“Ah! Wait- Excuse me Miss, the tag on your bag. It's going to-” The shopkeeper called out, her tone frantic as the woman passed the store alarms at the entrance to the clothes store.

The alarms triggered, interrupting the shopkeeper’s warning.

“Here, Miss, let me help.” She smiled upon reaching the woman, taking hold of the tag hanging out of the bag and quickly removing it. “There, all done- One moment, Miss, could I see your receipt, please? It's just store policy.” She quickly added, having already reached down to turn the siren off on the alarm.

There was not a trace of concern on the shopkeeper’s face, the bubbly attitude of customer service had dug out any semblance of suspicion. No surprise when the customer is always right, and doubt may come to backfire on the established reputation of the store; usually to the shopkeeper's detriment.

Then again, perhaps it's simply because the shopkeeper is a teenager, the brightness of the world still remnant in her life, carried over from her childhood like a lit torch adept at keeping the darkness of today away.

However, there is the possibility that she just doesn’t care. Her job is to be helpful, to listen to the customer, abide by their commands and seek to satisfy them, and any wrongdoings committed by the customer are of no concern to her, but whichever relevant authority happens to stir from their slumber that day.

The most obvious answer is usually the correct one, even if it is a little boring.

“Oh, my apologies, I seem to have forgotten my receipt, just one moment.” The woman replied, her hollow smirk failing to imbue a sense of reassurance into the shopkeeper, who merely kept her previous smile and nodded.

She was an older woman, far older than the shopkeeper, early fifties at best, and judging by her clothes, she couldn’t have been hurting for money. Though I am limited in what I can make out from up here, seated atop the roof of the Hanako Hall, Hatsuko by my side staring off into the cloudy afternoon sky, the gentle breeze of a winter’s gale blowing over us.

“Okay, that’s fine, I can wait.” The shopkeeper replied, her hands placed at ease in front of her.

The woman stayed motionless for a moment, her eyes scanned the shopkeeper’s passive face, and after a few seconds of contemplation, she made her decision.

She bolted.

Or at least tried to, her unpracticed body barely managing more than a speedy walk as she leisurely paced away. Her daring escape rapidly deteriorated into an almost comedic scene as the shopkeeper gave her response, “Ah, Miss- You haven’t paid for those, please come back. Store policy dictates I am not allowed to stop you, so please return them willingly…” Her voice trailed off and became muted as the woman ignored her and continued, prompting a sigh from the shopkeeper, “CCTV footage it is…” She thought aloud to herself, before returning to the store.

The corporate policy of inaction and satisfaction in full effect, yet its excessive reversal is existence for the shopkeeper and her fellow employees.

I wonder, who thought it was better this way? Someone far too high above the clouds to comprehend reality, surely.

It was 5:01 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon, the failings of my performance from this midday still fresh in my mind, and the buzzing Hanako Hall wide awake beneath my feet.

Hatsuko cradled another cup of black coffee that she’d made after stopping for a rather long detour in the kitchen downstairs which soon turned into a drawn-out work season as she tapped away at her laptop. She offered me one just as I was starting to believe she’d forgotten about me, but the hastily brewed lukewarm drink didn’t come across as appealing, nor was it necessary, which was the only reason I accepted such a harsh taste the last time something like this happened.

A gust of wind suddenly blew, shooting through my hair and annoyingly knocking a few blonde strands into my eyes which I hurriedly brushed away.

I could be forgiven for thinking that the sky was purposely pulling my attention to its serene atmosphere using the wind as its call. Showcasing the sparse grey clouds stretched out like cling film wrapped over last night's leftovers, shrouding the breathing skyline of a Tokyo electrified with a beating pulse only found on bustling weekends. The flat snow-capped peak of Mount Fuji was visible in the distance, the honey-yellow horizon behind it dawned much like the brightly coloured stage curtains of the building below me, all thanks to the early sunset of a Japanese winter’s day far too eager to show itself off on an afternoon as busy as this.

