Chapter Text
Quiet, reserved, and shy. When people hear that nowadays, they immediately think of Kenma—Nekoma’s quick-thinking but withdrawn setter. “Fragile” setter, some annoying folks might say.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Kuroo’s father said to his mom. As the adults exchanged greetings, the two boys stared at each other with wide eyes, hiding behind the shadows of their respective parents.
Kenma’s first encounter with Kuroo was an awkward one. Stuck in the younger’s room, it was hard to imagine a future where Kuroo was outgoing and practically a party-animal. Seven year old Kenma would never have thought of that future—it was just weird thinking about it.
They played some Virtua Fighter as a pastime. Kuroo was eight and Kenma was seven when they first met.
Though, it was about three months later that Kuro asked Kenma a rather weird question. “Hypothetical” one, Kuro quickly added, but Kenma still stared at him weirdly. They had begun playing more volleyball, and at this point, Kenma supposed their relationship could be what was known as “being friends.”
But still.
“There’s… There’s this game I’m playing,” Kuro said, gaze drifting to the left as Kenma stared at the bead of cold sweat lining his friend’s face. “It’s this… Puzzle game. Yeah. Very hard one.”
“... What is it called?”
“Ah- uh. Erm,” Kuro fidgeted nervously. Blinking hard, his gaze nervously returned to meet with Kenma’s.
After a rather long pause, Kuro gulped. His eyes drifted off again. “I don’t remember.”
Nose scrunching up, Kenma squinted. “Huh.”
Another awkward silence. Kenma walked over to the cabinet containing all of his video games.
“... So, what about it?”
Suddenly, the air around Kuro lit up as he practically brightened at Kenma’s willingness to converse. Setting down the volleyball he was fiddling around with, the boy quickly cleared his throat.
“So, like… You’re this, uh, kid, in this orphanage full of, erm… Genius children. But then, it turns out that the orphanage’s actually a farm for human brains—because monsters run them. They like to eat human brains.”
Kenma blinked slowly, shuffling through the cabinet. “... Huh, what a premise. Sounds like a psychological thriller to me. Is this age limited?” He squinted again. “Should you be playing whatever this game is?”
Wincing, Kuro continued. “Er… Well, anyways… Like, Kenma. The game’s really hard. Like really, really hard. So I need a bit of help… Since you’re good with games and all. And you’re smart. And you really like to strategize, and stuff like that.”
“... Yeah, I do,” without taking anything out of the cabinet, he closed it and returned to his seat at his bed. “So?”
Kuro was fiddling with his hands again. He had been doing that a lot, Kenma noticed.
“So, uh... You, the protagonist kid, finds out the truth about the orphanage, and…”
It came to Kenma, who was still seven years old, that Kuro might have been troubled as a child. Troubled, like, he didn’t know who to talk to, and that kind of stuff.
Shuffling on his seat, Kenma listened carefully as Kuro explained about the game mechanics (he didn’t know Kuro was that well acquainted with games).
The protagonist of the unknown game was good friends with two other kids—Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A. Unlike the protagonist himself, the two kids were natural geniuses—the protagonist had to study hard to make sure he would survive each shipment.
That aspect of the game made it so that at some point of each act (each act being every major shipment), you had to solve a “test” to see whether or not you survive for the next.
In Act One, the game started off with the protagonist, a six years old boy, who stumbled upon the truth due to his lack of “childhood amnesia.” Kenma thought it was an interesting concept—he had yet to play a lot of puzzle games, but this was new.
Kuro apparently already figured out many key points of the game—key points being the shipment times and how the shipments worked. He was now in Act Three, where the boy, now eight years old and a “spy” for the enemy, had to try and figure out how to save his friends before they all reached twelve years old (or if one of them magically turned dumb).
“Once you lose, it’s game over,” Kuro warned with a quiet voice. His strange bangs were covering his eyes.
“A one-try type of game?” Kenma asked. Kuro nodded. “Like, if you lose, you lose all of your data and you must try again?”
After a small pause, Kuro nodded again.
“Huh. It would be really annoying if you lose mid-way, then. Or when you’re almost there.”
“Yeah, so I really don’t want a ‘game over,’ right now!”
Kenma still really wanted to know what game it was, though—maybe he could try playing it himself. It seemed interesting enough, after all, especially seeing how Kuro was so invested in it. A mysterious one-try game.
But then again… That was if it actually existed.
Kuro must have a really good imagination or something.
… Or something.
“The main objective right now is to ensure the escape of Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A?” Kenma inquired.
“Yeah,” Kuro scratched the back of his head. “But they can’t know—you can’t let any of the kids know, or the ‘Mama’ might find out. You don’t know if any of the other kids are actual moles, after all. That’s the hard part.”
“Eh… That’s annoying…” Kenma slumped down on his chair. Staring up at the ceiling, he made a short hum. “Is it possible for Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind to be moles as well? I mean… Since in the game, you can’t tell anyone … No options for that, at least.”
“... No,” Kuro laughed quietly. There was a rather solemn look on his face.
It made him look old.
“Otherwise, what a horrible twist it would be!”
“Yeah, it would,” Kenma sniffled. “But story wise, very smart. And frustrating.”
“Yeah,” Kuro agreed. “Frustrating.”
