MIDSUMMER FIC ENTRY 02

[nicefinalbeam]

Title: It’s Not All Good In The Hood
Rating: PG
Summary: In which Nino is a hip hop star and Sho steals the show.



Verse #1

It was Aiba’s fault, really.

Nino first met Aiba at a battle rap competition taking place at an Ikebukuro club that he frequented. That night had been Aiba’s first time on the turntables there; he’d been doing a perfectly good job when Nino’s opponent decided to viciously diss Aiba’s beat. This had subsequently led to (what Nino felt was) the best freestyle put-down Nino had ever come up with. The crowd had gone wild.

Nino had found himself with a new friend and self-appointed collaborator.

With Aiba came Jun, or MC MJ, as he liked to be called. Jun was a talented enough guy, although he tended to dress like a disco ball and had a penchant for suddenly bursting into song during the middle of a verse. At first, Nino had taken his constant presence as a misguided attempt at creating mutual friends on Aiba’s part, but after three weeks of making the rounds in Shibuya together, he began to suspect that there was something afoot. By the time Jun produced matching beanies for all of them, he was in too deep. The word on the street was that MC KAzu was assembling a crew.

The thing was, Nino had never thought of himself as the social type. Sure, he’d done plenty of collaborations with DJs and other MCs, but he could do well enough on his own. Since his days starting out on the streets of central Tokyo he’d been making his own beats, coming up with dance moves and spitting rhymes that he’d written on his own. As far as Nino was concerned, MC KAzu was a one-man show.

So when Jun and Aiba turned up one day with hoodies that said M.A.N, Nino picked up his gear, walked out of the club, and went straight home to play Super Mario.

Two days later, he received a phone call asking if he could feature in a documentary about young hip hop artists in Japan. All the clubs had mentioned MC KAzu, said the woman from the studio, but they hadn’t been able to track him down until now.

“It’s the chance of a lifetime,” she told him, “the director’s a pretty huge in Hollywood.”

“Okay,” said Nino, even though the name she’d given him hadn’t rung a bell.

“The thing is,” the woman continued, “we’re already in contact with quite a number of solo artists. Are you, by any chance, part of a group?”

Verse #2

Things were pretty good in a group, for the most part. Aiba took over with most of the actual turntabling and Jun came up with a lot of new dance moves, which left Nino free to scribble more lyrics on his notepad.

Surprisingly enough, M.A.N worked together rather well, and with the documentary film released, more clubs were approaching them for regular gigs. They were on the rise. All Nino had to do now was to convince Aiba that DJ MIRROR MaN was a terrible stagename and inform Jun that spangly dress shoes would do nothing to improve their cred.

And then Saturday night happened.

It hadn’t been the best of evenings. Jun had turned up in a badass lime-and-silver hoodie proclaiming that he ‘JUST DON’T GIVE A DUCK’, sparking off a minor argument over what did or did not count as a glaring misspelling. It had ended with Jun accusing Nino of “dressing like a homeless person”. During the actual performance, Aiba backflipped rather spectacularly over the turntables, throwing Jun off in the middle of a verse, and Nino’s attempt at spraying the contents of a bottle of water over the audience in a patently cool manner backfired when he picked one up that was already empty.

Those problems weren’t insurmountable, though. The crowd was still digging the beats (Aiba’s backflip, in particular, had gone down very well) and Nino and Jun were both fast enough to pick up from their mistakes.

The real problem was Sakurai Sho.

He had been the only underground solo artist the documentary had featured. MC Sho(w), the narrator had announced, is not your typical street star. He made a name for himself in the underground scene while finishing his degree in Economics at the prestigious Keio University. The clip that followed had been of him rapping about what was wrong with the price of rice in Japan.

Someone in the club’s management had thought it a good idea to invite Sakurai in that night; sort of like an underground all-stars, they said.

Nino hated him on sight. He made double grey parkas and carrot jeans look cool. He rapped about social issues, with some verses even in English. When he stepped onstage all the girls screamed twice as loud.

