Every point in Kinuka Amibari’s life had been marked with fear. She came into this world afraid; she’d been sure she’d leave it that way, too. The most prevalent thought in her mind, present from the start, was the fear that the very next moment, everything she’d ever known would suddenly come undone.
Despite endless trepidation, Kinuka quickly realised her input didn’t matter. No matter how scared she felt, life moved on without any of her say. She had no control, so she kept quiet. Nothing had gone wrong yet, after all, so perhaps it was best to do what others expected of her. They hadn’t yet been wrong, after all.
Kyoto had been a lonely place. Kinuka’s memories of the city were fractured by youth, and so what little she remembered of it consisted mainly of home, and the daycare. Neither parent had the luxury of forgoing their career, even with an infant: her father was an upmarket tailor by trade; his wife, and her mother worked as a sales representative. This meant every weekday, both their hands were tied—quite literally. So, every morning, her mother would hand her over to the kind ladies at the nursery not far away.
Kinuka still remembered the playroom’s interior, even now. All of it: every shelf, every toy, every poster, every fleck of paint on the wall. She’d know; she spent every day at that place huddled in the same corner, playing with the folds of her shirt. The second she was ushered carefully into the room, all noise ceased. Eleven pairs of horrifying, childishly fresh eyes stared knives into her skin. “Blondie!” cried one boy, and Kinuka burst into tears. She fled into the corner. It became her solace from that point on. There, she resolutely stayed put. The poor attendants tried everything under the sun, but no amount of toys, sweets or faux-motherly charm did anything to soothe.
Kinuka kept a quiet, careful watch from that point on. The other children had been curious to begin with, but with every approach—no matter the intent—the girl would bleat and whimper and cry some more. Soon, they got bored and simply let her alone; no longer the new exciting thing to gawk at, the scared little girl simply faded into the backdrop. She watched them all play, laugh and fool around with one another. Painful, helpless tears slipped down her cheeks at the agony of her self-imposed isolation.
One evening, Kinuka remembered the room completely empty, and far too quiet. Normally, she comforted herself that there were at least other people around. They were always nattering among themselves, bustling around with some activity or other. Slowly, however, the noise had begun to filter out one by one, as parents came and went, their dear children in tow, until only she remained. Every time a shadow crossed the threshold of the door, Kinuka instinctively looked up only to see another face that wasn’t her mother.
Eventually, she stopped looking. Her mother didn’t seem to be coming that night. Her cheeks soon grew red, hot and wet. The loneliness grew a little too painful for her to bear. All she could do was hug her knees a little closer to her chest, and hope the gnawing would go away.
Pain flashed through her head, and she screamed. For that brief instant, something was tearing her face in two. The attendants came rushing in from next door to see the girl unharmed, and very confused. The pain had subsided as soon as it began, in no small part thanks to the skeletal hand cradling her forehead.
Kinuka gazed up in wonder through glistening eyes at the one person the others couldn’t see.
Her ethereal angel was dressed in flowing silver shawls, concealing her eyes. Her face was gaunt, but kind.
“What troubles you, child?” Asked the angel. Her voice was cold and sobering, yet gentle like the silk she wore. “Why do you weep?”
Kinuka sniffed, and wiped away the tears. “I was lonely…” She reached a hand towards the angel.
“How precious.” The angel cradled the child’s hand in both her own. “And your name?”
“Kinuka…”
The fading angel smiled, and Kinuka found herself smiling back. “Be at ease,” it said. “I am the Seamstress. The time hasn’t come quite yet, but until then I will watch over you. You needn’t ever feel lonely again.”
No matter how one looks, the irrational fear of standing out always turns the possibility into a certainty. Walking the wintry streets, the atmosphere felt strange and still. Everything looked normal, which only worsened the unease.
The sunless afternoon brought with it a ramping chill, and Rinkaku Harigane tucked his cheek into the cowl of his hood. He had swapped out his blazer for something warmer before they had left the alley. He needed something to cover his torn shirt, anyhow. It would bring too much attention otherwise. Kinuka Amibari walked half a pace behind, one hand gripping the other arm. He looked straight ahead; she, side to side.