During those days, it was actually the darkest moments of Kuro Kenma had witnessed. He was awfully withdrawn, barely talked and all, but after he started discussing the Game, some light returned to his eyes. Kenma thought it was because the kid missed his old friends, but something would be there haunting at the back of beady, quiet eyes.
No, not quite. Kuro was not exactly quiet, maybe he was the same sort of “silent” as he himself was—they just don’t talk. They talk more in their minds—talking endlessly in their minds.
Kuro came over often to discuss the next course of events. There were lots of “close calls” in the game, and it kept Kenma on the edge of his seat on his bed. Apparently, the game proceeded day by day—a month in the game was a month in real life. The cliffhangers drove Kenma crazy.
They began researching and studying more, too, because the game was set in two thousand and something-something—basically a futuristic thriller game. And since the creator probably based a lot of the game mechanics with things you can find nowadays , it was important to understand the options you could juggle around with to ensure survival during “shipment days.”
That, and the “spy” deal. Choosing the option to be a “spy” for the enemy, the protagonist gets to obtain “prizes”—and that was key.
“An instant camera?” Kuro blinked at the computer screen. Kenma nodded, scrolling past images and offers.
“There’s that thing in the flash… And that’s what we need. Remember the tool we discussed—to deactivate the transmitters? We’ll need that, and it’s pretty nondescript. The ‘Mama’ wouldn’t think much of it.”
Kuro hummed. “That’s true… Since each shipment is about two months apart and there’s twelve months each year… Do you think we should get the camera last?”
Kenma calculated the possibilities. “Yeah. Get it last. This group all have it, so it doesn’t matter what model you’ll get. Just make sure it’s an instant camera, at least.”
Another kid got “shipped” during “shipment day.” Kenma felt a little sad about it. Kuro was rather detailed on each kid, after all. He couldn’t help but feel a connection to them.
All thirty eight children. All of them, and the new additions that came to replace the dead ones.
Kenma heard Kuro humming in the middle of the night. They were having a sleepover, the older long fallen asleep as they binge watched volleyball clips. Kuro had his head squished between two pillows, one stolen from beneath Kenma’s head. It was no wonder where he got that unruly bed hair from.
Turning off the computer, a frown remained on Kenma’s face.
He heard the same tune multiple times, especially during times Kuro was stressed.
Kenma was free during a Sunday, so Kuro took him to a child-friendly gym-thing where kids and more kids play miniature, child-friendly volleyball. It was also when this dark cloud hanging around Kuro’s shoulders finally eased, and Kuro was a lot happier, now.
Kenma suspected that it was because of the whatever-you-call-it-mones that would release whenever you exercise. They were supposed to make you happy or something—the perks of researching stuff for Kuro’s game.
That, and the elderly old man who came by—all the staff at the child-friendly gym were very respectful to him.
It was also the first time Kenma saw what you call a “spike,” and how Kuro swung up his arm in the air and spiked.
A release. Kenma saw a release. Kuro looked…
Happy.
Or in awe.
Or… Kenma didn’t know.
“All we got to do is lower the net,” the grandpa had said. “The joy from doing should be what’s important, first and foremost.”
Those who love something will become skilled in it.
Kuro had taken those words to heart. Kenma was glad for his friend, because the boy finally became less scared (he noticed that Kuro was always on the edge), and instead became more obnox-
He meant, started to love volleyball. Like, not as a “game,” like when Kuro first wanted Kenma to play with, but as a “hobby,” and then very quickly, a “passion.”
And…
The ball hits his arms as Kenma successfully bounced it back. His arms were red because of nothing but a little internal bleeding—and the smaller child began to eat more every dinner. His parents were quite happy about that.
They began watching more volleyball clips than researching for special compounds of chemicals or tools that could be deconstructed for other uses, too. Kuro managed to persuade Kenma to pick up setting (what a flaming lie he told—setting, a position where you don’t need to move much? Bah!), and Kuro also managed to make more friends and talk about things other than volleyball.
“How’s your game?” Kenma one day asked. The volleyball clip continued to play as its image was reflected on Kuro’s eyes. They were watching a match between Japan and Italy—many of the clips Kuro brought over were rewatched multiple times.
“... On Act Five,” Kuro sighed heavily. “It’s really annoying! Now it’s like a waiting game—but she’s really too cunning, that ‘Mama.’ Because she basically knows each kid inside out, it gives her the advantage of knowing the protagonist’s relations with other characters.”
Kenma hummed. “What ‘prize’ did you get this time?”
“Ah. Candy.”
“Yay.”
Replaying a certain section of the clip, their eyes boggled at the moment a set was tossed from one end to the other side of the court.
“Did you try getting gameboys?”
Kuro nodded. “Yeah, only up to a certain model, though. Couldn’t even get a DS!”
Kenma grimaced. “The ‘Authorities’ in that game’s so cheap.”
The other boy laughed. “I know, right?!”
When Kenma was having trouble with his English homework (because it was really a pain to learn another language), Kuro was surprisingly helpful. As a matter of fact—the younger was beginning to have his suspicions that Kuro might be in the “advance” classes, as well. The older would sometimes complain about his workload, but he always managed to complete it (not to mention well) before it was due.
And at that thought, it kind of annoyed Kenma, because Kuro kept calling him a super-genius. And Kuro probably knew it was annoying him, so it was even more annoying.
How irritating.
… The protagonist of the game was a hard worker, as described by Kuro, but not a natural genius.
