“You finished your crepe already? That means there’s no more excuses for being slow.” Emiko called out to me from in front, her neck on a swivel as she quickly looked back to double-check I was keeping up.

We had been travelling for a short while now, carrying ourselves up the uniform streets that are usually only seen in manufactured New World cities, built by urban planners rather than the natural growth of a town’s desires and needs.

A warmth stuck to the ground, a contrast to the cold rainy night that had slipped beneath the skyline hours ago. That warmth was reflected in our surroundings, the light grey road alongside us mixed in with the muted colours of light browns, blues and whites that adorned the buildings, adding a drop of brightness to the landscape that was Chiyoda City. It was all further enhanced by the adjacent greenery that lined the pavements, coming together to create a garden-like experience, closer to a soiree through a greenhouse rather than what it really was. A stroll devoid of tranquillity, completely and utterly crushed by the mass of cars idling on the five-lane road and the roaming bands of chatty tourists.

It's what everyone’s come to expect from Chiyoda, a clockwork ward where the type of people out and about will change with every hour that passes. The morning is given to the workers and students travelling from Tokyo Station to one of the many schools scattered around, or to the various office complexes, electronic stores, and government buildings that make camp here. The midday is handed over to the tourists visiting the countless historical sites and hotels found all across these multi-century old streets, all while the lunchtime buyers mingle in the shopping districts like Akihabara. Then finally, everything is returned to the office workers as their late-night shifts end and they shamble on into the ward’s welcoming nightlife searching for some respite among familiar faces, perhaps not in appearance, but most definitely in circumstance.

And it’ll all begin again the next day, repeating once more up until the weekend.

Until today, the radiant Sunday that it is, and I suppose yesterday counts as well.

Chiyoda City; the point of convergence for the nervous system that controls not just Tokyo, but all of Japan too. The face of the Prime Minister’s Office, the brain of the National Diet, the heart of the Imperial Palace, and the hands of the many government agencies that reside here.

“We’re nearly there, it's a left after this crossing.” Emiko announced, her steps increasing as the anticipation of arrival grew.

She led me up the road, continuing on hurriedly, we passed beneath an overhead expressway before the path we journeyed straightened itself out and became surrounded by buildings and skyscrapers that took disciplined positions on both sides of the road, their lower levels partially hidden by the greenery of the tall ginkgo trees that ensured nature’s bounty would never quite fade against these otherwise artificial avenues.

It didn’t take long for the traffic lights to switch, and we mixed in with the mass of pedestrians crossing the street, blending in as another face of many within this faceless crowd.

A voice here, a sentence there. Sprinkles of different languages spread all around, English announced between families of ancestry that bounded in tours of exploration, while Japanese was spoken with camaraderie from lover-to-lover or friend-to-friend as they carried out their standard weekend shop. There were other languages too, ones I barely recognised, a mixture of Korean in one spot and Chinese in another. No Finnish however; far too niche to find even in the tourist-packed ward of Chiyoda.

What were they searching for? Really there could be so many answers, as every city has a dream to offer, Shinjuku offers indulgement, Shibuya flaunts fame, Minato parades opulence, and Chiyoda?

Chiyoda represents power. It might masquerade itself as heritage, or disguise itself as wealth. But truthfully, what else could power be but heraldry and gold? They may change over the years, of course; new additions assigned to the board in one era or the next, yet they’ll always remain the core, the same things man has devoted themselves to for thousands of years.

It's only today that we’re beginning to see more, yet still, Chiyoda is power.

And everyone wants to see power.

Except those who don’t, and they are always the ones to watch.

“Here we are. My high school.” Emiko announced as a large multi-story grey building came into view, shaped like a boxy ‘U’ and far wider than horizontal with an open schoolyard in the middle of it, flanked on all sides by the school’s building except the northern one which was protected by a large metal fence, with a small side gate tucked into its corner.

The stone sign above the entrance read, ‘Ikigai Girls’ Senior High School’, the doors behind it bolted shut and raised the question of whether Emiko was even meant to be here in the first place, surely it would be more welcoming if she was?

