“I knew I’d find you here.” A woman sighed to herself. Her appearance placed her in her late thirties, though on a bad day, someone might mistake her for being in her early forties. She was slender and far taller than other women of her age; and her eyes held a fire within them, pairing naturally with the mellow red that was her hair.
The man she called out to stirred but soon settled as he recognised the voice. He was a lean man, with a bucket hat covering his bald head. Old was a word that could easily describe him, his skinny face and thin brown moustache further adding to that.
He didn’t lift his arms this time. Instead, he parted with his fishing rod and, with shaky hands, placed it beside the legs of this chair. The sound from the dropping fishing rod caused the cautionless orange cat tucked up against his boots to startle and bolt away, leaving the man alone on his chair once more.
It was a dry Saturday early morning, and both of them knew the exact hour. They had to this time, there could be no excuses for this soon-to-be busy day, so as the clock ticked passed 6 a.m., they could do nothing more but hope the foundations they laid for the play of Us of I were sturdy enough to hold up the expectations for this run-through.
“It helps me destress.” The old man replied, his voice steady, rough, and disciplined, yet it wasn’t unkind.
And as if sensing this, the orange cat quickly returned to his spot by the man’s boot. The familiarity of his tenderness was the warmth of a fire on a winter’s day to this stray, and of course, the possibility of a fishy meal certainly helped relinquish any leftover vigilance.
“The actors will be here soon.” She continued, her disregard of his fishing an unusually seen display. The man thought interestingly about it. He found her statement curious in its own sort of way. This was not the first time they had met up here, it was never planned, but she knew he came here to ponder whatever problems remained unsettled within his head.
So this script was well rehearsed, all that the two had said, had been said before, this was merely the introduction, the Act 1 to this conversation that served as the prelude to the items that they truly wanted to discuss. And yet it was defied, which is why he found it curious, though only partially. She was nervous; that wasn’t difficult to tell, and who wouldn’t be in her position? This is the run-through of the play where the actors will showcase each and every scene of all three acts, and while the costumes, the lights, the music, backgrounds, and the rest of the technicals will be absent, this performance holds the core of the play.
In other words, if the run-through ends in failure, then the play will be unable to avoid the same result.
There just isn’t enough time to rewrite anything more than a handful of scenes before the opening week, and replacing actors, or reworking characters is flat-out impossible in three weeks.
“It’s too early. We still have an hour or two.” He stated, and then as she did not follow up with another question, he decided to speak a little more, “We have done all we can, Hatsuko. I am confident it will be a good showing.”
“I hope you are right.” It was a silly reply, almost cliche in its wording. So why did she say it? Because she doesn’t mean it, she doesn’t care if the play is a success. Well, maybe she cares a bit, but that’s because the play’s success will reflect on what she does care about; the results of a single actress.
And do we really need to state her name to know who she is?
“You’re worried about her,” Ttio pointed out, and Hatsuko’s response came in the form of a confused hum; she was pretending to not know what he was talking about, “Seina.” He clarified, “That’s new. You don’t normally care about the actors you throw into the gauntlet.”
“Seina’s different.” She said the words too quickly, spoken with defensive haste as she crossed her arms and removed her stare from Ttio, instead turning to look out over the small river, “She has potential.” Hatsuko added on, her voice far calmer now that her words had thought put into them; however, they still sounded like an excuse.
Ttio couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, and though he tried to stifle it as best as he could, it was obvious he had doubts, “More than Miss Esumi?” He asked, the believer ever protective of his goddess, “I don’t understand why you choose Seina over her. Her potential is a thousand times greater.”
“Let’s call it a gut feeling.” She began, her speech another repeat used once more in this revolving door of a conversation, each side trading truths for truths, “Kaede’s motivation seems fickle. She’s acting as a means to an end, there is no fire in her eyes, no need to act.”
“A stupid reason.” He commented, viewing her response as nothing more than a flowery explanation without any substance.
“I did say it was a gut feeling.” She shot back, her eyes giving up her annoyance at how easily he dismissed her justification.
After that exchange of words, the two fell into a settled silence. The continuous sound of the orange cat’s purring was the sole thing that battled against the contentness of their quiet. Ttio’s hand slipped off of his lap and soon found the cat’s head, and with a brief scratch its squeaks of pleasure steadily increased.