Kenma continued to rewatch a few volleyball clips.
He sighed.
People expect kids to get along and socialize because that was what seemed to be healthy for kids their age. Kenma just didn’t like to go out, though, to socialize and whatever. He was perfectly happy staying indoors, playing games and searching for funner games. It wouldn’t drain him—he just liked the way he was.
But people still expect kids to get along and socialize because that was what seemed to be healthy for kids their age. Staying indoors and playing video games all day long didn’t seem very healthy. Kenma understood that viewpoint, at least to an extent, but still.
His parents considered him to be responsible and smart, an independent child. His distance with other kids was what worried them, however. Kenma was aware of that. Him playing volleyball with Kuro gave them a bit of comfort, but Kenma knew that it wasn’t quite enough.
He punched some buttons as his game character unleashed a combo attack.
The door slammed open and Kuro was there, standing at his house’s halls with a volleyball tucked under an arm. He became really obnoxious recently, Kenma observed after jolting from the impact of door hitting wall.
His friend grinned. “Let’s go!”
Kenma grimaced. Kuro laughed.
He tried tossing the ball into the air. It was cool that day, and open eyes stared widely as he watched the Mikasa ball fly. An arm was brought down as Kuro whacked the yellow-blue volleyball, a loud thud sounding in the neighborhood.
“Another kid’s shipped out,” the older boy said. He ran ahead to get the ball. “One of the older kids.”
Kenma stood there quietly as Kuro ran back. The ball pressed into small but growing hands, Kuro released a quiet sigh.
“Here!” He passed the ball over with a grin. Kenma caught it.
The sun was at an angle, thus casting the yard with a yellow-orange hue. Kenma watched as their shadows stretched.
He blinked slowly. “The game wants you to feel guilty, huh.”
Kuro blinked. “What?”
Kenma looked up to meet the other’s eyes. “The game. Since it’s a mind game, it’s probably the developer’s intention to make you feel horrible as you continue to play. Which makes me wonder…” His gaze slowly lowered to the ground. He stared at the volleyball sitting in his arms.
“I wonder if it’s possible to save all of the orphans, or if that’s an ending possible to reach,” he chuckled quietly to himself. “Or maybe the actual objective is to save them all. That game of yours has a lot of twists, after all.”
Kuro stared blankly at him. He looked down and nodded, letting the younger’s words sink in.
“I dunno,” he simply replied. Motioning for the ball, Kenma tossed it to him as Kuro bumped it back. They spent the next ten minutes bumping—Kenma felt his arms ache. They were red and spotty.
There were no NewTube videos or webpages to tell them all fifteen or whatnot endings for the unnamed game. So at that thought, Kenma grumbled at the stress and anxiety that could potentially rise.
And yeah. There were no NewTube videos or web pages to help him with a situation like this.
“I wanna practice the Personal Time Difference Attack,” Kuro said in a very serious tone. “Kenma, toss me a ball!”
Kenma grimaced harder.
“But I don’t think Kenma himself wants to go.”
It wasn’t that Kenma was being excluded or bullied. It wasn’t like that at all. He remembered listening to the teacher as she talked about the importance of standing up for others, and Kenma did think about it, too, what bullying meant.
If the “victim” did not feel like they were being bullied, does that count as “being bullied?” Some might argue that it was some sort of syndrome-thing that Kenma could not remember the name of, but what if… For example, it wasn’t that syndrome, but it was that they genuinely don’t mind the “teasing?” And in the first place, to what extent does the teasing equivalent to bullying ? Was there some sort of manual that he could read?
Maybe if Kenma actually experienced what it felt to be “bullied,” he would understand. But the problem was—he just doesn’t know. How could he understand it if he doesn’t know how it feels? A paradox. Kenma hated it.
In a way, it was just like how he hated vague terms like “guts.” Kenma did not believe he was being “excluded” (which ultimately somehow jumped into the “being bullied” category), and he was fine playing video games by himself. Even if someone was playing with him, he wouldn’t mind it that much as well. Someone like Kuro.
But people keep making it such a big deal, and Kenma got that, he understood bullying was bad and excluding others was not good—and it should be a big deal. But people just keep making it like… He didn’t know. No, he knew.
Kenma sometimes couldn’t help but think: maybe he as himself was really not “okay.”
Maybe he should be upset, worried that he was not interacting with his peers. Sad that he couldn’t quite speak up or have the energy to talk to others.
Maybe it was a bad thing, to be who (and who Kenma knew clearly) he was.
(“Be yourself!” Said the teacher with a bright line of a smile. Kenma was looking out of the window, imagining a dragon soaring through the skies. “Embrace your qualities, be proud of who you are!”)
There was a quiet beeping when Kenma sat alone at his desk, eyes glued to the screen of his DS as the rest of his classmates ran out to play. The weather was really nice that day, perfect for sleeping in and taking a nap.
Oh, and he leveled up. Now he could get better loot—that was awesome.
“But I don’t think Kenma himself wants to go,” Kuro said.
It made Kenma think of those times Kuro would somberly talk about his game.
The younger boy had just stopped at the end of the staircase towards the kitchen when he heard his voice. His dad was talking to Kuro, who was outside in the front yard.
