Idol Star System Generation: Season 1

Idol Star System Generation: Season 1 Page 1

by R. P. Mor

Idol Star System Generation: Season 1

  R. P. Mor

  Idol Star System Generation: Season 1

  Copyright 2017 Rafael Peccioli Moreno

  Published by Rafael Peccioli Moreno

  Table of Contents

  Prologue – Breaking Free

  Chapter I – Led by Mirages

  Chapter II – Sinful Blossom Season

  Chapter III – Into the Idol Star System Generation

  Chapter IV – The Best and the Worst

  Chapter V – Girls in the Shell

  Chapter VI – In Pursuit of dreams

  Chapter VII – Baptism of Light

  Chapter VIII – The Eyes Have It

  Chapter IX – Love for the Underdogs

  Chapter X – Where Idols Fear to Tread

  Chapter XI – Black and Golden

  Chapter XII – Behind the Lenses

  Chapter XIII – Of Goddesses, Angels and Mortals

  Chapter XIV – Companionship

  Chapter XV – Proof of Valor

  Chapter XVI – Sacrifices

  Season One Finale – Dawn of a New Day

  A Word from the Author

  ***** Idol Star System Generation: Season One *****

  Prologue – Breaking Free

  The sound of thundering steps on the corridor finally silenced. It didn’t last long, though, as the door energetically broke wide open. The small room was a little less crumped than the first time she went there, or maybe it’s just that she started to get familiarized with the many shelves full of trash, unused furniture and a small thin TV piled up one over the other and cardboard boxes. A single fan and two bulbs of light decorated the unremarkable white ceiling. The only thing that saved the place from being a claustrophobic cavern was the existence of windows across two walls. If not for the fact there were so many stacked things that obscured the view, it’d be quite pleasant. The windowless walls, on the other hand, sported a couple of large, color-intense posters of supposedly famous girls over psychedelic backgrounds.

  The Sunday morning sun soaked the ambient, shining through the glass and making it sparkle. It’s almost as if there’re spangles all over the windows. Unfortunately, it’s just the dust accumulated on the inside making the sunlight go wild, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. Of what could be seen of the outside, a large part was covered by a few multicolored signs and a big billboard made of little lamps and neon lights that emanated a retro feeling. Glimpses of the crowded street, tucked among three to five-story buildings, could be seen if someone really wanted to.

  A well-groomed man in his mid-twenties was the sole living soul in that room, sitting behind the only desk there was and almost hidden behind his computer and the piles of paper. His suit was of ordinary quality at best when it came to its fabric, but fitted perfectly in his tall, somewhat slender body. His garment was of the same hue as his jet-black hair, slickly falling over his shoulders. As for the top of her boss’s hair, she still couldn’t quite say if it’s stylish or just messy. His dark brown eyes quickly glanced toward the figure that had just arrived.

  Even though the whole place reeked of tobacco and dust, there’s something about it that she liked. It’s exciting, almost as if she’s walking into a yakuza crib instead of a plain, old commercial room. Her producer had the smelling perceptiveness of an oyster and was completely unable to tell that his recently rented office could potentially kill people with asthma.

  “I’m here!”, an otherwise mesmerizing feminine voice, somewhat high-pitched and even more full of energy than it’s expected from an average teenager came from the door sounding a lot like a duck quacking. Mixing a slight greeting bow with a movement to gasp for air, the girl took a moment to catch her breath. Finally, she added on a somewhat mocking way, “Still waiting for an elevator”.

  Smiling by the sight of the girl, the man stood up and calmly welcomed her:

  “Good morning, right? Come in.” In a lower tone, he replied, “Naoko-Chan came running upstairs, didn’t you?”

  “Nope,” she retorted, closing the door behind her, “Not this time. Well… just a little. But your nest is still unnecessarily hard to reach. Seriously, you should consider stop being stingy and putting an elevator here.”

  Already accustomed with the uncommon bluntness of the girl, and not being particularly one for tempered words, the man sat at the edge of his desk with his lustrous black shoes still on the grayish-blue carpeted floor. Cool and light-heartedly, he retorted in the same half-joking way:

  “And you should consider stop being such a sedentary and start exercising. This way in a few years you’re going to dance for two minutes and then faint on the stage. Not to say if your health is already this deteriorated at such a young age, you’re in for a life with your best buddy, the oxygen cylinder, before you turn forty.”

  “Ha ha, you’re such a comical guy, Produ-San, you,” she responded, smiling genuinely albeit acting as if it wasn’t funny. It’s clear both of them had sharp tongues and didn’t mind a small contend of witty remarks. Slightly more serious, although not at all more formal as people were generally expected to act with their superiors, Naoko said “I actually do exercise: I met Rin-Chan at the Athletics club, after all! Also I practice karate every Tuesday and Thursday after school! But be it there, on stage or wherever, I never have to climb walls like those stairs.”

  Surprised, the man, in a more serious tone, asked:

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Immediately the girl crossed her arms and casually pointed, exaggerating on the details for the comical absurdity of it:

  “Your room is on the third floor of a building twelve, maybe fifteen meters deep and your stairs go up nonstop, not only once changing direction. It climbs about ten meters and is around those fifteen long. And I’m the one joking here? Imagine how funny it’ll be when you finally get someone to visit you and this person has cardiac problems.”

  “No, no, I…” the man started to explain himself. Thinking for a second, he briefly commented “Yeah, now that you mention it, I think not everyone would be able to climb those stairs, although since I’m not the owner of the building, an elevator is out of question.” Looking curious, he continued “I’m just surprised you practice martial arts. You never told me.”

  “It’s on the schedule, just look at my agenda,” she mentioned. The man, with a negative gesture, declared, “No, your schedule just mentions the hours you’re occupied, I didn’t bother to write what you do at what hour. I’m your producer, not your stalker.”

  Assuming a more sober attitude, the man directed her to his desk. Taking a small envelope from the middle of that mess, he handed it to the girl. Her jet black eyes sparkled with interest. Taken as if by surprise, she cautiously asked:

  “What’s this? Is it for me?”

  The young man, astonished, answered:

  “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day when Naoko-Chan would act in a proper way! It’s… kinda strange. And underwhelming. As much as I hate to admit, you’re better with your carefree and happy personality, I suppose.”

  With her eyes half open and a vexed countenance, she retorted:

  “Get lost. I’m not being polite, it’s just that I didn’t believe up until now that you’d pay me anything at all.”

  Her young boss, with a sour expression, told himself:

  “Ouch. Well, I asked for it, now, didn’t I?”

  “You bet you did!” the girl agreed. Bowing nevertheless, she grasped the package with both hands enveloped by her small, white gloves, feeling a rectangular volume weighting inside it. Rapidly glancing over to her producer to see if it’s alright to open it, she sat down and haphazardly brok
e the seal. A lump of dozens of bills waited inside, more than she would’ve guessed. Her witty, almost caustic attitude melted away as she stood momentarily looking the thick pile of cash. It’s nowhere near a fortune so far, but around six hundred thousand Yen was much more than enough to pay her rent and school, eat, invest and much more. It was an amazing sum. Her blank stare was partially covered by a curtain of slick and lustrous hair as black as the moonless night, giving her the impression the man couldn’t see her face. But as she came back to herself and found him quietly watching her with a somewhat heavy expression, she flushed.

  Standing up again, still slightly shocked, she expressed her gratitude while bowing somewhat more than usual – even though the “usual” was little more than just a nod with the head, something quite disrespectful depending on the situations:

  “Thank you, Aratani-San. I…” Noticing inside herself a wish to ask for forgiveness instead of thanking him, she stopped mid-sentence. When she stood straight again, her producer joked:

  “I’m so generous I even deducted that one hundred Yen just so Naoko-Chan doesn’t need to worry herself! I hope you learned never to bet against me ever again. Especially concerning expecting too much from Megumi-San. Though if you want to give me even more money, be my guest.”

  Naoko’s serious expression altered for a second while she acidly replied:

  “I hope Produ-San swallows this one hundred Yen coin and choke on it.”

