WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

196. Lucky 113-123

Chapter 113: A Nagging Feeling

Summary:

In which pieces fall into place.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Amid the cacophonous confines of the arcade, our group stood in absolute—and absolutely heavy—silence.

Yusuke continued to wear a shit-eating grin, of course. He reveled in the awkwardness like a cat in a fish cannery, looking between Kuwabara and I as if waiting for sparks to catch a bone-dry powder keg. I wanted to shoot him a look of fury, but I was too busy staring at the flush on Kuwabara's angular face to spare him anything more than a cursory glance. I just stood there, gaping, holding the toy arcade gun in one limp hand, as Kuwabara's eyes met mine and then flickered away again just as fast. Soon a little sound left Amanuma's mouth—a greeting he couldn't quite articulate—but he fell silent again just as quickly.

And since Yusuke was too busy grinning and Kuwabara was too busy staring awkwardly at the floor, that meant it was up to me to break the silence. But what the hell should I even say?

Luckily, I never had to make that choice. I was saved when a dry voice cut through the hazy arcade air like the cut of a honed blade.

"Well," said Kaito without a trace of amusement. "This looks like an annoyingly emotional confrontation if I ever saw one."

Kaito and Kurama, like ghosts of gamers past, emerged from behind a nearby Time Crisis machine, materializing from the ether beside Kuwabara. He flinched and backed up a step, and while I also flinched in surprise, Yusuke just tossed his hair and laughed.

"You bet it is!" he said, still grinning. "Just like I wanted, too."

Kurama shot Kaito a warning look. "Kaito..."

"Yusuke!" I said, finally giving him the Death Stare he deserved.

"I'm not wrong," Kaito said, mostly to Kurama.

"And neither am I!" Yusuke concurred, mostly to me.

Finally Amanuma found his voice. "Kuwabara!" he said, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "I'm glad you're here. We missed you last time!"

"Uh. Yeah, I…" Kuwabara paused to draw a deep breath—but his face only turned a deeper shade of red. Looking askance, he muttered: "Sorry, kid, but maybe next time. There's something I forgot I had to do at home."

"Huh?" Amanuma blinked a few times. "But you just got here!"

It was no use. Kuwabara had already turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the front door of the arcade with a hasty cry of "See ya later!" thrown like a haphazard brick over his broad shoulder.

The toy gun in my hand fell to the ground with a clatter, and before I could tell myself to stop, to think, to give him space—I bolted after him.

Amanuma yelled something after me, but I didn't hear it; the games blared too loudly, too persistently, for me to hear whatever it was he'd said. Like a solider on a mission I pursued Kuwabara through the arcade, then out the front door and down the street. Only his legs were longer than mine by no small degree, taking him away at a lengthy lope Keiko's short legs couldn't hope to match. Fast though I was, I fell behind bit by bit, faces of pedestrians and storefronts passing through my periphery with a flicker and in a blur, my eyes locked on the span of Kuwabara's blue-clad back… but I did not move fast enough to gain any ground on him.

Sensing I'd lose him if I didn't do something, anything to stop him, I dug in my heels and took a deep breath to bellow, "I'm not going to chase after you like a damn dog, Kuwabara!"

And, miraculously, he stopped. He came to a halt on the sidewalk ahead of me like a marionette with severed strings, freezing in place after his shoulders sagged and his head bowed. Marching forward, I sensed eyes on me as the Sunday crowds along the sidewalk parted, a few people murmuring behind their hands when I moved in front of Kuwabara and leveled a finger at his shell-shocked face.

"Keiko, I—" Kuwabara started, but I shook my head.

"I am not going to chase after you, Kuwabara," I repeated. "And I get that that's ironic considering I just chased you halfway down a city block, but you know what I mean." Because his eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them, my heart gave a pang. In softer tones (and after I lowered my hand) I added, "You're mad at me. And you have every right to your emotions. I respect your anger, and hell, I even agree with it to an extent. But ignoring me and avoiding me hurts, and I'm not so big a masochist that I'm going to put myself through that pain on purpose." I leaned toward him when he did not reply. "Do you understand me?"

Kuwabara swallowed, eyes dropping to the sidewalk. "I'm… not sure."

My heart gave another pang, but I ignored it. "You've been my best friend for a long time, Kuwabara." I couldn't keep a tremble from my voice, try though I might to stay strong. "And I miss you. I miss us."

His eyes lifted, meeting mine at last. In them I saw… hope, I think, but a darkness, too. I wasn't sure I understood it, but now wasn't the time to wonder. I had been rehearsing these words for weeks. It was damn time he heard them.

"It sucks that you're avoiding me," I continued, "but I'm not going to force you to look at me or be around me, either. I wouldn't put you through that pain." Braving a smile I wasn't sure I felt, I told him, "You'll forgive me someday, or you won't. I'll be waiting for you once you do, but until then…" Here my voice hardened once again. "Don't expect me to bend over backwards waiting for you to come around. I'll wait. Patiently. Forever, if I have to. I just want you to know that I'll give you space until you don't want it anymore—because I care about you, and if that's what it takes, so be it."

The hurt and the haunt in his eyes did not heal at these words. Not that I'd expected it to… but when he remained silent, I faltered. I'd expected a reaction by now. His silence was unexpected, and my script did not account for it in the slightest.

"Come find me when you're ready, I guess," I finished (a touch underwhelming, I have to admit). "So…"

Still Kuwabara said not a word. I'd scripted a hundred responses to something he might say, and the only one that made sense at this point wasn't really about talking at all. I reached into my purse (thank god it was the same one I'd taken to Shizuru's when I got my haircut) and pulled out the envelope still tucked into one of its many pockets. Kuwabara's eyes flickered to my hands as I took a deep breath, and before I could hold the envelope out toward him, he spoke.

"It's not that simple, Keiko," he said. "It's not—"

He stopped talking. In the absence of speech, the murmur of the Sunday crowd crept back in. We stood in the middle of downtown Mushiyori; two teens have an emotional meltdown in public wasn't exactly subtle. But Kuwabara didn't look bothered, and so I tried not to let the gazes of prying strangers get to me, either. I just stared him down, worrying at the envelope in my fingers as he stared at me in return. He didn't talk, though. He narrow eyes remained hooded and dark, auburn hair gleaming carroty in the springtime sun, teeth worrying his thin lips as he watched passersby traipse back and forth across the pavement.

I'm not good at silence. "What?" I couldn't help but say, searching his face. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath.

Then: "You lied to me."

Such a plaintive statement, wrought with pain and pity. I winced at once, holding back the urge to grab his hand and squeeze.

"I know," I said instead. "And I'm sorry."

"Don't apolo—" He swore, hands running through his pompadour hard enough to leave it rumpled. "Jesus, Keiko!"

My jaw dropped. "The heck did I do now?"

"Can you stop being so damn reasonable for maybe two seconds or somethin'?" he said, eyes rolling. "It's hard to keep being mad when you're—"

"Wait, you want to be mad at me?" I said, aghast. "Because that puts a confusing new spin on all of this that I'm not sure I want to—"

"I don't want to be mad!" Kuwabara interjected. "I'm just… I'm just mad! And the fact that no one else is mad only makes it worse!"

"Worse? Worse how?"

"How did they get over it so fast?" he said, flinging a hand out toward the arcade we'd left behind. "How did they get past it that quickly? And why the hell can't I? At first I thought it was because—" He paused, a strangled sound ripping up his throat. Softly, in a voice that trembled, Kuwabara said, "You know how I feel about you. About Volcano Girl." Softer still, he told me, "You know how much she meant to me."

I swallowed. "I do."

"And I thought that was it," Kuwabara said as if I hadn't spoken. "I thought that maybe I had put too much into—into the way I feel about you. About her." His eyes closed. "And I think deep down, maybe I knew you were her. Volcano Girl." A wry smile twisted his mouth. "Build something up so high, it's gonna make a big crash when it comes crumbling down, right?" One huge hand cupped his face, knuckles stark white. "God, they're all so chill and I'm a wreck. It's embarrassing!"

Behind the knuckles, his cheeks burned red—but of course they did. He was embarrassed. That made sense, and my face wasn't exactly cool, either. This was the first time Kuwabara had flirted with stating his feelings for me aloud, but I hadn't gotten any better at hearing them since the last time.

"But… that's not all of it," Kuwabara said, a runaway train barreling on ahead. "That's not why I've been avoiding you."

"It's not?"

"No." His throat moved as he swallowed. "It's because I'm scared of you."

He spoke the words like a confession—a whisper, a murmur in a dark night, hesitant and scared. But I didn't lash out or reject what he'd said, mostly because I didn't understand it.

He was… he was scared, of…?"

"What?" I said, uncomprehending. "You're what?"

"I'm scared." The words leaked from between his teeth syllable by syllable. "Of you, of what you're capable of."

"Kuwabara," I said, still not understanding but desperate, so desperate, to fix that emotion—fear, I finally recognized—shining in his fever-bright eyes. "Kuwabara, I would never hurt—"

"I know you never would," he was quick to assure me (to comfort me, me, the person who scared him!). "Not on purpose, anyway. But you…" He shook his head. "You know everything about me. Even before I told you about my powers, you knew everything about me. From the story. The legend."

I just looked at him, still not getting it. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again.

"I can't keep secrets from you even if I want to," Kuwabara said, "but you can keep all the secrets you'd like, for as long as you'd like, and none of us will ever know the difference. And that's what scares me." A helpless smile, marred by pain. "I don't have a choice with you. I'm vulnerable and you're not. At any time you could choose to use what you know to hurt me, and I'd be powerless to stop you. And even if you say you've told me everything about yourself, that we're on the same level again… how can I trust that? In the end, Keiko, that's what hurts. That's what scares me. The fact that this playing field between us will never be level, ever. The fact that for some reason, you told Kurama and Hiei and even Yusuke some or all of the truth, but to me you didn't say a word. And that fact that when you could've chosen to level it a little, you decided not to, and you kept me in the dark." He swore again, hands once more in his hair. "Why does everyone always keep me in the dark?!"

My chest had gone numb, a block of jagged ice. "I was trying to prote—"

"To protect me. I know." Now he just sounded tired, bags like bruises beneath his haggard eyes. "But from where I'm standing it, looks more like you just didn't want to give up control. You wanted power, even if it was at my expense. Because that's what you told us, isn't it? That you've been pulling strings to make sure this story we're in goes the way it did when you read it in your old life?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "You need power to do that, and telling me the truth would've made me less easy to push and pull in whatever direction you wanted." Again, he broke my heart with kindness, the faintest of smiles softening the ragged edges in his eyes. "But I know you're a good person. I know you did it for what you think are the right reasons. Maybe they are the right reasons. It's just that those reasons don't make me feel any better—and I've tried to change how I feel, but Keiko, I just can't help it."

The people on the sidewalk had mostly stopped staring at that point, moving on with their lives and dispersing with the wind. Now I felt the absence of their eyes as much as I'd felt the pressure of them. No one was there to watch Kuwabara's broken smile, nor help me understand the nuance of all he'd said. No one was there to help me escape this—this horrible pain I'd inflicted, half on purpose and half in ignorance, on someone I considered my best friend.

It was a realization I had to face alone, standing on that crowded Sunday sidewalk.

But Kuwabara—that beautiful, precious boy—took pity on me. He offered me kindness and hope as he forced a smile and said to me, the person who had wronged him, "Still, I… I don't wanna be mad at you, Keiko. Gimme a little time to work on that, OK?" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But I have to be honest. Even if you give me time, I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again."

"I'm sorry," I said, because it was all I could do.

"I know," said Kuwabara with agonizing gentleness. "That's why I can't stay mad. Because you at least can admit you know what you did was wrong." Once again, his eyes closed. "Too bad it just doesn't make it hurt any less."

We stood only a few feet apart, but it might as well have been a hundred miles for the look of distance on his face. Alone in a crowd, together but apart, mired in shock and confusion—I barely heard it when a child cried nearby, when a car roared too quickly down the street, when a lone bird chirp as it landed on telephone line overhead. Kuwabara didn't look like he'd heard, either. He stood with hands in pockets, head down, mouth a gash across his jagged face. He looked both defeated and determined at the same time, paradoxical as that sounds. Like he was too tired to keep talking, but he knew he had more to say.

And yet, I was the one to speak next. "So where does that leave us?" I said, words thin on the string of my breath.

Kuwabara shrugged. "Space is good. So's time, if that's OK."

"Anything you need." I meant it, too, and chanced a smile I prayed looked reassuring. "I hope that eventually I can earn your trust back."

"I hope so, too." He took a ragged breath. Smiled like broken glass. "You're not the only one who misses us. And I need to hear the rest of The Princess Bride." That smile faded. "Someday, anyway."

Those were the last words, it seemed, that he wanted to say. He took a step forward, turning away until I faced his broad back instead of his wounded face. But although he had said his piece, there was still one thing I had to do. Almost of its own accord, my hand rose, fingers hooking into the back of his shirtsleeve.

"Wait."

He stopped. Turned his head, one dark eye glimmering over his wide shoulder. He did not speak.

I held up the envelope. "You should have this."

Still Kuwabara said nothing… but he didn't walk away, either. Hooking a thumb beneath the flap, I opened the envelope and pulled out its contents: a glossy slip of paper inscribed with the Megallica logo, a date, and a seat. Kuwabara's eye widened a fraction when I held it toward him, but once again, he didn't say a word.

"Take someone else," I said, both to fill the silence and to drown out the racing of my heart. "Yusuke, maybe. He likes Megallica as much as… well, not as much as we do, but he likes them." I thrust the ticket toward him. "Well, go on. You won this fair and square, right?"

Kuwabara's eye shut. His head turned, facing forward and away.

Kuwabara said: "No."

My hand dropped an inch. "What?"

"No," he said, with more force than before.

But all the force in the world didn't make that word make sense. My hand dropped another inch before jerking up again, ticket held stubbornly in his direction. "I'm sorry," I said, "but you need to take—"

"But nothin'. I won it for you." Without preamble, Kuwabara broke into a jog. "See ya round, Keiko."

In confused silence I stood and watched him run from me, weaving nimbly through the bystanders until he vanished from sight, sun catching on his bleached hair as he turned around a corner and disappeared. I'm ashamed to admit I stood there for a while longer still, until I saw the keeper of the shop in front of which I stood give me the Eye. On reflex I turned and headed back to the arcade, tucking the Megallica concert ticket back into its envelope and the envelope back into the depths of my purse. I don't know what showed on my face when I found my group of friends standing around a racing game, but judging by the odd looks that Amanuma, Kaito and Kurama all gave me, I'm sure I didn't look quite normal. Even Yusuke appeared perturbed, glancing behind me before shooting a scowl in my direction.

He said, "Where's Kuwa—?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I flatly replied—and when I saw Amanuma's shoulders sag, I added, "Sorry, kid, but he'll come around again soon, promise." A smile forced its way across my lips. "What're we playing next?"

"Not exactly a smooth segue," Kaito muttered, "but I admire your dedication, Yukimura."

"Thanks, Kaito." Color me sarcastic. "You're a gem."

Amanuma listened to us bicker with a roll of his eyes. "Well, I have no idea what any of that was about. Teenagers sure are weird." He turned to Kurama and grinned. "Wanna play Goblin City, Minamino?"

Kurama smiled, pleasant and kind as always. "Sounds fun."

Normally the mention of that game—the game via which Kurama was destined to murder the sweet, trusting Amanuma—would put a pit in the depths of my stomach, but given how numb I felt after the altercation with Kuwabara, only the barest of flutters of disquiet flitted through my wrists and neck instead.

We stood around watching Kurama and Amanuma play Goblin City for a time, but eventually Kaito grew board and wandered away to play Tetris by himself at a neighboring machine. Yusuke and I wound up leaning against a pinball machine behind the Goblin City setup, staring at the backs of Kurama and Amanuma's heads as they cycled through various mini-games and competed against each other. Occasionally Amanuma would throw back his head and laugh at something Kurama said, green sparks flickering in his eyes at whatever small joke he'd uttered. The arcade's scintillating lights coaxed garnet from his hair, deep red sparks glimmering against onyx strands.

"So… how'd it go?" said Yusuke.

I shifted away from him, elbows squeaking over the pinball machine's glass top. "I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Tex. It's me."

I sighed in annoyed defeat. "Kuwabara was pissed I never told him the truth."

"Well, duh," said Yusuke with a snort.

"And he's embarrassed that he can't get over it when all of you rolled with the punches pretty fast," I continued.

"Ha!" Yusuke threw back his head and laughed. "And he should be, that wuss."

"And also, he's scared of me."

"Ha ha, yeah, he— Wait. What!?"

I shifted back toward him again, but only so I could glower in his general direction. Yes, I was serious—that's what I told Yusuke with my eyes, and he believed me, drawing his hands through his pomade-primped hair in consternation.

"Scared? Of you?" he said. "But you're about as intimidating as a baby duck."

"Yeah, apparently that's not the problem." I hated admitting this next bit, but I'd sworn not to lie to Yusuke anymore, so I soldiered on. "I know everything all of you, but y'all… you're still getting to know me. To know Tex, that is. And Kuwabara is not thrilled about that imbalance."

"Oh." Yusuke leaned back on his elbows on the pinball machine, too, legs stretching out ahead of him alongside mine. "I guess that makes sense."

I watched him carefully from the corner of my eye. "You're not about to be mad too, are you?" I asked, ashamed at the quiver of fear that leaked into my voice.

But Yusuke just scoffed. "Who, me?" he asked, as if I were being dumb. "We've always had some… what's that word?"

"Imbalance?"

"Yeah, that. You've always known more than me—you're not smarter, just more in-the-know. Don't let your head swell." He rolled his eyes before I could so much as snicker. "And you've been in my life since I was a little kid, which means you know everything there is to know about my life. So you knowing so much about me… it's normal, as far as I'm concerned."

I'd never thought of it quite that way; all I said in response was, "Oh."

"But for him…" Yusuke tilted his head back, squinting at the foam ceiling tiles and the lights playing across them, inconsistent illumination cast by flickering arcade screens. "I guess it's not so normal at all for Kuwabara. Especially since he trusted you so much." His lip curled. "Aw, man. I hate it when he makes sense. I've been bugging him for weeks to talk to you, and now I get why he wouldn't. But it wasn't like he'd explain it to me, so…"

"Is that why you did this today?" I asked, curious. "To get us to make up?"

Yusuke rolled his eyes again. "Don't you dare get mushy, now."

"Don't tell me what to do, Urameshi."

"Ha. You're hilarious," he snarked, but the humor faded from his eyes just a moment later. "Last week the kid kept asking where you and Kuwabara were, and that got me thinking I could trick y'all into being in the same room and hashing stuff out." His voice fell. "Fat load of good it did you, though."

I made my lip wobble, eyes wide and plaintive. "Yusuke. I didn't know you cared."

"Cut it out!" He pretended to be offended, like my emotions pissed him off, but I knew better than to believe him. "I didn't do it for you, dummy. Watching both of you stress was just giving me a headache, that's all." Yusuke's pert nose thrust skyward. "The sooner you two stop being stupid, the better off I'll be."

I reached up with the intent of ruffling his hair. "Suppress your emotions a little harder, why don't ya."

"Don't mind if I do," he said, swatting away my hand—and then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though Puu gets pretty annoying when I…"

"Puu? Where is the little blue bat-thing, anyway?"

"I left 'im with Botan." Yusuke looked everywhere but at me, tone cool and casual… too cool and casual, if you ask me. "He seems happy with her."

"I'll bet he does," I said with a wicked grin. "Speaking of emotions we're trying to suppress… how have the two of you been doing lately, anyway?"

"None of your business, Tex." He shoved off the pinball machine in an instant, but not before I saw a hectic flush rise into his cheeks. "Hey Amanuma, move over! I want a turn."

Amanuma looked over his shoulder at the sound of his name, but he was too late; Yusuke shouldered his way past the kid to take over the controls, prompting Amanuma to give an indignant squawk of, "Hey, but I'm winning!"

"So?" said Yusuke, hands jerking at the joystick and buttons. "I can still show you a thing or two on fighting games, so shove—"

Amanuma squirmed his way under Yusuke's arm, and Yusuke shoved him back with a smart hip-check. The kid made a good show of being ticked off, but every now and again a smile broke through the ire, revealing his secret joy at being teased. Amanuma really was attention starved, to be enjoying Yusuke's taunts. Even when Yusuke put a hand on Amanuma's forehead and stretched out his arm, holding the kid at arm's length like you'd see in a cartoon, Amanuma made a show of whacking Yusuke's wrist and trying to break free, but without really trying to break free. I couldn't keep a grin off my face at the sight, the numb ice inside my chest thawing just a bit… but that was before Yusuke gave the kid a playful shove.

That time, Amanuma's squawk of pain was actually real.

He went tumbling to the ground in a heap, fine one second and a boneless ragdoll the next. Yusuke nearly did a double-take, crouching at Amanuma's side in a flash of bright green jacket. Kurama startled, hands still busy with the Goblin City game as he looked at Amanuma in shock—but his verdant eyes were already sweeping over the kid in a calculating wave, looking for injury and pain.

Took me a second to catch up with the rest of them. "Amanuma!" I cried, bolting to his side, too. "Are you all right?"

"Hey kid, you OK?" Yusuke echoed, hand on Amanuma's thin shoulder. "What gives?"

"Yusuke, what did you do?" Kurama asked, voice low and urgent.

"Nothing! I did nothing!" Yusuke said. To his credit, he looked sorry as hell, eyes horror-wide and contrite. "Seriously, I didn't even push him that hard…"

And Amanuma seemed to agree. He'd fallen flat on his butt on the arcade's threadbare carpet, dazedly staring at nothing as if jolted into another state of being, but at Yusuke's words his eyes refocused, kid coming back to himself in a snap. "I'm OK, I'm OK," he insisted as he rolled to his knees, then to his feet. "It's no big deal."

"You sure?" I said, rising too (and noting the way he'd put a hand to his head, like maybe he'd gotten a headache). "Because if you're not—"

Amanuma scowled, waving me off when I tried to place a hand on his forehead to take a temperature. "Nee-san, stop being such a worrywart," he said, grinning like his fall hadn't even happened. "I just lost my balance, that's all."

"That's not all you lost," a dry voice observed.

We turned in the direction of the voice to find Kaito standing a few feet away, staring over our shoulders at Kurama, who hadn't moved from his spot at the Goblin City machine. Like lemmings off a cliff, we following his bespectacled gaze toward Kurama, who sheepishly waved a hand at the game screen—a screen that declared him the winner and Amanuma's avatar the loser. Amanuma gave an indignant cry upon realizing he'd lost, lurching back to the game's controls with a growl and a shriek.

"Hey, I was on the floor!" he said, already fumbling in his pocket for more loose change. "That's cheating!"

"Apologies, Amanuma," Kurama said. He shot the machine another sheepish look. "But this game doesn't exactly have a pause button."

"Excuses! I challenge you to a rematch!" Amanuma yodeled.

Kurama grinned. "And I'm happy to oblige."

But Kaito didn't share their exuberance. "Do you really think that's wise?" he asked with his typical acerbic tones. "If you're not feeling well, Amanuma, you should rest and recuperate at home." He shoved his glasses up his thin nose with a fingertip as he gave a piquant sniff. "And furthermore, if you really are ill, you shouldn't risk spreading whatever you have to the rest of us."

I crossed to Kaito so I coulee blow him in the ribs. "Since when have you been such a germophobe?"

"Since my parents keep coming home with horror stories from the hospital," he said with a biting scowl.

Kurama glanced over his shoulder, hands flying inexorably at the game's controls. "That's right, Kaito. You told us a few weeks ago that there's been a nasty bug going around Mushiyori City."

My palm hit my head with a smack. "Oh, I totally forgot. Is that still happening? I just assumed it was like, a stomach bug or something."

"Nothing as mundane as that, unfortunately." Kaito adjusted his glasses again. "But it's nothing to worry about."

Kurama's eyes narrowed, but Amanuma yelled something about taking the lead, capturing Kurama's attention once again. Yusuke (still feeling apologetic after nearly breaking a child, no doubt) stood at Amanuma's elbow shouting encouragements; none of the trio noticed when Kaito and I retreated to the pinball machines.

"Why do I get the feeling it's much worse than you're letting on?" I said, voice held purposefully low.

"Because it is," said Kaito with equal quiet. His voice dropped lower still when he muttered, "There have been a few deaths."

My turn to do a double-take today. "Are you serious?" I hissed, gripping his arm on reflex. "That's awful!"

"Agreed," he murmured back. "The good news is that it doesn't appear communicable in any typical way. The illness' appearances are honestly random, defying all efforts to track the malady's spread."

"That seems… weird."

"Yes," said Kaito with grave solemnity. "To put it mildly."

For the third time that conversation, he shoved his glasses up his nose with a fingertip—but before he could say anything else, his nose wrinkled, and then he turned away to give a great foghorn bellow of a sneeze. I backed up a foot or two on reflex, tucking my mouth and nose inside the neck of my shirt.

"Don't tell me you're sick," I said, thinking thoughts that had a lot to do with hand sanitizer and vitamin C packs. "Because I work in a restaurant and I can't go spreading a virus to our customers!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Yukimura. I feel perfectly fine," Kaito scolded. "As I just told you, the disease does not appear to spread by methods as conventional as sneezing."

"Hey, stop yakking and get over here, you guys!" Yusuke cut in, inadvertently sparing Kaito from a lecture on good hygiene. "Amanuma's on fire!"

"You bet I am!" Amanuma sang, practically in harmony.

Even Kurama was feeling the heat, judging by the impressive focus in his eyes as he stared at the flickering screen of Goblin City. "On fire indeed, Amanuma," he murmured, not breaking his concentration in the slightest. "I'm impressed."

"Ha! You mean you're scared!" said Amanuma with a laugh. "At this rate, I could beat you with my eyes closed!"

And that claim, wild though it sounded, might actually have been true. In the player-versus-player version of Goblin City, two opposing players faced off in a series of five mini-games, each game decided by a role of the dice from a selection of several dozen possible contests. The score at the top of the screen showed that Kurama had won just one of the three matches they'd thus far undergone, Amanuma leading the score 2-1. They currently played the tennis mini-game, and each of Amanuma's volleys managed to hit nearly on top of the white line at the back of Kurama's court. Kurama had a hard time keeping up with him, moving his character to intercept Amanuma's serves just barely in time to send them back in Amanuma's direction—no time for aiming or strategy at all. Amanuma hummed as they played, super in the zone judging by his flying fingers and nimble moves, eyes bright with the joy of the game and the glow of the arcade lights.

Yeah. Bright. His eyes were really bright. Glassy, even. But when the mini-game ended and I tried to feel Amanuma's face for fever, he shrugged me aside with a laugh. All he wanted to do was play games, he said, until he ran out of money and had no choice but to go home.

"Kid, you're a master at this!" Yusuke said as he continued to keep Kurama on the ropes.

And in response, Amanuma laughed. "Call me the Gamemaster, I guess!" he said—and at the sound of that nickname, the same cursed nickname granted to him by Sensui in the canon of Yu Yu Hakusho, my stomach turned back into ice.

Kuwabara was right, it seemed. I did like being in control… but in that moment I was anything but, destiny barreling on ahead without me to the tune of the Gamemaster's delighted laughter.

In the quiet of the unkempt clearing, I said, "So are we done, or are we just gonna stand here till the sun goes down?"

Ayame didn't look up from the report held in her spectral hands. In fact, she gave no indication that she'd heard me speak at all. Not that that was unusual for this particular guide to the afterlife, but still. We'd been home from the Dark Tournament for a solid month at that point, and Ayame and I had met up once a week ever since the boat brought us back to Japan… but usually Yusuke came with me, since he was my parole officer these days. He hated that title, but we both knew it was true, and Ayame addressed most of her comments and queries to Yusuke instead of me when we came around together. This time, though, I was alone, and I had to wonder if that had been a tactical error on my part. I definitely had some questions for Ayame, after all.

Not that Yusuke had given me much choice in the matter of meeting Ayame alone. It was Sunday, and when I'd showed up at his apartment to rouse him from bed, he'd grumbled and thrown a pillow at me, flat refusing to wake up on the one day a week he was actually allowed to sleep in (not that he woke up on time any other day of the week, but still). In a huff because getting smacked in the face with a pillow wasn't really my idea of a good time, I'd slammed the door on my way out—but not before Puu had clambered out from under Yusuke's covers and flitted his way into my hoodie's hood. He'd ridden all the way to the clearing in that spot, and when Ayame had appeared and accepted my written report of the week's events, he crawled into my hair and lodged his little bat-talons deep into my scalp. The gremlin watched Ayame through intelligent black eyes, weird arm-ears perked up at attention when the wind whispered through the trees.

Ayame paid neither of us any mind. She just continued to leaf through my report—an impressive feat considering it contained only a page and a half of material.

Eventually (and still without looking up) Ayame murmured, "Am I keeping you from something, Keiko?"

"Just a fun Sunday, that's all. But—" I pointed at the folder "—it's a little thin, so… not much to talk about, unless there's something you want to tell me."

Coal-dark eyes finally lifted from the printout in her lithe fingers "Why, Keiko? What would I even say?" she said, making a show of feigned confusion.

I didn't even pretend to buy her act. "Maybe if you've looked into the little pest problem over in Mushiyori I told you about?" I suggested with a shrug. "You remember that, right?"

Kurama and I had taken the jar containing Amagi's Makai insect to Ayame a few days after Amagi had shown it to us in the greenhouse. Ayame had tucked the jar into her sleeve without saying much, simply stating that she'd report our findings to Koenma promptly. She never had much to say, though, about neither anything I asked her nor anything I reported in the weeks that followed. No matter how hard I pushed, she just stayed true to the yamato nadeshiko stereotype she embodied and smiled her normal, demure smile, declining to indulge me at all.

Today, at last, proved different.

"We've looked into it, yes," she said, tucking my report up her sleeve and out of sight. Folding her hands into her jet-black garment, she looked me over with one of her usual enigmatic smiles. "The results are…"

"Are?" I prompted when she did not continue.

A tight smile eclipsed Ayame's moonsilver face. "Unfortunately, there isn't exactly a preponderance of specimens. Additionally, we have yet to locate their source. Given their name, it's obvious from which plane of existence the Makai Insect originates, but finding the place where they sneak through the fabric between worlds is proving tricky indeed."

I kept my face as neutral as a manila folder at this statement, though inside I gave a derisive snort. Of course they hadn't found the burgeoning breach between realities; just like in canon, I had a feeling they were looking in the wrong place. The hole between worlds was underground, too deep for them to sense on the surface… and by the time that sphere of distortion grew big enough to sense from the sunlit world, it would be too huge to miss. But much though I wanted them to find the breach and stop Sensui, I couldn't just hand them his location on a silver platter. After all, I'd already given Spirit World far more of a head start than they'd ever had in the anime; anything more and I'd practically be holding Koenma's hand, and that didn't seem right.

"So no updates, then," was all I said. "Good to know."

But again Ayame smiled. "Not quite. There is one other topic we could talk about."

My heart lurched. "I'm listening."

"Koenma has been conducting research in Spirit World, as promised, on the topics revealed to us by Clotho, the Fate whose ear you seem to have snared," Ayame said. "He believes he is on the verge of a breakthrough. You should be hearing word from him before the month is out."

"That's…" Amazing. Wonderful. Intimidating. Foreboding. Frightening. Something. "… great, I guess."

One black brow rose, a delicate curve of darkness against pale skin. "Your expression indicates you feel otherwise."

"It's just a lot," I confessed, because Ayame's imperious stare left little room for prevarication. "Every time my… my little origin comes up with someone, it feels…" Invasive. Uncomfortable. Painful. Instead of those things, I just told her: "I can't get used to it."

"15 years is a long time for a mortal to keep a secret, especially one as interesting as yours." I could've sworn her features held sympathy, however subtle. "I imagine its revelation is something of a relief."

"In some ways." Kuwabara's face rose unbidden in my mind's eyes. "Not so much in others."

She nodded. "All problems pass with time. I'm certain your friends will come around if given enough of it."

"That's the idea." Again I thought of Kuwabara. "Some are just proving more stubborn than others."

"I wish you well in that respect." Her red mouth thinned. "Not knowing who truly stands beside you is… unpleasant."

There was something in her face. A tightness, perhaps. It made her face turn the color of old milk, grey and lined and battle worn. Ayame was truly beautiful, in that same unreal way that Botan was so beautiful, but just then she looked… well. Not pretty, exactly. More like a flower left too long in hot sun, once gorgeous but now wilted with a bowing head.

I didn't tell her any of that, though. I merely asked, "You doing all right, Ayame?"

One hand emerged from her sleeve to trace a path along her brow. Ayame looked briefly skyward, into infinite blue the same color as a certain grim reaper's death-colored hair. Something unguarded filled her gaze—a raw nerve, exposed and stinging.

"I worry for Botan," she said after a time.

"No word on her being allowed back in Spirit World?"

"I can't speak to that, I'm afraid." Her hand disappeared into her sleeve again. "Is there anything else?"

As shuttered closed behind her eyes, I reflected that Ayame certainly was an enigma. A friend one minute, an unknowable agent of death the next. Pushing wouldn't do me any good here. At least she knew I cared, though—about Botan, clearly, and about her, hopefully just as clearly.

"One last thing before we wrap," I said. "Itsuki?"

The shutters closed tighter. "What about him?"

"Before we left for the Tournament, you assured me Koenma would look into him, too," I said. "Trying to figure out if you're still on that ball, or if it's fallen to the wayside after everything Cleo told us."

She smiled—a genuine smile this time around, teasing and droll. "Why, Keiko," she said. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd already know the answer to that."

"Not everything matches up with my book of cheat codes, so to speak."

"I see." Lashes like soot stained her cheeks when she closed her eyes. "Fine. I'll give you something." Drawing herself up to her full height, Ayame inclined her chin and told me, "Any companion of a former Spirit Detective who disappeared under mysterious circumstances is of interest to Spirit World—of too much interest to fall by the wayside when times turn turbulent."

"That's…" Loaded. Unsettling. Ominous. I settled on: "Interesting." Grabbing Puu from his nest in my hair, I stuffed him back into the hood of my sweatshirt and tugged the drawstrings, trapping his wriggling body inside. "Well. Thank you, Ayame. I'm sure you've got a lot on your plate, so…"

"Indeed." She bowed low, back of her neck gleaming in the sun. "See you next week, Keiko… if not sooner."

She faded into the shadows beneath the trees soon afterward, leaving me alone in the sunlit clearing. A cryptic farewell was just her style, but Ayame's inscrutable comportment was the least of my worries. She'd all but confirmed they'd been looking into Itsuki, and Sensui by extension. How far had their research taken them? I'd worried about holding their hand too much, but what if they didn't actually need my help to make headway on the Chapter Black case far too early to comply with canon?

Or did it even matter?

The Chapter Black arc, after all, wasn't exactly pleasant. Could early progress prevent much of the bloodshed that was to come? And was that preferable to keeping canon intact? But changes could incur negative consequences, a risk I wasn't sure we could take. Everything turned out all right in canon, after all. Lives that were lost were restored. Demons didn't invade the earth. Sensui was stopped and Yusuke's demonic heritage was awoken. All's well that ended well, and all that jazz.

But the suffering that happened along the way… was it all right to ameliorate it, at least a little? Or was this philosophical waffling of mine even worth the effort?

Shogo's cards had told me to be decisive. To listen to my instincts. To trust my gut.

Too bad that was easier said than done.

Puu, trapped in the hood hanging between my shoulders, managed to get a claw out of the hood's small opening. It scrabbled along my cheek, hard claws pricking, and soon Puu had lodged himself in my hair again. His small face hung over my forehead so he could look into my eyes, his own narrowed, a low and worried burble bubbling from his golden beak.

I stroked his anxious cheek with a thumb.

"Are you Yusuke's soul-beast, or mine?" I sighed.

Puu did not answer me. He simply cuddled close, providing me comfort in return.

I heard him before I saw him, but only because he let me. No doubt Kurama could move without making a sound if he so chose. He knew I knew the rhythm of his gait; the sounds he made were a warning, a gesture of civility, of politeness that belonged uniquely to him. I listened to the music of his footsteps echo up the stairs until he appeared at the top of the flight below my lunchtime seat, raising a hand in greeting as his dark head bobbed into view.

"Hey," I said.

"Hello, Kei." He scanned the steps and the window on my landing with his usual mild smile. "Is Kaito with you?"

"No, he's not. I thought he'd beat me here, honestly."

"Hmm." He considered this a moment. "Unusual for him to be anything but punctual."

"Yeah, well, silver lining. Need to talk to you."

"Oh?"

I patted the steps next to me, scooting over so he could take a seat. As he unpacked his lunch across his lap, I said, "Saw Ayame yesterday, as always, but… I dunno, they're not making headway on any of the stuff that I've told them about and I have no idea what to do about it, if anything at all, and it's frustrating—"

"Slow down, Kei." He broke apart his chopsticks with a snap of fragile wood. Question mostly rhetorical, he said, "Do you think they'd tell you even if they had made progress regarding Hiruko?"

"Not just about him, though." I began to unpack my lunch, too, though I didn't start eating just yet. "Itsuki, the guy who kidnapped me and whatnot? No clue how much progress they made about him, or about that bug we showed them, and—"

A flash of bright green iris killed the words in my mouth. "I assume these things are connected, then—Itsuki and the Makai insect," said Kurama. "You wouldn't bring them up in the same breath if they weren't." He chuckled at the look on my face. "I know, I know. You can't say."

I cleared my throat. "Thanks for understanding."

"Don't mention it." Shiori had made Kurama a yummy bento box, fried prawns, steamed rice, pickled vegetables and a grilled fish rounded out by a thermos of miso soup. Lifting a bite of rice to his lips, Kurama asked, "When you say you don't know what to do about the situation, what exactly are your options?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." Upon my fingers I counted, "Egregious meddling, clandestine string-pulling, overt sabotage and misdirection… that sort of thing."

Kurama chuckled again, sound silky in the quiet stairwell. Below us a door opened and banged shut, a girl's bright laughter invading and then retreating in just a moment's time. The echo of chatting students in far-flung hallways drifted upon the air like the beat of waves on a distant shore, or the roar of the ocean inside a pearlescent seashell. I mostly heard Kurama's laughter, though, close as he sat to me.

"I'm serious," I said when he didn't speak, continuing to eat in silence. "This is my eternal conundrum and I'm both sick of it and totally enthralled by the possibilities. So any perspective?"

He finished chewing and then swallowed. "I'm afraid I've never been faced with a conundrum this… unique," Kurama said with an apologetic smile, "but I trust your judgement. Whether you interfere or abstain, I'm certain your choice will be the right one."

"You have far more faith in me than I do."

"A pity." He seemed sincere about that, judging by the tension in his eyes. "I wish you understood just how much faith I have in you, Kei. Perhaps then you wouldn't second-guess yourself as often as you do."

Strangely, his words—spoken so casually, but with so much simple candor—brought a lump to my throat.

"Kurama," I said.

And I would've said more, but another door slammed far below us, and the footsteps that rained upon the stairs belonged to someone else I knew. Kurama and I scooted apart a ways, each of us taking a bite of food (him of fish, me of a riceball) to fill the conspicuous silence. But if Kaito noticed the oddly tense atmosphere, he made no mention of it when he joined us upon the landing. He merely plopped onto the sill of the nearby window and sighed, elbows resting on his knees as he rested his head upon both hands. His curly mop of hair held more frizz than curl that day, black strands a mess of tangles and static made all the worse with the help of his fingers, which pulled and tugged at the strands in persistent grasps.

Wordlessly, Kurama and I exchanged a look. A loaded one.

"Uh… hi, Kaito," I said when the aforementioned said nothing.

When Kaito continued to say nothing, Kurama ventured, "Kaito… you look…"

His head rose, lurching upward like a guillotine in reverse, revealing a sallow face and bruise-like bags beneath Kaito's narrow eyes. "Dedicated to my academic pursuits?" he said, words flying bullet-quick in the quiet stairwell. "Enthusiastic to continue my education? Determined to maintain my record of perfect attendance?"

"I was going to say out of sorts," Kurama silkily intoned.

"Like shit, to be specific," I added.

"Ah. I see." Kaito sat up straight at last, spine ramrod straight. "A genteel euphemism followed by an idiomatic synonym. How very droll. Ha. Ha."

I expected him to mock us with his usual acerbic wit, but he did not. Instead Kaito stared into space above our heads, light glancing brilliantly off his coke-bottle eyeglasses. His fingers worried the kerchief-wrapped bento box on his knee, twitching as if pecking at an invisible typewriter.

Kurama and I exchanged another look.

I cleared my throat. "Uh. Kaito?"

He hummed.

"Are you OK?"

"Never better." Finally he roused from his torpor, head swinging toward me with a jerk. "Why do you ask?"

"Well. You're acting weird. So there's that."

His brows hitched. "And coming from you, that's cause for alarm, I suppose."

"Hey!" I gasped, offended—and when Kurama laughed behind his hand, I gasped at him, too. "Double hey! J'accuse!"

Kaito rolled his eyes—his glassy, fever-bright eyes, ones that still held a faraway quality even as he stared at Kurama and I in turns. "If you're curious," he said once Kurama finished laughing, "my mannerisms are being affected by the thoroughly engrossing discussion held today in literature class. You see, I challenged the notion of subjective literary criticism being worth anything of value, to which the classroom reacted with thoroughly predictable distaste, but—"

He ranted for a while. Kurama and I looked at each other sidelong on occasion, wordlessly considering whether or not an intervention was in order, but in the end, neither of us acted upon our suspicions that Kaito was having… well, an off-day, to put it mildly. We just let him talk, because he didn't need us to say much of anything, his vocabulary flying loudly and lustily down and up the empty stairwell. Eventually he quieted down to drink some water and rest his hoarse throat, out of steam at last—but before I could ask him if he needed to visit the school nurse (which I suspected he did, if those glassy eyes and the sweat on his forehead were any indication) he shot to his feet, wrapping up his bento box with swift and stumbling fingers.

"Apologies," he said, hands jerking his handkerchief into a hasty knot. "I must go."

"You OK, man?" I said as I stood, too.

Kaito stared into the middle distance and professed: "I am haunted by the specter of literary analysis."

"I don't know what that means," said Kurama with quiet desperation.

"Neither do I, but nevertheless, it is a mystery I must solve." His frizzy head listed to the side. "I shall pen an essay on the subject without using the letter E. An arduous task, but a task I shall accomplish with no difficulty, as is only obvious." He swayed forward, and for one terrifying second I thought he'd fall on his face. Instead, he transitioned into a drunken walk, portrait of inebriation completed when he slurred, "Sayonara, compatriots."

Kurama and I listened to him stagger downstairs in silence. Eventually a door creaked opened and slammed shut, the echo of Kaito's footfalls disappearing into distance. Slowly Kurama and I looked at one another again, uncertainty mirrored in each other's befuddled faces.

"Was he drunk, do you suppose?" Kurama said.

"Not sure, but I think that last big sentence of his…" I thought about it some more, nose screwed up in concentration. "Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't have any E sounds in it."

Kurama's mouth quirked. "Truly, his mastery of linguists puts ours to shame."

"Indeed it does."

We stared at each other—and then we burst out laughing. Worried though I felt for Kaito's weirdness, I wasn't too worried. He'd seemed preoccupied and strange, obsessed with language as usual, but he was destined to develop a psychic territory that revolved entirely around the language arts. Maybe this had something to do with that? I wasn't entirely sure, but at the very least, his odd demeanor had done wonders for my mood.

We collapsed into giggles for a lot longer than is flattering, but eventually Kurama and I managed to compose ourselves again. "Anyway," I said, wiping at my eyes. "What were we talking about?"

He was still smiling when he nodded toward my bento box. "You should eat something."

"Huh?"

"You barely touched your food."

"Oh." I cracked my bento's lid and peered inside; only two bites of my three onigiri were missing, which honestly came as a shock. I thought I'd eaten more. A bit bewildered, I muttered, "I was so distracted by that rant, I must've…"

Kurama chuckled again. "I don't blame you. It was a rant to behold." Gesturing at my food, Kurama said, "While you eat, I have comparably more pleasant news to share, if you're interested in hearing it."

I grinned around a bite of riceball. "Sure. What's up?"

"My mother set a date for that dinner she'd like you to attend."

I put the riceball down, heartrate kicking up a tad. "Oh?"

"The week after next, on Friday evening," Kurama said. "It's at a restaurant she says is quite nice, so please wear appropriate attire."

"Formal, semiformal… any idea?"

"Semiformal, I believe."

"Roger that." I made a mental inventory of my closet, thinking of what I could wear. "Well, that should be fun. Provided you don't replace the salad course with a mutant Venus flytrap or something."

"And endanger my mother, Kei?" Kurama said, tutting. "You wound me. It's like you don't know me at all."

"What can I say? You've got so many sides, I just can't keep track of which one likes the carnivorous plants."

We bantered back and forth for a while, mostly about which types of salads would make for the best weapons, until the bell rang—all too soon, in my opinion, because that conversation was deceptively fun. We carried on with it as I packed up my leftover food, at which Kurama levied a glance of supreme disapproval. I just stuck out my tongue and assured him I'd eat it later or when I felt hungrier. After school, most likely.

Not that I was given the chance. No sooner had the final bell of the school day rung than did Kurama sidle up to me amid the press of evacuating students, taking my elbow in his hand as he gave me another of his loaded looks. I didn't need him to explain; his expression meant business, so I did not protest as he steered me out of the classroom. I waited patiently to ask him what was up, biding my time until we passed through a less-populated corridor to tug my arm out of his grip.

"What's up?" I hissed as he came to a stop. "Is it a demon?"

He shook his head, just once. "Yusuke is here."

"Oh." I scowled at him with envy. "Must be nice to be psychic or whatever."

"It has its perks," he admitted with a sly smile, and without another word, we continued in unison to the front of the school.

True to Kurama's word, Yusuke waited for us at the school gates, lounging with his back pressed to the brick wall that concealed the school from the outside world. He mean-mugged any Meiou student who dared to give his bright green school uniform a stare—and when we got close, I could see why he wasn't keen on letting anyone approach him. A lump underneath the armpit of his jacket quivered and shuddered, and just as we came abreast of Yusuke, a tiny blue face topped by a mop of black hair poked out of Yusuke's collar. Kurama looked like he was about to have a stroke as Yusuke shoved the creature back under his coat with a snarl. He acted too fast for anyone to spot the spirit beast, but not fast enough for me to miss the look of pinched, pained worry etched across Puu's beak and beady eyes.

In contrast, Yusuke was all buster and his usual swagger when he led Kurama and me away from the school (and all the prying eyes that came with it). The further we got from the school gates, the fewer school uniforms we spotted on the street, and with every step Kurama relaxed a fraction. By the time we'd walked nearly a dozen blocks, he'd relaxed almost completely, though he still scanned the street for anyone who might recognize us. Truly, Kurama was dedicated to keeping the different facets of his life separate… made his reluctance to accept Kuwabara Sr. as his mother's romantic partner make sense, but that was neither here nor there. I put it out of my head as we came to a stop in front of a small café.

"So, Yusuke," Kurama said as Yusuke turned to face us. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Yusuke grinned. "You both free tomorrow night?"

"I am," I said, and then I glanced at Kurama. "You?"

"I am, as well," he replied. "Why?"

Yusuke pointed a finger skyward, an action that made sense when he added, "Koenma wants to see us. He's got news."

"Wow." It took a lot of willpower to keep my jaw off the floor. "Ayame wasn't kidding when she said she'd see me soon."

"Ayame never kids," Yusuke quipped. "So… My place? Tomorrow after school?"

Kurama nodded. "I will be there."

"Me, too," I said.

Yusuke looked me over with another of his delinquent grins. "And you'll bring the food, Keiko?"

"I host all of our damn shindigs, and you want me to bring food again? When I'm not hosting, for once?" I pretended to be mad, socking his arm in mock retribution. "Typical."

Yusuke remained entirely unaffected by my ire though. "Ramen," he demanded. "And maybe some of that coconut cake your mom makes, huh?"

"Ugh, fine." Thinking ahead to the contents of our pantry, the dinner-hour rush that evening, and my own homework load, I said, "But if I'm gonna bring food this last-minute, I need to go warn my mom and dad NOW so we can prep stuff." I swore when I remembered something else. "And hell, I've got aikido tonight. Shit!"

"My plate is comparatively less full," said Kurama, "but I need to run home as well."

"And I've gotta track down Hiei. Koenma wants to see him, too, wherever he is," said Yusuke, looking more than a little peeved. "If Hiei doesn't wanna be found, like hell will I be able to find the little bastard!"

"Try downtown near tall buildings," I said with attentions absent, mind still stuck on everything I needed to do that evening. "Especially if any of them are under construction on their upper floors."

Yusuke looked at me like I'd sprouted an anteater's tongue. "What the hell are you yakking about?"

"Yes, Kei," Kurama said with comparable confusion—and additional curiosity. "What does construction have to do with Hiei?"

"Oh, nothing. Just take the tip, or don't. No skin off my nose." I broke into a jog before they could interrogate me, waving and calling goodbye over my shoulder. "See ya tomorrow!"

"Meh, whatever. Good luck getting your ass kicked at aikido, Tex!" Yusuke chortled after me.

"Fuck you too, buddy!" I called back with equal glee—and as I listened to Kurama and Yusuke's laughter chase me down the sidewalk, I got a nagging feeling that keeping up with my evening lesson was the least of my worries.

Surely whatever Koenma had to say would blow anything Hideki-sensei could throw at me right out of the goddamn water.

Notes:

A big plot point in the canon Dark Tournament is Kuwabara getting mad at his teammates for leaving him out when Genkai died. He was so mad people lied to him. I truly do think he'd have trouble with NQK's actions. Sorry this wasn't the reconciliation some were looking for, but… emotions are messy, and it's not that easy. Hopefully this was at least a step toward a brighter future for them.

It's my birthday this week! I can't have a party this year or see my friends thanks to COVID, so wish me a good one, yeah? It'll be a fanfic birthday party, the big 3-0 celebrated in style with my YYH pals. Love you guys.

See y'all on Sunday, September 20 with the next chapter.

Oh, BTW: Started a new little side-story called "RIOT CHILD." It's a reimagining of Lucky Child that answers the question of, "What if NQK died in 2020? How would this hellscape of a year affect her character and the overall story?" People on Tumblr have been contributing a TON of head-canons, and RIOT CHILD exists thanks to them. Obvs it won't cover all of Lucky Child, but writing one-shots for the project has been a ton of fun during these stressful times. Be warned it gets political and deals a lot with COVID. Overall it's not to be taken seriously, so have fun if you check it out!

Also the stuff about Kaito's parents dealing with sick people has been a core part of my fic's outline since I first outlined it. Weird that it coincides with COVID, but I guess the universe likes to pull stunts like this sometimes…

And, as always, huge thanks go out to the people who commented on chapter 112. You keep me going when I'm not feeling my best. This one's for you: SapphireStream, snapsdragon, Capriciousfan, Nathan_the_Ram, Unctuous, Sanguinary_Tide, TokiMirage, rosethornli, RainbowWordStrings, Ms_Liz, Sdelacruz2, shini_tenshi, Gerbilfriend, NotQuiteAnonymous, Tactile, ShiaraM, SilverKatsu, musiquemer, Altered_Karma, JestWine, yeeyeet, DragonsTower, Gazi

Chapter 114: Homeward Bound (Part 1)

Notes:

Warnings: Vomit, hospitals, that kind of thing

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

An aquiline nose, beard thick and edged in ginger—the nose was the same, but the beard was new. Tom had been clean-shaven when I'd died. Luckily his eyes were the same old shade of blue.

The dog sitting at his feet upon the dark, featureless ground was also new. Its pink tongue lolled as Tom knelt and scratched its belly, pointed ears standing upright at attention as Tom muttered some small coo of affection I could not quite hear. The dog was a husky mix. The markings on its face, the bandit-mask and brown eyebrows, were unmistakable, though the animal was small. Very small for a husky mix, with stumpy legs and a barrel chest.

The dog's brown eyes opened wide when it spotted me. It leapt up and strained at its red leash, whining as Tom rose to his feet and whispered to the dog to calm down, calm down—that's just your mama.

I frowned. Me, that dog's mama? But I didn't have a—

Tom's blue eyes flashed when he smiled. "Hey, babe," he said in his good-natured grumble. "Miss you."

"I miss you too," I said, mostly on reflex—and then I frowned, because he shouldn't be here. "Tom, why are you…?" The dog barked once, high and frantic. "—and who's that?"

"This little guy?" He knelt again, ruffling the dog's ears. "You know who this little guy is." When I said nothing, it was Tom's turn to frown. "Babe, what's wrong? You know him. It's—"

"Nori." The name rolled off my tongue of its own accord. How had I known that, though? I gaped, confused, but soon repeated, "Nori. It's Nori. Our dog."

"I knew you'd remember." Tom beamed. Soon the expression dissolved into one of mealy sadness. "You've missed a lot, but don't worry, babe. It'll come back to you soon."

I stepped toward him. "What do you—?"

A sound cut the darkness at my back—a murky sound, sibilant and strange, wet scales sliding across loose gravel. It killed me to tear my eyes from Tom's, but I did so I could look over my shoulder.

Behind me yawned empty black, endless and void.

Slowly, I turned back to Tom—but just as I tried to find his eyes once more, the shadows rippled, surged, and lunged with a sound like breaking glass, flying at my face with a flash of teeth, and I screamed—

—only to jolt awake, gasping for air against the window of the rocking train car.

I sat up with a curse, the stone charm on my bracelet clicking against the glass. The scant few passengers in the car nearby didn't look in my direction; seemed like I hadn't made a total fool of myself and talked in my sleep, then. Good. Turning my face away, I rubbed at my bleary eyes, listening as a cool voice announced over the PA system that we were almost to my stop. Good thing, too, because that dream had been… well, it had been unsettling, and I didn't want to fall asleep again just yet.

I found Kagome waiting for me on the train platform when I disembarked a few minutes later. She spotted me and waved as I strode over, watching as she bounced like a leaping deer and skidded to a stop at my side.

"Hey, girl," she chirped, but then she tittered. "What's wrong?"

My eyes rolled. "You sound like my parents."

"Huh?"

After splitting up from Yusuke and Kurama after school, I'd run straight home to ask Mom and Dad if I could bring the food for the little get-together Koenma had requested for the following day. They'd said yes just like I thought they would, just so long as I helped them prep some of the dishes ahead of time and not leave them with the bulk of the work at the last minute. That meant chopping a ton of vegetables and prepping soup stock before I skipped out to go to my weekly aikido lesson, of course, so I fell into sync beside them in the kitchen without complaint.

But even though I didn't say much, Mom was too perceptive for my own good. Not long later she sidled up next to me with a low murmur of, "Keiko, honey? How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess." My knife connected with the chopping board in a rhythmic tattoo, undaunted. "Why?"

"You've just seemed… tense, lately," Mom said. "Like you're walking on eggshells for some reason."

I swallowed, self-conscious. "Really?"

She nodded. Waited a beat for me to speak. But when I did not, she leaned in close and asked, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

A million things. A billion things. But this was the time for precisely none of them. And yet, her plaintive expression and concerned gaze told me I wasn't getting out of this with making at least one confession, so I took a deep breath and racked my brain for… something. For the least incriminating topic in the long list of things causing me endless amounts of grief.

"Lately I've been fighting with Kuwabara," I said, knife hitting the cutting board a little harder. "That's all."

"Oh no!" Mom put a hand to her cheek. "And he's such a sweet boy, too. What have you been fighting about?"

"Just… I didn't tell him something, and he's mad about it." Sweeping my diced carrots to the side, I reached for a head of garlic and started peeling. "I did it to protect him, and he gets that, but…"

"But it still hurts," Mom surmised.

"Yeah."

Her arm slipped around my shoulders. "Trust can be so hard to earn back once it's lost," she said, "but he knows that you care about him." She leaned her temple against mine and smiled. "Give it time. Time heals all wounds."

I chuckled. "Thanks, Mom."

"No thanks required. Dispensing motherly advice is what I'm here for." She let me go and reached for a large radish, holding it aloft like a sword. "Now help me chop these daikon so we can make pickles!"

We cooked for a while longer after that—too much longer, actually. I lost track of time as we giggled and chatted, to the point that I was running too late to sit and eat a proper dinner. Mom tucked a few onigiri into my bag as I bolted for the train station, shouting after me to eat something when I got the chance ("Because I saw your bento, and I know you skipped lunch!"), but I fell asleep on the train before I could bolt down some food. Not that I was actually hungry. The dream I'd had on the train had put a hollow pit in my stomach, too large and cold to fill with mere food. Had Kagome picked up on whatever my mom had seen in my face, or had the dream been bad enough that she could pick up on the mood it had left behind?

Not that it was all that weird that she'd sensed one or both of those things. Kagome was basically my best friend at this point, so perhaps it made sense she could pick up on whatever mood I was in.

But unlike with my mother, my beef with Kuwabara wasn't the only thing I could talk about with Kagome. All the things I couldn't tell Mom needed to get spilled, and Kagome was the perfect person to hear them out.

"Seriously, you look like a total space cadet," Kagome was saying. She waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me back to the present with a flutter of slender fingers. "Earth to Eeyore! You get completely stuck in a daydream, or what?"

"Some things have happened in the past week or two, Kagome," I said, shaking my head in slow strokes. "I haven't had a chance to tell you about them yet, but…"

"But what?"

"Koenma is coming to Human World tomorrow to tell us what he's learned about the Makers."

Kagome blanched. "Oh my god."

"Yeah. And while that's intimidating as all hell, there's something else that's got me even more keyed up." Fighting a grimace off my face proved impossible. "I saw Sato Shogo the other day."

"The husband of the former Spirit Detective?" Kagome clarified.

"Yeah. Him. And he read my fortune."

Feet striking the concrete pace by somber pace, I told Kagome about the cards—the cards that predicted tyranny, change, tough decisions and martyrdom in turns. She said not a word as we left the station and trekked down the streets toward the warehouse district, shadows depthless under the eaves of shops, houses and the boughs of looming trees. Her eyes grew wider and wider with every revealed card, and when I fell quiet, she let out a low whistle from between her teeth.

"Why didn't you tell me about that sooner?" she asked, voice hushed.

"I just couldn't say it over the phone." This was absolutely true, though not all there was to it. "And then when we saw each other, there wasn't a good moment to…"

"To talk about tyrants and stuff?" she guessed, and then she rolled her eyes. "So you've just suffered in silence this whole time. You martyr." Kagome winced and blushed. "Um. Poor choice of words, I guess, all cards considered…"

I stared straight ahead, fists clenching at my sides. "For a while I thought that maybe that card—that card that meant martyrdom—was referring to Yusuke," I said. "He's supposed to die and resurrect as a demon during the Sensui case, right?"

"Oh, that's right!" Kagome said. "I'd forgotten that. Like, he has a demon ancestor or something? And his death awakens those genes?"

"Exactly." And yet, I couldn't share her excitement, nor could I mirror the relieved sparkle in her eye. "But Shogo said that the cards were specifically for me—me, and me alone."

But Kagome wasn't about to let go of hope so quickly. "Well, I hope he was wrong. I hope he was wrong and the cards were talking about Yusuke." Her lips pursed when she frowned. "Wait a second, Little Miss Atheist. Don't you think tarot is a load of hogwash, anyhow?"

"I do. I did." Sweeping my hand out at the wider world, I mused, "But we live here, don't we? Where there are demons, and powers, and Spirit Worlds… maybe tarot is real here in a way it wasn't in our old lives."

"Maybe. But maybe it is a load of hogwash," Kagome said. "Has anything else the cards said come to pass?"

"Annoyingly, yeah," I admitted. "The cards about my past certainly made sense. 'Justice' is about accountability and honesty, plus a major upheaval, which…"

"Yeah, you coming out of the reincarnation closet certainly rings a bell there," Kagome observed with a brilliant smile.

"And then my present corresponded to the Moon, High Priestess and Magician cards—feelings of doubt, no sense of self, and a trickster figure. AKA, my mental state and Hiruko."

"But I mean, I read your mood from down a train platform," Kagome countered. "Maybe Shogo could sense you felt that way, too, and he read the cards to reflect what he observed. There's not enough data here to say for sure if the cards are magic, or if he's just good at reading you."

If hearing that hadn't made me feel so much better, I'm sure her logic would've irked me—because that logic was practically word-for-word the reasoning I'd used to dismiss fortune telling in my past life. But it hadn't occurred to me to think about that in this life, so all I did was smile and admit, "That's a good point, Kagome."

"What can I say? I'm amazing." Her smile faded as quickly as it had emerged. "Dunno if you want advice, but I'm gonna give it anyway. You said the future cards meant stuff like change, tyranny, martyrdom and then a big, enormous choice that's gonna change everything or whatever. Until those future cards actually seem to come true, don't think about the cards at all. Just go with the flow and put them out of your head." She slugged my shoulder, smile as affectionate as it was reproachful. "I know that's hard for you, but at least try, OK? Don't want you falling into a self-fulfilling prophecy, you know?"

"Yeah. That's good advice," I said. "Thanks, Kagome."

She beamed. "Don't mention it."

As we continued to walk through the dark streets, I watched Kagome from the corner of my eye, cataloging the spring in her step and the unconscious smile that perpetually adorned her tiny face. Both Kagome and my mother had come in clutch that evening, dispensing assurances that were almost exactly what I needed to hear. I was a lucky child, indeed, to be surrounded by such incredible people—but the more I thought about my loved ones in this life, the darker my mood grew.

"And besides," I said as we turned a corner onto the lot of warehouses in which Hideki-sensei housed his dojo, "there are more immediate and much bigger fish to fry in my life right now, anyway." At Kagome's lifted eyebrow, I said, "You be careful when you're out in public, OK? Kaito said there's a really serious bug going around that his parents are treating, and—"

"Treating?"

"His parent are doctors, apparently. And Kaito wasn't in school today, and he was acting weird yesterday…"

Her eyes widened below the curtain of her thick black bangs. "You don't think he caught it, do you?" she said, edging away from me a bit.

"Dunno." Although that was exactly where my mind had gone, too. Whining, I wrapped my arms around myself, tilted my face to the sky, and bemoaned, "But I hope not, because I seriously don't have time to catch it and get sick, too!"

From the shadows, a deep voice rumbled, "You feeling OK, Yukimura?"

Kagome squawked; I leaped back; we gasped and grabbed for one another in fright, but it was only Ezakiya who emerged from the darkness pooling in the lee of the warehouse we'd just passed. He held up his hands and babbled apologies as we came down from our shock, blocky face contorted with extreme remorse even as Kagome leveled a finger at his face in accusation.

"You scared me!" she shrieked. "Don't do that!"

"Somebody needs to put a bell on you, Big Guy," I said, hand pressed atop my thundering heart. "You're like a cat!"

Ezakiya winced. "My mom always says the same thing!"

"I'll bet she does," said Kagome, cursing. "Jesus, man. My heart is racing."

"Sorry, Kagome. I promise to make a little noise next time." He bowed low, passing a hand across his buzzed hair with another series of apologies. When Kagome accepted them (though not without a harrumph) he cracked a smile and tried to change the mood. "So how are you two doing tonight?" he said, falling into step beside us.

"Oh, fine. Was just telling Kagome that a friend of mine got sick," I said. "Apparently there's a nasty bug going around Mushiyori."

His thick brow furrowed. "I think I saw something about that on the local news. People keep collapsing, don't they?"

"My friend didn't give me specifics, but yeah. That sounds right."

"Hopefully they'll get it under control soon." For such a big guy (he probably had a few inches and fifty pounds on Kuwabara, of all people), Ezakiya looked quite nervous. "I live in Mushiyori, so—"

"Wait, you do?"

"Yeah." Ezakiya laughed. "I guess we've never talked about ourselves to each other much, huh?"

Kagome and I, knowing that wasn't really the case when it came to the two of us, exchanged a loaded look—but before Ezakiya could stop to wonder why we hadn't said anything, we arrived at Hideki-sensei's dojo. The door to the warehouse had been propped open with a brick, and as we pushed the door ajar and walked inside, Hideki himself greeted us almost immediately, stalking toward our group from his place near the punching bags against the warehouse's back wall.

Ezakiya—who had opened his mouth to speak—shut it with a click of teeth and scowled.

But Hideki didn't pay him any mind at all. He just pointed at the sparring mat in the middle of the warehouse, where a handful of other students stretched in preparation for the night's lesson.

"We're focusing on conditioning," he barked. "Too many of you have been slacking on your strength-training, and it shows in your sparring matches. We'll start with basic exercises." Fingers flickered as he snapped. "Now. Go."

And so we went. At Hideki's command, we cycled through tons of sit-ups, pushups, weight lifts, rounds on the punching bags, stretching and more, each set of reps broken up by a grueling series of wind-sprints that left some of the newer students in a heap on the floor. Horrible though the exercises were, it was nothing Hideki hadn't thrown at us before… but rather quickly I felt myself tire, hot lead amalgamating in my muscles and weighing them down to the point I could barely keep up with Kagome's short stride. Still, comparison is all too often the death of progress, so I ignored everyone else's efforts and concentrated on my own, focusing my perception on the stitch in my side, the drag of my feet, the air hissing like hot steel wool down the column of my throat. Zoning out had carried me through an arduous training session many times before, so I allowed my mind to wander as I ran what felt like my hundredth set of wind-sprints. Daydreaming about the food I'd bring to the meeting the following evening was a perfect way to distance my brain from my weary flesh. I'd already diced the onion and the carrots, and I'd prepped the soup stock, so when I got home I'd just need to pack up my noodles, finish prepping the daikon for pickles, grill some fish, maybe make some rice ahead of time…

"Yukimura!" Hideki called, voice rasping through the sounds of running feet and ragged breathing like a splinter. "Yukimura, stop!"

I skidded to a halt, resisting the urge to put my hands on my knees as my lungs tried to tangle themselves into a tight ball. "Hmm?" I said, barely able to speak. Sweat dripped down my face and over my chest, cold liquid stinging when it rolled into my eyes.

Hideki didn't say anything about my haggard appearance, though. He just stalked across the warehouse, expertly weaving through the others as they did their sprints, and handed me a bottle of water. "Drink this," he said, brusque tone brooking no room for argument. "Now."

"… OK?"

Withering under his piercing stare, I twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip. Hideki watched me like a hawk; wasn't sure if it was the force of his stare or the exercises that made my heart beat like an injured hummingbird beneath my ribs, but either way, it was hard to swallow from the force of its swift pound.

Hideki's scowl deepened. "You'd better sit down," he said, pointing at the sparring mat.

"Um." I lowered the bottle from my lips, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of sweat. "Why?"

"Because your pupils are dilated and your skin is the color of printer paper and if you don't sit, you'll fall down, that's why," he growled—and for a second I just stared at him, not understanding.

That's when a fresh batch of icy sweat sluiced down my face.

All at once the blood roared in my ears and whispered through my throat, a cascade of sparks clouding my vision like fireworks blotting out a summer night's sky. I swayed where I stood, physical sensation in my feet and hands lost like I'd stood up too fast after sitting down for a thousand years. Frankly, it was a wonder I didn't faint. It was only Hideki's hand on my elbow that kept me upright when I staggered, guiding me into a graceless (but safe) heap upon the floor as he plucked the water bottle from my numb hands, which surely would've dropped the thing without his intervention. I could barely feel the touch of his hand through the roar of thundering blood and the cold wings fluttering in the nerves of my face and chest and throat. I barely heard it when someone else called my name, hands alighting upon my back and smoothing over it in small, soothing circles.

"Keiko, are you all right?" Kagome said in my ear. "What's wrong?"

My hand covered my face, though I barely felt it. "I feel like garbage," I mumbled through numb lips.

"You're not—" Kagome struggled to keep her voice calm. "You're not sick, are you?"

"Don't be stupid," Hideki snapped. "She's just dehydrated. And when was the last time you had a decent meal?"

Disoriented as I felt, it took me a minute to remember—oh, yeah. Aside from the small bites of onigiri at lunch, I hadn't had much to eat at all today. No time for breakfast or dinner, either, Mom's rice balls untouched in my backpack on the other side of the warehouse. Whoops.

Sensing I wasn't going to get out of this without admitting my mistake, I grumbled, "Well… not since last night.

"Last night? Last night!?" Hideki repeated, voice like a thunderclap in the suddenly quiet dojo. "You show up here to train, and you haven't eaten since last night? Why did you skip so many meals?"

"It wasn't on purpose." And that was the honest truth, as was my next statement. "I just wasn't hungry today, that's all."

But Hideki had no sympathy. "No excuses," he snarled. "You should know better than to skip meals, especially on the day of a grueling practice session."

Hanging my head was easy, because keeping it upright was honestly sort of hard. "I'm sorry, sensei."

"What was this, some misguided diet attempt?" he continued as though I hadn't spoken. "What you need is more muscle, and you can't grow it if you don't eat. Do you want to be a fighter or don't you? Fighters eat. Warriors know that food will give them the strength to fight another day." He pressed the water bottle back into my hand. "Don't show up to practice in this state again, got it? You could have fallen and seriously injured yourself, and—"

Kagome cleared her throat. "She gets it, sensei."

"What she can get," Hideki retorted, "is out of my dojo and to the nearest restaurant." The sparkles in my eyes had abated just enough for me to see him point at me from above, a king calling down his wrath on a disappointing subject. "Carbs and protein, Yukimura. That's what you need. Now go. And you'd better be prepared for double wind-sprints next time you're here, you hear me?"

"Yes, sensei," I replied, too exhausted to be anything but meek. "Thank you."

Once I felt well enough to stand, sparkles finally (mostly) gone and my heart thumping at a pace a bit closer to normal, Kagome helped me to my feet. Hideki watched through narrowed eyes at my progress, eventually nodding his approval when I was able to stand without swaying.

"You go with her, Kagome," he said, and then his lip curled. "Don't want her fainting in some gutter on her way home." Before I could reply, he turned on his heel and barked, "Ezakiya!"

Eza (who had not stopped running sprints, dutiful and honor-bound) skidded to a halt at once. "Yes, sensei?" he said, trotting over to us from across the dojo.

"You go with them, too. Make sure Yukimura eats—" (here he shot me a Look) "—and they get home safe."

Ezakiya nodded. "Yes, sensei," he said, and he turned dutifully our way.

The three of us left in a knot, Kagome shielding me as we practically retreated from the warehouse and Hideki's censorious gaze alike. I felt quite small indeed after getting a dose of Hideki's tough love, and Ezakiya looked more than a little awkward as the warehouse door fell shut and we stood silently in the evening's balmy dark. Still, he gamely pointed off into the distance after a few seconds, forcing a grin onto his broad face like he didn't feel awkward at all.

"There's a noodle place I like over that way; they have good takoyaki, too," he said. "Want to get some yakisoba before you head home?"

I didn't care what we ate, so that sounded about as good as anything else (in the sense that nothing sounded good at all, which made everything equally appealing). Eza led the way out of the warehouse yard and down a few streets, taking us to a small hole-in-the-wall eatery in which I immediately felt very much at home. We were some of the venue's only customers, so we had our pick of seating and chose to establish ourselves in the very back near the kitchens (my choice; no sense making the lone server on staff walk across the place to talk to us). In no time we'd placed our orders and settled in to wait, listening to the radio in the kitchen play an evening show off a local station for the benefit of the cook.

And… that's all we did, because no one knew what to actually talk about. Ezakiya kept glancing between Kagome and me and trying to talk, then reconsidering and closing his mouth again. Clearly he wanted to talk; he just didn't know what to say.

And Kagome, bless her, was too empathetic to let him suffer. She quickly launched into a spirited retelling of one of her favorite anecdotes about the temple where she lived, filling our silence with story that got both Ezakiya and I laughing in no time flat. But soon her story had to come to its end, and once more we lapsed into uneasy quiet broken only by the radio show in the kitchen reading listening love letters aloud.

Next time, Ezakiya himself broke the silence. "You know…" he mumbled to his hands, which he'd folded on the tabletop. "I'm glad we're getting dinner tonight."

Kagome cocked her head. "Oh?"

Eza chanced a hesitant smile. "We all started coming to see Hideki-sensei on the same day, right? Since then, everyone else in that first class dropped out. Now it's just us and a bunch of newbies." He rubbed the back of his neck—an uncertain gesture he paired with a genuine grin. "I kind of feel like we're the originals, you know? The old guard. I realized that the other day and couldn't get it out of my head."

Kagome's eyes lit up. "Is that why you came up to Keiko a few weeks ago to talk?"

"Yeah, actually." Eza's grin grew. "I'm not the best at making friends, but after practicing together for so many months, I feel like I know you both pretty well, so it's less intimidating. I just think it's a shame we haven't gotten to know each other better, if that makes sense."

"It does, Big Guy," Kagome said. Placing her elbows on the tabletop, she rested her chin on her hands. "Y'know, you're pretty cool."

"Thanks, Kagome," Eza replied, relieved. "So're you."

Just then, our server returned with some of our smaller food items, namely takoyaki and some pickled vegetables. Kagome gave the steaming takoyaki a once-over and then stood, saying she needed to use the bathroom while our food cooled off. I reached for some of the small plates we'd been given as she walked away, portioning out the appetizers so she wouldn't accidentally miss out.

But Eza cleared his throat, diverting my attention from the meal. "I gotta say this fast, but—sorry about the other week, when I tried to talk to you out of nowhere," he said in a rush, staring bashfully at the tabletop again. "Kagome is so much younger than me, and you're closer to my age, so I wanted to talk to you first. Looks weird for someone my age to talk to a gradeschooler out of nowhere."

"That makes a lot of sense." It spoke well of him, that he thought ahead so much. "How old are you, out of curiosity?"

"17."

"Wait, really?" I did a double-take at his massive muscles, broad shoulders and shaved head. "I thought you were 20 or something!"

"I get that a lot," he said with good-natured humility. "Big guy, remember?"

"Apparently so!" Serving him some takoyaki, I asked, "Anyway, where do you go to school? Tell me about yourself."

He did so, and by the time Kagome came back, I'd learned quite a bit about the boy I'd been sharing aikido lessons with for so many months: Ezakiya was in his final year of high school; he wanted to study social work in college so he could help people after he graduated; he did aikido to stay in shape; and he care for plants, specifically pepper plants, as a hobby. Over the course of the evening together, Kagome and I learned all that and more about our new-old friend, and I came away from dinner thinking it had been an evening unexpectedly well-spent.

Ezakiya, I decided, was nice—a nice person who was just being friendly, albeit a bit overdue. I'd been so suspicious of people lately, including of him, and that hadn't been cool of me. He'd just wanted to make friends, after all, and there was nothing wrong with that.

After we ate, Ezakiya walked Kagome and me to the train station to see us off before making his own way home. He dropped us off on the station platform with a wave before taking the stairs back up to the street, and as he walked away, Kagome began to whistle the tune of "Mister Cellphone" between her teeth.

"I dunno, Kagome," I said, staring at his retreating back. "He's more like parchment paper now, if you ask me."

"I guess you're right." Nudging my ribs with her elbow, she asked, "You feeling better?"

"That food really did help, actually," I admitted, still tasting delicious takoyaki and stir-fried noodles on my tongue. "I feel like a new person."

"Good noodles can do that to a girl," Kagome said. Around the corner of the train platform came a rattle and screech of brakes, train's headlights cutting the dark in the nearby tunnel. "Think you'll make it home OK?"

"I don't see why not." Checking my watch, I told her, "Getting let loose from practice early is a blessing in disguise, to be honest. I have a lot to cook tonight for tomorrow's meeting."

Anxiety pinched her features, pulling dark lines between her eyebrows. "You'll call me and let me know how that goes, won't you?" she asked, voice pitching higher than usual.

"Of course," I assured her—and when we parted, each of us homeward bound, I only hoped that unlike the results of a certain tarot reading, whatever Koenma revealed to us the following night would not be too dire to tell Kagome over the phone.

That night, I had another dream of a dog I knew—without really knowing how—was named Nori.

The tiny husky mix, with his white chest and gray back and bandit-masked face, sat in a puddle of light below a streetlamp on a quiet suburban street, windows of nearby homes dark as their occupants dreamed in rooms unseen beyond the glass. Stars burned in the black sky above, and Nori looked happy indeed to be outside on this warm spring night—but his red leash lay limp upon the pavement, and in his eyes I saw a spark of mischief.

"Nori!" I called, a note of warning in my voice.

But Nori did not heed my call, and with a wag of tail, he scampered off, leash scraping across the pavement with a hiss.

"Hey!" I shouted after him. "Get back here, you little—!"

Without a second thought I bolted after him down the rain-slicked road, feet slapping the pavement as a bloated supermoon cast silver lights onto the whispering trees. Though Nori had the stubby legs of a corgi, he ran like the wind inspired his every step, flying past the darkened homes of my neighbors (How did I know they were mine?) and around a corner, down another dark road, toward a park in the heart of the neighborhood's secluded streets. I only caught up to him because he stopped to smell the roses—literally. The house closest to the park had roses beside the driveway, and when he slowed to sniff at the base of the plant, I pounced on the end of his leash and held on tight.

"Thank god!" I said, winded as I bent to pet his silky neck. "You almost gave me a heart attack." When he bent his neck to lick my hand, I asked him in a cooing baby voice, "Who's mommy's little shithead, huh? Huh? Is it you, sweet baby?"

"Nori!"

I looked up. Across the street at the park, standing beside the swing set in a pool of amber streetlamp, stood a woman and a man and a dog—a dog called Nori, bandit mask and stumpy legs utterly unmistakable.

That's when I realized Nori's leash was no longer in my hand.

Nori, who had vanished and reappeared across the road, stood at the feet of the man and the woman, butt shaking with joy as he wagged his tail and yipped at the moon and stars. The man pulled a face as he stared at the dog, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief.

"He almost peed on me!" the man said in a voice I recognized—in Tom's voice.

"Who's a good boy, Nori?" said the woman in another voice I recognized—in my voice, as viscerally recognizable as the sight of my own face, which she wore as naturally as breathing. But her hair was shorter than mine had been, a long bob instead of a waist-length mass of waves. "Who's mommy's little shithead? Huh? Is it you, sweet baby?"

Tom laughed again. "That little rat…!"

I watched in silence as they chatted and laughed, leading Nori to the carousel so Tom could spin him and the woman (her, me, my old self) around and around, their laughter flying heavenward like roving fireflies. Numb feet carried me closer to watch them talk and laugh and smile, leading me to a spot behind a nearby tree, unseen but seeing, caught immobile in the light of the scene playing out before me. Tom's laugh put an ache in my heart, and to myself I said I wanted to listen to his laugh forever.

When Nori staggered on the carousel, they helped him down and meandered toward the swings, pushing themselves back and forth as their toes dragged tracks through the scattered tanbark. Nori bedded down in the chips and rolled on his side, panting with a grin plastered across his pointed face. It was all I could do to stand there in silence, numbed to feeling as Tom reached out for her (my, the other-me's) hand and twined her fingers with his own.

