Oh my goodness! As if we hadn't already caused substantial delay! Arait's tablet decided to delete the file A Growing World - Master. Thankfully, we keep plenty of backups in various locations, but quite a bit of this newest chapter is lost and gone forever. Since Arait wrote that part under a sudden burst of inspiration, she is greatly struggling to recall how to recreate it properly. That may take some time, so we figured in the mean time you all might appreciate at least reading what we were able to scrape back together from emails exchanged.


Having somehow found the proper excuse to escape the self-righteous criticism of one redheaded scientist, Fushimi barricaded himself in his dorm. He had brought with him a file of data that needed to be digitized which would take him one mindless minute to finish. That way he could still claim he had worked from his room regardless of how much he might accomplish afterwards.

Before sitting at his personal desk, he emptied his pockets of everything that might be uncomfortable to sit on, including his phone which held the notes he took at the hospital that morning. Those words he had typed early that morning flooded back into his mind, and his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. In the moment itself, with the nurses in the room, he had been forced into the passive role of spectator, unable to change anything. She had called his name, and he hadn't come in time. Powerless, incapable.

Instead of getting control over his thoughts, he redirected the self-anger into his work; although, it wasn't the work Scepter 4 had assigned to him. If there was one thing he could do, it was find them. Without even realizing his own actions, Fushimi had slid his chair in close to the computer and activated their video surveillance manager. Whatever low-lifes had hurt Hayashi would be sorry they were ever born. There weren't really many street cameras in the forest along the coast, so it didn't make much sense for him to start out there. He easily recalled he had noted that she kept insisting the last thing she remembered was being in bed.

JUNGLE buildings definitely had video monitoring. Their King Hisui, Nagare would never stand being unable to observe every detail of the conflict he stirred up or those who unwittingly enacted it on his behalf. Even though Fushimi knew well better than to poke the online, sleeping beast, he concluded he could get in and out of their system unnoticed if he was careful and quick. It was only a starting point anyhow.

Without even considering the consequences or the kind of statement he would be making to the rest of the clan, his fingers moved according to their own memory. After circumventing the annex's tight firewall, he proxied onto servers the world over which would lose his electronic footprint in the tangled mess of ip addresses. Sure it could be tracked back to him, but by then he would already have what he needed. The Green Clan only had a couple of brick and mortar locations, and Fushimi was pretty sure he knew which one Hayashi bunked at. Then it was just a matter of rewinding to a time with valuable activity.

What he saw after scrolling back was not useful in the least. As foretold, Hayashi appeared in the footage in sweatpants and a T-shirt, seeming ready for bed. After speaking with when some fellow clansmen for a few moments, she disappeared, got herself dressed, and left with them. There were no signs of conflict or foul play. She simply went with them like everything was normal.

Switching cameras, he followed their movements until the group was lost by the limited surveillance in the mountains. Four JUNGLE players entered the mountains; three returned. Could it be as simple as a mission gone wrong? The possibility seemed valid, except that none of them appeared concerned by their missing comrade. Rather, they looked almost pleased with themselves.

Grabbing a snapshot of each of their faces, Fushimi left the footage rolling and switched over to Scepter 4's records. None of them were in the annual registration documents of the green clan. Neither could he find them along the lists of enabled persons to have caused trouble with the law or been detained at the annex. That definitely meant they weren't of high caliber, not even ranked equally to Hayashi.

The blue clicked his tongue and rubbed at his tired eyes behind the glasses. Wasn't it just like JUNGLE to send low level clansmen to do their dirty work? Revenge on an expendable player was meaningless. Frustrated, he set that aside and picked up the file that was his legitimate work.


An urgent knocking awoke Fushimi from a nap he hadn't realized he had taken. He lifted his head from his desk, stiff but still groggy, grumbling about being disturbed. At the same time, he knew the only reason anyone would knock at his door was if the special forces were being deployed. Knowing that, he started to stand but a face on his screen distracted him.

Having left the camera footage rolling on the desktop while he worked on other things - and slept - it had moved forward in real-time. Now, at the same location Hayashi had passed through hours before, a suspicious man had stumbled into view. He limped like an injured man and had blood on his face.

