Chapter Text
“Do you have your koseki documents?”
Goro started, then tried to make his brain catch up to the conversation, and his mouth catch up to his brain.
“I brought a copy,” Watanabe-san said, rummaging around in her purse. He hadn’t even gotten around to using her given name, he realized absently.
The woman behind the desk took the papers. “Akechi Goro, age fourteen, birthdate June 2nd, 1998. You’ve been through…” She pursed her lips momentarily in concentration. “...Three residences in the past year.” She looked up at him questioningly. He responded with a cocked eyebrow, daring her to ask what she so obviously wanted to. Why? What exactly happened to cause all those moves between foster families? The only constant at each home had been Goro himself. From that evidence, any simpleton could deduce that the problem was not with the families, but with the child.
But the secretary clearly thought better of asking. Instead she said, “Thank you, Watanabe-san. I’m seeing in our system that the rest of the paperwork has already been taken care of. You’re free to go.” She stood and bowed slightly.
Watanabe-san returned the gesture, then turned to Goro. “I’m...sorry it didn’t work out.”
Goro didn’t honor that with an answer. What utter horseshit. If she was really sorry, she wouldn’t be abandoning him here at this facility just like the last two foster families had. Just like his mother had. Just like whatever piece of shit had fathered him had.
When it became clear that Goro wasn’t going to respond, Watanabe-san cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, I should be going now.” And then she did just that, her short heels clacking against the linoleum floor.
The secretary gave a curt bow to Goro. “I’m Fujimori. Fujimori Ena.”
“I don’t recognize you from the last time I was here.”
“Oh! You’ve been here before. Of course. I’m new. I started here just last month. Anyways, let me show you to your room.” She crossed to the doorway on the other side of the room and opened it, gesturing for him to go through. Goro picked up the duffel bag that held all of his worldly possessions and followed her down a long, dimly-lit hallway. He couldn’t really see into the thin windows in the doors as they walked briskly past them, but he knew what each one held. The first one on the right, six lines of cradles, with about a foot of space between each one. The first one on the left, the bunk beds for the kids under ten. At the end of the hall, the bathrooms and showers on the right and the metal cots for the teenagers and preteens on the left.
It was into the last room that Fujimori directed him. “Here you go. The third bed from the back of the room up against the windows is yours. Number four. There should be a yellow tag on it.”
But of course it was four. Goro sighed, walked over to the bed, and dumped his duffel on the thin mattress. He turned back to Fujimori. “Anywhere I need to be today?”
“Dinner is at six in the cafeteria. Here’s a map of this facility--oh, I guess you probably already know where it is.” Goro nodded, unsmiling, and Fujimori continued, “Other than that, lights-out is at eleven sharp. You’ll be transferring back to Tokyo Kokka Public High tomorrow. You’ll need to be in your seat by 8:45 AM. Return immediately after school ends, you’ll be having a session with the facility’s councillor at 4:00 PM.”
Right. The obligatory debrief with Dr. Imai after being tossed out of a foster home. “Duly noted.” He turned away to signal that he was done with this conversation. After roughly five seconds Fujimari seemed to take the hint, as her flat shoes slapped against the floors and faded down the hallway. Goro sank down onto the threadbare sheets and stared at the opposite wall. The white, peeling paint. At least his bed wasn’t right under the leaking pipe anymore. Some other poor bastard had gotten stuck with that one while he’d been living it up in an actual home.
The room was empty except for a kid (Konishi? He couldn’t remember, they came and went so often) who was lying on his bed, passed out. If he wasn’t at school he was probably sick. After about thirty seconds a deep, wet cough from Konishi supported Goro’s hypothesis.
After about twenty minutes, other kids started streaming in through the doors. School was out for the day, then. Goro played a little game with himself as they filed in, trying to figure out which ones were new meat, which ones he knew from his previous stays here, and if he knew them, what their names were. He probably managed to name about sixty percent of them, an accomplishment he was weirdly proud of. Some of them called out his name in surprise when they saw him; others gave him a shocked look but said nothing; yet others glanced away the moment his eyes met theirs. But of course they would. This had been his third home in the last year, and once again he had somehow fucked it up. How embarrassing.
Admittedly, the first two times had definitely been his fault. The first home he’d run away from because the father had beaten him mercilessly while drunk, so it had actually been somewhat of a relief to end up back at the orphanage. At the second one, he’d somehow ended up in a fist fight with the couple’s teenage son after the kid in question had called him a son of a whore. The fact that it was true had just made it worse. But this last one...everything had seemed to be going well. He’d even gotten to meet Mrs. Watanabe’s mother and father over New Year’s. But that very night, he’d heard the late night conversation between Watanabe-san and her mother. He’d gotten up briefly from bed and had been padding to the bathroom when he’d heard them in the kitchen. The older woman had been expressing her concerns over the family’s image, given that they were housing a child who was not only illegitimate, but also the son of a prostitute. Everyone knows, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And the shame it would bring to the family, and blah blah blah.
