VOLUME #2 - EPISODE 1
[NARRATOR: New volumes mean new characters. New characters mean new chaos. And new chaos at Jeremy High means somebody is probably going to end up eating shoes while somebody else wears a chicken mask. It's tradition at this point. Also, Riyura Shiko has a brother now. That is going to go very well. Definitely. No problems whatsoever. But before the chaos, a small apartment in the dark, three hours before dawn. A teenager with silver hair, a white mask, and a speech he has been practicing for eleven days. Pay attention to how he practices. It tells you everything about who he's about to be.]
PROLOGUE: THREE O'CLOCK
A bare apartment in a cold corner of the city. One lamp. One folding table. One chair.
On the table lay a stack of index cards, each covered in small, upright handwriting. A white half-mask sat beside them, face up, catching the lamplight like a second, quieter face. Yakamira stood before the bathroom mirror in his school uniform. Silver hair, pale grey eyes, a jaw set with such discipline it looked carved. He held the top card at heart height.
"My name is Yakamira Shiko," he said to his reflection. The voice was flat and level, a recording of a voice. "I am sixteen. I transferred from a private academy in Tokyo. I have no particular hobbies." He stopped. Looked at his mouth. Started over. "My name is Yakamira Shiko. I am sixteen."
Again. Again. The clock above the sink moved from 3:07 to 3:41. His voice grew flatter with every repetition, each syllable ground down smoother, the way a river grinds a stone. Somewhere around the three-hundredth time, he noticed his own lip had begun to twitch, a tiny involuntary pull at the corner, the beginning of something that might have been a smile or a sob.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek. Hard. Deliberately. He felt the flesh give and the hot copper taste bloom across his tongue, and he held the bite until his eyes watered and the twitch went still. Then he spat a thin red thread into the sink and watched it spiral down the drain. "My name is Yakamira Shiko," he said again. Perfect. Empty. On the folding table, his phone lit.
MOTHER
Remember. Be composed. Be unremarkable. Do not volunteer information. Do not make friends. Report each evening.
He read it. Something small and cold shifted behind his eyes, a flicker of the child who had once been excited to read his mother's messages. He did not know why this one felt like reading a memo. He put the thought where he put everything, in the drawer behind his ribs. He picked up the white mask and tied it on. In the mirror, below the pale eyes.
Nothing was left of a face at all.
[NARRATOR: Remember the bite. Remember the blood going down the drain. A human who punishes his own smile has been taught that smiling is dangerous. Ask who taught him.]
PART ONE: THE NEW SEAT
Morning sunlight slanted through Classroom 1-B's windows with that particular winter quality, cold and bright and thin, like light poured through polished glass. Snow had fallen overnight. Jeremy High looked almost peaceful. Almost. Riyura sat at his desk with his chin on his palm, purple hair catching the light at angles that defied several laws of physics, yellow star hairclip glinting.
His classic very red bow tie so crooked it looked deliberately insulting to geometry.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Okay. So. I have a brother. A brother I didn't know existed until yesterday. A brother who appeared at my locker wearing a mask and looking like he'd rather be anywhere on earth. I handled this by going home, eating three pieces of toast, staring at the ceiling, and then eating a fourth piece. This is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine.]
He was not fine.
The classroom hummed with its usual chaos. Subarashī was explaining his latest "ultimate technique" to anyone within range, which was nobody, because nobody was listening. Miyaka sketched elaborate fantasy scenes in her notebook. Cartoon Headayami reorganized his pencils by millimeter. Shoehead, in the back row, was quietly chewing the heel of a worn-out sneaker and staring into the abyss.
The door slid open. Everyone turned.
Ms. Tanaka, their homeroom teacher, a perpetually exhausted teacher who had given up on controlling this class three years ago, walked in with a clipboard under her arm. Behind her stepped the new student. The room went quiet in a ripple, like a stone dropped into a still pond. He walked in with the energy of someone attending his own funeral. Resigned. Mildly disappointed that death wasn't more interesting. White jumper, immaculate. Grayish-black fade pants that looked like they cost more than the school's heating budget. Silver hair that caught the light like polished steel. And the mask, pure white, covering everything below the bridge of his nose.
Only his eyes were visible. Pale grey. Cold. Moving across the room with a surgeon's precision, cataloguing every desk, every face, every exit. "Class," Ms. Tanaka said, with the enthusiasm of someone reading her own existence like it was a dull world. "This is our new transfer student. Please introduce yourself." He stepped forward. His posture was perfect. Not Headayami's rigid rule-following perfect. Something else, something that suggested years of brutal etiquette lessons.
