pheaca
dive back in time
The future was never something Yu focused on much. Throughout his life, planning ahead never panned out well—As soon as it felt like he had something comfortable, he and his parents were off to the next place, leaving him to make a new life that would end up amounting to little when the next job relocation came along. The most stability an endless wanderer like him ever knew was found in Inaba, and, even then, it felt like those roots had been ripped from the ground soon after they had grown. When he didn’t know where he would end up in a year, dreams of a future felt nearly unreachable.
Maybe it would have been easy enough to become a businessman, but that life never appealed to him, as much as he may have excelled in similar subjects. Saving people as a doctor could have been nice, but the potential failure that came with a career like that would have weighed on his soul far too much. Could work as a translator, but he didn’t know where to even start, or how much good he could do. Detective work, maybe, but… That was a system that he couldn’t ever fix, as much as he wanted to.
It all felt so aimless, that even as spring came and went for his third year, when everything should have begun to make sense, all he could do was sit, looking for an answer to a seemingly impossible question, while everyone else seemed to understand what they wanted in life, at least to a certain degree.
Everything changed after the Love Meets Bonds festival.
While he never saw himself as much of a dancer, when Rise had requested for him and the rest of the Investigation Team to perform alongside her, there was no way he could ever say no. All that mattered was he gave it his all, finding whatever spare time he could to take regular trips to Takura Production’s studio and learn from the ground up. Honestly, he never felt like he was that impressive, especially compared to all the talents he was surrounded by whenever he stepped through those double doors, but that effort must have been seen by someone.
Maybe it was seen as repayment for helping to save the members of Kanamin Kitchen or an actual belief in an unknown potential, but days after the performance, he had received a direct request from Kyoka Ochimizu to have a personal meeting in her office. Never one to turn down an invitation, no matter how odd it may have initially appeared in its vagueness, he was quick to accept.
When a contract was slid over the table, all he could do was stare dumbfounded in silence. Ochimizu-san had elected for the same, a couple minutes passing before Yu had recovered from the initial shock. After a few questions, clarifications, and a decent skim through all the paperwork, the newest talent of Takura Productions had been signed.
Much of the work wasn’t in his wheelhouse at first. While he had an extensive background in his school’s acting and music departments, and an even more well-sculpted physique from his many labored efforts on the basketball team, being the face of an idol group felt far out from what he had ever done. However, he was never one to disappoint others—If Ochimizu-san put her trust in him, then he would spend every spare moment he had working to improve, to push himself further than even he could have ever imagined himself reaching.
This was a chance of a future that was just as unknowable as everything he knew before, but he would grasp onto it as strongly as he could, going along with the ride wherever it went. This would be his dream to follow, through thick and thin.
Or maybe that was just his people-pleasing tendency taking hold and driving him all the way down the fast lane before he had much time to reflect on it for himself.
Not that he minded much. It was at least something to keep him moving, and working within Takura Production’s allowed him to keep a close connection with several of his friends. Kanamin Kitchen, despite their short time knowing each other prior, had already become close bonds to carry through his initial stages of his training.
However, the bond he was most glad to stay close with was Rise.
It felt like the higher her career soared, the more difficult it had become to stay in touch. She had barely been able to make time for their Golden Week hangout, and, while it had been easier to stay in contact with their assistance for her festival performance, it only felt like a matter of time until the inherent difficulty of staying in contact with an idol made itself known once more.
With him here, maybe she wouldn’t have to be so isolated. While the path of an idol was difficult (something he had recognized even moreso, now followed her along that route), having each other right alongside each other could only make it easier for both of them.
After his debut, though, it felt like it only became more difficult to keep up than ever before. The budget for their first release had been the largest for the studio yet, and, somehow, it had paid off with near-instant success. At first, Yu had been relieved that Ochimizu-san hadn’t placed her faith in him for nothing, but that relief had soon twisted itself into a quiet sense of regret as his schedule was filled to the brim with shows, recordings, practice, interviews, and countless other obligations that made it difficult for him to even graduate, let alone keep up with everyone. Even Rise, one of his closest friends, felt just as far as everyone else, despite often residing in the same building as him.
