#0 / Solutions for Dispersion and Accumulation Unknown “Not a Piece of Cake”

#0-1_tobi_otogiri/ I Have No Idea Who You Are

The usual teacher was standing by the school gate that morning, talking to the students as they shuffled inside. He was wearing the same black-rimmed glasses and perfectly pressed suit as always. But today, for once, Tobi Otogiri was not the one who caught his attention.

“Asamiyaaa!” the teacher called out. “Your bangs are way too long! Cut them already! All that hair dangling around in front of you is bad for your eyesight! I should know—that’s how I ended up with these glasses!”

“Does that mean you used to have long hair, too, Mr. Yagi?” asked Asamiya.

“Who are you calling Yagi? But yeah, I did. It’s not like I’ve had this hairstyle my whole life. Obviously.”

“So you broke school rules, too, Mr. Yagi?”

“I told you not to call me that! It’s Yagarashima! And I went to a tiny little place out in the sticks with thirty students total, so we didn’t really have rules like that…”

“I’ll get a haircut sometime soon.”

“You’d better! Your eyes will go bad, Asamiya! I’m not kidding around!” Yagarashima shouted as Asamiya passed through the gate. Barely a moment later, the teacher trained his black-framed glasses on a new student. “Hey, Takagiii! You’re looking kinda under the weather today! Are you feeling all right?”

“I’ve just got low air pressure.”

“I think you mean low blood pressure! That or I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Mornin’, Mr. Yagi!” a passing student called out with a wave.

Yagarashima rounded on her so quickly, his glasses nearly flew off his face. “Hold it right there, Miyoshi! That’s ‘good morning’ to you, thank you very much!”

Recently, Tobi had noticed that his fellow students liked to mess with Yagarashima whenever they had the opportunity. He’d never picked up on it before. If you looked at it in a positive light, maybe that meant they were actually pretty fond of him.

“Good morning,” Tobi said as he passed.

“Oh, hey.” Yagarashima grunted as he looked over at Tobi and broke out in a grin. “Good morning to you, too, Otogiri!”

Yagarashima seemed happy in a pure, genuine sort of way. One look was all it took to realize his smile was perfectly heartfelt, and it caught Tobi by surprise. He found himself giving the teacher a nod, mostly on reflex.

Tobi’s backpack let out a sardonic chuckle. “Guess he’s not such a bad guy after all, eh?”

“…I never said he was,” Tobi whispered.

“Oh, reeeally?” Baku jabbed. “Man, though, I gotta say…”

Why are you always so sarcastic? Aren’t you supposed to be a backpack? thought Tobi.

“I’m starving, dammit!”

“How many times have you said that this morning?” Tobi griped. He took great care to keep his voice low enough that the other students wouldn’t hear him.

“A bunch!” Baku snapped at full volume. “And I’ll say it again!”

He didn’t have to take any precautions since Tobi was the only one who could hear him—or at least that was what they’d both thought until recently. They’d been wrong but only in select cases. The bulk of humanity couldn’t hear Baku when he spoke or see him thrash around. To them, he was just a backpack.

“You get three meals a day, right, Tobi?” he went on. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! I gotta eat something, too, or I get hungry! It took me a while to figure that out, but now that I’ve caught on, I can’t stop thinking about it!”

“It would’ve been nice if you’d stayed in the dark…,” Tobi said with a sigh before rubbing his stomach. He’d eaten breakfast at the institute that morning. He’d even asked for a second helping of rice, which he almost never did. Somehow, though, he still wasn’t quite full.

“Hmm…” Baku twisted his backpack body from side to side. Tobi figured he was keeping an eye on their surroundings. In fact, he was doing the same thing.

A male student walking in front of Tobi had something that looked like an oddly flat lizard clinging to his shoulder. Farther up ahead, a thing resembling a rain charm that had sprouted arms and legs was dangling from a girl’s long hair, twirling in the air.

“Hey, Tobi—”

“No,” Tobi said before Baku could even finish.

“C’mon, I haven’t even said anything yet!” Baku huffed. His displeasure didn’t change anything. The answer was and would remain no. There was no room for negotiation.

Tobi had known what Baku was thinking in an instant: He was going to ask if he could eat the flat lizard or the twirling rain charm. If by some wild set of improbable circumstances, it turned out that they really were just a weird lizard and a mystery animal that happened to look like a rain charm, then Tobi would have let Baku make a meal of them if he’d insisted. The fact of the matter, however, was that they weren’t. The weird things that Tobi saw weren’t reptiles or charm-like creatures at all. They were zingai—or at least, that was what some people called them.

Tobi sighed again and hung his head, doing his best to keep the zingai out of his field of vision. He knew what would happen if you ate one of those things. Didn’t Baku get it? No. That wasn’t possible. He had to know. After all, he’d eaten them before.

Baku had consumed the zingai of two of Tobi’s classmates: Chiami Kon and Shuuji Masaki, aka Masamune. He’d devoured their zingai—and what had happened to them as a result?

“I’ve got a sense of restraint, y’know? It’s not like I’m plannin’ on gobbling up every one of ’em I see,” Baku muttered. “It’s just, like…aren’t there an awful lot of ’em? I’m not just imagining it, am I?”

Tobi ignored him, but the truth was that he agreed. There really were a lot of them. There had always been people with zingai around Tobi. He’d never gone out of his way to count, but if you gathered up a hundred elementary or middle school students, at least a few of them would have one. Those few—who never seemed to be aware of their own zingai—made up around 2 to 3 percent of the population, per Tobi’s best estimate. In other words, if one or two or even several of his classmates had them, it wouldn’t have been particularly eyebrow raising.

To Tobi, zingai were just another part of his everyday life. Seeing a few in his class wasn’t enough to surprise him, and when he entered middle school and wound up in just such a situation, he simply accepted it. Zingai were all around him, so he just figured that was normal. Until recently, the thought that there were a lot of them in his vicinity hadn’t so much as crossed his mind.

Just before Tobi passed through the school’s front doors, he came to a stop. A girl was standing by the shoe cubbies ahead of him and to his left, changing into her indoor footwear. There was a zingai clinging to her back—one that looked like an oddly flat lizard. Tobi started walking again right away.

“What’s up?” Baku asked.

Tobi put on a calm front and ignored the question, but internally, he was shaken. He wanted to get another look at the zingai he’d just noticed, but he’d already passed by the girl and couldn’t see it anymore. It had been a flat, thin, lizard-like creature, about five centimeters long and colored a shade of off-white. Maybe a creamy yellow, actually. The girl whose back it had been riding on was a third-year most likely, since she’d been by the third-years’ shoe cubbies.

Hadn’t he seen a flat, lizard-like zingai just recently? Had the two been exactly alike, or were there subtle differences? Maybe slight variations in color or shape? Tobi couldn’t remember clearly, but he was confident that he’d seen a flat, lizard-like zingai riding a boy’s shoulder just a short while before.

No way, thought Tobi. Just a coincidence. They just have zingai that look sort of similar. That’s all there is to it.

Asamiya was near the shoe cubbies as well. He’d just finished changing shoes and was walking away.

“Morning,” Tobi called out.

“Huh?” Asamiya grunted. He very nearly stumbled forward, then spun about so quickly that his long hair whipped about his face. “Oh… Morning, Otogiri,” he said warily. It seemed Tobi had startled him.

“Um.” Tobi stopped at his own cubby and pulled out his indoor shoes. “I heard Mr. Yagarashima call you out a minute ago.”

“Oh… Yeah, I guess. It happens.”

“Something about your eyes going bad?”

“Yep. He says that every time.”

“Huh.”

After changing footwear, Tobi stowed away his outdoor shoes and stepped into the hall. Nothing in particular happened, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt a little let down.

“Guess Oryuu’s not around today,” Baku quietly commented.

That made something click in Tobi’s mind: He’d thought he might run into Ryuuko. He hadn’t been expecting it, of course. He knew she wasn’t that predictable. And for all he knew, she was hiding behind the cubbies at that very moment, waiting to leap out and startle him. If he didn’t want to get caught off guard like Asamiya, he’d have to be ready for that possibility.

Actually, why was Asamiya so surprised? Tobi wondered. With no reason to split up, the two of them had ended up walking to class side by side. Tobi decided to speak up, but just as he started to say Asamiya’s name, Asamiya cut him off.

“So, Otogiri— Ah… Er, go ahead. You first.”

“Nah,” Tobi replied, shaking his head. He hadn’t been planning on saying anything particularly important anyway. “Need something from me?”

“…Sort of,” said Asamiya. “I was just wondering if you were always, you know…like this. I’m not sure how to put it. I guess I mean, were you always so…affable?”

“Affable?” Tobi furrowed his brow. He knew what the word meant, but he hadn’t heard it used very often. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.”

“Guess they wouldn’t,” Asamiya said with a dry chuckle. It wasn’t enough to get under Tobi’s skin, but it wasn’t a sound he particularly liked, either. His lack of amusement must have shown on his face, because Asamiya apologized a moment later.

“My bad,” he said, though he didn’t stop snickering.

“Whatever,” said Tobi. He wasn’t totally sure why he was irritated. In fact, he found it a little strange. He wasn’t upset—or at least, he didn’t think he was. Not upset but still irritated. It was an odd, contradictory feeling. Weird.

At that point, Tobi glanced over his shoulder. If he went the other way, he’d eventually wind up at the nurse’s office. But why had he turned around? Tobi wasn’t totally sure himself, at least not yet, but something was definitely bothering him. He kept walking, only to turn around a second time, this time stopping in place.

Someone was there. Watching him. They weren’t wearing a uniform, which meant they weren’t a student. A teacher, then? And yet that didn’t seem right, either.

Judging by the person’s build, they were likely a man. They—he—had a large, bulky frame and wore a brimless hat along with a face mask. The mask was odd and had a drawing on it like a mouth with bared teeth. The man’s eyes were very distinctive, and he was clearly looking at Tobi, but at the same time, it felt like he was gazing at nothing at all. Like his eyes were present but absent. Like they were normal, ordinary eyes, but at the same time, fake.

“Otogiri?” said Asamiya.

Tobi grunted something indistinct in reply. Then he turned to look at Asamiya, taking his eyes off the man for no more than a second. But by the time he’d looked back again, the man was gone.

“Tobi…” Baku stirred restlessly on Tobi’s back, clearly wanting to say something. But Tobi couldn’t talk to him just yet. Not with Asamiya right there.

Tobi started walking again, and Asamiya matched his pace. The other boy seemed curious, but he didn’t ask Tobi why he’d stopped, and Tobi was grateful for his discretion. He wouldn’t have been able to give a satisfactory answer either way.

Who was that man? He hadn’t been a student, and he was clearly an adult. Maybe someone who worked at the school? That seemed unlikely. Plus, a giant guy like that prowling around inside a public school would probably attract a lot of attention. Why wasn’t anyone raising the alarm? It was almost as if no one else had noticed him. Could that be true? Was Tobi the only one who’d seen him? Was that even possible?

One thing was certain: It wasn’t just his eyes playing tricks on him. Tobi was positive he’d seen the guy. He could recall his appearance far too vividly to dismiss it as the product of an overactive imagination. In fact, it was almost odd how clearly Tobi could recall the man’s appearance, considering he’d only seen him for a moment. He’d been wearing a dark-colored coat—a flight jacket, maybe—and tall boots. And his hands had been strangely large.

Tobi paused to consider the image in his mind. Had he even had a chance to see the man’s large hands? Had he really been wearing boots, even though they were indoors? In spite of his doubts, the image in Tobi’s mind remained as clear as day. Maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d seen the man. Maybe somewhere, at some point in the past, they’d encountered each other before.

Maybe Tobi already knew him.

#0-2_ryuuko_shiratama/ The Part Where You Laugh

The instant Ryuuko Shiratama woke up that morning, she resolved herself to ambushing Tobi Otogiri again. There was only one question on her mind: Where would she do it?

It took quite some thought, but eventually, Ryuuko settled on a plan. She ended up lurking behind the school’s shoe cubbies, waiting for Tobi to arrive. The moment he showed up, she would leap out of hiding and surprise him.

She’d done something quite similar once before, though surprising Tobi hadn’t been her intention at the time. It had just felt natural to stand behind the cubbies, and the moment he arrived, she’d stepped out to greet him—only for him to stagger backward in shock. That, it turned out, had been oddly fun to watch, and Ryuuko found herself wanting to give him a real surprise next time. How would Tobi react to that?

As she held her breath and waited for the moment to strike, simply imagining the possibilities made her heart race—for a moment, at least. As images of the expressions and reactions that Tobi might show drifted through her mind, however, she started to wonder: What did it say about her as a person that startling one of her friends made her happy?

“What do you think, Chinu?” Ryuuko muttered. At times like these, she had a bad habit of talking to the little pouch she always carried with her. The moment she realized what she’d done, she frantically shook her head. “No, no! Stop that!”

Thankfully, nobody had been around to notice. It would be bad if someone caught her. They’d think she was a total weirdo. Ryuuko touched the pouch with both hands and took a slow, deep breath.

“…Hmm?” Something was odd. She detected faint movement from inside the pouch. “Chinu…?”

She unzipped it, and the instant the pouch was open, Chinu poked her head out, horns first. Her white fur was practically standing on end.

“Were you cramped in there?” Ryuuko whispered. “That’s okay. Come on out.”

It almost seemed like Chinu had been waiting for permission. She pulled herself halfway out of the pouch, opened up her little mouth, and let out a slight, squeak-like cry.

Ryuuko nodded back, then decided to walk around a little. It wasn’t an issue to let Chinu out. After all, most people couldn’t see her in the first place. Ryuuko was still a bit concerned, however. An awful lot of students were currently passing by the shoe cubbies.

“I’m beginning to think that startling Tobi here might not be such a good idea,” she muttered to herself. Chinu squeaked once more, as if to agree with her. “An ambush…”

Maybe her plan had been a poor idea from the outset. Maybe instead of ambushing him, she should simply wait for him somewhere.

“In our classroom, perhaps?”

Chinu squeaked yet again.

“…I just can’t seem to settle down today,” Ryuuko said before suddenly stopping in her tracks. “Wait. Am I speaking too loudly? I probably look like one of those people who talks to themselves all the time…”

Ryuuko set off again, this time at a much faster pace, and Chinu looked up at her. The zingai didn’t have eyes, or at least nothing resembling them, but she could still see.

When Chinu was in her pouch, Ryuuko could act like she wasn’t there at all. When she was out and watching Ryuuko, however, it wasn’t so easy. She just couldn’t help but be aware of Chinu’s presence on some level.

Ryuuko came to a stop on a staircase landing. It just so happened that no one else was around.

“Chinu,” she said as she touched her pouch. Chinu was hanging more than halfway out now, but the pouch still felt full. “You are getting bigger, aren’t you?”

Back when Ryuuko’s grandmother had bought her this pouch, Chinu had been able to fit inside with room to spare. It had seemed quite spacious even. But as time passed, Chinu had gradually grown larger.

Ryuuko had gotten bigger as well. She was much taller than she’d been in the fifth grade. In fact, she’d grown by almost fifteen centimeters over the last three years alone. It was hard, however, to get a sense for that sort of change when it was happening to your own body. Despite the difference, she had never gotten the feeling that she was suddenly seeing the world from a new perspective.

And yet Chinu seemed oddly large all of a sudden. It felt like it had happened quickly and in the recent past. But when?

“Erk…”

Ryuuko gulped, and Chinu let out another squeak-like cry.

A girl was climbing up the staircase. Ryuuko didn’t want to block her path, so she stepped to the side, into the landing’s corner. Her heart was pounding wildly.

Ryuuko knew that something strange had just happened to her. For a moment, her mind had gone completely blank. It was hard to say for sure, but she had a feeling that she hadn’t been able to see or hear anything, either. She’d completely zoned out.

Ryuuko slapped her temples with her palms. It was a habit of hers that came out naturally whenever she tried to remember something. She caught herself doing it during tests all the time, and she’d had the tic for as long as she could remember.

Why had she zoned out a moment ago? When had it started?

When?

That was it. That was the key. She’d been thinking about something. About Chinu. About how big Chinu had grown recently. Had she had that thought before as well? Chinu had grown, just like Ryuuko had. There was no doubt about that. She’d been smaller before. Before. When was “before,” exactly?

Recently, Chinu had grown.

Ryuuko squeezed her eyes shut. It had just happened again. It wasn’t that she’d fainted, exactly. Her consciousness hadn’t departed from her. It was more like a flat white wall had appeared in front of her, blocking her train of thought from proceeding further.

This wasn’t the first time Ryuuko had experienced this phenomenon. It would happen, for instance, when she was reading one of the books that her grandfather had bought her. Sometimes she would find a particularly difficult sentence that she just couldn’t understand, no matter how many times she read it. No amount of thought would unveil its meaning, and then suddenly, she would stop thinking entirely. Even though the possibility that she’d end up unable to answer one of her grandfather’s questions about her reading—and that he would scold her for it—terrified her.

Sometimes, she would even zone out while her grandfather was actively questioning her. He would demand to know why she’d gone silent, thumping a fingertip against the table. That would snap Ryuuko back to reality. She’d apologize repeatedly, but he wouldn’t accept her excuses. When Ryuuko’s grandfather got upset, it was exceptionally difficult to get him back into a good mood. Then, without fail, her grandmother would end up treating her coldly, too.

I have to be better than this, Ryuuko would think each time it happened. I’m not good enough. I don’t measure up in so many ways. I’m a bad kid. A failure. A worthless child.

That was why. Surely, that explained everything.

Ryuuko had lapsed into thoughtlessness once again. She couldn’t quite tell what had brought her out of her stupor. Maybe it had been a soft squeak from Chinu, or the sound of footsteps, or the presence of someone ascending the staircase.

“Ah!” Ryuuko exclaimed.

She ran over to the edge of the landing, where, looking down, she saw a pair of boys climbing the stairs together. Both were in her class, and one of them—the boy with a backpack slung over his shoulder—glanced up at her. For just a moment, Tobi Otogiri’s eyes widened slightly.

“Good morning, Tobi!” Ryuuko shouted as she thrust her arms into the air. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing.

Tobi frowned in confusion.

“Eep!” Ryuuko said out loud. She hadn’t meant to do that, either.

Upon reflection, she had struck a very strange pose. It almost looked like she’d thrown up her arms in celebration. She was happy to see Tobi, granted, but not in a way that merited a full-blown, fist-pumping expression of delight. Ryuuko lowered her arms.

“Uh…,” Tobi mumbled, then nodded. “Morning.”

“G-good morning!” Ryuuko said. Again. She’d accidentally greeted him twice, and her embarrassment was intensifying by the second.

The boy with the long bangs standing beside Tobi looked flabbergasted. Ryuuko had realized he was there, of course. To be honest, though, she’d barely noticed him. In retrospect, that was awfully rude of her.

“Umm, and good morning to you, too, Asamiya!” Ryuuko said, bowing politely before realizing that she had just said good morning three times in the last few seconds. Her capacity for shame was nearing its limit. It felt like she was about to burst into flames. “…Gaaah! Oh, what am I even—?”

“Pfft!”

Tobi covered the lower half of his face with the crook of his elbow and looked down. Asamiya burst out laughing, not even trying to hide it.

“You’re a funny girl, y’know that, Oryuu?” Baku said with a cackle.

Ryuuko, for her part, found nothing funny whatsoever about the idea of humiliating herself for their amusement. She wanted to protest, but seeing as Asamiya was present, complaining to Baku directly was very much not on the table.

More importantly, when she took another look at Tobi and saw his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter, she just couldn’t find it in herself to stay upset. In fact, she’d started feeling an urge to laugh along with him. She tried as hard as she could to resist it, but it was a losing battle.

“Hee-hee!”

In the end, Ryuuko managed to restrict herself to a quick muffled giggle. It took everything she had, but she just barely kept herself in check. Her short outburst had been enough to push Tobi over the edge, however, and he let out a snort-like laugh. Ryuuko nearly screamed. She’d been hoping that Tobi would endure, but he hadn’t, and now she was in trouble. Infectious laughter was bouncing back and forth between them, and it was her turn again next.

“Wait, I— Oh god, my sides,” Asamiya managed to choke out as he succumbed to an even bigger fit of giggles.

Ryuuko buried her face in her hands. She knew that she was laughing, but she could no longer tell what kind. A soft chuckle? Full-blown cackling?

“All right now. I think you’ve crossed the line from funny into crazy.” Baku let out an exasperated sigh.

#0-3_itsuya_haizaki/ How Adults Do Things

“This is bad. At this rate, it might turn into an actual case…”

Itsuya Haizaki had gone to work that morning, just like he always did. The janitor’s room was perfectly organized, without so much as a single piece of stray trash on the floor, and he’d just picked up the watering can he kept on his desk. He was ready to get to work anytime. He couldn’t have been more prepared.

“What now? Oh, geez, this is bad,” Haizaki muttered as he sat down in his folding chair. “Wait, no! This is no time to be sitting!” he yelped a second later, shooting back upright. “This is bad. Really bad. Really, really bad. What was I thinking…? ‘I’m planning on doing everything I possibly can’? ‘Give me a shout if you ever need anything’? I can’t believe I had the nerve to say any of that. Way to be a show-off! Yeah—that’s all I was doing. I got cocky, acting like I was some kinda badass. What a joke. This is exactly my problem, I swear. I act like a big ol’ poser, but then when all’s said and done, I don’t even have the guts to contact the chief…”

Haizaki paced restlessly around the janitor’s room. His partner, the weasel-like zingai Olver, poked his head out from under Haizaki’s desk.

“Is that even an option? Can I just call him up and say I want back in to Special Affairs? Would he let me? Could I just bow and beg to take my old job again? Hmm. Do I even want to do that? A comeback? Me? Really? Could I pull that off? They already decided I’m dead weight not fit for fieldwork, right? Isn’t that why they shuffled me off to General Affairs?”

Haizaki dropped his watering can onto his desk with a thud, and Olver scurried back underneath.

“Ahh…!” Haizaki groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I am so not cut out for General Affairs! I can’t handle stuff like coordinating and negotiating! That must be why the chief transferred me there to begin with. He was trying to make me quit on my own! He was soft firing me, basically. What’s a guy like me supposed to accomplish now? I have to do something, though. Those kids still have a future. Someone has to protect them. But how? Ugh, this is so bad…”

Haizaki put both hands down on his desk and nodded to himself. He repeated the gesture over and over, muttering, “I know,” each time. “This isn’t getting me anywhere. If I could solve this problem by stressing out, it would’ve been over ages ago. First things first: work. Gotta do my job. That’s the ticket—I’m a white-collar worker with full-time employment, and I need to take care of that before anything else!”

At that very moment—the instant Haizaki picked up his watering can once more—the cell phone on his desk began to vibrate.

“Bwaugh?!” Haizaki jumped into the air and pressed a hand to his chest. “O-ohhh god, that scared me. What the heck? Is this harassment? Gotta be. My own phone’s harassing me. Really, a call…? Who’d be phoning me up first thing in the morning?”

Haizaki put the watering can down again and picked up his phone. The number on the screen wasn’t familiar. It was a mobile number, but he’d never seen it before. Timidly, he picked up.

“…Hello? Can I help you?”

“Oh, is that you, Haizaki?” said a masculine voice. The speaker sounded rather old.

“Umm… Yes, it is…,” Haizaki replied.

“It’s me. You know, me!”

“Sorry, but I don’t know a ‘me,’” said Haizaki. The mystery caller was obviously messing with him, and Haizaki couldn’t resist the impulse to sass him back.

“Huh?”

“…Forget it. So, uh, who is this…?”

“It’s Kudou. Does that ring a bell?”

“Ch-Chief…?!”

“Not your chief. Not anymore anyway. You’d better pick a new name for me.”

Come to think of it, Haizaki did recognize this teasing, roundabout way of speaking.

It was Kudou—Keiki Kudou, the section chief of the Special Affairs Response Office’s Management Division, which, in turn, was part of the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office. In other words, he was Itsuya Haizaki’s former boss.

“Sooo, Haizaki,” said Kudou. Haizaki could picture his long, slender face with incredible clarity. His faint, mocking smile and the way he’d pick wax out of his ear with his little finger as he spoke. “I hear you’ve gotten a nice new gig for yourself, haven’t you?”

“…Well, umm… Yes,” said Haizaki. “Thanks for asking…”

“A middle school, was it? And here I was, thinking you’d end up working at a host club or whatever. I was sure you’d wind up in a bar or something like that.”

“A-a host club…? I don’t think so. I’m too old for that kind of thing…”

“Oh, don’t talk yourself down! If you’re an old man, then what does that make me? You know, this is exactly your problem, Haizaki. You’re sociable, friendly, and have a way with words, but at the end of the day, you’re just too darn insensitive to stick the landing.”

“…Sorry.”

“Oh, I’m just messing with you! It was a joke! Honestly, I’ll never getover how weirdly serious you are, considering you look like such a shallow flirt.”

“Is that really how you see me?”

“As being weirdly serious? It sure is. Not a compliment, by the way.”

“I guess not…”

“There you go again—I was kidding! Humor’s important, you know? Right?”

Though he was a government official who’d graduated from the University of Tokyo, one of Japan’s most prestigious schools, Kudou was anything but pretentious. He was casual—so easygoing he seemed almost aloof—and loved to crack jokes. He never raised his voice when talking to subordinates, but according to persistent rumors, he was also the last person you wanted to piss off. Kudou was a master at maneuvering and making backroom deals and showed no mercy to those who caused trouble in his territory. The fact that he was unmarried and had no particular interest in climbing the social ladder meant he had a wealth of ways to give people a very hard time with little fear of reprisal. That was what Haizaki had heard anyway.

Kudou was a strange man—an enigma—and despite his friendly attitude and glib tongue, he never seemed to tell the truth. From the moment they met to the day Haizaki quit his job at Special Affairs, he’d never liked the man.

“So, umm, did you need something, uh…Mr. Kudou?” asked Haizaki.

“Oh! Right, of course.” Kudou paused to let out a quick laugh.

Kudou’s laughter always sounded mocking, and Haizaki found it just as irritating as the man’s personality. To be blunt, it annoyed the hell out of him. Kudou probably knew exactly what he was doing, too. He was probably irritating him on purpose.

“You’re right, I do need something. I wouldn’t phone you just to catch up, would I? I’m a little too busy for that. I’m guessing you’re the same, right? You’ve gotten a fresh start on life. Working hard at your new job. I’m sure they’re keeping you as busy as a bee, aren’t they?”

“…You could say that.”

“Well then, Haizaki. Don’t stick your neck out for our sake, all right? Stay in your lane.”

A chill had suffused Kudou’s voice. It was a subtle change, and Haizaki was sure the guy still had the same smile as before plastered on his face. Haizaki’s breath caught in his throat. It felt like the blade of a knife was being held up to one of his eyeballs.

“Understood? Losing her was a serious blow and not just to you. All of us felt it. You never recovered, and that was a shame, but what’s done is done. I’m not interested in giving you the third degree over it. And look at you—you have a new job! A new lease on life! I’m impressed. Couldn’t be happier for you. Go get ’em, tiger—I’m rooting for you! So, Haizaki, I’d really appreciate it if you’d make a point of staying out of our business. Can you do that for me? Our territory’s no place for a civvy. I think you know exactly what I’m getting at here, don’t you?”

“…They’re middle schoolers,” said Haizaki. He was proud of himself for managing to say it at all, though the fact he felt proud over something so miniscule also irritated him. He knew that his perspective was hopelessly naive, but he also knew he was right. “They’re children. It’s our responsibility as adults to protect—”

“I’m telling you, Haizaki, that’s not your job anymore. Or am I wrong?” Kudou pressed. “Are you saying you want to be Otter again?”

Haizaki licked his lips, then bit them. What was Kudou’s angle? Was he offering to reinstate Haizaki, or was he just toying with him? And what did he want? If protecting the kids was his first priority, then it made sense to go back to Special Affairs. It was the right decision. But did he have the nerve? Or was he still convinced it was hopeless?

“I’m going to level with you, Haizaki. We’re not exactly an exception in this sense, and I’m not going to start talking your ear off about it, but our budget only has so much breathing room. And even if we could make it rain whenever we wanted, it’s still not every day that we find someone with the right qualifications to do the job.”

“A-are you saying you’re understaffed?”

“We were so understaffed we’d take anyone we could get back when youworked with us, and trust me, that hasn’t changed. So, you know, if you really got down on your hands and knees and begged for your job back, I can’t say I wouldn’t at least consider it. I wouldn’t even rule out taking you on as an independent contractor, if that’s what it came to.”

“I think…,” Haizaki began. It took all his effort to squeeze the words out. He knew what he was going to say, and he was already frustrated with himself for being so profoundly indecisive, but he didn’t have the resolve to change his answer. “I think I’d like some time to think about it.”

“Feel free,” said Kudou. It felt like he’d already predicted Haizaki’s response. Haizaki wasn’t bold enough to say, Yes, please, on the spot, and Kudou had seen straight through him. “Oh, that reminds me! I almost forgot to tell you something important. We can’t exactly sit back and watch that little string of incidents keep playing out, so we’ve started taking steps of our own.”

“Uh, what? What do you mean, you’ve taken—?”

“We’re adults, you know? We all want to protect the next generation. Absolutely agree with you there. Oh— And with that, I’m out of time! I’ve got a meeting I have to hustle off to. Nice talking with you.”

“Wha—? Wait! Ch-Chief!”

“On my waaay!”

And then Kudou hung up.

“…Why…that little…son of a…!” Haizaki growled, raising his phone up into the air. He wanted to dash it against the floor, shattering it into a million pieces. But instead, he slowly lowered it back down. “No. It’s not the phone’s fault… And breaking it would be expensive. No way this thing’s still under warranty. Wonder if they’d charge me for repairs even if it was. Probably would, huh…?”

Haizaki took a deep breath. He tried to calm down, but it was no use. His irritation wasn’t so easily subdued.

“Chief Kudou really does know just what to say to piss a guy off. And you can never shake him. I wonder if he’s ever lost his cool? He spent that whole conversation running circles around me. And what did he mean, they’ve started taking steps? Is this a case now? What are they—?”

Just then, someone knocked on the door to the janitor’s room. That wasn’t too unusual. Teachers and students stopped by from time to time when they needed him for something, and Haizaki was about to call out, Come in. But before he had the chance, the door practically flew open on its own.

“Wha…?” Bewildered, Haizaki dropped his phone. “Agh!”

He scrambled to pick it up again. Thankfully, the screen wasn’t cracked, and he didn’t see any other conspicuous damage. Relieved, he paused for a moment, before looking up to find a young woman standing in the doorway.

“…Huh?”

She couldn’t have been older than twenty. Probably in her early teens. Was she a student at the school? No, he’d never seen her before, and more importantly, she wasn’t in uniform. She was dressed casually in a T-shirt with “THA ZEN” written on it. Not “THE ZEN.” “THA ZEN.”

The girl looked like she’d rolled straight out of bed and left home without bothering to brush her hair. If you put even a pinch of effort in, you’d never wind up with a hairstyle like that—in fact, saying hairstyle felt wrong, since it included the word style. She was wearing a pair of headphones, and as she looked at Haizaki, her gaze was so indistinct and unfocused, it seemed like she was still half asleep. That or like she was looking down on him. She stepped into the janitor’s room, then pulled her headphones down to rest around her neck.

“M’n’ng.”

For a moment, Haizaki couldn’t decipher what she’d said. “Morning” was his best guess. If they were going to have a conversation, she’d need to speak a little more clearly.

“Uh… Good…morning,” he said. “Wait, umm… Who are you, exactly?”

The girl opened her mouth again and said…something. Or at least, she attempted to. What? thought Haizaki. “Ns…fer…nt”? What was that supposed to mean? Speak up, please!

Haizaki cupped his hand behind one of his ears and tried asking again. “Sorry, who are you…?”

The girl looked up at Haizaki—or so he thought, before quickly realizing she’d simply rolled her eyes. She heaved a deep sigh, and Haizaki could practically hear her thinking, What a pain in the ass. Or maybe it was Whatever or even Shut up. Middle schoolers tended to hit you with one of those phrases if you asked them too many questions. Haizaki always told himself that it was normal for kids their age to be a bit sassy and that it wasn’t anything personal, but the truth was that it always hurt his feelings a little.

“Transfer student,” the girl said a little louder. Her voice was low and a little husky. “Happened pretty last minute, so I don’t have a uniform yet.”

“…A transfer student? Oh. I see,” Haizaki said, cocking his head. He did not see. This was the janitor’s room. “So, umm, if you’re looking for the staff room—”

“You haven’t heard?” she asked, pointing at the cell phone in Haizaki’s hand. “Didn’t Chief Kudou say something?”

“Uh. No? He didn’t really say— Huh?! Chief Kudou? Wait…,” Haizaki babbled a moment before his eyes suddenly went wide. “Wh-wh-wh-why do you know the Special Affairs Management Division chief’s name…?!”

“You mean, why would a kid know that?” The transfer student walked toward Haizaki’s desk. She paused for a moment to swipe a finger across its surface—maybe checking if it was clean—then sat on it. “Why do you think, old man?”

“Old…?!” Haizaki choked out. When you worked around middle schoolers, having kids take a swipe at your age from time to time was an occupational hazard. In all fairness, Haizaki probably did seem pretty old from a middle schooler’s perspective. He knew he wasn’t a young man anymore but being told that he was old to his face still stung. “Are you saying…you work with Special Affairs? Or…?”

“Dunno if you should be saying that out loud,” the transfer student said with a shrug. “We’re supposed to be the ‘florists,’ right?”

“…Right. Pardon me,” Haizaki said, becoming awkwardly polite for a moment before clearing his throat and moving on. “But, umm, you’re…a middle schooler, right?”

“A fourteen-year-old in full bloom.” The girl let out a short, insincere chuckle. “Who better to work with the florists, right?”

“Look, when I—” Haizaki began before taking a deep breath and collecting himself. “…When I was a member, we never sent kids into the field. In fact, I don’t recall us having a single minor even in General Affairs or Data Processing…”

“Goes to show how short-staffed we are these days,” the girl replied. “But also, when ‘the field’ is a middle school, it’s a lot easier for a kid to move around than an old man like you.”

“‘Move around’? What exactly are you here to do, kid?”

“Monika.”

“…What?”

“Monika Asahi,” she said, tracing out her name in the air with a fingertip. “The last name’s fake, though.”

“So…Monika?”

“First-name basis already, huh? Overfamiliar much?”

“S-sorry!”

“I mean, whatever.”

“So do you mind or not?” Haizaki muttered under his breath.

Monika shot Haizaki a brief glare, then resumed her listless expression from before. “I can’t tell you about my job,” she said. “You’re an outsider, so you’re off the need-to-know list.”

“Then…why are you here?” asked Haizaki.

“Just to introduce myself. Seemed polite,” Monika replied before scooting off Haizaki’s desk and heading for the door.

Haizaki’s shoulders slumped. He was about to say, Well, okay. But that seemed like a pretty pathetic way for an adult to address a middle schooler, even if she was apparently working for the Special Affairs Response Office.

“Oh, right,” Monika said, pausing to turn around again. “I figure the chief already told you, but just in case.”

“…Yeah?” said Haizaki. That didn’t feel any more dignified than well, okay, and to be honest, this whole thing was starting to depress him.

“If you don’t feel like helping, then stay out of my way,” she said. “Got it, old man?” Haizaki thought she’d deliberately put extra emphasis on those last two words.

With that, Monika left the janitor’s room.

“Guess an old man like me would just be dead weight.” Haizaki groaned. He set his phone down on his desk with more force than he’d intended. The screen was facing down, and though it didn’t seem likely, he flipped it over to check the damage, just in case. A fine crack had appeared in the phone’s display.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

#0-4_rukana_shizukudani/ Worthy of Worship

Recently, Rukana Shizukudani had taken to going to school at the same time every day. She used to show up after classes had started and enter through the staff doorway, which she’d been given special permission to use. That routine, however, had changed as of late.

Now she joined the throngs of middle schoolers making their way through the school gates. Even when she was part of the crowd, she was still alone. Alone and yet not. After all, Cipher was always right by her side—always watching as its four legs propelled it silently forward.

Needless to say, Rukana had a reason for showing up on time. At that moment, a trio of girls were walking about ten meters in front of her. One of them—the girl in the middle—was her target, and Rukana had been watching her every morning for a while now.

The girl had always been thin with rather narrow shoulders, and she’d kept her black hair in the same long, perfectly straight style since elementary school. Back then, however, she never would have walked to school in a group. That would have been impossible.

As Rukana watched the girl reply to the others in her group, nodding and laughing when appropriate, a thought struck her: She’s forcingherself. Rukana could tell. She knew the girl’s true nature. The students flanking her were her classmates and maybe her friends, but neither of them understood her like Rukana did. They couldn’t possibly.

The girl had changed a lot. In elementary school, she would spend every day out hunting for bugs and sketching them. Her interest was so intense it bordered on obsession, and she couldn’t hold a half-decent conversation about anything else. Others found her unsettling, and she’d wound up an outcast. She was a total weirdo, though, so it was no surprise her peers had kept their distance.

But now she was trying to change—or rather, she’d already changed. She’d put in the work and learned how to appeal to those around her. She’d figured out how to hold a conversation. In the end, though, that was all surface level. You couldn’t become a new person overnight.

A pair of butterflies fluttered around the girl’s shoulders. The girls with her didn’t seem to notice them nor did the other middle schoolers around them. In fact, even the girl herself seemed oblivious. An avid insect collector like her, who regularly grabbed bugs with her bare hands and loved butterflies above all else, hadn’t noticed that two of them were fluttering right above her own shoulder. That couldn’t be right. Had she really changed that much?

The girl had a favorite type of butterfly: a species called the blue admiral. Blue admirals had black wings with vivid blue patterns—just like the butterflies that, at that very moment, had passed behind the girl’s neck to a position above her left shoulder, where they now hovered in place.

She couldn’t see them. No one could. Nobody aside from Rukana anyway. That said, they weren’t a hallucination. In fact, they weren’t butterflies, either, much as they resembled them. They were zingai, and though they’d been flying in tandem until now, they suddenly split apart. One of them flew away from the girl, toward the student walking to her left. The other turned back the way it had come and continued toward the student on the girl’s right.

The student on the left had short hair, and the butterfly-like zingai landed on the exposed nape of her neck. The student on the right’s hair was long, and she kept it tucked behind her ears. The zingai that had flown toward her came to rest on her earlobe.

The butterfly-like creatures spread their wings wide. They looked like they were resting or perhaps harvesting nectar or sap. They hadn’t landed on flowers or trees, though. They’d landed on people.

When the trio of girls passed through the school gates, the butterfly zingai still hadn’t budged. Soon the group vanished into the entryway, out of Rukana’s line of sight. The butterfly zingai had stayed on the two girls until the very end, never moving.

Rukana went in through the staff entrance and pulled her indoor shoes out of a bag she’d been carrying. Once she’d switched her footwear, she made her way toward the nurse’s office. In the hall, she pressed her wrist against her mouth. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t keep down her laughter.

“Itoha’s zingai are making great progress. They’ve grown so well…”

Rukana had delivered one success after another. Things could hardly have been going better.

She took a moment to collect herself, then opened the door to the nurse’s office—and paused. She wasn’t shocked per se, just confused. The stool that the school nurse usually sat on was occupied by someone else—a man wearing a brimless hat and a medical mask that covered the lower half of his face. His hands were large, and he wore a pair of tall boots.

“Th-the Cleaner,” Rukana muttered.

“Close the door.”

