Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All characters are created and owned by Yoshiki Nakamura. I claim no ownership for the characters she's created.

Comments and reviews are greatly appreciated!

"So lame," a tall man muttered, glancing at the magazine display.

At an even six feet, he towered over the other shoppers in the AEON supermarket. He was, in fact, a good deal taller than the entire Japanese populace. A jet-black wig covered his usual blonde spikes and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of blue flash Ray-Bans. Flawless pale skin peeked out at the V of the long-sleeved shirt he'd donned to cover the myriad of tattoos woven across his corded arms despite it being an unusually warm day.

His eyes flitted back to Fleur's May 29th Special Edition. Splashed above the image of a woman in a gorgeously flattering evening gown holding hands with an equally striking blonde-haired man, were the words: Before They Say 'I Do'–The Full Scoop On Hollywood's Hottest Couple. It promised to dish all the details on the A-list couple's private wedding. The guest list. The wedding dress. The flower arrangements. Blah, blah, blah. The man turned away with a snort. Who the hell would fawn over those two sappy idiots?

"Kyaaa!"

A sudden shrill cry made him jump, nearly sending his sunglasses flying. He turned his head sharply to the left and noticed that a group of uniformed teenage girls had entered the store while he'd been preoccupied. The one who screamed addressed the others, animatedly pointing towards the illustrated collection of celebrity-focused texts.

He slipped around the corner and the teens clamored to fill the vacated space, curiosity getting the better of him.

"See!" cried the same voice. Pretending to examine the contents of the adjacent shelf, he watched the girl nab a magazine from its slotted haven and finger through it roughly, jabbing at the unsuspecting pages. Of course it had to be that one. "I knew they'd have a copy of it here!"

He cringed. If this is how she treats the things she likes, I feel sorry for the poor sucker who's her boyfriend, he thought. Upon closer inspection, he deemed it unlikely to be an issue. No way she had one.

"Oooh!" squealed a girl with pigtails. This one was even more energetic, bouncing frantically up and down on the epoxy floor. "I'm sooo glad you were right Akari!" She caught sight of something in the magazine and gasped. "Oh–my–gosh," she said, placing a palm over her chest. "Her dress. Is. To. Die. For."

"No, the groom is to die for," another teen interjected, making the whole group laugh. They were a gaggle of girls giggling over celebrity gossip.

He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes, sauntering over to a row of frosty glass doors. Tugging at a chilled handle, he reached inside to retrieve his favorite beer. There was going to be a party later, one he planned to get a head start on.

They were still snickering as he headed towards the counter to pay. One girl caught his movement and her eyes widened as he came into full view. She gave her friend a vicious jab to the gut and not-so-discreetly pointed in his direction, stealing glances through lidded eyes.

He flashed them a crooked smile and watched with amusement when they both blushed.

Between the Kikkoman otsuyu and Nissin noodles he felt his iPhone 12 buzz in the pocket of his black Valiant jeans and fished it out, answering it without glancing at the screen. "Yo."

"Happy birthday Shotaro," said a soft feminine voice. It was a voice that spoke like heaven but delivered hell, a voice that grabbed him by the throat–and squeezed.

"You found time out of your planning to call me. How gracious."

All the woman heard was his usual snark. "About time you acknowledged my grace. And you know I always have time for a childhood friend." She paused as though hesitant to continue. "I was surprised to hear you decided not to reschedule your tour."

Three and a half months ago they'd announced the cancellation. The plans had originally been publicized just prior to a certain Hollywood couple's engagement and a month after the reveal that rocked the global entertainment industry–the talented handsome Japanese actor Ren Tsuruga's real name.

"Yeah? Who'd you hear that from?"

"Shoko first, but it's been all over the media."

Of course it was. Stupid question.

"Didn't know you two were still talking."

A heavy pause. "We keep in touch, though she's no longer your manager."

"Well, that's great. You always wanted more girlfriends."

She sighed into the phone.

"Look, Kyoko, I'm fine. I mean it's been years since I took a break so I decided it was time. No big deal." His words were as smooth and fake as the brown lenses behind his Ray-Bans.

"I haven't heard any new songs either."

He swallowed hard. "I'm taking a music break, Kyoko. Dabbling in a few different things."

"What about your contract?"

He imagined her troubled golden eyes and the way she was undoubtedly worrying at her lower lip. "I'm still trending on Twatter and NokNok. Sales are phenomenal, as always."

"Oh? Well that's great." She was doing that fake cheerful thing he'd seen her do on more occasions than he could count when they were younger. "Your birthday gift will be even more perfect than I thought. It might already be waiting for you at your condo as we speak."

Of course she knew he purchased a condo too. "Uh," he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He frowned as he heard a husky masculine voice in the background.

"All right well, thanks again. Later," he finished and hung up. The thought of her cursing at him from across the ocean restored a bit of his good humor, but it was like slapping a band-aid on the gaping wound of a severed limb.

Sho went to the checkout, paid for his wares, and stepped out into the bright spring light, grabbing a taxi back to his Roppongi Hills condo. Located in the corner of the eleventh floor of the highly sought after and secure Roppongi Hills Residence B building, his 1,100 square foot home was practically a mansion for luxury Tokyo living. Of course, that's what a little over two million US dollars bought you.

Botan was working the security desk now, his ever-studious eyes simultaneously monitoring the entry and screens. Though Sho had a few inches on the guy, the security guard was built like one of those linebackers from American football, the outlines of his muscles visible through the layers of his suit. He enjoyed flipping the guy shit immensely.

"Yo, Hana," Sho called to the man.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Fuwa-san," Botan rumbled, face impassive as ever. If Sho ever managed to rankle him, he never showed it.

Sho smiled and kept walking towards the elevator.

He punched the code and his stomach lurched as physics and senses played their tug-of-war. He winked at himself in the mirrored walls and took out the irritating contacts, deciding to wait until he was home to remove the wig. Other residents entertained guests occasionally. His own guests never lasted more than a night, though they could sometimes be found in the hall, sullen shadows accompanied by Roppongi Hills security, rapping on his door in pursuit of a missing earring or forgotten phone. Or an article of clothing.

Once inside kicked off his shoes and flung the wig off his head. It landed atop the nest of crumpled pages on the kitchen table. He placed the Asahi Super Dry, sans one, in the fridge and opened the vertical blinds in his living area. Sunlight spilled into the room, warming his bare feet. He brushed the old wrappers off and flopped onto the sofa, stretching out. Cracking the beer open, he drank deeply, enjoying the view, the lush greenery of Arisugawa-no-miya Memorial Park and the cityscape spanning the horizon.

He'd definitely made the right choice, even if he'd lost out on a hundred square feet. A slightly larger room on the twenty first floor of Residence A had been available, at a costlier price point of course, but the view had killed it. That damn thirty foot steel spider would've been visible every time he opened the shades. Celebration of mothers everywhere his ass. Thing was creepy AF.

Tipping his head back, he drained the last of his beer and rose to grab a shower before the party. He was halfway across the room when a knock broke the silence. Remembering Kyoko's words, he walked to the door but something slipped in from underneath, sliding to a stop at his feet. An envelope with his name embossed on its thick face in fanciful Old English script.

"What the hell…" He flipped it over. It was sealed in a way that matched the antiquated lettering–with a stylized wax stamp of an eye surrounded by what appeared to be a moon, star, and sun. Leave it to Kyoko to send him something so weird–she'd been stuck in la-la land for her entire life and had worked for that eccentric Takarada guy for far too long.

Grabbing a steak knife from its wooden sheath, he slit the envelope open.

井の中の蛙大海を知らず .

(A frog in a well knows nothing of the great ocean).

was at the very top of the insert. He recognized the neat handwriting. Was Kyoko calling him a frog? Hell, no. He was the bloody prince. Underneath it read:

Congratulations!

Uh-huh.

You are cordially invited to participate in Watch Me!,

an exclusive celebrity-focused, transformative reality television event where all the world's the stage and you're the star !

We would be honored for you to join us in the challenge of a lifetime!

There was a contact number next to the producer's name. That fact that LME Productions was listed below the number in fine print did not escape his notice. He tabled it and went to shower, wondering if he was desperate enough to stoop to a stint in reality tv.

An hour later, clean and dressed and slightly buzzed after a second beer, his driver drove past the PRIVATE EVENT sign placed at the front of Gyopao and into the small reserved lot. It looked like a hole in the wall tourist trap, but the food was delicious. They'd rented out the entire restaurant for a two hour block, all you could drink. He imagined he'd be drinking a lot, especially if Shoko was in attendance.

"Come on, my treat," he said, motioning to his driver. Guy lit up brighter than a Times Square Christmas tree. "But only one drink." This driver was a temporary replacement for his usual who was on vacation. So far he'd been competent enough.

"You got it Fuwa-sama." If he had any complaint towards the guy, it was that he was an obvious suck-up.

Sho strolled through the lot, hands buried in his pockets, driver trailing closely. He spotted Daisuke leaning against the wall through the window, checking the time on his cell and smiled. Nothing quite like being twenty minutes late to your own birthday party. When you were the agency's biggest money-maker you could get away with pulling shit like that. Hell, with the revenue he brought, he could probably get away with murder.

Sho's recently appointed manager caught sight of him at last and moved to intercept.

"Fuwa-san," Daisuke smiled pleasantly, opening the door for him. A vein was popping out at the man's temple, throbbing in intervals like one of those Mogura Taiji arcade games. "You're fashionably late."

"Daisuke," Sho greeted coolly. He had to give the guy points for resolve. Clapping a hand on the manager's shoulder, he leaned forward and sang, "It's my party and I can be late if I want to," into his ear. With a final pat, Sho stepped past him, but not before witnessing the flash of annoyance that rolled across Daisuke's dark eyes. Like an Okinawan islands thunderstorm, it vanished in an instant. Then a hand firmly gripped his arm, halting him.

"Unless those are part of the lyrics to a new song, I don't want to hear it. We need to have a chat." Daisuke adjusted the glasses on his face with a finger. "It can wait until after the party if you wish."

Sho nodded curtly, not bothering to turn around and continued moving deeper into the restaurant.

The rest of those gathered caught sight of his arrival and a smattering of happy birthdays blended into the artificially cooled air. Sho scanned the room. The group was mostly staff though there were some people he'd worked with before that didn't belong to the agency. All the small tables had been arranged to form one long seamless table at the center of the room.

"Happy birthday Sho," said a familiar voice. The F-cups that brushed against his arm were familiar too.

He turned and leaned down to place a kiss on her upturned face. "Thank you for coming," Haruki.

The woman looked into his eyes affectionately. Her silky light brown hair was swept to the side In some kind of relaxed braid, a few tendrils curling alluringly above her large breasts. He thought, not for the first time, that she seemed more attractive each time he saw her. She caught his frank appreciation and smiled at him again, this one a clear communication of not going to happen. He grinned and shrugged and resumed exchanging pleasantries with the other party-goers.

One of the staff announced the food was ready and everyone took their seats.

He spotted Shoko and Pochi, both women on the far side of the room, one actively avoiding his gaze, the other trying to claim it. Another set of interested eyes found his–the hot new interns. He smiled at her, slow and sexy, and watched her flush a lovely soft shade of pink as she drank deeply from her glass.

As The Premium Malts Master's Dream and stronger alcoholic options began to flow freely, so did people's tongues. Sho always learned a lot about his associates on these kinds of occasions.

The Akatoki section manager lifted his glass of Shochu, "To Fuwa-san. Happy Birthday!"

The others cheered and raised their own glasses, but Shoko stood up. His former manager looked haggard–her long hair was flat and dull, but she burned with such a fierce intensity that it was impossible to look away.

"To plummeting popularity and declining sales," she said, picking up and draining her cocktail. Then his former manager grabbed her belongings and swept through the room, a whirlwind of hair and heels heading towards the door. Maybe he should have stopped her, but he didn't. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to. Maybe he just didn't give a damn.

The rest of the attendees were looking at anything and everything but Sho Fuwa.

Sho stood up. "Thank you all for joining me here today," he grinned confidently. "Not sure what her problem was," he gestured towards the door and laughed.

Nervous laughter joined his own. Junpei, head of Artist Management, breezily waved a hand and said, "Too much to drink."

Sho picked up his highball. "To Akatoki," he said.

Cake appeared on the table just as everyone seemed to have had their fill of dim sum and dumplings. Sho was taken aback to discover that it was a remarkably detailed likeness of his face with "Happy Twenty-Third Birthday" written on the forehead. Who the hell's idea was this?

"Allow me," his driver, who was suddenly at his side, said. He eagerly began slicing up his face. Raspberry filling oozed from between the cuts.

Sho rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Whoever ordered this must really hate me."

His driver paused mid-slice and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah," he said, staring at the bleeding cake. "Kinda seems that way." He glanced at the door. "The woman?"

"Most likely."

"I'm sure it'll taste good though. Chocolate and raspberry are my favorite. "He was half drooling over the already as he finished the cutting and began plating.

"I'm allergic to raspberries."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Makes me break out in hives."

"Guess you don't want a slice then."

"Yeah, no." His driver placed a hand on the plate and slid it down to the next person.

People finished their dessert and began filing out of the restaurant with a bow or a wave. Pochi sidled up to him and wrapped herself around his arm.

"Sho," she simpered. "Let me keep you company tonight." In the brightly lit room his eyes were a cold, pale blue. She never expected his attitude would match.

"I'm busy tonight Pochi," he said, shrugging her off.

The intern had been eyeing him all night and by the time she got to the dessert she had his full attention and she knew it. Each bite was taken with exaggerated care, her little pink tongue tracing slowly over the fork before thrusting it into her mouth like a lollipop. Yup, he was definitely going to be busy tonight. After he'd ensured she'd thoroughly rinsed her mouth, at least–he couldn't be seen with hives.

He was just about to make first contact when Daisuke stepped in front of him. Cockblocked by his own manager. Shoko never–he stopped, not allowing himself to finish the thought.

Sho crossed his arms and glared at the man. "What do you want?" Out of the corner of his eye he caught the intern's wistful expression as she gathered her belongings and headed for the door. When she passed by he caught the scent of dark cherries and almonds and something floral. Of missed opportunity.

Junpei shuffled past, sharing a significant look with Daisuke before taking his leave. All that remained were the staff, who had made themselves scarce, and Sho and Daisuke.

"What I want is for you to be actively creating music again. And what I want is what the agency wants." He adjusted his glasses again. "Remember, you signed a contract guaranteeing a particular level of productivity. You've had a remarkably successful career to say the least thanks to Akatoki and your own efforts, but the agency put up several billion yen to get you to that point."

This conversation was not headed in a good way.

"You haven't been in the red for some time now, but we're not going to back a sinking ship. We require at least five original songs and a minimum of two public appearances by the end of the two weeks," the man's hard gaze never faltered, "or we're terminating our relationship on the grounds of breach of contract."

The musician felt his face turn hot as a pulsing anger coursed through his veins. "What!?" he snarled. "Just because I've been in a slump? After all the money I've made for the agency!?"

Daisuke continued his impassive study of his charge. "This little get-together doubles as your farewell party should you fail to achieve the minimum requirements." The manager walked to the door.

"There's no bloody way I can do that!" He was shouting now, so loudly that pedestrians passing by could hear, though they couldn't make out the words–only that someone was throwing a public fit. "Damnit!" He lashed out and his chair went flying onto the table, flattening the bits of his face that remained.

"You are a talented young man Sho Fuwa. We have every confidence you will rise to the challenge." The word challenge sparked Sho's mind and he felt his anger leak away, replaced by hopeful possibility. Just like that time with Vie Ghoul, Kyoko was helping him, even if she was the source of the problem this time.

"Daisuke, wait. P–," he thought he would choke on the word, but it came out, burning his throat like acid, "Please. I have an alternative proposal for you."

A/N

Botan means peony. Hana means flower.

Chapter Text

“Before I sign anything, I want to know exactly how this is supposed to work,” Sho said. He was sitting at a large conference room table, between Daisuke and some L.M.E. lackey, one leg pressed against the table top as he balanced on the rear legs of his chair. Unease practically oozed from his every pore–if strummed, he’d squawk louder than a poorly tuned guitar.

The L.M.E. representative frowned and took a swallow of water from the glass in front of him. “Well, I’m afraid that’s the issue Fuwa-san. We can’t tell you yet.” 

Sho let his chair drop. The men flanking him flinched. 

“It’s based on your results. Each experience is uniquely catered to the individual. There’s an entire algorithm devoted to the process.”  

He’d spent the last three hours being poked and prodded and evaluated mentally and physically so he could participate in whatever quasi-reality TV show these crackpots had cooked up. 

With an eccentric like Lory Takarada, you never knew. Sho recalled how the man had shown up at an awards show once looking like an elf fresh off a Lord of the Rings set. Another public appearance had seen the L.M.E. president costumed in a furry orange striped bodysuit complete with face paint, long whiskers, fuzzy ears and a twitching tail. That one had been particularly unnerving as it had reminded the musician of a brain-melting musical some model had dragged him to a couple years back. 

After enduring all the testing, his head felt about the same–mush–and his patience had the consistency of rice paper. 

This is going nowhere.

“Okay–” Sho started.

His manager cut him off. 

“That’s fine,” Daisuke said, directing a syrupy sweet smile at the L.M.E. staff member. “Fuwa-san has already agreed to participate fully to satisfy the terms of his contract with Akatoki. He’ll do whatever needs to be done.” The manager shifted his gaze to Sho. “Won’t you?”

He couldn’t refuse–participation in this show had been his idea, one borne of desperation. Only now, he wished he hadn’t been so hasty.

“Yeah,” Sho replied, sinking down into his seat. It can’t be that bad, can it?

He forced himself to leaf through the documents, pen in hand. No, it could. The agreement gave the Watch Me! executives near carte blanche over his life for up to seventy-two hours. Oh, but at least he’d have a reprieve between the hours of midnight to 6am. Guess they didn’t want their cameras turning into pumpkins, especially the bodycam. 

He was so screwed. The verbage felt intentionally ambiguous and everything he’d learned, or rather, not learned, led him to one conclusion: it was a set up. 

“Anything goes?” Sho asked. A parade of humiliating scenarios began marching before his eyes. 

After years of biding her time, this was it–Kyoko’s ultimate revenge. She truly was a demonic succubus working for a Devil named Lory Takarada at Lory’s Ministry of Evil. I need to salvage this as best I can.

“Because there are some things I refuse to do–like go near a toilet.” Self-cleaning models had been installed in his condo unit. “And what, I’m just supposed to do whatever I’d normally do and shit will magically,” he waved his fingers dramatically through the air, “happen?”

“Say,” a deep voice interrupted in strangely accented English. 

Sho startled and swiveled his head towards the sound. 

A man in a fitted 3-piece suit of black and eyeball-singeing pink chalk stripes had materialized out of thin air, puffing on a thick cigar. He was clean shaven and wearing a deep purple paisley patterned tie clipped to a long gold chain that disappeared into his jacket pocket. An orange-tipped tommy gun was in his right hand.

That cursed pink…but there’s no facial hair. Could it be…?

“That's what showbiz is, see,” the man continued as he moved towards the table. He adjusted his black wide-brimmed fedora and grinned at Sho, revealing perfectly white square teeth. 

“We make it look like magic,” the mustacheless Lory Takarada said in Japanese. Only one man could–or would–pull off that color. “Even to knowledgeable participants, Fuwa-san.” 

A mobster in pink isn't far from a devil.

Daisuke and the other man rose from their seats and bowed to the President, offering their greetings. 

Sho gave a shallow bow from his seat. His nerves were already shot and looking at that atrocity of a suit made them feel more like live wires.

“Nice get-up Takarada-san. I almost mistook you for one of your Love Me minions.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sho saw Daisuke’s face turn a deeper red than the allergen filling in last night's birthday cake. 

He jumped up, bumping the table. Water sloshed from the cups. “You’ve gone too far! You cannot speak that way to–” 

Lory raised his hand, silencing the manager. Sho watched the water seep into his papers.

“While there are certainly some pleasant aspects to being a peacock–,” the President quirked an eyebrow at Sho, “–or even a lion in a zoo, it is far more satisfying to be Director.”

Sho sat up straighter in his chair. Where does this guy get off calling me a peacock? 

