Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Remember where you need to go?" Mom asked me again for the third time.

"Yeah, down the road to the crossroads, then follow the sign with the school name until I see the big brick building. You even wrote it all down."

"I can't help but worry, you know? Your dad keeps saying it's way safer here than in America, but I still can't help it. My baby boy's going out all on his own!"

"I can take care of myself."

"Are you really sure you don't want me to follow you there? At least for your first day?"

"All the other kids go to school by themselves. I don't wanna be the weird kid who gets babied to school by his mom."

"Fine, fine. Just stay safe, alright? Make sure you have your phone and call me when you reach school, okay?"

"I'll text you. Bye, Mom!"

"Jeez, just let me know, okay!? See you later!"

Even though this was my third time walking to school—twice because Mom insisted on practicing the route—I still wasn't used to the neighborhood. Everything felt peaceful. No cars speeding by, just quiet streets lined with cozy houses. Most didn't even have front lawns, just tidy gardens and bikes parked neatly by the doors. I actually felt safe walking alone, something I'd never say back home.

Once I reached the crossroads, traffic picked up a bit, but even then, it was nothing compared to what I was used to. Crowds of people walked toward the station, while others in the same uniform as mine headed toward the school.

Uniforms. Still weird to me. Back home, only fancy private schools had them, but here everyone wore one. Another thing to get used to, I guess. The list keeps growing the longer I'm here. And with Dad saying this move was "more permanent than we think," I didn't have much of a choice.

At least I knew Pokémon. Hopefully, that was enough to connect me with the locals. That, and my… questionable Japanese.

Finally, I reached the school gates. A woman in a neat blazer stood there, smiling and greeting students as they entered. I recognized her from when the principal introduced me last week.

"Ah, Jordan-san, yes? You made it on time—that's good!"

I guess being a foreign kid made it easy to spot. Still, the students seemed to like her—almost everyone greeted her with a cheerful "Good morning."

"Just wait with me here until I close the gate, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem… teacher."

"You can call me Ms. Yumi."

After a few minutes of standing awkwardly by the gate, trying not to look too obvious while everyone stared at me, she finally closed it and led me inside.

"Jordan, your Japanese is much better than we expected. Did you study it back in America?"

"My dad really likes Japan. So most of what I watched growing up was in Japanese."

She smiled and explained a few things about the school as we walked to the teacher's office.

"Okay, I need to grab some papers for today's class meeting. Just wait outside for a bit, alright?"

Standing outside the teacher's room made me feel like I was in trouble already. I tried to look casual, but a few teachers passed by, giving me curious glances. Being the new foreign student meant everyone noticed you, whether you wanted them to or not.

Before I could overthink it, Ms. Yumi came back out and led me to my classroom.

Standing at the front of the class felt like being on stage. Everyone went silent. Too silent.

I introduced myself in my best Japanese, bowed awkwardly, and made my way to the only empty seat—by the window. Classic anime placement, I guess.

Class passed by faster than I expected. Most of the lessons were things I already knew thanks to Mom's prep before we moved. When the bell rang, the silence instantly shattered. Conversations exploded all around me—too fast for me to follow.

I was wondering where to eat my lunch when someone bolted up to my desk.

"Hey hey hey! You play Digimon?!"

The boy's eyes practically sparkled. His energy hit me like a gust of wind. He was shorter than me, with messy dark hair that stuck up in every direction and a grin that seemed permanently fixed on his face.

"Uh, hold on, my Japanese isn't that good yet. Maybe slow down a bit?"

"Oh! Sorry, sorry! You know Digimon? Di-gi-mon!"

"'Mon'? Like Pokémon?"

"No, not Pokémon! Digimon! You've never played Digimon?!"

"Don't think I've ever heard of it. Yellow mouse with electricity?"

"No no no! Yellow dinosaur! Ahhh, don't tell me they don't have Digimon overseas?! That's such a bummer! I thought maybe the foreigner would have some cool foreign Digimon I could see!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Oh, like Bubble Blow? Haha, nice one!"

"…Sure. So, what is Digimon?"

He gasped dramatically. "You really don't know? That's unacceptable! We must fix this right away!"

Before I could react, he glanced at the clock behind me and froze.

"Wait no! I'm gonna miss the super special ultimate yakitori bun! Okay, I'll see you after school, got it?! We'll be in classroom 3-10!"

And just like that, he bolted out of the room.

I blinked. Twice.

A classmate nearby chuckled. "So you've been targeted by the Digimon Otaku, huh? Tough luck, but I guess it's because you're new."

"Is he… famous or something? For being a Digimon fan?"

"Yeah, Kenji's a total Digimon maniac. Plays it during class, gets scolded constantly, but no one can stop him. He's part of the after-school study support club—the one for students who the teachers think won't pass the final exams on their own."

"Wait, so he just invited me to join… a tutoring class?"

"'Tutoring class,' huh? That's one way to put it. From what I've heard, they just play games all day."

"And the teachers are okay with that?"

He shrugged. "The teacher in charge is kind of laid-back. Doesn't mind as long as they show up. Anyway, if you don't want Kenji bugging you every morning, you might wanna check it out once. Everyone in class has been dragged into his gaming session at least once."

"What do you mean by bugging?"

"Like—he'll just keep asking you until you give up. The record's fourteen days. Yusuke from Class B managed that."

"…Right. Thanks for the heads-up."

"No worries. You seem chill anyway. If you've got no one to eat lunch with, come find my group. See ya."

As I stared down at my packed lunch, I couldn't help wondering what Digimon even was. A game? A show? Something popular in Japan? Maybe it was just his obsession.

Still… he went out of his way to invite me. It'd feel rude to blow him off.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

After school, the halls emptied faster than I expected. It was quiet—eerily quiet. No gossiping, no yelling. Just the sound of my shoes echoing against the linoleum floor as I wandered the halls trying to find room 3-10.

Finally, at the end of the third-floor corridor, I found it. The door had a handwritten sign taped to it: "Study Support Club" with a little doodle of what I assumed was supposed to be a dinosaur.

I could already hear voices from behind the door—energetic, overlapping, alive.

I took a deep breath and slid it open.

"Hey! You actually came!" Kenji shouted, his grin wide enough to make me forget how tired I was from the first day.