Every time he heard a police siren, Rin’s heart nearly stopped.
Eventually, Kinuka tapped him on the shoulder. “Where are we going?”
They had been walking for quite a while, changing direction at every other intersection. Rin looked like he knew where to go, so Kinuka had just followed. In reality, he just wanted to get as far away from the school as possible. Before long, he spied a promising looking shop sign. “Over here.”
The pair wove their way through the mid-morning crowd. Situated on the corner of the street, the cafe boasted large French windows on either side. Behind them, rows of faceless consumers lined up on bar stools. Others sat at low coffee tables. Pushing open the double doors, Rin froze when the bell rang overhead, but Kinuka pushed him forwards.
The aroma of fresh coffee delighted him momentarily. Caffeine was a cruel mistress, but how else would he stay up so late at night with his thoughts? He had far too many ideas to plan out and design to waste valuable time sleeping.
“Would you like me to—” Kinuka gestured towards the counter, about to offer, before Rin tutted and cut in front.
“I’ll do it myself.” He scowled. “What do you want?”
“Oh—” Kinuka took half a step back. “Just water, please.”
Rin didn’t look back, slouching up to the counter. Kinuka watched him go, before she sat herself down at one of the low tables. She had been trying to be nice. Rin clearly wasn’t having it. Why was he being like this? Had she done something wrong? He looked so on-edge. Kinuka couldn’t deny she felt the same way. Despite the cafe’s cushy atmosphere, she found herself looking over her own shoulder twice a minute. The paranoia wasn’t all; ever since she’d woken up, fragments of new memories had started stabbed at her mind.
Everything was happening at once, and fear’s icy fingers gripped once more at the back of her neck. She shivered.
All she wanted was for Rin to look her in the eye.
Why didn’t he?
She raised her right hand, eyes once again tracing that fated red path. Still, the thread ended with him. It always had done, after all.
A month following her meeting with the Seamstress, the Amibari’s tailoring business was forced to relocated to a city Kinuka had never heard of. The car journey to Chiba had taken a long time—not that Kinuka was aware of the fact; she’d been asleep for nearly all of it. The move had been laborious, but the worst was now over. Their new house—a modest offering in the suburbs—was still littered with boxes, but those would all be dealt with in time.
Even with the Seamstress’ reassurance, the prospect of meeting the neighbours frightened Kinuka to no end. New people would forever be scary, she was convinced. They crossed the monumental distance between their house and the one next-door, coerced by her mothers’ guiding hand. The house was identical to theirs, with a name stamped on the door. Kinuka couldn’t read it; the kanji was far too complicated. Her father rang the bell. Kinuka yelped and dashed back to hide behind her mother. The woman ran a hand through the girl’s hair.
“Just coming!” A woman’s voice rang out from beyond the door.
“Who is it, Kioku?” A man’s followed soon afterwards.
Kioku Harigane opened the door; she had a solemn, thin face and almond eyes. She dressed modestly, an outfit otherwise easily forgettable. Further down the hallway, her husband approached. A young boy traipsed along behind, hiding behind the man’s leg.
“Please excuse us, Harigane family.” Kinuka’s father—a stout man with dark hair in a closely-cropped fringe—bowed. “We’ve spoken over the phone already, I believe? We’re the Amibari’s. We’ve just moved in next door.”
“Welcome!” Kioku Harigane smiled. “We were just about to invite you over!”
“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Katsuro wore a polite smile. The man’s hair hadn’t yet gone so grey, his face not yet so lined. His tone was a lot more subdued than his wife’s.
“The pleasure is ours.” Kinuka’s mother—black haired, imposing and regal—ushered the blond child forward. “Say hello, Kinuka.”
“Nice to… Nice to meet you!” Kinuka squeaked.
“Oh, what a darling.” Kioku spied the little girl, crouching down to her level and waving delicately with one hand. “Hi Kinuka! Lovely to meet you.”
