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“Darling?” said Blade.
“Hm?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you come up with Topper’s name? In all of the books in Little Aster’s library, I haven’t seen anything like it.”
Eiden laughed at the question. “It’s based on a name I used to go by in an online game.”
“On line? What kind of line?”
“I guess you don’t have anything like that here. It was a game that took place in your mind, but you could see and feel it. Other people would watch you play. It was a pretty big deal where I lived. Anyway, within the game you didn’t go by your own name, so you got to choose one.”
“And Darling chose Master Twilight Star-Show Max Lucifer Topper III?”
“I was the second instead of the third, but the rest is right.”
Blade sighed. “Ahhhh~, I want to play a game in Darling’s mind. What was it called?”
“Rhyme.”
“Eh? Did you have to make rhymes?”
“Uhh . . . no, actually it didn’t have anything to do with rhyming. I’m not sure why it was called that. Made a lot of friends by playing it, though. I met one of my best friends that way, although he doesn’t remember it.”
“Why not?”
“He’d been in an accident that affected his memories. He and I met again a while after that when we were both working in a junk shop. I was actually getting pretty close with his group before I was brought here.” Eiden touched the tattoo of a white teardrop hidden on the side of his left ring finger. “Sorry you can’t meet those guys, Blade. I’m sure you’d like them.”
The following account, documented by Blade, is his recollection of the story that Eiden told him, written in the style of the novels he has read in Aster’s library.
--
Eiden couldn’t believe, when he stepped into Hum-Drum Junk on a blustery fall day, that Sly Blue was the person waiting to accept his painstakingly handwritten resume.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Eiden muttered under his breath and very nearly turned around, but the wind was getting worse by the minute, and he was desperate to secure another part-time job now that the hospital had reduced his hours to only one shift a week. How was he supposed to make rent?
“Welcome!” called Sly Blue in a polite voice that sounded nothing like the one he used in Rhyme.
If Eiden hadn’t been positive of his identity—he’d never seen anyone else on the island with hair that electric shade of blue—he would’ve thought it was a different guy altogether. Sly didn’t exactly have a reputation for being cordial; no one knew the exact number of players he’d sent to the emergency room.
“Is there something I can help you find, sir?”
“I called earlier about part-time work,” Eiden said. “I was hoping to fill out an application.”
To his surprise, Sly’s face brightened. “I set one aside for you,” he said and rummaged around the shop’s counter. A moment later, he slapped a sheet of paper on the counter. “Haga-san is old-fashioned, sorry. No Coil apps.”
“Old fashioned is fine,” Eiden assured him, rushing forward to accept the paper. The application itself was short, just the cursory questions and his experience with retail. “Do you mind if I fill it out here?”
Sly shook his head and stood up from the chair behind the counter. “Take my seat if you’d like. I need to stand up for a minute. I’ve been making calls all afternoon and my legs are asleep.”
When he came around the counter, instead of the black jeans and sneakers he expected, Eiden spotted puffy white boots. Sly gave no indication he had any idea who Eiden was. He walked around him and began straightening computer parts on a shelf.
“Are you leaving the position?” Eiden asked.
“No, Haga-san strained his back, so he needs someone else to cover the afternoon shift for a while.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Most of a year. It’s not bad. The pay is better than most places, and Haga-san doesn’t force overtime. Have you worked in retail before?”
“Yes,” Eiden said. “I’ve had quite a few jobs. I like where I’m working now, but they reduced my hours again.”
“Then you should be fine. What’s your name? I’m Aoba Seragaki. You can call me Aoba.”
“Eiden.” He swallowed and decided to chance it. If this was an act, he needed to know before they potentially worked together. “You look familiar. Have I seen you in Rhyme?”
“Rhyme? No, I’ve never played it.”
Impossible. No way this wasn’t the same guy, yet Eiden detected no lie on his face.
“But I’ve lived on Midorijima my whole life,” Aoba continued. “Maybe I’ve seen you around? I don’t really go out much anymore, but I’m occasionally at the Black Needle. It’s run by a friend of mine.”
Eiden’s heart picked up. “You’re friends with Mizuki?”
“You know him!” Aoba’s smile seemed genuine.
I’d like to sleep with him, Eiden thought. “I’ve seen him around. I was thinking of having him ink me.”
He wasn’t, but if he could get a proper introduction with the leader of Dry Juice, he’d consider it.
“I’ll be heading that way after my shift to drop off a package, if you’d like to come with me,” Aoba said.
“Seriously? I wouldn’t be in your way?”
