This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.
RELAPSE
-x-
"Next train inbound to station J-9, District 1 in 5 minutes. Next train inbound to station J-9, District 1 in 5 minutes. Please be prepared to board in an orderly fashion. Thank you."
The announcer's voice echoed throughout the train station, vibrating across the marble tiles of the floor. The crowd of people walking through did not notice the slight inflection of her voice on certain words. Perhaps they did. Once. But maybe they just got used to it.
Perhaps they've even forgotten.
Perhaps nobody simply knew anymore.
In a couple years no one will ever know that it's a synthesized voice, she thought.
Her footsteps walked in stride with the pace of the moving crowd. Everyone blended into the same mass of people, fleeting glimpses of a society at work. Like tireless ants, every one of them went about their routines with automaton movements.
When she got to the ticket station, she quickly pulled out her wallet from her sports bag. And just like everyone else, she flipped it open and pressed her train pass against the screen. But unlike everyone else, the machine did not register the train pass.
Instead, it registered the blank grey card hidden behind her train pass.
The machine quickly spitted out a receipt for her ticket. She ripped it from the machine feed without checking, already knowing what was written on it. After all, the only difference between the other tickets and hers was the destination: 白山.
The next train pulled back into the station. The crowd of passengers began forming up behind the lines, waiting to begin their afternoon ritual of leaving Academy City. They would be returning to their homes in Tokyo.
Tokyo, Japan.
"You have arrived at station J-9, District 1 in 5 minutes. You have arrived at station J9, District 1 in 5 minutes. Please disembark in an orderly manner. Welcome back to Academy City."
However, the train arriving in the station also carried different passengers. They were only now arriving to Academy City for their night shift. Strangely enough, the amount of people leaving did not outnumber those who were disembarking.
Welcome back…
She could help but smile at those words mind as she navigated through the crowd.
Not even pretending anymore, huh?
There was a time when people would say that Academy City was a part of Tokyo. A time long ago. There was a time when the announcer – a real person speaking into the microphone – would say:
"Welcome to Academy City…"
And now?
Welcome back.
Welcome back to Academy City.
"Next train disembarking to Ginza station, Tokyo in 5 minutes. Next train disembarking to Ginza station, Tokyo in 5 minutes. Please board in an orderly fashion. Thank you, and we hope to see you tomorrow in Academy City again."
All roads lead to Rome…
She deftly sidestepped the flood of tired salarymen converging on the few entrances of the train. There were 6 security cameras on the platforms, each covering a different angle. But she knew that there was a dead spot below the 3rd camera, directly below the northern end of the platform.
Beneath that dead spot was a walkway. It led directly into the train tunnel, just at the edges of the tracks.
There was only a rusting metal link hung across the walkway. That was enough – the thought of wandering through forbidden areas was not something any properly socialized Japanese person would do. Certainly not in such a public place like the train station.
She deftly leapt over the chain and continued down the walkway.
By now she could hear the train's door beginning the close. The passengers had all been boarded. Without missing a beat, she continued at her own pace. The dark tunnels greeted her.
Welcome back…
The train began to move.
The walkway ended abruptly – the edge simply led to the gravel floor of the tunnel. Without hesitating, she jumped down and continued walking. Now she was no longer on the service walkway but directly on the ground.
Soon, she could hear the train's wheels slowly rumbling across the tracks.
The tunnel began to narrow. She used to have a wide margin between the edge of the walls and the tracks. Not anymore. Now she was walking right alongside the train tracks.
There would be no room between her body and the incoming train.
She reached her destination.
It was a door build directly into the wall of the tunnel. However there was no handle or keyhole. Instead there was only a small keypad next to it. She turned around and leaned her back against the door. It was the only way she could fit in the space between the tracks and the tunnel walls.
The train's lights were approaching.
Her fingers reached up to the number pad on the wall. The screen was still dead. No response.
She waited and waited, listening to the train come closer and closer. She knew that she didn't need to move. She could just stand there and it would all be over in a few seconds. In fact, the train driver won't even feel or see anything. Nobody would notice anything until the next station.
There would only be a red blot on the side on the nose.
The rhythmic echoing of train's wheels grew louder and louder. She closed her eyes and counted them.
Ten, twenty, thirty…
The train's light became visible around the corner.
Forty, fifty, sixty…
The screen came to life.
How long has it been?
Her fingers went to work without any instruction. They knew. They remembered. But the vibrations were already echoing across the tracks, filling the air with a thunderous rumble.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The door opened inwards and she leaned back into it, allowing the void to swallow her.
