Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 67:
"WWKD?"
At first I thought it was the magnifying glass making the kanji swim and dance and overlap on the page of my open book, but nope—as I pulled back from the microscopic words, muscles behind my eyes pulled and strained until I found myself quite cross-eyed. Text dancing, words distorted into so much ash on white paper, I rubbed my forehead and heaved a weary sigh.
Around me, the library thrummed with hush.
The quiet didn't last. As night pressed against the windows arching high above, there came a tap-tap-tap from behind me in the midst of the library stacks. A librarian (one I'd come to know rather well in the past month) regarded me with a smile from behind her glasses.
"We're closing in five," she said with a polite bow. Dark eyes scanned the dozen or so tomes lying atop the long table I'd commandeered when I arrived earlier that afternoon. "Did you find everything you need?"
I glanced at the books, too. My eyes crossed again as if to protest any more reading that night. Words once more turned to nothing, to indecipherable chickenscratch under my strained vision, blurry and bleeding.
Only one word—the sharp and striking kanji for "Ebisu"—swam out at me as legible.
"I wish," I told the librarian.
I gave her back the magnifying glass and helped her collect the antique books she'd pulled for me from the history stacks. I wasn't allowed to check them out, these books. Too old, too important, in-library-only copies of rare manuscripts from the Feudal Era, much too precious for an average schoolgirl like me to take home. Not that I minded, really. I'd already gotten lucky when Kagome got wind of their existence through her grandfather. I'd gotten even luckier when he pulled strings that allowed me to see them. He wrote Kagome and me a letter. We were on official temple business for a historical preservation effort, he'd said. No idea how Kagome got her grandfather to tell that lie, but still. I was grateful for his efforts.
Grateful even though the books yielded absolutely nothing of value regarding Hiruko. But beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying goes—even if I'd been begging for a solid month without success.
Another night, gone. Another library, searched. And another day of fruitless research had come to a disappointing close.
Not that I was even surprised at this point.
Fall down enough times, you get used to failure.
The walk home passed quickly, and Mom called out to me from the living room just as I put my hand on the door to my bedroom, my name sleepy but insistent in her mouth. She sat under the kotatsu, a small pile of clementine peels next to a bowl of ripe orange fruit. Her smile lingered on my uniform. I hadn't had time to take it off after school. Had booked it straight from class to the library when the end-of-day bell rang, same as I'd done almost every day this month.
Suffice it to say, I was running out of local libraries. At this rate I'd have to hit up libraries in Tokyo.
Mom took a fruit from the bowl and held it out to me. "Another late night, I see."
"Yeah." I took the fruit and sat with her, draping the kotatsu's quilt across my lap. The tail end of autumn wasn't necessarily cold enough to justify the kotatsu, but Mom loved it, so out the kotatsu came. "More homework, y'know?" I slid my nail into the clementine's peel, paused, and removed it. "Oh. I took a look at the call-in numbers."
"You did?"
"Yeah." From my school bag I pulled out a packet of papers, mostly spreadsheets, with a write-up on my observations and suggestions on where to advertise next. Mom took the papers and scanned the data, brow rising when I said, "I think the billboard on E Block has run its course, but you and Dad should look over the spreadsheet and see what you think."
"Honey." She put the papers down. "You should be focused on schoolwork, not the family business."
I shrugged, pulling peel off of clementine with my thumb. "Eh. I can handle both."
"Of course you can—but that doesn't leave much room for your friends, does it?" She leaned toward me, worried. "The boys were here looking for you."
My hands stilled around the clementine. "Oh?"
"Sweet Kazuma and Yusuke both. They seemed worried about you. And I am too, for the record." Tapping the spreadsheets with her finger, she said, "You've really been hitting those books. And keeping up with the business on top of that? You deserve a little break now and then."
"I know." A segment of fruit popped free; I put it in my mouth, sweetness flooding across my tongue. "Maybe next weekend."
But Mom wasn't satisfied. "You haven't been avoiding them, have you?" she asked. "Your friends?"
It hurt to look at her, so I didn't. I put another bit of fruit in my mouth and chewed, waiting until after I swallowed to speak.
"I just want to keep up my grades, that's all," I said.
Her voice softened. "Such a hard worker." A hand rested warm and comforting on my shoulder. "Just be sure you don't burn out. Go to the arcade sometime. Relax."
I smiled, unable to help it. Some of my school friends got two hours of sleep a night, naps stolen between classes and during meals. That was how it was in high school in Japan, it seemed. Kids propelled to academic heights, neglecting self-care to appease both their parents and societal expectation. I'd gotten lucky. My mom was so chill, my mom wanted me to chill, and for that I was grateful… even if her concern wasn't always convenient for me.
I'd probably have to lie to her, I realized. I hated doing it, but if it would ease her worries, that's what I'd do. I'd tell her I went to the arcade even though I'd really been to the library again. Maybe win her a stuffed toy to sell the story.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, I finished my clementine. I swept the peels into my shirt, held in front of my like an apron, and placed a kiss atop my mother's head. She squeezed my fingers with a happy sigh.
"Will do, Mom," I lied.
"And give those sweet boys a call, would you?" she murmured.
"Will do," I repeated—but that was a lie, too.
… since when had lying come to me so easily?
Best not to think about it too hard.
I locked my bedroom door and slid down that expanse of wood until my knees hit my chest. A light blinked on my desk in the dark, red blip signaling a voice message left on the machine. I watched it wink on and off in silence for a minute or so, and when I rose to change my clothes, I didn't check the message. I knew who it would be from.
It wasn't that I was avoiding the boys, per se. It's just that not owning a cell phone was extremely helpful when it came to staying purposefully out of touch. Gave me all the privacy I could ask for, really, as I scoured every library within train distance for information on Hiruko. On Ebisu.
On the pink-haired man Yusuke had seen standing behind Sakyo, smile as unflinching as the sun.
