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The subject of the paper, oh so boldly underlined in red before his eyes, stares at Eichi mockingly. He looks up and counts the staff- one, two, three members of the executive board, worrying over something as small as this? Either this was a bigger problem than he anticipated, or he was so intimidating that what they lacked in power had to be accommodated for through numbers.
Not that those numbers mattered, for Eichi was not one to budge.
“Sir, truly…” The speaker was the youngest of the board- and the boldest, apparently. “We feel that sending in ALKALOID will reflect poorly on StarPro. To send in a few members to represent the new generation is fine, but having a group as young as them as our flagship unit is out of the question. This is way above their capabilities.”
Eichi glances out of the corner of his eye to see Yuzuru, as unflinching as ever. The calm, placid smile on his face helps Eichi crack one of his own. After all, if these fools could not understand why ALKALOID was sent, then they must be dozing off during StarPro’s meetings and were due to be evaluated by one very dedicated Yuzuru Fushimi.
But before Eichi can send them off to be fired, there are some words that should best be exchanged now. Unfortunately, the formation of ALKALOID has drawn much criticism towards him. He might as well hear some of it straight from the horse’s mouth before the next meeting.
“I see. Well, if you mean to send in only a few members, then who do you feel is best to exclude?” Eichi prods gently. The choice of words is deliberate- an idol’s ego is no simple thing, and should it collapse, the burden will be on those sitting before him.
Instead of responding immediately, they show a remarkable amount of levelheadedness by whispering among themselves. If only their level of intelligence was equal to their level of cooperation.
“What about Tatsumi Kazehaya? He is still recovering, and because of his pre-existing reputation, he doesn’t need as much publicity as the other three. On top of that his…” In a flash, they are overcome with a burst of nervousness so impeding that they can no longer look at Eichi. “… his religious attitude has put off a lot of people and given them the wrong impression of ALKALOID. We’ll need to pull him aside and ask him to tone that down in the future.”
Not a chance.
Tatsumi was the first person that Eichi nabbed- and unexpectedly so. Visiting Tatsumi’s hospital room was an impulsive, risky decision that could have put him at odds with COSPRO since Tatsumi was still under their contract during their first meeting. Truly, Eichi had no intention of poaching the former star, but as the news of his dismissal began to spread, he could not help jumping on the opportunity.
Though, he was not idiotic enough to do so without considering the risks. There were few people out there that could understand Tatsumi’s physical condition as well as Eichi could, and if the situation were any worse, it would have given Eichi reason to pause. Even if his heart wanted to see this fading talent rise again, his mind and body could not forget the exhaustion of the stage, and the various close calls that marked the beginning of his career. Blindly putting Tatsumi through the same pains that he once faced was an idiot’s errand. There was much at risk here, including, but not limited to, Tatsumi’s life.
But it was precisely because Eichi had gained an understanding of Tatsumi that he opened up an offer personally. No matter how many times he returned to that stark white bed, there was always an idol under its sheets. Tatsumi’s skin may have paled, his muscles weakened, and his heart clotted with inaction, but his otherworldly aura could not be ignored.
In Tatsumi, Eichi found a wilting flower who was a stone’s throw from death. Even when gravity dragged down its browning petals, its curved stem still folded towards the sky. In the midst of a famine that drained the world of rain, it stood up tall, attributing its unusual revival to the most insignificant rays of sunlight.
Tatsumi was a story of death and rebirth, emerging from the necrosol with a resolution that defied reason. To exclude him would be to exclude hope, and what would an idol be without hope?
“On the contrary, his pre-existing reputation gives us more reason to push Kazehaya-kun in the spotlight. We need to convince people that StarPro has utilized Kazehaya-kun better than COSPRO did, which would boost StarPro’s reputation. As for his religious beliefs…”
While Tatsumi’s faith made no difference to Eichi, his dedication to certain principles contradicted with some of the strategies that Eichi preferred; but that was why Tatsumi was better off a friend, and not a foe.
That was part of Eichi’s pet project anyway- to ensure that even someone with a different worldview could become an idol.
“We have not seen a significant impact on ALKALOID’s performance as a result of his beliefs. Also, the complaints that we have received thus far are from a clear minority who are not part of our intended audience, therefore it is in our best interest to allow Kazehaya-kun to continue as usual.”
Eichi looks at them each carefully, reading every flutter, every jolt. Though they have been thrown off kilter, the affair is far from over.
“Now, what of the other members?”
The deliberation is quick, and concerningly so.
