#akiruru

Akira looked up from her script as the train eased to a halt.  Tucking it under her arm, she stepped out onto the platform and headed into the city, taking a quick peek at her lines each time she stopped for a traffic signal.

They’ve made some very interesting edits to this iteration.  The play is beginning to come together...heh.  I wonder what changes the next draft will bring?

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the next Performance Festival meeting.  Just as she was feeling she had come to understand the Stage Girls from the other schools, they surprised her all at once, each one debuting an entirely new side they had yet to display even in the revues.  Rinmeikan showed a fire that burned brighter than anything she had thought them capable of.  Seisho continued to broaden their versatility, as if there was truly no role they could not adapt to.  And Frontier…

Akira frowned.  Though she had tried to ignore it, something had been nagging at her ever since the last meeting: Otsuki Aruru.  The girl, usually an eternal font of passion and energy, had seemed subdued and out-of-sorts during the read-through, only the faintest shadow of her normal self. For some reason, Akira couldn’t quite get her off her mind.

Am I concerned she’ll impact the Festival?  This is hardly the time to be getting involved in the issues of another school. All I need to focus on is my own preparation, maybe keeping the rest of the Edels in line.  I can’t be spending up energy on Frontier’s problems.

Rounding a corner, Akira stopped mid-step.  Just ahead, sitting on a bench next to the street, was Aruru, hugging her knees to her chest while she stared blankly at the sidewalk.  Akira was surprised, then curious.  She reminded herself of what she had just been saying, but despite this, she found herself walking towards the other girl.

“Otsuki?”

Aruru shuddered slightly.  Looking up, she said, “Oh...Akira-chan.  Hi…”

The sullen gaze, the hushed mumble, the sluggish motions...all of it was just so incredibly unnerving to see on Aruru. Akira said, “Something’s very wrong. Have you fallen ill?”

“N-No, I’m fine.”

“You obviously aren’t.  Taking care of oneself is an important part of being a Stage Girl, and we all need to be at our best for the Performance Festival.”

Aruru’s eyes fell to the script Akira carried.  She began to say something, but it devolved into a murmur as she started to tear up.  A pang of guilt went off in Akira’s brain.

“...Perhaps that came out sounding harsh.”

Shaking her head, Aruru said, “No, it’s not that.  I...I don’t know if…”

Waiting as she trailed off, Akira said, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

Aruru swallowed hard.  “...I...don’t think I want to do the Performance Festival anymore…”

Akira cocked her head.  “...You don’t?  Why’s that?”

“There’s no point,” Aruru said, burying her face in her knees.  “I can’t make the stage I wanted...and, my friends...my family…”

Akira paused a moment.  “I don’t understand.  Did something happen at Frontier?”

So Aruru explained.  She told Akira how everyone at Frontier had gone off on their own, and how her efforts to bring them back together had gone horribly awry.  She talked about how she wanted nothing more than to create a stage where everyone could have fun, but Shizuha, Tsukasa, Lalafin, and even Misora had all shot down the very possibility.  And if she no longer had them on her side, she explained, then there was no point in her even being on the stage at all.  Akira said nothing as she absorbed her tale.

“Akira-chan...do you think they’re right?” she asked when she was done.  “Is it impossible to create a stage where everyone’s happy?”

Akira walked a few steps past the bench.  “Yes, I think so.”

Aruru started to tremble.

“But so what?”

Aruru slowly looked up.  “What?”

“There’s only one question that matters, Otsuki.  Is that still the stage you want?”

“Of course!”  Aruru leaned forward off the bench, clenching her fists.  “I mean...of course I want to do my best.  I still want to see how far I can go, and then grow beyond that, but...I want to do that with everyone else!  I want to lift them up alongside me!  I just…”

Akira nodded.  “Then there’s your answer.”

“...But…”

“But what?” Akira said, shrugging with one shoulder.  “I think it’s impossible? You’re the only one who thinks there’s a way?  Since when have you let something like that be a reason to give up, Otsuki?  You are a Stage Girl—one who excels at transforming the stage to fit your own vision, even when it’s something no one else is able to see.”  Akira half-turned to look at Aruru.  “That’s one of the things I admire about you.  Your passionate determination, a brilliance that cuts through any shroud thrown over it.  It’s mesmerizing.  And I wish to see it again.”

She walked up to where Aruru sat, and extended her hand.

“Even if everyone else sees the Performance Festival as a battlefield...if Otsuki Aruru truly wills it to become a stage of happiness for all, then that is what it shall become.”

Aruru gaped at her for a long moment.  Then, tears began to swell, and she threw herself forward to embrace Akira as the sobs overtook her.  Akira hesitated a moment, but ultimately returned the embrace, patiently waiting until the other girl was ready.

“S-Sorry.”  Aruru finally pulled back a step.  As they separated, she took hold of Akira’s hands, not entirely letting go just yet. “I, um…”

“It’s alright,” Akira said.  “A small price to pay to be able to witness the stage you create.”

Aruru gave a teary smile.  “...Thanks for believing in me, Akira-chan.  I won’t give up.  I may not know how yet, but I’ll find a way to make the stage I want!  And there’ll definitely be a spot on it for you!”

Akira smirked.  “Hmph. I look forward to it, Otsuki.”

“Hehe, you don’t have to keep calling me that, you know!”

“...Aruru, then.”

A moment of stillness passed over them.  Akira wondered if she should say something more, but at the same time it seemed there was no need to.  Then, Aruru let go, and she made her way up the street—not with the usual bounce she had in her step, but at the very least her stride had purpose.  Akira watched until she disappeared from sight.  She looked down at her script, and with a chuckle, slipped it into her bag.