"Kaioh Michiru's New Painting: A Waste of Paint"

By Okamoto Nephrite

Kaioh Michiru, 28, has been Japan's pride and delight ever since the age of 6, when her prodigal skills on the violin became known. It seemed only right for the sole heiress of the Kaioh Financial Group, known for their patronship of the arts and traditional Japanese culture, to be as gifted as she was. Following her legendary performance of Leonard Bernstein's Serenade at Tanglewood, during which she broke two E strings, first on her own instrument and then on the concertmaster's Stradivarius after she borrowed it, Kaioh made headlines once more when it was found that she was a masterful painter as well. It seemed as if there was nothing the beautiful prodigy could not do.

I have had the pleasure of attending all of Kaioh's art exhibits and each impressed me as the young artist reached new heights with each painting. Each brushstroke, each blending of colours, everything about her work displayed absolute mastery over the medium. Her dreamy, pastel masterpiece, "Space," uncovered in 20- brought international acclaim and has been shown in over 50 museums all over the world. As such, I had high expectations when Kaioh announced her new exhibit, the first in almost two years, only to have them plunge headfirst into the ground.

Kaioh's new exhibit showcased only one new painting, a bold choice that was unfortunately the wrong choice in this case. "The End of the World," is a stark departure from her lighter-coloured paintings with "jarring" brushstrokes depicting a turbulent sea and a city being destroyed. One can only conclude that she painted as she did because she wanted to appear more mature. Yet the cumulative impression of the painting is that of a little girl playing dress up with her mother's clothing.

Although I am an avid fan of Kaioh's artistry, a well to do girl who cannot even kill one bug should not attempt to draw such a tragic fantasy. The only emotions that came to mind when I laid my eyes upon the piece were distaste and pity for the waste of a canvas. Kaioh would be better suited sticking to her romantic and dreamy style, a refined and elevated version of Yumemi Yumeno's art that is more fitting of Kaioh's own elegant appearance.

She woke up, blinking her eyes several times in the face of sunlight. Unwilling to get up quite so quickly but forcing herself to, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and languidly stretched her arms above her head. Sparing one quick look at the still sleeping man in her bed, she made her way to the bathroom and got into the shower.

Michiru relaxed at the sensation of the warm water on her body as all of the kinks in her back and neck from the activities of the previous night loosened. Time was nowhere in her mind as the water washed over her and she leisurely cleaned herself.

After a substantial amount of time had passed, she got out, wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel and going out into her bedroom. During her shower, Mamoru seemed to have woken up and he groggily looked up at her, instinctively going in for a light kiss. She acquiesced out of habit and then walked over to the vanity, where she began to brush her dark hair mindlessly, staring at her reflection. Michiru jolted out of her oblivion, having unconsciously dug her brush into her scalp.

Putting the brush down, she went over to the closet, filled with a mixture of Mamoru's and her clothes. Seeing as how they always spent the night together, it probably would have been more convenient to live together, but neither of them were willing to give up the privacy and comfort of their own apartments and so they made do by leaving their things at each other's places. Although this might have led to a large, unorganized mess, they were both neat people and Michiru easily pulled out a beige drape neck dress. She shimmied into it and once again checked her reflection. Fabric twisted loosely around her chest, but the nude jersey silk tightly hugged her hips and accentuated her slender yet feminine frame.

Mamoru stepped out of the bathroom, a towel identical to the one Michiru had worn, hanging on his hips. She turned her back to him and carefully lifted her hair, "Can you zip me up?"

Appreciatively eying the creamy expanse of skin revealed to him, the man zipped up the dress almost reluctantly before making his way to the closet.

Michiru went back to the vanity where rows of make up and differently shaped glass bottles of perfumes, creams, and lotions sat. She didn't use a lot of cosmetics but found a guilty pleasure in collecting them.

