Chapter Text
Prologue
“We are outside,” the reporter, Anri Teieri, gestures wide with both arms like she’s trying to physically embrace the building behind her, “—the Tokyo Exhibition Center, which for the next several weeks is going to be the most watched address in the entire country. Because Idol Lock is here, people, and if the energy out here this morning is any indication—”
Behind her, stretching the length of the block in both directions, is a crowd of spectators. People who came just to be near it. Handmade signs. Someone with a portable speaker playing a rap song. A group of teenagers in coordinated outfits who scream the moment the camera swings toward them, which Anri takes in stride and had learned that the screaming is essentially part of it.
“The energy,” Anri said finally, “is brimming with excitement.”
Cut.
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“Inspired by the career of Sae Itoshi.” The sign read on the board behind the interviewer, who was busy barraging Sae Itoshi with questions.
Sae shifts. He folds one leg on top of the other, his head resting on one hand against the cheap-polyester green couch he was directed towards. “So, Mr. Itoshi—”
“Please, call me Sae.”
“—Sae, as the winner of Solo Tu, what is your thoughts on the upcoming Idol Lock competition?”
To Sae Itoshi himself, currently a thousand miles away in a recording studio of a building, it is apparently a thing he would rather not discuss at length.
“Sae—”
“I saw the graphic.” He said it without looking up from the track listing on the table in front of him. He’s younger in person than the industry mythology suggests—early twenties and an easy posture, with the kind of face that photographers have been arguing about for a decade because it’s both approachable and unreadable.
The interviewer, same Anri Teieri, different backdrop, clearly taped earlier in the week, adjusts in her seat. She had interviewed Sae before and knew exactly how much give there is in this conversation. “Idol Lock kicks off today. How does it feel knowing that this whole competition—” she gestures wide, “—started because of you?”
Sae looks up.
“It’s flattering,” he said after a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “And it’s a little surreal. And I’m genuinely glad it exists because it gives people a platform, which—when I was coming up, something like that would have—” he stops, then rewords. “It would have meant a lot. I suppose I’m glad it exists.”
“Are you going to be watching?”
“I’m going to be in the studio for the next six weeks and then on the road for another four months after that, so—”
“So that’s a no?” She interrupts.
The corner of his mouth moves. “That’s a probably not live. I’ll catch up.”
Anri leans forward slightly, she was about to deploy the question she’s been saving for a while now. “You’ve said before that winning Solo Tu opened every door in the industry. Is there anything it cost you?”
For the first time all interview, he doesn’t answer immediately.
Then he smiled that same practiced smile.
“Everything costs something. That’s true of any career. I’ve been more… fortunate.”
“That’s true. And, going back to the competition at hand…” She trailed off after a moment of waiting for further elaboration and not getting any, “There are some extraordinary voices entering this year. Word is this might be the most competitive yet. Does that excite you at all? Knowing that whoever comes out of this could be—”
“Could be what?” Sae said, mildly curious.
“The next you.”
A beat.
Sae sits back. He looks at the camera with an expression that is harder to read.
“There isn’t a next me,” he said, and before it can land as arrogance he continues. “The blueprint isn’t a ceiling. It’s just a door.”
Anri Teieri lets that sit for a moment.
“Sae Itoshi, everyone,” she said to the camera. “Still making us think.”
He’s already looking back at his track listing.
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Cut back to the Exhibition Center.
The crowd outside had grown. Someone had started a chant that Anri had to raise her voice slightly to talk over.
“You heard it from the man himself—the blueprint is a door, and today, for the very first time, the contestants of Idol Lock are walking through it.” She turns to face the building fully, the crowd loud behind her, the banner overhead catching the wind. “Thirty-five of the most talented young vocalists in the country are inside that building right now. Thirty-five voices. Thirty-five stories. And by the end of today, only the best will still be standing.”
She faces the camera.
Her eyes are bright.
“Let’s find out who they are.”
Idol Lock theme music swells.
Cut.