Work Text:
Butterfly Girl
By: Aviantei
A Muse One Shot
[Twelve Shots of Summer: Nine Tales 5/12]
[Parameters: “Boar, Deer, Butterfly” & “Watch Me Blossom”]
The gunshot goes off, and no about of bracing herself for it can make it hurt any fucking less. The impact knocks Tsukiko Chou straight over, the crash to the concrete floor a secondary sensation in comparison to the pure agony in her chest. Chou bleeds static, the bursts of gray and black marring her view of the white sky up above, and somehow she’s still conscious, and why won’t her brain just give up.
There’s no cry from Hotaru, which at least means the Kiryu bastard held true to his word and let her live. He better have let her live, or Chou’s going to—
Do what? You’re bleeding out on the floor, and you’re not going to be able to do a damn thing.
That thought hurts the most out of all of it. It was supposed to all be worth it if she could protect Hotaru, prevent her from playing this shitty game again. And, hey, it is worth it, but wallowing in pain on the ground makes things like that hard to remember. The idea of being powerless before the asshole who caused all of this is unbearable, just another death where Chou sits there and waits until she bleeds, bleeds, bleeds enough to wash all awareness away.
At least it’s a shot to the chest this time, instead of a slit throat. Variety is the spice of the afterlife and all that.
And then Chou’s vision starts to dim, a sign that it’s all over. Except it’s not her eyes that are failing; it’s Nifuji hunched over her, blocking out the light, and he’s fumbling with—something. It’s not until the coolness of a can pushes against her mouth that Chou recognizes the healing psyche, and her body drinks before her mind can think to stop her, the taste of lychee Calpico washing through her mouth. As she swallows, the pain abates, though she still doesn’t feel like moving in the slightest.
“You sure took a beating there, eh, Tsukiko-kun?” Hasekitsu asks, strolling towards her spot on the ground with far less concern in his expression than Nifuji has. “Well, at least I can thank you. I’ve never seen something like this happen at the end of a Reaper’s Game before. Though I bet you don’t wanna hear something like that right now, huh?”
Chou musters up enough strength to glare, even as Nifuji makes her consume the entire Cure Drink can before he pulls back. She feels over her chest, but there’s no wound leftover, just the fabric of her tank top and the semi-warm metal of Suzu’s hairclip hooked to her top’s strap, the once smooth edge now rough from being in proximity to the gunshot. She knows from experience that it shouldn’t after that kind of healing, but the wound still aches. She forces herself to sit up anyways, just in time for the sound of a singular round of applause to echo through the room.
“Well done, well done, Chou-chan,” Kiryu—the Composer—says, not even bothering to sound apologetic for having shot her less than five minutes ago. Any and all irritation she was saving for Hasekitsu vanishes, instead replaced the rage she has for this—this—there isn’t an insult good enough to express how disgusted Kiryu makes her. “Hotaru-chan wanted you to live, but she couldn’t bring herself to separate herself from you. But you went ahead and took the shot for her. I’m impressed.”
Except his tone is far more sarcastic than impressed, and Chou hauls herself to her feet on the thought of decking him in his smug little face alone.
“But that’s neither here nor there,” Kiryu continues, even as Chou marches across the floor towards him. Nifuji attempts to stop her, but he’s too late to catch up. “At the end of the day, nothing changed. Now, shall we finish our discussion on what you all plan to—”
Chou cocks her fist and uses the momentum of her stomp to add even more force to the movement; it makes the moment where she freezes just short of punching Kiryu all the more startling, all that kinetic energy becoming null in a second. Kiryu’s expression hasn’t changed in the slightest, as if he faces such ire on a regular basis. Adding more insult to injury, he steps out of the way before letting Chou complete her punch, almost toppling over from the movement as she strikes at empty air.
“As I was saying, I already know what you’ll be doing Nepuro-kun.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out; Hasekitsu has made his interest in replaying the Reaper’s Game more than clear. “What about you, Chihiro-kun? Would you like to play again?”
Nifuji types something on his phone, the screen too far away for Chou to read. She doesn’t bother trying, too, though, charging at Kiryu again, the one thing her frustrated mind has the allowance to let her do. Act first, ask questions never—though acting gets nowhere as Kiryu steps out of the way once again, and again, and again, no matter how hard Chou tries to strike him.
“I see, I see,” Kiryu says, continuing his conversation with Nifuji. “Very well then. I’ll have Megumi-kun take care of your introduction to the Reapers.”
