“And it's another beautiful Saturday in Tokyo, we’re halfway to 1 p.m. and the sun is still shining, and ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t look like it’ll be letting up today. So that’s good news for us all. Now, I’m Jiro Sato, but you can call me JiJi, because I’m wise like no other, hehe. I’ll be taking us right into our questions and answers segment, so send em’ over, I’ll be waiting all day if I have to, but you wouldn’t make an old man wait, now would you?”
Hatsuko was behind the wheel of a fairly new silver van driving down one of the many tight lanes that wrapped through Tokyo’s bloated body like a clogged blood vessel. I was in the back currently dressing myself in my latest uniform; the first not provided by Ha:Yami, but by Hatsuko.
I was used to luxury clothes, designer brands so expensive that they don’t even bother advertising to the average person, where the secretive nature of the brands turns into a selling point that only those few others in the know would comprehend.
The type of clothes that are true luxury, and not just luxury ‘brands’, were what I was used to. Dresses designed to hold centrepiece in a fairytale-type ball, clothes that clad your body with the touch of silk yet the feeling of armour. But these? This type that Hatsuko had picked out for me… these were foreign.
Completely and utterly.
I knew the brands, they were all designer, all purposely chosen to stand out, or maybe fit in. It wasn’t the make or anything that had me so confused, but the type. Before me weren’t dresses, nor fancy jewellry, but causal clothes, a style that I’d never worn in this high quality.
An outfit made up of a thin grey oversized sweater that hung over my body in all the right ways and black loose suit pants that stopped before a pair of white sneakers. All rounded out with a modest, yet complimentary gathering of accessories such as the pair of gold bracelets on my wrist and the silver locket love heart around my neck.
Hatsuko had picked out a style that perfectly embodied smart casual, a style well suited to both standing out anywhere, yet also fitting in.
“Woah there, barely 30 seconds in and we’ve got our first question from what I’m sure is a beautiful lady listener. She asks, ‘I’m 31 and unmarried and I’m worried that I’m going to end up lonely and childless unless I get married soon. Should I marry the first decent guy I meet, or just accept that my life is going nowhere and kill myself?’”
The radio host let out an awkward laugh at the unusually nihilistic question before trying to answer it, “Well, first things first folks, let's not commit any actions we can’t come back from, ok? Especially if they lead to game-overs. But to answer this question… you should stop worrying about it so much. Look, you don’t need a husband or children to be complete as a woman- hells, as anyone. You just gotta be yourself, and if you happen to find a man by being yourself, well, I’d count that as a win in my book. Now, enough of that mellow stuff, and onto the next question…”
Hatsuko hasn’t given me much to go on, nor what to expect from Hanako Hall. I had no idea what part I was playing, and the only thing I knew about the play was the name, ‘Us of I’.
Had I pushed for more information? No, I hadn’t. She’d made it clear that everything would be explained to all the actors as a group so there wouldn’t be any repeat questions. I was fine with that, it made sense.
Even so, I was more curious about the actors I’d be working with. It's obvious this is a small timepiece that’ll be performed on a local scale, so I was expecting acting students, maybe high schoolers from a club. And for the bulk of actors to be signed on with Hanako Hall’s acting troupe.
I was no expert in the world of theatre companies, but considering a play was usually performed by a company as a whole, I found it odd that I was being bought in under a freelance manager and as a newbie. Perhaps whoever I’m replacing was originally a part of the company, or maybe I’m completely off and I’ll be enlightened later.
I suppose I’ll find out once I’m there.
“Ok ok, onto our next question from a brave teenage boy of 15 years old from out in the boonies! He asks, ‘I want to leave my hometown in the middle of nowhere, but it seems like my life has already been decided for me. My mom has already set up a job for me once I’m out of high school, and I can’t leave her behind as she and I work together to take care of Grandpa who is ill. But I really hate it here, I can’t imagine living here all my life with the same handful of people I’ve known since birth. I want to leave and live a fulfilling life in the city, but I can’t leave the people I love behind, and they refuse to even think about leaving. What do I do JiJi?’”