  The man grinned, though for some reason Naoko turned back to looking abnormally serious. It slowly made her producer also adopt a cool but somewhat stern countenance. Aratani, with an unreadable expression, asked her slowly, in a way that was hard to tell if he was disappointed, sad, angry or just acting more severe than normal:

  “Since you do not bother pulling punches, I’ll also be blunt here, so please forgive if I’m rude. I need to know. Naoko-Chan, when we first met I measured correctly your cheerful personality, I think. In these couple of weeks we’ve been together you proved to be just the upbeat, happy-go-lucky and honest, sometimes borderline insulting, but kind-hearted girl I took you for the second I first laid my eyes on you. But also during the initial conversation you took a nosedive and became so defensive that I almost though I’d gauged you wrongly. If I remember correctly, it seemed as if you though I was joking, or maybe that I wasn’t capable of keeping my word. I need you to be as frank as you usually are. Tell me: did you really believe in me as a producer from the beginning? Do you believe me now?”

  Seeing her producer so serious made her heart skip a beat and her stomach hurt as if squeezed by ice claws. Instinctively she stepped back to open up space and turned partially sideways, in a way that the hair fringe that fell slight over the right side of her face could cover her evasive sight.

  “So that’s how other people feel when I’m direct with them?”, she replied with a forced smile, only then noticing she was being evasive, a thing she always hated. Breathing deeply, she turned toward the waiting man, his expression unshaken, and paused for a moment.

  “Like you once told me,” the man insisted, “don’t mind sugarcoating your words, I’m not going to eat them. Just give me the truth, that’s all I want.”

  Hesitating for a moment, Naoko finally shook her head in understanding and responded:

  “Okay. The truth.” Looking down to her feet, becoming more self-aware of her body position and of how the three inches of her white platforms made the floor seem more distant than she remembered, she continued, “Actually… at first I didn’t… I didn’t believe too much.” Raising her head gradually, noticing that even with the advantage of her boots, she was still a few inches lower than her producer, she confided, “But it wasn’t really because of you. Sure, when you first think of an idol agency, you generally imagine something a little more… glamorous than this. But it’s not that I didn’t believe in you. I just didn’t believe in agencies in general. Actually, I think I just accepted to do such a crazy thing as to move here because of you.”

  “One of the first times we met you said that you’re craving to move away from your parents’ home,” the man remembered. “That it’s your main reason to try this new life. That you didn’t even think of trying to be an idol before, and that it’s just a way to get away from home.”

  “Yes, to move to Tokyo, yes,” she confirmed, “but not to believe in a promise of fame and fortune. Sure, nobody knows me yet, but at least now I know you’re not a scam.”

  Thinking for a second, her producer murmured, tucking his hands in his pockets:

  “So you though I was a scam at the beginning, huh? I was under the impression you thought something like that.”

  “Not because of you!” Naoko insisted, drawing the attention of his eyes that were wavering down. Putting the envelope she was still holding inside a small, purple purse, she closed it, rested the object over the desk and, with her hands free, she began to talk using both her voice and body movements to emphasize her point. “Maybe I never explained why I came here in first place, and why I accepted to believe in you. Do we have some time?”

  Looking at the clock over the door ticking eight and twelve, the man nodded, mentioning:

  “Our first appointment is only ten thirty. We’ve plenty of time.”

  “Alright,” she said, regaining part of her natural smile. “Listen up.”

  When Hayato found his cousin Naoko at the airport, he didn’t know what to say. Last time he saw her, she was just a ten years-old urchin combing the narrow streets of their hometown, Shimabara, in search of adventure and trouble. Since his father moved to Tokyo, Hayato never again returned to Shimabara, nor to anywhere near the area around Nagasaki. Heck, he never again set foot in Kyushu, the southernmost of the four main islands of Japan, and his father only did it three times. His father lost contact almost completely with his own two siblings, including the father of Naoko, six years before. They’ve never had a rupture, but after Hayato’s father moved due to his work, they rarely spoke. Thus, when his older brother Yoshirou called desperately begging if they could let his daughter stay in their home for a few days, it’s strange to say the least.

  Even though his physical constitution, strong, with a squared jaw and frowning eyebrows made he look bad, Hayato was in reality collected and tranquil. He was the polar opposite of his agitated and outgoing cousin Naoko. She always said there was just one thing to do in their hometown: to die of boredom. Unlike her, he actually liked Shimabara a lot. It’s a city of almost fifty thousand inhabitants with simple houses and surrounded by majestic nature. It was bathed by the blue waters of Ariake Bay and sat at the foot of the thousand and five hundred meters tall Mount Unzen, covered in lush green vegetation. Many onsen, scenic hot springs that attracted tourists and locals alike, dotted the region. It’s a paradise, despite what Naoko thought. Hayato had difficulties adapting to the bustling Tokyo, and even half a decade after moving the excessive amount of people still got on his nerves.

  At the airport he almost didn’t recognize her. From the last time they met, she had grown into a spectacular sixteen year-old girl. Averaging one meter and seventy, maybe a little less, she sported a cascade of dark hair up to the middle of her back and long lashes that surrounded razor-sharp eyes, absorbing everything around her with curiosity and unbounded excitement. Her skin was fair, although not really ghost-pale, because even though she stayed a lot outside, she had the habit of applying sun filters regularly. She used light make-up, just the eyeliner being more prominent. It was simple, but showed she cared for her appearance, contrary to what her tomboyish fame suggested. Her mouth agape in a big smile revealing peal-white, perfectly aligned teeth, she was in eternal awe, as if walking on heaven. The girl did had a small, non-externally perceptible septum deviance that made breathing through her nose a hassle, but that’s kind of nice because it forced her to always keep her open mouth, seemingly smiling.

  Her face was particularly gorgeous: it’d striking features, very proportional and lady-like. It�
��s simply beautiful. As for the rest, even in unremarkable clothes, just a sleeveless, unbranded white, purple and yellow t-shirt and pearl shorts, she was quite the head turner. She wore no accessories other than a good luck charm anklet made of white and black intertwined straw she’d received from a childhood friend, and beaten white sneakers. Maybe it’s good after all that she had a lot of running and climbing in her town, because her long and firm legs were real eye candies and her slim body was on the curvaceous side. Still room for improvement, but on the other hand she hadn’t fully matured yet. Not that he’d be checking on his cousin, of course. Hayato was too busy cursing his luck of having been born as her family member.

  The first few days of spring break flew by. To be far away from home was a blessing by itself for Naoko, but to be away from her parents and also surrounded by lots of people, lights, movement and energy, was a dream.

  She told her cousin the reason she made a trip there was because life in her house became unbearable. Even though the tension with her parents grew by each passing year since she was seven, things really started to go nonfunctional after Naoko turned twelve. It’s a reason why the girl stayed as late as possible in the streets, with her friends. The majority of them were boys a few years older than her. She got herself in every activity she could, mostly because she was easily excited for anything but also in order to stay away from her house. Since she was twelve every minute she spent with her family was a war of attrition. So much that her father simply gave in to a few things she asked, like to get enrolled in a karate dojo she somehow managed to get accepted in just to avoid unnecessary discussions. By the year she completed fifteen it’s rare to live a single day without any argument.

  The first week in the apartment of her uncle’s house was amazing. Hayato was worried at first that the six years of isolation would have dulled their already tense relationship, but Naoko proved to be an amazing guest. She was always radiant and could sustain talks for long hours with anyone. Despite her unladylike reputation, she was surprisingly feminine except for her interests and her frank speeches. In fact, she was confusing, for as much as she loved to play videogames and practice karate, her nails were always polished and she carried an eyeliner brush, along with sun filters and a few other things, wherever she went. Even then, she wasn’t fond of over accessorizing and hated spoiled people, not really having any problems in going on adventures among trees, insects and mud, getting wet under rain or anything. The girl was also very independent, in that she could wash dishes, clean the place and take care of her clothes and belongings. She wasn’t such a good cook, but Naoko and her aunt, who basically lived to make dishes, could talk for an eternity about everything related to cuisine. And even though Naoko didn’t like baseball, sumo, pro wrestling and many other sports, her uncle always found himself entertained in conversations with her about trips, locations worth visiting, economy, politics and more. Even when she didn’t know anything about a topic her curiosity still made the conversation flow smoothly more often than not. As much as she’s an outstanding talker, she’s also an excellent listener, eager to discover new things.