The train passed an empty corner.
"Ah, the prodigal daughter….welcome home!"
She shook off the dust from her hair and her shoulders. Now the air was no longer heavy with diesel fuel or the grease on the tracks, like it was out in the tunnel. Instead it was filled with tobacco smoke. Tabaco smoke swirling under a bright lamp.
A terribly familiar scent.
The snake with the glass eye took another deep puff from her cigarette. After blowing some smoke cricles, she reached her cigarette butt out. But there was no ashtray.
There was only a small empty table and two chairs in the small, suffocating service room. A small vertical ladder case was attached to the back of the room, leading upwards. But that was not meant for the snake.
The ashes from the cigarette began to fall.
Without thinking, she reached the sleeve of her sports sweater out to the woman. The snake smiled graciously and tapped the cigarette ash out onto her sleeve. The cigarette butt smoldered and hissed against the polyester fabric.
Another familiar sensation – her cigarette butt burning against the skin of her forearm.
She hated herself for doing that. Old habits.
"Well, well…I see you haven't lost your manners."
She said nothing.
"Now then, what do you want? I presume this isn't a just a social call…for old time's sakes?"
"The killer," she answered simply.
"What of it?"
"Where is he?"
"If I knew, we wouldn't be sitting here chatting. And if I knew, why should I tell you?"
"The soldier?"
"Still on the run. A trivial problem. We'll find her eventually."
"The killer was trying to summon something."
"Yes, we've deduced that. But that's no help because we don't know the seal of the sigil. It can be any number of demon or deity. Although the best working theory is that it's one of Solomon's."
"…"
"Also, I see you kept the thermal camouflage jacket. Tsk, tsk! Ah well, you always did have light fingers."
"So there's no lead?"
"Nothing of note anyways. Do you know who else was in the garden that night? There was an unidentified contact. I would assume it's one of the black ones."
The image of his head crushed against the grass came back to her. She hesitated. But quickly reached a decision.
"I don't know."
She'll talk to him personally first.
Then he can…
The snake shook her head in disappointment, her glass eyes reflecting glimpses of the light overhead. She popped out a new cigarette from her steel case.
"My, my! I don't remember you being so stubborn. Oh, Aichka, what's gotten into you? You used to be such a good girl."
Her finger tips grew cold.
"Times change."
"Yes, and people get soft."
"…"
"Fine then. So be it. I'll cover you. After all, you're one of mine. But the next time you're going to do something unsanctioned …at least help the tactical team, will you?"
"No."
"There you go again, that infectious stupidity."
"I'm not a viper."
"Why does this durochka keep repeating this? Also, I'm sure you know this, but that cadet of yours is a mongrel. If you do anything comical, he'll no doubt report it to his station chief. So don't slip."
"I never slip."
"Obstinacy…"
They heard the walls shaking again. Another train was coming. The two women stood there in silence, listening for the noise of the wheels rushing across the tracks. More smoke came puffing out her ivory cigarette holder.
Eventually the rumbling died down.
The snake reached out her cigarette butt again, with a small stack of ashes at the end. But this time there was no sleeve to greet it.
She had already turned away. Her hands reached for the door – not the ladder. She was going back into the tunnel.
The snake rolled her eyes. Obstinate little…
"Good evening, Tatiana Blyevna," came her farewell.
The snake threw her head back and smiled whimsically. Blyevna. How long has it been since someone called her that?
Times change, indeed!
"And good evening to you, Aiho Blyevna. And to you."
All people are like grass, and all their faith are as the flowers of the field.
The grass shall wither, and the flowers shall fade,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon them.
Her finger touched the glass pane.
Behind it laid an entirely different world – a world filled with bright colors and innocent, luscious life. She couldn't even count all the flowers, but try she did: camellia, violet, cosmos… and purple tulips? No, the bulbs weren't large enough to be tulips. Not Dutch tulips anyway.
She wasn't very good at identifying plants. But really, whatever she knew she only absorbed from listening to him talk.
And he loved to talk about flowers.
She leaned back from the display case and allowed the entire shop to welcome her. And they greeted her with silent grace: from the ceilings waved pots of hanging ferns, a long array of potted plants stood tall, and many, many others that she could not name.
Malyana closed her eyes.
For a brief moment, she could almost believe that she was in the shadow of the Alps. She could almost believe that she was beneath her favorite oak tree, with the morning mist in the distance and the scent of spring on to her nose.
Almost.
