Prologue - The Boy Who Sat in Front of God [REWRITE]

The expectant rumbling of a thousand anxious supporters filled the quiet backstage with the rich dripping quality of fear. Something I hadn't felt in some time.

"Everyone out there came from online?"

"Netizens!" Haruko pumped her fists in the air for emphasis. The bottom of her dress puffed up, well above her knees. Before I caught a glimpse of anything too risky, I dropped my gaze to the floor.

Well, normally I'd have been looking at the floor, but because I was wearing the same outfit as the girl standing in front of me, my skirt blocked the view.

Haruko gracefully descended into a squat, looking up at me from the ground. "What're you acting all shy for?" she asked and then lifted my petticoat to poke at my leg. "You sleepwalk naked after all."

"You—" God, my face is hot. I'm probably blushing like an idiot. "I do not. Someone would've told me."

"Are ya suuure?" She walked her fingers up my leg. "I wouldn't be surprised if your parents wanted you to figure it out on your own."

I swatted her hand away as it grew closer to my… privates. "You're the one who doesn't wear a towel coming out of the shower—Could you at least act afraid to go on stage?"

"How could I possibly be afraid with you wearing a maid outfit? You're obviously gonna outshine me." She stood back up, ignorant of the distance between our faces, and lingered for a blink. Then, she spun on one foot and took a step towards our stage left entrance.

My heart faltered for more than one reason and my body started to shake.

"I don't think a single person out there knows I exist. They're all here for you, Haruko." I took a deep breath. "For better or worse."

"Obviously better! Now you can go out there without a care in the world! I thought you'd have been a little more excited."

Truth be told, behind the fear, I was excited. To most of those who know the story from an outsider's perspective, it would seem I played a small role in spreading Haruko's name across the country. In fact, I do believe, without a hint of doubt, that it was all my fault. If I had been anything but teeming with excitement and inclined to cause mischief, you would not know the name of Haruko Arakawa.

"Could you imagine dragging me up here half a year ago? I would've died right about…" I paused to count my heart rate, "now."

"Now!" Haruko tried to guess the timing and frowned when she landed late. "You know, I don't get why you put up with them for so long."

"Family." That about explains it. "Now can we get this over with before I actually die? The anticipation is killing me."

"Oh, shut up. You're not dead yet. But maybe you will be…" Haruko strode over to a towering rack of electronics, she leaned around the back and emerged with two microphones in hand. She shoved one into my chest. "Now?"

"Now."

Haruko nodded and clicked her mic on. I did the same.

With a few test taps, and only a slight crack in my voice, I repeated the line I'd practiced so many times before: "Prepare to welcome to the stage—"

"ARAKAWA, HARUKO!"

And that is where the story that most of you know begins.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. This is not Haruko's story. If you were so inclined, you could read and learn of the events that led up to her budding fame, but ultimately, this is my story. The story of how I overcame an unstoppable fear and the circumstances that allowed me to meet the most important person in the world.

This is the story of the boy who sat in front of God.