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Two and a half months. Two and a half buckets of salty, salty tears. A chapter that I hate.
It's split in two posts to prevent page crashes, the second half coming up as soon as it's typed down.

EDIT: Page 3 crashed, had to rearrange the posts to make this chapter start on a new one.

EDIT 2: Oh yeah, due to that navigation on the previous page is temporarily broken.

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Chapter 5. Business.

It's hard, you know. Hard to receive encouragement for something already overcome. Thanks and all, of course, but the hard days are long gone, hurting seam and bones have healed months ago. Now is the time for rehabilitation, to try to live a normal life, wake up, curse the alarm, do the morning routine, eat, work, sleep, repeat, not much of an achievement, yet some people around act like it is one. They do so to show concern, out of the best intentions, while their presence is enough of a blessing. Mixed with annoyance.

As if by nature's irony, the sun is shining bright outside, making every surface gleam with wetness. Cheerful voices can already be heard outside, rightfully so, because few things are not to like about the upcoming event. All right, maybe an organizer's view is biased, but in any case, our small team did what it could to make today special. 'A bright ray of fun at the start of the trimester, enjoy it while it lasts', the flyers said. No clue how they got approved with all implications present.

For me, it's already over, morning alone in my room, that is. Sure had been fun for a change, before the old guys showed up. Not it's all labor, another workday to suffer through, and you'd think a family visit is a joy, well, under any other circumstances it would be. The constantly ticking clock makes it worse by reminding that at eleven it all rolls downhill. My guests don't care one time, hell, it'd be telepathy if they did. Chitter-chatter, Mom carelessly goes on about neighbors' latest fits and how all acquaintances miss me dearly, all made up on the spot, for sure, mixes praise for Council's work with it and drops questions about my health and studies one after another, not expecting any answers, not even pausing for a second to hear them. Have to give her a break, a week apart's a long time for an unaccustomed psyche, I leaned it the hard way. Still, it's tiring.

Finally, the bags open and in a blink of an eye a small heap of fruit forms on my table, just like back in the hospital. They weren't exactly starving patients there, much less here, but hey, tokens. Have to appreciate the tokens. What's welcomed more sincerely is the other half of my tiny wardrobe's contents. Would've helped to have my casual stuff earlier, I'm going to look like a penguin in this uniform today. Takumi and Shin sent a game, of course.

"You boys need to lay off digital entertainment, go outside, talk with girls. Ever since the-"

Holy moley, it begins. Dad stands up with no intention to listen to another lecture.

"Back in a minute, honey."

Noticing our not-so-secret gesture thrown as he leaves the room, I muster an excuse to join him.

The hall is busy like an exchange, if quieter, for some reason I don't believe this to be an ordinary Sunday picture. Looks like everyone has invited friends or parents for today, huh, this place must be keen on its internal events. Some doors are open, and inside are the same old songs: people greedily pulling latest news from each other, fruit, relatives, sweet couples, bags chaotically thrown around. Life at its finest. We close the toilet door behind us, fortunately no one's there.

"So what'd you want to say?" I mumble, concentrated on aiming my stream so it hits the urinal tangentially, with little to no noise.

"Main deal first."

Dad doesn't care, or better yet, cares the other way around, to hit the hole straight on, making seething sounds and, uh, probably bubbles too. Over all eighteen years some of his habits are yet to become less shameful, especially his way to finish the deed with a grunt and a mandatory satisfied exhale.

"Oh yeah, baby. Feels good."

With no choice but to wait through this circus, I look out the window. Stalls are barely visible from here, thanks to the bad angle and trees in the way, yet busy movement can be guessed even from here. The opening ceremony must be minutes away.

"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Yamaku Academy and its Board of Benefactors, the Student Council is happy to invite you to our annual Festival," the PA embodied in a clear baritone confirms. "The stripes are to be cut in five minutes, hurry up to be the first one to enjoy this year's independent entertainment event across the whole Miyagi!"

"Sounds about right," Dad zips his pants, but leaves mouth wide open. "Every fair free of sponsorship or philanthropy has become a joke. Power, fees, whatever else costs a fortune. Those benefactors of yours sure spend money like there's no tomorrow."

"They aren't mine, besides, it can't be that much, we're only having a weekend party here, relax."

"A party, eh?" he lets a short laugh out. "Haven't seen the grounds yourself, right, Mr. Manage-it-All?"

Stepped right into the trap, time to blush in shame.

"Whatever, you didn't drag us out to hide your gratitude from Mom."

"Right."

He takes a deep breath, of a kind that ends with a sigh and a 'we need to talk' with women and forecasts nothing short of a hard topic in any case. Last time a situation like this led to a lengthy discussion on alcohol usage within the house and outside and its possible impact on our reputation, which devolved into sharing a bottle of sake to Mom's great fury. His eyes weren't tracing seams between tiles back then, though.

"Look, I didn't want to talk about it in front of her."

"All ears."

"All right," he puts his hands up in defeat. "Iwanako asked if-"

"Here we go. We had an agreement, remember?"

"I do," his tone raises bit by bit, "and as a father, I am concerned!"

"Listen, in our marvelous age of digital communications, she could've just sent me a message, cheap and simple."

This argument has been going on for enough weeks to grow boring, but it just refuses to die.

"We've been over it, Hisao, Daidouji isn't as important as you running away from the closest thing to a girlfriend you ever had, and don't give me health shenanigans as an excuse again!"

"Then better start giving useful advice, because I've not a slightest idea what to do on today's date."

Finally, his gaze leaves the wall to target my eyes.

"Kidding?"

"I wish I was. Had an offer with no option to refuse."

"Dangerous games the youth's playing nowadays," he says smirking, then turns away to leave. "Not nearly as extreme as your parents used to though. Don't tell Mom."

The door creaks. You'd think that nanotechnologies and whatnot would allow people to guess the necessity of an advanced mark of oil, but nooooo.

"That all?"

"Sometimes silence is golden, lad. Just be yourself."

A pack of cigarettes flies into my hands from his general direction.

"I thought you gave up."

"Well, now I have, and don't recommend you to start. Consider it an emergency reserve for when everything else sucks."

The dorm changed a lot in the last minutes, everyone just left, save for a few laggers hastily shoving their presents as far as possible. It's positively unbelievable that a simple community event could create this much hype. After a couple of Mom's remarks about people who love to take their sweet time, we find ourselves outside, and boy, does it impress. Preparations and official documents show the amount of work put in the festival, as well as the desired result, yet it's always from way above, so the first time to find myself a tiny little dot on the map, not a grim overseer, is today. Needless to say, plans look a little bit duller compared to the real thing, the smiles, the shouts, portable attractions, deliciously looking food that should have tags reminding how many hours are subtracted from your life expectancy with each bite. Some kid is drifting against the crowd with a bright red balloon dangling above his head. A man shouts his name melancholically, time after time, like a bad voice actor doing takes, cold foreign name flies over the grounds without any effect on the kid, who doesn't care and keeps showing an uneven row of teeth in a wry smile of owning a thing.

"What, want one?" I answer bro's begging stare.

"No, there!"

Hard to see through the crowd, but bits and pieces of a sign in the general direction he pointed at are enough. That design went through the Council, after all.

"L-Tag on the plate, guys. You coming?"

Mom gets some air in her chest and replies in a flirtatious voice:

"Whatever the big strong man's wish is."

"Christ, honey, it's been over twenty years, let it go."

She just takes Dad's hand to look him in the eyes with such a broken attempt of a hurt expression it's almost funny.

"I will never let go."

Twenty-four years ago Mom tore him another asshole at paintball.

This is where we part ways, bro cluelessly leading our parents to another installment of their never-ending contest, and me about to give up on everything. How much does it cost to be like him once again? To live, to look, to like what you're seeing. When do we change, start picking roles and sides thanks to imagined maturity? I'm not even out of my teens yet, and already playing in someone else's game without a clear set of rules.

Speak of the devil. The major payer's voice spreads above the crowd like a poisonous cloud, an analogy more accurate considering that the voice's purpose is to get your guard down and your will softened so it can make one more person do its bidding. Another tone interrupts it a and continues the luring speech to give its partner a breather; with enough confidence it can be called the same one that made the announcement. Verbal poison seems to work, for the crowd density increases towards its source. Saves me the trouble of finding someone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're sorry to announce the end of our first sale. However, if you weren't lucky enough, we'll be here with the second batch in half an hour."

The wait turns out to be short, as these words are spoken in under five minutes after the first slogan.

"Don't forget to check Yamaku Irregular in digital format, arguably the least serious newsfeed on a .jp domain!"

Daigo and a blind guy – I've learnt to spot them in seconds – step off an improvised stage, two crates barely distinguishable through the broken printers piled around. An ancient typewriter looks off in this mess.

"Damn, dude, feel all this cash. We're doing it right this time."

"Whatever, boss, your next shift's in two hours," the answer sounds melodically. Yup, the same announcer, and by the sound of it, may very well be the voiceover guy.

"Be warmer, this is our payment we're on about, yo."

