The sound of cold, morning wind hitting glass could be heard muffled inside the train. Sat inside a crowded carriage, a teen sat, his legs crossed. A small variety of people were standing in front of him, holding on to straps and rails to keep themselves stabilized in the high-speed transport. One of them was a suited man with a sweat-soaked face, looking intently at his watch. Another was a teenager in a high school uniform, glancing at the cross-legged boy and looking away whenever his eyes shifted towards her direction.
The teen became aware of another figure notable among the crowd of those standing, seatless; an old lady. He closed his eyes in thought, ‘respect to the elderly… I hear it’s part of culture.’
He locked his gaze with the elder’s, tilting his head in silent question. The lady smiled, her wrinkles deepening. She waved him off and he turned his head away to focus on something else. The girl from before had her rosewood-colored hair softly swaying around her face, like an open veil that reveals a pair of ultramarine irises, which flitted off to look elsewhere not a second later.
Slung on her shoulder was an aesthetic, light-brown leather bag. Various simple but beautiful patterns were cleanly carved through one layer of the same leather sewn on its surface. The metallic teeth and head of the zippers were the shade of a ruby that created a light sheen. The strawberry ice cream keychain at one end of zippers though… He was sure he saw everywhere on every girl’s bag.
‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.’ Feeling a bit of boredom creeping in, he glanced at the person seated next to him, recalling hearing people tell him that his eyes were scary. He didn’t get any sort of response, so he stared ahead once again. The teen felt his hand reach over his own mouth to cover it, just as a smirk twisted itself onto his face. The same kind of smirk as if one was entertaining a child’s joke. ‘Perhaps I am not as intimidating as I think,’ he thought.
Eventually, he got off the train. He walked several paces forward because he didn’t want to block the way in the rather busy path. On one wall of the underground station, a disheveled man slammed his tin can on the tiles and stood up.
With a wide and hostile stance, he glared at the boy. ‘Interesting,’ he thought, ‘his tattered clothes…’
“You! You’re with them… aren’t you?!” The man shouted, voice echoing within the station. The raspiness of it made it feel like hearing rusty metals roughly screech against each other. “Don’t think I didn’t see you sitting with those suited bastards!”
‘They’re exactly like the suits the men seated, and passed out, beside me wore.’
“Oh, them?” The teen smiled, placing a finger on his lips. “What about them?”
The man clenched his fingers into his dark tatters, somehow furthering the feeling of suffering that was spoken through his prominent eyebags and crooked fingers. A low gurgle — growl? — wriggled its way through his throat, his face red in either anger or exertion, as if even the act of speaking was straining. “You…” His voice gave out.
A single beat passed in relative silence. No one could say that the boy was mocking him since he displayed no such expression.
“Those men in suits,” the teen placed a finger on his chin, humming. In an instantaneous manner, the man tensed, a fact the teen didn’t miss. “Well,” he said, ”I had thought about pushing the one beside me off his seat to make room for an old lady, but she declined.”
This made the man’s eyes go wide, baffled. But it no sooner disappeared with an unexpected and abrupt, renewed steam. “They’re— You’re trying to fool me.” A cough interrupted his words. ” I won’t give in… Even if I have nothing left, I won’t give you my fucking property.”
The teen leaned over. Time was taken greedily yet shamelessly. He frowned in mild disgust from the stench. Then opened his mouth just to start to tell the man his response. “I have nothing I want to take from you, old man,” he said, “you’re free to cry and wail in the cold streets of Japan and it will do nothing. But I’ll at least give you spare change.”
Vantablack irises stared down dull, brown ones. The teen stopped suddenly, spotting in the corner of his eyes that girl from earlier. She was heading vaguely in his direction, eyes glued to her phone and brows crunched in concern. He realized she was going towards the stairs to go above ground; the stairs being right next to him and the man.
For just a moment, he felt his heart skip a beat. He went quiet. With the boy’s close proximity to the man, the latter flinched, frail hands shaking. If anyone listened closely at that moment, they would hear him mutter, “that calculating look…”
The teen looked to the right. The girl was passing by from the left. He blinked, speaking to seemingly nothing. “It’s a shame,” he said, “most people — well, teens — won’t ever bother to stay in the present and help those in need. People like you.” He intoned the last sentence lightly, almost in a carefree manner.
The tenseness and wariness in the man’s face dissipated, replaced with a look of utter confusion. But he was already gone. With measured steps to a certain level through the stairs leading outside, he was gone. And in his place was now a girl looking intently at the man.
While he was somewhat far away, a pair of dark orbs were able to watch their efforts bloom; in the girl’s hand was her silver-lined wallet, fingers already reaching into its several pockets.
The face of pure, undignified shock the man gave him made him smirk.
Finally, a building stood tall with its white walls and translucent, glossy windows. The size was pretty standard for a company that’s international, with the roots to its home country running deep, yet the atmosphere it created might as well have given it the illusion of being as tall as mountains.