Also, the man had a navel piercing.

Sakurai didn’t know it, but in Nino’s mind, this was war.

Chorus

They seemed to keep running into each other, in the weeks following that night. Nino thought he caught of glimpse of Sakurai in the crowd when they were freestyling near Hachiko square one evening, and he was positive Sakurai had been standing by the door of that Shibuya club M.A.N had performed two days later.

“Don’t be ridiculous; he’s not stalking us,” said Jun, the only time Nino mentioned it. “He’s got better things to do.”

“Like rap about homeless people and animal shelters?”

“Yes,” Jun replied. “That’s exactly what he’d be doing.”

“I hear he was offered a recording contract, but he turned it down because they wanted him to write a song about gang violence and marijuana,” Aiba said, in awed tones.

“That’s a lie,” said Jun confidently.

“Obviously,” said Nino, because nobody was stupid enough to turn down something like a recording contract.

“-the song was about women with nice racks,” Jun continued.

“It’s official,” groaned Nino. “He’s a loser.”

“On the contrary,” said Jun, “everyone thinks he’s got cred.”

“Duck you,” Nino retorted, for lack of a better reply, before wandering off to snicker at his own joke.

It was simple, really: Nino hated Sakurai because he made him seem lame. When he wasn’t rapping about NEETs and pensions his songs took on a effortlessly cheery sort of tone that bubbled with enthusiastic encouragement for the youth of today. This, of course, only worked because he was MC Sho(w), wellspring of happiness and chill. Sakurai had a rapper’s voice, too, low and confident and well enunciated, unlike Nino, who coasted through his verses in a nasal, rapid-fire tumble of syllables that people had started calling ‘oji-chan rap’.

It didn’t help that Jun and Aiba had somehow managed to befriend Sakurai, and that Jun had not been able to hide his admiration at how well Sakurai carried off things like rhinestone hoodies and neon-coloured trousers. The best Nino had ever managed was a vest with sparkles on it, and that had made him look like a bartender at a transvestite bar.

Sakurai now seemed to have a permanent invitation to everything M.A.N did, and he turned up even for things like spontaneous late-night drinking sessions and that bit of time in a real recording studio that Jun had managed to secure.

“I’m not sure how you’ve forgotten this, but we’re still two different acts?” Nino pointed out one evening.

“Hip hop is about the spirit of collaboration,” said Aiba. “This is M.A.N collaborating.”

“This is M.A.N merging,” Nino snapped. “And I’m sure Sakurai with his perfect English would be able to tell you that ‘M.A.N.S’ is not a word.”

Verse #3

Things came to a head with the discovery of Ohno Satoshi. Ohno was an itinerant graffiti artist who also enjoyed fishing and b-boying. While his angling skills remained largely untested, his talents elsewhere were clearly evident.

Chronologically speaking, it was Nino who discovered Ohno first, when he’d stumbled upon him b-boying at Yoyogi Park one afternoon. Apparently, however, setting eyes on someone didn’t mean anything unless one actually made some sort of conversation, which was why Sakurai was the one who managed to get Ohno for his next gig.

“I told you he’d end up poaching Ohno from us,” said Nino angrily.

“No you didn’t,” said Aiba. “You didn’t specifically mention poaching or Ohno.”

“And I don’t think you can call it poaching if Ohno wasn’t even introduced to M.A.N,” said Jun.

Nino bristled. “I sense a note of accusation there.”

“I don’t see why we need a dancer,” said Aiba. “Aren’t we good enough?”

“We,” said Nino through gritted teeth, “are not Ohno. Ohno is amazing. Ohno is incredibly talented. And Ohno is breaking at Sakurai’s gig, even though I discovered him first.”

“We are not having that discussion again about how discovery is defined,” Jun said warningly.

“No, we’re not,” said Nino. “Because I’m going to challenge Sakurai to a rap battle.”