"Payment?" the guy's blind eyes narrow in a smirk. "The stipend is nonexistent, right?"

"Oh come on, getting money for work is a completely other deal."

The voice guy gives him a discouraging look.

"There's no such job as a hype seller.

"Wonderful, 'cause there is," Daigo's eyes flicker with fire as the conversation hits one of his favorite topics. "People buy things they think they need, as long as you keep them interested in the product, it's all legitimate."

"Rope someone in a bet to make him do whatever you wish for example, it's, uh, 'legit'."

His train of thought would go along its usual rails in any case, with stops on greed, jealousy, emotions as a part of business, and finally, the gain, same stuff every other day. My words linger in the air for a second before reaching the addressee.

"Good day to you, boss," the other guy takes the chance to leave with a smile. Always with a smile. This 3-2 kind of people freaks me out even in broad daylight, to be honest. Clean, courteous and kind to the point that raises a question about how many humans has each one of them eaten by now. Minority beats the trend, just like some of my classmates that aren't ever-dissatisfied assholes, but the sour aftertaste is still there.

Meanwhile, the fraud has come to his senses. It's usually a satisfying show to watch someone get called out on a dirty trick, save for the times when the target is too experienced to let their true emotions linger on their face.

"Cool of you to come check the sales, especially with all the expectations built up in the crowd. Look in their eyes, Nakai, they'll come back barking once the string is pulled. Catches the eye, eh-"

"Cut the crap. You knew it'd happen."

Put down by the first words, he happily reacts to the last.

"Course, dud, it's math 101. Sell 200 copies and nobody cares, sell it in eight batches screaming 'LIMITED OFFER', and by the third they will form lines in advance. Man's a greedy beast, mention he's not getting something and he'll want it."

"You know I'm not interested in sales."

"Then what, dude? Chill, let's talk."

That arrogance! Thinks he can bullshit me straight in the face, now that we've moved away behind a pavilion.

"Play dumb all you want, Shizune made Misha win your damn bet."

"Then hey, what makes you think I knew?"

"Oh, just some minor details," an attempt to quiet down only makes my voice sound metallic and bitter. "Someone was adamant in our success yesterday, even though your editors were only interested in each other and I didn't have anyone else but the Student Council to meet till the end of the day."

"So there's no problem then, You've got a date, I win, everybody's happy."

No idea what I was expecting, but certainly not to see him turn his back and go.

"Not everybody, Daigo."

Something in these words, spoken indifferently, has the power to stop him.

"Misha's not happy with it, and I'm not hot on insincere dates."

"Starting to show teeth, eh, Nakai? Good," turned back around, he now looks friendly, "but tell you what. With your attitude, it's a success that any girl agreed at all. Everyone starts somewhere, and don't you dare to back out now. Hakamichi... Ergh, she's playing a game, in which you two are mere pieces. Doesn't she have dirt on you? See, I guessed. Do Misha a favor, do one yourself, just play along. She doesn't mean any harm."

Waves of cold anger come rolling over my head again. Apparently, in the end it doesn't matter who's at fault as long as things go wrong.

Slipping into uneasy thoughts again, I ask out of inertia more than of curiosity:

"So the other player should be you."

Hands faced upwards, chin slightly raised, eyes shining with joy. Looks like he's just won a tournament.

"Damn right! Dude, your intellectual progress is impressive. Us two, we've been at it for two years already, enough for her to assume she knows me in and out. She thinks us the same, manipulative, stubborn, with a bloated sense of pride, so by privatizing this little victory, she aims to steal the ground from under my feet."

"Help wasn't needed," I cite aloud. "Accepted help means a lost competition. Attitude that hindered our work like nothing else."

"Right, so let's go make her eat those words."

"Wait, what, now?"

Of course now, regardless of how much one or two participants don't want it. The time was assigned in advance, and frankly, I should be getting last minute advice instead of arguing over unfair play in a bet that was rigged from the start. Daigo's tips aren't that different from Dad's, though. Act natural, behave like she's still your good friend, don't be afraid to push the border. Easier said than done. Purring lovers smell always of irrationality and strange opportunities. Maybe it's jealousy, though, I just feel uncomfortable around people who experience something unknown, and at huge parties like this one they tend to be everywhere. Each stand where a prize can be won is guaranteed to have at least two couples competing to show off in front of each other. Smiles and jokes, genuine happiness as they lock hands or hug, there's plenty of time to watch something completely different from the upcoming disaster fueled by other's struggle without a clear goal as we tear through the human stream at a turtle pace.

The first stop, thankfully, is the 3-1 stall, and while my guardian angel keeps silent, his face speaks the welcoming words by itself. This might not be his kingdom officially, yet students treat only one person as a monarch here. The same feeling as in the club yesterday floats in the air, one of a casual attitude towards work. It all depends on whether you're forced to whitewash the fence, a classic said. In Daigo's words it sounds less poetic, effective management being an overused slogan even without his loudmouthed comments. The smell overweighs petty emotions, though, the drool-inducing smell of hot homemade food. Every other class has a similar stall too, I hear, and wonder out of habit how the blindies make it work. Damn you, start treating them like normal people already!

Status check's complete, which means we're moving on despite my reluctance. Stalls and pavilions drift by, balloon density gradually diminishes, and in the end we catch a glimpse of familiar thigh highs through the crowd. At the moment it looks like the rep is talking agitatedly to someone, due to wide arcs her hands draw in the air. When the crowd twitches in its chaotic movement and finally lets us through, she's still furiously chopping space, which replies with rhythmical claps made by her unbuttoned sleeves. Would make a decent drummer, if not for the deafness. It's also comforting that there's at least one other person on the campus to wear uniform today. Sounds like I'm going to take any excuse not to think of what matters. Finally gathering enough courage to look at her companion, I start scanning the person bottom-to-top, attracted by delicious naked hips, and realize that...

I blink stupidly, staring at the person. It takes some time to shut my open mouth. This, uh, was to be expected, but, like, not that it's a bad thing, just, you know, er, no, actually you don't. It's Misha, no surprise here, yet with little to no fabric to cover her legs, hell, little clothing at all, just a miniskirt and a creamy white top so short it would suit Miki. Wise choice, weather turning to one in a microwave oven and her own shape considered. She always looks plain fat, loose uniforms doesn't help a bit with it, so her current image, a bit soft body with gorgeous thighs and a pretty voluminous chest, is a shocker. She might be quite short, but certainly looks stronger than myself, just look at these firm arms. She'd probably shut Shizune up good, had she had the will to.

She doesn't. The emotion written on her face is a chaotic mix of fluster, confusion and fear that leaves her shocked, barely able to sloppily answer her silent counterpart in time. As I try to recall why this state's so familiar, Daigo makes a grunt, and a few seconds worth of struggle, gives up on laughter containment, making Misha jump on the spot and give us a frightened look. Hakamichi gets puzzled for a second, then notices us, erupting in mute giggles of her own. Poor girl's shoulder sink lower, as if it's possible at this point. Try not to call this a painful blow to confidence. Does she despise me this much? because it's one thing to dislike being forced and another to not want to spend time with a certain person. Maybe she secretly likes someone already. The thought leaves me in a less than happy state, since first, I feel sorry for the guy, and second, dammit, she does look gorgeous today, or every day for that matter. How come I haven't noticed it yet?

"Fit like a pair of gloves!"

"Like a pair of clones, Kurosaki," a familiar gruff voice sounds from behind. "Looks like we've got our first shot today."

"You know it's not getting in the issue, Josuke. Now if you take some sweet time to film the main course, that's another story. We still a team?"

"Affirmative."

Their voices are heard softly, through wadding of some kind, like the sunlight that's supposed to be blinding today, yet is overflowing with shadows for some reason. Judging by Misha's absent reaction to the finally broken silence, she feels the world dumbed down the way. Inessential words said by insignificant people busy with things that don't matter anyway. The only thing that's real, the only thing we're sure of is us, scared, looking in each other's eyes with plea and shy hope. "Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me today."

A cold touch, an energetic smile. Shizune comes closer, tired of what looks like indecisiveness to her, to bring us together. A shudder surges through Misha's body as I mechanically grab her offered hand, giving me an idea. She follows my lead to the corner of a nearby pavilion without a sound, save for sob-like exhales. Good, Daigo can't overhear us here.

"Hey. Hey hey hey," I try a tone as calming as possible. "Look, I don't like this any more than you, but someone's going to kick my ass straight out of here otherwise. Let's just, uh, plunge in and get done as fast as possible."

"Hii... Hicchan~, it's, it's my first date~."

Still loud and bubbly, this voice has no usual energy in it today, the wavy vowels she usually stretches like bubblegum now end in lifeless tails going in undecided directions. She's about to burst into tears, and I don't think I can handle it.

"Look," I mumble in despair, "forget about it, we can't go like this. Sorry for dragging you in my stuff, okay?"

There are already people in the crowd stopping to look at us with warmth of approval in their eyes. Wrong idea, everyone's getting a nice but wrong idea. Surprisingly, Misha doesn't let go of my weakened grip. She quiets down and continues in an erratic whisper, which still sounds overly loud somehow.