“This way, the side gate by the schoolyard should have been left open for us.” She said, an explanation for my curious stare at the shut doors, her movements far more confident now she was on familiar ground.

Emiko cracked the gate open with a bit of a tug, it obviously wasn’t used as much as one would expect from its rustless appearance. Though it did open, but with a loud bang as the force she applied caused it to slam open and recoil off the wall it was drilled into.

She had no reaction or startled panic from the sound, which put to rest any concerns I had about this being an uninvited entrance. I doubted Emiko would be one to break into a high school, even her own one, but I’d have a lot of reservations about following her if that were the case, a twenty-two-year-old being caught in an empty high school would be hard to explain, doubly so as my age is still another lie to maintain and it’d most definitely fall apart if the police arrested us for trespassing.

“Ahhhhhh, Emi! I knew that was you! Hurry up and get up here already!” A young girl shouted from an opened window on the third floor, her voice bubbly and carefree.

“We’ll be there in a sec, Yumi!” Emiko returned the shout, quickly crossing the schoolyard and pulling open a door into the school building with far more ease than the prior one, “That’s Yumi, she’s part of the music club, the one helping us on the play’s soundtrack.” She explained to me as we trekked down the long sterile hallways of grey-white walls and granite floors.

The right side of the hallway was covered in steel lockers that occasionally parted to give way to a classroom door, while the other side was spotted with information boards, class results, and high windows peering out into the schoolyard.

“Is that why we’re here? For the play’s soundtrack?” I asked.

We rounded a corner that revealed a staircase to the upper floors, and gradually we made our way up as we chatted.

“Ah, right. I forgot to explain. Sorry, I’ve been a little focused.” She excused unnecessarily, “You remember what I said yesterday morning about using the musical club to do some of the score? Well, this is that.”

“What about today's rehearsals? Should we be skipping them when I have so much more to practise?”

“It isn’t necessary. I spoke with Director Ttio. He’s happy with your acting. The script is your problem, going off it, acting out of character, and all that. So here we are, a change of pace to reset everything… hopefully.” She added on, a drop of doubt in her words about whether this was the correct course of action.

Another corner to go past as we stepped onto the second floor, and one last staircase to journey up before we reached the third floor.

“I trust you.” I offered in an attempt to resolve that doubt of her’s that keeps creeping up.

All for the girl I must perceive to be my sister. After all, is trust not given freely between sisters? Even lies can be sacrificed for her, all given up for trust. The bond of familial love that can only exist within a shared womb, surely trust, for all the value it holds is still worth less than blood.

Thus to my sister, it is an expensive thing made cheap, and I gladly gift it to her free of charge.

“Huh?” She paused, confusion dancing across her face before she found composure and replied, “Thank you, Seina.” A second pause as she thought of what else to say, “I trust you too. I didn’t at first, especially after the lie Hatsuko made up about your experience, but… I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you, and I hope-”

A final pause, one I understood. It is often hard to be open with your feelings, especially when honesty can easily be used against you as the cruellest of weak spots.

I was taught that lesson well, how easy it is to replace yourself with a lie, all in the hopes that the real you remains unhurt. Yet instead of unhurt, she became forgotten, painted over by the comforting lie once more.

It ended up hurting far more than honesty, and in the end, I would have preferred the pain over its absence. As absence so easily spreads once planted, and soon it overtakes all feelings instead of just pain.

“-we remain friends after the play is finished.” Emiko concluded at last, and in my mind, I could not help but add two small words.

And sisters.

“Same here.” I returned her smile as we stepped onto the third and final floor, the remaining staircase we walked away from leading up to the roof of the building.

She led me down the hallway to the right, doors of classrooms flanked us on both sides, though this place was far more sparse with its steel lockers and windows. Soon after we had started walking, we arrived at our destination, a closed door, the high frosty window set in it illuminated by the lights coming from the classroom, either from the pulled open curtains welcoming the sunlight in, or the various computer screens buzzing away and displaying musical applications.

Emiko stopped before the door, her eyes trailing on the ground as she sunk into thought, a sign that she had one last pressing matter before we spent the day submerged by musical tunes rather than any other language found out and around Chiyoda.