Kinuka waved back, her face beet red.
“How old are you?” Kioku asked.
“…Four years old.” Kinuka held her hands behind her back.
“Really? That’s wonderful! So is our little boy.” She turned to look at the shy child, hiding quietly behind his father’s leg. “Be friendly, Rinkaku.”
The boy shook his head.
“Don’t be shy,” reassured Katsuro.
The boy took a reluctant step forward and, determined to stare nowhere else but the ground, said, “…name’s Rin. Nice to meet you.”
He and Kinuka were the same height, more or less. Rin, even back then, had long black hair that touched the back of his shoulders. Kinuka couldn’t help but shrink back.
“Why don’t you and Kinuka play in your room?” Kioku asked her son, gently holding the boy’s chin.
Rin mumbled something but eventually said, “Alright.”
“Go and play with Rinkaku, dear,” she encouraged Kinuka, helping her through the doorway. “We’ll be just downstairs talking to your parents if you need them, okay?”
Kinuka hesitated, before giving her mother a hug.
“There, there.” A quick pat on the head. “It’s all alright. Run along now,” she gestured towards the stairwell. Rin sat halfway up, bored.
“O-okay,” Kinuka waved goodbye to her mother and father, before moving as fast as her little legs would carry her across the carpet and up the stairs.
“Why do you have blond hair?” Rin wasted no time at all in asking the pivotal question.
“I don’t know…”
Kinuka had taken to the corner of the boy’s room. Crouched down on the floor, she tucked both knees toward her chest. The comfort of the Seamstress’ presence on her shoulder was the only thing holding the tears and fears at bay.
Rin perched on his bed a couple feet away and stared down at her, a vulture inspecting carrion. “Isn’t that supposed to be super rare?” He shuffled a little towards her. “Are you, like, a foreigner or something?”
Rin was a lot more outspoken now they were alone.
“I don’t know,” was all she could say.
Rin tilted his head to the side, studying her. “And why are you sitting on the floor like that? I’m not scary, you know.”
Kinuka averted her eyes, but heard the Seamstress’ voice in her ear. “You needn’t be afraid of this one. Look closely.”
She did.
The Seamstress touched at a thread that hung between the two. Impossibly thin. Brightest red. The sensation echoed through her soul, and made her heart flutter. Tied around her right fifth finger, it traced effortless, floating loops through the air, and wound itself around Rin’s. Kinuka tugged at the thread, and felt it yank at her heart once more.
“This connection is a special one. Treasure it, until the very end.”
Kinuka looked up at Rin in a new light.
The thread ended with him. It always had done, after all.
“Do you have any friends here yet?” Rin continued his barrage of questions, oblivious. “You just moved here right? Yep. I bet you’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely!” Kinuka interrupted.
Rin raised an eyebrow, an impressive feat of muscle control for someone his age.
“I have the best friend in the whole world!” She turned to the Seamstress hovering over her shoulder. The gaunt angel smiled, and Kinuka pointed. “Look, look! Can’t you see her?”
Rin stared blankly for a moment, then blinked.
His lack of reaction made her face fall. “You really can’t see her?” Kinuka mumbled and shrank back. Everyone else she’d told about Seamstress had looked concerned, or worse. Rin, however, wore a wide grin.
“You’re a strange one, you know that?”
“Really?”
“Yeah! I like that.”
Kinuka felt her cheeks tingle. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.
“Come on—” Rin’s encouragement didn’t stop— “Get up off the floor! We’ve got so many cool things to do!” He sent a disparaging glare at the door. “Grown-ups always talk about really boring stuff. I do really cool and interesting things instead! ”He pointed over to the window. A set of model buildings—a model city—was displayed on a table nearby. Kinuka couldn’t take her eyes off them. She thought they were incredible. From the way they cast shadows from the afternoon sun, they reminded her of the gigantic Tokyo tower she had seen on their journey to Chiba!
“What do you think?” Rin looked very pleased with himself. “Built all these myself—drew all the plans too!” He pointed over at a desk supporting a messy stack of papers. “Soon, I’ll have built the whole world! Isn’t that cool? Want to help me?”