That brings Chou to a halt, and she gapes at Nifuji. How could anyone, after enduring this godawful game for themselves, want to be a part of the assholes who run it? Whenever Chou looks to him, Nifuji offers a smile, but it looks more resigned than anything.
[I’m sorry,] he says whenever Chou calms down enough to read the characters on his phone, [but I can’t bring myself to lose my Entry Fee all over again.]
Something about that doesn’t settle right. Sure, your Entry Fee is what’s most important to you, so it makes sense to want to keep hold of it. But Nifuji’s Entry Fee had been his voice, hadn’t it, and he’d managed well the whole week using his phone, right?
If that’s true, then why is he still using it to talk to you?
“Alright, that’s three out of the four,” Kiryu says, dragging Chou from her thoughts before she can reach a satisfactory conclusion. “I already sent Hotaru-chan back, as agreed. So that just leaves you, Chou-chan.” Done with his casual indifference for the time being, Kiryu turns to Chou, that smirk still on his face. “What choice will you make?”
At the end of a Reaper’s Game, there are four choices for the victors. The right to go back to life was reserved for the select few who’d met the requirements, but you could play again for another shot at that prize. Other than that, there are but two choices:
Join the Reapers or face Erasure.
Chou can’t afford to be Erased, to be wiped out of existence. She’s already done enough harm by sacrificing herself right back in front of Hotaru; choosing to disappear would just be cruel. No, Chou has to survive, no matter what, has to fight her way back to the world of the living. With Hasekitsu also playing, it won’t be difficult to obtain a fresh victory, too. Clenching her fists at her side, Chou goes to give her answer, until she remembers what this entails.
A new Reaper’s Game means a new Entry Fee; it’s the cost of trying to come back to life. Whatever Nifuji had lost, he wasn’t willing to risk losing it again. And Chou?
Now indulge me a bit and let me tell you, that when you died, the most important thing to you was your sister’s safety. So—
The reason Tsukiko Hotaru is in this Game is because of you.
If it weren’t for Chou, Hotaru wouldn’t have died; the now Erased Game Master had said as much. If she plays again, wouldn’t she just be putting Hotaru at risk all over again? A lot can happen in a week, so much can be lost.
“Our Entry Fees,” Chou says, her voice shaking, “are they the same?”
“Now I couldn’t answer that even if I wanted to,” Kiryu says, the admittance of his lack of knowledge seeming like a slap in the face. Chou suspects that’s why he deigned to express a flaw in the first place. “I mean, I can take a guess. But what people consider to be their most important thing isn’t as solid as they think it is. It can change one minute to the next, and your Entry Fee is determined the moment you become a participant of the Reaper’s Game. It might be the same as a week ago, or it might be something different altogether.” He flicks piece of his bangs out of his eyes, the motion casual and comfortable, as if they aren’t discussing the things that people most held dear. “Care to join the Game again and find out?”
Chou wants to say that she would, fuck Kiryu and all his cryptic bullshit. It’s more than clear he doesn’t view the Players as anything other than pawns for his amusement, and Chou will not be some plaything he can manipulate however he pleases. But the thought that there’s even a chance that she’d be toying with Hotaru’s life again makes Chou’s mouth run dry, makes her whole body tremble in fear. Kiryu might not mind gambling with others, but Chou can’t be that cavalier. And if she’s hesitating this much, isn’t that a clear indication of how much she cares for Hotaru, of just what her next Entry Fee will be if she plays?
“Fine,” Chou says, hating every last word that comes out of her mouth, “I’ll join your shitty Reapers.”
And for the first time since his arrival, the smirk slips from Kiryu’s face, instead replaced with a look of utter boredom.
Becoming a Reaper starts with a forced increase in Frequency that feels a lot like the sting of the Mission Timer appearing, except it’s through the whole body rather than just the palm of the hand. The Reaper that first greeted them at the end of the Game is back, one Kitaniji Megumi who is the Conductor, and thus their boss. It seems that the Composer making surprise visits at the end of the week is near unheard of, and Chou finds herself resenting Kiryu all the more. Why the fuck did the one time he got involved have to be whenever Hotaru’s life was on the line?
But no amount of resentment will change the choice that Chou made, and now she has to make another one. The Reapers are not a monolith, no matter how unified their presence may seem when you’re racing through the streets of Shibuya, desperate to preserve your own life. No, it turned out the damn death game had departments, each specializing in different aspects of the game.
