Akira Pseudo-Route [Complete!]

[Fanuilos]

You owe us nothing. It's a pleasure to be able to read it each time you update. Besides, unlike LittleKuriboh and Scott Ramsoomair (VG Cats), you update frequently.

You owe us nothing.
Yeah, nothing more annoying than irregular updates.
coughvalvecough.
Take your time, though; we are patient with our free entertainment needs

Well, I feel a little obligated to keep the story going just for the sake of keeping a reader-base, since I DO get a bit of good criticism here.
Plus I already started it. No point giving myself any chances to let interest dwindle, both from myself and the readers, by taking (another) monthlong break.

Also it might not be out until the weekend because I've got to go do a concert for TMEA down in San Antonio I'm so sorry please don't kill me

Texas Music Educator's Association? Looking forward to the next part!

[Carighan]

It's like they say: Patience is a virtue.

*marks it with 0 on the character sheet*

(kidding)

[komina12345]

Also it might not be out until the weekend because I've got to go do a concert for TMEA down in San Antonio I'm so sorry please don't kill me

Oh god, he's snapped

[StudyOfWumbology]

Also it might not be out until the weekend because I've got to go do a concert for TMEA down in San Antonio I'm so sorry please don't kill me

It's ok, as long as you don't give up on the fanfic we still love you.

[Thanatos02]

Not a lot to say about this one, y'all. Short and sweet. Would have been able to fit the next chapter in here if I wasn't so behind on updates.

Is "behind on updates" even valid when I'm taking 2 weeks to write something on a supposed 3-5 day release schedule?

Act 4 - Part 3: Retrospective

A bright glow invades my vision as my eyelids creak open, the blur of sleep doing its best to reign me back into the wonderful world of dreams.

The feeling of leather against my fingertips indicates that I did manage to fall asleep on the couch. However, the presence of a warmth nearby causes my mind to spring to life at a much quicker pace, helped along by the realization that my head is resting against something that isn't a couch cushion.

Like a cushion, but not quite.

I try to rub the sleep from my eyes only to find my right arm unresponsive. Attempts to move it are met by a light shuffling and something of a murmur, one which glides through my head and sends an alarming surge into my consciousness.

Sitting up isn't an option right now. Not only because I don't want to risk being tossed from this glorious position before I can fully enjoy it, but also because there's something holding onto me anyway. Another soft murmur, almost like a giggle, breezes past my ear as something shifts against my head -- a set of fingers sliding through my hair.

It's not an unpleasant feeling, to say the least.

Of course, all good things have to end; as I soon find out when a stark beeping rips through the morning silence, causing me to jump from the surprise.

Though thankfully, my actions earn me nothing more than an annoyed groan followed by a short amount of shifting whereby the pair of arms holding my head tries to pull me in even closer, almost like how one would snuggle a pillow.

I don't want this day to e-

Another ringing shatters the peace, causing the figure below me to twitch about in response. Her abrupt jerking pushes me off of the sofa, knocking my head against the hardwood floor and ushering in the beginning of what will surely be an amazing day.

“Oh god, my head.” I groan, clenching my temples.

It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling, although it feels a slight bit worse than the last time I had to endure as much. It might just be exaggerated by the fact that I slammed my forehead into the ground, but I’m sure it’d hurt just the same without the impact.

Akira, however, doesn’t seem to be fazed yet; jerking around in place as she slides a ringing cell phone out of her pocket.

“Argh. I still had the alarm set for eight.” She announces, lying back on the sofa in fatigue.

So it’s only eight in the morning. The flashing ’12:00’ on the VCR under the television doesn’t seem to be of much help, and my vision hasn’t yet remembered how to focus on small objects so the wall clock doesn’t provide much either.

“Today’s Monday, right?”

“Should be, yeah.” She replies, letting out a low grumble as she reaches up to rub her head.

Crap. I have classes today.

I may as well skip, really. The mixture of grogginess and the inability to look at moving objects without feeling nauseous will probably keep me from getting anything valuable out of classes anyway. Finals are next week, however, and it would be just my luck if one of my teachers decided to throw in something important today or over the next few days.

Akira turns in her seat, giving me a blank stare before asking “hey, Hisao, uh, did you fall asleep on the floor?”

Well, up until a few moments ago I was locked in the wonderful embrace of your bosom. Considering the fact that I can’t remember anything that happened last night, however, I’m sure something like that was unintentional.

