Chapter Text
Life had always been relatively easy for Karma.
His cunning and strength earned him respect among Tokyo’s gangs, while his academic performance stirred both admiration and envy among his classmates. Although his parents never attended any award ceremonies, they still sent large sums of extra money as a form of “congratulations.”
Because of his ease in handling public matters (even if they exhausted him), Karma decided to pursue a discreet but powerful political position. His teachers praised him and advised him not to worry about university rankings—they were sure he’d be placed in the city due to his excellent grades, while those with academic instability would be sent to some rural prefecture. With that in mind, Karma blindly trusted the life plan he had crafted—without considering the most important variable:
Life is a bitch.
On university assignment day, he was so confident he didn’t even bother checking his email. His phone was left forgotten, barely charged enough to stay alive while he cleared a particular level in Assassin’s Creed. It wasn’t until late at night, when he remembered he should probably eat something, that he finally saw the government notification in his inbox.
The message was formal, a bit long, but the important part was in the attached PDF:
He’d been sent to a prefecture on the island’s outskirts.
Worse still, it was a godforsaken town that probably didn’t even have a stable internet connection.
The news was so sudden that, for a moment, Karma thought he’d fallen asleep mid-game.
“This must be a mistake…” he muttered. He dropped his energy bar and quickly dialed the help center number at the bottom of the email. The phone rang again and again, only to go to voicemail. He repeated this seven times, each with the same robotic response.
Frustrated, he threw his phone onto the couch and glanced at the clock on the wall: 1:40 a.m.
“That makes sense.”
Though his parents had a few connections, he’d rather pull out his own teeth than ask his arrogant mother for help. He never needed them to stand out—his last name meant nothing to him, unlike his mother. It didn’t matter whose son or grandson he was; he alone was more than capable of achieving his goals.
Resigned to not reaching a human operator, he took the next logical step: Google it.
Google’s answers were no more helpful than the phone number. The general conclusion from most articles was: “It depends”—on the school, the prefecture, the major. Nothing useful.
He put down the phone, the computer, even the console, and tried to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, reflecting on his options until sleep finally took over.
The following weeks passed in a blur. Travel arrangements, paperwork, packing, book lists, and researching the poor prefecture he’d be stuck in.
Read. The. Damn. Rulebook. Cover to cover.
His head throbbed from pure stress. The laughter and tears of families at the station echoed and bounced inside his skull. He watched the loving glances between mothers and children and remembered the only call he got from his parents was when he was loading his bags into the taxi.
“We need you to handle some insurance paperwork,” his mother ordered in a disinterested tone.
“I’m leaving the city,” he replied, slamming the trunk shut harder than necessary just so she’d hear it.
“Fine, fine. Send a few vacation photos—your grandmother keeps asking about you. But first, take care of the bank stuff. We’ll send more money if needed.”
Back on the train, Akabane stared out the window. It was a new view, sure, with a beautiful ocean landscape, but his face said he wanted to grab the administrator who sent him here and drown them in their own blood. It wasn’t that he hated this godforsaken town, but he was a city person. Just as some rural folks couldn’t stand the city’s fast pace and polluted air, Karma found the countryside bland and uninspiring.
Around him, people started chatting—mostly excited students. Karma rolled his eyes, put on his headphones, and pretended to sleep. No one bothered him. At some point during his act, he actually fell asleep.
When he woke up, he noticed a small figure walking away with their luggage. The proximity made him assume they’d been sitting next to him, but they must’ve understood the universal “Do Not Disturb” sign and spent the entire three-hour trip without even brushing against him. A chill ran down his spine when he realized he hadn’t noticed their presence at all—not when they arrived, nor when they placed their things. He calmed himself by repeating that he’d just been in a deep sleep this time.
The redhead calmly gathered his things, not caring if he was late. As expected, several buses were provided to take new students to the campus.
The university—both in structure and staff—was utterly unremarkable. He didn’t even bother following the rest of the students on the campus tour, despite the curious glances, and headed straight to the dorms, lacking the energy or will to bother anyone.
***
After what felt like hours of searching through lists, Karma finally found his apartment.
No complaints.
Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a compact living-dining area with a window at the back and a tiny balcony. It was decorated with the bare essentials—plain and lifeless, just like he felt. Clearly, priority had been given to individual rooms, where there was more space and budget.
The redhead grimaced, dropped his suitcases at the entrance, and tossed his backpack onto the kitchen island. His roommate hadn’t arrived yet, so he took the liberty of choosing a room first. He picked the one with fewer cobwebs. He moved his things in and began unpacking. At the back of the closet was a futon, which Karma had no intention of using.
As he hung the last item from his first suitcase, the door slammed open.
In the doorway stood what looked like a half-carved block of stone. Behind it was a long-haired, silver-haired guy with a Borzoi-like face, panting heavily. He looked up and noticed Karma, then smiled.
Karma raised an eyebrow, internally lamenting the weirdo he’d been assigned as a roommate.
“Not marble, but damn it’s heavy,” the guy joked, wiping his forehead with a paint-stained towel, breaking the silence. He walked up and extended his hand. “Sosuke Sugaya. Fine Arts.”