No. It was better to maintain a little bit of distance from the boys during my research period. No sense getting them involved. And hey, my single-minded focus on research left little time to dwell on the mystery that was Kuwabara's love life, so that was nice.
Not that that conundrum didn't still weigh heavy on my heart, of course. It's just that the Hiruko thing had pushed it to the side, out of focus, so I could devote myself to what mattered more. And I'm sorry to say that while the Kuwabara/Yukina debacle was a Big Deal, it wasn't nearly as big a deal as what Hiruko was planning.
… supposedly, anyway.
I still had no fucking clue what his intentions were, and that uncertainty scared me more than any breach in canon to date.
Shirt halfway over my head, I flinched when someone rapped at my door. "Oh, and Keiko?" came Mom's muffled voice.
"Yeah?"
"The school called. They said you have a sheet to pick up from the office. Class choices for next semester, I think."
Ugh. That again. My stupid guidance counselor just wouldn't give up, would he?
"Will go get that tomorrow," I said, pulling my shirt down around my shoulders. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Night, honey. I love you."
"Love you, too."
The mattress creaked under my weight when I flung myself face down across it. From under the bed I fished one notebook, then another, piling them on the pillow next to my head in a tilted stack of dog-eared paper and smudged ink. A flick of the finger lifted one notebook's cover. Scans of drawings, hand-copied text, photocopied text, graphs and charts and timelines… a mélange of meticulous research that revealed nothing. Just tables of Shinto and Buddhist pantheons, lines tracing their lineage to broader mythologies like Hinduism and other Chinese religions. Hundreds of tiny details all working together to forge a roadmap—to nowhere.
These were the important things, inscrutable as they were. Even if I hadn't uncovered a damn thing about Hiruko or his motives, this was what I should focus on.
Sitting up, I paged through the notebooks and made a few notes in the margins, recalling what scant little I'd gleaned from the day's work. Most of it wasn't new. Most of it repeated information I'd already found. But all leads were good leads, so I wrote it all down anyway.
That's what Keiko would do, after all.
As soon as Yusuke told me about the smiling man with pink hair, I'd asked myself that question: "What would Keiko do?" I wrote the acronym on my wrist in big block letters during class, staring at that bold "WWKD?" until the characters ran together the way the kanji had bled into one black mass at the library. The answer had come as clearly as the letters appeared against my skin: Keiko would hit the books. Keiko would study. Keiko would plan a logical attack on this mystery and turn page after page until she found her answers.
And that's what I'd decided to do. With a little help, of course.
I set my notebooks on my desk and sat heavily in my chair, one hand going for the phone by the window. Someone picked up on the first ring, and I could tell who it was by just her short "hello." She knew who I was by the same, asking a short, "Any luck?"
"None."
"Shit." Kagome's breath hissed against the receiver. "I'm still on it."
Even with Kagome's connections thanks to her grandfather, we'd both come up short in the last month. I flipped through my notes and sighed, despondent. We'd found many records of Hiruko, or Ebisu's origins, but nothing about the man he might be today—and that "man" was an important distinction. Yusuke said the man standing behind Sakyo wasn't a little kid. He'd been a handsome man, early twenties or late teens, with a braid of long sakura-petal hair snaking over the shoulder of his rich red kimono. Yusuke and Botan hadn't been able to recall the color of his eyes, but even if they hadn't noticed his eyes the color of oceans under bright sun, there was no way a pink haired, ever-smiling man wasn't Hiruko.
But what did Hiruko want? Why was he with Sakyo? And why (not to mention 'how') the hell did he look all grown up?
My finger traced over a photocopy of an old woodcut drawing. A fisherman with a thick black beard cast a line into painted water, cheeks split in an enormous grin.
Ebisu.
This version of the deity looked nothing like my Hiruko, nor like the man Yusuke had seen on that video feed.
"Here's the ticking clock," I murmured.
"The what?" Kagome said.
"In fiction, a story's sense of urgency is called the ticking clock. 'Where's the ticking clock?' editors like to ask." I followed Ebisu's fishing line down the length of the page with the edge of my nail, keratin hissing against paper. "I think this is my ticking clock. But the problem is that I don't know when Hiruko will actually be relevant next." I closed my fist, blocking out the sight of Ebisu's face. "I don't known when the ticking clock turns into a blaring alarm."
Kagome tittered. "Spring break seems most likely."
My fist clenched tighter.
"Yeah," I said. "It does."
I'd recounted the Yu Yu Hakusho timeline enough times in front of Kagome for her to know all the gory details. The manga said the Dark Tournament happens over spring break, per my best recollection, and it was only barely winter now. We had time before we went to Hanging Neck, but even so, days and weeks had passed in the blink of an eye since Toguro's supposed death. The tournament was closing in fast. Sakyo would be there, and maybe Hiruko would be, too. But that was just conjecture based on a video I hadn't seen firsthand.
As always, I had more questions than answers, even after my copious studying.
"We keep looking." The words slipped from my mouth like a mantra, and lord knew I'd said them enough times over the last month for them to be called as such. "We look until we figure it out."
"Roger that," Kagome said. "Call me tomorrow?"
"Of course."
Her voice whipped over the line before I could put the phone in the cradle. "And hey—take a break every now and again, would ya?" she said. "I can hear the stress. Breathe. Go goof off at the arcade or something."
I pulled the phone away from me ear. Stared at it. Put it to my ear again. "Have you been talking to my mother?" I asked.
"… what?" said Kagome.
"Never mind. But sure." I smiled, but the expression felt hollow. "Will do, Kagome."
Another lie, this time to a friend instead of family—but even if I did indeed look and sound stressed, I had no intention of slowing down my research. These were the Important Things, and in my quest to do what Keiko would do, I couldn't allow my concentration to slip.
