13 June 2024
Chapter XL: The Sum of All Hopes
When it began, it began slowly. One photograph: the photograph, a drop in an ocean of information.
They called themselves "the world's greatest Ren Tsuruga fan club," but the RENion hadn't picked up on it right away. Perhaps it was because the photograph had been taken by an American fan, and, world's greatest or not, the RENion was made up of primarily Japanese women. The picture had been posted on American Twitter, and then Instagram, and then Reddit before the RENion noticed.
The photograph became a rumor; the rumor eddied and swirled, quietly making its way through the backroads of American social media.
The photograph was clear on only one point: the two people pictured were lovers. But as to their identity, well…the photograph was too dark to be conclusive, too uncharacteristic to be believable. And yet the RENion found that it could not be dismissed entirely. The two figures were kissing; one of them was a tall man in profile, holding a girl in a kimono aloft in a lover's carry. They were backlit by Sensoji's wall of lanterns, their features shadowed.
Disbelief.
Skepticism.
Denial.
Tsuruga-sama would never wear that hat, one poster wrote. Everyone agreed. The hat looked like something a grandmother would make.
Tsuruga-sama would never be so improper, wrote another. Everyone agreed. KISSING! They were kissing in public, in a pose one only ever saw in movies. It was the kind of behavior expected from American tourists. Surely Ren Tsuruga, the icon of classic restraint, wouldn't engage in such blatant public displays of affection—and on the grounds of a crowded temple, no less!
Since when does Tsuruga-san go out on New Year's? asked a third. Everyone knew Ren Tsuruga only ever made planned appearances for the New Year. Unplanned, personal visits were unheard of. Wasn't he working overseas? That's why he wasn't one of the Kohaku hosts, right? someone asked. Everyone agreed. If Ren Tsuruga was in Japan, then surely he wouldn't go do something so mundane. What was so gorgeous about a temple visit?
They asked a lot of questions. If it's Tsuruga-san, why didn't more people notice him? Don't you think people would be asking for his autograph? Don't you think Tsuruga-san would have a bigger entourage? Don't you think Tsuruga-san would value his work over dating?
The RENion, it seemed, could not conceive of a thoroughly un-Tsuruga Tsuruga—all they'd ever seen was the Ren Tsuruga that Kuon had wanted to show them. The disguise Kuon had taken went deeper than his skin, it seemed, and the change in his demeanor was palpable even through a photograph. The man in the picture didn't project the air of elegant aloofness Ren Tsuruga did, and his fans clung to that difference like a lifeline.
There was quibbling by some, of course—It has to be Tsuruga-sama, one account wrote. Look at how tall he is. Look at the line of that jaw. The way his hair is cut. Look at his coat—isn't that the coat released last season? The one he wears on that billboard? Even then, there was room for reasonable doubt. The man's height couldn't be determined, not for certain. And lots of people had jaws that could cut glass, right? And stylishly cut hair?
It was entirely different from 'the Kana incident.' That photograph had been as clear as day—unequivocal and obvious. This photograph had been taken by a fan. There hadn't been a special telescopic lens, and it had been too dark to truly get good pictures.
The debate raged on. Where had Ren Tsuruga been on New Year's Eve? Were there any other pictures of his whereabouts? Was his agency saying anything about it?
And more than anything, everyone wanted to know: Who was the girl?
There was only one logical answer to that question, and no one wanted to say it out loud.
Nobody wanted to believe it; everyone was afraid.
=.=.=
Lory was already nursing a glass of Scotch when Kuon met him in his dark, mahogany-lined study.
"It's a test of your popularity," Lory told him. "If your fans desert you after this, then you'll know you never really had anything more than a pretty face."
"Thanks, Lory," he said, and then he sighed. Being a pretty piece of meat wasn't a particularly pleasant way of living, but he'd never found cause to complain before Kyoko. His goal had always been to succeed as an actor; he acknowledged that an attractive physical appearance was part of that. But was he more than a teen heartthrob? He'd fallen into that particular role haphazardly. He hadn't sought it; it had merely happened. "We'll see."
"They seem to be in denial," Lory mused. "I admit, this is better than I expected—"
"What did you expect?"
"Oh…something more like what we'd discussed. I know you and Kyoko wanted to stop hiding, but I thought…you know…that LME would 'leak' something out there. Something engineered. I thought you'd rely on your helpful agency and its significant braintrust to handle public relations." He poured himself more whisky. "Want a glass?" Kuon shook his head no. Sighing, Lory continued. "This organic rumor business is a bit too unpredictable for my taste. Though…given the fact that it's you and Kyoko, I probably shouldn't be surprised that it's working out better than I could've planned for. "
Ren glowered, thinking of one particular instance when Lory had "planned" something. He knew Kyoko hadn't quite forgiven Lory for it. "You'd better not be thinking of releasing any photos—"
"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it." Lory shook his head. "After the scolding Kyoko gave me?"
Kuon gave him a look. It was a relief to have Kyoko's face in the shadows like that—he'd been afraid of the impact this revelation would have on her life. "But…you know, I think we can turn this all to our advantage," he said. "A way of protecting Kyoko while getting my fans used to the idea of me being off the market…That photograph. With it being so vague…and with Ring Doh's promotion starting soon—"
"What are you thinking?" Lory asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kuon grinned at him. "You'll see."
=.=.=.=.=
Miyako Honda had no idea that a bomb would be dropped on her that day. She'd hosted Japan Live for years, an older woman on TV who'd managed to cling onto her position no matter the onslaught of new management, new shows, new trends, new starlets. She'd interviewed Ren Tsuruga before—the actor was always well-dressed, well-spoken, and eye-meltingly hot. He was one of those actors who could only be called professional while still being thoroughly approachable. And he was surprisingly young, especially given his mature looks.
She was looking forward to the interview. Japan Live was his first talk show appearance since the new year holiday, a fact she found somewhat surprising. The actor had gone uncharacteristically silent for much of the past year—no one knew where he'd been for most of its latter half. For most actors, that lack of presence would have contributed to a downgrade in popularity—out of sight, out of mind was the general rule. But not Tsuruga. For him, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder' was the operative aphorism. Ren Tsuruga's mysterious absence had only made him more interesting. People were dying to know where he'd been. Some fans had even worried that he'd quit after seeing his reviews for Dark Moon, but Miyako didn't think he'd quit showbiz. Not at all—she didn't think he'd been sitting still since his "disappearance." She'd interviewed a lot of actors in her time, and Ren Tsuruga had actual talent. A shame about Dark Moon, but no one was perfect.
Miyako had been quite pleased to find he'd accepted her request for an interview. She knew he'd likely chosen Japan Live out of a dozen other shows. And because her show aired live, there was always the potential for some unexpected development. She was proud of her ability to elicit novel content.
Ren flashed her a dazzling smile when he came on-stage.
"We missed you for much of last year, Tsuruga-san," she said, smiling back at him. "Fans want to know—where were you?"
