95 posts tagged “nakahara chiaki”

Chapter 030 – Fears of the Honest

Owing to Sora’s habit of being incommunicado while canning herself on self-imposed writing and transcription deadlines, she only replied to Chiaki’s message two days later with an invitation to dine. She had just completed the first transcription draft of her murder mystery and needed a break from the inevitable editorial process where she would print out the typescript for a check before submitting it to the publishing house’s editor. Chiaki’s request for a meeting and her straightforward message of ‘I need a favour’ piqued Sora’s interest. She liked intrigue for its own sake, and Jun occasionally teased her for it.

The love for intrigue was something Sora personally felt stemmed from the era when her family was in the centre of the socio-political world. She knew she was proud, strong, and self-willed, as were all the descendants of the Sekkan-ke; and like her twin brother and elder sister, she had dreams of grasping political power and extending the influence of her family in all sectors of society. However, unlike her twin whose political ambitions were of a more self-serving nature, Sora possessed a noble and generous spirit as well as a reverence for those who proved themselves to have good characters. Although she was ambitious and hyper vigilant over her own well-being to a fault, she never once withheld her goodwill to those for whom she had some affection. Her gift of observation and insight into the inner workings of the human mind enabled her to look on humanity with some degree of understanding and compassion. Now that Chiaki had need of her, Sora would not hesitate to extend her understanding and compassion to her friend even if she wasn’t sure about the exact nature of the problem.

As Jun was fortuitously in her flat making dinner, Sora put the question to him, “Do you know something I don’t? What’s this favour Chiaki wants?”

“Ask her yourself when she comes later, ne,” Jun responded as he strained the soup stock. While he did have some idea as to the reason for Chiaki’s request for assistance from Sora, he did not know what she thought the novelist and mangaka could do for her. “Eto, she’s worried, ne, about the blackmail. Manager-san talked to her about it, but I don’t know what they decided on.”

“Who would blackmail Chiaki? She is the most honest person I know. What you see is what you get with her!” protested Sora incredulously, reading the back of a packet of half-cream.

“Not like you, ne?” he teased, flashing her a smile.

“Never mind that, Jun-chan.” She dismissed, taking a taste of the mushrooms. “What kind of abysmal idiot blackmails an upright, sensible person like Chiaki?”

“These are crazy times, ne, when a man would blackmail his own niece for money,” he sighed, extending a hand for the milk which he then poured into the soup stock. “She fears that he could out Sho and her, ne. If he has threatened it, it could do it, eh? He sounds desperate enough. He went to Nakahara-san for money first, ne, and when she couldn’t give him any more, he went to Chiaki even though he promised he would not. Goes to show you, ne?”

“Chiaki could have gone to the police. That is what I would have expected someone with her character to do,” she said, seriously considering the steps an upright person should always take in dire situations.

Kiyora, who had been listening to this exchange while rummaging in the refrigerator for a block of cheese she knew was hiding somewhere in its confines, popped her head up and reminded her younger sister, “Verbal threats do not constitute as harassment. The police would only step in if physical threat was meted out. Even so, evidence of physical harm would have to be produced and verified to be anything but self-inflicted by a doctor before the courts would allow it to be admissible.”

“There is psychological fear and trauma, Oneesan, which is as great as physical trauma,” grumbled Sora. “It would be stupid to think that Chiaki could tolerate something like this indefinitely without any strain.”

“Ano ne, we’re her last resorts. Manager-san would only involve himself as long as this remains a matter that would affect the Jimusho, ne,” Jun opined, taking the cream from Sora and pouring it into the pot. “Do you want a poached egg? It’ll be good for you.”

The novelist shook her head and peevishly stated, “How can I think about poached eggs now when I worried about Chiaki?”

“But I’d be worried about you if you don’t eat, ne? You never eat when you’re in the can.”

“I didn’t give you permission to worry.”

“I just do, ne,” he said, cracking a thin smile. “I’ll make the poached egg and you’d be able to think better when you have had something nutritious to eat. Don’t beat yourself too much over this, ne, manager-san would do try to make sure the Jimusho does something if only to safeguard our profitability.”

“I talk about the potential ruination of lives and you answer in profit margins! Do you see a problem here, Jun?”

“I know that, ne, but look at it objectively. Chiaki fears for her mother’s safety as well, more so than her own. Eto, if it comes down to it, will she choose her mother or Sho? It will be her mother, ne, because Sho has Jimusho backing and her mother only has her.”

“All the more reason why we should help her before that choice becomes necessary,” Kiyora pointed out, finding the cheese at last and placing it on the kitchen counter.

“But how?” Sora questioned. There was no immediate answer and even if there was one, it would have been truncated by the doorbell. Completely helpless in the kitchen, Sora sailed out to the living room, opened the door and let Chiaki in with the bracing news that Jun was preparing dinner and a good meal was bound to set anything to rights.

“Oi, I’m not your servant! I should be paid for my labour, ne!” Jun shouted in mock displeasure from the kitchen.

“Cook’s very disgruntled today,” Kiyora pronounced very seriously as she set the table. “We dine in ten minutes.”

“You’re not Ninomiya, so don’t ask for money. Take your dissatisfaction like a man!” Sora retorted loudly.

“While you do nothing, ne? You’re doing the washing up later!” Jun responded, bringing out a pot of something to the dining table. Pausing to favour Chiaki with a smile, he reassured, “Not you, Aki-chan, the disagreeable woman.”

Ignoring Jun, Sora dragged Chiaki into a chair. “You must tell me everything if I am to be of service to you.”

Not the least bewildered by the banter between Jun and the novelist or the presence of Kiyora, Chiaki bit her lower lip, fearing that she would be too forward. Exhaling very quickly and expelling the words with her, she asked, “Do you have any connections with the higher echelons on the police force? It’s too much to ask but I want something to be done at the official level. The cloak and dagger dealings of Date-san can only go far in hindering Yoshida’s unreasonable demands.”

However, she need not have worried, for her friends knew she was a straight-taking person as Sora’s response attested.

“If you consider me your friend, you won’t say such things,” Sora insisted. “It goes without saying that we would extend whatever assistance we can. One of the Takatsukasa cousins is an assistant to deputy police commissioner.”

“Cousin Takatsukasa Iestsuna would dearly love to be involved in investigations shunned by the lower levels of the force,” Kiyora added. “I’ll give him a call in the morning.”

“It is a good idea, ne,” Jun conceded, flicking aside his hair from eyes. “Sho would approve if you told him.”

Shooting him a speaking look, Chiaki laced her fingers together and firmly intoned, “Telling him would serve no purpose. He would only panic. I have enough on my hands as it is, I can’t deal with his panic attacks on top of everything else.”

“That’s harsh, ne.” Jun eyed her disapprovingly. “Ano ne, the secrecy I would expect from Alys. She has this idea, ne, that she must protect Nino from her imagined demons, ne. It wouldn’t be out of place for Nino either, eh? He hides things from Alys because he doesn’t want to see her upset. However, ne, you and Sho discuss everything.”

“Sorry, Jun-boy, but I think Chiaki-san is right. She is distressed herself and cannot keep Sakurai-san in check. His distress over the matter at this time would further vex her,” counselled Kiyora with an encouraging nod at the botanist.

“Oneesan! He has a right to know,” Sora demurred vehemently, hooking her collar-length hair behind her ears.

“Hai, he has a right, but Chiaki-san has an equal right not to tell him!” stressed the elder Kujo sister with a warning glint in her eyes.

“I would tell him if there were a need for him to be involved,” Chiaki quickly interjected to diffuse the volatile exchange between the sisters. While she was grateful to them for their counsel and assistance, she had no wish to be the cause of a riff between them. “But there isn’t a need as yet. I am doing everything above board, via official channels as dictated by my conscience and the regulations of Sho’s employment agency. Presently, I am secure with the Kujos’ sekkan-ke influence in the police, the Jimusho’s might, and Date-san’s gangster contacts and associates. Between these three forces, the threat of Yoshida’s blackmail endeavour would be contained. I can think of no reason why Sho should be involved when there are other forces already at work.”

“I don’t like it, ne,” Jun said in a slow and deliberate drawl.

“You’re not the only one.” Sora exchanged a significant glance with him to keep watch over Sho just in case.

Inclining his head forward in assent, Jun deftly changed the subject and invited everyone to partake of dinner while he silently mulled over the possible implications this matter of Chiaki’s would have on Arashi.

NOTES

The "in the can" and "being canned" reference.

When the editor/translator/writer/ghostwriter/mangaka of a book/article/paper/manga is ‘canned’, it means that (s)he is locked up in a room so as to write/edit/translate/draw and do nothing but work until the work is completed BY the deadline.

Usually the editor/translator/writer/ghostwriter/mangaka is 'canned' in a hotel room. Sometimes his/her home if his/her manager/literary agent is nice, or if you're an editor and ghostwriter like I am, you get canned in your flat.

Why "canned"? The image is this – the editor, or translator, or writer, or, ghostwriter, or mangaka, or novelist is confined to a small space (of the study/hotel room in front of the computer/typewriter/papers) much like a tin can and obliged to work until the job is completed by the deadline.

It is a reference unique to those of us in the aforementioned professions. It is also the reference used by some Japanese mangaka when they are locked in on a deadline

In case readers have forgotten, Kiyora is Sora’s older sister and also her literary agent/manager. We first met her in Wages of Managing Sense (Sho’s story). She appeared and was mentioned throughout From Cover to Cover (Jun’s story).

Chapter 029 – Qualms of the Uncertain

On his part, Jun was perplexed by Chiaki’s claim to being in trouble. He had always believed Chiaki to be far too cautious to be embroiled in any danger, and it came to him as some surprise that she should ask to meet him. He had thought Chiaki and Sho had a very discursive relationship where everything was talked over. What could be bothering her that she had specifically requested him not to tell Sho? Although he was a tad miffed at being interrupted from the memorisation of his latest drama script, Jun’s nature was such that he would never turn down a friend or family member who needed him. Furthermore, he had to admit to himself that he was curious as to the reason for the ring of despair he discerned in Chiaki’s brief text message. It was quite unlike the Chiaki he knew on whom Sho was dependent for all major decisions outside his career. It even struck him as odd that she would chose to speak to him instead of one of the princesses. He eventually convinced himself that Sho must have said or done something callous and injured Chiaki’s feelings. Despite the image of the well-preened obsessive-compulsive control freak he cultivated, Jun was very sensitive to the feelings of the fairer sex, and generally disapproved of anything that would grieve a woman’s sensibilities. Besides, he needed a break from the convoluted drama script he had hitherto been memorising. Since Sora had put herself in the can for the week so as to transcribe the first draft of her latest novel and Jun was loath to disturb her, listening to Chiaki’s woes on Sho’s deficiencies would be a welcome distraction.

Keeping that salubrious thought in mind, Jun continued to half-read his script as he kept an eye on the doors for Chiaki. To his good fortune, it did not take long for her to arrive and Jun immediately noticed when she walked into the coffee house looking harried. Rising from his seat and indicating with a swish of the hand that she was to sit, he pre-empted anything she might say by offering to buy her a muffin and a strong of cup of coffee to fortify her nerves.

When the blueberry muffin and vanilla coffee were procured and Chiaki’s nerves much calmer, Jun began seriously, “Is it about Sho?”

“Partly,” she sighed, sweeping the hair away from her face and hollowing her cheeks in thought. Unsure how she could best put into words her current situation; she went with her gut and straightforwardly whispered, “My wastrel maternal uncle, Yoshida Akira is blackmailing me for 20 million yen due to my relationship with Sho. My mother had given him all that she could and he now wants me to be his money tree. The police have a principle of not involving themselves in domestic matters, and Sho would fly into either a panic or rage if I told him.”

Jun’s elegant hand that was in the process of stirring his coffee dropped the spoon as his eyes flew up from behind his glasses. “Yabai,” escaped his throat when the information was digested. “How can I help?”

“Will your employment agency help me with deal with Yoshida-san? Not with the money, but with keeping him away, getting the police to do something about him. I thought of speaking to Date-san, but I worry that… that…” Chiaki suddenly found her throat parched and let the sentence trail off.

“Eto, if manager-san or Johnny-san tells you to break off with Sho for something that isn’t your fault and Sho doesn’t stand by you, ne, I’ll give Sho a dressing down,” said Jun, scowling at the thought that Chiaki’s uncle could be so spineless as to importune her.

“Will Date-san help?”

“He’d need proof.”

“Right here,” she replied grimly, pulling out the cassette tape recorder from her bag. Quickly attaching earphones to it, she continued, “Listen to it.”

MatsuJun did so, and paled in anger and disgust as he listened to the recording. “What kind of man does this thing, ne?” He scowled and returned the device to her. “From what I know, ne, manager-san has something of a past, ne. He didn’t get those tattoos for their artistic merit, eh.”