"That's too bad for a boyfriend, Hisao, any normal girl would say guys should be confident, don't you know?"

"But you don't want it."

"I can't do it, Shicchan will eat me alive if we don't. Guide me, Hicchan, please."

"Like... this?"

I take her other hand too and rise both to our faces, then quickly free one of mine to wipe her eyes. A trace of moisture coldly evaporates from my thumb. No sound leaks through her tightly pursed lips at first.

"Yes... Wait!" the cry sounds at the usual Misha volume, making me twitch in surprise. "One minute please, it's important."

No idea where she's been hiding this compact mirror all this time. Girls and their mandatory combat face paint, this can only end one-

"Noo~, I look terrible!"

Called it.

"You. Look. Awesome, got it?"

Silence.

"Hicchan~?"

Whoops.

"Please let go~."

Well, you see, a hug sounded like a good idea, swear, even though we probably aren't ready to act it out believably yet. As if reading my thoughts, Misha rises on her toes to reach my ear before the distance between us grows too much and whispers simple yet confusing words.

"Thank you," then after a short pause, "let's do it."

Daigo and Shizune are desperately trying to hold serious faces as we approach them. With dissatisfying results, since their game shows.

"Cute," the harpy's word gets voice by the resident alpha dog.

Okay, now they fail audibly. The only bright side to us burning of embarrassment is that at least no one's weaving nets of a big game in sign language now. We hit the road.
Winners are those more satisfied with the result, a saying goes, well, this fest stands a monument to our collective triumph. Hard to imagine the plans and schemes flesh out from far above, in rough scales, you know. Sure, we've dug lakes and piled up mountains (mostly of paper), but this little feast of life feels like nothing achieved by boring reports and digits in contracts. Genuine emotion is something so unrelated to money that these happy faces around look like a miracle each after days of administrative work. However, Daigo and Shizune take it as a given, making me realize that for them victory doesn't stand out of the routine, it must be the very fuel they run on.

I notice people giving our quartet warm looks and nods for no reason, it seems at first. Then Misha's tightened grip ropes my mind back to the problem it's been trying to escape since morning. Of course it's not affection that drives her, it reminds me more of how bro held on to mom's hand crossing the road at four, afraid both to let go and to lean in too close. I whisper something encouraging that instantly drowns in the crowd's hubbub, but she gets enough of it to stick even closer and hide her face in bouncing drill curls.

For good, because familiar faces pop here and there, checking us with odd expressions. At some point a tiny girl trips and nearly falls in front of us with a curse that scores a nine on my ten-point scale, apparently shocked by the sight. "What, really?" – "Yep, why not?" is the extent of their confused conversation before she comes to her senses and moves on at a jogging pace. Hydrocarbon running blades give away the track queen described by Miki. Was her name Emi? Why is she more ticked off than the others? Questions don't linger in my head, soon to be replaced by a clearly audible "Cute!" behind our backs or Dad's wink at me as she buys something for Mom. Damn, you old dog, it sounds impossible that you've settled down for a family after your crazy teenage adventures. Miki's figure twinkles in the crowd, shaking to the beat on the dancefloor. There's a guy close to her, like, skin to skin close as far as I can tell. That girl never blows her chances, eh?

Having already made a full circle around the grounds, we wonder what to do next. Stalls checked, classes behave like good kids, a cold standoff between the deaf and the blind had. Interestingly enough, Daigo's stance has changed; instead of confronting Shizune, he served quite a safety measure between the two, as Misha was barely able to hold it together, let alone translate. Maybe I don't understand the chemistry here, maybe the silent conversations in sign hold a secret meaning. There are worse problems right now anyway, like where to hide the problematic member of our group until she calms down. Ding dong, common sense calling.

"Want to vent it all out?" I ask in a muffled voice. It comes out half creepy, half flirtatious, no one can blame her for starting. Way to keep the situation under control, jackass.

"Go to L-Tag? Yes please."

Hard to tell if she's angry or worn out due to all the attention aimed at us. Funny thing, come to think about it, a day ago the latter seemed near impossible. As the four of us enter and start the preparations, the tension dissolves though. Luckily, there aren't many visitors, so we easily occupy the smallest course and get used to it like our own ten fingers in five minutes. Curse me if it's not the most rewarding venting ever, and opportunity to literally shoot people involved in your misfortunes. With team like our shooting the man at fault is impossible, but Shizune will do just fine. If only the chance would present itself easier, that is, because the sessions go either aggressively, with the weaker ones to die off in the first seconds, or defensively, where me and Misha are too scared to come out and shoot each other after the big guys have gone to the bench. Must look really cute from an outsider's point of view. Oh, this day better come to an end fast.

Before one hour's over, we're out of breath, satisfied and ready to go. Kurosaki's capitalistic shift starts in fifteen minutes, while the Council president has places to be even on holidays.

"You a hundred percent ready?" I ask my pretend girlfriend as we stand in the dusk of the tiny hall.

"You best believe it," she growls, clinging on to my arm violently. My turn to get electrocuted this time around. "I'd make out with anything for another shot at him."

"Him? Strange choice," only at the end of the question it becomes clear how strange exactly. She should be blaming her silent half, not my taller one, how in the hell-

"Personal reasons, scores to settle, mistakes to correct. Enough with the bitter Misha, right~? Time to get things done~!"

I'll read this story when I get the time.

Okay, let's try to make short posts and not break the page this time.
Also, in the case you still want to do it, you're welcome to rip my writing to shreds by the means of constructive and/or destructive critique.

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The sudden transition to her regular volumes and frequencies leaves my ears ringing. With enough exposure, there's a certain probability to become another Takashi, for better or worse. It also means that she's either found the strength to endure my presence or decided to put on a good act. Speaking of Maedas, guess who we find outside. Well, there's Josuke, as well as a screaming Molly between them, technically speaking, and random strangers trying their best to keep out of the blast radius.

"Ask them to fix your eyes again then!" Christ, that one passed the 'agitated Misha' mark on the intensity scale. "No, keep! out!"

Rude boy barely manages to open his mouth before she barks at him, turns around and storms off, each step followed by a dull boom. People look at her with delight. Huh, someone may be under more pressure than us. Why the drama though? Has everyone gone mad under this incinerating sun? Josuke heads towards the crowd to talk to someone. Following his lead, because why the hell not to try to find Dad in this maze and do am ironic introduction to the family, I overhear their conversation a bit. Trouble? – Annoyance, not a problem. – Gotta go see her? – That's the drill. – Say hi from all of us. – Always have to ask for the hard stuff.

A perfect example why I haven't been in any kind of a relationship so far: a boy likes a girl who, apart from an inert shell on the outside, happens to have a concealed interest for another boy, who leaves it unrequited, thus eliminating any sense of sanity left in either of the efforts. Too noisy, too laborious and pointless for me. Or is it too scary? Doesn't matter in any case.

"Goddamn roman-tic-stuuuff," Maeda needs to complain badly, else he wouldn't have started talking to us, and his tone wouldn't have dropped into a nosedive upon the realization of who we are. "You've goot to be shitting me."

His eyebrows, on the contrary, shoot up in disbelief.

"Hello~, Takashi."

A simple greeting knocks him out of his hazy state back to the venomous asshole we all know.

"I'm not losing this bet to a circus. You and your act can go fuck off right now."

"Pissed off on top of rude, that's unlike you, shorty."

My attempt at defusing the scene, heated up to the boiling point once more, goes in vain. The crowd backs off and tenses up again, what's worse, most of the students now stare at us too. He literally explodes.

"Unlike?! YOU WERE UNLIKELY TO LIE, BUT DO GO ON! SAY YOU KISS OR CUDDLE AT NIGHT, SEE HOW MANY WILL BUY IT!"

"Hungry for proof? Here you go~."

Misha displays genuine cockiness, taking the taunt dead on, maybe more seriously than would be appropriate. The cold of her hands runs around my waist, along with a sensation of being drawn in, blink, another blink, our waists touch. Wait a second, this was shown in one too many movies to not know what to do now. My arms, raised in defeat, go over hers on autopilot and find rest on her back, pressing our bodies together. Softness against my stomach, another kinds of it against my chest; suddenly it comes clear that her body isn't cold, rather my blood's boiling.

No need for directions from here on, we move in unison with one purpose, so while our eyes scream the same familiar "don't hurt please", to an outsider our bodies are talking in a different language altogether. Somewhere on the border of consciousness, a lone thought scratches like an annoying cat, a reminder that the silence around is next to completely dead. It lacks form to be processed, so I just slow down and wonder why this is relevant.

"Just do it."

Words come out of her mouth like a single continuous exhale. Our faces lean one over the other at a dangerously close distance, the radiating heat licks her skin. Somewhere a whisper surges through the crowd. Behind my back Maeda states we can't do it. Dull lowered sounds are just like on that day in the snowy park. Just do it. Last remnants of reason make me step sideways so Takashi can't see her face, far from cocky now with eyes screwed tightly shut in frightened anticipation.

