White Album 3 (A Possibility) - Chapter 7 - Electronic_Bee8771 (2024)

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Weeks after that fateful encounter with my parents, where my fate was again decided, The White Album 3 had our noses firmly pressed to the grindstone. Setsuna hadn’t been lying when she’d said we would little to no time to ourselves until the record’s release. For not only were we supposed to learn and master our pieces, we also needed to be our hardest-working promoters.

Although truly independent musicians literally had to do everything themselves, it was a myth that a group with a record deal could just sit back and simply play their songs and call it a day.

Our higher-ups like Rina and Eiji handled grand strategy—choosing our venues, hiring an online advertising firm, rounding up sponsors, and the like—while Setsuna was mainly responsible for getting us ready to record and perform. She also used her contacts in the industry to do her fair share of networking for us. But the day to day still needed to get done, and get done right.

“Alright guys, let’s confirm we’re all on the same page,” Haruto said, looking up from a heavily-annotated sheaf of papers. “From eight-thirty to ten-thirty, you’re shooting a guest episode of Nogizaka Under Construction. You have a thirty-minute break for costume change and anything else you need, then you’re on Ningen Kansatsu Monitoring from eleven to twelve-thirty. After that, we’re gonna have a half-hour lunch at Echoes, and go right into filming ‘Replacing You’ at the station. We break at five exactly, and I take you all to campus for your classes. Got it?”

I sighed and nodded, feeling somewhat dead to the world. We sat in our green room at N54 Studios, which had supposedly banned me from the premises a while ago. Yet somehow, I’d ended up there nearly every day for the last week or so. It was peak taping season for that uniquely Japanese mix of inanity, sadism, and commercialism known as the “Variety Show.”

I’d only caught a few episodes of those shows online while growing up in Vienna, but never really understood the sheer horror of being on one of those until recently. Rina had told us that one of the best ways of getting our name out there was to appear regularly over the broadcast season, for the vast majority of the thirty-and-up crowd (a critical sales demographic) still tuned into these things.

She’d probably spent a solid two thirds of most years taping shows at N54 back in the 80’s and early 90’s. And this was still what Hanako spent a lot of her time doing as an idol, when she wasn’t actively performing or practicing. Frankly, I didn’t understand how they hadn’t just stepped into traffic after a single day of that sh*t.

“Btooom!” yelled the two hosts toward the camera. “We’re Eggplant and Squash, and welcome to another episode of ‘Nogizaka Under Construction!’ Now, normally, we’re all about our regular girls in Nogizaka486, but they’re on a well-deserved summer break…in bikinis! So we’ve got some young, cute, up-and-coming guest talent here for our Studio Spot Sale event!”

Yukiko, Saeko, and I sat in our stage costumes on plastic chairs arranged on a small dais, along with another group we were unfamiliar with. As the camera panned over us, we made sure to smile and wave for it as the audience clapped. Haruto had drilled it into me to give the biggest sh*t-eating grin I could, along with a thumbs up. I noticed now that I was the only guy there, as the other group was all women. Thank f*ck, maybe they’ll ignore me and focus on the girls.

“So who do we have here today?” the thinner host, Squash asked his larger counterpart, Eggplant.

“I don’t know, but who let a guy on here? We’re supposed to be all cute girls all the time!”

The audience laughed. I feigned covering my face in embarrassment. I knew it was all scripted beforehand, but I still felt called-out. Eggplant was obviously the funny man, or boke, while Squash seemed to play the straight man, or tsukkomi.

“Your mother asked him to come on,” Squash countered. “She’s been obsessed ever since she saw him on Tomo-chan. Leon-kun, how do you feel about being ogled by the ladies-over-fifty crowd?”

“Well, tell your mother thanks from me and the rest of The White Album 3. A woman’s age is a just a number, but the higher, the better,” I replied, prompting cheers from female members of the audience. That was another scripted response.

“Smooth!” exclaimed Eggplant. “But I’d like to talk more with Michiru-chan, myself,” he said, giving the other group’s leader an exaggerated wink and a kissy face. “Michiru-chan! Aish*teru!”

She laughed and blew a scripted kiss back to Eggplant. “Thanks, Eggplant-kun! That’s right, we’re Icy Tail! It sounds like ‘aish*teru!’” More cheers from the audience.

I remembered my conversation with Kato Megumi with Blessing Software. I’d given her card to Haruto, but never imagined we’d be meeting their circle band like this. The plan was that if we were good sports about the variety show’s antics, we’d actually get to play a little bit of music for the crowd—our payoff for getting mildly humiliated onstage.

The only problem was that I didn’t see the usual complement of instruments that a rock group would normally need. And even if there was a shared set of instruments, the drum configurations, tuning, and pedalboard and microphone setups would be completely different between our two groups. Rina and Setsuna had warned us to expect the producers to throw a wrench into things. I had to be prepared for anything.

“Without further ado, let’s start the Studio Spot Sale,” Squash said. “Today, we’re going to test out the absolute sketchiest products you can buy from Am*zon Japan on our lucky music guests here! Remember, folks, these are probably dangerous to use, and can definitely cause injury! Will our cute upcoming groups be able to survive the gauntlet of stupid goods?”

For f*ck’s sake, I thought, not letting my smile waver.

“Okay, lemme pick first!” Eggplant shouted. “I wanna see Michiru-chan with…” His eyebrows undulated like snakes. “The ‘Hitacky’ Magic Wand!”

The audience laughed. Michiru stepped off her chair and came to the center of the stage. An AD handed her what looked like a badly-made parody of the original Hitachi massage device.

“Okay, I love a good massage,” she said, and flipped the on-switch. Its coarse vibrations were unpleasant to behold, but she, like a champ, simply pressed the ends to her shoulders and started to rub. “Oh! This isn’t too bad!”

“I heard a rumor that a lot of women were using these for…” Squash began.

“Back pain?” Michiru said, innocently, provoking laughter. “I get a slipped disc now and then, you know! This is really strong! Let me keep it!”

“My hopes and dreams, crushed!” Eggplant lamented. “Okay, enough of that. Now, our next sketchy Am*zon buy is this ‘Deluxe’ edition personal waxing kit from ‘ENHOMY’ or whatever the heck this brand is! Sounds fake and dangerous! I want Leon-kun to show us how it’s done!”

f*ck you, man, I thought, as I cheerfully walked to the center stage and came up to a small table where the dubious-appearing waxing kit had been set up. It was a standard-looking kit, with a warmer, the wax, some wooden stir sticks, and cloth strips.

“So, what’re you gonna depilate for us today?” Squash asked. “I know what the ladies wanna see!”

“But Squash-san, they won’t let me show that on TV!” I said, miming shock. The audience laughed and cheered.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Eggplant howled, shaking his hands in exaggerated prayer. “Okay, well, we still gotta use it, so why don’t you show us some leg?”

“You got it,” I said, and rolled up my Lycra pants to the knee. I hadn’t the hairiest legs in the world, but I still had something to use this horrible idea of a device on. Carefully, I dipped one of the wooden stir sticks in the wax and pulled it out. I blew on it for comedic effect (and to make sure I didn’t give myself third degree burns on national television) and then slapped the lukewarm stuff on the outside of my calf. Then, I pressed one of the cloth strips to it.

“What’re you waiting for?” Squash asked. “Pull it already!”

“But I’m scared! Guys don’t do this stuff!” I said, following the script.

“Can one of his cute bandmates ‘encourage’ him?”

“I will!” Yukiko said, and hopped off her chair to join me. “Leon, close your eyes, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and pressed my hands together to mime a prayer.

“Here goes nothing!” She ripped the strip away. I yelped as a strip of my leg hair went with it and into the air.

“Holy!” I shouted, in real pain.

For the next hour and a half, this went on. Fortunately, there was a limit on how much they could actually hurt us, or how much nudity or innuendo was allowed, which the hosts and producers mostly followed. The rest of the sketchy products were mostly limited to goofy stuff like budget massage chairs or aromatherapy foot soaks, so no one besides me had to lose their hair or other body parts. Finally, our ordeal was drawing to a close.

“Well, I want to thank Icy Tail and The White Album 3 for being such good sports and giving our normal girls a rest,” Squash said. “We’ll be sure to show you their bikini pictures on the next episode!”

“Hey, does the audience wanna hear some music?” Eggplant asked, to resounding applause.

“Looks like they do! But…we kinda forgot most of the instruments!”

f*ckers, I thought. Haruto and Setsuna were probably having aneurysms right now.

“Well, we did manage to scrape together a guitar and a keyboard, at least,” Squash said. “Why don’t we have Michiru and Leon each sing something for us?”

“But there’s a twist!” Eggplant countered. “See, we wanna know if they can play stuff other than their usual songs. So the rule is that you guys have to play something not on your CD’s!”

I looked at Yukiko and Saeko. They kept their placid smiles, but were probably fuming inside. “Can you do it?” Setsuna mouthed to me from where the cameras were. I gave her a thumbs-up. If these vegetable men were going to screw me, I had a surprise for them.

