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Izumi wanted her home to be the stage, but... the stage never wanted her, did it? As a child, she thought her acting was on par with the rest of her fellow actors; even her parents said so. She even got to act as some of the lead roles, and no negative feedback came her way. So that had to mean something, right? Right? At the age of 12, she knew her career as an actor was set. It had to work.
“You’ll become a great actor one day, Izumi. I’m sure of it.”
Such were the very words she clung onto for motivation, for her to continue standing on the stage proudly, not knowing what was in store for her. When she reached her middle school years, the reality behind her supposed talent soon hit her with brute force. Joining the drama club seemed fun at a glance, but… the level of acting she saw around her was leaps and bounds above what she experienced just a few months prior. The kind words of encouragement from (undoubtedly overpaid) adults meant nothing as soon as she stepped foot onto a different stage. A real stage.
A stage where mistakes were welcomed, yet for some reason, proved to equal nothing when it came to her lack of improvement. Indeed, she remained as someone in the ensemble, and if she was lucky, a supporting actor. But the bigger roles? The co-lead? Heck, what about the leading role—no, that was too optimistic of her to think such a thing… At that point, her own parents stopped encouraging her to keep on acting. It’s because they knew, didn’t they? They knew all along that she was a lost cause.
A “daikon”, as her father once called her, the word accidentally slipping out during a conversation. She never heard the term come from his lips ever again, but the same word never stopped echoing in her head, in his voice—a constant reminder of the false hope she’d brought herself during her times of desperation. False hope, which led to lies, built upon lies, and continued to do so until her back could bear their weight no more.
The day Izumi’s resolve shattered into pieces was the day her father vanished without a trace. No last words, no goodbyes… not even those warm hugs he always gave her before he left for work. Instead, the only farewell she received was an embrace reminiscent of the ghost of her past, wrapping its chilly arms around her sides as she looked out the door, staring at the vacant driveway. The missing car was her father’s favorite, if she could remember correctly. It made sense for him to take that one, no? That would only mean she wouldn’t get to go on those fun trips to other theaters anymore.
Mankai Theater, being one of them, was her favorite. Everything about that place felt so warm, and she felt like one day, she could shine on that stage like the rest of them…
But what’s the point if her efforts would be left unnoticed? Over her entire childhood, she hasn’t improved one bit, and if anything, she’d be better as someone on the tech crew. Then, she wouldn’t have to expose her stiff acting to the entire world, who’d much rather have their attention focused on someone else. In the end, she ultimately tossed that dream of hers aside, desiring comfort over standing face to face with her anxieties. And like any other child, she grew up, trying as best she could to forget about her father, and went on to pursue another career. It wasn’t as satisfying as being an actor, though…
Whatever. That’d suffice.
Izumi thought she’d moved on, but nearly ten years later after her father’s disappearance… He dared to send her a letter. As much as she wanted to ignore it, she couldn’t, for some reason. His request was even more unexpected than the act itself, which made her even more conflicted. He was asking her , of all people, to return to the theater, and for what? To watch it get demolished? To end up becoming a director who, mind you, couldn’t act for the life of her? (At least, that’s what she convinced herself to believe, given all the trials and tribulations she went through.)
Well… At least she got to help others stand on the stage. They wouldn’t ever have to toss aside the dream and leave it behind, because she’d be right there to help them rebound. She’d be the support that she never got, and she’d make sure of that. Maybe she couldn’t be as great of a director like her father was, but… Hell, she’d try her best to prove that she could grow without him. She didn’t need him anymore. He left because he was selfish, and he definitely didn’t deserve an ounce of love from her, or anyone else in Mankai Company, for that matter.
Yet, watching all the younger troupe members shower Sakyo in confetti while he held a “Mankai’s Best Dad” mug in hand, and seeing their faces light up in joy…
It made her consider, for a fraction of a second, the possibility of asking for her father’s contact information. To hear his voice, even in the worst scenario possible—it was selfish of her to want such a thing, but maybe… She just wanted the feeling of a warm embrace; to feel safe and loved in the arms of a loved one. A father who would never return, most likely. And as the festivities went on, still centered around a less-angered Sakyo, she came to the conclusion that it was best to come to terms with the reality of it all.
Maybe it was better for her to feel this way. It gave her something to keep moving forward, didn’t it? So when the fated day ever comes, when her father returns to see what she’d done with Mankai…
She’ll leave him behind, just like he’d done to her. And that in itself, was her gift that her father wouldn’t notice until the time came.
To herself, Izumi sighed with a smile: “...Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”
(Unbeknownst to her, the room fell silent as they watched her silently break apart piece by piece, for the very first time since Mankai Company was reborn.)