The day of the movie screening, Tatsuaki was a tiny bit nervous. He woke up an hour ahead of the alarm he’d set and, with no better way to spend the extra time, lay there under the blanket envisioning the pivotal moment in which Gotou Julia’s future would be permanently altered. Outside of a daily “good morning,” she wasn’t posting on social media much these days, and he wanted to believe she could feel something coming.
The event was held at the biggest movie theater in the district. He arrived at the lobby fifteen minutes before the starting time and rode the packed elevator to the correct floor. There, he walked straight past the concessions stand and got in line to enter the auditorium.
Once it was his turn, he handed over the ticket he’d printed at the local corner store and in return received the stub plus a paper survey. The staff member explained that if he wanted to ask a group member a question, he could write it at the bottom and slot the paper into the corresponding box on the table in front of the door, from which questions would be drawn at random. This came as a relief to Tatsuaki, who’d been worried he might have to raise his hand to be called upon. Deep down, however, some part of him was a bit disappointed.
To maintain his internal justification, he wrote in a sarcastically polite tone, filling the paper with his feelings as well as his question. There were seven boxes on the table, each marked with a member’s name, with a slot at the top like a piggy bank; into the one marked for Gotou Julia, Tatsuaki deposited the contents of his heart. It slid in without a hitch, as if her box was comparatively empty, and he grew increasingly confident that his question would be chosen.
Slipping through the open door into the dimly lit space, he quickly found his designated seat in the center row and sat down. Quietly, he pulled a bottle of tea from his bookbag and took a sip. Then, around the time he had popped a piece of hard candy into his mouth, a female’s voice rang out over the loudspeaker.
“Welcome to the Girl’s March screening with a bonus Impatiens talk show and mini-concert. We would like to thank you all for coming. I’m Shinogi, event manager for Impatiens, and I will be your announcer this evening.”
The resulting cheers were so loud, one could almost forget this was supposed to be a movie theater. Tatsuaki didn’t know if it was like this with all the other idol groups, but at least where Impatiens was concerned, even the staff somehow had fans. Tatsuaki himself had no great opinion of them. Upon seeing a glimpse of smiling staff members in a video of Impatiens going to karaoke—one of many filmed by Takatsuki Sakuna—he complained that if they wanted to be buddy-buddy, the ethical thing would be to quit their jobs instead of abusing their employee privilege. Only a handful of people agreed.
Over the loudspeaker, Shinogi explained that the concert and talk show would take place after the movie screening, that they were allowed to leave at any time but re-entry would be restricted at certain points, that they were not permitted to stand during the concert, and a stream of other things that were already announced online. Unfortunately, the sort of people who would dutifully listen to this spiel had already read it all on the official Impatiens website—or they generally had the good sense to read the room and behave themselves regardless. It was the people who stood up during the announcement, shouted across the room to their friends, and/or carried on with their conversations that drew Tatsuaki’s ire. In his mind, his contempt toward flagrant rule-breakers was not a contradiction of his hostility toward the staff. Those two feelings, along with the sadistic desire to attack Julia, formed a single mass of righteous indignation.
He had come to this event with a lot of emotions, but one of them promptly lost its purpose once the entire audience focused on what was in front of them.
“Moving on, we will now review the rules of the film screening. Please turn your attention to the screen.”
The dim lighting grew even dimmer, and a few seconds later, a text animation appeared onscreen that read Movie Etiquette 101. This text was read aloud by seven familiar voices. Just as a few people started to cheer, the screen switched to a shot of the front row of a similar movie theater, where Takatsuki Sakuna sat all alone in a dress that wasn’t her normal costume. She pulled a smartphone from the purse in her lap and pointed its camera at the screen.
Just then, Gotou Julia leaned into frame, dressed in office casual clothes, and snatched the phone from a startled Sakuna. The video froze on this frame, and the text NO FILMING appeared in large font, accompanied by a voiceover from Julia.
“Absolutely no photos or videos, no matter how cute you think she is!”
The audience reacted with applause and laughter, praising the girls for recording this special video for today’s event. But of course they were going to love it; it captured Sakuna’s character while referencing Julia’s past as a little Easter egg for the fans. Unlike some people who didn’t get the joke until a few seconds later, Tatsuaki understood perfectly well and still chose not to laugh or clap. Regardless, the video kept rolling, oblivious to the mental state of a single teenager.
