《Zero Visible》 PROLOGUE. ¡°So you¡¯re just giving up? Is that it?¡± Two teens, standing on a sidewalk outside a basketball court as the sun sets. One faced away, another with his head bowed, clenching his fists. ¡°I thought¡­I really thought this team was everything to you!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± The other tightens his grip on the strap of his bag. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Keita¡­you¡­you¡­!¡± The distant teen ¡ª Keita ¡ª walks away, leaving his friend alone with his fists still clenched. The streetlights flicker on in the gloom, illuminating the tears tracing down his face. He¡¯s been abandoned. His team has been abandoned. His passion is overwhelmed with the pain of failure. What is he supposed to do now? Just across the street, an unassuming background character to this little event stops in front of a bookstore. It¡¯s already closed, but there¡¯s several paperbacks on display. He stares at one books. ¡°¡­That one¡¯s come out, huh¡­¡± He clicks his tongue, resolves to come back and get it tomorrow, and turns to look across the road at the teenager still crying with frustration. He tilts his glasses up, and his eyes flick to just above the teen¡¯s head, where a braid of vivid maple-red ripples above him. A viscous sludge of something not quite there is clinging to it, occasionally dripping onto its host. It¡¯s rather disgusting to look at, for something that doesn¡¯t technically exist. He drops the frames back onto his nose, and the red braid vanishes behind the glass. Red. Passion.
¡°Damn! They found us!¡± A scraggly man dashes out of his apartment. He quickly calculates what path to take. If those guys are out in front, then they¡¯d come in from the left, but there¡¯s no way they wouldn¡¯t circle to the back to catch them there. There¡¯d probably be a slight delay, though, if only he could¡­ The woman behind him touches his back hesitantly. ¡°What do we do?¡± He laughs. ¡°We go through.¡± He takes the woman¡¯s hand and sends a flying kick into the door right across the hall. He hears his neighbour shriek, but he¡¯s too focused on sprinting to the window. His companion looks wildly around her and flinches at the sight of the poor woman in her sitting room, shrinking back from what must look like home invaders. They don¡¯t stop, though, just barrel right on through to the bedroom window. The man yanks it open, and leaps out feet-first. His toes settle on the edges of the building just outside, and he slides over so the woman can do the same. They look around wildly, and the wind whips at their clothes. The man pulls a grappling hook and spins it in the air, barely holding on now. ¡°Do you carry that around with you everywhere?¡± The woman asks dryly. ¡°Only when I¡¯m getting shot at,¡± he quips, throwing it behind him. The hook clatters against the window of the building opposite, just next to the basketball court. ¡°Hold on tight!¡± With one mighty leap, they¡¯re sent flying off the building, just in time to hear the alarmed shouting of their pursuers. The wind whips through their clothes and hair, wild and free, and an excited whoop is ripped from the man¡¯s lungs. In that moment, there¡¯s no bullets or chase scenes, only the sensation of true escape. The exhilaration fills him, and he practically leaps off the wall when they finally meet it. Just across the street, an unassuming background character dressed in a gakuran comes out of the bookstore, clutching a small plastic bag. ¡°They ran out of stock quickly¡­it¡¯s good I got it right after school,¡± he muses, patting his prize. Just then, two gunshots ring out across the street, and the boy in the background startles and looks up so quickly that his eyes move beyond the frames, catching the ocean of green that takes up the entire sky. He worries at his snaggletooth with his tongue, and pulls the glasses up all the way. There¡¯s a man with a purple braid waving languidly in the apartment window, aiming a gun down at the street. He turns to see the targets. A dark-haired woman in leather and a dirty, muscular man in a white T-shirt with artfully tousled hair. He glances up at their threads. Well, braids, everyone seems to have a braid in this situation. Must be a big storyline. A golden braid is held taut over the man¡¯s form. The woman has a similarly tense line, but in dark blue. The man with the golden braid grins roguishly, and the background character notes with mild interest that the braid of the one shooting at them has been switched out for black. He tucks the book back into his jacket and ignores the scene as the man with the golden braid fires, and his target tumbles to his death. Gold. Adventure. Dark blue. Drama.
The train station is quiet, at this time of night. Seems to fit the mood, with the body laying there. ¡°What do you think?¡± The detective asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. ¡°Going to have to ask forensics, but I¡¯d say blunt force trauma to the back of the head and¡­¡± His partner uses gloved hands to slightly turn the head, revealing the rope burns on the neck. She drops it so it falls back into its original position and glances up at him. ¡°¡­Asphyxiation?¡± The detective grits his teeth. Third one this week. He¡¯s going to catch the bastard if it¡¯s the last thing he does. He blows out a billowing cloud of grey smoke, mixing in with the white of his breath against the chilly air. He¡¯s tired, lately. ¡°When they getting here?¡± ¡°Fifteen minutes.¡± ¡°About enough time for a coffee.¡± He nods to a vending machine, sitting under a bar of florescent lights that are buzzing a note of anxiety and unreality in the otherwise darkened area. A background character is sitting right next to it on the bench, flipping idly through a book while sipping a can of melon soda. He watches as the two detectives pass him by, ignoring his presence entirely. He had come in on a train after the murder, thankfully. Being interrogated seems like it¡¯d be a pain in the ass. Missing his usual train home was bad enough already. He casually returns to his book, cataloguing potential storylines as he goes. He¡¯s getting better at spotting patterns, lately. ¡°It¡¯s going to end here,¡± the detective says under his breath. The background character lifts his glasses and peers above the man¡¯s head. A single, thin thread of orange is winding up from his head. His partner¡¯s thread is black. The background character hums. It¡¯s probably just beginning. Orange. Mystery. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Having a weird hair colour used to mean you were destined to be interesting. Then people realized that was superstitious and ridiculous, and within the span of fifteen years, having blue hair just stopped mattering. It¡¯s just gene mutations, or whatever. They proved it with science. Something about the algae in Japan, or something. One boy with blue hair runs his hands through it, looking out the window idly. Usually he doesn¡¯t have the opportunity, being in the front row, but the teacher isn¡¯t in right now. He¡¯s not sure why. He hasn¡¯t paid attention to class since first year, and now it¡¯s already the last year of middle school¡­ He had just casually gone through life until now. How many classmates does he even know by name? He¡¯s had someone next to him the whole semester, and he barely knows who the guy is. When the blue-haired boy thinks about it, he just knows him from the glasses and the way that some of his hair sticks up weird against his hair whorl. His neighbour gives him a dispassionate look. The boy with the blue hair abruptly looks away. ¡°What high school are you going to?¡± A pink-haired girl behind him asks, her every syllable dragging in a way that gets on his nerves. He focuses harder on the window. ¡°I dunno¡­wherever you go! We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Of course! Then, I was thinking about¡­¡± He tunes it out. It¡¯s been three years of middle school, and he hasn¡¯t made one friend. He hasn¡¯t joined one club. He hasn¡¯t done anything. Sighing, he slips out of his seat, and wanders out of the class. No one stops him. They¡¯re busy chatting about the festival, their futures, their idealistic view on what life is going to be like from now on¡­it pisses him off. His neighbour remains, chin perched on one hand, looking bored. This simple boy in the background didn¡¯t make one friend during middle school either, though that was actually very intentional. He¡¯s not the kind of person who likes being seen, after all. It¡¯s only natural. He lifts his glasses, and sneaks a look at the thin yellow-green thread vanishing past the door. ¡°Well, at least things are going to go well for you,¡± he mumbles. Yellow-green. Coming-of-age and character study.
In a certain middle school, a girl graduating from her final year approaches her crush of the past three years. Cherry blossoms are floating dramatically on the wind, and the breeze rustles their clothes. Strands of hair miraculously avoid flying into the girl¡¯s face, instead staying in perfectly manageable chunks she can pull behind her ear. The weather is gently overcast, making the sky a pure expanse of brilliant white. Neither of them are very cold, despite the wind and lack of sun. There is a thread above the girl¡¯s head. It¡¯s pink, and held taught, like something is yanking on it. It extends into some unseen point in the sky. The boy also has a pink line. It also extends into the sky. It is also held taught. Neither of them can see these strings. In the background, another graduating middle school student is idly reading the final pages of his book. His eyes slide to the scene, and when he lifts his glasses, he studies the pink lines more than the people themselves. The firm draw of the threads allows a thick, viscous sludge of something not quite there to ooze down the pink lines, made up of little more than the concept of words and the suggestion of actions, whispering stories as it descends. He turns a page in his book as the sludge settles heavy on the girl¡¯s shoulders, crawls into her very being, and comes out thin and whispy like smoke around her ankles as it delivers the Narrative and completes its purpose. Her posture becomes softer as the stories are flushed through her, and her eyes become wetter. ¡°Yuuichi, I¡­¡± She simpers. ¡°It¡¯s about you, you see¡­I actually¡­¡± Flip. ¡°I like you!¡± The background character drops his glasses and closes his book with a little snap. The book wasn¡¯t very good, but it was useful. The other two don¡¯t notice him, and he doesn¡¯t expect them to. He doesn¡¯t expect them to do much of anything except act out their little scene, and understanding this just makes him that much more eager to get away. He¡¯s conscious enough of the weather to shiver and hold his arms, lamenting the fact he hadn¡¯t brought a sweater for the wind chill, and his nose wrinkles as hair tickles his eyes. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back and away from his face. He wonders if the reason bits of his hair always bend wrong around the top is because he never cares for it. He keeps forgetting where he puts his hairbrush. ¡°Sorry¡­I can¡¯t return your feelings.¡± A wave of rosy pink-coloured plot spills out of the two of them and explodes outward, slamming into the background character, and he swears his gakuran rustles from the pressure of it. He turns around just in time to see the string rising from the girl¡¯s head writhe like a tortured snake, twisting left and right, independent from the wind or the trembling of her body. The explosion of plot is coming from her, which means¡­ The pink string convulses, and duplicates. Another string emerges, and then another, and suddenly there is a great, drifting cloud of them. He takes his book and holds it in front of his head like it can somehow protect him from the inevitable. Another pink-coloured surge rushes out from her strings, and he flinches when it soaks him through and his face heats up and he can feel his heartbeat stutter and his breath hitch at¡ª The background character gags, and peaks behind his book to squint hatefully at his classmate of the past three years. Waving in the air above her head is a thick pink braid, moving almost cheerfully in comparison to her delicate crying and painful smile. It dominates her tiny little unassuming green thread entirely, and will probably continue to do so until she stops glorifying romance so much. He drops the book from his face and sighs, sparing a pitying glance at the boy she was confessing to, who looks awkward and uncertain. His pink string has lost interest in the affair, back to being overtaken by his much-larger green thread. The boy in the background pushes his glasses up, and through the plain glass lenses, all the threads disappear. All he can see now is a blank white sky, and blank spaces above the heads of two classmates he hopes he will never have to see again. Reikawa Yuuya turns on his heel and marches out to meet a new day, and a new level of education. Pink. Love. Chapter 1 - The Story of Reikawa Yuuya
Quote:Content Prep: Attempted suicide, eating
They¡¯re not people. This city is full of humans who aren¡¯t people. The humans on this train. The humans milling about the station. The humans on the streets. The humans in the schools. The humans running the businesses, working every day of their lives. Not a single one of them are people. That¡¯s just how things are. A woman¡¯s voice plays over the intercom, announcing the train¡¯s arrival at the station. Yuuya can see it well enough through the smudged window, though; humans distracted, humans preparing to make way for those exiting, humans ready to board. The book he¡¯s reading goes up closer to his face. The door opens. No one pays any attention to Yuuya, even as they shove into him in their rush to get out of the train. He curls away from them, and has a hard time avoiding flailing elbows and rushing feet. At least six people kick him in the heels. He¡¯s going to get bruises. (He already has bruises.) Yuuya squeezes past two opposing streams and clings to the nearest pillar. Everyone else is free to go in and out in a small swarm, without bothering him. It isn¡¯t as if Nashioka is a city with a populace as grand as Tokyo; it¡¯s just a really small train, and Nashioka covers a really, really big area. Trains can be rather dangerous, though. Yuuya peeks over his book at the human current and lifts his cheap plastic glasses. Like a film being pulled away, his bare eyes observe the sudden appearance of dozens of green threads, all waving languidly through the air. Yuuya¡¯s gaze sharpens. An unremarkable collection of Daily Greens. One thread is an eye-popping Love Pink. Two more of the same colour come into the station, along with a Thoughtful Yellow-Green. All of them are small, barely thicker than a hair. He lets out a shaky sigh of relief. Today is safe. Yuuya darts out of the station and into the fresh, open air where he¡¯s infinitely less likely to be trampled on. He somehow manages to get shoved anyway, and he nearly falls onto the road. The traffic isn¡¯t rushed enough to worry about it, so he just stands and looks up. The buildings are towering here, higher than the part of town Yuuya is used to, where the largest building is the high school. The business sector has a cold feeling to it, completely deprived of character beyond the face value of ¡®cityscape¡¯, which is coincidentally just how Yuuya likes it. He doesn¡¯t usually have much reason to come around here, but it¡¯s a rare treat to spend time in a place so boring. He¡¯s a mere background character amongst crowd as he moves across the crosswalk, then the sidewalk. He merges in with the crowd, fluidly, despite needing absolute vigilance to avoid getting pushed and shoved by everyone around him. He sort of succeeds until someone steps on his heel and he¡¯s sent flying into a woman, followed by a wall. He breaks away from the crowd in front of the tallest, most expensive hotel in the city. It gleams with unnecessary golden opulence and the green tint of mirrors. Yuuya finds it appropriately tacky. He pauses by the door, staring into space and becoming one with the scenery. Someone pulls up in a limo. A handsome blond man emerges; his figure is amazing and his suit is better, and he¡¯s looking like he¡¯d rather be anywhere else. Yuuya flicks his glasses up. A thread appears, not reflected in the mirrors. Love Pink. A braid of it the size of a pencil. Gross. Yuuya isn¡¯t sure if he can call this bad luck or not. The blond man approaches the doorman, and so Yuuya pulls away from the sidewalk and matches his pace, closing in right behind him. The doorman doesn¡¯t even look at him. Once inside the doubly extravagant crimson-marble lobby, Yuuya splits off from the man he¡¯s shadowing to make a beeline for the elevator. He enters the first one that opens, presses the button for the floor just under the penthouse, and positions himself where he can be seen upon approaching the elevator, but only in one¡¯s peripheral vision, unless they actively make the effort to look at him. They won¡¯t. Yuuya is joined by three Daily Greens. The elevator ride is quiet. The woman amongst them is frowning at her scroll tablet. By the time the elevator hits his floor he¡¯s alone again, and no one had acknowledged his existence. He moves down the hall like he belongs there, idly examining the fancy wallpaper and carpets so smooth he wants to lie down on them. There¡¯s no one else around. He swings into the side staircase, which is still a bit glamorous, but only in the sense it¡¯s not just grey cement. The walls are painted red, and there¡¯s mats in front of the doors. Tasteful. It has nothing on the central stairwell, which is fully carpeted, but Yuuya can appreciate it. The side staircases have access to an extra floor; the roof. The door is metal, as is reasonable. It¡¯s also locked, which isn¡¯t really a problem. Yuuya takes out the key to the roof, slides it in, and smiles when the door swings open. That small triumph never gets old. This high up, the air is thin and the wind is harsh, but the weather is excellent enough for Yuuya to ignore it. He just fishes a baseball cap from his convenience store bag and pulls it over his head. The roof has a helicopter landing pad, as well as various mysterious tarp-covered objects that likely have to do with maintaining helicopters. He ignores the dubious equipment to flip over a bucket and use it as a stool to climb above the door. He takes his crappy convenience store food and crappy vending machine melon soda out of the plastic bag, sits down, and enjoys himself. There seems to be some sort of event going on in the hotel, based on how the threads around him are clustering together. They all avoid colliding with him, forming a somewhat threatening cocoon of Daily Green, Drama Blue, and Love Pink around his position. In two days, he¡¯s going to be a high schooler. In two days, he¡¯s going to see the world like this. Nashioka, hidden in a valley, and within that, broken up by the rising crests of the mountains around it. From a building this high, he can see more than just the buildings in the business sector; he can see the tallest buildings in the downtown area peeking over the lowest-set hills to the east, and the massive stretch of nothingness dotted with private housing to the west. Everything seems too stretched out, too widely spaced, too separated for a city that isn¡¯t even close to the size of an urban metropolis. This is a city where everything is broken up. It¡¯s a city where everything can happen at once. It¡¯s a the city Yuuya hates. And it¡¯s the city Yuuya will live for the rest of his life. He shoves soggy fried chicken into his mouth. This is a horrible broken city, sure, but there¡¯s no view more beautiful than this. The summit of Mt. Fuji couldn¡¯t compare. Yuuya is going to enjoy this view, if nothing else. Then, as if offended that Yuuya could regard his mortal enemy with any sort of fondness, the city regurgitates a Drama Blue from the door. The Narrative¡¯s not even trying at this point. With the blue suit, centre-parted black hair, and glasses, the newcomer is just a cutout from a school textbook. This guy is a placeholder character amongst placeholder characters. Yuuya is insulted. He¡¯s is sorely tempted to kick this guy¡¯s ass just for having a shitty character design. The textbook man falls to his knees dramatically, as people afflicted with Drama Blue threads tend to do. Yuuya stuffs a steamed vegetable in his mouth. It tastes like damp cardboard dipped in baby powder. ¡°Haa¡­haa¡­This is ridiculous¡­! This kind of thing¡­¡± What kind of thing, huh? You can do it. ¡°Pretending I could make it in that world, how could I possibly¡­¡± Ahh, there you go. Yuuya eats some potatoes. They taste like mushed-up newspapers. Impressive. Western-style ¡®affordable cuisine¡¯ is seriously something else. The man, still breathing heavily, sheds his coat and loosens his tie. If he¡¯d just turn, he¡¯d see Yuuya right there with his feet dangling over the doorway through his peripheral vision, but the Narrative doesn¡¯t really believe in peripheral vision, so there¡¯s no way something that convenient would happen. Yuuya empties the rest of the worst potatoes ever inflicted on a meal meant for human consumption into his mouth and frowns at the veggies. His tolerance might not be high enough for those. Below him, the man crawls over to the edge of the building. Yuuya¡¯s frown turns to his shrunken form. What¡¯s he up to now? Yuuya pulls his glasses off and sets them on top of his hat. The sky is suddenly tinged green with the thousands of threads floating up to some unseen point in the sky. The absurdly boring Character¡¯s Drama Blue thread has gone completely taught. Yuuya looks up for that vile invisible sludge to pour down from the Narrative¡¯s depths. Even though a few silent minutes no doubt full of monologuing go by, though, no such thing happens. That¡¯s¡­weird. (No it isn¡¯t.) Yuuya finishes the rest of his cold, soggy chicken and sets the plastic container down next to him. A sting of anxiety and foreboding numbs his spine. Makes him feel sick. Then he sees it. The thread pulsating. Not with light, but with an abyssal, cutting black. That¡¯s not weird at all. Yuuya pulls the expensive cake out of the bag next. He ignores how hard his hands are shaking and squeezes his eyes shut. His tongue runs so hard over his snaggletooth he thinks he might cut it open, but the familiar gesture does nothing to soothe him. They aren¡¯t people. This city is full of humans who aren¡¯t people. This city is full of nothing but characters. (The man is crying now.) They aren¡¯t people. He¡¯s just a Character. He¡¯s just a¡­
¡°Let¡¯s see what grandma got you, Yuu-chan!¡± Yuuya shoved his brother¡¯s face out of the way with a plump, sticky hand so he could focus properly on carefully unfolding the wrapping paper. Wrapping paper he could save. He undid the tape without tearing it, and delicately lifted out a thin cookbook. ¡°a cookbook¡­how wonderful! Why don¡¯t you take a look inside? Maybe we can try something tomorrow. Together.¡± Yuuya nodded, felt a curl of pleasure at ¡®together¡¯. He reverently opened the book to the first page. A note was scribbled inside. Food is meant for everybody. Always share if you can. Happiness comes to those who manipulate stomachs. People who waste food deserve death. The sitting room was silent. ¡°¡­Well, that¡¯s my mom for you,¡± Yuuya¡¯s mother sighed. ¡°You¡¯re just as bad, though.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°What was that, backsass from the son of my own blood? You wanna say it again?¡± ¡°Aahhh, owowow, I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry! I give! Give give give! Ahahaha!¡± ¡°Divine punishment!¡± Yuuya barely noticed the debacle behind him. He ran his hands over the words in a trance. They were full of personality. Identity. Humanity. It was a simple, hopelessly naive, yet painfully hopeful optimism. He¡¯s jealous of the version of him who knew how to feel it.
