20XX/05/24 (Fri)
"I swear, you're a ball of trouble!" Roared her uncle almost immediately when Azami Hashimoto opened the door to her apartment, startled by his appearance right near the entrance.
Her uncle was red-faced with rage, his mouth twisted into a disgusting frown, still clad in his hospital uniform. Strips of grey were evident in his unkempt brown hair from stress of his workplace.
Time has not been kind to her uncle. Despite his age, he looked ancient.
They locked eyes, and Azami was the first one to look away when she kicked her short heels shoes into a mess of a rack. She took a little solace in her act of defiance when they struck the wooden rack with a force enough to rattle it.
Despite trembling from exhaustion, she stepped into her apartment with a practiced smile. She was used to playing almost endlessly without much reprieve.
As much as she wanted to sleep, she has to deal with the ignorance and arrogance of a Hashimoto family member.
"Are you listening?!" The buffoon demanded her attention with a raised voice.
She must not snap. There was nothing to be gained from acting solely on emotions.
She nodded, turning to face him.
"My apology, sir, can we have this conversation later?" Venom just oozed out from a single word.
It was ineffective against a buffoon. An idiot buffoon.
"I care about your wellbeing more than you thought," said the buffoon smugly.
Immediately, Azami tuned him out.
Like hell he cared about her!
Where was he for the first 13 years of her life?
He doesn't even feed her, pay her mother's hospital bills and the rent.
And what can she do?
Be the exploited musician and an obedient, stupid, sweet niece he knew.
Her replies were automatic, chuckling at the right timings to placate the buffoon, and ideally interrupting his same grand speech.
"Of course you do, sir."
"Yes sir."
"You must be tired from your work, please take a rest, sir."
As minutes turned into an hour, the buffoon finally left for his room, but not quietly. He stomped the unfortunate polished wooden floor like a child throwing a tantrum.
She sighed, and collapsed onto the nearest sofa and gave in to exhaustion.
~.*.~
Azami let out a yawn on her walk to her school, tuning out chatters of her peers around her. Some were still going on with the Phantom Thieves of Heart craze, which in her opinion, were somewhat questionable.
Especially their unknown methods.
Her head pounded, making her grimace.
She just needs to endure for another two days. Just two goddamn days.
Apparently she must have tempted Fate when a shadow was cast over her.
And felt something in her grip as the shadow left. Azami felt her ire rise when she spotted her messenger.
It was another faceless person, another victim of her uncle's blackmails ever-growing list.
And one most likely to have his or her life already in splinters – she frowned. She has no pity nor sympathy for them.
Why should she when none answered her desperate pleas that day?
She breathed in and out, trying to calm herself as she entered the school grounds.
'You damn devil!' An old hag had screamed with eyes of rage.
'That child will have no future if she enters the foster home system – she has an uncle who is willing to take her in.' A faceless attorney had argued.
'They know nothing!' Azami almost spat those words out loud.
'What a pretty voice... But no one hears your cries.' A part of her whispered almost mockingly.
Mother!
At a corner of her vision, she saw her child spectre raising a finger at her.
For a few moments, it was just her and her child self. Even from a far distance, Azami could tell it was smiling gleefully.
'Fallen...' mouthed the spectre.
In a flash of blue, her spectre disappeared.
~.*.~
Azami kept up a studious façade.
And it failed.
Miserably.
Anyone with a pair of working eyes can see the dark gloom surrounding the frustrated teenager. Her owl-like stare was their reward if they denied it, thus the avoidance of eye contact.
Unfortunately, as part of human's nature, they threw curious looks when they thought she wasn't paying attention.
She kept her head down, ignoring their judgmental looks with a hint of curiosity dancing in their eyes. Her left hand fiddled with the unrolled and read message, brows furrowed as she thought long and hard. For some reason, she found herself staring at a blank wall like it was the most interesting happening in this world.
Today, she was to meet with someone in a public area. A station this time.
Collect a package, deposit it in another area. Simple.
What happens after that was just her going back to her everyday life. That shattered, broken pieces of what society dubbed as everyday life – living just for the sake of living.
Continue hating, smile to hide – hide everything.
Laugh, throw shy gestures, misdirect.
Play music, pretend to see nothing.
Pretend she saw nothing.
Pretend she never heard anything.
Society doesn't want her bad side. They want the good side.
The sweet child who says yes.
The sweet child who can play a violin like it was singing a lullaby to them.
"Hashimoto!" A blade-like voice cut through the frigid silence.
"Yes, sensei?" She let out a soft reply, finally turning her gaze to the teacher and the blackboard behind him.
"What is the answer for Question 3?"
A glance to the blackboard, and Azami recited the blanks of the poem without missing a beat. "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player. That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. And then is heard no more."
Two claps from her teacher, a young man with a pair of glasses. "Good. I clearly didn't expect you to be quite a poet."
Azami reflexively put on a smile as snickers in her classroom came and went like the wind. Words that came out of his loose lips were complaints and compliments – a rude reminder that the mindset of a society is a poison to youths.
He isn't aware of a poison that is choking him, the youths, the children.
And Azami can't blame him. The poison is too well hidden, subtle, and slow acting.
It was only when they were older, an age far too late, trapped by the claws of society's demands – that maybe, they will realize and curse their own foolishness for everything.
The bell rang, signalling the end of a lesson.
If they had bothered to look at her closely before rushing for their recess, they would have noticed the cracks of her smile.
~.*.~
It was late in the evening.
The station was packed with people, and no one bothered giving her a second glance. As long as she doesn't block their path, no attention will be drawn into her.
