9. No Rest For The Weary

“Dentaku Bango. That is your name, yes?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Good, good. I was never great with names, you see.”

Precursory introductions and the like rung especially hollow around the metal bowels of Chiba City Municipal Police Station. Two were seated either side of a stout metal table on uncomfortable metal chairs, almost secluded in one of the cosy witness interrogation chambers. Cosy. A fairly perverse reading of the word. Cosy, with a temperature raised just enough to make your hair start sticking to your face.

Opposite, a lethargic man sat backwards on his chair. In a trench coat and turtleneck, he was as plainclothes a police officer could be. He had the scruffy beginnings of a beard, just a couple days without a razor, and a head of dark hair, thick and wavy, was streaked with the occasional silver. Thick-browed and crooked-nosed, he fit the bill for grizzled cop near-perfectly. Sitting at a slight slouch, he rested folded arms on the chair’s raised back. He scratched at his brow, then ran a hand through his hair.

Bango, by contrast, looked as though he’d had his spine surgically replaced with a telegraph pole.

He had cleaned himself up in the police station bathroom as best he could, but his uniform was still dusty and torn. At least he had managed to wet his hair and restore his parting with his comb. His skin was clean, but that was about it. Ease couldn’t have been any further away, not after what he’d seen.

“You’re likely too shellshocked for words right now,” said the man, “but there’s just a few questions I’d like you to help me with. I hope that’s alright.”

“I’m obligated to help the police in their investigation,” Bango replied. “I have no choice but to answer your questions.”

“Don’t put it like that, kid. You sound like a robot.” The officer grimaced. “You’re at liberty to say as much or as little as you’re able. Oh—by way of introductions, my name’s Ibuse. I’m—”

“—a very well respected and senior police detective to the Chiba City Police Force.” Bango straightened the fabric of his trousers. “I know who you are, sir. I’ve seen you on duty around the city.”

“That so, huh? Then you’ll know why I’m here.”

Bango nodded. He knew why he was here, too.

There were two answers: the first was the official one. Following any traumatic event, eyewitnesses were questioned to gather details of what had happened. Statements had to be given to the press, after all, as well as the extensive documentation required for police records. He had already seen news coverage on the web.

It had been framed as domestic terrorism.

A student had smuggled in explosives and detonated them in the early hours of the afternoon on the second and third floors. Parts of the building were reduced to rubble, not to mention corpses of students and faculty members alike were left in the explosion’s wake.

The second reason, he knew, was to keep him and his fellow students quiet. In any incident where panic sparked among the public, finding and prosecuting the crime’s culprit was only part of the police force’s priority.

Part of the job was in ensuring damage control, making sure classified information of the event, eyewitness statements, were exclusively available to them first and not the general public, so that they could choose to release information in a reasonable manner. Despite their efforts, the event had already achieved notoriety, christened online as the ‘Senketsu Incident’.

His only experience of police interrogation rooms was—like all law-abiding citizens—the dramatized kind seen on television. They sensationalised so much, leaving those gullible enough fit for disappointment when the banality of reality sets in.

Looking around him, this one seemed right out of central casting. A sealed room, harsh lighting overhead, with a large set of mirrors to his right. Most of the surfaces were brushed metal, the floor was concrete.

He had done nothing wrong, and yet, with where he sat and the hushed nature of it all made him feel as though he was the one responsible. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew all his fellow students—the ones who survived—had felt the same.

They hadn’t been allowed to return home that day. After the smoke had cleared, the police had taken them all into protective custody. Isolated witness statements started not long after.

“Bango, can you hear me?”

The detective was speaking to him now. Bango blinked, then nodded.

“I’m sure it’s not easy to be present right now, but we’re short on time.” Ibuse gave him an easy smile.

“Please excuse me.”

“This isn’t an interrogation, just gathering observations.” Ibuse tried to ease him. “You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

“These are interrogation cells, though.”

Ibuse smiled wryly. “That’s true.”

“And we aren’t the only ones present to this conversation, either.” After all, the mirrors to his right were silver-coated lies.

Ibuse capitulated, shrugging. “I take it you like cop shows?”

“I don’t care for them.”

“Just some cheap TV to you, huh?”

