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It was infuriating, really.
Kaoru never asked to be in love with Korjiro. Korjiro wasn’t even remotely his type. Just because he was strong, reliable, a good cook, and a competent skateboarder….
Okay, yes, there were perhaps benefits to having someone like Korjiro in his life, but still. Korjiro had abandoned him for over a year, choosing to study Italian food in Italy rather than staying with Kaoru after Ainosuke had abandoned them both. Korjiro could never agree with him on anything once they got down to the details of a matter, even if they wholeheartedly agreed on the big picture. And despite the fact that the two of them had been something more than friends for years now, Korjiro still always seemed to have at least one girl on his arm, and usually two or three. Because apparently Kaoru wasn’t enough on his own to satiate such a brash and base creature, no matter how much it hurt seeing Kojiro with someone else time after time after time.
It was one of the reasons why he’d decided to incorporate a mask in his S ensemble: not only did it keep anything unfortunate from entering his respiratory passages, it also meant that no-one had to see his scowls at Joe and his hangers-on.
Disgusting.
There had to be a different way.
Logic dictated that there must be a different way.
Put more plainly: there had to be a world in which his weird codependency with Korjiro would no longer exist. In fact, he hypothesized that if their lives were different in any way, shape, or form, that there would be nothing between them at all.
Gathering the data and doing the calculations necessary to prove such would be difficult and time-consuming if he were doing them himself. Thankfully, he didn’t need to.
“Carla.”
Yes, Master?
“Show me what life would be like in a world where I am not a high-level skateboarder.”
I can do that. Are there any other parameters I should keep in mind as part of this visualization?
“No. I simply want to see a world where I don't pursue skateboarding.”
Very well. Processing…
AKIB@CCANO dance battles were designed to allow all sorts of dancers to compete. After all, there was no one single discipline that could claim to be the dance style of anisong, just as there was no one genre that could encompass all of anime. So even if the majority of the people drawn to the competition were trained in hip-hop and breaking, there was room for all sorts. And as Kaoru had proven time after time, being part of those “all sorts” could work in one’s favour, should one have the prowess to not just stand out, but shine.
It was easy to tell who the new b-boys were in the room: They'd always the ones who sneered at finding a danseur amongst their midst. Who would laugh and call him a ballerina or twinkle-toes, and mockingly wish him all the best. And, well, if the sight of him dancing didn’t shut them up on its own, then once they saw the fans, the reputation, and the prize money Kaoru had accrued, they quickly learned not to make the mistake of talking down at him again. And if that didn't work, well, Kaoru had a disclaimer on all of his personal websites disavowing him of any responsibility for the actions of his fans.
Not that he had much use for those fans, anyway. They tended to be loud and distracting, and far more interested in him than he’d ever be in them. But still, they were a necessary evil—it was hard to be popular and good and not have fans, after all. And at least his fans were more well-behaved than JOE’s—at least when unprovoked.
It was just one of many differences between him and his longtime friend-slash-rival. It was fascinating how their philosophies on dance and AKIB@CCANO could be so similar while their approaches to everything were so diametrically opposed.
For one, JOE actually liked the female attention, sometimes going so far as to flirt with those standing close to the ring while he danced. (Which, of course, Kaoru thought should be fully illegal.) And then there was the condition in which JOE chose to keep his body. Yes, Kaoru was aware that a certain amount of strength was needed to pull off many of JOE’s signature moves—he certainly couldn’t balance directly on his head, for one, nor would he want to, given what a potential strain to his neck could do to his trademark long lines—but Kaoru also knew first-hand that there was a difference between building good, lean muscle and outright bodybuilding. The way that JOE bulged, it was certain to affect his range of mobility, which in turn would affect his dancing, and—well! Kaoru was well-aware that everyone had a right to keep their body in any way they wished (he himself was often told off for his long hair, for example), but there were just some things that seemed like improper decisions if one was to embody the art form of dance.
(The fact that JOE's muscles sometimes seemed deliciously sexy was another matter altogether, thank you very much.)
Not that Kaoru was a normal danseur either, mind, or without his own penchant for the unorthodox. Most men were happy to spend their days being pillars to prop up pretty girls, but Kaoru had always found partnering personally distasteful. Instead, he had been drawn to the groundbreaking world of men en pointe, and to the art he could create in such a manner. The mixture of strength and grace that he exuded had made him extremely popular in certain circles, where his work often touted as genre-defying. Which was silly in a way—after all, his routines might be largely self-choreographed, or done in coordination with one of the handful of danseurs around the world pursuing a similar path, but the language they spoke through their bodies was nothing if not traditional: beautiful long lines and graceful curves down to their very core.
It had defined not one but two career paths for Kaoru, both of which he followed with pride: when he wasn't preparing for his next show or doing of exercises at the barre and in the gym to maintain his form and physique, he was busy working on prototypes for his own brand of pointe shoe: one created with the needs of the male foot in mind, and those of the male bodies attached. It was surprising what small changes to the box could make to accommodate a higher or lower center of gravity, and how much difference a harder or softer shank could make to one's experience. And while Kaoru was very much still prototyping, rarely wearing his own creations beyond his own private studio, he was looking forward to breaking into the market within a few years.
Korjiro had decided to keep it a hobby, and make food the artistic medium in which he made his income. He said he was afraid of losing the joy of dance if he did it full-time. Kaoru thought him a coward for it. And it was an especial shame, really, since Korjiro was a stunning dancer, as begrudging as Koaoru was to admit it. (He shouldn’t have been so good with a body so muscular!) But alas, Korjiro had been as much of a bull-headed brute as always. Perhaps the body matched the brain a little too well, in Korjiro's case.
They’d both begun dancing at an early age—Kaoru still had the recordings, digitized from now-degrading VHS home videos, of them being two-thirds of the boys in a local preschool dance class. The last of their number was the boy who would grow up to be @dam, the one who’d officially founded and funded AKIB@CCANO.
It was amazing that they’d managed to stay in touch at all after they’d all specialized in different directions: Kaoru had been drawn to the elegance of ballet, JOE to the strength of break dancing, and @dam had been scouted by someone looking for well-rounded young dancers at age seven. And yet, dance had remained key for all of them. AKIB@CCANO gave them a chance to reconnect, and to invite other dancers to show off their skills as well, and potentially score a not-insignificant jackpot if they could prove themselves the best in a series of one-on-one dance-offs.