“Then, we should exclude Mayoi Ayase. He may perform well on stage, but he struggles with speaking, which causes problems on every front.” Interestingly enough, there is a tinge of frustration in the next statement. “His behaviour in private is also a great concern. A psychological evaluation would be for the best.”
How telling.
From the beginning, Mayoi had been a curious case to anyone fortunate enough to catch a whisper of his presence. There were times when Eichi feared that the illusory Phantom had left the grounds of Yumenosaki behind, but when a mysterious application turned up on his lap on one stormbound night, he did well to read its contents carefully.
In the past, the Phantom had piqued Eichi’s curiosity, but there was only so much he could say about Mayoi. His advice in the past may have been sound, but that was not necessarily a reflection of his personal skill. Additionally, his lack of public appearance made it difficult to separate truth from fiction; hence, Eichi needed to strategize a foolproof plan to ensure that Mayoi would walk into ES with his own two feet. If there was anything that Eichi was certain about, it was that this talent could not fall into another’s hands. However, he also needed to reassure those around him of Mayoi’s existence- which was all the more troubling when even the government couldn’t find him.
Ultimately, all of that stress amounted to nothing, for in the dark corners of the night where no one could see him, Mayoi Ayase entered the world. Surprisingly, most of what was uttered among the students was true, as Mayoi was a character who could have stood toe-to-toe with a certain pair of five, if not joining them himself in another universe. Eichi prefers this strand of fate, though.
In Mayoi, Eichi found a doll entwined with webs. After eons in the shadows, it collected dust, and the grey powder was confused for its skin and bone- but there were some things that the dust could not hide, like its slender fingers, its sublime voice, and its twinkling eyes. Even time could not distort its beauty.
Mayoi was a story of sweat, blood, and tears, perfecting the world in spite of his fear of it. To exclude him would be to exclude joy, and what would an idol be without joy?
“To be frank, ALKALOID is not expected to speak for long, so Ayase-kun’s personal constitution is irrelevant. Rather, Ayase-kun is one of our best performers, and a stage like this is the best place to showcase what StarPro’s facilities and training can produce. For his behaviour…”
While Mayoi was just as peculiar as any Yumenosaki student, anyone from the outside was sure to see him differently. Eichi understood that Mayoi’s words were offputting, but when those words amounted to nothing because of the poor idol’s own fear and terrible self-image, complaining was akin to making mountains out of molehills.
Besides, Eichi’s project would be a failure if someone excluded from the world was incapable of returning to it in the form of an idol.
”Hmm. The only behaviour of his that has been reported to me is his kindness. A psychological evaluation isn’t out of the question, but threatening him with it is currently the greatest faux pas we can make now that ALKALOID is getting busier.”
Stubbornly, they all stare at Eichi with open exasperation. Eichi does not stare back- he knows what to expect.
“I take it that you have no complaints about the juniors-”
“We have nothing to lose by setting Aira Shiratori on the bench.” Eichi isn’t inclined to roll his eyes- it’s not something that he has made a habit out of due to his formal upbringing- but he wonders if doing so will send his visitors a hint. “Shiratori-kun has a long way to go, and it would be better for him to observe an event like this from the sidelines instead of being thrust into it suddenly. He has a lot of eyes on him because of his appearance, too, and the pressure has gotten to him before.”
What a poor statement.
Aira had nothing to observe because his heart was of a similar ilk to Eichi’s; for them, idols were a matter of life. It was clear on that fateful day on the auditions, when Eichi judged the new blood from a disguise suggested to him by Wataru after a number of debutees grew anxious in the presence of fine’s leader. Aira’s performance was nothing remarkable, but his interview was a whole other story.
Nonetheless, as the idol scene grew competitive, Aira’s heart alone could not help him move up in the industry. He was a slow learner- a trait exemplified by his hesitance. Eventually, the interest that consumed Eichi from the interview faded away, a bonfire that gave birth to a mere candle. However, even when Eichi began to drift, Aira still scrapped at the chains holding him back, though his effort amounted to the occasional gig as a backup singer. It was then that Eichi realized the direction that StarPro was headed in, a daunting, troublesome path where idols were laid off left and right, not all too different from a now forgotten Yumenosaki. For the future generation to succeed, he needed the perfect hamster to test, and as far as willpower went, Aira Shiratori was ideal.
And Eichi’s intuition was true. Aira, as the very personification of love, strove more than anyone to grasp the true nature of an idol. While the junior felt impeded by the shortcomings that kept him away from perfection, what he failed to realize was that his shortcomings made him an idol. That faint spark of courage within him was all that he needed.
