Warnings: Foul language from the mouths of babes


Lucky Child

Chapter 02:

"Everything About to Change"


Of course, I held out hope that my name was just a coincidence—that my life wouldn't soon intersect with the anime series I'd so enjoyed in my previous existence. It wasn't like there was any other evidence to support the theory I'd been transported to the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, after all. No demons, powers, or ghosts. Just my name and my parents' occupation. That was it. That was all. And perhaps those things alone weren't enough to confirm that something spectacularly crazy had happened. Perhaps those facts were just too normal to confirm a truly abnormal theory.

Seems I'd only just convinced myself my name was mere coincidence when I met Yusuke.

Ever since learning my name, I'd thought a lot about Yusuke. Was I going to meet him? And if so, when? Meeting him would confirm my reincarnation theory, for sure. Problem was, I only vaguely remembered the anime portraying how Keiko met Yusuke. My last full viewing of the series had occurred about a year before I died. I recalled something about a playground, maybe, and one crying child comforting the other. But had it been Yusuke comforting Keiko, or Keiko comforting Yusuke?

Did that detail matter, so long as he and I met at all?

But what if not remembering meant I'd miss the chance to meet him?

And if I didn't miss my chance, and I did meet Yusuke…was I supposed to befriend him like anime-Keiko did?

I wasn't a carbon copy of Keiko in the anime. I was more abrasive, less patient, less kind, more opinionated and contrary than her sweet-yet-firm persona had ever been.

What if Yusuke didn't like my iteration of Keiko?

And worse yet—what if I didn't like him?


Two days before I died and became Keiko, I read an article about free-range parenting. Free-range children are allowed to wander, go to stores, and walk to the playground alone, all with the intention of producing a capable, independent child. Seemed a little dangerous to me, but I didn't have kids (and never wanted them, ever) so I didn't think much of the article at the time. Just didn't apply to me.

But then I was reborn in Japan, where free-range parenting didn't have a fancy name—because free range parenting and plain old parenting were the exact same thing in Japan—and I realized the concept applied to me, after all.

The playground was two blocks south and one block east of my parents' ramen shop. Kindergarten only lasted until 2 PM, and my parents had a restaurant to run; I was a nuisance if kept underfoot. Most days my parents loaded my backpack with water and onigiri and sent me on my merry way to play. Mom walked me to the playground the first few times, then halfway there a few more, until finally unleashing me and letting me make my own way without her. Was a little scary at first, I'll admit. I was just a kid, and way more aware of potential danger than any kid had a right to be. Those sweet summer children I called my peers. So innocent. They skipped along the sidewalk whistling while I carefully eyed every alley and unfamiliar car.

I blame my paranoia on my past life's obsession with true crime. Serial killers had fascinated me. Now, however, they haunted me. Because if one targeted a six-year-old, there was precious little I could do to fight back.

Soon I realized I didn't have to worry, though. The playground was in a neighborhood full of families with kids. Parents waved to me from front porches and apartment balconies; oba-chans and aunties gave me sliced oranges and said to be good, to bring them some of my mother's famous ramen sometime, watching as I walked down the street toward swings and slides.

"It takes a village," as they say.

Turns out my mother knew most of the oba-chans and aunties in this neighborhood. They watched over me without hovering, allowing me a safe facsimile of independence most of the other children took for granted.

Not me, though.

I appreciated every watchful eye.

Those watchful eyes are what led me to Yusuke.


It was the tail end of summer, sun a copper coin descending toward the horizon. In just a few weeks, I'd enter the first grade. Earlier I'd been coloring at the bar in the ramen shop, but a surge of customers had pushed me out the door to the playground. I didn't mind, however. I liked being alone. Introversion had dogged my steps from my old life into this one. I sat on the swings, watching as other kids made themselves sick on the metal merry-go-round.

Annoyance surged as I watched one of them gag, then hop back on the merry-go-round with glee.

Why were they doing that?

How could making yourself nauseous possibly be fun?

Ugh. So immature.

At that thought, I hung my head. These were not the thoughts of a child. How was I going to be able to make friends in school if other kids annoyed me so much? Kids had pissed me off me in my old life. Seems I hadn't developed much fondness for them in this one, either. Hell, even when I was a kid in my old life, I hadn't liked other kids. My previous mother had always joked I was an old soul. A crotchety one.

Funny. It was like she'd predicted my future.

In any case, in both this life and my old one, I'd had no patience for children. Lack of patience was probably the biggest difference between me and the real Keiko. She seemed to have so many friends in the anime. She was kind, but firm, and always cheerful. I, meanwhile, was impatient, brusque, and a total introvert. Could I measure up to anime-Keiko? What if I wasn't able to act like a kid, put my mental maturity aside and—

"Keiko-chan!"

An auntie trotted toward me across the playground. She looked frazzled, hair done up in as hasty knot at the back of her head. I'd seen her in the ramen shop many times, but she'd never looked like this. She skidded to a stop in front of me, bent at the waist, and caught her breath. Uncharacteristic tightness around her eyes set my palms to tingling.

"Keiko-chan," she repeated. "Have you seen a little boy, about your height, wearing blue?"

"No, auntie." When she grimaced I asked, "Why? What's wrong? Is he in trouble? Do you need me to help you look for him?"

A smile fractured her tense expression. "Such a helpful child. That's our Keiko-chan."

If only she knew. I wasn't a helpful child at all—just a busybody adult in disguise.