Lory strolled past them, coming to a stop across the table where he took a seat. Sho watched as he puffed lightly on his cigar and closed his eyes, letting the smoke linger in his mouth before releasing it in a plume. 

The scent of spiced wood and tobacco filled the air.

Lory’s eyes snapped open. “It is good to be the Boss, Fuwa-san.”

“I bet.” Sho couldn’t keep the scowl off his face. “You don’t get roped into ridiculous situations.” He stared at the hideous streaks. “Or costumes–unless, of course, that’s your thing.” 

“A significant portion of the population considers the attire of a visual kei band member ridiculous.” 

Sho’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Touché.” 

Daisuke shot Sho a death glare. “I apologize for my charge’s rudeness,” he said to Lory, bowing low. “In his youth, he tends to forget his place.”

Lory offered the man a pleasant smile, waving the apology away, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Sho. Under the weight of the man’s scrutiny, the musician felt his bravado crack.

What am I doing? Shit, I keep making everything worse.

Urge to give the guy in glasses a black eye notwithstanding, Lory Takarada and his staff had been nothing but welcoming and pleasant throughout the process. Sho sucked in a breath, pushed his chair back and bowed an apology before returning to his seat.  

“Now that we’re finished exchanging pleasantries and lessons in humility,” Lory directed his gaze at the LME staff member, “Shinji, please bring another set of documents for Fuwa-san to sign since his set seems to have met with an unfortunate drowning accident.” 

Lory shifted his focus to Sho’s manager. “Daisuke-san, I’d like to speak with Fuwa-san alone for a bit.”

“Of course,” said Daisuke. He swiftly rose and followed Shinji out the door. 

Lory plucked the cigar from his mouth and set it on the table. “A frog in a well knows nothing of the great sea. Are you familiar with this idiom?” 

Sho crossed his arms. “Other than it being engraved on your invitation , no.”

“Beware the limitations of one’s own experience,” Lory smiled. “This is not a revenge scheme as you suppose Fuwa-san. Wouldn’t you agree that Kyoko-chan has achieved her so-called vengeance, and in spectacular fashion? You needn’t be on the offensive. Yes, the language is vague, but this is intentional, so that it may cover a broad spectrum of experiences. 

“Will some of these take you out of your comfort zone? Certainly, but that is precisely the point.

You are stuck, just like the frog. To spark your creativity you need to see and experience outside the walls.”

“Fine, so it’s not a set up. Look, Takarada-san, I’ve held three world tours–I’ve been almost everywhere on this rock. My horizons are plenty broad.”

“Then why are you trapped?” 

“Because–” began Sho, but words turned to ash before they could roll off his tongue.

“Fuwa-san, you are a prisoner in more than one way.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“By the end of this show, you will understand.” The smile that appeared on Lory’s face looked more wicked than benevolent. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Five minutes after the musician departed from L.M.E. with a copy of his signed contract in hand, Lory Takarada made two phone calls. The first was to inform a certain woman of Fuwa’s guaranteed participation. 

The other was to the team he had placed on standby. “Begin,” he ordered, grinning into the phone. Like a boy on the eve before his birthday, the President could scarcely wait for what the morrow’s dawn would bring. 

***

Kyoko and Kuon had been up late last night, unpacking and putting away things in their new home—when they weren’t busy christening each room—and had slept in even later. It had been wonderful , pure bliss. Lory had called while they were snuggled on the couch, in the midst of an attempt at productivity in finalizing their invitations, reception menu, and flower arrangements.

The rich aroma of coffee and homemade pancakes mingled sweetly in the air. A light breeze blew in from the still open window playing with the tendrils of Kyoko’s long dark hair, fanning them into a frame around her face. Kuon watched as Kyoko ended her call with the Boss. She set her phone aside and looked up at him, smiling softly and the afternoon sun caught in her amber eyes, lighting them with a heavenly glow. Kuon’s breath caught. He was awestruck, once again, by her beauty, by the realization that somehow this glorious angel loved him, wanted to be with him, would soon be married to him. He was the luckiest man in the universe and he told her so as he tilted her chin up and gave her a scorching kiss that left them both hot and breathless. Unfortunately, the actor also knew they would get nothing done if they continued in that manner so he went to grab something to cool them off. 

“I take it things are going well with your side project?” he asked as he opened the fridge and took out a chilled water bottle. Surely talking about that guy would kill his libido.

Kyoko gulped down the water he’d brought her. It did nothing to satisfy her particular thirst. 

She sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, he reacted as I predicted.” Kyoko was trying, with all her might, to censor her thoughts, but not even discussing that guy was doing the trick. All she could think about after that electrifying kiss was her need to have more of Kuon.

Her fiancè smiled wryly. “I know what it’s like to be your own worst enemy.” He leaned over and planted a kiss atop her head. “Sometimes you need a little help to snap out of it.”

It took Kyoko a moment to realize he was relating Sho with himself and she shot him a look as she remembered the times Setsu had saved her precious brother Cain. 

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” Kuon amended with a chuckle and she smiled.  

“I’ve helped you but you’ve helped me so many times too and that’s how it should be. Shotaro’s too stubborn and too far in denial to ask for assistance. His problem is the opposite of what mine was. I was living to please those few people who I felt gave me anything resembling love, while Sho is living solely for himself, loving only himself.” She took another drink. “I’m simply returning the favor of setting him on a life-changing path.”

As many times as Kuon had wanted to pound the musician’s face over the years, he understood Kyoko’s feeling of indebtedness. Knowing that the guy hadn’t stood a snowman’s chance in hell didn’t hurt either, though he had been foolishly jealous before, regrettably. The irony of the situation was that the musician’s selfishness had led to Kyoko’s awakening, to her branching out, which in turn had forced Fuwa to see how amazing she was. To see the glittering gem he had possessed and tossed aside instead of polishing and treasuring. 

Kuon looked at the sparkling diamond on her left hand and looped his fingers with her own, bringing her pinky to his lips for a kiss as he had long ago in an elevator far, far away. 

“I love you Kyoko,” he said.

 Kyoko never knew what prompted him to spontaneously say those words, but she adored it, adored him with every fiber, every cell of her being. She flushed and gently stroked his cheek with the thumb of her other hand. “I love you , Kuon.” 

They gazed into each other’s eyes and the atmosphere grew charged again, primed–until Kyoko reluctantly cleared her throat, deliberately breaking the spell. 

“I-I’d better call the florist back before I forget.” She reached for her phone and stood. “Please look over the menu and let me know which options look best to you.” She looked away for a moment, then met his eyes again, a deep blush coloring her cheeks. “Let’s just focus on getting this done and then we can…” 

“Continue where we left off last night?” he finished.

“Yes!” she squeaked and disappeared around the corner, phone pressed to her bosom like a medieval nun clutching a cross to ward off temptation. 

Sho toweled down and smirked at himself in the mirror. A few months of working out for at least an hour a day had sculpted his body just the way he’d hoped––he was chiseled. (It had nothing whatsoever to do with a magazine spread featuring a particular shirtless long-time rival and said rival’s fiancè who also happened to be Sho’s childhood friend). Forget swooning, the next time he got on stage they’d be mopping the ladies up from the floor, especially if he wore something sheer. Of course that would require some damn lyrics and composition. He’d considered performing without new content, but he had always performed at least one of his newer songs whenever he took the stage so he’d chosen not to perform at all. Days had turned into months with no progress or shows. 

…And now he was back to thinking about the infernal contract he’d shoved into a drawer as soon as he’d returned from L.M.E. Sho leaned forward until his head rested against the mirror and closed his eyes, heaving a sigh. Who am I kidding ? He pushed off the mirror, got dressed and flopped himself down on his sofa after retrieving a beer. Tomorrow morning he’d attach the accursed body cam, but he was determined to make the most of his freedom in the time being. 

Flipping through the channels, he stopped on the Arama Entertainment Network and suffered through annoying celebrity gossip until they began their ranking coverage. Results for the Most Desirable Men in Japan Contest were the main topic and Sho chugged his beer to drown his nerves. That unnaturally tall bastard Tsuruga or Hizuri or whatever the hell he was calling himself now had left Japan for the American market the year before so he hadn’t been included in last year’s running. Sho had narrowly routed Koga Hiromune (who, unknown to Sho, had cursed the singer with his every breath for an entire month) to take top spot, but the victory had felt hollow. 

Like everything else these last months. 

Considering how neither he nor presumably his manager had been contacted, he knew he couldn’t be number one this year. Consumers were fickle as hell. Fans were still pissed he’d canceled his tour and his lack of new music coupled with his disappearance from the public eye had damaged his popularity. His name was…sixth. Shit. 

He took another swig, emptying the can and went to pour himself something stronger at the minibar. Thus, his evening was spent mixing and doing shots of drinks with names he wished were indicative of his circumstances.

The next morning the cameras in his apartment, along with the bodycam, went live at six. Sho failed to roll out of bed until eight. His regret for the two shots he’d downed after the Panty Dropper was nearly as strong as the heartburn in his chest. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he started breathing fire. 

One unsavory avocado toast later (he was trying to eat healthy to maintain his figure, but stubbornly refused to give up alcohol) and still rubbing at his aching chest, Sho slipped down to the attached market to buy some Ohta’s Isan tablets. He tossed three of them back with a glass of water and stepped out of the building, the long ago words of a certain pigtailed little girl preaching the benefits of fresh air playing in the back of his mind. It was a little too crisp outside, however, with the night chill still lingering in the air. The musician shivered and turned to head back in. 

In the reflection of the door an unmarked van screeched to a halt directly opposite his position. Four masked men hopped out and Sho’s body tensed, hand freezing on the door handle. He might have wondered if he was in real trouble if it weren’t for their tacky shark-patterned suits. It was too early for this nonsense, but he should have expected something would happen right away. Make a break for it down the street? Sprinting anywhere would be a very bad idea–the stupid tablets hadn’t kicked in yet. Head back to his room? What if they had the code to get in somehow? He wouldn’t put anything past the Ministry of Evil’s henchmen. 

He heard footsteps running towards him and turned towards the sound, resigning himself to their theatrics. The bright and beautiful sun shining in the clear blue sky was the last thing he saw before a cloth bag was fitted over his head, his hands were bound, and he was tossed into the van––onto a softly padded interior. 

“Yo,” Sho’s muffled voice called to no one in particular after a couple minutes. “Where are you kidnappers taking me?” 

They answered by turning on the radio, high volume, and scrolling through the channels until they stopped on some morning talk show that was discussing the rankings for the most desirable men contest.

"Don’t you think, Keiko-chan?” a male commentator said.

“You’re absolutely right Haru-kun, Hiromune Koga must be thrilled! After years of trailing behind The Gorgeoustar, he still somehow lost to Fuwa Sho last year. However, the musician’s lack of public appearances–” 

The sound went all crackly , static–

“–and borderline Narcissistic Personality Disorder–”

What did she just say? Sho cocked his head and leaned towards the front of the vehicle. 

“–and canceled tour has brought Fuwa Sho down to shockingly low levels.” 

“Indeed,” Tanaka agreed. “What’s more shocking is how–”

–Static–

“–Mister Can’t Write New Music Because of His Wounded Pride never apologized to his childhood friend for using her and discarding her like a dirty snot rag–”

How the—what the–– “Hey!” Sho yelled. “What the hell!?” 

“– And that brings us to our commercial break. Stay tuned for our exclusive interview with Japan’s number one–”

–Static–

“–which isn’t you Fuwa, so shut up already–”

Sho’s teeth clacked shut. Sweat beaded on his brow. No, there was no possible way this was actually airing. Neither did it seem likely they’d be recording this with their zillions of little cameras either. Kyoko would rather go to her grave than reveal their history together. 

But it doesn’t implicate her at all, a slithering voice whispered in his ear. It makes you sound horrible, which isn’t exactly a lie, is it? She worked three jobs to pay for that posh apartment you wanted and—

Sho punted the truth snake away for the hundredth time with his usual swift kick of denial, telling himself the same tired refrain: It wasn’t his fault Kyoko had followed him around like a lost puppy. She could have said no when he’d asked her to come with him.

“–coming up next.”

“Indulge yourself,” a sultry feminine voice purred, “in a world of unparalleled beauty and delight with Mikimoto’s Enchanted collection–”

Sho sat in cushioned silence for the rest of the trip. Nothing further happened with the radio, but he had to, begrudgingly, admire their handiwork—it took a considerable number of resources to pull off this kind of stunt. But if they think this is enough to get under my skin, there’s something wrong with their psych evals, Sho scoffed.

When the van finally stopped he was lifted out and led firmly by the wrist to the interior of a well-lit building. Bright light eked through the rough fabric along with a faint chemical smell. 

“Yo, at least take the hood off my head.” Aside from being thoroughly annoyed at having to wear it, it was beginning to itch like a fiend. 

“No,” said the dude on his right.

“Not a chance,” said the other simultaneously from the left. 

Shame his captors weren’t women––they definitely would have come to an agreement.

Sho planted his feet. “I’m not walking anywhere until you take this damn thing off,” he growled. “AND unbind my hands.”

One of the men heaved a sigh and addressed the other. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

His companion chuckled. “Sure.”

Underneath the hood Sho wore a thoroughly confused expression, nearly identical to one Kyoko Mogami had worn once upon a time when the musician had delivered a huge bouquet of flowers and informed the budding actress that she looked really stupid as she gaped at the floral monstrosity. Fortunately for Japan’s number six, there was a bag over his head. 

The dude who had sighed let out a triumphant, “Ha!” Apparently he’d won–whatever it was.

Warmth pressed behind Sho’s thighs and against his back as strong arms lifted him off the floor and began carrying him. Like a princess.

“W-wait!” Sho squawked, squirming against the guy cradling his body to his chest. Which really wasn’t a good idea–he did NOT need to know that the dude had ridiculously firm pecs to match his bulging biceps OR a light cedarwood scent OR pleasant minty breath. “I’ll walk, I’ll walk! Put me down!”

“Too late,” said the wintergreen giant. “The way you were dragging your feet, this is faster anyway.” 

Sho cursed under his breath, eliciting a low throaty laugh from his captor who continued his effortless carrying of the 160 pound male. 

Any time he got involved with anything related to Kyoko something extra weird always happened. That mess with the beagles, that persistent creep in the mask who’d said he wanted to touch him, that blond, arrogant American bastard who’d somehow fooled ninety-nine percent of the world’s population into calling him prince. But this was happening on camera and Sho was quite certain he was never going to live it down. 

It was a relatively short walk, but it felt much longer to princess Sho who was ardently devising ways to salvage his image. A door creaked open and after a few steps he was finally set upright. 

Sho cleared his throat. “Appreciate the assist bro, my legs were worn out from my late night activities ,” he said.

The guy snorted. “Yeah right.” He leaned forward, patting the musician on the shoulder, and snickered. “Have fun, jackass.” 

Fun had already been murdered alongside Dignity and dumped into Tokyo Bay. 

Just as he was about to demand his freedom again, the ties disappeared and the cloth was lifted from his head. Sho rubbed at his wrists, blinking away the darkness as he scanned the room he’d been deposited in. Two well-lit vanities had been placed against one wall where a female makeup artist was timidly asking a woman to tilt her head this or that way and close or open her eyes as she applied cosmetics. A table laden with light snacks and a beverage dispenser containing water rested against the adjacent wall. In the center was a smattering of plush seating with a low table set between. 

The cosmetologist stepped back and offered a shy smile. “You’re all set Midori-san.” Her eyes flicked his direction, “and the other participant has…arrived.” 

“Thank you, Emi. Excellent work,” Midori said, “though I’m not entirely sure why we’re bothering since I’ll be in a costume for most of the time.” Sho couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the warmth of a returned smile in her voice. 

Midori tucked a strand of her auburn copper hair behind one ear with a manicured hand and stood, turning to face Sho who was suddenly glad he’d taken the time to wash his face and brush his teeth that morning. Eyes a striking shade of Imperial jade stared at him from a gorgeously soft heart-shaped face. Sho found himself hungrily drinking her in, eager to slake some thirst he’d been unaware he needed to quench—her willowy figure, all curves in just the right places, the delicate, smooth plains of lightly tanned skin on her bare legs, the swell of her breasts under the very very tight little kuma tee. Sho had never cared much for history, but the one story that had struck a chord with him was the myth of Helen of Troy, the woman whose otherworldly beauty had started a war. Had Midori been born in ancient times, the musician had no doubt the bloodshed would have been much much worse. 

Great Scott, how does she survive going out in public?

The corners of her mouth pulled her full lips into a smile, but her gaze was cold. A sinking feeling swelled in his gut. Few women were immune to his charms, but those who fell into that slim category were about as welcoming as a mukade––always pissed off for some reason and highly aggressive.

“I’m Midori of Lucky-M,” she said with a small, frigid bow. 

“Fuwa Sho,” he responded politely, though it was obvious she already knew who he was. He quickly tried to place where he’d heard of Lucky-M. Fortunately he remembered quickly. “Ah, Pochi’s group.” Lucky-M was a J-Pop idol group comprised of four girls whose first names began with a M. He’d received a poster of the group as a gift when they’d first debuted, but hadn’t given it more than a glance before stuffing it in a closet. 

“Yes, Mimori-chan is my colleague. She mentioned your name for her, but I didn’t quite believe that you referred to her as a dog. How…sweet.” The girl’s hostility was on par with her hotness. 

Sho shrugged. “She likes it.” 

Midori crossed her arms and flashed a radiant smile so frosty Sho actually felt a chill. “Of course,” she said. 

This woman he had never met hated him and he wondered what Pochi had been telling the girls in her idol group. Nothing good, but he supposed that shouldn’t surprise him considering how thoroughly he’d been ignoring her. It had been a while since he’d felt an aura like this. Kyoko’s hatred had been like a category five typhoon. Midori’s loathing reminded him of Kanae Kotonami, current number one actress in Japan, and Kyoko’s best friend. Sho had had several blizzard-like run-ins with that one, the first of which had left him pissed off and totally unsatisfied since she’d snatched his onigiri right from his hand and he’d been forced to eat one of the normal ones. 

Regardless, it appeared Sho was going to have to summit this mountain despite its attempts to turn him into a human popsicle. “It’s nice to meet you Midori-san.” He brushed his hair back and donned his most charming smile, holding back a smirk as he noticed how her lips parted slightly as she took a tiny step back, blinking. Guess she wasn’t so resistant to his appearance after all. “I don’t suppose you will tell me where we are and what we’ll be doing together?” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You really don’t know?” He shrugged. “I hadn’t pegged you for a philanthropist, but I see this is just a publicity stunt for you.” If words could bite, Sho’s jeans would now be stylishly ripped. “The great Sho Fuwa isn’t known for making time for anything other than himself.”

“Actually, I make time for a variety of pursuits, especially involving women.” 

She laughed, sharp and cutting. “I imagine what you do with women doesn’t take long at all.” 

That’s it. “Listen up, Ice Witch,” he said and took a step towards her, only to be blocked an instant later by a dude in khaki slacks and a polo shirt who was smiling so widely it had to hurt.

“Okay,” the interrupting gentleman said. He had been patiently waiting off to the side for them to finish their greetings and had hastily stepped in when the conversation turned hostile. “I think you’ve had enough time to get acquainted. I’m Yamada Kuni, Director of the Pediatric Oncology Department.” It was Sho’s turn to blink. He was in a children’s hospital? “I wanted to extend my heartfelt appreciation to you both for your participation in this charity event.”

Midori, who had thawed the instant the Director appeared, greeted the man with a deep bow. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Yamada-san.” Her mouth tightened. “As you may have already heard,” Sho could see the beginnings of tears glisten in her eyes, “I lost my twin sister when we were seven so this is a matter I am deeply passionate about.”

Yamada nodded sympathetically and spoke his condolences while Sho could only grimace. Sho never knew what to say in situations like this, which is why he avoided them like he avoided flirtatious flat-chested girls. Of course the MoE would bring him here and make him look like a clown. Of course she’d be pissed–it didn’t look like he was taking anything seriously. 

“Anything I can do to put smiles on children’s faces is worthwhile,” the idol finished.