He extended a hand down to Kinuka. A moment of hesitation followed. She then took his hand, matching his ear-to-ear smile. “Yes, please!”
She had never looked back since, not since meeting the first person in a strange new place to make her truly smile.
The thread ended with him. It always had.
“Kinuka. Oi—”
Rin was about to speak for the third time, when Kinuka snapped out of her daze. He stood next to her, holding a drink in each hand. Kinuka murmured something and shook herself awake.
“You drifted off.”
“Really? Sorry…”
“S’fine,” Rin mumbled, placing down the bottle of water in front of her. “Got you your drink.” He sat back down, and sipped at his coffee.
Kinuka noticed something beside the water: a paper bag. Opening it, she pulled out a freshly-made dorayaki. The fluffy pancake warmed her paling fingers. She could already smell the sugar baked lovingly into every bite.
“You remembered!” Kinuka smiled, holding up the pancake.
The boy paused mid-sip, looking back from the window.
“These are my favourite! You really didn’t have to get this for me!”
“What’re you talking about?” Rin raised an eyebrow. “You asked for one, didn’t you? Yep. I definitely remember you asking for one,” he lied, taking another defiant sip. “Anyway, do you want it or not? You need to eat, or it’s going to get cold.”
She didn’t complain, taking a bite of the dessert. This was followed by another, and then another. Before long, she had demolished the entire thing. She could still taste the sweet tang of the red bean paste on her tongue, sharp enough to sting at her cheeks. She looked back at Rin. He, it seemed, was determined to look anywhere else. He lounged with his head hung over the back of his chair, staring listlessly at the ceiling. His coffee, much like her dorayaki, was already long gone.
Kinuka wondered whether she really had asked for the treat after all. Her eyelids grew leaden the moment she sat down. Attempting to stave off fatigue, she took a sip of water. A twinge of pain—another fragment of memory—rippled from the centre of her forehead. Kinuka winced and gingerly rubbed at the makeshift bandage, tracing the new, tender slit in the skin.
The Seamstress’ appearance hadn’t been a comfort to everyone.
What started as a comment or two about an imaginary friend soon turned into a genuine worry for both her parents. The little girl abruptly became far calmer, far happier. In isolation, that’d be a good thing. The stark change worried them. Kinuka would constantly talk to herself. When questioned, the poor girl was convinced there was a spirit watching out for her, one that never left her side. Her insistence on this, and subsequent upset when confronted with reality, was what drove their concern to action. They were afraid of—but didn’t want to exclude—the possibility that their daughter was haunted.
Which was why, Kinuka—aged eight—soon found herself sat in front of a child psychologist. Notably, one that had the same colour hair she did—or, close to it, anyway. The psychologist’s hair had a more subdued colour than hers; more ashen than blond. A vertical slit was carved down the centre of her forehead. Other details of the scenario had faded over the years, but the sharp, clinical stench of the whole office and the bright white lights still echoed painfully in the back of Kinuka’s mind. She’d seen men in dark suits already deep in conversation with one another—and her psychologist—in the clinic’s wings before the appointment. Then again, the memories were hazy. It could have just been the frightening shadows on the wall taking shape once more.
One of the clearer details was her psychologist’s name—Kiyosumi Sakazuki—She had a kind face, though maybe a little tired. Her eyes were glassy; the way she spoke sounded automated, no real feeling behind any of her words. They conversed—if you could call it that, what with the crippling fingers of fear pinching Kinuka’s vocal cords tight—until the topic of the Seamstress came up.
“Do you talk to her often?” Dr. Sakazuki asked.
Kinuka nodded. “She’s my best friend. We always talk.” The spirit’s presence over her shoulder calmed her just enough to keep her lip from trembling.
“Is she nice, this spirit?”
Kinuka beamed. “She is! I make sure to be nice to her, too!”
Sakazuki didn’t so much as blink. “And you said no-one else can see her. Has this spirit caused any strange things to happen? Anything you can’t explain.”