Malyana opened her eyes again. She couldn't even miss it – how does one miss something they cannot even remember? After all, how long has it been since she was home?
How long has it been since…
He would love it here.
She had forgotten that life could have so much color.
She had forgotten about her Berretta pistol – and everything else – until the old woman finally emerged from behind the curtain. She walked to the counter and waited for the soldier to finish reminiscing with the flowers.
"See anything you like?"
Malyana turned around.
The old woman looked at her with calm, beady eyes; she waited for an answer. Malyana complied by wordlessly handing her the piece of scribbled paper. There was no need to check, the old women knew what it was by touch alone. The brother had informed her beforehand.
The shopkeeper hobbled back into the dark recesses of the shop. Then she emerged again with a small, packaged cardboard box and placed it on the table. Malyana quickly checked the contents.
A box of silver tipped 9x19mm bullets and a vial of holy water.
Malyana stared at it for a long time, but not out of confusion or misunderstand. Instead there was only a calm melancholy.
How many times have I seen this?
How many times have I opened a package like this?
Countless times, no doubt. So many times that she had lost track of them a long time ago…
And here it was again.
"Do you need anything else?"
She looked up and but her eyes passed the old shopkeeper. Instead, she only saw the set of arranged flower displays on the shelf behind her. Elaborate sculptures of flowers and branches danced before her eyes.
He did say that he always wanted a…
Malyana's eyes slowly scanned each corner of the shop. In the end she did find it.
There was a bonsai plant in the corner.
The old soldier opened her mouth…but no words came out. One shouldn't buy personal items while on an operation. It was unprofessional. It was a breach of conduct. A terrible offense. A mortal sin.
But…
"Do you sell plants for terrariums?"
The old lady's smile did not budge. Malyana could see her eyes slowly observing her every movement, as if judging her and trying to discern the soldier's intention.
It takes two to tango. And the shopkeeper was silent.
The color faded away from Malyana's eyes as all of the plants faded into shades of grey. She took the package into her hand and turned around. The Beretta felt crushing.
"What would you like?"
She stopped.
She slowly turned back to face the shopkeeper.
The old woman greeted the girl's stoic face with soft eyes…and repeated her question.
"Do you have anything in mind?"
Malyana's mind went blank.
Dozens of memories came flashing back into her mind – lazy afternoons spent in the garden – but she could not recall anything. They were all silent images, mirages of things that happened but did not belong. Not to the present, at least.
In the past, she had never mixed those two worlds together. She always maintained the strong wall between the cloak and dagger against the warmth of the cabin in the Alps. It simply broke her mind to think of such things on an operation.
But Malyana was not on an operation.
She was no longer working for…
Malyana was doing this for herself.
For him.
It all came crumbling down: everything came flooding together in an overwhelming, incomprehensible whirlpool of emotions. His caramel blond curls, the cool summer evenings, the feel of fresh soil on her hands all clashed against the cold, steel Beretta pistol on her belt.
Now, she was no longer just a soldier.
Malyana could no longer pretend.
She suddenly realized – actually realized – for the first time that she was in a dusty flower shop in a foreign country with a Beretta pistol on her belt. Malyana realized that she was not somewhere else.
She was not in the cabin up in the Italian Alps. She couldn't be there. She wanted to, but she couldn't.
She never could.
"Bonsai," she barely croaked, her voice cracking.
The shopkeeper raised her eyebrows.
"Do you have bonsai?"
The girl grew desperate.
"Do you have bonsai that can grow in a terrarium? Something suitable to Italian climate. Northen Italy. But it can be adjusted manually too…with those, eh… what're they called, those lights. Those lamps to replace the sun."
"Heat lamps?" offered the shopkeeper.
"Yes! Those lamps. Do you have any? Please, I'll pay anything for it. Please."
Malyana was begging.
The old lady looked over the soldier. No. Theere was no soldier here – no milites sanctae. There was only a girl with frantic eyes in front of her. A girl who finally remembered who she was.
The shopkeeper slowly said her next words.
"It is almost impossible to export bonsai from Japan."
Malyana stared at her.
"To export a native plant from Japan, you need a lot of documentation. Import permits. Then there's the plant quarantine, growing site inspections, root inspections. It will also depend on the importing country's inspections. A lot of tests."
The shopkeeper paused.
"The tests and procedures are often very difficult on the plant. Especially for a small bonsai that can fit into a terrarium. Even then, not all varieties of bonsai can survive in a closed environment."
The earth disappeared from Malyana's feet.
