A/N: I have spent three chapters focusing on one perspective, and now it's time to change gears. You guys should know by now that I'm not the type to write anything from just one person's POV, right? So when there's a line break, just assume that it's a completely different shift in scene and be prepared to suffer insane flashbacks and a half-dozen different stories being told here, all until you reach the conclusion. (I swear, everything will make sense at the conclusion. If it doesn't, read it again.) The last bit of dialouge is a conversation between Sho and Kyouko, and ménage à trois means a threesome, but it's a more cultured way of saying it. ('Tis French, you know.) So...Enjoy. (Oh, P.S., Akachan's just been updated as well. Go. Look. XD) (Oh, and P.P.S., reviews rock. ;))

Trivia: "Fushin", as in the corporation I invented for this fic, is actually the Japanese word for "disloyalty". Like Saena's disloyalty to her own daughter. ;)

The door opened, but the chatter she expected to hear was ominously absent. Confused, she looked up from her script, and met the gaze of only one pink-clad comrade.

"Good afternoon, Amamiya-san," Kanae said in greeting.

"Ah, hello, Kotonami-san," the other black-haired girl replied, distracted somehow.

"Where's Kyouko? I thought you two were supposed to come to LME right after Box "R" was over for the day." Stay cool, Kotonami, she warned herself, You're a professional actress. One day you'll be at the top of the industry. You can act for thirty seconds like this doesn't bother you. And why should it?

"Actually," Chiori began as she changed out of her street clothes and into her Love Me uniform, "I'm not quite sure why she's not here. All I know is that she'll clock in soon."

"Weren't you there?" Kanae demanded, her patience wearing, "How can you not know? She's not exactly the type to hide things."

"I know that, Kotonami-san," Chiori said soothingly, "But that's where things got really…weird today."

"Weird? How weird could things get?"

"Well…"

"Ok! That's a wrap!"

The actors blinked, breaking free from their respective roles and once again joining the world outside of their drama. For the director, this was usually the most unsettling time of the day, as the personalities the girls portrayed when filming was so very different from who they really were. All of them, even the protagonist, who was supposed to be fairly normal both off and on camera, seemed to reawaken when he shouted completion.

But, out of all of his cast, there was one transformation, from actress to role and back again, that never failed to make the hair on the back of his neck rise. His bully, his glamorous high school villain, and the girl who repeatedly stole the show in small, undermining ways, never failed to amaze him as she emerged from her role.

"Mogami-chan!" he called through his megaphone, breaking the spell on set, "There's someone who wants to speak to you. There's about a fifteen minute break while the crew changes the set, so please do it now."

"Thank you, Director!" she called back before nearly running off-stage to speak to whomever it was that called her out.

"Other way, Mogami-chan!" he yelled as he saw the direction she was running.

The girl spun mid-stride, and then led a full charge the opposite way, narrowly dodging several stagehands, but somehow making it to the far side of the room with no incidents. She looked around, looking for an out-of-place face.

"Mogami-san," a soft voice chimed, calling Kyouko's attention to herself.

"Good afternoon," Kyouko greeted, vaguely recognizing the tidily dressed woman in front of her.

"I apologize for inquiring for you when you are obviously working," the older woman said, slightly inclining her head. There was something matronly about her, though Kyouko still couldn't place her face or name.

"It's fine, I'm on break," Kyouko said, taking the safe route and referring to the woman in the polite form.

"That's good," she smiled, and the gesture was so familiar Kyouko nearly remembered her, but then the memory slipped from her, "I'm the secretary for the quality control manager of Fushin Inc.'s Japan, Taniguchi Ami."

"Taniguchi-san!" Kyouko cried out, finally recognizing the woman. Even if it had been ten years since she'd seen the woman, Kyouko had met Taniguchi-san numerous times, through her mother. Small wonder she recognized her.

She chuckled, taking it all good-naturedly, "I see you have a better memory than I expected, Mogami-san. Yes, I'm your mother's secretary."

"Oh," the younger girl said, catching up to the implications behind this, "Uhm…what does she want with me?"

"All I've been told to do is give this to you, Mogami-san," Ami said, opening her briefcase to pull out a manila envelope stuffed with papers. "I confess, though, that I do not know the contents."

"That's understandable, Taniguchi-san," Kyouko said, smiling though she could barely keep her hand from trembling. This is pathetic, Kyouko told herself as she took the envelope from Ami, I'm an actress now! I am Tsuruga-san's kouhai and the son of Kuu Hizuri! I should at least be able to act for a moment like I was at least expecting this! That woman can contact me any day of the week, and I should be this cool!

