“Once upon a rhyme, not so far away, our girl took over Sydney, just for fun, one day! She’s out here slingin’ words, recruiting new Firebirds, and hey, she just got going! She’s found family, friends and true romance; doesn’t know how she deserved the gifts she got by chance, but her fresh start has filled up her heart until it’s overflowing!”
The lead vocalist of Ranko and the Dapper Dragons grinned broadly, surveying some thirteen thousand people packing the Sydney Entertainment Centre, nearly all of them on their feet. I love you guys, too, Ranko thought as she clasped her hands over her heart. The music continued without the final line, and Ranko raised both of her arms, waving enthusiastically to the capacity crowd. She was exhausted, and running on pure adrenaline, but enough of it was pumping through her veins to power the city for a week.
“That’s our show! Thanks so much for coming out, Sydney! We’ll see you tomorrow, right back here at the S.E.C! Say good night to my friends, the Dapper Dragons! On keyboard, the awesomest Aussie, Jacob Trimble!”
The crowd roared as the other instruments fell silent, giving the green-haired keyboardist in the orange plaid button-down shirt a few moments of solo time to improvise a tune on his Yamaha DX-7 synthesizer.
“On drums…” Ranko continued, biting her lip slightly as she thought about Ken. By now, he was likely home, with Ryo and his labrador Thunder to comfort him through his illness. Miss you, buddy. Hope you’re feeling better. “... our special guest Dragon, straight from Brisbane, Zooooooooe King!”
A fairly muted drum solo rocketed from Ken’s drum set, played by a slight, diminutive young person with spiky, hot pink hair. They wore a dress made of thick, clear plastic, like a raincoat, cinched at their waist with a transparent blue plastic belt over a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a black tee shirt with several rips across the ribs as if they had been slashed by a giant cat. Zoe pounded at the drums furiously with a pair of plastic drumsticks that glowed bright pink in the dark back third of the stage. The crowd didn’t clap as much as they had for Jacob due to not knowing the newcomer, but those who cheered screamed enough to largely make up the difference.
The drums faded out, but a low rhythm continued, now pouring forth from a pearlescent white bass guitar situated just behind Ranko to her right. It was strapped over the eldest member of the Dapper Dragons’ ever-present black leather jacket, his microphone occasionally picking up the sound of the studs and rivets lining it colliding with the back of the instrument.
“Bringin’ the thunder all the way down under, give it up for Shinji Yokota on bass and sax!”
Shinji bellowed a demonic cackle, just like the one he’d opened Demon in Your Radio with two hours earlier, into his stand microphone as he plucked at his bass.
Ranko flitted over to stage right in the mock school uniform she wore, consisting of a white blouse, blue collar and short pleated miniskirt, and a bright red bow at her throat that almost perfectly matched her twin-tailed hair. She wrapped her arms around the fourth musician onstage, hugging the tall blond man from the side as he plucked at his cherry-red guitar to the exclusion of all of the other instruments on stage.
“Makin’ the strings sing, my best friend in the world, MISTER! Crash! Matsuyama!” Ranko squeezed him tight as the crowd roared for him. It was he, more than anyone else, who had carried her into show business. Without him, she doubted anyone outside a little dive bar in the Minato district of Tokyo would have ever heard her sing, and every time she stood on stage being showered with adulation by thousands of screaming Firebirds, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to him for it.
As she squeezed him tight, she felt something vibrating in the pocket of Crash’s blue denim jacket, smirking to herself. Looks like your leash is gettin’ tugged again, bud.
Ranko released her friend from the embrace, striding back to center stage on her chunky heels. Their white leather was laced up to her ankles, styled like high-top basketball sneakers but with an eight-centimeter heel.
“My girls! Hitomi Uyeno!” The redheaded singer motioned with an open hand to her left. Hitomi gripped the longer skirt of her own school uniform, in the same colors as Ranko’s but with a longer pinafore skirt more like Ranko’s Yusue uniform, giving the crowd a little curtsey.
As the crowd saluted Hitomi, Utaru and Sanyo jogged out from their backstage cloister, both in street clothes. Utaru wore an emerald green silk button-down shirt that was left open to show the plain white tee shirt underneath and a pair of black slacks. Sanyo was clad in blue jeans and a green tee shirt bearing the logo and track silhouette of the Bush Beast, a massive wooden roller coaster he’d ridden earlier that day at Wonderland Sydney, a local amusement park. Utaru took his place next to Hitomi, but Sanyo rushed up behind Ranko, tapping her urgently on the shoulder. She ignored him entirely.
“... and Emi Kimoto!” With a wave to her right, Ranko motioned to the blonde at her other flank, costumed in an identical school uniform to Hitomi’s. Emi touched both of her hands to her lips, blowing a kiss to the crowd as they cheered for her.
Again, Sanyo tapped her on the shoulder, more insistently this time.
Ranko stomped her foot in annoyance, glaring at him over her shoulder. “Not now, dude! I’m talking to all my new friends! Besides, I told you, I’m not interested!”
“Anyway,” Ranko said, smiling as she turned her eyes back to the crowd with a shake of her head. “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah! Got any love for my friend, Utaru Tsuchida? Isn’t he just the cuuuuuutest?” Ranko effected a giggle with an exaggerated wink as she motioned to her right, the crowd whooping at his introduction. One of these days I’m gonna get through that line and not gag.