Since Kuro became more open with other people, recently, he began doing things not limited to video games, hanging out with Kenma and volleyball. He picked up other things, and whenever Kuro went out playing soccer with other kids, as his dad inquired his friend, Kenma wouldn’t be invited. Kenma would be at his room, playing some video games and once again, be at his room.
Not quite healthy for kids his age, no?
As his friend stood there in the front yard, eyes wide and staring at Kenma’s dad, suddenly, Kenma got nervous.
… Kenma got nervous, and his hands were quickly clamming up in his pockets.
Why don’t you invite Kenma more, his dad had asked. He was genuinely curious.
Kenma’s friend replied. Kenma kept his eyes glued to the ground.
“I really understand the feeling of just not wanting to go to someplace or do something. If I thought Kenma wanted to go, even a little bit, I’d definitely take him with me. But I don’t think Kenma feels that way.”
Kuro was a hardworking genius. He studied hard for his tests and was a good kid overall.
“But once Kenma decides he likes something, he pours his soul into it.”
Just like his video games.
Just like…
“So he’s gonna be alright.”
Kuro’s conversation with his dad ended with an enthusiastic exchange of “goodbyes” and “see you laters.” Smiling inwardly, Kenma quickly grabbed a cup of tangerine juice and hopped back up to his room.
His dad playfully ruffled his hair before Kenma went back upstairs. Asking what would be for dinner, his dad said it was going to be his favorite.
Now his parents wouldn’t worry anymore, that was nice.
That was really nice.
Pushing resume, Kenma conquered the advanced level monster in one go.
Kuro was one year older than Kenma. That also meant that he would be graduating first, as well.
In November, Kuro was going to be twelve. To most people, they probably wouldn’t notice, but there was this tension on the older’s shoulders. Kenma saw it.
That tension.
The thing was—Kuro’s game was not set at the same time as real life. Sure, it proceeded day by day, but the dates wouldn’t match up. Kenma kept track carefully, he pretty much invested some of his time into that game. Volleyball and some video games aside, that game was another one of their pastimes.
And maybe something a bit more.
The frown on Kuro’s face was growing as they worked on their homework. They were in Kenma’s room, as usual, and eraser crumbs were everywhere.
“... What’s up?” Kenma decided to break the silence willingly. A beat later, Kuro made an exaggerated sigh, leaning back on his chair.
“Twelve is the oldest the orphans can go… And the MC and his buddies are currently eleven…”
“Oh,” Kenma looked back down to his worksheets. “Aren’t you going to let Genius and Really Dumb know? That option is available now, right?”
Kuro nodded. “During Conny’s shipment day.”
Kenma nodded along. “And that would be two more brains to help think of other escape plans. Once Genius joins in, I bet you’d start playing 5D chess or something.”
Kuro snorted into laughter. “That’s very possible!”
There was an awkward pause.
“... Hey, Kuro.”
“Yeah?”
Kenma scribbled a bit in his notebook, later fiddling with his mechanical pencil. “What is the plan, actually, for the escape?
“Are you really telling me all of the details of the game?”
“... Ah,” Kuro let out a light chuckle. “Well… We’re pretty much set about the problem with the transmitters, as for the escape itself…”
He picked at an eraser crumb. Looking back up to meet Kenma’s eyes, he grinned. “We’ll see!”
Kenma gave him a deadpan look, and within a few, the deadpan look faded.
He thought about the first time he saw Kuro hit a spike. They were at the child-friendly gym playing child-friendly volleyball, and Kuro swung up his arm and spiked. Kenma thought about that, and he thought about how sometimes, Kuro’s cheerfulness and obnoxiousness seemed forced.
Like he was trying his best to have a great time.
And perhaps trying too hard to have a good time.
Kenma thought about the term “missed opportunities,” and at that thought, his mind wandered at the sometimes somber look on his friend’s face.
Like right now.
And like a week later, when Conny’s fateful shipment day arrived.
“And another twist! The idiotic geniuses forgot to bring Little Bunny back!” Kuro said with exasperation, throwing up his arms in distress. Kenma stared blankly at the older kid.
“... Seriously?”
Kuro made a strangled sound before replying. “Yeah, I just can’t believe them!”
It was the first thing in the morning, and the first thing that happened when Kenma was about to eat his breakfast was a Kuro storming into the house with the intensity of a pro-volleyball match. Kenma was surprised.
Quickly saying hello to Kenma’s parents, he quickly sat beside Kenma as he ranted away about the turn of events. It seemed like the stress had hit the limit and was now bursting under high pressure.
“And can they not be obvious enough?! Mama’s going to find out at this rate—just look at their horrible acting skills! Not to mention getting them out—I’m seriously going to die at this rate!”
“Eh… Sounds serious.”
Kuro’s beginning-to-go-through-puberty voice broke. “Exactly! ”
“And then?”
“And then,” Kuro rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. Mama purposely showed them the transmitters—by now they probably found out about how shady the house is, too. I already joined their group—the situation calls for it. And, and just—”
His knuckles were white. Kenma observed quietly. There was quite an expression on Kuro’s face.
So Kenma hummed, picking at a grain of rice. “And onwards as a spy.”
“... Yeah.”
Kenma glanced up at Kuro. “Did you eat?”
“Ah.”
Kenma’s mom happily prepared him breakfast.
“They want to save everybody.”
Kenma blinked slowly.
“And pops out a new objective: somehow try to persuade them not to. The game’s seriously amping up the levels.”
