1:Teal

Keisuke Hiraga was a modest man. With wavy dark brown hair and thin black glasses, his unobtrusive appearance only served to amplify his normalcy. Walking down the main street on a sunny day wearing a simple button down shirt and faded jeans, his pace was a steady yet comfortable stride. He was home for the first time in a month and he knew his first destination.

His eyes wandered towards the billboards and the advertisements surrounding him, smiling as his eyes fell on a particular one. The photo was of a built man with bleach blonde hair riding a horse, holding a can of "Quelorie Magic". He remembered the struggles of shoot and couldn't stop himself from letting out a chuckle. The man was self-conscious and took a lot of coaxing before Keisuke was able to capture the confident look that the billboard sported.

He was a photographer, a damn good one at that, although no one would hear that from him.

"It hasn't always been this way," Keisuke would always say. It was true. The early stages of his career had been a rocky path with his indecision between medicine and his art. Failing his college entry exam and losing a good friend of his in the space of a month, Keisuke Hiraga, recent graduate of Gekkoukan High, was thrown in a pit of depression, a pit he knew he couldn't - and wouldn't - be climbing out any time soon.

Perhaps it was fate, pure instinct, luck, or even a higher power that pushed him to get up one morning to Paulownia Mall. His feet brought him towards an antique shop, the sign reading "Shinshoudo Antiques" in dark bold letters. Immediately, his eyes were drawn towards an object gleaming against the light. Standing solemnly on a display case was an old film camera, beaten and bruised, paint rubbing off across the corners revealing a brass finish. Whatever compelled him to purchase it that one morning may forever be a mystery. He wasn't even sure it was even working! Yet, he bought it, emptying what was left of his greatly diminished funds. He heard a mouthful from his father later that day.

Although he had won a scholarship back in his last year of high school, holding a camera felt unfamiliar after so long. His lapses of depression reverted his habits and his connection. Many rolls went to waste, some underexposed, some blurry or missing the target. Each one was costly, prompting him to pick up a part-time job at a local diner.

There were days where he would be inside his makeshift dark room developing his rolls, messing around, experimenting different "do-it-yourself" chemical compositions. Some days were spent out on the streets, talking with strangers and taking portraits, the camera becoming an excellent conversation starter and his calm demeanor relaxing them. Many weekends were spent camping alone, the camera and the tent serving as his only companions while photographing the scenery around.

He had a small following in social media, some features here and there in magazines or newspapers and a few clients whom he charged minimally. It was a satisfying feeling in his stomach to be in control. He was a forging his own path, slowly digging himself out. With each shot he took, he felt something click inside him, and it was as if each frame was filling a hole in his heart that he had given up on fixing.

Perhaps he was obsessed or misguided like his father had voiced multiple times but he couldn't stop.

"Use your head for once and stop wasting your time with the shit you did in high school!" his father would always say.

Yet, it was new. It was an experience learning, not the same old activity from high school. It was just him, the camera and the subject. It was the darkroom, the clips, the trays brimming with chemicals and the stench of instant coffee giving him control. It wasn't like when he was in high school. It was freedom.

For the first time since that fateful March three years ago, he truly felt happy.

Happy.

He would always joked that Minato was the one who sent the camera, the one who pushed his shell of a body out of bed that one particular morning.

Fortune favours the bold became quite an accurate statement when he had received an invitation to a photo contest, the contestants being prolific photographers all over Japan. Who was he, an amateur photographer whom failed to get into college, to be around these people, or even invited?

He hadn't felt like more like a sore thumb in his entire life than at the exhibit. Delicately framed photographs lined the exhibit, many bled with passion. Intricate, raw, gratifying, each photograph showing the photographer's emotions. Then there was his. What was he, a photographer clawing himself out of depression, doing there?

Unsurprisingly, he had won no awards, nor a glance or a second thought from the more prominent photographers.

It came to a shock when he received a call a month later.

"Keisuke Hiragi?" a deep voice asked through the phone, although it sounded more like a grunt.

"You are talking to him, yes. How can I help you?" he replied, curious as to who called him.

"Yo, the name's Kanji Tatsumi," the man introduced himself, "y'were in one that one contest ain't ya? Saw some of yer film stuff and we're calling ya for some client work and no, I'm not just some shitty kid prank callin'."