And then I close in.

We part lips and understand with clear minds that barely half a minute has passed, although it felt like half an hour. Flustered, ashamed, we look around, two faces burning red. Generally, girls are giggling with smiles delicately hidden in hands, guys try to hold serious expressions. There's Dad, giving me a dirty wink. Hah, guess every pup has a bit of a dog in it after all.

Out of all reactions, my formal enemy's the precious one. An expression of a chess player who only learned about castling after receiving a checkmate with it, or a physicist just told about general relativity. A face of someone who suddenly had the rules changed on him, my own face earlier today, mixed amazement and fear.

"Fuck this day," unable to rage anymore, he just spits and leaves.

I don't remember how the kiss felt, the memory's all fuzzy. There's still a sensation of her spine on my fingertips and sweetness on my lips. Funny how Misha licks hers too, unknowingly repeating my motions. Note to self: ask her about my taste somewhen just to tease.
With awareness regained, she strongly pulls on my hand to drag us deep under the trees' shadow, out of public sight. Giggles behind grow perfectly audible, but we don't care anymore. Her fingers are trembling, and assumption after assumption I understand that a kiss wasn't the easiest thing in the world to act through.

"Let," we finally stop, and I hear a voice from a couple hours ago, "let me leave, okay? I-... I need to be alone for a while after all this."

Her voice is slowly sliding up and down. Not good, oh not good at all. At a loss for words, I just nod without a slightest idea what to say, if I understand, if I'm sorry, or just stay silent for good.

"No," she starts as my mouth opens after all. "I allowed it to happen, so don't be sorry. Be strong, a proper girl... will..."

"I meant to say thanks," her shoulder sags much lower than it should under the weight of my hand, "you saved my ass."

"Really?" her nose makes a loud sloppy noise.

It's the verge. After another reassuring nod and shoulder pats, she leaves, rustled grass under her feet silenced by the growing storm in my head.

Then it finally kicks in, ten thousand needles rushing up my right arm. Long time no see, heart. What a delay forced through pure willpower, though, and what a difference from yesterday. A little lighter, a little more expected, as a result, the pain leaves me cringing in dirt, but standing up against a tree, even if unable to move. It's definitely getting easier.

"Good job, dude," an approving voice from the side. "You made more than one good deed in one motion."

"Like, argh, made a girl cry. Or gave myself. A potential attack."

Words take visible effort to come out, yet Kurosaki doesn't let go of the conversation.

"Among them, if you consider those good."

I gift him a destructive glare.

"Come on, you have a right to be mad, but-"

"I have. A right. To make you. Spit teeth."

"-but quit this whiny idealistic garbage. You win some, you lose some."

Silence is the answer, as I try to get enough air for a complete sentence.

"Well," he turns around the heel, "time to make some sales. Your cut's due tomorrow, in case he pays anything, so get better."

"Shove it up your ass."

"Quite a few people received valuable lessons today, Mr. Gratitude, thanks to you and you only, so forget the temporary setbacks. You'll recall this day later."

Hand held high and words spoken with pride, a typical exit for Daigo, even with this last phrase so out of character. Maybe he's still a mystery for me, hidden under a poker mask. Speaking of games, I still haven't figured out his goal. Damn.

***

The sky has grown dim to signal the end of labor for busy people on the ground, but they won't listen. LEDs, grouped into continuous surfaces, garlands and whatnot, replace the Sun as a more flexible and reliable light source, allowing humans to continue their rituals. A man observes the feast of life from afar, a man still in the twenties to be nostalgic, yet his face is touched with a bittersweet expression as the distant beat makes its final drop.

"Say, Sister, are these lights a triumph of humanity over nature's laws, or an enforcement of them, an oracle to declare nightfall?"

The words would fit a priest, not a typical dancefloor playboy who says them. One chosen as vis-a-vis, an athletic young woman clad only in belt-wide shorts and a top of corresponding length, lowers her eyes from the sky above, as if shot down by the question.

"You're weird, calling people like that. Names exist, you know."

"Of course they do, double-edged like swords. To call one by name means to take an obligation to introduce self, whether it's demanded or not."

"I'm still not your sister."

"Spiritually, since you've made the same choice. Time's up, your answer?"

With a deep sigh she parts from the oh so comfortable trunk.

"There's no correct answer when your words are a mirror each. You reflect lies and inconsistencies, multiply them, but somehow in the kaleidoscopic labyrinth the truth remains not copied. Want me to search for a needle in a hay?"

"Ha, wrong again. There is no truth to find to begin with. Everything is correct or incorrect depending on the point of view. The answer must've felt obvious, no matter which one. If that ticked you off, good. Never trust a clear answer."

'Sister' walks around impatiently, annoyed by the lecture.

"No wonder everyone at the cell hates you."

"They do because their own mirrors are bent and dirty, and besides, there's one girl who doesn't."

Her watch shows almost time. The conditions are perfect, so the other teams must be at work already.

"Move it."

At these words the conversation dies. Two indistinct shadows, formerly two humans, blend in the park that looks more like a forest in dim lighting. Behind their backs the crowd, roaring in its appreciation of life, goes quiet. The timing is right. One minute of silence to honor the student who fell drunk off the roof years ago is going to be important to draw all unnecessary eyes away, as well as long enough to let the tandem do their job. Unlike others, they only have one node left to bug and no reason to risk or hurry. The sound of crumbling grass is barely audible as they surge through the dead park, but even this last disturbance disappears as they stop. No man will walk the uphill road to notice the duo on the other side of the solid fence, no car will light the place up with its headlights, the surroundings are deserted until the fest ends and the crowds start dissipating.

Man kneels down to let the woman climb his shoulders with ease, then lifts her up letting not a single grunt out. To be honest, her build looks heavy because of all the exposed muscles, but still he stands steady. The only problem with reversed piggyback is her lower abs pressing right against his face.

"Do they really think massive belly makes a woman sexy?" he uses the resuming background noise as an excuse to receive a juicy smack on the back of his head.

"Shut up, it tickles," and angry whisper drops from above as well.

For a split second it feels like there are no more obstacles forbidding Sister to work on an object invisible in the cloudy dusk, but something disturbs her. Shadows right in front of her look suspicious, so she taps the man's back and is set down immediately. Right there and then, with crackle and demonstrative cough, two boys appear from the shadows, one faster, the other slower and with a suspicious stare. First one murmurs "sorry" and passes them to wait in the distance for his second pilot, who silently stops, not intending to leave nor lift his four-eyed glare in the foreseeable future. Left with little to no choice, the saboteurs retreat from the scene.

"What serves a blessing for many, will always look like a menace to a few," the man states in a voice quiet enough to be heard only by two people.

"Huh?"

"That's my personal answer, Sis. Better than most."

***

I stare at the dying pink illumination in the sky. The clouds come suddenly, enough to block the starlight but too little to prevent the hellish pan around from cooling down. All in all, it's finally possible to take a breath without choking on it like on hot tea, and that's a welcome change. Had it happened several hours ago, I'd have never come here in the first place, able to think clearly after a confusing day. I would've never been this embarrassed to butt in on a couple, although regardless of woulds and would nots, there they are, talking about weird things as they leave.

"Are you happy yet?" I ask after they disappear.

"More than enough, man. Turn around."

He points upwards with a victorious smile, ignoring a small fact.

"There's nothing there, Kenji."

"Consider changing classes, hotshot. Up this tree, two and a half meters."

Huh. I could've sworn that he was the blind one. Up the tree resides a shadow, one a bit darker than the skies and therefore barely visible, a rectangle turning left and right, almost as if in constant search for something.

"A surveillance camera?"

"Damn right! Your conclusion, assistant?"

I shrug.

"A couple was making out under a tree that happened to have a security measure on it."

"And?"

"And get me in touch with Phoenix."

"Wise man. Laters."

A sigh of relief escapes my body after Kenji moves out of sight for good. Hopeless, they said. Crazy, they said. Now that he's shown something like that, it's hard to pick an appropriate adjective to describe him. The feminist agenda is total bullshit, of course, like his claims that there were other people messing with cameras today, but it'd take a fool to deny what just happened. It doesn't make sense in any case.

Physically shaking away the useless worries, I move my legs. Doesn't matter where I'll end up, to miss out on the party is to do a stupid thing, or at least everyone says so. Honestly, the fest turned boring pretty fast after the old guys had left. Maybe friends are what makes a holiday possible, friends of which there are none here. I recall Shin, Takumi and our crazy misadventures with bitter warmth instead of expected anguish, the time we spent rigging unfair arcades against each other, how the whole class laughed at us and with us, Iwanako's confused reaction when Mai invited her to take part once. Yeah. Iwanako. For the first time today my hands itch for a tablet for the web rather than an e-book. Hey, stop right there. To write her, you'll need to see the inbox with dozens of old messages from your classmates sent out of obligation. Yeah, Hisao, that life is long lost. On top of that, the device in question is back at the dorm.

