4/10

Curry. The aroma snakes its way through the room and up Akira's nostrils. He wakes to the smell of spices. He checks his phone. It's early, too early for LeBlanc to be open, he thinks.

His head hurts, and he feels exhausted, though he slept a total of eight hours. The dream returns to him in bits and pieces. The freakish thing called Igor. The attendants. "Ruin" and "rehabilitation." He lays his head back on the pillow. The thing from his dream had asked him a question, but he cannot remember it. It is, like so many other dreams, banished by the day.

He dresses and makes his way downstairs. Sojiro stands behind the counter. A fresh plate of curry sits next to a mug of steaming coffee. "We'll go after you eat," he says and gestures to the food.

"I... thank you."

"Don't let it go to your head," Sojro replies and flips on the television. "I just don't want to hear you complaining about being hungry later."

Akira remembers the half-heard conversation from the night before, but he sits at the counter and keeps his eyes on the plate.

The food is more delicious than he expected, and Akira scarfs it down. The texture, the taste, the full feeling at the end, all of it shakes him awake. "Looks like you enjoyed it," Sojiro says, but when Akira opens his mouth to reply, he cuts him off. "Well, let's go then."

#

Shujin Academy is bigger than Akira's old school, but not by much. Being Sunday, the hallways are conspicuously absent people, both students and teachers. The short walk to the Principal's office gives him little time to learn his way around. But to Akira, it looks just like any other school. There are halls and classrooms and a courtyard.

Just another box.

A dilemma soon presents itself to Akira. He cannot decide if Principal Kobayakawa looks more like a pale toad or a conscious mass of pudding. The man has no neck and appears on the verge of bursting from his bile-colored suit. Yet, his speech is clear and concise. "Make no mistake, young man. I don't care what kind of trouble you got up to in your hometown. You will behave yourself here."

"Yes, sir," Akira replies. The man is just like everyone else. He does not see Akira but the criminal record.

"Given your history, not many places would have accepted you as a student. I hope you understand how grateful you should be."

Akira's insides roil. Grateful. Ever so very.

"Yes, sir. I am, sir," he says.

"Keep your nose clean, or we'll clean it for you."

"I will, sir."

The Principal's bulbous head pivots to face Sojiro. "Sir, please keep him out of trouble."

Sojiro was, and is, staring at his cuticles with intensity. "Hey," he says, his tone dismissive, "he ain't my kid."

The fourth person in the room sighs. She is Akira's homeroom teacher, Sadayo Kawakami. She is around Akira's height, is thin and pretty with curly black hair. Her yellow sweater and denim skirt make her look younger than she must be. In a school uniform, she wouldn't look any older than me. There are deep circles under her eyes that makeup fails to hide. Her skin has a sickly pallor to it. "Are you sure," she asks, "that my class is the best place for him?"

"Well, we can't very well put in him a class with Sakamoto. Who knows what kind of trouble they would get into together?" The Principal replies.

"It's just that-"

"Sorry," Sojiro interrupts. "But are you done with him? I need to get back to my cafe."

"Oh, of course," the Principal states. "I apologize for keeping you." The adults exchange pleasantries. Akira follows Sojiro out the door after bowing to his new Principal and homeroom teacher. Neither returns it.

#

Kawakami doesn't so much drop into her chair as she does collapse. The faculty office is empty. Assured of her solitude, she lets out a long, angry, and deep groan. "Why me?" She folds her arms atop her desk and rests her head on them. A transfer student was one thing, but one with a criminal record? Principal Kobayakawa had explained his acceptance as a way of bolstering the school's reputation, that it showed Shujin's dedication to the 'bright futures of all Japan's youth, no matter their past mistakes.' She almost felt bad for Kurusu. Sure, what he did was horrible, but to use a student - any student - in such a way felt wrong.

Speaking of Kurusu, did he actually assault somebody? The thin, bespectacled boy had been the model of quiet respect, even as the Principal had lashed into him. He didn't seem hotheaded, like Sakamoto. "I guess you really can't judge a book by..." the cliché dissolves into a yawn.

The door to the office opens, and a tall, lean figure steps inside. "Ah, Miss Kawakami, so good to see you!" Kamoshida calls, holding up a hand in greeting.

Kawakami rolls her eyes. Great. This creep. "Good morning, Kamoshida-sensei."

"Oh, come on now, we've known each other too long for such formalities." His bright smile reminds her of bleach.

"What brings you here?" She asks. "It's Sunday."

"Well, the volleyball rally is coming up, and I wanted to make sure my team was in top shape. A lot is riding on this."