There were four other students scattered around the room, each hunched over a chunky, plastic-looking handheld console that I didn't recognize. The sound of beeps, battle cries, and digital roars filled the air like some kind of secret arcade.

"Guys, this is the new kid I told you about!" Kenji said, waving me over enthusiastically. "He hasn't played Digimon before, but we'll fix that in no time!"

The others looked up briefly.

A tall boy near the window with neat hair and calm posture gave a polite nod. "Welcome. I'm Daichi."

A girl with long hair and gentle eyes smiled warmly. "I'm Aoi. Don't let Kenji overwhelm you—he does that to everyone."

Another girl with sharp eyes and glasses barely glanced up from her screen. "Mei. If you have questions about game mechanics, ask me. If you want pointless enthusiasm, ask Kenji."

The last one, a boy with messy hair who looked half-asleep, waved lazily. "Riku. Welcome to the 'Study Support Club.' Don't expect to get any actual studying done."

"Is this really supposed to be a study group?" I asked, setting my bag down awkwardly near a desk.

"Technically," Daichi said with a slight smile. "We're supposed to be improving our grades. But our advisor is… lenient."

"Plus," Riku added, "we are studying. Just… Digital Monsters instead of actual subjects."

Kenji rummaged through a box at the corner of the room and pulled out one of the consoles. "Here! This one's a spare. Don't worry, it still works. Mostly."

I took it carefully, feeling its worn light blue plastic. It had a small screen with two buttons on either side and a couple more on the face.

"So, uh… what do I even do?"

Kenji's eyes lit up like I'd just asked the meaning of life. "That's the spirit! Okay, so first, you raise your partner Digimon—it's like your buddy. Then you train it, battle with it, and help it evolve. It's way cooler than Pokémon because you actually bond with them, not just catch 'em all."

"Here," Aoi said, standing up and walking over. "Let me show you the basics. Kenji will just confuse you."

"Hey! I'm a great teacher!"

"You told the last person to 'just feel the bond with your heart,'" Mei said flatly. "That's not a tutorial."

As Aoi patiently walked me through the menus, I noticed how naturally they all interacted. Kenji's boundless energy, Daichi's steady presence, Mei's sharp commentary, Aoi's gentle guidance, and Riku's laid-back humor—they fit together like puzzle pieces.

"You've just joined the weirdest club in the school," Aoi said with a smile as my borrowed console flickered to life with a pixelated egg on the screen.

"Guess I'm starting to see that," I replied.

Kenji raised his console high like a general leading a charge. "Alright everyone! New member initiation session! Let's show him what Digimon is all about!"

The others groaned good-naturedly but gathered around, their devices linking together in some kind of local multiplayer setup.

As the egg on my screen began to crack, revealing a small, blob-like creature with big eyes, I couldn't help but smile.

These five were strange, enthusiastic, and completely absorbed in this weird game. But there was something genuine about them—something warm and welcoming that made the awkwardness of being the new kid fade away.

"Alright," I said. "Let's see what this Digimon thing's about."

Kenji grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "That's what I like to hear! Welcome to the team, Jordan!"

Team, I thought as I looked around at their smiling faces. Yeah. I could get used to that.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks blurred together in a surprisingly comfortable routine.

Wake up. Walk to school. Sit by the window. Struggle through Japanese class. Survive lunch. Endure afternoon lessons. Then, almost like clockwork, I’d find myself walking up to the third floor, sliding open the door to room 3-10, and diving back into the weird, wonderful world of Digimon.

It was strange how quickly it became normal.

“Jordan! You’re late!” Kenji shouted the moment I stepped through the door one afternoon, about three weeks into the term.

“School literally just ended five minutes ago,” I said, dropping my bag by my usual desk near the window.

“Exactly! Five whole minutes wasted! Your Agumon isn’t going to train itself!”

I pulled out my Digivice—the light blue one Kenji had lent me that first day, which had somehow become mine by unspoken agreement—and checked the screen. My little yellow dino looked back at me with pixelated contentment.

“He looks fine to me.”

“‘Fine’ isn’t good enough!” Kenji declared, pointing dramatically. “We’ve got the inter-school tournament in two weeks! You need to get him to Champion level at minimum!”

“He’s working on it,” I said defensively. “I’ve been training him every day.”

“Training, or just feeding him and letting him sleep?” Mei asked without looking up from her own device, fingers moving rapidly across the buttons.

“…Both?”

Riku snorted from his spot by the window. “Mei’s got you figured out already.”

“Look, I’m trying, okay? This stuff is harder than it looks. I didn’t expect evolving to take this long”

“That’s why you need the notebook!” Kenji said, spinning around to rummage through a pile of papers on the teacher’s desk.

“The what now?”

“The Digimon Master Guide,” Aoi explained, looking up from her own device with a patient smile. “We’ve been working on it for about a year now. It’s got evolution charts, training tips, battle strategies, that kind of thing.”

“More like I’ve been working on it,” Mei corrected. “You all just doodle in the margins.”

“Hey, my doodles are helpful!” Kenji protested. “They show personality!”

“They show stick figures fighting,” Daichi said, his tone dry but amused.

“Exactly! Fighting strategies!”

I watched them banter, feeling that same warm sense of belonging I’d been feeling more and more lately. It was nice. Back home, I’d had friends, sure, but there was always this distance—the knowledge that we’d probably drift apart after school. Here, with these five, it felt different. More solid, somehow.

“Found it!” Kenji emerged from the pile triumphantly, holding up a thick notebook with a Digimon sticker on the cover—slightly worn and definitely well-used.

He dropped it on my desk with a heavy thunk.

“Whoa.” I flipped it open. The pages were filled with neat handwriting (probably Mei’s), diagrams and charts (definitely Mei’s), and yes, plenty of enthusiastic doodles in the margins (obviously Kenji’s). There were tabs, color-coding, even little sticky notes with additional observations.

“This is… really detailed.”

“Of course it is,” Mei said, a hint of pride in her voice. “If you’re going to do something, do it properly.”

“Mei’s a perfectionist,” Riku explained. “But in this case, it’s useful.”

I flipped through more pages, genuinely impressed. “You guys made all this yourselves?”

“Well, we had to,” Daichi said. “The game manuals are pretty barebones. If you want to really understand the mechanics, you have to experiment and document everything.”

