Gotou Julia
WHILE THE STAFF stepped outside for a smoke break, Julia remained alone inside the Toyota HiAce, scrolling Twitter.
Just yesterday, Impatiens had announced a Girl’s March movie screening with a bonus talk show and mini-concert. Checking the reactions she had missed while she was asleep, she found most were positive, but some said they didn’t see the point in a band discussing a film they had neither directed nor acted in, and others were generally supportive of Impatiens but weren’t interested in the movie. Both of these opinions had the potential to spark discourse, and Julia would take them well into consideration as she sculpted her storylines.
“I’ll go milk the cows, shall I?”
The door suddenly slid open, accompanied by the sound of grumbling. Julia looked over and found group member Towako standing there, looking less than pleased.
“Good morning. What was that about?”
“Oh, it’s you, Jul. Does this even constitute morning? Why are we starting work at four o’clock when it’s pitch-black? I feel like a farmer!”
“What, because they get up at dawn?”
“Exactly!”
With that, Katano “Otowa” Towako climbed into the car and shut the door behind her, plopping down onto the row directly in front of Julia.
Outside the two-by-two square of passenger seats, the van was stuffed with filming equipment and costumes. They were scheduled to film a new music video at sunrise on the beach in another prefecture today. Naturally, that meant they needed to wake before dawn and climb into one of two vans dispatched to pick them up.
“There are like a million music videos set on the beach at sunrise. Couldn’t they just…greenscreen us in with state-of-the-art CGI or whatever?” Towako continued from the center row. No one else was in the car with them, and based on her volume, she wasn’t talking to herself.
“That wouldn’t really work. They said they want us to have our feet in the water.”
“So I heard! And in winter!” She carried on grumbling, but the rest was under her breath.
Towako always had a bone to pick with the staff. In most cases she only vented in private, but every now and then she would let it show publicly. The group member whose tweet Julia had criticized—referenced by Sakuna in that magazine interview the other day—was Towako. She had not-so-subtly implied a lack of enthusiasm for a particular work project, so Julia had quote-retweeted her with the following message to their fans:
“All that matters is that we give everyone a good time. Nothing else.”
As a precaution, she had explained to Towako over the phone that she wasn’t angry, to which the other girl had laughed and said, “You don’t need to go out of your way to piss off my fanbase like that.”
Towako’s sass was a treat for the fans and an element of her own storyline, and thus far, hadn’t constituted a risk to the group’s career. On the other hand, there was one recurring idea frequently brought up among those who stanned her: if anyone were to quit the group, it would be Towako.
Another factor contributing to the groundless rumor-mongering was the girl’s family. A general overview of each member of Impatiens’ history was made public knowledge, and only two came with previous stage experience: Sakuna, the leader, and Maki, the girl dutifully posting through her reading marathon. Julia was a working adult, Ran was a student at a four-year university, Ao was a YouTuber, and the youngest member, Mei, passed the audition when she was still in high school. As for Towako, not only her parents but her older brother and grandparents were all established classical musicians, and when she was first assigned to Impatiens, she was a stringed instrument major at a college of music. When the fans learned of this, they read new meaning into her negativity:
“Seems like Otowa never really dreamed of being an idol.”
This suspicion was only half-correct. Towako didn’t fully agree with her parents’ music-centric lifestyle, and she rejected the idea that she was obligated to follow in their footsteps. She did love music, though, so she chose a world where she could embrace it in an entirely different way. No, Towako had never dreamed of being an idol, but she found value in pursuing it—she had said as much to Julia’s face.
She also said the fans didn’t need to know about the part that was true.
Towako knew there was more value in the status afforded by her heritage than the insecurity and constriction bound up in it. Thus she revealed that she’d been playing with instruments since she was two years old, that she possessed perfect pitch, and that her mother was a well-known violinist, using these details to further her career. Deep down, she understood better than anyone exactly how replaceable she was. And still, she showed up to work with the confidence of a first-rate professional.
But while she had adopted the persona of the Elitist who wasn’t afraid to make her demands known, in truth, Towako’s real self wasn’t dramatically different. The same could not be said of Julia, who was known as the Kaiju.
“Doesn’t anything ever bother you, Jul? You’re allowed to open up,” Towako had said offhandedly during the aforementioned phone call.
Obviously yes, Julia had her own complaints and criticism. But it was the staff who had constructed this little box called Impatiens and put them inside. All Julia needed to do was perform to the best of her ability. This she explained in a more embellished fashion.
“Goooood morning!”
“Oh great, the chatterbox is here.”
“What’s that, Otowa? Come sit next to you? Why, I’d love to!”
“No! I’m going back to sleep!”
Of all the members, the one whose persona, talent, and job description matched most closely was Sakuna. She sat next to a protesting Towako, then looked over her shoulder to acknowledge Julia.
“Good morning, Sakuna.”
“Mornin’!”
Right as she reached out and shut the door, the driver and a young male manager returned to the car. They climbed into the two front seats, then turned to look at the two new passengers.
“Good morning, ladies. Looks like this is everybody, so we’ll be taking off.”
“Is Maki running late, or…?”
“She lives near the film location, so she’ll meet us there.”
“Oh, interesting.”
“Also, this is for the three of you. Anyone who needs to eat breakfast, please do.”
“Gracias!”
Towako took the corner store to-go bag and handed it straight to Sakuna beside her. After some muttered debate, Sakuna passed it back to Julia. Inside were two bottles of tea and four individually wrapped rice balls.
“I’m surprised you’re not having any this time, Sakuna,” Julia commented, out of consideration for the manager who had gone out of his way to buy this for them.
“Yeah, I know!” came the energetic answer. “I bought bananas yesterday, so for breakfast I had banana slices with yogurt plus my last cheese wedge. What about you, Jul?”
“I went for a quick run, then had some leftover soba noodles.”
“Hot soba or cold soba?”
“Hot.”
“Does the temperature matter?!” Towako cut in. Despite claiming she was going to sleep, she dutifully offered them her trademark sass; in exchange, Sakuna ruffled her hair.
Meanwhile, Julia took one bottle of tea, then set the plastic bag on the empty seat next to her.
The two other girls continued to goof off with each other long after the car ride began. Though she denied it profusely, Towako seemed to be having a good time, so Julia saw no need to comment. Instead she sat in silence and asked herself the same question she always asked in this situation:
Do these girls genuinely like each other?
For as long as they’d been together, this was something Julia couldn’t quite discern. Setting aside girls like Sakuna, who had always loved pop stars in general, did they feel sincere fondness for each other on a personal level?
Yes, they supported each other. Yes, they helped each other. At times, they acted like friends. Julia wasn’t opposed to this—there were moments when she actively enjoyed the time they spent together. But in all her interactions with them, she never once paused to categorize them as people she did or didn’t like.
As a certain producer once said, Julia’s focus was placed too wholly on the fans. But, even if that were true, was it really such a bad thing? If the fans weren’t meant to be her top priority, or even a consideration, then who or what was?
At some point, the other two had fallen asleep with their heads nestled together. Julia hadn’t personally planned to nap, but by the time their destination was only thirty minutes away, their soft snores had lulled her to dreamland along with them.