Like your ego? "Ah, that's right. I must've forgotten about it." Something flashes across Kamoshida's face, a terrible mix of rage and arrogance. Then it is gone, and his smile returns. Books and covers. Her grandmother had been an avid book collector but had been terrible at keeping them in good condition. Once, when Kawakami was a little girl, she visited her grandmother's house and snuck up to the attic. She found a fairytale book with an elaborate blue and gold stitched cover. Excited in the way that only little girls can be, she'd opened the cover to the first page. A millipede, the size of her hand, had scuttled out and wrapped itself around her wrist. She'd screamed until she lost her voice.

She knows that behind the mask Kamoshida shows to the world lurks something else. If things were different, perhaps she could do something. But they aren't. They are the way they are, and Kawakami has enough problems.

"Well, I just dropped by to see if anyone was in the faculty office," Kamoshida says. Why? Kawakami thinks. "I should get going. Have a good rest of your weekend."

He leaves, and Kawakami sticks her tongue out at the shut door. "Jackass," she mumbles. Alright then, Akira Kurusu. There has to be something she can do for him. She has far too many responsibilities to give him any of her time, but perhaps there was someone else? Someone responsible? Someone who could walk Kurusu through the academics at Shujin, to at least give him a chance?

The perfect person pops into her mind. Pleased with herself, Kawakami picks up the phone and pulls down a copy of the student directory from its spot on the shelf. She turns a few pages, finds the correct number, and dials.

Someone picks up on the second ring. "Hi, it's Miss Kawakami. I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I'd like your help with something."

#

Traffic is bad. Sojiro's face darkens as the ride goes on. "Goddammit," he finally whispers, then shoots a glare at Akira in the passenger seat. "You're taking the train starting tomorrow." Akira nods. Sojiro frowns at this, turns his attention back to the street, and asks, "So, how was it? The school, I mean."

"It seems fine," Akira replies. A bland, neutral answer.

Sojiro shakes his head. "They sure cut into you, back there. And that teacher of yours, Kawakami, was it? She looked sick or something." He sighs and dances his fingers across the top of the steering wheel. "Just, don't do anything to get in trouble, alright? I've got enough problems just taking you in."

"Why did you take me in?" Akira asks. The words slip from him before he can bite them back. His mind continues the thought. After all, you think I'm just some useless delinquent. This whole thing extraordinarily inconveniences you.

Sojiro keeps his eyes on the road. "I know someone who knows your mother. They told me what happened and… well, it doesn't matter. You're here now, and if you want to stay here, you'll stay out of trouble."

Sojiro's phone rings. His ringtone is a ritzy little waltz. He answers, "Hello?" Akira hears a high-pitched voice on the other end but can't make out the words. "What'd you mean, it's not the right one? The other one? What other one? I don't know what other other one means." He lets out a groan. "Alright, alright. I'll go pick it up. Yes. Yes, right now. Yes. I'll see you soon." He hangs up the phone. "Sheesh."

"Was that your wife?" Akira asks. It has dawned on him that he still knows nothing about Sojiro Sakura, save for what he has experienced firsthand. He is not even sure where the man lives.

Sojiro's face balls up into an angry grimace. "The hell would make you think I'm married?"

"Sorry, I-"

"Why don't you mind your own damn business? How about that?" Akira does not understand the anger, but he knows he should have just kept his mouth shut. "You know what?" Sojiro asks, after glancing at the standstill traffic. He leans over and reaches across Akira's lap. "I've got a stop to make," he says and opens the passenger door. "We're close to the nearest station. Why don't you find your own damn way home?" He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a single key, then hands it to Akira. "For the cafe. Out."

Akira stares at him, hoping he'll change his mind. He hadn't meant to offend the man, couldn't Sojiro understand that? But the look on his caretaker's face is stern and determined. Akira undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the car. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns his head and stares back at Sojiro. The middle-aged man does not meet his gaze, and the traffic eventually inches itself along, and his car drives around the corner and is gone.

It could've been worse, Akira thinks. At least you didn't break your phone last night.

#

Akira is angry, alone, and lost. Not lost in the sense that he does not know where he is. His GPS has led him to the station he'll catch a ride to Shibuya from, but the strangeness - the unfamiliarity - with everything around him is overwhelming. When he steps onto the escalator, descending into the station proper, he is almost relieved at the vaguely familiar ads lining the walls and the ever-distracted commuters that inhabit any station.

His phone beeps.

He checks it.

