Chapter Seven - Blood

Homura had never really thought about what she would do if she ever met the author of The Glass Garden.

Sasaki Arata was the man who penned the story that changed her life. He felt more like an ethereal concept than another person. Even when she saw him on the rooftop of the Midoriiro, it didn't quite sink in who exactly she was looking at.

But now, as she tailed him down the streets of uptown Mitakihara, she felt a distinct sense of awe building up inside her. It was him. Sasaki Arata. How many times had she consumed his prose, dreamed of writing like him one day?

She used to have a heart condition when she was younger, though it didn't affect her so much anymore. But her pulse in that moment took her back to her childhood, when she was young and helpless.

No. Homura shook her head and slowed down long enough to take a deep breath. She wasn't helpless anymore.

It was late afternoon. The sidewalk was thick with people leaving their shifts. Homura watched as Arata's tall, lanky form disappeared inside a nearby coffee shop, the fancy kind that sprinkled dead leaves on your coffee and called it high class.

The inside of the cafe was swathed in soft whites and greens. Small potted plants hung from the ceiling and decorated the windows. It was the kind of place where the waiters came to you instead of the other way around.

Homura peered about and spotted a head of swept back hair ducking through the back entrance, where the cafe opened into a small outdoor seating area.

Her hand clutched the strap of her bag as she pursued him.

The seating area was a small enclosed space surrounded by greenery, sheltered from the white noise of the street. Arata selected an empty seat in the far corner. His eyes scanned the menu for a brief moment before he flipped it shut.

Just as he raised his hand for a waiter, Homura slipped quietly into the seat across from him.

"Good evening, Mr. Sasaki."

Sasaki Arata stared at her. Homura's heart jumped as their eyes met for the first time. Those eyes were dark and deep, like the forest at night. She had spent many years wondering about those eyes, and how they saw the world.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked. His voice was deep and smooth.

"We aren't acquainted," Homura said. "But you could call me a fan."

Irritation flickered across his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have any fans. You must have me mistaken for someone else. In any case, please leave me alone."

With that he pointedly propped up the menu between them. Through the corner of her eye Homura saw a waiter approaching their table.

"What I meant is that I read your work," she said quickly. "I am a great admirer of your story…that is, The Glass Garden."

Sasaki Arata blinked and slowly lowered the menu, peering at her over the top edge. Homura swallowed thickly, feeling nervous despite herself. It was taking all her will to remain calm.

The waiter arrived at their table, a young man with a close haircut.

"How may I help you, sir?"

Arata said nothing, instead continuing to watch Homura. Her eyes darted between him and the waiter, and she began to shift nervously in her seat.

"…sir?"

At last Arata sighed and set the menu aside.

"I'll have an Americano. And you, young lady. What would you like?"

Homura glanced up at the impatient looking waiter. "Oh, um…a cafe au lait, please."

The waiter jotted down their orders and nodded before disappearing back inside the cafe. Sasaki Arata crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

"So, young lady. Who are you, exactly?"

Homura jumped at being addressed. Why was she so nervous? "My name is…" her voice caught for a moment, and Arata raised his eyebrow. "…Sunako. My name is Sunako."

"And what did you want from me, Sunako?"

Homura inhaled deeply before proceeding. She did her best to ignore the thudding of her pulse.

"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time, Mr. Sasaki. I camped out at the lounge across the street from your building every day for the last two weeks, hoping to run into you."

Arata blinked. "Every day?"

"Yes, every day."

"Whatever for?"

"I am a great admirer of your work," Homura said. She leaned forward intently. "I first read the Glass Garden years ago, and it remains a very important story to me. In fact, I could say it changed my life."

Arata raised his eyebrows. For a moment his hard expression softened. "You liked it that much?"

"I know every detail cover to cover. I've studied every page. Your story is the reason that I want to be a writer someday."

"I wrote it years…no, decades ago. I had almost forgotten about it."

Sasaki Arata studied her for a long moment. The look in his eyes was unfathomable. Homura offered a weak smile.

Then he scoffed abruptly and looked away, crossing his legs beneath the table. "So, is that it? You just wanted to express your admiration for my work?"

