or a famous idol? What rules of etiquette were we following? What if I kissed it? Would I look suave, or like a creep?

"Don't worry, Leon," Rina said, noting my paralysis. "I haven't put anything gross on my palm, if that's what you're worried about." Setsuna started to snicker along with her.

I blinked. I knew exactly what they were referring to, sadly enough. It was a terrible fact that some unhinged male fans would sometimes smear their own semen on their hands when going to an idol handshake event, knowing the poor idol on the receiving end couldn't do anything about it, even if she knew what had happened.

"No! No, I wasn't implying anything like that!" I took Rina's hand and gave it my best professional shake, worthy of an Austrian concertmaster. I still shook in my sneakers. "It's an honor to meet you! I just never thought I'd get to actually see you face to face! I have all your records, and…"

"Thanks for your support!" Rina said, flashing me that famous, mischievous smile of hers that was equal parts Girl Next Door and Queen of all Media. "But we're here to talk about you, though. Please, sit, make yourself comfortable. In fact, try to forget I'm here, since this is mainly Setsuna's show. I'm just here to make sure my adorable VP has all the support she needs!"

"Thank you, Shacho," Setsuna said. "Let's get down to business, then. Ah, thanks, Master," she said to Akira as he set coffees down in front of us. She took a deep drag from hers before she continued. "We, the principals of Double-O Production company, are extending an offer to the three of you gathered here, as well as to any other permanent band members you deem part of your core performance group. We will provide the means to professionally record, mix, and edit a record album in multiple formats, as well as secure opportunities to promote and advertise this work. We will also assist in the writing and composition of original pieces, which will comprise seventy-five percent of the album, and secure legal rights to cover existing pieces, which will cover the remainder. We will also take care of arranging venues for live performances, and all of the logistic requirements demanded forthwith. We will also take care of arranging your practice and training schedules, and assign your group a professional manager to oversee and coordinate your schedules and obligations."

Setsuna stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay, sorry, I know that was a mouthful! Do you have any questions so far, or should I continue?"

I shook my head. Yukiko and Saeko also remained quiet.

"In turn," Setsuna continued, "Your group will have multiple contractual obligations to Double-O productions. Failure to fulfill these obligations will result in termination of the contract and cessation of the relationship between our respective groups. In addition, Double-O reserves the right to unilaterally terminate the contract at any time for any reason…"

Record labels are hated for a reason…

"…But the basic gist of it is that you need to do what your manager says, show up to practices and trainings, and when we tell you to go to a promotional event, you have to go and smile your butts off," Setsuna concluded. "This is, by the way, the same set of terms that any production company in Japan or even America will offer you. There is no room for negotiation or haggling. You can accept or decline, or ask clarifying questions. Do you three wish for some time alone to discuss this?"

Yukiko tipped her head back to look at the ceiling. Saeko looked uninterested. I took a deep breath and raised my hand.

"Yes, Leon?"

"I've been told that in Japan, it's a little gauche to ask about compensation up front, but I hope you'll forgive my rudeness. After all, I am an ignorant gaijin here," I said. "I had a few questions to start. How much and how often are we to be paid? Is there an even split between band members or do certain positions get paid more? Will we get an advance for signing? Will our practice sessions and lessons count as hours worked, or will you charge fees that end up coming out of our paychecks? What percentage of concert earnings and royalties will go to us versus the company? And are there bonuses or penalties to any of the above?" At least Dad taught me this much. I know about the shady tricks that record execs and concert promoters use to rip their artists off.

Setsuna's jaw twitched. For a second, I thought she'd flip the table over and order me to leave. Instead, however, she simply took another sip from her cup. Rina's eyes, on the other hand, seemed to twinkle.

"You're right, Leon," Setsuna said, the corners of her mouth starting to curl. "It isn't usual to talk about this stuff in Japan before you've signed your contract. The understanding is that your company has your best interests in mind, as a parent would for a child."

I took a long drag of my coffee. "Please don't take offense, Fuku-shacho, but as a European, I'm naturally suspicious of anyone who'd assume an ownership role over myself. I'm aware that none of us are members of a union, so we don't have standing to change the terms. I understand that fully. All I want is some clarification on the financial aspects of our deal, so that my bandmates know the full benefits and drawbacks of your offer before they sign their lives away."

"Rina?" Setsuna murmured. Rina seemed to mouth an "okay" to her. "Alright, Leon, if you're so hungry to see my sweaty, hidden parts, I'll show them all to you."

I bit my tongue. Focus! She's trying to trip you up with the oldest trick in the book! Turn it back on her! "I insist, Setsuna." I made my voice go a bit lower, and a bit breathier, kind of how my mom would have done it. "I want to see everything."

Now it was time for her to burn a bit. The tips of her ears turned subtly red. "We've only met twice now, and you're already demanding that much? Are all European men this pushy?"

I switched to French. "Oui, madame."

"Mademoiselle, actually," she also replied in near-fluent French. "I've never married."

"My apologies. I simply assumed, with your beauty, that your flower would have been plucked long time ago by a lucky man."

She fixed a pair of bedroom eyes on me. "I wouldn't say 'no' if the right gentleman came along."

Great, now she's on the offensive again. I need to really shock her. "Even if he's a pushy, loudmouthed, foreigner?"

"I've had bad experiences with Japanese men. Maybe I'm due for a change."

"I'll show you Europe, then. We could go skiing on the Alps, or sip coffee on the shores of Lake Lucerne."

"I'd love to go back to Strasbourg, myself. I was there for the Christmas Mass, years ago. Is is still as lovely as I remember?"

"Yes. It's a transcendental celebration of love. Though the joke is that after the church ceremony, the couples promptly go home and do some decidedly un-church-like things. Would you still like to go together, Mademoiselle?"

Setsuna laughed out loud at this, although I could have sworn I'd detected a hint of irony in her tone. She switched back to Japanese. "I'll hold you to that, should we ever make it there."

Yukiko glowered at me. "Okay, what the hell was that? Leon! What did you promise her? And stop seducing my mom in front of everyone, for fuck's sake!"

"Yukiko, shush," Setsuna said, a smile still creasing the corners of her mouth. "He's doing what a good band leader should be doing. Very well, Leon, no more jokes. The details are already printed on the contract. Page five, fine print." She pulled out a sheaf of papers and pushed them over to me.

I found the section she'd outlined and quickly glossed over it. The terms were surprisingly fair, even though, of course, Double-O took the lion's share of the profits. "Do you guys want to see this?" I asked the other two.

Saeko was reading something on her phone and looked annoyed that I'd asked. I had to wonder how rich her parents were that she could afford not to give a damn about negotiations. Yukiko shook her head and crossed her arms, still looking annoyed as hell at me. So what if I flirted with your mom? You're the one who didn't want to… I shoved those thoughts away. This wasn't the time or place.

"Thank you," I said to Setsuna. "I find the terms…disagreeable, but acceptable, given that we're not a known quantity yet. I'd like to renegotiate, however, if we get to the point of making a second album."

"Greedy," Rina chuckled. "But smart. I wish I'd been more like him when I'd started out."

"Focus on making your album a success in the first place," Setsuna said. "But yes, we can always talk about this again in another year. All that's left to do is for you all to sign the contract. Yukiko, Saeko, did you bring your signature stamps?"

"Yeah," they said, both bored.

"I don't have a stamp," I said. "My signature is binding, however, by EU law. I'm ready."

She offered me a pen. I found the last page, and signed my full name on the first available line. My heart started to race. With this, I was officially an employee of Double-O records. Actually, I was more akin to property. Ogata Rina and Ogiso Setsuna may as well have been my owners at this point. Shit, what if Dad was right? What if this was a terrible idea?

After Yukiko and Saeko placed their stamps on the contract, Setsuna and Rina looked over the papers, nodded at each other, and put the documents away. They rose, almost in unison.

"We'll discuss finer details tomorrow," Setsuna said. "It's already been a long day for all of us, I'm sure. Oh, and feel free to use the underground portion of Echoes as you please. I've made arrangements with Master Nanase. Stay as long as you'd like. See you tomorrow!"

Rina turned. "Oh, Leon, I almost forgot. Yukiko and Saeko have my info already, but you don't. Here," she said, holding her phone out. This time, I knew what to do, and held my phone close to hers with the appropriate app running. With a buzz, my phone let me know it had taken her information. "Obviously, I expect you to follow chain of command and go to your manager or Setsuna first for normal issues, but if there's something special that you want to chat about with me, I'm always willing to hear you out," she said. "Also, I speak a bit of French, myself. You're a dirty boy. I like that," she laughed, before turning to rejoin Setsuna on her way out of Echoes.

"T-thanks?" I croaked. Several realizations hit me all at once. First, that I'd just brazenly flirted with Ogiso Setsuna herself—nevermind also that I'd negotiated hardball with her in the same breath—and I'd also just gotten access to all of Ogata Rina's contact info. If getting Setsuna's private information was some sort of irrational pipe dream, then getting Rina's was some sort of mathematical impossibility, by comparison. But there is was, staring me in the face. My heart pounded. What the hell could possibly be next? Morikawa Hanako's personal cell phone?

"Hey!" Yukiko said, and flicked my forehead. Hard. "Ground Control to Major Sleazebag! This is Houston. I showed you my dick, please respond!"

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You were drifting in space and ignoring us, that's what's up," Yukiko said. "We've been trying to talk to you for a whole minute! Did all your blood go below your waist because Ogata Rina gave you her number?"

"No, it's not like that, just…"

"I swear to God, it's already bad enough that you're hitting on my mom, but if you lay a single filthy finger on Auntie Rina, I'll…"

"I'm not gonna do anything like that!" I shouted. Master Akira motioned for me to tone it down. I gestured in apology. "Look, I'm just a normal guy. And yet now I'm hanging around all these famous singers I've only ever dreamed about?"

"You have to be less starstruck to survive in this industry, dude."

"I know that. And also, you need to understand what you two just signed. This is a big deal. The terms are borderline illegal in most of the EU. These women own us. We're seriously screwed if we don't do everything they say from now on."

"Welcome to my world," Yukiko said, dismissively. "You've become an indentured servant, but for me, it's just Tuesday!"

"Saeko, your thoughts?" I asked. "You won't make anywhere close to what Google was offering you. Unless our singles somehow land top spots on the Oricon several weeks in a row and we sell out a bunch of arena concerts. Also, there's a real danger you might miss Comiket if we have a show or a lesson or something."

"Anal."

"What?"

"Only French word I know," Saeko said. "Now, I couldn't understand what the hell you were saying to Setsuna, but damn, I could feel the sweat dripping from both of you. Do you have an older woman fetish? Do you need a dommy mommy in your life?"

"I'm trying to look out for you."

"Aw, that's real cute, kouhai. But don't mistake me for some helpless airhead, either. I did the math in my head. Setsuna and Rina are screwing us, bigtime. Whatever, I say. I'm not doing this just for money, although I definitely wouldn't do it for free."

"So why are you going along with this?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I like playing drums in a band? Or that I also want to be famous? If we get big, I can start my own anisong band later, and make the OPs and EDs for a bunch of shows. That's also a goal of mine!"

"You're an otaku through and through, aren't you?"

"Yeah, to my bones. Hey, Kiko, you wanna go home together?"

Yukiko sighed and flopped over on the leather sofa she'd sat on. "No, I'm gonna piss and stew a bit here. I can't believe I just gave that hag more power over me."

"Fine, then I'm borrowing the French dirtbag here," Saeko said, and stood. "It's dangerous to go alone. Come with me if you want to live."

"Those are completely different and unrelated franchises you referenced," I said.

"Suck my dick. You coming with me or not?"

"Sure," I said. I looked at Yukiko, who gave me a sullen gaze. "Not like I have anything better to do."

Yukiko turned her head away from me. I took Saeko's hand and we made our way out from the basement of Echoes.

"Come to think of it, I don't know where you live," I said. "Or any of your information, for that matter."

"Oh, here, then." Saeko held her phone out, letting me tap it. With a quick buzz, I added her information to my growing roster of contacts. Although she wasn't nearly as famous as the others in my list.

"Thanks," I said. "Lead the way."

Saeko didn't live far from Yukiko's apartment, it turned out, although she didn't live in the same building. Instead, she lived in what seemed to be a decent-sized single-family home in a nearby neighborhood, complete with a cute little yard and a small Japanese garden. Same as her last name, the plate above the doorbell read: "Iizuka."

"You stay with your parents?" I asked her as she unlocked the door and headed in.

"Best way to save money in this shitty economy," she said, dumping her handbag on the floor of the foyer. "Well, come in."

"Oh, I should have brought a little gift for your parents! Are you sure I should come in?" I said, remembering that little part of Japanese etiquette.

"It's fine, they're not home. They're in Hokkaido on vacation."

"Oh! So why didn't you go with them?"

"Man, have you ever been to Hokkaido? There's no internet out there. It's frozen and boring as hell. I wouldn't go with them if they paid me."

"Maybe, but wouldn't it be nice to chill at a hot spring or something? My parents used to talk that up. The one thing they missed about Japan, in fact."

"Chill at a hot spring with my parents? Are you six years old?"

"I'm sure there'd be other people in their late twenties, like you."

"Late twenties?" Saeko whipped her head around and slapped me with her tails. It stung, surprisingly. "The hell you say?"

"Ow!" Damn, I thought that only happened in anime! "Aren't you a grad student? Why wouldn't you be in your late twenties?"

"I'm eighteen, you baka-gaijin!"

"How? Why?"

"I skipped useless grades, duh."

"Oh! I…guess. I don't know why I didn't think of that. I apologize. I didn't mean to call you old or anything."

"Ugh, apology accepted. Well, come on up. I've got chores to do."

