Ranko strode assertively into the warehouse-turned-studio, looking around. She wore a heavy blue sweater and a pair of black jeans; after the previous day, she’d have come in a suit of plate armor if she’d had one. She still didn’t understand why those ridiculous photos were a requirement, but she knew she didn’t fully comprehend the world of show business, and figured it would make sense soon enough. Or at least, she hoped so.
Avoiding the photography area of the building entirely, she began to explore. She hoped she’d find Mr. Tashima, or at least the… wherever they kept the singers around here. A loud rock song wafted on the air in one corner of the studio, and that seemed as good a place to start as any. She followed the sound to a small little stage tucked into the negative space between two larger structures. A band consisting of a bassist, a guitarist, a drummer and a keyboard player were pouring themselves into a song she didn’t recognize. Not wanting to interrupt to ask for directions, she slipped quietly into one of the ten black metal folding chairs that passed for audience seating, listening to them play. They were actually quite good, and by the time they stopped playing, Ranko found that she was tapping her feet along with the music. She clapped courteously when they stopped, even though they did so mid-song.
“So, this is sounding good, guys, but I think we need to up the tempo on the bridge just a little,” the bassist called out to the group. The drummer piped up. “I could throw in a solo there!”
An audible groan came from the other three band members. “We know you want a solo, Ken. You always want a solo,” the keyboardist growled.
The guitarist, a tall blonde man in his early twenties wearing a blue denim jacket over a black T-shirt and white jeans, set his instrument down carefully on a stand near his feet. “Guys, I’m gonna take five.” He hopped down off the little stage, paying no mind to the woman listening to their practice, and pushed through the back door of the building to the outside.
As the other three musicians immediately resumed debating what changes to make to their song, Ranko decided the lone guitarist was the best bet to ask for help. She stood, careful not to let the metal chair scrape the concrete floor too loudly, and followed the guitarist outside. She found him leaning against the building, lighting a cigarette.
“You guys were really good.”
He looked up, scoffing. “You think so? I guess we’re alright.” He gave a disarming grin, offering her a drag of his cigarette that she politely refused with a wave and a smile. “Never seen you around here before.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m new. Second day.” She offered him a small bow. “My name’s Ranko.”
The guitarist gave a slight wave, his cigarette still dangling from his mouth, but didn’t stop leaning on the corrugated metal wall. “Crash.”
Ranko blinked in confusion, looking around the small parking lot. “I’m sorry? What crashed?”
He chuckled, plucking his cigarette from his mouth between two of the fingers of his left hand. “Nah. That’s my name. Well, my name’s Noboyuki Matsuyama, but that’s an awful lot for a crowd to chant when they’re drunk, so I just go by Crash. Good to meet ya, Ranko.”
She smiled warmly. This was the first person here who had so much as given her the time of day. “I’m not really sure where I’m supposed to be. Do you have any…”
Crash cut her off with a smile. “I might be able to help. Depends on what you’re here to do.” He looked her over. “Modeling isn’t really my thing, though.”
Ranko blushed, looking down at her hands shyly. While it had certainly felt like she’d been modeling yesterday, involuntary though it had been, she took it as a compliment that he thought she might have been recruited for it. “Nah. I’m a singer.”
He perked up a little. “Yeah? Rock? Pop? You aren’t really giving me an opera vibe…”
She laughed, blushing a little more. “Pop mostly, but I’m open to trying other things.”
Crash grinned. “Right on! So I’m guessing you’re lookin’ for Takao, then?”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
She nodded with a hopeful grin. “Please, if you know where to find him.” She dreaded being sent to the photography booth again.
The rocker flicked his spent cigarette butt into the parking lot. “He normally comes by about eleven, so if you want to hang out for a few minutes, he’ll probably show up.”
Ranko smiled. Everything would be better once she could set things right with him. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, how does this all… ya know, work? Mr. Tashima didn’t really explain too much. He just found me at this bar I sing at sometimes, and asked me to come in.”
He looked up. “A bar, huh? Which one?”