The voice was deep yet gentle and, above all, incredibly comforting. It didn’t belong to the Cleaner, though. As far as Rukana knew, he never spoke. The beds. It was coming from the beds.

Rukana did as she was told, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. There were three beds in the nurse’s office, with curtains that could be drawn around them for privacy. A man wearing a white button-up shirt was sitting on the farthest one. The instant Rukana saw him, she felt like her heart might stop. Perhaps it had, just for a moment. For a split second, she’d been dead, and he had brought her back to life.

“Master S…!”

Rukana saw stars. Her ears rang. It felt like the Earth was spinning beneath her. A smile spread across the man called S’s beautiful face. He was an almost uncannily slender man—entirely unlike the boys who went to Rukana’s middle school. There was no comparing them. The word handsome seemed too frivolous—too ordinary—to do him justice. How could she ever hope to describe him in words? Rukana considered him to be a truly noble individual. Holy even.

Cipher crawled its way up Rukana’s right leg, wrapping its four limbs around her. It was probably trying to calm her down. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool. Rukana understood that, but she couldn’t help herself. S was here. Right here. He’d come for her. The Cleaner was one thing, but why would S himself pay her a visit? She’d never anticipated this. How could she have?

“Wh-wh-why are you at my s-school, Master S…?” Rukana sputtered.

“Just running an errand,” S replied. He stood up from the bed and tilted his chin—gesturing for her to come toward him. Rukana understood what the gesture meant, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. How could this possibly be? Why would S beckon her over? “Oh—and I came to see you, too, Rukana,” he added.

“Y-you came…to see…?”

Rukana slowly tottered toward S. He’d come to see her. Her.

The Cleaner stood up as well, then moved the stool he’d been sitting on closer to S.

“Go on,” S said.

Rukana nodded repeatedly, then sat down. Sitting while he was standing was shockingly discourteous—but S had ordered it. She had to obey.

S knelt down on one knee, lowering himself to Rukana’s eye level. Is this really okay? she thought. Cipher had vanished at some point. At any rate, it was no longer by her side. But she wasn’t worried; it was surely somewhere nearby. And anyway, that didn’t matter right now.

“Hold out your hands, Rukana.”

Rukana could never disobey S, no matter what he asked of her. She raised her hands, clueless as to what he wanted. S raised his hands as well—slender, like those of a pianist, with long, perfectly smooth fingers—and wrapped them around hers. Her hands looked tiny in comparison. Childish. His felt sleek—silky. They weren’t dry, but they weren’t damp, either. Not like Rukana’s. Even she could feel the sweat on her palms.

“I-I’m sorry,” said Rukana. “My nerves—my hands, the sweat, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said S. “Just breathe. Slowly. Deep breaths. Watch. Do as I do.”

S pursed his lips and sucked in a slow, deep breath. Rukana imitated him, and like magic, her pounding heart began to slow and the stiffness in her limbs drained away.

“You’ve done well, Rukana. Very well, indeed,” said S.

“…Have I really?” she asked.

“Of course.” He gently drew her hands toward his face, stopping just before the tip of his nose. Rukana could feel his breath on her fingertips. Her heart started pounding all over again. “You’ve done enough already, but the way I see it, you’re capable of so much more. You have a wealth of potential, Rukana. Simply tremendous.”

“I do? I have potential?”

“You do—because you’re special.”

“I’m…special.”

“That’s right,” S said as he lowered his head. His hair brushed against the back of Rukana’s hands. She felt like she might faint on the spot, but there was still more to come. Next, he pressed his forehead into the back of her fingers. “I know you can do this, Rukana. I have faith in you, and I’m always watching you.”

#0-5_tobi_otogiri/ The Zazen Mindset

“Ugggh,” Tobi’s backpack groaned. “I’m friggin’ starving…”

Pretty sure I already told you to quiet down, Tobi thought. He was seriously tempted to punt Baku straight across the room, but considering that said room was his classroom, pulling a stunt like that first thing in the morning would be sure to get him branded a weirdo. Instead, he satisfied himself with clicking his tongue and sighing.

A moment later, Tobi’s gaze drifted to the right, toward the row of desks closest to the hallway, where Ryuuko Shiratama sat. It turned out Ryuuko was looking at him, too. Her brow was furrowed, and she was frowning. She was obviously worried.

“Oryuuuu,” Baku moaned in a cloyingly tragic tone. “You’ve gotta save me! Feed me something, please…”

“Something…,” Ryuuko muttered, cradling her head in her hands.

If Tobi had been closer, he would have warned her that she’d spoken out loud. That said, he couldn’t blame her. This was obviously Baku’s fault. He was starting to make Tobi genuinely mad. Unfortunately, Baku wasn’t easily intimidated. Tobi didn’t know what to do about him.

In the end, the bell signaling the start of class rang before Tobi came up with any good ideas. The door slid open, and Mr. Harimoto, the hedgehog-haired, red tracksuit–clad homeroom teacher of Class 2-3, did not walk inside, much to Tobi’s surprise. The scattered sounds of confusion from his classmates made it clear Tobi wasn’t alone. He hadn’t made any noise, but he’d simply been too taken aback to respond.

Instead of Mr. Harimoto, a girl entered the classroom. And judging by her apparent age, she wasn’t a teacher at all. That said, she also wasn’t wearing a uniform. Tobi couldn’t tell if she was a middle schooler or not. Her hair was messy, like she’d just gotten out of bed, and she had a pair of headphones hanging around her neck. Tobi’s attention was then drawn to her T-shirt. It had two words printed on it: “THA ZEN.”

“‘Zazen,’ maybe…?” Ryuuko muttered. Tobi had thought the same thing. It was almost like their thoughts were perfectly in sync, which made him oddly embarrassed.

The zazen girl turned her rather gloomy gaze on Ryuuko, shooting her a disdainful glance. It only lasted for a split second, though, before she walked over to the lectern, stopped, and looked around the classroom.

Her gaze met Tobi’s.

The zazen girl’s eyebrow and a corner of her mouth twitched. Tobi didn’t know how to interpret the expression, but he suddenly thought, Maybe she knows about me. He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten that impression. He certainly didn’t know anything about her. He’d never seen her before in his life.

The zazen girl picked up a piece of chalk, raised it to the blackboard, and wrote down a name with quick, powerful motions.

Monika Asahi

“That’s me. Monika Asahi,” the girl said, turning to face the class once more. “Nice to meet you.”

That, as it happened, was the exact moment that Mr. Harimoto—aka Harry—burst into the room wearing his signature red tracksuit. “Now wait just a minute, Asahi!” he shouted. “Where were you?! You just vanished! I’ve been looking everywhere…!”

“Oh.” Asahi scratched her head. “I thought, ‘Hey, it’s kinda rare for a transfer student to introduce herself before the teacher gets there, huh?’ I was curious how it’d go.”

“N-now, look here. Having a sense of curiosity’s great and all, but not like this,” Harimoto sputtered. Judging by the sweat stains on his tracksuit, he’d been running around pretty frantically.

“Well, I got my answer.” Asahi shrugged and flashed him an unconvincing smile. “Guess I flubbed my entrance, huh?”

“…And she thinks that’s the problem?” Baku commented.

Tobi had to agree. Asahi was grumbling about her self-intro, but the way Tobi saw it, the real issue here was on a whole other level. The rest of Class 2-3’s students seemed just as dumbstruck.

“W-well, anyway, that’s how it is! I know this is sudden…” Harimoto paused to clear his throat, then walked over to the new girl. “But this is Monika Asahi, and as of today, she’ll be joining our class. She wound up here rather suddenly due to family circumstances, so we haven’t had time to get her a uniform yet.”

“Hey, teach?” Asahi raised a hand to about shoulder height. It was just about the most listless way she could have managed the gesture.

“Hmm? Y-yes?” said Harimoto.

“Where’s my desk?”

“Huh? Oh, right! You need a desk, of course. Let’s see…”

“Looks like there’re a few open,” she noted.

In theory, Class 2-3 had thirty-six students. Asahi found four empty desks, though, and pointed them out in sequence. Her finger moved slowly, as if she didn’t want to expend the energy it would take to pick up the pace. In fact, everything about her gave that same impression.

“Lot of absences today?” she asked.

“…No, umm… The thing is…” Harimoto glanced away uncomfortably as silence descended upon the classroom.

A lot of absences. That was true. She wasn’t wrong. One of the desks in the back row belonged to Rukana Shizukudani, who wasn’t really absent but spent her days in the nurse’s office instead of the classroom. The desk in the back row by the windows, however, belonged to Miyuki Takatomo, who was hospitalized. She still hadn’t regained consciousness. One of the desks in the front row was empty as well. It was Chiami Kon’s, and she was currently at home, resting in the hopes of making a full recovery. Finally, Shuuji Masaki, aka Masamune, was currently in no condition to attend school. His extended leave of absence had begun without warning.

It had been a very turbulent period for the class, and looking back, the other students probably had all sorts of feelings about it. Tobi’s were as complicated as anyone’s. The string of incidents in Class 2-3 had involved Kon’s and Masamune’s zingai—and those zingai had been eaten by none other than Baku.

“I want one of the back ones,” Asahi said, gesturing toward the far end of the room with her chin. Pointing, apparently, would’ve been too much effort. “All the way over there. It’ll let me keep an eye on everything.”

“…One of those desks belongs to a student who was hurt and is hospitalized…and the other to a student who takes her lessons in the nurse’s office.” Harimoto sounded uncomfortable as he explained. “The other two vacant seats belong to students who are absent on account of illness. Honestly, it’s my fault for not having a desk ready for you in the first place. I only learned you’d be transferring in this morning, and I didn’t have time to make all the proper arrangements. I’ll ask Haizaki to—”

“’Kay.” Asahi glanced toward the door as if to say, Well, what are you waiting for? Get to it. “Please do,” she said.

“Sure…,” said Harimoto.

“Guess I’ll stand, then.”

“I suppose I should hurry it up…”

“If you could, that’d be great.”

“G-give me a moment. Sorry, Asahi.”

“If you’re really sorry, then you could try pulling yourself together, Mr. Harimoto.”

“F-fair enough…”

And with that, Harimoto dashed out of the classroom. Tobi heard a few scattered whispers along the lines of “Did you see that…?” and “Goddamn.” The stir quietly persisted for some time, gaining and fading in intensity but never completely dying out.

Asahi stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, glancing around vacantly. From time to time, she’d tilt her neck to one side, then the other. She seemed totally disinterested in her surroundings and incredibly audacious when it came to letting that show.

“Y’know,” Baku muttered with a sneer, “I think our new transfer student might be one hell of a character.”

Just then, perhaps by pure coincidence, Asahi looked straight at Tobi. Her eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitched. If he hadn’t known better, Tobi would have thought she was smirking.

Maybe it really was just a coincidence. But Baku had spoken, and she’d looked at him right afterward.

#1 / Where Are the Limits of Truth and Fiction? “Liar Sincere Lie”

#1-1_tobi_otogiri/ No Ordering from the Kids’ Menu

An extremely sweaty Mr. Harimoto eventually returned with a desk and chair clutched in his arms. Monika Asahi directed him to set them up in the very back of the classroom by the windows, behind Miyuki Takatomo’s desk in what was apparently no longer the backmost row. It wasn’t the most conventional choice, but since nobody in particular objected to it, the transfer student’s place on the seating chart was quickly set in stone.

Tobi’s desk was located by the windows as well, three seats from the front of the classroom. Since Asahi was now directly behind him, he’d have to crane his neck to get so much as a glimpse of her. He didn’t have any particular reason to be looking, but something about her still vaguely bothered him. Not enough to make him turn around, of course. For some reason, he had a feeling that getting caught spying on her wouldn’t go well for him. He had no reason to think so, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was true.

The first class of the day was Japanese. Noting that Asahi didn’t have her textbooks yet, the teacher told her to look over the shoulder of one of the students sitting nearby. It was exactly the solution one would expect a teacher to suggest.

“No thanks.” But Asahi turned it down without a second thought. “I’ll just listen carefully. Should be fine, as long as you do a good job.”

“…All right, then,” the teacher replied, backing down with surprising ease. Tobi’s Japanese teacher wasn’t particularly timid, either. In fact, they were usually rather blunt and insistent. It seemed Asahi had managed to overwhelm them, however.

There was a strange intensity to the transfer student. It wasn’t that she was intimidating per se. There was just something about her that made people hesitant to agitate her. Like how you avoided setting foot in a cemetery at night, even if you didn’t really believe in ghosts. Some places just had a sinister aura that drove people away, and Asahi struck Tobi as somehow similar.

The mood in Class 2-3 was oddly subdued throughout first period, and it was obvious the new transfer student was to blame. It wasn’t just the students, either. Even Baku had clammed up. The fact that almost nobody was gawking at her was even more unusual. Even after Japanese was over, the class remained dreary and listless.

Tobi turned slightly to the side and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see the transfer student’s face. She was lying face down on her desk, using her arms as a pillow, and all he could make out was the shaggy mess of her hair.

“You heard the bit where she said she wanted to ‘keep an eye on everything,’ right? Who died and made her queen?” Baku muttered sarcastically.

Just then, Tobi thought he saw the transfer student’s head shift slightly. Was it just a coincidence? Maybe, but the doubt in his mind was growing.

Ryuuko, meanwhile, had walked to the back of the classroom several times, only to turn around and return to her desk. Tobi knew her well enough to have a pretty good idea of what she was doing: She was trying to work up the nerve to talk to Asahi. She clearly wanted to, but Asahi was not your average transfer student, and Ryuuko was having trouble following through.

Asahi wasn’t the first student to transfer into Tobi’s class. He hadn’t been particularly interested in any of the others, but he vaguely remembered that there were two of them. He recalled that they both quickly became the center of attention and got bombarded with questions. A normal transfer student would have already become part of the class. Monika Asahi, however, had the classroom feeling like it was the venue for a wake.

Shinobu Asamiya made his way over to Tobi’s desk. “You know,” he said, “I just noticed something…”

“What?” asked Tobi.

“My last name and hers start the same way.”

“You mean, ‘asa’?”

“Yeah,” Asamiya said with a scowl. It seemed he wasn’t too fond of the new arrival. “How could they treat Miyu— Takatomo’s seat like that?”

At first, Tobi didn’t understand what Asamiya was talking about. After thinking it through for a moment, however, he started putting the pieces together in a vague, hazy sort of way.

Takatomo, the girl who was currently in the hospital, had been Asamiya’s neighbor, and they’d known each other since they were little kids. And now Asahi had demanded that her desk be placed behind Takatomo’s vacant seat. That was reasonable enough for the time being, but if Takatomo were to return to class, she wouldn’t have enough space behind her desk to even pull out her chair.

Tobi didn’t think Asahi had chosen the spot maliciously. That said, he also didn’t feel any obligation to defend her to Asamiya. Taking her side would only hurt Asamiya’s feelings, and Tobi didn’t like that thought very much at all.

Asamiya clearly cared a lot about Takatomo and was deeply worried about her. The majority of their classmates, however, didn’t feel so strongly—and Tobi was the same. He simply hadn’t known her well enough to be that concerned.

However, Tobi did want to cheer Asamiya up if he could. The question was, what could he say? I hope she gets better soon? No. Tobi simply couldn’t bring himself to speak those words.

“Sorry, Otogiri,” Asamiya muttered, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know why I’m so irritated right now…”

“Why shouldn’t you be?”

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong with being irritated? Seems normal to me,” said Tobi. For some reason, he couldn’t look Asamiya in the eye as he said it. Instead, he glanced toward the back of the classroom, where Ryuuko was still caught in a loop of walking partway toward Asahi, then turning around again. “I don’t think you’re acting weird at all.”

“…Right,” Asamiya said. He paused, sniffed, then let out a short laugh that seemed like a cover for some other reaction. “She’s being pretty weird, though. Shiratama, I mean.”

“Yeah…” Tobi couldn’t deny it. Ryuuko was a weird person in general, but her current pacing routine was particularly odd, even by her standards. “I think she’s trying her best, though.”

“I guess that means we shouldn’t stop her.”

“I’m not so— Oh…”

Before Tobi could finish his sentence, Shiratama took two big, purposeful steps forward. She’d drawn very close to the transfer student now. Is she gonna go for it? thought Tobi. She’s almost there.

A moment later, however, Shiratama took two equally big steps backward. Her shoulders slumped. Maybe she was disappointed with her own lack of resolve. Tobi and Asamiya glanced at each other. She’d been so close that time.

“…Well,” said Asamiya.

“…Yeah,” Tobi replied.

For the rest of the morning, every time there was a break between classes, Ryuuko would try again to make contact with Asahi. By the time lunch arrived, she had still yet to succeed.

* * *

The sudden arrival of a transfer student had little to no impact on Tobi’s day-to-day life. As usual, he scarfed down his school lunch—except for the bread—in the blink of an eye, then left the classroom with Baku in one hand and his bread roll in the other. He made his way into the courtyard, which had been off-limits until recently, but didn’t feel like climbing up to the roof. There were a few simple flat benches outside, and Tobi sat down on one of them to eat his bread with Baku slung over his shoulder.

“Okay, Tobi, listen up,” said Baku. “I want you to think about your routine for a minute. Every day, at the same time, someone gives you a nice meal to eat, yeah? And y’know what? That makes you a pretty lucky kid. There’re tons of people out there who never get to eat no matter how hungry they are! Y’know, like me! Actually, more than tons—there are hundreds of millions! I bet you don’t even have a clue. Well, what do you have to say to that, Tobi?”

“…That you’re being really obnoxious today,” Tobi replied.

“No way, that’s crap! I can’t possibly be obnoxious—I’d need energy for that! I’m not even close to top form. And can you blame me? I’m dyin’ of hunger! I’m dejected, Tobi! Despondent! I’m practically on my knees, sobbing right now! I’m too damn weak to be annoying! That’s how you know I’m hungry—it makes me all sad and quiet!”

“You call this quiet?” Tobi shot back. He’d polished off his bread while Baku was monologuing.

“I’m only talking at about seventy percent of my normal volume.”

“That’s more than loud enough…”

“Okay, then maybe I’ll just shut up entirely!”

“Please.”

“Oh yeah? You sure? You really want me to shut up? Sure you won’t regret it?”

“Extremely.”

“Positive?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Oh, you little liar! You’d regret it for sure. I’d know—I’m an expert when it comes to you! And I’m no cold-blooded monster, so I’d never let my partner do something I know for a fact he’d regret! Besides, keepin’ quiet’s boring…”

“I don’t think you could stay quiet even if you wanted to.”

“Of course I could! It’d be easy! Three days, two days, one day—I could keep quiet for half a day even, no problem!”

“Why are you counting down?”

“I mean, think about it. I’m quiet all night long when you’re sleeping, aren’t I?”

“I guess that’s true. So the longest you can stay quiet is about seven hours, then?”

“Bet I could keep it up for eight and a half, in a pinch!”

“So you couldn’t even hit the half-day mark…”

At that point, Tobi realized that someone was approaching them and clammed up. It was a man wearing a set of work clothes, walking into the courtyard not from the school but from the parking lot on the other side.

“Oh, hey!” said Baku. “If it isn’t Haizaki!”

“…Hi,” said Tobi.

Haizaki flashed Tobi an expression halfway between a forced smile and a troubled frown, then nodded in greeting. By now, Tobi was well aware that the man was much more than a simple school janitor. He was a janitor who could see zingai. He had a weasel-like zingai of his own named Olver and seemed very knowledgeable about the strange beings.

Haizaki had told Tobi to come to him if he ever needed help, but Tobi hadn’t quite figured out how to treat him. It was a difficult question and one that Haizaki seemed to struggle with as well. He appeared somehow hesitant, like he was less than fully committed to follow through on his offer.

“Do you need something?” asked Tobi.

“…Oh, umm, yeah,” said Haizaki. “Well, so you got a transfer student in your class, right?”

“We did. This morning.”

“Right. And, umm—about her,” Haizaki began before crossing his arms and frowning. “Oh, but actually… I dunno. Hmm…”

“What’s his deal? Think he hit his head on something or what?” Baku let out a mocking chuckle.

Haizaki really was acting oddly—and his behavior grew more suspicious than ever when, a moment later, the very transfer student he had been talking about stepped out from the school’s side entrance into the courtyard.

“Gah!” Haizaki exclaimed, bracing himself. A moment later, he shook his head, then turned to face Tobi again. He’d clearly wanted to say something but had now abandoned the effort and started silently rubbing his thighs instead. It reminded Tobi of how cats would groom themselves after being startled as a way to calm down.

Lunch wasn’t over yet, so why was the transfer student here? Tobi was in no position to question her leaving class early, considering his own lunch habits, but he still found it strange—and all the more so when she inexplicably started walking directly toward him and Haizaki. Haizaki’s reaction had been strange, as well. Did the two of them know each other somehow? Why would a transfer student who’d only just arrived be acquainted with a middle school’s janitor? They seemed like a strange pair, to say the least.

Asahi walked over to the bench Tobi was sitting on, then sat down as well. She turned her sleepy-looking gaze toward him and said, “You mind?”

“…You already sat down,” Tobi replied.

“I guess so,” Asahi said before covering her mouth with both hands and letting out an extended yawn. “True ’nuff,” she added a moment later, without moving her hands away.

“Ahh…” Haizaki sighed, then stood up straight. After firming up his resolve, he turned to the transfer student and said, “So, umm, Asahi? You know, it’s…it’s still, umm, lunchtime, so…”

“Why say that to me and not him, old man?” Asahi asked, putting both hands down on the bench and shooting Haizaki such a nasty glare, you’d think she was looking at a pile of human waste.

“…You’re sticking with that, huh? I mean, I guess it’s true…”

Haizaki’s shoulders slumped. He’d put on a tough front for barely a moment before abandoning it and withering once more. Living like that must be exhausting, Tobi thought.

“You’re her old man?” Tobi asked.

“Huh?” At first, Haizaki didn’t seem to understand what Tobi was asking.

Monika, on the other hand, put on a faint, sardonic smile. “Is there a resemblance?”

“Huh? Ohhh…” Haizaki had finally put the pieces together. “Nope, no way,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “We’re not related, no! Not even distantly. She didn’t mean ‘old man’ as in ‘dad’—just as in, well, old man. Basically, she’s saying I’m over-the-hill. Just some random middle-aged stranger. Middle-aged… I mean, I’d like to think I’m not quite that far gone just yet…”

“Speaking as a fourteen-year-old in full bloom, you look pretty far gone to me,” Asahi commented.

Tobi was having a difficult time getting a handle on the new student. On the one hand, she was openly mocking Haizaki, but on the other, the two seemed rather familiar. At the very least, he doubted they were total strangers. But if they weren’t strangers, what were they? And why was Asahi out in the courtyard at all?

“Schools are weird places,” Asahi muttered. “You gather up a bunch of kids with nothing in common except their age, then make them all do the same thing at the same time. I guess it’s efficient, but it’s definitely not my style.”

Who was she speaking to, exactly? Tobi almost wanted to ask, but more than that, he wanted nothing to do with her. She was trouble. Obvious trouble.

“Well…,” Haizaki said before clearing his throat. “You see, it’s important to know how to act as part of a group, right? Humans are social animals and all. We’re fellow Homo sapiens! So this system makes sure everyone can work together in social settings…I guess…”

“Come on, old man. You’re just trying to sound like a mature adult by saying something that sounds kind of right.”

“I—I am an adult, you know? I have a job and everything…”

“You don’t sound so sure of that.”

“I am!” Haizaki shouted. For a very brief moment, he seemed ready to defend himself, but it didn’t last. “I am… I mean it. I’m making a proper living. I even cook my own meals.”

“You cook? Color me surprised.”

“You’d be surprised by a lot of things I can do! I’m more put together than I look. My cooking’s not bad, either. I can make okonomiyaki and, umm…takoyaki…”

“Those are basically the same thing in different shapes.”

“So what?! They’re still good!”

“How about you, Tobi?” Asahi asked.

“I—,” Tobi began. Asahi had dragged him into the conversation so suddenly he’d almost replied reflexively, but before he could follow through, it struck him that he didn’t understand what she was even asking. And more importantly, she’d just called him something unexpected. “…‘Tobi’?” he repeated, pointing toward himself.

Asahi nodded. “Tobi.”

“…Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well—” Tobi started to speak, then paused again to really think things through.

Baku grumbled curiously. He probably would have cocked his head if he wasn’t a backpack. Meanwhile, Asahi just stared at Tobi. Her gaze didn’t move, but he felt like she was inspecting him from top to bottom.

“…I never told you my name, did I?” Tobi concluded.

“Oh, you didn’t?” Asahi’s expression never shifted. Not even slightly.

So much about this was strange. Asahi had said that school was a weird place, but Tobi was extremely confident that she was far weirder.

Just then, the bell rang. Lunchtime was over, and the afternoon break had begun.

“Okay, old man,” Asahi said with a shrug. “I know you’d probably love to waste the whole day standing around and chatting, but don’t you have something more important to do?”

Haizaki grimaced and pressed his hands to his head. “…That’s right. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Better hurry,” Asahi said, shooing Haizaki away like she would a fly.

After Haizaki plodded off into the distance, other students started making their way into the courtyard to chat or run around outside. One of them, however, stepped out of the side entrance only to duck back inside. Then she repeated the process. It was a girl with her hair tied up in buns, and Tobi didn’t have the faintest clue what she was trying to accomplish.

“Oryuu…” Baku heaved a heavy sigh. A backpack really had no business sighing like that.

Asahi made a deep throaty noise. Assuming she was laughing, Tobi glanced over to find she was staring at the side entrance. She’d crossed her legs, slouched forward, and was now resting her chin in her hand, her elbow braced on her knees.

“I never told you my name,” Tobi repeated.

“Yeah,” Asahi replied, shooting him a sidelong glance. “You sure didn’t, Tobi.”

* * *

None of this made sense.

In the end, Tobi stuck around in the courtyard until the afternoon break was over. He spent the whole time sitting on the bench next to the transfer student. They were together, in a sense. They certainly didn’t do anything together, though. They barely even spoke. He could’ve gotten up and left at any time, but he didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. Plus, being the one to get up and leave would have felt…not wrong precisely but at least a little frustrating. He’d been sitting there first, after all. Why did he have to give his spot up to Asahi? If either of them was going to leave, shouldn’t it have been her?

Asahi, for her part, didn’t seem like she cared in the slightest who’d gotten there first. Or perhaps she cared even more than Tobi did. She was a very willful person, after all. It felt like she made a show of indifference whenever she could, but that deep down, she was actually quite competitive.

Tobi didn’t understand the first thing about Monika Asahi, but he was curious. Something about her bothered him, and he couldn’t let it go. He could have just asked her directly—that certainly would’ve been the fastest option—but what if it was all a misunderstanding? If he was reading the situation wrong, then asking her would just make things weirder than ever.

It didn’t help that Tobi was increasingly getting the impression that Asahi wasn’t particularly honest. No matter what answer she gave him, he wouldn’t be able to dismiss the possibility that she was lying.

Clearly, the best option would be to bury his doubts and forget about it. She was just a transfer student. Just an ordinary girl who happened to join his class today. Nothing more and nothing less. He had plenty of classmates who were taciturn and surly. In fact, most of Tobi’s classmates didn’t speak with him at all. He could dismiss Monika Asahi as just another one of them and avoid getting involved with her. It would be for the best, really.

Tobi spent most of fifth period mulling over the transfer student situation—until Ryuuko raised her hand.

“…Excuse me, ma’am?” she said.

“Yes? What is it, Shiratama?” asked their social studies teacher. She stopped writing on the blackboard and turned around.

“Mnhh…” Ryuuko groaned quietly. Her hand was still in the air, and she’d squeezed her eyes shut.

“Sh-Shiratama?” Just as their teacher was about to step away from the lectern, Ryuuko suddenly brought her hand down and held it out in front of her.

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you!” she said. “I just…umm… It’s not anything important. I swear I’m perfectly all right…”

“Are you really…?”

“…Yes, but…I think I’m feeling just the slightest bit under the weather, perhaps…? And as such, while I’m terribly sorry to ask this…I was wondering if I could maybe step out and go to the nurse’s office for the rest of the period…”

“O-of course! Go ahead.”

“I realize that this is completely inexcusable, but I’m afraid I really have no choice,” Ryuuko continued. “I’m sorry… I was genuinely enjoying your lesson, and I’m upset to not be able to stay for the rest of it…”

“Please don’t worry, Shiratama. No need for excuses—just hurry along to the nurse’s office. Can someone walk her there?” The teacher glanced around the classroom.

Tobi very nearly stood up on the spot, but before he could move, he started to question himself. Would he really do it? Would he go with her? Walk Ryuuko to the nurse’s office? Him?

“No need!” Ryuuko yelped emphatically as she stood up. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing on any of my classmates! I can most certainly make my way to the nurse’s office on my own, one way or another. I’m not a child, so I’ll be perfectly fine! I’m already too old to order off the kids’ menu, after all!”

“…O-oh?” the teacher said. By that point, she seemed rather flustered.

“Yes!” Ryuuko replied on the spot.

“Pretty sure most restaurants don’t discriminate,” Asamiya muttered under his breath.

Oh, really? Tobi thought, slightly astonished. When was the last time he’d ordered off the kids’ menu? He remembered eating out with his brother on a few occasions a very, very long time ago, and he dimly recalled ordering off the kids’ menu back then.

Ryuuko walked very steadily out of the classroom. She looked a little too steady, in fact. She was practically marching.

Baku groaned. “There’s definitely something wrong,” he said. “What’s going on with Oryuu…?”

If class hadn’t been in session, Tobi would have voiced his agreement. He might even have chased after her.

#1-2_ryuuko_shiratama/ Whose Fault Was It?

I’m probably just tired, Ryuuko told herself. It had been a long, eventful day—so eventful, in fact, that when she thought back, she couldn’t even remember what all had happened.

Her breathing was ragged. Maybe she was walking with too broad of a stride. She swung her arms vigorously as she proceeded along the empty hallway. It was like she was making a show of how briskly she could walk. Nobody was watching her, but she was showing off anyway. Showing off to no one at all.

When she eventually came to a stop, Ryuuko was more out of breath than she’d thought she would be. She stooped forward and planted her hands on her knees. She stayed that way for some time; her head felt like it was spinning. Her stomach hurt, too. It wasn’t the sort of pain that preceded a rushed trip to the restroom. Her stomach and intestines felt heavy, like they’d been petrified. Ryuuko had forced herself to eat lunch, but now she regretted it. Her stomach was churning. She wanted to vomit but knew that even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to.

Ryuuko’s pouch was trembling. Chinu was thrashing around inside of it.

“I’m sorry, Chinu,” she said. Now that Chinu had grown, the red pouch was too small for her. It must be unbearably cramped. “I have to go to the nurse’s office, though…”

Why “though”? What was the alternative? Ryuuko wasn’t sure. She just knew that she had to keep walking. She’d never reach the nurse’s office otherwise.

Ryuuko had only realized she wasn’t feeling well around the start of afternoon lessons. She simply hadn’t had time to focus on herself until then. Before, she had been too intent upon talking with the transfer student, Monika Asahi. But that had proven quite difficult on account of her being an incredibly unapproachable person.

Then again, maybe she just seemed unapproachable. She’d transferred in very abruptly, so maybe she simply wasn’t prepared for the change in environment. Or maybe she just had a hard time opening up to people. Ryuuko knew that coping with a brand-new school would be easier for Asahi if she had a friend by her side, but then again, maybe she simply had no interest in others. There were all sorts of people and personalities out there. Surely some people genuinely enjoyed being alone. Maybe Ryuuko’s attempt to befriend Monika was just projection, and Asahi would only find her efforts annoying.

The turning point came during the afternoon break. Asahi had left the classroom during lunch—ignoring Mr. Harimoto’s attempts to stop her—and Ryuuko had gone out to search for her after finishing her meal. For some reason, the very first place she’d thought to check was the school’s courtyard.

Ryuuko hadn’t really thought about it when Tobi made his usual escape with Baku and his bread roll. But when Asahi had abandoned her lunch and left the classroom not long after, a thought had crossed Ryuuko’s mind: Slight delay aside, hadn’t it seemed like Asahi was chasing after Tobi? Ryuuko didn’t have a concrete reason to believe that was the case, but she couldn’t shake the impression.

And lo and behold, when she arrived at the courtyard, Ryuuko found both of them present—and shockingly enough, they were seated on the same bench. They weren’t close enough to be sitting together per se. The benches in the courtyard were broad enough to fit four people or even five if they squeezed in. Tobi and Asahi, meanwhile, were seated on opposite ends of their bench. It looked like they’d just happened to pick the same place to sit. Or it would have if that had been the only bench in the courtyard. However, there were several benches, and all the other ones were vacant. If Asahi had sat anywhere else, she could have had a whole bench to herself.

What do you think that means? Ryuuko silently asked Chinu, who was hidden away in her pouch. Chinu didn’t reply, of course. Unlike Baku, she couldn’t speak.

Ryuuko could have just walked up to the pair and said hello. She could have started with Tobi, then casually introduced herself to Asahi as well, seeing as she happened to be sitting nearby. She could have asked all sorts of questions. Where had Asahi lived before her transfer? Was there anything bothering her at the moment? All sorts of things. And if Asahi hadn’t been receptive to conversation, Ryuuko could have simply apologized and backed off. It wouldn’t have been difficult at all. And yet Ryuuko simply hadn’t been able to bring herself to go through with it.

Moreover, she was having a hard time understanding Asahi’s relationship with Tobi. That was making her anxious, too. They were sitting on the same bench, but they didn’t look particularly close. Maybe that was a given, seeing as Asahi had only just transferred in, but there was always a chance they’d gone to the same elementary school or something. On the other hand, the fact that they weren’t saying much made it hard to believe they were old friends. But on the other hand, they were talking. Every once in a while, they’d exchange a few words. But that was it.

Maybe they really were acquaintances. Not close ones and not friends—just two people who happened to have a passing familiarity with each other. Then again, Tobi hardly talked to his own classmates. In fact, he rarely even looked them in the eye. The fact that he was talking at all seemed pretty significant. So maybe they were close, after all.

Asking Asahi didn’t feel like an option. Ryuuko knew her as Class 2-3’s newest student, but Asahi probably hadn’t even registered Ryuuko’s existence yet. She could, however, ask Tobi. If he were alone, she could simply walk up and say, “Are you and Asahi acquainted?” just like that. If the other girl wasn’t sitting next to him, that is. Why was Tobi still sitting with her?

Tobi, for his part, seemed to have noticed Ryuuko loitering by the door. Considering the number of times he’d glanced in her direction, there was no way he hadn’t seen her.

That’s right, Ryuuko thought. I started feeling ill while I was thinking in circles in the courtyard.

Ryuuko had returned to her classroom about five minutes before the afternoon break ended. By that point in time, she’d already felt distinctly strange. She’d been looking forward to her social studies lesson, but once it started, she found herself unable to focus. Was she sick? No, she told herself, that can’t be. Illnesses stem from the mind, as they say. I’m just imagining it. I felt perfectly fine this morning, after all. It’s been a busy day. I just tired myself out.

I can’t believe I ended up so mentally fatigued, I started feeling ill and had to go to the nurse’s office. That’s so shameful. I’m shameful.

Before she knew it, Ryuuko had come to a halt partway down the staircase.

I couldn’t even focus properly on my lesson. I made my teacher worry about me. I’m a bad kid. I’m useless. A useless child. That must be why. That’s why I—

I can hardly think of a moment when I was with my grandfather and he wasn’t scolding me for something or other. It’s no surprise that my grandmother was cold to me as well. After all, I was a useless child. Why would anyone love someone like me?

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so worthless.

If I’m a good girl, can I meet with my mother and father someday?

I asked my grandmother that once. I was still so little, I didn’t know any better. I realize now how troubled she was by that question. I was a terrible child.

If I’d been a good girl, would my mother and father have stayed?

When I asked my grandfather that question, he gave me a harsher scolding than ever before. You senseless little brat! he said.

I’m sorry, Grandfather. I really am senseless. It’s because I’m awful. I’m useless. I’m a terrible child.

That must be why. That’s why I—

That’s why I’ll never see Mother and Father again.

They died because I was an awful child.

It’s all my fault.

Mreew.

Rraaau.

Mneew. Mraaau.

“Ah!”

A series of cries snapped Ryuuko back to reality. She looked down at her pouch and found Chinu poking her head out, staring back up at her. Ryuuko hadn’t opened the pouch, or at least, she didn’t remember opening it. Chinu must have forced it open on her own.

Ryuuko ran a fingertip along Chinu’s horns as she finished descending the staircase. If she had stayed in her own head like that for much longer, she might have lost her balance and fallen down the stairs. Chinu might have saved her from a nasty tumble. That was nothing new, though. Ryuuko had always felt uneasy when she was alone, and Chinu had spared her from that solitude.

I can’t stay like this, Ryuuko thought. I can’t be hopeless forever.

“I’m sorry, Chinu,” she said before pushing the zingai back into her pouch.

When Ryuuko finally reached the nurse’s office, she was greeted by a woman in a white coat: Kirinuma, the school nurse.

“Oh? Hello, Shiratama,” Kirinuma said as Ryuuko stepped into the room.

One of the beds had its curtain drawn. That meant another student was feeling ill and resting in the nurse’s office—unless it was Shizukudani, of course.

Kirinuma sat Ryuuko down on a bench and asked her a series of questions. Ryuuko tried to answer them as best as she could, but looking back, she could hardly even remember what she said. Kirinuma took Ryuuko’s temperature next, which registered at eighty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Kirinuma asked what her normal body temperature was, and Ryuuko replied that she was usually pretty average. At any rate, eighty-nine degrees seemed far, far too low.

Wait, no, Ryuuko thought. I misheard her. She said ninety-eight degrees, not eighty-nine.

“Are you experiencing any pain?” Kirinuma asked.

“…No,” said Ryuuko. “Not particularly.”

“Oh? Well, you’re not running hot enough to merit fever medicine. How about lying down for a bit and seeing if a little rest makes you feel better?”

“…All right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Nothing to apologize for,” said Kirinuma. She was a kindly, down-to-earth woman, and she brought Ryuuko to one of the beds, then closed the curtains around her. “Sometimes people just feel a little under the weather. If you want to sleep, then go right ahead. I’ll let your social studies teacher and Mr. Harimoto know where you are.”

“…Thank you,” said Ryuuko.

“I’ll be stepping out for a little, but if you need anything, just ask Rukana. She’s in the next bed over.” Turning to the other curtain, she added, “Take care of her please, Rukana!”

“Okaaay,” a voice replied from beyond the fabric.

A moment later, Ryuuko heard Kirinuma leave the room. She laid down on the bed, pulled the covers all the way up to her chin, then clasped Chinu’s pouch to her chest. Staring up at the white featureless ceiling, Ryuuko realized she could hear a faint clacking noise. She wasn’t moving, nor was Chinu, and Kirinuma had already departed.

“Umm, excuse me? Shizukudani…?” Ryuuko timidly called out.

“Yeah?” the other girl replied. “What is it, Shiratama Dango?”

The clacking noise hadn’t stopped. It grated on Ryuuko’s ears.

“…Can I ask what you’re doing right now?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea whatsoever.”

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.”

“…So what are you doing?”

“Something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, Shiratama Dango.”

“I…see. I’m sorry for prying…”

“No worries,” Shizukudani said with a chuckle. Before long the clacking sound came to a stop, and a moment later, the curtains around Ryuuko’s bed were pulled back just enough for Shizukudani to stick her head inside. Ryuuko started to sit up, but Shizukudani said, “Oh, it’s fine,” stopping her. “You can stay lying down.”

“…All right. I’ll do so, then,” Ryuuko replied.

