Déjà Vu-Prologue
“It is now 5 to 8, please keep listening for this amazing young miracle’s first honorary performance here in our very own New York City.”
“…And walking onstage, here comes Nakajima Yuto!”
“Tonight, he will be playing Rachmaninov’s piano concerto number 2, quite a feat for somebody as young as 15. This will give him a chance to show his maturity to the world…as a musician, and as a rising star.”
Lights, focused on the gleaming wooden boards of the stage and the figure strolling to his place beside the elegant grand piano, shaking hands with the conductor and bowing with a slight smile before taking a seat. Hands, long, slender fingers with perfectly trimmed nails and the gracefulness of a butterfly fluttering across the keys.
The orchestra begins to play, but Yuto can no longer hear. In his mind, it is only he, he alone with the piano. No hidden cameras, no blinding lights, no millions of eyes staring at him intently.
It’s just him, the piano, and the music, and that’s all that matters.
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“…PLEASE GIVE…A ROUND OF APPLAUSE…TO OUR YOUNG, RISING STAR WHO YOU ALL LOVE TOO MUCH ALREADY…YAMADAAAAAAAAA RYOSUKE!”
“Yama-chan! Yama-chan! Yama-chan!”
“It is crazy in the Tokyo Dome tonight, with the already famed 15-year-old pop idol Yamada Ryosuke holding his very first solo concert!”
“…Yamada-kun works for the infamous agency, Johnny’s Entertainment, known for producing most of Japan’s most popular stars…”
“OHMYGOD! Here is Yamada-kun dancing onto stage right at this very moment. Let’s see the fans’ reactions…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Lights, flashes of color and the sparkle of special effects sweeping across the stage, illuminating the silhouette of a dancing figure, necklaces dangling in front of a flimsy black tank top underneath an even blacker jacket. Hands, roaming across his own body in provocative stances, dancing by their own through the air and driving the mass of fans insane.
The music begins to pound through the speakers, but Ryosuke can no longer hear. In his mind, it is only he, he alone with the beat throbbing throughout his entire body, flowing along with the nature of the song. No screaming fans, no obnoxious paparazzi cameras, no colorful sparkly effects of disco lights and mist.
It's just him-his body, the stage floor, and the music, and that's all that matters.