She had to hand it to him. The man merely looked over at her with a suave urbanity, betraying nothing. "Oh, I had a few projects ongoing," he answered. "I worked with one of my favorite directors on a movie last fall—"
She only knew of one project that he'd been slated to participate in, and no one had high hopes for it at all. It hadn't been his fault that the first Ring Doh movie hadn't been a success—far from it. People often referred to Ren Tsuruga's performance as the film's one virtue. His co-stars, however, had yet to live it down. "Shingai-san's Ring Doh sequel?"
"Yes."
She kept her smile frozen. The original Ring Doh had been a disaster, but early press releases about the sequel indicated that Shingai had…rewritten the entire thing. "I understand it's quite different from the first movie, am I correct?"
"You are. Shingai-san went in a totally different artistic direction. I believe they'll be releasing it under a completely different name. I think you'll be surprised." He gave her his best sparkling smile and Miyako felt her cheeks flush despite herself. Did the man think he could smile his way out of everything? She grit her teeth. She wouldn't let him go so easily.
"Surprised how?" she asked. "There…was some criticism of the former movie, as you may recall."
"Indeed. And of course Shingai-san knows how unusual it is for a director of his stature to revisit the same subject matter twice. But I fear I'd be speaking out of turn if I spoil that surprise," he said urbanely.
She pressed on. "Was it just Ring Doh, Tsuruga-san? You were gone for quite a while. Perhaps…" She paused for effect, raising one well-manicured eyebrow at him. "...perhaps you shot a project overseas?"
Ugh. His smile broadened. Really, he was entirely too charming. "It's possible I was," he said cryptically. "I can't tell you about all my projects, of course."
"Of course," she echoed. She gave him a little laugh. "Well, I'm sure we'll find out when the time comes."
"Honda-san," he said politely. "I'll make sure you're the first to know."
Her perked up at that, though she didn't hold much credence in what he'd said. Press releases were press releases, and those about movies did not often allow for exclusive releases of information. She knew Tsuruga's agency was far more likely to hand out information about his projects, not the man himself.
"You're such a dear," she said. She paused, and then it was time to ask the question every talk show host asked him—though this time, there was an unusual development to consider. "Well, maybe you can tell us about something else, then?"
"Of course," he said. He looked almost as if he anticipated it.
"We've heard a rumor about you, Tsuruga-san." Miyako Honda stared up at him with barely concealed curiosity.
"A rumor?" Ren Tsuruga gave her a gentle smile before leaning back into the armchair, crossing his legs, and steepling his fingers. "What kind of rumor?"
"Well, there's a certain photograph making its way around the Internet," Miyako-san asked. "And…well, people think it looks an awful lot like you."
"Oh?" He blinked, eyes wide with innocence.
Was it possible he hadn't seen it? she asked herself. "Oh yes," she said. "Here it is—"
The crowd oooo'd and ahhh'd.
"Quite the romantic scene, don't you think?" Miyako asked.
Ren smiled disarmingly and ran those famously elegant fingers of his through his hair. "It is," he confirmed. "Very romantic."
"So of course you must know the question I'm going to ask you," she said.
He grinned.
He grinned, and Miyako realized he'd been faking his smiles all this time. He'd been brilliant—sparkling, even—all through the interview, but this smile…she felt her heart race a little in response to it and then promptly berated herself for being silly. He's just a *boy,* Miyako, she thought to herself. And this is your show. But even angels would have wept to see his face like this.
"I think I can guess," he said, training infuriatingly playful eyes at her.
"Is it you?" Miyako said. "And have you finally found a special someone?"
He paused. She leaned in. She expected him to deny it, just as he always had—most celebrities would. She expected him to dissemble and tell her and her audience that of course not, it wasn't him, and no, he couldn't possibly have a special someone because he had so much work. That's what he'd said on her show before. On all the shows. It was what he always said.
Impossibly, his smile widened and brightened even more as he paused for an excruciatingly long moment. She would have begrudged him for wasting her time, but even she had to acknowledge how that pause heightened the anticipation he was building. Ren Tsuruga, to no one's surprise, had them all dancing in the palm of his hand.
It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was a surprise nonetheless.
"It is," he said, finally. "And yes, I have found someone special. We visited Sensoji Temple for the new year."
Miyako gasped. The audience gasped. For a brief second there was utter pandemonium on set as people exclaimed and cheered and hollered. Did the man know what he'd just done? She was shocked, nearly beside herself. Every tabloid and entertainment magazine would be all over this tomorrow. She had to pick her jaw off of the floor. She'd just gotten the scoop of the century, but she still felt as if she'd been taken for a loop. She didn't like losing control of her show and her audience like that. Though—really, she ought to be grateful.
She cleared her throat in an effort to regain control over the situation. "Tsuruga-san," she said. "This is…this is major news."
The grin on his face darkened slightly and the audience settled down. "You know…I never particularly understood why something so trivial as a boy dating a girl would make the news."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're Ren Tsuruga," she pointed out.
"Yes," he grinned. "I am."
"Well…" She was at a loss for words. There was no polite way to say it—celebrity gossip was only prurient gossip said out loud to a larger audience, using a larger megaphone. Everybody loved gossip. It wasn't serious news, but it meant ratings and sales and clicks and engagement. Ren Tsuruga knew that, and he knew she knew that he knew that. How manipulative, she thought. She felt him guiding the interview to some predetermined end. An unknown agenda of some kind. "You're a beloved actor," she finally said. "So of course people will want to know if you're happy."
"I am happy," he said. "The happiest I've ever been." And then he flashed that smile again—or perhaps, it had never truly gone away. For all she knew, half of Japan had just fainted from blood loss.
"How did you meet?" she asked. "Was it on the set of Ring Doh?"
"No," he said. "Actually…we've known each other since we were children."
Miyako was glad she was well and truly old enough to be his grandmother. The look on his face was too much. "You sound quite serious," she said.
"Do you believe in true love, Honda-san?" he asked. "The red string of fate?"
The audience ooooh'd and ahhhh'd again.
She gave him a polite laugh. "It seems that you do, Tsuruga-san."
"I do." The angel-smile was back again. "We are dating with the goal of marrying one day."
He was interrupted by squeals from the audience.
"Who is the lucky lady?" she managed.
"My girlfriend and I have only just started dating," he answered, "and she would like to keep her identity private. I support her decision. Surely…perhaps all of you can appreciate that. I intend to protect her with every ounce of my being."
The audience cooed over him, and Miyako had to admit it was a masterful bit of theater. Probably Lory Takarada behind the scenes, coaching the younger man. "Protect her?" she asked. "Is she in danger?"
"Honda-san," he said, a hint of reproach in his voice. "You know very well what I mean."
"Truly, Tsuruga-san, I don't."