Bango pinched the bridge of his nose. “It just isn’t worth my time.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but it doesn’t work like that in reality. Real cop work ain’t nearly as exciting. I know how it looks, believe me, but this is the most secure forum we have. I promise you, this is not an interrogation.”

“I heard you the first time, detective.”

He paused, still with something to say. Ibuse waited.

“Were you there at the time, detective?”

What he had seen, his eyes hadn’t wanted to believe.

“No. Unfortunately not,” Ibuse lied. “That’s why I need your version of events. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“Then, Whenever you’re ready.” Ibuse did his best to keep his smile. “And please don’t worry about formalities. Whatever’s most comfortable for you.”

Bango nodded again. No matter what the man said, there was no way he was going to address an officer of the law by his first name. The boy looked down at the floor for a moment, sighed, and began to explain.

The recount was brisk, cut and dry: an executive summary delivered with no change in either expression or tone at the grizzly contents. Ibuse showed more emotion just listening. Frankly, he would commend the kid’s restraint if he weren’t worried it wasn’t just dissociation and detachment. If that was the case, he hoped to the gods that it was trauma-related, rather than pathological. He had the psych-referral on standby. He didn’t like profiling the kids as mental cases, either, but you knew one when you saw one.

The Ace Detective’s gut was right about only three things: character, seafood and beer.

Besides, it only confirmed what Ibuse himself had seen. Learning that he had gone crazy and had begun hallucinating things would’ve been a much easier truth for the detective to grasp over the reality that what he saw was real and really did happen.

“Some story, huh.” Ibuse reached across the desk and poured water from a jug into a paper cup. Bango received it in silence and took measured sips. The boy had yet to break eye contact.

“I hope that’s sufficient, detective.”

“More than. I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.”

Bango took it. “I presume you’re collating a narrative from our recounts.”

“That’s part of it.” Ibuse rolled one shoulder and let it click. “We’ve also received digital evidence from other witnesses, smartphone video and such. That’ll form part of the case report.”

“Then, surely that’s all you need.”

“Come again?”

“You already have access to recordings. They’re on the internet now, too. What purpose does my experience serve beyond that?”

This gave the officer pause. “Always helps to get more points of view.” Met with some confusion, he elaborated, “Videos and pictures are one thing, but you’ve seen how those can get doctored.”

“Not on such short notice. It’s unlikely.”

“Maybe so, but any information we can get will help our investigation. You’re quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Bango closed his eyes. “I’m just making observations. It vexes me that I’m always the first.”

The detective chuckled. “You think everyone else is clueless?”

A pause. “Would you call me arrogant if I did?”

Ibuse grinned. “Only if I didn’t know you any better.”

Bango nodded. “I’ll tell you what I saw, but it annoys me.”

“What annoys you?”

“That my observations are all I have to offer. I have no explanations, for any of this.”

“A real thinker, huh.” Ibuse chewed on the lid of his pen. “Do you really think it’s up to you to explain every single thing? You think you’re really that important?”

Bango frowned. “I suppose not…”

The detective nodded. “Observations are all I needed from you, kid. Ain’t up to you to figure out how or why. That’s my job. You didn’t ask for any of this to happen, so why should it be your problem to solve?”

“Because I—”

“Because that’s just what you do, right?” Ibuse wore a wry smile. “Listen, I get it. But what you’ve just experienced goes against anything normal.”

Bango nodded.

Ibuse continued, “So, about this friend of yours—”

“—He’s not my friend.”

Pause.

“Right, of course. Sorry for assuming. About your classmate, Harigane. He’s the centrepiece of this incident, then.”

“I can’t imagine that’s news to you by now.”

Ibuse sealed his grin and shook his head. “Unfortunately not. Your testimony matches everyone else’s, bar a few exceptions.”

“Exceptions?”

“We’ll get into those in a bit. For starters, how long have you known him?”

“Far too long.” Bango hesitated. “Eleven years, seven months.”

“Quite the history, too, if you don’t mind me saying.” By now, Ibuse had swivelled his chair back around. Arms folded, he leaned back just a little, lifting the front feet from the stone floor. “That’s a precise number. You must know him quite well, then.”

“No.” Bango had broken eye contact.

“No?”

“… No.”