"My name is Yakamira Shiko." The voice was flat and mechanical, a computer reading a script. And Riyura, who had spent years learning to hear the seam between a performance and the person underneath, heard it immediately. Every word had been worn smooth by repetition. Every pause fell in exactly the same place it had fallen in some earlier, lonelier room.
"I am sixteen. I transferred from a private academy in Tokyo. I have no particular hobbies. My academic performance is above average. I prefer minimal social interaction." The pale eyes found Riyura in the third row and stopped. "I am also Riyura Shiko's half-brother. We share a father. Different mothers. The family situation is complicated.
I will not be answering questions about it." The classroom exploded. "WHAT?!" "RIYURA HAS A BROTHER?!" "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!" "IS HE ALSO INSANE?!"
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: He just dropped that like a bomb and then refused to elaborate. That's a power move. A terrible, horrible power move that's going to make my life infinitely harder. But also... there was a tiny catch before the word "complicated." A hitch, like a drawer snagging on its runner. I don't think he meant to let me hear it.]
Ms. Tanaka sighed. "There's an empty seat next to Riyura. Please sit there. Try not to let his chaos infect you." "I make no promises," Yakamira said, with absolutely zero emotion.
He walked to the desk beside Riyura. Every step precise, as if calculated for maximum efficiency. He sat. He turned his head exactly thirty degrees. "Hello, brother." "...Hi," Riyura said, his usual host energy completely deflated. "So. This is happening." "Indeed." "Cool. Cool cool cool. Very normal." "Your bow tie is crooked." "It's always crooked." "I see. That must be frustrating."
"You get used to it."
Silence stretched between them like taffy pulled too thin. And in the corner of the room, unnoticed by anyone, a figure had paused at the open door with a book cart. A thin old gramps in a cardigan, spectacles low on his nose, an armful of returned novels. The school librarian, Mr. Sōshin. He did not enter. He only watched the silver-haired kid for a long, quiet moment.
With an expression that might have been sorrow, and then wheeled his cart away down the hall.
PART TWO: THE FILE
Principal Jeremy Poleheadedsandwich read the transfer file three times.
He sat behind his oak desk with his thermos conspicuously absent and his immaculate tie perfectly straight, holding a manila folder in both hands. The blinds were half-drawn, slicing winter sun into respectable rectangles. He turned a page. Turned it back. Guardian signature: Shiko Haruka. The handwriting was tidy, crisp, without a single flourish. Odd. He had met Haruka Shiko twice.
Her signature on the emergency forms for Riyura slanted like someone writing during an earthquake.
Date of paternity acknowledgment: 21 days prior. - Reason for transfer: personal.
He frowned. A small, deep line between the brows, the expression of a being who has been in education long enough to recognize paperwork that is too clean. There was a gentle knock. Mr. Sōshin entered with a tray, one cup of tea, no coffee, and set it down without speaking. He stood by the desk, hands folded. "The new student rehearses," the old librarian said.
"Hm?"
"His vibe. His facial expressions. Every action." Mr. Sōshin's voice was dry and soft, like turning pages. "I've taught people for forty years, Principal. A person who rehearses his own name is a student terrified of forgetting it." He paused. "Or of being told he's allowed to say something else." Principal Jeremy looked at the file. At the immaculate signature.
"Keep an eye on him," he said quietly. "I intend to." Mr. Sōshin turned to go. At the door he paused. "Principal. The candle you light under the cherry tree each winter. Three students." Jeremy's hand stilled on the folder. "This new student has the same look," the librarian said, and was gone.
PART THREE: THE CLASSMATES REACT
By lunch, the school had transformed into a feeding frenzy of rumors.
Subarashī materialized beside Yakamira's desk like a summoned demon, eyes blazing. "NEW RIVAL DETECTED!" Yakamira looked up slowly. "I'm sorry, what?" "YOU!" Subarashī's finger stopped three millimeters from his mask. "You have the AURA of a strong warrior! The way you walk! The way you breathe! Only a TRUE WARRIOR sits with such PERFECT POSTURE!"
"I'm sitting at a desk." "EXACTLY!"
"I'M CHALLENGING YOU! ROOFTOP! AFTER SCHOOL!" "I decline." "YOU CAN'T DECLINE! IT'S AGAINST THE RULES OF ANIME COMBAT!" "I am not an anime character." "WE'RE ALL IN AN ANIME! LIFE IS ANIME!" "That is philosophically debatable." Miyaka slid onto Yakamira's other side, leaning on the desk with calculated casualness. "So. Riyura's mysterious brother. Are you also completely insane, or did Riyura get the more chaotic side of the family?"
"I am quite sane, thank you."
"That's exactly what an insane person would say." "It's also what a sane person would say. The response is non-diagnostic." "Ooh. Fancy words. I like him already." She turned. "Can we keep him?" "He seems like a person that does not like to be forced to do things, Miyaka," Riyura said. "Everything's natural for Miyaka ways if you believe hard enough."