While the crowd crowed for Utaru, Sanyo stepped up to be within reach of the starlet again, this time grabbing Ranko firmly by the shoulders. The vocalist growled angrily into her headset microphone, whirling around to face him. She gave him a hard shove in the chest with both hands, launching him nearly a meter backward onto his back on the stage floor.
The crowd fell quiet, murmuring to each other in concern for the singer who was seemingly being harassed on stage. Timed perfectly with his backside crashing to the stage, Shinji’s bass guitar and Zoe’s bass drum both emitted a loud thump.
Ranko stepped forward, looming over the prone boy. The redhead said nothing, but a quiet, almost tentative sing-song taunt began flowing through the massive speakers of the Sydney Entertainment Centre, courtesy of Ranko’s two backup singers.
“Na, na-na, na. Na, na-na, nuh-uh!”
The crowd erupted.
“Na, na-na, na. Na, na-na, not yours…”
The stage lights all blinked out, save a bright white spotlight that surrounded Ranko and Sanyo. Hitomi and Emi jogged off to help Lance and Norio prepare the darkened half of the stage for the surprise encore song.
Ranko gesticulated in mock anger with her hands, stomping her white heels mere centimeters from Sanyo as he stared up at her from his backside. Mustering as much stage venom on her tongue as she could, Ranko began laying into the young dancer portraying Saburo Kimura.
“I guess you thought that if you followed me around, then I’d give in to you? I probably should tell ya straight; I’m really not that into you! The way you drive me nuts on stage is gettin’ kinda scary, so, I’m gonna send the message to ya clearly, and in stereo!”
Ranko turned back to face the crowd, framing her face with her hands and flashing a cherubic smile. “You must see how I look, and think that I’m a perfect angel, ‘cause you didn’t seem concerned that, when I’m mad…”
She whirled hard, her twin pigtails swinging over her shoulder as she stomped her foot again and spat the remainder of the lines down at the prone young dancer with gravel and disgust in her voice.
“... I’m FUCKING dangerous!”
Ranko shrugged, shaking her head and scoffing into her headset microphone as she regarded Sanyo. “You wanna be the guy for me?”
She covered her sternum with her left hand, covering that with her right, sneering with a little chuckle. “Oh, man! You must be joking! And if I feel your fingers on my ass again…”
Ranko lifted her right leg until her knee was almost at eye level, slamming her chunky heel to the stage floor hard mere centimeters from Sanyo’s right hand.
“... they’ll wind up broken!”
Ranko whirled on her heels, walking away from Sanyo as he sat up on the stage floor. The band all stopped playing as the spotlight followed the singer in the sailor fuku as she made her way to stage right, where a queen-sized bed with a deep purple duvet cover that reached all the way to the stage floor and matching headboard and footboards made of brass bars now stood. Utaru was laying on the bed, on the side furthest from the stage, and Ranko plopped her butt down on the edge of the bed facing the crowd with an exasperated expression on her face.
The enormous video screen behind the stage came back to life, displaying what looked to be a bedroom wall. There was a window, through which a gloomy, rainy night could be seen, and a framed photo hung on the wall to its right. The identical picture, featuring Ranko, Hana and her sisters - all of them, including Akane - standing in front of the stage before the release party for the Dapper Dragons’ first album, hung on the wall behind the service bar at the Phoenix. It was the same backdrop, and the same bedroom furniture, that had been used during her rendition of There Are No Words.
She reached behind herself to the far end of the bed, where a half-meter long white plush unicorn leaned against the footboard with a distinct droop in its neck. Ranko scooped it up into her arms and gave the stuffed animal a tight squeeze. She breathed in deep with her nose almost buried in the plush creature’s back, exhaling in a soft sigh as her shoulders slumped. You still smell like Akane, Starlight. Gods, I fucking miss her. Two more days. Two more days, and I can hold her, and tell her I’m sorry, and fix everything I fucked up.
“What’s the matter, babe,” Utaru asked. He wore no microphone, but the one Masa had hidden in the folds of the duvet cover picked up his voice.
The crowd rumbled in a bit of unrest; while clearly something was going on onstage, they were more than a little disappointed that fan-favorite Not Yours, Don’t Touch had received only the one verse, and not even so much a chorus.
“You don’t wanna talk about it, so just forget it, Utaru.” Ranko sighed, a hollowness in her voice as she rocked Starlight on her knees.
“Hey,” he said, sitting up on the bed and resting her hand softly on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I’m warning you, Utaru. If you ask me again, I’m gonna answer you.” She stood, leaving Starlight in her place on the bed. There was more than a hint of a threat rising in her voice.
Utaru slid off the bed to his feet on the other side, such that the bed was between him and Ranko, with Ranko occupying the side closer to the front of the stage. “I mean it, Ranko. Talk to me.”
She took a step forward, spinning almost violently to face Utaru. She threw her hands up in the air in mock frustration as the band resumed playing - but this time, a different tune. Almost instantaneously, Ranko’s voice joined the other four instruments.
“You say you’re not sorry that we’re lovers, babe. Why’d you hide me underneath the covers, babe?!”