“I admire your commitment Midori-san,” Yamada proclaimed a bit too cheerily for Sho’s taste. The man shifted to address them both. “Let’s get you into your costumes for the younger children’s songs first. We’ve arranged for you to perform a few of your own hits next with a surprise duet for the finale.” The Director winked, “Don’t worry, we’ve chosen a popular song that will be familiar.”

Sho felt their eyes focus on him and realized he hadn’t done his own greeting yet. He shoved his hands into his pockets and offered a nod. “Nice to meet you and thank you for this opportunity.” 

What else could he say? That he wasn’t thrilled that his first time taking the stage in a while would be to sing children’s songs in some kind of costume? Could it get any worse?  

Naturally the instant he thought that, it did. 

“Fuwa-san, I understand you’ve been experiencing performance anxiety? Please let me know if you have any problems. No one will hold it against you if you are unable to get up,” Sho’s eye twitched and Midori covered a snigger with a cough, “on stage.”

Okay, that was intentional. And everyone here along with whoever sees Watch Me! when it airs will totally hold against me! What kind of stupid name for a TV show is that anyways? It sounds like a voyeuristic porno!

Sho plastered a smile on his face to mask his growing irritation. “I was taking a professional break, Yamada-san. Please do not place stock in rumors.”

“Very well then,” Yamada said with another face-splitting grin. “I’ll be on my way.”

Emi filled the space the Director vacated, arms shrouded with pink and blue cloth. Hanging from the crook of her arm were also what appeared to be rabbit and tiger ears along with ogre and turtle masks.

Sho silently chanted no pink, no bunny over and over as he asked, “Uh…what am I going to be wearing?” 

“Please turn around Fuwa-san,” Emi said, “and hold out your arms.”  

He did as asked and the stylist outfitted him with a blue hoodie. A shark one where the hood looked like the creature’s head with an open mouth, full of fabric triangle teeth.

He was beginning to sense a theme. “Sharks again?” 

There was exactly one popular kid’s song with sharks. He groaned out loud.

“You know,” Midori said as Emi slipped on her matching pink toothy attire, “doing good for others comes back in unexpected ways Fuwa-san.” She zipped it up and pulled the hood over her hair “It won’t kill you to stop thinking about yourself for a bit. Let’s go.” She took the masks and ears from Emi, turned and began walking to the door marked Stage . 

“A lack of participation in charity events doesn’t make me a bad guy,” Sho muttered. 

“Doesn’t make you a good one either.”

Sho scowled. Her ass offers a damn fine view, if only she’d keep her mouth shut. 

Midori felt his eyes on her backside and sighed. Too bad he’s such an idiot. Why are the sexy ones always jackasses? 

Sho stepped through the door. The stage was about as large as most of the ones he’d graced in middle school. Wide-eyed, smiling faces filled the room, though Sho’s eyes caught on a few that looked less enthused to be present. Sho could relate. Midori greeted the crowd and introduced them, a task Sho was all too happy to allow her to undertake. 

The music began with an ominous da, duh–da, duh that picked up speed and changed into a catchy dance beat. Midori flashed him two fingers, grinning and Sho reluctantly nodded. They were going to sing it twice through. Ugh. 

Professional pride wouldn’t allow Sho Fuwa to do anything less than his best. If they wanted him to sing and dance then hell, he was going to knock it out of the damn park. 

He wouldn’t let them win. 

***

Shoko Aki sat towards the rear of the Recreation and Entertainment Room at the National Cancer Center Hospital. A long, straight black wig covered her normal brown tresses and a pair of oversized sunglasses adorned her face. She wore a modest sakura print dress that didn’t quite do the job of hiding her voluptuous body, but considering Sho’s tastes, she thought it would work well enough––especially given the extremely gorgeous young distraction he trailed behind as he took the stage. Sho’s eyes were circling around her figure the way the moon orbits the earth. Or maybe she ought to say like a shark circling its prey. Shoko had to admit he looked awfully cute in costume, but she wished he would stop ogling poor Midori. If she were still his manager, she would’ve chided him but…that wasn’t her job anymore. 

When Kyoko had told Shoko their plans for Watch Me! (she imagined Sho loved the title) and Akatoki had wanted someone nearby to monitor the situation and smooth things over should something unforeseen occur since Daisuke couldn’t be involved, Shoko had volunteered. The musician had expressed no interest in philanthropic pursuits previously so Shoko wasn’t surprised it had taken a literal kidnapping to get him involved. She wished she could have convinced him otherwise back then. Better late than never.

The music began with a pulsing da, dah–da, dah like that classic scene from the American movie with the killer shark. Seemed like an odd association for a children’s event…Until it suddenly switched into a dance beat. The pink and blue sharks on stage began bobbing to the beat and Shoko grinned. This ought to be interesting. 

She took a drink of water. As she was about to swallow, Sho sang, “Baby shark doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo,” in a cutesy little voice while making little hand motions to the beat. 

Half the water in her mouth spurted directly onto the back of the poor gentleman seated in front of hers head and the other half tried choking her to death. Tears streamed from her eyes as she sputtered and hacked and cackled and tried to apologize to the man who had turned and was now glowering at her. Shoko produced a towel from her purse, a habit she had formed as Sho’s manager that apparently she hadn’t kicked, and asked the man to accept, with her apologies. 

Sho, meanwhile, was singing in a deeper voice and making larger moves for the daddy shark. He was completely into it and the kids loved it. They were singing and dancing, mostly seated, right along with him. Some children in the back had their phones out to record the performance. Sho looked sweet and handsome and it was precisely what he needed–to stop focusing on himself or his stupid image for a while and get back to the basics of putting smiles on people’s faces. 

At first Midori had seemed stiff towards her fellow performer, but his glowing sincerity had softened her to the point where she was gazing at Sho with eyes that were just as appreciative as his own. Next time Shoko saw Kyoko Mogami she might just have to kiss her, she was as genius as ever when it came to her childhood friend’s psyche. 

They sang one more round of Baby Shark then threw off their hoodies. Sho exchanged his for tiger ears and Midori put on an ogre mask to sing Oni no Pantsu, followed by a turtle mask and rabbit ears, respectively, for Usagi to Kame . Each song had its own moves to perform and Sho never let up. 

Midori announced they were taking a short break and would return to sing some of their original works. Shoko eyed the boy standing a foot to the side of her, against the back wall. She’d noticed him recording the show from the beginning.

She left her seat and slowly approached him, smiling. “I’ll pay you three thousand yen to share the video you recorded.”

The boy looked her up and down. Shoko could see the wheels of his little entrepreneur brain turning behind his big brown eyes. He smirked. “Make it five thousand and you have a deal, Oneesan.”

"Agreed."

He’s going to be some trouble when he gets older. He air dropped the video and she handed him the cash, which he promptly counted.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said dryly. 

The boy slipped the money into his back pocket, grinned and resumed his spot against the wall. He probably thought he’d hustled her, but the video was priceless.

Shoko scrolled through her contacts and selected Kyoko Mogami before pressing send.

Minutes later, across the sparkling blue Pacific, Hollywood’s most beloved couple collapsed from excessive laughter in their new Malibu Beach home.

Chapter Text

Enthusiastic applause accompanied Sho and Midori as they walked towards the stage exit after announcing they would return following a short break. Sho tried not to appear too smug. He’d probably gained a ton of new fans, especially with the “moms''. He’d seen a surprising number of hot ones in the crowd. And if the way Midori had been eyeing him was any indication, it seemed like he’d scored some points with her too. 

As if she knew Sho was thinking of her, the J-Pop idol turned to address him, one hand resting on the curve of her hip. Stage lighting emblazoned a crown atop her glossy auburn locks and set the jade of her eyes alight. There was a stern set to the curve of the lips on her otherwise soft, serene face. She looked like a goddess about to pronounce judgment.

“Maybe you do have a bit of a heart,” she said. 

While her words weren’t an endorsement, Sho figured it was a step up from the lazy narcissistic playboy asshole label she’d previously pasted across his forehead. Instead it probably read something like: professional narcissistic playboy prick. A small, but not insignificant improvement. 

“Told you. I’m not a bad guy,” he said, flashing her a charming smile.

She assessed him for another couple heartbeats. “Jury’s still out,” she said and turned around to resume her course. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sho followed, mulling over the reasons he cared to correct her averse opinion in the first place. Aside from his every move being captured on camera, maintaining a good reputation among peers was crucial and it bothered him that she thought he was too wrapped up in himself to do his work properly. Hell, he’d been doing this longer than she had–save the charity bit. 

Backstage, Emi handed him water and began fussing over Midori’s hair and makeup. Sho lounged on a too-small sofa in the middle of the room, half his lower legs hanging off the arm rest. Some dude handed him a piece of paper written in that same calligraphic script as the Watch Me! invitation. The musician’s eyes skimmed over the sheet, reading the list of songs he’d be performing. Prisoner was first, followed by Lost November and Enigma . 

Sho draped an arm over his head. It had actually felt good to perform again today, even if it was singing stupid little kiddie songs. It had been fun and he knew part of that was likely due to the hot chick by his side. Midori had implied that he’d become impotent. What else was he to do but show her that he could turn a child’s song and dance number into a professional level production? Regardless of months of solitude, Sho Fuwa was still a Multi-Million certificate holder. He also held the record for consecutive days at the top of Billboard Japan. Talent was etched into every cell of his handsome body. He’d also given those children something to smile about when they probably hadn’t had many reasons to and it had ended up serving as a decent warm up. 

Sho thought back to his frustration and inability to compose new, fresh music. How the delight and confidence that manifested from a performance well done became buried under the weight of page after torn and crumpled page of failure. He remembered the subsequent decision to cancel his world tour and the argument with his stage manager who had ultimately quit. And he was the tip of the iceberg–so many people had left him. He remembered the numerous times he’d declined to take the stage because at a certain point he’d just ceased to give a damn and the only time he felt alive for a time was after a workout. 

How had I let it turn out that way?  

His arctic blue eyes caught on the list in his hands, freezing on the first song– Prisoner– and it was like fog clearing from a misty wood. Takarada’s advice blended with Kyoko’s words, penetrating the haze in his head. Shit , Sho snorted to himself. He’d been moping around like a loser. His childhood friend had snapped him out of it, demolishing the apathetic wall he’d built around himself with a bright pink sledgehammer. 

Just like the last time when I lost to those cocky Beagle assholes . But I turned the tables on those bastards , he smiled to himself.  He remembered how worried and confused Shoko had been at the time and her relief and joy later.

Shoko. She left me too. But that–Damnit. I fucked up. I–

“Fuwa-san,” a banal voice spoke from above the musician’s head and Sho startled, unfolding his arm from his face. “Are you all set?” The voice belonged to the gofer who’d handed him his setlist. 

Midori came over as Sho stood and nodded his assent. When she suggested they play rock, paper, scissors to determine who would take the stage first, Sho hastily volunteered instead, not wanting to involve himself further with that cursed game.

“Sure you’re up for going first?” Midori asked, amusement twinkling in her eyes. Apparently she hadn’t gotten enough of the joke from earlier.

“Ha ha,” Sho replied, sarcasm practically frothing his words. “I am a wildly talented, professional musician who has been in this business years longer than you.”

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “Not that many years.”

He winked at her. “Besides, you should know I’m always up for it.” The musician leaned toward the lead singer of Lucky-M and whispered a low sultry promise. “Anytime, anywhere. I’d knock those little black panties of yours right off.”

Too stunned to move, Midori stood there blinking as a dark blush bloomed on her cheeks. “How did you know–” she began, but stopped when she saw the smirk on Sho’s face. She cleared her throat, shooting him a deadly glare as she stepped back to put a little distance between them. “You know that kind of speech constitutes harassment.”

“You started it,” he shrugged as he brushed past her. 

Midori couldn’t think of a retort. Sho knew one could not argue against Truth.

“Come on,” Sho said, pointing to the stage door. He could feel the anticipation of the crowd, that excited, almost electric energy that permeated the air before a performance. One (of many) reasons the musician had risen to the top was his ability to tap and channel that energy, to bring the crowd to life. His cells were humming with it. “Let’s begin.”

He’d think more about Shoko and why he’d sabotaged himself against performing later. For now, he was ready.

***

At the edge of the stage, Midori watched Sho Fuwa utterly dominate. There was no hint that the musician had taken a lengthy sabbatical from the industry. Or that he had been battling some weird psychological stage fright or whatever. Overwhelming–that was the only word that could describe his stage presence, his seductive voice.    

She had been set on hating him. Her mother had warned her to watch out for men who were attractive and damn well knew it. Men who wore charm as readily as tattoos or nipple rings. Midori didn’t know whether Sho had pierced nipples, but he did have tattoos running down one of his muscular arms (and somehow knew the color of her underwear). Sho Fuwa was that kind of man and those kinds of men would rip your heart out and stomp all over it and make you feel like you deserved it. This she knew all too well. She’d intended to go on hating the musician because that womanizer had broken Mimori-chan’s heart, even if it had never truly been Mimori’s to begin with.  

But Midori was in trouble. So, so much trouble. 

Sho Fuwa’s arrogance came as no surprise, but the skill and passion rivaling the ego were . She had not expected to find him so damn charismatic and quick-witted either. And there was the change in his appearance. From what she recalled, Sho Fuwa had been the typical visual kei singer, slender and handsomely pale, though taller than most. She had not expected the contours of hard muscle visible through his clothing nor the inked skin. She had not expected that being the focus of those icy blue eyes would light a fire deep within herself. 

In her youth Midori had often confused infatuation, that shallow attraction, for love. Living life under a spotlight resulted in a great many men longing and lusting after her for one reason or another. Occasionally she’d shared their sentiment, drawn by the hard set of the shoulders against soft cotton or a slow, sexy smile or a man’s humor and confidence. But infatuation was a lot like cliff diving. The rush, the thrill of diving headlong into waters unknown–a mysterious flowing surface, impenetrable to the eye. The dive ignited sensation and emotion alike, but as you took from the waters, so the waters took from you–until you were eventually left half naked and shivering, bereft of something you couldn’t quite name, and wishing you’d never plunged into the depths in the first place. Pain and Heartbreak had been Midori’s teachers; had taught her to ignore fanciful, hollow urges. Knowledge and unfortunate experience had made infatuation much simpler and as familiar as an old friend. 

Whatever this attraction was, it felt stronger than the usual superficial desire and longing she was used to caging. And it scared her.    

As Sho sang his final lines, her eyes continued to track his movements onstage like a moth following a flame.  

It’s the enigma of us dreaming the future at the end of the world,

even if the shattered sun has already burnt everything down.

I won’t let them

snatch away even our hearts…

Not even our hearts…*

And she was afraid, very much afraid of the feelings he elicited, of having her heart snatched away and scorched to ash.

She couldn't–no– wouldn’t go through something like that again. 

Sho bowed and strolled over to Midori, handing her the mic with a grin. His index finger kissed lightly against her thumb and she quickly jerked her hand away. Cursing herself, she offered him a bland smile, heart thumping loudly, frantically in her chest, knowing well that he’d never believe she was indifferent if her body betrayed her like that.

“How was it? Think you can top that?” he challenged.

She would have loved to say she’d wipe that grin right off his (handsome) face, but she no longer felt so certain. Little wonder Sho Fuwa had become a household name in record time. Damn man really was talented.

Her voice was wistful as she spoke and a wry smile formed on her soft, full lips, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Easy to see why a laundry list of women had fallen into his bed. Why Mimori had clung to him. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that fact. 

So she wouldn’t.

***

Sho found himself at a loss for words–a rare occurrence. He had expected more sass…not whatever that was.

Midori signaled that she was ready to begin and it was immediately obvious how and why she was the lead for Lucky-M. Exotic looks aside, the woman possessed some serious musical chops–her adaptability, range, and power were impressive. And her voice, which he’d noticed turned huskier when she sang, was terribly sexy. Enthralled, he watched as she interacted with the crowd, winning them over instantly again.

Midori finished her third song and as she announced another short break, the gofer let Sho know what song they’d be covering as a duet. Sho chuckled as he read the paper. No wonder Yamada had been confident they’d know the song. 

His smile widened when he saw Midori furrowing her brow at him in silent query. He waved her over and handed her the paper. 

“Oh!” she blinked and peered up at him, beaming with pleasure, delight momentarily lowering her guard. 

“Are you a fan?” Her face made the answer obvious, but he couldn’t help but ask after seeing her reaction.

She seemed to realize she had relaxed too much and hardened her face into a more neutral expression.

Too late Ice Witch.  

“Yes…the intro songs are some of my favorites– this one in particular. I’ve wanted to do a cover of The Miracle of Bonds since I first heard it, but couldn’t think of a male singer to accompany me…” she trailed off and quickly took a drink from the bottled water she was handed, her lightly flushed cheeks betraying her embarrassment. 

Sho smiled down at her, enjoying how her blush deepened. “It is among the top five most viewed TV shows for a reason. I like it too.”

Why did I just admit that? Celebrities had to be careful so they wouldn’t be viewed as endorsing anything and Sho was extra careful to maintain a particular image. Demon Slayer was one of many shows he enjoyed that he kept hidden from anyone, just like those comedies he’d loved back when he lived with Kyoko. 

Thinking of the past made the smile slip from his face and he took a swallow of his water. 

He wiped his face and asked Midori if she was all set. She confirmed she was and Sho grabbed the second mic as they walked to the center of the stage. The song was technically written for two male vocalists, but Sho was confident he could easily adjust his voice to vary his sound. Midori was used to singing J-Pop so Sho was looking forward to seeing how she would handle a song with a punk rock vibe. 

He flashed the sound tech a thumbs up and the distinctive melody of a shamisen and taiko drum sounded through the room. After a few seconds it was joined by modern guitar and drums. 

Sho sucked in a deep breath and began. 

Running through the darkness, where am I headed?

The moonlight is my only guidepost

Midori broke in, husky voice strong and beautiful.

Pain and sadness cannot be wiped away,

but the flame in my heart will not be extinguished.

Then, together, Midori blending and balancing expertly, yet still somehow managing to surprise him with the diversity, the depth of emotion in her flawless voice. His eyes met hers and Sho saw a hint of a smile on her lips. Sho wasn’t the only one having fun.

For whom do we persist in these feelings?

Tearing through the darkness,

Until the day we shine in the sun.

Fire that resides in my unleashed heart

Rise up and envelope me,

To the other side of dawn tonight

Back and forth and together they sang on as though it wasn’t their first, but their thousandth time, voices, energies harmonized. Separate but together. Girls had been laying themselves at his feet since middle school and he’d been more than happy to indulge, but when was the last time he’d enjoyed the company of a woman out of bed (or car…or broom closet)? A slender raven-haired girl with bright, wide amber eyes materialized before his eyes, vanishing as quickly as she’d appeared, lost to time and memory.

As they bowed and waved to the audience Midori found his eyes and glanced away quickly, only to be drawn back by some strange overwhelming force. 

Sho felt dazed. Midori made a few closing remarks that went in one of Sho’s ears and out the other. It wasn’t like he hadn’t performed with women on occasion, though it was rare because he preferred performing solo. There was something markedly different, more intimate about their duet and he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her either–not that he wanted to. Midori tucked a strand of her satiny hair behind her ear again and turned towards him. He imagined pulling her in close, brushing her full, soft hair behind her shoulder and sucking on her dainty little earlobe. He wondered what kinds of sounds she would make then. But it wasn’t just her body he wanted either. She was compassionate, driven, focused, and accomplished. Sho imagined she’d be working solo before long.

He watched her and she watched him and for the first time in months his mind birthed new lyrics:

Beneath the shining lights you pulled me under

Bewitched, I’ve fallen into your spell

Never knew what I was missing

Never knew until I fell

Sho had never felt like this before. The way her jade eyes bore into him made him feel like glass—glass she could temper or shatter. Given the opportunity, which would she choose?

Midori swallowed hard and stepped towards him. “Thank you for the duet, Fuwa-san,” she said with a tight smile. 

“Thank you, Midori-san,” he replied, but his mind was as tangled as his emotions. 

He had never felt–or allowed himself to feel–vulnerable with a girl. The closest he’d ever come had been with–

Kyoko. 