Homura shook her head profusely. "No. Well…yes, but that isn't all. You see, Mr. Sasaki, I am aware that you currently own Toshoukan Publishing. I also aspire to become a published author. In fact, I have been corresponding with an editor in your company for some time."

Arata tilted his head. "Really. Who?"

"Nakagawa Tobio."

Arata hummed under his breath. "Tobio…he's a bland guy, but good at what he does. He's been with us for a long time. But Sunako…I don't recognize your name. I thought I knew everyone new we have under contract."

"I am not officially affiliated with your company," Homura admitted. "He has been helping me…under the table, so to speak."

The man scoffed again. He seemed to enjoy scoffing. "Classic Tobio. He would be soft enough to help out an amateur when the company's in the middle of a crisis."

"I would ask that you not fault him," Homura said quickly. "To be frank, I pestered him into reviewing my work in the past…he merely gave in to my persistence. My involvement is no fault of his own."

"Alright, so he reviewed your work. What did he tell you?"

Homura looked down. "He said he only has time for actual clients now. And he did mention the company is undergoing some restructuring."

The waiter returned with their drinks. Sasaki Arata took a long draught from his. Homura simply stared into her own.

"Well, good to see he still has some common sense." His thumb traced the lip of his cup. Homura found the motion hypnotizing. "It's hard enough to make it in this business without handing out freebies."

"And that is precisely why I am here," Homura said. "I understand that I am young, and inexperienced. But I also understand that sometimes the most deserving writers never get to have their stories told. And so I wanted to ask you, Mr. Sasaki, as an admirer of your work, for your help and guidance."

"What sort of 'guidance' are you referring to?"

Homura bit her lip. "I understand you are a very busy man. My intention is not to burden you with my desires. Mr. Nakagawa, as you said, is good at what he does. I would like the opportunity to work under him to improve my manuscript."

Arata raised his hands in a shrugging motion. "He's already told you no. What do you expect me to do about it?"

"He works for you, does he not?"

His eyes narrowed. "No one works for me. I hired him because he's qualified to make his own decisions. And quite frankly, young lady, we only work with writers if we intend to publish their already completed manuscripts. Do you have something finished and ready for review? My guess is that you don't, given your unconventional approach."

The words carried the harsh sting of the truth. Homura was smart enough to know she could say nothing to deny these facts. She could only show her sincerity.

Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head before Sasaki Arata.

"Everything is as you say. But Mr. Sasaki, I can't give up. It is partly because of you that I am here today. I can promise you that I take this very seriously."

"No," Arata said bluntly. "You aren't thinking about the resources and time that will be expended on your behalf. I don't know you. We just met today. I have no means by which to assess your marketability as a writer, no means other than the opinion of a trusted coworker, who apparently does not view your talents favorably. I see no reason for me to help you. What can you offer me in return?"

Homura lifted her head. "Nobody works harder than I do. And I truly believe what I am currently working on could be something very special. Please, if you could just have Mr. Nakagawa read it-"

Sasaki Arata palm slammed loudly against the table. Homura flinched at the sudden noise.

"Let me tell you something, young lady," he said. "Every writer - and I mean every last one - believes what they are 'currently working on' is the greatest thing to grace God's green earth. Believe me, I've heard it more times than I can count by now. What you don't realize is that this world is more unforgiving than you can imagine."

He downed the rest of his coffee and set the cup down with a loud clack. The nearby patrons looked over as he stood up, pinning Homura to her chair with his gaze.

Then he turned on his heel and left. Homura leapt out of her chair in pursuit.

Their surroundings became a blur as she chased him back through the interior of the shop and onto the street, now empty and cool in the belly of the evening.

"Mr. Sasaki-"

"Forget it, miss Sunako. Some things are best left forgotten."

Homura stopped behind him, clenching her fists. She was seized by the conviction that if she parted with Sasaki Arata now, she would never see him again.

"Even your story?" She asked.

Arata laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, even my story."

How could he say such a thing? To her that story was almost…no, it was everything. He simply didn't understand. He didn't know the impact he had on the lives of others. And because of that he couldn't understand how desperately she wanted this.

