Chapter Text
At the age of fifteen, Futaba Isshiki had decided on five life rules:
- Knowledge is power.
- Never show people the extent of your intelligence.
- You can't trust adults.
- It’s better to ask for help than suffer in silence.
- Everyone deserves help
She knew she was smart. Despite the fact that Futaba was an intelligent girl who had achieved notable academic success, she was sick of people's insistence on treating her like a child. She was not a child— she was almost sixteen.
She had always thought her eidetic memory was a curse. Yet another small thing marking her as a freak, a liar, different. And if middle school had taught her anything, it was that being different was unacceptable. Back when high school was a thing she was actually going to do, Futaba had vowed she’d just lie about it. Pretend that instead of playing video games until the middle of the night or attempting to hack into her mum’s workspace, again, she spent her evenings doing some super-duper studying, yes siree, nothing to see here! She’d be normal, and therefore fine.
(Hopefully.)
Her perfect recall took on an entirely different meaning, however, once her mum was killed, and she remembered every. Single. Detail.
The day started normally. Futaba was dragging her feet when it came to going to school, Kana having moved away several weeks ago. Her mum had then offered to walk her there, and given it would have been the most Futaba had seen of her in weeks, she leapt on the opportunity.
Then, it happened. They stopped at the lights, her mum half a step in front of her. Fabric rustled, black wedged between them. Skin flashed as hands shot out. And then, her mother was falling, falling, falling, a black blur before brakes screeched and there was a sickening, sickening splat.
Throughout the reassurances of the paramedics, the police interviews, and finally the long, quiet nights spent locked away like a dirty secret – a freak – in her grandparents’ guest bedroom, the incident played on repeat in her mind.
The fabric. The push. The splatter.
The more and more she thought about it, the more and more she knew the truth.
As Futaba curled up into a ball, shuddering as tears reduced the dark bedroom to a blur of colours, the awful aching sadness like an anchor dragging her into the depths wasn’t the only emotion she felt, no. Beyond the dark seas laid an inferno, and as her hands gripped the frail summer sheet so tightly the fabric strained, the hacker trembled in fury.
Her mum didn’t die in an accident. She was murdered. Someone stole her from Futaba – ripped the sun away from her world like it was nothing.
She hated them. She wanted them to die. She wanted them to suffer.
That hatred, and the surefire knowledge that her memory never lied to her were the only things that kept Futaba sane when a bunch of men in suits announced at her mum’s funeral that she was the one responsible for Wakaba’s death.
It was lies, all of it, but Futaba’s family didn’t see it that way. While her mum tried to protect her from the worst of it, they never saw a daughter when they looked at her – just a child born out of wedlock, the genius Wakaba’s biggest mistake. After her mum’s death was ruled as suicide due to maternity neurosis, however – the biggest pile of rot Futaba had ever heard in her life – what was once scorn soon turned into hatred.
Futaba was put on probation and was shipped off to Tokyo to live with some police inspector.
The first day she was there, she was so overcome by sensory overload that she even hallucinated some kind of fiery demon thing standing in the middle of the street for a moment.
Even worse, Shujin Academy sucked.
Everyone knew about her mother's death and shunned her as the criminal they thought her to be.
At one point Futaba joked to herself that maybe a fairy godmother or giant with a pink umbrella would show up to whisk her away to a greater destiny, but between that hallucination she’d had, strange dreams involving a creepy long-nosed man, and some creepy piece of Malware that kept downloading itself onto her phone, Futaba thought that maybe it’d be best if whatever supernatural entity that had taken an interest in her just stayed away.
It was gonna be tough, but she could do this. For his entire life up until then, she had been a well-behaved girl who kept her head low and her nose clean. All she really had to do was be herself for a year, and her probation would be over and she wouldn’t go to jail. And yeah, having a record would probably make it harder to get into colleges, but it probably wasn’t the end of the world or anything. Who knows, maybe somebody would even be impressed by her “reform” and it may prove to be in her favor in the long run. And hey, in spite of everything crappy going on, it was a nice and sunny spring day in Tokyo when she arrived. The city itself was pretty cool. Maybe it was a sign that things would get better. Maybe she should see all this as an opportunity.
Why did it have to rain on her first day here?
Seeing no choice if she didn’t want to get soaked, Futaba ducked under a nearby alcove. She wasn’t alone, though. A girl with red hair seemed to have had the same idea. The stranger’s eyes settled on her, and internally, Futaba groaned. Great – she was gonna try to talk to her. Do I look like I wanna chat with you?
“Hello. You’re a Shujin student, right?”
“Uh, yes?” Futaba raised a brow. “I just transferred here.”
“Sorry, sorry. Stupid question, I know.” The red-haired girl rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. “I’m Sumire Yoshizawa, second year.”
Oh, so that’s what this was about. The girl wanted to make some friends, and literally anyone would do. Still, as annoying as it was, it was not like Sumire had done anything to justifiably piss her off, and Futaba was stuck here anyway. She might as well humour the girl. And vice versa.
“So, who’s your homeroom teacher?” Sumire asked, not actually caring about the answer, as the rain finally came to a stop.
“Takemi-sensei.” Futaba frowned, following her towards the school. “I met her and Maruki yesterday. Maruki is a nice guy. Takemi wasn’t happy to have me here.”
“Maruki?” Sumire asked. “Maruki is Shujin’s guidance counsellor. Though, with the way he acts, you’d think he was a mental hospital escapee…”
“If that’s true,” Futaba said. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly going to be a patient of Shujin’s hospital.” She laughed as they rounded the corner.
“Of course.” Sumire said with a smile and small chuckle.
If Futaba didn’t have her phone on silent, she would have heard a “Beginning navigation...”