Chapter 1
"I'm going to be a lawyer!"
"What's that?"
"I dunno. Mom and dad said they help people."
"Oh. Well, I want to be a tree. Can lawyers be friends with trees?"
"Of course! Everyone loves trees!"
"But if everyone loves trees, why are they trying to chop the forest down?"
"Uh... Ok, maybe only most people love trees. But don't worry! I'll be a lawyer that helps trees and people!"
"Ishimoto!"
I snap to attention at my teacher's sharp cry with a rush of shame and embarrassment. This time of year is… challenging, but that really doesn't excuse my lapse of focus. To my right, Elizabeth shoots me a glance that's one part reprimanding, one part concern, and one part disappointment. We've known each other for a few years now, but our friendly rivalry hasn't ebbed in the slightest.
Come on, it says. You're better than that. What's wrong?
"Sorry!" I blurt. "Can you repeat the question?"
The teacher's irritation slowly melts into concern, but she elects not to comment further. "What is the history behind the 66th Amendment, and what are some of the effects it has had on today's culture?"
66th Amendment? No wonder she called on me. "The 66th Amendment was a revolutionary change to the underlying principles behind Isamu's legal trials. Previously, the city operated under the assumption that a defendant was innocent until proven guilty. When the depression of 2006 drove crime levels to record highs, however, especially in District 6, Mayor Tokugawa decided that drastic measures were the only hope of preventing a total breakdown of society, leading to a system where guilt is presumed. The benefits and harms of his decision are hotly debated. Today, one of effects of the 66th Amendment is that it has spurned an influx of prosecuting attorneys at the expense of their opposition."
"Perfectly done, Ishimoto, as expected,' the teacher compliments. "You may take your seat."
"Well described," Elizabeth admits grudgingly as I sit. "Your legal knowledge is impressive."
I flash her an all-too-innocent smile. "Thanks, Lizzie."
She glowers at me. "You're insufferable."
I wink flippantly, and her glare intensifies. "So you've told me."
The bell chimes brightly, signifying the end of the day's classes. Around me, students chatter with their friends, excited for the upcoming weekend. It's only natural to be social, after all, especially with all the stress of college and career applications. Not for me, though. I always have more important things to do.
I can't waste the opportunity I've been given.
I swing my backpack onto my shoulders and slink out the classroom. My walk is uneventful; down the stairs, down the stairs again, out towards the gate. Bright sunshine casts a glowing white sheen across the pristine courtyard ground, and a comfortingly cool breeze offsets the penetrating warmth of the afternoon air. It's like a shot of energy, and I resume my short journey towards freedom with renewed vigor.
I'm almost through the gate when a rough hand grabs the back of my collar, yanking me back in the process.
"And where do you think you're going?"
The voice is rough and masculine, bursting at the seams with barely contained enthusiasm. Ugh. And here I thought I'd managed to avoid Masato Kurogane. In a fit of poor judgment, I joined track the previous year. Bad mistake. I think I went to one practice. He's hounded me every sense.
Still, he's a good guy. Genuine, bright, committed. One of the few people I can call a friend.
"School's out, Masato. Don't know if you honor students noticed," I quip.
He responds by punching my shoulder. It feels like a rhinoceros smashed into me, horn and all. I stumble forward a few steps before turning to glare at him, opposite hand rubbing the impact tenderly.
"Does the word 'gentle' have no meaning in your dictionary?"
He waves a hand dismissively. "Please. That was barely a love tap. You're such a girl."
"We can't all be savage brutes," I grumble. "What was that for, anyways?"
"School ain't over till track's over!" he declares proudly. "I came up with an awesome new training regime! You'll be gasping like a dying chicken."
… What?
"Not exactly the best sales pitch, buddy."
"Track doesn't need a sales pitch! It speaks for itself! Ain't no point to life without track!"
No point to life, huh?
"Sorry, Masato," I tell him, our joking vibe dying with my words. "I'll make it sometime, I promise. Just- just not today."
Freezing water, pain, dark, but not dark enough, never dark enough because the blood is visible, red life force coating steel beams like some kind of sick biological rust, no this can't be happening why why why-
"Sis!"
He regards me solemnly, eyes appraising. He must be satisfied with what he finds, because he huffs in resignation. "Alright, fine. You're off the hook for today. But no excuses tomorrow!"
"Thanks," I say, careful to avoid promising him anything, before slipping through the gate and out into the greater city.
It's a beautiful, cloudless day, and the burning sun transforms the surrounding skyscrapers into brilliant modern obelisks, showpieces of Isamu's prosperity. The streets are lively at this time, crammed to the brim with bustling workers returning from a hard day's work, and I allow myself to be swept up in the flow as the mass of humanity carries me toward the residential districts.
When a bright flash of color catches my eye, however, I make the effort to stop and investigate further. Like a multicolored splash on a white canvas, a quaint, antiquated wooden stall stands in proud defiance in the midst of the traffic and sleek buildings. Its sole resident is a girl, probably younger than me, who enthusiastically markets her wares to anybody who will listen. I fight my way through the crowd, inexplicably drawn to the oddity, and as I approach I find a vast variety of flowers crammed in tenuous arrays into every nook and cranny of the stall.
Flowers? In Isamu? Not a common sight, especially away from the specialized gardens. I- I don't really like flowers much. They remind me of trees.
Somehow, though, just for today, they feel appropriate.
"How much do these cost?"
It's a fair price, and before I can talk myself out of it I buy a couple. It's a struggle to keep them undamaged as I resume my journey home, but somehow I manage. All the same, when I finally reach my tiny studio on the outskirts of the city, I can't help but let out a relieved sigh.
There's not a whole lot in it. A bed, some furniture, a whole bunch of my clothes and papers strewn about. There's not much motivation to keep it neat. I'm not usually around.
One thing is perfectly spotless, though. A single photograph in a cheery frame, perched atop a bedside stand. I lay the flowers before it, and even though I've seen it a thousand times my heart catches in my chest once more.
A family. Two smiling parents, a beautiful, beaming little girl, and a bashful little boy, hand firmly clasped in his older sister's.
It's the last photo of its kind. The next one has three, and the smiles are forced.
"Yama? Yama!"
His voice comes in ragged, agonized gasps. "Sis! It hurts!"
"I know. I know! Just be brave. I'll help you, I promise, just be brave!"
It was a lie. She couldn't help him. No one could.
When I feel the constricting burn in the back of my throat, I know the tears are coming. I don't fight them.
"Hey, little bro. Happy birthday."