“No sweat!” Michiru said. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind, Leon-kun!”

One of the AD’s handed her a guitar as she walked onto center stage. She quickly checked the tuning and then plugged it into the amp before giving us a pretty peppy rendition of the classic anime standby ‘Sorairo Days.” And she killed it.

The audience shouted and cheered as she walked back to her chair and high-fived her bandmates.

“Okay, Leon-kun, your turn,” Squash said. A pair of ADs brought out a Roland FANTOM FA-08, which was much better than what I’d been expecting, and plugged it into the amp. I checked the keys to make sure they responded properly, and selected the standard concert grand sound profile. Then, I quickly called up a standard 4/4 snare drumbeat in eighth notes. It was an extremely poor substitute for having Saeko actually drumming for me, but it would have to do under exigent circ*mstances. I was going to show these bastards not to screw with us, and I knew how to do it.

I hit the rhythm start, and shouted out: “One! Two! Three Four!”

So you wanted to take a break

Slow it down some and have some space

Well, f*ck you too!

Give me my money back

Give me my money back you bitch

I want my money back

And don't forget

to give me back my black t-shirt

Takai meshi ogotta sono

Ato de poi sute

Sayonara suru nante!

Kane wo kaese

Kane wo kaese you bitch

Ore ni kaese

Wasureruna

kuro no t-shatsu mo

***

We ate lunch at Echoes in almost complete silence. We stank of sweat, our costumes itched something fierce, my leg burned like hell after the dubious depilation, and we were all hungrier than sin, but definitely not for eggplants or squash. I shoved the last bits of my BLT in my mouth and washed it down with the dregs of my coffee.

“So,” Haruto finally said, after putting his cigarette down. “I got good news and bad news.”

“Normally, I want bad news first,” Saeko said. “But I can’t take this sh*t anymore, so tell us the not-gonna-make-me-wanna-seppuku-right-here-and-now news.”

“The good news is that we probably won’t get punished by Sony for an unlicensed rendition of ‘Song for the Dumped’ on a nationally-syndicated variety show. The chairman’s got a thing for Rina, after all.”

“That’s the good news?” Yukiko asked. She tried to reach over to grab Haruto’s cigarette, only for him to slap her hand away.

“Yep,” he said. “Bad news is that the hosts really liked your performance,” Haruto said. “They want you all to appear on more guest episodes during the season, and do some music numbers along with Nogizaka486. For our marketing, that’s insanely great.”

“Wait, how’s that bad news?” Yukiko asked.

“I mean, it’s f*cking Eggplant and Squash. I detest those sh*theads,” Haruto said. “But yeah, congrats, Leon, you made your bed and now you can sleep in it.”

“f*ck me,” I growled, burying my face in my hands. It was the last thing I’d wanted to hear. At least the second show we’d been in, “Ningen Kansatsu Monitoring,” had been more of a straightforward game show that involved us all getting lost in a maze and having to assemble clues to get out successfully. We’d actually managed to have a tiny bit of fun, although it was all scripted, too.

Yukiko shrugged. “I kinda liked the banter, though?”

Saeko and I both glared at her. “Your new name is ‘Melon-chan,’” Saeko said. “Like your enormous, thick head.”

“Fight me,” Yukiko said, wheeling on her.

“Enough!” Haruto said, blowing a cloud of smoke in their direction. “Melons aren’t vegetables, anyway. Call her ‘Potato-kun’ or something.”

Even I had to giggle at that, earning me a quick swat on the head from Yukiko before she did the same to Haruto.

Now I wanted to whine. “Seriously, how the hell did the Ogata Rina and Morikawa Yuki do this sh*t every day? I heard the eighties were way worse, too.”

“Well, you’ve probably noticed they treat the girls a lot better than the guys, at least physically,” Haruto said. “We can usually shut down anything too egregious, like the machine that slaps your balls if you get a question wrong. But you just have to swallow your pain and f*ck your pride, sometimes.”

“So in other words, more waxing.”

“It’s the price of showbiz,” Haruto said. “Remember, if you were a true indie act, you’d never get this level of exposure. And watching TV is all the over-thirty crowd does all day in Japan. Park their assess and inhale trash. You’ll thank us once you see the revenues from the record sale and start getting royalty payments.”

“You think they’re gonna make him shave his armpits or something?” Yukiko said, cackling.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Haruto said. “But you girls, on the other hand, have to be careful, too. Most of the bullsh*t you have to deal with will come from competing female acts, especially as you get more exposure. Expect your sh*t to get messed with and stolen. You might get slapped, too.”

“Then I’ll choke a bitch.”

“Don’t. That’s scandal bait, and we’re can’t fall for it. I’m a guy, so I can manhandle a scummy producer trying to corner you, but I can’t touch girls. You just have to take it, sorry.”

“Or, don’t get caught, if you slap back,” our hostess said with a wry smile as she picked up our empty plates. I’d seen her manning the counter before, often when Master Nanase Akira had to tend to the secret basem*nt part of the cafe.

“I apologize,” I said, needing my curiosity to be sated. “But I never got your name.”

“No need to apologize. I’m Nanase Sayoko. I’m one of the owners here, along with my husband, Akira.”

Haruto frowned in concentration. “Nanase-san, was your family name Kisaragi, by any chance?”

“Yes, you’re correct.”

“You’re a former taicho of the Sakura-dan, aren’t you? You seemed familiar with what we were just talking about.”

She chuckled. “A long time ago, yes. I’m done with that life, though. Still, my advice stands. Give them back worse than they gave to you, and don’t get caught. Hang in there, girls and guy.”

“Thanks for indulging us,” Haruto said. “And I really liked ‘Kissing Booth.’”

Sayoko flashed him a smile and left with our plates. I whistled under my breath in appreciation. The Sakura-dan were widely considered to have been Morikawa Yuki’s strongest competition during the late eighties, and possibly would have eclipsed her if not for their sudden disbandment shortly before the Venus Festival. Sayoko definitely oozed “idol” out of her pores. Master Akira had found himself a true prize.

Haruto glanced at his watch. “We’re out of time, sorry to say. Well, at least the afternoon’s not so onerous. We’re gonna be shooting the music video for ‘Replacing You.’ Hanako’s directing, in case you didn’t know.”

“Whoa, I didn’t know she could do that,” I said.

“Setsuna’s showing her the ropes. Of course, she’s still going to be filmed in the process, for her own segment on another show. Maximizing returns on your work, that kind of thing.”

“So they’re filming her filming us?” Yukiko said. “That’s a bit like a famous movie I saw once. What was it, again? Sacchan, you’re the film buff here.”

“You’re thinking of ‘Freddy Got Fingered,’” Saeko said, pantomiming deep thought. “A cinematic masterpiece and praised the world-over. Whenever anyone asks you what your favorite film is, just namedrop that and they’ll think you’re a true woman of culture. Kind of like telling people your favorite author is Murakami Haruki, your favorite composer is Chopin, and your favorite artist is Monet.”

“Oh! Thanks for the tip, Girlfriend,” Yukiko said, reaching out to fistbump Saeko.

I hadn’t the energy or the will to tell her she was being trolled yet again.

***

“Hey guys!” Hanako greeted us with her inextinguishable cheer as we piled back into the studio. She was, as always, utterly perfect no matter where she was, who she was dealing with, and even if her most basic bodily needs had gone unmet. We, on the other hand, looked like surly, messy children in need of our afternoon nap.

“Hanacchi,” Saeko whined, hugging her. “I wanna die!”

“There, there,” Hanako said, giving her healing headpats. “If you’re going to die, do it after the video shoot, okay?”

“I’m not gonna be able to do a lot,” Yukiko said, sitting on the first folding chair that became available. “I ate way too much! I’m farting up a storm here!”

“That’s fine! This isn’t Smellovision,” Hanako retorted. “Okay! Let’s go over the plan! And I remind you all, you’re going to be on camera in a few minutes. Leon, anything you want off your chest before we roll?”

“I just feel like chopping vegetables,” I said, giving her a smile crossed with a grimace.

“Oh! I heard about that!” Hanako laughed, musically as she always did. “They really liked it, though, with all the American swear words. I’d use English curses, too, but the rhyming gets thrown off.”

“Hanako-sama,” one of the AD’s asked her. “Can we start filming now?”

“Go ahead!” she said. I noticed that she wasn’t dressed in her usual idol persona outfit, but instead, something that looked like a fluffy cross between an American prom dress and a peasant girl’s skirt. It was extremely adolescent and titillatingly innocent-looking. In her hands, she carried a Nikon D7500 DSLR, which was a digital camera especially suited for video shoots.

“Okay!” She began. “So if you haven’t guessed by what I’m wearing, I’m not only directing the shoot, but acting in it, too. When I’m in the scene, one of our cameramen will take over, but I’ll otherwise be behind it. With me so far?”

We nodded.

“Good! Think of every music video as a mini-movie. It has an overarching plot, a beginning, a middle, and a conclusion. ‘Replacing You’ is about a couple breaking up with each other because the girl has found new love. The guy in this case is Leon, of course, and the girl will be played by me.”

