Song 14

Tampsen sat with his hands covering his ears as Maersen danced around him, chanting, ‘Concert, concert!’ One minute, Maersen was mopping around, worried his antics had completely ruined any chance of making Meloria an idol, and then, the second the word ‘concert’ left her lips, Maersen leapt forward, fists pumping in the air.

“Would you settle down?” he grumbled, grabbing the back of Maersen’s shirt and pulling him back onto the floor. “I’m getting dizzy from watching you prancing around!”

Maersen laughed nervously, putting his hands in his lap, his legs bouncing as he struggled to contain his excitement. He turned to the television; his lips curved into a proud smile. This moment felt like a lifetime in the making.

Or at least, one lifetime.

A young Maersen stood in the office of his new manager, eagerly awaiting his first assignment. His hair was combed back, no hair out of place, and his glasses polished and sparkling. He certainly felt the part; he knew he could do a good job, and yet, why did he feel as though something was missing?

He managed to throw the files onto the desk in front of him, the papers scattering, and a photo poking out from the corner. Maersen raised a brow, leaning forward to scoop the documents in his hands. He piled them together, knocking them against the desk to straighten them out. The photo still peaking from the corner caught his attention as he pulled it out, seeing a picture of a feisty red-haired preteen. “Your job,” his manager started to say as he fumbled around for a lighter, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. With a flashy flick of the wrist, Maersen’s manager ignited his lighter, lighting his cigarette, taking a significant drag before blowing it out in Maersen’s direction. “Is to monitor these subjects to see if they are viable for reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation?” Maersen repeated, looking back at the file.

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” His manager snapped, poking at his desk, the cigarette continuing to hang loosely between his lips. “While you’re under my command, I’m placing you under the reincarnation department. My last guy,” the manager chuckled, taking another drag, as he spoke, the smoke pouring from his mouth. “Well, we don’t need to talk about that.”

Maersen coughed, using his hand to waft the smoke away from his face. Taking another drag, his manager gave him a sharp look, as if to say, ‘What are you still doing here?’ Taking the hint, Maersen took a hasty leave, holding the papers close as he wandered down the pure white hallway. His eyes glazed over at the only bursts of colour in the hallway; signs above the doors, looking for the one that said “Reincarnation?” Maersen looked down, seeing a younger Tampsen, dressed in baggy clothes and sandals, standing before him. He rolled his head, gesturing for Maersen to follow him as he started to walk away.

Not wanting to lose his only hope of finding his way around this place, Maersen quickly caught up to Tampsen. He couldn’t help but take in Tampsen’s sloppy appearance, comparing it to his own, which was sleek and truly fit for business attire; Tampsen seemed more like the common shut-in neet rather than someone in charge of determining a person’s chance of reincarnation.

Tampsen stopped at a door that appeared to be untouched, the handle still shining as if it had been brought that day. “This is your office,” Tampsen pushed the handle, opening the door to reveal a standard office with plain white walls, no windows, an oak desk, and a small television perched in the corner. “Make yourself at home,” Tampsen chuckled and shrugged. “Or not. Can’t say I expect you to last long anyway.”

With those final words, Tampsen walked away, leaving Maersen to take in his new environment. Walking inside, Maersen placed the files on the table, took a seat in the chair, and pulled it under the table. He nodded, seeing the basic supplies he needed on the table: a notebook, pens, a communication unit, but the television was the one thing he couldn’t understand. He reached over, pulling out each drawer, looking for something. Perhaps there would be an employee handbook, an instruction guide, or post-it notes, anything that would help him get started in this new job. It was in the third drawer that he found a small booklet. Bingo, he thought, pulling it out, flicking it open to the first page where there was only one sentence:

Step one: Turn the television on.

“Very helpful,” Maersen rolled his eyes, putting the book down with a thump as he looked back into the drawer, spotting a remote. He pulled the remote from the drawer, pointing it at the television, and pressed the power button. The screen on the TV flickered for a moment before showing an image of an older woman, lying in a hospital bed with what appeared to be her children surrounding her.

Maersen flicked through the files he was given, finding the woman’s file amongst them. The A4 file had several pieces of paper with bare-bones information about the woman, as well as a photo of her. Name, date of birth, death, partner, children, and any notable achievements in her life, as well as any discrepancies.

