Live at the Mile High Club! Chapter 9

[runawayballista]

Fandom: BanG Dream!, Scum Villain
Title: Live at the Mile High Club!
Summary: Things are still looking grim for the Mile High Club, but Marina offers a lead on an event that might help them make a comeback. Shen Yuan has opinions about Airplane's sudden hiatus. Shang Qinghua is finally paid a visit by one of the live house's creditors and receives a nasty shock, while Mobei Jun deals with problems at home.
Notes: marina & poppin'party guest star episode chapter! whimsical trope meta! really embracing the multimedia fic life here
End notes
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Shang Qinghua didn’t have the money to pay her employees overtime, nor did Yuka think she would in the near future, possibly ever. But regardless of the mess the previous owners had made of the Mile High Club, Yuka liked working there, and she didn’t really want to look for a new job. It wasn’t that a manager with her experience didn’t stand a chance at a job at another live house; hell, if she was really willing to swallow a few bitter pills, she could probably even get a job at CiRCLE. But, for better or for worse, CiRCLE was not Yuka’s scene; the Mile High Club was.

So even though their doors opened at noon, and most of the staff came in around eleven-thirty, Yuka showed up no later than nine every day, no matter how late the previous night was. It was nice to have the building quiet and to herself, just for a little while. Besides, there was never any shortage of work waiting for her, especially with her recent “promotion”.

The doors unlocked with a quiet click, and the lights flickered to life overhead, illuminating the instruments hung along the far wall. Yuka paused to wipe down the front counter as she did every morning before she headed for the office, unslinging her bag from her shoulder as she opened the door.

“What the hell?”

Shang Qinghua was sitting at her desk, slumped forward and staring at her computer screen. No, judging by how badly she startled at the sound of Yuka’s voice, she’d clearly been asleep. She half-jumped out of her chair and nearly slipped to the ground, eyes wild, as Yuka stared.

In the end, Shang Qinghua banged her knee on the underside of the desk and let out a strangled, “Yuka!”

“Did you sleep here?”

“No! I mean—I guess a little bit…” Shang Qinghua rubbed at her face blearily. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and she looked like she’d been recently sick. Yuka eyed her with great suspicion as she edged her way into the office.

“How long have you been here?”

“Uhh…I dunno, what time is it? I got here around…six? I think?”

Shang Qinghua pulled a piece of hair that had gotten stuck in her mouth. She looked alarmingly like shit. Yuka opened her mouth to say something scathing, then stepped back, clapping a hand over her face.

“What is that smell?”

“Please don’t ask,” Shang Qinghua said miserably, burying her face in her hands. She let out a horrible little keening noise that made Yuka think of a puppy being slowly stepped on, and Yuka dropped her bag on the desk just so she’d stop making it.

“You know what, I don’t really want to know. What have you been doing all morning?”

“Please don’t ask,” Shang Qinghua repeated, this time in a smaller voice, her shoulders slumping. Yuka mouthed what the fuck, mostly to herself, and moved around the side of the desk. Shang Qinghua made a feeble attempt at covering the monitor with her hands, but Yuka slapped them away and kicked Shang Qinghua’s chair, sending her rolling a few feet away.

After starting concertedly at spreadsheets for a minute, Yuka said, “What is this?”

Shang Qinghua peeked through her fingers. Her voice came out a pathetic mumble. “Finances.”

“No shit. Why are so many of these red?”

“Please don’t—” Shang Qinghua started, but Yuka cut her off with a glare, and she shrank back in her chair. “I’m working on it, I really am, okay! I just…didn’t really sleep last night and I guess I needed a nap.”

Shang Qinghua dragged herself back to the desk. Yuka stepped back, let out a slow breath through her nose, and crossed her arms.

“What’s the bill situation like?”

Shang Qinghua flinched. Until now, Yuka had really kept her nose out of the financial end of things—that was Shang Qinghua’s burden, after all. But Shang Qinghua looked distinctly Not Okay, and Yuka had to know if she needed to freshen up her resume after all.

“Well, we can pay rent,” Shang Qinghua started, hesitantly counting out a finger. “And electric. And…water, if ticket sales this weekend are good enough.”

Yuka waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, her eyes widened in incredulity.

“I’m sorry! I’m trying! There just aren’t any corners left to cut!” Shang Qinghua wailed, burying her face in her hands again. Yuka sat down in the chair opposite her, tented her fingers, and cut straight through Shang Qinghua’s umbrage with a single look.

“How long have you been supporting the Mile High Club with your own money?”

Shang Qinghua looked guilty, like she’d just been caught syphoning company funds instead of the exact opposite. “The previous owners really didn’t leave me with much, you know?”

It was kind of an evasive answer, but it was clear enough to Yuka. But before she could so much as react, let alone respond, Shang Qinghua suddenly burst into tears, her voice keening into a wail.

“I’m sorry, okay! I really am! I’ve been doing my best here! But my apartment almost burned down last night, and half my stuff was destroyed and now I have to pay for the damages and all the rent I owe, and I’ve kind of already stopped taking a salary for the most part, and now my savings are gonna be totally drained and I’m out of money but I promise I’m working on it so please don’t quit or kill me or tell any of the other staff please okay!”

Yuka inched her chair away from her blotchy-faced weeping boss and narrowed her eyes. “So who are you going to lay off next?”

Shang Qinghua’s head jerked up. “What? No one! That’s the last thing I want to do! It was bad enough when I had to let half the staff go in the first place…”

“Because they threw stuff at you.”

“And because I don’t really want anyone to lose their jobs! Me included, yes, but I’m doing everything I can to make sure I don’t have to let go of anyone else!” Shang Qinghua rubbed her forehead, looking exhausted. “It’s not like I could run this place without you guys, anyway.”

“Glad we can agree on one point,” Yuka said joylessly. She didn’t look very reassured. She got to her feet, her expression shuttered. “But it sounds like it’s moot. Sounds like our luck’s finally run out along with the money.”

Shang Qinghua shook her head emphatically, then immediately regretted it, wincing.

“It’s not over yet, okay? Being late on a few bills isn’t going to shut us down. I have a side hustle! I can still help the live house out—this is just a setback!” Her look was pleading, pathetic and desperate as always. “I’ll be able to bring in more money soon, just to hold us over, and it won’t be forever! Things really are looking up with ticket sales lately. If we can keep that going, we’ll get ahead of this! I swear, I’ll find a way to make it work!”

Yuka fixed her with a pinning look, but after a moment she let out a sigh and turned to leave. Shang Qinghua, seized with anxiety, practically climbed over her desk.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Scouting,” Yuka said without turning around. “You want ticket sales, we need bands. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

---

Uncharacteristically, Shang Qinghua spent almost the entire day shut in her office. Part of it was the heap of work she had to tackle, but she also didn’t want any of the other staff to see (or smell) her in this state. She was pretty sure Yuka wouldn’t say anything, but Shang Qinghua didn’t have her poker face. One look at her bloodshot, puffy eyes, and any one of them would know something was up.

First things first: she had to sort things out for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. She laughed hollowly to herself as she drafted a post. Side hustle, right. Ha ha. Did it even count as a side hustle if it wasn’t making her any money either? She’d have to suspend her Patreon for at least a month, which meant a sizable chunk of income gone. Her TuneCore downloads were up the last couple of days, probably thanks to Peerless Cucumber’s review, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

In the end, the post announcing her hiatus was equal parts pathetic apology, desperate begging for donations, and a promise to return as soon as possible. She’d really waffled on how to explain her situation to her fans. Maybe she should change the story to water damage? That’d definitely account for losing all her equipment. But no, a tragic fire that took a bunch of her personal belongings along with it would garner way more pity points. She edited a few details (faulty wiring!) and tried to keep it vague, just detailed enough to be compelling. After all, it wasn’t like she was making this stuff up! She really was in a bind! She just…couldn’t afford to have Shen Yuan connect the dots, at least not just yet. And Shen Yuan would almost certainly have something to say about Airplane’s sudden hiatus.

