The air in her room, heavy with moisture, stuck to Futaba's skin like cling film, but she felt as if every drop of blood her left her body. She sat completely still, mouth agape and hands clutching her headphones until the plastic casing complained, brain devoid of any activity.
"This sure is a nice place you have here. You have to be earning a killing," said a voice that caused her shoulders to spasm. It was casual, even a little excited that an acquaintance was living such a good life. To Futaba, this voice carried her away to the arctic and dumped her there with no shelter.
"Sir," Sojiro said, clenched jaw working around the word. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. We're closing now."
"You'll frighten away your customers if you keep up that attitude." She could hear the obnoxious smirk on his face. "How's she doing? I don't see her around anywhere."
One throb in her chest restored all movement. She had her phone in her quivering hands, trying to call Sojiro until she spilt it over the keyboard. Plastic crashed against plastic. Leblanc fell silent, but she could still sense the atmosphere tightening, reaching the point where one could tug at either end could snap the whole thing. All she could was wait and shiver at a voice she thought she'd never hear again.
Sojiro's phone buzzed. No ring tone, just harsh vibrations. "Sorry, but I have to take this. It's important. Do you mind?"
"I see how it is. Fine, I'll leave for now, but make no mistake – I will be coming again. See you around, Sojiro."
Leblanc's entrance jingled open and closed. "And don't come back!" Sojiro boomed.
Futaba exhaled, puffing out her cheeks while she sank deeper into her chair. Thank god that's over. Whoever called Sojiro is a lifesaver. Then she remembered who else would have been in the cafe. Wait. Did he...?
"There was something off about that guy," Ren said. "Definitely had ulterior motives for being here."
Sojiro sighed. "If only you knew. Thanks, by the way. Your timing was perfect."
So it was you, thought Futaba. Thank you, mysterious boy living in Sojiro's cafe.
"That conversation was about to go south. I had to do something."
"Yeah. Listen..."
Futaba froze again. Was Sojiro about the spill the beans and tell Ren all about her? How she was cooped up in her room unable to go into the outside world after no having face-to-face contact with another human for what felt like a lifetime, or the whole sordid story about the man who just visited Leblanc and where that left her. He could even tell him about her mother and how everything – everything – was her fault. What then? What would Ren do, armed with that information? He could report Sojiro, blame him for her situation, say he was an unfit guardian. Then people might come to take her away and put her in the care of someone else.
Nope. No way that's happening. I won't allow it. Her phone was back in hand, ready to intercept the conversation before it even got started.
However, Ren shut the whole thing down.
"It's fine. I'm not about to pry into your personal business."
"You know, you're surprisingly trusting, given your situation."
"Are there any reasons I shouldn't trust you?"
"I- you know what? Let's not go there. Adults have their secrets."
"Like that guy."
"Yeah, like him. If he ever comes here again, don't talk to him, okay? Either call me or the cops if he reuses to leave. Got it?"
"Got it."
Futaba tore the headphones off her head and glanced down at the clock display. What had to be an entire night's worth of energy was gone, burnt up in in just a short ten minute burst. The few hours she had spent in the waking world were all going to count for nothing. An irresistible yawn escaped her mouth, and her bed began looking mighty tempting. She hadn't done much of anything, except relive unpleasant memories she'd prefer never to experience again, but sleep was enveloping her faster than a second wind. Before she knew it, her head was hitting the pillow and she was in a dreamless sleep.
The early afternoon right after the end of the regular lunch breaks was the quietest period of any day. The raucous lunch time traffic abated as workers and students returned to the offices and classrooms, leaving behind a temporary peace that was optimal for individual activities like reading. It would have been perfect, but whenever she turned the page of her book, cold crept along the back of her neck. When she reached up to swat the sensation away, she felt only clammy skin sweating under her hair. The air conditioner dutifully cooling the room was a prime suspect, but the cold was too specific and unpleasant – the type that wouldn't go away no matter how many layers you put on – for it have come from the device. If she didn't know better, somebody was reading the book with her over her shoulder, breathing on her in approval every time she made progress. But that was silly for two reasons: firstly, people's breaths were supposed to be warm, not freezing and secondly, the very idea of something unknown being in such intimate contact was the stuff of nightmares.
It drove her back to her bed. With her back up against the wall, there was something solid protecting her rather than empty space. It should have eased her mind. Nobody but some superhero with the ability to phase through solid matter should have been behind her. The chances were insignificantly tiny. That, though, was before the voice started hissing in her ear, all serpentine and creepy. Its words were undecipherable, and she doubted if it was real at all of if she, in her unease, was misinterpreting sounds from else where. Add it to the list of things wrong with me. I'm losing count...
