Luka-

You'd think when you've planned something for most of your life- after having anticipated it for years- you'd be overjoyed to finally have carried it out. But, as I stood in the crowded city train station, heavy bags in hand and guitar strapped behind me, I felt only the cold hand of reality smacking me across the face. And under the weight of my baggage and my own, exhausted body, I could do nothing but stand there and take it.

I grew up in a tiny little town tucked away in the mountains- one of those places where everyone knows everyone else and you spend your summers helping out with farming instead of going on trips with friends. I lived that life without a single complaint- I helped my parents run their farm diligently, I accepted that all of town would find out about even my slightest of colds, and I withstood the fact that even with friends and a loving family, life was repetitive and boring. For eighteen years of my life, I grinned and bore it, spending my nights looking out into the dark wilderness, imagining the bright, lively city that was just beyond the peaks. I didn't want there to be any more hard feelings than necessary when I finally left my mundane life as a farmer's daughter in search of my true dreams.

For my entire life, I would stare into the television- my only window to the outside world that moved faster than I could comprehend- watching idols: the pretty girls and handsome guys who would woo their audience in whatever they did, and seemed to thrive off the love of their fans. They guest stared on my favorite shows, they promoted cute clothes and handy gadgets, they handled interviews and photo shoots with the ease of a seasoned champion without a single trip up or slip of the tongue. To me, growing up, these people- these princess and princesses with their fingers on the pulse of pop culture- were gods, and I longed to join them on Mount Olympus where they looked down upon their fans.

I dropped out of cram school and took up guitar, practicing the instrument in secret while my parents believed I was working my way into getting into a good college, like the rest of my peers. I joined the choir club under the guise of having an extracurricular activity, I tried my hardest to be approachable, I ordered expensive- but cute- clothes and became an idol on a small scale. School is nothing like real life, of course, especially when your school is one in a tiny town, so it was then I decided I would finally pursue my dreams of becoming one of those godly figures for real…

Which brought me to my current situation, staring dead-eyed into a crowd that made me feel claustrophobic without even having to be in it. My cellphone was on its' final moments of battery life, and loudly proclaimed its' dying chime into my ear as I, once again, tried to call the person who agreed to house me (until then, we'd only spoken on the internet). My parents, who had flown into a rage over my choosing to not take any entrance exams or even apply to college, had more or less disowned me, promising me that if I were to return, I would not be welcome. My bags felt as if they were growing heavier by the second, and as my cellphone finally shut itself off, I realized I didn't have anywhere to go. I could hear the train slowly pulling out of the station right behind me, my last chance to escape leaving me to flounder helplessly in the alien environment I thought I'd handle in stride.

"Good job, Luka…" I quietly sighed as I faced the crowd and pocketed my dead phone. I'd already called my potential housemate an uncountable number of times- something told me I didn't have to worry about them calling me back any time soon. I tried to swallow my nerves before I took my first step into my new life- as horrible as it was making out to be. If I truly wanted to be an idol, I'd have to handle even the worst situation with poise and grace. All eyes were on me- a breath in the wrong direction would summon the slanderous tabloids. Breath, chin up, smile.

I tell myself this, but I was nowhere near being an idol. At that moment, as I squeezed my way into the massive crowd of bodies, I was a homeless drifter, with nothing but expansive clothes that had eaten away at her savings, a guitar and a dream.

Miku-

I wonder if you can get a tan from being under stage lights long enough.

For the briefest moment, I look away from the enthusiastic nighttime T.V show host of the week and look out into the audience. My manager always puts emphasis on this, and eagerly tells me before every show, with his sweaty hands on my shoulders: to- every so often- look out into the audience and smile. Don't beam at them, don't show your teeth, but don't make it too small either- just smile back at the darkness full of enthused fans like they were a friend I haven't seen in years. I do just that while answering a question about my latest project with Crypton (more or less my handlers) and I get back a few cheers and a distant, "we love you, Miku" from the darkness. Success, now turn back to the host.