“Hey, Seina…” She began, before stopping herself, “I- never mind, let’s go-”

I caught her arm before she reached the door handle, “No, what is it?” I pressed, firmly yet kindly, with all the worried love an older sister could possibly have.

“Do you… think I can be more than an ex-child actor?” She asked, it wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, I could figure that out from her cracked voice and nervous posture, but it was the one she said aloud. “My parents want me to focus on my exams, I’m seventeen soon, it’ll be my graduation next year. I’ll have to decide between going to university or pursuing acting. I’m not smart enough to do both, studying for the end-of-school exams while working on whatever next play the Director settles on, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I need to pick one or the other.”

And there it was, the real question.

Am I talented enough to gamble my future on the uncertainty of acting over the stability of a career?

If it were just me, I would say yes. Yes, you shouldn’t allow other people to prevent you from chasing your dreams, do not let the lie of, ‘I’ll be fine’ take over your life. Let yourself be selfish; live for what you alone want to live for. It is you who will have to make and deal with these choices, why let others make them for you?

Emiko, are you certain you wish to live merely to please other people? To do as I once did, unsure of who I even was? At least you know what your dreams are. I never had the privilege of freedom to even imagine them, so controlled in my thoughts that I embraced the lie for the pittance it gave me. Years wasted before the jail of my own mind finally rotted and I was able to be Seina without strings tying me down.

Yet… I am not just me, I am her sister too. And what sister would I be if I allowed her to gamble her future away? How many people give up their dreams but still remain happy with life? The security of a university degree, the assuredness that you will always be able to find some job to sustain yourself with.

A boring life, I recognise that. But is that so bad? To simply be normal, the same as every other human on this planet. Are their lives terrible, not worth living? No, no they’re not. You can find even the mightiest happiness in the most ordinary of places; a smiling friend, a loving family, a sweet summer breeze or perhaps an apartment shared with a partner, its view overlooking the Tokyo Bay.

You don’t need to take risks to be happy, nor do you need to be special to have a fulfilling life. It's a privilege to choose, and not every privilege needs to be abused.

Sometimes… it's okay to just exist.

“You should go to university.”

It hurts to be forced to say something you don’t want to say. A sister telling a sister to give up on her dreams, to choose the meek comfort of normality over the one per cent chance of success. But it has to be done, because the result of failing can be far worse than never trying, even if I believe the sacrifice is worth it for me.

“Thank you,” She replied, wiping a single tear out of her eye, “Hear you say that, it shows you really do care about me.” Emiko smiled as she turned around, her hands plucked those thick black framed glasses off her face and she folded them into her pocket.

I imagine she couldn’t see very well without them, but from the few tears in her eyes that suddenly appeared, I doubt she was seeing very clearly with them on either way.

“I’m glad you said that, I needed to hear it from someone other than my parents. My friends just encouraged me to be an actress without thinking it through… but I wanted someone I trust to challenge my dream, to side with my parents.” She took a deep breath, and for the first time, her unobstructed green eyes locked with mine. “Because I want this so badly, I need it. Even if I must go against your advice, I have to do it. Though we both know it's stupid and foolish, and might backfire, and I could end up regretting it later on in life, I know I would regret it more if I did not do it.”

She readjusted her position, briefly removing her gaze from mine before returning it, the feeling of hesitancy vanishing with the motions, her indecision following quickly after it.

“I have to be an actress, and I have to be beside the stage.” Her voice was firm and unyielding, all the steel of a woman who has made her choice. “To bridge the gap between the stage and the camera, to prove that plays can surpass movies. That’s what I want.”

Her voice hitched up a pitch, though it did not crack or fluctuate in intention, but remained as steadfast as a rapid that erodes through the forest, cutting its own path backed up by nature’s confidence.