The fiery hearth of the living city kept most of December’s chill away, yet even with the warmth coming up from the streets and houses, it still found an entrance on the top of the frosty faraway high-rise buildings, framing the view of the city like the wooden edges of a painting on the wall.

It was a beautiful, picturesque view.

And yet, the only reason I was focusing on it was to distract myself; to waste time on the irrelevant instead of asking the questions I’ve wanted to ask Hatsuko for weeks now.

All because I am afraid of the answers.

But if fear enables me to take in a view such as this, then perhaps it is not so bad after all.

Hatsuko took a deep breath and put her empty coffee cup to one side. It must have been the seventh one she’d had today, but even the bitter taste of black coffee couldn’t prevent the silence from wearing down her patience as she gave up on waiting for me to speak first, “Are you going to-”

I cut her off.

“Why me?” I asked, neither of our eyes meeting as we both stared forward at the sky, “Back then, when we crashed into each other. When we first met that day. Why did you choose me to act?” The words were said hastily, the thought that she would brush me off with the same pointless answer she last gave me, Let’s call it a gut feeling and move on.

She contemplated my question for a second too long, her gaze far more comfortable with looking out over the roof and off into the distant skyline. “I thought we were here to talk about Immersion Acting?”

A deflection of words not too dissimilar to the parry of a blade. The clear signal that this is but another joust of letters and sentences, an instance where a plain answer will have to be dragged from its castle with a siege lengthy enough to force the outcome.

“We are.”

The ruffling feathers of a bird jolted me as a dove perched themselves on the edge of the roof. They regarded us for an instant, their beady eyes surveying us for a threat, finding none, their concern faded and the pressing need to preen its orange-brown feathers took front and centre in the bird’s mind.

“Is this just curiosity?” She spoke, ignoring the dove and focused on the clarity of my reasonings.

“Yes.”

A soft coo from the dove, its beak gently probing its side. Its feathers were silver-tipped and further up by its neck they held a black and white patch. I didn’t know its name, but I recognized the type from seeing it around not just the city, but all of Japan. Yet that didn’t really matter here, as at this moment, the dove served as the perfect distraction for both of our wandering eyes, an actor on a stage with a backdrop of Tokyo far more profound than even the most sophisticated of theatres.

Yet a goddess would barely find a challenge in the creation of this scene.

“Sure…” She finally replied, practically exhaling the word, “We’re already long past the point of lying to each other.”

Another pause, shorter this time, but still present, a remnant of the liar that is Hatsuko as she steps into truth for this brief time, “It was your voice. It was so different from your appearance, lovely, beautiful, almost perfect. I knew from the moment I saw you that you’d easily steal the front page of fashion magazines even from models with ten times the amount of experience. And then you spoke, and that image shattered.”

The dove suddenly took flight, the flutter of its wings masking the tamed engine of a vehicle driving past on the street below.

“The death of one’s self. That's what I saw within that contrast of your voice and those indifferent eyes. I used to manage another girl like that, except her eyes weren’t as dead as yours, they held a lingering ember, the remains of a great fire; and behind that was this desire for change. I took a chance on her- that what I saw meant something, and I was right. She used my opportunity to become an actress, and so I made the calculated choice that you might be able to do something similar. You only fit one of the three criteria she did, but that was enough for me. It wasn’t a difficult choice either, you’d either fail and I’d have to make it up to Ttio with an apology or some mundane favour, or you’d succeed. I don’t know if you’ll achieve the same result yet, you don’t have the same type of drive as her.”

Blunt, brief, to the point and with only the barest hint of delay as she laid the railway track that was her words. It was all I had come to expect from her, yet… I wasn’t satisfied with just this.

“The girl you’re referring to. It's Amii Kaiko, isn’t it?”

Her body almost stiffened at the mention of that name, but brick by brick she pulled it together right at the last moment.

