by Z. Allora
“No members yet. You wouldn’t be included in that level, and it’s an odd situation.” She toyed with her napkin, not quite meeting his gaze.
“Which label?” Not that he knew many, but some he wouldn’t go near just based on reputation.
“A rich kid from the States is funding the project. He’s a studio drummer but seems connected.” Clearly, or she wouldn’t have mentioned the possibility to Daiki.
“How did you get the offer?” These didn’t fall into people’s laps.
“My brother’s brother-in-law.” She sipped some water.
Daiki vaguely recalled her referring to him once or twice. “The producer?”
“Yes. He’s doing it as a favor. I anticipate he won’t be all that involved, especially in the preliminary steps.”
“What would you say the chances are this unformed band makes it to the music level?” Many attempting to use this step-by-step method didn’t gain the audience necessary, so they never got past the manga stage.
Azami-san shrugged. “Who’s to say? But this is an opportunity that would allow you to branch out into a subgenre you haven’t published in yet.”
True. He had several complete mangas of bands he’d drawn over the years but hadn’t offered for publication. They were mostly terrible overblown storylines, but he could bend them into something interesting. “How will I find the time?”
Saito Azami never looked more like a feral cat than she did at that moment. “You’ll have to cough up one or two of your hidden series. With your current staff, it’ll allow you a lot of freedom to handle the extras this project will entail.”
“Extras?”
“I got the distinct impression the guy who is sponsoring the band is going to need help navigating various things. As I said, he’s American.”
Daiki hated the idea of giving away even one of his prefinished stories. But if he wanted to do this, and he did, it meant jumping into the abyss with both feet. “Would you ease the restrictions on varying character presentation?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, as if she hadn’t turned down every character idea that didn’t fit into the stereotypical uke-seme relationship.
He kept his expression a blank mask. No sense letting her know how much this chance appealed to him. “I want to move beyond strong top and cute bottom. I have characters who have more varied interests that have been rejected each time I presented them.”
“You have character control on this one and whatever you give me.” Her expression said he should thank her for what took years to wrestle from her.
Daiki didn’t even need words. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back.
Azami-san sighed. “Tried and true sells.”
He couldn’t deny tropes sold well. “But there’s a lot of variations. I want to explore the uniqueness of my characters, and I want more freedom with the storylines. I’d like to move beyond the usual BL tropes. We should be in a place where homosexuality isn’t the biggest taboo, where characters take an entire series to panic over their sexuality and accept who they are only in the finale, if it ever makes it to the page.”
“But there’s beauty in how you present the internal struggle,” Azami-san pointed out.
Daiki had long suspected she was on his side of the fence, but he’d never dreamed of asking for confirmation. “Agreed, but I want to draw about life after this struggle and look at how the characters overcome the adversity society heaps on them. I want to move beyond these outdated storylines.”
Her eyes glinted. “I can tell this is a sticking point with you.”
He channeled his character Hironori. “It is.”
She nodded.
“Also I’m going to need a percentage, and I won’t give outright licensing or the right to translation immediately.” Daiki was pushing it. He’d already gotten what was most important, but he needed to be in charge of his storyboards from now on, and that included compensation.
“Agreed.”
He disciplined his shock that wanted to draw him as elated.
If the band actually worked, this could be his ticket to a house in Roppongi Hills. Roppongi was an upscale residential area where many of the publishing big names had their homes. He dreamed of owning something modest with a small courtyard right in the heart.
Daiki found the infamous nightclubs in the district of Minato as appealing as they were notorious. Not that he’d ever been, but he daydreamed of going there to indulge like some of his wilder characters. Right, his fantasies of breaking with the stringent rules he kept for himself were just that, but still that’s where he wanted a house.
Azami-san cleared her throat. “But you need to understand the scope of this project. It’s a band, yes, but this American who is starting it has other reasons.”
“Other than making money? Or playing for arenas filled with fans?”
“He’s from LA… and is openly gay. He wants to be a rebellious nail.”
“Ah, to purposefully stick out.” That was cause to hesitate. His grandfather had warned him about being the nail that sticks out, because it will be hammered down. Every day he was reminded society would flatten him if given the chance. Anything out of the norm was often discouraged, as it might bring discord and possibly dishonor.
“Yes.” The warning was in her one-word response.
“How very American of him.” Daiki snorted and finished his beer. Pushing an agenda so different wasn’t usual. But wasn’t that exactly what he was trying to do?
Azami-san suggested, “You might consider using a different pen name.”
“I’ve built this one.” He’d built his brand with some of his most successful BL series: College Boys, Workmates on Vacation, Tennis for Two, The Mob Boss Finds a Mole, and his personal favorite, The Artist & the Model. To not use his carefully crafted platform didn’t make sense to him.
She shrugged. “The band he’s trying to create and the BL you’d be drawing would start to turn things on its head. It might even do well in the American yaoi market.”