The girl he’d pushed away. The girl who he’d never had to hide a part of himself from. The girl who stayed by his side and supported him from the very beginning. The plain girl who had vowed revenge and changed so radically. No, it wasn’t that she had changed so much as that she’d found the perfect outlet– away from Fuwa Sho. And then with Tsuruga Ren. The girl had never been plain at all.

“Fuwa-san,” Midori waved a hand in front of his face. “We should head backstage.”

He blinked alive again and realized he’d been standing, staring blankly at the door. 

“Uh, yeah.”

Reeling from his thoughts, he followed after her to the little back room, plopped himself on the sofa and closed his eyes. The answers to the earlier questions of how and why were as clear as the cloudless blue Tokyo sky visible through the hospital windows. 

The ghost of Defeat had been shadowing Sho since the day he had read Ren Tsuruga’s true name. It had possessed him when Kyoko had said “Yes” to Kuon Hizuri. 

Once upon a time, Kyoko Mogami had been wrapped around his finger. When he’d dismissed her long ago he’d been confident she would go back to Kyoto despite her big talk. But she hadn’t. Instead, she met Tsuruga. Sho had thought a man like Ren Tsuruga would grow tired of a simple girl like Kyoko Mogami. But Tsuruga hadn’t. Sho had thought his shared childhood had bound them tighter than anything binding Kyoko to that platform-wearing hack. He had thought Kyoko would turn to him after he’d shown her how much he cared again after everything with that asshat Cedric in America. But she hadn’t been alone then either—Tsuruga was there and they–shockingly– also had a childhood bond, one that ran deeper than his own. Even after Tsuruga’s violent past was revealed, she had stayed with Kuon Hizuri. The whole world had. Sho had been clinging to the ghost of the Kyoko Mogami that had belonged to him—before he’d tossed her aside like a dirty snot rag—and he had turned himself a phantom of his own making. 

His mind distantly registered the activity in the background: Emi congratulating Midori on a job well done, the murmurs of the assistants, the squeak of the hall door and heavier footsteps approaching him.  

I lost Kyoko to Ren Tsuruga, to Kuon Hizuri. And here is the real kick in the balls–it is my own fucking fault. 

He’d lost Kyoko long ago, he had just never admitted it, had never admitted that he felt her absence deeply to begin with, a hollowed-out ache in his chest. He wondered what would have happened if he had apologized back then. The ache in Sho’s chest throbbed with each pulse of his regretful heart. He’d always thought she would eventually come back to him, but she never did and now never would. 

He swallowed hard as he admitted the painful reality. Kyoko is getting married and she deserves to be happy. With that thought, Sho Fuwa let Kyoko Mogami’s ghost go.

The footfalls stopped, replaced by the strong scent of tobacco and aftershave. “Well done Fuwa-san,” Director Yamada said. Sho snapped his eyes open and stood, stretching his arms high and rolling his shoulders. “I hope you will consider taking part in other charitable events in the future?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

The man smiled widely. “Good,” he said, offering a little bow. “We look forward to it.”

Sho returned the bow and Yamada left to speak with Midori. 

Click-clack, click-clack.

The musician swiveled towards the sound of approaching high heels and was met with the dispassionate stare of his former manager. 

“...Shoko…” 

“Sho.” 

He opened his mouth and, finding too many–or perhaps too few–words, promptly closed it again. Frustration and pride had pushed him to a point where he’d snapped at the woman who’d remained at his side from the beginning of his career. Where would he even start? Hey Shoko, I’ve had an epiphany and I’m sorry I smashed a hole in your wall and called you a bitch when you told me I needed to get off my ass and stop behaving like a cowardly man-child and get over myself. 

Actually, that’s not half bad. Women liked that kind of sensitive self-aware shit, didn’t they?

“Look Shoko, I–” 

“I’m here to escort you to your next event. Come on,” she ordered.  

Whatever it is can’t possibly be worse than Baby Shark.  That fleeting thought set him in motion, but it wasn’t towards the door that he moved.

“There’s one thing I still need to do.” Sho wasn’t leaving without Midori’s contact info.

“No need. She’s coming with us.”

“...Eh?”

Shoko’s voice had been cold when she spoke, but the corners of her mouth, which Sho could not see, had curved up into a little smile. While it was true that she had been quite infuriated with her former charge for a time, the overarching emotion had been one of extreme disappointment, partially with herself for coddling him for so long. Twenty-three was too old to behave like a hormonal teenager and much too old to be mooching off one's manager, unable to cook or clean for oneself. Shoko had kicked him out without hesitation or second thought and had continued to play the part of pissed off ex-manager long after her anger quelled in an effort to get his lazy ass in gear. It appeared her efforts were finally bearing fruit–thanks to Kyoko Mogami.

20 minutes later…..

He was in a van again, but this one didn’t have a hood requirement or hijacked radio. It contained two gorgeous women–one as driver and the other as passenger. Neither had spoken to him thus far, but it seemed Fate (or Lory Takarada), cruel or kind depending on one’s point of view, wasn’t done throwing Sho Fuwa and Midori Lin together.

On his lap was a bundle. A very egregiously pink bundle with a note taped to its plastic wrapping. 

Godsdammit, I knew better than to think that there couldn’t be anything worse.

The note read:

Fuwa-san,

Kyoko mentioned that you had expressed a certain fondness for the exquisite shade of LoveMe pink in the past and after you appeared similarly smitten with my attire in our meeting, I took the liberty of preparing this outfit for your next adventure. 

Warmest regards,

Sho could barely make out the ridiculous flowery signature, but it could only belong to one man: Lory Takarada. 

Warmest regards my perfectly toned ass. The Demon King of the MoE gets his jollies harrying me at every opportunity, Sho huffed.

The musician dubiously eyed the package in his lap before unwrapping the contents and pulling out a pink and black-edged jersey shirt and matching mid-thigh length shorts. Underneath them was a pair of solid pink meggings. Sho ran a hand over his face as he stared distastefully down at the clothing. 

Soft laughter filled the air, making him glance up. His disgust was such that the woman couldn’t contain herself, despite her determination to avoid conversation after that unnerving–and far too intimate–connection they’d shared on stage. 

“Who wears short shorts?” Midori snickered.

“Apparently, I do,” Sho replied grimly. 

Midori wondered who he’d pissed off enough to look like he belonged in a Barbie Dreamhouse.

“Probably be more accurate to ask who I haven’t pissed off at this point.” 

“Ah,” Midori looked towards the woman hidden behind the bulkhead in the driver’s seat. “She’s…your manager?” A clear pattern had emerged: Sho Fuwa preferred to surround himself with well-endowed women. 

A flash of pain and something else flickered in his eyes as he uttered, “She was.”

"I see.” Though she was curious, she had no desire to rub salt into an obviously open wound. Besides, the less she talked to him, the better off she’d be.  

The rest of the short drive passed in silence, the van’s occupants engrossed in past, present or future. 

Chapter Text

Sho Fuwa was no stranger to being stuck in tight quarters with a sexy woman. 

Those situations had kept him pleasantly busy in the past and had left little room for talking, which was fine by him. In a choice of what he’d rather have filling his mouth, feminine assets won over words, hands down (and hands were always always down). Discussion was overrated anyway, he’d thought, but even talking was currently off the table. The woman sitting across from him was locked up tighter than a bank vault. Midori Lin hadn’t deigned to glance his direction once after their brief interaction–her green gaze had remained affixed to the window. An impenetrable wall of silence surrounded her, leaving Sho stuck in the van with nothing but his churning thoughts as company as they traveled to an undisclosed destination. 

Sho couldn’t help but wonder what had her so preoccupied. It had to be something unpleasant because the aura she was emitting surpassed the AC’s chilly air. 

Though they’d shared a connection, Midori obviously had hang-ups. Part of it was probably thanks to Pochi. Some women didn’t give a damn about female solidarity, but Sho knew Midori wasn’t the backstabbing, only-kind-to-your-face type. During their shared time on the stage he felt like he’d gotten a glimpse of Midori’s soul and it was as breath-taking as her appearance. She’d mentioned that Kizuna no Kiseki was one of her favorites songs. Her sincerity and passion as she sang the words of loyalty and love during their duet was obvious.

Damn. Why does she have to be in the same group as Mimori Nanokura? For once, he wanted to talk, though he wouldn’t have turned down other activities either. Why was it that the women he found interesting, women who weren’t empty inside, had circumstances that made them despise him in some way?  

The van made a sharp turn onto Bayshore Route, jostling him from his thoughts. Sho began fearing it would continue across the bay to DayJowey Land, but it mercifully turned again not long after the sight of the red and white ferris wheel rising high over Kasai Rinkai Park came into view and he huffed a sigh of relief. 

His relief was short-lived. 

Through the window a sprawling multicolored padded monstrosity came into view, partially obscured by a tall fence surrounding it. It looked about the length of a couple of football fields. Plastered on the side of the fence were the words: Shark Infested Waters: Celebrity Edition!  

What the heck is this?? His brain took a moment to absorb the outrageous sight. An ocean-themed obstacle course? Naturally it had to have something to do with sharks again. Does that dude have some sort of weird fetish or what? [Lory Tarakada had, in fact, participated in what he referred to as a “heart-pounding” and “moving” swimming with sharks experience a few weekends prior]. 

There was a high platform with an attached slope leading down to what Sho could only guess because he couldn’t see more from his vantage point. With Takarada as the organizer, it’s likely a slope leading to Hell. Further down the course he saw another high platform next to four giant red balls and a tall walkway with a zipline leading to a thick circular rotating pad that appeared to have sea creature shapes cut out of it. 

Sho slowly shook his head in disbelief, running a hand over his face. He felt a sudden headache coming on. 

He glanced at his fellow passenger. Midori didn’t seem the least bit surprised.

The van rounded a corner and stopped at a gated entry. Sho heard Shoko speaking to someone and after a moment, the vehicle continued on.

“Did you know we were headed here?” Sho asked, breaking the icy silence. Midori was too polite to ignore him completely and he was too curious to avoid asking the question.

She let out a faint sigh, slowly swiveling to look at him. “Yes,” came her cold, clipped reply. It shouldn’t have bothered him considering they’d known each other all of a couple of hours—but it did. 

The van came to a complete stop and the engine cut off. Before Sho had a chance to ask anything else, Midori slipped out the door Shoko opened for them. Abominable clothing tucked under one arm, Sho followed after her, stepping out into the warmth of the late morning sun. 

Shoving down the instinct to chase after the J-Pop star, Sho turned his attention to Shoko. 

Her shoulder-length hair blew gently in the light breeze as she gazed at him with equal parts longing, hurt, and expectation. He wished he could take everything back, every nasty word and action, but since changing the past was impossible the least he could do, in the present, was not make her wait any longer.

“Shoko, I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking away. “I was angry and frustrated and lost my temper but that’s no excuse for what I did or what I said.” He shook his head, mouth twisting into a self-deprecating smile as he continued staring at the ground, voice toned low so that it was almost a whisper. “The radio was right. My pride was wounded.”

Shoko didn’t hear the latter part of his words, but the shame written all over his face and the sorrow in his voice was enough. “I forgive you,” she said as she stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his arm until he brought his gaze back to her face. Her smile was genuine and warm. “I was angry for a while I admit, but that bled away to disappointment–for you and myself. As your manager, I bear some of the blame.”

“No, that’s not–” Sho began, only to be cut off.

“I should have been able to help you.” Her voice was fierce, past frustration evident. “But I could only watch as you sank further into the depths.” Sho grimaced. “Especially because I’d coddled you for so long.” 

Sho couldn’t argue against it. Attempt number one at doing his own laundry had led to half of his favorite shirts looking like they belonged in Rufio’s closet. But he couldn’t stand that she thought any of it was her fault. He’s the one who had insisted his manager handle the day to day minutiae. 

“Don’t blame yourself Shoko,” he said, tucking a wayward strand of satiny hair behind her ear. “You did everything you could. I’m sorry I was an ass.” 

“Me too,” she smiled wryly, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze before releasing him. “Of course this doesn’t mean you’re moving back in.”

Sho rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Honestly, he’d gotten tired of having to fool around at women’s homes anyway so it was for the best for more than one reason. And if he became truly desperate he would hire a maid to clean and require an NDA to ensure his privacy. 

Reconciliation concluded, Shoko made her way to where the other competitors were gathered with Sho trailing behind, scanning the terrain as he walked. Water lying below the obstacles was expected given the name of the show. What wasn’t anticipated was the muddy put lying adjacent to the second obstacle. Never had Sho Fuwa ever suffered a splatter with a single drop of mud, let alone gone swimming in a pool of it. He’d have to be extra careful with that one–no way it was the type of mud that would beautify his skin. 

Although… Sho’s mind conjured an image of Midori in a matching little shorts and tee set, clothes clinging to her slick, shapely body. That’s one fine reason in its favor . But Sho couldn’t stand the idea that other guys would see her too. 

He was still frowning at the thought when they arrived at a building resembling a manufactured home. A lavish one at that. L.M.E. had spared no expense. As usual. Kyoko had been really lucky he’d driven her to sign up with that agency. 

Shoko gestured towards the building. “Here’s the competitor’s lounge. You can change and relax inside until it’s your turn,” she said. “As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, you’ll be competing against fellow celebrities.” Sho opened his mouth to ask if there were any that he knew besides Midori, but Shoko, who had already read his face, shot him a sly smile and answered his  yet-to-be-spoken question. “There are a few individuals with whom you are familiar. You’ll see.” 

Judging by the look on her face, Sho was certain he wasn’t going to like some of the people in there. “Great,” he muttered.

Her smile widened. “Yes, I believe it will be,” she said. Her expression turned solemn. “Sho, the top three fastest course runners will have sizable donations made to the charities of their choice.” He noticed her fingers tightening their grip on her purse as she studied him intently. “It would be excellent PR for you to place in the top three.” 

He knew she was worried about him and with good reason–his reputation had taken a big hit, no matter what he tried to claim. Akatoki wouldn’t have a target on his ass if the situation were otherwise. 

“Consider it done.” Sho flashed her a smile that held more confidence than he actually felt. “I am Fuwa Sho after all.” How difficult could it be right? 

“Please do.” Her lips pressed lightly against his cheek. “Good luck Sho.”

“Thanks.” He was relieved that things were normal between them again, that he hadn’t damaged their relationship irreparably as he had feared. 

“All right, you’d better get in there and I’m one of the hosts so I need to get going too. I’ll be speaking with contestants before and after their runs.”

Sho blinked in surprise. “Okay. See you.”

She gave him a final wave and headed off. He stood there a bit, watching her go and wondering why he felt like a kid whose mom had just dropped him off for his first day of school. How ridiculous.  

Sho straightened, stepping onto the covered porch and opened the door.

The musician found himself in a large foyer. The murmur of voices and laughter tickled at his ears. A bench seat with labeled shoe cubbies, about half of which still contained slippers, was situated against the right wall. It would seem that he was among the first to arrive. Bathrooms and a coat closet were directly off the foyer. He found his name and swapped his expensive shoes for slippers. The entry opened up to a common room with comfy couches straight ahead and a kitchen with a dining space to the left. Several doors labeled “dressing room” were located on the far wall, past the seating area.

Words, their ebb and flow and tones, made their own kind of music that Sho let wash over him as he moved further in. He spotted Midori seated on a black leather couch. An unknown male who appeared to be a model or actor type was standing nearby, loudly chatting up a couple of cutely dressed girls seated on a loveseat. One of the girls looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember what he’d seen her in. All of them wore activewear. The polite conversation he waded past reminded him of pop music–catchy, but shallow. 

Their gazes met and she looked away, fidgeting and angling her body so their eyes wouldn’t lock again. It looked like she was waiting for someone. As that thought flitted through his mind, one of the dressing room doors on the back wall opened revealing Mimori Nanokura, hair in pigtails, wearing a t-shirt and shorts set and thigh high white socks. 

Sho stiffened. Shit . A little warning would have been nice Shoko! Wait , Sho sucked in a deep breath, I haven’t done anything wrong. Their arrangement had been one of mutual give and take. I told that chick I don’t belong to her long ago. It wasn’t his fault she wanted more than what he had offered. This feeling wasn’t guilt, it was just awkwardness from being around a woman who liked to pretend Fuwa Sho belonged to her.

Refusing to feel like the villain of the story, Sho headed towards Mimori. From the corner of his eye, he could swear he saw a flash of pain dance across Midori’s beautiful face, but it was gone in an instant. 

“Hey Pochi.” Mimori stared open-mouthed at Sho Fuwa, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “Surprised to see you here.” 

He closed the gap between them, reaching down to nudge the gentle curve of her chin up to close her mouth. She blinked at him and came out of the stupor, her lips pushing outward into a very feminine expression. 

“Sho,” she pouted. 

In the past he hadn’t minded when she had grabbed his arm, pressing her titillating assets against him, but neither of them were teenagers anymore and he’d long outgrown her unfounded possessiveness. So when she attempted to glomp onto him, he nimbly side-stepped out of her reach. She looked a little hurt, but still looked up at him with large, eager puppy eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you! I signed up for this with one of the girls in my group a month ago,” Pochi said.

Her group eh? Mimori cut a sexy figure, but she was just another star, shining dimly, indiscernible among the masses in a midnight sky. Midori Lin on the other hand, with her ethereal looks and instantly recognizable talents, blazed at the forefront like a star gone supernova. Frankly, he was surprised Midori hadn’t gone solo already. 

And a month ago? Am I that predictable? 

“I’m really glad I did!” Pochi beamed, eyes lingering on the well-defined muscles visible through his clothes. “But why do I only see you when we’re working?” she began whining. “I haven’t been with you in so long. I couldn’t even see you on your birthday.” 

Sho shrugged. “We work for the same agency, Pochi,” he said, putting a little steel into his voice, “and we’re friends, but I’m a busy guy.”  

Unfortunately for her, they were co-workers who had found each other attractive and acted on it occasionally.  

“But I thought…” she trailed off, pausing to look around, to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, eyes brimming with hope. “I thought once she was out of the way, we could finally be more .”

The girl’s instinct had been correct that he’d harbored more than friendship for Kyoko, though he had vehemently denied it at the time. However, Pochi never realized that their relationship was unaffected by his feelings for his childhood friend. Shoko had warned him this would happen. His manager had told him he was toying with the girl’s feelings because “that girl was too stupid to realize she was being used.” He’d argued that it didn’t matter because Pochi was using him too. It was mutual. He’d never once asked the girl to make him a bento or stop by the studio to visit or give him chocolates on Valentine’s Day. The times he had asked for her help were either for work like during PV shoot or to keep an eye on Kyoko, the former boosting her career and the latter involving more intimate forms of compensation. 

Sho let out a long sigh. I don’t want to have to deal with this. 

Maybe it would be better to take her by the wrist and talk in the dressing room she’d vacated, but he didn’t want to give Pochi or Midori the wrong idea. 

"Mimori-san,” he said in a cold voice, leveling a frozen gaze at her upturned face. She flinched. “There is no we. You and I have never been more than friends and colleagues. You and I will never be more.” She backed up a step, tears pooling in her eyes. “I have never and will never belong to you . ” 

Fat, sorrowful drops flooded down her face. “You’re the worst!” she cried and fled back into the dressing room. 

Part of him was shocked she’d said something negative to him, but mostly he felt annoyed. The girl always cried when she didn’t get her way. Hopefully the editors would cut that footage. He uttered a low curse, running a hand through his hair as he thought about how much of a pain in the ass it could turn out to be. 

Oh well, he thought bitterly, no sense in agonizing over it now.

Unsurprisingly, all other conversation had died at Mimori Nanokura’s outburst. Sho glanced around. The unknown guy looked quizzical while the girls the dude had been flirting with were shooting daggers at him with their eyes. He rubbed at his temples. 

This is what I get for not dealing with this sooner. 

Sho went into the room a couple doors down from Pochi to change his clothes, noting how each item was a sickeningly perfect fit. He cringed as he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the way out. If only the damn meggings were a dark color instead of pink, he wouldn’t feel like a fucking ballerina. But it could have been worse–the black on the shirt and shorts somehow prevented him from looking (and feeling) completely emasculated. No doubt there’d be some interesting reactions to his attire, but he didn’t think anyone would give him too much crap about it. 