As she sang, a silent prayer rocketed through her head that the Australian building safety inspectors had been thorough. She was relatively certain the Sydney Entertainment Center’s roof was about to come off in a man-made earthquake. Singing over the deafening roar of thirteen thousand Australians, Ranko pressed forward with the lyrics.
“You tell me I don’t have any flaws, but then, why’s my stuff still locked up in your closet, then?! You tell everybody that there’s no one here, and lock the door and touch me, and it sends me to the stratosphere.”
Utaru rounded the bed, and reached out as if he intended to hug her, but Ranko extended her right arm with her elbow locked and palm extended, indicating he should come no closer.
“I don’t understand the need for this mystique. If I’m so good for you, why do you sneak?!”
The duvet cover of the bed was pulled back from the far side of the bed, raising it from the floor in front like a curtain. It revealed Hitomi and Emi both lying on the stage floor on their stomachs under the bed, facing the crowd with their chins propped up on their palms and their elbows resting on the floor. The two of them harmonized the start of the chorus together in their school uniform costumes without Ranko joining them.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, don’t get caught!”
Ranko nodded to the girls under the bed, but turned her eyes up to Utaru. “You don’t want anyone to know about this thing we’ve got!” She clicked her tongue hard on the T sound at the end of got, almost admonishingly.
The Dapper Dragons’ two female backup singers swayed their heads side to side in unison from under the bed, as if they were a two-woman bobsled team.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, don’t tell yet!”
Ranko stepped within arm’s reach of Utaru, reaching up with the back of her hand and pretending to wipe his brow. She flung her hand downward, as if flicking invisible liquid from it, as she sang.
“... and let ‘em think it’s just the temperature that makes you sweat!”
The redhead bounded back to center stage, the spotlight following her and leaving both wings of the stage in darkness. She sighed, slumping her shoulders as she spoke to the crowd with no musical backdrop. “Sorry about that, guys. I swear, freakin’ boys! Sometimes ya just wanna…”
“Ranko! Hey! C’mere!”
Ranko whipped her head to her left, stalking forward toward the newly-spotlit Sanyo as Crash and Jacob led the musical transition back into the first song of the mashup. He slowly backed away as she approached him with an air of vengeful purpose, as if she meant to strike him.
“I’m gonna tell you one more time, and maybe I’ll get through to you, ‘cause it’s painfully obvious: you don’t know who you’re talking to!”
She threw her hands to the side, palms upturned and elbows bent, in a you’ve gotta be kidding me shrug. It was unsettling. Sanyo knew she’d scripted the whole thing, and yet, the fury in her eyes was palpably believable. He didn’t like it pointed in his direction.
“You think that you can corner me on stage and get my kisses, but you’re just the type’a guy who tries to hit the floor…”
Ranko turned her back to him, waving him off with the back of her hand over her shoulder. Singing loudly over the cheering crowd, she rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, shrugging with her arms extended at her sides. Her gesture clearly asked the audience, can you believe this guy?
“... and misses!”
Ranko cackled darkly, turning back to regard Sanyo’s not-entirely-faked expression of fear.
“I honestly can say I’ve never met someone more lame than you. It’s pretty sad when Super Mario’s got way more game than you!” She held out her cupped left hand, rocking her right fist over it as if she were using an invisible Atari joystick.
Hitomi and Emi, having been freed from under the bed with the help of Norio and Utaru on the darkened left side of the stage, flitted into the spotlight flanking their friend. Emi smirked, popping her hips hard in his direction, and began to sing.
“We think that you should take a beat.”
Hitomi nodded, leaning her back against Emi’s and crossing her arms over her breasts. “Examine your priorities!”
Ranko pushed between them, one arm on each of their shoulders. “Buy tickets for tomorrow if you’re tryin’ to see more of me, ‘cause I know that you want me, boy! I un-der-stand!”
Hitomi closed the distance between herself and Sanyo, resting her hand gently on his right shoulder. Emi followed, placing her palm on his back.
“But we’re gonna have to ask you, boy, to…”
The girls orbited him in opposite directions as they sang, never taking their hands off of his body, until both were standing in front of him, between him and Ranko.
“WATCH! YOUR! HANDS!” Some six thousand Firebirds joined the roommates and friends as they roared at Sanyo and shoved him backward.
“You should know by now, that isn’t so polite to do,” Emi offered, wagging her finger side to side centimeters from Sanyo’s face.
Hitomi nodded, crossing her arms again defiantly and cocking her head crossly in his direction. “Keep your fingers off’a things that don’t belong! To! You!”
Ranko stood on her tiptoes, peeking over Hitomi’s shoulder at him as she swayed her backside in the direction of the crowd. “Boy, I never really liked you that much…”
The building shook with some ten thousand voices issuing the same four-word admonition.
“NOT YOURS! DON’T TOUCH!”
Ranko waved Sanyo off over her shoulder dismissively, and she, Hitomi and Emi strode rightward on the stage, the spotlight following them and leaving Sanyo alone in the dark. A second spotlight sparked to life as the music quieted to just Jacob’s synthesizer. The round beam of white light revealed Utaru, Crash and Shinji huddled together in conversation. The giant screen behind the stage displayed the image of a verdant park, much as the corresponding scene in the Sneak music video had.