  Of course she had her fair share of flaws, too. Her loose tongue was the worst offender in Hayato’s opinion, but he also found her unstable temperament, prone to swings, to be vexing. At the same time she said what she thought of others, what didn’t concern other people was kept well under locks, turning her intriguing and sometimes mysterious, but also making her hard to reach and help, and frustrating to try to understand (but a couple of times she still acted as if others were supposed to comprehend her nonetheless). Her short fuse and her quickness to judge, condemn and punish made her an entire legal system in a single girl, which at first seemed amusing but rapidly proved to be a nuisance. She was extremely loyal to people important to her, but her means of showing it could be improved. Her sense of direction was abysmal and when she decided on something it’s as hard to refrain her as it is to prevent a volcano from erupting. It wouldn’t be a bad trait if she always got the right idea in her mind, but in spite of her good-willed nature, her stubbornness was a challenge to everyone when, out of poor judgment, she committed herself to a cause that was clearly not a good idea.

  Also her “adventurous” spirit was nothing short of a liability, wreaking havoc at the least expected moment. And last but not least, until last time he saw her, Naoko’s good-willed personality could take a sharp and scary turn when she felt particularly unhappy, helpless and alone, turning into an insensible, borderline cruel one. It was a rare sight, thankfully – Hayato only had the bad luck of meeting her ice-cold alternate side twice in his life, and even Naoko refused to accept that on these exceptional occasions she acted that way. Overall, she was far from perfect, but was still a lively and intriguing company most of the time for sure.

  Hayato was five years older than Naoko, even though his father was four years younger than hers. Still, she was used to talking to older men, and left nothing to be desired from any good conversation he’d have with his friends. It was odd because they grew apart, and as far as Hayato knew both sides couldn’t care less for the other, but out of respect they accepted to receive her, and maybe to repay the favor she showed her best side. She wanted to know about the college degree in chemistry her cousin was attending to and what he did to have fun in the big city. Since he had only a few friends, very few hobbies and seldom left home, it’s a nice change of pace to go explore the sprawling metropolis with her.

  Even though her family let her stay with her uncle just because she was intolerable in the last few months, Naoko had a mission. She wanted to find a new high school to enroll and go live in the Greater Tokyo Area. Of course, the cost of living in the eastern capital was prohibitive for her family, so if she’s to stay there, she had to find a way to make ends meet. As a high school girl it’s obvious she’d need the financial support of her parents to foot at least part of her bills, but despite her father having said multiple times he wouldn’t pay for any “extravagance”, he knew her intentions for the trip and still helped her visit the metropolitan prefecture all the same.

  Naoko and her cousin went sightseeing every day but even so the girl was barely able to see a few of the long list of places she wanted to see with her own eyes. One or two of them were downright rejected by Hayato, like the nightlife intense, luminous signs-riddled red-light district of Kabukichou, but the majority was simply cut due to time constraints. She watched the cherry blossoms, saw the staggering Tokyo Tower from a distance and much more, but it just felt rushed. Her nine days, starting the second to last Friday of March and going until the Saturday of the next week, counted down fairly quickly. Soon she realized she hadn’t visited any high school. Her sixth and seventh days were spent info hunting on institutions that were good, accessible and could help relocating her to dorms. Though those two days were unremarkable, she found three nice options.

  The problem was, like always, the money. Even living in dorms would cost a lot, and the schools themselves were more than her family could afford. Thus she began searching for any place which would accept an unskilled and inexperienced student for a well-paid arubaito – a part-time job. At first the colossal amount of commercial establishments in the metropolis gave her the false sensation that it’d be easy to find work despite what her cousin and her uncle told her. She visited shopping malls, galleries, convenience stores, outlets, restaurants, a hairdressing salon, a movie theater, three maid cafes and a few electronic stores, all by herself. By the end of the eighth day her feet were hurting and all she managed to get were many evasive answers that meant the same thing: no. To complicate matters, she spent almost all the cash she had left commuting.

  To be fair, the only owner of a maid café she was able to talk to actually got an interest in her. She was unearthly attractive and sociable, after all. His attention was especially increased after he asked her to sing anything she wanted, and he seemed genuine enough when he said there were currently no open positions, but tha
t he’d contact her if there’re any vacancies.

  Anyway, she though, her father was so close-minded and antiquated that he’d probably abandon her for good if she told him she’d work as a maid. In practice those places were just coffee shops with waitresses dressed as maids, with a few quirks like the possibility to order thematic dishes or ask for a girl to sing for everyone. Each place had their own twists, but as a rule of thumb things were pretty tongue-in-cheek and light. Even so, her father would probably still have that feudal line of thoughts that maid cafes would be modern equivalents of brothels or whatever. He’s that narrow-sighted. Even if the owner gave her the job, she still foresaw an arduous fight to convince her parents it was an honorable enough work.

  That night she could barely sleep. Her legs ached like they’ve gotten a beating, and the temperature was hotter than usual. Even with air conditioning it’s unpleasant to sleep, and her mind couldn’t silence even for a second. She had already been to Tokyo before, but only with her parents, and it’s nowhere near as fun as it’s this time. She loved that place. To think she’d have to go back to her backwater town full of nothing to do and live under her parents’ roof again, having to obey every ridiculous rule and feeling imprisoned made her feel dizzy. The pressure to find something, anything, the next day was so unbearable she wanted to get up that same instant and continue searching, even though she was exhausted. Of course, she could wait until college to go out… but she’d probably already be a psychiatric patient by that time.

  The next morning was even hotter, making any attempts of trying to shut eyes even for a moment futile. Fatigued, she went back to her job hunt by dawn. Of course it’s hard, but she was accepting almost any position, unless it was degrading. In a city that size, how hard could it be to land a job of a dog-walker, a salesclerk or a mascot for children parties anyway?

  She visited a few streets known for having lots of videogame stores, imagining they’d want a girl who actually knew a lot about games to attract otaku… although the more she pictured in her mind the most extreme cases of strange nerdy guys drooling over virtual girls and making their manga pages sticky with saliva and… other… fluids, the more she regretted the idea. And her imagination was one of her strongest traits (unfortunately).

  “Welcome!”, she would loudly and enthusiastically greet a customer by the sound of the bell ringing when the door was opened, only then noticing a short, thirty-something man with untidy hair, wide-open, beady eyes as if he’s being followed by some shadow assassin, sporting clothes four sizes bigger than him. On such sight all her hopes of suggesting interesting and decent games would’ve been abandoned.

  After noticing her, he would probably freeze on the spot, his fingers erratically moving as if they’re living noodles, squirming over the Yen bills his mother clearly gave him. Starting to sweat profusely and hyperventilating, he’d indecisively whisper something along the lines of:

  “Do… do you have… the game… ‘G… Gotcha!!! Chained Strawberry Angels Palpitation Fever Ultimate: Super Nonconsensual Tentacle Hell Seven – Pure Loli Maiden Sisters Edition’?”

  By the time the ‘freaklient’ would be going out Naoko would have developed a severe case of traumatic twitching under an eye and, clinging to the farthest possible wall, her “Thank you for your patronage, please come back soon!” standard phrase would most likely come out more like “Please go back under your rock and don’t you ever show your face here again!”

  Never mind the fact that she knew her stereotypes were prejudiced and far from truth… of a few otaku, at least. Or so she hoped. Nevertheless, she combed every gaming store. In most cases she couldn’t find the owner. Of the ones she did, at least two seemed interested, and one of them made a brief interview with her.

  Her gaming knowledge wasn’t the problem. When it came to proper etiquette for clients, in that case the owner, however, Naoko noticed something wasn’t right. She was able to perform well the basics, like greeting a client when he came in and to count the change out loud, albeit it rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. She felt wrong, as if… she was being nice to someone just so they could give her something – money, in this case. It felt like backstabbing, but she could live with being polite. When he pushed her, impersonating a truly irritating customer, however, she started to ask herself if that was the kind of work she’d like to perform.

  The owner was pleased with her and vowed to get in contact again in a couple of days. When she left the store, however, all she could feel was emptiness. To be mistreated, even if just in a pretended sale, without being able to do anything and having to keep her cool was a big pain for her. If she wanted to feel bad she would’ve stayed home.

  Not only she looked drained, she also lost part of the will to work. The more she thought about how any job involved doing something for someone and tolerating frustration, stupid clients and people that were unable to listen to the truth without getting pissed off, the more she got depressed. She went over a mental list of every position she knew, both plausible and absurd, but no matter what, every single one involved people. Any employee could be fired if their superiors were dissatisfied with their performances. Their bosses would answer to directors. Even a CEO had to answer to stockholders and the general public. Maybe… maybe stockholders didn’t have to tolerate abuses! Yeah, they still relied on others, but they’re the ones getting pissed of there, if anyone. If she had a lot of money – or so she thought it’s necessary – and knew how to invest in stocks that would be a sweet option.

