“Mind your own business, Mom. Anyway, I’ve got things to do. Have a good night.”
“Kei, wait—”
Without waiting for a goodbye, I hung up the phone and hit play on my recording of tonight’s news. Again and again, I reviewed all the sections where I was onscreen—checking my articulation, my intonation, my pacing. If I stared too directly into the camera, it would come off as unsettling—can’t have that. How was my chemistry with my costars? What about my posture? My wardrobe? My mental checklist was miles long.
Ugh, I knew the little stripes on my shirt would look like an optical illusion on camera! That wardrobe stylist promised me it would be fine, too! What an imbecile!
Once I finished reviewing my performance, it was time to watch the news programs from the other TV stations—all of them—played back at 3x speed. If anything caught my eye, good or bad, I would rewind and play the segment at normal speed. And yes, I did this for morning, afternoon, evening, and night timeslots, which is why I had four separate DVRs in my entertainment center.
Of course, I could always get these recordings from the staff room at the station, but knowing me, I’d inevitably start complaining aloud: “That looks stupid. Should’ve cut that. The timing on that commercial break was totally off.” Besides, I couldn’t let them see exactly how much effort I put into my performance or it would damage my rep. Some effort was okay, but for the most part, I wanted them to think it all came naturally to me.
I paid extra close attention to the shows we were in direct competition with. Then I’d check the graphs to see where we came out on top and where we lost ground. The numbers didn’t always correlate to the quality of a given broadcast, per se, but there were days when you could clearly tell why the viewers were changing the channel.
Hunched over like a gremlin with my notepad in my lap, I scribbled notes furiously. I’d feel a twinge of hip pain every thirty minutes or so, reminding me to pause and stretch—then I was right back to it. While this definitely wasn’t a side of me I wanted other people to see…if I were to name my strongest talent, I think the unending drive to perfect myself would be it.
By the time I finished watching all the news, it was nearly two in the morning (and yet, by the time tomorrow rolled around, I knew I’d inevitably somehow forget everything I’d seen). Time to get ready for that filming trip tomorrow. I took a quick shower, then returned to the living room and started flipping through the papers I got from the director.
“Tsuzuki Ushio, 27.” Huh. Same age as me. “While attending a vocational school, his original stop-motion animation—a short film depicting the life cycle of a baby bird—went viral and reached more than 10 million views online. Since then, he has received multiple international awards. Currently he works on commercials.”
Hmmm.
Generally speaking, I hated anyone who managed to get farther in life within the same time frame as me, so my enthusiasm was admittedly rather muted as I popped the reference DVD into the player.
What played was a video featuring the sort of clay figurines I remembered seeing in educational programs from my childhood. Flowers bloomed, the sun set, rain fell…all conveyed through the squishing and stretching of clay. This was actually the first in a series of videos contained on this DVD, all of them about five minutes in length. Some of them were created not with clay, but origami or plush toys.
Man, I’d hate to be this guy, I thought to myself. Stop-motion animation required thousands of minute changes, millimeter by millimeter, all strung together to create the illusion of fluid movement. Talk about torture. If it were me, I’d get fed up and smash it all into pieces before I took enough shots to compose even a single second of footage. Any dude who had the time or patience to painstakingly create something five minutes long was bound to be the most miserable nerd on the planet.
Conveniently, right as I started to take a somewhat mean-spirited interest in the creator, the next video in the series featured the man himself. Clearly he was at some sort of formal award ceremony; I took one look at him, standing uncomfortably in his tuxedo, and groaned under my breath. Accomplished and attractive? Screw this guy.
He really didn’t look like the kind of guy who would dedicate countless hours of his life to pointless busywork. He was tall enough to fit in with a crowd of white people, he had a well-defined nose… Put simply, he was handsome. In isolation, his individual features were striking, and yet, strangely enough, they didn’t clash with each other. He struck me as the kind of guy who’d look more at home with a chisel or mallet, chipping away at a large, ostentatious statue. Not some dorky little animation.
And yet the glitz and glamor of the ceremony didn’t seem to go to his head. Instead, he held his gold trophy like it was an afterthought and shifted his neck stiffly. Maybe his bow tie was too tight.
“We’d like to congratulate you on your award.”
They offered him the mic, but he simply nodded in response.
“Can you tell us how you feel?”
“I’m not much of a party person, so I feel like going home, having dinner, and going to bed.”
“Oh… Well, um… Pretty hefty trophy, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. My grandma loves precious metals, so I’m sure she’ll be excited.”
“What’s the matter with this guy…?” I muttered to myself.
He wasn’t just acting quirky for the camera, either. No, he sincerely wanted to go home and didn’t care one whit about the trophy. As someone who maintained an act at all times, I had a keen eye for this sort of thing—and I wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen, grab him by the collar, and shout, “Smile, damn it! Pretend you’re embarrassed! Make some awkward attempt at expressing your joy and gratitude! Are you Japanese or not?! This reporter’s just trying to do their job! Like it or not, you have to follow the social code—that’s how the world works!”
Nothing was guaranteed to irritate me quite like a lone-wolf “eccentric artist” type trying to make a living in a specialized field. Especially one with absolutely no regard for my industry’s pre-established conventions. The thought that I’d have to endure this hell in just a few short hours was enough to crush my spirits, but I didn’t have a choice—it was my job.
I wanted a little more information to work with, so I turned on my computer and looked up the guy’s Wikipedia page. Obviously any information I found online wasn’t necessarily going to be 100 percent accurate, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to check. Under the “personal life” section was a line that stated: “Tsuzuki has identified himself as bisexual.”
Ugh. I cringed on reflex. What if he thinks I’m hot? I’ll have to make sure I’m never alone in a room with him.
Nothing against alternative lifestyles or whatever—frankly, I couldn’t care less—but I really didn’t get why some people had to go and make a big deal of labeling themselves. Especially since you could be discriminated against for that sort of thing. Was it a selling point in his industry or something? Not a fan.
I immediately powered down my computer and got ready for bed. The first thing I did was put on another mask—not the kind I wore outside, but a vapor mask specifically designed to keep my throat hydrated overnight. Then I changed into my pajamas, set the humidifier to full blast, and headed for my room. As I stepped inside, I felt the 60 percent humidity gently engulf my body.
On weeknights I always got precisely four and a half hours of sleep, then in the morning I woke up to my alarm, ate some honey, and spent exactly thirty minutes doing vocal warmups. After that, it was time to read the morning paper over a light meal.
Today’s breakfast was instant miso soup, plus a bowl of rice with bonito flakes and a slice of cheese on top. Dribble a little soy sauce over it, and bon appétit. About halfway through, my tongue would usually get bored of the taste; once upon a time, I’d add some kimchi to spice things up, but ever since I landed this job, I’d had to learn to avoid eating anything too astringent. I wolfed my boring breakfast down, etiquette be damned.
Then I got dressed, styled my hair, straightened my tie, and nodded at my reflection in the mirror. I had now completed my transformation into everyone’s favorite Kunieda Kei.
The only question was: could I keep up the act for another day?
I guess we’re about to find out.