“Yeah, man,” Utaru said through the headset microphone he’d donned as Ranko sang the second verse of Not Yours, Don’t Touch. “After the show, we should go get some beers or something. I bet Sydney’s got some great pubs around here.”
As the crowd cheered for their hometown’s drinking scene, Ranko clasped her hands over her heart, looking excitedly up at Utaru. The young dancer made eye contact with her, but then turned his head to Shinji. “There’s gotta be one around here showing the rugby match.”
“Maybe,” Shinji said. “You should ask Emi to come with! I think she likes you!”
Ranko’s eyes fell to the stage, slumping with disappointment at having been ignored. Hitomi and Emi both rubbed her back, consoling their friend as Ranko began to sing over Jacob’s synthesizer and his partner’s borrowed drums. There was a sadness in her voice, despite the energy of the bouncy pop rhythm of Sneak.
“You tell me you’ve started hearing wedding bells. Still, your friends try to hook you up with someone else. When you talk to them, it’s like you don’t know I’m alive. The second that they look away, you push me into overdrive. I can’t help it, falling underneath your spell.”
As she sang, Utaru waved wordlessly to the band’s guitarists and the spotlight followed him as he strode over to Ranko and her friends. He reached out as if to hug her, but Ranko thrust out her right arm, locking her elbow and holding him at bay.
“You’re the best at kiss, and kiss, and never tell! We’re living in a game of hide-and-seek.”
Emi and Hitomi each leaned on one of Ranko’s shoulders supportively, glaring up at Utaru. “If she’s so good for you, why do you sneak?”
As the girls sang, Ranko hurried back to stage right, laying on the bed on her back as the video screen swapped back to the bedroom wall scene. Her knees bopped left and right, her feet flat on the duvet cover, and she swayed Starlight about on her chest as if the unicorn were dancing along with the music.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, no one knows how many nights I’ve lay here begging you to hold me close.”
Leaving Starlight at the head of the bed atop the pillows, Ranko rolled over to face the crowd, running her left hand seductively down her side and hooking her thumb under the skirt of her sailor fuku. She wiggled her shoulders, giving herself an almost pinup girl appearance as she sang.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, tell those lies, and don’t admit the way my body leaves you hypnotized…”
Ranko hopped to her feet, reaching under the bed and grabbing a black school satchel which she carried by its handle in her right hand. She moved quickly to center stage, in front of the backdrop of the video screen’s return to the park scene. Hitomi and Emi, each carrying their own black school bags, ran up from the dark to join her, and the three of them walked toward stage left, giggling with each other about some joke they’d not shared with the crowd.
“Hey, girls!” Sanyo, now wearing a navy blue jacket and necktie over a white shirt and blue slacks like a boys’ school uniform, approached the trio. “How’s it goin’, Ranko?”
“Really?!” Ranko sighed, rolling her eyes as she lolled her head backward to glare in frustration up at the ceiling of the Sydney Entertainment Center. “Uggghh…”
“Oh, c’mon, Ranko,” Sanyo pleaded. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Ranko lowered her head into her hand, rubbing her temples in exasperation. “I mean…”
Again, Not Yours, Don’t Touch’s snappy beat began pouring from Crash’s guitar and Jacob’s synthesizer.
”I understand your thinking, dude. You’re digging my aesthetic, but the problem is, your vibe is coming off as just pathetic. I’m too hot for you to handle. Should’ve read the warning label. Forget being unsexy; what you’re doing is unstable!”
Hitomi erupted in a condescending giggle, waving the boy away with the back of her hand. “The fact you even think you’re in her league is just adorable!”
The redhead nodded to Sanyo, motioning to Hitomi in agreement as she crinkled her nose in disgust. “Yeah, dude. I’ve seen you at your best, and boy, your best is fucking horrible!”
Emi wagged her finger in Sanyo’s face again as Ranko turned, seeming to converse with Hitomi about something. “So, think about the way you act, and maybe re-evaluate!”
Ranko turned her back to Sanyo, throwing a dismissive wave over her shoulder as she walked back toward the bedroom scene at stage right. “You can’t get with me for a second, let alone a second date!”
Ugh, I hate this part, Ranko thought as she walked. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s an act. It’s just an act. He’s not gonna touch me.
Utaru gave her a wave from the bed, where he sat with his back to the headboard, under the purple duvet cover from the waist down.
Ranko sighed and sat near the footboard, leaning her back on it and scooping Starlight back up into her arms. She laid her legs across the bed with her feet facing Utaru and crossed her ankles, in no small part because Utaru’s position would have otherwise given him a prime viewing angle to her underwear. She affected a sultry expression on her face and turned toward the crowd with her finger laid vertically over her lips.
“You made me your dirty little secret. Then, you made me your dirty little freak again!”
She framed her face with her hands, letting all traces of naughty ambitions be replaced with a cherubic gentleness as if she were one of the airheaded love interests in one of Kumiko’s manga novels.
“I’m a good girl, prim and proper innocence…”
Ranko reached down, walking the index and middle fingers of her right hand up her bare leg toward her pleated blue miniskirt.
“They don’t see your fingers creepin’ up my dress. I’ll keep quiet for ya, baby. It’s okay.”