Kinuka hesitated. “I don’t think so…”
The men in suits outside the room had stopped their conversation.
Kinuka gripped her knees, feeling their stares from across the room. She and the Seamstress exchanged a look. The spirit put a finger to her lips and glided over towards Sakazuki. Tracing a slender finger down the slit on the centre of the psychologist’s forehead, a shot of life reinvigorated the woman, and her pupils abruptly came back into focus. A shudder passed over her skin, then a look of understanding.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong here.” The woman gave a graceful smile. “You must be frightened, all these scary white rooms, no?”
Kinuka nodded.
“Don’t worry.” Sakazuki motioned for Kinuka to stand up. “You’ll be okay. Soon, this will all seem like a dream.”
Tentatively, Kinuka approached. Sakazuki placed her palm on the little girl’s forehead and smiled. Hot flush rippled over Kinuka’s skin; strangely comforting, she couldn’t help but giggle.
“Thank you,” she made out. Suddenly, the walls were less white, less blinding. The shadows on the walls remained just that. Her breathing slowed; the beating of her heart also.
“Little one,” said the Seamstress, hovering behind Sakazuki.
Kinuka looked up.
The spirit rose further into the ether, fainter with each passing second. “We will meet again, little one.” The spirit’s cool voice whispered faintly through her mind. “You will forget about me, but your time will come.”
Kinuka inhaled sharply, reaching out a little hand towards the fading spirit.
“Do not reach for me again,” the Seamstress warned. “Treasure everything, little one. Treasure your choice.”
“And now,” blared the television, “an update on the bombing at Senketsu High School.”
“What?!”
Rin and Kinuka both snapped to attention, staring at the screen. The news showed video footage of the school’s damaged exterior viewed from the school gate next to the caster. “The Chiba City Police have issued a statement to the press, detailing the incident as an act of domestic terrorism. The report we received stated the perpetrator rigged explosives at key points around the school, detonating them at half past two this afternoon.”
“Bombs?!” Another woman sitting close by stifled a scream, and hurriedly nudged her friend. “Is that why everyone was calling us? Senketsu is only a few miles away! I thought I heard police sirens…”
“Yeah, look!” Her friend had pulled out her phone, a social media feed flashing by. “Everyone’s posting about it!”
“How depraved do you have to be to blow up a school?” A gruff man in a suit stirred his coffee. “What the hell are they teaching the kids nowadays? This country is going to the dogs…”
The programme continued, “the official death toll from the blasts now sits at 95—both students, and members of staff. Many more were left injured, and have since been transferred to hospital. The bodies of all the deceased have been identified, but two students remain unaccounted for. The police have released information of the missing persons to local and national news in the hopes of aiding their search.”
Rin and Kinuka jumped, as the television blared both their likenesses—the same photos taken for their student ID.
“Kinuka Amibari, left, and Rinkaku Harigane, right, have been reported missing.”
Rin flipped up his hood, and turned away. Kinuka sank lower in her seat.
The proprietor set down the glass he had been cleaning, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Don’t I recognise that guy?” He looked around briefly, but didn’t find who he was looking for. “Ah, what the hell…” The broadcast was thankfully more interesting.
“The latter is currently under suspicion by the police as having perpetrated the attack,” continued the caster. “Chiba City Police request that any sighting of either person be reported at your earliest convenience.”
No-one else was looking in their direction. All were too absorbed by the broadcast.
“Look, boy,” the Architect pointed up at the television, acting like he had been here all along. “I see your face on the glowing rectangle.”
“Congratulations…”
“Why is your face on the glowing rectangle?”
“Why don’t you ask yourself that, you ancient tool!” Rin looked like he was about to throttle the man. He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie tight and groaned. “Literal worst case scenario. Thanks to you, I’m now a fugitive, wanted on charges of terrorism and ninety-five counts of manslaughter!”