“What about Emiko-” Hatsuko suddenly spoke, the beginning of her question prompting an uncharacteristic knee-jerk response from Ttio, “What of her?” He cut in without delay, however it took barely a second to compose himself as it dawned on him that he was just as nervous about today as she was, so he offered a whispered apology and allowed her to continue, “Have you asked her the question yet?” She asked.
This is his last task as a teacher and a director. He knows his age will argue against anything more than this, so the teacher submits their exam to the board of life; hoping with all their leftover strength that they will pass the bar and the seeds they planted will grow into something magnificent.
“I’m planning on doing it before the run-through begins.”
His hand may not be gripping the pen, nor is the front page of the script before him, but his action has already been signed off on. The reality of the play clear for them both to see; Us of I may have been built for Miss Kaede Esumi, but the act of building is an achievement in itself, which is precisely why he had Emiko do so much of it.
This is the path he has chosen for her. He believes it is for the best, this decision made without her input will be used to justify her script writing ability, because, in truth, there is no one more capable of being a director than her.
Even if she remains ignorant of it.
“Why before? You know that could throw off her acting.” Hatsuko commented, fully aware that posing such a big question to Emiko so suddenly could consume her mind and dash all the focus that should be on her role.
However, he is no longer debating this action. The pen light in his hand, as its ink has already offered its one cross to finalise the script. He has spent enough time thinking through this matter, and now it’s time to put the plan in motion.
It's for the best.
“I do,” Ttio replied, a strange confidence in his tone, “It was Miss Esumi’s suggestion. She believes the reveal might elevate her acting.” There was zero hesitancy here, his faith in Kaede Esumi was so firm that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
She is his legacy, after all.
“Is that so?” Hatsuko still retained her scepticism about this. She wasn’t as blinded by hope as Ttio was, so the cracks were plain to see for her, “I’m surprised you told Kaede about your plan.”
Just as Emiko is.
“I didn’t. It was an educated guess on her part. But with how much Emiko contributed to the play’s production, it wasn’t unexpected that someone as intelligent as Miss Esumi would figure it out.”
He was a director, but more than that, he was a teacher. However, the statement isn’t humorous anymore, even if he’s a teacher who’s never really taught, it’s still all he’s achieved.
How long was left until he’s gone? What would people remember about him? He doesn’t care about answering that question anymore, let the articles that speak well of him crumble to dust and his plays? If they’re not performed by his actors in the future, then what mind will his ghost give to them? But what about that brass plaque that Hanako Hall could put up for him? Let it corrode to nothing; it cannot speak, just as it cannot represent him. It all means nothing to him.
There is only one thing that does.
“What was her reaction?” Hatsuko continued, her arms crossed and her evaluating stare on his back.
And that is his legacy, his true and real and genuine legacy… when you think about it- it’s quite simple.
The teacher offers Kaede Esumi to this acting world. May she recreate deception into existence on every stage she sets foot on.
“She said it was a good choice, that Emiko would make a fine successor.”
The director offers Emiko Kiyohara to this acting world. May she reforge fiction into reality with every scene she dictates.
“You’re paraphrasing.” She pointed out, and even though the two had never shared a conversation, Hatsuko had witnessed Kaede’s excessive way of speaking; she could never say something as simple.
The slash has already been delivered, straight through his name and followed up with the swap of the co-writer.
“I am.” He relented without much fuss, “Miss Esumi’s vocabulary is far too complex for an old man like me.”
One cross to change a life, and one role to change another’s. He was the gardener, and this was his offer to them. After all, it should be known by now that those who want to step into this industry need every help they can get, and he intends to give.
“Eccentric, not complex.”
To Miss Esumi, it was the play.
“All actors are eccentric. Miss Esumi’s uniqueness stems from something greater.”
To Emiko, it was its creation.
“What is this greatness, then?”
And that is worth so much more than anything else he could have given her. Her name placed on the map, and her foot is in the door. Now all she has to do is take the second step along this path.
He shrugged, “Who knows? She’s far too complex for an old man like me to understand.”
To agree to be the garden instead of the forest.
------------
“Over here, please. I need someone to move this- Oh, you- thank you- could make sure the lighting on stage 3 works? Yes, I know we’re using stage 2, but stage 3’s bulbs were replaced three days ago. I want to avoid any technical difficulties, so please make sure our backup is in the best condition it can be. Thank you.”
Emiko’s voice was a lighthouse in a storm, actors, experts, and support staff all flowing around her, listening and following each and every order that came from her. Her control was so planned that even those who grumbled or held complaints about such a young girl telling them what to do quickly found themselves unable to think as her very words were so astute that they replaced their own thoughts.