“You’re as funny as ever, you know?”

“I…am?”

“Sure are,” Shizukudani said with a nod as she sat down on the foot of Ryuuko’s bed. “Are you sick? That’s rare for you.”

“…My robust health is one of my strong points,” Ryuuko replied. “To be honest…this is a mystery to me, as well.”

“Something happen?”

“No… Well, nothing in particular.” Ryuuko closed her eyes. “Just—”

“Just?”

“A new student transferred into our class.”

“Oh?”

“And while it doesn’t feel right to describe that as something happening to me…I suppose it’s all that comes to mind.”

“A transfer student, huh?” Shizukudani muttered, kicking her legs in the air.

That was when Ryuuko saw them. A set of four eyes staring down at her from the ceiling. For just a moment, she froze so utterly, she couldn’t even breathe. Shizukudani’s zingai resembled a small human in some ways, but in others, it looked more like an oversize spider. No human had four eyes and four legs, of course. And Ryuuko recalled that spiders had more eyes than people did—eight, if memory served. They also had eight legs. In other words, Shizukudani’s zingai wasn’t quite like either.

“But you know, Shiratama Dango,” Shizukudani continued, “it sounds to me like something else might have happened before that. What do you think?”

“Something else…?” Ryuuko was still staring up at the zingai on the ceiling. “…Yes, it did. A number of things.”

“Then maybe you’re just a little tired.”

“That’s possible, yes.”

“How ’bout taking a nap?”

“…I’ll do that. I appreciate your concern.”

“You’re pretty stiff, you know that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Shizukudani hopped off the bed, then turned around and gave it a light pat. “Sleep tight!”

“…Thank you.”

Ryuuko closed her eyes. She heard Shizukudani move away from her and slide the curtain shut. She must have returned to her own bed.

A moment later, the clacking sound started up again. Ryuuko opened her eyes. Shizukudani’s zingai was nowhere to be seen.

What in the world is that sound? she wondered. It wasn’t especially loud. Shizukudani was probably right—Ryuuko was just tired. Her eyes gradually drifted closed. After that, the clacking intermingled with the sound of her own breathing until eventually she couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

#1-3_tobi_otogiri/ The Days of Our Youth

Sixth period was almost over, and Ryuuko still hadn’t returned to the classroom.

What exactly did Tobi make of that fact? Nothing in particular, really. The idle thought that she wasn’t back yet had simply crossed his mind. Their afternoon classes would be over soon, and he expected she probably wouldn’t come back at all. But was she really feeling that sick? That seemed odd, considering how energetically she’d been pacing around all day.

As Tobi mulled this over, the bell rang, signaling the end of sixth period.

“Mnhh…” Without meaning to, Tobi groaned.

“Lemme guess: Worried about Oryuu?” Baku asked.

There was no way Tobi could answer that honestly. “Not really,” he mumbled.

Baku stirred, though only a little. “What, seriously?! Well, I’m sure as hell worried! I didn’t know you were so heartless! I misjudged you, Tobi! Some partner you are!”

Baku was really going at it, and even though nobody else in the room could hear him, Tobi was starting to wish he’d stop kicking up quite so much of a fuss. Since Ryuuko wasn’t around, Tobi really was the only one who could hear him. At least in theory anyway.

“I’m curious what’s going on, I guess,” Tobi said, quietly enough so that only Baku could hear. Then, just in case, he glanced over his shoulder. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but his gaze met Asahi’s.

Before long, Mr. Harimoto arrived to lead the afternoon session of homeroom. He shared a few quick pieces of news with the class, including an update on Ryuuko’s condition: The school nurse had informed him that she wasn’t feeling well and was still resting.

Eventually, homeroom ended, as did the school day. Tobi shot up from his desk, grabbed Baku, and was about to march out of the classroom when Asamiya’s voice brought him to a stop.

“Hey, Otogiri,” he said. Tobi turned toward him, but Asamiya looked down at the ground. “Actually…it’s nothing.”

What’s his problem? I’m in a hurry, Tobi thought, a little annoyed by the interruption. He gave Asamiya a quick nod, then slipped out into the corridor. Tobi’s gaze fell on a poster on the wall with NO RUNNINGIN THE HALLWAYS! printed on it. I’m not running, he thought. That’s right; I’m just walking really fast.

“Why are you panicking, Tobi?” asked Baku. “Oryuu’s just in the nurse’s office, isn’t she?”

I don’t need you to tell me that, and I’m not panicking, Tobi thought. I should slow down, though.

Tobi dropped his pace from a fast walk—not a run—to a more natural stride. His regular walking pace was still faster than that of the other students nearby, but he couldn’t help it. Tobi was a fast walker. He’d never liked dragging his heels, especially when he was on his own. If he was walking with someone else, he’d try to match their pace. But otherwise, he preferred to move nice and quickly.

“Blech…” Suddenly, Tobi heard a voice from behind him. “You walk way too fast, you know that?”

“…Huh?”

Tobi didn’t stop, but he glanced over his shoulder as he moved. He found the transfer student walking behind him with a scowl on her face. Despite her words, she struck Tobi as being astonishingly light on her feet. Her arms didn’t swing at all as she walked—she just put one foot in front of the other, rhythmically propelling herself forward. It was an odd way of walking, but she was matching his speed.

“Um…what?” said Tobi.

“Whaddaya mean what?” replied Asahi.

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“What do you care?”

“Well, I guess I don’t, but…” Tobi paused and cocked his head. “Care about what?”

“Well, now we’re just going in circles,” Asahi said with a snorting laugh.

Tobi briefly considered picking up the pace and leaving her behind but decided against it. He didn’t understand why she was following him in the first place—or, for that matter, whether she was even following him at all. Maybe she’s just walking in the same direction…? Or maybe not. No, if she was just going the same way, then why had she complained about how fast he was walking?

When they were almost to the nurse’s office, Asahi suddenly picked up her pace and tried to slip past him. Tobi didn’t have a good reason to race her but found himself speeding up anyway. In the end, he arrived at the door only moments before her and flung it open.

The school nurse wasn’t around, but a bespectacled student was sitting in her chair, idly spinning a pen.

“Oh, if it isn’t Tobitobi.” A moment after Rukana Shizukudani addressed him, once again using that peculiar nickname, she noticed Asahi, who was standing right behind him. “I’m guessing she’s the transfer student everyone’s been talking about?”

“Yeah,” she replied curtly. Then she quickly glanced around the nurse’s office, inspecting it from top to bottom, before looking back to Shizukudani. “Who’re you?”

“Ostensible member of Class 2-3 and permanent resident of the nurse’s office, Rukana Shizukudani, at your service! Nice to meet you, umm…?”

“Monika Asahi.”

“In that case,” Shizukudani said with a grin as she stopped twirling her pen. “Monimoni?”

Asahi’s eyebrows and the corner of her mouth twitched. Tobi was starting to think that was her way of smiling. “That’s so gross, I think I might actually barf.”

“Groooss!” Shizukudani said in a singsong tone as her pen once again sprang into motion. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. “Oh, I like you, Monimoni!”

Baku, who was currently slung over Tobi’s shoulder, trembled slightly. It seemed he wanted to say something. Tobi felt like commenting as well, but he had no idea what to say. Shizukudani and Asahi were both grinning, but Tobi wasn’t so sure their smiles were friendly. In fact, he was fairly certain they were anything but.

The four-limbed zingai currently lurking in one corner of the ceiling only made the scene even more unnerving. Zingai weren’t particularly rare, from Tobi’s perspective, but Shizukudani’s was both unusually large and upsettingly humanoid, its four eyes aside. There was something unique about it, and Tobi had to admit that it creeped him out a little.

Of course, even if a zingai like that was right next to someone, it could only disturb them if they knew it was there. Tobi glanced at Asahi. If she couldn’t see it, then to her, it might as well not even exist.

“…Mnh?”

Suddenly, Tobi heard a new voice—one that didn’t belong to Asahi or Shizukudani. One of the beds in the office had its curtain drawn. Tobi heard the sound of someone moving around inside in a fluster, and a moment later, the curtain was flung open.

“Oh no! I really fell asleep…!” said Ryuuko. Her buns had spared her from bedhead, but her face was brightly flushed. It wasn’t hard for Tobi to guess that she’d just leaped out of bed and thrown on her shoes. She hadn’t done a very good job, either. They were still only halfway on. “Wha—huh?! T-T-Tobi, why’re you—? Agh, and Asahi, too?! Why…?”

Tobi was curious about Asahi’s motives as well. Why had she come to the nurse’s office? She’d definitely been racing him, even if he hadn’t really meant to participate. What would she have done if she’d beaten him there?

“Feeling all better, Shiratama Dango?” asked Shizukudani.

“Whuh?” Ryuuko pointed at herself, her voice cracking slightly. “Ah, I mean, yes! I slept very well, and I feel much better now!”

“Good,” said Asahi. She was the first to speak up—again, much to Tobi’s confusion. He wanted to question her, but before he could, she shot him a look and added, “Right?” as if prompting him.

“Uh… Yeah,” said Tobi. She’d put him on the spot, and he’d agreed automatically.

“Umm…?” Ryuuko was probably more confused than anyone. She clutched Chinurasha’s pouch to her chest and cocked her head at a distressingly sharp angle.

“We were worried,” Asahi said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she glanced at Tobi again. “Right?”

“…Right,” Tobi agreed. What do you mean, “Right”? he thought. The simple truth was that he had been worried about her, but that didn’t mean he could just admit it, least of all under these circumstances.

“You came all the way here for me, of all people…?” Ryuuko’s face was already flushed, and now it turned an even deeper shade of red as tears began to pool in her eyes. She was obviously overcome with emotion. She bowed so forcefully and deeply, it almost looked like she was trying to slam her head into the floor. “I’m truly honored! Thank you both so much! I can’t believe you’d do that for me, Asahi, even though it’s only your first day at school and we haven’t been properly introduced to each other!”

“Oh, right. Now that you mention it,” Asahi said, scratching her head. “I already know all about you.”

“Whaaa—?!” Ryuuko squealed. Her head shot up and she looked at Asahi, while her body remained bent a full ninety degrees at the waist. It was a very weird pose.

Asahi covered her mouth with her hand. It looked like she’d been about to burst out laughing. “You’re a lot more unique than I thought you’d be, Ryuuko,” she said.

“I’m…unique? Wait…Ryuuko…?”

“It a problem if I call you that?”

“N-no, of course not! Not in the least!”

“…How long are you going to keep standing like that?” asked Tobi. Somebody had to point it out.

“ Standing like what?” Ryuuko muttered. Realization seemed to set in a moment later. She finally righted herself, then covered her face with her hands, looking profoundly embarrassed. “…I entirely forgot. Well, not entirely. I guess I should call it a moment of carelessness…”

“I think ‘careless’ might be your middle name,” Asahi said before sitting down on the nearby bench and crossing her legs. “Anyway, you can call me Monika. It’s hard to remember to react when people call me Asahi.”

Ryuuko cracked her fingers open slightly and peered at Asahi through the gaps. “…M-Miss Monika, then?”

“Drop this ‘Miss.’ I’m not your boss.”

“So, Monika…?”

“That works. Same goes for you two,” she added, turning to glance at Tobi and Shizukudani. “We’re all middle schoolers here, so might as well keep it casual, right?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Shizukudani as she pressed the cap of her pen into her chin. “Yes, I like it! And I also happen to like you, Monimoni. It’s so nice to be around a girl as candid as you are!”

“Thanks, I guess,” Asahi replied. She seemed to be looking at Shizukudani, but upon closer inspection, her gaze had shifted slightly away.

At some point, when Tobi wasn’t paying attention, the four-legged zingai had moved from its corner of the ceiling to directly above Shizukudani’s head. Most likely, it had entered Asahi’s field of vision. Assuming she could see it, that is.

“…You seein’ what I’m seein’?” Baku muttered.

Before Tobi could react, Asahi looked over at him. “Hey,” she said, “school’s out, right? Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

“Oh! I need to go back to the classroom and collect my bag!” Ryuuko exclaimed. She set off toward the door, then let out a yelp as she nearly fell flat on her face. She’d never bothered to put her shoes on properly.

Asahi stood up from the bench, and Shizukudani started packing her things up as well. They seemed to be getting ready to go home—and why wouldn’t they? School was out. Tobi had to leave as well.

Are we all going right now, though? Together? Why…?

* * *

Rukana Shizukudani stepped out from the staff entrance, accompanied by her four-legged zingai. “Hey! Sorry for the wait,” she said.

“All right, then. Let’s be off!” Ryuuko enthusiastically declared. With that, the four of them set out together.

Haizaki, who was watering the flower beds, watched them pass by with a look of bug-eyed astonishment, his jaw nearly scraping the ground. Tobi couldn’t understand why he was so flabbergasted. But on the other hand, Tobi was quite bewildered himself. How and why had things turned out like this?

Ryuuko and Asahi walked side by side at the front of the pack, with Tobi trailing slightly behind with Baku. Bringing up the rear was Shizukudani, followed by her four-legged zingai. As far as groups went, theirs was downright bizarre. Then again, since most people couldn’t see the four-legged zingai, maybe they didn’t look that outlandish. Still, Tobi couldn’t shake the feeling that, even putting the zingai aside, they were a peculiar combination of people.

“Boy, oh boy, it’s been forever since I’ve walked home with anyone!” said Shizukudani. “Now this is a classic youthful moment! Don’cha think, Tobitobi?”

“…Would you mind not calling me that, Shizukudani?” Tobi replied.

“The funny thing about human nature is that when someone tells you to stop calling them something, it only makes you wanna do it even more!”

“Okay, then don’t stop.”

“Can do! Carrying on, as requested!”

“What’s your problem?” Tobi grumbled.

“That girl’s got a way with words, huh?” Asahi commented from up front.

“Umm, excuse me, Monika?” said Ryuuko. “Before you transferred into our school, where were you…?”

“Out west,” Asahi replied vaguely.

“Oh, I see! Do you mean the Kansai region?”

“Something like that.”

“How interesting! Though I have to admit, I’m a little surprised.”

“Why?”

“Well, you don’t speak with a Kansai accent. Your intonation doesn’t strike me as particularly Kansai-esque, either.”

“That’s because I’ve lived in a bunch of places. I’ve been all over the country.”

“Do the circumstances of your parents’ work force you to move often?”

“Basically. Work stuff, yeah.”

“I see. That’s very impressive!”

“How’s that?”

“I haven’t transferred even once, you see. I’ve always fantasized about the possibility. I’m sure that an actual school transfer is nothing like what I’m imagining, of course. Having to say farewell to everyone you’re close to must be terrible.”

“Eh. You get used to it.”

“By the way, Shiratama Dango,” Shizukudani said, cutting into the conversation.

“Ah, yes? What is it, Shizukudani?” said Ryuuko.

“You sure you’re feeling all right now?”

“I’m just fine, thank you very much! I feel like I could run a half-marathon even!”

“You know a half-marathon’s more than twenty kilometers long, right? I dunno if you could pull that off even if you were in tip-top shape.”

“I most certainly couldn’t. I was exaggerating. I’m afraid that I’m by no means athletically gifted, in terms of either coordination or endurance.”

“You know, I don’t get marathons in general. Kind of a mystery why anyone would bother, right? Abusing your body like that probably shaves years off your lifespan.”

“Perhaps people see value in attempting the impossible…?”

“Okay, but tons of people have run marathons before. Nothing impossible about that.”

“Oh! That’s true…”

The banter was never-ending. Everyone was talking, sometimes at the same time. Ryuuko, Asahi, and Shizukudani jumped in and out of exchanges with dizzying speed, and the most Tobi could do was match their sluggish walking pace. On more than one occasion, he considered slipping away from the group. Walking with them wasn’t excruciating, but it did make him feel quite out of place.

At the end of the day, Tobi preferred being alone. And Baku was always with him, so he was never really alone, even when no one else was around.

“Hey, Tobi,” said Asahi. She’d fallen back to walk next to him while he wasn’t paying attention.

“…What?”

“Say my name.”

“Asahi.”

“Monika.”

“…Monika Asahi.”

“I’m saying you can just call me Monika.”

“Ugh…”

“Y’know what, Tobitobi?” said Shizukudani. She’d been walking up front with Ryuuko but now hopped back to take up a position on Tobi’s left, across from Asahi. “It sorta feels like you’ve got some reason why you don’t wanna call Monimoni Monika! Feel like sharing?”

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Tobi muttered. His gaze dropped to the ground before him, and Baku let out a knowing snicker.

What are you laughing at? You’re just a backpack. Stay in your lane, Baku.

“Oh? You started calling Shiratama Dango ‘Ryuuko’ in no time at all, though!” Shizukudani countered. “Why’s that?”

“That’s—”

“Why, huh? Let me guess: Monimoni only just transferred in, so calling her Monika would be way too embarrassing. Is that it? Is iiit?”

“Well…”

“Or maybe you just don’t wanna call her Monika in front of Shiratama Dango? Could it have something to do with why you call her Ryuuko?”

“Mnh…”

Tobi, truth be told, hadn’t put much thought into the matter. Now that it had been pointed out to him, however, he had to admit that he really did feel a distinct reluctance to call Asahi Monika. It wasn’t a life-or-death situation, though. He could have forced himself to call her anything—he just didn’t understand why he had to force himself to begin with. He wasn’t under any obligation to call her by a certain name, was he?

Tobi looked up in front of him and ended up catching sight of Ryuuko’s back. Just then, she turned around. It was only for a moment—just enough to get a glimpse—but then she did it again and again, four times in a row, before finally opening her mouth. “Mo…”

“…Mo?” Tobi repeated.

“M-Monika is, umm… Personally speaking—and I apologize if this is presumptuous of me to say—I think it’s a wonderful name…”

“Thanks,” Asahi muttered, glancing away. The corner of her lip twitched upward. Tobi could tell she was pleased.

“L-likewise, of course!” Ryuuko immediately replied, throwing in a bow for good measure. “…Wait, is ‘likewise’ the right word? Maybe not. I-in any case, it seems that Monika would like for you to call her by her first name, and I’m certain she has a good reason for it! Don’t you think it would be best to respect her wishes?”

“So you’re saying I should quit whining and call her Monika?” asked Tobi. The question came out cold and curt, though he hadn’t meant it to. His tone was entirely unintentional.

“N-no, that’s not it!” Ryuuko said, shaking her head vigorously. “I didn’t mean to put it that way at all! I was just trying to say that if Monika wants you to, then I don’t see any reason not to oblige her. It was just a suggestion…”

“Fine, then.” Tobi looked to his right, where Asahi was walking. “Monika. Does that work for you?”

“Well, it is my real name,” Monika replied with a shrug. “Feels better than getting called something else.”

“I—I really meant it!” Ryuuko yelped. “I think it’s a wonderful name! It sounds so international!” Her gait had grown clumsy and heavy, and her tone was fluctuating wildly.

“…Is Oryuu losing it or what?” Baku muttered.

Ryuuko opened her mouth, presumably to reply, but then closed it again without saying a word. She’d stopped herself just in time.

“Hey, here’s a fun piece of trivia: You know how the Japanese word for ‘youth’ is written with the characters for ‘blue’ and ‘spring’?” Shizukudani said with a smirk. “Well, that spelling actually ties all the way back to the Chinese philosophy of Five Phases, which says that everything in the world is derived from five basic elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. The character we use for ‘blue’ now and the one we use for ‘spring’ were both associated with wood. Back then, they were used together to mean ‘spring.’ In other words, the spelling we use for ‘youth’ now used to just mean ‘spring.’”

“The hell’s she rambling about?” Baku griped.

“Ahh, the springtime of our youths!” Shizukudani said as she started skipping ahead of the group. She couldn’t possibly have been replying to Baku, but it almost felt like she was. Her four-legged zingai chased after her, bouncing along in time with her skips.

“What’s so important about youth anyway?” Tobi spat under his breath.

Apparently, Shizukudani heard him. “Youth’s a huge deal!” she shouted over her shoulder as she kept skipping away. She’d already gained a solid ten meters on the rest of the group and showed no signs of turning around. She skipped her way across an intersection, hung a right, and finally vanished from sight.

“I wonder,” Ryuuko said, stopping and turning to face Tobi. “What do you suppose ‘youth’ is, really?”

“…Who knows?” Tobi replied.

“Well, we’re just a bunch of fourteen-year-olds in full bloom,” said Monika. Tobi wasn’t sure if she’d meant to affirm his confusion or critique it. He couldn’t make sense of her words at all.

“Ah!” Ryuuko yelped, pointing a finger at Monika. “In bloom! Flowers! Because the ‘ka’ in ‘Monika’ means flower! I understand!”

“Not really what I was getting at… But sure, that works,” Monika said before heaving a sigh. She looked around at Tobi, Ryuuko, and all the other middle schoolers on their way home around her. “Like I said, schools are weird places. And your school’s even weirder than most.”

Tobi didn’t really fit in at school, and he still found Monika’s words hard to accept. Especially when she was the weirdest transfer student he’d ever encountered. Where did she get off calling his school “weirder than most”?

“Why…? What do you mean?” Tobi asked.

“What do you think I mean?” Monika replied.

Tobi knew he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer out of her. If you’re not going to explain yourself, then stop saying ominous nonsense, he thought.

“We’ve got one quirky transfer student on our hands,” Baku said with a sharp laugh. “In fact, she’s basically nothing but quirks!”

“See you around,” Monika said as she mimed patting Ryuuko on the shoulder. She didn’t actually touch her, but she did lightly pat Tobi a moment later—or really, she patted Baku. Then she walked off in the opposite direction, retracing her steps. It seemed her house was in a completely different direction.

“S-see you tomorrow…!” Ryuuko called after her with a wave. Monika raised one hand listlessly, without even turning around.

“You’ve caught on by now, right, Tobi?” asked Baku.

“Yeah,” Tobi replied.

“Huh?” Ryuuko was still waving after Monika as she cocked her head in confusion. “Caught on to what? Oh! You mean, why Monika did a U-turn like that…?”

“I mean that weirdo transfer student can hear my voice,” Baku explained.

“She— Huh? Your voice…? Whaaat?!”

“She can see zingai,” said Tobi, his eyes narrowing into a squint.

Monika had stepped off the sidewalk into the road. He thought she might be heading for a car, and sure enough, she walked straight toward a big silver minivan that was parked nearby. Monika pulled open its side door and climbed inside. Then, a moment later, the minivan drove off.

“She’s gotta be the same as us.”

#1-4_shinobu_asamiya/ A World of Universal Happiness

They wouldn’t let him meet with her. They wouldn’t even let him look at her from a distance. Shinobu Asamiya understood that, but he still made his way to the hospital where Miyuki Takatomo was being treated.

Asamiya didn’t have anything else to do that afternoon. He’d almost stopped Tobi Otogiri after class, but the other boy had seemed busy, so Asamiya had backed off. After all, he had a pretty good idea what Otogiri was up to: He was probably worried about Ryuuko Shiratama. Asamiya had considered going to the nurse’s office with him to check on her but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to be a third wheel and having two guys barge into the nurse’s office and disturb a sick girl’s rest seemed less than ideal. Plus, he and Otogiri weren’t even very close friends.

Takatomo was still being kept in the ICU. They wouldn’t let Asamiya in to see her, and there was no way for someone outside the patient’s family to ask how their treatment was progressing. Instead, Asamiya found Takatomo’s mother in the third-floor waiting room outside the ICU. She and her family were Asamiya’s neighbors, and she’d known him for long enough that they were on a first-name basis. She, at least, could tell him how her daughter was doing, and her report that day was a hopeful one.

“Hey, Shinobu. They told me Miyu might be transferred from the ICU to the general ward. Not right now, but apparently, she might be ready to come off the ventilator soon.”

“Oh, really? That’s great news, but, umm… Has she woken up yet…?”

In the blink of an eye, a pall fell over the woman’s expression. Her eyes looked clouded, like the lenses of a pair of glasses that were far too old and weathered to see through. She just shook her head.

The two of them kept chatting for about fifteen minutes, but for the most part, Asamiya just answered the woman’s questions. She asked him about school, about his parents—typical small talk. When Asamiya finally excused himself, Takatomo’s mother said, “Take care of yourself, Shinobu,” in a desperate, almost pleading tone.

No matter how hard he tried to take care of himself, something terrible could happen to him anyway, at any moment. He didn’t say that out loud—he wasn’t that mean-spirited—but he did think it. Instead, he just said, “I will, thanks.”

Asamiya arrived home to an empty house as usual. He had a brother, but he’d moved out to attend a private university in Tokyo two years earlier. Money was tight between the mortgage on their house and his brother’s tuition and expenses, so both of Asamiya’s parents worked long hours to stay afloat. They left home early in the morning and returned late at night. Their small two-story home was cluttered and unclean and had a peculiar smell to it that Asamiya couldn’t quite put into words.

He’d already decided to get a part-time job once he started high school. He wasn’t planning on going to a big-name college like his brother—he’d never been studious, and he didn’t think it would suit him. Instead, he planned to apply to a passable university, then get whatever job he could find. He’d told his mother that last New Year’s, and she’d simply told him to take his time and think things over before he made a decision.

As Asamiya collected the laundry from the line in their cramped, narrow yard, a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He was done—done with everything—and he abandoned the task half finished, retiring to the living room where he sat down at the table. His family had a couch as well, but he knew that his dad used it as a bed on the regular. Somehow, that made sitting on it rather unappealing. Asamiya found the remote and turned on the TV, even though he didn’t want to watch anything. He just wanted some noise to break the silence.

When Asamiya told his mother about his plans over New Year’s, she’d asked, “Don’t you have anything you want to do?” He’d said no. Instantly. “That was fast,” she’d replied with a chuckle.

What about Miyu? thought Asamiya. What about Miyuki Takatomo? He vaguely remembered her saying once that she wanted to own an ice-cream store or something. That had been a fad with the girls in their class at the time—one of them had decided she wanted to run an ice-cream shop, and then the next thing he knew, all of them did. Takatomo’s dream for the future had probably changed by the time she got into middle school. Asamiya could easily imagine her wanting to be a nurse or a nursery school teacher. Maybe a beautician. That would suit her.

Asamiya didn’t have a dream. Whenever his teachers told him to write about his aspirations for the future, he would just put down whatever random job popped into his head. Cartoonist. Office worker. Athlete. They were all lies. He’d never had a job he wanted to work or a feat he wanted to accomplish.

But what about Takatomo? Surely she’d had something. She was a reliable, clearheaded girl who could get along with just about anyone. Her grades were quite good, as well. She was Asamiya’s exact opposite. She must have had a dream. Would she ever recover and see it through? Her mother still had hope. It would be great if it happened. Asamiya was hoping for it—but in all honesty, he wasn’t that confident. He thought it was just as likely she’d never wake up again.

A thought sprang into Asamiya’s head: Was there anything he could have done to prevent this? There was no point thinking about it. Whether or not he could’ve helped, the truth was that he hadn’t. He couldn’t help her now, and he wouldn’t ever be able to help her again.

Asamiya turned off the TV. Any noise was better than silence, in theory—that was why he’d turned it on in the first place. But the sound had grated on his ears.

He wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. He wanted someone to listen to him. But he didn’t have anyone who could. He had friends, sure. The friends list on his game console was full of names. Friends like them only ever wanted to talk about what games they were into or what videos they’d been watching, though. If you tried to bring up anything else, nine times out of ten they’d get on your case about it. Asamiya hadn’t played many video games lately. Even when he did, he ended up quitting right away. He’d lost his passion for them.

Just then, Asamiya heard his phone make a sound. He couldn’t remember where he’d set it down, but after a moment of searching, he found it on the edge of the table and picked it up. There was a message displayed on the screen.

“Your summons to HEA has arrived! Join us in a brand-new social network experience!”

“…HEA?”

Asamiya unlocked his phone. He found an icon he didn’t recognize among his apps, titled HEA. Had he installed an app by that name? If so, he certainly didn’t remember it.

“This seems pretty sketchy,” he muttered, giving the icon a tap.

As it turned out, HEA was an abbreviation of Happy Ever After. An animated introduction began to play, explaining that HEA was a social media platform used by tons of artists, celebrities, and streamers, who all participated anonymously. Pictures of people who looked like they were probably famous flashed by one after another. Asamiya recognized some of them—a musician, a comedian, and a streamer who was often on the front page of online news sites, to name a few.

The video claimed that users were allowed to post whatever they wanted and that there was only one rule: You had to log in at least once every twenty-four hours. If you didn’t log in for a full day, your account and all your posts would be permanently deleted. In other words, if you ever felt like quitting the app, all you had to do was stop logging in and the rest would handle itself.

“…Well, that’s even sketchier than I thought,” Asamiya said, a wry smile creeping across his face.

The app told Asamiya to choose his symbols. Apparently, usernames on the app were made up of a series of symbols rather than letters. Asamiya picked out four of the available symbols at random and hit NEXT. A new set of choices popped up, asking him to choose his interests, likes, and dislikes. Asamiya knew how to handle this sort of thing. He plugged in answers at random, not giving them any thought. The next question, however, gave him pause.

What’s been weighing on your mind lately?

• My relationships, of course.

• My future.

• My finances.

• Love and/or romance.

• My lack of hopes and dreams.

Choose as many answers as you’d like!

“‘My lack of hopes and dreams’? Really? Talk about on the nose…”

Unable to stop himself, he selected My lack of hopes and dreams and hit NEXT. The app took him straight to a timeline screen, where messages along the lines of “Welcome!” and “Nice to meet you!” began appearing one after another.

“Oh, hey! A new user! Welcome!”

“Heyo~”

“Welcome aboard, fellow no-hopes-and-dreams-er!”

“Team despair lmao”

“…Are these people all talking to me?” said Asamiya. “This is one hell of a welcome. ‘Fellow no-hopes-and-dreams-er,’ huh? I mean, I guess…”

The stream of messages directed toward Asamiya gradually slowed, but his timeline continued to update with new posts. Most of them were generic posts about people’s daily lives, saying they’d just gotten up, or were going to bed, or describing what they’d had to eat. Some were complaints—things that had irritated the poster, or a tough situation they were going through, or something that made them want to cry. Whenever someone posted about an awful thing that happened to them, another person would always jump in to say that they’d been through the same thing or to offer words of encouragement.

The strangest part was that Asamiya couldn’t find a single post telling someone to take their whining elsewhere. Did people just ignore posts they didn’t like? Or did HEA’s users not find that sort of griping annoying? Was this a social network service exclusively for magnanimous users?

As Asamiya kept reading the messages, however—“The spaghetti napolitan at XXX is the best!” “I change the channel the second XXX comes on-screen,” “I’m going to XXX tomorrow!”—he began to notice something. The program seemed to be automatically censoring certain words—proper nouns, most likely. The names of people, places, and stores were all redacted.

“I guess it’s probably a privacy thing,” Asamiya speculated to himself. “I mean, it’s pretty easy to figure out where someone lives if they keep dropping names of nearby stores. Looks like you can’t post images, either…”

Maybe that explained the lack of negativity: It was all automatically filtered away. If so, then someone could be constantly flaming you, and you’d never see a thing. The whole community could be trying to cancel you without you even knowing it.

“…This is stupid. Talk about empty comfort,” Asamiya said. But at the same time, he couldn’t look away. His finger scrolled through his timeline as if it had a mind of its own.

This was a place where you could spit out anything—anything at all. And if it turned out to be pointless…well, he could quit whenever he wanted to.

#1-5_tobi_otogiri/ Seeing Isn’t Always Believing

“Hey, get a load of this,” said Monika. She walked right up to Tobi and spun in a circle. “Ta-daa. New uniform.”

If she’d said it in a more cheerful voice and with a slightly brighter expression, Tobi might’ve at least managed a “good for you.” In truth, however, Monika looked just as sleepy that morning as she had the day before, and she was still speaking in the same dull monotone. Why had she decided to say “ta-daa,” of all things? Was she actually in a good mood? It certainly didn’t seem that way to Tobi.

“…Well, you look a little more like a student now,” Baku commented dryly from his spot hanging off Tobi’s desk. Monika didn’t say a word, but she did give Baku a gentle pat.

“Oh, wow!” Ryuuko jogged over to join them. “It’s only your second day, and you already have a uniform? It looks lovely on you!”

“Right?” Monika said before doing another full spin.

Tobi was starting to think that she really was in a good mood. That was great and all, but something was still bothering him. She isn’t even trying to hide it anymore, is she? She fully just reacted to Baku’s voice a second ago, didn’t she?

And then there was Ryuuko. She’d been legitimately shocked the day before when Tobi explained that Monika was probably just like them. How was it that just one day later, when they’d only known this mysterious transfer student from who knows where for twenty-four hours, she was already acting like the two of them were close friends and like nothing was strange at all?

Maybe Ryuuko had her reasons, and she was just pretending that everything was normal. That wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. She couldn’t exactly start talking about zingai in the middle of their classroom mere moments before homeroom was scheduled to start, could she? Tobi appreciated that, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

“I’ve never been a big fan of these stiff, formal uniforms,” said Monika, “but they do make for a nice change of pace.”

“It’s just the thing to help energize you for a full day at school, isn’t it?” said Ryuuko.

“Nah, not really.”

“Oh… You don’t feel energized?”

“Nah. Business as usual over here. Important to keep up my routine.”

“Your routine? I see! That’s very profound. Oh, but wait—didn’t you wear a uniform at your last school?”

“Huh. Did they even have one? Might’ve. Barely ever wore it if they did.”

“You’re a person who truly values her freedom, aren’t you, Monika?”

“Nah, not really. Just living’s enough to tie you down in all sorts of ways.”

“Yes, that’s true! Life is full of restraints. Rules, laws, and so on,” Ryuuko said with an understanding nod.

What are these two even talking about? Tobi wondered.

“So, hey…” Getting a little tired of their back-and-forth, Tobi decided to speak up.

“Hmm?” Monika cocked her head and patted Baku again.

“…Give me a break,” Baku grumbled.

Monika tilted her head in the opposite direction. “Hmm?”

She was clearly doing this on purpose. She couldn’t have been any more obvious. Ryuuko held a hand up to her mouth and cleared her throat as if she’d just barely held in a bout of laughter. But Tobi didn’t find the situation very funny.

He got up from his chair.

“Going somewhere?” asked Monika.

Tobi had no reason to reply to her, but he barked out, “Restroom!” anyway before speeding out of the classroom.

Tobi knew Monika might decide to mess with Baku while he was gone. He wondered for a moment if he should have brought Baku with him but decided it wasn’t worth second-guessing himself. Bringing a backpack to the restroom would’ve looked pretty bizarre.

Sorry, Baku. I’ll be right back, Tobi thought, sending a silent apology to his partner while he did his business. As he was washing his hands, idly gazing into the mirror by the sink, he saw the reflection of a boy with long bangs entering the restroom.

“Morning, Otogiri,” Shinobu Asamiya said with a nod.

“Yeah…” Tobi turned off his sink, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dry his hands with. “Morning.”

Instead of walking toward the stalls, however, Asamiya stopped in his tracks. Tobi, a little curious, turned around to look. Now that he was seeing Asamiya in full rather than just his reflection, Tobi realized that he was clenching his phone in his hand and that the look on his face was a little strange.

“Someone’s got his hands full, huh?” said Asamiya. “You’ve sure become Mr. Popular all of a sudden.”

I’m what? My hands full? Tobi’s gaze fell to his hands. He had a handkerchief in his right, but his left was empty, still dripping wet. They weren’t full by any means. His mind followed that train of thought for an embarrassingly long time before he cut it off. No. That’s not what he meant. “Mr. Popular.” He’s trying to say I’ve got a bunch of girls around me lately.

“…Huh?” Tobi said, confused.

“Sorry,” Asamiya said, his tone surprisingly subdued. His long bangs made it difficult to see his eyes, and now he was hanging his head, making it even harder. “Dunno what I’m saying. Ignore me.”

Tobi nodded, still bewildered. The comment had surprised him, but he wasn’t offended. If anything, it seemed like Asamiya was a little upset. What could have set him off? Tobi, perhaps?

Asamiya hurried off without another word. Then Tobi finished drying his hands and followed suit. Their whole interaction had left him befuddled. Should he have said something to Asamiya before he left? He’d seemed to be in a bad mood, so maybe that would have just made things worse.

Could Tobi have inadvertently pissed Asamiya off? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done, but it was always possible. Tobi found himself a little shaken. He’d felt like he and Asamiya had grown closer lately. Just a little, but even that was significant compared to how distant he was from most of his classmates.

Was he simply reading into things too deeply? Or had he somehow, without noticing, earned Asamiya’s resentment?

* * *

“…It’s been one weird thing after another lately,” Tobi muttered.

It was pleasant out, and the courtyard had filled up over the afternoon break. Several of the benches were completely full. Tobi’s wasn’t quite as packed, but he still wasn’t sitting alone.

“Friggin’ tell me about it,” said Baku. He was with Tobi, too, of course—slung over his shoulder. But he wasn’t the only one.

“Right?” said Monika. She was sitting with her legs crossed to Tobi’s right.

“Oh, really?” added Ryuuko, from his left.

The bench was wide enough for the three of them to sit side by side with room to spare. Some of the other benches had four or even five students packed together on them. Tobi would have felt guilty for monopolizing a whole bench, but three people seemed like a reasonable number.

Why were the three of them sitting together? That was the question Tobi had yet to find an answer to.

Haizaki was nearby, wandering aimlessly around the parking lot across from the courtyard with a watering can in hand. Tobi wasn’t sure what the man was meant to be doing. If he was supposed to be watering plants, he was in the wrong place. Tobi also wished that Haizaki would stop glancing over at him. He was doing it so often, it was starting to become a nuisance. If he wanted to say something, he should just come over and say it. As things stood, he was just getting on Tobi’s nerves.

“One weird thing after another.” Monika paused to stretch, then casually added, “Oh, by the way, I can see zingai.”

“…Mo—,” Ryuuko began. Tobi assumed she’d meant to say “Monika” but cut herself off. She was leaning forward, staring in wide-eyed shock at the other girl.

Tobi hadn’t expected Monika to simply come out and say it, so he was a little taken aback as well. Not as much as Ryuuko, though. After all, he’d been more or less convinced already.

“Knew it,” said Tobi.

“You figured it out, huh?” Monika raised one eyebrow as the corners of her lips twitched upward. “Guess I was a little too obvious.”

“So?” said Tobi.

“So what?”

“Do you have one? A zingai, I mean.”

Judging by Ryuuko’s reaction, that possibility hadn’t even occurred to her until the moment Tobi asked. “Oh… That’s right!” she said. “If you can see them, then that means—”

“Wanna search for it?” Monika spread out her arms, palms up, like a magician showing them she had nothing hidden up her sleeves.

Ryuuko stood up, walked over to Monika, and leaned in, observing her from close up. She looked less like she was inspecting the other girl and more like she was sniffing her, in the same way one dog might sniff another. Tobi didn’t see the point in getting so close. Unless Ryuuko was tremendously nearsighted, they should be able to see her zingai from where they were.

Maybe it was hiding somewhere? Tobi glanced under the bench, just for good measure, but didn’t see anything. In fact, there wasn’t even any stray garbage around. Whoever cleaned the courtyard must have done a very thorough job.

“I don’t have one,” Monika said after Tobi and Ryuuko had searched everywhere they could think of.

“How’s that work?” Baku asked, trembling slightly. He seemed keenly interested, which came as no surprise. He was pretty invested in the topic, after all.

“That’s a good question.” Monika’s gaze drifted up toward the sky as she crossed her arms. “I don’t remember anything about it, so I couldn’t say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Baku said indignantly. Tobi tightened his grip on his strap.

Monika had paused before she’d replied. She’d stopped and thought for a moment, then had said she didn’t remember.