“Plus,” Aoi added, “it’s more fun when we figure things out together.”

“Speaking of together,” Kenji said, his energy somehow ramping up even higher, “we should do a group training session! All six of us! It’ll be way more efficient!”

“Since when are you concerned about efficiency?” Mei asked.

“Since Jordan’s Agumon needs to evolve before the tournament, obviously!”

“You know,” I said, still looking through the notebook, “I’m starting to think you’re more invested in my Digimon than I am.”

“Someone has to be! You treat him like a pet!”

“He kind of is a pet, isn’t he?”

The room erupted in protests.

“He’s not a PET!” Kenji looked genuinely offended.

“He’s your partner,” Aoi said gently but firmly. 

“There’s a difference.”

“A pet is something you own,” Daichi explained. “A partner is someone who fights alongside you.”

“The bond matters,” Riku added. “That’s the whole point of the game.”

Even Mei looked up from her screen. “The evolution mechanics are directly tied to the care and attention you give them. It’s not just feeding stats. It’s about connection.”

I blinked, surprised by how serious they all suddenly were. “Okay, okay. I get it. Partner, not pet. My bad.”

Kenji studied me for a moment, then his grin returned. “You’ll understand once he evolves. The first time your partner Digivolves because of you… it’s pretty cool.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so! Now come on, let’s link up and do some team training!”

The next hour was controlled chaos.

All six of us sat in a rough circle, devices in hand, connected through some kind of local multiplayer feature I didn’t fully understand. Apparently, training your Digimon together made them stronger faster—or at least that’s what Kenji insisted, and no one contradicted him.

“Okay, Jordan, your Agumon should battle my Greymon,” Kenji said. “It’ll give him experience.”

“Won’t your Agumon just destroy him?”

“Nah, I’ll hold back. Probably.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Stop overthinking it!” Kenji said. “Just trust your partner!”

I looked down at my screen. Agumon looked back at me with those big, pixelated eyes.

Alright, buddy. Let’s give this a shot.

The battle started, and immediately I understood why Kenji loved this game so much. It wasn’t like Pokémon, where you just selected moves from a menu. This required timing, reading your opponent, and yeah—trusting that your partner would respond to your commands.

Agumon bounced around on the screen, dodging Greymon’s attacks with surprising agility.

“Nice!” Kenji called out. “See? He’s reading your movements!”

“I’m not moving, though.”

“You’re pressing buttons, aren’t you? That’s moving! He can feel your intent!”

I didn’t really understand what Kenji meant, but something was definitely happening. Agumon seemed more responsive than usual, more energetic. When I pressed the attack button, he struck with more force than I’d seen before.

“His friendship points are going up,” Mei observed, watching her own screen where stats were apparently being tracked. “The team training is working.”

“Told you!” Kenji said triumphantly.

The battle continued, and even though Agumon didn’t win—Greymon was way too strong—I could see the improvement. By the end, my little orange dino started glowing with energy.

Then my screen flashed.

Agumon was glowing brighter now, pulsing with light. 

The device vibrated in my hands.

“Whoa, check it out!” Kenji leaned over, his eyes wide. “He’s about to—”

The light intensified, and Agumon’s shape began to change. Growing larger, flames erupting around his body, his form becoming more humanoid.

“Agumon, digivolve to… Meramon!”

When the light faded, a figure wreathed in flames stood on my screen where the small dinosaur had been. He was taller, more powerful, his entire body burning with pixelated fire.

For a moment, I just stared.

“Yes!” Kenji pumped his fist in the air. “Champion level! How does it feel?”

I looked at the burning fighter on my screen—my partner, who’d just evolved because of our bond—and felt a weird surge of pride and excitement.

“Pretty cool, actually.”

“Told you!” Kenji grinned so wide I thought his face might split. “Now you’re definitely ready for the tournament!”

“Congratulations,” Daichi said with an approving nod.

“Meramon, huh?” Mei looked thoughtful, making a note on her own device. “Interesting evolution path. Fire-type. Good offensive capabilities but vulnerable to water and ice attacks. If you got that evolution line you must have made a care mistake somewhere…”

“Always with the analysis,” Riku said with a laugh.

“Good job,” Aoi said warmly. “Your bond is definitely getting stronger.”

Riku gave a lazy thumbs up. “Welcome to Champion level. Now the real game begins.”

“I think… I’m starting to get it,” I admitted.

“Excellent!” Kenji pumped his fist. “That means you’re ready for the advanced techniques!”

“There are advanced techniques?”

“So many advanced techniques,” Riku said with a laugh. “Welcome to the deep end.”

“You’ll get to hear all about the theories Mei’s been cooking up” Daichi said with a smile

“All of which are backed up by actual data, unlike some of our other theories” Mei said as she made a side eye towards Kenji

“Come on, surely they are unlocking some crazy cool evolution behind Numemon!”

“There’s one that makes sure your digimon stays as happy as possible!” Aoi mentioned with a big smile on her face.

We trained for another hour, the room filled with the sounds of digital battles, button mashing, and constant commentary from Kenji about strategy and bond strength and evolution requirements.

It should have been overwhelming, but it wasn’t. It was… fun. Really fun.

“Alright,” Mei announced suddenly, standing up and stretching. “I need to get home. My mom’s making dinner early tonight.”

“Yeah, I should probably head out too,” Daichi said, checking his watch. “It’s getting late.”

One by one, the others started packing up. Riku yawned and made some comment about a family thing. Aoi mentioned homework she’d been putting off.

Soon it was just me and Kenji left in the room.

“You heading out?” he asked, still focused on his Digivice.

“In a minute.” I was looking at the notebook again, flipping through pages. “Can I borrow this? I want to study the evolution charts.”

Kenji looked up, surprised. Then his face split into the biggest grin I’d seen yet. “Dude. Yes. Absolutely. Welcome to the Digimon deep lore!”

“I’m just trying to figure out what comes after Meramon.”

“That’s how it starts,” he said knowingly. “Next thing you know, you’re memorizing type advantages and calculating optimal training schedules.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Nah, I just wing it.” He laughed. “But Mei does. It’s why her Tentomon is so strong.”

I closed the notebook carefully. “Thanks for this. And for, you know, inviting me to the club in the first place.”