Once again, the radio host gave a chuckle full of pity, and answered, “Think you know the answer to that one already. But I get it, sometimes we know what we gotta do, but we’re just struggling to take that first step alone. But don’t you worry, ol’ JiJi is here to help you take it! So, listen closely kid, sit down with your mother, and be honest with her, tell her the truth, that you gotta leave your little town before it suffocates you. She’ll understand, and you’ll be moving out to the big city before you know it! And hey, if you come to Tokyo, hit me up! I’ll give you a tour of the studio, alright kid? Haha, on to the next question!”
There was a strange feeling in my chest that I just couldn’t get over. It was a question that kept repeating itself around in my mind, confusion, annoyance, I wasn’t too sure.
But if Hanako Hall’s troupe was just a minor company as it seemed to be on the surface, then why was Hatsuko going through the extra effort to dress me up with a uniform that’d match with a million-dollar heiress on a yacht?
Who am I replacing, a person? Or the idea of a person she’d sold?
“Seina, are you already back there? We’ll arrive in a few minutes, ok?” Hatsuko spoke with a loud voice so it could be heard over the radio.
I replied with an ‘ok’, before the radio host jumped right back in, “Time for question number three, from a young lady who I’m sure turns heads daily, she asks, ‘JiJi, thank you for your answer. It was complete shit. Telling me to just be myself, as if that works for anyone. And when did I say I need a husband or child to be complete as a woma-’ Emm,Alright, let's leave that one there for now. It seems someone is a little uppity about my advice, but that’s fine kiddos, happens even to the best of us, like me! Haha.”
The radio host was a little more subdued, clearly hurt, or annoyed at what he’d read out, either because he generally felt bad, was baffled someone would rebuke his stellar advice, or that the studio let that reply get through the vetting process in the first place.
“Well folks, guess we better call it there for our answers and questions, haha.” He finally said after gathering his nerves, or maybe the remains of his ego? “Now, we’ll be moving onto a song that’s topping charts this month, but before that folks, remember, ain’t nothing wrong with faking it till you make it! After all, fake it for long enough and it becomes real, haha. That’s top notch advice, I recommend you ladies and gents take it and make it a reality, anyways, here’s that song. Lets jam!”
The radio shut off with a twist of Hatsuko’s wrist, “Out with it.” She demanded, her eyes looking me over in the reflection of the car mirror. “I can tell you have a question, Seina.” She announced my name like a teacher taking morning attendance.
“Who am I replacing?”
Hatsuko’s face twisted into annoyance for a moment before reverting back, she spoke her words carefully, practised and with the prior rehearsal of an actress, “Isamu Nakahara, 19 years old. He’s your above-average pretty boy who is a lot better at acting than most people give him credit for. More people would recongise that if they looked beyond his appearance, but that’s asking too much from the masses.”
She hates him.
But there is also a lingering tint of respect, or perhaps pity. She truly does believe he’s a talented actor, but why pity? Does pity really deserve to be given to someone simply because they’re so attractive that people don’t notice their other talents? It seems wasted.
“I’m replacing a male actor?”
“You’re replacing a pretty boy angel who sometimes performs as a woman. Don’t worry, you’re not playing a man. Opposite gender roles takes a certain amount of experience, and the right character. I wouldn’t put a newbie in that position… unless I had no other choice. Which I do.” She clarified, putting the issue to bed before it could arise.
Hatsuko took a corner tightly, causing me to jolt against the van’s side before steadying myself. The speedometer read a shaky 40 miles per hour, we were on a 25 miles per hour road that snaked through the backstreets tucked between the wards of Toyko. She was speeding, either because of nerves or lateness.
“Isamu Nakahara, does he no longer work with you?”
“No.” She replied bluntly, before realising she’d have to give a proper explanation. “His father woke up one day and suddenly decided to take an interest in his son’s acting career, and the first thing his meddling did was replace me with some shoddy talent agency, as if that’d magically make him the next Amii Kaiko overnight. Fucking idiot.” She replied bitterly, as if each word was a needle she had to force out of from her oesophagus.
She’s acting differently from usual, at least from the usual that I’ve come to expect from her. It's more tense, perhaps its stress, or nerves? Or maybe she hates the place we’re going to, an old wound threatening to reopen once more? I suppose this could be who she really is, and the previous attitude was simply an act.