She thought about her manuscript. All the work she had put into it.

She thought about the purity of Madoka's smile, the will it had taken to lie to the girl's face again and again. And in that moment, she was filled with a powerful desperation. It was then that she acknowledged she had nothing else. Nothing but the farce she had built for herself. But it was a beautiful farce, one she could not let go of just yet.

"And Kaname Junko?" Homura shouted. "What about her?"

Sasaki Arata stopped dead in his tracks. When he turned around his gaze was withering.

"What did you just say?"

"Kaname Junko," she repeated. "The woman you are having an affair with."

Arata stormed up to her and grabbed her by the shoulder, so hard that she yelped in pain.

"You'd better be careful what you go around saying in public," he hissed. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have proof," Homura spat. She shook free and pulled something from her bag, shoving it in the man's face.

His eyes went wide.

A printed out photo of himself, planting a kiss upon the hand of a married woman.

Homura breathed heavily as she held the photo in front of Arata. Her pulse roared in her ears, but Arata was completely still, every bit the faceless mountain he seemed.

Then he snatched the photo from her hand, crumpling it in his fist. He seized Homura by the arm and hauled her into the alley behind the cafe, practically throwing her into its shadows.

"Just who the hell are you? How did you get this photo?" He demanded. Random passerby on the street cast worried glances at them. Homura gripped the strap of her bag, bracing herself for anything.

"I have more," she said flatly. She reached into her bag and produced a stack of photos. "If you would like to see them."

Arata grabbed the hand holding the photos and shoved it back inside the bag. "Don't take that out here!"

Homura found herself returning the mirthless laugh from earlier. "Will you hear me out properly now?"

A look of shock crossed Arata's face. He released her and took several steps back, until he was standing at the far side of the alley. Homura sank back against the wall herself, breathing heavily. Her long hair fell into a tangled mess around her face. But her eyes showed through with a brightness and hunger that unnerved him. The eyes of a lynx, hunting in the forest at night.

When Arata spoke again, his voice was hushed.

"I don't know who you are, or how you got those photos," he said. "And I don't care. You can't just waltz in and threaten me. I won't allow it. Do whatever you want with those photos. Even if you ruin me you'll be no closer to getting what you want."

He pushed himself off the wall and hurried out of the alleyway.

Homura stood alone in the darkness for what felt like an eternity, waiting for her breath to return. But her pulse remained deafening in her ears. Her legs gave out and she sank to the ground.

Her arm came up to cover her eyes. Despite it being night, the world felt blindingly bright.

What the hell am I doing?


At night the sun goes to sleep. But in the city, the sun is forever. The only darkness is the darkness people carry within themselves.

Junko had said that to him once. For some reason those words haunted him as he stalked through the city, doing his best not to run. He had the feeling that something was chasing him even though he obviously wasn't being pursued. His chest was seized by a sensation of impending doom.

The crumped up photo of himself and Junko stabbed the inside of his palm.

She knows. She fucking knows. How the hell does she know?

If a nameless young woman like her knew about the affair, then there was no guarantee there weren't others. The secret might have gotten out somehow without either of them knowing. Sunako was her name. What was her relationship with Junko? There were too many unknowns. He hadn't thought they would have to worry about anyone other than Junko's family.

Exhaustion fell over him, relentless.

Some distance from the cafe there was a small park that had been repurposed into a tourist location a few years prior. In the small garden within there was planted a set of artificial glass flowers, each exquisitely hand crafted. During the day they sparkled beneath the sun; at night, small batteries inside the petals powered a warm yellow light, so that the flowers glowed like a cluster of stars rising from the earth.

Arata stopped at a ramp that overlooked this glass garden, draping his arms over the railing. His eyes became unfocused as he stared into that golden pool of light. It was like the flowers were releasing the sunlight they had absorbed throughout the day. In the city the sun is forever.

He was startled from his trance by the ringing of his phone.

Junko.

For a moment he considered not answering. He didn't know what he would say to her about Sunako, or if he should say anything at all.

But he realized that above all else, he just wanted to hear her voice.

"Hello."