  She day dreamingly crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk, automatically going in and out of every open door and only stopping to reapply sun filters every hour. At first she looked for signs that they were hiring, but after hearing so many indirect refusals Naoko got desensitized enough to try her luck everywhere she considered decent. At every opportunity she went back to her fantasies of operating stocks. Although that was the kind of work she considered boring, the more she supposed it to be similar to a game, the more excited she got. The ups and downs of those lines, the gaining of lots of money, the… well… that’s it. She had no idea how it performed in reality, but somehow Naoko was able to get thrilled about yet another thing out of the blue, just dreaming about having a computer with multiple screens, most of them showing trends of powerful companies full of people slaving away their uneventful lives for her while on the last screen she’d be playing something while waiting for the stocks to reach selling point or whatever.

  There was a moment she got so pumped up about the idea that she could clearly see herself doing it during the next years. She could stay in her parents’ house, since she’d simply lock the door of her room and play. It wouldn’t be and adventurous life and she started to think she’d get lonely eventually, but her father wouldn’t be able to say she was being lazy or that all she did was to play videogame or computer games because by the end of the day, she’d receive much more than him! When she turned twenty and thus became legally an adult, Naoko would then rent an apartment in Tokyo and be free! Maybe she could even hire a handsome butler!

  The ground started to shake slightly, bringing her back to reality. The seismic movement was so quick and weak it could’ve passed for a loaded cargo train approaching a platform, if there was any nearby. When the tremor stopped, a few seconds later, she had the impression many pedestrians hadn’t even felt it. But then it’s too late, her daydream was shattered.

  It was strange, when she thought about it. She loved to be close to people. She loved Tokyo because it’s so lively! Why was she having cold feet about any position? Was it because of fear of responsibilities? But she was always responsible, despite being slightly hot-headed.

  Entering a convenience store, she watched the saleslady perform her duties with a client. It wasn’t nowhere nearly as bad as she was thinking during the last few hours. And although Naoko had never worked for a paycheck before, in her hometown her nosy nature and her drive to stay away from home as much as she could lead her to do lots o
f voluntary works. School projects, caring for the elderly, doing whatever she was allowed to for firework festivals… It’s always fun. Why did she abruptly begin second-guessing her decisions? And, even in a worst-case scenario where a part-time job she got proved to be ill-treating, if she was to pick fights with a person she would meet for one minute in her entire life because he or she abused Naoko’s patience, the girl would essentially be giving reason for the arguments of her father that her short temper was nothing more than sheer immaturity. No, she would persevere. And, most importantly, she already knew how her home was akin to a penitentiary. No way she would go back there!

  The convenience store ended up being another no-go, but she left the venue with renewed hopes and a snack she ate at an opportunity she got to sit down, the only thing she consumed that whole day. The sky leisurely turned red and started to go dark, increasing the feelings of frustration and her rush. The flight back home was scheduled for the upcoming morning, giving her few precious hours left, but she would hate to go back empty-handed.

  She hurriedly kept searching for her dream arubaito – any plain part-time job, really. Eventually, though, her tired legs protested and refused to move. She, against her will, found a nice kids playground and sat down.

  Only then, as resignation grew on her, she could take a moment to breath and pay attention to her surroundings. As the dusk got darker and the last sunbeams painted the clouds, few and far between, a rosy hue, the stars started to appear. Truth be told, the starry skies of Shimabara were prettier at night. In Tokyo there were hardly enough shining dots in the firmament to fill it. Only two or three. But the lights that steadily started to shine across the city more than made up for it in Naoko’s opinion.

  She ran the entire day with mixed feelings and had little time to appreciate the experience, but looking back she found it fun. The towering buildings’ windows around her reflected one another and the street lamps, the squirming car headlights and rear lights that formed white and red rivers, the multicolored billboards, the glistening cellphone screens that made crowds sparkle as if sprinkled with silver dust, the airplanes coming and going and so much more. The metropolis radiated brighter at night with spinning lights that her hypnotized eyes reflected. To be there made her at peace, even if her stomach was empty and her body sore. Despite her sleepless last night, she didn’t notice her tiredness.

  She stood there in silent contemplation for who knows how long, and as she decided to move again, her heart was full of peace. As she spent her last change on something to eat and took the train back to her uncle’s place, it’s already well past rush time and the number of people on the streets was manageable. She found herself a cozy seat next to a window and kept staring at the iridescent city that moved outside, while her reflex looked back with a mix of happiness and sadness.

  The repetitive, low humming and the tender rocking of the train gently carried the bushed girl to a deep slumber. When she came back to her senses, her heart almost jumped out of her mouth. Her station had already passed by three stops, and Naoko dashed out of the vehicle the first chance she got.

  Finding her way to the opposite platform to go back, she waited for a moment. For as much as she’d like to rest, her biggest desire was that this day never ended. So much, in fact, that when the train arrived she couldn’t force herself to get in. As she watched the doors open and close and the metal, serpent-like vehicle slip by, Naoko decided to go by foot. She was just three stations away from her uncle’s apartment, anyway.

  Every corner of the streets was different than the last. Every new block was full of possibilities for a girl that felt caged in her real home. Every person dressed differently – with the exception of the suit-clad, sake-filled, tottering salarymen that seemed to spawn at alarming rates at every turn, but that was to be expected. In a new city even those generally annoying, loud men were amusing for her. They composed the experience of free roaming the capital.

  A couple of blocks down the street, where small, two or three decade old but charming commercial buildings full of luminous signs aligned themselves, she found out some doors sported hiring notices. Too bad it was a quarter to ten and most offices were closed. If she knew that place before she could’ve found a part-time job there, maybe. Still, she wandered the long, straight avenue looking at every notification. A couple of them were really vague, but since offices seemed to be the thing there, it wasn’t hard to imagine they would need auxiliaries, secretaries and whatnot.

  Eventually, after a lot of walking, she passed through a three-story building with a few lights still on. The door was opened, immediately leading to a dimly lit stairway that climbed, without stops, all the way up, whilst presenting doors to every pavement. A big hiring board by the door listed every open position for every floor. All were empty except the uppermost business, which simply and vaguely presented a “accepting applications!” statement.

  Naoko gave a few steps back and looked up. As she had imagined, the windows of the third floor were still illuminated. Above them there was a retro-esque, neon billboard. From where she was standing, almost beneath it, it was hard to tell the name of the company, but she could see the symbol was a sort of a diamond with its lower tip sitting atop a disc of some sort. Even though the long, narrow stairs seemed somewhat shady, the big sign was really well made and flashy, and inspired confidence.

  Naoko hesitated, looking at the hour on her cellphone. Even if the office was still open, it’s hard to imagine they would receive her at such an hour. But then again, the worst it could happen was another no, like the hundred or so she already obtained those two days. And there was nothing she could do, by next morning she’d already be leaving. If she explained it and was lucky enough perhaps they would still send her word in case some position came up.

  “Fat chance,” she thought. A school girl with no prior experience in whatever office tasks she’d be required to do, probably looking miserably tired and with no business card to back her up would show up almost ten p.m. looking for work. Yeah, great chances of success. Well, at least she could say she was dedicated.

  The expectation to hear another roundabout no made her legs start to move away, but as she started to think about it, she stopped again. To hell with probability, at that time all she wanted was not to go back and keep exploring. Given, the place looked a little suspicious, but nothing that made her think she’d be entering a mafia den. Although when that crossed her mind, her imagination started to play tricks on her.

  Even then, she fought to control her fear. The last time she thought so vividly about bad things, she pictured herself selling porn games to a creepy otaku, and reality (so far) turned out to be not nearly as bad. Mustering up her courage and inquisitiveness, she went back and started climbing the stairs.

  The steps were short and the inclination was steep. After two days of intense walking her legs shook like jelly. The very climb was a test of resolution, it seemed, but it just made her curiosity burn hotter.

  The stairs wound up on a wall. After a L turn there was a small, carpeted corridor. To the right two restrooms and on the left a few couches and an old door. At the end of the hallway there was another entrance, from where the faint sound of a television and a fan came out. She made her way there and, vacillating for a while, regained her breath and knocked. By that time she had already thought about what she’d say if she found out a lot of gangsters and her years of martial arts classes that would certainly not save her flashed before her eyes.