By the time he left the room, more competitors had arrived and Midori had moved to the round table in the small dining area where she nursed a bottle of water. Pochi had yet to emerge from her room. She was probably fixing her ruined make-up. 

As Sho made his way to the kitchen, he let his eyes wander and recognized an actress who had arrived while he was changing. The woman’s eyes widened when she spotted him and she came over. Musicians and actors didn’t have much opportunity to mingle.

“It’s nice to see you again Fuwa-san,” Itsumi Momose greeted warmly. She stared intently at his attire, pausing briefly on his tattooed arm before returning her gaze to his face.

With her average chest, she had never quite been Sho’s type, but he had discovered she was a kind and considerate girl from the time Kyoko had been cast as Mio in Dark Moon . A lot of celebrities turned rotten when they reached the top, but she seemed the same as back then and Sho was glad of it. 

“Hello Momose-san,” Sho replied. “It’s been a while.”

Silence hung awkwardly between them and Sho floundered for something else to say.

Momose beat him to it. “Are you playing for a women’s cancer charity?” 

It was a reasonable assumption considering how the actress knew the musician was not affiliated with L.M.E. but it still made Sho’s face twitch. 

“Probably.” It sounded more like a question because he hadn't a damn clue what charity they’d chosen for him. But he knew how he looked—like a blonde walking, talking breast cancer awareness ribbon fringed with black.

Her brow furrowed with confusion before she quickly smoothed her expression. “Oh, well…will you be participating in the wedding?” 

Of course Sho knew whose imminent nuptials she was referring to. Now that he thought about it, Kyoko had mentioned something about him fulfilling some kind of role, but he’d been too drunk at the time to remember. Had she asked him to sing at her wedding? 

“Uh…that’s still being worked out.” 

“Oh…I see. Schedule permitting, I hope to see you there.” She smiled at him brightly and bowed again, excusing herself to speak with others. He wished her luck with the competition.

Yeah, that wasn’t awkward at all . 

He glanced over again at Midori. The guy who’d been flirting with the other girls now seemed to be making a pass at her too and she didn’t seem appreciative. He stalked towards them.

“Number six,” a familiar male voice taunted, halting Sho in his tracks. He pivoted and found himself face to face with a snickering Hiromune Koga. 

Overseas, the men had a couple drinks together in commiseration of their dislike of a certain unreasonably tall handsome actor and had since been in competition over the ranking on home turf. Turned out they were also admirers of each other's work. Not that either would actually admit that when sober.

“That’s a good look for you Fuwa-san.” Sho gave him a vulgar gesture and Koga’s grin widened. “Especially the itty bitty shorts with the leggings.” 

“They’re called meggings ,” Sho corrected, causing the other man to shake with barely restrained laughter. 

Might as well have some fun with this. Gods knew Sho Fuwa had seen enough insecure women in his time to flawlessly imitate one. 

Sho turned to the side and looked down at himself before meeting the actor’s gaze again. “Do…do they make me look fat?” 

“Dude, bffft!” Koga sputtered and the dam broke. Cackling, the actor clutched at his sides. While he struggled to regain control of himself Sho asked how it felt to finally be number one.

Koga immediately sobered, dramatically stretching out his arms and raising them to the heavens as he proclaimed, “Long overdue!”

Sho rolled his eyes and shook his head at his theatrics. “Don’t get used to it. I’m gonna kick your ass here in a bit.”

Koga snorted. “Bruh, I can’t take you seriously when you look like that .”

“Don’t worry,” Sho retorted, patting Koga on the shoulder. “Disbelief has zero effect on truth.” With a final wave, he stepped past Koga with a muttered, “Later,” and headed towards the woman with whom he was intent on speaking. 

The guy was still there. He was taller than the average Japanese male and handsome the way a model or actor would need to be, with a reasonably fit figure, but Sho was confident he outclassed him in every way possible. 

As he approached, he heard him trying to butter Midori up by saying how much he loved some Lucky-M song and how Midori was his favorite and how he loved that her name meant green like the color of her beautiful eyes. She was smiling but those beautiful green eyes were devoid of warmth. Sho was glad she wasn’t fooled by the smarmy smooth-talker. A more naive girl–like Kyoko had been in the past–would have been duped for sure, but in fairness, Midori was older too. 

Good thing this asshole isn’t a musician.

Mr. Unknown was in the middle of a sentence when Sho plopped down on the chair between them, surprising the two and interrupting their very one-sided conversation by asking Midori who her new friend was. 

The dude stared at Sho for a few breaths, sizing him up, and answered instead. “I’m Kijima Hidehito, actor and model.” He flashed perfect teeth as he rose from his chair. The name niggled at the back of Sho’s mind. Kijima’s smile was much too white as he added, “And you’re the dude that made that poor Mimori Nanokura cry.”

Sho stood and introduced himself. “Fuwa Sho, record-breaking, world renowned music artist.” Kijima’s eyes widened as took in the musician’s full height. Clearly he hadn’t expected the difference in stature. 

Where the hell do I know this putz’s name from? Something was telling him the name was significant, but he couldn’t quite place it…

“As for Mimori-san, she’s a friend and colleague who wanted to be more. I had to give her a firm no. Again.” Sho shrugged.

Kijima’s eyes flicked between Midori and Sho and he smiled knowingly, holding his hands up in a what’s a guy to do gesture. “I see. Must be rough.” 

He turned his attention to Midori. “Nice meeting you,” he said and excused himself. 

It wasn’t until Kijima had left that Sho realized how much his body had tensed up, like he’d been expecting a fight. Fortunately Kijima wasn’t the confrontational type. 

Sho turned to Midori. A bottle of water was being twirled between her fingers as she stared through the table like she could see past the wooden surface and beyond. He doubted anyone on the Earth had ever looked at a table so seriously. His mouth opened to ask what she was thinking about, but at that moment she looked up with a piercing gaze that cut through him, silencing his lips.  

She abruptly stood and walked to the fridge, reaching inside. Peeking out from around the door, she asked, “You want one?” An item was in the palm of her hand. The bulb in the fridge drew a halo atop her head and Sho had a moment to wonder how that kept happening until he realized what she was holding. Pucchin pudding.

Sho’s eyes lit up like the intersection just outside Shibuya Station. Have I died and gone to Heaven? Maybe she really is an angel. He reached his right hand across his body, took the flesh of his left arm between his fingers, and squeezed. Ow. Reality confirmed. Great Scott, if this woman appeared in a commercial, the Pucchin factories would run dry. 

Noticing the desire in his eyes, minus the fact that it was partially due to her own presence, Midori grabbed two plates and spoons to go along with the snack and sat back down beside him. He thanked her and they each put their hands together as if to pray saying, “Itadakimasu!” in perfect synchronization.

After a shared laugh at their timing, Sho tried not to inhale the delicious treat too quickly. It had been far too long since he’d had one. Regardless, his plate was clean before her own. He had just finished chasing the snack with water when the atmosphere suddenly turned heavy. 

Midori peered at him with fiery eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Mimori-san all of that five years ago?” she asked, voice whispery soft.

It was spoken casually, but Sho had the distinct feeling that this conversation would determine the future of their relationship. If there was to be a relationship at all. 

“I told her I didn’t belong to anybody.”

“Okay…you really don’t get it, do you?” She sighed and brushed aside a few strands of hair that had become displaced. “ You let her do things that normally only a significant other would do, right? And when you asked her to do certain things, you behaved in a way that only a significant other would too, did you not?”

Their past interactions played through his mind. The bentos, the chocolates, the wanting to see him one last time before leaving anywhere. The texts and phone calls. The way her eyes would sparkle when she saw him. The closeness of their bodies, the kisses in back rooms or other private spaces. The more-than kisses. 

He crossed his arms, resting his elbows on the table. “I guess a lot of our interactions were the kinds of things that couples would do, but like I said, I made it clear I was not hers.” He looked past her, at the door leading to where Pochi was hiding. “And yeah, I suppose I did ask for her help a couple times and she wanted a certain kind of reward,” Sho didn’t notice how Midori shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “But–”

“Did it never occur to you that she would do anything to please you?” 

He returned his gaze to the woman in front of him. There had been another girl who fit that description…“Well, I knew she liked me, but didn’t see the harm. We’re young and we both got things we wanted.” 

“So you didn’t realize you were using her feelings for your own benefit?” 

Sho narrowed his eyes. “We both benefitted.” If he hadn’t become so fond of this incredibly gorgeous woman, he would have told her off already. But why am I feeling so defensive to begin with? Why did I feel guilty the moment I laid eyes on Pochi? Because that was absolutely what that feeling had been, now that he examined it.

“Perhaps. But at what cost?” Midori pressed. Her eyes seemed to cloud then, with an emotion Sho couldn’t quite decipher, and her gaze turned downcast. “My…situation once was similar to Mimori-chan’s. What I mistook for love was merely me being used as a tool.” She swallowed hard and the feelings that briefly surfaced were buried away again as she looked directly into the icy blue sea of Sho’s eyes. “Men and women are fundamentally different, Sho. You ought to know that by now. Think about it.” She stood up, brushing past him as she walked over  to Pochi’s dressing room, filling his nose with the scent of vanilla and jasmine. 

After rapping twice on the door, it opened and Midori disappeared inside. 

As Sho grabbed another Pucchin (at this point his reputation was the last thing on his mind) and sat back down to do what Midori had requested, another contestant entered the building–a dude from a comedy show Sho was familiar with. 

The musician ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling pissed off, partly from being lectured despite knowing she was trying to help, but also because of what Midori had revealed about herself. That someone had dared use her. Wait, was this how Tsuruga had felt about me and Kyoko? No wonder that guy hated my guts.  

He recalled Shoko’s warning that he was toying with Pochi. Mimori had wanted to please him; that’s why he’d given her that nickname to begin with. But when he actually thought about her behavior…it was eerily akin to Kyoko’s–before Sho had ditched her, just minus the chore stuff. It was true that women viewed relationships differently than men. Perhaps girls were simply far better at deceiving themselves. Some of the girls he’d fooled around with had been so angry when they discovered they weren’t the only ones, despite having been flatly told that Sho Fuwa didn’t belong to anyone. Perhaps they’d each hoped to be the exceptions to that rule. To be special, just like Mimori had wanted. 

Damn . 

Everything Mimori had done was to please him and Sho had used that knowledge, used her feelings, to get what he’d wanted. Her receiving something in return…it still hadn’t made it right, not when he took advantage of how she felt. 

With all that had gone on so far today, Sho couldn’t decide whether it was the best day or the worst–he was mentally exhausted and it was only halfway through.

Contemplating answers to the questions running amok in his head, he scooped the last bit of glorious, deliciously bouncy custard from his plate, bringing it to his mouth as the front door swung open for the last participant. At the sight of the violet-eyed, platinum-haired male walking through, the spoon went slack in Sho’s hand. The pudding slid off, splattering on the floor. Sho glared at the pudding splotch. 

Shoving back his chair, he strode across the room to the entry. The comedian, who was chatting with some girl, saw him coming and quickly moved aside.

Sho loomed over Reino, arms crossed over his chest. “Yo. I thought we already established that you have no stamina, so what are you doing here?” Vie Ghoul’s lead vocalist placed his tall black leather boots in a cubby, seemingly ignoring his rival. “Perhaps you’re looking for round two?” He cracked his knuckles.

The corners of Reino’s lips curled into a chilling smile. “No thank you, Fuwa.” His voice was grim. He put on the slippers and stood. “I am here because I must be, not because I want to be. Believe me when I say you are the last person I wish to see. You remind me of her , the one fleshly woman in the world that I’ve ever wanted and the one woman I now can never have.”

Sho’s grin turned feral. He wanted nothing more than to beat the daylights out of the asshole again for daring to talk about Kyoko.

“My only consolation is that you don’t get to have her either,” Reino smirked.

Sho began to chant a mantra in his head, reminding himself why he couldn’t wipe the floor with this loser. Reino leaned forward until his face was entirely too close, causing Sho to fight the urge to leap back. 

“Pink is definitely your color, Fuwa,” Reino chuckled in his ear. 

Sho took half a step, body-checking Reino so that the man nearly tumbled over. 

“Better watch your feet.” 

Reino brushed himself off. “Duly noted.” The Vie Ghoul singer walked to the far side of the building, entering one of the changing rooms. 

Pasting a genial smile on his face, Sho went to formally introduce himself to the other purgatorial participants.

(NOTE: Michika Kawagoe is the actress that Chidori and Kanae verbally roast alive on Vain Day.)

“A pulse-pounding adventure awaits ,” a male voice says as the camera quickly pans over the course.  

“Hello Japan and welcome to Shark Infested Waters: Celebrity Edition! where ten celebrity contestants will compete head to soon-to-be-battered head on the most extraordinary, outrageously challenging obstacle course ever assembled.”

The camera flashes briefly to the (mostly) wildly enthusiastic competitors before focusing on a man who smiles and winks into the camera. 

“And all for the privileged chance of receiving a staggering seven million yen donation to the charity of their choice. But this prize is only for those who battle bravely, finishing with the top three fastest of times. I’m one of your hosts, comedian Kuri Kin, better known as Kuri-kinton for my shining good looks and radiantly golden personality,” he says grinning as he runs a hand through his artificially blonde locks. 

“Co-hosting this auspicious affair with me today is the lovely Aki Shoko,” the camera switches to a dignified woman with a beautiful figure, “acting as our heels on the ground. She’ll be introducing each of our contestants.”

“That’s right,” Shoko’s mouth curls into a sweetly seductive smile. “ But, first let’s review each obstacle these celebrities will be forced to tackle.”

 “Starting from the raised platform,” the camera pans across, following Kuri-kinton’s words, “contestants will slide their way down to confront the very first obstacle: Walking the Planks.” Several horizontal padded “boards” are set up like stepping stones. “They must traverse these treacherous, sometimes collapsible planks or taste the pointy end of defeat in the deep blue sea. 

“Next, these daring individuals will tangle with a legendary terror of the seas: the giant octopus in the Octo-Punch obstacle–only this one has far more than eight legs.” About thirty curled up “tentacles” are shown randomly punching out from holes littering a wall with climbing holds attached for gripping one's way across a very narrow path. “And, ooh,” the cameras zoom in on nozzles shooting black liquid, “watch out for that ink or you’ll be in for some real dirty open water!” 

“Third, our famous land-lubbers must bounce their way across the Jellyfish Jumper.” Four massive red balls are placed in a line just above the water. “Will they succeed or will they succumb, like so many others, to the jaws of defeat?” 

“And finally, the grand finale, the Sea-shape shifter! Celebrities will zipline their way above Davy Jones's locker to one of many sea-inspired cutouts. A successful landing will allow them to leap across to the victory platform, securing their time.” 

“Here with me now,” says Shoko, “is the star of so so many romantic dramas, Kawagoe Michika.” 

“Hi everyone, it’s me, Chika!” Michika says in a high, cutesy voice. Dressed in a white and navy sailor fuku (with little navy shorts underneath much to every male’s chagrin).

“Michika-san is representing her role of Erika in the serial drama Finding Love in High School, which (somehow) remains running after six years.” 

“Yes! And I just finished recording for the soundtrack of the newest season of FLHS so please check it out!”

Shoko’s smile manages to not look too disingenuous as she asks the ditzy young woman what charity she’s playing for. After speaking briefly about the charity, JEN, Chika (self-titled) dons a gray life jacket, and heads to the starting platform. 

“It’s all for love!” Chika shouts, making a “V” with her fingers and bringing them to her lips to blow a kiss. 

“And seven million,” adds Shoko.

“That’s right Shoko-san,” Kuri-kinton says, “and with that much you could buy it–if the money wasn’t already going to charity.” 

Chika tries staying on her feet as she slides down the slope, but finds herself unable to stop at the bottom and slides off the platform into the water.

“Our sailor girl, making a splash right off the bat,” Kuri-kinton notes. “Let’s hope she’s more adept at traversing the seven seas than she’s shown us so far.”

Pulling herself back onto the walkway Chika begins a dainty jog up to the planks. She steps gingerly on the first and seeing that it holds her weight, hops to the next. But just as she places a foot on the fourth, it collapses.

"Aahh!” she screams and drops into the water.

She climbs back up to the second set of planks and decides to try a different tactic this time. With bent knees she sprints across, but not fast enough. Her feet fall out from under her as her head pitches forward, smashing her face directly into the next plank and once again, landing her in cool water.

“That looked like it hurt,” Shoko says, wincing. “Let’s watch it again in slow-mo.” The footage replays at half speed, highlighting her glorious faceplant.

“Yeah, ouch! And doesn’t she know she’s not supposed to swab the deck with her face?”

Michika swims to the ladder and climbs back onto the walkway, heading for the second obstacle. 

“Apparently she’s one of the people who have to learn the hard way.”

“Yes, and unfortunately there’s no easy way to pass those punching tentacles.”

Wiping wet strands of hair away from her eyes, Michika reaches for the first grip only to take a shot to the gut that sends her flying into the muddy pit. Spitting gunk from her dainty mouth, she slowly swim-wades her way out, leaving a trail of sludge in her wake.

“Let’s see how our sea slug handles those big red balls.”

“Don’t you mean jellyfish?”

“Ah, yes. After all, only the very tops will keep you bouncing safely across.”

Michika stops at the edge of the platform as though gathering the courage to attempt the leap onto the first ball. Unfortunately she doesn’t notice the large, padded wedge-shaped “Motivator” swinging towards her because she’s taking too long. Moments before it can send her flying she jumps onto the first red ball and somehow bounces straight up, high enough that the Motivator makes contact, spinning her around like a top. 

“Oh my!” Kuri-kinton exclaims. “I never thought I’d be witness to a Sharknado event, but here we are, making history.”

Doggie-paddling to the latter leading back up to the walkway, Michika looks thoroughly exhausted already, but manages to drag herself up. 

“I think our sailor needs a little cabin time,” Shoko says.

“No doubt. These obstacles are a lot trickier than they look.”

“Yes, but at least her small figure might help her stick the landing on this last obstacle.”

Michika grips the zipline and pushes off towards the Sea-shape Shifter. She successfully makes it onto the sea turtle shape, but as she tries to get good footing to leap across to the final platform, her water and mud soaked shoes slide right off the padding and she falls headfirst into the water, managing to plug her nose as she hits the surface. Finally, the actress swims across, making it to the little stage where her time ends upon standing up. 

Actress Marumi “Rumi” Maruyama is next. She ends up just as much a wet, splattered mess as poor Michika and her face is noticeably tear-streaked when she finally finishes. 

“How do you feel now that you’ve finished?” Shoko asks, holding the mic by Rumi’s frowning face. 

“I appreciate the opportunity to help a good cause, but I think I will find more fitting ways in the future,” Rumi replies. In other words, this was something she never wanted to do again. 

Not a single person who watched this program in the future would blame her for this sentiment.

“Now we are joined by comedian and talento, Watanabe Taichiro of This Show Will Really Make You Feel Good . How do you feel you’ll keep yourself afloat here today?”

He flashes a cocky grin. “Compared to making people laugh, running an obstacle course is a piece of cake.” 

“No truer words were ever spoken,” his fellow comedian interjects in agreement.

Tachiro zooms across planks, impressively avoiding “walking the plank.” Unfortunately a shot to the face knocks him from the wall on the second obstacle as he’s halfway. He actually makes it to the third jellyfish ball before bounding off to become shark bait. Similarly to the girls, the final obstacle proves too slippery, sending him for a swim with some finned friends. The comedian finishes with a modest time of two minutes and forty-five seconds. 

“Momose Itsumi, widely lauded as one of the top five leading ladies in Japanese showbiz, joins us on the competitor’s stage,” Shoko says into the camera. She turns her attention to Momose. “Do you think being an actress has prepared you for something like this?”

“Hmm,” Momose says, clearly putting some thought into her answer. She’s known for being a highly skilled, sincere and passionate actress who delivers the best performance she can, much like a certain male actor, formerly of Japan. “Acting requires a strong mental focus and oftentimes there are physical components to roles as well.” Momose smiles. “I would have to say it probably helps.”

"Well, she’s certainly going to need all the help she can get judging by how beat up the others have been up till now.” 

Momose gets off to a strong start, only falling in the water once at the first obstacle. Amazingly, she dodges tentacles to the face, absorbing the blows to the abdomen to reach the other side, mud free.