The silences never grew any easier. Ibuse sighed. “You’ve known him most of your life, but you don’t know him well at all?”

“That’s just how long we’ve been in competition.”

“Competition, in school and such?”

A nod.

Ibuse scratched at his stubbly chin. “Yeah, I thought that sounded familiar. Didn’t the both of you finish top two in the National Mathematics Championship last year? And the year before that—I swear I saw both your names on TV.”

Underneath the desk, Bango’s hands tightened on his knees. “If I’m not mistaken,” he deflected, “Earlier, you admitted you weren’t good with names, detective.”

Ibuse blinked. “Guilty as charged, I suppose. Sharp. Your reputation has substance, I can tell.” He sat forward, interested. “So, what do you think of him?”
“I hate him.”

Not even a second’s pause. Goosebumps erupt along the back of Bango’s neck. Sweet catharsis.

Ibuse’s eyebrow raised. “That’s some strong sentiment.”

“I stand by it.”

“And why is that?”

Bango paused. “Have you ever felt an itch, detective?”

“You mean, on the skin?”

“No, deeper.” Bango stuck his index finger under his jaw, pushing into the crevice. “So much deeper.”

“And, to you, Harigane is that itch?”

A nod. “What do you know of my reputation?”

“That you two are some of the brightest young minds in the country. Wouldn’t be surprised if most people tuned into the news hadn’t at least heard of one of you.”

“Just there, you said it.”

“Said what?”

“You two.”

Ibuse palmed his cheek. “Is that wrong?”

“No, it’s right. It’s exactly right, and that’s the problem. Everyone else sees it that way too. All bar one.”

“Ah.” Ibuse chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m following now.”

“Harigane and I have competed to an extremely high level against some of the best minds Japan has to offer, often coming out on top. Not always, but often. Harigane and I. Us both. I see it that way, and so does everyone else.”

“I get one guess as to the exception, don’t I?”

“Harigane—” Bango’s jaw clenched— “He just doesn’t see it that way, or—”

“Or…?”

A longer silence this time.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how he thinks?”

“I never have.”

“He doesn’t consider you an equal?”

Bango’s gaze dropped to the table. “I don’t think he considers me at all.”

“At all?”

“Harigane never acknowledges me, what I can do. He doesn’t look my way unless I’m standing in front of him. Even then, he doesn’t look at me, but through. He did once, but—”

Bango’s stare was now drilling a hole in the metal tabletop.

Ibuse was very glad the boy had broken eye contact.

“You see him as a rival, then.”

“Rivalries only work in tandem.”

Ibuse nodded. “And that ‘itch’ you mentioned?”

Bango clenched his hands together under the table, a muscle in his throat twitching. “It never stops.”

“That sounds tough.”

“He’s so focused on himself, on what he’s doing,” Bango continued. “No matter what I do, I can never get him to acknowledge it.” At this, he sighed. “He has always brushed me off, ever since…”

Ibuse waited for that sentence to be finished, only for it to weave a rope from wasted seconds, tie a noose and hang itself from the ceiling. “I see.”

As much as he wanted to inquire further, he knew it wasn’t his place. He was a detective, not a psychologist. Then again, he didn’t need a license to make simple observations. Even so, he might as well make a referral.

He had dealt with a few in his time, but it was always something to come across such a blatant complex. Working with young folk was so humbling, always. So many ways of seeing the world, so different from his own. It was one of the greatest traps, ever present in his field. Ibuse considered himself grateful he noticed at all. Many never did. Then again, he had been trained. She did always have a keener eye than most.

“I’ve heard a lot about Harigane’s reputation from your classmates, but did you notice any strange behaviour of his yesterday?” He asked. “And today, before the incident. He was behaving normal, was he?”

“Harigane isn’t normal—”

Yeah, neither are you, kid. Go figure.

“—but nothing was out of the ordinary. Not yesterday, not this morning. He was irritating and dismissive as always.”

This was good. The boy’s tongue had loosened. Initial impressions suggested he’d be a tough nut to crack. Then again, most people cooperated if you gave them a decent chance.

“Not to start with?”

