Eyeshield 21 fanfiction: Koutarou Star (ch. 2)
Koutarou Star
By Angelsaurus
Chapter 2: Fated to Pretend
The stereo in the corner of Red Threads secondhand clothing store was spitting out old Japanese rock, but Julie ignored it. She was humming that silly song that Koutarou sang at the karaoke bar two weeks ago as she carefully folded t-shirts for a display.
“Hey Sawai,” her coworker, a girl with curled hair and oversized glasses, whispered excitedly in her ear. “Check out the five-star hottie that just walked through the door.”
Eagerly, Julie looked up from her work expecting, well, she wasn’t sure who, but she was still surprised when she recognized the visitor. “Hey Akaba, welcome to Red Threads,” she greeted genially.
“Wait, you know him?” her baffled colleague uttered.
“Yeah Yamaki, he’s my friend from high school,” she answered as if it were no big deal ( because to her, it wasn’t).
Yamaki rolled back her eyes and sighed. “So unfair. This one is even hotter than your friend who’s always combing his hair. Just so unfair.” She sighed again and went to help another customer check out.
“Er, sorry about that,” Julie said to Akaba. “Yamaki is a little bit boy-crazy. So, uh, is this your first time here? Is there anything I can help you find?”
A very slight hint of amusement was written on his composed features. “I’ve bought a few band t-shirts here before, but now that one of my friends is an employee I may have to stop by more often.”
“That would make my female coworkers happy,” she chuckled. Her eyes danced around the store, searching for something. “So did Koutarou come with you? You guys had practice today, right?”
Akaba pulled off his tinted glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingertips. A groan almost too quiet to hear left his throat. “No practice today. Our drummer needs a new drumhead for his bass and all of us felt like we needed a break.”
There was no mystery to his story. “He put his foot through the bass drum?” Julie moaned. “He can’t even rehearse without having a meltdown.”
“Not exactly,” Akaba explained. “He did well when it was just the band. All the other members agree that his voice is incredible, and he actually has a pretty wide vocal range, so he’s versatile. But when the other guys invited some friends to come watch…”
“He flipped,” she finished, shaking her head sadly. “Oh, Koutarou… Let me guess, he has no memory of the event.”
“None whatsoever,” Akaba answered. His hands were busy rifling through the stack of shirts she’d just folded. “Say, do you have any for The Who or Led Zeppelin?”
Julie responded to his sudden subject change with confused blinks and a soft, “Huh?”
“I’m just trying to help you look busy,” he said breezily. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for talking to me when you’re supposed to be working. So what time do they let you out of here?”
She took a quick glance at her wristwatch. “In ten minutes. Can you wait?”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have to make such a cute guy wait,” said Yamaki, who had returned undetected and sidled next to Julie with a suggestive smirk. “As your supervisor I’m giving you permission, no, an order to leave early.”
“You know it’s not very ethical to give people special treatment just because they’re friends with boys,” Julie said, but her coworker had already scuttled out of listening range. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” she sighed to Akaba. “Like I said, totally boy-crazy.”
…
Any time it was just her and Akaba, walking side-by-side in the city and talking comfortably, Julie couldn’t help feeling like she was inside someone else’s life. It was just so calm and ordinary when Koutarou wasn’t with them.
Today, as was often the case when it just the two of them, Koutarou still managed to be the star of their conversation without being present.
“So do you have any ideas?” Julie asked as they strolled the Shibuya sidewalk.
“One,” he said. “But I still think medical technology is years away from supporting brain transplants.”
For just a fraction of a second, Julie reacted with shock and almost gasped before looking up at Akaba’s small, joking smile. “Very funny,” she snickered. “But you know you wouldn’t really want that. If you replaced his brain, Koutarou wouldn’t be Koutarou.”
“I’m not saying he should have the whole thing replaced,” he quipped. “Just the obnoxious parts.”
“Aw, he’s not that bad,” she said.
Next to her, Akaba’s footsteps slowed and she glanced up to find him looking curiously down at her. “There’s really nothing about Koutarou’s personality you would want to change?” he asked.