Yuuya¡¯s voice escapes on its own when the man takes his first shoe off. ¡°Oi.¡± Giving this Character the food he bought to treat himself would not make him happy. It probably won¡¯t make the man happy either. But the alternative is being soul-crushingly miserable, so he¡¯ll trust in his grandmother¡¯s advice. The man spins around and nearly trips over his discarded shoe. ¡°W-Wha-¡± A pair of small, black, and unremarkable eyes fix directly on Yuuya¡¯s even more small, black, and unremarkable eyes, and Yuuya feels a sudden and distinct flare of heat spike through his body. He¡¯s trembling all over again. ¡°¡­You want some?¡± He holds out his expensive cake. There¡¯s a moment where all Yuuya feels is terror and the excruciating heat of his adrenalin reacting to being seen and considered. His eyes keep flicking to the thread. The pulsating in the man¡¯s thread is slowing down. The black is going away. The Black can go away. The man looks numb and a little confused, but he puts his shoe back on and joins Yuuya above the door. The thread finally goes lax, before dissolving back into the Daily Green. Danger averted. Yuuya cuts the cake in half and passes it to his new companion. Said companion looks terribly lost. Yuuya shifts uncomfortably. ¡°I-I¡¯m going to be a¡­I¡¯m starting high school soon. I came up to celebrate. This hotel has the best view.¡± The man regards him blankly. Yuuya does not enjoy being regarded. ¡°¡­I was supposed to be here for an event. I was an assistant to a very important person, and he fired me on the spot. Loudly.¡± Yuuya gives him a sympathetic seethe. He¡¯s not sure he¡¯s capable of empathy, but it¡¯s the thought that counts. The man looks at Yuuya¡¯s bag, and the crappy microwave dinner. ¡°How did you get in with that?¡± ¡°People don¡¯t tend to notice me much.¡± ¡°Are you even staying at this hotel?¡± Yuuya opens his mouth to reply, but the man¡¯s eyes on his face makes the words stick in his throat. He just shakes his head instead. His palms are sweaty. ¡°¡­What¡¯s with the dinner? That looks terrible.¡± Yuuya¡¯s lips twitch. He picks up the thin little plastic fork, spears what looks like something meant to resemble cauliflower, and holds it up in front of the man¡¯s mouth. The man looks mildly threatened by the presented vegetable, but he still gently takes it between his teeth. His expression instantly sours. Yuuya bites down on his lip to keep from laughing. ¡°Why would you¡­!¡± ¡°Hhh- The, well¡­It¡¯s like, sort of, suffering makes it all the sweeter?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s not like I dislike eating a delicious dessert after a delicious meal. I just think¡­after suffering the worst sort of garbage, on top of the pleasure of treating myself, the ¡®ahh, thank goodness¡¯ of being able to finally eat something good¡­I like it.¡± Yuuya isn¡¯t sure the man can even hear his muttering, at first, but then he gets a noise of agreement. ¡°¡­Something good after the worse possible thing, huh?¡± Oohh. Is he taking the weird eating habits of some troublemaking teenager as an inspirational message? Impressive, impressive. ¡°¡­Then. Since you already experienced the worst possible thing. Eating cake on a roof like this feels nice. Right?¡± The man looks out at the absurd yet beautiful view of the vividly divided town. ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± And out of his green thread, a single tiny Passion Red emerges, too thin and tenuous to absorb a storyline just yet. Wow. He works fast. Yuuya grimaces into his cake. He¡¯s seriously losing his appetite. ¡°¡­Haha. It¡¯s good.¡± No, they already had a moment here. Don¡¯t stretch it out, man, it¡¯s tacky. ¡°Oh!¡± Yuuya startles at the sudden exclamation and nearly drops his cake. He curls back into himself and glares accusingly at his companion. The man can at least read the situation enough to look embarrassed. At least. ¡°S-Sorry. I just forgot to introduce myself. I¡¯m¡­oh, and please don¡¯t laugh.¡± ¡°I find very few things funny,¡± Yuuya says. ¡°Ha¡­Okay. I¡¯m¡­My name is Yamada Tarou.¡± Silence. Yuuya is totally going to kick this guy¡¯s ass. ¡°What kind of parent¡­¡± ¡°It was just circumstance. And, well, I sort of inadvertently matched the image. Placeholder names are suspicious enough to have¡­I think, when I was young, I thought I might look mysterious if I fit the ¡®placeholder human¡¯ image perfectly.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest chuunibyou affliction I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± ¡°Ahh, but it worked! It really worked, you know! Well. I¡¯m still only human, in the end.¡± He¡¯s looking soulfully up at the sky. Yuuya is gonna do it. He¡¯s going to beat the shit out of this guy. ¡­.He doesn¡¯t, though. He just stuffs a biteful of cake in his mouth and mumbles around the fork. ¡°Get an image change, already.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to.¡± The man finishes his soulful sky-gazing to peer at Yuuya. The adrenalin-heat returns with a vengeance, and the mortification at how red his face must be only makes it worse. ¡°You¡¯re being awfully convenient, here. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re an angel or some helpful spirit come to help me change my path in life?¡± Yuuya really does laugh then, though based on Yamada Tarou¡¯s expression, it sounds a lot more like the beginning stages of hysteria.
¡°Thanks for walking me through my problems. I¡¯m sorry for doing something troublesome.¡± In front of the hotel, Yamada-san bows deeply to Yuuya. ¡°O-Oi¡­Don¡¯t go around bowing so deeply to a teenager in such an obvious place. I-It¡¯ll draw attention. Have some pride as an adult.¡± ¡°No¡­I think it¡¯s no exaggeration to say you saved my life. So, thank you.¡± ¡°Stop it¡­!¡± ¡°I also think it isn¡¯t too terrible a thing to be looked at now and then.¡± Yamada-san tilts his head up to smile at Yuuya. ¡°You know, even though you don¡¯t really have a distinct face, I think that cute side could be popular.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a cute side. Go die. Pervert. Criminal pervert. Die already.¡± ¡°A-Ah¡­so popularity is a no-go for you?¡± ¡°¡­I hate being looked at. That gaze of yours is vile. Quit it already. Better yet.¡± Yuuya outstretches an open palm. ¡°Compensation for mental duress. Cough it up.¡± ¡°Yes, yes. I got it. I¡¯ll be sure to make it up to you.¡± He looks like he¡¯s placating a demanding child. Gonna kick his ass, kick his ass, kick his ass. (They¡¯re not people.) ¡°Well. I¡¯m leaving.¡± ¡°Ah, wait, your name¡­?¡± ¡°Yuuya.¡± ¡°Just Yuuya¡­?¡± ¡°If I gave you my last name you¡¯d definitely call me ¡®lastname-san¡¯ and treat me like a higher authority. It¡¯s gross. If you do that, I¡¯ll seriously kill you. So you only get my first name. So? Say it. ¡®Yuuya-kun¡¯. Like a fine adult. Treat me like a plucky youngster already.¡± ¡°are you trying to pick a fight? You¡¯re really quite sensitive.¡± ¡°Hurry up and do it, old man!¡± Yuuya snaps. He knows. He knows he¡¯s been blushing like crazy this whole time, and he¡¯s about as threatening as a newborn kitten right now. He knows it, already. But as a man, he had his pride. ¡°I got it. See you, Yuuya-sama!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make stupid jokes like that in public! Shitty placeholder old man!¡± It¡¯s the ¡®a tender-hearted kid acting so prickly you can¡¯t help but tease them¡¯ compulsion. Yuuya knows it. Yuuya knows it, and he wants to crawl in a hole and rot. Being treated like this as a 16-year-old boy is¡­ It¡¯s just¡­ Yuuya sucks in a breath. ¡°Make sure not to do anything reckless from now on!¡± Yamada-san waves in acknowledgement. It¡¯s annoying. There¡¯s no way Yuuya can honestly say something like ¡®just now, it wasn¡¯t your fault, it was attempted murder¡¯. Or ¡®no matter how hard you work to be happier, that thing might think you need to die for some cheap drama anyway¡¯. It¡¯s weird when cheerfully changing a person¡¯s worldview to this degree isn¡¯t even close to a best-case scenario. ¡­But at least today didn¡¯t end in anyone being miserable. (They aren¡¯t people.) Yuuya looks up at the green-tinged sky. He doesn¡¯t see what¡¯s so great about it. Chapter 2 - Elimination Process Nashioka High School. The city¡¯s elevator school. Uncomfortably excited about clubs. A school uniform that gives Yuuya anxiety. The school is massive, all show and all budget. Even though there¡¯s a private school for rich kids, Nashi High is the one that¡¯s the most in-your-face in every conceivable way, from size to breadth of after-school activities. The uniform is a tan jacket on black, with purple detailing, and on top of sizes, it has multiple fit types so the students always look good wearing it. It¡¯s so flashy, people from out-of-town mistake Nashi High kids for private school kids all the time. It¡¯s excessive to the point of being embarrassing. The clubs are the worst, though. Especially the sports clubs. So much drama. Screaming. Determination. Lately, every member of the team gets their chance to be unnecessarily hyped up. It¡¯s stressful just watching them. The prerequisites for clubs seem to be pitiful, too, on account of everyone being so damn excited about everything. Some people are ballsy enough to fly things like ¡®Human Relationships club¡¯ or ¡®Insect Club¡¯, based on the fliers. The school seems apathetic to it, and why shouldn¡¯t it be? As long as they¡¯re not asking for money or resources, the kids can happily can do whatever. This is the school Yuuya will be attending for the next three years. It sucks and Yuuya hates it. He keeps vigilant as usual, though, primarily by arriving at four in the morning. It¡¯s a rather irregular ¡®good habit¡¯ he¡¯s cultivated, thanks to how hard it is to move around when there¡¯s people in the way. Rather than getting mowed over and attracting attention, It¡¯s easier to catalogue the school at a time where there¡¯s guaranteed to be no one around. Yuuya pulls out the small cylinder of his phone and speaks into it while peeking through the windows with his flashlight. ¡°Susumu-kun ¨C open Camera.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Ding. ¡°I have opened, Camera.¡± ¡°In Camera, turn on the flash.¡± ¡°Understood. I¡¯ve turned on the flash in, Camera.¡± Yuuya hums in acknowledgement, even though it¡¯s only the phone¡¯s voice assistant. Susumu-kun is only programmed to respond to his own name (or any nickname the user provides), so the phone remains silent. Yuuya sticks the phone in his pocket, holds the flashlight in his mouth, and retrieves his lockpicking equipment. He has the door open in seconds. He doesn¡¯t bother to check for alarms; it would be too inconvenient to various kinds of school storylines to have armed doors. The process is quick and rudimentary, just a quick shot through the doorway and then moving on. Unfortunately, the school is huge, so by the time he reaches the top floor, he can hear some nondescript sports team screaming outside, prepared to train hard and lure in unsuspecting first-years on their way out of the entrance ceremony. Yuuya tilts his glasses up and pries open a window, so he can see the sky with his bare eyes. As he thought, a bunch of Passion Reds. Sports types are so predictable. There¡¯s no Yellow-Greens, probably because that¡¯s first-year territory, and the first years aren¡¯t here yet, on account of it being four in the morning. ¡°HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!¡± Yuuya bites off a shriek and ducks out of the window. There¡¯s a teenage Sports boy down there; a trustworthy, reliable Senpai type, based on how ordinary he looks in contrast to the thick braid his Passion Red thread has become. He was seen¡­is it because he was hanging too far out, or was the guy looking for anybody in the windows? Why? Yuuya finishes his last three shots and bolts up the staircase until he skids to a stop in front of the roof, which is obviously going to be locked. Yuuya pulls out the key. He has a lot of keys to a lot of roofs. If he¡¯s learned anything growing up in this story-world hellscape, it¡¯s that you always, always need access to a roof, and it¡¯s always, always a good idea to deprive others of the privilege. Stealing roof keys is second nature to him now. He opens the door to a stiff breeze and the crisp early morning air. The roof clearly isn¡¯t designed for leisure, with a mesh fence around the perimeter, and literally nothing else of note. There isn¡¯t even trash from students sneaking up to eat lunch. It¡¯s weirdly empty for a high school¡¯s roof, considering these are the most dangerous roofs of all. Well, first order of business when checking out a new school¡¯s roof. He pulls the head of his flashlight, converting it to area lamp mode, sets it down, and starts shoving at the fence. It doesn¡¯t do much for most of the perimeter, until he gets to the eastern side of the school, which overlooks the forest and a decrepit-looking old building that might be some sort of old school-house. It looks like it couldn¡¯t house anything more than rats. Naturally, here is where the fence wobbles precariously. Yuuya hums, shaking it a little. Well, as is the case with most ¡®accidentally falling off the roof¡¯ plots, it probably requires some sort of impact. He kicks it a few times. Bigger wobbles, but not enough to free it. Giving up on the cautious approach, Yuuya takes off his jacket, ties it to a less wobbly section, keeps it firm in hand, and flings himself at the fence. As if reacting eagerly to the ideal death flag (which is, in fact, exactly what this fence is doing), the whole thing collapses at the slightest press of his shoulder, sending him flying along with the falling mesh. He¡¯s secured by the jacket, and ends up hanging from it with his feet on the ground by only his tip-toes. Yuuya tilts backwards until he¡¯s finally secure and flat-footed. He lets out a mild sigh and unties the coat. Far below him, three floors down, is the twisted remains of the fence. ¡°Seriously¡­it¡¯s like baby-proofing a house.¡± Next is¡­ Yuuya pulls out his phone and unfurls it. When it¡¯s fully extended, the screen goes rigid, and the RomanSoft logo appears. RomanSoft¡¯s scrollphones are a very successful business venture in tech that is slightly more convenient to use. Rather than the more common and ubiquitous glass touchscreen phones, Scrollphones are designed like an ancient scroll, with a touchscreen that¡¯s floppy and cloth-like until it¡¯s fully extended, at which point it hardens for ease of use. The screens have terrible picture quality thanks to that bit of tech, and since the only handle is at the top, they¡¯re not as easy to type on or take pictures with. RomanSoft¡¯s best selling point is actually how easy scrolltablets are to store, and how hard it is to break them. The scrollphones only sell because of the SHELLCHARAs. The SHELLCHARA voice assistants are the most ambitious part of the whole line, especially considering they¡¯re just a male and female anime avatar set. Susumu-kun and Tsuruya-chan are simple yukata-clad characters with cool, detached personalities, and the amount of marketing they have is insane. Yuuya is almost entirely certain there¡¯s an upcoming plot about world domination through SHELLCHARAs, or a SHELLCHARA coming to life, or something stupid like that. He just likes it because it¡¯s convenient. Yuuya¡¯s own Susumu-kun appears as the lockscreen. He slides it open, revealing the camera, and exits out to select the MyHouseline app instead. He opens the preexisting map of the school his brother sent him, and starts assigning pictures to each doorway marked on the map, helpfully labelled ¡®Yuuchanschoolmapiloveyou.mhlm¡¯. Eventually, he completes the picture assignments, and starts assigning markers. To the roof itself ¨C steal keys. To the back corner of the school, out of sight ¨C encourage some sort of club to lurk here. To the sports supplies room ¨C steal keys, patrol often. Disinfect just in case. His brother had labelled extra classrooms, and thanks to the magic of an absurdly huge school with a normal student body population, there are a looooot of those. Yuuya¡¯s not sure he can do much about that, besides labelling which club ended up with which room and avoiding them at all costs. He scatters a few more markers ¨C his classroom, the teacher¡¯s lounge, the nurse¡¯s office ¨C and retracts the phone. The rest of the school¡¯s babyproofing will have to come along with the characters he sees. Who knows what dumbass plots this school has prepared. Yuuya pulls his glasses up to do a basic sweep, mostly to check who¡¯s heading in now that it¡¯s nearly five. He nearly drops the phone in his hand when his eyes catch the great scar on the skyline. The single, glowing white streak cutting through the steadily brightening nightscape is far away, but it is not at all hard to see. Yuuya shoves his phone into his pocket and practically leaps at the fence overlooking the south end of the school. He clambers up it like a monkey and balances on the bar at the top so he can fully stand above it. The streak of white seems to be far, far off, sitting on a hill that splits this area from the residential district. Even so, where most threads would be practically invisible at that distance, Yuuya can see it perfectly, with nearly the same clarity as the Passion Reds next to him. Most threads barely get larger than the circumference of a soda can¡­for it to be this visible, it would need to be at least the size of an oil drum. More worrisome, though, is that there¡¯s no such thing as a white thread. ¡°Just what are you planning¡­¡± Yuuya breathes. No matter how much he squints, the picture doesn¡¯t change. He would have noticed a thread this obvious, no matter what, so either the person marked with it either just moved into town, or the thread is a very recent development. Both a size and colour that hadn¡¯t existed until now. The sight is making his stomach churn. The Narrative seems to be making its move today too. ¡°What the heck are you doing up there?! That¡¯s dangerous!¡± Yuuya screams, and immediately loses his balance. He pinwheels backwards, and it¡¯s only a colourful history of falling off things that lets him shove his hands forward and grasp the mesh before he falls all the way and cracks his head open on the cement roof. As it is, he feels like his fingers are being yanked out of their sockets, and he yelps out in pain. After that doubly embarrassing show, Yuuya gives up all pretense of balance and just drops like a log onto the ground. He bangs his side up, but he¡¯s on solid ground, at least. Feet come up to his face. Sporty feet. Yuuya glares at them. ¡°How did you even get up here? Are you a first year?¡± Yuuya flops over to lay on his back so he can look up at his verbal assailant. It¡¯s the Reliable Senpai. He seems to be wearing a basketball jersey. Yuuya honestly couldn¡¯t say if he¡¯s part of the screaming group from earlier or if he¡¯s here to prep the gymnasium; all Sporty Types are the same to him. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°You listening to me?¡± The important thing here is that he is staring straight at Yuuya. Yuuya grumbles and covers his flushed face with his hands. That¡¯s the thing about roofs in Nashioka. You can¡¯t be on one without some sort of event triggering. Who knows when you¡¯re going to trigger a suicide event, or a bullying event, or an obnoxious main character togetherness event, or a completely inconvenient confrontation event¡­ ¡°What happened to the fence?!¡± Ugh, shut up shut up shut uuuup. ¡°What are you doing up here? Answer me, already!¡± Yuuya is grasped by the front of his school jacket and pulled upright. He grudgingly removes his hands from his face to look at Reliable Senpai. He has short black hair and attractively narrow, sharp black eyes, as well as a decently muscular build. If Yuuya had to pick a defining character trait, it¡¯d definitely be the eyes. The eeeeyes. Yuuya recoils a bit farther into himself, and puts the hands back on his face. It¡¯s unlikely Reliable Senpai will see him blush in the piss-poor lighting of his flashlight, but the self-loathing is doing a good job overwriting that bit of logic. Even with his face covered, hiding away like this, Yuuya can feel the attention on him, eyes drinking in his every detail where most people would find their gaze sliding over him. He can feel the heat of Reliable Senpai¡¯s hand fisted in his shirt, slowly being drowned out by the blood pumping fire through his veins. His mind is going crazy, and he knows he won¡¯t be able to help himself anymore. His control snaps. Yuuya bites down on Reliable Senpai¡¯s wrist, hard. Reliable Senpai shouts out in pain and drops him like a rock. Yuuya stumbles away from him, and takes off for the door. Just before he heads down the stairs, he turns to look balefully at Reliable Senpai, who is nursing his arm and looking bewildered. ¡°D-Don¡¯t stick your nose into other people¡¯s business.¡± And with that, he flees.