He was aware that the West used yaoi for the overall genre of boys’ love, BL, and not just the type of story the term originally referred to. The English usage of yaoi came from the Japanese words for no climax, no point, no meaning. If this man was trying to make gay relationships count, to what extent, and how much was the American willing to risk to give meaning?
Leaning in, she stared him down. “Be warned, your fans might not like it.”
He’d like to have the luxury to say it didn’t matter, but one glance at his editor and he was reminded of all the people who depended upon his success. His failure could result in the loss of many people’s jobs. “I can sell it to them.”
“Are you expecting to expand your fan base with this series?” The skepticism in her voice told him she didn’t see that happening.
“No, but I’m going to expand my fans’ outlook.” He wondered if she truly understood where this direction led.
Giving him a nod, she said, “I think careful presentation of changes in direction can get their early buy-in.”
Another round of beers arrived before he could ask how slight.
They shared a look. The two of them loved art, manga, and BL and were well aware of the subtle shift taking place. But this would be sharpening the edge his work balanced on. This was standing out and straightening up for something that mattered.
She sipped her beer. “Think on it and get back to me next week.”
“I will. Thank you for the opportunity.” He finished his glass in silence, said his goodbye, and exited.
BEING FEARLESS was easy on Takeshita Street.
Standing on his roof, Daiki stared at the moon, though he might as well have been on a precipice. Did he have the nerve to step off into the unknown, where he might be seen and possibly exposed? Literal, much?
What would Hironori do? He would grab the opportunity with both hands and be good with whatever came from the experience.
Sato Akihiro jo
ined him and stood in silence alongside him. He had changed out of his cosplay and didn’t speak. He could go without doing so the entire night.
But just being in the same space reinforced what Daiki needed to do. This would be either the worst or best decision he’d ever made. Time would show which side the sketch landed on. Doing this was a leap of faith… something he’d never quite been able to do.
It was time to take over drawing his own life’s storyboards.
He’d have to keep his eyes open and jump, hoping for the best. Daiki explained the offer and all the risk it might entail. “I’ve decided I will begin this new series, and I’m going to rely on you a bit more to carry on with the day-to-day. Your pay will reflect the added responsibilities.”
“Yes, Sensei. How are you feeling?” Even though they had been friends for years, when they spoke of the business of their art, Akihiro was very respectful. He always called Daiki Sensei. Daiki assumed he did so to remind them both that while they were friends, their great working relationship needed to come first.
“I’m hopeful it’ll turn into something that counts.”
Akihiro stared at him a very long time before his lips turned up just a little in the corners. “Thank you, Sensei.”
Daiki was pretty sure the thanks wasn’t about the extra pay.
Chapter 4
Two months later….
SAGE’S CELL kept buzzing. He reached for his nightstand and hit the wall. What the—where was he?
He glanced around his temporary apartment. Oh, right. If he had thought his apartment in LA was small, compared to Tokyo it was expansive.
He located his phone on the shelf above the headboard and scrolled through messages from the twins checking on him.
Argh! You woke me! Sage growled as he texted Ryder and Lee.
You can’t sleep all day! Lee responded.
Are you ready for your meeting? It’s only a couple days away. Ryder was probably doing six things along with checking their calendar… and apparently, Sage’s.
Yes.
You’ve been there three days. Go look around. Lee never believed in wasting time with sleep.
It’s cold here. Hopefully, since it was the end of February, spring would be sprung early. His California blood was too thin.
Sunlight will help fight jetlag. Ryder had a point.
I unpacked yesterday. Today I’ll get some basics. Later. That should count for something.
The past two months had been a surreal whirlwind. He had always prided himself on doing things without assistance, but with Kashi-sei, he needed help.
He’d let his parents and the twins tug on as many strings as possible to help him get this together. They got him meetings and conference calls with the right people, and after two months he believed the band might really happen.
Though Kashi-sei was no longer just a band—it had morphed into a multitiered visibility project. Bands were businesses, but Kashi-sei felt much bigger. Although that didn’t relieve him of the pressure that a lot of people’s livelihoods would depend on Kashi-sei’s success.
Right now there were so many moving parts, and each needed guidance and attention. He let his head crash back onto the pillow.
What he needed was to find someone interested in partnering with him. Someone to bounce ideas off of and make suggestions that pushed Kashi-sei forward.
Maybe there was a manager or someone….
TWO DAYS later, Sage entered a large office building on the outskirts of Ginza.
His first face-to-face was scheduled to begin. Nakamura smile on, he adjusted his tie, which felt more like a noose.
He approached the receptionist precisely at 9:59 a.m. He bowed. “My name is Sage Nakamura. I have a meeting with—”
She bowed. “Allow me to take your coat.”
Once she handed his coat off to someone, she said, “Right this way, sir,” and led him down a hallway, opened the door, and bowed again.
He stepped inside the corner conference room, which had a long black table topped with bottles of water, teacups, tea, and wrapped treats. Two of the walls were all-glass windows overlooking Tokyo. There was a whiteboard in the corner, a huge monitor, and several computers scattered throughout the room.