Goro hadn’t really been surprised when he’d ended up back at the orphanage a month later.
That night found him staring at his shitty flip phone absently. He scrolled through his contacts--or didn’t, considering there weren’t enough contacts in his phone to actually require him to scroll--and landed on the Watanabes’ home number. He stared at it for a long minute, flipping his thumb over the trash icon repeatedly before finally pressing it with a sigh. He was about to place the phone on the floor beside the side of his bed when it gave off a ping. He opened it up again. There was only one notification.
MetaNav successfully installed.
The fuck?
No way in hell he was opening that up, so he deleted the notification and looked for the app in question. There was only one app he didn’t recognize. An eye against a red and black background. Underneath it was the word MetaNav . Frowning, Goro dragged the icon to the trash before flopping back down onto the bed.
The realization that Goro was awake came to him gradually, through the scratch of the old sheets and discomfort of the metal bars through the thin mattress. He rolled over to face the wall, willing himself to fall back to sleep.
Wait.
The wall?
He shot up to take in his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit, cramped room. There was a toilet to his left, and to his right--
Bars.
He was in a cell.
His first thought was that he was still dreaming, but he quickly discarded that idea. The observations his senses were bringing to him were far too real. Of course, everyone thought their dream was real while they were in it, he mused. It was when they woke up that the memories took on a dream-like quality. So perhaps he was still asleep. But then again--
“Welcome to my Velvet Room.”
Goro jerked up from the bed. He wasn’t alone. He looked around wildly for the owner of the voice, before his eyes landed on perhaps the strangest man he had ever seen. Goro stepped up to the bars cautiously.
The man sat behind a desk in the middle of a circular room lined with cells just like Goro’s own. One leg was crossed over the other, swinging idly as he surveyed Goro with bulging, bloodshot eyes. His nose made him look more like a bird of prey than a man.
The man remained silent enough for Goro to find words of his own. “Who the fuck are you and where the fuck are we?”
Rather than taking offense, the old man simply chuckled. It was a chuckle that sent chills up Goro’s spine. “I’ve already answered your first question. As to your second, I am Igor. But the real issue at hand here is who you are. You are a slave, Akechi Goro. Do you desire emancipation?”
Goro wrapped his hands around the bars, hands which he just now realized were cuffed and chained. “Gladly,” he sneered. “Would you mind?” He shook his chains expectantly.
“Igor” gave another quiet chuckle. “Alas, I do not have the keys to your cell. I am simply here to oversee your rehabilitation.”
Wonderful. He’d heard this sort of jargon before, from social workers, therapists, and the like. He’d had enough “rehabilitation” for one lifetime. “I think I’ll pass.”
There was a sharp bang! and pain flowered from Goro’s knuckles up his arm. “How dare you display such insolence to our master, inmate!” Goro looked down to see two little blond girls in what looked to be parodies of correctional uniforms. One bore a baton and a frown; Goro surmised that she had been the one to assault him. Where had they come from? How had he not noticed them before? He opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of it. Small though they were, the one with the ponytails could pack a punch. He wasn’t really in the mood to get smacked in the knuckles again.
“My apologies,” he said, painting a layer of politeness over his tone. “Please, continue.”
Igor did just that. “The world is not as it should be, and ruin can no longer be avoided. Those who oppose fate and desire change...from time to time, they were referred to as Tricksters. You are the Trickster. Now is the time to rise against the abyss of distortion. Do you understand?”
Not one bit , Goro thought. “Yes,” he responded.
“Good. Only those who have the privilege of partaking in this game. Do you agree to these terms?”
“What game?”
Igor simply chuckled that ominous chuckle again.
“Well, inmate?” The girl with the ponytails snapped. “Answer!”
Goro looked between the two girls, then at Igor. He was beginning to get the unsettling feeling that he was in no mere dream. That whatever he answered here would have consequences, far-reaching ones that he couldn’t possibly predict. That the safer option would be to tell this strange man to piss off and send him back to his own reality.
But then he thought of Watanabe’s mother, and her hushed, angry tones behind a closed kitchen door. Of his mother, lying in the bathtub beneath water pink with her own blood. Of the peeling white wall across from his bed in the orphanage, as blank and as empty as his life was going to be once he was released from the foster system. One year. One year was all he had.
Anything had to be better than that blank wall.
“I agree.”
