When There's No Leader (4)
After catching BARD's live show at the Harajuku Live House and riding high on the thrill, Iris stumbled upon an unexpected survey. Normally, she'd breeze right past it without a second glance, but one particular phrase snagged her attention.
To those in their 10s and 20s:
Is marriage romantic?
Iris, who had been meandering the streets mulling over whether to splurge on some clothes, felt her good mood crash in an instant.
"Marriage?"
She jabbed NO without hesitation. And sure enough, the next question popped up right on cue, just as she'd predicted.
If marriage isn't romantic, then what's the reason?
"What kind of reason does it need?"
The question was so pathetically obvious that Iris forgot to school her expression and barked out a dry, incredulous laugh. It was that absurd.
Engagements and marriages without love were already relics of a bygone era. There was no way romance or happiness could bloom in something like that. Drama was more than enough for witnessing such nonsense.
The 21st century. Japan, facing an aging population like everywhere else, saw divorce rates steadily climbing. The top reason for divorce between men and women? Personality clashes.
We've got long lifespans left, but no need to drag it out with mismatched personalities.
They say personalities can be worked out over time. Live together long enough, and affection will sprout even if it wasn't there before.
What a load of crap.
Could emotions forced to bloom in a marriage held together by sheer obligation really be called true love? Iris could declare with absolute certainty that it wasn't. It wasn't some sudden spark of newfound love—it was just surrendering to reality.
Like Papa.
"Waaah!"
That's how Iris wailed as if the sky were falling—in the arms of her mother, who stroked her hair quietly before slipping into eternal sleep.
The funeral passed in hushed silence. Iris clung to Zenjiro's leg, watching the Buddhist priest chant sutras. The attendees were just the family—herself and Zenjiro—plus a handful of people who'd been close to the deceased. Everyone wept for her passing.
Everyone except Zenjiro.
Rubbing her swollen, stinging eyes raw from tears, Iris asked,
"Papa, did you love Mama?"
"Ah."
"For real?"
"…."
Zenjiro fell silent at his daughter's question. Iris resented him a little for not giving a straight answer right away.
That midnight, after the funeral, Iris tossed and turned sleeplessly. She detoured to the bathroom, then wandered the corridors to gaze at the moonlit garden her mother used to admire with her.
"Isn't this actually for the best?"
The grating voice of the cranky old hag—always nagging Iris about ladylike behavior—drifted over. It came from the guest room beside the engawa, the one with the house's most stunning garden view year-round. Iris loved lounging there when no visitors were around. It was where her parents would gather too, a place for family bonding.
Iris held her breath and ducked behind the sliding door in a panic. Light leaked through the slightly ajar shoji panels, casting faint shadows on the engawa.
"What do you mean by that?"
It was Zenjiro's voice. A gust of wind made the candle flames flicker, shaking the shadow of a man with slumped shoulders on the engawa.
"Have you forgotten, family head?"
"Forgot what?"
"Aside from her noble lineage, that girl had nothing to offer our house."
Fallen noble houses lagging behind the times were a dime a dozen. Iris's birth mother was no exception. Their union had been a calculated merger, but the Arisugawas gained little from tying the knot with her family.
"Well, artists are all like that. Even houses like Narita or Otowa could crumble anytime. Tsk tsk."
The hag cackled with phlegm in her throat, claiming technicians were preferable.
"Still, such a pity. Her face and figure were like pearls gifted by a mermaid, but she traded them for health and longevity…."
What an ironic fate, laced with mockery. Zenjiro lowered his voice.
"Watch your tongue, old Yaga."
"My apologies. But as a lowly elder relegated to the back rooms, allow me this one piece of advice."
"Advice?"
"Yes. No matter what, the heir to the family head must be a son, mustn't he?"
Zenjiro scoffed coldly. The deceased's health had tanked right after birthing Iris, making further pregnancies impossible. The pressure had started around then. Naturally.
The pressure hadn't spared only her, either. Even Zenjiro, as family head, wasn't exempt.
Five days after his wife's death, the family's atmosphere turned even more brazen. Sick of it, Zenjiro sighed heavily.
"Hah. You want me to adopt an heir?"
"Why bother?"
The hag's tone grew sly.
"You're still young, aren't you, family head?"
"Remarriage?"
"Of course. Eligible candidates are everywhere."
"It's not even been five days since my wife passed."
"I'm just loosening the dam a bit."
"…."
Iris blocked her ears and fled the spot—she couldn't bear to hear more.
"Miss Iris?"
She bumped into Eishun, who doted on her like a grandfather, but had no time to care. Back in her room, she burrowed under the covers up to her head, gnawing her thumb. Then she pummeled her pillow with fists, cursing the hag to drop dead soon.
A few days later, the hag vanished from the main house.
"Eishun?"
"You called, Miss Iris?"
"Where'd that hag go? Haven't seen her lately."