…That had been when he truly realized why Rise took a break from the industry.
To do such a thing would have betrayed the trust shown in him, though, so he kept going, taking everything given to him with a faint smile. Most of it wasn’t stuff that had been of his interest, but he put his all into it regardless, even if it only left him with the energy to get a few texts out to his friends before passing out for the night.
Overtime, he found himself less interested on the festival stage, finding most of his enjoyment with a script in hand, taking on a role fully disconnected from himself. Even so, it felt like that even that had fallen into a typecast that, in some regard, held him back. As much as he may have enjoyed playing in live-action anime adaptations, there were only enough pretty silver-haired boys for him to play before it became difficult to ignore the chokehold being kept on him… Ken Kaneki, Viktor Nikiforov, and Sanemi Shinazugawa, along with the several others he’d played, may have given him the floor to showcase his acting talents, but the ceiling that came with those kind of roles, no matter how much he put into them, were clear to everyone.
Despite all the effort being put into his idol career, working as an idol hadn’t been all he was partaking in, over the years. His contact with Kirijo-san had been one of the most persisting ones. When they were short-staffed, the CEO had made a reluctant request for his assistance with shadow-related occurrences. Yu, of course, never rejected. It was one of the best ways for him to keep up with his friends he’d made in events few could ever understand, even if he often lost sleep trying to balance the life of an idol and reserve Shadow Operative.
Both Yu’s popularity and Kirijo’s group had expanded into a further reach, hitting a wall that benefitted neither. It seemed the more that the Operatives fought, the more widespread their issues became, reports becoming more prevalent across the country, and, in an odd turn of events, on the mainland. There were few that could make the travel, and even fewer that could traverse foreign countries without running into issues regarding communication.
One of the few who could, consequently, was Yu.
Just as Ochimizu-san had offered him nearly five years ago, Mitsuru-san had brought him to a private dinner, and requested that he graduate from being an idol to a solo performer employed under her talent agency, giving him the freedom to pursue acting further than he ever could while assisting them with cases not many could across the sea with his multilingual skills and ability to work on cases few others could with little assistance.
Two months later, Yu gave his last performance as the icy dark prince persona that had become so integral to his public image, off to perform a stint in South Korea; one of many stops that would keep him largely out of the country. Before that, however, he had the luxury that had been sorely lacking since he signed his original deal: time. The time to meet with friends again, without the feeling as if time was breathing down his neck every time he took a brief trip to Inaba or went out with a friend for the night.
Those few weeks still felt all too short, but he made every moment count. Went back to Inaba, to spend time with Nanako, Dojima, Yukiko, Chie, Marie, Kanji, and Teddie. Took the time to help Naoto with a case back in the city, like the good old days. Had a rematch with Yosuke, like at the river bank, without the pressure to keep his face from getting bruised. Spent time with Adachi around his ever-supervised Shadow Operative office, as much as the other still feigned disinterest.
And, of course, took the time to finally see Rise again, now that he could work his schedule around hers, rather than constant contractual events keeping them from seeing each other, despite their close proximity to one another.
…It was there he had almost made his confession, but, soon enough, he would be gone once more. To leave that in the air with so little time for those feelings to be reciprocated—if they were—felt as if it’d be worse than leaving them held deep within. As always, he kept it all within. They would be friends, as they always were, and there was nothing wrong with that.
A pang of regret never left him for refusing to get it off his chest, but… It was better for her. For both of them.
Much as everything else came and went, so too did his time in Japan. Within the month, all his essentials had been packed, having one final Investigation Team party before he boarded the private jet to his new, temporary abode.
The eyes of the masses seemed to follow him wherever he went. It wasn’t long before he gained a following in other countries, from South Korea, China, the United Kingdom—anywhere he went, it felt like the Kirijo Group had done well to make him known. Supposedly, it assisted in strengthening his powers in any particular region, creating bonds with his fans to use on the Shadow Operative missions that coincided with his performances. Really, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a big publicity stunt by his manager… But, it did work.