Once that was done, Shang Qinghua did her best to shut it out of her mind and focus instead on the miserable task of accounting. She forwarded the overdue rent to her landlady, along with the preliminary costs for the damages—more would come, she was assured, as the damage to her apartment was assessed. Shang Qinghua’s stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself. This was, no doubt about it, going to suck her savings dry, and she wasn’t even totally sure she’d be able to pay all of it off. And then there was next month’s rent…

Ugh, enough personal finances! Not that the company accounts were looking any better. Shang Qinghua had glumly unticked all of the loan payments she’d planned to send out this month, carefully calculated with her expert corner cutting. Keeping the lights on and paying her staff were more important than appeasing the Mile High Club’s creditors in the short term, even if this wouldn’t be the first payment delinquency on some of these accounts…she’d make up for it later. With interest, of course.

Looking at her own salary, she heaved a sigh and slashed it down to what she’d need for the bare essentials: food and train fare. Rent and utilities…would be a problem for Future Shang Qinghua, once she solved the problem of resuming Airplane’s music career. That was still a blank space in her mind, and if she thought about it too hard, she nearly brought herself to tears. It wasn’t even just about the money—she’d never been in the position of not being able to make music. By the time she was done squaring things away, she realized she’d been clenching her jaw in a grimace for hours, and she had a killer headache. She finally got up and stretched, wincing as a few things popped loudly back into place, and realized belatedly that all she’d had today was coffee, water, and a sandwich from the convenience store around the corner. That was fine; once she finished up with work, she’d treat herself to…well, another convenience store sandwich, probably.

Her phone buzzed on the desk next to her. She’d turned off notifications for pretty much all social media and everything related to Airplane—she was not in the right emotional space to look at responses to her latest Patreon post—and since Shang Qinghua didn’t really have, you know, friends, her phone had been silent all day.

It was a text from Marina, asking about last night’s show and apologizing for not being able to make it again—something she didn’t really need to apologize for, considering she was in the same line of work. If Shang Qinghua were her, she’d pass up any given Saturday at the Mile High Club for a Saturday night show at CiRCLE, even if she was working. Now that place had some good vibes. To be honest, Shang Qinghua was surprised Marina kept texting her. She could easily have just deleted Shang Qinghua’s number off her phone after hooking her up with Afterglow, but while she was hardly blowing up Shang Qinghua’s phone, she’d sent her an encouraging message or check-up every couple of days. Mostly shop talk, but there was always a friendly tone to it. Shang Qinghua couldn’t tell if she was trying to be friendly or if that was just how Marina was, but it was still nice! Marina had that sweet girl-next-door vibe down pat, and while she was several weight classes out of Shang Qinghua’s league, the idea of having her as a friend…Shang Qinghua wouldn’t turn that kind of support down!



Shang Qinghua almost wept. She was under no illusions—Marina was definitely not asking her on a date—but free dinner? She could skip the convenience store after all; she could wait until after work to eat, no problem! Ah, Marina, truly heaven-sent! As she collected a sheaf of papers to run through the copier, humming a little tune to herself, she resolved to treat Marina to dinner in the future as a show of gratitude. One day! One day…!

---

“Marina-san, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Shang Qinghua groaned, head in her hands. Marina patted her shoulder in a little there, there gesture and poured her another beer. Shang Qinghua should have been the one pouring, Marina was treating her, but the second Marina had asked how things were going at the Mile High Club, it all came tumbling out. “I told my staff it’d be fine, I don’t want them to know how bad it is, but the truth is, I don’t know how long I can get away with late payments on—on—everything!”

Marina waited patiently until she was done whining and made an encouraging gesture towards her beer. With a little sniffle, Shang Qinghua picked up her glass and took an obedient sip. Marina picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and deposited it graciously on Shang Qinghua’s plate.

It turned out Marina’s favorite post-work haunt was a little late-night izakaya in Kabukicho operated by a lone cigarette-smoking woman in her sixties who looked like she’d never taken shit from anyone a single day in her life. Actually, if you kind of squinted, she and Yuka could almost be related…

“I’m sorry things have been so tough,” Marina said with genuine sympathy, her brow knit in a worried look. “I know you’ve been working so hard lately, too. I wish there was something more I could—Qinghua-san? W-why are you crying?”

“No one is ever this nice to me,” Shang Qinghua bawled, abandoning any pretense of dignity. It had been a really long day, okay! “My staff are all so mean—I mean I’m used to it, I know they care about work, and that’s all that really matters—but—but—Marina-san, you’re just so nice!”

She threw herself at Marina, whose smile was halfway to a wince but she put an arm around Shang Qinghua’s shoulders and gently patted her anyway. With her other hand, she fished a packet of tissues from her purse and offered it to Shang Qinghua, whose nose was starting to run.

“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

Ouch! Forget what she said about nice, Marina really could go right for the jugular! But Marina backpedaled slightly at Shang Qinghua’s stricken look, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just—am I really the only person who’s nice to you?”

Shen Yuan was too distant to be called nice, and even if she was, it was kind of cancelled out by the Peerless Cucumber effect. Shang Qinghua blew her nose into the tissue and nodded. Marina let out a helpless little sigh that sounded a bit like a laugh.

“That’s really a shame. Everyone needs a little support now and then, especially when the going gets rough. And in this business, you really do need a friend to listen to you—one who knows what it’s like.”

Shang Qinghua looked at her with watery eyes, sniffling. “Wait…are we friends?”

Marina let out a laugh. “Of course! Us live house girls have to stick together, right? Besides, you, ah, clearly need a friend right now.”

Big, fat tears welled up in Shang Qinghua’s eyes again. “Marina-san,” she wailed, her voice creaking as she pitched toward Marina again. This time, Marina held her at length with a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into an upright position. Shang Qinghua hiccuped and blew her nose again.

“Now, now, you have to pull yourself out of this gloomy mood or nothing’s going to change! Starting with a decent meal, because you look like you haven’t had one all day. Go on, eat, eat!”

Shang Qinghua fell upon the food with vicious hunger. First with Marina’s proffered dumpling, then onto the heaping plate of fresh yakisoba in front of her. Nor was the beer neglected, and Marina, a true pal, kept it coming.

“You know…it’s a little ways off still, but there is something that might give the Mile High Club a boost.”

Shang Qinghua’s head jerked up, staring entreatingly at Marina with a mouthful of noodles. Yes, yes, go on! Don’t just leave her hanging here!

“Have you heard of the Rocking Star Festival?”

Shang Qinghua shook her head.

“Hm, that doesn’t really surprise me…I don’t think the Mile High Club has ever participated. I’m not sure why, though.”

Shang Qinghua quickly swallowed, nearly choking. Get to the point, please! “What is it?”

“It’s a big event for live houses to promote themselves,” Marina said brightly. “Sort of like an industry convention. It’s not just for live house staff, either—plenty of bands show up to check out what the scene has to offer.”

“Wait, so bands basically show up to scout live houses to perform at?” Shang Qinghua rubbed her hands together. “That…that could really bring in some money, yeah! We might even get bands requesting to audition!”

“That’s not all, either. Participating live houses can set up booths to sell merch. People can come up and ask you questions, pick up flyers for upcoming events—and lots of them will buy branded merch, especially if you get a popular band’s logo on there!”