The wide panes of glass nearest to the main entrance were clear, a fact noted by the teen as he entered the large space. Though, as attention-grabbing it is, he quickly found himself going through the tedious process of getting verification.
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“And…” The bespectacled lady stamped the paper placed on the dark, wooden desk, humming in approval. “Your application is now approved.”
The teen in front of her wore blue overalls with short sleeves, a metallic and classy watch on his left wrist and two muted, silver and red bracelets on his right. The company’s logo was imprinted on his uniform but not an ID. He pulled on his uniform’s fabric to get a better view of the logo. ‘Oh, that’s probably why he thought I was part of Amaya.’ He brushed the tip of his finger against it. ‘Technically wasn’t wrong.’
The teen looked back up, since it would be a bit rude not to do so. “Much thanks,” he said, politely smiling. “May I start my work now?”
The lady stared at him for a moment before pulling up the tablet to her face. “Oh, but your shift starts tomorrow, no? And you’re a student?”
The smile remained on his face. “Yes ma’am.”
Her face morphed a few times with several different emotions before settling on a gentle, warm concern. “Oh but wouldn’t you want to spend your time studying or playing with your friends?”
“I want to experience work! This is my first part-time job, so I believe it will be challenging!”
“Well,” she adjusts her frames, sighing, “I suppose you can, let me print you a temporary ID, dear.” The bulky machine whirred mechanically and loudly. Almost comically so in the otherwise vacant, large waiting room.
The teen smiled widely, bouncing between the heels of his feet and forefoot, voice practically channeling his excitement. “Thank you so much, ma’am! I’ll make sure not to disappoint!”
After he was handed a rather flimsy card — especially for a company like Amaya — he made his way around the length-spanning halls of the company.
The pale-haired teen knew, even without a single glance, that there were cameras everywhere. Mildly, he thought them to be like eyes. They have multiple uses; to monitor, to observe, to ensure efficiency… But at its core, to control.
Yet, cameras are still limited. And his smile looked as innocent from afar as devious from up close.
It’s funny, infiltration was easier than he thought. With that in mind, he knew not getting caught or bringing suspicion to him would be just as, if not more, important. He slowed down his walk before he approached a nearby map of the place. And a map is a rather essential item if you wanted to create a rigid plan with a few dozen plan Bs.
It was perfect. Nothing less than absolute victory will be fitting. Then, he abruptly twitched.
Black orbs flickered. And obsidian hair waved just beside him. Following the figure with his mere gaze but not turning his head, a window, lit by sunlight from the outside, turned the black tendrils to midnight-blue. The figure had the shape of a woman — short — and yet her pale porcelain skin would make you think of ancient gods and goddesses, seemingly glowing as the sunlight hit her skin too.
‘Amusing,’ he thought as they walked their opposite ways, ‘the clothes kinda ruin that analogy.’ He snorted, staring at the oversized white t-shirt she was wearing, with blue dolphin shorts slightly peeking just below said thigh-level shirt. Every step of hers sounded heavy, or perhaps it was the aura of intensity that made it feel like she needed to go where she needed to.
‘Perhaps she would be one I would remember,’ he thought.
He was the type to silently chuckle at people because they are oblivious, but neither he or the girl would ever have predicted their paths tying and twisting together in the ways it did, sometimes loose, sometimes close; but always together.
***
Meanwhile, the girl entered her room, shutting close the door with a harsh thud, cringing, opening it and gently closing it again the second time. She did not want to make that a habit. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes. Some part of her wished she would open them once again and boot up her laptop to find no email giving cruel if professional notes and updates for their dearly beloved workers…
‘Though, I guess it would also be a bad thing if I didn’t get that email since it’s also a possibility that I’ve been completely cut off from that level of authority already,’ she thought.
Shaking her head to focus, the girl, hands freezing, throat tight, pulled back the chair faced to her desk. Her hands weakly pulled open the sliding shelf containing the gadget. The nervousness made her jumpy, the adrenaline from it made it hard to grasp things with a grip. Within an instant, she bolted to the mail software, manifesting several white boxes unread. It was the star-marked one on top that both caught her attention and her apprehension.
Slowly, as if she was being forced to watch a train-to-train collision in negative ten times its speed, her face was slowly marred with horror.
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“Thus, our workers will continue their normal schedule, stormy weather or not.” A woman with dark strands of tendril-like hair stood tall among the many, currently-seated, charcoal suits. They all shared the same round table together and the same soft and luxurious chairs; the same air and the same side. But one whiff of the atmosphere gave away who truly ruled over them. “I believe that you do not mind it? Even if it applies to the workers you have lent to us, no?”
Unanimously, they nodded. The lady turned her head to glance at the one, empty seat. Though, it would be more accurate to say the crimson circles bore holes to a ship with the inanimate object. She shook her head as if in disbelief but the edges of her lips proved to be quirky.