Another sigh. Under the darkening sky the festival area flickers with tempting lights, people on the dancefloor enjoy their last hour of music. Miki's probably going to stare at me again if I go there, she was weird enough today to make Kenji's mad idea sound like an acceptable solution to get away from her. She tried to flirt with like five different guys today and threw victorious glances at me after each success. Have to keep my distance, you know. I let my legs loose once more to find myself entering the girls' dorm a few minutes later. Do I have business here? Third floor, turn right. What kind of business do I still have?

"U-wah!"

A frightened Hanako jumps out of the way.

"Sorry, was spacing out. Everything all right?"

Even after an apology, it isn't. She looks longingly at something behind me for a few seconds, then tries to fit between me and the wall, keeping solid distance from each. Wait, I'm being an ass here, one step back would allow her to go through. Upon my movement, she does just that and escapes into her room. Huh, the whole other side of the corridor was available.

"N-Nakai?" a faint voice comes from behind the not yet closed door. "I-I accept the of-fer."

Now that's a surprise.

"Thanks a lot, it'd be a great help. Are you sure though? It won't be easy, I mean, nobody's pushing you, but there's going to be a lot of pressure once you're in."

"Yes, I've been re-rehearsing since morning!"

Oh, Lilly must've told her today then. That also implies she hasn't gone outside at all, poor thing. She doesn't understand a single thing.

"Look, nobody doubts your voice, it's teamwork I'm concerned about."

"I-I'll try," and unconfident voice breaks the painful silence after a few seconds.

"Won't do. We need you to manage, not try."

She squeezes out an 'okay' and goes silent. Dammit, why do I have to be worked up today of all days on top of the usual inability to talk to girls?

"We're still missing a drummer, so maybe the performance won't happen at all."

Right when I'm about to get internally crushed by this failure of a cheer-up, she replies with a note of hope.

"I took care of that."

"Whoa," it takes a second to process the statement, "well, sorry for the teamwork part then, you sound capable. So what's the name?"

"It's a surprise... Please don't worry, we've tried some songs together and they were good!"

Her last phrases, spoken without stuttering, sound honest enough. Maybe we're less screwed after all.

"Until tomorrow then, keep up the good work. Thanks."

There's one more whisper before the door closes.

"She's with Molly, room 215."

Huh? I go down a floor and knock on full auto, to busy figuring out who 'she' is.

"One minute, please~!"

A really, really loud voice comes from behind the door, which is to be thanked for my intact eardrums. A voice that belongs to someone who got dragged into a heartless game because of me, someone Daigo had to hold me from visiting so she could have time to deal with emotions. A girl I feel so guilty before that I'd rather go with Kenji than face her.

"Hello~! Hicchan?"

Or maybe it's all a self-taught lie to hide the fact that she's plain pretty with her usual smile on, I think as she walks out. Pretty enough to stun a guy and leave him speechless, especially if she talks in such an unnatural voice.

"Hicchan? What are you doing here?"

"Uuuuuh, guess I wanted to make up for today."

Was that a nice cop-out just now, Nakai?

"Deal~, just let me fix Molly quickly," she turns and the bloodstained cloth in her hand flashes around. Wait a second, where'd the blood come from?

Inarticulate murmurs behind the wall drag on for about a minute, then Misha emerges, allowing a brief glimpse of a room lined with posters of various actions heroes and some blonde kid with an unrealistically huge sword. The sill serves a shelf for what looks like busted consoles and motion controllers, somehow an appropriate sight. What worries me more is the condition of this room's owner who has just lost some blood and, in my eyes at least, the last remnants of her femininity.

"You go, girl," a lazy holla reaches us from the inside.

"Girl yourself~. Let's go, Hicchan."

She moves closer and takes my arm without any fear or reason to do so as we leave. Something important slides to the back of my mind under the pressure of the fact that she drew blood with these soft hands just minute ago. Actually, I should be scared out of my damned mind.

"So, uh, how's Molly doing?"

"Molly?" she looks at me, surprised by the question. "Hicchan, you- you're so pale~, wahahahaha! Don't worry, her legs are in place. Or are they~?"

"Guess who's going to be guilty for my next heart attack?"

The last words feel like an overkill, either because stuff like this is treated seriously here, or due to the unexpected level of familiarity. In any case, Misha straightens up.

"Performance reports, okay~? R&D collects them, and she didn't want to go to the hospital for something that easy, so we detached them ourselves. Turned out messy~ since we haven't done it before."

While I wonder what kind of things need to be done to get those reports, she graciously slips into the darkness through the front door. Huh, the sky sure died fast tonight.

"Never would've thought those things ran on blood."

"You didn't know~? Oxygen to electricity and the concept of easy detachment are the basics Genetesis teaches everyone."

Having calmed down finally, I say something more important than mere technical details.

"You holding together better than this morning."

"Oh, you know~, someone promised to make up for it."

"But seriously."

"You're no fun, Hicchan~!" she continues, though. "Molly shared a couple of tricks, that's why. Silly girl better use them herself~. Where are we going?"

At this point our course without any mistake lies through the gate.

"To a magical place."

We have to hurry downhill to make it in time, because of one fatal flaw in this hurriedly constructed plan: if were late, it's – boom, pfshh – yeah, we're late. Trucks parked on the edge of the woods spit fire towards the sky that answers them with colorful explosions of fireworks. Okay, that was only the first batch, don't panic, don't-

"Heya kids. Found your way to the wish granters?" a friendly gaffer approaches.

"Sure thing, Student Council here. Uh, wish granters?"

"Stars grant wishes," the old man smiles, "we shoot stars, simple as that."

"So could we-" I press the conversation on.

"Do the magic?"

He looks at his watch, where the 45 seconds to the second batch are halfway gone. Misha's eyes widen as she understands what we're about to do.

"Hicchan~"

"It can't be helped, eh, lass? Orders are orders, get in my seat. We're changing the script this once."

He momentarily does it and points Misha to the start button.

"Do your stuff, fairy!"

After a long sizzling sound a lone blue star bursts to sparks somewhere way up in the black sky. In seconds, it's drowned in a rain of its siblings, but Misha, standing by my side, still watches that one imaginary dot float above our heads.

"What'd you wish for?" I ask the dumbest question possible.

She just comes close and hugs me softly and friendly. Is it bad that it instantly brings up the moisture of her lips in my mind? Heh, Nakai, this girl next to you isn't someone you can reach in a lifetime, it's a miracle in itself to get to know her this fast, and you best be grateful for what you have. I understand and settle for watching her face under the blinking illumination. Lost? Blissful? Who knows what's going on in her head right now, here, someone isn't even sure about his own.

"Did you wish for anything?"

For the first time today, her quieter voice sounds fit to the situation.

"No. Magic is magic no more once you learn how it works, right?"

That's an excuse, if an honest one, we both know it, and a smack to the head is a deserved one.

"Of course it's wrong."

A sorry excuse to emphasize the real reason.

"Besides, I've already granted one of my wishes."

The old man nods our way with a satisfied smile. Colors dance in the sky. Tonight, all is right with the world.

====

Will be taking something like a break, although with my delays between updates it's probably going to be almost invisible. Graduation's soon, have to brace for impact, you know. Another project has me interested as well, so if I disappear for three months again, don't you worry. Well, that'd imply that for some bizarre reason you're reading my stuff and are interested in it, which is most probably not true. Just in case though, this thing isn't going to turn up dead without huge disclaimers in the first and last posts.

Jan 9th, evening: being drunk, I've decided to fiddle with the title for giggles. I'm so sorry.

As always, I say one thing and do completely another. This is what the chapter really ends with.

====

***

The town of Yamaku is calm and silent after a busy day. Normally, the holiday party would continue into the night, but this one is only a holiday for the students. Indeed, if you take a look from a bird's eye view, the hill's still breathing with activity: lights, music, people, you name it. Despite the closing curfew, it still is more lively than the town at its feet, on which the invisible black curtain has already fallen. Funny how a week ago the silence wasn't this deep nor the streets this dead. Something's changed, for better or worse, forced the townsfolk to stay behind closed doors, as if in fear of the whispers coming from back alleys.

Opposite to the hill, on the other side of town the deserted road to Sendai drowns in bright streetlamp light, adding more creepiness to the image of a dead town. There's life down that road, however. In a couple dozen kilometers to the southeast, two dusty cars dash through the city at a speed above all limits. Their passengers don't have any time to waste, after all, they're no ordinary people, but mercs on a serious job with a heavy payload. On the front seat of one of the cars, a man with synthetic seams visible under his buzz cut and metallic gleam in his eyes carefully listens to the beeps coming from a thing like a decade old satellite phone.

"Yeti Actual, this is Mobile Two, please come in. Come in, Yeti Actual, this is Mobile Two, over."

After a few seconds of silence, the speaker bursts with an energetic young voice.

"Copy you loud and clear, pack leader."

"We've left Sendai Airport, be with you in minutes. Status report, over."

"The base is ours, we're digging in. Security's a sifter, as expected from amateurs, we ain't sleeping until it's passable. Could really use some help over here, over."