Everything I do is practiced and planned. If anything, I've had it beaten into me since day one that it is dangerous for an idol to "wing it" or "go with the flow". That sort of thing is for the big name stars, the ones with a world-wide following and their own money to blow. For idols, whose lives in the limelight can last just about as long as a mayfly, we can only do what we're told, or else real life will squash us. We can't be trusted to be individuals; we're too fragile, too vulnerable. We exist to make our handlers look good and bring in business to our sponsors. We exist to smile when we're told, speak when spoken to and say only what we're allowed to say. We idols are beings without opinions- just pretty puppets on string…

And I've come to accept that.

"My new single is finally going to be released, and it would make me so, so, SO happy if my fans supported me when it finally is put on shelves!" Put on a cheerily smile, bring up lightly clenched fists to my chest in an excited gesture and tilt my head at the audience- perfect. "I recorded it with all of them in mind!"

"And we've been given an exclusive preview!" The host shouts to the audience, triggering an uproar of cheering, clapping and foot-stomping. I try to pretend the din doesn't hurt my ears as I clap along with them- a small, dainty clap with my elbows kept close together (I'm supposed to be energetic, but I'm also supposed to be cute, so I can't celebrate as enthusiastically as the people in the audience). "Are you ready to hear it!?" The crowd in the darkness gets louder and more rowdy, and a chant starts up for us to play the clip as the screen behind us flips on, first and foremost displaying the Crypton logo.

I've come to accept the fact that everything I am is what my handlers want me to be, all for this. The first time I walked out on stage and heard these cheers and these enthusiastic, loving screams, I finally felt wanted. My parents hardly speak to me- only enough to breed me for stardom- and I never had friends in school. My lofty position as the daughter of a famous actor and a famous singer kept people away, and it made me cold, which only further intensified the shield around me. For the first time, as I heard hundreds of people shouting my name, I finally felt like someone loved me.

I could hardly hear my new song- "World is Mine"- over the hooting and the hollering, but I didn't care. They loved the song, they loved me. They loved products with my face on them, they loved me. They waited in line to sit in a hot, cramped studio just to see me, they loved me. I wished I could stay after and talk to them- connect with the people who loved me so much- but I could only reach out to the public when I was allowed, and even then I could only thank them for their support, smile and hand them their autographed CD or photo book.

I can only feel their love from afar, and I try not to let my perfect smile falter as my heart slowly sinks at the realization. I'll never be able to truly hold their hands, or embrace them with feeling. And they'll never take my hand just as lovingly as they shout my name. It's an unrequited love, and they don't even know it.

Luka-

The city is nothing like my tiny, mountain town, that's for sure. Never once did I feel like I had elbow room, and everything was so loud I feared my hearing would be damaged. Everyone was either on a cellphone or looking unpleasantly forward with an unimpressed gaze if they were alone, and gathered in bright, flashy packs if they were together. Just looking out into the crowds of people I could tell the clothes in my bags weren't as in-style as I thought. Even with all my hope and effort, I still probably looked like a slack-jawed tourist from way out of town.

But, at least, it seemed I'd have light, even late into the night. Everywhere along the streets was brightly lit with neon signs and flashy displays. If I'd have to struggle on these streets, at least they were well lit- crowded, but moderately unthreatening aside from the expected "not from around here" anxiety. I looked up at the tall, bright buildings, wanting to spin around in the fountain of light, but only was able to move forward with the rest of the crowd that already seemed bothered with me and my bulky traveling bags.

Graciously, I stepped out of the crowded flow, allowing people to pass me by, and turned to the window display before me that cast a blue glow into the street. There were others around me, looking back at what was before us like they were holding back cheers of joy- huddling together and slyly –but excitedly- pointing, emitting polite squeals of delight. I didn't really understand until I was faced with a wall behind a layer of glass, lined with several, glowing screens. And on them was one of them- one of those gods who I wanted desperately to join: Hatsune Miku. She was on a brightly lit stage, holding a microphone and prancing happily about. It was difficult to hear, but it sounded like she was singing, and I pressed myself closer to the glass to possibly hear her song better.