“Writing, acting, performing, they’re all acts of creation, and I believe that creation is the closest thing we humans have to a divine power. Entire worlds given visualisation, painted into reality on pages of a book, movements on a stage, and words in a movie. I want to have a hand in that creation, to create something that will blur the lines between the spectators in the audience, and the world on the stage. I want people to see my work, and be unable to tell if it is fiction or non-fiction.” She paused, a trace of confidence leaking out at her bold words, “I- I know it might be a little hard to understand, but-”

“I understand.” I cut her reservations off, they would do her no good now that she’s settled on the pursuit of the dream. “My reasons differ slightly, but I know what you mean. You act in the same way a person issues a challenge, the more someone says, ‘It cannot be done’, the more you have to do it. While I act because I want to experience every human emotion possible. To live lives I could never dream of doing, for better or worse.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

That ‘challenge’ is exactly why she wanted me to say ‘no’ to her dream. Because to her, the best way to figure out if a dream is worth pursuing is to discover your reaction to opposition. Positive reinforcement can help, but after a while, it all falls by the wayside. But if a person is against your dream, they state you’re wasting your time, you won’t make anything from this, and that you have no chance of achieving it; and instead of discouraging you, it ignites the fire within your heart and you press on despite all difficulties.

Then that is how you know with absolute certainty, that you have a dream you must never let go of.

In a way, my answer ended up being both the opposite of what a sister should say and also the perfect thing. Strange how it all works out in the end.

“That’s… I didn’t expect that motivation from you, it's almost… scholarly?” Emiko replied, taking her glasses back out of her pocket, and gently cleaning the lenses on the sleeve of her hoodie before returning them to the bridge of her nose, “I like it, and it’ll help me with teaching now I know what drives you.”

“Oh,” I hummed, “Maybe I should have told you earlier? I didn’t know it would be so important.” It was a partial jest, I couldn’t have told her any earlier as I only recently discovered it myself, and I somehow find it hard to believe this knowledge could elevate her teaching skills any higher than they already are.

She let out a light laugh at my reply, before gesturing at the door and whispering, “Let's go.” With that, she turned around and placed her palm upon its handle before pushing open the door much to the surprise of the occupants inside, who seemed confused about what took us so long. The very question put me at ease, as it meant that the door was thick enough to mask our conversation from those behind it.

“Emi!” The first girl declared the very same one who called out to us from the window, Yumi, I believe her name was, “Since when does it take five minutes to climb up the stairs? What were-” Her words halted in the same manner a car stops from a handbrake, “Gyaru!? Your hair! How- what, no way-” She exclaimed, her stare, fingers, and shock all pointed towards me, though mainly my blonde hair.

“Miss Yumi, it's quite rude to make such remarks, please apologise to the young lady.” A mature woman in a black office outfit called out, interrupting Yumi in the number one way a teacher does. “And Kiyohara,” She turned to Emiko, “Who is this? I’m not opposed to guests, but I really wish you would have given me a heads up, okay?”

“Ah- sorry, this is Seina. She’s one of the leads of the play.” Emiko explained a tad bit awkwardly, evidently not very used to being reprimanded by a teacher.

I gave a polite bow to go with my introduction, “Hello, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

And while it seemed to satisfy the teacher, it just brought confusion to Yumi who whispered, perhaps a bit too loudly, to the girl next to her, “Aren’t gyarus meant to be rude?”

“Likewise, Miss Seina…?” The teacher continued, waiting for me to give up my family name.

“Kanemoto.” I masked my reluctance at saying that name. No different to a jagged barb stuck within my flesh that tears with every syllable spoken. A bitter reminder that no matter how far I run a part of them will always be with me.

“Well, Miss Kanemot-” I cut her off, “Just Seina, please.” The desperation in my voice was much too noticeable, even with my failed attempt at stifling it.

“Oh, ok then, Seina. As I was saying, I am Teacher Suzuki, I lead the music club after class hours, and I’ve volunteered my free time to supervise, and assist you girls while on the school premises.” She relayed the information with an authoritarian efficiency, the words spoken in the same manner as someone flattens a dress to knock off any fluff, swift and professional.

“Of course, Teacher Suzuki.” I replied, my tone enveloped in the same respectful professionalism as hers.

“Seina, which high school do you go to? You can’t possibly go here with that dyed hair?”

“My hair isn’t dyed…” I responded, those words earning me a gasp from Yumi, who rapidly relayed her shock to the schoolgirl next to her, “My mother is foreign, I inherited it from her.”