“Anyway, I can see zingai. I can tell when they’re around, too. It’s like I can sense them,” Monika continued, turning her gaze back toward Ryuuko—specifically, toward the red pouch she kept slung across her body.

“In that case…” Ryuuko opened the pouch, and Chinurasha poked her head out without delay.

Monika squinted slightly, then reached out to trace a finger along Chinu’s horns. At that, Chinu dove straight back into the pouch. Maybe she didn’t like being touched or maybe Monika had simply startled her.

“I always knew it was there,” Monika said with a shrug.

“Just who are you?” Baku asked. That was what Tobi was most curious about, too.

“That’s a secret,” said Monika. “’Fraid I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, come on!” shouted Baku. “What the hell does that mean?!”

“It’s, like, grown-up stuff.”

“Grown-up stuff, my ass! You’re a middle schooler! You’re not even close to being grown up, you little brat!”

All things considered, Monika took getting called a brat by a backpack reasonably well. She didn’t seem offended anyway. But then, suddenly, a strange look came across her face. It was like, for a moment, her spirit had departed from her body.

“Monika?” Ryuuko stooped down and waved a hand in front of Monika’s face, which seemed to snap her back to reality.

“…There’s something I have to do,” Monika said, planting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. “Think you could lend me a hand?”

“Is that any way to ask a person a favor?!” barked Baku. Tobi was right there with him.

“You’re not a person,” Monika countered. Once again, Tobi had to agree.

“Umm… Do you mean me as well?” asked Ryuuko.

“Of course,” Monika replied. “I need you and Tobi to help. And your zingai, too.”

“What, so I’m a friggin’ afterthought?!” Baku griped.

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the main player.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, maybe I’ll think about it!”

“…I haven’t agreed yet, you know,” Tobi grumbled. He glanced at a group of boys running around the courtyard. “Also, we’re not alone here. Shouldn’t we discuss this in private?”

“Don’t worry. Nobody’s eavesdropping.” Monika paused to stifle a yawn before continuing. “Barely anyone can see zingai anyway. You two are a very rare case. There’s, what, thirty-five people per class in this school? Thirty-six? Anyway, two in thirty people being zingai-aware is practically unheard of.”

“A rare case…,” Ryuuko muttered. She looked conflicted.

“You said this school was especially weird. Is that what you meant? Were you talking about us?” Tobi asked.

Monika furrowed her brow. Apparently, the answer was no. Were he and Ryuuko normal by her standards, then? And if so, what was so weird about their school?

“This is just a rough estimate, but I’d put this place’s numbers at one in ten. Maybe even more than that,” said Monika. She was speaking in extremely vague terms, but Tobi realized what she was talking about immediately. “Has it always been like this?”

“No,” Tobi replied, shaking his head. “It seems like there are a lot lately. I don’t…think it was like that before. I’m not really sure when things changed. I think…their numbers might be growing.”

“Oh! Now that you mention it,” said Ryuuko. She must have noticed as well, at least on some level.

Among the group of boys and girls on the bench across from was a boy with an oddly flat lizard-like creature clinging to his shoulder. Ryuuko pointed at him.

“Do you see the little, umm…well, you know, on that person’s shoulder?” she asked. “I feel like I’ve been seeing more and more things like it recently.”

“That’s definitely weird.” Monika sat up straight and crossed her arms. “If that was all, though, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. However, I’ve been seeing some pretty weird zingai around, too. I’d like to look into it, but, well, I’m a transfer student, so it’s not that easy.”

“Is that what you were hoping we would assist with?” asked Ryuuko.

“You got it,” Monika replied.

“Well, I’m not sure if there’s much I can help with, but I’ll lend a hand in any way I can!” Ryuuko declared. She’d barely taken any convincing at all.

Was it really all right for her to be so credulously helpful under these circumstances? Tobi was concerned, to say the least. “Maybe you should give it some thought before you agree.”

“But I want to help her,” said Ryuuko. “After all, we’re friends! It’s only natural.”

“Friends?” Monika repeated, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

Ryuuko frowned. Monika seemed dumbfounded by Ryuuko’s assertion, and Ryuuko was, in turn, distressed by Monika’s confusion. What’s with these two? thought Tobi. They’re actually kind of entertaining.

“…A-are… Are we not friends…?” asked Ryuuko.

“Friends, huh?” Monika said the word again, then she stood up and laid a hand on Ryuuko’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Why not? Friends it is, Ryuuko.”

“Yes! Friends it is…!” Ryuuko replied much too loudly. Monika flinched, and even Tobi was a little caught off guard.

“Well, someone’s pleased as punch,” Baku grumbled.

If it made Ryuuko happy, then it was fine by Tobi. And if she intended to help Monika, he had no choice but to pitch in as well. Okay, so he did have other options, but he knew he’d wind up helping in the end, so why fight it?

The real question was whether he could trust Monika. Tobi wasn’t convinced just yet. In fact, he still found her quite suspicious.

In the end, she’d never answered Baku’s question. Tobi still had no idea who Monika Asahi really was.

* * *

There was still some time left before the end of their afternoon break, and Monika ended up pestering Tobi and Ryuuko into paying a visit to Class 2-1. According to her, the room was home to a very unusual zingai.

Partway there, Tobi realized that Haizaki was tailing them. Monika struck him as suspicious, but Haizaki’s recent behavior wasn’t much better. Around the time Tobi caught sight of the sign above the door to Class 2-1, Haizaki picked up his pace and came straight toward them.

“U-umm, hey!” Haizaki shouted.

“…Mr. Haizaki? Do you need—?” Ryuuko began, only for Monika to step in front of her and seize the initiative.

“Whaddaya want, old man?”

“Nothing with you, actually,” Haizaki replied. “But I do have something important to discuss with Otogiri and Shiratama, so—”

“Then how ’bout you do it right here? Or is it too secret to talk about in the hallway?”

“W-well, that’s…,” Haizaki stammered. An almost tragic look came over his face, and he let out a low, pained groan. Monika’s callout had clearly been right on the money, and he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. Maybe the groan was the best thing he could muster in lieu of a counterargument. “Just tell me if anything happens, okay, you two? I’m counting on you,” he muttered feebly before continuing on his way. It felt like Monika had driven him off.

Ryuuko looked utterly baffled. “Mr. Haizaki was behaving awfully strangely just now, wasn’t he?”

“He’s a strange guy, period. Let’s go,” said Monika.

I guess they really do know each other, thought Tobi. He supposed they had one notable point in common: Both of them had a surprisingly thorough knowledge of zingai.

After that, Tobi, Ryuuko, and Monika peered into Class 2-1 through the rear sliding door. About half of its students were still inside. Monika pointed toward a trio of girls gathered near the front of the room, chatting and laughing. One of them was sitting, while the other two were standing nearby.

“That must be it,” Tobi muttered. There could be no doubt.

The sitting girl had a dark-colored butterfly-like creature fluttering above her shoulder. No, not one—two of them. They looked just like butterflies at a glance, but Tobi knew they were something else. If an insect found its way into a classroom, even if it was as small as a mosquito or a housefly, someone would always notice. An eye-catching creature like a butterfly or a moth would be sure to attract attention. If no one was reacting, then it must be because the other students in Class 2-1 couldn’t see them.

“What? Isn’t that Hiiragi…?” Ryuuko said, eyes wide.

“You know her?” Monika asked.

Ryuuko nodded, her eyes still fixed on the girl with the butterflies. “Yes, I do. Her name is Itoha Hiiragi. We were in the same class last year. We were friends, but we’ve barely spoken since we were split up at the start of the new school year… What’s going on? Why would Hiiragi have…?”

A zingai. Tobi knew that was what Ryuuko had almost said, but she’d cut herself off and swallowed the words back down.

Tobi didn’t know the girl called Hiiragi. He hadn’t been in Ryuuko’s class during their first year of middle school, and he didn’t think he’d been in a class with Hiiragi before that, either. Her hair was long, black, and perfectly straight, and she had a slender build—thin with narrow shoulders. Aside from her looks, the main thing that stood out about her were those two butterflies.

No. Not butterflies, zingai. They must be hers.

“I’m guessing she didn’t have them last year. Did she?” Monika seemed concerned.

“No,” Ryuuko replied without hesitation, “she didn’t. I’m certain of it.”

“A relapse, then.”

“A relapse?” “A relapse?”

Tobi and Baku spoke the same words at the same moment.

“Supposedly, everyone can see them at first,” she said without even cracking a smile. That was enough to shock Tobi, but she wasn’t finished yet. “And everyone has one. Something that only they can see. Over time, though, most people lose the ability to perceive them—and when they do, their something vanishes. That’s the normal progression.”

“…Whaaa—?” Ryuuko clasped Chinu’s pouch. “Is that how it works? So then, it’s just a coincidence that I never lost the ability? And if I had lost it…”

Baku let out a low, skeptical grumble. Tobi wasn’t entirely convinced, either. He knew exactly when he’d started seeing Baku. In his case, the change had occurred at a very specific moment—right after he and his brother were separated, when the one-eyed man had arrived with Baku in hand. From Tobi’s perspective, it wasn’t even about seeing or not seeing zingai at all. He’d lost his brother, and then he’d met Baku. From then on, the two of them were never apart.

That was how he’d always seen it. When he and his brother lived together, Baku wasn’t around. They’d only had each other. He and his brother. No one else.

Am I forgetting something?

That thought flashed through Tobi’s mind, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Once you lose the ability to see them, you can’t get it back,” Monika continued quietly. “But sometimes, a person will relapse without even realizing it. It’s a little like an illness, I guess. The point is, your something turns back up. In other words, it appears all over again.”

“So then…that’s what’s happened to Hiiragi?” asked Ryuuko.

“Assuming she didn’t have one before, it’s the only real possibility. It’s not common, but it happens sometimes, and it’s not necessarily a problem in and of itself.”

“D-does that mean there’s something else weird going on…?”

“The number,” Monika said. She held up her hands, extending both pointer fingers into the air. “They’re supposed to be one-to-one. That’s not a hard-and-fast rule, but it usually holds true. One thing, one creature, one something. Call them whatever you want—point is, everyone only gets one. One master and one servant, you might say.”

“Hold on—I’m not Tobi’s servant! I’m his partner!” Baku insisted. It felt like he was about to unzip, which was a sure sign he was angry. Monika patted him as if trying to soothe him, but it didn’t help. “Hands off !” he barked.

“It’s already rare for someone to have more than one,” Monika continued, unfazed. “And on top of that, it’s a relapse. Cases like this can be dangerous.”

The situation was beginning to feel ominous. Quite ominous. In fact, the state of things at Tobi’s school had felt ominous for some time now. Tobi had just taken a very long time to realize it.

Tobi had only recently learned what zingai were called. That didn’t mean much, though—there were plenty of things he was aware of but didn’t know the name for. He didn’t have to be aware that a short wall surrounding a rooftop was called a parapet to understand that they existed. Stuff like that was all around him, and he didn’t think anything of it. Tobi wasn’t uncurious exactly, but he didn’t see each and every nameless thing as a mystery he needed to solve.

Maybe he’d felt that way about zingai partly because he’d thought only he could see them. They were a part of his world and his alone. He was sure that the world he saw, felt, and sensed was different from the ones everyone else experienced. But he’d been wrong.

“…Should we know anything else about, umm—about ‘relapses’?” Tobi asked. Maybe he’d spoken too quietly for Monika to hear. Either way, she didn’t respond.

Ryuuko was still peering into Class 2-1, staring intently at Hiiragi’s zingai. “To be honest, her butterflies…are a little cute, aren’t they? Their coloration is lovely.”

Tobi had thought the butterflies were black at first, but on closer inspection, he saw that they had a blue stripe-like pattern on their wings. He wasn’t sure he’d describe them as cute, but they were pretty.

“You can’t judge these things by appearances,” Monika muttered.

Barely a moment after she spoke, the butterflies began moving away from Hiiragi’s shoulder. The two zingai flew off in separate directions, each landing on one of the girls standing nearby. One alighted on the nape of the girl with shorter hair, while the other stopped on the left ear of the girl with longer hair. They slowly flapped their wings, putting that vivid blue stripe atop the black background on full display. At last, they spread their wings wide open and stopped moving.

“…Ugh,” the short-haired girl groaned as she sat down in a nearby chair. “I’m so sleepy. Feels like I need an after-lunch nap.”

“Me too,” the long-haired girl replied. She sat down as well. “I’m, like, wiped. Aren’t afternoon classes a real pain in the ass?”

“I wanna go home,” the short-haired girl moaned as she slumped forward onto the desk in front of her. “I’ve felt crappy since this morning. I think something’s wrong with me…”

“Are you all right?” Hiiragi asked, patting the short-haired girl on the back.

“Hey, did you see that?” Baku hissed, twisting his body to the side.

The sensation Tobi had felt when he reached into Asamiya’s desk and grabbed Chiami Kon’s zingai sprang back into his mind. Suddenly, he was hungry. He’d only just eaten lunch, so there was no way he needed to eat again, but he felt famished all the same. This wasn’t his hunger—it was Baku’s. Tobi was experiencing Baku’s voracious desire to feed.

Just then, Itoha turned around. The look on her face as she glanced toward the back of the classroom seemed somehow lonesome. She noticed Ryuuko and raised a hand, smiling as she gave her a hesitant wave.

“Ah…” Ryuuko raised both of her hands and waved back. Her whole body bounced ever so slightly with each wave—and just as she was up on her toes at the peak of the motion, Monika pushed her from behind. For a moment, it looked like Ryuuko would topple forward, but she just barely kept her balance. “Huh…?”

Ryuuko glanced back at Monika, who simply jerked her chin toward the classroom. She seemed to be saying, Get in there.

“Uh? Er… Umm,” Ryuuko babbled.

Ultimately, she turned back around and took a few faltering steps into the room. Eventually, she made up her mind and headed for Hiiragi. Tobi heard them say, “It’s been ages,” and then the two struck up a conversation.

At that point, the zingai butterflies took flight again, lifting off the other girls in unison.

“Those zingai,” Monika said under her breath. “I think they might be on guard.” She licked her lips.

The butterfly zingai didn’t fly around at random. They went right back to Hiiragi, landing on her hair. They almost looked like a pair of butterfly-shaped hairpins.

“Even if their master’s not aware of them, zingai can sense when other zingai are around,” Monika explained.

“Hey, Monika.” Tobi rubbed his stomach. Baku still wanted to eat the butterfly zingai but was silently enduring the craving. He knew what would happen if he went through with it. He and Tobi both did.

“Hmm? What?”

“You said you wanted to look into that girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens when you’re finished?”

“What do you think?”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“Well, then,” said Monika, sounding irritated. “Are you being totally honest with me?”

“…Huh?”

“Will you be completely honest and tell me everything?”

Tobi couldn’t answer. Could he tell anyone everything? What about Ryuuko? He didn’t know. He definitely had things he hadn’t yet shared with anyone else.

“Everyone has stuff they don’t want to talk about—and stuff they can’t talk about,” said Monika. “Everyone. Don’t you agree?”

“…You said you wanted us to help you.”

Tobi couldn’t trust her. He couldn’t treat her with the same openness as he did Ryuuko. And yet he didn’t want to reject her out of hand, either.

“Are you sure you’re not just using us?”

Ryuuko had agreed to help without a second thought, and Tobi was worried about her. He had to keep an eye on her. That was part of what was motivating him—but it probably wasn’t the whole picture.

Monika averted her gaze for a few seconds, then turned back and looked Tobi straight in the eye. “When the time comes, I’ll tell you.”

Monika Asahi wasn’t an honest person. If anything, she was a liar.

“After all,” she said, “Ryuuko, at least, is my friend.”

But she wasn’t the sort of person who’d betray her friends. Tobi believed that, though he wasn’t sure why.

#1-6_itoha_hiiragi/ Hearts Grow Through Reflection

Itoha Hiiragi kept her guard up all day, right up until the moment she said good-bye to her friends on the way home from school. Even then she smiled and waved as her friends crossed the street and kept it up until they disappeared from view. She had to pat herself on the back. She’d done well. She was even a little proud of herself.

“I’m so tired,” Itoha muttered despite herself.

She’d driven herself hard—too hard—and she lacked the willpower to hold back her words. She realized her mistake right away, though, and forced her sociable front back up again. She hadn’t seen herself in a mirror, so she couldn’t say for sure, but she had a feeling that her expression just now had been very unpleasant. It was probably the same sort of expression she’d worn back when she’d only had one person she could truly call a friend.

Itoha straightened up and began to walk. She couldn’t let her guard down again—if she did, she’d end up staring straight at the ground with her back hunched. She had to be vigilant, but she was exhausted. She felt tired every day, but today had been especially bad.

At times like these, Itoha would go to a nearby park. It was a place she associated with some painful memories, but it was also a lush, verdant environment full of wildlife. Places like that suited her best.

A few other people were there that evening, but to Itoha’s relief, the bench was unoccupied. She sat down and gazed up at a towering zelkova tree that stood a short distance away. If she dug in the earth at the roots of that tree, she knew she’d find cicada larvae. She didn’t do that sort of thing anymore, of course. Digging for grubs wasn’t suitable behavior for a girl in her second year of middle school.

Itoha had thrown out all the butterfly, moth, cicada, beetle, and dragonfly specimens she’d collected over the years. She’d gotten rid of her field guide—a prized possession she’d dearly loved—and all the drawings she’d made of insects. She’d packed away the black and blue clothes that her grandmother had sewn for her, too. They didn’t fit her anymore, and she knew she never would’ve worn them again even if they had, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw them out. It would’ve felt like an insult to her grandmother. She wasn’t sure yet if she’d keep them after her grandmother passed, though. Just the thought of those clothes she’d worn back then still sitting in her house was enough to lower her spirits.

It was at times like these, when she was alone in this park so closely associated with a past she didn’t want to reflect on, that Itoha felt most at peace. It was the strangest thing. Eventually, though, she would have to go back home.

Itoha hated being at home, and when she was at school, she had to put on a front. Her grandmother took ill easily and was currently in the hospital. The doctors suspected she was showing signs of dementia, so it was possible she would never be discharged.

Itoha pulled out her phone—the phone her grandmother had bought for her. She unlocked it and tapped one of the apps. As she scrolled through her timeline, she lost the will to hold back.

“I saw Ryuuko Shiratama for the first time in ages. She’s nice and all, but talking with her was exhausting.”

Itoha didn’t have any reservations about putting up a post with someone’s name in it. By the time her message made it to someone else’s timeline, that name would be automatically censored.

In no time at all, reactions from other users came pouring in.

“Dealing with nice people is always so tiring.”

“Some people are so friggin’ overbearing!”

“The pressure to conform, it burns, lmao”

“Having to cooperate with people’s a bitch sometimes.”

Some of the replies were a little odd—like they’d missed the point of her post—but it was still a relief to know that somewhere out there, there were people who thought along the same lines as she did.

“Pretending to be someone else all the time is exhausting.”

Itoha posted the truth—the feelings that she could never open up about to anyone in person. Within seconds, someone replied.

“Of course it’s exhausting.”

“You did good! There, there.”

“Maybe you should try being a little more honest.”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Your true self is what’s really important.”

“As long as you’re living genuinely, that’s all that matters.”

“Find your true self!”

“You don’t have to overthink this.”

“Just look inside yourself for who you really are.”

“Look for the real you!”

“Uncover your inner truth!”

“…I wish it were that easy.” Itoha typed up a post of her own.

“You can do it. I know you can!”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Just let yourself go.”

“…Let myself go, huh?”

In her mind’s eye, a butterfly spread its wings and took flight—and in that moment, without warning, her vision went dark. She felt like she’d very nearly had a heart attack. She was so shocked, she couldn’t even scream. Someone was covering her eyes from behind. Who was it? Who? Itoha was utterly terrified.

“Guess whooo!” a voice said into her ear.

Itoha knew that voice. She recognized it instantly. She just couldn’t believe it, and she couldn’t bring herself to answer. The hands lifted from her eyes, and their owner walked around the bench to stand in front of Itoha. Then she smiled.

“That’s right—it’s li’l ol’ Ruka! Long time, no see!”

Itoha was still in shock. Rukana Shizukudani stood in front of her. It couldn’t be anyone else.

“Hmm? Hmm?” Rukana leaned low to the right, then to the left. “What’s wrong, Itoha? It’s just li’l ol’ Ruka. I’m not a ghost, you know? I’ve been through all sorts of stuff, sure, but I’m still alive and well, you know? And you look like you’re doing just fine, too, right? Grown up a lot, haven’t you? Really matured, eh? I almost didn’t recognize you. Right? So what’s wrooong? Hmmm?”

“S-stop it!” Itoha shouted. She covered her ears with her hands, but she couldn’t close her eyes. The thought of not being able to see scared her. There was no telling what this girl would do to her, and no matter what she did, Itoha wouldn’t be able to resist. “Stop. Please. Just stop…”

Suddenly, Rukana froze. She stood as still as a statue. Even her eyes seemed fake and glassy behind the lenses of her glasses.

Now, Itoha thought.

She leaped to her feet and ran. She sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her, clutching her phone in her hand. She couldn’t drop it. She needed that phone. It was the one thing she couldn’t lose. She ran and ran, without looking back, until she was completely out of breath—and then she kept on running.

#2 / Like An(y) Other “Mundane Lives”

#2-1_rukana_shizukudani/ Everyone Has Their Own Way of Doing Things

The first time they ended up in the same class together was in their third year of elementary school.

She always carried a book around with her everywhere she went. A big, heavy book. A field guide. She was scrawny, had awful posture, and wore the same sort of black and blue clothes every single day. Her hair was pitch-black, save for a blue ribbon, and her eyes were black as well. Looking into those eyes was like staring into a pair of deep, dark holes. Anyone could tell at a glance that she was weirdo, and Rukana Shizukudani was no exception.

That was Rukana’s first impression of Itoha Hiiragi: that she was a strange kid. Itoha was isolated from her peers. Ostracized even. When there weren’t any teachers around, her classmates could say anything they wanted to her—do anything they wanted—without fear of consequence.

Every morning, Itoha would arrive at school to find a collection of random items piled atop her desk. Wadded-up pieces of paper, scraps of used-up erasers, weeds plucked from the side of the road, roots still covered in dirt, and dead insects were some of the more common offerings. Without fail, her day would begin with a trip to the garbage can to dispose of it all—except, that is, for the dead insects. She wouldn’t throw those out. She’d take them outside and bury them in the school’s flower bed, whether they were ants, flies, beetles, or anything else.

Itoha always carried a big, heavy book around with her. It was titled An Illustrated Field Guide to Moths and Butterflies—500 Species from All Across the World in Full Color! Complete Edition. Whenever she got a chance, she’d bury her nose in that book. Apparently, she adored moths and butterflies, and seeing how she went out of her way to bury dead insects of all sorts, her interest probably didn’t stop there. She must have loved bugs in general.

Her classmates, boys and girls alike, hurled insults at Itoha like they’d hurl trash into a garbage bin. They called her gross, disgusting. They said she smelled and that she was dirty or creepy and called her a monster or a ghost. They didn’t say it behind her back, either. They went out of their way to make sure she heard them. Itoha, however, never reacted. Whether she was reading her book or just staring at the ground, she simply kept at it, never saying a word in response. Someone would say, “She’s not listening,” a few people would laugh, and the process would repeat itself.

Rukana didn’t understand what was so fun about any of it. She didn’t understand, but she faked a laugh anyway, just to fit in with the group—even while internally, she thought that they were being idiots and looked down on them for it. Rukana thought that her classmates were stupid, vulgar morons who didn’t even understand how despicable they were. She was more interested in Itoha the weirdo than she was in any of them.

Rukana managed to learn Itoha’s address in no time at all. She also learned that Itoha often wandered around a park not far from her house, alone. Rukana didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she pretended to pass by the park and stumble across Itoha by chance. That was when she called out to her.

“What’re you doing, Hiiragi?”

Itoha was crouched down by the base of a tree. She glanced up without bothering to stand, her hole-like eyes turning toward Rukana. “Larvae,” she quietly replied. “I’m looking for larvae.”

“What sort of larvae?” Rukana asked.

Itoha’s hole-like eyes widened. “Cicada,” she said. This time, her voice was much louder—but it also trembled. Rukana could tell what that meant. Itoha was excited. She was ecstatic. “I’m looking for cicada larvae.”

* * *

At school, Rukana never said so much as a word to Itoha. That would be dangerous. She couldn’t risk her classmates thinking the two of them were friends. She only ever met with Itoha outside of school, far away from prying eyes. Itoha never asked why. Rukana had judged her correctly: She wasn’t foolish enough to ask questions that she already knew the answer to.

Itoha was a strange person, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d dig in the mud for insect larvae with glee and catch butterflies and moths with her bare hands, but she always washed her hands with soap afterward, and she bathed every day, so she wasn’t dirty at all. She carefully brushed her pitch-black hair, leaving it perfectly straight and glossy.

Itoha only ever wore black and blue clothing, a little different from the sort of clothes most people wore. It wasn’t just her outerwear, either—when Rukana peeked at her gym clothes, underwear, and socks, she found that the majority of them hadn’t come from a store. Her grandmother was quite the seamstress, it seemed, and made Itoha her black and blue clothing on request. Her grandmother had also made the blue ribbon she always wore out of a piece of scrap fabric.

There was a particular species of butterfly called a blue admiral. They weren’t particularly rare—you could find them all across eastern and southern Asia. They could even be found in Japan, from all the way up north in Hokkaido to the Ryukyu Islands in the south.

Itoha loved bugs in general, butterflies and moths in particular, and blue admirals above all others. She’d once shown Rukana the blue admirals she’d caught herself. Not all of them were alive. She also had a number of them preserved as specimens. In fact, her home was full of insect specimens, many of which she’d collected and mounted herself. Itoha knew all about each and every one of them. Sometimes, while describing their ecology, she was so overcome with emotion that she would end up in tears.

“I like blue admirals more than any of the other ones, though,” she’d say. “I’ve loved them ever since the first time I saw one!”

Blue admirals weren’t especially rare, but they were somewhat unusual. The bright blue pattern that ran across their otherwise black wings, which was revealed when they took flight, was particularly eye-catching.

“They’re so pretty,” said Rukana. It wasn’t lip service—she genuinely felt that way. There was just something about that black and blue coloration, about how the blue stood out so vividly against the black background. That was why Itoha wore black and blue clothes. It was why she took such good care of her black hair and only ever adorned it with a blue ribbon. It was all an expression of love for the blue admiral butterfly.

“But the underside of their wings is completely different,” Itoha continued. When she talked about blue admirals, her usually pallid face grew flushed with excitement. Her eyes stopped looking like deep, dark pits. They practically glimmered with passion and glee.

When blue admirals closed their wings, it seemed, you could only see their undersides, which looked almost like withered leaves. As a result, it could be quite difficult to spot one if it landed on a tree. That side of their wings wasn’t pretty by any measure. Instead, they were unobtrusive. A form of camouflage. A trait that the blue admiral species had attained through evolution for the sake of protecting itself. Itoha’s undergarments tended to be either beige or a dark, subdued color. The lining of the blue and black clothes her grandmother made for her was always a dark brown.

“I’m a blue admiral.”

* * *

Between her regular piano and ballet lessons, Rukana would go over to Itoha’s house from time to time. Not often. Just every once in a while. Itoha’s parents both had full-time jobs and didn’t come home until seven or eight in the evening. Itoha used to spend weekday afternoons at her grandmother’s house, but after she started her second year of elementary school, she’d spent that time at home alone.

“Don’t you get lonely?” Rukana had asked once. It was a very trite question, and looking back, Rukana was embarrassed that she’d asked it at all.

“No, I don’t. I’m fine,” Itoha had replied.

Insect collecting and specimen making weren’t Itoha’s only obsessions. She also loved to draw. The day Rukana asked her if she got lonely, a big sheet of paper had been laid out on the living room table. Itoha had been drawing an insect on it—a type of moth known as an Agrius, found in Central and South America. Itoha had used a mixture of colored pencil, crayon, and watercolor to render the moth in almost photorealistic detail. She showed Rukana a picture of a swallowtail butterfly she’d drawn when she was in the first grade, as well. It was just as impressive—apparently, she’d been a capable artist even back then. Itoha didn’t make any claims about her own skill level, but it was clear to Rukana that she had incredible talent.

“I show them to my grandma sometimes, but I can never, ever let my parents see them,” Itoha explained.

She’d shown her mother one of them once and had gotten a very poor reaction. “What is that? Disgusting,” she’d said. Itoha had broken down in tears and torn the drawing to pieces. Ever since then, she’d kept her hobby a secret from her parents. She’d obtained all her art supplies by begging her grandmother to buy them for her.

“I run out so quickly, though,” she said. “I have to use them really carefully.”

Rukana used her savings to buy a set of seventy-two colored pencils, which she gave to Itoha for her birthday. Itoha was so happy she jumped with joy—literally. She jumped so many times that Rukana wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Why’re you jumping?” she asked.

“This pack has seventy-two colors, so I thought I’d try jumping seventy-two times,” Itoha explained. “Thank you so much, Shizukudani!”

“Just call me Rukana.”

Itoha’s jumping came to a sudden stop. “Huh?”

“I mean, I already call you Itoha, right? So you can call me Rukana.”

* * *

Every family’s home has a unique odor, and Itoha’s smelled like expired soy sauce. It was an old two-story building that no one would describe as clean, no matter how polite they were trying to be. Newspapers and flyers were scattered across the floor along with envelopes, postcards, printouts from Itoha’s school, pieces of fabric so filthy it was hard to tell if they were towels or dust cloths, unwashed laundry, various writing implements, tools—scissors, box cutters, screwdrivers, and the like—and so on.

The kitchen in particular was a disaster zone. The sink and counters were piled high with dirty dishes, knives, pots, pans, chopsticks, forks, and spoons. When Itoha got thirsty, she would drink straight from one of the plastic bottles in her fridge. Rukana got in the habit of bringing a bottle of barley or roasted green tea with her, which she’d slowly sip over the course of her visits.

A dark, narrow, and steep staircase led up to Itoha’s tiny room, which was so full of drawings and insect specimens it was hard to know where to step. As such, the two of them spent their time at the low table in the living room, which was set up near a very dusty couch. That corner of the house felt like their own little kingdom. They never sat on the couch—always on the floor. Rukana felt like she could watch Itoha forever as she used her colored pencils, crayons, and paintbrushes.

Sometimes the two of them would chat while Itoha drew. Not always, though. Sometimes Itoha had to focus too hard on her work to sustain a conversation, while at other times, she could talk as much as she pleased without issue. Rukana quickly learned to tell the difference. There were days when the two of them barely exchanged a word, but even then, Rukana wasn’t bored. Just watching Itoha slowly but surely bring her drawings closer and closer to completion was entertainment enough.

One day near the beginning of summer, when the two of them were in fourth grade, Itoha and Rukana were once again in Itoha’s living room. The windows were open, and Itoha had spread a sheet of paper out on the table. This time, however, she wasn’t drawing. She wrote a series of characters instead—characters that spelled out her own name, Itoha Hiiragi. The way she’d written her first name, however, was different than usual. Instead of writing it out in the characters her parents had chosen for her, she’d written it out using phonetic characters. The same sort of characters that were used to write Rukana’s first name.

“I thought I’d try writing my name like yours,” Itoha explained. Her handwriting was just like her art: precise, finely detailed, and incredibly well-ordered. Even so, Itoha seemed very bashful about showing it to Rukana. She turned away, unable to even look her in the eye. “I think you’re really great, Rukana. I want to be like you, so I tried copying you. I’ll stop if it bothers you, though! Just tell me, okay?”

Rukana hugged Itoha from behind. She smelled slightly musty, in a bittersweet sort of way. Itoha stiffened up, and Rukana could feel her faintly trembling.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Rukana whispered into Itoha’s ear. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I’m really happy.”

That was the moment when Rukana made her choice. She’d spent a long, long time hesitating, unsure whether or not she should tell Itoha her biggest secret. She’d always wanted to tell someone, but she’d never had anyone she could open up to. Now, though, she was certain. She believed from the bottom of her heart that Itoha was that person.

“I see things,” said Rukana.

“…Things?”

“They’re real. But only I can see them.”

“Only you…?”

Itoha glanced around the room, still in Rukana’s embrace. It was like she was searching for the invisible things that Rukana could see. Rukana didn’t let her go. She pulled Itoha closer, spinning both of them around to face the couch.

She pointed at it. “There’s one right there.”

Itoha furrowed her brow and rubbed her hole-like eyes. It was obvious that she couldn’t see it. Rukana had figured that out a long time ago. It would’ve been wonderful if she could, but Rukana had no such expectations. She’d more or less lost all hope that anyone ever would. Time after time, it had been made clear to her that only she could see them. She and she alone.

The thing she could see now was on top of the couch. If this was the first time Rukana had seen it, she probably would’ve been too stunned to speak.

“It looks like a baby,” Rukana said. “It doesn’t have any hair, and it’s not shaped like a person. People have arms and legs, but it doesn’t. It only has arms and not just two but four. It has extra arms instead of legs, and it walks on them. I guess that means it uses its arms as legs. So maybe it actually has four legs. It didn’t just wander in here. It followed me. It follows me everywhere. It’s always, always with me. Oh, and one more thing—it has four eyes. Not two. Four.”

Itoha clung to Rukana. Her teeth were chattering. If it wasn’t Rukana speaking, she probably would’ve thought this was just a scary story. Itoha would know that Rukana wasn’t just trying to scare her. She would believe her.

“It’s all right. Everything’s fine,” Rukana said, forcing herself to smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not scary at all. It won’t do anything. All it ever does is follow me around. I don’t know when it started. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. No matter where I go, it’s always there. It never leaves my side even for a second. It’s always been that way, so to me, it’s just normal. But nobody else can see it. Only I can. There’s no point telling anyone about it—no one would believe me anyway. That’s how I think about it these days. It really is there, though. I can see it just fine.”

“Why can’t I see it?” Itoha asked. Suddenly, tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I wish I could. I want to see it, too…but I can’t. I want to tell you that I can see it, but that would be a lie. I can’t.”

“I know,” said Rukana. Without even realizing it, she’d begun to cry as well.

Rukana wished Itoha could see the things she did. She deeply, dearly wished it were so. On the other hand, she couldn’t blame Itoha for what she couldn’t do. Itoha was weird, and unique, and talented. She certainly wasn’t average. She was worthy of being Rukana’s friend. But she couldn’t see the things Rukana could.

Rukana was special, and Itoha wasn’t. That was all there was to it.

* * *

It had happened before Rukana turned three years old, and yet she still remembered it clearly. Her father had bought her a picture book meant to teach children the basic phonetic characters of the Japanese writing system, and her mother had caught her copying characters from that book into a notebook by hand. Her mother’s eyes had widened, and she had let out an astonished shout.

“Rukana! You can write?!”

“I can,” Rukana had replied.

She’d opened up her notebook to show her mother a page full of writing, and her mother had been so pleased, she had given Rukana a round of applause. “Incredible! You’re a genius!” Rukana never forgot how proud her mother looked that day.

That same year, on her father’s birthday, Rukana gave him a card she’d made from construction paper. It said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY,” in English. Her father couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You didn’t really write this, did you, Rukana? That can’t be possible,” her father had said. Rukana responded by opening up her notebook and writing the same sentence once again, this time while her father watched. Her father lifted her up high into the air, shouting with glee. “That’s amazing! You’re a genius, Rukana!” Rukana remembered looking down at him and seeing how his glasses were slightly clouded.

When Rukana was in preschool, she’d badger her mother into taking her to a big bookstore every Sunday. She would refuse to leave the store until she’d read two books and chosen a third to buy. By the time she was finishing preschool, she was reading books intended for kids in upper elementary school. When she encountered vocabulary she didn’t already know, she’d look the word up in a dictionary and practice writing it until she had it memorized—though in Rukana’s case, that only took three or four repetitions.

Both of Rukana’s parents had poor eyesight. Her father wore glasses and her mother contact lenses. Rukana herself had taken an eye exam in elementary school and been told she was nearsighted. Her facial features looked like a blend of her parents’, and she had her father’s build. But in the summer of her second year in elementary school, she came to realize that aside from that, she had very little in common with her mother and father.

Neither of her parents had very good concentration. They were both unambitious and quick to give up. They fought over the pettiest, most trivial issues, made up, then started fighting again soon afterward. They never learned from their experiences—always repeating the same mistakes, time after time.

Rukana’s parents weren’t unusually dull people, of course. Rukana had already realized, as a second grader, that they were perfectly average. Most people were the same. She had no choice but to live in a world full of people like her parents. Though of course, she never let it show that she considered most people to be idiots.

Once, when Rukana was nearing the end of her time in preschool, a rather large boy named Masaki Kamishiro had forced her to climb to the top of a jungle gym, then demanded she jump off. “This is what you get for being such a brat!” he shouted. Rukana still remembered the look on his sunburned face as he roared at her.

Another child Rukana’s age, Kokoho Yuzawa, used to pull on Rukana’s hair whenever she had the chance. She pulled so strongly, Rukana would cry from the pain. Their preschool teacher scolded Yuzawa, but she would always claim she was just teasing Rukana and pout her way out of trouble. Rukana knew she was lying. Her actions were clearly malicious.

Kamishiro and Yuzawa weren’t the only ones who did such things. Plenty of kids had decided they didn’t like Rukana and had caused her harm over the years. Rukana had never understood why. Yes, she looked down on those she considered her inferiors, but she never hit them. She never kicked them. She never even went out of her way to insult them. So why did they dislike her? What was it that kids like Kamishiro and Yuzawa hated so much about her?

Looking back, Rukana had a theory: People like Kamishiro and Yuzawa resented her because she was exceptional. That was all it took. As the saying went, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down, and some people considered hammering down such nails their personal mission. No matter how much they hammered, their own nail would never stick out, yet they hammered away regardless. If someone was running in front of them, they’d do everything they could to trip them. It wouldn’t make them run any faster, but they’d do it anyway.

“So I decided to pretend that I wasn’t special,” said Rukana. There, in that house that smelled of expired soy sauce, Rukana poured her heart out to Itoha. She revealed secrets she’d kept hidden away for years and years. “Having a bunch of miserable idiots take their jealousy out on you is awful, right? The only advantage they have is how many of them there are and how quickly they form cliques. They instinctually understand that there’s strength in numbers and that might makes right. An army’s an army, even if it’s an army of idiots—one person will never stand a chance against them. Better to keep your head down and work around them.”

“…I just can’t do that,” said Itoha.

“That’s fine,” Rukana replied. “After all, you have me, right?”

Itoha’s hole-like eyes overflowed with tears. She trembled from head to toe, and her features twitched dramatically with every sob. Her face was utterly unsightly, and no matter how much time passed, Rukana could still remember it down to the tiniest detail.

#2-2_rukana_shizukudani/ Inner Nature

Every child born into the world inherited half of their genes from their mother and half from their father. There were all sorts of genes, and they influenced a person’s every quality, from their physical characteristics to their personality, athletic ability, and intelligence. Supposedly, as much as 70 percent of a person’s academic achievement came down to genetics. Rukana’s parents were both as average as could be, but by some lucky happenstance, their genes had come together to form a miraculous combination. Thus did greatness spring forth from the loins of mediocrity.

Itoha’s circumstances were similar. Her father worked for a freight company, and her mother was a caregiver. The two of them were serious, hardworking people who couldn’t draw a picture to save their lives. They didn’t have the superlative memory that allowed Itoha to memorize the names and traits of countless butterflies and moths. They didn’t even appreciate how talented she was. The only one who’d ever understood her was her grandmother. She, at least, always told her granddaughter that she was remarkable—though every time, she would append the same phrase.

