Playing Comedian Episode 7 (Creative Award Entertainment Original Work Category)

The man who convinced me to throw away my job prospects with the catchphrase "Be a comedian or die" didn't just fail to become a comedian; he dropped out at the training school stage and vanished.

Worried that Hosoi, who had stopped answering his phone and stopped coming to the training school, might have actually died, I didn't want to keep barging into his parents' house, so I asked a classmate to go check on him.

As it turned out, instead of choosing death, Hosoi seemed to be enjoying life to the fullest, eating meals made by his mother at his parents' house.

Upon hearing the report that Hosoi seemed to be doing well, I was relieved for the moment, but I couldn't just quit comedy easily just because Hosoi had.

I couldn't tell Yumiko that I had quit comedy less than six months after starting it—having turned down a job for it—just because my partner had quit.

Besides, I had finally started to understand how to write sketches and was beginning to see results at the training school, so I felt like I wanted to continue even if I was on my own.

I decided to rewrite the new sketch I had planned to do with Hosoi into a solo act and perform it.

It just so happened that the next sketch class was an audition for a live show hosted by our instructor, Mr. Yamamoto, for the training school students, and it was announced that the 10 groups that won would not only be able to perform in the live show despite being students, but would also be selected for the elite class.

Finally, an elite class was being created for the sketch class as well.

It was a common rumor among the training school students that getting into the elite class would be a huge advantage for becoming affiliated with an agency after graduating from the training school.

More than wanting to be affiliated with an agency or wanting to make it as a comedian, I had a stronger desire to test how far the sketches I wrote could go.

To make it a solo act, I removed the back-and-forth dialogue and turned it into a format like a dramatic reading, incorporating lines and hand-drawn pictures, which I was able to create more smoothly than I had expected.

Since that week's sketch class was for auditions, everyone who entered was able to perform their sketch.

I wrote "Uma Senbatsu" (Horse Elite) as my entry name on the classroom whiteboard.

It wasn't that I had turned my duo name into a solo stage name while waiting for Hosoi to return; I simply liked the sound of "Uma Senbatsu" and used it as my solo stage name.

The solo sketch was based on a complex I had carried since I was a child: having sweaty palms.

The content was about a middle school student whose palms were always wet because he sweated easily, which caused him to be bullied. His classmates would make absurd accusations, saying things like, "Your palms are wet, so you're useful for making sushi," and he was given the derogatory nickname "Sushi Man" and bullied every day.

It was a sketch with a slightly strong sense of absurdity, but it had a classic punchline stemming from his wet hands: when he tried to hang himself to escape the bullying and disappear from the world, his hands slipped on the rope because they were wet, causing him to fail, which made the sketch easy to understand.

It was almost like a one-man dramatic reading, but it got more laughs than I expected, and it was better received than the sketches I had done with Hosoi.

The next day, the 20 groups that passed the first round of auditions were announced, and "Uma Senbatsu" was among them.

Out of the 20 groups that passed from the 500 people in my cohort, I was the only solo comedian.

The 20 groups that passed the first preliminary round in Mr. Yamamoto's comedy writing class were to be narrowed down to 10 in Mr. Hagiya's comedy writing class on Thursday.

Since it was both an audition for a live show hosted by Mr. Yamamoto and a simultaneous selection process for the 10 groups in the advanced class for the comedy writing course, it seemed the final decision was left to Mr. Hagiya, a renowned director.

My faint hope that I might be chosen for the advanced class because I performed my solo routine well in front of Mr. Hagiya was easily crushed by the announcement the next day.

I wasn't particularly depressed about not being chosen for the advanced class, but one problem had arisen.

That was that I had suddenly become a solo act, and since I didn't know how to write material for a solo act, only material for a duo came to mind.

I had no choice but to try the method I used for the previous audition, where I would complete a duo routine first and then rewrite it into a solo routine, but it didn't go well.

At that time, a fellow student from the training school told me that the script for a group sketch in a live show hosted by the vocal training instructor was very similar to the one I had presented at the comedy audition, and suggested that my material might have been plagiarized.

I hadn't been attending the vocal training classes, so I didn't know, but it seemed that auditions for group sketches were being held for each group formed during the class.

It appeared that the script for the group that won the audition and was selected to perform in the live show was similar to my solo routine script.

When I heard that, the first thing I thought wasn't anger at having my material stolen, but rather that I should have attended the vocal training classes if they were also doing group sketches and live shows.

The man who wrote the script that seemed to have plagiarized my material was named Takahata.

Takahata was the funny man of the duo that had won the comedy writing class audition I had failed and was selected for the advanced class.

I went to watch the live show from the vocal training class.

It was true that the phrasing and lines were quite similar, and although the setting had been subtly changed, there was no doubt that my material had been plagiarized.