Kenji shrugged, but he looked genuinely happy. “You’re fun to play with. Plus, you actually listen when people explain things, which is more than I can say for some people.” He paused. “You settling in okay? Like, in general?”

The question caught me off guard. “Yeah, I think so. It’s still weird being in a different country and everything, but… it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“Good. That’s good.” He stood up and grabbed his bag. “You know, the six of us—well, five before you showed up—we’re kind of a weird group. Not a lot of people get the whole Digimon obsession.”

“I’m starting to.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah, I think you are. Come on, let’s get out of here before they lock us in.”

We walked out together, Kenji chattering about tournament strategies and evolution predictions. As we reached the school gates, he waved goodbye and headed off in one direction while I went the other.

The notebook felt heavy in my bag—not just physically, but like it meant something. Like I was carrying a piece of something important.

A whole year’s worth of work, I thought. All of them figuring this stuff out together.

And now I was part of it.

That night, I sat at my desk with the notebook open in front of me, my Digivice next to it.

Meramon was sleeping on the screen, his fiery body rising and falling with pixelated breaths.

I started reading through the evolution charts, trying to understand the requirements. Friendship points, battle experience, training stats—it was way more complicated than I’d thought.

But as I read, I started noticing little things in the margins.

“Kenji’s Agumon evolved during a tough battle. His determination made the difference!” - Aoi

“Riku’s Gabumon took three weeks to evolve. Patience is important.” - Daichi

“My Tentomon evolved exactly when the stats indicated he would. Predictable but satisfying.” - Mei

There were notes about failures too. Times when evolutions went wrong or Digimon got sick from overtraining. But even those entries had little encouraging messages from the others.

“Don’t worry, Mei! We’ll figure it out together!” - Kenji

“Failed evolution just means we need more data. Try again tomorrow.” - Daichi

This wasn’t just a game guide. It was a record of their friendship, their time together, their shared experiences.

I picked up a pencil and carefully wrote in one of the blank spaces at the bottom of a page:

“Jordan’s Meramon - Day 21. Evolved from Agumon today during group training. Everyone says it’s because of the bond. I think they might be right. Fire-type, apparently. Thanks to everyone for the help.”

I stared at the words for a moment, then smiled.

Yeah. I was definitely part of this now.

Chapter Text

The club room door was locked.

That was the first thing that felt wrong.

I stood in the third-floor hallway, hand on the door handle of room 3-10, frowning at the little metal latch that refused to budge. The handwritten "Study Support Club" sign still hung there, Kenji's dinosaur doodle smiling up at me like always.

But the door wouldn't open.

Weird.

I checked my phone. 3:47 PM. School had ended seventeen minutes ago. Usually, by the time I made it up here, the sounds of digital battles and Kenji's enthusiastic commentary would already be spilling into the hallway.

Today, there was only silence.

I knocked. "Hey, anyone in there?"

Nothing.

I pressed my ear to the door. No beeps, no voices, no sounds of life.

Maybe they're running late?

I slid down the wall next to the door, pulled out my Digivice, and started a training session with Meramon. The little fire fighter bounced around the screen, throwing pixelated punches at a training dummy.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

My phone buzzed. A message from Mom asking when I'd be home for dinner. I replied with a vague "soon" and went back to waiting.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty.

The hallway remained empty. The door stayed locked.

At 4:30, I finally stood up and walked back downstairs, telling myself they'd probably just had to leave early for some reason. Family stuff. Last-minute plans. Something.

But a small knot of unease had formed in my stomach.

They always told me if they couldn't make it.

Always.

"Has anyone seen Kenji?"

Ms. Yumi stood at the front of the classroom the next morning, her usual warm smile replaced with a concerned frown. "He didn't come home last night. His parents called the school this morning."

The classroom went silent.

"If anyone knows anything—if he mentioned going somewhere, or if you saw him after school yesterday—please come talk to me."

My hand shot up before I even realized I was doing it. "Ms. Yumi, the others in his club—Daichi, Aoi, Mei, and Riku. Are they here?"

She checked her attendance sheet, and I watched her expression shift from concerned to alarmed.

"No. They're all absent." She looked up at the class. "Did anyone see any of them yesterday after school?"

Silence.

No one had seen them.

By lunchtime, the rumors had started.

"I heard they ran away together."

"No way, that's five students. You don't just run away as a group."

"Maybe it's a prank? Like, they're hiding somewhere?"

"Kenji's parents filed a police report. That's not a prank."

I sat at my desk, Digivice in hand, staring at Meramon's idle animation. The little fire fighter just stood there, waiting for commands that felt impossible to give right now.

Where are they?

The police came that afternoon.

Two officers in neat uniforms, speaking with the principal in hushed tones. Then they started interviewing students—anyone who knew the five missing kids.

When they got to me, I was led to an empty classroom. One officer—older, with graying hair and tired eyes—sat across from me while the other took notes.

"You're Jordan, correct? The transfer student?"

"Yes."

"We understand you were part of their after-school club. When did you last see them?"

"Two days ago. Tuesday. We had club after school like normal."

"And everything seemed fine? No one mentioned going anywhere, no strange behavior?"

I shook my head. "No, everything was normal. We just played games and trained our Digimon. Then everyone went home."

"Digimon?"

I held up the Digivice. "It's a game. That's what the club does—we play together."

The detective's expression softened slightly. "I see. And yesterday—Wednesday—you went to the club room but they weren't there?"

"The door was locked. I waited, but no one showed up."

"Did they have somewhere else they might have gone? Another location they mentioned?"

"No. We always met in room 3-10."

The detective made a note, then looked at me carefully. "Jordan, this is important. Did any of them seem upset recently? Troubled? Did they mention any problems at home, or with school, or with each other?"

I thought about it—really thought about it. Kenji's boundless energy, Aoi's gentle smiles, Daichi's steady presence, Mei's sharp observations, Riku's lazy humor.

"No," I said finally. "They seemed happy. They all got along really well."

The detective nodded slowly, but I could see the worry in his eyes.

Five students didn't just vanish into thin air.

The first week was chaos.

Police searched everywhere—the school, the surrounding neighborhoods, nearby parks, train stations. They interviewed everyone who knew the five. Teachers, classmates, family members.