With her legs crossed elegantly underneath the bench, she sat at the vanity, perfecting herself with small touches of makeup here and there. After finishing her face and fixing her bangs so that they fell just so above her face, she rose and made her way to the closet where Mamoru stood, almost fully dressed and putting cuff links on. The collars of his shirt unfolded, he turned to Michiru and in a practiced motion, her slender fingers nimbly tied his tie. Smoothing down his blue button down shirt and feeling the body she knew so very well, she almost wanted to laugh at the sheer domesticity of the scene.

"You look beautiful," Mamoru said, putting his hands on her small waist and drawing her close in a mixture of courtesy and affection borne out of a long time together. His words evoked an unnameable emotion in Michiru and she gave a wry smile that didn't quite meet her eyes (but most of her smiles were like that these days).

"You look very handsome too," Michiru responded and danced out of his embrace in order to pick up a navy blue clutch. He took her escape as an opportunity to put his suit jacket on and after locking eyes with each other, silently affirming they were both ready, they made their way out of the bedroom.

Silence loomed as forks and knives quietly made work of the appetizers in front of them. All of the plates held a sake marinated shrimp sitting regally on top of a seaweed and sea bean salad with sour plums and puffed rice.

Michiru elegantly placed a bite of seaweed into her mouth. She couldn't say that she enjoyed eating as anything other than an action necessary for living (which was similar to Mamoru's line of thought) but she could still appreciate the artistry that had gone into this dish. Mamoru took a bite of the shrimp, sitting beside her.

Michiru's mother, Kaioh Hayami, a small and prim Japanese woman with her dark hair pulled up, delicately coughed and wiped her mouth with the silk napkin before breaking the silence.

"Mamoru-kun, it's nice to see you doing well. You look as handsome as ever."

"As do you, Kaioh-san. You look younger every time I see you" Mamoru smoothly replied, causing the older woman to wave the compliment off and respond.

"Oh, you're so polite. You truly are a son parents would be proud to claim as their own."

Kaioh Masashi, looking dignified and proper as always with his neatly swept hair and pressed suit, interjected, "Indeed. Congratulations on closing the deal with Ginga-san."

"Thank you Kaioh-san. You flatter me greatly, " Mamoru easily thanked him and Michiru felt a strangely ominous feeling settle at the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, but parents would be lucky to have a daughter like Michiru-chan. She's the absolute picture of sophistication and talent. I'm looking forward to your charity concert next week," Chiba Katsumi, a woman with a face rounded by age yet who still maintained a haughty demeanour, fawned.

Michiru politely smiled all while dread began to eat away at her stomach. She sensed Mamoru felt the foreboding aura of the air as well. Although he looked perfectly at ease in the restaurant, surrounded by their parents on all sides, she saw that tension gripped his body, albeit slightly.

The man who had kept silent through the social niceties, set his utensils down before clearing his throat. Chiba Akihiko was an imposing and austere version of Mamoru with lines set firmly in his face and a regal set of his shoulders.

"Have the two of you thought about getting married soon?"

The heavy question was a javelin that stabbed the youngest two people and abruptly pulled out, leaving behind two identical, gaping wounds. Despite her endless years of practice of putting on a calm mask, Michiru found she couldn't control her face and her eyes widened in shock. Next to her, Mamoru had the same look of surprise in his face and Mamoru's mother giggled.

"Oh, you two can't be that surprised. Surely marriage was on your minds. You've been with each other for the last seven years and you make such a nice looking couple."

The most important argument remained unspoken but obvious. Their marriage would bring about the union of Japan's most powerful families.

Her mind racing to come up with a quick excuse to explain herself, Michiru's eyes flickered down to the half-eaten plate in front of her. Marry Mamoru? To be honest, she couldn't truly explain why she felt so trapped and surprised by the prospect. As his mother had stated, they had been together for over seven years and they had a seemingly perfect relationship. They both understood each other without needing to say a single word and the physical aspect of their relationship wasn't lacking in any regards.

Yet, marrying Mamoru….