The single light above the playground glinted off the ring on her finger—the silver ring set with a single sparkling stone—as shadow pooled thickly on the ground below.

"You know, I like this neighborhood, I think," she (me, my other self) said with casual breeze. "Not as fancy as the one we used to walk through when we were scoping out zombie fortresses, but it'll do."

"Makes sense to me," said Tom with his typical, beautiful, long-missed sense of humor and cheeky grin. "Less people, fewer zombies."

"And there aren't nearly as many trellises out here," said the other me. "Better zombie defense overall, if you ask me."

"But we are in the suburbs," Tom countered with feigned regret. "And we got a dog. And we work white-collar office jobs and drive gas-guzzling cars. All zombie defenses aside, we're basically peak White-People-Being-White-People."

"Hey, we didn't get a golden retriever!" she said, defensively gesturing at Nori. "We're not a total cliché yet."

"Yet," Tom emphasized. "But we're just a golden retriever and a minivan away from being total suburban assholes."

"You're right, it's too risky," the other me mournfully intoned. "We gotta sell the house and move."

Tom bent over and wagged a finger in Nori's face. "You're never allowed to bleach your fur, Nori. You hear that?" he said with mock solemnity. "You're all that stands between us and being insufferable mayonnaise monsters."

"Gross!" she (I, we) said with a cackle, and Tom pulled her (me, us) in for a kiss.

Watching them chatter about their new home in the 'burbs was both familiar and utterly alien—because while I knew my old face, and I knew Tom's bearded face, Nori was new, and this life in the suburbs they spoke of was one I had never lived. I'd never adopted that dog named Nori with Tom; we'd never bought a house together, either. I had died when we were just dating, not engaged, talks about marriage and homes and cohabitating still new and tentative… but here, in this place, they had both a dog and a house, and she wore a sparkling ring I had never seen before. But watching them felt like coming home, so I wrapped my arm around the tree beside me and leaned my temple against its bark, sighing a wistful sigh snatched away on the springtime wind.

Still, entranced as I was by the sight before me, an unsettled ripple tugged at the zen settling within my heart—and then unease turned to alarm as something moved in the shadows by their feet.

"Hey." The word came out as a whisper; I leapt out from behind the tree. "HEY—"

The word froze inside my throat, chill lodging within my neck like a chunk of poison apple. I tried to move to no avail as the shadows at their feet bubbled like boiling tar, scattering bursts and pops of sloppy ichor. It spattered their shoes and Nori's soft coat, but they didn't notice. I tried to move, to run and warn them, but my feet refused to step, my hands refused to twitch. I tried to scream again, to tell them to run, to get out of here, but—

Nothing.

Unable to move or speak or even breathe, I watched in numbed and inert horror as the shadow bubbled and buckled and rose, a shape rising from the darkness to tower behind Tom and my other self, a shapeless shade that loomed like the night itself over their unknowing heads, sucking in the light of the stars and the moon and the streetlight until its darkness was all that remained.

I tried to ludic dream, then. This couldn't be real, after all. But what came so naturally to me in other dreams refused to come to me that night, leaving me stuck and helpless, impotently watching as the shadow loomed higher, and higher still, until its head brushed the dying stars—and then it came crashing down. Like a tidal wave it fell upon Tom, upon Nori, upon the other me and consumed them, hurtling back into the pool of shadow beneath the swings… swings that were now empty, rocking back and forth on the wind like empty caskets. But just as suddenly as it had crashed back into that pool of shadow, the monster rose up again, standing even taller than before.

And then it turned to me.

Panicked and unable to move, I tried to take the reins of my dream again, to snap into control the way I had so many times before. Nothing happened, though, and as the shadow creature drew nearer, I cast about for something, for anything that could save me from this monster that had eaten Tom and my other self and Nori with such mindless hunger, but I saw no weapons, I saw no friends, I saw no means of escape—

Escape!

With a burst of willpower I tried something else: to end the dream, rather than take control of it. I'd done it before, with Hiruko, and once again I forced myself to wake with an icewater shock of I-don't-want-to-be-here-anymore—

The monster screamed like breaking glass.

I sat up with a gasp, safe and sound in my room in Sarayashiki, Japan.

It took a few minutes to calm the racing of my heart, but soon I flopped back against my bed and draped an arm over my tired eyes. "What the fuck was that?" I asked the empty room. "I mean, what the hell—?"

Three sharp raps on my bedroom door had me sitting up again, heart leaping into a gallop, but it was just my father. "Honey, are you OK?" he called through the door, concern resonant in every syllable. "Honey?"

"Yeah, Dad!" I called back. "Just had a bad dream."

"Oh. Well, must've been quite a nightmare. You were yelling blue murder!"

He only plodded off down the hall once I assured him I was truly OK, saying he'd cook breakfast if I felt up for it. I told him 'yes' mostly to placate him, rolling back into my bed and pulling the covers over my head as his feet descended the creaky stairs into the restaurant. I hadn't been lying when I said it was a bad dream; it was honestly one of the worst I'd ever had, confusing and strange and worryingly out of control. Normally I could lucid-dream, but…

A shiver skated down my spine.

Throwing the covers aside, I grabbed my alarm clock and squinted at its face. Both the clock and the vague orange light filtering through my curtains told me it was disgustingly early in the morning—far earlier than I usually woke up, and I'd gone to bed pretty late the night before, too. But even though it was too early to go to school, the thought of going back to bed held zero appeal whatsoever, so I swung my legs off the mattress and got dressed with a reluctant sigh.

Mom and Dad didn't seem to mind that I'd gotten up early, though. They were more than happy to let me help with the morning's allotment of restaurant prep work, though Mom still tutted as I sleepily helped her chop a crate of onions.

"You're up really early, sweetheart," she said, fretting when I just shrugged. "You sure you don't want to take a nap before school?"

"Nah." I winked at her. "I'd rather hangout with you two."

"My!" said Mom, flattered. "And they say teenagers normally think their parents are so uncool!"

"It's nice to be popular," said Dad with a laugh. "You've been out so much with your friends, I gotta say I like spending time with my daughter."

"I'll have to wake up early more often, then."

They agreed that that might be nice on occasion, and when it came time for me to head to school, they saw me off with their typical affection and warmth. I carried it with me that day, a salve for my frayed nerves and worried heart as I weathered the storm of schoolwork and social interactions I inevitably encountered at school. Junko and Amagi both noticed I looked tired, but I shrugged them off and spent class thinking about the dream. I spent most of the morning's lectures staring out the window, truth be told, letting my mind drift where it wanted without interference. Even in dance class, I let my body move on autopilot while my head wandered.

I confess I thought mostly of Tom. But I tried not to think about what that might signify in great detail.

When lunch arrived, I considered it a blessing, heading up to my usual stairwell haunt at double speed. Kurama beat me there, however; I found him sitting on the steps with his bento opened across his lap. He smiled when he saw me, hair glinting with red highlights as spring sunshine filtered through the nearby window.

"Hello, Kei." Green eyes swept the steps. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I haven't seen Kaito today."

"Me neither, actually." Well, that was mostly true; since I spent the class daydreaming, I couldn't actually recall if he was or wasn't in lit class. I suspected he wasn't since normally he talked up a streak and inevitably pissed someone off, and I didn't remember hearing him utter a peep that day. Per my usual character, my brain leapt to the worst possible scenario, and to Kurama I muttered, "Not to sound totally paranoid, but you don't think he's…?"

"Afflicted with whatever illness his parents are treating?" His lips thinned, eyes harrowed. "I'd be remiss if I didn't say the thought had crossed my mind."

"I hope he's OK." I shivered in spite of myself. "I hope we don't catch it or something."

"You appear well to me," Kurama said after giving me a swift once-over. Deviousness touched him smile. "Perhaps nervous and sleep-deprived, but I sense nothing amiss worth mentioning."

"That's a relief." I plopped onto the stairs beside him with a suspicious glance askance. "You didn't smell me again or something, did you?"

He kept his expression carefully neutral. "I know you aren't fond of that little skill of mine, so I refrained."

"Good." With precise movements I popped the lid off my bento. "One less thing to be paranoid about."

His lips twitched. "But if you'd like for me to—"

"No. Nope. No thank you."

"I thought as much." His laugh filled the stairwell at my blushing expense. "I see you're eating your lunch today."

I jammed a fried shrimp into my mouth. "Do you approve?"

"Of course." Kurama watched me chew in momentary silence. "Though I can't help but notice you don't seem terribly enamored with the experience."

"It tastes great." Swallowing brought forth an involuntary grimace. "Just not very hungry." Hesitation, followed be a nervy confession: "Anxious about tonight."

Kurama nodded sagely. "I see."

"And it's not just because of Koenma's big news," I said. "It'll be the first time the whole gang gets together since we got back from the tournament, right?" Eyes downcast, I muttered, "I just want it to go well."

"Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but are you perhaps worried about Kuwabara?" Kurama silkily inferred. "You're on good terms with almost everyone else, as far as I'm aware."

"Yeah." My chopsticks scraped the bottom of my bento when I tried to spoon up a bite of rice. "It's the Kuwabara of it all."

"I've been meaning to ask how your chat at the arcade went, but there was never a good time." It was his turn to hesitate, but only for a moment. "May I…?"

I shrugged. "It was nothing crazy. He just doesn't trust me. Said me knowing everything about him but him knowing nothing about me is too imbalanced." Another shrug, this one more helpless than the last. "I have all the power. And even if I tell him about myself, he'll still wonder what I know about him and what I might be holding back about myself."

Kurama nodded, but he didn't speak. I jabbed the rice in my bento again, breaking up starchy clumps with unfeeling, absent swipes.

"He didn't say it in these words," I said after a moment or two, "but back when we first got to be friends, he confided some things in me that he'd never told anyone else. The fact that he shared these intimate details with me, assuming I didn't know them, and then to find out I knew all about them and more…" I sighed. "I guess I see why he's pissed."

"Yes. I understand it as well." Kurama smiled when I turned to him and frowned, confused. "Although I learned your secret in short order, for some time after we first met, it was clear to me that you knew something about me that I had not chosen to share with you. That invasion of privacy, the presumption of intimacy that had not been earned…"

"I haven't said it in a while, but just in case there's any doubt, please know that I'm still sorry about the puns," I said in an air of defeated apology, and Kurama tossed his hair and laughed.

"I appreciate that," he said when the humor faded (though his eyes continued to sparkle). "They were truly quite horrific."

"Well." I turned away as my heart gave an unexpected thump. "The good news is that I think you realized pretty quickly that I'm not the enemy, all my terrifying puns aside."

He hummed an affirmation. "Your commitment to saving my mother's life illustrated that concept quite efficiently, yes."

"Hmm. Well." Gazing out the window, I pillowed my elbow on my knee and my chin on my hand, thoughts wandering back to Kuwabara. "It may take a grand gesture on my part, but eventually I think Kuwabara will realize the same thing. He already knows that I lied and hid things for what I think are good reasons. Now he just needs to believe that for himself—head versus heart and all that jazz." Another sigh, longer than the one that had come before. "Too bad he doesn't have any moms to save with a magic mirror, though."

"Alas, we cannot all be as lucky as myself in that regard," Kurama said. "And Kei?"

I looked away from the window as fingers skimmed my sleeve. "Hmm?"

"Give him time." Kurama's smile dazzled my eyes even more than the bright spring sunlight streaming through the window. "He's far too attached to you to continue being angry for much longer."

But his words did little to comfort me. "I hope you're right," was all I could mutter as I dug back into my bento box.

"Considering I speak from experience," he said, fingertips tracing a pattern on my arm, "I have every faith that I am."

I choked on my food and nearly died. Kurama watched my brush with death with a look of perfect innocence on his face, even handing me a bottle of water as if he hadn't been the cause of my untimely demise.

"Why, Kei," he merely said as I coughed and hacked, face the very portrait of virtue. "You're all red. Did I say something embarrassing?"

I glared at him over the top of the water bottle. "You know damn well what you said, fox boy."

In response, Kurama just laughed, returning to his lunch without a care in the world.

After school, Kurama walked me to my house before accompanying me to Yusuke's apartment across town. We arrived outside the complex just as the sun began to set, arms laden with bags and boxes of the food my parents had helped me prep for the evening meal.

"Thanks again for helping me carry all of this," I said as we prepared to summit the apartment complex's many flights of stairs. "Never could've managed on my own."

"It's nothing," Kurama quickly assured me—and then he smiled a familiar, all-too-innocent smile. Expression utterly angelic, he added, "Helping is just an excuse to spend more time with you."

Thank fucking god I wasn't in the middle of eating that time, because I surely would've choked again. As it stood, I just turned the color of a beet and glared at him with an accusatory mutter of, "Why are you like this?"

"Hmm?" His head tilted. "Like what?"

I probably looked close to purple by then. "Like all charming and—"

"Uh… Hey?"

The words froze on my tongue like blocks of ice in a midwinter squall. Kuwabara stood a few paces behind us, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slumped as a nervous not-quite-smile played across his sharp mouth. As Kurama issued a perfunctory and perfectly pleasant greeting, I swallowed and tried not to gape, blindsided by the urge to nervously babble or otherwise make a fool of myself in the face of Kuwabara's unexpected appearance.

Obviously, this was the first time I'd seen him post-alteration at the arcade… but I'd been practicing in preparation for this moment, and after taking a second to adjust, I pasted on a breezy smile.

"Hello, Kuwabara. Nice to see you." Jiggling the bags in my left hand, I said, "Would you mind taking this? My hands are on fire."

"Oh, uh… sure," he said, taking them from me (because even when mad, he was still polite).

"Thank you. That's much better." Flexing my hand a few times, I bared my teeth in an anxious grimace. "You nervous for whatever Koenma has to say? Because I sure am."

"Yeah," Kuwabara immediately agreed, but then he walked the statement back with a cough and a shrug. "I mean, I guess so. Yusuke looked pretty freaked out when he told me about the meeting, so…"

"He showed you an emotion that wasn't sass?" I said, impressed. "Huh. Growth. That's good of him." After flashing a grin, I turned to the stairs and groaned, "Man, I wish this place had an elevator…"

I began the long climb upward, Kuwabara and Kurama fell into step behind me without argument. With my back to Kuwabara (and Kurama by extension), I could finally let the easy smile slide off my face, an egg sliding off a nonstick pan and splattering on the sidewalk of my inner mood. Hopefully Kuwabara hadn't seen right through me. That was all I could ask…

Kurama's voice slipped silken on the air after we'd climbed a flight or two—an odd amount of delay to greet someone, in my opinion, because what he said was: "Good to see you, Kuwabara. It's been a while—since the Tournament, in fact."

Kuwabara grunted a reply, but he didn't say anything else. A rather tepid response from the normally effusive guy. Was probably still mad at Kurama, too, likely over the issues with their parents. I hated to admit it, but knowing I wasn't the only person Kuwabara was pissed at was actually kind of… nice? Made me feel a little less alone, at least, since I wasn't the only person on his Shit List.

Anyway.

I put the thought out of my head when we at last arrived outside Yusuke's front door. Botan opened it a minute after I knocked, gorgeous face immediately breaking out in a smile.

"Keiko!" she said. "And Kurama, and Kuwabara—oh, and the food, of course. How nice!" Turning, she cupped a hand over her mouth to shout, "Yusuke, Yusuke, the food—"

"GET THE FUCK OVER HERE YOU LITTLE GODDAMN RAT!"

Like a ball hit by a professional slugger at the bottom of the 9th, loaded bases and all, Puu sailed into the living room in a streak of brilliant blue. Yusuke soon followed, moving with supernatural speed after the little bat-bird creature—who carried a bottle of hair mousse in his claws, I noticed. Yusuke snatched for it and loosed a ferocious growl when Puu fluttered away, bat-wings nimbly propelling him through the air and out of reach. Yusuke shoved the untamed hair falling over his forehead back with a scream of frustration, then performed a flying leap over the back of the couch and managed to snag Puu midair, the pair plummeting to the floor with a terrific crash. A second latter he popped up from behind the couch with a crow of triumph, slinging Puu through the air like he'd caught a prized foul ball.

Botan cleared her throat.

Yusuke spotted us at last.

"Uh." He shoved Puu behind his back, waving awkwardly with his other hand. "Hi, guys."

I held up my bag of food. "I'm just gonna go put this in the kitchen," I said, and with a teasing smirk I walked past Yusuke and into the aforementioned room.

The apartment smelled like Yusuke's cologne and Atsuko's beer, both mixed with the scent of the detergent I always used to wash their clothes. Those scents faded into the smell of instant ramen and old vodka in the kitchen, where Kuwabara and Kurama deposited their bags of groceries at my feet. They offered to help cook (Kuwabara quite halfheartedly), but I shooed them away so I could start setting up for dinner (not that Kuwabara needed any persuading to get lost). Conversation murmured in the living room as I assembled ingredients and fired up the stove to get a pot of miso soup started, but no sooner had I started working than did a blur of black flash past, sending some pieces of parchment paper I'd wrapped around blocks tofu scattering. Hiei appeared just behind me, livid red gaze raking over the food spread across the counters with undisguised curiosity.

"What's for dinner?" he demanded, not bothering to greet me.

"Soup and yakisoba. You'll like it, I promise." When he still pulled a face, I grabbed a bento off the counter and handed it to him. "But if for some reason you don't, I also made onigiri with salmon—your favorite."

He opened the box to inspect it, nose twitching as he gave it a sniff. It apparently passed muster, because he set it on the counter with a wordless grunt and no complaints.

"You're welcome," I said.

Hiei just glared. Before I could tell him to be grateful I was making dinner at all, Botan poked her head into the kitchen, brilliant blue hair scintillating far too prettily than any normal person's in the harsh florescent lights.

"Not feeling social today, Hiei?" she said before wincing. "Though I suppose I'm one to talk, since I'll be heading out soon, myself."

"You're not staying to hear what Koenma has to say?" I asked.

Botan shook her head. "It's better if I don't, in case Koenma's father asks if he knows my whereabouts. But it's all right—I'm sure you'll fill me in in no time flat!"

"Of course. I'll just miss your optimism, I guess."

Botan crossed the room so she could pat my shoulder. "Everything will be fine, Keiko. You'll see." She danced away against just as quickly, ballerina graceful on her feet. "Save me a plate, would you? It already smells divine."

She left shortly after that, judging by the open and shut of the apartment's front door, sound distant but distinct. I expected Hiei to follow her lead and make himself scarce, but he just leaned against the kitchen doorway and glowered at me, arms crossed over his cloak-clad chest.

"You," he said, words accusatory as all hell, "told Yusuke where I live."

But I only shrugged. "I don't know where you live, Hiei, so that's kind of impossible."

"You gave him a hint," he insisted, as if that was somehow worse.

"He's a detective, Hiei. He would've figured it out eventually."

"You gave him a hint!"

"And is that really so bad?" I said. "Botan's right. You really aren't very social. It'd do you some good to have a friend over, though."

"I doubt that very much."

"Who knows? Maybe they'd bring snacks."

Hiei opened his mouth.

He closed it again.

Said "harrumph" and looked at the floor, scowl fiery enough to burn a hole straight through the pale linoleum.

"Got 'em," I said, and when he turned that scowl on me, I stuck out my tongue.

Hiei's glare intensified, but nothing caught fire except the stove. He remained silent as I fixed dinner, observing with shrewd eyes when Yusuke came in to help wash and chop ingredients, his hands flying with blinding speed over cabbage, green onion and bamboo shoots. He'd acted as my sous chef a hundred times; Yusuke knew what he was doing, including the part where we carried an alarming amount of plates and bowls and cups on each arm and into the living room to serve dinner. Hiei continued to sulk while we ate, though his mood seemed to improve with every bite of yakisoba and soup (which, apparently, he liked after all). Puu ate out of a little bowl on the coffee table, examining bites of food with his clever little claws before nibbling at them, tasting each element of the meal before settling on the yakisoba, which he appeared to like most. It was easy to relax as we all watched him eat; he provided a nice distraction from the nerves gnawing at my gut. I kept up a lively appearance and did my best not to avoid looking, or to look too pointedly at Kuwabara, and given the relaxed atmosphere, I think I did an OK job.

I had a good teacher, after all. Every smile and optimistic statement I channeled from my friendship with Botan, mimicking the ever-present light she radiated even in the yawning dark.

But I didn't have to keep up the bright-and-cheery act for too long. Just as we finished eating, there came a knock at the door. Everyone shut up and stared at each other, more than one of us flinching when the knock came a second time, more urgent than before. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as Yusuke rose, watching as he took a deep breath and strode purposefully to the front door.

"Well," he said when he reached it, and with a backward glance at the rest of us. A grim smile settled upon his mouth. "I guess it's that time." With no further preamble, he wrenched open the door. "How's it hanging, diaper breath?"

"Charming, Yusuke," came Koenma's dry retort. "Just charming."

Yusuke grinned and stepped back, allowing the prince of Spirit World passage into his home. Koenma wore the face of a young man, his teenage form clad in red and blue robes from an era long since passed. He would've looked like someone out of a period film if not for the black "Jr." tattooed upon his forehead and the blue pacifier hanging from his mouth. Koenma, with his chestnut hair and golden eyes, was handsome as an adult, but I couldn't get past the pacifier. Made him look like he was about to head off to a rave or something; facial tattoos and pacifiers tend to do that to people, no matter how handsome they are.

Oblivious to my observations, Koenma walked into the apartment with head held high, robes swirling around his ankles with every step. He looked at each of us in turn, meeting our eyes pair by pair by pair, saying: "Kurama. Hiei. Kuwabara. Keiko. Is this everyone?"

"Yeah," said Yusuke. He collapsed onto the couch beside me and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, nearly upsetting my still-kind-of-full plate of yakisoba in the process. "There a problem?"

One of Koenma's carefully manicured eyebrows rose. "I was expecting the entire cavalry."

"Tough tittie." Yusuke cackled (on the coffee table, Puu gave a little burble of worry). "You only gave us a day's notice, and Genkai needs at least a week to move those brittle-ass bones of hers across the prefecture."

"Shizuru had an appointment with a client," Kuwabara added, trying to be helpful.

"And my mom had an appointment with a local bar," said a smirking Yusuke, who wasn't trying to be helpful at all.

Koenma ignored him, though. "And Botan?" was all he asked with careful insouciance. "What about her?"

Out of nowhere, a sharp bark of laughter cut the room—one issued by Hiei, of all people, who had installed himself upon the nearest windowsill overlooking the apartment's front stoop. Koenma turned to him and scowled, a frown that deepened when Hiei didn't deign to so much as pay the prince a sidelong glance.

"Something funny, Hiei?" Koenma asked when Hiei did not deign to speak.

"Don't act innocent," Hiei snapped. "You know just as well as we do why she isn't here, Koenma."

Koenma opened his mouth to snap back—but he closed it just as quickly, chin ducking toward his blue-clad chest and the rest scarf wound around his shoulders.

"Yes. I suppose I do," was all he muttered before tossing his hair and rising back up to his full height. "Since I can tell I'm not exactly a fan favorite, allow me to cut directly to the chase. All of you know why we've gathered here: to discuss the Spirit known as Hiruko and his attempts to contact the Makers in pursuit of a goal we do not yet fully understand."

The air in the room changed in a snap. Kurama's bland smile faded; Kuwabara sat up straighter; Yusuke slouched deeper into his seat, and Puu flapped his quick bat-wing ears and leapt onto Yusuke's shoulder, to which he clung like a baby koala (only, y'know, more batlike and stuff). Only Hiei did not react, staring pointedly aside at the curtained window.

I'm sure I pulled a face, too, though I tried my best not to look too unsettled as my brain leapt to the dream I'd had of Hiruko so recently. In it, we'd sat upon a cliff overlooking an ocean of flowers, stars and planets wheeling through a technicolor sky on the tide of space and time itself. In that dream, he'd confessed that all he wanted was a place to belong, and that the Makers could give him that—but should I tell Koenma about Hiruko's words, solve the mystery of Hiruko's goals once and for all? His confession had been so intimate, so private, but… he was the enemy. Could I afford to give him privacy?

In the end, Koenma himself deemed my quandary irrelevant, because apparently he didn't much care about Hiruko's goals at all. Marching to the nearest empty chair, he sat and waved one hand through the air in great arcs, as if gesturing to the whole of the world at once.

"Not that the specifics of Hiruko's goal are particularly important. In fact, they aren't important at all," he said. "If we stop him before he succeeds, his exact desires will never become relevant." Golden eyes slid my way. "And given the efforts of one Yukimura Keiko, he has not succeeded. Not so far, anyway."

Yusuke grinned, slugging my knee with his knuckles right on the spot that hurt most. I cursed and slugged him back, and I'm sure that the proceedings would've devolved into one of our famous tussles had Koenma not cleared his throat with a pointed scowl.

"As we all know," he said when we settled down, "Hiruko appears to have stolen an item of power from the Fates."

"Probably a section of weaving or a loom or something like that," I added, trying to be helpful. "He's said stuff like 'the tapestry lit up' and things like that, and he seems to use threads as a weapon, so…"

"Right. Thank you, Keiko." Koenma cleared his throat again. "He used this item, whatever it may be, to bring legends from another reality to life, and in the same turn, he placed Keiko into the body of… well. Into the body of Keiko. Since then, he has urged her to break the rules as she follows the path of… what was it?" His nose wrinkled. "Yu Yu Hakusho?"

"The shonen manga I'm the protagonist of, in case anyone's forgotten," Yusuke interjected with a grin.

"That's right," I said, to both of them (though my scowl was only for the preening Spirit Detective at my side).

Koenma nodded, just once. "Given the involvement of the Fates, I can only presume Hiruko is encouraging you to break the rules of destiny and to force the story of Yu Yu Hakusho to deviate from the canon you are familiar with. So far you've managed to keep it mostly on track, for which we are all grateful." His lips pursed, tight and pale in his smooth bronze skin. "Indeed, if the Fate called Clotho is to be believed, his success would mean the undoing of the very fabric of this world. But again: We won't let him get to that point. We know his end goal is to impress the Makers. So long as we prevent him from contacting them in the first place, we should be just fine."

Kurama, sitting a few feet away in an armchair, raised his head just so. "Am I to infer that you've made some headway on this matter?" he asked.

"Indeed," Koenma said. Once again he met all of our eyes in turn, an air of gravitas descending like a storm. "As I stated during our conversation on Hanging Neck Island, not a word of this can be repeated to anyone outside our close circle of friends. Is that understood?"

A chorus of agreements rang up (though in Hiei's case, he just grunted, and in Puu's, he gamely chirped).

"Very well." With no further ado, Koenma squared his shoulders and said, "I have discovered the place where the Makers can be contacted."

The room stilled. Puu stopped chirping. When Kuwabara swallowed out of sheer nerves, the sound all but echoed through the room. Even Koenma himself sat in silence for a minute or so, face turning the color of cold oatmeal bit by sweating bit.

"In theory, anyway," he said after a time—and then he smiled, nose thrusting high into the air. "Finding this information was quite the task, as you might expect. It took the entire month since we last saw each other, working day and night, to find the tiniest scrap of a hint, but I found it, and then the whole world seemed to open up. A feat of genius on my part, it goes without saying."

Yusuke pretended to yawn. "Get to the point, pacifier breath."

Koenma's bubble burst. "Fine. The Makers can be called in one place, and one place alone, and whether or not they respond to that call is up to them. Reaching the place where they can be contacted is difficult enough, but actually calling them…" He shook his head, frustration etching lines along his mouth. "The specifics of that part I didn't discover. Not yet."

"Still," said Kurama. "Reaching them is half the battle."

"So where the heck are these guys, huh?" Kuwabara asked.

Koenma took a deep breath before he said, "The Makers are rumored to sleep in the spaces between worlds—planes of existence as immaterial as they are material, as absent as they are defined, existing and not existing at once. It is within the space between worlds that tethers the Demon, Human and Spirit worlds together that the Makers dwell."

My mouth twitched at the corner. "So they're the literal god of the gaps, then."

Kurama eyed me askance. "What's so funny, Kei?"

"Nothing. Ignore me."

"If you insist," Koenma said, soldiering on with a dismissive toss of his hair. "It's fitting that the Makers, contradictory as the Makers are, should exist in such a realm—the pseudospace that is in itself a contradiction in physics and the laws of reality."

At that word—pseudospace—a shock of recognition lanced light lightning up my back, but Koenma did not notice and continued to speak without pause.

"My research yielded quite a bit of information about the pseudospace, as Spirit World has dealt with the space a number of times," he said, "but on the Makers, my research yielded only said one fact: If you seek the creators of the universe, in the pseudospace is where you shall find them. The Fates are also said to weave themselves through this liminal dimension, as well."

"Perhaps we'll see Clotho again," Kurama said, green eyes glinting with fresh interest. Turning to me, he said, "Perhaps we'll even meet her sisters, or—Kei, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I hastily choked out. "I'm fine."

He—and everyone else in the room—stared at me in concern or irritation, because apparently I can't keep my cool to save my life. Obviously, my statement to Kurama was a dead lie. I was not fine. Far from it. As soon as Koenma said pseudospace, everything clicked into place, pieces falling together like a puzzle made of homing pigeons. It was no great leap to connect his talk of pseudospace to Itsuki and Sensui. They desired to open a path between the worlds, after all, and to break the Kekkai Barrier that barred the way between the Demon and Human realms. They wanted to break that barrier so that demons could flood the domain of humans and rain chaos upon their heads, wipe out the race that Sensui viewed as inferior and corrupt.

And where did the Kekkai Barrier lie in the grand scheme of this world?

It lay within pseudospace—in that liminal dimension between realities that both Sensui and Sakyo before him had wanted to tear to pieces. That same liminal space that Hiruko so desperately wished to access.

And speaking of Sakyo—it all made sense now, didn't it? First Hiruko had allied himself with Sakyo, who would have opened the path between the worlds into pseudospace if he had won the Dark Tournament. And then, when Sakyo's team had lost the tournament to Yusuke's team, Hiruko hadn't seemed at all perturbed. And what was it that he'd said to Sakyo just before the billionaire made the stadium collapse?

"It was a pleasure working with you, Sakyo," he'd said at the time, bowing at the walking dead man clutching the detonator before him. "May I assure a dying man that our objectives were, indeed, the same? They merely lie upon a different timeline, I am sorry to admit."

The same objective—cracking into pseudospace—just on a different timeline.

And if canon came to pass exactly as it was meant to, that meant—that meant Sensui would use Kuwabara's dimension-slicing sword, as of yet undiscovered, to indeed open the door between worlds and access pseudospace, a fact Hiruko was sure to take advantage of. And that meant Hiruko's quest to contact the Makers would soon be...

The alarm and horror on my face definitely wasn't subtle, judging by the skeptical cast to Koenma's. "Why do I not believe a word of that?" he said, looking me up and down with judgmental eyes.

I did my best to roll my eyes like I normally would, pushing my horror aside as best I could. "Paranoia is a poor choice of color on you, Koenma."

"It's not paranoia if it's true," he shot back.

Before I could reply, Yusuke said: "This has got something to do with that guy who kidnapped you, doesn't it?"

The bottom fell out of my stomach. "Eh?" I said, twisting toward him in shock. "What did you just say?"

"It's been on my mind a lot," Yusuke said. He plucked Puu off of his shoulder and settled the creature in his lap, toying with the mop of black hair on the creature's blue head. "Just before the Tournament and whatever, you got kidnapped and stuff. Remember, you guys?"

"I remember very clearly, Yusuke," said Kurama.

"Me, too," said Kuwabara with a shudder.

"She disappeared entirely," Hiei said, bristling. "How could we forget that?"

"Cool down, man. Was just making sure we all were on the same page." Yusuke flicked Puu's little yellow beak, laughing when his Spirit Beast sputtered a reproach. "My point is that that guy, the one who kidnapped her, Itsuki? We still haven't seen that guy come up again. But it'd be weird if he never showed his face after making such a big deal of himself, so…" He glanced my way. "That thing you're always talking about. Rock 'Em Laser?"

"Occam's Razor."

"Yeah, that." Poking Puu's belly with a fingertip, Yusuke said, "You said Itsuki kept you in another dimension inside some weird shadow demon's stomach." His eyes traveled back to Koenma. "Is that where the Makers are?"

"No, Yusuke," Koenma said. "The pocket dimension inside a shadow beast is not the pseudospace that exists between worlds. If pseudospace is a glass containing the water of the world, that shadow beast's dimension is a bubble inside the liquid."

Even though his eyes gleamed with understanding, Yusuke frowned. "But still!" he said. "It's another weird dimension thing, and we know Itsuki will end up being a future enemy of ours someday, so… they've gotta all be connected." Once more he looked my way, eyes searching my face for clues. "Whoever our next big emergency turns out to be, it's gotta be connected to this Hiruko guy. He was all over Sakyo and the Tournament, right? And they were dealing with opening doors between dimensions. Could whatever they were doing connect to pseudospace?"

"Undoubtedly," Kurama said. "You must pass through pseudospace to travel between the worlds."

"Then that proves everything!" said Yusuke. "Itsuki and his dimension demon, Sakyo and his dimension door… Hiruko likes dimension junk. Occam's Razor tells me that that isn't a coincidence, and whoever our next enemy is, he'll be all over them like white on rice."

Yusuke had no clue how right he was. I refused to look at him, watching instead as Puu clambered onto the coffee table and grabbed a chunk of rice off my plate. He turned it over and over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle before putting it down and picking up a roasted pepper, instead. His hands were smart, nimble, efficient. And here Yusuke was, acting like a real detective. Maybe Puu's smart little hands were reflective of a larger change in Genkai's favorite dimwit… Not that anyone else saw what I did in Yusuke's newfound cleverness.

"I dunno," Kuwabara said, eyes screwed up in concentration. "That seems pretty complicated to me."

"Nah, man. It's the opposite." Yusuke put a knuckle to his temple and twisted it like a key. "You gotta think simple with Occam's Razor." When Kuwabara continued to look unconvinced, Yusuke shrugged and grinned. "Just trust me on this, man. Focus on our next case, as it'll all be OK. We solve one problem, we'll solve another. Just gotta sit back and wait for the bad guys to come to us."

Once again, Yusuke had no idea how right he was about that. He was wrong in the way Itsuki (and the unseen Sensui, by extension) were connected to the concept of pseudospace, hanging onto the red herring of Itsuki's dimension-manipulating shadow beast… but he also had no clue that Sensui intended to open the door between the worlds and flood the human realm with demons. He was so close to being right; he just needed the tiniest bit of additional information to realize how close to correct he'd stumbled.

But Koenma was less impressive with Yusuke's inductive reasoning. "I've never been one for waiting around for answers," he said before facing me, eyes as imperious as I'd ever seen them. "Keiko. Does what Yusuke's saying have any merit? Is our next enemy Itsuki, and do his goals align with Hiruko's?"

I froze. "Um…"

"Swordfish!" Yusuke yelped.

Everyone twisted to look at him, faces all sporting identical masks of befuddlement and shock. Only my face sported another expression—specifically that of annoyance mixed with stark relief.

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to say that?" I groused. "And also, yes. Big ol' swordfish." Dropping my voice to a mutter, I told him, "It's ironic that you're the one saying it since you just played Sherlock Holmes up and down the block for all to see at my expense."

"Sher-what who?" said Yusuke.

I sighed. "Oh, nobody. Never mind."

"Well, whatever. And I can't help it that I'm smart!" He had the decency to look a little cowed, at least. "My mouth kinda ran away with me before I could call 'swordfish' for you."

"Again, I'm supposed to be calling 'swordfish,' not you!"

The others had had enough of our confusing chatter. "Swordfish?" Kuwabara cut in, brows high upon his broad forehead. "Why are we talking about sushi?"

Hiei sat up straighter. "There's sushi?"

"No, Hiei," I chided. "No sushi tonight."

"What are we missing, in that case?" Kurama asked, gently drawing us back on track.

"It's a code we made up," I confessed, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment. "Yusuke thought of it. Basically, if he asks a question I can't answer for fear of ruining canon, I say 'swordfish' and he knows to stop pushing."

"It's like a safeword," Yusuke proudly said, "only the opposite of sexy."

I eyed him askance. "Atsuko's been letting you watch late-night TV again and I don't like it."

"Yeah, she—" His pride fell away as he did a double-take. "Wait, how do you know what a safeword is, Keiko?"

I socked his arm. "I was 26 years old! Take a wild guess!"

"Ahem."

Koenma appeared none too happy with our shenanigans; he tapped his foot against the carpet, fingers drumming a matching tattoo against the arms of his chair. In contrast, Kurama had started to snicker behind his hand, but Kuwabara and Hiei mimicked Koenma's mood. The former appeared a little pale, face limned in sweat, while Hiei just looked pissed off in general. Probably because there was no sushi to be had, but that was neither here nor there.

Koenma spoke first. "So you won't be giving us any hints about the future again, I gather," he said—and since it wasn't really a question, I felt bold enough to explain my reasoning.

"No," I said as firmly as I could. "I made myself clear the last time we talked. If I tell you what to expect, you may act in ways that disrupt the natural order of events. This situation hasn't become any less of a deterministic nightmare since our previous conversation, and—"

"Please." Koenma put a fingertip to his temple, eyes falling briefly shut. "Not another lecture of fatalistic determinism, I beg you. You made your point last time, when you talked at length about cutting off my hand."

I held my own hands up in surrender. "Fine. Mea culpa. No lectures. But let me just say this." After a deep breath, I locked my eyes onto Puu as he nibbled at some pickled daikon, intent on not letting anyone read my face. "If Hiruko's plans and the demon who kidnapped me are connected—and I'm not saying they are—you will recognize it almost immediately once you know more about either." A bitter smile twisted my lips, the taste of it as sharp as lemon. "It seems like such a small thing to keep close to my chest, but… I'm not cluing you all in just yet, because I want to keep canon intact for as long as I can."

No one said anything. In spite of myself, I couldn't keep from glancing at Kuwabara. He watched me in silence, shutters closed behind his eyes, but the tightness around his mouth revealed disquiet. I just hoped what I was about to say didn't add to it.

"The more control I have," I said, every word measured and precise, "the more control we all have over the situation. I can only maintain that control if canon can be maintained—and it's more likely to be maintained if you don't know what to expect." When no one protested, I continued to speak. "As soon as canon veers off the tracks, I'll be flying just as blind as the rest of you. And we can't let that happen. Not with so much at stake."

No one said a word.

Then Koenma sighed, hand massaging his temple once again. "All right, then," he said, tone ringing with begrudged acceptance. "All right, then, Keiko. Keep your secrets."

"Thanks, Frodo."

The hand dropped like a stone. "Who?"

"Swordfish!" Yusuke yodeled.

I rolled my eyes. "For the last time, that's my thing to say, not yours! And also yes. Swordfish."

Kurama chuckled, but after a moment, his smile faded. "I believe you will let us know what the time is right," was all he said, meeting my eyes with a rush of sincere green. "We trust your judgement, Kei."

"Most of us do, anyway," said Yusuke, throwing a sharp stare at Koenma.

"Don't give me that look," Koenma shot back. "Anyway. In case it's not obvious, you now have your marching orders. Keep an eye out for any hints that someone, Itsuki or otherwise, may be trying to access a liminal space—any liminal space—just in case that space is pseudospace."

"Say that three times, fast," Yusuke grumbled.

"You know what I mean." Koenma's fingers tapped against his chair at double speed, a clatter of nail upon wood. "If you hear of an enemy trying to access pseudospace, I am to hear of it at once. Because where there is access to pseudospace, Hiruko is sure to follow."

"Uh… call me crazy, but why does someone as powerful as Hiruko need someone else to get him into pseudospace?" Kuwabara said.

Silence greeted this question. Kuwabara fidgeted in his chair, discomfited under the weight of nearly half a dozen stares (in you included Puu). For the first time that day, I noticed the bags under his eyes, blue bruises that made his hooded brow fall even deeper into shadow. I wasn't accustomed to seeing that on his young face—a face far too young to bear the weight of this entire mess.

Guilt speared through my chest, biting and cold. But no one noticed my discomfort, and Kuwabara soldiered on.

"Well, I mean," he said, fidgeting some more. "He stole from the Fates themselves, right? He's powerful as heck. But if he's really so powerful, why doesn't he just open up the path to pseudospace himself?"

As one, everyone in the room turned to me. I'd half expected this, so luckily for me, I had an explanation prepared. Hiruko's dependency on myself, on Kagome, on Minato, was something the Not-Quites had discussed at length, after all.

"I think that for as much control as Hiruko has over this world, there are some laws of this reality he's bound to obey," I said, hoping my words made sense. When no one spoke or agreed, my gaze dropped to my lap. "Or something like that, anyway." My brain ran ahead along this road of contemplation, sprinting through possibilities at warp speed. "It's also possible that opening the path himself would undermine his goals."

Kurama frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We talked about how he wanted to impress the Makers, right?" I said. "Maybe manipulating someone else to open the path for him is more impressive than just opening it using his own power."

"That certainly falls in line with his manipulative tendencies…" Koenma said, eyes growing distant in thought. Abruptly he stood, cape and scarf swirling as he took a surefooted step toward the door. "If there are no more questions, I'll be taking my leave. So—"

"Wait!" Kuwabara blurted. He flushed when Koenma turned to pin him with an unamused stare, but still he managed to ask, "Did you ever figure out if you and Hiruko are related, like he said you were?"

Koenma's lips thinned. "Yes, I did. Although the results of my research were underwhelming, to say the least."

"Do tell," Kurama murmured.

"Yeah, spill!" Yusuke demanded.

Koenma breathed deeply for a moment, action evident in the rise and fall of his chest. For a moment I wondered if he'd tell us anything, but soon his eyes fluttered shut, a defeated grimace rising at the corners of his mouth.

"Hiruko… better known by the name Ebisu." Every word came clipped and careful, as though he'd rehearsed this explanation many times before. "My findings revealed that he is a long-forgotten Spirit, one who disappeared from the sight of Spirit World hundreds of years before I was born, and under… dubious circumstances." I wasn't sure I liked the way he'd phrased that, nor was I certain I enjoyed his dramatic pause, but Koenma just kept talking. "He, like my father, was birthed from the union of Izanagi and Izanami, gods of creation. And he—"

"So he is your uncle," Hiei said, voice a knife in the quiet.

Koenma's brow twitched at the interruption, but all he said was, "Yes."

"Heh." Hiei's smirk made him look even more devious than usual, eyes aflame with insidious glee. "To think, our greatest enemy is Koenma's own flesh and blood. The irony rather warms my heart."

Finally Koenma snapped, voice like a lashing whip as he said, "My father holds no warmth in his heart for Ebisu, so wipe that smirk off your face."

Yusuke's eyes widened. "Wait. You spoke to your dad about this?"

"Of course. The record vault told me precious little, so I went to the source." Much though he'd hated Hiei's smirk, Koenma saw no issue in wearing a prideful one of his own. "First I found a text that mentioned Ebisu in passing and took it to my father for more information, so he wouldn't be suspicious, and then—"

Kurama said, "You mean you haven't told your father about the situation regarding Hiruko?"

"He's far too busy managing the underworld to care about some long-lost brother trying to summon the lords of all creation to grant some mysterious wish." Koenma rolled his eyes. "And I know this is the case because he barely gave me the time of day when I asked him about Ebisu. All he said was that Ebisu was a troublemaker who got kicked out of Spirit World court for, and I quote, 'a series of divine annoyances.' He painted a portrait of little consequence. The only noteworthy thing he told me is that Ebisu is his elder brother." A chuckle escaped his chest, wry and sardonic. "I just assumed the mountain that is my father could never be anyone's little brother, but even the most brilliant among us can be wrong at times."

"Do you think your dad was telling the truth?" Kuwabara asked. "About not knowing much about Hiruko, I mean."

Koenma shrugged. "I see no reason why he would lie."

"King Enma's dearth of information could be attributed simply to his age," Kurama said, eyes alight with racing thought. "You said King Enma is Ebisu's younger brother. Perhaps they were born so far apart, your father simply doesn't have any information to share."

"That seems the most likely explanation," Koenma agreed. "Unfortunately, we aren't likely to find many others. Spirit World records say little to nothing about Hiruko, and with my father in the dark, the only people who could give us additional information are their parents, Izanagi and Izanami—but my grandparents have been sleeping in some distant corner of Spirit World for millennia. Contacting them is about as easy as contacting the Makers." He sucked his pacified, wet noises grating on my nerves. "And trust me, during the last Dark Age, I looked into that."

Somehow, this lack of information didn't surprise me. If Hiruko really did craft this world, it made sense that he'd write himself out of its history, or at least write himself into obscurity to keep his secrets, weaknesses and habits in the dark. Clever of him, really. I couldn't bring myself to be mad about it as a result.

Koenma felt less zen about the whole thing, I think, because once again he turned to the apartment's front door with a swirl of cape, fabric cracking through the air like a whip. "There is more research to be done, so I'll be taking my leave now." Opening the door, he looked over his shoulder to give us one final order, words delivered with his trademark gravitas. "Remember, all of you, to keep your eyes peeled." A beat. Then, to Hiei: "Three, in your case."

Hiei bared his teeth. "Don't tell me what to do."

"He means he'll cooperate," I helpfully translated.

"You don't tell me what to do, either." His teeth gleamed a little brighter. "You didn't even bring sushi."

"We'll be vigilant in the meantime," Kurama said, ignoring our theatrics. "I'm looking forward to what your additional research might reveal, Koenma."

"As am I." Once again he turned to leave, and once again he stopped. This time, his eyes traveled toward me, gears turning behind them as he considered something to which I was not privy. "But before I go… Keiko."

My heart kicked like a mule against my ribs. "Yes?" I said, voice a little higher than I intended.

Koenma only smiled, though.

"The friend you brought Ayame," he said. "It's… interesting."

Koenma didn't wait for me to reply.

He just left in another flutter of cape, door falling softly shut behind him.

Kuwabara stared after Koenma in consternation. "What the heck was that about?"

"Not much," Kurama said in his typical pleasant tones. "Just pest control."

"Pest what-now?"

Kurama chuckled, glancing at me to ask, "May I fill them in?"

I shrugged. "I don't see why not."

I'd told Yusuke about the Makai insect Amagi had brought us in passing, but because it hadn't been connected to a concrete case, he'd mostly just yawned and ignored the issue. While Kurama filled in Kuwabara, who took the issue more seriously ("Not another Saint Beast debacle!" he groaned), I began gathering up plates and dishes, carrying them into the kitchen while Yusuke and Kuwabara started concocting conspiracy theories to explain the bugs. Only listened with half an ear as they speculated about whether or not Suzaku had returned to attack a school again, chuckling when Hiei told them they were both idiots and Suzaku was absolutely dead. Their chatter faded when I turned on the sink and filled it with water and soap suds, splash filling the kitchen with thick white noise.

Which is probably why I didn't hear Kurama come in until he appeared at my elbow, staring disapprovingly at the plates of food I'd piled on the counter. I knew what he'd say even before he pointed at my plate, which remained conspicuously full of cold yakisoba.

"You barely touched your food," he said, gloomy as a wilted flower. "Kei, we talked about this."

"Who are you, my dad?" Snatching the plate off the counter, I marched over to the trach can and dumped the leftovers in the bin and out of sight. "Why are you so obsessed with my diet recently?"

"Stress impacts you in some rather… specific ways." The euphemism was not lost on me; he was just trying to care for my health, I told myself, and as he offered me a small, apologetic smile, I forced myself to give him one in return. "I'm simply looking out for your wellbeing."

But even though I understood his concern, I still reached into the sink to flick some soapy water at him. "Mind your own business," I said, pretending to be cross, and that earned me a bright and genuine laugh.

"Need help with the dishes?" he said, vengeful hands dangerously close to the suds in the sink.

"Nah, I've got it." I grabbed the nearest plate and dunked it, up to my elbows in suds. "Helps me think, anyway."

"Then I won't disturb you." He bowed a little, playacting formality we didn't really need. "Thank you for dinner, by the way. And call if you need anything."

"Sure," I said, bowing back, and he left me in peace to do the dishes.

I hadn't been lying when I said cleaning helped me think. Cleaning was almost meditative, my mind clearing of its cluttered thoughts with every plate I scrubbed to gleaming. As I washed plates and cups and set them on a dishtowel to dry, my brain wandered in haphazard serenity through the events of the night, replaying what Koenma had had to say and mulling it over like fermenting wine. My friends now all knew that Makai insects were buzzing around. Those could only come here through a rift between Human and Demon World. It wouldn't be long, therefore, before they connected the presence of those bugs to pseudospace. They still hadn't connected them to Sensui or Itsuki, of course, but eventually all of those pieces would fall into place…

Did that mean that holding back information was an arbitrary decision, then?

No, I told myself as I scrubbed at a stubborn saucepan. If I told them too much, they could discover Sensui's hole between the worlds too early, before they were ready to face him. I was sure that Sensui's rift already existed on a tiny scale somewhere; we wouldn't be seeing the Makai bugs without it, after all. But Yusuke and the others still needed to be tested by Genkai and the Territory psychics before they would be ready for Sensui, and I'd be damned if I let Yusuke off the leash too soon and got him killed before he was powerful enough to resurrect as a demon. So many factors to consider. So many moving parts working in tandem, synchronicity in jeopardy with every move I made…

And besides, I told myself as I washed out a cup (my cup) of half-drunk miso soup. If I wanted to be useful, I needed canon to remain intact. Knowing things in advance was the only useful thing I could do. If the canon train flew off the rails, I'd be flying blind, my one and only useful skill rendered completely useless. I was already too weak to fight and make a difference on the battlefield. If canon fell to pieces, I'd lose my usefulness entirely, and—

The cup in my hands fell into the soapy water with a splash.

I wasn't entirely certain why I dropped it—at least, not at first. I assumed it had slipped, slick as it was with soap and water, but then… no. That wasn't the only reason. My fingertips felt like they housed a hundred tiny, buzzing gnats, silver and fluttery and cold, numbing them to any sensation but the beat of their frantic wings.

Gingerly I lifted my hand, staring at my fingers… but they looked fine.

I reached for the handle beside the faucet, turning off the trickling water with a twist. In the absence of that steady stream, silence reigned… but only for a moment or two, because the kitchen wasn't actually quiet at all.

The refrigerator hummed in the corner. Water dripped from the faucet drop by drop, falling into the filled sink with a minute splash. Soap bubbles hissed and popped, each sound as crystalline as the rainbow swirl on the faces of the bubbles themselves. Beyond the kitchen doorway, voices murmured. The overhead light released a frail and high-pitched scream, sound almost beyond the verge of hearing, illumination harsh and horrible in my dazzled eyes.

A rush of cold suffused my face.

I walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, heading for the bathroom. Only barely did I manage to get the door shut before I started heaving, vomit bubbling up my neck and out of my groaning mouth so fast, I almost didn't make it to the toilet.

Hardly anything came up, though. I hadn't eaten much dinner. Mostly I just heaved, saliva and bile streaking the bowl of the toilet faint, brackish orange.

Or at least it did until my vision whited out.

One second I could see bubbled bile in the toilet, the next I couldn't see at all. A ringing settled in my ears, pressure building in my skull just behind my jaw. Breath ragged, fists clenched, chest gripped in an unseen vice, I sat on the floor with my arms around the toilet and just breathed, shivering, sweating cold sweat, hoping that any second now, the sparkles swimming in my eyes would clear. That soon I'd be able to see again. Surely my vision whiting out was just a product of moving too fast, straining too much. Like when I'd lost my sight at aikido after running too hard on dehydrated legs. Yeah. That's what was happening. If I just waited for a few minutes. I could—

My stomach heaved.

Arms wrapped tight around porcelain, I coughed and gagged, head hanging low on a boneless neck.

When at last the fit subsided, I raised my head, but my vision did not return.

Slowly, I stood up, using the counter for support. On uncertain feet I felt my way out of the bathroom, blindly bumping down the corridor with my fingers skimming wall, the voices of my friends guiding me back into the living room. At last I stood in the doorway, one hand on it to steady myself, the other limp at my side, thoughts swimming in a maelstrom swirl 'round the feeling of this isn't right, this isn't good settling so thick inside my head.

I knew what fainting felt like. I'd fainted before. And as the blood rushed up my throat and made my head swim, blinking sightless eyes at lights I could not see, I knew I didn't have long before the darkness closed in all around me.

I don't know how long I stood there before someone noticed my presence, but eventually Yusuke's voice cut through the air. "Keiko?" he said, concerned etched in every familiar syllable. "Are you OK?"

"There's a bag under my bed at home." The words tumbled out like stones, each one dropping into my chest with an icy clunk. "Black with purple flowers. It's got my overnight stuff. I keep it there for emergencies."

"What?" said Kuwabara.

"What are you blathering on about?" said Hiei.

"One of you is going to need to get that bag. Someone else will need to call my parents." My voice came from a million miles away, from a mouth that wasn't mine, from lips I could not feel. "And the others—one of you is going to need to come over here in a second, because I'm about to—"

I fell. I collapsed to my knees on the carpet, but as I pitched forward, I connected with something warm—a broad, hot back, kneeling before me to cushion my fall, the scents of evergreen and char crowding my nostrils in cloying gouts. The others weren't far behind, the pound of feet and the clatter of an overturned chair signaling a swift approach.

"Tex!?" Yusuke said, a hand alighting on my back. "Tex, are you OK?"

"Kei, what's wrong?" Kurama said, cool hand sliding along my cheek.

"I don't know," I mumbled. "But I—I need a hospital."

"Kei, can you tell me if—"

I did not hear whatever he said next. I'm not sure he even said anything more as my head snapped back and then forward again, a paralytic spasm like someone had stuck an electrode to my spine and cracked the wattage to full blast. My limbs followed suit, trembling so hard I pitched sideways, or maybe upside-down. The world tumbled end over end and shook like an earthquake, hands grabbing at my legs and arms to no effect, shouts ringing up with cries of fear and dread, words lost but emotions obvious even though the voices sounded like they came from underwater. And through it all, my vision, whited out and blind, incapable of seeing anything but endless, formless gray—

An enraged roar cut through the rush of blood within my ears, and a brilliant yellow light—a golden light, a light like the sun, like joy piercing through sadness—dazzled my sightless eyes from inside out. I still could not see, though, barely even feeling when someone snatched me up and held me to a broad chest, and then I was bounced and jounced as they ran pell-mell toward—toward somewhere—and—

The warm air shifted. The scent of Yusuke's apartment vanished. I smelled antiseptic and urine, cleaning supplies and sorrow carried on a cold, dry breeze.

"A doctor, a doctor!" Kuwabara bellowed. "I need a doctor, dammit! Now!"

A chattering PA system, a page for a doctor name Tamaki. A hospital? How had we gotten to a hospital? And how had we gotten here so fast? I absently wondered these things as my back pressed against a cot, cool and crackling with a paper cover. Something pinched my fingertip; something else speared my elbow. I whined, but strong hands held my shoulders—and then a voice I didn't know muttered a low curse.

"She's crashing—we need to get her to the ICU, immediately," they said, and with a jolt my cot began to move, to roll along the floor, cold air stinging my numb face like the cut of a winter wind.

Yusuke's voice rang out, full of anger and sharp fear. "Hey, wait a second—!"

"Sorry, kid, but you can't go with her. That's—"

"Like hell I can't go with her, she's—!"

"Family only!"

"That's my sister, my sister, you can't tell me I can't go with my goddamn sister—!"

"Security!"

It'll be OK, Yusuke.

I'll be fine, Yusuke.

Just sit tight and wait, Yusuke.

That is I wanted to say.

But I did not say that.

I just lay there as a door slammed and other voices spoke above my head, eyes still sightless, cotton-muffled ears catching the barest hint of an urgent whisper, a cracking sound as something burned upon my wrist, voices murmuring that my needs were dire, my time short, and then—

Darkness.

Then a blinding light.

Then warm arms, and words I didn't understand.

The words were in English, for one thing. I hadn't heard English spoken so casually in a long time, but this voice I didn't recognize—not right away, at least. It was male, and deeper than Minato's or Byron's, a soothing baritone that sent warmth scurrying into the depths of my toes. I smiled at the sound of it, smiling harder as a hand gripped mine, fingers tracing circles over the back of my wrist.

"Babe," the voice said, softly. "Babe, can you hear me?" He paused, stroking my arm, touch venturing higher in tiny increments. "Babe?"

His fingers danced across my elbow.

Pain, dull and throbbing, blossomed in their wake.

"It—" The words creaked, my mouth dry, my throat an arid waste. "It hurts."

The fingers retreated, venturing back to my wrist again. "Oh, babe. I'm sorry."

"It…" My eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing against cheekbones. "Where am I?"

I caught only the barest glimpse of the room, but it was enough. The room was dark, but a lamp by the nearby door cast a warm glow over the pale blue walls, the flowers on the nightstand, the TV mounted at the foot of the bed. I'd never been here before, but the bland tile and lack of décor, not to mention the IV hanging from a metal hook at my bedside, told me more than enough. Spotting the hospital bracelet on my wrist—the wrist not connected to the arm wrapped in a bright pink cast—filled in the rest. This wasn't my room, or my school, or Yusuke's apartment. This was—

"You're in the hospital," he said. "You were in a car wreck, but you're fine." He chuckled, a sound that filled me, inexplicably, with joy. "I mean, you broke your arm. Again. But you're used to that, so you're basically fine."

"Car…?"

"You were driving back from Denise's wedding, babe." A thumb stroked my cheek. "Don't you remember?"

My eyes fluttered again. This time they stayed open. They stayed open long enough to see his blue eyes, his aquiline nose, beard thick and edged in ginger—a beard I had never seen on him before, but one that fit his face as perfectly as the shirt stretched across his chest. As perfectly as the smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes. As perfectly as his sigh of relief when our eyes met, exhale delicate and gentle, as if he feared I might break. A sound I'd longed to hear for fifteen years.

One I thought I would never hear again.

My eyes filled with tears. He rushed to wipe them from my cheeks, soothing nothings spilling from his perfect mouth. He misunderstood why I'd started to cry, but I didn't correct him. I just let him hold me and stroke my back, sobbing into his chest as he dragged long fingers through my hair.

"It's OK, babe," Tom said. "It's OK. I'm here. You're here."

His arms around me tightened.

"You're safe," he said.

"You're home."

Notes:

I know it looks bad, but… don't jump to any conclusions just yet, OK?

Chapter notes: Nori (for those who don't follow me on Tumblr) is the name of the dog I got a few years ago, AFTER I began writing LC. I've avoided placing him in any flashbacks on purpose, barring a few in some extra non-canon chapters in CoM and other collections. Let's just say his appearance here is significant. I mean obviously so is Tom's there at the end, but… anyway. I've said too much.

Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday (or just commented on the story) last time. I couldn't go out and celebrate turning Dirty Thirty, but your well-wishes made the day great anyway. THANK YOU SO MUCH, FRIENDS! You're beautiful: Glorixz, silverpaper_toffeepaper, Eurynomos331, RobinMarlesuth, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, B4kedp0tato, Unctuous, Capriciousfan, JestWine, RainbowWordStrings, Gerbilfriend, TallerThanTheGiraffe, Ms_LizTsukishiro_Hotaru, DragonsTower, TokiMirage, Paddygirl, snapsdragon, NotQuiteAnonymous, Arcadia_Caster, ShiaraM

Chapter 115: Homeward Bound (Part 2)

Summary:

In which she forgets.

Notes:

For my international readers (and perhaps for my non-Southern readers in the USA), a Dairy Queen is a fast food restaurant. They are famous for three things: great ice cream cakes, not-so-great food and amazing "Blizzards," which are big cups of soft-serve custard swirled with add-ins like fruit, bits of candy, and other flavorings. Seasonal Blizzard flavors are available for a limited time and are made with specialty ingredients. Blizzards are horrible for you and (as most horrible-for-you things are) ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DELICIOUS. A big part of my childhood, Blizzards. Love them so much.

Also, I've heard that "drive-through" eating isn't as common outside the US? Basically you can pull up alongside a restaurant and order off a menu through a speaker, then pull up to a window to get your packaged-up food on the go from inside your car. Since COVID started, drive-through restaurants have been super handy, minimizing contact between eater and eatery. They're especially common among fast-food chains like McDonalds and similar, where food can be made very quickly.

For posterity, this chapter was posted on October 4, 2020.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Retrograde amnesia—a loss of memory-access to events that occurred or information that was learned in the past, often caused by an injury or the onset of a disease. It tends to negatively affect episodic, autobiographical, and declarative memory, while keeping procedural memory intact without increasing difficulty for learning new information.

In layman's terms, I couldn't remember anything for shit.

"Likely caused by an impact during the accident, of course," said the consulting neurologist after looking over my paperwork and administering a few cognitive assessment tests in his well-appointed office. He was the friendly sort, all smiles and glittering hazel eyes as he glanced at my forehead. "That's quite a goose-egg."

I wasn't sure how accurate that assessment was, of course, though the throbbing pain on my hairline above my right eye suggested the doctor was correct. No telling how bad the bump actually looked, though. I'd been avoiding mirrors since waking up in the hospital with Tom at my side. The first time I'd felt well enough to stagger to the bathroom, the sight of my grey eyes, light brown hair and pallid skin had sent a shock straight down to my toes—and not the pleasant kind of shock, either. My big forehead and square jaw and deep-set eyes looked somehow alien. Surprising, almost. Even though I knew the face belonged to me, something deep in my gut said its shape was not actually mine at all, trading a stare with a stranger whose bloodshot eyes burned the color of a storm-strewn sky.

I hadn't dared meet my own eyes in a mirror again.

The fact that I couldn't remember shit about the accident didn't help matters; my memory began with Denise's wedding and then cut to waking up in the hospital, Tom holding my hand and stroking my hair in an effort to bring comfort. Thinking back on whatever had put me in the hospital resulted in a sensation of skipping, almost—a record bearing a deep scratch, wedding bleeding into the hospital over and over again until the act of remembering made my head hurt.

Not that I should even try to remember whatever lay between the wedding and the hospital, of course. The nurse told us not to push me too hard to remember things. The neurologist with his kind smile said the same. Still, as we sat across from the doctor at his huge wooden desk, Tom gripped my hand and shot me a sidelong look. A guilty one. He waited for the doctor to finish explaining the details of my goose egg-induced condition, then drew in a deep, bracing breath.

"So," he said. "Is there anything we can do to help her start remembering things, or…?"

The neurologist just laughed. "Give it time," he said. "Time heals all wounds."

I shifted in my chair, a lump rising in my throat. "That's—"

I stopped talking, not sure why I'd even started in the first place. Tom turned to me with a frown, brow knit, mouth a line of thin concern.

"Babe?" he said, voice soft. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I tried to smile. "Never mind."

I must have hidden my true feelings very well, because neither Tom nor the doctor pressed for more. They just continued to talk about my recovery process and all the things Tom needed to watch out for in the days ahead. That left me to wonder—where had I heard that cliché before? I'd heard it recently, too, that time heals all wounds. But where? Try though I might, I couldn't be certain. No memories of the phrase availed themselves, even though I knew deep in my bones that someone had said those words to me very recently indeed. It was like the lyrics to a song I'd heard just once but could not quite recall, lines poised on the tip of my tongue as they danced just out of reach.

The feeling didn't upset me as much as it should have, though. I'd been feeling it ever since I'd woken up in the hospital. I suppose I'd gotten used to it, that perception of not quite remembering something, a void you could neither see nor fill. It felt like a pitfall I might fall into at any second, or maybe a ghost lurking around the corner, but it vanished every time I reached out to grab its shoulder and see its face.

Disquieted. That was the word. I felt disquieted. But I couldn't say why, which only made me feel worse.

"Post-traumatic stress," the doctor said in gentle tones.

I flinched, shifting in my chair. "I'm sorry?"

"The look on your face," he said. "That feeling like you can't calm down?"

Again, the disquiet rose. "It's like I don't fit my own skin anymore," I said—echoing words I was certain I'd heard before. But where? "A toothache I just can't soothe."

"How poetic." The doctor's smile offered little comfort. "What you're feeling is post-traumatic stress. It's a—"

"A trauma response."

Surprise widened his eyes. "Yes. Exactly." He reached for the pen and pad on his desk. "We can prescribe a medication to combat the anxiety, if you'd like that."

"Sure," I said, not sure what else to say.

Tom leaned forward in his chair. "But about her memories—"

"Just time," said the doctor with a firm shake of his head. "Let her lead. Don't push."

"Right." Tom pretended to look sly. "So don't tell her she bakes me a cake every day. Gotcha."

"Tom," I groaned, unable to keep the smile off my face.

"And that she walks the dog every morning and I always get to sleep in." Tom gave the doctor an exaggerated, open-mouthed wink. "Riiiight."

I covered my laughing face with my hands. "Oh my god."

The doctor was laughing, too. "Well, if there's anything I can say about this, it's that Tom here will make the recovery process a lot of fun." He tore a sheet off his notepad and handed the script to Tom. To me he said, "You're in good hands. Just relax and try not to worry."

"Easier said than done," I muttered.

"Yeah. Relaxing has never really been her specialty." Tom grinned and held up the prescription. "Good thing we've got meds!"

Laughter, as always, came so easily when I was with Tom, as natural as breathing and as warm as springtime sun. A relieved smile followed his bright declaration when he saw me laughing, a sure sign his jokes served as an attempt to lighten the mood… not that he needed to try to achieve that. A glance at his face alone brought me a modicum of peace, putting to rest some of the on edge murmurs that vibrated in my chest. Call me a sentimental fool, but seeing Tom brought a feeling of warmth into the room. He smiled every time our eyes met, and even though this was all so scary and strange, he made it better.

Just looking at him made it all better.

He held my hand for the rest of the day, through all of my final exams and check-ups with the doctors and nurses who'd tended to me after my accident the evening prior. He held my hand as we picked up my medication and talked to my insurance providers about my care and the state of my car. He held my hand as I got dressed in my civilian clothes and creaked my sore body into a wheelchair to be rolled outdoors, never once leaving my side until we exited the hospital and moved into the wet heat of a south-Texas spring. From his pocket he removed a medical mask, tugging it over his mouth and nose as he lifted a hand to point. Along the curb near a valet kiosk waited a bevy of cars, engines idling like sleeping lions as valets circled them. They also wore masks, oddly enough, just like Tom.

Tom tapped my shoulder. "My truck is—"

"The black one." The F-250 near the front of the pack had caught my eye immediately, everything from the chip in the fender to the slightly askew gas cap instantly familiar. "The Ford?"

"I knew you'd remember." Tom beamed and kissed my cheek, mask whispering against my skin. "You've missed a lot, but don't worry, babe. It'll come back to you soon."

Once again, something about his words felt… off. But why?

I didn't have time to wonder. Tom and a masked nurse loaded me into the car shortly afterward, a painful affair that jostled my arm inside its cast and sling. The nurse whisked the wheelchair away indoors as soon as I got settled in the truck cab, Tom rounding the vehicle to put my things (my purse and some clothes, mostly) into the back seat. The interior of the truck felt familiar, too. A collection of Sonic straws in their red wrappers sat in the cupholders alongside a bottle of hand sanitizer—and another blue medical mask. Huh. Strange. The nurse and the valets all wore them, but I had assumed it was so they didn't breathe germs onto patients with compromised immune systems. Why did Tom have a spare in his truck, of all places? Or perhaps a valet had left one behind accidentally…

The truck rocked a bit as Tom climbed in, shooting me a reassuring smile as he put the truck in drive and maneuvered it away from the curb. We navigated the hospital's winding driveways and parking lots in silence, eventually merging onto the freeway amid dozens of other cars and trucks. Light music played over the truck's speakers, nostalgic punk rock from the early 2000s that Tom and I both loved.

Punk rock. I loved punk rock. Always had, always would.

But why did I want to listen to metal, all of a sudden?

A song I couldn't place a name to, a beat my feet couldn't quite tap onto the truck's dark floorboards, echoed in my head like someone shouting in the distance. Restlessly I shifted in my seat, mind wandering back to the doctor's office, the hospital bed, the blackness that lurked before…

"You OK, babe?"

I startled, head jerking off the window. "Hmm?"

"Are you OK?" He looked at me and then the road and back again, smile hesitant. "You're quiet."

"Just… in my own head, I guess." My breath left a fog on the window; with gentle fingers I drew a star in the mist, roads and cars flickering through the transparent gaps in the dense condensation. "I think I had a weird dream."

"A dream?" Tom asked.

"While I was..." (Asleep didn't quite make sense.) "… unconscious. In surgery, or whatever."

"What was it about?"

"I don't know." And this was true. "I can't remember."

Tom took a hand off the steering wheel so he could rest it on my knee. "Do you remember anything?" he asked softly, thumb tracing soft circles.

"I think—I think it was a nice dream." This I knew was true, deep in my bones and the depths of my soul. "I think I was happy." An unnamable fact drifted to me through the ether, definite but somehow nebulous, too. "I looked like someone else, but I was still me. For the most part, anyway. There was something that I had to do… a whole lot of things I had to do… but some of them were…"

I trailed off, struggling. Tom's hand stilled.

"Some of them were what?" he asked.

"I don't know." A helpless shrug, a defeated smile. "It was only a dream, anyway."

"Yeah," he agree, squeezing my knee. "And you're home now. That's what matters."

There was something in the way he said that—a relieved lilt I couldn't quite put my finger on—that made me frown as we continued driving south down IH 45. The feeling persisted as we merged onto the 610 loop then onto IH 10, but it faded when we passed familiar roads and signs bearing names I'd known since childhood. Here I sat up a little straighter, cradling my fractured right arm, watching as we passed the Edwards Marquee and the enormous IKEA a few exits down. Was he taking me to my parents' house? They lived just a few exits down this freeway—but Tom passed that exit without hesitation. So he was taking me to my apartment, then. The one by the mall and the medical center, where I lived with my roommate… Luce. Yeah, that was her name. Gorgeous brown hair and kind blue eyes, always smiling. My writing buddy since we'd met after we both moved back to town when we graduated college—graduated in the same year, no less, because our birthdays were just a few weeks apart. Luce. How had I forgotten good ol' Luce?

But Tom drove past that exit, too. He kept driving down IH 10 in a straight line, the mega-wide road with its myriad lanes passing swiftly beneath the tires of his truck.

"Hey, sorry," I said as we neared the Beltway, "but where are we…?"

Tom smiled. "We're going home."

I swallowed. "And where is…?"

The smile vanished. "Oh, shit." He mopped a hand over his face, apology writ in every last line of his handsome features. "You thought I was kidnapping you, didn't you?" He laughed and shot me a cartoonishly devious grin, one he paired with an absurd cackle. "Surprise! I'm harvesting your kidneys!"

"That's my line," I said. Through the window behind him in the driver's side door, a familiar building passed. I pointed at it on reflex, unable to keep a smile off my face. "You know, we had that conversation right over there."

In the corner of the intersection where IH10 and the Beltway crossed sat a huge shopping center, complete with a theater and hulking parking garage. Tom laughed at the sight of the garage in particular, shaking his head as he turned back to the road to drive.

"That's right. Our first date," he said.

"After dinner, you walked me to my car in that garage, but you had parked on the other side of the shopping complex in another garage," I said, slipping into the familiar story without a second thought.

"And you felt bad I'd have to walk so far to get to my truck, so you said you'd drive me there," Tom said, slipping into the retelling just as easily. "But then you made that wrong turn out of the parking garage and we wound up in an alley. And I joked that you were taking me into a dark alley to mug me—"

"Not mug," I interjected. "I said I was going to steal your kidneys!"

"And then I'd wake up in an ice bath across the border!"

"And take up the path of revenge as you track me down to get your comeuppance!" We lapsed into twin sets of giggles, my head lolling back against my seat. "Damn. I still can't believe you went on a second date with me after that."

"That was how I knew I wanted to go on a second date with you," Tom insisted, and his smile grew wider still. "Kidding." Bright blue eyes softened. "I knew halfway through the appetizers that we'd end up together." His hand found mine and squeezed, fingers gentle. "And I was right, of course. Just look at us now."

He spoke with sincerity resplendent, affection gleaming from each bright eye, smile radiant amid the ginger streaks in his thick beard. I studied his face in profile for a few minutes, watching his body sway over the rise and fall of the smooth highway. His smile, his warm words, his gentle hands all seemed so certain—but something nagged at me, unsettled.

"So," I said. "About where we're going…"

"Shit. I never told you." He grimaced, comical apology twisting his lips. "I swear I'm not kidnapping you. We're just going home to our house out in the suburbs, that's all."

"Hold up. The suburbs?"

Tom laughed. "That's the face you made when we first started looking for houses out there, too." Laughing under his breath, Tom told me, "Y'know, this is kind of exciting. It's like you're getting to see your house again for the first time."

A house. A house. I had a house? Wonders never ceased. "Is it nice?" I asked, a little aghast that I couldn't remember buying such a thing.

"It better be," said Tom, "because I cleaned it top to bottom last night for you."

That wasn't quite what I meant, but Tom seemed satisfied with his joke, so I didn't press the issue. I just looked out the window some more, trying to puzzle everything into an order that made sense. So I wasn't living with Luce anymore. I lived with Tom… an odd thought. We'd been super serious from the moment we started dating, practically, but living together? When had that happened? Buying a house together was a huge step in our relationship, but I couldn't even recall—

Tom pointed ahead of us down the road as we turned onto Highway 6. "You wanna stop for a Blizzard?"

"Oh. Sure," I said as a sign for Dairy Queen rose into view above a gas station, a hardware store, and other shops lining the busy road. Recalling something Tom and I had talked about a hundred times, I said, "Maybe they'll have the brownie batter one, finally."

But Tom just chuckled. "Brownie batter. You haven't brought that up in a while."

"I haven't?"

"No." He hesitated, probably recalling the same things I did—namely that the Brownie Batter Blizzard had always been my favorite, but they took it off the menu when I was a teenager, never to return. It came as a shock, therefore, when Tom said: "They brought it back a few months ago, but—"

"Oh my god, they did!?" I asked, elation thrilling up my spine.

"Wait, wait, let me finish before you get excited, Mrs. Amnesia!" Tom protested. "They brought it back, but it wasn't very good anymore because they added chocolate shards you thought tasted like coffee." When my face fell at this news, he rushed to add, "Now your new favorite is the Snickerdoodle Cookie Dough Blizzard, and you've told me it's better than the Brownie Batter Blizzard ever was."

But I couldn't quite believe him. "What the heck?" I said, staring in horror at the looming Dairy Queen sign. "I mean, what the hell?"

"I said your new favorite—"

"I heard what you said, I'm just—" I flapped a hand at the approaching diner, at a loss for words. "Snickerdoodle… did Dairy Queen get fancy?"

"That's what you said when we first started coming here a few years ago!" Tom said, beaming in excitement at this apparent show of consistency. "You tried the Frosted Animal Cookie Blizzard and said—"

"THEY HAVE A FROSTED ANIMAL COOKIE BLIZZARD!?" I shrieked, and Tom started laughing his head off.

It's difficult to describe how much something as simple as a fast food ice cream treat can mean to a person, but Blizzards really did mean something to me. Those cups of soft-serve custard swirled with bits of candy bars and chunks of fruit were the treat my family stopped to eat every single time we traversed the state to visit family, reserved for special occasions and the occasional road trip. I felt almost like a kid again as Tom pulled his truck into the drive-through and stopped in front of the menu, leaning back in his seat so I could take a good look at the glossy chart of food and ice cream Dairy Queen now offered. Frosted animal cookie, snickerdoodle cookie dough, strawberry-filled cheesecake… the flavors were far more elaborate than I remembered, though classic favorites like plain Oreo and banana still remained, and I couldn't help but marvel at every last new flavor.

Tom watched me with a grin. "You're like a kid on Christmas," he said after we ordered (a snickerdoodle for me, a chocolate chunk cheesecake for him). "You can't stop smiling!"

"No, I definitely cannot," I agreed as we pulled forward toward the pick-up window—but my smile faded when Tom snagged his blue medical mask out of the cup holder, passing it to me as he pulled another mask across his face. I stared at the mask in his hand in silence for a minute, but when he continued to hold it out, I gingerly accepted the thing.

But I wouldn't let this oddity go unchallenged. "What's this for?" I asked, letting it dangle off a fingertip by the ear loop.

Tom did a double-take. "Oh shit. You don't remember the pandemic."

"The what?"

"I'll tell you later." He wasn't smiling anymore. "Just put it on for now, OK?"

I did as he asked, using just my left hand to loop the thing around my ears, right arm held tightly in place by sling and cast. It took a lot of willpower not to scratch at the fabric against my cheeks, but I refrained as Tom rolled down his window and pulled up to the pick-up window. Confused, I noted that a Plexiglas panel had been placed over the top half of the window, shielding the woman inside as Tom handed over his credit card. The woman inside wore a mask, too. It was branded with the Dairy Queen logo (weird flex regarding product placement, Dairy Queen, but OK), and she wore bright blue medical gloves on her thin hands. A sign said they did not accept cash due to a currency shortage (a what shortage?), and that no dine-in options were currently available. When we pulled away from the drive-through lane and into a nearby parking spot to eat our Blizzards, I twisted in my seat to look at the front of the restaurant, where three signs hung in the front windows.

DRIVE-THRU ONLY

NO DINE-IN

OPEN NOW

Behind them, the inside of the restaurant was dark, chairs overturned and stacked upon tables like rows of skeletal sentinels.

"So…" Tom unwrapped a plastic spoon and jammed it into my Blizzard, handing it over with a regretful smile. "How much do you remember about 2020?"

I frowned. "Like 20/20 vision?"

"No. The year." When I did not react, he said: "The year two-thousand-and-twenty, A.D."

"It's 2020," I said.

"Yeah," said Tom.

My heart thudded against my ribs. "But I thought…"

"What's wrong?" Tom set his Blizzard in the cup holder, reaching for mine as my hands began to shake. "I thought I heard the nurse ask you…?"

A nurse had given me a few assessment tests once I was awake enough to take them. They were mostly just quizzes regarding general information anybody would know, like the name of the president (Obama, for now, since his dubious successor hadn't been sworn in) and the date (which I couldn't name). It had clearly been a test of memory, one I assumed I'd completed well enough since the nurse hadn't corrected anything I'd said.

She'd asked me for the year more than once, though. Each time, I'd said it was 2016, and she had not corrected me. But that wasn't the only reason I didn't think it was 2020.

"I thought it was 2016," I said, turning to Tom with a snap.

His eyes widened. "Wow. OK. No wonder you didn't remember our house."

"So you're saying it's 2020?" I pressed. "But that can't be true!"

"Why not?" Tom asked.

"Because you said I got in the accident when I was on my way back from Denise's wedding," I said, looking him dead in the eye, "and she got married in 2016."

Because that was what he'd said, right? As I'd swum from the darkness and into the light of the hospital, he'd whispered what had happened in my ear. He'd said I got into a wreck coming home from Denise's wedding—but as I stared into his eyes, daring him to contradict me, he shook his head. A mournful grimace crossed his lips, blue eyes filling with the softest sorrow imaginable.