In Aira, Eichi found an old diary. It’s childish nature made it the pinnacle of mockery, and yet, the sincerity with which it professed its dreams could put even the greatest leaders at shame. Within its pages, it held magical stories that illuminated the dry, arid corners of lackluster halls and brought life to those who read it.
Aira was a story of fantasy and cliches, the sorts that keep the heart alive. To exclude him was to exclude love, and what would an idol be without love?
“It was already discussed at our last assessment that Shiratori-kun has grown considerably in every possible category, so we should not expect history to repeat itself. As the most proactive member on social media, Shiratori-kun has already developed a notable persona- one that makes him a bonus at an event like this, but even if this were not the case…”
Aira’s heritage was obvious at a glance. Just a moment with him was enough to confirm that he was an average Japanese teenager, but whether or not someone was willing to assess him properly was a matter of personal discretion.
But that was the fault of the audience, and not the idol, as Eichi’s project necessitated that anyone, irrespective of appearances or stereotypes, could become an idol.
“As we’ve seen with previous idols, their heritage only poses a concern towards a close-minded audience. To judge Shiratori-kun’s ability to perform based on our assumptions is the same discrimination that you are expecting of the audience- and an unfounded assumption, too, since there are no more complaints about Shiratori-kun then there are of Kazehaya-kun or Ayase-kun.”
Despite Eichi’s words, they all remain planted in their seats.
With a sigh, Eichi asks, “Now that we have addressed all but one of the members of ALKALOID, do you truly wish to exclude ALKALOID’s leader from this event?”
They exchange stares among themselves until the youngest speaks up again.
“This isn’t the sort of stage that Hiiro Amagi should stand on.”
Eichi straightens up. The statement’s vagueness aside, the absence of a professional tone makes Eichi wonder just how deep this “concern” about ALKALOID runs.
“Amagi-kun has no shortage of problems. Firstly, with his brother making such a ruckus during the summer, ALKALOID is in a precarious position, especially him. Secondly, his unusual upbringing makes explaining things to him a hassle, and this isn’t the sort of project where people will always be around to help him. Thirdly, he has a penchant for making unusual comments that draw suspicion towards either him or StarPro. And lastly… there’s been a lot of speculation about his ‘origins’. Our PR team is already loaded with work as is.”
“Is that so?” Eichi utters before realizing.
The smartest thing this team did was save their complaints about Hiiro for the end, since it highlighted everything that Eichi needed to know about them.
Eichi knew exactly who he picked up on that bench in the park, that shimmering boy who once cried out that he would destroy idols. Now, that child was a rising star of commendable fame, and the idols that he despised were his dearest treasures. Hiiro was the sort of idol that ES was supposed to make, so excluding him was laughable.
It was true that Hiiro was almost from another world- he was so earnest that it occasionally circled around into making him difficult to read. His grudge towards idols was genuine, but at the same time, he had no idea what an idol even was. Someone like him should have been a nuisance, and yet, Hiiro proved to be a quick study who flourished under the weight of responsibilities that would have buried any other in his place. The problem was that very earnestness, as the world was just as unaccustomed to those like him as he was to it. His plans were sensible, though peculiar, and every movement of his had to be reviewed two, three times to understand where he was going. Such a person was a bit much for even Eichi, and doubly so after Hiiro started to perceive him as a threat. What others failed to realize was that Hiiro listened to reason.
How fortunate for Eichi’s care of idols to be deemed reasonable. In the time since the MDM, Hiiro dedicated himself wholly to the smiles of his fans. Could such a resolve be cast away from the stage? Of course not, because if an idol like Hiiro could be tossed aside, then what of all the other idols who Eichi oversaw with the same vigour and excitement?
In Hiiro, Eichi found the different sides of nature. There was the calm of the sky, the power of lightning, the ebb and flow of the sea, all expressed within the same shade of blue. On days where the tide rose, one could not help watching with bated breath, and on days where the waves danced, one wished to sing along.
Hiiro was a story of growth, of a fledgling that finally spread its wings. To exclude him was to exclude determination, and what was an idol without determination?
“Now is not the time to mince words, especially for a matter as important as this.” Eichi pauses, and looks into each and every person’s eyes. “All that your complaints have shown is an unwillingness to deal with any ‘inconvenient’ situations instead of a genuine willingness to see StarPro succeed. You see, if you truly cared for this agency, then you would understand that ALKALOID’s novelty is a necessary obstacle to overcome. When the records have shown that Hiiro-kun is quick to fix his mistakes and has a remarkable grasp on his fans’ wishes, I fail to see how he can be as troublesome as you all assume him to be.”