“I might have, yeah. Maybe the sofa didn’t like me.” I return.

Now that I think about it, what did happen last night? I remember a few gems, like Akira’s story about her parents and...

What did happen last night? I’m certain that we did a lot of talking, but the only thing I have any clarity on is our conversation. I can remember the bits and pieces of her explaining the issue with her father and her situation with Lilly, but beyond that I don’t have a clue. I might have told her that...

Oh.

My idiot tangent where I decided to confess feelings that had no business being out in the open.

I roll onto my other side to look away from Akira, unable to even show my face to her after remembering such a thing. Why would I say something like that?! What was I hoping for? That somehow all of the massive walls between us would collapse and some kind of miracle would make her more attracted to me than anyone else?

What a nice thought. If only everything else were that easy.

Everything after that is a blur, though. There’s nothing out of place in the room, so we couldn’t have gotten up and destroyed anything by accident. I’m also certain that power didn’t come back on until long after we fell asleep.

“At least you woke up somewhere safe. I’ve seen people pass out in bushes and off the side of the road before.” Akira counters with a light smile, too tired to attempt anything more.

Did we burn through the rest of the scotch and then decide to pass out after that? The pulsating mass of pain in my skill seems to hint at such a thing, but then why was I on top of her?

I seem to recall a lot of head scratching, as crazy as it sounds. The words ‘HOW DO YOU GET YOUR HAIR THIS SOFT’ in particular seem to have been imprinted upon my memory. She apparently has a weird fascination with my hair, although I can’t find the energy to complain about such a thing.

“It’s a good thing I woke up at all. How much did I wind up drinking?”

“Ehhh, quite a bit more than I was expecting you to.” She answers with a detached chuckle, her memory of the night is as foggy as mine it would seem.

From there she raises one hand to her head and begins to rub her temple, drawing a sharp breath and wincing in discomfort as the headache hits her like a truck, or so I assume.

“You too?” I remark, rolling over to rest my cheek on the cold floor.

“Always and forever.” She replies, groaning as she attempts to sit up. “Don’t believe the myths – the hangovers never go away.”

“That’s comforting. Maybe it’ll keep me from doing that again.” I return.

Maybe it’s just because my only experience thus far is with hard liquor, but I think I should keep away from the alcohol at all costs. My heart condition doesn’t even need to be taken into account; my distaste of these extreme headaches should be enough of a deterrent.

Speaking of which, it’s a good thing I took my medicine before work yesterday. I’m not entirely sure as to why one shouldn’t mix pills and alcohol, but it’s one of the few things I have no intent on finding out about; not through experience, anyway.

“I understand the mentality, but I think some things are worth the pain you have to go through.” She says, having to shield her eyes as she tries to glance out the window.

My hand grips the side off the coffee table, having to exert every muscle in my arm just to pull myself up from the stupor. “Really? I think I could avoid eating the most delicious thing in the world if it meant I wouldn’t have to deal with migraines and the inability to remember anything from the night before.”

Akira shrugs before standing up, “as an adult, I should encourage that kind of mindset. But I’m just a woman who enjoys her simple pleasures a little too much.”

She clasps both hands together and raises them to the ceiling in a stretch, a quiet moan escaping her throat as she twists and pops her back. “Anyway, be sure to drink lots of water. I’ve tried lots of hangover cures and it’s the one thing that always works for me.”

“Aren’t there other ways? Like breathing from an oxygen tank and such?” I ask.

My question is met with a drowsy stare and a blank tone of voice, “you got an egg, some pepper, and some hair of the dog that bit you?”

“Some… huh?”

There’s a figure of speech I’ve never heard before. At least, I think it’s a figure of speech – did I get bitten by a dog last night? I don’t have any teeth marks to prove it.

She glances off in the other direction with an inconsequential expression before replying with “never mind” and walking off to her bedroom.

I lie back down and roll over onto my face to let my forehead rest against the cool ground, unable to keep a long groan from escaping my throat as my brain throbs against the bone shell encasing it. I’ve managed to sidestep the ‘nausea’ component of alcohol consumption, but it doesn’t change the fact that looking out the window causes my eyes to pulse in their sockets.

After a few minutes of wait, Akira comes back to the living room in different clothing, a bottle of water in each hand.

‘Different’ is a strange word to use, though. She’s swapped out one suit for another, the creases and rumpled appearance from last night now prim and pressed as though it were fresh out of the cleaners.