Yukiko’s hand shot up. “Who’s the new lover?”

“We’re on a budget here, so it’s going to be Izumi-san, your manager.”

“Seriously? I’m not that good of a singer,” Haruto said, chuckling.

“Oh, don’t worry, all you have to do is just pantomime a few things. None of the audio here makes it to the final cut, although I will ask Leon to actually sing the parts and for Saeko and Kiko to actually play their instruments for real. Lip syncing and pretend playing don’t come across as genuine, in my experience. We’ll also have the song playing on speaker during segments where the band isn’t fully on display, so you can move with the proper rhythm.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her. “You really know your stuff, Hanako.” For a second, I thought I perceived the tips of her ears turn red.

“Setsuna taught me, and I’ve always liked directing these,” she said. “I’d like to do this after I graduate from being an idol. Anyway! Let’s begin with the most critical thing, first. I need a full-length shot of the band playing the entire song from start to finish. This is the central reference point from which everything branches off, and to which everything returns. Ready?”

“Let’s do it,” I said to the band.

The AD’s had already built the small set, whose backing I recognized from tourist brochures showcasing the tiny “instant wedding” chapels in Las Vegas. The tacky red curtains, balloons, and disco ball strung overhead added to the kitschy look. I recognized the Roland FANTOM FA-08 from earlier. I almost saluted it like I would an old war buddy, given what we’d both gone through. As the vocalist, I was of course front and center, with Yukiko on guitar on my left and Saeko on drums behind us.

“Go ahead and start when you’re ready,” Yukiko said. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, so don’t get too caught up on little mistakes. I also want you to overact a bit. Remember, this is a video, so your movements are equally as important as your sound.”

I set the Roland to my preferences, and Yukiko and Saeko double-checked their tuning and seating. After confirming they were ready, I pressed the keys.

Futari wakarete kara mikka ga sugita

Kimi ga doko ni iru ka ima demo wakaru

Hoka no hito to kimi wo kurabete ita yo

“Sore dake wa shinai” to omotte ita noni

Heya wo dete yuku kimi no tonari de

Mou hitou no boku ga furikaeri boku wo miteta

Kimi no ie wo chizu de nagameteta toki

Hajimete kimi kara no denwa ga natta

Ano koro no itoshisa torimodosu ni wa

Aenaku naru hoka ni nakatta no kana

Toki ga nagarete boku wo wasurete

Kimi ga deai sosh*te ai shiatte yuku hito wa

Boku no kawari ni iru wake janai no to

Omoeru you na hito ni deatte

“Good,” Hanako said, waving her hand to signal a cut. To my pleasure and surprise, the AD’s around us also clapped. It was reassuring that they seemed to be enjoying the show, rather than just enduring this all. “Actually, this is very usable. I won’t make you do a second take, which I’m sure is a relief.”

“I don’t mind playing again,” I joked. “It’s a lot more enjoyable than getting waxed or vibrated or something.”

“You’ll have to show me where they waxed you, next time,” Hanako said, with a giggle. “Okay, let’s move on. Leon take your microphone, make sure it’s unplugged, and I need a shot of you singing from measure twenty to thirty while sitting on the stairs looking dejected.”

“I can definitely do dejected,” I said, and followed her instructions.

For the next few hours, we shot and re-shot the wide-angle scenes, close-ups, and dancing scenes that Hanako wanted. Since she played the part of the ex-girlfriend, we had scenes of her jumping on a heart-shaped bed in slow motion, while I walked tragically down a hallway or moped in front of a mockup of a storefront. I was also glad that my bandmates were in a much better mood doing this sort of work than appearing on yet another variety show.

“Sorry, guys,” Haruto eventually said, and pointed at his watch. “It’s about time to wrap up for the day. Classes about to begin and such.”

I pulled out my phone to check the time, only to see a text notification pop up from Yuunagi University.

YU: Evening Classes canceled for today. Please go to the website for details.

“Yukiko, you getting this, too?” I asked her. She pulled out her phone and nodded at me excitedly.

“Hell yeah! Maybe the entire place burned down!” she exclaimed, pumping a fist.

“Don’t be feral,” I said, giving her a playful chop on the head. I quickly checked the university website. “It’s just some issue with climate control. They’ll be back up tomorrow.”

“Nice!” Hanako said, peeping over our shoulders. “We actually have a tiny bit more to shoot, but I won’t force anyone to stay.”

“You sure, Hanako?” I asked, earning a kick in the shin from Yukiko. “Ow!”

“No one likes a friggin’ Goody Two Shoes,” Yukiko said. “Besides, I’m completely beat and hella gassy. I’m gonna go straight home and sleep for a year. Sacchan, it’s your day, anyway.”

“Pass,” Saeko said. “The beta for ‘Nukitashi 8’ just got leaked, so I’m gonna be checking it out. Sorry, Leon, but first crack at a new eroge is strictly a ‘me and my hand’ activity.”

I gave her my best side-eye. “I didn’t need to know that, but have fun. I guess I’ll go to back to my own place, then.”

At that moment, Hanako touched my arm. “Leon, I actually only need you for the last bits. They’re at the Arumi hotel. If you’re free, can you go there with me for a just a few minutes? It would be a big help.”

I could have sworn I’d heard nervousness tinge her voice. “Sure, that’s totally fine,” I said. “You don’t need the rest of your shoot crew?”

“No, camera’s all I need. Yayoi will drive us there, and the room’s already booked. Like, I just need a shot of you looking out through the window over the town…and some other scenes.”

Why does she sound so on edge? “Okay, I’ll go. Haruto, you good with that?”

Haruto nodded. “Yeah, and thanks for staying extra. I’ll ask Rina to approve overtime, and I’ll take care of the girls. You go with Hanako and Shinozuka-san. Oh, Yayoi, can you give him a ride back if he needs it?”

Hanako’s manager nodded. “Let’s go.”

***

The Arumi Integral was probably the tallest luxury hotel in our particular area of Tokyo. Although it was by no means a true skycraper like the Mandarin Oriental in Nihonbashi, it was still known for impressive views from its floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Thanks for doing this, Leon,” Hanako said, as we got into the elevator along with Yayoi. “It saves us some serious cash, because we’d booked the room for today and tomorrow, but if we wrap up, we can just cancel tomorrow.”

“Hey, small things add up, right?” I said. “Even for a record label, I’m sure sixty-thousand yen or something still sucks to lose for no reason.”

“I’d lose my mind if that were coming out of my pocket,” Hanako said, smiling at me. The backs of our hands were resting on each other’s. I became acutely aware of Yayoi standing in front of us. Her back was turned to us, nevertheless. The room was on the thirtieth floor, and this was a slow elevator. My heartbeat quickened as Hanako’s hand moved to clasp my own.

My throat went dry as her fingers started to interlace with mine. I silently tried to will my growing erection away. I wasn’t a twelve-year-old on my first date ever. That sh*t was utterly childish of me. But still, the feeling of her hand, so soft and smooth, provoked feelings that I knew were objectively wrong. Stop. She’s an idol and she’s supposed to be enticing. This doesn’t mean anything. I emptied my lungs. Like that kiss.

Finally, the elevator chimed and the doors opened.

“Etto…” Hanako said as we came to a stop in front of one of the rooms. “Here, Thirty-oh-four.” She swiped the keycard and opened the door to a nondescript hotel room like any other. Once inside, she set her camera down on the nearby desk. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“Maybe I should,” I said. I’d noticed that Yayoi hadn’t entered with us. She was probably posting guard outside, in case we’d been spotted and followed by the press. I hadn’t actually seen Hanako hand her a keycard, now that I thought about it.

I took care of what I needed, washed my hands, and splashed cold water over my face. “Don’t overthink this,” I whispered to my reflection in the mirror. Then I quickly toweled off and went back to join Hanako.

“Let’s start,” she said, and clambered onto the big, king-sized bed on her knees. She aimed the camera at me. “I want you to sing while you look out through the window at the town below. Sing any measure, doesn’t matter what it is. Try touching the glass with your hand, but not so it blocks your face, okay? Remember, look really sad!”

“Got it,” I said, and gave her my best “guy who got dumped and rethinking his life” impression, while I softly sang some of the song lyrics.

“Good, good,” Hanako said, satisfied. “Now, sit at the desk and start writing a note on some scrap paper. Write something like, I don’t know, ‘To my beloved.’”

I did so, and she stood to my side, working the camera to zoom in and out of my face and my hands.

“Easy, right?” She laughed, went to her bag, and pulled out a mini tripod. She screwed the camera to the bottom, and positioned it on the desk, facing the bed. She climbed onto it and sat with her knees splayed to one side. “Okay, final shot.”

“All yours,” I said. Despite the fact that I was going to look like a kicked puppy for the entire song, I’d found myself enjoying the process. “What happens in this one?”

“It’s a bit…” Hanako’s gaze dropped away from mine. “It’s a bit of a stretch. Probably won’t make the final cut. You know, censorship and all. S-sit with me.”