"Tell the exes to stay, they don't need to hurry to Tokyo. That place is staler than a morgue. Any," he frowns in anticipation, "surprises on site?"

The person on the other end of the line makes a pause.

"Was waiting for you to ask, boss," the voice sounds confused. "We tried to run an EM scan."

"The hell means 'tried'?"

"Well, that's the thing, the town's crawling with signatures like shit with flies. Had to shut the device down, or we'd be lit up like a christmas tree on any countermeasure hidden in this mess."

This time heavy silence attacks both ends of the connection.

"Continue fortification. Session over, Mobile Two out."

The driver looks at the man with concern.

"Bad?"

"Déjà vu," the man replies and calls another number. For one phrase, his voice changes from deadly tired to icy cold.

"Hello, stone queen, give me Dyson on a secure line."

Beep.

"Hello, Derrick," this slow speech and majestic expression paints a picture of a relaxed man, age fifty-something, sitting in a gorgeous office.

"Happen to know anything about Yamaku's EM imagery?"

Derrick asks away without a greeting and barely concealing his hostility.

"What a haste you are today. What's the matter?"

"I don't like bullshit," the last effort at being nice goes away, "and you know it. It looks like an inside of a mainframe, I'm told."

"All right, Christ, calm down. I may know what this is, but it'll take time to confirm, time."

Dyson's voice, on the contrary, displays only cold annoyance.

"Spill it, old man. You owe me for the last time."

"Sigh, fine, you'll need to know it in any case. The Academy is monitored through a dense web of miniature cameras, they might cause this. I didn't know it covered anything else."

Shadows on Derrick's face darken further.

"And you know this how?"

"Information dealer."

"Trustworthy?"

Dyson finally loses his nerve.

"He's an information dealer, for Christ's sake, and I'm no teenager! Fortunately, we had our insider asset confirm it."

"Insider asset, huh?" merc's voice goes quiet and menacing. "I sure hope it won't be like last time, old man. You best not have dug me out of the grave for this shit."

The man on the other side starts lecturing him like a child.

"Look, you're angry and it's all right, but put yourself in my position, okay? It's no ordinary operation, -"

"Sure, otherwise we'd never talk again."

"-we need all the help there is, and in any case, there's deep cover in place and no danger whatsoever."

Even silence feels electrified in this conversation.

"It's not who I think it is, right?"

"Look-"

"Fuck. You. Dyson. I swore to protect that family, I swore to their father who almost died on my hands because someone didn't give a shit about their employees, and when I learned who it was, I couldn't do that. Now you're saying you've thrown the kid in the pit as well? Stay shut up, will you. We're the old wolves here, we'll manage, but let me tell you what, if that kid gets a scratch, you get a big problem with no respect to our lost friendship."

"Derrick!"

"Eat shit," he disconnects.

"Déjà vu?" asks the driver.

"One too many."

Somewhere far away Dyson tells his secretary not to worry about it.

Good so far, if a bit hard to follow. Definitely looking forward to the next update, man!

A whole year has passed, huh. I guess an anniversary post is in order, then, even though SilentCook might get angry and swing the banhammer far enough to repeat the Big Bang.

Achievements in a year:

• ~40k (actually ~50k with the unfinished chapter I'm sitting on taken into account) words;
• 51 post in the thread, with 12 actual updates spread out through them;
• 2360 views;
• 3.3k words per update, which is a surprisingly low count;
• 3.25 discussion posts per update, which must mean my writing is too damn good to even criticize (right? right???);
• 46.3 views per post, one of the lowest indicators of following on the entire subforum, a big anti-achievement on its own.

Plans for the future: this half-finished chapter I've started several days ago is going to be the last of Act I, thank everything sacred ever. Draggy SoL ends with it, putting us directly into the native Deus Ex territory, so yeah, stay tuned if you for some reason still are.
Funny thing is, I don't have anywhere as much of an outline for Act II as for III or IV. We'll see how it goes.

Here goes almost nothing; no matter how much I dislike dividing a chapter into several posts, it has to be this way.
Please excuse my nonexistent taste in music.

====

◄ Previous| Index | Next ►

Chapter 6. No Rest for the ‘Wicked’.

I wake up with a feeling that something good has happened. For a moment, dim morning light in the clear sky and calm breeze coming through the opening in the window blocks the memories away. Wait, why dim?

Turns out it’s only 5:30, there’s a load of time ahead, but for some reason the morning routine flows as fast as always. Must be the imaginary autopilot’s fault I rush to the track after a gulp of water or put the T-shirt on halfway through the stretches. Miki’s absence calls for a slack, regardless of the consequences once she wakes up. I even stop the warm up and consider lying down like six days ago. Ironic how in a week my socialization level has progressed to heights unreachable in months before, all that with Student Council work that ate virtually all free time. The thought lingers for a while, and before long the track is running from underneath my feet. This is the right way, even if it winds uphill. Good things happen on it. I smile to the shortening shadows and cool air brushing my face and build up speed. Yeah, good things happen.

By the end my heart starts acting up a bit, while legs totally give out, which is a good sign. Timer shows today’s total as nearly one and a half of the last session. Well here you go, Miki, who still hasn’t shown up. It’s high time to, by the way, or else someone’s going to miss homeroom. To a light disappointment, only Kapur comes in the end, looking down in deep musings.

My hail surprises her enough to make her stumble and fall face first on the grass. Come to think of it, she must’ve been concentrated on her legs, so now I feel like an asshole. Great. She doesn’t mind, luckily.

“Already done?”

“Yeah, I’m out. Something bothering you?” I add after an awkward pause because she’s gone thoughtful again.

“Forget it,” she quite literally shakes it off with braids flying everywhere. These look noticeably prettier than usual. “Actually, yes. How do I look?”

“Nice”, the urge to say ‘clean’ is tempting, “but why ask?”

Her satisfied smile is obvious even though she turns away right after standing up.

“No reason.”

I shrug and walk away. Secrets are secrets after all, and girls keep theirs sealed tighter than Foreign Affairs does.

Halfway through the delayed breakfast I realize she could’ve needed a hand. Oh well, there ought to be at least two others on the track by now.

For the first time this year I arrive at school early. An interesting sight it is, verily. Empty hallways filled with dead silence don’t feel like anything suited for a temple of knowledge. The size of the place may be at fault: clubs with morning activities all fit outdoors.

“Heya, playboy.”

“Marty!” memory instantly matches a name to light skin and jeans, as well as sets a familiar mood. “How you doing, man?”

“Wake-up calls at four, lazy Post-Surgery asses, the usual.”

A bitter frown crosses his forehead. The pain is understandable, given the thickness of his folder.

“Someone messed up reports, I see.”

“Idiots forgot that paperwork precedes students’ - ,” he throws a quick look at the hall clock. “Listen, gotta go or your teacher’s bound to eat me alive.”

With this, he runs up the stairs at a Sonic speed. Huh, where did he come from if not from the higher floors? I was spacing out, but pretty sure not a single live object was headed to this entrance with me. Weird. Having established that there are several private places on this floor a man can visit out of a physiological need and emerge unnoticed afterwards, I feel my curiosity satisfied enough to kill some time at the library. Or not, because it’s closed. Empty silent hallway strengthens the odd feeling of something amiss, like a damaged floor tile that doesn’t hurt but annoys the hell out of people. The air isn’t silent like it sounds at first, there’s this low buzz on the verge of audibility, a muted sound of machinery. Maybe I’m just too used to everyday noise and manage to imagine things when it’s gone.

Our homeroom’s free of it, thanks to the third floor packing six more meters of air between itself and the sound. The opportunity to do nothing in total peace for half an hour feels awesome, or rather, would’ve felt if not for an energetic “Hello!” from the back row.

“Ritsu? Ritsu.”

There’s no mistake, fiery attitude with an unlimited energy supply to it is her most notable feature.

“Chalked me up to the body count, yes?”

“No, I mean, of course not, it’s just,” I notice it sounds like an excuse of some sort. “Look, you disappeared so suddenly that though we didn’t get to speak much even I got worried.”

Okay, now there’s an implication that I like her, god damn. See, she thinks it over and will start acting all superior any time soon. Although in a minute my words seem to fly out of her head through the farther ear. God bless you, girl.

“You’re the organi - ”

The door slides open and a winded Hanako runs in.

“A-A-Am I late?”

This is less nervous stutter than being short on breath.

“Nuh uh, right on time! Today’s menu is track two, and the big guy will listen!”

“Wait, what’s going on?”

I half understand, but what in the name of bitter hobo Jesus is she supposed to do in our band with CTS?

“I’m your drummer!”

A treacherous smile must’ve found its way to the surface, because she pouts and continues:

“Don’t laugh, okay? I got better than ever.”

As soon as she unbuttons her cuffs, bandaged wrists come to light. Restorative neurosurgery or some regular operation? The former probably doesn’t exist. While I’m puzzled about what she went through, Ritsu grabs a pencil. To my surprise, in a second it flies circles around her dancing fingers, chopping air like a helicopter wing. CTS my ass.