Yuuya is not having a good week. He¡¯s sure the Menacing School Principal is saying something important at the front of the auditorium, what with the booming and incredibly foreboding tone of voice, but there¡¯s a few more key things to worry about here. For example, Reliable Senpai is lined up with a few students around the front, and he¡¯s sending him a death glare that could melt plastic. Yuuya scrapes his tongue against his snaggletooth nervously, but otherwise ignores him. The rest is just the usual fears, amplified by the amount of people he¡¯s forced to be in the same room with. The convenience of the school entrance ceremony day lies in the ability to see every student¡¯s thread with a face attached. Here, Yuuya can catalogue as many people as he needs to. But today, all he sees is hell. Most students are a Thoughtful Yellow-Green, and of the regular Daily Greens that litter the crowd, he has no doubt the first day of school will ignite a small ocean of Love Pinks. There¡¯s already a decent number of them spawning already, including that old classmate of his that had her heart broken by that other classmate. More troubling is the frequency of Violence Purples and Adventure Golds in here. This is a breeding ground for Battle storylines. Why? Weren¡¯t love comedies and otherworld adventures getting reasonably popular? Does the Narrative just not care at all about trends in media? Is it trying to stress him out? Is it trying to make him suffer? There isn¡¯t really any such thing as the supernatural, so chances are, a bunch of these kids are going to end up in the city¡¯s underground Battle Tournament. Burning the damn place to the ground and spitting on the remains is probably not a reasonable reaction to this problem. He¡¯ll figure it out some other time. To top it all off, the Menacing School Principal has a pair of thick, winding Violence Purple and Drama Blue threads going on there. Yuuya wants no part of that. The rest is a sea of Daily Greens. Some of them are thicker than others, but nothing Yuuya can¡¯t handle. How is he supposed to handle all those Battle characters, though? They¡¯re practically designed to drag unsuspecting nobodies into their messes. Leave them alone and suddenly Yuuya will be held hostage at gunpoint with the rest of his class to lure out some plucky Protagonist. And he¡¯s already attracted the attention of the Reliable Senpai. He¡¯ll have to¡­actively apologize and explain himself. Awful. The moment the ceremony is over, Yuuya does his best to muscle past the rest of his year. Seeing as he has no muscle whatsoever and is in fact slightly underweight, he¡¯s crushed instantly. He grunts and pushes, but they¡¯ve become an impenetrable wall, and that damn Reliable Senpai is coming straight for him. ¡°E-Excuse me¡­¡± Naturally, he¡¯s ignored. Yuuya slackens in the throng of people. So in the end, it still comes down to this. He takes out a switchblade. Well, it has the shape and function of a switchblade, but the blade itself is a glorified metal tongue depresser that couldn¡¯t stab through a loaf of bread, let alone a person. On the other hand, it¡¯s good for poking. Yuuya drives the non-knife into the side of the nearest student in his way, and with a screech of pain and a leap, Yuuya¡¯s path is finally clear. He pushes forward, and when new people move into his way, a flash of metal gets them out it. When he finally escapes, he makes a mad dash out of the school and dives to the side of the building. He stumbles and collapses into the wall, lungs raw and stripped from the effort of running for twenty seconds straight. It would be so easy to just become a hikiNEET. Never leave his house. Live off his family¡¯s careers. Consume a lot of caffeine. He feels sick and dizzy with stress of dealing with this. Or fatigue from all the running. Hard to tell. Of course, the defining trait of a Passion Red is their never-give-up attitude, so Yuuya doesn¡¯t get very long to sulk. Reliable Senpai comes running up to meet him. ¡°Hey, you. What the hell are you up to?¡± Yuuya looks over his shoulder to give Reliable Senpai a filthy look. ¡°What does it matter to you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m part of the School Delegate Committee. It¡¯s my job to make sure each student represents this school positively.¡± ¡°School Dele¡­? Wouldn¡¯t that be the Disciplinary Committee¡¯s job?¡± He clears his throat. ¡°One of the members has. Uh. Found them lacking. And Systematically destroyed them.¡± What the hell. ¡°If you have time to antagonize innocent first years who only want to look around rooftops, manage your own members.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you try and take care of that guy! I have basketball practice, and the other members have their own clubs to consider!¡± He pauses. ¡°And don¡¯t try to get out of this! I saw the fence on the roof!¡± Yuuya slowly gets to his feet, careful to keep his back to Reliable Senpai and his hands over his face. His ears are burning, but hopefully Reliable Senpai can be reliable enough to not bring it up, or make fun of him for it like Yamada-san did. ¡°¡­The fence was wobbly.¡± ¡°¡­Huh?¡± ¡°The fence. It was wobbly and unstable. If I just went to a tea-teacher and said ¡®it¡¯s wobbly¡¯, they¡¯d definitely put it off, so I figured, if it were ana¡­ann¡­an obvious hazard¡­¡± ¡°¡­And you were at the school because you magically knew about the fence?¡± Yuuya shakes his head. With trembling hands, he pulls open his phone and opens his MyHouseline app. The school blueprint comes up, and he shows it to the Reliable Senpai while avoiding eye contact. There¡¯s no hiding the blushing now. He runs his tongue roughly over his snaggletooth. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°A p-picture map of the school,¡± Yuuya mutters. ¡°The app is for realty, but I-I use it as a visual reference. I have a¡­a navigation problem.¡± ¡°And you couldn¡¯t do it in the day because¡­?¡± ¡°I have a bullying problem too,¡± Yuuya lies. Luckily, Reliable Senpai is far too reliable for his own good, and can¡¯t resist being depended on. His expression softens. ¡°You know, if anyone bothers you, the School Delegate Committee is always willing to help students in need.¡± ¡°L¡­Like the disciplinary committee-slaying demon?¡± ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t worry about him, he hardly comes to school to begin with.¡± ¡°¡­Take care of your own members, already.¡± ¡°Ah¡­sorry. Well, even if it¡¯s him causing the trouble, we¡¯ll take care of that too. You can depend on us.¡± This guy¡¯s wholesome beyond all imagining. Yuuya is sick to his stomach at the sheer degree of trope adherence. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll hold you to it.¡± Yuuya nods stiffly at him. He doesn¡¯t receive a happy beam, or a manly grin. All he¡¯s treated to is visible recognition a problem has been resolved, a slackening in his posture, and those sharp all-seeing eyes glazing over and sliding away from Yuuya¡¯s suddenly irrelevant form. The Reliable Senpai leaves without so much as a parting word. Yuuya should be happy about it. He should be pleased that the attention is off him, and he¡¯s free to move as he pleases again. It¡¯s the best possible relationship he could hope for. But somehow, all he feels is the turning of his stomach and the anxious chill creeping down his spine. Yuuya curls up into a ball against the wall and lets out a low, shaking breath. His fingers tangle up in his hair. ¡°¡­I want to go home.¡± Chapter 3 - Loner Anxiety Content prep: panic attack, vomiting The end of the school week comes quietly and quickly, and Yuuya spends most of it napping his unrest away. Reliable Senpai doesn¡¯t seem to remember he exists, and most of the Battle characters have been coagulating into a school gang. Nothing remarkable has happened. There¡¯s no activity from the white thread at all. He hasn¡¯t seen a single storyline worrisome enough to interrupt or flee screaming from. As for things he has seen¡­ ¡°Are you a stalker?¡± Yamada-san has unexpectedly appeared. When Yuuya leaves school at the end of the day, there he is, hands in pockets, looking around at the students nervously. His hair is more naturally tousled, and while he still has those oval glasses, he¡¯s wearing a subtly patterned white button-down with a dark jacket. He¡¯s really refreshing to look at, and reminds Yuuya of his brother, if his brother had the harmlessness of a newborn puppy. Yuuya isn¡¯t sure whether to be shocked at Yamada-san¡¯s appearance or not. While it¡¯s true he introduced himself as a throwaway placeholder character that could be killed off without fanfare, being a quintessential placeholder character is in of itself a pretty striking quirk. With the way his thread is phasing in and out of Passion Red and Daily Green, he probably has some quirky episodic problem-of-the-week life now. Good for him. That doesn¡¯t explain why he¡¯d seek out Yuuya, though. Yamada-san scratches the back of his head sheepishly. ¡°Ah¡­Sorry, I¡­wanted to confirm that you¡¯re real?¡± Yuuya gives him a dry look. The effect is likely dampened by the fact he¡¯s trembling and pink-faced. ¡°I know, I know,¡± Yamada-san sighs. ¡°Well, I said I would make it up to you somehow, but you left without any way to get in touch. I got the picture, yes, but it¡¯s still been bothering me. I haven¡¯t gotten new job yet, but¡­in the very least, here.¡± Yamada-san hands Yuuya a simple card, featuring his name, mail address, and phone number. ¡°You were lurking outside th-the school for this?¡± Yuuya asks. He tries not to wince at how his words stumble. ¡°All you gave me was your first name and that you were going to start high school. What did you expect?¡± ¡°To be left alone.¡± ¡°Still quite the rebellious attitude, huh?¡± Yamada-san says with a teasing lilt. He seems almost fatherly, but seeing as Yamada-san looks like he¡¯s only in his late twenties, Yuuya just feels patronized. ¡°¡­Of course I¡¯m going to be¡­to be rebellious. I¡¯m being ha- harassed by some weirdo.¡± ¡°Hmm. By the way.¡± ¡°What.¡± ¡°You really blush easily, don¡¯t you.¡± Yuuya flinches, and humiliation only makes the blushing worse. ¡°Y-You see! All you¡¯re doing is hara- is harassing me!¡± ¡°Sorry, sorry. You looked a little too strung-out, I couldn¡¯t help it. It¡¯s better if you express yourself, you know?¡± Yuuya steps away with a scowl. ¡°Th-Thanks for the card. Are you satisfied now?¡± ¡°More or less. I¡¯d love to stretch this out, but I have a long stretch of job-hunting to do, so-¡± ¡°Private detective.¡± ¡°¡­Eh?¡± Yuuya looks away, down the street full of departing students. ¡°Well, that or a ¡®general helping service¡¯. Those kinds of jobs, where you happily assi- assist people in the background, would suit you. That¡¯s my final bi-b-bi¡­bit of advice.¡± ¡°Oh. Er. Thanks.¡± ¡°¡­Then.¡± Yuuya turns to leave. ¡°¡­Goodbye! Yuuya-kun.¡± Some of the unease that had seemed endlessly crushing only a few minutes ago releases itself, and yet, a part of him winds tight with tension. ¡°¡­Bye.¡±
¡°¡­What¡¯s so special about anime, anyway?¡± Yuuya stands outside the media store, staring imploringly up at the sky. The sun is setting already. Strange, since he just managed to wake up. Yuuya at home has become a pattern opposite to Yuuya at school, in the worst ways. He¡¯s focused sharp to a point, and he has trouble sleeping; even when he¡¯s tired, giving himself a hearty dose of caffeine jolts him back into awareness. It¡¯s all in effort to watch anime, of course. ¡°When mom was in high school, it was all dramas, wasn¡¯t it¡­?¡± The city¡¯s Narrative has been leaning towards anime stories a lot in the past ten years or so, and in order to keep up, he¡¯s been forced to buy a lot of garbage anime BDs. Most of it is inexcusable tripe, with swords and harems and illogical action sequences and great carefully labelled voids where characters should be. Luckily, he had picked up a common story pattern in the school; Sports and Battle. Nashi High is a very physical place, and the Passion Red subset is way higher here than it was in middle school, where kids would get passionate about an extra egg in their school lunches. He¡¯s not overly concerned with sports, but that pattern is worrying. In terms of the school¡¯s ultimate fate, the principal¡¯s overt Battle storyline is telling, but not any of Yuuya¡¯s business. His priority is to live a reasonably safe, trouble-free life at his own pace. Even if the principal were a problem, his family would take care of it, because he is a grown-ass man who could and would kill him, Yuuya¡¯s family members are all adults who know some form of combat, and Yuuya is an underweight 16-year-old with the battle instincts of a dodo. That, again, leaves him with nothing to do but watch anime about all the ways he may possibly die. Yuuya stares blankly at his bag. He should subscribe to a streaming service. This is starting to tax his wallet. The streets around him are lit up with ads, selling a whole colourful rainbow of products all along his walk home. Most of them are for tech. Yuuya pauses at one he doesn¡¯t recognize; a RomanSoft ad for the newest model of scrollphone. The model is small, dangling from a woman¡¯s neck, and shaped like a pill. Naturally, the name reflects that: RoSo PILL. The poster shows off an open PILL, lit up with a series of large icons. The screen quality looks a little better than what Yuuya is used to from scroll devices. There¡¯s a few girls standing between the ad and Yuuya, gossiping amongst each other. ¡°What is that, it¡¯s so small!¡± ¡°so you can wear a phone as jewellery now? We¡¯re living in the future, huuhh.¡± ¡°What¡¯s with this boring setup. Invent holograms already!¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t buy it. The screen is too small to run any apps.¡± ¡°It¡¯d be cheaper, then. Like a little phone just for calling and notifications?¡± ¡°That¡¯s like that watch thing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Yuuya opens his mouth, almost ready to comment, something simple and non-intrusive clearly formed in his head ¡ª would it be compatible with SHELLCHARAs ¡ª but the words stick in his throat. He doesn¡¯t feel especially scared or anxious, but no matter how clear the phrase is built in his head, it won¡¯t come out. It¡¯s like hitting a brick wall. He lets a slow breath. Background character. Why does he want to talk to them in the first place? Background character. His grip on his bag is trembling and weak, and he hates himself a little for his frailty. Yuuya is a background character. He¡¯s not meant to be paid attention to. Not meant to be interacted with. Not meant to be interesting. He can tell himself that until it¡¯s true, at least.
Yuuya never really considered himself a rebellious child, or a bad student, but he has to come to accept one fact; if he spends one more minute studying or researching, he¡¯s going to throw his chair out the window. He blames his stress levels. Even though absolutely nothing troublesome has happened, he¡¯s practically crawling up the walls. The entire point of doing stuff like mapping the school and keeping tabs on other people¡¯s threads was to avoid both annoyances and abominations, and yet, now that he¡¯s getting exactly what he wanted, his stress couldn¡¯t be higher. He doesn¡¯t want to start going around talking people off roofs, either. It¡¯s only going to trade one type of stress for another. So instead, Yuuya is going to the convenience store to blow off some steam. There¡¯s one just two blocks away from his house. It¡¯s open at all hours, which is good, because so is Yuuya¡¯s sleep schedule. Right now, it¡¯s about nine in the evening, so the sky is dark and Yuuya¡¯s willingness to consume enough caffeine to keep him up until nine in the morning is somewhere around ¡®fuck it, let¡¯s go¡¯. Yuuya twirls his non-knife in his fingers idly as he walks. The weather hasn¡¯t quite warmed up all the way, and the air is refreshingly cool on his lungs. The sound of his footsteps echoing off an empty street is revitalizing. There¡¯s nothing better than spending some alone time by yourself while outdoors. The convenience store is a glowing white beacon at the end of the street. Yuuya doesn¡¯t see anyone else around. He gets the place to himself again. A relief; when people are there, he can¡¯t focus at all, and he always feels like he has to rush his purchase. When he enters, he can hear pop music play from tinny, slightly-too-quiet speakers, and the various machines hum in harmony with the fluorescent lighting. He glances around. The cashier is playing on her phone. There¡¯s a stand for fashion glasses next to the potato chips now, which is new. Yuuya stops next to it on the way to the beverages, and fixates on a pair of lime green glasses with stars on the corners. Five minutes and twenty bottles of Lipovitan-D later, he walks up to the till wearing said glasses. Yuuya places his basket full of drinks on the counter and stares at the cashier expectantly. Whatever he¡¯s doing on his phone, it must be important, because she doesn¡¯t even blink. Yuuya grimaces, but allows that his presence is usually lower than that of any given phone app. ¡°E-Excuse me?¡± His voice doesn¡¯t come out quite right; the pressure of speaking up makes his voice break. No response. Yuuya takes a deep breath and says in a louder, clearer voice, ¡°Excuse me.¡± No response. Suddenly, all the tension Yuuya had released from taking a walk winds right back up again. He blinks rapidly, and tries to use rhythmic breathing to keep himself calm. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he grits, sharp and bitter. His hands have started shaking now. The cashier flicks her finger across her screen. Yuuya sees red. ¡°HEY.¡± His palms SLAM against the counter, and the girl jumps a foot in the air and whirls to look at a seething Yuuya. ¡°S-Sorry, I was reading¡­¡± she mumbles. Yuuya clenches his teeth and glares at the drinks. She scans them in. He doesn¡¯t pay for the glasses.