The question triggered a memory montage to play in Julie’s head. Nine-year old Koutarou stood up on the top of the schoolyard slide, proud as a king, and declared himself the best kicker in all the third grade. An older version placed a football on a tee then paused to flick open a comb and rake it through his hair as he spoke to her with foolish hope: “How about if I make this kick, you’ll go out on a date with me?”
Julie pressed her fingertips against her lips to keep from laughing too loudly. Then her giggles suddenly turned into a cringe as her brain replayed Koutarou’s microphone dropkick.
“I don’t know about changing his personality,” she said urgently. “But we have to do something about his performance problem. And not just so he can share his voice with people. If he can’t find a way to pass his exams…”
Her voice trailed off and Akaba’s took over. “I know what you mean. He’s already going to be at least one year behind us.”
They passed the statue of Hachiko, where schoolgirls and boys waited for their teenage friends to meet them. It left a sharp feeling in Julie’s stomach that she tried to sooth with swallowing. “Even if he does get in somewhere next year, we’ll still be going to three different schools. With or without anxiety, I don’t think he’ll qualify for the same college as you.”
“Maybe not,” Akaba mused. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to follow you into the fashion industry.”
Any attempt not to laugh at that mental image of Koutarou at fashion design school, throwing the word ‘smart’ at his creations like confetti, was futile. “Oh Koutarou,” she sighed. “What are we going to do with him?”
Akaba shook his red head. “When I offered a theory that his problem might be a result of subconscious insecurity he spat on me.”
“I think trying to psychoanalyze Koutarou is a lost cause,” Julie said.
“Fuu, for me it definitely is,” he replied. “But perhaps not for you. You’ve said more than once that you ‘get him’ better than most people do.”
Julie half smirked. “I get him just enough to know he won’t buy into a psychological explanation. He’s more likely to believe it has something to do with the phase of the moon on the night he was born.”
“Is he really that superstitious?” asked Akaba.
“Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration,” she admitted. “But he does tend to reject explanations that rely on data and theory. And he mistakes coincidences with ‘signs’ all the time. His emotions just overwhelm his intellect, the exact opposite of you.”
Akaba’s mellowed gait came to a complete stop and she paused next to him, blurting out an apology. “I didn’t mean that you don’t have emotions, I just meant…” Looking up to examine his face, she found him not angry or hurt, but apparently deep in thought and demonstrating the very statement she worried had offended him.
“You’re right,” he said contemplatively. “I’ve been going about this all wrong, trying to push an intellectual fix for an emotional problem. The solution to Koutarou’s problem will have to appeal to his emotionality.”
“Now we just have to figure out what that solution is.” As soon as Julie said it, her purse started humming. “That’s my phone vibrating,” she said as one hand dove into the bag to fish it out. “It’s my sister. Oi! And no wonder! It’s already six and I’m supposed to bring home dinner.”
She flipped open the phone and was greeted with a haughty squeak. “Julie where are you?”
“Calm down, Haru, I’m on my way. Yes, I do know what time it is. You still want noodles? Okay, go ahead and call it in and I’ll pick it up on the way home. Bye”
“I guess we’ll have to reschedule this conversation for later,” Akaba said after she closed the phone. He almost sounded disappointed.
“Yeah,” Julie answered. “My little sister Harumi is more than a little impatient when it’s soba night. But I will be thinking about Koutarou all night.”
Akaba gave her an eyebrow raise and his subtlest smirk. “All night long, eh?”
A fierce blush, so hot she could feel it, invaded Julie’s cheeks. “I meant I’ll think about his problem,” she stammered. “And not all night long.”
“Relax Jewels, I’m just giving you a hard time,” he said calmly. “So I’ll catch you later?”
“Yeah,” she replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Hey, you guys have to hold a rehearsal on a day I’m not working. I still haven’t heard you make music together.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked.
“Nope,” she chirped. “Is that an invitation?”
“One o’clock,” he said, placing his glasses back on and pushing them up his nose. “My house. Come to the basement door in back.”