"I'm so sorry," Tom said, "but babe… I didn't say that."

Stubbornly, I shook my head. "You did, though."

"No, I didn't."

"But…" Doubt crept in, treacherous and dark. "But you did."

"I'm sorry," Tom repeated with an apologetic shake of head, "but I didn't say that. I wouldn't have said it, because it's not true."

The certainty in my chest deflated, a balloon pricked by a stinging needle. "Oh," I said, word little more than a wheeze in my suddenly right chest. "Oh. OK."

"Denise and Frank have been married since then, though," he said, holding my hand with an encouraging smile. "You're right about that. They've been married since 2016. You didn't forget that at all."

"OK."

His heart broke behind his eyes; Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders, scooting toward me across his truck's bench seat. "Oh, babe—"

But I held up my hands, shrinking back against the passenger door. "No, no. Don't. Just…" I fought for every word, swallowing down the lump in my neck so hard, it hurt. "I'm just… confused. That's all."

Tom's smile grew even more heartbroken. Embarrassment lit a flame in my face; I felt stupid, like a child ignorant to the world, and the look of pity on Tom's face only made that feeling worse. Forcing myself to smile, I grabbed the reins of the conversation and yanked, hard, changing the subject as I snatched my Blizzard from the cup holder.

"Anyway. Back to 2020." I stabbed my spoon into my ice cream (with a touch more force than necessary) as I did some frantic math. "Jesus Christ, am I already 30?"

Tom looked like the cat who swallowed a canary. "Well..."

"Oh my god, I'm old." I groaned. "No wonder 2020 sucks."

Tom did something a little weird, then: He started laughing. Great big gulps of air and peals of laughter, ones that bent him over at the waist until his head touched the steering wheel. I half feared he'd crush his Blizzard in his hand, but soon his guffaws retreated into mere chuckles. He spooned up some Blizzard and ate it, laughing around the mouthful as though the treat itself tasted of humor. I tried to ask him what the hell was so damn funny, but soon he started laughing again, much too loudly for me to get a word in edgewise. Eventually he calmed down enough to wipe his eyes and take a deep breath.

"So, babe," he said in that mock-serious tone he used when he was about to say something particularly outrageous. "Do you remember how right after the 2016 election, you thought things were gonna be… well. That things were gonna be bad?"

My eyes narrowed. "Ye-es?"

"Well… whatever you imagined, the reality is worse." He held up a hand when I tried to talk. "Like. Way worse." He held up a hand again. "No no no no no. Even worse than what you're thinking right now." He raised his hand one more time, cutting me off. "No no no, babe. Even worse than that."

He told me everything, then—everything about the president's caging of children at the border, the kids that went missing from those cages, the horrific treatment of press, the gas-lighting of our nation, egregious police brutality and the protests that followed, disasters both at home and abroad, rampant racism, the president's fascist propaganda and refusal to condemn white supremacy, wildfires that leveled entire countries, the goddamn pandemic. By the time he finished with what he could remember (because there was more, he dubiously promised, so much more), I had panic-eaten my Blizzard and crushed the cup in my fist, nauseated despite the Blizzard's utterly delicious flavor. 2020, by all accounts, was a terrible year during which the horrors of previous years had snowballed into a terrible avalanche, and now we were seeing the horrible results.

"Oh god," I moaned into my hand. "I'm gonna be sick. This is terrible." Wry humor pulled my mouth into a grimace. "Kinda happy about my amnesia, though. It sounds like I'm blocking out trauma."

"I want some amnesia too, honestly," said Tom, only half kidding. "Feel like sharing?"

"No. All for me." I chuckled without humor. "Looks like I'm a lucky girl."

"Luckiest child alive, basically. I'm jealous, not gonna lie. It's been…" He paused for words. Couldn't find them. Opted for a joke instead. "Well, I'm a cis-het, able-bodied white man, so it's basically been fine for me, but it hasn't been fine for anyone else, and that's the part that sucks."

As always when he poked fun at his own privilege, I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm glad you at least have the self-awareness to see it."

"You're more to blame than me for that. You and Talon—" He paused. "Oh. Talon is—"

Recognition stirred at the sound of the name; I blurted, "One of your online buddies."

"That's right." Tom grinned, putting the car in drive so he could pull away from the Dairy Queen. "He's really into politics, so between the two of you, I hear everything most cis-het white guys tend to ignore."

Even though I couldn't remember it, the fact that I'd kept up with politics during the last four years (god, that time frame was hard to get used to) brought a smile to my face. "Good to know," I said, watching the cars drive by as we merged back onto Highway 6. "I'm glad."

"Yeah…" Tom's cheek twitched. "Talon was the one who told me about the murder hornets first, actually."

Slowly, I turned to face him. "The what?" I said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"The murder hornets," said Tom in a sing-song voice. "The hornets that murder!"

"Now I know you're pulling my leg."

"Actually…"

"What? No. No!"

Tom let go of the wheel so he could do jazz-hands. "Surprise!"

"NO!"

He was not, in fact, lying about the murder-hornets. I hated that he wasn't lying about the goddamn murder hornets, but he showed me an article that proved they were, in fact, quite real (and perhaps familiar-looking, but maybe I'd just seen them in a college course or something). We chatted about them and some of the other 2020 oddities as the highway took us deep into the suburbs, where we eventually exited onto a tree-lined road. He made me guess about some truly incredible events as the road wound its lazy way past a huge park and a lovely cemetery, slowing when a pack of kids on bicycles emerged from a shady cul-de-sac.

A true picture of the American suburbs, this place. Hard to imagine that my city-dwelling ass wanted to live in it.

As conversation faded into contented silence, I watched the houses rush past and wondered what the hell my own home looked like. I knew what my dream home looked like, but at this point in my life, I couldn't afford it. So what had I settled on? Probably two-stories, at least. A nice yard so we could get a dog, most likely. Brick? Stone? Plaster? Nice windows and plenty of pretty tress? I had so many questions about it. Like did it have a garage, and was the place carpeted (yuck!), and what color was my front door—?

Red.

The answer came to me at once.

My front door was red.

And when we pulled up in front of a cute two-story home built with pink brick and shaded by a trio of tall pine trees, I saw that I was right. The front door had been painted the color of a ripe apple. It stood out against the home's white trim and pale brick, narrow windows on the door's either side sparkling in the light of the afternoon sun.

I'd been right about the front door.

But how?

Was this a memory returning, or…?

I said nothing as Tom pulled into the driveway. I let him grab my stuff out of the backseat and open my door for me, walking slowly as he rounded the corner of the garage and headed for the front door. A large hibiscus bush at the corner of the garage blocked my view of said porch, but just as I heard the front door creak open, Tom let out a mighty yell—and then a tiny figure darted around the bush, leaping at me with a yelp and a yip.

"Hey Nori!" I knelt at once, laughing as he tried to climb me in his haste to lick my face. "Hey boy!"

But wait—how had I known that name?

No time to wonder. Feet slapped the sidewalk; Tom appeared from around the hibiscus bush, red-faced and frantic. He slumped and placed his hands on his knees when he saw Nori, eyes rolling back in relief.

"Thank god," he said. "I was so worried."

"About Nori getting out?" I said, rubbing the dog's ears. "He's such a weasel."

But Tom only laughed. "Babe, I don't know if you remember, but Nori is obsessed with you," he said, half joking and half serious. "If you didn't remember him, I was pretty sure he'd fall over and die."

"He's a mama's boy, huh?" I cooed, scratching that spot on Nori's shoulder that I somehow (somehow) knew he loved. His brown eyes screwed up in happiness, tail wagging a mile a minute at the sound of my baby-talk. "Yes? Yes, you are? Good boy, my little Nori-bear."

Dog secured, Tom gathered Nori up to carry him inside. Nori stared at me over Tom's shoulder, grinning ear to ear—but even his happy husky face couldn't quell the uneasy feeling that had begun to bubble in my breast. The dog's name had come to me so fast. Like with so many other things, I was left to wonder how. Was my memory returning already? But no, I didn't really remember the dog. I just… knew his name. Somehow. Which made very little sense to me.

Tom called for me, then.

I shook myself and headed indoors.

The house smelled like clean laundry and vanilla—a combination of scents from I loved, and ones I did not doubt I had engineered inside this home. From the front door I beheld a modest floorplan of rooms connected by open doorways and arched eaves, a white tile floor giving the impression of cleanliness and space. To my right sat the dining room, a large purple art print on the wall depicting a purple nebula and glimmering, whirling stars. Gauzy white curtains framed the windows, through which streamed sunshine and warmth. Ahead lay a living room with a fireplace, a dove grey couch positioned in front of the dim hearth. More framed galaxies adorned the walls, their colors offset by cool metallic accents on frames, knickknacks and the white and silver coffee table.

It was a pretty enough house. Not my dream home, but it would do. Still, as Tom ventured further into the home and out of sight, I floundered by the front door, not sure what to do or where to go. Tom returned soon enough, however, expression growing concerned as Nori reared up and placed his paws on my belly, neck craning in a request for pets.

"You OK?" Tom asked.

I shared into Nori's loving eyes, hesitating. "Just…"

"… do you need a tour?" Tom's voice was gentle, suggestion as kind as he could make it. As usual, he tried to brighten the mood with a joke, placing a faux-arrogant hand on his chest. "Because I can be a tour guide for you if you want. Not to be that guy, but my tours are legendary."

"Um." Deciding this was probably best, I gestured for him to lead the way. "Sure. Yeah. Gimme a tour of—of my own house."

I didn't mean to say that last bit. I didn't mean for my voice to crack on the final word. I didn't mean for my eyes to well with tears. But out of frustration and confusion, all of these things happened, and try though I might, I could not keep emotion at bay. I stared at Nori and petted his ears, doing my best to keep the lump in my throat from breaking.

But Tom saw it all for what it was. "Oh, babe," he said—and before I could think to protest, he put his arms around me.

It felt good, to be held. He smelled like deodorant and clean soap, fabric softener and Tom. I leaned into his shoulder as he tucked me under his chin, hand rubbing a soothing circle across my shoulder blades. I'd forgotten how tall he was, how he could envelop me in a hug despite my height, make me feel delicate… though it's not like I was actually that tall in this life.

Wait. No, that wasn't right. I was tall. I was 5'9, barefoot.

Where had that thought come from, anyway?

I wasn't sure. I did my best not to look confused when I finally let go. He waited for me to let go before loosening his grip, offering me the most encouraging of smiles when I sniffled and shook my head, forcing a smile of my own.

"Well, then," I said. "Give me the tour."

Tom leapt into action, guiding me through the living room (where a shelf proudly displayed our favorite books) and the dining room (where a suit of armor we'd named Sylvando, after a character from a game we liked, stood guard) and at last the kitchen (where curated cooking implements in blue and grey gave an impression of cool, sleek cleanliness). A laundry room and a powder room sat near the entrance to the garage, and out back, a shady porch lazed before a sizeable backyard. Toys scattered across the grass gave away to whom the yard truly belonged. The couch in the living room looked like it belonged to Nori, too, as it sported a healthy dusting of silvery dog hair. I didn't recognize much of anything in the house aside from the record player on a stand in the corner and a few art pieces here and there. Quite the surreal feeling, hearing Tom tell me about our search for the couch and where I'd found the galaxy prints on the walls. I remembered none of the anecdotes he shared, wandering on restless feet into the kitchen as he told me about the wreath made of faux succulents that hung above the fireplace (I'd made it, apparently).

A vase of sunflowers, my favorite, sat on the breakfast table alongside a Tupperware container of cupcakes. "These are pretty," I said when he finished talking, fingering one bright petal. "And those look yummy."

"Christa sent the flowers over," Tom said. "And the cupcakes are from Luce."

"Aww! That was sweet of them." It was good to hear the name of an old friend, Christa, and I thanked my lucky stars that Luce was still in my life. Now just to figure out how to get in touch with them—speaking of which. Turning to Tom, I asked, "My parents?"

"I talked to them already; knew your mom would just stress you out, so I took care of it." He stood near the fireplace, lounging with an elbow on the mantle, lazy smile on his lips. "They'll come visit if you want that. But you'll probably need to call them and let them know you're alive, first."

"They thought I might…?" I winced. "Was the accident really that bad?"

"No, of course not," Tom said at once. He rolled his eyes, an exaggerated gesture. "You know how parents are, though." Despite the humor, his eyes had darkened, staring past me and over my shoulder. Before I could ask, he jerked a thumb at a door behind him, the one sitting at the foot of a set of dim stairs. "Want to see the bedroom?"

It was a nice bedroom, if a bit cramped. I'd apparently decided to decorate in darker tones, blacks and navy blues complementing more framed galaxy prints on the walls. Once again Tom told me this decor had all been my brainchild, but… something about it just didn't sit right.

And it wasn't just the bedroom that made me feel that way. It was all of it, every scrap of information I'd just absorbed. We had a dog? A house? A shared bedroom? None of that struck a chord in me. Sure, Tom was incredibly important and the person I thought I'd one day settle down with, but we hadn't quite gotten to that part yet, now had we? We hadn't gotten to the point of adopting a dog together, of buying a house, of moving in together in the suburbs, of all places. We were still just starting out. We were still just dreaming of a dog. We were still just fantasizing about a house, planning what we wanted in the event of a zombie invasion.

Tom and I, we were still beginning.

And yet, deep in my bones, I could sense that everything he said… well, it was all true. I knew Nori's name and where he liked to be scratched. I knew the names of Tom's online friends. I knew the color of my front door before I saw it. How could I know these things unless they were all true, buried beneath amnesia and trauma and the shock of my accident's aftermath?

My fingers drifted toward my right arm, bound up in its cast. At the elbow my fingertips encountered a hard, unnatural lump, a surgical pin distending the skin there. Scar tissue ringed the pin, familiar as Morse code. It grounded me in the moment, bringing peace in its wake.

All of this… this was right.

… wasn't it?

Tom showed me the closet, next. It was huge, extending the entire length of space beneath the staircase (or so the sloping ceiling at the far end led me to believe). I didn't recognize many of the clothes on the hangers, but… perhaps it was just a trick of the mind, but as I touched the bolts of cloth and dainty stitches, I thought maybe—just maybe—they were familiar to me. But it was hard to say.

The items hanging from a hook on the back of the closet door, however, were a mystery. They were quite obviously convention tags, square badges hanging from colorful lanyards depicting smiling anime and comic book characters, but I didn't recognize any of the characters. And I most certainly didn't recognize the names of the conventions printed on the placards. As I thumbed through the tangle of lanyards, I looked at Tom and frowned.

"How many conventions do we go to these days?" I asked.

"I don't go to many, but you go all the time," he said. "Except for this year, though. Thanks, COVID."

I didn't smile at the joke. I was too busy reading the tags. "This one's from New York," I said, holding it up. Then I grabbed another. "And this one's LA. Georgia? Washington DC? Why do I go to so many cons out of state?"

Tom hesitated, but soon he relented and told me the truth. "You work for an anime licensor," he confessed, as if sharing a dark secret. "You go to conventions and work at a booth, and you even give talks at panels about the company."

I stared at him. "That's my job?"

"Yup."

"That's…" Words failed. "That's wild."

He smothered a laugh. "Wait till you see upstairs."

"Why? I said, suspicion mounting.

"It's not bad," Tom said, "it's just..."

Words failed him, too. "Oh god," I said, not liking his silence in the least.

But Tom just grinned. "You'll love it, I promise."

And with that, there was nowhere to go but upstairs. Unlike the downstairs, the narrow staircase (lined on each side by flat expanses of plain wall) wasn't decorated. I followed Tom up the steps with my heart in my mouth, wondering just what the heck this boring staircase was leading me toward—and as we turned the corner into a large room, I stopped dead. Nori darted ahead of us, leaping onto a couch in the room's center, oblivious to my state of shock and wagging his tail with abandon. Clearly, he wasn't bothered in the least by this room—one that had me with my jaw on the floor.

"Holy…" I said, unable to finish the thought.

"Yeah." Tom leaned against the bit of wall at the top of the stairs, grinning as he looked over the room. "It's something, all right."

The walls up there were covered—absolutely festooned—in anime. From full-size posters and prints to small art cards, fan-art and official art alike lined the space from nearly ceiling to floor. Where there wasn't art there were shelves (bookcases and glass display cases and floating shelves) bedecked in figurines, toys, and other memorabilia. An alcove along one wall was filled with nothing but those Funko Pop things, each figure displayed in front of their box like collector's items (not that I knew if they qualified as such). Wandering around the couch sitting in front of a TV and into the Technicolor maelstrom of merchandise, my feet carried me to the glass case in the corner, where a few LED lights cast bright illumination over a set of colorful figurines.

Yu Yu Hakusho figurines, to be exact.

I stared at those figurines for a long time. Kurama holding a rose whip, Youko Kurama beside him with claws outstretched. Yusuke wearing his green uniform like a cape as Puu sat atop his head. Kuwabara in his Dark Tournament whites, hefting the Spirit Sword. Hiei summoning the Dragon of Darkness Flame, bandages swirling around his arm. There was even a Genkai figurine, the pink-haired fighter crouched in a fighting stance. And a few smaller figurines I remembered buying in college, scoring them off a vendor at a convention in Illinois, surrounded—

Tom appeared at my elbow. "You've been collecting for years now," he said. "It's a lot, but… hey, hey." He put a hand on my back, thumb whispering across my nape. "Are you all right?"

I wasn't sure what he meant until he touched my face. His fingers came away wet. I stared at them in silence until it clicked: I was crying, twin tracks of moisture slipping down my cheeks. Not that I understood why they'd formed there in the first place. I just blotted the tears on my sleeve, staring at the darkened fabric in nonplussed detachment.

"You must've really missed them, huh?" Tom said, trying to fill the silence. "Your boys?"

My brow furrowed. "My boys…"

"Yeah," he said, reaching down to pat Nori (who had at some point trotted over in quiet feet). "Me and Nori... and the boys of Yu Yu Hakusho, of course."

He said that last part as an afterthought, staring at the case of figurines. I didn't reply. I just looked at him, silent, before turning again to explore the room's brightly colored walls.

As Tom had stated, most of the merchandise was related to Yu Yu Hakusho, but other shows broke up the images of Yusuke and his friends at regular intervals. Cowboy Bebop and Sailor Moon, mostly, along with some Pokémon here and there. I meandered about the room to look at it all, trailing fingertips along a music box that played "Smile Bomb" and a set of the Sailor Moon transformation brooches. While some of the merch looked vintage, with tattered edges and the occasion scuff, much of it appeared new indeed. Oddest of all, some of the Yu Yu Hakusho artwork—the official stuff with copyright at the bottom—appeared… modern. Sleek. Not at all like some of the grainy images I'd been forced to accrue when I started collecting in earnest in college.

One set of posters in particular caught my eye. They depicted the main four boys in formal Japanese attire, illustrations and colors crisp and clean. Not at all like the official art that I remembered. Drawn like iron to a magnet, I reached out to touch one of the posters. Stopped just before my fingers brushed the class that covered it. Let my hand fall limp at my side once more.

Something—something about this was wrong.

The longer I looked at the posters, the more and more wrong it seemed. I couldn't put my finger on why, though. All I could do was stare at the posters, feeling progressively more unsettled with every passing moment. Was it their smiling faces that gave me such pause? Was it the colors, their stances, their clothes? Again, the sensation of wrongness felt like something on the tip of my tongue, just beyond my grasp but maddeningly close. But what was it? What about this made me feel so strange, a feeling that deepened as long as I looked at the posters? It was like they were—

"Babe?" Tom's hand lit upon my back again. "Are you OK?"

I couldn't answer him. Not for lack of trying, though. I just couldn't find the words to tell him the faces felt… flat. Familiar, but flat, and not just because they were printed on thin paper. They were… unrealistic. Only, they were too realistic. Not at all lifelike, and yet, too lifelike at the same time. Parsing that contradiction proved impossible. It was all I could do just to stare at the posters, meeting their gazes one by one.

Dead behind the eyes. That was it. They were dead behind the eyes, existing on just this side of realism to the point where they became entirely unrealistic. Lifeless and flat and…

"Do you know what the uncanny valley is?" I blurted.

"Yeah. I do." (Of course he knew; he was a gamer, after all). "Why?"

I took a deep breath. To explain. To tell him what was wrong.

Tears pricked my eyes again.

"Never mind." I whirled away, blinking the emotion back where Tom couldn't see. "Show me the rest of the house?"

Tom did, probably just to make me happy. He shot me concerned glances whenever he thought I wasn't looking and between stops on the tour. First he escorted me his game room at the end of a short hallway. The mosaic of video game posters on the wall were familiar; he'd hung the same thing in his bachelor pad back when we first met, only he said in this house, I'd put them together with better attention paid to the color composition (a fact I knew somehow before he even said it). Two more rooms constituted the rest of the upstairs, but they were empty. One would become my office eventually, Tom told me, but we hadn't found the right desk yet. I'd wanted to finish decorating the downstairs and our bedroom, first. We'd decorate it when we'd saved a bit more cash.

When we left that room, I didn't linger in the upstairs common area. I booked it back down the stairs, not daring to give the Yu Yu Hakusho posters a second glance. Tom and Nori followed me into the kitchen, where Tom gestured at the refrigerator and offered up a big smile.

"So what now?" he asked. "Are you hungry? I could make something."

"I think I'd like to lie down." My head had begun to pound, heat rising in my temples. "Just for a little while."

Tom saw the fatigue on my face and nodded. "Yeah. A nap might be good," he said—and then he grinned. "Or you could work on Elsie. I think you were supposed to update this weekend, right?"

I frowned. "Elsie?"

"Elsie." He waited a beat, and when I didn't react, he spoke again. "Lucky Child?"

I shook my head, not understanding.

"Ah. Got it," said Tom. Tone helpful and chipper, he explained, "It's your story—the Yu Yu Hakusho fanfic you've been writing for the past four years. It's called Lucky Child, but we tend to call it Elsie for short."

It clicked that he was saying an acronym, not a name. "Oh. Right. Elsie. LC." Pinching the bridge of my nose, I muttered, "That makes way more sense."

Tom tutted, walking over to slip an arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, I think you'd better lie down. Want me to bring you a snack, or maybe a drink?"

"Sure."

With Tom's help, I changed out of my shirt and into pajamas, careful of my broken arm in its new cast. ("How much abuse can your right arm even take?" he joked. "What, the accident couldn't do you a favor and beat up your left? What an asshole.") It felt like being fussed over by a mother hen, the way he tucked me into bed and brought me my purse, telling a joke at every turn, fishing out and connecting my phone to the charger at my bedside. He promised to come back fast before kissing my forehead and dragging Nori (who wanted pets and was not shy about my newly broken arm when asking for them) out of the room by the collar. In his absence, I did my best to get comfortable—but when my phone gave a little buzz on the table, I reached for it and sat back up.

I didn't recognize my phone's lock screen. Heck, I didn't even recognize the phone. It was bigger than my old one, with buttons set in different places around its large touchscreen. The lock screen depicted a tiny spaceship soaring away into infinity with a burst of rainbow color—cute, but inscrutable. Yet the device opened to my standard password, which made me feel a bit better… until I saw the wallpaper within.

It was a drawing, a picture of a girl with short, punky brown hair and brown eyes holding a glowing sparkler in front of a dark forest, moon shining in the starry sky above. I didn't recognize the character in question, nor did I recognize the signature at the bottom of the piece: the letters K and P under a crown. But it was quite pretty, so perhaps I'd just chosen it for the aesthetic. No way to be sure, really. Trying not to think about the unfamiliar images, I clicked on my web browser (had to hunt for the icon a bit), hoping I was already signed into my email account.

The browser opened to a fresh page. At the top sat a Google search bar. Below that sat a few links to current news articles, and below that a few tiles of bookmarked sites availed themselves. I scanned these out of habit (apparently I still had habits), eyes roving across a link to something called Ko-fi (whatever that was), a shopping site I didn't recognize, and…

Yu Yu Hakusho – Archive (AO3)

My thumb twitched, and in an instant, the Yu Yu Hakusho archive of AO3 filled the browser top to bottom.

I recognized it at once, of course. I'd spent hundreds of hours on this site perusing fic after fic, reading at all hours and until the sun broke over the horizon the following day. I'd spent years writing and updating my stories on this website, and with a rush of nostalgia I scrolled through the archive's front page. Stories skipped past like stones thrown over a lake, some of them familiar, some of them not, but each one intriguing in their own right.

Between Humans and Demons

To Start Again

All It Cost Her

Lucky Child

Upon reading that name, my vision froze.

It took me a long time to break free of that spell—from the siren-like hold of those words, grip as unyielding as dry concrete. But soon I managed to look at something other than their curving letters, absorbing the date of its last update.

September 20, 2020

Just two weeks prior, to be exact.

The fact that I couldn't remember a story I wrote as recently as two weeks ago placed ice inside my chest. Tearing my eyes from the date, I skimmed the summary in a frantic rush.

"When a Yu Yu Hakusho fan dies and is reincarnated in Keiko's body, she's faced with a difficult choice: stay true to her former self, or follow the script set for Keiko by the anime.
Although the thought of agreeably becoming Yusuke's helpless girlfriend turns her stomach, can she afford to be herself when one wrong move could rewrite history?
As mysterious forces manipulate Not-Quite-Keiko in the pursuit of their own ends, she must choose between honoring the anime by sacrificing her identity, or forging a destiny of her own making.

Canon divergent. OC!Keiko. SI!Keiko. Fighter!Keiko. Meta!Keiko"

Franticness morphed into irritation in an instant. So a self-insert fic, then. Odd. I hadn't read one of those in a while, much less written one. Taking the place of Keiko seemed like a very silly premise, too. Very out-there, to put it mildly. And if it were me, I'd change the wording of the summary; the rhetorical questions felt repetitive, and the syntax itself could use some—

Wait. If it were me?

But it was me, wasn't it? It was me who wrote this. I wrote it. Or that's what Tom said, at least…

Too bad I remembered none of it at all.

Well. I supposed I could read the damn thing, see if it jogged a memory…

But what if, a small voice inside me whimpered, I didn't like what I found?

Not sure what else to do, I opted for the tried and true practice of reading the comments.

Classic tactic, I mused as I opened the review page. If the reviews seemed good, hopefully that promised good things about the story itself. What better way to steel myself than to get a hint at the story's reception? Pleased by my tactics, I skipped to a random chapter in the review drop-down menu. The first one that caught my eye had been written by someone named "Sdelacruz2" on chapter 55.

"I had no clue you would bring Sailor V back!" they'd written. "Will she be a constant like Kagome to be here and there? Id love to know!"

I stared at the review for a few seconds. Processed what I had just read. Recalled the name of the protagonist of Inuyasha.

Then, out loud: "I crossed over how many goddamn anime?!"

That reader went on to say other nice things, but I hid my blushing face and clicked away, unable to believe it in the face of such an unholy abomination. There was no time to think about what kind of disaster this fic could turn out to be, so I skipped to another chapter and read a random comment, this one from "Not_Quite_A_Morning_Person" on chapter 100 (wait, how many chapters were in this thing?!):

"Congrats on 100 chapters!" they'd written. "It's honestly been pretty amazing to have been reading a fic like this for so long and to see how it has evolved and changed. I'm feeling weirdly sentimental as I leave this review, but I feel like it means a lot to people in older fandoms like Yu Yu Hakusho to see that other people still care about them too, and more than that are still being inspired to create fanworks too. So thanks a ton for spending so much time on this fic and sharing it all here with us."

I stared at that one for a long time—longer than I'd like to admit. My hand traveled to my mouth, covering it as I stared at the comment in abject disbelief. Amazement. Denial, too.

"Did I… Did I really write this story?" I whispered.

It was hard to take credit for something I had no memory of creating. Feeling like an intruder, I skipped to another random chapter—this time chapter 44, where a review by "hypophrenia" caught my eye.

"alright, how to begin..." they wrote, like the deep breath before the plunge. "i, for one, can safely say i'm 100% in love with this story. like, love love. i would take a bullet for this story if it were possible. now onto the harder part, explaining why."

And then they did.

At length.

Like I'd been bitten by a snake, I threw the phone across the bed and buried my face in a pillow to scream. It was an entirely unbidden reaction—and a familiar one, too. Any time I'd gotten a nice, personal review in the past (and this time I'd read three of them), I'd done the same thing: an immediate phone-chuck followed by hysterical yodeling. Only this time I rolled onto my cast and had to stifle a different sort of scream, one born both of pain and of supreme and utter embarrassment.

Because—me? I wrote the story that got that comment? That was so damn nice, and so unexpected. Just—me!? I wrote something people said such nice things about? Surely not. Surely there was some mistake. Surely this wasn't my story. I didn't remember writing it at all! I didn't deserve words like that, such votes of confidence that made me devolve into a pile of burning goo. There was no way those words were for something I made. They couldn't be. They just couldn't. Maybe they were a fluke, then? Were others as kind? Had I managed to pick some of the best ones at random?

I was too afraid to find out. Scrambling for my phone, I unlocked the dim screen and moved to exit the page—but as I did, I noticed that at the top, three little orange words signaled that I was currently signed into the website.

Those three little words were: Hi, Star Charter!

Gooseflesh rose along my arms.

Star Charter.

I knew that name.

But how?

Before I could wonder at length or examine the apprehension fizzing in my chest, the door creaked open; Nori darted into the room as soon as a crack appeared, leaping onto the bed so he could attack my face with licks. I shoved my phone under my pillow with one hand and then tried to fend him off, giggling as he did his damndest to lick my eyeballs.

A moment later, Tom came in holding a tray. "Hey, hon?" he said as he crossed the room, eyes locked on the tray. "I brought you some soup."

My brow shot up. "I'm not sick. Just broken."

"I know, but what else do you make when your girlfriend gets hit by a truck?" he shot back, grinning all the while. "Plus we stocked up on 'soup for our family' a few weeks ago…"

My eyes narrowed when he giggled. "Why are you laughing? What's so funny?"

"I'll explain later." He set the tray on top of the nightstand, out of Nori's reach (though not out of sight; Nori stared at the bowl like he hadn't eaten in a month, eyes huge and begging). Tom left the room and returned again a minute later, carrying something under his arm. "Thought you might want this. It's—"

"My tablet," I said as soon as he held the object out. Wrapped in a battered and peeling fake-leather case, the weight of it felt familiar as hell in my hands—mostly because I remembered the tablet perfectly. It had been my main writing tool since college, barely capable of running anything more substantial than a word processer, but hardy enough to take on a plane without too much worry. Stroking its tattered cover, I said, "I can't believe this is still working. I've had it for, what? Ten years?"

"Just about," said Tom with his good-natured cheer. "It's on its last legs, though. Will barely hold a charge and keeps shorting out, so save early and save often, capiche?" From the way his eyes glittered, I think he was quoting me with that last bit; it certainly sounded like something I'd say. "I keep saying I need to make you a desktop, but we need to save up some money first. Maybe for Christmas… anyway." He pressed another kiss to my forehead. "I'll leave you be for now, but yell if you need anything, OK?"

"OK."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

He beamed, giving me another kiss. Assuring me that he'd be just outside again, he picked up Nori and headed for the door, pausing at the last second to turn around and look my way. His lips curled into a smile as soon as our eyes met, warmth creeping in to lighten pale, rich blue to the color of the sky at dawn.

"Hey, babe," he said, and then he stopped.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Tom hesitated.

Then: "Nothing." Another smile, this one even warmer than the first. "I'm just so glad you're home."

He shut the door behind him, after that, leaving me alone.

When I heard them get settled in Tom's game room across the house after a noisy trek up the stairs, I reached under my pillow and retrieved my phone. The reflection of my face showed in the glass before I unlocked it, fingers moving swiftly as I sought to avoid my own gaze.

Star Charter, the name at the top of the archive read.

My thumb moved—then stopped.

One moment passed. Then two. Then ten.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, tapped the name, and navigated to my menu of written stories. Hesitated for a second more. Clicked a certain link.

Slowly, word by word, sentence by excruciating sentence… I began to read.

"My name is Yukimura Keiko," began the story called Lucky Child, "but that has not always been my name."

Notes:

*jazz hands* It's meeeetaaaaa!

I just had a hellacious series of weeks involving (drumroll) more broken plumbing. Had no water in my home for a week and am out thousands of dollar. Happy birthday to me; welcome to adulthood! It's terrible and awful so please be nice to me in the comment section; I can only take so much right now. (*sobs*)

Big thanks to all those who commented on chapter 114. It was the longest chapter of this story yet and took me a lot of time, effort and planning to write. I'm extra grateful for all of you who left a review. Will probably set hard limits on chapter lengths after this so I don't break my back writing a nearly 20,000-word monster again, though. Will probably cap chapters around 10k words from this point onward.

I was originally going to resolve this whole mini-arc in this chapter, but I decided to split it into two parts instead so I can start writing shorter chapters. Sorry to drag out the suspense, but it had to be done due to the reasons listed above. The most meta bits of all will happen in the next chapter.

And now for bad news (bad news for y'all, that is; for me it's good news, really). I'll be going on hiatus in November to participate in NaNoWriMo. That means the next chapter (chapter 116 on October 18) will be the last chapter of LC I will post until December. After 116 goes live on October 18, Lucky Child updates will resume with chapter 117 on December 6, 2020.

I do have some good news for all of us to share: I will also be doing a daily writing prompt challenge all throughout October. Please go follow "Scribbled in Secret" on my profile for a 31-chapter collection of drabbles that centers on the revelation of NQK's reincarnation secret. A new drabble will come out every day this month. The list of prompts I'm using can be found on my Tumblr page.

You'll want to check out the second chapter of "Scribbled in Secret," BTW. It is from Kurama's POV and shows how the boys reacted to NQK's collapse at the end of chapter 114.

I wanted it to be a surprise when I pulled past reviews for use in this chapter (and I did actually pick them at random, for the record), but if I used yours and you'd rather me not, I will HAPPILY remove them. Whatever makes you feel comfy! Many thanks to those whose reviews I pulled. You da best. You made me throw my phone; thank you for that.

Also, the stories listed in the above chapter are the ones currently on the front page; wanted the meta bits of this to be as accurate as possible.

Big thanks to Wikipedia for the definition of retrograde amnesia.

The art mentioned as the background of my phone is by kattenprinsen over on Tumblr (and yes, it's actually the background on my phone right now). IT IS SO PRETTY and is of NQK, as you might have guessed. I will reblog it so you can check it out and show KP some love. THANK YOU KP!

Many thanks to those who came out to support chapter 114. I was incredibly nervous about the content, to be perfectly honest. Not everyone will like this arc, but I personally think it's my favorite thing to have happened so far in LC, and that means your words were especially meaningful to me. This foray into meta is dedicated to you, those very special, meta-loving readers who came out to show 114 some love: snapsdragon, Npous, Paddygirl, shini_tenshi, Han, NotQuiteAnonymous, Unctuous, Gerbilfriend, Bzzzz, RainbowWordStrings, Hotarulight, DJ_Raine, Sdelacruz2, TokiMirage, Ms_liz, B4kedp0tato, Cptkitten, RemBee, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, DragonsTower, Capriciousfan, eveoflight, k, ShiaraM, JestWine, theNewDesire, Nathan_the_Ram and brawltogethernow

Chapter 116: Homeward Bound (Part 3)

Summary:

In which she remembers.

Notes:

Warnings: PLEASE READ THIS VERY CAREFULLY, especially on FFnet. The limited options for formatting made this a nightmare to render coherently, and it is CONFUSING (it's supposed to be, but the formatting didn't help matters). If shit seems to repeat, it's not an error. Just go slow and it'll come together in the end, promise.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As grudging as the overcast day outside, I admitted to Tom and Nori: "I guess my main issue with the story is its goddamn length."

Tom snickered at the growl in my voice, lips curling beneath the fall of his thick beard. Nori trotted ahead of us over the slick pavement, sniffing at the sidewalk and fallen leaves, his fur only slightly less shiny than the rain-soaked sidewalk. I'd fallen asleep the previous night listening to that rain come down. Drops plinked off the cover on the chimney with musical cadence, scent of petrichor funneling down the column of that smokestack to perfume the living room as I read Lucky Child on my phone. The weight of the phone had felt unfamiliar in my grip, but soon my fingers learned to grasp the device and skim through pages of text with nimble strokes. I held that phone again during my walk with Tom and Nori the next day, after sleeping in late and lying in bed till an absolutely ungodly hour in the afternoon. It goes without saying that I felt fantastic… aside from the broken arm, of course. That ached all the time, so to distract myself, I kept up a stream of chatter as we walked through the neighborhood, Nori guiding us along a path Tom claimed we typically took on weekend mornings.

Well. Perhaps "chatter" is a bit forgiving.

What I really did was rant.

And according to Tom, that's what our walks were all about. We spent our walks with Nori (one in the morning, one at night) ranting to each other about our days, our woes, the state of the world and our opinions on it. Our walks constituted a period of "couples' bonding time" amidst the rest of our busy lives, as he put it. The topic of the hour that day proved to be Lucky Child, as is only natural when one spends eight hours reading something and blocking out everything else in the damn world. Something (namely Tom's mischievous and contented smile) told me this wasn't the first time I'd had a lot to say on this subject, either.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," I said, watching Nori sniff at the base of a tree before lifting his leg (an impressively yoga-like feat). "I've enjoyed reading it, but it's excessively long. It would be a more effective story if you trimmed out the fat and cut down on the number of side characters." I paused to reflect upon the differences between fanfiction and original works. "But then again, I think exploring characters is sort of the point of fanfiction, so… and readers do seem to enjoy it…"

Tom shook his head and laughed. "I just can't believe you don't remember writing LC. It's been a part of your life for almost as long as I have."

"It's weird when you put it that way." Feigning horror, I grasped my heart and gasped, "I'm in a relationship with my fanfic!"

"Aw, babe," Tom lamented with obvious cheek. "Are you cheating on me with a work of fiction? I'm hurt."

"Eh, you shouldn't be too threatened." I rolled my eyes. "It's not like these characters are real, anyway."

Tom laughed at the joke, squeezing my hand before Nori bolted after a squirrel and yanked Tom down the sidewalk after him—but as I stood there upon the pavement, watching their hilarious caravan stomp across someone's picturesque suburban lawn, disquiet stole through me, a yawning pit opening in the depths of my stomach.

My stomach had been doing that a lot lately. And like the times I'd felt that pit in my gut before, I couldn't put a finger on why it had opened in the first place.

Tom dragged Nori back off the lawn and over to me in short order. "God, he's the fastest dog alive!" he said, glaring at Nori (but without any malice; love for the dog shined in Tom's every word, even when he called Nori a weasel). Falling into step beside me again, Tom said, "So what part of the story are you on?"

"She—" I paused. "I—um?"

"You usually say 'she' when you talk about Keiko," he helpfully informed me. "Third person, right?"

"Third person, yeah." My turn to take his hand and squeeze; anyone who learned writing terms on my account had all my love. "She just took a backpacking trip with Hiei to rescue Yukina."

He let out a low whistle. "So you've got a long way to go to finish reading, then?"

"Yup. But I already feel like it's too long." The work didn't quite feel like mine, so criticizing it came as naturally as breathing. I ticked each area of improvement off on my fingertips, saying, "The details are agonizing and the emotions are just, ugh, so overwrought, and I'm pretty sure I could combine half of these characters if this wasn't a fanfic where people expect to see the whole cast, but…"

"But what?"

I shrugged. "This is a first draft, technically. I update week-to-week, right?"

"Yeah," said Tom. "You usually write the chapters the same day you release them. Well, you outline them ahead of time, but the actual writing and stuff you do the day-of." He looked nearly wistful, then. "Man, you sit at your desk for like 12 hours at a stretch and forget to eat. It's nuts." A sly smile stole across his mouth. "And you say I'm a bad procrastinator. But, y'know, takes one to know one."

But I didn't rise to his teasing. I was too busy processing this, staring at the damp, sparkling pavement as it passed below our feet. "So this is definitely a first draft, then," I muttered, more to myself than to Tom. My hand stole into my pocket, fingers winding around the phone within. "No beta, no editor, not polished. No wonder it meanders a bit in places. Honestly, I'm shocked it's not worse."

Tom laughed. "You're back to your old self."

"Hmm?"

"You like to shit-talk your work, but clearly it must be OK if people like reading it," he said. "I think you're too hard on yourself. Your story is good."

"Maybe." I shrugged again, uncomfortable with compliments I didn't feel I deserved—and then I took a deep breath, bracing myself to admit a fear that had been brewing ever since I began reading Lucky Child. "I dunno, though. I don't want to disappoint anyone if I can't keep writing it the same way I used to."

Tom took my hand. "They'll get it if you need to take some time before going back to updating," he said, words low and soothing and soft. "Plus, you gotta remember the story before you can continue it. They'll understand that. Your readers always have your back."

The sheer logic of this made sense. "I'll have to make a post on Tumblr or something and explain what happened to me." A beat passed before I (somewhat desperately) asked, "You said I have one of those, right?"

His laughter filled the air like drizzle, soothing and cool. "Yeah, you do," he said. "And you seem to have a really full Ask Box, like, 900% of the time."

To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure what an Ask Box was, so the joke didn't quite land. Tom slipped an arm around my shoulders when he saw this. It felt warm against his side; I shrank into him without thinking, cradling my broken arm against my chest to rub at the cast protecting it from the elements.

"Try not to think about it," he said, pressing a kiss against my temple. "Just read and update when you have the energy. You don't have to rush."

By all accounts, this was true. Tom claimed (and the numbers suggested) that Lucky Child had amassed a following of considerable size (much denial I felt about this, for the record). They'd wait for me if I needed to take time off, he claimed… but it still felt like I'd let people down if I didn't continue writing the story eventually. The comments I'd read indicated there was still quite a ways to go until we reached the resolution, and I'd followed enough unfinished fanfics to know the pain of an incomplete story. If I didn't get back on the updating ball soon, then…

Tom nudged me with a hip. "Why don't we order food and take it easy tonight? Maybe play some games together, or watch a movie?" he said—a welcome distraction from my worries. "There are a lot you might have forgotten that you'll enjoy. It'll be like re-meeting an old friend."

That sounded wonderful, and I told him so, pressing a grateful kiss against his scruffy cheek.

We spent the day with each other, just relaxing and basking in each other's company. I read snippets of LC between chatting with Tom and cuddling with Nori on the couch, movies and TV episodes filling the hours as the sun crept lower in the cloudy sky. Eventually Tom decided that we needed a special treat ("Because today feels like a special occasion," he said), so he baked one of his famous chocolate cheesecakes as I looked on, offering to help as he melted chocolate and put together the creamy cake mix. Tom mostly rejected my efforts to assist, but eventually I wore him down enough to at least help him when he needed to take the cake out of the oven.

I shouldn't have intervened, however. When it looked like he might not have a good grip on the baking sheet, I reached out on reflex to help—but with my broken arm. All I achieved was giving the pan a hard bump, one that sent the water in the bain-marie sloshing over the edge of its tin. For a second it looked like the boiling water might spill onto my hand, but Tom jerked the tray away and out of reach before it could.

His foot, however, wasn't so lucky. The water had to go somewhere, and as he lifted the pan away from the oven, the errant liquid splashed onto the floor, where his foot sat bare and waiting. Immediately his skin broke out in a gigantic red blister; somehow Tom didn't jerk the baking pan again, though, managing to set it on the counter with a rattle before hopping from foot to foot, aggrieved air hissing between his teeth.

"Oh my god!" I said, stretching my hands toward him to do… I wasn't sure what, exactly. To help? "Oh my god!" I repeated, words as impotent as I felt inside.

"It's OK, it's OK!" Tom shook his head, still hopping. "Ow, fuck!"

"Get on the counter, the counter!" I pointed at the sink, darting over to get the cold tap running. "Quick, quick!"

For a 6'4'' man, Tom sure was spry, leaping onto the counter to shove his feet into the drum of the sink like a gazelle on steroids. I ran for the first aid kit he told me I'd stashed in the hall closet, and as we treated his burn, I shot him a ferocious glare.

"Tom, you—why did you do that?" I said. "You shouldn't have taken that bullet!"

"Hey, you already have a broken arm," he retorted, comically accusatory. "A twice-broken arm! We don't need you getting burned, too." He pasted on a smile to hide a grimace. "Me, though? I can take it. We're a team; we share the load."

My eyes rolled as I opened a packet of iodine. "My hero."

"Hero, huh?" His lashes fluttered. "How 'bout a kiss for my heroics?"

"You earned it, Mister Hero," I said, laughing when he winced at the sting of antiseptic. "Bravery and valor, that's you. The very portrait of a knight in armor."

"Aww, shucks," he said, faking a blush. "Oh, stop it…" And then he winked, making a 'come here' gesture with his hand. "Actually, keep goin'." Before I could do so, however, he looked over at the oven and yelped, "MY CHEESECAKE!"

It was always laugh-a-minute with Tom, even in the face of extreme burns and potentially overcooked cake (it was fine, for the record, a fact that made Tom sigh in overstated relief). The laughs continued as dusk fell and we ordered a sushi feast online through a magical app called DoorDash, one Tom said he'd heavily relied upon during the 2020 quarantine. After we placed the order, we settled in for a marathon of something called The Haunting of Hill House on Netflix, which Tom claimed I adored—a claim that made sense considering it was an adaptation of a Shirley Jackson novel I loved beyond all reason. But as we sank onto the couch to wait for our food and Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders, I looked up and poked his cheek with a tender fingertip.

"You know, I'm surprised," I said in the timbre of gentle teasing. "You haven't talked about playing video games at all today."

But Tom just batted my hand away, grabbing it and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "They can wait a day," he said. "I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Did a brush with death remind you just how much you love me?" I teased.

"You know what they say," he said. "You don't know what you got till it's gone."

I laughed, assuming he was joking—but he didn't join in. He just kissed my hand again, holding it to his lips as we traded a long, strange stare, one that made the hair along my arms rise to chilled attention. It lasted for an uncomfortable length of time, the air in the room thinning until breath prickled in my throat.

"Tom?" I said. "Are you OK?"

"I'm great." A smile broke through the storm clouds in his eyes. "Luckiest guy in the world."

But he didn't say anything else. He just looked at me, smiling that soft little smile I couldn't make sense of, loving and sweet but—but something else. Perhaps desperate, or maybe nostalgic? It was hard to tell. I wanted to ask, to make him tell me whatever he was thinking behind the overcast pall in his eyes, but—

The doorbell rang, and Nori went fucking ballistic. Full-throated barks, stripe of thick hair fully erect along his spine, teeth bared and a growl rumbling in his small chest… he was only 30 pounds, but I'd never seen a dog that fierce. He leapt off the couch and sprinted downstairs at full tilt, barking like mad at the door as a trio of knocks rapped against the wood.

"Oooh, yay! Food's here!" was all Tom said, though. He untangled himself from my arms and the blanket we'd curled up beneath, heading for the stairs with a shout of, "Nori, ya little weasel, calm the heck down! It's just the sushi man!"

I didn't follow them right away.

I just sat there, staring at my reflection in the TV screen, wondering if the shroud in Tom's gaze had really looked like tears, or if I had imagined them entirely.

The sushi tasted good, but also strange. When pressed, I couldn't quite articulate quite why. "It just… it just isn't right," was all I could say when Tom requested elaboration. "It's missing something, somehow."

"Huh." He gestured at me with his chopsticks as his eyes lit up. "I think one of your meds' side-effects was that it would mess with your sense of taste, right?"

"Maybe." I looked away—not because he was wrong, but because the sight of the chopsticks pointed at my face put a pit in my stomach again. "Or maybe it's just not great sushi."

Tom admitted that might be the case; apparently we hadn't ordered from this restaurant before, and it was a strange fusion establishment that mixed Mexican and Japanese cuisines. Perhaps they'd added an odd spice or marinade. Tough to say, but in the end the food proved palatable enough to finish off.

For the most part, anyway. Tom cleaned his plates, but upon mine a few bites still lingered, untouched.

After dinner, we walked Nori through the neighborhood a second time, pavement once more slick with evening drizzle and typical east-Texas humidity. Afterward we cut slices of the cheesecake we'd made and settled back in for more Hill House (which, true to Tom's promise, I enjoyed quite a lot). Much though I liked the series, though, it felt nice and warm to sit tucked against Tom's side, Nori's heavy little head pillowed on my thigh, and soon my eyes grew heavy with the weight of sleep.

Tom beat me to it, however. Just as I started to doze off, a snore rumbled in his thick chest, startling me awake as if I'd been doused in cold ice water. Nori lifted his head sleepily off my leg as I eased off the couch, putting it back down with a contented grumble as I extricated myself from the family-cuddle-pile and stood up. It had gotten a bit warm between Tom and the dog, and Tom's deep snores made hearing the TV tough; sensing I wouldn't get a very good Hill House watching experience, I crept away and padded downstairs, standing in the living room on uncertain feet.

Along the living room's back wall, I caught a flash of my reflection in the silver mirror Tom said I'd hung there so many months before—but as soon as I beheld two blue-grey eyes staring back at me, I looked away again.

That face, lined in places I'd never seen before, still didn't feel like mine.

The grey couch in the center of the room, with its plush cushions and soft pillows, beckoned. Curling up against an armrest, I slipped my hands into the pocket of my hoodie to pull out my phone. The girl in the phone's background smiled at the starry sky, vanishing when I pressed the Google Chrome icon and opened to my current spot in Lucky Child. In it, Not-Quite-Keiko and Hiei trekked through a dark forest in pursuit of Yukina's place of captivity, making camp beside a stream before bedding down for the night.

Reading Lucky Child constituted a particularly odd experience, unsettling not for the content of the story, but for the content that came after each chapter. The author's notes provided glimpses into my unremembered life that I had not been expecting when I first stumbled across them. New jobs, new friends, moving, illnesses, small worries that felt big in the moment but were soon forgotten as the weeks went by—they provided shocking insights into the life that was mine-yet-not-mine-at-all. They detailed when I moved in with Tom, when we adopted Nori, busy periods and happy times… and times that weren't happy at all.

My uncle has died, said one note in particular. Seeing those words in print is surreal and heart-rending. He died after a long struggle with heart disease. His death is not necessarily a surprise, but even in the light of expectation, it remains no less of a shock.

Rain began to fall outside as I reached that author's note, tears dripping in tandem with the weather as I read about Viking funerals, Harris' love of Shakespeare, and a request to the readers of Lucky Child to pour out a drink in his name. I pressed onward through the story with feelings of desperation, hoping to learn more, seeking closure for this out-of-nowhere wound that made my heart feel like it was bleeding.

But closure did not come quickly. I sank into the story for a long time before finding even a crumb. I had the Dark Tournament to read through, including the chilling revelation with the ever-smiling Hiruko, before Not-Quite-Keiko's secret broke free of its silence and emerged for her world to see. What followed were chapters describing an unsettled feeling of disquiet as her world turned upside-down, feelings I related to with aching, uncomfortable familiarity—and then came Byron. Anyone who'd known my uncle could see him in Byron, every last word and mannerism a loving homage to the most recognizable man who'd ever lived. I drank Byron's scenes down like someone dying of thirst, more engaged by his appearance than the narrative of the story itself. Hungrily I hunted through the chapters following his introduction, skimming and absorbing until I reached chapter 114.

That chapter I read a little closer than the others, because chapter 114 was… odd.

It contained a lot more for Tom than usual, for one thing. He came to Not-Quite-Keiko in dreams, cryptic utterances falling from his mouth, accompanied by a monster forged of darkness that made Keiko yell blue murder in her troubled sleep. Something didn't seem right about this, the further and further I read, but I couldn't quite place my finger on why a sensation of nagging dread kept rising, a tide pulled to the shore by the moon—

The cup in my hands fell into the soapy water with a splash, read the text of Lucky Child.

Her collapse started innocuously enough. A dropped cup, a buzzing in her ears. But like an avalanche of pain it crashed down all around her, vision whiting out as vomit bubbled from her mouth, and soon she was carried to a hospital by strong arms and cries of concern and fear. I read this with heart in my mouth, fingers pressing tightly to my lips, eyes skimming faster and faster—

—and then she woke up. She woke up in a hospital, hand held by warm fingers, and—

"It's OK, babe," Tom said. "It's OK. I'm here. You're here."

His arms around me tightened.

"You're safe," he said.

"You're home."

I stared at that passage for a long time, silence as perfect as Tom's perfect face. Faintly, beneath the sound of pattering rain, I heard his snores in the upstairs den, where he lay beneath the watchful gazes of my Yu Yu Hakusho posters. Where he slept in contented ignorance to my discomfort on the floor of the house below. Where he lay in obliviousness to the way my skin had begun to crawl, my memory of that moment in the hospital—

"It's OK, babe," Tom said. "It's OK. I'm here. You're here."

His arms around me tightened.

"You're safe," he said.

"You're home."

—and the writing of Lucky Child overlapping in cacophonous, discordant harmony.

A shudder ripped up my back like a blade tearing at the seam of an antique shawl, threads stretching until they snapped. Releasing the breath I'd been holding for at least a minute, I jammed the "next chapter" button, moving on to chapter 115—

Retrograde amnesia—a loss of memory-access to events that occurred or information that was learned in the past, often caused by an injury or the onset of a disease. It tends to negatively affect episodic, autobiographical, and declarative memory, while keeping procedural memory intact without increasing difficulty for learning new information.

In layman's terms, I couldn't remember anything for shit.

The neurologist's office. Tom's jokes about my missing memories. The trip home along familiar highways. The goddamn Blizzard. I sat up inch by inch, word by word, spine going ramrod straight as the hum of familiarity turned into a crashing thunderclap of recognition. Meeting Nori and knowing his name without knowing how, the red front door, the tour of the house, rising dread and uneasiness, Tom telling me everything I'd missed, the fucking pandemic—

This was my day yesterday.

Chapter 115 of Lucky Child outlined the day I had only just lived—but I hadn't written this. I hadn't had time. When could I have possibly written this chapter, or posted it, for that matter? And the way it ended, with me picking up my phone to read the story from the beginning…

Hands shaking, I tried to press the button to move forward, to go into the next chapter—but nothing was there. It ended with chapter 115.

I sat there in silence as perfect as Tom's perfect face for one minute. Then two. Then three.

Had Tom… could Tom have done this? He was the only one who—

But, no. He couldn't have. Tom loved math, not writing. He hated writing. And this was my style, my thoughts, my feelings encapsulated in text. Tom knew me well, but he wasn't inside my head. The person who'd written this had a front-row seat to my reality.

Which meant only I could've written this.

Me, and only me.

Thunder in the distance rumbled. I don't know how long I sat there, that time. Long enough for the rain to stop and start again, at least, the sounds of Hill House and Tom's snores still drifting down the stairs. Once more my thumb drifted for the "next chapter" button. Once again it found nothing to press. Desperately, my eyes roved across the phone's bright screen, searching for something, anything, that might make sense—

Star Charter.

That's what the bright orange words at the top of the page proclaimed. Star Charter. Charter of the stars. That was my penname. A name I'd constructed from a favorite quotes about living by ones ideals. And while I was familiar with the name because both Tom and FFnet itself had told me that was my penname, something about it nagged at me for a different reason. A reason I couldn't quite—

Wait a minute.

Hitting the chapter menu, I began to scroll, searching for a familiar title: "All's Well That Ends Well." The climax of the confrontation with Hiruko during the Dark Tournament. Fingers flying, I used the "Find" feature to type in my penname, heart leaping when two results showed in the search bar—

"You made this entire world about you," Hiruko had sneered, staring down Not-Quite-Keiko in a reconstruction of her memories. "Pride is your greatest weakness, Not Quite Keiko, Star Charter, nameless wisp of consciousness in the scope of the broader universe—"

Star Charter. He'd said it. Hiruko had said the name, calling it out explicitly, using the name of the story's own writer to address—

To address—

"That's me," I whispered, reality gelling into place, fire catching on dry tinder, a forest igniting under the strike of an atomic bomb. "That's me. That's her. I'm her. But I'm not, because I couldn't have written this—I couldn't have written this."

The truth descended, as certain as the ground beneath my feet.

"I couldn't have written this," I said aloud, "because I lived it."

Without warning, the world around me shattered, then, and my memories returned—one by one, in order.

Darkness.

Then a blinding light.

Then warm arms, and words I didn't understand.

Took me a long time to figure out what happened. Might seem obvious to you that I'd somehow been reincarnated into a new body with memories of my old life intact, but when you're caught in that situation yourself, reality takes a while to sink in. Not just because the situation is so utterly impossible as to be unbelievable—though of course that's part of it.

It took me a while to figure out what was happening simply because the brain of an infant doesn't possess the same processing power as an adult brain.

God, being a baby again had sucked ass. A grown adult trapped in a body that couldn't even wipe its own damn ass—talk about embarrassing. But that hadn't held a candle to the grief of leaving my old life behind, trading warmth and love and Tom for terrifying uncertainty.

But I didn't have long to think about that, because I had a lifetime to live all over again.

The boy had come out of the shadows so he could stare at me. Big brown eyes, made even bigger by his thin cheeks, glittered dark and wary. A mop of untidy black hair, cheeks streaked with dirt…he was too skinny. Judging by the hollow cheeks and twiggy arms, I'd bet you could count his ribs. My mom would have a fit and force-feed him if she saw him.

Me? I just stared. Everything inside me had gone cold and quiet, echoes of emotions casting tentative shadow on my shock-dark soul.

I knew exactly who this was, without quite knowing how.

And that meant everything was about to change.

The boy and I stared at each other for a minute. I think he expected me to talk first, but I didn't. I couldn't. The cold and quiet were just too loud. Eventually he sniffed, wiped his nose on his arm, shoved hands into pockets, and kicked a toe at the grass.

"You…you said shit ," he said. He almost looked impressed.

"Don't tell me mom," I said. "I'd get in trouble."

"I won't tell," he said, offended. "I'm no tattletale. And I didn't need your help. I would've beaten them up soon." He crossed his arms, chin lifting. "I was just warming up."

"I believe you," I said. No use arguing, if he was the stubborn boy I suspected he was. "What's your name?"

Hesitation. He looked me over, sizing up my clean jumper and trim pigtails, weighing them against my coarse language and sweet face.

Then: "I'm Yusuke."

I closed my eyes. The cold inside roared deafening.

"Yusuke what ?"

"Urameshi."

"Right. Of course you are."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing." I opened my eyes. "I'm Yukimura Keiko."

Yusuke. How could I have ever forgotten Yusuke? But I couldn't reflect on the swell of love inside my chest, because someone else wanted to say hi, too.

He looked up, narrow eyes widening above cheekbones so sharp they could cut—and just like with Yusuke, the minute our eyes met, I knew who I was looking at. Those eyes, that curly hair, and those cheekbones were the stuff of anime legend. I went cold all over, stomach a ball of hollow ice.

…was this allowed?

Was I allowed to meet Kuwabara so early?

He looked as perturbed as I felt, though clearly for different reasons. He grabbed another fist of earth and threw it into the air.

"Boom," he repeated. He sighed like a deflated balloon. "It's a volcano. But it's dumb ."

As the cold in me abated, I considered sprinting in the opposite direction. Keiko and Kuwabara didn't know each other in the anime—not until they intersected in the wake of Yusuke's death, when Yusuke possessed Kuwabara's body. That had always struck me as strange. Kuwabara and Yusuke interacted a lot, and Kuwabara, Keiko, and Yusuke all went to the same school. The idea that Keiko didn't at least know Sarayashiki's #2 Punk by sight didn't make sense. But the anime made it seem like they didn't know each other, so…

Like I said.

Was meeting him like this allowed?

No time to answer that question, to reflect on the answers I surely had found along the way to the present, where I sat remembering everything upon a dog-hair covered couch. There was no time because the next memory pressed in quick and sharp, a sword sneaking between my ribs with the intent to kill.

Despite my teacher's proximity and the chatter of my classmates, I heard the classroom door creak open.

A flash of red appeared in the corner of my vision.

The girls at my school all wore red uniforms. The boys wore a weird pink-purple shade.

Despite this assortment of warm colors, the second I saw this particular flash of red appear…I knew.

I knew.

I kept my eyes locked on my teacher's face. I didn't turn as the red smudge in my periphery walked behind me and out of sight. I carefully maintained a neutral expression, spine erect but relaxed, as I heard a chair rattled and slide across the floor. I did not react as, below the murmur of other students' conversations, a schoolbag hit the flat of a desk with a thump.

There's no describing how I knew, from nothing more distinct than a smudge, that Kurama had sat down somewhere behind me.

Certainty crackled across my awareness like electricity, biting and undeniable.

Kurama was here.

I could feel it.

And just like I could feel Kurama in that moment, I felt my brain breaking in the present, fabric of memory unspooling and re-stitching itself in a desperate attempt to realign what it knew then with what it knew now. A firework of pain flowered behind my right eye, migraine bursting into being like exploding dynamite. I shrieked and cupped my face in my hands, but it didn't do anything to stop the flood of memory.

If anything, it only made it worse.

He stood no taller than five feet, crowned by an impressive shock of blue-black hair that could probably poke my eye out of Hiei got too close. Its deep navy color remained dark until light persuaded sapphire highlights into view. The odd white streaks in his hair were just that: odd. Streaky, grey, like he was actually a lot older than his height suggested. Or (more plausibly) like he'd gone to a salon and requested the weirdest dye-job on the planet, then had stuck a fork into a toaster and let it pick his spiky hairstyle.

His face, however, struck me far more than his height or hair.

The eyes dominated his features, of course. Small chin, delicate jaw, rounded cheeks, all topped by scarlet eyes so large they might actually have come out of an episode of the anime. They possessed a luminous quality that reminded me—strongly, inexplicably—of the reflector on the back of my bicycle at home. His eyes caught the light and reflected it in a glowing flash the same way those red reflectors winked bright even in the dark, eerie and inhuman in its color's bold intensity.

There was absolutely no mistaking this person for a human, that's for sure. No cosplay contacts could ever hope to replicate the coruscant quality of those eyes.

I probably would've found him intimidating if he didn't look like a goddamn child.

Before I could laugh at the recollection, the memory changed, once more snapping to another moment in time before I could process the first. Dozens of memories crowded forward for attention in an endless tsunami of color and sound and taste and scent and touch, a lifetime of the stuff force-fed into an unprepared stomach, stretching and groaning and horrible and dense—

But were any of these memories real? The thought came to me unbidden as I curled into a ball upon the couch, panting, barely able to feel the air on my skin beneath the memories' onslaught. Were these real memories, or were they just memories of the story I'd read? Were these just the images I'd imagined when I first read Lucky Child, or were they something I had experienced, or—?

"N-no," I groaned into the couch. Fingers dug deep into my hair, rain striking the chimney like bullets, every pop and ping as deafening as thunder. Addressing no one, and everyone, I shrieked, "No—no, it's not some story! That was my life, goddammit!"

Or was it? With conviction I'd cried my truth to the universe, but speaking it aloud hadn't helped. The memories still crashed, confusion unabated, rain pounding ever harder on the roof and the chimney's metal cap—

I think I may have fainted, because the next thing I remembered was waking up.

It felt like I'd eaten a bag of cotton, lungs full and limbs heavy. My head still pounded, face wet with tears I didn't remember shedding. Around me, the world hadn't changed. I sat right where I'd been upon the couch, dog hair flecking the fabric of my comfy yoga pants. I moaned when I sat up, massaging my aching temples with both hands—and then something ignited in my blood, the urge to move rising high and hot and overwhelming. On shaking legs I staggered upright, toddling into the master bedroom at the foot of the stairs with stars in my eyes and winged things fluttering in my veins. Upon the bedside table sat my tablet; I spotted it like a magnet drawn to a lump of iron, bolting for it so I could take it in my hands, fingers smoothing over its flaking faux-leather case. I'd purchased the tablet on Black Friday with my mother, I recalled, back in 2009—

No. It's 1990. I live in Tokyo. We don't have tablets. I'm Yukimura Keiko and I don't own a tablet computer. Tablets aren't a thing yet. TABLETS AREN'T A THING—

"Shut the fuck up," I hissed, and I wrenched the tablet's cover off. The password came to me as naturally as breathing, typing the letters with a staccato clatter of fingernail on plastic keys. The desktop took a second to load (the thing was old as hell, after all, and on its final legs, another memory I knew without knowing how), and when it did I beheld the digital faces of Kurama, Yusuke, Kuwabara, Hiei standing against a backdrop of falling gingko leaves—

I didn't let myself look at them, at their wrong faces—faces nothing like the ones still calling for attention inside my head. I just scanned the document folders on the desktop, instead, zeroing in on the one titled "FANFICTION." It opened with a flash of white, revealing more sub-folders marked with the familiar names of fanfictions past, stories I'd written in college and even before that, and the ones I'd written afterward—

And Lucky Child, of course. It sat in the middle of the alphabetized list, innocent yet somehow menacing.

Before I could lost my nerve, I clicked on it. Within lay numbered folders: chapters 1-10, 11-20, all the way up to the hundreds. I clicked 111-120 in a flash, scanning the documents within. 111, 112, 113, 114, 115—

116.

Chapter 116 lay at the bottom of the list, the final chapter in the folder. The most recent chapter of the work. The chapter that, if it was anything like 115, would be about—

My breathing hitched.

I opened the document.

As grudging as the overcast day outside, began the 116th chapter of Lucky Child, I admitted to Tom and Nori: "I guess my main issue with the story is itsgoddamn length."

Tom snickered at the growl in my voice, lips curling beneath the fall of his thick beard. Nori trotted ahead of us over the slick pavement, sniffing at the sidewalk and fallen leaves, his fur only slightly less shiny than the rain-soaked sidewalk. I'd fallen asleep the previous night listening to that rain come down. Drops plinked off the cover on the chimney with musical cadence, scent of petrichor funneling down—

My breathing hitched again, harder that time, as I read with dawning horror about my day with Tom—about walking the dog and ordering sushi, baking cheesecake and burning Tom's foot, watching Hill House and listening to the rain on the roof. About him falling asleep and snoring, getting up to read Lucky Child on the couch—

The grey couch in the center of the room, with its plush cushions and soft pillows, beckoned. Curling up against an armrest, I slipped my hands into the pocket of my hoodie to pull out my phone. The girl in the phone's background smiled at the starry sky, vanishing when I pressed the Google Chrome icon and opened to my current spot in Lucky Child. In it, Not-Quite-Keiko and Hiei trekked through a dark forest in pursuit of rescuing Yukina, making camp beside a stream before bedding down for the night.

Reading Lucky Childconstituted a particularly odd experience, unsettling not for the content of the story, but for the content that came after each chapter. The author's notes provided glimpses into my unremembered life that I had not been expecting when I first stumbled across them. New jobs, new friends, moving, illnesses, small worries that felt big in the moment but were soon forgotten as the weeks went by—

Reading the note about my uncle. The chapters about the Dark Tournament and the secret coming out (chapters I remembered both as writing and as lived memory, a disorienting mix of recollections that layered on into another in a perplexing feedback loop), about the confrontation with Hiruko, chapter 114 ending in—

The cup in my hands fell into the soapy water with a splash, read the text of Lucky Child .

Her collapse started innocuously enough. A dropped cup, a buzzing in her ears. But like lightning it crashed down all around her, vision whiting out as vomit bubbled from her mouth, and soon she was carried to a hospital by strong arms and cries of concern and fear. I read this with heart in my mouth, fingers pressing tightly to my lips, eyes skimming faster and faster—

—and then—

"It's OK, babe," Tom said. "It's OK. I'm here. You're here."

His arms around me tightened.

"You're safe," he said.

"You're home."

I stared at that passage for a long time, silence as perfect as Tom's perfect face. Faintly I could hear his snores in the upstairs den, where he lay beneath the watchful gazes of my Yu Yu Hakusho posters. Where he slept in contented ignorance to my discomfort on the floor of the house below. Where he lay in ignorance to the way my skin had begun to crawl, my memory of that moment in the hospital—

"It's OK, babe," Tom said. "It's OK. I'm here. You're here."

His arms around me tightened.

"You're safe," he said.

"You're home."

—and the writing of Lucky Child overlapping in cacophonous, discordant harmony.

A shudder ripped up my back like a blade tearing at the seam of an antique shawl, threads splintering until they snapped. Releasing the breath I'd been holding for at least a minute, I jammed the "next chapter" button, moving on to chapter 115—

Retrograde amnesia—a loss of memory-access to events that occurred or information that was learned in the past, often caused by an injury or the onset of a disease. It tends to negatively affect episodic, autobiographical, and declarative memory, while keeping procedural memory intact without increasing difficulty for learning new information.

In layman's terms, I couldn't remember anything for shit.

The neurologist's office. Tom's jokes about my missing memories. The trip home along familiar highways. The goddamn Blizzard.I sat up inch by inch, word by word, back going ramrod straight as the hum of familiarity turned into a crashing thunderclap of recognition. Meeting Nori and knowing his name without knowing how, the red front door, the tour of the house, rising dread and uneasiness, Tom telling me everything I'd missed, the fucking pandemic—

This was my day yesterday.

Chapter 115 of Lucky Childoutlined the day I had only just lived—but I hadn't written this. I hadn't had time. When could I have possibly written this chapter, or posted it, for that matter? And the way it ended, with me picking up my phone to read the story from the beginning…

Hands shaking, I tried to press the button to move forward, to go into the next chapter—but nothing was there. It ended with chapter 115.

Except it didn't end with chapter 115. I was reading 116 on my bedroom floor, kneeling on the carpet as I hunched over the tablet (the tablet 1990s Keiko should not have had), reading about memories returning to me (memory of those returning memories both a memory of the memory and of the written recollection of the memory), reading about fainting and waking up, of stumbling into the—

I wrenched the tablet's cover off. The password came to me as naturally as breathing, typing the letters with a staccato clatter of fingernail on plastic keys. The desktop took a second to load (the thing was old as hell, after all, and on its final legs), and when it did I beheld the digital faces of Kurama, Yusuke, Kuwabara, Hiei standing against a backdrop of falling gingko leaves—

I didn't let myself look at them, at their wrong faces—faces nothing like the ones still calling for attention inside my head. I just scanned the document folders on the desktop, instead, zeroing in on the one titled "FANFICTION." It opened with a flash of white, revealing more sub-folders marked with the familiar names of fanfictions past, stories I'd written in college and even before that, and the ones I'd written afterward—

And Lucky Child, of course. It sat in the middle of the alphabetized list, innocent yet somehow menacing.

Before I could lost my nerve, I clicked on it. Within lay numbered folders: chapters 1-10, 11-20, all the way up to the hundreds. I clicked 111-120 in a flash, scanning the documents within. 111, 112, 113, 114, 115—

116.

Chapter 116 lay at the bottom of the list, the final chapter in the folder. The most recent chapter in the work. The chapter that, if it was anything like 115, would be about—

My breathing hitched.

I opened the document.

As grudging as the overcast day outside, began the 116 th chapter of Lucky Child, I admitted to Tom and Nori: "I guess my main issue with the story is its goddamn length."

Tom snickered at the growl in my voice, lips curling beneath the fall of his thick beard. Nori trotted ahead of us over the slick pavement, sniffing at the sidewalk and fallen leaves, his fur only slightly less shiny than the rain-soaked sidewalk. I'd fallen asleep the previous night listening to that rain come down—

Thus, the cycle began anew.

I don't know how long I sat there, reading the looped text. I don't know how many times I read the cycle of description bleeding into reality bleeding into memory bleeding into description—reading text that described a memory, a new memory forming on top of the old, text supplanting and replacing my first recollection, merging and dancing and swimming until I couldn't tell any of it apart. My head swam, eyes hazy, hands clenched around the tablet, reality turning into writing and back again in an endless, aching fractal, impossible to understand or tease out, impossible to do anything but get swept away—

"Babe?" said Tom, silhouette a figure of looming black against the doorway. "Are you OK?"

The spell broke. I slammed the cover atop the tablet's screen, words plunged into darkness I secured in place with the cover's elastic band—scared bindings to hold back the curse of that infinite document, incongruous and impossible and strange. A sob wrenched from my dry throat when I staggered to my feet, whirling to hold the tablet between myself and Tom like the frailest of shields.

I wasn't sure of anything anymore. Not after that. And much though I loved him, that included Tom—Tom and Nori both, dog standing by Tom's feet where he stared at me through uncertain eyes, ears pricked and tall as he listened to my ragged breathing.

"Babe?" Tom repeated. "What's wrong?" He took a single step into the room, darkness covering his perfect face. "You're kind of freaking me out."

I held the tablet toward him, shaking it. "What the hell is this?"

"What—?"

"This isn't—this isn't normal!" My voice broke, another strangled sob wrenching up my neck. "This isn't right. What the fuck is going on, Tom?!"

Another step toward me, slow and purposeful. I still could not see his face. "Babe—"

"Don't call me that!" I shrieked. "My name is—"

The words died. I couldn't continue. I shrieked again and shoved past him into the living room, Tom and Nori following at my heels. Nori's nails clicked against the tile with every step, a soloist wailing against the accompaniment of the rain upon the windows. Tom looked like his heart would break and pour out of his eyes as he tried to put an arm around me, but I shoved him off and rounded the couch, putting the furniture between the two of us like another shield.

"It's OK. It's OK, babe," he was saying in the tone you'd use to gentle a horse. "You're home. That's what matters." More certainty this time: "You're home."

But I shook my head. "No."

"Babe—?"

"That's not what matters. Being here is not what matters." I pointed at the tablet in my hand, smacking my palm against its cover, thoughts a babbling brook that came pouring from my mouth in a river of anger, confusion, fear, dread, sorrow, the emotions of two lifetimes lived in quick succession expressed in a handful of gibbered words. "What's real, Tom? What's not? That's what matters to me. That's what fucking matters! Which life is mine? Which one? Because it can't be both! It's not both, it has to be one, it has to be—"

"Can't it be both?" Tom asked.

Like a flipped switch, my babbling stopped. I stared at Tom in silence; he stared back with naked desperation in his bright blue eyes, mouth thin and hard amid the thicket of his beard. But soon his eyes softened, and he reached for me, coming around the couch with arms outstretched. I danced away, out of reach. He stopped in the same spot where I'd been standing, and in the reflection of the mirror over his shoulder, I saw the terrified, tear-streaked reflection of my own, foreign face.

Slowly, Tom's hands fell to his sides, where they hung limp and motionless.

"Can't it be both, babe?" he said in softer tones, sadness resonant in every word. "Because if it was… it would be a beautiful life."

"Yes," I agreed, after a time. "It would."

We looked at one another. We really looked.

"But I'm sorry, Tom," I told him. "That's just not how this works."

Tom held very still.

Then, his eyes closed.

As if through water, his head drifted down, eyes falling to the floor. Nori whined and pawed at Tom's ankle out of sight below the back of the couch. One limp hand rose, clutching the back of the couch as his knees apparently gave out, sending Tom to the floor with a grunt and a groan. His other hand covered his eyes; Nori whimpered louder and reared up on his back legs, licking at Tom's cheek as the air around them appeared to darken, waves of despair rendered visible by some unseen painter's brush. Pity swelled in my chest. I started to go to him, to put my arms around him—

Movement in the mirror caught my eye. I gazed into my own stare, caught within it like a spider in a web. A ringing rose up, squealing and awful, a bout of tinnitus far louder and higher than any I had ever heard. With a cry I covered my ears, calling out to Tom to do the same.

Again, something in the mirror moved.

Once more, I met the eyes of my reflection.

They were no longer grey or blue, but black.

The reflection still looked like me (or like the me I didn't recognize, at least), but her eyes had filled with pure black like the heart of the earth where no light can penetrate, white and irises filling up with liquid shadow that soon spilled onto her skin, filling them up and then falling outward in a rush of tarlike ichor. It pattered onto her chest and dribbled down her shirt, spreading like a mold wherever it struck, creeping over skin and down the tips of her hair until her skin and body vanished into shade. I watched it happen in glacial horror, unable to move or speak as she raised one black-clawed hand and reached forward, fingertips pressing against glass—

The mirror cracked.

The demon in the mirror screamed, and the mirror at last shattered, spraying sharp crystal shards across my face. From behind the glass the creature scrambled, levering its hulking and distorted mass over the edge of the mirror and then outward, one black foot—a foot that had mutated into a gigantic, clawed paw—swinging onto the tile floor beside Tom and Nori.

I started to run, terror injecting the urge to flee into my bones—but I stopped, eyes on Tom and Nori.

"Tom." His name came forth upon a whisper, and then upon a frantic scream. "Tom, Tom, Tom—what the fuck, Tom, RUN!"

But Tom didn't run. Neither Tom nor Nori moved a muscle, nor did they pay the creature any mind at all, sitting behind the couch as the thing finished pulling itself from the mirror and into the waking world. Tom just sat there with oppressive clouds of despair wreathing his face and eyes as the creature rose to its full height above his, its horned head brushing the ceiling, massive feet cracking the glass that had fallen like hard hail to the floor. Tom did not even move when the creature took a step forward, foot hitting the ground with such great weight, the tile floor cracked and shattered.

Tom and Nori did not move.

I, meanwhile, heeded my own advice, and ran.

I didn't know the house well enough to hide effectively, though I did my damndest to make myself small—small enough to fit behind the white lounge chair in the corner of the upstairs living room, at least, back pressed to the wall as I hunkered down and out of sight. Downstairs the creature shattered glass and threw furniture, tearing apart the home I shared with Tom with vicious impunity. Why it hadn't come after me immediately, I wasn't exactly sure, but I didn't question its motives. I didn't even question why the creature seemed oddly familiar. I was too busy wondering what the fucking hell was happening or where the monster had come from in the first place, not to mention why Tom hadn't reacted to its presence, or—

A sob twisted free of my throat, burning along the way. All at once I became aware of the frantic thunder of my heart, the way black threatened the corners of my vision, my breath shallow and rapid from fear and adrenaline. Oh, oh, poor Tom, he hadn't even tried to save himself. He'd just sat there as the creature crawled out of that broken mirror, not bothering to save himself, not bothering to save Nori, not even bothering to save me…

Downstairs, the monster roared, a window shattering in a crystalline scream of broken glass. Drawn to the sound, I twisted to look out from around the chair, checking to see if it had come sneaking around the edge of the stairs—but it had not. The landing at the top of the stairs was empty, bathed in blue illumination from the flickering TV screen. No one had bothered to pause Hill House yet, I guess. Tom must have come looking for me when he woke up and found me gone, and—

As I slid back down behind the chair, I spotted something on the coffee table: the first aid kit. I'd brought it with us when we started watching TV, intending to check Tom's burn eventually. My eyes locked on the kit, freezing me in place, exposed but too fixated to be properly terrified at the thought of the monster spotting me.

The second it looked like I'd been about to get burned, Tom had pushed me out of the way. He'd taken the bullet. "We're a team; we share the load," he'd said as he put his foot under running water.

Tom… he was my partner. He'd never leave me to deal with this alone. He'd never abandon me—not to a burn, not to a monster, not to anything.

Like before, the truth crystallized into place with a snap of icy clarity.