I obliged her and climbed on. “What are we gonna do on the bed?” The fluffy duvet gave off a distinct “pomf!”

“I thought maybe the end should have a shot of a happy memory or something for the couple,” Hanako said. “You know, before they broke up and she married the other guy in Las Vegas. So I thought I’d show the couple kissing each other.”

My heart started to pound again. I started to bulge through those cursed, sweaty Lycra pants I’d been wearing the entire day. f*ck! Get down, you bastard! This is just acting for a video!

“Is that okay with you?” I asked, unable to meet her eyes. “It means we have to kiss each other…again…”

“It’s just for the video,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically sheepish. “If you don’t want to, we’ll just act like we’re about to k-kiss.”

“Let’s try that first!” I said, breathing quickly. I realized in that moment that I was alone in a hotel room with none other than Morikawa Hanako. Furthermore, I was about to kiss her, or at least pretend to kiss her, on camera.

“Okay, we’ll play it by ear,” she said, lifting her chin. She closed her eyes and brought her lips close to mine. Then she caressed my cheeks with her hands. “Closer, please,” she whispered, with a shy smile.

I obeyed. My lips were less than a millimeter away from hers. The sensible, logical, no-stress, professional, and sane thing to so would have been to call it off at that moment. We had everything to lose. My muscles tensed to back away, but she simply closed the infinitesimal distance between us and pressed her lips to mine.

My arms hung loosely by my sides at first, as if I’d become useless jelly. But my lips moved with hers. Her tongue slipped past my lips and pushed against my teeth this time, without any of the earlier hesitation from the first time we’d done this. I had no choice but to reply with my own tongue, which now pushed insistently against hers. We continued like this, inured to time, until she finally broke away. I didn’t know whether to feel deprived or relieved.

“Touch me,” she whispered. Her violet eyes were watery and unfocused. “Touch me like you touch them.”

“Is that okay?” I asked, also in a whisper.

“I’m begging you,” she said, her voice almost breaking.

“Okay,” I said, compelled by a mix of desire as well as the innate fear all men possessed: a woman’s tears. I found strength in my arms again as I pressed my lips back to hers. Tentatively, I placed my hands on her hips. Then I slid them upwards, and started to caress the swell of her breasts over her dress. She moved as well, although she did so far more aggressively. One hand slipped up under my costume and started to explore my chest. The other made its way between my legs and started to rub on my throbbing erection.

“More,” she commanded. “Touch me directly.”

I could only follow her commands. My hands now slipped under the hem of her dress and found the curves of her hips. I felt the sides of her panties where they rode over her hips. Then, I moved upwards. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. We both tensed as my fingers brushed her nipples, but this only made her kiss me with more force. She’d commanded me to touch her like I did Yukiko and Saeko. So I did, and gently squeezed and rubbed her breasts, circling her areolae with my fingers and rubbing her nipples between my fingers. In turn, she gripped the waistband on my Lycra pants and tugged them down to expose me fully. I gasped as she started to stroke my manhood in earnest. “Hanako…you shouldn’t…”

“Shut the hell up,” she whispered fiercely in my ear. It was the first time I’d ever heard her curse in the entire time I’d known her. “Touch my puss*.”

My breaths were ragged as I moved my hands away from her breasts, hooked my thumbs on either side of her panties, and pulled them down. I noticed a thin, clear strand stretch from the underwear to her womanhood. Her pubic hair wasn’t as unruly as Yukiko’s was, nor was it perfectly waxed and smooth like Saeko’s. Just neatly trimmed, so as to not cause a fuss while changing costumes and not stick out if she needed to wear a swimsuit for a shoot. Her dress was hiked up to her chest and she shrugged herself out of it. I started to suck on one of her nipples, and touched my fingers to her opening.

I’d barely brushed against her when she shifted her rear, which drove my fingers in to the first knuckle. She moaned, grit her teeth, and started to gyrate her hips. I obliged, rubbing her small nub with my thumb. Then, to my surprise, she pointed the tip of my manhood straight at her opening and started to push against it.

“Wait. Sorry. Did you bring a condom?” I asked. Of all the f*cking times to not have my own.

“No,” she said. Her violet eyes were wild. I started to back away, but she continued to tug on me. “And I don’t care.”

At that moment, a rush of clarity hit me, despite my entire body aching to penetrate her. What the everloving f*ck was I doing? I was this close to potentially ending Morikawa Hanako’s career. I couldn’t go any further.

“No!” I barked, and rolled off of her. I shoved my fingertips through my greasy hair.

Anger mixed with desperation contorted her features and she immediately rolled on top of me. She clamped her hand on my mouth.

“You can’t stop!” she growled at me, wildness overtaking her beautiful features. Tears coursed from her eyes and fell onto my cheeks. I wrenched her hand away from my mouth.

“I can, and I will. Hanako, what if you get pregnant? What if I’m carrying a disease I didn’t know about? Men are asymptomatic with a lot of these things! I will not ruin your career like this! I am not worth it!”

She slapped me. “Do you seriously think I haven’t had sex before? Do you seriously believe that crap that idols have to be pure virgins all the time?”

“Even if you’ve had sex in the past, this is too risky! You won’t be able to get the morning after pill or an abortion! Even if you do in secret, you’ll be found out!”

“Kiko told me. You’ve definitely done it raw with her!”

“She’s on the pill, Hanako. And so is Saeko, for that matter! I know you’re not. I know this because you can’t risk being exposed for taking contraception!”

She started to sob and pound the bed next to my head. “Why? I just want to feel good! I want to feel good with the guy I like! Is that too much to ask? Haven’t I suffered enough? Haven’t I done all that was asked of me? With a smile all the f*cking time!”

She grasped my cheeks in her hands, hard enough to leave marks, and forced me to behold her as she gave me a ghastly parody of a smile. A rictus that made me nauseous with terror. “No matter what happened, I always had to smile! f*ck! f*ck you, Leon! And f*ck my life!”

My breaths were quick and haggard. I didn’t know what else to do but gently stroke her hair as she wailed on my chest. Her makeup ran down her face and left flesh-colored streaks on my skin. Her eyeliner was a soggy mess. I had to do something. It was only a matter of time before Yayoi got suspicious and barged in. She’d probably heard us yelling. She’d probably be calling hotel security right now to unlock the room, if she didn’t just have a keycard in the first place.

“Hanako, listen to me. Listen to me! I like you, and I want you. I want to pleasure you. I want to come, too. I promise you I’ll have condoms next time. But let’s do it safely, today.”

“I don’t want to sixty-nine,” she said, sucking back snot and tears. “I want to see your face up close. I want to kiss you when I come.”

“That’s okay. Here. Let’s use our hands then.”

“You’ve gone soft,” she said, disappointment evident in her voice.

“I’ll get hard again soon, trust me. Let me take care of you for now,” I said. I gently shifted my weight to roll her onto her side and reached between her legs. She sniffled and tensed as I again slid my fingers in and started to move them. I started to kiss and suck on her neck and on her collarbone. I couldn’t quite crane my head down enough to reach her breasts, so I moved back to her lips. And after a few more minutes of this, she shuddered, squeezed her legs together, and I felt something warm and wet soak my entire hand. We rolled onto our backs, breathing heavily.

I turned my head and watched her, slowly taking in the fact that I was in bed with a naked Morikawa Hanako, and had just pleasured her to climax. The realization alone was enough to bring my erection back. She looked at me expectantly.

“I want to stroke you, but everything feels like jelly,” she whimpered. I leaned over and kissed her again.

“It’s okay, I’ll show you how I pleasure myself,” I said. “I’ve never actually done this in front of a girl, you know. This first time is truly yours.”

With some difficulty, she rolled over to her side to watch me as I brought myself to an unexpectedly powerful, back-arching climax. Then again, with her watching me so intently, I shouldn’t have anticipated the normal, simple satisfaction of a carnal urge.

“Thank you, Leon,” she said, and gently lapped up a stray spatter on my chest. “Ugh, still tastes terrible. But that part of you is now mine. Mine alone.”

“I’m so lame. I didn’t even bring a cigarette or anything,” I joked.

“I don’t want to pay a fifty-thousand yen smoking fee, so it’s perfectly fine,” Hanako said, finally chuckling again. Her face was a complete mess, but in that moment, she was improbably more beautiful than ever before. I reached over and caressed her face, still in disbelief that it could have produced such a terrible expression earlier.

“Hanako, about us, I…”

“It’s okay. I won’t interfere with you and the other two. They’re both falling in love with you, by the way. I honestly wonder how much longer they can go on sharing you as they are. But, even if I could force you to be only with me, it’s not like we can find many chances for something like this. The stars just happened to align for me today. My luck finally turned around!” She took in a deep breath, planted her face in the covers, and screamed. Not in sadness or pain, but in what was unmistakably triumph. She lifted her head. “Thank you, Leon. Thank you, truly. We should…get going. I don’t want Yayoi to get too anxious. It’s not kind to her.”

