hello friends! here is chapter 2!

I'm getting closer to posting for The Edge Of Night and Legacies The Last...so sorry for the long wait! I've just totally gotten sucked into this story...I seriously love it!

I hope you guys like this chapter! it was so fun to write and I got to introduce my very favorite boy... :)

please read and review! I would love some feedback on this story (and my other ones!)

thank you my friends!

peace out!

three years later

I slide into my chair in thermodynamics and begin the last year of my bachelor's degree, now used to the rigor of college. Soon I will have a degree in composite engineering—basically working with carbon fiber. Should be interesting.

As students begin to file in, their glances inevitably flick over to me—me with my thick, dark blue makeup smeared across my burns, my blue-streaked hair, my cyborg hand. The latter can be rather unsettling to those who haven't seen it before—and sometimes, it's even unsettling to me.

Honestly, life has not been easy since the fire. After I was discharged from the hospital, the state tried to put me in a foster home, up for adoption, even in the equivalent of an orphanage. But I ran away every time, and now I'm nearly old enough to legally live alone. I'm working as a composite technician, and it pays enough to rent a small apartment. I'm just fine living on my own.

But while my living situation isn't much of a worry, my family is. Shuto still hasn't been found, and I've accepted that all anyone is going to find of my baby brother is his body. Even so, I still grieve for Shuto, wishing that his life had not been cut so short. I grieve for Dad, too, but arguably less. He died nobly, and at least he's with Mom now. But Shuto…it was so unfair. Even if he's alive, what sort of life does he have to endure, trapped with kidnapping gangsters?

I finger the 3D-printed pendant under my shirt, which is identical to Shuto's—although it's an iridescent blue, rather than green. I printed it soon after I was discharged from the hospital, wanting to have some connection to my baby brother. Normally, I do not wear jewelry, but this pendant is different. I have not taken it off in three years—I do not want to forget Shuto.

And still, I have not been able to find my mother's blades. I have searched the whole city countless times, but I have not been able to locate Yama or his gang. The most likely conclusion is that they have simply sold the blades, and they are now far away from San Fransokyo in the hands of an artifact collector, or worse, someone who only wants to get rich.

But I have vowed never to give up on finding them—they are my last connection to my family. If I do not find the blades, I may as well cease to exist.

My thoughts are jerked away from my problems as Professor Granville's scathing voice starts class, not even bothering with introductions or syllabus. She simply starts writing complex equations on the board, and I follow her as fast as I can—which is remarkably fast. One upside of my robotic hand is that it can write much more quickly than my human hand could—with my bionic optic nerves, I can almost allow my hand to go on autopilot.

A flash of purple light catches my eye from across the room, and my gaze snaps up, landing on a young man on the other side of the classroom. His hand flies up to his face, but I can still see the purple glow receding from his cheek—his skin is the thing that was glowing.

The young man, who looks to be about my age, flashes me a faint smile and then drops his gaze back to his tablet.

What on earth? How can someone's face glow?

The kid isn't in my next class, but in the one after that, he's sitting in the back corner, one hand clamped over his glowing face. He looks rather frustrated—he must be unable to stop the glow.

I manage to tear my thoughts away from the boy for the rest of class, but then at lunch, when I've settled into my usual corner, a voice says, "Hey—do you mind if I sit here?"

Looking up, I see the young man standing in front of me, holding a lunch tray and looking rather nervous. His face isn't glowing at the moment, it's just a little flushed.

"I don't understand why you would wish to sit by me," I reply curtly. "But I suppose you may."

The kid sits down next to me, a tiny, hopeful smile playing on his face. "What's your name?"

"Nothing of consequence," I say coldly. But the boy's storm-gray eyes are wide and pleading, and I sigh, relenting. "I am Momakase. Momakase Shimamoto."

"Momakase," he whispers, and my name has not sounded so sweet in years. "It's a pleasure. My name is Obake Yashiki." His face glows again, a faint purple light.

"A fascinating name," I reply. "I believe it means ghost in Japanese—what led you to receive such a name? I do not think I have ever heard one like it."

"I'm not certain my parents knew what it meant," Obake says, shrugging his skinny shoulders. "I enjoy it, though. I imagine you're wanting to know why my—if you will—nightlight has been disturbing class all day?"

"It would certainly be a welcome explanation."