Fire and brimstone. Ashes to ashes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why did she think that now, at the eleventh hour, that she could turn back to become someone she had buried long ago? By her own hands, no less.
Too little, too late.
Malyana's eyes stared at the box in her weary hands. Silver bullets. It's always silver bullets. There were times when she held something else in her hands, but they were all the same in the end: crosses, amulets, sealed parchments, silver goblets.
Silver, silver, silver…
Malyana was lost. So much so that she was still staring the box when shop keeper walked back to the counter. She had went to and emerged from the storeroom without Malyana noticing.
By the time she did notice, there was already another box on the counter. This second box was slightly bigger than the first.
The shopkeeper opened it.
Within it was a glass dome covering a small potted plant: a bonsai tree.
It was a small, delicate, young bonsai tree, barely a foot tall, with baby greening leaves planted in a porcelain container. In Malyana's eyes it shone with such radiance that she could not divert her gaze from it.
She slowly looked up at the shopkeeper. Only a serene smile greeted her. And it was not greeting a solider, but to another…
"Do you know how to take care of it?"
"Umm not really…but my…."
The word – so simple yet so laden – choked in her throat.
"…but someone I know does. He's very fond of terrariums. He always said that that he wanted a bonsai in his collection…"
The shopkeeper understood.
"I see. Very well then. But you must be careful, a bonsai tree is a very delicate little creature – it must be accorded every care possible. You must protect it from strong winds or harsh, direct sunlight every other week. Do you understand?"
Malyana nodded eagerly.
"This plant is already on its way to maturity, so when you water it try to saturate the roots. But do not water as a routine, always check the conditions first. Keep the glass lid whenever possible, to keep poisonous gases like gunpowder away. Try to reduce the transportation time as much as possible, or else care can be tricky. Ideally a month at most. In you must keep it locked, try to give it an hour of fresh air every other day."
Malyana nodded in appreciation. She understood.
The shopkeeper handed the bonsai to her. The girl cupped the porcelain cup with delicate hands – the most careful they've been in a long time.
"How much will that cost?"
The old lady shook her head.
"It shall cost nothing. You have given enough already."
Malyan carefully repackaged glass dome in the box. Her experienced hands were shaking – quite badly – with anxiety as they performed the simple task of taping the box shut. But the old lady placed her own reassuringly on the girl's hands. Thus the task was completed.
Malyana gently lifted the box to her chest.
She had absentmindedly stuffed the silver bullets and holy water in the back pocket of her jeans. They were nothing more than an afterthought.
The girl casted a last glance at the old lady. In her eyes there swirled a mixture of gratitude, fear, and excitement.
The shopkeeper just smiled.
"Worry not. After all…surely He will forgive us for following our heart?"
Malyana bowed.
"Go in peace, and if He so wills it, may you find what you seek."
Malyana walked out of the flower shop clutching the box tightly to her chest. As she stepped out in the afternoon sun, she walked into a different world – it was no longer an agglomeration of dark corners and dead spots.
Instead what greeted her was a world full of vivid color. A hint of gentle spring was right around the corner.
For the first time in her life, Malyana faced the world – as herself, not as a soldier – with her Beretta by her side.
May God be with me.
For the first time in a long time, Malyana remembered hope.
The grass may wither, the flowers fall,
but the word of God endures forever.
Man, you're one ugly motherfucker…
Jim stared at the picture on the 5 inch screen of his new smartphone. His fingers clumsily moved across the screen to try and enlarge the image. Although it was just a sketch on an electronic screen, his left arm couldn't help feel restless.
Wings. Bird's head. What is he…some American supervillain from a comic book? Are these drawings even accurate? What if they're just made up by some bored writer a couple centuries ago?
What really interested Jim were the sword and the wolf. Most accounts seem to depict this…entity as ridding on a black wolf. If the summoner tried to summon him – or 'conjure', as the webpage says – would the wolf show up as well?
Jim scrolled further down the page.
There was another picture of his seal: a sigil.
And indeed, it was the same sigil that Jim had seen on the floor of the hut within the maze. It was the same circle with the picture of some sort of an inverted scale or candle holder.
He quickly browsed through the short descriptions.
"…a Marquis of Hell."
"…commands 30 legions of hell."
"…sow discord among his enemies."
"…highly dangerous to conjuring magicians."
What the fuck is a legion of hell?
Can the summoner call them up as well? Or the deity? Will they be summoned from thin air or something?
Am I supposed to fight a hundred flaming skeletons or something?