When the line died I cleaned up my notebooks and put them away, safely out of sight underneath my bed. When I flipped off the light and darkness bathed the room, I pressed my face against my pillow and sighed. I'd lucid-dreamed many times since my trip with Hiei into the mountains, but no matter how many times I called desperately into the dark of my dreamscape, I received no answer. Not from Hiruko, certainly, and not from Cleo, either.
Dread filled my heart the way darkness filled the bedroom.
If only I could talk to Cleo again. If only I could call her on the phone instead of Kagome after a day of fruitless research. Clotho, spinner of the thread of life, would surely have the answers Keiko needed—but unlike Kagome, Fate didn't have a phone line.
And it fucking sucked.
The Meiou guidance counselor one, Nakamura Futoshi, glanced up from his paperwork when my shadow fell across his hands. His mask of polite inquiry faded when he saw me, morphing into a look of barely restrained annoyance. I pasted on my own mask in return, channeling "What Would Keiko Do?" as best as I was able—and Keiko would sooner chew off her own arm than disrespect a teacher.
Not that this particular teacher was all that respectable, granted, but I had a role to play.
"About time you came in," Nakamura said, not bothering to hide the ire in his voice. He reached into his desk and pulled forth a folder, which he thrust in my direction with a flick of agitated wrist. "This is late as it is. Do not have it back to me any later than Saturday."
I took the folder with both hands, bowing. "Yes, sensei. I will complete it immediately."
He nodded, curt and sharp. "Good."
The polite mask I wore cracked as I turned away, but the crack had to mend when Nakamura repeated my name. I looked over my shoulder with the most civil smile I could muster. He just stared, brow knit behind the ridges of his enormous glasses. Around us in the faculty room puttered a few other teachers and students; none of them paid us any mind.
"Yukimura," he repeated. A short, precise clearing of his throat. "After the incident with Hamaguchi, we've been giving you space. We know your trust in teachers must not have recovered just yet." His dark eyes softened the slightest degree. "That must have been a stressful night."
I hesitated, then admitted: "It was."
Truth be told, I didn't think about the Saint Beast incident all that much, and I talked about it even less. I'd discuss it openly if anyone asked what had happened (leaving out the supernatural bits, of course) but when I was by myself, I did my extreme best not to think of that violent night at all. It only crossed my mind in snippets, the most dangerous moments flashing uncontrollably through my head when something reminded me of falling from a roof, or the glimmer of a knife arching toward my face, or blood dripping down the length of Botan's porcelain jaw—
No.
Stop thinking about it.
My fists clenched around the folder in my hands, creasing it with a rustle and crackle of bent fiber. Nakamura eyed the paper with one brow raised.
"Stress or no stress," he said, "you still have to turn your paperwork in on time. You can't check out and slack off after one bad experience."
"Wow. Way to brush off a kid's trauma, why dontcha"—that's what I wanted to say, at least, but I didn't. Keiko might stick out her tongue when his back was turned, but she wouldn't mouth off to a teacher even if he deserved it.
"We accepted you into this school under odd circumstances," Nakamura continued, "but so far you have been a credit to our institution. And after the incident, of course we're willing to extend some grace… but be careful, Yukimura." He almost glared at me, then. "Don't fall down on the job."
It was all I could do to bow and smile. "Yes, sir."
My deference pleased him, I think. He picked up a pen and went back to what he'd been doing before I showed up, grading tests with flicks of red ink. "Have it back to me with your class choices by the end of the week," he said. "We expect great things."
As soon as I got away, I shoved the folder he'd given me into my bag and out of sight.
Not that I was procrastinating, exactly. It's that there was too much going on in my personal life for me to give much of a crap about school. Sure, I paid enough attention in class that day to not totally tank my grades, but wanting to make my parents proud only took me so far. My mind wandered during my biology and history lectures, drifting to Hiruko and Cleo and dwelling on the library network in my city. What hadn't I read yet? Which libraries should I visit next? It was tough not to dwell on my research project, and that alone, even despite my desire to Do What Keiko Would Do, and as soon as the bell rang for lunch I found myself walking on auto-pilot toward the library.
Using the main staircase.
Not the side staircase where I used to eat lunch with Kurama and Kaito.
It sucked, but I'd been a little too busy this month to goof off during lunch, making a variety of excuses to those boys regarding my whereabouts. Not sure what they believed, but I didn't have time to dwell. I walked to the library and reached for the big double doors guarding the rows of books, mentally calculating my plan of attack of the day—
"And just where do you think you're going?"
My fingers slipped; the door fell shut with a clatter. Another student walking just behind me glared and grabbed the handle, moving past with a mutter and a scowl. I hardly noticed, though, shooting a smile toward the two people standing just at the top of the stairs.
"Kaito. Minamino," I said. What's up?"
Kaito looked thoroughly unimpressed by my casual tone of voice, shoving his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Much though I would normally approve of one locking oneself in a library in pursuit of academic betterment at the expense of petty social interaction, we insist you take a break."
"Your mental health is as important as your schoolwork," Kurama chimed in.
Although some small part of me was touched they'd noticed what I'd been up to as of late, I still scoffed, unable to help myself. "Is literally everyone on my case about this?" came my weary grumble.
"Yes," Kurama said, helpfully.
"And don't waste our time trying to argue." Kaito's smirk could cut glass. "With our combined IQ, you don't stand a chance of changing our minds."
"I'd be insulted if I didn't know how damn smart you both are. Fine." Hand waving in helpless circles, because I got the feeling they weren't going to take "no" for an answer and because I was too tired to argue, I motioned for them to lead the way.
At that, Kurama and Kaito exchange a glance I can only describe as "gloating." Those jerks.
As I followed them around the corner and to the library's side stairwell, I stared at the backs of their heads and tried not to smile. It was odd, seeing them present a united front like this—but it was kind of cool at the same time. They had been at such odds in the anime, but now I had to wonder what trouble they could get up to when they really put their heads together. The world wouldn't know what hit it if the pair of them really got going.
And call me a prophet, but I wouldn't know what had hit me, either, once they really got going.