What it served as, though, wasn’t a true connection. What they made with him was akin to worship of a deity—his power was immense, but it wasn’t well-controlled. More often than not, it felt like he was a danger to those who accompanied him with how his powers could explode in ways he had never anticipated. A couple times, he had even hurt himself, but when concern was shown after he returned, all he did was brush it off with a faint smile.
Besides visits to the Dojima Residence for holidays, a connection to those true bonds were few and far between. He texted and called as much as he could, but the closest thing they held were those memories from high school. They would always be friends, but, at times, it was difficult to truly keep up with one another in such a way when it felt like they never had a chance to truly connect, years going by before they could even get a cup of coffee with one another again.
…It was lonely. Yu couldn’t lie to himself about that much, but, as with all things, there was a positive and a negative. Even if it was unbeknownst to those cheering him on, he was working to avert casualties that could’ve destroyed countless lives.
When a mission was offered to him right in the heart of Tokyo, there was no way he could deny it.
Things had changed a lot since he’d taken up work in the country. The Phantom Thieves, a legacy he had only seen begin to grow as he was preparing to leave, brought a new air to the seemingly supernatural within the public subconscious. Their presence was at a time the Shadow Operatives’ influence was weakened, due to political corruption purposely suppressing their activities at every turn. Dealing with threats became a much more public affair, and, with that came a situation the Shadow Operatives struggled to control after their power had started to grow once more.
Vigilante justice in the shadow world became more common—and, while the Phantom Thieves used that power for good, there were others who were much more prone to using that power to benefit solely themselves. Most were typical members of the population, be it students or businessmen, and to convince them to stop once they were found out took little more than a stern threat to make them drop everything. Those higher up stood a greater difficulty…
…Such as, say, an acclaimed director.
Or, at least, someone within her crew. Reports circulated about a recent string of stars running into horrifically bad luck—whether it be revealed scandals or a sudden, tragic death. There was no true link to what occurred, other than one suspicious thread: their last film had been directed by the same studio, by the same woman.
The alibi was simple. To have controversy and tragedy led to more eyes, and, therefore, more publicity. Whether good or bad, it didn’t matter all too much to the eyes of corporations. Attention was attention.
However, there wasn’t any legal precedent to take in the director or any of her coworkers for something so difficult to develop a stronger case for. Without proof, there was nothing. But, by seemingly all regards, it seemed next to impossible to get that deep into a production to follow the methodology.
Well, for almost all of the Shadow Operatives, at least.
The audition process had gone all-too-smoothly. The grin on the women’s face to see Yu Narukami walk into the room was enough of a guarantee for his position being secured. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours before he got a callback about receiving the lead role, and, as with most things in the past decade, it seemed that any free time that he may have had came and went in an instant, a script reading scheduled within the coming week.
Resting felt like a million miles away, still… The week was scattered with several interviews and pushes for him to revive his social media to announce his arrival to his home city. Gather more power for the potential fights ahead, even if he would have rather been able to stay a little under the radar.
It at least made the days go by quickly. It felt like no time had past by the time of the first cast meeting. More importantly, it would be a good chance to get a better impression of some of the director’s closest coworkers—and the prime suspects.
Not many had occupied the room by the time he arrived. Then again, Yu had always preferred to be egregiously early than fashionably late. It allowed him to get a headstart on working through what was most vital to have a smooth shooting day. In this case, though, all it really amounted to was skimming through the script, trying to get a good feeling of the character he would portray before he uttered the first lines.
While the movie wasn’t the main focus, likely not even being fully released, considering how the job was to be handled, he still would give it his all. Looking to please everyone, as always.
Despite those wishes, he didn’t really know much outside of the production crew… Character names had been placed at their tables, rather than the actor’s names. Maybe it was part of how the director liked to handle things. It wouldn’t have been his first time working with someone who liked to keep things more method. From what reports he was given, no actor was suspected to be behind the incidents. Still, that wasn’t a reason to get to know them, but that desire would have to wait for the rest to trickle in. Until then, his eyes were glued to the page, scanning for every little hint of something more behind those words—whether it be for his character, or something far more sinister.