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One actor took a moment, hovering by the wall of the room. He was stuck in contemplation of how to pronounce a line; what tone of emotion he should imbue into it. And then as if she could peer into his mind, Emiko suddenly turned to him, she spoke his name with familiarity even though they barely knew each other, and her advice came to him as a revelation.
She had remembered absolutely everything about his role, scenes, lines, positions, and instructions. So her words solved his moment of contemplation, and he hurriedly shuffled away to prepare in earnest.
This was not an uncommon sight within Hanako Hall. In truth, it is more accurate to say it is the norm everyone has come to expect and appreciate.
A technical staff member shambles by, and Emiko’s guidance hits him like a truck. His back straightens, and he immediately runs off to carry out his renewed task. Next comes one of the background designers, and though she isn’t needed for this run-through, Emiko’s instruction is so flawless that she couldn’t help but jump up in shock and rush to complete it. Then finally, an actress approaches, her face is a little worse for wear, but her elegance cannot be denied, so Emiko briskly calls out to her…
“Seina!” She cried, and Seina’s head turned to meet her in a second, her refined steps closing the distance between them with no delay, “How are you feeling about today?”
Seina gave a warm smile before answering. It was one filled with truth, Emiko couldn’t quite put her finger on when the change happened, but the two of them had become close rather quickly. Seina could be blunt here and there, but she always seemed to know what to say to put Emiko at ease, and that’s before mentioning how kind she was, almost selfless in every moment spent with her.
However, sometimes, she looked so far away. Emiko had noticed it on regular occasion. How Seina would forget the time as it flew by, her stare watching out over something she wasn’t really seeing. She was ethereal; everything about her seemed so otherworldly, her appearance was beautiful, and even if she was a little guarded at times, Emiko couldn’t help but want to be around her.
To Emiko, Seina felt like family, and she had no idea why.
“Hmm, I’m good.” She began with a hum. Emiko always liked Seina’s hums. They were strangely relaxing. They pulled her down to earth and opened her up, removed that layer of elegance, and made her out to be more casual.
It was nice and calming and opened her up to all sorts of silly little conversations that Emiko could talk to her about.
“Really? Are you sure? You look kinda tired. Did you get enough sleep?”
“I had a late night, don’t worry about me, Emiko. I’m fine.” She replied, bringing herself a step closer and examining a piece of Emiko’s hair, “You didn’t braid your hair? Did you forget, or did something happen?”
Without thinking, Seina picked up one of Emiko’s loose strands of hair and found herself observing it as if it was about to magically whisk itself away. It must have been an odd sight to Seina, who had only seen Emiko’s hair unbraided during her acting scenes.
“Ah, sorry. Does it look bad? I stayed up all night thinking about the play, so I didn’t get much sleep.” Emiko explained, comfortably remaining in her spot and allowing Seina to fiddle with her hair.
“Would you like me to braid it?” Seina offered, her head inclining to the side as she waited for Emiko to agree to her offer, not a trace of second-guessing that she’d say no.
“Thank you, Seina. That’d be nice.” Came the reply from Emiko, and Seina quickly got to work, leading her to a bench, sitting her down, and moving behind her to begin her methodical work on the braids.
Emiko took her glasses off as Seina pulled all her hair back and removed a small comb from her bag. Then she exhaustively ran the comb down through her hair, searching with a vigilant eye for any knots in need of detangling. Emiko couldn’t see Seina, but the sensation of the comb through her hair was beyond delightful, at least up until Seina’s fingers had to dig around to detangle a particularly bad knot, but things soon returned to refreshing as she continued her treatment with such a kindly touch Emiko found herself wondering if Seina had training in hairdressing.
Obviously, she didn’t. But the Ha:Yami’s focus on appearances meant that no hostess could afford to slack in that department, and hair was often a primary area for all women looking to impress. However, Emiko was clueless about this, so her naivete brought her to a conclusion well off the mark.
Seina finished the braiding not long after she started. She took two hairbands from her bag and tied Emiko’s braids off so they wouldn’t unravel with the movements.
To Emiko, this was Seina simply being kind, however Seina was most certainly thinking something along the lines of helping the sister she perceives her to be.
“There,” Seina spoke, putting Emiko’s newly made braids in their usual spot, “Your hair is all braided.”