Again, another word comes to rip into my skin. My mother, why must I mention you in reference to myself, if only there was nothing linking us together, I might have been happier.

But genetics is a cruel template, logic unbound to emotion. Perhaps I should dye my hair, hide it under a curtain of black ink and blend in with the millions of others that share that colour, then at least no one would question me on it, and I would never have to say that phrase again.

“Oh, my? I couldn’t tell, you don’t look foreign in the slightest…” She cleared her throat, and continued, “Anyways, does that mean you do go here, or to another school?”

“I attend Saiko Senior High School, Teacher.”

And my words were true, I did attend Saiko almost six years ago, though it did not last long. My escape took me away from it barely a few months into my first year, even if I would have gladly chosen to remain there to complete my studies, spending each day alongside Mei, revising for exams, or distracting myself with her silly gossiping, or pointless games.

But I could not stay, no matter how much I wished I could. It was a sacrifice, a trade for freedom, for a chance to live as something other than a doll, to no longer live as a lie for a mother who only saw a mirror to showcase herself or a painting for a father to brag about to those of higher status.

“Saiko?” The teacher exclaimed, “That’s the most prestigious school in Tokyo, you must have studied very hard to pass their standards.”

Each mention of my old high school caused my stomach to drop, a regret that spread across my skin like ice in a tundra. I know the sacrifice was worth it, but it doesn’t lessen the pain anymore, the fickle fantasy that if I stayed with my parents for a month longer, perhaps they would have suddenly changed for the better. It's the same lie, hope, desire or whatever you want to call it that kept me from escaping for so long, the holdout of a coward… of a child wanting desperately for everything to magically fix itself.

There isn’t really a point in reliving the past, I can’t rewrite it no matter how hard I try. It’ll always remain as it is, and it’ll always define some small part of me, even if I’m trying to move past it. The only thing I can do is the exact same thing I’ve done since I killed Seina, work mode, and everything else that made up that lie.

And I know that it is better this way.

Even half-filled as I am, it is still more than I have ever been.

“Ahhhh, Teacher Suzuki! Please stoooooop~ This conversation is killing meee~” Yumi finally gave in to her boredom, no longer satisfied with mindless whispering to her friend, “We have music to play, notessss to write, the interrogation must end!”

The teacher’s professional attitude instantly faltered against Yumi, demonstrating that her sternness was not the face they usually saw from her, “Fine fine, you four girls go and have fun. If you need me, I’ll be in the other room working.”

Closing the door behind her, the teacher disappeared into the hallway, the two girls wasted no time in introducing themselves after that.

“Hello Seina, I’m Misaki. Sorry about Teacher Suzuki, she can seem a bit… tightly wound? Maybe not the best term, she’s just a bit too serious till you get to know her.” The previously unknown girl spoke first, which was probably for the better as Yumi immediately jumped in after her.

“Yo, I’m Yumi- So to double check, you’re not a gyaru?”

“No…”

“Ah come on. I’ve always wanted to see one, they’re in so much media, yet it's like they don’t exist outside it! It would have been cool if you were one…” Yumi continued annoyed, obviously forgetting, or more likely disregarding that media is rarely an accurate reflection of the real world.

Emiko tugged on the sleeve of my outfit, and temporarily pulled me away from the two girls who jumped back to their computers to continue working once they saw us move away.

Yumi jokingly shouted, “Rude!” as she did, while Misaki seemed grateful for the opportunity to get back to the light of her screen.

“Seina, sorry about Teacher Suzuki. I know that must have been hard… considering you ran away from home, and stuff…” She uncomfortably explained with a slight fidget, most likely hoping that my mood wasn’t completely shattered by those unintentionally invasive questions.

Oh, right… I forgot I told Emiko I was a runaway. It was such a minor thing said in between Emiko’s discovery of the liar that Hatsuko is, and has always been. It must have slipped my mind, and she’s never bought it up till now, honestly, I’m surprised she even remembered it.

“Thank you for asking, but I’m fine.” I replied, a little grateful that she was being considerate to me.

“Okay, good. I’m glad, let's get to it.”

Emiko led us back to the two girls, she pulled up a seat for me, then took her own in between myself and the two girls.

