4/10

Curry. The aroma snakes its way through the room and up Akira's nostrils. He wakes to the smell of spices. He checks his phone. It's early, too early for LeBlanc to be open, he thinks.

His head hurts. He feels exhausted, though apparently he slept a full eight hours. The dream returns to him in bits and pieces. The creature called Igor. The moans. The attendants. "Ruin" and "rehabilitation." He lays his head back on the pillow. The thing from his dream had asked him a question, but he cannot remember it now. It is gone, like so many other dreams; banished by the day.

He dresses and makes his way downstairs. Sojiro stands behind the counter. A fresh plate of curry sits next to a mug of steaming coffee. "We'll go after you eat," he says, and gestures to the food.

"I... thank you."

"Don't let it go to your head," Sojro replies, and flips on the television. "I just don't want to hear you complaining about being hungry later."

Akira remembers the half-heard conversation from the night before, but he sits at the counter and keeps his eyes on the plate. With his tongue, he pokes the inside of his mouth, and feels the depression his teeth left.

The food is more delicious than he expected. Akira wolfs it down. The texture, the taste the full feeling once he's done, all of it shakes him awake. "Looks like you enjoyed it," Sojiro says, but when Akira opens his mouth to reply, he cuts him off. "Well, let's go then."

#

Shujin Academy is bigger than Akira's old school, but not by much. Being Sunday, the hallways are conspicuously absent people, both students and teachers. The short walk to the Principal's office gives him little time to learn his way around. But to Akira, it looks just like any other school. There are halls and classrooms and a courtyard.

Just another box.

A dilemma soon presents itself to Akira. He cannot decide if Principal Kobayakowa looks more like a pale toad, or a sentient pile of pudding. The man has no neck and appears on the verge of bursting from his bile-colored suit. Yet, his speech is clear and concise. "Make no mistake, young man. I don't care what kind of trouble you got up to in your hometown. You will behave yourself here."

"Yes sir," Akira replies. The man is just like everyone else. He does not see Akira, but the criminal record.

"Given your history, not many places would have accepted you as a student. I hope you understand how grateful you should be."

Akira's insides churn. Grateful. Oh, yes. I'm so grateful. I'm grateful for all the false friends. I'm grateful for being abandoned in a customer-less cafe. I'm grateful for that woman's testimony. I'm grateful for the man who was assaulting her, who couldn't even bother to show up at the trial. I'm grateful for my expulsion. I'm grateful for the move. I'm grateful for the mother who doesn't want to speak with me. Oh, yes, sir. I'm ever so fucking grateful.

"Yes, sir. I am, sir," he says.

"Keep your nose clean, or we'll clean it for you."

"I will, sir."

The Principal pivots his bulbous head towards Sojiro. "Sakura-san, please keep him out of trouble."

Sojiro was, and is, staring at his cuticles with intensity. "Hey," he says, his tone dismissive, "he ain't my kid."

The fourth person and the only woman in the room sighs. It is explained to Akira that this is homeroom teacher, Kawakami-sensei. She is around Akira's height, is thin and pretty with curly black hair. Her yellow sweater and denim skirt make her look younger than she must be. In a school uniform, she wouldn't look any older than me. What she does look is exhausted. There are deep circles under her eyes that makeup fails to hide. Her skin has a sickly pallor to it. "Are you sure," she asks, "that my class is the best place for him?"

"Well, we can't very well put in him a class with Sakamoto. Who knows what kind of trouble they would get into together?" The Principal replies.

"It's just that-"

"Sorry," Sojiro interrupts Kawakami. "But are you done with him? I need to get back to my shop."

"Oh, of course," the Principal states. "I apologize for keeping you." Pleasantries are exchanged. Akira follows Sojiro out the door, after bowing to his new principal and homeroom teacher. Neither returns it.

#

Kawakami doesn't so much drop into her chair as she does collapse. The faculty office is empty save for her, and assured of her solitude, she lets out a long, angry, and deep groan. "Why me?" She folds her arms atop her desk and rests her head on them. A transfer student was one thing, but one with a criminal record? Principal Kobayakowa had explained his acceptance as a way of bolstering the school's reputation, that it showed Shujin was dedicated to the 'bright futures of all Japan's youth, no matter their past mistakes.' She almost felt bad for Kurusu. Sure, what he did was horrible, but to use a student - any student - in such a way felt wrong.

Speaking of... did he really assault someone? The thin, bespectacled boy had been the model of quiet respect, even as the Principal had lashed into him. He didn't seem hotheaded, like Sakamoto. "I guess you really can't judge a book by..." the cliché dissolves into a yawn. God, but she's tired.

The door to the office opens and a tall, lean figure steps inside. "Ah, Miss Kawakami, so good to see you!" Mister Kamoshida calls, holding up a hand in greeting.

Kawakami rolls her eyes. Great. This creep. "Good morning, Kamoshida-sensei."

"Oh, come on now, we've known each other too long for such formalities." His bright smile reminds her of bleach for some reason.

"What brings you here?" She asks. "It's Sunday."

"Well, the volleyball rally is coming up, and I wanted to make sure my team was in top shape. There's a lot riding on this."