“... Oh. Well, judging on how their personalities are, I can imagine them doing so…”
Kuro sighed again. He was sighing a lot, recently.
“Thirty seven of us in total, now that Conny’s gone, and most of us are under the age of six! They’re crazy, I’m telling you, and not to mention Nor -” Kuro abruptly stopped himself with a cough- “Mister Genius, he’s just… They’re all crazy.”
“... So they are. What are you going to do about it?”
Kuro stood up. “Hit some spikes and go on with the same plan. I’m not letting them blindly jump off the ledge and lose their lives.”
“Ah.”
Kenma frowned.
“Okay.”
The next day arrived.
“And now we’re stuck doing chores.”
“... Oh.”
As the week progressed, Kuro increasingly became more and more jumpy. It became painfully obvious, especially to Kenma’s parents whenever Kuro came by to rant and play volleyball. It was summer break, the middle of August, and they had summer homework to do.
“But should you be playing volleyball right now ?” Kenma decided to ask, bumping the ball back to Kuro. If he recalled, Kuro had some projects to do—the type that took time.
“Volleyball helps me relax,” Kuro simply stated. He bumped it back. “And I want to practice.”
Kenma’s nose scrunched up.
But I have homework… And that newly released game I really want to start.
Sometimes, Kuro behaved like he shouldn’t be wasting his time here, doing his homework (that remained neat and tidy and complete) or just— being here. Kenma was beginning to see hints of panda-eyes, and it became increasingly more worrisome as the days passed by.
They wrote down plans and formulated strategies and all, they had been doing so for a long time, but it seemed like it wasn’t enough.
On the fourth day, Kuro suddenly called early in the morning.
“Another adult,” Kuro stated. Kenma rubbed his eyes, he was still in his bed’s tight clutches.
“What?” Kenma replied hoarsely. He was seriously sleepy.
“Mama got reinforcements,” the boy’s voice was very hushed and tired. His grandfather was probably still asleep. “A ‘Sister.’ She’s insanely enthusiastic in her role.”
“... Oh,” Kenma frowned. “You’ve been playing in the middle of the night?”
“Wha-no! Of course not! But- well, yeah. I was.”
Kenma wondered when Kuro was playing the game. The conversation never came up.
“So what do you think?” Came the muffled voice from his phone. Kenma slowly sat up on his bed. “It’s kind of stressing me out—hard to think clearly. Even though we’ve made plans just in case, for these kinds of scenarios.”
“... Well, it’s hard to think clearly at this hour for starters,” Kenma scratched the back of his ear. “You’re playing volleyball, too. Isn’t self-maintenance important?”
There was a long pause on the other side of the line.
“Kuro?”
About thirty seconds later, Kenma heard a small chuckle.
“Yeah,” came Kuro’s reply. Kenma could hear him smiling. “Eating and sleeping well is important. It helps with anxiety and panic.”
Kenma nodded. “Exactly.”
A beat passed before Kenma spoke up.
“You’re… Awfully immersed in this game, aren’t you. More so than I am with gaming.”
Kuro was silent again.
Staring up to the ceiling, Kenma flopped back down to his back.
“See you later?”
“... Yeah.”
In the game, Conny’s shipment day was on October 12th. That was the twentieth act of who-knows-how-many, and Kenma wondered if they were getting nearer to the climax. Like volleyball, discussions on the game took up their daily life. It was like breathing at this point, if Kenma were to exaggerate.
That, and…
“... Hey. Will the game end… You know, after completing the objective of having Genius and Really Dumb escape?”
The silence that came over was almost eerie.
“Yeah,” Kuro replied after who-knows-how-long. “It will.”
Kenma couldn’t go back to sleep after that.
“Bro, what’s up with your face?!” Kuro squawked as Kenma opened the front door. His hair was sticking up everywhere and he could not find the mood to stick up to Kuro’s noisy voice.
“... Shut up, Kuro.”
Summer break was blue skies and insects. August was proceeding calmly despite the intensity of the game’s situation. Rubbing the lethargy out of his eyes, Kenma squinted at his wallet.
Chattering a bit about some volleyball matches and different techniques and strategies, Kuro placed his hands into his pockets as they walked across the sidewalk.
“They found out where the transmitters are. And you know? NPCs can sure think of brilliant ideas themselves.”
“Oh?”
Kuro smiled. “Tag.”
“Tag,” Kenma repeated after him.
Thinking for a moment, he nodded to himself. “That’s smart. They all love tag, after all, so nothing out of the ordinary.”
The older grinned. “Exactly.”
Then he sighed. “But the ‘Sister’ is sure intense.”
“Intense?”
Kuro nodded. “Extremely intense. I just get tired thinking about it.”
Kenma squinted. “Is it like when you’re in a horror game and a deformed monster chases after you out of nowhere?”
“Precisely.”
The younger shivered. “Scary.”
Looking up, Kuro stared ahead.
“We’ve formulated some plans… Organized the kids into teams and all. Kenma, you’re really amazing. To think you’ll actually think this far into the game.”
“... Ah,” Kenma fiddled with his hands. “I play a lot, I guess. Took an interest in puzzle ones, recently.”
“‘Cause of me?”
He shrugged. “I mean, we researched a lot. Invested years, no less. And like, we’re only in elementary school. We started this in first or second grade, or something.”