“He kept on looking in his bag,” Bango said. “I saw him do it repeatedly in class after lunch, just before those things attacked.” He suppressed a shudder. He hadn’t found it strange at the time, but all these kinds of small details resurfaced after the fact with new context.

“His schoolbag? That must be where he kept the knife, then.”

“I’m certain.”

Ibuse had been interested to hear about that knife. It sounded like a museum relic. The boy had keen eyes, even during crisis. He’d managed to pick out a scarab beetle emblem on the knife’s hilt, for heaven’s sake. Ibuse was no archaeologist, but he had taken his daughter to enough ancient Egyptian exhibits to recognise the significance.

Ancient Egypt, Egyptology, Archaeology…

What was so relevant about that?

“That reminds me.” He tiptoed through the minefield as best he could. “The Egyptologist Katsuro Harigane. Any relation?”

“He never talked about his family.”

“I see.”

That had been it. He had been idling in front of the television after work that night, when a news report about an archaeological triumph had come on air. That was only a week or so ago. For the life of him, Ibuse couldn’t recall any detail.

The name Katsuro Harigane was all that stuck.

The detective cursed himself for not paying attention at the time but, without some kind of precognition, how could he have known? If only he could revisit that time for some kind of clue. Was this information even directly relevant? He’d have to do some research on the matter before passing on his report to the director.

“I appreciate your help with all of this, Bango.”

He fidgeted. “…That’s unnecessary.”

“Just before I came in,” Ibuse continued, “I heard the forensics teams at the school now have identified all the bodies of your classmates that didn’t make it. I’m very sorry.”

Bango didn’t look moved, but appearances always deceived.

“What about Amibari?”

Ibuse sighed. “There’s been no sign of her. She and Harigane remain the only ones unaccounted for. Our officers are searching for them as we speak. We’ll find them, I promise. Were the two of you close?”

“Not especially. I’ve known her a while, ever since middle school. Always friendly, eager to please. She had many friends. She was very close to Harigane too. Was,” he clarified.

“Why do you think Harigane attacked her? You said he stabbed her in the head, much like how he did himself.”

“That was how it looked.” Bango nodded.

“Any idea what he could’ve wanted?”

“I never cared to involve myself in gossip, but of course I heard the rumours.”

“Those being?”

Bango glowered. “The usual asinine playground rumours, detective—I’m sure I needn’t elaborate. It’s not worth my time.”

“But you did hear them, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I have ears. But those two, they haven’t been on properly speaking terms for years now. They were childhood friends but went their own paths once we started high school.”

“Many such cases.” Ibuse had his fair share of sweethearts growing up—he knew the drill.

“She held a varied crowd. He mostly struck out on his own.” Bango paused. “I don’t see how this is relevant, detective.”

“It helps me establish possible motive. It’s clear from yours and others’ statements that the attack on Amibari was purposeful, not a random act of violence. I need to establish proper cause if I’m to pursue proper investigation. It’s standard procedure. I don’t mind telling you this, as you seem the attentive type.”

“What’s more, Amibari was the only person Harigane targeted, too.”

The emphasis made the man pause. “The only person?”

Bango nodded.

“Yeah. Forgive me, I suppose I’ve been avoiding the worrying part,” Ibuse kneaded his temple with a knuckle. “Those monsters.”

“You believe me.” Bango almost sounded more sceptical than anyone else would on hearing the word ‘monsters.’

Ibuse massaged the bridge of his nose. “In truth, while I didn’t witness anything to do with Harigane, I did catch a glimpse of those monsters heading into the school. That’s why I was first on the scene.”

“You said you weren’t a witness.”

“Police officers can lie like anyone else.” Ibuse didn’t exactly look proud of the fact. “I couldn’t believe my eyes —didn’t want to, either. But when every single student I’ve interviewed describes them in exactly the same way you did, I know I wasn’t just seeing things.”

Bango narrowed his eyes but was soon able to stomach that micro-betrayal.

“You described those monsters in vivid detail.”

“I saw them up close. If I had to describe them—mutants.”

“As in, once-human?”

“Yes, and those eyes—the ones that pushed apart everything on their face. Harigane had one of those eyes too. It appeared from where he stabbed itself. His was smaller.”

“That was when he… changed?”

“Exactly. His whole demeanour shifted; that third eye, and a strange tattoo under his left. His voice dropped too.