"The public can be very cruel," he started. "There are some people out there who have made brutal and degrading comments about my co-stars, simply because of rumors of my involvement with them. I've even heard reports of stalking and threats. I have been honored to work with each and every single one of those co-stars, and seeing them bullied simply because of working with me is unacceptable—"
Miyako found herself nodding in agreement. The interview was changing direction again. Initially she'd thought it would be a simple back and forth on a pretty-boy's work, perhaps a bit of banter—and then she'd been surprised when he'd turned it into a declaration. Now? He'd turned it into a cause. It felt deliberate—but how could she do anything but support him? "Bullying in any situation is unacceptable," she agreed.
He gave her a grateful look. "What I've said all this time has been true—I have never been in any kind of special relationship with any of my co-stars. Of course I value them all as my colleagues, and I would be very glad to work with any of them again in the future. But if my co-stars are bullied simply because of a rumor—then can you imagine—?"
"I see what you mean," Miyako said. "She would be hounded."
"I know how hard it will be for her."
He stood and bowed to the audience, deeply.
"I am asking my fans for their grace and their indulgence," he said. "because I know I am being selfish. But this is partially why I'm here. I ask you to please understand and protect us as well." The audience responded with a quiet murmur and then a cheer went up as he rose up from his bow to sit across from Miyako again.
"I must admit, this is an interesting tactic, Tsuruga-san," she said. "Normally, people try to deny their relationships. Or they simply stay public."
"I know," he said. "And if she were another actress—out in the public's eye—then maybe I wouldn't have had to do this."
"Release of her identity might be inevitable," she heard.
"Even so," he smiled ruefully, "Is it so wrong that I'd like to keep her to myself before I share her with anyone else? She's very precious to me."
She could only nod as the audience cooed in the background. "Then we wish you the best, Tsuruga-san," she finished.
She motioned to the producer—a commercial break, please, she mouthed.
She turned to him as soon as her producer motioned that they were off the air. "Quite the revelation there," she said. "I must admit, I'm shocked."
"Is it so shocking?" He looked so young and so earnest that Miyako wondered where her mature, sober Ren Tsuruga had gone.
"You'll be on the front page of every entertainment publication by tomorrow morning," she told him. "A little warning would've been nice. We could've advertised the interview a little more to build up hype."
The look on his face darkened; clouds over the sun. He gave her a sardonic look. "A little warning?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. There was an edge to his voice, and it made Miyako shiver a little. "Like the one you gave me before prying into my personal life?"
She shook her head. "Come now, Tsuruga-san." He was young, certainly, but he wasn't new. He knew how things worked. "Surely you don't expect me to believe you didn't expect the question."
He gave her a lopsided smile and then leaned back into his chair, dark clouds forgotten. "No, I don't expect you to believe that," he said. And then the wistful, boyish angel was back, looking out from under a fringe of dark hair. "I know I'm a commodity to be bought and sold." He shrugged at her and shook his head. "You're an industry veteran, Honda-san. It's partially why I chose to accept your interview request. But…I do love her. Very much. And for what it's worth, every word of that confession was sincere. I'm sorry for hijacking your show in such a fashion, but I do hope you forgive me when the ratings roll in."
"I wish you and your love luck, Tsuruga-san. I hope to see you on the show again." She smiled indulgently. "Just—warn me next time. You know. If you want to announce your engagement—"
He gave her that angel's smile again, and they laughed together.
=.=.=.=
"I'm not sure that's going to work the way you think it will." Lory had called Kuon immediately after the show aired. Kuon answered his phone in his dressing room, still waiting for Yashiro. "The relationship between a star and his public is a mercurial one."
"Maybe it will, maybe it won't," Kuon answered.
"Sometimes, I think you're too naive for your own good," Lory said. "Your public is loyal to the image of Ren Tsuruga, but they also own that image. You're a living fantasy, Kuon. Asking them to treat you like a human might be a bridge too far when you've occupied their minds and their beds for so long. Isn't it too much like asking your wife to accept your new mistress?"
He bristled. "As if I'd ever consider Kyoko as a…a mistress!"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Kuon sighed. "I thought…perhaps casting things in a new narrative might be helpful," he said. "They don't know who she is, and they don't have to know. But they'll get used to the idea of 'Ren Tsuruga' having a girlfriend, and when Kyoko's ready to come out of the shadows, it won't be such a surprise."
"It might work," Lory mused. "Retell the story. A love drama, playing out in the metaverse. You made her sound like your fated lover."
"She is," he shrugged. "And you know it as well as I do."
He heard Lory chuckle. "I suppose it helps to make her look like the heroine you've been waiting for all this time," Lory responded. "IF you can really make them think that."
"I'm trying to appeal to their better natures," Kuon said drily. "Call out the bullies as villains, give them someone to root for and people to fight against. I want the bullies out there to be better. And anyway, isn't this 'love drama' what you've always wanted?"
Lory laughed outright at that. "I'm looking forward to season three," Lory said.
"Season three?"
"You fell in love in season one, broke up and reconciled in season two, and now…well, it's season three now, isn't it?"
"I hate how you've divided this into narrative arcs."
"You're the one that called it a love drama."
Kuon rolled his eyes. "I'll talk to you later, Lory," he said, resigned.
Lory laughed again. "Can't wait for the next episode, Ren."
=.=.=.=
Anger.
Despite the poignant plea to his fans, there was a great deal of it on the fansites.
Chaos reigned. The photograph was re-analyzed again and then again, blown up, enhanced, brightened, dissected—all to no avail. There simply weren't enough pixels to provide the missing details.
Minutes after his plea not to bully his co-stars, his fans…bullied his co-stars.
Who do you think it is? a pinned thread asked.
He can't possibly be dating some nobody, one post said. If she's normal like me, one post said, I'll never forgive her.
Tsuruga-san is too special to belong to any one woman, said another post. I think we need to find this bitch and end her.
There were guesses. Despite his statements to the contrary, fans combed through every actress Tsuruga-san had ever co-starred with, comparing height and weight and hair. They dismissed Kimiko Morizumi and anyone who had hosted the New Year's Kohaku special—logically, those actresses and entertainers couldn't have been at the Temple with Ren Tsuruga. But Kana Kusunoki, Honoka, and even Ruriko Matsunai received a barrage of harassment on their social media accounts. Itsumi Momose took a disproportionate amount of the vitriol. Having played Ren Tsuruga's most notable love interest, she was the most obvious candidate for playing his girlfriend. A day after the announcement, she had no choice but to shut down commenting on her accounts and make an announcement of her own. "I am definitely not dating Tsuruga-san," she posted. "He was a great co-star and remains a friend, but we are not dating, have never dated, and will never date."
The fans didn't believe her. Harassment intensified and a day after posting her first announcement, she was forced to declare who she was actually dating: Hidehito Kijima.
While I do not know the identity of Tsuruga-san's girlfriend, I wish them well from the bottom of my heart. I am deeply saddened and shocked by the behavior of those who call themselves Tsuruga-san's fans, Momose's post said. All of you should be ashamed of yourselves.