“Wow, she’s the first contestant to make it through that one, impressive.”

“Yes, it is. Looks like her dedication to her trade has, in fact, lent some aid here this afternoon.”

“Itsumu-san, approaching the big red balls now. She would definitely bounce herself into the top three if she can manage to do what a rare few could.”

Momose lands on the first ball and catches her footing, then leaps across, but hits the second one on the side, boinging right into the salty water. At the last obstacle, Momose slides onto the shark shape’s belly and readies herself for the longish leap to the finish platform. She jumps, but only her upper half makes it. Lacking the strength to pull herself up from that awkward angle, she lets go. 

“She’s currently in second place with a respectable three minutes, five seconds.” 

“Next up is idol Nanokura Mimori, a member of the Lucky-M group. How do you think your luck will hold up here?” asks Shoko.

Mimori glares scathingly at the other woman before adopting her usual innocent cheerful mask, leaving Shoko at a loss for words.

But before the host has time to say anything, Mimori beams, “It looks really hard, but I’ll do my best!” 

“Let’s hope her best is sufficient,” says Kuri-kinton. “And she’s off.”

Sliding down the giant ramp on her rump, Mimori stays on the walkway to the Walking the Planks first obstacle. 

“She’s leaping across those boards like a graceful deer in a forest, but oh! Down she goes into the water!” 

“I’m sure she’s wishing was in a forest instead right about now,” comments Shoko.

“Indeed. Will she be able to smell the flowers or will she be another scent in the water for our sharks to chomp away at her time?” The girl swims over and climbs up the ladder, nearly slipping off, but is able to catch her footing. “Onto the second set of planks. Mimori jumps across again, but takes a plank right to the face!” 

In the end, Mimori could not make it through a single obstacle without falling in mud or water, but because she could swim faster, her final time was higher than the first two girls at least. 

A pallid Reino steps onto the beginner’s platform, his long hair braided to the side. 

“The lead vocalist of Vie Ghoul, Reino, joins us now,” Shoko says. “Why did you decide to participate?”

“ I did not choose.” He shivers and looks off in the distance as though terrified of something no one else can see. “I am here so that I don’t get cursed.” 

Shoko blinks at him. “Cursed?”

“Yes.”

The mic hovers by him for a few more moments, but Reino remains as silent and still as a corpse. And just as pale. 

“There you have it,” Shoko says.

“Whatever it is,” Kuri-kinton adds. “In any case we’ll find out whether this ghoul can overcome the physical curses that lie before him.

“He successfully skis down the slope and makes his way along the path to the dreaded planks. Taking his sweet time. I believe I’ve seen my eighty five year old grandma move faster than this. I hope his selected charity isn’t desperate for cash because it certainly doesn’t look like he’ll be awarded any. By the way, what is the organization he selected to donate to Shoko-san?”

She scans a clipboard someone hands her. “Looks like…the National Ghost Hunter Club of Japan? That’s a real organization? Wow.” 

“Wow indeed, Shoko. Wow indeed . Doesn’t sound like it’s a loss for anyone then, except for Reino who is on track to be the world’s slowest participant, possibly ever in the history of all obstacle courses.”

“And he’s across the first couple planks, but oh, slammed in the gut on the next step! Let’s take a closer look at the action.” In slow motion, Reino steps on one plank, stretching forward with the other foot, leaning towards the next board, but the back leg loses its foundation and an “oh shit!” expression can be seen on the singer’s face as he smacks into the next plank with his gut, crashing into the water. “What a hit! But like any good ghoul, he takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Albeit very very slowly.” 

“Okay, now he must climb across the Octo-Punch. Those long skinny arms are helping him keep his head safe.” Suddenly Reino hunches over as if in pain and takes a punch right to the jaw, sending him flying backwards into the mud. “Whoa! Looks like a TKO. Let’s take a closer look to see how it happened.” 

The slow mo reveals Reino taking a tentacle right to the crotch and Shoko stifles a laugh as she says, “That’ll help him hit the high notes later.”

“You got that right, Shoko-san. I think it’s safe to say there are now more than four red balls on this course.”

Moving with a pained gait due to tender parts, Reino, who looks more like a swamp creature at the moment, finally arrives at the Jellyfish Jumper.  

“If he doesn’t get going, he’s going to get Motivated in a few seconds. Nevermind, here he goes, hopping onto the ball. Oooh a belly-flop onto the second and holy cow! Flipping his way onto the third before being absolutely clobbered by the final ball! Talk about punishment.” 

Shoko nods in agreement. “I have a hard time believing any curse would be worse than what he’s already experiencing…”

“No kidding.”

Reino grabs the handle, zipping across to the shape-shifter only to miss any shape entirely. 

“And our soggy ghoul finishes in last place.”

“Actor and model Kijima Hidehito is our next challenger.” Kijima smiles the kind of charming smile that has allowed the man to get into the pants of many many women. Even Shoko isn’t immune–her face heats up. 

“Can I get your number or email?” he asks Shoko. 

“Aren’t you smooth,” Shoko observes. “I’ll think about it…if you can place in the top three.” 

“Haha, no problem! Just watch!” Kijima smirks.

Unfortunately, things do not proceed as the actor hopes. In fact, he suffers so many punishing spills that by the end, his smug attitude is completely waterlogged. 

“From a meteoric rise following the release of his PV for Prisoner, this competitor holds the record for consecutive weeks at number one spot on the charts, musician Fuwa Sho.”  

Sho saunters to the interview area near the starting point where Shoko waits with her mic. He’s already sporting his life vest, which matches perfectly with the rest of his attire. Her lips press together in a tight line and as Sho gets closer, he can see a slight quiver in her body as she holds her laughter in. The musician scowls at her, knowing the camera isn’t focused on his face at the moment and she cheekily grins back.

“Your outfit makes quite a statement and I see you are competing for the Japanese Association of International Women’s Rights?”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sho mutters under his breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that,” Shoko says, eyes broadcasting deep amusement. 

Sho gives her a look. “No worries, I was just clearing my throat. To answer your question,” he smiles smoothly, “my appreciation–and respect–for women runs deep.” 

“That’s refreshing to hear.” 

“You know what else is deep?” Kuri-kinton asks as Sho takes his place at the starting line. “This water, which is filled with the tears of the many women Fuwa-san has made cry. Rumor has it he was busy making a girl shed tears just earlier in the competitor’s lounge. That’s right ladies, this one has a reputation as a heartbreaker. Let’s see if he’ll be able to break some fellow celebrity hearts today by displacing those in the top three.”

Sho runs down the slope, right up to the first challenge and wastes no time, propelling himself across with his long legs. He crosses the first set swimmingly, but gets caught during the second set, barely able to catch himself with his arms.

“Wow, he’s putting some incredible upper body strength on display, pulling himself up from the brink. Almost makes me want to work out. Almost . Let’s see how he fares against our many-legged sea monster.”

Sho also uses his long arms to his advantage and though he takes some hits to his midsection, along with some ink, not a drop of mud graces his body. 

“Pretty in pink Fuwa-san continues a grueling pace as he heads to the Big Balls.”

“Jellyfish.”

“Whatever. So far this has been an impressive run. Can he keep it up?”

“Isn’t that always the question,” Shoko intejects dryly.

Kuri-kinton barks a laugh just as Sho lands on the first ball. And the second. And the third!

“Amazing! Hopping across like a frog on lily pads. Can he make it all the way? He steadies his feet for the final jump, but no! It’s too slick with mud and the musician takes a salty drink in our shark-infested waters, eating up precious time on the clock.” 

“Final obstacle now. He pushes off. The pink leggings are straining against his toned legs. Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. He times it perfectly, landing in the largest shape, the sand dollar. Steadies himself and hurdles across, but oh! Takes one to the chin and he’s treading water. Still manages to finish with an excellent time of one minute, thirty-two seconds. Now only two competitors remain.”

“Yes, our last female participant is also from Lucky-M, Lin Midori.” Clad in a sexy two piece activewear set reminiscent of a starry night sky, her top reveals a tantalizing sliver of skin between the tight top and leggings. 

 “What made you want to be a part of today’s events?”

“I wanted to win to contribute to a cause that is incredibly dear to me–supporting the National Cancer Center Hospital.” 

“Aww, that’s so noble Midori-san. I’m sure our entire audience is rooting for you now.”

“I’ll do my best!” she exclaims.

And she does, narrowly managing to route comedian Taichiro Watanabe, which puts her in second place, below Sho Fuwa.

“Our last participant hardly needs an introduction. He was chosen as this year's number one most desirable man, actor Koga Hiromune!” 

“Thank you Aki-san,” Koga says, looking positively radiant as he smiles from ear to ear. “I look forward to snatching the top spot away from the others today.” A mischievous glint shines in his eyes. “Especially Fuwa-san.”

“Oh? Are you and the musician specifically competing with one another?” 

“You could say that.”

“Care to elaborate?” 

He crosses his arms, standing tall and confident. “Nope.”

“Well, good luck out there!” 

Koga heads to the starting point. 

“If only luck mattered in an event like this,” Kuri-kinton says. “He’s going to need skill if he wants to beat the frontrunner.”

In the end, he displays a lot of skill, beating out Sho by ten seconds, namely because he managed to make across all four Big Balls.

Having finally managed to extricate himself from the braggart Koga, Sho headed back to the competitor’s lounge. Only a few stragglers like himself were left. He exchanged a few words with Shoko who told him she’d be ready to drive him back to his place after she finished a couple things up.

But as he moved past the stragglers, Kijima and Rumi, he overheard the weasel say, “Oh so you like guys like my character in Dark Moon, eh. Interesting.”

It came to him in a bright, furious flash. Kijima . Kyoko’s Dark Moon TV interview where she was all dolled up like a beautifully blooming flower, practically unrecognizable as the girl he knew. Sho turned around. 

He’s the one that dared play dress up with Kyoko!  

Rumi caught sight of the look on Sho’s face and took several steps backwards as Kijima asked why she looked scared. Pale-faced, Rumi lifted a hand, hesitantly pointing behind the actor.

The actor turned his head to look and Sho’s fist collided with his lower face. 

Rumi screeched and Kijima dropped to his knees, groaning in pain, blood dripping from his lips. As far as Sho was concerned, the clown should be grateful he’d pulled the punch.

“Shit!” Kijima began to pull off his shirt, presumably to staunch the bleeding, but thought better of it after seeing how it was covered in half-dried mud. His shorts however were another matter—they were only wet. The actor wriggled out of them, leaving him clad in boxers. Rumi who was already flushed from earlier events reddened further before hastily glancing away.

Kijima stood up, still pressing the shorts against his face. “What the fuck man?” came his muffled growl.

“That’s for playing dress up with Kyoko Mogami you slimy bastard. Since I bet Tsuruga was too busy playing the gentleman to pay you in kind for messing with his girl.”

“Hey! I’m Tsuruga’s buddy, dumbass, and I didn’t know he liked her then! If I had known I wouldn’t have approached her.” 

“Okay, fine. It’s for me then.”

“What the hell do you have to do with Mogami Kyoko?”

“I’ve known her since we were in diapers. She’s my childhood friend and considering your intentions, a mangled lip is getting off easy.” 

“It was five years ago!”

“Yeah, but five years ago I had no idea who you were. Or where to find you.” He grinned. “Better late than never, right?” 

Kijima floundered for words, gaping at the musician. 

Without sparing the man another glance, Sho sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

Chapter Text

At the same time that Reino was icing his sore balls (it didn’t take much ice–I’m sure one can imagine the reason why), Kijima held a bag of frozen peas to his split lip. Placing the peas to the side, the actor looked at the time on his phone and selected one of his favorite contacts. 

“Hey Kijima. What’s up?” came the deep masculine voice of the man he’d known as Tsuruga Ren. 

Though his true name had been revealed, Kijima still preferred to call Kuon by his familiar stage name.

“Ren, my friend, I have a question for you.”

“...Okay…”

“I know what a busy guy you are––especially right now with moving and wedding planning. I promise it’ll be quick. You remember that time Kana kissed you?”

Kuon groaned. “Why are you bringing that up again?”

“J-just let me finish and you’ll see.” 

Kuon sighed.

“Remember how we talked about that teenager who you thought had stolen her away. The one we ripped to shreds over drinks?”

“Yes, I recall the conversation. What of it?”

“What that punk Fuwa Sho?”

“...”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“...Yes, but how do you know that?” 

“Because that fucker broke my face today, bruh!” A strangled sound carried over the audio waves, but Kijima just kept going.  “My beautiful face! We were on a game show together today. He said it was revenge for my intentions with his ‘childhood friend.’  Is that true? Was Kyoko friends with that prick when they were young?”

It was then that Kijima realized the strangled sound must have been his buddy attempting to hold back laughter. 

The image of an outraged Sho Fuwa decking Kijima Hidehito in the face was just too much. Kuon full on cackled into the phone. He simply couldn’t help it.

“Hey!” Kijima scowled. “It’s not funny and you never answered my question!”

Kuon took a deep shaky breath, pushing away the imagery lest it spark another laughing fit. 

“No, it is a little funny. Considering what I wanted to do to you at the time, you got off easy.”

Kijima gulped. “Water under the bridge right?”

“Of course,” Kuon said smoothly. There was an edge to his words that made Kijima wish he’d never rekindled the subject. 

“G-great because you know I didn’t know how you felt then.”

“I’m aware.” 

Kijima felt his body break out in a light sweat. How the hell could a guy be this intimidating over a phone, he thought. Shit. 

“But to answer your previous question,” Kuon continued, “Kyoko and Sho have known each other for a very long time.”

“Huh, I would not have guessed that.”

“That’s how she preferred it.”

“Oh, I see.” He didn’t really of course. He wondered why, but got the distinct feeling he shouldn’t ask. For his own good. “Uh, well, that’s all I wanted to know man.”

“Is your curiosity satisfied, Kijima-kun?” Kuon’s voice was far too pleasant. Kijima could picture what the world’s most popular male actor looked like––that killer smile––and it made him wince. 

“Y-yeah.” Clearly Kuon was irritated that his time was being taken up with frivolous questions so Kijima hastily changed the subject. “Good luck with the wedding plans!”

“Thanks,” Kuon said dryly. Kijima felt a little of the tension ease in his body now that his friend’s tone had lightened up again. “I think we’re going to need it.” 

“If there’s any way I can help, let me know.”

“I’ll have Yashiro get in touch.”

“Sounds good. I’ll leave you to it. Later man.”

“Later Kijima.”

Kijima tossed the phone onto the other seat of the sofa, picked up the peas, and resumed icing his face. 

Yeah, never doing that again, he vowed. If Kijima had learned anything from that phone call, it was that sometimes it’s truly better to leave the past where it belongs.

Chapter Text

Following the day’s activities, Sho was dropped off at the front Roppongi Hills Residence B with strict orders to rest for a couple hours. He’d been looking forward to returning to his apartment. Cracking open a beer and lounging on the sofa while watching TV sounded like the best damn thing since the invention of Pucchin. 

After some small talk with Botan, Sho traversed the lobby, climbed the floors in the elevator, and finally made it home despite his legs feeling like jelly. There was only one glaring problem: his code would not grant him entry.

For a third time, he stabbed at the digits with his index finger. Again, the door flashed red, beeping a short negative note. 

Hissing through his teeth, Sho pulled out his phone to call the concierge desk. Before he could select them from his contacts, the device buzzed with a text alert. He would have dismissed the message as junk if not for one word that caught his eye: locked.

Peering at the screen, he swiped open the message:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Now that you’re locked out

What will you do?

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sho muttered. 

Takarada’s cloyingly innocent expression as he had explained why it was necessary to be vague with the wording for the events of Watch Me! flashed in his head. He should have listened to his gut instinct then and insisted on more limitations for what he was willing to endure, but desperation had guided his hand. 

“ Who would have predicted a scenario like this in the first place?” he grumbled to himself.

He dialed Shoko, line ringing twice before she answered.

“Sho?”

“I’m locked out," he growled. 

“…Pardon?”

“Don’t you think this is going too far?” 

“...Sho, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They locked me out of my own damn home!” 

“They?”

“Shoko,” he replied in a voice saturated with equal parts indignation and accusation, “you knew they were going to do this when you dropped me off, didn’t you? Just like you’ve known about everything else.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any such knowledge.” 

Sho harrumphed. “Fine. I’ll grab a cab and–”

“No.”

“ No ?” Sho could count on one hand the number of times Shoko had told him no in earnest.

“No, you cannot stay with me.”

"But–”

“No buts,” she admonished. “We had an agreement, remember? Besides, I already have company.”

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence before Sho blurted, “You do? Who ?”  

“My boyfriend.”

“Your b- boyfriend ?” Sho practically choked on the word. 

Shoko found the incredulity in his voice mildly irritating. “Yes, Sho. Boyfriend. You know––when a man and woman agree to date.” 

Her pointed comment hit right where she wanted it to.

“ You know that it’s nearly impossible for celebrities in my position to date,” he said in a tone as crisp as a freshly pressed dress shirt. “The woman would have to be of equal standing.”

“I do know.” She sighed. “But had you actually wanted to date, we would have made it possible. There were women who qualified––like Matsunai Ruriko. You even took her out in public a couple times. Where was it you went again…?”

“The Japan Music Awards and dinner after. She was too flat and too selfish and she barely qualified for a place among Japan’s top ten actresses.” His voice took on a stubborn edge. “I’m perfectly content to continue as I have.” 

“Are you really?” Shoko didn’t believe that for a nanosecond. Not when she’d witnessed his chemistry with Midori Lin. 

“I–” 

Wait––can I truly say that when I spent the last couple months moping around like a broken-hearted school girl? he mused. 

Defeat hadn’t been the only emotion weighing him down then either. If he was being honest with himself, he envied what Kyoko and Kuon had. 

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” he said. Sho ardently refused to discuss the subject over the phone. Or sober. “If you won’t let me stay with you I’ll get a hotel.” He hung up.

Across town, the newly reappointed manager frowned as she stared at her phone. 

“Can you believe he hung up on me?” she asked the man whose side she was snuggled against. 

Normally the male wore glasses and a tie that lent him an air of sophisticated competence, but this afternoon he had removed both articles, unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt, and slicked his hair back, resulting in a strong handsome and sexy vibe. In her opinion, he looked the best like this and the knowledge that she was the only one to see him this way gave her a small thrill. 

"Fuwa is talented but he needs to keep that attitude of his in check.” Yukihito Yashiro ran a hand down her hair before kissing the top of her head. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

He took the phone from her hand, deliberately handling it with his own bare one, ensuring that Fuwa Sho would no longer plague Aki Shoko during her time off. Tomorrow morning he’d set up the replacement phone. Everything else could––and now would––wait. 

At his residence, Sho Fuwa hit up an ATM for tipping money. Posh areas like Roppongi Hills had an abundance of four and five star hotels, but only one was a short three minute walk––the Grand Hyatt. 

Making his way down the road and across the street, Sho briskly headed towards the entrance. Offering a sleek modern experience that seamlessly blended traditional Japanese aspects, the five-star hotel was the best option around, even if it was also the most expensive. Fortunately it was between lunch time and before people got off work so there wasn’t much in the way of foot traffic. He strode through the lobby, past the strange, but oddly fitting black and white statue heads, to the front desk. 

Before he’d gotten his own place and entertained nightly visitors for the first few weeks, attempting to distract himself from his misery, several women had accompanied his stays at various suite-level rooms. The place offered the height of luxury, comfort, and privacy. Truly, the best money could buy. 

Sho spotted a woman behind the desk. Perfect .

“Good afternoon,” Sho said, offering a charming smile. 

The young woman stammered, “G-good afternoon,” looking like she might faint on the spot. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Of course, it had sucked when said fainter had tried to sue him alleging that Sho was somehow responsible and should be liable for alleged medical expenses incurred during said individual’s nose-dive. Traumatic brain injury my ass , he thought as he said a silent prayer that this woman would get ahold of herself. There was no way he’d make it behind the counter in time to catch her. 

“I’d like to reserve a Grand Suite for the next three evenings.” He took out his wallet and slid over his ID and Hyatt Gold Passport. 