There¡¯s a river that cuts through Nashioka and feeds into the local lake. Very little of it passes through the town itself, but there¡¯s a bridge on it anyway. It¡¯s wide, not very deep, never floods, and is pretty clean, so it¡¯s a popular family-friendly spot to relax. It doesn¡¯t look like much at the moment, though; it¡¯s just mostly just long grass, mud, and a lot of weeds. Yuuya doesn¡¯t have a school club, and he feels more and more defeated the earlier he heads home. He¡¯s far too emotionally exhausted to go for a walk every single day, though, so he just sits on the bridge of the river, far away from the bustle of the city, and stares off into space until he feels a little less terrible. A few people are walking a little ways downriver, but not close enough to bother Yuuya. He closes his eyes, sucks in a breath through his nose, and exhales forcefully. He¡¯s irritated. At what? Himself? He opens his eyes again. The landscape is starting to dim, and the river is covered in long shadows. The sun¡¯s going to set soon. The white thread cuts across the landscape, out of place against the rest of the city. Yuuya just wants to do something. He feels like he¡¯s teetering on the precipice of some horrible turning point. Every time he sees that thread in the distance, every time he ends another boring school day, every time something goes even a little bit wrong, more stress piles up. It¡¯s endless. He doesn¡¯t have any hobbies, or anything that makes him happy, so he¡¯s helpless to the overwhelming negativity clinging to him. He just wants it to rot away. ¡°You¡¯re in the way.¡± Yuuya shrieks and nearly topples into the water. Behind him is a young boy, around ten years old, with a head of spiky grey hair. His slanted, beady little black eyes are drilling into Yuuya¡¯s very soul. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°You¡¯re in the way,¡± the boy repeats, and holds up a camera. Yuuya looks to the camera, to the river, to the camera again. ¡°O-Oh. Of the view. Sorry.¡± He hops the railing back onto the bridge and sidles out of the way, so the boy can set the camera up. He has a laser-like intensity to him. Not exactly a Protagonist, or even a main character; he¡¯s too¡­simple, washed-out. Even though his skin isn¡¯t all that light, it¡¯s still pale, practically grey. Like he was born with darker skin, but hasn¡¯t felt the kiss of the sun since birth. ¡°KAAAAAAIIIIII!¡± Yuuya glances over his shoulder at the shrill voice. A fairly average-looking boy about the same age as the camera kid comes running up, waving his arms wildly. Unlike the bland washed-out nothingness of the boy next to him, the newcomer is vibrant, rosy-cheeked, and has a head full of untidy brown hair. Comic relief? Protagonist? ¡°¡­Kenta,¡± says the grey one. ¡°Kai! You got the spot!¡± The boy ¡ª Kai ¡ª glances away. There¡¯s no nervousness in his body language. Or any emotion, really. ¡°¡­It¡¯s not like it¡¯s any trouble.¡± ¡°Eh? Really?¡± ¡°If someone intruded, I¡¯d break their legs.¡± Kai balls his hand into a fist and makes direct eye contact with Yuuya. Yuuya swallows. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Ehhh, ya don¡¯t need to, y¡¯knooooww? It¡¯s just pictures.¡± ¡°I would, though.¡± ¡°You¡¯re gonna get in trouble, Kai.¡± The brown one ¡ª Kenta? Kenta ¡ª wraps his arms around Kai¡¯s shoulders and squeezes. Kai doesn¡¯t react at all. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°Okay, the pictures gotta be glorious! Do you know how to use these fancy cameras?¡± He climbs right over Kai to grab the camera from around his head. Kai, to his credit, doesn¡¯t even wobble. ¡°More or less.¡± ¡°Make it really red! Like it¡¯s on fire!¡± ¡°The sun hasn¡¯t set yet.¡± ¡°Well when it sets, it¡¯s gotta be on fire!¡± Kenta teeters, and then falls back to the ground to re-establish his original position of wrapped around his friend. Yuuya feels strangely agitated, seeing the easy contact, and he¡¯s not sure if he wants to leave or not. It¡¯s not like he has anything to contribute, but getting shooed away from his own relaxing spot is a little¡­ Kai glances his way. Yuuya flinches. Slowly, deliberately, Kai holds his hands up and clutches Kenta¡¯s arms. Without breaking eye contact, he nuzzles into them. ¡°Eh? Are you cold? It was so warm today, though. You need to get your blood pressure checked, man.¡± Yuuya chokes down a wave of totally irrational anger. Is he getting antagonized by a ten-year-old? He doesn¡¯t know why, but the intent alone makes his face pinch. And then, to top it off, Kai smirks at him and turns to look back out at the river. Annoying. Not people. Not people. Yuuya spins on his heel and marches away to cool off somewhere downriver. Maybe he¡¯ll wade in a little, let the cold water clear his head. He doesn¡¯t have to deal with some brats. The fact it even bothered him at all is bad enough. He stops at a hill overlooking the bank. There¡¯s a couple talking in front of the glittering water below him. It looks intimate, important. He pushes his glasses up with the heel of his palm and feels a hard note of disgust when he sees the Love Pinks held taut and laden with stories sinking into the two like a disease. Yuuya leans down, palms some mud into a ball, and chucks it as hard as he can physically manage at the two. It nails the guy in the head. It doesn¡¯t make Yuuya feel better.
Yuuya gazes listlessly at the front of the classroom. ¡­He¡¯s tired. He doesn¡¯t even have the energy to get through the second week of school. His studies are a blur of half-assed notes. He¡¯s probably going to fail the next test. He¡¯s only just started the school year, and he still feels emptied-out. Yuuya is seated the second row from the door, third seat down, an intentionally boring choice, but he finds himself lying with his head on his desk, staring out the window. A gnawing desperation is tearing him up inside, he knows, but it can¡¯t tell where it¡¯s coming from, or what it¡¯s desperate for. He¡¯s just tired, and he wants to cry. The classroom is noisy, but a surprising respite from the rest of the school¡¯s potential issues. There¡¯s only Daily Greens, subtle Love Pinks, and two Violence Purples in here. The only thing worth worrying about is the sheer girth of one of the Daily Greens, coming out of a huge, kinda buff guy in the back. He looks gently sensitive. Yuuya is entirely prepared to leap out the window if they ever converse. He closes his eyes. Like that¡¯d happen. He doesn¡¯t even have to bother being openly hostile. No one seems to recognize him as a fellow classmate. He¡¯s being thoroughly ignored. He¡¯s gotten the peaceful easygoing life he wanted. How nice. Yuuya curls up a little. That middle school classmate that set next to him¡­he noticed Yuuya. He isn¡¯t sure why; it was the first time they¡¯d been in a class together, and Yuuya was at his peak level of boring and indistinct. Even so, Yuuya could feel his eyes on him sometimes, to the point he¡¯d almost gotten used to it. It¡¯s not as if Yuuya is non-existent, or entirely invisible. That Reliable Senpai had sought him out. That harmless-looking Yamada-san had thought about him until he had to see him again. Even that brat on the bridge acknowledged him to the degree he thought it was necessary to make fun of him. There¡¯s plenty of people who found their attention drawn to him in some way, even though he hated every second of it. His classmates could show him some regard, every now and then. A girl with dark purple-tinted hair bursts into the room, looking furious Yuuya pulls his head up to watch her. She marches over to a nondescript male student and stands before him with her hands on her hips. Despite her furious determination, the only thread she¡¯s sporting is Love Pink, but the thread is large, and coming out of more than just the base of her spine; smaller lines cling to her shoulders and lower back like cobwebs. Yuuya feels sick. ¡°Akira-kun! Duel me!¡± ¡°E-Eh? Duel?¡± ¡°B-Because you saw me in that kind of position¡­No, because you¡¯re daring to intrude into my precious territory! Prepare yourself!¡± ¡°The teacher assigned me, though¡­¡± ¡°No excuses!¡± Yuuya bites down hard on his lip and jerkily rises to his feet. He feels more drained than ever, but if he has to listen to any more of this, he¡¯s going to crack this girl¡¯s head open on the desk of her precious love interest. He passes by another girl still seated in her desk on his way to the door. She¡¯s flushed and clutching her chest. Yuuya pulls his glasses all the way up and jerks back. Both the screaming girl and the girl sitting in front of him have taut pink threads. And then he feels it, the horrible, slimy oblivion, so starkly he can almost physically see it. The stories, the whispering, oozing narrative blight, like the city¡¯s collective bile. His stomach turns so sharply he feels it cramp. The stories fall into the girls and flush out around their feet in the usual bloom of visible pink. He backs away from it, even though it can¡¯t really affect him. The girl is still clutching her chest with her eyes squeezed shut. She must be monologuing about her crush. ¡°Do you have heartburn or what?¡± Yuuya spits with an unintended degree of maliciousness. At the sound of his voice, the girl looks up straight at him. Yuuya jerks back and practically falls into the wall in an effort to get away. He isn¡¯t watching where he¡¯s going, though, and he falls right in the way of that loud cobwebbed girl, who was about to drag the nondescript boy out of the classroom. Yuuya¡¯s glasses are still up, so he gets a full view of how the stories have affected her. The cobwebs have grown thicker, winding from her face, her arms, even one coming from her eye, all in a massive spiralling tangle. Her eyes, nostrils, mouth, her entire being is lit up with an unnatural pink glow, as if her thread is burning her up from the inside. Not a person. Not human. Yuuya screams, sliding backwards along the wall, but the pink-coloured creature keeps advancing. It¡¯s radiating such a terrible, empty light. Adrenalin rushes through Yuuya, and his instincts jump straight to the offensive. His hand snaps out to grab a fistful of hair. The thread cluster flows out of the way like his very touch is deadly, but he shivers anyway, because the hairs are about the same width, and they¡¯re snagging on his fingers. And then Yuuya pulls back and slams the thing¡¯s head into the wall as hard as he can. The plaster cracks. There¡¯s a few screams. The pink thing drops to the ground, and Yuuya backs up to the door. ¡°What the hell are you¡­¡± The love interest looks horrified. Yuuya can feel his heart thundering in his ears. No cobwebs¡­He doesn¡¯t have any cobwebs, but he has more than one pink thread, and the way they twist up is sickening to look at. And he¡¯s looking right at Yuuya. Everyone is looking right at Yuuya. He wheezes, chokes. Words won¡¯t come out. He isn¡¯t even sure what words he wants to use. ¡°No¡­¡± He whispers. The boy takes a step towards him, and Yuuya bolts. There¡¯s too many people in his way, and barely any of them notice him before he shoves past them. Barely anyone notices him at all. The walls feel too small. ¡°No no no no no no¡­¡± Yuuya¡¯s voice creaks. His vision is starting to tunnel. He¡¯s hyperventilating. His glasses had fallen back onto his nose at some point, but the absence of the threads isn¡¯t helping. He knows they¡¯re there. He climbs the stairs in a three-limbed scramble. Staircase after staircase, countless pairs of eyes staring staring staring staring staring staring staring staring [You always wanted people to pay attention to you.] Yuuya hits the top floor and bursts out onto the roof with his limbs flying. He inhales deeply, trying to himself to breath properly. He feels dizzy, and his teeth are buzzing. The fear is cold and clenching and turning his stomach until¡ª Yuuya turns around and vomits against the wall. He coughs, spits, and grinds his forehead against the wall¡¯s rough surface. It tastes awful and acidic, and he spits again and again to get rid of it. Then he swallows, breathes in deeply through his dripping nose ¡ª he sniffles a few times ¡ª and exhales out through his mouth. It comes out shaky and on the lip of a sob. He tries again. Seven seconds in through the nose. Hold. Seven seconds out through the mouth. It¡¯s hard to tell if it¡¯s working through the vertigo. It feels like he¡¯s at it for hours. He hears his own breath settle, at some point, and maintains a steady pace after that. It grounds him until his lungs aren¡¯t raw and his heart doesn¡¯t ache with how fast it¡¯s beating. Yuuya swallows, exhales slower this time, and mops the tears from his eyes. He swallows the snot clogging up his nose and takes a long breath. He opens his eyes to the sight of his own bile splattered just in front of his shoes. His fingers scrape painfully against the wall as this processes, as he understands what just happened, and he¡ª not people not human only a background character doesn¡¯t exist to doesn¡¯t exist they¡¯re not people and he doesn¡¯t Yuuya¡¯s teeth grind. His usual rationalizations skitter around uselessly across his mind, and he can¡¯t grab hold of any of them. All he has are simple truths. He¡¯s all alone in this city. He¡¯s scared. He can¡¯t trust anyone in this city. He doesn¡¯t even want to bother. Yuuya twists his fist into the wall. He can feel the heat of his blood trickling down his fingers. Anxiety falls away to rage. He lets out a small keening noise, equal parts anger and despair. He punches the wall, once, twice, and drags his forehead down farther with each impact. The urge to vent is overwhelming. The stress is just going to keep climbing, even if he calms down now, and he doesn¡¯t want to bother trying to stop it anymore. He chokes on his tears and lets out a thin groan. The next punch is vicious. It jolts the bones in his hand, and throbs painfully all the way up his arm, and it¡¯s still not enough. ¡°Ah¡­uh¡­uh¡­¡± Yuuya hiccups through the useless noises pouring from his throat, and the self-loathing it incites only makes his rage worse. ¡°Ugh¡­uuuuuUUUUAAAAAAAAAAA!¡± Yuuya tosses his jabbing knife clean across the roof. It bounces off the chainlink fence and clatters on the cement. It¡¯s useless. He¡¯s useless. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAA¡± He can¡¯t take it. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡± Prepping doesn¡¯t help. He can¡¯t take the peace. He can¡¯t take the danger. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡± He can¡¯t take being looked at. He can¡¯t take being ignored. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!¡± Yuuya¡¯s legs collapse out from under him. He slumps against the wall and faces the sky. It¡¯s an endlessly stretching, deep, beautiful tragedy blue, and he hates it. The fight seeps out of him. He squeezes his eyes shut. Hot tears roll down his cheeks, and the realization that he¡¯s crying only makes it harder to hold back the sobs. ¡°Ah¡­hic¡­Aaahh¡­uu¡­uuaaaa¡­hic¡± He¡®s so tired. He wants to go home. Chapter 4 - Malcontent The sky was clear, that day. He was ten years old. Yuuya¡¯s legs kicked out as he held his glasses up to his face, pulled them away, and put them close again. The lenses punched holes through the threads, and he was enjoying making the holes expand and contract with the power of perspective. His brother had taken him to the park to play, but Yuuya wasn¡¯t in the mood, so he just laid in his brother¡¯s lap and played with his glasses. His brother stroked the short hairs of Yuuya¡¯s buzz cut with one long-fingered hand and held his cell phone to his ear with the other. There was screaming and shouting all around them, from playing children and happy groups enjoying the sunshine. ¡°Hanako-chan must be the greatest beauty in the world,¡± his brother cooed. Yuuya couldn¡¯t hear his girlfriend on the other end, beyond a small indistinguishable babble. ¡°Ehh, Friday? I can¡¯t! Unfortunately, I¡¯ll be going to the beach with my beautiful perfect angelic Yuu-chan! Can¡¯t it be on some other day?¡± His brother is four years older than him, so he was fourteen, then. ¡°Ahh¡­¡¯Who¡¯s more important¡¯, really? Can¡¯t I value different things differently?¡± His brother¡¯s hair was pale, and the sun lit it up from overhead. Yuuya tilted his glasses and his head to look over his brother. There wasn¡¯t a thread there, though. ¡°Answer¡­? Aahh, aahh¡­¡± Yuuya tilted his head all the way up to look behind him. There wasn¡¯t a thread there either. ¡°Well, it¡¯s Yuu-chan, obviously?¡± His brother¡¯s phone beeped, and the hand on Yuuya¡¯s head tapped twice. His brother frowned at his phone, then at Yuuya. ¡°¡­She hung up.¡± Yuuya slipped the glasses back onto his and blinked up at his brother. He remembers the way his glasses reflected the grass below them, and how the light refracted the image of the sun leaking through the leaves of the tree above them, he remembers the way it hit his brother¡¯s hair, white, but with shades of red-pink, like a scar. But Yuuya doesn¡¯t remember his face, not quite. It was probably rounder than it is now. Yuuya rolled over until he was off his brother¡¯s lap and laying with his back on the grass. He stared up at the sky. ¡°Haru-nii-san.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You love your girlfriend?¡± His brother threw his hands up in the air. ¡°Of course I do. Hanako-chan, she¡¯s y¡¯know, like a breath of fresh air, and she¡¯s beautiful on top of that, and her voice is like angel bells, and she¡¯s reaaally good at math? On top of that¡ª¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t girlfriends supposed to be the person you love the most?¡± ¡°Ah¡­I guess?¡± His hands drooped. ¡°Then why¡¯d you say you love me the most?¡± His brother¡¯s hands dropped all the way, and he cocked his head. Black eyes, Yuuya remembers, black eyes that look just like his. ¡°Hey, Yuu-chan. When you look around, what do you see?¡± Yuuya looked around, at the park and the forest ringing it. ¡°¡­Trees?¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°¡­And¡­a bunch of people.¡± ¡°Just people?¡± ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s just people.¡± His brother leaned forward and stretched his arm out to rub Yuuya¡¯s shaved head softly. He could feel the thumbpad press against the bristles. ¡°It¡¯d be nice if you could always think of it that way.¡± Life didn¡¯t get particularly better. It didn¡¯t get particularly worse. But it¡¯s still the last happy memory with his brother Yuuya has left, anyway.