“Why me? Do none of the actors you manage fit the criteria?”
Her foot hit the breaks hard, too hard to not be on purpose. “We’re here.” She said, clearly avoiding the question. “Let's go, the manager will want to see you first. He’s an asshole, so be careful.” She added on cautiously before hopping out the van and opening the rear doors for me.
Hanako Hall stood before me, its name written in bold red neon above its doors, seeming like something that came out of a tacky cyberpunk movie from the 80’s. It was at odds with the rest of the building which looked as if someone took an American apartment block and meshed it together with a Japanese feudal castle, giving it an ugly, yet almost respectable appearance.
Its oversized wooden doors gave way easily from a push, and Hatsuko lead the way deeper into the depths of this hybrid monster of a building. The interior was reasonably quaint compared to the exterior, it’d almost be considered fancy, in an old fashioned type of way, if it didn’t slather the colour red onto every piece of furniture like vomit in a club’s bathroom.
Hatsuko snuck behind a curtain and I followed her up a set of hidden wooden stairs.
“He’s going to test you, just stand there and ignore him.” She spoke, her stare focused forwards on the stairs. “He’s a worthless, sleazy scumbag of a man. We only need to appease him to the point that he doesn’t want to throw us out.”
“Why would he throw us out?” I asked, half knowing the answer.
“He doesn’t like me.” She replied, not hiding the repugnance in her voice, “He’ll like you though. He might try and touch you, do whatever you want about it. I won’t get mad if you hit him and he kicks us out, it will likely end our relationship, however. But do what you have to.” Hatsuko conceded, uncomfortable with the thought of losing the job, but still leaving it in my hands.
It felt out of character for her. To tell me she’s fine with me ruining this job after all this. She’s decided everything so far, and seems so set on completing this play that she’d gather up fine jewellery and designer clothes, as well as pull an unknown person off the streets to replace a drop out.
She either really disliked this man, or valued my assumed purity over this play. It was almost a kindness, but it wasn’t. If Hatsuko was truly kind, she wouldn’t put a person in this type of situation, fortunately for her, I’m not a person.
Not anymore.
We arrived in front of a door to an office, ‘manager’ was written on a wooden sign in the classic overused red that this place loved like a drug addict loved their vice of choice. Hatsuko gripped the handle as if she were going to wring its neck, and threw open the door without warning, prompting the now startled manager to jump up from behind his desk.
Overweight, sweaty, sleazy, gross. Those were but a few of the words I could use to describe this ball of middle aged flesh before me. I rarely took the time to judge people’s appearance, but Hatsuko had built an image of this man up in my head, one of a disguising creature of a human, and this manager fit every aspect of that.
It was almost cliche.
Yet it was at odds with his response.
“Ah, Hatsuko.” He laughed all jolly like, “Its good to see you again! And who is this girl you’ve bought with you?” He slapped his head in a comedic way, “Ah, I forget myself, please, take a seat.” He beckoned towards the two open seats in front of his desk.
Hatsuko took a seat, but held her hand out to prevent me from doing so too. She was clearly doing so as some form of protective laying for me, but the manager simply sighed and looked dejected.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I believe introductions are in order.” He purposed, a trace of discomfort on his face, “I am Botan Adachi, and who is this young lady, Sister?” He addressed Hatsuko with hopefulness laced into his words.
“I am not your sister.” Hatsuko replied with venom, cutting his hope into pieces instantly. “You’re are not my family.” She continued bluntly, prompting another downcasted look from Adachi.
He raised his hands defensively, “Fine, fine. I am sorry. I only wished you would accept me as your brother-in-law, but I understand.” He added, earning a stare that would put Medusa to shame. “Now, introductions, yes?”
She kept her glare with him for a moment, her anger refusing to break it. But the want to finish this as quickly as possible forced her hand, and so she obliged, “This is Seina Kanemoto.” Hatsuko gestured towards me and Adachi nodded, “She’ll be standing in for Isamu.”