With trembling fingers, she took the proffered items, swallowing hard. Sho pretended to study a painting on the far wall as she brought up his information in their system. Experience had taught him that avoiding eye contact could help a flustered fan calm down. He stole a peek at her from the corners of his eyes. While she was still notably flushed, her movements were surer.

She clacked on the keyboard another moment before a surprised exclamation of, “Oh!” came out. Sho turned his gaze back down at her with furrowed brow only to discover that the woman had paled considerably. 

“Is there a problem?”

“Um, just one moment please,” she said with a small bow. She made a hasty retreat to a back office area and picked up a phone. Through the glass, he watched as her expression changed from one of dismay to alarm.

I’m getting a bad feeling about this, he thought.  

After another minute, she slowly replaced the handset and came back out of the office. 

She bowed low. “I-I apologize for the delay. The managing director is on his way here now to speak with you.” 

“Sato-san?” As an affluent patron, Sho had had the opportunity to meet manager Sato Akira on a couple occasions. Though young to be in his position, Sato gave the impression of wisdom and competence beyond his years. Sho thought he was a decent guy.  

Surprise flashed across her face at the mention of the manager's name. “Y-yes.”

No sooner had his identity been confirmed than the click and scuffle of dress shoes hurriedly crossing the lobby floor filled Sho’s ears. Turning, he saw a harried looking Sato flanked by a couple of guys that looked like they could moonlight as bouncers at a nightclub. 

Sato’s smile was tense as he greeted the musician.

“Fuwa-san,” he dipped his upper body briefly, “I’m glad you returned so promptly.”

Sho’s eyebrows shot up. “Returned?”

The managing director cocked his head as though he couldn’t understand why Sho would be confused.

“Yes. I assumed you must have received my messages. When you checked out earlier, you left your room in a state of…disrepair. I was hoping to discuss the matter with you. In private,” he urged, tight smile still plastered to his face. “If you’ll come this way please.”

What the hell is this guy on about? Sho wondered. He had half a mind to give voice to that question, but…he glanced around the lobby and chose to remain silent. Though it was oddly deserted, it was still unwise to make a scene in front of the employees who were watching with rapt attention. Not to mention the damn bodycam. 

“Sure,” Sho shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he joined the hotel staff cadre, but the bad feeling in his gut intensified with every step. He didn't know whether this was a legitimate issue or some trumped up scenario orchestrated for Watch Me! Either way, it wasn’t good. 

Once inside the office, Sato gestured for Sho to take a seat. One of the hotel security men stayed inside while the other was placed just outside the door. The manager was so visibly filled with tension that Sho was tempted to give his arm a little poke just to see if he’d pop. If the circumstances had seemed less serious, he would have.

Sitting on the edge of the seat, the musician leaned forward with his palms resting on his knees and pinned his gaze directly onto Sato Akira’s dark brown eyes, opting to speak first to address what the man had said in the lobby.

“Akira-san, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I spent my evening at my own place across the street.”

Sato narrowed his eyes. “Given the number of empty liquor bottles left in your room, I can understand how you might not remember events from last evening. However, I assure you, you were here.”

Sho gritted his teeth. Now I know what it feels like to be falsely accused, he thought ruefully.  

“There are only so many ways I can say the same thing, Akira-san. I. Was. Not . Here .” 

“Fuwa-san, I greeted you in person last night.”

Sho’s eyes went wide before narrowing again. “Well, whoever you greeted wasn’t me.” He shook his head. “You said the room was messed up. And there was a bunch of booze?”

Sato nodded sharply.

“What’s the damage?”

“Severe.”

“Look, I’ve left empty bottles in my rooms before, but do I honestly seem like the type of guy who’d trash his room and leave without covering the cost?” Sho scoffed. He was actually feeling a bit hurt. “I thought my reputation was better than that.”

“There’s always a first time,” Sato said, resting his folded hands on the table in front of him. “But it is true that staff interactions and booking experiences had been positive ones previously. The maids in particular mentioned that you were courteous and a generous tipper.”

Most of that was not his own doing. Shoko had gone in to clean up after his escapades, leaving a sizable tip for the help too. But Sho wasn’t about to admit that he hadn’t been the one taking those measures.

“Exactly. Obviously someone impersonated me.” 

“Very well. Let’s say that is true. How would said impersonator possess your Gold Passport, identification, and Amex Black Card?”

Holy shit, Sho was flabbergasted. Then again, if someone wanted to frame him, they’d need all that to be truly convincing. Still––he wondered how they managed to fool Sato-san? As Sho continued on that train of thought, he realized it probably wouldn’t be all that difficult. There was ample footage online of his public mannerisms. 

Sho ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know how they got all that. What I do know is that I am a victim of identity theft.” He paused for a moment as a sudden thought came to him. “Let me see the security footage.”

Sato took out a tablet from his desk, tapping and swiping it here and there before handing it to Sho. 

Sure enough, a tall muscular guy with spiky blonde hair walked in with a well-endowed woman on each arm. Even the tattoos on the imposter’s arms were an exact match. Sho watched as the guy checked in. The cameras had even caught Sato’s interaction with him. Whoever had played the part of Fuwa Sho had done so flawlessly. Sho didn’t know whether to be impressed or pissed, but he was leaning towards the latter. 

“Damn. That really does look like me.”

“Indeed.”

Sho handed the tablet back. “But it’s not.”

“Are you willing to file an official report?”

“Of course.”

“I see. We’ll need your signed statement, but Fuwa-san,” Sato paused to emphasize his next point, “I’m afraid we will be unable to accommodate you while this matter remains under investigation. I’m sure you understand.”

Oh, I understand all right, Sho thought bitterly. He knew all too well that Sato clearly still assumed he was guilty, but with such a perfect imitation, he almost couldn’t blame him. 

Almost. 

“Of course. I’ll head to the police box immediately after I sign whatever you need.”

“Very good.” 

Sato spoke into the intercom on his desk and an assistant brought in some papers.

After signing the documents and receiving one of Sato’s business cards to take to the police, Sho reported his credit card as stolen, bought a hat, sunglasses, and a mask from the boutique and left the hotel. With a little luck, his disguise would hold until he could talk to the police. It was only a ten minute walk.

People were everywhere now–on the sidewalks, crossing the streets, in and out the doors of shops and businesses, scurrying frantically around like ants in the tunnels of an anthill. Sho’s tall sinewy frame garnered a lot of attention, particularly of the female variety. A light sheen of sweat broke across the musician’s brow. If he was recognized here, he’d be surrounded in an instant. In hindsight, he should have ordered an Uber to take him, but he’d wanted to walk off the frustration that had been building despite the soreness in his legs. Wandering around without a driver, car, or manager was far from ideal.

As he passed the cat cafe that was the last business before the police box, a woman came barrelling out the door, slamming into Sho. 

“Shit!” he yelled as they collided and he was knocked off balance. 

“Ah!” she shrieked, landing atop the musician.

Sho found his face buried between soft twin peaks. As pleasant as he found the circumstances—what guy didn’t want to bury his face in a big rack—suffocation was a real danger. But what a way to go, he thought as the woman struggled to get off him.

Finally, she managed to roll to the side, allowing Sho to suck in a deep breath. 

Judging by the redness of her entire face, she was beyond embarrassed. She immediately bowed and offered a stuttering apology.

“It’s no big deal,” Sho replied smoothly as he stood up. “I’m just happy to have given you a soft landing.” He straightened his hat, thankful for its snug fit. “Are you all right?” 

“N-no I’m fine,” she waved her hands in front of herself emphatically,  “I should be asking you that!” She gasped as she noticed a bit of dirt on his clothing. “Here.” She began brushing it off him without care of where she was brushing, forcing Sho to step quickly back. 

“Thank you,” he said as graciously as he could through his teeth, “but I’ve got it covered. No harm done.” Except to my squeezed goods, he thought. “Have a nice day.” 

Not bothering to give the woman a chance to subject him to any more of her tender loving care, he moved back into the flow of human traffic, letting it carry him over to the next building. 

At the police box, Sho heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped inside. A lone officer was sitting behind a desk, reviewing paperwork with one hand as he sipped from the steaming mug held in the other. Hearing Sho’s footsteps, the policeman looked up. He was a younger officer, probably around Sho’s age. Annoyance and suspicion flashed across his dour face.

“Excuse me officer,” Sho pulled his mask down and bowed. He’d been raised to be respectful of law enforcement. “I need to report an incident of identity theft.” 

The officer tucked his papers into the desk and waved him over, pulling out a new set of documents. 

“Fill this out to the best of your ability,” the man ordered, gesturing towards a small corner desk. 

Folding himself into the seat, Sho set to work relating the events, his own whereabouts, and the hotel contact information. He fished into his pocket for his wallet to copy down his ID. Nothing was there. Frowning, he tried again, this time with both hands. It was then that he realized that not only was the wallet missing, his tip cash was gone too. Sho leaped up and began patting himself frantically. Empty pockets.

Then he knew. He just fucking knew . The handsy woman with the big bosom. 

“Shit!” 

The policeman glanced up sharply, displeasure evident in his eyes. 

Sho bowed and mumbled an apology as he sat back down, taking deep deliberate breaths to calm himself. He still had a 10,000 Yen note tucked into his shoe. As children, Kyoko had taken it upon herself to lecture Sho about the dangers of travel and how one should carry their money separately from everything else as well as keep some tucked in a special spot for emergencies. He’d rolled his eyes at her back then and teased her. She’d never been anywhere and was just regurgitating what she’d heard on some travel show or something. But secretly, he had heeded the advice even though it felt like a total grandpa move to hide cash in a shoe. 

In his estimation, Takarada seemed likely to be behind the hotel incident. Although, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had elaborately targeted him in the hopes of ruining his reputation so he couldn’t rule out the possibility of a third party completely. And while there was a chance the female pickpocket had simply targeted him based on his affluent appearance, it seemed more probable that she was also a part of the Takarada scheme because the odds of that coincidentally occurring directly after the hotel stuff seemed too low. 

If all of this is all for Watch Me!, what’s their end game? Sho questioned. He had no clue and he really wanted a nice chilled beer, but the Demon Lord had locked him out and made it impossible for him to stay anywhere else while simultaneously cutting him off from his money. Sho wondered how difficult it was to learn how to use a curse doll.

He finished the paperwork, explained how his wallet had been stolen and was instructed on where to go to get a new Basic Resident Register Card issued for ID. As he was leaving, Sho texted Shoko with the details and asked her to have the agency send over the copy of his ID on file just in case. Better than nothing. 

The sky was darker now, sunshine giving way to gray clouds gathering in large clumps. Sho wasn’t sure what to do next. Shoko still hadn't responded to his texts and while he could take care of getting a new ID issued, it would take up a lot of time and a good portion of what little cash he had. As he contemplated his next move, fat drops began falling from the darkening sky. 

Perfect––like the icing on a fucking cake, he thought. 

He set out back the way he’d come, trying to remember if he’d seen any shops that might carry an umbrella. 

Turn right in 500 feet, said a loud robotic voice and Sho nearly jumped out of his skin before realizing it was his own phone, feeding him directions. 

“What the hell?” he said aloud as he peered at his phone. The destination was almost an hour away by foot, in Nakameguro. By the time he reached that destination he’d be drenched. 

Fuck that, he thought, shoving his phone out of sight. Just because they were setting him up for something, didn’t mean he had to play along. The device chimed and Sho reluctantly pulled it back out, wishing he could toss it in a dumpster instead.

Reach the destination in twenty five minutes and receive a reward, it read. 

That ruled out waiting for an uber or a cab. The location was a little under two and a half miles and with Sho used to running a couple miles a day, it was barely doable, even with his sore legs. When he thought about their physical evaluation, it made sense––they knew exactly what pace he could run at. 

Still, a part of him hated going along with their crazy shit. Running in the damn rain was something only losers did. He’d seen plenty of them in middle and high school—dumb suckers who’d forgotten their umbrellas. Sho had never even needed to bring one because he’d had a never ending supply in the form of a line of girls eager to please. 

Sho rolled his eyes and took off, the relentless rain beating down on him as he ran through the humid Tokyo streets. Focusing on his feet and his breathing, he paid little attention to the pedestrians surrounding him. Their gazes fall on him like the droplets descending from the sky, quickly rolling off as he passed by.

With two minutes to spare, Sho arrived at the destination, which was a condominium building called Century Forest. The musician sloshed his way to the sixth floor, using the access code provided, and stopped in front of condo number three. 

Alright, where’s my reward, he texted.

Ring the buzzer, it read. 

Sho pressed the buzzer. 

Chapter Text

Music drifted through the door as Sho rang the doorbell. 

He leaned in closer until the melody became clear and smirked. It’s one of mine, he thought smugly. One of the ones he’d performed at the hospital, in fact. But thinking of the hospital led him to wonder… Wait…don’t tell me this place belongs to––

The door opened a crack before he could finish his thought, revealing a gorgeous, if not mildly irritated, Midori Lin. She wore a loose-fitting tee with some Chinese writing on the front and cute little jean shorts with black leggings. Her silken locks were tied back into a ponytail and a streak of red paint lined one cheek. Multi-colored flecks dotted her hair. 

Her expression changed rapid-fire, annoyance giving way to dismay and finally embarrassment at the realization that he knew she was listening to one of his songs. And at pretty high volume. 

Quickly pulling out her phone, she tapped the screen a few times with a paint-splotched hand and the music vanished. 

Sho grinned at her through the narrow gap in the door. “Hey, don’t stop listening on my account.” He wanted her to laugh or feign indignation like the other times, but her expression tightened instead.

“What are you doing here, Fuwa-san?” It sounded more like how the hell did you find out where I live? 

I shouldn’t have teased her about the song… he thought, struggling to come up with a way to salvage the situation. He threw more humor at it. 

“Just dripping all over your ‘Welcome’ mat.” 

More like an ‘Unwelcome’ mat. Not that he could blame her for feeling that way. It was almost like the Watch Me! people were trying to screw up his chances with the woman after dropping her in his lap in the first place. 

“I can see that,” she replied, frowning. “Why were you out in the rain?” She poked her head out the door and looked both ways down the hall. “Where’s your manager?”

“That is an excellent question,” Sho said, lifting his shirt to wipe the droplets leaking from his sopping hair, blurring his vision. “I’ve been trying––”

“Oh. My. Gods!” a high nasally voice squeed. “Fuwacchi!” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Sho spotted the squealer––a high school aged girl with bangs and large thick-rimmed glasses. Her face was bright red as though she’d been the one running several miles. Hearts shone in her eyes as she stared at Sho in utter adulation. 

Midori took one look at the girl who had taken out her phone to snap indiscriminate pictures of Sho Fuwa, cursed softly, and pulled him into her apartment. 

“Wait here,” she ordered. “I’ll bring you a couple towels.”

She disappeared behind a door across from the entry as Sho obediently waited, stunned from the sudden turn of events. To the left he spotted a couple of bedrooms. She must have a roommate, he thought. To the right was a kitchen that opened to a sizable living space, decorated in warm, inviting earth tones of tan and green. An easel was set up, turned away, facing a group of large windows with a sliding door in the center and flowing curtains tied off to the sides, allowing as much light in as possible. 

Midori returned, bearing two white towels which she handed to Sho who took them with thanks.

“I don’t normally let womanizers into my home,” she said as she stared at the soaked musician. “Regardless of how pitiful they look.”

“I’m not a womani––” he began to protest as he toweled off his hair, but found himself unable to finish the sentence beneath her shrewd gaze. He settled for a mumbled, “I don’t look that bad.” 

He shivered. It was a reasonably warm spring day, but he was beginning to feel chilled from running through the downpour. His clothes were so soaked through so that they clung to him like a second skin. No amount of toweling off was going to help. 

“I suppose that depends on who you ask,” Midori replied, eyes briefly sweeping past Sho’s head to the door. “Anyway, the last thing either of us needs are photos of you all drenched in front of my apartment. I’ve already messaged the agency about it.” She paused then, expression conflicted. “Um…” she bit her lip. “Do you know how to wrap a towel properly?” 

The question came so completely from left field that Sho stared at her for what was probably entirely too long. He ended up just nodding along dumbly. 

“Okay,” she continued in a breathy voice. “The bathroom is there,” she pointed to the open door directly across from them. “Please use it to dry yourself off and once you’ve wrung out your clothes, I’ll toss them in the dryer.”  

“...okay. Thanks.” 

He waded into the bathroom and squeezed as much water out of his clothes as possible before handing them out the door. Minutes later he stepped out wrapped solely in a fluffy bath towel to find her seated at the kitchen table, waiting for him with a couple of steaming, sweetly scented drinks.

Her eyes never strayed from his face as he approached. 

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself if I give you this Irish coffee, right?” she asked, lightly teasing.

“Ha.”

“Well, I don’t know how you behave when you’re drinking. You could be a lech.” 

Despite her teasing tone, he detected a hint of seriousness. Maybe she meant it as a warning, but it reminded him how she hadn’t heard the best accounts of his character. And they had only just met. But he could tell she was feeling the same longing, the same hypnotic beckoning of the flame from the fire that was burning between them. Sho would eagerly step into its consuming embrace, but Midori seemed convinced she would be burned––because clearly, she had been before. Sho understood that much based on their previous conversation and he wasn’t about to give her any excuse to extinguish the blaze.

“I’ve never done anything a woman didn’t want me to.”

She peered at him over the frothy foam atop her mug. 

“How confident are you about that statement?”

“Completely.”

Midori shrugged and handed him the drink. 

The shower had done a lot to warm him up, but the beverage would help finish the job.

“The real question is whether I need to worry about you,” he quipped, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he took a sip. It was a damn fine cocktail. Looking up, he found her staring at his chest. “Or maybe,” he smiled devilishly, “you’d like to paint me wearing this,” he ran a hand along the soft bit of cloth covering him, “and only this?” 

She rolled her eyes and looked away, but not quite fast enough that he failed to notice the blush suddenly coloring her beautiful features. Or how the corners of her lips had curled upwards.

“I am not going to paint you. I just figured you must be having a hard time and could use a drink. A warm one.” 

Sho waited until she was looking at him again before speaking.

“This is perfect, thank you.” 

He was actually saying she was perfect and Midori seemed to know it––her blush deepened under the soft caress of his gaze. Flustered, she stood abruptly and announced that she was going to check on his clothes in the dryer as she quickly made an exit.

He wanted to make the most of this opportunity. Of this reward . But…he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, sighing heavily before taking a large swallow. I am going to win her over, he promised himself. One way or another. 

***

Midori stared into her reflected image on the dryer door, at how the heat in her chest was mirrored in her cheeks. Damn, she sighed. It’s impossible to be unaffected when a man looks at you like that. Especially a well built one, clad only in a towel and for whom you had been fighting an attraction from the beginning. What the hell was I thinking letting him in here? she buried her face in her hands.

She’d meant what she said about not letting womanizers in. If not for that girl showing up, Sho would have been sent firmly on his way…or so she liked to tell herself. But there had been this look in his eyes. A look that said he was somehow both lost and found as he stood there watering her floor mat. Then she’d called him pitiful to cover up another truth, that he looked more like he had walked off the set of a very sexy, highly provocative photoshoot. 

Opening the door, she reached inside to check Sho’s clothing, chanting please be dry, please be dry in silent prayer. Naturally, they weren’t. It hadn’t been long since she’d tossed them in and the setting was on low to prevent shrinking. Gods only knew what would happen if his clothes no longer fit. The fact that a part of her was tempted to find out was… not good . She had zero desire to repeat past mistakes, regardless of her body's rebellious attitude when it came to Sho Fuwa. Get him dry and send him on his way, she told herself. That’s it. 

She resumed the drying cycle, took a steadying breath, and headed back to the kitchen. There he still sat. Casually sexy. Chiseled body on full display, gorgeous tattoo wholly visible. 

When she’d first caught a glimpse of part of the inked image on his skin, she’d been curious about what lay hidden beneath his shirt. And now she knew. An angel decorated his sculpted chest, shoulder and upper arm, wings spread wide, cascading golden hair gleaming as soft tears dropped from otherworldly azure eyes. The tears fell onto her outstretched arms, onto the curled fingers that reached for the devilish prince covering Sho’s powerful arm almost to the wrist, the prince that had fallen from the angel's grip.