“You win, but where do we go?”

“I-I have a key to the auditorium,” an instant reply sounds.

These two got all bases covered. Does the band really need an outsider to put it together, then?

“Won’t be sure unless we try.”

The pencil shoots through the classroom at a speed of a fired bullet. Oh. Must’ve said it out loud.

“Forget it, let’s go.”

So we go, and find out Ritsu had used to be a decent musician back before the condition turned bad, and use the hall first of all bands, and get to see that Hanako is less shy about singing than expected. Of course, we manage to miss homeroom.

A whole day flies by in a heartbeat. Classes require attention, while breaks, contrary to popular belief, exist today to give Lezard, Haruhiko, Molly anyone involved at all a spare chance to lay out plans for the performance, in other words, to pester me about work already done. It’s hard to keep things hush-hush with this level of pointless white noise around, and sadly, secrecy is one of our great allies here. If competitors find out which genre we’re going to play, our result will sink like Titanic.

I try to get the point across in the evening, during the scheduled rehearsal. People agree, and Lezard even proposes to use headphones to minimize the risk, an unusually practical suggestion coming from that kind of guy. Thanks to the almighty Student Council president, 3-3 proudly closes the rehearsal schedule, so if there are spies eavesdropping behind soundproof doors, they have to leave soon to make it home before the curfew; the auditorium being a separate building helps as well, but there’s no such thing as too much insurance.

The moment we start, problems surface. Yeah, Ritsu has a sense of rhythm, Suzumia is a god on the strings, Valeth can compensate his lack of skill with a show, but… No one here is fit for this style, free and shameless, shich is an advantage (no competition in our weight category) as well as a fatal flaw. Every track calls for adaptation, which with the countdown set to six days sounds nigh impossible. Can we do it?

Can we do it? Furious sun wakes me up on Tuesday, and the question starts drilling my head again. Miki compliments my dedication: neither of the two Mi showed up yesterday due to feeling too good. She gets slightly pissed when all her attempts to spark conversation are shot down. Misha helps though, that’s wonderful. Our lovey-dovey act had to be extended to deceive Maeda, but she endures it and sometimes, like right now, redirects others’ wrath off me. Well, it’s not like one or the other will require much more time until this concert leapfrog is settled, by when we ought to be through with it. Although I must admit she looks damn fine these days, attractive enough for me to regret our little forced play has to end one day. Still a hopeless romantic, eh, Nakai?

Classes come and classes pass, leaving students to their business. Student Council dashes to their room at once, and I feel dizzy trying to imagine what kind of life they’ve led through these years. No hobbies, no free time, just work. Ah, right, there were others to help them earlier. What happened? That could be some interesting food for thought if not for the concert preparations.

We interact online to avoid attention. Headphones and space are our protection; when Ritsu bangs her drums in a different dorm building altogether, and guitarists have their outputs connected to PC ports, privacy’s on the level. Hanako lags for something-half an hour, then connects from some place that sounds like an inside of a metal tube. At least she’s with us, pretty unchained too, probably because there are no people around her. Well, whatever works for now.

Later, on my way to the auditorium I quickly greet a couple staring at the stars. The guy wears sunglasses at night like a proper douchebag would. In a while that takes my accessible computing power to process a simple image, I realize it actually is Chiehara. It’s too late to turn back without interrupting the priceless silence they share tonight, the blind photographer and a spaced out girl with lifeless arms disproportionally beefy compared to her body.

I get an idea those might be artificial, but forget about it by the time our turn to practice comes. Okay, tonight we sound almost as an acceptable garage band. We shouldn’t be able to make it above the middle of the list on Sunday.

Next morning feet drag me to the track by themselves. Run, breakfast, hygiene, homeroom, classes, lunch, classes, it all misses my head because there are four tracks to cut and mix a bit to match our style, one sturdy Squeakforge 17.3 with user-hostile interface, but only one me to manage former with the latter. On top of it all, we’re forced to lose a load of time on a shopping run due to having ditched Monday’s one.

Our whole uniformed crowd moves through the town at a brisk pace, to the band’s relief. It may be out of fear more than anything, though, sideway looks from and at students are obvious enough to catch my attention. Something must’ve happened if people don’t want us around. I mean, they never did to begin with, but now it’s a whole another story. There, even punks have crawled out to look at us with hostility. What are the police doing these days?

There go over two hours of time spent not working, what a waste. With a spicy feeling of anger I get back to preparations, seconds before bed realizing phoenix’ address has been of no use. A short message eases my guilt, so peaceful sleep is allowed. Will he reply, I wonder.

He does, and because Thursday’s too busy a day, the text patiently lies in the primordial darkness that is an average inbox. “We appreciate the concern shown; however, events like these do not escape our attention. We are on high alert, and Genetesis most likely is as well. Consider the matter observed.” Sounds like one of Kenji’s tryhard friends or himself, to be honest. I didn’t configure DeepNet connections for this crap.

An issue rises at the rehearsal, and despite our best efforts to neutralize it, it persists through Friday and Saturday. The tracks are complete, musicians know their parts and coordinate well enough, our problem lies within the vocalist. Through pain and tears Hanako got to unleash her voice before us, and achievement that cost me more than one cold word from Lilly, but as soon as anybody else gets invited to listen, she distracts momentarily and stumbles over every word. My head’s trned to fine gears, and it still can’t help the situation, we simply don’t have enough time to train her. Be what will be.

***

Yeah, right.

‘What will be’ wasn’t supposed to mean a thorough defeat, no matter how obvious this outcome should’ve been. I take a look out the window on Sunday’s evening. Just like a week ago, the grounds are filled with visitors. About five hundreds, Shizune reported to vice-principal earlier, all eager to get closer to the newly constructed scene. The crowd distracts us all to a degree, while guess-who is in no condition to perform at all. For Christ’s sake, she started stuttering again at lunch, after all the communication progress she made throughout this week.

For now it’s acceptable, since she makes the final passes on lyrics in a corner. There was an idea to bring in Maeda to do additional vocals and create a nice male-female contrast. Didn’t work out too well, so now we have to rely on Molly’s ability to produce a sound or two on the right note. See, this trainwreck is the fruit of brilliant job I’ve done as our band’s main boss guy. Beautiful, right?

It’ll be even more of a disaster once Hanako steps on stage. Dreadful things are bound to happen. Nervous breakdown? Will she just run away? Disaster’s incoming in any case. Maybe it’s just me who’s negative, but who wouldn’t panic in these shoes. 3-2 opened the show, okay, they’re amazing despite the repertoire being pure classic. Right after Misha’s voice had stopped announcing this year’s rules (three thematic tracks, related to Love, Life and Music respectively, plus one of the band’s choice), the crowd sat in awe before the crystal clear sound and heart-touching motives. No surprise there, 3-2 could’ve as well been declared the winner right off the bat, if two previous Thons are anything to judge by. Scary thing was that almost all classes who had enlisted for the competition sounded good.

Argh, we’re never making it to the top 50%, or 80% for that matter. It’ll be a gigantic shame parade. Oh, it’s no use even trying.

My heart sends a univocal message “stop the stress, or else”, so I take a leave. Guys don’t mind, they don’t need any guidance at this point anyway. Just as the auditorium’s doors close behind, a powerful bass drop makes the walls vibrate. Okay, 2-4 on stage with Hadouken and Pendulum covers, we’re next. Very distant style, but at least they’ll set an expectation for some old music, and possibly Western. At this point any advantage is good enough to take.

Want to know another reason we’re in trouble? 2-4 are second to last on the list, meaning our guys will headline, a fact no amount of Shizune’s influence could change. The outcome will be amplified, that’s good news for a good band. In our case, take a guess.

To my surprise, the head nurse himself if still at work, his room emits light into surrounding dusk through every window there is. All cats are in place, as they should be. Something feels inherently right about his workplace, like it’s not going to change no matter how far the outside world rolls downhill. Maybe this is what a medical facility in general should strive to be, a constant invariant enough to convince patients they will leave unharmed as well.

A shot of this, two drops of that, a change in prescription for tonight, and my heart calms down.

“Problems tonight?” the nurse asks in a friendly tone before I close his office’s door behind my back.

“Mind-reading magic?” I try to sound alike.

A particularly heavy bass drop reaches the building through the ground.

“Too easy. Heartbeat reacts to emotional and physical stress. You’ve got the latter covered and don’t look happy out of your pants.”

I force a confused grimace.

“To be honest, you look ready to drink like there’s no tomorrow,” he reiterates. “Look, a game’s a game, take it-”

“You’re a savior!” my voice echoes in the hallway.

It sounds so simple now that the answer’s been found that even small Ellie could figure it out. The problem is Hanako. Hanako lacks courage. Courage can be found within oneself, or in other forms. Meaning, I need to find digestible courage to give to Hanako. This is videogames level of easy.

Four flights of stairs after God knows how many meters of outside fly past like nothing. Nurse must’ve been right, this messy heart can put some juice to the system today without shutting down on me.