Ren notably reacted to the message, congratulating Momose on finally going public with her own relationship and thanking her for her support—and again iterating his stance on bullying, cyber or otherwise.
And then the improbable happened: his fans finally began to take him at his word.
But he said it's a childhood friend, one fan protested. Do you think he grew up with any of these actresses?
Collectively, his fandom was forced to acknowledge how little they actually knew of Ren Tsuruga's origins. His official LME bio only listed general statements about his passion for acting. They knew he'd started acting at 17, but no one could find his high school, or anyone who could give a credible claim of knowing him as a child. They combed through every single interview, every single article—not once had he ever said where he'd grown up. No one knew who his parents were. He was a ghost.
It was humbling. It was disconcerting. All his fans—even the ones who speculated obsessively on the meaning of his watch and his necklace—were forced to confront the fact that there could be someone out there who knew him better than they did.
And slowly but surely, the narrative shifted.
I support Tsuruga-san, someone finally said. Because I don't want to be a villain in his true love's story.
The lovers watched, separated by distance but never apart.
=.=.=
"...I intend to protect her with every ounce of my being," the figure on-screen was saying. Brown eyes flashed at a squealing audience.
It was like watching someone else's story.
Kyoko had come home from Tokyo refreshed and starry-eyed, and if her conviction and commitment to a future of school and work had been shaken, no one was any wiser. It didn't matter anyway, not really. She acknowledged the siren call of showbiz; she even acknowledged how badly she wanted to make Cinderella's role her own. But she could acknowledge all of that and still come to the same conclusion: the sane, responsible, and most obvious choice was still to take her exam, go to university, and achieve success for the legacy that had been entrusted to her. She clung to that conclusion and used it to drown out all of the uncertainty growing inside her.
So when the photograph had gone viral on Japanese social media, she found herself chagrined and more than a little anxious: it was hard not to be worried when she heard her classmates talking about 'the girl' in 'that picture.' The fact that the picture existed at all meant that she and Kuon had to revise their plans with Lory and…well, now she was watching it all unfold on TV, sitting quietly on a tatami mat and blushing next to Yayoi.
Even from afar, Kuon had her heart racing. He'd been gallant, and handsome, and dramatic. The scene on Japan Live played out like a climactic scene from a drama. Ren Tsuruga proved himself as a leading man through and through. He'd owned the camera and the stage that day. Watching him, she could almost believe his plan would work.
She wasn't sure if his declaration made things more real or more fantastical. Being with Kuon made her feel more real, more whole, than anything else in the world. But it was also insane—it was hard to believe that Ren Tsuruga was talking about a real person, much less her. She was a high school girl, a waitress, a nobody. How could she be dating the biggest movie star in the country? She'd been living a double-life since he'd arrived last summer, but those days she'd spent on-set with Shingai-san and his crew felt very long ago now. Seeing her shadowed picture on the TV screen had only intensified the disconnect between the mundanity of her school life and her love affair with a fairy prince.
It was a distraction from her upcoming exam.
She spent the rest of the weekend cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom again, despite Yayoi's worried looks, and had gone to school that Monday knowing that there would be some public discussion over Kuon's excruciatingly public confession.
She thought she was prepared. She was not.
=.=.=.=
Even forewarned, the barrage of media attention was overwhelming. She had escaped the initial wave of reports in the isolation of the ryokan, but she couldn't do the same at school. Ren's name was on everyone's lips. Ren's face was on everyone's magazine.
"Did you see Ren on Japan Live last Saturday?!" Hana was gossiping with her little clique of friends. Kyoko fought the urge to roll her eyes and watched them from the edges of the room. She bent her head over her notebook, listening silently. She found a macabre fascination in hearing everyone speculate about it.
"I did! I can't believe it," Yui said. "Tsuruga-san? Declaring his love for a girl!?"
"I don't know if I'm interested in being his fan anymore," Hana mused. "Now that he's taken—he kept saying 'Oh, I can't ever have anyone special' and then next thing you know—"
Kyoko suppressed a smile—Lory had said exactly the same thing. Kuon thought his fans might be kinder. He'd been wrong.
"You're just saying that cuz you can't have him," Yui said, sticking her tongue out.
"You don't know that," Hana said. "I think if we met, he'd like me." Kyoko nearly laughed out loud. She knew exactly what Ren Tsuruga thought of Hana.
Yui rolled her eyes as Hana pouted. "I think he's actually hotter now," she said.
"Nothing quite like the appeal of a man who's taken." Hana had always been the type to want something only when someone else wanted it too.
But Yui shook her head. "No. It's not that," she said. "Did you see how he said he'd protect her?"
"I did! I guess you have a point," Hana mused. "He sounded like a manga character."
"Or a fairy tale prince! I almost swooned."
Kyoko nearly nodded in agreement. On that point, she had to agree. She floated through the rest of the day in an absentminded haze, watching the gossip of teenage girls like a fly on a wall. Keeping her identity secret meant protection from harassment…and bullying…and threats. Staying anonymous like this was supposed to be a luxury, and she supposed it was. It meant she would be able to take her exams in peace. Do her errands in peace. Live in peace while letting buzzards feast in another universe. She would graduate without a massive controversy over the great Ren Tsuruga dating a girl who was not yet out of school.
She and Kuon had discussed his 'confession' at length, but the final decision had been hers. She chose anonymity, for as long as they could keep it. She only had to watch his co-stars being bullied online to know they'd made the right choice.
So what was bothering her so much?
She hadn't known—could not have expected—how she would feel, listening to the speculation for hours on end. She thought, perhaps, that she would be happiest remaining nameless and faceless as Ren Tsuruga glittered in the spotlight. She'd told herself she was afraid of that spotlight, that she was best left in obscurity. But as the gossip wore on and the news cycle intensified, she came to know herself better. Staying in the shadows was hard—very hard—when everyone around her was speculating, albeit unknowingly, about her.
She wanted to claim him outright.
She wanted to hold his hand wherever they went, and not simply in disguise or in the privacy of their homes. She wanted to brag about him, take pride in his accomplishments, walk out under the open sky and kiss him. She understood, now, why he'd relished their outings in Kyoto so very much. And more than that—when the world finally found out about her, she wanted to be able to claim him as an equal.
That idea of equality—it rankled. Being with Sho had meant being lesser than, and this exercise was reminding her all over again of what it meant to be someone's secret. Kuon was not Sho, but she was still a secret, and no matter how she looked at it, she did not want to stand beside him unfinished as she was. She saw the flaws in Lory's initial plan all too clearly: Ren Tsuruga's fans would never have accepted a random nobody. No…the photograph had been a godsend. It had laid bare the viciousness of his fans and given her the time to figure out how to stand beside him as a woman of substance.
It would have to be as an accomplished businesswoman, right?
Didn't that make the exam that much more important?