Midori recognized the scene from his Prisoner PV. If I had been that angel, I would have fallen from Grace for entirely different reasons, she thought before hastily admonishing herself. NOPE . Terrible idea. 

And there’s Mimori to consider too. That girl had been acting… off for months, which now made sense because of the time frame for when Sho had stopped responding to her texts or calls. 

She felt his eyes on her and realized she’d been standing there, watching him without saying anything. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she sat back down and took a sip of her mocha before speaking.

“Your clothes will take a bit longer to dry.”

Amusement lit up his eyes. “I see.” It was obvious Sho knew she had used that pretext to escape briefly. 

“Why are you really here, Fuwa-san?” 

“Call me Sho.”

“No thank you.”

“Fine,” he pouted. 

Midori stifled a laugh at the childish pout. He was kind of charming when he was being real like he was when he performed. After all, truly talented entertainers were the ones who were honest with their audience.

Sho picked up his mug and drank deep. “It’s not exactly a short story. Sure you want to hear it?”

Midori nodded, leaning forward in her seat. Curiosity had been thrumming within her since she’d seen him dumped off by those two large men through the mirror, before their charity performance. She listened attentively as he explained his involvement in the Watch Me! show. There were gaps in his story that she would have questioned, but she didn’t want to interrupt and by the time he got to the end, she was too conflicted about whether she ought to be offended or flattered that she was the reward. In her opinion, the show runners had gone a little overboard. She could only groan as she acknowledged her agency’s OK’d participation in all of it.

“Would have been nice if they’d told me what was going on before involving me too,” she grumbled. 

“Huh?” 

“Oh, nothing.”

“Okay…?” He gave her a look and changed the subject. “So, you paint?” 

She shrugged and tucked a lock of hair that had come loose back behind her ear. “It's a creative outlet that doubles as stress relief.”

“Can I see?” he asked, standing up like the answer was a forgone conclusion, which it most certainly was not in her mind.

“No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms against her chest.

For some crazy reason he grinned at her, delighted by her quick rejection. 

“Ah, there’s my Ice Queen.”

“I’m not your anything,” she replied, eyes narrowing into slits as she scowled at him.

“Interesting that you didn’t object to the queen part.”

“No, I–”

“Should I get on my knees to show my obeisance?”

Midori looked away, face aflame. There were a very select few reasons for a man to get on his knees in front of a woman. While she acknowledged that there may have been some harmless flirting and admiration between them in the past, this was on a whole new level. And she wasn’t willing to climb any higher. Not yet. 

“Didn’t you call me ‘Ice Witch’ before?”

“I upgraded you to queen status.” 

She didn’t know how to respond to that so she just shook her head silently and looked everywhere but at him. When she finally did look up, unable to bear the quiet tension, she was met by a pair of earnest blue eyes.

“Why won’t you give us a chance?” he asked, voice soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings. 

It didn’t matter that the words were gentle because they shot through her like a bullet. Us, he said. She closed her eyes to shutter the pain that word evoked, recalling the last time she’d been part of an us. 

“Is it because of Mimori?”

Her eyes flicked back open and for a moment she didn’t see the tall and gorgeous blonde-haired musician, but an even taller male whose chin length raven hair was parted neatly down the middle and in whose eyes lay unfathomable depths of cruelty, hidden behind a carefully crafted smile. She banished him back to the past with a blink. 

“That’s part of it.” Not bothering with the easily countered argument about how few hours they had known each other for, she cut right to the heart of it. “Mainly it’s because I don’t trust guys like you.” 

He frowned. “Guys…like me?” 

Her heart beat loudly in her chest as the seconds ticked by in her struggle to articulate the harsh lesson she’d learned. 

“Beautiful men are like roses,” she said. “They’re full of thorns.” 

“Interesting analogy.” He paused, thinking. “So, handsome men are like roses because they draw you in with their beauty and charm only to stab and slash you with their thorns until their petal masks wither and leave you bloody and scarred?” 

Her eyes widened in surprise, partially because he’d said nothing about the fact she’d just admitted she found him attractive, but mostly because he’d interpreted her words so accurately. She had been cut and pierced and left to bleed alone. She refused to allow herself to be used and discarded again. 

“I know you’re afraid you’ll get hurt, but I won’t hurt you.”

I guess I’m not that good at hiding it after all, she thought, only a little bitterly. Or has he been observing me that carefully? And how can he say won’t hurt me after he treated Mimori that way?  

He must have read her thoughts from her expression because he shook his head and said, “You don’t need to hide anything from me. I’m not the same as the asshole who hurt you. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. Preferably with me.” 

“And if my happiness excludes you? You don’t exactly have a good track record. Case in point: Mimori.”

She’d been struggling against the part of herself that was drawn to him and his sincerity had sliced through most of her resolve, but she still didn’t know if she should trust him.

“Then…I guess it excludes me, but please give me a chance first. What can I do to gain your trust?” 

“You could stop the over-the-top flirtation.”

“Done. What else?”

“Your…relationship with Mimori…” She stopped briefly, gathering the courage to speak the next words. “I-if you and I are going to be anything , I think you need to make things right with her first. Are you willing to apologize to her?” 

“I took advantage of her feelings, I admit, however, she took advantage of situations to get what she wanted as well. I don’t treat all women that way. I just can’t respect people that don’t respect themselves and it was her choice to keep chasing after me, despite repeated statements that I was never going to be exclusive with her. Our relationship wasn’t exactly what anyone would call healthy. I never even told her I loved her or anything—because I don’t.” Sho let out a heavy sigh. “You saw how I ended it with her once and for all. There’s no chance of that reoccurring in the future so I don’t think an apology is necessary. We’re done and she knows it.” 

She took a moment to absorb everything he said before finally asking, “Was there someone you were saying those three words to?”

“There was someone I wanted to say them to,” Sho admitted. His voice sounded pained, like the wound in his heart hadn’t healed yet. “There was a part of me that refused to believe I’d fallen in love with her so I denied it at first, but she wanted nothing to do with me romantically whatsoever anyway. I had screwed up so badly that I never stood a chance.”

“And Mimori-san knew you were in love with this other woman?” 

“Yeah, even though I was sort of in denial about it initially. She knew what she was getting herself into.”

“Yes…she bears some responsibility but....” she trailed off, unable to articulate the ominous feelings swirling inside. 

“She does.”   

“A-are you still in love with this other woman?” She was nearly too afraid to ask and the words barely came out as a whisper. 

Surely he can’t still be in love with her if he’s sincere about wanting to be a couple?

“No, I’ve let her go,” he flashed a pained smile. “She’s actually planning her wedding right now.”

“Oh, I see.” 

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Sho didn’t seem to grasp the depth of Mimori’s emotional wounds. Yes, she was responsible for her own choices that led her down that path, but Sho also held responsibility for his part. Relationships were a two way street after all. Midori’s instincts were still screaming at her that Sho needed to take action before Mimori did. If he didn’t resolve things positively, there was no telling what would happen, but it wouldn’t be anything good.

“How about this? Let’s have a competition. If I win, you apologize to Mimori-san. If you win, I’ll do any one thing you ask of me.” She noted how he suddenly perked up for a moment before adding, “Within reason.”

“Why is this so important to you?” he countered.

“I…just have this feeling that Mimori-san is going to do something crazy. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned is a saying for a reason.”

He laughed and smiled wryly. “So I’ve heard. But we’re in the same agency. There’s nothing she can do.” 

“What if she doesn’t care?”

“You’re worried about me?” 

“Can you please stop flirting,” she chided. “I’m worried about both of you.”

He contemplated that tidbit without comment, simply keeping his eyes on hers until he was finally done thinking. “Alright. So, what did you have in mind?”

Smiling, she ushered him into the living room.

After quickly covering her easel, the idol rummaged through her entertainment center until she found what she was looking for. Turning around, she held up an older version of Shake It. The game contained popular American pop songs from around 2010 that had players parroting dance moves while singing, although the singing part was an optional function. 

He groaned when he saw the cover.

“Not a fan?” she asked.

“Anyone can make that kind of trash––it’s just mindless catchy beats.”

Midori had to agree that the majority of American pop music was just that. She, too, preferred music with more depth. 

“True. But they’re fun sometimes.”

“I guess.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, we’re going to have a song and dance competition.”

“Yes.”

“Do I get to pick the song?” 

“No.” He grimaced. “It’ll be random.”

“Winner has the highest score?”

“That wouldn’t be very fair for you––I own the game after all. We’ll live-stream our performances on NokNok and whoever gets the most likes wins.”

“Uh…but I have a much larger following.” He wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact. 

“True, but we can just limit the viewership.”

“Oh…right.”

“Although I am curious…”

She pulled out her phone, and after a couple seconds of tapping, showed him the screen. His jaw dropped in shock, like he couldn’t figure out how Lucky-M had amassed 2.1 million followers already. She pulled up another screen that showed Sho’s stats. He was sitting at a cool 9.1 million. 

“What, I dropped that much!?” he exclaimed as he hung his head. “Damn.” 

“What were you at before?”

“I was hovering just above 9.5” 

“Oh.” She felt kind of bad for bringing it up, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

“Yeah,” he agreed miserably.

Midori queued up the game and selected the random option for song selector. She held out the remote to him, but he gestured for her to go instead. 

“Ladies first.”

“Fine.” 

She pushed the button. The screen flashed, album covers moving at dizzying speeds until finally settling on Katy Perry’s Hot ‘N Cold. Sho snickered and she shot him a glare. 

“I actually like this one,” she said a little defensively as she passed him the controller.

“Oh. Well, I hope I have better luck.” 

But he didn’t. Midori erupted into a fit of giggles at the look on his face when he saw the title selected for him. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding.” He turned and looked at her pleadingly. “Can I go again?”

“No. Besides, as Japan’s Number One musician, this should be easy for you right?”

“Of course it is. It’s just the lyrics are so fucking awful. Whatever. I’ll do it, but I’m gonna make some improvements.”

“Sure,” she agreed, hiding a smile. The lyrics would definitely be…problematic for Sho Fuwa. Of course Midori wasn’t fond of them either, but at least she was a girl. “So. Who wants to go first?”

Sho gestured to Midori again. “After you.”

“Oh? Such a gentleman.”

“I was raised properly.”

“Glad to hear it.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’m ready,” she queued up the song as she handed her phone to Sho. 

His lips curled upward at the corners as he took the phone from her. It was enough to remind her that she probably had paint on her face. She held up finger to indicate she needed a moment and dashed into the bathroom, returning with a clean face and straightened hair. 

“Okay, countdown of three.”

“Got it.” He held up three fingers, dropping one after another. 

Midori looked into the phone camera, smiling widely.

“Good afternoon everyone! I’ve got a little surprise for you today––I’ll be covering an American song as part of a bet with a certain musician. And nope!” She winked at the phone. “I will not tell you who I’m competing against, so don’t ask,” she raised an index finger up to her lips, “but I need the most likes to win, so show me some love!” she blew a kiss at the phone and pressed the start button on her controllers. 

The beat began and she moved with it, flawlessly in sync. 

Sucking in a deep breath, she began singing in English. 

You change your mind

Like a girl changes clothes

***

She was utterly captivating. 

Midori Lin had turned an impromptu living room song and dance off into a performance worthy of a crowd of thousands. Effortlessly. Like breathing. Sho Fuwa was no exception to the spell the woman cast on her audience. Her siren’s song. Even if he hadn’t had the hots for her so damn bad, he would have been mesmerized. She actually made him like the song, which was nothing short of a miracle. And the fact that her English sounded practically native was incredible too. 

Ruminating on her magnificence, Sho watched her hit every move perfectly. He watched her match––or even improve––every note. When the cover is better than the original… he thought. Hot damn, she puts that American chick to shame. She finished without a single mistake.

“Thanks for watching everyone! Until next time!” she said, waving at the phone until she hit the end button. 

“Nice job.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Now it’s your turn.” 

“You’re not going to look at how you did?”

“We’ll look when you’re done too.”

“Ah, sure.” He glanced at the opposite side of her apartment. “I guess I should check on my clothes first.”

“Why?” she asked, staring at his naked chest again. 

So she doesn’t want me to put on clothes, eh ? His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile stretched across his face. 

One glimpse of his smirk made her realize what she’d said. “I-I mean, I’ll go check right now!” She dashed off, leaving Sho grinning from ear to ear. 

Moments later she returned, clothes in hand.

“Thank you,” he said. His hand brushed hers as she passed the clothing to him, igniting a spark that sent warmth traveling up his arm and into his chest where it nestled, curling up like a sunbathing cat. The way she drew back quickly and stared at her hand in wonder implied she’d felt something too. “I’ll, uh, go get changed.”

“R-right. Um, when you’re done come to my bedroom.”

He froze midstep. “What?” Surely he’d misheard. 

She blinked and her face heated as she realized she’d failed to give that particular statement any context. Waving her hands frantically in front of herself, she hurriedly clarified, “W-wait. I meant that we’ll film you in my room so no one will notice it’s the same location.” She grimaced as she added, “Hopefully.”

“Ah, right. Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“S-sure.” 

He headed to the bathroom and stepped inside to slip on his clothes. Emerging fully dressed, although he hadn’t bothered with socks, he padded over to Midori’s room, heart beating faster in his chest. He couldn’t remember ever feeling nervous to go into a girl’s room before. Even his palms were sweaty.

Hiding the sudden nerves behind his usual confidence, Sho adopted a charming smile as he entered her room. She was hunched over by the TV, presumably finishing setting everything up.

“Ready for me?”

“Oh!” she said, startling a little. She turned around and stood up, expression slightly frazzled, cheeks flushed and he suddenly had to fight the urge to wrap her in his arms. She was just too adorable. “Yes,” she powered on the TV and console and selected Sho’s song.

He took the controllers from her as she took his phone. 

Midori gave the same finger countdown.

"Yo,” Sho waved at the phone, “What’s up everyone. Ready for a surprise? I’ll be covering an American pop song as part of a bet with a certain gorgeous rival to see which of us gets the most likes. I know I have the most dedicated, most amazing fans and I know you all won’t let me down. He winked. “Before I begin, I just want to thank you all,” he placed a hand over his chest, “for your support during these challenging last few months.” 

He pressed the start button.

Sho began swinging his hips from side to side, stretching out one arm after another to match the exaggerated hip movements. 

“Wake up in the morning feeling’ like P’Diddy”  

Well, that line sure as hell hasn’t aged well , he thought.

“Grab my glasses I’m out the door I’m bout to hit this city

Before I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of jack

Cause when I leave for the night I ain’t coming back”

    Ugh, Sho groaned at the lyrics. I don’t know which is cheaper––this girl or her booze. She’s only ever going to get one night stands acting like that . Why don’t girls understand that shit? 

“I’m talking pedicure on my toes, trying on all my clothes

fangirls blowing up my phone”

   He stomped his left leg, moving his arms in some kind of wacky celebratory, chicken dance combo.

“Drop topping’ playing my favorite CDs 

pulling up to the parties

Trying to get a little bit tipsy”

“Don’t stop make it pop”

   He kept stomping his feet to the beat, switching arm movements so that he was swung them outwards, one after the other, like he was beating an imaginary drum and waving his hands in front of his face so that they crossed in between the spastic air drumming. 

  Fuck, I thought the dance moves would get better, but I guess they just suck the whole way through. 

“DJ blow my speakers up

Tonight Imma fight till we see the sunlight

Tick tock on the clock

But the party don’t stop no”

“Woah-oh-oh-oh”

   He waved his arms around some more, waxing on and off like the kid from that old karate move while twisting his feet.

“Woah-oh-oh-oh”

   Sho read the next line, wishing it was true as he sang:

“Ain’t got a care in the world but got plenty of beer”

   …and nearly laughed at the uncanny accuracy of the one that followed:

“Ain’t got no money in my pocket but I’m already here”

   Switching the lyrics around for himself, Sho winked at the camera Midori held in hands.

“Now the ladies are lining up because they hear I got swagger”

   She rolled her eyes at him and he grinned in return as he edited the words again:

“But I kick em’ to the curb because they look like Mick Jagger”

   He saw her smothering laughter with her free hand. 

   Sho stomped, swung, waved, and swiveled his ass with as much sass as he could manage, which, turns out, was quite a lot. 

“All right, that’s it. Thanks for tuning in. Don’t forget to like it–I’m out.” He covered the camera with his hand and pressed the stop button. 

Midori handed him his phone back. She was trembling and her mouth was twitching.

“I kicked ass, right?”

His question sent her right over the edge. She doubled over in laughter as tears fell from her eyes.

He tucked his hands in his pockets as he watched her with a bemused expression. “Better than Baby Shark eh?”

“Oh gods,” she said, clutching her sides. She inhaled sharply, trying to get enough air to speak more. “The ass wiggling.” She snickered. “‘Because they look like Mick Jagger,’ pffft!” 

Still shaking, she managed to stand up and began wiping the tears off her face. He grinned at her and she chuckled some more, offering him a return smile so sweet he thought he might need a trip to a dentist later. 

“Okay,” Midori said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Let’s see who the winner is.” 

“Nah, it’s cool. I thought about what you said and I don’t mind apologizing for not treating her as well as I should have.” It was true he should have done better, even though she’d acted like a doormat. He was willing to acknowledge that much. He’d realized there was no way Midori would agree to date him if there was bad blood between him and Mimori Nanokura and figured that was one of the reasons she wanted him to smooth things over. 

“B-but the bet…why’d you agree to do it if you’d intended to apologize anyway?” she asked, incredulous. “You sounded like you were completely opposed to the idea.” 

“I’m serious about you and I dating,” he said, carefulling avoiding the use of us. He’d noticed her strong negative reaction the last time. “And it seemed very important to you.” 

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink again. “I-I don’t know what––”

Whatever she was about to say was cruelly interrupted by the chiming of her phone, which she pulled out from her pocket and swiped open. 

The pink in her features vanished, replaced by a deep frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did the feminazis gather en masse in the comments to protest my improved lyrics?” 

“No…that’s not it…” 

She showed him the phone. 

Mimori Nanokura, dressed in a cute, form-accentuating white blouse and equally tight black skinny-style slacks, was being interviewed on Tokyo Live. Legs crossed, elegantly seated on a small sofa, she managed to look both innocent and mature at once. 

The interviewer, a twenty something dude, was gazing at her in open shock. “You’ve been dating someone…since you were fifteen?”

She nodded. “Yes. He was the reason I decided to try my hand at singing. The reason I joined Lucky-M.” She lifted her chin. “Which leads me to the reason I’m here today, Takashi-san. To announce my withdrawal from Lucky-M and the music industry in general. Modeling and acting are going to be my sole focus going forward.”

Sho stole a glance at Midori. She was pale as she gaped at the phone. And no wonder. Mimori, who was speaking like a different person, had dropped a bombshell. 

“Oh wow,” Takashi replied. “That is a huge revelation and we are honored you chose us as the platform to announce your future plans.”

“Yes, you mentioned something similar earlier,” she said, smiling sweetly.

Takashi cleared his throat. “So, does this mean your boyfriend is also in the industry? How does he feel about your exit?”

Mimori’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Funny you should ask. We recently broke up–”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that!” Takashi quickly interjected. 

She waved him off. “Don’t be. I know I said we’d been dating for the last five years, but apparently, he never once considered us a couple.”

The interviewer gasped. “Th-that’s awful.”

“It is, isn’t it? And that’s the other reason I wanted to come on here today. To warn the other ladies about this man’s toxicity. Although calling him a man might be a bit of stretch. Dating him is like buying one of those gorgeous mansions on Lake Kawaguchi only to discover it’s full of black mold. Buyer beware.”

“Oh my.”

“Yes. He’s as honest as an American politician.”

That remark earned a smile from the interviewer. “So, not honest at all then. Who is this guy? Are you allowed to say?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure 99 percent of the viewers watching will know his name.” She looked directly into the camera. “It’s the name associated with Japan’s number one musician, although he might’ve been knocked off his perch recently––what a shame. His name is Sho Fuwa.” 

Sho glanced up at Midori who looked horrified.

“Oh, shit,” he said. 

Hey! Thanks for sticking with the story. If you enjoyed, please do let me know!