No sooner had the three of us gotten settled in out customary seats (gosh, this felt nostalgic after a month of skipped lunches) than did Kaito start his interrogation. Stabbing his chopsticks into his bento, he oh-so-pointedly turned to me and asked, "So. Indulge my curiosity. What, exactly, have you been doing squirreled away in the library day after day? You're a dab hand at studying, but this is excessive even for you."
Kurama perked up, setting aside his own bento with careful precision. Although he didn't ask a question outright, the razor's edge of keen intent in his eye said a lot. He was holding back an interrogation of his own, I could feel it—but something told me he'd let Kaito take the lead, here.
I'd been skipping our weekly meetings all month, after all.
Kurama doubtless had questions he could not voice in front of our unknowing classmate.
In the end, I decided to meet Kaito's question with a half-truth. "College stuff," I said, taking a small nibble of my lunchtime onigiri. "I skipped a grade, remember? There's some stuff I missed. Gotta catch up before any pertinent exams."
Kaito stared as if to read the truth in my expression, but soon he picked up his bento again and took a bite. Kurama looked comparatively less accepting, however, regarding me askance a few moments longer before returning attention to his food—but I mean, I hadn't exactly lied, had I? The forms in my bag certainly backed up my story.
"To that end…" I pulled out said forms and tossed them onto the ground between the three of us. "That's due at the end of the week. No idea what to pick."
Kurama grabbed the file and opened it, and whatever he saw there didn't seem to surprise him. Kaito, meanwhile, leaned over his shoulder and perused the document with a flick of bespectacled eyes. His brows shot up.
"This says you've tested out of English language?" Kaito said.
"Yeah. And I'm ahead in math and science. By the time I hit our final year, I'll mostly be taking electives." Chin on palm, I rested my elbow on my knee and glared at the forms. "And I have no idea what to choose."
"Isn't it obvious?" Kaito said with a snort. "Play to your strengths."
And at the exact same time, Kurama offered: "Take something useful, to cover places where you're academically weak."
Kaito and Kurama paused, blinking at each other like startled deer while I giggle-snorted behind a hand. Soon Kaito scowled, but Kurama met the look with a charmingly jovial smile. They'd really summed up their academic personalities in a nutshell, Kaito high specialized while Kurama was better-rounded, and their advice reflected as such. Seemed Kaito didn't like being contradicted, however, because he turned from Kurama's winning grin with a huff. Hadn't taken long for their united front to dissolve, now had it?
I giggled again. "Well, thanks for trying, guys." I plucked the folder from Kurama's hands, staring at the pages within for a moment. Records of what I'd taken, what I'd tested out of, which classes were available for me next—they didn't hold my interest in the slightest. I shut the folder. "It's not like it's important anyway."
Kaito cocked his head at the sound of my muttered words. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." I slapped my hands onto my knees and grinned. "So, catch me up. What've I missed, cooped up in the library like I've been?"
Kaito launched into an explanation of a paper he was in the middle of writing, letting me off the hook with his single-minded enthusiasm. It was fun, listening to him, even if Kurama's sharp eyes didn't once waver from my face while Kaito spoke. I tried not to think about why, which Kaito's chattiness made easy. He talked until the bell rang and even until we parted at a fork in the hallway to get back to class—but before I could beat my retreat, a hand closed around my elbow. I took a deep breath as Kurama gently drew me into the shadow of a supply cabinet, out of the river of students streaming past us down the corridor. "Are you all right?" he asked, eyes searching my face.
I just smiled. "I'm fine."
He didn't believe me, if his grimace was any indication. "You've been distant since we came back from Tarukane's estate." Green eyes darkened near to black. "You've even skipped our weekly meetings."
"It's nothing, really," I said, but his hand did not loosen around my elbow.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can't imagine Spirit World approves."
"It's fine. They'll get over it." I swallowed down a lump of nerves, Hiruko's smiling face leaping to the forefront of my mind. "I just have to figure some things out."
We were already standing close together, but he closed the distance even more. "What things?" Kurama murmured.
"Just… I'm trying to be helpful." It hurt to think of the 'why' behind that statement, so I kept my explanation brief—for his sake as much as mine. "I can't do much. But I can do this."
And then his eyes were all black, dark and hooded and unhappy. "I don't understand."
"I know." I pulled my arm free. "I'm sorry. Gotta go."
I left him in the hallway looking as grave as a cemetery, staring after me with those concern-dark eyes. He watched me go with vision unwavering, and when I lifted a hand in parting at the end of the hallway, he did not lift one back—so I rolled my eyes and stuck out my tongue.
For a moment, he did not react.
Then his lips shifted at the corners, the barest of smiles restoring the green in his eyes.
Satisfied, I turned the corner and went to class.
I didn't like keeping Kurama in the dark, looking so grave—so worried. But until I had my answers, there was no point in subjecting Kurama to my wild conjectures. He would only try to puzzle them out with me, and he had bigger things to worry about. Toguro would return soon. And then Kurama would need to focus on training, on surviving.
If he slacked off on training while trying to help me, and got hurt because of it… I couldn't bear to think about that.
"So what would Keiko do?" I asked myself. The answer was obvious, at least it was to me. She'd try not to worry anyone and would do what she could to help the team—alone.
Or maybe that's only what I would do, and deluding myself into thinking she'd agree was more convenient than facing the harder truth.
But I tried very hard not to think about that.
Too bad for me, asking "What Would Keiko Do?" is easy—it's putting it into practice that proves difficult. I had taken all of three steps out of the school gate, bee-lining for the nearest train station and a new library of untapped resources, when the sound of my name cracked through the chilled autumn air. My feet stilled and I spun, ends of my scarf flapping on the breeze.
"Yo, Keiko!" Yusuke repeated. "What's up?"