Clasping her hands one atop the other in front of her mouth but leaving enough space for the boom of her headset microphone, Ranko sang in a whispered voice.
“Hold my breath so they don’t hear you take my breath away.”
She let her neck go limp, leaning back over the footboard and dangling her twin pigtails nearly all the way to the floor of the stage.
“The way you move my body makes me weak! If I’m so good for you, why do you sneak?”
She rocketed back to an upright seated position so quickly that it almost made her lightheaded, swiveling at the waist to face the crowd. The songstress crossed her hands such as to obscure nearly her entire face from the audience with her fingers extended outward, her right hand in front of the left to hide her wedding ring.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, hide your face, so no one figures out it’s you touchin’ my…”
She moved her crossed hands from her face, crossing them instead over her crotch with an audible gasp.
“... special place! Sneak, baby, sneak, baby, you’re my dream!”
She scooped Starlight up again, pressing her forehead against the unicorn’s back as she swung her legs off the bed to dangle them a few centimeters from the floor facing the crowd. She kicked her feet excitedly as she hid herself behind her plush companion.
“That’s why I’m buried in my pillow when you make me SCREAM!”
Ranko slid off the bed, scurrying back to center stage as the video screen behind her switched back to the anime-style castle backdrop that had been displayed throughout most of Self-Rescuing Princess. There, she found Hitomi and Emi, both with their arms extended and their hands resting on Sanyo’s chest as if holding him back from reaching her. The music once again seamlessly shifted from the bouncy rhythm of Sneak to the harder-edged cadence of Not Yours, Don’t Touch, led largely by Crash’s insistent guitar. Sanyo had removed his jacket and tie, and now wore just the navy slacks and his white short-sleeved button-down shirt with the collar unbuttoned.
“You thought that you’d convince me, and I’d play your little scene? Well…” Ranko pointed up at the screen. “You’re in my castle now, and on this stage…”
She spread her arms wide as she sang the last four words of the line. Her gesture told the audience exactly what was expected of them, and thousands of voices joined her.
“ALL HAIL THE QUEEN!”
Hitomi stepped around from Sanyo’s side until she was directly in front of him, moving her head around with a curious expression as if checking him over, like a mother who was concerned her child might be injured.
“Hey, are you okay?” Hitomi sneered at the young actor darkly. “You’re lookin’ like your confidence is laggin’.”
Ranko clapped her hand on Hitomi’s shoulder, giggling into her headset. “That’s just the price you pay when losers try to dance with Dragons!”
She turned her attention to Sanyo, adopting a sneer of her own. “Dude, I don’t know what went through your head. She’s hot, I’m gonna date her,” Ranko sang, affecting a nasal, mocking tone in her voice. As she did, the screen behind her switched back to an image from the fifth song of her set - a single word written in four flaming romaji letters.
“Boy, my RISE was meteoric…”
The four letters of RISE on the screen melted into a single, molten ball at the upper left of the screen, and the animation showed it zooming downward and rightward with a burning trail behind it against a field of stars.
“Now? I’ll leave you in a crater!”
As Shinji repeated the word crater in his deep bass voice, the fireball disappeared off the screen right behind where Sanyo stood, and the twelve fire jets at the front of the stage ignited.
“Your lines are tired and laughable. I’m burning with desire?”
As Ranko mocked the pathetic advances of the boy she’d originally written the song for, a great bird of animated orange flame seemingly erupted from the stage floor on the video screen behind her and began circling the screen. The jets of fire subsided, as if their fuel had been consumed in the recreation of the firebird.
“Bitch, you’re talking to a Phoenix! I was FUCKING BORN IN FIRE!”
The jets of flame all blasted back to their full three-meter height as the ear-splitting screech of a bird of prey pealed from the speakers of the Sydney Entertainment Center. Simultaneously, the phoenix on the video screen spread its wings wide and exploded outward in a brilliant inferno of light.
“I know that you want me, boy! I un-der-stand! But I’m gonna have to ask you, boy, to watch your hands! You should know by now that isn’t so polite to do. Keep your fingers off of things that don’t belong to you!”
The callback in the chorus came not from any of the three female singers, but from Shinji and Crash, playing their instruments in the shadowed back third of the stage. Shinji sang in his thundering deep bass voice, and it sounded as if the gods themselves were warning poor Sanyo away from his attempts at conquest. “Dude, she’s never gonna like you that much!”
“Not yours,” Hitomi sang with a smirk, bending forward at the waist and shaking her finger in Sanyo’s direction.
“Don’t touch,” Emi finished, holding up her palm in a stop gesture with her arm fully extended toward him. Behind her, the video screen changed again, displaying a huge photo of the back wall behind the little stage the band called home at the Phoenix, complete with beer ads and the band’s logo spray-painted on the wall. It was the same scene that had been displayed during the performance of You Don’t Know Me.
Utaru rushed up out of the dark to Ranko’s right as Not Yours, Don’t Touch’s rhythm blended seamlessly back into that of Sneak, reaching out as if he wanted to hug her. She turned her back, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.
“You don’t seem to notice how it gets to me that you won’t let them know you’re sleeping next to me. Every heartbeat, I am under your command.”
Ranko turned, reaching for his wrist. Just an act. Just an act.
“What I’d give if you’d let them see you hold my hand.”
