Page 18 of Idol Star System Generation: Season 1

  Chapter XVI – Sacrifices

  Naoko was among the first few contestants, so Megumi postponed it until her friend had performed, instead revealing her nightmare’s story to Ayumi so she could understand the interpretation Rin did. There were thirty-two entries and, because of when Aratani signed his idol up for that, Naoko was the fourth to perform while Megumi, being only registered on that morning, was the second to last. It gave them plenty of time to talk after Naoko’s impressive presentation. The contestants were already not all that good to begin with and the girl increased the pressure on her opponents with a solid performance, as good as the first of the day, only without going out of bounds. She excitedly thanked Megumi and Ayumi’s praises, showed gratitude to Aratani’s thumbs up and Onda’s congratulating words and immediately inquired her friend about the nightmare.

  Megumi thought for a second and began retelling:

  “What I’m about to say is… odd even to me, though somehow it makes total sense and helped me overcome my fear of stages. Just… please, please do not to judge me for it. It’s a… very cold-hearted message from my mind, I think, but… Well, here I go. So, Naoko-Chan and Ayumi-Chan remember my nightmare, right? I had three coins, committed a mistake of saying “good evening” instead of “good morning” to a person and lost one coin after the world seemed to turn against me, then I fled, found malnutrition-stricken and burnt people in a dark alley, got surrounded by crawling skeleton-like people, ran away from there stepping over their bodies, lost another coin asking for food, discovered I was eating… human flesh, ran away, tossed my last coin to a crowd of pursuers and before I knew I became a famished skeletal person like everyone else. So far so good? Right. Rin-Chan and I made numerous conjectures as to what everything could mean. I had to tell her many… things that happened to me in the past. I’ll try to summarize it.”

  Recording how the interpretation went, Megumi tried to put it in order:

  “You see, I… my family esteemed me a lot. We’re slightly poor and my parents had to work a lot to make a living. I saw how hard they worked. The first time I noticed it I was eight, I think. I asked for an expensive phone for my birthday. My parents seemed worried, though until then I had no comprehension of how much an average person has to work to live. I always got everything I wanted, not only from my parents but from everyone else, so I didn’t know how to value things. I got another phone, somewhat cheaper than the one I asked for, and for a week I complained about it. I don’t even remember what I said, but in my memory it was harsh. Today I know how much my complaints about it must’ve saddened my parents, because I remember my father, on a given day, said nothing and simply left the dining room while I whined, so as not to hear me anymore. I got infuriated and, after some time criticizing his attitude to my mother, I followed him to his bedroom.” Megumi’s eyes got gradually ashamed and miserable, “When I entered, I surprised him crying. I’ve… never seen him crying before.”

  Though Megumi’s whispers were so low her friends could barely hear her, she still looked embarrassed and constantly glanced to Aratani and Onda to see if they weren’t listening. Naoko and Ayumi already looked startled and sad by hearing just the beginning of her tale, as if resonating with Megumi’s feelings. Though her voice waved as if crying internally, Megumi maintained her face more or less serene, albeit ashamed:

  “Only then, when I made my father unwillingly explain me what made him cry, that I discovered how hard it was for my parents to make a living. Every coin they received was used to pay bills, buy us food and give us a modest shelter. They couldn’t afford to buy me even the cheapest cellphone, but they spent most of their savings to buy me a nice one. It wasn’t the one I wanted, but it was expensive nonetheless. After that I started noticing how much they, and everyone else, sacrificed themselves for me, and how I ungratefully never thanked anyone for anything.”

  Staring at the ceiling, Megumi elaborated ashamedly:

  “If I asked a store owner I knew for ice cream he gave it to me. If a boy picked on me in school I immediately slapped him like fictional girls I admired from movies and shows. I could slap them as much as I wanted as long as they had picked on me first and someone would still reprimand them instead of me. And boys usually picked on me. Now I know it was their way of getting my attention, but back then I had no such comprehension. Worst of all is that I could practically do whatever I wanted and was still praised for it. And since I was… a little smart, I think – I always had very good grades – and the director of my school liked me as a second father, he always protected me even when I was clearly wrong. As for my family… Like I said, we barely made a living, but I was treated like a princess. I was very snobbish, not because I was cruel, but because I was clueless. I didn’t know the meaning of suffering. I acted as if everyone else was nicely treated by others just as I was. To say… that I’m embarrassed by who I was is an understatement.”

  The girl silenced for some time, as if trying to control her emotions. Naoko, surprised, respectfully said:

  “If Megumi-Chan wasn’t the one telling me this, I’d never believe that you’re once like that. Megumi-Chan is perhaps the humblest person I’ve ever met!”

  Smiling, Megumi modestly responded:

  “Thanks, Naoko-Chan. I hardly deserve your words, but thanks. If I… changed to who I am now, it was due to that incident with my father. Well, that and another one. I got desperate by discovering my parents could go bankrupt if they didn’t get enough money every month, so I tried to find ways to help. I didn’t know any way to make money, though. Then, one day I discovered people made wishes in temples by spending money, and some even threw coins away. I knew those coins were for wishes, but at that time I didn’t know the importance of that act. I… knew it was wrong to… take coins away from a temple, but…”

  Facing her staggered friends, Megumi looked down to her legs, appearing in peace with this vexing memory at least, and nodded.

  “Yes, I did that. A few times. I took only a few each time so as not to raise suspicion, and waited for an opportunity while pretending to pray. That temple was between my home and the school I studied at, so I passed in front of it every day. Hence, it wasn’t all that odd for my parents if I lost half an hour along the way. I had planned every detail of it. I was that mischievous. I didn’t tell anyone, but I saved the coins on a secret stash so if my parents ever needed it I could give them. I was very afraid of being discovered doing it, but that also taught me how hard it was to gain even small change.”

  Megumi glanced to her friend just to see if they’re too shocked, but she imagined by their expressions she could at least go on a little more:

  “One afternoon, while I waited for an opportunity to steal more coins, I saw an old woman, the last person on the offering area of the temple, start crying as she wished upon a coin. She took a small, carefully framed picture of a man from her purse and showed it to the altar, but in doing so the poor woman dropped it in such a way that it fell behind the ornamented offering area and she couldn’t take it back. I watched the old lady, who apparently couldn’t even fold her legs, trying to reclaim it for some time. I didn’t want to be noticed, but her pain seemed so much that I eventually came to help her. She was extremely grateful and treated me like an emissary of the spirits who came to her aid. It was the first time I remember I felt really bad for being held in such high regards, when in fact I was just a petty thief back then.”

  Though her friends respectfully shared her pain visibly in their faces, Megumi smiled fondly of her memories instead.

  “She started talking to me as if I was an embodiment of those she prayed for. The old lady had a few… problems, as in… her head, but at that time I didn’t know it. She told me her only son, an honest and hardworking man according to her, had lost his job a few years before and was abandoned by his wife. After all the happiness he gave her, she wiped him clean of what little he had left and he was forced to live on the streets. When she told me that, I was furious by such
injustice. The old lady said that she tried to convince him to go back to his mother’s house, but her son refused every attempt. She revealed she was a poor widow and was desperate to give her son another chance in life. She begged me to intercede in his favor while showing me his photo and ardently gave me the coin she had wished upon, instead of tossing it in the coin offering shrine.”

  Unintentionally Megumi stared at the open palm of her glove as if she could still see the shining object resting on top of it.

  “That coin weighted on me, a thief being confused with a divine entity. I understood the significance of every wish that was bestowed upon all those coins I stole, and the responsibility of helping to ease the pain of that woman and her son felt so overwhelming I cried all night long. Though I thought I needed that money for my parents, the next day I brought my stash to the temple and, when no one was watching, returned every single one of them.”

  Closing her hand and turning her palm down, Megumi continued:

  “Then life came back to normal. For months I pretended I never had that experience, though I was constantly afraid my parents would be evicted from home and starve. I was more concerned about them than I was for me, because for some reason I felt nothing bad could happen to me. I counted my blessings, and they’re many. People still treated me like a princess, and I could still get free ice cream, slap boys from my school and so on if I wanted. But I also discovered myself for the first time not wanting to do those things.”

  With a more serious mien Megumi declared:

  “I liked the store owner, and when I discovered he didn’t magically produced all the ice cream he gave me, but had to buy if from someone else, I got suddenly afraid he got bankrupt. The first time I slapped a boy after that fateful meeting with that old lady I remembered her talking about her son. More precisely, about his ex-wife, who after being treated with love for years, stole all his possessions when he got unemployed and dumped him. That was very unfair and she was awfully ungrateful… just like I was with my father when he bought me that phone. And many other things before that. I was also ungrateful with everyone else. The instant I slapped that boy for something so trivial I can’t even remember the reason, I already knew what would happen: the teacher would blame him for doing something much bigger than he really did just because I overreacted like always. Since I always did that and teachers protected me, the boys didn’t even bother trying to explain themselves anymore, so they’re promptly punished. And it really happened. That time I talked with my father that night and asked why so many boys picked on me for apparently no reason, and he explained me: boys at that age didn’t know how to get the attention of girls they liked, and commonly resorted to pestering to get their attention. Especially if they’re scared of rejection and weren’t used to get the attention of others, the way I was. When I realized they meant the opposite of what they did I recognized how unfair I was. I got afraid one day I became a cold-hearted woman just like the ex-wife of the son of that old lady. I stopped hitting boys.”

  Hear that was especially heartwarming for Naoko, who always had many male friends, was fond of boys in general and knew well how girls could be as cruel to them as they said boys were to girls. Megumi’s retelling of her change of heart got Naoko and Ayumi hooked to her story. The humble idol, looking at the performing competitors at the stage without really seeing them, continued in whispers:

  “Little by little I changed my old habits. Of course, I stopped stealing, but that old lady told everyone in the temple about me as if I was some messenger from spiritual worlds beyond, and people got an interest in me. A few even remembered seeing me “praying” a few times before, which got old people from my neighborhood proud of what they thought to be a religious and correct child. I started to be invited to talk every time I passed in front of the shrine, which was every day. I was very embarrassed, but I accepted to talk. Old people seemed to need someone to hear them, and I felt so guilty it was my way of trying to repay them. As usual, they grew fond of me, started complimenting me and bringing me candies and other small tokens of affection. Before I changed, I would’ve gladly accepted all that, but after I did, it felt wrong. I didn’t deserve what others thought about me, though the only way I found of alleviating my guilty was to pay them back for their kindness. In doing so, however, people liked me even more, praised me even more, it made me feel even more guilty of stealing and of being so ungrateful, and I tried even harder to keep up to everyone’s expectations. Rin-Chan helped me notice that I was trapped in guilty. I still am, I think, though now I know it.”

  Turning her face to her friends, her eyes got slightly sad again.