Astonished, she dropped her voice into a low hiss, “Do you mean to say that he used to be with the yakuza?”

“He’ll help. He knows people, ne,” Jun said, sidestepping the need to answer her question with a tight smile. As Chiaki turned her eyes upwards and shook her head at the perceived underhanded dealings the Arashi manager must make on behalf of the Jimusho, Jun flipped open his mobile and scrolled down to Date-san’s number. Hitting the call button, he gave the phone to the botanist, “Talk to him, Chiaki-chan.” She baulked at taking the mobile but Jun reassured her, “He will help you, ne, I know.”

Taking a deep breath and encouraged but Jun’s gentle insistence, Chiaki took up the proffered mobile and spoke into it, “Uncle Date, don’t say anything until you’ve heard everything.” And she proceeded to tell all to the rock behind Arashi.

Jun’s faith that Arashi’s manager would not leave Chiaki in the lurch was confirmed when Date-san proposed a lunch meeting with the botanist where they would discuss what was to be done. They met during Chiaki’s lunch hour on the following day at a bistro near the Jindai Botanical Garden.

The one day interval had given Chiaki enough time to make a copy of the recording she had so cunningly taken when her blackmailing uncle paid his unexpected call on her at work. She intended to play this copy of the recording for Date-san before entrusting the matter into his hands should he prove amenable to truly assisting her. Although she was filled with uncertain trepidation, not a trace of it could be found on her visage or demeanour. Chiaki carried herself as she always had and met Date-san with composure.

This composure pleased Date-san, for there was nothing he found more irksome than a weeping woman who could not convey the proper facts to him. “Chiaki-sama,” he saluted with a bow on seeing her. “I always said to Sakurai you were a smart one able to tell right from wrong at a glance. I am honoured that you came to the Jimusho with this matter.”

“What else could I have done?” she posed rhetorically, twitching her lips from side to side in nervousness. “Sho wouldn’t be able to do anything if I told him other than panic. The police wouldn’t do anything because they deem this a ‘domestic matter’ and because they have no jurisdiction over verbal harassment. I am led to believe that unless Yoshida-san physically harms either my mother or me, I do not have a case. Under the rules of your employment agency, Sho isn’t supposed to be formally contracted to any female, and if Yoshida-san exposes our relationship, the agency would apportion the blame to me. I am merely negating those worst-case scenarios and coming clean to you and the agency before any of it happens.”

“Johnny-san prizes honesty, Chiaki-sama, he may be a crotchety old man but he values initiative and integrity. You have put your trust in the Jimusho and we will do what we can to protect both you and Sakurai. Off the record,” said Arashi’s redoubtable manager, “even if the Old Man disapproves, you would have me on your side. I’ve seen what good you’ve done for Sakurai, and you’re not noisy like the other boys of the other hands with their high profile romances with other celebrities. The boys have chosen well with you princesses – all low profile, outside the industry and quiet as mice with your couple business. I don’t forget things done as favours to the boys.”

Chiaki smiled weakly at his praise and tugged at the ends of her hair. “Jun encouraged me to get in touch with you. He reassured me you could help.”

“I could if I knew more of the details,” he answered, whilst resting his elbows on the table. “Then I would know which of my… er… contacts I should enlist.”

A copy of the tape recording was accordingly played and deposited with him. After several strongly worded sentences as to what a scoundrel and coward Yoshida-san was (whereupon the botanist was unable to get a word in edgewise), Arashi’s muscular manager reiterated his personal commitment to assisting her. “No one will touch my boys or threaten them with impunity nor their loved ones either while I’m watching them.”

Chiaki sighed and tried to find Date-san’s eyes behind his sunglasses. “I do not know what you can do. I don’t even know if Yoshida-san is making empty threats. I have thought of breaking up with Sho so as to deprive my mother’s brother of the grounds on which he could make good his threat of an exposé. But it stands to reason with a blackmailer that it would not be an adequate deterrent. Breaking up with Sho does not mean he would cease pestering my mother and me. He could turn around embarrass me at work and make my life and my mother’s completely miserable. But it could be better for you because it would then be solely my problem rather than that of your employment agency; and more importantly, Sho would not be caught up in the potential scandal.”

Thumping a fist on the table in objection to her melancholy, he spoke in his usual rough and resolute manner, “You forget that he could expose your association with Sakurai anyway after your break up and the Jimusho would still be implicated in the matter. It’s better for the Jimusho to be involved in this from the start before the projected trouble comes to pass.”

“So that you may be prepared for every eventuality?” she asked, slightly assuaged by his bracing words, smiling at his firm nod. “I only hope that you would be able to stop Yoshida-san from hounding my mother and me for money.”

“And we will.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

“You would if you had many er… contacts and er… associates.” He paused and lowered his voice, “First thing I’ll do is to have someone check up to see if this Yoshida Akira lowlife could carry out his threat, and if he has the photographic evidence to bring your association with Sakurai to light. Then we’d uncover how badly he’s dipped, who he owes money to and why. And then we’d work on ‘persuading’ him to give up his scheme…”

Date-san outlined his plans in such animation that Chiaki suspected he was enjoying himself with the prospect of a good hunt.

“It’s all very interesting, but I suspect the less I know of your methods the better.” she said earnestly.

“Matsumoto’s been talking,” said Date-san gruffly, pocketing the tape as he rose. “Whatever you do, don’t worry. I’m handling this personally.”

Allowing a faint smile to grace her lips, Chiaki smiled her thanks and silently hoped that her plight would be speedily and satisfactorily resolved before it spiralled out of hand. What would the other ladies think or do if they were in her place, she wondered. Given what she knew of them, she believed Renée-Caroline would discuss things with her agent and would likely have a sit-down with Date-san to discuss possible plans; Kaoru would simply break up with her beau and suffer the burden alone; and Alys would devise a diabolical scheme to turn the tables on the blackmailer by hiring someone to stalk and browbeat him instead. Chiaki snorted a smile for she had no doubt that Sora would find the scenario amusing and worthy of a plot in a novel. That thought however lit a part of her mind. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before!

Sora was still a member of the former Sekkan-ke and had ties to several public service institutions. The Kujo influence could be brought to bear on the law enforcement agencies and perhaps something could be done at the police level. The more she thought on it, the more convinced she was that it was a legitimate plan worth looking into. To that end, she sent a text message to Sora enquiring after the feasibility of such a plan.

Chapter 028 – Caught in a bottleneck

Regardless as to how one tried to escape from the past, its long, bony, icy fingers had the ability to stretch out and touch one whenever and wherever one least expected. It certainly seemed to have touched Chiaki for much of the week as she emerged from the Jindai Botanical Gardens’ biotechnology laboratories with uncharacteristically hunched shoulders. Shunning the pavements overlooking the manmade stream, she walked briskly on the mid sized grass rectangle, the fastest route back to the Tropical Collection Greenhouse. As she did so, the hood of her inner sweater was forcibly thrown back thereby blowing her pageboy cut into disarray, displaying her lined brow of anxiety and tired eyes to all and sundry. Likewise, her winter overcoat billowed furiously around her, protesting at her walking speed. The open-fronted coat would have fallen off her shoulders if her arms were not presently occupied with a large plastic box of plant samples. The staff at Jindai Botanical Gardens, who knew of Chiaki’s no-nonsense and consistently logical reputation quickly scampered away lest they were roped into assisting into helping out at her Greenhouse or her laboratory.

Her past, she had lately discovered, the past of living under the shadow of her father’s debts and never having enough money for the bare necessities of life had reared its ugly head and returned to haunt her in the form of her maternal uncle. It had been four days since her uncle – an uncle she had not had contact with for the past twelve years – went to see her asking for money. She did not know whether she should be more affronted by the fact that she was being blackmailed or that her uncle had been stalking her for some time to uncover her association with Sho. Despite the unsavoury nature of the whole business, the logical portion of her mind acknowledged the planning and research her uncle must have undertaken to successfully be in a position to threaten blackmail. Chiaki smiled wryly at herself, reflecting that she was channelling Sora’s observation of human nature and Alys’s sense of irony. If the ladies knew of her unenviable predicament and offered her some suggestion as to what she ought to do, she could perhaps bear the ordeal with some of her usual equanimity. However, as the police were unable to do anything for her as yet owing to a lack of evidence that she was being physically threatened in this harrassment, Chiaki was left to bear this cross on her own.

Entering the greenhouse and shaking her head to dispel the sense of foreboding hovering above her, Chiaki closed her eyes for a moment to savour the smells of the plants, the sounds of the crickets and the warmth of enclosure. Her repose however was soon interrupted by a coarse, haughty laugh. The sound, she soon discovered came from the low row of Equatorial Guinea shrubs outside her office where the figure of her unshaven and unkempt uncle sat in his ratty clothes and tatty hat.

“What do you want?” she asked, her eyes scanning the area for further intruders

“Is that any way to greet your dear old uncle? We be all alone, missy. No tricks up these holey sleeves,” he laughed again, unpleasantly baring his teeth in the process and thumbing at the door. “Think we can go in and have a talk? Let old Uncle Akira have a look at you and we’ll catch up on old times.”

“There were no old times. You made mother unhappy,” she stated matter-of-factly, moving to unlock the office door and showing him inside. That decision to hear him out was more borne out of her personal wish for this matter to remain private. If they continued to talk in the greenhouse, they might be seen by some of the other employees in the Botanical Gardens. Indeed, it could make her job very difficult if word got out that a relative of hers was hounding her at her and disrupting the operation and research of the Jindai Botanical Gardens.

“That’s what sickens me about her,” he complained, sitting down on a chair facing her desk. “She never thinks that she can do anything wrong.”

Slipping her hand into her drawer, ostensibly for some writing paper and the reports on the latest specimens that the greenhouse hoped to stock and transfer to other botanical gardens throughout the country, Chiaki’s groping hand soon found that which she had been searching for. She had used it frequently to take notes while tinkering about her small laboratory in her office or whenever she was out and about in the greenhouse and the grounds. It had served her very well, and had often take records of things she would have quite forgotten otherwise because she had been so caught up in noting down the changes to the plant samples. The police had stated that they would like evidence before they could decide if they should act, and if concrete proof was what they wanted, she would give them just that. Pressing her thumb over the button closest to the very top of the device, she glowered at the old man.

“Unlike thieves and gamblers who think they do everything right,” she retorted, keeping the drawer slightly open as she made a great show of reading some of the official paperwork on the import of a new strain of African violets.

“Our luck will turn because we’re flexible. You and your mother don’t know how to bend back will find yourselves to the wall. But I’m different. I take my chances and if the bad comes first, it makes sure the good coming later will be damn good. That’s why I’m here, girly. Me luck’s about to change and you’re going to bring it about by giving me the capital to start me up in business again,” said the man with all the assurance of a gambler who was desperately down on his luck.

“Business? It’s speculation! It’s gambling!”

“It’s me job.” He shrugged carelessly, trying his best not to quake in rage at the insult that had been dealt to his dignity.

“You’re a stalker, a blackmailer and a reprehensible human being,” she retorted, forcibly calming herself with a recitation of facts she knew to be true.

“I come to talk business and you call me names. The younger generation has no respect for the wisdom of its elders.”

“You are not getting anything from me.”

“I ask for a small sum to tide me over and that’s how your treat me? I come here to have a chat, friendly-like chat with my niece to talk a little business.” His smooth voice and ingratiating smile unable to hide that he was turning red from anger.

Chiaki tossed her head defiantly back and burst into a laugh cutting with contempt. “Business? How much do you pay in taxes for your profession as blackmailer?”

“20 million yen is a small sum compared to what your boyfriend makes,” grinned her uncle in a wolfish manner that would give any sane heterosexual woman an instant desire to hitch up her skirts and flee in terror.

However, as Chiaki was a woman who stuck to her guns and saw situations to their logical conclusions whatever those conclusions may be, she drew herself up to her full height and commandingly informed him, “Get out!”

“What did you say, girly?” he cocked a haughty brow of disbelief that his niece had just spoken down to him.

“Get out!” she emphasised in a louder voice. “Get out of my greenhouse!”

“You’ll regret this, missy! Pay me and me debts or I’ll sell your story about your celeb big name boyfriend and you can’t ever show your face here anymore!” he bellowed.

“It’ll be much better than skulking in shadows,” said Chiaki determinedly without any fear or visible agitation.

“One more chance is all I’ll give you to change your mind!” he huffed before loping off, slamming the door of her office behind him so dramatically that it made her test tubes and potted plant samples vibrate.

The moment they stopped shaking, Chiaki closed her eyes and let out the breath she did not know she had been holding and pulled out the cassette tape recorder from her drawer. Rewinding the device and hitting the play button, she leaned forward on her desk and rested her chin on the desk in dejection as the late conversation between her uncle and herself echoed once again in her office. Upon stopping the tape and rewinding it, she tugged at the ends of her hair behind her ears in thought.