Okay, here’s my dorm room. I knock on the opposite door without restraint. Come on Kenji, skip the party, be yourself, it’s all that you can do.

“Password?” the voice sounds like from a coffin.

“Cotton candy, sweet heavens, it’s an emergency!” I yell at the eyehole.

The screech and clicks of many locks attests that the password was a correct one. Faster, you turtle, every second counts.

“Relax, man. Whaddya want?”

This is about the point where I realize convincing this prick will be a hard labor that requires a well laid out plan, but there’s no stopping now.

“Kenji, feminists rigged the whole concert!”

Okay, what the hell did I just blurt out?

“Damnation! I knew it, man, but central wouldn’t listen,” his eyes lower, and voice sinks a little. “Is this it? Is this their triumph?”

“Over my corpse. We need to drug a participant so that their plan goes to waste.”

“Nakai,” he makes a theatrical pause, “that’s tactical thinking. Nootropics overdose should do the job, and we can hook you up with professional dealers in the process. That’s perfect!”

“We don’t have the time.”

“Oh. Then we’re screwed.”

“Not really, I was thinking of a crude method.”

“Like what?”

“Alcohol.”

Total amount of bullshit said in the last thirty seconds approaches a metric ton. Thankfully, it’s crazy enough to convince Kenji.

“What do I get from it?” he pulls the last card.

“Equal exchange, a bottle for a flask.”

He disappears for a while to return with a compact roll of cloth.

“Here. You know, think about joining the SpecOps. You’re almost as good as me.”

“Only when we’re done with this!” I shout, running to the stairs. Was it an illusion, or did he really mumble “Godspeed”?

With no regards to him, I take off like a jet train on meth.

Time. We need time. I text Shizune to use everything she has to extend the break. How long does the alcohol take to kick into gear, minutes? Maybe dozens, actually, no idea. We might be cut off this option already, I think, and it gives my legs more power. Oh dear, this night won’t end on a happy note if I continue to pretend it’s a morning run.

A shortcut across the alleys takes me right to the back of the stage. Auditorium is empty for sure by now, no use checking. Yup, there our guys are, stoic faces at the curtain. To my surprise, the unseen voice somewhere on the other side shouts off the top of his lungs:

“Oh! But what if I’ve been tricked
And you guys rocked for the gist of it
Cause I forgot to check! My! Mic!”

Last three words are spoken in English at the beat’s start.

“Shicchan allowed a break midway~ to let us have another one after it.”

Misha speaks from a corner so stuffed with electronics it’s almost like a listening post. It is, to a degree, announcer’s seat neighbors with amplification controls and monitors with direct feed from security network, for the sake of convenience. Hakamichi sits right beside as expected, but Daigo’s figure leant over the girls to the extent he can afford is not entirely anticipated. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

“Bad pick for the last track,” he murmurs, signing the words as he goes, “he’ll get peeps going though. You sure you can handle it?”

There’s more to his attitude towards Shizune than is obvious at the first glance. Right now, be it anyone except him, she’d get angry. They aren’t really enemies, more like two chess players patiently studying each other at the board. Many pieces silently die in these calm battles. Refusing to be one, I speak up:

“With any luck, yes.”

“Nakai, y’alright?”

Lezard responds first. No matter how much the guy tries to look cool and dark with his smirks and glasses and childish quotes, there’s a soft heart in that chest.

“Stealing my lines here, how are your hands?”

“Never know when it hits ya,” he answers with visible misappreciation of my evasiveness and curiosity.

I want to say their performance is what matters right now, but the harpy’s noticed me by some magic and is coming my way. Right, we have something to do.

“Come here, Hanako!”

There’s another table in the opposite corner, covered with someone’s uniform. Underneath rest two half-filled cups of still steaming tea. Not a perfect solution, but it has to suffice.

“Y-Yes?”

“Last minute drink ready, here you go,” two full cups appear in front of her eyes.

Poor girl’s too scared to question my commanding voice. Come to think of it, this may be a crime because I’ve used overwhelming authority or however they call it in courts. She obediently starts the first one, and the expression change on her face would be hilarious if not for the circumstances. By the end it’s sour as a lime.

“W-What…”

“Down the second one, now,” I have to be merciless.

“But I don’t w-want to!”

“Down it goes.”

Basically, I tear the empty cup out of her grip and firmly put the full one in its place. Oh no, she’s about to cry.

“Okay…”

She buckles up and drinks it in one go.

“W-Why…”

“It’s bitter medicine, it’ll help you. Tssss, no one has to know yet,” I add when she starts moving her lips again.

She silently gives up and starts searching for something inside her bag, while Shizune, tired of pulling my sleeve, hits me over the head. “What was it?” says a note shoved in my face. Well, uh, how to say it?

“P-Please turn around for a s-second.”

Thanks, won’t have to answer a difficult question. Clothes rustle behind our backs, some other sounds come in too, and in a minute…

“How do you like it?”

…Hanako walks out in front of us. Her blouse has come off, the conservative dark green tank top now fits with bleached jeans. A shoulder-length right glove and a mask covering half a face certainly feel out of place with their metallic gray color, as well as a light scarf over her shoulders, but hey, since her hair is gathered in a ponytail, some cover above the scars can’t hurt.

“Uuuh, a-absurd?” okay, now why am I stuttering all of a sudden?

Shizune understands better and gives her two thumbs up with a blinding smile instead of an honest opinion. Maybe it just is her honest opinion.

“Thanks. Are we going, guys?” she addresses the band.

This, this is a different person, right? There’s no way our quiet repressed vocalist could speak freely, not under this kind of pressure. It couldn’t have been alcohol’s influence. It couldn’t have been anything!

“Team dubs is go~!!” Misha yells. “Hicchan, catch!”

An earpiece flies my way, clicks as it turns on and momentarily explodes with crowd noises. I check the monitor to find out that 2-4 are already off stage, and the filler’s about to end.

“All right, team. List goes unchanged, Life-Love-Special-Music. Forget about the audience, it’s just you against the instruments,” we only have one-sided communication, so that’s the best encouragement I can provide. “Give them hell.”

“And now’s the time for our headliner, class 3-3. Tonight, here, on this stage we have ‘The Wicked’ with popular western music of late nineties and early zeroes!” Misha’s voice blasts from every speaker out there.

No sound is heard at first, thanks to heavy curtains. Screens show Haruhiko touching strings, though, and in seconds weak separate sounds reach the backstage.

“So what’d you do?”

Daigo’s question reminds me of a wrapped flask in my hand. Ah, why the hell not. I come closer to Misha’s seat and tip one back.

OH JESUS CHRIST! I agonize in a cough attack caused by liquid fire burning its way down my stomach. Kenji, you goddamn lead belly, what the hell?

Everyone looks so concerned that I find it obligatory to write “Whiskey” over Shizune’s note. Daigo doesn’t hesitate to laugh his sides off, almost literally, because in a short while he’s holding them in pain rather than fun. Shizune shakes her head disapprovingly, as if there’s anything she can do at this point, and we continue watching the show without a sound. Well, Misha jerks in place and sobs from time to time.

After all, the show is what we’re here for; maybe not Kurosaki, but devil knows what he’s pursuing here, another advantage over Shizune, probably.

“I hurt myself today.”

Misha jumps at the voice.

“To see if I still feel.”

Good. Hanako’s vocals are steady, if not as emotionless as needed. It’s only the first track, it’ll suffice, given she’ll be able to keep the miracle of performance up. What kind of magic keeps her together?

“What have I become, my sweetest friend?”

The general volume crawls up, but she keeps her cool. A minute later, at the culmination, it looks like she’s going to break, but the only change is her voice getting off the leash.

“If I could start again a million miles away, I would keep myself,” angry, bitter words spill out onto the viewers, then abruptly end along with the music. “I would find a way.”

Eyes to the sky, she lets her hands slide off the mic stand. The public waits a second in disbelief, but that’s the end. Applause explodes like a bomb once the realization sinks in.

“All right, good job guys,” I say to the band, fully aware how useless words are, “don’t let them rest yet. Love’s next. Ready. Steady. Go.”

Ritsu touches the drums, setting an anxious rhythm. Haruhiko picks the strings, C#, B, C#, E, C#, B, C#, E… Another stream of cold foreign words rushes from the stage.

“If I had a hatchet, it would be yours to have, ‘cause your decapitating habits feel a little bit orgasmic.”

“What’s this song about, again?” Daigo asks to enlighten him.

“Love. One of the best love songs ever.”

He just makes an apathetic headshake like hope is lost for this world. You know, yeah, he probably understands lyrics better than I ever will, business family and whatnot, but it’s the second verse, not earlier, where the song shows its colors.

“If I had a pistol, it would be yours to have, shoot me in the head, blow a hole in my back.”

Hanako stamps words like an automatic press, at the same exact volume and pace, like intended. This positively can’t be the same girl we fail to talk to every day. It can’t be, and it’s great this way.

“Hey, it’s the real deal. It’s a real love song, dude.”