Harriers are notable, the group that hunt down Players. From the perspective of the Reapers, it’s twofold: Reapers need points to live, plus the threat of imminent death was supposed to help the Players grow or some bullshit.
No way in hell is Chou going to hunt down other people to continue her existence, no matter how much she wants to survive.
So she tries out her first stint among the Support Reapers. The ones with their heads all hidden in their hoodies and standing guard at the Walls that prevent Player progress. No death required in that department; Supports earn their points by coming up with appropriate Missions for the Players to pass. The more creative the opportunity, the better the reward, with additional points for how long they can stump whoever’s trying to get past. Even something like sending a Player to go buy some obscure thing from a shop is allowed, and Chou focuses on those kinds in her practice.
She can’t forget the pins in her pocket that will let her summon Noise, though.
She also can’t forget that not every Player survives the Game.
One week. One week of watching the number of Players dwindle is all it takes for Chou to ask to resign from Support. She can’t do it, can’t be this close. She can’t even take being part of this death game in the first place, but it’s that, or Erasure, or risking Hotaru again, and all of it sucks, but at least there’s Processing.
Processors are a lot of the backbone of the Reaper’s Game, the behind the scenes stuff that Chou didn’t even consider while she was playing. From what Chou understands, it’s one of the few jobs that doesn’t involve watching Players in the field, and that’s what she needs. Of course, if she’s going to work there, she’ll need to know more than that, but she assumes there’s some sort of orientation. Which, yes, there is, though it isn’t very pleasant. Her new superior, Konishi Mitsuki, doesn’t have the title of Iron Maiden for nothing. She’s exacting in what she expects of her subordinates, but Chou picks up on it quick enough, reading the data and converting that into point totals to help determine if Players are worth resurrecting at the end of the week. And it’s a good thing, too, because the alternate is being part of the introduction team, like the Atarashi chick who explained the rules to Chou at the start of her Game. The last thing Chou needs is to become coworkers with someone she knows will drive her up the wall.
Not to mention she’d have to see the Players before sending them off to their potential re-death, and that seems even worse.
When they’re paperwork, they don’t matter. When they’re numbers, they don’t feel real. Chou disconnects herself from any trace of humanity as she shuffles through the reports, turning something as obscure as Soul into a calculated value. Lucky for her, that’s the exact sort of attitude that Konishi likes in her underlings, so Chou gets to stay. She gets a desk all her own, with plenty of trays for paperwork and all the necessities, Suzu’s hairclip tucked away into one of the drawers, and her new life begins.
Office work in the afterlife. Who would’ve thought.
It is beyond easy to treat Processing like nothing more than a farce, a handful of complex math problems someone made up. The lives Chou evaluates are not real; they instead feel like calculating data based on a video game, or even some sort of tabletop nonsense. It makes her wonder if her Game Master might’ve been a Processor before his promotion, but she doesn’t bother to ask.
She doesn’t bother much with socializing, either. They’re all Reapers in the Processor’s Den, which means they’re all the same as her, able to treat other people like paperwork. If Chou doesn’t talk with them, she doesn’t have to think about it. Sure, some of them try—Atarashi in particular recognizes her and tries to chat, but the good thing about Konishi being such a hard-ass is that there’s very little pointless conversation during working hours.
And during nonworking hours? There’s a surprising amount of resources available for Reapers out there. If it doesn’t interfere with your work (which is negotiable based on the points you have left, because of course the Reapers have their own form of Timer, why else would half the Harriers be willing to do the job?), they’re free to Tune themselves down to the Real Ground. Some people even have double lives, like the members of Def Mӓrch, which had been enough to make Chou’s head spin. Fighting Noise can net you plenty of yen, too, so there’s no shortage of options in terms of lifestyle.
Chou takes advantage of none of it. She finishes her work, takes on overtime so she has something to do, goes back to her small apartment among a collective of other small apartments provided for Reapers, and orders cheap food until the novelty of being able to eat whatever she wants wears off. In the early days, she tried to continue playing and listening to music, but all that had done was remind her of afternoons scribbling out shapes of songs with Suzu, of late nights listening to her favorite albums while sharing headphones with Hotaru. Instead, Chou skips dinner and tries to sleep to make the days go faster.
During Game weeks, Chou spends most of her time holed up in the Den, sometimes long past the end of the Mission hours. Harriers and Supports are done once the Day is over, but Processing can be a non-stop job. No wonder most people stay on the front lines in some form or another. It’s much easier to get promoted that way, anyways.
