The Presence of a Phantom
March, Pen-Pen Café
Somewhere in Kyoto, Japan, in a sunny afternoon, sit a small group of friends at a window booth. On one side sit a shorter girl with blue-black twin-drill hair, and a round-faced girl with pupilless cerulean eyes. On the opposite side, another girl with a green bob and a lanky sleepy-eyed boy with darker green bed-head sit directly next to each other. The green-topped pair have a single over-decorated milkshake placed down between them. The milkshake, of course, has two straws.
Everyone has unopened envelopes in front of them with their various drinks and pastries set aside for now.
"I can't wait anymore!" The green-haired girl snatches up the envelope and holds it in front of her face. Nerves force her eyes shut and she wriggles in her seat, full of anxious energy and nowhere to put it. "C'mon c'mon! I have to look so everyone get ready!"
The guy with black eyebags, more than a foot taller than even the largest of the three girls, puts one big hand on her hair and lets out a puff of sigh. He tilts his head lazily before responding, "It's okay. Don't pressure them."
The short girl with drill hair would be cute if not for the freckling of unblinking spider eyes across her forehead, behind her bangs. She puts a finger on her envelope and pulls it left and right on the tabletop, just as nervous but not as emotive. "Uuu... what if it's bad news, though?"
Her friend in the booth spoons a bit of cake into her mouth. "You have the least to be worried about, Yamichan. Of course you got in."
"Well... probably... but the rank matters too."
"It does?"
Spider-eyed Yamichan puffs out her cheeks. "Of course it does!" Then she lets it out with her own sigh. "I don't want to start off my high school career still being overshadowed."
Blue-eyes responds with a chesty 'fufufu' and suddenly picks up her own envelope. She slips the dessert spoon, handle-first, into the letter and tears the top open with a confident slash.
"Power move!," intones the excitable girl, who then scrambles to open her letter up. She tears the envelope apart in messy chunks, tossing them around like wrapping paper. The boy stretches and leans so he can catch each piece as it flies, his quiet admonishments of "Come on--! Don't--! Hey, think before--!" going unheeded. His girlfriend hands her folded letter to him the moment he's gotten all the litter and she reaches across his lap to get his letter and tear it open too.
Drill-hair watches them with hints of amusement and affection in her expression and picks at the flap of the envelope with one of her nails.
Blue-eyes waves her hands at her. "It's not going to change with waiting. So let's just get it over with." Yamichan receives a supportive smile from her childhood friend and neighbor. In return, the completely blue-eyed girl gets a firm nod and a slow inhale-exhale to calm the nerves. Seconds later, everyone is holding a folded packet of papers in their hands, though the couple have each others'.
"One, two, three--" they say in unison. Then the rustling of paper as each one opens to a letter of judgement and a table of test scores alongside names.
Everyone has made it into the same school together, and they begin laughing and chatting with relief. "Ritsu! Look!" The green-haired girl holds up the last page to her boyfriend and points to the highlighted entry with his name on it. "You were last!"
The lanky boy shrugs his narrow shoulders. "Last of the people who got in is still getting in. See? I kept my promise." His girlfriend rattles the papers and pouts. "We'll study together, okay? I want you to go to the same college as me, too!" Even though he's acting a little annoyed and scratching his chin, he's still smiling on one side of his face and celebrating inside.
The blue-eyed girl is on the back page, too, with a middle of the pack score highlighted. She leans towards Yamichan and boldly looks over her shoulder at the same first page. "Hey, look at that! Top score for you! Haha, so we have the worst and the best at the same table!"
The boy sighs again. "Don't phrase it that way...!"
Yamichan is shaking a little. Suddenly, she holds the letter above her head with both hands and rapidly drums her heels against the booth seat underneath her. A little squeak in her throat builds up and up into a yell of triumph: "yyyyYYYYAATTAAAAA!" The other patrons of the café shoot the group curious, startled, or even judgemental glances. But, after all, they're kids, so no one causes any trouble.
"I finally did it! I beat that name!!"
Green-haired Suki leans forward to address her friend with the blue eyes, Yukako. "What's the big deal?"
Yukako holds a hand sideways in front of her mouth so she can respond while still eating cake. "Don't you know? All of the top students were changing places with each other all the time with different tests and trimester scores, but first place was always the same name. Yami's been obsessed--"
"Hey!," interrupts Spider-eyes, indignantly. Yukako steals a strawberry from Yamichan's plate, then continues.
"--obsessed with one day getting better than second place, or at least ranking higher than That Name at something."
"Why 'that name, that name'? What is it, who was it?"
"No one knows~" says Yukako with an amused expression and wiggling her fingers like she's telling a scary story.
Yami rolls her eyes and adds in, "You mean, no one cares. You ask anyone in school who Nyoro is and it's just a name on a sheet." She looks down at her printout and starts tracing the rows down with her finger, mumbling, "Probably some otaku no-lifer who spends every waking moment in cram school or something."
"Then you had so much in common," jokes her friend beside her, earning the taller girl a powerful side-glare.