“Finished your special secret chat, did ya?” Yumi instantly teased, though she was clearly a little annoyed about being left out of the loop, not that it was her business to pry anyways.

“Where are we on the soundtrack?” Emiko asked them, glossing over the comment, “We’ve got five weeks until the curtain’s open, but ideally, we want this all completed before the seventh week of prep, that way we can do the dress rehearsal for the final week.”

I didn’t really have much input here as the three girls got to work, Emiko would inquire about something and one of the girls, usually Misaki would give a detailed answer, explaining why she chose this or that, and exactly what reasoning she had to pick one instrument over the other. It was all done on the computer and would be played over the speakers, so there was no limit on anything as long as it fit, and as Emiko had a decent hand in the creation of Us of I, she was able to decide what was in theme and what wasn’t within a second of a track starting.

“Yumi, why’d you choose that chord progression for this scene? It's disjointed and sounds a bit… off?” Emiko suddenly asked.

“That’s intentional, the scene is part of the finale, and if I’m reading the script correctly. It takes place under the city in those massive mines or whatever, soooo~ I decided to flip the style. Above ground follows a mix of sci-fi boringness and classic orchestra, but down there… I wanted unhinged fantasy, wild chords that jump in pitch, with a central accordion played aggressively like a drum, with violin supporting the notes. The music highlights the unnaturalness of the area by combining elements that rarely go together, both energetic and creepy.” Yumi at last finished, her spout of music theory unexpectedly insightful, to which Emiko obviously approved of as she muttered, “Amazing…”

“Emm, and what about you, Misaki? This piece is more focused on background, complementing the scene rather than expanding.”

Misaki lifted her head away from the computer screen begrudgingly, “Oh, sure. As Yumi said, I’ve focused on elements of classical orchestra. This is a play set in the future, so I originally debated using more modern-sounding things, more computer mix rather than instrumental, but that would be a poor use of my imagination. So I’ve taken a page out of Mily Alexeyevich Balakirev's book, he rearranged the Lark, which was originally a vocal piece into a piano solo. I wanted something similar, but for my piece I wanted the piano to sing the vocals, so I overlapped two recordings of my piano, one playing it normally, and the other replicating the notes of the vocals I had written. It's all easily missable, but it adds a rather comforting undertone, doubly so as the piano on the vocals is in a higher pitch.”

And once again, all Emiko could respond with was another compliment, which led me to believe she was really out of her depth here. I was a little more knowledgeable, I had once actually played the piano, but it was more for the bragging rights of my father, rather than actually learning the musical theory behind the notes. Besides, it’d been a long time since I last played, and the Ha:Yami preferred relaxing solo pieces when the rare time came for them to request me.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and by the time 2 p.m. came around, we were about ready to pack up. Yumi and Misaki went off ahead of us with a promise to continue working on the soundtrack at home, while Emiko led me to the roof, in much the same way myself and Hatsuko had done one day prior.

However, unlike Hanako Hall’s roof, Ikigai High School’s roof was actually planned to be used as a recreational area. The floor was layered with thin grass with a pavement that cut through it from this entrance to another one at the opposite end of the roof. There were large concrete circles scattered around everywhere, each one housing plants, ferns, and small trees within them, along with them were wooden benches spread out around the path, with some bigger tables placed deeper in the short grass.

The view over Chiyoda was beautiful, even if it was partially blocked out by the thick white bars that fenced off the roof to prevent any accidental jumpers, it still offered an almost direct sight of Edo Castle, the vast grounds tucked against the moats that surrounded and fenced it off far better than these bars.

“We can’t be up here for long, Teacher Suzuki isn’t going to wait on us.” Emiko spoke first, coming up alongside me and crossing her arms, her gaze interlinking with mine as we both looked out over the ward before us.

“Did it help?” She continued, “The change of pace, I wanted to focus on something outside of the script, remember… the reset I mentioned?” She clarified upon seeing my confusion.

“Outside of the script? They referenced it multiple times for their songs, very little about that wasn’t focused on the script.”