"This—this isn't real. This is a dream." But that wasn't right, and I amended: "No. Not a dream. It's a fucking nightmare!"

Thus spoke, thus realized. Lucidity settled like a cloak of mist, bracing and certain, no question that what I'd said was true entertained in any part of my mind, body, or soul. This was a nightmare. This was a dream, and I'd dealt with dreams like this before. I recognized the feel of it, the way nothing made sense even as the pieces seemed to click together perfectly, god, how had I not realized it sooner?

Not time to wonder, no time to ask. Time to act. Time to move.

A quartet of framed posters hung above my hiding spot. Light glinted off the smiling, dead-eyed faces of Kurama, Hiei, Yusuke and Kuwabara, but even though their uncanny countenances chilled me to the bone, I still shot them a hysterical grin.

"Oh, but you're gonna love hearing about this when I get back," I said—and then I made myself wake up.

Only, I didn't.

I stared at the posters of my boys in shock, mouth open wide in confusion and fear. I'd made myself wake up from bad dreams before, but this time when I'd tried to trigger that part of myself that only existed in the waking world, nothing happened. Nothing around me changed. I stayed crouched behind that chair in this horrible waking nightmare world as the monster roared again, so loudly this time I clutched my ears to drown out the ghastly noise. As I hunkered, I tried to at least make myself lucid-dream, but nothing happened whatsoever. The monster kept roaring and I kept existing in this space and time, unable to wake or gain control.

"What do I do?" I cried as the monster screamed again. Panic gripped my chest like the claws of some ravenous beast. "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"

The monster stopped roaring—but then, as if summoned by my cry, a heavy foot descended on the stairs. Then another. Then a third. It was coming, and with a shriek I threw myself out from behind the chair, running headlong across the room and down the hall, flinging myself into Tom's game room and slamming the door shut. A few unpacked boxes, Tom's massive office chair, and a heavy rug were easy enough to shove in front of the locked door as a rudimentary barricade, but that was all I had. Not enough to keep the monster out. Not nearly enough, not nearly—

The roof.

I ran to the window and threw it open, because if I couldn't keep the monster out, then maybe I shouldn't stay in (or so ran my panicked thinking). Outside of Tom's window lay the jutting square of roof that shielded the back porch from the elements; tossing the tablet I'd somehow not dropped out ahead of me, I levered myself onto the rain-slick roof as quickly as I could, scrambling for purchase so I could wrench shut the curtain and the glass after me to disguise my escape route. I finished just as the bedroom door rattled, a massive weight colliding with its expanse as the creature shrieked and gibbered, eager for my blood (or so I had to assume). As far as I could tell, it would still take a minute or two for it to get into the room—but how smart was it? Would it know I must've gone out the window, or would it go back the other way in confusion? What would it do? What should I do? What should I—

With a cry of fear, I clutched at my head, temple and forehead on fire with pain and stress, tablet still clutched in my hand knocking painfully against my cheekbone—

The tablet. The goddamn tablet!

I ripped off the elastic and threw back its cover, typing in my password as fast as I could… only the attached keyboard wouldn't connect, magnets shoddy from years of use. I ripped off the keyboard and connected it again with a scream, slamming the keys until finally the devices connected and my password appeared in the entry box. The computer opened to right where I'd left off in the middle of chapter 116, but as I scanned the document, I noted with relief that more black words marked the white page. Judging by the size of the scroll bar, I still had a ways to go.

"Thank fucking Christ for spoilers," I said, frantically scrolling down. When new and unfamiliar words appeared, I cracked my neck and muttered, "Well. Here goes fucking nothing!"

Took me a minute to get oriented. The unfamiliar text didn't just concern what happened next—it concerned where I'd left off reading. The way the maelstrom of memories had swept me away, text a cycle of memories embedded within memories that only broke when Tom—

"Babe?" said Tom, silhouette a column of looming black against the doorway. "Are you OK?"

The spell broke. I slammed the cover atop the tablet's screen, words plunged into darkness I secured in place with the cover's elastic band—

"No, we're past that already," I growled, flinching every time the monster slammed against the door of Tom's computer room. Scrolling like mad, I muttered, "C'mon, c'mon, c',mon…"

Movement in the mirror caught my eye. I gazed into my own stare, caught within it like a spider in a web. A ringing rose, squealing and awful, a bout of tinnitus far louder and higher than any I had ever heard. With a cry I covered my ears, calling out to Tom to do the same.

Again, something in the mirror moved.

Once more, I met the eyes of my reflection.

They were no longer grey or blue, but black.

The reflection still looked like me—

"Fuck! C'mon you longwinded blowhard, get to the goddamn point!"

With a cry of fear, I clutched at my head, temple and forehead on fire with pain and stress, tablet still clutched in my hand knocking painfully against my cheekbone—

The tablet. The goddamn tablet!

I pumped a fist into the air. "Thank Christ; we're almost caught up!" But no time for celebration. I lowered my head and devoured the text, gobbling it in swift, desperate scans as I sat alone upon that isolated patch of slippery roof, swiping at the drops of rain the flecked the tablet's screen.

I ripped off the elastic and threw back its cover, typing in my password as fast as I could… only the attached keyboard wouldn't connect, magnets shoddy from years of use. I ripped off the keyboard and connected it again with a scream, slamming the keys until finally the devices connected and my password appeared in the entry box. The computer opened to right where I'd left off in the middle of chapter 116, but as I scanned the document, I noted with relief that more black words marked the white page. Judging by the size of the scroll bar, I still had a ways to go.

"Thank fucking Christ for spoilers," I said, frantically scrolling down. When new and unfamiliar words appeared, I cracked my neck and muttered, "Well. Here goes fucking nothing!"

Took me a minute to get oriented. The unfamiliar text didn't just concern what happened next—it concerned where I'd left off reading. The way the maelstrom of memories had swept me away, text a cycle of memories embedded within memories that only broke when Tom—

"Babe?" said Tom, silhouette a column of looming black against the doorway. "Are you OK?"

The spell broke. I slammed the cover atop the tablet's screen, words plunged into darkness I secured in place with the cover's elastic band—

"No, we're past that already," I growled, flinching every time the monster slammed against the door of Tom's computer room. Scrolling like mad, I muttered, "C'mon, c',mon…"

Movement in the mirror caught my eye. I gazed into my own stare, caught within it like a spider in a web. A ringing rose, squealing and awful, a bout of tinnitus far louder and higher than any I had ever heard. With a cry I covered my ears, calling out to Tom to do the same.

Again, something in the mirror moved.

Once more, I met the eyes of my reflection.

They were no longer grey or blue, but black.

The reflection still looked like me—

"Fuck! C'mon you longwinded blowhard, get to the goddamn point!" I screeched at the computer.

With a cry of fear, I clutched at my head, temple and forehead on fire with pain and stress, tablet still clutched in my hand knocking painfully against my cheekbone—

The tablet. The goddamn tablet!

I pumped a fist into the air. "Thank Christ; we're almost caught up!" But no time for celebration. I lowered my head and devoured the text, gobbling it in swift, desperate scans as I sat alone upon that isolated patch of slippery roof, swiping at the drops of rain the flecked the tablet's screen.

Here, the page went blank.

The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence, a heartbeat pulsing in the silence.

I stared at it for a second in disbelief.

Then: "Well that's not helpful at all!"

But then, before my eyes, the document rippled. The cursor stuttered. Black words stained the page one after another, a stream of writing flowing into being in the spaces between seconds. Distantly I heard wood splinter and groan, and then heavy feet pounded into Tom's computer room. I ignored the sounds, though, reading as if my life depended one it—because as far as I knew, it did.

The words read:

Here, the page went blank. The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence, a heartbeat pulsing in the silence.

I stared at it for a second in disbelief.

Then: "Well that'snot helpful at all!"

But then, before my eyes, the document rippled. The cursor stuttered. Black words stained the page one after another, a stream of writing flowing into being in the spaces between seconds. Distantly I heard wood splinter and groan, and then heavy feet pounded into Tom's computer room. I ignored the sounds, though, reading as if my life depended one it—because as far as I knew, it did.

"NOT HELPFUL!" I bellowed. "NOT FUCKING HELPFUL YOU MORONIC PIECE OF—"

More words stuttered into being:

"NOT HELPFUL!" I bellowed. "NOT FUCKING HELPFUL YOU MORONIC PIECE OF—"

"OK, now you're just being an asshole!" I hollered, watching as a transcription of those words appeared upon the page—

The monster had no intention of letting me read further developments, however. Even through the window glass I heard it rip the curtain aside, a shadow falling over the glowing tablet like a funerary shroud. Briefly I thought of pitching myself over the side of the roof to get away, but despite the cold of its presence, I didn't tear my eyes from the screen.

"OK, now you're just being an asshole!" I hollered, watching as a transcription of those words appeared upon the page—

The monster had no intention of letting me read further developments, however. Even through the window glass I heard it rip the curtain aside, a shadow falling over the glowing tablet like a funerary shroud. Briefly I thought of pitching myself over the side of the roof to get away, but despite the cold of its presence, I didn't tear my eyes from the screen.

—because after those words appeared, more followed. They read:

"As soon as the thought occurred to jump, I knew that was what I must do—then, as the glass above me shattered, I said: "I take it back—I fucking hate spoilers!"

And with that, I closed my tablet, darted out from under the monster's swiping claws, and hurled myself over the edge of the roof and onto the grass below."

For a second I just stared.

Then, as the glass above me shattered, I said: "I take it back—I fucking hate spoilers!"

And with that, I closed my tablet, darted out from under the monster's swiping claws, and hurled myself over the edge of the roof and onto the grass below.

I hit the ground and somehow managed to roll, breaking my fall with a move so uncharacteristically nimble, I popped up and just stood there for a second, shocked into inaction. But the monster on the rooftop gave an ear-splitting wail, frightening me into giving a wail of my own, and I put the nimble roll out of my mind. I just sprinted around the side of the house to the back gate, grabbing its metal handle and pulling with all my might.

But it didn't budge. "Aw, shit—this gate sticks!" I said, knowing I was right (but without knowing how). Rattling the gate some more, I muttered, "Dude, dude, just fucking open—!"

A heavy thud; another roar, and feet pounded into the space behind me. I spun and stared in horror at the thing, now at least eight feet tall and crowned in curling horns, reaching back to try and pry the gate open again. It didn't budge, however, and the monster made of darkness advance a single, predatory step—

And then something went 'clang,' a heavy stock-pot (a stock pot?!) hitting the ground at its side with a sound like a gong.

Behind the monster stood Tom—Tom's perfect face arranged in a determined grimace, a frying pan in one hand and a hammer in the other, Nori at his side, hackles raised to full attention and teeth bared in a gleaming-toothed snarl. A low growl issued from Nori's throat as the monster slowly turned to regard Tom with its sightless, eyeless face, my dog—my beautiful, brave boy—snarling with a splatter of foaming lather.

Tom only glanced at me for a second before his head lowered.

"Run, babe," he said—and he hefted his hammer high.

He moved in slow motion, almost—like he leapt through heavy water, movements impossibly sluggish as he jumped at the creature through the humid, midnight air. Nori did, too, jaws and sharp teeth aimed at the monster's enormous ankle. I wanted to tell them to stop, to not be fucking heroes. I wanted to tell Tom to grab Nori and run with me. We could all get away if we worked together, I knew we could, I knew—

But Tom and Nori landed on the monster before I could say a word. I just screamed his name as he laid into the creature with his hammer, sending chunks of black ichor splashing against the side of the house. "Go, go, go!" he screamed, punctuating each blow with a strike of the hammer. "Get out of here, run!"

"I'm not leaving you and Nori—"

Blue eyes flashed like igniting pilot lights. "I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN, GODDAMMIT!" Tom roared—and because I had never seen eyes like his, so solemn and determined and full of love-tinged desperation, I did as he asked and scrambled over the top of the gate with another nimble leap I shouldn't have been able to perform.

Then, final obstacle cleared at last, I ran—and I hated myself for it.

Because I did not know where else to go, I ran to the park where we'd taken Nori earlier that day—only this time, I didn't have Nori to chase like a white rabbit leading me to wonderland. This was no wonderland, after all. This was a nightmare of the highest order, and try though I might, I just couldn't make myself wake up or even lucid dream.

And without those tricks at my disposal, just what the hell was I supposed to do?

By the time I made it to the neighborhood park with its picnic tables and small playground, I teetered on the verge of collapse. I basically did collapse onto one of the picnic tables, sitting on it to hang my head between my knees and try to catch my labored breath. Every intake of air felt like a knife between the ribs, wind misty with spring's warmth against my face. Above hung a bloated super moon, a watching eye that cast silvery light over the playground and made haloes around the nearby streetlamps. Orange and red leaves lay on the ground on an autumnal carpet, slippery as I'd run across them, and—

Wait. Orange leaves. Fall. But spring rain? What season was it? I honestly couldn't tell, but then again, maybe it didn't even matter. If this was a dream, then none of it was real, and—

No. Cut that shit out. Don't get distracted. Focus on action, not reflection, you navel-gazing piece of shit. What should you do next? Think about that, dammit!

The first step toward getting yourself out of the mud is figuring how deep you are in it, not to mention what you have at your disposal to use as a mud-extraction tool. Yeah. That sounded right. Looking around, I took stock of the trees, the playground, the community center beside the park (locked and closed for the night, of course). Aside from that stuff, my clothes, my tablet and myself, I didn't have much to work with here. Maybe if I shook a tree, I could get a big stick somehow? Use that to defend myself? Or I could break into someone's garage and grab a chainsaw. Would definitely need more than Tom's hammer if I wanted to go toe-to-toe with… well, with whatever that thing was. I had a feeling Tom wasn't going to be able to hold off the monster for long with just a hammer and a 30-pound husky mix…

Guilt sliced into my chest, but I ignored it. There was no time to indulge in self-pity. Not yet, anyway.

Feeling composed enough to stand, I hopped off the picnic table and paced, restlessly combing over the park and the street, the homes and the trees, and the dark community center. Aside from a few sticks, I had relatively little to work with. I could probably use a swing's chain to strangle someone, or maybe beat them to death with my tablet, but neither of those ideas held much water. But what else could I do with the tablet? Use it as a very breakable shield? Nah, that was an even worse idea. What I needed was a damn sword or something—

Lightbulb moments aren't typically so obvious, but just then, I had about the most obvious light-bulb moment of my life. If the creature didn't know where I was, they were sure to know now, because I'm pretty sure the force of my idea lit up the entire block. Hardly daring to hope this might work, I lifted the tablet up and stared at it. Considered. Made plans and hatched plots.

Whispered: "What's mightier than the sword, they say?"

No time to answer my own rhetorical questions; now was the time to act. I marched back over to the picnic table and sat down with purpose, propping open my tablet and slapping the power button until the screen ignited. The keyboard behaved itself that time, thank my lucky stars, and the computer followed my commands as I scrolled down to the very, very bottom of chapter 116's source document. I didn't let myself read any words along the way; getting caught in one of those reading-reality traps was sure to be a bad thing, so all I did was skim the document's current final paragraph:

No time to answer my own rhetorical questions; now was the time to act. I marched back over to the picnic table and sat down with purpose, propping open my tablet and slapping the power button until the screen ignited. The keyboard behaved itself that time, thank my lucky stars, and the computer followed my commands as I scrolled down to the very, very bottom of chapter 116's source document. I didn't let myself read any words along the way; getting caught in one of those reading-reality traps was sure to be a bad thing, so all I did was skim the document's current final paragraph:

Perfect. That's right where I thought the text would leave off. Satisfied, I tore my eyes away before I could see it write anything else. Keeping my gaze low, fixated upon the white space below the words instead of upon the words themselves, I cracked my knuckles and flexed my fingers, hovering them over the keys as I prepared myself for what needed to happen next.

Earlier the document had, for the most part, written itself in tandem with my actions.

Now, though, I needed it to work the other way around.

"I'll show you who's the nightmare," I said to my own reflection, and I cracked my knuckles one more time. "So buckle up, buttercup—prepare yourself."

As if summoned once again, the monster—close enough for its cry to hurt my ears—gave a mighty roar.

I looked up with a terrified gasp, scanning the park and the community center, but the monster wasn't there. It wasn't until the thing moved that I spotted its bulk at last, figure lurking only a few hundred feet away down the road leading back the way I'd come. It stood upright, horns silhouetted against the burnt orange sky and beneath the undulated limbs of a tall oak tree—but as soon as I saw it, the thing dropped to all-fours, loping forward like a lion sprinting toward its prey.

A few horrible insights flashed through my head as it sailed down the road, claws gouging into the pavement and scattering concrete with every thundering step it took, unnaturally graceful as it moved like an oiled shadow through the night, eating up the ground between us with alarming speed. If it was here, that meant it made it past Nori and Tom. Had they been hurt? Had it seriously injured them, or worse? Or did that even matter since this was a dream, and—

No time. No time!

Of their own accord, my fingers began to fly.

"The creature slowed," I wrote, eyes dropping to the screen. "The creature slowed as if running through thick ichor, air around it constricting its movements like a vice."

The moment the final period hit the page, the world bowed to my whim.

I felt it change. I felt the fabric of the world shift. I didn't need to lift my eyes from the document to see the monster slow, struggling to move through the thickened air with every step it took. I just felt that my whim had been made real, but there was no time to marvel, revel or congratulate. My fingers continued to fly, pounding out text as fast as they could.

"The street began to boil beneath its feet," I wrote, "asphalt turning to molten tar between one breath and the next." I winced at the cliché but kept going anyway. "Like a dinosaur caught in a tar pit, the monster's body sank into the muck—"

"Oh god, that's a terrible simile," I muttered.

"—dragging down its limbs with heavy ichor and molten heat."

"That's way too many 'moltens' in two sentences!" I said—but I didn't have time for self-critique. I just tore my eyes away from the tablet, searching out the monster in the street.

It had managed to get within a few dozen feet of my spot at the picnic table, shockingly, just beyond the curb separating the park from the street. The liquefied, steaming street tugged at its thrashing limbs, trying to drag it down into the depths even as it fought to remain on the surface—where it could try to get to me, I understood from the way it clawed at the curb, crawling and dragging itself in my direction. Long tendrils of molten asphalt clung to its black body, blackness steaming from the heat of the tar, but it didn't seem in pain. More like… inconvenienced. Its roars—the din of a car crash mixed with the screams of mourners—certainly sounded more furious than pained…

Still, I was pleased with the results of my experiment. "Take that, you stupid motherfucker!" I said. "But I ain't done yet."

The next thing I typed was the most important of all. Taking a deep breath, I pecked at the keys with quick intention, choosing my words this time with care as the monster writhed and bucked against its bonds only a few dozen feet away.

"Nori and Tom were fine and in perfect health," I wrote. "They escaped the monster without sustaining any injury. They got away to safety just in time—and the monster would never come for them again."

As before, I felt the two of them appear beside me the very instant the last period struck the page. Tom stood beneath a nearby tree with Nori's leash in hand, dog sitting at his feet wearing his usual blue harness, tail wagging, tongue lolling happily from his mouth. But while Nori appeared unbothered, Tom looked around with eyes wide, blinking in confusion as he beheld the monster—still struggling in the grip of the liquefied road—and then me, sitting at the picnic table with hands on my tablet's keyboard. His confusion abated when our eyes met, slipping away like water spiraling down a drain, expression replaced by one of certainty and satisfaction.

"You would, wouldn't you?" he said with all affection. "Look who's the hero now."

I wanted to grin, make some smartass quip—but the monster roared, clawed hand grabbing onto the grass beyond the curb and sinking its talons deep into the dirt. Ignoring Tom, who stood closer to it than I sat, it tried to heave itself out of the road and onto the embankment at the border of the park, midnight body straining and quivering with determination and exertion.

I knew what I had to do, of course… but my eyes strayed back to Tom. To Nori. To the man I'd once loved and the dog I had come to love, the two most important pieces of my life standing within reach, but as far away as the bloated super moon above.

But then Tom caught my eye.

He nodded once, sharply.

My hands descended upon the keys. Words flowed bright and harsh and hot as the monster roared again, its other hand reaching the grass and sinking deep into its roots, body at last pulling free of the asphalt and tar.

The creature was too late, though.

"Everything was fine, after that," I'd written. "I woke up happy and safe, free of the nightmare at last."

As the monster roared, I hit save.

I closed the document.

And everything fell away.

The sky went first, fitful starlight and the swollen moon vanishing like chalk struck from a blackboard. The houses and the park followed, and soon the street did, too. The trees disappeared and the grass fell away, a strip of film burning into nothing in the light of a too-hot projector bulb, reality bleeding through the nightmare in swathes of sensation and color that did not match the dream in which I'd swum. White walls showed through gaps in the sky and rends in the monster's hide, a hanging IV bag staining the sky, and as the demon gave one final bellow into the patchwork of the nightmare world, it reached for me with outstretched claws.

The last thing I saw was it reaching for me, and then the flash of Tom's blue eyes, tears wet upon his cheek, lips moving to form the words I love you, I love you, I love you—and then I was awake.

This time, for real.

I woke in a hospital bed beneath the light of a crescent moon.

For a moment, I didn't move. I just stared up at the blank ceiling, white plaster marred only by a single vent, taking in the feeling of sheets rustling against my skin, the faint pain of an IV piercing the skin of my elbow, the sound of my father snoring as he slept upon the floor. My mouth felt dry, my eyes gummy and gross—but I did not shy away from these sensations.

They felt nothing like the fabric of that dream, after all. A comfort that told me I had woken up, for real.

With clarity I remembered the dream—that nightmare world where monsters and angels alike did dwell. How could I have believed, even for an instant, that the dream had been real? It felt nothing like the sheets whispering against my skin. It had sounded like a hollow facsimile of my father's snores, of the IV bag hanging at my bedside, fluid glinting in faint blue light cast by the vitals monitor suspended on the pole below. All of this felt far more solid, far more real than anything in that dream.

Why hadn't I realized I was dreaming sooner?

Tom was the answer, I supposed.

I had not wanted to believe he had not returned to me.

For a long while, I lay unmoving in the hospital bed. But I wasn't tired—the opposite, actually—and sleep would not come. In increments I sat up, careful of the needle in my arm, to look about the room.

As predicted, my father stretched out on the floor to sleep, soft snores filling the room which whispers of peaceful breath. My mother occupied the chair to my right. My father's jacket covered her body, her tear-stained face left exposed above the garment's collar.

My parents. My parents were here. And that meant—that meant I was back, didn't it?

Despite knowing this was a good thing, my eyes pricked with tears.

Once again, I did not move for a long while. Happiness and sadness alike suffused my chest, warm and cold in frustrating turns. My parents' faces filled me with joy, but… Tom.

Oh, Tom.

It had been good to see him again. He had seemed warm and alive and real—the realest thing in the dream by far, apart from the ravenous monster. What a bittersweet feeling, having held him again, if only for a short while. What a bittersweet fever dream, to see the life we could have had, if only fate had allowed me to live it. Glancing at my parents again, the ache in my chest turned sharp with pain, with grief, with love. I'd traded Tom's love for theirs, and I—

A flash of gold; a glint of platinum; a silver sparkle on the air.

I thought I was seeing things at first. Maybe I was still sick with whatever had made me collapse. Because surely the tiny little lights—those sparks of illumination no larger than a fleck of glitter—dancing above my parents' sleeping heads weren't real, were they? They couldn't be. They hovered just above their foreheads, like fireflies held immobile in glass, winking like embers flying skyward on a dark night, almost too small to see, flickering when I turned my head.

… what the hell?

Bones possessed with awful ache, I forced myself to move, sliding from my bed to swing legs over its side. My mother's knees brushed my bedside, she sat so close, and with one shaking hand I reached out to touch the golden spark hanging so bright, so beautiful, above her head.

The moment my fingers touched it, the spark flashed. I snatched back my hand as it ballooned outward, a field of color ringed in more of those flashing, glitter-flecked embers. The colors in the center of the field swirled, a maelstrom of light and shadow and hue, until they came together and coalesced into shapes and sounds.

My mother climbed the stairs in our home. Ahead of her climbed a girl with short brown hair. She looked at my mother over her shoulder and laughed, taking the stairs two at a time until she vanished at their top.

"Keiko!" my mother cried, reaching for her. "Keiko, wait!"

But it was no use. She continued to climb the stairs into infinity, but she never reached their top.

The dream—because that's what I'd just witnessed: a dream of me dreamt by my own mother—ended shortly after that. The golden sparks around the image faded, shrinking back down into a pinpoint of light that continued to hover just above my mother's face.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then, joints stiff and creaking, I rose from my bed and knelt at my father's side.

Like my mother before him, his dream blossomed like a flower in the air beneath my touch, showing me the image of a playground on a warm summer day. A small child with brown pigtails played in the sandbox, piling up the sand into the shape of a lopsided castle. My father sat beside her and laughed in delight, pressing pebbles into the sand to decorate her work. The pebbles glittered like jewels, but they paled in comparison to the sound of my father's laugh.

"It looks great, sweetie!" Dad said. "Now why don't we make another tower, huh?"

The girl in the dream—my childhood self clad in pink overalls and smiles—said yes, and she hugged her daddy tight.

As before, the dream faded, spiraling back down into a single spark floating motionless in midair.

… no seriously, what the fuck?

The IV stand rattled when I dragged it away from the wall, pulling it after me out of the room's open doorway and into the shadowy hall beyond. A clock on the wall by the nurse's station said it was after 3 AM, which explained the dark and quiet. Faintly in the distance down the hospital's winding halls, low voices discussed a patient's care, but no nurses or doctors populated the corridor outside my room. Only a night security guard, asleep with chin on his chest in a chair a few paces outside my room, brought life to the hallway.

The spark above his head, meanwhile, brought light.

As I had with my parents, I touched the spark with a fingertip. Just like before, the spark flickered and pulsed before blossoming into a spark-edged field of color and sensation, displaying a dream like a movie projected onto a screen. In it, the security guard stepped into the warmth of a bakery, inhaling deeply of the scents of cinnamon and oranges, chocolate and sweet vanilla (scents I smelled, too, somehow). He approached the counter with a swagger and scanned the pastries beneath the glass, pointing at one with a grin.

"That one," he said to the pretty shop girl behind the counter, who smiled when their eyes met. "I want that one."

The shop girl giggled. Before the man could flirt with her, I withdrew, allowing the dream to shrink back into itself, to be experienced privately by the security guard in his chair—and then the reality of that hit me like a punch to the face.

I had allowed the dream to shrink. Me. Allowed. As in, I controlled when it ended. But how in the ever-loving hell had I—?

"Fancy meeting you here, Yukimura."

Kaito Yuu stood but a few feet away in the middle of the hospital's dark corridor. Like me, he wore a hospital gown and dragged an IV stand, one arm wrapped tight with gauze to hide the injection site. Although his hair seemed frizzier than usual and bags marred the skin below his narrow eyes, he appeared no worse for wear, glasses glinting when he pushed them up his nose with one intentioned fingertip. I raised a hand in greeting, not sure what else to do, watching as his mouth pulled into a thin-lipped frown.

"Kaito," I said, wiggling my fingers at him. "Hi."

He gave me a curt nod. "Salutations."

An awkward silence followed. Then, slowly, I pointed at the sleeping security guard.

"So… out of curiosity," I said. "Did you see…?"

"That true to the cliché, cops dream of donuts?" Kaito said. Another curt nod. "Yes. I saw it."

"Huh," I said.

We stood in silence for a bit. Maybe a minute. Maybe longer. I stared at the dream-spark still winking above the guard's sleeping head, trying to parse meaning in its colors and flashing dance. No insights availed themselves, however.

Abruptly, Kaito said, "I take it you took ill today, as well."

"Yeah," I said, heart stammering against my ribs. "Did you?"

"Naturally." He sneered. "I wouldn't throw away my record of perfect attendance for anything less."

"Oh. Right." How very like him, to bring that up right not. "Well…"

Another moment of silence followed. Then, with a hand that trembled just the smallest bit, I pointed at the sleeping guard. The spark above him winked in response, an ember in the dark of night.

"So I'm guessing you also just," I said, stopping when the words refused to come. "Um…"

"Also developed a heretofore unknown supernatural ability?" Kaito said, words characteristically blunt.

"Yeah. That."

"Yes," he said without an ounce of hesitation. "It appears I have." Dark eyes narrowed. "What on earth are you grinning about, Yukimura?"

I hadn't been aware that I'd been grinning. Still, that explained the ache in my cheeks. Again I raised a hand to point at the security guard, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break free and soar.

And perhaps that's exactly what it wanted to do. Because—

"I just—I just—Kaito." I stared at him with undisguised urgency, begging him to confirm what I already knew. "Do—Do I have a power?"

"Yes," he said at once. "It appears you do."

"I… I have a power?" I repeated, hardly daring to believe it.

When Kaito nodded, looking at me like I was the biggest goddamn idiot he'd ever met, I did a double-take at the security guard, at myself, at the entire improbable scenario, grin breaking anew across my face like a cresting wave.

"I have a power," I said for what must have been the hundredth time. "A power." And then I looked at my hands as joy erupted, singing and screaming in my blood so loudly I couldn't help but shriek along with it, "I have a power. I HAVE A POWER!" A rain of laughter cascaded from my mouth, unstoppable and loud. "HA! HA HA! HA HA HA—wait."

Kaito's brow lifted as my tirade came to a crashing halt and I stared at my hands in shock. "What now?" he said, looking askance at the security guard, who had begun to frown and stir at the sound of my outburst.

I continued to stare at my hands, shock giving way to horror as I puzzled out a single, horrible fact—a fact that undercut all my joy like a blade to the Achilles tendon, ambitions struck down by a single, hard blow wrought by the heavy hand of inescapable truth.

"I have a power… over… dreams?" I said, face screwing up in consternation. "I have a power over dreams?" And then the reality of this truly sunk in, and I threw back my head to bellow, "What the—WHAT THE HECK KIND OF POWER IS THAT?"

The security guard awoke with a start.

Nurses' footsteps slapped the floor.

Kaito rolled his eyes.

From my room, my parents cried my name—and it goes without saying that I saw no more dreams that night, neither with my newfound power nor in the depths of sleep.

Notes:

Not entirely satisfied with this, but I feel like it's the kind of chapter I could tinker with for a year and never really think is good due to sheer mechanical bullshit, so… yeah.

I want to say three things.

THING THE FIRST: There is a tiny throwaway line in the Yu Yu Hakusho manga stating that all of the Territory psychics got DEATHLY ILL shortly before developing their powers. This entire illness subplot is a nod to that. Most people are more familiar with the anime than the manga, so this detail flew over most readers' heads. I don't think(?) anyone brought up that manga detail in the comments, so… yeah. GO READ THE MANGA. It's so good and worth the time, and it's where I get half of my plot points (LOL).

THING THE SECOND: I based this power of Keiko's upon canonical material. Canon-Keiko has prophetic dreams, is visited in dreams by Yusuke more than once, and even dreams of events happening in locations far away from herself (astral projection and/or remote viewing, basically). Given Hiruko tenfold expands on the trend of Keiko getting visited in her dreams by supernatural entities, I thought this was the way a Territory would most naturally manifest itself for her character. There's basis for it in canon!

THING THE THIRD: If you're disappointed that Keiko's Territory involves dream manipulation (because yes, that's what it involves) and does not revolve around such concepts as "throwing punches really good" or "making demons explode with her mind," you A) missed the point of Genkai's lesson at the start of the Sensui arc, B) are probably not even half as mad as Keiko will be about this development, and C) don't need to tell me you would rather see Keiko develop a Territory that gives her a Spirit Gun.

I get it. You want her to wield a spirit weapon and be conventionally fight-y. Too bad, this is what she's got, and I guarantee you that you are in for some surprises with this Territory . Please sit tight for developments. And please don't tell me you're disappointed; it's not helpful, it won't make me change anything, and it'll just make us both feel shitty.

The significance of everything NQK dreamed, FYI, will be discussed in a future chapter. There are some layers here that'll be fun to unpack. Looking forward to hearing theories!

Also I've had the word "dreamer" in my Tumblr bio since 2017 (or whenever I started my account). That should give y'all a clue as to how long I've been planning this…

This chapter is without a doubt the hardest one I've had to write for this story (or any story I've ever written, TBH) . It's the one I feel least secure/confident about releasing into the wild, so I hope you enjoyed it enough to leave a comment. Big thanks to 115's supporters, who absolutely own my heart: QueenofOblivion, SapphireStream, Jaylynn, CDang, TokiMirage, theNewDesire, Unctuous, Paddygirl, Ms_Liz, TrilbyBard, ShiaraM, Sdelzcruz2, snapsdragon, DragonsTower, Gerbilfriend, Capriciousfan, JestWine, NotQuiteAnonymous, rosethornli, shini_tenshi!

Well, I'm off to plan my NaNoWriMo project. See y'all on December 6 with chapter 117.

Oh, and the Scribbled in Secret shorts are all ongoing, so check those out! Chapters 11-13 also take place while NQK was dreaming.

Chapter 117: Territories

Notes:

NOTE: The honorific you use when addressing a doctor in Japanese is "sensei." (AKA: Name-sensei)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Looking first left, then right down the hallway outside my hospital room, I slipped into the quiet corridor and made my way due south.

The coast was clear, thank my lucky stars, and no one stopped me as I snuck down the hall on silent feet. I'd been unleashed from the cumbersome IV stand earlier in the day, once it was clear I wouldn't relapse and could consume fluids orally (comas, I'm told, can be quote dehydrating). The inside of my left elbow smarted where the needle had pierced through skin, but other than a touch of tremble in the knees, I felt otherwise fine—although my heart did pound when a security guard rounded the corner up ahead. I managed to slip behind an empty nurse's desk before he saw me, waiting with bated breath for his heavy feet to trudge past along the tile floor.

Once he—the security guard who'd dreamed of donuts—vanished around the corner, making a beeline for a tray of pastries left out by a night nurse, I slipped free of my hiding place and headed for the elevators. Took a bit more maneuvering to get all the way downstairs undiscovered, but somehow I managed to find the door out to the meditation garden (so marked by a handy signed) without undue trouble. It helped that I had a map in my pocket, one I consulted several times as I navigated the hospital's winding halls. They smelled of antiseptic and gauze, aromas fading into the scents of green and growing things when at last I slipped out the door.

The mediation garden sat shaded by a quartet of cherry trees, and a few benches scattered across the brick-paved yard providing ample places to sit. Rows of planters arranged into a maze filled the center of the garden, giving patients and interesting walking path amid myriad bright blossoms. A fountain bubbled in the corner, too, providing the small space with serene ambiance.

Directly in front of me, beneath the glare of a floodlight and the gaze of softer, waning crescent moon above, sat one Kaito Yuu.

He didn't bother turning around when the door creaked open. He continued facing forward, back straight, shoulders at ease in his seat upon the bench. Like me, he wore a pair of seafoam green hospital scrub pants and a dun robe, hems trailing the flagstones with green and pale brown. He'd put a coat on over the ensemble, though. The camel color looked all the paler beside his tangle of black curls, and when I rounded the bench, I saw he wore his usual pair of rectangular glasses on his thin nose.

Kaito didn't bother putting down his book when I sat beside him, huffing from the exertion of travel. I felt better today than I had the day before—my first full day of consciousness since waking from my coma in the middle of the night—but long walks still tired me out.

Not that Kaito gave a shit.

"Yukimura." He turned the page with a twist of dispassionate wrist. "How kind of you to join me—" a not-so-subtle glance at his watch "—only thirty minutes late."

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. "Not all of us can do whatever we want because our parents are doctors here. I had to Mission Impossible my way—"

Kaito, mystified, said: "Mission what?"

"I had to ninja my way down here." Easier to just change tactics than explain; I had a feeling I'd be doing a lot of that soon, given the amount of catch-up Kaito and I needed to play. No sense starting too early. Slumping in my seat, I muttered, "Almost got caught by that one security guard, too…"

"Ah." Kaito turned a page with a fingertip. "The donut dreamer."

"Yeah, him." A smile emerged, small and snickering. "He got distracted by a tray of crullers. Literal, not dream-versions. But even before I ran into him, I just barely managed to escape."

"Escape from what?" Kaito wondered.

"From whom, more like," I said with a cryptic smile. "And the answer, Kaito, is that I escaped… from well-wishers."

I pronounced those last words in the tone most normally reserve for discussions regarding door-to-door salesman—and when that finally drew his bespectacled gaze from his book, one brow raised quizzically high, I grinned.

Like I said.

Kaito and I had a lot of catching up to do.

The minute I woke from the coma that had kept me dreaming for two days straight, my parents decided to dote.

Not that this was a particularly unwarranted phenomenon, but still. I wasn't dead, and I was no longer actively dying, either. The amount of things they brought from home to decorate my hospital room, the food they cooked and brought for both me and all the nurses on our floor, the sheer number of pillows—it was excessive, to put it mildly. I practically drowned under blankets, cheeks distended from the noodles Mom kept shoveling into my protesting mouth. And Dad was no help, either, as he was the one piling on the blankets and yelling at people in the halls to pipe down because his daughter needed her rest after her life-threatening ordeal.

Like, I get it. Their daughter had a brush with death. But were the dramatics really necessary?

Mom bustled about the room like a hummingbird, hands fussing with bedding like the frantic beat of wings. "Keiko, sweetie, how are the pillows?" she asked, fluffing the aforementioned. "Too many? Too few?"

Dad appeared at my feet holding a knitted shawl. "Do you need another blanket?"

"Does the onigiri need salt?" Mom peered worriedly at the half-eaten bento sitting on the tray table over my lap. "Oh, I hope I added enough salt…"

"It's fine, Mom. And no, Dad, I'm not cold." I would've thrown up my hands, but Dad had already trapped them under the shawl. "Really, I'm fine!"

They looked like they didn't quite believe me, though. Mom kept fluffing pillows and Dad kept throwing blankets over my feet until I pretended to take a nap, at which point they turned off the lights and moved their theatrics into the hallway, where they could accost anyone who so much as made a peep. They respected the nurses, though. The nurses were like their second children, because they took care of my parents' first child. And after two days of my parents giving them food and confronting anyone who so much as looked at the nurses wrong, they'd become the nurses' favorites in return… which meant the nurses took extra special care of me and constantly inquired as to whether or not I needed anything from them. Which made my escape-naps hard, as you might imagine.

Honestly, I thought as I huddled beneath the blankets and prayed no one would come check on my wellbeing. It was hard to just relax with so much attention. All I really wanted was to nap away the day (so I could stay up late and find people sleeping at the normally appointed hour, natch), but that seemed all but impossible with the constant foot-traffic. What does a girl have to do to just sink into the mattress and disappear, I ask you?

After an hour or so of fake-napping, my mother decided enough was enough, clattering into the room with a hairbrush and insisting she give my head a thorough inspection. Again I wished my Territory had given me the power to sink into mattresses and disappear from existence, but just as she finished tugging the brush through every last tangle and tress, one of the nurses rapped smartly on the frame of my door.

"Yukimura?" he asked. "Are you up for visitors?"

My heart leapt; I looked to mom; Mom looked to Dad; Dad sighed and hung his head.

"Well." A sigh preceded his grin, caution thrown to the wind. "If the doctor says it's OK, then yeah. Bring 'em in!"

The nurse smiled and pulled his head out of the doorway. A moment later, two new faces filled it—a pair of faces I'd been longing to see ever since I woke up in the hospital. A pair of faces I'd been hoping would walk through that door for two days now. A pair of faces that had me tearing up on sight, relief flooding cold and sharp inside my chest.

Thank god my parents were too busy greeting my visitors to notice. "Yusuke, Minamino!" said Dad as he strode forward. "Thanks for stopping by to see our daughter!"

"Thank you for having us." Kurama stepped into the room with one of his most beatific smiles—that calm, pleasant aura of his accompanying every motion, every word, every tilt of head or dart of bright green eye. "I hope we aren't imposing…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Dad laughed and clapped Kurama on the back. "You're welcome any time. So long as visiting hours are in session, huh?"

"Flowers?" said Mom, crowding over to take the bouquet of carnations, chrysanthemums and irises he bore in his magenta-clad arms. "Oh, sweet boy, you shouldn't have!"

"It was my pleasure." Relieved of one burden, he held out another: a large square package wrapped in a bright blue handkerchief. "I hope this is also not an imposition, but I brought some tea leaves that work wonders when recovering from an illness, and my mother packed these bento boxes for your family to eat, as well."

Mom appeared touched by the gesture. At least, she clutched at her heart and gave a little gasp, bowing low as Dad took the boxes from Kurama.

"Minamino-san," she said. "We are in your debt."

Dad bowed, too, likewise affected. "Thank you for taking care of our daughter."

"It was the least we could do after the kindness your family showed my mother when she, herself, was ill." His smooth words reminded them that this was a debt repaid—and how very like Kurama, to remind them of such a thing in such a moment. Of course he wouldn't burden them with accepting a favor at a time like this. Eyes at last traveling toward me, he said, "Keiko brought my mother meals when she was in this very hospital, in fact…"

I swear, I almost burst into full-on tears when our eyes met. They were so green, so warm, so alive—

Dad saved me from a breakdown by releasing a startlingly loud bark of laughter. "Is that so! Well then, we've come full circle," he said, once again patting Kurama's shoulder. "You tell her 'thank you' for us, you hear?"

As Kurama baked in the sunshine of their compliments, looking placidly overwhelmed as he traded bow after bow with my parents, Yusuke shrugged away from the door and walked to my bedside with his usual trademark swagger. He, too, looked vibrant and full of energy, thudding into the chair at my elbow so he could swing his feet—clad in a pair of hospital-issued indoor slippers—atop my bed. The look earned him a stare of disapproval from a passing nurse, but he just tossed his hair and sneered before at last turning to me.

When our eyes met, I once again felt the overwhelming urge to cry at the life reflected in his. But per Yusuke's usual habits, he ruined the moment with sheer sass.

"Well," he said, crossing one ankle over the other as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his bright green uniform. "I didn't bring you squat, in case you were wondering."

Tears abated when my eyes rolled. "Of course you didn't."

"Heh." Another wild toss of his hair, smile crooked and full of teeth. "I just came to tell you that if you don't get back fast, I'm gonna steal your Famicon and take it back to my house. Been waiting for days to play Dragon Quest again…"

"Gee, Yusuke," I deadpanned. "Your patience during my convalescence is an inspiration."

Yusuke leaned his chair onto its back legs, rocking precariously in place. "What can I say? I'm practically the Buddha."

"He's not kidding." Dad had wandered over to deposit Kurama's flowers at my beside, where he shot Yusuke a sly glance. "He came by the restaurant yesterday and made enough soup stock for the next week so we could come visit you and not worry about the business, he said. And you know how long it takes to make our special soup stock!" He ruffled Yusuke's carefully coiffed hair and laughed. "Patience of the Buddha, indeed!"

"Hey!" Yusuke practically snapped his teeth at my father's offending hand. "You weren't supposed to tell her that!"

"Aw, Yusuke," I simpered. "I didn't know you cared so much!"

"SHUT UP!"

Everyone laughed at him, then—my mother, my father, Kurama, and me. Yusuke grumbled and groused as he lowered his chair back onto all four legs, shooting each of us a glare before smoothing his hair back into place. Damn, but it was good to see him—him and Kurama both. I couldn't take my eyes off them as Kurama pulled over another chair and sat at Yusuke's side. Even though I knew it had only been a day or two, it felt like I hadn't laid eyes on either of them in a decade, at least. With hunger I drank down every motion they made, every flutter of expression that crossed their features. They looked just as I remembered them… and yet, so different, too. The last sight of their faces I'd experienced, after all, hadn't been in the flesh, instead taking place in a dream of another lifetime—the one that was mine, and yet was not. Where the boys of Yu Yu Hakusho occupied the uncanny valley, faces rendered lifelessly onto vapid merchandise and in the pages of a manga series.

I still wasn't sure what I thought about everything I'd dreamed. I still wasn't sure what any of it meant, or if it even meant anything at all. All I knew is that I was glad to banish the memory of their 2D faces, replacing the image with their flesh-and-blood counterparts. There was simply no substitute for the real thing, hence why I found myself staring at them and… smiling. Just smiling, cheeks hurting from the force of it, happy and content simply to be near them at all.

Yusuke gave a little start, feet clapping back down onto the floor. "Shit. You're not, like, in pain or whatever, are you?" he said, eyes tracing across my face. "Are they being stingy with the morphine or something?"

I glowered. "I'm not on morphine, Yusuke."

"Well, your eyes are watering, so…"

"I'm just happy you're both here." I blotted my eyes with my fingertips and laughed. "So sue me, I guess!"

Kurama, meanwhile, was quick to provide assurances. "We're happy to be here, too," he said (and when Yusuke grumbled, Kurama ground his heel into Yusuke's foot with a pointed glare). "Aren't we, Yusuke?"

"Yeah," said Yusuke through pain-grit teeth. "Just thrilled."

A long silence followed this proclamation, but the way Kurama's eyes drifted over my shoulder told me why the conversation had died. My parents buzzed close by, unwrapping Kurama's offering of bento boxes and tea leaves, which Mom had begun to prep for brewing. Dad, too, had begun to unfold a bag of clothes, unpacking them into a bureau beneath a TV set. With the pair of them so close, no wonder no one was saying much about my collapse. We'd been in the middle of a supernatural debriefing when I sickened, after all. Anything they wanted to say about that incident or our less-than-normal associates would have to wait until we had privacy.

And that fucking sucked. I didn't have access to a phone here (not when I was being monitored so closely both by the staff as well as my family), so I hadn't had even a moment's contact with my friends since waking up two nights prior. The hundred questions in my head had to remain there, bouncing off the walls of my brain like flies in a jar. Why did they think I'd collapsed? Did they somehow know I had powers? And what would they think of my powers once I spilled those beans?

But more important than my powers was the question of a certain someone else's. I'd had ample time to review the events that had led me to my hospitalization, and the biggest question mark of all was how we'd gotten to this hospital in the first place—and so fast. My memories of the moment itself were obscured by pain, but I recalled that when I'd collapsed, everything went black… and then there had been a light. And then I was here, being wheeled into the ICU, transported as though by magic.

I had a hunch I knew how we'd gotten to the hospital so quickly. I just wasn't sure if I liked it. A certain someone wasn't scheduled to develop that technique until later on in the arc of Chapter Black, and he certainly wasn't supposed to develop it because of me. But with my parents so close, I couldn't exactly ask if anyone in our group had developed a heretofore unknown power, much less tell them about mine.

"So." Smoothing my hands over the mess of blankets on my lap, I gave my knees a prim pat. "What've I missed since I wound up in the hospital? Tell me everything."

"Nothing dire, I'm happy to report," Kurama said, expression one of smooth-smiling calm. "Everyone was worried about your wellbeing, of course, but we had every faith you would pull through."

Here Kurama looked to Yusuke, as though for confirmation. Yusuke didn't say anything, though. He just slid down a little more in his seat and stared broodingly at the floor, feet swinging back up onto my bed. I wasn't too sure what to make of that, but Kurama didn't appear perturbed by Yusuke's hunched back or peeved appearance. He just smiled his calmest, blandest smile, reaching out to pat my hand atop the covers.

"We're just glad you're on the mend." Kurama reached for the schoolbag sitting beside his chair. "Are you hungry, Kei? I can peel you an apple."

I did a double-take. "An apple?"

"Yes," he said with another calm smile. "You need to keep up your strength—what's so funny?"

I'd started laughing, of course, at this unexpected throwback to his last trip inside this hospital with his mother. Kurama, the mama's boy who peeled apples; I'd almost forgotten that fandom joke. But I couldn't exactly explain the humor of that anime reference in present company.

"It's nothing," I said, smothering laughter with a hand. "Just… everyone keeps wanting to do things for me. And it's nice, but it's really not necessary. I feel perfectly fine now." To demonstrate, I held my hands out for inspection, relieved when they held (mostly) steady. "A bit shaky, maybe, but nothing some rest won't cure."

"Rest, huh?" Yusuke grinned. "The doctors think you can skip school for a bit?"

"They do!"

"Heh. That was the best part back when I got hit by that car—no school for months." He looked positively wistful; I refrained from reminding him he still didn't go to school for months at a time these days, anyway. "The PT sucked, but hey, gotta take what you can get, right?"

"Right." I pulled a face. "Though I'm not looking forward to catching up on tests and stuff…"

"That reminds me. Here." From his bag Kurama pulled both an apple and a bundle of papers, which he placed at my side on the bed. "Your teachers put together a packet of your missed work. I volunteered to bring it by today. I'll bring more as it accumulates."

"Thanks, Minamino." I picked up my homework and leafed through the stack. "On second thought, there's not much to do in the hospital, so maybe homework beats getting totally bored…"

"Ugh!" said Yusuke. "You're such a nerd!"

Sticking out my tongue sparked a fit of petty squabbling, in which Yusuke teased my hospital gown ("You look like a goddamn invalid!"), hair ("Gettin' shaggy there, Grandma!"), and the amount of stuff my parents had brought to the hospital ("What, you planning on moving in here permanently or something?"). I gave as good as I got, of course, firing back insults as per usual, but something about the interaction grated on me—mostly on account of just how usual it was. The doctors had assured me that Mushiyori Fever was serious indeed and that my condition had been severe, but Yusuke acted like this was a routine social visit. He hardly appeared worried or relieved to see me at all. Kurama, too, wore that unerringly pleasant smile of his, not saying much as he let Yusuke take the lead. Neither appeared broken up in the slightest. Not that I needed them to fret or freak out (I had only just been complaining about my dramatic parents, after all), but a show of some emotion would've been, I dunno… nice? I supposed?

Oh, well. It hardly mattered in the end if they were worried for me. Perhaps they didn't actually know how serious my condition had been. Whatever the case, I put my disquiet from my head and shot off another barb about Yusuke's hair. It was good to be back in this world and I wasn't about to take my friends for granted. I certainly didn't take for granted how difficult it felt to sit beside them and not spill my guts about everything that had happened during my brush with death: the dream, the nightmare monster, their anime counterparts, about Tom…

Or did I even want to mention that part of the ordeal at all?

I'd been wondering if there was any reason to tell them about the Tom of it all ever since I woke up. Talking about him, specifically, was sure to be the hardest thing of all when it came time to tell my friends what I had experienced. I could never make Tom feel truly alive in my lucid dreams. I'd tried many times before. I'd tried so hard to manufacture his sense of humor, his mannerisms, his charm, but I never could quite manage it. He felt… hollow, in my dreams. A pale imitation of the real thing every time I tried to conjure him. But that dream, on the contrary, had felt so vivid and real. Tom had agency in that dream, shocking me at every turn (just as the real version always had).

Call me selfish, but… I wanted to keep Tom to myself, even if for just a little while. Bask in that new memory, the first scrap of him I'd experienced in fifteen years, drink it down and savor it in private. That wasn't so much to ask, was it? I'd certainly tell them about the rest of the dream and my resulting powers once the time was right… but currently my mother sat in a nearby chair "reading" a book and pretending not to eavesdrop. However much detail I gave them, the big reveal would have to wait.

"Anyway." Yusuke nudged me with his toe. "You had us worried for a second there, Grandma. But that's Keiko for ya. Always being dramatic."

I snatched off his slipper and smacked him over the head with it, grinning when he yelped. "Hey, I couldn't help it! It's not like I wanted to get sick."

"Uh-huh. Sure you didn't. Sure."

I started to protest at the sight of his Cheshire Cat grin, but before I could, another knock sounded at the door. In the archway stood another set of familiar faces, though not as familiar as the ones at my bedside. Junko and Amagi grinned from the hallway, the pair of them waving around an enormous gift basket wrapped in iridescent cellophane. Behind them stood a few more girls from school I recognized from the cooking lessons I'd given Kurama's fangirls so many months prior, and—

Oh, shit. Kurama's eyes met mine with a flash of displeasure, though naturally he hid it behind a look of pleasant tranquility—the same look he'd been wearing ever since he showed up.

Something about that look, that expression, bothered me. But I wasn't quite sure why.

No time to wonder. Junko and Amagi marched in and deposited the basket on the bed at my feet before moving back to bow at and greet my parents. The other girls eyed Kurama from the hall, whispering excitedly behind their hands as he pointedly ignored them. But he needn't have worried, because soon they spotted Yusuke; their whispers adopted a different tenor at that point, more horrified and scandalized than intrigued. Yusuke's reputation preceded itself, and he reveled in it, shooting the girls a crooked grin and waving at them over his shoulder. He chuckled when they shrieked and scattered, vanishing from view. I knew they couldn't be far, though. No doubt rumors would swirl even before I returned to school. 'Yukimura Keiko, friends with the biggest punk in the city, the one who got hit by a car and came back from the dead—she's friends with zombie boy!' My reputation was going to take some even wilder turns in the coming months—of that, I had no doubt.

Not that Junko felt at all perturbed by Yusuke's presence; she'd hung out with him before, after all. "Yukimura," was all she said, brushing her bleached hair away from her face with a flick of painted nails. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"Hi, Junko," I said. "Hello, Amagi. Thank you so much for coming by."

"Of course." Amagi patted my foot through the covers (I barely felt it, there were so many). "It's good to see you looking so well," she said in her soft, sweet voice—a voice that cracked when she spoke next. "I'm so relieved."

"Hey, hey, don't cry!" I said, stretching my hands toward her as she blotted her misty eyes. "I'm totally fine, I swear!"

"You'd better be," said Junko with all of her usual sass. She grabbed the gift basket and shoved it at me. "Here. We all chipped in for it. Bath bombs and lotions and nice stuff to make you feel pampered. So it better have been serious, because this was most of my allowance."

I put a hand over my heart. "I solemnly swear I was on death's door."

She took a big step back at that. "Are you sure you're not contagious, in that case?"

"Very sure. The doctors think it may have been environmental. They're not really sure what caused it, but it doesn't seem to be contagious at all." The light in her eyes told me she was joking, but Amagi still looked concerned as hell and dangerously close to crying, so I continued to offer reassurances. "Super isolated events, they say. There might even be a genetic component!"

Amagi smiled with relief—and while I felt badly for lying to her, it wasn't like I could talk about the real origin and purpose of Mushiyori Fever. Obviously the doctors wouldn't attribute the disease to the birth of psychic powers. Heck, they didn't even realize that Mushiyori Fever wasn't even a disease in the first place. I'd been kicking myself ever since I woke up for not realizing it sooner, but who could blame me? There had been a single throwaway line in the manga that explained that all psychics who received a Territory got deathly ill before their powers manifested, a liner I had forgotten in the span of the last 15 years. But once I woke up, discovered my power, and saw Kaito, the dots reconnected, memory swimming forward and out of years of obscurity.

I should've known what was happening to me the second I felt ill at the same time as Kaito and Amanuma. But could anyone really believe me for forgetting that canonical detail? It had just been a throwaway line, after all. You can forgive me for not remembering it sooner.

"Well, whatever caused it, we're all happy you're better," Junko said as I pawed through the gift basket to admire its contents. "We were worried sick. No one—" (she shot a glare at Kurama for some reason) "—would tell us what was going on, which didn't help at all, either."

Kurama smiled. Junko rolled her eyes. Amagi ignored them both and nodded, agreeing with Junko's earlier statement.

"And then," she said, "we kept seeing stuff on the news about Mushiyori Fever…"

"Everyone kept saying that people were dying," said Junko, face growing a little pale beneath her makeup, "so we thought…"

She and Amagi exchanged a look. I could only wince at the sight of their drawn, pinched faces, stress carving unnaturally deep lines in their youthful skin. It took effort monumental not to reach for them, hold their hands and try to soothe. Instead I just bowed, trying to appear contrite.

"I'm sorry," I said to my lap. "I am so sorry I put you through that."

Amagi gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Don't apologize, Keiko!"

"Yeah, it's not like you wanted to get sick!" said Junko.

"Exactly." Amagi patted my foot again. "I'm just glad it's all over, in any case."

"I am, too," I said, offering them a smile, instead. And it seemed to do the trick, because in unison, the tension drained from their faces like someone had pulled a plug in a tub full of troubled water. Junko leaned against my bed and crossed her arms over her chest, grinning at my stack of homework.

"Any word on when you'll be able to return to school?" she asked.

"I wish I knew." My face contorted with displeasure. "The doctors say they want to run more tests before releasing any of the Mushiyori Fever patients, but they've said I'll probably be here for at least an entire week."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter too much. All the teachers at school understand." Junko laughed. "When two of your top three students get the same illness that's killing people left and right, you can't really argue with whether or not they're faking."

(My parents exchanged a wordless glance at her words, but no one seemed to notice but me.)

"Plus, Kaito has perfect attendance," Amagi said with a small smile. "He'd never fake something like that."

It took every last bit of my willpower to not snicker at the absent Kaito's expense. Kurama spoke before I lost my cool, thank my lucky stars, his silken voice measured and soft.

"They'll go easy on you as you recover, I'm sure," he said. "Extended due dates for projects, grace periods for deadlines, pushing back tests…"

"Well, I hope they don't give me too much grace," I said with glum anticipation. "College entrance exams aren't that far off, after all. If I fall too far behind, I'll end up having to take a gap year."

Yusuke looked like he wanted to say something snarky, but a big sniffle ricocheted from the corner of the room right as he started to talk. My mother had begun to hiccup, aiming big, watery eyes in my direction as she clutched her book to her chest.

"My baby." Another sniffle, this one accompanied by a pathetic, motherly whimper. "Sick one day and off to college the next." Dramatic tears slipped down her cheeks, lip wobbling like an ill-spun top. "I can't believe you're already so grown up, Keiko!"

"Mom, please." My cheeks flared bright and hot. "Not in front of my friends…"

No matter how old you are inside, a weepy parent never fails to stoke embarrassment. My friends bore her theatrics with good humor, however, chatting and laughing seemingly without a care in the world. Even the nervous girls in the hallway eventually made it inside to wish me well, eyeing Yusuke askance with palpable nerves. The whole experience was… light. Oddly light, in fact. Junko and Amagi seemed the most worried out of everybody (except, perhaps, for my parents), but Kurama and Yusuke appeared downright chill. Yusuke in particular acted like his usual goofy self, snarking and sassing like he was trying to set a new record for being a pain in the ass.

Again. Not that I need people freaking out over me or anything. But I'd just had a brush with death, and in return I got… a gift basket and some nagging about Dragon Quest. "I nearly died and all I got was this lousy nagging from my childhood friend"; put that on a t-shirt, why dontcha. It would sure beat the sight of Kurama sitting there peeling an apple while wearing one of his blandest, pleasantest smiles. The kind he so often wore to placate teachers and our peers at school, playacting the part of a good, human boy—

Oh. So that's why that look of his bothered me so much. It was the expression he wore when dealing with teachers, with fangirls, with people who weren't me. So why had he been wearing it this whole time? There had been moments when my parents looked away, where he could've let down that guard. But…

When Yusuke did something silly, performing an acrobatic feat atop his wobbling chair that drew everyone's attention, I took advantage of the distraction to catch Kurama's eye. "Are you OK?" I managed to ask in a whisper, but Kurama just cocked his head gently to the side.

"Of course." His pleasant smile didn't budge, not even a fraction. "Why do you ask?"

My mouth chewed on empty air. "I…"

"All right, everyone." The nurse on shift stuck his head into the room, smiling with obvious regret at my gaggle of well-wishers. "Visiting hours are over, so we're going to need to clear the room."

"Already?" Yusuke groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "Five more minutes, man! I just got here!"

But the nurse wouldn't allow it; I tired easily these days, he said, and I needed my rest wherever I could get it. I wanted to protest and tell him I was fine, that it would be OK for them to stay a little longer, but he was right: I felt fatigued, if not from illness, then from the mental load of interacting with people after so long in isolation. Still, I bid each of my friends goodbye with regret, thanking them for coming and for bringing a bit of cheer into my hospital room. My school friends all promised to come back again before I was released, while Yusuke just told me to hurry the hell up, once more threatening to steal the Famicon in my absence.

Kurama was the last of my friends to leave. With expression most stern, he shoved a plate of perfectly peeled apple slices into my hands, eyes even greener than the fruit's missing skin.

"Eat," he said, tone brooking no room for argument.

My eyes rolled. "Thanks, dad."

Smiling, Kurama turned away. For a split second I considered reaching out after him, latching onto his sleeve and asking him again what was wrong—but Kurama slipped out the door before I could even move.

I sat there staring at the empty doorway for a few minutes after that, not paying attention as my parents rearranged my visitors' abandoned chairs and put the room back to rights. Kurama's behavior wasn't mean or anything, certainly. It was just… weird. Those smiles of his didn't sit right with me. Maybe he was just acting calm to not freak me out?

He had been worried about me, hadn't he?

There was no way to know, so I told myself to simply wait and see.

The dinner hour arrived not long after my friends' departure. Dad, out of respect for the hospital's cooking staff, didn't tell them not to bring me dinner in favor of his own cooking (though he didn't mutter something about the miso soup looking too pale when the orderly who delivered the meal was out of earshot). Mom just tittered, though, and shook her head at him.

"I'm sure it's fine, dear," she said as I took a sip of soup.

I pulled a face. "Dad's right. They needed more soy sauce."

"I knew it!" said Dad, delighted. "I've taught you well."

"Heh." Reaching for the cloth napkin and the utensils rolled inside of it, I said, "Maybe the tempura will…"

I paused as the napkin unfurled in my lap, delivering a set of chopsticks and a spoon—and something else. A little slip of paper covered in rather familiar handwriting. I pretended to fiddle with my chopsticks for a second, feigning weakness so I could bow my head and read.

"Meditation garden," the note said. "7 o'clock. Do NOT be late."

When my parents weren't looking, I crumpled the slip of paper into a ball, popped it into my mouth, and swallowed.

The nurses came by after dinner to take away my plates and deliver my evening medication. I snacked on Kurama's apple slices as my parents packed up some of the things they'd brought with them to the hospital—mostly clothes and some food items. They planned on going home to take showers, check on the restaurant and bring back more food, but before they could finish packing and get out the door, someone knocked on it three times. Two white-coated doctors strode into the room a moment later, bringing with them an aura of severe austerity you could almost taste.

When I'd first met this duo of doctors, I'd managed to guess who they were ever before they spoke. The female doctor's narrow eyes and thin nose, and the male doctor's dusting of freckles, not to mention the curly hair he'd carefully arranged into place, were quite familiar—but it was their voices that truly gave them away. Their careful drone, their clipped wording, the precision of their vernacular and vocabulary—as soon as they opened their mouths, I could tell exactly where Kaito had learned to argue and from whom he had inherited his quick wit and dry manner of speech. Some things, it seems—like esoteric senses of humor and general intensity—just run in the family, I guess.

Kaito's mother spoke first, looking me over the way a wolf overlooks a rabbit caught in a snare. "Yukimura. You're looking… chipper."

"Yes, Kaito-sensei." Bowing from a seated position felt awkward, but I still did it. "I'm feeling much better today."

"Thank you for checking in on our daughter," said my mother, bowing too. "We are in your debt for saving her life."

Kaito's father exhaled sharply through his nose. "Don't give us much credit. There is still much about Mushiyori Fever that we do not understand."

"Indeed," said his wife. "Most patients who have recovered appear to have done so through sheer force of will. Many others haven't been so lucky."

A chill ran through me. Judging by the drained looks on my parents' faces, they experienced the same. We hadn't talked about it, but an unspoken role had developed in my hospital room since I'd been admitted, and that rule was to pretend like none of us heard when the nurses discussed the Mushiyori Fever cases in hushed whispers outside my door. Oh, don't get me wrong: We'd heard the statistics about the number of deaths, the sheer, overwhelming severity of this disease. Kaito and I were in the minority of survivors, it seemed—a fact my parents desperately avoided acknowledging every day.

The Kaitos weren't so precious about it, however. They mentioned the stats every time they walked in the door, leaving my parents avoiding eye-contact and clearing their throats at the awkwardness of the situation. As the doctors flipped through my charts that day with eagle eyes, my mom and dad stood across the room and watched with held breath, holding hands and huddling together as though for warmth. Every now and then they glanced at me, as if fearing at any moment I could collapse a second time.

But of my charts the female Kaito only said, "Your vitals have improved, as has your bloodwork."

"If this continues," said her husband, "you'll remain on track for our previously discussed date of release."

Dad and Mom let out a relieved sigh, and then Mom said, "Wonderful. That's good to know."

But this wasn't as wonderful as my mom seemed to think it was. "I'm so sorry," I said, bowing again from the waist, "and I promise I am not questioning your judgment. But… can't I be released sooner, if I'm so healthy? Staying in the hospital for an entire week seems…"

Kaito's father pinned me with a glare. "You are, in fact, questioning our judgement."

"I apologize," I said at once.

Dad stepped forward, a defensive apology ready on his lips. "She didn't mean—"

"I know, I know." Kaito-sensei sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "She and our son have quite a bit in common. They're both curious to a fault." His thin lips twitched at one corner, but only briefly. "An admirable quality, even if it does get them into the occasional trouble."

"The truth of the matter is that this disease is not well understood," said the other Kaito-sensei, her tone a touch gentler than her husband's. "That means its aftereffects require strict monitoring and observation."

"Holding you in observation for a week is honesty under-kill, not overkill," said the male Kaito-sensei, eyes hard and unyielding. "If I had my way, you'd remain here for a month."

I folded my hands primly atop my tray table. "In that case, a week it is, and I shall complain on the subject not a moment more."

"Very good," said the Kaitos in regimented unison, and without another word, the pair turned toward the door to leave.

My mother blocked their way before they could escape, however. "Thank you again for caring for our daughter, Kaito-sensei, Kaito-sensei," she said, bowing at each of them in turn. "We are truly in your debt."

But Kaito's father shook his head. "No, no. In fact, we have to thank you."

"Eh?" my mother said, confusion evident in her startled eyes.

"Your Keiko has proven a good friend to our son, Yuu," said Kaito's mother—with a smile, this time, one of the first I'd seen her wear. It brought warmth to her angular features, gentling them somehow. "We understand you even hosted him during your New Year's Eve party some months ago."

"O-oh," Mom stammered. "That was nothing!"

"We were happy to have him," Dad piped in.

And yet that assurance drew a rather unexpected reaction from the Kaitos. The pair exchanged a long, wordless look before they both sighed, whereupon Kaito's mother smiled and admitted, "That's honestly… a relief to hear."

"Yuu can be… hard to understand, at times," said Kaito's father, each word picked with care. "Often his temperament can become off-putting."

"And that means thanks are quite in order." They both bowed low, chorusing a perfunctory, "Thank you very much!"

My parents appeared positively bewildered at this interaction, of course. I, personally, was trying my absolute best not to giggle. How ironic, the fact that they considered Kaito difficult to understand, considering they were exactly like him. But my parents were far too polite to ever point that out, so they just floundered until my mother finally decided the silence was too awkward to endure.

"Oh, no, he was very polite, we promise!" she said, rushing to Kaito's defense.

"He's welcome in our home any time!" Dad concurred.

"Thank you." Kaito's father nodded with his usual severity. "We will endeavor not to abuse that promise."

"Please continue to care for our son, Keiko-san," said Kaito's mother, with a bow at me this time.

"I will." I spoke with utter sincerity. "He's a great friend."

The Kaitos exchanged another look at that, but neither said anything more. The conversation appeared to have extended past its expiration date, because without another word, the pair of doctors left the room. My parents waited until they were gone to look first at each other, and then at me, in complete bafflement. Because I could provide them no answers, they soon left for home, promising to be back before the nurses forced me to go to bed.

In my head, I promised them the same thing—and when at last they left, I dodged the nurses and the floor's security guard, making a beeline for the meditation garden.

Kaito listened to my story without saying much, though when I finished telling him about his parents, he licked his thumb and turned a page of his book. "They said that, did they?" he muttered whilst eyeing me sidelong. "How interesting."

"Yeah." I leaned back against the bench, slippered feet swinging over the flagstones below. "It was kind of funny, honestly. They're exactly like you."

Kaito exhaled through his nose—once, sharply, and exactly as his father had. "Hardly," he said, missing the irony completely (another thing he had in common with his mother and father). "They certainly don't approve of my interests."

This came as a surprise, considering how accomplished Kaito was at his young age. "Really?" was all I said, though, lest I hit a sore spot.

But Kaito didn't appear phased. "If I applied my genius to scientific pursuits, they would no doubt be more impressed with me," was all he said in his typical, even cant. "As it stands, my fixation on literature rather baffles them."

At once, I understood what he meant. My parents had never taken my writing seriously, either, even after I got published. Heck, they had barely reacted when I told them I'd been shortlisted for a few major awards. My parents had been far more impressed when I dropped a bunch of weight unexpectedly, gushing and bragging about it like it was the greatest feat I'd ever accomplished. It had hurt, at the time, but…

"They approve of you, though," Kaito said, again looking at me sidelong. "They said you've been a model patient during your recovery. And they were happy to put a face to the name of my friend."

I couldn't help but note the way he'd phrased that. 'My friend.' Not 'one of my friends.' Just 'my friend,' singular. Given his interest in language and his specificity therein, I had to wonder if he'd chosen that wording on purpose. A depressing thought.

"At any rate," said Kaito when I did not speak. "We are not here to talk about me."

"No." I mimicked his flat tone, emotion held firmly at bay. "I suppose we're not."

We were here for the same reason, then.

But where the heck were we supposed to start?

Equally lost (or so I had to assume since Kaito wasn't talking yet, and that boy loves to talk), we sat in silence for a few moments, crescent moon shining down with cold, silver light. Ever since Kaito and I had found each other in the hallway the night I awoke from my coma and my powers manifested, we'd been kept apart in different wings of the hospital, not allowed to go wandering to find each other, specific requests to meet categorically denied (something about mitigating the risk of retransmitting Mushiyori Fever, if such a thing were even possible). Even if our requests to meet had been honored, however, we would not have been able to speak frankly. No doubt the presence of my parents, his parents or some well-meaning nurse would render honesty impossible. Sneaking around was our only choice... although the nurses were sure to be worried when they found my empty bed during their rounds. I could only hope they didn't get too riled up when they noticed my absence…

I turned to Kaito to ask: "Say. Did you bribe an orderly to slip that note into my silverware, or…?"

"Yes." He smiled, a thin expression of satisfaction. "I admit I enjoyed the subterfuge. It was the most interesting part of my day. Hospitals are woefully boring, and there is no one I can call to bring me a new book." He shook his head. "No. I had to content myself with experimentation."

I knew what he meant, of course. "Your powers, huh?"

At long last he set aside his book, folding it around a length of ribbon (he would be the type to use a proper bookmark; how very Kaito of him). Eyes glittering behind his glasses, Kaito said, "My abilities extend to language, it seems. I can create a space—a dimension, of sorts—in which I can control the effects of language on others. Namely, I can make a word or sound taboo. Anyone who speaks it must suffer the penalty."

My stomach clenched. "And how did you figure all of that out, I have to ask?"

"Experimentation, as I said." Kaito thrust up his chin. "Do try to keep up, Yukimura."

"Kaito." Exasperated, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Experiments need to have a subject. I'm asking who you experimented on."

"Oh." A beat passed. "One of the nurses."

"One of the—" I swore, loudly. "And what did you do to the poor nurse, exactly?!"

"I triggered my power and waited for her to say the taboo word, of course."

"Great. That's… great." Another nose-pinch; another sigh. "And the penalty you mentioned for this was…?"

"The removal of her soul."

My jaw dropped; I swatted his arm. "KAITO!"

"I put it back!" he protested, leaning away. "She's no worse for wear!"

"Still! Oh my god."

Kaito looked on without sympathy as I covered my face with my hands and groaned. Obviously I already knew what his powers could do thanks to my knowledge of Yu Yu Hakusho canon, but I'd asked just to make sure something hadn't gone off the canonical rails. Nothing had, however; his description of his powers was on point. It was also in-character for him to experiment on others, given he'd done the same thing in the anime series, but still… targeting a hapless, helpless nurse? Sheesh, man!

"Would you like to know which word I made taboo?" he said.

I glared from between my fingers. "Is it relevant?"

Kaito smiled. Drew himself up. Said in a tone resplendent with satisfaction, "Moist."

"… OK, I hate to admit it, but I approve of your choice," I said, shuddering at his enunciation. "How the hell did you even get her to say it?"

"A clever bit of manipulation, as you might imagine," Kaito said, launching eagerly into his tale. "I waited until mealtime, then commented upon the nature of the cake served with luncheon, complaining it was too dry. And then I pretended to forget the word for the opposite of dry, as it pertains to cakes."

"Moist," I surmised.

"Indubitably." He looked quite pleased with himself. "As you well know, the word moist is one of the most universally despised words, and I, too, find its pronunciation decidedly disagreeable. It was only fair to make it the first taboo word of what I'm sure will be many to come."

"Right," I said with deadpan gravity. "Many more to come. How exciting for us all."

He pretended not to hear me. "A ball of light exited the nurse upon her utterance of the taboo phrase," he said, tone that of a lecturer on a tear about his favorite subject. "Quickly I deduced this must be her soul. She went quite comatose after its exit, but once I placed the soul back inside her body, she recovered immediately. No harm, no foul, as the saying goes." A contemplative serenity washed over him. "Though I cannot help but wonder what would happen if I, myself, spoke the taboo word…"

"Promise me you won't try that," I blurted.

But Kaito just snubbed his nose. "No," he said. "I will make no such vow."

My teeth gnashed. "Then promise me you'll at least wait until it's safe for you to experiment, OK?!"

"Safe?" One thin brow arched high. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll get to that later." Didn't seem like the right time to tell him about Genkai. Kaito had said his taboo word himself in the anime as an experiment, and it had taken Genkai to return his soul to his body; that's how he'd met her, as I recalled. His friends took him to her once his soul came out and he went comatose after speaking the taboo word. But I wasn't quite sure how I'd get a lifeless body halfway across Japan without getting nabbed by police, so Kaito needed to wait to conduct that experiment until after we got to Genkai's temple—whenever and however that would be. I grabbed Kaito's sleeve and stared at him, hoping to impress upon him the importance of my request with my urgent eyes alone. "Just promise me not to experiment in that way yet, Kaito. Please."

"… fine." He punctuated the utterance with a roll of his eyes. "If only to keep you from nagging, I promise."

"Good." I released his sleeve, returning my hands to my lap. "Now, I have to ask… how did you know what to do? How to put her soul back in, how to take it out in the first place…?"

It was as though the question had not occurred to him. Face screwed up, he stared into the middle distance for a time before admitting, "Why… I'm not entirely sure. It just came to me, much the way an artful turn of phrase presents itself whilst writing a paper."

"Instinct, then?"

Kaito shrugged. "I suppose so."

As underwhelming as his explanation felt, his words tracked with my own experience. When I'd viewed the dreams of my parents and the sleeping security guard, I'd simply… acted. I saw the dream-sparks flickering and touched them on instinct alone. I hadn't thought about what to do; I'd simply done it, with neither thought nor conscious intention. The act had come to me as naturally as breathing… though obviously some aspects of our powers we didn't inherently understand from the get-go. Kaito not knowing what would happen in he spoke his own taboo word was proof enough of that. I hadn't encountered enough sleeping people to try out my powers a second time, so I, too, didn't yet know of what I was fully capable. But my parents said they'd start going home to sleep at nice in a few days, so maybe soon…

"Yukimura." Kaito's critical gaze swept over me like a cold wind. "I have a question for you."

"OK." I shifted on the hard bench. "Shoot."

"As we discussed night before last, we both sickened and collapsed before awaking to find our abilities manifested. What did you experience before your collapse?"

"That's…" I shifted again, eyes on the flagstones below our bench. "That's hard to explain."

"How so?"

"Well…" I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, swallowing. "I guess you're asking me this because something happened to you before collapsing that you want to talk about. Right?"

"Indeed. Sharp as ever. I would expect nothing less from you," he said—somehow not noticing my desperate attempt at deflection, thank my lucky stars. Chin raised in pride, Kaito said, "It's true. Before collapsing, I found myself compelled to skip school and write a new paper—without using the letter E. You may recall my remarks about attempting such a feat during lunch the day before I sickened."

"That's right," I said, remembering. "You did say something like that."

"I worked all through the night, Yukimura, slaving away to compose an ode to literature itself." He looked positively wistful, then—not an emotion I ever thought I'd see from the prickly prodigy. "It may be the finest paper I have ever written, and to avoid the 'e' sound in all of its many pages? A work of genius."

"Your humility is inspiring."

"My work is inspiring," he shot back. "But no sooner did I pen the final letter than did I collapse. Knowing now my ability to make a word or letter taboo, I cannot help but connect the composition of that paper to the nature of my abilities." His glasses slipped down his nose a fraction, black eyes glaring from above those crystal lenses. "So, Yukimura. I will ask again: What did you experience prior to your collapse?"

"Prior…" A memory triggered, one I felt no qualms in sharing. "Well, I did have a nightmare the night before I collapsed. My dad woke me up from it. Said I was screaming blue murder in my sleep." I fell silent once again, knowing that wasn't the important event that preceded my powers. Not the kind Kaito seemed to be looking for, at least. "But that…"

"Foreshadowed your ability to view dreams, I take it," Kaito said.

"No." I shook my head. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Forgive me for jumping ahead," he grumbled. "Then what, pray tell, was?"

"I don't think that dream was the foreshadowing. Or maybe it was, but it was just the prologue." I'd made a commitment toward honesty in recent weeks, so as loathe as I felt to talk about the Tom of it all, I owed Kaito at least some of the truth. Taking a deep breath, I told him: "The real novel was written after I collapsed."

"Oh?" Intrigue lifted his voice, brightened his gaze. "Do tell."

"I… I don't know how to talk about it." I owed him at least that truth, if I was going to hold something else back. "I don't know if I want to."

"… as is your right, I suppose." He didn't look happy about it, though. "At least give me a glimpse of the big picture, then?"

"That'll work," I said, grateful for his willingness to compromise. "After I collapsed, I had a dream—a really bad dream. It felt real. But then I realized it wasn't real at all." (Saying that didn't feel right. I kept speaking, anyway.) "Once I realized it wasn't real, I had to find my way out of it. I had to figure out how to control the dream. And once I did, I woke up."

"And upon waking," Kaito said, "you viewed the dreams of those sleeping around you."

"Yeah. I did." I hesitated, but only for a moment. "Is that my only power, do you think? To just… look at what people are dreaming about?"

Kaito considered this a moment. "I suppose your abilities are somewhat limited in their application, if you can only use them on sleeping people," he said, expression thoughtful.

"Yeah…" I tried not to listen to the disappointed voice at the back of my head, the one that said looking at dreams was a lame power. Beggars could not be choosers, I reminded myself, and I pressed on with a glare at Kaito. "And unlike somebody, I don't feel great about experimenting on people without their consent to find out if there's more to my power." He ignored my judgmental stare, looking pointedly up at the lingering moon. "That's pretty much the only reason I haven't gone wandering the halls looking for test subjects."

I'd been tempted, though. Sorely, sorely tempted. But that was a discussion for another time.