Chou can’t think of a worse fate than having to be in charge of a part of this stupid Game.
Lucky for her, promotions aren’t a common occurrence. Sure, they happen, but it tends to involve a lot of people busting their asses to become an Officer Reaper, and even then that tends to involve the previous member vacating their spot, which sounds like it used to involve a lot of duels in the past or whatever. The one position that rolls over with regular frequency is the Game Master, and the world will have to end before Chou volunteers to be run the Game. No, being a Processor is where she can stand to be, and there’s no need to break that.
On occasion, Hasekitsu’s name crosses her desk, the madman still on his multi-Game stint until it shows up in the reports that a Game Master has at last gotten the better of him, that he and his Partner were Erased on the final day. There’s a bit of whispering about it in the Office, too, since he always made a mess of Processing reports. Chou registers the information and then moves on with the usual week-end data aggregation.
Hasekitsu Nepuro has been Erased.
Chou finds that she’s lost the ability to care.
And then, there’s what comes to be known as the Long Game.
What starts out as an ordinary Week, all its busy bustle of confirming Entry Fees and assigning orientation Reapers and divvying out who will be responsible for whose paperwork (a frustrating task, since there’s always a chance of last minute additions until the Game starts), nothing out of the ordinary. The final reports come in, and it sounds like there’s one repeat Player and one new ecruit from the Reapers. Chou doesn’t specialize in Player Storage, but she knows enough to understand that Players who want another go are tucked away in stasis until the couple of weeks pass for the next Reaper’s Game to begin.
Except the Game picks up the next day without any hesitation, which means everyone’s nose is to the grindstone. Games with repeat Players tend to involve a lot of extra work, since the point systems account for a fresh starting point, not the boost given to one’s Imagination from a successful stint in the Game. Chou does not envy the Processor slapped with the Sakuraba kid’s file, no she does not. She does, however, pity his ex-Partner. Being taken as a person’s Entry Fee, while touching on some levels, means you’re screwed if the Player loses.
(What does it say about Chou that her Entry Fee wasn’t Hotaru herself, but instead her safety? She tucks that thought away with all the rest of them, spreads out her resentment for Kiryu over it like a carpet covering a scar on the woodwork, and gets on with her Processing.)
With everyone preserved in the state close to when they died, guessing anyone’s age is a pointless endeavor, but it seems some of the other Processors have been around long enough to know back-to-back Game Weeks are rare, but not without precedent. That doesn’t stop anyone from whining (in silence, of course; you think Konishi allows such dribble in her Processor’s Den?) about it, though, but they all push through, anyways.
Then there’s week three, which makes the Processor Den an even more hectic madhouse than usual. You would think, what with there being one Player that it would be easy, but no. The Sakuraba kid’s Entry Fee is all the other Players, which leads to a lot of complicated storage. Add in the one survivor from the first week of this mess (has it been two weeks? It feels like years) defecting from Reaper back to Player, and the point totals are an unmitigated disaster. Also add in Konishi being appointed to Game Master for lack of any other Officers, and it’s a wonder they don’t all strangle each other by the end of it. The last few days are hazy, but they all make it to a new day in one piece.
Konishi, the Conductor, and a number of other Harrier and Support Reapers aren’t so lucky.
Chou would love to do nothing but bask in the satisfaction that she somehow survived the most fucked up month in the Shibuya Under Ground’s history, but she has other concerns. The first has to do with the rumors, that somehow the Composer had something to do with the trash fire that was the Long Game. After all, several Players received a free resurrection, including one that had been Erased back in the first week. No one but the Composer could pull that off, and the pure clusterfuck of it all has Kiryu written all over it.
Chou doesn’t know what the point of it all was, but she’s sure is a justifiable excuse to hate him even more. She might even consider sticking her nose into it a bit more if it weren’t for her other problem: Konishi’s replacement, Ganabara Hideo.
Having a new boss shouldn’t be too much of a problem. While there’s still a certain expectation for performance, the new Head Processor isn’t as strict as Konishi was, and the Den becomes a much more relaxed place for it, which everyone can agree is a good thing. Sure, there’s more economics jargon thrown around than before, but he’s decipherable enough. In fact, Chou’s problem with the man is one she’s certain no other Reaper has:
Ganabara Hideo is her maternal grandfather.