Kaoru and Kojiro—or rather, Cherry and JOE—were always fixtures in the top 16. More often than not, at least one of them made the top four. They’d gone head to head in the top two a handful of times, too, though less often as the event had grown and more dancers of every calibre had joined their ranks.
As for @dam? Well, Kaoru couldn’t entirely say. His social media accounts were still active, posting the occasional evocative dance pose or shot from a red carpet, and he still announced the date and time of each new round of AKIB@CCANO without fail, but Kaoru could hardly remember when he’d seen @dam last, nor when @dam had last returned any form of direct communication.
At least, not until an unknown dancer—apparently ballroom-trained, but who was translating his moves to freestyle with a surprising amount of ease—had won it all. The award ceremony had started out as normal, and the crowd had been cheering as this new dancer—SNOW—had held his trophy high. And then the lights went out, and every damn monitor in the room had started displaying the same livestream of @dam's face. @dam's voice boomed over the loudspeakers as he declared that the next AKIB@CCANO—their 25th overall—would be a two-day event, that there would be four times as many spots available so they could bring in and farm new talent, and that he, himself, would be taking part. And in the excitement that followed, Kaoru could only find himself wondering what on earth had triggered the change of heart.
One of the rules of AKIB@CCANO was that there was no preseeding. The winner of the last dance battle would always have to fight their way up from the bottom the next time, just like everyone else. Sometimes, this led to very intense battles early on.
Still, Kaoru hadn’t expected his second match to be against @dam. No, that shouldn’t have happened until the top 8 at least, if not the finals. It should have been a showcase battle on the main stage, not one in a marked-off area while three other battles took place simultaneously to save time. But that was how the random seeds had shaken out. And that was how things, therefore, were going to have to be.
It was the second round at least. Kaoru had already defeated some guy who’d shown up wearing a horse mask, clearly thinking that comedy was a key element in making himself stand out amongst his fellow competition. In his defence, there was often plenty of room for levity in these events. But not when @dam was there. Not when there was so much on the line. And not, especially, when he was up against Kaoru. So really, the guy hadn’t stood a chance. And so, Kaoru found himself staring down the larger-than-life legend who was poised to win the whole competition, despite rarely competing in them at all.
There were more eyes on their battle than any other, of course. There would have been more eyes on @dam no matter what. Even with all the extra slots opened, AKIB@CCANO25 had reached full registration within less than an hour, everyone wanting to get a piece of @dam. And with half of the competition already eliminated, it was surely only natural that most of them were now gathered around their very ring.
The music began—End of Evangelion’s Komm Süsser Tod. Fitting, he thought, for what was sure to be one of their swan songs.
Kaoru chose to go first. The crowd’s cheers and jeers blended in with the music as he made his way into the center of the ring, showcasing the trademark mix of athleticism, musicality, and grace that kept him placing high time after time. He was ready for this. He knew the song inside and out. And he knew full well that he could use this song to its fullest, better than anyone else currently on the floor. His movements were poised and polished, as if this was a routine he'd been doing his entire life, rather than one created in the moment. The story he wove was emotional, speaking of loss, grief, and death, and the beauty to be found in such angst-filled moments. And the degree of difficulty was as high as he could push it within the limited space that the ring allowed. There could hardly have been a dry eye in the place by the time Kaoru left the floor. And for one brief moment, he was sure that victory must have been well in hand.
Then @dam took to the floor.
@dam’s movements were mesmerizing—almost hypnotizing. The crowd, which had been so loud during all of Kaoru's turn, now were silent under the spell of @dam's performance. The only sounds remaining were that of the music, of @dam's feet against the floor, and of Kaoru's own heart pounding away in his ears. And in that moment, the reality of the situation became clear.
Kaoru had been training for years for this very battle. Ever since the first AKIB@CCANO, when @dam had left Cherry with a badly sprained ankle, barely able to walk for the next few weeks, and @dam danced his way to victory. For twenty-four contests he’d been waiting for a rematch. For twenty-four contests, he’d been honing his skills, pushing the language of ballet and the limits of his body farther and farther to match the musicality of each new anisong he was presented with, and to thoroughly outclass his competition. Until he was sure he was better than @dam. Until he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the outcome of that original battle would have been different if he were the danseur he'd since become.
But @dam had honed his skills over the same amount of time. And he’d set his sights far higher than merely beating Kaoru. To him, this was merely one more tiny step on some far longer road, rather than the hurdle it had represented in Kaoru’s mind for years. And thus, Kaoru found himself completely and utterly outclassed.
The music changed. The crowd roared. And Kaoru blanched, realizing he’d need to dance again. Against that.
The second song was some Vocaloid number or other. Kaoru could barely hear it, but he could at least keep the beat. And if he had the beat, he could dance. Fouetté, arabesque, jeté…. He could do this. He had to. He—
The move was a signature of his—leaping and landing en pointe, performing some small combination of steps that matched the music, and then prove that he could do many more rotations by pirouetting on the tips of his toes than any b-boy could do on their head.
He didn’t make it to the pirouette, this time. He didn’t even make it to his small semi-freestyle section. He could feel the edge of the platform when he landed, and then the wing, and then the sickening sound of something cracking in his ankle as he collapsed to the floor. And then, it was all over.
Kaoru barely remembered what happened after that, except in bright flashes.
A mix of cheers and jeers as he laid there, mind trying to process what had happened—and more importantly, how to quickly recover—and coming up blank.
A pair of strong arms picking him up and carrying him off the dance floor and out of the building entirely.
A pair of strong hands wrapping bandages around his foot and lower leg, and groping around for something to use as a makeshift splint.
Sitting on the back of a moped, the feeling of the wind through his hair competing with the smarting of his ankle for attention as he held onto a familiar torso for dear life.
A doctor putting his leg in a stiff cast, and ordering six to eight weeks off it entirely.
Realizing that Korjiro had relinquished his own spot in AKIB@CCANO to help him.
Crying.
Being unsure if it was because of the pain, the realization that he’d be unable to dance for months, or that neither of them would be able to take @dam down, or even see the second day of competition.
Wanting to punch something, and crying some more.
Korjiro holding him when he cried, and not leaving his side all night.