"Well, how should I word this," Taniguchi said as she looked down at her superior's daughter, "Your mother ordered me to watch you read what's in there. She wants to be sure you are aware of the situation."

"What situation?" Kyouko asked as she opened the envelope.

The older woman sighed, "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. All I know is that I am to watch you read at least the first third of the papers."

Smiling, though her stomach was turning and she couldn't stop herself from swallowing, she made the mistake of looking down to the stack of papers she held in her hand.

Eyes wide, Kyouko was no longer aware of her body, and could not feel her mouth drop open as she read the words. Her thoughts, previously swirling around her head in a confused typhoon, suddenly vanished from her mind.

But when her synapses started connecting once again, she knew that she would have to call Shotaro. Tonight.

"So when the woman in the power suit left, Kyouko-san came over and told me that something had come up and she had to meet Fuwa Sho across Tokyo, so we wouldn't be able to go to LME together."

"Fuwa Sho?" Kanae asked, startled. "Why would she want to see him, of all people?"

"Well, I guess she didn't say his name during the conversation. But she tried calling right before I left, and I heard her grumbling about how someone named Sho wouldn't pick up his phone. Since there're a few rumors floating around that she knows Fuwa Sho the visual-kei star really well, I assumed she meant him."

"You were right before," Kanae said, slowly closing her script, "This is weird."

"Ma'am, can I help you?" asked the startled receptionist.

"I am Kyouko of LME's Love Me Department. You may know me as Hongo Mio from Dark Moon or Nacchan from Box "R". I would like to talk to Fuwa Sho, please."

"Fuwa Sho?" the woman asked timidly, sensing that this girl would not easily be turned away, "Do you have some sort of appointment?"

"Absolutely not," the girl said with conviction, which surprised the receptionist. Normally those who wanted to meet with a star seemed to at least somewhat like them, not deny any sort of connection with them.

"W-why would you wish to see him?" she asked, grasping at any question she could find, "Or w-w-would you like to confirm a meeting via phone?"

A smile. "That will work," she said, and a flame of victory danced behind those golden eyes, "By all means, please call him or his manager."

"Excuse me for a moment," the receptionist said as she typed commands into the computer and brought up Fuwa Sho's contact information, and then dialed the number for his manager's cell phone. She was able to complete the entire process without looking at the girl directly in the eye, but as the phone dialed, she had no choice but to keep her eyes on the computer screen, lest she look straight into those piercing, demanding eyes.

By the mercy of Kami-sama, the manager answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" came the female voice of Fuwa Sho's manager, whose name eluded the receptionist at this point.

"This is Akatoki's front desk. There's an actress here asking to meet Fuwa-san--"

"Mimori-chan? Sorry, Sho-chan's busy recording now. Tell her that he can meet up with her later, just not now."

"No, no, not her. The girl here is Kyouko…-san."

Silence.

"Uhm…hello?"

"Send a company car."

"B-but you just said Fuwa-san was busy--"

"I know. He is. Send her over."

"And in a company car?"

"I can pay for the time and gas. Just get her here."

"All right. I'll send her."

"Thank you very much."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

She glanced up to look at the beast of a girl who could arrive, unannounced, and immediately gain a meeting with one of Akatoki's busiest--and most desirable--stars.

"A company car will be around at the side entrance soon to pick you up. While you're waiting, would you care for a mineral water?

In September, Fushin Inc. hosted its international conference in Singapore. Taniguchi-san and I traveled there, and, due to the hotel staff's inadequacies, shared a room.

"I apologize for this, Taniguchi-san," I said as I set up my laptop.

"Don't apologize," she said, absurdly cheerfully for one about to share a suite with me for ten days, "It's not your fault the hotel computers messed up, Mogami-san."

I nodded, amused at the simple wisdom. No, I was not the one who made a mistake entering data into the computer, nor was I the one who hired the ones who did. By this elementary logic, I had no right apologizing.

And yet I was not apologizing for the computer error, but instead because I would not compromise anything with her. She would follow my schedule, live by my rules, and be subjected to everything I subjected myself to. As such, I had foreknowledge that she would not look back fondly on these next ten days. It was one thing to work under me, but it was quite another to live with me, as one little girl found out so very long ago.

"Hey, Mogami-san?" she called from the other room.

"Yes?" I replied, frowning at the lack of signal in a so-called deluxe suite. My impression had been that worthwhile hotels currently carry high-speed Internet access as part of the package when one buys a room. Ostensibly, this hotel was determined to remain traditional, and had opted out of both quality Internet access and functioning software programs in their computers.

