Raw Talent, Refined
Tuesday morning came way too early. The alarm ripped me out of a dream, something about singing on a stage and Chizuru throwing yakisoba at me. I blinked at the ceiling, trying to remember where I was and who I was supposed to be.
Kazuya. Right. College student, rental girlfriend enthusiast, aspiring entertainer. And today, apparently, a masochist with a 5 AM gym appointment.
I dragged myself out of bed, chugging a glass of water to chase away the lingering fog of sleep. Then it was time for the usual routine. Stretches, a quick breakfast, a check of my schedule to see what fresh educational hell awaited me.
I made it to the gym just as the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. The place was empty, just me and the weights and the soft hum of the AC. I kind of liked it that way. No distractions, no one to impress. Just me and the iron.
I started with cardio, pounding out miles on the treadmill until my lungs burned and my shirt was soaked through. Then it was on to the weights. Squats, deadlifts, bench press. The names were different, but the burn was the same. A familiar ache, a reminder that I was pushing myself, molding this body into something new.
By the time I stumbled out of the gym, the streets were starting to fill with people. Salarymen in crisp suits, students with heavy backpacks, shopkeepers raising their shutters for the day. The buzz of life, of a city waking up.
I let it wash over me as I walked to the station, my muscles thrumming with a pleasant soreness. Three days. That's how long it had been since I woke up in this strange new life. It felt like longer. Like a lifetime.
The train was packed, but I managed to snag a seat. I popped in my earbuds, letting the music drown out the chatter and the clatter of the tracks. I had a feeling I was going to need all the zen I could get today.
Classes were a blur of lectures and scribbled notes. I tried to pay attention, but my mind kept wandering. To the gym, to the dojo, to the singing lesson I had scheduled for that evening. Before I knew it, the day had flown by. I scarfed down a quick lunch, then it was off to my last class of the day. Japanese History.
As the professor droned on about the Meiji Restoration, I found myself doodling in the margins of my notebook. Song lyrics, bits of melodies from my past life. Looks like none of the artists I know exist in this world.
The class ended, and I bolted for the door. I had just enough time to grab my gear and catch the train to my next challenge.
Singing lessons.
I'd done my research, looking for the right distance and price range. And all signs pointed to one place: The Osaki Studio.
It was a small, unassuming building, tucked away in a side street near the heart of the city.
I took a deep breath as I pushed through the door, the bell jingling cheerfully above my head. The receptionist looked up, a smile already on her face.
"Welcome to Osaki Studio! How can I help you today?"
I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice. "Hi, I'm Kazuya Kinoshita. I have a 5 PM lesson with Osaki-sensei?"
Her smile widened, and she tapped at her computer. "Ah, yes! Kinoshita-san. We've been expecting you. Let me just grab your file and I'll show you to your studio."
She rummaged through a stack of papers, pulling out a slim folder with my name on it. Then she stood, gesturing for me to follow.
We wound through a maze of hallways, the walls lined with framed photos of smiling singers and glowing reviews. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to be impressed. This place had serious cred.
Finally, we stopped in front of a plain white door. The receptionist handed me my file, her smile never wavering.
"Here you are, Kinoshita-san. Studio 3. Osaki-sensei will be with you shortly. In the meantime, feel free to warm up or look over your materials."
"Thank you. I will."
She gave me one last encouraging smile, then disappeared back down the hallway. And then it was just me, alone in front of the door.
This was it. The first step on my journey to musical stardom. The first test of my skills in this new world.
I reached out, my hand hovering over the doorknob. For a second, I hesitated. All the doubts, all the fears, they came rushing back. What if I wasn't good enough? What if I made a fool of myself? What if...
No. No more what-ifs. I was Kazuya fucking Kinoshita. I'd faced down armies, conquered nations, survived a bloody war. I could handle a goddamn singing lesson.
The space was everything I'd imagined and more. Soundproofed walls, gleaming hardwood floors, a sleek black piano in the corner. It was like walking into a dream, a place where music came to life.
But there was one thing missing. Nana Osaki, the vocal coach, the woman who was supposed to guide me on this journey to stardom.
I glanced at my watch, checking the time. 5:00 PM on the dot. But the studio was empty, silent except for the hum of the air conditioning.
For a moment, I just stood there, unsure what to do. Should I wait? Should I start warming up on my own? Should I panic and run for the hills?
Before I could decide, my eyes landed on a folder sitting on a nearby music stand. My name was printed on the front in bold, black letters.
Curious, I walked over and picked it up. Inside was a stack of papers, neatly typed and organized. Lesson plans, sheet music, vocal exercises. It was like a roadmap to musical success, laid out in black and white.
I started flipping through the pages, my eyes scanning the instructions and diagrams. Breathing techniques, posture tips, warm-up routines. It was a lot to take in, but I could feel a thrill of excitement building in my chest. This was it. The first step on my journey to fame and fortune.
I was so engrossed in the lesson plan that I didn't hear the door open behind me. It wasn't until a low, smoky voice cut through the silence that I realized I wasn't alone.
"Kazuya Kinoshita?"
I spun around, the folder nearly slipping from my hands. And there she was. Nana Osaki, in the flesh.
She was a vision in black leather and red lipstick. Her hair was a wild mane of jet-black spikes, falling over one eye in a way that was both effortless and utterly cool. She had a guitar case slung over one shoulder, and a look on her face that said she meant business.
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Yes. That's me. It's an honor to meet you, Osaki-sensei."
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Just Nana is fine. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, after all."
"Nana. Got it."
She walked over, setting her guitar case down next to the piano. Then she turned to me, her eyes flicking to the folder in my hands.
"I see you found the lesson plan," she said, her voice warm. "Good. That shows initiative. I like that in a student."
"I just wanted to be prepared. To make the most of our time together."
Nana nodded, a glint of something like respect in her eyes. "That's the right attitude. In this business, you can never be too prepared."
She took the folder from my hands, flipping through the pages. "I see we're starting with the basics. Breathing, posture, warm-ups. The foundation of any good singing technique."
I nodded, trying to look like I knew what she was talking about. "Right. The foundation."
She glanced up at me, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Not really, no."
To my surprise, she laughed. A husky, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Don't worry, kid. That's what I'm here for. To teach you."
She set the folder down, turning to face me fully. "But before we dive into the technical stuff, I want to hear you sing. To get a sense of your natural ability, your style."
I blinked. "You want me to sing? Right now?"
She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yep. Right here, right now. Show me what you've got."
I started with a simple melody, something I'd heard on the radio a million times. But as I sang, I could feel myself getting lost in the song. The words flowed out of me, the notes rising and falling like waves on the ocean. It was like I was tapping into something deep inside myself, something I hadn't even known was there.
When I finished, the last note hanging in the air like a question, I opened my eyes. Nana was watching me, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched out between us, heavy with something I couldn't quite name.
Then, slowly, Nana started to clap.
"Not bad, kid," she said, her voice low and thoughtful. "Not bad at all."
She walked over to the piano, running her fingers over the keys. "You've got raw talent, there's no doubt about that. But talent is just the beginning. If you want to make it in this business, you're going to have to work harder than you ever have in your life."
I met her gaze, my jaw set. "I'm ready. Whatever it takes."
She smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. "Good. Because I'm not going to go easy on you."
And with that, she launched into the first exercise. Breathing, from the diaphragm, deep and steady. Over and over, until my lungs burned and my head spun.
But I didn't give up. I couldn't. Not with Nana watching me, her eyes sharp and assessing.
I was going to prove myself to her. To show her that I had what it took, that I was more than just raw talent and big dreams.
I was going to be a star.
And Nana Osaki was going to help me get there.
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