She'd never reach Ren Tsuruga's heights any other way. But if she were a businesswoman in her own right—someone who could leverage her education and her inheritance, she'd be able to climb to a place where she wasn't just "Ren Tsuruga's plain nobody girlfriend." It was certainly more attainable than reaching the level of stardom he had—though…
She found herself breathless at an image that came, unbidden, to her mind's eye: the two of them, walking down a red carpet together on the way to her movie's premiere.
She was indulging in that fantasy, turning the idea over in her head, when Tadao found her washing the chalkboards after school. Late afternoon sun shone through the windows. She could hear the track team outside at practice, the muted hum of a conversation out in the hallway. It was another manga moment—him, leaning against the doorframe in his uniform, her, on her tip-toes pushing a sponge against the chalkboard.
"Shall I help you, Kyoko-chan?" he called.
She jolted and came back down to earth, feeling silly. She knew Tadao could not have seen the scene in her head, and yet she felt oddly vulnerable. He'd crept up like a shadow behind her when she hadn't been looking. "Sorry for startling you," he said, apologetic.
He looked as if he wanted to talk—there was a tension in the cast of his shoulders and in his gait. But she smiled cheerfully at him, wanting to diffuse it. "It's alright," she said, and turned back to the chalkboard. "I'd appreciate your help, of course, Tadao-kun."
She and Tadao were friends and classmates, and therefore she had no cause to feel oddly nervous as he joined her. They'd spoken often since her illness. He was always friendly—cautiously friendly. Perhaps that close encounter with Cain had made a deeper impression than Kuon intended. Why had he sought her out? She could see him watching from the corner of his eyes. She kept her face serene as her sponge left a streak of wet chalkboard behind it; she hummed something random to cut the silence.
He picked up another sponge, dipped it in water, and began cleaning.
She held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"The Tokyo exam," he said lightly, "are you still planning on taking it?"
Her response was reflexive, out of her mouth before she could think about it. "Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I be taking it?" She felt guilty as soon as she spoke the words out loud, given her thoughts just moments earlier. She knew that her knee-jerk response ought to be the right answer, but it resounded in her head like a lie. She knew she would take it, she knew it was the best course of action. Even so, her heart was rebelling on its own again, beating out of time and to its own drum.
Tadao looked abashed and then shook his head. "I was just wondering if…" He turned towards her. "Cain Heel…" He paused, watching for her reaction. The way he said it pulled her guts into a tailspin—fight or flight, until she managed to school her face into stillness. She did not want to betray her thoughts. "...Is Ren Tsuruga." It wasn't a question.
She drew in her breath, mind racing. Tadao had only stated the obvious—she'd often wondered how no one else had managed to recognize him. "I thought maybe—" He shook his head again. "No, you don't have to say anything," he said. "Your secret is safe with me. I'd ask how, but…" He shook his head. "I don't want to pry."
She turned away from him and began cleaning a new panel, moving her sponge from the upper right-hand corner and then down the dusty green expanse. She considered denying it, but he knew. She didn't want to lie to him. "Yes," she said quietly. "I trust you to keep that secret."
"Of course."
"Is it true?" he asked. "That you've known each other since childhood?"
"Yes," she said simply. "Though we lost each other for a long, long time."
They worked on in silence until he spoke again. She could hear him weighing his words, feel his hesitation and his curiosity war with each other. "So it was your choice, then," he said, finally. "To stay anonymous?"
"It was. It's the only logical course of action," Kyoko said, matter-of-fact. "Though I don't know why it matters, Tadao-kun. Or why you care."
Another pause as he considered his words. "I know you don't feel the same about me as I do about you," Tadao said. "But I still care. Even as a friend, I'd care. Forgive my bluntness…but I worry about you, Kyoko-chan. He clearly loves you very much—but he also seems quite controlling. And I know he said you've just started dating, but is he giving you enough of his time? He didn't show up to the cultural festival, and you were heartbroken—no, I know you were—" he said, shaking his head when Kyoko moved to protest. "He should have been there. And now the whole world's looking for you and he's…he's…out there smiling on talk shows like there's nothing wrong." He noticed the flush on her cheeks and stammered. "I just…I just thought it was unfair for him to treat you like a dirty little secret."
Her brow furrowed as he spoke, her hackles rising. She hadn't expected Tadao to be so forthright, but then…perhaps she hadn't been paying enough attention to how Kuon's actions must have looked to others. She didn't like being unable to speak about it. She wanted to defend Kuon, but Tadao looked so serious—she had to acknowledge his concern. "Thank you for worrying about me," she said. "That was uncharacteristically direct of you. You're usually so diplomatic about people."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be. If anything, I'm thankful for it." She'd completely forgotten that Tadao had been a front-row witness to last year's events. "Ku—Ren and I…we had a misunderstanding last year. I never even told him I was in the play. But as for the photo—it's a good thing, really. He can publicly acknowledge that he has a girlfriend and I…I can take the exam without everyone pointing at me and whispering 'That's Ren Tsuruga's girlfriend.' Life would be in complete chaos if everyone found out, Tadao-kun," she said. "I don't want to be a secret, exactly, but going public right now…it would be impossible. And besides… I know they'll find out my identity eventually."
"It seems unfair to you, though," he said thoughtfully. "If it were Hana—"
"Thank goodness I'm not Hana," she interrupted. "She'd be shouting it from the rooftops—until his fans threw her off of one."
"Ha."
"Sorry…that was uncharitable of me."
"Why uncharitable? It's true."
It was her turn to laugh.
"Perhaps I'm learning from Tsuruga-san's example," he responded. "Trying to be direct. Hana's been quite hostile since the cultural festival."
"The opportunity was hers to squander," Kyoko shrugged. "With everyone depending on her Juliet, she…disappeared. And now she's taking it out on you."
"She's just jealous because she knows she couldn't have done it half as well as you did."
"You flatter me, Tadao-kun."
"Hardly. It's one of the reasons why I wanted to ask if your plans had changed on taking the exam, Tsuruga-san or not. Because ever since the play, I've…sometimes had this feeling," he said. "Like you're destined for something else. Like someday, I'll look back on this and think about how I used to know you."
She forced a laugh out of herself, but quickly sobered. Et tu, Tadao? she wanted to ask. "We are friends, Tadao-kun. You make it sound like I'll disappear."
"Not disappear, not exactly," he said. "Maybe you'll become someone else."
"I certainly hope not. Though…we all change," she said. "I know I have."
"We do. But…just speaking for myself, Kyoko-chan—after all of this, I thought perhaps you'd want something other than being another university student."
His words hit too close to home. Was she so transparent? "To be honest, sometimes I do have doubts. Ku—Ren," she corrected herself, "wants me to go into showbiz, but it feels like such a risk. Going to university is a sure thing."
"Is he—is he pressuring you?" Tadao looked at her with some concern.
"No," she said. "Not at all." She gave him an embarrassed smile. "Though he does want me to audition for his next drama."
"Will you?"
"Impossible," she said. "It's on Day One of the exam."