"Sure, do you need some help?"

"Yeah," she said. Wordlessly, I followed her up the stairs of her family's house and to what I could only assume was her room. To my surprise, it was much cleaner than Yukiko's. To my horror, it was every bit the otaku overlord's den I feared it would be. Anime resin figurines, volumes upon volumes of manga, and of course library of Blue Ray discs of highly pornographic anime, movies, and games occupied every possible square centimeter of wall and shelf space.

"I thought you said School Days was shit, and yet I see the uncensored overseas edition right there, along with Shiny Days," I said, giving her the side eye.

"The censored version is shit," she said, without missing a beat. "What, are you gonna claim that you only like epic works of philosophy that pierce the boundaries of art and shit? Full Metal Daemon Muramasa is over there, you pretentious ass."

"I noticed. Can you even play these properly? They're all in English."

"Reverse translation is easier than you think."

"So, uh, what do you want me to do? Your place looks really neat."

"Netflix and chill."

I blinked, and then laughed to myself inside. There was no way she actually knew what that meant. Then again, I didn't know Saeko very well, so watching some movies and drinking a few beers with her wasn't a bad idea. I'd get to know my bandmate better, in any case.

"Sure, that sounds great."

"Oh? Wow, I didn't think you'd be so…submissive," Saeko said, as she flopped on her bed. "There's a nice daiginjo in the fridge downstairs. Get it for us, Pig. I'm gonna change into something more comfortable."

"You got it," I said, and did her bidding. Since she was changing, I made sure to take my time, to give her privacy and make sure I didn't instigate any silly anime scenarios like walking in on her naked. Also, I couldn't for the life of me find where the little sake cups were supposed to be, so I ended up just grabbing a couple of coupe glasses. They'd have to do.

I finally returned to her bedroom door and knocked. "All set in there?"

"Yeah."

I opened the door. "Actually, you got anything to snack on?" Then I dropped the bottle of sake (it didn't break) and nearly dropped the glasses. "Verdammte scheisse!"

Saeko was decked out in lingerie. And not just a normal bra and panties, but the kind of lacy stuff that was meant to be worn for all of five minutes then torn off right after. Plus, a garter belt and stockings. Without panties. "Got a problem?" she asked, stepping closer.

"S-should I go home?" I took a step back.

"I told you we were gonna Netflix and chill. Did you think I didn't know what it meant? I spend most of my day online, Wojack."

Without the need to avert my gaze, and helped by the fact that she'd been so refreshingly straightforward, I took a moment to actually look at her in detail. Though shorter and less statuesque than Yukiko had been, Saeko was also aggressively attractive, with perfect proportions and flawless skin. Plus, she obviously waxed. The sight of it all gave me no choice but to physiologically respond. She tapped me right on it, making me wince a bit.

"Take your clothes off," she commanded. Like the spineless 2chan caricature's namesake she'd called me by, I complied, but still hid my junk.

"Okay, now I understand why."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Kiko-chan banging you. I was wondering what the hell she saw in you, considering you're a dense, disagreeable, pretentious douche of a man with no fashion sense."

"I haven't had time to go clothes shopping."

"Lots of flaws aside, you've got a great body to go with your girly face, like an otome game romance option. Yeah, okay, I can see the appeal."

I looked away, blushing even more furiously. "How'd you know what happened?"

"We used our words?" Saeko threw up her hands. "Actually, don't talk anymore. Every time you open your mouth it makes you less fuckable. Get on the bed."

I complied again, though I must have made a terrible facial expression. What are you doing? Didn't you just get super butthurt about Yukiko not wanting to be your sweet little girlfriend?

"Oh, just so you know, I'm not doing this because I like you romantically or anything, so don't get stupid ideas," Saeko said. It was uncanny how well she'd read me. She straddled me and pinned my arms to the bed. "Actually…shit! Is this why you were so depressed earlier? Because Yukiko banged you, but wouldn't act like a romance heroine afterward?" She started to cackle.

My eyes started to water. "Shut up! I'm going home!"

I made a half-hearted attempt to rise, but she pinned me down with minimal effort. I suppose if I'd really wanted to, I could have actually pushed her off, but sadness and horniness were a terrible combination for sapping the will. Her womanhood rested on my member, driving me past the ability to reason.

"Look, Leon," Saeko said, a bit more compassionately than before. "Sex and love are like a Venn diagram. There's a thin sliver where they meet in the middle. Yukiko likes to fuck, but doesn't wanna be tied down to anyone. I'm the same way. Besides, we're in a band now. We're pros, and pros don't have time for that crap."

"So what should I do?" I asked her, desperately. A tear formed at the corner of my eye.

She leaned down and licked my cheek. "Just… relax and let your sensei take care of you, okay?" Then, she kissed me. I thought I saw the slightest hint of pink tinge her cheeks, despite the indulgent smirk she wore. Against my better judgment, I held her face in my hands and kissed her deeply. Then, she reached between my legs and guided me.

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, at Echoes, I looked and felt like hell. After Saeko and I did it the first time, we ended up spending the rest of the night alternating between having more sex and playing visual novels or watching shows during my refractory periods. Consequently, we hadn't gotten any sleep.

"Leon?" Setsuna snapped her fingers in front of me. "Drink some more coffee and pay attention."

"Sorry!" I said, rubbing my eyes. "I didn't get a lot of rest. I apologize."

"Despite our industry's reputation for endless booze, sleepless nights, and way too much sex, I expect my employees to take care of their bodies and their minds," Setsuna said. "What were you doing, anyway?"

Don't look over at Saeko, I thought to myself, and looked over at her anyway. Fortunately, she was either a much better actor than I was, or she genuinely didn't care about what we'd done. She just browsed her phone with effervescent disinterest.

"Watching too much anime," I said. It wasn't all a lie.

Setsuna looked like she didn't believe a word out of my mouth. "It's for the best, then that you now have a professional manager." She nodded over to a well-coiffured man in a drab-colored, but surprisingly well-tailored suit who sat next to her. "This is Izumi-san. Starting for today, he's the band's manager. Leon here has appointed himself the band's leader, so I'll have you deal primarily with him."

"Thank you, Fuku-shacho," he said, and reached out to shake my hand. Instinctively, I shook it back. Even though I'd never met the guy in my life, he felt oddly familiar. "I'm Izumi Haruto. Twenty-two years old. I've been with Double-O for just under a year now, and this will be my first assignment as primary manager. I look forward to working with you, Kitahara-san."

"Hi," I said back. And even though I knew full well that this man was basically my prison guard from now on, I wanted to like him. "You probably know I'm a foreigner by now, so you can just call me Leon. That's how we do it in the West."

"Leon it is," Haruto said. "In turn, please call me Haruto. We're gonna be seeing a lot of each other. And I want you to know, up front, that even though I'm not always going make you happy, I will always have your back."

"Thanks. I'll try not to be a huge pain in the ass."

Yukiko made a retching sound. "This is disgusting levels of bromance. Well, just so you know, Izumi-san, I'm not gonna act like some idol and watch my mouth and act artificial and shit, nor am I gonna turn into a nun."

"You can do whoever or whatever the hell you want, Shorty!" Haruto said. He cracked his knuckles and his voice now took on a brassiness that I had to envy. "You're not an idol, anyway! They don't expect nearly the same standards from rocker-girls as they do with Morikawa Hanako. In fact, the more stupid crap you get up to, the better for publicity! If you end up unable to perform, we'll just replace your ass! Do you know how many talented female guitarists would cream their pantsu to play next to a guy like this?" He wrapped an arm around my neck and trapped me in a headlock. "God, he's fucking cute! Enough to make me turn a little gay, and I'm the straightest man alive! So I really don't give a shit about you, Ogiso Yukiko! Go ahead and die in an alley already!"

Even though my manager still had me in a headlock, I had to snicker at how mortified Yukiko just looked. Her teeth chattered and she'd turned white enough to look like a ghost. She turned slowly to Setsuna. "M-m-m-mooooommm! This guy's a total psycho! Did you hire a friggin' yakuza?"

Setsuna beamed. "Izumi-san, I knew you were the man for the job. Now, if you'd let Leon go for the moment, there are a few more things to discuss before I have to leave."

"Of course, Fuku-shacho," Haruto instantly shifted gears back to cheerful professionalism, and let me go. He even smoothed out a patch of my hair that had gotten a bit mussed during the exchange. If this is what having an awesome older brother was like, I'd need to call him "Onii-san" instead.

"I know you're probably wondering when you're going to start recording for your album, but there are quite a few things we need to tackle, first," Setsuna continued. "All of you are going to need intensive training to get you to a level where you can play on stage at a consistent level of quality. So for the the first month, you'll train individually with your respective tutors. During this time, we'll also introduce you to the parts for your original and cover pieces. The goal is to get you ready to go into group practice without any hiccups. Leon, you'll be training voice with me. Saeko, you'll be taking lessons from Kumamoto Nao-san…"

Now Saeko perked up. "From Maximum the Hormone?" She sounded incredulous. "How the hell did you get her?"

"I have all kinds of scary connections," Setsuna said. "Pay me back by taking your lessons seriously and practicing. In fact, practice until you die, okay?"

"Okay. I'll fucking die then," Saeko said, surprising me with how docile she was being.

"And Yukiko, you'll be with…"

"Mom, I'll be fine on my own. I'm a genius, remember?" Yukiko said, consciously trying not to glance over at Haruto.

"You don't want to train with Eiji?"

Yukiko's expression changed immediately. "No! I mean, yes! I mean, I totally wanna jam with him!"

"Good, then," Setsuna said. "You know how hard it is to convince that man to take on students. I think he only said 'yes' because he misses you a lot."

My curiosity got the better of me. "Setsuna, by 'Eiji-san' do you happen to mean…"

"Ogata Eiji?" Setsuna finished for me. "Yes, him."

Holy shit. I whistled, slowly. Setsuna hadn't been exaggerating when she'd bragged about having scary connections in the industry. Ogata Eiji, like his sister, Rina, was one of the most respected and revered names in the entire Japanese music industry. If Rina was the undisputed queen of the nineties, Eiji was the emperor of the eighties. He basically wrote the national soundtrack of that decade, from boom to bust, and we all cheered, wept, and sang our hearts out along with him. Well, not me, since I hadn't been born yet. I guess I could have seen it coming, since Rina was our company president, but it was common knowledge that Eiji had long since retired from the music industry.

"W-will he finally write a song for me?" Yukiko whispered.

"You'll have to train with him to find out," Setsuna said, with a shrug. "Anyway, we need to move on. After your four weeks of individual training, you'll start practicing together as a group. Depending on when you start to gel nicely with each other, we'll simultaneously start recording in earnest, along with heavy promotion. You'll have constant obligations, by the way, whether TV appearances, opening for bigger acts at their shows, photo or interview sessions, and the like. All while still practicing or individually training for at least six hours a day. But don't stress too hard. Izumi's main responsibility will be to coordinate your schedules and get you to where you need to be, when you need to be there. All you have to do is give everything two-hundred percent. As the British say, 'simple as!'"

"Thank you, Fuku-shacho. Let me add a few things on, for all of you," Haruto said. "I don't expect you to be cheerful all the time, but I expect you to do as I say when I say it. If you want to complain, you can bash me to Setsuna behind my back, as much as you want. I expect replies to emails within 6 hours, and I expect you to pick up when I call you. Your cell phones are always on, charged, and never silent. I don't care if you're in a movie theater, funeral, natural disaster, or a secret government black site. If someone has a problem with it, point them to me. Obviously, I don't expect you to pick up while you're taking a shower or getting it on, but you need to call me right back after you're done. Understood?"

"Yeah, sure," Saeko said.

"Whatever, gangster-ass," Yukiko muttered.

"Got it," I said.

"Good," Setsuna said. "Your manager will email you your schedules and a summary of what we talked about today. Send him a reply to indicate that you received it. Training will start in earnest tomorrow morning. You're dismissed for the day. Thank you, everyone."

I nodded, and rose to start making my way home.

"Hey man, I'll give you a ride home," Haruto said to me.

"Oh, thanks, but I'm only a few stops away from here."

He chuckled, but gently. "Actually, transporting you most places is part of my job. Say you get pushed into an oncoming train, or get accused of molesting some middle-schooler? Double-O has just lost a significant amount of money and time. I'm here to prevent those kinds of things, as unlikely as they are. Besides, I should probably introduce myself to your grandmother, since she's your only family in the area."

"Oh," I said. I hadn't thought of any of that. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. I just don't wanna be a burden or anything. Aren't you off the clock, anyway?"

"You are," Haruto said, with a confident smile.

Haruto's ride was something I'd never seen before. A Tesla Model S, which I'd heard was popular on American streets, but still not mainstream in Europe and virtually unheard of in Japan. I had no idea how he'd gotten his hands on such a thing, nor did I really want to know, considering his ability to switch modes to yakuza no kashira at the drop of a hat. I wasn't any stranger to fancy cars, considering what my mother did for a living, but the Tesla was something else. It bothered me, being so eerily silent the entire ride. He was right, however—it saved me probably twenty minutes to ride with him, compared to taking the subway.

We pulled up to Youko's house and got out of the car. Instead of simply using my keycode to open the little gate outside, I pressed the doorbell instead.

"Leon? Did you forget the code?" Youko asked over the intercom.

"No, Grandma, I actually have a person here I'd like you to meet. So I wanted to give you notice."

"What a considerate boy! Okay, I'll be down in a second."

The door buzzed to let us know the gate was open, and we headed inside. Youko opened the front door with impeccable timing, as usual for her.

"Touma-san, it's an honor and a pleasure to meet you," Haruto said, with a deep bow, holding his business card out with both hands. "My name is Izumi Haruto, with Double-O Productions. Personally, I'm a huge fan of yours, however I'm here today to introduce myself as Kitahara Leon's manager."

