It begins with Maki in the house with polished floors and red-carpet stairways pretending that he remembers which fork to use for dessert. And the Igarashi boy across the table, already sharp and golden. Who laughs brightly when he's supposed to, looks down and quietly cuts his fish into perfect squares when he isn't. The parents praise his impeccable schoolwork, congratulate him on being president of the lacrosse team, coo over his cute little fang. The boy blushes quietly, lets his father ruffle his hair, grins with his eyes shut like the hero of some shonen manga, but the parents turn away, conversation starts again. Maki sees him open his eyes, and they are sharp and cold.
There is a laziness to the earnestness, boldness in the way he turns and smiles at praise. Like he owns the place, playing with his subjects to kill time while waiting for someone to figure it out. Maki watches him all through dinner, this boy who treats a gathering of adults like his little sister's tea party.
When the boy finally turns to look him in the eye, Maki freezes, a bite of sacher torte still in his mouth, eyes wide open.
The boy smirks, and his eyes shine like a tiger's claw.