Just as everything else in life, though, it felt like everything was far too unpredictable to gleam much of what was to come.
Maybe it would have been easy enough to become a businessman, but that life never appealed to him, as much as he may have excelled in similar subjects. Saving people as a doctor could have been nice, but the potential failure that came with a career like that would have weighed on his soul far too much. Could work as a translator, but he didn’t know where to even start, or how much good he could do. Detective work, maybe, but… That was a system that he couldn’t ever fix, as much as he wanted to.
It all felt so aimless, that even as spring came and went for his third year, when everything should have begun to make sense, all he could do was sit, looking for an answer to a seemingly impossible question, while everyone else seemed to understand what they wanted in life, at least to a certain degree.
Everything changed after the Love Meets Bonds festival.
While he never saw himself as much of a dancer, when Rise had requested for him and the rest of the Investigation Team to perform alongside her, there was no way he could ever say no. All that mattered was he gave it his all, finding whatever spare time he could to take regular trips to Takura Production’s studio and learn from the ground up. Honestly, he never felt like he was that impressive, especially compared to all the talents he was surrounded by whenever he stepped through those double doors, but that effort must have been seen by someone.
Maybe it was seen as repayment for helping to save the members of Kanamin Kitchen or an actual belief in an unknown potential, but days after the performance, he had received a direct request from Kyoka Ochimizu to have a personal meeting in her office. Never one to turn down an invitation, no matter how odd it may have initially appeared in its vagueness, he was quick to accept.
When a contract was slid over the table, all he could do was stare dumbfounded in silence. Ochimizu-san had elected for the same, a couple minutes passing before Yu had recovered from the initial shock. After a few questions, clarifications, and a decent skim through all the paperwork, the newest talent of Takura Productions had been signed.
Much of the work wasn’t in his wheelhouse at first. While he had an extensive background in his school’s acting and music departments, and an even more well-sculpted physique from his many labored efforts on the basketball team, being the face of an idol group felt far out from what he had ever done. However, he was never one to disappoint others—If Ochimizu-san put her trust in him, then he would spend every spare moment he had working to improve, to push himself further than even he could have ever imagined himself reaching.
This was a chance of a future that was just as unknowable as everything he knew before, but he would grasp onto it as strongly as he could, going along with the ride wherever it went. This would be his dream to follow, through thick and thin.
Or maybe that was just his people-pleasing tendency taking hold and driving him all the way down the fast lane before he had much time to reflect on it for himself.
Not that he minded much. It was at least something to keep him moving, and working within Takura Production’s allowed him to keep a close connection with several of his friends. Kanamin Kitchen, despite their short time knowing each other prior, had already become close bonds to carry through his initial stages of his training.
However, the bond he was most glad to stay close with was Rise.
It felt like the higher her career soared, the more difficult it had become to stay in touch. She had barely been able to make time for their Golden Week hangout, and, while it had been easier to stay in contact with their assistance for her festival performance, it only felt like a matter of time until the inherent difficulty of staying in contact with an idol made itself known once more.
With him here, maybe she wouldn’t have to be so isolated. While the path of an idol was difficult (something he had recognized even moreso, now followed her along that route), having each other right alongside each other could only make it easier for both of them.
After his debut, though, it felt like it only became more difficult to keep up than ever before. The budget for their first release had been the largest for the studio yet, and, somehow, it had paid off with near-instant success. At first, Yu had been relieved that Ochimizu-san hadn’t placed her faith in him for nothing, but that relief had soon twisted itself into a quiet sense of regret as his schedule was filled to the brim with shows, recordings, practice, interviews, and countless other obligations that made it difficult for him to even graduate, let alone keep up with everyone. Even Rise, one of his closest friends, felt just as far as everyone else, despite often residing in the same building as him.
…That had been when he truly realized why Rise took a break from the industry.