“You planning on going to class today?” Akira asks as she sets one of the waters down beside me.

“That’s a good question -- I was thinking I could afford to skip a day.” I reply, rolling over and sitting back up with a grunt.

She lets out a single ‘hah,’ before returning with “I’ve gotta go to work with a hangover. You can manage a day of sitting in a classroom,” a friendly smirk on her lips.

I can understand the point that is being made, but I can’t say I agree with it. I’d be willing to admit that what I’m doing is wrong if it means I get to sleep on a bed in a cooled room rather than on a hard desktop.

“Do I have to?” I groan, feeling a sarcastic grin curl up on my face as my words are met with an amused stare.

“School is important.” She counters, wagging one finger in disapproval. “Besides, I can give you a lift back to the school. I’ve got a few hours before today’s fun begins.”

“I might have to take you up on that. The bus doesn’t sound too appealing right now.” I reply, using all the strength in my body to try and stand back up.

The rain from last night has cleared, leaving a sky occupied only by thin, sparse clouds. Another storm might worm its way in, but for now the sunlight is as bright and blinding as ever. With that in mind, I'd rather not have to deal with the hustle and bustle of the public transportation crowds. Normally it’s something I’m fine with, but the rampant throbbing inside of my skull isn't something characteristic of a normal day.

My response is met with a showy grin as she reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me onto my feet. “Well c’mon then. At this rate the day will be over before you get up.”

The ground beneath me feels as though it were shaking as I try to catch my balance. Akira walks over to the door and begins to put her shoes on as I grab the bottle of water off the floor, downing half of its contents as I realize how dehydrated I am.

That, of course, leads to the next logical step. “Hey, can I use your bathroom?”

***************

“This is your car?” I find myself asking as Akira leads me through the third story of a parking garage.

“Yep. ’04 Lancer Evo. Not the most stylish car out there, but it’s solid and it’ll get you there faster than the dinky old bus.” She responds with a proud smile, running her hand along the sleek, silver finish of the vehicle’s exterior.

A muted ‘clack’ sounds as she unlocks the doors, allowing me to slide into the passenger seat. Akira takes her time getting behind the wheel, taking a moment and glancing around the interior with a hint of longing.

After a few moments, she seems to shake her mind clear and slides the key into the ignition, turning the car on and putting it into reverse. Her hands move in practiced motions, even though her head seems to be in a nebulous state, and she's barely even looking forward.

“You seem to know a few things about cars.” I note, trying to make conversation.

“Just what I’ve picked up over the years.” She says whilst checking both sides of the road. As soon as the street is clear, we pull out of the parking garage outside the condominium, the pitch of the engine increasing as we speed away.

“I guess anyone would learn a few things that way, yeah.” I remark.

A short chuckle slips out of her mouth, “pretty much. It’s all very basic stuff, though, like changing the oil every four-thousand kilometers or how to figure out when something breaks. I can’t fix it if it takes anything more than a screwdriver though.”

“She’s never given me any problems though.” Akira adds with a smile, patting the dashboard with fondness.

Despite her confidence, my skepticism persists. “That’s one of the reasons I’m a little leery about driving. Seems like a lot of things to keep up with. You could be driving down the highway someday and suddenly everything could just break down.”

“Well, if you keep up with maintenance then you shouldn’t be dealing with things like that. The argument I always hear is brake failure, but the chances of that are slim to none if you aren’t slamming on the pedal every time you have to stop.” She argues, glancing over at me every so often as we snake our way out of the city.

“Really? Seems to me like a single faulty part could ruin everything. Braking isn’t what worries me; it’s the idea of the car randomly dying.” I counter, laying back in the seat.

It’s a little difficult not to relax. Even with all the sudden starts and stops, the ride is as smooth as it gets. I’ve heard some stereotypes about women drivers, and I don’t think any of them apply to the one beside me.

“Faulty parts happen, yeah. But for anything else, all you need to do is maintain your vehicle. That may involve stopping at the mechanic’s every now and then.” She explains, gesturing to what looks like an automotive repair shop alongside the road. “That’s all it takes, though. Do regular maintenance.”

“Lots of things in life need regular maintenance.” She adds, a hint of annoyance sneaking onto her expressions.

“So what happens if maintenance isn’t enough to keep it working?” I ask.

“Then there are some parts that need to be replaced. Barring that, you find someone who has a thing for hopeless cars and let them have a go at it. No reason to hold onto it if there’s nothing you can do to make it work.” She returns, stating it as if it were just a matter of course.