Carrying the smartphone from earlier, Julia walked onscreen and sat down next to Sakuna. When the phone started to ring, she said, “I gotta take this,” and answered it. About three words into the call, however, Katano Towako suddenly leaned forward from the row behind them. With a wiggle of her fingertips, a sparkly effect appeared, and the phone vanished as if by magic.
“Keep your cell phones turned off or on vibrate! And certainly no taking calls! I told them to make me look like a fairy—did I do it right?”
This provoked another laugh from the crowd, albeit smaller. From there, Towako started eating a full-course meal to represent “no food or drink,” followed by Hashimoto Ao putting her feet up only for Wakayama Ran to gently push them back down. After a couple more scenes tailored to the other members, the camera switched to a shot of all seven members—three in the front row and four behind them.
“This has been Movie Etiquette 101 with Impatiens. We’ll be watching the movie right along with you, so let’s all try to have a good time. Now, sorry for the long wait, and please enjoy the show!”
The leader Sakuna gave the final send-off, and as the group waved goodbye, the screen faded to black, followed by a theater buzzer. For a few seconds the room went fully dark, like a long blink, until the newly widened screen switched to a slightly brighter black. Then the actress playing The Girl began to recite her opening monologue, and the movie commenced.
But Tatsuaki was so consumed by his own emotions that he couldn’t focus.
Internally, he was freaking out. It had felt like Sakuna and Julia’s little skit was targeted directly at him—like the resulting laughter was mocking him. Obviously this wasn’t actually the case, but the feeling was still real. Nevertheless, he could feel on some subconscious level that he needed to do something, so he resorted to his usual defense mechanism: converting his shame into anger to ground himself.
These people were blaming an innocent person for a celebrity’s mistake, as if the only crime was that someone had documented it! Ideally, he’d put a lid on that rage so he could at least get his money’s worth out of the film—but his frustration was surprisingly persistent. It wasn’t until the credits rolled that the last piece started to melt away like caramel…but even then, it was still stuck in his teeth.
As the names of the cast and staff scrolled by, accompanied by the theme song with lyrics penned by Julia, his eyes were drawn to something moving at the front of the room—stagehands dressed in black, placing seven mic stands in front of the movie screen. All at once, the audience began to stir with excitement. This was the same stage setup Tatsuaki had seen at an Impatiens concert about a year ago; each mic stand was adorned with a decoration that symbolized its corresponding member.
Then, around the time the credits had reached the Special Thanks section, seven figures stepped out of the staff-only door near the front row. Even in the dark, it was obvious who they were, but as the director’s name made its final appearance onscreen, the house lights slowly came back up. The audience took this as their cue to go quiet. There was a pause, as if they were waiting for everyone’s eyes to adapt, and then the same song that had just finished began to play all over again.
In the time since Tatsuaki had last seen Julia perform live, her voice, posture, and body language had been perfected to an exact science, commanding more of a presence. It wasn’t just her, either; the group was more unified overall. Then he cursed himself for the credit he was giving them. It didn’t matter how good their performance was. The issue was Julia’s behavior and attitude—the content of her character, he reminded himself. But in that moment, he had forgotten the taste of anger.
The concert consisted of five songs back to back with no banter in between. Later, Tatsuaki would read online that the fans were very happy with this setlist, since one of the chosen songs hadn’t been performed live in over a year. Once the final song’s outro came to an end and the audience began to clap, the group walked off the tiny stage where they had nevertheless performed flawlessly. Staff members took the mic stands and replaced them with a row of chairs on stage right. Meanwhile, on stage left, one more chair was placed all by itself, and in front of it, the table from earlier with all the boxes.
Instantly, Tatsuaki’s temperature spiked.
“Hello, everyone! Was that concert awesome or what?!”
A woman walked out to address the frothing crowd with a wireless mic, introducing herself as a television presenter. After she gave her name and affiliation, she announced that she would be hosting today’s talk show.
“Now, let’s get them back on stage! It’s Impatiens, everybody!”
The reappearance of the group was met with tremendous applause and cheers. Each girl sat down in a chair with her own designated handheld mic. Meanwhile, Tatsuaki swallowed the saliva and tension that he hadn’t noticed was steadily building at the back of his throat. That must have been when the last of the candy was flushed away.