Jim sighed and leaned back into the toilet seat. Although the descriptions were short and brief, they left much for him to digest. Truth or fiction? Both?
So…
Apparently this entity was not some obscure thing. Definitely not some top secret only magicians knew.
Here Jim was, sitting in the bathroom, looking up information about him on the internet. Of course, what open source information he could find was fragmented and short – but that was to be expected. They must been written by secular historians.
Magic wouldn't be secret if you could just find a manual to summon demons anywhere on the internet. But he was still unnerved by how easy it was.
Sure, Jim had to spent some time playing around with search terms. Yes, he also had to look through a lot of symbols and sigils to find the right one. But Jim was not magician – someone trained in this would have a lot of an easier time.
The summoner must either be a madman or a very skilled magician to pull this sort of stuff so publically. Killing people in public. Drawing sigils at the scenes of death.
No wonder the little girl tried to smudge the sigils.
Maybe the summoner is just stupid.
It anyone saw the sigil; it wouldn't take long for them to connect the dots.
Jim sighed again. This time he put his smart phone away. He simply sat there on the toilet seat of the Anti-Skill bathroom, with his arms crossed, his mind deep in thought.
What now?
It was already late afternoon.
He looked down at the sports duffle bag at his feet. It was filled with whatever equipment that he managed to borrow from his day at the station. But there was still his vest – down at the front desk. Jim would have to check it out when his shift was over.
He smiled at the thought of it.
Here I am, checking out equipment and filling out all the paperwork…to use them in an (illegal) operation.
Jim was fine with it.
Of course, he could try to steal it. He was even sure it wouldn't be hard to do so, given Tessou's personality. But he just didn't want to. He'd rather just check it out.
Yomikawa would probably prefer me check it out rather than stealing it.
It'll save her a lot of hassle when it comes to missing equipment. Especially if the blame were to come down on Tessou, the one actually issuing and maintaining the armory.
She didn't deserve that.
Jim would rather the loss be put on his head.
It's not like losing a vest can make Yomikawa hate me more. Not in any way that matters.
He smiled sadly.
She's probably going to fire me either ways…
He could aready see the brown cermanic roofs of Sofa rising up in the distance, all them singing a sad chorus: "You thought you could run! Welcome back!"
Honestly, he might not even be able to go back to Sofia.
Jim looked over the information on his smartphone one last time. Then he closed the webpage and the tab, ending his session by erasing all of the search history and metadata in the browser. Of course, it wouldn't help if he was under surveillance. But it's better than nothing.
That's when the phone began ringing.
No, not his smartphone.
The droning, inconspicuous noise echoing from his backpack on the floor made Jim freeze in his seat. His muscles began to tense up involuntarily – an ingrained reaction that had been drilled into him.
The ringtone was a droning frequency that would be difficult to pin down for an untrained ear. Only those who have been drilled – via conditioned electric shocks – would recognize it immediately.
It was his encrypted phone.
From his station.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What was Jim going to say to his station chief?
A knot formed his throat. He wanted to throw the phone into the toilet…but if he did that, the next time he showed up at work would be very, very unpleasant. Jim needed to face the music.
He fished out the phone and looked the screen. It was an unknown number. Deep breath. His squeezed and unsqueezed his hands several times to clear off the shakes. He couldn't.
Jim accepted the call.
"Do you have the time?" asked the voice on the other end.
Oh thank gods –
It was late in the afternoon.
"It's 11:37 PM. Does that match your time?"
The caller hung up.
The challenge issued by the caller meant that this was a check-in call. The station was checking if he – Jim – was in possession of the phone. If Jim gave the wrong countersign, then it would mean that someone else was in possession of the phone.
But Jim didn't celebrate yet.
He knew his station chief must want something from him.
And indeed, moments later he got a text message:
[Investigate garden incident. Pursue target as needed. Report any new developments. Keep distance from cover CO. Snakes out for blood.]
Jim bit his cheek.
So his station did hear about what happened in the Garden Maze. And they wanted Jim to investigate it from his capacity as an Anti-Skill cadet. But it was the last part that made him rub his temple in worry.
[Keep distance from cover CO] must mean Yomikawa – the commanding officer of his Anti-Skill cover.
[Snakes out for blood].
Damnit…
Well, it was nothing that Jim didn't expect. He should be grateful that his station chief haven't come down hard on him for not doing more.
Jim wasn't sure if his chief knew about his involvement in the Garden Maze.
Perhaps he knew…but approves of it?
