BEHIND THE MASK

Chapter 5: "Hard Lesson"

A Sailor Moon fanfic

By Bill K.

The light was on in Michiru’s studio. It was nearly ten and the light was only on in her studio when she was absorbed with something. Cradling a cup of warm milk, because it helped her sleep, Haruka eased into the doorway and peeked inside. She expected Michiru to be working on a painting. Such things usually absorbed her and kept her from cuddling on the sofa most of the evening.

But she wasn’t painting. This time Michiru was hard at work at her desk, writing something. Her curiosity piqued, Haruka stole into the room and eased up behind her love. Peering over the woman’s shoulder, Haruka found Michiru working on bar paper, writing music.

“What’s that?” Haruka asked.

“A new piece I’m working on,” Michiru replied absently, trying to maintain concentration on the melody in her head.

“You’re serious about touring?”

Michiru stopped and uttered a small sigh of frustration. Haruka’s interruption had caused her to lose the melody and she knew better than to try to recapture it and talk to Haruka at the same time.

“Yes,” Michiru said, then glanced up at her mate. “Weren’t you?”

“Sure, I don’t mind. I just didn’t think it would inspire you this quickly.”

“I didn’t think so either, at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I grew to like the idea,” Michiru eased back in her chair. “Just think, Haruka: Visiting all the old venues we played when we were younger, thrilling the audiences, just the two of us going on the road.” Then she grew a devilish smirk. “You in evening clothes.”

“The monkey suit,” scowled Haruka.

“Oh, but it makes you look like such a sexy little monkey,” Michiru mocked.

“Thanks, I think,” Haruka replied.

“If I can get three or four good new pieces finished, then mix in a few audience favorites and a few pieces I haven’t tried yet, we’d have a show,” Michiru outlined enthusiastically.

“We’d still need rehearsal time,” Haruka warned her. “You know how you are. And I have to get back to the pro circuit in mid-February.”

“Yes,” Michiru sighed, crest-fallen. “Maybe we could squeeze in a few dates in late January - - if I can get these pieces done.” She sighed again and let her head fall back over the chair. “Who am I kidding? There’s no way something with any kind of quality could be put together that quickly.”

“Sorry for the reality check,” Haruka smiled. She leaned down and kissed Michiru. “But don’t give up. There’s always 2008 to shoot for.”

“Like I could wait that long,” Michiru grumbled. “I’ve got the itch to perform now! I can’t just file it away.”

“You’ve got the itch to prove your label wrong for dropping you,” Haruka jabbed.

“There’s that, too,” Michiru admitted. “Oh, well, if it has to be." She glanced again at her companion with wicked mirth. "And there could always be an international fuel crisis and the Formula-1 season could be called off.”

“Wash your mouth out,” Haruka said as she wandered out of the room.

Himeko Tenoh heard the front door close. She turned in her chair to see if it was Junko. Of course she was waiting up for the girl. She’d never admit it, particularly to Junko, but she was waiting up. There was still the protective maternal instinct in her and it was hard to fight, no matter how much Junko protested otherwise.

Gert was asleep in his chair. Late hours were something he could tolerate less and less anymore. That was his pattern now: Asleep by nine, up at two, and then again at five. No matter what he did, his body had other ideas. The door didn’t disturb him, so Himeko let him sleep for now.

But Junko didn’t come into the front room, even though it was obvious by the light that her parents were still up. Instead, footsteps told Himeko that her daughter had gone directly upstairs. The woman got up and went to the front hall, looking up the stairs. She was hesitant to intrude into her daughter's privacy, but at the same time was concerned. Concern finally won out and she followed the footsteps upstairs.

At the top of the steps, she found Junko in the bathroom. The girl was sitting on the towel chest, looking at her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The girl seemed to just stare. She was oblivious to Himeko’s presence. That right there scared the life out of the older woman. Cautiously approaching, she got to the doorway of the bathroom.