Ding-dong. The sound of the doorbell punctures Yuuya¡¯s miasma of intentional misery like a blade. His room is a disorienting catastrophe. Lipo-D bottles are everywhere, glowing in the light of what little mid-afternoon sun manages to get through the curtains. The streaks of sun spill over scattered papers, a maelstrom of pillows and blankets, and the television sitting on a wheeled stand, positioned in front of the door. One of the blanket clusters that¡¯s hidden in the shadows is a huge nest of about five fluffy quilts, spilling pillows like guts. Out of the cluster pops Yuuya. He drags himself over the carpet until he fully emerges from the blanket nest. The back of his throat feels terrible, his mouth is sour and sticky, and his eyes feel itchy. He lurches to his fee, and staggers towards the door. He shoves the TV stand away with one foot, and it collides with the wall. Ding-dong. ¡°I hear you already!¡± Yuuya hollers at his ceiling. Even knowing someone is waiting for him, he still heads to the washroom first. He¡¯s not going to willingly inflict a conversation on himself while feeling this terrible. Yuuya splashes his face with water and looks up at the mirror. He frowns. His eyes are red and puffy, still irritated from the hours of crying, even after sleeping in. He¡¯d apply some of his mom¡¯s makeup to cover it up, but, well, they¡¯re irritated; he doesn¡¯t want to make it worse. With a sigh, he pulls himself away from the sink to get to the doo¡ª DING-DONG DING-DONG DING-DONG ¡°I GOT IT ALREADY!¡± Yuuya dashes downstairs and slides up to the entranceway. He growls and whips the door open. It¡¯s Reliable Senpai. Yuuya instinctively takes a step back, and his heart hammers in his chest like he had just opened the door to an axe murderer. ¡°¡­Reikawa-kun.¡± Yuuya averts his eyes, conscious of the way Reliable Senpai¡¯s eyes are drilling into him. His tongue runs over his snaggletooth. Too pressured to talk, he just nods. ¡°¡­I wanted to speak to you.¡± ¡°Wh-Wha¡­What ab-ab-about?¡± ¡°About what happened yesterday.¡± He winces. Right. He was mostly concerned with existential dread and psychological fatigue from his separation from humanity, but he kind of slammed a girl¡¯s head into the wall somewhere in there, didn¡¯t he? ¡°I¡¯m so- I¡¯m very s-sorry. Is i¡ª is she okay?¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, she got right back up, no damage. It seems the wall broke because it was soft to begin with.¡± ¡°Thass¡­That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°Hey, Reikawa-kun¡­are you being bullied right now?¡± ¡°I¡¯m n¡ª I¡¯m no¡ª Immnn¡­¡± Yuuya clicks his tongue with frustration and just shakes his head. ¡°I see¡­that¡¯s good.¡± He looks so genuinely relieved. That¡¯s a Reliable Senpai for you. ¡°Like I said, if you need any help, you can come to the School Delegate Committee. It¡¯s our job to uphold a good example for the students and the town around us alike. If you¡¯re under stress¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Yuuya grits. ¡°You¡¯ve been crying.¡± Yuuya¡¯s hand whips up to his face to cover one of his still-puffy eyes. He scowls at Reliable Senpai¡¯s shoes. ¡°¡­It¡¯s noth¡ª¡­It¡¯s nothing¡­¡± ¡°You slammed a girl into a wall and skipped school for a day. If it¡¯s not me checking up on you, it¡¯s going to be a teacher. While I don¡¯t think it¡¯s fair to tell you to reach out to others and fix yourself right away, could you let me help you, just a bit?¡± ¡°W-What exactly are you sugggg¡­suggesting?¡± ¡°Well, Nashioka High School¡¯s most important activity is its sports programs. I¡¯m sure you could have an easier time socializing if you spend a little time experiencing them! Tomorrow my basketball team is having a game with another school. Why don¡¯t you come and observe? I¡¯ll be happy to see you, at least. You don¡¯t have to come back to class right away, but¡­¡± ¡°Is it a Na-Nashioka school?¡± There¡¯s only the two. Reliable Senpai shakes his head. ¡°Visiting from nearby.¡± Yuuya deliberates. Outside the influence of the city, then. If they¡¯re not here too long, they won¡¯t be poisoned by the Narrative right away. Basically¡­An opportunity to see normal people, for once¡­? As if sensing Yuuya rise to the temptation, Reliable Senpai leans in close. He smells like healthy sweat, fresh laundry, and something slightly fruity. Yuuya blushes so furiously he¡¯s a few degrees away from burning holes into his cheeks, and he pastes himself against the wall to avoid the proximity. Reliable Senpai tilts his head imploringly. ¡°Please?¡±
Today is Ikegami Hiroto¡¯s first basketball game. Even though his uppclassmen all insisted he¡¯ll be fine, he¡¯s nervous. Can one skill really hold up in a proper game? He¡¯s small, frail, and clumsy. He¡¯s bound to drag everyone down, even though they¡¯ve been working hard. He barely knows anything about basketball. Hiroto stops in front of the doors. His hands are trembling. He wants to run away, but at the same time, he¡¯s never wanted anything more than he wants to play. He squeezes his eyes shut and shoves his glasses up on his nose. Right¡­even if he fails here, he thinks he still wants to play basketball. With a deep breath, he shoves the doors open, and then¡­ Someone more nervous appeared. There¡¯s another student barely any taller than he is, leaning against the wall and shivering. He¡¯s shiny with sweat, and his entire face is pinched with a strange combination of terror and fierce determination. His hands are clutched around his arms, and he¡¯s gradually sliding along, one heavy step at a time, looking for all the world like he¡¯s about to cough up blood and collapse. ¡°A-Are you alright?¡± Hiroto asks. The boy shrieks and flinches away, but since he¡¯s already against the wall, he bangs his head. His glasses are knocked off his face, and he slides down to the ground. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry! Here¡­!¡± He picks up the glasses and offer them up to the student. As he does so, he notes that there¡¯s no distortion through the lenses; they¡¯re just fashion glasses. Still, it wouldn¡¯t do to have something you¡¯re wearing get trampled on. The boy doesn¡¯t respond. Hiroto cocks his head. Should he push it? Would it be rude to just¡­slide the glasses into the crook of his lap? Does he need alone time, or a helping hand? He¡¯s not used to helping people. He¡¯s a loser who doesn¡¯t get along well with anyone. ¡°Ahh¡­I was worried this would happen.¡± Hiroto looks up. ¡°Tachibana-senpai!¡± Tachibana Takumi is the most reliable member of the basketball team, even though he¡¯s also a member of the School Delegate Committee. He was the only on who could convince Hiroto to join the basketball team. If there¡¯s a kid this nervous lurking about, it¡¯s no wonder Tachibana-senpai knows who he is. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m the one who invited him,¡± Tachibana-senpai waves. ¡°Is he here to observe?¡± ¡°He¡¯s having trouble socializing. I thought he might have an easier time hanging around somewhere where everyone has a common interest.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°¡­This was a mistake.¡± The two look at the student. His shoulders are trembling. His fingers are pressed white against his knees, and Hiroto can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s with fear, anger, or a combination of the two. ¡°Reikawa-kun¡­?¡± The boy ¡ª Reikawa? ¡ª jabs his arm out and shows Tachibana-senpai an open palm. ¡°Compensation.¡± Tachibana-senpai blinks. ¡°H-Huh?¡± ¡°Compensation!¡± Reikawa-san barks. ¡°Compensation for menta- mental duress! Compensate me for making me come to school and having everyone stare at me¡­!¡± ¡°How about your compensation is the friends you make while you¡¯re here?¡± ¡°I¡¯m seriously gonna kick your ass.¡± Hiroto blinks too. He seemed as nervous as Hiroto was, but the rage is strong in Reikawa-san¡¯s voice. Hiroto was under the impression angry people don¡¯t get anxiety. Even Tachibana-senpai looks concerned. ¡°Fine, fine¡­well, I don¡¯t have any money, so is this okay?¡± Tachibana-senpai places a basketball phone charm into Reikawa-san¡¯s waiting palm. Reikawa-san peaks at it from behind his fringe. He¡¯s got a dull face, but the freckles on his cheeks are stark against his pale skin. His small black eyes examine the charm with a deliberate coldness that makes Hiroto a little uneasy. Then Reikawa-san¡¯s face scrunches up in embarrassment, and slowly, gradually, his entire face flushes red. ¡°¡­This is fine,¡± he mumbles, shoving the charm into his pocket. ¡°Good! Now why don¡¯t you go observe on the bleachers? I think you¡¯ll be impressed with our performance!¡± Reikawa-san climbs to his feet and slowly starts walking again, at a less glacial pace. There¡¯s no tension whatsoever in his body, but it seems more of a zombie-like slump than a lack of stress. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°If I¡¯m not, are you going to compensate me again¡­?¡± Tachibana-senpai¡¯s ever-sharp eyes glint dangerously. ¡°Hmm¡­Reikawa-kun, are you interested in compensation dating?¡± Reikawa-san¡¯s body freezes up. He subsequently loses his balance, trips over his own feet, and falls face-first on the floor. ¡°Hooohh.¡± Hiroto looks at Tachibana-senpai. He¡¯s smirking, a little darkly, observing Reikawa-san like an experiment that has just done something interesting. It¡¯s not a cruel look, but it¡¯s not a comforting one, either. Hiroto swallows thickly. Tachibana-senpai¡­is surely a good person, though. Probably.
This was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistaaaaake. Yuuya curls up on the bleachers with his hands stuffed in his armpits. He feels like he wants to cry again. While the basketball team gets to play against those super-valuable normal people, Yuuya is stuck up here with a bunch of students who are wholesale Narrative puppets. As glorious as it is to see people again, there¡¯s really no point if he can¡¯t talk to them. It¡¯s like reminding him of what he can¡¯t have. They don¡¯t look all that different from the puppet-humans around them. The game starts. The gross disgusting intrusive piece of garbage in a trashcan Tachibana isn¡¯t the captain, surprisingly, but Yuuya supposes he can¡¯t, when he¡¯s part of two clubs. He seems to be more like the moral glue that holds the team together. Then there¡¯s that kid from earlier, the one with the curly dark teal hair and the glasses. He¡¯s a Protagonist, clearly about to grow into his skill with the help of one hyper-specific talent he has. Good luck in the future, asshole. After a few minutes, the inevitable happens: ¡°It¡¯s weird¡­that one player seems to be everywhere at once¡­!¡± ¡°That¡¯s Tachibana Takumi! He¡¯s one of Nashi High¡¯s ace players, because of that weird skill of his¡­the Tracking Eye.¡± Thanks for the infodump, jackass. Go die. ¡°Tracking Eye?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a technique of theirs¡­Tachibana-senpai has an unusually high perception ability. He can totally track and predict a single person¡¯s movements. He can¡¯t focus on anyone else, but with it, he can read the flow of the game!¡± Shut the fuck up. That¡¯s stupid. This is stupid. ¡°Amazing¡­!¡± ¡°But that¡¯s not what¡¯s turning the tide of the battle.¡± Hooooooly shiiiiiiiiiit. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°It¡¯s that new player¡­haven¡¯t you noticed yet?¡± Yuuya looks down at the court. He¡¯s fast. It¡¯s blatantly obvious. Look at him go. He¡¯s like a bullet. He¡¯s also really good at avoiding collisions, which makes him an incredibly efficientbullet. When he dribbles the ball, it¡¯s in huge bounces that fly across the court, and he¡¯s so fast he¡¯s the only one who can keep up, unless someone comes to intercept. It makes it hard to predict the ball¡¯s movement, and to steal it away. It¡¯s not a bad skill for basketball. ¡°That guy is¡ª¡± ¡°He¡¯s fast! We get it already!¡± Yuuya barks. ¡°Just enjoy the game normally! Your friend can use his own damn eyes! What is he, some blind infant?¡± They both turn to look at him. He snarls back, refusing to be cowed, though the wave of tension at being looked at still happens anyway. ¡°He¡¯s new to basketball, so¡­¡± ¡°Let him learn by himself! What else are we supposed t¡¯d- to glean by a guy dribbling a ball by chucking it everywhere? Use your co- common sense!¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯m sorry! Relax!¡± Yuuya pulls his feet back up so he can curl back into his neutral position of ¡®grumpy ball¡¯. The game goes well, naturally, seeing as the other team is made up of normal, real, actual people with no special abilities. Their only real challenge will be Nashioka¡¯s other, richer school. At the end of the match, they pull some epic move or something ¡ª Yuuya wasn¡¯t really paying attention ¡ª and win the game. The two teams chat for a bit, and the other team leaves. Yuuya stares after them. He doesn¡¯t really have the confidence to approach them, but he can sort of see the appeal of hanging around sports clubs now. Who knows what odd baseball or volleyball member from the outside world might be ready to chat Yuuya up. But then they¡¯d have to go back, eventually. Yuuya stares blankly off into space, overcome by the powerful feeling of melancholy. On TV, characters who ¡®snapped¡¯ always get a clean transition. They¡¯re consumed with rage or depression, insensible, ¡®gone to far¡¯, or something like that. When characters snap, a part of them breaks. But that¡¯s not what he felt. It just felt like a stress overflow, and now that it¡¯s over, his stress isn¡¯t actually any lower. The catharsis and understanding what was bothering him so badly is only going to keep him stable for so long, and then the overflow is going to happen again, and again and again and again, until he destroys himself, and he still can¡¯t do anything about it. He¡¯s deadlocked into a downward spiral. It¡¯s right about now where suicide ideation usually starts looking really attractive. Yuuya is too occupied with being angry to get to that point, but he knows it¡¯s coming. ¡°Reikawa-kun!¡± Yuuya pulls his head out from between his legs and glares down at Garbage Senpai. ¡°¡­What do you want.¡± ¡°I thought of a good relationship-training exercise.¡± ¡°Go die.¡± ¡°Even if you were bullied, you¡¯ve got a harsh attitude. You should try to avoid picking fights like that.¡± ¡°Die already.¡± ¡°Am I meant to apologize, here, then?¡± ¡°Sure. Dogeza. Do it.¡± ¡°How extreme.¡± ¡°Sliding dogeza!¡± ¡°Hey now, don¡¯t increase the severity! I¡¯ll wreck my knees!¡± Yuuya stuffs his head between his knees and pulls his jacket over himself like a cloak. ¡°You¡¯re quite the troubled child, aren¡¯t you. Reikawa-kun.¡± Yuuya doesn¡¯t answer, and doesn¡¯t react to the sound of Trashbasket Senpai ascending the stairs. He grips his ankles tighter and steadfastly ignores Large Bucket Full Of Bile Senpai coming in close enough that his breath ruffles Yuuya¡¯s hair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It was wrong of me to tease you. The contrast in the way you spoke was so weird, I thought it would be interesting to push you a little.¡± Yuuya¡¯s head whips up so he can give Tachibana a livid look. Tachibana snorts into his palm. Yuuya kicks him in the head. ¡°Bastard! Don¡¯t you get the m-meaning of compensation? It means you ought to be givi- giving me shit for mistreating me! Are you mistreating a bullying victim? Pay me back! Pay me back, I¡¯m going home! Piece of shit! Go die! Die die die die die!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry!¡± Tachibana begs, but he¡¯s laughing, so Yuuya ignores his pleas for mercy and continues to kick him in the head. Harder this time. ¡°OOIII! TACHIBANA!¡± They both look down. The captain is on the court, glaring up at them. ¡°Yeah? Captain!¡± ¡°Stop playing around! You said you wanted to double down on practice no matter what, right?¡± ¡°Let me rest a little?¡± ¡°You call that resting?¡± Yuuya¡¯s shoe is embedded in Tachibana¡¯s cheek. ¡°Well, I¡¯m feeling pretty refreshed, so it¡¯s the same thing.¡± Yuuya shoves the heel of his foot into Tachibana¡¯s eye. ¡°It is not, you damn bastard!¡± Tachibana just chuckles again and pushes Yuuya¡¯s foot away effortlessly. ¡°I¡¯m starting to understand why you were bullied in the first place. Let me guess, someone was being a little mean and you lost it, right? I thought you were scared I¡¯d hurt you when I found you on the roof, but it¡¯s more like you only know how to solve problems with violence. Right? Am I right?¡± ¡°Leave me alone!¡± ¡±You should probably get a healthier outlet for all that aggression, first. How about you try a game with us?¡± Yuuya struggles against Tachibana¡¯s grip. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to play basketball!¡± ¡°Neither does Ikegami-kun, but he¡¯s one of our aces already! Isn¡¯t that cool?¡± ¡°He¡¯s a protagonist! It¡¯s not the same!¡± ¡°What¡¯s that, ¡®protagonist¡¯¡­¡± Tachibana uses his grip on Yuuya¡¯s leg to pull him closer, and he leans forward. Yuuya plasters himself against the bench and tilts his head away, desperately considering spitting in Tachibana¡¯s face. ¡°¡­Please?¡±
¡°So you got sucked into his pace too, huh.¡± Yuuya, in a T-shirt and jersey slacks, gives the basketball captain a look that could curdle milk. Or he¡¯s trying to, but he¡¯s being stared at by a lot of people, and is mostly struggling with his blush and keeping his knees from giving out. The captain just laughs. ¡°He¡¯s pretty annoying when he wants to be, right? Well, he¡¯s genuinely worried about you. The fact he can¡¯t help but stick his nose into problem students¡¯ business is why he¡¯s part of that committee to begin with.¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna kick his ass.¡± ¡°You and everyone else.¡± They¡¯re standing on the court, opposite the other half of the basketball team, where Tachibana is smiling and waving. Yuuya has broken out into a cold sweat again. The protagonist is on his side, but it¡¯s a weak comfort. And a potential point of horror. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think this is a good idea.¡± ¡°Hm? Why?¡± ¡°I have no presence¡­It¡¯s a ba- a- it¡¯s a bad idea to put me anywhere as a- as active as a basketball court.¡± ¡°Eh¡­wouldn¡¯t it be useful?¡± ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand, people don¡¯t¡ª¡± The whistle blows, and the game starts with a jarring rush. Yuuya can visibly see everyone forget about his existence, despite how big a deal Tachibana made of him being there. He stands in place, staring blankly at the students dashing around the court, all of them totally oblivious to his presence. Even if he expected this, it still stings a little. Yuuya tries to avoid the ball and the group, but there¡¯s still people sticking to his side, and predictably, laser-like focus on an object combined with him being present are a terrible combination. Barely a minute into the game and a player runs full-speed into him. Yuuya goes flying, nearly off the court entirely, and he grits his teeth at the bloom of pain from the collision with the floor. ¡°Sorry! Are you okay?¡± He gives him a screaming grunt in lieu of answer. The ball gets closer to their side of the court, and the guy completely forgets Yuuya is there and moves to block it. Yuuya rolls over and grinds his head into the floor, trying to work through the pain enough to get up. It feels like a full five minutes before he can recover. He¡¯s¡­way frailer than expected, actually. He¡¯s used to being shoved around, but he¡¯s never been hurt, mostly because he stabs them before they can manage to topple him over. Agreeing to this was a mistake. Yuuya tries to keep his eyes on the rest of the court, barely avoiding someone sprinting right past him, diving away from the cluster around the ball, ducking away from stray elbows. He almost has a rhythm down, up until someone throws the ball and it drives like a bullet into his side. Yuuya hits the floor again. This whole thing was a mistake. He slowly gets back up. That didn¡¯t hurt nearly as much as being thrown into the floor by another human body, at least. He groans and tries to circle around the group. A shoulder collision. An elbow to the kidneys. Stumbling over his feet. Someone backhanding him across the face. Yuuya clings to the edge of the court, clutching his throbbing body. He knew this was going to happen, but he still let himself get suckered in, like an over-trusting housewife to a conman. This is on him. And Tachibana. In fact, it¡¯s entirely Tachibana¡¯s fault. He¡¯s the one who made him come to begin with! To hell with Tachibana! ¡°What are you doing, Reikawa-kun?