He turned to me, and slowly looked me over as if I was a piece of art to be inspected, “And how old are you Miss Kanemoto, 15, 16? You’re very beautiful, must have boys falling over for you, haha.” He commented, letting out a jolly laugh as if he were St. Nicholas himself.
And right then, right now. I felt as if I was in the Ha:Yami Club, and this was just one of my many clients for the night. The outside shutters of the window were closed, the light illuminated the glass; illuminated my reflection in the window… I wasn’t able to turn away.
I looked over my appearance, my eyes searched for a nametag, but none could be found.
The nametag could not be found, so Seina Kanemoto could not be found. Yet still, the woman in the reflection stared back at me; tainted, impure, disgusting. She was no one, nothing.
Total blackness, a perfect, empty void.
I am the void. Rot manifest that spreads across the cracks in my skin and delves deep below till it fills me and I become it, totally and utterly.
I was Seina Kanemoto.
And she was so beautiful, and she was so perfect, and she was so pure, and happy, and flirty, and intelligent, and knowledgeable.
She wasn’t dirty, or broken. She had the purity of white and she didn’t need a cracked facade of a mirror and a false white hospital room to show it.
I shouldn’t be able to become Seina Kanemoto. The nametag is what makes work mode possible, it allows me to bridge the gap.
So why… why am I Seina Kanemoto?
I am Seina Kanemoto.
I looked over her appearance. The woman staring back at me was clean, pure, beautiful. She was everything you could ask for, totally and completely perfect.
But it was Adachi that I couldn’t draw my eyes away from. He was the client, that was the bridge between Seina and I.
“I’m 17, Mr. Adachi.” Seina replied with a schoolgirl’s smile and respectful bow.
Like her. Like her. Like her. Like her. Like her. Like her.
Lie so that you’re loved. Lie so that you’re happy. Lie because you’re perfect.
Be perfect because you do not lie if you’re so.
His grin was full of glee, “Ahoho, is that so? And how long have you been in this business?” He inquired.
“3 years, Mr. Adachi. I originally wanted to be an idol, but my parents were against it, so we compromised on acting. I’m glad it happened, honestly. Acting is a lot more fun and I’m quite good at it.” Seina answered dutifully, like a student replying to a teacher, she stood confidently and with her hands before her.
“So an experienced girl, I see!” He proclaimed, “May I ask who your parents are? You’re dressed very well, they must be very highly regarded individuals.”
Now he was testing the waters, he’d noticed the uniform and was debating whether Seina was a girl with powerful rich parents who cared about her, or if she was wearing the bulk of her acting money in this single outfit.
In other words, was she the bully or the victim?
The answer? Whatever benefits us most.
“My parents? I suppose they’re alright, I live alone so I don’t really talk to them much. They visit sometimes, but only on the holidays. You know?” Seina masterfully avoided giving a straight answer.
As much as I deluded myself into thinking this was a client, he is not. Seina will not lower herself to appear more appetising to a person who provides no gain.
This is appeasement, not satisfaction.
“Oh, yes I understand. But that is not all bad, at your age I’m certain you must be enjoying the freedom. Yes, yes, and you’ll surely make a fine actress, I’m sure of it. But don’t slack on your upcoming high school exams, you always want to keep your options open, not everyone lasts as an actor.” He warned kindheartedly, before returning to Hatsuko, having deemed the situation surrounding Seina to be too unclear for the moment, “So… you’re here for Director Ttio, yes?”
Hatsuko appeared stunned, and it took her a second to realise Adachi was now speaking to her, “Huh, yes, of course. Is he in?” She clumsily replied.
He nodded, “Hmm, right, well he’s in the rehearsal room. You still remember your way there?”
She stood up, and Adachi quickly followed her, “Yes, I do. We’ll be heading there now.” She disregarded his goodbye and looked to Seina, “Come along, Seina. We wouldn’t want to waste anymore of this man’s time, now would we?”
Appeasement. Silently confirmed. Now for the real reason we’re here.
The play.
The door closed behind us, and we walked in silence down the stairs.
There was no mirror, no reflection.
But I knew the woman staring back at Seina was clean, pure, beautiful. She was everything you could ask for, totally and completely perfect.
After all, she was Seina Kanemoto. How could she be anything else?