Azami took a sip from her fizzy drink, looking at the sea of crowd and ignored the train announcements that rang almost every minute.
Her clothes were casual in style. A red frilly blouse, and a pair of faded jeans. To complete the look of an ordinary teenager was a pair of black sneakers with white stripes on its sides.
Her school bag was still slung over her shoulder, and her hair was mostly covered by a black cap.
"You're early," a male voice growled on the other end of the vending machine.
Azami nodded, shaking her drink before tipping it over.
Nothing.
She contemplated about buying another drink, but her contact spoke, forcing her to ignore her want for a second fizzy drink.
"...Kid, you didn't need to come here today."
Azami frowned. If she didn't need to come here today, then…
Her eyes widened.
Shit.
She swore under her breath. Was her contact caught by the authorities?
The deliverers aren't stupid enough to get caught without leaving a message, writing or no writing. There was always an observer for the transaction and act as a lookout for any authorities.
A direct communication with an observer?
It is unheard of.
She closed her crimson eyes and sighed before biting her bottom lip.
Not enough information to have a concrete plan or a good grasp of her current situation.
Which can only be one thing.
She had been compromised.
Her eyes snapped open and she threw her empty can to the top of the vending machine.
"H-huh?!" Yelped the voice.
She ran to the crowd, elbowing her way to the exit as best as she could while her pursuer – pursuers – corrected Azami when she caught a glimpse of three uniformed policemen, apologizing as they tried to move against the crowd and half-shouting for her to stop.
Damn, are they everywhere?
Azami whipped out her rail pass to another station and jumped off a flight of stairs, ignoring gasps of surprise.
Touch. Pass the barrier. And be squeezed by the crowd for one ride at least.
Her grip on her school bag tightened. She can't – shouldn't let her guard down again. Too risky.
Can't rely on anyone.
There is no one to rely on.
No one to listen to her cries.
She barely made it in. Just as the doors closed, she saw her pursuers ran down with the nearest had an arm out, screaming for the door to be held. Everyone on her train paid them no heed, except to stare blankly at them.
It was a joke. Did they thought anyone would spare them time?
She gave them a sweet smile and watched coolly when the hand almost got clipped by the doors. Many mirrored an expression of amusement of varying degrees, and some even offered them a half-hearted apologetic wave before the train picked up speed.
The society was cruel. It was no secret the audience were amused by the sight of a policeman recoiled from a possible injury. It brightened a little in a monotonous life of a normal citizen of Japan as long their life wasn't directly involved.
The whole compartment reeked of sweat. The air was stuffy, warm from a combination of people pressing against the other and chatters from the more energetic teenagers.
It was no surprise she came out frazzled into the cloudy sky.
And wandered into a foreign street.
"This is... Ah shit. Why did I forget to check the map?" She muttered into her palm and sighed. "Stupid me."
The street was quiet, but its atmosphere wasn't threatening like the late nights of Shibuya. A few old people walked around, giving her a wave before moving on.
She had to blink. The neighbourhood is friendly, only slightly easing the pit of dread.
Relax – breathe deeply, exhale deeply.
"Are you new here?" A rather smooth, yet unfriendly voice asked, making Azami jumped. Immediately she turned around...
Pink was the first thing she registered.
She stepped back and looked up, her expression neutral.
Facing back was a middle-aged man with a goatee that she rarely saw in reality. The colour pink was a collared shirt, worn over by a pristine white coat. With a pair of matching trousers, the man looked like he would fit right into a bar. Though he wore an out-of-style glasses, his confidence made them seem to be in style. In his hands were heavy bags – groceries?
"Are you new here?" He questioned again, his tone slightly gentler though obviously disinterested.
Azami nodded.
He sighed. "I feel bad leaving you here," He hmmed a few times and sighed. "Sorry, you just remind me of my daughter."
The wary teenager tilted her head, a hand holding the tip of her cap. Silence is her best bet now.
"Never mind that. Well, it was nice chatting with you."
They bowed. He had half-turned when he suddenly craned his neck to look at her. "Kid, if you ever drop by Leblanc, I'll give you my special blend." He chuckled. "Unless you're not a coffee person." He added as an afterthought.
Intrigued, a corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "Leblanc?"
"You will know it once you find it."
She smiled – inquiring more would make her first impression bad or too eager – and bowed as he left.
Faking eagerness is one thing. Being too nosy is another.
Can't trust him.
No matter how nice a person is, it is stupid and naive of her to open her heart.
She stifled a yawn and toured around the neighbourhood herself. Too many patrol officers for her liking, but none of them decided to take her for questioning.
Still, she can't help but look over her shoulder as they passed by.
'To live a life of mistrust...' A voice eerily similar to her own echoed. 'Slowly...burn from your own wrath and despair...'
'Fallen...'
The pit of dread grew stronger. Her head pounded.
She suddenly felt out of breath as if the wind was knocked out of her.
For one moment, Azami thought she was hallucinating.
In front of her was her child self in a summer dress. Its molten gold eyes were teary, but with anger and desperation. Its hair was tied up with a butterfly-shape pin, dancing with an invisible breeze in its constraints.
Almond shaped eyes with soft features met its reflection, the older Azami. Its smile was distorted enough to send chills down Azami's spine.
She recognized that smile despite its distortion.
A smile she had long forgotten to make.
That smile suddenly became twisted with malice.
It raised its hand and pointed to Azami.
"Mementos." It spoke aloud.
"Location found. Begin navigation."
The robotic voice was all Azami Hashimoto registered before the world shifted and warped.