“It has been my honor and privilege to represent Kunoichi for the past 7 years,” Hana Amano continued. “I couldn’t imagine my life without them in it and I’m grateful for every second we’ve been together.”

I peeked over at the members of Kunoichi and scowled slightly. This certainly did not sound like a new album announcement to me. Were they going to call it quits? I suppose the idea of going out on top must have a certain level of appeal to them all. They weren’t idols, per se, washed out and burned up by the time they were my age. They’d moved into the stratosphere of stars but even stars eventually burned out and faded away. Had they gotten to that point?

“I…” Hana paused, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t cry!” She half laughed but it came out choked and closer to a sob than a laugh. The assembled crowd laughed with her, most seemed unsure of what else to do. “Tonight is not about me, though! It is about them so, without further crying from me, I give you Kunoichi!” Hana clapped, tears streaming down her face as she stepped aside.

I surreptitiously moved to the right just enough to avoid the spotlight which caught Koemi and the others as they rose from the table and made their way toward the stage. The crowd clapped wildly, something I wasn’t sure rich industry types did. For some reason I had the image of them either politely golf clapping or hiring someone to clap boisterously for them, but the din in the room was palpable. Whether it was the alcohol, the food, or the fact they genuinely liked them, the applause for Kunoichi was deep, long, and heartfelt.

“Thank you!” Mari bowed deeply, taking her place at the microphone, the other members flanking her left and right. She took a deep breath and smiled. “Who knew our little soiree would attract such a delightful and charming group of people?” She grinned, working the crowd like the professional she was. “It’s been nine years since I joined Kunoichi.

“I had no idea what to expect or even what I wanted until Yui, Sachi, Akari and I practiced for the first time. It was then I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be the best. I wanted to try hard every day and be able to look back on my time at the end of it all and say I did something extraordinary. We did something extraordinary. I don’t know what the measuring stick for that something is. Even to this day, I’m not sure. But I feel I’ve accomplished that goal.”

“Unlike Mari I knew exactly what I wanted when I joined,” Yukiko grinned as she took the microphone. “I wanted to get out of where I was, but beyond that I didn’t have a clue. I bounced around for a bit before landing with Kunoichi and I knew there was something special between us. Something otherworldly. We had some rough times. Some…challenges. And we came through to the other side and were even better than before.

“I think in life that is the most important lesson. We faced the unknown and muddled through as best we were able. Once we reached the other side, we used the trials as a step up toward better things, not as an excuse to fight amongst ourselves and let the challenges define us.”

“I couldn’t sing, and my dancing was subpar,” Rae stepped up to take Yukiko’s place. “I wanted a chance. A chance to be what I dreamed of. To do what I always saw myself doing. I wanted to be the better version of myself. The version that put in the work, pushed through the pain and fear and be a part of something truly extraordinary with people I loved and respected.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Akari stepped forward her hand resting on Rae’s shoulder in silent support as the other girl’s eyes grew misty with tears. She smiled hesitantly, blinking in the harsh light of the spotlight. “I wanted to matter; I suppose. I wanted to support these girls that I love with all my heart. To lend them what strength I have and to receive their strength in return.

“We are so much more than the sum of our parts. So much stronger and resilient together and I think we have proved that to ourselves. We cried together. Laughed together. Struggled together and at each turn you all have been there to prop us up when we were lacking, to support us when we stumbled, to lift us when we fell and to celebrate with us when we succeeded. I thank not only those on this stage with me, but all of you.” Akari choked back a sob and bowed deeply.

So, I thought, I guess this is it. It was strange to think of them calling it quits after all this time. Still, the industry was ephemeral and after…however long they’d been doing it, I suppose they were owed at least the chance to step back and relax for a change.

“I just wanted to suck up some of my sister’s fame,” Koemi grinned as she took the microphone to the laughter of those in the room. “It wasn’t fair she got all of it and I was second tier. Everyone knew I was the more talented sibling.”

“You little brat,” Sachi grinned at her sister, pushing her playfully out of the spotlight as she took the microphone. Sachi stared out at the crowd for a long moment, and I tensed expectantly. Sachi, for all her grace and poise was always the wild card. She reminded me a bit of Emi or, well, how I remembered Emi being. You never knew precisely what would come out of her mouth. Throw in some alcohol and the results could, literally, be anything at all. “Well. Here we are.” Sachi sighed with a smile which was impossible to read.

“I turned down a law career many years ago,” she said. “Sorry, dad!” Laughter sprinkled through the room as the spotlight turned to a grinning Ojiisan who, to his credit, tried to look disappointed and stern but ended up smiling even more broadly than before. “But what I wanted couldn’t be found in a courtroom.” Sachi continued.