"Would it bother you if I watched TV?" she asked, still from the other room.

"Feel free to go ahead," I replied, making futile attempt after futile attempt trying to find a place in our shared suite that had fair wireless access.

Within moments, I was aware that my secretary was not watching the evening news, as I thought she would, but some drama, as evident by the theme song that was decipherable even from the other room and from under heavy preoccupation.

"Taniguchi-san?" I asked, confused and--admittedly--intrigued. I had so very little knowledge of the entertainment industry, and had a faint spark of curiousity as to what my secretary considered good enough to devote some time to.

"Yes?" she asked, somewhat sheepishly, for which I do not blame her. She was most likely expecting a light scolding for watching Japanese dramas while on a business trip.

"What are you watching?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral enough to reassure the girl--for though she was now in her early thirties, married and the mother of two children, I still very much considered her a girl--that I would not scold her. For some unreasonable excuse, I abandoned my work and joined her in the other room.

"It's a remake of a popular drama that was on about twenty years ago," she said, her tone cautious, "Dark Moon. Have you heard of it, Mogami-san?"

"Not really," I said as I watched the scene with her. A man, tall, dark hair, with handsome features played a classical piano piece side-by-side with a girl younger than him. They were in some classroom, with no one else around.

"The plot is a love story," Taniguchi-san said, probably feeling overwhelmed by the silence, "A girl falls in love with her teacher--that's them right now on screen--and he returns her feelings, but he's also her cousin's fiancé."

Now that she had brought it up, though, I had heard of it in passsing from my giggling subordinates who were infatuated with the main actor. Even now, I saw delicate pink coloring my secretary's cheeks as her eyes focused on him. What animalistic attraction would make Taniguchi-san flustered while watching a man ten years her junior was beyond my comprehension.

"If he loves the blonde, why doesn't he break it off with the cousin? Is it an arranged marriage?" For some reason, though I didn't particularly care for a fictitious couple's trials, I felt compelled to ask questions.

"He never even really liked the cousin, Misao, but he wanted to get close to her family to extract revenge."

Revenge, huh? Well, of all the fervent emotions, it was at least a reasonable and excusable passion. And also quite easily forgiven. Far more so than obsessive love.

The piano music, which had so far supplemented and provided a background to our conversation, suddenly halted. Turning my attention back to the screen, I realized why I had felt compelled to come in the room. What met my eyes was the reason why I had stayed, and why I had asked my secretary questions.

Because, for the first time in living memory, I had felt what I had so often scorned before. What is commonly referred to as 'maternal intuition' uncoiled within me, and this was the reason why I had momentarily surrendered my work to steal a few minutes of Dark Moon.

Standing there, in the doorway of a school classroom, having walked in on the couple's playful rendition of Mozart, was a high-school aged girl with short black hair, golden eyes, and a scar.

I didn't hear the conversation that followed, nor did I really see how the man and woman stuttered and blushed their way out of their situation. All I was aware of was the girl's scathing glare, and the knowledge roaring through my veins.

She was acting now.

Ten years had changed everything.

"Taniguchi-san?" I asked, my voice sounding distant and cold even to my own ears.

"Yes?" she asked, instantly sitting up straight.

"I would like a report on the actress playing that girl in my hands tomorrow morning. Perform a background check as well."

"Will that be all?" she asked, as intimidated by me as she had been when she first started working for me.

"For now," I said, aware that, in her eyes, I was a mirror image of the on-screen actress whom I was requesting information on at that moment, "Please feel free to retire whenever you like."

"Yes ma'am."

"Goodnight, Taniguchi-san."

"Kyouko?" Sho asked in astonishment as his manager called for a break. Normally, he was the only one who called breaks for himself, the technicians in the booth, and his musicians. Shoko had never called for a break before. "What's she coming here for?"

"Yes, she's coming," Shoko said, feeling his narrowed eyes more than she saw them, "She showed up at Akatoki about ten minutes ago, asking to meet with you. They called me, and I had her come over. Do you mind?" That last question was merely to save his pride. She knew him well enough to know the answer to that question, and in the manner he would answer it, but also knew he would be ticked if she didn't ask his permission.

"Not really," her charge said as he downed the last of his energy drink, "It's just that this might take up some studio time. Aren't you always telling me how expensive it is?"

Shoko started to answer, but was cut off by a familiar fury fuming from the doorway. She gulped, and couldn't find it within herself to turn around and meet the gaze of the girl she knew was there. Sho, however, had no problem with leaning forward, and peering around Shoko to look at the doorway.

"Been a long time, Kyouko," he said, settling back on the couch.