Instantly Fushimi knew it must be the driver who crashed the car.

The pounding on the wooden frame of his door intensified, and a workmate called out, "Fushimi-san!"

"What?" He snapped in return. Then, irritated by the persistence, he muttered, "Can't you wait a second?"

That's all the time he needed to take a screenshot of the man's face and save it to his PDA. He was already reaching for the door when the response came from the other side. "Someone's died."

Of its own accord, Fushimi's hand hesitated with a shiver. That message had been delivered to his dorm room once before. He could still picture clearly Akiyama's grim face at four in the morning. Although the details are unknown, a red clansman has been killed. Even if he didn't fancy himself fond of Homra's one-time vassal Totsuka, Tatara, he couldn't help the apprehension that came over him at hearing similar news.

He quickly pushed away needless thoughts and opened his door. This time Hidaka was the messenger sent to retrieve him. Despite acknowledging the serious nature of the situation, the clansman didn't appear in the slightest to be distressed. That was a good sign.

Without waiting to be asked, Hidaka expounded, "There's been an incident. A strain's body was found in an alley. The lieutenant wants you to meet up with a team at the entrance to investigate."

"Isn't there anyone else who works here?" He grumbled as he went to shut off the computer and grab anything he might need.

Not able to hear his muffled words fully, Hidaka questioned, "What's that?"

"Nothing," Fushimi lied and scooped up his saber which had been leaning against the wall. "I'm just tired."

The taller man laughed like he was embarrassed and lightheartedly commented, "That's right. I heard you had a busy night?"

A glare shut him up regarding that matter; although, his suspicions remained clear in his smile. As the younger passed by on his way out, he showed his disapproval with a click of his tongue. A few steps down the hall, he turned back to Hidaka who still stood in the doorway.

"Are you coming?" He inquired, not because he cared one way or the other. It was logistics.

"Aw nah, I've got a back log of work to catch up on from yesterday," he answered, already backing away with a wave.

Shrugging, Fushimi made his way to headquarter's front gate. Just inside the fence Gotou waited by a transport vehicle with Yoshida from the Substitute Special Duty Corps as well as half a dozen orderlies. All of them gawked at him momentarily, showing up for duty in just his blouse and vest. With the sleeves rolled up and the collar upright he still had the same tyrannical appearance, though. His coworker knew him well enough to direct everyone's attention away from his missing uniform coat before it irritated him, barking procedures to them.

They were about to board the transport when someone called desperately through the courtyard, "There you are! Saruhiko!"

A frown carved quickly onto Fushimi's face since no one at Scepter 4 would really use his given name. The shout had come from outside the gate, and he turned toward it. He recognized that voice. It looked like Akiyama and his partner Benzai were restraining someone.

"Saruhiko, it's me!" The tall, young man had wavy, brown hair and a beautiful face. He was dressed in an oversized, argyle sweater, corduroy pants, and oxford shoes. Fushimi slumped when he realized who was there: Dokite, Kory.

"Do you know him?" Gotou inquired curiously, the other clansmen watching closely behind him.

"It's no one of importance," Fushimi grumbled, having decided unilaterally to ignore his visitor.

Kory didn't give up so easily, though, pleading, "Tell them to help me, Saruhiko. You're important here, so if you say so, they'll do it."

Benzai raised his eyebrows towards Akiyama who, as the top ranking clansman beneath Fushimi, had adequate seniority to give orders whenever he so chose. He took the backhanded insult with a deep breath and continued to handle the situation calmly. The first matter of priority was to keep dangerous threats away from the Annex, so there was no way he'd let a beta level strain just burst in.

Then, he questioned along with a thumb gesture, "What makes you think he'll help you?"

Slightly intrigued by the strange behavior of someone who usually stayed as far from Scepter 4 as possible, Fushimi made his way to the gate while Kory answered, "With all the history between us, we may as well be friends."

Disgusted, Fushimi contradicted starkly through the rod iron bars. "No."

After sulking a moment from the harsh response, the hipster strain insisted, "You haven't even heard my request yet."