Slowly, Kenma looked up as well.
“It’s like volleyball, I guess.”
Kuro blinked slowly at the younger.
Opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it again, the older laughed.
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to bring up the ‘mole’ question?”
Kuro nodded. “Yeah, I did. It should be proceeding right now.”
“I’m surprised how developed this game is,” Kenma said. He looked away. “It’s really intense.”
“Isn’t it~”
Kuro laughed again. They turned the corner as they continued walking.
“Genius is really scary, too,” the older brought up. “November 8, he says… Seriously.”
Kenma blinked. “Whoa, in ten days…? That’s a bit...”
“Right?! Too quick! And not to mention… They went ahead and spun up a tale that the children were being human trafficked—they’re really cruel.”
“... Oh. To the ten year olds?”
Kuro nodded. “I… Set up the tall one.”
“Oh,” Kenma looked away. “The one called ‘Don?’”
“Yeah.”
Crossing the road, a gentle gust of wind brushed by as Kenma noticed stray plastic trash rolling along. Kuro quickly picked it up before placing it into a disposable bag.
Kenma began to hear a humming.
“I’ve been wondering for some time now, Kuro. Is that the main theme?”
Kuro paused. Standing up straight, he used his free hand to scratch the back of his neck.
“Yeah. It is,” he said with a smile. They picked up some more trash along their way—it was Kuro’s idea.
Because opportunities to do these kinds of things shouldn’t be missed, or something along the lines of that.
Self-maintenance.
It was not a game. Kenma had his assumptions, and the thought only solidified as it went on. The Game was not a game, it could not be played anywhere. Perhaps only in Kuro’s head, that was.
A few years ago, Kuro’s father asked Kenma to help look after Kuro. He looked very concerned and worried, and Kenma only nodded. Kuro helped reassure his own parents that Kenma was fine, after all, not to mention Kuro himself was worrying the younger as well.
Because Kuro was naturally a quiet, reserved, and shy kid.
What was the game, anyway? Why did Kuro put so much of his time and energy on it, when he also had volleyball and other priorities?
What made the game different? When did it actually start?
Why did he sound so sad, talking about setting the character, Don, up?
The next day arrived. Kuro ran up the stairs and slammed open Kenma’s door. Kenma stared at his friend with wide eyes. He was only about to turn on his game console.
“Kenma,” Kuro choked out. “Norman found out. He knows, and now he’s gone even more crazy. You were right, he’s seriously playing 5D chess—it’s insane.”
Kenma’s eyes remained wide as Kuro slowly walked up to the bed, practically throwing himself under Kenma’s covers.
For the next few minutes, Kenma continued to stare at his friend, who was most definitely swallowed within the blankets during a still-hot-but-getting-cooler summer break.
… The game was not a game. It could just be Kuro’s wild imagination, maybe created due to… He didn’t know, a lack of friends? Other types of relations? But the thing was, Kuro did not have a lack of friends—he was friendly with everyone and he did well at school. Even towards Kenma—Kuro always seemed to be… Handling himself well. A normal child.
And Kenma understood, he got it. It was usually then no one understood what was going on inside of a “normal” child’s head—Kenma remembered.
Standing up, Kenma walked over to his bed, poking the pile of mess that Kuro was.
“Kuro?”
He pursed his lips.
Sitting down, he turned on his console and began beeping away. They spent the morning like that, until Kenma’s mother came up to tell them that lunch was ready. Kenma managed to pull the older out of the covers.
And at that point, Kenma suddenly had a thought.
The lack of a mother and a ‘Mama’ of another world.
… There was no way, right?
“Sometimes, living like this is tiring,” Kuro suddenly said. They were washing the dishes with dishwashing soap and sponges.
It was the end of August. Summer break was ending.
As for the game, it was November 1st. And things began to change.
It had been changing for a long time, actually. The name “Norman” remained.
Kuroo Tetsurou was always the type to sleep early. He ate healthy, exercised regularly and kept a healthy lifestyle. At this point it should be a habit, Kenma barely saw him eat junk food and the like.
“I’m going to hit the sack,” Kuro said with a yawn. “See you on the way to school.”
Kenma nodded.
It was Act Twenty Five: The Investigation. At 13:00 PM, the children of the orphanage would begin their plan to research the outside world. What was out there? What was beyond the walls?
Kenma did not ask why did they still have to investigate despite the game ending after Genius and Really Dumb’s escape. He merely leaned back and listened, wondering what was going through his friend’s mind.
On their way to school, the look on Kuro’s face was oddly calm. The school’s opening went on smoothly, they went to their respective classes. Class began, Kenma was sitting on the edge of his chair.
Kuro was oddly calm.
Going back home together, Kuro remained silent. He was thinking, thinking very hard. Kenma tried his best to keep up with him—the older was walking a bit too quickly.
Reaching Kenma’s house, they played some volleyball again. It was a silent agreement, Kenma tossing the ball as Kuro bumped it back. They practised the Personal Time Difference Attack.
Kenma thought about the term “missed opportunities.”
“Kenma,” Kuro began. “Can I ask you something?”
Blinking slowly, Kenma nodded curtly. Kuro smiled smally. He looked awfully tired despite sleeping early.
“What do you think… About that plan?”
Oh. About the game.
Kenma thought for a moment.
“The investigation plan?”