"Harrumph." Kaito tugged off his glasses so he could clean them on his hospital gown. "Do at least try to be a little more cutthroat, won't you, Yukimura?"

"Please tell me this little power of yours isn't going to turn you into a supervillain…"

"Undetermined. Still." Kaito sized me up with a glance. "At some point, we will need to see what you're capable of."

"Are you volunteering to be my Guinea pig?" I teased.

"Hardly," said Kaito. "But I'll at least help you find one to use." A beat passed. "Apart from your outburst over my choice of experimentation subject, I can't help but notice you don't seemed terribly shocked by any of this."

He watched me shrewdly, with eyes that missed nothing and saw everything. I bit the inside of my cheek when our eyes met, scolding myself for not better playacting the part of the stunned recipient of new powers. I'd almost forgotten who I was dealing with. Kaito, with all his bluster and humorous nerd-tendencies, was a literal genius, with a mind only Kurama's enormous brain could stand against. Underestimate him at your peril, basically. I'd been a fool to think I could keep anything from him for long…

Oh. Wait. But that meant… oh no. I was gonna have to come out of the reincarnation closet all over again with Kaito, wasn't I? I'd almost forgotten he didn't already know about my past life. He was one of the few people I never had to pretend to be Keiko around, after all. Around him, I'd always just been… myself. Should I come out to him, now that we were in the Territory trenches together? Did I need to? I never expected to get a Territory of my own, so I had never really considered—

The door behind us opened with a creak, admitting an orderly clad in a pair of blue scrubs into the meditation garden. In silence he side-eyed me and Kaito, slowly meandering into the garden to wander among the planter boxes of flowers set up in their simple maze pattern. He pretend to peruse and admire them, but I had a hunch he was actually here for me. Or us, rather. This orderly was at least polite enough to let us finish our conversation before hauling me back to my room, though. Trying not to may him any attention, I shifted in my seat and took a deep breath or five, wondering how to proceed now that we had an audience. Kaito watched the orderly, too, boldly staring, as if daring the man to interrupt.

The orderly did not interrupt. Polite or scared of Kaito, either way, his hesitation gave me the time I needed to formulate a plan—and in the end, I decided honesty would serve me best.

I'd turned over a new leaf when my secret got out. No sense flipping that leaf back over again.

"There's a lot you don't know, Kaito," I said out of the corner of my mouth. "And you're right. I'm not shocked by this." A moment's hesitation. "Well. Not by most of it, anyway."

"Care to elaborate?" Kaito said.

"I want to," I said. "I need to, I think. But we need to be able to speak freely, and at length." I looked pointedly at the hovering orderly. "Something tells me Mister Scrubs over there isn't going to let that happen."

Kaito knew I was right, even if he did roll his eyes at my logic. "Ugh. How exasperatingly tedious, to be left in suspense like this." With quick fingers he picked up his book once more—but his lip curled, smile conspiring. "Though I admit, the secrecy is quite stimulating."

I giggled. Kaito chuckled, too, and stood. He shot a pointed look at the orderly of his own, one full of ire and irritation.

"Very well," he said, a matter-of-fact declaration. "We will adjourn for the time being. But I expect a full report once the walls cease to have ears."

"Cool." Something occurred to me. "One or both of us is going to need to call Amanuma, by the way."

"Amanuma?" Kaito frowned. "Why?"

"Remember how he was acting at the arcade?"

Smart as he is, Kaito understood my implication at once. "You think he, too…?" He started nodding even before I could answer the question. "I see. So Amanuma has developed a Territory as well, then."

I started to say yes, that's exactly what I thought—but then I stopped.

What had Kaito just said?

He misunderstood the reason for my silence. "Ah. Apologies for not consulting you, Yukimura," he said, adjusting his glasses, "but I took the liberty of naming the collective phenomenon that comprises our varying abilities."

I had to laugh. "Of course you did, Mister Wordsmith."

"Thank you." He seemed quite pleased with himself again. "As for my reasoning behind the term 'Territories,' my abilities fill a predetermined space roughly 20 meters in diameter. Yours appear to manifest within the mind of a chosen subject. Given our powers have such predetermined physical limitations, the word 'Territory' fit out abilities quite neatly. Though of course, if we meet others with powers born of Mushiyori Fever and their powers defy these conditions, we will have to adjust the collective name of our breed of abilities accordingly." Smiling, eyes dancing above freckles smattering his cheeks, Kaito told me: "I've been calling my Territory 'Taboo,' for the record."

My heart leapt. "And mine?"

"Yume, of course," he said. "'Dream.'"

My heart gave another leap, higher and faster than before. "My Territory… is yume," I said, not quite daring to believe it. "Yume. Dream." My head shook of its own accord, a skeptical laugh escaping my numb lips. "Wow."

"Indeed." He shoved his glasses up his nose, moonlight catching on glass. "Given you have fewer privilege at this hospital than I do, I shall call Amanuma to investigate your hunch. You and I are set to be released from the hospital on the same day, so I will set up a meeting for that time."

"Thank you, Kaito."

"Harrumph. You're welcome." With nothing further to say, Kaito turned smartly on his heel to go—but then he paused. Looked at me for a moment. Pushed his glasses up again, even though they hadn't slipped. In a small, nasal whisper of speech, he said, "And Yukimura?"

"What is it?"

"Do at least try to experiment before we're released from the hospital." A low laugh, wry and quiet. "One will never progress if one never tests their limits…"

As if sensing the end of the conversation, the orderly at last broke away from flowers of the meditation garden. "Yukimura-san," he said, bowing as he approached. "You've been worrying the nurses. You too, Kaito. I insist you both return to your rooms at once."

"Fine, fine." Kaito clapped his book shut, heading for the door. "Be seeing you, Yukimura."

"You too, Kaito," I called after him, but he did not reply. He just left the garden behind without a backward glance, dark head bent over his book. As the hospital orderly took me by the arm and I watched the door shut behind Kaito's retreating back, a murmur rippled through my chest—a murmur so thunderous, I gripped my chest through my hospital gown on reflex.

'Territory.' Kaito had chosen that word at random, with no input from me at all. And yet, it was the word we were destined to call our powers as a collective, pieces falling cleanly into place even without my guidance.

Territory.

The word marked the beginning of Chapter Black, and all the dangers that came with it.

Notes:

And here we are! Territories and Chapter Black looming on the horizon. But what will come next for NQK as she adjusts to her newfound ability? How freaked out were people, really, about her collapse? Find out next time!

(Hint: I actually wrote some stuff from varying POVs about her collapse in my Scribbled in Secret collection! Definitely check that out if you haven't already.)

So I'm back from hiatus. It was… not the best hiatus. I had my identity stolen and it was (and continues to be) horrible. I basically have to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and monitor my credit 24/7. Dealing with the IRS and police and my employer was not fun. It sucks. Thanks for letting me vent.

But aside from that, I had a pretty decent time away! Wrote a solid 55k for NaNoWriMo, which was nice. Now I'm back, and the next update will come on Wednesday, December 23, 2020—AKA, on this story's 4 th birthday! I know that's a little more than two weeks away, but I just think there's something special about updating on this story's birthday, and I want to celebrate.

ALSO… Keirama fans might have something special to look forward to on Christmas Eve… but you sugar-plums will just have to wait and see what Santa-Star brings you. Be good in the meantime or you'll wind up on the naughty list, and then all you'll get is coal in your fanfic stocking…

(OMG that metaphor nearly killed me. Here's a translation: On Christmas Eve I'll be posting a Children of Misfortune chapter dedicated to a very special Keirama fan, and it'll be full of both Christmas and lots of Keirama goodness. THERE, now you know.)

Huge thanks go out to LC's readers, especially the ones who reviewed chapter 116. You sincerely made my day. I was hugely nervous for this turn in the plot, but your support gave me the courage to keep going with my plans. THANK YOU SO SO MUCH to the following folks, who absolutely rocked my world: RedKnuckles49, snapsdragon, Loser94, SapphireStream, silverpaper_toffeepaper, theNewDesire, Hotarulight, Sdelacruz2, Ms_Liz, Capriciousfan, Dreese5581, bunnyonvenus, DragonsTower, NotQuiteAnonymous, Cptkitten, B4kedpotato, Paddygirl, dartuche, rosethornli, TokiMirage, JestWine, Anon, glossmyeyes, masqvia, Gerbilfriend, Cromalin20, RemBee, ShiaraM, zippityzap, Kanazak2, StarrLightning, XiyouChan, Completely_Random_Comment!

Chapter 118: There's Something You Should Know

Summary:

In which Keiko gets everyone on the same page. Sort of.

Notes:

There are several references to Scribbled in Secret in this chapter: Kuwabara's phone call to Genkai; Venus and Hiei meeting; Shizuru's product line, which Kei helped build in the 'body butter' prompt. Please read that story collection for more context. The time Kagome visited NQK in the hospital after the Saint Beast debacle, only to meet Kurama and other YYH characters unexpectedly (AKA chapter 57), is also alluded to in passing.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

After being escorted back to my room by the stern-faced orderly, the phone rang in my hospital room.

And that was weird, because I didn't have a phone in my hospital room.

It sat on my bedside table in the puddle of light below my lamp, white body and gold hardware gleaming like a meteor fallen to earth. When had that gotten there? I was certain I hadn't seen it before. The phone's cradle bore a tiny gold star underneath a rotary dial, and just as I lifted the white hand-piece from its cradle, I made a wild guess like I was wishing on that star.

And that guess proved right.

"Uh," I said. "Hello?"

There followed a pause. Then a whisper resonated down the line.

"Is your refrigerator running?" the whisper asked.

"… Kagome?"

"Then you'd better go and catch it!" Kagome shrieked before giving a squawk of indignation. Rustling overtook the sound of her voice before someone else breathed a sigh, this voice deeper than the previous.

"Look out the window," this person said—and after I all but flew over my hospital bed, scrambling with a tumble of sheets and pillows to the window so I could press my palm against the pane, I loosed a delighted gasp.

Atop an office building adjacent to the hospital stood two figures, bodies silhouetted against the starry night sky. The taller of the pair sported a gleaming blond crewcut; the other, shorter than the first, had long black hair and wide eyes, one hand lifted and waving frantically above her head. She looked about ready to climb over the railing at the roof's edge, staring down the two-story drop toward my window with an enormous grin stretching her round cheeks. I could only grin in return, glad to see the faces of Minato and Kagome even at a distance. Clearly they'd left this phone for me to find, staying far away while checking in. Smart of them, I reasoned. I couldn't be sure when Mom and Dad would be back, so it was probably best the other Not Quites didn't get too close.

I still longed to give them each a hug, though.

"Hi, you two." I wrestled the phone's cradle over the bed and toward the window; luckily it was a wireless rotary phone, of all unexpected things. "It's good to see you."

"See us?" Even at a distance, I saw Kagome's draw drop. "Um, actually? It's good to see you—alive, specifically. We were worried sick!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Y'know, I don't know what I expected, but you look shockingly chipper." Kagome studied me from afar, head tilted to one side; beside her, Minato's head tilted back like perhaps he'd rolled his eyes. "I thought you'd look like death, but…" She hesitated, an intake of breath misting through the phone. "We tried to remember if Keiko got sick like this in the anime, but we didn't think she did, so—"

"She means we're glad you seem well," Minato cut in. "We wanted to visit as soon as we learned you were awake, but at the risk of running into characters from your canon like the last time one of us visited you during a hospital visit…"

He eyed Kagome sidelong, understated accusation writ in every line of his face. Kagome sputtered and jerked in place—stomping her foot, probably, out of sight below the ledge at the edge of the roof.

"Don't look at me like that!" A devilish grin lurched across her features. "And besides—you're one to talk, Minato!"

I frowned. "What's that mean?"

"It's nothing." Minato coughed into his fist in a way that suggested he was hiding something. "Just concentrate on your recovery." A beat. "I trust you are recovering, of course."

"I am." Fidgeting, I looked down at the floor, fingers tight around the phone. "But, um…"

"What is it? Are you OK?" Kagome leaned alarmingly far over the rooftop ledge. "You're not feeling faint, are you?"

"No. It's just… A lot has happened since my collapse." A deep breath. "Like… a lot, a lot."

Footsteps in the hallway dragged me away from the window; setting down the phone and holding up a finger (a silent gesture to give me a moment), I crept toward the door and shut it. A few seconds later a pair of feet cast twin shadows in the strip of light beneath the door, someone passing by with a heavy shuffle. The donut-dreaming security guard, I thought. I knew his footsteps and shift times pretty well by then. Once he marched away, sound of his footsteps fading, I crept back toward the window.

"Sorry about that," I said, keeping my voice low. Perching on the edge of the bed, I looked skyward toward my friends. "Anyway… there's something you should know."

They did good to keep from interrupting as I told them everything that had happened, from the moment of my collapse thanks to Mushiyori Fever to the time I'd spent dreaming to what had happened after. I watched the light beneath my room's door in the reflection in the window, pausing to hold my breath whenever the shadows of nurses' shoes broke the light with staccato steps. Silence rang out once I finished speaking, and for a minute I wondered if, perhaps, this strange phone's connection had been severed—but then Kagome gave a mighty shriek, and I wrenched the receiver away from my ear with a start.

"Oh my god! Eeyore! You have a power!" Kagome yodeled (I swear I could hear her through my window, too). "A power! A power!"

"I know!" I whisper-screamed back. "I know! I have a power!"

"A power!" Kagome repeated.

"A POWER!"

"Like, weren't you just telling me how badly you wanted one?" Kagome said, words rattling from her mouth like coins down a wishing well. "We talk about this all the time—how badly you want one, what you'd choose if you could pick, what the best powers are and what the worst ones would be. And I mean, sure, a power over dreams never really came up in conversation, but STILL." She didn't let the disappointment of my manifested ability stop her from jumping up and down. "A power! You have a power!"

"I know, I know!" I said, choosing to not let it stop me, either. "And it really did come at the perfect time, y'know? Like, I've already fucked up canon with Amanuma being on my side instead of Sensui's and whatnot, so I probably won't be able to use my canon knowledge the way I used to, and that's made me feel terrible about myself, so I've been killing myself thinking I can't be useful anymore—"

"But now you have a power!" said Kagome. "Over dreams, yeah, but I'm sure someone as smart as you can figure out how to use it to your advantage, right?"

"Right!" I said, nodding hard and fast. "I haven't been able to use it much or experiment, sure, but still. Once I get the hang of it… I can do things!" It took every ounce of my willpower not to give a delighted screech (and to not dwell on how fucking useless dreams seemed at first glance, but I digress). I settled for bouncing in place, instead, excited grin beaming up toward Kagome and Minato. "I have a power!"

"A power!" said Kagome.

"A power!" I replied.

"Did you hear that, Minato?" Kagome turned and grabbed his sleeve. "Eeyore has a power!"

"Indeed she does," said Minato—but when his eyes met mine, he did not smile.

In fact, he hadn't said a word since I finished telling them about my new abilities. He'd just stood there while I talked, staring down at me in impassive silence. He certainly didn't appear as excited as Kagome. He just… sat there. Looking at me, face as unreadable and smooth as a glassy lake. But his eye—to me, they appeared almost stormy. And I was not sure what reflected back at me from within their clouded depths.

"Minato?" I said when the silence extended past the point of comfort. "Are you OK?"

He nodded, a curt gesture.

"Well… What do you think?" Anxiety flooded my chest. "About all of this?"

He shut his eyes. Opened them again. The clouds vanished with that blink, replaced by an ocean of calm blue.

"I think congratulations are in order," Minato said, smiling at last. "You've wanted this for some time, after all."

"Yeah. I have." A worried chuckle escaped my lips. "I admit, it makes me nervous, though."

"Huh? Why?" said Kagome. "Isn't it awesome?"

"It is, yeah. But…" I shrugged, not sure how to put what I was feeling into words. "I hope using it doesn't throw off canon any more than it already has? The sheer fact that Keiko developed this Territory falls outside the realm of canon." Another shrug, more helpless than the last. "Just nervous about what it might do to the YYH storyline, I guess."

"But as you stated, canon is already off track given Amanuma's shift in allegiance," Minato said, coming in quick and sharp with logic (bless him for that). "Perhaps it's time to throw canon out entirely, given the circumstances."

It was certainly a tempting proposition, but his words only reminded me of the conversation I'd had with Koenma shortly before I fell ill with Mushiyori Fever. On no uncertain terms, I'd stressed to him that the only way I could be useful was by utilizing my knowledge of canonical events, using them as a roadmap to our eventual success and safety. I'd said all that back when I was as mundane as your garden variety potato, but… here I was, capable of breaking down canon with my own hands thanks to the acquisition of a power I had not asked for.

To Koenma, I'd asserted that my knowledge of canon was a power all its own. But which was stronger, in the end? My Territory, or my knowledge of canon? Both were powers in and of themselves. To which one should I cling?

Maybe I'd been greedy, wishing and hoping for more than what Keiko had been allotted.

Maybe I'd taken the power I already had for granted.

Maybe…

"Well." I took a deep breath, not wanting to weigh the shackles biting into my neck. "We'll see, I guess. I get discharged next week, and once I do, I—"

"Captain."

I saw it just as Minato spoke: shadows breaking the line of light beneath the door. Voices rose in the hallway, two of them arguing back and forth, loud and urgent. My dad was one of them; the other, a nurse. I rose from my bed with a start, heart in my mouth as Kagome swore.

"We'll talk later," Minato said. "No one will notice the phone but you."

"OK." A thought occurred. "Can I use it to call anyone outside of—?"

"Sorry, but no. It's a direct line to me."

"Gotcha." I smiled up at them, trying to commit their faces to memory since I wasn't sure when next we'd meet. "Minato, Kagome—thanks for coming by."

"I'm just sorry we have to go so soon," said Kagome, smile full of regret and affection. "You really—"

"No time, Kagome," said Minato.

"Fine, spoilsport." Kagome saluted and winked, as exaggerated as a slapstick cartoon. "See ya, Eeyore! We'll be back soon, I promise."

Before I could vow the same, golden light enveloped Minato. When the flash cleared with a crack like lightning, Sailor V stood where he'd been standing. The hero spared no time before scooping Kagome up like a sack of sputtering grain—and then, in the span of time it takes to blink, Sailor V leapt skyward and vanished, bringing Kagome along for the ride.

As the voices outside my room continued to argue, I hung up the phone, receiver slipping silken through my fingertips before falling into its cradle with a clatter. I stared at it for a moment in silence, tracing the golden star on its face before crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over my leg. The door opened just as I got settled, admitting a shaft of harsh florescent light that glinted off my mother's still-damp hair and the fresh gel my father had used to style his. They marched into the room with smiles on their faces—but behind them trailed a face I hadn't expected to see. He followed them with shoulders hunched, feet scraping the tile floor, eyes darting around the room like he didn't want to be here in the first place.

And yet, there Kuwabara was.

A nurse watched from the doorway, wringing her hands as my father reached back and pulled him forward, pushing Kuwabara toward my bedside. Kuwabara stared at the floor without speaking, jaw clenched tight as a vein pulsed in the side of his throat. He looked uncomfortable to me, but my parents didn't seem to notice. Given their grins and giddy laughter, I got the feeling they were too excited to notice much, to say nothing of the phone sitting ignored on the table beside me. And of course Kuwabara was too polite to tell them to buzz off.

"Look who we found at the front desk!" Mom said.

"Loitering, practically." Dad glanced at the brown paper gift bag clutched in Kuwabara's white-knuckled grip. "Trying to get the hospital staff to give that to our Keiko, huh?"

"Uh. Yeah." Kuwabara lifted his eyes to mine before dropping them again like a stone. "Hi, Keiko."

"Hi, Kuwabara," I said. "It's nice to see you."

And I meant that, though it didn't seem to change Kuwabara's emotional topography. Lines stayed carved around his mouth and beside his eyes, and they stayed put even after my parents made him sit down beside my hospital bed. Mom took the bag he'd been carrying and set it beside the white and gold phone, fluffing the tissue paper spilling out the top with an appreciative hum. Kuwabara didn't look at me once during all of this. He just stared at the floor, hands pressed against the planes of his thighs like he was holding himself upright.

"Aren't visiting hours over?" I said, both to him and to my bustling parents.

"Uh. Yeah." He dragged his finger through the hair beside his temple. "But your parents saw me and insisted I come up here with them. The nurses tried to stop us, but…"

"But it's late and no one turns away my daughters' friends at the front door on my watch!" Dad hollered out the door (and in the hallway, the nurse who'd been wringing her hands at us finally walked off in a huff).

Kuwabara didn't react to my father, though. He just sat there in awkward silence, hands on legs, watching from the corner of his eye as my parents started unpacking the things they'd brought with them from home. My mother chattered about the restaurant and started making tea in the electric kettle she'd brought along, my father humming an accompaniment while unpacking clothes into the bureau. Kuwabara and I accepted an offering of dango and tea as a late-night snack, and as we silently ate, I wondered how the heck my parents expected me to have a conversation with Kuwabara when they were basically standing over us like a pair of particularly suffocating Victorian chaperones.

… provided Kuwabara even wanted to have a conversation in the first place, of course. Given his reluctance to look me in the eye, I had to wonder if he'd come after hours on purpose, intending to drop off that gift bag and leave unseen.

Speaking of which: "So is this from Shizuru?" I asked, reaching for the present.

"Yeah." At last he looked at me directly, brow knit. "How'd you know?"

"She asked for help on her skincare line. I recognize the logo." The front of the bag had been stamped with a blooming magnolia, chosen by Shizuru for its nod to her line's natural ingredients. To fill the silence, I dug past the tissue paper inside to find a tub of body butter and a few other products, all with complementary scents. "Oh, sweet, I love this stuff. That was thoughtful of her." Something glimmered at the bottom of the bag. "What's this?"

The final object in the bag was a small, soft-cover science book, one about recent breaks in neuroscience—not something Shizuru would give me, not in a million years. This was a science-bro gift, one that could only be from Kuwabara. The trio of label-bereft CDs at the very bottom of the bag also didn't seem like a Shizuru gift. They looked like they'd been burned at home, but even without hearing their contents, I knew it had to be metal—some new act Kuwabara thought I'd like. I looked at him in shock, unable to keep my mouth from falling open in slack-jawed amazement. Kuwabara… had brought me a gift? After everything that had happened recently, I didn't know what the hell to make of that.

"I, uh." He combed his fingers through his hair again, face red across the cheeks. "I know it's probably boring, being stuck in here. And I thought you'd like that book, so..."

I swallowed the chunk of nerves in my throat, attempting to smile. "Thank you, Kuwabara. I appreciate it. It's very thoughtful." Scanning the back of the book, I said, "And it seems super interesting, too, so…"

He nodded a few times, staring at the floor again. "It's a good one, for sure." Dark eyes flickered up to mine and down again. "I liked it, anyway."

We lapsed into silence, conversation dying like a firework fading into midnight. My parents had mostly retreated to the corner, chatting quietly as they fold clothes, no longer paying us any attention. And that suited me just fine. What I needed to say wouldn't benefit from an audience.

What I was about to say was hard enough on its own.

"It's OK if you're still mad at me, you know."

Kuwabara's head jerked up, but he didn't say anything. He just looked at me in surprise. Not that I blamed him for that.

"You don't have to magically forgive me because I got a little sick, is what I mean." I offered the most understanding smile I could muster. "I know you want to be nice and stuff after what happened to me, but… it doesn't undo how you feel. And you're not obligated to pretend like it has. That wouldn't be fair to you."

Relief, then guilt, flashed across his face in turns. "Are you sure?" he asked, gravelly voice low and soft. "Because I feel like a heel."

I huffed, though not necessarily at him or what he'd said. "If catching the flu was enough to mend a feud, Shakespeare would have a lot less to write about. The Capulets and the Montagues would've ended their beef the second someone got the sniffles."

"The Capulets?" His face screwed up tight. "Wait, hold on, I know this one…"

"Don't worry about it." I held up the book on neuroscience. "You're my science friend, not my literature friend. I played that metaphor for the wrong crowd."

Kuwabara stared at me, and then—as though in spite of himself—he chuckled.

"Seems like it," he said.

The silence that followed felt less awkward than the one before. Kuwabara fiddled with the hem of his jean jacket while I opened the tub of lotion Shizuru had sent me. I smoothed it over my hands and forearms, breathing in the scents of strawberry and basil. It was… calming, and not just because of the body butter. The moment Kuwabara and I shared was marked by neither strain nor tension—something I had not thought would come to pass between us for many months yet.

"Sorry to harp on this," I said eventually. "But…"

Kuwabara looked up, brows raised.

"I promised you space, Kuwabara." Each word was hard to say, but every word was necessary, too. "I won't renege on a promise like that until you tell me I can."

He laughed under his breath. "Genkai said you'd say something like that."

"You talked to Genkai about me?"

"Yeah. Called her when you got sick." He glanced toward my parents, but they were still talking in the corner, not listening in. "Just for advice. And she said you'd understand. And you do. That's… good." Kuwabara nodded, once. "Yeah. That's good. Thanks, Keiko."

"Of course."

Kuwabara smiled—the first real smile I'd seen from him in some time. It lit up his eyes and relieved some of the tension in his face, taking back years that stress had forced upon him. Call me crazy, but it felt like it returned years to my life, too. A weight lifted, a breeze blew in, stress drained like a drink of poured lemonade—but before I could so much as smile back, Kuwabara stood. He bowed.

"Thank you for having me here tonight." He lifted his face long enough for me to see him blush. "I'm… I'm glad you're OK, by the way."

"Thanks." I managed to smile that time. "Me, too."

His flush deepened. "Yeah. Anyway. Um." He rose, only to bow again for no reason I could see. "I'll bring more books next week."

"I'd like that," I said, meaning it.

Again, Kuwabara smiled. Then he turned and bowed in the direction of my parents, who'd fallen silent when his chair rattled across the floor. Once more he dipped his head toward me, then and only then leaving in a hurry, heading for the door without a single look back over his broad shoulder. My parents waited for the door to shut behind him to look at me, trying to gauge my reaction, but I didn't acknowledge them.

I was too busy staring at the door. Too busy listening for the sound of his footsteps to fade down the hall. Too busy trying to figure out how I was feeling. Maybe it was… not happy. Content? Yeah, that seemed right. A knot in my chest felt like it had loosened, easing a tension I didn't realize I'd been carrying. It was nice to know Kuwabara still cared, that we were back on speaking terms, even if he hadn't quite forgiven me yet.

It was progress. And I'd accept any progress I could get.

"It's nice to see that boy again," Mom said.

Mom and Dad stared at me from across the room, each of them wearing an identical look of pleased, knowing amusement—an expression that instantly had me feeling embarrassed as all hell. Dad patted my foot through the covers as I stared pointedly at the wall, trying my best to not transform into a tomato.

"Glad to see you've made up, even a little bit," said Dad.

"We like that boy," Mom added. "He's a good egg."

"All of your friends are good eggs, of course," Dad added right away.

"But Kuwabara is… earnest," said Mom, looking thoughtful. "And that's endearing."

I murmured an agreement, embarrassment only easing when my parents continued to unpack. In silence I finished sipping my tea, flipping through the book Kuwabara had brought. He was right: It did look good. Not too dry, unlike some science books. I turned to the first page and settled in to read, and when the night nurse came by to turn out my lights, I listened to one of his CDs while I fell asleep—the sounds of metal turned down low, beat of the drum following me into my technicolor dreams.

True to the doctors' words, I was allowed to go home the following Tuesday—one week to the day after I collapsed from Mushiyori Fever.

The day of my discharge arrived with a flurry of activity. I'd missed several days of school by that point, but the doctor had given me the clear to return to class the day after my release from the hospital, AKA Wednesday. I'd dutifully kept up with my homework while I was out, mostly thanks to the friends who brought it to me almost daily. They'd accumulated for me a rather gigantic pile of papers, which I had to organize and complete before we packed up my hospital room and headed home. I was paranoid I'd lose some of them in transit, and I was eager to get rid of it and turn it all in. I'm convinced we dealt more with homework that day than with the paperwork necessary to complete my discharge, but in the end I succeeded on both counts and found myself freed of the hospital with a heavy backpack of papers and tests in tow.

But my teachers' assignments weren't the only pieces of homework I'd completed. I'd heeded Kaito's words and tested my powers almost every night since our stolen conversation in the hospital meditation garden. Unlike Kaito, however, I didn't use my powers on just anyone, sticking mostly to my parents' dreams as they slumbered in my room. I didn't technically have their consent, which bothered me to no small end, but since I appeared in most of their dreams, I felt like viewing their sleeping visions wasn't as invasive as it would've been to view the dreams of someone outside my family.

Well. That wasn't the only reason I stuck to using my parents as test subjects. The nurses tripled security on my floor after I snuck out to meet with Kaito, watching like a contingent of hawks at all hours of both the day and night. The donut-dreaming cop made a habit of sitting outside my room on a folding chair, in fact, visions of sugarplums and eclairs dancing through his head…

Anyway.

My parents' dreams inevitably involved me in one way or another. When they weren't about me, they were about the restaurant or each other—standard anxiety dreams about not ordering enough food, or losing all their chefs, or being overwhelmed at rush hour. My mother's dreams tended to skew angstier than my father's, for whatever reason. I longed to help her somehow and get her a better night's rest, but try though I might to psyche myself up, I didn't do much more than view her dreams the same way I had the night I discovered my Territory… not that I even knew what "more" entailed.

Something told me my abilities didn't end with just viewing dreams. An instinct, one buried deep down out of sight in my psyche, around a corner out of reach. But invading my parents' minds without their consent just didn't sit right. I'd need to find some willing subjects, fast, or else I wasn't sure how I was going to get any more familiar with my power…

In the end, I was excited to go home, mostly because it meant I'd at last be able to speak freely. Staying in that hospital 24/7, my parents at my side for every second, meant I had to perform the role of Keiko without end, forcing good cheer and happy smiles even when I didn't want to wear them. I was used to playing Keiko at school, but I always had breaks in the act at different times throughout the day, mental cool-down periods where I could be myself without reservation. Sure, I had been playing at being Keiko for years now. And sure, I had plenty of practice at doing so successfully. But lately I'd been more honest than I had in years, and switching between an intermittent act to a constant one wasn't exactly easy…

When at last I got settled at home—my room looking both familiar and alien at once—I waited for my parents to leave me alone before going to my desk and opening the top drawer. In a small velvet ring box lay a shiny brown seed, its smooth, round shell like polished marble underneath my fingertips. Kurama had given it to me as a gift so many months prior, claiming it would shield me from the prying eyes of Spirit World should they be keeping watch. Tucking it into my pocket, I prayed that it was still able to scramble any supernatural observation before picking up the phone and dialing a number. As the phone rang and rang, I thought about something Kuwabara had said during our unexpected conversation. A name he'd dropped, the one that belonged to the creaky voice who eventually picked up and spoke a creaky, "Hello?"

"Genkai." I fiddled with the seed in my pocket. "It's me."

"Keiko. So you're alive. Color me impressed." She did not, in fact, sound impressed at all. "Kuwabara seemed to think you were on death's door."

"I was, technically. I got lucky."

"You always do."

I sucked down a sharp inhale. "Others who go Mushiyori Fever… they didn't make it."

The thought of just how lucky I'd gotten did not escape me. The statistics, whispered by the nurses in the hall every hour on the hour, were difficult to ignore. So many hadn't made it through the disease alive, but here I was, sitting pretty as both a survivor and the recipient of supernatural abilities. The survivor's guilt I'd experienced had kept me up for more than one night during the past week—and yet, Genkai just sort of grunted in recognition, crotchety old woman sounding neither sorry nor sad. I thought maybe she said something under her breath, but I didn't catch it.

However, I did catch it when she said, "So I've heard."

My brow shot up. "You have?"

Another grunt, but she just answered my question with one of her own: "Why did you call me, Keiko?"

"Well…"

It was just like Genkai to get down to brass tacks so soon, and I didn't bother wasting her time. I just took a deep breath, and for the first time, told a canon character of Yu Yu Hakusho about my Territory—about having a bad dream before I collapsed, and then having a dream about my past life afterward, waking up days later to the power over dreams. My heart leapt into my mouth when the truth came out, but the subsequent silence over the line didn't do my rapidly fraying nerves any favors whatsoever. I clutched the receiver to my cheek and listened to my pulse pound against my eardrum, a rapid tempo that sounded like the thunder of stampeding stallions.

"A Territory, huh," Genkai eventually said—not the reaction I'd expected from her at all. "That's what you're calling it?"

"Yeah." I swallowed. "And I'm not the only one who has this kind of power thanks to Mushiyori Fever. One of my classmates has it, too. But his Territory… it's more dangerous than mine." I couldn't keep from hearing Kaito's voice in my head, the way he'd defended using a nurse as a guinea pig. "And he's eager to test it, but I don't think it's a good idea without some kind of guide. So I was thinking…"

"That I could be that guide," Genkai surmised.

"Yeah." I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, long and slow and soothing. "So, Genkai. Would you—?"

"Be here this weekend."

I didn't react right away. She'd spoken simply, quickly, and without adornment. I hadn't expected her to go along with me this fast, without the need for convincing, without any argument at all. It wasn't like Genkai to just… agree. To go along with what I said without pushing back, to make her feelings known.

And yet…

"Just like that?" I said, suspicious.

"You thought I'd say no?" said Genkai.

"I thought you'd take a little more convincing." It was the honest truth. "Or ask more questions. Or—"

"Kid, if you think this is the first I'm hearing about people suddenly developing powers after Mushiyori Fever, you're not as smart as I thought you were," she said with the blunt impact of a sledgehammer. "Though you are the first to use that word." Genkai chuckled. "'Territory.' I admit, it's a good name for this phenomenon…"

My brain short-circuited. "I'm the first who… what?" I said, caught in the grip of a truly disorienting out-of-body experience. "Did you just say that you—?"

"What, do I need to spell it out for you?" Genkai groused. "I am a renowned psychic and spiritualist. My name might not be in the phonebook, but I'm easy enough to track down if you're dedicated—and people who develop dangerous abilities overnight tend to be pretty dedicated."

I swallowed, phone slipping in my sweaty grip. "Are there already others—?"

"Here at the temple? Yes." She didn't wait for me to acclimate to this flood of information, forging on without pause. "They started showing up weeks ago. I'm no hero, but far be it from me to turn away people in need…"

She trailed off. Again I thought I heard her say something, muffled by what was perhaps a hand placed over the phone's receiver. Was she talking to one of the others? One of the other people who had apparently turned to her after developing new abilities? I knew she'd seen Kaito and two of his friends in canon, the trio having sought her out for help after Kaito ripped his own soul out—but even more than them? I didn't recall that happening in canon. I didn't recall—

Genkai kept talking before I could ruminate on canon any further. She said, "These Territories, as you've named them—"

"Kaito named them," I blurted. "Not me."

"Kaito," she repeated. "Your school friend who developed the more dangerous power, I take it."

"Yeah. He's a wordsmith. Which is fitting, given his abilities are—"

I told her about the Territory of Taboo, mouth running entirely on auto-pilot: Kaito could specify any word or sound and attach to it a consequence (namely the removal of a soul, though whether or not he could attach a different consequence was not clear). If someone within his Territory spoke that word, their soul would leave their body and fall under Kaito's command. The Territory also forbade the use of physical violence—though as soon as I said that, I regretted it. Kaito hadn't mentioned that part yet, leading me to believe he hadn't discovered that facet of his power. I only knew about it because of canon.

Not that Genkai knew that detail. She just listened in silence, and that silence lingered long after I finished speaking. I wasn't sure what that silence meant.

But Genkai didn't stay quiet forever. "Bring him to me," she said eventually, words as gruff as usual.

"OK." I wasn't about to argue. "When?"

"Soon. This weekend, if you can get away. No doubt your parents are feeling protective." Genkai chuckled when I tittered a wry confirmation, but her humor faded quickly. "A power like your friend Kaito's is easily abused, and from the sounds of it, he's already on track to use his Territory recklessly." Something rustled; I suspected she was shaking her head. "Many of these Territories are ripe for abuse. What kind of spiritualist would I be if I let their users rage unchecked?"

"And if we find more people with Territories who want guidance…?"

"What am I, a motel?" Genkai snapped—but then she sighed. "Ugh. Fine. Bring them, too. I'm already in the deep end. What's a few more feet of water?"

"I'm thinking I'll find at least three in addition to me and Kaito, if you need to plan and stuff," I offered, trying to be helpful.

But it didn't work. Genkai swore a blue streak and said, "For the love of—how many of these Territory users are there?"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that question?" I said. After a quick mental tally, I told her: "Because I know of at least seven, plus me, and then the other four I want to bring, and—"

"Stop," Genkai ordered. "That's enough. Just bring them to me."

"I will." My eyes rolled of their own accord. "If my parents are willing to let me out of their sight for long enough, that is."

"Like I said: They must be feeling protective after your dramatic collapse."

"I mean, can you blame them? Your kid has a brush with death, you tend to get a little clingy."

"Right." Genkai's voice took on a hard edge, one that brooked no quibbling or argument. "Well. You're good at making excuses for your behavior. So make one, and get down here as soon as you can."

I didn't like the reminder of my past dishonesty, but I didn't protest the mention of it, either; it was deserved. "Thanks, Genkai," was all I said, meaning it—and yet Genkai only laughed.

"Save the thanks until after I help you," she said. "Oh, and Keiko?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell the others about this."

At first I thought I'd misheard her. I started to laugh, like she'd made a joke, only to recognize the dire cadence of her otherwise innocuous words. I backtracked, replayed what she'd said—realized with a start what she'd just commanded me to do. In silence I stared at the landscape of my bedroom, taking in the pastel comforter and stuffed toys, the cutesy star stickers on my desk and the clock shaped like a cartoon octopus on the wall. The profane Johnny Cash poster on the back of my bedroom door and the metal albums on my nightstand sat in stark contrast to the rest, blips of grudge amid clean gentility. My old self nestled amid the confines of the new, divergence of themes nearly painful in their intimate juxtaposition.

Caught up in that imagery, all I could do was whisper, "What?"

"Don't tell the others about your Territory." Genkai didn't sound even a little reluctant to call them each by name. "Yusuke, Kurama, Hiei and Kuwabara. Botan, too, and even Shizuru. Don't breathe a single word to any of them."

"But Genkai," I said, words sticking in my dry throat, "I—"

"Here we go…" she grumbled.

"Why?" It was all I could say, the syllable desperate and cracking on its frantic way out. "Why the hell wouldn't I tell them about this? I only just started being honest with them! I can't just—"

"You'll tell them eventually. Just not yet," she said, stressing the last word like it should've already been obvious. "Trust me. It's better to wait."

"But—but I promised I wouldn't lie or—"

"No 'buts,' kid. I mean it." Steel flowed through the phone, audible in every clipped syllable that came out of Genkai's mouth. "Do not breathe a word to them about your Territory." A wry chuckle rustled like autumnal leaves. "And if you're going to insist on feeling guilty about this, save yourself the trouble. It's not lying. It's just omission."

"And lying by omission is definitely a thing, Genkai!"

"A thing you are going to have to do for the time being," she shot back. "I know you don't like this, girl of many lives—especially not after recent events—but trust me when I say this is for the best."

It was rare to hear Genkai's voice gentle, but here it did, lowering into a soothing, creaky rumble like rain on a tin roof. I felt myself relax in spite of everything. This was Genkai, after all—the first person to whom I had willingly confessed the truth of my origins in this world. She had been too smart to fool, so I hadn't bothered to try, and I'd trusted her to keep my secret when the time for keeping secrets came. And now, here we were. Genkai asking me to keep secrets, instead of the other way around.

It was as if Genkai heard my thoughts. "Can you do that, girl?" she asked of me, voice as plaintive as I'd ever heard it. "Can you trust me?"

I gripped the phone a little tighter.

"I trust you," I said.

For now, I didn't say aloud.

"Good." Genkai didn't linger on our exchange, instead forging right ahead. "This weekend. Be here, with the others. And do not tell a soul about your Territory."

I didn't reply. I just hung up. Stood there in silence, eyes on my bedroom's conflicting décor, trying to parse the maelstrom of emotion whirling inside my chest.

For a long time, I didn't move.

Then, slowly, I picked up the phone and placed another call.

Kaito and Amanuma arrived at my home only an hour and a half after I summoned the pair of them via phone. They arrived with a vase of flowers and much fanfare, my mother welcoming them inside and insisting she fix them something to eat before allowing them to join me in my room. I placed their offered flowers—cut daisies and baby's breath—in a vase upon my desk beside Kurama's flowers, which still looked as fresh and perfect as they had when he brought them to me. No doubt Kurama had done something to keep them living for far longer than should be natural, but that was neither here nor there. After my call to Genkai, I'd found myself fingering the petals of the chrysanthemum in the arrangement, ruminating while I waited for Kaito and Amanuma to arrive. I tried not to think about the meaning of that flower as Amanuma settled on my floor, lying on his belly with heels kicking the air behind his head.

"—and I can bring all of them to life if I want!" he was saying. He'd started babbling about his Territory the second my mother shut my bedroom door. "I tried it out with Tetris, and Galaga, and—"

The kid had been incredibly eager to tell me all about his Territory, of course—a Territory the wordsmith Kaito immediately dubbed 'arcade' for its ability to bring any game, from arcade or console, to life. Just as I'd predicted, Amanuma had collapsed after contracting Mushiyori Fever, too, waking with a new ability etched into his very being. His Territory filled him with joy, something he stated as well as evidenced in the brightness of his eye and the elation in his young voice. When Kaito had informed Amanuma that all three of us had developed supernatural powers, he'd been even happier. He'd peppered Kaito with a hundred questions when Kaito first called to check on him, and he peppered me with the same before launching into a gushing ramble about his Territory. Hard to get a word in edgewise amid the flood, though after a while, I forced myself to do just that.

"Say, Amanuma?" I said when the kid finally (finally!) stopped to draw breath.

"Hmm?" His grin didn't budge an inch. "What is it?"

"Can I asked what happened to you before you collapsed? "

"What do you mean?" he said, eyes screwing up in confusion.

"Kaito wrote a paper while omitting a certain character from the words, kind of like his Territory, Taboo," I said, nodding at Kaito in his seat in my desk chair. "And I had some weird dreams before manifesting my powers over dreams." (Still felt weird to say that, 'my powers,' but I pressed on regardless.) "Before you collapsed, did you…?"

"Actually, yeah," Amanuma said, surprise etched into his bright eyes. "That explains it! Right before I collapsed, I beat every game in the entire arcade. Top scores across the board. I hadn't really connected that to everything, but…"

"It seems we all successfully underwent a trial, of sorts, before acquiring our abilities," Kaito observed. "How very interesting."

"Yeah, that is interesting!" Amanuma's heels kicked a little harder, grin widening all the more. "What do you think the others who got Territories went through, huh?"

"I imagine it would depend on their Territory. And on that note…" Kaito adjusted his glasses the way he always did before saying something important. "I've managed to connect with a few others whom I believe developed a Territory of their own."

"Really?" Amanuma looked impressed. "How'd you do that?"

"By the methods of the future." Kaito smiled with smug satisfaction. "Online message boards."

A thrill of recognition zipped up my spine, and before he could say another word, I help up a hand.

"Kaito," I said. "Stop."

He wore curiosity the same way he wore his glasses, frank interest painted openly across his face as I got up and pulled a pen, an envelope and a piece of paper from my desk drawer. Ripping off a scrap of paper, I jotted down a few words before folding the paper and tucking it into the envelope, securing the flap shut with a bit of tape.

I handed the envelope to Kaito. "Don't break that seal."

"Why not?" His eyebrows lifted. "What's in it?"

"Proof, sort of. You'll see what I mean soon, but just hold onto it for now."

"How mysterious. Very well." He tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket and out of sight. "As I was saying, I frequent a number of online message boards, among them a selection of local boards. It wasn't difficult to set up a thread that would attract others who developed abilities similar to our own."

"Really?" Amanuma said, eagerly lapping up every word.

I felt less enthused, however. "Is spelling out that we developed powers in a public forum really wise, Kaito?" I said, staring at him sidelong.

"Relax," he said. "The truth behind the thread would not be obvious to anyone who doesn't already know about Territories. I merely asked if anyone had suffered noteworthy side effects after recovering from Mushiyori Fever. Those who replied to me privately inevitably hinted at the development of their Territories, seeking someone who underwent a similar experience."

"I see," I said, relieved. "So to anyone who doesn't already know about Territories, they'd think you're talking about, like, chronic headaches or something."

"Yes. I also revealed no personal details of my own. They tell me everything, while I tell them nothing. And of course I used a throwaway account paired with a disguised IP address, and I encrypted my—"

"I get the picture," I cut in before he could really get going. "You can't be traced. Smart move."

His smile turned quite smug. "Did you expect anything less of me, Yukimura?"

"I shouldn't have, clearly." Shifting atop my bed, I took a deep breath before asking the question I both dreaded asking and wanted most to hear: "So I take it you've gotten a few responses, then?"

"Yes, though only two show promise at this time," he said—confirming what I'd suspected he'd say. "They are as slow to trust me as I am to trust them, though I've made headway on learning their names. In the meantime, I've begun to acquire the various medical records of the survivors of Mushiyori Fever, and—"

I sat up with a jolt and yelped, "You stole medical records?!"

"That's bad, right?" Amanuma whispered.

"That's very bad, Amanuma." Baring my teeth, I growled at Kaito, "That's very, very bad!"

But Kaito just adjusted his glasses. "Needs must, Yukimura," he said, peering at me over the tops of the lenses. "Needs must."

"Yeah, but—but still!" When he failed to look the least bit guilty, I flopped back against my bed and covered my face with my hands. "God, talk about a HIPPA violation…"

"HIPPA?" Kaito asked.

"Isn't that, like, that cow thing with a big mouth in Africa?" said Amanuma. "Hi-po-pa-to-mu-su?"

"That's a hippo, not a HIPPA. I…" Sensing the time for delay had long since expired, I sat back up with a huff and took a deep breath. "OK, here we go."

"Yukimura…" A look of uncharacteristic concern had settled atop Kaito's narrow features. "You look rather green. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just—"

Their stares felt as heavy as a crown of steel, and my head bowed beneath that weight. A deep breath steeled my nerves, fingertips drumming on my pastel comforter. The mattress felt too soft, almost. Like I might sink into it and out of sight, lost in fluff and feathers, descending until I drowned.

Kaito and Amanuma exchanged a silent glance. I tried not to let the skepticism, the confusion of their faces rattle me.

"Look," I said after a time, "I didn't just call you two here today to talk about our Territories. Well, I did, at least in part, but…" I shook my head. "Where to start?"

"The beginning, would be the advice of conventional wisdom," Kaito dryly intoned.

And I decided to take his advice, starting with the most relevant item of interest first. "First of all, I found someone who can help us really figure out our powers." I pasted on a happy grin. "Or maybe 'found' isn't the right word. It's more like I've known her for a long time. And I talked to her, and she's willing to let us come see her so she can train us. Isn't that great?"

Amanuma did not appear to think so, because he pulled a face and stuck out his tongue. "Train?" he repeated. "Why do I need to train? I just play games!"

"I know you think so, but there are some drawbacks to your powers, Amanuma. Ones I don't think you're aware of." I tried to speak gently, but firmly. I wanted to warm the kid, but I didn't want to scare him, either. "My friend can help you get a handle on these weaknesses so you don't accidentally do something you'll regret."

"Drawbacks?" Kaito aimed at me a condemnatory glower. "But my Territory doesn't have any drawbacks."

"And neither does mine!" Amanuma insisted.

Amanuma looked annoyed, affronted that his shiny new toy was being questioned—but his toy was not a toy. It was a weapon, and he had no idea his finger rested on the trigger. Amanuma spoke with all the delusions of invincibility common to kids his age, and that was precisely the problem. It's what got him killed in canon, and if I didn't nip this in the bud right now, it might be why he got killed in this timeline, too. Twisting toward him, I ripped off the kid gloves and stared him right in the eye, looming over him from my high vantage point on the bed as I did my very best impression of an imperious Genkai.

"Do you know," I asked him, "of the game Goblin City?"

"Yeah, sure," Amanuma said at once, frustration twisting his mouth. "And you've watched me play it! So what are you even yakking about, huh?"

"If you were to bring that game to life using your Territory, what would happen?" I asked.

"Uh…" The question caught him off-guard, and for a moment he floundered in startled silence. "Well, it depends, I guess. I could play that game as a player, or I could be the Goblin King and play against friends. And we'd play through a bunch of mini-games like tennis or trivia or 7x7, King vs. the party of players, until someone wins. And then the game would end." He shrugged, still thinking hard. "I can't really end games until someone wins or loses, it turns out. Once you start playing, you gotta play till the end. But it's more fun that way, anyway!"

"You said you could play as the Goblin King or as the player party," I said. "But, Amanuma… what happens if you play as the Goblin King and lose?"

"I dunno." Another shrug. "The game ends?"

"Amanuma, think." I slipped off the bed to land beside him with a thud, staring into his eyes as intently as I could. "What happens to the Goblin King if the players beat him?"

"He…" A lightbulb went off; Amanuma's jaw dropped. "Oh." He clapped a hand over his gaping mouth, horror inscribed in every motion. "Oh!"

"Forgive me," Kaito said, looking completely unamused, "but I don't know what either of you are talking about."

I twisted toward him, knees burning against the carpet. "Have you ever won Goblin City?"

"Yes. But forgive me for not recalling how it ends," Kaito said. "It's only a game, after all."

"If the Goblin King loses, the game explicitly states that he dies. The players killed him. An image of his grave appears on screen, to put a fine point on it." My gaze cut sideways to Amanuma, who had not moved a single muscle. "So if Amanuma played as the King, and he lost…"

Kaito said, "Amanuma would die."

Amanuma had gone grey, a light sheen of sweat breaking across his unlined brow. He didn't protest, or try to deflect, or even speak at all as Kaito and I fell quiet. He just sat there with his hand over his mouth, staring at the floor, the horror of a close call hanging over his head like the looming sword of Damocles. I hated telling him all this so baldly, but ignorance was what had killed him in canon. Not arming him with the knowledge he needed to stay alive in this timeline was a sin I could not let myself commit.

I had knowledge of canon, a power perhaps even greater than a Territory. What the hell kind of person would I be if I didn't use that power now, to save him? I'd already broken canon to keep him out of Sensui's hands. To let Amanuma die anyway would be a complete waste.

"That's why it's important that you train, kid," I said, trying to soothe the hurt I'd caused. "That's why it's important we have someone smart, someone who isn't blinded by excitement over our powers, to keep an eye on us so we don't get in over our heads and get ourselves killed. This friend of mine can be that person. We need to see her before we use our powers any more than we already have, before the worst can happen—and we're in luck." I put a hand on his shoulder, gratified when he snapped out of his horrified state to look up at me—with hope. "She's agreed to let us stay with her this weekend."

"Really?" Amanuma said, a smile growing.

"Yeah," I said. "Really."

"A safe space?"

Kaito spoke the words in the form of a slow question, but with an edge in his eyes like the tip of a sharpened pencil about to scrape down the length of fresh, white paper. Amanuma just stared at him, confused, but I knew what he'd picked up on. A reply caught in my throat, tangling with nerves until its forward momentum stalled, then stopped entirely. The way Kaito's eyes had met mine didn't help matters, either. Cold and calculating, nearly as sharp as Kurama's, they studied my face as though trying to read my mind in the layout of my pores, and beneath them I could not help but shrink.

Kaito, much like Genkai, was the kind of character I could not fool forever.

"What you said back in the hospital," Kaito said with unerring confidence. "You didn't want me experimenting and speaking my own Taboo word until it was safe to do so. And you think this person—"

"Genkai. Her name is Genkai." Looks like I'd found my voice at last. "She's a renowned psychic and spiritualist."

Kaito digested that without flinching, psychics and spiritualists now par for the course after the evolution of his Territory. "You think this Genkai character can be that safety net for me," he said, and his head tilted to the side a fraction. "When I first proposed experimenting on myself, you were adamant I not try until it was safe to do so. This implies you suspected the worst should I experiment in the fashion I described. And while you are undoubtedly intelligent, Keiko, you only learned of Amanuma's power half an hour ago—but you have already pinpointed a dire weakness neither he nor I could determine, and we have known about his power for far longer than you."

Amanuma looked at me and Kaito and back again. "What are you trying to say, Kaito?"

"I am saying, Amanuma, that Keiko knows something." He spoked with his usual clipped assurance, eyes like bullets against my face. "Something she shouldn't. Something she isn't telling us. Something that falls outside of her perception—or should, at any rate." He pressed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with one precision-guided fingertip. "The only question… is what."

Something in his tone of voice reminded me of Kurama, and the comparison made me laugh—as much out of humor as from nerves, but still. Kaito watched me giggle in silence, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned backward in his seat, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. Amanuma looked as confused as I'd ever seen him at my giggles, but Kaito just waited for me to collect myself, patient as my laughter quieted and I became able to look him in the eye again.

"You know, you may hate him, Kaito, but you and Kurama are two peas in a pod," I said, still giggling. "Too smart for your own good, both of you."

"Kurama?" One thin eyebrow shot up. "Who in the world is Kurama?"

"I'll get to him in a bit," I said. "But first… there's something you should know. About me, specifically."

They waited as I arranged my legs into proper seiza, resting my hands on my bent knees as I prepared myself to speak. Kaito was a special breed of person, intellectual and blunt, and I would need to package this revelation very carefully if I wanted him to swallow it without choking. And Amanuma, too, had a fragile sense of trust, one I would need to handle with care lest it shatter and break.

I'd been rehearsing for this all afternoon. Since long before that, during my stay at the hospital, in fact. But it would still take precision to do this properly, and thus, I took a moment to prepare myself.

But I could not have them wait forever, and eventually, I raised my head and smiled.

"Amanuma. Kaito," I carefully intoned. "Before we go see Genkai… I think there's something I need to tell you."

I took a deep breath.

Then, slowly—I told them the truth, at last.

Notes:

Happy fourth birthday to Lucky Child! Today is the fourth anniversary of the day I posted this fanfic in late 2016. What a milestone, huh? How long have all of you been following this behemoth? How the heck did you find it in the first place? I'm feeling nostalgic and would love to hear about how we came together!

And on that note, endless and enormous thanks for being here after so long. I truly couldn't have gotten this far without your support. It's wild to me that it's taken this long to get to this part of the story, and yet, it feels like we've only just begun. Not sure if we'll make it to the fifth anniversary before this tale ends, but just in case we don't see another birthday, please know that spending these years with y'all has been a joy.

And on the story front, all of the pieces are coming together. Keiko is connecting Territory users with Genkai… but why has Genkai sworn her to temporary secrecy? What was in that envelope Keiko gave to Kaito? And how will Kaito and Amanuma react to the reveal of Keiko's big secret?

The Keirama-themed Christmas story I promised is live! I ended up breaking it into three chapters, and the final installment comes out tomorrow. It's bundled into the Children of Misfortune collection, so please go check that out to read the story! Or add it to your alert list so you don't miss when the final chapter goes live. People who ship Keirama will probably flip out over a certain part of Part 2, which I posted a few minutes ago.

Also... did y'all see that they're doing a LIVE ACTION adaptation of YYH? I did NOT see that one coming!

Big thanks to everyone who supported the previous chapter. I know going on hiatus throws off reading habits, so these folks making an effort to welcome the story back to a regular schedule really did make that return feel warm and welcome. Huge thanks to all of you lovely people: Nollyn, Tooth Cruncher, Sdelacruz2, TrilbyBard, rosethornli, RainbowWordStrings, Eurynomos331, ATinyRayofLight, QueenofOblivion, snapsdragon, Sanguinary_Tide, NotQuiteAnonymous, Paddygirl, TokiMirage, Ferna52, Capriciousfan, WooMee, Ms_Liz, DragonsTower, Bluebell_Skies, XiyouChan, willowfire, JestWine, Aarik and ClownRightsNow.

See you on Sunday, January 10, 2021 for the chapter 119.

Chapter 119: Back to Normal

Summary:

In which NQK returns to her civilian life following her illness.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Under cover of night, I slipped into the backdoor of my home.

Nothing moved in the quiet entryway. To my left stood the door to the kitchen; to the right, the pantry. No one stirred beyond either arch, and at the foot of the stairs ahead, the coat hook and shoe mat sat still and silent. Mud flaked from my father's rain boots onto the small rug, mahogany earth visible against pale rubber in the light that lanced indoors from the alleyway.

It all faded into darkness when the door shut. I stood with my hand against the wall, cushioning the fall of the backdoor with the bottom of my rubber-soled shoe. I neither moved nor spoke, though my burning, tired eyes creaked shut as I concentrated. In silence I listened, ears straining in the quiet, for sounds of movement upstairs. I heard nothing, though. Just the clock ticking, invisible, on the wall near the coat hook, and the faint hum of the walk-in freezer hidden behind the pantry door. My breath rattled loudest of all, try though I might to stifle it. Every inhale felt like sandpaper on wood, every exhale the sigh of a storm… but when I heard nothing from upstairs, my shoulders sagged. A relieved sigh wormed between my teeth. I took a step forward.

A board creaked beneath my heel.

The effect was instantaneous. A door upstairs tapped against a frame; feet pattered down the steps. Before my parents appeared, I rubbed at my stinging eyes and straightened my spine, trying to clear the sleep from my heavy lids. So much for slipping in unnoticed…

My mother wore a bathrobe almost as thick as the look of concern on her pinched features when she materialized from the darkness at the foot of the stairs. Dad joined her a moment later. As one they swooped forward with movements of synchronized concern.

"Keiko, there you are!" Mom was the first to speak. "We've been worried sick!"

"Sorry, Mom." I snapped into character and pasted on my best Keiko Smile. "Trains ran late."

"They seem to run late a lot these days," Dad grumbled as he took my backpack from me. Though I wanted to keep the bag, I knew better than to protest, instead letting him look me over without complaint. "Almost every time you go to that meetup, they run late bringing you home."

Dad set the bag on the hook near the shoes and umbrella stand. I made a mental note of that, careful and concise.

"Oh, honey, just look at you." Mom put her hand to my cheek, startling me from my reverie. "You're half dead on your feet! Are you sure these wellness retreats are really such a good idea?"

"It's been weeks, and you've looked more and more exhausted each time you come back!" said Dad. "It's—"

"It's fine." The words came out sharper than intended; to ameliorate, I softened my tone like butter. "I'm fine, I promise. Don't be silly."

Mom remained unconvinced. "But honey—"

"The retreats are good for me, I promise." Not quite a lie, but not quite the whole truth either, not that I could explain either reality. "I'm getting my stamina back, and it's helping me catch up on school." A sunny smile felt wrong on my mouth, but I wore it anyway. "Trust me. I wouldn't be going if I didn't think the retreats weren't beneficial."

Dad shrugged. "Sure, but…"

"But you just look so tired," Mom said.

"And that's why I want to go to bed." A giggle I didn't mean tried to lift the mood, though my parents' faces told me it hadn't worked. I beat a retreat and headed for the stairs. "See you in the morning?"

Mom hesitated, but eventually she said, "All right."

"Be up on time for breakfast, OK?" Dad called after me.

"OK." I was halfway up the stairs already. "Night Mom. Night Dad!"

I put on a good show for them, of course. The spring in my step and the smile on my face didn't quaver until my bedroom door fell shut behind me. As soon as it did, my knees gave out, sending me sliding down the wooden panel until I sat on the carpet in the dark. Sleep dragged at my eyes while my parents muttered in the dark of the hallway, words faint but close, impossible to discern, just as impossible to ignore.

I got the sense they were listening for me just as much as I was listening for them, but in this war of attrition, I proved victorious. Their bedroom door soon opened and closed, parents safely ensconced out of sight. I didn't enter the hallway to retrieve my backpack, though. No doubt Mom and Dad were keeping an ear out for any shenanigans on my part. I'd have to wait them out, bide my time and strike once they fell asleep. Tired though I felt, it was imperative I get my backpack before falling asleep. I had no choice. But Mom and Dad were already on edge, and arousing any more suspicion would invite… would invite more questions, and…

A yawn stretched my jaw until it popped. Lids stumbled like a runner losing balance, heels tripping as sleep nipped. Tightness unspooled from tense limbs in undulating arcs.

"I'll just rest for a minute," I murmured as my eyes fell shut. "Gotta meditate before bed. Make my tea. Just resting my eyes…"

Against my best intentions, I fell asleep on my bedroom floor—and then, with a flutter of darkness, I began to dream.

I recognized the nightclub, though I couldn't quite name from where. Dancers moved atop a floor of frosted plastic tiles lit from below by neon lights, a stage with a neon-clad DJ pumping mid-2000s EDM into the humid night. I stood in the middle of the dancing throng, staring up at the lights hanging from the ceiling as they cast wide arcs over the club, not sure how I got there but not questioning my presence, either. The music was familiar, after all. So was the club. A night of dancing, free of stress and turmoil, sounded lovely after the weeks I'd just been through. Those hellish weeks that even now set my teeth on edge. Genkai had been running me ragged, mental fingers worn to the bone, and—

A hand touched my arm. Naomi stood there—wait. Naomi. My college girlfriend? Where had she come from? Oblivious to my questions, Naomi smiled and took my hand, pulling me deeper into the crowd to dance. She looked beautiful, but then again, she always did. Feed-in braids of metallic blue and pink coiled atop her head in a voluminous bun, reflecting lights in a brilliant dazzle of color that left me in a blinking daze. She didn't let me fall behind, though. Her bright smile flashed as we settled into the heart of the crowd, arms around each other, moving with the other dancers to the beat of the bass. I passed a hand over her smooth cheek; she smiled and nudged her mouth against my palm in a gentle kiss.

The bracelet on my wrist gleamed, bright red braided cord and white stone disc standing out like blood and bone against her deep umber skin, alarmingly visceral against the warm life of her gorgeous face. Something about the sight of her face next to that bracelet didn't sit right. They didn't belong together. They weren't meant to be seen at once, occupying such different points in time in space that their pairing seemed impossible—and there it was, a flash of recognition that struck like a bolt from the blue. Naomi was my college girlfriend, but I wasn't in college. I was in high school, and that bracelet had been a gift from the Beautiful Suzuka.

I wasn't in college and dating Naomi, because I was Yukimura Keiko from Yu Yu Hakusho—and this could only be a dream.

Right. Obviously this was a dream. Now I remembered falling asleep on my floor as I waited for my parents to go to bed so I could go downstairs and sneak my backpack into my room. And that bracelet, that gift from Suzuka? It was lost to me in waking life. I only wore it in dreams anymore. It was my signal, a symbol, a trigger, my covert sign to myself that I was no longer awake. It was—

A scream rang out. Naomi's body stiffened against mine. The dancers quaked and bolted, scattering as more screaming rent the air. The lights stopped flashing and the music went out with the scratch of a record that sounded like an earthquake. The crowd parted like a rising curtain and then, through the press of bodies, a specter loomed like an omen of death. Made all of black ichor that dripped to the floor from its hulking form, it was vaguely humanoid but without features, long-fingered hands stretching toward me as it stuttered and slid along the floor in my direction.

"Oh, no. Not you." I shoved Naomi behind me, because even in dreams I didn't want to see her get hurt. "Why can't you just leave me alone, huh?"

The dream monster—my familiar nemesis—opened its mouth and roared, spattering the floor and dream-people with flecks of black goop. I rolled my eyes. Dramatic asshole. But letting it get ahold of me was inadvisable, so I grabbed Naomi's hand and ran, bolting for the nearest door in my dreamscape to find an exit back to the waking world.

It was far too late to start lucid-dreaming and chase the creature off. I'd faced it too many times to cling to that naïve hope. If the monster appeared before I went lucid, it would always stabilize the dream too much for me to manipulate my surroundings. Whoever arrived first had the most control; it had proven that time and again. But I wasn't particularly scared. I knew the exit had to be close, and all I had to do to win was escape without getting caught—

No dice. I'd barely turned my back when it lunged, an enormous paw forming from its sludge-riddled body to bat aside the dream-people and knock me to the floor. A very real burst of pain reverberated up my wrists as I landed facedown, just barely getting my hands out to break the fall. Naomi disappeared with a cry; I called out for her, but the monster had already pounced, blocking my view of the club with its enormous bulk.

A light flashed. The shadow staggered backward with a yowl. Between us appeared a tall, lithe figure with dark hair falling softly around long features. Her eyes were the softest of all as she smiled and offered me a hand.

"Naru!" I said, relief flooding my hollow chest. "Hey!"

"Hello, Keiko," said Naru—the kindest, gentlest of all Sensui Shinobu's seven personalities. Her fingers gave mine a squeeze. "It's nice to see you."

"Heh. Thank god you're here."

She looked me over, dark eyes narrow with concern. Naru appeared more feminine in dreams than she did in real life, with a softer jaw and fuller lips and bigger eyes, body curved instead of svelte and angular… but she always looked that way in my dreams, so I wasn't surprised. This was my dream, and she was a guest within it, but she had a strong enough will to make her appearance match her identity with laser-guided precision. Her full lips curled as we stood side by side, facing the writhing ichor-monster as it rallied, gathering pools of splattered grime back into itself before it rose tall toward the club's darkened ceiling.

"I confess you look even more unwell than the last time we dreamed together," Naru said, eyes locked on the monster. "Do you really think you're up to this? I'm fine on my own if you need to flee."

"Nah. I'm not leaving you alone." I rolled my head atop my neck. "It's my problem, after all."

Naru smiled. "A problem to which I will readily lend my aid."

"You're a good friend, Naru," I said, meaning every word. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

She chuckled, smile genuine and pleased, and the monster didn't like that one bit. The monster didn't like Naru much at all; it always attacked her more than me, as if resenting the interference of another in the landscape of my dreams, its chosen hunting ground. I stepped between it and her as tentacles boiled from its back to wave in the dreamy air. As one, Naru and I squared up to face the beast, side by side and ready to rumble as allies.

Naru, in the past month since gaining my Territory, had become a treasured friend.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The morning after I returned home from the hospital, Territory inked fresh upon my soul weeks and weeks before that dream with Naru, my parents installed me at the breakfast table in front of an enormous spread of food. Western favorites like pancakes and waffles, traditional Japanese foods like miso soup and rice—Dad has really outdone himself. I shot him a grateful look as I took a bite of pancake. He must have woken up early to cook everything, and he watched like a hawk as I made sure to sample every dish.

"You sure you don't want to take a few more days off, Keiko?" Mom, like Dad, hovered while I ate, anxiety etched into her face like the lines of an antique woodcut. "Go back to school next week instead?"

I lowered my fork, bite untasted. "Mom…"

"Don't look at me like that!" she said.

"You've been through a lot," said Dad. "You deserve some time off!"

"But I've had more than a week off."

"And you could take another if you wanted. Your mother and I wouldn't mind." He put an arm around her. "Right, honey?"

"That's right!" said Mom. "If you want more time at home, we will tell your school and that will be the end of the discussion." Her dark eyes glittered under her chef's cap. "You know I have a way with principals…"

That she did. I'd never forgotten the way Mom had saved me (not to mention my entire academic career) from expulsion from Sarayashiki Jr. High, and how she'd somehow secured me a spot a full grade ahead at Meiou High School, all at the eleventh house. I'd never be able to repay her for that, but that didn't mean I wanted to take even more time away from school. If anything, it made me want to go back, to make the most of the opportunity she'd secured so many months ago. So I just shook my head, trying to look stern as I put my foot down—and my fork, too, for emphasis.

"I appreciate it, you two, but I really think it's best I go back as soon as possible," I said. "Don't want to fall behind on my studies, right?"

My parents exchanged a reluctant look before agreeing, although neither appeared happy to acquiesce. I didn't acknowledge their discomfort, though; I was just glad they weren't going to press the issue. They'd been incredibly clingy since my brush with death. And sure, it was reasonable of them to be protective of their only child after almost losing her to a mysterious illness (blah blah blah, parental love and whanot), but still. Much as I loved my mom and dad, I hadn't had a single freakin' second alone since waking up in the hospital. Between nurses, parents, doctors and visiting friends, the only time I'd had to myself was on the goddamn toilet, and I'd practically had to kick my mom out the door to get it. It was high time I had some space; it was high time to shed my Keiko Face and just be me, not play the role of dutiful, patient daughter to keep my parents happy.

To put it bluntly, I felt suffocated. As soon as Kaito and Amanuma had left the night before after I dropped my bombshell revelation on them, my parents had swooped in and literally set up camp on my bedroom floor to keep my company until bedtime. At this point I was almost desperate to be alone.

Escape presented itself when it came time to head to school. It took some convincing for my parents to let me go by myself without an escort, but once I left the house to fly solo, the tension drained from my shoulders like water from a cracked bowl. The birds singing in the trees, the blue sky, the sweet, late-springtime air—it felt cliché to say the day gleamed as brightly as I felt, like a shiny penny reflecting sunshine on the sidewalk, but it's true. The gorgeous weather mirrored my now-free spirit perfectly, and I heaved an open sigh of contentment as I traveled down the sidewalk toward school.

Shops were only just opening for the day, given the early hour, but one shopkeeper spotted me not too long after I started walking. "Yukimura!" she called out, waving. "Glad to see you're looking well. Your mother said you took ill last week."

"Right as rain now, though!" I called back with a grin. "You have a good day!"

"You, too! And try not to get sick again!"

"I won't!"

I meant that, of course, but halfway to school, my head started to feel a touch floaty. Definitely should've eaten more breakfast. I settled onto an empty bench at a random bus stop to take a quick breather, feeling annoyed that I couldn't walk the whole way to school without taking a break. Normally I could run full-tilt to school without stopping, but today that just wasn't in the cards. Mushiyori Fever hit its victims hard, leaving me with lasting fatigue as well as a strange new Territory.

A Territory I still hadn't been able to use more than a handful of hesitant times, I reminded myself, but the thought wasn't a pleasant one, so I looked around the bus stop for a distraction while waiting for my head to stop swimming.

There wasn't much. Just people walking by, more birds singing in a nearby tree, cars puttering past with the sputter and spit of engines. Gorgeous day. Shame I had to spend it in school, but at least I wasn't stuck at home or in the hospital. I'd finally get to see Kurama on equal footing, out from under the watchful eye of my parents… only my parents would obviously want me to head straight home after school, so we probably wouldn't get to talk much about anything important.

My heart sank. Damn. Kurama had been distant when he visited in the hospital, and I'd been looking forward to seeing him outside of it. But school wouldn't be as freeing as I hoped, either…

Passing a hand over my face with a sigh, my eyes caught on the fliers stuck to the inside of the bus stop's awning. Some ads for local services and shops, a few study group adverts, and a cram school pamphlet fluttered in the warm spring zephyr… but smack on top of them, impolitely blocking the others in clear violation of unspoken bust-stop-flier etiquette, sat a poster with big, bold lettering proclaiming a band called THE BILLBOARD FACES would be playing a rock show at a venue downtown next week, and you wouldn't want to miss it.

I stared at the poster in silence for a second. They'd clearly made the flier by printing and then photocopying things a bunch of times, text and pictures grainy and low-tech and badly spaced, a few words here and there colored in by hand with a marker for emphasis. Despite the low quality, the image of a trio of guys under the band's name was clear enough. I made out a guy with a guitar and a pompadour, another guy with a shaved head, and a final dude with long hair hanging over his leather-clad chest. The trio looked vaguely familiar, but they were all wearing eyeliner and studded costumes, and for a minute I couldn't place them.

"The Billboard Faces…" My brow furrowed. "Wait a second." I poked at the poster as if it could feel me. "I know you! J'accuse!"

It felt like millennia since I last laid eyes on the trio of punks who'd beaten the crap out of Kuwabara back when he'd been barred from fighting by Iwamoto, and even longer still since I beat the crap out of them in retribution. Gosh, these were the same boys who'd tried to make themselves into my Yakuza-style lackeys, weren't they, in order to repay a debt they were convinced they owed? The one with the crew cut (what was his name again?) had actually broken up with his girlfriend (wait, what was her name again?) in order to follow me around, and then she'd taken her rage out on me and defaced my desk and whatnot.

"Masaru," I muttered, eyes on the boy with the shaved head. "Right. His name was Masaru. His friends with Shinji and Tadashi. And his girlfriend, Naoko…"

I still saw Naoko in the halls sometimes, but we didn't often cross paths. Pretty sure that was on purpose on her part. Naoko always gave me a wide berth and avoided eye-contact whenever possible. Junko and Amagi and the rest of Kurama's fangirls, not to mention Kurama himself, had all stood up for me and chased Naoko off with veiled threats when the bullying got really bad; apparently their intimation tactics had some staying power. Gosh, that had been such a huge source of drama at the time, but I hadn't given it a second thought in months. The wrath of a jilted schoolgirl paled in comparison to the stuff I'd been through lately with Hiruko, Territories, and the looming threat of the Chapter Black Arc. Reminiscing about Naoko almost made me feel a little nostalgic for those simple days…

"Looks like those punks really did it, though." I gave the edge of the poster a flick. "They said they wanted to be in a band, and look at them now! They're playing a gig. I'm so proud. Not quite a billboard yet like they promised, but it's definitely a start."

Ah, right. They'd struck a deal with me and finally left me alone when I explained how much trouble their fixation on me had caused in regard to Naoko. I'd pushed them to chase their musical dreams, promising that I'd call them for a favor someday once they made it big, and that would be how they're make it up to me for causing trouble. Now it looked like they'd chased after those dreams with both hands.

"Man. Good going, you three." I cracked a grin. "Someday I'll say I knew—and beat them up—when." My nose wrinkled. "Only maybe you need a new band name, because I'm not sure 'The Billboard Faces' is it."

Bad name or not, the glee of seeing them chase their dreams was infectious, and my head soon cleared. I gave the flier a pat, tore off a few of the tabs at the bottom that listed the show date and time (to make their poster look like it had garnered interest from others, because every little bit helps), and got back on the road. The rest of the trip passed quickly, and when I reached Meiou High School, I greeted the place with a grin. Gosh, had someone given the place a new coat of paint while I was gone? It looked shiny and new, or at least it did in my eager eyes. Had anyone ever been as happy as I was to get back to school? I practically whistled as I passed through the gates and headed for the genkan.

I didn't make it far, though. Only halfway across the yard, a voice rang out with a cry of my name, and I turned to find Junko trotting toward me from the bike racks.

"You're back!" she said, bubblegum pink-glossed lips curling in an eager smile "Good to see you. I wasn't sure when you'd show up, but damn am I glad you're here!"

"Good to see you, too, Junko. How are things?"

"Oh, you know. People were freaking out the whole time you were sick, mostly." She rolled her eyes and planted one manicured hand on her hip. "You'll probably get a lot of presents this week from well-wishers, so don't be too surprised if there's a bunch of junk in your desk today."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Keiko!"

This time it was Amagi who called my name and came trotting over. Was I imagining it, or did her hair look a little longer than I remember, her unfortunate bob cut a little less severe than usual? Eh, it hardly mattered. I was just happy to see her, especially when she looked me over with a relieved smile in her dark, liquid eyes.

"You're back!" she said. "I'm so glad!"

"Hey, Amagi. You keep everyone in line while I was out?"

"I did my best."

"Hey, she's probably gonna get mobbed when we get to class," Junko told Amagi, jerking a thumb in my direction. "Wanna help me run interference?"

Amagi nodded gravely. "Keiko deserves peace and quiet after what she's been through."

Junko nodded back, flipped her hair, and strutted off with a determined scowl, glaring at anyone we passed who looked at me for too long. Amagi fell into step at my side, a silent escort, as we headed for the genkan and removed our shoes. Our lockers were near each other, Junko's further away, and as I bent to slip out of my leather loafers, Amagi's soft voice pierced the quiet.

"You seem different, Keiko," she said.

"Huh?" My head jerked up to find her regarding me thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Uh, um, how—?"

"I'm not sure." She appeared puzzled. "You just look…"

She stopped talking. I stopped breathing. Amagi was spiritually aware; could she sense my Territory somehow? I hated the thought of lying to her, especially so soon after vowing to be more honest with people. But Genkai told me not to tell anyone about my power (fuck!) and we had an audience in the nearby Junko, so it was all I could do to force a smile and shrug.

"Yeah, I think I dropped a few pounds in the hospital," I said. "The food was terrible."

"Maybe that's it," Amagi eventually murmured—but she did not seem convinced.

When we reached the classroom, Junko proved she had the powers of prediction, because my desk was covered in cards, bags of homemade treats, and even a bouquet of flowers too wilted to have been left there by Kurama. I barely saw these things before the chatter in the classroom died, growing graveyard quiet just before an outcry of my name rang up from a dozen different mouths. Despite Junko and Amagi's best efforts, I was promptly swarmed by people asking questions and shouting congratulations at my recovery—and a few "glad you're not deads," which made me laugh. The crowd followed like a flock of seagulls around a hot dog cart, overwhelming and loud, as I sat at my desk and sorted through the cards, munching on treats whenever someone pointed out which ones they'd made. To my surprise, nobody seemed bothered at the thought of me being contagious. They were just… nice. And on any other day, it would've been pleasant to be so cared for and doted on, but having to keep my polite Keiko Face in place was grating as hell. Taking this in stride meant playacting the part of popular-class-rep Keiko. As people continued to press closer and closer and as Junko mouthed 'sorry' at me from across the room, I found myself wishing I were still on my walk to school and away from all of this. The final bell of the day couldn't come soon enough…

Still. It was nice to know I held some manner of popularity. The degree to which people cared was kind of surprising, actually, though not unpleasant. I'd never been popular in my old life. I wasn't entirely sure how to handle Keiko's reputation (which I had to assume belonged entire to her, gained through no fault of my own) in this one.

It was almost a relief when Kaito and Kurama—members of that select handful of people who were sure to treat me normally—walked into class, but they just eyed me from afar and did not approach. Kurama looked amused at my gaggle of well-wishers when I shot him a look of desperation. Kaito just rolled his eyes, though, and sat down at his desk without sparing me another glance.

My gut lurched. What did that mean? I hadn't spoken to him since the night before, when I broke the news to him and Amanuma. How did he feel about my revelations now, in the unforgiving light of day? And how did it feel for him to stand beside Kurama, now that he knew the truth?

Luckily our teacher chased everyone in class away when the bell rang. He didn't make a big deal at all over my reappearance when he called roll, for while I was immensely grateful. He only acknowledged my absence when the lunch bell rang and he pulled me aside and into the teacher's workroom to go over some assignments I'd missed. I didn't mind, though. It just helped me avoid another crowd. Thanks to him, I was able to sneak off to lunch in the usual stairwell by the library without a troupe of groupies on my ass, giving me a blessed moment alone to collect myself as I climbed to the top of the flight.

I found Kaito and Kurama waiting for me, like usual. The sight of them sitting together after the conversation I'd had with Kaito last night put a quiver of nerves in my stomach. Kurama wore a bland, pleasant smile (impossible to read) while Kaito stared in my direction from behind his glasses, light catching on the square lenses and obscuring his eyes. He looked like an anime villain. How dramatic of him.