  Contrary to what she thought, she was greeted by a soothing male voice, maybe a little drowsy, politely asking for a second. After a brief pause the door opened slightly, and through the gap a tall and young man appeared. He definitely looked like he was sleeping, his face partially wrinkled and red. He seemed surprised, and after checking the person before him his cloudy eyes lost their half-asleep air. He opened the door, and behind him Naoko could see his room. It was the messiest thing she’d ever seen, even for an office. A small TV airing th
e news sat atop cardboard boxes and his desk was hidden behind a small fridge, a sofa still with the marks of someone who had slept there and other furniture. A strong smell of tobacco and dust clogged her nostrils. The neon lights came in from the darkness outside the windows, and an old ceiling fan span slowly, generating more noise than wind. It was surreal.

  There was nothing to be liked on that chaos, but somehow places like that attracted Naoko. She secretly liked boy’s rooms for reasons even she didn’t fully understood. Maybe because the untidiness equated to freedom for her, and that was a precious thing.

  “Please, come in,” the tall, slender and elegant man in his mid-twenties invited with a bow, looking lost. Noticing her eyes glancing around the room, he scratched the back of his head and apologetically explained while bowing again, “I’m deeply sorry. We just move in, there’s still a lot to be done.”

  Closing the door behind the seemingly shocked girl, the man opened up a way to his desk and offered a seat for her. Taking everything from over the table and putting it over the sofa, he lowered the volume of the TV so that the images gave an impression of liveliness to the ambient but the sound didn’t interfere and, going back, he said, in a careful way:

  “Well… I’m Aratani Kouta, the owner of this agency.” After a brief pause, the tall, slim man in his creased suit mentioned regretfully, “It’s already past business hour, so I don’t know if I can help you now, but… Please, if I can be of any assistance, let me know.”

  Naoko knew it was a polite way of saying “get the heck out of here and come back other time”, but she was surprised the man named Kouta looked actually genuine in his intentions of assisting her. The girl quickly said, as politely as she felt comfortable to be:

  “It’s a pleasure to make you acquaintance, Aratani-San. I’m Yano Naoko. Sorry for coming at such late an hour, but… to be frank, this is my last night in Tokyo. Tomorrow morning I’ll be flying back to my hometown, and I wanted to… see if I could find a job so that I could pay my studies here. And I saw in the board by the entrance your company was accepting applications. So… I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to know if I could know more about that position. I… couldn’t find any information about it, but…”

  The man, showing interest, leaned forward and told her in a considerate way:

  “No, I understand.” Pausing briefly to think, he inhaled and exhaled the air through his nose as if ventilating the tiredness of the day while looking for something in the shelves of his desk. “ I’m thankful for your interest. You seem like a dedicated person, to be up at such an hour looking to fulfill your dreams.”

  She was afraid he’d take her wrongly, thinking a girl looking for work at such a late hour would be up to no good, but it looked like they thought similarly. Glad, she thanked him and waited while the man took a flyer and a business card in his hands and, putting them at the edge of the table for the time being, he asked:

  “Let’s get down to business, then. Yano-San, you seemed like you have some questions about the application. Can I help to clarify anything?”

  “Hm… yes,” Naoko replied, “I’d like to know more about the position. What kind of job is it? I’m sixteen, and I don’t exactly have any previous experience in office work, but I’ve already done a lot of volunteer work at my hometown, and I’m a quick learner, I think.”

  The look on Aratani’s face became puzzled. Appearing to have lost part of his enthusiasm, he briefly gauged the girl’s eyes. He could see she was tired, but there was a glint of hope and something on her gave the impression she was more energetic and cheerful than that formal meeting made her to be. And although she had probably made a dumb question, she appeared to be smart. Her eyes were attentive and sharp. He decided to chalk up that misunderstanding to her weariness. Unsure, he clung to his gut-feeling and elucidated:

  “Well… about the application, I’m sorry it wasn’t very precise. We currently have no open positions in terms of office personnel. That invitation was due to the fact that we are a newly-founded idol producing agency. I’m the owner. We’re currently looking for talents to produce.”

  The moment Naoko heard the word “idol”, she petrified. All her will to continue that conversation was syphoned out of her body. Suddenly the messy but rather cozy room seemed like an intimidating place, one she got a sudden urge to leave.

  The young man handled her a pamphlet written in big characters. “The Paragon Idol Agency”, it said. The logo was that of a big diamond, in its most classic shape, drawn in silver lines over a dark background. His lower tip levitated atop what appeared to be the center of a platinum-colored disk, CD, DVD, Blu-Ray or any kind of similar media. The disk was seen from a perspective, as if resting atop an invisible surface. Drawn over the diamond was the black silhouette of a young woman. There’re no details, but by the outline it could be imagined she was wearing a skirt and holding a microphone. The back of the flyer presented, in bullet-point listing, some information, but Naoko could hardly read anything.

  Her eyes were covered by a cold mist, almost like if she got lost in her mind. Back in time and space to her hometown, seven or eight years before.

  Remembering the day they first met, her producer, lying down on his chair with both feet over his desk, interrupted Naoko’s raconteur spree:

  “Yeah, I was under the impression you spaced out the moment you heard it’s an idol agency, but at that time I was so pressed to find a good talent to promote that I refrained from asking what was the problem.” Smiling, he added, “Not to say I was too afraid to lose such a rare diamond in rough like you over any argument to care, diamond girl.”

  Looking at his sly face, straight and unfaltering while complimenting her, Naoko laughed.

  “I’d pretend to be shocked if I wasn’t well aware of your womanizer’s traits. Keep them to yourself, you perv, the only one you’re going to get to know this way is a police officer.”

  “You try to compliment the talent of a woman with no ulterior motives and she immediately raises shields against you,” Aratani mentioned, jestingly looking hurt. Going back to his cool self, he inquired, “Alright, Naoko-Chan. Get to the point. What was the deal? Why did you think I’d betray you?”

  Losing herself in memories, her eyes clouding again albeit without the shocking and disheartened expression of a few weeks before, the girl continued her narrative.

  The moment that man told her about idol producing, her mind was pulled back to Momoko. Fuchigami Momoko was the older sister of Naoko’s oldest friend, Fuchigami Masahiro. Two years older than her and always the quiet type, Masahiro lived right across the street. He probably cared for Naoko more than anyone and, despite not being particularly adventurous, he’s always there to help her out of situations. He had a tendency to try and overprotect Naoko, taking the blame for things she did. Naoko eventually made many friends all across Shimabara and beyond, some from the streets, some from the karate dojo and the other martial arts centers she liked to take a peek, many from school, a few from online games and so on, but even then she maintained her childhood friendship.

  Masahiro had a sister six years older than him, and thus eight years older than Naoko. Her name was Momoko. When Naoko was still a brat around eight years old, Momoko was already an attractive teenager. She always dreamed to be famous, maybe an actress or a singer. Her father encouraged her to pursue her dream, and somehow she found about an idol agency in Nagasaki that seemed interested in her. Her family invested in her, paying every fee the agency said it was necessary. Apparently the process was very complicated and involved many legal consulting and expenses for tests, singing and dancing classes, initial promotions and other things. Her family paid a lot of money.

  After many travels, all of which ended up in frustration because for one reason or another every test, audition or interview with the producer-to-be got canceled at the last moment, the anticipation came to a sad conclusion. The agency simply vanished, taking all her money. Her “producer” was never seen ag
ain. The scam to prey on the dreams of girls made many families go into debt, and even though Momoko’s father and mother were able to eventually recover from the loss, their daughter was left emotionally scarred.

  Although Naoko wasn’t exactly a friend of Momoko, which at that time was almost double her age, she knew her well enough to notice a drastic chance in her behaviors. After that incident the good-spirited girl became introspective and sour. Her bonds with her family grew tighter, as if she became so riddled with guilt that she did anything for her brother and parents, but at the same time she became distant and cold to others, sometimes borderline cruel. She got attached to animals, but her faith in humanity was compromised. So much that she became neurotic with her studies and a real workaholic, aiming only for perfection and not caring for any stranger anymore.

  After that, similar stories were heard across Shimabara a few more times. Tales of supposedly big shots from Nagasaki, Osaka, Kyoto, Tokyo and so on getting an interest in a girl from small towns. For the women, it’s like being discovered against all odds. Then there was an expensive process that invariably ended up in the agency disappearing in thin air, leaving the girls and their families to lick their financial and emotional wounds.