“What’s my next step? What should I do now?” she muttered, a deep frown etching itself on her brow. She could go to the police with this, but she would have to make a copy of the tape first. While going to the police with this evidence would be prudent, her recent experience with members of the force had demonstrated that there was a real chance they would not be able to do anything. She could tell Sho, but that would only induce a panic attack and it would encourage him to be rash. It would be unconscionable for her to alarm him when she knew his character so well. There was also the option of telling the Arashi ladies and seeking their opinion. Chiaki had no doubt that they would enter into her feelings of uncertainty and anxiety for they were each keen observers of human nature in their own way and would not hesitate to offer her some sensible advice. Yes, she nodded to herself in sudden decision. She would tell the ladies when Alys was discharged from hospital and more her mordant self.

However, that still did not resolve the problem as to what she ought to do in the short term. She briefly contemplated calling up the Date-san, the formidable stolid manager behind Arashi, but wondered how he might take the news. Would he believe her? Would be help her? Would he and the Jimusho want to help her? It was just as likely for the Jimusho to close its doors to her and disavow any knowledge of her association to Sho as it was for Johnny’s Entertainment to demand that she and Sho dissolve their relationship. She snorted at the thought – she had always suspected that there was something unpalatable in the band’s management agency and now she was staring at it in the face. It was unpleasant not knowing whether Sho’s manager or indeed his Jimusho would be inclined to help in this matter, but as things stood, it seemed the most prudent option.

The whole matter of blackmail should be treated with utmost circumspection, and since she was uncertain as to whether speaking to Date-san would be a good idea, Chiaki picked up her mobile phone and sent a message to the most level-headed person in Arashi:
Jun-kun, I am in a bad pickle. Do not tell Sho. Call me back.

Scarcely fifteen minutes later when she had checked on the gene samples of the hybrid she was creating, her mobile vibrated with this reply: How bad is bad?

“I’ll tell you in person,” she input and sent.

“ABC Coffee House in Shibuya. I’m there now,” he responded.

With that assurance, Chiaki speedily threw the tape recorder into her bag, locked the greenhouse and made her way to the appointed meeting place. It was a well-known fact amongst the Arashi members and their respective partners that Jun visited the ABC Coffee House when he was reading and studying the script of a new drama or movie just as it was well-known to them that Sora always wrote the preliminary drafts of her novels and manga there. Every feeling she had revolted against unburdening herself to MatsuJun while he was occupied with thoughts of work, but there seemed little choice in the matter. She could not consult with Nino for he wouldn’t lift a finger to help, Aiba was too much a child to understand the politics behind blackmail, and Ohno had his own troubles. By elimination, that left Jun. It was not a thought that cheered her, but as it was the most sensible step she could devise, she pushed further negative thoughts out of her mind and headed to Shibuya.

NOTES

The neck of a bottle (think of old-fashioned glass bottles) limits the flow speed of the liquid coming out. In engineering, bottleneck refers to a scenario where the performance or capacity of an entire system is severely limited by a single component.

Readers should think about the significance of this explanation vis-à-vis the chapter and the story.

Chapter 024 – When the past catches up

Within five minutes of meeting the man from the shadows, Chiaki found herself at a cheap coffee place sizing up the fellow who was, likewise, sizing her up. Sitting rigidly in the wicker chair, she resisted the urge to rub her temples and chose instead to review everything she knew to be hard and certain facts about her interloper.

“You’re like your mother, moulded from the same clay. I can see why my imoutou is so proud of you – good job, good position, good financially secure boyfriend,” the man laughed. It was an unpleasant sound that came across harsh and unsavoury.

She twitched her mouth in a moue of polite acknowledgement and waited for him to come to the point. As he had no intention of doing so, she took her time in observing him.

The years had not been kind to Yoshida Akira. His lined face bespoke of numerous hardships, hard drinking, and street brawls and a dubious life of gambling in even more dubious places. Yet, he was defiant and held himself to be constantly on the cusp of turning his luck. If the harsh lines from his visage were erased, he would have looked like the man Chiaki remembered in old family photographs. While he might have passed as tolerably handsome in his youth when he had some manners to recommend him, there was no trace of those traits in him now. Despite that, he remained the constant object of his own warmest respect and devotion. Unfortunately, his strong conviction in his own superiority resulted in extremely high-handed behaviour, which instead of endearing him to his sister and her kith, only succeeded in alienating them both. This same self-confidence in his own powers and importance that had propelled him into the world of underground illegal gambling soon turned into a need for him to resort to affirm his abilities at the gaming table through the solicitation of funds.

“All I need is a generous donation from you, me obedient niece, and your fling with that celeb will not go out,” he said, baring his teeth in a dangerous smile. His fervent belief that his luck would change soon turned into an insatiable need for affirmation of his gambling abilities as well as acquisition of greater wealth.

“You’re nothing but a common blackmailer,” she replied steadily, neither giving any indication of her disgust for him nor showing any fear.

That he was a sponge was apparent to her. As if being a professional gambler wasn’t contemptible enough, Yoshida Akira now had to sponge off people! It was egregious and not to be borne. People like that were invariably spineless sorts who played family members, mistresses, friends, lovers and so on one against the other for their personal gain without the parties involved being any wiser to the sponge’s tricks. Having heard of and read of such a human being, Chiaki had a good mind to contact the police and be done with matters, for her finely honed sense of logic and fairness would not allow her to dawdle over long in unsavoury matters.

“It’s a financial transaction where you help your old uncle out. It’s for a good cause. All 20 million yen will be put to good use.” He grinned again on finishing the coffee. “You help me financially and I’ll help you to keep your boyfriend under wraps. Tell anyone about this and the tabloids will be all over you and the boyfriend.”

Not the least intimidated, Chiaki fixed him with a dispassionate look. “I do not deal with your kind. But, as you are my uncle and my mother’s only living sibling, I will give you the courtesy of not reporting you to the authorities if and only if you never appear before me again.”

“You’ll regret this, girl,” he growled, getting up from the table and putting on his hat. “This isn’t the last you’d hear from me.”

Deeming a reply unnecessary, Chiaki continued staring blankly at him until he left. As he did so, she felt her nervous energy unwind and she slumped back into her seat, tugging at the ends of her hair in thought. The old man must be more desperate than he was letting on if he did not bother with the nicety of veiling his threat. Her rational turn of mind enabled to decipher his motivations and his need for money, however, try as she might, she could not uncover the true reason that turned him to her for money. Why did he suddenly appear? Commonsense dictated that he would have gone to her mother for money first; her mother would be more likely to ply her uncle with money than she would. There was only one reason why her uncle should turn to her instead of her mother, and the reason did not please Chiaki in the least. Hoping that it wasn’t true her uncle had previously approached her mother for blackmail money, Chiaki mulled over what she should do next and arrived at two conclusions – the whole issue surrounding her uncle merited further thought, and she would have to sound out her mother.

It did not take her long to arrive home where her mother was in the progress of chasing a lizard out of the living room with a broom. Like most women of the previous generation, her mother was a house proud woman staunchly against the invasion of non-mammalian creatures in her home.

Chortling her amusement, Chiaki reminded her mother of this basic fact: “It eats insects.”

“It also leaves its droppings everywhere for me to clean,” complained her mother, sweeping the wiggling tail of the lizard out of the house in a manner that was both relieved and disgusted.

“Just like your Nii-san,” Chiaki said quietly, shooting the older woman a significant look, carefully watching every change in expression. As soon as her mother stiffened her back, she continued, “He asked me for money. To put things bluntly, he asked me for 20 million yen to keep quiet about Sho and me. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

The older woman crumpled into a chair and pinched the highest point of her nose bridge in despair, eschewing the more common methods of hiding her face. It was from her that Chiaki learnt how to face troubles head on instead of burying herself away from them. “He told me he wouldn’t go to you.”

“You taught me that men usually lie. Why should you believe your older brother?” questioned the botanist, sitting down beside her mother. “Blackmailers don’t differ from abusive husbands. Just because they say they’re sorry, doesn’t mean they won’t do it again. They always say they won’t do it again, but they always do. Let them get away with it once and the violence escalates and the demands are worse in the next go-around.”

“He’s in debt to loan sharks and the yakuza.”

“That is no excuse.”

“He wanted the money to start a business.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Iye.”

Chiaki exhaled slowly to master her exasperation as she did not believe in violent expressions of rage. Not only was such displays highly irrational, they also served no purpose whatsoever. “Why did you give him the money?”

“My clever daughter, what would you have done in my place?” The older woman turned her mournful eyes to Chiaki.

“Depends,” was the honest reply as she rose and moved towards the door. “Turn him away if he shows his face again.”

“What are you going to do?”

Tugging at the ends of her hair, she allowed a tired smile to settle on her lips, turning at the door before she stepped out of their house’s compound. “That which I think is right.”

Doing the right thing in the well-ordered mind of Nakahara Chiaki always meant two things, namely, going to the authorities and attempting to settle everything on her own into neat parcels without external assistance or well-meaning advice from parties otherwise divorced from the situation. In accordance to these self-imposed precepts, Chiaki did not contact Sho. She forbore to tell him aught not due to a want of proper feeling, but due to an excess of it. Knowing Sho as well as she did, she was aware that he would likely suffer from a panic attack, and should he have an attack, she would have to calm him. So doing would not serve to eliminate the problem of the blackmailing uncle.

With that prudent decision settled, Chiaki proceeded to nearby police station to lodge a formal report, regaling the constable there with every detail and omitting all mentions of her boyfriend. However, to her great consternation, the constable informed her that her uncle’s means of approaching her and her mother constituted ‘verbal harassment’, and under Japanese law, the complainant has no case so long as the verbal harassment did not result in physical injury. The constable further added that Chiaki could lodge reports with the police that she and her mother are being threatened, but until her uncle physically harmed them, the Nakahara women did not have a legitimate case. As Chiaki was put out to learn of this, she raised her voice a notch, which in turn drew the attention of a police sergeant at the station. This police sergeant, in his own way, took it upon himself to explain the law’s rationale behind this seemingly preposterous unwillingness to protection its citizenry. According to him, verbal harassment did not place the harassed individuals in any physical danger. Because it does not place the harassed individuals in any physical danger, it is not deemed to be an offence. Furthermore, the police also had a policy of not interfering in domestic matters. Because the matter Chiaki wished to report involved her uncle, her mother and herself, it was deemed a domestic matter, in which the police had no legal right to interfere. She was also told, much to her chagrin that she did not have a case because she could not produce conclusive evidence that she was being blackmailed or physically threatened.

Greatly disheartened and inwardly disgruntled by this revelation, Chiaki trudged home with a heavy heart and head as she conceptualised and rejected different plans as to what she should do next to mitigate the situation. Would it be more prudent to tell Sho? Should she take baby steps and settle this on her own? Should she consult with Date-san or should she consult with the other goddesses? There was no answer to her slew of questions, and Chiaki thought she finally understood what Alys meant when she said she kept things from her freeloader by necessity.

NOTES

The police stance on verbal harassment and ‘domestic matters’ exists in the certain parts of the world. For the sake of fiction, let us assume that the same holds in the confines of this story. Just know that I write about such a stance from both observation and experience.

We know something of Chiaki’s family history in the following chapters of Wages of Managing Sense:
(a) Ch 05 – where she snapped at Sho
“You don’t know what it’s like to fear when you have to move from one squalid little lodging to an even more squalid one because your father gambled away the money your mother earned! You don’t know what it’s like to fear that you will be thrown out of school because your mother can’t afford the tuition! You don’t know what it’s like to fear when you don’t know whether you can cope with schoolwork and your part-time jobs when you were never one of the top students in your class! You have never known real fear in your spoilt, rich boy life, Sakurai-san! So don’t you talk about fear!”
(b) Ch 11 – where Sho says this of Chiaki’s family troubles:
“Over lunch, I discovered that she was an only child, devoted to her mother, and despised her late scoundrel of a father. I could not fault her there. A man who gambled away the household monies and was irresponsible to his family didn’t deserve any affection or respect. Beyond that brief spot of anger that flashed in her eyes when she spoke on her father, she was perfectly amiable.”

From these two sections, readers should have picked up what Chiaki’s stance towards men like her late father and Yoshida Akira would be.

Imoutou = Japanese for younger sister.

Chapter 023 – A looming shadow

“Backtrack and remind me again why you think Umebayashi Saeko now plans to work on the girls when it can so easily become a catfight? No woman wants to be in a catfight! It would be pointless when an across-the-table talk would do. Have you any proof?” Chiaki questioned impatiently as she jabbed at a crouton in her salad. It was one of those rare opportunities where Sho had time between his latest drama and various television commitments to have an evening out with her. Although she did not mind that they rarely went out, Chiaki sometimes minded how dependent Sho was on her to sort out his thoughts on any Arashi related issue. She knew he could not help it because Sho, like most people, could not see through a matter clearly if he was embroiled in it. It was just like Sho to be in the thick of things if it concerned Arashi, she reflected, and she did not reproach him for it. Her rationale was that there was no reason to reproach someone who had such a pleasing and affectionate disposition towards his friends.

