The Accompanist

Chapter 23: A Stir of Rebellion

This chapter contains topics (not scenes) that are unsuitable for younger viewers (Katsumi's backstory). I didn't mention anything explicitly. It's one of those, 'if you know, you know,' situations. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can skip it. I marked it.

Mr. Kurata paced around the counter of his luxurious kitchen. "How. How did I not notice they were related?! It should have been obvious from the moment she said he had blue contacts. They must have been real all along!"

"Calm down old man," grumbled Katsumi from the couch. "I doubt she wanted anyone to know. Sayuri likes him. What are you going to do? You don't even know his real name, or if the brat is his real kid."

"Oh, but we can find out," said Mr. Kurata, an evil smile on his face. He reached over for his cellphone, dialed a number by heart, and held it up to his face. "Darling? Yes, that new accompanist of yours... With the blue eyes? What was his name? Utsushima? Yes? Right. Thank you. No, that will be all."

After the conversation, he immediately dialed a new number. "Akito?"

Katsumi mumbled a complaint from the couch. He stood up and headed for the cabinets, procuring himself a glass of water.

Out of all the people in his life, Katsumi hated Akito the most. For it was Akito that sold him off to Mr. Kurata. Who manipulated him and gave him ideas... and made his life an internal battle.

.  .  . (Starts here)

Katsumi was an orphan. Abandoned by the orphanage that got him through his early years due to lack of food. He lived day to day, stealing bread and sleeping under overhangs when it rained. Under trees when it was sunny. Traveling around so he wouldn't get apprehended by the police.

One bright and sunny evening, a seemingly nice man came up to him and offered him food. For two whole weeks, he came back every day, offering him a loaf of bread, some meat, some cheese, and some grapes. It felt like heaven at the time... So when he offered him a place to stay as well, five-year-old Katsumi took it.

To him, the house was a mansion. He was promised his own room. He stole food from the fridge sometimes, hoarding it under the blankets in his bed. He locked himself in there, thinking that they'd try to kick him out. But they never did.

And then he met Sayuri. She made him feel more at home. Taking him throughout the house. Telling him which rooms he could and couldn't go in. Telling him he didn't have to steal because the fridge would always be there, and it would always be full... It always was. And eventually, he started trusting her and her father.

He took an interest in the grand piano in their living room. Sayuri's father got him piano lessons. He took an interest in the TV. Sayuri's father told him he could watch it as much as he wanted.

But then, he was introduced to the camera.

As if the entire day was etched into his memory, he could still recall every last detail. He didn't know what he was doing... Just that he was promised desert if he did it. It started out pretty innocent. A few poses. A few clicks of the shutter.

Neither of them saw anything wrong with it. You wouldn't, when you were raised to think there wasn't. Just like someone who was led to believe soda was poison, or pork would give you nightmares, they were sheltered, trusting no one but themselves.

Mr. Kurata covered his tracks well. Calling them childhood movie stars and showing them videos of other people doing the same things. Telling them that what they were doing was just the adult version of playing. And that if they showed anyone else or talked about it, their identities would be found out and they'd have to stop.