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Chapter Text

4/9 – Saturday
Afternoon
Shibuya

Ren Amamiya wasn’t the type to cause a scene. But now, nearing the end of a bewilderingly long train ride towards the latter end of rush hour, sandwiched between two equally exhausted-looking businessmen, he found himself momentarily considering breaking his obedient streak for the sake of screaming at the top of his lungs. The burn to his throat would probably feel cathartic, if he didn’t die of embarrassment first. 

The ride itself hadn’t been the worst. Ren had been able to pop in his headphones and pass the minutes by pretending he didn’t exist, and any time spent like that couldn’t be completely miserable. At least no one here would get angry at him for not listening closely to conversations that didn’t involve him. It was a nice change of pace from his parent’s dining room table in that way. Even the proximity to other people wasn’t the worst thing. Something something canned sardines, but the ride he’d taken to and from middle school had consistently been way more cramped than this.

But he’d had this phone for less than a week, and apparently it was already either broken or infected with some sort of virus. Ren wasn’t the most technologically literate, but even he could tell that a weird no-name app that refused to get deleted was a bad sign. Even the icon was suspicious, with a black star surrounded by jagged red lines that almost resembled an eye, if you squinted the right way. Definitely malware.

For the tenth time that day, Ren dragged the icon to his phone’s trash, and sighed as it popped right back out again. No getting away that easily. He’d just have to find somewhere to get it repaired. And find some part time work so he could afford to get it repaired. Tokyo was big enough to have both in spades, no doubt. And push came to shove, he could take his time. He had a year and change of parole here to burn.

Ren pocketed his phone and glanced out the nearby window. They weren’t far from his transfer. Another few minutes, and they’d be pulling into the station. Right now, he had a near-unobstructed view of Shibuya. It was...he wasn’t sure what it was. Ubiquitous, maybe. All big cities looked alike to Ren; probably the bumpkin in him talking. Regardless, he couldn’t exactly feel much in the way of excitement. Even outside of juvie, as close to free as he could manage, the air still tasted stale and stagnant. Empty.

There was nothing for him in Tokyo. Nothing but the vague feeling of distant familiarity that one could only have for a place often witnessed and never inhabited. He’d seen pictures, depictions, played games set in the prefecture. He’d dreamed about the 104 Building towering above Shibuya Central Street. Tokyo was one of those distant places, as far from Ren’s childhood home as Paris or Hollywood, somewhere only imagined in indistinct escapism.

He’d outgrown it. Ren’s daydreams were abstract now. Flame dancing across his fingers, licking at his face like an affectionate dog. Stargazing towards far-off golden specks amidst a sea of dark grey clouds. Sharp blades dulling against his palm. 

Ren dragged himself upward as his train pulled into the station. One foot in front of the other, Amamiya. He was supposed to be good at following instructions, wasn’t he?

This was his new life. Nothing to do but get used to it.

*****

It took Ren twenty minutes of wandering around the neighborhood of Yongen-Jaya before he finally located Cafe Leblanc. His phone’s GPS kept sending him down the wrong walkway, and the cafe wasn’t exactly well-advertised. It was tucked right off the beaten path, with an opaque tinted-glass window that made it look almost forsaken. 

Ren took a deep breath. He hadn’t even gotten inside yet and his heart was already pounding out of his chest. That boded well. He pursed his lips, grasped the handle and opened the door. The cafe’s interior was...homey. Somewhat cramped. A single-person gap between the edge of the many booths and a countertop equipped with five or six stools, behind which was another person-sized space and shelf full of glass jars of coffee beans. The sight sent something in Ren’s gut into a death spiral, like water circling the drain. He’d never seen so much coffee in his life. This whole cafe smelled like a panic attack waiting to happen. 

He dragged his gaze away from the jars and towards the middle-aged man in a pink shirt and black apron attending to one of the coffee makers at the far end of the counter.

“Welcome,” the man said, with a bluntness unfitting of his retail position. “Sit anywhere you like.” He gestured towards the breadth of the cafe, which was empty sans for a single old man reading a newspaper in the farthest booth.

Ren closed the door carefully behind himself and scooted farther inside. “I’m...Ren Amamiya. I was...” He trailed off his mumbling at the man’s raised eyebrow.

“Amamiya, huh?” The man sighed, running a hand back through his receding black hair. “You were supposed to get here tomorrow, not today.”

“Sorry,” Ren said, forcing the words through quiet breath as his gaze dropped to the polished countertop. “My mom told me...she said I should get out, and...” The excuse fell back heavy into his stomach. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. Ren was an inconvenience, simple as. It was...fair for him to bear the consequence for that. For all the trouble he’d caused, that was the least he could do. Right?

Silence stretched into a dangling sword. The man grumbled something under his breath, and cleared his throat. “The name’s Sojiro Sakura. Just call me Sojiro, none of that ‘Mister Sakura’ crap.” He scratched his thumb into his goatee. “I’m sure your parents already told you why you’re here?”

Ren nodded. “I’m staying with you in Tokyo until I’m off parole.” One year. The judge’s words kept catching on Ren’s synapses, and each one stung like lightning. Twelve months probation. A test of innocence, to see if he could be trusted with his freedom. Trusted to not fuck up his life again. “I’m...going to be going to high school here. Or, um, near here.”

“Close enough,” Sojiro muttered. He took a step towards the edge of the counter, jarring Ren’s frigidity. “Kid, relax.”