To do such a thing would have betrayed the trust shown in him, though, so he kept going, taking everything given to him with a faint smile. Most of it wasn’t stuff that had been of his interest, but he put his all into it regardless, even if it only left him with the energy to get a few texts out to his friends before passing out for the night.
Overtime, he found himself less interested on the festival stage, finding most of his enjoyment with a script in hand, taking on a role fully disconnected from himself. Even so, it felt like that even that had fallen into a typecast that, in some regard, held him back. As much as he may have enjoyed playing in live-action anime adaptations, there were only enough pretty silver-haired boys for him to play before it became difficult to ignore the chokehold being kept on him… Ken Kaneki, Viktor Nikiforov, and Sanemi Shinazugawa, along with the several others he’d played, may have given him the floor to showcase his acting talents, but the ceiling that came with those kind of roles, no matter how much he put into them, were clear to everyone.
Despite all the effort being put into his idol career, working as an idol hadn’t been all he was partaking in, over the years. His contact with Kirijo-san had been one of the most persisting ones. When they were short-staffed, the CEO had made a reluctant request for his assistance with shadow-related occurrences. Yu, of course, never rejected. It was one of the best ways for him to keep up with his friends he’d made in events few could ever understand, even if he often lost sleep trying to balance the life of an idol and reserve Shadow Operative.
Both Yu’s popularity and Kirijo’s group had expanded into a further reach, hitting a wall that benefitted neither. It seemed the more that the Operatives fought, the more widespread their issues became, reports becoming more prevalent across the country, and, in an odd turn of events, on the mainland. There were few that could make the travel, and even fewer that could traverse foreign countries without running into issues regarding communication.
One of the few who could, consequently, was Yu.
Just as Ochimizu-san had offered him nearly five years ago, Mitsuru-san had brought him to a private dinner, and requested that he graduate from being an idol to a solo performer employed under her talent agency, giving him the freedom to pursue acting further than he ever could while assisting them with cases not many could across the sea with his multilingual skills and ability to work on cases few others could with little assistance.
Two months later, Yu gave his last performance as the icy dark prince persona that had become so integral to his public image, off to perform a stint in South Korea; one of many stops that would keep him largely out of the country. Before that, however, he had the luxury that had been sorely lacking since he signed his original deal: time. The time to meet with friends again, without the feeling as if time was breathing down his neck every time he took a brief trip to Inaba or went out with a friend for the night.
Those few weeks still felt all too short, but he made every moment count. Went back to Inaba, to spend time with Nanako, Dojima, Yukiko, Chie, Marie, Kanji, and Teddie. Took the time to help Naoto with a case back in the city, like the good old days. Had a rematch with Yosuke, like at the river bank, without the pressure to keep his face from getting bruised. Spent time with Adachi around his ever-supervised Shadow Operative office, as much as the other still feigned disinterest.
And, of course, took the time to finally see Rise again, now that he could work his schedule around hers, rather than constant contractual events keeping them from seeing each other, despite their close proximity to one another.
…It was there he had almost made his confession, but, soon enough, he would be gone once more. To leave that in the air with so little time for those feelings to be reciprocated—if they were—felt as if it’d be worse than leaving them held deep within. As always, he kept it all within. They would be friends, as they always were, and there was nothing wrong with that.
A pang of regret never left him for refusing to get it off his chest, but… It was better for her. For both of them.
Much as everything else came and went, so too did his time in Japan. Within the month, all his essentials had been packed, having one final Investigation Team party before he boarded the private jet to his new, temporary abode.
The eyes of the masses seemed to follow him wherever he went. It wasn’t long before he gained a following in other countries, from South Korea, China, the United Kingdom—anywhere he went, it felt like the Kirijo Group had done well to make him known. Supposedly, it assisted in strengthening his powers in any particular region, creating bonds with his fans to use on the Shadow Operative missions that coincided with his performances. Really, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a big publicity stunt by his manager… But, it did work.
What it served as, though, wasn’t a true connection. What they made with him was akin to worship of a deity—his power was immense, but it wasn’t well-controlled. More often than not, it felt like he was a danger to those who accompanied him with how his powers could explode in ways he had never anticipated. A couple times, he had even hurt himself, but when concern was shown after he returned, all he did was brush it off with a faint smile.
