Kotone Saves Herself from Herself

One by one, Kotone’s old contracts were lit aflame on grounds of abuse, coercion, and violation of labor and child protection laws. The industry and the internet backed her in a tidal wave of righteous fury; in the digital age, no one wanted to be caught on the side of a predator.

With money, legal leverage, and emotional momentum, Kotone strutted onto the podium of the world and swung down a squeaky hammer with enough power behind it to crash social media websites. She broke away from her mother’s conglomerate within seventy-two hours and went independent. Her new agency, K-Project, was registered immediately, and a public statement ensured legitimacy. The paperwork, filed with the lawyer recommended by Wakami, was airtight. Her rebranding was delivered with a fired kiss and a lethal smile.

Mrs. Fujishiro’s lawyers attempted to fight the fire, filing an injunction and claiming the contracts were ironclad unless “physical harm” could be proven. Kotone countered. She released a pre-recorded video: calm, gorgeous, her bandaged ribs slightly visible beneath the drape of a silk blouse, her vigor unshaking. She didn’t cry. She declared she was moving forward on her own terms. She emancipated herself socially, economically, and spiritually in a single stroke.

She was brilliant to do all of this before her major Golden Week tour conference.

The auditorium shimmered with the cold glitter of glass chandeliers and velvet-curtained walls; the place was packed with cameras, business leaders, investors, and executives in designer suits, their rehearsed smiles no longer needing rehearsing. This was all too much!

All of them came for her. Independent of the agency and her mother, she stood alone. On the stage appeared Fujishiro Kotone. “Fujishiro Talent: Final Statement,” the displays shone.

An idol, a girl reborn, she acknowledged the world’s cruelty. Even still, she would smile radiantly.

“Thank you all for coming,” Kotone began. “Really. I mean it. I appreciate everyone’s time, especially those of you who believed I wouldn’t have a voice without my former agency’s guidance. I’m so grateful you were wrong.”

A ripple of cautious, polite laughter moved through the crowd.

Suddenly, the doors at the back groaned. Mrs. Fujishiro arrived with an imperial aura that only decades of vanity could sculpt, pacing down the center aisle as if she still owned the air in the room.

The idol didn’t flinch. She reached out to her folder beside her mic.

“Kotone.” Her mother asserted, reminding her of the name she’d given her. “This isn’t how we handle things. You’re still under contract–”

“I’m not.” Kotone’s reply was instantaneous. “I have my legal termination forms here, if you’d like to see them,” she offered, tapping the folder. “Also included are six months of medical records, time-stamped videos, and audio recordings. The quality of the videos isn’t perfect, Mama, but your neglect is crystal clear. I believe the stadium and dome shareholders found them especially enlightening.”

“The slander–”

“No, Mama,” Kotone said softly. “It’s all documented.” She leaned closer to the mic. “For the record, I love my mother. She’s part of why I became successful. She taught me discipline and made me work hard. She’s also part of why I wore body makeup every day for three months to hide the bruises.”

Camera flashes exploded, reporters typed hard.

Kotone stayed calm. “It’s sad it has to come to this. Mama is still my mama. I realize I’m never going to be loved in that house in the same way my supporters love me. Just managed and marketed. But I’m not regretful. As long as I take my best step forward, I can be happy about the outcomes. This is our finest decision, a final decision, I should’ve made sooner. Because I prepared, my spirit is keener than ever before. I’ll begin the disposal of the abusers. I am no longer affiliated with Fujishiro Talent. All inquiries can now be directed to my new legal entity, K-Project. The next time you try to ruin someone’s life, know that I was raised to be more elegant than you.”

Kotone exited the stage, past every executive who’d once bowed to her mother. Past the shareholders who had lost the thought of considering her unduly emotional. Past the gossip columnists who’d written her off. And still, the cameras followed her.

Behind her, under the pitiless glow of the chandeliers, stood Mrs. Fujishiro.

Outshined.

Outmaneuvered.

Out.

Out. Kotone would have to transfer out of the Academy.

Kotone had delivered her representative business, her past, into the flames with the grace of a final, caring embrace.