“Sorry,” Ren said. The word was half of his vocabulary at this point. He chanced a glance to see the cafe owner giving him an odd, firm look.

“Come on,” Sojiro continued, with a jerk of his head towards the staircase at the far end of the cafe. “Your room’s still a mess, I was planning on tidying up tonight but...well, you’re already here, so you might as well put your stuff down.” Ren’s backpack was starting to weigh on his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, and followed. Across the walkway, around the old man in his booth, following Sojiro up the stairs to the second floor. As soon as the musty smell hit him, Ren clapped a hand over his face.

The attic – this was an attic, wasn’t it? – was more dust than room, every surface covered in a thin layer of grey. Shelves, a table, a long empty piece of indistinct wooden furniture and a couch that seemed a second away from giving up the ghost. The rafters looked shoddy as anything, most likely supported just as much by the cobwebs interconnecting them as the wooden beams themselves. The only dust-free areas were the mattress suspended on a shoddy metal frame and the multiple familiar cardboard boxes stored on the nearby shelf.

“I brought your belongings up,” Sojiro said, gesturing to the boxes. “Everything your folks sent ahead. But...like I said, it’s a mess.” He sounded genuinely sheepish.

“It’s okay,” Ren said, the words muffled through his hand. Don’t be rude. He forced the limb down to his side, taking little shallow inhalations and holding his breath as much as he could manage between them.

Sojiro gave him another odd look and reached into his pocket, rummaging around for a moment before producing a white face mask. “Here.” He handed it over, and Ren gladly donned it. 

“Thank you,” Ren mumbled.

“Don’t mention it.” Sojiro rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat again. “Ground rules. You’ll be going to school, starting this Monday. Shujin Academy.” 

Ren nodded. 

“I’m driving you there tomorrow for some sort of intake, but otherwise you’ll be taking the subway to and from. If you want to dally, that’s on you, but I expect you back here by eight sharp.” 

Ren nodded. 

“I’ll be in contact with your parole officer. If you start breaking rules or going behind my back, I won’t hesitate to let her know. You know what’ll happen, then?” 

Ren’s stomach lurched, and he nodded. 

“Good,” Sojiro said, then paused. A curious sort of hesitation. “If the dust starts bothering you, you can come downstairs. There’s some cleaning supplies in the bathroom if you want to take a crack at this place, but...” He chuckled, once more sheepish. “Look, I’ll handle the cleaning tonight. Take a load off.”

Sort of contradictory, but Ren nodded anyway. 

Sojiro scratched at his nose, and then nodded back at nothing, and headed down the stairs. And Ren was alone in his room. He exhaled through the mask, letting his own warm breath wash over his face and fog up his glasses. Okay. The skin of his arms was already screaming at him to scrub it until it scoured, what was a bit more dust?

Eyes closed. Eyes open. Time to clean.

*****

By the time Sojiro climbed the stairs into the attic again, the sun had already all but set. The sky through the room’s sole, wide open window was purple and orange and beautiful enough to tempt Ren to stop cleaning to just watch it. But the sooner he finished, the sooner he could shower. So he ignored the sore ache in his legs and continued to shove the rag against a particularly persistent clump of floor-dust.

“Hey, kid,” Sojiro said. “Hard at work, huh?” The man leaned on the banister, and let out a long whistle. “You’re pretty far along. I guess I should thank you for saving me the effort.” He chuckled, deep and somewhat honest.

Ren shrugged and kept scrubbing.

A frown out of the corner of his eye. “I heard you sneezing a lot. Do you need an allergy pill or something?”

Ren shook his head. It didn't bother him, not enough for Sojiro to inconvenience himself for it. He was already burdening the man enough as-is.

Silence for a few moments. Then the man sighed. “Okay,” he said, “I’ve got time. I’ll help you clean.” He grabbed a rag from off the nearby table.

Ren could have protested, but Sojiro didn't seem like he was going to accept no for an answer. So he just silently moved to the side, making sure he wasn't taking up too much space. Sojiro set to work on the nearby shelf, and Ren kept on scrubbing the floor.

And they cleaned in silence, for a little while.

“Hard work,” Sojiro commented.

“Mm,” Ren replied.

Silence.

“Looking forward to high school?” Sojiro asked. “I know you’d probably better not go, but it’s better than juvie, right?”

Ren shrugged. ‘Better than juvie’ wasn’t exactly a high bar by any means.

Sojiro probably didn’t even notice, he stumbled over himself to try and correct. “Shit, uh, that wasn’t a threat, I promise, I was just...” He sighed. “Bad joke.”

Ren just shrugged again. If Shojiro had expected it to upset him, it hadn’t. He’d long since come to terms with the reality of his situation.

Time passed once more in silence.

"Well," Sojiro said, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “That’s probably good enough for tonight. Oh, you haven’t eaten yet, have you?"

Ren pulled off his mask and placed both it and the rag on the long shelf before shaking his head. It’s not like he had much of an appetite nowadays. Still, he couldn’t deny the work had produced an unshakable grumble in his gut.

“You can shower at my home,” the man continued. “It’s close by. Five minute walk; less, maybe. I’ll whip something up while you do.” He hesitated a moment.

“Thank you,” Ren said, eager to fill the silence with something, anything.

“It's your first night here,” Sojiro said. Slow, perhaps optimistic. “Anything in particular you're craving? My treat.”

Ren would have shrugged. He was going through the motions anyway. The polite thing to do would be to defer. Maybe to refuse the man’s offer altogether. But Ren found a strange and irresistible craving twitching at the corner of his gut. “How about curry?” he asked.

