“I remember hearing the name Kurashima,” Sayuri went on. “She was the idol who was treated as my rival, back then. Well, it was a rigged race, or a fixed fight, if you will... She was an idol on the wane at the time, so she was put in showdowns on lots of different TV shows.” Now that she thought about it, she’d done something pathetic, but at the time Sayuri was just doing as she was told. She had thought the other side was content with what was happening, too— in the end, it was just a job. Sayuri had never even imagined that her actions could warp others lives. “I was undefeated,” she explained, “and beat Kurashima-san black and blue. I beat her, trampled on her, and relished my triumph. And the world admired me that way. Kurashima-san retired like that, and was soon forgotten by everyone. I, too, had forgotten her until just now.”
But she, Kurashima, most likely hadn’t forgotten. Not Hanemori Joururi, who kicked her down and ate and scattered her remains, before brilliantly climbing up to the seat of Top Idol. She hated Hanemori and held a grudge, and her son had inherited that grudge. It was probably an education close to brainwashing. Saying, “I despise Hanemori Joururi, she is hateful, I want to kill her...” If she had kept saying that since he was a baby, it would take root in the boy’s soul.
The pitiful son turned into a demon of revenge, and rode all the way to such a remote town on his motorcycle for his mother’s vengeance. He was a pious son, but also outdated to think of revenge in these times, even though it’s been a long time since vengeance was forbidden by law. But the person himself was probably deadly serious about it— It might have been one of his life goals. His looks were outstanding, and he was, or at least had been, a performer of sorts. So even if he didn’t stain his hands with crime, he should have been able to lead a relatively happy life. He hadn’t given up on his mother’s revenge, though, and so he caused a tragedy.
“If that’s the case, he should have gotten even with the person herself,” Sayuri said, “rather than put his hands on my daughter.”
“Hrmmmm. Maybe he wanted Hanemori Joururi to taste the feeling of something precious being stolen... Kurashima-san himself is dead, so I can only guess, though,” Hitomi said, sounding as if she was worried about Sayuri, even though everything was Sayuri’s fault. No, it might just be that no one was at fault; if one was to force a conclusion, then it would be the fault of the era. In order to produce a single super idol, the world of show business spared no effort. Countless corpses were piled high as sacrifices, feed to Hanemori Joururi. Kurashima, too, was one of those. She was firewood, in order to make Hanemori Joururi shine brighter. She was thrown into the fire, and forgotten. The flames of hatred, born in her from that moment, were inherited by her son in her womb.
“According to Kousuke, Kurashima-san looked like he was searching for something, though,” Hitomi said thoughtfully. “So he was looking for the daughter of Hanemori Joururi...for Kagamimori-san.”
“Ah— I think he was mistaken about that part, though.” While feeling sorry for interrupting Hitomi, Sayuri corrected her. “My daughter’s name is Saba. Utena-chan isn’t— she isn’t connected to me by blood. The story is a little embarrassing, but a long time ago I was a stupid girl,” Sayuri admitted, although she didn’t want to talk about such an indecent subject to a high schooler, who still had her purity. “I was someone’s mistress. To the scion of the Kagamimori family, to be exact. He and I were childhood friends, as well. We were lovers before I even debuted as an idol. I was a fool who didn’t think about anything, so I had thought that we’d stay that way forever.” Letting a sigh spill from her lips, Sayuri rubbed at the nape of her neck. The traces of when, a long time ago, she was strangled by a childhood friend that she should’ve at least tentatively loved, were throbbing. “It’s no good, when you’re separated. He had his own life to think of, so he married someone his parents decided on, and I didn’t know that. We did what we did, and I got pregnant. In the eyes of the world it was adultery, and when the pregnancy was discovered... It became a scandal, and that was the end of Hanemori Joururi.” Miming decapitation, Sayuri said it like a joke, deceiving the scars that hurt even now.
If she didn’t at least phrase it like a funny story, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. “So that was the cause of my retirement. It might still be the same now, but the world back then was fussy about that sort of thing; the ethics of being an idol. The office was kind enough to ban smoking, though. Because it would’ve been impossible while I was pregnant.” She retired flashily, plastered all over not just weekly magazines, but the national newspapers, too. Even at her worst, Hanemori Joururi was a super idol turned social phenomenon— the uproar was endlessly large. People set fire to her office, and for some reason there were even suicides. Hanemori Joururi’s influence was just that large. Exactly because she was loved all over Japan, when she fell it was all the way to rock bottom, and she wasn’t even able to walk the streets. Sayuri had secretly returned here, to her rural hometown— and she had been living in seclusion up until now.