He and Kuwabara stood not a dozen feet away, leaning against the school's wall wearing identical, conspiring grins. Said grins only widened when I stopped and stared, for a moment unable to believe what I was seeing—because school had only just let out. Had they skipped their last class to get here so early after dismissal? The nerve of them!
"Yusuke? Kuwabara?" I said, blinking at them with owlish confusion. "What the hell are you two doing here?"
"Oh, y'know." Yusuke shrugged, shoving away from the wall with a lithe bounce of his knees. "Just busting you out of jail, is all."
"Jail?"
"He means the library." Kuwabara trotted over and peered down at me, concern etching lines between his eyes. "We talked to your mom, Keiko, and I know you're smart and you want to do well in school, but this much studying will make your hair fall out!" He clasped his hands, eyes as wide as they could go. "You gotta come hang out with us today, please?"
Yusuke joined him, slinging an arm around the big guy's shoulders. "Stop pretending she's got a choice in this, Kuwabara. We're dragging her to have some fun whether she likes it or not."
Kuwabara glared, about to say something in my defense, but I just laughed and rolled my eyes. "Between the two of you, how could I possibly say no?"
Kuwabara launched a fist into the air while Yusuke cackled. "All right! We got her!"
I leveled a finger at them. "But only if Yusuke pays."
The aforementioned's jaw dropped. "Hey!" And he advanced toward me, expression maniacal. "Why I oughtta—!"
"Hello, everyone. You're all looking well, I see."
Kurama's smooth voice cut through the moment like a blade, saving me from Yusuke's retaliation (like a noogie, knowing him). He stood behind us wearing an innocent, friendly smile—one I didn't believe in the slightest.
My disbelief intensified when Kuwabara's heels clicked together and he stood up very, very straight. "Hey, Kurama!" He gave a mechanical wave, forcing fake surprise. "Well, I'll be darned. Fancy meeting you here!"
"Yeah!" Yusuke said with more of that same manufactured enthusiasm. His grin seemed too big, too cheeseball to fit on his face when he repeated, "Fancy meeting you here!"
I, meanwhile, shot Kurama an unamused glare. "Did you do this?"
His smile grew even more angelic, touched by darling confusion. "Did I do what?"
"You know what."
"Why, Keiko." More of that oh-so-innocent blinking and smiling, one hand resting on his chest in denial. "How could I have possibly contacted Yusuke and Kuwabara while we were at school?"
A beat. Then: "I hate that you make a good point. But I'm sure you have your ways." I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. "Well, no use delaying the inevitable. What did you guys have in mind for today?"
"The arcade," they said—all of them, all at once, after which they all looked at each other wearing "oh shit" faces. Kuwabara and Yusuke awkwardly coughed into their fists and laughed in nervous unison. Kurama cast his eyes skyward, smile turning just a touch brittle at the edges.
Once more I delivered unto Kurama the stare of a dead fish. "Nothing to do with it, huh?"
He cleared his throat, and he did not meet my eyes.
"… fine." The absurdity of the situation had me laughing, even if Kurama and Kuwabara and Yusuke were being sneaky. "The arcade it is."
Yusuke's face lit up. He started to speak, but before he could, the sound of my name rang out yet a-fucking-gain—this time in a voice only Kurama and I recognized. Near the school gates stood Nakamura, the guidance counselor. He eyed Kurama with approval, but when he caught sight of Kuwabara and Yusuke his expression soured.
"Yukimura!" he repeated, waving me over. "Come here, please!"
"Oh my god, what now?" I muttered, but I pasted on my Keiko Face and obediently approached. "Yes, sensei?"
"Remember to fill out your forms by the end of the week!" Once again he shot Yusuke and Kuwabara a look of pure, distilled judgement; probably recognized the uniforms, and since he knew my reputation for associating with delinquents, I couldn't imagine he approved. He harrumphed and said, "We're being gracious as it is giving you this extension. Do not be late."
"Yes, sensei. I know, sensei." A bow, obedient and courteous. "I'll have them back to you by then."
"Good." He nodded at me, then aimed another nod over his shoulder. "Minamino." He hesitated, then added: "Others."
Nakamura didn't nod at said "others," so Yusuke openly mean-mugged him while Kurama and Kuwabara tried to look demure (though only Kurama succeeded, Kuwabara too big and ungainly to remain unobtrusive). Nakamura glared right back, stomping off down the sidewalk without another word. My mask crumbled as soon as his back turned; I stuck out my tongue, pulling it back into my mouth just as Yusuke looped an arm around my neck. His mocking smile gleamed like a bullet inscribed with my name.
"Well, well, well. Look what we have here," he said. "The great Yukimura Keiko, late on an assignment?"
"It's not an assignment; it's class selection for next semester."
"What the—?" He pulled his arm away so he could get a better look at my downcast face. "Even I sometimes turn crap like that in on time! What gives?"
"Yeah, Keiko, are you OK?" Kuwabara said, joining us with a look of concern. "It's not like you to put off something so… so minor."
His word choice rang inside my head like a bell. "That's just it. It's minor." And for a moment I threw caution to the wind and let myself speak freely, because maybe they could understand even if I didn't tell them everything, and feeling understood would be nice right about now. "Learning all these big secrets about the world, demons and ghosts and whatnot—it puts everyday life into perspective."
But apparently I'd given them too much credit, because Kurama arched a brow and said, "What do you mean by that?"
I gestured at him, at Yusuke, at Kuwabara, but no lightbulbs went off. Helplessly I managed, "I mean. You're off saving the world, and I'm stuck doing homework. Classes just don't feel important by comparison."
Yusuke eyes shot open. "Hold on a minute. You don't think schoolwork is important?" He leaned in close, nose to nose, and glared. "Who are you and what have you done with Keiko?"
Behind him, Kurama frowned. "I didn't realize you felt like that."
"Can we help at all?" Kuwabara asked.
"Not really." I shrugged, a balloon deflating in time with my fading hopes. "I just—I dunno."