Sojiro blinked. He stared at Ren for a few seconds longer than comfortable, before his expression widened into a grin. “Lucky for you,” he said, a quiet laughter in his voice, “I happen to be the owner of a pretty killer recipe.”

*****

Fresh showered, wearing clean pajamas with a belly full of very tasty curry, Ren lay in bed and stared up at his phone. He had better internet access here than at home, but that felt a little more like a detriment than a benefit. It had only taken him twenty minutes to exhaust the entirety of his social media feed – or what little was left of it, since nearly every friend he’d had at the end of middle school had deactivated their account or blocked him or both in the year since he was incarcerated. At this point, the stupid little virus his phone had caught a few days ago was the most reliable friend he had. 

Ren swallowed his vitriol, and lowered the cell to his chest. Sojiro wasn’t a potential friend, not even close. A confidant, maybe, but Ren wasn’t sure he even wanted him to be one. Beyond the disparity of their ages, his whole no-nonsense shtick was pretty far from endearing. Though, if the arrangement of distinctly feminine products in his bathroom was anything to go off of, maybe he had more of a sensitive side. 

Or...hm, no, wait. Did he have a girlfriend or something? He definitely would have mentioned if he had kids...maybe a young family friend that visited often? Judging by the surplus of razors in his cabinet, whoever it was couldn’t have been that young. Or...

Ren sighed, letting his eyes close. He was getting carried away again. This wasn’t a manga, he wouldn’t stumble across some secret magical conspiracy if he just poked hard enough at the right person’s life. The world didn’t work like that. And besides, the hypothetical skeletons in his new caretaker’s closet were far less important than the cut of the man’s jib. Which is to say...how much could Ren trust him with? If Ren’s mask were to slip, if he let down his guard and accidentally revealed...honestly, he could take his pick of secrets. How much danger would he hypothetically be in? 

It was hard to tell. First impressions weren’t much to go off of. Best to take things bit by bit, play it safe. Maybe he could even drop a hint, ask something innocuous to gauge the man’s response. Ren was fluent in that sort of subtle conversational misdirection at this point. One of those skills that came with being an Amamiya.

It was quiet. The silence struck him as his thoughts wavered, as bitter intent could no longer fill the space between his ribs. Sojiro had closed the cafe for the night, and...Ren was alone. That loneliness should have bit at his insides, should have brought that same cramped panic that he knew so very, horribly well. But it didn’t. There was none of the tension that came with listening to the television across the house through four closed doors, nor the distant dread from the sounds of an entire juvenile corrections facility settling into the closest proximity of rest it could ever emulate. It was completely and utterly empty. 

There was something almost nice about that. The smell wasn’t that bad either. Beyond the lingering traces of dust and cleaning products, there was a steady breeze through the open window above his bed, washing over him in waves. He could smell something faint and fragrant from outside, sharp as pine but far more floral. Familiar. No, not quite. Still unfamiliar. Yet...perfect. As if the world around him had reached its natural state. As if all things were where they should be.

As if Ren was where he should be.

He curled in on himself. Legs to his chest. Clinging to his own shoulders. He was alone. Somehow, against all odds, he was safe. The thought prickled at the corner of his eyes. Tomorrow, he’d don that numb mask again. Tomorrow, he’d bow his head and feign at shame and be the good little freak he needed to be. Tonight...there was no one to judge him. No one to watch him cry. Ren tilted his head and shoved his face into his pillow, pulling in shallow breaths, his face warm and his cheeks wet with saline.

“Home,” his tears said, “home home home. Welcome home.” And Ren sobbed into the empty cafe’s attic until there was nothing left of him but silence. Until tears gave way to dreams.

4/10 – Sunday
Enveloped in the Pitch of Night
Between Dream and Reality, Mind and Matter

Ren opened his eyes. A grey-blue ceiling, every corner covered in chains like spiderwebs, dangling and rattling ever so slightly in some nonexistent breeze. The air was stale; not air-conditioned, just....old. More subterranean than artificial. His chest felt heavy, and his eyelids felt unnaturally light. He rolled onto his side, and his leg caught on something. A shackle. He didn’t need to look at it to know it was there.

Back here again. Back in his weird recurring dream. Back in this surreal prison.

“Inmate!” came a bark from outside his cell.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ren mumbled. He pushed himself upright, reaching up to idly twist a lock of hair between two fingers.

“Stalling will get you nowhere,” came another voice, similar to the first but distinct in its deadpan temperament.

“Not stalling,” he said, and stood. “Just taking my time.” Finally, he turned his attention towards the bars of his cell, towards the room beyond it. Towards his wardens.

It had been a couple months since he’d first dreamed of this place. And it was...honestly a refreshing change of pace from his usual dreams, nay nightmares, about juvie. The prison here was too archaic to be much more than toothless. His cell was one of a dozen or so, all set in a circular arrangement around a central room – the others were all empty, as far as he could tell.

An old iron cell door with a similarly old lock, heavyset, with bars wide enough for him to stick his arm through but little else. A shackle around his left ankle with a chain leading back to the far wall; even if he could open the door somehow, he wouldn’t get more than a step outside of his cell before the slack of that chain ran out. Not that he had attempted escape yet. It didn’t seem like a much of a rewarding prospect, especially considering the two violent girls who had been assigned to guard him.