"Nyoro, Nyoro... where have I heard that before...?" Suki nibbles on a curl of chocolate from the top of her milkshake while she kicks her feet and thinks.
"There was a Nyoro Hoge in our class the last two years," says the boy Ritsu with a stiffled yawn.
"{Wow!}," startles Suki. "You notice everything, Ritsy!"
He pointedly ignores the nickname. "It's normal to know who ends up in your classes." As an afterthought, he adds, "But that's all I remember about him, though."
"Not what he looks like?"
"No."
"Where they sat?"
"Not really."
"Who its friends were?"
"I wonder..."
Yukako giggles, "So it was an otaku, then."
The casual chatter is interrupted by a slap of the tabletop through the paper. Yamichan's good mood has evaporated in a flash of anger, and then she lays down on the table with the strongest pout of the day on her face. "It's not here."
Yukako rubs Yami's back comfortingly, but without much feeling. "Hm?"
"That name isn't there on the chart at all!," whines Yami. All of her eyes shine wetly in her disappointment. "I didn't beat her at all!"
"Her, huh?" "Well, it could be anybody, really."
"Maybe she failed so badly she didn't even get in?"
"No way, not with how hard everyone fought to disgrace That Name."
"I don't know anyone else cared that much," mumbles Yukako around her dessert spoon. Yami reaches up to put a hand on Yukako's cheek just to annoy the other girl. Retribution.
"It doesn't count as winning if she didn't even apply."
"Who wouldn't apply," soothes Suki from across the table. "It's the traditional track for our middle school and one of the most-recruited graduates for Tokyo University." Suki reaches across the way, making glasses and plates rattle a bit as her arm brushes passed. Suki pats Yami on the side of the head, in a failed attempt to comfort too.
"There, there. Maybe he died!"
May, Sports Field Storage Shed
A short-haired girl in the Shiketsu gym uniform takes all the things that aren't supposed to be there out of the ball cart and places them in neat rows on a pile of vinyl mats behind her. Near the entrance to the storage shed are three other kids. One is a skinny girl with snakes for hair, another is a boy with one cyclopean eye, and the last is a lad with a purple bowl cut. The boys are half-heartedly moving hurdles and other gear from a pile outside into the very front of the shed's interior.
The girl is just chatting.
"Did you know Shiketsu is haunted?" The boys pause what they're doing to give her a look. The cyclops can really give a look, too.
She grins at them with her hands out in a placating gesture. "No, it's true! I don't know how it happened because it's such a new school but maybe the ghost was already here...?" She tilts her head and the snakes all cock their heads too. "Sometimes, when you're alone, or with just a few friends and talking, you'll feel someone staring at you and when you look around there's no one there... and you can hear noises where there isn't anyone, or even like... mumbling and whispering sometimes. It's so scary!" She hugs herself and shivers. "My cousin Sasuke even said he saw a figure shrouded in mist, walking through the halls after club activities..."
Bowl cut makes a racket forcing the hurdles into a horizontal stack. He gives a meaningful sideglance to the skeptical looking cyclops, who is adjusting his ripped baseball cap. "No she's right, it's real!" He claps some dirt off his hands and bobs his head. "I've seen it! The Shiketsu Spirit..."
The purple haired boy looks to his skinny classmate for confirmation, or maybe moral support. He pantomimes his actions when he talks. "I heard from a senpai that you have to throw rice on the ground or a big pile of something and it has to stop and count everything and leave to throw it away. I didn't have anything like that so I just threw a novel at it and it caught it!" He turns his insistent gaze back to the other boy in the group. "That means it's a poltergeist, right? Uwa, I had to buy a new one since I ran away so fast... When I went back later there wasn't a book. Or any sign anyone was there at all...." He has his eyes closed now, lost in the painful memory. That was all his allowance that month, spent on two copies of the same story.
"Oh, that explains it!" The cyclops bops his open palm with his closed fist. "I don't think it's a scary ghost though because listen to this... I never do any chores. Ever!" The girl laughs behind her hand but bowl-cut looks unimpressed and annoyed. The cyclops grins toothily. "But they get done anyway. Isn't that cool? I don't put balls away or wipe the smart boards or anything. The tennis team just leaves their laundry in a big pile and it still gets done. I thought we just had good janitors, but maybe the ghost gets bored?"
The girl giggles a little more but grows more serious as she responds. "Eh? Can ghosts get bored? That's still creepy, though... I don't want a poltergeist folding my gym shorts..."
They all look at a volleyball that went rolling from the back, glance around, then go right back to gossiping.
July, A Warehouse in West Kyoto
Two made men in the Yakuza patrol different levels of a sparsely lit warehouse. They are each seasoned street warriors, decked out in flashy custom clothing and huge, gaudy golden jewelry. It doesn't have to look good; it just has to show off their wealth and their non-conformity. They look like they're getting long in the tooth, but their faded scars and thick muscles show that they are still dangerous, strong men. They are living examples of the adage "beware old men with a job where men die young," even though they're barely middle age.