Youko accepted his card and graced it with a glance. "Greetings, Izumi-san. Please, come in for some tea. We have a few things to chat about."

"Thank you, Touma-san," Haruto said. We walked in, doffed our shoes, and both sat on the guest couches that faced a coffee table. Youko sat down a few minutes later, bearing a small tray of hospitality tea and salty snacks. Izumi took out a small box and presented it to her.

"A small token of appreciation and greeting, from Double-O Productions."

Youko took it and opened it. "One of Ogata Eiji's guitar picks, used at his last concert at the Budokan, 1986," she said. "Only a few of these left in the world. This is more than a 'small token,' but I'll accept it gladly." She looked at me. "So, it's really happening! You've gotten yourself a manager now, Leon. Remember, if you wish to succeed in this business, you need to do as he commands, without question or complaint. If I'm dying in the hospital and he says you need to be recording a commercial for Tokyo Banana, you're going to be dancing with bananas."

Haruto smiled. "You are a role model for all of us, Touma-san. But I assure you, the industry has changed a bit, and for the better. We recognize the importance of work-life balance for our talent. We want them to not only shine, but also endure in their chosen field. At least at Double-O, family does come first."

"You remind me of Guitar-kun, for some reason" Youko said. "Are you by any chance related?"

"Not that I know of. I don't know who my father is, but my mother is… Sennouchi Akira."

"Ara ara!" Youko touched her cheek. "I didn't know we had a celebrity here! Why are you working as some newbie's manager, then? You could be landing film roles with that pedigree! Or working as an executive producer."

"Yeah, why, man?" I did a double-take. I didn't expect my manager to suddenly family-drop a name like Sennouchi Akira, who was probably even more famous than Touma Kazusa, because while not everyone listened to classical piano, everyone loved movies. Sennouchi Akira was a household name. She'd broken into the Japanese movie scene with the smash indie hit "Todokanai Koi" (which had started as a small-time college play), played the lead roles in modern classics like "Hanachirasu" and the "Nukitashi" series (1 through 7, all raunchier than the last), and had most recently won an American Oscar for best supporting actress in "Full Metal Daemon Muramasa: ReVengeance," playing the role of the unhinged heroine Ootori Kanae.

"I'm aware of all that," Haruto said. "But I didn't want to be some 'nepo baby.' I despise those creatures. Plus, if you think the music industry's filthy, the film industry is ten times worse. I'm very comfortable here. Can I assume, Touma-san, with your experience, that you know how I'm to be involved in Leon's life from now on?"

"Yes, I know," Youko said. "Just so you know, while I'm fine with all of this for Leon, his parents probably won't be. Particularly his father. You'll have to deal with him at some point."

"I'm ready for that," Haruto said, without a shred of hesitation. "As you said before, we seem to share some traits. Well, I won't take up any more of your time. Leon, I'll come by to pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow. And Touma-san, it was truly a pleasure to talk with you."

"Was I what you expected?" Youko teased.

"'They' say to never meet your heroes in real life," Haruto said. He bowed, deeply and with a flourish. "I say they're dead wrong. The hero in front of me is as brilliant, considerate, and as beautiful as I had dared to dream. Good day, Touma-san. I'll see myself out."

I waved goodbye to Haruto as he retreated, and stretched out a bit on the couch. "Are you okay with this, Grandma?"

Youko sighed. "You know, if I didn't have fifty years on him, I'd…" she laughed. "He's fine. I can read these types very well. I think he cares for you and your band, even though he's frankly a bit naive. I'm also glad your manager is a man. I've seen way too many opposite-sex pairings end up in scandals, abortions, and unhappy marriages. Oh, and speaking of which, you didn't come home last night. Did you get…waylaid?"

"Come on, Grandma!" I buried my face in a cushion.

"It's okay, as long as you used a rubber or thirteen," Youko said. "I'm in no position to judge, myself! You know, I was late to a concert in Paris because I was stuck in the middle of a threesome!"

"Dammit!" I moaned, covering my ears. I had to admit, I was looking forward to nothing but chaste practice for the next month.

The next morning, I groggily piled into Haruto's Tesla with a piece of toast still hanging from my mouth. I swear, it hadn't been deliberate.

"Nice, 'Yui,'" Haruto said, poking fun at me. "If you wanna catch a few winks, you can lay down in the back. It's about twenty minutes or so to Setsuna's place. I've taken some advanced driving courses, so you don't need to worry."

"No, thanks, I'm alright," I said, forcing the toast down my throat. "I need to get on a better sleep schedule, anyway. Are these lessons always going to start early?"

"Yep, how it goes for newbies. When you're a veteran, you have more of your morning free. Hanako's lessons are usually at one in the afternoon, for example."

"She needs lessons?"

"Always. It's how you maintain consistency and quality of your product. Even Setsuna herself will do a small refresher with Rina from time to time, even though neither are active in the traditional sense."

"Oh, speaking of Setsuna, what's she like? She strict?"

"It depends. She really likes it when you show her you're integrating feedback quickly and consistently. That, in turn, requires your attention and receptiveness to change. Don't worry, though, she's not gonna smack you or anything if you mess up. That's like a bad movie trope."

"That's fine, I'm looking forward to working on myself, by myself, for a bit."

Haruto nodded as we pulled up to a red light. "Yeah, I'm glad you realize that. It's nice to bang hot girls, but if that's all you're doing all day, then you won't ever grow as an entertainer. I mean, look at Jared Leto. He used to be interesting."

"Ugh, agreed." I sighed. "And on that topic, I suppose I should ask this now, to get it out of the way. I'm probably prohibited from any relationships or sex or even jacking off from now on, right?"

Now he laughed in earnest. "Oh shit, man! What do you think this is, the Catholic Church? I really don't care how often you fap, otouto-san, and if you wanna get laid in your free time, that's up to you. Speaking very seriously, I can take you to any soapland or pink salon or massage parlor if you want. I'll make sure it's ultra discrete. You just have to tell me what you want to do, and don't go off on your own to any of those places, ever."

I blushed. "I…I don't need any of that! Thanks, though. Frankly, not what I expected to hear."

"That's because you're used to a lot of media about the lives of female idols. It's a huge double standard. Super sexist, and problematic in other ways I can't even begin to describe. But that's reality in this biz. As a male pop star in his early career, though, you want to give off the impression that you fuck, a lot. Female fans are probably filthier than male fans, and you're going to get treated like a piece of meat. Expect them to grope you with some regularity. Even I can't protect you from all of that."

"Should I be having second thoughts about this?"

"If you didn't, you'd be insane," Haruto said. "And that brings us to the last issue, relationships. It was obvious to all of us that you'd spent all night banging the drummer, and things are blatantly awkward between you and the guitarist. As I said before, I don't care too much about you all sleeping with each other, but it can't affect the quality of your performances. Too much offstage drama is also cause for termination of a contract."

"I've gotta get better at lying," I said, biting my lip.

"Word to the wise: it's impossible to lie to Setsuna. She's something else. I thought my mother was scary with how well she could read and impersonate others, but Setsuna's on a whole 'nother level. Speaking of which, we're here."

I'd been engrossed in conversation with Haruto that I'd totally become disoriented to my surroundings. Setsuna's place, assuming she lived here, was like something out of a movie. Set into the side of a hill that overlooked a good part of the metropolis, her house looked like a typical Hollywood elite pad, with mandatory overhanging swooping glass and concrete curves that hung out over a lethal drop. Access was from a winding road along the hillside, and even the entry gate was somewhat hidden from view. Haruto pulled up to a nondescript panel in front of the gate and waved his key fob at it. Silently, the gate swung open and allowed us to pass. After a minute silently making our way down the driveway, we were there.

"Welcome to 'Casa Ogiso,'" Haruto joked as he showed me in.

"Damn, I feel like an intruder or something," I said, as I changed my shoes out for a pair of velvet-lined interior slippers.

"Get used to it, Leon," Setsuna said, stepping out into the foyer. She held a steaming mug of coffee and sipped from it. "You'll be spending most of your time here in the practice suite. Bathroom's over there. Kitchen's stocked with bottled water and healthy snacks. Also, if we go too late into the evening, there's a guest room you can sleep in, complete with clothes and toiletries and all that."

My cheeks reddened at the thought of spending the night at the one and only Ogiso Setsuna's house. "Thanks."

"Don't worry so much," she chuckled. "I do have a partner, you know."

"Yeah! Of course!" I peeped. "I…thank you for teaching me, first of all!" I'd heard that anything in Japan could be made up for if you bowed long and hard enough.

"Give Izumi your phone, and let's get to work," Setsuna said, and guided me to the practice studio. It was a generous space with a lovely view of the city below, still hidden in the remains of the morning fog. Most of the necessary instruments were accessible and ready, with multiple synths ready to provide backing for anything else needed. In the center, of course, was a piano. I naturally went over to it first, and unthinkingly, I sat down on the bench. It was a Kawai EX grand, with a Millennium III carbon fiber action. These things cost easily fifty million yen and up. I touched the keys, savoring the ivory-like feel.

"Not yet," Setsuna said, sitting down at the bench and checking my hip with hers. Now I really blushed at the fact that our asses had essentially collided. I bolted up and backed away. Fortunately, Haruto was downstairs and hadn't seen the embarrassing moment.

"Sorry! I wasn't thinking," I said. "Just…a habit."

"It's okay. I'd really like to hear you play again," she said, with some wistfulness. "But not right now. I need to assess your vocal skills and get a better idea of your range. Let's do scales, starting with C major." She pressed Middle C and I started.

After an hour of scales, she stopped. "Good enough. You're probably a natural tenor, but you seem to be comfortable in baritone, and as long as you're careful, you could do a few measures as a sopranist. You also seem to be protecting your voice well, so I don't have to harp on that too much. This makes it easier for Eiji and me."

"Ogata Eiji? How's he involved?"

Setsuna gave me a sly smile. "He's helping me write a few things for you all."

"No way!" I said, grinning. "I can't wait to hear it!"

"You're better than I thought you'd be, in any case. Certainly better than when I started out."

"I can't imagine that," I countered.

"Oh, I was completely self-taught before I met Eiji. As in 'sang karaoke alone for hours on end,' which only loosely qualifies."

"Alone?" I asked. I couldn't imagine someone as glamorous as Ogiso Setsuna doing something so strange.

"Alone," she said with a note of finality. "Did you have any professional voice instruction back in Europe?"

"A bit, yes. My parents wanted to expose me to a broad range of instruments, including the voice, so I got a touch of everything. I just happened to be decent at singing, so they let me take it further. The piano was always the focus, of course."

"You know what?" Setsuna rubbed her chin. "Go ahead and sit down, since you've just saved me a bit of time. Play me something."

I moved to sit down at the bench, only to realize that she wasn't getting up. She only scooted to the side. I slowly eased in alongside her, painfully aware that we were touching again. She didn't seem to think it was awkward at all. "Any requests?"

"Do you know any piano and voice arrangements of 'Todokanai Koi?'"

"The andante version in 'Kill All Hipsters?' Or the original in 'I'm Still Singing?'" I said, citing the album names back to her. I knew Ogiso Setsuna's discography like the back of my hand. "I'm Still Singing" was the title of her first album.

"The original needs a backing band we don't have. Play the andante."

"Got it."

I touched the keys, and started. The andante version we'd both agreed on was a somewhat slower version of the pop original, and was intended to be played and sung by the same performer, much like Morikawa Yuki's "Powder Snow." It was simultaneously more contemplative and more tragic. While the original could be mistaken for a sappy, peppy love song, as Yukiko had described it, this version was clearly a song about deep regret. It was also the version I liked better, although I'd never admit I had a favorite to the artist herself. The only potential hiccup with me playing it was that as far as I knew, the lead was supposed to be sung by a woman.

kodoku na furi wo shiteru no? naze darou ki ni natteita

kizukeba itsu no manika, dare yori hikareteita

dou sureba, kono kokoro wa, kagami ni utsuru no?

todokanai koi wo shiteite mo, utsushidasu hi ga kuru kana

boyaketa kotae ga mie hajimeru made wa

ima mo kono koi wa, ugokidasenai

Of course, I added in a few variations of my own that hadn't been found in the original. A few trills here and there, some higher octave accents, and even a tasteful glissando. I hoped she hadn't taken any offense. I ended, and gently lifted my hands from the keys.

For a few seconds, Setsuna was silent. The only sound I heard in that acoustically perfect practice studio was of her breathing. I also felt how ragged her breaths were. Shit, I pissed her off.

"That was good," she said, softly. "Really good. Actually, I shouldn't ask you to play that again, for my own sake."

"Sorry, I know I added in some superfluous stuff," I said, "And I'm a guy singing it, so not really the same…"

"That's how it was originally intended," Setsuna said, softly. "It was never written for a woman to sing. For me to sing. It was always for…" She took a deep breath in and clapped her hands. "Okay! Let's take a fifteen-minute break! And by that, I don't mean stare at your phone. Drink at least sixteen ounces of water, eat a protein bar and some fruit, and don't forget to pee!"

"Yes, Fuku-shacho!" I yelped, and made my way down to the kitchen.

"So far so good?" Haruto asked, and offered me my phone. "No calls or messages for you, I'm afraid. Do you want it back for now?"

"It's fine, I don't expect anyone to call me," I said. My mother's concert was coming up soon, after all. Youko knew where I was, and so did my bandmates. On the other hand, Setsuna was right about the need to take care of my biological imperatives. I was surprisingly hungry and thirsty after that session, and as far as I could tell, practice had barely begun.