  “My guilt drastically increased months after I met that old woman. From time to time I saw her there, and every time I did I felt bad for her. Her son was still unemployed and living under the stars. She looked more desperate by each passing day. She had given me that coin, believing I could do miracles, and her wish was yet to be fulfilled. One day I was invited to talk to the old people at the temple like usual and someone invited me to pray for her soul. When I asked why they told me she had died.” Sighing, Megumi closed her eyes and lowered her face so that the brim of her beret covered them, “Not just died. She had… committed suicide. She… jumped in front of a car so that her son got the insurance money from her death. It was… all that was left for that poor woman to do for her only son.”

  Taking off one of her gloves, Megumi carefully removed the water from her eyes before it overflowed and ruined her makeup made by Naoko. With their mouth agape, her friends exchanged shocked looks, though Megumi had her face lowered and thankfully couldn’t see it.

  “They told me that old woman had brain cancer and not only couldn’t pay for decent treatment, but there was little hope of recovery and only a few months left for her to live, according to the doctors. It contributed for her to do what she did, but… in my mind… it was clearly my fault too. I wasn’t… able to keep up to her expectations and… make the wish from that coin she gave me… come true. I… was devastated. From that point onwards I dedicated my life to preventing things like that from happening ever again. Of course… I was frustrated by reality. Bad things happen all the time. It’s as Aratani-San one said: I can’t help everyone all the time. But even knowing that, I can’t help myself but trying anyway. Everything that spells suffering for others pains me to no end. Even if it is against non-human animals.”

  “So that’s why Megumi-Chan is a vegetarian?” Naoko rhetorically asked, obviously knowing it was, though to her surprise Megumi said, “Hum… In part. Actually, while I do condone animal killings, I… admit I like meat. And in nature animals eat other animals. I hate how human beings imprison and murder poor animals for food, but... well, let’s say I sometimes slip back to eating meat. I’m not very good at being a vegetarian. In reality I’m vegetarian mostly because of another… thing that occurred… but that’s another story. The thing is, the older I got, the more I could do for others, the more I was praised and the guiltier I felt. Thus, the more I tried to do for others again. I developed… what Rin-Chan called “a keen sense for the sufferings and the shortages of other people”, and I couldn’t have summarized it better.”

  Turning to her friends, she commented:

  “When Naoko-Chan compliments me, I know you mean well, but it just reminds me of all the people who are not as fortunate as me. Some people never get any praise and no one seems to care for them, while I am lucky enough to have many people flattering me and doing everything they can to see me happy. It is unfair. I feel bad for others. I… feel embarrassed when someone says I’m pretty… because that’s one of those blessings I did nothing to deserve. Unless you believe in accumulating graces along many lives, but although I believe in a few religious things, I tend not to explain things I see based on that. To me some people were simply fortunate and others not, but to be complimented on something I didn’t do anything to deserve is… I feel it’s just like when I got my cellphone without deserving it. It’s
… a double-edged thing. I know I can… hurt people, unwillingly or not… and it… scares me a little. It’s… odd. I don’t know if I’m being confusing here.”

  While Ayumi silently listened, Naoko couldn’t keep herself from agreeing:

  “In this sense we’re similar, though for different reasons. But I can relate to that. My father used to censor me for the compliments I received from others. They’re generally based on appearance or on my personality, both of which things I have little control over. So… I used to feel bad for being complimented, and was praised even when trying to hide myself under casual and low-profile clothes. In fact, I’m only fine now because I’m here in Tokyo. I feel if I go back home like this, in platform boots, with a fancy white dress and such, I’ll probably feel terrible again. Aratani-San used to mock my taste of clothes back when we met. Not to mention… I can understand when you say your prettiness can unwillingly bring pain to others. It’s a twisted logic, but I know how it is to feel bad about having a supposedly positive trait.”

  Ayumi’s eyes seemed reflexive as ice and distant for a moment. The girl came back from deep thoughts but preferred not to manifest them, instead waiting for Megumi to proceed, which she did humbly and concernedly:

  “I’m thankful it’s relatable. Not everyone is capable of understanding it, unfortunately or not. Some say it just false modesty and concealed vanity. To make it worse, some compliments I receive are… over the top.” Hesitating, she explained, “One homeless person that used to go to the temple I frequent went as far as to nickname me… err… “Megami”. According to him, based on my appearance, kindness and because I was always seen on a temple. Now many homeless people I visit when I distribute the donations the shrine receives call me that way. I get it’s something of a joke and shows respect and gratitude… and I know they think deep down it should make me happy. I just… can’t feel it. They don’t know how much pressure I feel when the call me “Goddess”. It’s as if I… revived that day that old woman put the coin she wished upon between my hands instead of in the offering area. I feel like it’s a praise that comes with an expectation I’ll never be able to… to… Well, you get it. I’m no goddess, I’m as mortal as the people that call me that. And just as powerless too.”

  She put her glove back on and looked at her hands. With a serious face, she humbly told:

  “I knew I seek power when I looked for an idol position. Being famous, having money, having a legion of fans… it holds social power, no matter if I didn’t want to admit it. Though I thought I sought this power for others. Just for others.” She clenched her fists, looking burdened, “However, as always, I was wrong. Rin-Chan, through my nightmare, showed me that. I didn’t seek this power for others. I did so for myself.”

  This time Megumi shocked her friends so much that even Ayumi, who was quiet until then, questioned, “What?! For… you? B-but… Megumi-Chan, what about… all you said about the homeless people?!”

  Megumi glimpsed to her friend with a pair of tired eyes from below the beret brim.

  “I care for them. I care for them more than I care for myself. That’s the problem: I care for everyone else more than I care for myself. That’s what that nightmare was telling me,” she breathed loudly, her face not really sad but disappointed, “Since I was eight I’m constantly worried about others. All I do is calculated so as not to hurt anybody and help everyone I can so I don’t feel guilty. It so overwhelming that my mind is not at peace even when I sleep. If I receive a compliment I feel bad for every person in the world who wouldn’t have the same luck as me to earn that praise. When I help others, all I want is that this guilt go away.”

  Her eyes got progressively filled with sorrow and disgust from whatever was occurring inside her mind.

  “The guilt of being… who I am. Of not having the problems other people have. Of knowing I can be ungrateful like I was in the past and people would still like me. Of knowing they would still want to be around me, and trying to push them away would only make them suffer even more. In my nightmare, it was represented by me being surrounded by people in a dark alley. As they crawled around me, I got so horrified by the weak, destitute beggars I ran away, even if it meant trampling some of them. I just want this maddening guilt to end. But it never fades away. I always wished something happened and all the problems of the world were solved… but, as my nightmare and Rin-Chan showed me, it is just because if no one else had problems, I wouldn’t feel guilty anymore. I can’t even begin to describe how much I worry about it. I even… I hate to admit it, but Rin-Chan helped me realize I went as far as to… to envy those who can ignore the suffering of others. In the end, to live a life trying to appease everyone is … maddening. For more than half of my life, no matter how short it’d been so far, I lived as if… caged. Restrained by guilty. Trapped in madness. I want power to help others, yes, but ultimately all I want with that is relief. I want to be free from my guilt.”

  Megumi slid slightly in her seat and took away her beret to run her fingers through her silky and lustrous black hair. This unconscious act was noticed by her concerned friends because the girl forcefully clasped a tuft as if she wanted to pluck it out from her head along with her problems. Naoko tenderly held her friend’s hand and caressed it. Her fingers slowly loosened up and Naoko was able to take Megumi’s hand away from her hair while the girl ashamedly stated:

  “I would trade all the money and fame of the world for being once again at peace. Not like I was when I was a kid, though! I was irresponsible, unfair and unthankful. No, I… know I learned many valuable things through these years. To respect others, to work hard, to be loyal, to… be thankful… and not being arrogant… Many things I wish to keep. But… I just wanted it to stop. If I wasn’t so thankless and insensitive back then I wouldn’t have forced my family to buy me an expensive cellphone and nothing would’ve happened. Now I live every day of my life as if any wish other people have that I leave unfulfilled will ultimately lead someone to… jump in front of a car or something because I’m incapable of helping others and paying them back for their kindness, adding to my guilt. I’m sorry… Naoko-Chan, Ayumi-Chan… for having caused so much trouble to all of you.” Megumi’s face looked very sad and ashamed, “Trouble is all I ever cause to others, anyway.”

  Ayumi and Naoko rapidly exchanged concerned looks, and the girl with glasses objected:

  “That is not true, Megumi-Chan. Like you said, no matter what others think about you, you’re just human. You can only do so much for others.”

  “Ayumi-Chan is right! Megumi-Chan is too harsh with herself!” Naoko added, “You can’t blame yourself for being unable to do everything other people think you need to do or to be! I know it’s not fair what happened to that old woman’s son and it’s awfully sad the fate she had, but you can’t carry this burden! You’re no goddess, no angel, no nothing! You’re not what she thought you were and you don’t have to pretend you are! My father expected me to be different somehow and that alone already made me have horrible arguments in my house, it must truly be maddening to be expected by everyone to help them all! What, are people really that stupid to throw all of their burdens on the back of a girl?”

  Megumi relaxed her countenance. Sitting straight again, she denied it with a smile:

  “No. People aren’t like that. I’m sorry if I made it sound like others are constantly expecting things from me. I thought that to be the case until I talked with Rin-Chan, but then she showed me it is actually me. I’m the one who thinks that’s the case. I’m the one who thinks I need to surpass everyone’s expectations so as to pay for the kindness I feel I undeservedly receive from the others. The problem is not in the people around me. It is all mine.”

  While Ayumi’s eyes glowed with a sudden comprehension that appeared to ease her mind, Naoko continued looking troubled and asked:

  “Did… Rin-Chan really told you this? That the problem is yours?”

  Noticing Naoko seemed frustrated when mentioning her friend, Megumi e
xplained:

  “It’s not like that, Naoko-Chan. The way you say it, it’s as if what you understood from Rin-Chan’s words was that it didn’t matter everyone expected things from me, it’s my problem. In fact it’s the other way around: I feel guilty and do things for others. Eventually people come to understand I do whatever I can for them and come to expect it, but I’m the one creating this bad habit on the others. Sure, they look at me and maybe think I’m… good in some sense, but it is I who constantly try to look for whatever the others think of positive about me, feel I don’t deserve those thoughts, feel ashamed for receiving something I don’t deserve, try my best to deserve it and, in doing so, end up trying to surpass expectations other people probably didn’t even have to begin with, though they come to have after I do something for them. Those expectations and the undeserving kindness are all in my head! You see, Rin-Chan’s explanation gave me what I searched for a long time: a way out of this craziness! Because if I’m the one responsible for feeding the expectations of others, I can also stop doing it and be free! I was my worst enemy, possibly the only one, this whole time! I was the one leading myself astray.”