The red-eyed app is back. It sits on Akira's phone like it has always been there, as if waiting for Akira to remember it. Before his thoughts can coalesce, he deletes it once more, only to discover, when he glances up from his phone, that he is alone on the escalator.

The multitudes of faceless people are gone.

At the base of the escalator, the blue flame crackles.

A voice roars through the hollow subway tunnel, "THOUGH THOU BE CHAINED TO HELL ITSELF!" The flames part, and Akira stares at himself once more, with the same madman grin, the same golden eyes. His double's lips part and he mouths something. Akira cannot hear the words but knows what they are. "Thou art I." A blood-red hand reaches out of the flames, fingers splayed, towards him.

Akira takes a step back up the steps...

... and collides with the commuter behind him. He blinks. The vision is gone, and the escalator moves. People surround him. When he reaches the platform, he stumbles onto it. His head pounds, his heart beats fast, his breath is coming in not-quite-ragged gasps. The commuters stare at him. No one approaches him to ask if he's alright. Instead, they subtly, with their heads still buried in their phones and conversations, shift away from him a few more steps than necessary.

Exhausted, Akira plants himself on one of the benches. This distance from the tracks saves his life.

What is happening to me? What was that? Yesterday's hallucination in Shibuya could have been a one-off, but now? Fragments of last night's dream return to him, of the long-nosed thing named Igor. Akira can remember its question. How far are you willing to go for your rehabilitation?

In an explosion of screeching metal, screams, dust, and pulverized stone, a train barrels out of the subway tunnel, hops the rails and smashes its way onto the platform. Akira has a single moment to take this in before he is blown from the bench by the pressure. He hits the concrete and skids a few inches. Dust washes over him and into his nose and mouth. On instinct, he wraps his arms around his head, shuts his eyes, and waits. The noise washes over him in a tide, a bellowing of devastation that coats him and awakens some lizard-brain fear that jitters through his skin and transports him back to the caveman days where he is alone in the dark about to be crushed by the earth that now consumes him. The cacophony transforms into a ring for his exhausted ears.

Eternities shuffle past, and Akira feels a stillness, a settling. He cracks his eyes open and sees many people huddled up as he is, all of them covered in the dust and grime, appearing as sleeping specters. Akira pats himself down. He feels nothing. He is unharmed. He thinks.

Slowly, he gets up and allows himself to witness the devastation. The train cars – now twisted and crushed metal things - lay scattered at odd angles both on the tracks and off them. Wires hang loosely from the ceiling, sparkling bits of orange and white. When his ears pop, he hears the wounded moans and sobs of the people around him. Few people move, but most seem alive if heavily injured. Some sprawl with their faces turned from him. If their chests rise and fall, the movement is too shallow for him to notice.

A hand grips his shoulder, and Akira spins into the face of a man in a white helmet. He wears a jumpsuit and carries a small case stamped with a red cross in his hands. Akira knows he should understand what all this means, but his mind isn't functioning. The words the man shouts at him are jumbled nonsense. He speaks a few times before he gives up and pats Akira down. He shines a light in Akira's eyes and moves it back and forth. Akira's gaze follows it. He holds up his finger and does the same thing. Again, Akira's gaze follows it.

He nods and gently pushes Akira towards the undamaged escalator.

Go, his mind demands. The first clear command he can understand. Get out.

More men in white helmets are pouring down the steps and spreading themselves out among the injured. He understands that this is a rescue operation. Someone should check him more thoroughly. Akira staggers to the steps and works his way up, one at a time.

#

Akira's journey home is a dreary adventure, filled with confused cab drivers, switching stations, and the slow return of his mind. But, ultimately, the result is mundane in that he reaches LeBlanc after the sun has set.

Starving, exhausted, dehydrated, and still in a bit of shock, Akira stumbles through the cafe's front door and directly into a wall of words from Sojiro.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sojiro asks. His voice is the harshest Akira has heard it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Akira does, and he rattles the number off. Sojiro fixes him with a stern glare. "I was in the station," Akira says, settling into an empty booth. "When the train hit."

"Wait, what?" Sojiro stares at him, but Akira does not reply. "You were there? At the station?" Akira nods. "Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head. "No. I wasn't - I mean, it came close, but it didn't hit me."

"Well, are you sure? Did you hurt your head or anything? You could have a concussion!"

"Some medical people checked me out, and they said I was fine. Fine."

Fine. Akira's vision grows hazy.