Silently, we cleaned up and helped each other straighten out our clothing. I glanced at her camera, still on the tripod.

“Oh sh*t…was that recording everything?” I asked. “You need to delete that like, yesterday.”

She picked up the camera, pressed the “Play” button for the most recent video recording, and showed me the screen. Fortunately, it had run out of memory shortly after our lips met.

“I’ll never delete this, even if I don’t use it in the video. I want to watch it over and over again. I’ll watch it when I pleasure myself,” she said, and put the pair of panties I’d taken off of her into my jacket pocket. “I want you to have these. I want you to hold them when you masturbat*. That way, you’ll never forget me.”

My cheeks flushed and my heart throbbed when I exited the room with Hanako. She was a master at concealing her emotions, and played the part of the bubbly gadfly perfectly as we walked down the hallway. I felt Yayoi’s stare burning holes in my back the entire way, however.

***

Hanako’s apartment was somewhere within an imposing, fortress-like complex with a heavy security presence. Tall, stone-faced men armed with expandable batons stood at the entrance like medieval soldiers, and I knew that if I ever tried to enter a place like that on my lonesome, a concussion would be the least of my problems. Hanako, however, seemed utterly unfazed by their presence, and cheerfully waved to the guards as she passed the threshold into the foyer.

As soon as she saw that Hanako had entered the building safely, Yayoi silently sped off in the Maybach GLS with me. I’d sat in the front, just in case anyone was able to see clearly through the tinted windows to identify Hanako and some random guy. During the entire drive, including to Hanako’s apartment, Yayoi hadn’t said a word to me.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally pulled up in front of Youko’s house in my neighborhood. I pulled at the latch to open the door, only to find that it didn’t open.

“A moment of your time, Kitahara-san,” Yayoi said, turning her head. I turned to face her, expecting her fist to smack me right on the nose. Instead, her gloved hand wrapped around my throat. Her grip was firm enough to make me worried, but not enough to actually impair my breathing.

“Shinozuka-san, we didn’t…”

“I know,” Yayoi said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you straight here. Perhaps—and this is entirely hypothetical, young man—I’d have found a deserted spot under an overpass, pressed a stun gun to your neck, and then dropped you into the Kanda river. But fortunately for you, you showed appropriate judgment and restraint. So you don’t have to hypothetically die, and I don’t have to go to hypothetical prison.”

“If you’re aware of what happened, then you know she’s really hurting inside.” My eyes stung, and not because I was about to be choked out by the world’s scariest manager. Or because she’d told me she’d have murdered me if things had gone slightly different. “I don’t know what to do for her.”

“Are you familiar with her circ*mstances?”

I shook my head. “No. All I know is what’s already out there. That she was an orphan teenager in some slum, and Setsuna heard her singing by chance. I know Morikawa Yuki adopted her at some point, too.”

“Very well,” Yayoi said. “It’s best if that’s the extent of your knowledge. I’m aware that she harbors a foolish attachment to you. And I’m not against you providing her emotional support. I am painfully aware that I alone am not sufficient for someone as deeply scarred as she is. I’m not even against you two having safe sexual relations, as long as they’re discreet.” She slowly let go of my neck and offered her hand, as if to shake mine. “If you ruin her career, as you so nearly did today, I will ruin your life. Are we in agreement?”

Shivering, but unwilling to take my eyes off hers, I shook her hand.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As the weeks went on, another semester at Yuunagi drew to an end. Probably because Yukiko had been forced to attend her classes, she’d been in a much better place to take the finals than she’d ever been for the midterms. It had worked out well for us, because we could no longer afford a whole seven days devoted to either academics or drama. Even in the week before finals, we’d done a show with Icy Tail, opened for Hokagou Tea Time, and played a spot in a local music festival. We’d also gotten to the point where we’d been able to record a few of our singles for mastering.

All this had left us extremely little time for anything but our jobs, school, and sleeping and eating. I hadn’t even had time to get my hair cut. While I’d been a little shaggy when I’d first arrived in Japan, my mane now almost reached my to the small of my back. I’d always had a problem where mine grew faster than average, so I’d taken to simply slicking it back and hoping for the best, but that was becoming more difficult by the day. In desperation, I’d asked Setsuna for help during one of her small slivers of down time, which is why I now sat on a chair in a bathroom at the Ogiso household wearing a trash bag with a hole cut into it for my head.

“Setsuna, please, you don’t have to go this far for me,” I said, as she toyed with a pair of barber’s shears in one hand and made some rough measures with her fingers pressed against the side of my head. The blades went snickety snak as she quickly opened and closed them. “I was just asking for a recommendation, or whoever the company uses for their hair needs. Surely you have someone? I mean, who does Hanako’s hair? Or Eiji’s or Rina’s?”

“Me,” Setsuna said. “Stop moving around, it’s important I get this right.”

“You?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a professional hairdresser, too?”

“I’m a single mom,” she said. “Of course I know how to cut hair and do a good job. Alright, hold still for real. You’re gonna love this.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes as she moved in with the shears. I was pretty sure she’d chop off the tip of my ear or botch the job so badly I’d be better off getting the classic “baseball cut” that cursed certain Japanese high school students’ dating prospects for years. The shears went snippety snap for a few terrifying minutes. I felt her tug my hair this way and that, all while moving my head around like a flight simulator joystick. Finally, she stopped.

“Open your eyes, you big baby,” she said, and held up a mirror for me to see. I again raised an eyebrow. To my relief, she hadn’t chopped off any skin or made me resemble Takeshi Six Nine. More like she hadn’t actually done much to start with.

“Um, it looks…” I struggled to find the right words. After all, this was my boss holding a mean pair of shears. “Like I didn’t really get a haircut at all?”

“No, I did a lot of work!” Setsuna said. “Look, I cleaned up and straightened up the bangs, chopped away the split ends, undercut so you’ll feel a little less top-heavy, and made everything symmetric. It’s perfect, and will make your costumed appearance even cuter— I mean, it’ll make you very appealing to a wide variety of audiences. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

My stomach churned as I realized something. I turned my head in the mirror to view myself from different angles and realized what she’d done. I fixed an accusatory glare at my scissor-wielding boss. “You just made me look like Touma Kazusa, didn’t you?”

Setsuna turned away, probably to hide her guilty expression. “I didn’t mean to, at least at first! But if you coincidentally look like her, is that a big problem? You should be willing to take advantage of your mother’s fame! It’s free advertising! Think of the business angle, here! Japanese people love her! They’ll make the association and it’ll drive our sales up! You both play piano and you both have really nice bodies! I mean, it’s not like I want you to wear that outfit she wore during the festival or anything! That’d be too ridiculous! It’d never work! Not in a hundred years!” She turned, her expression both lascivious and pleading. “You know, we could get a tailor to make a male equivalent. You could totally pull it off. Won’t you wear that for me? Just as a joke…”

I crossed my arms. “I’m shaving my head.”

“No!” she shouted.

***

Fortunately for Setsuna, I simply hadn’t had the time to actually shave my head or go to another stylist. Our bosses had tried to give us at least one day off a week initially, but even that had fallen by the wayside as our responsibilities kept piling up. I hadn’t been able to hang out at all with Yukiko or Saeko, either (Hanako was a nonstarter, as she was busier than all of us on a good day). Still, though, we members of The White Album 3 had successfully lobbied to at least get the night off after our finals and Saeko’s PhD qualifying exam.

Our beer glasses made a satisfying, dull clink as they collided together. We then proceeded to drain them in a single long chug, before slamming them down on our table.

“Ah!” Saeko exclaimed. “I’m so happy to be done with that sh*t, I could die!”

“I thought you’d be able to ace that stuff without any studying whatsoever,” I said to her. “I mean, how many grades did you skip?”

“A lot, but it doesn’t mean I’m some eldritch computer horror who can ace tests by driving the proctor insane. If I could do that, I wouldn’t be playing in a band. I’d hijack Elon Musk’s stupid rocket and nuke the entire planet from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure!”

“Aw, there, there. It’s hard not to be a genius like me,” Yukiko chuckled, giving Saeko indulgent headpats.

“So, how hard did you bomb Japanese Literature?” I asked her. “Is Ogata-san gonna have to give up something precious this time?”

“You know, your dad comes to Japan to crush your dreams. My dad would gladly suck a mile of dick to protect my smile. We are not the same.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to make him actually do it!”

To give us a buffer against inquisitive Yuunagi students, we’d met at a tavern just across the street from Houjou University. According to Saeko, her parents, as well as Setsuna, had made it their unofficial “spot” when they’d attended college, and even in some of the years beyond. With inflation, the prices had gone up considerably, but I liked their beer.

“Yo, Leon,” Saeko said, poking my cheek. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but what’s with your hair? I thought you were going for an 80’s glam rocker look for a while. I wasn’t gonna say anything about it, because I think Tommy Lee’s hot, but something’s weird now.”

“Sorry, it’s Setsuna’s fault,” I said. “I just asked her if the company used anyone in particular for cutting hair, and next thing you know, she has me undergoing the home salon experience.”