"Yukimura," he muttered darkly, sounding like a villain, too. "How kind of you to join us."

"Uh. Hi." I stopped at landing below them, feeling shy for absolutely no reason. "What's up?"

"We were just discussing the test coming up this afternoon," Kurama replied without missing a beat. "Do you think you're prepared, or is our teacher letting you delay?"

"Delay. He just told me."

"That's to your advantage, I suspect. The material is quite tricky." He indicated the notebook lying open across his knees. "In fact, Kaito and I were considering a study session this week to brush up on…"

Kaito didn't say much as Kurama talked about the material from a chapter I'd missed whilst out sick, and Kurama spoke like I'd never been gone at all, words smooth and tone as even as a sheet of fresh paper. He barely looked at me, though. As I joined them on the stairs and unpacked my lunch, it felt to me like Kurama sounded detached—almost Zen in his unhurried delivery, in fact. In the discussion of the text that followed, he didn't mention my illness once, only alluding in the abstract to my absence from school.

In short, he acted just like he had at the hospital. And while we did have an audience in Kaito, I thought he'd at least loosen up a little bit now that we were with peers. What gives?

Cool green eyes caught mine. "No bracelet today?"

I flinched. He'd been ignoring me rather effectively until that point; the question came nearly out of nowhere. Took me a second to even realize what he must be talking about, but when I saw his eyes linger on my wrist, I gave the naked skin a soft rub.

"Oh," I said, trying to sound casual. "Forgot it at home, I guess."

Kurama frowned, but he didn't say anything else about the bracelet I'd acquired from the Beautiful Suzuka on Hanging Neck Island. I tried not to feel guilty. My words held deception, but they were bare of outright lies. I had forgotten to bring the bracelet with me… it's just that that wasn't the whole story. I was saving that story for Genkai, and maybe even Cleo eventually. No telling when I'd meet her again, though.

Kaito watched the exchange with a frown. "Minamino," (he used Kurama's civilian name without flinching), "I didn't realize you were interested in accessorizing."

"I'm not in most cases." Kurama shrugged. "Kei is something of a creature of habit, however, and she hasn't taken off that bracelet since acquiring it."

Kaito's brow shot up. "And you noticed the minute it left her wrist."

Another shrug. "I'm the observant sort, I suppose."

"They took it off me at the hospital," I volunteered (and this was also true, though again not the whole story). "I'm still getting back to normal, I guess."

"A return to form I welcome with open arms," Kaito said. "The brouhaha—"

I beamed. "Good word."

"—surrounding your illness has been, to put it bluntly, irritating in the extreme. Here." From his bag he pulled two identical books, which he handed to Kurama and me. "Your reading assignment for the week. I'm writing a paper analyzing the literary devices used to convey tone and mood, and I would like your input as I craft a compelling—"

Kaito droned on for some time, much like he normally would when pursuing a new literary thread. Kurama listened in polite silence, eyes rapt on Kaito's face (instead of trading sly looks with me, I noted sourly), so I opened my book and thumbed through it with absent fingers. Attention sharpened when a slip of paper between the pages caught my eye. I shut the book without reading what was written there, hoping Kurama hadn't noticed.

An attempt by Kaito at covert communication, huh? Interesting.

Lunch passed fast, considering I'd missed half of it. Kurama's temperate smiles remained meteorologically consistent when we headed back to class, demeanor calm like a spring day with no signs of inclement weather on the horizon. And that felt… odd. I'd grown adroit at reading Kurama, but I couldn't tell what he was feeling at all that day, face of his mood obscured by a fine mist of vague intentions. Was this some kind of calm before a storm, perhaps? Maybe if I caught him completely alone, he'd be more open…

I couldn't say. As we settled back into class, the teacher began their lecture, and I surreptitiously opened Kaito's book on my lap under my desk. The paper he'd slipped inside bore only a few words in Kaito's thin, spidery script:

"'Call me this evening as soon as you're able. I will wait to hear from you.'" I read the words aloud under my breath, lips barely moving. "Guy works fast…"

The teacher heard me anyway. "Yukimura. Please be quiet."

"Sorry, sensei!"

People giggled while I slumped in my chair, trying to look inconspicuous. I didn't dare look for Kurama's reaction. I thought instead about the paper, which I popped into my mouth and swallowed while feigning a yawn.

Kaito's clandestine communication was consistent with his behavior following the conversation we'd had the night before, and it felt perfectly in line with his general personality as well. He'd shrugged off the "Big Reveal" regarding my past life quickly—almost shockingly quickly, in face, as had Amanuma. Amanuma had adjusted to the news like a rubber band bouncing back, the way most kids snap back from big news, admirably adjusting to new information. He even went so far as to say my past life secret was 'very cool, like really, really awesome,' but he already viewed me as a grownup, so the thought of me being even older than I looked didn't phase him in the slightest.

Kaito, though? He was shockingly blasé about the whole thing, against all expectations. "This merely adds context to the inconsistencies I had already noted in your demeanor," was all he said on the matter. He was slightly disappointed that I was not just a regular kid interested in literature, like him, but that was all…

—until I'd told him about my college life. Then he'd flipped out, green with envy and ranting at the utter unfairness that my world apparently prized literature to a degree his own world did not.

But that was a recollection I'd save for another time, because it paled in comparison to his reaction to Kurama. He'd absorbed the existence of demons, the existence of Spirit World and the looming threat of the supernatural gracefully, but when I got to the part where I explained Minamino's dual identity as Kurama, a thousand-year-old reincarnated fox demon posing as an ordinary high school boy? He'd thrown quite the conniption fit over that one.

Not that you'd know it by looking at him today, though. He sat with perfect posture during our teacher's lecture, eyes straight ahead, not at all perturbed that a demon sat only a few chairs away. But that was to be expected. Once he'd had his fit over Kurama, Kaito had calmed like a boiling kettle removed from heat—and as was his custom, he used rationality and logic to bludgeon reality to fit his narrow worldview.

"Well," he'd said as his cheeks cooled from purple to red to merely freckled. "I suppose this does explain his academic prowess. If he's had literal centuries to learn about the workings of the world, it's quite a feat that I can keep up at all… and even outwit him in some areas."

I had rolled my eyes at his egotistical smile. "Leave it to you to remember that part."

"Still. A demon." He shook his head, eyes distant behind his glasses. "A wolf—"

"A fox."

"Right. A fox demon… yes, I suppose that's only fitting," Kaito mused. "He's wily, crafty—oh."

He looked at me in shock, lips parted and eyes side. I shifted in my seat and groused a grouchy 'what?' at him, not liking that look in his eyes at all. His jaw snapped shut with a click.

"For a time when we first met, you were wary of Mina—of Kurama," he said, name sounding foreign in his mouth as he fit past puzzle pieces together. "You wouldn't be alone with him. I take it his demonic nature had something to do with it."

"Let's just say I didn't come out of the reincarnation closet with him willingly," I said. "A long dance preceded that particular revelation."

"And now you're thick as thieves… appropriate, considering his former occupation." Realization dawned like a Siberian morning after thirty days of night. "The puns. The puns were—!"

"I mighta played with him a little bit at the beginning," I admitted with a grin. Couldn't resist."

"Devious. I approve." He looked me over as if seeing me for the first time. "No wonder you fascinate him."

My scalp prickled. "Fascinate?"

Amanuma, who had been watching us speak in silence, gave a bored whine. "What are you two even talking about?"

"Nothing. Just an observation." Kaito pushed his glasses up his nose with a fingertip. "Anyway. What happens now?"

I didn't get to answer that question because my parents had muscled into the room and ended the conversation shortly after Kaito, Amanuma and I made only the most tentative of plans… hence the note asking me to call Kaito, no doubt to set up more. I'd definitely call him once I reached home. But when the final bell of the day rang, it was for Kurama I headed, hoping to pull him aside and share a private word—

He was gone, however, ghosting from the room before the bell even finished ringing. I looked for him in forlorn silence until Junko slipped her hand into my elbow, searching my face with concern.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine. Just…" I rubbed my eyes. "Long first day back."

Amagi took my other elbow. "We'll walk you home."

And thus, they did, shooing away well-wishers so I could have a moment of peace.

That wasn't what I really wanted, though.

What I really wanted was to figure out what the heck was up with Kurama—but it seemed like that would have to wait for another day.

Botan and Yusuke were waiting for me when I got home. I'd barely opened my bedroom door when Botan tackled me into a big bear hug, nearly sending my buckling knees to the floor with her exuberance. Yusuke looked on with a snicker as Botan shoved me into my desk chair and upended a paper bag over my lap. Brightly colored objects rained onto my skirt; she watched with bated breath and huge magenta eyes as I picked through the mess piece by piece.

"Lip gloss?" I said, holding up a sparkling tube. "Mascara? Nail polish? You brought me a whole makeup store!"

Botan nodded at the makeup she'd gifted me. "It was the best I could do for a welcome-home present on short notice."

"And it's great!" A white lie, never hurt anybody; I didn't own makeup and never wore it, but the thought counted more than the objects themselves. "But, uh… how the heck did you pay for this? It's not like Spirit World gives you an allowance…"

Yusuke, lying on the floor near the TV with Famicon controller in hand, scoffed and rolled his eyes. "How'd she pay?" he parroted with unconcealed snark. "Why don't you ask Hiei?"

Botan rounded on him with a stomp of one socked foot. "Yusuke, shut up!"

"Hiei?" I repeated as the penny dropped. "Oh. He's been teaching you bad habits, Botan? Always wondered how he fed himself before he met me…"

Yusuke snickered. "He's teaching you all about Evil Eyes and Sticky Fingers, huh Botan?"

"Like you're one to pass judgment on the poor demon, Yusuke!" She shook her head, teeth gnashing. "You're now allowed in half the shops in the city with your shoplifting habits!"

"Sheesh, don't bite my head off!"

"I wouldn't if you would just be nice to Hiei!"

"What, you like the guy or something?"

"You—" Botan's mouth worked, but no words came out. "Yusuke, why I never—!"

He'd managed to catch Botan off guard, but Yusuke didn't look happy about it as he and Botan bickered and fought without making eye contact. They often bantered, but usually there was a sense of joy there—an air of challenge and fun as they verbally sparred, fighting to see who could throw the other the most off-balance. Tonight there was only a strange tension, one I couldn't quite put my finger on. Hadn't they had some kind of fight recently? I thought they'd made up. And things only really got weird once Yusuke brought up Hiei. But what did that—?

Oh, god. Was this a love triangle? Fuck. Now that was a mess I didn't need right now. Scrambling, I cut back into the conversation before it could get even bloodier.

"So Botan," I said, cutting her off just as she started to really lay into Yusuke. "Where is Hiei, anyway?"

"Likely in one of his usual haunts," she said, strained voice easing up a tad. "You know how introverted he is at the best of times. He'll likely darken your door one of these days, I'm sure. We were all worried about you, even Hiei, try though he might to hide it." A small smile crossed her face. "But I know him too well to fall for the strong and silent act."

Yusuke rolled onto his side on the floor, hunching over his shoulder and putting his back to Botan. Interesting reaction, that. I filed the information away for later.

"Well. I'm not gonna pretend it's not nice to feel cared for, though I hope I didn't worry all of you too much," I said. Organizing the makeup Botan had brought me on the desk, I said, "But I gotta ask. After I collapsed, what did you…?" I waved a hand through the air, stirring. "What happened with all of you, is what I'm asking."

"Oh, right," Botan said. "This is the first time we've been alone since the hospital, isn't it?"

"Can't exactly talk with eavesdropping parents and doctors around, huh?" Yusuke grunted.

My heart lurched. "So something they can't hear about did happen, then?"

"Well, perhaps there was one thing." Botan shrugged, choosing her words slowly. "For the most part it was all very mundane, of course. You took ill, so we took you to the hospital as quickly as we could. Yusuke slept in the waiting room like a good little brother—"

"Hey, watch it!" he snapped.

"—and Kurama kept him company. Hiei…" She laughed a little, warm with affection (while Yusuke's slouch deepened). "Well, he's Hiei, isn't he? He went off into the night and burned down a few trees to take the edge off. But Kuwabara…"

"Yes?" I said when she trailed off, looking pensive.

"That dork ran laps around the hospital like we were back in gym class," Yusuke said. "Before that, though, he kind of… well…"

Yusuke trailed off, too. Finally he and Botan looked at one another again, sharing a quick, uncertain glance that gelled into one of firm agreement. Wow, they really were close in this timeline, huh? That was nonverbal communication if I'd ever seen it.

"You may need to speak to him directly," Botan said with a resolute nod. "It's rather personal, I'm afraid, and you know how he feels about you right now."

Ah. So they weren't willing to share his personal information. Botan was staying with the Kuwabaras, so she no doubt had talked to him and knew exactly what he was feeling about me. Still touchy about the power imbalance of me knowing so much about him while he knew nothing about me in return, if I had to guess. But I didn't need Botan to confirm anything. The fact that were was something noteworthy about Kuwabara they couldn't tell me at all was confirmation enough of my suspicions. I couldn't forget what I'd seen right before I collapsed and my vision whited out. That rush of light, the crackle of power on my skin, how quickly the air had changed from home to hospital…

"OK. I can respect that. Just tell me this." I eyed the Famicon. "When I collapsed, did Kuwabara seem to… level up, in a sense?"

Botan frowned. "Level up?"

"Yeah."

"Oh!" Yusuke's head turned sharply, getting the metaphor. "Yeah, he totally did! How did you know?"

I shrugged. "Swordfish."

"Oh. Duh." His eyes rolled. "Why'd I even bother asking…"

"Can somebody please clue me in!?" said Botan.

Yusuke explained the metaphor, and Botan got it almost at once; she just hadn't played enough video game to understand the term. Neither of them talked about Kuwabara's own version of a level-up, of course. They shot me sideways glances and talked around the incident before Yusuke went back to the Famicon. He didn't look happy as he mashed buttons, probably agitated that I couldn't say more, but he understood and respect the rules of "swordfish" not to pry further. In the end, though, no matter what Yusuke could or could not tell me, it sounded like Kuwabara had indeed managed to access his Jigen To, or Dimension Sword, in my moment of need. That ultra-amazing technique that could cut through anything, including space and time, and fandom had long speculated this would give Kuwabara the power to teleport at will. That seemed to be the case considering how fast he'd transported me to the hospital.

And that jived with canon just as much as it contradicted it. In the anime and manga, he'd developed his new sword in reaction to seeing his friends Okubo, Kirishima and Sawamura in mortal peril at the hands of Sensui's lackey, Seaman. In this timeline, seeing me in danger had been the catalyst. Looks like no matter the world or timeline, a friend in need always sparked Kuwabara's development. Sure, the Dimension Sword was ahead of schedule given Kuwabara was supposed to debut it mid-Chapter Black and not before the saga began, but… at least it had manifested in reaction to a situation that was comparable to canon, right? Was I allowed to draw comfort from that?

Reflecting how I felt, Yusuke looked unsettled, playing his game in a sullen mood while I thought things through. Botan sat on my bed with her knees pulled against her chest and gazed thoughtfully out the window. Eventually Yusuke sighed, eyes flickering from the screen to my face.

"What's eating you?" I asked when he looked away without speaking.

"Just trying to get past this boss, is all." He jammed at the buttons with a growl. "He keeps spamming me with 'sap' and wiping my team with AOE attacks!"

"Yusuke…" I said, not buying this excuse in the slightest.

"Yes, Yusuke," Botan scolded. "Be honest with her!"

He huffed. "Yeah, Botan, I know, but it's hard!"

"Wait…" My pleasure at having Botan back me up vanished. "You two… have you been talking about me or something?"

"Well, duh!" The words exploded from Yusuke's mouth like a bullet from a gun. "You tell us you're from another world and you went and almost died; you're kind of hard to not talk about!"

My hands shot up in surrender. "Fair. That's fair. But what's up, then?"

He sighed. I thought he might avoid the conversation, as he so often avoided tough talks, but the boss battle ended in defeat a moment later. Yusuke tossed the controller to the floor and sat up, legs crisscrossing as he gripped his hands and glared.

"Look, Keiko… me and Botan were talking about it, how you getting sick came out of left field, and we were wondering…" His chin ducked close to his chest. "Well, we were wondering if you knew."

"If I knew?" I repeated, mystified.

He nodded.

"If I knew what?"

"You know!" he said. "Did you know you were going to collapse?"

My head jerked back as if he'd struck me. "What?"

"Did you know you were gonna get sick?" Brown eyes blazed defiant and bright, lit from within by bullish agitation. "Because the whole thing sucked and if you knew but you didn't tell us—!"

"What he's trying to say," Botan cut in in a much gentler voice and with a warning look in Yusuke's direction, "is that while we respect and agree with your decision to keep some secrets in the interest of preserving canon, this is something we would've loved to get just a teensy-weensy little warning about. Watching a friend suffer is difficult, and even a hint about what was coming would've helped us tremendously."

"Yeah, what she said!" A grin cut through Yusuke's stormy mood. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk pretty good sometimes, Botan?"

"My eloquence is part of my charm, I'm told." A giggle turned into a sigh. "Hiei just tells me to talk less, however."

"Well, talk to me anytime." Yusuke's lazy grin looked satisfied, indeed. "Learn a lot of vocabulary with you around, that's for sure."

"Aww, Yusuke…"

"I—I didn't know."

They turned to me in silence, identical suspicion on their faces. And that hurt, even though I knew it was warranted. That I'd earned that suspicion, that doubt and hard distrust, after months and years of lies. That I deserved to have to explain that I would never hurt them like that, when deep in my soul I'd hoped they'd never question such a thing.

But I did have to explain it. And that cut me deeper than any knife.

"Me getting sick was—it was totally unexpected." I started to mention how I didn't even remember Mushiyori Fever being a plot point in Yu Yu Hakusho prior to getting sick and seeing its Territory-granting consequences, but mentioning the illness was plot-relevant was a huge, spoilery clue, so I thought better of it. Looking between them in desperate earnestness, I said, "I legitimately thought I was going to die for a minute there. Nothing like that was ever supposed to happen to Keiko—nothing. So that was—"

"Again with the third-person talk! It's creepy. We're talking about you, not some other Keiko who isn't here." Yusuke rolled of his eyes. "And would you have even told us if it was supposed to happen to you?"

The question rendered me speechless. I gaped at him, unable to form words.

"It's not an accusation. It's just a question," he said with a logical, level-headed intonation I could scarcely believe belonged to the irascible punk. "If that was supposed to happen, would you have warned us? Could you have warned us? Or does it even matter?"

"Of course it matters," I was quick to reply. "I just… I just don't know how to answer. There are so many things I don't feel like I can tell you, but I want to believe that something like that—like if you were going to lose me, or if I was meant to lose one of you, or—"

My breathing hitched. Botan tittered and handed me a tissue. Yusuke leaned away like my emotions might be catching—and there was that asshole I loved so much, staring at me in immature horror.

"Oh god. You're getting weepy," he said, disgusted. "Abort interrogation, abort interrogation!"

But I shook my head, dabbing at the tears that hadn't yet spilled. "No. No. I want to talk about this. I promised you—all of you—that I'd be honest. That I'd stop lying, to just tell you when I can't say something. And I'm taking that seriously, I swear." I shook my head and spoke to my lap, hands clenching atop my knees. "Keiko wasn't supposed to get sick. I wasn't supposed to get sick. I don't know why I got sick in this timeline, not for sure. So… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for worrying you." My throat thickened, threatening more tears. "And I'm sorry I didn't know."

"Well, then." Yusuke flopped onto his side and grabbed the Famicon controller, staring blankly at the TV. "Apology accepted."

Took me a second to realize what he'd said. "Really?" My tears were gone, shock scattering them like fallen leaves. "Just like that?"

"Of course, Keiko." Botan put her hand to my knee and squeezed. "We were never angry about this to begin with. You nearly died, after all. What you went through seemed far worse than our side of things."

"I dunno," Yusuke grumbled. "I had to clean up the barf you left in my apartment, so…"

Botan snatched a pillow off my bed and chucked it with a screech. "Yusuke!"

"It was gross!" he whined, dodging the projectile. "But yeah, Tex. So long as you weren't lying, you kept your promise, so we're not mad. And I can tell you're not lying about not warning us, so… it's all good." He dodged another pillow and cursed. "Stop throwing pillows, Botan! I wanna play Dragon Quest!"

But she did not stop. She grabbed another and went after him with a feral scream, beating him over the head with fluff until they were both shrieking with laughter. And I was laughing, too, in spite of myself, from relief and humor blending into a heady mixture in my overjoyed chest. When a moment of quiet availed itself amid Botan and Yusuke's shenanigans, I caught their eyes with a smile.

"Thanks," I told them. "For believing me."

"Heh." Yusuke ran his thumb along his nose and grinned. "We're pretty cool to do that, I guess."

Normally I would've told him to take his head out of his ass and return from his ego trip to the real world—but that night, all I did was agree, because in my biased eyes, he spoke the absolute truth.

We played Dragon Quest as a group until late, when Botan eventually departed for the Kuwabara residence. Shizuru was a cutthroat keeper of curfews, apparently, and would lock the doors without mercy after a certain hour. I expected Yusuke to go with her and walk her home, but he did not. He just stayed on my floor with controller in hand, looking quite comfortable on the mountain of pillows Botan had thrown his way.

He seemed content to sit in silence in my bedroom, which suited me fine. I had a lot to think about. It had never occurred to me that they might think I'd known I'd get sick and had kept that information secret, though it made sense now that they'd said it. I'd been setting up a pattern of distrust for years now: lying, omitting, and making too-handy excuses whenever I got caught. Now I reaped what I'd sown. It was only by the grace of Yusuke's good faith in me that he'd believed it when I told him the truth about not knowing.

It wasn't lost on me that Yusuke's faith in me as a person was also the result of a pattern I'd set up for years: listening to him, being there for him, trusting him in kind. Another lifetime's work I'd sown and now reaped, although this time in a positive sense.

But his questions and accusations, despite the faith he'd shown, got me thinking. Maybe Kurama had similar questions about my illness. Maybe that's why he'd been distant. Did he, perhaps, also think I'd kept my illness a secret, cruelly letting them worry for my wellbeing while I luxuriated in the knowledge I'd be fine once I came out the other side? If so, I needed to tell him that wasn't the case. I needed to make things right. I needed to soothe his worries and tell him the truth, too—and oh, wow. Look at me, proactively seeking out opportunities to be honest. If that didn't signal character development…

Inwardly I winced, recalling Yusuke's dig at my habit of speaking in third person. I needed to stop thinking of myself as a fictional character, even if in many ways I was one. That level of disassociation couldn't be healthy.

"Say, Yusuke?" I said as the night dragged on.

He didn't look away from the TV. "Hmm?"

"You and Botan talked about me being sick and keeping it from you and whatnot. Did you talk to anyone else about that possibility?"

"Nah. Hiei doesn't talk about shit and Kuwabara didn't want to discuss anything, either."

"And Kurama?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Yusuke shrugged. "I mentioned the possibility to him, but we didn't, like, debate it or anything. Why?"

"No reason."

We sat for a while longer without speaking, Yusuke lost in his game, me lost in my thoughts. So he'd mentioned the possibility of me not telling them I'd get sick to Kurama, huh? Maybe this misunderstanding was entirely to blame for Kurama's distant smile. He must be upset about this, too. The only other possibility was that he suspected I had powers and was lying about them, but that didn't seem right. I'd barely gotten to use my powers; how could he possibly know about them and be offended that I hadn't fessed up? No; that was impossible, too complicated to be true. It had to be that the I-knew-I'd-get-sick stuff. It had to be.

Luckily there was an easy way to omit the he-knows-I-have-a-Territory theory from play. If Kurama sensed I had powers, he'd sense that Kaito had them, too. And if he wasn't treating Kaito oddly, then that meant he was treating me oddly for another reason, one Kaito and I wouldn't have in common. I'd have to talk to Kaito and get his read on the situation ASAP.

Speaking of Kaito: I was supposed to call him tonight, but with Yusuke here, I hadn't gotten the chance. He snored on my floor, sleeping hands loose around the Famicon controller, Dragon Quest music blaring cheerfully through my darkened bedroom. It was late as hell and I'd been so lost in thought, I hadn't even noticed when he fell asleep. I reached out with a toe to nudge his shoulder, gratified when he jolted in place with a loud snort.

"Quit snoring," I told him. "You'll wake the neighbors."

"Asshole," he grumbled, slumping in place against his pillows.

"Jerk." I toed at his shoulder again, knocking the controller askew. "Go home and go to bed."

"But the Famicon is here!" he whined.

"So unplug it and take it with you! You've stolen it before!"

"That's too much work." He settled even deeper into place, digging in like a mole. "I'm comfy here."

"Really."

"Yup."

"On the cold, hard floor."

"Matches my heart."

I snatched a pillow out from under him. "Dumbass!"

"Shut up, Tex!" he snarled. "I don't wanna move, OK?"

"Just get the hell up, Yusuke, you need to—"

We squabbled in the dark, but even when I stole every last pillow, he refused to leave. I went so far as to threaten to unplug the Famicon and wipe his progress, but he just said he'd start the game all over and that'd only make him stay longer, so I refrained. Jesus, he was annoying. He wore a shit-eating-grin as he lounged on my floor without a care in the world, clearly not giving a damn about disrupting my circadian rhythms (rhythms I, a person recovering from illness, needed to respect). Yusuke just laughed, though.

"Look," he said, clearly not buying my health concerns, "we both know you're garbage at this game, Tex."

"Says the guy who always calls me over to beat the bosses for him."

"I just do that to make you feel good about yourself," he said, dismissal rolling easy off the tongue. "You barely got any further in this game at all despite being locked up in the hospital. Clearly you need my help. I'm staying here and playing this for you, ya feel me?"

"Yusuke, you little—"

A weird glint in his eyes stopped me cold. An odd energy, a certain raw nerve, belied his casual posture and our heated banter. His relaxed sprawl looked almost calculated, tension in his shoulders not quite meshing with his splayed legs and lazy grin. That tension only pulled tighter when I told him again that he should leave.

Huh. The thought of leaving upset him. He put up a front and claimed that staying was for my benefit, not his. And he was making excuses to stay despite everything I'd said… almost like…

He didn't want to go at all, did he? He pretended he wanted to play games, but really…

I wasn't sure if he wanted to keep an eye on me so I didn't pull something shady, or if he just missed me after I stayed so long in the hospital, or if he was feeling sentimental after almost losing me to Mushiyori Fever. I also didn't care which one of those possibilities was the truth. Yusuke wanted to stay—and after feeling like I'd almost lost him to doubt and suspicion, I didn't care if this was for his benefit or mine.

Yusuke wanted to stay here, with me.

Who was I to tell him no?

"OK, fine. Stay if you want." I pretended to be annoyed, huffing and puffing as I stood and headed for the bathroom to change into pajamas. "But I'm gonna backseat-game the shit out of you until I fall asleep."

"Heh. That's more like it, Tex," Yusuke said—and for one glorious second, things nearly felt like they were back to normal.

Notes:

Sup.

Since you last heard from me, I came out as nonbinary. My pronouns are they/them/theirs. Thanks in advance for adjusting to this change.

Coming out alienated me from NQK. She's the representation of a past version of myself, and I've grown and changed a lot since she was first committed to paper. It's taken a long time for me to find her voice—my past voice—again. Writing/watching characters refer to her as a girl in this story can be really dysphoric, for instance, but I've put in the time to get used to it. People in this story are going to continue to use she/her pronouns until NQK figures out her gender on her own. She didn't go through what I did in 2020 and 2021, so for her, gender hasn't been at the top of her list of things to figure out. She'll catch up with me someday, even if it's not within the confines of Lucky Child. Have patience with her until then. Hints of her nonbinary gender are already peppered throughout this story, though, so let's just call her a trans egg and leave it at that for now.

In case you didn't see my Tumblr posts about it, this is the final story arc of Lucky Child. We're probably in the last third (quarter? fifth?) of the story. I have no idea how many words or chapters are left, however. Just know we're in the final arc.

I don't know when I'll have the next chapter finished, but I'd like to return to frequent updates. Will shoot for an every-two-weeks scheduled. We'll see what happens. Am going to dedicated NaNoWriMo to this story, though, so I can at least get another 50k words written.

I'm on TikTok as star_sama13 if you would like to connect there. I post videos frequently.

It's nice to be back. Thanks for waiting, and see you next time.

Especially big thanks to the lovelies who commented since the last time I updated: snapsdragon, TrilbyBard, Paddygirl, WooMee, Sanguinary_Tide, shini_tenshi, Sdelacruz2, CapriciousFan, XiyouChan, NotQuiteAnonymous, Ms_Liz, JestWine, rosethornli, musiquemer, Thomaster, Gerbilfriend, ScarletDewdrops, Artist_Otaku, Shaa_Knaa, Tooth Man, ShiaraM, Altered_Karma, Completely Random Comment, Bzzzz, Anon, Feral Queen, HTheTurtle, scribblesNdots, writerdragonfly, forestofbabel, Lazeralk, a_sad_potato, Euclaid_Galieane, getoffmyrichard, Violetfires121, Nicki, chigi23, silverpaper_toffeepaper and Guest.

Chapter 120: Chemistry Problems

Summary:

In which NQK makes plans and asks questions.

Notes:

PREVIOUSLY ON: On New Year's Eve many chapters ago, NQK was kidnapped and interrogated by Itsuki, Sensui's ally, over her involvement with Amanuma, whom they'd been trying to recruit. Her energy vanished while inside the stomach of Itsuki's shadow beast.

After being struck by the Shadow Sword by Hiei during the Artifacts of Darkness case, Botan developed a Jagan eye. Hiei has been training her to use it.

In chapter 110, Amagi brought a Makai insect to Kurama and Keiko, seeking help as Mushiyori City plunges into supernatural chaos. Afterward, Kurama and Kei shared a tender moment in the greenhouse at school, speaking about their feelings for one another and the potential of a relationship. He also reminded her of their upcoming dinner with his mother and Kuwabara Sr.; Kei fell ill shortly thereafter. Ever since her illness, Kurama has been holding her at arm's length...

Last chapter, NQK revealed the details of her supernatural life to Amanuma and Kaito. They made plans to visit Genkai to receive training. Kaito has been busy on internet forums trying to track down other Mushiyori Fever victims who gained Territories. Earlier that day at school, he requested Keiko give him a phone call once she got home.

("Previously on" recaps were requested by vodka-and-tea, and I think that's a great idea! I'll be including short recaps with chapter-relevant details from now on.)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

On account of Yusuke snoring like a chainsaw on my floor, I never got the chance to call Kaito. He tended to go to bed early, and besides: I didn't want to wake Yusuke by placing a call on the personal line in my bedroom, and the phone in the kitchen downstairs connected to the line in my parents' room. They merely had to pick up their receiver to hear every word out of my mouth. Chatting with Kaito about whatever he'd wanted to tell me would have to wait... not that I liked putting it off. Took every ounce of my self control not to sigh as I draped a blanket over Yusuke's sleeping chest. The Famicon controlled slipped from his loose grip like water through a sieve; he didn't stir when I turned off the system, 8-bit music fading into darkness and deep quiet. I watched him in the scant slashes of light leaning through my bedroom window. His jaw hung slack, brow knit, eyes twitching behind fallen lids. He looked peaceful. Far more peaceful than he looked while glaring at the waking world.

Above his sleeping head burned a single, glimmering spark.

I debated reaching out to touch it. Knowing that spark would bloom under my hand into a vision of his dreams held temptation immeasurable—temptation and familiarity, both. Somewhere deep in my chest, I knew that spark would obey me if I gave it a command. I knew that like I knew my own, borrowed name. I wasn't sure why I felt so certain, but since the first time I spotted a dream-spark, I'd known what I could do with it. Beyond simply seeing, I sensed something else. Something distant, just out of reach yet lingering like scent on the tongue. Like if I were to only lift my hand and touch the spark, it would—

The light over Yusuke's face stuttered, a shadow obscuring his features as a knock sounded against the window pane. A flinch curled my spine, but it was only Hiei who came clambering through my window as if beckoned by an engraved invitation. Presumptuous, stray-cat asshole...

"Hiei!" I whispered with a less-than-welcoming glower. "Don't scare me like that."

All he gave in reply was a curt, "I'm hungry."

There was no use arguing when he was like this, all flashing scarlet eyes and pursed lips (ones I didn't dare tell him resembled something suspiciously close to a pout). We went downstairs in silence, Yusuke and my parents alike left sleeping and undisturbed, and entered the kitchen to cook something for my taciturn friend. Hiei said nothing as I hunted for ingredients and started prepping. I didn't talk either, waiting for him to take charge and set the tone. That felt like the least he could do for me.

It was my first time seeing him since my recovery, after all. I had no idea what his mental state was in regard to me as a person. Hiei wasn't one to express his emotions plainly, of course, but hopefully he'd say something to clue me in. Flying blind with him was never fun...

But he refused to throw me a bone. All he did was grunt "hurry up" when I dared to take too long slicing a chicken breast.

"Excuse you," I retorted, hands moving with clipped precision. "I recently recovered from a near-death experience. Forgive me if I'm not cooking your dinner as fast as usual."

Hiei leaned against the door with arms crossed and eyes closed. "And yet you have the energy to run your mouth."

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, Hiei. So torn up about my brush with the afterlife. I can really tell you care about me."

"You utter fool."

I'd spoke in jest, but he'd all but spat the insult, matching my wry tone with more ferocity than felt warranted. My hands paused in their labor when I turned to look at him, hiking a brow high, but he didn't elaborate on what I'd done to merit such a jibe. He just glared like I'd spat in his food or something.

"Excuse you," I repeated. "That's no way to talk to someone who's making you dinner."

His lip curled. "You're the one who should watch their mouth."

"Me?" I sputtered, incensed. "What the hell did I do?"

"If you're too stupid to figure it out," he shot back, "then you're beyond my help."

"Hey! This aggression is not necessary." I shoved aside the sliced chicken breast. "Jesus. First Kurama and now you…"

"Kurama?" Hiei repeated, nonplussed.

"You're both being weird. You're being mean to me and Kurama is pretending I don't exist." My ire rose; I chopped a carrot with vigor. "Frankly, he acts like I didn't nearly bite the bullet. It's like he didn't even notice!"

"Trust me, Meigo," said Hiei in desert-dry tones. "He noticed."

"And yet he acts like it never happened, and he avoids looking at me when I'm in the room." My knife waved like a conductor's baton, rhythmic and dangerous. "I get that our crowd likes to live dangerously, but I'm not usually the one on the front lines. You'd think he'd care a little that I almost died." Here I shot Hiei a glare. "And you'd think you would be nicer to me, too, Hiei. It's like you don't give a crap, either."

Far from cowed by my accusations, Hiei just shrugged and bared his teeth. "If you really think your illness didn't impact us, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were."

I latched onto his implication as opposed to his insult, tossing a teasing grin over my shoulder. "Aw, Hiei. So you do care about me?"

But that was not, apparently, the correct thing to say. "Shut your mouth," he spat back, each syllable a drop of acid on his tongue. "Shut up, Meigo."

"Ooh. Testy." Geez, what had crawled up his ass and died tonight? "It's OK to admit you don't want me to kick the bucket, you know." I mimed straightening an invisible crown atop my head. "Although I'd look pretty good in a halo, so maybe death would suit me."

"Jokes, Meigo?" Hiei sneered. "I thought better of you."

That wasn't a witty rejoinder or quick comeback—not like the kind Hiei and I usually traded when we lobbed insults to worm under one another's skin. No, that was an actual value-judgment and condemnation if I'd ever heard one, and from Hiei I'd heard quite a few. I was trying to engage in our usual repartee, but like the world's worst improv partner, he just wasn't working with me at all. Somebody desperately needed to convey the concept of "yes, and" to him, stat. He bulldozed on in complete defiance of my light tone, barking at me from across the kitchen with such force, it was a wonder he didn't wake my parents and Yusuke upstairs.

"Do you have so little regard for your own well-being that you can't even conceptualize that someone would care if you died?" he said, scorn oozing from every pore in his bronze skin. "Must you be told in plain language that you matter for you to believe it? That's pathetic. It's you who doesn't value your life, not me, not Kurama, not anyone." He bared his teeth, but not in anything close to a smile. "So go ahead. Make jokes. Get yourself killed. I won't care if you can't be bothered to do the same."

All I could say in reply was, "Well, fuck."

Because where the hell had that rant come from? It was like he was attacking me out of nowhere—or maybe it wasn't out of nowhere at all. Maybe I was just pushing for the wrong things. I'd been fishing for him to tell me he'd been worried, truth be told. Asking if he cared, telling him it was OK to care... what I wanted were words, but Hiei wasn't that kind of person. He was a demon oriented toward Acts of Service, most likely, not Words of Affirmation (not that he knew what a Love Language was, but still). But on that note, the fact that he was still standing here even though my jokes rubbed him the wrong way... that was something. I couldn't drag words out of him, but his continued presence was proof enough he gave a shit about me.

Kurama, on the other hand...

"Look… maybe you can get away with not being all mushy with me, Hiei, but Kurama is typically a talker. It's weird that he's gone so silent now." I turned back to the meal I'd been cooking. "I don't need him to write me a sonnet or whatever. It's just that he hasn't come to visit since that first day in the hospital—not once. He hasn't called, either. He ignores me at school, and when we interact, he holds me at arm's length. And I get that actions speak louder than words, but he hasn't given me either."

"And either would make you feel happy." (This wasn't a question.)

"Even a scrap would make me happy." I heaved a sigh at the admission, because while it was true I needed to work on my confidence and have faith in my friends, I was big enough to admit I craved their validation. "It's nice to know that your friends care. I know you care because you're here."

Eyes bored into the back of my head like drill bits. "But you'd still like to hear the words, I'm guessing."

I fidgeted, feeling silly. "Well… yeah. I would, actually."

A low chuckle cut the air. "Heh. Fine. I'll spare you this much: I'm glad you're not dead, Meigo." His lips curled when I glanced his way in surprise. "Someone needs to make me ramen, and you're the only one who ever gets it right."

"Plus you know I won't poison you," I cheerfully reminded him, and to my delight, Hiei threw back his head and laughed (but only once, a sharp bark of mirth like the kick of a gun). "Never underestimate the value of a chef who doesn't want you dead."

Hiei seemed satisfied by our exchange, little though I'd grasped what he wanted to take away from it. He ate the meal I prepared in large bites, barely looking at me as I watched him devour my handiwork from a spot on a stool across the kitchen island from him. Eventually he met my stare and sighed into his bowl of noodles.

"I take it you're still worried about Kurama," he said.

I pillowed my cheek on my hand with a grunt. "How'd you guess?"

"Botan told me you asked Yusuke about him."

"... that was only, like, an hour or two ago." My cheek came off my hand. "When did you see her?"

"I encountered her on her way home." He blazed past this information without pause. "You tried to be inconspicuous when you asked about Kurama, but she's far too clever for you to fool. She knew you were fishing."

"Oh." For Hiei to bring Botan up of his own volition, for him to seek her out tonight, and for him to call her clever... I shifted uneasily in my chair. "Say, Hiei?"

"What?"

"You and Botan. Y'all still training together?"

Hiei scowled. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just curious."

He gave me a long, measured look. I tried not to fiddle with my pajama sleeves. Eventually he decided not to bite my head off, instead taking a large mouthful of food.

"Yes, we're still training," he said with his mouth full. "She isn't as woefully pathetic at using her Jagan as she used to be, but she still has a long way to go before she's even close to competent."

"But… she's a good student?" I ventured when he did not continue.

He huffed. "Only when she isn't speaking incessantly and demanding I do the same." He looked me over as if seeing me for the first time. "The two of you are much alike. She, too, needs me to tell her when she's done something right."

"It's called positive reinforcement and it's a well-regarded part of effective teaching, Hiei."

"It's a useless practice, is what it is." His teeth gnashed, and not only because of the food he'd chomped into. "You should take refuge in the knowledge of your success and be done with it, not demand praise to validate what your eyes can already see."

"Y'know, Hiei," I said, smile growing bit by bit across my face. "Out of everyone in our social circle, I always thought I was the closest to you, and maybe Kurama, too. But it feels like you and Botan are looking pretty—"

"She is my student," he interjected with a sharp glare. "Do not presume closeness where none exists."

"... uh-huh. Sure."

I didn't tease him any further on the matter. It was tough to say what he was thinking, close to him though I'd become over the months. Hiei was famously guarded with his thoughts and opinions, but something in how he talked about Botan nagged at me. The way he'd observed that I needed to hear out loud he cared… he outright admitted that was Botan's influence, and he had told me what I needed to hear once he figure out what that something was. Botan was really rubbing off on him, it seemed. No wonder Yusuke felt threatened. I'd long suspected Yusuke had a crush on Botan, but… yikes on bikes, throwing Hiei into the mix was a disaster in the making. Didn't help that I had no clue how Hiei felt about Botan beyond his thoughts regarding her quality as a student.

Honestly, though? This was the last goddamn thing I wanted to deal with. I'd felt nostalgic for simple, high school drama earlier that day when I saw the Billboard Faces poster, sure, but I wasn't a total masochist. If this an actual, honest-to-god love triangle was brewing, I wanted fuck all to do with it.

"Anyway." I resettled myself on my stool, uneasy. "So, Hiei—"

He looked up from his food with a roll of his eyes. "You're going to ask about Kurama again."

"J'accuse. Stop reading my mind."

"I wasn't reading anything. You're just predictable."

"Rude!" I bristled as he laughed at me expense. "I was gonna ask if Kurama said anything to you when I was sick. Anything out of the ordinary?"

"He said many things," Hiei replied like the cryptic asshole he most certainly was. "If you seek proof he cares for you, Meigo, you need only remember the night you almost vanished."

I blinked at him, mystified. "When I was kidnapped on New Year's?"

"When else?" Hiei retorted. "You vanished from the world as if you had never been, fading from the world like a memory forgotten. We went to great lengths to find you, even if we weren't successful, and Kurama coordinated them all. I've rarely seen the fox so worried. He cared then, didn't he?"

"Yes," I replied, throat thick. "You all did."

"Exactly." Hiei looked satisfied. "Why would he care then but not now?" He glared when I opened my mouth to talk. "That question was rhetorical."

Only I wasn't so sure it was rhetorical at all. Kurama (and everyone else) had rightfully flipped shit when Itsuki kidnapped me, and all of our interactions since had validated the idea that Kurama cared for me quite deeply. In fact, just before I'd gotten sick, we'd shared what was perhaps the most intimate conversation of our relationship in the greenhouse at school. Kurama had asked about "us" that day, insinuating emotions and intentions we'd long left to lie dormant and unspoken. He'd alluded to being together, talking about our adorable, will-they-won't-they back and forth—"And what would be so bad about giving in to that?" he'd said. And true, I hadn't felt worthy enough to accept those feelings at the time, and truer still, I didn't know if those feelings were even Real on his part… but I'd gotten sick so soon after that, and then he pulled away. He went from overt flirtation and longing looks and tender embraces to acting like I wasn't even in the room. What made him go from a near-confession to that on a dime? No, I thought. Hiei's question wasn't actually rhetorical at all.

My chest felt tight. With unsteady hands I pulled at my collar, which felt like it had shrunk a size somehow.

"I don't know what would make him stop caring so abruptly," I said. "But something is clearly bothering him now, and it wasn't bothering him back when Itsuki took me on an unwilling trip to another dimension."

Hiei shrugged, completely unmoved. "So ask Kurama about it directly," he said, as if it were really that easy.

"Wow, Hiei. You, advocating for open and honest communication?" I said, feigning amazement. "I don't know whether to be shocked or impressed."

"Neither. I'm being entirely self-serving."

"Oh?"

"If you ask Kurama about it," he said with a slow, sadistic smile, "maybe you'll stop pestering me."

"Touché." I put my head down on the kitchen island. "Ugh. Why can't you just tell me what he said when I got sick?"

He shrugged again. "Not my place."

His choice of words had my eyes narrowing. "But he did say something."

"That's for him to tell you, not me," he said, and with a grunt he tucked back into his food. He would speak no more on the subject.

Still. The way he'd dodged the question, the way he pushed me at Kurama—it added up to Hiei knowing something but not saying it. And that meant there was something to know, and that meant Hiei was right. If I wanted to get to the bottom of this, I needed to talk to Kurama.

The only question now was what the heck he'd even say.

The next morning, Kaito showed up at my front door with a curt nod and an even sharper grunt of, "Yukimura. We need to talk."

I knew better than to argue when he was like this. I recognized the intense look in his eyes, because he wore it every time he went on a particularly impassioned rant about linguistics. He was a boy a possessed with single-minded purpose, and interrupting would only agitate him. Without speaking I followed him away from home, beating a quick path down the sidewalk. When we neared the school, maybe only a block or two away, I started to apologize for not calling him the night before, but Kaito just shook his head and raised a hand.

"Doesn't matter. I have news." He looked me over with a frown. "You look terrible."

I sputtered, passing a hand through my hair reflexively. "Gee, thanks!"

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked. "The bags under your eyes are, in terms of your overall complexion, absolutely ruinous."

I tried not to sigh. "Yusuke came over and stayed till late, and then Hiei showed up—"

"Hiei?"

"Demon friend."

"Demon friend," Kaito repeated, voice hollowing. "I see."

"I cook him dinner most nights," I said, as if that was any kind of acceptable explanation. "He stayed late, and then…"

The words died. I didn't know any terms accurate enough to describe the dream I'd had after Hiei departed the night before. The dream involved something at the end of a long, dark corridor, hulking and shadowy, slinking past my hiding spot in the shadows of some random piece of furniture. It had been looking for me; couldn't explain how I knew that, only that I knew it without question, much the way I knew that if it caught me, there would be hell to pay. Somehow I'd managed to evade the thing, ducking into rooms and climbing through ducts, before I managed to wake up at the sound of my alarm clock. I'd tried to lucid dream my way out, of course—but for some inexplicable reason, I hadn't been able to take control. In a panic I'd run my dream self deeper into the landscape of my nightmare to find refuge from the horrible beast dogging my steps, but that had been all I could do to remain out of its dark grasp. Not sure if it meant anything or was just a nightmare, but it had been a disturbing experience just the same, and I woke up feeling like I'd barely slept at all.

The beast felt familiar, somehow. I suspected I knew why, but I wasn't eager to chase that hunch down its logical path to a conclusion. Too much else on my plate right now.

"Anyway," I said, shaking my head. "What were we talking about?"

If my long pause struck Kaito as strange, he didn't say so. "The two people I've been speaking to online about their Territories have agreed to accompany us to Genkai's temple this weekend."

"Wow, already?"

"I am quite persuasive." Kaito shoved his glasses up his nose with a prod of one proud fingertip. "And given we were communicating via writing, my prodigious command of rhetoric enabled me to—"

"Yes, yes, you 'word good', we get it." Yet even my impatience with his ego couldn't stop me from adding, "But seriously, wow. That was fast. Great job."

"Hmmph." Another glasses-prod, this one sharper than the first. "Not fast enough for my liking, to be honest. We leave for Genkai's tomorrow, after all."

"Ha ha, yeah, that's—" I blanched. "Oh, shit."

Kaito's bushy brows shot up. "You forgot? Visiting her was your idea!"

"Yeah, but the days all blur together and time has no meaning when my schedule gets disrupted!" I whined. "Fuck. Tomorrow, huh? We leave after school?"

"I have already booked the necessary transportation for all accompanying parties. We leave tomorrow at 4 PM."

"Right, right, OK, I'll be there," I hastily assured him. Ugh, how embarrassing. I'd told him to arrange transport, so this was all above board, but still. Felt like it was all happening fast, and now we had two new faces coming with us. Forcing my brain to catch up felt like a monumental feat; guess I really was tired. "So… everything's in order, then."

"Not quite." He pinned me with a grave look. "You have yet to break the news of the trip to your parents."

I winced. "Oh. Right. That."

"My parents do not care about my whereabouts. Amanuma's travel too much to notice his absence. I have been assured that our new associates have engineered appropriate alibis to explain their sabbaticals from their respective lives." I got the sense Kaito had rehearsed this speech, given how little he hesitated, intending to tell me everything last night. "You, however, have loving parents who will wonder where you've gone, and the best lies need the foundation of time to seem plausible."

"I know that all too well," I muttered.

"It would have been far preferable if you had spoken to me last night to arrange your excuse," he said with disapproval most evident. "I could have helped somehow."

"Can't you just include me in your plans?" I said, giving him my best puppy-eyes.

But he shook his head. "No. It is best we concoct separate excuses. If your parents call mine to investigate our whereabouts, we will both be discovered. With separate alibis, we are each secure."

"What was your excuse?"

"A last-minute literary conference."

"Makes sense for you." Really, it suited him to a T. "But what the heck am I supposed to tell them?"

"No idea." A burst of speed had him moving down the sidewalk, away from me without mercy. "Best of luck in your endeavors."

"Pitiless!" I shouted, scrambling to catch up.

Kaito didn't look even a little sorry. "I did the bulk of the heavy lifting in this scenario, Yukimura. It's your turn to contribute to the cause."

"What, and me not cluing you in to demons, Spirit World, and my own damn reincarnation doesn't count for something?" I shot back.

A long pause followed this statement before Kaito grudgingly intoned: "I will conceded you have contributed to the acquisition of information. But you need to move quickly if you do not want your parents to pry."

"Honestly," I said, looking ahead of us down the road, "it's not my parents I'm worried about."

As if summoned by the mere thought of him, a crimson spark flashed up ahead of us near the gates of Meiou High. Kurama's hair looked the reddest I'd ever seen it as the late spring sun coaxed forth ruddy highlights from otherwise dark strands. It glittered in the light like he was the star of a freakin' shampoo commercial. A few girls stopped to look, whispering behind their hands, but he didn't acknowledge them as he walked with long, swift steps toward school. He moved with such lithe purpose and powerful dignity, I felt clumsy and feeble in comparison even inside Keiko's athletic body. Seeing him put a spike of anxiety into my gut, and not just because he'd been so cold toward me recently. If he started nosing around and asking questions about where I was going this weekend, I was absolutely screwed. No way could I fool Kurama—the brilliant, magnetic, clever demon that he was—for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Ah. Yes. Minamino." Kaito studied him from afar, watching as he disappeared past the gates; if Kurama spotted us in return, he gave no sign. "He does pose a certain challenge when it comes to maintaining secrecy. We will have to make evasive maneuvers to avoid an investigation on his part."

I guffawed. "Evasive maneuvers? What are you, an MI6 agent?"

"I may have speed-read a selection of spy novels this week in preparation for our covert operations."

"Overachiever." I eyed Kaito askance. "Minamino hasn't been treating you weirdly since you got back, has he?"

"Not at all," he said at once. "My performance of normalcy has been flawless."

"So he doesn't suspect you have powers or anything, right?"

"I have given him absolutely no reason to do so."

"Same." His words gave me comfort, cold though it might be. "But he's…"

"If you are referring to the way he's been treating you since our return, I noticed, but I can provide you no insights as to what might be motivating his behavior."

Kaito spoke with matter-of-fact dispassion, utterly detached from the emotional connection I had to the whole ordeal. Very on-brand for the guy. Still, the fact that he'd noticed was... well, I couldn't decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing, really. At least it confirmed what I already knew and assured me I wasn't imagining Kurama's behavior. Kaito wasn't the type to read into social interactions; what he saw was what he knew, and hearing his measured opinion had a welcome tempering effect on my chronic over-thinking.

"But you can see he's being weird as hell, right?" I said, needing further affirmation.

He nodded once, black curls bouncing. "Undoubtedly. He is quite attuned to you most days, but now he seems content to ignore your presence." Thin lips pursed. "When you are acknowledged, Minamino treats you as he treats everyone else in class—with polite distance, most notably." He huffed, a snort of dismissal through the nose. "Quite the departure from the former tenor of your relationship, which I, of course, possessed a uniquely intimate quality that set your association apart from his other relationships with our peers."

"I see." Leave it to him to reduce the situation to such bald terms. "I'm glad I'm not imagining things, at least."

"You are not." He changed the subject on a dime, sparing no time for pleasantries. "Obviously he is intelligent. I would expect no less from my academic rival. Alas, this means he will be quick to discover our operations if we are not careful. I would tell you take advantage of the distance he's placed between you, but we cannot afford to pull away from him and arouse his suspicion. Any odd moves on our part have the potential to garner his scrutiny. We must act as inconspicuously as possible and perform normalcy in the days to come."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Right. Pretend to be normal. Got it."

Kaito walked off without waiting to see if I'd follow him through the gates. "Don't forget to find your alibi for this weekend's trip."

"Will do. And don't you forget that envelope I gave you the other night, by the way," I said, jogging to reach his side. "It'll be important soon."

He patted his jacket pocket. "I keep it on my person at all times." Amusement curled the corner of his mouth. "And do at least try to avoid saying anything incriminating to Minamino before our trip. I'm sure this Genkai character won't be pleased if we're discovered so early into our endeavors."

"Trust me. Disappointing her is the last thing on my list." I shivered, rubbing at my arms. "She's scary."

"So you say." Kaito turned in another direction to head elsewhere on the school grounds. "Godspeed, Yukimura. See you in class."

Operating on autopilot in the ganken, I took off my shoes and stowed them in my locker. I didn't enjoy the thought of lying to my parents so soon after my brush with death. I'd lied to them before (out of necessity, I liked to think) but doing so when they were already feeling protective of me felt... not great. Plus it would be just plain hard to convince them to let me out of their sights for an entire weekend when I had literally been in the hospital less than a day before. Still, what choice did I have short of telling them all about the supernatural? They'd just get even more worried if I told them about demons and looming threats of the apocalypse. Keeping them in the dark felt safer. Safer for them, specifically. Definitely not safer for me, fearing rejection if they ever figured out who I really was...

No. Don't think about that. Lying was a necessity in this case. I didn't like it, but tough titty; it had to be done. I just couldn't tell them about my Territory and Genkai. And I couldn't rely on Yusuke to cover for me like I would normally, given I also couldn't tell him about my trip... Ugh. This was giving me a headache. Lies, lies and more lies, so soon after I'd sworn to stop telling them entirely...

A locker opened a few meters off, and Amagi's soft voice murmured, "Hello, Keiko."

Junko appeared on my other side, leaning against the lockers with a yawn. "Morning."

"Hi, Junko. Hi, Amagi," I grumbled—and then I did a double-take. "Junko! Amagi!"

Junko (who had been examining her manicure) looked at me with a mildly freaked out frown. "Uh. Yes?"

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to do me a favor, would you?"

Junko, who apparently had something of a Bad Girl streak, was absolutely down to do me a favor and be my cover for the entire weekend. I'd kind of suspected it given her defiance of the school's dress code as she pursued her borderline ganguro aesthetic, bleached hair and long nails and cute makeup a dead giveaway that she probably didn't spend her weekends dressed in a stuffy school uniform. She absolutely loved the hastily-concocted idea of covering for me so I could get some "alone time" after being stuck in the hospital with my parents. And it was true I that needed time alone, even if that's not why I was leaving for the weekend.

"Keiko, I got your back," she said with a flip of her glossy hair. "Don't even tell me what you're actually doing over the weekend when you get your alone time. It's more fun that way."

"Really?" I asked, hardly daring to believe her,

"Yeah, really!" she said, grinning like I'd just invited her on an all-expenses-paid vacation. "We'll say you're with me doing a study boot camp to catch you up on what you missed. My parents are out of town, so there's no chance they'll answer the phone, either."

"Junko, you are perfect, you know that?"

"I know," she said, giggling. "And Amagi, you can come, too. We can have an actual fun weekend and study together so we can give Keiko's parents details if we need to." She stuck her tongue out at Amagi. "And no one will doubt anything if you're there!"

But Amagi appeared far less enthusiastic about the whole scenario than did the rebellious Junko. "I don't know…" she hedged. "I wouldn't want to get Keiko in trouble."

"Oh, come on," Junko said brightly. "It'll be awesome!"

Amagi started to talk, but just then a teacher called for Junko through the crowd of students milling about the ganken. They were staring at Junko's hair with a frown; no doubt she was about to receive a lecture about the dress code she so routinely shirked.

"Shit, gotta go." Junko waved over her shoulder as she sauntered off. "We'll talk more later, but if anyone asks, Keiko's coming to my place after school tomorrow!"

"Thank you, Junko!" I called after her—and then I turned to Amagi and bowed. "Amagi, I'm sorry to rope you into this. If you're uncomfortable, I can tell Junko to—"

"Where are you really going, Keiko?"

Dark eyes held worry and soft concern. Her lips set in the smallest of frowns, voice whispering like dry leaves in a winter wind. A twist of guilt turned my stomach to knotted roots and tangled branches. I'd been so worried about Kurama figuring out I was up to something, I'd completely forgotten Amagi was also sharp as hell, not to mention clued into the supernatural already. Of course she'd pick up on something strange afoot.

But while Amagi had been there for me so many times, skipping school and telling lies wasn't really her style. She could take risks (I'd never forget the way she let a demonic insect bite her on purpose to catch the thing), but she wasn't a rule-breaker at her core. Asking her to lie on my behalf when she wasn't comfortable wasn't right, and it wasn't right to lie to her, either. Of course, I'd sworn to Genkai I wouldn't tell anyone about my Territory, but it wasn't like I could keep Amagi in the dark. Especially not when she looked at me with such sincerity and concern, spilled-ink eyes lovely and intent on mine as she waited for me to speak.

Eventually, and quite slowly, I asked her, "You know the bug you showed me and Minamino?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

"It has something to do with that." And that was true, even if it wasn't the whole story. "It has everything to do with that, actually."

"Oh." The worry in her gaze abated. "Then I'm in."

I did another double-take, shocked. "Just like that?"

"I trust you." Nothing but firm faith occupied her expression, solid and unshakable—and entirely undeserved on my part. "I asked you to help with the bugs invading our world. If where you're going this weekend has something to do with exterminating them, covering for you is the least I can do to return that favor."

One good turn deserved another, in Amagi's eyes. She had no idea what I was keeping from her, the degree to which her trust was unfounded... but in spite of my insecurity, I was grateful for her support just the same. We were both doing our best to protect the place we called home—in her case, Mushiyori City, and in mine, the entire canon of Yu Yu Hakusho.

During our daily free period, my teacher summoned me to the teacher's workroom to go over some material I'd missed—general makeup work, a check-in to ensure I understood everything I'd been forced to self-study while recovering at home and in the hospital. It was important I not fall behind, she told me; I was one of their best students, even if my record was woefully lacking in extracurricular activities (the irony of that statement burned). The material itself wasn't an issue, of course. Keiko's sharp mind absorbed and dissected math and chemistry the way my old brain never could, the English lessons were a piece of cake thanks to my past life, and the Japanese history was interesting as hell, which made absorption of the material a breeze. I didn't resent being made to review it again, however. I wanted to get a good foundation on these lessons and work a little ahead if I could. Something told me Genkai would put me through my paces, and I probably wouldn't have much time for studying while at her temple in the mountains.

My teacher was one of the nicer ones at school, all smiles and gentle corrections when I (rarely) got something wrong. We were reviewing my weakest subject, chemistry, at her table near the windows, heads hunched over the textbook as she walked me through the formula the other students had learned in class. I was pretty sure I understood it thanks to Keiko-Brain, but I'd been hopeless at chemistry in my old life, and that feeling of inferiority dogged me into this one. Luckily my teacher was more than happy to go over everything in detail.

"So when it comes to empirical formulas, the order—" A door slid open behind me; my teacher glanced up and smiled. "Ah, Minamino. There you are."

I froze, hesitating before chancing a look over my shoulder. Kurama stood with one hand on the door, the other in his pocket; the second our eyes met, he looked away and at our teacher. He stood casually, with feet spread and chin inclined, but something in the set of his slim shoulders spoke of the barest hint of tension.

A polite smile settled across his mouth. It did not touch his eyes.

"Sensei. " He dipped a shallow bow. "I understand I needed to take home some paperwork?"

She reached under her desk and opened a drawer. "Yes, yes, let me—oh." Grimacing, she took a paper from the drawer and stood. "Terribly sorry, but I need to make a copy of this."

Kurama nodded. "Of course."

She gave him a nod of apology. On her way toward the door she said, "Yukimura, Minamino here is quite good at this subject. Perhaps he can show you the trick to this formula."

"Yes, sensei," I replied, head bent toward my lap—and then she left the room to go find a copy machine, leaving Kurama and I alone.

Well. Not entirely alone. A few other teachers sat at their desks grading papers and prepping class material. The shuffle of papers and the scratch of pens provided a quiet backdrop to the time Kurama spent looking at the papers on my desk and I spent looking at him out of the corner of my eye. Nerves brought an ache to my throat; he didn't appear bothered, however. He just wore the faintest of mild, placid smiles as he at last took our teacher's empty seat and pulled the textbook into place before him.

"Hello, Kei," he said, voice as pleasant as always. "Chemistry today?"

"Yes," I said.

He tapped the paper with a fingertip. "So this problem—"

Kurama walked me through it with a level of acuity that would normally leave me reflecting on his incredible intelligence and patience. But owing both to the fact that I'd already figured out this problem and that I was distracted by his nonchalance, I barely heard a word out of his mouth. I was too focused on his tone and delivery to listen to him describe ions and molecules. He spoke with the sort of mild detachment and gentility he wore when dealing with the teachers he had no opinion of—not the ones he hated, but the ones he felt nothing for. And somehow that perfect, neutral congeniality felt even worse than his ire.

I waited for him to reach the end of the problem before tapping my pencil against the desk, trying not to bounce my knee in agitation. "So… sorry if this is awkward, but can I ask you something?"

"About the material?" he replied without looking at me. "Of course."

"No. I mean…" A deep breath to steady my nerves. "Are we OK?"

"Of course," he said without a moment's hesitation—but his lack of reaction was a reaction in and of itself.

A frown pulled the edge of my mouth down like a hook. "Really?" I said, not buying it. "Because I haven't heard much from you recently."

"I assumed you'd want space to decompress whilst convalescing." He smiled at the chemistry book, words breezy with unconcern. "Did I assume incorrectly?"

"I mean, not entirely. But—"

"There we are, then," he said with an air of finality, and he began to describe the next chemistry problem.

His answer was entirely unsatisfactory, of course. He said nothing was wrong, but he hadn't looked at me once. I knew Kurama's polite mask when I saw it; only rarely had it been directed my way. I waited with mounting impatience for him to conclude his description of the chemistry problem before speaking.

"I didn't know I'd get sick, for what that's worth," I grumbled, low enough for the teachers nearby not to hear—and at last Kurama's eyes slid toward me, though he didn't turn his head my way. And better still, he was looking at me with something other than his infuriatingly polite, distant mask... but what exactly the subtle lines between his brows indicated, I was at a loss to say. Damn fox knew how to remain unreadable at the most inconvenient times.

"Really," I said, because perhaps his silence spoke of disbelief. "I didn't know. I didn't just leave it out. It wasn't a secret I was keeping—"

To my surprise, Kurama laughed. Just a chuckle, but still. He laughed under his breath and shook his head, saying, "I am aware."

And that was honestly shocking. "Wait, you are?"

"If you knew you were about to face a deathly illness, even one Yukimura Keiko were fated to survive, you would no doubt consider the possibility of your own demise," he explained, voice a velvet murmur in the teachers' quite workroom. Brilliant green eyes traveled back to the textbook on the desk. "Enough has gone against canon for your death to be on the table. If that were the case, you would have been sure to say a maudlin goodbye to each of us before the appointed time in the event that you did not survive." A shrug, so small I almost missed it. "But you did not. Ipso facto…"

"Oh." His clinical breakdown of my neuroses had me squirming with discomfort. "That… makes sense for me, I guess."

"You are nothing if not consistent in character," he remarked—but his tone remained so bland, I couldn't tell if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment.

So, hoping to entice him to banter, I replied: "Or perhaps you just know me really well."

But Kurama didn't reply. He didn't laugh and make a joke about wanting to get to know me even better than that, or make some flirtatious remark about spending more time with me to assure himself he knew me completely. He didn't say a damn word. He just looked over the textbook lying open between us without speaking, his face unreadable. Frankly, the complicated chemistry problems made more sense than the dull shine shadowing his bright eyes. The silence was a clear dismissal, a shutting down of familiarity that stung like a fresh cut. And what the hell was I supposed to do now? Was I supposed to push, to keep prodding him into talking with me? It certainly didn't look like he wanted to talk. His hands lay clenched atop his knees, green gaze fixed on the door as if anticipating his freedom from my presence.

Like he'd rather be anywhere but beside me.

"That dinner with your mom still happening?"

That got a reaction out of him. I hadn't planned to say anything, but the words slipped free unbidden. To the handsome planes of Kurama's face they summoned a tight smile. This one, too, did not reach his eyes.

"Of course," was all he said.

It wasn't enough. "Still on for next Friday, then?" I pressed.

"Yes." His lips barely moved as he spoke. "My mother is looking forward to seeing you there."

"Your mother, huh?" The significance of his wording was not lost on me. "Is that right."

"She invited you, didn't she?" he said, doubling down on his mom's wishes.

"Yes. She did." Throwing caution to the wind, I crossed my arms and flatly stated, "The real question is if you want me there."

Kurama stilled the way he did when he wasn't certain of something and didn't want to telegraph his emotions. His expression remained as inscrutable as ever. For once I felt like I'd managed to go on the offensive. Without flinching I stared at him, trying to project challenge in the incline of my head and the set of my jaw, putting him on notice that his behavior was not only obvious, but also the subject of much scrutiny on my part. And for a second I think the tactic almost worked. He began to speak, lips parting around a syllable that sounded like it might become my name, perhaps the prelude to an assurance that yes, of course he wanted me at that dinner, of course he wanted me there with him—

But then he stopped. Took a deep breath. Smiled with the disarming, innocent smile I knew meant nothing at all, because it was the one he reserved almost exclusively for teachers and fan-girls he didn't give a flying fuck about.

It was the one smile he'd never used on me, but now I bore the brunt of its entire, devastating weight.

"Why, of course I want you there," he said with maddeningly courteous delivery. "Don't be silly."

Despite his hollow smile, his kind words illuminated a flicker of hope in my chest. So he wanted me there after all. He wanted me with him, beside him—

"Anything to make my mother happy," he said.

My hopeful bubble burst.

Kurama bent over the papers to describe the next chemistry problem.

Our eyes did not meet again.

Notes:

Back when I was updating regularly, I said I would start capping chapters at 10k words to guard myself against burnout. This chapter was nearing 15k and wasn't finished (it needed many, many more words), so I cut it in half to honor that promise. Now it's about 9k words long. But because the cut half of this chapter is almost done, I will also be updating NEXT WEEKEND as well since I don't have to prep much. You'll get another update in 7 days. Huzzah!

TBH, I liked the ending of the uncut chapter way better than this, but a promise is a promise, and one of the other reasons I needed break from LC was because of burnout. Let's not make the mistake of overtaxing myself again. I'd prefer not to go on hiatus again when we're so close to the end.

I'm enjoying your theories as to why Kurama is treating NQK so oddly. One person has guessed his reasons, which is nice, because it means I've set things up mostly properly. Once we get to the reveal, I think it'll all make sense. I'm kind of glad that their relationship is on the rocks, honestly. They were far overdue for some drama!

I want to personally thank each and every person who stayed with this story after my hiatus (especially those who left a comment), from the bottom of my heart, for their support and kind words. A bunch of people unfollowed/faved on the other site I post on when I came out/back. You really do mean the world to me, and your continued presence here gives me so much hope and joy. Thank you, deeply and sincerely: zippityzap, Feral Queen, Eluckwent, kixprue, a_sad_potato, Violetfires121, DragonsTower, Paddygirl, Dreese5581, NotQuiteAnonymous, Nollyn, Sdelacruz2, shini_tenshi, MidKnightOwl, Silverfox8080, Euclaid_Galieane, Tactile, snapsdragon and royalii!

Chapter 121: Covert Operations

Summary:

In which NQK pays Genkai a visit and meets new friends... and perhaps some old ones, too.

Notes:

Warnings: None

Previously On: Kurama has continued to treat NQK coldly ever since she woke up in the hospital after falling ill with Mushiyori Fever. NQK set up an alibi with Junko and Amagi, who will cover for her during NQK's weekend visit to Genkai's temple. Upon revealing she knows the future of the YYH world, NQK gave Kaito a mysterious envelope.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

My parents swallowed the news of my weekend plans the way children swallow cough medicine: with much hemming and hawing, but with the evolving understanding it was for the best, even if they didn't quite understand the why or the how. Of course they were hesitant to let me go off on me own, out from under their watchful and protective eyes, but I told them I needed an intensive study weekend in a new environment for maximum knowledge absorption. ("Zoo animals need enrichment!" I reminded them with a feral smile.) Eventually they admitted it would be good for me to have a change of scene after staring at a wall for so long, and they said they were fine with me spending the weekend with Junko and Amagi, for which I was grateful. My desire to study was a lie, but my need for a change of pace was certainly based on truth. I appreciated knowing they understood my needs even if said needs weren't accurately represented.

Mentioning Amagi made my excuse go down easy, I'm also guessing. They liked her and Junko a lot. So many of my friends were guys; they were happy I'd made a few female friends at school. Said it was good for me. Yusuke, they commented, influenced the way I dressed and spoke perhaps a little too much, and I supposed that was true. The comments Botan made about my fashion sense on Hanging Neck Island ("You're such a lovely girl, but the way you dress is sometimes…" she'd said with a look of pity on her face) made me feel self conscious every time I put on my typical out-of-school uniform of high-waist mom jeans, baggy t-shirts, muscle tanks, men's basketball shorts and windbreakers. A good number of the pieces were Yusuke's outgrown castoffs, but others I'd purchased for myself very much on purpose. Dresses hung in my closet, but they were in short supply (and purchased almost entirely by my mother). Could my wardrobe could be fully accredited to Yusuke? I wasn't convinced, but I didn't tell Mom as much when she pushed the issue. I just winced, thinking about the fact that my sartorial sense was a topic of frequent discussion between Botan and Shizuru—and who knew who else—every time I got dressed in the morning.

Funny how small comments will stick with you like that. Anyway.

I packed a selection of my favorite hand-me-downs and athletic gear after obtaining my parents' consent to "go to Junko's for the weekend," knowing function mattered over form when interacting with Genkai. Her training regimen would no doubt be brutal on my wardrobe. My thoughts lingered on the days to come at her temple, wondering what lay in store given this weekend represented a huge breach from canon. I had no clue what was coming. Canon decreed that Kaito and two other Territory psychics, Yanagisawa Mitsunari and Kido Asato, would go to Genkai for help learning to control their abilities, but beyond the presence of those boys in addition to Kaito, Genkai's role here represented a huge black spot in my knowledge. And Keiko damn sure wasn't supposed to go along with Kaito, Kido and Yanagisawa for training. Neither, in fact, was Amanuma. Keiko and Amanuma weren't meant to have Territories at all.

I didn't feel great about these canonical breaches, but mulling over my unnatural involvement in the plot was almost preferable to thinking about what had happened at school that day. Kurama and his fake smile skirted the edges of my awareness, memory of his empty eyes and tight mouth lurking around the corner of every mental turn. That smile was a gate, a wall he built high and strong to keep people out, and I thought he'd let me through the gates a long time ago... and yet, here I sat on their other side, staring at the barrier of that fake smile like an outsider desperately seeking refuge from a storm.

I still had no idea what had caused the widening rift between us. He claimed he held no suspicions or ill will about the potential of me keeping my sickness a secret. That had been my only working theory regarding his behavior, but in just a few words he'd defenestrated the notion entirely.

Trying not to think about Kurama proved a challenge, but I busied myself in an attempt at distraction. Into my duffle bag went clothes, toiletries, some shelf-stable foods that required no prep or refrigeration. (No clue what kind of food Genkai would have on-hand at the temple, after all.) I also packed a blank journal into which I'd transcribe notes about my experience over the weekend. I was still keeping up with my journaling and note-taking after all this time, in spite of—no, especially because of the recent breaches in canon. Being able to jot down details and look them over at a later date had helped me sort through many issues regarding canon, and I didn't intend to fall behind on that practice now that I teetered upon the edge of the unknown.

Most importantly, however, I made sure to pack my bracelet—the one the Beautiful Suzuka had given me at the Dark Tournament—and the small seed Kurama had given me so many months prior. He'd claimed at the time that it disrupted Spirit World surveillance and other methods of supernatural observation, and comments from Ayame had indicated the little bauble did indeed protect me from prying eyes. Hopefully the device still worked. It was possible he had retracted its effectiveness the way he'd retracted his affection, but there was no way to know short of asking directly, and who knew if he'd even be willing to talk to me. I'd already tried a direct confrontation that day, and he'd merely dodged my questions like they were particularly annoying houseflies.

Part of me figured it was best not to ask him about it, in that case. Another part of me wanted to push the issue. He was a beehive I wasn't certain I should poke, but dammit to hell and back, I couldn't help but want to, just to see how he'd buzz.

The next morning I left early for school, duffle bag slung over my shoulder. I intended to head straight to the train station after school to meet up with Kaito and his plus-ones (Kido and Yanagisawa, if canon held up correctly). Only downside was that the teachers would probably ask questions if they saw me with a bag on school grounds. It was too big to fit into my shoe locker and too conspicuous to bring into class, so when I reached school just as the principal arrived to unlock the school gates, I avoided contact with others and headed around the main building toward the back of the campus. The greenhouse behind the gym was Kurama's territory, but hiding my bag under the workbench at the back of the structure felt like the safest place for it. School staff had overturned my hidey-hole in the PE equipment shed after the Saint Beast debacle. Kurama was the only person to ever enter the greenhouse these days, which meant my bag was safe from prying eyes and invasive questions.

Well. Safe from everyone but Kurama, of course. He was the only person to ever go in the greenhouse, but he was also the one person most likely to bust me for being shady. Kaito and I had agreed that Kurama was the biggest, most threatening obstacle to maintaining the secrecy of our Territories. He was too smart to fool, too cunning to outmaneuver, too shrewd to outwit. Storing my bag in the greenhouse, therefore, came with inherent risks.

... but to be completely honest, I didn't much care. The air in the greenhouse felt sticky and warm against my skin, matting my hair to my forehead with cloying humidity. Sweat beaded on my palms for an entirely different reason. Would Kurama see the bag? Would he recognize it as mine? It was the same one I'd brought to Hanging Neck Island. If he saw it and realized to whom it belonged, would it spark his curiosity? Would it entice him to approach me, incite the formation of questions, force an interaction between us?

I knew this was a bad idea. I knew this was risky, laying out a snare for him like a hunter luring a fox into a chase. But thinking of his distant smile and hollow eyes, I couldn't help but linger in the greenhouse on the off chance he might show up and caught me in the act. God, I was pathetic, pining after his attention like this. I was playing with fire and hoping like hell to get burned—and when the ball rang to summon me to class, I walked there with my head hung low, disappointed and ashamed of it.

Kaito gave me the same curt nod he always did when we saw each other that morning before class (he really was good at pretending to be normal). Kurama wore the polite, disquieting smile he'd donned the day before. My teacher called me into the workroom during lunch to study with her again before the start of the weekend, so I did not get the chance to talk to Kaito or Kurama outside of class. That was just as well, probably. It was probably good I hadn't encountered Kurama in the greenhouse. I'd avoided his discovery in private; didn't need to go risking exposure in a crowded classroom, too.

I'd arranged with Kaito ahead of time to meet at the train station after school. We would travel there separately so as to avoid being seen together by our friends, families and teachers. He had to fetch our new associates, and he would also be picking up Amanuma. Kaito had a very careful itinerary laid out (or so he'd told me over the phone the night prior) but my own travel arrangements were more abstract. They mostly involved Junko swaggering up to me right as I got back from lunch, Amagi on her heels, the former grinning at me with a broad, happy wink.

"Hey, Keiko." She spoke at a normal volume, but in our quiet classroom, her voice carried loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Since you're coming over for the weekend, I figured we'd leave together from school and go get dinner somewhere. Right Amagi?"

Amagi nodded, her smile small and secretive. "Right."

"Sounds good. I'll have to get my bag after class, though," I said (wondering if Kurama could overhear; he was sitting in the back of the class, after all). "Wanna meet at the school gates once clubs end?"

"Sure," said Junko. "See you then!"

The girls were playing along beautifully; I sure was lucky to have such great friends. Junko's parting wink and smirk had me almost giggling behind a hand, but I did my best to stop myself. If Kurama was paying any attention, I didn't want him catching on that something spurious was afoot.

After the final lesson of the day, I made sure to tell Amagi and Junko that I'd see them shortly at the school gates, reminding them that I needed to go get my overnight bag. When I turned around and scanned the classroom, unable to help myself, I didn't see Kurama. He'd probably ducked out the second the bell rang. My heart sank at the thought. If he'd overheard our conversation, he clearly didn't give a damn. Only Kaito offered me a subtle parting nod as he walked out, Kurama nowhere to be seen.

The walk (more like a trudge, really) to the greenhouse passed quickly and quietly, no one paying any attention to my trek. To my dismay, the duffle bag lay right where I'd left it, completely undisturbed beneath a workbench crowded with pots and seedlings Kurama must've been meaning to transplant. It was pathetic, the way I felt so disappointed to know I hadn't managed to get Kurama's attention, so I just snatched up the bag and headed for the door, head bowed and hands clenched at my sides. I shoved the door open with my shoulder, not bothering to make sure it fell shut as I trotted across the field and back toward school.

"What are you doing?" he said, voice like leaves on the wind.

My heart thudded against my ribs. Even without turning around, I knew it was him. I knew his voice in my bones, every syllable radiating Kurama's energy like the sun radiates light and heat. He stood a few meters off, leaning against the greenhouse right beside the door; I must've walked straight past him without realizing it. He watched me with hands in pockets, one leg crossed over the other, gaze hooded beneath the fall of his dark bangs. Swallowing nerves, I lifted a hand in greeting, trying not to telegraph the relief—relief that he'd appeared, relief that he'd talked to me, relief that he'd deigned to acknowledge my existence—making my blood race.

"Oh. Hi." I chanced a smile. "Didn't see you there."

I expected him to make a joke about foxes only being seen when they desired to be perceived, but he didn't say anything. His eyes just slid to my bag, lingering on it. Ah. So maybe my ploy to get his attention had worked. Surely now he'd ask what I was up to, make a comment, voice some stunningly astute observation that would get me in trouble but reconnect us after his odd, detached—

"Well." He pushed away from the wall and turned his back on me. "You're clearly busy. Don't let me disturb you."

And with that, he reached for the greenhouse door. In the span of one, thundering heartbeat, my eagerness vanished, replaced by a spark of fury.

"Really, Minamino?" I said, mindful we were on school grounds even in the grip of white-hot anger. "Really? That's how you're gonna play this, huh?"

Over his shoulder, green eyes flared with annoyance, a beacon of agitation sparking from the way I'd pronounced his name with such disdain. It was the first real emotion I'd seen from him in a while; I confess it cheered me immensely, even if it wasn't a positive emotion on his part. I didn't back down, though. I squared my feet and balled my fists, glaring at him for all I was worth.