"Lady Yaga? She went down to the branch family a few days ago."
"Really? She won't come back to the main house?"
"No."
"Yay! Then I'm lounging in the guest room today!"
The hag never let Iris relax in peace—she'd meddle, scold, and even smack her if it got bad. Thrilled at the obstacle's removal, Iris bolted to the guest room.
Flinging open the shoji doors, she found Zenjiro sitting dazed, pipe in hand.
"Papa?"
"… Ah. Iris, is that you."
His face looked utterly exhausted, strangely so. Iris approached cautiously, then hopped onto his lap.
If her mother's lap was prime head-rest spot, Zenjiro's was designated butt-seat.
"Sleepy?"
Lifting her head, his stubbly chin beard scratched her scalp.
"Mm… a little? You look tired too, Papa."
Zenjiro pressed his pipe against his brow, ruffling Iris's hair roughly.
"Ow, Papa, my head hurts."
"Sorry."
He had no knack for it. Eishun, kneeling contentedly on the engawa and watching, chimed in softly.
"Stroke with the hair's flow, sir."
"L-like this?"
"Yes, exactly. The young miss loves that."
"Heh. Papa only figured it out now?"
"Sorry."
The mood was perfect. Snuggled into Zenjiro's chest, Iris spotted a photo hidden under his knee—the deceased's picture. She leaned down and snatched it.
"Papa."
"Yes, ask away."
"Did you love Mama?"
"Ah."
His hand paused mid-stroke, then he took back the photo she'd picked up.
"I did. That's why we married—and had you."
"For real?"
"Yes."
Iris's face burst into smiles as she whipped around and hugged him tight.
He loved her. The answer she'd craved most from Zenjiro.
"Iris loves Papa so, so much too!"
"Haha."
Zenjiro chuckled emptily, patting her small back. Father and daughter clung like that for a long while.
"Master."
"Yes."
Eishun called, and Zenjiro rose, still stroking her hair.
"Papa, where you going?"
"To a meeting. You play here, Iris."
"Okay!"
"I'll be back."
Zenjiro left, Eishun trailing him. Iris immediately rolled around on the floor.
First time since the funeral she'd felt this good. She hoped the happiness would last.
But.
After that, Zenjiro grew too busy for heartfelt father-daughter talks. Their bond began to fray.
Before long, he'd quiz her like a family head testing his heir, probing with all sorts of topics and questions. Each time, Iris fired back answers utterly opposed to what he—or the family—wanted.
Her own little rebellion.
Their last chance at reconciliation was during Iris's middle school cultural festival. She blew it spectacularly.
Facing Zenjiro's icy glare as family head, Iris planted the seed of doubt.
Did he really love Mama?
On the anniversary of his wife's death, only Eishun and Iris visited the grave anymore. Iris asked,
"What do you think, Eishun?"
"How could I presume…."
Eishun dodged. Iris fixed her hollow gaze on the man whose every hair had turned snow-white.
"He's scouting fiancées."
Her suspicion hardened into certainty.
"Right after she turns adult."
She could tell from his indifferent pressure on his precious daughter.
"It's not forced."
Liar. Anyone could see it was.
"If Honjo has any sense, she'll behave."
Even Rena, Iris's sole friend, was just another hostage to him. His head was filled with nothing but the family.
Iris huddled in pitch-black darkness, surrounded by walls on all sides.
Then light pierced through.
"Hard to believe, I know, but I promise—with everything I've got."
Shin Tae-il confessed.
"Major debut."
For her, who'd been left with nothing but sacrificing a brilliant future, he lit the way.
"Deadline: until we graduate."
Major debut. A dream she'd half-given up on but never fully released—he made her dream it again.
Iris knew it. That dead-serious idiot boy would truly stake everything to help her.
Just like before.
The look in Zenjiro's eyes that once made her happy, if only for a time.
She dreamed of her ideals again. But reality's walls taught her his efforts alone wouldn't suffice.
I can do it on my own.
He'd said so himself—it had to be true.
I've got overflowing talent as a vocalist. Inherited from Mama, right?
Even BARD's Izumi had praised her tone.
But.
A band isn't something I can do alone.
Deep down, she'd love to do it just with Tae-il. Duos were everywhere—Japan's top national band, R'z, was only two members.
The problem was Shin Tae-il's mindset.
No idea why, but he undervalues himself to an extreme degree.
And he'd already recruited these rookies with a stance of zero compromise.
Katsuragi Ayane. Honjo Rena. Sakuraba Sakuya.
To Iris, a horrific combo of problem children, all bitten by Tae-il's stubborn fangs.
Still.
Iris decided to accept it. Spilled water couldn't be gathered back. Why not enjoy what you can't avoid?
She desperately needed the help.
So.
"Help me out."
Mimicking her idiot leader's tone, Iris gave a wry smile.