However, the client was gone. The bridge removed.
Now the woman staring back at her was tainted, impure, disgusting. She was no one, nothing.
It was me.
I was Seina Kanemoto.
Now I am a void.
Total blackness, a perfect, empty void.
“Seina,” Hatsuko’s voice cut me out of my mind, “What was that?”
“He reminded me of the clients from the Ha:Yami Club. That was my work mode.” I answered as usual.
She raised an eyebrow in concern, “Ha:Yami Club? I hope that isn’t a brothel.” She warned.
“No, its a high end night club. I work there as a hostess. No sex involved.” I answered shamelessly and without missing a beat.
Her eyes remained locked onto me, judging my body language, checking whether I’m lying or not. “Good,” She continued, reaching her conclusion, “The saying is that ‘sex sells’, but that isn’t entirely true. The idea of sex is what really sells. Its all an illusion, you dress up so people can imagine themselves fucking you, but the moment it gets out that you’re not, in fact, the recarnation of purity that is Mother Teresa, then the illusion shatters and you end up in a scandal. Sex doesn’t make careers, it kills them. Try to avoid it if you’re serious about this.”
Hatsuko stood by the thick red curtain that cut off and hid the stairs to the second floor from the hallway, she continued watching, thinking.
“‘Work mode’, what is it?” She finally asked.
“My question first.” I cut her off, and she nodded to go on, “You didn’t mention Adachi was your brother-in-law?”
From what I just witnessed between those two, there was clearly more bad blood than Hatsuko simply thinking that Adachi was a scumbag, and not knowing why might negatively affect me in the future. I don’t want to be caught off-guard in a world I know little about.
“No, I didn’t. Because he’s not.” She replied, her voice colder than before, and her eyes warning me to stop.
“Then why did he call himself your ‘brother-in-law’?” I continued.
It was stupid, foolish, dangerous even. To push her, to put pressure on her about this. But he was the owner of this place, if I was going to continue down this route in this strange new world, then what choice did I have?
Let it lie, and be caught off-guard by it somewhere down the line.
Or dig it up.
Secrets and lies are my scripture, I am the church that houses them. How could I ever let one slip through my fingers, especially one that can affect my life, or maybe change Seina’s.
“You really wanna know, Seina? Fine, what do I care, everyone knows it anyway. So if I don’t tell you, someone else will, and I don’t want to hear any of that man’s lies being repeated by you.” The words were spat out of her mouth, frustration laced in her voice, vile and guttural as her hands fidgeted, energised by emotion.
“He killed my sister. There you go, are you happy? That’s the story, that bastard killed Sakura, my damn sister. For fuck sake, the woman he married, his wife, and he killed her. Him and that fucking family.”
She looked down at the ground, her arms crossed defensively, this wasn’t a story she enjoyed retelling. It was painful for her, but it also lit a fire in her eyes.
The orange of anger, the blue of sadness. A vicious mix of colours.
“It was all for a damned baby. Outstanding, isn’t it? He blamed her for it, I caught them arguing on her 28th birthday, they had invited the family over for dinner, but somewhere along the day they snuck away and fell into a shouting match. That’s when I found out and overheard the argument. She had uterus cancer, and he was blaming her for it as if it was her fault.”
A pause, brief, she wasn’t looking at me anymore, I wasn’t even here to her. No, this wasn’t anger at him, but at herself. She believes she has failed her sister.
“I should have burst into the room, but I didn’t. I held my tongue just like I was always taught to, and so did she, taught just like I was. If I’d gone in, forced her to get treated right then and there, she’d have lived. But I was a coward.” Her body swayed to the side, frustration sewn into her skin; she couldn’t stand still.
“She never told me. Even as she was lying on her deathbed, the cancer was too far gone to do anything about. I think she was embarrassed, ‘it's a woman’s duty to provide children to her husband’, our mother would say, the cranky witch that she was. But my sister latched onto those words, tried until the end, let the cancer eat her up simply because the treatment would slash that 1% fucking chance of pregnancy.”
Hatsuko started pacing to and form, it was all she could do to prevent her from lashing out, either from running up those stairs and attacking Adachi, or taking it out on me.