Rather than accord Kory any gratification, Fushimi also looked to Akiyama, expecting he could present a decent explanation. The coworker didn't let him down, describing succinctly, "He claims his life is in danger and wishes to seek our protection."

Kory clearly didn't think that was enough information because he added on his own behalf, "These guys, you're either with them or you're dead meat. They're killing solo artists like me."

Of course, the picky boy that he was, Fushimi corrected, "You're not an artist." Art takes practice and skill. The crimes that person committed were mostly emotionally based and powered by the Dresden slate.

Contrarily, Benzai had a valid reply. "Who are 'these guys'?"

"I dunno, Man, they're like a gang of Supes, military style." The three exchanged a knowing glance, even tossing the look back to Gotou whose hand nervously moved for the security of his sword. This guy must have been spooked by the same group who had killed that other strain downtown.

"I know what those looks are for," he interrupted their silent conversation. "They killed Stethy. News is all over town already."

"Stethy?"

Gotou explained, "The street name for a strain enabled with hyperacusia. He was relatively peaceful, having long ago resolved to use his powers for good as a cardiologist. We were just on our way to investigate."

"They probably wanted him to open safes," Kory agreed, "but when he refused to join them, they killed him."

"We're fully aware of the matter and handling it," Fushimi determined, "so what do you want?"

"Come on, with my skills, you know I'm one of their targets. You've got the facilities; don't you have some sort of witness protection program?"

Benzai laughed quietly at the idea; whereas, Fushimi rudely pointed out, "Witness protection programs are for witnesses with information valuable to the prosecution who have testified in court."

"Can't you cut me some sort of deal?"

Akiyama, who had been pondering seriously how they should proceed mentioned, "It wouldn't serve justice to just send someone away to be victimized."

"But how do we know he isn't already a part of this so-called 'gang of Supes' sent here to infiltrate and disable our network?"

"I'm not!" Kory reassured.

"Even if you aren't working for anyone, we can't allow someone with your abilities any opportunity for access to our system. There's no telling what you might coincidentally remember for the future."

"Do you really think I'd do something like that?" He sounded offended and innocent.

All of the Special Duty Corp members responded in unison, "Yes."

As if having suddenly thought of an idea, Benzai stated, "There is an available holding cell. That would sufficiently restrain his aura."

"You can't imprison me. I haven't done anything."

Aside from the fact that he was a repeat offender who had certainly caused enough trouble to be detained arbitrarily, Fushimi wasn't exactly concerned about the legal rights of that guy. He was annoying. Therefore, with a conniving smirk, he concluded, "That'll have to do for now. I'll take care of the details when I get back."

He walked away then so as not to leave place for dissension, joining Gotou back at the truck. Of course, Kory continued to protest in shock. That wasn't at all what he hoped for when he requested their aid. But like he had said, whatever Fushimi decided, they would do. Akiyama was already reciting the speech of rights they gave every prisoner while arresting them.

In the end, Kory was silenced by Benzai's ultimatum. "It's either this, or we let you go."

The strain's breath caught in his throat, and he became docile to allow them to take him into custody. Still, he could be heard along the walk. "No, don't let me go. But please be kind with me. It's not like I have super strength or..."

Fushimi clicked his tongue and closed the passenger door behind him to drown out the noise. As Gotou started up the engine and pulled out the drive, the message left on the dark net forum came back to Fushimi's mind. If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere alone for a while. Whoever that person was, they knew the city's dirt, even before anyone else did. Perhaps teaming up really would be necessary for the time being.


Bare toes touched cold tile and Azami winced as it sent a shock up to her ankle until the skin adjusted to the change. She scooted forward on the edge of the bed a little more until her foot rested flat and she could put a little weight on it. No problem; this was good progress. Glancing over her shoulder to check out the window into the hallway once more and make sure no nurse was in sight, she proceeded.

Her other leg slid over the side past the bedrail, and her toes touched down beside the other. No pain. Good. With a deep breath, she slowly lowered herself off of the mattress. All went well until the full scope of her weight hit her injured hip and that one side unwillingly buckled, sending her straight toward the floor.

At the same time, the door to the room swung open and a voice other than hers cried, "Shit!"

