Next, she scanned through the “weird” ones the manager had removed. For these, she paid no mind to the names—haters and assholes would only ever be haters and assholes, and she’d be wasting brainpower making room for them as individuals. The only reason she still asked for their submissions was to find out how her storylines came across to people who didn’t like Gotou Julia.
The contents were so predictable, it was actually anti-climactic. Then she heard the click of a photo being taken and looked to the side. There stood Sakuna, having finished chatting with the staff, now pointing her phone in Julia’s direction.
“Just wanted to document an idol cherishing her otaku.”
“The ones I’m reading right now are actually pretty rude.”
“They’re still fans, though. They just don’t know how to express it the right way.”
She was on her way out, so Julia decided to leave the studio with her.
“I hear they’re gonna post a new AotowA soon,” she mentioned on the walk to the subway station.
AotowA was the name given to the musical duo of Ao and Towako. At present, they mostly uploaded videos of song covers, and the only time they’d performed live was a mini-segment at a fan club event. But apparently, they were aiming to one day have concerts and record deals of their own.
“And Ran’s going to do a swimsuit photo shoot right at the start of next year.”
“The adults sure like to make us do these things in winter for some reason,” Julia replied jokingly. In truth, she felt the group was very lucky that Ran’s beauty continued to print money year-round.
In addition to the above, Maki was set to star in a drama-style music video and Mei was scheduled to appear on a TV show encouraging kids to do sports. Each member of Impatiens was steadily walking the path that best suited them as individuals, expanding the group’s reach. Julia vowed to do the same to the best of her ability—to race like a meteor through a story all her own. The only version of her required by this narrative was Gotou Julia of Impatiens.
“See you later, my dear idol.”
“Your what? Okay, bye.”
Parting ways with Sakuna, Julia tapped on her phone as the swaying train carried her home. It had been a while since she last tweeted anything besides good morning, and it was time to change that. Not to toot her own horn or anything, but today’s concert had felt like a solid step in the direction of who she was meant to be, and she thought they deserved to know that.
“No mistakes this time! I went all-out to show everyone what I’m made of. I’m cooler this way, you know? On to the next.”
To this tweet, she attached a selfie taken at the entrance to the movie theater. Without waiting for their responses, she pocketed her phone and stepped off the train.
On the walk back to her apartment, she stopped by the grocery store to grab a few things. Once she got home, she made dinner and took care of a few other chores. Only after all that was done did she sit down on the bed in the corner of the room and check social media. Posted to the official Impatiens Twitter and Instagram was a photo of the group posing with the presenter who had hosted the talk show.
Next, she scrolled through the reactions to her tweet.
As a general rule, Julia didn’t reply to anything directed at her over social media, because she believed that performers and the audience could never be on an equal footing. Not because she looked down on fans of music or idol culture, but because if idols and fans stood side by side, it would spoil the fun of their special connection. From the moment she started her career, she was keenly aware of her role as a spectacle to be witnessed, and so she had scooted herself ever so slightly into the spotlight. Some people with no concept of this game called her arrogant as a result, but the majority of fans tacitly supported it.
Today, like always, those who had forged a connection with Julia still chose to tell her their feelings, even though they knew she wouldn’t reply directly. Most of it was some form of praise, sympathy, or encouragement. And while some were disappointed that they couldn’t make it to today’s concert, Julia accepted their sadness with pride, knowing they would have high expectations for her in the future.
Perhaps some people, seeing how she never replied, assumed she didn’t even read their messages. Perhaps for others, the lack of response enabled them to show their fondness openly, without embarrassment. In any case, Julia read all of her fans’ messages and appreciated them in private. Make no mistake, there was a human being at the other end of all the words they typed on their phones and PCs.
And like any human, sometimes she got hurt.
Like any human, sometimes she made mistakes.
Don’t pretend it never happened, read one message.
“Sorry, I know you didn’t mean it that way, but your last concert meant the world to me. It took courage to buy a front-row ticket, and I’ll remember that performance for the rest of my life. So, this may be selfish, but please don’t call it a mistake and pretend it never happened.”
It was a vent tweet, exactly 280 characters long.
Julia’s smile stiffened.
When she tapped on it, she found that it was garnering quite a response from other fans. The likes and retweets were climbing with each passing second, and there were replies praising the fan’s bravery and proclaiming their agreement with her. Some people were critical, but even then it was clear that they were still supportive of Julia, just in a different way. These were all indirect messages from fans.
Shaken, Julia kept reading through each one. The quote tweets were steadily increasing, too.
“LITERALLY like girl we were all there!!”
“You’re probably gonna get hate for this, but I think it’s beautiful. Don’t worry, the memory will always be there, and I hope Jul reads this.”
“yeahhh idk lately there’s been a lot of ??? moments with julia ”
“Way to misread the original tweet but ok.”
“I wish she would embrace the old video the same way we do.”
“Jul, I love you, but I’m with her on this one.”
“jfc it’s not all about you ”
“Julia always tries to disavow her past, but her fans were part of that, so like??”
“Idk, I went to the concert today, and to me it was just as awesome as the last one. Maybe it’s something only performers understand.”
“yeah like she’s not a speedrunner she’s a pop star with a fanbase”
Meanwhile, all Julia could think was:
I’m sorry, what?
Despite her bafflement, however, waves of words continued to roll in. When she did a search, she found that among the reviews of today’s concert, more and more people were beginning to comment on that single fan’s message to her. She punched in a different set of keywords and refreshed the feed aggressively, but the waves of words were slowly and surely flowing away from the outcome she had wanted.
Julia’s whole world had been riding on today’s performance. She’d wanted to take at least one step forward to erase the imperfections of her nobody era, the previous concert where she had let a single fan’s comment throw her off her game, and any other elements that had regressed her storyline. Every detail she put into her performance, every word she chose for her statements, was meant to serve that explicit purpose.
She could feel the void right behind her. Without looking, she knew it was waiting with its maw open wide.
Ao’s casual observation from earlier was a drop in the bucket compared to the overflowing voices of her fans, all of them talking about her most prominent failures. And there sat Julia, alone in her apartment, refusing to acknowledge them.
Thus far, she had believed that a storyline’s value lay in the progression of its narrative. To this day that outlook hadn’t changed. Besides, hadn’t the fans enjoyed each new chapter right along with her?
She wished she could reach out to every single person who was trying to convince her to look back and embrace her past, and tell them: pretending it never happened is the only reason I’m even here.
“It sucks bc when I watched Julia’s last performance and the pre-debut video, that version of her seemed way more like someone I could actually be friends with irl ”
Julia was willing to endure anything if it kept her from falling to her doom. But when someone gave her what felt like one last push, she reached out and grabbed their sleeve in desperation.
Then, purely out of reflex, she flung them down instead.
“If I quit my job as a pop star, I could be your friend or whatever you want.”
She posted it as a quote tweet, threw her phone down onto the bed, then buried her face in the pillow. A few minutes later, she came to her senses and deleted it, but of course it was too late by then. When she did a search to find out if she’d caused a stir, she found some accounts circulating her now-deleted tweet in screenshot form.
Whenever she took a step in any direction, it was inspired not by those who wished to see her fall, but the fans who had experienced her narrative alongside her. The words she’d let slip had hurt the people who liked her, and the shock of it shoved her backward.
As she plummeted into the abyss, she finally found a name for the mysterious emotion she’d felt the day she shut the door on a former fan: regret for the path not taken.
A week later in that same district, when the final Impatiens concert of the year kicked off, Gotou Julia was nowhere to be seen.