Emiko hummed her agreement, a habit of mine that I haven’t ever seen her do before now, “It's different, though. Seeing a script as an actor, and seeing it as a songwriter. You saw how they were, they treated the script similar to a movie because to them it is. An already finished product, they visualise their songs overlapped on the scenes we perform. While to us, it's just lines of dialogue until we make it otherwise.”

“I… see your point.”

“Thank you, but that isn’t the only point I want to make.”

This time it was my turn to hum, though rather than agreement it was a prompt to continue, to show that she has my full attention, this sister, and teacher of mine. The one I owe so much to.

“I think I know why your performance had… problems, yesterday.”

“Because I went off-script?”

I had already gone over this with Hatsuko, the crux of the issue was putting too much of myself into the character, and failing to comprehend the familial love Eighty-Three felt for Jinko.

It was unlikely Hatsuko missed anything else, but I was willing to hear her out regardless if what she had to say was a mere repeat of yesterday.

“Partly, but no. That isn’t what I’m worried about. But it's that you know the script too well.”

“What- How does knowing the script cause me to… go off-script?”

“Because you’re focusing too much on the whole script rather than just the parts with your character. It's one of the problems that can crop up with acting, you know how the story ends, how it begins, and how each character will react. It's almost meta, since you’re self-aware of everything, it reflects onto your character. If you already know your character is going to fall in love, or be betrayed, or hurt, it can be easy to mix the emotions your character will feel in the future, into a performance where they don’t yet feel it. Does that make sense?”

“But that wasn’t the-” She cut me off.

“Let me explain it another way,” She scrambled to restructure the sentence, hopeful it would make sense this second time, “Your acting was good, but… it was too broad. You weren’t just Eighty-Three up there, maybe at the start, but as the scene progressed, you started acting as Jinko too. It's why you lashed out as Eighty-Three, because that’s exactly what Jinko was doing.”

That… couldn’t be correct. It wasn’t a case of me getting my wires crossed, I changed the lines because I stopped acting as Eighty-Three and started speaking as myself. Because I couldn’t separate myself from the character, because I couldn’t understand why Eighty-Three would reach out a hand of longing for someone who returned to replace her.

Because I didn’t understand how love can complicate a situation.

So… she is correct… I acted as Jinko… because her reactions were closer to my own.

Because Jinko is the one who was replaced, just as Seina replaced me.

“You’ve memorised the script, haven’t you?” Emiko continued upon seeing my silence, I nodded to confirm, and she continued, “How much of it?”

“The entirety.” It was the first thing Hatsuko recommended I did, so naturally I followed her advice.

“When Eighty-Three saw Jinko, what do you think she felt?”

“Familial love.” Just as Hatsuko told me, that special emotion I’m beginning to understand with every second that passes with this girl I must perceive to be my sister.

“And fear.” She added, her words filled with a seriousness I rarely see from her, “That’s why the Director let your performance slide, you were entertaining, and that helped, but it was because you displayed that fear. Us of I’s core theme is losing what makes you you, and then rediscovering a new, better you. It's the loss of identity. Eighty-Three’s entire existence is defined by her being a clone of Jinko, it's what makes her her. It isn’t outright said, but I believe she’s afraid of what will happen to her now Jinko’s back, but that fear is at odds with the love she feels for her twin.”

“I spoke with Hatsuko, after the performance. She told me the reason I messed up was because I didn’t understand familial love, the bond that Eighty-Three one-sidedly feels for Jinko.”

Emiko froze up for a second, her dislike of Hatsuko still strongly set within her, “Yes, she’s probably right.” She relented, the advice Hatsuko gave still sound, regardless of the lying tongue that said it, “Don’t forget, it's a balancing act. People are complex, and characters should be no different. To perform as Eighty-Three, you have to strike the balance between fear and love; love for a sister, yet fear as a replacement, that uncertainty of what happens now she’s back.”

“I see, so I’m not replacing fear for love, but combining them both into one. Eighty-three is both terrified of what might happen to her now, yet unable to do anything against Jinko because of the bond she feels for her.”

“Exactly, if you lack either one of them, you’ll no longer be acting as Eighty-Three, but as an amalgamation of her and Jinko.”

Because Jinko and Eighty-Three are the same character… one of them is just more love than fear.