As Hitomi and Emi danced behind her and Sanyo stepped back out of the spotlights, Ranko linked her arm with Utaru, pulling him forward toward the edge of the stage.
“I’m your candy, baby! Drip me off your arm! Let them talk, babe! We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong!”
Utaru wrested his hand free, stepping back away from the edge of the stage. He made a show of turning his face from the audience and covering it with his hand as if trying to hide his identity. The effect made him look like a vampire who had been confronted with garlic and sunlight. Ranko, mock rage in her eyes, whirled on him, stomping her foot and throwing both of her arms downward with her hands balled into fists.
“You say you think I’m perfect and unique. If I’m so good for you, why do you sneak?!”
The screen behind Ranko changed again, this time showing a view of a different nightclub. Everything was pink and purple, with silhouettes of people on the edges as if they surrounded the stage on which Ranko stood. Bright pink and green laser lights shot periodically across the animated scene. The setup wasn’t an identical representation of the little round stage at Steam, the gay club she and Akane visited on occasion, but it had definitely been inspired by it. The same image had been behind Ranko as she’d sung Turn Me Off/Turn Me On, having been motivated by the raunchy song’s debut at Steam the night of her bachelorette party.
Sanyo stepped forward, waving his hands in the air as if he was trying to get Ranko’s attention. It was the first time during the mashup performance that both Sanyo and Utaru were visible in the stage lights at once. As he tried to approach Ranko, Emi and Hitomi blocked him, and began to sing to him.
“Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na, nuh-uh! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na! Not yours! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na, nuh-uh! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na! Not yours!”
Ranko, still facing Utaru, gestured to the audience wildly with her hands. Her pleading gaze implored Utaru’s character to come clean with the thirteen thousand souls that packed the Sydney Entertainment Center that Sunday afternoon.
“Speak, baby! Speak, baby! Tell them, please, the way your whisper in my ear can put me on my knees! Speak, baby! Speak, baby! Say it’s true that you’re okay with people knowing I belong to you!”
Again, Hitomi and Emi admonished Sanyo to keep his distance with the sing-song chant of the first song’s chorus.
“Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na, nuh-uh! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na! Not yours! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na, nuh-uh! Na, na-na, na! Na, na-na! Not yours!”
As Hitomi and Emi admonished Sanyo, Ranko continued to plead her case for transparency to Utaru, wiggling her hips seductively in place as she sang. “Speak, baby! Speak, baby! Say you’re mine, and send another little shiver up and down my spine! Speak, baby! Speak, baby! Say I’m yours, and I don’t have to be your lover just behind closed doors!”
The backdrop video changed again, now displaying a scene that looked like the interior of a trendy shopping mall. Continuing the theme of recapping of the entire two-hour concert during the encore, the backdrop was the same one that had been shown during Ranko’s performance of Ring, Ring, Ring. With a hard stage shove, Hitomi and Emi drove Sanyo backward out of the spotlight, leaving Ranko alone to sing to Utaru.
“Not sure how you think we’re gonna hide this thing.”
She held up her left hand with her palm facing herself, pointing to it with her right index finger.
“I’m damn sure not taking off my wedding ring!”
The audience, nearly none of which had ever heard the extended, live-only lyrics to Sneak, were almost universally on their feet, roaring in excitement.
“Hold me down, ‘cause it’s getting hard to explain all those claw marks dug into the mattress frame! I can’t keep our love a secret anymore! I know they can hear me screaming from next door!”
Emi walked over to the “couple,” nodding in agreement. “Yeah! Every time you make the headboard creak…”
Hitomi joined her, throwing a shrug and an oh well grimace in Ranko’s direction. “... it gets a bit more obvious you sneak!”
Behind the performers, the video screen took on the appearance of a high school sports stadium, showing a distant scoreboard featuring a team called the Dragons with fifty points, and a team called the Pandas with zero. Beneath the scoreboard and the animated stadium lights, a crowd of hundreds of hand-animated fans waved flags and cheered inaudibly, just as they had during the performance of B-O-U-N-C-E two songs ago.
“But -”
Sanyo stepped back into the spotlight, and Ranko whirled on him fast enough to throw both of her loose twin pigtails over her shoulder as Hitomi and Emi corralled Utaru backward. The girls held Utaru’s arms tight at his sides, as if they were trying to keep him from physically attacking Sanyo.
Before Sanyo could say another word, Ranko launched into yet more new lyrics, these set to the rhythm of Not Yours, Don’t Touch. A well-acted fury burned in her eyes as she charged the few steps forward to get right in her backup dancer’s face.
“Just saying no should be enough, no matter what the reason is! I shouldn’t have to prove to you I won’t be yours, by being his!” Ranko gestured behind herself at Utaru as the crowd whooped in support of her right to choose.
“So, get it through your head, because this girl is off the menu!”
Ranko gestured to Sanyo’s head with her right hand, mere centimeters from him. Her hips never stopped swaying, the short blue skirt of her seifuku flaring around her thighs.
“Take your greasy hair, and pervert stares, and find another venue!”
As Hitomi, Emi and Utaru danced in the periphery of the spotlight, Ranko turned her back to Sanyo, covering her mouth with her left hand and placing her right on her stomach as if she felt ill.
