The Sun Scratched in the Stars
A Yu-Gi-Oh VRAINS fanfic
Summary: A young boy on the run from a dangerous home situation falls asleep outside a dojo in the countryside. Discovered and taken in by the owners of the dojo, he grows to understand what love – and loss of that love – truly means, with the help of a rambunctious, fiery-spirited boy close to his age.
Chapter 1
Den City
Ryoken couldn't recall life beyond that island, that house. He'd been inside – trapped, really—for as long as he could remember. Sure, his father did let him outside sometimes, to see the ocean at night or be among the flowers during the day. But no farther than that and no more often. Being among other people who weren't Father's coworkers was unthinkable.
"They just don't understand, Ryoken," his father had told him. "We're trying to help, yet they continually reject us. You don't need to concern yourself with them."
Ryoken wondered then how much of that—how much of that rejection—was actually true.
From his studies, Ryoken recognized the hovering skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper cars, and the crowded people. Smells of all kinds of food that he didn't know—from sweet to sour to strong wafted through his nose. Stomping his foot on the ground, wincing as he did so, he knew he was stepping on concrete, not the smooth tile or plush carpet back on the island.
And the people. So many people, chattering on their phones, laughing in high pitches with one another in sync. A sea of people was walking every which way. Ryoken scurried to the side of a steel building so as to not be trampled on, like an ant in the path of an elephant.
A city. Civilization – the newest word Ryoken had learned the day before. How could Father not have had wanted him to be here, among other people? It's much, much, much more fun than being stuck inside all the time.
"But . . . what now?" thought Ryoken. He safely ran away from home, but what was the next step? He had no clue. But, the grumbling in his stomach did. He hadn't eaten since lunch, which was a while ago. Digging into his satchel, he pulled out a wallet, checking what was inside. A substantial amount of money for the day, for a seven-going-on-eight year old running away from home, was inside. He'd figured money he'd gotten from Dr. Genome for helping him with secret projects that even Father didn't know about would come in handy someday. At least he had enough to get something small.
Wandering around, Ryoken scanned the streets, clutching his rumbling stomach. The sweet, tangy, strong smells bombarded him, tempting him to try one food or that one. What he could and was allowed by Father to eat was extremely limited, so the desire to consume everything was alluring. Hunger finally taking hold, Ryoken quickly settled on a hot dog from a hot dog cart. Better than nothing, not to mention cheap. Plus, he'd never had a hot dog before.
A burly man with a white apron stood behind the cart, fumbling with his phone, eyebrows crinkled. Ryoken hesitated, not wanting to disturb the man from whatever he was doing. As it happened, he didn't have to. The burly man put his phone aside on a ledge, having sensed a smaller than probably usual customer.
"Welcom-oh, it's just a kid," said he. Ryoken's eyebrow twitched. "Welcome, anyway. Whaddaya want?"
"A plain hot dog, please," said Ryoken, mustering all the manners he had.
"Plain? You must be new to town. I don't serve plain hot dogs. Got spicy with mustard and relish, all the toppings on another, a hot dog with a new special sauce I've been meaning to experiment with customers—"
Ryoken hadn't had time for an essay. Neither did his stomach.
"Then," said Ryoken as-a-matter-of-factly, "a hot dog that won't upset a sensitive stomach." Realizing how rude that sounded, he quickly added, but not really meaning it, "Please."
The man behind the cart stared at him for a moment before exploding into laughter, attracting the attention of a few people walking past. Ryoken raised an eyebrow. "A kid with spunk. I like that," the man said, reaching for a bag of hot dog buns. "Right. A regular hot dog coming right up." After a few moments, the plain as day and night hot dog found its way into Ryoken's hands in the form of tightly wrapped aluminum foil.
Studying it, Ryoken asked, "How much?"
"Oh, this one's on me, kid," the man said.
"No, really," insisted Ryoken.
"And I really insist," the man returned. "It's on me. Take it and go." Not that Ryoken couldn't have afforded it, with his more than enough money for a seven-turning-eight year old, but it would've seemed rude to force his way to pay. So, he dropped the subject. Thanking the man behind the cart, Ryoken wandered around the city with his aluminum-covered hot dog, looking for a place to sit and eat, barely dodging the dogs jumping up to him, attempting to snatch his meal away.
Being in the city was rough.
At last, Ryoken found his way to a park. Sitting on one of the sunbaked benches, he unwrapped the aluminum foil, and, taking a big gulp, bit into the hot dog. He chewed it slowly, taking a million bites before swallowing, savoring each one. It was good! Hunger truly overtook him as he wolfed down the rest, and by the time he went in for another big bite, the hot dog was completely gone.
