020 – My Favorite Idol #2
“So, you’re Arachne?”
Arachne. The woman renowned for weaving the finest tapestries, so confident in her skills that she challenged Athena herself—and won. The problem was that in the process, she mocked and belittled the gods, which caused all sorts of trouble. In the end, Arachne was turned into a spider, doomed to spin webs for eternity.
But the Arachne standing before me wasn’t a spider. She looked like a sharp, professional woman with dazzling silver hair like spider silk, dressed in a crisp women’s business suit and stockings. She screamed competent office worker—and honestly, that was a little disappointing.
“Ms. Arachne, why aren’t you in spider form?”
“...That’s not the point right now, is it? Didn’t you hear everything I just explained? I spent over an hour telling you how important this is...”
“Yeah, yeah. Your idol group’s got a gig at the big Elysium stadium, but the main vocalist won’t cooperate, right?”
“Yes?”
Arachne blinked in surprise at my quick summary, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.
“Nice and concise. Anyway... She wants thorny flowers for inspiration. I’ve shown her roses, brambles, acacias—nothing works. All that’s left are these hell cacti blooms.”
“And?”
“And? Manager Jo, if you cooperate on this, the executives will reward you big time. As a fellow company man, you know how huge it is to get in good with the higher-ups, right?”
She fixed me with her narrow eyes, practically dangling the bait. Like a hunter spider plucking its web, waiting for prey to stumble in. Truly a capable woman.
And that was the problem. Getting tangled up with someone this competent would just rack up achievements for me without trying. The odds of incidents, accidents, or outright failure would slip away.
So I wanted to keep my distance from her as much as possible.
“Ms. Arachne, I’ve got nothing to say. Please leave.”
“Wait! Do you know how many jobs are on the line if this fails? The executives’ wrath could get so many people fired... or maybe even pinned on you!”
Now that perked up my ears. The gig flops, and they dump the blame on me? ‘What’re you talking about? I didn’t hear nothing!’ The sweet sound of dismissal or resignation rearing its head.
Just gave me even more reason to turn her down flat.
“Mr. Jo, do you know how I climbed this high? By grabbing onto threads thinner than spider silk, over and over, until I got here. I can’t stop now!”
Arachne shot to her feet and shrugged off her suit jacket. Underneath was a silk blouse so thin it was practically see-through. And then she started unbuttoning it—one, two buttons...
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Manager, please sell me those cacti! I’ll debase myself in my underwear! I’ve never done this before, so I might be awkward, but guys like this stuff, right? Lewd and sexy!”
“Wha—!?”
I was flabbergasted! What did this woman think men were? Drooling beasts at the sight of any woman?
Okay, sure, the guys in Greek myth were mostly like that. And yeah, I like pretty girls too! But even if I wanted to get fired or quit, getting caught in a harassment scandal would be the absolute worst-case scenario.
Because right now, I was under the delicate surveillance of Goddess Melinoë.
—How dare you claim to like me, then ogle another woman right away? Gross. Per. Vert. Want to spend some quality time together? Jo, maybe you should become a cockroach instead of a spider.
Shiiiiveeeeer! Just thinking about it made my legs shake.
Arachne couldn’t know my situation, but damn, her instincts were sharp—she knew exactly how to push to reel me in. Spider-sense or what?
“Fine. I’ll cooperate. But keep your clothes on. I’ve got a woman I actually like, and I don’t want any misunderstandings! Please!”
“You’ll do it? My request? Yay!”
Arachne pumped her left arm, then her right, shaking her hips like she was dancing. And she made this weird noise.
“Hyoooong...!”
“...Hyoooong?”
I grimaced, and she blushed, clearing her throat.
“I... spent so long as a spider, some habits die hard. Ahem, ahem.”
Whatever. Spiders don’t go “hyoooong” anyway.
And just like that, I was roped into helping with the concert. Not that it was much—just selling a few cacti. But now that I thought about it, it felt like a waste.
If I sell off my cacti stock, the cockroaches will swarm. And if another manager-level roach shows up like last time, I’ll faint wide awake.
It was basically dismantling my own shield. Had to be a better way.
I pondered for a bit, then it hit me.
“You wanted rare flowers, right? I’ve got a yellow-blooming cactus.”
The yellow cactus I’d gifted Orpheus a while back. What if I sold that to her?
It’d give Orpheus—who’d been holed up grinding games lately—enough cash for months of living expenses. I wouldn’t lose my roach shield. And Arachne gets her rare flower. Win-win-win.
“Ugh, what a stench.”
Arachne pinched her nose, her relaxed smile gone. The grim reality of a rundown multi-family home was apparently too much.
“Nothing like my shiny new Elysium apartment. You’re sure the flower I need is really here?”
“Yeah, it’s a dump. This is a notorious slum in Happy World—cheap rent and all. It was built as an exile zone from the start.”