After all, Jim did hold up the snakes for some time. The jackals and snakes were always at odds with each other, so Jim's attempts of preventing them from catching the killer was probably a good thing. In the chief's eyes anyways.
Jim reached his hands up to rub his metal locket.
Of course, he knew that he had none. He had lost it a long time ago. A long time ago…
Jim smirked.
A long time ago?
It was last Friday.
Less than a week ago…
And yet, if felt like month have passed since he arrived in Acadmey City. Months of him desperately trying to retrieve his locket.
To be honest, there were times when Jim had trouble remembering the locket.
Was it just his exhaustion?
Was it the fact that he tried not to think about it?
Or was it…
Was it because he had long since lost hope?
Jim's shoulders dropped down as he sank into his toilet seat. Tonight, he will have to go out. Again. He'll have to go out with some shitty knives and his eyes shut. And what does he hope to accomplish?
Do I really believe that I could get my locket back?
His buried his head in his hands.
And even if I did…would it make any difference?
Jim had hope. Once.
Now he wasn't sure if he had any left.
It was late in the afternoon. The sunlight flooded into the bathroom from a window high up in the wall, illuminating the ceramic tiles with a strange glow. The smell of strong detergent lingered in the air, mixing together with the air refreshed to form a strangely pungent, but calming scent.
Jim shifted his torso slightly, testing his body.
Yes, it still hurt. His burned ribs, his cut hand, his bruised face, everything. His arm was moaning with the usual ache as well. Everything hurt. Everything will continue to hurt.
Everything will hurt more after tonight.
A lot more.
Jim closed his eyes. But opened them soon after – too tired to sleep. Too tired to live, but also too tired to die. Too tired to exist.
Too tired to just be sitting here.
"Let's try our best, Jim-san!"
He smiled.
The mongrel groaned as he summoned the immense mental will from somewhere deep inside his deep soul – probably from all the coffee he had drank in the last couple days. He slowly moved his body from its resting position.
Jim got up from the toilet seat.
"Just another day at the office…" he muttered.
I need a new office.
"Tessou?"
"Yes, Yomikawa-san! How can I help you?"
"Can you give me Jim's home address? His dorm address, that is."
He probably won't be home, but she needed to pay him a visit. She needed to gather as much intelligence as possible on his activities within the past few days. The black ones were on the move.
"Umm, sure…just let me check the contact details here."
She stayed on the phone as she kept walking, sliding past the service stairs of the train tracks. The crowd seamlessly blended into a wave around her figure. She kept moving.
It took Tessou a moment.
"Umm, here it is: E-2, 7th Street, District 14."
"Thanks, Tessou. That'll be all."
She started to hang up. But now it was Tessou's turn.
"Do you need Jim-san for something? Umm…if you want to talk to him I can put him on."
Aiho froze.
"What? He's at the station?!"
"Yes, of course."
Her jaw dropped open.
Why?!
Why would he come in after what happened last night? He should be on the run. What did he think I was going to do after meeting him?
Pretend that nothing happened?
A merciless smile etched itself across her face, baring her old fangs of yore.
Stupid mongrels.
"Alright then, I –"
Just as she pulled the phone away, Tessou's hesitant voice cut into her ear. It was quiet but loaded.
"B-by the way, Yomiakawa-san, I know that this might be out of line…but did something happen? B-between you and Jim-san?"
The crowd flowed around her without hesitation, like a wave seamless parting way for a solitary rock in the ocean. Aiho just stood there. The screeching noise of the train tracks faded from her ears.
Aiho's grip tightened on her phone. Her voice grew cold. Sharp.
"Tessou, where did you hear that?"
"Jim-san told me. He said he did something wrong while he was patrol with you…he seemed really down today."
A muscle on her face twitched, but she did not betray any thing. Neither did her voice – her pitch lowered and steadied until she was practically speaking in monotone. The words came out slowly, loud and concise. Emotionless.
"It's nothing important, don't worry about it."
"Ah…I see. Well, then would you –"
"Is he still at the station?"
"Yes. Let me get him –"
"No."
She could feel Tessou's heavy pause on the other end. Her tone of voice left little to imagination. Even Tessou knew. She felt it.
"Listen Tessou…I need you to listen very carefully, okay? Now do exactly as I say…"
"Hi Tessou-senpai! My shift is over now. It is alright if I check some stuff out from the armory? I wanted to…"
She gently put down the phone, taking a moment while she still could. Meanwhile the cadet was already standing at the front desk. The Anti-Skill officer slowly turned around. The chair's wheels creaked eerily they swung about to face the front.