It is nearly midnight. One of the men - with a rough, rocky covering from his shoulders to his fingertips - idly bounces a naked tachi off his right shoulder. He is walking along the handrail on the upper level that leads into glass-fronted storage rooms. He casts a wary gaze around the gloom and pays special attention to the shadows near stacked crates. Once satisfied, he leans against the railing for a moment and calls down to the bald man on the bottom level.
"Hey, Hotaka."
The other man, who is almost completely covered in tattoos, looks up. He is sorting sacks of powder and weighing each one carefully. Moments later, he is back to writing the grams out on tape at the top of each sack. The man upstairs does not seem bothered by this, and keeps talking.
"Have you ever considered getting a timeshare? I just signed up for one and it's been amazing!"
Still looking at the reading of the mass balance and busying his hands with the recording, the man downstairs shrugs non-committally. "Timeshare, huh? I've heard about it, but I'm not sure it's something I need. I actually have different plans for my money right now."
The guy upstairs goes back to his patrol but speaks louder so the conversation can continue. "Oh, really? What are you saving up for?"
"Well," Hotaka scratches the back of his bald head with the butt of the permanent marker. If it wasn't one of his blood brothers, he wouldn't be this open, and yet it still embarrasses himself a bit to put himself out there. "I've always dreamt of owning a private plane. Just something for me, maybe a prop plane even. I've been putting money aside for it, and I'm hoping to make it a reality in the near future."
The man with the sword comes up to a window that some idiot left open. He closes and latches it to keep out the night air. Then he begins his long pacing back to the other end of this section. "Wow, a private plane sounds incredible! But have you ever considered how a timeshare could give you the opportunity to travel more often?" He has to adjust how he's holding his sword so he can spread his hands in front of him, like he's looking at a shining future and wants to show it off to his long-time friend. "It's a great way to see new places without the high costs of hotels or accommodations."
Hotaka finds himself nodding his head, and not just out of politeness. "That's a valid point, Takeshi. However, I believe that having my own private plane would give me the freedom to travel whenever and wherever I want, without being tied down to any particular location or schedule." A little black rat races towards his feet, but he pays it no mind. It leaps onto his calf muscle and instantly flattens back into a 2D drawing, perfectly covering the formerly bare patch of skin among the complex menagerie covering Hotaka.
"I see where you're coming from. But with a timeshare, you can experience luxury accommodations at various destinations without the hassle of owning and maintaining a private plane." Takeshi upstairs does a casual, slow spin mid-stride so he can check his blind spot. It's just part of his routine, habits that have played into his survival in this literally cut-throat industry. Out of his sight, a door opens and silently shuts.
"While that may be true, Takeshi, I'm really passionate about flying." Another marked sack is carefully placed into a ball bag with many others. This is where most of the leaks happen, and Hotaka is not the kind of careless man to let that happen to him. It's why he still has all the same fingers he was born with. "Owning a plane would not only enable me to travel, but also give me the joy of piloting it myself. It's a dream I've nurtured for a long time."
Takeshi hums a confirmation loud enough for Hotaka to hear. He spins his blade to give his hands something to do. "I totally understand your passion, Hotaka." Takeshi raises a clenched fist and shakes it subtly for emphasis. "It must be an incredible feeling to soar through the sky in your own plane." His eyebrows go up and he leans a bit off the railing to address his buddy directly once more, in passing. "But don't you think a timeshare could give you the chance to explore different countries and cultures, broadening your horizons?"
Hotaka chuckles a bit. "You do bring up another valid point, Takeshi. Exploring different cultures is something I'd love to do as well. However," and he takes a small break from his task to smirk up at Takeshi. "I believe that owning a private plane would give me the ultimate freedom and control over my travels. I could visit multiple destinations in a single day if I wanted to." He bites his tongue between his teeth with a gruff guffaw, then goes back to his work. He's smiling.
Takeshi softly laughs, too. Guard duty would be impossible without good friends like this. He cleaves through the air just to enjoy the sound of the blade keening. "I can't argue with that, Hotaka. Having the freedom to create your own itinerary and travel at your own pace is definitely a major advantage of owning a private plane. I guess it all comes down to personal preferences and priorities." Still somewhat bored, he goes through a well-memorized kata ending in a grisly waist-level stab. His imaginary opponent dies gruesomely, and there's a bit of a skip in Takeshi's step as he completes his route.
Hotaka zips up the ball bag he was working on and moves it to a pile at the side, then squats down to grab a new, empty one from under his work table and gets it unzipped and in the proper position for filling. "Exactly, Takeshi. We all have different dreams and goals, and what works for one person might not work for another. I appreciate your suggestion about the timeshare, but for now, I want to keep focused on saving for my own plane."
"I completely respect your decision, Hotaka. Pursuing our dreams is what keeps us motivated. If owning a private plane is what truly makes you happy, then that should be your priority. Just remember, if you ever change your mind, I'm always here to tell you about the benefits of timeshares!" Takeshi turns around to start his loop once more. He squints his eyes when he looks towards the other end of his patrol route, and the ajar window.
Hotaka takes a reading from his balance scale. "Haha, thanks, Takeshi! I'll definitely keep that in mind. You never know what the future holds."