“You researched me?” She asked rhetorically, already well aware of the answer. “That’s good, naivety is a poor match for an actress. Honestly, when we first met I had thought you’d be… a little less intellectually inclined than you turned out to be.” As she was talking, she finally pulled her stare away from the picturesque view and settled it on me.

I met her head-on with my own stare, still and piercing as I pointed out, “You’re avoiding the question.”

Her gaze didn’t even flinch at the accusation, “No I’m not, you’re just an overthinker.” She replied steady as a laker sailing across the Great Lakes between Canada and America, the water calm as ever up until it isn’t.

“And Amii Kaiko…” Hatsuko continued, her stare returning to watch out over the highs and lows of the Tokyo metropolitan sprawling out before us, “Yes, I was referring to her. You two share some similarities, but only in how I met you both. If I were to discover you were anything like her, I would terminate our contact and leave.”

“What was she like?”

“Seina…” She dragged my name out regretfully and with an awkward tenderness, “I’m not enjoying this conversation, especially not when you have more important things to focus on than her.”

“I read the few articles I could find online about you both, but it was all speculation around why she ceased working with you and moved to a talent agency, what actually happened?” I continued undeterred, the image of all those websites on the topic that Emiko showed me as clear as ever, and my desire for more knowledge of this acting world gradually getting the better of me once again.

Another gust of wind blew across the roof throwing my hair everywhere, the sky was clearly getting jealous that our attention had deviated from it, and was now using its full force to claw it back.

“There were a lot of things. I can’t summarise it easily, our personalities were too different. And I suppose over time the gratitude she had towards me faded as her popularity increased, becoming something closer to resentment as she started to need me less and less.” Her hand grasped her empty cup of coffee and brought it up to her lips in a practised motion of muscle memory, it was a frequent action she was repeating for some form of comfort in the familiarity, and the mild embarrassment she felt after realising there was no coffee remaining was quickly glossed over as she returned it to the white plastic table between our chairs. “There, is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

I hummed my agreement, content that these answers were at least somewhat truthful. Hatsuko tilted her head in a sort of nod, obviously glad to be moving on from this reminiscence that she’d rather not relive, whether because of emotional distress or a bruised ego, I cannot yet tell.

But her answers were far too brief and vague to paint the whole picture, the colours long dry and the bristles of the brushes stuck together and unusable, resulting in this art piece being left unfinished and watered down.

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That is to say, she is tiptoeing around the matter of Amii Kaiko, maybe not a lie by omission, but most certainly not the accepted reality of the situation.

“Was this the reason behind why you wanted to speak to me in private, or just a part of it? I’m wondering if you ever wanted to go over Immersion Acting in the first place.” Hatsuko commented, her thoughts needlessly debating if I placed this lesser curiosity over potential improvements to my acting.

The doubt was understandable, but never in a million years would I place something above acting. Even my life was sacrificial before the altar of the actress I must become.

All to become the person I strive to be, this half-emptied void has the opportunity to be whole, no last fire needed nor destructive truth buried below lies.

Only me, no work mode nor consuming shadow of a lifelong lie. Simply me, aspiring to be an actress who aspires to be a complete person who desires to be me.

To become I.

“Of course I did, when did you start to doubt my resolve?” I asked calmly, no trace of concern on my face, because I was not concerned. “Come, let's begin then. Tell me where I went wrong this morning?” I pushed on, standing up from my chair and stepping forward into the middle of the open roof, not giving her any time to reply to my first question and instead focusing on the task we both originally came up here for.

Acting

Has anything else mattered as much as this to this new me?

Hatsuko took a second to evaluate me, scanning me from bottom to top before settling on my eyes in the exact same way a dove perches on a rooftop and surveys for danger.

“Maybe I was wrong…” She muttered to herself before standing up and marching to meet me amid this imaginary stage I’ve created on this hard yet gritty roof we prepare to perform on. “Your eyes- they’ve changed… you do look like her.”