Perhaps they were at odds, but it was always good to know that when it came to anything that mattered, Korjiro would always be on his side.
It almost made up for everything else. Almost.
Kaoru almost felt disappointed at his own programming as the scenario played out.
“Carla. You just gave me my own story, but with skateboarding swapped out for a different sport.”
Yes. You requested a world in which you were not a high-level skateboarder. No other parameters were requested. The most obvious change would be to another high-level activity.
Well, he supposed, there was some logic to that. “But dance, Carla? Really? And anisong?”
Various body types and variations of style to be found. Underground battles enjoyed. Mapping proved 37% more direct than to the next nearest activity.
“I see.” Well, he did specifically leave as many parameters open as possible. He could see how Carla could interpret that in such a way that could lead to the path of least resistance. Unfortunately, that hadn’t at all been what he had in mind, especially since it outright reminded him how he still owed Kojiro for all he’d done after that accident on S during his head-to-head battle against Ainosuke.
Well, there was nothing for it, then, except to adjust his parameters and start again.
“I was hoping for something more out there, Carla. A universe very much unlike our own. You can manage that, can you not?”
Of course, Master.
“Good,” Kaoru replied. “Give me something as far-fetched as possible then.”
Surely such a universe would have nothing to do with Korjiro, after all. And with any luck, there wouldn’t be an Ainosuke either.
Very well. Processing.
There were many words that one could use to describe the experience of being a creature of the night. The one that first generally came to Kaoru’s mind was boring.
When alive, one always wishes for more time: another hour to read, another day to linger, another week, month, year with a loved one, or to spend studying, or to do any number of the things time will soon make impossible. However when one becomes the undead, then at some truly and literally god-forsaken time, the opposite becomes true. After all, when one has lived centuries, and has centuries more stretching out ahead, one can eventually accomplish nearly everything.
Well, everything except experience the warmth of the sun, and the brightness of day, at least. But then, Kaoru had never been much one for the sun anyway, preferring the shelter of a parasol to prevent his skin from burning even long before it became a deadly affliction. Besides, with the advent of modern electric lighting and non-silvered mirrors, life had become far more convenient. As much as one could call the parody of existence in which he and his kind were trapped in living, of course.
Kaoru had been anything but idle over the years afforded him: studying far beyond the point of erudition, practicing far beyond the point of mastery, though not always to the most satisfactory of ends. Medicine had not been to his liking; he found the whole thing far too squeamish, which was an irony given the realities of his nature. Teaching had been a nightmare; he had no patience for his students, to say nothing of the trials of finding those willing to study at night. Painting had been… fine, especially back in the day when portraiture was the only way for his ilk to see themselves, but not anything in which he had found himself containing particular talent. Words, however, were well within his command: both in the composition of essays, letters, stories, and the like, but also in the literal formation. His calligraphy was said to bring those who looked upon it to tears, if anyone’s writing ever could. Of course, in this modern day there was little need for the written word anymore, and certainly not in the scribing in which he found the most pride. However, a well-placed handwritten note still held a certain power, one that helped him present the image of the mild-mannered, polite young man which he appeared to be. Useful for those occasions where he noticed a raised eyebrow or studied glance of someone who might suspect the truth of his nature, in a way that a polite smile alone may not smooth over.
That was a rare occurrence, however. For the most part, Kaoru was content to keep to himself. It was easier that way: To avoid the stares as much as he did the sunlight. To occasionally emerge to feed or gather supplies, but otherwise keep himself within his own confines. Besides which, to be around the living was to be around flowers: alive one minute, and dead the next, and far less easy to cultivate and prune. To befriend them was an exercise in futility. Not that befriending those of his own ilk was any better: the vampires he knew were all petty and stuck-up creatures, capable of holding grudges for millennia.
(In such a way, Kaoru was truly one of their number.)
He was unsure of what attracted him to the Otherworld Nightclub. Perhaps it was the number of old codewords used within the ad—designed to make it clear that supernatural creatures were welcome, without being too obvious about it for the sake of any mortals. Perhaps it was that the last call was at 3am—late enough for a good time, but early enough to avoid the sun entirely unless one was to be particularly stupid about these things. Perhaps it was simply that he was bored, and felt as though a change of pace might aid his sleep for the next decade or so.
Whatever the reason, he finally decided to check it out on a particularly dreary night, hoping that the forecasted gloomy skies would offer extra protection even if things went differently than imagined. One could never be too careful after all—he had seen many a contemporary fall from less foolishness.
There were two bouncers outside the front door, watching carefully as he approached. Something about them, tall, lumbering, and imposing, made him wonder if they might be oni. One flash of his smile—his true smile, that is—and he was granted entrance.
The same could not be said, however, of the group who arrived just after him. Kaoru could hear some pleading and potesting, and turned around just in time to see a man shrug, kiss the cheeks of the women on either side of him, and then continue on without them. His two companions turned around and headed back they'd come, giggling and chatting all the while.
The interior of the Otherworld Nightclub was spacious. It needed to be, as several members of its patronage would have had significant issues fitting into smaller spaces in their true form. Kaoru had intended to sip a cocktail and keep to himself, but apparently fate had other plans for him.
And by fate, he meant the man who had followed him in, ordered a drink right after him, and had decided to join Kaoru at the table around which they were now stood.
“They don’t allow plus-ones here,” the man said. “Can you believe it?”
“I can, actually,” Kaoru replied. “Many of those assembled here could and would eat a mortal piecemeal, if not whole. This establishment would likely rather keep their guests on the provided menu, both to keep the cash flowing and to ensure no unnecessarily legal incidents are incited.”
“Ah.” the man frowned. “I… hadn’t thought of that.”
Well, that much was obvious. “I suppose you hadn’t.”
“I’m Joe, by the way.”
He held his hand out, and Kaoru took a moment to decide how to proceed before pressing his palm against the one offered.
“Cherry. A pleasure.”
A club like this was no place for True Names, after all. Kaoru would be best keeping his secret and safe. And the garnish on his cocktail would make for as good a nickname as any.
“So, what are you?” Joe asked over the din of the loud music.
Kaoru flashed him a hint of his true smile. “A Vampire. And you?”
“A werewolf,” Joe replied.
And huh. Kaoru wouldn’t have worked that out on his own.