Kuro nodded.
“... Well…” He tossed the ball again. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if… You know. If the game ends up making-”
“He’s going to be shipped out.”
Kenma paused. The ball was dropped to his feet. It was rolling and rolling, and then it stopped.
“Huh?”
“Genius Kid,” Kuro clarified. “He’s going to get shipped out. The plan is to make it seem like he ran away… Really Dumb got her leg broken, too.”
Kenma kept his lips pressed into a thin line.
“... Kuro?”
“Hm?”
A beat. And then another.
“I think it’s a cliff. What’s behind the walls.”
Because of how painfully normal Kuro seemed, Kuro was actually a mess of… Stuff. Kenma suspected it was some sort of psychological thing, like what he read when they were researching the numerous topics for the game’s sake. Kuro’s father approaching Kenma only seemed to prove his point, but at the same time, it didn’t seem that way as well.
Kenma wouldn’t be ever sure—he was not a psychologist, he was a ten year old kid. Almost eleven, that was, but still a kid.
A random Japanese kid studying in Tokyo.
“A cliff?” Kuro echoed after him. Kenma nodded.
“I watched videos and read reports about how the farm industry works, but since the game is a psychological thriller and that the ‘cattle’ in the game are genius children… The reason for the seemingly lax security could actually be because… It’s basically impossible to escape. Physically.
“Because genius children can figure out a maze. They can find out the guards’ rotations, or even the system of the farm itself. They can’t figure out how to move a mountain.”
Kuro slowly looked down to his feet.
“... Oh.”
Kenma furrowed his eyebrows.
“But… I don’t think it’s impossible to escape. There should still be a way—multiple ways.”
“... Really?”
Kenma frowned. He met Kuro’s eyes.
“You sound like you’ve given up. That angers me.”
His friend looked really tired that afternoon.
It annoyed Kenma even more.
“What are the options? Tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know all of the details of the game.”
Kuro laughed. “Eh~ No, it’s alright. It’s just a game, after all-”
“And that is the last thing you should say to me, of all people, Kuro. Tell me, now.”
Kuro’s expression made it clear that Kenma was currently resembling a very angry cat. Good, let him feel the wrath of this absolutely ticked off feline.
“... Alright,” Kuro nodded. “I’ll tell you.”
Kenma nodded back. “Good.”
They returned to Kenma’s room. Kuro began talking.
And distantly, Kenma recalled the many strategies he thought up of during the years they were preparing for the main objective. For the sake of Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A’s escape.
A smaller Kuro was hiding behind his father’s shadow. They were staring at each other with wide, wide eyes, and Kenma really didn’t feel like interacting with other kids. Stuck in Kenma’s room, neither of them were courageous enough to start the conversation. Kuro, especially, looked nervous—this was Kenma’s home, after all.
So ironically, it was Kenma who opened up first.
“Do you want to play some Virtua Fighter…?”
Kuro was eight years old when they first met. Kenma was seven.
The first time Kenma witnessed the heaviness on Kuro’s shoulders was when the older first spoke of his game. When Kuro thought Kenma wasn’t nearby, sometimes, Kenma would hear this whining. Like someone was crying.
It was awkward. Really. Kenma thought it was because Kuro was upset that he had to leave his old home. Or, maybe that had to do with it, too, but with something else as well.
A parallel universe was not what Kenma expected at all.
It was the beginning of the second term. School just resumed and their workload was beginning to become heavier. It wasn’t a problem for someone like Kuro, even Kenma could handle it well, too.
But at the back of his mind, it was November 3rd in Kuro’s game. Nervously, Kenma placed his hands together.
Genius Kid’s, or Norman’s, shipment day. That was if he didn’t manage to get away.
Kenma hoped that he managed to escape, but at the look on Kuro’s face, Kenma could only somberly look back down to his game.
For the rest of the day, the older was… Calm. Like the day before, he continued hanging out with other kids, playing soccer here and there, and laughing and joking and he acted like everything was normal. Like nothing was amiss. Kuro continued playing and watching volleyball with Kenma. Kuro continued playing volleyball with the swing of his arm and push of his legs.
For the younger, there was this suffocating chunk of something stuck in his throat.
Kenma was nervous. It was just like when his dad asked Kuro about Kenma’s social life, and anxiety spiked.
Kenma was very nervous.
For the next month, Kuro did not say a word about the game.
They played volleyball, volleyball, and more volleyball. At this rate, they might perfect the Personal Time Difference Attack.
“You’re going to be in junior high,” Kenma said slowly.
“Yup! And I’ll join the volleyball club—it’ll be fun!”
The younger frowned harder.
October 16th passed. Kenma was now eleven years old.
It was now November, and so, so slowly, it was almost the 17th. Kuro’s birthday.
And in the game, it was going to be January 15th.
(The birthday of the protagonist—the deadline of the game.)
“See you tomorrow?”
Kuro paused. He was holding the Mikasa volleyball tenderly in his hands. Turning around, he smiled brightly at the younger.
“Yeah, see you!”
That night, Kenma found himself staring at his ceiling from his bed. Something strange was swirling in his gut, and Kenma realized that he was scared. Late at night, he stared at the screen with this odd sense of anxiety bubbling in his stomach, and he was scared .
Because once, years ago and on a whim, Kenma thought up the plan of burning down the entire orphanage as it wasn’t the game’s objective for the protagonist’s survival.