“You really don’t like me, do you?” asked Sakurai. He was rehearsing in the park with five b-boys and a beatboxer Nino didn’t normally see around, but when Nino stormed up to him in the middle of a verse to demand a duel he stopped immediately to say hello.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Nino demanded.

“Well, I’m game if you want to,” said Sakurai, looking uncomfortable. “But perhaps not now? I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re kind of too scared, you mean,” said Nino.

“No, just busy,” Sakurai replied, with a look of faint consternation. “The gig that’s coming up. It’s pretty big.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and rub it in.”

“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” asked Sakurai. Even now, with the sun blazing down on him and their conversation veering so close to an actual argument, he still managed to sound more long-suffering than angry.

“That’s just how I roll,” Nino told him darkly. “You had better watch it,” he added, before turning on his heel and walking off.

“Watch what?” Sakurai called after him, confused. “And how exactly do you roll?”

Verse #4

This was what being a rapper was all about. It wasn’t about collaboration, like Aiba insisted. It was about territory, anger and violence.

“It’s about not wearing glittering cardigans or trousers tucked into boots,” Nino finished, bringing his fist slamming down onto the table. “And BAPE is overrated.”

“No it isn’t,” said Jun incredulously. “You just despise it because Sho owns a couple of shirts from them.”

“One of them is paisley,” Nino retorted, “and it is hideous.”

“He’s not the one who’s going to turn up for a rap battle wearing a powder blue smurfs shirt,” Jun countered.

“What makes you think I’m going to wear that shirt?” asked Nino, taken aback.

“Your clothing choices are based on a rotation system that hasn’t changed in the past half a year,” Jun told him dryly. “It isn’t hard to figure out. Now can we please celebrate your birthday now? We’re half an hour late for your countdown party.”

“Chicks dig that shirt,” said Nino primly.

“No they don’t,” Aiba piped up, “remember the time MC Meisa laughed in your face?”

They celebrated Nino’s birthday at the club where he’d met Aiba, and Jun had seen to it that the entire place was filled with fans and collaborators. He’d also managed to get a large cake shaped to form the letters of Nino’s stagename.

“It says MC Kazu,” Nino pointed out, when they unveiled it just before the countdown to the 17th.

“That’s you,” said Aiba.

“I know that,” Nino snapped. “You forgot to capitalise the A.”

“It sounds the same,” Aiba told him. “What difference would it make?”

“It makes a world of difference!” Nino exclaimed. “Imagine Zeebra without the extra E. Or K Dub Shine with-”

“It cost one thousand yen extra to buy another capital letter,” Jun interrupted curtly.

“Oh,” said Nino, because one thousand yen was a rather steep price for artistic integrity.

“Yes,” said Jun. “Now blow out your damn candles.”

It was his birthday. Nino was 27 and part of arguably one of the biggest unsigned hip hop groups in Shibuya. Nino had a rap battle the following evening with his greatest rival.

Nino had free-flow alcohol and plenty of cake to go around. Nino was going to get wasted.

Bridge

He woke up on the sofa in Jun’s apartment with a splitting headache. Aiba was sprawled all over the carpet, five metres away from the futon Jun had laid out. Someone was ringing the doorbell.

“Can’t one of you drunkards get that?” Jun shouted from the kitchen. “I can’t leave the miso soup.”

“Okay, okay,” muttered Nino, standing up as gingerly as he could possibly manage. “You don’t have to yell like that.”

He wandered over to the intercom and peered at the screen.

“What.”

“Who is it?” Jun called.

“Sakurai,” said Nino. “What is he even doing here?”

“Stop bitching and let him in,” said Jun.

“I think five b-boys is enough for me,” said Sakurai, when Nino opened the door. Beside him was a rather confused-looking Ohno. “You can have Ohno for your next gig.”

“...thank you?”

“Happy birthday,” said Sakurai.

“Wait,” said Nino. “Is this meant to be some sort of present?”

“Well,” said Sakurai, glancing apprehensively from Ohno to Nino.