  Only then, with comprehension sparkling in her eyes, Naoko understood what Rin meant. Ayumi, who appeared to have grasped it a while back, went further:

  “So let me see if I understood. Megumi-Chan feared being highly regarded by others because she transformed it into guilty of undeserved merit and kindness and created expectations for yourself in order to “pay back” the gentleness you received. That expectation weighted on you and you feared not being able to accomplish it. This fear was the one that prevented you from performing on stages. Is it?”

  Ayumi’s keen mind left Naoko awestruck. Megumi, also surprised, confirmed:

  “Ayumi-Chan managed to summarize it in a way even I wasn’t! I got to say Ayumi-Chan is exceptionally intelligent! Yes, that’s exactly it. Picture it: if I felt encumbered by expectations I imagined one person could have, multiply it by the number of people looking at me on a stage. Also, judges were really evaluating me, so I thought I had to surpass their high expectations, and the way I should do so was by defeating every other contestant. At the same time I felt it would make them suffer, so I felt like it was an extremely egotistical thing to do. I had to win, but at the same time I couldn’t win. It was a deadlock that appeared impossible to overcome. Rin-Chan solved it with ease, though, by pointing that my nightmare told me this stalemate came from my own expectations for myself. I was the one feeling unworthy. Hence, I felt I never deserved anything good the others could possibly think about me, and tried to pay them back for their undeserved generosity, least I could imaginarily provoke bad things like my parents starving or that old lady killing herself.”

  Thinking about it for a second, Megumi inquired:

  “Though I said the results of the interpretation, I didn’t say nothing about my nightmare, now that I recall, right? I and Rin-Chan discussed it a lot and there are many nuances to each element in my dream, but I’ll keep to the most important aspects. Briefly it goes like this: I had those three coins, which represented my remaining energy, will to act, sanity, time or whatever important thing I had depending on the context. When I committed a mistake by wishing that person a good evening rather than a good morning, the world seemed to become scary for a second to represent how I see people every time I feel I failed them or didn’t meet expectations. As if the man gave me something good by knowing and liking me and I dismissed him or responded poorly to him. An undeserved kindness, if you will. I lost a coin because, like the coins of the temple, I wished that wasn’t true and wasted my energy finding ways to set things right. I lost, like usual, so much time worrying that, in my nightmare, I got distracted looking around for the coin I knew I had lost forever. As if I’m constantly trying to find ways to correct those mistakes from my past, even though I know I’ll never be eight years-old again. Time just passed and will never come back, so I’m on a fool’s errand by trying to correct the past rather than my current situation.”

  While Naoko was as intrigued as Ayumi appeared to be, it seemed absurd that a small part of a nightmare could have so many details. It’s hard to say if the mind was really as mysterious and powerful like that, capable of crafting amazing stories without the person even being fully aware of it, or it was just Rin’s imagination that was too fertile. Anyway, if it made sense to Megumi, and it appeared so, Naoko was more than happy to go with it.

  “I lost time and found myself in a dark alley full of charred and famished people that surrounded me, crawling around. Their charred appearances suggested they were so desperate they could go as far as to cook one another to eat. I already said it represented me thinking so many people adored me no matter what I did, and I could hurt them if I was not careful, but at the same time they were so hungry they could even try to eat me. That represented how I portrayed the expectations of others that drained me of my energies. To flee from those expectations I had to hurt people, though only because I was the one who committed the mistake of going into the dark alley in the first place. I was the one who created those expectations and put myself at a dead end every time.”

  Putting her beret back, the humble girl shook her head slightly so as to force horrible reminiscences away and continued explaining:

  “I paid another coin for a steak. Now, I’m a vegetarian. I love meat, but I try not to eat it because of a thing that happened a few years ago involving poor animals. Let’s just say I feel bad just remembering it. It… was my fault. Rin-Chan even went as far as to say I most likely have some other issues that manifest in the form of food. I want to be a nutritionist, after all. In her opinion it has something to do with me wanting to nourish people, though she said it was hard to say since she’d just met me and dropped that reflection. I thought it was intriguing, though! I still want to talk to Rin-Chan again about this and other things! But I digress. In my nightmare I discovered the steak was a part of the sad attendant’s arm I paid for in hopes I never came to be like those impoverished people. It meant someone always had to pay something for my delusions. I wasn’t the benefactress I painted myself to be since I expected something in return from every person I helped.”

  Megumi stopped, blushing and appearing too embarrassed to say what it was, so Ayumi, pondering, answered it for her friend:

  “Devotion,” Naoko, raising an eyebrow, inquired, “Devotion? By giving her a piece of the person’s own arm? Why? If you said you’re talking about that strange I.S.S.G.’s category when you were fleeing from the skeletons I’d comprehend. Like, Crowd Control… and stomping monsters… err… people that attacked her. Things like that. This would’ve made more sense to me.”

  “I… don’t follow this logic,” Ayumi retorted shyly, and Naoko dismissed it, “Never mind that, “Crowd Control” is used in video game jargon to talk about attacks, techniques or ways someone, almost always the player, has to destroy mobs of enemies or force them to do things you want. Forget it. So, what’s with the devotion thing with the steak guy? Is what Ayumi-Chan said correct, Megumi-Chan?”

  Ashamedly, Megumi confirmed:

  “Y-yes. It is. What that man did was an offering. He gave his own flesh in exchange for something. It’s… hum…”

  The girl quieted down again. Ayumi, one more time, got the humble and embarrassed girl covered, explaining the meaning of that:

  “Remember Megumi’s nickname is “Megami”? A “Goddess” receives offerings from mortals to intercede for them. She probably had expectations, did whatever that was and expected some kind of retribution from the others, as if they were to devote something to her in return.”

  Seeing Naoko’s confused and startled face, Megumi was quick to whisper:

  “That was the way my mind found to tell me that the noble reasons I had for helping others also included something I wanted in return! Rin-Chan explained me people’s minds don’t care if what they think is immoral, if it gets the message delivered, so be it! So I… hu
h… I’m ashamed of this, but it showed me important things. Also, it’s meat, something I love but force myself not to eat. O-of course, not human flesh! Just other kinds of meat! In my nightmare it represents desires I have, but which I don’t manifest, and those desires are for that retribution the others would give to me after I “paid” them with my attempts to surpass the expectations I thought they had. This retribution I seek is peace of mind. I sacrifice myself for others, though deep down I want them to do the same for me. To make it look like everything is alright so I don’t feel guilty anymore, even if in reality things are not alright and they’re suffering.” Megumi looked down, “I… told Naoko-Chan and Ayumi-Chan it was a cold-hearted message…”

  Completely lost, Naoko reluctantly almost agreed, but Ayumi timidly contested it:

  “I… may not be you and my diverging opinion may not matter on this subject, but I don’t think it as a cold-hearted message. From what little I gather, Megumi-Chan’s mind is not telling her to expect things from others, but rather warning her that’s the way she is currently acting. Truthfully, Megumi-Chan’s nightmare seems to be scary exactly because of things you’re doing wrong. You are the one creating those atrocities, just like you said you’re the one producing the expectations that ultimately make your life painful, am I correct? To me it almost feels like your mind is not advocating that you do these things, on the contrary. It’s trying to scare you away from these habits and show you, in a roundabout way, that your acts, though good, have bad consequences. I could be wrong here, though. Even then, I don’t think a message telling you to expect others to give you some respite from your worries is a cold-hearted one.”

  Flushed but glad, Megumi smiled gratefully.

  “Thank you, Ayumi-Chan. Your words… are really appreciated. That was what Rin-Chan told me too, though I’m still trying to fully comprehend it. What I can say is that the message on the last part of my nightmare appeared more uplifting, informative and less cold-hearted to me despite the appearance it got there being terrifying, so I like it better. Basically when I fled from the restaurant, a group of poor, famished people tried to rush me. I could face them without a problem, but I didn’t want to hurt them, so I ran and tossed my last coin so as to prevent them from reaching me, but in doing so I became one of them. A person without coins that begged and was kicked around by those who had. Horrible imagery, but the meaning of it is that if I keep doing what I do, believing I need to repay others for kindness I don’t think I deserve and expecting me to do impossible things for everyone, I’ll eventually lose my time, my will, my way in life, my hope… everything. I’ll be the one wishing for a miracle.”

  “How is that supposed to be uplifting?!” Naoko asked in disbelief. It unwantedly made her friends laugh, and Megumi joyfully admitted:

  “Naoko-Chan has a point! Though, in reality, the uplifting aspect of it is that it’s a warning of things that aren’t real… yet, at least. Things I can change. I was afraid of facing those people fearing it would hurt them, but they didn’t represent people. Rather, they represent my fears and my expectations. I’m afraid of hurting others by not attending to their expectations, but in fact it is not theirs. It is mine. Comprehending I am the one who creates my phantoms eased my fear of stages, and I think once I fully understand why I don’t feel worthy of being positively regarded by others I think I’ll be free! Of course I still want to see others be happy, but if I’m free I might be able to do so in a healthier way.”

  For some time the trio ceased the talk, as if the conversation was over. Naoko found all of that to be fascinating, though very complicated. She needed some time to chill out. Ayumi, on the other hand, contemplated the mystery for a long time and eventually spoke in whispers out of nowhere:

  “Perhaps it’s not a matter of feeling unworthy of praise and esteem. Perhaps you fear the lack of limits imposed by people who liked and admired Megumi-Chan. You said you were treated like a princess and could do anything, right? Perhaps you fear the lack of limits would make you hurt people you also like. Just like you did to your family, who love you, but did everything you wanted to the point of spending their savings on a cellphone for you. Maybe Megumi-Chan fears not being responsible enough to enjoy the freedom the other give to you without misusing it?”

  At first Naoko officially gave up understanding it, but she surprisingly comprehended the part about Megumi being treated like a princess when she was a kid. Even now the girl said she knew that if she did some bad things people would still stay by her side. It made sense that she feared she could hurt those she loved. It was the way she acted to Aratani and everyone who helped her. While Megumi was still trying to figure it all out Naoko immediately replied:

  “Wow, Ayumi-Chan! It makes sense! It’s like how she fears to fail Aratani-San, me, you, Onda-San and everyone who supports her! Who supports her… Hey! It is also the way she talks about her own producer, now that I think about it! Doesn’t Megumi-Chan constantly says her producer was too kind to give her seven attempts? Maybe she thinks this supposed lack of… How did you put it? Lack of limits! Maybe she fears this supposed lack of limits is what can make her hurt those she like if she isn’t careful enough!”