Chou never met him in the Real Ground, seeing as he passed away while her mother was still young. That she hasn’t crossed paths with him beforehand is due to the fact that his previous specialty was in Entry Fee management, which kept them in separate departments, so to speak. Sure, she’d seen the man with glasses, pointed goatee, and traditional kimono before, but she’d never put the pieces together until she heard his name. That her grandfather of all people participated in the Reaper’s Game and won is enough to make her head spin.
She cannot stand making that connection, because if she does, she’ll be making herself vulnerable again, and Chou will not, will not, will not give Kiryu further ammunition to fuck up her life again.
So whenever Ganabara goes around the Den, asking for introductions from every single Processor, Chou lies and says, “Tendo Suzumebachi.” Chou intended to stop at Suzu’s name and nothing more, but the bachi slips out, almost like a joke. Something like a swallow is too graceful for her, but a hornet? It’s almost too perfect. Ganabara nods, exchanges the expected pleasantries mixed in with something about fruitful investments or whatever.
The first thing Chou does whenever her grandfather at last walks away is remember how to breathe.
When she looks in the mirror, Chou can’t even recognize herself anymore, which she supposes is to be expected. She looks as exhausted and worn-down by existence as she feels. She thought from looking at the others that Reapers were supposed to have something that kept them from aging at all, but Chou’s hair has grown longer, reaching halfway down her back. Her bangs are a mop in front of her eyes, but that’s good. She knows she looks a lot like her mom, except for the hair. That’s all her dad.
But her hair doesn’t look much like his anymore, the once verdant green turned into a murkier color, like it’s been dipped in swamp water. Her bangs hang in her face, too, and she goes to trim them before she thinks better of it. No need to give Ganabara a good look at her eyes, no need to give him the chance to recognize his daughter in them. Instead, she trims them short enough to not get stuck in her mouth when she talks and leaves the rest.
While she’s at it, she goes shopping for the first time in over a year. Being dead and all, there’s no real need to wash your clothes as a Reaper when a Psyche will take care of it, so Chou has a limited supply. If she’s trying to bury herself, she might as well go all in and change the rest of her image, too.
At first instinct, she ends up going to her usual shops, the ones she used to check out with Hotaru and Suzu, but she stops herself before she even gets in the door. No, if she’s doing this, she needs to erase any trace of who she was before, and that means a new look altogether. At the end of the day, she’s outfitted in a double-breasted black and red uniform that looks more like something from a costume party than daily wear. The sad part is that it makes her fit in more with the rest of the Reapers, who, for the most part, have chosen eccentricity over practicality, but whatever.
The real sad part is how easy it is to throw her old self away, but Chou—Suzume doesn’t care.
She can’t bring herself to care about anything at all.
Except, as the next year proves, that’s not true in the slightest.
Because, not satisfied with the previous clusterfuck of the Long Game and the mess that’s left for the Shibuya UG to manage, Kiryu’s up to something again. And, even more to the point, it involves Suzume, given temporary position of the Game Master, while Kiryu runs around in his own Game with some bullshit excuse of changing Shibuya for the better. Suzume doesn’t quite know. She’s rather stopped listening.
Just a year ago, Suzume swore that it would take the world ending before she ever agreed to be in charge of a part of the Reapers Game, and now—
Well, it looks like the world is ending, and Suzume just hopes that she can take Kiryu with it.
Suzume does not end up taking Kiryu with it, and the world somehow remains intact. Suzume doesn’t do much at all, in fact, other than cause a whole trash fire of her own. She’d say she can’t blame Kiryu for it now, but, hey—she wouldn’t have made such a mess of things if he hadn’t started it, so he’s just as bad, if not worse.
But none of that seems to matter much, now does it? This whole time, Chou’s been holding onto her anger, been keeping herself tucked away in the Processor’s Den so she didn’t hurt Hotaru in the process, and what does Hotaru do? Jump right back into the Reapers’ Game, challenge the higher-ups, and become the co-ruler of Shibuya as its Muse.
And Chou? Well, the good news is that they won’t ask her to be Game Master again, so at least there’s that.
There’s also the suspension delivered down from the Conductor, which is pretty light, all things considered. Chou assumed she’d be locked in the Den to clean up the mess she made by suspending the Game, but nope. She’s not allowed to put her grubby hands on it, and instead she gets a forced week off to think about what she’s done, like she’s some toddler.
Maybe Hotaru has something to do with the leniency, but Shibuya’s Muse maintains plausible deniability by pretending she doesn’t hear the question when Chou asks.