The only greeting she gave was a perfunctory nod of agreement as she walked forward, her hand sliding into her bag. Shoko moved away from the couch Sho was reclining on, afraid to get in their way. When she was close enough, Kyouko brought out a manila envelope and dropped it on Sho's lap.

He looked up at her, and then down at the envelope, an eyebrow raised in question. Her face gave no answers as the temperature of the room plummeted. Putting aside the empty drink can, he opened the envelope.

And the first real emotion since Kyouko's name had been brought up crossed his face. A thousand tiny things flitted through his expression as his eyes widened. He even sat up so he was sitting properly in the chair, which was such a rare occurance Shoko doubted whether she was actually seeing it.

"Shoko-san."

"Yes?"

"Can Kyouko and I have some privacy? We need to talk."

Fate is a cold, mocking lady with little else to do but ruin others' lives.

Take Toriumi Kazuhiko, for example.

He couldn't have been born with better connections. His father was the successor to a dynasty of successful businessmen, and, as the second son, he was guaranteed some measure of wealth and power when he grew of age. He grew up learning about his family tree, which even held a few Imperial-age nobles in the topmost branches. But though he faithfully memorized the names and dates of even his most obscure relations, he was much more interested in sports and cars, and things every little boy concerns himself with. He ran and played and chased with his brother, cousins and friends, always laughing and smiling, even through the skinned knees and broken arms. Fate blessed him.

And so he grew up in that secluded world of heirs and moneyed protection. He spent summer, winter, and spring breaks in international locales, and as he grew older he learned that culture lessons and guided tours weren't the only things large, modern cities have to offer. There were plenty of incidences that, had the tabloids been informed of, would have brought considerable scandal to his family. Yet though he accepted the occasional scolding and the displeasure of his parents, he lived his life the way he wanted to live it: fast and without a care in the world.

It took a domestic trip to Kyoto before he started evaluating his careless lifestyle. Even now, as he sits in his dark bedroom, wide awake even at three AM, he can see the scene before him as if he were living it once again.

She was only seventeen at the time.

But, God, she was beautiful.

She was not armed with the passion-inducing attraction of voluptuous curves and a sultry smile, nor did she have the slim hips and firm body that he thought he was attracted to. No, this woman was quiet, modest, kind and, above all, mature. He doubted whether she had ever set foot in a club or bar, or was even aware of the many subtle tricks women so often use to seduce a man. In fact, when he first met her, he wasn't even thinking at all of how to get her in his bed. There was just something about her manner that, though condoning of other's carnal pleasure, found higher joy in the intricate art of ikebana, or in the complex tea ceremony she so often performed.

She came from a similar background as he, yet they were worlds apart. During their many long walks together, she told him of the times she had stepped foot on land not within Kyoto Prefecture, and that conversation had been even shorter than the one concerning local Kyoto scandal. Even without adult's ears listening, he still treated her with respect and courtesy--an attitude he was wholly unfamiliar with in his interactions with women. But how he could he turn away from her, spare her from his crude speech and blunt actions, when she made him aware of a solitude he had been blind to? And so he stayed with her, yet muted his many unwholesome qualities.

She was a rare find, though, and deserved to be treated with much more civility than he knew how to express. He could see her, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, inwardly burning with a disciplined grace, always conveying her peculiar, and oh so very thrilling, allure. And also, and this could be considered the most decisive aspect of their relationship, she was a social equal to him. Yes, their families were involved in entirely different spheres of business, yet could cleave to each other wonderfully, if given the proper motivation. And what greater motivation is there than the triumphant cry of church bells, heralding an infant marital union?

Yes, an infant marital union was exactly what was in order. All of Nature practically shrieked for it, begged for it.

The families involved voiced their approval in so many subtle and not-so-subtle ways, an emotional bolster for the couple.

Even Fate smiled as she signed her consent. Marital union. A beautiful solution for the grievances of solitude.

Kazuhiko shook away uncharacteristic tears as he read the engagement annoucement in the newspaper. His hands, even now, shake for want to cry out at this injustice. Fate had just torn him away from his first love, his only love. She was happily given away to a strong, traditional Japanese man who came from an equally good family, and he wasn't even invited to the wedding.

But though he knew Fate had denied him his bliss, he did not let her walk away from him without leaving his mark on her.

It never occured to him to wonder if she rose from that night heavy with both grief and a spark of life buried within her body.

It wasn't as if she wanted to be an adulteress. That was just how the night worked out.

