The next few hours are a blur.
Nurse Kuchiki made you swallow some kind of medicine to help you sleep.
Something they reserve for patients that refuse rest and care.
You didn't want to swallow it at first, but it was either that or she was gonna call in some help and administer the medicine using a different route.
Naturally, since she wants you to rest so bad, you spend the next few hours fighting to stay conscious out of sheer spite.
And now you're paying for it.
Your eyes flutter open and closed, deep sleep only a handful of moments away.
Groggy.
The world doesn't seem real.
You allow your eyes to fall shut, unable to keep them open any longer.
The sliding door to your room opens and somebody walks in.
They start speaking, but their voice seems warped as if they're speaking through a metal tube.
There's a short noise as the figure pulls up the chair reserved for guests.
Each of their sentences punctuated by a brief silence.
"...Nagata-san...?" says the voice, a feminine voice.
"...I suppose the nurse did say that you might be sleeping..."
"...I brought you something. Strawberries..."
The crackle of a wicker basket.
"...I'll just place them here then..."
"...I had a lot of fun today. Until, you know, happened..."
"...Everyone was scared," says the voice, pausing, "But you weren't..."
"...When you ended up toppling over the man, despite what happened, I was..."
There's a noise again as the chair is pushed backwards.
You feel a presence loom over you and notice a sweet, flowery smell.
A set of soft lips gently kiss you on the forehead.
"...I hope you get well soon..."
Sleep takes you.
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NEW THREAD SUMMARY
In one the many wards of Tokyo General Hospital, Nagata Miho slumbers.
Her face is bruised, she has a small cut on her forehead, and scratches lining her arms.
One might consider this woman to be some kind of die-hard that gets into viscous scraps with territorial middle-aged folk in battlefields like, say, the shopping centre during a clearance sale.
That isn't the case, Nagata works in the glamorous worlds of idols.
The fictitious realm filled with smiling girls, cheerful songs, and energetic dances.
A place of shared suspension of disbelief where both the fans and talent have agreed to think of it all being so much more than it really is.
A pretty girl is elevated to a goddess by her fans and all they want in return is pictures of her feet.
That and, of course, every detail of every moment of every minute of her life.
And if they don't like what they're hearing, then they'll get upset.
Nagata's injuries were sustained at the outdoors debut event, a soccer match, of her idol: Enatsu Mari.
A fan recognized the location and hurried here, only to end up in a fist fight with the coach.
Naturally, when our just-over-five-feet protagonist, Nagata Miho, watched a man get beaten into the dirt by the rabid fan, she rolled up her sleeves and stepped up.
This being a story, there were certain expectations.
Something along the lines of a last-minute comeback, a one-sided beatdown using superior tactics, or, by a specific subset of the audience, a certain amount of fondling and a six-digit number referencing a place where they could learn about the continuation of this fondling.
These expectations were strapped to chair and forced to watch as Nagata got herself beat up.
However, she managed to hang on, in multiple ways, long enough for the police to arrive.
The spirit of expectations was somewhat satisfied and settled for a single one-star review on RoyalRoad which only crippled the writer for an hour or so.
But now we return to Nagata's bedside, enjoying a nice rest after her workaholic tendencies had gotten herself drugged into a deep sleep by her nurse who, constantly getting berated by doctors, enjoys asserting control over anyone she can.
It's evening and a new figure stands beside Nagata's bed, pinching her nose shut.
NEW THREAD SUMMARY END
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A handful of miles away from central Tokyo, on the seventeenth floor of an apartment complex, Watase Yoko is wading her way through the garbage heap she calls her room.
Bags of trash that were once piled away the corners of the room are slowly starting to close in on its centre, encroaching on the short, square table in front of the TV.
What it smells like she doesn't know. She got used to the scent long ago.
There's a crinkle of cans and swish of plastic as she throws a final bag filled with last week's beer cans over her shoulder, wading her way to a small cabinet previously buried under rubbish.