"Ah Jim-san…you see, Yomikawa-san just called me a moment ago."
He blinked.
The cadet's eyes seem to glimmer for a moment. But the light soon faded behind his dark, murky irises. The expression on his face simply ceased – there was nothing, no smile, no raised eyebrows. Nothing.
"Okay."
Monotone voice.
"Yeah…um, she called me…and said that she wanted to talk to you about something. She asked me to keep you here for a bit longer. Jim-san, can you, um, wait here until she comes back?"
He stared at her.
"No."
Tessou's cheeks strained under her smile as she reached for another cup of coffee. She tried to focus on the cup in her hands. But in her mind she could only think about the way his eyes were burrowing into her face.
"Please Jim-san, I know it's unfair to keep you after your shift…but Yomikawa was very specific. She said it was important!"
She knew that he had been working shift after shift ever since he joined the station a couple days ago. The Anti-Skill officer couldn't help feel ashamed at how she was asking more from a young boy…
A boy who's had such a bad day at that.
"I want to go home. Can't she talk to me later?"
"No, no, no…Yomikawa-san was very insistent. She said I must keep you at the station. Please don't worry, I'm sure it isn't because she's mad at you. Surely she just wants to talk to you about…you know…but don't worry! I didn't p-pry! And she didn't tell me either!"
Tessou's eyes widened when his shoulders began to shake. He was chuckling now. But unlike earlier in the afternoon, she did not like the way he was laughing.
His gaze seemed to be simply staring past her, at some phantom sight in the distance. He was not looking at her anymore. Finally, he stopped laughing.
"Fine. But can I check out some equipment? While I wait?"
Tessou tried to swallow the lump in her throat. But she could not. Her voice barely managed to croak out an answer.
The boy had a large sports bag slung over his shoulder, laden with weight. He was no longer in his office whites – instead, he was dressed in his dark blue Anti-Skill utility uniform.
"Actually…Yomikawa-san also told me to not give you anything. You can't check anything out. As a matter a fact, she wanted you to return all of your equipment immediately..."
She keeps her thermos of coffee in the second drawer of her desk. The desk in the right corner of the hall has a creaky chair, but only if you sit on it a certain way. The third printer from the left is broken. The second is out of ink. The best-value-for-money dish in the cafeteria is a bowl of noodles (either Udon or Ramen). The rice is free.
I like her coffee.
His mouth was bitter.
Both of theirs.
"Jim-san? Are you okay?"
He tried to empty all of these little useless bits of trivia that had piled up in his mind. But they simply wouldn't go. Doesn't matter, they'll fade away soon enough, just like everything else. He's forgotten worst. Soon enough.
Jim looked at her.
He looked at her apologetic face, the forced smile on her face and the way her eyes tried to fold at the corners – to pretend that she wasn't anxious.
A low voice in Jim's head smugly reminded him of a simple fact: He felt nothing. Nothing. Perhaps a part of him wished that he did. But he did not. It occurred to him he didn't even feel anything about what he was going to do. His heart was completely steady.
The low voice continued to sing:
It's a bit too late for that.
He never had the luxury anyways. Right? Who cares. Who the fuck cares. It is what it is. Another day at the office…
Jim casted a quick glance over the front desk. He saw everything that he needed to see.
The thought formed in his mind without him even needing to try:
No cameras in the front desk.
He smiled.
This time, she felt like it was genuine. At least partly. Tessou quietly let out some air, hoping that the tension in the air would diffuse itself eventually. Now that he seemed to have accepted it, Tessou used the opening to start talking again.
"So, Jim-san…what's in your bag?"
"My clothes. Do you want to inventory my underwear as well, Tessou-senpai? I've been here for almost four days, remember?"
Her face flushed with color at his words. But she swallowed her throat and tried again.
"Ah well…you don't have to return those things to the armory. But I do need you to give me…um…your badge, flashlight, and baton."
He turned around - so that his back faced her – and knelt down on the floor. His back blocked her view of the bag's contents as his hands quickly went to work. Within half a minute he produced the badge and flashlight.
"The flashlight, badge…and I need your baton too, Jim-san."
"But you already took it."
She blinked.
"Eh…"
"Don't you remember, Tessou senpai? When we were moving the boxes…"
She rubbed the back of her neck.
"I don't know…"
For the first time since she met him, Tessou saw Jim's eyebrows dropping into a furrow. His eyes narrowed.