"Good evening, sir. May I trouble you for some company this fine evening?"

He snorted. "Don't talk to me like that."

He could practically see her sticking her tongue out. "I'm always very courteous to my clients."

"Am I just a client to you?"

"Officially speaking, yes."

"And unofficially?"

"You can ask me that in person later."

Arata smiled against the phone. The warmth of her voice gave the garden beneath him a deeper color. "I have to head back to the office soon. I don't think we can meet tonight."

"You sound tired. Everything alright?"

"I'm fine." He could have left it there, but his voice carried further. "I'm just…in a bad mood. Irritable. I took it out on someone. I lost my temper."

"That isn't like you. No company restructuring is easy. We'll get through it together. You'll see. I'm the best there is!"

Some things were best left forgotten. And other things were best never remembered at all. This was all they could do, skate along the edges of the lake but never dare test the strength of the ice at its center. Lest they fall through and drown, strangled by the weight of a question they could never answer.

"You're better than the best." He switched his phone to the other ear. "Where are you right now?"

"Walking to the station. I got bored and thought of you."

"Tell me about what you see."

"Well, there's this beautiful cake shop I just passed. My daughter likes to bake, actually. She once made this enormous thing for my birthday…"

He closed his eyes and let the sound of Junko's voice wash over her. For a moment the rest of the world receded and it was just the two of them, connected across space time. He didn't care then if the sun was forever or never. Junko was enough.

He knew already that he was in love with this woman. He was old and experienced enough to admit it to himself. In a world he knew to be cruel and relentless, he would never hesitate to take a good and unsullied thing for himself.

It was true what he had said to Sunako in the alleyway. He hardly cared what would happen to him if she were to release those photos, post them on the Internet, send them to a news station, whatever.

He was restructuring the company in preparation to sell it to a large conglomerate in Tokyo. Once the deal was complete he would tell his employees, and then he would be gone. He planned to leave the company by the end of the year. After that he could care less what people thought of him, or his reputation or career or anything. Arata had always planned to retire in solitude.

But there was still one more thing he wanted to protect. Lifting his hand, he unraveled the crumpled photo of the two of them. She had an uncomfortable smile on her face, but he knew that was how she looked when she was bemused.

"Arata, are you listening?"

"Always."

Junko laughed. "I don't believe you. You sound exhausted. Go home and get some rest."

"If I told you to do that, you'd never listen."

"That's why I'm the one saying it. Take care of yourself, or I will."

Arata smiled. "I wouldn't mind that."

"I bet you wouldn't. I'm at the station now. I'll talk to you later."

He hung up. A single airplane cut across the night sky overhead, the lights at its wingtips blinking in rhythm with his pulse.


Homura didn't quite know what to do with herself. In the end she picked herself off the ground and went back into the cafe, reclaiming the table where her cafe au lait was still sitting, now stone cold.

The people inside stared as she sat back down. The coffee was bitter as it passed her lips. It occurred to her that Arata had left without paying.

As night fell, the cafe's patrons left one by one. Soon she was the only one left, sitting quietly by her empty coffee cup. A waiter took it while wiping down the tables, leaving a check behind.

She picked it up and glanced at the price.

Jesus.

She hadn't been planning on using the photos at first. She had only wanted to use them as a last resort. In fact she was deathly afraid to use them. Blackmailing someone like Sasaki Arata was not something to be taken lightly. But in a moment of panic and despair she had acted on impulse.

I thought I would be ready for the consequences. But what are the consequences now?

She didn't know what to feel. Disappointment. Anger. Disgust, with herself. Betraying her idol, her hero, and for what? Nothing, in the end. All she got was to stare her own selfishness in the face.

Homura finished the rest of her coffee and stared sightlessly at the sky. A single airplane cut across overhead, the lights at its wingtips harsh and bright.

But she also felt a sense of relief. She was almost glad Arata walked away from her.

As she thought this, a silhouette appeared at the door to the seating area. Thinking it was the waiter, Homura reached for her wallet. But the silhouette quietly took the seat across the table.

Sasaki Arata.

"Let me ask you something," he said before she could react. "Do you know Junko personally? Do you have any relationship with her?"