¡± ¡°Eh¡­?¡± Tachibana is holding the ball, and looking straight at him. ¡°¡­Eh?¡± ¡°You have to participate too!¡± Yuuya flusters at the gaze, and then at the sudden pressure to perform. He struggles to stand up straight, and holds his hands up, assuming he¡¯s about to be passed to. He is. And in a variation from the usual injuries from not noticing he was there, Yuuya gets a ball colliding full-speed with his face out of mere incompetence. Yuuya is sent sprawling out of the court bounds, and he goes skidding a good three metres. He sees the blood splatters and broken glass across the floor before the pain hits him, and when it does¡­ ¡°Uuu¡­uuagh¡ª UuuuuaAAAH!¡± It hurts. His nose is the worst of it, and probably where all the immediate blood came from. He¡¯s not sure if it¡¯s broken, but it¡¯s throbbing with pain that radiates across his entire face, and the feeling of it makes him shake with hiccuping sobs. The rest of it is the cuts from his cheap glasses. Only one lens broke, and it sliced up his cheekbone; when he touches it, his fingers come off covered in blood. ¡°Reikawa-kun!¡± The pain is too much, and he gives up control entirely and starts bawling. Tachibana grabs him by the shoulders and tries to shake a response out of him, but he¡¯s insensible. He can¡¯t stop. He¡¯s gently guided to his feet, and walked out of the gymnasium with an arm slung around his shoulder, clutching him comfortingly. Yuuya gravitates towards the warmth. He¡¯s still clutching his face, and the blood is dribbling between his fingers and falling to the floor. After a series of hallways Yuuya can¡¯t even begin to comprehend, they stop at the infirmary. The pain isn¡¯t as immediate, now, and his nose feels more sore than broken, but he can¡¯t stop crying. It¡¯s probably stress. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I should have been more careful,¡± Tachibana frets. Yuuya looks at him through the cracked glass of his remaining lens. Tachibana looks genuinely worried, consumed with empathy, as if he weren¡¯t harassing him and implying Yuuya was fishing for a sugar daddy only a little bit earlier today. Yuuya looks away and mops his tears with the neck of his shirt. It comes away bloodstained. He¡¯s guided all the way to the bed, and Yuuya backs all the way up to the pillow and burrows himself under the blankets. He listens to Tachibana explain what happened, and lets the nurse pluck the glasses off his face and mop up the blood. He winces when the cut is disinfected, and again when a plaster is applied. Yuuya spends a while just staring at the ceiling. When he hears Tachibana leave, he bites down on his lip until the pain feels roughly equal to the pain coming from his nose. This whole thing was a mistake. He rolls over, and uses the excuse of the pain to let out a few broken, frustrated sobs. He wants to go home. Chapter 5 - Violence [What does it mean to give up?] Accept his meaninglessness and die? He doesn¡¯t want to. [What does it mean to dismiss others as ¡®people¡¯?] Refuse their existence entirely? It would only make life more troublesome. [What does it mean to exist?] To have a tangible effect on your surroundings? Anyone could do that. Then¡­ [What does it mean to keep fighting?] Look for a way out of this city¡¯s machinations? It¡¯s impossible. [What does it mean to accept others as people?] Creating a clear divide between ¡®affected by storyline¡¯ and ¡®not affected¡¯¡­? That¡¯s obvious enough already. But they¡¯ll still go back to ¡®affected by storyline¡¯ eventually, anyway. It¡¯s pointless to divide them when they bounce between the two. It¡¯s an annoyance. It¡¯s troublesome. It hurts. [What does it mean to not exist?] ¡­ ¡°¡­Pisses me off.¡± Yuuya lies in the infirmary bed with his hands over his eyes. The beds here are soft and comforting, and the blanket is pleasantly fluffy. It feels like this place is a nap room rather than a place for sick people. Makes sense, considering the kinds of scenario flags that get raised in infirmaries. Since he had nothing to do but cry and hurt a lot, he let his mind wander. Picking apart his reality in Nashioka is only making him more miserable, though. Rather than things going badly, or things going well, he¡¯s stuck somewhere in the middle. It¡¯s just stress, eating at his existing wounds. In a TV show, he¡¯d only be haunted about one specific subject, but in reality, everything is bothering him. That¡¯s how stress works. In a TV show, he¡¯d be caving under the pressure, if he¡¯s hit the point where he¡¯s resorting to violence and a screaming episode on the roof, but in reality, it was more like a tantrum. He¡¯s gone back to simply aggravated after sleeping on it. All of his misery feels, in summary, incredibly half-assed. And yet, he can¡¯t even resolve this much. ¡°¡­PISSES ME OFF!¡± Yuuya grabs the pillow out from under his head and chucks it as hard as he can through the curtain. Whump. The sound comes far earlier than he expected, with far more solidness to it than it should, if it¡¯s just hitting the curtains from the bed opposite him. Hesitantly, Yuuya crawls to the edge of the bed and carefully pulls the curtain back. A battle manga character. Yuuya stares blankly ahead. There, right in front of him, is a battle manga character. They¡¯re all soft cues, something you wouldn¡¯t really pick up on unless you¡¯re used to them to begin with, but for Yuuya, it¡¯s obvious. The guy in front of him is a total ikemen for one, a pinnacle of Japanese masculine beauty with his high cheekbones and narrow black eyes that regard Yuuya coolly. His hair is a dusky silver, filled with natural grey and white tones that make the untidy locks look like the fur of a winter wolf. The haircut is sloppy in a good-looking way, with one long ahoge at the top matching the soft trail of hair around his neck. He¡¯s also covered in blood, has twin threads coloured Passion Red and Violence Purple, and wearing a leather jacket over his uniform. His uniform isn¡¯t even regulation, even ignoring the jacket. He¡¯s wearing black pants instead of brown ones. Altogether, the image is: an incredibly attractive bad boy who seems to have just come out of a dangerous situation and isn¡¯t known for following rules. Because he has a Violence Purple thread, he can¡¯t be a love interest, but because he¡¯s so hot, he can¡¯t be a henchman. He doesn¡¯t seem to care much for image ¡ª beyond the fact that wearing all black when being covered in blood is a thing that can happen to you is really practical ¡ª and yet he has no sign of an ego, so a delinquent leader is unlikely too. So of course, it¡¯s that; a good-looking fangirl bait loner battle manga character. Yuuya¡¯s never seen one up close. ¡°You.¡± Oohh. It spoke. ¡°You think you can roughhouse in an infirmary?¡± ¡°Is that a problem?¡± Yuuya asks. ¡°This is a place of rest. Throwing things as you like, you want to die?¡± ¡°¡­Sorry.¡± The Battle Manga Fangirl Bait guy narrows his eyes. ¡°If that was enough, I wouldn¡¯t have to discipline anyone at all. Get out.¡± ¡°I¡¯m injured though¡­¡± ¡°Do I need to repeat myself?¡± Fangirl Bait snaps. He lurches forward to grab at Yuuya, and Yuuya jumps back to the head of the bed and stands. ¡°Quit it! I have head trauma! I could have a concussion!¡± ¡°Go to a hospital then.¡± ¡°I suppose you¡¯re gonna wa-walk me?¡± Fangirl Bait¡¯s brows furrow. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be difficult, I¡¯ll make an example out of you.¡± ¡°Try it, you pushy piece of shit! I¡¯m in a bad enough mood already!¡± Yuuya snaps. ¡°Have it your way.¡± Fangirl Bait walks to the right, out of view. Yuuya slips off the bed and ducks under the curtains. He hears some sort of wind tension. Yuuya inches around and peeks in the direction Fangirl Bait left in. Fangirl Bait has a rusty metal pipe, and he¡¯s swinging it experimentally with an unnaturally cold expression. A battle maniac. Yuuya doesn¡¯t really have the energy to be afraid. This guy wouldn¡¯t be still attending the school if he broke kids¡¯ bones for tossing pillows about. He just has to accept that this is encounter is going to end in pain. Battle maniacs, in order to remain interesting, are ruthlessly efficient and only threatening in theory, and hell, Yuuya was planning on lazing in his room like a lazy sack of garbage for the next three years anyway. Like a few bruises would change that. If ¡®snapping¡¯ did one thing, it assured that he is waaaay too far gone to care about anything anymore. ¡°That supposed to scare me?¡± He sniffs. ¡°Your feelings are irrelevant.¡± Fangirl Bait charges. Seeing as it¡¯s a heavy object and Fangirl Bait swings wide, Yuuya has more than enough time to dodge. He stumbles backwards into the wall, and ducks from an overhead strike, taking advantage of the moderation required to not instantly kill Yuuya with blunt force trauma. He scrambles for the door, but doesn¡¯t really expect to make it. He can practically predict the jab to his spine with nothing more than narrative understanding, and falling on his face is ultimately the better option. ¡°Stop squirming and accept your fate.¡± ¡°Eat shit,¡± Yuuya groans back. He rolls out of the way of the expected downwards strike, but Fangirl Bait drags it horizontally to clip him on the shoulder. Yuuya yelps and rolls again to clutch it. His eyes sting and the start of a sob clogs his throat. Now he¡¯s really pissed. Yuuya jumps to his feet just in time to avoid the pipe aimed for the back of his neck, and grunts when the trajectory is changed again to bash him in the thigh. A tear rolls down his cheek and he¡¯s hiccuping hysterically; the only thing keeping him from curling up into a ball and bawling again is the adrenalin. ¡°Now you won¡¯t even l-le-let me leave? You need to make up your mind.¡± ¡°I¡¯m making an example of you.¡± ¡°To who? There¡¯s no one here, £ä£õ£í£â£ó£è£é£ô!¡± Fangirl Bait snarls and dives at him. Right into Yuuya¡¯s waiting knife. He sidesteps out of the way just in time to avoid the stab, and his eyes widen as he digests the sharpened edge slicing the side of his leather jacket. He looks from the rip, to the knife, to Yuuya. Yuuya tilts his head and scowls rebelliously. ¡°What? Weren¡¯t you going to make an example of me?¡± ¡°Weapons are forbidden by school rules.¡± ¡°YOU HAVE A METAL PIPE.¡± ¡°Disobeying the rules is what allows me to punish those who need it.¡± ¡°Is that what you told the principal when you had to sell the leather jacket?¡± That seems to piss him off. Fangirl Bait dives towards him, faster this time, with a shorter swing. Yuuya has the battle instincts of a dodo, so the bash to the hand that knocks away his knife is practically unavoidable. He sucks in a shrieking seethe of pain and slams his head into the wall behind him to deal with it. This fight is probably going to end in Yuuya going into shock well before Fangirl Bait beats him adequately. ¡°Then¡ª¡± Fangirl Bait doesn¡¯t seem to want Yuuya have time to deal with it, but that¡¯s what adrenalin is for. The pipe is deflected with another knife, serrated for all his friction needs. He slides it on impact so it skates down the rusted metal and cuts a line across Fangirl Bait¡¯s wrist. Yuuya clenches his teeth through the throb in his other hand¡¯s fingers and whips out a flick blade aimed at Fangirl Bait¡¯s shoulder, since there¡¯s no way he could grip anything with it. Fangirl Bait sidesteps it and swings at Yuuya¡¯s back. Yuuya falls on his face again. Whatever works. Fangirl Bait kicks him in the ribs. Or not. Yuuya coughs and grinds his forehead into the floor. His breathing is coming in wet and shaky, and tears are trickling down his face. How the hell do battle manga characters do it? He just got kicked around a bit and the pain is already unbearable. ¡°¡­Interesting.¡± Yuuya can hear the smirk in his voice. He feels a new, fresh wave of rage. ¡°Do- Don¡¯t say stuff like that¡­I¡¯ll c-cry, you know¡­?¡± ¡°You¡¯re already crying.¡± Yuuya gets back up with one shaky arm. The kick to his ribs is making it really hard to breathe, which is bad, because his breath is coming in short. He glares up through his fringe at Fangirl Bait. He¡¯s smirking, alright, and the interest is lighting up his pitch black, evil little eyes. ¡°¡­Well¡­Y-You¡¯re not wrong. I guess I would be interesting t-to someone like¡­like you.¡± Yuuya swallows. ¡°I bet you spend a lot of time at the underground b-b-ba-b-battle tournaments, right? Haha¡­hic¡­¡± Fangirl Bait narrows his eyes. Loner badasses are known for not having a very colourful emotional spectrum, so Yuuya just ignores it. It could mean anything. ¡°Really¡­I already know I stand out. Even if I don¡¯t wa-want to. Because I was raised by the kind of people who address ¡®good self-defense¡¯ with ¡®get into a knife-fight¡¯. My brother, y¡¯know¡­He doesn¡¯t know how to use a knife at all, but still¡­¡± Yuuya throws the flick blade. Fangirl Bait knocks it out of the air. Yuuya can¡¯t think of a good way to capitalize on that, so he just charges with the serrated knife. That one is knocked out of his hand too, only to be replaced with a second flick blade that¡¯s drawn out in just the right place to (accidentally) stab Fangirl Bait in the arm. Even as Fangirl Bait moves to discard that one too, Yuuya brings out a third, and that one is barely knocked away by a vicious elbow. Yuuya isn¡¯t fast enough or perceptive enough to react to the pipe changing trajectory again, and he¡¯s helpless as it bounces from the second flick blade to the other side of his ribcage. Yuuya screams through his teeth and finds it suddenly impossible to breath. He goes flying to the floor and skids a few feet. ¡°How many knives do you have on you?¡± Fangirl Bait asks with detached interest. Yuuya forces his lungs to take in air and almost answers, but it just comes out as a pained wail and a few shuddering sobs. He lets out a rallying roar of angry, crying fury, and forces himself to his feet again. ¡°Half my usual!¡± Yuuya practically screams, like he can just yell the pain away. ¡°The rest! In my uniform!¡± ¡°Give up.¡± ¡°Ssshhut u-u-up¡­SHUT UP! Let me! Monologue! Asshole! £Æ£õ£ã£ë£é£î£ç £ä£é£å!¡± ¡°Monologue¡­?¡± ¡°The battle tournaments!¡± Yuuya squeezes his eyes shut. He can¡¯t remember where he was going with the monologuing. His head is swimming. Battle tournaments. Battle tournaments. He hasn¡¯t monologued since his first year of middle school. Oh! Oh yeah! ¡°My brother¡­Ha¡­Haaa¡­Haru-nii-chan, you know¡­Even if he doesn¡¯t know¡­how to use a knife¡­He was still a two-time champion! So he taught me useless shit! Like this!¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem useless to me¡ª¡± ¡°What kind of JACKASS gets in a situation where he need-ed-eh¡­needs to pull out a bunch of knives! What possible situation could require that! He said I should because I can¡¯t fight! And I¡¯d get disarmed again and again! But he should have taught me to fight to begin with! Why would you teach your ki-kid brother a weird skill like this¡­with some stupid excuse like ¡®it looks cool¡¯! What a £æ£õ£ã£ë£é£î£ç¡¡£á£ó£ó£è£ï£ì£å! Piece of shit brother! £Ç£ï£ä£¡ £Ä£á£í£í£é£ô£¡¡± Fangirl Bait tilts his head. ¡°Sounds like someone I¡¯d like to face in battle¡­¡± ¡°Shut up! You shit chuunibyou patient! You stay¡­auhh¡­¡± Yuuya crumples under the blinding throb of his ribs and shoulder, and screams at the top of his lungs until it¡¯s at least mildly tolerable again. Screaming really hard does wonders for pain. ¡°You stay away from my brother!¡± ¡°Hmph. I¡¯ve been craving a good fight¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say something even more Chuuni after I call you a chuunibyou patient, you stupid fuck! Do you want me t-to congratulate you? Nice, nice, you Chuuni g-g-ga-g-g-garbage!¡± Fangirl Bait has lost interest in banter, though, and charges again. Yuuya is barely on his feet, and his hands fumble under his waist. The knife he was trying to unclip tumbles out of his pant leg and clatters to the floor, cutting his ankle in the process, and he slips and falls reacting to both that and the pipe aimed at his skull, which ends up colliding with the nurse¡¯s desk. He gives up and chucks a container of cotton balls at Fangirl Bait. It¡¯s easily batted away. He chucks a container of tongue depressors too, to similar effect. ¡°Will you cut it out! Just let me leave!¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Do you think I could release prey that struggles so enticingly?¡± Fangirl Bait drawls. ¡°£È£ï£ï£ï£ï£ì£ù £ó£è£é£ô.¡± Yuuya¡¯s blush kickstarts, second-hand embarrassment rising where debilitating phobia had failed. He lets out a delirious giggle. The pipe swings again. Yuuya falls into the curtain of the nearest bed, and the chair cracks under the strike. He collides with the bed, and does a somersault right over it. He takes the moment of respite away from Fangirl Bait¡¯s eyes to actually unclip the next knife properly, this time. He only has two left after this. Maybe he can choke that trashy character with the stretchy wire wound around his leg. Who knew his brother¡¯s insistent dabbling in useless battle storylines would actually have some practical result. Amazing. Now Yuuya¡¯s not just going to get his ass kicked, he¡¯s going to die! ¡°Found you.¡± Yuuya snorts up his snot and glares down the silver-haired Chuuni menace. ¡°Yeah yeah¡­I-I see ya too.¡±