After a few more hours of practice and reinforcing the fundamentals, Setsuna concluded my lessons for the day. "I'm going to have to rearrange my lesson plan a bit for you, Leon. You're stronger than I thought you'd be, but also a little weaker in other areas I hadn't anticipated," she said.

"Sorry for the hassle," I said.

"No, it's quite alright. You've let me move the production schedule up by quite a bit."

"Sounds good to me," I said. "I guess Haruto's gonna take me home now?"

"Yes, but since we're ending a bit early, I think you deserve a little reward, first."

"I do?"

"Come with me. There's a second practice room nearby. There's someone there who I think you'd like to meet."

She casually offered me her hand, which I took with some trepidation. This was another sort of insane situation that I couldn't have imagined a mere month ago. Holding hands with Ogiso Setsuna, I walked a short distance to another practice room with her. She gently and quietly opened the door, and signaled for me to hush. The sounds of a killer guitar solo pounded my ears. The piece was unmistakable: "Sound of Destiny," by Ogata Rina.

As Setsuna and I padded in, I saw the player. Yukiko simultaneously cradled her guitar like a lover, while at the same time attacked the strings as if they were lovers who'd jilted her. Surprisingly, she'd used a bare minimum of distortion, giving the sounds pouring out of her ax a violin-like clarity. To me, it was as if Rina herself was singing through the strings. And as Yukiko played, she again reminded me of how irrationally beautiful she'd been in the soft morning light after our night together. How much I'd longed to touch her again, to hold her, and to possess her. None of these were healthy thoughts. I wasn't well-adjusted around her. There was no way I could ever be.

As Yukiko finished, I was filled with the overwhelming urge to clap and cheer for her. Only Setsuna's gentle touch on my arm prevented me from doing so.

"Boring," said someone I hadn't noticed before, since all my attention had been on Yukiko. I could only see a sliver of him from behind, as he sat in a high-backed leather rolling chair positioned in front of a mixing station. "Pedestrian. Staid."

Yukiko was incensed. "Are you kidding me, Pops? That was my best ever! I played my friggin' heart out, there!"

"And I gave you my honest impression. There's still something missing, though I don't actually think more practice is the answer. I'll have to think about it a bit. Get some sleep. You wanna go back to your apartment?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm definitely not staying over after hearing that."

Pops? As in her father? I blinked. No way. No fucking way!

"And you!" Yukiko pointed at me. "How long were you there? This is a private session! Get out!"

"It's okay," Setsuna said. "I didn't bring him here to watch you, anyway. I wanted him to meet Eiji."

With that, the man in the high-backed chair swiveled around to face me. Even though he was in his seventies, chronologically, Ogata Eiji still looked like a silver fox, just like he'd been in the eighties. Basically, the guy was still a complete slayer. I might as well have been a Victorian doll, in comparison.

"Oh, Setsuna! So this is the young man you've been ranting about to me," Eiji said, offering a hand to me. I briefly wondered if I should have knelt and kissed his hand, but instead, I walked over and shook it. "Ogata Eiji, at your service."

"Kitahara Leon," I said, resisting the urge to kneel. "It's an honor to meet you in person. I never thought this would happen to me in real life."

"Nice catch, Setsuna!" Eiji said, in heavily-accented English. "And polite, too! Is it true that your mother is Touma Kazusa? I'm a huge fan of hers, Seinen."

"Yes, she's my mother."

"Excellent! Hey, kid! Have you met my daughter, Yukiko over there? You two should get together. Then your kid will be some kind of omni-talented prophet! The Kwizatz Haderach!"

"Dad!" Yukiko shouted, her face turning pink. "Don't talk about stuff like that! Pervy old man!"

"Oh, relax, Kiko-chan. See? Maybe the problem is you're uptight and can't take a joke," Eiji said. He turned back to me. "Oh! And if your mom is Touma Kazusa, then your grandmother must be…Touma Youko! Hey, can you give me her number? I always wanted to go out with her."

"Okay, that's enough, Eiji," Setsuna said, whirling his chair around with him in it. "Cool it with the sekkuhara with the new employees. Well, Leon, do you regret meeting your heroes now?"

I laughed, nervously. Ogata Eiji had always been described as eccentric, and without any filter. I hadn't been ready for that to be true. "Hardly!"

"Young and inexperienced," Setsuna said, fixing a combination of the glare and a smile at Eiji. "Anyway, it's late and the employees need to be getting some rest. Leon, Izumi will take you home. And Yukiko, if you don't want to stay over, I'll drive you back to your apartment. But honestly, you're just going to be here tomorrow morning, anyway! Stay and we can have dinner together. I'll make it, okay?"

Yukiko looked defeated. "Fine, fine. But I want salmon in return."

"Yes, yes, dear," Setsuna said, guiding Yukiko out, along with a wobbly-legged Eiji.

"Hey," Haruto said. I hadn't noticed his approach, "Ready to head out?"

I clenched my jaw at the sight of the happy nuclear family in front of me. "Yeah, totally. Thanks for the ride."

He smiled. "No need to thank me. Part of the job."

A few minutes later, we piled into the Tesla and I stretched my arms. I was indeed tired after a day of lessons, in a way I hadn't been in a long time. "So, are those two married or something?"

"Not legally," Haruto said. "For all intents and purposes, though, yes. Setsuna's been with him for twenty years, which qualifies in my book."

"Wasn't he the one who discovered her?"

"Yep. Though I know as much as you know. The old fairy tale—she was a struggling singer who'd been betrayed in the worst possible way by her fiancé. Eiji happened to see her at an underground show, saw something special in her, and from there on, the relationship began. Although I need to point out that although Eiji gave her an opportunity, it was Setsuna who was ultimately responsible for her own success."

"I see where Yukiko gets her good looks and abilities from. That's a hell of a star power combo," I said, chuckling. "I have a famous mom, but my dad isn't anything special at all. No idea what the hell my mom saw in him."

"You have a difficult relationship with your father, don't you?"

"He's… I think he tries to watch out for me in his own way, but he's so damned overbearing and overprotective with everything. It works for my mom, since she's the kind of person who can't tie her own shoes without falling off a cliff, but we, on the other hand, have always clashed. Maybe I remind him too much of my mom, and he can't act differently with me. Annoying."

"Ah, you just identified what she sees in him," Haruto said. "He fills her needs exactly, doesn't he? So it doesn't matter how he looks or how annoying he is to others. I'd be lucky to find someone like that."

"Can't argue with that," I said with a yawn. To my surprise, I slept the whole drive back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next three weeks flew by faster than I'd thought possible. From Monday to Saturday, I had my individual practice with Setsuna in the mornings. I attended my classes in the afternoons and evenings, and usually crashed the moment I got home. Youko had taken to simply wrapping my dinners up and refrigerating them for me to eat as breakfasts before Haruto picked me up. My mother's concert at the Vatican was a smash success, and she'd reportedly moved the Pope and his cardinals to tears. Italy was heartbroken that she wasn't Catholic. I still hadn't gotten any calls from my parents.

Setsuna was a patient, dedicated instructor who possessed limitless stamina. By comparison, I was a complete wuss, but I was improving as well. Things were still awkward between Yukiko and myself, in the rare instances I managed to run into her. And, of course, I was still a horny nineteen-year-old, so I spent my free Sundays in Saeko's arms, which was where I found myself on the Sunday before the last allotted week of practice.

I threw my head back as the now-familiar rush hit me, and I climaxed in her mouth. She was a bit of an oddity in that she seemed to genuinely enjoy giving oral sex, unlike what I'd heard relentlessly from the pages of Cosmo. When I'd offered to go down on her more often (in the name of equity), she'd refused. She also liked to swallow, which again ran contrary to what the popular media depicted.

She licked her lips and looked expectantly into my eyes. I lifted her by her arms and brought her face closer to mine, so I could kiss her deeply. As I did so, she rubbed herself between her legs and brought herself to a shuddering, prolonged climax on top of me. She had a strange quirk, where she always came noticeably harder if our lips were locked together. Her lips broke away from me as she moaned and clenched her jaw.

"Suki-des—" I whispered as she re-emerged from the little death. She slapped my cheek, gently.

"We don't say that," she said, though without any anger in her voice. I'd forgotten again, blinded by her post-orgasmic beauty, that we were merely coworkers (and not even friends) who happened to have a lot of sex together.

"Right, sorry," I said. Nevertheless, we persisted in holding each other on the mattress, breathing deeply in unison. Finally, I broke the silence. "How are your lessons going?"

"Fucking sick," she said. "Actually, Nao-san had me play a song with the full band the other day. It was 'Zetsubou Billy,' so not the most complicated rhythm, but…can you imagine that right in front of you? I was so blown away I nearly fucked up a few times! Daisuke-han makes you sound like a complete weakling, by the way."

"Compared to that guy, anyone's a weakling," I said, with a shrug. "Did you sing the parts, too?"

"Yeah, badly," she said. "But anyway, Nao-san said I was good enough to take on whatever Setsuna could throw at me. Shit, I should've screwed up more!

"Why?

"Because that way I could hang out more with Nao-san and less with you, duh."

"I'm not offended. Genuinely not offended that you'd say that."

She sighed and locked gazes with me. "We'll probably be playing together, soon. I wanna see what kind of garbage Ogata Eiji's written for us. It's probably gonna be silly love songs. I hate pop idol garbage."

"I don't know about that. I heard Yukiko practicing a few times. Whatever she's playing is new, and sounds great."

"I hope so. I mean, your whiny voice doesn't really fit with a lot of Eiji's material, anyway."

"Ben Folds is super whiny-sounding, and he's famous as sin."

"He's also a major asshole. Okay, maybe you're right! You're him, but Japanese-Australian or something."

"Austrian."

"Same shit." She sat up and adjusted the pads on her bra, which I'd rolled to expose her nipples. "By the way, can you not do this to my bras? It damages the pads. I'll buy a pair of open tips to wear next time, if you're into that."

"Sorry, I just thought you looked really hot like that…"

"Yeah, so does every other porn star in this country. My shit's expensive, so don't fuck it up."

"I'll never say 'no' to cute underwear."

She picked her panties up off the floor. "So, are you gonna be able to play with Kiko, or are you gonna be super awkward and ruin the mood?"

"I've forgotten about her," I said.

Saeko balled up her panties and tossed them at my face. "Don't lie. Every time you talk about her, I see your little expression change. 'Boo hoo! Why won't she looove me?' You know, if you want to do her again, just ask. I guarantee she'll say yes, even though she'll give you a hard time about it."

"I don't wanna do her," I said. "It'd feel empty."

"What's the difference between that and what we're doing right now?"

"Because we're being straightforward about it? I don't know. Maybe it was because it was my first time ever, or because she seemed so happy, but…I couldn't help but mistake it for more than it was."

"Would you rather be with someone straightforward, then?"

"Maybe I would," I said. In response, she threw herself back into bed, pinning me down.

"Oh, I was curious about something," she said. "When you were doing it, did she ever kiss you? Like not sucking on your neck or something. But actually kiss you on the lips and shit?"

"It's a haze to me now, but I don't remember that, no."

"Mm, then that's your sign. Kiko doesn't kiss anyone. It's like a weird phobia for her, although she talks about wanting to, a lot."

"That's weird. I don't know what to say. I might have kissed her to wake her up, though."

"She freak out?"

"No, in fact she looked kind of happy."

Saeko closed her eyes, for a moment, then reopened them. "I don't know what to say, either. In any case, I realized something. You need new clothes. I'm sick of the same stuff you're always wearing day in and day out. We're not anime characters who only have one outfit."

"Wanna go shopping, then?"

"Yeah, right after this," she said, and kissed me deeply while reaching between my legs.

By the time we actually went shopping, it was already getting dark.

The next morning, we all received the same text from Haruto:

We're meeting together as a band today. I'll bring you to the VP's house. Wait for the car.

It was a week ahead of schedule, but based on how things were going for me, and how things had gone for Saeko, it was a real possibility that our schedule was about to get busy for real. When he pulled up, I noticed that Yukiko and Saeko were already seated in the back of the Tesla.

"Hey!" Haruto said to me as I got in. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad. It just looks like things are moving ahead of schedule. That never happens!"

"Now I see the truth," Saeko said, wrapping her hands around my neck from her rear seat. "You've had your own personal butler toting you around in a goddamned Tesla like you're Bruce Wayne, when I had to take the metro like a bum? I'll douse you in acid! I'll turn you into Two-Face!"

"Sorry, Iizuka-san, we didn't have the budget for you," Haruto teased. "Tough economic times and all! Please put your seatbelt on, or I can't drive us anywhere…"

We continued like a car full of rowdy teenagers (although half of us were indeed teenagers) until we got off at Setsuna's mansion. Gathered were the full management of Double-O productions: Setsuna, Rina, and Eiji. And, to my surprise, Morikawa Hanako and her manager, Yayoi.

"Sit," Setsuna commanded. "If you didn't have breakfast…Yukiko, I mean you…there's coffee and muffins in the kitchen."

"Yo, Hanako!" Yukiko said, ignoring her mother. "What's up, girlfriend? You joining the band or something?"

"Nope," Hanako said. "I have some business related to my cute little juniors here! Sounds like good things are happening! Hey, Piano-man!"

She waved cheerfully at me, and I lamely waved back. Even in the most casual of duds, she was breathtaking. "I actually heard some of your lessons with Setsuna," she continued. "Now I'm kicking myself. I should've had you sing Rina's part back then. It would have been killer!"

"No, no, I wouldn't have been as good," I said, chuckling nervously. I had trouble with compliments in general, and doubly so coming from Hanako.

"I've always wanted a slightly lower voice, you know, and also to look as cute as he does!" Rina interjected, adding to my distress.