Sho cut off a portion of his spring roll and placed it on Chiaki’s plate, wondering how long she was going to poke at the croutons. Despite his friends’ teasing that he was turning out to be a henpecked husband, he liked to believe that he and his Chiaki discussed everything. Neither did he ever deny that he quite relied on her commonsense and her candour to get him through the toughest situations. On the contrary, Sho firmly believed in rationality and facts and respected those who kept their calm in trying times which would have induced a panic attack in him.

“You know she went to see Alys yesterday,” he revealed. “This spells a crisis not just for Arashi but for the wives as well. Umebayashi is going to put us all in a spot.”

“Alys wouldn’t let Umebayashi get to Kaoru through us,” Chiaki reminded him.

“From what I gathered, Sora-san and Alys-san gave her a rich telling to. They’ve road blocked her temporarily. She can’t be kept from her purpose indefinitely. The woman is a tour de force, wifey,” Sho admitted, taking a large mouthful of spring roll. “Here’s the thing – she sent Alys an arrangement of roses.”

“What kind?” she asked out of genuine curiosity as she gathered the remnants of the salad onto her fork.

“The professor pronounced them to be full blown Apothecary’s roses and white York roses placed over rose buds. She had Nino torch them because she hates roses,” he explained, shaking his head in bewilderment at Alys’s violent response to the Saeko’s floral offering.

Were Chiaki a less well-mannered woman, she would have spit out the last of her salad. However, she kept her disapproving shock under wraps, swallowed hard and turned a serious eye on her boyfriend. “Roses in full bloom over rose buds mean secrecy. The red rose of Lancaster or rosa gallica and the white rose of York or rosa alba bound together mean war.”

“Which means?” asked Sho, losing the tapestry of his beloved’s thoughts.

“If you know how to piece what I have just said together, which you do not, you would know that Umebayashi has indirectly declared a secret war.”

“War?” Sho nearly bellowed, and he would have if he did not remember that he was still in a public place, and bringing attention to himself was not something he wanted to do unless he wanted fangirls chasing him from one end of Tokyo to the other. “War on Kaoru? On the princesses? On Arashi? On Ohno-kun?”

“It doesn’t pleasure me to say this, but I don’t know,” Chiaki sighed, a frown forming at her brow. “The only concrete fact we have is that Umebayashi is up to something. I get the unhealthy obsession with Ohno-kun part; I even sympathise with her wanting him back. But why drag the goddesses in into it?”

“Not to digress, but you girls call yourselves goddesses?”

“Sora’s idea of a joke, inspired by Kaoru-chan’s artistic interpretation of modern womanhood. We can’t call ourselves girls when we’re pushing thirty. None of us are Olympians, you needn’t worry.”

Unsure as to whether that was a good thing, Sho wisely chose not to pursue the topic and brought the discussion to the issue at hand. “Umebayashi has been at Central more often than she should be for an ordinary shareholder. How far will she go before she will transfer her shares to voting stock? She is slowly pushing the boundaries of her rights as shareholder. Do you think I should ask manager-san or Johnny-san to initiate a lobster trap to block the potential transfer to voting stock?”

“The head of your employment agency will know what to do. If it comes down to buying the drizzle men, you could just say no,” Chiaki advised. “Present a united front to Umebayashi-san and she’ll have a difficult time ploughing through all five of you.”

“We’re all knee deep in women trouble with Umebayashi hovering over us and Ohno,” he sighed and shook his head. “Nino has a fly buzzing around him. You remember I told you about our co-star for Resurrected Butterflies?”

Chiaki wiped the corner of his mouth as she twitched her lips to the side in anticipation of the bad news she felt certain Sho was about to relay. “The one he called a mantrap?”

“The very same.” He nodded gravely. “Ichinose Haruyo – she’s flaunting and throwing herself at Nino. He was right about her, and he’s insufferably smug about it.”

“If Nino makes eyes at Ichinose-san, we can count the days to the end of his life and read in the papers that his corpse had been eaten by fire ants.”

“He hasn’t done anything. To his credit, he has a low opinion of the young Ichinose.”

“It doesn’t mean he won’t do anything! Has he taken her up on her…generous offer?” Her eyes flashed in warning, and signalled to Sho that it would behove him to keep Nino away from Chiaki if they should meet up. Seeing how Chiaki was at the moment, Sho instinctively knew that she would give Nino a stern lecture regardless as to whether he had sampled another woman’s wares.

“Nino?” He burst out laughing, genuinely tickled by the suggestion. Nino’s indifference to women throwing themselves at him and blatant unconcern for women’s extravagant professions of love was legendary in JE Central. It was preposterous to even think that the little sarcastic bugger would be tempted by Haruyo’s paltry tricks. “Let me tell you, wifey, the mantrap doused the front of her shirt with water when she fetched the drinks and Nino didn’t even look up from his game. He only muttered ‘pathetic’ under his breath and turned away. It wasn’t even worth his time to flick his wrist. He likes his women older…”

“With you staring in appreciation in her assets, he wouldn’t have to.” Though Chiaki’s tone was teasing, the pinch she delivered to her beau’s arm was anything but.

Sho paused to pout and rub his arm. “I wasn’t interested in…” He paused to make an illustrative gesture with his hands before his chest. “It was a good bra that gave the front the lift-and-squeeze effect. Don’t hit me! Sora said a good bra did that! I was quoting her! I’m an old married man. Old married men must listen to their wives or they lose custody rights to their bougainvillea daughters.”

Her only response was to rub the afflicted area she had pinched earlier when they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the pavement. “What are we going to do with the Ninomiyas?”

“Unless Nino gives me reason to suspect him, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Sho stated decisively with an emphatic nod before breaking into a wide grin.

“Very prudent.”

“I learnt prudence from my wifey.”

“Flatterer! Alys would be amused to learn of your acquisition of prudence.” She tossed her head back in a peal of merry laughter.

“I’m a surprise to everyone. Come, wifey, the News Zero studio awaits me,” he smiled back at her when they got to the car. “Want me to drop you at the hospital?”

She shook her head. “You’ll be late. I’d like to walk a little.”

“Your loss,” he teased, getting into the car, knowing that she was indeed right about him running late if he made a detour. “Give the professor my best.”

Waving to him as he drove off, the botanist wondered why she had been feeling disconcerted for the past few days. It was an irrational feeling. She had not done anything reprehensible; neither had she any skeletons in her closet. Why should she be disconcerted? The feeling had suddenly descended on her when she was in her greenhouse at Jindai Botanical Garden late in the previous week. She had noticed that transplanted pots and decorative rocks outside the Tropical Collection Greenhouse had been moved. But she dismissed the notion that there could be anything sinister in their misalignment. It was probably an employee of the botanical gardens who moved the pots and the rocks, she reasoned to herself while moving off in the direction of the bus stop. She was so absorbed in these thoughts that she missed the emergence of a shadow from between the cracks of two buildings as she passed them.

The shadow elongated and revealed itself to be man in a tattered coat and dingy hat pulled low over his eyes. “Nakahara Chiaki?” he said, throwing the ends of a cigarette onto the pavement.

Without answering, she turned around as she slipped a hand in her pocket for her mobile. The stranger approached her and doffed his hat, making a mockery of the old respectful gesture that men in days of old used to greet women in their acquaintance. One look at the heavily lined face was all it took for her to recognise the figure.

“You! What is it you want?” she gasped in shock, not quite believing her eyes, and without her knowledge, her initial plan to telephone for help has quite fled her mind now that she saw who the old man was.

NOTES

Careful readers would have noticed a shadowy figure lurking about when Chiaki and Sho last spoke at the botanical garden in an earlier chapter of Zugzwang. Look for the reference yourselves.

Chapter 020 – Hidden hostilities

There is an old adage that states one is best able to determine a person’s true mettle under pressure. Conversely, how one held up under exacting circumstances is determined by one’s disposition and sometimes, one’s character. To the students of human nature, studying the different reactions of people under the same trying circumstances was a fascinating and profitable enterprise. Nino and Jun were two such people who enjoyed observing the evolution and foibles of human nature. Where the first exploited what he gleamed from others’ characters to his private advantage out of the belief that the stupidity of human beings were to be derided, the second used his knowledge as extenuating factors in tempering his behaviour to certain individuals from a belief that others would be civil to him so long as he was civil to them. Thus, when these two men arrived at the University of Tokyo Hospital with the rest of Arashi, they reacted differently when faced with the scene before them.

Neither of them had to instil order, for order was clearly present, due to the good offices of Chiaki who had prevailed on the ladies not to overly distress themselves lest they distract the attending physicians from their work. This tactic of appealing to reason had by and large worked. Kaoru was doing her best to restrain her tears as she clung to Renée-Caroline’s arm; and Renée-Caroline was studying a pattern on the floor with more interest than she felt. The only notable exception to this picture of calm was Sora. Her temper was already very nearly flying off the handle (and aggravated by both Alys’s unfortunate condition and Kaoru’s very apparent distress) so much so that the redoubtable Chiaki was at that moment attempting to calm her by physically holding her back as she lashed out mercilessly at a doctor who had emerged from the room.

“I specifically requested for Shikishima sensei! He’s the best in the field! Where is your head of pulmonology?” asked Sora viciously, desperately wanting to jab the doctor before her in the chest.

The balding doctor cracked a toothpaste advertisement smile as he reasoned with her, “But he’s not available today.”

“Do you know who I am?” she continued waspishly. “Kujo Sora. My family makes sizeable contributions to this wretched hospital!”

“My colleagues and I are doing all we can to see to Teng-san’s needs. We need confirmation from our laboratories on our secondary diagnosis. In the meantime, we have given her antibiotics for the pneumonia,” explained the doctor.

Sora fumed and folded her arms, fixed the physician with a look that would in normal circumstances make grown men whimper and lesser men cry. “Are we going to sit around and wait for you to poke needles in her and run tests when she could have the best pulmonologist in Japan treating her?”

“Sora, please, get a hold of yourself,” Chiaki recommended, valiantly trying to prevent the novelist from drawing any attention to their group, especially since Jun and the rest of the band were there. While it was true that they were in disguise, there was still the off chance that they could be discovered. Being a prudent woman, Chiaki was not prepared to take that risk. She whispered that reservation to Sora and thus managed to calm her down, though it did nothing to abate her colourful and pungent invective against the medical tribe.

As Sora’s disagreeable nature was well-known to Jun (who found this aspect of her charming), he did not bat an eyelid. Judging that Chiaki had things well under control, he went into the hospital room, heavy with the clinical too-sanitised smell of every type of cleaning agent known to man. He had expected there to be two machines hooked up to her, not this vision of a profusion of tubes running around the top of her hand, one of which was attached to a 0.9% sodium chloride and glucose solution bag, an oxygen machine with the ends clipped to her nostrils with the setting at 3 litres, and a small blue tap on the top of her hand standing out above the profusion of tubes around her.

Somehow, she was sitting up somewhat and trying to write. A task which he noted looked more strenuous and painful than it actually was given her trembling hand. He frowned at her laboured breathing as the now pasty academic paused in her writing to look up with a faint lip curl and lifted a finger in salutation. If he was this taken aback by this change in the usually acerbic philosopher, he wondered how Nino would take it. Deciding that he should (out of politeness) ask after her to see if she was any better, he cleared his throat. Before he could speak however, the machine beside the bag of sodium chloride and glucose solution started beeping. It was so loud that Aiba and Sho burst in asking jointly, “What’s that noise?”

“Pleur-evac machine. It drowns Sora’s voice,” Alys replied breathlessly, a brow raised at the sight of two other Arashi members.

“Eh?” Aiba asked, knocking the machine and shaking it for good measure in the hope that it would quieten down. “The words ‘air’ and ‘completion’ are flashing.”

“Don’t,” Sho said sternly, holding out a hand to stop Aiba’s continued assault on the machine. “It drains her lungs. She needs it.”

Aiba let his gaze drift to the woman and he started bawling on Sho’s shoulder.

Running a hand distractedly through, Jun began again, “Ano ne, Nee-san, are you okay?”

“Do I look okay to you?” she snapped weakly, flicking her fingers at him in annoyance, and drawing an almost perceptible smirk from him. Returning to writing on a sheaf of printed papers, she went on, “Are the other two here as well? If Ohno’s here, tell him to take Kaoru home. She’s distraught. Please apologise to everyone for the trouble…” she paused to breathe and to cough. “Sora should be told I’m fine so that she cease her one-woman operation to mass massacre the hospital staff. Sho-kun, take Chiaki home, she looks tired and get her something to eat that’s high in iron, she’s been complaining of having a troublesome period. Baby-chan, take Renée-Caroline to the Opera House; she’s conducting Die Fledermaus… Get her something light to eat. Tell the freeloader to phone my solicitors on the English side…”

“You don’t have to act normal. Rest and recover. Our manager will ensure that you will not be disturbed and…” Sho told her, his frown lines deepening at the professor’s innate sense of responsibility.