“It’s a reasonable enough approach. No point in holding onto things when they’re broken.” I shrug, unsure of what else to add.

The frame of the car sails through traffic and around corners with ease as Akira goes silent, taking us past city limits in a little less than ten minutes. The scene out the window shifts from steel and concrete to that of constant green, each tree passing in an instant.

**************

“You good from this point? Need any help to class or anything?” Akira asks through the rolled-down window of her side door.

“I should be fine. Thanks for the lift, though. That was much better than the bus has ever been.” I return.

“Alright, it’s time for me to be heading back then.” She says, checking the clock on the dashboard before letting out a relieved sigh. “Tell Lilly and Hanako I said hi. Oh, and remember to drink plenty of water.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I say with a chuckle, holding up the empty plastic bottle in my hand. “See you around, Akira.”

“Later, Hisao.” She replies with a warm smile, waving as the sleek, silver speedster pulls away from the wrought-iron gates of Yamaku.

The sound of the humming engine gets lighter and lighter until it disappears entirely, leaving me alone in front of the school once more.

I wonder when I’ll see her again. Our friendship has always had this random nature to it. Nearly every meeting has been unplanned, and every time we meet it’s something different – some instances end up in us having a simple chat, whereas others result in a night of her becoming drunk and me having to stay the night at her place. If this last get-together was of any indication, future encounters might involve both of us getting sucked in by the allure of alcohol.

At any rate, it’s nothing I don’t mind. If there's anything Akira is good it, it's keeping me on my toes for a multitude of reasons. At the very least the thought of her keeps me away from a life of sameness, where everything between waking up and going to sleep is done in a mindless stupor.

The gate shakes and rattles as I pull one end open, stepping in before closing it behind myself. At first I start to head to class, but the lack of weight against my shoulder shakes that idea out of my pain-addled head.

Can’t go to school without my books, can I?

I turn away from the classroom building and make my way to the male dorms, meeting only a handful of stray students along the way. Some look to be running business for the office, whereas others follow that age-old mental state of ‘sick enough to miss class but well enough to be out and about.’

It only take a few moments to climb the stairs up to my room, my mind somehow clear enough to focus on unlocking the door before I can be held up by Kenji.

Is Kenji even here right now? Around this time he’s usually down in the dorm kitchen making an early lunch in his pajamas. It could be one of those rare days when he decided to go to class, however.

The familiar ‘clack’ of the door opening slips through my thoughts as I step into my room, reaching over to the desk chair to grab my b-

Wait, what’s this?

A thin, postcard-sized envelope sits in front of the doorway, as if it were slid under the door. The surface portrays some kind of a summer theme with an evening sky and a sunflower swaying in the breeze.

Is this how the school sends mail to their students? Were they out of standard white business envelopes? Or maybe…

I pick up the small piece of postage and turn it around in my hands, having to stop myself twice as the lettering sends a shockwave through my mind.

First I’m left questioning the address on the front of the envelope. However, my mind is rendered empty and blank as I turn it over and read the name on the back.

Iwanako. The last name isn’t even necessary, as there’s only one ‘Iwanako’ that could be sending me mail. I don’t even know what to expect. The last time I received a letter from her it turned me into a mess of adolescence writhing on the ground.

Rather than sit here and speculate, I peel the envelope open and slide out a single folded paper..

[Dear Hisao,

How are you? I hope you are well and happy at your new school. Everyone here misses you. Almost all of our second-year class got put together in class 3-1 for the final year, so we are pretty comfortable right from the beginning of the year. I’m sure you would’ve been assigned to this class as well.]

Is that why she’s writing to me? Oh, that’s so nice of her. At least she has the decency to give me an update on the people who have long since forgotten that I even existed.

[The mood among the third-years seems to be very anxious about final exams, especially since they’re right around the corner. The teachers are badgering us about it all the time – even old Mr. Tachibana who is, by the way, our homeroom teacher this year. Would you believe it? I was sure that he’d retire after our second year, but here he is, nagging everyone about studying for exams.]

If my life hadn’t been knocked onto its ass then a couple of people would owe me some money over a bet. Of course, I doubt they even remember our wager over his suspected retirement date. No one remembers things like that, regardless of whether or not the guy they made the bet with still walks the Earth.