The pair looked no older than elementary-schoolers, dressed in outfits that resembled cheap theater costumes more than the guard uniforms they were trying to emulate. The two were twins, or at least sisters; they had the same platinum-blonde hair and yellow eyes – or, eye , as the two of them wore mirrored black eyepatches, each marked with an ornate golden V. 

The right-patch girl, who wore her hair in buns, appeared the darker-tempered of the two. Even now, she rhythmically smacked her silver baton into her hand, glaring at him. The left-patch girl, equipped with a ponytail, treated him with a composure that bordered on disdain, busying herself with idly flipping through papers on her clipboard. She didn’t so much as glance up as Ren approached the bars.

“What’s up?” he asked, addressing the grumpy right-patch girl.

She harrumphed. “Our master wishes to speak with you, Inmate. You will address him with respect.” She stepped out of the way, bowing her head slightly. The left-patch girl mirrored the motion, despite her apparent disinterest in the proceedings.

Right. Their master. Ren raised his gaze to the desk positioned dead center in the middle of the room. Old, ornate wood. Papers, a quill, a lamp all scattered across it. And behind that desk, an equally ornate chair. Behind that chair...darkness. 

The shadows stirred, parted like a veil, and a lanky man slipped into view, in a well-fitting suit that did nothing to disguise his inhuman proportions, arms far too long and far too thin, legs barely moving, almost sliding across the ground. The man had balding grey hair – proper grey, not the platinum of Ren’s wardens – and long ears that narrowed into points, with a nose equally as sharp and equally as long. Wide-open eyes that appeared almost bloodshot, and an immovable toothy smile.

The man seated himself. “Trickster,” he said, his booming voice echoing across the room. His mouth didn’t move. His smile didn’t shift.

“Igor,” Ren replied. Tit for tat. This might have been a dream, but the sight of the man still filled him with abject dread, a sense of vague and ethereal danger. Igor – the apparent owner of this prison – seemed to be many things, and safe was not even close to one of them.

Igor chuckled. A laugh as dark and deep as the ocean. “Good. The spark of your rebellion is yet intact.” He extended a bony hand across the desk, fingers open and flexing at nothing. “Your fate approaches, Trickster. The time will soon come to rise to your destiny.” His tiny pupils pulsed, widening and focusing with predatory glee. “The next time you enter this place, you will do so wearing the mask of the Fool.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. Mask of the fool. Okay. More cryptic shit. “This place.” He threw a glance across the azure prison. “I think you’ve said before, but...what is this place, again? Something about Velvet, right?”

The right-patch girl scoffed, whipping her baton as if attacking the air in her frustration. “This is the Velvet Room! Haven’t you been paying attention!?”

Ren just shrugged. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Sorry.”

The girl let out a sharp and frustrated sigh. “And you’re supposed to be our savior?” she mumbled. “Useless. How is this idiot supposed to–”

“Caroline.” Igor’s booming voice sent a triplicate of flinches into the room, none more violent than the right-patch girl’s herself.

“I’m sorry sir,” she said, lowering her head, clutching her baton in both hands. “I’m sorry.”

The man turned his attention towards the other girl. “Justine. I believe your Inmate requires a refresher of his current situation.”

The left-patch girl nodded. “Yes, my master.” And Justine finally looked towards Ren. “Inmate.”

His gut was doing somersaults, but Ren managed a nod. “Yeah?”

Justine glanced down at her clipboard, playing with the pages as she spoke. “This is the Velvet Room. Between dream and reality, mind and matter. A place to foster your growth, and hone your abilities.” She motioned to the cell bars, and Caroline immediately reached out to smack her baton against them in a helpful punctuation. “You, Inmate, must strive to reach rehabilitation. For your sins, this remains the only path forward for you.”

“And those sins are...?” Ren prompted.

Justine’s stoic tone stalled. “I...that is...” She narrowed her eye at Ren. “Do not question us on trivial matters. Our Master does not make mistakes.” Answering a question he hadn’t asked.

Igor chuckled, his deep voice echoing out from that scrawny frame of a man. “Indeed. An excellent answer, Justine.” He interlocked his thin fingers as the girl bowed her head, the hint of a smile on her lips. “You, Trickster, will do as has been instructed of you. If you ever wish to earn your freedom, you will strive to reach rebellion. To rid this world of distortion, you will surround yourself with others with similar riotous potential.” Maybe a trick of the light, but his beady eyes appeared to squint ever so slightly, twisting at the edges into an approximation of glee. “I have already granted you the means to stoke the flame of your heart. Do not waste such an opportunity.”

“I’ll know it when I see it, then?” Ren questioned. Igor simply nodded, a half-smooth motion, jerky at its hinges. “Stellar.” He rolled his neck. “Anything else you need from me, then? Besides...whatever the hell this opportunity is supposed to be?”

Igor chuckled, his laugh blending with the distant sound of a bell chiming slowly back and forth. “Only one thing.” He untangled his hands and pointed a single finger across the table. “Wake.”

And Ren woke up.