And she was correct, no lie or truth to be twisted. Just a plain fact, no less than our star being the Sun and our moon being Luna and our planet being Earth.

“You no longer seem so indifferent, controllable? It's almost… passion? When did this happen, is this a recent development?” She exclaimed, her tone close to frantic and definitely fascinated beyond all belief, indistinguishable from a Gold Rush miner who had just panned out a fist-sized nugget of gold from an isolated river.

Carrying on, she added with formulaic deduction, “I knew you had started to want to act of your own volition, you wouldn’t have asked me how to improve otherwise. But I suspected it was out of a fear of failure rather than… this.” Her tone contained a melody within it as it leapt between words, jumping from chord to chord like a guitarist’s fingers strumming a bewitching tune.

“Hatsuko, to become everything I want to be, I must become an actress. And there is nothing else I would rather do.”

I cannot say whether this is me or not, but what I do know; is that by becoming a thousand people across a thousand stages, I will find out what is me.

Which pieces of the puzzle will fill in this half-finished jigsaw that I am?

“Now, can we begin? Firstly, what did I do wrong?”

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. I cannot say for sure what she was thinking about, but the motion felt close to how one would slip a glass of water amid a meal to reset their palate before the next course.

“You do not understand the fundamentals behind the character, and furthermore, you’re struggling to empathise. There is no overlap between you and the character, which is causing a dissonance and preventing you from truly becoming them, rather than simply being a person trying to be them.” After her evaluation, she turned and locked eyes with me, “Do you understand that?”

Did I understand that?

Maybe? It was hard to say with one hundred per cent certainty. The general gist of it seems to be her saying I share no similarities with Eighty-Three, but that isn’t correct. We both have a- or at least I had a mirror copy of myself, perhaps not in the same vein as her and Jinko, but it's still something.

“Somewhat, but you’re wrong about us having zero overlap-”

“Stop.” She harshly cut me off. “The key to Immersion Acting is emptying yourself and becoming your role completely. You cannot have shared experiences with your character as that means you’re holding onto a part of yourself and not perfectly embodying them.”

No, she’s wrong. Perhaps not entirely, she’s correct that something as minor as a basic overlap isn't the be-all and end-all, but the rest? Immersion Acting is just a replacement word for work mode that she came up with, a coined phrase that fits a little better than the latter. But work mode never worked like that, it was a brick wall made up of a thousand different traits that were swapped out and replaced to cater to the client.

So for Immersion Acting to function perfectly, I’d have to understand the character, and not just their emotions or life story, but also have shared experiences that I can pull from to more accurately become them. Then with that knowledge, I’d have the ability to remove myself from the equation and build the character up with that comprehension.

In summary, it's a lie so perfect that it becomes indistinguishable from truth.

The mastery of emotions and the cognition of experiences are the brick-and-mortar that builds the house that Immersion Acting is.

“Hatsuko.” I called out, causing her to leap off her current train of thought, “To become Eighty-Three, I need to understand her core identity, what do you think it is?”

My point of view of the character is clearly warpped, barely useful and distorted. If it weren’t, then my earlier performance wouldn’t have been such a failure. The issue isn’t just that I put too much of myself into the role, but that I never really figured out the thought process behind Eighty-Three’s actions, that I viewed her as a reflection of my own ideas and beliefs rather than as the individual person she is.

Eighty-Three is a person, just as I am, but contrary to me, she is a complete person, while I am still in the process of filling what remains of the void inside me.

“What do I think it is?” She repeated, curiosity laced into her lips, “Have you discovered something I missed?” She continued, straightening her posture as she turned towards me.

“Yes, I think we both have different interpretations of what Immersion Acting is.” I received a strange look, but no objections as she waited for me to go on, “You view it as a transfer, a clean swap of a person’s personality for the character’s personality. In a way, you’ve idealised Immersion Acting and forgotten that you made that term up for a method I used.”