Julie grinned. “I’ll be there.” Then she patted Akaba’s arm and dashed off towards Harumi’s favorite noodle shop.
…
After cold soba and a hot bath, Julie stretched out on her bed and continued her intense contemplation of the Koutarou conundrum. But silence wasn’t very conducive to inspiration. What she needed was music.
Rather than reaching for her trusty MP3 player, she pulled open the deepest drawer in her desk and dug out her old CD player. She popped it open to make sure the disc she wanted was still inside and put the huge headphones over her ears. Then she grabbed her sketchbook and colored pencils and pressed play.
“KICK the boredom,
sprain an ankle,
get SHOCKED
KICK an empty can,
beer spills out,
get SHOCKED
KICK a rock,
hit a yakuza,
get SHOT
Coolly burn to cinders,
don’t mind the heat
KICK the ball through the uprights,
HAT TRICK”
If her classmates from high school had known that she not only kept her copy of KICK SHOCK, but actually listened to it, they would have laughed for weeks. She had listened to it every evening since the day she heard Koutarou sing, every time imagining how it would sound in his own angelic voice.
But that voice was locked up in chains of neurosis. Akaba’s advice repeated over and over in her head. Appeal to his emotionality. Appeal to his emotionality.
I could tell him that if he performs for a live audience without messing up I’ll go out with him, she thought. Even though she was alone and it was in her head, she still felt a flush of embarrassment. Julie couldn’t do that to him. The goal was to appeal to his emotionality, not to exploit it.
Her fingers flipped through the stiff pages of her sketchbook, the big one she doodled all her fashion ideas in, in the hopes that one kind of creativity might lead to another. Unfortunately, every single page was filled, which made sense since she’d had it since freshmen year.
Finally she found one page that was mostly empty, just a leaf she must have liked pressed under clear tape in one corner. There was a small scrawl of writing that wasn’t her own neat curls next to it.
For good luck!
It was Koutarou’s handwriting, and on second glance, the leaf was actually a four-leaf clover.
Now she remembered, second year when she was so nervous about their looming English midterm, he had spent an hour on his hands and knees, searching the patch of clover in front of Bando for a lucky four-leafer.
Silly Koutarou, should have kept it for himself. He’s the one that needs a lucky charm.
“A lucky charm!” she uttered out loud as if it had been obvious all along. It was a shot in the dark, but it just might work. No ordinary lucky charm would do of course. She would have to give him the ultimate lucky charm, an object so special that he would have utmost faith in its magical properties.
Immediately, Julie got off her bed and went straight to her trunk of sewing supplies. When she was this excited about a project she could stay up all night working on it without getting tired.
Completing Koutarou’s good luck charm didn’t take quite that long, just until five in the morning.
She woke up late in the morning, crease marks on her face, hair a disheveled halo of artificial blue. At least there was enough time to fix up her appearance and stop by Koutarou’s before his practice.
He’d lived in the same apartment building as her (two floors up and two doors down) since they were in the second grade. Her showing up outside his door unannounced was nothing out of the ordinary. She pressed the doorbell and heard it chime inside the Sasaki household, followed by a scramble of bare feet and a familiar but garbled voice.
“I’b gumming!”
The door flung inward to reveal Koutarou in black sweatpants and a white undershirt, a toothbrush handle sticking out from the corner of his foamy lips. As soon as he saw who his visitor was, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Julie!” he said delightedly, opening his mouth so wide that the toothbrush fell out and left a minty white smear down his pants before hitting the floor. He didn’t even seem to care. “Wanna come in?”
“Thanks,” she said, stepping gingerly over the threshold.
Koutarou had already disappeared somewhere.
“Where’d you go?” she called, and a moment later he reappeared in jeans and a bowling shirt with his face washed and a comb in his hand.
“So what brings you?” he asked eagerly. “Man, it’s been forever since you stopped by.”
Julie muffled a giggle behind her fingers. “More like two weeks. And it’s not like you didn’t see me during that time. You come to bug me at work almost every day.”