“I’m convinced he was possessed by something; someone. He had some strange power.”

Ibuse’s eyes widened. He shuffled forwards on his chair.

“I don’t know how he did it, but Harigane managed to kill all of them. They tried attacking him, but he stopped them in their tracks, sliced them down the middle, cut their heads clean off.” It was a horrible sight to behold, but Harigane had executed it with a kind of elegance Bango never knew he possessed. It was incredible. “That knife couldn’t have done it. It was far too small and fragile. Something cut through those monsters.”

“And you didn’t see what that something was?”

Bango shook his head, but Ibuse had already boarded that train of thought. “Are you saying it was some kind of magic?”

“It’s an irrational conclusion, I’m well aware,” said Bango, “but it’s the only possible explanation. I don’t like it, but that’s what I saw. Magic isn’t real, detective. It’s just a stopgap for what we can’t explain. It’s always been like that. Magic has existed in the gaps of contemporary science and logic, and it’ll always be that way.”

“So, care to offer an explanation? It doesn’t have to be scientific.”

Bango chewed on his lip. “The best way I can describe it is some kind of virtual blade.”

“Virtual—you mean, like in a video game? Bit ahead of my time unfortunately,” he chuckled.

“No—” A miniscule twitch of irritation arced across Bango’s face. “Virtual as in immaterial. One monster was diced by some kind of grid. The cuts were perfectly segmented, shredded into cubes. Harigane projected some kind of virtual cutting plane from all angles and sliced them up exactly.”

“We found no physical remains at the scene of the crime, only ash” said Ibuse. “Harigane didn’t burn the bodies afterward, did he?

“No, but—” Bango concentrated but shook his head. Leaned forward on the desk, he rested his forehead on one palm. “My head hurts, and my memory’s still hazy in places. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” said Ibuse. “You’re still in shock.”

All the while, his pen had been flying. The ink had almost run dry, and his hand was now starting to tire. Writing his report later, he’d no doubt have access to the audio transcript—that would help.

Ibuse studied Bango intently. No-one else had identified the mechanism, or linked Harigane to the death of the monsters. Those were the exceptions that set Bango’s testimony from the rest. No-one else had seen what Harigane had actually done in the moment, only what had stood before, and what remained after.

Given circumstance, Ibuse wasn’t about to chalk it up to smarts alone. This intel was invaluable. How reliable it was, given the fragility of the boy’s state at the moment, wasn’t clear just yet. The claim of some kind of other force existing was about as nonsensical as could be. Then again, he had seen those monsters with his own eyes. There was no way he could doubt that.

Once you opened that can of worms, the existence of some invisible power capable of combating these demons didn’t seem so implausible anymore.

“Those extra eyes—do you think they’re connected somehow?”

“They must be, but I can’t figure out how.” Bango was glaring into space with eyes equally as chilling. “Those eyes on those mutants, they split the faces in two and pushed the halves apart to make room. It looked like they must have come from the same wound. Why? Whatever Harigane did must have worked. He didn’t turn into one of them. Why? And who was that voice?”

The thump of Ibuse’s closing notebook brought him back to reality. The detective folded it to his chest and stood.

“You can put a pin in that for now. If it’s all the same to you, we can take it from here.” He smiled. “Kids like you shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of thing—is what I’d like to say. But I know someone you won’t let it rest. Try not to let it eat you alive, is all.”

Numb, Bango nodded.

“All I ask is that you leave things with us now. We’ll track down those two. We’ll do our best to find out the truth.”

“Is that your word, detective?”

Ibuse nodded. “My solemn vow.”

Bango stood and tucked in his chair.

“Thank you for answering my questions.” Ibuse walked around the table, and pat Bango on the shoulder. The boy rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, so Ibuse didn’t linger. “I’ve kept you here long enough; I’m sure your parents will be eager to see you safe.”

Looking at the mirror, Ibuse signalled to his associates the end of the questioning. Irrespective of how many questions he had left, it wouldn’t be kind on the poor boy to keep him here. The look in his eyes said it all: Bango’s mind was far, far away from here; hardly surprising, too. Ibuse knew with a heavy heart that today’s tragedy would never leave him, or any of them.