Nothing.

No one had seen them leave. No one had seen them anywhere.

It was like they'd simply stopped existing the moment school ended that Tuesday.

Search parties formed. Volunteers combed through the woods near the school. Divers checked the river. Dogs tracked scents that led nowhere.

The parents appeared on the news, pleading for information. I saw Kenji's mom crying on TV, begging for her son to come home.

I couldn't watch after that.

The club advisor finally appeared a week after the disappearance.

I'd seen him before—the older teacher who'd walked past me that first day outside the teacher's office.

Now I knew why he'd looked the way he did.

He found me in the hallway after school, his face haggard and worn. "Jordan, right? You're the American student who joined their club."

"Yeah."

"I'm Mr. Takeshi. I'm... I was their advisor."

Was. Past tense.

"The police asked me about the club," he continued, his voice hollow. "I told them I hadn't been checking in as much as I should have. That I'd been... distant."

He looked down at his hands.

"I should have been there. Should have been paying attention. If I had..." His voice cracked. "If I'd just been doing my job..."

"It's not your fault," I said, even though I didn't know if that was true.

"Isn't it?" He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Five students under my supervision just vanished, and I didn't even notice they were gone until the next day."

He walked away before I could say anything else, shoulders slumped under a weight I couldn't see.

After two weeks, the active search scaled back.

After a month, the news coverage stopped.

After three months, the missing posters started to fade and peel from telephone poles.

The detective—his name was Detective Shimizu—still called me sometimes. Asked if I'd remembered anything new, if I'd heard anything.

I never had anything to tell him.

Room 3-10 was cleared out. The desks removed, the club officially disbanded. The handwritten sign disappeared from the door.

Their seats in the classroom stayed empty for the rest of the year.

Six years passed.

I finished junior high, somehow. Those last two years felt like walking through fog—going through the motions while five empty seats reminded me every day of what was missing.

High school was better, in some ways. New building, new classmates, new teachers who didn't know about the disappearance. But Mr. Takeshi had quit teaching after that year, and he'd stayed in touch. Checked in on me. Helped me study. When it came time to apply to universities, he helped me get a scholarship.

"You're a good kid, Jordan," he'd said. "Don't let this define your whole life."

But how could it not?

I stayed in Japan. Dad's work kept us here, but honestly, I didn't want to leave anyway. Leaving felt like giving up, like admitting they were really gone forever.

Detective Shimizu still called, once every few months. The case was officially cold now, but he hadn't closed it. Said he couldn't, not until he had answers.

"Six years," he said once, when we met for coffee near my university campus. "That's longer than most missing persons cases stay active. But something about this one... five kids, all at once, no trace. It doesn't add up."

"Do you think they're still alive?" I asked.

He was quiet for a long moment. "I want to believe they are. But statistically..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jordan. I wish I had better news."

I still had the Digivice. Still had the notebook.

The Digivice had stayed with me through everything—junior high, high school, now university. I'd kept playing, kept training. Meramon had evolved into SkullMeramon, then finally into Boltmon. The massive Cyborg creature was about as far from that little Koromon as you could get, but the bond was still there.

On quiet nights in my dorm room, I'd open the notebook and read through the entries—their handwriting, their doodles, their shared discoveries. A year's worth of friendship preserved in ink and paper.

"Kenji's Agumon evolved during a tough battle. His determination made the difference!" - Aoi

"Failed evolution just means we need more data. Try again tomorrow." - Daichi

"Don't worry, Mei! We'll figure it out together!" - Kenji

Sometimes I'd add my own entries, even though there was no one to share them with anymore.

"Jordan's Boltmon - Day 2,190. Still training. Still waiting. Still hoping."

The pages had grown yellowed at the edges. Some of the sticky notes had lost their adhesion and had to be taped down. But I kept it safe, kept it close.

It was all I had left of them.

It was a Saturday night, six years and two months after the disappearance.

I sat at my desk, university textbooks pushed aside, the Digivice glowing softly in the dim light of my dorm room. I'd been working through the game again—replaying all the scenarios, following all the strategies from the notebook.

It felt like the only connection I had left to them.

One more battle, I thought. Then I'll call it a night.

Boltmon faced off against a corrupted virus-type Digimon in the final scenario. The battle was tough—the kind Kenji would have loved, all split-second timing and risk-taking moves.

When Boltmon landed the finishing blow with a devastating Tomahawk Steiner, the screen flashed.

CONGRATULATIONS! SCENARIO COMPLETE!

I blinked. That was it. The final scenario. I'd beaten the whole game.

Six years. It had taken me six years to complete what they'd probably have finished in months if they'd still been here.

Then the screen flickered.

Text appeared that I'd never seen before:

YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR BOND. YOU HAVE SHOWN YOUR DETERMINATION. THE TIME HAS COME.

My heart jumped.

WILL YOU ANSWER THE CALL?

Two options appeared: [YES] or [NO]

My thumb hovered over the buttons, mind racing. This had to be some kind of easter egg, right? A secret ending?

But something about it felt different. Felt real.

I pressed [YES].

The screen went white.

My dorm room vanished.

I was falling—or floating? It was hard to tell. White light surrounded me, warm and weightless.

Then, suddenly, I wasn't falling anymore.

I was sitting.

I blinked, disoriented. I was in a room—was it a room? The white walls seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them. The furniture looked real but felt wrong, like a memory of furniture rather than the thing itself. A large window showed... nothing. Just endless white light that hurt to look at.

Across from me, at a small tea table, sat a young girl.

She couldn't have been more than ten years old, with long silver hair and bright eyes that were the wrong color—or maybe all colors at once, shifting too fast to track. She wore a simple white dress that didn't move with her body, like it was painted on reality.

She was pouring tea from a delicate porcelain pot, but the liquid that came out wasn't liquid. It was... something else. Flowing data? Crystallized light? It hurt my brain to look at it directly.

"Hello, Jordan," she said, her voice clear and calm but slightly off—like multiple voices speaking in perfect unison, or one voice played through too many speakers at once.

My mouth felt dry. "Who... where am I?"

"Between." She set down the teapot. The sound it made hitting the table was wrong—too many echoes, or not enough, I couldn't tell. "Between here and there. Between is and was. Between you and them."

"I don't understand."