“Junko?” Himeko inquired. Her daughter turned to her suddenly with a look of a deer in headlights on her face. Then, just as quickly, she turned away.

But Himeko had seen the bruises.

“What happened?” Himeko asked, sublimating her indignation to project a blanket of sympathy for her child. “Did he hit you again?”

Junko didn’t want to answer. She was clearly shamed by the entire incident. Finally, when she realized that neither Himeko nor her question would go away, the girl nodded silently.

“What caused it?" Himeko asked gently. "Were you arguing again?”

“I don’t know,” Junko replied impatiently. “We were eating. I said ‘hi’ to a guy I know from school, and then Aki just flipped out. He started throwing accusations at me and when I tried to leave,” and Junko paused, the memory of the incident bitter in her mouth, “he hit me.”

Himeko looked down, her face stinging with disillusionment. “Obviously this boy isn’t what we all thought him to be. He clearly has problems he needs to deal with before he should consider taking a girl out again.” She moved in and stroked Junko’s hair. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

Junko shook her head. “Nothing’s broken.”

“I’ll get you some ice for your face,” Himeko told her. She hesitated at the doorway. “You’re done with him, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Junko said with a scowl. “It’s like Haruka told me: You don’t give a snake a second chance to bite you.” Himeko frowned at the mention of Haruka’s name, but let it pass. Junko looked up suddenly. “Mom, please don’t call Haruka up and start throwing accusations at her! I really don’t want her to know about this!”

Himeko patted her daughter’s shoulder. “That’s perfectly fine with me. I don’t happen to think this family’s affairs are any of her concern any longer.”

The woman left and Junko glanced back at the mirror at the ugly bruise on the side of her face. Her mother may have her own reasons for excluding Haruka from this, but they weren’t Junko’s reasons. The teen knew Haruka’s temper and sense of justice. And she knew Haruka had too much to lose, both as a championship racer and as Sailor Uranus, to get involved in some revenge vendetta against a high school student.

Although, she had to admit to herself that the mental picture of Aki getting hit with World Shaking had a dark appeal to it right about now.

Morning brought Rei Hino out into the sunshine to tour the grounds of Hikawa Shrine, something she did every morning. The nice weather, despite the onset of fall and the changing temperatures, made the duty less of a duty. Hikawa Shrine and the grounds around it were her charge, her responsibility to keep up. But more than that, it was her home. It was one of the few things in this world that was hers, that meant something to her, and she was going to keep it as nice as her grandfather had kept it. Many of the visitors remarked to her at how nice the grounds were. It made the hard work she put in worth it.

In the distance, on her left, Akira-sensei was talking with three teenage girls who had stopped in on their way to school. The breathless voices and starry eyes were traits of the three girls that Rei recognized from her own youth and a smirk grew on her lips. Visitors had increased since Akira-sensei had joined the shrine and a good eighty percent of them were teenage girls. Akira had been genuinely surprised when she made that observation to him, but it didn’t surprise her. She knew what teenage girls liked. She’d been one herself once, although it was hard to believe sometimes. Just like it was hard to believe she could have ever acted that way when she was that age.

Although the thick autograph book in her bedroom said otherwise.

“Rei!” a woman’s voice called out. The priest turned and found Ryoko walking across the grounds toward her. It had been several weeks since she’d seen Ryoko. The woman still favored pants and flannel shirts. Every time she saw Ryoko, Rei couldn’t help but think of the commercials for American hiking boots that ran on the electronic billboards in the Ginza, featuring rugged men and women scaling cliffs with just their hands and the featured boots, dressed similarly to Ryoko.

“Good morning, Ryoko. So you’re finally back,” Rei smiled. Instantly she read what Ryoko wanted, but said nothing. That always seemed to put people off and Rei had learned to curb the tendency to admit what she knew.