Ranko blushed again – why was she always doing that? “It’s called the Phoenix, in the Minato district. It’s small; you probably haven’t heard of it.”
He scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “Phoenix… that was the place that had the Christmas concert a while back, right? Wait, that was you?! Man, I was so bummed I couldn’t make that; I had to work that night. My friends said it was awesome, though!”
She smiled proudly. Maybe she already was famous. “I’m glad they had a good time. And you’re welcome to come by anytime; I sing most nights except for Tuesdays.”
Crash grinned excitedly. “Sounds like a date.”
Ranko looked away shyly. Dammit, face! Stop blushing! “I guess so.” She looked around. “So, anyway, this place?”
Shaking his head and chuckling, he replied. “Sorry. Easily distracted; it’s a musician thing. Yeah, so for the most part, the group sort of gets people ready to perform, and then when somebody’s hiring for a musician or something, like, if a band member has to be replaced or they need a new instrument, they call Takao and somebody gets recruited. Me and the guys in there, we’ve just been messing around together to practice.”
She looked up. “Oh? What about for singers, though?”
Crash shrugged. “I know the girl groups are always looking to add people. Takao has girls marching in one door and out the other all day long.”
Ranko nodded slowly. That wasn’t quite what she had envisioned, but hopefully she could speak to Mr. Tashima about it when he came by. Crash looked at his watch. “Speaking of, he’s probably inside now if we wanna go say hey.” He popped himself off the wall with his elbows, opening the door and holding it for her with a smile.
As she entered, she found Takao sitting in one of the metal chairs talking with Crash’s bandmates. She waited politely until Crash could interject. “Hey, bro, I guess you remember Ranko? She’s a little lost.” The redhead bowed respectfully while he spoke.
Takao sat up, pulling down his sunglasses. “Oh, yeah! The girl from the Phoenix. You made it! Great. Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be working.” He stood, turning back to the band. “The bridge is definitely sounding better, guys. Keep at it! Later, Crash!”
He motioned to Ranko, and she waved to Crash gratefully before following Takao down a hallway constructed out of movable wooden barriers to another small makeshift stage area. There, two girls wearing matching lime-green pleated miniskirts and school uniform-like tops danced on a platform that was really just a long piece of plywood stacked loosely over a trio of discarded shipping pallets.
As she entered, a sharp, rebuking male voice pierced the pop song emanating quietly from the little boom box on the floor. “No, no, no, Hitomi! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s two steps forward and then the spin? It’s not that difficult!”
The shorter of the two girls bowed her head defeatedly. “Sorry, Katsuo.”
The resonant man turned to the other girl. “Emi, you’re doing fine, but you’ve got to learn to smile, girl. Nobody wants to watch a sad sack on stage.”
Takao cleared his throat, and the choreographer looked up. “Katsuo, this is Ranko. She’s your new girl.”
Ranko blushed, bowing. The heavyset man looked her over as if she were a coat he was considering buying. “Not bad. Not bad.” She bit her tongue as he motioned to a box on the floor. “Well, go get changed, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Great. More of this. She walked to the box, opening it to find a few outfits matching those the women on the platform were wearing in various sizes. She chose the one that was closest to her size, grateful that Izumi had made sure she learned what her proper sizes were, and ducked into a small curtained-off area to change clothes.
When she emerged, Takao was gone, but Katsuo barked up at her. “Alright, fine. Get up there. What was your name again?”
She stepped up onto the platform and turned to face him. “Ranko, sir.” The two other girls stepped apart to try and make room for her between them, but the dilapidated attempt at a stage was quite crowded with three people.
The girl on her left leaned over. “Hey. I’m Hitomi. That’s Emi.” Ranko looked over her new… coworkers? Bandmates? She wasn’t really sure what to call them. All she did know is that neither of them looked especially happy.
Hitomi waved meekly, but the introductions were cut short by the snide voice of their overseer. “Let’s try this again, girls. As for you, Ranko…” He shrugged. “Just try not to trip over yourself, okay?”