4/10 – Sunday
Afternoon
Aoyama-Itchome

“...rescue workers were called yesterday to the site of a barely-avoided tragedy, as Tokyo subway conductor Minami Hanzo collapsed abruptly while at his post, sending a packed passenger train towards the station at dangerous speeds. Off-duty police officer Noguchi Eijiro managed to pull the train’s emergency brake in time, preventing loss of life, but twenty eight other passengers were injured in the sudden stop. While information about Hanzo’s condition has not been publicly released at this time, early reports indicate a high likelihood that the conductor suffered a Mental Shutdown, which would make this the seventh incident of this sort this year alone. Earlier today, during a public press conference, Representative Shido strongly recommended against last month’s proposed measures to cut transportation funding–”

Sojiro turned the car radio off and then leaned back in the driver’s seat. “I’m guessing that’s what all this traffic is about,” he mumbled, motioning to the gridlock of cars currently stretching out for miles in front of them. The man rubbed his goatee in silence for a few seconds before speaking again. “You know how to get to Shujin now, right? Or, uh, your phone can...” He gestured his hand at nothing. “That ‘jeeps’ thing.”

Ren nodded. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, somehow managing the words anywhere close to audibly, though they still left in a mumble.

“Good.” Sojiro flipped the car’s turn signal, glancing out the driver side window towards wherever he was trying to merge into. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. “What did you think of the school, by the way?”

Ren resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at the man’s turned back. What did it matter what he thought? “It’s fine,” he said. “Empty.”

Sojiro chuckled. “It’ll be more full on an actual school day, I’m sure.” He threw an odd look towards Ren. “You know, you can put on your headphones if you want to, we don’t have to talk–”

Ren’s phone was out of his pocket by the time he realized it would have been more polite to wait. “I, er, uh,” he began, but Sojiro cut him off with a hearty laugh. “Thank you.”

4/11 – Monday
Morning
Cafe Leblanc, Attic

Ren found himself holding his breath as he changed into his new uniform. Leblanc below him was beyond silent, Sojiro clearly hadn’t gotten around to opening it yet. He plopped onto his bed and leaned down to tie his shoes. Sleep last night was dreamless, a well-needed reprieve. Another fitful night might have killed him. Thankfully, Ren felt as close to rested as he could manage, though the steady pulse of anxiety through his veins marred lucidity on that matter.

Despite Ren’s efforts to keep his steps careful and quiet, afraid to disturb some ethereal sense of slumber that had descended across the cafe, the stairs still creaked upon his descent. He forced himself to breathe. There was no one here to yell at him. No one to notice his departure. 

Ren stole across the dark Leblanc, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Then he paused; one foot outside, one foot in. He didn’t have a key. The cafe’s door had a deadbolt, but just that, and he had no way of bolting it from outside. Leaving it open and unlocked wasn’t an option. Maybe he could go back inside, bolt it, and then make his way out...through the attic window or something?

Ren sighed. It was a business day. The sign still read closed. Sojiro’s house was less than five minutes away. He checked his phone – maybe ten minutes of dally-time before he’d be late, according to the GPS route he’d planned out the night before. And he had a transfer to worry about, and then find his way to Shujin on foot. Maybe...okay Ren, use your head.

Ren
Hi Sojiro
I have to leave to get to school on time, and I don’t have a key, so I’m leaving Leblanc’s door unlocked for you
I’m sorry to cause a hassle

There. It felt beyond crappy to cause more of a bother for the man, but he hoped at least Sojiro would appreciate the heads up. Ren pocketed his phone, carefully closed the door, steeled his nerves, and headed towards the nearby train station. First day at a new school. At high school, no less. Just...don’t fuck this up. He could manage that, at least. Probably.

*****

Sojiro
Thank you for letting me know.
Make sure to take an umbrella, the weather report says it’s going to rain today.

Ren glanced between his phone screen and the walkway of Aoyama-Itchome out beyond the awning of the train station. The walkway currently being bombarded with heavy rain. Ren had seen a light condensation on the train to Shibuya, but this was a proper downpour. He swore under his breath and pocketed his cell. This is what he got for not checking his texts. Fuck. 

There was no knowing when it’d let up. Not like Shujin was going to give tardiness passes to their little charity case. Ren pursed his lips, held his bag to his chest, lowered his head and power-walked forward.

By the time he made it a single block away from the station, Ren was already soaked to the bone. Protecting his bag with his body was an effective enough trick to keep his books dry, but it wasn’t doing much for the rest of him. At this rate, he was going to shiver out of his skin before he made it within sight of Shujin. Speaking of...fuck. He had no fucking idea where he was going. He’d planned this route out last night, but he couldn’t remember anything. Fuck fuck, shit fucking...okay, new plan. Find some shelter, pull up GPS, get some directions.

Ren’s eye caught on someone who must have been a similar idea, a girl taking shelter under a nearby awning. After making sure no cars were coming, he jogged across the street, slipping into the awning. “Sorry,” he said immediately.

The girl lowered her phone and threw him a glance – he must have looked like a sopping wet cat, great first impression Amamiya. She’d probably gotten here when the rain had started, she looked infinitely drier than him. Even her long blonde hair, tied into a pair of ponytails, seemed untouched by the downpour. “Okay,” she said, and returned to her cell.

Ren ran a hand forward through his hair, bending over to make sure he could dry his head off even a little without splattering the stranger. He bit back a shivering groan. Yeah. This wasn’t the worst day he’d had, not by a long shot, but he’d definitely had better. Better mornings, too.

Alright, focus. Get your ass to Shujin, that was priority number...red and black out of the corner of his eye. Ren chanced a glance. The girl was wearing a zipped-up hoodie but her skirt was still visible, sporting the same crimson and pitch pattern currently adorning Ren’s pants.

“You’re...Shujin?” he asked.

“I’m a student, yeah,” she said, not even looking away from her phone. Then she paused, threw him an odd look. “Are you new or something?”