And, unfortunately, that group sketch was funny.

I had gone to watch the live show intending to complain, but once I saw the sketch and felt it was funny, that desire vanished.

If anything, I found myself impressed by Takahata for using someone else's script to create something entertaining.

After the live show, several of my peers said to me,

"Your material was plagiarized."

They kept saying that, but each time, I

just said,

"I see."

Rather than obsessing over my material being stolen, I was focusing my energy on creating new solo material, but as usual, only material for a duo came to mind.

In the comedy writing class, we were allowed to perform the same material multiple times to improve its quality, so since I couldn't come up with new solo material, I kept performing the material that had failed the audition, changing it little by little for about three weeks.

In the third week, the instructor told me that instead of trying to perfect that piece, I should try doing some other material, so I couldn't do the same material from the following week.

When I left the classroom at the end of that day's class, Takahata called out to me.

"I want to talk to you for a bit, do you have time?"

The advanced class was after the basic class, so Takahata, who was in the advanced class, should have had class now.

I said,

"I don't mind, but isn't it time for your advanced class?"

When I said that, Takahata said,

"Oh, I don't have class today,"

so we decided to go to a coffee shop together.

They were probably going to apologize for stealing my material.

I was angry that my material had been stolen, but when I found the material Takahata had made by stealing mine to be funny, I had in a sense forgiven them, so I thought they didn't need to go out of their way to skip class just to apologize.

When we arrived at the coffee shop, Takahata said,

"I haven't seen your partner lately, what happened?"

So I said,

"Oh, they stopped coming. So I did a solo act at the audition, but solo acts are hard."

I said. Hearing that, Takahata

"So, you don't have a partner. In that case, why don't you team up with me? I actually quite like your material, Ban. I think we'd be a good match."

he said.

What?! Is this guy serious?!

Who asks the person they stole material from to form a duo?!

And why is he so confident after stealing it?! If anything, he's even a bit condescending...

I was stunned by Takahata's audacity.

At the same time, the emotion that welled up inside me was one of happiness.

The act of asking someone to form a duo is, in a way, like a confession saying, "I've fallen for your comedy."

Before entering the training school, I often saw comedians on TV saying that a duo is like a married couple or lovers, and it really was just like that.

I was genuinely happy about Takahata's "confession," and I found his audacity in asking me—the person he stole material from—with such a condescending attitude, as well as his eccentricity, to be interesting.

I felt like a plain girl in a shojo manga who had just been "wall-pinned" by an arrogant male character who told her, "Just look at me."

My feelings, having been "wall-pinned," were like that of a plain girl blushing bright red while saying, "W-what's with that guy?" Even though in reality, it was man-to-man...

While blushing in my heart, I asked Takahata,

"What about the partner you're with now?"

I asked.

Takahata said,

"Oh, I already submitted the dissolution notice. That's why I'm not in the elite class anymore, and why I didn't attend class today."

he said.

Hearing that, I felt like I had caught a glimpse of a kind of elite privilege—the fact that you have to submit a dissolution notice when breaking up in the elite class—while...

When I asked, "You made it to the selection stage, so why did you break up?"

Takahata replied,

"I thought that with that duo, the training school selection was the limit. If I wanted to aim higher than where I am now, I realized I had to team up with someone who writes better material than me. That's why I wanted to team up with Ban and broke up the duo."

he said.

It's troublesome when an arrogant guy suddenly throws in a "dere" moment.

Moreover, to break up his duo before I had even agreed to team up with him—what confidence and arrogance that was.

The more I heard about Takahata's actions, the more like a comedian he seemed, and honestly, I found myself feeling drawn to him.

And besides... Takahata also had a long, thin face and a long, thin torso.

It wasn't that I had lingering feelings for my ex-boyfriend, of course, but since the material I had written after Hosoi disappeared was designed with a long-faced, long-torsoed person in mind, I could easily fit Takahata into those roles.

Having been told by my comedy writing instructor to perform different material, I couldn't keep presenting polished solo routines from the following week. Takahata, with his long face, was convenient for my situation since I could immediately utilize the duo material I had stockpiled, so in that sense, he might have been the perfect new partner.

However... yes... this was similar to the feeling between lovers, but because Hosoi had suddenly vanished, I hadn't properly come to terms with the end of my partnership with him.

Feeling conflicted about forming a new duo when I hadn't fully moved on from the old one, I said,

"For now, instead of officially teaming up, let's just try attending the comedy class together as a trial."

he said.

Takahata agreed, and we parted ways after promising to rehearse the day before the next class.

And that day, as a final ritual of farewell, I left a message on Hosoi's voicemail saying that I had decided to team up with someone else.

To be continued