Halfway to the ground her body stopped its descent as an arm encircled her waist, and her face met the cushion of a shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Yata ground out between clenched teeth to keep his voice from cracking. It wouldn't have mattered—his beet red face was a dead giveaway. All he could do at that point was hope he looked more angry than embarrassed.

"If I can get up and walk maybe they'll let me leave," she mumbled sheepishly and a bit defeated into his shirt.

Yata sighed in exasperation and hauled them both up, using the bedrail for support. Once upright, Azami hoisted herself partially back onto the bed, trying not to have to acknowledge his assistance in the process.

"You've only been in the hospital one day, dumbass. Take it easy so you don't bust your stitches already," Yata scolded while he helped lift her legs up.

"I'm dying of boredom."

"I was only gone two hours! You can't die that fast!"

The Green Girl crossed her arms sulkily, glanced up at him for the first time, and her brows creased at his appearance: a striped shirt under a deep red jumper-type-thing and red high tops with his usual beanie. He looked like some confused mechanic.

"What are you wearing?"

Yata glanced down at his attire and then gave her a confused look, not sure what answer she was wanting.

"I don't like it," she said simply.

The boy frowned at her audacity and rebutted, "You're one to criticize! Look at what you're wearing!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have a choice right now."

To this he replied, "I had to change because my other clothes were muddy." He emphasized the last descriptor clearly as if to remind her that it was her fault he was now dressed this way.

She looked thoughtful for a moment at his words and then muttered more to herself, "Aw, now I'm gonna be itchy…" After all, she had pretty much fallen on top of Yata and all of his weird clothes.

"No…" He began a reply and then trailed off, looking away. Her questioning gaze drilled into him until he finally continued, "The sewer…Kusanagi-san still had that detergent."

The girl's face took on surprise. "He kept it all this time?"

Yata shifted. "In case you decided to stop by again…but then I ran out of mine and I found it at the bar so…"

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to suppress a smirk. "So you bummed it off of him? That old, it probably isn't as effective anymore, you know?"

Yata glared at her, then turned and walked toward the door while grumbling to himself, presumably giving a reminder that it most definitely would not be okay to hit a girl in a hospital bed. He had thrown something in a chair there when he had seen her start to fall, and he picked it up, stalked back over to her, and flopped a pile of objects into her lap.

"That's what else I was doing."

Azami sifted through the items—a couple issues of a popular manga and several games for a handheld console which was also included. She graced him with a small smile of appreciation.

"Thanks." Then her smirk returned. "Are you sure you want to give me the chance to beat all your high scores?"

Yata breathed out a short laugh through his nose as if that was the most absurd idea he had ever heard, even after the times he had seen her rock the arcade. "You can try."

She glanced up when he stepped to the foot of her bed and then paused as if debating internally, shifting awkwardly on his feet and looking back at her. She cocked her head at his movements and inquired, "What are you going to do? Just stare at my pretty face in this paper gown or do you want something to read?"

Yata balked at her words and made unintelligible responses for a moment, glancing quickly at the door like a startled animal. He couldn't be alone with her all day, could he? She had already fallen on top of him once in her state of…undress. Eventually, he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"I-I h-have t-to…t-to…do some work…for Anna, yeah!"

Azami raised her eyebrows in a knowing way, recalling the evening before when, at some point and for a reason she couldn't remember, HOMRA's vanguard had decided he was going to investigate the matter at hand—in his traditional Yata way, of course. Anna had replied quietly but resolutely, "Misaki, we don't know who is responsible." That seemed to put an end to his plans until his King gave him the go-ahead. He didn't have any business to do for her, and the Green Girl knew it.

"Oh yeah? What would that be?" she pressed, not because she cared if he stayed all day or not, but because innocently torturing him amused her, and she wanted to see what phony excuse he came up with.

"I have to…uh…feed the fish!"

"The fish?"

"Yeah! It's a big job for our little princess. She needs the help of her knight!"

Azami chuckled a little at his expense. "Well then, sir knight, you better not leave the royal fish waiting."


Welcome back technopathic, hipster strain Kory! Please look forward to part 2, including the scene of Stethy's death and a ruthless interrogation of Fushimi's least favorite person.