His stomach growled even more intensely. Not as much as before, but that plain hot dog wasn't enough to fill him.
Ryoken sighed, jumping off the bench.
"Back again," said the man behind the hot dog cart. "That measly plain hot dog wasn't enough, huh?"
Ryoken didn't respond. The man laughed.
"I told you," he said, rolling over a wiener on the grill. "But, kids like you gotta experience what adults say, I suppose. So? What'll it be this time, boy?"
Ryoken studied the menu, going line by line. He was still learning how to read the more complicated kanji, so he couldn't understand everything. Intrigued by the picture of a hot dog with ketchup, mustard, and other toppings he didn't recognize, however, Ryoken fixed his attention on that, squinting his eyes, as if that would help him to understand. The man behind the hot dog cart laughed, breaking Ryoken's focus.
"I see you're interested in my newest special, huh? What about your sensitive stomach?" asked the man.
Out of reflex, Ryoken touched his stomach, which emitted low, almost painful grumbles from hunger. That other, plain hot dog sure didn't last long. Ryoken sighed. "Food is food. I'll take the special."
The man behind the hot dog cart gave a hearty laugh, and Ryoken pouted. What's the deal? He just wanted something to eat. Adults were weird. The man behind the hot dog cart then whipped up the super special hot dog in little time, handing it in its final wrapped form with more napkins than necessary and a bottled water to Ryoken, gratefully accepting all of them.
"How much?" asked Ryoken again, taking out his money, determined as ever to pay the man who gave him food not once, but twice now in a matter of minutes. But, the man behind the hot dog cart shook his head. Ryoken tilted his head.
"Still on me, kid."
Ryoken was about to slap a couple of yen on the counter in protest, but the man behind the hot dog cart still shook his head.
"Go. My next customers are coming. They'll make up for it."
Ryoken obeyed, taking his water and his hefty hot dog, and went on his way back to the park bench. What was the deal? It's not like he was a charity case. It didn't make sense for that man to not want him to pay him. Or was he that sure of himself and his business that a handful of missed yen wouldn't have made a difference? Either way, if the universe didn't want Ryoken to pay, then he had to listen.
Ryoken returned to his food-eating park bench—still, surprisingly, empty—and unwrapped his new hot dog, immediately having to use one of the many, many, many napkins the man behind the hot dog cart gave him. There were more condiments and toppings than Ryoken thought even existed for it, beyond the red and yellow stuff. The tanginess took him by surprise as he bit into it, but once his taste buds adjusted, he devoured it within several bites.
It's official: his new favorite food was hot dogs.
Stomach finally satisfied, Ryoken pondered his next move. He ran away from home and was safe from whatever Father was planning.
Now what?
There wasn't much the world could offer to a seven-turning-eight year old runaway. But, Ryoken knew one thing: staying in the city increased the chances of being discovered by Father and everyone else. He needed to go farther.
But where?
Ryoken crossed his arms and legs, closing his eyes. Think, Ryoken. Think. Where do you need to go? But his mind couldn't come up with anything, no matter how much he concentrated and forced his forehead to hurt. Maybe he should just go back. End this childish nonsense, as Father would repeatedly tell him. He wasn't cut out for being on his own. But, did he really have much of a choice? He definitely, absolutely, without a doubt would've been in danger had he stayed.
"What should I do?" mumbled Ryoken out loud to no one, except to the group of birds in front of him. No sooner had he said that, a blue and white feathered creature—different from all the other city birds—hopped over to his foot. Ryoken and it stared at each other for what felt like forever to him when the bird cocked its head to the side – in confusion? Recognition? – and flew away into the horizon. After some thought, Ryoken realized that bird was extremely lost. Was it running—flying—away from home too? He laughed. Birds might migrate, but they don't run away from their nest. Birds like his little feathered friend were usually in mountain trails.
The mountain.
There was no mountain in sight. Flat land stretched across the horizon with the tallest structures being the city buildings and the trees in the park. But, something in his gut told him that was where he needed to be.
The mountain.
Father never allowed him to read any books that weren't textbooks or strictly scientific, but Ryoken did get his hands on a few texts that were more spiritual rather than scientific, stashed deep underneath Father's desk. He couldn't understand all the words—he's only seven, after all—but he did remember a bunch of the tales involved some holy person journeying to the mountain. To reach a higher state of mind—whatever that meant—or to seek the advice of a holy man or even deity, many, many of the stories took place on the mountain. Ryoken didn't consider himself spiritual. Not even close. But, maybe his next step in running away from his home was to follow his new feathered friend to its home. Checking his wallet one more time, he hopped off the bench.