I can tell Obake relishes telling me about the glow. "I started here two years ago—a pity they've increased the age requirement since then—and my first semester project went rather badly wrong. There was an explosion, chemicals went everywhere, I was thrown backwards and knocked unconscious. When I awakened, my face was capable of glowing, because of the various chemical compounds that had come into contact with my skin. Sometimes I can control it, sometimes I cannot—if I am focused entirely on something else, and I am stressed about it, my skin will light up. That is what was happening earlier today."

"A fascinating mark," I murmur. "Is it an asset or a hindrance?"

"It depends on the day," Obake shrugs, and a few strands of dark hair fall over his porcelain forehead, which for some reason causes my heart to flutter. "But I wish to know about you, Momakase. You seem intriguing."

"There is not much to know about me," I whisper, my cyborg hand clenching into a fist. "I am a composite engineer with no family and a disturbing past. If I were you, I would not wish to hear my story."

Obake smiles. "Then you are exactly the kind of person I am looking for."

I stare him in the eyes, scrutinizing him. "What do you mean?"

"I have a plan," Obake says. "And I need someone to help me execute it. It is a plan that will, if successful, change the course of the future."

"Speak," I tell him, dipping my head. "Tell me of this plan."

"It involves destroying the city, so I understand if you'd be unwilling to go along with it. But after its destruction, San Fransokyo will be transformed into a new city—a city of technology and innovation, a city of peace. It will become a haven of intellect and learning, even though it must first be destroyed. In my opinion, it is worth the price of a few lives. So, Momakase—what do you say?"

At first, my moral compass objects, saying that there is no way I can allow anyone to get away with murdering a million innocent people.

But, I remind myself, there is no one in the whole city that I care about anymore. And if San Fransokyo is destroyed, at least the gangsters who tore apart my family will be gone.

So I take a deep breath and whisper, "I'm in."


The next day, Obake informs me that he must take me to his base to fully explain his master plan to me. What kind of kid is this—he actually has a secret base?

When Obake leads me out to the docks, I arch an eyebrow in his direction. His somber face cracks into a smile as he says, "I apologize, Momakase. I should have informed you where, exactly, my base is. The main entrance is in a cave across the bay, and we can reach it via a small pod that I have set up. I can call it now."

Obake fishes a controller out of his pocket, and I stand motionless on the dock as he presses a button. Only about twenty seconds later, a small, circular pod surfaces, and a hatch on the side opens.

"Ladies first," Obake says silkily, stretching out a hand, and I sigh exasperatedly but climb into the pod, though ignoring the offered help. After Obake climbs in, the pod sinks under the surface and speeds through the water, and I stare in amazement at the underwater world unfolding before me.

"This is fascinating technology," I murmur, placing my human hand on the glass of the pod's window. "Did you build this yourself?"

"Indeed I did," Obake whispers, ducking his head with a faint smile. "It is relatively simple—I do not claim to be a great engineer. The pod only requires a motor and a simple artificial intelligence sequence."

"You should be proud," I tell him, turning to look at Obake's humble gray eyes. "Not many people could design something like this, especially not without it being seen."

All too soon, the pod resurfaces and docks next to a platform, at the end of which are double doors. This time, Obake climbs out of the pod first, offering me a hand again. I shoot a swift glance at him—one that says I can take care of myself—and climb out on my own, watching as Obake claps his hands to open the doors.

I look around the base as we walk in, amazed that Obake managed to build this partially underwater. Everything seems to run on the newest, most up-to-date technology, and the whole place has a water circulation system, for drinking water and powering the appliances—I can see the tubes running through the walls. It even contains what appear to be employee quarters, in case anyone working for Obake wants to live here, I suppose. I believe I'll stay in my apartment, but this is truly a fascinating place.

We stop in front of a massive, glowing green computer, and I catch sight of many different, smaller screens scattered across the larger one. Obake sends the small screens away with a flick of his wrist, and I realize that the computer is motion-activated.

"Here is where I do most of my research," Obake explains, pulling digital holographs up on the high-tech screen. His face glows a little as he turns pages with a wave of his hand.

"It is truly incredible," I whisper. "I have never seen such precision and organization—this is a magnificent place, Obake. Make of that what you will—I do not deal out praise very often. Are we to speak of your plan?"

I haven't missed the flush in Obake's cheeks, but he shoves it down and begins. "Here is what I know so far."