There was no reaction from her, silent and still as the stagnant water of a pond as she prompted me forward with nothing but her telling pupils.

“But that isn’t how it works. Immersion Acting is an act of layering. The character is placed over me, similar to putting two jigsaw puzzles on top of each other, and then they combine into one. All the pieces of me that don’t match with the character are cycled out and swapped for the ones that do. If the character likes something that I do not, then a swap occurs, and if we both share a trait, it remains unchanged. That’s the key, a simple act of layering.”

A ripple runs along the pond, no longer stagnant as it glides across the surface, loud and eye-catching much like a town crier as he runs down the morning street, his voice far more alarming than any rooster.

“And what if you’re unable to swap out the trait? Either because you don’t notice it in the first place, or because you have no reference on how to perform it?” Her words were cautious, never veering close enough to be disagreement, but more testing, a ploy to ensure no pages were left unturned, that nothing was left to chance.

It was a wise question, and in all fairness, one that is tricky to answer. How can I ensure I notice all the pieces that make up the character? I cannot, because if something is missed, then I would not even know that I had missed it in the first place, otherwise it simply wouldn’t be missed, would it?

But the second point? That’s another matter entirely.

“I would learn it. If my character was a dancer, I would learn to dance. If instead, they were a painter, I would dip my brush and paint. And if they were hiker, I would vanish into the mountains and lose myself in the stars.”

And from this, what would I learn? Would I discover new loves, whatever that even is- though I hope to study it. Or perhaps new hates would dawn as I practise hobbies I realise I’ve always despised yet never knew of until now?

“What if the trait isn’t something you can just learn? What if the character was in love? Or maybe if they were filled with grief? Or if they were a killer?” She maintained her testing, becoming the teacher who marked the paper that I, as her most diligent student, had just handed in.

“Then I would steal those traits!” I declared, a trace of anticipation creeping into my voice, “I would observe the couple on a date in the midst of a warm day’s lunch, see how they laugh and perform and enjoy, what smile he would offer her, and in return the expression she gives back to him. And after that, I would speak to the brother in the playground watching over his younger sibling, and ask him why he protects them so closely, and see how his voice is full of a different kind of love as he explains why.”

Though love eludes me so, its meaning hidden beneath the strangest of performances I have witnessed courtesy of my parents. I cannot accept it is all tainted because of them, it must still exist, pure and unfretted somewhere I have not seen, much like the little bugs below a rock that scatter as it is turned over and exposed to the light, hidden in plain view yet all around us still.

“Then with grief, I would vanish into the graveyard and comfort the man mourning the loss of his companion, watch how he cries for his pet, and stand by him as he weeps, not a word from my lips, only my presence to show him he is not alone in this moment. Next, I would trade tears for the sea, and see another kind of grief on the beach as a child breaks out into sobbing as his ice cream falls into the sand below, and view how his grandmother waddles over to soothe the soon-forgotten trauma yet of a different kind to the man in the graveyard.”

Grief, I understand a little more, closely acquainted with it as I am. A childhood I left behind, a family I mourn not because of death, but because of a relationship that never had a chance. And Mei, my first friend, my best friend. That title I bestowed upon her that only a child can give, for an adult struggles with friends, let alone best friends.

Oh how I grieve her the most, the best friend I left behind, and the person who reminded me I can still dream.

“And the killer I would visit in prison, listen to his tale as he recounts what led him to take another life. Whether it was desire or a perceived necessity, I would survey him regardless. The twitch in his eye as he remembered the death, following that would be the crack in his voice as he heard the sentence issued by the judge, and finally, the defeat as he was carted off to prison in the back of an armoured van. Yet after that, I would speak to the second killer, trapped not behind metal bars, but the cap of a bottle as they drown beneath the liquor within. The story they told would be different; no planned killing or burning need. It would be an accident, a defensive strike in the middle of the night to protect a loved one from an attacking thief; the death may not result in a sentence, but it leaves one all the same.”

