A/N: Hi guys! This is 7055362, and I'm back :) Cyber Baka is getting a major make-over, because it was a story that I really wanted to write but could never find the time, back in 2012. I hope to do justice to it. I hope you'll stick around till the end. Thanks for reading as always.
R&R if you like where this goes~
A pen-pal is a stranger you write to.
A pen-pal is someone with whom you can entrust your greatest secrets.
A pen-pal could become your best friend.
A pen-pal is everything you need.
Is that really so?
The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was incredibly strange.
What if your pen-pal was a bad person? How could you trust someone you didn't really know, let alone tell them all your secrets? I often thought about this.
But on that rainy afternoon, all reasoning was lost on me as I stared at my mother's lifeless body a few yards away, neatly draped in white linen sheets. Incense, prayers and chants engulfed our hallway. Flowers and wreaths, people.
Tears.
Not my tears, though.
I'm not going to cry. I can't.
I promised Mom I wouldn't.
Would it even make a difference?
I leaned my back against the wooden walls and continued to stare. Occasionally, the people gathered near my mother's corpse would hold their mouths and cry softly, shaking their heads in fake despair. I can faintly hear their words of sympathy, looking my way with grave gazes.
"What's going to happen to the poor child?"
"She lives alone as it is. It must be so hard on the poor thing!"
"Such a crucial time in her life and…the gods are testing her."
"If anything, the Hospital's sponsors have agreed to send her some amount of living expenses every month till she turns 20. It's a legal obligation, after all. That's a relief. But I do hope the child has what it takes to pull through these times."
"Doctor Hinamori was such a wonderful person, dear, dear god…"
"Half the people here are her ex-patients, aren't they? That just goes to show."
"Indeed. She's lived a turbulent life. Divorced in her thirties and having to raise her only daughter single handedly while treating patients day in and day out. But for it to take a toll on her like this…"
I sighed. I can't say they're wrong. Mom's been through a lot. For her sake and mine.
"Liver Cirrhosis…?"
"Final Stage." Mom's voice was coarse. "Worst comes to worst, complete organ failure."
I sat back on the chair beside Mom's bed. "You're…going to die?"
She smiled weakly. "We all will, someday. I would've died before you anyways, right?"
I hung my head low. "Please don't joke around."
"…Momo. Do you hate me?""
"I love you, Mom."
I could only see the bottom half of her face, from how I hung low. A stream of tears trickled down her cheek.
"...th...thank you."
Tears rolling down my eyes, I felt her bony fingers clasp my knee. "Put yourself to use, dear." She said. "Be of use to others. Even if it's just one hand, pull them up and save them."
And I smiled back. "I'll do my best."
But…
Right now, the one who needs help the most…is me.
The head priests looked my way, gently asking me to come over. The funeral was ending.
They let me see her face one last time before loading the body into the incinerator.
A single tear made its way down my cheek.
"I'll do my best."
Heavy showers drenched the city as Momo reclined on her bed, her long strands of dark chestnut hair clasping onto her damp skin, fresh out of the shower. The weekend was coming to an end. Ceremonies were over. The first day of summer vacation. High school was finally over.
In other words, University began in three months, along with a part-time job at the library.
She stretched and looked over at the little altar at the corner of her studio.
Her mother's smiling face stood framed over an incense stick. The girl smiled.
That's right. Even if that one person who needs help the most…is me.
If I can't even help myself, how on earth do I help others?
She ruffled her hair and pulled herself up, plodding gently towards the refrigerator.
A pen-pal?
No. That would be ridiculous. What would Mom tell me to do?
"Think, Momo! Think! You can do it."
Ah.
She paused and stopped pulling open the fridge door.
Aaah!
She reached inside, rummaging for food—anything at all that would keep her thoughts company.
I could...create my own pen-pal.
Her hands hit something small.
An imaginary person. My own person. They don't have to reply to me.
Her lips twisted into a weak smile.