So now all Chou knows is that she has no idea what she’s going to do next. No matter what Chou did, Hotaru chose to become a part of the UG, and Chou has no right to stop her—not that she could. Beyond being the Muse now and thus being several magnitudes stronger than Chou when she was a GM (let alone now that she’s back to her usual Processor levels), Hotaru is also stubborn as shit, so that’s a lost cause. Hotaru’s found her meaning in being able to support Shibuya, and Chou?
What does Chou stand for if she’s not angry all the time? Without rage against Kiryu fueling her (she’s still upset, yes, and she has the right to, but it doesn’t seem as pressing to act on it now), what does Chou even care about? All of that was lost in the haze of the past few years, and she doesn’t even have anything good to do with her sudden week off.
Just sitting around in her apartment is driving her up the wall, though, so Chou hits the streets, dropping all the way down to the RG for the first time in about a year. It takes her some time before she adjusts to the fact that, you know, she can’t just walk through people, but soon she’s trudging through Shibuya, following the Game routes though she has no need to. In time, she finds herself at A-East, the lack of any daytime events giving the place an empty sort of energy—except that’s not right, either, since it’s still got a pulse, an imprint of all the people who’ve been there and filled it with life. Once upon a time, Chou would have given everything to go to every show she could, to dream of being on the stage herself, but she gave that up.
(On her hands, her bassist’s calluses have faded, nothing left but smooth fingertips from days upon days of desk work and staring into empty space.)
“Wow,” a voice says with an ample amount of sarcasm, “how the mighty have fallen.”
It takes a moment for Chou to recognize she’s the one being spoken to, which is surprising enough, but it’s nothing compared to the shock of seeing who’s the one doing the speaking. Hayate Ryuko stands a meter away, one hand propped on her hip, the other holding a juice box to her mouth. Something about her seems off, and then Chou realizes it’s the lack of any wings, the skeletal appendages not showing up in the RG.
“Not in the mood,” Chou says, serving the other Reaper a disinterested look. “Look, if you’re here to bitch at me about your suspension, buzz off. I’m not the one that told you to go drop of a horde of Noise on a bunch of Players after the Game was paused.” No, Chou’s just the one that told Ryuko and her Harrier Partner to go try and murder Kiryu while his power was cut, with the stipulation that they also wipe out some other poor Player so Hotaru could have a different Partner to connect to, but that was more of a generous interpretation of the rules than a flagrant disapproval of them.
Ryuko scoffs. “Do you think I’m that damn petty?” Yes, Chou does think that Ryuko is that damn petty, and they both know it. Ryuko sucks on her straw until the juice box collapses from the pressure. “I’m more than used to getting consequences for my own actions. You, on the other hand.” She gestures, as if that says it all, and Chou can’t help but wonder why they still let Ryuko be a Reaper when gets taken off the front lines as easy as she gets put back on them. “You’re not just suspended; you’re staring into space like some loser. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Chou grimaces, and that’s answer enough. Ryuko doesn’t grin about it, though, instead looking stunned. “Holy shit,” she says, stuffing her empty juice box halfway into her pocket, “you’re more pathetic than I thought.”
“Don’t recall asking you, wannabe.” Chou means it more as a shot at Ryuko’s Copycat ability, but the flinch suggests that she managed to hit a sore spot. God, this is going to involve talking about feelings isn’t it? “Look, I don’t feel like using all my free time on having some pissing contest, so why don’t you scram.”
She attempts to shoo Ryuko off, but the other Reaper doesn’t budge. “Because you look like you’re making such good use of your time. Face it, ex-GM, having some pissing contest with me is a level up.” The worst part about it is that she’s right. “Ugh, fuck it, come on. You’re a side quest begging to be taken care of.”
Chou doesn’t appreciate being called a side anything, but she appreciates Ryuko grabbing her arm and dragging her along even less. Even in the RG, though, Ryuko is tough, so she’s able to pull Chou along behind her without any issue, which just sours Chou’s mood even more. “So, what the fuck? Lemme go—”
“God, what else do you even have to do?” Ryuko asks, not even bothering to look back, and Chou hates that she has a damn good point. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So stop the whining and come with me.”
Ryuko keeps marching forward, and Chou gives it up and comes along, her arm freed once Ryuko seems satisfied that Chou won’t run away. If Chou wanted to, it would be easy to slip into the UG, but what’s she gonna do there? Might as well at least see what Ryuko’s up to. Maybe it’ll keep the Copycat off her back in the future if she gets it over with.