“Or something,” he said, wincing at the words as soon as they left his mouth. “I mean, no, yes, sorry. I’m new.”

The girl hummed to herself, pocketing her phone. “And you’re lost?” He nodded, and she quirked a smile. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Shujin isn't the easiest school to find. Pretty much everyone gets a little turned around on their first...” She trailed off, squinting at something over his shoulder, smile evaporating in an instant. “Fuck.”

Ren followed her gaze. A black car had just turned the corner, heading their way. It was going slower than he would have expected. The rain? Or maybe...

“Hey, um, look, I,” the girl said, drawing his attention back towards her. Her lips were pursed, throwing glance after glance towards the car, desperation shining clear in her blue eyes. “Okay, this is going to sound fucking demented, but could you...just pretend we’re talking and having a good time and we’re friends or something?” Another glance. Desperation was panic now. “Please?”

Ren didn’t want to get involved. Logically, he knew it was a bad idea. Best case, he’d become the world’s most awkward accomplice. Worse case...he didn’t want to consider the worst case. Whoever this girl was scared of, he’d bet that they wouldn’t look kindly on some half-drenched felon chatting with her. He didn’t owe her a thing, and he had his own hide to look out for. The best way out of this situation was just to keep his head down and keep on walking. He had nothing to gain, and everything to lose.

He locked eyes with the girl and nodded. Once, firm, clear. “Start talking,” he said.

She gave him a tilted smile that was half gratitude and half apology, and then burst into raucous laughter. “And then ,” she said, grinning up a plastic storm. “Mika had the gall to ask me for a hair tie. A hair tie! After sniping my op and dragging me halfway across Shibuya for a photo that definitely wasn’t going to make it into the mag.” One hand on her hip, every word was punctuated by a flick of her other wrist, or a tensing of her fingers. Talking as much with her hand as her mouth. “Can you believe her? She’s supposed to be my elder, but she acts like such a brat.”

“Sounds like a real diva,” Ren said, throwing on a smile of his own. Shoulders back, calm expression. Don’t tense so much. He wouldn’t be much help if he looked like the girl was holding him hostage.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe, ” the girl said, rolling her eyes.

“And there was that whole thing with the paint can too, yeah?” he prompted, letting a little excitement enter his tone. “I mean, when a director loses his cool like that, you know you’ve messed up.”

The girl snorted with laughter. “Dude, you should have seen her. I thought she’d killed someone! Like, she was dripping with red! I literally was a second away from calling the fucking police, I had my phone in my hand, finger on the call button.”

Ren did his best impression of a scandalized gasp. “You didn’t! ” The black car entered his periphery, and he forced himself not to tense, not to break eye contact.

“I did!” she said. “I mean, okay, I didn’t actually call them, like I said, I was a second away.” A shaggy mop of dark hair through the car’s window. Whoever they were, they were watching them. And then the car pulled away. “No lie, Mika started bawling , like she just totally lost her shit.” Farther and farther. And around the corner.

“They’re gone,” Ren said.

The girl’s smile vanished, her shoulders drooped, and she let out the world’s longest sigh. “Fucking Suguru,” she mumbled, reaching up to adjust one of her ponytails. “Why can’t that creep learn to take a hint? I’m sick of coming up with ways of telling him to leave me alone.” Another sigh, and the girl addressed Ren again. “Hey, thanks. That was...ugh. Sorry for getting you involved.”

Ren just shrugged. “It’s cool. You’d do the same for me.” It didn’t need to be true. Just polite.

The girl snorted. “Sure. I think you’re giving me too much credit, but...” She trailed off. “New kid.” She threw him a glance. “Might sound weird, but you don’t...do you know anyone by the name Amamiya?”

Ren’s gut lurched. Okay. Uh. Fuck. There was no way for her knowing his name to be a good thing, was there? “Um. Yeah. I’m...I mean, that’s me. Ren Amamiya.” He’d be tempted to extend a hand under any other circumstances, but the girl’s immediate quirked eyebrow and curled lip made it pretty clear a gesture like that wouldn’t be anywhere close to appreciated.

“Gotcha,” she said. Quiet, for a moment. Maybe thoughtful. “You seem like a nice guy. I guess I owe you now, too.” She didn’t seem exactly happy to say as much, and Ren didn’t feel in the best mood to correct her. “I don’t know how long you’re staying at Shujin, but you should keep your head down.” Her eyes wandered out towards the rainy street. “It isn’t the kindest place to outcasts. Not by a long shot. You’ll be better off if you just try to blend in.” And something in that empty gaze told him she wasn’t speaking from secondhand experience.

Ren didn’t have an opportunity to ask for elaboration. A firm impact from behind, slamming into his back, like the world’s mildest tackle. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it did jarr his thoughts pretty completely, dragging an embarrassing yelp out of him as he stumbled forward. The girl recoiled too, almost backpedaling out into the rain.

“Shit!” came a voice from behind him. Rough hands patting at his back, shoulders, adjusting his posture. Yep. This was how Ren died. His nervous system felt like it was about to fucking detonate. Thankfully, the stranger let go of him a still agonizing second later. “Sorry dude, I tried to stop a little bit earlier, but I guess, I mean, shit man, I’m kind of clumsy, you know?”

“Uh,” Ren managed, pivoting to glance over his shoulder at whoever had nearly knocked him on his ass. Blonde hair speckled with raindrops – was everyone in Aoyama blonde or something? – almost covering brown eyes as bright as that gaudy yellow t-shirt, and a quirked grin beneath.