Den City Train Station
"Next!" the woman behind the ticket counter announced. Ryoken adjusted the strap of his satchel and compliantly walked to the counter.
"G-Good afternoon," Ryoken meekly said, shrinking back a little at the woman's presence. Compared the man behind the hot dog cart, the woman behind the ticket counter was scary. Not bothered by Ryoken's nerves in the slightest, the woman behind the ticket counter merely adjusted her glasses and looked at her computer screen, very uninterested in what was happening around her.
"Where you headed?" she asked, not even looking at Ryoken.
"The-The mountain?" Ryoken wasn't sure why he was so unsettled by her—his father was leagues scarier, especially when he got mad—but something wasn't right. He needed to get this over and done with. But, the woman behind the counter only frowned, meaning it won't be as over and done with as soon as he'd like.
"The mountain? Kid, you need to be more specific. We got lots of mountains in this country. And even then, there are no trains going directly to any mountains that I know of." The woman behind the counter drummed her fingers, the irritated sound of her fingernails passing through the double-layered glass between them. Ryoken glanced behind him and saw the line had grown quite a bit since he was in it: adults in their work clothes, some with small kids, and kids not that much older than he talking with each other. They had places to go. So did he. He had best get a move on.
"Okay. One ticket for the city by the closest mountain to here," said Ryoken, the annoyance in his voice matching hers. Not wanting to sound entirely rude, he added, "Please." The woman behind the counter glared at him for a few moments before punching a few buttons on her monster-sized machine. A loud whirl scared the daylights out of Ryoken as the woman reached toward her right, ripping a piece of paper, and shoved it towards him.
"One ticket to Shirakawa. That'll be 2,700 yen."
Shirakawa. Ryoken pulled out his wallet and slowly pushed the amount to her. She snatched the amount, pressed a few more buttons, and a machine made a clunking sound. The loud whirl scared Ryoken again as she reached for the machine, tore the piece of paper, and handed it to him.
"Platform 6-H, on your left. Last train departs in five minutes. Enjoy your trip," the woman behind the counter said in a monotone. Ryoken knew she didn't really mean that last part, but he thanked her anyway. He sprinted—as much as he physically could— to platform 6-H, where men in dark-colored uniforms and hats were furiously waving at customers filing inside the train. Ryoken seemed to be the last one passenger to get on.
He barely made it.
Clutching his satchel, Ryoken slowly walked as he looked down at his ticket: Car Three, Seat Two. He's in Car Three. He needed to find Seat Two. Looking up, he glanced at the empty seats, adjusting his eyes to read if the seats had numbers. He couldn't really tell.
"Excuse me, young boy, could you please make your way to your seat?" A voice behind him made Ryoken nearly jump out of his skin, abruptly turning around. The voice belonged to a man much younger than the man behind the hot dog cart. He had on rectangular blue glasses, sideburns neatly cut. "We'll be departing for Shirakawa shortly."
"Can you show me where this seat is first?" Ryoken waved the ticket at the man, who gently grabbed it from him. The man studied it for about five seconds before he handed it back to Ryoken. He wordlessly guided him to the farthest seat in the car, next to a window.
"Please make yourself comfortable and be sure to let us know if there are any problems," he said. Ryoken thanked him and settled into his seat, placing his satchel in the seat next to him. Not a whole lot of customers riding that day, it seemed—just the way Ryoken liked it. The seats weren't too uncomfortable—wooden with cushion—but Ryoken did hope the ride wouldn't be long enough for it to become a problem. Not too long after he got settled, the conductor announced over a loudspeaker that the doors were closing and they were going to Shirakawa. On cue, a low musical note sounded followed by the wshhhh of doors and the roaring of an engine.
And they were off.
Shirakawa
Multiple trips to the bathroom (he probably shouldn't have downed all that water), about five naps, and much staring out at the window to look at the green farmland and bright-colored hill country later, Ryoken finally arrived at his impromptu, runaway destination at the evening twilight. He followed the crowd away from the station and found himself in yet another street filled with all kinds of people walking through, much like back in the city he came from—except this place was vastly different. No skyscrapers to be found—only small buildings with enough space between them to walk through. The ground wasn't even as rock solid as in the city. It was mostly smoothed-over dirt.
Even the people were different. In the city, everyone rushed to one place or another, but, in this new place, time seemed to slow down. People walked at half the speed, and Ryoken could understand some of what they were talking about . . . barely. They slowed down the talking, but the way they talked—the way they rounded certain letters—was extremely unfamiliar to Ryoken's ears. There was a word for that, but, in Ryoken's sleepy state, worsened by the slow pace of the place, he wasn't about to remember it. The sun had set, and evening was beginning.