“Honestly, who do you take after?”

Night after night, Rukana would climb into bed, roll herself up in her sheets, and think until she drifted off. She’d wrap her arms around the thing, which crawled under the covers with her, and let her imagination run wild.

Rukana had a favorite fantasy—one that she hadn’t told Itoha about. In it, she and Itoha had been sisters in a previous lifetime. Rukana didn’t really believe in past lives, of course. If humans reincarnated, then why was the Earth’s population constantly changing? The idea was inconsistent with reality.

She knew that her fantasy was simply a product of her imagination—but in it, she and Itoha were tightly bound together. They were reborn as sisters over and over, in all sorts of places and eras. Sometimes they’d be split apart, but even in those lives, they’d always find their way back to each other.

The longest a human could possibly live was about a hundred and twenty years, and most people didn’t last past their eighties or nineties. Rukana knew that, and she understood that plenty of people died much younger as well. As such, the sisters in her fantasies always met a fatal end. Sometimes Rukana died before Itoha, and sometimes it was the other way around. Their parting was always tragic—always painful—but in the end, they were always reborn to meet again.

Rukana hadn’t told Itoha about her fantasy yet, but she believed she would someday. It was nothing more than a flight of fancy, a means of whiling away the time until sleep overtook her. Rukana and Itoha weren’t siblings. They’d never been reborn. Rukana didn’t believe in the cycle of reincarnation, or in heaven or hell, or in the pure land. She believed that when you died, that was it—the end.

The two of them would die someday. That single parting would separate them for eternity. Once one of them was gone, the other would never see her again. That was just how reality worked. But that was what made their meeting so significant. If they had to be torn apart someday, then at the very least, Rukana wanted to value every moment of time they had together. Someday, she wanted to explain that to Itoha.

Rukana and Itoha were in their fifth year of elementary school. Rukana wanted to tell her soon—but when? Before summer vacation started? Or would it be better to wait until their vacation was in full swing?

Four days before the semester ended and summer vacation began, a group of girls from Rukana’s class invited her out to play during their afternoon break. As she stepped out from her classroom, however, a boy named Marihiko Kogarezawa stopped her. “Do you have a minute, Shizukudani?” he asked.

Rukana was shocked. So shocked, in fact, that she was even shocked by how shocked she was. “Huh? What? I have to go to the gym now actually,” she babbled, more quickly than she’d intended to. Her body was growing noticeably hotter.

Rukana couldn’t even look Kogarezawa in the eye. He was well-known at their school for his good looks, and the girls loved to gossip about how much he looked like a certain popular entertainer. Furthermore, unlike the rest of the loud, rambunctious boys at their school, Kogarezawa had a calm and gentle demeanor. People said that instead of watching cartoons, reading comics, or playing video games, he spent his time reading the books he found in his father’s study. Supposedly, he was a natural charmer.

That spring, Rukana had ended up walking beside Kogarezawa during a school trip, purely by coincidence. She’d talked with him just like she talked with everyone else and hadn’t thought much of it, but he seemed to feel differently. “You’re a mysterious person, Shizukudani,” he’d said.

Kogarezawa asked if Rukana would meet with him at a nearby park after school to talk. Without a good reason to turn him down, she agreed. When she arrived, six or seven of her classmates were gathered nearby. They were there to gawk, but none of them got too close to the bench where Rukana and Kogarezawa sat down.

Kogarezawa explained, in an oddly detached tone, that he’d taken an interest in Rukana. He told her that he thought about her so much, he could barely sleep at night. “Please go out with me,” he concluded.

“What would we do if we went out?” Rukana asked without thinking.

“That’s a good question…” Kogarezawa furrowed his brow, unsure of how to reply.

The next day, Rukana went over to Itoha’s house, and before Itoha started working on her drawing, Rukana told her about what had happened with Kogarezawa.

“In the end, I said I’d try dating him,” she said. “When I asked what we’d do if we went out together, he thought about it for ages and ended up telling me that we’d ‘get to know each other better.’ What does that even mean? I actually cracked up.”

“…But you said you’d go out with him anyway?” Itoha asked. Her arms were planted on the table, and she was leaning forward, eyes down. Something about the way she was acting seemed strange. It was like she was gritting her teeth, trying to bear some incredible pain.

“I just thought it might be nice to get some experience. That’s all…” Rukana could feel the blood draining from her face. It felt like she’d made some terrible mistake, even though there was no way that could be true. “A few of the other girls in our class have boyfriends, right? Not that any of them actually do anything—I mean, they’re elementary schoolers. I don’t like the idea of starting to date really early, but I don’t want to wait too late, eith—”

“What if it wasn’t Kogarezawa?” Itoha asked, cutting her off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If someone other than Kogarezawa had asked you out, would you have still said yes? Like Kaiyama, or Yachihama, or Kukita?” Itoha listed off several boys in their class. Kaiyama was the fastest runner in their grade, Yachihama wanted to become a comedian, and Kukita had publicly declared that he’d never miss a question on a test and told his classmates to call him Mr. Perfect.

“I’m not sure,” said Rukana. She thought about it for a moment but quickly decided that any further thought would be pointless. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

“Kogarezawa is…well, he’s handsome, right? And he’s not obnoxious like the other boys. I guess I don’t mind being around him.”

“That’s it?”

“I only agreed to try going out with him once, you know?”

“You’ll just try going out with him.” It was like the words were a deep, dark mass of foul air that she’d spat out onto the table. Itoha sighed, muttered, “Well, okay,” then fell silent. She wouldn’t respond verbally, no matter what Rukana said—she’d just nod or shake her head. She didn’t even draw.

From then until the moment Rukana left Itoha’s house, the two of them didn’t look each other in the eye even once.

* * *

Summer vacation started, and Itoha still wasn’t talking to Rukana. Rukana knew that Itoha spent most of her afternoons alone at home during the summer, and she went over to her house on three occasions. No matter how many times she rang the doorbell, though, Itoha never answered. By the time she was walking home from her third attempt, Rukana was so upset that she decided she didn’t care anymore. She resolved herself to give up on Itoha and move on—only to make her way to Itoha’s favorite bug-hunting park the very next afternoon.

When Rukana arrived, she found a scrawny girl wearing black and blue clothes running around with a butterfly net, chasing something. Rukana called out to her, and the girl turned and stared at her with those black, hole-like eyes. Those eyes had gazed at Rukana countless times, and she’d fallen into their depths more often than she could count.

Rukana stepped toward Itoha, but Itoha retreated, swinging her butterfly net wildly. “Stay away,” she said.

Rukana was shocked. That wasn’t at all the reaction she’d expected. She was hurt and upset. She wanted to grab onto Itoha’s long black hair and pull with all her might. She wanted to push her over, get on top of her, and give her a few good punches. What right did Itoha have to be so needlessly cruel to her? It made no sense.

“Fine. I’ll stay right here,” Rukana said and stopped in her tracks. This was the right choice. She simply wanted to know why. “Can we talk, though? Or do you not want that, either?”

“…That’s not…,” Itoha began to speak, only to trail off. Then she hung her head and lowered her net.

“Why?” asked Rukana.

That was all she wanted. A reason. She didn’t want to accuse Itoha of anything. If she let her emotions get the better of her and said something too harsh, Itoha probably wouldn’t explain anything. She might even run away. Rukana did everything she could to speak carefully, making sure not to come across as if she was interrogating Itoha.

“Were you not home? Or were you there and just ignoring me? Did something happen? I just want to understand. I hate not knowing what’s going on. You know what I’m like—it’s just my personality or my nature, I guess.”

“…How are things going with Kogarezawa?” Itoha asked.

“We’ve talked on the phone. That’s all. I mean, it’s still summer vacation.”

“Oh.”

“What does he matter, though? Does something about him bother you? Do you not like him?”

Itoha shook her head. Her hair scattered wildly through the air. It was far too intense of a denial, and it left Rukana stunned. Just then, a possibility that had never even crossed her mind occurred to her. She’d assumed it was totally out of the question.

“Do you like Kogarezawa, Itoha?”

“N-no, I don’t.”

“But you don’t hate him, right?”

“…I don’t. I just—”

“Just what?”

Marihiko Kogarezawa was a remarkably voracious reader for a fifth grader and quite knowledgeable for his age. That along with his appearance were his most distinguishing traits. Rukana knew how well-informed he was, but she hadn’t known the full story. According to Itoha, he was interested in creatures of all shapes and sizes and even read the sort of specialized, technical books about them meant for adults.

“Kogarezawa knows all sorts of things about butterflies and moths, too,” said Itoha.

“But… But why do you know that?” asked Rukana.

“It was here. In this park… I was looking for butterflies…”

“Like you were just now?”

“…And then…Kogarezawa showed up and talked to me…”

He’d told her that her clothes made her look like a blue admiral. Apparently, he really liked them. Itoha had told him that she knew all about them and that she dressed like one on purpose. Kogarezawa had said he’d figured as much and laughed. He’d always had a feeling that she liked collecting insects, and he was the same. His dad took him on trips far out in the highlands, wetlands, and woods during spring and summer vacations. They’d go camping and spend all day catching bugs and fishing. He’d told her about how spreading honey on a tree could attract bugs and how amazed he’d been the first time he’d seen just how well it worked.

“And I thought…‘that must be so nice.’ I’ve never, ever gotten to do anything like that…”

Itoha’s parents were so busy they even worked through New Year’s and Obon—holidays that virtually everyone spent at home. Even when they had a rare day off, it was never at the same time. Itoha had only gone on a single overnight trip with her family since she started elementary school.

“That’s why I got jealous…and then Kogarezawa said…”

There was no way Kogarezawa could have known about Itoha’s home life, but it seemed he’d been able to guess the broad strokes. He’d paused to think, then said that Itoha could take trips like that, too. She was still just a kid, so she couldn’t go anywhere on her own just yet, but in two years, she’d be a middle schooler, and after three more, a high schooler. If she got a job and saved up money, she could go anywhere she wanted to. That was what he planned to do, as well. He wanted to go camping on his own, without his dad accompanying him.

“I always thought things would be like this forever…but he made me realize that might not be true. All sorts of things can change with time…and I thought maybe I could change, too…”

“So what?”

Rukana couldn’t let herself get emotional. She had to stay calm. She’d promised to keep her distance. She couldn’t start interrogating Itoha. So why couldn’t she stop herself?

“I never heard about any of this. When did it happen? Recently? It must’ve been before Kogarezawa asked me out, right? And you didn’t say anything. You kept it secret. Why? What for?”

“…I’m sorry,” said Itoha. She didn’t run away, but she did shrink back from Rukana and apologize. She felt guilty. She considered herself at fault.

“You could’ve just told me. How was I supposed to know if you never said a word? I can’t believe you kept this secret. I told you all about what happened to me, didn’t I? I told you all about how he asked me out and how I agreed to give it a try, right?”

“But, that’s not the same as…”

“Isn’t it, though? I told you everything. I never lied or kept secrets. I thought I could always share anything with you. But I guess you didn’t see it that way, huh? You kept secrets. You lied to me.”

“It wasn’t a lie or a secret—I just…”

“All you had to do was say that Kogarezawa talked to you and you thought he was kind of nice. If you’d just said that, I never would’ve agreed to go out with him.”

“That’s not it!” Itoha shouted. She yelled so loudly, it seemed like her lungs might burst. “You don’t get it at all, Rukana! I have tons of things I never told you! I have so many things I can’t talk to you about!”

Rukana could have taken the shouting. What hurt were the words. She lost track of where she was, of the ground beneath her feet. She felt numb. She couldn’t even feel the weight of her own body.

“I can’t. I’m not like you, Rukana. We’re nothing alike at all. We never could be!”

What was Itoha saying? Rukana couldn’t understand. Was she even speaking Japanese? Maybe it was some strange, foreign tongue that Rukana had never heard before.

“I can’t do any of the things that you can. I can’t do anything right. I wanted friends, but I was always alone at school. I was so lonely, and sad, and jealous of how much fun everyone else was having. Whenever they all got together and laughed at me, I was jealous of you. You had all sorts of things that I could never get. Your mom and dad are nice, and they love you, and you have plenty of friends. You’re smart, and you get to take all sorts of lessons. You can do anything you want to, and I can’t do anything at all. Not a thing. Even my drawings are worthless. No matter how much I love blue admirals, I can never become a butterfly. I’ll never make a chrysalis and grow wings. I’ll never fly anywhere. I’m not like you. I’m nothing like you at all. I always loved you, but at the same time, I was so jealous of you I couldn’t stand it. Whenever I compared myself to you, I felt so embarrassed and miserable. That’s why I could never tell you.”

Rukana wanted to plug her ears. She didn’t want to hear any of this, but she couldn’t block it out. Itoha wasn’t speaking a foreign language. She was speaking plain, ordinary Japanese. Rukana understood every word that came out of her mouth—but she didn’t understand a thing she was saying.

“…Did— Did you really feel that way?” she asked. “But…why? Why are you so hard on yourself? Why should you have to compare yourself with other people? You’re a genius. You know that, right? I’ve always said so. I know it better than anyone! You know that you’re the only person I can open up to, without holding anything back, right?”

“But I embarrass you, too, don’t I?”

“What are you saying…?”

“Isn’t that why you never talk to me at school? You never want to be near me if anyone’s around to see. Could you get up in front of the class and tell everyone that you come over to my house all the time?”

“Y-yeah, I could. Of course I could. I just never did because I never had a reason to—”

“Did you think I was just fine with how you always ignored me at school?”

“But…that was just how things…”

“You don’t get it at all. I was always holding back. I thought that if I asked you to be nice to me at school, it’d cause problems for you. Everyone always treated me like a weird, gross outcast. I wasn’t anything like you—”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Rukana shouted as she reached forward and shoved Itoha with one hand.

“Ah…” Itoha tottered backward, then fell to the ground. Rukana hadn’t meant to push her that hard. She hadn’t meant to push her at all. Itoha had forced her to. It was her fault.

It wasn’t fair. How could she bring their school lives into this? Itoha was being a mean-spirited coward. What was the point of saying this, after all this time? Didn’t they have an understanding? Wasn’t this best for the both of them? Rukana had always thought so anyway.

Yes, everyone saw Itoha as a weirdo. Yes, she was an outcast at school. Even after all those years, some of the other kids still bad-mouthed her—but what did that matter? Why did she care about a bunch of stupid brats who knew nothing and were completely caught up in their own dumb biases? What did their opinions matter? Itoha had incredible talent—talent that far outstripped the rest of them in every way. Rukana had always known that. She was the only one who appreciated Itoha. Wasn’t that enough? What else could she have wanted?

“I’m sorry,” Itoha said, her voice muffled. She was still sitting on the grassy ground, her head hung low. Her butterfly net was lying on the ground nearby—she’d dropped it. “You’re probably right about everything, Rukana. I might really have liked Kogarezawa a little. I think I was jealous of you, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I said all the things I’ve always thought but could never open up about. Please forgive me.”

Itoha spoke on and on, but her words were hollow. There was nothing to them—no meaning at all. It was like Rukana wasn’t really talking with Itoha. The girl on the ground looked just like Itoha, but it was as if the person inside of her had been swapped out with someone completely different. For a moment, Rukana genuinely wondered if that was possible. This girl was Itoha, but she wasn’t. At the very least, she wasn’t the Itoha Rukana knew. She was someone else.

Give her back. Give back my Itoha, Rukana thought. She wanted to say it out loud—to demand it. But who or what could she ask?

“…No. Of course, you won’t,” Itoha muttered. She stood up, then stooped down to pick up her net, her movements strangely stiff and mechanical. Then she left. Her gait was strong and steady. To Rukana, it looked like she was walking away without a care in the world.

How strange. How bizarre. Itoha was leaving her behind. How could that happen? Rukana wanted to ask her so many questions. What’s going on? Why? But even if she didn’t say anything, Itoha would surely stop eventually. She’d turn around and say something. She wouldn’t just leave Rukana without a word.

Why wasn’t she turning around? Why wasn’t she slowing down or stopping?

Itoha grew smaller and smaller as she walked off into the distance. It wasn’t too late. If Rukana ran as fast as she could, she could still catch up. But her legs wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t move them. They buckled under her weight. Rukana crouched down, and by the time she’d sat fully on the ground, Itoha had vanished. She’d only be gone for a moment, though. She’d come back.

Rukana was sure Itoha would come back for her.

#2-3_rukana_shizukudani/ You Gave Me My Name

Until summer vacation ended, life carried on as normal for Rukana. She took care of her summer homework well in advance and didn’t skip a single one of her lessons. Her family went on vacation to Okinawa, as well. Kogarezawa didn’t have a smartphone, so the two of them couldn’t text, but he did have computer access, and he sent her e-mails once every few days or so. Sometimes Rukana would reply; other times, she wouldn’t bother.

Then when summer break came to an end and Rukana was about to leave for school, a terrible pain welled up in her stomach. Her mother brought her to their usual clinic, and the doctor prescribed her stomach medication. It helped a little, but the next morning, Rukana couldn’t even get out of bed.

She ended up taking several days off from school. Her classmates and friends from her lessons sent her all sorts of messages, but every time she tried to reply, she felt too sick to finish typing out a response. Kogarezawa e-mailed her as well, but Rukana didn’t feel like replying to him.

By the time she finally made it to school, a whole week had passed. Her classmates made as big a fuss over her return as they would have over the arrival of a transfer student—with the exception of Itoha, who simply sat at her desk with her nose in her field guide, ignoring the ruckus.

The next day, Rukana stayed home from school again. She didn’t eat or even drink water. It felt like too much of a bother. She just slept all day long. She stayed home the next day as well, but partway though, her mother roused her from her slumber.

“You have a visitor,” she said. “A girl named Hiiragi is here to see you.”

“Can’t,” Rukana replied. That was all she said.

The moment her mother left the room, Rukana leaped out of bed. She dashed to the front door, but by the time she got there, Itoha was gone. Then, as Rukana confronted her mother, screaming “Why did you send her away?!” she woke up. It was all just a dream.

Eventually, Rukana had spent so long away from school that her homeroom teacher paid her household a visit. That night, she heard her parents arguing with each other. They took her to a hospital that their family physician had recommended and had her tested for all sorts of conditions. In the end, she was diagnosed with dysautonomia. Later, when she looked the condition up on her phone, she determined her problem must be something else. It couldn’t be an illness like that.

“You think so, too, don’t you?” Rukana muttered.

The only place she felt comfortable anymore was in her own room, in her own bed, with the curtains drawn and the lights out. She didn’t want to speak with her parents. She didn’t even want to see them. There was only one person whom Rukana wanted to talk to—though strictly speaking, they weren’t a person at all.

The four-limbed, four-eyed thing never said a word to Rukana. It just stayed by her side, quietly listening to everything she said.

Rukana tried going to school on three separate occasions after winter vacation and went home early every single time. Her classmates had become very cautious about interacting with her. Kogarezawa had long since stopped sending her e-mails. He didn’t even say hello when he saw her in the classroom. Itoha, meanwhile, was still constantly glued to her field guide.

The school year ended, and Rukana advanced to the sixth grade. The classes in her school shuffled every year, but she was once again placed in a class with Kogarezawa and Itoha. And there was no way she could go to school under those circumstances.

“You don’t have to force yourself to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Rukana’s father said to her one night. Her mother, also in the room, seemed to have aged considerably in a very short span of time.

Rukana had been using her smartphone while keeping it constantly plugged in for months on end and that had taken a toll on the device. She told her father she wanted a computer so she could learn to be a programmer—a story she’d made up on the spot—and the very next day he came home with a brand-new laptop for her. Rukana’s mother was livid, and the fight Rukana overheard that night was more explosive than ever.

Rukana had wanted to use the computer to play a game, but much to her dismay, the laptop her father had bought could only run it at its absolute lowest graphical settings. She couldn’t tell him she’d wanted something with higher specs, so she resigned herself to whiling away the hours watching videos instead. As it turned out, that wasn’t such a bad way to spend the time, and the computer’s screen was much bigger than her phone’s.

Rukana lay flat on her bed, staring at the laptop’s screen while the four-legged thing operated its touch pad. The video she was watching wasn’t particularly entertaining, and she decided she wanted to watch something else instead. The four-legged thing manipulated the computer for her.

“Awesome,” said Rukana. “You might be a genius.”

And using the touch pad was only the start. The four-legged thing soon learned to type, as well. Whenever Rukana wanted to look something up, it would type the question into the search bar for her with its armlike legs. To be honest, its feet were so dexterous, they were more like hands, so maybe its legs really were arms after all. But if it walked around on them, surely they were legs. It could even walk on vertical surfaces, climbing freely up and down the walls and clinging to the ceiling with ease.

“Just what are you?” Rukana asked it.

It was always by her side. That was all it did—simply exist in her vicinity. But that didn’t feel unnatural to her. In fact, it felt as natural as could be. And the four-legged thing wasn’t alone.

Rukana hadn’t told Itoha the whole story. It wasn’t that she’d kept it a secret, really. She hadn’t lied to her. She just hadn’t brought up the fact that there were more of them. Every once in a while, very rarely, she’d see someone else with a bizarre thing following them around. Rukana could see them clearly, as plain as day, but nobody else seemed able to.

Needless to say, whenever Rukana found someone with a thing of their own, she would closely observe them. As a result, she came to a surprising conclusion: Even those people seemed unable to see the things that followed them. Rukana started to wonder if they were ghosts. Maybe those people were being haunted by entities only those like her—people with a sixth sense—could perceive. That would make the four-legged thing a ghost as well. But it always seemed to be watching over Rukana; it never caused her any sort of harm. Maybe it was a guardian of some sort. But the things seemed far too inhuman to be the ghosts of dead people or the spirits of ancestors watching over their descendants. Maybe they were more like spirit creatures, or fairies, or monsters.

The four-legged thing typed words into Rukana’s search bar at her behest.

ghost spirit fairy monster

ghost fairy difference

see invisible creatures ghost fairy

fairy monster guardian spirit

“…You’re a fast typer. Not bad at all. Is that what people mean when they talk about touch-typing?” Rukana commented.

She hadn’t named the four-legged thing. The purpose of names was to distinguish individuals from one another. In other words, if there was only one human on the planet, they wouldn’t need a name. Other beings like the four-legged thing existed, but to Rukana, it was still a singular creature. She was a special person, so of course her four-legged thing must be special as well.

“What’s this?” Rukana muttered as she looked over the search results.

One article described a type of presence often regarded as a psychic phenomenon. Apparently, it was thought that such presences were the basis of all sorts of mysterious creatures described in old folktales—fairies, monsters, and demons alike. Some particularly powerful ones had even been revered as gods. One researcher had previously referred to the presences as “phantoms,” but over time, they came to be known by a different name.

“Zingai…”

* * *

After that, Rukana went to school as little as possible. She spent the rest of her time in elementary school taking tests and meeting with her homeroom teacher in the nurse’s office, and she was ultimately allowed to graduate as scheduled. Needless to say, she didn’t go to her graduation ceremony.

A little while after the ceremony took place, Rukana received an e-mail from Kogarezawa. He’d written to tell her that his father was being transferred and that their family would be moving to Tokyo. Rukana’s parents weren’t at home when she read the e-mail, so she was free to scream as loudly as she wanted to.

“As if I care, asshole!”

Rukana didn’t attend her middle school entrance ceremony, either. She did put on her uniform to show her parents, though. She was hoping to convince her father to buy her a new computer and needed to be on his good side. Her mother wanted to take pictures, but Rukana refused.

When she learned that Itoha Hiiragi was once again in her class in middle school, Rukana wondered if fate was conspiring against her. When she flipped through her new textbooks, she found nothing written in them but basic, uninteresting drivel. Rukana knew that she was smart enough to get through school with only a little self-study, and after doing some searching around online, she managed to get her hands on materials used by high-level cram schools. She could even watch video lectures from top-level overseas universities. What was the point of going to middle school anyway?

Despite this, Rukana’s school requested that she at least try to attend school in the nurse’s office whenever she could manage it. Asking if they were joking or flatly refusing the offer would have felt childish, so she ended up accepting, though she made a show of how hard it was on her and how brave she was being.

And so began the life of Rukana Shizukudani the delicate, emotionally vulnerable middle school first-year. She usually started her day at around ten or eleven in the morning and stayed up until three or four AM, earning her six to eight hours of sleep a night. Her father worked on weekdays, and her mother had a part-time job three or four days a week. Even when she wasn’t working, Rukana’s mother often went out to shop or do chores. Rukana loved it when her parents weren’t around.

Rukana started her days off with a shower, then checked the refrigerator for something to eat and drink, grabbing some snacks for the day as well. Then she’d head back to her room and power on her computer. Once it was turned on, all she had to do to operate it was think—her four-legged thing would do the rest for her. Rukana would put on her headphones, then start by watching the exact same video every single day: the music video for a song titled “Composition #1” by someone who went by the single letter S. A jumbled mixture of images would begin to play along to electronic music and the sound of a synthetic voice.

I know no compassion / I know no sorrow

The path I walk / Is rough and unclear / Has no one walked it before?

I was there with eight others / No chair for me to sit in

Feel no joy / No sense of delight

Your mind is empty / Opened without a sound / A void left within

No one knows me / Today you’ll know why

Never stopped to smell the flowers / Your heart hidden in your spine

Windswept wastelands / I’ll race through them / And take your mind

Never-ending feelings gone / The needless never known

The path I walk / Is never returning / Do I play, be played, and throw it all away?

Every boat is doomed to sink / But I’ll cross no bridges

Do you have no talent? / You stood on missing legs / No choice but to drown in the rapids?

No one knows me / Can’t stand up ten times in one day

Never stopped to smell the flowers / Your heart hidden in your spine

Windswept wastelands / I’ll race through them and take your mind

You’ve set a path for spring / Your heart hidden in your spine

I’ll shut my ears to all your songs and fly from the brink to take your mind

Don’t find me / Or you’ll be claimed / But first let me dwell / In a brand-new today

Take your mind / If only I can / Take your mind / Take your mind

S had written other songs as well. Every one of their titles was simply “Composition,” followed by a numeral. Those songs and the music videos associated with them had been uploaded to video-sharing sites where anyone could watch them. Rukana had first discovered them on one such site herself. The song’s composition was eccentric and gloomy, and its lyrics were almost nonsensically obtuse, but Rukana found herself strangely drawn to it. Then, when she looked into the song’s background, everything suddenly made a lot more sense.

About seven or eight years before, a man named Yoshiki Ueyama had died in the Hachioji Ward of Tokyo under suspicious circumstances. His cause of death was determined to be heart failure, but something very notable was missing from his corpse: the brain. Despite a total lack of external injuries, Ueyama’s brain was mysteriously absent.

Corpses in much the same state soon turned up in two of the prefectures surrounding Tokyo: Saitama and Chiba. The crimes were seen as linked, but at the time, none of the major media outlets reporting on the cases mentioned the victims’ missing brains. That detail was only covered by a few less-reputable weekly magazines but spread like wildfire once it reached the internet.

S uploaded “Composition #1” immediately after the seventh brainless body was discovered in Kasukabe, a city in Saitama. It wasn’t long before theories began to spread online that the song and the incidents might be linked—and not long after, an eighth victim was found in the Setagaya Ward of Tokyo. Speculation ran rampant: Could the song have been a way for the perpetrator to announce their crimes ahead of time?

According to the prevailing theory, the first line of the song, “I know no compassion / I know no sorrow,” expressed the killer’s unfeeling, merciless attitude. The second line, “The path I walk / Is rough and unclear / Has no one walked it before?” was the killer extolling the unprecedented nature of their crimes, and the line after, “I was there with eight others / No chair for me to sit in,” alluded to the location of the first body, since the first character in Hachioji means “eight.” The second body was alluded to in much the same way in the line “Today you’ll know why”—it was found in Toda City, Saitama, and “Today” with no y makes “Toda.” The third body, found in Nagatsuka, Chiba, was alluded to by the line “Never-ending feelings gone / The needless never known,” on account of the first and last words in each section coming together to form NGTK—the first letter of each syllable in Nagatsuka.

The state of the bodies, meanwhile, was referenced in a number of lines. They “Feel no joy / No sense of delight,” on account of the fact that their “mind is empty,” with only “A void left within.” These segments were supposed to refer to the victims’ extracted brains.

And finally, presuming S was indeed the perpetrator of the murders, the location of their upcoming eighth victim was said to be hidden in the line, “I’ll shut my ears to all your songs and fly from the brink to take your mind.” Proponents of this theory were absolutely convinced that a ninth killing would occur in Tokyo’s Shinjuku Ward, since Shinjuku was written with the characters for “new” and “dwell”—both used in the line “Don’t find me / Or you’ll be claimed / But first let me dwell / In a brand-new today.”

It wasn’t long before a man was apprehended by the police for attempted murder. He was caught in Shinjuku, and his name was Yuushou Kashiibara.

Kashiibara was made up of three characters, meaning “flower,” “beech,” and “plain.” That same character for “flower” was used in one of the lines in S’s “Composition #1”—“Never stopped to smell the flowers.” The character for “beech,” meanwhile, could in some contexts also be read as “spine”—as in, “Your heart hidden in your spine,” while “Windswept wastelands” contained the character for “plain.”

Finally, one of the characters used to write Yuushou—meaning “play”—could be found in the line “Do I play, be played, and throw it all away?” while the other character—meaning “chapter”—could be formed by combining three separate characters in the line “Can’t stand up ten times in one day.”

The culprit’s audacity had reached new heights. He’d hidden his own name in the song’s lyrics.

There was just one problem: The theory was wrong.

About one month after Kashiibara was arrested, a music video titled “Composition #2” was uploaded to the internet. Its creator was the very same S responsible for “Composition #1.” Stylistically, it was either made by the same S or by a third party who’d managed to perfectly imitate S’s style.

The lyrics of “Composition #2” referenced a mysterious case involving the deaths of seven people. And three days after it was posted, such a case really occurred in Sendai, the capital city of Miyagi Prefecture.

These deaths were all linked as well. Some called them the Yua Sudaka killings, after the person found responsible and sent to a maximum-security psychiatric hospital.

Once again, S was not the culprit. Neither “Composition #1” nor “Composition #2” were early warnings of crimes the songs’ creator intended to commit. But in that case, were they prophecies? Did S have the power of precognition?

Just who was S, really?

Rukana hummed along as she listened to “Composition #1,” then she opened up an online message board called Χ-fes. Χ-fes was a darknet website, meaning it could only be accessed by those using a very particular encryption protocol. Rukana quickly scanned the site’s latest updates. Her four-legged thing made use of its four eyes to find and pick out everything new for her, so it was a very easy process. It scrolled down the page, stopping only when it found a post worthy of her attention, which Rukana then read herself.

“…Another day with no new posts from Master S,” Rukana muttered.

Rukana’s obsession had started when she took a liking to S’s music videos and started digging into the creator’s background. It turned out that “Composition #1” hadn’t been uploaded to a video-sharing site at all—at least not at first. It had been posted as a freely downloadable file, and someone else had decided to spread it. When Rukana looked into the reuploader, she found a multitude of associated accounts on various social networks. None of them were heavily used, but they were a lead she could follow. Rukana and her four-legged thing dug deep and discovered that yet another individual associated with this group of accounts was using a darknet site called Χ-fes.

Rukana felt that S had led her to the truth. By uploading “Composition #1” to Χ-fes, S had laid out the threads necessary to find him. The logs from the time in question were still viewable in the site’s archive, and Rukana found that the initial upload had occurred thirteen days before it was posted to the video-sharing site. Another user had asked S for permission to share the video later on, and S had granted it. S had continued publishing his videos to Χ-fes ever since.

The majority of S’s posts were written in Japanese. His songs’ lyrics were in Japanese as well, and their predictions all related to events that transpired in Japan. It didn’t seem like a wild leap of logic to assume that he was Japanese. That meant he was out there somewhere in the same country as Rukana, predicting terrible occurrences and telling the people about them through his songs. Rukana had drawn one other logical conclusion as well: An incident in which people were murdered and had their brains extracted couldn’t possibly be an ordinary crime. A zingai had to be involved.

“…That’s enough. Let’s try Χ-lum next,” said Rukana. Her four-legged thing logged her out of Χ-fes and switched over to a different application.

Χ-lum was a whole different beast from Χ-fes. You couldn’t access it at all unless you’d received an invitation and worked your way through a very strict approval process. It was hidden by even more elaborate security measures than those of your typical darknet site—membership-based and kept an absolute secret.

Rukana hadn’t received an invitation to Χ-lum. Her four-legged thing, however, typed in a series of commands with frantic speed, and a white window soon opened on her laptop’s screen. A short string of letters were the window’s only feature.

X-lum

Rukana’s four-legged thing input another command in a separate black window, and the white window changed. Now instead of being featureless, it displayed a forum. Its users were currently discussing an unauthorized visitor. English seemed to be the de facto local language, but the sheer quantity of internet speak, abbreviations, and jargon made some lines very difficult to read. Missing a line or two here and there wasn’t an issue, though, and the rest, her four-legged thing rendered into Japanese using a translation program.

According to one of the forum’s users, an unauthorized intruder had gained access to Χ-lum’s servers and made off with confidential information. They’d managed to follow traces left by the intruder to pin down their location and identity, but since those clues had led them to an eighty-one-year-old man living in Eastern Europe, they’d concluded that the trail they’d followed had been falsified.

Rukana smirked. “Bingo,” she muttered to herself.

As the users’ discussion continued, they took to referring to the intruder with an English word: cipher. Apparently, it had several meanings, including “an individual of little significance,” “the number zero,” and “a code.” Encrypted text. The key to solving a puzzle.

A mysterious intruder. A cipher.

“Cipher,” Rukana muttered out loud. “I like it. Cipher. Cipher. It has a nice ring to it. Don’t you think?”

Rukana’s four-legged thing typed a message into the black window.

I am Cipher.

“Oh? I guess you like it, too, huh?”

Rukana rubbed the four-legged thing’s slick, fleshy head—Cipher’s head—as she read through the forum’s logs. Cipher quickly pulled up posts by a particular user—a user by the name of Sullivan.

“Wha…?”

Rukana absently pulled Cipher into a tight embrace. There was no doubt about it. She read the name over and over, and there could be no mistaking it: It was Sullivan.

“Master S.”

Apparently, the name was derived from a Gaelic word meaning “small, dark eyes.” Sullivan—a name with the initial S.

“Master S knows about me…”

#2-4_rukana_shizukudani/ An Invitation I Never Got

Rukana’s mother cut down on her hours at work and started spending more time at home. According to her father, her mother hadn’t been in the best of health lately. Her mother didn’t say anything to her, but Rukana had a feeling that she blamed her daughter, at least in a roundabout sort of way.

Even when there were walls between the two of them, Rukana couldn’t stand being around her mother. Just the thought that she was nearby was suffocating. Rukana already spent most of her nights wide awake, and now she couldn’t even sleep from morning till afternoon like she used to. Rukana blamed her mother, just as her mother blamed her.

Rukana decided to start spending her days in the school’s nurse’s office. When she proposed the idea to her father, he was ecstatic. He bought her a brand-new smartphone and negotiated with the school’s administrators to ensure she’d be allowed to bring her laptop with her. Breaking into a public school’s staff Wi-Fi network would be child’s play for her, so she could use the internet as much as she wanted.

The school nurse—a woman named Kirinuma—was rather cautious around Rukana at first, but after barely an hour of small talk, her attitude had already started to soften. She’d soon lowered her guard completely and begun talking to Rukana like they were old friends. She’d lived more than twice as long as Rukana, and yet she was so unguarded that she reminded Rukana of an infant.

Whenever Kirinuma left the nurse’s office, she would always leave her phone on her desk. Rukana had Cipher snoop around in it, and she soon had a solid grasp of Kirinuma’s private affairs. She managed to get her hands on a number of messages and images that would cause serious problems for the woman if Rukana made them public. Thus, if the need arose, she could always blackmail the school nurse. Rukana knew she’d be cooperative if and when the time came.

Rukana’s goal was to turn the nurse’s office into as comfortable an environment as possible for herself. She would never learn to love her middle school. She was fundamentally incompatible with the common, mediocre students populating it. If she stayed home, however, she’d have to be around her mother. Rukana didn’t despise her mother from the bottom of her heart or anything. She and Rukana were simply too different. Despite being mother and daughter, they had nothing at all in common, and that reality was difficult for Rukana to live with.

The best option for Rukana would be to live on her own, but she was still too young for that. She knew that, with Cipher on her side, she could make enough money to live on. But not only was she a minor, she was still only a first-year in middle school. No one would rent out an apartment to someone her age. Rukana didn’t want to live on the streets, and for the time being, sleeping at home was still preferable to staying at an internet café every night. Time after time, Rukana told herself that it wasn’t yet her moment to step into the spotlight.

Once, when Rukana was on her way home from school, she caught sight of a pair of students. One of them looked familiar—a slender girl with narrow shoulders and long hair. She walked with a distinctive gait, like she was pushing the ground with the whole sole of her shoe at once. It couldn’t be, thought Rukana.

“…Itoha?”

Rukana could hardly believe it. Itoha, of all people, was walking with another student—a girl with her hair tied up in little buns that reminded Rukana of dumplings. She was probably Itoha’s classmate. They weren’t simply walking together, either. They were talking. They were close together, as if they were friends, and the girl with dumpling hair was laughing from time to time.

Rukana hid behind a nearby telephone pole. The two of them were about ten meters ahead of her. There wasn’t much risk of them noticing her, but she’d rather be safe than sorry. If Itoha were to turn around for some reason, she would see Rukana—and that would be a disaster. A calamity. Utter humiliation.

Rukana peeked out from around the telephone pole. She thought they’d already be gone, but they were still nearby. They’d come to a stop and were still talking. Rukana couldn’t make out their voices, but she could see Itoha’s head tilt downward. She was laughing. About what?

Rukana wanted to leap out, grab Itoha’s long hair, and pull it as hard as she could. Itoha would probably struggle and scream. But it would be so satisfying to ignore all that and pull her around anyway. Rukana wouldn’t actually do that, of course. She could never.

Cipher had climbed up the telephone pole and was sitting above Rukana’s head, staring straight at her with its four eyes. Cipher didn’t make expressions—at least not in the way humans did. There was something like a mouth on its head, but it stayed perpetually closed. In fact, it had never opened it once. Cipher didn’t talk, but Rukana could still tell that it cared for her.

Rukana spun around and pressed her back against the telephone pole. Then she pulled out her smartphone and brought up the video for “Composition #1.” Even with the sound muted, she could hear the music in her mind as she watched it.

Gradually, Rukana regained her composure. What did Itoha Hiiragi matter to her? So she’d made a friend after starting middle school. Why should Rukana care? All that meant was that she was normal now.

Itoha was normal now. An ordinary person like anyone else. Rukana wasn’t interested in ordinary people. She couldn’t have cared less about her anymore.

* * *

Itoha Hiiragi no longer mattered.

Every once in a while, in the breaks between classes that most students spent noisily chatting, Rukana would leave the nurse’s office and wander down the hallway toward the first-year classrooms. Not often. Just when she felt like it. She was technically enrolled in Class 1-1, but she hadn’t set foot in the classroom even once. As a result, the only people who knew who she was were her former classmates from elementary school. And even if they remembered her, it had been so long since she’d seen any of them, they might not even recognize her. Especially now that they were all in uniform. As far as Rukana was concerned, her school was full of strangers.

Ruka was not, in any capacity, checking in on Itoha. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. From time to time, she’d catch sight of the girl, and now and then, she’d pass her in the hallway. But those were mere coincidences. Itoha had even noticed Rukana on a few occasions. Whenever she did, she’d start trembling and look down at the ground or even spin around and start walking the other way. Rukana was the opposite: She feigned total indifference.