"Yes, I'd love you to help look," she said. "I was watering plants when I saw a little boy in a blue shirt go streaking by. I shouted at him to slow down, but then three bigger boys ran after him. They did not look happy. I'm worried."

"And you didn't recognize the boy, auntie?"

"No." She looked as troubled as I felt. "Must be new to the neighborhood."

It was unlike a local auntie to not recognize a local child—so, yeah, the boy had to be new. I hopped off the swing and bowed. Auntie bowed back.

"I'll start looking," I said. "Thank you very much for the information."

"Thank you, Keiko-chan." The auntie giggled. "So formal. Your mother raised you so well."

Like I said: If only she knew.


I found the boy in the blue shirt a block to the west, along one of the drainage ditches in the shadow of a pedestrian bridge. He crouched low while three bigger, older boys chucked dirt clods at his head.

I leaned over the edge of the bridge and barked, "Hey! Cut that shit out, now!"

Perhaps it was the profanity, or the look of thunder on my small face, or the sheer incongruity of hearing such a harsh order come out of such a soft face, but the boys started, turned, and ran. One of them tossed a look of befuddlement over his shoulder, eyes widening when he realized what exactly he was running from—but his friends had already streaked off into the twilight, and he had no choice but to follow.

Once dusk swallowed them, I climbed over the bridge railing and slid down the grassy embankment toward the ditch. The boy had come out of the shadows so he could stare at me. Big brown eyes, made even bigger by his thin cheeks, glittered dark and wary. A mop of untidy black hair, cheeks streaked with dirt…he was too skinny. Judging by the hollow cheeks and twiggy arms, I'd bet you could count his ribs. My mom would have a fit and force-feed him if she saw him.

Me? I just stared. Everything inside me had gone cold and quiet, echoes of emotions casting tentative shadow on my shock-dark soul.

I knew exactly who this was, without quite knowing how.

And that meant everything was about to change.

The boy and I stared at each other for a minute. I think he expected me to talk first, but I didn't. I couldn't. The cold and quiet were just too loud. Eventually he sniffed, wiped his nose on his arm, shoved hands into pockets, and kicked a toe at the grass.

"You…you said shit," he said. He almost looked impressed.

"Don't tell me mom," I said. "I'd get in trouble."

"I won't tell," he said, offended. "I'm no tattletale. And I didn't need your help. I would've beaten them up soon." He crossed his arms, chin lifting. "I was just warming up."

"I believe you," I said. No use arguing, if he was the stubborn boy I suspected he was. "What's your name?"

Hesitation. He looked me over, sizing up my clean jumper and trim pigtails, weighing them against my coarse language and sweet face.

Then: "I'm Yusuke."

I closed my eyes. The cold inside roared deafening.

"Yusuke what?"

"Urameshi."

"Right. Of course you are."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing." I opened my eyes. "I'm Yukimura Keiko."

He turned up his nose. "Weird name, if you ask me."

"Not as weird as yours." He looked surprised at the comeback, but before that emotion could shift hostile, I looked him up and down. He had dirt on his temple and neck. The dirt clods had hit their mark. "Are you OK?"

He looked at his feet. "Yeah."

"You here alone?"

Brown eyes flashed defiant. "No." He spoke like he was protesting something. "I have friends!"

"You don't mean those kids throwing rocks at you, do you?"

He didn't reply for a second. Then, to my immense and instantaneous horror, his eyes went all swimmy and wet.

The cold inside me warmed.

Oh god. Oh no. Fuuuuuu—

Shit. SHIT. I couldn't make Yusuke cry the first time I met him! We'd never be friends at this rate. Quick, quick, change the subject—

"Your mom around?" I asked.

He sniffled, and the tears abated. "She's at home."

I sized him up again. Skinny, unkempt hair, dirt on his face, dirt on his arms, dirt everywhere. Nailbeds were nearly black. Shoes had holes in the heel. From wear and tear, or because he outgrew them? His clothes were filthy, especially the shirt—multiple stains on the front evidenced hastily eaten meals and no table manners. Shirt hadn't been washed in a long time. How long had it been since he'd worn a clean one?

If this Atsuko was the same as anime Atsuko, something told me laundry was a rare occurrence in Yusuke's household.

Before I could unspool that logical thread, a gurgle cut the air. Yusuke clapped a hand over his stomach, cheeks turning an impressive shade of red.

"Hungry?" I asked, eyeing those skinny arms, those dagger cheekbones.

Yusuke said nothing. I reached into my backpack and handed him my mother's homemade onigiri. He didn't thank me. He just tore off the wrapper and bolted it down like he'd die if he didn't eat every bite, right now. Probably didn't even taste the thing.

When he finished, I asked: "Still hungry?"

He handed me the wrapper. Nodded. Kicked the grass with his battered tennis show.

"Want some ramen?"

His brow knit.

"My parents run a ramen shop. You can have anything you want."

His eyes practically bugged out of his skull.

"Anything?" he asked. Didn't sound like he believed me. "You—you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. I don't say things unless I mean them." The sooner Yusuke learned that, the better. I pointed back at the bridge. "C'mon."

The walk back home was quiet, but it wasn't lonely, and it wasn't scary.

I wasn't afraid because Urameshi Yusuke shadowed me, every step.


[[WOW, so many alerts on that first chapter! Big thanks to The Water Drinker for reviewing. Made my day. Would love to hear from more of you this time. Thanks!

This story will jump around a bit at first, in terms of timeline. Forewarning.]]