“Nah. I’ve got another hour on the clock, though. There’s a gyoza place next door if you don’t want to wait in here.”
“Do you mind?” Eiden asked. “I’ll just browse.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eiden completed the application and laid it on the counter along with his resume. “I appreciate this,” he said as he stood. “Just between us, what do you think the chances are that I’ll be called for an interview?”
“Pretty high,” Aoba laughed. “No one else has applied.”
An hour later, along with Aoba’s petite blue AllMate dog that trotted at their heels, they braced the wind to walk from Hum-Drum junk up Aoyagi Street to the part of town where the Black Needle was located.
Eiden had only been out this way a couple of times with a guy he’d been seeing who was friendly with the Dry Juice crowd. He’d never been serious about Ribsteez himself and didn’t belong to a team, which made him a No Mark—a status that meant danger in this area depending on the time of day. But since Aoba had casually tucked the package he was delivering under his arm and greeted people as they walked, Eiden figured there was no reason to worry.
“That’s a great jacket,” he said sincerely, admiring the Brain Nutz logo on Aoba’s sleeve. He zipped his own jacket to the throat to ward off the cold.
“If you’re interested, you can buy them out front of the station.”
“Maybe next paycheck. You a Dry Juice member?”
“No. Mizuki keeps asking, but I don’t have an interest in it. Are you part of a team?”
Eiden shook his head. “Aren’t you worried about getting harassed?”
“Not really. I’m friendly with a lot of the guys who hang out around here, so they leave me alone.”
The dog spoke: “Aoba, there’s commotion at the next intersection. We should detour one block left.”
“Thanks, Ren.”
Ren. Eiden remembered that name and the dog’s deep voice, which had always given him chills when he’d heard it within the game answering Sly Blue’s commands. Aoba bent down and scooped Ren into his arms. As he and Eiden approached the tattoo shop, he slipped the dog into a bag and patted his head.
“Sleep for a while.”
Ren closed his eyes and powered down. Aoba zipped the bag shut.
“He’s so lifelike,” Eiden said. “Is that an older model?”
“I found him abandoned a few years ago and brought him home. Where’s your AllMate?”
“Ah, mine stopped working. That’s why I was asking about Ren’s age. I don’t suppose you know how to fix them?”
“Some. I have to swap Ren’s chips sometimes. It’s not as convenient as the automatic updates, but it isn’t difficult. If you bring your AllMate by the shop, I can take a look.”
“Are you for real? That would be a lifesaver, thank you. I haven’t been able to play Rhyme in weeks.”
“Are you any good?”
“I win more often than I lose.”
Aoba laughed like he’d heard that line before. “I don’t really get it, but it sure is popular.”
How long was he going to keep up this act? All the guys Eiden worked with were open about playing, although in Aoba’s case, maybe it wasn’t odd that he wanted to keep his Rhyme habits away from work, considering Sly’s twisted personality in the game.
He couldn’t expect Eiden not to recognize him, though! Was this his defense, playing stupid? Could Eiden trust the offer to introduce him to Mizuki? What if Aoba had other reasons for bringing Eiden to this part of town? It’s not like the cops would do anything if he got jumped, though anyone could easily see that Eiden didn’t have anything on him worth stealing.
He slapped on a smile to mask his nerves. They arrived at the tattoo bar and Aoba pushed open the door. From within the dark, smoky space, heads turned in their direction.
“Delivery from Hum-Drum Junk!” Aoba called in sing-song. “Is Mizuki here?”
“Aoba!”
A man in a red kimono got up from a low sofa and met them at the door. The way his dark hair was swept to one side covered one eye and part of his face, but the remaining half had Eiden wishing they could find a mattress somewhere. The kimono hung open to reveal his chest and lower abdomen bound with sarashi. Just how many hot guys did Aoba know? And was that a sword on this guy’s back? Who walked around with something like that? Exactly what era did he think they were living in?
On the other hand, the formal getup might make for interesting bedroom play.
“Koujaku, this is Eiden,” Aoba said. “He’ll probably be working with me at the shop. Koujaku is a hairstylist.”
“Oh?” Eiden touched the dry ends of his hair. “You know, I could use a trim.”
“He only accepts women clients,” Aoba said in a stage whisper. “If I decided to have my hair cut someday, I’d have to ask someone else. Can you believe it?”
Koujaku’s smile softened into something fond. He turned it toward Eiden. “I’d be happy to make an exception for a friend of Aoba’s.”
Eiden returned the smile, a little wider. “Could I get your number, then?”