  Little by little Megumi’s eyes shifted from confusion to a state of enlightenment. The girl, in whispers, murmured to herself, pondering:

  “Perhaps… if I fear to hurt people I love like I did to my father back then, when I unknowingly asked something he couldn’t afford to buy… but he bought me what he could… then it’d be reasonable for me to fear a lack of limits…”

  “Wait!” Ayumi startled her friends with a sharp interruption, “Megumi-Chan, I just noticed it: you said you unknowingly required your father something he couldn’t do and he sacrificed his savings to purchase what he could. Isn’t that exactly the same as you did and still do? Someone gives you a coin expecting something impossible, and still you burden yourself trying to find a way to do that! Your producer gives you a chance at being an idol and you expect nothing less than winning every audition without making anyone sad. Aren’t you… like…”

  “Repeating the same mistakes from my parents!” Megumi comprehended it abruptly. She automatically stood up from her chair as if she’d received an electric shock from her seat. Bringing her gloved right hand to her forehead, the girl spoke to herself in whispers as if she didn’t even notice she was still on an auditorium, “I… remember that after I discovered I could’ve bankrupted my family I decided I’d do anything to repay my debt to them! I think it was the first time I ever considered having a debt! From there I started worrying about the store owner’s debt and the ones I had with the boys and… That’s it! I was trying to do to my family and to those I loved the same sacrifices my parents did to me at that time!... In the nightmare I think Rin-Chan and I found something about my reticence of becoming like those skeletal people, a group who groveled around other people’s feet, meaning they did every whim the others wanted! I was afraid of becoming that, but my parents and many other people did that to me, and in repaying them… in “giving coins”… I ended up just like them at the end of the nightmare! In fact, I do the same mistakes my parents did by trying to do more than they could!”

  She stood almost a minute in silence, thinking while still standing, before resuming her whispers:

  “And that part of the meat… about something I want, but that I don’t let myself do because it can hurt others? That’s what I fear, isn’t it? I want things from others, like I wanted that cellphone, but my parents practically had to… to pay with sweat and blood, to spend what they couldn’t, like… if they really paid with their flesh for it! The attendant looked very sad too, just like… my father after I complained about my gift so much! Maybe… maybe I’m even punishing myself for making my father cry like that! What is unquestionable is that I’m mirroring with others that same lack of limits my parents, in the best of intentions, did to me! Only now I’m the one trying to please everyone around me by doing the most outrageous ex
pectations my mind can muster up! It’s as if… I… Hum… It’s as if I expected to prove them I’m sorry by… or maybe I’m trying to learn to impose limits to myself that weren’t imposed by the others… Or… Well, anyway, I’m forcing myself to do impossible things for the others when they haven’t even requested so much, and being ashamed by failing. As if I… was stuck being a guilty kid…”

  The girl suddenly noticed she was standing and her two friends along with their producers stared at her, quietly respecting her meditation. Blushing, Megumi sat down in a hurry, thankful for not having been interrupted but almost even more thankful for sitting on the last row of seats, by the wall on the back of the auditorium. Just the idol at the stage could possibly have seen her, but Megumi was too excited with her discovery to care about that.

  Right until the last minute before being called to the stage she was silent and reflexive. Naoko started to worry her friend would not be focused for her presentation. She only briefly asked once to Megumi “Do you think you’re okay to climb on the stage?” and her friend confidently nodded before returning to her contemplation, so Naoko had nothing to do but trust her. At least Megumi looked radiant and entertained in her deep thoughts.

  “Next contestant, Kobayashi Megumi,” a man in his late forties, wearing a wine-colored tuxedo, announced through the microphone from his seat by the judge’s table. The girl raised her face, her eyes staring the auditorium as if she had just waked from a dream. She stood up calmly. At first it seemed like she wasn’t even interested in the audition anymore, as if she was happy and had already obtained what she wanted, though it only lasted for a moment. Naoko looked troubled and Ayumi quietly observed her tall friend stand up. Megumi, reading their faces, smiled and, with an appreciative and humble attitude, but for the first time not unnecessarily humble, she tranquilized them:

  “Ayumi-Chan and Naoko-Chan seem worried. Please don’t. I’m readier than ever. This conversation didn’t ruin my focus, I swear. It helped me get rid of useless obstacles in my mind, or at least start to do it! Your help was immense! I’ll do my best – what is humanly possible for me to do – to show it to you all.” Bowing, she added in a higher voice so that Aratani and Onda could also hear her, “Thank you, everyone.”

  Her reaction eased Naoko’s worries somehow, though she couldn’t quite explain why. As Megumi treaded down the ramp that conducted to the stage, Naoko glanced over to Ayumi. Nodding as if understanding something, the Wood idol stared back to her friend, noticing the confusion in her face.

  “I’m happy that Megumi-Chan looks glad, but did Ayumi-Chan get what happened for her to be this way?” Naoko quizzed, looking lost, “From what I can understand she just discovered she committed the same mistakes her parents did. Her parents didn’t impose limits to her so she has to impose them to herself and didn’t learn to do it to others. So?”

  “It’s more than that,” with a serene countenance Ayumi responded, turning her head to the stage while the lights of the room shimmered on her glasses, “From what I can grasp, Megumi-Chan understood she was probably punishing herself for what she did to her parents. It wasn’t just about making her father cry: she really believed if she asked too many things her parents would do what she wanted and end up bankrupt and starving. As such, she’d also suffer. It’s as if her spontaneity and desires could doom herself along with the others. So she didn’t impose limits to do what others asked as a way to unknowingly repent for that, and as a way to limit herself.”

  Seeing the girl step on the stage and hold the microphone calmly but firmly, standing a few seconds in silence as if organizing her mind, Ayumi hurried to explain the rest:

  “Either this or she looked for ways to show herself she had learned to be responsible and that the fear of destroying those she loved was no longer an issue. It’s not just a matter of “learning” to impose limits to expectations of others, or the expectations she thought others would have for her. Maybe all she wanted was a definitive proof of her valor as a person who can help others instead of ruining their lives. Megumi-Chan seems this concerned about the power she has, for whatever reason, over many. To be called a goddess, even if by joke, probably shows how much some people let her influence them. It scared her until now. From what I feel, she understood the expectations she imposed to herself were limits she artificially created for her so she didn’t go over the top and ruined someone’s life, or her own.”

  As her song started and Aratani got back to capturing videos discreetly, Ayumi stopped talking, though Naoko was still puzzled and, drawing closer to her friend, whispered:

  “Let’s suppose that’s the case. That her parents loved her so much, that she was very sociable, that her arguably stunning appearance captivated everyone to the point where many wouldn’t dare to do something she disliked just so they could continue to be by her side or that for whatever reason people don’t limit her behaviors. So she understood that if she’s not responsible she can hurt others because people are far too lenient and don’t fend for themselves. I still don’t get why she seems suddenly so… peaceful.”

  Evaluating Megumi’s performance while thinking about Naoko’s question, Ayumi said:

  “My theory is that she’s appeased because she understood what’s the reason for her to unwillingly create those expectations that burdened her: to limit herself in order not to hurt others. Those limiting expectations were her creations, but she couldn’t even tell it: for a long time she thought it was something that came from the others. In a sense her mind conjured what she always wanted: limits coming from the others. Only it was nothing more than an illusion, and one she outgrew. The thing is, Megumi-Chan is not an eight year-old anymore. She said that. Those years of penance matured her into a respectful, caring and humble lady. It’s already part of her now, she’ll not go back to being a spoilt and insensible princess.”

  Ayumi turned her face to Naoko, so close they were in order to whisper as low as possible that her glasses almost rubbed her friend’s nose:

  “From what I can tell, she understood it. Hence, there’s no need for her mind to keep fabricating limiting fantasies now that she’s responsible and knows how not to ruin the lives of others. If she comprehended all of this like I think she did, her fear of herself, the one Megumi-Chan said to be her worst enemy, most likely subsided. Because of it she’s no longer burdened by fabricated limiting beliefs and expectations.”

  Turning again to the performing girl, Ayumi concluded:

  “What she said to thank us before leaving, about doing her best, what is humanly possible anyway, most likely mean that her head stopped creating false limits in the form of expectations since her fears of herself were mitigated. That’s what Megumi-Chan wanted, from what I gather: to unchain herself and go beyond the limits her fears forced her to create. I think she found her freedom, or at least started to find it.”

  Naoko didn’t know if she was more amazed by Megumi’s serendipity and realization or by Ayumi’s empathy and razor-sharp intellect. Apparently only her and Rin could make sense in the mess of nightmarish revelations and cast light on overly convoluted mental processes of a person they still barely knew. Of course Ayumi relied on the information Rin had already unearthed, but the way she gave it a logical explanation as if assembling apparently disconnected pieces of a jigsaw puzzle to compose a beautiful image was awe-inspiring. Naoko thought about asking her how she could have such a brilliant mind, but Megumi’s performance was already half way through and deserved some attention.

  It made Naoko feel happy, but a little useless. She could only be thankful to have met Ayumi. Without her help Megumi would most likely not have reached the conclusions she did since Naoko alone would be clueless as to what was happening. In reality, if she hasn’t met either Ayumi or Rin things would’ve probably not have turned the way they did. In a sense it was just like Miwa and Shiori: without Miwa Naoko would’ve probably never have become friends with Shiori – or with practically anyone else, for that matter. And since Shi
ori was the main reason Naoko got so interested in Ayumi at first, without the photographer by her side she would’ve probably never have met Ayumi too. Not to mention if it wasn’t for Harumi and Sakura, Naoko would’ve most likely never have dreamed about creating a group of friends to support each other in the idol industry, and Ayumi would probably not be watching Megumi’s performance at that occasion.

  This thought sent shivers down Naoko’s spine. If anything had been different, if even one person hadn’t been met, the consequences could’ve been disastrous, just like pulling a card from the bottom of a house of cards. While Rin and Ayumi had managed to piece together the mental jigsaw puzzle of Megumi, Naoko gradually came to understand she had also played an important part in that process by aligning a true human constellation. If any star was missing the final shape would probably be incomplete. Moved, she realized she hadn’t been so useless to that miracle after all.

  And it looked like a miracle. Megumi, who just one week before was paralyzed on a stage and ran away in tears, seemed another person entirely. She projected her voice unabashedly in such a way that even without a microphone her friends would’ve listened to her from the back of the room. She stared back at the judges without evading eye contact, and though her song wasn’t cheerful enough to justify smiles, she posed, nodded and gestured to the examination board. Her choreography, while simple in terms of movements, was unrestrictedly heartfelt.

  She sang that blues as if telling a story. An encouraging story of a somewhat poor person who, despite hardships of a scary world, struggled to survive, even if committing some mistakes in the process. A person who fought to keep his or her humanity and dreams alive while pursuing happiness. Naoko only then came to realize that song Megumi insisted on singing didn’t just illustrate the reality of the homeless people. Maybe not even knowing, Megumi was singing about herself too. Perhaps that was the reason why she sang a song she had learned just a few days before as if had always been a favorite of her through her entire life.

  Her execution was incredible, and while her dancing was simple, it had meaning. Along with Naoko and a few others, the girl was among the prettiest idols in that auditorium, but that seemed secondary to the emotional message she professed.