Fortunately, Mamoru seemed to have regained his composure before Michiru and he carefully said, "We haven't specifically discussed marriage with each other but marriage does tend to be the outcome of a relationship like ours."

Although their parents seemed to be momentarily placated by his empty words, Mamoru's father bluntly ordered, "Then putting off your marriage is only delaying the inevitable. I expect to hear good news soon."

"We will be seeing everyone at the races tomorrow, won't we? My husband's interested in doing some business with the champion racer, Tenoh Haruka," Mamoru's mother said earnestly as everyone got up from the table, although she couldn't quite hide her mouth curling with distaste as if even the name of the racer was scandalous.

Michiru's parents voiced their confirmations (although they were more used to refined environments like art galleries and traditional tea ceremonies, business was business). Michiru mechanically bowed, her mindless distractedness easily covered by her beauty and manners that had been ingrained into her from a young age.

After Mamoru's firm words of affirmation and polite farewells had been exchanged, Mamoru's parents were the first to leave. The young couple stayed behind as courtesy dictated they see everyone off before leaving themselves. As Michiru's stately parents made their way to leave, the older woman laid a hand on Michiru's arm in a smooth and deceptively gentle move. Lowering her voice so that the men couldn't hear her, Kaioh Hayami darkly hissed, "How dare you go behind my back. Why did you show that painting? The reviews have been horrible and such depressing matters are not suitable for the Kaioh heiress to paint. Go back to painting some pretty landscapes before you bring more shame upon your family. This is not what Japan expects of a Kaioh."

Her mother tightened her grip on Michiru's arm before dropping her hands and pasting on a dignified smile. Gracefully taking her husband's arm, she strided away to their waiting car without looking back a single time.

Michiru's hands clenched at her side, veins straining against the taut, porcelain skin of her fists as she stared robotically at where her mother had been standing.

"Take me home now. Please," she stated emotionlessly, the last word added almost as an afterthought. Mamoru calmly nodded and they finally left the restaurant.

Mamoru abruptly jerked his car out of the lane and parked next to a sidewalk, slamming his arm down in frustration (-click-). After dropping Michiru off, he was unable to contain it any longer and a barrage of thoughts was assaulting his mind.

Marry Michiru?

He'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind before. People from prestigious families like theirs rarely dated without the intention of marriage. Yet, when their parents had so directly asked about marrying Michiru, he had been taken off guard for a reason he didn't know himself.

What had started as a partnership to avoid their parents' nagging to find suitable suitors had somehow persisted until they were facing their seventh year together. They had first met at a charity gala and having similar interests and personalities, had quickly bonded. Unlike some of their high society acquaintances who paraded their wealth and gossiped as much as they breathed, both Michiru and Mamoru were more reserved people with natural grace. They were always controlled, never letting reasonless passion control them and preferring to calmly speak through their actions, her through her music and art, him through his work in the company.

It was easy being with Michiru. Neither of them required ostentatious displays of love or constant reassurances. They understood when the other needed space with little more than a single glance, which was why he wasn't expecting Michiru to come over to his flat tonight (Last night had been the first time in a while). He had been noticing lately that the aqua haired woman seemed frustrated and almost stifled, going off into her own world more and more often. He supposed it was only natural as people of their status; exceedingly high expectations were held of them and their every actions were scrutinized by the public. Michiru, just as him, had always been good at covering up the strain of being such a public figure, but the harsh art review seemed to have been the final catalyst. Due to both his patrician upbringing and relationship with Michiru, he had gone to his fair share of art exhibits and acquired a decent understanding of art. Her newest piece was disturbing to say the least with its dark subject matter but the esteemed critic's quick censure of the piece seemed undeserved.

Not to mention, she was an artist in every sense of the word. Artistic slumps were nothing new, and he knew that even artistic geniuses fell victim to slumps, perhaps especially because of their impossible levels of talent. He didn't dare to think that he understood the intricate complexities of being a creative genius and so he let her be.