“Tosh! I’m not the freeloader; I do not know how to act,” she replied in ragged breaths. “Incidentally, is he here?”

“He’s with Riida somewhere out there,” wailed Aiba, waving a vague hand in the direction of the door while wiping his runny nose on Sho’s sleeve.

She pushed her glasses higher on her nose; her face paler and its expression unreadable. “I want to see him.” She curled her lips disdainfully at the three men staring at each other and then at her, not quite believing that she had said what she just did. “What are you standing here for?” she hissed slowly to minimise the pain in her chest as she spoke, not knowing that it made her accent more distinct and had given her words a serpentine aspect. “Renée-Caroline has an orchestra to conduct. Kaoru needs to go home and sleep, and I want Kazu. Hop to it.”

As Sho and Aiba stood gawking at her (the latter shocked out of his crying in the process), Jun realised that he would take charge or nothing would get done. Why it fell him to him to take up the reins of control in times of crises, he did not know, and even if he did know, he would have taken charge of the situation anyway. Sho could have a panic attack and induce another crying fit in Aiba, which would in turn leave the maestra without swift transportation to the Opera House. This would in turn stress Chiaki who was trying to keep Sora calm, and further agonise Kaoru whose tender heart did not like to see anyone suffer. He gave Alys a quick nod of assent and ushered Sho and Aiba out to the waiting ladies and Ohno. Their leader was, to his credit, sensitive to the apparent distress of his fiancée and comforting her in his arms.

“She’ll be okay; you’d see. She’d be thwacking Nino with books in no time,” Ohno soothed, pouting sadly.

“They suspect lupus in addition to the pneumonia. Lupus!” Sora huffed indignantly. “They’re not even sure! How’s that for efficiency?”

Jun nodded his agreement at the want of proper clarity in this most notable of hospital and attempted a weak half-smile at his novelist. “What she has or hasn’t, ne, is for the doctors to decide, ne? Eto… Alys Nee-san will not rest easy until we follow up on her few instructions, ne. Aiba must take Renée-Caroline to the Opera House ne for work. It’s the right thing to do, eh? And Riida must take Kaoru home to rest, ne.” The others surprisingly acceded fairly easily to the scheme as they nodded. “Chiaki and Sho can keep her company, ne, until Sora and I find...”

He paused abruptly on espying a shadow that quickly darted behind a wall. It was familiar and he had a fair idea of who it was. He clenched a fist and mentally derided Umebayashi Saeko for stooping so low as to follow them. One of these days, she would go too far and he would give her more than an earful. However, he decided that acting now would be too premature, for he was still nowhere close to uncover the gist of Saeko’s greater schema of affairs. Jun swallowed hard and pressed his lips together thereby keeping himself admirably in check by asking, “Chotto, where’s the miserly pustule?”

From her current strategic position behind the wall, Saeko heard Ohno’s reply that Nino was in the stairwell behind the ward they were in. Secure in the belief that she was unnoticed by the party a short distance ahead of her, and secure in the unreasonable belief of her own superiority, she did not pause to consider that she could have been spotted by one of the Arashi members or that she was already spotted by MatsuJun. No, those thoughts were nowhere in her mind as she was too busy seething at Ohno’s very affectionate manner of comforting Kaoru and turning the gears of her mind as she tried to go through the who’s who amongst the Arashi girlfriends. She had overheard everything, having eavesdropped on part of the conversation and discerned enough to know which lady was involved with which member.

“That must be the fiancée,” she muttered to herself, gritting her teeth at the gentle way Ohno draped his arm over Kaoru’s shoulder when the couple as well as Aiba and Renée-Caroline passed her on the way to the lift that would bring them downstairs. Fortunately for her, they were oblivious to her presence, and she could watch the rest of the party to recap the facts she had gathered.

She had already overheard that the bat eared woman they called Renée-Caroline worked at the Opera House and was with Aiba; that was enough information for a background check. Kujo Sora, she knew by reputation for being a member of the former aristocracy, and twin sister to Kujo Sakihisa, an upcoming politician. That woman looked like she was with Jun, and would be, Saeko reflected, someone she could talk to on an equal footing. However beyond learning the personal names of the tomboyish woman, Ohno’s prettily helpless fiancée, and the rest were Chiaki, Kaoru and Alys respectively, and learning that the patient was a professor and Ohno’s fiancée was with Geidai, she knew nothing more.

It was an information imbalance she immediately sought to rectify by approaching the information desk at that level to enquire after the patient in room 328. The reply provided her with the missing pieces of the puzzle as records indicated that the patient, one Teng Alys, was formally admitted by Nakahara Chiaki, and Morimoto Kaoru has asked for a change in the patient’s antibiotics. As that was all she needed to know, and she went away feeling smug. She had no intention of exposing them. To do so would be folly and bring the wrath of her JE Central, and she had no wish to make an enemy of the company she had just gotten in bed with. No, instead she would make the most of the information she had gathered and put them to work for her like she did with the people in her employ.

Thus, armed with her newly acquired knowledge, she walked away and made her way out, phoning her personal secretary. “Vyrubov, I have something I want you to check up …” As she laid out the details of what she expected to be done, Saeko reflected that it was good to be the head of a conglomerate with various resources at her disposal.

NOTES

Kujo Sakihisa was mentioned very briefly in a blink-and-miss fashion in Ch 12 of From Cover to Cover.

Chapter 019 – Where wisdom listens

“Which of you is the manager?” began Alys without preamble, narrowing her eyes at the sight of just two men in the kitchen and the state it was in. Disordered would be the best way to describe it. Understaffed would be another, for what sort of eatery only had one cook and needed the manager to help out. Alys adjusted her glasses and curled her lips contemptuously at the sight of empty cans of cream of mushroom soup in the rubbish bun. What sort of establishment doesn’t make its own soup! How absurd! Even she, who did not consider herself as capable in the kitchen as her freeloader, could manage to make her own cream of mushroom soup. For the long wait time she and the ladies had to endure, she had expected near gourmet class cuisine, and here the establishment heated things from aluminium and tin cans! Outrageous! She wasn’t going to stand for it.

“I am. How may I help the valued customer?” responded a portly man in a suit that was too tight for him, looking up from the pot of mushroom soup.

The academic’s eyes flitted from the surroundings to the man as she silently appraised him, not bothering to hide her disdain for the way in which the eatery was run. “May I enquire how you run your business? Table 28 waited half an hour for our orders, and your serving boy had the temerity to request we order pastries while waiting. How long more do we have to wait, pray tell?” demanded Alys between ragged coughs as she grabbed the counter to keep the façade of her upright posture from cracking under the painfulness of each heaving breath.

“I am very sorry, madam…”

“Try another tactic, madam is waiting to be impressed.” The professor scowled.

“If madam is unhappy…” the manager gave her a curt bow.

“Points of information: One – madam is displeased with your appalling service; two -- madam is furious with the cavalier manner in which she is treated in this pathetic excuse of an eatery,” corrected she in an artic tone, swivelling her head to the waiter who had just entered with a new order. Without warning, she grabbed him by the elbow and continued to address the manager between coughs, “This impertinent pup suggested we order additional items while the kitchens prepare our order, and then had the audacity to present us with incorrect orders. If this is the height of sophistication in dining, I have a good mind to write a most scathing review of this establishment! First and foremost, we ordered the bisque, not your cream of mushroom soup.”

Perhaps cowed by her evenly modulated tone of her vociferous accusations and the thinly veiled threat, the manager was sufficiently aware that he was not dealing with a customer who could be appeased by any old excuse. “The sous chef is in the toilet doing his er… business and can’t make the bisque.”

“So much so that we waited half an hour for soup from a can? Bah bloody humbug!” She flicked a wrist as she heaved a heavy cough and tried to ignore the excruciating pains in her chest. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that the apprentice has no idea how to make soup or salads? Pray, inform this ignorant critic, how long does it take to prepare food in this establishment? Forty-five minutes? An hour?”

“With our sous chef in the toilet, we do what we can…” shrugged the apprentice chef.

Seeing how he had a death wish, Alys trained her eyes on him and curled her lips contemptuously. “Are you so incompetent that you do not know what to do in the kitchen? You must be a gentleman of leisure to have all the time in the world, but some of us have to work. We are not going to wait indefinitely for our orders in a place with bad service!” She paused to allow her lungs to vent a cough as she struggled to catch her breath. As soon as she had enough breath with which to inhale, she let fly in the coldest possible manner to the manager. “My good man, your staff are incompetent and rude. This boy gave us coffee éclairs instead of chocolate, and he apparently expected five women to share one napkin. I am all for saving the environment, but this place takes the biscuit in going too far!”

The manager turned to the waiter, incredulity stamped clearly on his features. “One napkin for a table of five?”

“You told us to save on serviettes with one per table…” stammered the waiter nervously.

“One per customer, not one per table!” barked the manager.

The academic interrupted with cough and faint smirk of amusement at the increasing discomfiture of both the manager and the waiter, “Then there is the small matter where our orders were ‘mucked up’, shall we say. There are five hungry and very busy women who are waiting on their orders, and have been waiting for…” She paused and checked her watch. “The past forty minutes. I can see from the state of affairs in this domain that future waiting would be an exercise in futility. We will be taking our business elsewhere, just as your sous chef is doing. We will pay the bill for that sludge you call mushroom soup and that alone in acknowledgement that the first oversight on our order was a mistake. The second mistake on the éclairs does not deserve such consideration. I expect the bill at our table in a timely fashion. Good day to you.”

“Matte kudasai!” the manager called out in sudden panic at the customer’s apparent livid coolness as she spun around on her heels. He bowed apologetically to her coughing figure. “There will be no charge. We apologise for the inconvenience and for madam’s dissatisfaction.”

A self-satisfied smirk formed on her lips when Alys heard those words, for that was exactly the outcome she had wished. Turning her head to the side to gaze dispassionately at the manager, she raised a brow, pushed up her glasses, stifled a cough and said nothing. To all observers, she would just be an irate customer disgusted with the service at the eatery, and she made sure by her silence that the manager followed her out of the kitchens still apologising and cancelling their need to pay a single yen.

The other ladies at table 28 heard the portly manager’s profuse apologises, and were torn between amazement and amusement at what had transpired. Kaoru, bless her heart, was stunned that it was possible not to pay for the soup she had consumed. Chiaki and Sora had anticipated this turn of events, and one shook her head with a snigger while the other cracked a smile of approval at the professor as she approached their table. Although Renée-Caroline strongly disapproved of (what she suspected were) the strong arm tactics it took to bring out this outcome, she raised her glass of water at Alys in a silent toast to her incorrigibility.

“You’re despicable,” Chiaki teased, shaking a finger at her.

“You wound me! I’m merely disreputable,” deadpanned the philosopher as she neared the table. “Shall we head elsewhere? Kaoru has to eat. Anywhere would be preferable to this…” However as she was about to say more, she began hacking away again.

This time the coughing jag was so violent that she could not breathe. As she flicked her wrist and dismissed the solicitous concerns of the other women, she realised belatedly in a detached fashion that she very likely had miscalculated and could well be dying from pneumonia before she had made the final corrections to her Hong Kong conference paper. In the same detached manner, she observed that the blood she was coughing up was a bright red and her heart was thrashing wildly with lack of air. She even went so far as to imagine that she could hear her alveoli popping one by one. Perhaps she would die of heart failure or bronchial apoplexy, she mused wryly as she fell forward; after all, she had always held the opinion that one of her chronic ailments would kill her one day. A shame she couldn’t see her mother, grandmother and annoying freeloader before she died, but she hadn’t factored them in either. An oversight, her mind reminded her, and to her credit, she would have smirked self-deprecatorily at herself if she could. But her mind soon wandered again to mundane observations. That the floor of the eatery was moderately clean gave her reason to be vaguely pleased she would not die in dirty surroundings were her last thoughts before specks of stars circled her eyes and she blacked out.

When the shock of seeing one of their own fall at their feet without warning finally died off, Chiaki swept in with cool commanding logic and sought to restore order among her companions while Sora called for an ambulance.

“Alys Nee-chan isn’t…” Kaoru’s voice trembled as she tried her best not to cry.

“Non, she is all bile, hein, far more tenacious than she seems,” assured Renée-Caroline, as she rubbed Alys’s temples with ointment Kaoru had offered.

“I can see one benefit to this,” Chiaki stated with all the calm of a person used to dealing with panic attacks and crises.

“Oh?” Sora replied, disconnecting the call to the hospital and dialling another number.