Tadao looked thoughtful for a moment. "You turn into someone else on stage, Kyoko-chan," he said. "When I realized who Heel-san really was…I thought maybe you would pursue…Maybe you should audition."
She closed her eyes for a second, trying to forget the rush she felt in the spotlight, bowing as the audience applauded. "I—I have promises to keep," she said. "Surely you understand that." Tadao was the heir to his family's business, too. "And yes, I managed to pull off one play at my high school's cultural festival, but that doesn't mean anything—I could audition for a hundred parts and never be cast." She finished her panel, dunked the sponge into water, and wrung it dry. "I can't stay anonymous forever." She took the bucket of water and moved to a new chalkboard panel. "And when they do find out who I am, I'd like to be able to stand next to Ren as an equal—maybe as a successful business woman—and not some failure of an actress."
"You're assuming you'd fail."
"Statistically, failure is the most likely outcome," she said tersely. "Can you imagine what it would be like to skip the exam, audition, and not get the part? It would be a terrible waste—to throw out the chance of going to university just for a rejection."
"They give the exam every year, you know. And you could leverage your connection with him—"
"That would be worse!" she said indignantly. "To get parts because I'm Ren Tsuruga's girlfriend!? Do you really think I'd do such a thing?"
"No, no," he said, backing off. "Of course not. Your talent speaks for itself. But if you decide not to go to the exam, I'd support you."
"Ha," she replied. "You just don't want the competition."
He laughed; she chortled. They worked in companionable silence for a while until the boards were pristine. After their washcloths had been rinsed clean and wrung out to dry, he took his leave.
"I'll be heading to Tokyo on Sunday night," he said. "Perhaps—if you're traveling then, we could coordinate—"
She blushed. It was less than four days until she'd be heading to Tokyo for the same reason, but she'd be leaving far earlier. "I'll be…staying with Ren, Tadao-kun," she said. "I'm leaving on Friday evening."
He blushed, abashed. "Of course," he said. "Good luck, Kyoko-chan."
She smiled. "Good luck," she echoed.
=.=.=
Good luck.
Everyone wished her good luck this morning. Yayoi and Etsuro had called her. Kuon had woken up before dawn and managed to make a whole Japanese breakfast on his own and then drove her to the exam facility, his heart in his eyes. Tadao had added his own well-wishes again as they waited to enter the exam hall.
Kyoko heard their voices echo in her head as she marked the time. Tadao was sitting only a few seats down, a familiar presence in an otherwise hostile, unfriendly room. She stared down at the first page of her blank booklet and it stared back at her like a blind eye. In front of her, the exam's questions loomed like a tall mountain.
Tik tik tik tik…. The second hand on the clock was sweeping across its face, winding down time above each would-be student's head.
She wasn't nervous. She wasn't excited. She was as tranquil and as dead as a lake on a windless day. It was surprising, really. This was the gateway to the rest of her life—why didn't she feel more? She should have been something. Instead, she felt as if she were about to do a chore. It felt almost like a let-down, especially after having prepared for this exam for so long.
A little voice inside kept asking, "Why are you here?"
I am here because I want to be here, Kyoko told herself. I am here because it is the responsible thing to do. Perhaps spending the weekend with Kuon right before the exam had been a bad idea—the night before had been spent reading through his Midnight Strikes lines, and she could still feel an ache where her smiles had been. The read-through had been Kuon's idea. It'll help you decompress, he'd claimed. She'd done it happily. It had been such a pleasure to be someone else for the evening—somehow, fairy-tale princesses always had such important problems. They never had to worry about a late shipment of tuna, or about last night's homework. No, the problems they had were weightier. How to stay virtuous in the face of evil. How to triumph over adversity. How to fight for true love—those were princess problems. Those were the things she wanted to portray. They'd read his lines until it was time for bed. She hadn't intended on studying the night before the exam anyway—everyone knew that a restful night preceding something this big was far better for performance than cramming. But perhaps she should've chosen to do something less…distracting.
"Focus," she told herself under her breath. She forced her gaze downward to the exam booklet.
Tik…tik...
Write an essay discussing Oda Nobunaga's influence on the unification of Japan, the first prompt said.
She breathed in and then out, slowly. History first, then. Surreptitiously she looked to her left and to her right; already, the others taking the test were hard at work scribbling. The paper mocked her with its white expanse, but she knew it would fill soon enough. A small essay on Nobunaga for now. Perhaps a little later, it would be followed by the workings of a chemical formula for an explosive reaction, and then after that, the derivative of an integral. All of the answers would be finite facts and known quantities—known, the way people knew Tokyo University was value for money. Known, the way she knew that an education was a good investment. When she was done, these papers would contain the sum of all her hopes and efforts, her blood and sweat and tears.
She had all of the answers, caught between her head and her hand. The future was fixed, all waiting to be written down for grading by nameless, faceless strangers.
Why was her hand trembling?
Tik…tik…
She looked up and noticed fifteen minutes had passed.
What was she doing!? There was no time for hesitation; how many minutes had she already lost? Ordinarily she would be nearly done with this question. A new burst of anxiety had her heartbeat rising as a rush of adrenaline propelled her forward.
"Oda Nobuna—"
Crack.
She recoiled at the sound and then looked down in dismay at the broken tip of her pencil. Hastily she plucked another freshly-sharpened one from the pencil case she'd brought. The paper below her was blank, full of potential and absolutely nothing else. She clenched her hand. She would inscribe it with singular answers, all of them practiced and disciplined and correct. That was the point of the exam, wasn't it? A test of her ability to disgorge all the facts she'd spent all these past few months absorbing. It was a test of her ability to tell truths, to demonstrate her ability to handle an adulthood governed by schedules and bills and her duties to the Fuwas.
She took up her pencil. She could see Oda Nobunaga, wild-haired and wild-eyed, racing across the plain at the head of a mounted column of samurai. How would someone like her play him? What were his mannerisms like? She wondered, briefly, whether or not he bothered with courtly formality as he waged war—how did one portray such an iconoclast? And then she wondered, briefly, what it would be like to work on a jidaigeki.
She bit back a sigh.
Somewhere across town, she knew Kuon was watching a bevy of prospective Cinderellas read prepared monologues and a portion of the script. She wondered how they interpreted their lines—where their voices rose, how they showed fear and love and joy. Lucky, Kyoko thought. How she wished she could audition too—but no. She tamped down the jealousy that rose up inside her and began to write again.
She shook her head. No. She needed to focus on the task at hand.
There was no point in thinking of anything or anyone else beyond these walls anymore. She needed to rein in her wandering mind. She'd enjoyed their playacting a lot—perhaps too much. Stopping had filled her with a small pang. But she'd wrestled with the question—with the temptation—of going to the audition over these past few weeks, and her answer had always been the same. She'd made up her mind and she had no business thinking of Cinderella—or acting at all, for that matter. Even if she persisted in thinking of Kuon's drama—and the auditions for the lead role—she was here. She needed to focus on the present, and not some misbegotten daydream.