“There’s one more after you, I believe. Could you let Miss Uchino know? Take care.”

Another cordial nod was all the response Ibuse received. Without another word, Bango let the door to interrogation room slam shut behind him.

Poor kid. Ibuse busied his hands by trying to get his paperwork in order. The afternoon rolled on without him. He doubted he’d see the sky again until late that night. He was supposed to be on supper duty tonight—he’d have to give his wife another call, already preparing himself for the reticent bite in her tongue. He was already in the doghouse for reasons as of yet unknown. He’d figure out sooner or later. No doubt she’d save them for next week’s counselling session to see his reaction. His mirthless smile couldn’t disguise the bitterness on his tongue. Damn it all. If he had wanted to keep his workload, he would have stayed with Public Security.

No, the workload was never the issue. That was nostalgia blindness talking. That particular ship had sunk a long time ago. It had been a while before Yuyu had first told him she couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He felt the same. He had been just waiting for an excuse. They had both left Kyoto for good reason: better, more stable work for them both, giving Sachiko the best chance at life.

That was the excuse, anyway.

They hadn’t been running away, right?

Maybe it really was just the change of scene.

Ibuse groaned and held his head in both hands. What he had seen on the rooftop: that damn blond hair, that damn fedora. This was all because of him, wasn’t it? There was a chance he could have hallucinated the sighting all along. After all, everything he couldn’t explain revolved around that man one way or another. He had never understood, but never regretted it either. Perhaps, in his absence, he had subconsciously associated those question marks with his memory.

Who even knew if he was still alive, if She was still alive.

At least Serinaka and Karabachi were still around. Then again, he hadn’t seen either of them in too long. There was intent on both sides, of course, but adult life just got busy far too quickly. It was all too easy to feel like he and Yuyu were all that remained.

The affirmative relay from his radio for the next witness brought him around. Ibuse shuddered and steeled himself. He couldn’t let that baggage cloud his judgement.

Ace Detective, huh? Yeah, right.

Then again, it had always been a joke at the office. Maybe it was his fault for ever taking it at all seriously. Irrespective, he needed to get back to work. What had once been his peaceful day off, had quickly become one of his biggest cases yet.

No rest for the weary, and all that.

Was that how the old adage went?

He couldn’t even remember anymore.

Ibuse chuckled.

What a joke.

---

The slam of the metal door behind him was the loudest thing Bango had ever heard. No. Unfortunately, that wasn’t true. He wanted it to be, but it wasn’t.
That was a fact. It existed beyond him. As much as autocrats pretended, no person had the power to revoke facts they found distasteful.

The sound of the closing door was a nicer extreme to remember than that demonic screaming.

Dentaku Bango faced down the dim, narrow hallway leading from the interrogation chamber. Anyone else would slump their shoulders, sigh a little. He didn’t. He couldn’t. It was like he had forgotten how. The boy’s eyes were glassy. He blinked, and his eyelids scratched the surface like a wire-brush on marbles. He didn’t flinch. The sensation of pain hadn’t yet returned to his periphery. The rumbling of a building in collapse had shot his nerves all to hell.
The screaming remained.

He had half a mind to turn around, open the door, and slam it shut even louder this time.

He needed something to replace those screams. He needed something to replace the smashing of concrete, the slicing of flesh, and that voice that had come from Harigane’s mouth. That wasn’t his voice. Harigane always spoke quickly but without energy, like he had somewhere to be but no will to get there.

It annoyed him, but… No, it wasn’t annoyance.

It was stronger. Worse.

Hatred?

No. Different.

Try as he might, he couldn’t put a finger on it. Nothing else filled him with the same muscle-rending, tendon-twitching inexplicability. It was an entirely unique sensation. He had never felt it anywhere else. An itch didn’t do it anywhere near justice. Harigane’s voice hadn’t always been that way but had for a while. Was it just that way for him?

That other voice sparked one, very distinct emotion.

Dread.

The fact he could name it on the spot was all the evidence he needed to know whoever slayed those things was not Harigane, not anymore.

Was it even human?