Chiaki fixed the novelist with a serious look as the latter pressed the mobile phone to her ear. “She’ll finally be treated for pneumonia whether she likes it or not.”

“Aussi, her caro spouso would be glad. Masaki told me Monsieur Ninomiya has been tetchy of late,” Renée-Caroline muttered, her clouded brow clearing as if by magic from the thought that her beau would be much pleasanter if his sarcastic friend were to be himself again.

Whether Nino would be relieved was unknown as he was occupied with the rest of Arashi in the recording studio in JE Central, tetchier than his usual acerbic self, willing himself not to snarl at the Umebayashi Saeko woman who was hawk-eyeing them. He sneezed once and rubbed his nose, wondering if his little professor was thinking of him. Or, he thought with a smirk of delight, she could be insulting him, cursing him under her breath and threatening to do unspeakable horrors to him. Well, so long as she thinking of him and blackening his name (even if no one believed her), he was content. And that thought did make him feel marginally better, for it indicated to him that she still cared enough to cast aspersions on his character. His reverie at being the receiving end of his lady’s harsh tongue was unfortunately broken by a voiceover from the sound mixing booth in the studio complaining that one of them was too shrill and drowning out Ohno’s voice.

The rest of the band members looked at each other, annoyance and impatience etched on their features. They had all been doing very well and were almost done with recording the last bonus track of their new single until Saeko came in to observe them. Officially, she was there on business to oversee the post production process where the music would be recorded on her new line of scratch-proof and copy-proof CDs. However, all of Arashi knew her true motivation was to see Ohno and to hear him sing. She was so transparent that it was almost pitiful, and if the situation were removed from the band, MatsuJun would laugh at the ludicrous near scandalous way in which the head of the Umebayashi Group was making a fool of herself over an oblivious man who was too polite to tell her to go away. However, for the moment, he was struggling to keep a tight lid on his anger. MatsuJun was never one to suffer fools gladly, and presently, Saeko was being both foolish and annoying by interrupting the recording process with her demands. It was a sentiment that was shared by all the members of Arashi, for they were doing extremely well all morning and afternoon, and had only slipped up when she showed up fifteen minutes ago to commandeer the sound booth in the recording studio.

In Jun’s opinion, she had no business being there when she was clearly ignorant of the minutiae of the music business. Moreover, despite his slight sympathy for those who were thwarted in love, he could not bring himself to feel sorry for her when she was so irresponsible as to cut short a meeting with the board of directors of her various subsidiaries just to attend a recording session. His frayed temper had almost all but worn down when she suggested another take. Arashi’s manager had been unable to pre-empt her last order as he was on the mobile and had stormed out the booth with a heavily darkened brow. Seeing that Date-san was occupied, MatsuJun threw down his headphones and was prepared to barge into the sound booth with a sharp reprimand against Saeko’s unwarranted highhandedness – a reprimand that stilled and dissolved when the commanding voice of their manager resounded in the studio.

“Matsumoto, you have a call! Now! Everyone else break!” huffed Date-san gruffly as he barged into the studio proper. Dropping his voice to a low hiss as he clapped Jun on the shoulder and handed him the mobile phone, he continued, “Sora-sama on the line.”

Nodding his thanks, Jun followed his friends out of the studio, relieved to get away from Saeko’s unblinking metallic, predatory eyes as she ranted over the way they sounded on the recording. Now that was a Queen Bitch if there ever was one, snorted Jun inwardly to himself while sauntering out with his friends under their watchful manager’s gaze. As they adjourned to a nearby stairwell where Nino and Ohno could have quick cigarettes and Aiba could regale Sho with the latest developments in the manga he had been following, Jun smiled at his friends (and at Ohno who offered him a cigarette) before speaking into the receiver. “Where’s the fire? Or did you miss the irresistible me?”

Sora laughed nervously over the connection, too nervously in the youngest member’s opinion. “Stop being a pompous arse, Jun-chan, this is an emergency. I’ve explained to Uncle Date. We’ve had a small incident and are at the University of Tokyo Hospital.”

“Were you in a motor accident? I thought your doctors were with the Tokyo Memorial Hospital! Who’s with you? I’ll take off from work now. Do you want me to bring you anything? I’m going to you now, okay?” he enquired anxiously in one breath, puffing very quickly and indecorously on his cigarette.

“It’s not me; it’s Alys. She had a turn for the worse. What is Ninomiya’s mood like today? Renée-Caroline mentioned him being ‘tetchy’ in Aiba’s estimation,” Sora went on; the desultory manner in which she made the conversation, rendering her well-hidden distress apparent to Jun.

“What’s going on, Sora-chan? What’s wrong with Alys Nee-san? Did she finally see the doctor for her cough?” He lowered his voice instinctively so as to calm her.

“Sort of. She had a type of seizure associated with bacterial pneumonia. She’s been warded. Chiaki’s sending Sho the details now.”

It did not take long for the gravity of the situation to sink in, and Jun considered his next step while posing a question and running a nervous hand through his hair, “What did the doctors say?”

“The bungling buffoons refuse to say anything. They’re hooking up machines to her – one to pump the blood and fluids from her lungs, another to help her breathing. Heads are going to roll if the head of the pulmonology department does not arrive soon,” Sora snapped disagreeably, exhaling cigarette smoke from her end of the line as she sat beside a weepy and visibly distraught Kaoru in the open air part of the hospital canteen.

“Keep cool, I’ll be with you soon, ne,” Jun advised, Aiba’s gasp as he read something off Sho’s mobile device not lost upon him. He nodded when Aiba and Sho turned around and showed him the message from Chiaki.

“It’s a miracle we’re not wailing and tearing our hair out. Commandeer Aiba’s car. Someone has to take Renée-Caroline to the Opera House for her performance tonight, and we need transport for Kaoru. She’s beside herself with worry.”

“Hang in there, I’ll try to get clearance for us to leave, or failing that, I’d get clearance for Nino,” he replied and pushed a button to disconnect the call.

“Clearance for what? I don’t need clearance for anything. All I have to do is contrive.” Nino smirked, placing a fresh cigarette at his lips.

“For us to leave now,” Sho answered grimly, patting Aiba whose eyes were already watery. “The professor is with the doctors and…”

“About time,” Nino snorted dismissively, rising and pushing open the door of the stairwell. “What? What are you staring at?”

“What I am staring at? Your stingy empress had difficulty breathing and has been hospitalised. The doctors aren’t saying anything,” Jun bellowed vociferously, following Nino out the door and waving for their manager to approach.

“If they’re not saying anything, maybe she’s dead,” Nino laughed as he lit the cigarette. Although his tone was sarcastic and his air was of careless unconcern, he was inwardly worried. The phrase, ‘Kami-sama, if you take her away, I’ll go to hell and drag her back so that I can kill her for turning me out’ repeated itself like a mantra in his head.

“Mama can’t breathe on her own and you’re saying things like that!” wailed Aiba, giving Nino a look of pure contempt before crying on Sho’s shoulder.

“Mah, that’s enough,” Ohno interjected, tugging at Nino’s elbow in a bid to curb the cutting remark that was on his tongue.

“What are you saying, baby-chan?” sneered Nino, masking his internal anxiety with a carefully blank face.

“She’s on the respirator and the pleur-evac. It could mean her lungs have collapsed,” Sho clarified with a frown, watching Jun return their manager the mobile phone.

Pointedly ignoring the conversations in the background, Jun addressed Date-san, “May we go? Nino, at the very least, should go. The professor is out for the count.”

“Sora-sama told me. Okay, listen up, boys, you’re done in the studio. We can cut and mix out the imperfections. But I want everyone back in again bright and early tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?” manager-san gruffly acceded, checking his watch.

Everyone save Nino gave signs of assent. Eschewing conventionality, he flicked a wrist and snapped (to appalled gasps of Aiba and Ohno), “Damn witch can’t take care of herself; serves her right. Let her fester, rot and die or whatever. See if I care.” After a judicious pause, he turned around as if he remembered something of minor importance. “Oi, Sho-san, do we have filming today for Resurrected Butterflies?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” came the answer as well as disapproving looks.

“Good,” Nino said decisively, taking a few steps away and then turning back at the gaping men staring at him. “Close your mouths. You want flies to lay their eggs there or something? Will someone with a car take me to the damn hospital to see who or what is trying to kill my woman?”

Date-san nodded at the Arashi members as they collected their things and left, much to the disapproval of Saeko. Having overheard enough of their conversation from her position behind an obliging wall, her interest in the band members’ private lives was piqued. It surprised her that someone as emotionally lacking as Nino (which was how she saw him) could have a crumpet stashed away on the side mildly ridiculous. However, clearer thought brought a question to her mind, and it was on that question that she decided to make her next move.

“Spare the rod and you’ll spoil those boys,” she told him, staring at their retreating figures with a wooden expression as she folded her arms. “I came all this way here after an important meeting to hear them sing and you let them go after they made a mess of the last take.”

“They’ve been at it all day, and were good until a presence began nitpicking. They need a break,” answered Date-san coolly.

She harrumphed and stormed away at his impertinence. As Saeko was not good at not getting what she wanted, she resorted to the only thing she could do under the present circumstances – undertake reconnaissance.

NOTES & Glossary

Non = no

Mais = but/however

Aussi = also

Caro spouso = lit. Italian for dear spouse (used to speak of a male spouse; use cara sposa if spouse is female). In classical music, most things are written in Italian and as Renee-Caroline is a conductor formerly based in Europe, it would not be far-fetched that she should know Italian on top of her native French.

Chapter 018 – Where knowledge speaks

The next day had more promise for the Arashi princesses than it did for their men who were suffering the ignominy of working around a multitude of restrictions in the recording studio as well as the television station. By a stroke of luck, the ladies were mostly free between twelve to three that Friday afternoon. after a dry run with the Tokyo City Metropolitan Opera, Renée-Caroline left each section of the orchestra to conduct its own section rehearsals before the actual performance that night; Sora had nothing planned that day beyond writing at the ABC Coffee House; the Tropical Collections Greenhouse was closed for a pest control check, leaving Chiaki free for the day; Alys, whose last lecture ended at noon, agreed to leave aside the final edit of her paper for the Hong Kong conference so as to meet the ladies for lunch and conversation; and Kaoru only had teaching assistant duties for the day at Geidai which would end at noon. With this fortunate state of affairs, the day did indeed look set to be promising. Rather, the day would have been promising if the weather was not overcast.

Fortunately, Kaoru was not of this depressing mindset as she huddled under her winter coat and cotton crocheted cloche hat, and made her way out of the Geidai (or Tokyo University of the Arts) gates towards the street leading to the nondescript public house favoured by struggling art students. She was meeting the ladies for luncheon at the establishment owing to its proximity to Geidai. Due to the icy early February rain, there were hardly any pedestrians, save for the very dubious, Kaoru thought with a giggle as a group of men walked unhurriedly by and disappeared into the Ueno Park entrance close to the main road.

As the café was further down the road, she quickened her steps until she entered the small but clean establishment, where amongst the numerous customers, two ladies were safely ensconced at a table under a print of Monet’s water lilies. One had reading glasses on and appeared to mumbling to herself as she wrote; the other was perusing a classical music magazine. Not long after Kaoru entered the establishment, a third woman with a pageboy haircut emerged from where the toilets would be and secreted herself at the table with the other, wiping her hands as she did so.

“Are we all here?” Kaoru asked apologetically as she sat down.

“Bonjour, ma chère,” saluted Renée-Caroline, tying up her curls with the scrunchie at her wrist. It immediately became apparent that she was labouring under a strong sense of curiosity and good humour, for hardly had she extended a greeting to Kaoru than she unveiled with the rather disappointing information that Alys had yet to arrive.

Chiaki continued and put aside the napkin that she had been using to dry her hands. “Her lecture ended twenty minutes ago. She’ll be here in five if she caught the densha.”

“She would be faster if she took a cab,” Sora pointed out, tucking her messy hair behind her ears with one hand and spinning a pen around the fingers of the other.

Renée-Caroline snapped her fingers disapprovingly at the novelist. “Alors, she is tight-fisted with money, n’est-ce pas? Why would she spend money on a taxi?”

“Especially when there isn’t one to be hired for love or money in this weather,” deadpanned the newly arrived Alys self-deprecatorily, removing her coat and draping it on the chair.

“Your tongue running into the astringent today?” teased Sora as Alys stripped off her gloves and beret, and placed them in her briefcase.

“Always,” was the professor’s comeback as she patted her hair to check that her bun and hairpick were in place. “Shall we get straight to business?”

“Have you no finesse?” questioned Sora with a smile.

“Try dealing with a lecture hall of imbeciles who fail to see how amour propre is a dangerous construct and then tell me if my finesse is wanting,” returned Alys, who was now beginning to feel annoyed at any slight provocation. She vaguely realised that the irritability could largely be attributed to worsening thyrotoxicosis or worsening pneumonia, very likely both.