Death I know the most. The cut of a blade and the light of life that drips from a pair of eyes like blood from a split wound. It is more familiar than the face I once saw in the mirror, dead as she was, afflicted with the curse of apathy that stole life from the person I once was, so afraid of living in the blankness of the truth that I was forced to finally kill the lie and burn two into one.

“What about the other half?” Hatsuko added on, still not completely satisfied yet drawing nearer with every word of mine, “If you misinterpret the character? Fail to notice certain traits? Or maybe your viewpoint differs from the audience’s? What would you do then?”

“I would ask for help. From either Emiko, Director Ttio, maybe even from Kaede Esumi- And naturally, from you, just as I am doing now.”

The red coloured pen traces a tick across the test paper, my answers correct not just to myself, but to her. Maybe not entirely, but enough to receive a passing grade. That I can tell from her appeasing gaze, and the almost mechanical movement of her hand as she tucks her scarlet hair behind her ear.

“Familial love.” She suddenly announced.

“Huh?”

“The answer to your question. Familial love, that’s the core fundamental behind Eighty-Three that you missed. You don’t understand the love between sisters, that’s why your performance was so out of character, you couldn’t relate to the love she has for Jinko.”

Did I doubt her words? No, not entirely, but… media is subjective, and it doesn’t make sense that Eighty-Three would have something like a sisterly bond for a body she was cloned from, maybe if they’d grown up together?

“I know they’re siblings, but that was Eighty-Three’s and Jinko’s first meeting together. How could there be familial love already? Isn’t it meant to be something that’s cultivated over the time spent together from birth till the present day?”

But… I am an only child, while Hatsuko is a sister, and not even death can take that away from her. So perhaps she has a point, after all, familial love is something I wouldn’t notice.

“Eighty-Three was raised by their father with stories and pictures of Jinko alongside her. That’s enough to create a sense of longing, especially when you’re told that your twin sister is already dead, and then you discover she isn’t.”

“And the clone aspect? They’re not actually sisters, does that not come into play here?”

She shook her head, “It only affects Jinko’s reaction, it's the reason she’s so distraught. But Eighty-Three has little perception of what she is. She’s been a clone all her life, but she’s been Jinko’s twin sister for the same amount of time too. So trying to explain to her what being a clone is isn't too dissimilar to explaining race to a child, it’ll mean nothing to them because it just is.”

“I-”

“You’re close with Emiko?” She jumped in before I could say I didn’t understand, “Pretend she’s your sister. Pretend you grew up with her, teased her and helped her. Bandaged her wounds when she fell, but only after you laughed at her for falling. Maybe sometimes you were even the one who pushed her, or perhaps she was the one who pushed you. However, when either of you would cry, the other one would be there to comfort, wipe away the tears and try to cheer them up with a stupid joke or comment…” Her words trailed off for a bit, no longer spoken to assist me in my acting, but because she had set off on a journey down memory lane.

They were words from the heart, taken straight from old disposable camera prints of holidays barely remembered, yet still clean enough for the edges to leave a mark. I might not understand familial love, but grief I do indeed understand a little more.

“Try it.” She continued; a hum of confusion from me prompting her to clarify further, “What you said earlier about stealing traits you don’t have, do that. Try treating Emiko as if she’s your sister for a week, and see if that helps.”

“I will.”

“Okay,” She replied back, while taking her phone out to check something, “Let's call it for tonight. It's getting late and we both have things to be doing.”

And so she went, hurriedly and without a stumble as she pushed past the red metal door and disappeared down the stairs into the Hanako Hall down below, leaving me alone on the roof, the lingering honey-yellow horizon tucked behind the flat snow-capped peak of Mount Fuji only barely visible in the distance thanks to the sparse grey clouds.

Familial love.

It really shouldn’t be such a mysterious thing, should it?