A bird he hadn’t noticed spoke from its perch on Koujaku’s shoulder. “Hold out your Coil.”
The next thing Eiden knew, he had the number safely stored in his device.
“Have you seen Mizuki?” Aoba asked.
“He’s inking someone,” Koujaku said. “But I think they’re about done. Get a drink and join me.”
Eiden opted for the cheapest beer on the menu and settled onto the modern gray sofa against the wall.
“Another No Mark!” Koujaku laughed a few minutes later when he’d finished grilling Eiden on his background. “You and Aoba are two of a kind.”
“I play Rhyme, though,” Eiden said and immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw the storm gather in Koujaku’s eyes. “Ah, but I’m not on a team for that either! I just play to kill time.”
“Some of our members have tried it,” said another voice from behind him. “I haven’t had a chance though. What do you say, Koujaku? Want to go head to head with me in Rhyme?”
Eiden turned his head. In his peripheral vision was a red and black jacket studded with metal, an artist’s elegant hands. He gulped around his racing heartbeat.
“Mizuki!” Aoba jumped up from the sofa and handed him something wrapped in brown paper. “Your order. And I brought you a potential customer.”
He glanced at Eiden, who got his first good look at Mizuki’s eyes. Before now he’d only seen them at a distance and had not been prepared for the color: a fresh, soft green, the green of early spring. Beneath Mizuki’s left eye was tattooed a single white teardrop. The design continued on his neck, covering his throat like a necklace. If he had others, they were concealed by the red t-shirt under his jacket, the black pants. Eiden was staring. He set down his beer and stood.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eiden.”
“Didn’t I used to see you in here with Shin?” When Eiden flinched, Mizuki added, more quietly, “He hasn’t been by in a while, so you don’t have to worry about running into him. So you’re interested in a tattoo?”
Eiden, who had always considered himself a master of words, had none come to mind. He plastered on a smile and nodded.
“I have a half hour before my next appointment. Why don’t we discuss what you have in mind?”
You, me, naked on the tattoo chair, offered Eiden’s brain helpfully. His mouth said, “Okay.”
Mizuki slung a friendly arm around his shoulder. “I’m going to borrow this guy.” He smiled at the others and took Eiden into the back.
Seated away from curious eyes, Eiden pretended to flip through Mizuki’s folder of designs.
“Do you have anything particular in mind?” Mizuki asked. He was standing a short distance away stretching his hands and wrists.
“Something small, maybe.”
“Are you worried about concealing it?”
“That, sure, and . . . well, there’s money. To be honest, I don’t have a lot of it. But if you can give me an idea of what a tattoo would cost . . .”
What was he saying, as though he’d actually save up for one when there was rent to pay?
“Do you bartend?” Mizuki asked.
“I have. I used to fill in for a friend.”
“Then why don’t we work out a trade? I’m in need of someone to watch the bar a couple times a week. Do that for, say, a month and I’ll ink you in return. You can keep your tips. If you like it, maybe there’s a spot for you here.”
“What’s the catch?”
Mizuki shook his head. “No catch. I’ve just been where you are. If you’d rather save up, you’re looking at 10,000¥ for a design like that one.”
He pointed to the book in Eiden’s hands.
Eiden met his eyes. “What about one like yours?”
“Are you asking to join Dry Juice?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t be any good at physical fighting. I just like the look of the design.”
Mizuki smiled and crossed his arms. “Something like that would be a little cheaper. I could put it almost anywhere: between your fingers, on your side, inner thigh.”
“Inner thigh, huh?” Eiden grinned. “Do I have to strip down right here in the shop?”
“We could choose a location somewhere more private, if you’d prefer.”
“As long as you’re there.”
That, that last thing, he hadn’t exactly meant to say out loud. The heat of embarrassment rushed into his cheeks and he feigned a cough, but Mizuki only laughed and narrowed his sea-green eyes.
“Does that mean you want to tend my bar?”
“What did Mizuki say?” Aoba asked when Eiden returned to the seating area and fell with a giddy, dazed smile onto the sofa.
“He’s gonna let me work here to pay for it.”
“That’s great. Koujaku’s getting us another round. His treat,” he added before Eiden could protest. “If you’re going to be working here, will you still want a job at the junk shop?”
“I’ll take all the jobs I can get.”
“You in debt or something?”
“Rent’s just expensive. Hospital security doesn’t pay that well, and the guy I’d been living with kind of vanished a few weeks ago. Are you looking for a roommate?”
“Sorry, I live with my grandma,” Aoba said.