“Well, Seiji and I had to return to work eventually,” Ryoko said wistfully. The happiness the woman felt flooded around Rei and nearly gave her a contact high. “I wouldn’t have minded staying in that cabin on Lake Biwa forever, but you can’t live on love alone, no matter what the poets say.”

“That’s what they say,” Rei nodded. “Did you manage to meet Ami’s father while you were there?”

“Yes,” Ryoko related. “He’s very talented. A little eccentric, though. When Seiji and I first encountered him, he was by the lake painting. He seemed very distant. But later in the week, he actually sought us out and apologized, and we spent a very nice evening with him. He knows so much about the lake and the woods.”

“Yeah, that’s her dad,” Rei agreed.

“Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for performing the wedding ceremony for us,” Ryoko continued. “It was really beautiful. I think I’ll cherish the memory of that day forever, and it was because of you just as much as because I was marrying Seiji.”

“I’m glad you were satisfied,” Rei told her. “Weddings are one of the happier duties I have to perform and I’m grateful you were able to give me another opportunity to do so.”

“And Mom loved it,” Ryoko added humorously. “She said it was more beautiful than she could ever have imagined. And as soon as I give her a grandchild, her life will be complete.”

“Any progress?” inquired Rei.

“Not that I know of,” Ryoko replied, slightly embarrassed. “Although it’s not for lack of trying, that’s for sure!” Both women chuckled over that.

“Well, I can sell you a charm for that if you want,” Rei giggled.

“Thanks, but us ‘modern’ women don’t buy into that,” Ryoko said. “Thanks again for the wedding, Rei. It was better than I could have imagined.” She thought a moment. “Although I guess we could have done without Usagi sniffling all through the ceremony.”

“Actually, she was fairly restrained,” Rei replied with a cynical look. “But we both know by now that dignity isn’t her strong suit.” She took Ryoko’s hands and looked into the woman’s eyes. “May the blessings of the gods be with you and Seiji, and may they grant you many years of happiness.”

“Thank you,” Ryoko beamed. “Now I just need to call Minako and thank her again. After all, I wouldn’t have met Seiji if it wasn’t for her. Do you remember what city she’s in today?”

“Hakodate,” Rei answered. Then she stiffened. “Not that I’m following it THAT closely. I just - - remember reading it.”

Ryoko smirked knowingly.

It was a typical morning in Azabu-Juuban; except, that is, for Kenji Tsukino. For the first time in his life, he was out hunting for news. All his life he had been a staff photographer, taking pictures of events assigned to him. Later he had been an editor and passed out the assignments. He’d never had to dig up his own news as a stringer. And there was more than a little doubt in his mind as to whether he could do it. But he had a wife at home that loved him and depended upon him and he couldn’t let her down.

He had his camera. It was an older model Nikon that pre-dated digital pictures, but it was familiar and comfortable to use. He also had a radio that could tune into the police bands. It was mounted onto the dashboard of the family car. Kenji had already heard several incidents on the band this morning, but they’d all been too far away for him to get to. Tokyo was, after all, a very large city.

And he hadn’t bought any film yet. That’s why he was in this convenience store in Azabu-Juuban. His ten year old Toyota was parked outside, waiting for him. He was here, plucking a mixture of black and white and high speed color film from a display. But by the time ten rolls had landed in his basket, Kenji stopped. Mentally he added the ten rolls up. The cost was uncomfortable. Money was still tight. But he needed that film. There was no telling what the editor at the paper might buy. He had to make a sale.

A noise caused him to turn. Kenji’s eyes popped behind his thick black frame glasses. Two young hoods, delinquents both about fifteen, were at the counter. One had a black automatic shoved at the register clerk. His arm was high and the gun was pointed down. Kenji recognized that the hood was imitating the American gang members from the American television dramas that played nightly. The other delinquent wore dark glasses and canvassed the store, on the look out for trouble. His gazed fixed on Kenji.

“You got a problem, Pop?” the youth asked. He had the sneering confidence of so many delinquents in Japan, the swagger of someone rebelling against the regimentation of Japanese society by being openly contemptuous of everyone and everything.