"Hey." Yusuke's arm encircled my shoulders again, hanging there like comfort made solid. I tangled my fingers with his when he asked, "What's wrong?"
I hesitated—and then, affecting a breezy insouciance, I grinned my hardest and joked, "Oh, you know, the usual. It's like my life just doesn't mean anything, that's all!"
It was funny because it was true—because I knew I was being dramatic when I said that, but at the same time and in spite of my joking tone, I meant far more of that statement than I'd like to admit. Kuwabara's eyes bugged nearly out of his head as he looked me up and down, stammering a worried, "Wow, Keiko, that's really morbid!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," I said, rushing to pretend everything was fine, that those joking words had indeed been just that: a joke, morbid and terrible but a joke nonetheless. "But gotta admit that it's kind of hilarious, how imbalanced it all is. You're contending with the Toguro brothers, and here I am worrying about stupid, pointless classes. It just doesn't measure up."
A split second after I spoke, I mentally cursed myself. I'd talked about the Toguros in the present tense, and the second I had, Kurama's eyes had flickered to me with a firework of intense green. Luckily, however, Kurama was the only one who noticed. Yusuke's arm tightened across the back of my neck.
"Hey, you don't have to worry about them," Yusuke said. He flexed his free arm and grinned. "We beat the Toguro brothers black and blue."
"Yeah, we kicked their asses!" Kuwabara concurred.
I bit my lip and scrambled to cover, because Kurama was still staring at me. "Of course you did. But will the big bads of the next case be even tougher?"
Yusuke's smile faltered. He and Kuwabara exchanged a glance, confused and worried. Oh, shit, now I'd put my own worries into their heads. Great job, Keiko.
"Sorry," I said, trying to ameliorate the fear I'd planted. God, I was a fucking mess today. "It's just hard not to dwell on it. It's hard not to worry." And once again the truth slipped out, almost on its own, spoken in whispered words I didn't really intend anyone else to hear. "And it's harder not to think about my future as a footnote in a larger story."
Alas, Kuwabara heard them, for his jaw dropped again. "Keiko! That's even more morbid!"
But Yusuke only laughed. "Heh. There's the Keiko I know and love." He waved his hands up and down, squawking like an agitated bird. "Flap those wings a little harder why dontcha, ya big ol' albatross?"
"Yusuke!" Kuwabara snapped, grabbing him by the collar. "That's not very nice! You take that back!"
"It's OK, Kuwabara. It's an inside joke of ours—and to be frank, I do worry too much." I pushed between them, playing peacemaker with a smile. "How 'bout we get my mind off it and go sing out hearts out like a couple of canaries, yeah?"
That time several fists went into the air, Yusuke and Kuwabara chorusing an elated "Yeah!" as one.
They started to squabble almost immediately about what arcade to hit up, striding out ahead of Kurama and me as they argued and fought and bickered like an old married couple. I trailed behind them with a fond smile, watching them in silence. My stomach buckled with nerves at the prospect of losing a day of research—oh my god, and of hanging out with Kuwabara. This was the first time we'd really hung out since we came back from the mission, wasn't it? Was I supposed to pry into the whole Yukina situation now, or wait until—?
"The Toguro brothers."
I flinched, but it was only Kurama, walking at my side with hands held loosely in his pockets. His eyes cut toward me sidelong, but he didn't speak again. I managed a weak smile, looking back at Yusuke and Kuwabara.
"I said too much," I admitted, voice low and soft. "Think I covered OK?"
"Seems that way." A pause, followed by a mild, "I admit, this conversation has been illuminating."
My turn to glance his way, but I read nothing of value in his calm, collected face. "Has it?" I asked.
Once more his eyes cut my way. "Keiko truly was a secondary character, wasn't she?"
For a second I forgot how breathing work, but soon I laughed under my breath and put a hand to my forehead. "You're too sharp for your own good. How'd you know?"
"A combination of factors." Amusement quirked the corner of his mouth, dry and understated. "Calling yourself a literal footnote in a larger story was certainly a hint."
I winced. "Admittedly, that was a bit on the nose."
"Luckily I'm the only one who saw that for what it was: Literalism as opposed to metaphor." Another hesitation before he said, "I admit I am confused by one thing."
"Oh?"
"You don't seem like a secondary character. Not to me." He nodded forward, ahead of us. "Not to them."
For a minute I couldn't say anything—too stunned, too touched to formulate a reply that wouldn't sound disgustingly saccharine and precious. I laughed and hung my head, hoping the fall of my bangs might hide my smile. It was comforting to hear I didn't feel secondary to Kurama, that he suspected the same of our other friends.
Comforting… but it didn't make it all better, either.
"Thanks," I said when I gathered my wits. I think my smile trembled at the corners. "Thanks, but it's true. In the source media, Keiko was very quickly relegated to the role of side character with diminishing contributions and shrinking importance."
Kurama's face turned my way, but I didn't have the heart to look him in the eye. Gaze trained carefully ahead, I stared at Yusuke's back, green fabric shimmering the slightest bit in the light of the setting sun.
"We're well past the point of Keiko's usefulness," I continued. "Now she's just the supportive girlfriend archetype, and that's it." I aimed a kick at a rock on the pavement, sending it skittering to bounce off the back of Yusuke's shoe. I smiled when he glared at me, saying under my breath, "If I prove useful past this point, it's not because of that."
Kurama stopped walking. I stopped walking, too, hopping a little as momentum tried to carry me forward. Spinning on a heel, I planted my hands on my hips and stared Kurama's way, lip jutting out in consternation. He, meanwhile, looked me over through narrowed eyes, lips pursed into a thin line of confused displeasure.
"What?" I said, fidgeting as he looked me up and down again. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
His eyes met mine. One brow lifted.
"Girlfriend?" he said.
A moment passed. Then two.
Kurama stared at me, expectant.
My face went damn near atomic.