Shang Qinghua thought that the idea that any popular band would want to lend their brand to the Mile High Club was laughable, but even their own branded merchandise was still a good way to bring in some extra revenue. And the exposure alone…there’d be a fee to have a booth there, no doubt, but this could be the chance they really needed to show everyone their new image! They didn’t have much name recognition, and where they did, it was…a less than stellar association, but the Rocking Star Festival could change that!

Shang Qinghua was clenching her hands into fists, her eyes filled with new light. “Shit, yes! Where do I sign up?”

“That’s the thing.” Marina sighed. “The Rocking Star Festival is still a few months away. I know you have the short term to worry about, but…I still think it would be a good goal! And that means you have plenty of time to prepare, too!”

“What’s there to prepare for?” Shang Qinghua threw her hands up. “Print some new merch and signage, throw together a booth—it’s not like we’re going to redesign our logo or anything, like we could afford to, haha…”

“Merch isn’t all there is to Rocking Star,” Marina said, shaking her head. “There’s a center stage featuring live performances pretty much all day. Any live house that participates can choose a band to represent them and play at the festival. And what better way to advertise your live house than to show off your talent?”

Hm…yeah, it would probably take a little time to convince any band worth their salt to represent the Mile High Club. Moon Dew was too new and unpolished, and Proud Immortal Demon Way…Luo Binghe was too unpredictable! Shang Qinghua couldn’t risk having a band back out last minute for something like this, or worse, quit right in the middle of a stage show. She must have looked a little miserable again, because Marina gave her another little pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t look so down! You still have plenty of time. I know you’ll find someone to represent the Mile High Club. And I know you’ll be able to hang in there until the festival.”

And when Marina said it, it really sounded possible! Shang Qinghua poked at her noodles with her chopsticks, her mouth wobbling between a frown and a smile. “Yeah…well, I’m trying, anyway. There’s…still some stuff I need to figure out, but if we can keep a full lineup every weekend…maybe we can do something to bring in more practice bookings, I guess I could hand out flyers…”

Yeah, she could do that! Plus, there was always social media—maybe CiRCLE would even be willing to give them a signal boost. Maybe she could even convince the Proud Immortal Demon Way and Moon Dew kids to take some flyers to their schools, too. That probably wasn’t against any school rules, right? And was there any better way to advertise to her target demographic? She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that before! The Airplane problem was yet to be solved, but with Marina helping her make a game plan, the Mile High Club might be able to keep limping along just a little bit longer.

---

Not that it was really her first or most pressing problem, but Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but wonder when one, two, then several days passed without a peep about Airplane on Peerless Cucumber’s blog. It was true that she usually released tracks on Fridays, but there was no way Shen Yuan hadn’t seen her hiatus post! She was a top tier subscriber, after all. And she didn’t even necessarily want a Peerless Cucumber post gloating about her hiatus. It wouldn’t really help her! It was just that she was dying to know what Shen Yuan thought about it, no big deal.

And since when did she care that much about Shen Yuan’s opinion! She didn’t, okay, she was just really curious, it was just the kind of thing you came to expect when someone writes about your music for years!

So when she emerged from her office to see Shen Yuan at one of the drink bar tables, frowning in deep concentration at her laptop, she really couldn’t help herself.

“Blogger’s block?” Shang Qinghua said, stopping at Shen Yuen’s table, but a brief glance at her screen revealed that she’d actually written quite a bit. Shang Qinghua didn’t get a chance to see what it was, though, because Shen Yuan immediately lowered her laptop screen with the tip of her closed fan, arching an eyebrow up at her. A very sus look indeed, but still too far off the himedere mark. Shang Qinghua wondered if Shen Yuan practiced that look in the mirror, and if she’d be open to criticisms of her moe appeal.

“No,” she said primly with a little lift of her chin. “I’m just…editing.”

The pause was slightly too long for the answer to sound plausible.

“Uh huh,” Shang Qinghua said. “So what are you editing?”

For a second, she thought Shen Yuan really didn’t answer; but then, with a sigh and a little toss of her hair she said, “If you must know…”

Ah! Right there! 7 out of 10 himedere points! Keep it up, Shen Yuan!!

“That Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky just announced a hiatus out of nowhere. And just when she finally released something halfway decent.”

She made it sound like some whimsical decision. Uh, hello, her apartment nearly burned down! But…Shen Yuan didn’t sound smug or derisive like she was expecting. Shang Qinghua blinked at her.

“Wait, are you…disappointed?”

“Of course not,” Shen Yuan said brusquely, but she stiffened slightly, flicking her fan open. “I am inconvenienced, because now I’ll have to find something new to fill out my Saturday reviews. Why are you smiling?”

Shang Qinghua realized her inner amusement had escaped to run over her face, and she immediately stifled the smile. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, you know, it seems kind of exhausting to bash—criticize the same artist every week. I thought you’d appreciate the break or something.”

Who had the energy to be that mad online all the time, anyway?

Although she’d never put too much stock in Peerless Cucumber’s relentless criticism, something about it felt different since she’d started spending time with Shen Yuan in person. Her vibe in person was almost entirely different from Shang Qinghua’s online impression of her; the horrible internet gremlin only seemed to come out sparingly, peeking around from the corners and through cracks. Shang Qinghua found herself wanting to get Shen Yuan drunk again. That wasn’t weird of her, okay, it was just so hard to believe that she was really this cool and dignified all the time!

But Shen Yuan’s eyes darted to the side, her brows drawing down. “Like I’ve said before—my readers have certain expectations. It’s not like my Airplane reviews aren’t popular. I can’t let all my devoted readers down so suddenly.”

Who’s the one really letting their fans down here!

“So much for that Vocaloid concept album,” Shen Yuan went on, lowering her fan. Her lips were pinched in a displeased expression, but distant enough for plausible deniability against disappointment. “I suppose it’s never happening now. It’s a shame. That was the one thing of hers I was actually looking forward to.”

“You don’t know that,” Shang Qinghua blurted out. Her mouth kept on running itself, just beyond her reach. “I mean, it’s a hiatus, it’s not like she’s quitting music forever! I’m sure she’ll come back, and she’ll definitely finish that album!”

Shen Yuan gave her a peculiar look, and Shang Qinghua immediately wanted to punch herself in the face. How many shots was she going to fire into her own foot here?! The owner of the Mile High Club wasn’t an Airplane devotee, she barely knew who Airplane was, as far as Shen Yuan was concerned! Besides, talking about her own music with Shen Yuan while pretending to be a stranger to it made her brain crawl, why was she continuing the conversation! She! Needed! To! Shut! Up!

Shang Qinghua was starting to wonder if she might be developing some masochistic tendencies.

“You seem awfully sure,” Shen Yuan said, watching her with a curious look. Shang Qinghua cringed inwardly. Where was Yuka when she needed a good slap?

“Well—y’know,” she said, floundering, and said the first stupid bullshit that came to mind. “I work with musicians all day, right? People who spend that much time making music, they don’t tend to just drop their passions like that. But it’s not like I know anything about Airplane’s situation, so I’m really just talking out of my—”

“There was a fire in her apartment,” Shen Yuan said tersely, snapping her fan shut just as Shang Qinghua was trying to back out of the conversation. “Supposedly.”

A bit of indignation rose up in Shang Qinghua at the implication that Airplane had lied—or was this an attempt to draw her out into admitting more than she claimed to know? Shit, was Shen Yuan really onto her? She resisted taking the bait and wondered if Shen Yuan would be super offended if she just turned and walked out the door right now.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say about it,” Shen Yuan sighed, touching the tip of her fan to her forehead. As though blogging were some heavenly burden laid upon her shoulders.

Shang Qinghua wanted to tell her to get over herself—did she really need to write anything at all? Don’t draw more attention to the worst part of her music career to date, okay! But what she said instead was, “I dunno, it looked like you wrote plenty about it already.”