And before Chou knows it, they’ve made it to Tipsy Tose Hall, and Ryuko’s marching up to a building with a red sign overhead, and Chou catches sight of the Sigil on the wall. Right, wasn’t their stupid Tin Pin Mission in this place? Maybe Ryuko’s going to a different store in the building, but nope, it’s Stride, and of course she’s into stuff like this, isn’t she?
While familiar, Stride isn’t the exact same as Chou’s hazy memories recall it. For one, there’s nowhere near as many people crowded in, but there’s still enough of them. Some are there to shop, some are using the Tin Pin arenas, and even more are playing cards and board games at the tables in the back. The clerk waves to Ryuko in a sign of familiarity, and she returns the gesture before heading further in. Chou, feeling way more subconscious than she should, follows, a little bit overwhelmed by all the colored boxes and cards filling up the shelves.
And then Ryuko drops down at a table that’s beyond overshadowed by the hulking guy already sitting at it, and Chou doesn’t know what to do with herself. Between his black and white ensemble, the gold chain accessories, and his sheer size, he makes an impression, and one that Chou wouldn’t associate with some game shop in the slightest.
So of course Ryuko offers the hulking man a fist, to which he bumps. “‘Sup, Susukichi.”
“What’s up, Hataryu?” Oh, they’re on familiar basis. Great. Susukichi’s gaze lands on Chou, and disappearing into the UG is sounding more appealing by the second. Like, come on, how does a person even get tall? Can he stand up straight inside without his head hitting the ceiling? “Who’s the disc?”
“A guest NPC,” Ryuko says, and Chou feels insulted twice over. “Get over her and sit down, Tendo, you’re getting in people’s way.”
Still a little more than a bit intimidated, Chou pulls up a chair, sticking to Ryuko’s side of the table. She doesn’t bother to correct the name misunderstanding, either; she’s not so sure that she wants this Susukichi guy to know her real name. “Tendo, huh?” he asks, peering at her with a hand to his chin. “Whatcha play?”
Chou doesn’t know the answer to that, but Ryuko has one at the ready: “She doesn’t, ‘cause she’s a workaholic.” And that’s true, too, so Chou can’t even justify kicking her under the table. She settles for a glare instead. “What, are you gonna prove me wrong? Susukichi, grab a couple of decks and we’ll play Castle Siege or something.”
“Pass,” Chou says, which isn’t helping her case at all, but she has no interest in getting beaten up at a card game she’s never even heard of. Ryuko rolls her eyes, but Chou doesn’t budge. “I’ll be fine watching. In fact, if you ignore me, that’ll be great.” Besides, there’s already a board on the table, along with stacks of double-sided pieces, and Chou recognizes Othello (or is it Reversi? She never knows the difference) enough to know it’s a two-player game.
“Whatever you say. Your move, Susukichi.”
“Bring it, Hataryu.”
The rules of the game are simple enough: put down a piece, and any discs between that new piece and another of your color get flipped over. Whoever has the most options at the end of the game wins. That said, as the board expands with each piece, you have to be extra careful with your moves, since there’s more possible opportunities to lose a line or to give your opponent the exact situation they were waiting for. Since you have to make a move if it’s valid, getting stuck is more than possible. And if you can’t? Then you pass your move and let your opponent move again, which can also lead to getting cornered.
Ryuko and Susukichi are both pretty good at it, and Chou shouldn’t be that surprised. With all her references to tabletop games, it’s clear Ryuko’s somewhat in that wheelhouse. Why wouldn’t she have some friend that she plays games with on occasion?
“You’re staring pretty hard for someone that claims not to care,” Ryuko says, and Chou realizes that she was, in fact, a bit invested in the match. The board looks pretty reason, and they’re down to the last handful of discs. Susukichi is debating his next move, a double-sided token between his fingers. On the other side of the table, Ryuko is likewise toying with the neon pink die hanging from her neck. “If you want, you can take my spot next time. It gets old having Susukichi whoop my butt all the time.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. Not many people bother playin’ me, and you always give me a run for my money,” Susukichi says. Ryuko gestures for him to get on with it, and he sighs, putting his disc into place with a surprising amount of finesse. Chou was eyeing a different part of the board, and that’s not the move she would’ve made, seeing as it just nets him one piece in his favor. “Besides, it’s about the fun of the game for ya, ain’t it?”