Kenji didn’t say anything. He didn’t approve, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. The delinquent knew this, too, and smirked his contempt for Kenji. It made Kenji feel angry. It was one more thing in this world that was openly showing him how weak he was, how useless he was as a husband, as a provider, as a man. And, just as bad, it was something he could have photographed, maybe sold, if only he’d been ready. It was like life was dangling this in front of him to show him how impotent he’d become.

The cashier handed over a sack filled with money. The gun-wielding youth grabbed it and the pair sprinted for the door. But at the door, they were met by two uniformed officers of the Tokyo Metro Police. Their guns were drawn and they were ready to fire.

“GET ON THE FLOOR NOW!” the two officers bellowed and the two “rebels” obeyed quickly. Kenji wandered over to the cash register as the pair were cuffed and hauled out. This would have been even more newsworthy. It would have sold - - if only he’d been prepared.

“I hope they both get what’s coming to them,” grumbled the cashier. His name was Matsumoto. Kenji often stopped here in the past on the way to the train station for a paper and a canned juice.

“I could have shot them both,” mumbled Kenji, meaning with his camera.

“Could have got yourself killed, more like,” Matsumoto replied. “Punks like them aren’t like us, Tsukino-San. They don’t care about human life.”

Kenji stared at Matsumoto for a moment and wasn’t certain they were talking about the same thing. Then he paid for his film and headed for the aging Toyota to find something newsworthy to photograph. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that his best chance had already occurred and he’d let it slip through his fingers.

In the halls of her high school, Junko Tenoh tried to avoid the gaze of others. If she could melt into the background or hide in her own shadow, she would. The girl knew, she just knew, that everybody in school was staring at the bruises on her face. Her home room teacher even asked her about it, inquired if she was having any trouble at home. Some of her girl friends had asked her about them, too. Finally Junko had taken to telling everyone who asked that she’d been mugged after school.

It wasn’t far from the truth, at least in her mind. Aki had battered her and tried to rob her of something: her free will. He’d tried to force her to his will with genuine force. But she’d stopped him. She wanted to feel proud. She should feel proud. It’s what she should have done. Don’t submit willingly. Fight for your self-respect, even if you lose. That’s what Haruka would have done.

So why did she feel shamed instead?

“Junko,” she heard before she saw and stopped suddenly to avoid running into him. Aki was there, standing right in front of her. He looked like a penitent puppy, all sad, moist eyes and droopy mouth.

She started to walk around him, giving off waves of icy demeanor. Aki reached out and caught her hand, but Junko snatched it away and whirled on him.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!” she hissed venomously. Other students in the hall stared in surprise.

“Junko, I’m sorry!” he begged. “I don’t know what came over me! I swear I’ll never do it again!”

“Oh, you’re damn right you’ll never do it again!” raged Junko. “Because you will never come near enough to me to ever get the chance!”

“Why do you have to be like this?” he wailed. “I said I was sorry! Can’t you believe me?”

“No! Want to know why?” Junko spat and pointed to the bruise on her jaw.

“It won’t happen again!” Aki pleaded. “Junko, I love you!”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Junko replied acidly.

“We can make this work! Give me one more chance!” Aki persisted.

“You make it work. I’m done with this.”

She turned to leave.

“So, what, did your dyke sister tell you to say that?” snarled Akinori. Junko whirled on him again, eyes blazing.

“You leave my sister out of this!” snapped Junko. “Haruka has nothing to do with this! This is between me and you,” and she gestured savagely at Aki’s hands, “and those two fists you love to swing the minute you don’t get your way! Well I’m through being your punching bag! Get this through your head, Aki! I - am - through - with - you!”

And Junko stormed off down the hall. Aki stared after her, oblivious to the other students staring at him. His eyes narrowed.

“Think so, huh?” he muttered to himself.

Continued in Chapter 6