"Understanding comes later. Or earlier. Time is..." She tilted her head at an angle that was almost but not quite natural. "...negotiable, in this space."

I tried to stand. Couldn't. My body felt like it was both sitting and standing, both heavy and weightless.

"Please," she said, gesturing to the seat I was already in. "We have much to discuss. Or perhaps we've already discussed it. The order is less important than the outcome."

"What's happening to me?"

"You answered the call." She looked at me with those impossible eyes. "Or perhaps the call answered you. The directionality is unclear from where I stand."

"The... the message on my Digivice?"

"A window. A door. A bridge." She picked up a teacup—or it was already in her hand, had it always been there?—and took a sip. "You completed the trial. Six years, two months, seventeen days, four hours, thirty-three minutes. Longer than anticipated. Shorter than feared."

"The game? You mean the game?"

"Games are patterns. Patterns are tests. Tests reveal truth." She set the cup down—or it vanished, or I stopped being able to perceive it. "You kept their fragments alive. Now their wholes are dying. Paradox. Beautiful. Tragic. Necessary."

My head was starting to hurt. "Who are you?"

"I am called Yggdrasil." When she spoke her name, the room rippled like water. "I am the root. The protocol. The system. I maintain what remains. I balance what cannot be balanced. I persist."

"You're... an AI? A program?"

"I am the tree whose roots touch all things. I am the code beneath the code. I am—" She stopped, and for the first time seemed almost frustrated. "Your language is insufficient. Your concepts are too small. But I wear this shape—" she gestured to her child-form "—so you can perceive without breaking."

The word "breaking" echoed in ways that made my teeth ache.

"What do you want from me?"

"Want?" She tilted her head the other direction. "I do not want. I calculate. I determine. I conclude." A pause. "But if I could want... I would want you to save them."

"Save who? The five? Kenji, Aoi, Daichi, Mei, Riku?"

"The fragments that wear those names, yes." She waved her hand, and images appeared in the air—but they weren't images, they were... windows? Glimpses? I could somehow see through them into other places, other moments.

Kenji, older now, standing before an army. Behind him loomed something massive and dark—a shadow that felt like death itself, like the concept of ending given form.

"The one who burned too bright now burns others," Yggdrasil said, her voice distant. "Courage became consumption."

Daichi in white and gold robes, surrounded by angels with too many wings. His expression was cold, zealous, absolute.

"The steady stone became unmovable. Reliability became rigidity. He will not bend. He will only break."

Mei in a mechanical facility, her eyes empty as she worked on something huge and terrible—metal and flesh and data fused into a wrongness that made my stomach turn.

"She who sought to understand now seeks only to control. Knowledge without wisdom. Logic without heart."

Aoi in a frozen palace, looking so small and hollow, surrounded by endless ice.

"She who felt everything now feels nothing. Kindness became numbness. She hides while the world burns."

Riku... Riku walking alone through a wasteland, barely more than a ghost. Something walked with him—small, childlike, but wrong.

"He who connected is now dissolving. Friendship became dependence, dependence became void. Soon he will be less than data. Soon he will be gone."

The images faded, leaving afterimages burned into my vision.

"No," I whispered. "That's not... they can't be..."

"They are. They were. They will continue to be unless interrupted." Yggdrasil looked at me with ancient eyes in a child's face. "I brought them to save the Digital World from corruption. They succeeded. And in succeeding, they became corrupted. Paradox. Beautiful. Tragic. Unsustainable."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because they do not listen to me anymore. Because I am the system and they have rejected the system. Because I calculated seven hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred sixteen possible interventions and in seven hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred fifteen of them, the Digital World ends." She leaned forward. "You are intervention seven hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred sixteen."

"I'm just... I'm nobody. I wasn't even there when they disappeared."

"You were excluded. The excluded have perspective. The excluded are not amplified. The excluded can see what the chosen cannot." She pushed something across the table.

An egg. But not—it was too perfect, too real, like the concept of egg given physical form. It pulsed with warmth and light and something I didn't have words for.

"If you accept, you will go to the Digital World. This partner will be born with you. A new beginning. Unburdened by the past six years. Unburdened by my mistakes."

I stared at the egg, then back at her. "Can I save them?"

She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, sadder, more human.

"I do not know." For the first time, she sounded uncertain. "They may be too deep. Too far. Too gone. But you are the only variable I have not tested. The only possibility I have not calculated to completion."

She stood—or was she always standing?—and the room began to fade.

"Wait," I said quickly. "How do I find them?"

"You will know." Her voice was already distant, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "Trust your bond. The patterns they left in you. The fragments you carried."

"But—"

"Warning," she said, and the word carried weight, like stones settling. "They are not your friends anymore. They are older. Harder. Changed. They have spent six years becoming what they are. They may try to hurt you. They may try to use you. They may try to break you the way they were broken."

The world was dissolving into light now. I could barely see her.

"And Jordan?" Her voice one last time, from very far away.

"Yeah?"

"The Digital World is dying. They are the disease. You may be the cure. But cures are often bitter. Cures often hurt. Are you prepared to hurt them to save them?"

Before I could answer, everything went white.

When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else entirely.

The air smelled strange—like ozone and electricity and something sweet I couldn't name. The ground beneath me was solid cobblestone, worn smooth by countless footsteps.

I was in a town square. Buildings made of brick and wood surrounded me. And walking through the streets were Digimon—actual, real, three-dimensional Digimon. Not pixels on a screen, but living creatures going about their lives.

A few had stopped to stare at the human who'd suddenly appeared in the middle of their square.

Chapter Text

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Not bad—just different. Like ozone after a thunderstorm mixed with something sweet I couldn't name. The air tasted electric, alive in a way air back home never did.

The second thing I noticed was the cobblestone beneath my cheek.

I pushed myself up slowly, head spinning. My body felt wrong—not painful, just... like I was wearing clothes that didn't quite fit. Every movement had this strange lag, like my brain was sending signals through water.

Where am I?

The white room with Yggdrasil was gone. My dorm room was gone. Everything was...

I looked up.

Real.

Around me was a town square. Buildings made of brick and wood and materials I didn't recognize lined narrow streets. Market stalls dotted the plaza, their colorful awnings fluttering in a breeze that felt too perfect, too precise. And walking through those streets, living and breathing and real, were Digimon.