“Even through everything we’ve been through I’ve never once regretted that decision. I wouldn’t trade a second of my life for a thousand years as something I am not. Or, I suppose, was not. As many of you have probably guessed, we are announcing our upcoming retirement.” The room was silent.

I wasn’t shocked, but I found it difficult to imagine Kunoichi not being in my life. They had been there, though I knew nothing about them, from the beginning of high school. A sort of background noise for my life, I suppose. A voice singing on the radio. A dance move performed by others. A presence without ever knowing about it.

Then, once I moved to Tokyo, I had gotten a front row seat at the work and sweat and perseverance which went into everything Kunoichi was. I’d taken buses after high school my 3^rd year to The Hall and done my homework as they practiced new dance moves over and over again. The music pounding into my head until I felt I knew the song almost as well as they did.

I felt a tear spring to my eye. It was like a part of my life was vanishing. A constant companion who I drew comfort from suddenly growing silent and only in the absence of its voice could I hear the frightening silence. I finished my drink and took a deep breath, pushing the looming sense of loss down as best I was able.

“We are approaching 30,” Sachi continued with a shrug. “Not old by any stretch of the imagination, but in this profession our shelf life is fast approaching. We each have plans for life beyond the spotlight. We each have desires which the stage can’t fulfill. There were many moments where quitting sounded good, but none which felt right. Until now.

“We’re not going to go gentle into that good night, though!” Sachi grinned, ignoring the tears in her eyes. “Dad, if you’ll have me, I’d like to apply for a job.” Once more the spotlight found Ojiisan who struggled to hold back his own tears but dutifully shrugged.

“You’ll have to pass the interview!” He called back, voice cracking.

“I’ll get to work on preparing for it, then!” Sachi grinned at him. “But the one thing we all decided was that we may be done with Kunoichi, but Kunoichi certainly isn’t done with us.” I felt a tap on my elbow and turned to find Nanami holding out a scrap of paper to me. I cocked an eyebrow curiously at her and took it.

I scowled deeply as I opened the carefully folded paper and read the words. “I’m sorry.” I turned toward her, but her attention had been drawn back to the stage. What the hell had she done? I thought, a heavy sense of dread falling over me.

“Japan is a great country which we all love,” Sachi continued. “But our love of our country can’t blind us to the challenges presented to us. We are not a nation of equality. We are a nation of tradition and that both keeps us grounded but also leashes us. If we stray too far from the path our ancestors laid out, we are yanked back harshly. Regardless of whether that path leads to where we want to go.

“There are hundreds of thousands of our fellow citizens chained to traditions weighing them down and dragging them under. Fear and hopelessness are their constant companions. Fear of showing who they really are and hopeless they can fit into a society incapable of accepting a different path they might need to walk. I cannot be their voice, but I will do my best to help them find their own. That is my calling.” I was sure at least half of them had no idea what or who Sachi was talking about, but they clapped vigorously regardless.

“As for the others,” She turned to either side and the members of Kunoichi stepped forward to flank her. “They have their own calling.”

“Our industry is an amazing one,” Akari took the mic and smiled sadly. “We make people’s dreams come true. We turn the spotlight on them and their talent and let them bask in its warmth. We encourage them to reach toward the sky and make them feel they can sit up there with the stars.”

“But what happens when the spotlight isn’t on?” Mari asked. “What lurks in the corners of the darkened stage? What horrors are these young dreamers exposed to when the spotlight isn’t warming them?”

“Our business, at the end of the day, is just that,” Yukiko shrugged. “Most performers are simply a product who are cast aside when those with power have no more use for them or they have reached their sell-by date.”

“We want to protect their dreams. We want to make sure that when they step away from the stage and back into the audience, they have memories filled with companionship and working toward a shared goal, not nightmares of exploitive producers or abusive management,” Rei choked back tears but was firm and confident in what she was saying.

“Kunoichi has been many things for all of us,” Koemi continued. “Most of all it has been safe. We want to extend that safety to others. Thus, with the assistance of Mirai Suzaki, Akira Suzaki, Miss Minji Song, and the Well House Group, we are announcing the creation of Kunoichi Entertainment.” The spotlight quickly found Mirai, Akira and a thoroughly drunk Minji who waved blearily. I scooted my chair even further away from the sudden brilliance.

“Kunoichi isn’t done, yet though!” Akari grinned. “We want to give it our all one last time! We want to pour our hearts out on stage and in the studio and leave with no regrets. We have one more album coming out in April and one last tour beginning in May!”

“In the meantime, we will be expanding and gearing up Kunoichi Enterprises to bring the next generation of dreamers onto the stage. Please welcome the new managing director of KE, Kasumi Tanaka!” Suddenly the spotlight hit me with the weight of a million tons and I stared dumbly into the darkness beyond the beam of light, horror making my heart pound to the point its frantic beat in my ears drowned out the applause while the glaring light dimmed the frantic staccato flash of cameras.