“I still missed the pop-ins,” he said. Then he suddenly frowned and bopped his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Un-smart! I can’t hang out because the band is practicing today. Oh! Unless… Julie, you wanna come watch me sing?”
“I was already planning to,” she answered. “Akaba invited me.” Koutarou’s face puckered at her mention of that name, but before he progressed to full-blown sulk mode, she added, “I’m coming for both of you. And you are the only one I brought a special present for.”
“A present?” he asked, excitement fully restored.
She bobbed her chin and reached into her purse. “It’s an extremely special present that I wouldn’t entrust to anyone else but you.” From her purse she retrieved a small, black velvet pouch.
Koutarou’s eyes sparkled like a child’s as she pulled open the drawstring. “Ooh! Is it jewelry? A necklace? A ring?”
“Okay, hold out your arm,” Julie said.
“Ah, a bracelet!” he exclaimed, thrusting his wrist in front of her. “Should I close my eyes?”
“Only if you want to,” she clucked, giving him an odd look. He squeezed them shut and she carefully fastened the bracelet. His skin was softer than she expected. “Alright, you can open your eyes.”
Grey eyes sprang open to look at his gift, but his brow scrunched in confusion as soon as he saw it. “No gold, or silver, or diamonds? I’ve never seen a bracelet like this.”
“That’s because it’s the only one in the whole world,” said Julie.
It was stitched and woven, rather than smelted and faceted, made from meticulously embroidered pieces of blue suede that were strung together with braided golden-brown threads.
“It’s kind of smart,” Koutarou said thoughtfully as he turned his wrist to look at the bracelet from every angle.
“I haven’t even told you the best part,” Julie said. She could barely contain her zeal to tell the item’s tale. “The previous owner of that bracelet... was Elvis.”
A second of silence passed before Koutarou processed the news and gasped in utter shock. “Elvis Presley? The King of rock and roll? No way! I don’t believe it! How… how did you get this?”
“Someone brought it in to the store,” she explained. “A man who used to be a famous singer gave it to me to sell. He said the King gave it to him after a concert here in Tokyo when he was just a boy, and that it had always brought him good luck while singing on stage.”
Koutarou’s jaw was hanging open. “Why would anyone give away something so priceless?”
Julie shrugged. “The guy said it was time for someone else to benefit from it. I know what you mean, though. At first I didn’t believe him at all, until I did some research and found this.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to him.
“That’s a photo of Elvis! And he’s wearing the bracelet!” He was absolutely giddy. “This has got to be worth thousands of yen. Are you really sure you want to give it to me?”
“I’m sure. Elvis’ lucky bracelet should belong to a fellow rock singer.” Alongside her elation that Koutarou believed her story, Julie felt a tiny prickle of guilt. There was nothing cruel about this charade, but she still didn’t feel totally at ease lying to her oldest friend.
“Hey Julie,” he said softly, lightly touching her shoulder with one hand. “Thank you. Now come and watch me rock!”
…
Koutarou’s plucky mood persisted for the entire walk to Akaba’s house and didn’t dissipate when that cool face and crown of red hair appeared in the door to let them in.
“Hey Jewels,” Akaba greeted. “And I see you came with the spaz. Come on in.”
“Spaz this!” Koutarou trumpeted, waving his wrist mere centimeters in front of Akaba’s eyes as he passed through the door. “Pretty smart, eh?”
Akaba pulled his head back slightly and blinked his eyes. “I didn’t even see it. What was that?”
An expression of smug pride was plastered on Koutarou’s face. “This is Elvis Presley’s lucky bracelet. And it now belongs to me.”
Before responding, Akaba’s eyes surreptitiously darted to Julie and she gave an almost imperceptible nod to signal him to play along. “Wow, how’d you get your hands on something like that?” Even when he played impressed he sounded nonchalant.
“I happen to have a connection in the vintage clothing business,” Koutarou said.
“Fuu, I almost forgot,” said Akaba. “Once Sakai gets here, we’ll warm up with Hound Dog and see if you can use that bracelet to channel the King.”