“Hey, you okay?” The boy frowned, shifting like he was trying to check Ren over for potential wounds. “I mean, I probably scared the shit out of you, but you...I mean, uh, are you...” His gaze made it past Ren, and his expression curdled. “Sup, Takamaki.” As cold and low as his previous tone had been chipper and warm.

“Sakamoto,” the girl replied, with a similar frost at the edges of that single word.

Ren glanced back and forth between the two. “I...do you want me to...” He pointed towards the still rain-drenched street. “I mean, I can go if you need a moment or something. I don’t want to get in the way.”

The girl scoffed and turned towards the street. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been stalling here long enough, I’d better get going anyway.” A look over her shoulder at Ren, something imperceptible in her expression. “Thanks again.” And she flipped her hood up in one smooth motion. “See you around, new kid.” The girl jogged out into the street, into the rain. Around the corner and out of sight.

“New kid?” the boy questioned. Sakamoto, he assumed. “Was she talking to you?”

Ren nodded and turned to face the boy. “Yeah. Uh, first day here. Shujin, I mean.”

He grinned again. “Hey, no shit!” Sakamoto gestured to his plaid pants, the same make and pattern as Ren’s, but distinctly unkempt. The fabric across his knees was smudged and worn, almost tearing, and he’d let his suspenders hang across his hips. “Shujinite for a year and counting.” He rolled a smirk into his cheek. “Welcome to the shitshow, dude. You’re in for a hell of a first year.” Oh, fantastic.

“Second year,” Ren corrected. “I mean, I’m not...I’m kind of a transfer student?”

“Kind of?” Sakamoto questioned, quirking an eyebrow. A second of silence as Ren tried to figure out how to articulate around the truth of the situation, before the boy’s expression ignited with understanding. “Oh! Shit, okay, right! You’re the felon guy!”

Ren flinched. He’d been afraid of that. First the girl, Takamaki, knew his name. And it only stood to reason that if people were talking about him before he arrived...

Sakamoto winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, shit, that was...I mean, pretty fucking rude of me. Sorry, bro.” He let out a sharp breath. “I mean, I was just kinda...I didn’t expect...cause, I mean, the way everyone’s been talking about you, I thought you’d been at Shujin for like a week and a half now or something.”

“Everyone, huh?” Ren replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

“Well, not everyone everyone. But a lot of people. I mean, even some of the teachers–” Sakamoto cut himself off with a firm shake of his head. “Look, that’s...not important, you know? It’s like...I mean...” He shook his head again, sending droplets in all directions. “Fuck the rumors, yeah? I mean, hell, everyone talks shit about me, but I don’t let it get to me. You’ve gotta just...find your people and stick to them, you know?” Sakamoto sighed, rubbing his neck again. “I mean, kinda wishful thinking, but that’s the idea.”

Ren forced a nod. This day was just getting better and better. Maybe he could just find a nice manhole cover and spend the next year in Tokyo’s sewers or something.

Sakamoto rolled an awkward glance out towards the street, like he was looking for an excuse to leave. “Oh. Rain’s clearing up.” Sure enough, the deluge had diminished significantly, now just a steady drizzle. “Hey, look. I know I’ve been kind of an asshole, but...uh, just, sorry. If I can do anything to make it up to you, say the word, okay?” Okay, that was an unprecedented level of earnestness. It wasn’t just a people-pleaser frown, Ren could see some genuine concern in the boy’s expression.

“Sure,” Ren said, combing his brain for anything he could say to get the guy to stop giving him puppy-dog eyes. “You know the way to Shujin, right? I’m pretty lost. So...lead the way?”

Sakamoto’s grin was back in full and blinding force. “Oh, for real? Totally!” He scooted around Ren, throwing out a thumbs up. “Come on, man. Let’s hit the fucking road.”

And as Sakamoto headed out from the awning, Ren followed suit. The silence was almost immediately deafening. Besides the splatter of their steps on the wet sidewalk and the vague petrichor notes filling the air with an indistinct but natural anthem, the world around them might as well have been frozen. Not another person in sight. 

Any other day, the emptiness might have found Ren well. Right now, it prickled at his skin. “Hey, uh, Sakamoto, right?”

“Ryuji,” the boy replied. “I mean, you can call me either if you really want to, but...first name basis is cool by me.”

“Do you prefer Ryuji?” Ren asked.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Ryuji then.”

Ryuji snorted. “Cool, dude. You got a name, new guy?”

“Ren Amamiya,” Ren said.

“Rad,” he said.

“So, Ryuji,” Ren continued. “That girl, um, Takamaki. She was...I mean, there’s a guy she was trying to avoid, I think. Suguru. I’m just wondering if I should keep an eye...” He trailed off. Ryuji hadn’t flinched, but he’d stiffened, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Uh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s cool, dude,” Ryuji said. Quieter, duller. Like the words were hard to say. “Yeah. Keep a fucking eye out.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “Suguru Kamoshida. Shujin Academy’s P.E. teacher and girls’ volleyball coach.” 

Ren’s gut lurched. He was a teacher? The way the girl panicked, he’d expected some sort of skeezy third year or something. That was...