At the very least, the voice wasn't threatening her like it normally did. She could sense that much. Those occasions were far more explicit and direct, leaving no doubt about its desire to see her waste away. This time, she had a feeling it was encouraging her to turn the pages. Not that she was feeling especially encouraged.
Being alone in the silence tended to amplify the sounds all around. The air conditioner hummed, low and monotonous. The computer's cooling fan blew a continuous stream. Her mattress complained and groaned whenever she shifted her weight to get more comfortable. Dragging her nails across her skin to scratch an itch turned into a sound nails-on-chalkboard levels of spine destroying. If she was left with these sounds for too long, Futaba would assign them voices. The air conditioner was a grade school history teacher who chilled the classroom with a tone as dead as the people she taught about. The fan was a post-man huffing and puffing as he went from door to door, delivering his under-appreciated service. And the mattress was a complete tsundere, always whining about her sitting on it but secretly loving it anyway. Hang on, since when was my bed a massive perv?
Thank to this, while she was physically alone, she wasn't completely isolated. It was comforting, up until the point she counted the amount of inanimate objects in her room – books, rubbish bags, mouse, keyboard, and so on – and was piled upon by voices. "Everybody shut up!" she said, holding her hands over her ears, but everything ignored her. With a frustrated grunt, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up and reached for the headphones. She jammed them onto her head, tuned into Leblanc and allowed the static to push away the pesky voices to the periphery.
"Did'ya hear, Chief? Some fancy exhibit's going on right now. What was the guy's name... oh, Madarame! Yeah, that was it," an elderly voice rambled. "Now I'm not an artsy guy but when I gotta peak at those paintings I was blown away, let me tell ya. No wonder this Madarame fella is a big deal."
"That's Ichiryusai Madarame," cut in a sneering voice. "The single most talented artist this century. You don't need to be 'artsy' to recognise 'those paintings' are masterpieces."
"Come now boy. We all see things a little different."
"No, absolutely not. If you fail to see how amazing Ichiryusai Madarame is, I-"
"Take your bickering outside," Sojiro said. "I can't have you scaring customers away."
The sneering voice clicked his tongue. "Your lousy customer service already does that."
A newspaper rustled so Sojiro could glower over the top of it. "And yet you keep coming back."
Futaba laughed, but it rang hollow. It's just not the same. I wonder what he's up to?
Even during school hours, the underground forum was busy. The thread about Ren, by now several weeks old, was still one of the hottest on the board. Lately, the speculation diverted from conspiracy and was neck deep in confusion.
He's bringing a cat to school. I'm not the only one who sees it, right?
You okay there, pal? Looks like a giant plush to me. Still weird, don't get me wrong.
I sit behind him in class and I swear to god, that's a cat in his desk. But whenever I try looking, it just vanishes or something.
You're just tripping after teach's chalk smacked you in the head lol
That's the other thing! He's got ninja reflexes. Half the time he looks spaced out but he can dodge chalk thrown at him at the speed of sound. Something's up with that.
As that discussion descended into nonsense, something far more venomous bubbled up in another part of the thread.
Ain't it funny how crime boy, blondie and track traitor hang out?
Must be boning. Blondie's real easy. So I've heard.
Wasn't that her friend? The one who jumped.
Every time the track traitor comes to class I just wanna vomit. He's. So. Annoying.
I really hate how they think they're better than everyone just because they've been through shit. As if the rest of us didn't have it tough as well.
Crime boy's planning something. Has to be.
He's got no emotion. See how he stares at everyone? Obvious psychopath. How is he still in school?
Yeah man. The Kamoshida thing wasn't normal. He must have done something.
I wish someone would arrest him already.
Each new comment unfolded like a horribly compelling disaster. It was the familiar story of people who stood out in some way, be it because they did something different to the norm or were different, being prime targets for derision and scorn. In these stories, they ceased being human beings and became objects to pick on.
She hated it.
Moments later, the server supporting the underground forum was down; torched, never to be used again while she was around. It was only kicking the can down the road, because no doubt they'll find a new home before long, but it felt right. A bit of Alibaba-style justice. Returning the favour, after that whole thing with my uncle.
Who cared if it was a decent source of information? The internet was a better place afterwards, and the inconvenience was worth it if it made Ren's left just that little bit easier.