He nodded in approval to no one in particular before grabbing a grey notebook from his desk and opening it to certain page, raising his eyebrow at the last part of the sentence. It had been sometime since his last client work but this was the first time conversation flowed this way.

"Sure! May I have the details for the shoot?" he asked.

"'Ight, hold up," he heart some shuffling at the other end and some yelling before he continued, "we want you to photograph a few dresses I got set up for us this weekend. Lunch and all that is covered. Just got' show up and do your thing."

He nodded once again before scribbling a few words down. "Sure, would I need to supply a model?" he inquired, mentally going through a list of people he had contacted for model work before.

"Nah, got ya covered in that one," the man replied quickly before explaining the details of the work. Keisuke listened intently to each details, mentally planning what he was going to bring from his sparse equipment he had salvaged from the measly salary he got from the local diner.

When Keisuke arrived at the location, the first thought that passed him was intimidation. A man at least a foot and a half taller than him stood with his arms crossed. Legs apart, his face had a scowl on as the man walked towards him. Slicked back bleached blonde hair and leather jacket tight against his muscular body, the man screamed intimidation.

"Hiraga?" the man grunted out.

Keisuke could only nod before the man's arms loosened and the scowl turned into a grin.

"Kanji Tatsumi at yer service," he introduced himself and grabbed Keisuke's hand, "thought you were one of 'em stupid obsessive fans again."

"Obsessive fans…?" Keisuke wondered while cringing inwardly at the force of Kanji's grip. Was this man really someone that was looking for a photographer for dresses? What kinds of dresses were they even? Gothic biker punk lingerie?

"Er… Yeah, some idiot leaked the location of Risette's photoshoot."

At the mention of the name, Keisuke stiffened.

Risette? The Risette?! His eyes went wide as he realized whom he was about to photograph. Rise Kujikawa, the pop idol? There must have been a mistake. He didn't sign up for this!

"Wait, hold up," he interrupted and let go of Kanji's hand, "who am I photographing again?"

Kanji raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Risette of course," he said without missing a beat. "Didn't I tell you at the phone call?"

Keisuke shook his head and Kanji only shrugged.

"Eh? Must've forgot. She saw yer shit and things at the exhibit place and instantly fell in love with your stuff. Won't stop naggin' me for you," he stated while shrugging.

"What?!"

Ever since that fateful day, he had quit his part-time job at the diner to become Risette's personal photographer. He had travelled all over Japan as her personal photographer as well, amassing a portfolio of portraits and scenery while purchasing more appropriate gear for his occupation. In addition, he had achieved self-sufficiency, finally moving out and away from his father.

Keisuke laughed inwardly at the memory before stopping at the familiar doors of Hakagure Ramen. After a long month of touring, he was finally home and his first stop was a classic staple for anyone who lived in Port Island. Hakagure Ramen, the best ramen in all of Japan, at least to him. Many afternoons were spent here just wasting away his youth and it felt a bit nostalgic walking in without any plans or responsibilities that needed his attention. He looked around, seeing that nothing had changed in the scenery. Tables lined the back wall while bar stools surrounded the open kitchen counter near the entrance, the scent of freshly cooked meat and noodles wafting out into the busy streets.

He was finally back.

"Photographer-san! How y'been? The usual?" the man behind the counter beamed and Keisuke threw a thumbs up before taking a seat at one of the counter stools.

"Never been better," Keisuke answered in response before a hot bowl of ramen was placed in front of him in which he promptly dug into, the aroma captivating him. Only then did he realize how empty his stomach was.

"Got a few good shots for me?" the man joked as he readied another bowl for another customer that walked in.

Keisuke paused his ravenous pace and grabbed his bag, pulling out a considerably sized envelope. "I sure do! Personally signed for your daughter as well!" Keisuke exclaimed while handing the envelope to the man. It had been a regular occurrence since he started photographing for Risette to bring back a photo or two for the Hagakure chef. After all, the man was one of the only people that was there during his depression. "Told Kujikawa-san and Tatsumi-san about your shop," he explained, "they said they stopped here once and loved it actually."

The man couldn't help but gape. A pop idol and a famous designer in his restaurant? Nonsense! When was that? "Thank you Hiraga-san." He bowed in gratitude before putting the envelope under the counter. "Consider this in the house!"