Rukana even found Itoha’s panicking a little funny—though only a little. It seemed that, for the most part, she was enjoying her mediocre, ordinary little life. But that knowledge didn’t hurt Rukana’s feelings at all. The girl with the dumpling hair wasn’t the only one in her class she seemed to be on good terms with. She spoke with plenty of other girls and even some of the boys. She’d become perfectly, utterly ordinary.

Even her clothing—those black and blue outfits meant to resemble the blue admiral—had been replaced with the same uniform as everyone else. If she’d been the Itoha Rukana remembered, she would’ve hated wearing a uniform. It was plain to see that the current Itoha was just another average girl. But even now, the depressing, miserable look on her face hadn’t changed. Thanks to that, her looks were actually a little below average.

Once, when Kirinuma was out of the nurse’s office, somebody knocked on the door. Rukana had been sitting on one of the beds, staring at the laptop balanced atop her knees as Cipher operated it for her. She ignored the knock at first but then came another and, about five seconds later, a third. Five more seconds passed. Another knock.

“…Give it a rest,” Rukana muttered. “It’s unlocked.”

“Umm, excuse me,” a voice rang out from beyond the door. “May I please come in?”

Rukana sighed. “Go ahead!” she shouted, irritation clear in her voice.

The door slid open, and a pair of girls stepped into the nurse’s office. One of them was supporting the other, who looked conspicuously ill. Presumably, the first girl was only there as an escort. And to Rukana’s surprise, it was none other than the girl with the dumpling hair.

“Ah…”

Rukana almost yelped, but managed to hold it in. In the end, it was the girl with the dumpling hair who made a noise of surprise. She stared straight at Rukana. To be fair, Rukana was also staring intently at her. The two girls didn’t meet each other’s gaze, though. The dumpling girl was looking somewhere below Rukana’s face—at her laptop, most likely—while Rukana’s attention had been drawn to the red pouch slung across the other girl’s shoulder. It was small and unobtrusive, but it was rare for students to walk around with accessories like that.

The sick girl glanced around the office. “…Where’s the nurse?” she asked.

“Out,” Rukana replied, closing her laptop. Cipher slowly withdrew to hide behind her. “She’ll probably be back soon, though. If you’re feeling sick, go ahead and take your temperature. The thermometer should be right over there.”

“The thermometer…,” the dumpling girl murmured. She glanced restlessly around the room as she helped the sick girl sit down. “Umm…”

“On the desk.” Rukana pointed at the school nurse’s desk.

The dumpling girl found the thermometer—which had been left in a pencil holder—and handed it to the sick girl.

“Here you are, Yamafuji,” she said. Rukana knew one of their names now, at least. The dumpling girl glanced at Rukana several times, then finally flashed her a smile. “You’re, umm…a first-year student as well, aren’t you?”

“How’d you know?” asked Rukana.

“I heard that one of the students in my class takes her lessons in the nurse’s office, and I presumed that might be you.”

“…Oh? Neat.”

“I believe your name is Rukana Shizukudani?”

“That’s me. I guess that means you’re in Class 1-1, too.”

“Yes! Yamafuji is as well. What a coincidence!”

“Is it? I’m always here, so if you come to the nurse’s office, you’re bound to run into me.”

“Oh! I suppose so,” the dumpling girl said, blinking rapidly. She looked completely sincere. “You’re exactly right, Shizukudani! It was all but certain we’d meet here.”

“…You’re one weird girl,” said Rukana. She hadn’t meant to give such a direct impression—it just slipped out.

“Huh?” The dumpling girl cocked her head in confusion.

“What’s your name?” asked Rukana.

“Shiratama!” the girl replied with an odd degree of enthusiasm. “My name is Ryuuko Shiratama! I’m glad to make your acquaintance and look forward to our continued relationship!” As if that wasn’t already exaggerated enough, she concluded with a formal bow. Rukana was more than a little put off.

“…What is this, a marriage interview?” she muttered.

“N-no, it most certainly is not!” exclaimed Shiratama.

“Duh. God, even your name’s too much. Ryuuko Shiratama, really? And with that dumpling hairstyle? Why not go with Shiratama Dango?”

“I’m, umm, not sure I follow…? I do quite like mitarashi dango, if you’re asking about sweets. No, wait—were you calling me Shiratama Dango?” the girl asked, eyes wide. She blinked several times. “In any case, it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Just then, with perfect timing, the thermometer began to beep, and Yamafuji removed it from her armpit. “One hundred and one degrees…”

“Ahhh! O-o-oh no!” Shiratama yelped.

She then started frantically wandering around the nurse’s office, searching for anything that might help. She looked like a zoo animal pacing around its cage, and Rukana almost cracked up but held back her laughter at the last second. Laughing would feel like admitting defeat. Rukana wasn’t about to let that walking pair of dumplings make her laugh.

* * *

I’m different. I’m not like them. I’m nothing like those average, run-of-the-mill nobodies.

It took some time for Rukana to even notice that she was talking to herself. She wasn’t saying the words out loud—they were running through her mind like an unconscious mantra. She told herself that she wasn’t like the normal people who surrounded her. That she was special.

Those silent words weren’t just the truth, they were an incantation. She didn’t need to tell anyone else. Even if she did, there was no chance the masses would understand what made her so special—so valuable. That was why she said it to herself, and with each repetition, power welled up within her. The words were a spell that made her stronger. And she could become stronger still.

Rukana could no longer access Χ-lum. Its administrators had figured out the method Cipher used to hack its security systems and patched the hole it was exploiting. Cipher had tried a few other potential methods to break in, but nothing had worked so far, and one wrong step could expose Rukana’s identity. And so, she had decided that until Cipher came up with a master plan that was sure to work, it would be best to give Χ-lum a wide berth.

Χ-fes, on the other hand, was still accessible, and Rukana checked it regularly. But there hadn’t been any posts in the S thread that had caught her attention recently. Someone had showed up in the thread claiming to be S at one point, but Rukana had instantly determined it was an impostor.

At school, Shiratama Dango had started coming to see Rukana in the nurse’s office from time to time. She never stayed for long, and all they did was engage in small talk, so Rukana wasn’t especially bothered by her visits. Rukana had nearly asked her about Itoha on a few occasions, which would have been a disaster, but fortunately she always caught herself before it was too late.

From what Rukana could tell, Itoha’s circumstances remained unchanged. Every time she caught a glimpse of Rukana she would instantly look away, then she’d scurry off so quickly you’d think she was a fugitive evading the police.

What drove her to act that way? Did she feel guilty? Even if she did, there was no need for her to run. To be honest, it grated on Rukana’s nerves. She could at least apologize—not that an apology would be enough to make Rukana forgive her, of course.

I’m different. I’m not like them. I’m nothing like those nobodies. I’m special.

In the end, Itoha had turned out to be just another nobody. It was inevitable that someone as different and special as Rukana would wind up all alone. That was simply the price she had to pay if she wanted to remain as special as she was. Solitude was something she just had to endure. That said, Rukana wasn’t completely alone. She still had Cipher.

Rukana pulled the curtains shut around one of the beds in the nurse’s office. Then she sat down and opened up her laptop, balancing it on her knees. As she absentmindedly browsed through Χ-fes, a thought struck her.

“I want money.”

“Hmm?” said Kirinuma from beyond the curtain. “Did you say something, Rukana?”

“Nope! Not a peep,” Rukana replied.

“All right, then.” The school nurse let the matter drop.

Rukana was incredibly special, yes—but she was still a teenager and had all the worldly desires you’d expect. And to meet those desires, she needed money. She’d given the matter a considerable amount of thought and had eventually reached a conclusion: What she really needed was a stockpile of capital she could spend freely. She had a savings account, but it was managed by her mother. She would need a bankbook, and possibly a personal seal for stamping documents. That or an ATM card, though she didn’t know her account’s PIN.

She could earn the money herself. At her direction, Cipher used her laptop to pull up the source code for a certain program.

“I can work with this,” she muttered.

The code in question would serve as the perfect template to create a particular sort of program: ransomware. Ransomware was, just like it sounded, a kind of computer virus that used blackmail. The program slipped into a computer’s systems and encrypted its user’s files, rendering them impossible to open. The program’s creator could then hold a computer’s most important files hostage and require their victims to pay a ransom in order to decrypt them.

Needless to say, that sort of hacking was against the law. She could also be liable for other crimes such as fraud or extortion. All illegal activity carried an element of risk. If things went south, Rukana could wind up prosecuted as a criminal… But what did that matter?

Rukana wasn’t scared in the slightest. If anything, the element of risk excited her. She remembered seeing someone on Χ-fes selling lists of companies and individuals with weak security. Maybe stealing those lists would be a good place to start. Or was she getting ahead of herself? Her first move should probably be researching how other hackers operated and gathering all the relevant information she could get her hands on. With Cipher’s help, that would be child’s play.

Rukana wasn’t about to get caught. She’d take every measure in the book to ensure that, and Cipher would help her.

“Oooh, teacher?” Rukana said, doing her best to feign affection for the school nurse.

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I was thinking I might go home for today.”

“Oh? Got it. Go ahead and rest up at home.”

“Okaaay!”

Rukana packed up her things, then left the nurse’s office with Cipher by her side. It was about twenty minutes after the start of afternoon lessons, so the school’s hallways were deathly silent. Before leaving, Rukana stopped by the shoe cubbies and flipped Itoha’s outdoor shoes upside down. It was just a petty prank, with no particular meaning to it.

Rukana’s mother was out when she got home. She headed straight to her room and climbed into bed. Then, just as she had Cipher start booting up her computer, she heard a notification from her home’s intercom.

The Shizukudanis lived in a two-bedroom condo in a high-rise building, on the sixth floor out of nine. Rukana’s father had taken out a mortgage to buy the place immediately after she was born. The intercom, which allowed visitors to contact the apartment from the building’s entryway, rang six times before Rukana finally gave up on ignoring it. She went into the living room to check the intercom’s display, which showed a video feed of whoever was outside. Her visitor, it seemed, was a hat-wearing man in a strange mask.

The man in the display could hardly have been more suspicious. Was he some sort of salesperson? Whoever he was, he’d put her family’s unit number into the intercom at the building’s entrance and called up six times now.

Just then, he called again, making seven. Cipher crawled its way up Rukana’s body and turned its four eyes upon the intercom’s display. Meanwhile, Rukana had finally worked up the resolve to answer the man’s call.

“…Yes?”

The man didn’t say a word. There was something off about his mask. It had some kind of pattern on it. Or was it a drawing? It almost looked like a mouth—like the mask he wore over his mouth had another mouth drawn on it.

The man remained silent the whole time and, eventually, the video feed cut out.

“What the hell?” Rukana muttered. “Freaky…” She shivered slightly, then returned to her room.

The next day, an hour before school ended, Rukana left the nurse’s office, went over to the shoe cubbies, and flipped Itoha’s shoes upside down again. Then she returned to the nurse’s office, spent the afternoon there, and left school in the evening after most of the other students had already gone. She didn’t head straight home, though. Instead, she stopped by the park where Itoha used to catch bugs. It was a windy, slightly chilly day, and as she crunched her way through the fallen leaves, the streets grew gradually darker.

Then, off in the distance, Rukana saw someone. He was crouched down beside a big zelkova tree—the same place Itoha used to search for grubs.

It was the man with the hat and the strange mask who had visited her the day before. He was looking in Rukana’s direction. Staring straight at her and making no effort to hide it.

Rukana immediately turned and walked away from the park at a brisk pace. She glanced over her shoulder as she walked, checking to see if the masked man was following her. He wasn’t. She was all right. Had she simply imagined him? Were her eyes playing tricks on her? No. He’d been there. She was positive. It was the same man she’d seen on the intercom’s display. He knew who she was, he knew her address, and he even knew the unit number of her family’s condo. Who was he?

Soon her building came into view. Nothing unusual so far. She had a feeling she knew what was going to happen when she got there, though, and she desperately hoped she was wrong. But considering the man knew where she lived, it seemed almost inevitable.

And there he was. The masked man from before was standing in front of her building. He’d beaten her there and was now lying in wait for her.

Rukana spun around on the spot and went right back the way she’d come. At this time of day, her father would still be at work, but what about her mother? She didn’t want to talk to her mother, but what else could she do? As Rukana sped away from the building, she pulled out her phone and dialed. Her mother picked up moments later.

“Rukana? Why are you out so late today? Is something wrong?”

“…There’s a weird guy standing outside the building,” Rukana explained. “I was too scared to go in.”

“What?!” her mother exclaimed. “Wait just a moment. I’ll go look!”

Without hanging up, Rukana’s mother took off. Rukana heard her slip on a pair of sandals and head out the door. After that came the sound of an elevator, and finally it seemed she’d reached the building’s entrance. The door’s automatic lock clicked open, and Rukana’s mother stepped out into the street.

“I don’t see anyone,” she said. “Rukana? Nobody’s here. Everything looks just fine to me.”

“…Oh. All right.” Rukana came to a stop. She was winded, her breath ragged. “Sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

“Should I come meet you?”

Rukana almost shouted, “Mind your own business!” but stopped herself. “…No. I’ll be fine,” she said instead, then hung up.

It was now quite dark, and Rukana shivered as she turned around and retraced her steps once more. In the end, she made it to her building without incident. It was almost disappointing.

Rukana’s mother was still concerned about the strange man and suggested they call the police to report him. Rukana thought she was overreacting, though. That would be blowing things way out of proportion. But trying to stop her mother only made her more upset, and in the end the situation devolved into a full-blown argument. Rukana wound up shutting herself in her room, but even with the door closed, she found she couldn’t concentrate.

When Rukana’s father got home, her mother told him about the suspicious man. To Rukana’s dismay, a family meeting was called. Going to her mother for help had been a terrible mistake.

It was midnight when her parents went to bed and things calmed down enough for Rukana to pull out her computer and get to work with Cipher. Her mother had a habit of going to the restroom every night at about half past one, but after that, the two of them always slept through the night without leaving their room.

A little past two in the morning, Rukana left Cipher and went to take a shower. She stopped by the kitchen afterward to make a pack of instant ramen, which she ate before returning to her room. Rukana noticed something moving as she stepped inside, but the lights were out, and she couldn’t tell what it was. She figured it was Cipher. But in that case, why wasn’t it coming toward her? Rukana closed the door and turned on the lights at almost the exact same moment—and the sight that greeted her was so shocking that for a moment she couldn’t process it.

An arm was reaching out from beneath Rukana’s bed. That arm—or rather, the big, bulky hand at its end—was holding Cipher by the scruff of its neck. Cipher was flailing wildly in an attempt to escape, but it couldn’t shake itself free. Rukana, too, felt a suffocating pressure, as though she was being strangled herself.

That arm had to be attached to something. And that something was beneath her bed and had been hiding there for quite some time. Eventually, it crawled out as Rukana stood watching. Its movements seemed casual, but the truth was it moved with astonishing speed. It was the masked man.

Rukana was so shocked, it didn’t even occur to her to scream. By the time she thought of raising the alarm, the masked man had already covered her mouth with one of his massive hands. He clutched the whole bottom half of her head in his right hand, still holding Cipher in his left. Now that Rukana was this close to him, she finally realized that he wasn’t an ordinary human. Maybe he wasn’t human at all, but something else—something different.

He’s going to kill me, Rukana thought. The monster that now had her in his grasp was tremendously strong. If he wanted, he could crush her head with his bare hands. I’m dead. I’m going to die.

Rukana’s vision blurred. Something was in her eyes—tears. She was crying. She was terrified. She didn’t want to die.

The monster slowly shook his head from side to side. It felt like he was sending her a message: You’re not going to die. Maybe that interpretation was just wishful thinking, but it was all she had to stake her hopes on. She had to assume he wasn’t here to kill her. And that made sense, really. After all, if he was just here to get rid of her, why had he spent hours hiding under her bed?

Don’t cry. Stop trembling.

Rukana forced herself to nod, and the monster relaxed his grip on her face. Though he withdrew his hand from her mouth, he kept Cipher firmly in his grasp. If she tried anything funny, she knew that he would probably do something terrible to it. The monster was cautious. He looked brutish and violent, but he was quick-witted.

The monster glanced toward Rukana’s bed, so she stepped over to it and sat down. She wasn’t scared anymore. She told herself over and over not to be frightened. The monster stuck one of his gigantic hands into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. It was small, roughly the size of a business card, and light red in color. The monster held it out for Rukana to see.

15:00-Central Cosmos Hotel-S

Rather than printed, the words on the card were handwritten in purple ink. It looked like the writer had used a ballpoint pen. Their penmanship wasn’t exceptional, but it left an oddly powerful impression. Then again, maybe it was more the signature, S, that had an effect on Rukana. S. S? She looked again, and it was still there. Just S.

S. Rukana only knew one S. Who else could it be?

She reflexively reached out for the scrap of paper, but the monster pulled it away. It seemed it wasn’t hers to keep. The message had included a time, S’s signature, and the name of a hotel. Rukana grabbed her cell phone off her bed and ran a search for the Central Cosmos Hotel. It came up instantly. As it turned out, it was right in the same city where she lived. What’s more, it had gone out of business some time ago. That meant it was an abandoned hotel—the kind people broke into in search of ghosts.

“…Are you saying I should go to the Central Cosmos Hotel at three PM tomorrow?” Rukana asked in a whisper.

The monster shoved the scrap of paper back into his pocket, nodded, and released Cipher, who quietly landed on the ground. Then the monster turned his back to Rukana, clearly about to leave.

“Wait!” Rukana stood up, but the monster ignored her and opened her door. “Are you Master S?”

The monster didn’t reply. He stepped out of her room without a word and shut the door behind him. Rukana chased after him, but by the time she’d left her room, the front door of her family’s condo was just closing. The inside lock was undone.

Rukana rushed barefoot out into the corridor, but no one was there. Only silence greeted her.

#2-5_rukana_shizukudani/ Happy Ever After

The Central Cosmos Hotel was very conspicuously out of business. Its doors were locked, and several broken windows had been boarded over. It was an open secret, however, that a door around the back—the one leading to the boiler room—could be used to gain access to the building. Apparently, it was something of a local pastime for people to break in on weekend nights to explore.

The derelict hotel’s interior was unnerving, even at three in the afternoon on a weekday. The whole place was covered in graffiti and obvious signs of weather damage, and trash was scattered all over the place. Rukana could guess what many of the discarded items were, and the answers that sprang to mind did not please her. She wasn’t a sheltered, naive little girl, so it wasn’t hard to figure out. Apparently, some of the people who broke in were there for something a little more physical than an innocent ghost hunt. In any case, it wasn’t the sort of place most people would go in broad daylight on a weekday, so it seemed unlikely she’d run into any other trespassers.

Rukana passed through the boiler room into a hallway. She took a look around a storage room first, then checked out the kitchen. She did find signs of life in there, but on closer inspection, the only inhabitant was a very rotund mouse. The lobby was deserted as well.

Coming to a stop by the reception desk, Rukana picked up Cipher and cradled it in her arms, then looked around the lobby. She couldn’t make S wait, so she’d arrived before the scheduled time, but three PM was rapidly approaching. Was S already inside somewhere, or had they yet to arrive? Would they show up soon?

The masked man wasn’t S. Rukana was fairly certain of that. He was S’s messenger…or was he? Could it be that he’d tricked Rukana? And if so, for what purpose?

Rukana squatted down, still clutching Cipher to her chest. She couldn’t stop her imagination from drifting toward all the worst possibilities. The Central Cosmos Hotel was near the outskirts of the city, in one corner of a hot springs district. It wasn’t a place many people passed by in cars, much less on foot. And when Rukana had looked the place up, she’d heard rumors of corpses being discovered there several times in the past. They were just rumors, of course. Nothing had been proved. Still, the hotel’s atmosphere leant the stories an unnerving believability.

Maybe the masked man had lured Rukana there to murder her. It was an absurd thought, and Rukana knew it. The masked man—that monster—had been right there in her room that night. If he’d wanted to, he could have killed her then. But maybe he’d wanted a place to hide her corpse. Her parents had been nearby as well. If they’d woken up, they could have caused complications.

Here, though? It would be the weekend before anyone was around to stumble upon a corpse. Some group of kids breaking in on a lark would find the body of Rukana Shizukudani, already several days into its decomposition process.

Rukana stood up and turned. The monster was standing right behind her.

“Ah…”

What was supposed to be a scream came out as a strangled gasp. Rukana had every reason to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The monster raised a massive hand—powerful enough to snap her neck like a twig—and beckoned her toward him. A moment later, he started walking. It seemed he wanted her to follow.

Rukana knew she should leave. She didn’t want to go with the masked man. And yet Rukana found herself obediently plodding along after him anyway. He led her from the lobby to the second floor, then up another set of stairs to the third floor, and then the fourth. They were now on the Central Cosmos Hotel’s top floor. They stepped into a hallway covered from floor to ceiling in graffiti with guest rooms lined up along the right hand wall. The monster led Rukana toward one of these.

The whole thing was terrifying, but Rukana’s ability to feel fear had already begun to numb. She followed the monster into the room, which turned out to be rather large—more like several interconnected rooms. Maybe it had originally been a suite, or some kind of deluxe accommodation.

There, with his back to a window blocked off by yellowish curtains, stood a man. The curtains were fairly thin and let in a lot of light, but because he was right in front of the window, the man’s face was cast in shadow and Rukana couldn’t make out his features very well. He was a man, though. She was certain of that. He wore an off-white shirt and tight-fitting pants, and his hair was long enough for his bangs to hide his eyes.

A table and couch were set up by the window, and Rukana assumed the room was meant to be a sort of lounge. The monster sat down on the couch, which creaked ominously under his weight. The man, however, remained standing.

“Hello, there,” he said.

His soft, deep voice shook Rukana’s eardrums. This was the first time she’d heard him speak, but his voice felt familiar. She tightened her grip on Cipher. She had to be mistaken.

S’s posts on Χ-fes, which were sometimes in Japanese, sometimes in English, were always like riddles, as though their author was challenging readers to decipher them. In Χ-lum’s chat room, Sullivan came across as an individual of few words. Their opinions were both concise and distinctly intellectual. All Rukana knew about them was that they were incredibly smart.

And yet, she’d always known the real S would sound like this. It was how she’d always imagined their voice, and how they’d sounded in her dreams. She hadn’t seen S in those dreams, but she’d heard their voice, speaking to her from somewhere unknown.

“I take it you’re Rukana Shizukudani?”

That was the voice. There could be no doubt about it.

“Master S,” Rukana said, inadvertently using her own private name for him.

S chuckled. “I wonder—how much do you know about me, exactly? Have you listened to my compositions?”

“Of course,” said Rukana, a fire welling up within her. “Of course I have! I’ve listened to them and watched the music videos. All of them, so many times. They were prophecies, weren’t they? You wrote about incidents involving zingai and worked them into your lyrics!”

“You followed the trail of my compositions to Χ-fes, where you learned a fragment of the truth,” said S. “Then, because you lacked the qualifications to enter Χ-lum, you chose to break in instead.”

S’s tone was gentle, but his words were harsh. He’d called her unqualified—and he was right. Rukana had been forced to hack her way in to Χ-lum.

“…I—I—I, I’m, I’m sorry! I, I…”

“Shh.” S raised a finger to his lips. “It’s all right. I don’t blame you. In fact, I’m rather impressed. I take it that the little one you’re holding is…?”

“I-it’s called Cipher,” Rukana explained, introducing her zingai before pausing to gulp. “Y-you can see it? You see Cipher?”

“I do,” said S. “Cipher, is it? Oddly enough, that’s exactly what we once called you.”

“I—I read that log. The one from your meeting. Before then, it didn’t have a name.”

“You two were so close, you didn’t need a name, huh?”

“That’s right!” Rukana shouted. She was moved nearly to tears, and her voice came out slightly nasal. S understood how she felt. “I didn’t need a name for it. Why would I? But when I saw the word ‘cipher,’ it felt like fate…”

“I’m the same way with my zingai,” S said, turning to the masked man on the couch. “He doesn’t have a name, really. I have to distinguish him from the others, though, so I’ve taken to calling him the Cleaner. He does like to keep things tidy. He cleans my messes up for me.”

“He cleans them…”

“That’s right,” said S. “You’re very quick on the uptake. It’s exactly what you think. ‘Cleaning’ can mean a lot of things. He deals with tasks I couldn’t manage on my own. I get the impression your relationship with Cipher is quite similar.”

Rukana hesitated, unsure what to say. She’d never told anyone else about these things, and it was difficult for her to admit, even to herself.

But she was speaking with S now. He probably already knew. The masked man—the Cleaner—had hidden under Rukana’s bed. He must have been watching them. He’d seen them at work and had told S all about it.

“…That’s right,” said Rukana. “I know a little about hacking and programming, too—the bare minimum—but I could never do any of the things Cipher does. I wasn’t the one who broke into Χ-lum. If it weren’t for Cipher, I never could have managed it.”

“And that,” S said, pressing his hands together, “is something exceptional. You and Cipher are truly special.”

Rukana’s breathing was shallow and rapid, like she’d just run a marathon. Heat was building in the core of her body, and her limbs tingled.

Exceptional.

If anyone was exceptional, it was S. He understood her completely.

Special.

That word, above all else, was what Rukana most desired. She’d always wanted someone to call her that. And now S himself had said it.

“Wh-wh-wh-what should… What should I d-d-do?” Rukana sputtered. “I-i-if th-there’s anything a-at all I can do for you, I, I…”

“Calm down, Rukana,” said S.

Not Shizukudani—Rukana. He’d called her by her first name, and she immediately understood what that meant. He had acknowledged her.

“You really are incredible,” he continued. “I brought you here for precisely that purpose—because there’s something I’d like you to do for me. I want you to become one of my allies.”

“I will,” Rukana agreed without hesitation. “I’ll be your ally. I’ll be anything you want me to be. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing at all!”

“If I hadn’t suspected you’d say that,” S replied, “then I suppose that would make me as great of a liar as a rainstorm falling upward.”

He was being deliberately obtuse with his wording, and his tone made it almost sound like a joke—almost. It was the exact sort of thing S would say in one of his posts on Χ-fes.

If S had asked her to, Rukana would have taken a knee and sworn fealty to him on the spot. However, that wasn’t what he wanted. He was looking for an ally, not a servant. And so, instead, she swore to herself that she would do everything she could to be the comrade in arms he desired.

She would do it all for him. For S, she could do anything.

* * *

S made an account for Rukana on MeΧ: a message application that only the most high-ranking users of Χ-lum had access to. There was no longer any need for Rukana to infiltrate Χ-lum. S could give her all the information she needed through MeΧ instead. From time to time, he would also send her more casual messages—“Are you still awake?” and so on. Though sporadic, Rukana was finally in direct correspondence with S. She could learn about the organization behind Χ-fes and Χ-lum, about zingai, and about S’s own personal plans, directly from the horse’s mouth. At last, she had access to the pure, unvarnished truth.

Before long, Rukana and Cipher began working together to make a new app. Needless to say, it was all done for S. Rukana spoke with him over MeΧ to iron out the basic concept, and Cipher handled the programming. Rukana was the one who chose its name: Happy Ever After. They were the sort of words a fairy tale might end with, implying eternal contentment.

Rukana hoped her app would be used by people looking for happiness. Though, from another perspective, that meant she was targeting people who were currently unhappy. Happy Ever After was still untested, and there was no telling whether it would serve its intended purpose. But the way Rukana saw it, the only way to find out was to try it and see. Cipher handled the app’s construction, while Rukana tested it and ensured that it functioned as intended. She didn’t understand the finer details of its mechanisms, however, and there were some aspects of the program that would simply have to be tested by actual users in the field.

That said, it was still in testing, and she couldn’t just throw it up on the internet. She had to check how it worked and what effects it had first, then make any necessary adjustments. It would only be truly complete after multiple rounds of testing and upgrades.

Thankfully, a hacking tool S supplied to her through the Cleaner proved very useful for that purpose. The device looked like an ordinary USB drive, but could be connected directly to a smartphone, bypassing all security to install the app.

Rukana’s middle school prohibited the use of cell phones outside of emergency situations, but the devices themselves weren’t banned. Plenty of students kept their phones in their schoolbags, and whenever students had to move to another room for class, all their phones were left behind, free for the hacking.

Rukana also infiltrated the school’s servers, giving her access to all the personal information used to assign students to each class. She would use what she’d learned to select promising candidates, hack their phones at the first opportunity, and install HEA on them. A short time later, the message “Your summons to HEA has arrived! Join us ina brand-new social network experience!” would pop up unprompted on their screen.

HEA was an entirely anonymous social network. Though their identities were hidden, its userbase boasted a large number of celebrities middle and high schoolers were likely to know. To join, all you had to do was pick a username, and soon you’d be conversing with all the other members.

“Nice to meet you!”

“I’m Loves-Icecream-From-XXX-Joe.”

“Chaos!”

“Kinda cold this morning, huh?”

As new users began sending out replies, they’d quickly realize that names of people and places were automatically filtered and replaced with the letters XXX. Some users would be able to guess the censored words in certain posts, while others would be left completely in the dark. In that sense, HEA was something of a puzzle to be solved.

The app had one governing rule: Its users had to log in at least once every twenty-four hours, or the app would be automatically deleted from their phones. All messages they’d sent up to that point would be erased from the app’s servers as well. If you ever decided you wanted off the network, all you had to do was stop logging in.

Users could chat with their online friends as they pleased. When you had a bad day or encountered an unfair situation, you could post about it knowing that someone would be there to react in no time at all. You could get sympathy and commiseration from another person. All you had to do was say “This sucks,” and you’d have a friend to cheer you up before you knew it.

“Maybe you should try being a little more true to yourself?”

“Just be yourself, and everything will work out fine.”

“You’d be better off if you stopped holding back.”

“Your true self is what’s really important.”

“As long as you’re living genuinely, that’s all that matters.”

“It feels like you just haven’t realized what sort of person you are yet.”

“But your true self is always right by your side.”

“Even if you can’t find it now, you will someday.”

“Find your true self!”

“You don’t have to overthink this.”

“Just try searching for yourself.”

“Look for the real you!”

“Uncover your inner truth!”

HEA was made for people who wished to be happy. If you felt unhappy, then HEA would provide you with a path to happiness—a way to find your very own happy ever after, like something out of a fairy tale.

Needless to say, fairy tales were not real. No one in the real world had a perfect stable of friends to console and cheer them up at the drop of a hat. HEA existed in a realm separate from reality. That should have been obvious.

The network’s “fellow users” didn’t exist. HEA wasn’t a social network at all. It appeared as if you simply had to log in to instantly connect with your friends. But that was just how the program was set up to appear. Cipher had made it that way. It had designed the program with one purpose in mind: to guide and manipulate the thoughts and feelings of its users.

Rukana kicked HEA’s testing into high gear shortly after she started her second year in middle school. One day, she learned that Class 2-1 would have gym during third period, leaving their usual classroom empty. She waited until everyone was gone, paid their classroom a visit along with Cipher, and approached her target’s desk. The smartphone she was after had been left in a pocket of her target’s bag. The model was two years old, but that wasn’t an issue. Rukana plugged her hacking tool into its charging port, and less than two minutes later, the deed was done.

Rukana returned the phone to its place and just barely held back a laugh as she stepped out of the classroom. She didn’t last long, however. The second she’d shut the door behind her, Rukana burst out in a hysterical fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking as she made her way down the corridor. She laughed until she had tears in her eyes.

“Good luck finding true happiness, Itoha…”

#3 / Comets Streaming Through Your Gaze “Wish Upon a Comet”

#3-1_tobi_otogiri/ Stronger Together

“All right, it’s time for the, uh… How many of these have we done? Well, it’s time for the whatever-eth courtyard assembly to come to order,” Monika Asahi proclaimed. Her dreary monotone was a complete mismatch for the lofty phrasing of her declaration.

Ryuuko gave her a round of applause and threw in a “yaaay!” for good measure. Tobi, on the other hand, didn’t think there was any need for that level of energy. In fact, he was already sick of it. Just sitting on a bench between the two girls was exhausting.

“What sort of meeting is this even supposed to be?” Tobi sighed.

“God, I’m hungry,” his backpack interjected.

“Oh right, I forgot. Baku has an appetite, doesn’t he?” Monika could see zingai and hear them as well—just like Tobi and Ryuuko. But while Tobi had Baku and Ryuuko had Chinurasha, Monika had no zingai of her own.

“Huh?” Baku shot back. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s just tricky to deal with. What about yours, Ryuuko? You know, uhh…”

“Oh, did you forget her name?” Ryuuko opened her pouch, and a white, fluffy zingai sporting a pair of horns popped her head out.

Looking at the creature now, Tobi was a little surprised she could fit in the pouch at all. He could have been imagining it, but she seemed big. Had she grown?

“Her name is Chinurasha, but I usually call her Chinu!” Ryuuko explained.

“Right. So what about Chinu?” asked Monika.

“You mean, does she get hungry?” Ryuuko hummed to herself, prodding Chinu’s horns absentmindedly as she pondered the question. “Not as far as I can tell. Chinu doesn’t talk like Baku, so it’s hard for me to be certain, but I don’t believe she gets hungry.”

“Well, good. It’s better that way. But just so you know,” Monika added, giving Baku a light pat and ruffling Chinu’s fur, “you’d better watch your appetite.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been putting up with this?!” Baku shouted. “So friggin’ long!”

That’s great and all, thought Tobi, but could you please stop talking to Baku out in the open?

He almost said it out loud but swallowed the words at the last moment. Still, it was starting to feel a little silly being so cautious. While they weren’t alone in the courtyard, it didn’t seem like anyone else was paying them any attention. No one other than Haizaki, that is. The janitor was once again loitering in the parking lot across from the courtyard, but Tobi felt safe ignoring him.

“You’re doing great work, Baku,” said Monika.

Baku immediately let the compliment go to his head. “Heh-heh! You know it!”

“Not everyone can pull off that sort of self-restraint. Very impressive.”

“Tell me about it—not that I need you to! Impressive’s my middle name! Hey, hear that, Tobi? You can bow down and worship me anytime!”

“No thanks,” Tobi muttered.

“Praise be.” Ryuuko clapped her hands together and bowed reverently.

“Heh-heh-heh!” Baku chortled, clearly pleased.

Tobi found this reaction mildly irritating, but even more upsetting was that, with Baku on his back, Ryuuko’s gesture appeared to be directed at him. Could you please just not?

“The thing is,” said Monika, crossing her legs and tilting her head from side to side, “the more you eat, the more likely you are to lose control.”

“Huh?!” Baku shouted. “Now, hold on—don’t go lumpin’ me in with all those losers who can’t hold back! I can endure the unendurable!”

“I hope you’re right about that.”

“And seeing as I’ve been holding back for so long, how ’bout letting me have a snack as a little reward?”

“You know what happens to the masters of zingai you eat, don’t you?” Monika asked. Her tone was grave and a very serious look had come over her face. “Chiami Kon. Shuuji Masaki. Sound familiar? You’re the one who ate their zingai, aren’t you, Baku?”

“H-how’d you…?” Baku stammered.

Ryuuko clutched her pouch—and Chinu, whose head was still poking out of it—to her chest. “…Wh-where did you learn about that, Monika?”

“It’s related to the matter I’m looking into,” Monika replied.

“That’s not much of an answer, is it?” said Tobi.

Monika didn’t flinch. “There are too many relapses in this school,” she said, which wasn’t an answer, either.

She’d dodged his question, but since Tobi was interested in the topic she’d brought up instead, he had no choice but to listen.

“Puberty’s more dangerous than you might think,” Monika continued. “Relapses happen a lot easier when kids are growing into their bodies and turning into adults—developing their secondary sex characteristics and all that. But what we’re seeing here is abnormal. When relapses happen one after another like this, we have to assume there’s some instigating factor.”

What’s she getting at with this? Tobi took a moment to consider the situation. “…You mean there’s a root cause? Something making people relapse?”

“That’s my working theory,” said Monika.

“And you’re trying to find whoever or whatever is causing the problem, aren’t you?” Ryuuko sounded just a little too excited, though her enthusiasm baffled Tobi. “There must be some sort of lead that we can follow! Something that ties all the people who’ve relapsed together, for instance!”

“I can get my hands on the school’s data, to start us off,” Monika said. She spoke so casually, it almost didn’t register with Tobi how alarming that was.

“Do you mean ‘data’ in, umm, the ‘IT’ sense…?” asked Ryuuko. It sounded like she didn’t fully understand the words.

“I mean, I guess you could call it IT, sure. I’m talking about all the junk the school has saved on its servers.”

At that, Ryuuko finally began to understand the gravity of what Monika was saying. She looked slightly apprehensive. “…B-but how would you gain access to something like that?”

“Contacts, I guess? In other words, I know a guy.”

“D-does that mean…you’re acquainted with someone on this school’s board of directors, perhaps…?” Ryuuko was so shaken, she’d made a bizarre leap in logic. Tobi sighed.

“This place doesn’t have a board of directors,” said Monika. “It’s a public school.”

“Oh! Yes, umm, of course…”

“At any rate, if the school has the data, I can probably get my hands on it.”

Okay, but how, exactly? Why are you able to do that? Tobi still had plenty of questions, but he also had a feeling he’d be better off not knowing the answers. Something about this business was starting to smell distinctly criminal…or maybe it was the exact opposite. If this was all part of some police investigation, then gaining access to a bit of private information might be perfectly legal. But that would mean that Monika Asahi, a second-year middle school student, was a cop. And that would be absurd.

“I dunno, though.” Monika crossed her arms. “I can give it a try, but I doubt we’ll get any good leads that way. We should also put in some old-fashioned legwork. It’s pretty easy to pick out the people who’ve relapsed. I suggest we interview them one by one.”

“That’s not a job for me,” Tobi said reflexively.

Monika laughed. “Figures. I’m no good at that stuff, either.”

“In general, I enjoy speaking with people,” said Ryuuko. “As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained!” It was obvious she was feigning confidence, however.

“You sure you can do it, Oryuu…?” It seemed Baku shared Tobi’s concerns.

“Naturally!” she insisted. But a moment later, her spirits visibly plunged.

She sure keeps herself busy, thought Tobi.

“…But I’m aware that, from time to time, I can…put people off, I suppose,” Ryuuko continued. “And practically speaking, it would likely be difficult talking to someone with whom I’m not already acquainted.”

“Guess we should start by narrowing down the list a bit, then,” Monika said. She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hands. “Hmm… I’ll give it some thought for now and get back to you.”

“Please do!” Ryuuko replied, once again brimming with enthusiasm for reasons beyond Tobi’s understanding.

Maybe it’s this sort of thing that “puts people off” from time to time, he thought, though he decided against voicing this theory. He had no right to talk when it came to social skills.

He got the feeling he’d made Asamiya mad without even realizing it. He must have done something to upset him, but he couldn’t figure out what. Had he said something insensitive? Or maybe he’d inadvertently been selfish and put the other boy off. Ryuuko, at least, could tell when she’d upset someone. In that respect, she was way ahead of Tobi.

“It’d be great if we could just eat ’em all and call it a day,” Baku mumbled.

Monika crossed her fingers, forming an X. In other words, that was out of the question. “Nope. Jokes aside, that’s seriously dangerous,” she said. “If you go on a feeding frenzy, there’s a chance you’ll wind up eating your master. There’s precedent for it.”

“Huh…? Eating my master? You mean you think I’d eat Tobi? Is that what you’re saying?”

“It’s super rare, so I’m fuzzy on the details.”