You mean your ego? "Ah, that's right. I must've forgotten about it." Something flashes across Kamoshida's face, a terrible mix of rage and arrogance. Then it is gone, and his smile returns. Books and covers. Her grandmother had been an avid book collector, but had been terrible at keeping them in good condition. Once, when Kawakami was a little girl, she visited her grandmother's house and snuck up to the attic. She found a fairytale book with an elaborate blue and gold stitched cover. Excited in the way that only little girls can be, she'd opened the cover to the first page. A millipede the size of her hand had scuttled out and wrapped itself around her wrist. She'd screamed until she lost her voice.

She knows, that behind the cover Kamoshida shows to the world, lurks something else. If things were different, perhaps she could do something. But things aren't different. They are the way they are, and Kawakami has her own problems.

"Well, I just dropped by to see if anyone was in the faculty office," Kamoshida says. Why? Kawakami thinks. "I should get going. Have a good rest of your weekend."

He leaves, and Kawakami sticks her tongue out at the shut door. "Jackass," she mumbles. Alright then, Akira Kurusu. There has to be something she can do for him. She has far too many responsibilities to give him any of her time, but perhaps there was someone else? Someone responsible? Someone who could walk Kurusu through the academics at Shujin, to at least give him a chance?

The perfect person pops into her mind. Pleased with herself, Kawakami picks up the phone and pulls down a copy of the student directory. She turns a few pages, finds the right number, and dials.

Someone picks up on the second ring. "Hi, it's Miss Kawakami. I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I'd like your help with something."

#

Traffic is bad. Sojiro's face darkens as the ride goes on. "Goddammit," he finally whispers, then shoots a glare at Akira in the passenger seat. "You're taking the train, starting tomorrow." Akira nods. Sojiro frowns at this, turns his attention back to the street, and asks, "So, how was it? The school, I mean."

"It seems fine," Akira replies. A nice, neutral answer.

Sojiro shakes his head. "They really cut into you, back there. And that teacher of yours, Kawakami was it? She looked sick or something." He sighs and dances his fingers across the top of the steering wheel. "Just, don't do anything to get in trouble, alright? I've got enough problems just taking you in."

"Why did you take me in?" Akira asks. The words slip from him before he can bite them back. His mind continues the thought. After all, you think I'm just some useless delinquent. You're extraordinarily inconvenienced by this whole thing, apparently. So why?

Sojiro keeps his eyes on the road. "I know someone who knows your mother. When I heard about what had happened... well, it doesn't matter. You're here now, and if you want to stay here, you'll stay out of trouble."

Sojiro's phone rings. His ringtone is a ritzy little waltz. He picks it up straightaway and says, "Hello?" Akira hears a high-pitched voice on the other end, but can't make out the words. "What'd you mean, it's not the right one? The other one? What other one? I don't know what other other one means." He lets out a little groan. "Alright, alright. I'll go pick it up. Yes. Yes, right now. Good god, yes. I'll see you soon." He hangs up the phone with a, "Sheesh."

"Was that your wife?" Akira asks. It has dawned on him that he still knows nothing about Sojiro Sakura, save for what he has experienced firsthand. He is not even sure where the man lives.

Sojiro's face balls up into an angry grimace. "The hell would make you think I'm married?"

"Sorry, I-"

"Why don't you mind your own damn business? How about that?" Akira does not understand the anger, but he knows he should have just kept his mouth shut. "You know what?" Sojiro asks, after glancing at the standstill traffic. He leans over and reaches across Akira's lap. "I've got a stop to make," he says and opens the passenger door. "We're close to the nearest station. Why don't you find your own damn way home?" He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a single key, then hands it to Akira. "For the shop. Out."

Akira stares at him, hoping he'll change his mind. He hadn't meant to offend the man, couldn't Sojiro understand that? But the look on his caretaker's face is stern and determined. Akira undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the car. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns his head and stares back at Sojiro. The middle aged man does not meet his gaze, and the traffic eventually inches itself along, and his car drives around the corner and is gone.

#

Akira is angry, alone, and lost. Not lost in the sense that he does not know where he is. His GPS has led him to the station he'll catch a ride to Shibuya from, but the strangeness - the unfamiliarity - with everything around him is overwhelming. When he steps onto the escalator, descending into the station proper, he is almost relieved at the vaguely familiar ads lining the walls, and the ever-distracted commuters that inhabit any station.

His phone beeps.

He checks it.

The red eyed app is back. It does not grow this time, but sits on his phone as if it has always been there; as if it has been waiting for Akira to remember it. Before his thoughts can coalesce, he deletes it once more, only to discover, when he glances up from his phone, that he is alone on the escalator.

The multitudes of faceless people are gone.

At the base of the escalator, the blue flame crackles.

"H-how?" He whispers.

A voice roars through the hollow subway tunnel, "THOUGH THOU BE CHAINED TO HELL ITSELF!" The flames part, and Akira stares at himself once more, with the same madman grin, the same golden eyes. His double's lips part and mouths something. Akira cannot hear the words, but knows what they are. "Thou art I." A blood-red hand reaches out of the flames, fingers splayed, towards him.

