by Z. Allora
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Author’s Note
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Copyright
Not Another Boy Band
By Z. Allora
Session drummer Sage Nakamura puts his trust fund where his heart is and starts his own band in Japan—Kashi-sei, Japanese for “visibility.” Tired of his favorite J-pop bands imploding over even a hint of same-sex attraction, Sage decides to take sponsorship out of the equation. He hopes his band will become a safe haven that validates diversity in gender identity and orientation. But he’ll need some help to make his endeavor successful.
Mangaka Ikeda Daiki lives a comfortable, if lonely, life in Tokyo. When he gets the opportunity to work with a band as it is forming, developing the products from the beginning—starting with a manga—he leverages his platform for more creative freedom.
At Sage’s insistence, Daiki helps him choose band members and navigate the finer points of Japanese culture. But the two have more than business goals in common. Mutual admiration develops into friendship, attraction, and a relationship full of firsts for both of them.
But as the band prepares for their debut, Sage, who has never played before a live audience, gets debilitating stage fright. How can Daiki and the band help him through it and keep his dream alive?
To Tianyi
May your time speed by… until you have words again.
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU to my readers. I appreciate your patience.
I want to thank Dreamspinner for investing in this story, and for my amazing editing team. A big thanks for untangling and helping me polish my words.
Big shout-out and many thanks to Katie Obbink, Corvus Alyse, Danny, Desi Chapman of Blue Ink, and Litsa for listening to my dramas.
Many thanks to Sara Miller, who shared her information and experiences about the glorious and not-so-glorious details about K-pop idols.
Thanks to my friends in Japan who helped me verify what I thought I knew and explained to me what I didn’t.
As always, love to my husband, who is everything to me. He was the one who decided we should go to Japan so I could visit places from Yuri!!! On Ice. We timed the trip in order to attend the Penis Festival. He was an incredible playmate on this fantastic trip, and he continues to be so in life.
Much love and many hugs to all.
Prologue
SAGE PULLED the elastic band off the top of his head as he paced across his makeshift vlogging cave. Now that his bleached-blond strands were free, they fell annoyingly around his face and into his eyes, but analytics showed his fans liked his chin-length hair down.
Once seated in the chair, he called up the Nakamura family game face his parents had taught him, ensured his dangling earrings hung straight, and started the camera.
“Hey, voiders. It’s Sage Nakamura. Welcome to Scream Into the Void. Are you ready to hear me holler?”
Pointing to where the buttons would be when he placed them on the lower part of the video screen, he reminded viewers, “Like, subscribe, comment, blow me—you know the routine. I’m positive this video will get some of you angry at me, just like when I highlighted the darker side of K-pop and the painful grooming of young would-be idols. I’ll link those videos in the comment section so you can relive your fury.”
He shrugged. “Today’s topic has nothing to do with drumming… directly. I’m just a studio drummer who is going on a bit of a rant. Your warning is the channel’s name: screaming is my brand.”
Grinning, Sage wiped his thumb over his lower lip and made his eyebrow arch in the way his haters called arrogant but his fans called sexy. “In the past couple of years, we’ve seen idols taking their own lives, fan-fiction sites being shut down in China, actors’ and singers’ careers being put in jeopardy, and bands in Japan imploding based on the hint of same-sex attraction.”
Staring into the camera, he begged his audience’s patience. “Why, you ask? People who aren’t conforming to the ‘don’t-be-different policy’ are cast out.”
He snatched a drumstick and began to spin the wood between his fingers. The motion didn’t provide the calm he’d hoped for, but he continued giving the camera side-eye. “I get it. We’ve all ingested plenty of homophobia and transphobia, making it hard for people to see being on the rainbow as anything other than terrible, sinful, against society—interject your own negative here.”
Sage tried not to rock back and forth in his chair, pretending he wasn’t still mortified by the bullshit he had once accepted. He twirled the wood through his fingers as if he believed if he could just spin fast enough, he could go back in time.
“Look, even with supportive parents, when I realized I was gay, it wasn’t easy to admit, because I had internalized all the negative nonsense society feeds us. It took a minute before I could be honest about who I was. I had to parse through the stupid so I could get to me.”
He forced his drumstick into a gentler twirl and took a big breath. Releasing the air slowly he said, “Fans are people, so they aren’t immune to seeing the negative heaped onto the rainbow spectrum and putting it on the artists. But fans have the power to make or break an idol, and when sponsorship is the end-all, they have even more control.”
Sage took a sip of whatever was in the cup next to him. Ew! Mistake! But he managed to swallow without making a face. “However, when such a powerful group refuses to be open to artists, idols, and performers who might be gay, lesbian, bisexual, or trans, they limit who gets seen.
“Therefore a performer needs to conform or risk ending their career. These limits deny full representation. And if we chase away nonconforming artists, how do we have any LGBT+ visibility?” His voice rose against his will, but this wasn’t right.