“I always thought they were hairier.”
Joe shrugged. “I get that a lot.”
Werewolves were creatures of duality. Like vampires they had nearly all been human once, save for the few born into the curse. But unlike vampires, they were still truly among the living. As such, they were creatures of the day and night in equal measure, able to pass easily between the mundane and the supernatural, save for those times when the moon’s pull was at its strongest.
Kaoru knew all this well—he had studied all manners of supernatural creature over the years, and could generally recognize them on sight—be it the bakeneko that was trying to pass himself off as a child prodigy on social media, or the kitsune who was attempting to befriend… what appeared to be a mix between a yuki-onna and a yeti at the other end of the room.
The fact that he hadn’t immediately clocked Joe as a werewolf was therefore puzzling. But Joe was quick to give a plausible explanation: “I don’t like the feeling of the fur on this form, so I keep myself tidy. Means I sometimes look a little silly in my other form, but hey! It’s just a couple days a month.”
And, well, Joe wouldn’t be the first creature who had decided they preferred their body differently than nature intended. He’d heard tell of an oni who kept their horn filed down to a nub because they were tired of always hitting it on entryways, to say nothing of the plethora of creatures who had longed to blend in with humans in any way necessary and thus had hidden their telltale characteristics under sunglasses, hats, or long coats.
Time escaped Kaoru’s notice entirely as they talked about this and that, until a quick scan of the room showed it to be nearly empty.
He checked his watch. 3:25. So late as to be early indeed.
“Well, Cherry, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a great time tonight,” Joe said, stretching as he stood, and egads—his muscular structure was so typical for his breed that Kaoru felt foolish for not noticing before, even if it happened to be maintained in a way to show off the muscle, rather than covered in a layer of fat and fur as most of his ilk preferred. His teeth, too, showed a hint of his own true smile as he met Kaoru’s eyes with a cocked head. “Any chance you’d like to do this again sometime?”
“Yes,” Kaoru decided, standing and giving a true smile of his own, matching sharp teeth for sharp teeth. “It would be my pleasure.”
It was fascinating to discern which opinions they might hold in complete agreement, and upon which they would be at odds.
They both were largely for the welfare of humanity and preferred to maintain a human-passing appearance, despite the difficulties, while still attempting to remain proud of their supernatural identities. In Kaoru's case, this was for ease of interaction, and not wanting to draw undue attention. In Joe's, it was due to a want for indulgence and immersion, which would prove difficult otherwise.
They both enjoyed mixing traditionalism and modernism, but whereas Kaoru preferred the aesthetics of one and the function of the other, Joe preferred to mix them both together. (He would put a Modern piece alongside a cherished antique, the heathen!)
They also both enjoyed tinting their hair unnatural colours, though Kaoru found it odd to understand why Joe would want to keep his body in an unnatural state as well.
Suffice to say, they fought at least as often as they agreed, with the balance tipping towards antagonism as often as it did amicable agreement. And yet at the end of the night there was always the offer of a next time, and every night it was quickly and wholeheartedly accepted.
.
Joe requested that they smell each other once, which Kaoru would have found odd if not for the fact that he was talking with a werewolf.
Joe said that Kaoru smelled of musk, wood and incense—things that were infinitely old, meant to be preserved, carefully cared for, and worshipped.
In turn, Joe smelled of trees, wind, and green grass—the world that Kaoru had forsaken when he took the bite upon himself. He had forgotten how beautiful that scent could be. And if his body were still capable of it, Kaoru was sure he would have shed a tear at the memories it evoked.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to meet somewhere else next time?” Joe asked.
Kaoru sipped his cocktail, if for no other reason than to appear coy and not overeager before giving an ascending nod. “I would be delighted.”
Kaoru was caught off guard when he arrived at the agreed-upon address, scribbled down onto a bar napkin when last they parted. He’d expected somewhere more intimate—perhaps not Joe’s home, though the idea had crossed his mind, but a simple third space such as a hotel, or the sort of movie theatre that was far removed from the modern megacineplex, or even a park, where he might experience some of the scents he now associated with Joe firsthand. But this was…
“A miniature golf course? Really?”
“Really,” Joe agreed, looking completely unapologetic. “It’s beautiful at night, I promise.”
And, well, Kaoru had agreed to meeting Joe at a new location, after all. There was no use wasting his time by merely returning back home.
“Very well,” he said. “Show me.”
And so Joe did.
The course was designed for use at night, it seemed, with lights built into the courses and walkways, and twinkling from strings all around. To mortals, it probably looked like something fanciful—built by faeries for their amusement. The tengu manning the attendant stand told a different story.
Kaoru was frustratingly bad at the thing—he’d always considered any sort of golf a matter best left for the living, and thus had no experience with the damned clubs—but he still enjoyed the carefully-designed aesthetics of each hole, and even was impressed by Joe when he made a few trick shots.
At the end of the course, when Joe had utterly shown off his prowess and Kaoru his lack of expertise, the wolf at least had the decency to buy them both ice cream, which they sat and ate at a bench overlooking the seventh hole.
“So what do you think?” Joe asked. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Kaoru had to agree that it was.
“How did you find out about this place anyway?”
Joe shrugged. “I take all my dates here. In fact, I’m coming back next week with Darla. She’s human, but fascinated by werewolf culture, and—“
The screech that Kaoru let out must have awakened all the dead within a mile's radius.
The sound that Kaoru made was far less ear-piercing than the one that his counterpart had just let out in the simulation, but was likely no more pleasant to hear for it.
Carla, thank goodness, correctly interpreted the noise as a sign to halt the simulation.
I’m sorry. Is something wrong?
“Is something wrong?” Kaoru repeated, incredulously. “Not only did I seem highly infatuated with Joe, despite his—his—-everything, but he maintained his most infuriating trait of all and was clearly seeing other people at the same time as he was playing around with me!”
My data shows that Nanjo Kojiro is known for his prolific love.
“Well yes” Kaoru was forced to admit, “but surely it can’t be an integral part of him.”
Kaoru could hear Carla’s processors whirring for a moment before she spoke again.
Multiple lovers for Nanjo Kojiro appear in approximately two-thirds of the situations I have discovered so far.
“Well, show me one of the remaining third then.”
Very well. Processing.
It wasn’t easy, being a big name within the world of technology.