"Alright, lets start," Setsuna said. "I'm pleased to let you all know that your instructors have all agreed: you're ready to start playing as a group now. In turn, we're going to start introducing songs from the upcoming album. The goal is to get you ready to play two pieces during a late-night television show in two weeks."

"Two weeks?" I sucked my teeth. Playing a popular punk song on the fly when we didn't have an (intended) audience was one thing, but playing for a live audience was a whole other ballgame.

"It's the Yanagihara Tomo Show," Setsuna said. "You'll reach approximately four million viewers tuning in on Saturday night."

"You're kidding me!" I shot upright, not in happiness, but sheer terror.

"I know," Setsuna said. "This is a major gamble. I only secured time for you because I happen to be close friends with Tomo-chan, and on the condition that Hanako sings on the show. You'll be providing accompaniment for her cover of 'Sound of Destiny.' She'll break from the main stage, talk with Tomo for five minutes, and then introduce you. You'll play your first original single, and Tomo will announce that your debut album will be available in stores on February 14, Valentine's Day. This is a true live broadcast, so there are no do-overs."

Now I realized why Yukiko had been playing that solo so frequently when I'd overheard her practices with Eiji. That said, she was learning it directly from the composer himself, so there was no better way to go about it.

"Let's talk logistics," Setsuna continued. "For Hanako's backing, we'll have Yukiko on guitar, Saeko on drums, and Leon, you'll have the bass to start. It's a simple part, so you won't have difficulty with it."

"Can I do it on synth, instead?"

Setsuna shook her head. "We're doing this to showcase your multiple talents and wow the audience, Leon. You'll be on bass for SOD and then switch to amplified acoustic piano for your original single."

"Will that really impress anyone?"

She smiled knowingly. "It did for your mother."

I blinked. I had no idea what she was talking about. I knew my mom could play most instruments with easy fluency, but as far as I knew, she'd never actually played bass guitar in concert for anything. "Okay? I guess."

"For your single, because the piano provides the main melody, Yukiko will switch to five-string bass."

"Okay, Mom, cut to the chase," Yukiko said, holding her hand up to parody a model student. "What's our single gonna be?"

"I can answer that," Eiji said, slyly pulling out several copies of what was obviously sheet music. He passed them out. I held my breath. "Shiowase na Kioku: by Ogata Eiji and Ogiso Setsuna."

My breaths ragged, I mentally sight-read the music. It was a very standard four-minute-long piece, perfect for radio play. It didn't demand anything super complicated in terms of technical skill. It had a pumping bass track and compelling drum beat, and just enough piano to accentuate a tenor as the lead vocalist. I took in a breath. I'd only intended to hum or mutter the lyrics to myself, but I ended up singing them anyway.

Dorekurai no tsukihi ga sugireba

Kono kioku wasurete shimau koto ga dekiru darou ka

Iki ga dekinai you na koishita

Taisetsu de shiawase na kioku datta

Kami kakiageta hosoi yubisaki

Fureatta bamen mada iroasenai mama

Makimodosu koto dekinai you ni,

futari, deau ano hi ano toki e

Onaji sora no shita de ikiteiru

kimi ni wa nidoto fureaenai…

I must have looked like a complete idiot, singing with no backup, miming having a microphone, and gesticulating with my hands like some shitty parody of an idol. When I realized how much of a fool I was being, my voice cracked and I stopped.

"Shit! So sorry! I got carried away," I muttered, slumping down in my seat. To my surprise, both Setsuna and Eiji beamed.

"Looks like he likes it!" Eiji said.

"Looks like they all like it!" Setsuna said, drawing my attention to Saeko, who'd been tapping out the rhythm with a pair of pens on the tabletop. And Yukiko looked like someone had just caught her naked, instead of playing air guitar. Eiji rose and gave Setsuna an exuberant high-five.

"Yeah, it's acceptable," Yukiko growled, her face turning red.

Hanako, meanwhile, gave me the gentlest of indulgent smiles. "It's okay, Leon. We all do that when we encounter a piece we really like."

"Still," I said, shaking my head. My stomach was butterflies.

"It sounds awesome, and if you have a genuinely good time playing it, then your enjoyment will reach your audience," Hanako said. "And of course, infectious enjoyment means more money! So don't ever feel embarrassed for loving your music. Eiji-san! I'm feeling neglected here! Why can't you write something like that for me?"

"I have!" Eiji protested. "Multiple albums' worth!"

"Yeah, but what have you done for me lately?"

He laughed, relief evident in his face. I guess even legendary songwriters had anxiety over their work, sometimes.

"We'll introduce the other songs over the next few weeks, but for now, we want you to concentrate on SOD and Shiawase na Kioku," Setsuna said. "Everything rides on this television appearance, but for some reason, I feel like it won't be a struggle now."

"Thank you, Ogata Eiji," I tried to say, but found my throat closing. "Thank you, Ogiso Setsuna. I… I'm so happy…" I couldn't speak. This was an insane, beautiful dream, and I was terrified I'd shatter it and wake up in a cold apartment in New York City, completely alone. Without the people I've grown to love in a mere few weeks since I'd come here. The thought tortured me in ways I hadn't the strength to comprehend. Words were impossible. I could only sob and swallow my own snot while Yukiko and Saeko pointed and laughed at me, and Setsuna rubbed my shoulders.

"Just like Yuki, so many years ago," I heard Eiji say to Rina, who wiped her eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Alright, you maggots! Sit down and shut up! We're gonna go over the battle plan!" For some reason, Setsuna wore an old army helmet and chewed on a corncob pipe while imitating a Kansai accent (I suppose she thought this was what American Southerners sounded like). I have no idea where she obtained the cosplay from, but I wasn't in any position to question her. After the initial excitement of our new single had died down somewhat, and after I'd regained my composure, it was time to go over the next thirteen days in exacting detail.

Yukiko snickered. "Mom, are you trying to like, be the drill sergeant from 'Full Metal Jacket?'"

"You there, Private Joker!" Setsuna commanded. "Get down and give me twenty! Show me your war face!"

"She really likes that stupid movie," Yukiko whispered in my ear.

"It's not stupid," Setsuna said, removing her helmet. She set it down on the table. "It's Stanley Kubrick's finest work. Regardless, we have a mission to complete, and every second we waste takes away from our chances of success. You need to both successfully back Hanako and make a huge impression with your single. If either part falls through, the entire plan falls through. Starting from this afternoon, you'll all practice SOD as a group until you perfect it. It's only four minutes and thirty seconds long on average. I think you'll master it within fifty repetitions. Once you do, you'll break into individual instruction for your parts on SnK for about twenty-four hours, then come together as a group. While I do the vocals with Leon, Eiji will take Saeko through the drums. Then Eiji will switch and fine tune the piano parts with Leon. Yukiko, you've already practiced a lot of it with Eiji, so continue on your own for a bit. If everything goes to plan, we'll have a whole ten days to practice. Two hundred forty hours of the most precious resource in the world! The day of the performance, we're doing a dress rehearsal at the studio during one of their daytime soap slots. Then, we play for Tomo the same night. Understood?"

"Hai," we all said in unison.

"Then let's begin," Setsuna said.

I raised my hand. "I'm sorry, I had a question, actually."

"Yes, Leon?"

"Um, we first years have midterms in about two weeks. It's not a huge problem for me if I bomb them, but Yukiko…"

"Dude, can you not air my dirty laundry in front of everyone and their mother?" Yukiko scowled at me.

"Don't worry," Haruto said. "Shinozuka and I have already made arrangements with your professors at Yuunagi. You'll be allowed to take midterms a week later than the other students, so you'll have time to catch up with studying. Japanese disability law has finally caught up to the West, so we're taking advantage."

"Disability law?" Yukiko scowled even more. "How are we disabled? This is fishy as all hell."

"Ah, Ogiso-san. You officially have dyslexia, mild cognitive impairment, and antisocial personality disorder," Haruto said. "Did I miss anything?"

"You little…!" Yukiko started to get out of her chair, only for Setsuna to hold her down by her shoulders. "That's not fair! What does he have?" She demanded, pointing at me.

"He's too cute for his own good," Haruto said, winking at me. I had to snicker at that.

"Okay, it's time to work!" Setsuna said.

To my surprise, Hanako was with us from the start. I'd thought that we'd at least go through the song from the top without vocals, but she had insisted. I soon found out, however, that Hanako's rehearsal personality was nothing like the easygoing, gentle air she put on for everyone's benefit.

"Stop!" she commanded for what seemed like the fiftieth time, only thirty measures in. For the life of me, I couldn't tell why. I hadn't perceived any mistakes from anyone. "Leon, you're still flat on this note. Use the fingering we agreed upon, please." She tapped at a troublesome section on the sheet music in front of me. I could barely tell the difference between my markings and the original score. "Kiko, you're too fast here, and missing notes at the top of the register. Saeko, you're too slow with your fast kick doubles, and your snare is buzzing out of control."

I inhaled slowly. So much for my not having perceived any mistakes. It was scary how clearly Hanako seemed to know every single note for every single instrument.

"From the top! One and a two and…" she commanded after we'd made our adjustments. Once again, I launched into the bass part for Sound of Destiny, and once again, we stopped at thirty measures in. At this rate, Setsuna's original prediction was falling apart. "Let's take a break. Make it a half hour. Everyone go take care of their needs, maybe get a quick nap in."

Saeko and Yukiko both looked exhausted and bloodshot, like penciled caricatures of starving, beaten inmates in a World War One prison camp. To my surprise, they simply shuffled out, leaning on each other for support. I unslung my bass. My sweat had drenched my hoodie under where the strap had been. I realized how hungry and thirsty I was, yet again. I'd thought I was used to this by now, having gone through Setsuna's training. But this was another level. I took a step and my world started to flash white. My knees buckled. I felt someone catch me under my arms and gently guide me to the floor.

When I regained some awareness, I was looking up at the ceiling. My head rested on something very soft, yet strong at the same time. I felt a warm, gentle sensation on my forehead. Something cool brushed my lips. I realized it was water, and I started to drink.

"Hey," Hanako said. She loomed above me, but she wasn't standing over me. "You passed out for a second there. Are you okay now?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "This hasn't happened to me in years. I don't know what came over me." I tried to sit up, only for her to gently prevent me by pressing against my forehead. I realized, with a mix of pleasure and mortification, that my head rested on her thighs. She was literally giving me a lap pillow straight out of a romance novel.

"It's my fault," Hanako said. "I'm used to practice sessions that last for hours on end without a break, but you guys are new to this. I'll try to be more conscientious."

"I'm the real newbie here. At least they didn't pass out," I said, with a weak chuckle. "I'm so sorry. I promise you I'll try to meet your standards, and make the TV spot a huge success."

"Setsuna trained me, you know," Hanako said. "Since we both could sing for hours on end, none of us thought about stopping. After she had a few people pass out on her, she went to a more humane schedule with plenty of breaks. I still have a lot to learn."

"That's awesome, though. I can't imagine having as much stamina as you do. That's one of the reasons you're so brilliant on stage. It really shows that you're as strong on the inside as you are on the outside. As an amateur musician, I really love that about you." I bit my tongue when I realized that I'd gone from complimenting her to straight out gushing praise like an obsessive fanboy.

Hanako didn't say anything in response, but instead ran her fingers through my hair. "Leon, I know this'll be weird and come out of nowhere, but can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, anything!"

"May I kiss you?"

"Er…" My eyes widened. "I mean, I'd love that, but aren't you, like, prohibited…"

"Our managers are downstairs. Of course, if you don't want me to, I won't ask again. I know you have a girlfriend."

"I don't, not in the sense of…" My heart raced. I was about to make an incredibly stupid, dangerous decision and she was giving me an "out" that any sane man in the industry would take. The problem was, I wasn't exactly sane. "You can kiss me."

"Thank you," Hanako said. She slowly leaned over and found my lips with hers.

She tasted of sakura-flavored lip balm. Her skin was salty and had a faintly chalky undertone from the little bits of her makeup that accumulated in sweat beads at the corner of her mouth. Her breath was as foul as mine was, given that we'd been sweating and practicing nonstop without a drink of water. And yet, I found myself in pain from the desire for more. Agony that pierced my gut and impaled my brain. Her tongue found the tip of mine, and tentatively pressed against it, as if she didn't quite know what to do afterward.

And just as quickly as it seemed to happen, it stopped. Hanako lifted her face away and closed her eyes, her jaw quivering. I was speechless. No way that just happened, I thought. I'm still passed out, probably drooling while the girls are all laughing at me.

"Can you stand?" Hanako asked me, finally. "We should try to look normal. You should…you should go get something to eat and drink. Bring me back a bottle of water."

Silently, I followed her command, and slowly got to my feet. Although it felt like hours had passed, when I checked the wall clock, it looked like only ten minutes had elapsed. I made my way down to the kitchen, unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched. I grabbed the first bottle of water available and chugged it. My heart pounded, whether from dehydration or turmoil, it made no difference. After a few moments, things started to get back to normal.

"Hey, you okay?" Haruto asked me, pressing a clean towel against my forehead. "You're sweating bullets. The others told me about it. Sounds like the rehearsal from hell. If you want, Yayoi and I can talk to Hanako, ask her to chill a bit."

"It's okay," I said, opening another bottle of water and tearing open a protein bar. "I nearly passed out. Don't worry, I'm not hurt! She realized what happened and apologized. We're making progress, though it's slower than what Setsuna probably wants."

"Setsuna only wants you to die in a metaphorical sense," Haruto said, continuing to towel my face off. "Not literally. If this kind of thing happens again, get me immediately, alright? I have your back."

I shook his hand. "Thanks, Nii-san, I mean it. Sorry, that was probably too much."