The look Shen Yuan gave her was more withering than a glare, but on her mild, pale face, just a little pinch of her eyebrows lent her a severe expression. It was a scrutinizing look, the sort that made Shang Qinghua want to wriggle away and crawl under a rock, regardless of who it came from. Why was it extra effective when Shen Yuan did it?

“Did you ever get around to listening to that single?”

A question she could actually answer! But she would rather die! There was something incredibly tantalizing about these conversations with Shen Yuan about her music, as though Airplane really were a stranger to her, but it was the same appeal as watching a train wreck. The problem was, she was the one on the fucking train!

“Oh, uh, nope! Too busy with work. Got a live house to run and everything,” she said quickly, starting to edge away from the table. She needed to achieve escape velocity before Shen Yuan goaded her into saying something else stupidly revealing. Shen Yuan’s mouth pinched in apparent disappointment, and she glanced at her drink, opening her mouth. But before she could speak, Shang Qinghua held up the folders in her arms, stuffed with sheafs of paper, as though they might shield her from Shen Yuan’s next request. “Actually, gotta run it right now! Kinda on a tight schedule here! I’ve got a, uh, a thing to get to, so if you need anything just ask Yuka okay bye!”

Yuka would almost certainly be pissed later, but Shang Qinghua could endure the slapping. She just didn’t think she could endure another close call with Shen Yuan. She came way too close to outing herself just now!

Shang Qinghua fled the building.

---

“Thanks for letting me use your copier,” Shang Qinghua said to Marina, shuffling a stack of papers to feed into the machine in CiRCLE’s back office. “Nobody told me we were out of toner—did you know how expensive that stuff is? Seriously, I owe you my totally worthless life.”

“I seem to recall having heard that one before.” Marina’s eyes glinted with a smile. “Does that mean you owe me twice over?”

“Hm…I think it’s three times, if you count dinner? If you hadn’t treated me, there’s a nonzero chance I would have passed out in the middle of traffic on my way home.”

“Oh, so we’re counting dinner, too?”

Marina let out a light little laugh and Shang Qinghua grinned stupidly, shoving her hands in her pockets. Damn, was this what it was like to have real life friends as an adult? Or…or was this flirting??

Ah, no, of course not. Tsukishima Marina had standards.

The bell at the front door jingled distantly, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet in school uniform loafers. Alright, it was more like a thundering, and a rapidly approaching one.

“Marina-saaan!”

Marina turned towards the door to the lobby. “Ah, Kasumi-chan, I’ll be right—”


But a white-and-blue-uniformed blur was already hurtling in through the door, bouncing to a halt with a flash of violet eyes. “Marina-san! We completely forgot to reserve space in the studio today, but there should be a free space, right? We rushed over right after school!”

“Kasumi!”

The twintailed blonde huffing and puffing after her glared, her cheeks flushed red. Shang Qinghua registered their uniforms belatedly—uh, Hanasakigawa High School was kind of far to run the whole way, wasn’t it? That girl was fast!

“Don’t go rushing off like an idiot as soon as the school bell goes off, you’re impossible to keep up with! And don’t say we when you’re the one who forgot to make the reservation!”

“Ahaha, Arisa, don’t be so mean! Does it really matter? We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Of course it matters! Marina-san didn’t even say whether or not we can actually practice here today!” Arisa seemed to have the soul of a born tsukkomi; all she was missing was the paper fan. But when she turned to Marina, she flipped the switch to manner mode, and gave her a polite and apologetic bow. “Aha…I’m sorry about that, Marina-san. You know how Kasumi gets…”

Marina hardly looked bothered; in fact, she looked cheered to see them. “Please, you don’t have to apologize! I love how energetic you girls always are. Where’s the rest of the band?”

“On their way,” Arisa said, shooting a meaningful glance at Kasumi, who had the decency to look just a little sheepish. “We were supposed to stop at Saya’s for snacks first.”


She was being perfectly polite, but every word seemed to be a bullet directed at Kasumi. Kasumi threw her hands up, but she was clearly taking damage.

“Don’t look at me like that! I just wanted to make sure we got studio time!” All smiles now, Kasumi clapped her hands together as she turned to Marina. “So, Marina-san, how about it? Is there space for us to practice today?”

“Mm…sorry, but we’re actually full up today,” Marina said, shaking her head. “I can double check, but unless someone decides to pack up early, I don’t think there’s enough time to squeeze you in.”

Kasumi immediately deflated; Arisa’s inner tsukkomi immediately resurfaced, and she shook Kasumi by her strap of her guitar case. “We ran all the way here for nothing! Couldn’t you have called first like a sensible person?! Ugh, alright, I’ll text the others to let them know…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get a reservation for your next rehearsal before you leave, okay?” Marina said to Kasumi, who heaved a sigh.

“I know, but I really wanted to play with everyone today!”

“Well, actually…” Marina cast a sidelong look at Shang Qinghua, who was only half-listening as she struggled to organize the fresh stack of copies into a neat pile. “I think I might have a—”

The stack in Shang Qinghua’s hands burst into a flurry of flyers that wafted to the ground around her. She held up her hands with a helpless smile of apology at Marina, who pressed a hand to her forehead with a small sigh. Shang Qinghua was just trying not to get any papercuts, okay!

But Kasumi was immediately distracted by the brightly colored flyers and stooped to pick one up, her eyes shining. “These are for…a concert this weekend?”

Arisa looked up from her phone and peered over Kasumi’s shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “The Mile High Club? Never heard of it.”

Maybe Shang Qinghua’s problem was that she spent too much time around teen girls and was getting too sensitive, because that kid Arisa could really deliver a cutting remark! And with such an otherwise innocuous statement!

“Aha, yeah, well, we’re not really a big—”

“That’s because they’re just starting to make a name for themselves,” Marina said, with a helpful little wink at Shang Qinghua, who was starting to collect the scattered flyers from the floor. “They’ve got a lot of promising talent on their stage. I’m sure you’ll be hearing the name a lot in the future.”

“Arisa, look! Hello, Happy World! is playing there this weekend! We should go see them and say hi to Kokoron and the band!” Kasumi held the flyer in both hands as though it were an invitation to a fantastical ball and turned her shining eyes on Shang Qinghua. This girl was practically bursting at the seams with enthusiasm! Kind of a dummy, but a lovable one. Shang Qinghua thought it was charming. “Aah, I wanna play there too! Arisa, we should play a show at the Mile High Club! It looks so fun!”

“Don’t be an idiot! You can’t just decide you’re going to play somewhere without consulting anyone! At least introduce yourself properly first!” Arisa quickly inclined her head towards Shang Qinghua. “Ahaha, sorry, she can get pretty carried away sometimes…”

“You’re right, Arisa! I should introduce myself!” Kasumi beamed at Shang Qinghua. It was like being hit by a ray gun of adorable high school girl charm. “I’m Toyama Kasumi of Poppin’Party! I sing and play guitar, and I’m always searching for the perfect heart-pounding, sparkling sound!”

It was a perfectly shoujo manga-like self-introduction. And if Shang Qinghua was honest, she thought Kasumi’s enthusiasm reminded her a little of herself during her own school days. Shang Qinghua had never been that cute—not in high school, not in college, and definitely not now—but that right there was a real passion for music. And that was where Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had started: with a passion.

More than that, though…Shang Qinghua had actually heard of Poppin’Party, and they had a real reputation!

Strictly local, but they’d made a name for themselves in the Tokyo scene with their sheer enthusiasm. Unlike many girl bands in the scene, Poppin’Party didn’t seem focused on making it big or signing with a label or anything like that. From what Shang Qinghua gathered, they just…really liked to play. And they’d gotten pretty good since their formation, too! They played live shows on the regular, and Shang Qinghua had seen their names on local festival lineups more than once. They were known primarily for their lively performances and a solid discography full of heart. If Kasumi was any example to go by, they played music for music’s sake.

