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YES. NO.

Knight by Yuri Kataguiri

The princess cries

What the darkness cannot hide

A desperate call

To the one true tall

Knight

On a white horse he rides

To the crash of the tide

To a scene of fire and fury

His eyes cannot believe

Alas, he strides

As cold as ice

Into the night

Of that great unknown strife

The beast lurks within

Run, brave knight

Where the brave dare not go

…

The second ballroom of the Ichiban Event Center my grandparents had rented was comfortable, with tall cream-colored ceilings and stone arching columns. Wide windows looked out onto a lovely grass courtyard where white-sheeted tables and chairs had been set up under the lace canopy. Golden ribbons and twinkling lights had been hung up in sheets against the ceiling, cresting against the columns. Already some delicious-looking spreads of meats and cheeses, pastries and appetizers were set up along the backwalls, as a flow of guests had started to arrive through the double-doored entry. The catering crew had begun to arrive, armed with silver trays of steaming food.

To my surprise, it looked like this party was gonna be a lot more than just some local family. Several cars had been parked on the street just outside the venue, with mine squeezed in the middle behind my parents. I had been told even more people had been invited last minute; friends of the family, distant and more distant relatives, all in all maybe fifty to seventy people. The DJ hadn't arrived yet, but already glasses of champagne were being poured and the mood was jovial. An oldies pop song played from the speakers.

Well, it is a party, after all.

"Ah damn, would you look at that."

My father and I were sitting outside on the patio overlooking the grass courtyard, with its bird fountains, long flower beds and cobblestone walkways. It was quaint, and it looked like a perfect place to picnic, but now the gray stormclouds that swirled above had grown angrier over the afternoon, and the first drops of rain were starting to fall. The air was sweet with dew. My father wrinkled his nose and looked up, feeling the first drops roll down his nose.

I glanced up and clicked my tongue. "Thought it wasn't supposed to rain until tomorrow."

My father, Ren Odaka, shook his head. "So much for weathermen." He started to get up and walked back inside, me following suit. The both of us were wearing tuxedos, black with a white flower pinned on the lapel, mine previously collecting dust in the closet. I couldn't remember the last time I had worn it, and it had curiously felt like it was a size bigger than that last time. I was frowning when I checked myself out in the mirror this morning, but I couldn't scramble for a replacement in time (or afford one). I found myself awkwardly fixing the cuffs now and again, pulling the dress shirt out.

My father took a glass from the table and sipped casually, looking around the wide ballroom. Guests were starting to find spots and set their belongings down at the tables, eyeing the buffet being set up. The smell of the food was dizzying, and made my stomach rumble.

"So, how is your school coming, son?"

"Oh, you know." I shrug. "Coming and going."

My father looked at me funny. "Going, going, gone?"

"I wish."

He laughed. "And what about your Literature Club?"

I smiled, holding my hands behind my back. "It's still the same size as when we started. Now we're just getting ready for the summer festival, and maybe take a trip over the break." I leaned over and took a cup of soda from the table, swirling the ice cubes with the straw.

"You said it was all girls, right?"

I nodded, taking a sip.

"Any of them caught your eye yet?"

I internally rolled my eyes at how much he didn't know, but on the surface I played coy. "No, Dad. Shouldn't my studies take the priority?"

But he started to laugh. "Well, it's good you have that mentality, Kazuma, but to be honest…" He glanced away, and back down into his glass. He hesitated. "Ah, let's talk somewhere more private." He motioned towards the double doors leading out into the main hallway, connecting the other ballrooms together and leading out onto the street. I warily followed.

In the hallway it was much quieter, with only a trickle of guests passing and waving at us, the father-son duo. Outside I could see the storm start to pick up, rain rolling against the windows. We paused by the bathrooms. "Kazuma, I would like to admit something to you. Something I've never really talked about with you before."

I raised an eyebrow, not sure where this was going. "Oh?"

He paused again. "When I was your age, back at Yamaku, I…I'll say it bluntly. I was a shithead."

I was taken aback. "You–what?"