  Truth to be said, her mind still seemed full of thoughts that hadn’t settled down, so she lost a few dancing cues. In a simple choreography with not so many moves, to flop even one was a big problem, and the girl, still not used to stages, looked stiff on it. Her arms seemed free, though her legs didn’t move as much and were too close to one another, though it appeared to be more due to habit than to shyness. Her voice also started to tremble at the end, as if she was about to cry while singing the last chorus. Her movements were also not very well-trained, though it was comprehensible: she had just three days of practice, and only a few hours on each night to practice, tops.

  The only real problem was that, during one movement, her shaky hand, too moved not to tremble, dropped the microphone, making a loud noise. That was because Megumi held it with unspeakable elegance, though only using two fingers and her thumb, as if tenderly holding a flower. The girl humbly caught it back and continued singing normally, unfazed. It was a serious flaw that would most likely produce a penalty and almost caused Naoko a heart attack, though Megumi’s calm reaction to it alleviated the mistake somehow. Not enough to calm her friends – even Aratani instinctively raised from his seat as that happened – but it minimized the fault a bit.

  Though she still had a lot to improve, her face was serene and confidence oozed out of her. Despite a few flaws, including one major mistake, Megumi was a sight to behold. Her maturity was evident and had a magnetic charm. Naoko knew she would be devastated if that mic drop cost her friend the qualification, though somehow Megumi seemed not to appear too concerned. She was doing her best, after all. That was all she could do and she was happy by it. Though it would be sad if it happened, her smooth reaction filled Naoko with joy. That was the proof Naoko wanted to see that her friend was okay. She hadn’t reacted in a frightened or embarrassed way. Megumi had truly overcome her fears and broken free of her shackles. Her stage persona wasn’t even a mask, but her genuine self, still in need of practice but having transcended the limits that kept it from shining for half of her life.

  As it came to a conclusion, the girl bowed to the judges and walked out of the stage with large, free steps, looking deeply moved by her song but otherwise untroubled. Detecting anxiety in the faces of the producers and her friends, she looked down and bowed, apologizing:

  “I’m sorry for dropping the microphone. My fingers were shaking.” She smiled for a moment, “I did my best! Though I don’t know if it’ll be enough.”

  Aratani, still holding his phone and playing the video he just captured to see if it worked, commented, a bit worried but not as much as the others:

  “If Megumi-San didn’t drop the mic I’d say it would have been more than enough for you to qualify. It’ll probably cost you many points and a penalty, though, so I don’t know if you’ll make it among the first five places, but even then, I don’t think that’s a big concern anymore. Your performance was solid per se. Coupled with the fact that you’re performing a song and a choreography you had little time to practice, wearing an outfit you’re still uncomfortable in and having apparently many things on your head right now, it’s safe to assume your producer will be proud of you and will want you back. Of course, if you still qualified it’d seal the deal, no questions asked, and it’ll be a pity if you don’t just because of a mistake you can practice not to commit. For heaven’s sake, girl, don’t you ever hold a microphone with just the tips of two fingers and your thumb, especially when doing a movement! I’m still a bit shocked that it happened, but I don’t think your producer will reject you just because of a mistake. I don’t know her, so I could be wrong, and after failing seven times with her, to do so two more times is… a bit preoccupying, so I can’t guarantee anything, but since you showed so much progress I imagine she’d… give you another chance. Whatever’s the case, that’s for her to decide, we did our job here and already got what we needed. Good work, Megumi-San.”

  His arguments soothed the others somewhat. Naoko and Ayumi were still a bit concerned about the lack of guarantees that Megumi would be accepted back after yet another disqualification, though. That wasn’t the case with Megumi, however: she was particularly glad to hear that she still had a chance to recover her job, almost to the point of making her cry. Even the faintest spark of hope kept her aflame. And since Megumi was the second to last contestant, she had little time to be anxious.

  After one last performance the judges started discussing in whispers. Naoko felt a painful void in her stomach. She barely remembered she was also a contestant at that audition, she took her qualification for granted among so many mediocre opponents that all she cared about was to see how Megumi fared. Though she had a bad fumble, her performance had been so incredible that, compared to most of the other idols, there was still a small chance she qualified, or so everyone wanted to think.

  After another torturing minute, the final table of results was displayed on the screen. Megumi wasn’t among the last positions and neither between the twenty-first to thirtieth place, which was to be expected. As the page shifted to the next ten names, to everyone’s excitement Megumi still wasn’t there, meaning she could only be ranked among the top ten. While a few girls and producers around the room stood up and started walking away, not wanting to see the names of the winners, unconsciously everyone on the last row of seats leaned forward a bit, in expectation for the oncoming page. Naoko sat at the edge of her seat, almost falling from it, her eyes peeled. She even removed her dark-lustered fringe away so it didn’t disturb her.

  The final tab was ultimately revealed and everyone’s eyes moved to the five blue-colored slots at the top of the page. Naoko’s full name crowned it, though figuring on the first position for the first time ever felt incredibly meaningless. Megumi’s name appeared on t
he sixth place, only two points above the seventh out of the five hundred total points she could net.

  While it was a superb result given the circumstances, everyone’s expectations were quenched. They seemed a little disappointed, though not with Megumi. Rather, by seeing her get so close to winning and having performed excellently for the most part, only to be kept off of the top five. Naoko turned her frustrated eyes to her friend, almost expecting her to need some consolation. Megumi lowered her head to face her crossed legs, appearing a little ashamed, but at the same time she nodded as if agreeing to something on her mind.

  “Megumi-Chan?” concerned, Naoko called her compassionately, though she didn’t know what to say. Ayumi, trying to seem positive, bashfully said, “Hum… congratulations!”

  Raising her head, Megumi smiled, though a little forcefully.

  “Thank you, Ayumi-Chan, though Naoko-Chan deserves to be congratulated much more than I do. Congratulations on your first place, Naoko-Chan!”

  Trying to look grateful despite only feeling worried, Naoko replied:

  “Thanks. But Ayumi-Chan is right in congratulating you! If it wasn’t for that mistake, Megumi-Chan would’ve also been high up in the table! How cool is that?! Megumi-Chan more than proved she can be an excellent idol, right? Her producer will accept her back, right?!”

  Naoko looked around to see if others agreed. Onda, even looking a bit reticent, concurred:

  “I’m fairly sure her producer would. Megumi showed she has the potential to win. With some practice and correcting a few mistakes, I’m fairly sure Megumi’s producer will see she could become a successful idol.”

  “How much “fairly sure” represents in a one hundred percent scale of certainty, exactly?” Naoko questioned, disconcerting Onda. The producer, scratching his head, replied, “Hum… I can’t say for sure since I’m not acquainted with Megumi’s producer. About… ninety percent sure? Eighty, ninety percent? I can’t say for certain, but when Megumi-Chan talks with her producer and shows her that video, I’m confident things will turn out well.”

  Naoko looked even more concerned. She couldn’t figure out how would Megumi, who had so many problems asking others for favors, would be able to convince her producer to let her keep her job. While Naoko agreed Megumi had improved, she still had not proved herself completely. Sixth place was still not good enough if only the top five qualified. For all she cared, Megumi only had a streak of nine defeats. That was not a good argument. Sure, she had achieved thirteenth place on the previous audition and sixth now, so she had an upward trend, but trends weren’t hard, cold facts. What if instead of relying on possibilities of success her producer instead analyzed her one hundred percent loss tally, a perfect score of nine out of nine defeats? No shows were performed and, worst of all, mistakes still happened due to her emotions. Before she cried and ran away. Now she looked like she was on the verge of crying and her hands left the microphone.

  Knowing Megumi was not the most persuasive person in the world and frequently settled for less than she could or admitted defeat before she should, Naoko’s imagination started fabricating worst-case scenarios. What if Megumi was unable to explain that her shaking hands on the current audition was due to different factors than the seven times she trembled and cried of fear on the stage? What if, though explaining, Megumi wasn’t convincing? That girl could easily acknowledge if her producer said even one that she was still fired, throwing away all of her efforts.

  While Naoko looked nervous, Megumi was elated and declared:

  “Those are excellent odds! I would never dream about having another chance like this. I cannot stress enough how grateful I am, everyone! Thanks, many thanks!”

  Megumi bowed the same instant Naoko, disturbed, replied:

  “Eighty percent?! Does Megumi-Chan think these are excellent odds?! That’s almost a flip of a coin! Give or take a few percent…”

  Grinning, Aratani teased her:

  “That’s rich. Why am I never recording when Naoko-Chan speaks these kinds of things? This is prime material for laughs. I think I’ll make a poster of you and quote that phrase on it. “Eighty percent is almost a flip of a coin! – Yano Naoko”. I just expect no fan… no one sees it.”

  “I was being dramatic, in case you can’t tell,” Naoko rebuked and Aratani retorted jokingly, “Say that to posterity.”

  “Argh! Forget I said that! Listen, what I mean is, it is not guaranteed Megumi is going to continue being an idol, right? “Fairly sure” is not the same as “sure”! I mean, I know she performed amazingly and improved a lot, but let’s be realistic here: she didn’t qualify! Her feelings made her shake and almost cried! I know this time it occurred for different reasons, but say that to her producer! On the video before this one Megumi looked a bit shy on the stage too. And before that, she used to run away from her performances! I know she got much better, but… Can’t we help her? I don’t know, can’t we… go talk with her producer along with her… or something?”

  Even Megumi wasn’t concerned like Naoko and tried to tranquilize her:

  “Don’t worry, Naoko-Chan. There’s no need for you or anyone else to do even more than what everyone already did to me. Onda-San is right, odds are good. I mean, my producer spent a lot of money on me already, so another loss won’t do me too much good, but… that’s part of life! That’s why Onda-San said there’s no guarantee, though I think she will also need to spend money on other idols she hires too, if she does it. And if she still thinks I’m not trustworthy enough… That’s fine, too, I deserved it.”

  Getting so concerned Naoko almost looked angry, she pointed it out to everyone:

  “See?! That’s the reason we still need to help Megumi-Chan! Maybe she won’t… be convincing enough! Maybe she… will… like, accept what her producer tells her instead of trying to persuade her! Come on, everyone! How many times did Megumi-Chan’s humbleness make her settle for less than she deserved?! She didn’t want us to buy clothes for her a few hours ago! To defend our point of view is a thing I, Onda-San, Aratani-San and Ayumi-Chan might take for granted, but remember Megumi-Chan actually tried numerous times to persuade us to do things that were actually bad for her! She tries her best not to trouble anyone, and I know she changed and all… but come on, you can’t expect a person to change so radically in just a week! Her changes are impressive when we look at how she performs on a stage, but she still said that if her producer doesn’t think she’s trustworthy, so be it, she deserved and so on! Doesn’t it serve as proof that she still doesn’t fight for what is right, but rather for what won’t cause others trouble?!”