Bam bam bam.
I knocked on the door.
“Mr. Orpheus? You home?”
Arachne jumped.
“Orpheus? You mean the Orpheus? The legendary...? Wait! I didn’t know we were meeting someone that big! I’m not mentally prepared—!”
Clunk, creak.
The door swung open, revealing a man with a bushy beard and messy hair, exhaustion etched on his face. Arachne’s expression chilled.
“What a fake.”
“Fake? What’re you calling me a fake for?”
“Figures the legendary singer Orpheus wouldn’t slum it here. Since I got connections in entertainment, I’ve seen tons of fake Orpheuses like you...!”
She fanned her face in regret, like all that hype for nothing.
Were there that many fake Orpheuses claiming the name in Soul Society?
But this guy was the real deal. I opened my mouth to explain, but Orpheus beat me to it.
“Y...yeah. Truth is, I’m just a guy dreaming of being Orpheus. Y’know, the name... Crowzer. Johann Wolfgang whatever Crowzer. Dreaming of being the emperor of Happy Metal! Woo yeah! Rock spirit!”
“Happy Metal? What kinda rootless, commercial-flopped genre is that? Tsk!”
Arachne clicked her tongue. I was still processing when Orpheus yanked me aside and whispered.
“Entertainment folks might know Eurydice. I don’t want her finding out I’m living like this. Keep it secret, please...”
What a weird request. But I’d tried using Orpheus for my own failures before.
And that probably made him hole up even more.
I owed him a debt, so I’d gifted him the cactus and checked in often to help out. Playing along with his silly lie wasn’t hard.
“Anyway, Mr. Crowzer here has the flower Ms. Arachne wants.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
What? This was unexpected for me too. Arachne snapped.
“Hey! Everyone’s telling different stories!”
“Buried it in the front yard. Didn’t feel right keeping torture tools in the house...”
What the...? Burying someone’s gift like that?
But oddly, Arachne nodded in understanding.
“Yeah, keeping torture tools at home is kinda... Your place was terrifying too, Mr. Jo. Sorry, I have to say it to feel better!”
“...”
We headed to the yard. In this slum tenement, “yard” just meant an unmanaged lot littered with trash. And there, menacingly planted, was the cactus. Spikes jutting out like lightning bolts—perfectly torture-tool material.
Even I can see it’s vicious. Why’d it grow like that?
But unlike the thorns, the yellow blooms were stunningly vibrant. They even smelled amazing—enough to overpower the garbage stench and freshen the air.
Arachne lit up.
“...That’s it!”
Swish.
She reached for the flowers.
“Ow!”
Pricked by a thorn. Blood dripped freely! She sucked her finger, tried with the other hand—same result. Both hands wounded, she fumed.
“Wish I still had eight arms!”
That’s your issue? Even with extras, those thorns would shred you.
I fetched thick gloves, but the spikes pierced them too.
“Argh! Got me too!”
No choice—call in the expert.
“...”
Expert cactus lady Kshalri stared at it awhile before concluding.
“I told you. These babies get affectionate if you bond with them. But left in a harsh spot too long, they turn mean. No fixing that.”
“N-No way...”
Arachne slumped. But inspiration struck me.
“Why not hold the concert here? Bring your picky main vocalist, let her see these flowers, and perform. Genius, right?”
“Hold on! You want us to skip the big stadium, drag our singers to this sketchy, dangerous dump? Invite executives to a street show?”
“What else? Better than your singer refusing to perform and getting the boot from the execs. This way, at least you avoid major punishment.”
“But...”
“It’s fine. If things go south, just throw my name under the bus. Ms. Arachne, even if it flops, blame me—you’ll be off the hook.”
Inviting VIPs to a roadside gig? No way that succeeds.
If the singer had Orpheus-level talent, maybe. But in Soul Society, there’s no Orpheus—just Happy Metal Crowzer.
Concert tanks, blame hunt leads straight to me. Perfect. My brain birthed a flawless scheme. True improvisation mastery—conducting chaos like a maestro!
“I opposed it, said no way, but that Happy World Manager Jo insisted on this spot. What do you think...?”
Arachne gauged her prickly artist, main vocalist Eurydol.
Eurydol eyed the torture-tool thorns and their blooms, eyes sparkling.
“It’s coming. Inspiration.”
“If you hate it, we could just do the stadium... What? What’s coming?”
“A place that stirs the soul of art. Stadiums feel lame now. I’ll sing here. Arachne, you nailed it!”
“R-Really? W-Well... I did pull some strings...?”
“Torture tools and flowers... Perfect irony. Paradox... Love it. Let’s write a song. Can I debut a new one at the show?”
Twinkle.
Stars lit the idol’s eyes. In that moment, producer Arachne’s instincts screamed: This concert would rock Soul Society like never before.