With the combination of her frustration and their parents' sudden insistence on marriage, he knew that they both needed some alone time.

There were still so many arguments in favor of their marriage but Mamoru couldn't help but feel hesitant. Even though Mamoru could easily see himself living the rest of his life with her and growing old with her, was that really what he wanted? Their relationship was by no means affectionless and it was quite physically passionate. Yet there was something lacking.

He ran his hair through his dark hair, cobalt eyes distractedly roaming the empty road in front of him as conflicting thoughts warred in him.

Suddenly hearing a "click" and a rustle of clothes, Mamoru whipped his head to the back seat of his car, only to see a young girl. The blonde looked to be a few years younger than him, her blonde hair done in a strange style that resembled dumplings, and numerous papers and books engulfed her hands. She seemed frazzled, and noticing his gaze on her, immediately spoke with an urgency gripping her voice, "Mister, take me to Juuban University please!"

Mamoru threw a withering glance at the girl, audacious enough to mistake his sleek Bentley for a taxi.

"Oi, Odango-atam-"

The girl talked over him, missing his glare as she futilely tried to fix the mess of papers that had erupted on her lap. Perhaps sensing his displeasure, her hands stopped their frantic movement and she met his gaze head on with unwavering, bright cerulean eyes. Mamoru marveled at her eyes; they were so similar in colour to Michiru's yet they seemed to glow with an ethereal purity and sincerity, as transparent as they were intense.

"Please take me to block 64."

Mamoru didn't know why he did it, why he had capitulated to the random girl's plea. She had just seemed so desperate and he had needed to regain some power back in his life after the catastrophic lunch. He was unable to help Michiru with her problems because he was plagued with his own problems, which were of a similar nature, but helping this girl was easy and almost cathartic.

Her heartfelt thanks, uttered as she and her papers spilled out of his car, seemed more genuine than most of the things in his life. Somehow feeling refreshed after having dropped the girl off, Mamoru glanced back with a curious smile, only to see a small ID card lying strewn on the seat.

He stopped at the stoplight, reaching back to grab the abandoned card.

"Juuban University, Tsukino Usagi, 06/30/199-"

Drawers were pulled open in no discernible pattern and tubes of paint littered the pure ivory ground in stark contrast with the tidy meticulousness of the room they were in. The trail of paint tubes twisted and turned, ending at the slightly ajar bathroom door where a glimmer of light peeked out.

Michiru stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror with intense scrutiny. These were the features that in combination with her music and artistry, endeared her to the entirety of Japan:her piercing cobalt eyes, her ebony pin-straight hair that perfectly framed her small, porcelain face...She truly was the epitome of Japanese beauty standards.

Her eyes darkened with an unnameable emotion and her hands gripped one of her paint brushes and the sole paint tube that had escaped from being thrown onto the ground.

With firm hands that betrayed no signs of weakness, Michiru squeezed a sizable amount of vivid teal paint out, staining the fine, ivory hairs of the brush. Taking a deep breath, Michiru resolutely met the eyes of her despicable counterpart in the mirror before raising the brush to her hair.

A plane soared into the air as a blonde stepped out of the airport. Propping her dark sunglasses on top of her windswept hair, she soaked in the sights around her and took a deep breath.

After two years, Tenoh Haruka was finally back in Japan.

A/N: Hi! As I was working on "The First Clinic..." I suddenly got an idea for another story! This story is, for the most part, original (well, as original as a love story can be) and doesn't heavily rely on other outside sources like Korean dramas or other mangas, so I'm kinda excited! The violin incident described in the article actually happened to Midori Goto, a famous Japanese violinist, when she was 14. She's really an amazing musician!

If you can't tell by now, I have a weird fascination with Mamoru/Michiru. They're both so similarly calm and perfect that I can't help liking the two together! Of course, I still like Haruka/Michiru and Usagi/Mamoru the best and those pairings will be endgame in my stories.

I also love putting in references to the original manga/anime! Please read and review!