The blinds are shut, as always, coating the room in a comforting darkness.
The squat cabinet's door rolls open and Watase sighs in relief, pulling out half-full a bottle of hard liquor.
Watase tucks the bottle under an arm and begins to pull at the bottlecap.
The bottlecap hadn't been put on properly and the bottle wasn't stored correctly, causing the sticky content to suck at the cap.
"Come on...!" says Watase, gritting her teeth with effort.
The cap pops off and Watase smiles a bright, genuine smile for the first time in hours.
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She sniffs the bottle carefully, nose wrinkling at the intensity of the liquor.
Some kind of hard whiskey. No clue where she got the bottle -- a gift, probably.
Doesn't matter now.
She looks towards the kitchen for a moment but remembers that her fridge is empty.
Nothing to mix this with. She'll have to drink it straight.
Probably no clean glass either. The bottle itself will do.
Watase takes a swig from the bottle, wincing as the drink burns down her throat.
She sighs. Bottle in hand, she stares at a distant wall in the darkness of her room -- eyes unconfused.
Long ago, before her delinquent days during in high school, Watase had a crush.
Hanamura Saeko, a girl she met during her first year in high school, they were good friends.
Back then Watase's preferences were secret, but you have to suppose it was showing on her face how she felt about Saeko.
The way the two girls interacted with each other didn't go unnoticed.
People started thinking Watase might've even gone soft.
Not that anyone would ever try anything on Watase.
Even back then she was taller than most, had a hair-trigger temper, and a tendency to hold a grudge.
This combined with a face that seemed ready to kill you over any minor grievance -- nobody would risk getting on her bad side.
Not when there's a far easier target available.
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"...Nothing's changed..." announces Watase to the empty room, taking another pull from the bottle.
Then another to avoid the memories of her high school days from bubbling up.
As upsetting as her time in high school was, it did teach Watase a valuable lesson.
Show any kind of weakness and you'll become a target.
People are always looking for somebody to exploit.
Rather than help you up, they're far more likely to hit down.
Her idol persona is the best armour she can ever wish for.
A personality that comes to her as easy as breathing these days.
Dozens if not hundreds of girls are ready to throw themselves at that Watase Yoko.
The rough, masculine girl that'll surely protect them.
But Nagata Miho didn't want her help.
Just like Hanamura Saeko back then.
"Just leave me alone!" the bruised Hanamura had cried, "You'll only make it worse!"
Watase takes another pull from the bottle, which is running near empty.
The warm glow of the alcohol blocking out the cold, distant memories.
Another girl she likes ended up bruised and bloody.
Watase raises the bottle again, only to stop it inches from her lips.
But not everything is the same.
Nagata Miho maybe didn't want her help.
Because she didn't need it.
Did she reject Watase's help because she knew things would end well?
No sane person would face a dangerous man like that alone when help was readily available, right?
Had she planned it all out?
From the first exchange of punches of the coach and the fan to the moment she toppled the man over when the police came running?
That'd be some scary decision-making skills.
Scratch that.
Following through with a plan that includes her taking several punches is downright impressive strength of will.
She might look soft and cuddly all over, but fights in whatever way she can when it counts.
Yet, she still finds it within herself to be kind to everyone.
It appears that Nagata Miho is strong in her own way.
"...Compared to that, I'm..." mumbles Watase.
Watase lowers the bottle.
"...Maybe I should clean this place up..."
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Your face pinches together and then your eyes snap wide open as you take a deep, sudden breath.
The hand that had been pinching your nose shut is pulled away.
Your eyes blink in turn as the blurry figure slowly swims into focus.
"...Aki?" you mutter.
Your younger brother, Nagata Aki.
Standing there, in his resplendent suit and carefully sculpted, blonde hair, he looks fresh out of a meeting.