“You seriously screwed up,” Yukiko said. “Did it never occur to you to just ask one of us, or our shady manager, or even your grandmother? You had to go straight to the most perverted woman in a ten-kilometer radius.”

“So what do I do? Should I try to find another stylist?”

Yukiko took my head in her hands and again moved my head around like a joystick. “Oh, Jesus. I know why she did this. You can’t change it, now.”

“Oh no. I see it, too,” Saeko said. “Yeah, you can’t change that. We’ll all get sh*t on. You’ll have to live with it.”

“So it wasn’t just me,” I buried my face in my hands. “She made me look like my mother. f*ck me!”

“Not very ladylike of you to say that, Kazusa-san,” Yukiko said, sneering at me.

I turned to Saeko for support, only to see her deliberately lick her fingers and give me the “up your ass” gesture.

“Anyway, your hair is a national treasure, so you’re forbidden by law from altering it,” Yukiko said. “I suppose if you’re really that pissy, you can put it in a braid that drapes over your shoulder. Then you’ll look like an otome game prince, instead of a hooker with a penis.”

“Don’t call my mom that!”

“I found out who originally composed ‘Todokanai Koi.’ I was so pissed about having to play it that I badgered my mom and Eiji for the origin story. I fully stand by what I just said.”

“So do you hate it less, now?”

“Ugh, I’ve gotten over it a little. I still can’t believe my mom made the song popular, especially since it wasn’t written for her.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that, now. What gives?”

“You didn’t know? It was written by, of all people, your lame-ass dad as a love song to your mom! Ha! Apparently she was a total chode to him all through high school, but he pined for her anyway!”

I shook my head and signaled to a nearby waiter. “Three more Kirin, please!” I needed a drink. In fact, I’d probably need a night to relax after this night of relaxation.

“I dunno,” Saeko said, as she sipped from her new beer. “I think it’s kinda cute. He fell in love with a tsundere, is all. And if tsunderes can’t win, then I don’t wanna live on this earth, anymore!

“Changing the subject away from my parents, forever, I call a toast to no more god-damned variety show tapings for the year,” I said, raising my glass. The girls smashed their glasses into mine hard enough I feared they’d all break.

“Still, am I the only one who’s sad to not hang with Eggplant anymore?” Yukiko asked.

“Yeah,” Saeko and I both said.

“But he’s like, a man of culture! We talked for hours about our love of ‘Freddy Got Fingered.’ By the way, Sacchan, I’m forever in your debt for recommending that movie to me. You were absolutely right. It’s a true masterpiece. Tom Green may be the only person smarter than I am. It made me laugh, and cry, and really think about life and the universe, you know?”

Saeko looked like she wanted to correct a grave misunderstanding, but I motioned for her to drop it.

“Anyway, I wish we didn’t have to work tomorrow,” Yukiko continued, drinking her beer morosely. “Was it that hard for them to give us another day off?”

“Well, we gotta finish the video for ‘Todokanai Koi’ tomorrow, since we ran into a delay with ‘Yasashi Uso,’ and that’s Hanako’s only available time before she has to do her Budokan prep,” I said.

“I know, but…” Yukiko sighed. “It’s fine. She did such a f*ckin’ banger job on ‘Replacing You,’ after all. Hey, I gotta ask, since we’re on that topic. Did you guys smooch at the hotel?”

“No,” I said, without a hint of hesitation. I definitely wasn’t going to tell them anything, since it would put Hanako at risk. For her, I could be a liar.

“You sure? It kinda looked like you were on camera,” Saeko said.

“Her manager was right there off camera. If I’d actually locked lips with her, I’d have been thrown out of a plate glass window thirty stories above ground. And afterward, every idol otaku in Tokyo would have drawn and quartered my twitching corpse and sent the pieces to all corners of Japan as a warning to others.”

“They still might do it anyway,” Saeko said. “Idol otaku are the most dangerous of our kind. If you see them coming for us, Kiko, we’re gonna bust Leon’s kneecaps and run.”

“Thanks, you two,” I said with a laugh. Secretly, I was glad my answer seemed to have placated them. “And at least we have the twenty-fourth and Christmas off, right?

“My parents are dragging me off to Okinawa,” Saeko said. “I’ll try and catch a tuna or something, I guess.”

“And my grandparents are going to Kyoto for Christmas, so I have to make sure they don’t fall and break their hips,” Yukiko said. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. Just found out today.”

I sighed, genuinely disappointed. I guess I’d be alone on the most traditionally romantic holiday in Japan. “No worries, we all need to spend some time with our families, I’m sure. I probably don’t spend enough time with my grandmother. And she’s one of the main reasons I came here in the first place.”

“I like your grandma,” Saeko said. “I thought she’d be all ‘why are you not practicing piano, Leon-kun?’ at first, but my opinion changed when she just started watching anime with us and eating my pizza.”

“She likes you too,” I said, with a smile.

Something unexpected flashed across Yukiko’s features. “Why haven’t I met your grandmother yet?” she asked.

“I offered. You said no, because you didn’t want people making assumptions about us.”

“I can change my mind. In fact, why don’t I come over there after this?”

“It’s my night, though,” Saeko said, matter-of-factly to her.

Crap, I forgot they’d actually worked some weird system out between them.

“Ordinarily, yeah,” Yukiko said. “But like, our schedule has been so terrible that I’m owed time.”

“We had an agreement, Kiko.”

I quickly drained the rest of my beer, not liking where this was headed. “Sorry, I’m completely bushed. I kinda want to go home and get some shut-eye. We all had a long exam day, you know. Plus we have to be at the studio early tomorrow. Not really up for anything right now.”

They both looked like they wanted to object, but quickly relented. “Fine, I guess if you can’t get it up, you’re kinda useless for my purposes,” Saeko said.

“I’m still gonna meet your grandmother soon,” Yukiko said. “But I guess she’s probably asleep at this hour, huh?”

“Yeah, she turns in at eight sharp. You know, boomers.”

To my relief, they settled down about me thereafter. After Haruto dropped me home, I showered, changed, and decided to catch up on some “Koisuru Metronome,” which I hadn’t been able to touch for at least a month. It was amazing how much my work schedule sucked all my free time away. My thoughts strayed quickly, however, to my near-fated encounter with Kasumi Utako, the author.

Now that I thought about it, she looked strikingly similar to Hanako. I of course knew they weren’t the same person, but it was a giddy fantasy to imagine them both naked and servicing me. The only difference was that I’d actually seen Hanako naked. I opened the drawer of my nightstand, lifted the cover of an old Hanon finger exercises book, and took Hanako’s panties out from between the pages. She’d implored me to imagine her and hold them as I pleasured myself.

I still vividly remembered the softness of her curves, and the feel of her skin. I was compelled to obey her.

***

On December 24th, the day before Christmas, I was again alone, although thankfully not forever alone. Even Youko had friends and old flames she’d gone out to see. While she’d offered to take me, I didn’t see the appeal of hanging out with a bunch of people in their seventies. Also, I’d heard that the elderly were extremely promiscuous, so I didn’t want to chance upon any of that hot mess.

The rest of Double-O were busy making last-minute preparations for Hanako’s concert to take place on Christmas Eve. The famous Nippon Budokan was one of the most venerable concert halls in Japan, having hosted The Beatles, Diana Ross, Judas Priest, AKB48, Queen, and Ozzy Osbourne, to name a tiny handful of acts. Hanako’s show had not only sold out, it had been overbooked by accident, which made finding a ticket impossible. I wouldn’t have been able to go even if I’d been Jeff Bezos himself. Therefore, I had nothing to do but read, play games, and laze around and eat. Basically, a perfect miniature vacation.

I’d just settled in for a great day of wallowing in my own crapulence, when the doorbell to Youko’s house rang. I ignored it at first, since I’d assumed it was just a salesman or a group of proselytizers. But when it rang again, and repeatedly, I had to act.

Annoyed, I tapped the intercom button. “Touma-san’s not home,” I snapped.

“But Kitahara-san is,” replied a familiar, unexpected voice.

“Wait. Hanako?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Can you let me in, please? It’s chilly out here.”

“Yeah, sorry!” I said, and pushed the “unlock” button for the gate. I slid on my shoes and opened the front door to meet her. “How are you… anyway, come in! Where’s your manager?”

Hanako kicked off her shoes and started to poke around Youko’s house excitedly. “Ara ara! I’d heard your grandmother was wealthy, but this is beyond expectations!”

“Sorry, she’s not here right now, otherwise I’d introduce you first thing,” I said. I eyeballed her. “That’s a good disguise.”

“Thanks, Yayoi helped me come up with it.” She turned so I could see it all. She sported the same kind of puffy coat and flannel pants that adorned millions of middle-aged women across Japan, along with a plaid scarf, sunglasses, and a tan, floppy hat. She was indistinguishable from any random oba-san on the street, like this. At least until she opened her mouth.

“It’s a lot better than mine,” I said.