Kaoru was on the record staying as much—there were countless soundbytes detailing the challenges he faced: Sleepless nights spent perfecting every last detail of his products before presenting them to the market. Not being taken seriously within the business world, due to his eccentric appearance. Being ridiculed for his ideas on how to make compact, solar-powered AI, the entire unit of which could fit on the size of a standard skateboard, solar batteries and all.
They said that the world would never accept such a product; that it would be niche at best, and more likely an expensive flop, the likes of which had not been seen since the Silicon Valley Crash of /29.
But Kaoru had always known better. He had a vision, after all, and had spent nearly a decade of his life perfecting form and function across a variety of use-cases and price points. And now, CARLA 4.2 was the most-used operating system on the planet, AI-powered or otherwise.
The base functionality was available as open-source code, and he’d long-since released a surprisingly well-functioning version of the physical hardware under a similar license so that literally anyone which a decent understanding of systems computing, access to a 3-D printer, and the ability to get their hands on a few spare parts could put together a version of their own. And thus, CARLA had proliferated. One offshoot, DARLA, was quite popular in schools these days, though Kaoru’s personal favourite was EARL-A, in which someone had swapped out CARLA’s voice pack for that of a posh British man’s, and had added a monocle to the exterior shell for aesthetic.
Of course, he wouldn’t have become a rich tech mogul by only offering a free model of his greatest achievement. It was, however, the best gateway drug imaginable for the world that laid beyond, while painting him as a community-minded philanthropist in the process. So a win-win, really.
For those who were willing to pay, there was a world of customizable options available: Chassis made out of polished wood, fibreglass, and resin. LED inlays. Forms that actually functioned as a skateboard, and those that were impossible to step on at all. Not to mention the upgraded OS, optimized for any number of situations and needs depending on what the customer wanted. There were base packs, of course, and a la carte options available for those who would rather pick and choose their own. And for those willing to pay for the ultimate version, Kaoru would oversee the creation of their model by hand, ensuring a bespoke appearance and an equally bespoke model of CARLA, designed to integrate seamlessly into the intended user’s life.
He enjoyed the work immensely. He would never have continued to offer such bespoke services if he didn’t. And it wasn’t as though there were no offers to buy him out. Indeed, there was at least one sent his way per week on average, sometimes attempting to sweet-talk him into seeing how CARLA would fit perfectly into some umbrella suite or another, sometimes attempting to bully him into shutting down operations altogether before something untoward happened at his factories. (He ignored the former, and sent the latter to his lawyers, who had succeeded in winning more than a few lawsuits against the instigators of such threats.) However, Kaoru was still aware that the life he had built himself was not entirely sustainable.
He was too invested in CARLA to give control away. Heck, he was content to be CEO and CCO for the rest of his natural life. But the hours he was keeping were not getting shorter. And, as he approached his 30th birthday, he could feel his body already beginning to rebel against the relentless schedule he had set for himself. Clearly, something needed to change. And what better to use in problem solving the situation than the very AI assistant he had built with his own two hands?
His own personal CARLA was always a prototype, one or two steps beyond whatever was currently on the market. It was always fun to see executives eyeing her, wondering if they could somehow glean information and scoop it before relevant updates became available. It was equally entertaining to troll the internet in each of all the rumour and speculation blogs trying to break down every single detail of his current build, attempting to discern what was merely due to Kaoru’s personal taste, and what they could attempt to see in the future. A handful of times, someone had managed to hit the nail straight on the head, though the average guess was usually far enough off-mark that Kaoru didn't tend to worry.
Again, good hype and speculation was free marketing. And no-one had even come close to matching CARLA’s PR, nor her specs in recent years.
But anyway, back to the point at hand. Feeding the information to CARLA produced a list of recommendations for him to follow. One was to streamline production (unlikely) while another suggested he sell the company and live in the Fiji islands for the rest of his days (definitely not). But some were more reasonable: set a shut-down time with a maximum number of overrides, and warnings as the final hour progressed. See to his personal welfare though scheduled fitness and meal breaks. And, most intriguingly, to hire a personal assistant.
He asked for more information, and CARLA prepared a list of potential candidates, all available for hire.
The first, Higa Hiromi, had a face that reminded Kaoru far too much of one of the executives who had laughed him out of the board office back when Kaoru was still trying to sell CARLA as an idea, before CHERRY.Inc had ever taken form. Even if the two were unrelated, it was surely only a matter of time before Kaoru would get the urge to punch him in the face. And thus, he deemed this Higa unsuitable for his personal needs.
The second, one Hasegawa Langa, was far more Kaoru’s visual type, and also fluent in both English and Japanese, which would be a boon for negotiations within a worldwide market. Unfortunately, he was also barely more than half Kaoru’s age. And however perfect this Langa seemed on paper, the position’s hours and potential for dealing with death threats made it unsuitable for minors. And thus, he would have to be rejected as well.
The third, however…
Nanjo Kojiro was currently employed as part of a fleet of bodyguards, but was looking for some more stable, less dangerous work. His previous experience involved working as both a line cook and personal trainer, and although not stated as such directly, it was clear that he had done at least some clerical-adjacent work in the past.
Someone who could cook for him, help him figure out a basic exercise regimen, and could handle less-vital business on his behalf? Yes. This Nanjo Kojiro sounded perfect.
Nanjo Kojiro was a disaster.
Sure, the man was competent as all heck—Kaoru couldn’t remember ever eating so well in his life with such regularity, and the only difference between the appointment schedules that Kaoru used to maintain and the ones that Nanjo was keeping for him was the brand of ink being used and the the shape of the handwriting adding in notes for each day.
However, Kaoru could barely get into a groove in his work without Nanjo telling him it was time to get up and stretch, or that a meal was ready, or that his 4:30 with DOPE SKETCH Ltd. had requested to be rescheduled to Monday, and how would he feel about making it a dinner meeting over a five course Italian spread?
It was true that there was less on his plate now, and that he didn’t worry much at all about the things he’d entrusted to Nanjo—random spot-testing had found only minor flaws in any of his communications, mainly on the level of Kaoru wanting to maintain a certain company-wide style than issues with accuracy—but nonetheless, it felt like he was getting less done than ever.