“That bad?” Chiaki shot her a sympathetic glance.

“I want to scream bloody murder at their abject stupidity and watch Kazu make good his repeated offers to throw those imbeciles out the window,” hissed Alys in English, momentarily forgetting herself.

“Par Dieu, is she always so violent?”

“This is mild. She gets worse when she’s PMS-ing,” Sora replied, closing her notebook so as to study the profile of Kaoru as the younger woman strove to soothe Alys’s coughs.

Telling Kaoru about Saeko would be the right thing. However, she had not counted on the difficulty of telling the exact nature of Saeko’s demands on Ohno without hurting her feelings. Yet, the deed had to be done and it might as well be done sooner than later when Kaoru found out on her own.

Biding her time until the waiter took their orders, Sora eventually began cautiously, “Have you heard from Ohno-kun lately? About the bids and acquisitions of J Storm stock?”

Significant looks went around the table as the other participants of this would-be revelation silently acknowledged that they had started treading carefully on an issue that could be most upsetting for the artist, who waited for the waiter to leave their table before shaking her head slowly. Although Kaoru had her own suspicions as to what her Satoshi-kun was not telling her, she schooled her features into cheery unconcern and indicated with a sip of water from her glass that the ladies should go on.

“There isn’t a nice way of putting this, really,” Alys continued decisively. “We know for a fact that Umebayashi Saeko is indeed your fiancé’s ex.”

“We also know that she bought over 20% of their music label,” Renée-Caroline added.

“Just as we know she has explicitly declared her intentions to get him back,” Chiaki closed the brief list of what they did know to be true.

While she briefly wondered why her fiancé had remained mum on the subject, she realised intuitively that he forbore to tell her lest the news of his ex-girlfriend upset her. Knowing the truth at last as to why he did not confide in her palliated her somewhat and she was able to smile at her luncheon companions with fair composure. Kaoru was not particularly surprised by the news, for there had been hints enough from the ladies that there had been a connection between Ohno Satoshi and Umebayashi Saeko. However, she would not say that she was distressed by the news. She pinned all the women at her table with a firm stare.

“You are all very good but you are insulting yourselves, Satoshi-kun and me by even thinking what you were thinking,” she said firmly, putting her hand over Alys’s as the professor heaved breathless coughs into a piece of tissue paper.

“Zut alors, ma chère!” exclaimed Renée-Caroline, rubbing her fingers together in thoughtful irritation both at Kaoru’s refusal to see the truth and Alys’s stubborn refusal to do anything about her weakening health. “That woman – she is a schemer, hein? You must do something before she – how you say – reels him in.”

“Men are weak,” Sora threw down matter-of-factly. “They need to know their women are with them in times of trouble if they are not to crumble under pressure. Your support is all that he needs to meet…”

“I don’t want to hear any explanation. Why, I’m ashamed of you thinking idle gossip could come between us!” said Kaoru, laying a finger across Sora’s lips and stilling her words. “Do you think I’d believe that Satoshi-kun would betray me with that…that woman…The idea is… I know him better than you, and I have not forgotten all the wonderful, unselfish things he has done for me and my art! I will not believe such dreadful things about him, and I will not believe such dreadful things about Umebayashi-san either. I don’t want to hear another dreadful word on… on that. Not a word.”

“Quite right too, love,” soothed Alys in English when she caught her breath, giving the other women a quick look to signal that the conversation would have to be handled with kid gloves from that point on.

In light of Kaoru’s dark eyes flashing with love for her fiancé and her friends as well as anger at the mention of her fiancé’s future probable ignoble behaviour, it wasn’t difficult to see why Alys had given the silent warning. Kaoru’s nature was a trusting one; so trusting that she could never conceive of dishonour in anyone she knew and loved be they friends or family. Similarly, she followed her father’s maxim of giving those she did not know the benefit of the doubt, for she was one of those people who believed that there was a little good in everyone. Because of this, all the women at the table knew of Kaoru’s gentleness. She was the very soul of goodness, who chose not to utter an unkind word about anyone. She had lapses when she became cross like most of humanity, but she dealt with anger through art by throwing paint. While she may not scream at the duplicity and knavishness of men aloud like Sora, or mete out her blood-curdling threats like Alys, or knit her brows and lash out at the orchestra like Renée-Caroline or confront the accused directly like Chiaki, Kaoru was capable of silent rages much more than her friends.

“We don’t know Umebayashi-san, and I think it is wrong to criticise others. Umebayashi-san is successful and smart and heads her own company. Her smartness and success does not give you to right to say that she and Satoshi-kun are… Satoshi-kun would not…he could not have…not without telling me,” she stated with quiet vehemence.

“Have you asked him?” Renée-Caroline enquired, taking up the last of the bread rolls and eating it, consulting her watch and wondering whether it possible for a reputable eatery to leave customers starving for the better part of twenty minutes.

“He has not said anything. I trust him,” the artist stated firmly.

“Isn’t he the honest one of the group?” Sora asked.

“Good Lord! What is the freeloader teaching him that he uses poor Kaoru in this way?” hissed the academic, calling for the waiter and demanding to know how long it would take for their orders to arrive.

“Your orders are being delayed. Please order some other things to have while you wait,” suggested the waiter.

“Alors, five mini chocolate éclairs,” interposed Renée-Caroline. Waiting until they were out of his earshot, she continued, “Mais, we are jumping to conclusions, n’est-ce pas? That relationship has long been over.”

Sora twitched her lips into a grim line. “It was never really over because there was no real break up. It was, if I understood Jun correctly, an estrangement. If this were marriage, it would be bigamy. He should have come clean with Kaoru.”

As Alys rolled a satirical eye and covered Kaoru’s hand with her own, Chiaki shook her head at Sora’s imagination. “While I too am for Ohno coming clean, the bigamy nonsense doesn’t hold water.”

“Is he married to her? Is that what you’re saying?” Kaoru gasped in horrified accents, her marble eyes widened as her hands flew to her cheeks.

“Of course not, my lovely,” assured Alys in English, unsuccessfully choking back a cough and staining the tissue paper at her mouth. “Chiaki is right. More observation is needed, especially in light of Ohno’s vacillation.”

Kaoru sighed and rubbed her hands together as if cold. “I still don’t wish to believe in everything you’re saying.”

“Are you chilly?” enquired the philosopher as she dumped her faux sable muff on Kaoru. “Stuff your hands in and you’ll be warmer. Keep it, I have a spare somewhere at home.” She paused and finished the dregs of her tea. “Where are our orders? It has been half an hour. Boy!” she called out to a waiter.

“Ah, allow me,” offered Renée-Caroline, pouring out the tea so as not to further agitate Alys.

However, she could not intercept Alys who had already requested for a customer survey form in chilling hauteur that much amused Sora and Chiaki.

“We do not have one, honoured customer,” answered the waiter with overly greased hair. That response made Kaoru shrink back in fear at the thought of what Alys would do. At the very least, she could write to the newspapers; or she could stir up a scene, and Kaoru did not know which was likelier.

“Not have one! What sort of establishment is this!” Alys hissed as her eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction, as another waiter, the one who took their orders, returned and set the table for them with the soup and the éclairs. She flicked a wrist, prepared to dismiss the incident, but that was before she saw the soup. “We ordered bisque. Why do we have cream of mushroom?” She glared at the stuttering waiter waiting for a coherent and audible explanation as she bit into the éclair and promptly spat it out again. “Bah bloody humbug! Coffee! We said chocolate éclairs!”

“What’s wrong, madam?” asked the waiter, holding the tray close to himself as a page would hold a shield in olden times.

“Alys Nee-chan doesn’t touch coffee,” Kaoru contributed helpfully, saying it in such an artless manner that the waiter almost supposed that it meant something.

“Never mind that,” snapped Alys, glaring daggers at the waiter as she patted Kaoru’s hand. “Your stomach doesn’t settle easily. You are not going to consume that sludge passing for soup. The pastry for the éclairs look stiff and hard will likely disagree with Renée-Caroline. There aren’t even any ashtrays for Sora. I will not stand for it! Listen, boy, you can’t treat customers in this fashion.”

“Nee-chan,” protested the artist, “he’s just the serving staff. You’re being too harsh.”

While Chiaki and Renée-Caroline looked at the hapless teenaged waiter pityingly for being the recipient of Kaoru’s kindness, Sora looked amusedly at the scenario that was threatening to unfold.

“Why is there only one paper napkin?” Alys questioned, her voice dangerously low and quiet. “Well? Answer me, boy!” She pursed her lips and withdrew her hand from the small rectangular cutlery basket on the table. “Do you expect us to tear that napkin into five pieces and share it?”

Sora with all her observational skills foretold an interesting scene, for the waiter was now stuttering and shaking visibly. However, in light of the professor’s temper, she darted her eyes over to the bloodied tissue papers on the table and decided that she would have restrain Alys before she lost her temper. “Don’t you think you should…”

Putting out a hand to cut Sora off, Alys demanded, “Utter outrage! I demand to see your manager.”

“But he’s in the kitchen!”

“Good, so much the better. I will see him there!” declared she as she rose and glided in the general direction indicated by the waiter’s jerk of the head. “Excuse me, my dears.”

“Oh la la!” Renée-Caroline exclaimed with a faint chuckle. “Not satisfied with making the garcon pee in his pants, maintenant, she wants to torment the manager.”

“She’s quite a character,” laughed Sora, replacing her reading glasses on her face and making notes. “I would love to be a fly on the wall in that showdown. What wouldn’t her freeloader do to see her in action!”

Tickled by this statement, Chiaki threw her head back in a hearty laugh. “We’ll get away without paying today if she has her way.”

“What’s so funny?” asked Kaoru, watching the nervous waiter feebly protest as Alys purposefully made her way to the kitchen. “She could frighten the manager!”

“For the service we have received, it would not be anything less than they deserve,” Renée-Caroline opined, dipping her soup tentatively into the mushroom soup, testing its somewhat dubious looking consistency.

“But she’s sick! She could…” objected Kaoru with all the sensitivity in her tender heart as she swept her eyes down to the bloodied tissue paper balls around Alys’s area on the table.

The other women patted her shoulder and her hands to calm her fears, with Chiaki speaking for them all with the inviolable truth of that she knew to be Alys’s character, “Let her have her verbal brawl, she needs it. Don’t fret, Kaoru-chan, she doesn’t pick a fight she can’t win.”

“But that’s not what I’m worried about,” Kaoru murmured unheard by the others as her eyes followed the swinging the doors of the kitchen as they shut and hid Alys from the purview of her vision.

NOTES

Amour propre (often translated as vanity) was propounded by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (late 18th Century). Rousseau believed in self-love (amour de soi) is preferable to vanity (amour propre). This is because amour de soi is able to transform from a feeling that ‘is contented when our true needs are satisfied’, whereas amour propre prefers the self to others and demands that others prefer us to themselves.’ Cf. Rousseau’s Emile, IV, 213-4.

So we may assume that prior to meeting the ladies, Alys had been giving a lecture on Rousseau.

Glossary – French

Par Dieu = By God (an exclamation equivalent to ‘My goodness’ or ‘By Jove’).
Ma chère = my dear (used when subject is female)
Mais = but/however
Quoi = what
Mesdames = ladies
Maintenant = now

Alors = Well then. *Please note ‘Alors’ has no real English equivalent.

N’est-ce pas = don’t you agree / don’t you think. *Please note this also has no real English equivalent. It is used in the same place as the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the examples below:
(a) Time is of the essence, no?
(b) You speak Polish, yes?
Bear this in mind when you next encounter “n’est-ce pas”

Hein = an expression of disagreement or agreement (depends on context). Think of it like a snort of agreement or disagreement.

Chapter 016 – Risking arbitrage

The voices of five men in near pitch-perfect harmony were marred by someone going a little off-key with too nasal a drawl towards the end of the chorus. The technicians in the recording studio were not bothered by it, knowing full well that they could digitally remove it or cover it up with clever remixing and synthesising. Everyone in the sound round observing Arashi pressing large headphones to their ears, closing their eyes (and in one case, a wrinkling of the nose) while singing into large microphones felt that the current outtake the band was singing was one of the better versions. It was a well-known fact that each member had been occupied with band responsibilities as well as his own private commitments and was, in effect, working nearly around the clock, functioning on a little food and even less sleep. Each member had his respective set of advertisements and endorsements to record. On top of that, Aiba was busy with on location shoots for his Tensai Shimura Doubutsen show; Ohno was tied up with rehearsals for his new stage play; Nino and Sho had their new drama script to memorise, and would have to shoot for the series soon, and MatsuJun had accepted a new movie script. Then there were their various television programmes to record – Arashi no Shukudai-kun, Himitsu no Arashi-chan, and VS Arashi. Yet despite these numerous claims on their time, they were still expected to show up for work at JE Central, record songs for the new album, conceptualise a theme for a new single, and make plans for the tour that would inevitably follow in summer later in the year. Given the tremendous pressure on Arashi, nearly everyone on the control panel side of the recording studio (including the incredibly muscular and yakuza chief-like manager) cut the artistes some slack if they sounded a tad hoarse or off-key that day. That is to say, everyone save the newest shareholder of the J Storm label.