But that didn't condone her behavior. She had yet to be a wife, and her fidelity was already compromised. For a woman who had grown up to carry on the traditional ways, she was expected to be virgin on her wedding night. She wasn't. And she didn't have the excuse of rape.

And yet, what was she supposed to do? He had shown up at her parent's house and asked for her, looking as if he had already spent the first part of the evening in a bar somewhere. She had accepted, and they had taken a walk through the gardens, like they used to do before she announced her engagement. There had been a long while before he spoke, and when he did, he confessed. Like a schoolboy before a stern teacher, he kept his head down, hands clasped behind his back, even shuffling his feet while he told her that he loved her.

She had been flattered. Confused, yes. Anxious, yes. Regretful, yes. But flattered.

And she knew that she was flattered because the attraction had been mutual.

So she had been preoccupied when he leaned in to kiss her. And after that...well, it had only been a matter of time before they found a secluded grassy area in the back of the property. Later, she would be ashamed by what they did there, but at the time she wouldn't have been able to stop him even if she had the presence of mind to remember that she should have.

In the morning she cried.

That afternoon she was married.

And in the evening she spent her wedding night in her lawful husband's bed.

When she found out she was pregnant, she buried her suspicions, prayed, and resolved to raise the child as the rightful son and heir of the Fuwa family, no matter his paternity. This decision was assisted by her ignorance of his paternity herself. She never had the wish nor the means to ascertain who her son's biological father was.

Her family never doubted her purity. Her husband never asked why she wasn't virgin on that first night. Her son never had any reason to doubt his parentage.

And Kazuhiko?

He visited every once in a while. Stayed at the ryokan when he was in Kyoto. Laughed at Shotaro's antics and praised Kyouko-chan's work ethic. Smiled at her. Never flirted with her. Never even hinted that they had once been lovers, even if it had only been for one night.

But whenever he was in town, she would fall asleep those nights, feeling her husband sleeping next to her and feeling her one-time lover in the other wing of the building, thinking--What a strange ménage à trois.

Yes, Fate is a very cold, very cruel woman.

Admist the scattered papers, incomplete explanations, and angrily-thrown words, the two were sitting on the floor, their expressions neutral. Every so often, one would sneak a glance at the other, and eyes would ask the unanswerable question neither of them dared to speak. Every moment, every second, every scene, every nuance of their near-lifetime relationship was suddenly viewed from a new prospective, courtesy of this burdensome information hoisted on them. What had been presented to them in the manila envelope left nothing sacred, not a friendship, not a rivalry, not love, not hatred--not even a game of badminton played by children.

Sitting in Shotaro's lap was the diagram Kyouko had drawn to visually display what two dozen pages of documents had failed to illustrate. It was a simplified family tree, drawn to show only one connection--the biological relationship between the two of them.

Half-siblings; same father, different mothers.

And yet, as they realized just everything that this revelation implied, they also realized one extra thing.

This changed absolutely nothing.

Shoko, when she came back in the room, had to settle an absurdly loud shouting match as they picked a fight over nothing, trying to clear the air of things adults find of consuming importance, yet they could care less about.

She departed that evening grumbling about how one man continued to ruin her life, and he sneered as a studio musician asked him if he knew the girl who had just left.

If Saena thought she could elicit a reaction from her daughter with this information, she was wrong.

Her daughter's childhood friend, however, thought for quite some time before he was willing to accept the fact that she was now untouchable to him. And even longer after that before he started silently cheering for Tsuruga Ren to make his move.

Well, what other man would be good enough for his sister? He was a fairly wealthy 'gentleman' with a career that could only take the two of them forward. It wasn't like this bothered him at all. In time, he even forgot that once he had tried so valiantly, and so in vain, to win the one woman he never had a chance with.

"Whaddya mean this blouse is unflattering? Who the hell do you think you are?!?!"

"I happen to be me, and that outfit looks horrible on you. Can't you change into something better?"

"I'm sorry if this offends you, you damn bastard, but this happens to be part of my wardrobe. Not everyone can afford designer clothing, you know."

"Wait...Don't tell me you got that on clearance, Kyouko."

"So what if I did?!?!"

A groan.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!?!"

"Nothing, nothing...hey, why are you still here anyway? Don't you have a career to build?"

"What's that supposed to mean?!?! I took time out of my schedule to come here and tell you this, and all you want to know is when I'm leaving?!?!"

"Hey, hey, stop swinging those papers around! Ow! Look at what you did, you gave me a papercut!"

"Oh, grow up. I've suffered worse than a papercut, and if you hadn't been so damn sheltered, you would have too!"

"I happen to be an entertainer, you know. Being taken care of is part of the business."

A scream of rage.