“Akabane Karma. Development Politics,” he replied firmly, without hesitation. Sugaya’s face twitched slightly as he ended the handshake.
“Bad grades?”
“Bad luck,” Karma shrugged. Sugaya headed to the kitchen for water, and with every passing second, the odds of him leaving the sculpture in the entryway increased. Karma rolled up his sleeves, walked to the hallway, and grabbed the base of the sculpture.
“Let’s leave this near the couch. Move it to your room later.”
“Thanks, you just saved me a hernia. Don’t worry about the old-man couch—I brought a comfier one.”
Karma raised an eyebrow. He didn’t care much and helped push the sculpture. The piece wasn’t finished, but the effort put into it was clear. It was like seeing an immature stem, knowing the beauty time would bring.
“This is really well done,” he said, panting as they set it down. Sugaya waved it off, rubbing his fingers from the strain.
“Thanks. This little one’s taken me two months, and I still can’t get past this point.”
“You’ll get there.”
“Hope so, man. Otherwise, I’m gonna shoot myself.” The dog-faced guy seemed to remember something and lightly clapped his hands. “By the way, Akabane, the welcome ceremony got rescheduled—they told us during the tour. It should start soon. You going?”
Karma shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll see how to file a transfer request.”
“In that case, you should go. They usually give info about that kind of stuff at ceremonies—especially in regions like this.” Sugaya found something he didn’t like in the sculpture’s texture and, as if by magic, pulled a chisel from his paint-stained apron. “A friend’s girlfriend filed her transfer so fast her name didn’t even appear on the first school’s list.”
Karma watched, a bit amazed, as the bust became even smoother under the guy’s constant tapping.
“See you later, then.”
Before leaving the room, he noticed Sugaya was still trapped in a trance, obsessing over flaws invisible to anyone else.
***
The gym was smaller than his high school cafeteria.
Around him were several other transfer students, but he didn’t speak to any of them. After all, most were education or health majors. There were only a few groups from the arts and humanities, and just a handful from politics and the exact sciences.
Karma glanced out the door at the landscape of old houses with annoyance, fully intending to turn on his heel and leave—if not for the unfortunate need to wait for the speech, assuming Sugaya had been right about announcements or transfer notices being made then.
The opening ceremony was nothing special (as he expected), at least not for Karma. It was just the music students and the local choir performing a song about spring’s hope and new beginnings—an old, classic tune easily associated with the start of a school year.
Things only got interesting at the beginning of the speech. Predictably, the elderly director appeared alongside a few public officials and a young person about Karma’s age—if not younger—with an androgynous appearance. The closest thing to a quiet, pleasant beauty he’d seen in this town.
Before the speech began, the young man stepped a few paces ahead of the podium but slightly to the left, while the administrators and officials stood behind the director.
“What’s he going to do?” Karma muttered, leaning his weight against the doorframe. His question was quickly answered.
“Good morning to everyone present, and welcome to the university where you will be trained to become…”
With a calm, soothing presence, the young man began to move his hands rapidly and with precision. His fingers shifted positions, as did his wrists; the pattern was familiar to Karma, considering the only voice that had wished him good morning in the past six years was the news channel—where there was always a small box in the corner of the screen.
“So he’s an interpreter.”
“…As a special mention, I’d like to publicly thank Mr. Shiota Nagisa, a new student, for volunteering to translate and teach classes to those who wish to learn how to communicate with people with disabilities, reminding us that the well-being of others is something we all work toward.”
After translating that part, Nagisa smiled and gave a small bow before nodding to the director, who continued with his speech.
The ceremony ended after an hour. Karma’s phone had recorded the parts he cared about, and from what he’d heard, completing a bit of community service was the fastest way to graduate early. He also needed to keep an eye on his core classes and optional training sessions.
With nothing else to do but wait for classes to begin, he returned to his dorm.
Several girls tried to stop him along the way to ask for his number, but he simply quickened his pace to lose them. The downhill path was more relaxing, and he allowed himself to enjoy the scenery—the tiny flowers growing along the edges of the pavement. Nature reclaiming space from man.
Not wanting to waste more time, he stepped onto the grass to take a shortcut to the dorms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small group of people walking together on the pavement. He only recognized the light blue hair swaying gently in the wind. Shiota Nagisa was chatting kindly with a very enthusiastic boy with dark bluish-black hair.
Nagisa looked up beyond his friend, and their eyes met.
Karma’s heart skipped a beat.
Shiota returned his attention to the conversation.
Feeling foolish, Akabane picked up his pace to shorten the walk to the buildings. He crossed the gardens and went straight up to his dorm. Inside, Sugaya was sprawled on a beanbag-style couch in the corner of the living room, next to the window. At some point during his trance, he’d managed to find a drill with no clear purpose, along with a mess of scattered suitcases. The faint scent of cannabis clung to the apartment. At least he’d managed to arrange several oil paintings so they weren’t in the way, and he’d even started sketching a new idea in graphite on one of them.
“How was the ceremony?” the artist asked, disinterested, his full attention focused on feeling the texture of the beads inside the beanbag.
“I only found one thing interesting,” Karma replied, recalling the blue hair and that fleeting moment their eyes met.