He knew nothing, but surely this wasn't normal. After all, a girl with a skirt almost too short was standing in front of him, glaring and kicking up an unholy fuss.

"You're so reckless, you'll get yourself killed," the girl was ranting, and hell. He was vaguely aware that he had done something, but wasn't sure what. Also the faint feeling this girl wasn't behaving normally, either – but firstly, he had to deal with the blank he was drawing.

He rubbed his head – ow, don't touch that lump – and squinted at her. "Yeah."

The girl blinked at him, confusion glazing over her eyes. "Um, Makoto-san, are you okay?"

Ma-ko-to. He tested it in his head, then decided it worked. "Okay then. Who are you?"

The girl blinked, this time shocked. "You know who I am."

Makoto – maybe it wasn't his name, but he'd keep it – looked around. "No, I don't."

A high school, he thought vaguely, scratching his head. But where was everyone? In class? It was about midday, or so he thought, judging by the sun. or his watch, he thought, eyeing it with scepticism. It was afternoon, so-

The girl took a step back, almost fearful of the look on his face. "Uh, Makoto-san?"

She wasn't normally like this, but Makoto didn't know. He knew nothing. What was this girl's name? They knew each other, clearly.

"Maybe we should go to the nurse's office," the girl said, brushing her black hair aside. Okay, no. This girl was annoying him for reasons he didn't understand.

Makoto was dragged along anyway, stumbling and wondering if the suit he was wearing was the boys' uniform. A sailor uniform for the girls, and a suit for the boys? Surely the fedora had nothing to do with it.

He collapsed on the bed almost immediately, and when he woke again, it was already sunset.

He jerked back up violently, nearly falling over sideways as dizziness overwhelmed him. How uncool, he thought. His jacket was off, flung over the back of the chair next to him. When he glanced over to the door, the girl was there-

With a boy that looked like her, and why did they look so similar?

"Oh," the boy said, approaching and smiling. "Makoto, you're awake."

He eyed the boy, rubbing his head. "Yeah...and who are you?"

The boy was taken back by this, freezing in shock and shooting a look at his sister. "Um." He gathered himself quickly, and 'Makoto' respected that recovery time. "I'm Honjo, and this is my sister, Yuri Honjo. You...really don't remember anything?"

Makoto – that was his name, he had to remember – shook his head, instantly regretting the motion. "No. Well, I sort of do, but not enough to form definite facts." He looked at them drily. "For instance, I am here, talking to you."

"True," the boy – Honjo, his name was Honjo – said, nodding and seemingly taking this in his stride. "So, do you remember me?"

Makoto narrowed his eyes at Honjo. "What's your first name?"

Honjo flushed, and the girl – Yuri Honjo, remember that, he told himself – seemed to expand with anger.

"Rika," Honjo said, so quietly Makoto thought he misheard. But the name clicked, and Makoto nodded. A ridiculous name, Makoto thought on impulse, resisting the urge to click his tongue. No, he couldn't, because that would be uncool.

"And my name is Makoto," he told himself, frowning. Why was he drawing a blank?

"We should take you to the hospital. The nurse has been out, and really, we should've from the start."

Makoto jerked around, glaring. "No."

"But-"

"No" Makoto forced his will on Honjo viciously, enough for Rika to flinch away and avert his eyes.

"Fine," he said, although he didn't sound happy about it.

"What happened?" Makoto directed this at Yuri.

The girl met his eyes almost defiantly, then said, "You got into another fight."

Another fight. Another fight. So he did this frequently. "How uncool," Makoto said in distaste absently.

"Not really. You were defending someone," Yuri admitted, scratching the back of her head.

Makoto considered this. "So, it was cool."

Why the hell that word kept popping up was beyond Makoto, but he'd go with it for now.

"You're wearing a uniform," Makoto noted at Rika – maybe he should call him Honjo. 'Rika' was making him want to snicker.

Honjo gave him a strange look. "Yeah? We're in school."

Makoto raised an eyebrow and gestured at his shirt and tie. (Not to mention the trousers, and the shoes he was wearing. Why hadn't they been removed? It was like they had taken off his jacket and then became lazy...so much for tending to him.)

"Oh." Honjo relaxed. "That's just..well, you were in a play."

"I. Was in a play." Makoto found that hard to believe.

"Well. Kuon-chan begged you to, so. It just sort of happened."

"Kuon?" Makoto waited for them to explain.

"Shinzaki," Yuri supplied.

Makoto waited for more, then impatiently waved his hand.

"She's nice."

"Really nice," Yuri added.

"And she's usually the director of the plays. Or the lead actress, whichever is more suitable for her."

Makoto knew this should tell him something, but this amnesia of his stubbornly refused to offer anything.

"Hm. I suppose that explains it."Makoto rubbed his eyes, then looked at the siblings again. "So. Where do I live?"

Really, he should've known they wouldn't let him.

Instead, they smuggled Makoto into their home, stuffing him in Rika's room. How he managed to fit inside his closet was a mystery, but drastic measures, and all that.

They grabbed clothes for him as well, so Makoto was left in a loose shirt and ill-fitting pants, further embarrassing him.

"Do you think the amnesia will pass?" Yuri asked her brother.

"I don't know," Rika answered, and Makoto blew out violently.

"If it doesn't, I suppose I really will have to see a doctor." Even if the very thought reduced his core to a rioting mess.

From what he had asked (and gathered), Rika was in his second year of high school, Yuri a year behind; Makoto was in his last and finishing up. Kuon was in the same class as Yuri, and apparently the term demon class had been tossed around in reference to this lot of first years. Something to do with a certain Nise and the fire extinguisher, as well as the general tendency of the female population to resort to violence.

Not that Makoto objected to it, seeing as he himself was evidently violent. His knuckles had scarring, not to mention – the prominent scar on his face.

Whatever had happened, there was something Rika was not telling. When Yuri left to go to bed, Makoto took the opportunity to drag answers out of Rika.

The other sighed and raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, fine," he relented. "I'll tell you – but whether or not it's cool to you ain't up to me, got it?"

"Of course."

Rika leaned forwards, suddenly serious. Uh oh.

"You're a vigilante."

...Well, that was unexpected. Makoto blinked in surprise, already feeling a grin crawling up his face. A high school student by day, a vigilante by night? Cool.