"In my high school days, with Terai and my little clique of friends, we were the kids your mother and I used to warn you about. We would break into vending machines, tag stuff up, carry blades...we thought we were hot shit, but the truth is we were just shit." He shook his head, thinking over his words. "W-we never hurt or went after anybody like that, y'know, but we were just bad kids. School was always an afterthought to me, I did the minimum and nothing but."

"Wow."

I was shocked; I have never known my father to be even close to a violent or gangster-type; he never raised his voice, he almost never cursed, and the most raucous I knew him to be was being an avid collector of the former Horrors of War flipcards that were sold with a bubblegum piece in his childhood, little laminated cards of battleships at war, tanks crushing through the countryside and great armies raging. I stared down into my drink, uncertain what to say next.

My father looked embarrassed, putting a hand to his forehead. "I acted like that, and it was an act, because it was just…that's how we were. We were broke high school kids with an ax to grind. The times we grew up in sucked any kind of enthusiasm for the future, our future, out of us. Japan today is so much different from how it was in my time; there was never the kind of youth outreach or organizations you have today, it always felt like there was someone out to get you. We were given a shitty hand by shitty adults who made shitty decisions on our behalf before we could even walk, and we didn't know how to react, or act."

I didn't know what to say.

"And my little meanstreak lasted me good up until it came crashing home. One night, my father and I got into a dispute. I raised my hand up to my father, your grandfather, and…he…"

He stopped, rubbing his thumb against his chin, but a small smile tugged across his face. "He put me in my place."

I stood quietly, looking down into my glass.

"The police came out, they naturally took my fathers side, and I spent a few nights on the streets stinking like sewage in the rain, before I swallowed my pride and shook my old man's hand and apologized for being such a bad son, a shameful display, the youth disrespecting the elder. And since then, we have always had a kind of mutual respect for each other. We both remember how we were, how it was, and we have grown from it and moved on."

Never in the times I saw my father and grandfather together, at dinner or at school events or otherwise, had I felt the kind of tension Dad was now describing. This was alien to me.

"It was that sort of wakeup call, that sort of life realignment and me getting a big dose of reality, learning that I'm not as slick as I think and that the world owes me no favors, that I began to mature and found myself in my own literature club, and caring about school, and eventually…meeting your mother."

More guests came in through the door, chatting amongst themselves, shaking their umbrellas dry. Younger cousins of mine, who I probably haven't seen since my primary years. It seemed the rain had ceased somewhat, but the streets were damp. I grinned and waved, them waving back.

"So, to make a point to all of this, I am very proud of the man you've turned out to be. You've grown into someone entirely different than I was, someone better, what with your own literature club and your own friends and raising your grades. You have never been a fool to repeat my mistakes, to hide from me."

He stopped to look at me and put a hand on my shoulder, gripping it.

"But as much of a sneak I thought I was…even I knew that nobody would believe that my hickies were hives–"

I took a moment to process what he said before turning away, throwing my hands up. "Ohhh my GOD."

My father broke out laughing, clutching his side, his drink shaking in his hand. He leaned against the wall, his head thudding against the boards. I could feel an intense blush rise to my face, the cousins who were just walking by looking at me curiously trying to pretend I didn't exist. My father finished the rest of his drink and set it down on a nearby table.

"So…come on, son. Just tell me, who is it? Are they cute, at least?"

I looked down, and back up again. Guess I might as well come clean. "Ach…well…" I clicked open my phone and swiped over to the gallery, into the favorites tab. I pulled up my favorite photo of Natsuki, from the night of the festival and our first official night together, holding up two kebabs of fried squid like a peace sign in her palm. I showed it to Dad. "I think she is."

He took the phone and looked at it closer, zooming in on the kebabs. "Ahah, wow…now that's freaky."

"Pardon?"

My father reached into his wallet and thumbed through it. He unveiled a slightly yellowed, folded over Polaroid from one of the slots and unfolded it to show me. Presented was a very young photo of my mother, in regular street clothes compared to Natsuki's uniform, holding a near identical set of kebabs up to the camera. At the bottom was a scribbled caption, faint but readable.