(“If a high-marking product gets himself in danger right before his shipping date, I don’t think the Mama would abandon the house as easily.”)
He felt like throwing up.
Some time ago, Kuro’s father said that Kuro does not play any video games at home. Kenma had asked him about it, and Kuro’s father only frowned and tilted his head, this strange glint in his eyes.
“... Game? No… Tetsurou isn't the type to play video games, I don’t think… Most of the time he would be studying or hanging out with his friends. At home, sure, he does pull out his phone here and there, but they’re usually the ones you’ve suggested to him—he doesn’t play them often as well.”
That was during the start of the second term when Kuro suddenly stopped talking about the game altogether. Kenma was too nervous to ask.
“Kenma,” Kuro’s father looked nervous as well. “Do you think…”
Kenma nearly jumped out of his skin. Hands clamming up again, he quickly shook his head and stuttered out.
“Kuro’s smart. He’s just… Reckless. I think.”
Kuro’s father blinked slowly. After a short pause, he smiled smally. His smile resembled Kuroo’s a lot.
“I’m glad that Tetsurou has a friend like you, Kenma. But I agree, Tetsurou’s… Reckless. He’s also very shy—when he was young, he had a hard time making friends. Back then, he couldn’t speak well, for some reason.”
“... Speak well?”
He nodded. “But his speech picked up quickly soon after, when he was about four or five… But at the moment he started making many friends, we had to move.”
“... Oh…”
Moving. To a new place.
“All we got to do is lower the net,” the old grandpa at the child-friendly gym had said. “The joy from doing should be what’s important, first and foremost.”
“Those who love something will become skilled in it. ”
Kuro loved volleyball, so he became skilled in it.
Did he love his “game,” as well?
It was Kuro’s twelfth birthday. Kuro was lying down back against the floor, eyes staring straight up to Kenma’s ceiling.
“I have a confession to make.”
Kenma hummed along, game console in his quickly-getting-clammy hands. He kept his gaze glued to the still black screen.
After a few beats of silence, Kuro took an audible breath.
“Dual lives, whatever you call it. It’s that.”
“... What?”
Sitting up, Kuro grinned.
“I’ve been living double lives. Feels straight out of an anime, right?”
Kenma stared at him.
He stared at him for a long time.
“... You were going to set the house on fire.”
“Erm, yeah.”
“And yourself.”
“Mmhm.”
Kenma looked back to his game console, and then back to the other.
“What the hell."
Standing up, his game console hit the floor with a harsh clack.
“What the hell ?!”
What the hell, because the “Yeah, see you!” from the day before sounded like a goodbye. What the hell, because the orphans who were strategically sacrificed were all in fact real living people. What the hell, because Genius Kid, the protagonist’s (Kuro’s) good friend, probably died.
All of that, and it was Kenma who basically told Kuro (the protagonist) to go and die -!
It was the first time Kenma stood up and chucked a fist at a person’s face. His fist hurt a lot afterwards, but it was worth it.
Kenma would make sure it was worth it, from this life to the next.
Kenma’s mother immediately charged up the stairs at the sound of Kenma’s outraged yelling and Kuro’s desperate apologies. It was also the first time everyone saw Kenma that angry. Kenma’s parents were amazed.
“So, what’s happening now?”
Kuro (Ray) hummed. “We found B06-32. It was underground all along. That being said, we found an adult! He’s very shabby, though. Emma threatened him to cooperate with a sweet smile and a bomb.”
“Huh. Cool.”
“What’s with that reaction?” Kuro laughed. “Guessed all of that already, Mr. Genius?”
Kenma scrunched up his nose at the jab. Kuro laughed again.
Act Twenty Seven of who-knows-how-many: Really Dumb setting the House on fire and bringing Ray along with the support of Genius Kid’s elaborate plan. Children above the age of five all successfully escaped.
They, Emma and Norman, were like friends.
Kenma gave Kuro a sideways glance. “Will you ever tell them about it,” he squinted, “or did you already.”
Laughter abruptly stopping, Kuro scratched the back of his head with a nervous chuckle. “About that… I’m not sure how they will take it, actually. With everything going on-”
Kenma gave him a deadpan look.
“... Alright, alright! I’ll tell them, alright?”
“Good.”
Kenma watched as Kuro bumped the ball. The sky bright, Kenma watched as their shadows stretched accordingly to the light.
“... Where are you planning for high school?”
“Nekoma. Do you know about Coach Nekomata? Hey, we should go together!”
“Eh… We’ll see...”
Kuro grinned.
“Kenma, give me a toss!”
Raising his arm, Kuro spiked.
The joy from doing should be what’s important, first and foremost. Those who love something will become skilled in it.
It would be nice, Kenma thought to himself, if he could ever meet them. If that was possible.
Emma.
… Norman.
The orphan children.
It would really be nice.
Many years later, they finally went to the nationals.
The joy from doing was really what was most important. Eyes closed and happy, Kenma smiled from the gymnasium’s floor.
Satisfaction. The feeling of content.
“Ah, this is fun.”
Kuro, age eighteen, pulled him into a sweaty, way-too-enthusiastic group hug.
“This” was not “their” human world, but “they” were finally safe, now.
Kenma continued to keep this thought at the back of his head, and for once…
Well.
It was fun.
Really fun.