"Not at all," he said. "I'm actually so happy I could buy a round of drinks for everyone. But sadly, not gonna happen here. After the show, we'll drink like crazy. My treat, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that," I said, genuinely sharing his happiness. We clapped each other on the shoulders, and I went back up to the rehearsal room. I didn't forget my promise to Hanako, and grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of fruit snacks.

When we reconvened practice, Hanako, of course, betrayed no signs that anything significant had happened between us. And we finally played Ogata Rina's "Sound of Destiny" from start to finish at five-forty-six in the morning the next day.

CHAPTER NINE

When I woke up, my phone read "14:00." I groggily wiped at my eyes and sat up in bed. Bed? I looked at my surroundings in confusion. This wasn't a familiar room. It certainly wasn't Youko's house, either. I remembered that almost right after we'd managed to play "Sound of Destiny" to Hanako's satisfaction, we'd pretty much all crashed simultaneously. I vaguely remember Yukiko and Saeko crashing on a couch. Hanako had fallen asleep in a chair, and I'd been on the floor, probably drooling all over the acoustic tile. This was probably the guest room that Setsuna had mentioned. I was glad it existed.

But why am I in pajamas and nicely tucked in? My face scrunched up in displeasure as I realized that Haruto had probably changed me while I'd been unconscious. I didn't really care about another guy seeing me naked, but that seemed like a bit much to ask of any employee. I threw the covers aside and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, finding my bearings. At that point, I heard a knock.

"Come in," I said, expecting Haruto. Instead, however, Setsuna came in, bearing a small tray with her. On it was a coffee, a muffin, and some cereal with a small carafe of milk.

"Are you feeling awake?" Setsuna asked, setting the tray on the nearby nightstand.

I blinked at her and blushed a bit. This was a bit too familiar for me. "Yes, thank you. Sorry to be a burden. You didn't have to bring me breakfast."

"Not a burden at all. I overworked you all last night, so it's only right I should help mend you up a bit," Setsuna said. "Mind if I sit?"

"Not at all," I said. Instead of pulling up a chair or anything, she simply sat next to me on the bed.

"Is everyone else okay?" I asked.

"They're fine. Actually, Yukiko and Saeko are already learning their parts for SnK. They couldn't wait."

"Shit, I need to start, too," I said, starting to rise.

"It's okay, you can rest a bit more," Setsuna said, gently pressing on my thigh with a hand. "Besides, I feel like talking for a bit."

My heart skipped a beat. Had she found out about Hanako and me?" "Sure, everything good?"

"Leon, can I ask you a bit about your family?"

"I'll tell you what I know."

"Yukiko must have told you, but you know your mother and I were close friends in high school, right?"

"Yeah, she told me. I admit, my mom never really talked about you in detail. I didn't really ask her a lot of questions, though. I mean, this is stuff that happened in the late nineties, isn't it?"

"Yes, it did. And your father, Haruki, does he ever talk about me?

"As far as I can tell, no. I remember I even asked if he'd known you in high school, like mom did, and he kind of brushed me off. He did praise your singing, though. He said it was unlike anything else in the world."

Setsuna smiled, perhaps somewhat bitterly, but it must have been my imagination. "Did they mention that we'd played together in our high school festival?"

I shook my head. "I think my mom mentioned it once. My dad, never."

"Here," Setsuna said, and handed me an old-fashioned DVD-R disc in a plastic case, labeled "Houjou HS Fes 97" in fading permanent marker. I looked the relic skeptically. Would this even play in modern systems? Did she even have any optical media players in this house? "If you want, you can play it. There's a DVD player under the TV."

"Sure, I love vintage movies," I said, and placed the disk in the player. She rolled her eyes. I had probably offended her a bit with that comment, now that I'd thought about it.

As expected of a recording taken by a hand-held camcorder before the era of high-definition video, the visual quality was dogshit and the audio was barely better. No one had done any post-production mixing, so I had trouble hearing the band onstage over the sound of the audience. That said, I almost immediately recognized the kids on stage as my parents, along with Setsuna.

"Holy shit, what is this?" I asked Setsuna in disbelief.

"'White Album,' by Morikawa Yuki," Setsuna replied, teasingly.

"No, but the…outfits and stuff. I mean, you look classy and beautiful… But my mom looks like a pole dancer! I'm not sure I wanna see this…"

"I chose the outfit for her," Setsuna said, resting her chin on her fingers. "Perhaps I went a bit too far, but isn't she sexy as can be?"

"I remind you that you're asking me about my mom, Fuku-shacho."

She giggled. It was clear that this video meant a lot to her, warts and all.

"I see my dad is…well, my dad. He's such a dork. How the hell did he ever impress my mom, anyway? He can barely play. That technique is crap…"

"Shush. Just watch to the end of 'Sound of Destiny' and you'll see."

I followed her orders, and to my surprise, my dad actually played the solo. He was in no way as artistic as Yukiko had been. His fingering was sloppy, he missed a noticeable amount of notes, and he nearly dropped the guitar, but he'd played it. I chewed on a fingernail—a terrible, forbidden habit for a pianist. "Okay… That makes no sense. He was decent. Possibly almost good. Why doesn't he play at all?"

"He left me his guitar when he fled Japan," Setsuna said. "It was the one thing of his that I could keep. The one thing that was only for me. He kept his promise, I see."

"Eh? Setsuna, I'm a little lost here."

"Just watch to the end," she bade me. "It's only a few more minutes."

I nodded. Despite the horrendous audiovisuals, I noticed the audience had gotten a lot less talkative during the songs. It meant that they'd finally started to pay attention for real, rather than having their side conversations. As the show progressed, it was easy to see why. I didn't want to witness it, because they were my parents, but any idiot could see the chemistry—the erupting sexual tension, as much as it pained me—between Touma Kazusa and Kitahara Haruki. And, any idiot could also see the erupting tension between my father and Ogiso Setsuna. It was even hard to deny the romantic—and, surprisingly, intensely physical—attraction between Setsuna and Kazusa. My mouth went dry.

As they went into the second chorus of "Todokanai Koi," I'd seen enough. There was a reason that I'd never seen this. That my father had never talked about Setsuna, nor had my mother ever mentioned her name in his presence.

"Do you understand now?" Setsuna asked, after the video ended.

"I think so. You were crazy in love with my father, that's obvious. And, please don't take this the wrong way, but I think you might have been in love with my mother, too. And they felt the same about you, just as strongly as you felt for them."

"A-plus for analysis," Setsuna said. "If only you could pass your midterms that easily."

"I feel weird," I said. "I mean, I think I can piece together what happened after that. I don't have all the details, nor am I asking you to tell me, but eventually, he chose my mom and fled to Vienna, right?"

"A-minus, if only because the summary's somewhat incomplete, but as you said, you don't want all the details."

"That means he left you. Jesus Christ, Dad…"

"We were engaged."

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" I hung my head. I know it didn't make sense to feel shame on his behalf for what he'd done to my current boss, but at the same time, his behavior had been truly egregious.

"Look Leon, I didn't show you this to make you feel sad or ashamed or anything," Setsuna said. "Please don't take it the wrong way. I just wanted to…tell you the truth about what happened. So you weren't in the dark about who I am. Who I was."

"I'm the product of my father being a shitheel," I said, shaking. "I'm the result of cruelty and heartbreak. No wonder she…" I thought about Yukiko and brought my hands to my eyes. Tears started to flow down my face.

"Leon, stop! Look at me. That's not what I meant to say at all," Setsuna cradled my face in her hands. "I'm so glad you exist. I'm so glad you're here, with this company, with this band, with me. I wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, I was hurt, but I also picked myself right back up. As did your mother, and your father, too. So please, forgive yourself. You're too precious for this. You're so damned beautiful, like both of them. I'm so thankful that can be a part of your life, too."

I have no idea why I did it, whether the blame fell on my turmoil or exhaustion and disruption of my sleep cycle, but I leaned in and kissed her. To my surprise, she didn't push me off and slap me, or call for help, or do anything else but hungrily kiss me back. I tasted the same sakura-flavored lip balm as had been on Hanako's lips. Setsuna smelled sweet, and soft, and inviting. I started to drown in her, my aching heart welcoming the endless deep of her eyes. She pressed a hand against my bare chest, rubbed one of my nipples, and I slipped my hand up her blouse. As I caressed her under her bra, she pulled my pajama pants down. I was ready for her, in every way possible.

Abruptly, she extricated herself from my embrace. I immediately realized that I'd fucked up. I couldn't find any suitable words. I hurriedly pulled my pants back up.

"I'm not going to lie," Setsuna said. "I enjoyed that. And I wanted more. I've always wondered what Kazusa would have looked like…tasted like…had she been a boy." She grinned. "Now I know! But…I have to think about what's best for the company, and for our futures. It's best if we don't go further. Eat up. I'll wait for you in the practice room. Izumi will be joining us. I trust you understand why." With that, she left in a hurry.

A few years ago, I'd chanced on my father alone in his study. He hadn't figured out that I was watching him. He'd held my copy of "I'm Still Singing" in his hands, and stared at it silently, for a long time. With his fingertips, he'd caressed the image of Setsuna's face that adorned the cover, and then carefully put the album back on the shelf.

It took me some willpower to go back to Setsuna, but I had a job to do, and there were multiple others depending on me to do it. I also found Haruto's presence to be the opposite of annoying, and I assumed that Setsuna also found some relief from him hanging around in the practice room. If he suspected why he'd been called to attend practice, he didn't betray it at all.

"Okay, I think you've got the basics down," Setsuna said, cracking her knuckles in satisfaction. "If you can, stick a tremolo in measure fifty-five. That'll really bring out the power of this chord right here," she said, making marks on the sheet music. "If you can't, no big deal. Again, the mission is to get through this without making major mistakes. And even if you do, just play right through. Studies show that audiences don't remember ninety-five percent of our screwups, unless we stop. Stopping is a fatal error."

"Got it," I said, fist-bumping her. I almost felt like things were turning to normal now.

"I think Eiji should be done with the drums, now. He'll come down in a moment. I need to go and make sure Yukiko isn't misbehaving," she said, and rose from the piano bench.

"Nice job," Haruto said. "I love seeing when a plan comes together, don't you?"

"It's still a bit unreal to me," I said. "I mean, we're going to be on network TV in less than eleven days. We're going to have an album by Valentine's Day. Shit, that's amazing by any measure."

"We're tying the album's release to a major chocolatier's V-Day campaign to drive up our mutual sales," Eiji said, as he entered, shuffling through the sheet music in his hands. "They're making a new flavor named after the song, by the way. I'm told it's some sort of passionfruit. So, try to evoke that in your playing, Seinen."

"How do I evoke a specific fruit with my music?"

"If you have to ask, then you're a hundred years too early to challenge me," Eiji said. "Now, let's begin. This piece isn't nearly as difficult as 'Powder Snow' was."

"I always wanted to ask you this, but why did you make Morikawa Yuki play such a difficult piece, as a new beginner? Weren't you worried she'd flub the whole thing?"

"Oh, I knew exactly what I was doing," Eiji said, "You see, she was going through some deep emotional turmoil that threatened to consume her. I gave her an insurmountable, utterly ridiculous burden to carry, because I knew it would save her, and that she had the strength to carry it."

"Oh." It made sense, if in a twisted way. "I'll take your word for it, then. Can I have the sheet music?"

Eiji laughed. "Of course not. You've already memorized it, I can tell that much. And I know you're going to deviate from it. That's okay, though. You have the skill to do so without turning the song into a pile of steaming crap. I want to see what you can do."

"You caught me red-handed, I guess," I said, and started to press the keys. The intro was quite basic, almost beginner level, if not for the syncopations in tempo that added some flourish to the initial notes. I took the skeleton Eiji had written and added some flesh to the bones. High octave accents and tremolos, and even a glissando, though those were bad for the cuticles.

Even when it came time for the vocals, I continued to add meat to the bones, knowing full well that Yukiko's bass and Saeko's drums would probably overpower the subtle touches I added. About forty-eight seconds in, give or take, I stood up from the bench ala Ben Folds and started to really pound the chords and sustain pedal to supplement Yukiko's bass and add some urgency to the chorus. About two-forty-five, there was a break in the vocals, and I inserted my solo in. I shifted the key up, added a melancholy touch to what was otherwise a supposedly happy song, and then downshifted into the last chorus. I ended, putting a low glissando in, and smashing the lower octaves with the length of my forearm. The crash was epic.

Haruto leapt to his feet and applauded. "Holy shit! That was awesome!"

I laughed and high-fived him. "I feel the need, for speed!" I turned to Eiji. "So, what do you think?"

Eiji adjusted his glasses. "Did you get it out of your system?"

"Huh?"

He shook his head. "First, no glissandos. Ever. I'll smack you if you do that in my presence. Your cuticles are going to rupture and you'll bleed all over the keys. And if you lose a nail by accident it'll derail the entire album. Also, I already have a bass solo for Yukiko at two-forty-five, so yours isn't needed. The key shift is messy and amateurish. We're not The Ramones. And that little…show at the end is cancerous. It'll excite fans, but they'll expect you to do something stupid to your instrument at the end of every song. We can't emergency-tune a piano during a concert, so a whole octave's out of commission. You really want that during a two-hour show?"

I wilted under his criticism. No one had handed my ass to me like that since Hoher Meister Flugel had when I was six. "Noted…I'll change it out."

"Don't misunderstand me, Seinen," Eiji said. "You're like me when I was your age. Skilled, cocky, and ready to flex on the plebians at every opportunity. I respect that, I do. But you're not going to last long in this world if you don't take care of yourself and your instruments better. Feel free to add your touches to the score. It's not really your music if you just ape what's printed on the page. With that in mind, let's go again."