“Discrepancies?” Maersen whispered, turning the next page, seeing the word ‘notes’ printed at the top while the remainder of the page was blank. “I’m assuming this page is for me.”

He picked up the remote again, inspecting the buttons as he pointed it at the TV. Curious, he pushed the ‘rewind’ button, his eyes widening in amazement as the woman on the screen de-aged, becoming young and young until he pressed ‘play’ again, restarting the video at the point the woman would have been in her early twenties.

A pen in one hand, remote in the other, and the list of discrepancies in front, Maersen paid attention to every movement, every word, and action the woman took. For the most part, she seemed like a perfectly ordinary person and yet… “Oh,” Maersen hummed quickly, scribbling down ‘shoplifting’ on his notes. This didn’t raise too much concern at first. Some people shoplift for several reasons: necessity, peer pressure, or even the thrill of getting caught. Maersen wasn’t necessarily worried about the reason but was more concerned about whether the woman had any remorse.

He watched as they threw her years, the woman shoplifted countless times, and yet not once did she ever appear remorseful for what she had done. In fact, she carried herself with an aura of pride and smugness. The items she lifted were more grand and more dangerous, especially when they involved stealing from a family member. “My my,” Maersen sighed, tapping his pen against the desk as his leg began to shake. Even as the woman was being interrogated by her family, her face was emotionless. “I can’t help but think someone is a little handsy.”

As the video came to an end, a hologram projected itself before him, presenting a question and two choices. ‘Reincarnate? Yes or No.’

Maersen chuckled as he nodded his head. He finally understood his job.

He was judge and executioner.

With a quick flick of the finger, Maersen selected ‘No’ and the TV screen went blank. With that, he understood his role and quickly started on his next file. He grabbed the remote, turning it on; this time, it was the young girl with fiery red hair. He quickly pulled out her file from the paper; “Akemi,” he read the name out loud, looking at the screen, where he saw a child named Akemi sitting in front of her own TV, watching a Saturday morning cartoon.

“Who are these girls, mommy?” She asked innocently, looking up at the woman on the sofa.

“They’re idols, Akemi,” Her mother laughed. “They sing and dance, some even act, but most of all they make people smile.”

“Make people smile,” Akemi turned, putting her hand on the TV.

Maersen watched, his heart swelling as he watched Akemi stand and tried to mimic the idols dancing. “Idols, huh?”

Maersen didn’t dare touch the remote, watching intensely as Akemi grew older, her obsession with idols growing, and even declaring to become one herself. His lips curled into a massive smile as he watched Akemi practice her dancing in front of the TV, her legs and arms covered in bruises from the constant knocking into the furniture.

She would put her headphones on at night, sitting in her bedroom, writing down the lyrics to her favourite songs and practicing them any chance she got. The real test came at Akemi’s first audition. How was she going to handle rejection?

Maersen was in complete awe watching Akemi perform her audition piece, each move almost flawless and captivating. As the judges called out the applicants who passed onto the next round, the smile on Akemi’s face faded as she walked out of the building, jumping into her father's car. She silently sobbed as her father wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying his best to comfort her. “I–I can’t give up,” she cried, wiping her tears with her shirt. “Mangakas can wait years before their manga takes off, authors face rejection from major publications, and singers have to face rejection every day before one day becoming a star.”

Maersen felt his heart ready to burst. Akemi’s determination felt infectious, making him want to achieve something in his new role.

The more he watched, the more infatuated Maersen became with Akemi. After many years of rejection and entering the workforce, he noticed that her smile never faded. She continued to help and care for others, always putting others first, even when faced with the most significant heartache and the cruel realities of the world.

She always smiled.

Then the decision came. ‘Reincarnate?’

It was an easy answer for Maersen as he swiped ‘yes’, bringing up a new menu—a list of the different worlds that had slots for reincarnation. Humming to himself, Maersen began to swipe through the list. There was one name that stood out to him, ‘Reybu’. He clicked the name, bringing up a brief description of the world – ‘The World without a Song’ was all it said.

“Well, Akemi,” he smirked, confirming his selection.

Even now, Maersen didn’t regret his decision to send her to Reybu. She was going to be the idol the world needed to get them singing again. “Your first solo concert,” He whispered, staring back at the TV. “Go get them, Meloria.”