"Oh come on, Tessou-senpai. Don't you remember? You took it from me when I left my badge in the armory. I had my hands full, so I gave it to you. You hanged it on your belt, beside the ring of keys."
Did he?
Did she take something like that?
Tessou's hands quickly went down to her belt. The key ring was still there, but not the baton. And yet he was right about the key right.
Did she forget?
After all, people do hook their collapsible baton the belt…right? Isn't that what officers on patrol do? Although she wouldn't know, because she didn't go out much. But Jim does. So does it mean that…
"Jim-san, I don't think…I mean, look here. I don't have the baton on me right now. Uh, m-maybe –"
He hands went up to his temple, slowly rubbing his forehead. She could see his right eye – the lame one the with drooping eyelid – looking away from her. Rolling his eyes.
He was rolling his eyes at her.
But politely. Because he didn't want to embarrass her.
Tessou's back started to sweat.
When he did speak up, his voice was calm and patient. Like he was slowly explaining something simple to a child.
"Yes, it's not your belt right now…because after I came back, you told me to throw it out with the old equipment. Don't you remember, senpai? I was asking you about what the equipment did and you were explaining to me. Then you said I should throw out my stick because new ones are coming. You put it in the boxes with all the other stuff outside…"
Tessou remembered that.
That did happen. He did ask her about what the equipment were. She did explain to him how the inventory system work. And most of all, she did make a separate trip to give the boxes a final check.
Oh god.
Did I really…?
Tessou's lips morphed into something between an apologetic smile and a gasp. Her shoulders shrunk as she nervously rubbed her palms together. Her voice was on the verge of breaking.
"Ah h-ha ha…oh… um, yes. Yes. Yes, I think that might have happened. Just, um, l-let me go check, alright?"
She quickly fled from the front desk, scurrying her way over to the back door. And indeed, there was the small stack of boxes filled with equipment. Tessou practically fell onto her knees and began to open each and every one of them.
Blind panic.
With each agonizing minute that passed, she grew more and more frantic. Her hands were basically throwing all of the neatly arranged equipment out onto the floor.
Where is the baton?
It must be here!
But in the end, when everything had been laid bare on the storeroom's floors, she could only bury her head in despair. Tessou couldn't find it. She had lost his baton. She must have absent mindedly misplaced it somewhere.
How can I be so useless?
Tessou felt sick.
She didn't want to go back to him.
She had already made fun of his eyes the other day – how could she have been so rude? And now she was holding him back from going home because of her own stupidity and carelessness. He must be tired. He is tired. He must be so tired. He's just a boy after all. A boy who stayed behind his shift to work while she went home to rest. And now he has to stay behind even longer because she lost his baton…
It was all her fault.
The guilt in her stomach grew deeper and deeper. The panic swelled up in her chest.
I'm such a pathetic senpai…
Tessou didn't remember getting up. Or walking back. She only realized that she was standing at front desk when the frequency receiver began screeching. Out of conditioned habit her hand immediately reached for the handheld radio.
There was no handheld radio on the front desk.
Once again, Tessou was sized by blind panic. She spent the next fifteen minutes desperately trying to find the radio, but there was nothing. It was not anywhere in sight. In the end she could only watch helplessly as the frequency receiver bleated again and again for a connection. But there was nothing she could do.
The received eventually went silent.
By now Tessou was breathing in half-sobs. Her eyes absentmindedly looked around for the cadet. She was alone in the front desk.
He was gone.
But her frantic eyes eventually settled on the object on the desk in front of her.
It was a collapsible Anti-Skill baton.
There was a note beside with a short message scribbled on it:
I'm sorry.
- Jim
Tessou didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or scream with joy. There was mass of swirling emotions inside her right now, with everything mixing together to form a terrible weight on her chest.
She slowly sat down in her chair.
As she leaned back into the backrest, her back was suddenly assaulted by a sharp protrusion. It was the metal spine of the chair that had poked through the foam.
It took a moment for Tessou to realize what was wrong.
My vest.
Her Anti-Skill stab vest was not covering it.
First the radio, now her vest.
How can I be so forgetful?
A half-groan escaped her mouth as she bend over stomach, her hands clutching her head. Her eyes grew wet. The entire world faded into a blurry mess of colors. Everything lost meaning for her, everything except the stranglehold tightening in her chest.
Tessou wanted to cry.
-x-
First uploaded: 11/3/2022
Last modified: 12/3/2022
Word count: 7,406
Changelog:
12/3/2022 – General edits. Rearranged some sections.