A teacup shattering into pieces echoed around the room, drawing his attention to the man at the other end of the table.
The man muttered his apologies in Japanese but kept his intense gaze on Sage, making him feel like he was being inhaled.
Who was he? The man wore a navy suit, but instead of a button-down and a tie, a graphic T-shirt with some colorful anime characters peeked out from his jacket. The cut of the suit highlighted the man’s height and his broad shoulders. Sage couldn’t help but wonder how he looked from the back.
Other people quickly cleared up the mess, but Sage couldn’t rip his gaze from the other man’s.
A woman in a dark suit approached him.
Sage forced himself out of his bemusement. He pulled the business-card holder his mother had given him out of his suit pocket and held it in his left hand.
“I’m Saito Azami from BL Delight. We spoke on the phone.” They bowed to each other and exchanged cards.
“I’m Sage Nakamura, founder of Kashi-sei.”
He accepted her card in his left hand and placed it on his business-card holder as he handed her his card so the writing faced her. Taking a moment, he studied her card.
Don’t shake hands unless she reaches out. “I’m very pleased to meet you in person, Saito-san. Please call me Sage.”
Saito Azami reached out and shook his hand. “Call me Azami.”
The familiarity was a bit surprising, but during his father’s drill sessions on business etiquette, he had warned Sage that some people would try to put him at ease by adopting some Western customs. He needed to just go with it. In the US some of his family expected traditional Japanese manners while others wanted American culture only, so skipping back and forth felt normal to him. Though he’d be mindful of what the norm in Japan was, he’d take people at their word and respect their lead.
“May I present our renowned mangaka, Sensei Ikeda Daiki,” Azami continued. As the man who’d murdered the teacup stepped over and bowed, Sage couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was.
His elegant face was accented with high cheekbones. He had a wide, generous mouth that made Sage think of the many things he’d like to do with it—the most urgent of which was to taste those lips. Stop!
Wait, mangaka? He’s the artist? The twins had said BL artists were mostly women. Sage had assumed the artist’s male name had been chosen for privacy.
But no, Sensei Ikeda Daiki was an incredible artist… and very male.
Sage’s smile faltered, but he dropped into a bow, hopefully covering his shock.
“Please call me Daiki.” The man held out a beautiful hand—long fingers with impeccably manicured nails—to Sage.
“I’m Sage.” A nice firm handshake, but Daiki’s hands were soft and warm.
Sage started to get lost in Daiki’s lovely deep brown eyes. Flecks of amber reflected in their depths like a faceted jewel. Sage dropped his eye contact; he didn’t want to be seen as too aggressive. Damn, being attracted to someone shouldn’t mean he lost all semblance of etiquette.
Then he looked down. Had he ever been this affected? Oh shit! Business card….
Sage took the offered business card with two hands, studied the graphics. The logo was a tiny sketch pad with a man’s face on it and pencils scattered around it. He wanted to get a closer look, but a magnifying glass would be necessary, so he put the card with Azami’s on top of his business-card holder. He presented his own card with two hands as well.
Daiki’s fingers grazed his, and Sage’s entire body went on alert. Maybe he should have gotten laid before moving here, but he’d been so busy that even a Grindr hookup seemed like too much work.
Azami introduced her two assistants.
He forced his attention on the two
people. They exchanged bows and business cards.
Then Azami gestured to the seat at the head of the table. “I suggest we begin.”
Everyone stood by their seats.
His father had drilled into him the importance of seating around a table. The ancient tradition still held. The honored top seat, or kamiza, was farthest from the door and was meant to be his. The shimoza, or lowest seat, was the one closest to the door—because that’s who would be killed first. Not that they were expecting an invasion.
Expectation rode him, but sometimes he couldn’t help if his American roots showed up. Time to begin as he planned to move forward.
Smiling at Daiki, he gestured to the head of the table. “Please, Sensei.”
Daiki gave him the smallest of grins before he slid a second seat to the head of the table and eased into it, garnering a surprised look from the editor and her assistants, which he appeared not to notice. He gestured to the other seat. “Please, Sage.” The way his name sounded on his lips…. “It’s Daiki.”
Sage grinned at him.
Oh, well done! All his adult life he’d been looking for someone who not only would enjoy the candy he gave but also give some in return!
No one said anything, but he wondered if any of them remembered that one of the big bosses in Daiki’s Workmates on Vacation did the same thing for a rival to signal his interest. The rival countered by adding a chair because he was okay being equal to the man but not over him. Not that Sage was signaling his… oh, double damn him to hell.
He carefully stacked the business cards on top of his card holder and set the pile in front of him.
Azami started. “BL Delight appreciates you choosing to work with us on this endeavor. All the legal agreements are signed. Why don’t we discuss a schedule to proceed?”
Sage nodded and glanced around at the people sitting at the table, but Ikeda Daiki—Daiki—was where his attention drifted again and again. Sage shifted his body to pick up subtle nonverbal cues as Daiki sketched across the page. A faceless band emerged from the empty whiteness.