  Looking to Megumi, who seemed embarrassed, Naoko caringly proceeded:

  “I believe she will correct this quickly now that she had a change of heart, but that might still take some time, and we don’t have any time left! That’s her last day as an idol unless she convinces her producer otherwise! How can everyone expect her to do so all by herself?! She still doesn’t have the confidence and didn’t yet… ah… find in her mind… the reasons that keep her from being assertive… or something, like she did to her fears of stages! She’s much better, I know, but to be assertive and fight for your point of view is not something you learn overnight, it takes time! If we don’t help her one last time, there’s still a possibility, no matter how small, that things go wrong due to Megumi-Chan’s lack of experience in standing for what’s best for her, even if it means troubling others.”

  Noticing she was worrying others, Naoko toned it down a bit:

  “I don’t want to be pessimistic here and I believe in Megumi-Chan, but… I just don’t want to lose her, and I’m sure Harumi-Chan and Sakura-Chan would also be sad! Sorry for worrying, but to me even a one percent chance of Megumi-Chan not getting her job secured is still unacceptable. Can’t we go talk to her producer with her? I mean… as long as Megumi-Chan isn’t offended that we do…”

  Everyone got quiet. Megumi, ashamed, gently and humbly asked while bowing slightly:

  “I’
m sorry… for worrying you so much, Naoko-Chan…

  Seeing Megumi’s reaction after all Naoko said got Ayumi concerned. She slowly opined:

  “I… hate to admit it… but I can see some logic in Naoko-Chan’s arguments. I still agree that Megumi-Chan’s producer would most likely accept her back, but not without some persuasion. And… I think we have a tiny problem when it comes to Megumi-Chan’s influencing skill… or lack thereof. Sorry for the bluntness, Megumi-Chan… I genuinely believe you’re on the right path to developing it too, I just… can’t see it happening in an hour or two. I still think the facts speak for themselves… though the facts can be interpreted differently depending on the listener. Naoko-Chan is correct to say a person can either see her improvements or that Megumi-Chan has nine defeats, and depending on how’s her producer, especially if she had already found another idol to produce… some argumentation might be required.”

  Though they were technically criticizing a flaw of her, generally something people never did, Megumi could see her concerned friends pointed that just to justify their apprehensions and convince their producers to give her one last nudge they imagined her to believe. It was embarrassing that the humble girl’s lack of persuasive skills inspired so little confidence on others that they felt the urge to help her even then. As she thought about politely refusing it, however, Megumi noticed that would only strengthen Naoko’s argument that she refused to trouble others even if it meant problems for her. That actually made Megumi see that Naoko could be right: her lack of assertiveness could still ruin everything – her dreams, her chance to study at university, even wasting all the efforts of others –, even if the chances were small. Of course, Ayumi also said something true: it all depended on whether or not her producer already had another idol candidate in sight. For these reasons she embarrassedly didn’t manifest herself.

  The two producers exchanged calm but progressively concerned looks. Onda said in a low voice, in theory only for Aratani, though the girls could hear it somewhat:

  “I’m sorry. I… Ayumi-Chan needs to leave in a few minutes or she’ll be late for an appointment by five p.m. Though… I can see what Naoko-San is saying. Hum… What does Aratani-San think about it? Do you think… there’s need for worry?”

  Scratching his head, Aratani uncertainly replied:

  “Chances that something goes wrong are really small. I… don’t think Megumi-San can screw this up… though Naoko-Chan does have a point when she says that Megumi-San has nine loses and not a single win and Ayumi-San also raised a valid point when recalling Megumi-San’s producer can already have other candidates. This could make her less welcoming to persuasion. I think Megumi-San’s improvements far outweigh all, though I understand one needs to be a bit convincing to pull it off. We could… Wait, no we couldn’t.”

  “What?” Onda questioned, but Aratani dismissed it, “It’s nothing. It occurred to me we could try to contact Megumi-San’s producer and talk to her by phone from wherever we are, but that’s hardly suitable. The problem is, Naoko-Chan also has her show by six p.m., so we can’t delay here for too long and I don’t know if Megumi-San’s producer would be able to arrive here in less than half an hour. That is, supposing she would even accept talking with us, technically rival producers she had never met. For all she knows, we could easily be trying to persuade her into accepting Megumi-San back, a girl she still don’t know that has changed so much and had two more defeats, just in order to jeopardize her business. It… seems hardly fit that we interfere…”

  Onda agreed, crossing his arms while thinking:

  “Aratani-San is right. Unless Megumi-San calls her producer and we just happen to be around because our idols are friends with her. I could come back… though Ayumi-Chan has a show by seven p.m. on the other side of the city too… Or maybe… we could… call Megumi-San’s producer to a meeting elsewhere, where we could attend to… Though I don’t know if her producer will be able, and willing, to go there. Or maybe… after the shows… No, wait, it’ll be too late. I forgot that’s Megumi-San’s last day and her producer needs at least some time at her office to cancel the resignation order. Hum…”

  The two men seemed a bit lost. Though they weren’t as concerned as Naoko was and Ayumi came to be, maybe believing her producer would see a point in maintaining her even if the girl said nothing in her defense, that’d depend on Megumi’s producer temperament, budget, if she had other options of girls, if she’s irritated with Megumi or not – had she made it clear to her or not – and other factors. A few could be guessed by Megumi, but others not.

  While the two men discussed the subject, Ayumi turned to calm down and encourage Megumi, leaving Naoko with nothing to do but to listen to both conversations. The girl, sighing, faced the big screen that showed the results. Though her name was in first place for the first time, it felt like a void victory. It was so frustrating that Megumi had dropped the microphone that Naoko had to concentrate not to get angry with her friend. She knew Megumi wasn’t at fault there, no one had told her before to grip the mic more firmly. Megumi was so elegant and delicate in her way of moving that Naoko felt it was a natural thing just like everyone else. She couldn’t complain about a thing even Naoko didn’t notice before. It’s just that seeing Megumi’s name so close to the leaders was maddening. If she had performed just a little bit better – even better, that was – she could’ve got fifth place and wouldn’t have to discuss anything with her producer. Her job, like Aratani said, would be secured, no questions asked.

  That wasn’t Megumi’s fault alone, though. Naoko had also committed a big mistake on her first audition, so she couldn’t complain. If she hadn’t done that, she would’ve ranked among the top five on her first audition and could even choose not to participate on the second one. She knew Aratani had chosen two shows with spaced-out starting hours so she could’ve performed both, but if Naoko had one gig to do she could simply forego the second audition. If her name wasn’t there, Megumi would’ve been ranked fifth.

  For some time the girl’s eyes contemplated the screen with a blank stare. Out of the blue an idea suddenly sparked on her mind and Naoko’s body shook as if electrocuted. Glancing at Megumi, that was still talking with Ayumi, Naoko walked to the two producers. Her starry eyes immediately silenced their conversation and they turned to hear the girl. In secretive whispers, she questioned:

  “Sorry to interrupt, but something have just occurred me! Produ-San, Onda-San, what would it happen if one of the idols on the top five decided not to perform on that show? Would there be any problems for her? Because Produ-San once told me it wouldn’t! Also, what would happen to the sixth place?!”

  The same instant she had finished asking her first question the two producers had already understood what was she thinking about. Onda turned a serious stare to Aratani, who kept a cool expression, though not a happy one. The man slowly replied:

  “Naoko-Chan, you’re going a bit too far. Megumi-San can still get her job without…”

  “I… I know forfeiting an audition also means losing money!” Naoko interrupted him, protesting, “But, Produ-San, look! I got first place here! I could’ve also qualified on the audition before if I hadn’t committed a mistake! I committed a mistake just like Megumi-Chan, b-but I can win other auditions! Megumi-Chan needs this much more than I do now! If she qualifies she won’t have to try and persuade her producer, so there’s no risk that all of her efforts… all of our efforts – all of your efforts, Produ-San – be in vain! I’ll… I’ll practice even harder! I… I’ll win the next auditions! We’re not going to need the money we’ll lose here! Please! Will you be nervous with me?” She suddenly remembered something that could be used as an argument and her tone changed, “I heard Produ-San this morning! You also did some sacrifices for your friend! Mitsui Shoichi! I know Mitsui-San is a long-time friend and I just met Megumi-Chan a week ago, but… your sacrifices are also far bigger! And… it’s just my first month working for you, and I already got five show points! I’ll
get a few more by the end of the Golden Week! I swear! I’ll do all I can for it! Please! Would you be mad at me?”

  Onda respectfully took a subtle step back to give Naoko and her producer some space to discuss that matter. Aratani looked a bit more serious than normal, though the instant Naoko mentioned his friend Mitsui, the man closed his eyes and massaged them with the tips of his fingers. Sighing, the producer glanced to Onda, who nodded and left for a while. Only then Aratani responded in whispers:

  “Naoko, I want you to understand one thing: while I consider the things I do to Shoichi to be correct, they’re also extremely dumb things. Even I know it’s dumb. That’s not what I expect people to do. Especially you, Naoko-Chan. Now, as for your questions, no, there’s no problem in foregoing it as long as you do it quickly, and also no, I wouldn’t be mad at you. That’s… very noble of you to relinquish your prize to help your friend. Just…”

  Aratani though about his words for a while. Slight traces of grief surfaced on his expression, and he carefully pleaded:

  “Just don’t… take me for an example on this matter, Naoko-Chan. Nothing… nothing good will come from… imitating the way I act when it comes to friendships. Well, it’s not really “nothing”, but… If anything, that should teach you what not to do. And you’re doing something that I’d do for a friend, which means it’s a dumb decision. If you don’t let Megumi-San fight her own battles she’ll never be independent and, ultimately, happy. I get you mean well, and that this will secure her job as an idol… so I’m… okay with it. Not… happy, but okay. Just promise me you won’t overdo it from now on.”

  Aratani’s traces of anguish and his atypical self-deprecating talk when it came to friendships startled Naoko, especially because he and Mitsui seemed to be true friends. Time was running short, though, as the contestants of the audition that would start in a few minutes gradually came in the auditorium, so Naoko had no time to ask for explanations. Concerned, she promised:

  “I swear I won’t overdo it anymore! I’m sorry for always asking favors of you to help others, Produ-San! Is… is Aratani-San really alright with it? If you aren’t I can… let it go… I suppose… Maybe… Megumi-San will…”

  The man, resuming her cool posture, reacted in a half-joking way:

  “I said I’m okay. Go ahead. You can’t expect me to be smiling right now after my idol decides to give a show and two hundred thousand Yen to another competitor, but that’s chump change compared to what she’s capable of netting, so I’m okay. Just don’t make a habit out of it, remember your promise and also that you said you’d practice even harder and win more auditions.” Naoko, smiling, nodded vehemently, so Aratani, gesturing to the judge’s table, whispered, “Right. If that’s the case, go then. Make me proud, diamond girl.”