“The thought of laying next to you just makes me wanna vomit.”
She slid her hand downward from her mouth, tracing it teasingly down her breasts and her stomach as she flashed the audience a sultry, desirous smile. Her singing voice became almost a purr.
“I deserve someone who makes me come…”
She spun around on her heels, raising her voice and stomping forward toward Sanyo as the animation of the meteor from a few verses ago played behind her on the eight-meter video screen again.
“... more often than a comet!”
As the animated meteor “struck” the stage, all twelve flamethrowers at the front of the stage ignited, and the screen changed from the space scene to the fiery hellscape of brimstone and lava that had backed Demon in Your Radio at the very beginning of the show.
“It’s time for you to let this go, and stop all this insanity! If I were the last girl alive, your FACE would END HUMANITY!”
As the crowd erupted, Ranko spun back to Utaru as Hitomi and Emi danced behind her. The video screen’s image changed again, this time displaying a sea of thousands of lit white candles, as it had done during You’re My Song.
“Sneak, baby, sneak, baby! You don’t mind, but I’m dying inside trying to deny you’re mine!”
Emi and Hitomi rounded on Sanyo as he stepped forward into the spotlight again. “We know that you want her, boy! We understand! But we’re gonna have to ask you, boy, to watch your hands…”
Ranko threw her arm behind her, motioning angrily to Sanyo as she sang facing Utaru. ”Sneak, baby, sneak, baby! Hey, we tried, but I have to deal with this shit every day we hide!”
Ranko’s backup singers continued the chorus of Not Yours, Don’t Touch, gesturing with their hands to Sanyo as they danced. “You should know by now that isn’t so polite to do, and even if she could, she wouldn’t wanna be with you!”
The redhead’s voice raised in volume as she prepared to finish the song, turning to sing directly to the crowd for almost the first time throughout the entire final song.
“I’ve done my best at playing mild and meek, but the guys can’t keep their eyes off my physique!”
As she sang, Utaru approached her on her right, and Sanyo on her left, with Emi and Hitomi flanking them. Ranko extended her right arm outward to point to Utaru.
“All I want is you beside me!”
She whipped her head to the left, reaching out her other arm toward Sanyo.
“All they want’s to be inside me!”
Ranko turned to face the crowd, spreading her arms in a can you believe this shit? gesture as she hung her head.
“Do you see what I go through because we sneak?!”
She turned to face the crowd again, all five of the performers waved to the roaring audience as the band behind them switched back to the poppy piano rhythm song that had been originally interrupted with the encore.
With an open hand and a bright smile, Ranko gestured to the boy she’d been tormenting for the last ten minutes. “Sanyo Arima, everybody! Give him some love; he’s been such a good sport.” She stepped closer, giving him a friendly hug; it was the least she could do after berating his character for ten minutes.
After releasing him, Ranko turned back to the crowd, beaming with joy as she finally finished the song the encore had interrupted.
“Now, I’m livin’ out my fantasy! Don’t know how it happened to a girl like me, but thanks to you, my happy ever after happens whoa-AAAAAALLL the ti-i-i-i-me!”
The music finally ended, and Crash slumped his shoulders in exhaustion after ten minutes of nearly continuous play. Zoe rotated their arms, trying to find a comfortable position for their shoulders after pounding on the drums for as long as they had. Unlike their boyfriend and his bandmates, Zoe did not have months of practice in which to become acclimated to the pace and build endurance for two hours of continuous performance.
“Good night, Sydney! WE LOVE YOU!” Ranko yelled out to the crowd, waving with both of her hands and blowing kisses to the various corners of the audience until the music stopped and the stage lights all blinked out at once. All twelve of the fire jets at the front of the stage blasted upward one final time. They, along with the video screen behind the stage that had returned to displaying Ranko’s signature in the band’s logo, provided the only light that silhouetted the performers, leaving Ranko to sing the final line of the concert in a high-pitched, almost ethereal voice with no musical accompaniment in the dark.
“Once upon a rhy-y-y-yme…"
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Ranko giggled, smiling brightly for a photo with her arm around a blonde girl in a pink taffeta dress and throwing two fingers in the air. She wore an olive green long-sleeved sweater dress, borrowed from Emi, as the air conditioning in the VIP lounge was set far too cold for a girl with full-body cat’s tongue skin to be comfortable in a sailor fuku.
“What's your name,” Ranko asked the teen in English as she uncapped a silver fine-point marker in her hands.
“E-elisa,” the girl stammered.
“Ooh, that's a pretty name! Did you like the show, Elisa?” As she spoke, Ranko signed the black Wildfire Tour tee shirt the seventeen-year-old had handed her, not forgetting to add the little heart at the end of her name.
“It was great! I loved Self-Rescuing Princess,” Elisa replied, fawning over the starlet's personalized autograph.
Ranko blushed. “ Yeah? It's one of my favorites, too!” She leaned back on the blue velvet couch in the VIP lounge. The room was filled with a small number of fans who had paid extra for backstage passes for a meet-and-greet after the show, as the band had done after many of the shows on the first leg of the Wildfire Tour.
“Is it weird, breaking your shoes like that after the song,” Elisa asked. “I couldn’t imagine.”