The detective had implored him to leave the matter to the police, to not lose sleep worrying. Bango wouldn’t lose sleep. That would be inefficient and unwise. How could he ever hope to think clearly without a full night of sleep? He slept and rose at the same time each day without interruption or distraction, and even today would be no different. How could he hope to process what had happened otherwise?

It was irrational.

But so inwardly consumed he was, in that moment, Bango neglected to address the detective’s other request. He had been standing in the shadow of the door frame for who knows how long.

A few metres further down, a tall girl sat alone on the rows of cold metal chairs lining the hall. She hunched over, forearms on her knees, legs wide. Her dark hair, now free from its ponytail, hung loose and shrouded her face from both sides. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

Bango’s steps down the hallway echoed loud enough to make himself cringe. He approached the girl, stopped a metre short, and stood there. He flexed his jaw, and felt his dry lips crack. He licked them unconsciously, then smarted as the saliva soaked into the fresh wounds. When he spoke, his throat pulsed and strained. The sinews tightened under the skin. Why?

“Uchino,” he announced. “The detective will see you now.”

The girl didn’t respond, but he had spoken clearly. There was no other prevailing noise. Bango’s fingers curled themselves into his palms, wrists rolling, arms pinned to his sides.

Should he repeat himself?

In absence of a response, that was the most logical option, after any reasonable delay. She hadn’t given him any sign of acknowledgement. Very slight movements of her head, nothing purposeful, jostled the fine black mourning curtains, but still she said nothing.

Bango looked down the hall. Of all the survivors, they were the final two. Those who remained had been escorted from the scene of the crime and taken away in police carriers, eyes shielded by the officers as rescue services in white and neon green lifted stretchers of the unlucky few. Perhaps they were the lucky ones. Bango took neither view. Luck wasn’t real, after all.

Uchino wasn’t last in any conventional ordering, not on the school registers, even considering the casualties. Why render her last?

The others had all been dismissed, to go home.

As far as he knew, the late Mr Uchino had been a widower.

Bango bit his lip, chest tightening. He didn’t question that one.

This liminal space was engulfed in a gloom separate from the dim and sparse corridor lighting, and it had the right. Bango opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that brushed his acrid tongue was wordless breath. He blinked, hard, and took the opposite seat. The metal creaked weakly. It was cold underneath his legs, and rolled down at an awkward curve that prevented any comfortable seating. Maybe that was the point. Bango sat upright as best he could, hands square on his knees.

“Why are you still here?” Dasha finally asked. She still didn’t look up, but knew he had sat down.

The droning of the lights was poor mask for the resounding clop of shoes down the polished linoleum. Now blessed with a different angle, Bango saw her signature black baseball cap clasped tight in both hands. It was the first time he had ever seen her without it on. Her knuckles were white, tendons flexing like she were about to tear the damn thing in half.

“I don’t know.” His words sounded thick and stupid in his throat.

She seemed to agree. Dasha Uchino lifted her head, and her face looked raw. “That’s stupid.”

Bango nodded. Maybe it was the ambience, but he couldn’t see the whites of her eyes anymore. Hers were narrow and inked a deep black. They glistened ever so slightly in the low light.

“You… You’re Bango, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “We sit next to each other. Class 3-B.”

“Funny. You’ve never once said hello.”

The humming overhead worsened into a dizzying static. The silence made it so. Bango felt the negative space weigh in on his chest.

“Hello.”

The taut silence snapped like rubber. Dasha spat out a laugh, and took a good, long, searching look at him. “I don’t know you, do I?”

That was an assertion, but it still needed an answer.

There was only one.

“No.”

“I know who you are,” she continued. “Hell, everyone knows who you are. But I don’t know you, Dentaku Bango.”

He replied, “Nor I you.”

They started at each other in silence.

“So why are you here?”

He thinned his lips. “I came to offer my condolences.”

She blanked him, mouth pursing. “Is that so.”

He nodded.

“Right.”

His legs grew numb. The raised curve of the chair was putting pressure on the underside, just before his knees.

“That’s it, then?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Then go.” She waved him away. “I mean, you’re clearly not capable of saying anything else, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“MY DAD IS FUCKING DEAD!”

Bango stared in shock. Her rage rang chimes in his ears long after. The girl’s face was taut with something he just couldn’t read, and flickered between shades of emotions he almost recognised.