  It was easy for vile people to fool young girls with promises of stardom and fortune. In Japan the idol industry was a huge and well-oiled machine. Scouted boys and girls could go for nobody to national celebrity overnight. The entertainment industry craved for pretty faces and new songs. Billions of Yen changed hands over teenagers and spam a myriad of products. CDs, commercials, clothes, dolls, official school bags and other materials, shows and much more. Girls found themselves being interviewed in TV, appearing in building-tall electronic ads and having legions of fans calling her in the streets. As much as it was tantalizing, the idol industry had its own fair share of traps and competition was fierce, but nothing detracted from the dream of becoming the next one on the spotlights and every year dozens of thousands of women tried their lucks, looks and talents for a piece of the action. Only a few managed to get somewhere. Even when not falling victims to schemes, the idol road was fraught with dangers and hardships. For some it added value to the victors, but that was because nobody thinks they are going to be among the vast majority who falls flat.

  To someone such as Naoko, who knew terror stories about con artists draining families of their resources or leading girls astray, to discover herself in an agency was almost worse than if she had actually met a group of bad looking men with their backs covered by tattoos.

  Sure, the young man in front of her seemed like a decent person. Even then, his office was nowhere near what an authentic idol agency would look like, as far as what she knew. It was definitely a ruse.

  To his merit, that con artist looked very smart, noticing something was amiss with her. Quickly, he started to detail the process his agency applied to idol candidates:

  “About the application itself, we try to make it as quick as possible. There’s a singing and dancing test, following guide rules from the supervisory organ. Then, there’s an interview to get to know the candidate, just to know with whom we could be working with. Finally, should everything be okay, I submit the data to the higher-ups so they can look into the paperwork. Usually the whole process doesn’t take more than four days.”

  Right off the bat Naoko caught on a discrepancy in his explanation and, without any care for what would the schemer feel, tossed it right at his face:

  “Yeah, right, your ‘higher-ups’. Listen, didn’t you say you’re the owner of this lovely agency, ‘Produ-San’?’

  The almost pet-like name “Produ-San” she called the supposed producer out of the blue was coated in venom. Despite having the unisex “San” suffix, which in Japanese denoted some degree of respect, often akin to “Mr.”, “Mrs.”, “Ms.” or something similar, in this case Naoko was being clearly sarcastic. To her disappointment, the man looked just slightly fazed, and instead of breaking the conversation on that point, he calmly answered, somewhat jokingly:

  “That’s correct, this lovely agency is all mine, I’m glad you liked it. The higher-ups I refer to are the people from the supervisory organ I mentioned.”

  “What organ?” questioned Naoko, crossing her arms. She actually liked the nonchalant attitude of that Aratani guy, but as far as she could tell there were no such things. He, in a matter of fact way, replied while handling her his business card, with the logo of his company, telephone number, e-mail address and something called an ‘I.S.S.G. ID’ followed by fourteen digits:

  “Every idol agency answers to the Idol Star System Generation Co., you know.” Pausing to evaluate her expression and noticing she only seemed a little confused on top of her defensive posture, he asked “Yano-San… knows about the I.S.S.G., I… think? Or… do you want me to clarify what’s it?”

  To make assumptions about other people in any conversation in Japan was a risky bet, and one Naoko usually did far more often than most people and incurred in bigger chances of offending someone. But on the other hand, she wasn’t nearly as much hurt when others did the same to her, and since the man was trying to be polite when implying she should probably know about that organization, she let that slip. Looking at the black business card, she merely said in a passive-aggressive way while thinking if she should just stand up and go away:

  “I’ve heard this name once or twice, but since I’ve never, ever wanted to be an idol and I barely keep up with idol trends and stuff like that, I don’t know much about it.”

  Getting more and more disappointed, Aratani leaned back on his chair. Out of politeness he replied:

  “Most people think the Idol Star System Generation Co. is just a corporation that owns a few domes and theaters and promote gigs, but they’re actually a committee that regulates a few aspects of this branch of the entertainment industry. The female branch, at least. They have to accept your application, for starters. In practice they just lift papers and check to see if you’re clear. You know, it’d be bad if we discovered an idol to be an axe murderer after having invested a lot of money on her.”

  Since she was being so impolite, the man also took the liberty to spike her back indirectly. Contrary to what he’d expect, though, Naoko actually broke into laughing. She hated herself for not being able to control it and use the opportunity to get away, but the images that immediately popped in her mind were just too good. To see a cute idol, all smiley and lovey-dovey, still presenting baby teeth-like pointy canines and ribbons all over not get as many applauses from a particular fan in a show and draw a halberd, screaming “love me, you bastard!” and jumping from the stage like a frenzied berserker… that would in fact be a sight Naoko would like to see! Not in real life, actually, but the mental images she depicted were far too exaggerated and cartoony not to be funny.

  That girl was clearly something else, to be able to laugh like that, Aratani could see it. It was either a good or a very bad sign, but all in all it made the man relax a bit. Her laughing was quite contagious too, and made him smile a little, his disappointment fading away. Getting back to herself, she took a deep breath and sent a straight ball:

  “Okay, I see you’re a funny guy, Produ-San. Let me get real here. I’m not one who likes to beat around the bushes, so I need to get it out of the way now: how much would you be asking me to pay you for all this trouble of tests and legal work?”

  Naoko could remember Momoko’s sad story at that moment as vividly as if she were living it all over again. The question was a trap, but a well-disguised one, she thought. Aratani, still dazed by the ups and downs of that girl, and taking an unexplainable liking in her wild personality as much as she had her strange laughing moment over the idol axe murderer topic, replied in a similar fashion while lying more comfortably in his chair:

  “Alright, Yano-San wants it straight, I’ll give it to you. No fees. Seriously, if you’re fretting over money all this time, you could’ve said it sooner, sis.”

  Staring deep into t
he cool, borderline lazy-looking but also upfront man, she searched for clues he was lying, but to no avail. She repeated “No fees?” just to be sure, and Aratani, in the same confident and firm voice, confirmed:

  “No fees. Not that I wouldn’t like to share the risk of the investment with you, but there are guidelines I.S.S.G. imposes for agencies, one of them being not charging admission fees from candidates. The money for tests and bureaucracies must come from the agency. In case the candidate gets accepted, there’s an annual member fee for the idol, which I think was around two thousand Yen last time I saw. But as for your question of ‘how much would you be asking me to pay you for all this trouble ‘, you wouldn’t be paying me anything. This annual fee is paid directly to the corporation.”

  Frowning, the girl got lost for a few seconds in her mind. When she came back from her mind the first thing she requested was, “OK, suppose I get accepted. You’d say I’d probably need dance classes, dresses and whatever, right? And, not that I’d care since my family wouldn’t support me financially and, thus, I wouldn’t foot it, but these things cost money too.”

  “Don’t tell me,” the man casually said, “I prefer not to be reminded about all the things that will someday appear in red characters in my accountings. But yeah, what of them? You don’t have to worry about it, I’d be paying every cost of it. That’s what people call ‘investment’, and there’s no business you can get into where there’s no investment.”

  “I get it,” Naoko replied, “but what about me? I’d be part of a business without investing anything. Is that it?”

  “Not investing money doesn’t mean not investing anything,” Aratani pointed it out, “Money is my part of the business. Also, that’s the reason I’d be getting eighty-five percent of all the revenue. Because I’m the one footing all the bills and also because who has the money gets the bigger share. But you’d still be investing your time and effort, and since you’re so direct, Yano-San, let me be too: I don’t say that lightly. Should you be accepted, I’ll take no complaints that I’m slaving you away in marketing campaigns, presentations, lessons, rehearsals and so on. You’ll be expected to cope with the work hours, including nights, Saturdays, Sundays, holidays, so on and so forth. And don’t even get me started on your summer vacation, that’s prime time for idol promotions. At the same time, you’d still be expected to perform well in school, because every negative point you let tabloids know is like sugar to ants. Those sensationalist reporters would kill for a chance to defame someone and gain notoriety for their dirty papers. If working your soft skin out is not enough investment for you, I don’t know what is.”