“Does she want another grandson? Just kidding.” Eiden scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Things won’t be so bad once I find a full-time position, but there aren’t a lot of those hiring.”
“It was hard for me to find a place too. I once worked at an ice cream shop for three entire days.”
Eiden paused. “Hang on. By any chance, did you have to wear a penguin apron?”
When Aoba hid his face in his hands, Eiden burst out laughing.
“I can’t believe that was you! You’re a legend there.”
“My shame lives.”
“Actually, it was pretty encouraging! It gave me the confidence to try something new. I’ve messed up at work before, but I’ve never let all of the ice cream melt.”
“Thanks, I think,” Aoba said. “Is that where you’re working now?”
“On and off last summer. That guy that I was seeing, he liked ice cream.”
Aoba’s eyes widened. “Oh! So you two were . . .”
“Yeah. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either. Sure beats being alone.”
“Your family?”
“I grew up in an orphanage.”
“My parents are gone too,” Aoba said. “Have you ever been off the island?”
“Our dance club used to leave for competitions sometimes. I was pretty young, though, so I don’t remember much except for the inside of hotels. You?”
“No, I’ve always lived here. I want to travel one day, though.”
“We should request passes to leave the island,” Eiden said. Realizing how presumptuous it must sound, he backtracked. “I didn’t mean together! You’ve got your own friends. I only meant that if we want to see more of the world, we should both try.”
“It’s fine. I wouldn’t mind if you come along. We seem to have a lot in common.”
Taking the hint, Eiden leaned closer. “Are you into Mizuki too? Should I back off?”
Reddening, Aoba laughed. “Mizuki?! No! No, he’s just a friend. So that’s why you were smiling so much after you talked with him.”
“Do you think I have a chance?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him with anyone.”
Just then, Koujaku returned with their drinks and settled next to Aoba. A little close to Aoba, in Eiden’s expert opinion. When Aoba excused himself to use the bathroom, Eiden took the opportunity to his advantage.
“How long have you known Aoba?” he asked.
“Since we were brats,” Koujaku said. “He said you two just met?”
“Yeah, though I could swear I’ve seen him in Rhyme before.”
“I’ve never known him to play it. Can’t get him interested in Ribsteez either.”
“Must be a doppelganger.”
Koujaku looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I think he might have played before his accident. You’re not the first person to ask me about it. I wasn’t living here at the time. But Mizuki says Aoba doesn’t remember much from back then; probably best not to mention it.”
While there was no edge to his voice, Eiden understood the warning regardless and raised his glass. “Thanks for the drink,” he said, but internally he was reeling. No way. The Sly Blue who’d sent countless players to the hospital with their minds fried had no memory of doing it?!
Aoba returned a few minutes later and sank into his second drink. It quickly went to his head and he slumped, flushed and laughing, against Koujaku’s shoulder.
“He’s never been good with alcohol,” Koujaku said, his face also pink, though probably not for the same reason. Eiden had seen that look before in the mirror. “I’ll have him sleep at my place tonight.”
Shit. Shit, did that mean Eiden would have to walk through this part of town after dark alone? He fussed with his shirt collar.
“I’m fine,” Aoba protested and pushed himself upright. “Just tired. I’ve gotta walk him back anyway.” He checked the time. “I work in the morning. Sorry to rush, Eiden, but do you mind if we head out?”
“Not at all. I have work in the morning too.”
They finished their drinks and said goodbye to Koujaku, whose expression turned wistful as Aoba walked toward the door. Mizuki must have been with his next client; he was nowhere in sight.
Eiden and Aoba didn’t talk much on the way home, but it was a good silence—the kind that usually takes friends a couple of years to achieve. Ren stayed in Aoba’s bag. They walked to a backdrop of pulsing club music, the occasional vehicle coughing past, a strange but beautiful voice that seemed to be singing somewhere above them, people shouting to each other from shop entrances. When they came to the end of Aoyagi Street, they descended the stairs and stood on the sidewalk.
“My house is this way,” Aoba said, pointing toward his right. “You good from here?”
At Eiden’s nod, Aoba thrust his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll give Hana-san your application in the morning. Maybe I’ll see you at the shop?”
This guy, whoever he was—Sly Blue, Aoba, both, probably both—was the first friend Eiden had made in ages. Regardless of how shitty Sly had been, Aoba didn’t seem to be the same guy anymore, not entirely anyway, and Eiden wasn’t going to judge someone for their past. God knows he’d made enough of his own blunders. He cracked a smile, a genuine one.
“Yeah. I really hope so.”