The small holographic screens flit in and out of view as Obake explains. "The most efficient way to destroy San Fransokyo is to create an explosion. Creating an atomic bomb would require materials I cannot acquire, such as uranium. Another chemical reaction that size would take more time than I'd like. The only feasible way to destroy the city was developed over a century ago here in San Fransokyo—or San Francisco, as it was called then. All I know is that a young scientist managed to develop an energy amplifier—an object so powerful that it could harness the power of any given source and amplify it so greatly that it would create a massive sphere of energy. Essentially, the energy amplifier would create a star, which would compress so much energy that, if it were to explode, the resulting shockwave would obliterate the city."

"And do you know how to create such an amplifier?" I ask, looking up at the blueprints and detailed notes on the screen. "It appears that you are on the right track, but you require more information."

"I do indeed," Obake admits. "I do know that deuterium oxide will be required to allow fission, as well as a high-powered magnet, which will aid us in the suspension of the star. Its electromagnetic field will assist us in generating heat so as to fuel the reaction."

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect," I murmur, moving my hand through the air to zoom in. "I believe there is such a magnet at SFIT—it is kept in the electromagnetics department. But we would not need it until later, I think. Deuterium oxide would be easy enough to acquire—we could simply alter the water in the bay. The magnet may assist us in electrolyzing the atoms."

"That was my plan," Obake tells me, his gray eyes glinting with a smile. "You are indeed brilliant, Momakase. I am glad I chose you."

"And why did you choose me?" I ask, curious. "Surely you did not simply ask the first person you came across to help you obliterate the city?"

"I assure you, my choice was not random," Obake says, turning to look me in the eyes. "I've watched for someone like you ever since I came here three years ago. I needed someone brilliant, yes, but also someone who had something to overcome, some purpose to fulfill—someone who had a cause that they would defend and uphold until the end. You seem to have that. You have always worked hard and been unafraid to challenge anything that you do not know to be true. Besides, I have seen you practice karate and fencing in the gym—your skills are incredible. To be completely honest, Momakase, I would give anything to have you on my side."

I stare at Obake, my eyes wide. There is no way he is lying—his face is open and sincere, his eyes clear gray windows to an overcast sky. The hint of a faint smile tugs at Obake's lips, and I struggle to remember the last time someone smiled at me. People hardly ever do it.

"Thank you," I finally manage to whisper. "Not many people are kind to me."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Obake murmurs. "I think you are quite impressive, Momakase—but when I get to know you better, I believe I will realize that you are extraordinary."


About a month passes with no major steps in the plan—I suppose Obake is trying to get some things together before he embarks. We'll see where the plan takes us.

I still eat lunch with Obake every day—it is the first time I have ever had a friend. I will not call him that to anyone else, only to myself—but it is nice to know that there is still someone in this world who cares about me. I didn't realize how much I missed that feeling.

For whatever reason, I find myself thinking about Obake more often than I should. My focus should be on the plan, my schoolwork, and finding my blades—not on some boy, no matter how kind and observant he is. I have no time to be concerned with such matters when there are much more important ones to deal with.

It is still rather hard not to.

One day in September, I have chemistry as my first class. It's always been one of my favorites, even after the beaker incident.

I take my seat at the back of the classroom and duck my head, peering out from beneath my curtain of hair. I realize with a twinge of surprise that there is a new face in the classroom—a boy with neat black hair and wide hazel eyes, sitting stick-straight in his seat. He's clutching his notebook as if it's all he has left in the world, and the faint freckles on his face stand out against his pale skin. The kid looks half-Japanese, similar to myself—he has the correct coloring, but his eyes are distinctly American. He looks downright terrified, as if it's his first day—but how can that be? Maybe he just moved here.

Perhaps if I were kinder or less hideous, I would go and comfort the boy, assure him that SFIT is not as terrifying as he must think it is, but I cannot simply do such a thing. The makeup painted across my burn scars may scare him, as would my cyborg hand. Obake actually has not asked about those, but I do not think he is being insensitive—rather, the opposite. He seems to sense that I do not wish to talk about the events that gave me my scars. I have not told the story to almost anyone.

"Welcome to chemistry, everyone," Professor Holtry begins, adjusting her goggles. "We'll be working with the burners today, so make sure to put your goggles on. Everyone ready? Okay, let's head back."

I put the goggles sitting on my desk on and then stand up, slipping into the lab behind everyone else. Going to my usual station, I decide to work alone again—I prefer it that way—but then Professor Holtry comes over, leading the boy from earlier behind her.

"Momo, I want you to work with Tadashi," the professor requests. "This is his first day, and he's only seventeen—that's the minimum age for starting at SFIT now. I thought you could help him get used to chemistry, since you started young too."

I dip my head. "Of course, Professor. I will do my best."