Ugh. Growing up meant doing things one didn't want to do, sometimes. She was sure she wouldn't regret doing the responsible thing.
"—Nobunaga ultimately failed to—" she wrote, and then crack. She looked down at her pencil in disbelief. Another one? she thought. She picked up yet another pencil, wondering if the entire package she'd purchased were defective in some way—
"—to unify Japan, but…"
She was wondering if the audition would include the dancing scene—she'd really loved learning to waltz with Kuon—
Stop it, Kyoko, she told herself.
"—was able to extend his power over much—"
Oh, but wouldn't it be wonderful to see what they'd use for glass slippers? She scrunched her eyes closed. Perhaps it was the pressure—she'd never been so distracted in her life. If you want to do this, Kyoko, you need to stop thinking about that audition, she told herself.
Wearily she shut her eyes again.
But what about the dress? her mind asked. Do you think they'll choose a pale blue the way they always seem to—?
A vision of herself in a pale blue ball gown filled her vision.
She clenched her teeth and willed it away.
"—of central Japan—" she wrote. This time she managed a full summary and recitation of Nobunaga's life, quickly disgorging the facts she knew the examiners wanted to see. She began on the analysis, discussing the effects of the power vacuum left in the wake of Oda Nobunaga's assassination—all the way until the founding of the Tokugawa shogunate.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
She looked up in disbelief as the pencil fell from her hands. The buzzer signified the end of the first testing period—and she wasn't done. How was she not done!? She could write an essay like this in her sleep—anyone could. Well, anyone that had been paying attention, at least. The buzz stretched out for an eternity, it seemed—all around her she heard the rustle of papers and the creak of chairs as examinees shut their booklets, stretched, and breathed.
She calculated probabilities and numbers—how many questions were left? Would this be fatal? Maybe it wasn't fatal, but it was certainly a setback—no, it was worse than a setback, it was a disaster—worse than a disaster, it was catastrophe. A calamity of her own making—though…it was possible she could excel on every other part of the exam. Such an easy first essay should have formed a nice, solid foundation for harder questions, but she no longer had that luxury. She would need to make up the points elsewhere. Her calculus was solid, but she didn't trust herself to remember every structure inside a mitochondria—and she knew there would be other essay questions she would need to complete. She'd need to score seriously high on the rest of those sections—she knew she could, but there was always the off-chance—and what if—what if—what if—
What if she didn't? What if she couldn't? What if she failed!?
She felt her heart beating frantically in her chest, felt her breath galloping out of reach—the walls were closing in and she would fail, all because she couldn't focus. She would fail, and then she would be a failure, a failure and a plain, unsexy girl, stupid and unwanted and not even capable of finishing the simplest of essays—and Kuon wouldn't want her anymore, not when he found out how stupid she'd been—and—and—and—oh god—were people staring!? People couldn't possibly be staring—but she felt accusing eyes on her anyway.
Anxiety, desperation, self-loathing—she felt the panic in her gut stretching like a rubber band, longer and longer, taut with tension; a voice in her head was calling her worthless, worthless, worthless. How would she stand next to Ren Tsuruga now?
This was no different than having given up school for Sho.
Kuon wasn't Sho, but she'd failed to hold on to her goals nonetheless—not for his dreams, but for hers.
For hers.
Her eyes widened.
She'd been daydreaming, but those daydreams—they were for her and not for anyone else.
The panic inside her stilled.
What were her dreams? Did she even know anymore?
Earning a degree wasn't a dream, it was a foregone conclusion. For some time now, she'd thought of it as something she had to do—not something she wanted to do.
She stopped and held her breath as the buzzer was silenced. In that same moment she felt the tension break—a rubber band, snapping in two and whipping back, the force of it giving her an unexpected sting alongside unexpected clarity.
It was pathetic, really. It seemed as if she'd be dependent on these epiphanies, on these sudden blazes of insight to show her when she was making the wrong choice.
Because she knew she'd made the wrong choice.
If she were alone in this world, with no responsibilities, or expectations, or debts, what would she do? Who would she be?
She knew she was capable; she knew she could pass the exam. She knew she wasn't stupid. She knew she wasn't worthless or ugly. She wasn't a failure. More than that, she knew Kuon would stand by her. She knew the Fuwas would welcome whatever decision she made with open arms. It had taken her a long, long time to learn these things. Much longer than the time she'd spent studying for this exam.
But when all was said and done—when all the battle was lost and won—what did she want?
Deep inside her, she'd always known the answer. It was something she'd always known and denied.
She wanted more. And if she'd learned anything over the past few months, it was that she deserved more.
The next exam segment had yet to start.
She looked up at the clock—it was early, yet. She could make it. The audition was across town, but she would make it. It wasn't too late to change her mind.
Her heart was racing still, but now it was racing for a different reason. She kept her movements calm, but inside, she was in freefall. Quietly, she put her pencils back in their case. Quickly, she stacked her exam papers into a pile.
And then she stood up.
She saw Tadao turn and look at her, surprised. She smiled.
Comprehension dawned on his face. Good luck, he mouthed.
She nodded, turned, and left the building.
=.=.=.=
Kuon sighed and folded his hands across his chest as the thirtieth—or was it the thirty-first?—actress finished her monologue. They were in an auditorium, and he was seated next to Kaito Azuma, director, and a number of the show's producers and writers. It was an open audition, and a horde of would-be Cinderellas were waiting out in the hallway when they'd arrived. A number of them were dismissed for not having 'the look.' The ones obviously there to meet Ren were thrown out of the building summarily.
It turned out a lot of them had been there to do just that.
The actresses who remained were a mix—some had experience in the industry, others had never acted before. Most had glossy headshots and resumes; a few merely came as they were. It was a half hour to noon, and he'd been stuck watching the auditions as part of the voting panel. How many more monologues would he have to watch? Unprofessional as it was, he was bored out of his mind. He was counting the seconds until he actively took to the screen tests later in the afternoon—at least he'd be doing something.
His mind wandered. It would be so very nice to come home to Kyoko that evening.
How was she doing on her exam?
She had to be doing well—of this he had no doubt. She had one more day of exams after this one, but he couldn't wait to celebrate with her—to twirl her around in a giggling mass of joy. After she got her results, they could plan the next phase of their lives. What if she chose to live with him after all? What would it be like to wake up next to her again, day after day? He needed to get her a ring. He'd proposed a million times, but never with a ring…Or maybe just a necklace, for now, in case she wasn't ready for a ring…and he'd need earrings to match, right…?
"Thank you," Azuma-san said, and Kuon fell out of his daydream. "We'll keep you in mind. Please wait in the hall."
The young woman smiled, ecstatic, and skipped off of the stage, thankful she hadn't been rejected outright.
"Are you sure?" Kuon asked, watching her retreating back. "She seemed—I don't know. Prone to over-acting? Parts of that monologue were melodramatic—in a bad way."