Shang Qinghua stood straight up and took Kasumi’s hands in her own, her gaze intent. “You can play on my stage any time you want.” She coughed at Marina’s look. “I mean, not this weekend, we obviously have a full lineup—”

“What she means to say is that the Mile High Club is holding auditions for any bands interested in broadening their horizons,” Marina supplied. “Kasumi-chan, Arisa-chan, this is Shang Qinghua-san, the new owner of the Mile High Club, and I think she’d very much like to see you audition.”

Kasumi straightened herself into a passably respectful bow, Arisa hurrying to do the same with a collective murmur of nice to meet you, although the look she directed at Shang Qinghua out of the corner of her eye was highly suspicious. It was okay; Shang Qinghua knew she didn’t really look like the owner of a respectable business. Arisa, however, was otherwise dutifully polite, and the two of them stooped to help Shang Qinghua pick up the rest of the flyers.

“Pretty much any time you’re free, we can probably fit you in,” Shang Qinghua said, trying to sound slick, but then, she probably shouldn’t have to try too hard to impress high schoolers. “And you should definitely come to the show this weekend—you know, to check things out…” Assuming that wouldn’t scare them away…but how often did you meet a band who wanted to play on your stage sight unseen? “And bring your friends! Especially if you have other friends who are also in bands!”

Kasumi had paused to inspect the flyer again, her eyes practically sparkling. “Arisa, look at these other bands! Proud Immortal Demon Way…I’ve never heard of them before. They sound so cool!”

“If you’re in middle school,” Arisa muttered, under her breath, but Shang Qinghua could still hear her. She schooled her expression into neutrality. It was a cool name for a band, okay! “Isn’t that the band Afterglow played with recently? I guess it’s worth checking out, if the others are free too…”

“Can we take some of these to hang up at school?” Kasumi asked eagerly. Shang Qinghua was a little bowled over. She hadn’t even started working up to that, yet here Kasumi was, doing all the hard work for her!

“Yes! Absolutely!” Shang Qinghua failed to control her own desperate enthusiasm. And then, picking up where Marina had left off: “And, you know, if you guys need a place to practice today, we’ve got a free studio over at the Mile High Club…”

“Really?” Kasumi looked over the moon. Shang Qinghua’s heart warmed a little. It wasn’t why she was doing this in the first place, but seeing that enthusiasm burst from all the musicians who came her way really did kind of make her day. “That would be amazing! Arisa, let’s go!”

“Stop!” Arisa’s hand came down in a chop on Kasumi’s shoulder. “We don’t even know where it is or how long it takes to get there! Don’t just decide to run off wherever you want without checking first! Besides, the others are still at the shopping district!”

“Oh, it’s only a few stops away from here,” Marina said quickly as Shang Qinghua finished collecting the scattered flyers. “It probably wouldn’t take the others too long to meet you there, either. Shang-san is heading back as soon as she’s done making these copies—she can show you the way. Right?”

Marina was a true wingman! Shang Qinghua wept in her heart out of sheer gratitude. She would definitely treat Marina as soon as she could afford more than ramen for dinner…!

Shang Qinghua nodded in emphatic agreement, but Arisa wasn’t totally sold. Her eyes darted toward Kasumi and, offering a polite smile to Shang Qinghua and Marina, said through her teeth, “Kasumi, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Without waiting for a response, Arisa dragged Kasumi back out into the lobby. “Arisa, oww,” Kasumi whined, shaking her hand out. “Be careful, that’s my strumming hand!”

“Can you consult other people about your plans for two seconds before you go barging on ahead?” Arisa hissed. “I haven’t even finished texting the others to tell them practice at CiRCLE is a bust!”

“So?” Kasumi said brightly. “That’s a good thing! You can just tell them we’re practicing somewhere else today instead.”

“Kasumi! Use your two brain cells for once, okay!” Arisa didn’t turn back towards the office, but the flick of her gaze and slight jerk of her head was meaningful enough. “Does that person really seem like someone we should be following onto a train to a secondary location?”

“Whaaat? But Shang-san seems so nice! And Marina-san wouldn’t introduce us to any bad people, right?”

“Yeah, I thought she had better taste,” Arisa muttered darkly. “Wake up, Kasumi. Doesn’t something about her seem kind of off? I mean, didn’t you notice she smells kind of…weird?”

“We can hear you, you know,” Shang Qinghua called helpfully, sighing inwardly. Sure enough, just one wash wasn’t enough to get the smell of smoke out. Arisa stiffened, her face turning red, and when she turned around it was with that polite smile plastered back on her face.

“Ahaha—I’m sorry, I—”

“Arisaaaa.” Kasumi pawed at Arisa’s sleeve, her expression tearful. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Mile High Club? I really wanna practice with everyone today! I thought you did too. You even talked about how much you were looking forward to working on our new song at lunch today…”

Arisa’s face flushed darker and she sputtered, trying to shake Kasumi away. “O-okay! Okay! Fine, we can go! The others probably won’t mind anyway…”

Aha! So the tsukkomi was really the tsundere!

Kasumi’s face immediately broke out into a gleeful smile, and she threw her arms around Arisa in an inescapable hug. “Yesss! You’re the best, Arisa!”

“A-augh! Enough with the hugging, let me go!!”

Marina hid a laugh behind her hand, watching them. “Those two are always like this. It makes you feel nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

Shang Qinghua nodded in agreement, because one thing was for sure: she really respected how Kasumi used her relentless enthusiasm to wear her friends down until they went with what she wanted. You’ll definitely get far in life just being that cute and that persistent, Toyama Kasumi! Shang Qinghua felt immensely cheered just watching them.

“Well, I’ve still got some copies to make, so there’s time to let your friends know,” she said before Arisa could change her mind. Arisa seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead looked down at her phone with an air of resignation and started texting.

A short while later, Poppin’Party’s vocalist and keyboardist were helping Shang Qinghua carry the reams of flyers back to the Mile High Club. Marina had volunteered them for the task, which Kasumi had undertaken with enthusiasm, and Arisa without complaint. But the entire train ride, Shang Qinghua could feel Arisa giving her a suspicious look at her whenever her back was turned.

The rest of Poppin’Party arrived shortly afterward, and all together, they made a pretty cute five-piece band. Watching them greet each other with such sincere enthusiasm, even though they’d only just parted from school, made it clear to Shang Qinghua without even hearing them play that this was what made them so captivating. If even a tenth of that warmth and friendship bled into their music, it’d be enough to move any audience. Ah, it really was kind of nostalgic. Shang Qinghua hadn’t actually really had any close friends in high school, but everyone was familiar with this kind of “springtime of youth” trope, where their friendship is all in perfect harmony; no matter what divides them, they always come together in the end; the most compelling emotional drama mostly came from miscommunications or just feeling too passionately, and so on, that sort of thing. Truthfully, in fiction it could get kind of boring, but it was really gratifying to see it in real life!

“Saya!” Kasumi hopped over towards a girl holding a large paper bag that smelled very good. The smell of fresh bread was filling the lobby, reminding Shang Qinghua and her gurgling stomach that she hadn’t eaten anything besides a bowl of butter rice today. “You brought the goods!”

“Well, we can’t have anyone going hungry during rehearsal. Oh—” Saya hesitated, then looked at Shang Qinghua. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask—is it okay if we eat in the studio, or should we eat out here first?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s totally fine.” Shang Qinghua’s eyes were fixed on the bag. “Is that…from Yamabuki Bakery?”