“Wait, you mean Sakai from the football team?” Julie asked curiously.
“Yeah, he’s our drummer,” Koutarou said. “Didn’t I tell you? And the bassist is a Spider, too.”
Taking a second survey of the Akaba basement, she noticed a familiar stocky boy lifting an electric bass guitar from its case. He had been the captain of the kick team. “Wow, so you’re all ex-Spiders.”
Koutarou beamed. “That’s right. And that’s why the band is called Daddy Long Legs. You know, like those spiders with the long legs.”
“And you’re a Spider with long legs, too,” she said. “I get it.”
Sakai arrived and put on a look of trepidation as soon as he saw Koutarou. “I brought my girlfriend,” he said, scratching his blond shag. “And I see Sawai is here too. Think you can stay calm today?”
“Hey, I am made of calm,” Koutarou stated. “Now let’s rock!”
Julie sat down on the carpet next to Sakai’s girlfriend, her heart fluttering to the sound of Akaba tuning his guitar. With no introduction, the song just burst into life from the instruments and from Koutarou’s lungs.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog,
cryin’ all the time.”
Two weeks of trying to replay his voice in her head was not enough to prepare her for the real thing. And having a real band rather than a karaoke machine just made it ten times more awesome. Akaba’s incredible skill on guitar was likewise amplified by Koutarou’s voice.
“You ain’t never caught a rabbit
and you ain’t no friend of mine.”
The last line poured from his lips and the musicians wrapped up the song. It was perfect.
Everyone in the room fell into dead silence for a moment and then Akaba yelled out, “Suspicious Minds.” So they moved on to the next song, nobody saying a word about Koutarou’s success.
There was triumph in the air, though. Julie could feel it, from the band members and in her own heart. They played song after song, moving from Elvis to the Beatles to the Rolling Stones. Akaba’s little sister came down and so did his mother, but no matter how big the audience grew, Koutarou never faltered.
After a certain number of songs, once their faces started to glisten with perspiration, the band decided to take a break and Julie leapt to her feet. Without thinking about it, she went straight to Koutarou. “That was incredible. You guys sounded great.”
“I was smart, right?” he asked.
“Totally smart.” She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t slow her racing heart. “I think Daddy Long Legs should record a single.”
Akaba, who was just lifting his guitar strap off over his head, looked at her. “Now that we’ve worked out the last, er, kink, recording would logically be the next step. But we need a hit song of our own.”
A tune was playing in the background of Julie’s brain, something familiar. She twisted a finger in her blue hair, as if she could reel the melody out of her head. Ah! She had it. “How about KICK SHOCK?”
All of the band members, except Akaba, seemed to deflate slightly at the suggestion. “You mean that weird theme song for Sasaki that the principal issued?” Sakai asked, lips pulled back in distaste.
Koutarou’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “The guys don’t want to play that song,” he said. “And I’d feel kind of silly singing it.”
Akaba alone looked actually interested in the idea, scratching the tip of his chin as he carefully considered it. “You know what, I think the song has potential. The only reason it’s uncool is because it hasn’t gotten a decent treatment.”
“The tune is very catchy,” Julie said, thrilled that one person was of the same mind as her.
“And the lyrics aren’t bad either,” Akaba added. “They’ll sound great coming from Koutarou’s pipes. As de facto leader of Daddy Long Legs, I say we should at least give it a try.”
Sakai sighed cautiously. “You know we all trust your judgment, Akaba. If you say the song could be great, we’re with you all the way.”
“I’ll start working on an arrangement,” Akaba said. “In the mean time we should try to perform more in front of live audiences, just to make sure today’s success wasn’t a fluke. Think you’re up to it, Koutarou?”
Koutarou was utterly glowing. “Are you kidding? Right now I feel like I could do anything! And I owe it all to one person.” He flashed Julie a gentle smile that filled her belly with hot chocolate warmth. Then his eyes looked up towards the heavens. “Thank you, Elvis.”
Julie just shook her head and sighed. “Silly Koutarou.”
To be continued…
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