He did his best work when he was allowed to hyperfocus, to really dig into an issue and see it through from beginning to end. But how was he supposed to do that when Nanjo was on his case with such regularity to get up and move or do something?
If CARLA’s stocks fell, then Kaoru was going to take it directly out of Nanjo's pay. But in the meantime, he would give his assistant a strict talking-to, and try to find some way to keep his head in the game.
Well.
This was it.
The unthinkable had finally happened.
Someone had managed to get a bomb delivered to his personal workshop.
It had been Nanjo who noticed. Trust the man who was trained as a bodyguard to sniff out a bomb, Kaoru supposed. He had grabbed Kaoru, hoisted him over his shoulder, and ran out of the building, leaving Kaoru with only a few seconds to sputter in annoyed confusion before a loud roar rattled his eardrums, and his beloved state-of-the-art workshop was up in flames.
“Sorry,” Nanjo huffed beside him, panting as he placed Kaoru down on the ground beside him at last. “There was… no time….”
“No, I suppose there wasn’t,” Kaoru agreed. He reached for his phone, only to find that Nanjo had beaten him to the chase, and was well on the way to calling the authorities, holding the phone between them so they could both answer question after question through the shell shock of the moment.
Yes, everyone was safe.
No, they did not know how a bomb made its way inside (though Kaoru was sure he might have some ideas once his mind had calmed down enough to think through the letters he’d received in the past year or two).
Yes, the property damage was extensive. (Kaoru was already making a list of equipment he would need to repurchase in his head.)
Yes, they were still just outside the scene, and would be willing to stay as long as was deemed necessary.
As they hung up, Kaoru found himself staring at Nanjo in a whole new light.
Nanjo had saved him. Nanjo had realized the threat, had dropped what he was doing, and had not run to see to his own safety without first ensuring Kaoru’s as well. Nanjo had lifted Kaoru as if he was almost nothing, and taken them both out of harm’s way in the nick of time.
Kaoru had always assumed he had somewhat of a competence kink, but few people lived up to his exacting expectations enough to feel it strongly in action. But now… well, it seemed that the sparks he felt within him were from something other than the nearby blaze entirely.
Kaoru groaned. Not again.
“Carla, stop projection.”
The projection stopped as requested, just as the hypothetical Kaoru and his personal assistant were about to start looking for the remains of his latest CARLA model.
Was this projection also unsatisfactory? Carla asked, and Kaoru just had to sigh as he sunk into his chair.
“Unfortunately,” he confirmed. “I am looking for a word in which I do not fall in love with Joe. Surely within the vast number of potential worlds out there, there must be at least a few.”
Understood.
Another whir of the servers.
Potential scenario found. Would you like to view it?
“Yes. Please, Carla.”
There had to be at least one suitable one out there, didn’t there?
Perhaps this would be the one he was looking for.
Well, this was new.
Most of the people who requested Cherry’s patronage were the same: businessmen, generally still in their suit and tie when they arrived, almost always still grappling with the notion that they may not be straight or vanilla after all. He knew what sort of market he attracted—Cherry had a sort of androgynous form which made him an easy partner with whom to dip their toes in. And in his tall, stiletto boots and short vinyl shorts, he practically screamed sex, even as his stern looks and updo demanded business.
It didn’t take much to give those ones their money’s worth: a sensual undressing and a few swats of the riding crop, and more often than not they were coming in their pants before Cherry had even had time to get out the lube.
This one, however, didn’t fit the bill.
His clothes were casual and worn—if Kaoru was a betting man, he’d worn things he didn’t mind being cut off his person. His demeanour was calm and appraising—a far cry from the nervous first-timer who usually graced his doors. And his body type. Well! The majority of his clients looked like they’d skipped lunch due to overwork. This one might have eaten those neglected meals and turned them all to pure muscle.
No matter, though. Soon enough, this… “Joe,” was it? Would be kissing his boots and—
“Really, Carla?”
The projection whirled to a stop almost as quickly as it stated, pausing just as the projected Cherry pulled the projected Joe in for a very forceful kiss.
I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean by that.
“First off, by my saying that I did not want to fall in love with him, I also assumed that this would be understood to cover situations involving lust between us, especially so early in our personal relations. Second, the last thing I need is simulated sex tapes of us circulating. That one leaked recording is already bad enough.”
Understood.
The projection disappeared entirely, the word deleted flashing briefly before Carla’s soft purple glow returned.
Shall I try again?
“Please.”
Whatever came of this next projection, it certainly couldn’t be any worse than the last one.
Kaoru had never specifically set out with the intent to conquer the coffee world. Nor could he say in all honesty that he’d done as much, given who he was up against, but he was certainly a name amongst the world of coffee’s elite nonetheless.
In the National Barista Championships, Kaoru had come in second a historic four times to Adam Coffee Co.‘s Shindou Ainosuke. In coffee tasting, he was also ranked second to Adam Coffee Co.‘s Shindou Ainosuke. And the same could be said about the national Brewers Cup, latte art, coffee mixology, and even ibrik competitions—no matter which discipline he spent his time training and honing, creating pure artwork out of a humble mug of brewed beans, Shindou Ainosuke was always there to one-up him.
He thought he’d finally managed to escape the curse once he’d gotten comfortable enough with roasting to test his mettle there, only for two-time champion Shindou Ainosuke of Adam Coffee Co. to be among the judges, ready to give him a very thorough and detailed review of his near-perfect roast’s every flaw.
It was aggravating, really. Especially since most who had been lucky enough to try his brews or watch his routines agreed that the products and presentations he created were better than many of the ones who had made the world finals.
Better than everyone’s, in fact, except that of a certain owner, chief roaster, and barista of Adam Coffee Co.
Not that it mattered much in his day-to-day life. Not at all.
Nor did it matter that Adam Coffee Co. was a mere one train station away, and a very walkable distance at that. Not in the least.
Sure, it would have been nice to be able to put a sign declaring the café and its barista number one locally, if not in Japan or the world. And sure, it would have been nice to be able to put up newspaper clippings showcasing his personal success. But it wasn't like those things really mattered, right? Anyone who felt bothered by the lack of ability to display such objects of personal pride would have to be a petty sort of man indeed.
One of his exes had told him to his face that there was no pettiness like that of a petty gay man, and that Kaoru was chief amongst their number. So perhaps it did bother him like a niggling twinge, burning away.