“Your hair!” Hanako said, coming up to me and running her fingers through my tresses. “I like it! Did Setsuna cut it for you?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” I pouted.

“She did a good job. You know you look like Touma Kazusa now, right?”

“I’m painfully aware. Unfortunately, I can’t change it on pain of death, or something.” I shrugged. “Hanako, can I ask why you’re here without Yayoi, instead of at the Budokan?”

“I’ve completed my part,” she said. “Dress rehearsal finished two hours ago. And I’ve always taken some time off right before a show. It helps me think. Focuses me.”

“I’m flattered you want to hang out with me, but I wasn’t planning on anything. Haruto’s off today, so not like I’m very mobile.”

“You can ride the metro, right?” Hanako teased. “After all, you’re not a genius like Kiko is, so you can walk among us toads like everyone else.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I had gotten so used to Haruto taking me everywhere that I hadn’t ridden the metro in months. There was still a decent amount of money on my card. “Did you want to go somewhere?”

“I have a few errands to run,” Hanako said. “I want you to come with me. Is that okay?”

“As long as it doesn’t put you in danger.”

“That’s why I wore my disguise. Also, I want to see you in yours. I’ve never really seen it, you know?”

“Guess not,” I said. “Give me a bit to put it on. Bathroom’s over there if you need it.”

A few minutes later, I stepped into the hall fully kitted out. Now that my hair was much longer, the comb had become an invaluable part of the ensemble. I hated that friggin’ comb, but I couldn’t get rid of it.

Hanako clapped her hands. “Kirei!”

“Could you not call it pretty, please?”

“Oh, sorry.” She giggled. “It’s studly. Yeah! Studly.”

I sighed again. “Okay, let’s go. Where are we headed?”

“Koreatown.”

***

I hadn’t really had the chance to see too much of Tokyo besides the immediate areas around Yuunagi, my grandmother’s house, and of course Setsuna’s manor. In fact, as far as getting the full “life in Japan” experience, I was doing poorly in terms of sightseeing. One of the things I’d sworn to do was go to a maid cafe in Akihabara, but so far, that hadn’t happened and probably wouldn’t happen for a very long time.

Koreatown was just the informal name for the Okubo district, near Shinjuku. Fortunately, Hanako was much better at navigating the Tokyo metro system than I’d ever be, so we found our way to the Shin Okubo station without incident. Historically, as a place that attracted large numbers of minority immigrants, the neighborhood had started as a slum, but in the current year was just as heavily developed as any other part of the city proper. The real estate was simply too valuable to leave as sketchy bars and empty lots to be fought over by yakuza.

Still, Hanako had managed to somehow drag me straight past the bustling shopping and entertainment venues that permeated most of the neighborhood, and right into what still remained of the slums.

“Hanako, I don’t mean to be a wuss, but is this actually safe?” I asked her, as we emerged into a sketchy, deserted alleyway. It literally looked like a boss fight waiting to happen, with its haphazard construction, obviously stolen power cabling, and furtive eyes that peered at us from between slats of decaying blinds.

“Very,” she said. “I spent a lot of my childhood here. An outsider has little to fear.”

“But this is totally Korean mafia turf,” I said, keeping my head on a swivel. Now I definitely wished Haruto or Yayoi or both were with us.

“We’re not in a video game,” Hanako said. “The mafia is real, but they’re not going to come out and shake you down for a few thousand yen. Relax and follow me.”

Resisting the urge to hide behind her like a scared little child, I followed her as confidently as I could into a nondescript building without any obvious signage. I knew people were inside, but none of them seemed to want to show their faces to us. We walked up a few flights of stairs—the elevator was long-broken—before finally emerging onto the top floor of what I realized was some sort of abandoned retail property. Hanako knocked on the door and said something in Korean, which surprised me. Shortly after, the door opened.

The space within, fortunately, was much better-looking than the dilapidated building had suggested. For all intents and purposes, it was a small but cozy apartment. An elderly couple, who I estimated in their sixties, both came up to Hanako and embraced her. She started a rapid-fire exchange of more Korean while she took her disguise off. The elderly couple started to point at me, and she seemed to assuage them in Korean.

“Sorry,” she said to me in Japanese. “You probably don’t speak Korean.”

“Nope.”

“I was just telling them who you were. A very dear friend of mine, is what I told them. And where are my manners? Leon, these are my grandparents.”

“Oh!” I was slightly taken aback. I hurriedly and politely bowed to them, unsure of what to say. They probably understood Japanese, but there were still many immigrants who didn’t. Problems integrating were especially prevalent among the older crowd. “Nice to meet you, I’m Kitahara Leon,” I said, resorting to Japanese as the default option.

“Please, sit,” Hanako said, gesturing to some nearby couches. “They’ll get you some tea.”

“Thanks,” I said, following her orders. The older woman set a mug of fragrant-smelling oolong tea before me and I politely sipped from it. The flavor was excellent.

“I’m going to talk with them for a bit in Korean, if you don’t mind,” Hanako said. “Just don’t want you to get too bored or anything.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m glad you wanted to show me to your family.”

She smiled and blushed at my words. The old couple must have noticed, as they started to lightly tease and cajole her. No matter what language was spoken, I knew they were saying some variant of: “Is he your boyfriend?” and “When are you going to give us grandchildren?” and the like. I decided to let her stew as I sipped my tea.

After about fifteen minutes of their exchange, Hanako pulled an envelope out of her handbag and presented it to them, politely with both hands. Probably a money gift to the grandparents. I didn’t think much of it, since the custom was common in Asia. However, when the elderly man opened it and counted the bills, my eyes widened.

Hanako had just gifted her grandparents a sum of just over forty million yen. That was the equivalent of a two hundred fifty thousand Euros. That was, by any measure, an excessive amount even for a gift to elderly grandparents. Even if she was their sole means of support, they surely didn’t need to spend so much to live in a slum like this.

“Hanako…” I started to say. She quickly shushed me with a gesture.

The elderly man spoke again in Korean to her, in a tone that I could tell was equal parts praise and equal parts promise. I didn’t know what he promised, but the intent was fairly obvious. Hanako bowed several times to him, and now I saw tears form at the corner of her eyes. The elderly couple took her hands and patted them until she’d composed herself.

Finally, she stood up, bowed to them yet again, and methodically put her disguise on again. “I’ll explain everything at Echoes,” she said to me, quietly elated.

***

“Thank you, Master,” Hanako bid Akira as he placed our gourmet, siphon-brewed coffees in front of us. She’d not only taken us to the underground part of Echoes, but also to one of the small private rooms that jutted off of the central hub. These had acoustically shielded doors that muffled sounds off both ways, to ensure confidentiality. They also had the type of rippled glass that prevented viewers from seeing any details.

“Always wonderful to see you, Hanako-san,” Akira said, and closed the door behind him. We were now completely isolated from the rest of the world.

I sipped my coffee. I didn’t know whether the coffee had a fault in it, or whether it was my own skewed perception, but the stuff had an unwelcome, bitter undertone.

“You’re, uh, really generous with your relatives,” I said. “I heard Koreans were into filial piety, but damn!”

“They’re my grandparents, after all,” Hanako said. “I am their sole source of support, even since they came over a few years ago. I thought I’d lost them forever.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I counted out the money along with your grandfather. Forty million could flat out buy them a new apartment in a better part of town. Do they actually like staying in a slum?”

“Think about it, Leon. They don’t speak any Japanese. They’re old enough to remember their parents being used as forced labor during the colonial period. They wouldn’t feel comfortable anywhere else.”

“Good point,” I said. “But still…forty million yen. How often do you do this?”

Hanako beamed. “Every quarter, at least, for the last three years.”

“Where does all this money come from?” I took another sip of my bitter coffee.

She giggled. “I am the top idol of Double-O productions.”

“But that’s still a million euros a year.” I let out a slow breath.

“They’re not hoarding it,” Hanako said, chuckling. “Or buying cryptocurrency or something stupid. They make sure a good part of the money goes back to the people back home, and also to help bring my parents over.”

“Your family’s Korean, right?”

“North Korean.”

“Whoa.”

“Oh, relax, I’m not a double agent,” Hanako said. She reached out and interlaced the fingers of both hands with my own. “I promise I won’t make you kill the Prime Minister. You’re too hot for prison.”

“If I ever end up in the joint, I’m getting my head shaved like everyone else. Also, I know it’s not really my business, but does anyone else know about this?”

“The money part, or the North Korean part?”

“Both.”

“They know I’m an illegal immigrant. That’s why Yuki-sama formally adopted me. It’s an imperfect solution, but mostly protects me from being deported. And, more importantly, she gifted me her precious name.”

“I wondered what the connection was. Do they know about the money?”

“No. You’re the only one who does. Setsuna and Rina don’t pry. They trust me. I’m sure Yayoi has suspicions, but I’m very careful around her.”

“Why show me, then?”

She stood up partly, leaned over, and planted a kiss on my lips, before sitting back on her padded chair. “Because you’re the guy I like. I can’t give you any of my first times, sorry to say. But I wanted to let you see a part of me I can’t show anyone else. Will you hear what I have to say?”