“It is!” Kasumi chimed in before Saya could answer. “Actually, Saya’s family owns the bakery, and she helps out there all the time! Right, Saya?”

Saya’s smile was self-effacing. “Well, of course. My parents can always use an extra hand in the kitchen.”

Shang Qinghua put a hand to her mouth, worried she might be drooling. She was really hungry, but also, Yamabuki Bakery was pretty much the best in this part of town! Their most popular items would sell out before lunchtime, and it was in the opposite direction from her apartment to the live house, which meant that Shang Qinghua had never managed to get a taste of their near-legendary curry buns. Their regular bread was also really good, don’t get her wrong, but it was important to have dreams, especially achievable ones, okay!

Maybe Saya heard the loud growling of Shang Qinghua’s stomach, because she said, “I actually have a few extras. Can I give them to you? It’s the least we can do, letting us borrow your studio so last minute.”

“Yes! I mean, uh—thank you!” Score! She’d have a little something to go with ramen for dinner, and if she was lucky, she’d have some left over for breakfast too!

Fortune was not so kind to her as to grant her curry buns, but there was a small assortment of breads and a few cream buns, too. Shang Qinghua returned to her office with her small bounty of bread, her mood soaring. She left the door slightly ajar in case Yuka called (yelled) for her and set to work, indulging in a bun to placate her angry stomach. With the flyers for this weekend ready to go, Shang Qinghua put in her headphones, queued up some of Poppin’Party’s music, and dove into logistics hell to sort out the finer details for Saturday’s show.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the sharp rapping on her door until the second round. Without looking up, she called, “Sure, yeah, come in.”

She wasn’t really paying attention—it was probably Shen Yuan here for someone to soundboard her blog posts or whatever—until she registered, belatedly, the sharp click of heels across the undecorated cement floor. When she jerked her head up to look, there was already a woman standing before her desk in a trim navy suit that probably cost more than the Mile High Club’s yearly gross revenue. And she was tall—Shang Qinghua had to look up and up until she was practically craning her neck.

Why was she surrounded exclusively by tall women?!

The woman’s appearance was crisp and impeccable, her sharp blue eyes unobscured, and the look she directed down her long, straight nose was cold enough to send an involuntary chill down Shang Qinghua’s spine. Taking this woman to be one of the suits who did the work of making the whims of Hello, Happy World!’s vocalist come true, Shang Qinghua jumped to her feet. “Ah, ah, hold on—I got your email! I’ll make sure about the jellybeans! I just didn’t get around to…replying…yet…”

She trailed off under the immense severity of the woman’s gaze, though in actuality all she did was lower her eyebrows and narrow her eyes slightly. She clearly had no idea what Shang Qinghua was talking about, but her expression wasn’t one of confusion; she was just patiently waiting for Shang Qinghua to shut the fuck up. Shang Qinghua quailed back into her seat, realizing that, ah, no, whoever this person was, she was definitely not affiliated with a band whose catchphrase was “Happy! Lucky! Smile! Yay!”

“Are you Shang Qinghua?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Shang Qinghua stammered out automatically. She felt compelled to jump back to her feet despite having just sat back down, giving off the impression of an awkward human jack-in-the-box. She realized she had crumbs on her shirt and hurriedly brushed them off, trying to pass it off as a totally smooth straightening of her shirt. “Ah, ha, what can I do for you, um…?”

The woman held out her business card almost negligently, but she was standing too far away, forcing Shang Qinghua to creep out from her hiding place behind the desk. She carefully took the card in both hands, her palms suddenly sweaty.

“Linguang Jun,” said the woman crisply, “of Northern Holdings.”

Shang Qinghua’s face went paper white. She stared down at the business card, her stomach beginning to churn. After all the time she spent poring over spreadsheets and ledgers, there was no way she wouldn’t recognize the name of that company.

Northern Holdings was only the Mile High Club’s biggest creditor!

For all that Shang Qinghua had nightmares about debt collectors knocking down her door, she hadn’t expected it to really happen. Nor did she think it would be a tall knockout beauty who absolutely screamed “ice queen”! Oh god, was she going to beat Shang Qinghua up for money? Sure, she’d like to be stepped on by someone in those heels, but not in this context! Findom really wasn’t her thing!

Hold up. Shang Qinghua looked over the business card again. Linguang Jun didn’t just work for Northern Holdings, she was…the CEO?!

What! The! Fuck!

Watching Shang Qinghua’s face turn a whole palette of colors, Linguang Jun smiled, and Shang Qinghua’s stomach ran cold. On anyone else it would have been a warm smile, even reassuring, but on Linguang Jun, it made Shang Qighua’s skin crawl.

Shang Qinghua wanted to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on her pants, but she was still holding the stupid business card. Her wallet wasn’t on her; she had nowhere to put it. And while she would never claim to be a paragon of social grace, she definitely wasn’t stupid enough to just toss it aside right in front of Linguang Jun! She had already lost enough face before they’d even met, she didn’t have a lot to spare!

She cleared her throat, her mouth dry. “Aha, um, so, what can I do for you?” she said, then realized she’d just repeated herself. Well, she wouldn’t have to do if Linguang Jun did a little more than just stand there and loom!

“I came to discuss your accounts, of course,” Linguang Jun said, her voice as smooth as an oil slick. Shang Qinghua, already rooted to the spot, froze entirely. What kind of CEO took the time to personally knock down the doors of their lowly delinquent accounts? Was this some kind of sick prank? Was she being punked? But no, up close, it was clear that that suit had to be bespoke, and whether or not she really was the CEO of Northern Holdings, Linguang Jun definitely had money. Shang Qinghua swallowed with difficulty.

“Ah, yeah—about that—I know I’m a few days behind on my payment this month, but I thought there was, like, a grace period…” She trailed off weakly. “Okay, I was a few days late last month too, but this is the first time anyone’s, um, actually—”

“Shang Qinghua-san,” Linguang Jun interrupted smoothly, still smiling, “this isn’t just about one or two late payments. You are in fact delinquent on a number of your accounts. Your business…” She swept a glance around the room without moving her head, one corner of her mouth tugging down. “Seems to be in very bad shape.”

No shit, lady! Shang Qinghua tried to cut off the inward scream that threatened to drown out all other thoughts in her brain.

“What do you mean, a number of accounts? I thought there was just the one bill I had to pay you guys—uh, Northern Holdings!” Shang Qinghua wanted to wring at her hair. “No one told me about any other accounts!”

“Ah.” Somehow, when Linguang Jun’s smile reached her eyes, it only had a more chilling effect. Shang Qinghua wanted to hide behind the business card still in her hands, but it was just so small. “That’s just what I came to discuss with you. Northern Holdings is now the sole possessor of the Mile High Club’s outstanding credit accounts.”

Shang Qinghua licked at dry lips. Even though in theory having fewer people she owed money to was a good thing, this…did not feel very comforting. A nasty feeling was starting to fester in the pit of her stomach. A smile of blind terror stole over her face, and she took an involuntary step backward.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some paperwork to back that up, would you? Because this is the first I—”

Linguang Jun’s smile only widened slightly, and she held up the very neat, very classy, and very expensive-looking leather bound briefcase that Shang Qinghua had thus far failed to notice. Taking the nervous jerk of Shang Qinghua’s head as permission, Linguang Jun set down the briefcase on the desk, opened it with a crisp snap, and withdrew an intimidatingly thick folio. Dismay emerged as the primary emotion from the knotted mess of anxiety in Shang Qinghua’s stomach. She didn’t exactly have her books in front of her for reference, but that…looked to be the right account information.

Feeling like a caged ferret, Shang Qinghua said, “Okay, so, the thing is, I don’t remember signing off on any—”

Linguang Jun let out a laugh—a real laugh, not faked, not even mirthless. On the contrary, she seemed to be tempering her own amusement.