"She can be coached." The director was making notes on her resume. "She wasn't that bad. The monologue was decent. And she's had some good experience—played the lead in Box-R, performs as part of an idol group…I'll watch her chemistry with you during the next phase."
"Of course," Kuon said. "How many more of them are waiting?"
"I don't think too many more." Azuma thumbed through the files he had on the desk. "No…one more, I think—"
"I'm glad we could narrow it down." Kuon tried to keep the relief out of his voice. "That was a mob out there this morning."
"I didn't want to do an open audition, you know," Azuma said. "But all the other actresses we offered declined or had some kind of conflict. And the network didn't want one of the usual suspects, anyway."
"Hence the open audition."
Azuma nodded. "I'm sure you want to get on with the screen tests. I'm anxious to see how you do with these actresses. I'd like to see some of them surpass those monologues. And anyway…I'm told you have a knack for getting the best performances out of your co-stars, right, Ren-kun?" Azuma winked. "Though—now that you've got a girlfriend—"
"I assure you, my co-stars' performances have nothing to do with—"
"So modest," Azuma said, waving him away. "But we should continue." He turned and called out to his assistant. "Next!"
The door behind them opened. Kuon watched as the girl walked down the auditorium's long aisle to climb up to the stage. She was a classic Japanese beauty, long black hair, big expressive eyes. She walked into the room aggressively, almost as if she'd come to the audition to attack someone.
"Kanae Kotonami, represented by LME," the next actress said. "Hajimemashite."
"Proceed," Azuma nodded.
Her resume was short—an LME talent, too, apparently, though not one he'd ever noticed. He glanced over the page. He saw a commercial, a school drama—what was it with these school dramas?—not much else. There was a hauteur to her that gave her a forbidding air, though perhaps that was what Azuma wanted in this Cinderella. This series was all about winning back a kingdom, so perhaps a certain fierceness was called for. Kuon only half-listened to her monologue—it was an excerpt from a famous play, and she was doing a competent, if not particularly striking, rendition.
"Thank you," Azuma said. "Great job. Please wait out in the hallway."
Kuon looked up as the girl gave a dignified bow.
"That was the best one yet." Azuma circled the actress's name and set aside her resume. "I liked her fierceness."
"She's fierce, but the role does call for some vulnerability, too," Kuon said. "She doesn't seem like the type—"
"I'm told she can cry on demand," Azuma said. "Heard it from Uesugi's boy. Hiou? Works with her on that drama. Besides, she's from your agency…and Lory does know how to pick them."
"Oh," Kuon said lamely. He knew being this critical was uncharacteristic of him—he generally stayed silent during this portion of the process, if he was part of it at all. No one felt right to him. Was it because he was simply used to Kyoko's interpretation of the role? He'd have to resign himself to another Cinderella; someone else would stand next to him with her own, less satisfying interpretation. He might have to change his Prince to suit that actress, whenever Azuma finally chose one.
For the thousandth time that morning, he wished Kyoko had chosen to audition, and for the thousandth time, he berated himself for wishing for something she did not want.
"Was she the last one?" he asked.
"Mmm…yes, I think." Azuma turned and called to his assistant. "Aikawa! Aikawa-san, that's all of them, right?"
"Yes—no—wait—!" They heard the opening of the door, and Kuon turned to look. "One last audition, Azuma-san." Aikawa stepped aside and a figure walked in.
He felt his heart squeeze as she entered.
Kyoko—no, Cinderella, stood at the door.
Was he dreaming? His heart was going to beat out of his chest. His blood was rushing into his head. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath. He'd seen her accept her beauty. He'd seen her accept his love. The one thing she hadn't yet accepted was her talent, but he knew what her presence meant: if she was here, she'd made a choice. She'd finally chosen to give her talent a chance to shine.
He wanted to scream out his joy to the rest of the universe, but instead, he kept his face and his body frozen.
He could see it from across the room—she was already in character. She'd learned the lesson from Ring Doh; she understood, instinctively, the power of a first impression. She walked into the room with the dignity of a queen, her back straight and her chin set and determined. Her lithe form did not have Kotonami's aggressiveness, but it was strong, nonetheless. She looked like the kind of woman who would wield power with care and grace, but more than that: she looked as if she were born to it.
She began her walk towards the stage. Their eyes met, briefly—zap went the spark between them, and he felt all of her love in a blink of an eye. But she looked away. He understood—here, she was just another actress.
"Do you have a CV, miss—?" Azuma was looking at her, dazed.
"Right here," he heard a voice call out. Kuon turned to see Yashiro with a manila folder, rushing in. "My apologies, Azuma-san," his manager said. "LME should have sent these to you this morning." Yashiro caught his eye and winked, and Kuon coughed to keep himself from whooping out loud.
Azuma reached for the folder, flipped it open, and then gave Kyoko an appraising look as she stood center-stage.
"Hajimemashite," Kyoko said, bowing gracefully. "I am Kyouko, from LME."
"Proceed," Azuma said, leaning back into his chair.
Kyoko nodded, suddenly solemn.
"The quality of mercy is not strained," she began, "It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…"
He shouldn't have been surprised that she'd chosen a translation of a Shakespeare play.
Kuon watched as Azuma stared—as all of the people sitting next to him stared. Later, he would find out how Kyoko had arrived breathless and flushed from her mad dash across town. He would find out how Yashiro had seen her as she arrived at registration, how he'd brow-beat the staff to allow her to join as a late entry. His manager made magic happen: in the space between her arrival and her turn at the stage, he'd managed to find a print shop somewhere nearby to prepare her resume and the headshot he'd hastily taken with his phone. He'd also printed a copy of the contract Lory sent him via email.
She'd signed it.
"Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest…"
He watched her on stage, illuminating the room and all the dark places in his soul. He would burst into incandescent flames, he was sure of it.
"It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…"
The universe shifted on its axis as Kyoko took her place.
Cinderella had arrived at the ball at last.
=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: Yes, hi, here is a new chapter. It is what it is. Please feed me your reviews, because I am starved for them. Desperate for them, even.
Other stuff:
1. Yes, there's a Macbeth reference in there. Kyoko's monologue is Portia's monologue from The Merchant of Venice.
2. The Common Test for University Admissions (Daigaku Nyūgaku Kyōtsū Tesuto), and its predecessor, the National Center Test for University Admissions, are held in mid-January once a year. This test is not tied to a specific university. I did not research this test extensively, and know that individual universities may have additional, university-specific requirements for admissions that may or may not take place in January. In other words…I don't actually know if there are essay questions on it. I've taken my fair share of standardized tests, though, and would never be caught dead at one without a stash of mechanical pencils (because seriously, fuck no. 2 pencil leads, mang). Admittedly…the last test I took was electronic and had me staring into a big empty page on screen, instead of on paper—and that was fourteen years ago. I don't even know if people use paper in exams anymore. Sigh. Yes, I am old.