The Architect huffed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Rinkaku Harigane, viewers might note,” blared the television, oblivious and unhelpful, “was last year’s recipient of the Architectural Institute of Japan’s top prize for his proposed design of a new publicly funded Youth Academy & Enterprise Training Centre in Arakawa Special Ward, Tokyo, after the tragic collapse of the Shingakyō Group’s apartment complexes. Harigane notably refusing to give a speech at the prizegiving ceremony with an uncouth display that left commentators speechless.”
Rin slid so far down in his seat he was nearly on the floor. “Not this again…” He dragged his palms slowly down his face, exposing the whites of his eyes with a long sigh.
“Hey, I remember that!” Said the first woman, as her friend was hurriedly typing on her phone. “Don’t you remember? Chitose’s husband worked for that place, they were so shocked by it! I knew I had seen that kid somewhere before!”
Kinuka cringed and whispered, “Are they really going to show that on TV?”
Rin had curled up so tight he was about to turn inside out. “Kill me…”
The video feed immediately cut to loud applause, after which the camera returned to the presenter, a stately and well-dressed man in his forties, with an oiled black parting and pretentious goatee.
“…And that finishes the final presentation of the evening, for the proposed development in Arakawa.” He bowed to the cameras, and then the audience. “Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen, and for attending this year’s showcase and prizegiving. I’ve been your host, Shoji Takanaka. This event is always such a pleasure to present. So many excellent submissions from such a wide range of talent. This excellent piece in particular was conceptualised and designed by the winner of our Grand Prize. We at the Institute always believe in sponsoring young talent the moment it comes to our attention, and this individual has been persistent and outstanding with their output, attracting attention from all over the world. We’d like to welcome to the stage, Mr Rinkaku Harigane! Please come and accept your award!”
Takanaka began to clap, and the crowd followed. Everyone was whispering to themselves and looking around to catch the winner on his way to the podium, but what followed was ten seconds of absence. The whispering swelled, and the applause faded. Takanaka gazed out among the crowd and flexed his jaw, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Um, is this still on?” He looked, and received confirmation from someone off at the back. He tapped the mic and said a little louder, “Um, Mr Harigane, if you could please come and accept your award!”
“Almost. Now try looking with your eyes.”
There came a gasp from spectators nearest the camera, as the perspective quickly zoomed in and focused in on someone else.
Rin was half a year younger, but more-or-less looked the same. That day, he had had actually put on a suit, for a change. Well, he had tried. His shirt was undone at the top, and the grey jacket was half hanging around his shoulders. The boy was sitting on the front of the stage just to the left of the podium, feet dangling into the crowd. His thick black hair looked like he had attacked it with a rake, but at least it was mostly swept back behind his ears. He was slouching with his elbows on his knees, now glaring up at the presenter much as he glared at everything.
“Oh!” The man cried. “You’re down there. When did you get here, young man? I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“I’ve literally been here the entire time. I thought I’d try it out, see how many of you actually noticed,” he said flatly. “I’ll give props to these two,” he pointed down into the front row of the crowd, where two men waved, “but the rest of you were clearly more enamoured with what was on the big screen. Figures. Oh well.”
“Ah.” The presenter blinked, at a loss, before he cleared his throat and extended a hand to the sedentary winner. “I’m glad you’re here in any case. Here, let me help—oh, no, he’s getting up on his own, okay…”
Rin was, indeed, getting up on his own okay, and making no quiet show about it, groaning about his back. Everyone in the crowd was spectating audibly. This was a show far more entertaining than the awards ceremony.
“Please make a speech to the assembly in celebration of your achievement. You must be very proud of yourself, still being in high school and all.”
“Not really.”
A tsunami of silence drenched the crowd.
“A-ah, I see… Well then, would you please accept your medal so we can continue with the show?”
The presenter, still trying to hold sway as best he could, held out the medal with a smile. Rin looked at it, tilted his head, frowned, and took it. He held it up to the crowd by the ribbon, and received another brief round of applause.
“Hang on, why on earth are you clapping? This is brass, for goodness sake. Oh well.” He nicked his teeth with the medal for good measure, then handed it back. “There,” he said, folding it up into the hand of the presenter. “Now you can go wash it and give it to next year’s. You were going to ask for it back at the end of the ceremony regardless, right?”