And Ryoken, once again, had nowhere to go.
It's not the worst thing in the world, he thought. It's much better than if I had stayed with Father. Thinking of that moment again brought a lump in Ryoken's throat. He swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes furiously. "Big boys don't cry," Father told him once. But, he shed a few tears anyway. He had really looked up to Father. He really did. So why would Father take innocent kids – kids like him – and lock them up? What had that meant anyway? Did it have something to do with that "saving humanity" thing Father always went on about? And if it did . . . what in the world did hurting kids have to do with it? Ryoken couldn't understand, and it made his chest hurt thinking about it. Maybe he's just exhausted, and that was making him so weepy. Yeah, that had to have been it. His feelings get all wonky if he's tired.
Ryoken decided he should find a place to sleep. It was close to his bedtime, and he'd be in for a rough time in the morning if he didn't settle in soon. His body was very particular about rest. But, knocking on people's doors and asking if they had places to stay for a runaway seven-turning eight-year-old didn't seem like a very good idea. So, readjusting his satchel, he decided to rough it outdoors for the night, as much as he preferred a futon, and figure out the rest in the morning.
But, where could Ryoken go?
In his roaming around, he didn't see a park like in the city. It was buildings and little shops as far as the eye could see. He couldn't even see the mountain that was supposedly nearby the town. Part of the reason he came to the town, and the landmark was nowhere to be seen. Ryoken decided to just follow the row of buildings and hope for some open space somewhere – if he didn't fall asleep along the way, that is.
Ryoken slowly walked along the dirt path as shopkeepers threw their curtains over their stands, closing their businesses for the night. No one paid Ryoken any mind as he slowly walked, yawning every so often. Either children were free to run around outside at night here or no one really cared. It didn't matter to him – the less trouble, the better. As he continued, he found himself farther away from the heavy foot traffic area and more into what seemed to be a neighborhood, the houses spread farther apart than the little shops. It was a lot darker than even a few minutes ago, so Ryoken could barely tell how the houses looked. But, they definitely looked a lot bigger. No comparison to the house he was in, away on that island, of course, but these houses weren't small in the slightest.
Finally, Ryoken found an unusually open area behind one house. It was probably his imagination, but he felt goosebumps up and down his arms, instinctively rubbing them to keep warm. That wouldn't change Ryoken's mind, though. The area wasn't that far from the base of the mountain, he guessed, so that might be why it was so chilly. That wouldn't change Ryoken's mind, though.
It was in this particular area that Ryoken instantly relaxed. He felt unusually at peace in this rock path-covered, flourishing green area, decorated with little stone statues that looked like little kids, littler than him, standing around, softly giggling. There was something calming about the air here, calming enough that Ryoken felt himself falling in a trance. A breeze gently flowed back and forth, as if inviting him to settle down right there.
And he was more than happy to accept the invitation.
Ryoken sat next to one of the statues and curled against it, clutching his satchel to keep warm. It wasn't the futon he was used to, and the statue was a little on the rough side, but, compared to what he could've faced back with Father, it's an improvement. Crickets chirping and the barely audible breeze among the plants lulled him until, at long last, he was fast asleep.
"Harue, look at this!"
Closing the box with her gardening tools, the woman delicately put her hair in a bun and walked calmly toward her husband's perplexed voice. What could Asahi be so excited about this time of night? But, as she got closer, her eyes darted from the jizo to the slumbering small boy, one whom they'd never seen before, next to it. The boy was so pale, his hair so white, he could easily pass for a spirit, had he not been visibly leaning against the jizo.
"Oh my," was all Harue could say.
"What should we do?" Asahi grumbled. "I don't recognize the boy from any families in this town."
Harue put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Don't be silly. We need to let Hisahito and Ryoko know. They probably know whose child it is."
"True, true. They do all that traveling for work, so they have a lot of contacts," Asahi agreed, nodding his head. But, he furrowed his brow. "But, that's for tomorrow. What about now?"
Harue made her way to the sleeping child, carefully picking him up as to not disturb his sleep. Fortunately, the child made no sudden moves. A heavy sleeper, just like their grandson. She wondered if the two of them would get along. Well, if Ryoko has her way, they'd find out soon enough. But, then wasn't the time to think about that. That's for tomorrow. For now, she decided, she and Asahi would look after him.
"He's staying with us."
Asahi sighed, having had a strong feeling it'd come to this. Turning his back to his wife, however, he smiled.
"Well, we best should take good care of him now, shouldn't we?"