"Really?" I repeated. "You see me in your greenhouse being shady as hell, and you don't have any follow-up questions?"

He shrugged. "What you do is none of my business."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

His calm demeanor—so smooth, so civil—got under my skin like a splinter under a fingernail. "What is wrong with you lately?" I snapped, patience entirely lost. "Why are you acting like this?"

Again he shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

"You barely even look me in the eye anymore."

Pointedly, he met my eyes, expression utterly blank. "That is difficult to believe," he said without a single trace of feeling, "given you keep appearing in front of me."

"Oh." Acid drenched every syllable that fell from my poisoned lips. "Is my presence a problem for you, then?"

Kurama did not reply. He opened the greenhouse door, head turning until I could no longer see his dispassionate green gaze. Just like that, I'd lost him, the thread of conversation fraying and snapping like a bungee cord under a honed blade. The bag wasn't enough to entice him, direct questions weren't enough—so what was? Desperate, I shouted the first thing I could think of, throwing caution to the wind as I threw my words in his indifferent wake.

"I talked to Hiei, by the way."

The strike landed. Kurama froze in place, caught on the greenhouse's threshold, foot poised on the liminal border of inside and out.

"It was a very interesting conversation." I lifted a hand to study my nails, feigning the same causal indifference Kurama had worn so readily in recent days. "Quite informative, really."

He didn't turn around. "What did he tell you?" he said, voice the barest murmur over the wind in the nearby trees.

I shrugged. "This and that."

One green eye glared over his shoulder, the color of a dollar bill on ice. "Kei," he said, my name a hard command—but I just laughed, head tipping back with wry humor.

"Finally you look at me," I said. "Is that really what it takes these days? Me threatening to expose you?" I couldn't keep the sneer from my voice, the infuriated blaze from my eyes. "And here I thought we were friends."

"Kei," Kurama repeated in that same, hard tone. "What did Hiei tell you?"

He'd been dodging my questions for days; it was only fair I do the same in return, volleying back an acerbic barrage of my own queries, instead: "Why? Is there something you'd rather he not have said? Something you wished Hiei would keep quiet?" Nearly taunting him, hoping to force his hand with a bluff, I slyly asked, "Is there something maybe you ought to tell me yourself?"

Kurama didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched, silent, the conflagration of green over his shoulder glimmering with emotions I couldn't name—but I had him, I thought. I had him on the ropes. My bluff had landed. He was going to tell me whatever it was Hiei had been keeping secret. His tongue wet his lip like he wanted to talk, mouth parting as words gathered. Yes, yes, talk to me, tell me what the hell was so damn wrong—

Kurama's eyes hardened. His lips pressed into a thin line before breaking into a small, pleasant smile that didn't look happy at all. He turned away, calling my bluff and holding his cards to his chest.

"No. There's nothing," said Kurama. "Have a nice weekend, Kei."

Long after he disappeared into the greenhouse, I stood there, waiting—but he never returned, warm spring air cold from the frost of his apathetic smile. And when, in the silence that followed his departure, I turned from the greenhouse to make my way into the broader world, I could not shake the feeling that we had just followed different forks of some unknown crossroads—and to my horror, I had no idea where our disparate paths would lead.

Clad in Yusuke's castoff clothing, I stood at the train station and waited.

I'd changed in the train station bathroom, standing atop my empty shoes to avoid placing my socks on the public floor. Hated changing in public places, but needs must. I felt better once in my tennis shoes, sweatshirt and jeans, like shedding the cicada shell of my school uniform had likewise shed the feelings of confusion, anger and devastating loss that had followed me all the way there from school. But because those feelings still lurked at my subconscious elbow, and because those feelings possessed the needle teeth of a vicious fox, I tried not to think about the conversation I'd just had with Kurama. Instead I studied the people milling about in front of the station, staring out over the crowd to search for the two newest additions to the canon cast of Yu Yu Hakusho.

I was a bit nervous to meet new characters, truth be told. I hadn't met a new member of canon since the Dark Tournament's onslaught of demons and perilous enemies. It didn't help matters that I knew very little about the newbies, too. They were only part of this specific story arc, absent before its beginning and nearly vanishing after its conclusion. Sure, I knew their names and the basics of their personalities, not to mention their Territories, but that was it. Canon didn't give them much time in the limelight at all. Would I even recognize them when they inevitably showed up?

The answer to that question was a resounding 'yes,' because as it turns out, both Yanagisawa Mitsunari and Kido Asato quite stood out from the crowd.

The pair of them walked up alongside Kaito and Amanuma, which of course helped me identify them within the crowd, but I honestly didn't need Kaito and Amanuma to guide my realization. Just like when I met other canon characters, a shock of recognition went through me the second I saw them, like I'd been doused in cold water or shoved outside into a snowstorm. Both wore streets clothes (jeans and jackets; normal attire for normal people) but between Yanagisawa's hair and Kido's coloration, they were impossible to miss.

Yanagisawa Mitsunari had a long face, sleepy eyes, a rather hooked nose and a pointed chin—not necessary handsome, but his features had a lupine cast to them that was rather memorable. His was not a face you forgot. Likewise, his hair made an impression sure to last long after a first look. He had dyed his dark hair nearly grey, shaved down close on the sides but left long on the top, and he'd spiked it straight up into a thick column that made it look like he'd been caught in a wind tunnel or something. The amount of gel that style required put Yusuke's usual hair-care routine to absolute shame. It was probably the most bizarre haircut I'd seen on a human in this canon. I'd expected his hair to get toned down now that he was flesh-and-blood instead of animated, but no dice. He was just as unforgettable as his illustrated counterpart. I wasn't entire sure how to feel about that, just as he wasn't sure how to feel about me if his quizzical expression was any indication. He looked me over with a lazy, crooked smile, head cocked gently to the side as if listening for something just beyond the range of human hearing. A curious look, quite relaxed, very go-with-the-flow. Yanagisawa seemed chill, like somebody you'd wanna smoke a bowl with at a frat party.

And then there was Kido, with his eyes so dark and narrow and glittering under his shock of spiked-up blond hair that turned heads with every step he took. The only blond in the area, he was impossible to miss because of that bright sunburst hair, and he swaggered forward with head inclined, hands jammed in pockets, looking at me from across the plaza down his nose. He'd shaved off half of each eyebrow, I noticed—definitely a street punk, or at least that was the air he wanted to project. I knew his type very well indeed. He had intimidating looks thanks to the onyx slashes of his eyes, though the daunting effect was somewhat spoiled by his high cheekbones and strong, square jaw. He had nice, full lips, too... and was it just me, or was he actually kind of cute? I got the feeling he might be haffu, because his blond hair didn't show any telltale roots from a dye job. Either that or he was fresh from the salon.

I suppressed a laugh. Thinking of him at a salon certainly killed the tough-guy persona he was trying so hard to put out.

My judgment of his tough-guy act solidified when he stopped and gave me a quick, intense once-over, sizing me up and feeling me out in a way that immediately called to mind a certain cocky punk named Urameshi Yusuke. Had the same build as Yusuke, too, with rangy muscle and a lean strength that characterized his walk and the set of his slim shoulders. He was a bit taller than Yusuke (the tallest person here if you didn't factor Yanagisawa's hair into his overall height), but I got the sense he didn't have as much muscle mass as Yusuke, like he hadn't seen nearly as much combat in his lifetime.

How did I know that, though? I wasn't sure. Maybe it was how he carried himself—a hedgehog ready to poke—but it was all posturing. He didn't scan the crowd the same way Yusuke did. He didn't size up potential threats with the same depth, eyes traveling too shallowly to get a decent read on passersby. Something about him just said he was softer than Yusuke. Whether I knew that from canon or from my own subconscious read of the guy, I couldn't quite say.

After Kido, Yanagisawa, Kaito and Amanuma came to a stop before me, Kaito wordlessly handed me a train ticket. Kido stood with hands in his pockets, leaning way back, a postural affectation to convey disdain and overstated, manufactured ease. I met his eyes and smiled; one blond brow shot up, forehead furrowing, though I didn't know him well enough to understand what that expression meant.

Amanuma didn't notice any of the exchange. He danced over to my side and grinned, tugging at my hand. "Nee-san!"

"Hey kiddo," I said. "What's up?"

For some reason Kido's brows shot up higher still.

Kaito ignored us all, though. "This is Yukimura Keiko," he said to Yanagisawa and Kido. "Yukimura is the one I told you about."

Yanagisawa lifted a hand. "Nice to meet you," in a voice as lazy as his face, eyes blinking sleepily in my direction. "I'm—"

"Yanagisawa Mitsunari." My eyes traveled away from him and toward the other newcomer. "And you're Kido Asato."

Kido's narrow eyes widened; Yanagisawa's hand dropped a few inches, confusion withering his smile. To Kaito he turned and muttered, "I thought you said you didn't tell anyone our names."

Kaito glared at me, unamused. "I didn't."

"Did you bring the envelope?" I asked him.

One hand moved to the pocket of his coat. "Yes."

"Open it when you get a chance." I turned toward the entrance to the station. "I'll be inside."

The looks on their faces—stunned and confused, perhaps a little in awe—made me laugh, the drama of the moment rather satisfying after the otherwise disheartening day I'd had. At least they would appreciate me after this stunt. Over my shoulder I heard a paper rustle as Kaito opened the envelope in his pocket, followed by a tired sigh. Upon the paper I'd written both Yanagisawa and Kido's full names—indisputable proof that I knew of their existence far ahead of schedule.

"So, uh," I heard Yanagisawa say. "Yukimura's Territory reads minds, right?"

"Nope," I yelled without turning around. "That'd be Murota's Territory."

"Who?" Amanuma asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Kaito sounded utterly bored of my antics, tone as dry as paper. "Ignore Yukimura's attempt at pageantry. I assure you, it's just for show."

I laughed. Soon enough Kaito caught up, walking at my side as the others trailed behind us. The newbies were probably giving me a wide berth; I didn't look back to check. Too busy dodging other people in the station as we tried to find our gate to the bullet train that would take us far into the mountains, away from the city and toward the temple of the renowned psychic and spiritualist, Genkai.

"Pageantry, huh?" I muttered to Kaito with a low laugh. "You gotta admit you're impressed, though."

"I will admit nothing." His voice dropped into something just above a whisper. "It's clear you know about this from the legend. I was fated to find these two, wasn't I?"

"Heh." I shot him a conspiratorial wink. "Got it in one."

We found our gate, the five of us settling into seats as the time to board approached. Yana observed me from a distance, like he wasn't quite sure what to make of me. Kido, meanwhile, stared with open curiosity; he didn't bother looking away when our eyes met, stare instead intensifying as a grin stole across his well-defined features. I wasn't entirely sure what to make of his frank perusal. People in Japan were generally too polite for such direct scrutiny, but he saw no issue in meeting my eyes and looking me over. Trying to intimidate me like the punk he wanted me to think he was? Probably, I decided, so I did my best to ignore him. Although I remembered him being more polite and deferential in the manga, it was possible he would only act that way toward Genkai and Yusuke. Perhaps away from them, he was more like a traditional, bellicose street punk.

Amanuma chattered about school and a new game he'd brought with him, which he wanted to play on the train, while we waited to board. Yanagisawa soon leaned forward to chat with the kid, the pair of them talking at length about their favorite games. While they were distracted, Kaito (who sat beside me, opposite the others) leaned toward me to speak.

"I already believed you regarding the legend, for the record," he grunted. "There was no need to prove it to me" (he patted his pocket where the envelope lay) "with such theatrics."

I hummed, but I didn't acquiesce. "You have to admit it was cool, though."

"Again: I admit nothing."

"Spoilsport."

Soon we boarded the train and got settled. Kaito had booked us a pod of four seats, two of which had been installed backwards so the occupants could face each other and converse. I sat in a fifth seat across the aisle from the others, alone. The train wasn't particularly populated, with only a few other passengers in our car. They sat way up toward the front with many buffer seats between us. We'd be able to speak freely if we kept our voices in check, then. Good. And it was good we sat in a relatively isolated part of the car, too, because when a passenger walked by and paused for a second too long, Kido mean-mugged the hell out of him until the man huffed and walked away.

Yeah. Kido was a punk, all right. Not quite how I'd imagined him, but...

Once the train got moving, images of the city speeding past through the window, Yanagisawa offered up a slow, inviting smile. "So, uh. We all got powers, huh?" he said with easygoing cheer. "That's cool."

"Seems like it." Kido had a low, rumbling voice at odds with his thin frame; I wondered if he'd pitched it that way on purpose or if he naturally had such a deep baritone. "Wanna go around the room and introduce ourselves?"

Kaito nodded sharply. "I suppose we ought to make proper introductions."

"Sweet." Yanagisawa tapped his chest with a fist. "Well, I'm Yanagisawa Mitsunari, though I guess you already knew that." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway. I'm sixteen years old, grade 10 at Hibiya High School. My power—"

"Territory," Kaito grunted.

"Right. It's called Copy." He rolled his eyes, grinning. "Or at least that's what Kaito keeps calling it."

Kaito affixed him with a stern stare. "It's the only logical name for your abilities, as I have explained more than once, Yana."

"All right, all right, settle down," I chided. Kaito huffed and stuck his nose in the air; but I ignored him. To Yanagisawa I smiled. "Anyway. Your ability is Copy?"

He nodded, impressive tower of hair swaying in time with his head. "If I touch somebody, I can copy everything about them—and I mean everything." He ticked off his fingers one by one. "Their looks, their abilities, down to their memories—I become them entirely, top to bottom. Probably even down to their DNA, though I don't have a lab to test it or whatever. It's weird, but it's useful. My clothes don't change, though, so it can get awkward if I copy a person without preparing first." He smoothed his hands along his thighs, grin kicking up the corner of his mouth. "So that's me, I guess. And my Territory makes sense for me, by the way. I've always been good at impressions, so... Oh, and everybody calls me Yana, so don't bother with the full name or anything." He gestured at everyone else, averting his face and clearing his throat. "Uh. Your turn."

Amanuma bounced in his seat. "I'm Amanuma Tsukihito! 10 years old, grade 5 at Mushiyori Elementary. We've been calling my Territory 'Arcade' because I can bring video games to life. It's super cool. Wanna play together sometime?"

Yana's eyes lit up, a bit more lively than before. "Heck yeah! That sounds awesome!"

"It is, though I gotta be careful which games we play, because some of them don't end so good for the players if you lose." Amanuma's bright smile faltered, the downside of his Territory not lost on him, but he recovered quickly enough. "Anyway. I've pretty much got the greatest Territory ever, so if you have questions, just ask." His nose thrust into the air, smug smirk decorating his young mouth. "I'm an expert at this point."

Kaito flicked the kid's forehead. "Pride goeth, child." He gave Kido a nod, ignoring when Amanuma yelped. "Moving on."

Kaito gave Kido a nod. Kido nodded back and draped one ankle over his other knee, hands shoved in his pocket as he slouched in place. Self-assured and cocky, he looked at me, then Yana, then Kaito and Amanuma in turn before speaking.

"I'm Kido Asato," he said. "15 years old, third year at Hibiya Middle. Territory's called Shadow."

"Cool name," said Amanuma. "What's it do?"

"You ever play kagefumi?"

"Shadow tag?" Amanuma said—and he deflated a little, sulking. "Sure. But I'm not just a kid, you know."

"Oh, I figured," Kido said without missing a beat. "It's just that my Territory is a lot like shadow tag."

Amanuma frowned, but he leaned toward Kido with renewed interest. I observed the exchange in silence, noting the easy way Kido had allayed Amanuma's concerns that he was being patronized. Amanuma was sensitive about his age, so the mention of a playground game immediately made him feel insecure, but Kido had so quickly assured him—without drawing attention to it—that Amanuma's age wasn't in play here. Whether he'd done that on purpose to put the kid at ease, I wasn't sure, but it was nevertheless appreciated.

"If I step on somebody's shadow, I can paralyze 'em," Kido explained with easy confidence. "Couple other things here and there, but that's the main one. Played too many games of kagefumi as a kid, I guess." He smiled at Amanuma, though on his sharp features, it closely resembled a smirk. "Pretty neat, right?"

"Very neat," Amanuma conceded. "Bet it's handy in a fight!"

"Less than you'd think, if they're fast." Kido shrugged, not at all deterred. "But I'm good with my fists, so it doesn't matter to me."

His smirk turned into a grin, lazy and confident—but full of coiled energy, opposite of Yana's languid cheer. He caught me looking and didn't flinch, observing me right back. I couldn't quite get a read on him, I realized sourly. Yana was exactly as I recalled from the manga, but Kido... He had a nice enough smile and was good with Amanuma, but that bad-boy affectation of his didn't jive with my memory or him from canon. Again I remembered how polite he had been in canon, apologizing to Yusuke for treating him roughly and deferring to Genkai's expertise in all matters. Was his behavior now all a front, a bluff, an act? He had pretended (with much success) to be a stone cold killer the first tie he met Yusuke in YYH—when he kidnapped Yusuke at Genkai's behest and threatened to kill Yusuke with his bear hands, to be exact. No one had doubted his act in the slightest.

Yes. Kido was probably pretty good at wielding that tough-guy persona. I just needed to see what substance lay beneath it.

"We know all about Kaito already. 16 years old, second year at Meiou High, Territory is Taboo. He won't shut up about it, either." Kido's eyes trained steady on my face, assessing as he ignored Kaito's huff of indignation. "That just leaves you."

I nodded and took a deep breath. "Yukimura Keiko. Age 15, and I'm at Meiou in the same class as Kaito. I—"

"Wait, really?" Yana said, apparently noting the discrepancy between my age and grade compared to Kido's. "How'd that happen?"

"Skipped a grade when I changed schools."

"Not a surprise." Kaito smiled approvingly. "Yukimura is almost able to keep up with me in terms of academics. You take a mix of classes with 10th and 11th grades, as I recall."

"That's right."

Kido was sizing me up again with that same, dark stare. "That seems unusual," he said. "And not just skipping a year. Taking lessons from different grades, I mean."

"Meiou is structured more like a Western high school than a Japanese one," Kaito explained.

"Yeah. Not many places would let me get away with my academic career, but... Anyway." I shook my head, finding where I'd left off into my introduction once again. "My Territory is Yume—or Dream."

Kido frowned. "What's it do?"

"So far I've been able to view people's dreams."

"That's it?" Yana asked—and Kido gave Yana a not-so-gentle kick in the shin, muttering something about watching his mouth. Yana held up his hands in defeat, but he only rolled his eyes at Kido, not at all perturbed by his friend's growl of warning.

"Sorry," Yana said to me. "It's just that that Territory seems kind of…"

He didn't have to voice his thoughts; the look of slightly pitying hesitation on his face said it all. Even Amanuma, quick to poke fun at me most of the time, stared at the floor in silence. Kaito's eyes remained unreadable behind the glare reflecting off his glasses. I knew my power was less active, more subtle than the other, flashier powers represented in the train car, but I didn't allow myself to falter. Instead I smiled, trying to appear chipper. It helped that Kido had continued to glare at Yana, like he was still defending me.

"It's OK. I get it," I said. "My Territory does seem a little lackluster. But I think there might be more to the power than I've discovered." When Yana's head cocked, listening, I raised my hand and clenched my fingers into a tight fist. "It's just something I can sense when I use it—like there's something just out of reach I haven't managed to touch yet." Fingers uncurled, hand dropping to my knee. "And I don't want to use it on others without their consent, because dreams can be very personal. That means there aren't many people I can reveal my power to, so I haven't been able to practice with it much. And that's why I wanted to see Genkai." Excitement bubbled in my chest, bright and effervescent. "She's brilliant and has all kinds of experience. If anyone can help me use my Territory to the fullest extent of my abilities, it's her."

No one said anything when I stopped. They just stares. Kido sat up a little, watching me through narrowed eyes. I shifted in my seat and tried not to fidget.

"What?" I said, unnerved. "What's wrong?"

Yana muttered, "You're kind of intense."

I winced. "Sorry. Was I rambling? I'm just excited, is all."

"It's OK. We are, too," Kido assured me. "Using my Territory the first time—it was killer."

He looked genuinely happy about it, eyes bright and smile wider than before. Yana, Amanuma and Kaito nodded in agreement.

"Oh, that reminds me," Yana said. "What happened to all of you before you got your Territory? When we were talking to Kaito online, we all said we did something cool right before we got sick. What happened to all of y'all?"

Amanuma's chest puffed. "I beat every game in my collection!"

Yana's sleepy eyes snapped wide awake at that point. "Every game? Whoa!"

"Yup!" he said. "And the entire arcade, too. It was awesome. And Kaito, you wrote a paper, right?"

"My magnum opus, in fact." Kaito's chest puffed out, too. "A paper about literary theory that omitted the 'e' sound entirely—a perfect foreshadowing to the Territory of Taboo. And you, Yana?"

"I managed to impersonate my parents on the phone to my school so I could skip a day." He looked a little bashful, then. "And then I went on an infomercial shopping spree with their credit cards."

"Both parents?" Amanuma asked. "Even your mom?"

"Yup. Mom's voice was harder, but they bought it hook, line and sinker," he said. "Made sense when I got Copy after that stunt. Kido's Territory made sense, too, after what he went through."

"Oh?" I said.

He looked pleased that I'd asked, addressing me exclusively when he explained: "Fought off a bunch of punks in pitch dark. But I didn't have any trouble seeing them. Seeing in the dark hasn't happened to me again, though. Makes me wonder if there's more to Shadow than I know about yet." He dipped a nod and grinned. "Thanks for the idea, Yukimura."

"You're welcome."

"And you?" he asked. "What happened to you before you got Dream?"

The question was a trap, whether Kido knew it or not. Very carefully, not letting my brain whisk me away down the rabbit hole of memory, I said, "I got trapped in a dream and had to find my way out. Nothing major."

"What was the dream about?" asked Yana.

"Just stuff." I shrugged. "It was basically a nightmare."

"Creepy," said Amanuma. "Was it a nightmare with monsters and stuff?"

"Sort of," I said—even though he was right, but I didn't want to talk about it. "I don't really remember." This was a lie, of course, and I changed the subject before their curiosity made me tell another. To Yana I said, "Impersonating your parents, huh? Sounds like a handy power."

"Definitely," he said. His hair bobbed, dangerously close to colliding with the train window as he nodded. "I've always been good at impressions, but..."

The chatter lapsed into discussions of our powers and ways to use them. It turns out none of us had much experience at all, our collective all separately deciding that experimentation could result in unwelcome discovery and scrutiny on part of our peers and families. All of them were excited to meet Genkai. Her reputation preceded her, especially after I talked her up a bit... well, I talked her up a lot, actually. Not a hard feat considering how awesome (if not a little scary) she was.

"So Yukimura," Kido asked. "How'd you meet Genkai, anyway?"

"Kaito mentioned you're the one who thought of going to see her," Yana said. "I'd never heard of her before, but apparently she's pretty well known in occult circles and stuff on the 'net."

"Oh. Well, I don't know her from there," I said (understatement of the year). "She trained a friend of mine."

Kido leaned forward, interested. "Does your friend have a Territory, too?"

"Not exactly. It's a long story, but..."

I told them briefly about everything I knew, because according to canon, Genkai was going to tell them the truth about it all anyway; they might as well hear some of the more personal bits, like Kurama's dual identity and Yusuke's history, from me, the person who'd represent them in the best lights and leave out the bits they wouldn't want anyone knowing. Demons, Spirit World, spirit energy, Yusuke coming back to life, demons reincarnated in human skins posing as regular high school boys, the Dark Tournament, ghosts and ghouls and psychics and everything in between... I saw no point in holding any of it back. They'd already been tossed into the deep end, after all. The only parts I left out were my own odd origin and the fact I knew about Yu Yu Hakusho from the canon of a manga in another universe.

I'd already told Kaito and Amanuma to keep that bit hush-hush—not out of a desire for privacy, but because I wasn't sure if I trusted Yana and Kido just yet. No telling how they might try to use my knowledge of the future for their own ends. Once I got to know Kido and Yana better and trusted them not to abuse my foresight, I'd give them the details if it felt necessary.

The good news is that thanks to the deluge of information I gave them, they didn't have the wherewithal to suspect I might not be telling them quite everything. Kido and Yana listened in silence as I filled them in, Amanuma looking sly all the while, pleased to be in on a secret. Kido and Yana swallowed my monologue readily enough, though Yana looked pretty uneasy by the time I stopped talking.

"Demons. Yeesh. Kaito mentioned youkai really exist, but..." He shuddered, long features looking like melted candle wax with worry. "This feels like a fantasy novel."

"I'll say." Kido looked me up and down before letting out a low, appreciative wolf-whistle (the sound of which brought a light heat to my face, unexpected and warm). "You're really on the inside of all this, huh, Yukimura?"

A shrug. "I guess so."

"That's pretty cool," he insisted. "You're like... a secret agent for the supernatural, sorta."

"I'll say," said Yana, looking at me with similar appreciation. "Very cool, actually."

"You're all on the inside too, now," I assured them, disliking the way I occupied the center of attention. "We're all secret agents, not just me."

"Not really, though." Kido shook his head. "You're the head honcho agent."

"A regular 007." Kaito smirked and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "The metaphor is fitting. This experience has felt rather clandestine, to be sure."

"Heh. Yeah. Yukimura's the captain of our covert operations," Kido said, matching Kaito's smirk with one of his own—but then he looked at me and frowned, because I'd started giggling behind a hand, unable to keep the humor in. "What's so funny?"

I tried to I hold back a chortle and failed. "Nothing, unless you start calling me Captain all the time."

They didn't get my joke, but I hadn't told it for them; it was just for me. It wasn't like they knew the nickname Minato had given me back when we first connected as fellow Not Quites. Beyond that, it was nice to know James Bond transcended realities and worlds. Hadn't been expecting that, but it made some sort of twisted sense. Hiruko certainly liked cloak-and-dagger intrigue enough to be a fan of classic Bond films...

While the others discussed what the existence of demons meant in terms of the broader universe ("So is Bigfoot a demon? The Loch Ness monster? The yeti?" Yana wondered with a rather ill look on his face), I gazed out the window, letting Kaito take the lead in the conversation. I'd educated him the most out of anyone and he knew these boys better than I did; the information probably went down easier coming from him than it did coming from the mouth of a person they'd met only an hour or two earlier. Since I sat outside the four-seat pod they occupied, it was easy to zone out and remove myself from the conversation, thinking ahead to the temple and Genkai waiting for us there. I could barely wait to see her, fidgeting restlessly in my chair under the train's harsh fluorescent lights. The sooner I excused myself from this whole thing, the sooner Genkai could release me from my promise to keep secrets, and the sooner I could go back to my normal life. I knew the stunt she'd want to start planning to challenge Yusuke, and Keiko was not meant to be involved; I intended to keep Keiko out of it in this reality, too. Once I got Kaito, Kido and Yana in place and set them up for success, I could wash my hands of the whole affair.

And then I could get back to what was really bothering me—namely Kurama being a total and complete weirdo asshole.

I'd successfully kept him out of my head by dealing with Kaito and Yana, but thoughts of him crept in once I found myself alone with my thoughts. As the others talked without me, I stared out the window into the dimming evening, watching as the sunset painted streaks of red across the darkening violet sky. We'd gotten far enough from the city lights for stars to peek through the scattered clouds. They danced over the tops of mountains steadily rising in the distance, twinkling against the tall trees that turned the horizon into a line of jagged teeth. The last rays of the sun caught the tops of the trees and illuminated them like emerald spears. Their color reminded me of Kurama's eyes, especially with the scarlet rays—so close to the hue of the highlights in his hair—lanced through those viridian treetops in a riot of glimmering color.

Crap. I really had it bad for him, didn't I? Too bad the feeling wasn't even close to mutual anymore. It had been, once, to the point he'd even talked about being together... but then something changed. And the pessimistic part of me was starting to think it would never change back...

So lost in my thoughts was I, I barely noticed when Kido rose from his seat and left the car. He returned a few minutes later and stood over me, nudging my foot with his toe when I failed to notice him standing there. He held up a pair of bento boxes like they were supposed to explain his presence somehow. Apparently he'd gone to the snack car...?

He nodded at the empty seat beside me. "Seat taken?"

"Uh. No." I scooted into to the window seat so he wouldn't have to climb over my lap. "Be my guest."

He sat and pulled down his tray table. "Hungry?"

"... a little."

"Good. Here." He handed me one bento and a set of chopsticks. "I couldn't decide which one I wanted, and I can't eat 'em both by myself, so if you wanna share, we can try 'em and see which is better for the trip back."

"Um..." I put down my tray table, too. "OK."

Kido's deep drawl proved oddly soothing to listen to. We spent a few minutes picking at the bento boxes, trying each component and discussing what tasted the best. He was shockingly chill, conversation easy and not at all aggressive. I'd been worried when I saw him mean-mugging passengers that he'd be kind of a jerk, but he was actually a goof, talking and laughing and joking about the food with shocking ease. He'd just sort of invited himself to sit with me, but the conversation wasn't at all awkward. We just ate, and chatted, and soon his dark eyes slipped sidelong in my direction.

"So, Yukimura," he said, toying with his chopsticks. "Yume, huh?"

I nodded, picking at the bed of rice under my grilled mackerel. "Yup."

"That's pretty cool." He shrugged, shoulder just barely nudging mine. "Dreams and Shadows, though. Maybe we'd make a good team."

I shrugged, too. "Maybe."

"Any idea what you'll do with your Territory past the dream-viewing?"

"Maybe dream manipulation?" I said. "Could use it to get information out of people. Or just keep them awake at night." A wry laugh wrung from my lips. "Sleep torture is a thing..."

"Devious." He grinned. "I like it."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Kido had long fingers, nimble and clever in the way he manipulated his chopsticks. He was on the tall side, too, height more apparent now that he sat next to me instead of across the train car. Still wasn't entirely sure what he'd come and sat next to me for, but I wasn't really complaining. I'd been hungrier than I realized. Would have to pay him back for the food at some point, but that was neither here nor there...

"Where ya from?" he said.

"Oh. Um." Hadn't been expecting that out of nowhere, but... "I was born in Tokyo but I live in Sarayashiki. You?"

"Mushiyori, born and raised," he said. "Weird you got the fever when you aren't from my neck of the woods, though."

"I spend a lot of time there."

"Oh?" he said, interest piqued.

"Yeah."

A slow smile crossed his sharp face. "Not gonna tell me why, though, are ya?"

"Ha." I smiled back. "Nope."

He hummed, grin firmly affixed in place, before declaring, "You're mysterious, Yukimura. Pretty cool." His eyes traveled over my face, assessing. "You seem like the studious type, if you don't mind me saying so. Skipping a grade and all that..."

"My grades are good. Great, even," I admitted. "Used to be class rep, but..."

"But?"

"I almost got expelled from my old school." The confession was calculated; his eyebrows shot up, clearly impressed (the way I knew his punk-ass would be at my rule-breaking). "Been lying low at the new one."

"Expelled?" he repeated, like he didn't quite believe me.

"Well... I kind of tried to punch a teacher." The memory of Iwamoto made my lip curl in a silent snarl. "He disrespected my best friend at his own damn funeral. Couldn't take that lying down, but my dad intervened before I could do anything."

Kido let out another of his impressed wolf-whistles. "I'm impressed, Yukimura," he said with slow deliberation. "And surprised. You definitely don't seem like the rough and tumble type."

"What can I say? I contain multitudes." I tapped the side of his bento with my chopsticks. "Try the pickles, by the way. The carrots are nice."

Instead of eating them, he picked them up and moved them over to my box. "You can have 'em. Not really my thing." He seemed happy to give them to me, smiling as he completed the transfer. "Got any hobbies?"

"Sure." I didn't tell him what they were, though, not sure why he was so interested. "Do you?"

"Working out," he said in his slow, measured drawl. "Games. Music. The usual stuff. Favorite band's Megallica."

I couldn't help but grin. "Mine too, actually."

"No way." Now he was really grinning, cheeks round with delight. "You'll fit right in with me and Yana, in that case."

"Metalheads?"

"Since we were kids."

"You go way back, then?"

"Known 'im since kindergarten," he said. "Kaito, too."

I blinked in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"He didn't tell you?" Kido said. When I shook my head, he sat up in his seat and called out, "Oi, Kaito. You didn't tell Yukimura we all know each other?"

Kaito refused to look guilty for this oversight. "I did not feel it was relevant to the situation at hand," was all he said, and he pointedly looked away and went back to talking with Yana and Amanuma.

"Figures," Kido muttered as he slid down in his seat. "Kaito's a private guy."

"I can tell," I said. "But would you mind cluing me in?"

"Happy to." He jerked a thumb toward the others. "Yana and me've been friends since we were kids. Parents were work friends and we lived near each other. We're at different schools right now since he's older than me, and Kaito went off to Meiou for high school since he's really smart, but all three of us went to the same elementary school."

"Oh, wow," I said. "Small world."

"Yeah." He looked happy about it, the smallest of smirks crossing his sharp face. "Fell out of touch over the years, though. When me n' Yana both got sick at the same time and got our Territories, we got to talking about it and decided to try and find others. Yana's into computers and he saw Kaito's post in a forum about side-effects, and the rest is history." A low chuckle thrummed in his chest. "We didn't know we were talking to Kaito at first, though."

"How'd you find out it was him?"

"He kept using big words and acting like an ass." His smirk widened into a smile when I laughed, his description of Kaito so bluntly on-point, it cut straight to the heart. "Eventually he starting feeling familiar. We met up and it wasn't much of a surprise to see him standing there. Yana n' me had a good laugh." Kido tittered. "Kaito, though..."

"Bet he wasn't thrilled to get caught off guard, huh?" I surmised.

"Not one bit," he said. "But you know him. Not exactly a fan of surprises."

I giggled again. "Truer words never spoken."

Dark eyes looked me over carefully. "You're friends with the guy these days, then?"

"Yeah. I like books and literature, so..."

"Figures he'd like you if that's the case," Kido said. "He's said good things about you, by the way."

"Aw, really?" I said, a little touched in spite of myself. "I'll be sure to make fun of him for it later."

Black eyes glittered with mischief. "Give 'em hell for me, eh?"

"You know it." Apparently getting on Kaito's nerves was a hobby we had in common. "So what'd he say, exactly?"

"Just that you're smart enough for him to stand." He raised his hands to perform a set of air-quotes. "'Not a total ignoramus when it comes to the literary arts.' That sort of thing."

I laughed again. "Y'know, I should've guessed!"

"He also said you were trustworthy."

Something in Kido's voice stopped me cold—a seriousness at odds with his casual chit-chat. It matched the frank stare that honed his narrow eyes into twin blades of intensity, measuring and acute.

"Kaito said," Kido told me, "that you'd fight like hell for your friends, and he felt lucky you'd gotten close before all this happened. Couldn't imagine going through it with anyone else, he said." His head listed to one side. "Gotta say, hearing that made it a lot easier to go along with this plan of yours to see Genkai, even before I met you."

"That's..." My vision went a little misty. "Aw. Kaito really said that?"

Kido nodded, lips quirking as the intensity in his eyes receded. I twisted in my seat to stare at Kaito. Took him a minute to notice, but when Kaito at last beheld my pursed lips and watery eyes, he frowned and recoiled.

"Why in the world are you looking at me like that, Yukimura?" he asked.

"No reason." I sniffled. "I'm just glad we're friends, OK?"

"... something tells me Kido" (Kaito glared at the aforementioned from across the train car) "has been talking too much for my tastes." With that, he pointedly turned his face away. "Ignore everything he says, Yukimura. I assure you, he's exaggerating."

But Kaito doth protest too much, because even though he'd looked away, I could see the pink beneath the freckles crowding his broad cheeks and square face. Kaito and I were friends, but he wasn't much for affirmations or compliments. Knowing he held me in that regard and knowing I could count on him as an ally in the days to come at Genkai's felt heartening, indeed.

Kido and I ate a little while longer, idle chitchat flowing without a hitch. He was friendly, clearly making an effort to get to know me and establish a casual rapport. I half suspected he recognized me as the most in-the-know person of the group and was just trying to get on my good side, but I tried not to read into it as we chatted about everything and nothing. It was nice to make a new friend. Especially considering I might have just lost one of the closest ones I had—

No. Don't think about that. Think instead about the incredible odds of Kaito encountering two of his childhood friends when recruiting other Territory users. I'd made the offhand comment that this was a small world, but truth be told, it didn't feel like a small world at all. That couldn't be a coincidence; it just couldn't. Kaito finding Kido and Yana, of all people, felt way more like fate or destiny than random happenstance, and—

"Got a boyfriend, Yukimura?"

I'd been in the middle of taking a drink from my water bottle when Kido asked that question entirely out of the goddamn blue; he patted my back when I choked, water sluicing down the wrong pipe as I sputtered in surprise. He just laughed, though, apparently amused by my shocked expression and brush with death-by-drinking.

"Sorry." (But it should be noted that his sly smile didn't look sorry at all.) "Should've worked my way up to that one."

"Yeah, definitely warn me before asking something like that next time." I chugged water, collar of my sweatshirt suddenly far too tight for comfort. "Jesus."

He had the manners to wait for me to finish before asking any more questions. "Well," he said, not at all perturbed. "Do you, Yukimura? Have a boyfriend, I mean."

"No. I don't date at all." I met his eyes and tried to convey unyielding resolve, because I would not create another Kuwabara situation if I could help it. "I don't date anybody, ever."

"OK." He nodded a few times, processing. "Can I ask why not?"

"Not enough time on my hands and my priorities lie solidly elsewhere," I said. "Dating is a distraction, one I don't have time for. Especially not now that I'm trying to figure out my Territory. Dating is the last thing on my mind and doesn't even rank on my To Do List." I crossed my arms and nodded once, sharply. "In short, I'm single and happy and have no intention of changing that distinction any time soon. So there."

He absorbed that in silence, eyes wider than I'd yet seen them. Good. I'd wanted my little speech to shock him, brooking absolutely zero room for argument just in case he got it in his head I was somehow pining for companionship—but apparently he didn't much care, because he let out a low laugh and shook his head, seemingly unbothered.

"Huh," was all he said, not arguing or quibbling. "That's a shame."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing." Another sly smile. "You're exactly my type, is all."

I sputtered again. Kido only laughed, though, and called out for Amanuma, wondering if the kid wanted any of Kido's leftover bento. He didn't say anything else on the subject of my dating life. He didn't move back to the other pod of seats right away, either, but he didn't push or pry. Kido continued to treat me just as he had before—with open congeniality and a sharp sense of humor, finding common ground over our friendship with Kaito and our burgeoning psychic powers. In spite of his declaration that I was his type, I soon found myself perfectly at ease and certain we'd begun to solidify a friendship.

But something told me, no matter how relaxed around him I'd begun to feel, Kido had the potential to be trouble. Only what kind, I couldn't say.

One train ride, a bus ride and a hike later, we found ourselves at the foot of Genkai's stairs in the heart of the forested mountains. Night had fallen some time prior, but birds still sang in the trees, distant and musical. The air smelled different so far outside the city. Green and growing things, dirt, fresh water, cold air—no exhaust or motor oil, no concrete or paint and plaster. Distantly I smelled smoke; perhaps Genkai was cooking something, or smoking her pipe as she waited for us. I inhaled deeply of it, not sure whether I was more excited about the fresh air or the stars burning overhead. The first time I'd visited Genkai's temple, I'd left before sundown and had missed their appearance, but now they shined overhead in tumbling swirls and opalescent rivers, the clean country air and lack of light pollution putting the Milky Way and all its glory on full and scintillating display. I'd had a hunch they'd be gorgeous out here. I'd written Genkai's stars into many a fanfic back in my day, and as we began to climb the temple's steps, I happily pointed out constellations to my friends. They needed to appreciate the amazing scenery as much as I did.

Only I was the only one in our party who seemed to give a crap. Kido grinned while I gushed about the constellations and their visibility, more focused on my explanations than on the stars themselves, but Yana, Kaito and Amanuma just shot me looks that said my enthusiasm was mine and mine alone. They remained nearly silent on our trip up the temple's hundreds of steps, the three of them huffing and puffing too much to appreciate anything. Kaito, the chronic academic that he was, struggled with the climb, face red and breath huffing. Amanuma's short legs didn't do him any favors in spite of his boundless, child's energy, and Yana bitterly complained about being forced to move so much. He was the lazy sort, and he was honest about being the least in-shape of us all, wearing the label of layabout as a badge of honor.

"Now, now," Kido chided when Yana's complaints grew a touch too acerbic. "Just keep moving. It'll be over soon, I'm sure."

By the time we reached the top, only I was breathing normally, and only I didn't have to stop and sit beneath the tori at the top of the steps to rest. Even Kido needed a minute to regroup. Their fatigue confused me at first; the climb hadn't been that hard. Why were they being dramatic? Was I really that much more suited to physical activity than they were? The realization that I was the most athletic person in our group was rather unsettling, and for a second I could quite place why—but, oh yeah. I was accustomed to running with Yusuke and company, hardened fighters who used spirit energy to perform superhuman feats of athleticism on a regular basis. Immediately I felt guilty for judging my friends' weaknesses. After so much time with Yusuke, it was no wonder my perception of normal human strength was skewed...

Not that I should've gotten cocky. No sooner had I turned away from my friends as they sat on the top steps, catching their breaths, than did I lose my own, the sight of what lay beyond the tori knocking the wind from my chest in a one-two punch.

Beyond the arch and the enormous gates lying open beneath it lay Genkai's temple. A large courtyard sat in front of a peak-roofed building resplendent with Shinto architecture. The courtyard looked familiar; it's where I'd conversed with Genkai the first time I met her so many years prior, after all, and I'd committed the site to memory at the time. What wasn't familiar were the people that filled the courtyard to the brim. Men, women, a few children—at least a dozen faces crowded the space like fallen autumn leaves, tents scattered here in a makeshift camp. Chairs and tables had been set up near a large fire pit, over which bubbled a pot of something that leaked sluggish smoke into the night sky. Lines hung with laundry crisscrossed each other near the back of the courtyard near the tall wall separating the temple compound from the forest beyond; a few kids ran beneath billowing sheets, laughing and playing tag.

Genkai had warned me that there were others—other Territory users who'd sought her out for help and guidance. But she hadn't told me there would be this many people! The place bustled with activity and life, even the crying of a baby issuing from one of the tents. More voices drifted toward us from around the corner of the large building up head. Just how many people were at the temple, anyway?

"You made it here in one piece, I see."

Genkai stood a few feet away with hands clasped behind her back, pipe dangling from her wizened lips. I trotted over and bowed, long and low. She looked the same as she had the last time I saw her on Hanging Neck Island, her cobweb hair and walnut-lined face bearing the lofty expression of her usual, grumpy disdain. It was so her that I could only smile back, not at all offended.

"Thank you for having us, Genkai." I stepped back and gestured at the pile of people at the top of the steps. "Please, come meet my friends."

She scoffed, but she followed me over to them anyway. "Ever the polite one. And here I thought we were past petty formalities."

"Just setting a good example for the others." Gesturing at her, I told my friends: "Everyone, this is Genkai. Genkai, this is—"

Kaito held up a hand and mopped his reddened face, but he climbed to his feet without complaint and bowed. "Kaito Yuu. Territory Taboo. It's nice to meet you."

"And you, as well." Genkai looked him over in silence and apparently found him up to snuff, because the smallest of smiles graced her wrinkled mouth. "Keiko's told me about your abilities. Potential for much chaos, Taboo. I'm looking forward to seeing it in action."

"As am I." He met her thin smile with one of his own, cheered. "I confess I am itching to test it out."

"Hmmph. Don't be too eager, now." Rheumy eyes focused on Amanuma. "And you, boy?"

He flinched, but he recovered and faked a cool expression, like she hadn't just scared him out of his skin. "I'm Amanuma Tatsuhiko. My Territory is called Arcade. I can bring games to life. It's very cool."

Genkai's eyes glittered. "Favorite game, kid?"

"Oh. Uh." The question caught him off guard. Took a second for him to blurt: "Time Crisis, I guess."

"Heh. We'll have to see if you can beat my high score."

His eyes widened. "You play video games?"

"I'm old, kid, but I'm not dead," she snapped before moving on to Kido. "Now what about Blondie, here."

He didn't react to the nickname, instead giving Genkai a polite, deep bow—a gesture of good manners completely at odds with his shaved eyebrows and tough-punk persona.

"I'm happy to make your acquaintance. I'm Kido Asato. Territory: Shadow," he said, language unfailingly polite. "I can freeze people in place by stepping on their shadow. Thank you for your guidance in the days to come."

Genkai looked him over for a second in silence before declaring, "Interesting." She said nothing else to him and instead affixed Yana with a stare. "You?"

Unlike the others, Yana didn't bother standing or bowing. He sat with elbows on his knees, face nearly grey from exhaustion, and lifted a single hand in a casual greeting. "Yanagisawa Mitsunari," he said between labored breaths. "But everybody calls me Yana. Territory's called Copy. I can copy anyone I touch. Memories, looks, voice..."

"In other words, you're going to be trouble." Genkai chuckled and shot me, of all people, a look. "Well. Can't say I'm surprised, given you're running with Keiko here. Trouble since the day our eyes met, this one."

"Hey!" I yelped. "That's not fair!"

"I think it's plenty fair, given the grief you've caused." Genkai laughed louder, mirth like rattling bones. "I have a rooms inside for you. Saved them for you since I knew you were coming, unlike the rest of the Territory users who traveled here."

Kido looked over the courtyard, taking stock of its high occupancy. "How many people are here, Genkai-sensei?"

"Thirteen, by my last count." She paused a second, considering. "Well. Thirteen Territory users and a few parents of the younger ones, that is."

Immediately I thought of the baby I'd heard crying. It wasn't a shock to hear kids had been afflicted with Territories, especially given my association with Amanuma, but still. Just how young were some of these psychics?

"Youngest is five," Genkai said (once again making me wonder if she could read minds). "Oldest in his fifties. Mushiyori Fever didn't discriminate." She moved from one topic to the next with brusque efficiency. "I have places for you to rest inside the temple, but you'll need to pull our own weight around here if you want to stay. That means cleaning up after yourselves, cooking, doing chores. My temple is not a theme park." Dark eyes traveled to each of our faces, unflinching and hard. "Am I understood?"

"Yes, sensei," we all said in unison, because Genkai was impossible to defy when she wore that expression.

She smirked at our deference. "Good." Her cobwebbed head jerked toward the courtyard behind her in a backwards nod. "I've been evaluating everyone who comes in. Most can control their power through instinct, but some have it harder and require guidance. I'll need to chat with each of you to determine how much help from me you need, if any. Once we figure that out, we'll see if you need to stay, and for how long."

"Have you sent many others on their way?" Kaito asked.

"A few," she admitted. "The ones who stay need tutelage to master their abilities—or suppress them. I don't care either way." Genkai turned on her heel, pipe bobbing between her clenched teeth. "Now follow me. Let's get you settled."

Yana drew in a shaking breath. "Could I have... one moment more?" he said, breathing still labored. "Those stairs were killer."

"Harrumph," grunted Genkai. She didn't so much as pause, beating a steady track away from my fallen friend. "Don't keep me waiting too long. Keiko, with me. Now."

I didn't dare defy her, so I followed her across the temple courtyard toward the sliding paper doors sitting open below a curving eave painted brilliant red. The temple boasted a long porch down the front and sides, elevated above the courtyard itself by at least a meter. Genkai mounted the steps up to the porch with nimble leaps of her short legs, and when I joined her on the porch to stare out over the courtyard, she began to speak. Words issued from the side of her mouth, her face carefully turned away from mine.

"So," she said. "What do you think?"

I swallowed. "About?"

"This." One gnarled hand waved at the tents, the fire pit, the people milling about. "All of this."

A few people in the crowd had followed us with their eyes. Some of them stared at Genkai; others looks at me, sizing me up where I stood beside the crotchety old psychic. One in particular was a man, mid-twenties and tall, with long hair and dark eyes, who sat near the fire with elbows on knees, watching us with a frown. Another was a young girl in a school uniform who stood over by the laundry lines, folding a sheet as she stared in our direction. I ignored them both, especially the man.

"It's..." I stopped, swallowing a lump of nerves. "Ah..."

Genkai eyed me over askance. "Don't tell me your nerves are failing already," she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. "You only just got here."

I rubbed at the back of my head, fingers carding in the short strands. "How could you tell?" I asked.

"You look like you're about to vomit all over my courtyard."

"Oh. Sorry." A deep breath didn't make me feel any better. "I just… it's a lot. This is a lot more than I was expecting."

"Oh?"

"The anime. The legend. It didn't show this part at all. It didn't show you training people—not so many people, anyway." I waved toward my friends near the steps, still gathered around Yana as his lazy bones recovered from the climb. "I only knew about Yana, Kaito and Kido. Not anyone else."

But Genkai eyed me oddly, as if I'd said something wrong. "No one?" she asked, disbelieving. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said. The disquiet in her eyes set a flutter of nerves in my belly. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I find that hard to believe."

"What?" Nerves metamorphosed into alarm. "Why?"

"You're telling me you don't see even one familiar face in this crowd?" she asked—and then she beckoned me to look, really look, at the sea of faces churning below the temple's long and winding porch.

I didn't see anyone, though. All of the faces in the crowd belonged to strangers. My gaze slid over them without hooking or catching on any one face in particular. Even the girl and the man who'd been staring didn't pique my recognition. Some stared back with interest as I cataloged their features, but that didn't make any of them jump out at me as as familiar. A young woman with a child on her lap, an older man and woman sitting close to one another, a nondescript person near in the middle, a girl in a baseball uniform like she'd just come from club practice, a rough-looking guy with a scar and a shaved head... No, none of them looked familiar at all.

"Sorry, Genkai," I said. "They're all strangers."

Genkai huffed—but then she squinted into the crowd for a second. The vexation faded from her face, replaced by a weary fatigue I didn't understand. The sigh she heaved was all annoyance, though, punctuated by her chucking her pipe into the courtyard with a swift lash of her gnarled arm.

"Boy, didn't I tell you to cut that out?" she shouted. "No using your Territory unless I've told you to!"

"Oops—sorry, sensei!" someone called back—and, wait.

Wait.

I knew that voice!

The second I heard them speak, recognition sparked in me like lightning on dry tinder. Wait one gosh-darn a second—!

Someone in the crowd stood up, movement in the middle of the throng catching my eye. For a second I couldn't quite focus on them, eyes sliding off and away as though their very image were too slippery to grasp, but then—like a camera coming slowly into focus—they appeared before me. The previously unknown, nondescript face I'd somehow truly failed to notice earlier snapped into observable space, familiarity descending in a crashing wave, like I'd somehow checked my brain back at the tori arch and my mental faculties were just now catching up. At once I recognized his short hair, that broad face framing a sheepish smile, the crooked nose and massive hands that passed over his short-shorn hair in a shy stroke. My jaw dropped and I lifted a finger, pointing at him in abject shock.

"You—!" My mouth worked around empty air. "You—you! Oh my god, it's you!"

"Hi," said Ezakiya—my quiet, unassuming friend from Hideki-sensei's aikido class. With a grin of friendly greeting, he said, "It's nice to see you too, Keiko."

Notes:

At last, the Ezakiya setup chickens have come home to roost. Feels good. Didn't include mention of him in the recap because I didn't want to give away the ending. Any guesses as to the nature of his Territory? There were some pretty major hints before this chapter, plus an almost-explanation in this one, and the title of this chapter was chosen very purposefully for multiple reasons...

Didn't include him in the chapter recap because I didn't want to spoil the surprise.

As several of you have surmised, we're going to have something of a "Training Arc" at this point. This is based on a shonen anime, so that makes thematic sense. NQK needs space to experiment with her Territory, not to mention test subjects, and this feels like the best solution to her need for both. We'll start that arc properly in a few chapters, but this is kind of the prologue to it.

Also I realized I fucked up the flow of these chapters when I split them to preserve the short length of 120; such is life. I should've put the whole first scene of THIS chapter into 120, all the Kurama confrontations contained in one place. This chapter ended up being 14k, uggghh. I'll probably go back and move that scene into 120 in a few weeks, but I'll keep it here for now just so no one misses reading it.

Oh, BTW, Kido Asato is cuter in the manga than he is in the anime. He looks exhausted all the time and for some reason I think he's adorable? He's good at putting on a tough-guy front, but he's actually really sweet (like Yusuke, only much more polite... you'll see). Excited to get to work with his character. But true to Keiko's word in this chapter, we don't know much about his home life or background since he was a one-arc character, so a lot of what I write for him will be entirely based on head-canons. Please keep that in mind as he's developed. Same goes for Yana, that lovably lazy layabout.

There's gonna be a lot of OCs in this arc, but I'm hoping you'll like them. Focus will always be on Keiko and the canon cast, however, so rest easy. Keiko's really going to come into her own in the days to come and I couldn't be more excited about it.

Huge thanks to everyone who commented last time. Really glad to still have you aboard. I'm so excited for what's to come! Enormous gratitude goes out to: kixprue, MidKnightOwl, DragonsTower, Paddygirl, Sanguinary_Tide, snapsdragon, shini_tenshi, Sdelacruz2, Carlie, NotQuiteAnonymous and silverpaper_tofffeepaper.

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED TWO WEEKS FROM NOW ON SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2021

Chapter 122: Weekend at Genkai's (Part 1)

Summary:

In which NQK gets the lay of the land.

Notes:

PREVIOUSLY ON LUCKY CHILD: Keiko and her friends (Yana, Amanuma, Kaito and Kido) went to Genkai's for Territory training, where it was revealed that Ezakiya has a Territory. Ezakiya is one of Keiko's friends from aikido, who recently made an effort to get to know her and Kagome better, but it was pretty awkward and random. In previous months, Keiko acted as the "parole officer" for Hiei and Kurama on part of Spirit World; she has a somewhat contentious relationship with Spirit World, especially now that her reincarnation has been revealed.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Truth be told, I hadn't given a single, solitary thought to Eza in weeks.

Can you blame me, though? He wasn't exactly memorable. Sure, he was tall and broad and beefy, a mainstay in my weekly aikido class with Hideki-sensei, but he had the charisma of a paper bag. That's not to say the guy was unlikable or anything. Eza was perfectly nice. I'd enjoyed my time with him at aikido due to his generally jovial attitude and commitment to our shared lessons... but the fact that that was all I could really say about the guy said a lot. I'd never had a deep conversation with him up until he'd gone out for food with Kagome and I after aikido on the night I'd almost fainted (from hunger, we thought at the time, but from what I now knew were actually early symptoms of Mushiyori Fever). That night he'd impressed me, telling me more about his home life and goals for the future. His drive to go into social work to help others, for instance, and his protectiveness over his younger siblings were admirable traits indeed. But apart from that, Eza had faded into the background since the day I'd laid eyes on him so many months prior at my very first aikido lesson. Kagome had even called him "Mr. Cellophane" at one point, and the name had been an absolutely perfect reference to his tendency to blend into the background as easily as beige wallpaper.

Highly coincidental, that nickname. Almost too coincidental, when you gave it a little thought and once you saw his Territory in action. Another twist of fate, perhaps? Clearly he'd developed some kind of invisibility or concealment-based Territory. What else would explain his sudden ability to to evade my notice while standing in plain sight smack dab in the middle of Genkai's courtyard?

"Eza." I gaped at him, unable to form words at the sight of his broad face, buzzed hair and tight smile. "Eza, why are you...?"

"Uh." He continued rubbing at the back of his broad neck. "Well..."

"Ironically, seeing is believing," Genkai said, and she gave him a curt nod.

Eza nodded back. Without warning or preamble, a weird feeling cut the air, his Territory expanding in the span of a heartbeat. It felt like being plunged underwater, colors inverting and flipping on their heads, atmosphere rendered into something alien and unsettling just before colors snapped back to normalcy again.

A hum lingered in my teeth, though, as Ezakiya turned completely invisible.

Well. Not invisible, per se. I could still see him standing in from of me in the most technical of ways, but when I tried to look at him, I couldn't process or make sense of what my eyes beheld. I could see Eza, but I couldn't see him, logic making perfect yet flawed sense as my gaze slipped past him like a fried egg sliding off a hot Teflon pan. Eza occupied a gaping hole in the center of my perception. In fact, even though I knew intellectually that he was standing right in front of me, my brain lost track of that information in mere moments. For a second I couldn't remember who I was even trying to look for, information trickling out of my awareness like water through my fingers—but then his Territory retreated, the odd hum on the air dissipated, and he swarmed back into view. I flinched as the memory of his presence crashed over me in a tsunami of recognition, but he just smiled and rubbed at his neck, bashful heat coloring his wide cheeks.

"You—" I stopped and breathed deep, looking him over with wonder. "That wasn't invisibility. It was—"

"We're calling it Tuneout," Genkai said. "He can tune out people's ability to perceive him."

"That's—that's—" The pieces clicked; I rounded on Eza with a gasp. "This is what you wanted to talk to me about the other day at practice, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said with easy, jocund candor. "It was."

"Excuse me." Kido's voice cut through the ambient sounds in the courtyard with clean precision. "Is he a friend of yours, Yukimura?"

The others had finally caught their breaths and followed, Kido leading the way. He gave Eza a quick once-over and scowled, cocky punk routine back in action, but it slid off Eza's back like a light rain. The portrait of casual indifference, Eza wore plain jeans and a boring windbreaker; he kept his hands shoved in his pockets, smiling a little, looking for all the world like somebody's bumbling older brother who'd gotten lost on his way to pick up his siblings from school.

"Yeah, actually. He's a friend. But I had no idea he'd be here!" Dancing over, I gave Eza a playful sock on the arm. "Why didn't you tell me about your Territory, big guy?"

"I tried!" he said, dodging the strike. "But I didn't think you'd gotten your Territory yet, and I didn't want to freak you out by bringing it up. You seemed kind of freaked when I talked to you and Kagome-chan before we went out for ice cream, so..."

The gravity of his words sunk home like a sword. "Wait. How do you know that—that I hadn't gotten mine yet?" I said, planting my hands on my hips. "And how did you know I'd get one in the first place?"

Eza's wide brow furrowed. "I could just sort of feel it," he said. "Like... you looked the way I felt before I got mine." Immediately his face reddened, one enormous hand rubbing his jaw in embarrassment. "That doesn't make sense when I say it out loud, but inside, I know it's true. I just knew you were about to get one like I did. And then you collapsed at practice, and I got even more sure, because I collapsed before I got my Territory, too."

I wanted to ask him what happened when he collapsed, because we'd all gone through something major before nearly dying of Mushiyori Fever, but Kido spoke before I could.

"Yukimura collapsed at practice?" he asked, all narrow eyes and balled fists. "What do you mean, practice?"

"We're in the same aikido class," Eza told him.

Kido rounded on me, eyes wide. "You do martial arts?"

"Yes." No time to talk about that, though. "Anyway—Eza, how'd you wind up here at Genkai's?"

Here he grinned, eagerness broadening his smile. "You probably don't remember, but a while back, you were talking to Hideki-sensei and you turned around and bumped into me," he said, words spilling from his lips with eager cadence. Clearly he'd been sitting on this information for weeks, itching to deliver the news. "I was having trouble with my Territory. I couldn't turn it off, but eventually I got Hideki-sense to notice me—well, to notice my absence; it's complicated—and he sent me here to Genkai for some training." He shot the elderly psychic a grateful look. "She's been a huge help."

"Territories often manifest in ways influenced by the subconscious," Genkai said, puffing like a smokestack on her long, thin pipe. "Unpacking how his subconscious desires impacted his Territory fixed the issue."

"So like... you're a Territory therapist?" Yana asked.

Genkai shrugged. "In a sense."

"I was gonna get you to come with me to Genkai's after you collapsed, but I didn't know how to contact you," Eza said to me, looking regretful. "Was gonna wait to see you at practice and talk to you about it, find out if you got a Territory once I saw you again, but..."

"But I got sick too soon, I never came back to class, and here we are," I said.

He nodded, grinning. "Yeah."

But even after this deluge of exposition, shock still gripped me tight. "I'm... wow. Wow. Buddy!" I slapped at his shoulder again; this time he took the hit, pretending to be hurt and grabbing his arm with an overstated look of pain (one he couldn't quite fake convincingly, smile threatening to break through the entire time). "Look at you! Pun intended I guess since you can turn invisible."

"It's not really invisibility," he said. "More like I can shut down the ways people sense me when they're in my Territory. I can do sight easy and hearing pretty easy, too, but touch is a lot harder. Haven't tried taste or smell just yet."

Once again, information clicked into place. "That's why I saw you when I bumped into you that night at Hideki-sensei's," I said. "Because I touched you."

"Yeah!" He looked pleased that I'd caught on so quick. "Before that, I'd been shouting at you and Hideki at the top of my lungs, but nobody could hear me." Watching someone as tall and as broad as Eza shudder with revulsion made me shudder, too. "It was kind of scary."

I attempted a joke to calm him. "You had a real case of the 'notice me, senpais,' huh?"

The joke landed. "You can say that again!" he said with a loud laugh. "Story of my life, to be honest!"

Eza was pretty jovial about the whole thing, leaving my poor brain scrambling to catch up. I supposed his power made sense considering how he always blended in at our lessons. Most everyone's Territory seemed to connect to something in their personal lives, and most of the time it connected further to a trauma they had suffered. Amanuma took refuge in video games after the neglect he suffered at the hands of his family and peers, so his Territory shut out the world and brought the games to life. Kaito prided himself on his literary prowess and abhorred violence after being bullied for his nerdy hobbies, so his Territory outlawed violence and prioritized linguistic skills. Yana had been good at impressions, so he got Copy, and Kido had played a lot of shadow tag as a kid, so he got Shadow. Obviously I didn't know what personal grievances had fueled Yana and Kido's Territories, nor did I really understand Eza's. He'd mentioned a large family when we went out for ice cream; perhaps he blended in to avoid standing out at home. Or maybe he just played hide and seek a lot as a kid. It was impossible to say how our own personal Mr. Cellophane got his Territory, but I was sure the details would come out eventually. Burning with curiosity though I was, I just had to be patient and observe.

"Enough chitchat." Genkai pointed toward the back of the courtyard. "Eza, see to it there's food for Keiko and the rest of the newbies." She turned smartly on her heel, heading back inside the temple. "Newbies, with me. We have much to discuss."

I didn't want to leave Eza (I had questions, dammit!) but arguing with Genkai's was a fool's errand. Waving goodbye to my very surprising aikido buddy, we followed Genkai up onto the temple porch and past a sliding paper door. This opened onto a long hallway lined with more paper doors, which we passed without entering until the hall turned a sharp left. More hallway, more doors, and then a huge set of double doors made of carved wood parted to reveal a large room, many tatami mats wide and deep, with eaves so high they disappeared into darkness overhead. A brazier burned in the middle of the room, scent of incense cloying and sticky despite the lofty ceiling. On the far side of the room, more doors opened onto a garden to emit a cool breeze, one that (marginally) helped stir the hot and humid air. A length of porch overlooked the garden, which contained a pond full of water lilies and a bamboo deer scarer that made a cheerful 'plonk' sound every time it filled with the water trickling from a small rock formation at the far end of the pool. A cherry tree, branches green with the onset of summer, draped over the pond. It would be lovely in early spring, all covered in blossoms. It was still lovely now even in the late season.

Genkai didn't let me see if there were any koi in the pond, though. She bade us sit on some cushions around the glowing brazier, packing her pipe and lighting up to breathe a plume of perfumed smoke into the already hazy air.

"Now," she said. "Let's discuss your Territories."

Thus, the interrogation began. Genkai put us through our paces one by one, questioning us on every aspect of our powers from top to bottom. She focused with specific intensity on the things we didn't know about our Territories, asking invasive questions about how much we'd trained with them, focusing not on where we were confident, but rather on where we struggled. Her questions went on for quite some time, and soon we were all fidgeting in our seats.

"Do you want us to show them to you?" lazy Yana asked when he got frustrated with the amount of talking he'd been forced to do. "It'd be a lot easier if I just showed you and stuff."

Genkai shook her head. "Not tonight. I've had enough Territories for one day." Her expression soured. "You'll see what I mean when you meet the others properly." She turned to Amanuma with a glare. "You. The one with the video games."

He pointed at himself, blinking. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Arcade, was it?" She didn't wait for him to confirm. "I assume you or one of your friends has already told you how easily your Territory could claim your own life." Her eyes reflected the light of the brazier, flickers unsettling in the depths of her dark gaze. "Am I right?"

"Yeah." Amanuma nodded glumly. "Keiko pointed it out."

Genkai eyed me askance. "You would notice," she muttered in my direction before returning her acerbic gaze to Amanuma. "Never allow your Territory, Arcade, to manifest a new game before running that game by at least three other people—myself first and foremost, Keiko and Kaito second, anyone else with a background in games third." Her glared sharpened even more. "I won't allow you to come to harm on my watch. Do you understand me, kid?"

Amanuma didn't quite know how to take Genkai's aggressive instructions. Tearing his eyes from Genkai, for some reason he decided to look at me. I gave him a smile and reached over to pat his shoulder.

"She's saying she's gonna look out for you and take care of you," I told him. "Genkai's the best teacher, even if she's a little... brusque."

Genkai snorted. Amanuma laughed.

"Gotcha," he said, confidence restored as he turned back to Genkai. "Well, roger that, I guess! I won't play any games without talking to you first, scout's honor."

Genkai smirked. "Good. I knew I liked you." She breathed out a streamer of smoke as Amanuma flushed, pleased. "Now you. Copycat."

Yana—who had been lying on his side with head propped lazily on one hand—didn't bother sitting up. "Yes?" he said, digging a finger into his ear. "What's up?"

But Genkai didn't seem to give a shit about his posture or lack of complaisance, because all she said was, "No copying people at my temple without my say-so first." Her face was as wrinkled as a billowing storm cloud. "And if I ever catch you impersonating me—"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Besides, it's not like my clothes change with me. Turning into other genders and stuff is a lot of trouble, and you're really tiny." Yana laughed to himself. "I don't even know where I'd get clothes that would look like yours, much less in your size."

"And you're too lazy to go to the trouble of finding out, I'm guessing." Genkai's chin ducked toward her chest. "Heh. I was worried about that work-shy streak of yours, but it just might be a good thing in the long run." Her gaze swept over the room before settling on her next target. "Now as for you, Shadow Man..."

Kido sat ramrod straight, legs tucked under him in the politest seiza kneel I'd ever seen. "Yes, ma'am?" he asked with a deferential nod.

"I'm convinced your Territory has broader applications beyond rendering others immobile. We will experiment."

"I look forward to it." Dark eyes darted my way. "And Keiko had the same theory."

Genkai's eyes rolled so hard it was a wonder she didn't wind up concussed. "Naturally Keiko, of all people, has opinions. But we'll get to them later." Another sweep across the room, her eyes passing mine without pause. "Taboo Boy?"

Kaito raised his chin. "My turn, I suppose."

"Indeed." Her glare returned, aimed like daggers at Kaito's smug face. "You're too smart not to have noticed how fundamentally terrifying your Territory is."

"It may have occurred to me that the consequences of breaking Taboo are quite severe," he said with teasing slowness, pleased. "Not to mention that the nature of my Territory is quite difficult to manage for those not as blessed in the literary arts as I am. Few could ever hope to stand against me."

"And yet," said Genkai, "your oh-so-humble ass still saw fit to experiment on unwitting nurses and your own family members before knowing the extent of your abilities."

"That's—" Kaito's freckled face flushed. "Well, when you put it like that—"

Here he glanced at me. I ducked my head to avoid his eyes, but Genkai saw the exchange before I could feign ignorance. She sighed and adjusted the cap hanging over her forehead. Weariness crept into the set of her slight shoulders, sagging and tired.

"Let me guess," she drawled. "Keiko brought that up already." Her mouth quirked. "Well, unlike that one, I'm not mad about your actions in the slightest, Kaito."

Kaito stared at her. "You're not?"

"You're not!?" I repeated, voice jumping an octave. "But Genkai—"

"Innovation does not occur in a vacuum," she said with maddening insouciance. "Kaito took the initiative to see how his powers work. That's to be commended."

"Heh." He pushed his glasses up his nose, lenses flaring like an anime villain. "I knew you'd see the benefit of my approach."

Genkai held up a finger. "HOWEVER."

"Ah. A 'but.'" His eyes rolled. "Naturally there is a 'but.'"

"The fact remains that you could have seriously hurt someone, or even yourself," Genkai said. "What would you have done if you'd broken your own Taboo, huh? Who would've put your soul back into your body then?"

"There was no chance of that," Kaito said with a shrug. "Keiko warned me against breaking my own Taboo. I had thought of doing as such, but she convinced me to refrain until we reached your base of operations."

Genkai's face swung my way with a gnashing of teeth. "Why did you even bother bringing them here if you were going to take a run at training them yourself?"

I threw up my hands. "I couldn't help it! I just have a lot of opinions!"

"Trust me, I know." Genkai heaved a sigh before pointing one gnarled finger at Kaito's face. "Kaito, do not use your Territory without my presence while you're here. Not until we get a comprehensive handle on how it works and operates. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am," he said (because even the arrogant Kaito saw the fire in her eyes and knew she was not to be trifled with).

"Very good." At last, her face swung in my direction. "And now for the main event..."

I stared down at my lap. "Hi."

"Don't get cute with me," Genkai snapped. "You don't have the personality for it."

"Hey!"

"Frankly, Keiko, I'm shocked at your behavior." She said this with such force, her insult rolled off my back, forgotten under the onslaught of her biting disapproval. Words like needles on my skin, her scratchy voice intoned, "Out of everyone here, you've done the least work on understanding your Territory. Never would've taken you for the cautious type after all the stunts you've pulled recently. Not to mention you showed up at my temple how many years ago looking for psychic powers?"

I fidgeted, staring at my lap again. "Well..."

Kaito looked at me oddly. "You did what some years ago?"

"Wait, can someone give you powers? Just like that?" Amanuma asked, confused.

"I thought you knew her because she trained your friend!" Kido said.

"Oh, I did train Keiko's friend," Genkai interjected, corralling the chaos with one short, barked sentence. "But Keiko showed up on my doorstep long before I even knew his name. This one—" she jerked her thumb at me "—has been vying for some kind of supernatural ability for years now, and Keiko nearly broke down my damn door demanding I fork one over. Too bad it doesn't work like that." A smirk lit her eyes with a mischievous glow. "If ambition alone could be channeled into raw power, Keiko here would be the most powerful of us all."

Yana looked impressed at that. "Keiko... that's... wow," he said, not quite able to find words.

Kido found them easily enough, though. "You're a real go-getter," he said, eyeing me with renewed esteem. "Very cool, Yukimura."

"Trust me, she's exaggerating," I said, cheeks on fire. "I just wanted a level playing field with my super-powered friends, not to out-rank them or something."

"Still," Kido insisted.

"You really did shoot your shot, huh?" said Yana.

"Heh. Hardly!" Genkai's bark of laughter cut the stillness like the plonk of the deer-scare outside. "To think, you finally got powers just like you wanted, but you've done jack all to use them in the days since."

I matched her earlier glare with one of my own. "It's not that simple, Genkai."

"I think it's exactly that simple." Her teeth bared in a taunting grin that did not quite resemble a smile. "I think you're just scared."

She was baiting me, sure, but I didn't mind falling for the trap. "Look—dreams are personal, OK?" I snapped, defending my decisions for all I was worth. I couldn't help but think of the dream I'd had of Tom, of our stolen life together. If anyone had seen that without my consent, I would have been mortified. Tom's face clear in my mind, I told her: "Seeing the dreams of a person I care about without their consent feels like a violation. And if my power lets me do more than just see, I don't want to do that to someone without asking permission."

"Why?" Genkai pressed. "What's so wrong with using your powers in that way?"

"The subconscious mind is a delicate organism; there's no telling what me rooting around inside a person's head might do to them once they wake up," I said, words fresh and ready to go—because I'd been thinking about this for days now, and this argument was old hat by now. "I thought about it long and hard, and sure, it was tempting as hell to just march down the hall and run amok in my parents' dreams, but I refused to give in." I nodded, half to show my willpower to her, half to convince myself I was standing firm. "I refused to put them at risk to indulge my own eagerness and selfish desire for power."

In the wake of my tirade, silence reigned. Only the plonk of the deer scare and the whisper of wind through the leaves of the sakura tree broke the silence. The others looked at me with a mix of emotions—much the same ones they'd showed me on the train when I went on another rant. What had they called me? "Intense?" Yeah, that was it. Looks like I'd gone off the rails again.

But Genkai didn't seem to mind. After a time, she tapped out and repacked the bowl of her pipe, taking a long puff as she studied me in silence.

Eventually she murmured: "I was hoping you'd say that."

My face fell into a deadpan stare aimed at the wall above her head. "That was a test. Of course that was a test."

"Heh. You know me well." Smoke curled around her face like creeping fog. "Of course the mind is a delicate organism. Of course you shouldn't root around in someone's head for the hell of it. Of course you shouldn't experiment on just anyone. You did the right thing by refraining until you got here."

Amanuma's hand shot into the air. "So why did you just act like the opposite was true?"

"I wanted to see if Keiko was running scared, or if the lack of training was due to logic and reason dictating it needed to be delayed," Genkai said. "Caution is within Keiko's character, but so is over-thinking. I can abide the former. It's the latter I can't stand." Narrow eyes traveled over my face, scrutinizing. "But it's not just respecting another person's mind, is it, Keiko?"

"No. It's not," I admitted (because damn, she could read me like a book). "It's the violation of trust that's also held me back."

Her eyes lit up with understanding. "You've seen what havoc violating a person's trust can wreak. It's no surprise you wouldn't want to do it again to someone you care about, like your parents or an unwitting friend. And you'd never forgive yourself if you damaged a stranger accidentally." A wry chuckle escaped her lips. "You're a good person, in the end. A quality I find highly inconvenient as your teacher."

"You're complaining?" I asked.

"A little. Though why you didn't ask Kaito or Amanuma to play the role of test subject..."

"And when would we have been able to pull that off, huh?" I retorted. "My parents aren't exactly big on co-ed sleepovers unless it's Yusuke, and yeah, he's oblivious as hell, but even he would notice if I suddenly started—"

"All right, all right, I get it," she cut in, shaking her head. Once I calmed, she offered up a crooked smile. "Well. You're here now. And I assume there will be no shortage of volunteers to be your lab rats. People will have to use you as a test subject for their own Territories in the days to come. I'll make sure they're eager to return the favor."

Kido sat up straighter. "I can volunteer if you need me, Yukimura," he said, giving a nod to show he was serious. "Happy to help out."

"Me, too," said Amanuma. "I dream about games, mostly, so it'll be fun!"

"And me, especially since I get the feeling you will be the only person at this temple who stands a chance at giving me a worthy challenge in my own Territory." Kaito's words earned him a groan from everyone in the room, but he ignored us all to say, "Though I admit my dreams are woefully dull most nights. Sorry in advance."

"And me, I guess." Yana grinned, lopsided but happy. "I'll get to sleep the whole time, right?"

"That's right." Genkai pointed the stem of her pipe at my nose. "I can see the worry in your eyes, but it isn't necessary. You won't be taking the plunge alone. I'll be there every step of the way to make sure you don't break anything you shouldn't." The pipe returned to its rightful place between her teeth, metal gleaming in the light of the brazier. "I've got your back, kid."

My throat felt thick, and not just because of the room's cloying incense. "Thanks, y'all. I appreciate it," was all I could say.

The fact that they'd all volunteered—and so readily, too—took a weight off of my shoulders I hadn't been aware rested quite so heavily upon them. I knew how delicate a person's mind and psychology could be. I wasn't trained, let alone educated, on how psychology worked. Some classes in undergrad were all I could boast in terms of preparedness, and I only knew enough to know I knew practically nothing at all. All I could say for sure was that rummaging around in someone's subconscious held the potential for disaster, which meant I had to tread with utmost caution. If my powers could do more than just see dreams (and I had a sneaking suspicion that they did), it was comforting to know I wouldn't have to break any boundaries of trust to test them out. And knowing Genkai was here to guide me was exactly what I needed to let loose and truly dive deep into the ability that lurked inside me.

Coming here really had been the best decision I could've made. I felt that much in my bones.

Genkai stood without warning. She held up a hand when we all tried to copy the motion, a silent indication we should remain seated. The old psychic was so short, she was hardly taller than us despite her standing and us sitting, but somehow she still managed to look imposing as hell when she clasped her hands behind her back and looked us over one by one. Tension threaded through the smoke rising from her pipe, tangling with our breath and the invisible strings of stress rolling off of us in waves.

"I'd like to see all five of your abilities in action," she said, rough voice low and soft in the quiet room. "You're here for the weekend. If, by the end of it, I believe you all merit further training, I will ask you to come back for a longer period of time. Once I think you have a decent handle on your abilities, or if you already do, you are free to go." A shrug wrinkled the fabric of her coat. "Technically you are free to go at any time, but I suggest staying no matter how hard on you this process may feel—and it will feel hard on you, make no mistake."

Yana drew in a sharp breath at the stony glint in her eye. Kaito looked bored. Kido leaned forward a tad, staring at Genkai intently. Amanuma watched her talk with a frown. I just sat back and observed the reactions of my friends, measuring and analyzing in case I needed to jump in and soothe their worries. But none of them spoke, and soon Genkai began to speak again.

"I have not encountered a single Territory that did not come with a drawback—a dire consequence in the event that that Territory is broken or misused," she said. "If you think yours does not possess such a drawback, you are wrong, and time alone will prove it to you."

Amanuma gulped. A thread of worry cracked through Kaito's bored mask. Yana's face pinched tighter, his lax posture tensing. Kido leaned forward even more.

"In the interest of not getting yourselves killed, I ask of you your cooperation and obedience." Smoke from her pipe traced blue shadows through the air, pale and diaphanous, heavy on the tongue. "I expect you to obey me and do as I say without question, the minute I ask it of you, armed with the knowledge I do this for your own good—even if, in the moment, what I ask of you is painful, be it mentally or physically." The perfumed vapors obscured her eyes, as rough as the commanding crawl of her voice. "You may not like my teaching methods, but I promise you they are effective. If you listen to me unquestioningly, you will leave a stronger Territory user than you were before." She waved the pipe at us in a broad sweep. "These are my terms, so defined and so rendered. What say you?"

A long silence followed—and then, as one, everyone but Genkai turned to look at me.

My skin prickled. Shrinking in my seat, I tried to minimize myself, tried to make myself look small... but then Amanuma caught my eye. Every line of his young face recorded quiet desperation, confusion and desire for understanding—one he clearly hoped I might provide.

Well, crap. His apparent reliance on me set an uneasy quiver in my stomach. I wasn't supposed to be here, and once this training weekend ended, I was certain Genaki would not ask me to return for my training. Kaito, Yana and Kido, meanwhile, were destined to be trained by Genkai. My presence had the potential to throw their training off the rails. Genkai no doubt knew that, and for that reason she was sure to send me home once the weekend came to a close.