  Radiantly, Naoko bowed gratefully and ran down the ramp. Aratani commented to the surprised producer of Ayumi, close by, before following her, though at a leisurely pace:

  “I know there’s a lot of money and reputation to be gained here and I knew what I was getting into before signing up for this. But why did our job have to involve women? Why couldn’t it rely on something easier to work with, like alligators, sharks, landmines or something?”

  Naoko’s quick movements got the attention of Ayumi. Since the girl with glasses stopped talking and followed her friend with her eyes, Megumi turned to see what caught her attention. Naoko ran to the table where the three judges sat, in front of the stage, and was followed by her producer. The girl bowed respectfully and talked briefly with the judges. They turned to the approaching man and asked him something, to which the producer, showing his credentials, nodded and signed a paper. Though curious, Megumi and Ayumi couldn’t hear, from the back of the auditorium, what they talked about. All they could see was that Naoko seemed exultant. The three spoke briefly with one another and, finally, one of the judges turned to his computer.

  After a small delay, Naoko’s name on the top of the big screen was crossed out by a red line and the color of her slot turned to yellow. At the same time, the gray one in the sixth place, containing Megumi’s name, became blue like that of the other four qualified idols.

  Ayumi incredulously stared at the huge screen, almost didn’t hearing Megumi’s startled and confused and somewhat rhetorical inquiry:

  “W-what happened?! What did Naoko-Chan do?!”

  As if she couldn’t believe in her eyes, Ayumi murmured slowly in a shocked and deeply moved voice:

  “She… waived her claim to a spot on the show! That… makes Megumi-Chan qualified!”

  Abruptly, Ayumi remembered something and urged her friend:

  “Quick, Megumi-Chan, go to the judges and seal the deal! Otherwise they’ll call your producer, who doesn’t even know you won! If she claim she’s not knowing about you taking part in this audition, they’ll contact the seventh place and so on!”

  Megumi was stunned. Hesitantly, she objected:

  “But I didn’t win! Naoko-Chan is…”

  Seeing from afar that one of the judges picked up his phone, Ayumi immediately grabbed Megumi’s hand and rushed to the examining board’s table while explaining in a hurried low voice:

  “Naoko-Chan has already relinquished her claim! There’s nothing we can do about it, but she forewent one of the five positions on the show that are obligatorily to be filled so you can qualify so don’t waste the opportunity she gave you! Go!”

  Ayumi pushed Megumi in front of the judge holding his smartphone while shouting “’Kobayashi Megumi is here!” Naoko and Aratani walked away so as not to raise suspicion of favoritism. Not that it’d matter since it’s a winner’s right to waive her prize if she desired without owning explanations to anyone, but still it could be frowned upon.

  Ayumi glanced astounded in the direction of Naoko, though both kept a low profile at that time. The girl with glasses stayed behind Megumi to support her while the producer and his idol left through the door and waited outside. One of the judges, lowering his phone, inquired:

  “Are you Kobayashi Megumi? Please show me your I.D.”

  The girl was paralyzed. Ayumi gestured for Megumi to comply, and she reluctantly presented an identity document, to which the judge asked:

  “A contestant has just waived her place, so following the ranking, sixth place Kobayashi-San is formally invited to fill in the position. Is this acceptable?”

  Megumi clenched her fists behind the table. Ayumi, from a position the judges couldn’t see, discreetly but emphatically gestured her friend to accept. Though Megumi looked like she wanted to say “no”, she lowered her face even more, hiding her eyes under the brim of her beret, and unwillingly replied a brief and unenthusiastically “Yes”. The judge turned to his computer and, with quick and efficient movements, typed a few things before finally announcing:

  “It is done. As always, an automatic message has been sent to the contacts of your agency, but please inform your producer too.”

  The girl stood immobile for a moment. Without raising her eyes she questioned:

  “Do I need to sign something?”

  “No,” the judge replied, “Only waiving idols and producers need to sign a document that records their decisions. By registering you to any audition your producer otherwise agreed for you and for him or her to abide by the rules and acknowledged your participation in the specified show in the hypothesis you qualify on the respective audition.”

  With a sad and embarrassed voice Megumi thanked the judges and bowed, leaving alongside Ayumi before her tears could be seen by the examining board staff. As she left the auditorium her makeup was already ruined again, prompting Naoko, who waited close by, to look sour. Aratani, smiling, told her with a triumphant and jesting tone:

  “Ha. I win. Don’t worry, though, I’m a nice person. Naoko-Chan doesn’t have to pay me now, I’ll deduct the money from your payment.”

  “I hate you,” the girl retorted, and added while looking Onda leaving the room and approaching, “Even you, Megumi-Chan! I tr
usted you’d at least be thankful, but you go and cry, destroy your makeup and make me lose a bet! It’s not about the one hundred Yen, of course. You made me lose to Produ-San! He’s going to mock me for a whole week…”

  “A whole month, you mean,” Aratani corrected her, “Naoko-Chan really thought she’d forego her place in favor of Megumi-Chan and she’d not cry? You expect too much from Birdie.”

  “She changed!” Naoko insisted, “She wasn’t crying on the stage, so I thought she’d be different now, okay?! At least… not crying.”

  The bickering made Ayumi laugh while holding her own tears. She seemed as incredulous as she was happy and amazed. Megumi unfortunately gave the impression of being far too concerned to do the same. Once the two stopped teasing one another she bowed reverently, tears dropping to the ground. With an extremely humble and embarrassed look, she declared:

  “I was once again a burden for you all! I don’t deserve the sacrifice Naoko-Chan made for me! Why did you do it?!”

  With crossed arms, Aratani casually commented:

  “Ah, damn it! I should’ve betted on that too! I knew she’d say that, those exact words were in my head!

  “No, they weren’t. You lie.” Naoko responded in the same casual way. Her producer insisted they were, the girl demanded proof of that, he retorted she was the one who needed to prove him he didn’t think that and the two started squabbling once again.

  Megumi’s voice got furious, though it appeared to be a rage aimed at herself more than anyone, and her eyes, once she straightened up her posture again, were full of worry and tears.

  “This is serious, you two! I’m trying to say that… that I… am sorry… for once again… forcing people to… s-sacrifice themselves… for me!” she lowered her head, “Why… does I never stop?! Why can’t I…”

  Ayumi caringly rested her hand on Megumi’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, we all know what Megumi-Chan wants to say,” Naoko replied excitedly, “I have two choices here: let a touching moment happen, full of tears and friendship and talks about personal sacrifices and vows to pay each other’s favors back and all… or I could ruin it. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone ruined the moving climax of our efforts for the past week?”

  Naoko looked around in silence for a second. Meeting her producer’s cool eyes, they exchanged brief looks. Suddenly, the two laughed.

  “Since I am who I am, I’ll ruin the mood! Yay! Because why not?” Naoko excitedly decided, “Please remember that: one, we know it wasn’t your fault and that I decided to do it on my own; two, that Aratani-San agreed and that the money we waived won’t make any difference because, three, I’m more than capable of winning auditions, like I did with this one. I would’ve also won the audition before if I hadn’t committed a mistake, which reminds that, four, we all commit mistakes every now and then. Five, my job is secured, yours wasn’t, and because, six, you’re my friend, we’ll return to the fifth point to say that you needed this more than me. Seventh, you can pay me up someday, somehow, and by doing so at least all the efforts everyone put in you are guaranteed to bear fruits. And eight, I thought about everything you told me and Ayumi while leaving and I thought you would react a little emotively – though not crying – because of the things that happened in your life, so I’ll say it just once:”

  Naoko drew closer and whispered in Megumi’s ears:

  “Stop acting as if I’ve jumped in front of a car to give you insurance.”

  Stepping away from the shocked girl, Naoko continued in high-spirits:

  “I know sacrifices are a big thing for you due to your life, that your mental limits were created because people did sacrifices for you and all, but try to be rational here, Megumi-Chan! Don’t make this into a limiting thingy in your head, think about how it frees you by securing your job! Now you won’t need money from other people anymore, so no more cellphone drama! What’s more, now you can repay your family, the homeless people and everyone that made sacrifices for you! Now Megumi-Chan can live by her own means! Also, don’t think too hard about what happened here: it’s a much smaller act than the things that happened in your life before, something that has no repercussions to me or Produ-San, I think. I’m happy, he’s happy, everyone’s happy, so that settles it! Now you be happy too, call your producer, explain her you two are going to a show and put an end to all of this. I’ll call Harumi-Chan and Sakura-Chan in the meantime, pretending I’m doing it just to make them happy when in fact I also want to be busy so Megumi-Chan won’t keep being sorry for me and all and have no excuse not to call her producer. Pardon my leave, ladies and gentlemen!”

  Naoko called Sakura the same moment she stopped talking. While she knew Megumi would still insist a bit somehow, her friend looked like she caught the message. Megumi stared blankly at her and Aratani for some time, pondering on all she heard. Seeing Naoko was fine and Ayumi smiled encouraging, she breathed loudly through her noses. Taking away her gloves and her beret, she wiped the tears and, exchanging looks with Naoko while she radiantly spoke on the phone, smiled brightly and thankfully. Taking her own smartphone, Megumi dialed a number and, with Ayumi by her side to support her, said vacillatingly and moved:

  “Hello? Yoshida-San? Hum… Hi. It’s me. Megumi. I… Am I interrupting something? Can we talk for a second?... Hum, the thing is… It’s been a long week and I have a lot to tell you. About… many friends that helped me, but I’m just calling to say… that I… thanks to these friends… I overcame my fears of stages… and I qualified in an audition… Yes, it’s true. Please look for an automatic message sent by I.S.S.G. I… What? Oh, sure, I’ll wait.” After a long pause, longer than the others she’d made until then to listen to someone replying, Megumi blushed, “Is it okay if I… go to your office?... Uh-huh, I understand. Alright, I’ll be waiting here in the food court then… I’m happy too… I’ll tell Yoshida-San everything, I promise… I’ll do it… You too, Yoshida-San. Bye.”

  As she returned her smartphone back to her pocket, tears of happiness Megumi had been holding back finally rolled down, washing away what was left of her makeup.

  As Naoko lowered her cellphone, Megumi abruptly hugged her unexpectedly from her side. Squeezing her tightly, she asked with a deeply moved and joyous voice:

  “I w-won’t let N-Naoko-Chan’s anticlimactic intentions r-ruin the m-moment!”

  Startled, Naoko burst into laughter, being accompanied by Megumi. The woman in brown and white attire laughed while tears rolled away from her eyes. Onda looked to Ayumi, who also couldn’t hold her cry and a smile, despite staying a few feet away, and nodded to her, saying:

  “We need to go, but I think we can spare a minute. Go on. I’ll wait.”