Professor Holtry leaves, and I rake my sharp gaze over the boy—Tadashi. He's a little taller than I am, but not by much, and his shoulders are broad enough, but not particularly impressive. He's wearing a gray blazer that accentuates his pectorals, which I must admit are rather eye-catching. Still, Tadashi looks a little soft around the edges, with no perfectly sculpted abs or biceps. He looks nice enough, though, with his wide-eyed, innocent face.

"Hi," Tadashi whispers, still looking a little scared. "Momo, right?"

"Yes. I started here when I was fourteen, and I am in the final year of my bachelor's degree, so apparently Professor Holtry thinks it to be a good idea that I mentor you."

"Maybe it'll be fun," Tadashi says shyly, offering me a half-smile.

"I have a cyborg hand," I deadpan, holding up the carbon fiber appendage.

I kid you not—his face lights up. Tadashi stares at my hand, his eyes roving over every inch of it.

"That is incredible," he says in a hushed whisper. "I've never seen anything like that—wow. Just wow."

I raise an eyebrow at him, skeptical. "No one has ever reacted to my prosthetic in such a way, Tadashi. What makes it so fascinating? I can assure you, you would not wish to be in my situation."

"I just—" Tadashi swallows. "I work in biomedical robotics, and your prosthetic—it's really cool. I'd love to make something like that. Is it made of titanium?"

"It is," I tell him. "It is several times as strong and fast as a human hand, and I cannot say I resent it. It helps me to be much faster when I fence, at any rate."

"You fence, too?" Tadashi asks, his hazel eyes stretched wide. "That's amazing!"

"Cease the flattery, Tadashi. We must begin our experiment."

Tadashi shuts up, and I unexpectedly find that I miss him talking. So I take an action I don't normally do—I engage in conversation, learning details about my lab partner as we proceed with the experiment (create sodium hydrosulfite). I learn that Tadashi's parents have also passed, that he lives above the cat café on the corner of twelfth and Main with his aunt, and that he has an insanely smart little brother who's thirteen and a senior in high school. His life sounds better than mine, at least.

"So where do you live?" Tadashi asks, absentmindedly moving a hand across the table as he reaches for his calculator. My eyes widen as he accidentally nudges our beaker of water, spilling it onto our sample of sodium. Tadashi stops and stares for a moment, realizing the implications of what he's just done.

See, when sodium comes into contact with water, it explodes. It produces caustic gas and flames, even exploding. And we have a large sample of sodium, as well as a full liter of water.

As a result, the chemicals spontaneously combust, spewing flames up towards the ceiling of the lab and knocking Tadashi right over. The only reason I don't go the same way is because my cyborg hand clamps onto the counter, and nothing dislodges my grip when I'm holding onto something. Even so, a wave of heat sweeps over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing as a shard of glass—presumably from the shattered beaker—slices across my cheek. Several people scream, and for a minute, I remember the fire, the oppressive heat, the suffocating smoke, my father's dead body on the ground…

I open my eyes. Lying on the counter are several shards of glass, a few drops of water, and a white, powdery substance—sodium hydroxide, I realize. This is quite a fascinating chemical reaction, if I do say so myself.

For a moment after the explosion, everyone is quiet. Then Professor Holtry breaks the silence with a slightly shaky "Well, it's not the first time. Everyone okay?"

"Ow," Tadashi groans, his hand massaging the back of his head as he stands up, steadying himself on the counter opposite ours. "Sorry, Professor—that was my fault."

"It's a common mistake," Holtry assures him. "No harm done—wait, Hamada, did you hit your head?"

"Yeah," Tadashi mumbles. "Clocked it on the edge of the counter—don't worry, it's not bleeding or anything—but Momo, I think you are, are you okay?"

"I am fine," I reply, discreetly wiping the blood off my cheek.

"Let's have you both go to the nurse," Holtry pronounces. "I'll clean up the mess. The rest of you, back to work!"

I sigh and lead Tadashi out of the lab, heading down the hall toward the nurse's office. He most likely doesn't know where it is—after all, it is his first day.

"I'm really sorry," Tadashi mumbles, still rubbing his head as we walk around the corner. "I swear I know it reacts like that—it was an accident, I didn't mean to knock the beaker over. I'm just super clumsy, Momo. I'm sorry you got hurt."

"As I said, I am alright," I reassure him. "There was no harm done. Is your head alright?"

"I've got a bump," Tadashi admits, fingering it ruefully. "But I don't think I have a concussion. I should be fine—the most I'll need is probably ibuprofen."