Homura froze, unsure of what to say. She slowly shook her head.

"And you bear no grudge against her. Your only interest is using her as leverage over me. Is that correct?"

She nodded.

"Show me the photos. All of them."

She hesitated, then decided it should be fine. They were all backed up on her computer and her phone. Reaching into her bag, she produced the stack of photos and handed them over.

Arata took them and flipped through each one, his dark eyes scanning every photo with a chilling intensity. She waited for a long time, alone with him in the darkness.

Once he was finished he tucked the photos away inside his suit jacket. "I'll be taking these. I assume you have copies, anyway. Are these all the photos you have? There aren't any others?"

Homura thought hard about why that would matter. Perhaps it was merely a query fueled by paranoia.

"Yes, that's all of it," she said.

He studied her face for an uncomfortable amount of time. She had told the truth, but didn't know if he would be able to tell.

At last he looked away. "How do I know your demands will end here? Is working with Tobio really the only thing you want from me? Can you guarantee that?"

Homura narrowed her eyes. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I am going to accept your demands," Arata said. "I will instruct Tobio to work with you on your manuscript. And if it's good enough, it just may be published."

Her fist clenched beneath the table. This was it. The words she had been waiting to hear. She inhaled slowly and made sure not to stutter when she spoke.

"You seem to have had a change of heart."

"I didn't lie to you earlier," Arata said. "I don't care about my reputation or money anymore. There is nothing you can do to hurt me. But I will not allow any harm to come to her."

Homura smiled wanly. "Well, I suppose there is no way for me to guarantee my demands will end here. You have only word. Rest assured, Mr. Sasaki, I do not intend to ask anything more of you."

"Fine. I have no choice, regardless." Arata took out a pen and grabbed a napkin from the table, handing both to her. "Give me a way to contact you. Make something up, I don't care. If this goes as I prefer, I'll never have to use it."

Homura scribbled down the throwaway email she used to correspond with Toby. She handed the napkin to Arata, who slipped it in his pocket and rose to his feet.

"Tobio will be in contact within the week. He'll have questions, but I assume you've thought up a way around that. Is there anything else we should discuss?"

His eyes bored into hers. Homura returned the gaze, possessed by a mixture of fear and excitement.

"No, I don't believe so," she said.

"Then good night, miss Sunako."

Homura couldn't quite explain what she felt as she watched Sasaki Arata's silhouette recede into the shadows. Surprise, yes. Apprehension, certainly. But beneath that, something she would not have expected. The sense of relief from earlier washed away by something murkier.

Disappointment.


The days following her encounter with Sasaki Arata felt very much like a dream.

She returned home that night exhausted. The energy drained from her body and she was claimed by a deep sleep. When she woke she thought for a moment she had imagined the entire thing. But no, the photos were gone from her bag. It was real.

True to his word, within a few days she received an email from Toby.

Sunako,

Looks like fate is smiling upon you at last. I've just gotten instructions from the company president's secretary. Apparently I'm officially your editor now. I didn't really get much in the way of details, but she said you would know what I'm talking about. I expect an explanation when I see you.

Let's meet at your earliest convenience. When can you swing by the office? Don't worry, our air conditioner is working now.

-Tobio (NOT Toby)

Homura arranged to meet Toby later that week. In the meantime, she sent over what she had of her manuscript. He promised to have it read by the time she came.

It was a chilly wet morning when Homura borrowed Kyouko's bike without asking and pedaled her way uptown. The ride felt wholly surreal to her. The fog that clung to her skin only amplified the feeling.

At the front desk she said she had an appointment with Nakagawa Tobio. After calling upstairs to confirm the receptionist let her up without any resistance.

That was a first.

Takanashi Rikka was seated behind the reception desk on Toby's floor, just like last time. The woman glared sourly at Homura as she passed, but said nothing. It occurred to Homura that Toby had reached out to her personally instead of having Rikka doing it. She supposed that was best.

Toby was waiting for her in the office. She thought back to that boiling hot afternoon she had spent in here, listening to him tear into her story. How different it felt now. For starters it was cold that morning, so the air conditioner was off. Toby could have been lying about getting that fixed.