“So yeah, Seina. I hate that bastard. I hate him for letting her go through that, I hate him for being so obsessed with a last name that he’d let the only family I had left die. She was 29, you get that, Seina?” She asked me, harshness in her words, a flamethrower of sentences aimed directly at me.
“29, Seina. Do you understand?”
It wasn’t a question that needed answering. There was nothing logical about this, it was pure hate, fury, and disgust. I understood that, perhaps not so much the age, but the emotions. Yes, I got that.
“Her whole life ahead of her, and it all vanished 13 years ago because of a controlling cunt.”
She took a breath, trying to calm herself down but really struggling with it. Her eyes darting to and from, far too agitated to focus on any one thing.
“Botan Adachi. I sometimes want to kill him. No, I do want to kill him, the world would be better off without him.”
Hatsuko brought a hand up to her face and wiped it clean of the trace amounts of sweat on it, she took a deep breath, and then another to steady herself, before looking directly into my eyes.
“Seina. We’re never going to talk about this again.”
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
An offer of hollow pity. I wasn’t sure why I was giving it to her. I always found it strange that people would so often apologise to people for things they had no relation to, I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry that happened to you, I’m sorry for that- and this, and whatever else there is to be sorry about.
It doesn’t mean anything, pointless words that even a dictionary cannot find use for.
“No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, Seina.” She shot back, her voice more steady, less rage and more coldness. “Now, work mode, I want to know everything.” She continued the last hints of her anger fading as she forced her mind to focus on me instead.
All while ignoring the fact that I was the reason this anger existed in the first place. That I was the one who pushed her to this retelling.
“It's a term my co-workers coined, it refers to how I am during my shift. I… it's a disconnect, I cease to be me, and I become an idealised version of Seina Kanemoto. I usually trigger it by looking at my nametag in the mirror, but this was the first time I’ve done it without the nametag. I think… that because Adachi reminded me of a client I was able to use that feeling to bridge the gap and enter work mode without my nametag.”
Not the whole truth, only a part of it. I am a void, I was Seina Kanemoto, but now I am nothing. But she doesn’t need to know that, that remains with me alone.
“It-” She began, “It almost sounds like acting… No, it is acting. It sounds like Method Acting, but… different?” She shook her head in confusion, “So to clarify, you used a nametag to become a different, better version of yourself to cater to clients?”
“Yes, but now it seems like I just need the… feeling? Maybe the mindset of the club to enter work mode?” I attempted to further explain.
“But that- that didn’t feel like acting. It felt like you’d become a different person, and I don’t mean that you acted so well that you seemed to change- I mean you were actually a different person in there. Like, a completely separate person to who you are.”
“Yes.”
“Immersion Acting…” She continued, coining up a replacement word for work mode, “But you’re not immersing yourself as an actress into that character, that character- that idealisation of yourself is immersing itself within you. You’d have to temporarily empty yourself each time to embody something so perfectly… It's… it'd be the most mentally damaging thing I’d have ever seen. But… you’re not stupid enough to do it, are you?”
She was wrong. There was nothing to immerse into. I am a void, I simply become Seina. There is nothing mentally damaging about this, as there is no personality to damage, no sanity to degrade.
Just blackness, impurity, uncleanliness.
A hollow void for a perfect Seina to fill in.
I am nothing, until I am Seina. Until she fills this nothingness in.
“Hatsuko, I believe you’re overestimating me. I simply put on an act of my idealised self, nothing more.” Seina lied.
And for the first time, there was no need for a mirror. A nametag, a feeling or a mindset.
“Right, of course.” She let out a breath of air she didn’t know she’d been holding, but a look of disappointment instantly replaced her earlier appearance of excitement, “That was still good acting, you’ll- you’ll do fine here. Maybe even learn something new and improve a bit, you could probably make it in this business, if you’re willing.”
She stopped talking, her mind turning over in thought, wondering about possibilities she believed would never happen, “Immersion Acting, if… if someone could actually do it, then they’d have the potential of becoming the greatest actor in Japan- No, the world,” She laughed, a smile more of pity than anything else,
“Assuming it happened before the inevitable mental break.”