The side of Saeko’s face twitched when Matsumoto Jun hit a raw note. She went so far as to physically flinch when she heard the low raspy rumble of Aiba’s voice.

“How can you allow it? This is a bad take. The rest of them are ruining the main balladeer’s vocals,” Saeko said, no doubt thinking she had raised a valid point. She was, after all, a shareholder of J Storm. As a shareholder with more than 10% of the label, she had a right to audit their recording sessions to ensure that her investment in the label’s biggest names was exacting the returns she thought she and her company deserved.

The sound technician rubbed his hands nervously and replied unctuously in a manner that would be worthy of Dickens’ Uriah Heep, “I can edit it out. This fourth take of the song is the best so far. Studio recordings have the…”

“Is that what you are promoting? A second-rate band with singers who mess up in the studio? They will do it until they get it right!” demanded Saeko, shaking her foot angrily.

Date-san, Arashi’s manager observed the masculine way in which she sat with her legs crossed and her foot shaking and narrowed his eyes under his sunglasses (that never left his face save when he was in the bath or sleeping). He could respect her ideals and her perfectionist streak in demanding the best from her investment, but he could not respect her highhanded way of doing things. The Arashi boys were tired and allowances would have to be made. That was why they had sound technicians and engineers to fix wonky vocalisations on the recordings. The boys did their part; and the sound crew should do theirs. To his well-ordered mind, Umebayashi Saeko had no business demanding changes to the way things were done, especially since the sound crew were paid to make the necessary corrections and buffering in the tracks. However, he had also been in the music business long enough to know that Saeko was not an easy adversary. Speaking to her would yield no changes to her attitude. He would have to resolve matters himself by giving bending down and informing the producer to remix and buffer the recordings they had so far, and send the boys away for a day’s rest. It was clear from the way Arashi looked askance at Saeko that they resented her presence in the recording studio. And if he did not do something, Arashi could quickly tire themselves out before the day was out.

Stepping out of the sound mixing booth, Date-san growled gruffly at the band members, “We’ll wrap the recording here today and remix the first two tracks. Head out and get some sleep.”

All the members, save one, were about to heed that excellent advice for they had to record one of their television shows in the evening. Sho, however, opted for another mode of releasing his pent up frustration. He disguised himself and went for a drive.

There was a lot of good work he had done that he should be thankful for. But Sho was presently dissatisfied with the way things were done in the J Storm now that it was no longer fully under the control of Johnny’s Entertainment umbrella. The sense of accomplishment he felt two days ago on closing the drama deal with Nino for the tragic story of ‘Resurrected Butterflies’ was gone, and in its place was a gnawing sense of disquietude. Despite being given permission to enjoy a rare half-day off, Sho could not find in it himself to rest. The reason for which, he wryly reflected, lay in their new shareholder, Umebayashi-san. With the whole of the mid-afternoon and the rest of the day yawning before him, and his frayed temper on the verge of exasperation, Sho decided to make an unannounced call to the most rational person in his acquaintance in the quest of tempering his growing sense of unease. It was this unease that led him to subconsciously drive to Jindai Botanical Garden in search of the director of the Tropical Greenhouse Collection.

It did not take him long to find her unmistakeable figure in the botanical gardens’ winter overall with a faux fur hat carrying a large toolbox and a large clipboard. Stopping the car next to her, he rolled down the window and grinned. “Yo, wifey! Got a moment?” he greeted with a two-fingered salute at Chiaki.

“I’m working if you haven’t noticed,” she said without malice. Although Chiaki’s strong work ethics shunned the notion of malingering, she knew from her long association with Sho that he would not call on her announced during working hours unless it was something important.

“I’ll help,” Sho offered, nodding his thanks to her as she got in the car.

“Get us back to the Greenhouse, get changed and you’d be more help to me,” chided Chiaki in the firm non-nonsense way Sho had come to adore. When he grinned his assent, she tilted her head to the side to better look at him and asked directly, as was in line with her character, “Did you shirk off your work?”

“Manager-san gave us a half-day,” he explained, still trying to make light of things. “I thought I’d see two of my favourite girls.”

“The bougainvillea is doing fine and I’m in the pink of health,” she answered, folding her arms and resting her elbows on the toolbox. “What’s the trouble? Umebayashi Saeko again?”

“How did you guess?” Sho asked incredulously when they stopped outside the greenhouse and emerged from the vehicle.

Shaking her head as she led him to her office within the greenhouse and foisted a pair of overalls on him, she answered, “Going from buying shares in your record label and propositioning Ohno-kun, it logically follows that she would antagonise the drizzle boys next.”

Sho sighed at being transparent in front of Chiaki. However, he did not allow himself to dwell too long on the thoughts of being an open book to his girlfriend. He knew that he was often helpless at keeping secrets and was prone to either angry bursts of temper or panic attacks, and to negate those incidences, he made it a point to discuss everything with his level-headed Chiaki.

“That Saeko woman has been hawk-eyeing us in the recording studio all morning! She behaved like she owned us, calling for take after take of a song. She stared reproachfully at Aiba who was sneezing badly. It’s bad enough she controls a sizeable minority stake in J Storm stocks, now it seems we can’t do anything without her hawk-eyeing us. This is beginning to wear on Jun’s nerves, put a dent on Aiba’s spirit and weigh down Ohno-kun. Nino suggested that we couldn’t even sneeze without her permission next. I wouldn’t be surprised if it came to that. Yesterday, she said we were holding Ohno-kun’s vocal talents back!” the resident rapper of the band let out in full steam without pause as soon as he had emerged in the standard wear of the Jindai Botanical Gardens.

“So it has begun.” Chiaki’s face undertook a dour expression, taking up the toolbox and placing several test-tubes into it before laughing dryly. “Sora predicted it with the deadly accuracy of an archer. Her skill at reading people far surpasses Ninomiya’s. She has never met Umebayashi-san and already she could foresee something like this occurring.”

Although Sho was aware of Sora’s habit of observing other people not in her immediate circle of friends and family and thence drawing her conclusions on them, he never failed to be completely amazed by how quickly she could grasp the true nature of anyone she analysed. The only exception to this rule, as everyone in Arashi knew, was Jun, whom she had dubbed ‘the Original’. Kujo Sora’s perspicuity surpassed that of even the deceptively languid Renée-Caroline and the carefully veiled eyes of Alys. It was remarkable, Sho thought, the Arashi men should have plucked these outstanding specimens of womanhood, and he made free to say so.

“How did we ever get women like you and the other princesses?” he enquired aloud, following her out of the greenhouse with a wheelbarrow of everything Chiaki needed to check up on the plants in her sector of the botanical gardens.

“You must have done something good in your youth or childhood. Except Ohno-kun, not one of you deserves your girlfriends, if you want my honest opinion,” Chiaki replied, pushing the wheelbarrow with him, glad that she would not have to conduct the task of seeing to the trees on her own.

“Umebayashi could throw Ohno-kun’s happiness into disarray if this goes on. Our diminutive bastard constantly reminds us that it is a game; our OCD princess Jun counsels that we bide our time, but we are no closer to uncovering the bigger picture or deciphering her plans. While we do nothing, time is slowly trickling away. Our inaction versus her action could be interpreted as weaknesses,” Sho vented, stopping to hand her a measuring implement from the toolbox as she indicated.

“The way I see it, Umebayashi-san wants to isolate Ohno-kun for herself by trapping him and inducing the Stockholm syndrome. The signs are there, Sho. She began by pushing him closer to the edge, then working to alienate the drizzle boys,” said Chiaki in a tone that suggested she had expended great thought on the issue. “She intends to force him into a corner so that he would be as Jun once said, ‘high and dry and bereft’ with no one to turn to but her. Alys fears that it may work because according to our know-it-all professor, he lacks the skill to avoid the feint in this King’s gambit.”

“Eh? Seriously?”

“Hai, seriously.” The botanist turned back to the tree and shrugged. “Her words not mine.”

“Her too? She and Nino are really two halves of a whole to think in games!” he exclaimed, wiggling his brows suggestively. “If they can see it for what it is, why don’t they guide Ohno-kun through it?”

“Because, husband,” Chiaki stressed the word to soothe his growing exasperation, “even they have no confidence of winning this game. If Umebayashi persists in isolating Ohno and alienating the rest of you, this would place a burden on you and Jun to keep the drizzle boys in tact.”

“Well, Jun and I are the parents minding this motley crew.” Sho allowed a rueful smile to grace his lips.

Chiaki turned around and pinched his cheeks lightly “That’s my Sho, a responsible husband and father to the bitter end.”

“What are we going to do?”

“As Renée-Caroline observed, Ohno-kun is too good natured to say no directly to Umebayashi-san. So, the girls and I are going to tell Kaoru. You should keep an eye on Ohno and have all the drizzle boys watch Umebayashi-san closer than she watches you,” she recommended.

“You’re sensible as always, wifey. Now, for the other breaking news stories…”

“There’s more?”

“You wouldn’t guess what happened two days ago,” Sho said as he held the toolbox for Chiaki while she checked the tree before for parasites.

“Made fools of yourselves on television again?

“Nino and I have a new drama series entitled Resurrected Butterflies, a tragic drama-romance, the kind MatsuJun would lap up and shed tears at the end. Ichinose Haruyo would be in it with us, smart girl – reminds me of myself when I was managing Keio and work simultaneously. But that isn’t the interesting portion, this is – in spite of his dislike for the script and the meagre increase of 5% more than his usual going rate, Nino accepted the role citing Hong Kong, where we would be for some of the shoots, as his reason. What do you make of that?”

“The kitsune is up to his old tricks,” Chiaki smiled knowingly and laughed. “Associate Professor Teng will be attending the Ancient World Philosophy Conference held in Hong Kong in late February.”

“The penny drops,” Sho whistled lowly. “Is he trying to rekindle the flames or torture her? They may claim they’re both sadistic, but he’s likely to keep her on an emotional yoyo if she continues to hold him at arm’s length.”

“This is their affair, Sho. Do not interfere,” she warned.

“But wifey! He’s not been happy of late. He complains that she’s been cold to him.”

“She is under a lot of strain at work and is ill. If he had any ounce of sense, which he doesn’t, he would know that she is looking out for his health by isolating herself from him. She knows how important it is for him to be physically well for his work.” Chiaki paused and threw a quick dismissive look at the air. “Though how she thinks she can delay treatment until the Hong Kong conference ends is beyond me.”

“Can’t those two be honest with each other? Do we have to lock them in a cupboard for them to bring that about? What happened to ‘Dear, I am worried about your condition’ and ‘Darling, I don’t want you to catch my germs’? Argh!” Sho cried with notable irritation in his voice.

“The way I see it, they are dissembling because they are afraid of what it would mean to lose each other,” Chiaki explained, patting Sho on the arm and mentally disapproving the Ninomiya-Teng pair’s pointless acts. “The professor self-diagnosed herself with pneumonia. She suspects it’s bacterial rather than viral, and believes that treatment now would delay her preparations for the Hong Kong conference. She claims as long as she seeks treatment no later than mid-March, she would be able to recover. I disapprove on principle and she jokes that a ‘touch of pneumonia’ wouldn’t kill her.”

Sho shook his head and draped a comforting arm over his girlfriend to soothe her obvious worry. “Tell you what, wifey, I’d let Nino in on this and leave him to deal with her.”

“You had better. Pneumonia is no joking matter,” Chiaki harrumphed.

While Sho assured Chiaki that Alys would be all right once Nino had confronted her and coerced her into consulting a medical doctor, the couple in the Jindai Botanical Garden was unaware that they were being observed by a shadowy figure secreted in the grove of trees some distance ahead of them.

NOTES

Arbitrage is the practice of taking advantage of a price differential between two or more markets where one strikes a combination of matching deals that capitalise upon the imbalance, the profit being the difference between the market prices. Simply put, arbitrage is a transaction that involves no negative cash flow at any probabilistic or temporal state and a positive cash flow in at least one state. In other words, arbitrage is a risk-free profit. A person who engages in arbitrage is called an arbitrageur such as a bank or brokerage firm.

To take the risk of arbitrage however is an investment strategy that very often backfires because the arbitrageur can buy the stock of the target and make a gain if the acquirer ultimately buys the stock. Alternatively, the arbitrageur may short sell (short-change) the acquirer and buy the stock of the target.

Readers should think what this means in the context of the story and of this chapter.

King’s Gambit explained in footnotes at the end of Ch 014