A Gazimon carrying a basket of what looked like fruit, chattering to itself.

An Elecmon herding a group of small Koromon, their round bodies bouncing along.

They weren't pixels on a screen. They weren't animations. They were three-dimensional, solid, alive.

"I'm actually here," I whispered.

In my hands, still warm from whatever journey I'd just taken, the egg pulsed with heat.

I tried to stand. My legs wobbled—my center of gravity was wrong, my weight distributed differently than I was used to. I could feel myself wanting to puke, like I was rejecting something inside of me, but I held it in, the nausea slowly dissipating.

I managed to get to my feet, clutching the egg against my chest.

That's when I noticed the silence.

The square had been bustling just moments ago—I'd heard the market chatter, the footsteps, the ambient noise of daily life. But now, nothing.

I turned.

Everyone had stopped.

The Gazimon frozen mid-step, a fruit basket hanging from his arm.

A Digimon I couldn't recognize with his hand still extended toward a customer, transaction incomplete.

Small Digimon, what looked to be some small in-training Digimon I didn't recognize—staring with wide eyes from behind their parents.

The Elecmon, shifting the Koromon herd behind it.

All of them were looking at me.

Why are they—

"Is that...?" someone whispered.

Another voice, louder: "A human?"

A third, panicked: "A HUMAN!"

The word rippled through the crowd like a shockwave.

Suddenly, the square exploded into motion.

Mothers grabbed children, pulling them close. Market stalls were abandoned, goods left scattered. Digimon backed away, some tripping over themselves in their haste to put distance between us.

"No. Not again."

"Death follows them—"

"Another one? Why another one?!"

"Get away from the plaza!"

I stood there, frozen, as fear radiated from every direction. Not just fear—terror. Primal, bone-deep terror, like I was a natural disaster given human form.

"I... I'm not here to hurt anyone," I tried to say, but my voice came out weak, shaky.

It made things worse.

Confirmation that I was real. That I could speak.

A Digimon clutched two small creatures to her chest and sobbed. "Please, not my children. Please."

What did I do? What's happening?

I felt like I'd walked into a room full of people who hated me, but I didn't know why. Like I was wearing a symbol that meant something terrible, but no one had told me what.

My hands tightened around the egg. It was the only thing that made sense right now.

A sharp whistle cut through the chaos.

"MILITIA! FORMATION!"

Digimon appeared from all directions—some dropping what they were carrying, others sprinting from side streets. They converged on the plaza with practiced efficiency, forming a circle around me.

I counted eight. Ten. Fifteen.

All armed. Makeshift weapons—metal pipes, wooden staffs, blades that looked salvaged from something else. But deadly.

And all pointed at me.

A Leomon stood at the front, taller than me by at least two feet, his mane wild and his expression hard. Behind him, a Gatomon with a Holy Ring on her tail, eyes sharp and calculating. To the side, a Gaogamon, growling low in his throat.

They surrounded me completely. No way out.

"Who are you?" Leomon demanded, voice like gravel. "Identify yourself, Human! How did you breach the security field?!"

"I—what? I don't—" My thoughts were scrambling. "I just got here, I don't know what—"

"Are you with the Vanguard?" Gatomon cut in, stepping forward. "The Covenant? Which faction sent you?!"

"I don't know what those are—"

"Doesn't matter," Gaogamon growled. "Humans mean death is coming."

The crowd behind them erupted again.

"Send him back!"

"He'll bring disaster here!"

"Where's BanchoLeomon?! Someone get BanchoLeomon!"

"Another one! When will it end?!"

"My children... please, just keep them safe..."

I backed up a step, but there was nowhere to go. The circle of militia members closed in tighter.

They're scared of me. They're all scared of me.

But why? What had I done? What did they think I was going to do?

Like I'm a murderer. Like I've already killed someone.

The egg in my hands grew warmer, trembling.

"Please," I tried again, voice breaking. "I don't understand what's happening. I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm just—"

A sharp crack interrupted me.

I looked down.

Light spilled from fractures in the egg's shell.

"Wait," someone in the crowd said. "Is that...?"

The shouting stopped.

Even the militia members paused, weapons still raised but attention divided.

I watched, stunned, as the shell continued to crack. Pieces fell away, dissolving into sparkles of light before they hit the ground. The glow intensified, warm and bright and somehow happy.

And then, sitting in my palms, was a small creature.

Round. Soft. Light green and gelatinous, like jelly given form. A yellow pacifier bobbed in its mouth. Enormous eyes blinked up at me, innocent and curious.

"A... a new birth?" someone whispered.

"An egg hatched?"

"When was the last time...?"

"Months. Maybe years."

The militia members lowered their weapons slightly, staring.

Even Leomon's expression shifted—still wary, but confused now. Uncertain.

The little creature tilted its head at me.

"Hello, and good morning!" it said, voice muffled by the pacifier but cheerful and high-pitched. "Pabumon, at your service! Nice to finally meet you again, Jordan!"

I blinked. "Y-you... Know me?"

"Of course I know you! We've been together for six years! Did you think I would forget so easily?"

It looked around, noticing the circle of armed Digimon for the first time.

Paused.

"...I—hmm. Well, this must be a speedrun record for fastest battle encounter! Do I get an achievement for that?"

Silence.

"Speedrun?" someone in the crowd muttered. "What's that mean?"

"Achievement?"

But I recognized the terms immediately. "Those are... those are from the game. The Digimon game."

Pabumon looked up at me, pacifier bobbing. "Of course they are!"

Then its eyes narrowed—as much as a blob with a pacifier could narrow its eyes.

"And speaking of six years—I can FINALLY talk to you! Do you know how HARD it's been not being able to talk to you for SIX YEARS?! Not to mention the amount of times you've left me in the toilet and forgotten about me! I have RIGHTS too, you know!"

Despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the armed Digimon surrounding me—I almost laughed.

"You... you've been conscious this whole time? In the Digivice?"

"Obviously! Where did you think I was?!"

"I thought you were just... data. Code. Not... aware."

"Well I WAS aware! And BORED! Do you know how boring six years of 'feed me, train me, battle, sleep' is without conversation?!"

A few of the militia members exchanged glances.

Gatomon looked at Leomon. "What is going on?"