Sojiro shakes his head. "Well, I'm sure they're qualified, but I'm calling Ta-"

Finefinefinefinefinefineifneinfienfiefinfeififneinefinefiefnefniefneinfiefieineieninefeinefnffnfnfnf

Everything goes dark.

#

"...hard to say, exactly. Could be exhaustion or shock." This is a voice Akira does not recognize.

"He just collapsed," and Akira knows this is Sojiro. "Thank God he didn't hit his head on a table or anything."

"It's nice to see you care," and the new voice has a slight lilt to it, which draws a snort from Sojiro.

Akira opens his eyes and finds himself in the room in which he now lives. He lays on his bed and tilts his head to see the two figures.

Sojiro lounges against the empty shelf, arms crossed, frown on his face. He speaks to a woman on whom Akira’s eyes linger. Short black hair. Leather jacket. Choker. Ripped black leggings. Dark blue dress with a spider web pattern.

Whoa, Akira thinks at the same time another part of his brain says, Make sure you don't ask if that's his wife.

The woman glances at Akira, and her eyes widen. "Looks like the patient's awake," she says and approaches. Akira thinks about sitting up, but she holds out a hand as if anticipating this, and he remains still. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," Akira mumbles. His throat is dry, and he realizes he has not had anything to drink since before the train crash. "What happened?"

"You passed out," Sojiro says, his voice suddenly much gruffer. "Fell over into one of the booths downstairs. I called Takemi over and hauled you upstairs." He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe I should've left you down there. Probably wasn't smart to move him."

"Luckily," the woman says. "I was just closing up for the night, and my clinic is right down the street, so..." She trails off and bends down to lift a small bag off the floor Akira hadn't seen. She rummages around inside and pulls out a small light.

"You're a doctor?" Akira asks as she shines it in his eyes.

"Who else would Boss have called?" The woman Sojiro called Takemi asks.

"'Boss?'" Akira asks and follows the light as it moves around.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Sojiro snaps just as Takemi says, "Just a friendly moniker." She puts the light away. "Do you feel dizzy? Do you remember hitting your head or anything during the crash?"

Akira shakes his head. It made sense she knew about the train crash. He had managed to get out that much to Sojiro before he'd passed out.

Takemi turns back to Sojiro. "Would you mind grabbing some water? I'm sure he's thirsty." She glances back at Akira. "And some food too?"

Akira nods.

"Right, right," Sojiro says, moving towards the stairs. "Don't try anything funny."

Takemi waits until he's gone before saying, "Wonder which one of us that was for." She smiles down at Akira. "I didn't get your name."

"Akira Kurusu."

Takemi rests a hand against her chest. "I'm Tae Takemi. Now, as Sojiro is no longer in the room, is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Something you may not have wanted to mention in front of him? I promise, whatever you tell me will be kept in confidence."

Akira stares at her for a moment and hears the sound of something clattering down in LeBlanc's kitchen. "Did Sojiro tell you why I'm here?" Takemi shakes her head. "Well, I'm new to Tokyo. I arrived yesterday, and I've seen some, uh, strange things. When I first arrived in Shibuya, and then again today, right before the train crash." He doesn't go into many details but proceeds to give her the general gist.

Takemi blinks once, then says, "I see."

"I don't have any kind of history with hallucinations. I know that's probably not what you meant when you asked me, but-"

"No," Takemi shakes her head. "It's fine. You just surprised me, is all. Can I assume that there are some other…" she waves her hand through the air, "… let's say, stressors in your life, right now?"

"You could say that."

Takemi nods. "And are these linked to why you're living in the attic over Boss's café?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it could be that your passing out was a delayed panic attack. The burden on your mind just kept piling on, and then the train crash happened..." She stares up at the ceiling, a thoughtful look on her face. "I could see it happening. You don't have a concussion. You don't have anything physically wrong with you, from what I can tell." She sighs. "I've got a few recommendations. First, you should make an appointment with the neurology department at Kameda Daiichi Hospital for an MRI. Technically, you’ll need to contact the radiology department, but a neurologist will review the results. Hallucinations aren't uncommon when dealing with stress, but yours seem a bit more intense than the typical flashing lights and strange shapes most experience. An MRI would verify if there's anything strange going on in your head, and they'd be able to give you a better treatment plan. I also think you should consider speaking to a therapist."

Akira blinks. "Seriously?"

Takemi nods. "If it was a panic attack, then seeking therapy will help you develop coping skills. Plus, it sounds like you've had a few unlucky breaks. Therapy might help with that."

"Alright," Akira says because that's what you say when doctors suggest something.