The next day, the band was finally together again. Though we were still in the practice suite, there was a palpably different energy in the air. Instead of seeming completely disinterested in everything, Saeko looked focused, and fully devoted to following a rhythm. Yukiko was fully immersed in chord progressions on the bass guitar, no doubt warming up for her solo. And I was itching to play, but Eiji's expression tempered that, somewhat. I pressed the damper pedal on the Kawai and instead, warmed up with a few vocal scales. Still, I couldn't resist singing and playing something other than a scale.

They're gonna clean up your looks

With all the lies in the books

To make a citizen out of you

Because they sleep with a gun

And keep an eye on you, son

So they can watch all the things you do

Because the drugs never work

They're gonna give you a smirk

'Cuz they got methods of keeping you clean

They're gonna rip up your heads

Your aspirations to shreds

Another cog in the murder machine

They said: All teenagers scare the livin' shit outta me

They could care less as long as someone'll bleed

So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose

Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me

"Can it!" Setsuna ordered. I stopped playing with a grin, to show her I wasn't offended. We were supposed to be laser-focused on our two songs. "We're going public soon. If you sing stuff that we don't have a license for, we're going to get sued."

"They can't sue us if we don't have a name," Yukiko said. "See? I'm a genius."

"Actually, that reminds me," Eiji said. "We need to determine a name. The Yanagihara Tomo Show wants it no later than tomorrow morning. Tomo's scripts are prepared well ahead of time, and we're pushing it."

"Can we be 'Egoistic Lily?'" Saeko asked.

"No, because that's already the name of a well-known doujin circle," Setsuna said. "They'll sue us, and win."

"How about 'Pure Love Hectopascal?'"

"You've reached your quota," Setsuna said. "Anyone else?"

"How about something in English?" I suggested. "Less chance of running afoul of a Japanese IP, and you can Google for name matches in the Anglosphere."

"That's risky," Eiji said. "If the fans can't pronounce it, or if it's a false cognate of something obscene, we're in trouble."

"How about Fleur de LYS?" Yukiko asked. "I know it's probably common in French, but, the last is just our names."

"Not bad," Eiji said. "Although I'm sure that's already taken. But we're getting closer."

"Okay…then I give up! Why don't we just say fuck it and name ourselves 'White Album 3?'"

"The White Album 3," Eiji said. "Setsuna…I like it. Plus, we own the rights to White Album as an IP in Japan. The Beatles' claim expired a while ago. So it's lawsuit-proof, in addition to catchy."

"Hold the phone, I didn't mean it seriously," Yukiko said. "That name sucks! I want to be part of something cool like 'Dieflagellator' or something!"

"Izumi-san, let the station know we've decided, and file a trademark application immediately," Setsuna said.

"At once!" Haruto said, and rushed away as he whipped his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Oh, for the love of…" Yukiko shook her head. "I'm sorry, guys," she said to us. "You can kill me anytime."

"Can I do it right now?" Saeko asked, picking up her cymbal stand.

"Calm down. It's not terrible," I said. "It's short, just different enough to be memorable, and easy to remember. I can think of a lot worse names to be given by our record label."

"And with that, let's practice our single, Shiowase na Kioku, by The White Album 3!" Setsuna announced, fairly giddy.

"From the top, guys," I said to Yukiko and Saeko. "No murder. Let's shine as brightly as Hanako."

CHAPTER TEN

Ten days later, we'd practiced both songs enough to be thoroughly sick of them. We resented that they intruded on our dreams, that they took over our involuntary movements and nervous tics, and that we found ourselves humming them even though we desperately sought any other melody. But this also meant that we'd mastered them. We could play "Shiowase na Kioku" and "Sound of Destiny" drunk, with our arms tied behind our backs, and bleeding to death.

Ironically, the TV studio that hosted the Yanagihara Tomo Show was the same one I'd caused four million yen in damages to a while back. We all caught a glare from the studio president, but he couldn't really do much to us at this point. I don't think Iwata, the hiring manager I'd talked to long ago, even recognized me.

"There you are," a wolfish-looking man in his forties said, as he intercepted us on the set of the Tomo Show. He was tall, dashing, and had a mean pair of sculpted sideburns. "Greetings! I'm Hayasaka, executive producer for the Yanagihara Tomo show. Glad to have you with us."

"Hayasaka-san, glad to meet you," Setsuna said, bowing politely.

Unexpectedly, Hayasaka's face fell. "Oh come on, Ogiso-san! You do this every time we see each other! Don't you remember me at all? It's me, Hayasaka Chikashi! From the Festival Committee at Houjou! I entered you into the Miss Houjou contest every year, and…"

"Oh!" Setsuna said, so innocently that one could almost believe she wasn't treating the poor guy like that intentionally. "Yes, Hayasaka-san. I do remember that. I also remember asking to be taken off the list, several times."

"Right, but Haruki convinced you otherwise, and you won by a landslide!"

"Against me," interjected a regal-looking woman, also in her forties, with perfectly-styled drill-like curls that framed a made-for-TV face. She grabbed Hayasaka by the ear and twisted.

"Oh! That hurts! Tomo-chan, please!" Hayasaka whined.

I whistled, inwardly, in appreciation. Yanagihara Tomo was the queen of late night (trash) television, and had a way of commanding attention whether one wanted it or not. She let go of Hayasaka's reddening ear and walked up to Setsuna. The two women stared each other down with barely an few centimeters between their noses, before Tomo finally broke down and wrapped her arms around Setsuna. Setsuna reciprocated, and kissed Tomo on the cheek.

"Sorry about him," Tomo said. "I only keep him around because he can sort of get things done. Sometimes," she said, shooting a glare at her executive producer. "Hanako-chan, you're beautiful as ever," she said, nodding at Hanako. "I'm glad you're here. Ratings have been flagging a bit, and this'll bring them right back."

"Always a pleasure, Tomo-san," Hanako replied, gracing Tomo with a brilliant smile.

"And is this the backing band?" Tomo said, waving dismissively at us.

"The White Album 3," Setsuna said, proudly.

"Aw, Kiko's gonna play for mommy now? Make your auntie Tomo proud! Don't screw up! Dohohoho!"

"I promise you, they'll deliver," Setsuna said, cutting off whatever Yukiko was going to say.

"They'd better," Tomo said. "I'm only doing this because I love Hanako, and because I also love you, babe."

"Tomo, are you between boyfriends right now?" Setsuna asked. "Is that why you're so prickly?"

Tomo, in turn, wrapped an arm around Setsuna's waist and started to walk off with her. "Me, you and a pair of daytime Margaritas are going to have a serious talk," she said, as they faded from view.

"Oh God, she's always such a bitch," Yukiko muttered.

"Your mother, like you, has terrible taste in friends," Saeko said.

"Hush, you two," Hanako said. "Ears and eyes everywhere. Let's get set up. Yayoi and Haruto have already made arrangements, so things should be ready for us to begin. And, just to make sure, we all have our headphones, right?"

"Yeah," we said.

We spent the next few hours in the vacant studio setting up our equipment and going over the stage directions we'd need to follow to ensure no accidental collisions or failures happened. Yayoi clearly had done this many times before, and herded us, along with the studio ADs, with exacting, cool precision. Haruto, I could tell, was trying to balance learning with trying to be helpful.

When Hanako was finally ready to start with "Sound of Destiny," it seemed like every AD and onlooker in the place had somehow found time to hang out in our studio.

"Actually, take the phones off," Hanako commanded us. "Yayoi, why don't we give these hardworking people a quick show? No better way to practice!"

Yayoi gave her an indulgent smirk, and signaled to the sound crew. We took off our headphones and switched outputs to the local speakers. The ADs clapped, chanting "Hanako! Hanako!" as our superstar waved and blew kisses toward them. Her power was evident, and if our small band, The White Album 3, could even come close to that, it would be a triumph.

"Sorry, guys, only one song from me for now," Hanako said. "But it's a favorite of mine! Sound of Destiny! And a one and a two and…"

We played, buoyed by the joy that was writ plain in their faces. I smiled, as I recalled that I'd been one of them, if only for a day. And despite the catastrophe that had happened, it had led to more fortune than I could have dreamed about.

Hanako bowed to the small crowd of workers gathered around us, before their supervisors dragged them away, cursing and threatening to pile on more work. She turned to us. "Good job, guys. Leon, you're still missing a note on measure thirty, but… you know what? That's not important anymore. You had fun, I could tell. That's what you have to do onstage. Don't get nervous—just imagine you're singing and playing for your friends, and you're all skipping work together. Can you do that?"

I held out my fist and bumped it against hers. "Watch me."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

To my manager's horror, there had been a last-minute guest switch on The Yanagihara Tomo Show, right before Hanako's performance. He wasn't upset because it interfered with our timing or bumped us off, but because of who the guest was.

"Akira-chan! Sugoi!" Tomo said. "It's a real pleasure have you here again!"

"You know, Tomo-chan, there's a very thin line between pain and pleasure, and you're crossing it!" Sennouchi Akira's friendly retort provoked a wave of laughter from the audience, to which Tomo waved her hands in seeming distress.

"Itai!" Tomo squealed, to another wave of laughter. "But seriously, it's great to see you again, Akira-chan. I heard you just came back from America." Tomo winked conspiratorially at the audience. "With a baby!"

The small brass band sounded a roll of drums and hoots as Akira jokingly lurched back in her seat, covering her face. "Tomo-chan, how could you do this to me? I guess it's true, though!" To the audience's delight, she stood up and twirled, sending the pleats of her dress airborne. "But look! I didn't even lose my figure! I love my new son, by the way. He's strong, made of gold, and speaks perfect English. I've named him…Oscar!"

"Can we see little Oscar-kun?"

"Only because it's you, Tomo-chan!" Akira said, and gestured towards a pair of stagehands who gingerly carried one of the golden American film awards onstage and placed it on Tomo's desk. The audience screamed their approval and gave her a standing ovation. Akira beamed, brilliantly.

"I understand that you beat out the American actress everyone thought was going to win this. Hey! How is it possible for a Japanese person to do that? Did you rig the voting machines? They're used to that in America! They'll find you out and make you give him back!"

More laughter. Despite the fact that it made me a complete normie, I didn't hate the comedy. Tomo's and Akira's writing teams were top notch in their fields, after all.

Akira dramatically flipped her hair back, cracked her knuckles, and channeled her Oscar-winning role as Ootori Kanae. "Then I'll kill every last one of them, my love," she said, in perfect English. Subtitles flashed on the monitors after a split-second delay.

The audience cheered again.

"Aiee! Don't say stuff like that! We're an all-ages show!" Tomo squealed. "So, was Kanae-chan your all-time favorite character to play, then?"

"Actually, no, she's number three," Akira said. "Even though I'm super grateful to her, I still have two others deep in my heart."

"Now I have to ask, who are they?"

Akira mimed being deep in thought. "Okay, number two would have to be Tachibana Asane." Wolf whistles and approving shouts erupted from the men in the audience at the mention of the incestuous little sister from the "Nukitashi" series (7 of them, against all probability and laws of good taste). "And number one is always going to be Hatshushiba Yukine."

I noticed Setsuna bite her lip at the mention of that name. Hatsushiba Yukine was a legendary character from Akira's breakout hit, "Todokanai Koi," which had cemented Sennouchi Akira as a household name forever. Even I'd watched the film (a bootleg copy, since until a scant few years ago, it had been hard to get many translated Japanese films in Europe). And now that I thought about it, I realized that there had been some eerie parallels between the events of the film, and the Houjou High festival video that Setsuna had shown me. Yukine's performance outfit in the movie had been similar—actually, identical—to what Setsuna had worn on video. I looked over at Setsuna, who shushed me before I could whisper any questions.

"Alright!" Tomo said, clapping her hands in satisfaction. "Well, folks, we're going to take a quick commercial break, and boy are you all gonna love our musical guests coming up. I've always got an eye for value, so I've gotten you a two for one deal! Sennouchi Akira, a true pleasure, and congratulations on your Oscar!" Tomo snapped her fingers and the brass band kicked off.

The director raised a hand, and the stage was swarmed with ADs who started to lug out our equipment and instruments. Hayasaka, the executive producer, whispered orders to the director, who barked them out in quick succession. Assistants rushed to the two women's sides and started to adjust their makeup and check their microphones.

"Did you triple check the feeds?" Haruto demanded of one of the sound crew amid the flurry of activity. The man brushed him off. "Hey! Answer me!"

"Chill out," Yayoi said, squeezing Haruto's arm. "I'll deal with the technical staff. You make sure your band has what it needs. Water, a snack, pee break. Don't forget the fundamentals."

Haruto swallowed, and went back to us. "Don't worry, guys, Yayoi will make sure this goes off without a hitch. Everything good? Everyone has water?"

I took a sip from my can of Liquid Death (because they looked "cooler" than bottles of water, they were at every stage in the world) to reassure him. "Sorry if that's a sore spot, but that actress—your mom, right?"

He sucked his teeth. "Yeah, it's her. If you're wondering, I'm not gonna ditch you guys to say hi. She'd treat me like a stranger, anyway. It's all about you guys, for me."

"I know the feeling," Yukiko said, surprising me with how genuine she seemed.

"Costumes feeling okay? I know they're a bit goofy, but they'll make sure no one forgets you."

"Oh! You just reminded me! That was what I was gonna complain about!" Yukiko said, brightly, before her expression soured. "Why the hell did you dress us up as 'My Chemical Romance' with miniskirts and thigh highs?"

"It wasn't my idea, it was Ogata-san's. Rina, specifically. If you don't trust me, trust her."

"I actually kinda like it," Saeko piped up. "You know, 'bubblegum totenkopf lolcats,' is what comes to mind. My only complaint is that Leon isn't also in a mini with cute stockings."