My mouth started to dry. Something told me to stop, but I nodded anyway.

“Thank you, Leon. Where to begin? It’s, of course, impossible to just go directly from North Korea to Japan. And there is no such thing as a living wage in North Korea. So most people trying to earn more end up as slaves in Chinese factories on the border. They can kill you if you try to escape. But some people do, and find work as drifters in northern China.”

“That’s completely f*cked.”

“To most of the rest of the world, that’s just Tuesday,” Hanako said, without a trace of irony. “My parents smuggled me out of the Donggang XinXin factory barracks in the middle of the night and paid a snakehead their entire accumulated savings to bring me to supposed friends of theirs in Japan. I ended up as an orphan in Okubo. Every night, I starved. Every day, I was beaten. I never went to school. The people who took me in started pimping me out before I had my first period. Eventually, they had me cleaning toilets at a karaoke club in a better part of town.”

As I looked at her, completely lost for words, she casually took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, this is bitter. Is yours the same way? I need to tell the Master before he serves it to others.”

“It’s…really bitter,” I said, at this point almost unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Sorry, I got off track. I was telling you about karaoke. I loved working there! I had an arrangement with the manager where I could sleep in an empty booth after they closed for the night. All he wanted was a quick blowj*b before he left for home. How could I not sing when given the opportunity? I did this for hours on end, every night. One day, I lost track of time and didn’t realize that Setsuna had reserved the first spot of the day. I expected her to be furious and throw me out. But she just asked me to sing more, instead. And now you know how we met.”

I’d expected her hands to shake. For her voice to waver. For her eyes to water. But instead, she simply laid out all of this incomprehensible misery to me in a completely banal, matter-of fact, and most horrifically of all, liltingly pleasant tone. Morikawa Hanako, top idol of Double-O Productions, was twenty-one years old, and a perfect shining star.

***

The last thing Hanako did before she left Echoes was pass me a small envelope. I hadn’t had the presence of mind to pay attention to it. What she’d told me had already left me churning with a mix of sorrow and hatred. Not for her, of course, but for all of the people responsible for her suffering. I knew, of course, that there was nothing I could do about any of that. We weren’t in a video game. I wasn’t going to tiger drop Kim Jong-Un.

“I apologize for the quality of the coffee, earlier,” Akira said, as he passed me a new, steaming cup. “On the house.”

“No problem at all, Master,” I said. I took a quick sip. No traces of bitterness remained.

“Are you going to Hanako-san’s concert?” he asked.

“I haven’t got a ticket,” I said, with a shrug. “Even if I could find one to buy, I’m sure I couldn’t afford it, either.”

“That so?” Akira said. He pointed at the small envelope in front of me. “You may wish to open that.”

I slipped a finger under the flap of the envelope and prised it open. Inside was a single, VIP seating area ticket to the Morikawa Hanako “Christmas Eve at the Budokan” concert. It was for the center seat in the front row.

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do, Kitahara-san, but it’s traditional to bring a bouquet of flowers and a small gift to an idol concert if you’re a big fan,” Akira said. “Don’t worry. They don’t have to be expensive purchases. Just something to show her you care.”

I nodded. I now knew what I’d be doing on Christmas Eve.

***

The Budokan pulsed with unbridled energy and the collective hopes of the twenty thousand souls inside who all shared a singular purpose: to share a brilliant night with Hanako. I sat in my cushy, velvet-upholstered VIP seat and felt slightly guilty for doing so. Most everyone else in attendance stood, packed like sardines. I’d been able to give my flowers to one of the VIP attendants, however I kept a hold of my gift, since it was small enough to keep in my jacket pocket.

I’d gone to an independent jewelry store and picked out a small silver bracelet whose links looked like little hearts. Now that Double-O was paying me a wage, I’d finally had money in my account. It hadn’t been an extremely expensive purchase, and I didn’t even know if such things were to Hanako’s taste, but it was still better than showing up empty-handed.

The overhead lights suddenly dimmed, deep bass pulsed through my body, and twenty thousand voices screamed in earnest. An explosion of lurid crimson erupted from the stage, and Hanako slowly emerged, standing on an elevated platform rising from under the stage. She wore a sleek, body-hugging idol outfit that left little of her curves to the imagination. Like any other man in the audience, I was instantly enraptured.

For a moment, I saw her gaze sweep the front row VIP seats, and stop as we made eye-contact. A look of what could only have been unfiltered euphoria washed over her features, and she started to sing.

Taiyou wo akaku tojikomete

Kuruma wa doko e susumu

Konton no f*ckiareru yoru ni

Bokura no koe ga hibiita

Negai no akari wo tomosh*te

Kokoro wa yume wo nugisutete

Shiroi michi wo yuku

Kurai sora ni wa akeboshi ga mirai wo

Dou sh*temo sash*te ugokanai kara

Yasashiku sasou kinou ni te wo futte

Bokura wa naita

Mata hashiridasu tame

Mayottemo nageittemo inochi wa

Akarui hou e te wo nobasu kara

Hikari wo inori sora takaku, utagoe

Semete kimi ni todoku you ni

***

She’d sung for three hours, had performed four encores, and had only ended the concert because the Tokyo MPD had entered the arena with megaphones demanding that everyone disperse peacefully. Online, her show had already been declared one of the greatest Budokan shows of all time. And amid the crush of protesting fans, police riot shields, and the smell of tear gas, Yayoi had quickly whisked me backstage.

Now I was in one of the most improbable locations in the entire world. By any reasonable standard, a single man had a greater chance of accessing the innards of Fort Knox, Vladimir Putin’s bedroom, and the Secret Archives of the Vatican than he had of visiting Morikawa Hanako’s bedroom.

I’d been standing near the entrance to her bedroom, both from a combination of awkwardness as well as the fact that her apartment was strikingly spartan. Besides a bed and a nightstand in her bedroom, the rest of the place was bare. As in, no television, desk, extra chairs, or even kotatsu that seemed ubiquitous among young Japanese.

“You realize I can’t ever take this off, right?” Hanako said, admiring the simple bracelet I’d bought her before the show.

“Hanako, I’m sure you have jewelry that’s way better than that,” I said, embarrassed. “I mean, you probably have billionaires as fans.”

“I do,” she said. “One of them likes to send me Cartier bracelets and earrings. I’ve never worn them, nor will I. But this,” she ran her fingertips lovingly over the heart-shaped links, “this stays on. Even if taking it off would save my life.”

I felt a growing need to change the subject. “You were amazing, by the way. I know you’ve probably heard this hundreds of times a day, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

As if she was still performing she slowly sauntered up to me, swaying rhythmically. She was still wearing her performance outfit from the show, minus the platform dancing shoes, of course. I knew she must have been drenched with her sweat many times over the course of the night, but she didn’t smell overly offensive. She wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Leon,” she said, coyly. “I’m an artist. I’m just as addicted to praise as you are. As any creator is. So your words aren’t hollow at all. But since you’re special to me, I want more than words from you. Don’t I deserve that, for my hard work today?” She lifted her chin and kissed me. “Do you want to do me in this costume? It’s why I haven’t changed yet. Or, if you’re not into idols, I can wear something else. I know the place looks barren, but my closet’s pretty packed. Maid outfits, schoolgirl stuff, evening gowns, swimsuits, even kigurumi. Sorry, I don’t have a full-on fursuit, but I know where I can get one.”

Her smell was cloying, musky, and made my head swim. “Like you are is good,” I said, as she pressed her body to mine and started to kiss my neck. My manhood started to react.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “Hey, what are you into? I can do anything to please you. Anal, titjobs, rimming, face-f*cking, nothing’s off limits. You can choke me if you want. I bet none of the girls will let you do that,” she said, with a giggle.

My stomach churned. I placed my hands on her hips to still her. “Hanako, I really like you. You’re also insanely beautiful. And you’re a better musician than I am.” Now, I needed to be careful. I’d seen what happened last time I denied her. “But with all the f*cked-up sh*t you went through, I’m not the answer to your problems. You need a therapist, not a boyfriend.”

She continued to gaze at me with her violet eyes. I expected a slap at any moment. Instead, she nodded. “I’m aware of that. But just as it’s too risky for me to get contraception, it’s also too risky to see a counselor. So I have to make do with whatever I can. It’s how I’ve survived my entire life.”

Of course, I should’ve known. What a f*cking poser I am. I lowered my forehead to touch hers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mansplain to you. I just…want to help you, even though I’m useless at anything that matters.”

She chuckled and then looked back up at me with an expression that could only be described as unbridled gratitude. “Be careful, Leon. I just like you a lot right now. But if you say stuff like that, I’ll definitely fall in love with you. And then there will be problems.”

She pressed her lips to mine, and I allowed myself to fully give in to her intoxicating essence. As we kissed, I slowly shuffled with her to the bed. True to my word, I’d brought a few condoms with me. And that night, I made gentle, utterly vanilla love not to the idol Morikawa Hanako, but to the lonely woman behind her perfect mask.