"Oh, for the love of—we are not talking about this!" I pivoted on a foot and jogged ahead, hiding my molten face behind the folds of my knitted scarf. "Yusuke, Kuwabara, wait up!"
Kurama's laugh chased after me through the darkening night air, but to my immense relief he did not push the conversation further.
Not that night, anyway.
Fifteen crashed rally cars and a thousand yen later, Yusuke declared me utter shit at racing games and shoved me out of the driver's seat. "I told you racing games aren't my style!" I protested, but he made fun of me, anyway, and vowed to show me how it was done.
"Yeah, yeah, big man on campus," I said with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, but he flipped me off and revved the engine to drown my protests out.
The lights of the arcade made my eyes water, blinking colors and fluctuating brightness a far cry from the subdued libraries I'd visited recently. Yusuke cackled and howled as he knocked other racecars off the track, viciously spinning the plastic wheel left and right. Kurama watched with open amusement, entranced by Yusuke's delinquent behavior, and he stifled a laugh behind his hand when Yusuke crashed even faster than I had. "Just getting warmed up," Yusuke said by way of excuse, and he fed another coin into the machine.
"So you're not into racers, huh?" Kuwabara said to me. He eyed Yusuke's antics with an exasperated shake of his head. "What do you want to play instead, Keiko?"
"I dunno. I like RPGs best, but…" I spotted something winking with neon pink and bright gold over his shoulder; my eyes probably lit up. "Oh hey. Sailor V!"
Kuwabara followed me over to the game, looking over the bubbly logo and the girly color scheme with critical attention. He didn't seem put off by it, though, which was nice, and he actually looked at the promo scrolling across the screen with a big grin. "Nice graphics!" He shot me a look that seemed too searching, for comfort. It was odd. He said, "I've seen some stuff about Sailor V in the papers but I didn't know she had a video game."
"Apparently so," I said, fighting to keep a knowing smirk off my face. I stood in front of the controls and traced my hands over the buttons. "It's really fun."
"It looks fun!" he said—and he bit his lips, but soon he leaned forward with hand cupped around his mouth. "I know you know her, by the way."
My breathing stuttered. "Huh?"
"Botan told us while we were training her," he said. "Her earrings and stuff? She said she got them from Sailor V, who showed up during the whole Saint Beast incident, which means you must know her." He looked quite proud of himself, jabbing a thumb at his chest. "Figure you were playing it cool for some reason, so don't worry. I didn't tell anyone."
My breathing resumed. I'd kept Sailor V from the Yu Yu Hakusho crowd to keep things simple, and it hadn't really occurred to me that Botan would go blabbing. Bad move on my part. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers through my bangs and tried not to look too cowed.
"She swore me to secrecy," I mumbled. "Superheroes, y'know?" I shook my head and reached desperately for a subject change. "But anyway. Since then I've played this game a few times here and there and it's really fun."
"Hey, awesome!" Kuwabara crowded close to the edge of the screen, pressing against the side of the console with an eager expression. "Can't wait to see it!"
"Yes, Kei. Show us how it's done?"
Kurama walked up behind Kuwabara with a smile—a knowing smile, one with just enough teeth to be menacing. Had he overheard our talk about Sailor V? Uh oh.
"What, you don't wanna watch Yusuke crash cars anymore?" I said, hoping a joke would cover my nerves.
"People were staring," Kurama said, tone pleasant. "And besides. This game looks interesting."
He emphasized that last word.
Uh oh, indeed.
Rather than try to fire back, I popped in a few coins and started blasting monsters. I did pretty well, actually, managing to make it onto the second page of the leaderboards in pretty short order. Kuwabara threw up his hands with a cheer as I typed in my name.
"Great going, Keiko!" he said. "Can I try?"
"Be my guest!"
We played more than a few rounds of the Sailor V side-scroller before moving on to other games, Tetris and bubble pop and Galaga flying by in swathes of rainbow pixels and tinny music. Kurama excelled at puzzle games, predictably, while Kuwabara did very well at brawlers, also predictably. I didn't stand out at anything in particular, but I liked playing anyway, and soon the three of us were talking and laughing and Kurama's intense expression had melted into one of nonchalant enjoyment (whew!). I preferred console RPGs to arcade fare, but even so, we passed an hour or so like regular teens—teens who didn't have to save the world or fight monsters, for one precious hour clinging to normalcy like any other kid spending a fun afternoon at a local arcade. Stress melted from my shoulders in the light of those winking machines, and for the first time in ages I found myself laughing without restraint.
I should have known it wasn't meant to last.
We had just finished up a rousing round of House of the Dead when Kuwabara stopped, looking off toward the crane machines lined up near the front of the arcade. His eyes brightened as he pointed, grabbing my sleeve with a gentle tug.
"Oh, Keiko! Look!" he said. "It's an octopus."
And indeed it was, a pink and fluffy cartoon octopus plush with a smiling face and small felt suckers on each of its limbs. It sat on a small mountain of other animals, most of its tentacles resting atop other plushes—so it wasn't halfway buried, meaning maybe I could grab it? Half the time the prizes in these games were slotted in so tight, you could never get one loose. I cooed and pressed my face against the game's glass exterior, hand sneaking into my pocket so I could count how much money I had left.
"Aww, it's cute!" I pulled out a fistful of coins and held them up. "I'm gonna get it. It looks loose, too."
"Nice!" Kuwabara said.
"Kuwabara!" Suddenly Yusuke's voice cut over the din of the nearby games, shouting the name at top volume. "I need somebody for a co-op shooter! This kid's dual-wielding over here!"
Kuwabara glared at the ceiling and scowled. "I'll be there in a second!"
"Not in a second. Now! This kid's kicking my ass and I don't like it!"
"Ugh, fine!" Kuwabara said. He stomped off with a call over his shoulder of, "Be right back, Keiko, OK?"
"OK!" I said, and he vanished behind another game. I turned to Kurama and gestured at the octopus. "Wanna help?"