  The silence that followed was a long one, as the girl stood still, in a half-surprised expression. The man looked so sincere that for the first time Naoko actually considered the possibility it was a real offer. The state of his chaotic office threw her expectations down again and he was coping with so many bad attitudes from her that it was fishy at best, but maybe, if he could prove what he said was true…

  …Well, even then there were so many things that would prevent her to be contracted, beginning with her own family, it was for the best not to dwell on it. She played it safe:

  “Okay, I think I get it. But anyway, I think my parents wouldn’t support me. Certainly not financially, so if there are any hidden taxes you’re not telling me, forget it, and I would be hard-pressed to convince them to allow me to become an idol even if I passed the tests. Which, since I’m going back home tomorrow morning anyway, I couldn’t do. So…” Seeing the face of the man becoming depressed despite his efforts not to show it, with such intensity that someone faking feelings would hardly be able to achieve, Naoko felt bad for how she’s been acting. She proceeded, “I’m sorry, Aratani-San. I was just looking for a regular part-time job. Sorry I… appeared out of nowhere at night and…” the more she thought about how she was the one who looked for him, acted like she owned the place and spent his time, the worse she felt.

  In the middle of her sentence, her cellphone started to ring a happy, upbeat song. She instinctively looked for the man apologetically, but he, albeit certainly not happy, wasn’t too concerned. The conversation was over already, so it wasn’t a loss. He serenely gave her a positive nod and, while she answered the call, he stood up, going to a shelf where a tea machine was hidden among other objects.

  “Naoko-Chan!”, the voice of her uncle sounded relieved as she answered, “Where are you? Is everything OK?”

  “Uncle Kenji…”, she mumbled while mechanically bowing all the slightest, taking a few seconds to change gears from her previous conversation and leaving the guilt behind, “Yes, I’m fine. I was still looking for a job and got carried away. I’m sorry.”

  “Where are you now, Naoko?” his voice sounded inquisitive in a bad way. Naoko, bowing again, retorted:

  “I’m a few squares from home. I’ll be right there. Sorry to have caused you trouble.”

  Her uncle asked again if she didn’t want him to go get her, but she refused, reassuring him she’d be by his place in a few minutes. After she hung up, the suit-clad man asked her from afar if she didn’t want a cup of tea. Based on his downed voice, it was more out of cordiality than because he wanted her to stay.

  “Ah, no, thanks. I really have to go, my uncle is worried about me.” Standing up, and feeling her guilt come back, she added, honestly “I’m… sorry for taking your time… and for being such an ungrateful guest. Really.”

  She bowed more than usual. Even if not for truly believing in the young man, at least to show appreciation for him being nicer than she could ask for. When she stood up, she found the face of Aratani to appear even more tired and lifeless than when she met him. The owner, taking a moment looking deeply at her, finally sighed heavily. Lowering his eyes to the two cups of tea he had taken, he put one away, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a portable ashtray and showed her the way to the door.

  From all the years she spent having lots of male friends, the experience told her that he was a good man. She wanted to believe him, just so she could sleep knowing she hasn’t demotivated an honorable person. Walking into the corridor looking at his business card while he accompanied her and closed the door behind him, she reviewed her conversation, noticing how much self-restraint the complete stranger must’ve had not to toss her out of the window. In fact, that was the fishiest part of that man: he seemed too detached, to the point where if felt he was trying too hard not to spook her away from his messy room. Maybe something a guy trying to pass a scam on someone would do. She mustered up the courage to ask:

  “Aratani-San? Can you tell me one thing?” Listening to a low and not all that excited “Hm, sure, go ahead”, she pressed on, “You’re awfully nice to me, despite… everything. Why?”

  Tucking one of his hands on the pocket of his pants while scratching his head, he vaguely answered while stumbling down the corridor:

  “Honestly? I’ve got no idea. I just… don’t care too much if people don’t like me, I think. Well, to be fair, a large share of the public love a strong-willed girl that starts cold and warms up to them little by little. They can’t resist bittersweet relations. That’s being a tsundere at its best, and you seem like a natural. So from a business standpoint it’d be good for me to accept you as you are. You’ve no idea how many idol fans secretly fall on the masochist side of the spectrum.”

  Negatively shaking her head, Naoko replied in a more joyful tone while starting to go down the long flight of stairs:

  “I could’ve gone to bed tonight without having heard that about the fans. I sense it’ll haunt my dreams. But I’m not a tsundere. I’m just careful.”

  Despite at first glance sounding like a bad excuse, when the girl gave it some thought it made sense that he’d accept a few offenses if the public wanted a girl with that characteristic. Still, that didn’t excuse her, nor made her feel any better. But since she had already shown her true colors, at least she could help him somehow. While climbing down, she adv
ised him:

  “Listen, not trying to be rude or anything…”

  “Not that you’d need to try in order to be,” Aratani remarked with half a smile. Naoko, feeling her tension decrease as he joked, continued, jesting, “Yeah, but I can be much worse if I try! Want me to show you?”

  “Nah, I’m fine, I believe in you. Go ahead.” he replied grinning, and the girl proceeded, “Okay, listen. If you’re really serious about your agency, you should tidy up that place. I know it’s rude to say it, but at least let me give you this advice. It’ll come in handy, trust me.”

  Taking the lighter and the pack from his pocket, he agreed while pulling a cigarette out:

  “Yeah. I figured as much. Sorry about the mess. I know it’s not an excuse, but we’ve only opened up a week ago. But yes, sorry for making you put up with the uncleanliness.”

  “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize,” Naoko said. But almost immediately, as she reached the ground, the girl included a snarly comment, as if she already knew him for a long time – something she was so used to do it became a habit, and despite appearing dangerous actually got generally good results “But really, a week is more time than necessary to groom up that place. What’s with the delay?”

  Going out in the sidewalk with the girl, Aratani pointed up to the luminous billboard over the windows with an open hand and spontaneous and light-heartedly declared:

  “Do you have any idea how much time it took me just to put that thing up there and running properly? A whole day!”

  “What about the other six days of the week?” Naoko retorted, smiling from her witty comment. The man, though, took her off-guard replying mockingly:

  “Do you have any idea how much time it took me just to rest after putting that thing up there and running properly? Another whole day!”

  Naoko burst into laughs, not expecting him to be able to do such jokes. While she did it, Aratani lit a cigarette and took a deep breath, looking up in the sky. His smile slowly faded away, leaving behind only a concerned, though resigned, countenance. As the girl got a hold of herself, she found the man in deep thoughts. He gradually spoke, as if for himself more than for anyone:

  “Now that you mentioned it, it’s hard to imagine any girl would believe a guy who can’t even tidy up his office would be able to produce her properly, no? Heh, did I really need someone else to tell me that to notice it?”

  “Well,” Naoko surprised him with a quick reply, breaking his trance-like contemplation of the almost starless sky, “it is worrisome, yes, but that’s just a way of proving people you’re capable and… trustworthy.”

  Nodding as if swallowing the reality bit by bit, he thought out loud:

  “In my last work all I needed to show professionalism was a business card and showing up at court with punctuality. To think I’d just throw in my I.S.S.D. number on my card and let people consult my trustworthiness by themselves was a big misstep. I’ll… try to find a way to clean that place up. Thank you for the feedback, Yano-San. Really, I needed it.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Naoko said, letting only the fresh spring winds speak for a while. Curious about something, she asked it quickly, while her feet pointed in the direction of her uncle’s apartment, prepared to go. “You mentioned your last work involved courts?”

  Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Aratani didn’t bother taking the cigarette out of his mouth to say:

  “I’m a lawyer by trade. After getting my degree I spent a few years on an office. You may not believe me after seeing my room, but I’m actually very responsible. Never lost a case. Not that I worked there for too long, I’m only twenty six after all, but I always took care of the people I got under my wings. Too much, I guess.” Making a pause to smoke, he looked down to the pavement. “I never had time for myself. And eventually, for a few… reasons… I left my job. My girl. My… ah… What I could’ve left. You get the point. But, you know, if after you leave a place and your problems continue, then the problems weren’t in that place. They’re on you. Heh. I’m still the same, I see. Able to be very responsible for the others, but unable to do anything for myself, like organizing the place I spend my whole day. Shit.”

  When he lifted his head, he was taken aback by the caring look on Naoko’s face. He was expecting more disgust and less affection. Smiling, she mentioned:

  “You’re actually a very nice guy, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said ironically, “And you know what they say about nice guys, right?”

  “What?” she inquired.

  “They never get the girl,” he stated with a smile, although not a funny one. Lifting his sleeve and looking at a silver and black wristwatch, he said “Hey, Yano-San? It’s already late, your uncle will be worried. But it’s a pleasure meeting you.” With a temporary malicious grin, he stated, “A real pleasure. You’re as sexy as you’re devious, girl”.