We reach the nurse's office, and he checks us over, giving me a Band-Aid and some ointment for the cut on my face and administering a concussion test to Tadashi. Thankfully, it comes back negative, and the nurse hands Tadashi a couple of small red capsules, then sends us back to class.

"To answer your question from earlier," I say as we walk back down the hall, "I live in an apartment in the new complex."

"The one with the glass walls? Cool!"

We continue down the hall, and I am surprised to find myself laughing, drawn in by Tadashi's shy, warm, welcoming presence.

It's nearly half an hour before either of us realize we passed chem three buildings ago.


I cannot believe myself.

There are now not one, but two boys who both think they're my friend. I have not had a single friend since I was perhaps six years old, besides Shuto, and now I suddenly have two. Not that I consider Tadashi my friend—Obake, yes, but he's certainly not a best friend, and I barely even know Tadashi.

Well, I suppose I cannot claim that anymore. It has been two weeks since the explosion in chemistry, and ever since, Tadashi has been my lab partner. He's still quiet, and I'm still quieter, but we have established a sort of—dare I say—trust. Obviously, I would not trust Tadashi to refuse to give me up under torture or anything, but to be honest, he might do that anyway. The kid is just so…I don't know. Perfect? No, I wouldn't say that. He is just very sweet and caring, though not spectacularly good at college. Chemistry, yes, math, sort of, gym, abysmal, and English…let us just say you would not want to be in a room with Tadashi when he is trying to read a difficult passage. Poor kid seems to be rather illiterate.

That is the update on Tadashi. The update on Obake is very different.

We have been working on Obake's plan for six weeks now, and Obake has spent every one of those six weeks constructing a plan to discover what the scientist from 1900 was working on. He's told me he's close on discovering the exact construction of the amplifier, but that we must wait until we have a basic idea of a design to retrieve all the things we will need. So far, the plan is at a standstill, except for the research we are doing. I am still confident that we will accomplish everything we need to, perhaps just slightly slower than Obake would have liked.

There, now you have information on both Tadashi and Obake. Now, I must get back to the quest at hand—another day of looking for my family's blades. If I can find Yama, I can find the blades, and once I find them, I'm going to kill Yama for what he did to my family.

I am not going back on that. I will kill Yama if it's the last thing I do—that son of a snake deserves anything I could do to him and worse. He killed a man and kidnapped a ten-year-old, for heaven's sake. He also made me a hideous cyborg, but that's a minor inconvenience compared to the lives Yama stole. So believe me when I say that he needs to die.

As soon as school is over, I take the train back to my apartment and drop off my backpack, then strap my graphene blades to my belt and leap out the window into the sunlit afternoon sky. I don't really want the apartment managers to see me walk out the door with insanely sharp knives.

I scale down the side of the building—I'm only on the seventeenth floor, so it's fine—and land softly on the grass. Today I need to explore the brownfield sector of San Fransokyo—it's one of the only areas I haven't looked for Yama in yet. The old warehouses and crumbling buildings could provide an inconspicuous base for an underground crime ring.

Staying in the shadows, I dart through back alleys and leap over buildings, trying not to be seen. In all my years of searching for Yama and the blades, I have not been caught by anyone—the police, pedestrians, not even stray cats.

Once I reach the brownfields, I quietly creep into each of the warehouses, searching for evidence of Yama and his gang. The last warehouse has its windows sealed with paint, and I cannot open them, so I simply slice a thin cut into the paint, opening a window. Graphene blades are good for nearly anything, except for cutting through reinforced titanium, which is the only material I know of that graphene cannot penetrate. I have not tried, because I have never come across reinforced titanium—I mean, who does in everyday life?

The warehouse, filled with rusty catwalks and ladders, proves to be large enough to house a crime ring, but there is no evidence of anyone having been here for years. I sigh—another dead end. Yama's base does not appear to be located in the brownfields. Tomorrow I will try the industrial district.

When I return to my apartment, I stow my blades away and then collapse on the couch, exhausted. Perhaps I have time for a swift nap before beginning my homework.

But I've barely been asleep for twenty minutes when a knock comes at the door. Smoothing my hair and wondering who on earth could be wanting to visit me, I go over to the front door and pull it open.

Outside stands Obake, and the words he says change my very existence, catapulting me irrevocably toward the point of no return. Because now it's real. We are actually trying to obliterate San Fransokyo.

Obake smiles. "We are ready."