“I don’t think you quite understand how this works. You owe—well, owed—quite a lot of money to a lot of people who, quite frankly, weren’t seeing much of a return on their investments. What they want is to recoup their losses, not chase down delinquent debtors. Most businesses of the sort you owe money to would much rather offload their debts in exchange for even just part of the original balance. All that administration for collections can be quite costly, you see. Which is where we come in.”

Her smile showed teeth now. Shang Qinghua did not like it. The implications were starting to sink in, slow and stupid as molasses.

“Northern Holdings buys collection accounts?”

“Northern Holdings is a financial institution. We provide many services.”

Being in debt is not a service, okay! Granted, it was debt from loans, but—but—

“I wasn’t even the owner of the Mile High Club until a few months ago,” Shang Qinghua protested. She quickly latched onto the bit to the tune of it’s not my faaault. “Yes, I haven’t been a hundred percent on my bills in that time, but—the previous owners put the business in this position! Can’t you, you know, pardon all the delinquent payments from when they were in charge?!”

Linguang Jun pursed her lips in a look of mocking pity. “I’m afraid it’s not your name on the accounts. It’s the Mile High Club’s. And the Mile High Club has a very poor history of making good on payments.”

Shang Qinghua began to scream internally. Linguang Jun took another single step towards her, her heels sharp on the concrete floor. Shang Qinghua wanted to throw the stupid business card into the air and bolt for the door.

Except Linguang Jun had closed the office door behind her!

Ahh, where was Yuka when Shang Qinghua needed her? There had to be some complaint, some detail Shang Qinghua was fucking up that she could come and yell at her for! Come on! Any minute now…!

“Northern Holdings has taken the liberty of consolidating your accounts,” Linguang Jun went on. Her voice dropped into a croon that might have made Shang Qinghua indignant on another day. As it was, she felt cold down to her fingertips. “For your convenience, the balance on your outstanding accounts is now payable by a single monthly payment. No need to worry about keeping track of all those confusing accounts anymore.”

The implications reached the bottom of the molasses pool. Shang Qinghua felt sick.

Fuck!!!

The only reason she’d been semi-able to keep up on the bills was because she could split them into little payments, pay things off as the money came in! But owing a single large payment every month—she didn’t even want to contemplate the total—was really going to fuck with her ability to pay the bills!

Linguang Jun seemed able to sense Shang Qinghua’s deepening unease like a shark with blood in the water. Or she was just reading Shang Qinghua’s open-book face. With one long, slender finger, she flipped the folio to another page full of a truly headache-inducing numbers.

“The details of the consolidation and subsequent account formation are all here, of course, along with the new interest rates based on the appraisal of your accounts, capitalization policies, and so on.”

“New interest rates?” Shang Qinghua nearly choked on her tongue. Ha ha ha of fucking course. Linguang Jun dragged a perfectly French manicured fingernail down the page, stopping at a yellow-highlighted line item. Shang Qinghua was fluent enough in Accounting that just looking at it gave her chills.

“And here is your new monthly payment rate.”

Her finger tapped the section just below. Shang Qinghua nearly projectile vomited on sheer reflex.

She was so fucked! The Mile High Club was fucked! Hahahaha, it would’ve been funny if it weren’t so heart-stoppingly stressful! Shang Qinghua simultaneously wanted to get hammered, crawl into a hole and die, and find a way to induce herself into a coma. Any or all of the above would’ve been fine.

“And while I cannot reduce your monthly payments or renegotiate your interest rate, nor have your payments been consistent, I do acknowledge that you are not the one who plunged this company into debt.” She smiled again, and Shang Qinghua took another step back. Her lower back bumped against her desk. “So, as a gesture, I will waive late fees for your current payment up to an additional 10 days to the original net 30 agreement.”

What kind of a gesture was that?! Sure, maybe an extra ten days might be enough to get the money together, but she was already late, so it was really more like seven days! Wouldn’t waiving this month’s payment have been a much better gesture?!

Linguang Jun took another step closer, her smile sharpening, blue eyes gleaming with a cold light. Shang Qinghua felt sweat gather under her collar, her face hot. Why did she have to be such a nervous sweater!

“However,” Linguang Jun said, and Shang Qinghua, arched back over the desk, was really starting to feel like her personal space was being imposed on, “Northern Holdings is not a charity. If you can’t make good on this business’s debts, then we will repossess every one of the Mile High Club’s assets to cover the difference—” She looked around the dingy office, one corner of her lip curling slightly. “Or mitigate it, as the case may be.”

Shang Qinghua’s stomach churned. The question burned uncomfortably in her throat, emerging as a squeak. “And if that doesn’t cover the difference?”

Linguang Jun lingered for a moment, as though drinking in Shang Qinghua’s expression, and then she straightened, lightly tugging the lapel of her suit jacket. Not a hair was out of order. “Then we will seize your personal assets as well. Or you can file for bankruptcy, in which case the government would take possession of your assets instead.”

A rock and a hard place, right. More like a yawning abyss and a black hole! Sure, it wasn’t like she had a whole lot to seize, but that didn’t mean she wanted to part with her few meager luxuries! And rent, fuck, she still had to make rent…

Having two jobs yet your life is proceeding like you’re unemployed…it feels weird! Bad weird!

Linguang Jun looked like she was wrapping up her spiel. Shang Qinghua was running out of objections that might hold water. No, better to say she was already out of them, and didn’t really have any to begin with. So she fell back on a classic standby.

She threw herself to the ground at Linguang Jun’s feet, arms thrown around her ankles for good measure, and immediately began to beg.

“Please cut me just a little bit of a break! I know that I—I mean, the business doesn’t deserve it, but like you said, I’m not the one who put it in this position! I’m doing my best and I really don’t want to go totally broke or lose the live house but I especially don’t want to go totally broke and lose all of my assets I mean I don’t even know what I have that qualifies as an asset but I promise I’m not slacking off on the payments because I want to so can you please maybe waive this month’s paym—”

She was just working herself into tears—real tears, these weren’t just theatrics, okay!—when Linguang Jun’s patience exhausted itself and she shook Shang Qinghua away. Well, she kind of lightly kicked Shang Qinghua in the head with the point of her shoe until she scrambled back with a muffled sniffle. Linguang Jun did not look particularly moved by Shang Qinghua’s plea—rather, she seemed more immediately concerned with the fact that Shang Qinghua had just left an unsightly faceprint on the otherwise shiny surface of one black patent leather shoe. She looked down at the rumpled mess of a person on the floor in a way that made Shang Qinghua feel like a tiny, insignificant bug about to be squashed under those very expensive shoes. But she did not kick or step on Shang Qinghua, only packed up her briefcase and smiled coldly with her eyes.

“Ten additional days,” she said. Seven days, Shang Qinghua wanted to scream! It really only amounted to seven days! “That’s the arrangement. Northern Holdings looks forward to working with you.”

And she left the office, Shang Qinghua still in a miserable heap on the floor. Linguang Jun at least had the consideration to close the door, although the muffled moan of despair was still perfectly audible on the other side. Linguang Jun paused in the lobby to check her makeup in her compact, correcting some imperceptible smudge along her lipline, then snapped it closed and strode out the front doors, the bell chiming after her.

Mobei Jun, standing in the doorway that led to the practice studios, watched the doors close after her, ice blue eyes blazing.