Igor’s smile turned sinister then, and for a brief moment Goro wanted to take it back, to rescind his words, to run from this place and never think of it again.
“The contract has been sealed.”
The first day back at Kokka High was about as awful as expected. Goro had only been at another school for the last few months, and the teachers and many students still remembered him. Some of the teachers gave him those tactless looks of surprise that the other orphans had given him upon first seeing his return to the facility. Still others gave him looks of pity, which was even worse. His homeroom teacher had even attempted to pull him aside to offer him comfort, which had been the worst of all. He had politely but firmly replied that he was not bothered at all by his return to the facility, that the third move of the year was most certainly not going to affect his performance, and if she could please offer him the curriculum for the third semester so he could study what he had missed while at another school. The teacher looked taken aback, but had quickly composed herself and fulfilled his request. Goro then had gotten out of there as fast his legs could carry him.
On his return to the facility, he made his way straight to the counselor’s office. Best to get this abysmal experience over with as quickly as humanly possible.
Dr. Imai was seated in his usual chair. What was unusual was that there was a young man seated in the chair next to him. The man was probably in his twenties, handsome, with glasses and a mop of tousled brown hair.
Dr. Imai smiled at Goro and gestured to the seat across from him. “Akechi-kun, good to see you again.” He then nodded at the stranger. “And this is Maruki Takuto. He’s a therapist-in-training. Would you mind if he sat in on this session today?”
Goro gave Maruki an appraising look. Ah, what the hell. Two therapists were likely to be just as useful as one, which was to say, not at all. But then again it wouldn’t do any harm, and anything that made him look more well-adjusted in the eyes of Dr. Imai would be a good thing.
Goro opened his mouth to grant Imai’s request when Maruki jumped to his feet and nearly fell over himself bowing. “It’s nice to meet you, Akechi-kun. I’d be honored to have the chance to train with you.”
Well, that was laying it on thick. Imai furrowed his brow and Goro could tell that he was holding himself back from chastising Maruki in front of a patient. Goro broke the tension by returning the bow and saying politely, “The honor would be mine, Dr. Maruki.”
“Oh, not a doctor yet.” Maruki gave a nervous laugh. “Maruki is fine. Or even Takuto!”
Yeah, no. Goro smiled. “Maruki-san it is then.”
Imai said, “Yes, well, thank you for allowing Maruki to silently observe this session.” He gave Maruki a pointed glance. Maruki pushed his glasses back up his face and sat down hurriedly. Goro followed suit.
“Now then, we’re here to talk about your last foster experience. It says here you were with the Watanabes. Would you like to tell me about them?”
Nope. “Yes, well, they were...very kind. It was a much better experience than the last two.”
“Could you tell me a bit about what happened?” Imai didn’t have to elaborate for Goro to know what he was referring to.
“Well, it...the family didn’t approve. Her mother...well, she was concerned for the family’s image.”
Imai looked up with a soft expression. Out of the corner of his eye Goro saw Maruki shift uncomfortably. Goro grit his teeth, then plastered a downtrodden look on his face.
“And how did that make you feel?”
Goro would have laughed if he wasn’t afraid that laughter would turn into tears. It was such an inane question. How did that make him feel?
Worthless.
Goro gathered himself to make some acceptably polite and vague response. But the words stuck under the lump that appeared in his throat. “I…”
“It’s alright, take your time.”
But Goro didn’t want to take his time. Right now he wanted to bolt out the door, run to the teen’s dorm, and punch that peeling white wall until it broke. “I--I don’t--can we talk about something else right now?”
“Of course. Well, how about your future? You’re fourteen now. You’ll be free of this facility in less than a year. Do you have any plans?”
Goro was starting to get a headache. His performance in this session so far had been subpar, and it wasn’t like his highly limited prospects were any less of a dangerous topic. “I don’t--well, I’m not sure what’s available to me. How I would--pay for rent, and food. I hardly think a few part-time jobs would do the trick.”
Imai tapped his clipboard thoughtfully. “Your records show you’re a very accomplished student. That’s quite impressive, especially with the transfers between schools. Have you thought of getting a scholarship that includes room and board?”
Of course Goro had thought of that. But those scholarship applications were incredibly confusing, and really they seemed more trouble than they were worth. Especially when many would turn him away on birth status alone. “And what of my koseki? I hardly think any school of quality would grant free room and board to...someone with a family registration like mine.”
“You will have to have exceptional grades because of your position, but that doesn’t seem like a problem for you, Akechi-kun. And if you need advice on how to fill out those applications, you can always come to me. That’s part of my job.”
Of course, because he was here so often. Imai was only here when he was called in. He split his time between a few different orphanages around Tokyo, and was probably responsible for the mental health of over a thousand children. But sure, he would make time for one son of a dead whore who got repeatedly kicked out of foster homes. Of course.