Cartoon Headayami appeared with his clipboard, having somehow arrived without anyone seeing him walk. "Your uniform is regulation-compliant. Your mask violates dress code section 3.7, subsection B: No face coverings except for medical or eating purposes." "It's for medical purposes." "What medical condition requires a mask?" "Chronic disappointment in humanity. It's terminal."
Headayami paused. Considered. "That is technically valid. I'll allow it. But I'm watching you."
"I'd expect nothing less from a student council president." "How did you know I was—" "Your posture. Your clipboard. The way everyone maintains a respectful distance. Deductive reasoning." Then came Shoehead. He circled the desk once. Twice. Curiously himself, observing him. "Checking for unusual eating habits." "I eat normal food."
"That's what someone with unusual eating habits would say." "No, it's what someone with normal eating habits would say." "Suspicious." Shoehead pulled a worn sneaker from his bag and took a bite, maintaining eye contact. "Very suspicious." Yakamira's eyes widened by a fraction. The first real emotion anyone had seen from him. "Are you eating a shoe?"
"Yes." "Why?" "Emotional processing." "That is not healthy." "Neither is pretending to be emotionless when you're clearly experiencing confusion." Yakamira's eyes narrowed. "Touché." Riyura noticed something while this unfolded. Yakamira never ate. His lunch sat untouched in its wrapper. He did not lift his mask even once. And twice, when the room erupted in laughter, Riyura saw a small tight movement at the corner of his jaw.
As if he were pressing his tongue hard against the inside of his mouth.
PART FOUR: ROOFTOP RULES
After school, the sun painted the sky in orange and purple, and the entire friend group gathered on the rooftop. Because of course they did. Subarashī stood at one end in a costume that made him look like a fighting-game character. "BEHOLD! I HAVE PREPARED FOR THIS MOMENT MY ENTIRE LIFE!" "You've prepared for meeting Riyura's brother your entire life?" Miyaka asked.
"I'VE PREPARED FOR EVERYTHING MY ENTIRE LIFE!"
Yakamira stood at the other end, hands in his jumper pockets. "I already said I decline." "TOO LATE! ROOFTOP RULES APPLY!" "What are rooftop rules?" "CHAOS!" Riyura stepped between them, pulling out his beloved chicken mask. "If we're doing rooftop challenges, we're doing them RIGHT!" He put it on. Everyone groaned. "I AM ROOFTOP CHICKEN! AND I CHALLENGE YOU BOTH TO A THREE-WAY BATTLE OF ABSURDITY!"
"That is not a real thing," Yakamira said. "IT IS NOW!" Subarashī produced a dragon mask from nowhere. "A THREE-WAY BATTLE?! GENIUS!" All eyes turned to Yakamira. He stood very still in the dying light. "This is absurd." "YES!" everyone shouted. "...Fine." He reached into his bag and pulled out a fox mask. Pure white with red markings around the eyes.
Everyone froze. "You... came prepared?" "I researched this school before transferring," Yakamira said, tying it on over the white half-mask. "The statistical probability of rooftop mask battles was approximately sixty-seven percent."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: He RESEARCHED us. And then PREPARED for our chaos. That's either really smart or really concerning. Or both. Probably both.]
What followed was the most ridiculous three-way battle in Jeremy High history.
Riyura, as Rooftop Chicken, flapped his arms and shrieked. Subarashī, as Rooftop Dragon, struck dramatic poses and made explosion noises with his mouth. And Yakamira, as Rooftop Fox, moved like water. He slid under Subarashī's flying kick without appearing to move at all. He redirected Riyura's "chicken charge" with a single flat palm.
Then he stopped holding back.
His fingertips found a point just below Subarashī's collarbone. Subarashī's whole arm went numb. It dropped to his side like a robots, and he stared at it in genuine astonishment. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY ARM?!" "Pressure point. It will return in ninety seconds." "THAT'S AMAZING! DO IT AGAIN!" Riyura charged. Yakamira turned, an elbow came up almost lazily, and it connected with the bridge of Riyura's nose.
The chicken mask cracked down the middle. Riyura went backward, hit the concrete quite hard, and felt warmth rush over his lips. He touched his face. His fingers came away red. For a moment, the whole rooftop went silent.
The fox mask turned toward him. The pale eyes behind it had gone wide. Something moved through them fast, a flash of pure, skinned alarm, the look of a child who had broken a window. His hand twitched toward Riyura. Stopped.