Takumi thinks the whole Reikawa Yuuya situation is going really great. He¡¯s used to reclusive hikikomori types, and he¡¯s used to violent delinquent types, so it¡¯s weird seeing one showing off both traits. Takumi really cannot even begin to imagine what caused this kind of result. Reikawa-kun isn¡¯t just shy and lonely, he seems to hate everything around him with a really unnecessary fervor. Thankfully, Azuna-chan didn¡¯t seem particularly ruffled by a frisky first-year cracking open a wall with her skull, so it shouldn¡¯t be too hard to re-integrate him! ¡­Probably. ¡°I¡¯m going to go check on Reikawa-kun!¡± Takumi calls to Ikegami-kun, who is practising dribbling the ball with hilarious intensity. ¡°Oh! Uhm¡­¡± Ikegami-kun glances over his shoulder at him and catches the ball in both palms. ¡°Okay! Will you be coming back?¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­I don¡¯t know, I might need to walk him home. He¡¯s pretty vulnerable, but prickly enough that he might attack someone on the way.¡± ¡°¡­Bring him to the school counselor already¡­¡± Ikegami-kun mutters. Takumi grins. ¡°Hm? What was that?¡± ¡°N-Nothing! Good luck!¡± Takumi waves and takes off in the direction of the infirmary. He shooouuuld let an adult handle it. He¡¯s not really an expert at teenagers, seeing as he still is one, and thus has a lot of bias. But Reikawa-kun is really interesting, and Takumi wants to pick him to pieces. He¡¯s like a small, cute, fuzzy little animal that tears throats out when backed into a corner. If it¡¯s an abuse case, of course he¡¯s going to address it, but otherwise, it¡¯s almost as wonderful as trying to figure out why Inoue is the way he i¡ª ¡°UUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!¡± ¡°¡­What the.¡± The scream echoing through the halls sounds almost animalistic, high and androgynous yet ribbed with the deepness of a roar, and it¡¯s coming in the direction of¡­the infirmary? Oh. Uh-oh. Takumi breaks into a sprint, and makes it to the right hallway just in time to see Inoue in the flesh, falling backwards out of the doorway trying to deflect a knife being chucked at him. ¡°Inoue! What are you doing?!¡± Takumi yells. ¡°He¡¯s¡ª¡± Inoue starts, but then an underweight teenager comes flying out of the door and takes a huge bite out of Inoue¡¯s neck. Deja vu. It¡¯s deja vu, huh. Inoue grabs the boy by the scruff of the neck and chucks him at Takumi. It looks like he didn¡¯t break skin, at least. Reikawa-kun skids to a stop at Takumi¡¯s feet, convulses once, and curls up into a ball like a dying spider, clutching his torso and his shoulder. He seems to make an effort to sit up with just his elbows, but gives up and collapses with a wail that shakes Takumi¡¯s heart, pulling his knees up and sobbing into the floor instead. His hands and arms are covered in fresh bruises, some bleeding from wide scrapes. Takumi looks up with a pinpoint fury just as Inoue starts forward again, clearly intending to finish the job. ¡°You better not take another step.¡± ¡°He¡¯s about to become an example¡ª¡± ¡°Inoue.¡± Takumi grabs the pipe and glares him down. ¡°You keep on like that, don¡¯t expect to remain in the Committee, let alone the school.¡± ¡°He has knives,¡± Inoue spits irritably. Takumi blinks. He turns to look at Reikawa-kun, who has a hand stuffed down his pants. He blinks his teary eyes innocently and slowly draws his hand away from his waistband. Takumi drops the pipe, marches over to the smaller teen, and yanks up his trouser leg. There¡¯s some sort of elastic string wound around it, and the upper thigh has a series of clips. One of them still has a knife stuck to it. ¡°¡­Why.¡± ¡°Self-defense,¡± Reikawa-kun mutters sulkily into the floor. Takumi snaps the string against his leg, and says it again. ¡°Why.¡± ¡°Kind of like¡­¡¯you¡¯re going to get disa-diss-disar-di¡­¡± Yuuya coughs, wheezes a few times, and chokes out a few more sobs. He¡¯s heartbreaking to listen to, in this state. Or he would be, if he wasn¡¯t glaring hatefully at Inoue like he was thinking of ripping off an ear with his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m going to lose any knife I use, so I might as well have a bunch of the-them. I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t fight. But I can pull them out fast. It¡¯s sort of like I can.¡± That¡¯s not even remotely the weirdest thing Takumi has ever seen from a student, but it still strikes him as distinctly illogical. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just learn more self defe¡ª¡± ¡°Because it looks c-c-cool! ¨C hic ¨C Because it looks cool! Because my brother is a stu¡­he¡¯s so stupid, he¡¯d teach his brother something that looks cool in-instead of practical! And I never would ha-have had to show off such a s-stupid skill if he hadn¡¯t¡­if he hadn¡¯t attacked me! I know it¡¯s stupid, okay!¡± ¡°Sorry, sorry. Relax.¡± Takumi ruffles his hair and stands up. He glances over his shoulder at Inoue, who finally seems to have somehow deduced that he¡¯s in trouble. ¡°While he¡¯ll be sent home for carrying weapons¡­he pulled a weapon because you attacked him first? Am I wrong? Yuito.¡± Inoue¡¯s lips thin at the sound of his name. ¡°Should I ask the chairman what¡¯s to be done with you? I wonder.¡± ¡°He was¡ª¡± ¡°He was mad I threw a pillow at him,¡± Reikawa-kun grumbles. Takumi takes a steeling breath. ¡°¡­Yuito.¡± Inoue¡¯s mouth shuts with a click. He works his jaw and stuffs the pipe in a belt loop. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s talk to her. If you¡¯re so insistent.¡± ¡°This¡¯ll be the fourth time in two weeks¡­Inoue, you¡¯re really¡­¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be suspended.¡± ¡°There is literally no way you won¡¯t be. Be glad you¡¯re still immune to expulsion. I¡¯m sure if the rest of the teachers had their way, you¡¯d be ¡®suspended¡¯ for the rest of the school year.¡± Inoue folds his arms and glares at the floor like a scolded child. Takumi makes sure to keep his palm on Inoue¡¯s back as he walks him towards the School Delegate Committee¡¯s room, just in case he bolts. He looks behind him, at Reikawa-kun, who has, beyond all expectations, managed to sit up on his own. Takumi gives him an apologetic look. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll be back to¡ª¡± ¡°Forget it. I¡¯ll go home by myself,¡± Reikawa-kun hiccups. Takumi clicks his tongue, but he can¡¯t leave Inoue alone before the chairman gives her verdict, so he just sighs and continues to push his clubmate down the hall. As he goes, he hears the barest trace of a voice. ¡°¡­Wanna go home.¡±
¡°Why do you use swords all the time?¡± Haruhiko paused in mid-swing. The blades he used were rectangles and didn¡¯t have a guard before the handle, like razors. Yuuya was always sure one of those days his brother¡¯s grip would slip and he¡¯d cut his hand open. It never happened. That Yuuya knows of. ¡°Ah, ah. I dunno. I like them. I guess.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Haruhiko got out of posture and slid his sword back into its sheath. ¡°Well, it¡¯s pretty cool and flashy, riiiight~¡± ¡°Lame.¡± ¡°Ugh¡ª!¡± Haruhiko leaned over, clutching his chest like he¡¯d been struck. ¡°What do you need to be flashy for. Everyone at school says flashy people are lame.¡± ¡°Uwaaaaa, are you entering the rebellious age, Yuu-chan?! Don¡¯t bully your brother!¡± Yuuya squinted suspiciously at him. Haruhiko laughed. ¡°Well, it¡¯s true I have an ulterior motive.¡± ¡°Like?¡± ¡°Hmm¡­Well, with this, I became the battle tournament champion! Though I won¡¯t be trying that again anytime soon.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Haruhiko wrapped an arm around Yuuya¡¯s waist and pulled him down to the ground so they could sit next to each other on the grass. Yuuya let him. ¡°Well, you see, everyone was suuuuper weak, even though I wasn¡¯t even using real blades ¡ª they¡¯re illegal in matches ¡ª and I thought I was soooo cool. But then! It turns out it was just a plot setup! They were all mob characters making way for the guy that was supposed to be some uppity protagonist¡¯s big bad antagonist! And I stole the seat! So I had to go over there and get ready to defend my title against a protagonist and an antagonist, as well as a bunch of rival characters all vying for the top¡­I ended up forfeiting and spouting some nonsense about ¡®honour¡¯ and stuff and going home to cry in the bathroom for three hours straight. Only the sweet embrace of Hanako¡¯s soft bosom healed me. I was totally scarred. It was a traumatic experience.¡± ¡°Lame.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m okay with being lame. Rather than being cool, your brother wants to live, y¡¯know.¡± Haruhiko flopped onto his back with his hands folded behind his head. Yuuya copied him. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer me.¡± ¡°Ehh, you¡¯re so sharp, Yuu-chan. I bet you¡¯re a child genius. Super cool. I want to show you off to the neighbours.¡± ¡°Haru-nii-saaaaaaaaa¡ª¡± ¡°I got it, I got it.¡± Haruhiko reached over and rubbed Yuuya¡¯s shaved head. Yuuya squirmed into his palm like a pleased cat. ¡°¡­It¡¯s just that it looks cool though.¡± ¡°But whyyyyyy¡ª¡± ¡°Because. When you see someone carrying swords, it draws the eye, right?¡± A sad expression. ¡°People can¡¯t help but look at you, right?¡± A watery voice. ¡°A flashy guy using flashy swords, not to mention a competent one, a person like that would surely be outstanding. An oddity, right? I¡¯d be super odd.¡± Hard, calloused hands with soft movements. Haruhiko turned onto his side and looked at Yuuya with a desperate expression. His other hand came up to grip Yuuya¡¯s arm as his hand slid down to cradle Yuuya¡¯s face. ¡°Hey, Yuuya¡­¡± A really stupid brother. A really happy-go-lucky, overly-doting, annoying brother. That¡¯s all Yuuya knew him as. It was weird, seeing him look like he was about to cry. ¡°I¡¯m going to end up like mom, at this rate, y¡¯know? So let me be a little flashy.¡± Nowadays, Yuuya thinks it¡¯s a little like looking in a mirror. Chapter 6 - Treading Distance Content prep: reckless underage drinking Things have become troublesome. Yuuya applies disinfectant and pastes on another plaster. He knew he¡¯d bruise, but he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d get this many scrapes; pretty much the only places the skin didn¡¯t tear were covered by his clothes. Even then, if it hit hard enough, like the clip to the shoulder, there was still a little scraping. As a result, his arms are covered in white squares, exhausting the supplies in his bag. He even had to wrap his ankle in bandages. That¡¯s what he gets for stuffing a bunch of knives down his pants. All of this, combined with his black eye, bring up a serious complication: How is he supposed to go home? His brother is going to have a stroke. How can he just show up at the family dinner table looking like he just got on the wrong side of a street gang? At best, his brother is going to try to hunt down the culprit, and as much as Yuuya would enjoy seeing Fangirl Bait get his just desserts for being a pipe-wielding violent psychopath, it seems he might be a figure of some influence; how else would he avoid expulsion for attacking people at random? It¡¯d be nice if he was just the son of the principal or whatever, but he might be the son of some politician. It¡¯s dangerous. And, again, his brother is going to be worried sick. Combining an annoyingly doting guardian figure with gratuitous violence is the worst possible idea. Yuuya is adverse to the idea simply out of the desire to keep his brother¡¯s life stress-free. The bruises are going to take at least a month to go away, though, which is almost as alarming as coming home looking like he just got mugged. This sucks. Yuuya still calls his home phone and leaves a message anyway. ¡°I won¡¯t be coming home tonight, sorry. Dinner¡¯s in the fridge. I¡¯m taking a vacation.¡± He snaps his phone shut and leans on his knees with a long, shaky sigh. He wants to go home. Anyway. He opens his browser to a few social networking sites and flips through Nashioka events at practised speeds until he finds something solid. High-maintenance and high-difficulty, but solid. He¡¯s crashing for the night at someone else¡¯s place, now, so he needs to be able to pay for it. Luckily, he¡¯s got some practice in that regard.
Threads are completely unaffected by just about anything but a Reikawa, so Yuuya can find the threads he wants with just a quick look above the building he¡¯s staking out. He doesn¡¯t utilize it often, but his ability is seriously beyond convenient for tracking people. Eventually a Drama Blue comes out, and for once, it comes from the ¡®supplier¡¯. Snap. ¡°Uwaaaah. What a scandal.¡± The two leaving look up at Yuuya, perched on the wall holding a camera. He had been out of sight thanks to the tree in the way, landing him a nice shot. Not that they would have noticed him even if they saw him sitting there from a distance. ¡°W-What¡­¡± ¡°Compensation dating, huh.¡± Right. The best way to make money: Park outside a love hotel and target a man who appears to have the most to lose from having his dirty dealings revealed. The reliability of this technique is usually questionable. You¡¯d get a more solid result from extorting from train molesters, to be honest. But besides being infrequent and hard to spot, catching, isolating, and threatening an adult man with a career-ruining bit of blackmail can be ¡ª depending on your age, height, weight, sex, attractiveness, how many people you brought with you, and how good you are with a camera to begin with ¡ª anywhere from reckless to suicidal. Staking out a love hotel is more of a problem in simple practicality. Japan is a place of many apartments and households full of people; it¡¯s simpler for a lot of people to use hotels like this to fulfill their carnal urges. Usually, it would take forever to find someone who is genuinely up to no good, and in that time you¡¯d get chased off by the staff. On top of that, the blackmail might backfire horrendously if you go after someone prone to violence. Thankfully, Yuuya is a Reikawa, and Reikawas do not have any of these problems. He¡¯s been sitting there for two hours now, and of the three dozen horny people who have come in, not a single person seems to be aware of his existence. He may as well have been a boring stone gargoyle. And then, there¡¯s the matter of targets. Again, something simple for a Reikawa. Yuuya just has to cross-reference threads to character design. So a politician-looking guy who looks kinda shifty, wielding a Drama Blue thread with no Violence Purple, walking out with a youthful-looking girl. ¡°This is without a doubt a scandal, right?¡± The girl beside him bolts. Clever. The man can¡¯t do as much, and simply waves angrily at him. ¡°You¡­Delete that!¡± ¡°Ah? Should I? How much money do you think I¡¯d get if I sold it to someone? The tabloids or your wife? Which is the bigger issue?¡± ¡°You bastard¡ª!¡± ¡°I could just sell it back to you, though.¡± Yuuya outstretches a palm. ¡°Cough it up. Compensation for all the money I¡¯m losing, y¡¯know?¡± The guy is sweating like a pig. ¡°H-how much¡­¡± ¡°Well. I have something specific in mind. So. 15,000 yen or so should do it.¡± The man is so relieved so suddenly that he laughs out loud. ¡°O¡­only that¡­!?¡± ¡°Well. I just don¡¯t have the money on me, and if I ran around extttorti- extorting politicians for huge sums, I¡¯d die.¡± ¡°Hehegh¡­You¡¯re still a bad kid, you know. Your parents should have raised you better.¡± ¡°My dad skipped out and my mom taught me to put food on¡¯th¡ª on the table. I¡¯m fine as I am.¡± A wad of bills is slapped into his waiting hand. Yuuya dangles the camera by the strap, and the politician-looking man quickly deletes the pictures. Yuuya bounces it back into his palm and stuffs it back into his bag. ¡°¡­S¡¯rry for bothering.¡± ¡°Get a part time job if you have time for this kind of thing!¡± Yuuya shakes his head and dashes off down the fence and around the block.
On cleared land surrounded by lush forests is a western-style mansion so luxurious that you want to ask ¡®is this really still Japan?¡¯ The front gardens are the size of most city blocks. The building stretches about as wide, with three floors and a massive glass window uniting two of them in a framed vision of the main stairwell. Hedges line the road, and to the side is a meticulously maintained carpark, filled with gleaming vehicles and circulating limos even as it¡¯s observed. That¡¯s right. It¡¯s that¡­ ¡®Plot convenience rich person house¡¯. It exists purely to show off the difference between a poor person and a rich person. Rich people houses don¡¯t look like this outside of Nashioka, but because it had the misfortune of spawning within the boundaries of the city, the builders did all kinda of weird shit to it to make it look super bombastic and unnecessary. The only artistic quality it has ¡®it has to look like it¡¯s owned by someone who is just, super rich, you guys¡¯. There¡¯s even a two-storey fountain in the courtyard. It¡¯s out of control. The entire human populace isn¡¯t constantly gripped by the throes of the Narrative, and normal, actual people do in fact visit Nashioka sometimes, so it¡¯s mostly known as a bed and breakfast for rich people from around Japan and, indeed, the rest of the world. It¡¯s a vacation house for the wealthy. A party house for the successful. Everyone collectively looked at the house, went ¡®hang on¡¯, and then exploited it to the best of their ability to justify their fit of rich-person-house-building insanity. Speaking of parties. There¡¯s a large procession of well-dressed rich people filing into the building. There are members of all ages, but most of them are teenagers, so Yuuya can only assume it¡¯s the teenage son who¡¯s hosting this one. He doesn¡¯t know much about this family beyond that one teenage son, the eldest who¡¯s inheriting the family business, and the asshole who went to Yuuya¡¯s middle school that seems to actively engage with poor people just to show off how Not Poor he is. He wasn¡¯t in Yuuya¡¯s class, but Yuuya hates him about as much as he hates his classmates. Anyway. Big party, bigger house, it is a literal impossibility that anyone would keep track of every single guest bedroom. Even if they do check it, it simply wouldn¡¯t ID in their heads that Yuuya is not supposed to be there. It¡¯s even less likely now that all that extortion money was spent on an expensive suit and makeup to cover his black eye. Yuuya tails a large group on his way in, and keeps perfect pace with them as they approach the door. The doorman waves them in, takes their coats, and Yuuya veers naturally to a potted plant. He presses himself against the wall until the next group of people are signed into a guestbook and pass by him, at which point he fluidly falls in line behind them, easily following them to the ballroom. It is absolutely ludicrous how extravagant this place is. Lights. Everywhere. Two chandeliers. Every single wall except the one featuring the windows is mirrored. It¡¯s like walking into some kind of horrible rich person fever dream. People are already milling about, since the music hasn¡¯t gotten interesting enough to dance to yet. Yuuya does a hard swerve to the beverages table. There¡¯s a small table for hard alcohol, moderated by an attendant to keep out the kids. Yuuya plucks a cup of whiskey out of a man¡¯s hand while he¡¯s deep in conversation with some other rich guy and downs a mouthful with an exaggerated swig. He lets out a few muted coughs, but goes unnoticed. He puts the cup back and nicks a flute of champagne from the hands of a distracted woman instead. Time for threads. Yuuya didn¡¯t bring his glasses along, technically. He has the glasses case he usually wears around his neck in his pocket like an old-fashioned watch, but he didn¡¯t bring a pair to actively wear on his face. He gets panicked in other people¡¯s houses. Different genres don¡¯t interact often on the streets, but anything goes once you¡¯re in someone¡¯s enormous fairy tale cartoon house. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. So far, everything as expected. A massive collection of Daily Greens and Drama Blues. Sad lady in the corner has a Tragedy Blue. A few Love Pinks, but it¡¯s nowhere near as bad as Nashi High is getting. It¡¯s a very sedate, relaxing, non-threatening party, altogether. Yuuya doesn¡¯t feel very safe, though. He puts the champagne flute on a table, fills a plate with a bunch of little cheese things, and takes a glass of wine on his way back onto the ballroom floor. Yuuya¡¯s eyes slide over person after person, head after head. It¡¯s a rich person event, and it was advertised on the internet. It¡¯s a rich person event at a house known for housing foreign rich people. Therefore¡­ His breath catches. There, a cluster of four people, completely threadless. He downs all his wine in one gulp and makes his way towards them. They¡¯re being greeted by some tall brown-haired guy. Yuuya places his wine glass into the hand of a passing waiter, takes someone¡¯s champagne, downs that too, and, not finding any waiters, gives it to someone making a wide gesture to the person they¡¯re speaking with. He stops in front of the group with his throat on fire and a glowing heat stretching through his centre to fill his head like a hot air balloon. The brown-haired individual turns, and Yuuya realizes he sees pink cobwebs. Ah. The youngest son of the mansion. He doesn¡¯t remember his name and it doesn¡¯t matter, what¡¯s important is that he did not immediately notice Yuuya, and Yuuya has ample opportunity to get the hell out of there. He slides out of the romance-poisoned Character¡¯s line of sight and shoves his way past a couple and a throng of people, until he feels like maybe he¡¯s out of sight and out of mind, now. He presses his face against the wall, next to a mirror glowing gold with all the lights. His face is hot. This confuses him, until he remembers he¡¯s had half a shot of whiskey, a glass of wine, and two flutes of champagne in under five minutes. It doesn¡¯t feel like enough, but Yuuya knows enough about his alcohol tolerance that if he consumes any more alcohol, he¡¯s going to end up passed out in the middle of the ballroom. He feels like he¡¯s going to be sick, and it doesn¡¯t have anything to do with what he just ingested. No matter who he talks to, they¡¯re all going go, they¡¯re all going to leave, there¡¯s no point and trying to attach himself to some ephemeral passing figure when in the end he¡¯s going to be either all alone or betrayed by the city and it hurts and it¡¯s not fair but that¡¯s how it is, that¡¯s how life is, and he needs to stop embarrassing himself with all these desperate last-ditch efforts to connect with something that is going to leave. Yuuya sucks in a deep breath of air through his nostrils, stuffs the rest of the cheese things in his mouth, and leaves the room with a bottle of red wine.