Besides visits to the Dojima Residence for holidays, a connection to those true bonds were few and far between. He texted and called as much as he could, but the closest thing they held were those memories from high school. They would always be friends, but, at times, it was difficult to truly keep up with one another in such a way when it felt like they never had a chance to truly connect, years going by before they could even get a cup of coffee with one another again.
…It was lonely. Yu couldn’t lie to himself about that much, but, as with all things, there was a positive and a negative. Even if it was unbeknownst to those cheering him on, he was working to avert casualties that could’ve destroyed countless lives.
When a mission was offered to him right in the heart of Tokyo, there was no way he could deny it.
Things had changed a lot since he’d taken up work in the country. The Phantom Thieves, a legacy he had only seen begin to grow as he was preparing to leave, brought a new air to the seemingly supernatural within the public subconscious. Their presence was at a time the Shadow Operatives’ influence was weakened, due to political corruption purposely suppressing their activities at every turn. Dealing with threats became a much more public affair, and, with that came a situation the Shadow Operatives struggled to control after their power had started to grow once more.
Vigilante justice in the shadow world became more common—and, while the Phantom Thieves used that power for good, there were others who were much more prone to using that power to benefit solely themselves. Most were typical members of the population, be it students or businessmen, and to convince them to stop once they were found out took little more than a stern threat to make them drop everything. Those higher up stood a greater difficulty…
…Such as, say, an acclaimed director.
Or, at least, someone within her crew. Reports circulated about a recent string of stars running into horrifically bad luck—whether it be revealed scandals or a sudden, tragic death. There was no true link to what occurred, other than one suspicious thread: their last film had been directed by the same studio, by the same woman.
The alibi was simple. To have controversy and tragedy led to more eyes, and, therefore, more publicity. Whether good or bad, it didn’t matter all too much to the eyes of corporations. Attention was attention.
However, there wasn’t any legal precedent to take in the director or any of her coworkers for something so difficult to develop a stronger case for. Without proof, there was nothing. But, by seemingly all regards, it seemed next to impossible to get that deep into a production to follow the methodology.
Well, for almost all of the Shadow Operatives, at least.
The audition process had gone all-too-smoothly. The grin on the women’s face to see Yu Narukami walk into the room was enough of a guarantee for his position being secured. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours before he got a callback about receiving the lead role, and, as with most things in the past decade, it seemed that any free time that he may have had came and went in an instant, a script reading scheduled within the coming week.
Resting felt like a million miles away, still… The week was scattered with several interviews and pushes for him to revive his social media to announce his arrival to his home city. Gather more power for the potential fights ahead, even if he would have rather been able to stay a little under the radar.
It at least made the days go by quickly. It felt like no time had past by the time of the first cast meeting. More importantly, it would be a good chance to get a better impression of some of the director’s closest coworkers—and the prime suspects.
Not many had occupied the room by the time he arrived. Then again, Yu had always preferred to be egregiously early than fashionably late. It allowed him to get a headstart on working through what was most vital to have a smooth shooting day. In this case, though, all it really amounted to was skimming through the script, trying to get a good feeling of the character he would portray before he uttered the first lines.
While the movie wasn’t the main focus, likely not even being fully released, considering how the job was to be handled, he still would give it his all. Looking to please everyone, as always.
Despite those wishes, he didn’t really know much outside of the production crew… Character names had been placed at their tables, rather than the actor’s names. Maybe it was part of how the director liked to handle things. It wouldn’t have been his first time working with someone who liked to keep things more method. From what reports he was given, no actor was suspected to be behind the incidents. Still, that wasn’t a reason to get to know them, but that desire would have to wait for the rest to trickle in. Until then, his eyes were glued to the page, scanning for every little hint of something more behind those words—whether it be for his character, or something far more sinister.
Just as everything else in life, though, it felt like everything was far too unpredictable to gleam much of what was to come.