“Heh! As if I’d ever eat Tobi. I mean, look at him! No way he’d taste good, right?”

“…So you’d eat me if I looked tasty?” Tobi shot back.

“As if, moron! No way in hell I’d eat my partner, no matter what!”

Tobi instinctually believed Baku’s words. But hunger was based on instinct, too. It was a deep, primordial drive.

* * *

The afternoon break was nearing its end, and the trio left the courtyard. Tobi soon noticed Ryuuko lagging behind, however. And then Monika began to drift toward her, farther away from Tobi.

“Er… I, umm,” Ryuuko stammered.

Monika was far more nonchalant. “We’re just gonna powder our noses real quick,” she said.

Tobi had no idea how to reply, so he simply nodded, and the two girls hurried off on their way.

“Hey, Tobi, y’know what ‘powder your nose’ means? Well, it— Agh!”

Tobi gave Baku’s strap a good yank, shutting him up in a hurry. Of course I know what it means.

When Tobi reached Class 2-3, he found Asamiya crouched in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He was focused intently on his phone, and Tobi wondered if it’d be best not to interrupt him. He didn’t want to make the other boy any more upset than he already was.

Not too long ago, Tobi wouldn’t have even considered approaching Asamiya. In fact, he doubted the two of them would have been on speaking terms. Now, however, he knew what he had to do, even if it required quite a bit of courage. He took a deep breath.

“Asamiya,” Tobi slowly walked over to the other boy, who shoved his phone into his pocket in a fluster.

“…Oh. Hey, Otogiri.” Asamiya stood up, fiddled with his bangs, and flashed Tobi a forced smile.

The expression was stiff, but it didn’t feel like he was rejecting Tobi’s attempt at conversation. Tobi felt a surprising wave of relief. His heart practically leaped. Oh, he thought. I’m pretty happy about this, aren’t I?

“What? Something wrong?” Asamiya asked. He was still restlessly fidgeting with his bangs, pinching and twirling his hair between his fingers. His cheeks were faintly flushed, as well.

The question put Tobi at a bit of a loss. He didn’t need anything. Had he just wanted to chat? No, that wasn’t it, either. The truth was, he’d wanted to confirm if Asamiya had really taken a disliking to him.

“Nah, not really,” Tobi replied.

He couldn’t just come out and ask if Asamiya hated him, and moreover, he was starting to get the impression he’d been wrong. Suddenly, he couldn’t look Asamiya in the eye. A strange sense of embarrassment had come over him, and he lowered his gaze. He happened to glance at Asamiya’s neck—and that was when he finally saw it.

“Not really…,” Tobi repeated.

What am I talking about? Something is very wrong.

“Hey, Tobi—is that what I think it is?” Baku muttered. He’d started trembling, probably out of confusion.

“What?” Asamiya asked, frowning.

He seemed suspicious, and Tobi couldn’t blame him. Tobi was doing his best to stay outwardly calm and composed, but his best probably wasn’t good enough. In fact, it definitely wasn’t. He was failing, and he knew it.

A thin band was wrapped around Asamiya’s neck. It looked like a thread, or tape, or maybe a belt. It was easy to overlook, partly because it was semitranslucent. It had no color, and Asamiya’s skin was clearly visible through it. Tobi might have assumed it was some sort of fashion accessory, if it hadn’t been moving. Whatever it was, it was squirming. Looking closer, it reminded Tobi less of a piece of string or a belt, and more of a snake. A semitranslucent snake had wrapped itself around Asamiya’s neck and was attempting to strangle him—or maybe it was just looking for a comfortable place to rest.

“Not really,” Tobi repeated once more with a poor excuse for a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“…Oh? Okay.” Asamiya didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t ask any more questions, either. The two of them walked back to class together, but they didn’t say much. Tobi, at least, was in no condition for small talk.

It didn’t seem that Asamiya had noticed the thing around his neck, but Tobi could see it clearly.

It was a zingai. Asamiya had relapsed.

* * *

After school was over, Tobi shot Ryuuko and Monika glances. The three of them stood up and moved toward Asamiya, surrounding him. They’d met in secret beforehand and worked out a plan of action, and now Tobi just had to hope that it all went off without a hitch.

“Huh? Wait—what? Huh? Er…?” Asamiya was understandably shocked. He shot Tobi a pleading glance, looking for help. Tobi felt bad for not obliging, but these were extenuating circumstances.

“Hey, Asamiya?” Tobi said. “I, umm… Er, what was it…? Um.” He’d worked out his script in advance, but the words weren’t coming out in the heat of the moment.

“Tobiii,” Baku groaned.

“Excuse me, Asamiya!” Ryuuko spoke up, unable to keep watching. She grabbed onto Asamiya’s arm.

Asamiya, however, reacted quickly. He shook her off without wasting a beat. “Wh-what was that for? What’s going on?!”

“Asamiya, there’s, umm,” Tobi said, then finally remembered his line. “There’s…something we want help with. From you. I mean, umm…only if you don’t mind.”

“…From me?” Asamiya repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Actually…” Monika gazed up at him from below. Her expression was a little scary. “We need your help, whether you mind or not.”

“…Hell of a way to ask for a favor.” Asamiya sighed. “All right, fine. No promises, but I’ll hear you out. Not like I have anything better to do…”

* * *

The plan that Tobi, Ryuuko, and Monika had come up with was to box Asamiya in to cut off his escape, then demand his help. From there, they’d just have to figure things out as they went. The truth was, they hadn’t discussed anything specific beyond that point. Tobi hadn’t given it any thought at all, and from the look of things, neither had Ryuuko. Monika, however, had come prepared.

She took the lead, and the others followed after her. Eventually, they arrived at a large supermarket about ten minutes’ walk from school. It had a food court, and Monika instructed Ryuuko to save seats for everyone while she and Tobi stopped by a hamburger shop and ordered four set meals with drinks and fries. Tobi wound up carrying two trays with two meals each, one in each hand. When he and Monika got back, Ryuuko and Asamiya were seated and waiting.

“My treat,” Monika said, gesturing to the food with her chin. It came off a little haughty, but she had paid for the food and she’d even ordered one of the more expensive meals on the menu.

Tobi set the trays down on the table without comment.

“I got big tomato cheeseburger sets with melon soda for everyone. You’re all cool with that, right?” Monika asked as she sat down beside Asamiya and crossed her legs.

Tobi took a seat next to Ryuuko.

“Th-th-this… This is so…so lavish,” said Ryuuko. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

“…You sure this is all right?” Asamiya asked Monika.

Tobi couldn’t tell if he was suspicious of her or just felt bad that she’d paid for him. Probably both.

“Call it a thank-you for lending us a hand,” Monika replied, acting like it was no big deal. “I’ve got plenty of money, don’t worry.”

Tobi had never heard a middle schooler say that before. Asamiya glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if it was okay to accept the food. Tobi didn’t know how to reply. He wasn’t entirely sure, either.

“Well, down the hatch,” Monika said. She quickly unwrapped her big tomato cheeseburger and took a massive bite. “Now, that’s good stuff.”

“Gaaah…!” Baku wailed.

Watching Monika eat had set him off all over again, even though he was hungry for a completely different sort of food. Tobi was having a hard time resisting as well.

“I’ve never eaten a hamburger before… Or drank melon soda!” said Ryuuko. She’d started trembling.

“For real?” asked Monika. She’d already polished off half her burger in two bites. She smirked and flashed Ryuuko a thumbs-up. “Well, try it. These things rule, trust me.”

“W-well, then. Pardon me…” Ryuuko carefully unwrapped her hamburger, closed her eyes, and took a bite. “Mmh…!” She chewed. “Mmh! Mmh! Mmmh…!”

Ryuuko’s eyelids twitched rapidly with each incomprehensible, closed-mouthed grunt. It was a very funny sight.

“…Okay, I’m going for it. Can’t resist,” Asamiya said before digging into his meal as well. He looked like he was enjoying it quite a bit.

“C’mon, Tobi! You too! Hurry up!” Baku urged.

He didn’t need to say anything—Tobi had also reached his limit. He wasn’t sure why he’d been holding back in the first place. Pushing aside that question, he unwrapped his burger and bit straight into it. Nearly letting out a grunt of his own, he clamped his eyes and mouth shut and chewed intently. He could taste the bread, the burger, the lettuce, the cheese, the ketchup, the pickles, the pepper, and every other ingredient separately, and yet at the same time, all of them came together in perfect harmony with one another. It felt like his mind had gone numb.

“…What is this?” Tobi murmured. He could only describe the flavor as violent. It was like his meal had just reached out and punched him straight in the face.

“How is it?!” Baku demanded.

“Yum,” said Tobi. It was the only word he could muster.

For a moment, Tobi focused single-mindedly on his meal. The four big tomato cheeseburger and french fry sets vanished into the middle schoolers’ stomachs in the blink of an eye. Tobi, Monika, and Asamiya drained their melon sodas in no time as well, though Ryuuko took time to savor hers sip by sip. She enjoyed carbonated drinks, but apparently the fizziness could be a little much for her.

“So what did you want help with? What am I supposed to do?” Asamiya asked as he unconsciously folded up his burger’s wrapper. Tobi assumed it was a habit of his.

“First, let me ask you this,” said Monika. “Have you noticed anything strange lately?”

Asamiya’s hands froze in place. He looked downward and frowned. “…‘Anything strange’? Where do I even start?”

“Figures…” Tobi found himself staring at Asamiya’s neck.

The slender, translucent zingai—the one that looked like string or maybe a snake—was still slowly strangling its master. Though maybe it only looked that way to Tobi. He wasn’t even sure if zingai could hurt their masters. Considering his and Ryuuko’s experience, it was difficult for him to imagine.

“I mean…I guess there was the stuff with Kon and Masaki. But the biggest thing was what happened to Miyu—” Asamiya stopped and corrected himself. “To Takatomo, I mean. As far as I’m concerned, anyway. She and I go way back, and we still don’t know why she did it. I had a feeling that, well…that something was a little off about her, I guess. This is gonna make me sound crazy, but…for a little while, I thought I could hear this weird voice in my head from time to time. Haven’t heard it lately, though. Weird, right?”

Tobi knew exactly what Asamiya was talking about. That voice had been the work of Shuuji Masaki’s zingai. It had influenced the mental state of his classmates by speaking directly into their minds. In that sense, what Asamiya was saying wasn’t weird at all.

“I meant more recently than that,” said Monika.

Her casual, indifferent tone irritated Tobi. Can’t you be a little nicer? She could have shown more consideration… Though she had paid for their meals, he supposed. And that big tomato cheeseburger set was pretty delicious.

“I’m asking about after I transferred in, not before,” said Monika. “Does anything come to mind?”

“Anything weird, huh?” Asamiya tightened his fist around his burger’s wrapper, reducing the half-folded square of paper to a crumpled ball. “You mean aside from your transfer, right?”

“Naturally.”

“In that case, now that you mention it…” Asamiya dropped the ball of paper onto his tray and pulled out his phone. “An app showed up on here. A social network thing. I don’t remember installing it. It was just there one day.”

“Have you been using it?” Ryuuko asked, furrowing her brow.

“I mean, I thought it was sketchy,” Asamiya muttered. He’d brought out his phone, but he kept the screen facing downward. He seemed reluctant to show it to them. “But I could always just delete it. Apparently, it does that on its own if you don’t log in for a full day. So I ended up giving it a try, because, well, why not…?”

“What’s this app called?” Monika asked casually as she rested her chin in her hands.

“HEA,” said Asamiya. “It stands for Happy Ever After. I tried looking it up, but I didn’t find anything. I seriously have no idea how it got installed in the first place.”

“Let’s have a look,” said Monika. Before Asamiya could react—before she’d even finished speaking, in fact—she snatched the phone from his hand. She had surprisingly quick fingers.

“Ah!” Asamiya exclaimed.

“Need your fingerprint,” Monika said, shoving the phone in Asamiya’s face.

“…There’s personal stuff on that thing, you know?” he grumbled, though he pressed his thumb to the phone to unlock it anyway. “I don’t really want someone snooping through my posts…”

“No worries. I don’t give a crap about your private life anyway,” Monika said as she started swiping away at the phone. “This one, right? HEA?”

She was just about to tap the app’s icon—but an instant before she could, Asamiya lunged forward and tried to grab the phone out of her hand.

“Hey, let’s not, actually!” he shouted.

“Wha—? Hey!” Monika twisted to the side, dodging away from Asamiya’s arm.

But he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “I’ve done a bunch of venting on that app, okay?! It’s totally anonymous, so I don’t care if people on there read what I said, but I’d die of shame if someone I knew saw it! Give it back!”

“Ah,” Ryuuko gasped. Had she wanted to say something? Or had she simply meant to call out Asamiya’s name, then reconsidered?

Asamiya, meanwhile, kept grabbing at the phone with both hands. Monika had impressive reflexes and dodged every attempt. Tobi was impressed—though this wasn’t really the time to be admiring her agility.

“Give it back! Give it! I’m serious, okay?!” shouted Asamiya.

Maybe he’d decided that he wasn’t getting anywhere, or maybe he’d just lost his temper. Whatever the reason, he grabbed onto Monika’s hair and pulled.

“Ow…”

“Asamiya!” Tobi shouted. Not good!

Tobi leaped to his feet and tried to cut in between the two of them. He tried—but he couldn’t. All of a sudden, it felt like he was suffocating.

“Agh…”

He couldn’t breathe. Why? What was happening? His neck. Tobi reached up to grope at it. At the same moment, Baku and Ryuuko both shouted.

“Tobiii!”

“Tobi…?!”

There was something there. On his neck. Wrapped around it. For just an instant, he’d caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. What was it? It had been thin. That was when it hit him. Asamiya. There was nothing on his neck anymore. It was gone. The translucent zingai had vanished. Tobi knew where it was: wrapped around his neck. It had separated from Asamiya and jumped over to him, and now it was throttling him.

“Ngh… Hah…”

Breathing was difficult—but not impossible. Tobi could tell he wouldn’t suffocate any time soon. He tried to stop Asamiya, but it was too late. He’d already reclaimed his phone from Monika.

“You can’t,” said Asamiya. “I need this! You can’t take it from me. It’s the only thing supporting me. You don’t understand how I feel! Go ahead and laugh. It’s funny, right?! You can laugh all you want! But I need this…”

Nothing about this was funny. No—it was crazy. Why was Asamiya acting like this?

“…Ugh…” Tobi grunted as he tried to free himself from the translucent zingai.

He managed to get a grip on it, but he couldn’t pull it loose. It was far more powerful than it looked. It also felt like it was bigger—or thicker—than it had been a moment ago.

“T-T-T-Tobi…,” Ryuuko stammered.

She was still sitting, moving her hands in the air as if pantomiming something. Meanwhile, Monika was doing just as expected: watching Tobi and Asamiya closely without interfering.

“Dammit! Tobi…!”

Baku started flailing. He wanted to eat—to devour Asamiya’s translucent zingai. He was already preparing to do it. To protect Tobi. To keep him safe.

Oh.

Tobi wrapped his arms around Baku. “I’m fine,” he choked out.

Something had dawned on Tobi: Asamiya’s zingai was doing the same thing Baku was. It was only trying to protect its master.

“Calm down, Asamiya,” he said.

Asamiya trembled as he clutched his cell phone tightly in both hands. Tobi knew they were making a scene in the food court, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that. Right now, his best option was to talk to Asamiya as normally as he could and convince him he wasn’t a threat.

“I don’t know what that this app thing is,” Tobi said, “but I won’t try to take your phone away from you. I promise.”

“I—I don’t believe you!” Asamiya shouted.

“…That’s fine. You don’t…have to. I really won’t, though…and I won’t…let anyone else take it…either.”

It was shocking that Tobi could still speak. He could barely breathe, and even he wasn’t sure how he was getting the words out.

“You can go home…and take your phone…with you. I won’t…take it. If you want to leave…y-you can just go. Go…home…”

Tobi couldn’t see Asamiya’s expression behind his long bangs. Maybe that was why he didn’t cut them—because he preferred to keep his face hidden. Tobi understood the feeling.

“…No,” said Asamiya. His voice was slightly choked, like he was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, Tobi could breathe again. The thing had loosened its grip.

“I don’t…want to go home,” Asamiya continued. “Not like this…”

The translucent zingai uncoiled itself from Tobi’s neck, then slithered down his body toward the floor. Now that Tobi got a better look at it, he noticed it didn’t have a head. It most closely resembled a partially see-through string.

Once it had crawled back to Asamiya, it wrapped itself around his neck and stopped moving. It was staying as close to him as possible—to protect him if worse came to worst. Just like Baku did for Tobi.

“The truth was, I was happy.” Asamiya slumped back into his chair. “I had a chance to help you, and I wanted to take it. No one ever relies on me. Plus, well…we’ve been talking a lot lately, right, Otogiri? So I just thought…”

“Of course! You’re friends, after all!” Ryuuko chimed in. She’d stopped her inexplicable pantomiming and begun nodding vigorously. “It’s only natural to want to help your friends when they’re in need!”

“I guess…,” Tobi muttered, rubbing his neck as he sat back down.

Asamiya glanced at him through a gap in his bangs. Tobi wished he could say they were friends as easily as Ryuuko had, but it just didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t against the idea at all, it was just so embarrassing.

Before long, peace returned to the food court.

“My bad,” Monika said, offering Asamiya an apologetic nod.

“Tell me about it,” Tobi grumbled. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it was the truth. “This is all your fault, Monika.”

“You did hear me apologize just now, right?” Monika huffed.

Asamiya cracked up. “Like you have any right to get mad.”

“About your phone,” Monika said. She held out a hand without looking at him. “Let me get someone to check into it. I can have a specialist analyze the HEA app and find out how it works, if you’ll let me. Also, and this should be obvious, but you’d be better off avoiding sketchy social networking apps like that. Who knows what they’re doing with your data?”

“…See, this is what I’m talking about. It’s that attitude that sets people off,” Asamiya grumbled. Despite his complaints, however, he handed over his phone. “Actually, wait—a specialist? Are they, like, an acquaintance of yours?”

“An acquaintance?” Monika cocked her head as she inspected the device from a variety of angles. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I’ll introduce you later, though. We’ll need your parents there, too.”

“Wait, my parents?”

“Well, yeah. We’re middle schoolers, after all. There’s a lot of stuff we can’t do on our own. We need an adult to take legal responsibility on our behalf. Sucks, but those are the rules.”

“…Surprised you know all that, Asahi.”

“At any rate, I’ll explain everything later.” Monika glanced at Tobi and Ryuuko in turn. “I’ll introduce you two, as well. There’s only so much I can tell you, but I won’t hold anything back if I’m allowed to share it. I’m not like a certain old man, if you know what I mean.”

Tobi and Ryuuko glanced at each other. It wasn’t hard to guess who she meant, considering she’d called Haizaki an old man to his face. How she was supposed to be different from him, however, was much less clear.

#3-2_tobi_otogiri/ Terminal Obsession

Tobi couldn’t remember where it had happened. At some sort of chain restaurant, maybe. He remembered riding the bus to get there. Maybe his brother had taken him to a shopping center, and they’d stopped at a restaurant while they were out. He remembered his brother ordering a set meal off the kids’ menu for him. It came with fried shrimp, a hamburger steak, a piece of fried chicken, and pudding for dessert. A glass of orange juice, too, and a mound of red-colored rice with a little flag stuck into it. It felt like a feast to Tobi, and he vaguely remembered asking his brother if it was really all right for him to eat it. His brother had laughed and said that of course it was.

“You’re special, Tobi.”

For some reason, the one thing he remembered with perfect clarity was the moment his brother said those words.

* * *

A car was pulled over on the side of the road with its hazard lights on. The large silver minivan was off on a side street where no middle schoolers were likely to pass on their way home. It was a fairly common type of car—you’d see plenty just like it if you paid attention. Tobi remembered Monika climbing into a similar one the day she transferred into his school. In fact, he was almost positive it was the exact same car.

He saw the vehicle the day after Asamiya handed over his phone in the supermarket food court. School had ended, and Monika had led Tobi and Ryuuko to the side street where it was parked and told them to get inside. She’d made it clear that following her was optional, but neither Tobi nor Ryuuko had reason to turn her down after everything they’d been through recently.

The minivan’s interior was quite spacious, and its rear section was equipped with two rows of seats facing each other. This wasn’t a train, so perhaps the setup was meant to facilitate conversation. The drivers’ seat and adjoining passenger seat were already filled, and a man in a suit was seated at the very back.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “You two are Otogiri and Shiratama, I presume?”

Tobi couldn’t tell how old he was, but he wasn’t young. He had a narrow face, an excessively cheerful smile, and a loud, nasal voice.

“Well, go on, then! Have a seat! Pile in, please!” he said, half rising as he beckoned Tobi and Ryuuko to sit across from him.

Monika sat down beside the man and gestured for the others to hurry up. Tobi and Ryuuko took their seats without a word. A moment later, the minivan’s sliding door closed on its own.

“Well,” the man said as he settled into his seat once more and unbuttoned his jacket. “Where to start? You know, you’d be surprised how nerve-racking it is to meet youngsters like yourselves. Let’s see… Oh, right—let’s get on the road, shall we?”

The driver immediately started up the car. Ryuuko was petrified, and seeing the anxiety written all over her face was making it hard for Tobi to keep his cool as well.

“It’ll be fine, Tobi. I’m right here with you,” Baku said. His calm, collected demeanor might’ve been an act, but it was reassuring.

“Oh… That’s right.” The man pulled a business card holder from his jacket. He slid out a pair of cards and handed them to Tobi and Ryuuko. “You can call me Kudou. It’s a pleasure.”

“Th-thank you very much!” Ryuuko yelped as she accepted a card with both hands.

Tobi took the other and quickly skimmed the words printed on it. “The Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office…Management Division Chief…Keiki Kudou,” he read out loud.

“In short, I’m with the government,” Kudou replied with a smile, rubbing his hands together. “A public servant, if you’d prefer. I work day in and day out for the people of this nation. Truth be told, someone else was supposed to meet with you today, but there was a bit of a scheduling problem, and things didn’t work out as planned. That person was particularly adamant, and I just happened to be free, so I have the pleasure of visiting you in their stead.”

“…Umm, excuse me,” Ryuuko timidly interjected. “What exactly is your relationship with Monika, if I may ask?”

“Oh, of course!” Kudou’s eyes went wide. “You would be curious, yes. Naturally. I’m acquainted with her legal guardian. To be specific, I’m both their friend and their professional superior. Monika helps them with their work, and they happen to be my friend and subordinate.”

“Basically, he’s my boss’s boss.” Monika shot the man a look that made it clear she wasn’t particularly happy about this. “I don’t have parents, but I do have someone who looks after me—that’s my legal guardian. I just help them out from time to time, and when I’m on the job, my guardian’s my direct superior.”

“Hence, I’m her boss’s boss,” Kudou cheerfully reiterated. A smile seemed to be his default—or perhaps only—expression, but that wasn’t to say his face didn’t change. He would narrow his eyes, raise a corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin, and flash his teeth from time to time. He was a man of many smiles.

“And her guardian is…?” Ryuuko asked, glancing toward the driver’s seat.

“Not here,” Monika said with a shrug. “The boss doesn’t really like tagging along for stuff like this. Oh—‘the boss’ is just a nickname.”

“It sounds like you have some very unique interpersonal relationships,” noted Ryuuko. “Though I suppose that’s just like you.”

“More importantly, HEA!” Kudou said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve analyzed the program, and under the circumstances, I felt it best to keep you two in the loop. Cutting to the chase: It isn’t a social networking app at all.”

“It’s made to look like one,” Monika chimed in, “but that’s where the similarities end.”

A good portion of the explanation ended up flying over Tobi’s head, but this is what he gathered in the end: Real social networking services use the internet to help people connect with friends or find others with similar hobbies and interests. When someone like Asamiya used HEA, however, they weren’t interacting with other users at all. In fact, the app didn’t even connect to the internet. HEA was a purely single-user app designed to look like a social network. When Asamiya booted up the program and sent a message, it would seem as though other users were responding with comments or questions. But in reality, those users were nothing more than the program’s preloaded AI generating text.

“…Wh-what on earth is the purpose of something like that?” The explanation had left Ryuuko’s head spinning.

Tobi could tell how confused she was, but he wasn’t doing much better himself. It was a very strange story.

“So it’s basically just a game?” he asked.

“Could be—or there could be something more to it,” Monika crossed her arms and shook her head, sending her shaggy mass of hair flying. “What we know for sure is that Asamiya’s relapse began after he started using the app. He doesn’t remember installing it himself, but someone with the right know-how could have used a backdoor—a type of computer virus—to put it on his phone. If that’s what happened, they covered their tracks pretty well, so it’s not much of a lead. We weren’t even able to figure out the exact date or time the app was installed.”

“Gaaah…!” Baku moaned.

Ryuuko clutched her temples. “…I—I think my head is about to burst…”

Tobi was right there with her. He already had a headache.

“In short,” said Kudou, “it’s a super suspicious app that’s also mega dangerous.”

His smile never faltered, and watching his expression was making it hard for Tobi to tell the actual severity of the situation.

“Nothing that resembles our mystery app seems to be circulating online,” he continued. “And we suspect that someone installed it on his phone in person. Assuming it happened at school, that narrows down our suspects to students and teachers. We have a few strings we can pull to get in with the teachers, so we’ll handle that. But the students pose more of an issue.”

Kudou leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

“…What a conundrum. I just don’t know what to do,” he said. “Middle schools are full of middle schoolers. Of course they are! And I am a mere public servant. I’m no police officer, and even the police have problems investigating schools. But we’re in an even worse position. I’m at a total loss here…”

“In case you need a translation, he’s asking if we’ll help.” Monika shot the man a contemptuous glare. “Not like you needed to ask in my case. This is business as usual for me. I’m not doing this for fun, you know? It’s basically my job. At any rate, you’re paying me for it.”

“Heh-heh-heh…” Kudou chuckled and, still leaning forward, tilted his head up. “The two of you will be rewarded as well, of course—though we’ll have you sign a contract before any funds can be exchanged. You know how it is with government business. We have to dot all our i’s and cross all our t’s where money’s concerned.”

“…Huh?”

Tobi turned to look out one of the minivan’s windows. They were dark—probably tinted—and the outside world looked gloomy and shadowed. He hadn’t been able to see in from outside, either. Where was this car taking them? Had it really been a good idea to climb aboard so casually? Kudou claimed to be a civil servant and part of the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office. But could Tobi take him at his word? Was there any guarantee he was telling the truth?

“Could it be…?” Ryuuko said, leaning forward and squeezing Chinurasha’s pouch. “Are you recruiting us to be part of a secret organization…?”

* * *

Regardless of whether they would help with the investigation, Tobi decided to put all talk of signing contracts on hold for the time being. He couldn’t deny that money was an appealing prospect, though he didn’t know exactly how much the reward for this sort of help would be. Plus, while Monika had a guardian to sign in place of her parents, Tobi didn’t have anyone to fill that role. He wasn’t sure if he could legally sign a contract at all. He’d rather not explain the situation to a staff member at the institute—and of course, this was all assuming that he could trust Kudou at all. Tobi had so many things to think about, he didn’t know where to start.

As for Ryuuko, speaking with her grandfather would likely pose just as much of an obstacle as Tobi’s own circumstances. That said, she seemed ready and willing to help out regardless.

The following morning, the weather was dismal. It was drizzling when Tobi left the institute, and when he arrived at the school gates, he found Mr. Yagarashima wearing a very eye-catching checkered raincoat. Several passing students stopped to shout.

“Lookin’ good, Yagi!”

“Your raincoat is burning my eyes!”

“Aren’t you breaking the dress code right now, Mr. Yagarashima?”

“Cut me a break—this is my wife’s coat!” the teacher shouted back at them. “We wear the same size, okay?!”

Tobi found Ryuuko lying in wait for him by the shoe cubbies. On their way to the classroom, they bumped into Asamiya by the staircase. He must have been waiting there for Tobi.

“Not having my phone is really throwing me off,” Asamiya grumbled.

“It’s difficult not being able to check the time and date, I imagine,” said Ryuuko.

“Yeah, more than I expected. I’m so used to being able to see that stuff whenever I want.”

“That’s why I wear a watch,” said Tobi. He pulled back his sleeve to show off the wristwatch he wore on his left arm.

Asamiya seemed a little interested. “How much does one of those cost?” he asked.

“Less than you’d think,” said Tobi. “You can get one for under a thousand yen if you go to a thrift store.”

“Seriously? Maybe I’ll get one, too. It looks pretty cool, in a retro sort of way.”

Tobi felt a little flattered. He’d done a lot of shopping around before he bought his watch, and it was nice to hear someone praise it. Ryuuko was giving it a very close look as well, which both embarrassed him and made him a little anxious. She looked like she could trip and fall at any moment.

“People who wear wristwatches look somehow mature, don’t they?” Ryuuko commented.

“…Oh?” said Tobi.

“Yeah, I get that,” Asamiya agreed.

“Don’t you just?!” Ryuuko said. She sounded inexplicably proud all of a sudden. “It’s something I aspire to! I’d love to wear a watch, too, when I’m an adult!”

“I mean, if they’re that cheap, why not just get one now?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly! It’s still far too soon for me. I have to become more mature first, or a watch will never suit me.”

“…You think it doesn’t suit me?” asked Tobi.

“No, it suits you perfectly,” Ryuuko clarified.

“Yeah, Otogiri seems kinda mature, huh?” said Asamiya.

“He does!” Ryuuko agreed.

“You think…?” Tobi muttered.

“Heh! Don’t get a big head, Tobi,” Baku interjected. “You’re still a snotty-nosed brat, the way I see it!” Ryuuko stifled a chuckle.

Asamiya couldn’t hear Baku’s voice, but his translucent zingai was still firmly coiled around his neck. Tobi wondered if it had chosen that spot in order to protect its master’s vitals.

Though Asamiya had relapsed, he still couldn’t see zingai. If Tobi could only open up to him about their existence, the situation might improve in all sorts of ways. But would Asamiya believe him? No matter how carefully and thoroughly Tobi and Ryuuko explained it to him, he couldn’t even see his own zingai, much less hear their voices. Tobi doubted it would go well.

Just then, Monika walked over to her desk, sat down, and slumped over.

“Good morning, Monika!” said Ryuuko.

Monika raised her head just enough to look at Ryuuko. She seemed even sleepier than usual. “…Yeah, Morning. You’re sure full of energy. Didn’t you notice it’s raining out?”

“Are you one of those people feels bad when the air pressure’s low?” Asamiya asked.

Monika slumped down again. “…Somethin’ like that. Sleep deprived, too. No time to gripe, though,” she said, lifting her head again. “Gotta start with the most likely candidates…”

“D-don’t push yourself too hard,” Ryuuko said a little anxiously.

Monika arched an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitched. She was probably trying to smile. “Putting in the hours when you’re young pays big dividends later.”

“Didn’t think you were so old-fashioned,” Baku jabbed.

Monika rested her chin on her desk and let out a snort. “Oh, trust me—I’ll be cashing in those dividends big-time someday.”

* * *

The chilly rain came and went over the course of the morning, interspersed with brief periods of sunlight. As always, Tobi wolfed down the bulk of his lunch in moments, then left the classroom with Baku, bread roll in hand. He could’ve finished eating in the classroom, given the weather, but leaving was such an ingrained part of his routine it just didn’t feel right to linger. Going outside in the rain wasn’t appealing, either, so he ended up eating his roll by the shoe cubbies instead.

The lunch period came to an end, and Ryuuko and Monika arrived to meet him. It was time for their investigation to begin.

“I’ve identified a fair number of students I’m positive have relapsed, but I think Itoha Hiiragi from Class 2-1 is the right place to start,” Monika explained. Apparently, Hiiragi’s butterfly-like zingai had unusually high odds of being dangerous, making her worth prioritizing. “But Ryuuko’s the only one who can strike up a conversation with her, right?”

“Please leave it to me!” said Ryuuko. “I’ll start by asking her if she’s aware of an app called HEA!”

“Awesome. It’s great to have someone like you on board.”

“It…is? Really?”

“Yeah. Wish you’d sign on as an independent contractor, honestly. You’d make a lot more money with us than you would working some typical high school job.”

“I—I would?!”

“You’d be obligated to keep a bunch of secrets and stuff, but then I wouldn’t have to keep anything from you anymore. It doesn’t bother me much with strangers but having to keep secrets from friends is kind of a pain in the ass.”

“From friends,” Ryuuko repeated, nodding over and over. “That’s very true. I’ll certainly consider it.”

“You too, Tobi,” Monika added, glancing his way.

Tobi didn’t reply. He was thinking about it, but he still had doubts.

Keiki Kudou. The Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office. Zingai. Entities most people couldn’t see, that sometimes caused incidents with devastating consequences. Apparently, there was a whole organization, with ties to the government, dedicated to investigating them.

It all seemed so strange—or rather, so implausible. Kudou had given Tobi a business card in an effort to look respectable, but it hadn’t been enough to dispel his suspicions. That said, Tobi knew well that whenever a zingai hurt or killed someone, most people assumed they’d committed suicide or died under mysterious circumstances. Was that really okay? Maybe it wasn’t, and adults like Kudou were working to stop it. Monika was collaborating with them despite being a middle schooler.

Tobi could help, too. As could Ryuuko. Practically speaking, they already were. If Tobi agreed to sign Kudou’s contract, the arrangement would be formalized, and he’d even be paid for his trouble. Tobi could live at the institute for the time being, but he’d have to leave someday and having money would certainly make life easier. It would help him search for his brother, too.

Maybe accepting Kudou’s offer really was the right choice.

Tobi climbed up the stairs to the second floor. As he walked through the hallway alongside the second-year classrooms, he heard a familiar voice.

“Byyye, I-to-ha! Don’t you worry—li’l ol’ Ruka’ll come back to play again before you know it!”

The door to Class 2-1 opened, and a bespectacled girl stepped out into the hall. It was Rukana Shizukudani. She was waving to someone inside the classroom, and from what she’d said, it seemed safe to assume that was Itoha Hiiragi.

Shizukudani spun in a circle to face Tobi and the others. She wasn’t alone. Her fleshy, four-legged zingai was with her.

“Oooh!” Shizukudani exclaimed with a smile—though really she’d been smiling since before she saw them. She literally skipped toward Tobi, her zingai hopping along behind her. “Shiratama Dango! Tobitobi! And if it isn’t Monimoni, too! Ha-ha-ha!”

“…Sh-Shizukudani,” Ryuuko stared in wonderment at the other girl…or maybe in horror.

Frankly, Tobi was a little scared as well. It was common for students at their school to act up in the hallways, but Shizukudani’s current behavior felt somehow different from that sort of attention seeking.

“Whoo-hoo!” Shizukudani cheered. She held up a hand as she passed, signaling for a high five that Ryuuko provided with an awkward shout of her own. Then she skipped off down the hallway. She hadn’t dropped her pace for even a moment.

“…The hell was that?” Baku asked.

Tell me about it, thought Tobi.

“She hasn’t had a relapse, right?” Monika asked, her expression grim.

Ryuuko cocked her head. “Oh no, Shizukudani has had her zingai since I met her last year.”

“We might wanna keep our eyes on that one. It’s pretty big.”

Pretty big. What was Monika referring to? There were a few possibilities, but Tobi had a feeling he knew the answer: Shizukudani’s zingai. He hadn’t had a chance to properly measure it, of course, but it looked roughly the size of a human torso. Its size had startled Tobi the first time he saw it, too.

“Can someone who can’t see them even have one that big?” asked Tobi.

“They can,” Monika replied instantly as she started walking again. “They come in all shapes and sizes. Same as people.”

“Sounds like a real hassle,” Baku said, as if he wasn’t involved. Did he even know how much hassle it was carrying around a big backpack all day?

Shizukudani’s behavior had startled Tobi, and he was curious about what was going on with her, but Itoha Hiiragi was their priority for the time being. Tobi, Ryuuko, and Monika glanced into the classroom Shizukudani had just left and scanned the students inside. Hiiragi was seated near the front of the room, and two other girls were standing nearby. There were about ten students in total, counting Hiiragi’s group, and the atmosphere seemed rather oppressive. It was the sort of awkward discomfort that followed a public argument, with everyone not involved watching silently from the sidelines, unsure how to act. Was it Shizukudani? Had she done something? Was that why everyone seemed so uncomfortable? Tobi gulped.

Suddenly, Hiiragi’s long black hair seemed to rise up into the air. Tobi had to blink and look again before he realized it wasn’t her hair at all, but a cloud of small black butterflies with blue patterns on their wings. They weren’t real butterflies, though—they were zingai. They’d been roosting in Hiiragi’s hair and had all taken flight at once. She’d had two the last time Tobi saw her, but now she had more than twice that number.

“Are you even listening?!” Hiiragi shouted. “Stop being nice to me! Stop paying attention to me! I’m telling you to just leave me alone…!”

Her voice cracked at the end, then failed entirely. The two girls standing nearby both backed away. Her rage seemed to have shocked and overwhelmed them. They couldn’t see the butterfly zingai swooping toward them. If they could, they probably would have run. There were more butterflies than Toby could count—and their numbers were still growing. They were splitting apart, one butterfly becoming two, then four as they swarmed around the girls.

After letting out quiet, feeble groans, the girls both fell to the floor. Butterfly zingai covered their faces and the exposed skin on their necks and hands. Tobi, Ryuuko, and Monika could see what was happening, but the other students weren’t getting the full picture. Anyone who couldn’t see zingai would think their classmates had just passed out at random. A few students shouted, while others stood up. One boy even ran over to the fallen girls.

Hiiragi turned to look at him. Her eyes seemed hollow—like a pair of deep, dark holes.

An instant later, the butterfly zingai left the girls and surged toward the boy instead. Their movement was slow, like a butterfly’s, but they swarmed him in an instant. One after another, they landed on his cheek, then his nose, then his chin.

“Mnghhh…” The boy groaned, tottered, then fell on his backside, slamming his head into a nearby desk in the process. He let out a sharp grunt, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to the floor.

Tobi heard Monika mutter something. He couldn’t make it out clearly, but she’d definitely said the word berserk.

“Oh, hell! Tobi…!” Baku shouted. He’d started thrashing—but Tobi hesitated. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Hiiragi!” Ryuuko called out as she stepped into the classroom. Tobi was about to tell her to stop—but before he had the chance, Hiiragi shot Ryuuko a piercing glare. Her expression was so horribly twisted, it almost looked like her face itself had begun to distort. Her dark, hole-like eyes weren’t so much looking at Ryuuko as trying to swallow her.

Then came the butterfly zingai. At first, it was just one of them, but that one split to form two, then four. They were still multiplying. A second later, they doubled to eight, then sixteen.

Monika grabbed Ryuuko’s arm and pulled hard. “We’re getting out of here!” she said.

“Too late for that!” Baku shouted.

He’s right, thought Tobi. It was too late to run. Tobi loosened his grip on Baku’s strap. He wouldn’t try to stop him. In fact, he’d do the opposite.

“Do it…!”

“All right…!”

Baku separated from Tobi’s back and leaped into the classroom in front of Ryuuko and Monika. He stood on his own two legs, his back to Tobi and the others. He had a pair of arms now, each of which ended in a massive four-fingered hand. For some reason, there was an eye on the back of each one. His head was oddly cylindrical, and he wore a long cloak-like garment made from the same material as his backpack form.

Ryuuko gasped.

“He transformed…,” Monika whispered.

“Ahhh…!”

Baku’s tubelike head seemed to swell as a massive, gaping mouth opened up in its center. He lashed forward, devouring the sixteen zingai butterflies surging toward him in a series of gnashing bites.