“The death toll for the attack is currently at ninety-three people,” he stated. “That’s just under a tenth of the student body, and seven members of staff—”

“So what?!” She yelled. “Do you think that’s going to make me feel any better?!”

He continued to stare.

“Did you go around to everyone who had lost classmates, friends, family, and give them your fucking condolences?!”

He hesitated. “That would be…”

“Let me guess, irrational, right?”

The word had been busy scratching up his throat.

Bango couldn’t do anything but nod.

“So, you just decided to force yourself on me here, make me look at your oblivious, stony face as you rattle off statistics like we’re still in class. We were in class when Dad— He—”

Dasha tightened her jaw just in time to suppress a heart-rending scream into the crook of her elbow. Heavy sobbing wracked her chest, wreaking near full-body convulsions in that cramped metal chair.

And still Dentaku Bango sat there, still, fists clenched on his knees, back straight against the wall. Her breathing was heavy enough to make him lightheaded, as though the corridor was sealed, and she was drinking in enough oxygen for the both of them.

He didn’t complain. He couldn’t.

She needed all the air she could get. She would drown otherwise.

Eventually, Dasha forcibly stilled herself enough to look him in the eyes. “You saved my life,” she said. “You pulled me out of harm’s way. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“I know.” Bango looked away. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked. “What?!”

“I can imagine why you might hold that against me now, but please know that it wasn’t done on purpose.”

Dasha sighed a breathless laugh and ran her fingers through her hair. The digits tensed on the strands. The girl squeezed her palms tight to her temples, holding her head as though it might fall off. “You don’t get it, do you? You really don’t get it at all.” She glared. “Do you honestly think I’d rather be dead?!”

He didn’t know what to think. “That’s not—”

“Oh, I get it. You think this has something to do with you?! Somewhere in that metal skull of yours is guilt, isn’t it? You stopped here because you feel guilty, guilty that you pulled me from my death, guilty that you didn’t leave me to get caved in by those… those…”

“Monsters—”

“Monsters!” She cackled, devolving at last to hysterics. “Yeah, monsters! We were attacked by FUCKING MONSTERS! They turned my dad into a paste! Do you think I’d be better off that way too?!”

Bango’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I said.”

“Do you have any idea what I’m going through right now? Do you have any idea?!”

“No.”

Dasha hung her head, giggling mirthlessly to herself. “Yeah. I hoped I was wrong about you. You and Harigane are the exact same after all.”

A shiver rippled down his arms. “What did you just say?”

“You know damn well what I said,” she jabbed a finger at him. “You don’t think I didn’t see what he did to those things? You don’t think I don’t know what he’s capable of? He’s not normal! Neither of you are! And if it wasn’t him, it would’ve been you!”

“Uchino—”

“Don’t use my name like you know me!” She shrieked. “You’re a freak! You’re both freaks! You’re dangerous, the lot of you! Get away from me! Go! Leave me alone!” And that was about all she could take. She bent double, consumed by the sobbing.

Blood rushed hot behind his ears. Bango felt his pulse throbbing in the base of his neck. His hands were tensed and starting to ache. He stood, abruptly enough for Dasha to follow. Facing away, he tugged at the ripped sleeve of his school blazer so that only an inch of shirt was visible. He corrected his collar, straightened his jacket, and dragged a comb down his parting.

“I meant it, you know,” he said. “I am sorry your dad was killed.”

Emotion in absentia, much as ever. He started off down the hall, but Dasha reached out, choking on her own breath.

“Bango, wait—”

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“What were those things?!”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened to Harigane? And Amibari?”

A longer pause. “I don’t know.”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “What are you going to do?”

Bango checked his watch. Daylight would be on its way out by now, but there was still time. “I’m going home. To study.”

“Study?!”

“Entrance exams are soon. I have a competition to prepare for, too. I can’t afford to waste time.”

“What the fuck…” She choked, slumping back against the wall and covering one eye with a drooping hand. She stared blankly up into the buzzing fluorescents overhead. “That’s… so stupid…”

Bango said, “Detective Ibuse is ready to take your statement. Please head through to the interrogation room when you’re ready.”

All she could hear for far too long afterwards was the steady clop of his brogues, echoing down the hall.