“Thank you, it’s really nice.” Emiko said while checking out the style in the reflection on her phone, “How did you learn how to do this? Do you have a sister?” She added on, making a deduction that Seina must have learnt how to do other people’s hair by practising it on a family member, and a sister would be the ideal target.
And while Seina offered thanks for the compliment; her answer to the question of having a sister was somehow spoken both with and without deceit.
“No, I don’t.” She answered, yet inwardly, her answer was the opposite: Of course, I have a sister. It’s you!
“Then… Did your mom teach you?”
Seina’s body language froze. It couldn’t have lasted for longer than a split second, but that was enough for Emiko to realise she’d stepped on a landmine and hurriedly retracted the statement.
“Ah- oh, I’m sorry, Seina. It slipped my mind, I forgot, I didn’t mean-” She continued on and on, that creeping feeling of guilt spreading all throughout her body, and while she barely knew a fraction of the relationship between Seina and her parents, she still knew she was a runaway, and that obviously meant there was no good news in the backstory.
“Emiko…” Seina cut Emiko off, preventing her rambling apologies before they had truly begun, “It’s fine.” She calmed further with a warm smile on her face.
“I’m sorry.” Emiko finished, and Seina simply rubbed the back of Emiko’s shoulders and stood up.
“We need to get back to work.” She stated, coming to the front of Emiko and maintaining that affectionate smile of hers, “Remember, our focus needs to be on the play, okay?”
Emiko gave a nod, and Seina voiced the classic phrase of good luck, which Emiko promptly returned before the two parted ways and they fell back into their roles for today. Emiko continuing to perform as the lighthouse in a storm, and Seina en route to becoming an actress.
And while Emiko sunk into the vast ocean of a workload she had to complete before the run-through began in earnest. It ended up lasting only a brief few minutes until another voice pulled her out of her concentration.
“Hello, Emiko,” The voice was instantly recognisable to her. If she had spoken any louder, the whole room would have been forced to grind to a halt to listen to her graceful greeting, so clear and aristocratic that it could make the water bow to the flame.
It was Kaede Esumi. Her face held a confident and mature smile, all accompanied by shoulder-length chestnut brown hair that shone with the warmth of an autumn’s day. The height difference forced her to look down upon Emiko, but even so, her milky hazel eyes positively buzzed with energy, and as she waited for an indication that Emiko was listening, she swayed side to side with a patience equal to the eroding sea to a cliff face; her every subtle movement adorned with a grace unmatched.
“The Director wants to speak to you. Is your schedule cleared for a chat?” Kaede’s voice came out more informally than Emiko expected. It was like she was trying to be friendly or at least act casual to put her at ease. Whatever it was, Emiko found herself more unnerved because of it, a miscalculation on Kaede’s part.
“Oh? Okay, is he in his office?” Emiko asked back, her voice lacking the same confidence that Kaede’s held.
“Where else would he be? I’m assuming you don’t require me to lead the way?” She replied, finding Emiko’s questions rather silly but clarifying regardless. It wouldn’t benefit either of them if she ended up heading elsewhere, after all, so a nudge to get her moving wouldn’t go amiss.
The two parted soon after that. Emiko handed over her thanks with the decorative bow of a goodbye atop a present, and it took her no time at all to arrive before the door leading to his side room of an office.
She knocked on the door; the force of her knuckles measured and made without the slightest hesitation. This place was familiar to her. It was a meditative place she often shared to get away from the noises and bask in the creationary steps of the play.
His reply came with no delay, welcoming her into the office no different from all those other times.
“Director, hi. You wanted to see me?” Emiko called out, her voice held no worry or anxiety. It was a calm, cheerful introduction, similar to that which a student would give to their favourite teacher.
Director Ttio was seated behind a metal desk. He nodded towards Emiko and held a hand out, inviting her to take the chair opposite him. She did so with comfortable practice, the old posters that lay scattered all around the wall becoming her recognisable background.
His face was illuminated by a single white light that seemed like it was pulled out from an office building. It shined with far too bright a glow for this small room, it was clearly designed for a long hallway or larger area, but Emiko paid that no mind as its buzzing gleam brought her back to past days of playwriting.
“I did. Thank you for coming here so quickly.” The Director began, his voice kind but stern, every bit the man history has moulded him into, a mix of a teacher and a director, “I’d like to discuss some things.”
The tone was serious, Emiko picked up on that right away as a trace of concern slipped into her voice, “Oh, okay? Sure, go ahead.” She wasn’t worried for herself, but her thoughts were running around, trying to figure out what part of the play he’d like to discuss.