As long as they stay quiet and listen to my worries, I should be fine, I think.
That's right. Writing letters into the void, how hard could that be?
But…
Name, name. I need a name.
Ah. Her hands found something small, just below the ice-tray. Pudding.
I need a name.
She looked down at the tiny packet of white vanilla pudding, her hair engulfing her face. The jelly-like pudding wobbled from within its casing, the lid flashing its name in huge letters. The kanji for 'white' sprawled across the casing in an adorable font. Her eyes widened.
"Shiro?"
She smiled wide, caressing the pudding packet with her hands.
"Shiro."
Her face flushed red with excitement and she strode over to her bedside, opening up her tiny laptop. "Let's see," she mumbled, the pudding packet rolling to her side. "This is going to be funny."
"Man, you're such a loser! Those chicks were obviously into you! Do you plan on being a chronic bachelor?!" Renji's voice echoed throughout the alleyway as he whacked his white-haired companion. Standing at nearly seven-feet tall, the red-haired man had little to hold back to, being drunk. Except perhaps watch out for telephone poles. "Then again, we've gotten everything we need—who knew getting them a lil' drunk would make them spill the beans? The ENTIRE data-log! It worked like magic."
His white-haired companion, standing at nearly six-feet tall, was a dashing young man with a strong, lean build. His white hair strands lay like wisps across his crisp, handsome-yet-frowning face, a little red thanks to the alcohol. Cold, turquoise eyes stared straight into the windows of blacked-out buildings as the two walked home. "Abarai, you're drunk as hell. Shut up before you say anything stupid. They could be following us." He murmured, his voice cold and coarse.
"FOLLOW? BAH!" Another whack. "I mean, that aside, what're you gonna do with all that data?"
"Finding a needle in a haystack isn't as hard as you think. However, breaking in won't be as easy. Nothing I can't do, though. I'll leave the negotiations to you."
"Maaaan, if it weren't for you, I don't think we'd ever find the culprit behind the-"
"-SSSHHH." He cut him off, grabbing him into another alleyway and pushing him towards a wall. "Don't leak out keywords, idiot!"
"Aiiight, aiiiiight. Yeesh, you sure can whack, huh? That hurt, man…"
"Speak for yourself."
Half past twelve, well into the middle of the night, lights could still be seen from a certain room on the twelfth floor of a certain housing complex.
A pair of turquoise-green eyes scanned through thousands of accounts. Suddenly, he paused.
"Found him."
After hours of typing, his long fingers finally came to a halt, an icy smirk spreading across his face. He picked up his smartphone and swiped through his contacts, slapping the device onto his ear, the buzzing of the dial resonating throughout his head. The other side took a while to pick up. Finally, his call was picked up.
"Renji."
"Maaaan the hell you doin' at 4-"
"It's a done deal."
"Wa-WHAT—already?!"
"Don't take me lightly."
"I mean, I've gotta hand it to ya. The old man will be pleased as hell!"
"It's all good. I've messaged you the details in code. The first letter of every sentence will give you the password. And. Use your proxy IP-address as always. Don't forget just because it's 4AM."
"Gotcha, gotcha, yeesh! We owe you, Toshiro Hitsugaya."
The young man settled down on his chair, exhausted. Then, out of sheer curiosity and having nothing better to entertain himself, he grabbed his PC to once again go through the list of account-handles. Minutes flew by as his eyes registered every single name it came across-only to stop with a jerk.
"Hina…mori?"
That name seemed to ring a bell, somewhere, someplace.
Hinamori…
AH.
"THAT Hinamori. What year was it…ah. Ah. Eighth grade, was it? Ouuh?"
His finger slide across the touchpad. "Hinamori….Momo." He stared at her name, the little memories he had of her, coming to light. A slight streak of red spread across his face.
"Don't worry. I won't bite."
His lips twisted into a smirk, and he stopped frowning. His hands positioned onto the keyboard once again.
This is going to be interesting.
Thanks for reading~
More coming up.