Still, Cherry’s was bright, sleek, and modern, built by him from the ground up. It went against the trends of industrial chic and bringing the outdoors in, and was certainly nothing at all like the Victorian-inspired monstrosity known as Adam Coffee Co. (thank god), but it suited Kaoru’s own aesthetic perfectly. And, as the person who spent more hours within the café’s bounds than anyone else on the planet, he figured that his was the only opinion to truly matter in such affairs. After all, if anyone took issue with the décor, then they could take their business elsewhere. There were plenty of coffee shops around that were happy to serve customers seeking a different aesthetic, after all. He just couldn’t promise anything about the quality of their product in any case except one.
All that being said, Kaoru had plenty of loyal customers: girls who professed to love him and refused to reconcile their desire with the fact that he was, in fact, openly gay; office workers who didn’t wish to travel any further than necessary to get an extraordinary cup of coffee; and a handful of people who had been spurned by Adam Coffee Co. and knew better than to ever return.
It was far too easy to make Shindou Ainosuke’s usual sunny disposition and perfect barista poise turn dark and abusive, after all. Kaoru had learned as much the hard way, once upon a time.
There was a fourth group of members in his clientele, of course: the casual visitors. Those who were most likely from out of town and had wandered their way in, looking for a beverage and perhaps a place to relax for a while. Sometimes they’d come on recommendation—his name was certainly in enough guidebooks as the second best place to get coffee in town, and at least his fangirls were good for something, but just as often they’d wandered in out of pure luck, not knowing how good a brew they were about to get.
Those were the faces that Kaoru liked to watch the best: when they’d have the first sip and instantly fall in love.
Looking at the man who was approaching the register now, still reading over the menu, Kaoru had a feeling that he’d be one of their number.
“Can I get you anything?” Kaoru asked, and the newcomer gave him an easy smile.
“Yeah, um, do you have any non-dairy milk?”
“Yes, several.” Kaoru pointed to the acrylic stand listing his milk options, including three different fat levels of dairy milk and a lactose-free option, five different non-dairy milks, and three distilled specialty options available at a reasonable upcharge. It disappointed Kaoru that this was the second most after “where’s the bathroom”, when they should have been asking about the tasting notes instead. But then again, most people didn't know what to look for, beyond something that would taste good to their subjective palate. (The tasting notes were also, of course, prominently displayed along with bags of each of their current roasts, and were just as often overlooked by his customers as the sign listing milk options.)
“Ah, right.” He examined the list, then returned his gaze to Kaoru. “Which would you recommend for a cortado: oat or almond milk?
“Depends,” Kaoru replied. “What roast are you after?”
At least the man had the wherewithal to check out the roasts on offer without Kaoru having to point them out too.
“Medium, I think?”
Hmm. Their current featured medium roast had nutty and caramel undertones, slightly more bitter than ideal, but smoothed out nicely in a milk beverage. That meant…
“Almond, then.”
“All right, Almond milk, then.”
“Right, then. One almond milk cortado coming up.”
The face that the man made as he first sipped his cortado was every bit what Kaoru expected: like he had found his own personal slice of caffeinated heaven.
“Hey! This is amazing.”
Kaoru tried not to preen as he dried a couple espresso cups. “I know.”
“Do you work here often?”
Kaoru smiled. “Every day.”
“Great,” the man said. “I’m Kojiro, by the way.”
Kaoru gave a small, polite bow. “Kaoru.”
“Well, it’s good to meet you, Kaoru. I’ll definitely be back.”
And just like that, Kaoru had bagged himself another satisfied customer.
As the next few months went by it was clear that Kojiro planned to make himself a regular customer at Cherry's, though there was hardly any regularity to his visits.
One day he’d be there at ten in the morning, the next day at two in the afternoon. One day he beat Kaoru to the café and ducked his head apologetically, saying he didn’t look up Cherry's hours ahead of time but since it wasn’t that long until opening anyway, he thought he’d just wait it out. Another, he ran in not long before close, apologizing and asking if there was anything he could grab that wouldn’t result in having to re-clean an entire machine. (That last one impressed Kaoru—either Kojiro had worked in a kitchen before, or he at least knew how to be polite to those working in the food and beverage industry.)
Sometimes he’d have to grab his beverage to go and run out the door, but more often than not, he’d grab a seat near the counter and sip appreciatively at his beverage of the day. And, if business was slow at the time, as it was wont to be at odd hours between common break times, then Kojiro would ask Kaoru questions, and the two would chat back and forth about whatever topic interested them. Sometimes this would end in laughter. At other times, heated debate. But thankfully, Kaoru had the wherewithal to withdraw from the situation after giving a particularly snappy remark and focus his attention elsewhere, unlike certain other head baristas in certain other establishments that he could think of. And sure, he might have been a little snappy to the next few customers, and to Kojiro when he’d next arrived for a flat white the next day after the first time it happened, but they’d moved on as if almost nothing had ever happened, only really picking at old grudges whenever the next argument happened to occur.
It was after one of their nicer conversations, about skateboarding being named an Olympic sport of all things, that Korjiro finished his beverage, then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a business card.
“I—um, I’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while,” he said, a tinge of something… different than usual colouring his voice. (And perhaps also his face?) “If you don’t mind, I hope that you’ll consider using it someday.”
“Thank you,” Kaoru replied, accepting it with the same polite business bow as always. “I will make sure to keep it in consideration.”
The normal afternoon rush started mere minutes after Kojiro left, meaning it wasn’t until sometime later that Kaoru remembered about the business card, and could give it a proper look.
MUSCLE JOE MOVING CO. it read.
HOMES, BUSINESSES, AND LOCAL DELIVERY.
Well, that explained the odd hours, then: Kojiro was no doubt constrained by the geography of the gigs he booked, and could only come in when he was in the area.
His fingers detected something on the back, and upon turning it over, he discovered a message written in pen.
I’d love to hang out outside of work sometime. Please call my personal cell. And then a string of digits.
Well, it had been a while since Kaoru had been asked out on the job, and never with such delicacy at that.
If he never called, Kaoru could likely pretend that the message didn’t exist, and Kojiro would likely do the same. Whether or not he would keep his patronage there was another matter, but one that would be purely up to Kojiro himself.