“The guy won a medal at the Olympics or something a while back,” Ryuji continued. “But I’m sure you’ll end up hearing about that until your ears bleed. I don’t think him or Principal Kobayakawa ever stop bragging about it.” He spat into the nearby gutter. “Just steer clear of the guy. I dunno if you’re sportsy, or whatever, but like...” A sharp gesture at nothing in particular. “Fuck, dude. He treats Shujin like his own personal kingdom or something, it’s royally fucked–”

“ Beginning navigation. ”

The thin, robotic voice stopped both boys in their tracks. “Uh,” Ryuji said, glancing over his shoulder. “You say something, dude?”

“I, oh, uh, no, I – it’s not me, I mean,” Ren stuttered, shoving a hand into his pocket and switching his cell to silent. “Sorry, my phone’s been on the fritz, I think I like...activated it? On accident.”

Ryuji gave him an odd look but didn’t press the matter, turning back around and continuing his steady pace. “Anyway, sorry for getting all preachy on you.” His posture was once more tense, once more stiff. “I mean, not like I’m...what’s the word...like, I mean, I’ve got gripes. I’m not...gripeless.”

Ren found a little honest smile despite the lingering embarrassment. “I was asking for gripes. No complaints here.”

“Yeah?” Ryuji said, and it didn’t really sound like a question. A little chuckle made its way out of the boy as they turned another corner. Their surroundings were looking a little more familiar now, probably closer to the school. “Dude, you’re kinda...I mean, I’m not really used to people actually listening this much to me. For real, it’s sorta fucking weird. Nice, though.”

“Nice and weird,” Ren echoed. Yeah. He could make do with that. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

Ryuji snorted. “I bet.” Ren braced for a jab about his record, but none came. Ryuji simply pulled back his black jacket sleeve and glanced at his watch, grimacing. “Shit. I mean, five minutes late is pretty good for me, but uh...it’s your first day, and–”

“You can’t control the weather,” Ren interrupted. “I mean, you can’t, right?”

Another bubble of laughter. Success. “Dude, you’re a fucking riot, you know that?” Ryuji flashed a grin over his shoulder. “And hey, if you do need someone to blame, I’m your guy. Not like Kawakami isn’t chomping at the bite to shove my ass in detention.”

Kawakami. The name rang a bell...ah, right, homeroom teacher. Ren had met her yesterday. Tired-looking lady. Good to know she was an asshole too. Not that he’d heard good news about anyone at Shujin. 

“I’m a delinquent already,” Ren said with a shrug. “I’ll take my chances without throwing you under the bus.”

“Suit yourself, bro.” One last corner, and the front entrance to Shujin came into clear view. A high wall with a wrought-iron gate, flanked by wilting hedges, a small pair of flowerbeds on either side of the stairs up to the front doors. And...hm.

“Does it usually look this deserted?” Ren asked, scanning the exterior of the building. Not a single human being in sight. Even yesterday, the weekend , there had been a couple teachers wandering around, school security standing in front of the door, even a few students doing club activities. And now, on the first day of the week, the school looked abandoned.

“Uh,” Ryuji said, stalling his step. “No. I mean, not at all. The fuck?” He hurried his pace, an odd-stutter step, like his leg kept catching on something. “Was there, like, a field trip or something that I wasn’t told about?”

“I wasn’t told either,” Ren said. His stomach was starting to contort. This felt...wrong. The air was heavy, thick. He could almost taste something twisted. He curled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

Ryuji paused and took a deep breath in. “Rust?” he said. Hm. Kind of. Not quite rust. It was metallic, to be sure. Iron. Maybe...no, it wasn’t blood, thank fuck. Ren knew that scent a little too well to mistake it here. “Dude, seriously, did you–”

Reality pitched to the left.

A roiling wave of red and black stripes swam across Ren’s vision. He could vaguely see Ryuji stumble out of the corner of his eye, and he felt his own legs start to wobble at the ethereal riptide that threatened to tear him out of his own skin. Every hair on his body stood up at once, and Ren’s breath was dragged from his lungs, a voiceless gasp into unrepentant emptiness, trying to breathe in a scarlet void.

And then the distortion lifted, a slight wobble lingering, like a persistent heat shimmer. Ren gulped in shallow breaths of heavy air, grabbing his shirt over his chest, the corners of his eyes blurring over. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hey dude, hey.” A warm, calming voice. A rough hand on his shoulder. “Ren. You’re okay, buddy. Deep breaths. I’ve got you, alright?”

Ren forced a nod, stalled his breath, pulled in oxygen through his nose and letting it out in little wheezing gasps. “Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m...ugh, shit, I’m okay.”

Ryuji’s hand lifted from his shoulder and the boy took a few steps away, back into his own space. Fuck, this guy was a saint. A clumsy, inarticulate saint. “Shit. Where the fuck are we, dude?”

Ren forced his gaze upwards, towards...that wasn’t a school. That was a castle. No longer grey hedge-lined walls, but amber brick parapets and a fucking drawbridge , leading up to a proper towering mass of stone, metal, wood and glass. It was dizzyingly immense, difficult to tell where it began or ended. 

“No idea,” he said, quietly. “It...it still smells wrong.”

“Yeah, right there with you,” Ryuji mumbled. “I mean, shit, I’ve taken wrong turns before, but...not this bad. Never this bad."

Footsteps. Ren froze. Were those footsteps? They sounded heavy, hollow. He glanced towards the source of the sound, catching the barest glint of light across polished metal before something slammed into his stomach with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Ren gagged on nothing. His legs gave out. The edges of his vision went dark. He couldn’t breathe. He...he couldn’t...

Ren fell. Not sleep, but emptiness.

Oblivion.