---

Mobei Jun took off her school shoes at the door and donned her house slippers before she ascended the stairs to the center wing of the house. The rest of the band was heading to one of the curry joints in the franchise owned by Sha Hualing’s family for a post-rehearsal refuel, but Mobei Jun had declined in favor of going straight home. She didn’t have much of an appetite for food or company. Luo Binghe, all hyped up on the adrenaline of a good practice session, had tried to insist she come along so they could keep talking about plans for their next show. Sha Hualing had tried to put her tiny foot down too, though for an entirely different reason: in all the times they’d gone to a Hell’s Bells Curry, no matter how spicy the dish, Mobei Jun had never so much as coughed, even when Sha Hualing secretly had her order switched out for something hotter. She was determined to make Mobei Jun crack today, and had been trying unsubtly all afternoon to prime her to order something extra spicy. So Mobei Jun deciding abruptly that she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner really shot a hole in Sha Hualing’s planned entertainment for the evening, and she pouted outrageously.

Six Balls, however, only nodded in understanding and produced from her jacket a bag of shrimp-flavored chips and a remarkably unsquished convenience store sandwich. She unzipped Mobei Jun’s bag and stuffed them inside with a thumbs up and a flash of a toothy smile. Mobei Jun accepted this with a nod, briefly placed a hand on Six Balls’s head, and then turned to leave.

Mobei Jun arrived in the kitchen and unslung her bass from her shoulder, leaning it up against the breakfast nook next to the barstool style seating. This was not her favorite kitchen in the vast estate—the breakfast nook remodel alone had made it feel dated just as soon as it was finished—though aesthetics were not her primary reason. It was the associations of the place that made her prefer to be elsewhere in the house most days.

Even so, there was a neat array of pre-prepared meals in the refrigerator, courtesy of the house staff, and it was well stocked with her preferred brands of beverages. Mobei Jun selected a can of sparkling juice and only briefly contemplated the containers of food before closing the fridge. She pulled the sandwich and bag of chips from her bag instead, laying them out on the table next to the juice. She had only just finished unwrapping the sandwich when she heard the distinctive click of heels on tile.

Mobei Jun didn’t stiffen. If she wanted to avoid her aunt, she wouldn’t have come to this part of the house. She didn’t speak first, and silently counted down the seconds. First her aunt would put on a display of concern under whatever immediate pretense was most convenient, then she would follow up with some criticism couched in the tones of I’m only thinking of what’s best for you, and then change the subject before Mobei Jun had a chance to interject or speak for herself. Concern, criticize, change the subject. That had always been Linguang Jun’s strategy.

It had never worked on Mobei Jun. Not before her mother’s death, and certainly not now.

“Home already? I thought you’d be out all night with your friends again.” Linguang Jun’s voice was a parody of parental concern, down to the lurking implied instead of doing your homework. She frowned just slightly at Mobei Jun’s dinner, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re eating? There’s perfectly good food in the fridge—much better for you, too. Eating too much junk won’t do your health or your skin any favors.”

Mobei Jun said nothing, only cracking open her can of juice. Linguang Jun’s gaze shifted to Mobei Jun’s bass, leaned up against the wall.

“I believe the rule is no instruments left out, is it not?”

Mobei Jun suppressed a scoff. She was seventeen already; the idea of Linguang Jun imposing arbitrary house rules on her just to gain a feeble sense of control over her was laughable. This house only would only belong to her for a short time, yet she acted like she truly owned it. But what grated at Mobei Jun wasn’t Linguang Jun’s arrogance, but that false inflection of parental concern.

Instead she said neutrally, “I’ll put it away as soon as I’m done eating.”

Linguang Jun, as a general rule, did not pick petty fights, perhaps the only tactic of hers Mobei Jun held a modicum of respect for. If you let yourself be drawn into a trivial argument, you’ve already lost. She baited Mobei Jun frequently to try to lure her into falling just this trap; unfortunately, it worked on Mobei Jun no better than her other tactics.

This time, Mobei Jun didn’t wait for Linguang Jun to finish her usual playbook, cutting her off at the pass.

“What were you doing at the Mile High Club today?”

“I beg your pardon?”

It was difficult to tell how much of Linguang Jun’s air of taken-aback confusion was genuine. Not all of it, certainly. Linguang Jun leaned her hip against the kitchen island, touching a finger to her chin. Mobei Jun turned in her seat to fix her gaze on her aunt, one elbow braced on the table. Either Linguang Jun could answer, or she could leave the room; those were the only two outcomes Mobei Jun would allow for.

After a moment, Linguang Jun’s eyes widened as if in realization, and she breathed out a little laugh of no substance. “Oh, is that the place you and your friends like to go play your music? All of those clubs have such ridiculous names, I can hardly keep track of them. But now that you mention it, the name does sound familiar.”

Mobei Jun’s voice was flat. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Linguang Jun flapped a hand at her, manicured nails flashing under the low lights, then selected an apple from the fruit bowl on the island. The patchy red and pink glowed vibrant against her pale skin.

“Business, of course. Nothing to do with you.”

Mobei Jun’s gaze sharpened. Linguang Jun was only confirming her suspicions. She wanted very much to be wrong, but that was only wishful thinking.

“What kind of business?”

“Didn’t I just say? It’s nothing to do with you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I have a right to know what’s happening with my business.”

Linguang Jun was inspecting the apple for any imperfections on its surface. She looked up at her niece, her eyes creasing slightly. It was a dangerous look, no trace of that parental pseudo warmth.

“It is the family business, not yours alone,” Linguang Jun said. “And you won’t come into your share until you’re of age. As long as you’re a minor, the business is, legally speaking, none of yours.”

What did she hope to accomplish with this kind of hot and cold tactic? It left Mobei Jun genuinely puzzled. Of course she’d see through any real attempts by Linguang Jun at attempting to be a substitute parent, but wouldn’t it be more to her advantage to at least try to groom Mobei Jun into a subordinate ally instead of driving a wedge further between them? Certainly Mobei Jun had never been particularly fond of her aunt before her mother’s death, but she might have been more pliant if Linguang Jun weren’t so transparently backhanded. Mobei Jun would not be dissuaded, trying to pin Linguang Jun with her gaze, but it was like fencing with water.

“Since when do you personally visit clients?”

Linguang Jun reached up to pull her hair free of the tight updo she kept it in during business hours, carefully finger-combing out the braids so they wouldn’t tangle. It was her way of demonstrating that she was only half-listening, that whatever Mobei Jun had to say was of only trivial importance to her. If she was going to be so unsubtle, she might as well just pretend not to hear.

“It’s important to be hands on with your work, even at the executive level,” she said; then, as though she could not quite help herself, she smiled slightly. “And it was less trouble to bring the paperwork when I was in the neighborhood than putting it in the mail.”

There was no way that was even remotely true. In the neighborhood? Please. It was in an entirely different ward from the Northern Holdings main office. Mobei Jun’s eyes narrowed.

“What paperwork.”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just some basic debt consolidation documentation. The owner is having such a hard time paying off all those loans, the poor thing.”

Linguang Jun selected a paring knife from the magnetic strip. It bit deep into the flesh of the apple, tiny bubbles of juice foaming at the cut.

“Clever of the previous owners, finding so perfect a patsy for their debt. I doubt the Mile High Club will see the end of the year.” She cut a small chunk of apple, spearing it on the paring knife, and she was about to pop it into her mouth before she paused, turning a pitying smile on her niece. “Ah, but if it closes down, you and your little band won’t have anywhere else to play, would you? Truly a shame.”

Mobei Jun’s hand tightened around her can of juice. Linguang Jun bit off the piece of apple, clearly savoring it. On her way out of the room, she tossed the apple at the table like a scrap to a dog, the paring knife still stuck in it. Linguang Jun’s voice trailed behind her: “Do make sure you eat something healthy, won’t you?”

Mobei Jun eyed the apple with distaste. She pulled out the knife, set it down at the side of the sink, and sat down to open the bag of shrimp chips from Six Balls.

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End notes: poppin'party viz ref