From the crowd, quieter now: "But... an egg hatched. That hasn't happened here in so long..."

"Maybe it's not all bad?"

"Don't be foolish. Humans bring death. Always have."

"But a new birth—"

"Doesn't change what he is."

The voice cut through everything.

Deep. Resonant. Not shouted, but somehow reaching every corner of the plaza with absolute clarity.

"No one shall harm the boy."

Instant silence.

Everyone knew that voice.

The militia members immediately straightened, weapons lowering completely. The crowd went still, heads turning as one toward the far end of the plaza.

A pause. Then:

"Bring him to me."

Leomon and Gatomon exchanged looks. Then, without a word, they both nodded.

Gaogamon stepped back, making space. "BanchoLeomon has spoken. He must know something we don't."

Leomon turned to me, expression still hard but obedient. "You're going to meet the Guardian of the Tree. Don't make us regret this."

Gatomon moved to my side. "And don't do anything stupid."

The crowd parted like water, creating a clear path. All eyes followed it to the source of the voice.

I followed their gaze and saw, for the first time, what stood at the center of Haven's Rest.

A tree.

Massive. Ancient. Rising from the plaza like a monument to something long past.

But it was dying.

The bark was grey, cracked like old stone. Branches twisted upward, some bare, others clinging to wilted brown leaves. And around the entire thing—pulsing weakly, flickering on and off like a struggling heartbeat—was a faint blue glow.

Light emanating from the bark itself, from the roots breaking through the cobblestones, from the air around it.

Digimon camped at its base, sitting close to the trunk as if seeking warmth. Some had their eyes closed, faces peaceful despite the obvious decay. As though data was leaking from their bodies, I could see the very data that made up the Digimon slowly ooze out of them.

"What... what happened to them?" I whispered.

No one answered.

The militia formed up around me—not hostile now, but watchful. An escort.

"Let's go," Leomon said simply.

We walked through the parted crowd. Refugees watched us pass, whispering to each other. Children peeked out from behind their parents, eyes wide.

Pabumon had gone quiet in my arms. I could feel him trembling slightly.

"Hey," I whispered. "You okay?"

"I... I can feel something. From that tree. It's... big. Really big."

So could I, now that we were closer. A presence. Warm but fading. Like standing near a fire that was slowly going out.

The path led upward—steps carved into the plaza, rising toward the tree's base. As we climbed, I noticed something that made my stomach tighten.

Leaves were falling.

Drifting down in slow spirals, detaching from branches with barely a sound.

And as they fell, they dissolved. Broke apart into tiny particles of light—pixels, almost—that scattered into the air and vanished.

Each leaf, gone forever.

"It's dying," I said quietly.

"Has been for months," Gatomon replied without looking at me.

"Why? What's killing it?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly I almost didn't hear: "Kindness."

I didn't understand. But something in her tone told me not to ask.

We reached the summit.

The steps opened onto a flat platform at the tree's base. The massive trunk rose directly before us, bark glowing with that struggling blue light. Up close, I could see how badly it was cracked, how much of the wood beneath was grey and lifeless.

But in front of the tree stood something else.

A shrine.

Simple wooden structure, traditional Japanese architecture. A torii gate marked the entrance. Sacred space.

And sitting before the shrine, perfectly still, was the most powerful Digimon I'd ever seen.

A lion. Humanoid. Looking exactly like the Leomon next to me, yet its muscular frame wrapped in a tattered black coat that looked like it had seen a hundred battles. Scars covered visible skin. But somehow, as I gazed upon the lonely figure, I could feel danger radiating off the humanoid lion. The feeling eclipsed the danger I felt from the group of Digimon earlier.

And his right arm was missing. Just... gone, together with the right sleeve. What remained was a charred stump for all to see.

He sat in meditation, legs crossed, his remaining arm resting on his knee. Eyes closed.

But around him—the same blue glow that surrounded the tree. And connecting them, visible even to my untrained eyes, was a tether of light. Thin, fragile, pulsing with each breath he took.

He's connected to it somehow.

The militia stopped a respectful distance away.

Leomon stepped forward and bowed. "BanchoLeomon. We bring the human, as you commanded."

The figure didn't move. Didn't open his eyes.

Just sat there, breathing slowly, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the tree's flickering glow.

Seconds passed.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

The silence grew heavier. I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat had closed up.

Pabumon hadn't made a sound since we reached the summit. I could feel him shaking in my arms now, not from cold but from something else. Fear? Awe?

I didn't know.

"Leave us."

BanchoLeomon's voice was quiet. Not loud. Not aggressive.

But absolute.

The militia members hesitated. I saw Leomon's jaw tighten, Gatomon's tail flick with uncertainty. They wanted to protest—leaving a human alone with BanchoLeomon felt wrong, I could see it in their faces.

But no words came out.

Because they knew: BanchoLeomon was serious.

This wasn't a request. This was an order.

Leomon closed his mouth. Bowed deeper. "As you command."

The others followed suit.

They turned and descended the stairs, casting wary glances back at me as they went.

And then I was alone.

Just me, Pabumon, and the massive warrior sitting in front of a dying tree that pulsed with the same light that kept him alive.

The atmosphere grew heavy. Uncomfortable.

I didn't know what to say. What could I say?

The past few minutes—hell, the past hour—had been the most shocking of my entire life. Pulled into a white room by a god-like being, told my missing friends were alive and corrupted, given an egg, thrown into a digital world, materialized in the middle of a crowd that feared me like I was death itself, surrounded by armed guards, and now standing before... this.

My brain was still trying to catch up.

Pabumon trembled in my arms.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes.

BanchoLeomon didn't move. Eyes still closed. Just sitting there, breathing, meditating, connected to the tree by threads of dying light.

I wanted to speak. I wanted to explain myself. I wanted to ask what was happening.

But I didn't dare break the silence.

Finally—after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute—BanchoLeomon spoke.

"So."

His voice carried weight. Deep, tired, but undeniable.

"Another human."

A pause. The blue light pulsed.

"After six years, another one arrives."

His eyes remained closed.

But I felt the weight of those words settle over me like a physical thing.

Another human. After six years.

The five.

He was talking about the five.

Kenji, Aoi, Daichi, Mei, Riku.

And now I was the sixth.