"I... did not intend..." Riyura sat on the cold roof with blood running down his chin, looking up at the silver-haired stranger standing over him in a fox mask. And he started to laugh. It came out of him thick and wet and helpless. Blood bubbled at his lip. "That," he wheezed, "was the BEST elbow I've ever taken." "You're bleeding." "It's a CHICKEN wound. It's FINE. It's HONORABLE."
Subarashī collapsed on the concrete, clutching his numb arm and bursting with laughter. Miyaka was crying, hand over her mouth. Even Headayami, at the doorway with his clipboard, had a suspicious tremor in his shoulders. And Yakamira stood in the middle of all of it, fox mask askew, staring at his own empty hand. Then he made a sound.
It was small. Strange. A cough, perhaps. Or the beginning of something that had not been used in years. His shoulders flinched once, and the fox mask tilted back, and for the length of a held breath, he was laughing. Actually laughing. Soundless, shocked, helpless. It stopped almost at once. He pressed his fingers to the mask as if to hold it on. But the pale eyes, above the white and red, were wet.
PART FIVE: THE MOMENT SOMETHING SHIFTS
As the sun set completely, they sat in a row on the cold rooftop, breathing hard and shivering a bit in the frost.
Riyura pulled off the cracked chicken mask and pinched his nose, tilting his head back. "So. Brother. What do you think of Jeremy High?" Yakamira was quiet for a long moment. He removed the fox mask, revealing the white one beneath. His eyes moved over the group. These weird, wonderful, impossible people. "It is... unexpected." "Good unexpected or bad unexpected?" Miyaka asked.
"I am not certain yet."
Shoehead, chewing a boot, spoke quietly. "You'll figure it out. This place makes sense eventually. Even when it shouldn't." "That is surprisingly philosophical." "I contain multitudes. And footwear." Yakamira's eyes crinkled, only slightly. "I think," he said softly, "I might enjoy it here." Riyura felt something warm expand in his heart. "Yeah?"
"Yes. Though I maintain that you are all completely insane." "Obviously," everyone said. As they gathered their things to leave, Miyaka fell into step beside Riyura, her voice low. "Your brother's interesting. Calm. Collected. The complete opposite of you." "I know." "People are going to love him for it. The mysterious, competent one next to the chaotic one."
Riyura's smile didn't falter, but something flickered in his star-shaped pupils. "Yeah. Probably." She squeezed his arm. "But you know what? That's okay. Because you're you. And we love you for exactly that."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I'm not jealous. I'm not. I'm happy to have a brother, even if he's cooler than me. Even if everyone's going to compare us. Even if... stop. Stop thinking like that. Be the host. Be the light. That's what you do. But I keep seeing his face when the elbow landed. That wasn't the face of someone who wanted to hurt me. That was an innocent victim who panicked. Why would another student who researched us for a month and prepared a mask be so frightened of accidentally hurting someone?]
PART SIX: THE REPORT
That night, the rooftop was empty. The city spread below like fallen stars. A thin wind tugged at silver hair. Yakamira stood at the railing in the cold, alone, with the white half-mask hanging loose around his neck. He pulled it off. Beneath it, his face looked eerily like Riyura's. The same bone structure, the same sharp line of the jaw, but colder somehow. More controlled than Riyura though.
He took out his phone. He typed slowly, like a person writing a legal deposition.
First day complete. Integration successful. Subjects are... interesting. Will continue observation.
His thumb hovered above the send button. For three long seconds, the child behind his hearts emotions strained toward the screen and said something Yakamira did not allow himself to hear. He sent it. The reply came in under ten seconds.
MOTHER:Good. Maintain distance. Do not become fond of them.
He read it twice. The wind rattled the railing. Somewhere far below, a train sounded its horn in the dark, long and mournful.
Do not become fond.
He had laughed today. For three seconds. He had felt it rise in him like water, bright and terrible, and he had bitten down so hard his mouth bled. And the message on his screen had come at the wrong moments, as if whoever sat behind it could see through walls. He typed I and stopped. Deleted it. He lifted his hand and pressed one fingertip to the frost on the iron railing. Slowly, he wrote four words in the white crust. His writing was small and exact and shook slightly.
Let the game begin.
Behind him, in the dark stairwell, a cart wheel squeaked once, softly, and went still. Yakamira tied the mask back on. He walked toward the door without looking back. By dawn, the words would be a thin line of ice on a cold rail, and nobody who read them would know a single human being had written them with a bleeding mouth and a heart that wanted very badly to be told he could stay.
[NARRATOR: And there it is. The warning sign. The red flag. The first clue that Yakamira Shiko is not just a transfer student or a long-lost brother, but something more complicated. A teenager being handed a script by someone he calls Mother, in a voice that never once sounds like her. Volume #2 has officially begun, folks. And it's going to get complicated.]
TO BE CONTINUED...