Miku is special among the brilliant gods she shares the life of. I would never admit it to another person, but my feelings for her exceed a little bit more than an idol-hopeful's admiration. The first time I saw her on television- she guest stared on a soap my mom watched, playing a younger cousin of one of the main characters- my heart skipped a beat. Even now, watching her as she sang to a loving audience, I could feel my cheeks grow warm as I reached out and touched the cold glass. She wasn't a brilliant god who stood above me, she was more like an angel looking down on me with a kind gaze.

If only I were on stage there, with her, finally at the level of celebrity she was. I could sing with her, take her hand and… and…

I shook my head and pulled myself away from the glass. These feelings were wrong, if not completely, unobtainable fantasy. Miku was an idol held high on a pedestal, and I was a newly homeless dreamer who she would never be able to pick out of the crowd- and a girl, no less. Every time I heard a rumor she was dating a guy who she'd appeared with on a show, or a member of a popular boy band, my blood would boil with jealousy because I feared they would be able to experience the thing I could never have. A girl can't lovingly embrace another girl, a girl can't deeply kiss another girl, a girl can't make love to another girl- I can only fantasize and wish I'd been born a boy, so I'd have a chance at winning that teal-haired angel's heart.

Hopelessly lost in thought, I didn't notice someone slipping my guitar from out of my grasp until it was too late. I noticed the familiar weight leave me, and watched as a hooded figure took the bulky case tightly in their arms before running away, skillfully making their way through the suffocating mass of bodies before us. I stood in shock, mouth completely open as I watched no one try and stop him before jumping into action myself.

"S-STOP!" I cried, trying my best to keep up. He didn't have the inconvenience of having to run with bags that continued to bump into people- who shouted angrily at me- and slowed me down. I cried out in frustration every time I realized he'd gotten farther away and that no one was bothering to stop him despite the fact it was clear the guitar didn't belong to him, but the desperately shouting girl behind him in poor pursuit. "SOMEONE STOP HIM!"

Did everyone else in this city speak a different language? No one seemed to care or respond to my cries, and they simply allowed the thief to pass them by. I felt like crying as I watched him sharply turn the corner, leaving my line of vision completely. I wailed in desperation as I continued, even though part of my wanted to drop to my knees in despair. The object in his clutches- the guitar I had saved up for and learned to play with- was the only thing that could possibly help me in my quest to become an idol. My chance to join them –and to possibly even stand in the presence of Hatsune Miku herself- had just left my sight in the hands of someone else.

"NO!" I shouted between exhausted pants as I clumsily tried to accelerate. "HE HAS MY GUITAR! PLEASE, SOMEONE, STOP HIM!" I turned the corner, only to step on one of the straps hanging from my bags. With a sharp gasp, I slipped and fell, skidding onto the sidewalk with a sharp scratch and messy tumble. I dared not look up the moment I hit the ground- skinning my knees and scuffing my hands. I didn't want to see the heartbreaking image of the guy who stole my guitar taking it far out my reach. But, despite my heart-stopping feeling of despair, I raised my head, only to have those feelings immediately replaced. My heart was still thumping against my chest, but for a whole different reason.

There, standing before the now fallen man who had taken my guitar, was Hatsune Miku. Her long, green-blue pigtails were tucked into a hood of a jacket several sizes too large, and a pair of sunglasses were set unbalanced on the bridge of her nose. She looked down at the thief with a look of total alarm as she held the guitar, two plastic shopping bags lying before them (one once full of magazines now littering the ground and the other producing a large supply of leeks becoming sullied by the dirty city streets).

And then, in a moment I will most-definitely never forget, she cast her gaze up and over to me, still on the ground, looking back at her with a look of amazement. Hatsune Miku was looking at me- ME! She was holding my guitar and looking specifically my way, sending an electric pulse through my body.

My goddess had found me.

"Hatsune… Miku…"

Miku-

Large jacket with a hood? Check. Dark Sunglasses? Check. Looking like I'm about to go and rob the convenience store I was going to? Triple check.