“You can’t give someone another human being for his birthday,” said Nino. “It’s just not done.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” said Sakurai, opting for bluster over awkwardness. “And if you’re not down with it I’ll beat your ass at our rap battle tonight.”

“Beat my ass? With what?” Nino sneered. “Tell me do you wanna uh uh?”

“Do not diss the rhymes, man,” said Sakurai. “Do not.”

“Can I go now?” asked Ohno.

Chorus

The rap battle that night was to take place in Yoyogi Park at a quarter to twelve. Nino wore his powder blue smurfs shirt just to spite Jun (though there was also the fact that it really was next on the laundry rotation).

When he arrived at the park, however, the atmosphere was markedly different from what he’d expected. A crowd far larger than anticipated had amassed about the space between two trees that they had agreed on, drawn, as Nino now discovered, by the large banner proclaiming the words ‘FREESTYLE’ in large, green graffiti letters that could only be Ohno’s handiwork. The audience was already moving to the very familiar sounds of Jun and Aiba performing.

“What’s going on?” Nino demanded, pushing his way through the crowd towards Jun, while narrorly avoiding being hit in the shoulder by a b-boy’s foot.

“It’s MC KAzu!” Jun hollered in response. “Everybody say KA-zu!”

“KA-ZU!”

“KA-zu!”

“KA-ZU!”

“Make some noise!”

“This is supposed to be a rap battle, not a summer concert,” Nino protested, as Jun forced a microphone into his hands.

“If you’ve got the mike/ you’ve got to rap-” Jun began.

“Oh, shut it,” said Nino, turning to face the audience. “DJ Masaki, give me a beat.”

The thing about being a rapper, for Nino, was that once he spit a flow it didn’t matter if he was actually supposed to be slugging it out with someone else, or that he was wearing a shirt with smurfs on it. He was MC KAzu, invincible and unstoppable, and even though he tended to become rather limp-wristed when he got into the think of things, he was still extremely badass. The chicks went crazy for him, and the guys all thought he was cool. The amount of screaming that started up in between verses was insane.

In fact, it was becoming louder. They were also chanting something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘SHO-KUN’.

“Oh, not you,” Nino groaned under his breath.

“Yes, me,” Sakurai replied, hopping up next to him with his microphone in hand. He gazed about at the audience for a moment before rapping, “MC SHO(W) AND MC KAZU!! This collaboration is/ taking the nation/ by the storm-”

“What collaboration?” Nino demanded.

“No hesitation/ just GO-”

And Aiba started the beat up again, but Sakurai was pointedly not rapping and everyone was looking expectantly at them and -

“Get on with it, Ninomiya,” hissed Jun from somewhere behind him. It suddenly occurred to Nino that this was probably some sort of intricate ploy devised by the others in a ridiculous attempt to make friends.

The crowd was waiting, though. A couple of people in front were beginning to look bored, and nobody was supposed to look bored when MC KAzu was onstage.

Oh, fuck this, thought Nino. If they want a collaboration they’ll get one.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he snapped at Jun, before turning to the audience.

“Ready? And - WHEN I SAY LUCKY YOU SAY MAN-”

The crowd went wild.

Chorus (reprise)

And that was how MC KAzu landed himself with a full crew. After all, it was hard to reject someone who had gone to the trouble of orchestrating a surprise collaboration with him and had given him a b-boy for his birthday.

It helped, too, that during the performance that night Nino had discovered Sakurai’s profound inability to do a backflip.

Outro

“Even with the extra vowel it still doesn’t make any sense,” said Nino. “O.M.A.N.S? SO.M.A.N?”

“Does it really need to make sense?” asked Aiba wearily. “We’re a hip hop group. We’re meant to be ungrammatical.”

“We could give ourselves a kanji name,” said Ohno, “like Sakana or Fune.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a one track mind?” asked Jun.

“If we’re talking about kanji,” said Sakurai, “how about Arashi?”

There was a pause in which each of them appeared to consider this quite seriously. Then,

“Nah, that’s just weird.”