[I think things like that are the main reason why the mood among the third-years is so nervous, I must admit that I’m somehow losing confidence in myself as well, even though I’ve always fared reasonably well in exams.]

[It’s so weird to think we are already seniors, isn’t it? Time has really flown past. I wonder where it went. The new first-years seem so young and somehow really innocent. I keep wondering if I was like them in my first year. I’ve been feeling nostalgic like this for the whole first trimester.]

I’m glad to hear that time was just slipping through your fingers while I was strapped into a hospital bed. You didn’t seem to take note of that any of the times you decided to visit, why notice now?

Maybe we were both too busy remembering the way things were. Thinking of what we could have been doing if I wasn’t born with a defect.

[There are other things I want to say. I’m writing to you because I felt that there are things I should’ve said after the incident back in winter. I really regret that I wasn’t able to say them in person, and I have no excuse for it…]

There are lots of things you should have said. You could have opened your mouth at any point and let everything go. I could have listened. I could have had someone to talk to.

All we were able to share were six weeks of awkward greetings, shallow small-talk, and half-hearted goodbyes. I couldn’t tell you about anything, because I didn’t even know if you cared. I couldn’t talk about the pain in my chest. I couldn’t say anything about what I felt for you. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry.

[If I could go back to those quiet days in February and March, I’d tell you not to give up on yourself. That’s what I would say. Maybe you wouldn’t have drifted so far away if I had just said something. I hope you’ve managed to get back on your feet on your own.]

Can I blame her, though? I was empty -- a vapid, broken husk of a teenager.

What was it like for her, I wonder? Forcing yourself to go into a bland, depressing place out of obligation just so you could waste an hour of your life trying to talk to a kid no more capable of conversation than a socially awkward jellyfish.

[Now that the distance between us is also physical, it also feels more final, somehow. I wonder if we will meet again. Perhaps it’s for the best if we don’t? Still, if you would like to correspond with me, by all means write me back. I’d very much like to hear about your new school and how you are doing. I wish you all the best.

Sincerely, Iwanako]

I fold the papers back together and set them on the desk, taking a seat on my bed as my head begins to throb.

The sentiment isn’t lost on me. I understand what she’s saying, and I can sympathize with what she’s trying to do. It’s a lost cause, though. Anything we could have had, whether it be friendship or a romantic bond, is gone. That bridge has already been burned and its ashes scattered by the river.

Closure is the only thing I can return to her.

She visited me every day. At first I believed that it was out of obligation; tending to the boy you claim to have feelings for...

That can’t be it, though. If that was the case, she wouldn’t be writing to me now. She was curious. She still is.

I never gave her an answer.

What did that boy feel about her? What was he going to say before he fell to the ground convulsing in agony? Were there words in his head waiting to come out each of those days he sat silent in that stale white bed staring out the window?

In an instant, I’m reminded of another girl.

I never expected that Iwanako and I would have something in common at this point, but it seems that unrequited confessions are one thing we share.

Will I ever find out what Akira feels about me? Was her dodging the matter last night just a way to get out of giving a definite answer? I don’t like the idea of facing that kind of suspense every day.

Or maybe Akira and I are the same, in that we never got a chance to give a response.

The only answer I could hope for right now is a flat ‘no.’ She has a relationship, a professional life, and at least a dozen other things that would get in the way of us having anything if for some reason she does return even a fraction of my feelings.

…But still, what if she does return my feelings?

I’ve never really thought about the possibility of such a thing – the concept that she might be just as smitten with me always seemed so farfetched and improbable, like something out of a fairy tale.

No matter what the outcome is, I have to get an answer. I trust Akira not to leave me hanging, but I can't sit back and hope that maybe someday she'll say something.

I sling my bookbag around one shoulder and eyeball Iwanako’s letter for a few moments, contemplating whether or not I should send a response.

It's no easy choice. She said it herself; there's nothing but distance between us. To her, I'll never be anything more than 'that kid who had a heart attack after being confessed to.' And to me, she'll never be anything more than 'the only girl who ever gave me a confession.'

Maybe I should mull it over while I'm in class. I doubt I'll have any trouble falling asleep during the lecture anyway; my eyelids feel like they have fishing weights dangled from them, and the sight of my bed is only amplifying such a sensation.

[Triscuitable]

Train of thought:

More. I need more. IT FEEDS ME.

[StudyOfWumbology]

Still not sure if they had snoosnoo. But regardless, I loved it.

[Triscuitable]

Still not sure if they had snoosnoo. But regardless, I loved it.