'First Date'

I stared at the photo. "That is freaky."

"History repeats itself, perhaps." My father commented, taking the photo back. "This wouldn't be the same girl you asked if she could come over to make sweets, is it? Natsuki, was it?"

I stammered. "A lucky guess."

My father folded up the Polaroid and slipped it back into his wallet. "How long have you two been together?"

I thought about it for a moment. "About eight months. We got together at the festival."

"Maybe it's time we meet her."

My face lit up. "R-really? You'd–"

But my mother emerged from the double doors of the ballroom, dressed in a lovely yellow sundress with a white stripe and red heels to boot, cutting off my thought. Her hair was done up, tied with red ribbons. She was fixing one of her earrings and seemed surprised to see us, beckoning to us.

"Oh, there you are! Where have you two been?"

My father looked down at me and back again at Mom. "Just…having a chat."

"Well, enough of that. It's time to eat." She said, waving us back into the ballroom. "The buffet is ready."

…

After the food was served and everyone got situated with their plates (I loaded up on these mini cold-cut sandwiches), it was time to kick off the party. The most surprising guest of all to me was Principal Terai himself, who I learned during his toast to my parents that he was Dad's best man at the wedding and would babysit me as a toddler when the newly minted overworked and overstressed parents needed a night for themselves. Terai had laughed recalling how he himself would try to tutor me on spelling and mathematics. Standing in front of our table, he turned to me sitting next to my parents and quipped, "You should be thanking me, you know, for that big headstart on your academics."

Soon my father had taken the mic and did the standard thanking of the guests for coming out and what a great party it was shaping up to be. Closing off his own speech, he leaned over and kissed Mom to hearty applause. Everything was going along smoothly, and I couldn't wait to sneak outside so I could give my own love of my life a call.

I wonder what she's doing right now.

"And now," my father was saying, "I'd like to turn the microphone over to my one and only son, who has prepared a lovely poem he wrote just for tonight in our honor. Now, please, put your hands together for my big man, Mr. Kazuma Odaka!"

The ballroom thundered with applause, or at least it felt that way to me. I shuffled up from my seat to the front as my father passed the mic stick over to me, patting me on the shoulder. I dug into my breast pocket where I had printed the poem onto paper. I cleared my throat and began.

"This poem–"

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

My phone was ringing, silent but I could feel it rattling against my thigh. My voice snagged in my throat. Good thing the phone was silent, too, otherwise this whole ballroom would be hearing my Love Live ringtone.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

I instinctively reached for my phone and clicked it open. That same picture I showed my Dad, of Natsuki holding a peace sign and grinning from ear to ear, flashed with the incoming call.

ANSWER THE PHONE?

YES. NO.

I could feel my vision start to blur. My hands began to sweat.

YES. NO.

The next few moments seemed to go in very slow motion. It felt like my entire consciousness was disconnected from my eyes, watching helplessly from the third person. I became acutely aware of a rotting taste in my mouth, pressing my teeth. I held the phone up to my ear, in front of everyone's confused faces.

"Hey–"

But her voice screamed, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! GET OFF OF MEEEEE!"

My phone roared in my ear like a blowtorch. I felt my heart crash into my stomach with the force of a thousand suns. My throat closed up and dried out, I was unable to speak. Over the tinny speaker I could hear shouting and the sound of plates crashing, something heavy being shoved over, blaring in my ear.

My baby's voice was tearing. "KAAAZUMAAAHHH PLEEEASE! PLEASE HELP MEEE!"

I couldn't perceive them in my vision, but my parents were staring up at me with worried looks. Could they hear the shouting? I gasped once, twice. I leaned back against the table and gripped the cloth, my sweaty fingers scratching into the fabric.

"Wh-what's happening, what's happening?"

"MY DADS GONNA FUCKING KILL ME! CALL THE POLICE, CALL THE–"

The call clicked.

Now the sea of people, my aunts and uncles and Principal Terai and nephews, were all staring at me and murmuring to themselves. But I couldn't recognize them, recognize anybody. Their faces were twisted now, swirling in their skulls, skin pale as paper, their smiles tearing back against their eyes. I am going insane.