The rest of the session went more smoothly. Goro managed to get a hold of himself and put on a good face for the next hour as Imai gave him mental practices that he would forget the moment he walked out the door. At the end of the session, the therapist gave him his card in case he should want assistance with applications.
He was halfway down the hall when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. “Akechi-kun. Akechi-kun, wait!”
Goro turned around to see Maruki running toward him. The therapist came up panting, resting his hands on his knees. “I--I just wanted to say--”
“Take your time,” Goro said lightly.
“Ha,” Maruki said. “Thank you. I just wanted to say, Akechi Goro, that I am...very sorry about what happened to you. I’ve...read your files, and I just…”
Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Something sounded from his phone, and Goro yanked it out. Please give me a viable distraction, please, please…
“...by this point, Tokyo must feel like a battlefield of sorts to you.”
“Beginning navigation,” came a cool feminine voice from his phone.
The next few seconds were easily the strangest of Goro’s life.
There was a heavy popping sensation in his ears, followed by an unbearable pressure on his chest. He tried to scream, but could find no air to do it with.
When he finally did find the air, it seemed to be under his feet. He fell to his knees on a cloud made of dirt and rubble and gulped in huge lungfuls of smoke. He coughed, spluttered, raked his fingers through the pebbles and dust. Tears welled in his eyes.
When the tears finally subsided, he took in his surroundings slowly.
He was still in the facility. Or rather, the remains of it.
Only three walls of the facility remained, and those were a mess of broken iron bars and crumbling concrete. The roof was completely gone, as were most of the floors above the first one. The ceiling of the first floor looked like it could crumble at any moment. Beyond the broken walls was perhaps the most horrifying sight Goro had ever seen.
It was Tokyo, all right. In the distance Goro could still see portions of the skyline--half of the Skytree, and what looked like the Metropolitan Government Building leaning at an angle against one of the shorter buildings next to it--but the majority of the city was just...flattened. Most of the buildings in the neighborhood had been reduced to piles of rubble, and flames leapt up here and there between slabs of concrete and roofing. It brought to mind images Goro had seen in documentaries and textbooks of the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Goro jerked around at the sound of muffled sobs. Behind him, seated in the rubble, was that kid Konishi. Goro dropped to his knees beside him. “Konishi? What’s going on here? What happened? Was--”
Oh, God. Had it finally happened? Had America and China, or Russia or whoever, finally threw down the gauntlet and decided to take the whole world with them?
Goro quickly realized how ridiculous that idea was, because if someone had really dropped another nuclear bomb on them and their neighborhood was close enough to ground zero to be flattened the way it had been, Goro would most definitely be a blackened corpse buried under the rubble at this point.
He took a steadying breath and tried again. “Okay. Okay. Calm down. We need to figure out what just happened. Where is everybody? Where’s the staff?”
Konishi stopped sobbing long enough to look up at Goro blankly. “The staff?”
“The staff. You know, Imai, Takada, Hara?”
Konishi looked even more confused. “The jailers? They’re in the cellar. But how...how did you get out?”
“Get out?” Goro shook his head. “Never mind. Just stay here.”
“No, you can’t! You can’t go back down there! You can’t let them find out you escaped, they’ll...you’ll wish you were dead.”
Goro stared at Konishi, bewildered, then turned and bolted down the staircase. A staircase that he hadn’t known existed until Konishi had mentioned it. The facility had a cellar?
The darkness of the cellar was only broken by a dim yellow lightbulb that hung above a wooden table. The low light reached out gingerly to touch small, cramped cells behind thick iron bars. Goro had a sudden flashback to his dream of the previous night.
Three people were seated around the table in the center of the room, and they all looked up abruptly when Goro entered.
“What the hell--?!” The woman who had been facing away from him leapt up, and Goro was shocked to see the director of the facility, Takada.
Assistant Director Hara and Dr. Imai, who were seated beside her, rose to their feet in unison. Imai glanced behind him with an astonished expression. “But you’re--”
But Goro wasn’t listening. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light. Which meant he could finally see the occupants of the cells.
Kids. Each cell had two, maybe three of them, anywhere from toddlerhood to adolescence. And Goro recognized them all. They were the orphans. The orphans at the facility.
“What is this?” Goro spat. He walked slowly along the row of cells, looking down at each occupant in mixed horror and disgust. “What is going on here? Why are you keeping them like this?” He stopped at the center cell. “How could you--”
But he never finished. Because the reason for the staff’s shocked reactions was suddenly abundantly clear.
In the center cell, seated on a thin cot and looking resolutely at the wall, was none other than himself.