Chou snorts; Ryuko’s always struck her as the sore loser type, but maybe she’s just projecting. “What’s the point?” Chou asks. Absorbed in studying the board, Ryuko grunts, though it’s more of a go on instead of a shut up. “Of going up against an opponent you’re not gonna win against. Of keeping going, even though you’ve lost…” Because, even if that’s not what Hotaru wanted for her, Chou does still feel like she lost this long-ass game she was playing with Kiryu. The more she thinks about it, the more Chou gets why Ryuko rubs her the long way: they’re way too similar, and yet they chose differing routes. “Why aren’t you going off on me for what happened to DnD?”
It occurs to Chou that this maybe isn’t a conversation they should be having in the Real Ground, or at least in front of Ryuko’s hulking living friend (she’s pretty sure he isn’t a Reaper), but it’s not like she hasn’t been making an excessive number of poor life choices these days. This is pretty mild in comparison to suspending the Game in an attempt to murder the Composer. Besides, if the rumors are true, Ryuko almost threw down with Hasekitsu even after an Officer showed up to stop her Noise rampage. If she’s gonna blame him for getting rid of the GM that she cared about, then Chou is just as at fault for surviving that Game, too.
Ryuko puts her disc to the board, gaining a decent amount of territory in the process. “Look,” she says, flipping her gains to white, “do you want me to hate you?” Inside, Chou has to admit that the answer is kinda. Things are a whole lot easier whenever you just get to treat the other person as an enemy. “If you’d asked me that at the start of that week, Tendo, I would’ve said that I do. But now, I dunno. Sure, it sucks, but Daikoku-sama decided to take part in the Game. He wouldn’t have wanted any other ending, so…” Ryuko shrugs, and Susukichi’s putting on a show of studying the board, as if that’ll make it easier to forget that he’s there. Or maybe he just thinks they’re talking about some non-Reaper-run game, and he doesn’t care. Chou decides that if Ryuko’s gonna keep talking about it with him around, so will she. “I’m still sorting it out. But as for your other question—” Susukichi puts his disc down, the play Chou questioned earlier making a whole lot more sense since it scores him the vertical, horizontal, and diagonal “—like Susukichi here said, for me, the act of playing the game is what matters more than anything else.”
“And whenever you get backed into a corner?” Chou asks as Susukichi’s newfound advantage becomes all the more obvious. If there’s a way to win, Chou doesn’t see it.
“Well, that’s an easy one, Tendo.” Ryuko picks up a disc and grins. “If it’s your turn, you shut up and make your move anyways.”
Does Chou think that she’ll go back to Stride and join Ryuko and Susukichi on their gaming marathons? No.
Does she think she better start taking her turn instead of passing? Sure.
It’s like playing a card game you haven’t touched in years. You remember the gist and goal of the game, but the finer points are lost on you. A few rules are missing—not to mention house rules can change the scope altogether. But nothing happens if you don’t play, so that’s what Chou plans to do.
The trick is that Chou needs to remember how to play in the first place.
Sitting around in her apartment all day isn’t it. Drowning in work isn’t it, either. Hating Kiryu—eh, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be friends with him, but she can tolerate the asshole for Hotaru’s sake. In any event, Chou needs to let herself breathe, needs to do what makes her feel vibrant.
When she gets home, she digs in her closer, tossing boots and boxes of junk aside. Before she gave up on everything, Chou used her newfound ability to farm yen as she pleased to splurge on a nice electric bass that never left its box. Now, she hastens to tear open the packaging, not even worrying about the mess that’ll make for her to clean up later.
The bass is heavy in her lap, but it feels just right. Saying fuck it, she hefts it up to play, not even bothering to tune the strings or hook it up to an amp. Between that and her fumbling memory, she accomplishes little but making a racket, her hands misremembering half the notes and her fingers stinging from the process, but it feels so good she doesn’t know what to do with herself but to cry and play all the way until morning, piecing together the songs she once learned and singing herself hoarse in the process.
No matter what awaits, we keep marching on.
After using the rest of her suspension to think, Chou has to conclude that she doesn’t know what the rules of the game of life are, nor does she know the objective. She can’t see the long game, can’t see what in the future she might need to prepare for. She doesn’t know what moves she can make now that will play out for her in the best possible way. But she does know that she doesn’t want to stand still, doesn’t want to just let the rest of the world pass her by. So, for the time being, until she gets the hang of the rest, Chou will make moves and learn how to play that way.
“I know you already know this, Ganabara-san, but my real name is Tsukiko Chou. My mother’s name is Hana, and my grandmother’s name is Hiromi.
“It’s nice to meet you.”