Akira takes a step back up the steps...

... and collides with the commuter behind him. He blinks and the vision is gone. He is moving on the escalator once more. People surround him. When he reaches the platform, he stumbles onto it. His head pounds, his heart beats fast, his breath is coming in not-quite-ragged gasps. The commuters stare at him. No one approaches him to ask if he's alright. Instead, they subtly, with their heads still buried in their phones and conversations, shift away from him a few more steps than necessary.

Exhausted, Akira plants himself on one of benches. It is this distance from the tracks that saves his life.

What is happening to me? He takes out his phone, deletes the app. What was that? Fragments of last night's dream return to him, of the long-nosed thing named Igor, and his question. "How far are you willing to go for your rehabilitation?"

In an explosion of screeching metal, screams, dust and pulverized stone, a train barrels out of the subway tunnel, hops the rails, and smashes its way onto the platform. Akira has a single moment to take this in before he is blown from the bench by the pressure. He hits the concrete and skids a few inches. Dust washes over him and into his nose and mouth. On instinct, he wraps his arms around his head, shuts his eyes, and waits.

His ears ring. He feels a stillness, a settling. He cracks his eyes open and sees a number of similar people, huddled up as he is, all of them covered in the dust, making them appear as sleeping specters. Akira pats himself down. He feels nothing. He is unharmed, he thinks.

Slowly, he gets up, and allows himself to witness the devastation. The train cars lay scattered at odd angles both on the tracks and off them. Wires hang loose from the ceiling, sparking bits of orange and white. When his ears pop, he hears the wounded moans and sobs of the people around him. Few people move, but most seem alive if heavily injured. Some are sprawled with their faces turned from him, and if their chests rise and fall, the movement is too shallow for him to notice.

A hand grips his shoulder. He is spun into the face of a man in a white helmet. He wears some kind of jumpsuit, and carries a small case with a red cross on it in his hands. Akira knows he should understand what all this mean, but his mind isn't functioning properly. The words the man shouts at him are jumbled nonsense. He speaks a few times, before he gives up and pats Akira down. He shines a light in Akira's eyes and moves it back and forth. Akira's gaze follows it. He holds up his finger and does the same thing. Akira's gaze follows it. He nods, and gently pushes Akira towards the undamaged escalator.

More men in white helmets are pouring down the steps, and spreading themselves out among the injured. He understands that this is a rescue operation, and that he should not be here. He will only get in their way. Akira staggers to the steps, and works his way up them, one at a time.

#

Akira's journey home is its own dreary adventure, filled with confused cab drivers, switching stations, and the slow return of his mind. Ultimately, the result is mundane in that he reaches LeBlanc after the sun has set and the moon is high.

Starving, exhausted, dehydrated and still in a bit of shock, Akira stumbles through the cafe's front door, and directly into a wall of words from Sojiro.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sojiro asks. His voice is the harshest Akira has heard it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Akira does, and he rattles the number off. Sojiro fixes him with a hard glare. "I was in the station," Akira says, settling into an empty booth. "When the train hit."

"Wait, what?" Sojiro stares at him, but Akira does not reply. "You were there? At the station?" Akira nods. "Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head. "No. I wasn't - I mean, it came close but it didn't hit me."

"Well, are you sure? Did you hurt your head or anything? You could have a concussion!"

"Someone checked on me. I think they said I was fine."

Sojiro stares at him for a time. Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out a plate wrapped in foil. He grabs a bottle of water in his other hand and brings them around the counter to Akira's booth. "Here," he says, dropping them in front of him. "You must be starving. And thirsty. Shit, and exhausted."

Akira pulls back the wrapping and finds a heap of curry. It looks like the same he ate that morning, but he is not going to complain about this. He picks up the fork and digs in. Sojiro leans against the bar and stares at him.

"Listen," he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and his eyes studying the ceiling. "I'm, uh, sorry. About kicking you out of the car. That wasn't... well, I'm sorry."

Akira looks up at him. He doesn't know what to do about this. He opens his mouth to reply with something, but Sojiro cuts back into the silence.

"This means the trains are gonna be delayed. And that means you're going to have to leave even earlier tomorrow if you're going to get to school."

"Oh, yeah."

"So get to bed. I'll take care of your dishes tonight, but that's the last time. From now on, if you eat here, you have to clean up after yourself."

"Yes, sir."

Sojiro busies himself wrapping things up at the cafe, then snatches back the plate, utensils and empty water bottle once Akira is finished with them. "Get some sleep, kid," he says by way of goodnight. Akira nods, thanks him for the food, and goes upstairs.

After changing, he collapses into bed and his last coherent thought is of the blue flame, the crash and the thing called Igor. What the hell is going on? Then he falls into a deeper sleep than he's had in a long time.

####

A/N: I wanted to switch a few things around, namely Kawakami's attitude and the whole 'mental shutdown' thing. Aside from the cutscene, we don't experience much in the way of the latter, save through overheard dialogue and the TV. Having Akira experience the direct result of someone else's mental shutdown - I hope - will lead to his having more of a stake in resolving the issues down the line.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Can you guess who Kawakami called?