Amanuma, too, was an interloper just like me, but Genkai had already noticed how dangerous his Territory was. She'd be keeping him for another week, I was sure of it, even if she wasn't supposed to... but if he stayed and I left, and he became accustomed to relying on me in the meantime, that wasn't setting him up for success here. He needed to make his own choices, not just follow my lead at every turn.

But was telling him all of this a good idea? I'd scooped him up out of Sensui's influence and converted him to our side of my own volition—surely that meant I was also supposed to set him up for success with Genkai, too, since I was the reason he was here? I'd positioned myself as his friend and protector when I'd converted him. Abandoning him now, right as the going got tough, didn't feel right.

A good friend wouldn't abandon Amanuma, I decided. They'd show him it was OK to trust Genkai, pave the way for his success at her training camp. Suggest through their own actions the path he should follow—that kind of thing. So I squared my shoulders, forced my head up high, and channeled the confidence I had inherited from my days spent in Keiko's skin.

"My friend Yusuke, the one Genkai trained, was a street punk with fists for brains," I said (earning me a snort from Genkai in the process). "He still is all of those things. But Genkai was an instrumental force in turning him into the man he is today." Pride swelled as I thought of Yusuke—the closest thing I had to a brother in this, or any, life. "He is a Dark Tournament champion, the afterlife's chosen Spirit Detective, and the strongest person I have ever met—mentally and physically alike. And Genkai is to thank for so much of that."

No one said anything as I turned to face Genkai. She regarded me in silence, watching as I gathered my legs under me to sit in formal, respectful seiza. Amanuma continued to watch me, his young, round face pinched with worry.

"Genkai-sensei," I said, using the title most fitting for her, "I trust you implicitly. You have my word I will do my best to honor your wishes." Pressing my hands to the floor before me, I bowed low, forehead nearly brushing the tatami mats. "Thank you, Genkai, for agreeing to train me. You have my complete gratitude and my unflinching cooperation."

No one spoke. I held the position while the room held its breath—and then, with a rustle and a murmur, everyone copied me. They all bowed to Genkai, too, low and long and reverent, a ripple of humility that passed through the room like a wind off the mountains. I waited for them all to join me and hold that bow, a chorus of gratitude rising from my friends as they thanked Genkai for the training she offered to us so freely.

Amanuma's voice rang out the most confidently of all.

When we rose to face Genkai once more, her eyes met mine, and she smiled.

Down the hall from the room where Genkai had held our little chat, she assigned Kaito, Kido, Yana and Amanuma a small room hidden behind a series of sliding paper doors. The five-tatami room sat empty apart from some bedding stacked in a corner. My friends would be sleeping there as a group, she said, and I was to sleep in the room next door to theirs—but when Genkai slid the paper door to my quarters open, I realized she'd been quite literal when she said she'd saved me "a space" inside her home. Three other people occupied the room, judging by the futons and jumble of belongings inside it, but in the far corner lay a fourth, untouched futon she'd reserved for me. I could call no more than a single tatami mat's worth of space my own... though considering the number of tents clustered around the temple outside, these indoor accommodations (meager as they were) seemed luxurious indeed.

Still, sleeping beside strangers wasn't exactly my idea of a good time... but I didn't say anything. I'd been taught better manners than that in both my lives. Plus, I needed to suck it up for the sake of Genkai's training. I didn't intend to stay with her past this initial assessment weekend, it was true, but that didn't mean I was ignorant to how lucky I was to receive any sort of training from someone of her caliber. I intended to treasure her guidance and make every single second count—with a smile on my face, no less.

Thus, I painted on my very best Keiko Was Taught Great Manners Face when I turned to her and bowed, saying with an earnest smile: "Thank you, sensei. I appreciate being give a room. It's very nice."

"Nice," she repeated archly, because she wasn't fooled for a goddamn second. "You mean to say it's cramped."

"Well..."

"I'm not so thin-skinned as to be offended by a statement of the obvious." Genkai huffed. "You'll be bunking with Sumire, Nakano, Kaori and Chiharu."

I made a quick tally of futons on the floor and the names in Genkai's mouth; the numbers didn't add up. "Sorry, how many?" I gestured at the four laid-out futons, one of which ostensibly belonged to me. "Are we missing a bed?"

"No. Kaori is Chiharu's mother. They share a futon," said Genkai. "Oh, and Nakano also has a baby with her, too. You'll be the sixth person in here, technically."

"Oh." I couldn't help but wince. "Makes sense. Thought I heard one crying earlier."

"That might've been the baby." The word Genkai chose to stress didn't quite make sense, but she kept speaking before I could ask. "Don't worry about the kids. The mothers are both the responsible sort, and Nakano is young. You'll get along with her." She paused for the barest beat of time. "Do watch out for Chiharu, though."

"Eh?"

"The brat is well-mannered, but her Territory—"

"Wait, the kid has a Territory?" I had assumed the mom would have the Territory, not the child. Sure, Amanuma had one, but he was past the age of parental bed-sharing. "How young is she?"

"Very young." Genkai's thin lips pulled even thinner when she smirked. "If you see any dolls running around..."

"Dolls?" someone yelped. "Whaddaya mean, dolls?!"

Yana's head jutted comically out of the doorway to the boys' room; he wore a look of horror on his face, confusion and revulsion waging war in the lines surrounding his sleepy eyes and long nose. Genkai sighed and turned his way, pinching the bridge of her own between two fingers.

"Yes," she said, sounding fatigued. "Dolls."

"Running around? Dolls? Dolls running around?" Yana babbled, voice gaining pitch. "Did you say dolls would be running around?!"

Genkai grit her teeth. "Which part of what I said confused you?"

"What kind of dolls?" Yana asked with reedy desperation. "Like Barbies? Traditional Japanese?" He visibly paled. "If you say Victorian, I swear I'm gonna—"

"And define 'running around,'" I chimed in.

"What's with the inquisition?" Genkai rolled her eyes. "You're not both afraid of dolls, are you?"

"I'm afraid of ones that move on their own, sure!" I said. "I saw Chuckie at a formative age!"

"Me, too." Yana looked as grey as I felt inside when he swallowed, long neck undulating. "And they... do these dolls run around because of a Territory, or...?"

"Of course they do," Genkai snapped. "Why else?"

Far from mollified by this explanation, Yana grimaced, but before he could ask any (valid AF) followup questions, a giggle bounced down the hallway. Genkai didn't bother turning around to see from whence it came, instead gesturing at me and shutting her weary eyes.

"Ah, Sumire. Good," she said. "This is Keiko, the one I told you about." As the boys stepped out of their room to join us in the hall, she added, "And these are Kido, Kaito, Amanuma and Yana."

At the end of the corridor stood a girl—Sumire, judging by the name Genkai had just dropped. I flinched when I saw her high pigtails and the spots of blush dobbed on her cheeks, because at first glance she reminded me a bit of a doll, and I was still grappling with the mental image of Victorian dolls running amok like something out of a Chuckie sequel. The longer I looked at Sumire, though, the less she looked like and doll and the more she looked like the lady from The Big Comfy Couch, at least in the face, with her pert nose slightly red at the tip and her round cheeks dusted with freckles. She was cute in a childish sort of way, one accented by the school uniform with the sailor collar draped over her shoulders, and she stood at an average height that thankfully didn't remind me of a doll at all.

God. Dolls running around. I'd be on edge all night...

Not that Sumire felt the same way. She trotted forward on socked feet and bowed at us, popping back up again like a weighted toy. "Hi! I'm Watanabe Sumire. My name is spelled with the kanji for violet. It's nice to meet you!" She looked me over and smiled sweetly, cheeks rounding like ripe apples. "Your name is really cute. Happy child, right? I have another friend with that name so I know how it's spelled."

"My name is spelled 'lucky child,' actually."

Her smile faltered. "Oh. Well, I guess that's nice, too." Sumire's high, sweet voice turned syrupy as she addressed Genkai. "Want me to introduce them to everyone, Genkai? I can show Keiko-chan around. I know you need to deal with stuff that's actually important."

Before I could process just how quickly Sumire had apparently decided I was not 'actually important,' Genkai shook her head, brushing her off with a single, baleful glance.

"Keiko is plenty important," she said, and then she pivoted on her heel to march off down the corridor. "Sumire, go back to whatever you were doing. Keiko, the rest of you, with me."

We left as a group, Sumire frowning in our wake—but she smiled when I turned back to look at her, expression disintegrating like cotton candy under a jet of cold water. I got the distinct impression Sumire was something of a suck-up when it came to Genkai, but only time would tell.

I wasn't sure I liked that feeling—that feeling of not knowing. Sumire hadn't been part of canon. None of the women I'd be sharing a room with had been mentioned in canon. Apart from Yana, Kido and Kaito, everyone else here was an unknown quantity, an aberration, a bit of the YYH world canon hadn't bothered mentioning. Had these new Territory psychics been here but simply left out of the narrative? Or had something else brought this influx of extra Territory users to Genkai's doorstep? I had no way of knowing, and once again, I didn't enjoy that feeling at all.

Our party ventured back to the porch overlooking the courtyard where we'd first entered Genkai's compound. She wasted no time in pointing at a nearby fire-pit, where a group of Territory users (or so I presumed) sat gathered around swept ashes and banked coals.

"That's Nakano and her baby over there," she said, indicating a very young, quite pretty woman (no more than 19 or 20, by the looks of it) with long brown hair and bags under her eyes. A baby slept in her arms, face a pale moon amid dark blue swaddling. "Her Territory is Aromatherapy; scents within her Territory hold various powers." Genkai then pointed at the man sitting across from her at the fire-pit. "That's Fumihiro. Territory, Simon Says."

Fumihiro had thick glasses and wore a suit, tie loosened around his throat. Sweat beaded on his brow, which he dabbed with a handkerchief. He didn't look much older than 25 or so, but his drab suit and hair—cut in an outdated side-part—gave him the appearance of someone of the previous generation.

"Lemme guess," Kido drawled. He leaned against a support beam atop the porch, affectation lazy but confident. "He tells you to do something, and you don't do it, he takes your soul. A physical version of Kaito's Territory."

"Not quite. It's much worse. But we'll talk about it later." Genkai indicated a girl in a school uniform busy setting up a tent not too far off. The girl's ponytail bobbed and swayed as she fitted poles together, arms strong and rippling under her bronzed skin. "That's Amano, Territory Slo-Mo."

Amanuma asked, "What's it do?"

"You'll see." Genkai nodded toward a man emerging from another tent. He had long black hair and a lean grin, clothes baggy with a chain hanging from his belt. "Okada's over there. Territory, Cohort." She nodded at someone else before I could get a better look at Okada. "And that's Mizaki, who's Territory—"

Genkai moved too quickly for me to commit any of the other Territory users to memory, attention flitting from one psychic to the next like a hawk striking a cloud of wheeling sparrows. She explained some of their abilities but simply named others; for this I was almost grateful, even if it left me feeling like one of the sparrows under her claws. This weekend promised to provide an overwhelming glut of information, all of it foreign to me. Like a small bird caught in a high wind, struggling and frantic against the gale, just trying to keep aloft amid currents of air too large for my small wings. The others weren't nearly as overwhelmed by the looks of it. Amanuma danced from foot to foot, eagerly listening to every word she spoke, and Kaito's bespectacled gaze slid from one Territory psychic to the next with apparent interest. Even Yana's lazy expression had vanished as she told us about one more Territory user, and then another, and then—

An elbow nudged my side—Kido sidling up as Genkai spoke, narrow eyes dark with concern. "You OK?" he muttered.

"Just..." I swallowed. "It's a lot to take in."

He gave a sage nod, blond head bobbing. "We'll get used to it," he said. "Help each other out. Y'know?"

Something in his smile—sly, small, but sincere—made the storm roiling in my chest quiet down a little. Before I could do much more than smile back, Amanuma rocked up onto his toes and nearly tumbled off the porch. Kaito caught him by the collar and pulled him back, tutting while Amanuma pointed off toward the tori arch by the entrance to the temple compound.

"Who's that lady over there?" he asked, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Does she have a Territory, too?"

Yana lifted a brow. "The lady over—?"

"That's everyone," Genkai said, rounding on the tori with a frown. "So who do you—?" Her mouth snapped shut. "Oh. Her."

The woman's black kimono blended with the shadows below the tori, dappled shade making her bone-white face appear nearly decayed, shadows under her cheekbones skull-deep and unsettling. But then she stepped forward, into the light, and sun placed golden highlights in her black hair and eyes. Her wooden geta clicked against the flagstones as she approached, coming to a stop just on the other side of the tori, at the boundary where forest path became temple proper.

It was Ayame, of course. I'd been wondering when she would appear. The emissary of death gave us a tight smile from across the courtyard and bowed slightly, dipping her head toward Genkai in a show of deference.

"Hello, Genkai... and you too, Keiko," she said when she straightened up. "I am here on behalf of Koenma. He would like a word with both of you."

Without preamble, Genkai turned and headed inside—and with a gesture for the others not to follow, Ayame and I trailed after her indoors.

Spirit World's involvement in Genkai's plans was a known quantity, a bit of canon to which I could latch and cling—and in a world where so much fell outside of my control, I did not intend to let this slip untested through my fingers.

Notes:

Obviously I missed the last update date. Here's why: I came home from a 70-hour work week (spent traveling and on my feet 24/7) to learn a friend had died and my dad was in the hospital for emergency surgery. I had to drive about 20 hours to take over Thanksgiving preparations and take care of various family emergencies, one of which I can't talk about due to its extremely sensitive nature. It was incredibly stressful, and the weeks that followed at my workplace were the hardest weeks I've experienced in my professional career, further keeping me busy and preoccupied. Suffice it to say, I didn't have time to finish this chapter until today.

Enormous thanks to those who checked in one me after I didn't update when I said I would. Everyone on here was lovely and supportive, and I appreciate your kindness more than I can say.

Happy birthday today to Lucky Child! Today the story turns 5. Let's hope I can finish it before it turns 6.

Also, rereading the chapters where Eza was using his powers is quite funny in retrospect; NQK seriously had no idea what was happening, but rereading now should make a lot more sense. I've been planning on his big reveal for YEARS NOW... so nice to finally unveil my plans for him, though of course there's so much more to come.

Many and sincere thanks to those who chimed in with kind things to say after my last update; you kept me going while I was struggling: Nollyn, kixprue, MidKnightOwl, snapsdragon, Paddygirl, Sanguinary_Tide, Sdelacruz2, NotQuiteAnonymous, XiyouChan, DragonsTower, RoseyRed999, terminalmigration, and artisticVirtuoso.

Chapter 123: Weekend at Genkai's (Part 2)

Summary:

In which NQK theorizes.

Notes:

WARNINGS: None

PREVIOUSLY ON LUCKY CHILD: Prior to the Dark Tournament, Not Quite Keiko was kidnapped by Itsuki and Sensui. At the Dark Tournament, Keiko asked the Beautiful Suzuka to help her get supernatural powers; he gave her a bracelet that attracts energy. After the tournament ended, Keiko's school friend, Amagi, showed Keiko the Makai Insects invading Mushiyori City. Keiko and Kurama brought these bugs to the attention of Spirit World. Later, Keiko developed a Territory. Kurama noticed at school that Keiko was no longer wearing the bracelet Suzuka gave her. After banding together with fellow Territory users Kaito, Kido, and Amanuma, NQK traveled to Genkai's, where they found many other Territory psychics seeking Genkai's guidance. Ayame appeared shortly after Keiko introduced her friends to Genkai.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ayame's eyes, fathomless and black, pooled in twin pits above the white bone of her slender cheeks. A chill passed through me as they swept across my face, but I suppressed the urge to shiver. Although I trusted Ayame (as much as I could trust any emissary of Spirit World), I never quite knew where I stood with her, and that feeling of uncertainty left me unsettled.

"Keiko. It's good to see you." Her eyes cataloged every strand of my mussed hair and the folds of my travel-creased clothes. "You've recovered well, I trust?"

"Yeah." I swallowed. "And it's good to see you, too."

We stood in the large room with the brazier to which Genkai had earlier led myself and my friends, out from under the scrutiny of the other Territory users who had flocked to Genkai's temple. This time Genkai had shut the massive doors for privacy. Probably a good thing, by my estimations. The others had watched with open curiosity as Genkai sequestered Ayame and myself in that back room. Sumire—the girl with the round face and bouncing curls—actually came up to introduce herself, boldly offering to bring tea to our private meeting, but Genkai shot her down with a swift rebuke. Far from deterred, Sumire's eyes had followed us until we entered the temple, a calculating frown writ in the lines of her brow and down-turned lips. She'd forced a smile when my eyes met hers, gaze lingering on me like a shark hunting a seal. Her eyes looked even blacker than Ayame's.

Why did I get the distinct impression Sumire would sink her teeth into me about this later?

It hardly mattered; I had bigger fish to fry, and between Ayame and Sumire, the former represented the more threatening shark in the water. It didn't surprise me in the least to see her here. I had skipped our weekly check-in meeting due to being hospitalized from Mushiyori Fever, and as soon as Genkai escorted us into the back room, she broke the news to me that she had gotten in contact with Spirit World the second a Territory psychic showed up on her doorstep. Spirit World needed to know about the recent crop of newly awakened psychics, she reckoned, and Spirit World in turn told Genkai about the Makai Insects Kurama and I had brought to their attention thanks to my classmate Amagi.

It was only natural that Genkai also told them about my own Territory, once I called her and revealed I'd acquired the power of Dream.

"Don't be upset," Genkai grated when I pulled a face at this news. "It doesn't matter that I was the one to break the news. You would've told them eventually, anyway."

"Yeah," I said, eyeing Ayame sidelong, "but I kind of wanted to see the look on Ayame's face when I told her I got powers, too."

Ayame's full (if not pallid) lips curved into a smile. "I was most surprised, Keiko, I assure you."

"J'accuse," I retorted with deadpan skepticism. "I bet you didn't even flinch."

She laughed, which livened up her skeletal face a little. "No. I didn't," she admitted. "But of all the people to fall ill with Mushiyori Fever, it seemed fitting you would rank among that number." Her expression darkened again. "However... we need to discuss the obvious."

A sigh blustered past my lips, because I knew exactly what she was about to ask. "No, Ayame," I said. "I had no idea I'd get this Territory. The original Keiko didn't get any powers, ever. This was a complete surprise."

Genkai's face remained unreadable as she puffed on her pipe. Ayame's dark hair, haloed in smoke, nigh but disappeared into the room's aphotic gloom. The brazier cast sparks into the depths of her eyes like the burning heart of a submarine volcano drowned in cold water. I had no clue what either of them were thinking, nor what they made of my claim toward ignorance. Perhaps they believed me; perhaps they did not. Either way, I'd meet their questions without flinching.

"Why do you suppose have powers but the original Keiko did not, in that case?" Ayame said eventually.

"Honestly? I have a couple of theories." A shrug. "No clue which ones are right, but..."

"Well, out with it," Genkai said. "We haven't got all night."

"OK." A deep breath, lungs stretching before a race. "The first theory is that I've just spent more time in Mushiyori than the original Keiko ever did. Mushiyori is the nexus point for Territory acquisition. I take aikido lessons in the city, and some of my friends live there, so I visit a lot. The original Keiko, by contrast, never set foot within Mushiyori city limits as far as I know. Proximity upped her—my—our" (I stumbled briefly over pronouns) "chances of getting bitten by Makai insects, and here we are." I shrugged again. "Just a simple numbers game, really."

Ayame, sitting in serene seiza beside the brazier, nodded slowly. "And your other theory?"

"In the legend, Yusuke visited the original Keiko in her dreams to warn her of his death and resurrection," I explained. "He did the same in this reality, with me. The original Keiko also had a few instances of prophetic dreams, too, although these were brushed off by the narrative as unimportant or coincidental. But they always stood out to me." A grin spread across my face, cheeks curving at the memory of heated forum discussions centered on Keiko's wasted potential in canon; if only my past-life fandom friends could see me now... "When my Territory involved dreams, it seemed like a natural extrapolation of what power Keiko might've gained if she'd been granted one in the original canon."

"So even discounting the time spent in Mushiyori, you have had more exposure to the supernatural in this lifetime than did the original Keiko," Genkai pointed out, "so once again, this is a numbers and proximity game."

"That's right. Maybe combining my increased exposure to the supernatural with my increased exposure to Mushiyori was the one-two-get-a-power punch she—I—we needed to gain supernatural abilities." Shifting on the floor-pillow beneath my curled legs, I dipped a finger into the pocket of my jeans. "And on that note... the original Keiko never had this."

From my pocket I pulled a small drawstring bag—the kind that comes with jewelry, provided you don't buy it out of a gumball machine. Genkai took it and pulled open the neck, tipping a small tangle of red cord and fragments of white stone into her palm with a soft clink. The bracelet gifted to me at the Dark Tournament by the Beautiful Suzuka had seen better days. The cord, formerly a smooth and silken crimson, sported charred black edges and crispy threads, especially where knots looped through the disc of white stone with the hole in the middle. The stone was cracked clean in half, ends as jagged as broken bone. It looked like it had been violently smashed against a hard surface. Kurama had noticed when I'd ceased wearing the item, but apart from him, no one had seemed to realize the piece of jewelry had fallen from my daily sartorial rotation. This was good thing, in my book. I hadn't wanted anyone asking questions.

Ayame leaned toward Genkai with a frown. "What is that, Keiko?"

"A gift from a demon," I said. "I went to him looking for powers at the Dark Tournament."

For once, Ayame's smooth expression fractured. "You did what?"

"Keiko is nothing if not ambitious, I'm telling you," Genkai said with a chuckle. "If you'd been born with Yusuke's gifts, Keiko, you'd take over the world. Rewrite it in your image, no doubt."

"Ha ha, very funny. Anyway." I jabbed a finger toward the ruined bracelet in Genkai's hand. "The demon said the hole in that stone was naturally occurring due to many years of erosion. He said it attracts energy as a result, drawing it in over time. He'd wanted to use it as a battery for energy to call upon during fights, but he said the energy wasn't the right kind or something? I don't quite remember. But I remember clear as day that he said it could attract power to me."

"Forgive me if this statement sounds ignorant," Ayame said, "but why would a demon grant you an object of such power?"

"I plead a passionate case for his assistance and rolled a high charisma check."

Genkai's glare bordered on acidic. "Do not tell me you're a D&D nerd."

I beamed. "Of course I am!"

"D&D?" Ayame asked with obvious trepidation.

"Never you mind." Genkai's glared turned outright venomous. "It's extremely unimportant."

"Says you." Resisting the urge to defend one of my favorite hobbies proved difficult. "Anyway, that demon gave me the bracelet because he didn't need it himself. For him and his purposes, neither the type of energy it attracted nor the rate it attracted that energy were sufficient. He said it was a failed experiment, and therefore it was no great loss to give it to me."

Genkai gnawed on the end of her pipe. "This demon was the Beautiful Suzuka, I'm guessing?" She chuckled when I gave a nod. "Of course it was him. He did love his half-baked inventions..."

Ayame held out a hand; Genkai passed the bracelet to her. "And you think this bracelet may have had a hand in causing your Territory to manifest?" she said, one slender finger tracing over shards and broken string.

"Yes. When I got sick, I felt something weird on my wrist as I was blacking out," I explained. "When I woke up, the doctors had put my bracelet in a bag. Said it broke sometime during surgery, though they weren't sure when or how. Their best guess was that it had gotten hooked on a power cord and fried, judging by the look of it, but even they didn't look like they believed that excuse. So..."

Ayame and Genkai took turns studying the bracelet. Neither of them spoke for a time. At one point they exchanged a long, wordless look I did not understand. Genkai clutched the bracelet tight in her fist and shut her eyes, breathing deeply—no doubt using her own energy to investigate the bracelet, if I knew how to read her right. I felt nothing, though. Perhaps sensing energy wasn't an ability of Territory psychics? Or perhaps I'd learn to do that with time. Difficult to say, but hopefully this weekend at Genkai's would shed some light on the subject.

And speaking of shedding light: Watching Genkai work reminded me of Cleo. Their age and wisdom, the same hard set to their eyes—I couldn't shake the memory of Cleo closely examining the bracelet when we talked on the rooftop of the Hotel Kubikukuri on Hanging Neck Island after the end of the Dark Tournament. She had closely examined the bracelet, too, afterward making the offhand remark that I would have an interesting time ahead. Clearly she'd been able to see the writing of destiny on the demonic hotel wall. In truth, out of anyone, I most wanted to ask Cleo for her opinion on the bracelet, but Genkai and Ayame would do for the time being. Cleo ran on her own schedule. There was no telling when she'd deign to show her face again.

Eventually Ayame placed the broken bracelet back in its bag and returned it to me. "True to that demon's word, traces of residual energy remain upon the stone," she said, expression unreadable. "It's ancient energy—energy of the world itself, of tectonic plates and weather patterns, deep oceans and the deeper currents within."

"Don't be fooled by how impressive that sounds, however," Genkai interjected. "That kind of energy is useless in a fight, but it's not without other applications. It is possible this energy attracted the Mushiyori insects to you or somehow fueled the development of your Territory while you traveled within Mushiyori."

"It is difficult to say since it's in pieces." Ayame looked me over, assessing. "Are there any other theories you'd like to share?"

Of course I had more. I always had more; as an anxiety-riddled overthinker, having more theories and thoughts than necessary is kind of my thing. And the more elaborate and chaotic the better, you know what I mean? But Ayame and Genkai weren't interested in the machinations of a paranoid mind. They wanted data, facts, theories grounded in reality—actionable items, so to speak. The irony was that my most plausible final theory had to do with Hiruko, that elusive Spirit who, like Cleo, appeared on his own terms and in his own time, utterly out of reach and beyond my grasp.

Would they even want to hear the ways I thought he might be behind my acquisition of a Territory? Because his influence on the situation began years ago—before I ever even visited Genkai looking for powers, in fact. He had been visiting me in my dreams since I was a child. He was the one whose unwelcome presence in my sleeping mind forced me to lucid-dream for the first time. If it weren't for him, I never would've learned to control my dreams, and all Territories seemed to develop upon a bedrock of former abilities, skills and traumas. If anyone had had a direct impact upon the direction of my Territory's development, it had to be him. Because apart from Hiruko, Yusuke was the only one who had made my dreams in this life something more than just images seen whilst sleeping, and—

A smile curled my mouth. Or maybe Hiruko wasn't to blame for any of this. Maybe it wasn't about him at all. Thinking of Yusuke, of everything I'd shared with the protagonist of Yu Yu Hakusho... it never really had been about anyone else, had it?

"What are you grinning about?" Genkai grumbled.

"It's just funny," I said. "Looking back on it and thinking about my final theory... well, it's hardly even a theory." I couldn't help but laugh, low and to myself. "I think the reason I got powers is actually really simple. Too simple to be a formal theory."

"What is it?" Ayame said.

"Yes. Spit it out, brat," echoed Genkai.

"Earlier you asked me why I had powers." My laugh morphed into a wide smile, happy and genuine. "I think it's because of Yusuke and me."

Genkai's brow lifted. "That's going to take some explaining."

I wasted no time and jumped right in, the flow of my life's canon rolling easy off the tongue."Keiko was meant to attend school alongside Yusuke. Obviously my temperament made sure that didn't happen, because at his funeral, I almost punched a teacher who disrespected him." I grinned as Genkai's brow lifted higher. "That's what made me change schools. I was about to be expelled, but my mother enrolled me elsewhere before they could put an expulsion on my record. Her quick thinking saved my academic career."

"How adroit of her," Ayame murmured.

"Yeah." A pensive smile twisted my face. "It nearly killed me at the time, you know. Knowing something I did made such a big change to Keiko and Yusuke's shared life—knowing that I'd be separated from Yusuke when that's not how the legend should go, and all because of my actions." My head shook almost of its own accord. "I wondered what would happen to him without me there to watch over him, to guide him, to play the role of Keiko. But maybe I was just scared to let go of control." I swallowed, throat thick. "I dunno. I guess I should've trusted him from the start."

Genkai, ever impatient in the face of navel-gazing, grunted. "What's your point?"

"I always thought Hiruko was to blame for my change in schools," I told her. "He's been trying to trip me up for years, so I thought he might've influenced the situation. I thought maybe it was him to blame, not me and my actions... but if you look back and trace the order of events, it's really got nothing to do with him at all." I waved a hand, tracing the threads of destiny through the ether. "The entire reason I'm at Meiou now is because of my relationship with Yusuke. It all comes back to Yusuke and me in the end. Because he's my brother in this lifetime, because we're so close in a manner he and the original Keiko were not..." I lifted my fist to study it, reading fate in the curves of my fingers. "That closeness is why I tried to throw that punch at Iwamoto. I couldn't tolerate someone disrespecting Yusuke like that. And because I threw that punch, I now go to Meiou, and because I go to Meiou, I met Kurama and got closer to the supernatural, and because of that, I've met so many people from Mushiyori, and thanks to them I've spent more time there, and that proximity is probably how I got this Territory. It all traces back to that one, single moment at that funeral when I tried to throw that punch." My fist descended to my thigh, dropping like a stone. "It's... it's just wild to think about that domino effect. One, single punch, and... here we are."

Ayame's chin dipped. "The wings of a butterfly birth storms in far-flung places."

"Well said, Ayame," said Genkai.

Her chin inclined, dark eyes regarding me down the length of her delicate nose. "Whatever the reason for your powers, Keiko, I have to ask this, too: What purpose does Mushiyori Fever serve in the grand scheme of the legend we embody?"

My lips thinned. "I wondered when you'd figure it out."

Genkai looked between us. "Explain."

"Thanks to Keiko, we know Makai insects are invading Human World," Ayame said, eyes trained unerringly on my face (which I schooled into a mask of Keiko Politeness, impassive and bland). "People are developing psychic powers. The presence of the Makai insects and the surfacing of the Territory psychics indicates a breach between worlds likely exists."

"Rifts in the barrier between worlds often birth new psychics," Genkai said. "Yes, I know."

"Indeed," Ayame said. "More alarmingly, Hiruko seeks the Makers, who lurk between worlds... worlds separated by a barrier the Makai insects have already breached. Furthermore, Itsuki and Sensui, unseen by Spirit World in many years, have surfaced once again. According to Spirit World, Itsuki has the ability to manipulate dimensional space. He is more than capable of opening a rift between the Demon and Human Worlds."

Genkai smirked. "I see what you're getting at now."

"Yes. It cannot be a coincidence that Sensui, Itsuki and Hiruko are all interested in pseudo-space." She spoke in a firm but lulling rhythm, voice smooth, satin spread over hard stone. "While the overlap between Itsuki, Sensui and Hiruko's goals is unclear, too many elements in common lie between them to be ignored. There is no way these events and these actors are unrelated, Keiko. You hold the connections between these facts close to your chest, and I can't help but trace the threads that bind them."

'Threads,' Ayame said. Hiruko used threads to manipulate, to control, to influence. Perhaps she had used the phrased intentionally. Perhaps she hadn't. Either way, I couldn't keep the shiver at bay.

"Wow," I told her. "You just said the quiet bits out loud, huh?"

Her lips pulled up at the corner. "I confess I tire of dancing around matters of fate."

"You're becoming genre savvy, Ayame." I wagged a finger, trying to dispel the tension with humor, little good though it did me. "It's highly inconvenient."

"A dodging of questions if I've ever heard one," she said, not fooled in the slightest. She surprised me by ducking her head, a show of submission and humility. "But I won't trouble you further with my musings. I do not expect you to confirm them. I respect your efforts to keep the future concealed. I would merely be remiss not to tell you the conclusions I have drawn." Her gaze became hooded, drawn, as she stared into the smoldering coals within the nearby brazier. "Itsuki, Sensui, Hiruko, the insects, the Territory psychics, the Makers... they are all connected. We have but to wait to see the image formed by these disparate pieces when they come together at long last."

Genkai lifted her pipe to her mouth, but she didn't smoke. "Why do I feel like it'll resemble a Dali painting?"

"If it does, it is Koenma's highest wish that we will face that surreal madness as a united front," Ayame replied, intonation as smooth as an ocean current. "In times such as these, we must work together, after all. And on that note, we need to discuss next steps."

Genkai have an economic nod. "I'll train the Territory psychics to make sure they won't wreak too much havoc in the wider world."

"We would also like you to investigate the infestation in Mushiyori, with the goal of locating any breaches between Demon and Human World," Ayame said. "We have conducted our own search, but we have found little. Could you be convinced to travel?"

"I'll see if these old bones are up for it."

"Very good." Ayame shifted toward me. "Keiko. I can only assume these psychics will play a large role in the events to come."

My shoulders stiffened, but I said nothing.

"Can you share why you wear the look on your face?" Ayame asked.

"Some of the ones here are fated to play a role," I admitted, choosing each word with care. "But some... some of them I've steered from their destined path."

"Oh?" said Genkai.

"One in particular—I won't say who—was supposed to be an enemy of ours."

It was a gamble, telling them this. But ever since Amanuma had agreed to come with me to Genkai's (ever since I'd turned him away from Sensui's influence, truth be told), I'd known this confession was inevitable. It was better for Genkai to be on guard—not against Amanuma or Sensui, though.

She needed to be on guard against me.

"Interesting," Genkai said, studying me through shaded eyes. "Very interesting."

"But you've ensured that won't be the case?" Ayame asked.

"Yes." Squaring my stiff shoulders, I said, "This person is a friend now. A good one. One we can trust. We can trust all the ones I brought here. I vouch for them. And Eza, too." I couldn't help but smile at the memory of his broad, kind face. "Was shocked to see him here, but he's a good egg. We have quality allies."

"But one of them was not meant to be as such," Ayame said.

"Yes." And here came my dire warning. "And that creates a vacuum in my knowledge of canon. We need to be very careful in trusting my knowledge of future events due to how much I've already impacted them."

That was the main reason I wouldn't tell them what I knew about Amanuma and his foiled connection to Sensui. Me throwing a single punch at Iwamoto had potentially given me a Territory. What side effects would recruiting Amanuma wreak on Sensui's plans? Perhaps without Amanuma, the Gamemaster, at his side, Sensui wouldn't recruit Sniper, Doctor, Seaman, or the others—perhaps he'd recast his entire cadre of Territory users he allied with in canon. If I told Genkai and Ayame about the enemies they should expect per canon's decree, they might not be able to adjust in time should Sensui choose other allies instead. They would over-prepare for threats that never came and be less likely to adjust on the fly to aberrations in expectations. Due to my actions regarding Amanuma, I had created uncertainty in Sensui's methods. Rather than trust my knowledge, Genkai and my allies should make judgments for themselves based on any information they could find themselves—information organic to this version of canon, and not what I knew from my past.

Luckily I didn't need to explain any of that; the sage looks on Ayame and Genkai's faces said they understood. Still, I made sure to mention: "Someone will fill the empty place I created when I turned this would-be enemy to our side. I just have no idea who that person will be."

"So you're saying we'll have to face down psychics with unknown powers in future," Genkai said. "And by 'we,' I mean Yusuke and his friends."

"Yes."

"Hmmph. Thought as much." She bit down on her pipe and smirked. "Good thing I know exactly how to prep him for that scenario."

"Prep, huh?" I couldn't help but smile back. "I know what you're planning."

Genkai's smirk widened. "Do you, now?"

The glitter in her eye said she knew the answer to that extremely rhetorical question: Yes, of course I knew what she was planning, and she damn well knew it, too. In canon, Genkai conscripted Kaito, Kido and Yana into kidnapping Yusuke and holding him hostage. At her behest, they used their Territory powers to challenge Kurama, Hiei, Kuwabara and Botan to rescue Yusuke from the House of Four Dimensions, a strange, abandoned house on the edge of town where Genkai's plan could go off without civilian interference. And because Territory psychics don't rely on their fists, Yusuke and his friends were completely out of their element, unable to use their usual tactics (namely violent ones) to solve problems, defeat the enemy, and rescue Yusuke.

Kurama, Kuwabara, Hiei and Botan managed to succeed and rescue Yusuke in canon, of course. Yusuke had never been in any real danger; Genkai's plan never involved actually hurting him or his friends. Whether they won or lost, the goal was to illustrate the degree to which Territory users differed from Yusuke's usual enemies, evidencing through action the way Yusuke and his friends needed to modify their strategic thinking when handling the new threats brought about by the advent of Territories. It was an elegant method to plunge Yusuke headfirst into the cold water of Territory psychics. She wanted to shock them into strategic evolution with an glacial blast of new information. We all know jumping headlong into a pool is the best way to acclimate to a frigid and unforgiving temperature, after all...

But I didn't need to explain all of that to Genkai. Instead I summarized her goals into a brief and perfunctory thesis statement: "You want to test Yusuke. You want to give him a trial by fire to show him he's out of his depth and how much he needs to evolve to fight the Territory users. This will involve a kidnapping and a test for him and all his friends, yes?"

She scowled, but the glitter in her eye gave away that she was pleased. "There goes the legend, ruining all my fun again."

"Sorry." But I sounded more eager than apologetic. "It's a good plan, by the way."

"I concur," Ayame said. "Genkai already told me what she's planning. And Koenma approves."

"Still not sure who I'll use for the kidnapping," Genkai said. She held her pipe between her fingers, thumb running over the length of the stem in a steady, contemplative track. "That's part of what this weekend is about. I need to assess my pawns and train them before they get within striking distance of Yusuke."

"Pawns isn't a very nice word, Genkai," I chided.

She ignored me. "Spill it, kid." Her pipe jabbed my way like a striking blade. "What's canon have to say about my plan?"

"While I don't really like the word 'pawns,'" I repeated, ever a dog with a bone, "canon says good things about it. Definitely move forward with the plan. Just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't want to be a part of it."

A long silence followed. I held my breath. Ayame's pale, skeletal face gleamed in the dark like the leavings of departed carrion. Genkai eyed me over, lips eventually giving way to a scowl.

"Who said I want you to be a part of it?" she said.

"Nobody." The word sounded defensive, even to me, but I had a logical reason for not wanting any part of Genkai's grand schemes. "It's just... Yusuke trusts me. If I'm part of the plan, he'll immediately know he's not in any real danger, so there's no point getting me involved. No one will be fooled, and the plan will be undermined. I want out of it as a result."

"Fair point," Genkai conceded.

"Additionally..." (here came the hard sell) "...I'd like to be released from my promise of secret keeping regarding my Territory."

Genkai's scowl deepened. Ayame's china-smooth brow creased, a dark line bisecting the skin between her eyebrows. I held my head high, though, and did not wither.

"You wanted me to keep my Territory a secret from Yusuke because of your plan," I said. "Well, if I'm not part of the plan, I can tell him what I can do. I don't have to hint others have a Territory. I can just act like my near-death experience awoke something in me. The rest of your plan and the other Territory users can still be a surprise."

"Sorry, kid," Genkai said at once. "But that's not how this works."

"But—"

"What happened to obeying me without question?" She didn't spare me even a breath to regroup or argue, plowing on ahead with fire burning in her rheumy eyes. "You agreed to my terms. Are you backing out now? I didn't think you were the type who didn't mean what they say."

Fuck. Leave it to Genkai to throw my words back in my face. I was trapped by my own moral code and I knew it, but even so—I was nothing if not a fighter. "Genkai, please," I said, only a hair's breadth away from begging. "I can't lie to them anymore. I just promised I'd stop lying."

"And you will stop lying—about everything except this," she said, as if that made perfectly logical sense. "I can't have you ruining the shock of unconventional powers by showing off yours at every opportunity. Revealing your Territory ruins my plan."

My head hung, neck boneless with dread. "Genkai..."

"I know it's not what you want. But even you can't be so blinded by your own desires to not realize I'm right."

"But—" Rebellion rose hot a heady in my chest. "You can't control me once I leave here. What if I just tell Yusuke about my Territory anyway?"

"I'm planning on kidnapping Yusuke. You think I'll hesitate to do the same to you to keep my plans in place?" she fired back. "I can imprison you here for the next month and not a soul will know. Don't tempt me." Her face softened when I balked, the barest hint of sympathy lighting her dark gaze. "In the end, kid, it's just easier for you to keep quiet. It's one less loose end to worry about—both for me, and for you."

My teeth ground together so hard, it's a wonder they didn't crack. I hated the reality of the situation almost as much as I hated that Genkai was right—but then again, this wasn't a surprise. Even before I tried to argue to be released from secrecy, I knew she'd say no, and even more than that, I knew my request wasn't logical. I knew telling Yusuke about my Territory was a bad idea no matter how much I longed to reveal it. It was better to keep the secret of my Territory a total surprise, even if I wasn't involved in Genkai's plan to kidnap Yusuke and test his friends. It was better for him to not have any idea people were getting powers of any kind. It was better for me to keep my mouth shut about everything, down to the last detail.

And that meant it was better to keep lying to him.

I hated to admit that was the case, but it was. Telling him about my Territory would give him too much time to adjust his thinking, ruining the cold-water shock effect of Genkai's plans. I knew keeping secrets was my best choice of action. I just didn't want to admit it. I just didn't want to choose it. I wanted Genkai to force my silence, because at least in that scenario. I wasn't the one to blame.

Asking to be released from secrecy was more for the benefit of my own conscience than anything, if I'm being completely honest with myself. When my secret at last came out, I wanted to be able to say with my whole chest that I'd at least tried to keep from lying to them, dammit.

But that alone wasn't enough for me. "If I do keep my powers a secret," I said, affixing Genkai with a firm glare. "If I do lie and keep all of this a secret... I need something from you."

One thin brow arched. "What?"

"I need assurances. You have to promise me that when the secret comes out, you'll have my back and tell them not to hate me."

Her brow lifted higher. "You want me to take the blame."

"Yes," I said, hating how childish the word felt in my mouth. "I am sorry about this, but I will need you to defend me when they—"

"You don't have to work so hard to convince me, you know."

I froze. She took a drag from her pipe, smoke lifting in airy waves toward the dark-shrouded eaves above.

"Do you really think I care what that gaggle of children thinks of me?" she said. "You can direct them to blame me all you like if it'll make you feel better. I'll bear their ill will without flinching." Her smile, lazy and satisfied, quieted the nerves still thrumming in my chest. "I'll take the fall for your secrets if that's really what you want. You are keeping them at my request, after all, and you know I'll kick your ass if you don't do as I say."

"That's what I'm gonna do, by the way" I informed her. "I'm going to remind them that you're scary and I had no choice but to lie to them under pain of ass-kicking."

"Fine by me, so long as it gets you to cooperate."

I studied her in silence, wafts of perfumed smoke tangling with my hair and brushing warm hands across my damp skin. I'd been sweating without realizing it; cloth clung to my back and chest, sticky and laden with the salt of stress. But Genkai looked sincere, not flinching from my questing gaze, only breathing in the smoke of her pipe through wizened lips pressed thin with flat solemnity.

"Good," I said after a time. "Well. OK then." A deep breath pulled warm air into my lungs, cloying and sweet. "For the record, I hate this. I hate it. I hate lying to them like this."

"I know," Genkai said.

"I don't want to keep secrets," I continued. "But..."

"But what must be done must be done," she said.

"Yeah." A hard swallow placed an ache in the depths of my clenched throat. "I tell myself that a lot."

No one spoke, for a time. Eventually Ayame rose to her feet with the fluid grace of a funerary flag. Her kimono blended with the dark of the room as she approached the open doorway overlooking the garden. For a time she stared out over the stone-ringed pond and green cheery tree, one hand resting bone white and china thin upon the door's frame.

"Keep me apprised of your plans." Her voice carried like wind through winter-bare branches, soft with chill and distance. "I will be in touch."

"See you soon, Ayame," I said to her turned back.

"Yes," she said. "See you, Keiko."

Ayame took a step forward, onto the porch beyond the doorway. The cherry tree above swayed, shishi-odoshi popping against stone as it filled with water. Ayame paused until the deer-scare popped a second time. Then her face turned until one black eye appeared over her shoulder, assessing and fathomless.

"For what it's worth—I agree with Genkai," she murmured. "You must keep your Territory secret for a while longer yet, if Genkai's plan is to come to fruition. This is one secret that is not yours to break." She paused again. The deer-scared dropped. Her eye shut, black hiding behind bone-pale lid. "If they do not see the necessity of your actions, once the secret airs... I will back you up as well. They may blame me, too, if they wish."

"Ayame..." My mouth worked, dry as bone. I was all I could do to say: "Thank you."

"You are welcome." She stepped forward, into the garden. "Take care, Keiko. Until we meet again."

A weight settled over my shoulders as she faded from view, her body disappearing between one blink and the next. The deer-scared echoed in the silence like the beating of a plodding heart. Genkai smoked her pipe until I rose, staring toward the garden as if I could read the reality of what had transpired here in the scattered leaves of the cherry tree.

Ayame had always been hard to read—but somehow, in that moment, it felt like I could count on her. Perhaps not on Spirit World, but Ayame herself... she would back me up if I needed her. Ayame would have my back, and so would Genkai, the pair of them protecting me when the icy deluge of my powers engulfed my friends in cold reality.

I could only hope, that when the time came, Ayame and Genkai would help us—myself included—tread that gelid water.

Territory users clustered around the firepit in the center of the large courtyard in front of Genkai's temple, and in silence I sat with them.

I'd tried to strike up conversation when I emerged from the temple after Ayame's departure, but no one seemed to interested in talking. The mood skewed toward the uneasy, like school kids falling silent as a teacher passed, glances furtive and speech hushed when someone reluctantly talked at all. I'd emerged from the temple to find most people eating (or at least trying to eat and cook around the fire burning away in the makeshift hearth someone had constructed from a hodgepodge assortment of bricks and river stones). One man attempted ineffectually to boil instant ramen over the open flames, but when the paper and plastic packaging began to shrivel and smoke, he yanked the ramen back and stared forlornly at his uncooked meal.

My friends were nowhere to be found, at least at first. When I asked, someone told me they'd gone off to haul some water up from a nearby well (I was not looking forward to seeing the bathrooms at this place), but I saw neither hide nor hair of them until at last Eza wandered up and sat beside me on the log laid out along one side of the firepit. He didn't stick around, though. He just shoved a bento full of onigiri into my hands before wandering off again, muttering that Genkai had asked him to take care of a few things around the temple and he didn't want to piss her off.

Watching me interact with Eza apparently lit a spark in the others, though. People looked at me directly, a few of them offering their names in hesitant introduction. Still others watched from afar or peered from the mouths of the many tents scattered around the courtyard, curious but uncertain. I didn't force any of them to talk to me, of course. Some people probably weren't here to make friends, and that was OK. Gave me fewer names to have to remember, anyway, which was a good thing. There were too many people here for me to memorize as it was...

The people most interested in socializing soon availed themselves, of course. Sumire came over to introduce herself a second time, curls bouncing and round face beaming before she trotted off to "take care of a few items, because Genkai definitely trusts me to manage things in her absence." I wasn't sure how serious she was about that, so I ignored the comment and instead got to chatting with two woman sitting close together on the other side of the fire. It was clear to me why the two had paired up. Both of them held a child in their arms, one a young girl of maybe four or five and the other a baby—a fresh baby at that, still swaddled up like a tiny, red-faced burrito in its mother's arms.

The mother of the older child introduced herself as Chiharu. She wore her hair in a long, dark bob, and her simple yet stylish clothes were neat and well-pressed despite the giggly little girl squirming on her lap. A total PTA mom in her late 20s who'd show up to a social event with homemade cookies even when she wasn't asked—that's the vibe of got from her. Her patient smile and the deft way she handled her kid, whom she introduced as Kaori, said she had the whole parenting thing down pat. The way Chiharu gnawed on a power bar with a quietly despairing look in her eye was the only thing that gave away any of the stress she might be feeling.

The other woman, meanwhile, was a study in contrast. Nakano looked barely older than me, obviously a very young mother, though her exact age I couldn't determine. Her hair—limp and in dire need of a trim—had been bleached to a stylish chestnut at the ends, but her roots had grown in dark black by at least a few inches. She breast-fed her child under a towel, nervously rocking the baby as she peered at Chiharu and asked questions in a hushed voice. Clearly Nakano was taking notes from the Dominant Mom in the room, and Chiharu looked more than happy to chat.

So did Chiharu's kid, Kaori. The little girl clutched a doll to her chest and smiled at my over the toy's curly hair. Her cheeks flushed and she giggled when I waved.

"Sorry," Chiharu said with an apologetic smile when she saw me making a funny face at her daughter. "She's feeling social today."

"She's adorable," I said. "I don't mind at all."

Chiharu and Nakano both looked relieved at that. Probably happy their future roommate (because I do believe these were the women with children Genkai had mentioned I'd be sleeping alongside) wasn't averse to sharing a space with their kids.

They weren't the only ones I ended up chatting with. The guy who'd nearly set his ramen on fire, Fumihiro, seemed nice enough, too. He sat with slumped shoulders on the far end of the log occupied by Nakano and Chiharu, occasionally glancing at them and me over the top of his thick glasses. Fumihiro wore a suit and tie and parted his hair down the side in an old-fashioned cut despite his relatively young age, and when he introduced himself with a low bow and a nervous stammer of his name, I got the sense I was dealing with the quintessential office-worker type. He listened in silence while Nakano, Chiharu and I chattered, clearly unsure of his place in the hierarchy. Poor guy. And hadn't Genkai mentioned something about his power being on the extreme side?

"We got here two days ago," Chiharu was saying. She gave the power bar in her hand a forlorn look. "I'm a good cook, but unfortunately Genkai only has a wood-burning oven. I'm at a loss to use it!"

"And I can't cook at all," said Nakano.

Fumihiro didn't speak. He just sighed and eyed his ramen, forlorn. His expression had my lips quirking, but I tried to hide the smile as best as I could.

"A wood burning stove," I said. "Want me to take a look? I can—"

The log I perched upon bucked, bumping my thighs and tailbone with a harsh thump. A man had sat down on the far end and made it jump like a seesaw. I couldn't help but shoot him a tiny glare, but when Nakano loosed a small, muffled gasp, I turned to her instead.

But she wasn't looking at me. Nobody was. Fumihiro, Nakano and Chiharu were all looking pointedly away, a heavy hush falling, the crackling of the fire the only thing punctuating the quiet. In fact, many of the curious stares I'd noticed when I first sat down had vanished, too, heads retreating back into tents and out of sight.

"So you're Yukimura, huh?" said the man on the far end of the log. "What's your Territory?"

He had a deep, growling voice that matched his ragged vest and baggy pants, not to mention the long, black hair sweeping his collarbone. Muscles corded in his bare arms and in the sliver of chest exposed by his dark tank top. Heavy boots thudded against the cobblestones when he leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs at the ankle, lounging like a tiger, all barely leashed energy and easy grins. I pegged him at once as an overgrown street punk who never outgrew his teen rebellion phase—or ever learned manners at all. The way his eyes crawled up and down my body without a shred of subtlety set my teeth on edge. It didn't escape my notice that he hadn't even bothered using honorifics when speaking to me, either. Bad vibes, this guy, no question.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours," I replied.

"It's Okada." His lopsided grin wasn't not handsome, but his oily expression killed any attraction I might have otherwise felt toward his narrow eyes, chiseled nose and square jaw. "So, your Territory?"

I debated whether the inevitable rage he'd show if I refused to answer was worth it, because he was absolutely the type of guy who wouldn't take no for an answer. Before I could tell him off or humor him, though, a light rush of air played over my nape. A second later, Eza plopped down beside me on the log, placing his large body between mine and Okada's.

Okada gave Eza a scowl, but Eza pointedly ignored him. He just stared straight ahead into the flames like a wall made of particularly impassive brick, arms crossing tight over his broad chest. Okada was muscular, by Eza was taller and had a stronger build; Okada would be a freakin' fool to mess with him.

Confidence bolstered by Eza's silent presence, I leaned around him and shot Okada a lazy grin. "Oh, my Territory is nothing wild. Yours?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out." Cocky shithead grinned from ear to ear. "It's impressive, though."

I shrugged. "I'm sure."

He looked dissatisfied at the dismissal, but I didn't give him a chance to engage with me again. Instead I cracked open the bento box Eza had given me earlier and shoved a rice ball into my mouth. Eza looked pleased, but his smile gave way to a frown.

"That rice is nice, but it probably doesn't hit the spot," he said. "Sorry. It's all I had. You need protein. I know I do..."

His easygoing speech eased some of the tension around the campfire, specifically Chiharu and Nakano's. Each of them gave a sympathetic nod at my friend, once again eyeing their power bars with doleful stares. Fumihiro looked positively depressive as he glanced at his singed ramen.

"Do y'all have any meat, eggs, anything like that?" I asked.

"Genkai got us some stuff," Eza said. "It's over by the oven, but..."

"None of us really know what to do with it, I'm afraid," Chiharu said.

Fumihiro swallowed and glanced over his shoulder, presumably toward the oven. "It sure does look tasty, though..." he muttered.

I had no clue what kind of impossible ingredients Genkai had provided, but it didn't hurt to take a look. "Why don't I give it a shot," I said, rising to my feet with a grin. "If I can manage the oven, I'm sure whatever she's got will be better for you and the baby than processed stuff."

"Oh, would you?" Nakano said, eyes lighting up in defiance of the bags beneath them. "That would be amazing."

Eza told me where to find the wood-burning oven around back of the building. The gigantic beast of an appliance had been made from stone and concrete and mud with a smokestack spearing out of the top, a traditional cooking implement I'd seen in photos but never in person—not in this life, anyway. Coolers beside the oven revealed even more antiquated ingredients, namely whole vegetables still covered in soil and freshly killed small game. The latter included fish, birds, and rabbits, unbutchered. If I had to guess, Genkai had probably hunted these down herself on her enormous, mountainous property. Quite the generous gift, but it was no wonder no one had known how to cook any of it. Breaking down whole animals wasn't exactly a commonplace skill in this day and age.

Well. Not for most people, anyway. But I was the child of a restaurant owner in this life and the child of a hunter in the life before that, and I'd done my fair share of cleaning and cooking meat in both. Most of my skills cleaning wild game came from my former life, however, after hunting trips spent alongside my avid sportsman of a father. I'd been especially good at cleaning the birds he brought home. There was something almost meditative in the act of gutting and cleaning, even if I didn't plan on eating a single bite of what I prepared. In both my lives, I avoided eating meat wherever I could. Hunting made me good at cleaning game, sure, but hunting also drove me to avoiding eating the product of the sport entirely. Ironic, that.

In addition to the oven (which already bore a roaring fire in its belly) and food, Genkai had provided some cooking implements. A wok, ceramic cooking vessels, knives, spoons—everything I needed to cook a meal, really, down to a basic spice rack I could make good use of. I spread parchment paper atop one of the game coolers and got to work on cleaning some game. Paired with the vegetables on hand and the big bowl of miso paste that sat with the spices, I could easily make a really nice stew out of the duck, and—

"You know, it would work better with another kind of knife. Like a chef's knife."

I looked up as I crunched down through a duck's chest with a heavy cleaver. It speared through cartilage and sinew like a dream—the preferred blade when breaking down a whole animal, at least according to my parents both past and present. Sumire, however, watched me with an unimpressed stare, hip jutting out in a defiant stance as she watched me work from a few paces away. She didn't move to help me or assist, however. She just stared, lip curling when I repositioned the duck and made another cut.

"I'm good with the cleaver," I told her with a grunt. "It gets through the joints better than a chef's knife. Sometimes you want the broader blade to—"

"The chef's knife really would be better." Sumire pointed at the roll of knives sitting on the cook top. "You should use that instead."

"Uh. I..." I gaped at her, then shrugged. "This one's already dirty. Maybe next time?"

Sumire didn't say anything. She just continued to watch, frowning. I ignored her as best I could. This stuff had been sitting here since before I arrived; if she was an expert on cooking, why hadn't she contributed yet? Not that it mattered. I was here now and the job would get some, cleaver or no cleaver and no matter what Sumire had to say about it.

To my disappointment, she had a lot left to say. Once the duck was butchered, I cleared my space and got to work on cleaning and then dicing the vegetables, and she was on me again with another suggestion.

"Why don't you try a thinner cut?" She stood over me and stared, still frowning and not lifting a finger to help. "They'll cook faster."

I smiled up at her with my very best (and fakest) Keiko Face to explain, "I want them to cook at the same rate as the meat, which is pretty thick, so if I cut them too thin, they'll burn."

"Oh." When I reached for a spice jar, she said, "You should use rosemary, by the way. Not peppercorns."

My temper flared. "Do you want to be doing the cooking?" I said, thrusting the jar toward her.

"Oh. No." She took a step back, out of my atmosphere at last. "Why do you ask?"

Was it not obvious? "You seemed like you weren't happy with how I'm handling it so I figured you were trying to take over."

The disgruntled look on her face evaporated at once. "No, your cooking looks amazing!" she gushed, attitude taking a complete 180 that left me feeling dizzy. "The duck especially looks so juicy and good. You're an amazing chef, Keiko!"

My brows lifted. I wanted to tell her that she'd never tasted my cooking and therefore her words were an obvious (and unwelcome) attempt at flattery, but before I could lose my temper, someone called my name. Kido trotted up carrying a metal bucket, strands of his blond hair glinting nearly gold in the half-light of the evening twilight.

"Hey." He set the bucket at my feet; water sloshed against the cobblestones below. "Can I help at all?"

"Wash potatoes?"

"Sure." He picked over the tools lying atop the oven and selected one. "Should I use this scrubber?"

"Yeah. Just make sure the eyes don't have dirt in them."

"Cool. Let me know if I do it wrong."

"Thanks."

We settled in to work. I kept my head down. Sumire didn't offer to pitch in. She watched us for a bit, standing over our efforts in silence, before at last growing bored (or something) and wandering off with a muttered goodbye. I finally raised my head to watch her walk away.

"That was weird," I murmured.

Kido glanced my way. "Hmm?"

"She was all up in my ass about how I was cooking." I grabbed the tray of food I'd prepped and shoved it in the door of the oven; hot air buffeted my face like a heavy blanket. "And then she wouldn't stop gushing about it."

"Huh." But Kido didn't look particularly bothered. All he said was, "Weird."

"Yeah... Anyway." I patted the outer shell of the oven and put the oddball Sumire out of my head. "Now we just gotta wait for that to cook."

The feeling of waiting lasted longer than the waiting itself, hungry as everyone was, but the food came out of the oven crisp and juicy. Even the more reclusive temple guests wandered out of their tents to grab a plate, and the people I'd met earlier—specifically the two moms—dug in like they hadn't eaten in days. And they probably hadn't had a good meal in that time, honestly. The food wasn't fancy, but the way they all went on about it, you'd think I was a five-star chef. Their reaction had me a little worried. The food situation here appeared dire at first glance, but this warm welcome to rustic cooking indicated we were in even direr straights than I realized. At least I could contribute and make this situation a little easier on everyone... I intended to duck out early on Genkai's training camp (pun intended, considering tonight's main course), but earning my keep while I was here seemed the least I could do.

To the others, though, what I'd made wasn't 'least' at all. Nakano looked almost teary as she dug into the duck, saying between mouthfuls, "Thank you, Keiko. Really. Thank you."

"No worries. Happy to help."

She wasn't the only one who shot me a grateful look when I got up to do dishes and clean out the empty cooking vessels (which had practically been licked clean at that point, anyway). Kido and some of the others tagged along after Eza dragged more water up from the well; we squatted over buckets and scrubbed until our hands turned raw, the mood more relaxed now that the temple's collective belly had been filled with something more substantial than a power bar. Eza and Kido shared my bucket—by design on my part. There were things I needed to know and I got the sense Eza had answers.

I waited until no one was looking our way to mutter, "Hey Eza?"

"Yeah?" he said, dunking a dinner plate in the sudsy water.

"Think you could give a quick rundown of the social dynamics here?" I nodded to our left. "Got a weird vibe off of that guy."

Okada stood not too far off smoking a cigarette. His hair looked greasy in the evening light, smile wolfish as he watched everyone else work. Obviously he didn't offer to pitch in. Kido eyed him the same way I did, gaze narrow and assessing.

"I know that type. Guy thinks he's top dog," Kido said. "I don't like 'im."

"Yeah." Eza picked up another dinner plate; it was only slightly larger than the span of his broad hand. "He's been coming here for a few weekends and does whatever he wants." Eza's thick brow furrowed. "Throws his weight around; that kind of thing."

"Genkai doesn't put him in his place?" I asked.

"He doesn't do it when she's watching."

Kido shook his head. "Bully tactics 101."

"Yeah." Eza's lips pursed. "He likes harassing Nakano the most."

I bristled. Nakano, the young mom—the mom whom I couldn't help but compare to Atsuko, or to my past-life grandmother, who'd been a teen when she had my mother. Some bastard was picking on a single mom? Not on my watch. I hadn't even seen the extent of his bullying, but he was already on my Shit List.

"I don't like that one bit," I said. But he wasn't the only person I wanted to ask about. "And what about Sumire?"

Eza rolled his eyes. "She also thinks she's in charge. Harmless, but..."

"Annoying?" Kido guessed.

"Yeah. She and Okada butt heads sometimes." Eza shot Okada a glance, dour and dark. "Was funny to watch at first, but when he uses his Territory..."

I still wasn't sure what kind of Territory Okada had, exactly, but I did not like the way Eza's face fell when he mentioned it. Clearly he had a doozy of a power, and if he had a menacing ability, what other surprises lurked among these unknown psychics? I couldn't know. I didn't like not knowing. This weekend at the temple was a veritable minefield of unknowns and I was not having nice time of it.

"I see." Time to clear up at least a few of my dogged uncertainties. "What about—?"

A dry clearing of a throat killed my plans like a hawk snapping the next of a rabbit. Genkai stood a few feet off. Eza dropped his plate into the bucket in his haste to rise and bow, but Genkai ignored him.

"Keiko," she said. "Put that down and follow me."

"Hmm?" I dropped the dish I'd been scrubbing and blotted my hands on a drying rag. "Why?"

"It's time to start training, brat."

My heart stuttered. "But you said training would start tomorrow. I thought—"

"Training starts tomorrow for everyone else. For you, it starts tonight." Her mouth curled like a wisp of rising smoke. "Night is when people do their dreaming, after all."

For the third time that day, Genkai led me to the large room with the brazier and the open doorway to the garden with the deer-scare, its hollow pop ringing every so often above the crackle of smoldering coals. This time, a futon lay neatly alongside the warm metal bowl. Genkai ordered me to climb beneath the comforter and lie down.

"You sure you want me taking a nap?" I arranged my hands over the blanket, fingers laced with palms spread atop my stomach. "I kind of need to be awake to use my Territory."

"Are you questioning my methods?" Genkai retorted.

My hands rose in a gesture of surrender. "Comment retracted."

"That's what I thought." She settled into a cross-legged seat beside my bed. "But we aren't using your Territory just yet. I want to test your ability to lucid dream in your own mind. We're testing your control before we move into someone else's head."

"Oh. That makes sense," I said. "Don't want me losing control on somebody else. I get it." My hands returned to my stomach. "So I just need to fall asleep?"

Genkai closed her eyes. "Yes."

I shut mine, too. "Fine."

We sat there for a long time, or at least that's how it felt. The passage of time doesn't make a lot of sense when you're bored, and anxious, and have your eyes closed for... well, I don't know how long it was, really. Sleeping on command wasn't exactly one of my skills... but considering my new Territory, maybe I needed to make it one? Oh, gosh, was this a test? Was Genkai testing my willpower or something? That'd be just like her, and here I was, proving myself a disappointment before we even got started. My fingers dug into the blankets, sleep slipping even further from my grip.

Eventually, Genkai sighed. "Relax," she said. "I can hear you grinding your teeth."

"Sorry." My face flushed. "It's tough to sleep with an audience."

"Is that so." Cloth rustled when she rose. "I'll be right back."

My eyes shot open, watching the stoop of her shoulders as she slouched out of the room. I stared up at the rafters while she was gone. When the deer-scare outside loosed a pop into the atmosphere, I flinched so hard my back came off the futon. I only flinched half as hard when the door rattled back open, admitting Genkai... and a confused Nakano, her tiny baby nestled in its sling upon her chest.

"Oh." I waved a hand. "Hi."

"Hi." She glanced at Genkai. "Where should I sit?"

"Wherever." Genkai gestured at the metal bowl glowing between us. "Will the brazier's smoke work?"

Nakano nodded. "Should work just fine."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

Genkai harrumphed. "Just shut up and close your eyes."

I did as told, listening while they settled on the floor opposite the brazier. Nakano's baby fussed; a quiet susurration soothed the child back to silence. Genkai tapped her pipe onto the rim of a metal bowl. My breath rose like morning mist, hazy and full inside my chest, tinted by perfumed brazier smoke. For a time, nothing happened, and I began to wonder if Genkai was just waiting for me to fall asleep again. If this was another test. If I was somehow failing an unspoken—

No one ever told me what an expanding Territory should feel like, but the second one washed over me, I knew precisely what it was. Entering a Territory is like plunging into teal water—dark, bracing, surging into every nook and cranny like you're drowning while you can still breathe. The breath catches in the throat, the skin prickles, every nerve ending reacts, but there's nothing to do but sink under the wave and learn to swim. The world shifts, light refracting into colors and textures that weren't there before, like reality took a step to the west and left you scrambling to catch up. Someone had just expanded a Territory through the room; I knew that in my bones, just as I knew on a basic, instinctual level that the Territory belonged to Nakano. I don't know how I knew that part. I just kind of... did. The Territory felt the way she sounded, the way she looked. I knew it was hers the same way I knew this was a Territory in the first place.

But nothing seemed to happen after her Territory expanded. We just sat there in that shifted-to-the-west stillness without speaking. I breathed deep, slow and languid, the scent of smoke gathering on my palate in subtle waves. Smoke... the brazier. Why had Genkai asked Nakano about the smoke when they came in the room? It probably didn't matter. It smelled nice, whatever the case. Floral, almost. Had it always smelled that way? So pretty? So peaceful? It reminded me of perfume. Maybe my grandmother's, gentle and comforting, sweet and serene...

I breathed in the perfume for a moment.

When my eyes opened, I was in the library.

Rows of books watched me like soldiers at attention, their spines straight and tall and even, uniformly measured and strangely cold. Normally I liked the library. I liked the quiet turn of pages and the close press of silence, gentle but heavy. Just then, however, I only felt watched. Unsettled. Like someone lurked in the stacks just out of sight, waiting. Observing from a distance while I wandered through the rows, fingertips trailing over text-embossed tomes and placards designating the genres on the shelves... or was that even what the placards said?

I leaned in close.

The letters swam, indecipherable ink crawling over white paper like writhing ants.

"A library, huh?" said a voice like wind through reeds. "Even your dreams are nerdy."

My watcher revealed herself. Genkai stood a few feet away at the end of the row. She watched me through narrowed eyes and with hands clasped behind her red-clad back, pale pink hair lying atop her chest in cobwebbed ropes. Seeing her made my eyes hurt. She pulsed at the edges like a hologram, the solidity of her shoulders threatening to puncture the image of the library like wings through a cocoon. Genkai appeared solid in a way that made the library appear wafer-thin in comparison, the impression of what once felt like a real place dissolving like paper in warm water.

"Hey." I took a step toward her, fixated on her odd solidity. "Why are you...?"

"You're dreaming, Keiko," said Genkai.

"Oh." Suddenly the crawling words and dissolving world made sense, world snapping into focus around me like a twisted camera lens. "You're right."

Genkai frowned. "You didn't realize it?"

I shrugged. "Not at first. I have to orient myself. Only takes a little while, usually."

Genkai nodded. "I take it you haven't picked a focus."

"A what?"

"Some people call it a totem. It's an item that—"

"Oh. Inception. Spinning tops, wobbling. Right."

Another frown, deeper than the first. "What?"

"Nothing." She hadn't seen that movie; it hadn't been made yet. "A totem is an item that tells you if you're dreaming or not. Like a spinning top. In real life, you spin it, it falls over because it must obey the laws of physics—the laws of the real world. But in a dream, that top may never fall over, because dreams don't follow the laws of reality." I raised a finger. Swirled it through the air in a tight circle, a spinning top in motion. "You train yourself to carry your totem everywhere while you're awake, and soon that bleeds into carrying it in your sleep, and you use it to determine if you're in a dream."

"If you know all of this, why haven't you gotten one for yourself?" Genkai asked, voice crackling with grouch.

I shrugged again. "Normally I can figure out I'm dreaming pretty fast without it, so..."

"Well, get a totem anyway. You never know when it might come in handy."

"Hmm... well." I patted my pockets, searching. "How about my bracelet?"

"Your bracelet?"

"I've been carrying it with me for weeks." From my pocket I pulled the red cord and broken white disc I'd shown Genkai and Ayame. "I wore it until it broke, and after it broke, I started carrying it in a pouch in my pocket at all times. So it's probably the closest thing to a totem I already own, and carrying it with me is already a habit."

Genkai said nothing. She watched in the library's weighted silence as I pressed the two halves of the broken white stone together. They collided with a click, circle complete, the seam of their meeting disappearing like cotton candy in rain. Mended, whole, fixed, I slipped the bracelet over my wrist and tightened the red cord. It pulled taut, skin indenting and turning pale, but it didn't hurt. My dreams rarely included pain.

"My bracelet can only fix itself with dream physics, so... it works, right?" I said, holding out my wrist. "I'll know if I'm dreaming if the bracelet is in one piece."

She eyed me over for a moment, suspicious. "You chose that as your totem and determined its function awfully quickly."

"Eh. Maybe I was thinking about it subconsciously." I shrugged again; I was doing that a lot tonight. "The bracelet might be why I got the Territory of Dream in the first place, so it seems fitting to use it as a totem, and I don't usually question the stuff that shows up in dreams. Dream logic and all that." I mimicked the roll of an ocean wave with my wrist and elbow, body swaying in its wake. "Just go with the flow, man."

Genkai muttered under her breath (something about hippies) and shook her head. "Fine, then. Since the bracelet is broken, you can only wear it in dreams. If you see it on your wrist, you'll know you're dreaming, and if you can make the pieces go back together, same thing."

"Sounds good to me."

"You'll need to start performing reality tests in the waking world every few hours, using the bracelet every time," she said. "We'll get you a timer so you remember. We—"

"Reality tests?"

"It's what you just described, dolt." Her glower threatened to catch the dream-books in the dream-library on dream-fire. "Checking on the status of the bracelet is called a reality test. We need you to build the habit of testing that bracelet while awake so you'll remember to do it when you're dreaming, too. Frequent reality tests help train your metacognition abilities—that is, your ability to think about your own thinking and dreaming. Your awareness of your own awareness. Metacognition is the key to lucid dreaming, and reality testing will build that ability."

"Do I really need to go to all that trouble?" I asked. "Like I said, I'm already pretty good about knowing when I'm—"

"Since when has 'pretty good' ever been good enough for you?" Genkai countered, a touch of acid in her voice—and at her combative stare, I heaved a weary sigh.

"Touche," I muttered. "I'll start reality testing out the ass."

"Good." She looked around the library for a moment, ire giving way to pensive quiet. "Refining your skills is paramount to mastery of your powers; I knew that even before seeing your Territory in action." One gnarled finger pointed at my wrist. "Every time you check on that bracelet, ask yourself out loud if you're dreaming. Focus on how you interact with reality around you and how your consciousness engages with the waking world. Consider the exercise a form of meditation."

"Meditation. I've been doing that." A grin eclipsed the nerves rising in my chest. "I got this."

"Let's hope," she dryly told me. "Once you understand how you relate to the waking world, you'll be able to notice how you interact with dreams. No doubt your waking and sleeping consciousnesses will be dissimilar. Once you understand those differences, telling the difference between waking and sleeping will be child's play." She pointed then at one of the placards on the nearest shelf. Words still crawled there, squirming and unintelligible. "Mirrors, objects, your own hands, time, words on the page—all of these things can be tested to gauge whether or not you are dreaming. Mirrors, technology and writing rarely work in my dreams, for instance. Start paying attention every chance you get."

I traced my fingers over the spine of a book. "OK."

"You look bored." Genkai bared her teeth. "Am I boring you?"

"No. Just." The letters under my hand tensed as if preparing for a blow. "These are basics and I feel like I've been lucid dreaming for a while now, so..."

"Only a true novice considers themselves a master of anything," Genkai groused, but she sighed and shook her head. "Fine. If you think you're so clever, show me something. Manipulate your dreams for me."

"Wait. First I have questions."

"What now?"

"How are you here, in my dream?"

"Astral projection," she said, as if it should be obvious.

"Is that safe?" I asked her.

"Absolutely not," she said at once. "Projecting my soul into someone else's mind is incredibly dangerous. It leaves my unprotected spirit entirely at their mind's mercy."

I considered that a moment. "The mind, dreams, the subconscious... you're surrounded by my energy," I deduced after a time. "That's why you're trying to help me get better control. Because if my subconscious spirals out of control while you're in here, it could hurt you. And it could hurt others if I lose control while using my Territory on them."

"You're no fool, Keiko." Genkai smirked. "An idiot, but not a fool."

"There's a difference?"

"Of course there's a difference."

"OK..." Didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, but whatever. I gathered myself enough to ask: "Why was Nakano there? Back when I was trying to fall asleep?"

"Her Territory, called Miasma, uses scents to influence others. She used smoke from the brazier to induce sleep."

"Wow. That's handy." The smoke had smelled of languid comfort before I woke up in the landscape of my dreams, and: "And that explains a lot."

"Considering your powers, you'll be seeing a lot of her Territory in the coming days, I'm sure," Genkai said. With a smirk she gestured at the library stacks, a challenge rising in her eyes like a high tide. "Now, Keiko. You think you're good at lucid dreaming, eh? Show me what you can do, then. Show me your dreams."

I cracked my knuckles and obliged.

Dreamscaping with an audience is... different.

I'd done it many times alone, of course. All those nights I recreated my life with Tom, my former family, my past friends—I'd sculpted terrain from my first life many times, and I'd filled it with simulacrums of people I once knew more times than I could count. I'd even used these sleeping visions to role-play scenarios and work out problems. Like the time I'd practiced coming out of the reincarnation closet, for instance. I'd made dream versions of the Yu Yu Hakusho cast on Hanging Neck Island and playacted what it would be like to reveal my past life to them, hoping to perfect what I'd say and how I'd say it before ever speaking my truth aloud in the waking world. I was great at creating these scenarios, if you'll allow me a moment of pride. I excelled at crafting landscapes and filling them with convincing images of real people.

Giving these images true-to-life agency, however, was another thing entirely.

It wasn't like writing a fanfic. In fanfic, you can backspace and rewrite a line of dialog if it doesn't ring true. You have time to tinker, to fine-tune, to fiddle until it's perfect. But when you craft constructions of your friends and let them run loose in real time, the slightest hint of your creations becoming OOC (to use another fanfic term) can send the dream off the rails and straight into nightmare territory.

And having a witness there to potentially point out these inconsistencies in character? To critique your work and question your abilities? That makes a tough task even more difficult,

It makes sense, then, that I didn't dare craft images of people I knew for Genkai. I stuck to creating colorful locales and filling them with faceless dream-fodder, crowds of people I perhaps had glimpsed in the waking world, but none so familiar I needed to micromanage their words or actions. For Genkai I dreamscaped my favorite amusement park on a summer day, and then the inside of my parents' restaurant, and then a park in the dead of winter. Temperature, scent, scale, perspective—I made my dream as realistic as possible, showing her how detailed I could get and how convincing I could make the incorporeal world around us. Soon after that, I delved into the world of fantasy, creating the kingdom of Oz and other fantastical images truly befitting the rules-free world in which we stood. An alien planet, a starry expanse, worlds of color and shape and impressionist strokes... I went for variety, trying to illustrate just how good at this I had become.

And Genkai watched it all without speaking. She stood at my side as I manipulated the fabric of my dream like an expert tailor, occasionally giving me direction, but mostly letting me take the reins. I did my best to impress, but her face remained utterly impassive, yielding no clues as to how well I might be doing.

But then, after a time, she murmured: "You have impressive powers of visualization. Detailed."

Sitting atop a cloud in the heavenly vista I'd recently crafted, I giggled and said, "Well, I do play D&D. It's all theater of the mind."

"Maybe your nerd hobbies aren't so disgusting, after all." But Genkai did not look particularly sincere. "You said you were a writer in your past life?"

"Yes."

"Makes sense. You have the neuroses for it."

"I know," I whined, "but hey!"

She just laughed, not at all sheepish. "I've seen enough, I think. Can you make yourself wake up?"

I hesitated. "I have before, but..."

"Try it now."

Without another word, she vanished. Apparently Genkai could exit my dreams more easily than I could. For a minute I stared at the spot where she stood in silence, feeling the dream close in around me like warm water. In the absence of her very real soul, my dream-world felt real again, much easier to mistake for reality when you lacked Genkai's presence for comparison. Remaining lucid in my own dreams wasn't always the simplest task; losing concentration often meant slipping back under the whim of my subconscious, but there was not time for that tonight, so I mentally kicked myself and tried to will myself out of the grip of the dream entirely.

Nothing happened, though. The dream continued—and then, behind me, something moved. A heavy footfall, perhaps, or the thud of a beating heart. My own heart leapt into my mouth while I turned to face—

And then Genkai was shaking my shoulder, and I was awake again.

"What?" I blinked with bleary confusion, hands scrambling for the blanket atop my heavy limbs. "What's going...?"

"You took too long," Genkai said. "We'll have to work on your exit strategy."

"OK." My tongue felt like a lead weight on my mouth, bulging against my teeth as though it had swollen in my sleep. "Well. What now?"

Thin, wrinkled lips spread into a wide grin.

"Now we test your Territory for real," said Genkai—and she gestured at the three figures lying still and serene on a trio of futons at my side, the scent of Nakano's floral smoke weighing heavy on my head.

Notes:

I wanted this weekend at Genkai's to be a three-part chapter series, but it'll probably end up being longer since we have a lot to cover, mostly with Keiko's Territory.

Also, this'll get covered soon, but what Genkai is doing here is NOT the same thing NQK will be able to do with the Dream Territory. Genkai can go into NQK's head (the same way Yusuke entered dreams when he was a ghost), but she can't do anything but view NQK's dream while making herself super vulnerable to it. As you'll see, NQK's powers stretch far beyond that, but that's spoiler territory (pun intended I guess).

I had my first real lucid dream recently, which has made conceptualizing some of the coming training arc a lot easier. Excited to get to it with y'all!

We have a lot of side characters in the mix right now. It's fun to play around with the What If of Genkai's training camp, but we'll get back to more canon cast members soon enough, promise.

Thanks to those who commented since last time: xenocanaan, kixprue, silverpaper_toffeepaper, snapsdragon, Nollyn, Sanguinary_Tide, SapphireStream, Akilam13s, Paddygirl, artisticVirtuoso, Carlie, NotQuiteAnonymous, Npous, XiyouChan, terminalmigration, DragonsTower, LoserByChoice, JestWine, Miraneko19, and Alban_Quinn