Ranko blushed, laughing brightly. “Eh, we got a whole case of ‘em we travel with. I break the left one on odd dates and the right one on the evens. And I mean, yeah, they’re pretty…” She leaned in close, crinkling her nose a bit as she shook her head. “... but they’re not very comfortable at all.”
Hitomi and Emi were giggling with a cadre of four women their age, all in tight-fitting dresses. Judging by their behavior, Ranko strongly suspected at least one of them had smuggled a flask of something into the show in their purse. A twenty-something platinum blonde was sitting on Shinji's lap in a plush red chair, and from the look of her, and the way Shin was looking at her, Ranko guessed she was about ten minutes from being invited back to the band’s hotel.
“Dammit! Again?!” Crash pulled out the buzzing plastic pager from the pocket of his denim jacket, pushing a button to display the number calling him. “Five times in two fucking hours! It's not like she doesn't know when we’re on stage!” He pressed the button again to scroll through the calls he’d missed, and a puzzled expression began to cross his face.
Ranko cackled mockingly at her browbeaten friend. “Clearly, needy girl is needy. You'd better go call her already, before she buys a plane ticket to come down here and fetch your ass, dude!” She shook her head with a smile. Being just a little clingy there, Uk-chan. But it's cute. Kinda wish Akane were making half as much of an effort right about now. But at least we’ll be home the day after tomorrow, and we can finally sit down and sort our shit out. She said I don’t have anything to worry about, and we’re just gonna talk it out when I get home.
“Yeah,” Crash said quizzically, his voice raising in puzzled concern. “I’ll be… right back.” He slipped out of the lounge, leaving the door open and asking a security guard posted in the hallway for directions to the nearest pay telephone.
“Zo, you were so great tonight. Thanks so much for stepping up again. You really saved our asses out there, just like in Brisbane.” Ranko gave a thumbs-up to the pink-haired young drummer cuddling with Jacob on the gray loveseat in the corner of the lounge.
“Too right! It’s been great, gettin’ to rock with you guys like ‘at,” Zoe sighed happily as Jacob squeezed them around the shoulders. “Gotta say, not how I thought I’d spend me weekend, but I figger it beats sittin’ on me couch starin’ at the telly.” They laughed loudly, leaning into Jacob’s shoulder. “Though, I can barely lift me arms! Playin’ for you’s a workout, Blue!” They sat up excitedly, taking a marker from a young Aussie boy and signing their name to his Wild Orchid poster despite having had nothing to do with the album’s production.
Another of the forty or so fans milling around the room approached Ranko. He was a debonair-looking man in his late twenties clad in a navy blue polo shirt, a gray pinstripe sport coat and matching slacks. He had a square chin covered with day-old orange stubble. “Miss Tendo?”
Ranko waved at him with the back of her hand. “I'm in way too good of a mood for that Miss Tendo shit. Call me Ranko.”
“Okay, Ranko,” the handsome ginger man said with a blush, holding out the cellophane-wrapped bundle of lavender-colored orchids in his hand with a loud crinkling sound. “For you.”
It was Ranko’s turn to blush. “Aww! That was so sweet of you! Thank you!” Please don't ask me out. Please don't ask me out. Did you literally not listen to the last ten minutes of the show?
He smiled brightly, starting to bow. Ranko presumed he meant to try and respect her culture, but he looked more like an American pretending to be an English butler than a polite Japanese man in doing so. “I was wondering if you wo…”
“Okay! Thanks a lot, everybody!” Crash called loudly in English as he returned, leaning into the room from the open doorway. “We’re gonna shut it down for the night. We really appreciate you coming out for the show. Good night!”
The man handed the flowers to Ranko, turning angrily to her guitarist. “Hey! The tickets said the lounge would be open for an hour, and it's only been…”
“I said, everybody GET OUT!” Crash roared, his customer service patience quickly giving way to the urgency building in his eyes, and every conversation in the room ceased at once.
The ginger man in the suit gave Crash a dirty look as he pushed past him into the hallway. “Fuckin’ drongo.”
It took a few more moments for the room to clear of fans, and as Ranko looked up to her guitarist, the mirth in her eyes gave way to concern, and then to terror. In the nearly three years she’d known her best friend, she had never seen a look like that in his eyes, and not since the day he’d broken Takao Tashima’s nose had she heard him raise his voice like that. “Crash, what…”
Crash closed the door behind him, leaning his back against it. His eyes panned from one band member to the next, as if deciding whether each should be allowed to stay. Seemingly satisfied that they all should, Crash’s gaze turned to Ranko, his face ashen, and he took a step closer to the couch where she sat.
“Crash, please. What’s going on? You're scaring me.” Ranko’s voice quavered as she set the flowers on the couch next to her, sitting up straight and watching with wide eyes as her friend dropped to one knee on the berber carpet in front of the couch and placed his hand softly on her right knee. The blond man looked simultaneously gutted and frantic, and he blinked a tear out of his eye as he looked up into his friend’s terrified face to confirm that she was right to worry.
“Ranko, listen to me, hon. I need you to grab your stuff. We need to get you on a plane. Tonight. Right now.” Crash spoke in the gentlest voice he could manage as his bandmates looked on in worried silence.
“We’ve gotta get you home.”
~~ END BOOK ELEVEN ~~