Because, of course, this had to be about the play. Maybe one of the actors had called in sick, or he wanted to change around a scene and needed her input, or perhaps it was another one of the many other issues that could arise during a production such as this.
“Your performance. How have you been these past weeks?”
“I- emm, yes. I think the play has been going really well. Everyone is on track, Seina is doing really well too, she’s improved tons. And me? It’s been a little stressful- but I think it's all shaping up to be a really good performance. I’m a little excited to show off what we’ve been working on as well.”
Director Ttio found himself unable to hide the smile that had appeared on his lips. The answer wasn’t what he was searching for when he asked that question, but it filled him with happiness regardless.
“Ha, thank you for that. However, I was more asking about your acting performance.” He clarified, deciding that he had no other choice if he wanted Emiko to walk herself down this train of thought.
“My acting? I’ve been doing everything I usually do. I know the role of Yuki inside and out. I mean- I partially wrote her, so it’d be bad if I didn’t. She’s not that important of a role, though, so I can afford to focus on other areas of the play that really need the attention.” She finished her speech and then added, “Is that what you were asking?”
He didn’t have an immediate response. He was still debating her answer, stacking it up upon the scales that would hinge on this last-minute acceptance of a decision he had already made and signed off on a hundred times before.
But he needed the time, and so it was well spent. This was for the best, he agreed. So the foot was placed in the door, the world of acting wide open for a new director to take over an old stage.
“Emiko,” He dragged her name out, using it as a gap to think before he spoke, “What inspires you to act?”
It was a sudden question, almost cruel in its randomness. However, it wasn’t random but perfectly planned. He was testing the waters, checking the temperature and making sure that what drives her is exactly what he thinks it is.
There can be no mistakes, the wrong chemical could kill the whole garden before its even realised Spring had arrived and its flowers were in bloom. But this was not caution- no, far from it, this was belief.
“Hmm,” The prelude to her answer was a familiar sound that held a loving comfort within it, “I guess it's because…”
The conclusion approached. The answer to this question asked so many times before, even if this was about to be her first time hearing it. He hoped she would agree that it was for the best.
“I want to bridge the gap between the stage and the camera, to prove that plays can surpass movies.”
Her voice hitched up a pitch, though it did not crack or fluctuate in intention, but remained as steadfast as a rapid that erodes through the forest, cutting its own path backed up by nature’s confidence.
“To create something that will last- a world given visualisation in reality. I want it to be so real that it’ll blur the lines between the spectators in the audience and the world on that stage. It’s why I have to be an actress- why I have to be beside that stage.” She paused, a trace of confidence leaking out at her bold words, “I- I know it might be a little hard to understand, but this is what I need to do.”
“Why do you have to be an actress?”
One question to change a life, and one answer to lock it all into place. He was the gardener, but there were no plants to water, shrubs to trim, lawns to mow, nor greenscapes to weed. Her talent had already bloomed into the prized flower it was. She simply had to acknowledge it.
“W-what?” Emiko replied, confused, not fully understanding this new lesson that was being taught to her by her teacher, “I’ve always wanted to be an actress… I don’t understand?”
She was not the garden yet. The forest still wild and free with all its unbound ambitions, but the traces of wildflowers had appeared on the borderlands, and now it was only a matter of time before the forest grasped that it was better to abandon the trees caught in the wildfire, than risk everything burn.
“To do what you said…” He began, his words measured with precision, the conversation led exactly where he needed it to be as if he’d planned every step of this treaded speech, “Wouldn’t it be better to be a director?”
However, what was the wildfire? It was talent- or rather, a lack of it. If left unchecked, her acting would be consumed by it, the reality that her dreams would never be met if she remained an actress. The truth is already known; Emiko isn’t a talented actor, if she were to put her all into the role, her peak would be a level below even Hatsuko.
“Huh? A director?”
So for her goal, she must cease to be an actress or risk it all. The wildfire approaches with each step of her current path, but a crossroad has arrived at last, one route leads to failure, the other leads to a garden. After all, is it not better to succeed as a director than fail as an actress?
“Emiko Kiyohara, I would like you to be my successor. To be a director over an actress.”
And that is worth so much more than anything else he could have given her. Her name placed on the map, and her foot is in the door. Now all she has to do is take the second step along this path.
To agree to be the garden instead of the forest.
But first, she must listen…
“Can- can I think about it?”
So she listens.