Pull yourself together. Stay on point.
Anger wound its way through him, making his entire body coil tight. He squeezed the unbending wood of the drumstick to help him find the words. “And yes, I realize this bullshit still happens in the music/movie industry all the time, along with mistreatment of child stars and a lot of other fuckery in every industry. It happens everywhere.”
Stick with the note cards! Screw the what about-ers!
Anger swirled through him—snap! The drumstick was now in two pieces. He shrugged but continued to hold the broken pieces as if his audience wouldn’t notice. “But I can’t help thinking if we could just widen the crack and allow LGBT visibility, it might give others a bit more breathing room. Understanding can lead to acceptance.” He sighed. “I acknowledge that sounds a lot like I have a savior complex, but honestly, I just want to stop losing artists, idols, and bands I love.”
Sage toyed with his earrings, making them click together. “I’ve done videos about bands who kick out members for even the possibility of being gay or bisexual, all over the globe. I’ll add the links in the comment section. It has been, what now, six months since that’s happened? But it still eats me, along with all the homophobia. Are we still in the Dark Ages?”
<
br /> Thrusting out his chin, he glared at the camera. “Oh, I see. It’s okay to be on the rainbow spectrum but shut the fuck up about it? That’s some Clinton-era ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ fuckery.”
Sage added to the snark by cupping his ear for the next part. “Oh, I can hear Yaoihater 69 and FrogMan for Life telling me to mind my place. Well, as a gay man, where exactly is that? In LA, that’s everywhere. But even in the USA, there are many places where people are killed for walking down the street holding hands with their partner or for living as their authentic selves. And in way too many countries, people can be executed for being queer.”
He tossed the broken drumstick on the desk as he rambled about his grandmother from Kyoto, who warned him the nail that sticks out gets hammered down. She definitely saw him and his bleached-blond hair as being different.
Sage continued to rant. “Look, I’m not against any country’s long-standing culture of conformity. Coming together as one voice and one people, you can get a lot done. I mean, you do you, but when that concept is applied to the LGBTQ community, it can have a very negative impact. Being different bears a stigma anywhere you live, and that can make coming out difficult. People on the rainbow need to see representation. Just knowing queer people exist gives hope.”
He gripped his desk in an effort to keep his voice even.
“Again, the US has a fuckton of problems in this arena, but there are counterarguments to the hate. There’s at least some outreach so kids know they aren’t alone… the It Gets Better Project is at least a bit of hope.” Damn if he didn’t sound like a self-righteous prick.
Sitting back in his chair, he combed his fingers through the ends of his hair and pulled. “You’ve heard me before on the subject, but yeah, I’m still resenting that my two favorite rival J-pop bands—Fire and WTZ—imploded over this nonsense. So what if Watanabe Wayuu said Suzuki Zen was hot? He is. They both are, but the admission destroyed two talented bands and wiped out careers. Are you kidding me?
“I know there’s next to no LGBTQIA visibility in bands. America and Europe aren’t setting the bar very high either. We’ve only got a handful of people out, though I hope the trend is pushing the industry in a more accepting direction.”
He got quiet and then articulated his point. “I’m just asking labels, fans, and bands to take a beat. I don’t care if you’re from the US, Asia, Europe, the Middle East, or freaking Antarctica. I’m asking you to remember that some singers, musicians, dancers, idols are kissed by the rainbow. They shouldn’t have to hide who they are… and that shouldn’t be the only thing that defines them. Rainbowness doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
On and on he flapped his lips. Maybe his points were good; maybe he’d delete the entire vlog. Didn’t matter. He’d needed to purge the anger from his system. Speaking out was the only thing he could do… right?
Chapter 1
IKEDA DAIKI tugged his fox hat down on his head. Shutting the window, he hoped to block out the noise of Tokyo waking up.
He stared at the sketch pad. The first character he ever drew—his nameless love—smiled back at him in a way that still turned him inside out. Daiki had been drawing him since he was twelve years old.
No one else had ever laid eyes on him. He was Daiki’s precious secret. Daiki had a treasure trove of pages and pads filled with sketches, all for himself.
The bookcases that lined one wall of the main space of his apartment were filled with the creations he shared with the world—mangas, from his one-offs to his series to his weekly serials—all neat and tidy on the shelves.
He had turned his living room and dining room into a working manga studio that fit him and his four assistants. Daiki was living his artist fantasy. All the things he’d ever wanted had come to pass.
Gently, he traced his finger over the lines that depicted the character’s sexy half smile, the one that haunted his dreams… well, haunted almost everything.
If only he could chase away the loneliness with someone a little more three-dimensional, but deadlines gave him little time or opportunity to meet anyone.
His cell phone buzzed, reminding him his assistants would be here in another two hours.
Daiki needed to put away his special one, but doing so was always hard. Easing himself past the loss, he flipped through one of the sketchbooks. He hesitated on the picture of him holding his beloved tight.