Everyone’s jaw had collectively fallen out at this point, both in the crowd and afar. Countless jawless viewers at home were currently scrabbling around on their carpets trying to find where the bones had rolled off to like they were a pair of dentures.
“Mr Harigane,” said the presenter, his professionalism wearing thin, “I think it’s time we continue with the show. Congratulations on your award, and thank you for your participation. That was certainly an entertaining performance, but—”
“Oh, you talk too much.”
Rin lightly pushed Takanaka in the shoulder, causing the man to stumble from the podium. He took the stage himself and tapped the mic. “Right, so, speech. Yeah, I didn’t prepare anything. What you saw there,” he pointed at the screen, “isn’t actually going to get built at all.”
Shock rippled through the crowd.
“I know, right?” Echoed Rin in his distinctively deadpan delivery. “So much for ‘revolutionary’, ‘avant-garde’ and ‘award winning’. What were the other adjectives you used?” He looked down at Takanaka, still sprawled out across the floor. “Clearly wasn’t important. Anyway, yeah, the local government overruled the planning permission I had secured independently and decided to reward the Shingakyo Group—same company who built the failing apartment complex that killed over a hundred and fourteen people when it collapsed, by the way—a brand new lease to build a luxury office space for themselves on one of the cheapest real-estate in the district. Did some digging. Turns out it’s corruption and insider trading, folks, whoop de doo.”
He gave some dispiriting jazz hands.
“The aim was to try and create something for someone else for a change. Maybe those kids in San’ya should’ve considered being Shingakyo shareholders instead of financially insecure. Well. I’m sure it’s all for the best, right? Anything that makes the green number go up, right? I have a dossier with my evidence on me if anyone’s interested in that, too, and in case I get shot by a police marksman outside the venue and carted away in a bag, it’s on my website too. Have fun looking at the presentation. I’ll take questions about the schematics afterwards if I feel like it. Actually,” he yawned. “Maybe not. Might go back to bed instead. God, this event is a bore…”
Rin threw the microphone over his shoulder before sloping off from the podium. Takanaka and the crowd at large looked on in horror. The program then cut back to two pundits, who then began debating the content of Rin’s character, and somehow managing to conflate it with extremist political rhetoric and what could have possibly driven him to pursuing such an objective—but Rin had long since stopped listening. The boy had slumped in his seat and was staring blankly into space.
Kinuka opened her mouth at several times to say something, but everything she could have possibly said would’ve been insensitive at best or downright inflammatory otherwise. Still, she had to try. She bowed her head and said, “Rin, I’m so sorry…”
His pupils refocused on her, but his head didn’t move. “Spare me. At least you’ve been labelled a victim rather than perpetrator.”
She sighed. “Listen, I’m just saying that—”
“I told you,” he said, “you shouldn’t be here. I knew they’d try and frame me for this. I hate being proven right. There goes any suspension of doubt.”
Rin checked his coffee cup. A few dregs remained, but what was even the point. He couldn’t show his face, but no-one had spotted them yet. Everyone else in the cafe still had their eyes glued to the unhelpful speculation unfolding on national television, completely unawares. Where else could he go? The moment he was seen, it was over. The reporters were talking more and more about the incident, and it made his stomach churn.
“You have garnered notoriety, boy,” observed the Architect. This delivery was promisingly neutral. It may well have been a compliment, coming from him. “But your contemporaries know nothing of true art. I have seen the buildings of this fabled modern age, and they are soulless. How many lauded ‘great minds’ have come and gone in ages past, and for what. Humanity still exists in perpetual conflict with itself. Such a disappointment.”
“Tell me about it,” was all Rin could manage before retreating into his hoodie.
Kinuka giggled, then immediately felt bad. “I’ll… get you another coffee,” she said, retrieving a facemask from Rin’s satchel and tying up her hair in an uncharacteristic style. Maybe something sweet, too...
XCEL 
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