“Mmmh…!” Baku said, patting his midsection with his enormous hands. “That was barely even a snack!”

“H-he… He ate them,” said Monika. She’d been pulling Ryuuko away only moments before, but now it looked more like she was clinging to her. Ryuuko’s mouth was hanging open, like she wanted to say something. But whatever it was, she wasn’t able to choke it out.

“Hah, hah, hah…!”

Hiiragi had started gasping for breath. She was hyperventilating badly. She bent over and clasped her hands to her ears. She couldn’t see her own zingai—but could she feel something when one of them was eaten?

The butterflies were zingai. They were just doing what all zingai did: protecting their master. Tobi didn’t know what had made Hiiragi feel so threatened, but her zingai had chosen to eliminate her friends and classmates in response—and then, several of them were eaten. A much larger threat had just appeared on the scene.

“Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah…!”

The zingai that had gathered on the two fallen girls and the boy who’d hit his head surged explosively into the air. They began to spread, filling the classroom. The other students were deeply confused. A commotion was rapidly building—and then the butterflies fell upon them. Students began collapsing to the floor, one after another.

Tobi assumed the zingai butterflies fed on people instead of nectar. They were absorbing some sort of life force from the students, and as they fed, they multiplied. More and more butterflies filled the room, splitting and duplicating en masse. And that wasn’t all—wriggling caterpillar-like creatures had begun to crawl out from Hiiragi’s hair. No sooner had they emerged than they began to transform, finally molting and turning into yet more butterflies. How many could there be? Tobi had long ago lost count.

“This is hopeless. I’m gonna have to eat all of ’em! You’re good with that, right, Tobi?!” Baku asked, turning his tubelike head with its massive mouth—tailor-made for eating and eating alone.

But Tobi grabbed Baku by his collar and dragged him out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind them. “N-no!” he said. “You can’t! Not all of them!”

“Huh?! Why the hell not?!”

Just then, Ryuuko gasped. “Ah! The back door!”

It hit Tobi the moment he heard those words. He’d shut the door behind him—but only the classroom’s front door. The sliding door at the back was still wide-open.

“Otogiri?! And Shiratama…?!” a voice rang out.

Tobi looked down the hallway and saw a man in work clothes sprinting in his direction. It was Haizaki, and a weasel was clinging to his left leg. No, not a weasel. It might look like one, but Tobi knew it was actually Haizaki’s zingai. Its name was Olver, if Tobi remembered correctly.

“Stay back, old man!” Monika yelled as she took off running, leaving Ryuuko behind. She was heading toward the back door, probably to close it.

“Monika!” Ryuuko shouted.

A moment later, a cloud of butterflies poured through the classroom’s back door.

“Olver!” Haizaki shouted, still running.

Suddenly, the weasel-like zingai vanished. For a moment, Tobi couldn’t tell where it had gone, but then he noticed Haizaki’s right leg. It was covered in some strange leathery material. Tobi couldn’t identify it, but he knew it wasn’t the fabric of Haizaki’s work clothes. Maybe that was Olver, just in another form.

Haizaki shot forward like a miniature jet engine, blasting past Tobi and Ryuuko to scoop Monika up in his arms.

“Wha—?”

“Otogiri!” Haizaki shouted.

He kicked off the floor with his right leg, hurling himself into a backward jump with Monika still firmly in his grasp. He sailed through the air at an incredible height and speed. Even a world-record holding high-jumper doing the Fosbury flop couldn’t pull off a feat like that. The sheer power of his jump was absurd.

“Bring it on!” Baku roared. He charged straight in as Haizaki retreated, taking a huge bite out of the swarm attacking Monika. The zingai he couldn’t catch in his mouth, he grabbed with his massive hands.

Meanwhile, Tobi circled around the chaos and slammed the door shut. He could feel something from the room beyond. It wasn’t a pulse, but it felt somehow similar—like the door was vibrating. Could it be the zingai butterflies? Were they battering themselves against the door? Looking down the hallway, he saw the front door shuddering, too. Ryuuko was desperately holding it shut.

“B-but what about the people inside?!” Ryuuko shouted. “And Hiiragi! We can’t just leave them!”

“What’s going on?!” Haizaki asked Monika as he landed and took a knee.

“We’ve got a berserk relapse case in there!” Monika yelled back. “Multiple victims! And put me down!” She started squirming, and Haizaki quickly set her on the ground. Her eyes were wide.

“Got it,” said Haizaki. “Tell the higher-ups! They need to know about this—make them issue an evacuation notice! Say there’s been, I don’t know, a gas leak or something! I’ll handle things here!”

“Why would you even—?”

“Because, as of today, I’ve signed on to help investigate the teachers here! Ask the chief for the details!”

“…Wait, you mean Otter’s making a comeback?!”

“Only as an independent contractor. Don’t worry—I’ll try not to hold you back. Now get moving!”

Tobi barely understood a word of Monika and Haizaki’s exchange. His one big takeaway was that Monika was leaving while Haizaki was staying behind. What about him and Ryuuko? What were they supposed to do?

“It’ll be fine! Listen to me,” Haizaki said. He dashed over to the door Tobi was holding closed. “I’ll lure the relapser out of the room. I’ll lead them to… The gym’ll have students in it now, so… One of the multiuse rooms! If the zingai attack anyone, have yours eat them! As long as you leave some, we should be able to avoid the worst-case scenario. Once the relapser and their zingai are out of there, we can help the students inside. Understood?”

Tobi nodded.

“You got it!” Baku replied enthusiastically. He wanted to eat the zingai so badly he could hardly stand it. Surely nobody would blame him if he saved someone in the process?

“Wh-what about me…?!” Ryuuko asked, her voice nearly a scream.

Plenty of students were out in the hallways for afternoon break, and their little uproar was attracting quite a bit of attention. But they didn’t have time to worry about that.

“When I give the signal, let go of the door and get out of here! Just run!” shouted Haizaki. “Three!” He held up three fingers, then folded them one at a time “Two! One! Now!”

The instant Haizaki lowered his pointer finger, Tobi hurled open the classroom’s back door and Haizaki dove inside.

“Stay back, Tobi!” Baku roared.

Tobi took his advice. Ryuuko, meanwhile, was sprinting for the staircase. The front door burst open on its own, and butterflies spewed out from both sides. Each of them was only as big as the tip of Tobi’s thumb, but their numbers were overwhelming.

“Whoooa!” Baku yelped.

For a moment, he reeled back in fright—but only for a moment. An instant later, his tubelike head swelled, his mouth split open, and he dug into the cloud of butterflies. He snatched them up in his jaws directly and grabbed handfuls of them out of the air as he chewed, tossing those into his mouth as well. He couldn’t let himself eat all of them, but considering the sheer number, it was only natural some would escape.

Before long, Haizaki came flying out of the classroom’s front door with Hiiragi in his arms. He propelled himself forward with his Olver-enhanced right leg, kicking off a wall this time instead of the floor. That kick launched him an incredible distance down the hallway, after which he used the floor to take another leap toward the staircase. The whole cloud of black butterflies chased after him, the blue patterns on their wings flashing in and out of sight. They looked like twinkling stars on a pitch-black canvas, as beautiful as they were horrifying. The night sky itself seemed to stream down the hallway, seeking to engulf the fleeing janitor.

“Baku!” Tobi shouted. He’d just taken off after Haizaki when he heard a voice behind him.

“Otogiri…?!”

It sounded like Asamiya, but Tobi didn’t turn around. There was no time. The multiuse classrooms were on the first floor, down a flight of stairs. Haizaki was already headed there, and Tobi felt an urge to go as well…but to what end? What could he even do there? What did he want to do?

Then, just as Haizaki was about to descend the stairs, Tobi saw something strange. He only caught a glimpse, and he couldn’t make out anything clearly, but he’d definitely seen something. It happened when Haizaki used his right leg to kick off the wall, intending to propel himself down to the landing in a single jump. Something had leaped out and grabbed on to his left leg—the unenhanced one. It happened so quickly that Tobi barely even registered it, but he saw something grapple with Haizaki. Not a human, of course. It was too small—maybe half that size.

“Ah…”

Haizaki lost his balance mid-kick. Instead of flying down the staircase as planned, he fell, still holding Hiiragi as he tumbled out of sight. Tobi rushed toward the staircase. Was Haizaki all right? What about Hiiragi?

“M-Mr. Haizaki!” Ryuuko shouted from the staircase.

Rather than following the janitor, she’d gone up a few steps toward the third floor and was looking down on the landing below. And she wasn’t alone—a girl with glasses was nearby, sitting on the ascending staircase’s landing. It was Shizukudani.

Why is she here? Tobi thought briefly, only to abandon the question. This wasn’t the time. Haizaki and Hiiragi came first.

Haizaki was lying on the staircase’s lower landing, clutching Hiiragi firmly in his arms. He’d done his best to protect her as he fell.

Tobi took in a sharp breath, then ducked reflexively. A stream of butterfly zingai flew straight over his head, then began swarming around Haizaki, engulfing him.

“Ugh… Ahh…”

Haizaki was still conscious. Had he hurt himself, or were the butterfly zingai affecting him? He couldn’t seem to stand, and while his Olver-enhanced right leg was still moving, warding off as many of the butterfly zingai as it could, there were simply too many of them. Several had already attached to him and started sucking out his life force, just as they’d done to the students of Class 2-1.

“Tobi!”

Just before one of the butterflies landed on Tobi, Baku lunged forward and clamped his jaws around it. Students were gathering to watch the spectacle when a chime played over the school’s PA system.

“Umm, this is an emergency announcement. All students, please evacuate the building. Make your way, err, off school grounds at once!”

Monika? thought Tobi. It had sounded like her voice delivering the announcement.

“Huh?” A girl standing just outside the restroom by the staircase looked up at the ceiling, toward the PA system’s speaker. As she did, two butterfly zingai landed on her forehead, followed shortly by a third. She collapsed on the spot.

“Whoa, what the heck?!” shouted another girl. She ran to help her fallen classmate and fell prey to the zingai as well.

“There is a suspected gas leak in the building! This is not a drill! All students and faculty, please evacuate now!”

That got people moving. Students dashed toward the staircase where Haizaki was still lying, unable to get up. Tobi exchanged looks with Ryuuko, and the two of them took up positions in front of the stairs, blocking them off.

“I-I’m sorry, but you can’t go this way!” said Ryuuko.

“This area is dangerous! Use the other set of stairs!” shouted Tobi.

“Mraaaugh…!”

Baku roared. Butterfly zingai were flocking around Tobi and Ryuuko, but Baku snapped up every one that got too close in his jaws and consumed them whole. Tobi couldn’t help but wonder what on earth this would look like to someone who couldn’t see zingai.

“There’s too many of these little bastards!” Baku griped.

“Come on, get ’em! You can do it!”

Who was that? thought Tobi. He was instantly incensed. Why would anyone be cheering at a time like this? It felt like nothing made sense anymore, but he was still doing the best he possibly could.

“Keep it up! You’ve got this! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

What the hell do you think you’re laughing at? Tobi spun around and looked toward the voice—at the landing above. He knew exactly who’d be there.

Ryuuko turned around as well. “What…? Shizukudani?”

“Hey there!” she called down to them. “Nice work, Shiratama Dango and Tobitobi!”

Tobi had known she was sitting on the landing. He’d caught a glimpse of her just moments before. Why was she here? And why had she gleefully skipped past them just before everything went to hell? She must have done something to Hiiragi. But what? And most importantly, she hadn’t been alone. Her zingai had been there with her. Tobi could see it again now—the fleshy four-legged entity climbed up the staircase’s handrail and leaped onto Shizukudani’s shoulders. Where had it been in the meantime?

When Haizaki fell down the stairs, Tobi had seen something. It had all happened in a split second, but he’d caught a glimpse of something about half the size of a human grabbing the janitor’s leg. It wasn’t that Haizaki had tripped. Something had deliberately made him fall. Something that happened to be exactly the same size as Shizukudani’s zingai.

The creature crawled onto its master’s back, hiding behind her. Not that it was well hidden. Its four armlike legs stuck out very conspicuously, and its face was peeking out above her right shoulder. It looked almost like the face of a baby or an old person without any wrinkles. It wasn’t either of those things, of course, and if you spent any time looking, the resemblance quickly faded. It had four eyes, after all.

“Good work, Cipher,” Shizukudani said, clearly satisfied. She reached up to stroke her zingai’s head, her touch gentle and loving, like the zingai was the most precious thing in the world to her. “I can always count on you.”

“…She sees it,” Ryuuko muttered in dumbfounded astonishment.

“It was that thing,” said Tobi.

Shizukudani’s zingai, Cipher, had grabbed Haizaki and sent him tumbling down the stairs. Shizukudani could see it, and judging by how she was acting, that wasn’t a recent development. She’d been able to see it this whole time.

Why had she pretended she couldn’t see zingai? How would that benefit her?

“Wha—?” Ryuuko began before stopping to shake her head. She shook it so hard, Tobi could almost hear her brain rattling in her skull. “Wh-what are…? What are you doing up there, Shizukudani?”

“That’s my line,” said Shizukudani. “What are you two doing down there? It was such a fun show before the two of you came along! Think you could get the hell out of my way, losers?”

Her words and attitude were completely mismatched. The things she said were cruel, but her smile stayed as cheerful as ever. How could she be smiling? Did she think this was fun? “Get out of my way”? Her zingai had gotten in their way. And it was looking more and more unlikely it had acted on its own.

No. No, it didn’t.

Shizukudani stood up. She stepped down one stair, then a second, before pausing to glance over the railing to where Haizaki had fallen. Tobi couldn’t see him—the whole area was buried in butterfly zingai—but most likely, he was still lying there. What had happened to him and Olver? Were they all right? There was no way of knowing.

At some point while Tobi was distracted, the butterfly zingai had landed. None were left in the air. Were they all on Haizaki? They were clustered so densely, Tobi couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. There was no clear borderline. Haizaki had been clutching Hiiragi when he fell, meaning she was somewhere within the mound of zingai as well.

Suddenly, the mass of butterflies swelled. Someone had stood up, still covered with them from head to foot. Tobi could tell it was her—Itoha Hiiragi. Her hole-like eyes stared out from the writhing mass, and an eerie smile was plastered on her face.

“How’re you doooing, I-to-ha?” said Shizukudani. “Lookie, lookie! It’s me, li’l ol’ Ruka! See?”

“…Rukana,” said Hiiragi.

“Aren’t you just gorgeous? You’re so pretty, I’m getting goose bumps! You always loved blue admirals, didn’t you? Oh, but that’s right. You can’t see them, can you? What a shaaame!”

“…What are…you talking about…?”

“I’m saying you finally got what you deserved.” For an instant, all traces of emotion vanished from her tone and expression. It didn’t last, though. The muscles in her face began to spasm, and a horrifying expression surfaced—one that seemed like mirth, fury, and sadness all at once, and yet, at the same time, like none of them. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? I just want you to be happy, honest! Why don’t you cut it out with all the lies and let me see your true self for once? C’mon, Itoha! Please?”

Hiiragi reached up with zingai-coated hands to cover her ears. “Ahh…”

“‘Find your true self,’ Itoha! ‘Look for the real you,’Itoha!”

“Ahh! Aaaahhh!”

“ ‘You can do it. I know you can’! ‘It’s not impossible’! ‘Just let yourselfgo’!”

“Stop, Rukana! Just stop…!”

The butterfly zingai covering Hiiragi stirred restlessly, then took flight. All the butterflies that had split apart came back together, forming a single insectoid zingai. Its wingspan was easily over a meter wide—it very nearly spanned the stairwell. It was massive. The giant butterfly had a beautiful blue pattern on its otherwise black wings—but only on the interior. The exterior portion was the color of dried leaves.

The butterfly zingai took flight. Reflexively, Tobi grabbed Ryuuko and pulled her downward. Even Baku seemed intimidated by the zingai’s enormous new form. It fluttered straight over their heads, then turned sharply and headed up the staircase toward Shizukudani.

“Look at that! You’re doing it again! You’re trying to hurt me again…!” Shizukudani shouted. Tears were streaming from her eyes. She was crying so profusely, it was like a dam had burst inside of her. But even as she wept, she kept smiling. “That’s your true self, Itoha! That’s who you really are—a total piece of shit…!”

Shizukudani wasn’t the only one grinning. Cipher’s face took on a sort of expression as well. The four-legged zingai’s mouth split open. Was it smiling? Assuming its jaw functioned like a human’s, it had definitely unhinged it. It spread its mouth wide like a crocodile, or like a snake preparing to swallow something larger than its own body whole.

Just then, Cipher sprung out from behind Shizukudani’s back. It leaped at the zingai butterfly and grabbed on to it, biting down on its wing and dragging it to the ground. It was eating. Cipher was devouring the butterfly zingai.

“Ugh.” Hiiragi staggered.

“Oh, of course! I get it now! It’s so obvious!” Rukana cried out through sobs. “I finally know what I’ve always, aaalways wanted deep down! It’s you, Itoha! I’ve always wanted to eat you! To make you mine! I’m gonna devour you, Itoha! You’re gonna be part of me, forever and ever…!”

#3-3_tobi_otogiri/ I Couldn’t See You, However Much I Wanted To

Tobi remembered the apartment where he and his brother had lived together. It was a two-story building painted an off-white, with an external staircase leading to the second floor. Tobi and his brother had lived in a corner unit up the stairs. Just outside the windows was a blackened fence, and Tobi’s brother used to rest his elbows on it and smoke.

His brother would take off from time to time, leaving Tobi on his own. When he finally came back, Tobi would be so happy he could hardly contain himself. Every once in a while, they had a visitor—a man with a brimless hat who was even bigger than Tobi’s rather tall brother. His hands were bulky, he was scarily large, and he wore a pair of tall boots. He never came all the way into the apartment—just stayed in the entryway—and he always brought something with him, slung over his shoulder. It was like a bag, or maybe a backpack.

Tobi didn’t think he’d ever heard the man’s voice. He’d asked his brother who the man was once, but his brother had simply pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shhh.”

Tobi told his brother everything, but his brother never told him anything at all.

Once, his brother had said, “If you ever have a dream, Tobi—one that you want to make come true, no matter what, then don’t tell anyone about it. Keep it secret from everyone. That way, it becomes something like a prayer. You have to keep your dream close, far away from the prying eyes of others, and raise it up all on your own.”

“I can’t even tell you?” asked Tobi.

“That’s right. Not even me.”

“Does that mean you’re keeping something secret too, Big Brother?”

“What do you think?”

* * *

Rukana Shizukudani’s four-legged zingai had pinned Itoha Hiiragi’s giant butterfly to the staircase and was eating it bite by bite. Cipher ate ravenously—like it was trying to devour every scrap. Messages continued to come over the PA system, urging everyone in the building to evacuate as quickly as possible. Now, however, they were being delivered by a male faculty member instead of Monika. Haizaki lay prone on the landing below, and Hiiragi was right next to him, her knees and waist bent. She looked like she was just barely staying upright, like she could fall over at any second.

At some point, without Tobi noticing, Ryuuko had sunk to the floor. She was leaning against his leg, her eyes trained downward. It was like she didn’t want to see—or hear—any of the things happening in front of her. Tobi felt a strong impulse to do the same.

“What’re you doing, idiot…?!” shouted Baku from right beside them. But Tobi had no idea how to help.

“Otogiri…!”

Another voice rang out, and Tobi turned to find Asamiya running in his direction. He must have been coming from Class 2-3. What are you doing? You’re supposed to be evacuating. You can’t be here. Hurryand get out, Tobi thought. But he stayed silent, not saying any of it out loud.

“This is all your fault, Itoha!” Shizukudani bellowed through sobs. “Yours! Everything! All of it! It’s your fault! It’s all because you abandoned me! I thought we were best friends! But you know what?! Fine! I don’t even care anymore! I have someone better than you now, Itoha! I met somebody wonderful! Someone who’s like an angel—like a god! Yes, that’s right, a god! And he’s even more than that to me! I’d do anything to help him—anything at all to make his dreams come true! To make him praise me! To make him love me! I don’t care about you at all anymore, Itoha…!”

“Forgive me.”

It was Hiiragi—or rather, her voice. But Hiiragi hadn’t spoken. She was still on the lower landing, about to collapse, and her mouth was closed. The voice had come from somewhere far closer—Ryuuko. She wasn’t speaking, either, though. Her voice didn’t sound like Hiiragi’s at all.

It was Chinurasha. She’d poked her head out from Ryuuko’s pouch, and her mouth was open. It wasn’t massive and gaping like Baku’s or Cipher’s. Chinu’s mouth was much smaller. She seemed to have grown recently, but her mouth was still only a few centimeters wide, at most.

“Forgive me. Please, Rukana. Forgive me.”

“Huh…?” Ryuuko tore her gaze away from the floor, looked straight at Chinu, and let out a stifled gasp. Tobi was just as shocked.

Most mouths were hollow, one’s teeth and tongue aside. Chinu’s wasn’t. Tobi had no idea if it had always been that way, but there was certainly something there now. That something seemed to be pushing its way out from inside Chinu, practically spilling over.

Something was the only way Tobi could describe it. Something strange. It was small—a few centimeters wide, maybe—and it had a bumpy surface that seemed to squirm. It reminded Tobi of a human face. It was like an ever-so-tiny human trying to make its way out of Chinu’s mouth—and it was speaking.

“Forgive me. Rukana, please. Forgive me,” it said.

Hiiragi’s voice was coming from Chinu. An incredibly tiny Hiiragi was speaking from within her.

“Grhaaauuugh…!”

The next sound was a deep, guttural wail, and it came from the real Hiiragi rather than the tiny one. She was crying, just like Shizukudani, but what poured from her hole-like eyes weren’t ordinary tears. Dozens of caterpillar-like insects—hundreds, maybe—were streaming down her face. They turned into chrysalides as they rolled across her cheeks, then reemerged as butterflies and took flight.

“Still…?!” Shizukudani shouted, holding her glasses to her face.

Still what? Still spawning more zingai? They were indeed streaming forth from Hiiragi once more—but that was when the situation changed.

“You need…to calm…down…!”

Haizaki reached out to grab Hiiragi’s ankle. She looked down at him, and suddenly, the caterpillar tears ceased. She’d stopped crying.

“We’re on…your side…,” the janitor continued.

Hiiragi shook her head. Once again, her eyes overflowed with caterpillars. Each zingai tear was tiny, but sometimes two or more of them would merge together, forming a larger one. Some of them landed on her hair, while others fluttered into the air around her, and a few—or rather, a few dozen—fell upon Haizaki.

“Agggh…” He moaned.

But Tobi didn’t have time to worry about Haizaki. Several butterflies were flying in his direction as well.

“Otogiri?!”

Tobi felt a hand on his back. Asamiya’s. No, Tobi thought. Not here! He turned around and tried to warn the other boy—to tell him that he shouldn’t be here. Why had he come? Because Tobi hadn’t stopped him. He could have—he’d had plenty of chances—but he hadn’t.

Baku grunted as he tore into the butterfly zingai flying at Tobi, devouring one and grabbing several others in his right hand. He tried to catch a larger one in his left, but it slipped past him.

That was when the translucent zingai coiled around Asamiya’s neck detached. It shot forward, wrapping around the butterfly Baku had missed. Tobi saw it happen. Asamiya’s zingai was trying to protect its master. It entangled its threadlike, snakelike body around the butterfly zingai, binding its wings and causing both of them to drop to the floor.

But that was only one of many. Countless smaller butterflies followed, clustering around their fallen comrade. Asamiya’s zingai had been hard to see to begin with and quickly disappeared beneath the mound of butterflies.

“Ah…” Asamiya gasped. His eyes glazed over, and he began to blink rapidly.

He was about to fall. Tobi could tell, so he rushed over to catch him. Asamiya was incredibly heavy. It felt like he’d gone totally limp—like he’d lost all the strength needed to support himself. He was nothing but dead weight.

“Grrr!” Baku growled with frustration and raised a foot, preparing to trample the butterfly zingai on the floor. They’d hidden Asamiya’s translucent zingai, and for all he and Tobi knew, they were eating it at that very moment.

“Stop,” Tobi choked out.

But he knew Baku would have stopped even if he hadn’t gotten out the command. Crushing Asamiya’s zingai could kill him. Baku had to understand that. Of course, it might already be gone. They might be too late.

“This is wrong,” said Ryuuko, clutching Chinu’s pouch. “You shouldn’t be doing this!” she screamed. “Hiiragi, please, listen to me!”

Suddenly, Hiiragi jerked her head upward. “Shi…”

Genuine tears were pooling in her hole-like eyes now. The caterpillar creatures had stopped emerging. Then, the face-like something spilling from Chinu’s mouth—the tiny Hiiragi—spoke once more.

“Shi…ra… Shiratama? Shiratama? Shiratama?” it repeated, over and over. “Shiratama? Is that your voice, Shiratama? Please forgive me. Help me. Forgive me. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Of course I forgive you!” Ryuuko shouted. “No one blames you! I certainly don’t! I want to help you! What should I do, Hiiragi?! Tell me, please! We’re friends, aren’t we?!”

“I, ahh, I, I, ahhh, wh-what, what should, ahh, what should I, help me, I—”

The tiny Hiiragi wasn’t the only one speaking anymore. Hiiragi—the real one—had joined her. She and Ryuuko were talking at the same time, their voices overlapping. Tobi didn’t understand what was happening anymore. Was this Chinu’s doing? He’d thought her power was just speaking for those whose voices couldn’t be heard. Was there more to it?

The butterfly zingai still in the air came to a stop, then dropped to the ground like fallen leaves. Even their leaflike exterior grew dimmer as their existence began to fade away.

“Oh, you just had to butt in…!” Shizukudani growled. She stamped her foot three times in quick succession, then kicked the stairs for good measure. “What do you idiots think you’re doing?! Why are you getting in my way?! I can’t even look at you! Haul your stupid asses out of here! Leave! Drop dead and disappear, you dipshits!”

“It was you,” said Tobi.

He was holding Asamiya upright. The other boy was still alive and breathing, but he hung limp and motionless in Tobi’s arms. Who was responsible for what had happened to him? Was it the butterfly zingai and their master, Itoha Hiiragi? Or was it Tobi himself, since there was a chance he could have prevented this situation altogether? Maybe both of them bore some amount of responsibility. But there was someone who bore far, far more of it. More than anyone else.

“You.”

Tobi laid Asamiya down on the ground as gently as he could, never taking his eyes off Rukana Shizukudani or her zingai. The four-legged Cipher had long since finished consuming the giant butterfly. It was standing in front of Shizukudani, two steps down the stairs from her, and was considerably bigger than it had been only moments before. It was probably about as tall as Tobi now, and its size wasn’t all that had changed. Cipher had gone through a complete transformation. Its four, armlike legs had hardened, and its skin had taken on a blackened coloration, save for a white pattern that Tobi could just barely make out. Its head, which had looked like that of a four-eyed mannequin, now resembled the head of a four-eyed man-eating shark.

Cipher stood before its master, perhaps trying to intimidate Tobi. It was a zingai, so protecting Shizukudani was surely its highest priority.

“Baku.”

Stop us if you think you can. You want to protect your master? Then let’s see you try. Go ahead. Fight. Resist. But you’ll fail in the end.

The hunger was overpowering. Baku was starving, and Tobi shared his hunger. It felt like every cell in his body was crying out for sustenance. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He couldn’t resist. And he didn’t have to anymore. For once, it was obvious what he was supposed to do.

“Eat it.”

“You bet…!”

Baku stepped forward, and Shizukudani flinched, moving one step farther up the staircase. She’d retreated. Her face spasmed, and all the muscles in her body began to tighten. Her heart was pounding so violently, it felt like it was convulsing. Tobi didn’t understand how he knew that. It almost felt like he was holding the organ in his bare hand. Like if the whim struck him, he could crush it.

Shizukudani took in a sharp breath, then spun around and sprinted up the staircase, Cipher following in her wake. She’d run.

You think you can escape? That you can get away? You think I’d let you?

Baku was already chasing after her. Tobi took off as well, leaping up the stairs three at a time. “Ryuuko!” he shouted. “Take care of the others…!”

“All right!” she shouted back.

Ryuuko and Chinu had managed to bring Hiiragi under control. If it hadn’t been for them, Hiiragi would have kept creating butterfly zingai, and the damage would have only gotten worse. The situation was clearly Shizukudani’s fault—but what exactly had she done? Tobi had no idea. He just knew it was all her doing. Hers and her zingai’s.

That thing had to be eaten. It was a happy coincidence that Tobi was so hungry. Cipher was a repulsive zingai. Its movements and appearance were unnerving, but it didn’t scare Tobi. Not in the slightest. Baku could devour it in seconds flat. Tobi knew that—he was sure of it. Cipher clearly knew it as well. It understood that it couldn’t beat Baku. Baku was a lion, and it, a hare. There was no contest. If the lion gave chase, the poor, miserable hare had no choice but to flee.

Tobi and Baku made it to the third floor. Shizukudani was faster than Tobi had expected, and they hadn’t caught up with her yet. It wasn’t that she’d turned out to be surprisingly athletic—rather, she wasn’t running at all. Cipher was the one fleeing, and Shizukudani was merely clinging to its side. The creature’s four legs propelled the two of them upward at a rapid pace.

“Figures they’d be good at runnin’ away…!” Baku griped. Tobi was silent, focused on moving his legs rather than flapping his tongue.

They hadn’t caught up with Shizukudani, but they weren’t losing any ground, either. She glanced backward as she ran, clearly worried about Tobi and Baku. Scared of them. Afraid they’d consume her at any moment.

Cipher charged down the abandoned third-floor hallway, heading toward the wing of the school with the special-use classrooms. Tobi just ran, keeping pace with Baku. It wouldn’t be much longer. Any moment now, he’d finally get to eat. He’d only just eaten the butterfly zingai moments before, but they hadn’t been enough. He wanted more. He had to eat more, or he’d never be full. He felt like he was starving to death, and even if he wasn’t, that thing had to be eaten.

And then Tobi saw someone. They were standing farther down the hallway, in the direction Shizukudani was fleeing. Who? Why hadn’t they evacuated?

Shizukudani let out a yelp of joy. “The Cleaner…!”

“Wha—?!”

Baku suddenly dropped his pace precipitously. Tobi ground to a halt as well, almost falling on his face in the process. Who? Who was that man? Why was he here? Why now?

The man was large and wearing a brimless hat. He had on a coat like a flight jacket and a pair of tall boots. His hands were enormous, his eyes looked glassy and fake, and he was wearing an odd mask with a pattern on it that resembled a set of bared teeth.

Slowly and deliberately, the masked man turned and strode off. Where was he going? He headed for the stairs, but rather than down, toward the special-use classrooms, he went up. This part of the school had access to the roof, but that area was typically off-limits and its door locked.

Cipher followed the masked man, still carrying Shizukudani. Baku and Tobi went after them. There was nothing else they could do. When they reached the top of the staircase, they found the door no longer had its knob. It had been locked, but someone or something had turned the knob so hard, it had come loose and was now lying on the ground nearby.

Tobi and Baku stepped out onto the rooftop. It was bright outside. The concrete ground was wet, but it wasn’t raining. The sky was cloudy, with patches of blue here and there. Narrow beams of sunlight shone through, falling diagonally upon the world below.

“Th-that guy,” Baku moaned, clutching his head. He fell to his knees and began to curl up on himself. “Him… The freak with the mask, he’s…”

The masked man was near the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the low wall that surrounded it. He was so massive and the wall so short that he might as well have been sitting on the ground. It certainly didn’t look comfortable. Shizukudani was close to him, no longer clinging to Cipher. She and her zingai were standing with their backs to Tobi.

But that wasn’t everyone. There was someone else on the rooftop besides the masked man, Shizukudani, and Cipher. He was gazing up at the sky as if watching the light shining through the clouds. He wasn’t sitting on the parapet, like the masked man. He stood with one foot resting on top of it and his hands hidden away in his pockets. He was tall and slender and wearing a white button-up shirt.

“Master S.”

Shizukudani had called him “master.” It was a bizarre way to refer to someone, but she clearly wasn’t kidding around. Tobi could tell that much just from her tone. The way she spoke was utterly sincere and, at the same time, disturbingly saccharine.

The man turned around but, instead of Shizukudani, he looked at Tobi. He was staring straight at him.

Tobi knew that face. He knew it very, very well. Even now, he remembered it distinctly. The man was exactly like Tobi remembered him. It had been so long since they’d seen each other—so many years since they’d been separated—but he hadn’t changed in the slightest. He wore a gentle smile, the same one he’d always shown Tobi.

“…Big Brother?”

“Hey there,” said Seki Otogiri, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve really grown up, Tobi.”

“You—” Shizukudani gasped, shooting Tobi a glare. Then, a moment later, she looked back at Tobi’s brother. At Seki. “…You…know him? Master S…you and Otogiri… You mean…the two of you are…related?”

“Of course I know him,” Seki said, not even sparing a glance for Shizukudani as he spoke. “I’ve always known him. Tobi is special.”

“…‘Special’…”

Shizukudani gasped for breath. She seemed incredibly shaken. Needless to say, Tobi was no better. He couldn’t even grasp how agitated he really was.

“Then, Master S…what about me…?” asked Shizukudani.

“Sorry, Rukana,” Seki replied.

“Aren’t I special, too…?”

“You are. But Tobi’s more special.”

“He’s more…? But…”

“I told you, though, didn’t I, Rukana? You have potential. Tremendous potential.”

“Potential…”

“Rukana.”

“Y-yes, Master S?”

“Do you want to be truly special? Like no one else?”

“I do!” Shizukudani wrapped her arms around her body. It felt like she was trying to destroy herself—to destroy the part of her that wasn’t that special after all. “I want to be special! Truly special! If I’m not special, then everything is pointless…!”

“I see,” said Seki.

Seki pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it out toward Shizukudani. She stepped forward, as if drawn toward him magnetically. Her gait was unsteady, like she was a weightless paper doll, driven by momentum rather than her own bones, joints, and muscles. She clasped Seki’s hand in hers and rubbed it against her cheek.

“Then let it eat you,” he said.

“What…?” she asked.

“Let Cipher eat you.”

“You want me…to have Cipher—”

“You want to be special, don’t you? Special in the truest sense of the word? Well, you can. I know you have what it takes to become something truly special, Rukana. You have the potential. Now, go on.”

With that, Seki pushed Shizukudani away. Not hard, by any means, but he did push her. That was how Tobi saw it, anyway. When Shizukudani turned back around, she was smiling, or at least trying to smile. She spread her arms and spoke.

“Eat me, Cipher.”

Shizukudani’s zingai opened its mouth wide—so wide, it was almost like its whole body had become one massive orifice. It had to nearly split itself in half to be big enough to fit a human being inside.

Rukana nodded—then dove headfirst into Cipher’s putrid, fleshy maw. It wasn’t quite able to swallow her whole. When Cipher closed its mouth, Shizukudani’s lower half was still dangling outside. She was shouting and kicking her legs wildly. In the end, Cipher used its own armlike legs to hold her still and push her deeper into its mouth.

“You know, Tobi,” Seki said. He didn’t even glance at Shizukudani—his gaze was glued to Tobi the whole time. “I have a dream that I want to make come true.”

“…You mean…the dream you won’t tell anyone about?” asked Tobi. “The one you were keeping secret?”

“What do you think?” Seki asked in return.

Tobi didn’t know. He didn’t understand. He was at a total loss. He’d finally found him—the man he’d wanted to see for so long. The man he’d been searching for aimlessly for years on end. The only family he remembered ever having. Did he even have parents? He must, but he had no idea who or where they were. The only clues about them he’d ever had were his own name, Tobi Otogiri, and his brother. Surely Seki knew something.

Suddenly, Tobi realized that Baku had fallen to the ground in front of him. He looked like an ordinary backpack. A jolt of terror shot through Tobi. What if Baku was just a backpack? Tobi called out to him, but Baku didn’t answer. It can’t be. That’s not possible, Tobi told himself. But at the moment, he had no idea what was fact and what was fiction—no way of distinguishing lies from truth. He no longer understood anything.

“When a zingai consumes its master, it becomes something new. The embers of what it once was—a zin.”

Tobi heard Seki’s voice. His one and only brother was standing right in front of him. Was this man really his brother, though? Was he truly the real Seki?

By that point, Rukana Shizukudani had been swallowed by her zingai. She was somewhere within Cipher’s grotesquely bulging belly. A new pair of eyes had appeared on Cipher’s face, giving it six in total, and something seemed to be growing above its four armlike legs. Bulging protuberances stretched out from its torso, eventually forming a third pair of arms. They were slender, compared to the others, with lead-like blackish gray skin. Cipher had always appeared monstrous, but now it was a true monster, plain and simple. Tobi felt like he was having a nightmare. Could this all be a dream?

“Incredible, Rukana,” Seki said as he reached up to stroke Cipher’s nightmarishly distorted head. “You really did have what it takes.”

Cipher closed all six of its eyes, and its uncomfortably smooth, excessively large lips trembled. “Master S,” it said with Shizukudani’s voice.

“You’re still yourself, even after becoming a zin. Truly incredible.”

To be continued.

Afterword

Writing poetry or the lyrics to songs has never been my forte. I suppose I’m just not very good at it. The truth, though, is that I have quite a bit of experience with it. I used to play the guitar out on the street from time to time, and I would sing songs I wrote myself. In fact, I wrote, arranged, and recorded over a hundred songs all on my own. For a time, I genuinely believed I’d make a living with my music. Then I gave it all up and started writing novels instead.

Why did I give up? One reason was that I never liked my own singing voice. In retrospect, the fact that I got my start singing on the street without a microphone may have held me back. I didn’t know anything about proper microphone technique—my strategy was to prioritize being as loud as possible. Looking back on it now, that was probably a mistake.

The other big reason was that I never felt satisfied with my own songs. I was bad at composing, and my lyrics were basic and unpolished. Eventually, I decided I simply wasn’t cut out to be a musician. No amount of effort would change that, so I accepted the fact that I had no talent and washed my hands of it all.

I tried writing novels next and found myself doing much better than I had at writing songs. I never understood what to do to improve my music, but novels were a totally different beast. It struck me that I’d always been something of a reader, ever since I was a kid, and I had quite a wealth of experience to draw upon for reference.

Yes, I’d been listening to music my whole life as well, but thanks to my uncle’s influence, I’d always leaned toward western music. I used to play it out on the street, too. I’d sing the Beatles and Oasis songs all the time, plus an assortment of various go-to oldies. I even played songs by Nirvana, Aerosmith, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers—older bands but ones you might be familiar with—which were probably a little too intense for street performances. I definitely got my fair share of doubtful looks from passersby. I never had a clear idea of what the English lyrics I was singing actually meant, either. I just sang them by feel, more or less. Oh, and somehow, I could sing a song literally hundreds of times and still fail to fully memorize its lyrics.

As for poems, I never had any interest in them at all—not even the compiled works of famous masters. I don’t really understand haiku or waka poetry, either. Whatever it is that gives people the ability to appreciate poetry on an aesthetic level, I suspect I was born without it.

So to get back to the point: I’ve always had a fairly serious sense of inferiority when it comes to writing songs and poems. This time, however, developments in the story made it mandatory for me to do so, and I reluctantly gave it my best shot. I genuinely have no idea whether the lyrics I wrote turned out well or poorly. S (and I) accept full blame for the quality of our work or lack thereof. I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for just how incredible Eve is…

Finally, I’d like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Eve and all his staff; to Mariyasu; to this series’ illustrator, lack; to my editor, Nakamichi; and to everyone who decided to read this novel. I hope to see you again in the next volume.

Ao Juumonji