If he did, though… well. Kaoru wasn’t sure if he could say what he felt for Kojiro was love, or even something that could grow into it. But there was definite intrigue at the very least, and a curiosity as to whether the passion that emerged when they fought could lead to passion in other areas.
Yes, then. He’d call this “Muscle Joe”. And from there, well, who knew what would happen?
Kaoru buried his face in his hands and sighed.
“Again, Carla?”
The projection faded, and Carla’s purple glow once more returned.
I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean by that.
“We ended up together in this one. Again.”
Affirmative.
“As has happened in every single one of your projections.”
Affirmative.
“Well? Is there not at least one world out there in which we are not at all in each other’s lives? Or at the very least, do not become entangled in each other at all?”
Calculating…
The whir was longer this time, Carla’s purple glow pulsing for over a minute, then two, without any sign of response. Which was strange—normally her response times were far faster than that.
“Is everything all right, Carla?”
Out of eight hundred twenty-three million, four thousand forty-five thousand, five hundred eleven possibilities checked so far, Sakurayashiki Kaoru and Nanjo Kojiro have been romantically linked eight hundred twenty-three million, four thousand forty-five thousand, five hundred eleven times.
Kaoru stared hard. “That cannot be right.”
Would you like me to continue?
“No, tell me more about the ones you’ve looked through,” Kaoru decided. “There had to be ones where we were not born in the same country.”
Foreign exchange students. Olympic figure skaters. Foreign diplomat and translator.
“Or ones in which one of us didn’t make it to adulthood.”
Ghost and medium. Befriending a ghost. Dying together in horrific school bus tragedy.
“Or in which we had no reason to meet each other at all.”
Meet-cute one. Meet-cute two. Meet-cute three. Meet-cute four. Meet-cute five.
“Okay, okay, I get the picture!” Kaoru sighed. “So what you mean is that, so far as your data can project, there is not a universe, not a single one, in which Kojiro and I are not eventually an item.”
Affirmative.
“How is that even possible?”
Undeniable chemistry based on four-hundred and seventy-one factors. I can print out a chart if you would like to study—“
“No need,” Kaoru decided. “I get the jist well enough on my own.”
It was quiet in Sia la luce most nights as closing time approached. That was one of the reasons why Kaoru liked going there at that hour. Well, that and the fact that he could easily charge Carla, of course.
He’d claim that there were truly no other reasons, but that was a lie. Perhaps a necessary one for his own sanity, but a lie nonetheless.
It wasn’t the food either, though Kaoru was always glad to help polish off whatever needed to be gotten rid of that night for a meagre 10% discount. (He’d fight for a lower price when the kids were around, but he could afford to do it at a price that was haggled specifically to get on Kojiro’s nerves just enough; in the same way that Kojiro's apparent need to have three girls on his arm at any time that he wasn’t actively alone with Kaoru—and how this was apparently less part of his core being than being with Kaoru was—seemed designed to get on his.)
Tonight, there was a handful of arancini that were par-cooked and would be best if finished that night, and so that’s what Kaoru was served. Ironic, really, that he’d still be eating rice in an Italian restaurant, but if his experiments that day had taught him anything, it was that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Kojiro must have noticed something cross Kaoru’s face, because he turned toward him from where he was cleaning the kitchen with a quizzical expression.
“Something on your mind?”
Something indeed. How on earth was he supposed to sum up his findings in a way that even a gorilla like Kojiro could understand? Let alone that would come out as something other than sappy? Well, start at the beginning, he supposed.
“I ran some scenario testing with Carla today,” he explained.
“Oh?” Kojiro asked. “Trying to figure out how to beat Adam if he holds one of those tournaments again?”
Kaoru winced. “No, not this time, I’m afraid.”
“Because I’m not really sure if either of us could—”
“I’m aware and I hate it and you don’t have to rub it in.” Kaoru took a sip of wine and centered himself. Being brusque was not helping, but just like his pettiness, it was apparently part of his very core. Sighing, he continued. “It was… about us.”
“…us?” Kojiro repeated. “I hope it wasn’t actuary tables, or some such.”
“No, no,” Kaoru assured him. “It was… well. You were out for another one of your… dates… before you opened today. I happened to spot you, though I don't think you saw me. And I’m, quite frankly, sick of seeing you with women on your arm, or anyone at all for that matter.”
“I mean, that’s always been—“
“Let me continue,” Kaoru insisted. “In an attempt to reassure myself that I could quit you, or perhaps that you could be someone else, I asked Carla to create scenarios of what our lives might look like if they weren’t like this. More specifically, what my life would look like. Except you were in every one of them. In the majority of them, you were as… open with your love as you are in this reality. But in all of them… we were.”
He could see Kojiro's eyebrows knit together.
“You mean that you went full multiverse theory with Carla, and found out that we’re essentially an unbreakable duo?”
Kaoru made a face. “More or less, yes.”
“Huh,” Kojiro replied before disappearing into the back.
“Huh indeed,” Kaoru replied, raising his voice so that Kojiro could still hear him. “I didn’t exactly ask for this result, you know. In fact, I was shocked by it. But even after double-checking parameters and running over two billion scenarios, apparently even in a world where we are sentient rocks, we would end up crashing up against each other until we manage to create diamonds.”
“Well, I’d hardly want to stop crashing with you,” Kojiro replied, reappearing with a tray in hand, upon which reseted a bottle, two champagne flutes, and a very chocolatey-looking dessert.
“To celebrate your discovery,” Kojiro explained, laying down the dessert with a fork facing each of them, and then uncorking the bottle.
“It was opened earlier today,” he explained. “It’ll be best if finished as soon as possible—I hope you don’t mind me not getting out a fresh one.”
“Not at all,” Kaoru replied. That could be saved for when he was actually paying, after all.
“Well, here’s to us, then,” Kojiro offered, raising his glass in a toast. “Soulmates in every universe, apparently.”
“Apparently,” Kaoru agreed, clinking his glass against his partner’s and then drinking heartily. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought about the concept of soulmates even still, though the mathematical probability of their existence seemed significantly higher than it had felt that morning. But either way, there were worse people to be stuck in through every possible eventuality than Kojiro.
Yes, he’d take Kojiro over many other people. And it was a comfort to know that if Carla's calculations were to be believed, Kojiro would always do the same.