"I might as well be," I complained. "Haruto, do these pants have to be tight and sheer enough to perfectly form-fit my ass and junk? You sure you didn't just get my measurements wrong?"

"Yeah, they do," Haruto said. "Actually, for real, try your best to think about something sexy when you're onstage. Pre-orders from women will go up at least fifteen percent if you manage to get it up during the performance. Rina's advice, not mine."

"Gross!" the girls snapped, in unison. "Women are disgusting!"

A tone sounded overhead. "One minute left," Haruto said, and pressed a button on the bezel of his watch. "Did everyone go to the bathroom? This is your final chance."

"If I piss myself on stage, will that help the preorders?" Yukiko growled.

"Just go pee!" we all snapped at her.

One minute later, the audience clapped again for Tomo.

"Helloooo, Japan! Our musical guests tonight—and yes, I said guests—are sponsored by the one and only Double-O productions. 'All Killer, No Filler!'" The crowd cheered and stomped, realizing what that would mean. "But I know you don't just wanna hear me talk, so I'll let our first guest do the singing for me! Give it up for Morikawa Hanako!"

The spotlights overhead exploded into life, seemingly threatening to burn Hanako alive as she glided gracefully onto the stage amid thunderous applause from the crowd. "And… start!" I heard Setsuna command in my earpiece.

I slapped the strings on my bass, Yukiko started to strum, and Saeko started to kick. And we finally played the song that had haunted our dreams for the last eleven days.

Ai to iu katachinai mono torawareteiru

Shinzou ga tomaru you na koi ga arukoto shitteiru

Au tabi ni ataete kureta akogare de sae

Ima demo shinjiteiru mou kieru koto wa nai

Raku wo sezu tsukiru koto no nai jyounetsu wa

Doko kara kuru no? Doko ka ni nemutteiru no kana

Lala hoshi ga ima unmei wo egaku yo musuu

no hikari kagayaku

Ima hitotsu dake kimeta koto ga aru anata to wa hanarenai

Sotto me wo tojireba kodou ga kikoeru

watashi ga ikiteru akashi

Haato no kizamu rizumu ni notte

Odori nagara yukou! Doko made mo...

I messed up measure thirty yet again. I knew Hanako knew, but she also seemed to be having the time of her life up there. Her choreography was precise, measured, and gave a perfect illusion that it was all born from spontaneous merriment. One of the moves involved her dancing right next to the guitarist first, then moving to the bassist and planting a kiss on his cheek. In truth, I was concentrating so hard on my playing that I completely whiffed the expression of surprise I was supposed to give off, and probably looked like I was ignoring her.

The little screwup aside, we reached the conclusion without incident. On cue, I reduced my output by a third and Saeko switched to a steady bass beat without accentuation so that Yukiko could shine during the solo. Once again, she seemed to make love to her guitar as she precisely picked the strings with her fingertips (a pick wasn't agile enough for this). She'd turned his distortion up a bit, and had sacrificed some of the violin-like clarity in favor of more rawness to the sound, and I had trouble deciding what I liked better. Either way, she killed it, and ended with a flourish that threw droplets of her sweat everywhere, including on my lips. I licked them, my heart pounding at the taste.

As the crowd erupted, I looked back at Yukiko and Saeko, too tense to do anything but smile, stupidly. Yukiko gestured frantically to something behind me, and I turned to realize that Hanako was waiting to high-five me. Awkwardly, I did so, to some laughter to the audience. It seemed to go over well, however, as Hanako took it in stride and then glided effortlessly over to take the spot on the long guest couch closest to Tomo. Akira stood and hugged her before she sat down, to more applause.

"Hanacchi!" Tomo said, clapping her hands. "That was mind-blowing! I'd even say better than Ogata Rina!"

Hanako put her hands against her cheeks, miming shock. "Tomo-chan! Don't say that! I think Rina-senpai might be in the audience tonight!"

"Ara! Is that so? Rinaaaaa-chan! Where are you? You owe me a new boyfriend!" Tomo said, as the spotlights now danced across the audience. They stopped at one of the stage doors, where Rina stood, clad in a sensible, conservative outfit that still exuded her class and style. She gasped, as if she'd been discovered lurking there by chance, and quickly exited through the door, much to the audience's delight.

That little bit had been a favor from Rina to Tomo, of course, and part of sweetening the deal for us to appear after Hanako. It also helped distract the audience from the activity on stage, including rolling out a 500-kilogram Yamaha CFX Grand to the center of the performance area. I'd requested, and Eiji had approved, that the traditional bench be replaced with a drum stool, allowing me more freedom to stand and dance. Yukiko and Saeko were busy doing headphone checks on their instruments.

"I'll get her one of these days!" Tomo said, chuckling to Hanako. "So, Hanacchi, I hear that you're busy with another Christmas show at the Budokan this year, and quite a few music festivals and traveling shows after that!"

"Yes, I'm going to be singing my heart out for my fans, who I love more than anything else in the world," Hanako said, glistening. The audience chanted her name a few times in response. "But… I'm actually here tonight because wanted to show you and everyone watching something really cool and new, Tomo-chan!"

"Oh! Let me guess! You…you have a boyfriend now?"

"Absolutely not!" Hanako said, playfully flicking Tomo on the forehead.

The audience started to boo at Tomo. "Ack! I'm sorry! I'm kidding! I swear I'm kidding!" She mimed a seated dogeza to them. "Okay, so not a boyfriend! I swear! But will it shock us, or please us?"

"I'm hoping they please us. They certainly pleased me, and the things they had to say moved me a lot," Hanako said. "Tomo-chan, Akira-chan, and everyone watching, you've already seen them filling in for my backup band, but they're also their own act, and the newest part of Double-O productions. Allow me to introduce 'The White Album 3,' and their new single, 'Shiowase na Kioku!'"

The spotlights turned their burning glare on me. I clenched my fist, shot a fierce grin at my bandmates, and started to press the keys. And although I was tempted, I avoided any glissandos.

Dorekurai no tsukihi ga sugireba

Kono kioku wasurete shimau koto ga dekiru darou ka

Iki ga dekinai you na koishita

Taisetsu de shiawase na kioku datta

Kami kakiageta hosoi yubisaki

Fureatta bamen mada iroasenai mama

Makimodosu koto dekinai you ni,

futari, deau ano hi ano toki e

Onaji sora no shita de ikiteiru kimi ni wa nidoto fureaenai

As I moved my hands away from the piano, after the final chord, I took a ragged breath. I couldn't hear anything but the pounding of my own heart. I didn't hear the applause, or the screams from the audience. I didn't perceive the spotlights heating my scalp up enough to feel like my hair was steaming. I didn't even feel the smoothness of the keys. But I felt someone grab my shoulder and turn me around.

Hanako clapped my shoulders, causing me to nearly lose my breath. Then, she twirled me to face the audience. "Bow!" she barked in my ear. I unthinkingly followed her command, much to the delight of the audience, who stomped their feet.

"One more song!" someone shouted. The audience now started to chant in earnest. "One more song! One more song! One more song!"

I looked at Hanako in terror. I didn't know any more songs. "We'll handle it!" she barked at me. "Everyone exit stage left!"

My jelly legs took me in the direction of Saeko and Yukiko, who also looked like deer in headlights, and after we passed the threshold to safety, I collapsed to my knees and promptly threw up. Haruto helped me to my feet and carried me to one of the green rooms nearby, where I saw my bandmates, looking equally nauseated. The show obviously went on regardless, of how we felt, fed to the green room's monitors that droned on to compensate for our silence.

"Sorry, everyone!" Tomo announced. "We are simply out of time! I'll have to pay massive fines to NHK if I go over! I already can't afford rent this month!"

The audience laughed, seemingly pacified for the moment.

"But," Tomo said. "It sounded like you really liked those guys! And that boy, what a hottie! Sorry ladies, I'm absolutely gonna try and corrupt him!"

"Behave yourself, Tomo-chan!" Hanako jibed with her.

"Okay, okay! If you want to hear more, their self-titled debut album goes on sale February 14, Valentine's Day! Preorders are now being accepted on Amaz*n JP, and come with a coupon for half off any single box of 'Obligation Chocolate' from Lotte Japan! Hanacchi, anything to add?"

"You covered it all, Tomo-chan! On behalf of Double-O, The White Album 3, and of course, little old me, thanks for your love and support!"

"And cut!" the director shouted, and raised his hand. The feed to our green room went to a commercial for automobile insurance. At that moment, Setsuna, Rina, and even Eiji burst in with a bottle of champagne. The cork went flying and the chilly fizzing liquid sprayed over all of us.

"Omedetto!" They cheered and started to pour us champagne in little plastic glasses. I took mine, spilled most of the contents due to how my hands shook, and tried to down the rest. Then, I promptly hurled again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

To avoid being mobbed by fans, or, more precisely, so that Hanako could avoid being mobbed by fans on the way out, it was common practice to either leave immediately amid a distraction, or to stay hidden at the venue many hours after a show had concluded. Since we had any obligations after the show, The White Album 3 were going to stay at the venue. Hanako, on the other hand, had multiple obligations in the morning and had already left along with Yayoi, with Rina serving as the sacrificial distraction. It was an objective fact that Rina drew nowhere near as much attention as Hanako did, and consequently, she enjoyed the interactions more. Tomo and Akira had long left, accompanied by their entourages and security staff. Setsuna and Eiji were in a Zoom meeting with the music sales director of Amaz*n, and that left us alone.

I was glad that we'd been forced to stay behind. It had given me a chance to change out of the stifling, ridiculous costume that had made my balls and ass sweat to high heaven, and rinse the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Yukiko had also taken the chance to change, insisting that Haruto physically covered my eyes and that I also covered his. We did it to indulge her, of course. After that, she promptly went to the vending machines, Haruto accompanying her.

"You can change, if you want," I offered to Saeko, who rested her head on her arms. She shook her head. "Don't tell me you actually like the outfit."

"Is it weird if I do?" she asked. "It's pretty 2D. I could stand to wear it again. Besides, these stockings are damned fine," she said, admiring the gap created between the end of her miniskirt and the lacy tops of the stockings. Usually, the problem with thigh highs was that they inevitably rolled down one's leg. But these were reinforced and had a sticky silicone band that kept them straight and stuck to the skin.

"Suit yourself."

"Did I look cute?" she asked.

"Yeah, you were both pretty hot. I mean, for 3D girls, that is. I, on the other hand…am never wearing Lycra pants again."

"You popped a boner during the show," she said. "It means our preorders will increase."

"If I did, it was because I was scared as all hell. You know guys can pitch a tent for reasons other than being turned on, right?"

"Don't bore me with biology," she said, and fixed a melancholy gaze at me. "Speaking of which, I guess you've both gotta study for midterms now. Since you're disabled and all."

"That feels so scummy, but if it's for our futures…" I shrugged.

"You and Kiko need to study together. You don't have enough time to do it on your lonesome. I'll send you what you need to ace the CS midterm."

"I'm doing much better than she is in most classes."

"I placed out of all of those, before the first day of the first semester. You're not that smart."

"How'd you place out of English, anyway? I've never heard you speak much of it."

"Me fail English? That's unpossible!" she said in English, with a smirk.

"Okay, okay."

She sighed. "I have some thesis work I need to catch up on, too, so I won't see you for a bit. You'll be…spending a lot of time with her."

"I guess. I'd rather…"

"You should try to get to know her again. She really wants to be your friend. She'll also definitely fuck the shit out of you, if you want. Don't have so much sex that you guys fail."

"Enough of that! I just want to be on better terms now. We've got a great thing going, here. I don't want to ruin that."

"I wish I believed it," she whispered. I didn't hear her clearly.

"Sorry?"

"Hey, Leon… Let's do it. While I have this on."

"We really shouldn't," I said. Then, we both stood up at the same time. We kissed each other with enough force to bruise our lips, before I simply lifted her by the hips onto the cheap folding table we'd sat at. I roughly pushed her striped shimapan aside and unzipped my fly. She stifled a moan as I entered her and started to thrust. There was no need for foreplay. The table shook, loudly enough that it could be heard outside. She grasped a fistful of my hair so fiercely I felt like she'd rip it out. I didn't care if Haruto or Yukiko or even Setsuna or Eiji burst into the room.

My phone, which was sitting on the table and about to fall to the ground, started to ring. Ordinarily, I would have ignored it, or even threw it across the room. But I'd given my parents special ringtones so that I knew if they were calling. It was a measure to ensure that I mainly never missed a call from my mom. She wasn't calling, however. It was my father.

I stopped, and looked at the screen. My thumb hovered over the "End Call" button. Saeko, however, gently pushed me away and hopped off the table. "I feel like you should answer that," she told me.

"How do you…" I gasped in disbelief.

"Just answer it. I'm going to change," Saeko said, crossing her arms and smoothing her outfit out.

An upswell of anger coursed through me, directed at Kitahara Haruki. Mom's concert at the Vatican was long over. Why'd he waited so long to contact me, then? And right at this precious moment? Fuck it! I pressed the "Take Call" button and held it to my ear.

"Dad?" I asked, my voice husky.

"Leon, your mother and I were watching TV tonight. For some reason, she wanted to watch the Yanagihara Tomo Show, of all things. We saw you. We saw you onstage. Explain yourself."

My knuckles turned white. "Well, Dad… I have a band and I have a record deal. Our album goes on sale on Valentine's Day. Want me to send you and mom a copy?"

My father's voice never wavered, even when he was upset.

"We didn't let you go to Japan so you could indulge in pointless self-indulgence and meaningless pabulum. Furthermore, I found out from your college that you've been skipping classes. This is an untenable situation. Your mother and I have decided. You're coming home."

TO BE CONTINUED...