For a second, they board members look down at their laps. In this moment of grace, there is one thing that Eichi needs to add.
How much did Hiiro’s origins matter? Time and time again, the common folk cry out that those who work should be adequately compensated, but when the faces of the workers no longer match theirs, complications arise. Eichi learned long ago that he did not see the world as others did, and it was clearly for the better. To neglect Hiiro on the basis of his ethnicity was ridiculous.
Hiiro was the pinnacle of Eichi’s project- an idol produced from next to nothing. In theory, a person with Hiiro’s profile should not have attained such success- but that could not be farther from reality.
“Those concerned with Hiiro-kun’s origins are relying on pitiable arguments to put both StarPro and Hiiro-kun down. Our PR team is equipped to deal with that much at the minimum.”
The final battleship has sunk, all cards are revealed, and the only pieces of worth on this chessboard are Eichi’s.
“Is it necessary for us to send-”
“It cannot be anyone but ALKALOID,” Eichi declares firmly. The excuse slips as easily from his tongue as water out of a jug’s mouth.
“NewDI is currently holding the lead when it comes to debuting new units. As such, most idol trainees consider NewDI the quickest path to success, and will flock there before attempting any other action. By sending in one of our more recent units, we can assure them that success is possible under StarPro, too.
“Furthermore, RhythLin’s strategy of solely using their veteran idols for these grand festivals is working to their detriment, and has led to most calling them a ‘one-trick pony’. If a new idol can stand on the same stage as a veteran- and draw in a larger crowd, no less- it will lead people to question RhythLin’s quality.
“Lastly, COSPRO has excused themselves from this event entirely- and unsurprisingly so, as this is much more ‘childish’ than their recent endeavours. StarPro’s participation is not meant to challenge them directly, but to prove that our name alone can glorify the stages that they thought were below them- which you all would have known if you read the meeting minutes before coming here.”
Yuzuru jumps in to chide them, and Eichi leans back in his seat. A shame that after all these minutes, the only words exchanged were ones that he already expected to hear. Regardless, there was a silver lining to this cloud- with conveniently lined up data, Eichi could dissuade the board members from taking dangerous steps. Thereafter, Yuzuru escorts the three stooges out, the room grows quiet.
Nothing that Eichi said was false, but he can’t help but look at the branding on his heart and wonder if he can voice it aloud. Given the nature of his soul, there was a simpler fact that could explain this choice.
He really loves idols.
It’s a form of unconditional love; he has played the villain’s role more often than the hero’s in front of his peers. Even if they hate him with every fibre of their being, he will still love them if only for the light they bring to the stage. It could be a curse, even, for there are unpleasant people among the talented, but if he refrained from giving his love to an idol, then it would make that person undeserving of the title “idol”.
With that in mind, he loves ALKALOID. He loves watching them struggle, loves watching them huddle around each other for warmth. The fire that they ignited among their fans was sparked within their fellow unitmates first, and Eichi takes great pride in pushing them to that height, even if their initial ascent bored him.
Thus, there is one thing that Eichi needs to ask. If ALKALOID could not be idols, then who? With hope, joy, love, and determination, their very blood screams for the stage, even when they themselves grow deaf to their own desires. Business aside, this was a platform for them in every sense.
Ah, but that’s the thing.
ALKALOID was supposed to prove that anyone could be an idol, and now that they have succeeded, it means that people of any walk of life can enter ES. Rather than accommodating them, the higher ups would rather pretend that they never existed, or would exile them using every trick in the book.
All alone, Eichi subconsciously smirks. The book that those higher ups abused was written by Eichi’s own hand.
The real problem was ALKALOID’s opposition. Among the arguments exchanged today were some that other idols were already tolerating. Rumours about Eichi’s health have already led to miscommunication among staff and the occasional cruel letter from a vile “fan”, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. From this point on, this matter would worsen, but that’s how the cookie crumbles, no?
This is a concern in every corner of the world, and sheltering ALKALOID would not only lead to their downfall, but it was also futile given how they already suffered from prejudices before entering the industry. Rather than hiding, ALKALOID needed to lead from the frontlines, becoming soldiers entrusted with protecting the right to be.
On the forgotten proposal, the subject matter outlined in red fades out. Its ink has lost meaning, and it would best be tossed aside. Letting it rest on the desk was a mistake in and of itself, but the matter could be rectified.
With a clean desk and a clean conscious, Eichi dispels the hateful energy swarming the air. His idols had no use for such things.