The background of the sketch was a simple black sky with a huge moon. They hugged on the roof while looking at the stars. He caressed the dark hair made by his pencils as he imagined they were talking about the future and what plans they wanted to make. All the big things, like where they would live or what vacations they would take, and the small things too, like what to have for dinner.
To share his life with someone….
He flipped through the pages, drawing after drawing, and he needed to stop.
“I’m Pygmalion,” he mused, tracing a finger once more over the full lips he’d drawn. He must be crazy to have fallen in love with a picture based on someone who didn’t exist.
It probably wasn’t healthy, but like many twentysomethings, he hadn’t found his special someone… outside of two dimensions. To get to where he was in his career, he’d needed to stay laser-focused, so dating wasn’t drawn into his storyboard. Though even the people he did meet, no one could compare—maybe he didn’t want them to.
Letting his finger follow the gentle wave of the image’s hair, he imagined this man would be smart, kind, and eager to change the world. Help Daiki explore things he’d only drawn, things like—
Work!
He gathered his drawing supplies and put them all away, then slipped the sketch pad back into the locked fireproof drawer of his desk on top of over thirty would-be mangas.
Switching to digital mode, he turned on his computer and morphed from fantasy to real life—make that as real as a mangaka could get.
The first of his four assistants walked in. Kobayashi Hikari was always early. She bowed and greeted him, “Good morning, Sensei,” then disappeared into the second bedroom. He had designed the room for his assistants. There were bunk beds for napping or late nights, privacy to change clothing, and a closet to store their things.
She reappeared in a ninja costume.
“Morning.” Since Daiki wore his fox hat to work, he could hardly criticize anyone else’s method for sinking into their artistic zone.
“Who are you working on?” she asked.
“Hironori.”
“Oh, I love him. I’m partial to the enemies-to-lovers trope anyway. Tie that in with a big boss falling in love with the head of a rival company… I’m all in.” Her soft tone suggested she was smitten completely. His character certainly lived up to his name, which meant “benevolent ruler.” Daiki had leaned into that in last month’s manga.
Daiki chuckled. He couldn’t deny his wish to be more like this character. Taking what he wanted in business and having no problem demanding more in love.
Hikari sighed. “You’ve got to love Hironori’s bold ways and determination that always gets him what he wants. Though this month it looks like who he wants.”
Brave Hironori accepted who he was, took risks, and was never lonely. “He does. You want to—”
“Yes, please.” She jumped at any chance to work on this manga.
“It’s just the dialogue.” He needed to work on delegating, but it was hard for him not to do everything.
Hikari laughed and made grabby hands, so he sent her the files.
He scrolled through the storyboards on the screen and started to work on his edits.
His assistant Ito Rei, who seemed to have no interest in anything other than drawing, strolled in with Takahashi Ichiro, a new graduate who wanted to burn down the manga world one storyboard at a time. Sounded like they were still debating sekkusu-banare.
“But sekkusu-banare literally means drifting away from sex, so if that happens—” Rei interrupted herself to greet them. “Morning, Sensei
. Hikari.”
Ichiro followed suit and then trailed after Rei. “But how can the impact be negative on manga?”
“Later.” Rei rushed to her seat and started to work.
Sighing, Ichiro gave Rei a pointed stare, but she ignored him, so he sat down.
“Greetings, Sensei. I picked up tea and soda.” Last to arrive was Sato Akihiro, Daiki’s high school pal, who usually worked far into the night. He should have his own studio, but their friendship caused neither to discuss it.
“Morning, Akihiro. Thank you. I forgot.” Thankfully, one of Daiki’s assistants always remembered.
“No problem, Sensei.” Akihiro gave him a nod before ducking into the assistants’ room.
Hikari popped up from behind her monitor. “I’ll set up a delivery with the market down the street so the staples Sensei generously keeps on hand for us will arrive on Wednesday afternoons. Everyone get your lists to me after lunch.”
“Sounds great.” Less time on the day-to-day and more time to focus on drawing. His assistants really were outstanding.
Wearing his favorite maid’s costume from Daiki’s first spy manga series, Akihiro took his seat. He said her character was powerful and understated, exactly the way he wanted to draw, conveying much with little.
Glancing at the schedule, Daiki reminded the group, “We still have twelve days before the ne-mu is due on the monthly series, but it’s Tuesday, so the final sketches are due on the weekly serials.”
“Yes, Sensei,” they each muttered.
Luckily, he didn’t cut things close. He had storylines and rough sketches months in advance, and in some cases years. Whole series were just waiting for an editor’s markups and a publisher’s go-ahead.
He had two editors with different publishers catering to his distinctive brands and vastly unique audiences. The editors knew of each other and of his immense catalogue of unseen work that, unless he died an untimely death, he would bring forward at a slow but consistent pace. To flood the readership would overfeed them and then leave them wanting. Plus Daiki liked to imagine having time off. If he had something to do with free time, he might actually take it.