The nightscape is cool and colourless. He¡¯s too far away from the main city for it to be coated in the usual green haze, leaving a dark, endless blue sky with the occasional streak of green; since the threads don¡¯t exist in the traditional sense, they¡¯re unaffected by lighting, and even at midnight, their colours are bright and untouched. Even though he¡¯s too far away to see normal threads, the White Thread is perfectly visible in the distance. Just looking at it makes him feel like his skin is peeling, like every part of him is being ripped up, placed out, and inspected. Yuuya strolls through the back gardens with exaggerated swinging steps and collapses onto a stone bench. He takes a swig of wine while eyeballing the thread. Well, since no one notices him to begin with, being sloppy is fine, right? Since he usually does stuff like shopping and going for walks to destress, and doesn¡¯t generally touch alcohol at all, it¡¯s okay if he makes a little mistake like this, right? Teenagers are prone to mistakes, right? Right. He coughs at the burn of the ethanol and puts the bottle at his feet. Maybe not a good idea to drink it all at once, though. Where should he go after this¡­well, he can only fly sleeping in someone¡¯s mansion during an event like this. At any other time, someone passed out in the guest bedroom would be distracting enough to investigate. So if he¡¯s skipping around long enough for his bruises to stop looking so vicious, that¡¯s a month of hopping about. Could he try sleeping in someone¡¯s linen closet? Or maybe he could just go home. He wants to go home. He also wants to leave and never come back. He wants to¡­
Yuuya laid in his brother¡¯s arms on the couch, reading. His brother was his pillow, watching TV to pass the time. Yuuya¡¯s eyes scanned over the book. He pointed at a word. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Yuuya¡¯s brother looked down. ¡°¡­That¡¯s¡­£Æ£á£÷£î. You seriously couldn¡¯t read that?¡± ¡°No, I¡­Read the whole thing!¡± Yuuya flushed, realizing only just then how poorly-thought-out his joke was. He did. The casual warmness in his expression died out as he went along, until he had a deep, shadowed frown on his face. His brother snapped the book closed. ¡°Well, that¡¯s enough of that, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Noooo, I was reading it!¡± ¡°Yuu-chan, this book was written in¡ª what, the 1890s? You should practice your English with something more modern.¡± Yuuya climbed out of his brother¡¯s lap. ¡°I want to read that one!¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m sick of it, so you should pick something else.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t even have to read it! You were watching TV!¡± His brother sat up. ¡°I just think if you¡¯re going to be speaking modern English like Canadians do, you could do better than a British book written in the 1800s.¡± ¡°Why does it matter! It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll ever go to Canada!¡± His brother froze. A pained expression twisted his face, and then it melted away to anger. Muffled arguing voices could be heard coming from the kitchen, filling the silence with even more tension. ¡°Dad wants¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care what dad wants! I like this book!¡± ¡°Yuuya, don¡¯t argue¡ª¡± ¡°I want to read it! I want to read it!¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read it about a hundred times already, can you pick something else for once¡ª¡± Arguing rose to shouting. ¡°No! I don¡¯t want to!¡± ¡°Yuuya¡ª¡± ¡°Why do you care! It¡¯s just a book! It¡¯s my favourite, why do you even care, I read a bunch of others too, I don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± The anger twisted and curled. ¡°Yuuya will you LISTEN TO ME¡ª¡± THOOM. The sound of something heavy dropping hard enough to shake the whole house, and countless dishes breaking. His brother¡¯s head whipped around. ¡°MOM!¡± He ran for the kitchen, leaving Yuuya alone in the sitting room. Yuuya glared with damp eyes at his book. Through The Looking Glass, And What Alice Found There. He picked it up and chucked it at the wall. It crumpled onto the floor, and he stared at it as the sound of his brother and his dad arguing reverberated from the kitchen. He wants nothing more than for all of it to go away. Chapter 7 - Villain Gambit Rich people¡¯s houses are seriously the best. Yuuya stretches in the immaculately fluffy bed, and rubs his hands over the fabric of his immaculately plush pajamas. He¡¯s thankful he went to bed too drunk to rationally understand the world around him; even though it made it harder to actually sleep, it at least he didn¡¯t quite pick up on the lack of a warm body next to him. The place even smells nice. This is wonderful. Yuuya pulls his bag out from under his bed and pulls on the single outfit in his bag, something he had brought just in case he wrecked his uniform at school. He lays it out on the floor and gives it a critical inspection. The jeans are¡­questionable. The top is a dark knit cardigan and a low-cut V-neck T-shirt. Almost, but not quite appropriate. He gets an idea, and takes out his school uniform. He matches the cardigan to the dress shirt, and adds a spare silver necklace he had bought and never got around to taking out of his bag. His jeans work a little better with this set. Like this, he looks at least up to standard of a rich and stylish person¡­Probably. Yuuya opens the drawer and fishes out the line of knife clips. It¡¯s troublesome, but learning hand-to-hand combat is even more troublesome, and he doesn¡¯t want to be defenseless, so a bunch of knives in his pants it is. He winds it carefully around his leg and hooks it at the top. To make sure it¡¯s secured, he depends on muscle memory to check if he can grab at the ones clipped at his front, back, and side. They¡¯re all positioned correctly. Satisfied, Yuuya pulls on his clothes, puts the rest (including pajamas) in his bag, and goes out into the hall. The hallway is gaudy too, with these wall fixtures, plant vases, and seemingly endless red carpet. Yuuya wonders what the dining hall is like. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he meanders around, looking as arrogant and rich as he can. He doesn¡¯t¡­actually know where he is. He just opened doors until he started finding bedrooms, before. And he was too drunk to pay attention to his surroundings. What is he going to do¡­ This goes on for another painful ten or so minutes, until Yuuya finds himself on some third-floor study, desperate for a staircase in the very least. There¡¯s limits to house sizes¡­.even hotels aren¡¯t this decadent¡­ Yuuya glares at the ceiling. Right¡­so, what should he do from now on? Jump out the window? Is jumping out the window okay? He¡¯s going to do it. It¡¯s a shame he¡¯s missing out on breakfast, but it can¡¯t be helped. Going to breakfast might make him noticeable anyway. So it¡¯s fine if he jumps out the window. Yuuya marches down the halls until he finds a place with a tree, and unlocks the window. He throws it open to a brilliant sunny day, marked with the white thread being a bit farther to the left. Hm. It hasn¡¯t moved much for the past two weeks. That¡¯s¡­probably something to worry about. No¡­no, it¡¯s something for his family to worry about. Yuuya isn¡¯t involved! Yuuya will remain uninvolved until adulthood! He fishes an elastic wire from his bag and adds a knife from around his leg to the clip at the end. Satisfied, he starts spinning it. In terms of skill, he¡¯s full marks on grabbing knives, but in terms of doing anything with them, they¡¯re all failing grades. He is probably going to have to do this a few times. He throws the knife. It hits the canopy of leaves and then flops around uselessly, as expected. If only the line was long enough to throw it to the ground¡­Yuuya clicks his tongue and tries again. This goes on for what must have been a half-hour. Logically, he should give up and try to find the stairs again, but he¡¯s committed himself to the task, and nothing can stop him. ¡°¡­What are you doing?¡± ¡­Nothing. ¡°Excuse me?¡± Nothing! ¡°Is that a knife?¡± Yuuya bounces the knife back up to his hand and glares at the person talking to him. A girl with raw, untapped beauty, lovely long straight brown hair, and beautiful pink eyes. His eyes flick to above her head. A Love Pink line, and a bad one¡­It¡¯s not irrevocably awful, but Yuuya still flushes and scrapes his tongue against his tooth. Of more concern is how shabby she looks. A stained t-shirt and jeans that are falling apart around the seams? Really? ¡°¡­Yes.¡± ¡°Why¡­are you throwing a knife out the window¡­¡± ¡°I want to get outside quickly.¡± ¡°So you¡­¡± Yuuya chews on his lip until he pulls the skin off. He ends up mumbling his response. ¡°¡­I got lost.¡± The girl wanders over to the window and peeks outside. ¡°So you want to get the knife into the tree?¡± ¡°Mn¡­But I can¡¯t throw it hard enough, and my aim is bad to begin with¡­it¡¯s always slowed down by the canopy.¡± ¡°I got it. Hand it over.¡± Yuuya blinks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine¡­because¡­¡± She turns to him, looking like she¡¯s about to cry. ¡°Because I¡¯m also lost.¡± ¡­Almost painfully predictable. Yuuya is unlikely to ever succeed in getting the knife past the leaves, though, so he passes it over. Like him, she spins it a bit. After a few seconds, she lets out a slow, careful breath, and releases it. It goes flying, and to Yuuya¡¯s awe, cuts straight through the canopy and lands in the wood with a loud, satisfying THOCK. ¡°Okay¡­I won¡¯t be able to reproduce that, so I¡¯ll try it first.¡± He gets up on the windowsill, wraps the wire around his arm, winds even more of it around his other hand, and jumps. Even trying to hold himself up, the whiplash nearly yanks his arms out of their sockets. He screams at the sudden pain, but it¡¯s gone with only a little soreness, and he manages to swing himself until he¡¯s in the tree. It takes a bit of investigating to find where she had embedded it; a large, thick branch. The sudden weight of Yuuya plummeting a floor and a half had dislodged half of it. This doesn¡¯t seem terribly safe. He pries the knife out, puts it back in its sheath, and throws it back up to the girl. The tree is big, but twisty, so Yuuya can descend down half the trunk before he has to jump. The distance still sends shockwaves of pain through his legs when he lands, but they aren¡¯t broken, so he¡¯ll call it a success. Yuuya leans against the tree and waits for the girl, who doesn¡¯t even bother scaling the tree; she just jumps from where she¡¯s dangling, which looks like it ought to hurt, and leaves his knife stuck in the tree. ¡°I¡¯m not giving you a boost,¡± Yuuya complains. ¡°Don¡¯t worry! I¡¯ll get it!¡± The girl assures him. She somehow manages to scale the smooth, straight base of the tree until she gets to the twisty bits, at which point she just runs up, like some kind of tree-climbing ninja. The knife drops down next to Yuuya soon after, fully sheathed again. The girl quickly joins it. ¡°Thanks for your help! I thought I was gonna go crazy in there. This place really is the difference between the rich and the poor, huh? I don¡¯t know how they stand it.¡° ¡°I think most rich people would agree with you.¡± ¡°So it really is excessive! I knew it!¡± She looks heated. The person who brought her here was probably bragging about how only poor people would think this house is stupid and unnecessary. ¡°It¡¯s used to attract rich people who want to feel importtt¡­important. I suppose you could call it a bed and breakfast for the affluent. I-I wouldn¡¯t go so far as to call it a home, honestly.¡± ¡°Aaaahhh! I got fooled!¡± She shakes her fists at the sky. ¡°So what are you doing here? You obv-obviously aren¡¯t someone of status.¡± Yuuya gives her stained, worn outfit an unimpressed look. ¡°Ah¡­that¡¯s¡­¡± She crumples, and buries her face in her knees. ¡°¡­I was invited to come here by Koba- er, I mean, R-R-Ryuunosuke-san¡­¡± Yuuya gives her a blank look. ¡°¡­Who?¡± ¡°Kobayashi Ryuunosuke? He¡¯s the third son of the family who own the house?¡± ¡°The asshole, right?¡± Her brows furrow. ¡°¡­Er¡­That¡¯s not how I would describe him.¡± ¡°Right, right¡­his hair, though, it¡¯s brown, right?¡± ¡°Oh¡­yeah.¡± ¡°Right. So it¡¯s the asshole.¡± ¡°You¡­weren¡¯t invited by Ryuunosuke-san?¡± ¡°Oh, no. I was just crashing the party. It¡¯s a rare opportunity to be able to sleep in one of this mansion¡¯s beds.¡± The girl gasps.. ¡°No way! That¡¯s trespassing!¡± ¡°I doubt anyone could stop me. I¡¯m a well-spoken and u-unassuming well-dressed young man, fluent in two languages, and I own a lot of land. It should be f-fine.¡± ¡°Eh¡­that sounds like you¡¯re a really incredible person, though?¡± Yuuya flinches. ¡°¡­I¡¯m going to cry if you say stuff like that, you know¡­¡± ¡°Eh? Oh¡­Sorry?¡± Well, he got the costume by extorting money, he¡¯s fluent in two languages because his dad is Canadian, and he owns a lot of land because his mom still owns the plot they used to live on¡­and his brother was really mercenary about buying up virtually useless plots of Nashioka land for pennies. They¡¯re definitely upper-middle-class, but not impressive enough to attend parties in places like this. Yuuya feels he¡¯s got a good grip on her storyline, though; a rich, successful asshole rescues the impoverished girl who treats him like the asshole he is, and through them repairing their relationship and him repairing his personality, they find love. This kind of story got old in the 90s. He could probably recite the next year of her life beat-for-beat. ¡­Pisses him off. ¡°So¡­Let me guess, you¡¯re a normal yet de-destitute girl that got into that rich elite school at the north end of the city on a scholarship, and you railed into Ryuunosuke, the school idol. Ryuu-kun~ was hideously offended, and his thoughts were occupied by you. Because he was sooooo~ unsatisfied with the situation, he ended up seeing you in trouble and rescuing you to ease his mind. Even in rega-regards to the party, he dressed you up and spouted some nonsense about this being the world of the rich. Am I wrong?¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The girl¡¯s eyes are as wide as saucers. ¡°H-How did you know¡­¡± Honestly. ¡°I used to go to middle school with that guy. He¡¯s super annoying. I can predict his actions easily.¡± ¡°Ah¡­I see¡­But I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m a normal girl anymore.¡± She leans back against the tree again. ¡°Actually¡­I¡¯m totally homeless.¡± ¡­Hm? ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°My dad racked up a bunch of debts¡­we ended up losing the house, and then he disappeared saying something about ¡®helixes¡¯¡­¡± HMMMMMM? That¡¯s¡­That¡¯s Nashioka Helix, isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s the local fighting tournament, isn¡¯t it? Dearest father, did you sign up to get your ass beat for money? Were you forced to get your ass beat for money? That¡¯s so terrible?! ¡°I set up a tent by the river, and ended up getting detained by the cops¡­I don¡¯t know what would have happened, but Ryuunosuke-san rescued me, and told me I could live here in exchange for tutoring and working as a maid¡­¡± ¡°What a shit-eating piece of garbage.¡± The girl flinches at his abrupt change in tone. Understandable; he was using full keigo until now. If you hear a guy talking like a prim business partner and referring to himself as ¡®watashi¡¯, hearing him suddenly slurring like a delinquent is absurd. He shakes his head. ¡°¡­Sorry¡­Talking polite is a conscious effort.¡± ¡°Eh? Really? It sounded natural!!¡± ¡°Thank you very much.¡± ¡°¡­Uhm¡­doesn¡¯t it bother you to talk like that even when you have a stutter, though¡­?¡± ¡°¡­I don¡¯t use keigo to say ¡®sorry¡¯, so it¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a really worrying statement- er¡­¡± He glares at her, picking up on the leading tone of the sentence, but resenting it. He planned on vanishing unseen. Being unseen has been a key motivation since he first started high school, as badly as he¡¯s been failing at it. ¡°¡­Reikawa Yuuya.¡± Her face lights up like the rising sun, and her eyes glitter with pure joy. It¡¯s gross. ¡°Reikawa-kun! Ah, I¡¯m Itou Sakura!¡± ¡°Sakura¡­that¡¯s a name that¡¯s usually popular with girls with pink hair, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­the fact my eyes ended up being pink was a complete coincidence. Actually, it¡¯d be pretty worrisome if they were pink at birth¡­¡± ¡°¡­That would mean the blood in the eye is visible, right?¡± ¡°Right! It¡¯s so gross just thinking about! A lot of people say to me, ¡®oh, because of your eyes¡¯ when they hear my name! I want to tell them how babies actually develop every time! When parents do it, I want to cry! Do you not know the science behind birth after having a kid of your own?!¡± ¡°How terrible.¡± ¡°It is! It¡¯s so awful!¡± She dips her head and sighs. ¡°Even Ryuunosuke-kun, he says stuff like how I¡¯m an ugly freak for having irregular colouration¡­¡± ¡°Seriously, you¡¯re in this guy¡¯s debt? The hell is wrong with you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like I have a choice.¡± Yuuya opens his mouth to say something about getting a roommate and a part-time job, since her father is obviously hard at work getting his organs ruptured to pay off his debts, but something occurs to him. Yamada Tarou, standing on the roof, ready to plummet to his death. He didn¡¯t particularly enjoy sharing cake with him, but the feeling of seeing the thread disappear¡­ That was satisfying, wasn¡¯t it. An eternal spiral, stress piled upon stress, exploding, receding, and exploding again. Stress relief that doesn¡¯t work. A hollow emptiness that stretches out endlessly. Yuuya knows his patience is going to end, things will only get worse, and it¡¯s only going to break him. But disrupting a story was pretty satisfying, wasn¡¯t it¡­? ¡°¡­I own a lot of land, you know.¡± ¡°Eh?¡± ¡°It¡¯s privately owned. There¡¯s no way the police could arrest you while you¡¯re on privately owned land, right?¡± ¡°¡­Eh?¡± ¡°The place we used to live is a-a cafe now, and most of the bits of land we own is crap, since he bought a bunch of gar-garbage for cheap; the terrain is too rough to build on, or it¡¯s sitting between bits of land that already have buildings planned¡­stuff like that. My brother got some of them for as low as 20,000 yen. I think he was ho-hoarding them?¡± Yuuya opens his phone and opens the MyHouseLine app. He selects the blueprint of the city, and the map spreads over the screen, lit up with countless markers and small chunks of area lit up with red, designating which bits of land his brother bought up. ¡°Altogether, it¡¯s about 19,000 metres square of worthless l-land. Most of them were actually ba-bought for camping. The only useful bit is¡­¡± He zooms in on an area near the south bend of the river, and taps the photo icon that¡¯s popping out of the red chunk. A photograph of a cabin pops up. ¡°¡­This one. It¡¯s one-room, and we use it to store seasonal equipment. We don¡¯t have much; if you just stacked it all, it should be a fine enough living space.¡± Itou stares at his phone with wide, disbelieving eyes. Yuuya shifts uncomfortably and scrapes his tongue against his tooth. He doesn¡¯t like revealing weird bits about himself, even though most of them are just the really absurd things his brother got up to in high school. ¡°You¡¯d¡­let me stay there¡­?¡±¡¯ ¡°You want to hang out as Ryuunosuke¡¯s personal maid?¡± She wavers, looks away guiltily, and mumbles ¡°no¡±. ¡°Then.¡± ¡°¡­Reikawa-kun¡­you¡­¡± Her voice wobbles, and even though the curtain of her hair dips down to hide her face, he can tell she¡¯s about to get weepy about this. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll e-expect you to maintain the land around it, so I wouldn¡¯t call it a gift, but¡ª¡± He¡¯s cut off by Itou springing up and throwing her arms around his neck. He screams. Just a little bit. ¡°You really are a good person, Reikawa-kun! Thank you so much! I¡¯ll pay you back! I promise!¡± What¡¯s with her? It¡¯s not like Yuuya gave her a room in his house, or something. He grimaces and pats her woodenly on the back. With his bare eyes, he can see the pink thread deteriorating as if submerged in acid, the bulk of it burning away and staining until the green underneath blooms out. A warm, pleasant sensation curls inside Yuuya at the sight of the happily waving Daily Green, much thinner than the Love Pink had been. It¡¯s satisfying to destroy plots. It¡¯s satisfying to impede guys like Ryuunosuke. It¡¯s not much, but¡­ It¡¯s satisfying to be an antagonist.
¡°So¡­non-perishable food, a water jug, a can opener, some dishes, and a hot plate. Don¡¯t get water from the river. You will get sick and die.¡± ¡°Got it!¡± Yuuya places the bags by the door, observing the room. Most of the equipment had been piled away, though she¡¯s using the old sleeping bags piled on top of each other as a futon. The tobaggon has been converted into a table, with her homework piled on top. This is beyond living in poverty¡­it¡¯s really more of a survivalist setup. ¡°You can use the rods if you want, but you have to fish at the lake. And hurry up and get a part-time job. Even if bathing in the lake is fine, it¡¯s not re-realistic in the long-term.¡± ¡°I got it!¡± ¡­She looks too damn happy. Yuuya runs his tongue over his tooth. It¡¯s not bad, having his antagonism rewarded with this level of gratitude. He was only trying to break the main couple up. ¡°¡­This is my contact information. Since you don¡¯t have anyone to turn to, right now, you can list me as an em-e-e-em-emergency contact.¡± He passes her a card. ¡°I got it! Thank you very much!¡± She bows at a 90 degree angle. ¡°¡­Don¡¯t act so grateful. It¡¯s embarrassing.¡± ¡°Oh! Sorry! Reikawa-san!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll bring more food at the end of the month. If you run out too quickly, I¡¯ll grab some stuff from the store. You have a phone?¡± ¡°Yeah! ¡­But I couldn¡¯t pay the bill, so I can only use wifi¡­¡± ¡°Use it to look up survival techniques. If you end up shrivelled up even though you have shelter, I¡¯ll seriously kill you.¡± ¡°I understand!¡± She bows again. Yuuya looks up at the sky. The White Thread is still there. He doesn¡¯t feel too terrible, though. ¡°¡­Well. I¡¯ll be going now. Enjoy the rest of your life.¡± ¡°Got it!¡± How far is he willing to go to get rid of this stress? It¡¯s bothered him for so long. He¡¯s already ruined himself trying to cope, and he has yet to recover from it. Sometimes he sees parts of himself, broken beyond recognition, and the self-loathing makes it too hard to even bother putting them back together, even if he wanted to. But it¡¯s fine, now. Yuuya likes it. Being a ¡®villain character¡¯ seems like a fine place to start his decay.