Takemi pushes herself to her feet. "I'd also like you to stop by my clinic in a few days, just for a checkup."

Akira props himself up on his elbows. "You said it's nearby?"

"Just down the street." She gives him a small smile. "I know this all must seem pretty scary, but I wouldn't worry about the hallucinations unless they continue. The MRI will help to rule things out. Just get some food in you, rest, and try to take it easy for a few days."

Akira shrugs. "It's supposed to be my first day of school tomorrow."

"Oh good, more stress." Takemi sighs. "Well, play it by ear. If you wake up and feel up for going, I won't say you can't. But take it easy. Don't push yourself." A small ding comes from her jacket pocket, and Takemi reaches in to pull out her phone. She stares at the screen and frowns. "Hmm."

"Something wrong?" Akira asks.

"An alert on the train crash. The news is reporting that the conductor suffered a mental shutdown." She returns her phone to her pocket. "There's been a lot of those lately."

"I heard some people talking about it yesterday," Akira says. "I guess I didn't realize it was a real thing."

"Apparently," Takemi says and turns to the stairs. Akira does not get to ask what she means as Sojiro stomps his way up, a small dish in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"Alright, so how is he? Is he in any trouble?" He hands the water and food over to Akira, who balances the dish on his lap, unscrews the cap on the bottle, and takes a deep pull.

As Akira eats, Takemi goes through her list of recommendations, and Akira mulls over Sojiro's interesting choice of the word 'trouble,' before Takemi says, "And I'd recommend you taking him home tonight. He shouldn't be sleeping here alone. If there is some issue I missed, you won't find out until tomorrow morning, and that could be a problem."

Sojiro's face freezes. "That's... not gonna work."

Takemi blinks. "Don't you have a couch or something? I doubt there's any real danger, but just to be sure."

Sojiro stands in the center of Akira's room and looks from Takemi to Akira and back again. "I…uh, fine. Give me a minute." He takes a few steps away from the two, then turns and heads downstairs. Akira sees him pull a cellphone out of his pocket just before he disappears from sight.

"Maybe he had a date," Takemi mutters, and although Akira doesn't know enough about her to read her tone, he gets the sense that she doesn't honestly believe that.

Sojiro returns a few minutes later, a frown on his face. "Yeah, okay. You can stay at my place. Just for tonight, got it?"

"Alright," Akira says and stands.

"Remember," Takemi says. "Take it easy. And if you don't feel like going to school tomorrow, don't."

Akira starts to pack a bag with clothes for the night, while Takemi finishes listing her recommendations to Sojiro. True to her word, she does not mention the hallucinations. A few minutes later, the three leave LeBlanc together. Takemi bids them both a good night and then heads out into the night. Sojiro dons his hat and motions for Akira to follow him.

#

"Listen," Sojiro says as they walk, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes on the sidewalk. "I'm, uh, sorry. About kicking you out of the car. That wasn't, well, I'm sorry."

Akira looks over at him. He's not quite sure what to respond to this. "Don’t worry about it,” is what he settles on.

Sojiro Sakura’s house is not far from LeBlanc. A short walk from the café down Yongen-jaya’s backstreets brings them to a typical two-story front gated house that seems in danger of being swallowed up by the skyline rising from the neighboring districts. Sojiro says little as he opens first the gate, then the front door. The inside is dark, and Akira squints against the darkness until Sojiro switches on a light, revealing a long hall with a few closed doors. Beneath one of the doors leaks a deep blue light. Akira’s eyes fall on it as he passes it, following Sojiro deeper into the house.

“Don’t touch anything, alright?” Sojiro says. “And don’t go wandering around.”

“Okay.”

Sojiro whirls on him. “Look, I’m serious.”

Akira is too tired for this shit. “I’m not going to steal anything.”

Sojiro sighs and shakes his head, continuing to move into the house. “That’s not what I mean. Just stay in the living room, okay? If you need the bathroom, it’s this door here.” He points at the door they pass as the file into the living room. “And the kitchen is through there. If you need water or something.” Sojiro fills him in on a few more need-to-know aspects of the house's layout and leaves him to change.

Akira changes quickly and collapses onto the couch. It’s not uncomfortable, but he would still prefer his bed. Without waiting for Sojiro, he lets his eyes close. From somewhere deeper in the house, he thinks he hears a soft scampering sound, but he can’t be bothered. Maybe Sojiro has a cat or something. His last coherent thoughts are a mishmash of the blue flame, the crash, and the thing called Igor.

What the hell is going on? He manages to wonder before falling into a deep sleep.