  The introverted girl thanked him with a bow and, step by step, walked closer to her two friends. Noticing her, Megumi opened one of her arms and pulled her closer. Crying and smiling in silence, Ayumi uncomfortably looked for a position close to the two tall girls that wouldn’t feel strange. The Wood idol was the smallest of the trio, around eight inches lower than Naoko when she wore platforms, and as such Ayumi’s head was around the same height as the other girls’ busts. It’s not easy to find a hugging position that didn’t feel awkward, but ultimately she settled down close to their shoulders. Looking up to them, Ayumi joked too, though still crying:

  “I’ll h-help Megumi-Chan uph-hold the c-climatic p-properties of the m-moment too!”

  Laughing, Naoko protested in an over-the-top villainous tone:

  “I’ll never let you sobbing girls ruin my plans of destroying the mood!” Making the two laugh, she insisted, “Well, thankfully I didn’t bet in your ability to not cry, Ayumi-Chan! I can more or less understand why Megumi-Chan is crying, but why you too, Ayumi-Chan?”

  Moved, the short girl closed her eyes, whispering with a waving voice:

  “N-Naoko-Chan’s act t-to help M-Megumi-Chan was… too b-beautiful! I… never im-magined I’d w-witness such n-noble g-gesture! It… r-renews my h-hope in the I.S.S.G.! And… Megumi-C
han’s reaction, n-not wanting to ac-ccept it while s-so many girls here w-would do so in a sec is... I… I always… d-dreamed of having f-friend like N-Naoko-Chan… and Megumi-Chan!”

  Megumi, leaning her head over Ayumi’s, declared:

  “N-Naoko-Chan is… a b-better friend t-than I c-could ever h-hope for, b-but Ayumi-Chan’s h-help was also inv-valuable! T-Thanks, you t-two!”

  Naoko’s eyes began to water. The girl, closing it quickly and blinking rapidly, retorted in a jokingly irritated and exaggerated way:

  “T-Touching moments, my only weak spot! Nooo! How dare you two ruin my plan to ruin the mood?!”

  That made her friends laugh again, their tears of happiness warmly rolling down their faces. Megumi, turning her head to lean on Naoko’s, said:

  “N-No, Naoko-Chan, y-you succeeded in r-ruining it, w-we’re just enjoying w-what’s l-left of it!” Rubbing her cheek on Naoko’s hair, she whispered on a more serious tone, “T-Thanks for all y-you’ve d-done to me, everyone. I won’t f-forget it.”

  Season One Finale – Dawn of a New Day

  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. 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.

  “I’m here!”, Naoko announced from the door, her otherwise mesmerizing voice sounding a lot like a duck quacking. Mixing a slight greeting bow with a movement to gasp for air, she 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, Aratani 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.”

  Aratani 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. Slightly more serious, although not at all more formal, she 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, Aratani, 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…” her producer 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,” Naoko mentioned. Aratani, 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, her producer directed her to his desk. Taking a small envelope from the middle of that mess, he handed it to the girl. Naoko’s 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 producer, 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 broke 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, partially covered by a curtain of her slick and lustrous hair as black as the moonless night, gave 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, Naoko expressed her gratitude while bowing somewhat more than usual – even though the “usual” was little more than just a nod:

  “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,” Aratani 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.”

  After taking a deep breath Naoko started telling Aratani why she came to Tokyo a month before. Of how she couldn’t stand her parent’s anymore, something he already knew, and how she came to live a few days with her uncle Kenji.

  “At first I thought I wouldn’t make it. I kind of dislike Uncle Kenji.” Naoko said, and Aratani asked her why, “Well… My family goes something like this: my mother has only one brother and he, along with his and her parents, live far away, in Hokkaido. I only ever saw my mother’s brother and parents four or five times in my life, I think. To me they don’t even exist. My father’s parent’s, however, also live in Shimabara and I constantly saw them until last month. My father is the older sibling. After him there is my uncle Kenji, in whose place I stayed a month ago, and an even younger sister. My aunt Manami is… a bit crazy. At least that’s what my father says. I hardly see her too, she lives in Okinawa I think. I personally don’t think she’s crazy, but… I don’t know her very well, too. So the only real family I know well besides my parents is my grandfather, my grandmother and this uncle of mine, four years younger than my father.”

  The girl’s eyes looked distant and Naoko’s voice had a faint trace of rancor.

  “My problems with Uncle Kenji are tied to my grandfather. He has many health problems. Not just due to his age. He… He was a policeman back in the days. He only got one injury, but it’s a serious one. He was shot in his chest once.” Seeing Aratani was very surprised, Naoko commented, “He once told me it was his own gun that… backfired… or something. That he handled it improperly. The only thing I know is that my grandfather always speaks the truth, but that was the only time I knew for certain that he was lying. I don’t know what happened, even my father didn’t say anything when I asked him, but I know my grandfather didn’t just accidentally shot himself like he claimed. From what my grandmother says he was always very careful. Since he was a policeman, I think he was shot by a bandit or something. Oh! Speaking of him I need to buy my grandparents a present with my first payment! It’s good that you made me talk about it! My grandpa always supported me, after all. No matter. The thing is, that wound messed him up. He has health problems until today, and needs a lot of attention.”

  Staring at Aratani, she explained with increased resentment in her voice:

  “My uncle lived in Shimabara until six years ago, I think. When my grandfather’s health problems worsened and we needed my uncle’s help the most, he simply departed to Tokyo. At first he said he would find a job that paid more so he could help us financially, but he only sent us money five times or so and not nearly as much as my parents needed to pay for my grandfather’s many treatments. Also, he only visited us, like… three times during all those years. My uncle simply abandoned his own father when he needed it the most. It fell on my parent’s shoulders the responsibility of taking care of my grandfather. I dislike a few characteristics of my father, but if there’s one trait of him that is beyond reproach, is his loyalty. He’s a very serious man and hardly ever smile, but he always paid for my grandfather’s treatments without complaining and stood by his side on hospitals and when my grandpa needed it. My father has a few flaws but is not one to abandon people in need, much less his own family, and taught me to value loyalty and sacrifices. What I did for Megumi-Chan yesterday? Blame my father for it.”

  Aratani’s expression was extremely serious. Naoko, breathing deeply, tried to look less gloomy and bright up the place:

  “Well, I won’t bother Produ-San with this. Let’s just say that I don’t like my uncle that much. My father tries to be on good terms with him but as for me… well, Produ-San knows me. One time he came back to Shimabara, around four years ago or so, I argued with Uncle Kenji and… I broke a plate on his head. He was on my house, after all, and I hated him for forsaking his own father. My father forced me to apologize and… well, I did… but later I also argued with my father. So when I came to Tokyo, I was a bit hesitant to live a few days with my uncle, though it was pretty pleasant actually. Of course I tried my best to be a good guest, but I thought there’d still be animosity in the air. Even I was surprised by how nice things turned out!”

  Naoko changed subjects and alleviated the bad atmosphere by talking about her days in Tokyo until she met Aratani. Of her first impressions of him and of how she got worried when she discovered that he was an idol producer.

  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 we were 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 clouded. The girl continued her narrative, explaining him about Fuchigami Momoko, the older sister of her childhood friend Masahiro. Momoko was the girl who “lent” Naoko the CDs she had of old idol bands Skip/Beat Indigo and Cross Sakura no More, and also the one who, due to her dream of becoming an idol, was scammed into paying large sums to a fake idol agency. Her suffering was what caused Naoko to fear agencies. Despite that, Naoko told Aratani of how she actually liked him a lot when they met and got some small confidence in the man by the time they talked on the streets, while she was leaving. That inspired her to research about The Paragon Idol agency, the I.S.S.G., to call back, accept his proposal for a test and caused everything that occurred afterwards. It took Naoko a long time to finish her retelling of those events, so keen on details she was.

  “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, Naoko 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, playing along and 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!”

  After some time she eventually stopped, puffing. When she finished it, Aratani looked at the clock.

  “Well, once again I planned on explaining to you the two Hidden Categories, and once again we got sidetracked. A lot. But it was nice to know you can finally trust me, Naoko-Chan. Or do you have anything else troubling you?”

  The girl thought about it for a moment, but ultimately responded:

  “Nothing that comes to mind, but if something comes up I’ll tell Produ-San. This time I will! I promise!”

  Nodding, the man confidently stated:

  “Please do. Meanwhile, let’s get to work, because today some idol that lost one hundred Yen on a bet told me she was going to do her best to win an audition, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Something like that, though this same idol wants to step up her game and win two auditions this time,” Naoko retorted, and proposed, “Two hundred Yen I’ll do it!”

  “You bluff,” Aratani retorted with a cool expression, and the girl confidently retorted, “Pay to play. Afraid?”

  “Me? Afraid? Ha. I just care for Naoko-Chan and want her to stop betting before she gets poor, but if her addiction doesn’t let her, I think I can take a few more coins to me.” Taking something from a shelf in his desk and pu
tting it in his pocket, he grabbed the car keys and stood up, “Come on, I’ll take you to a bank so you can deposit your money before you lose it all on other bets and then we’re going to the I.S.S.G.’s headquarter. No classes for you on this sunny Sunday, diamond girl. You’re going to shine bright on the stages.”

  Unfolding her legs, Naoko took her purse and, smiling radiantly, stood up too, replying, “I’m on it!” They left the room full of boxes, passed by the locked door and the restrooms by the corridor and down the stairs to the street, from where they accessed the subterranean garage through a small door on the opposite side of the building. As Aratani turned the engines on and drove close to the ramp that led to the exit, he mentioned casually:

  “Oh, just a reminder: try not to find other idols to help this time, okay?”

  As the automated garage door slowly rose, letting the sunshine flood in, Naoko teased him:

  “I’ll try… though I won’t make any promises!”

  “I thought you’d say so,” Aratani replied, driving up the ramp and out of the building, taking a right while Naoko pestered him in high-spirits, “No, you didn’t!”

  “What’s up with you today, girl? You’re even more obnoxious than usual! Did your period just started or you just hit your head when you woke up?” Aratani inquired with a faint smile, promptly having his arm slapped. Naoko, looking out of her sun-drenched window jokingly answered with a menacing tone, “No, but don’t worry, Produ-San! When my period start I’ll let you know. You can be sure of it!”

  The conversation and the light bickering kept on as the car rode into a traffic-heavy avenue and slowly disappeared among the sunny streets and shadows cast by the buildings that extended as far as the eyes could see, touching the deep blue skies at the horizon.

  To be continued…

  A word from the author

  Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, would you please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer? Also, if you look forward to the next volumes, you can find information about the author, the Idol Star System Generation series and upcoming books along with paperback versions and more on the following links:

  Blog: https://idolstarsg.com/

  Also, take note: the next installment, Idol Star System Generation: Season 2, will be launched on December 15th, 2017! Stay tuned!

  Thank you for your interest and your support! It means a lot to me.

  See you next volume!

  R. P. Mor

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