My desire to know what's in the headlines paired with my tragic addiction to leeks always leads me to sneak out into public. It's not like I'm not allowed- once I've done all my business for today, I can pretty much do whatever I please so long as I don't cause a scene. And going down to the convenience store close to my apartment building won't cause a scene- so long as I'm in disguise. The jacket is horribly old and made for a much larger man and the glasses are big and make me look suspicious, but I've finally reached the level of celebrity where it would be dangerous for me to just go and walk somewhere on my own.

My handlers probably are the ones who instilled that fear in me, telling me stories about idols past. Stalker fans who want to cut off locks of your hair, people who want to kidnap you for ransom, rapists who want a pretty face to look at while they assault you- if I wasn't afraid of those things when I started out, them constantly telling me about them certainly has. So, despite how fashion backwards my incognito look is, it's necessary if I want to make it back to my apartment with my leeks and my magazines in peace.

How funny is it, that when I began as an idol, I dreamed of going down the street and talking to my fans that would approach me. The world is a lot more scary than that, it seems.

Thankfully, the convenience store was pretty deserted so late at night, so I could manage to remove my glasses at least while I looked at their selection of current-event magazines. I wore a grin of pride that only grew wide the more times I saw myself gracing the cover. I'd just put out a new single and had a sold-out concert, after all. I picked each one off the stand, humming happily to myself as I placed them in the basket. This one has a quiz to see if the reader is like me, this one has an interview I recently did in it, this one has pictures from a photo shoot, this one, too-

A touch of peach and red stands out among the calming sea of teal. My mood is soured as I glare back at the cover as if the person displayed on it were actually right there in front of me: Nekomura Iroha. We both began out climb to fame at the same time, but she took offense to my presence more than I did hers, and she soon started bashing me, calling me a fake and my music artless drivel. Her handlers, AHS, seem to encourage it, because every time she sits down for an interview, she always makes a jab at me. She's just as fake, she's just as artless- her name isn't even her real name (Nekomura, really?)! She dons cat ears and ends her sentences with "nya" to appease her sweaty, otaku fans. I'd never stoop as low!

I once had a joint interview with her, and I remember how catty she was, playfully mocking me in front of everyone, who laughed right along with her. I wanted to rip those fake cat ears off her head and beat her with them.

"Miku won't last another year: Nekomura Iroha predicts", the magazine read. With an angry grunt, I grabbed the magazine, only to turn it the other way, replacing Iroha's sickening smile with an advertisement for tampons. Much more tasteful.

Once I'd acquired all the magazines I needed, I filled the rest of my basket with leeks and donned my sunglasses before I made my purchase. I tried to ignore the weird looks the cashier behind the counter kept on giving me between each item and stared at my feet like they were the most amazing things in the entire world. I didn't even look up as I graciously took my heavy bags and thanked him in falsetto. I only looked up when I'd exited the store and realized someone was running towards me.

I didn't have much time to even see who it was- my fear reacted faster than me. I screamed in surprise and swung my bag weighed down with magazines at the quickly approaching mass, eliciting a pained grunt from whoever it was that had been charging at me. My hood flew back as I swung, and when I took in the full picture, it was when the person I'd hit let go of something that came hurtling my way. I was forced to drop my other bag full of my precious midnight snacks to take the object into both my arms. It was a guitar case, and the neck of it bashed me in the face and dislodged my glasses.

What in the world was going on!? Why was this guy running so fast, and what was he doing holding a guitar?

My questions were soon answered as a panicked cry climbed above the other, surprised chatter. I looked up, over the guitar, to see a girl struggling to right herself from off the ground with two heavy-looking bags. She had long, soft pink hair that fell in graceful waves about her, and her limbs were elegantly long, like a model. Her eyes, wide in shock, were the color of brilliant, polished sapphires. It wasn't much of a wild guess to assume she was the owner of the guitar I now had in my clutches. She was looking back at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

She was beautiful.

She was perfect.