And somehow the fucking microphone was still in my hands. I weakly raised it to my lips, tried to speak. "Uhh…" my mind reeled. "S-sumimas–"

My feet quickly shuffled back, almost tripping back into the table. It was a miracle I didn't just crash over right and collapse. My father leaned forward and grabbed me on the arm, pulling me close. "W̵̧̰̋̕ḫ̷̍̉a̸͎̹̐ť̷̤ ̵͉͕͋ȉ̸̳̬͘s̴̱̹͆̀ ̴̺͇͗͌i̶̧̱͋͝t̵̺̍͝,̷̫̺͋͘ ̷̟͈͆s̵̰̔̇o̵̟͂͘n̴̲̈͑?̵̡̜̋ ̶̭̃͝W̴̱̓h̷̛̲̭̍a̶̡͚͝t̸̖͘ ̶̗̫̈́i̶̥̒͝s̴͓̽̇ ̵̡̖̄̄i̷̦̟͛t̴͔͓̅?̴̘͗ ̴̠͉͛͝"

But I cannot for the life of me understand him or anything. My jaw hung open in shock, eyes wide, my ears plugged with cotton. All I could manage was a low croaking sound, like when you fall out of a tree and get all the wind sucked out of you.

I yanked my arm back and started to shuffle to attention, everyone now staring at me. My eyes locked on the double doors going outside and I began to hurry, no, run to them. I gripped the backs of the chairs for support as I scurried past everyone, my breaths ragged.

"Kazuma! Kazuma!" I can hear someone shouting, a woman's voice but not my mothers. "Kazuma!"

I shake my head and start to run, blurring past the dining tables and food spreads and string lights. I slam against the doors and stumble once, twice, as I stumble down the hallway past the other ballrooms. My fingers dig into my pocket and fish for my keys, the pins digging my skin. The lights are dimmed slightly, but I can see the cars parked on the street at the end of the hall, the streetlamps glowing.

Or am I really moving at all? The colors of the walls, the creams and grays and blacks, are smearing in my vision. I can feel the air as I cut through the tables, bumping something over, but my mind is frozen in time. It's like I'm running on a treadmill and simply sprinting in the same place. Is this really happening?

Behind me I hear commotion, people following me. My father calls out to me but I don't turn back. I grip open the entry doors and step outside. The air is warm now from the humidity, the sky growing dark. The rain had returned, and seemed to be picking up. My tux began to soak some of the rain in, the fabric growing darker.

"Kazuma! Stop!"

The granite steps are slick with rain, and I grab the railing as I almost trip down them, running onto the concrete. I click the key and my car beeps, as I throw open the door and climb inside. I turn the key and my car revs to life, the AC blasting through.

I look back. My father, mother, and several other family members are standing by the front doors, staring at me in shock. The rain is keeping them from coming closer, but my father stood on the steps, his hair damp.

"Kazuma Odaka!", I could hear my father hollering, "Stop what you are doing, now! Do you hear me? Get over here, now!". His jaw was clenched tight, pointing to the ground to come here.

I have never seen my father so angry.

But a far more powerful emotion was rippling through me.

"I'm sorry," I called out. "She needs me."

Fear.

I slipped the car in gear and pushed on the accelerator, immediately ramming into the back of my parents car. Their back bumper crunched like tin and tugged itself off the frame, hooking onto the front of my car. I could hear my family gasp in alarm, holding their hand to their mouth in shock. My eyes bugged out of their skull in shock, my arms flapping like sails in the wind as it gripped the wheel.

I threw the car in reverse, just barely missing hitting the car behind me. The tires squealed against the rain-soaked asphalt as I lurched forward, sending mud flying in all directions.

I floored the gas, spinning out onto the street and down the main road.

...

Author's Note: A freak phone call sends Kazuma scrambling into the night to save his one true love! Little does he know, far bigger and uglier things than him are in play that could spell the catalyst to his puppy love. Can our dense lover save his sweetheart? Find out in the next chapter, Dreams of Love and Literature!