I'm 100% sure Akira's not a date-rapist. Otherwise, no copulation occurred.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Still not sure if they had snoosnoo. But regardless, I loved it.

They're both still wearing pants. I think that's as good an indicator as any. Also I would figure such an event would cause this chapter to have begun in a bed, no?

HOW DO YOU GET YOUR HAIR THIS SOFT

This happens to me too. It's so weird. I'd have thought girls of all people would know how to get hair that soft.

After a few minutes of wait

This seems awkwardly phrased.

the interior wiith a hint of longing

with* longing.*

Sincerely, Iwanako]

I feel like there should be a fullstop here.

Now, onto the content itself. T'was a nice little chapter. I found the whole car conversation to be quite symbolic, which I would bet was the intention. I was actually kinda disappointed not to see Kenji show up, but the letter allayed that disappointment. Speaking of which, perhaps it would be pertinent to format the letter's text in italics or something, to further differentiate it from Hisao's inner monologue. The manner in which the letter was handled was quite clever, too, I think. People seem to keep coming up with all these creative ways the letter can be used, and using it to draw a parallel to Hisao and Akira is no exception. Kudos to you, sir.

Oh, also, it's worth noting that you've improved noticably since you began. I found myself somewhat doubtful at first, with the story premise and writing techniques and such, but I no longer have that lingering doubt. So again, kudos to you, sir.

[Carighan]

You have a very good lighthearted way of writing. Out of curiosity, do you also write professionally, or are aspiring to?

[Mirage_GSM]

“Today’s Monday, right?”

Really? So he had to work on a sunday?

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

“Today’s Monday, right?”

Really? So he had to work on a sunday?

It's not uncommon. I've worked plenty of Sundays in my time. Delicious doubletime rates. Though, I can't say I've ever been a janitor at a pharmaceutical company...

[Hoitash]

HOW DO YOU GET YOUR HAIR THIS SOFT

This happens to me too. It's so weird. I'd have thought girls of all people would know how to get hair that soft.

Ditto. Maybe it's cuz I like my hair long...

The flashing ’12:00’ on the VCR

Oh God that takes me back to my childhood

Great work, things are escelating nicely.

[Triscuitable]

“Today’s Monday, right?”

Really? So he had to work on a sunday?

It's Japan. They have half-days on Saturdays, so working on a Sunday isn't implausible. Besides, a lot of jobs I've had required work on Sunday. Call Center, especially.

[Thanatos02]

Train of thought:
More. I need more. IT FEEDS ME.

You must be starving between all these weeklong delays.

Really? So he had to work on a sunday?

Uh, yeah? Is it weird to work on a Sunday in the 21st century?

You have a very good lighthearted way of writing. Out of curiosity, do you also write professionally, or are aspiring to?

Professionally

I'm sorry, but I laughed aloud at the thought of that. I'm nowhere near the skill level needed to write something for money and honestly I'd feel bad if someone paid to read my stuff. It's something I do purely as a hobby, not for any monetary or social gain.

Now, onto the content itself. T'was a nice little chapter. I found the whole car conversation to be quite symbolic, which I would bet was the intention. I was actually kinda disappointed not to see Kenji show up, but the letter allayed that disappointment. Speaking of which, perhaps it would be pertinent to format the letter's text in italics or something, to further differentiate it from Hisao's inner monologue. The manner in which the letter was handled was quite clever, too, I think. People seem to keep coming up with all these creative ways the letter can be used, and using it to draw a parallel to Hisao and Akira is no exception. Kudos to you, sir.

Oh, also, it's worth noting that you've improved noticably since you began. I found myself somewhat doubtful at first, with the story premise and writing techniques and such, but I no longer have that lingering doubt. So again, kudos to you, sir.

The car conversation was actually supposed to be something subtle, but it does serve its purpose either way. I originally planned to have Kenji make an appearance also up from a night of drinking but the plan got discarded when I lost all of 4-3 in a flash drive failure, and had to re-write everything in a hotel lobby. I didn't bother to format the letter's text though, since my primary method of delivering the story is on my Pastebin, which doesn't support formatting. I might go back and do that regardless of that, though.

As for the improvements, thanks for the compliment. It's not a one-man job though. I have an amazing editor who has far more experience with this stuff, and I'm glad he's been willing to help me along the ride.

Anyway, thanks everyone for reading once again! Also, I updated the opening post.