[https://assets.legendkeeper.com/2ab823e6-1034-4850-bcaf-0e773c10ab79.jpg]
Aki adjusts his glasses, "You look like a mess," he says, "Father did always say leaving for Tokyo was a mistake, didn't he?"
"...How did you...?" you manage, things are still woozy.
"Find you? Mother received a call when you were admitted and she called me," he replies.
Ah, yeah, your parents are still registered as your next of kin.
The hospital would've notified them.
You wipe sleep from your eyes with the back of your fingers, then glance at the clock: 7 PM.
Aki follows your gaze, "I get here as soon as I was done with work," he says, "Mother wanted me to check in on you, but I can see you're mostly fine."
You prop yourself up a bit, leaning on your elbows, "...Eh, yeah," you say, "...I'm fine."
"I have a business dinner at a restaurant after this, so I can't say too long," says Aki, "I've been looking for a new shipping company to ship all the produce from the farm, but these Tokyo stuck ups seem determined to pull one over me because father's farm happens to be in Ishikawa."
"...That must be rough," you say.
The medication isn't entirely gone from your system, making it hard to think.
Though your brother works with your parents in the family business, a large farm, you don't think he has ever gotten his hands dirty.
Instead, he handles the logistics, marketing, and sales.
Your brother takes a long, hard look at you, checks his watch, and then sighs.
He pulls up the chairs reserved for guests and sits down, "Mother and father are worried about you," he says, "You've been in Tokyo for years now and still haven't accomplished anything."
You blink, "I've been trying..." you say.
"Isn't it enough?" says Aki, leaning on his knees, "Time to call it quits, I'd say. Tokyo isn't the place for somebody like you. They're all depraved, work-addicted sociopaths. I know you went and studied in Tokyo, and that's fine, and that you want to start a career and all that, but aren't you done by now? How many more years are you going to pretend playing salaryman?"
"I've been promoted recently, y'know..." you say, swallowing.
"Yes, I heard from mother. Idol manager, was it?" says Aki, then gestures towards you, "How's that working out for you?"
"I..." you begin.
"It's time to face reality," says Aki, "Stop wasting time in Tokyo and come home, we could use your help in the family business. I never spoke against your decision to work in HR, because I knew it would be useful for us. Contract negotiations and general management is currently done by mother and she's far too soft. I hope your time in Tokyo at least toughened you up a bit, but it's no matter."
"...But I like it here," you manage.
"Do you? Do you, really?" says Aki in undisguised disbelief, "The long hours. The poor pay. For what? To come home your cat Etsuki?"
"...Azuki," you correct.
"Azuki, sure," replies Aki, nodding his head to the side, "Did you know most of the girls you went to school with are already married? Better yet, some even have kids."
You frown, "Things are different in Tokyo," you say, strangely defensive, "It isn't strange for a woman to be well in her thirties before those sort of things..."
Why are you even discussing this with him?
"Exactly," says Aki, "Mother and father aren't getting any younger. Mom is the only person among her friends who doesn't have grandchildren yet. How do you think she feels? That her daughter is stuck in degenerate Tokyo -- in the idol business, no less. Boozing and partying for all she knows."
"I mean, I'm not like that," you say, sombrely, "...I, well, I don't go partying, at least."
Aki gets up, "Mother also asked me if I could poke you for information to see if you're at least dating anyone with marriage in mind, but do I even have to ask?"
You look down at the hospital sheets and shake your head.
"This western mindset of women in the workplace is poison," says Aki, "A good husband will provide for you, but you won't find anyone like that in Tokyo. And let's face it, you're not getting any younger either. Drag your feet for a few more years and your options will consist of nothing but divorcees and undesirables," adds Aki, "Come home. Instead of this moral rock-bottom where men hit women."
You grip your hospital sheets, "It's like you said, I haven't achieved anything," you say, then look up towards Aki, "There's still things I want to do here!"
Aki folds his arms, "That so?" he says, "Like what?"