Exit Stage Right: My Pride

“Oh, I remember getting one of those! Kubo-san has always been sweet.”

“Let me see if I can find mine, I remember I framed it back then!”

“He still does that? I wonder where he finds the time!”

“Honestly, there isn’t a better senpai than Kubo-san.”

Every. Single. Person. Everyone I ask has nothing but nice things to say about Renji Kubo. 

I spend what seems like the entire morning trying to gather more opinions on him from the other talents. The results of my search? Everyone just sings his praises. 

In an attempt to gather perhaps a more important opinion, I seek out the president of the company and my direct boss: Jun Yoshida.  

“Kubo-kun has always been very dedicated to helping his juniors. Even as a rookie, he was a role model for many. Maybe you should try getting along with him, Satou-kun.” Yoshida pushes his rolling chair away from his office desk, and removes a pair of black, wired reading glasses. He adjusts his position, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. He picks up a messy stack of papers and straightens the pieces with a few light taps on the desk top.

I wave a hand in front of my face, fanning away his words as if they were an foul smell.

"No way. He and I are simply incompatible, sir," I say.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, resting a hand beneath his chin. "From what I remember on your application, he was one of the reasons you chose Hartlock?"

Kill me.

"Ah, that? Never meet your heroes," I say with a short laugh, hand covering my mouth to hide just how fake my smile is.

"Interesting," Yoshida replies, chuckling along.

He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a manila folder. After sifting through it for a moment, he removes a thick piece of photo paper and places it on the desk. I recognize it immediately. A headshot: black hair pulled back into a loose bun, wispy bangs, bright green eyes contrasting pale skin, glossy makeup. The most beautiful picture I've ever taken.

"I was thinking we could use this one. It perfectly captures that innocent, youthful quality you have. You could start as a backup and then—"

Across from him, I stand abruptly from my plush seat. It's been so long since we last discussed this topic that I'd actually forgotten: the boss fully intends to scout me.

“Oh—thank you for reminding me, sir! Watanabe-san has a photoshoot soon, and I wanted to drive her over early. You know how traffic can be.”

I hurriedly gather my bag, thank him, and bow repeatedly on my way out.

Being a celebrity—even just a model—is not in my life plans. Not today, not ever. I can handle managing a celebrity just fine. But being directly in the public eye? I couldn’t even handle being a darn tree in my grade school play! I’m flattered Yoshida believes I could succeed in that line of work, but thank you—no thank you.

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The drive over to the studio is relatively quick. Before we left, I told Mia to get some sleep since she had a late night practicing for a reading this week.

When it’s almost time, I wake her up and hand her a water bottle to help her freshen up.

"It's ten till. You'll have thirty minutes for makeup, and then the shoot is scheduled for three hours with a short break in the middle. Were you able to look over the call sheet?" I ask, reading off notes on my phone.

Mia nods, taking another sip.

"Good. If you feel uncomfortable at any moment, come grab me, alright?"

"Mira, don't be silly, it'll be fine," Mia says, shaking her head. "Not everything involving Kubo-san needs to be a crisis, alright?"

She sets her water down. I take her hands.

"No. You can never be too careful. Anything. Grab me." 

There's no way I'm letting Kubo get close to Mia over a photoshoot after all the effort I've put into keeping some proper distance between them. Suggesting projects I know he won't be a part of, constantly switching up the schedule, even taking alternate routes to and from the office so they never quite leave or return at the same time. Some might call me crazy for going to such lengths. I call it thorough.

Mia agrees, probably to prevent us from running late, and we head into the studio. 

Once we enter the dressing room, I place her things in their designated area. She sits, and her makeup artist ends a quiet conversation with the other artist to start working. I notice the chair beside them remains empty—with only two minutes left before start time. According to the call sheet, Mia is scheduled to work with Renji Kubo and Ai Arima. She's worked with Arima on several occasions, and her co-star is famous for being chronically early.

"Where's Arima-san?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

The other makeup artist shakes her head. Mia’s artist sighs.

"We honestly don't know," Mia's artist answers. "We haven’t gotten any updates from her team, and we’re not sure we can finish the look in less than our allotted time.”

“This has never happened before, so the agency doesn’t even have a backup on standby. And getting one this last minute…” The other artist leans back against the counter. "The concept won't work without her, rescheduling will be a nightmare..."

Worst-case scenario. No easy solution.

I flip out my phone, scroll through contacts, and call Arima’s PA. Straight to voicemail. I try her manager next.

On the third ring, the other end connects: “Hello?”

“Hello—Abe-san?” I ask.

“Satou-san, is that you?”

“Yes! This is Satou, Mira with Hartlock Studios. I’m calling from The Loft Studio in Shibuya—Yes, yes…she what?!”

I slap a hand over my mouth, slightly embarrassed at my outburst.

“Yesterday, with no prior warning. The schedule is a complete mess! We haven’t been able to sort it all out yet. Please let them know that we're very sorry, but will be unable to attend today’s shoot. We accept full responsibility for the contract fee.”

Great.

I finish the conversation with Abe and explain the situation with the rest of the dressing room.

“Oh no…what are we going to do?” Arima’s makeup artist asks the other.

Mia raises a hand and glances over at the empty makeup chair, then back at me. I’m not sure I like where this is going…

“What about Mira? Do you think my assistant could work for you?”

Both artists snap their focus onto me. Mia’s artist examines my face, while Arima’s artist looks me over from head to toe.

“Good proportions…” she says.

“Small head!” Mia’s artist adds.

“It could work!” Arima’s artist agrees. She crosses the room and practically drags me into the chair.

“I really don’t think—“ I try to protest this decision, but realistically I know there aren’t many other available options. I do technically have some experience...from my earlier days with the company...my dark ages... Though I was never very good. A pretty face means nothing if you can’t control your expressions.

There’s no way.

There’s absolutely no way I can do this. This was never supposed to be in my life plan!

But I don't stop them. Makeup goes on. Clothes are changed. My psyche's most certainly unravelling. And suddenly, I'm walking side-by-side with the celebrity I'm supposed to be assisting. Right to the set.

Maybe I should hand in my notice too.