Keisuke beamed before refusing and went back to his hot bowl of ramen. "Don't worry about it. It was my pleasure Ichiraku-san."

Night fell and Keisuke was still outside. Perhaps he was restless or lost but a feeling inside the pit of his stomach kept him outside of his one room apartment. Each step he took echoed throughout the night, leading to nowhere. This was a regular occurrence for him. Perhaps he was searching for something in the night, or trying to recreate his feelings during high school when he was out late. He really wasn't sure if it was even any of that. Meaning of life? His failure of getting into medicine school haunting him? Whatever it was, it kept him out.

"I really gotta get healthier than this." A silent sigh escaped his lips.

The peace of the night was disturbed when his phone started ringing suddenly. He raised his eyebrow at the call.

"Hello, Hiragi speaking."

"Yo, Hiragi-san. Kanji 'ere," the man behind the phone spoke, "sorry to bother you since you just got back home but there's this post tour per—"

BAM!

"Gah…!"

In an instant, air escaped his lungs, lurching him backwards. He let out a gasp and stepped back, ultimately losing his balance. Before he knew it, he was facing the light-polluted sky of Port Island in a dizzying sprawl. Were those stars that he was seeing…?

He let out a cough before slowly getting up from the ground, a hand nursing his chest. Vitals? Check. Blood anywhere? Negative. A pain in his chest though but he would live. He chuckled lightly at his misfortune, a lingering numbness at the back of his head.

"That should teach me how to look where I'm going," he lightly joked and flashed a sheepish smile on his face.

"Ow...," a soft voice whimpered across him.

Keisuke suddenly remembered the person he collided with.

"Shit!"

Fighting back small spasms of pain, he grabbed the concrete and lifted himself off the sidewalk towards a woman laying a few feet away from him. Quickly lifting the woman's head up, his other hand reached to her wrist for any sign, fear settling down when he felt a steady pulse. She was safe. He exhaled a deep breath, not knowing he took one in the first place.

"Uhm… I'm alive," her soft voice penetrated the silence.

Green.

No, teal. Definitely teal.

He caught himself staring, a sense of embarrassment exponentially rising from their close proximity.

"I-I uh… uh... m-ma'am," he stammered out.

Only then did he realize the position they were in. Bolting up, he felt the temperature of his cheeks rise and he was sure the lady could tell. A small part of him was thankful she wasn't hurt. Although that didn't stop him from kicking himself mentally.

"I'm sorry ma'am!" He placed both hands on his side and bowed deeply. "I wasn't paying attention and I will be willing bear the consequence!" Apologizing profusely, Keisuke kept his head low.

When he looked up, he saw a slender lady in front of him only a few centimeters shorter than he was. She wore a loose fitting white dress that ended past her knees, a contrast against the dark night. Her shoulder length green hair was braided to the side while a necklace wrapped around twice completed her look.

Teal. Keisuke, they're teal.

She clutched her forehead with a free hand and suddenly lost balance. Almost by instinct, Keisuke quickly placed himself beside her with his hands on her shoulders. The lady turned her head towards him, her face clearly in pain. Shit!

"Hiraga-senpai?"

Huh!?

Keisuke snapped his head to her, their eyes suddenly meeting once again.

Teal.

In an instant, he was flying across space. What propelled him, he couldn't see or feel. His vision was getting blurry, faces zooming past him. It was a kaleidoscope of colour engulfing every bit of his senses. Before he knew it, he was back in high school. He was back in his school uniform, holding a framed photo that he had sent to a contest. He was surrounded by the photography club again, their beaming faces congratulating him. His friend, Minato, looked onto the group with a small smile. Why was he imagining this? Why was he having this now? Suddenly, as if out of place, Minato pointed to a girl at his side and gave the slightest hint of a smile.

Teal.

"Yamagishi-san?"

Without warning, her legs gave out and she collapsed.

Author's Notes: Thought this was a good place to end the chapter. As most of you are aware(or probably forgotten), Keisuke Hiraga is the senior of the main protagonist, the club president of the photography/art/music club and also the of Wheel of Fortune. The story revolves around the idea of the Wheel of Fortune in the person that the main protagonist got the arcana in the first place. I do hope that I kept you interested enough to review and to follow more of this story. Thank you for reading and I hope to see you again!