Though he nodded, he shot the game a dubious look. "How might I be of assistance?"
I pointed around the corner of the machine, to the Plexiglas wall perpendicular to the control panel. "Stand there and tell me when the claw aligns. It's hard to tell from the front of the machine."
I don't know if Kurama had ever played one of these kinds of games before, but he understood what I meant after a quick once-over of the game, noting the clear walls and the robotic crane-claw that ran on a track above the pile of prizes. "Right," he said. He stood where I'd pointed and gave me a nod. "Ready."
I fed coins into the machine until it lit up and the countdown timer started, joystick finally responding when I pushed it forward. The claw obeyed my commands and soon hovered over the octopus, from my vantage point looking pretty perfectly aligned. Kurama's eyes had narrowed, however, so I said, "There?"
He shook his head. "To the left."
I inched the claw to the left, the motion sending it wildly swinging on its tether.
"A little more toward me," Kurama said.
I did as he asked; he held up a hand and nodded, indicting we'd aligned the claw at last. I didn't press the button, though, watching as the claw swung back and forth, back and forth, parabola of its swing lessening bit by bit. Kurama opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing why I hadn't pressed the descend button (and I couldn't help but giggle because I was playing a claw game with Kurama, of all people, and wow, we were strategizing, and if that wasn't the most Kurama thing ever, I'll be a monkey's uncle).
In the silence I heard Yusuke yell again. "This kid is insane!" he said, and in the background Kuwabara yelled a wordless cry of defeat. Yusuke's voice grew even louder. "Hey, Grandma, you gotta come see this kid!"
My eyes tracked the claw like it had hypnotized me. "Kinda busy, Yusuke," I called back, eyeing the timer. Only ten seconds to go, my finger hovering ready over the drop button…
"Well, fuck—c'mere, kid, you should come play with us!"
There came a shout, this time by a higher voice I didn't recognize, and through the clear back of my claw machine I saw two figures appear around the corner of House of the Dead. One was Yusuke, clad all in green and instantly recognizable, but next to him stood someone shorter, unfamiliar for the barest of moments before I truly took in his mop of wild hair—
My hand spasmed around the joystick.
The claw jutted to one side just as the timer hit zero, swinging as it plummeted to the bottom of the machine. It landed on its side atop the octopus instead of grabbing it by its bulbous head; the game made a sad noise, consoling me in my defeat. I vaguely noticed Kurama staring, wondering why I'd just fucked up our game and lost us the prize, but I paid him no mind as he followed my gaze toward Yusuke.
Toward Yusuke, and toward the boy at Yusuke's side.
He had a mop of curling brown hair, this boy, shaved short on the back and sides, and he wore loose athletic shorts and an oversized t-shirt. To Kurama he surely appeared a totally ordinary boy, one of many such boys scattered across the islands of Japan, ten years old and gangly and freckle-faced and short. His eyes narrowed at the boy, taking him in from top to bottom in a long, slow sweep, but soon Kurama turned back to me with confusion painted across his face.
Kurama's eyes, sharp as they were, could not match my own, nor could they understand why the sight of this boy had turned my joints to brittle clay.
Though Kurama's destiny was inexorably entwined with the fate of the boy at Yusuke's side, he was not equipped to feel the electric jolt of recognition streaking down my back. He didn't see destiny writ in the boy's enormous eyes and pouting mouth the way I did. He couldn't feel the swing of the cosmos click into place around us and hold on tight, like some vast claw in a galactic prize game, nor could he experience the feeling of familiarity clenching into tight, hot dread inside my chest. He could only stare at me, and then at the boy, and wonder why my face had drained of color and why my hands had begun to shake around the joystick of a claw game.
Kurama's eyes, sharp as they were, had no way of knowing that this boy was Amanuma—Sensui's appointed Gamemaster—and that he was destined to die by Kurama's own hand.
NOTES:
We're back! Figured it was fitting, putting a timeskip into the story that corresponds with my real-world hiatus. And rut-roh. Another character met out of order. Where the hell is this going to go, do you suppose?
It's important to delve into how NQK is feeling at this time. They're officially past canon!Keiko's most useful story points, so the strain of that would be getting to her in bad ways. I hate feeling useless, and while I think I'm good at hiding stress, my friends all agree I am NOT. So of course everyone but Keiko realizes she's in a bad way. I am also a workhorse. Everyone else can usually see me overworking myself, but until I have a breakdown I don't usually realize what's happening to me. It's not great, but it's me! So I hope that came across here.
ALSO: I went to a neurologist! I have migraines. Which… duh. But I have meds now and I'm getting used to them. The meds have side effects a mile long and they're all cognitive delays and stuff about language confusion. I am loopy as hell as I write this. Hopefully it won't impact my work too much, but we'll see.
Many thanks to all those who wished me luck during my hiatus! I got lots of good work done, though I'm looking forward to the next Camp where I can hopefully finish what I started. Thank you all SO MUCH, because you are fantastic: Yuki Hyoto, Death Angel 457, Blaze1662001, general zargon, Ignis76, yofa, wennifer-lynn, C. S. Stars, Just 2 Dream of You, fringeperson, Laina Inverse, Selias, GuestStarringAs, xenocanaan, PurrksofBeing, DiCuore Alissa, Marian, Melissa Fairy, Mayacompany, Loraliell, Kykygrly, zunhanwc3, ahyeon, Viviene001, Dark Rose Charm, Lavenderstitches, WaYaADisi1, read a rainbow, Kaiya Azure, Chi chan, veranie, WhiteSakura59, 3o3oyk1, Minirowan, Beccalittlebear, Turtle Kid the Woolgatherer, CrimsonHeresy, Pelawen Night, Kitsune to Tenshi-chan, smilesy, Zynis, doraemax, SmashQueen, GalanthaDreams, Evanelle, Caelyn M, Thugs Bunny 009 and six unnamed guests!