She briefly considered asking him to turn it on just to see, but dismissed the thought.

"Tea?" Toby asked as he poured himself a cup. Homura nodded and he brought another one over for her, placing it on the table. She cupped her hands around it as he sat with a huff.

"I've spent the week catching up on your work," he said. "I've gotta say, this is all very unusual. Our president is a pretty reclusive guy. People don't see him out and about very often, so you can imagine my surprise when he reached out to me personally. Or through his secretary, but that's about as personal as he usually gets."

She felt Toby eyeing her and took a sip of tea to cover her face. "I wouldn't know."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "If you don't know, who does? I hope you realize how strange this situation is, Sunako. Picking up a manuscript at the last minute, and an unfinished one at that. Especially now, with the state we're in…I get that it's technically not my business, but what happened?"

"I bombarded Mr. Sasaki with emails asking him to look at my manuscript," Homura said. "Which I am sure you can imagine, since that's how I got through to you. It seems my persistence paid off. I had no idea if it would work. I don't know him personally."

Toby rolled this over in his head for a bit. Homura sipped pointedly at her tea.

Finally he shrugged. "Well, your persistence is your strongest trait, I'll give you that. And Mr. Sasaki is nothing if not a good judge of talent. Here's something rare for you, Sunako. A compliment from me: I found your manuscript fascinating."

Homura blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. It's quite astonishing actually. Your technical skills were always there, but this story has intrigue. The characters feel much more alive, more grounded. You've had an empty house, now you're finally starting to put in the decor. I give you props for heeding my advice."

Homura smiled. "Aren't you giving yourself too much credit?"

"What are you talking about? Editors never get any credit. Do you know who Stephen King's editor is? Murakami's? Otsuichi's? Didn't think so. So let me gloat a bit."

As Homura rolled her eyes, Toby pulled out a huge stack of papers and slapped it on the table. Her manuscript, among other things.

"Here are some notes I jotted down from my first few read-throughs. Though there wasn't much I could do since I don't know how the rest of the story pans out. So now would be a good time for you to tell me about that."

The hot tea warmed her heart as she leaned in and began discussing her story with her editor. This was it, what she had been chasing. A chance to prove herself. A chance to learn something. A chance to be taken seriously.

They spent several hours talking that morning. She made fun of Toby often, but he really was good at his job. She left the office filled with insights on how her story could be improved, things she never would have thought of herself.

The printed copy of her manuscript was heavy with the red ink Toby had put into it, but the blood of her ideas didn't give her anxiety anymore. Now she was excited to see that blood. It was proof that her ideas were alive.

She thought often about the night at the cafe. Sasaki Arata was not quite as she had imagined him. He was more fiery, more easily angered than she thought. And he spoke about his story like it was dirt.

So was this really it? Homura found herself struggling with a sense of anticlimax. She had an editor now. If she put in good work perhaps she would even be published, at an astonishingly young age. And in all likelihood, she would never see Sasaki Arata ever again. There was no reason for her to. Even once this was all over.

Once this is all over. What about Madoka? Would she see her again? The question bothered her more than it should have. She hadn't really thought about what she would do after she was done writing her story. Quite frankly she doubted she would ever get this far.

The feeling of disappointment from that night never left her. Homura realized after some time that it was the disappointment of being right. When she held Madoka by the lake, for some inexplicable reason she almost wished she would be proved wrong. If not by Madoka then by someone else. But no one, not even Sasaki Arata, seemed capable of conquering that truth. People were weak and foolish, and they all used each other as they pleased.

Homura had learned that lesson herself the hard way. She tossed and turned in bed that night, chased by someone who wasn't there anymore.

The name she had tried to forget slipped through in a bout of fitful unrest.

Asami.


A/N

Back sooner than expected! I guess the meme about fanfic authors writing more during quarantine is true. Might be one of the only good things to come from the situation.

Thank you for your wonderful comments on the last chapter! It was certainly motivating. I always read all the comments very carefully and they do have some influence on how the story gets written (though how much influence, I cannot say :P).

The true conflict of this story has now begun. Your feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.

-Banshee