  Seeing her get crimson and react so surprised, he laughed, returning to his casual, laid-back usual self:

  “You’re a bad liar if you tell me no man has ever told you that or that you don’t like to be praised. You’ve got looks, and you know it, sis. Also a sweet voice and a contagious smile. You’re a diamond in rough, so to speak. If you have a dream of becoming an idol, can’t admit it to me and found it hard to believe in old Aratani Kouta here, don’t get discouraged. Many agencies would be willing to produce you, just take a peek at the official website of the Idol Star System Generation and you’ll find a list of all licensed agencies. Just drop in the nearest one, I’m sure they’ll be glad. Every idol is a bet, of course, but some bets are safer than others. And you’re a very safe bet if I’ve ever seen one.”

  The way the man coolly made such compliments, without so much as batting an eye and without any tension or innuendoes – other than the ‘sexy and devious’ part –, simply stating what he thought to be true, made Naoko blush heavily. For as much as something weighted on her as she thanked him and bid farewell, Aratani also left her with a warm feeling inside her chest.

  She slowly paced her steps, gradually getting away as the man stood on the door smoking and watching her go with eyes lost in thoughts. As the distance between the two increased, so did some kind of uneasiness inside him. When Naoko was almost crossing the empty street, his voice abruptly called out for her. As she turned around, she saw him a good fifteen meters away, apparently surprised with himself too for having done that. Still, he made one final statement, shouting and not really caring if someone heard:

  “Yano-San! I know you said you’ll go back home tomorrow morning and that you had some financial issues, so I’m betting you wouldn’t cancel your flight just to take a shot, but… I’m… I’m willing to take the risk and pay you a flight that same day at night if you consider taking the tests tomorrow morning here. You have my business card so if you change your mind please give me a call. Up until nine a.m. it’s still possible to schedule the tests.”

  He reclined back at the wall by the entrance, only then feeling he’d done everything he could and that it was now on the hands of that girl to take up the chance or not. Even from afar she could see he was finally able to settle down and smoke in peace. Having now the responsibility to decide to do the tests, something painful stirred inside her. Even if she did take the exams, chances were she wouldn’t pass, because although she liked to sing, her dancing skills were mediocre at best and she was always ashamed to dance. But if she miraculously got approved, there was no way her father would approve, she thought. At least not without another long fight, which she wanted more than anything to avoid.

  But at that time she remembered: she wanted to live in Tokyo not only because she loved that place. Despite all she thought, Shimabara was a pretty and inviting place. It was because she wanted to be free and not have to face criticisms every day at home. And she actually got an opportunity, even though her memories of Momoko made her wary of trying. Also, if she transferred her studies to the capital and fell in a scam, she’d be doubly screwed. />
  The girl turned her attention to the black business card with the diamond logo. “The Paragon Idol Agency”. As she walked away, her eyes kept scanning the fourteen-digit number of identification. Supposedly, if there was a supervising organ, she could see if what that Aratani fella said was true. If so… well, she got tired just by the thought of trying to see if there was any truth about that, going through all that process, changing her flight, explaining to her father everything and trying to convince him to let her go, waiting for the response, transferring her studies to one of the high schools she found and moving. But if everything went smoothly…

  It was a leap of faith, granted. There was no way of knowing if all would go well, and for the first time in many years she experienced fear again. Not just anxiety, but fear itself. If breaking free from her old life weren’t such a big dream, she would’ve dropped it that instant. Only it was, and, full of uncertainties, Naoko walked alone the long streets, clinging to the dark business card as if holding an invitation to a party she never thought before she wanted to attend.

  “And that’s it,” Naoko concluded. “Like I said, at first I didn’t believe in you too much, but it wasn’t really because of you. I just didn’t believe in agencies in general, due to my friend’s sister, Momoko-San, and her story. I accepted the risks just because of you. Since our first meeting I believed in you, Produ-San, or at least did my best to, and I’m glad for it now. This payment was the last piece I needed to overcome my fears! Produ-San’s the best!”

  Looking straight to the ceiling fan, Aratani looked more serious than usual. Snapping out of it just to thank her, he got lost again in his head. Soon after Naoko finished explaining her side of how they came to know each other, the young man finally spoke his mind:

  “I didn’t know about that incident with Momoko-San. But yes, although the Idol Star System existed for about eleven years now, the company itself only became a supervising organ of sorts about seven years before, after the acquisition and fusion of two giants of the idol industry. The resulting company, the I.S.S.G., kept the star system-based ranking of the buyer one, but with their combined influence and negotiations with other lesser corporations they were able to create a cartel-like corporation that almost monopolized every single aspect of the market chain, from the agencies and rights acquisition to promotion, production of goods and distribution, and more. The agencies who wanted their female idols to have any screen time and voice, and thus, any chance to be actually lucrative, had to submit. It was a legal and political struggle fought more often than not behind the scenes, and there were a lot of criticisms from the media and other interested parties. They control the female side of the industry, which is also the larger one, to their whims and there are a lot of things that are left to be desired, but… listening to Momoko-San’s story, I’m for once glad we have the I.S.S.G. If it existed back when she got conned maybe her story would’ve been different.”

  Taking his feet off the desk, he asked in an irritated intonation:

  “But to think there are people capable of such things… How are she and her family now?”

  Looking diagonally and up while remembering and inattentively touching her lips with her index finger during the idle moments, she finally answered, uncertain:

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. I mean, she’s fine, but it’s been a while since I last heard from her. She doesn’t live with her parents anymore. I’m aware she got into a good university, but I can’t recall the course. Architecture, I think. But she was doing well in her job. After all, she became really perfectionist and non-reliant on others, like I said.”

  “That’s… a relief,” Aratani said while leaning in, although his frowning told he wasn’t all that relieved, “Though that incident really stained her trust on other people, right?”

  Looking at the concerned and not just a little revolted face of her producer, Naoko rapidly poked his forehead, sending him crashing to his chair’s backrest. She gleefully said:

  “Don’t go all ‘justice hero’ on me now, Produ-San. What, will you be Momoko-San’s lawyer?”

  Unwinding, the man exhaled heavily.

  “Yeah. You’re right. I got a little carried away.” Staring at her, he insisted, “But, Naoko-Chan? Don’t you seem a little too serene? I mean, to be unable to trust other people is a serious matter.”

  “She’s not a little girl anymore. She’ll be fine,” she replied confidently. “If I were to worry about someone, it’d be about her brother, but even then, he’ll be okay. They’re alright now.”

  “What of her brother?” Aratani asked, and the girl, in a way that showed she dismissed it as unimportant, mentioned, “It’s nothing. Just that when I went bid him goodbye and explained him I was coming to Tokyo he got sad. Like, ‘not getting out of his house for anything’ kind of sad. Although he was already introspective to begin with. If it wasn’t for me pestering him during all these years he’d probably not get out of his house as much as he did anyway. And to be sad, that’s to be expected, we were door neighbors since we’re babies. I was sad too. He’ll get over it. Like I said, if I were to worry, it’d be about him, but in practice there’s nothing to worry.”

  With a fixed look to a random point in his desk, Aratani murmured:

  “Hm… I wonder.” Finally lighting up, he completed, “But you’re the one who knows him. If you say he’ll be fine, that wraps it up. Just stay in touch with him, OK? I can feel him. I, for one, would want this kind of trouble not to forget me if I was him.”

  Glaring deep into his cool, unassuming eyes, Naoko slowly stated:

  “You did it again, didn’t you, you slime ball?”

  “Did what?” her producer, clearly trying to push her buttons just for fun, replied serenely.

  “You passed a line on me again! Don’t you dare deny it, you dirty fox!” she explained, knowing all too well he liked to pick on her like an older brother importunes his sister just for kicks. But as much as he feigned to try to seduce her, she also played along, appearing offended just so that he could get his deserved retribution.

  “Me? I’d never do such a thing,” he answered, all the while letting a tiny grin slip. Naoko, standing up lightning-fast, leaned in and slapped him from across the desk mumbling unintelligible words, while her producer, laughing from her inability to hit him, simply protected himself with his forearm. After some time he looked at her with a serious face and pointed out innocently, “Hey, Naoko-Chan? You can thank me later for letting you know this: your hair’s a mess.”

  “Ahhh!” she screamed, starting a fruitless assault one slap at a word, “It’s your fault! And you know it! And… stop… laughing… at… me! You… get… on… my… nerves!”

 

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