“Onto other, related matters—”
A loud, abrupt bang pierced sound into the previously still air. The sound of smooth hinges turning brought attention to the door slammed open. Effeminate, pale fingers laid on the handle before an oddly, and messily, suit-dressed girl came in. The blueberry suit looked a few sizes too big. The vest seemed more like a thick muscle shirt with buttons and the jacket was pretty much a large-sleeved, half-assed coat.
For a brief moment of utter silence, a pair of ruby irises mirrored another. The girl gulped, stepped forward, and closed the door without taking her eyes away. “Please don’t,” she said, her brows scrunched up.
It was quite obvious who she was addressing. But for those that didn’t realize, it became obvious when the woman with dark, flowing hair silently approached her. Every step of her heeled shoes resounded against the artistic and colorful tiles underneath. Any person not in a trance would report feeling their temples pounding. In the windowless room, red eyes peering down resemble those of predators. “Oh, don’t what, Dear?”
“D-Don’t make t-them do this…” The girl places her balled hands over chest. “Please,” she said.
The woman stomped hard on the ground, causing the girl to flinch. “Be more specific, Dear.” Her voice held an edge.
“I…”
“Say it!”
The following silence said more than enough to signal a turn of a beat.
“As I thought. You don’t have the will to stand up. It had broke as soon as I spoke to you.” She laced her fingers together, akin to one praying. But for those already at the top, is there any god to pray to? Her fair face was marred with a frown. Such was the least of responses she could give. “We, at Amaya, pick up strays… for the lack of a better word.”
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‘Oh, I know that so well, Mother…’ The one and only child of Amaya’s current leader would of course know about the atrocious system their ancestors had built up. Still, she could feel her throat constrict and stubbornly block the words from spilling out of her mouth. The memory of herself striding through long hallways all the way to this meeting room flashed back; ready to right a wrong, to correct an injustice, and now? Every speck of confidence she felt at that moment was nowhere to be found.
Almost absent-mindedly, the woman she happens to share blood with elegantly stepped around the girl in slow, deliberate circles. For a woman with so much experience making deals and negotiations — perhaps dealing with a scandal or two — she made no such hand gestures or any other movement aside from walking, she simply spoke with every word as fact. “From pushing empty tin cans for money, they push pen on paper for money; operate within the cogs and gears for money.”
Yuka twitched.
“We have offered them a chance and they took it. For just a few extra responsibilities, they get a stable job out of their services. It is their choice—”
“It is not!” Yuka’s face twisted, hands clenching the excess fabric of her sleeves. “They have to. They need to follow what you say no matter how cruel or ridiculous or they’re out of a job with a note on their resume about being kicked out of Amaya!”
“And if they happen to see that the things they need to do for work aren't what they expected, isn’t that just the real world in action?” Her mother oh so softly, so graciously, voiced to her.
“Deception… You deceived them! Putting up fake, striking kindness and warmth, only to pull it away in the end.” The girl continued to speak, not noticing the people at the table beginning to stand. She was speaking out of her behind. Every word emotional, as anger and frustration were the only fuel with confidence out of the picture. Almost like her blood itself was spiked with adrenaline.“You’re making these people work themselves to death and for what? Some extra profits? Their lives are worth more than that!”
Yuka had opened her mouth, she had wanted to say more but was left agape as her mother’s silhouette grew in width. Behind her, the once seated — Dare she say, dolls — had now taken a spot each, spreading out to maximize the illusion of size. It was almost funny, part of Yuka wanted to snark about how her mother, the leader of a rather inhumane company, had chosen to use an animalistic intimidation tactic. And yet, she couldn’t.
She could write several skies worth of poems about this moment but only her next move would begin to properly describe what she felt. Yuka stepped back, her hands shaking.
“Dear,” her mother said, the disappointment could almost be felt dripping down to the floor. The girl’s mind felt like a pressure was threatening to crush it to a pulp. “Oh but you’re naive.”
Yuka turned her head away, gulping. “I’m not…”
“We’re done here.”
The girl tried to step closer, hand stretched out. “Wait—” Two of the men behind her mother stepped forward. Yuka dropped the hand, eyes pointed forwards. With that, her mother, with the pack following, exited the room. Minor incidents are just that. If someone happened to spill something in the meeting room, they would stare but otherwise move on and continue. But people high up will always have high standards, so even with something insignificant entering the room, they can simply choose another place to have the meeting take place in.
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Dusty, worn loafers moped along the tiled floors. Yuka had her eyes perpetually glued to the floor. Her back was rounded off as though weight dragged on her very existence. Only the sound of air conditioning and room-muffled mutters could be heard within the long hallway. She tugged on her baggy clothes and cringed.
“Ah— Ah, ah… Oh no…”
Her head perked up. The girl’s eyes landed on a blonde woman standing frozen over a pile of paper, which she assumed was important given the lady’s words. Without sparing a second, Yuka went over and helped the woman pick the paper.
“Ah, you don’t need to do that!”
Yuka smiled at her, “it’s no problem,” She said.
In no more than a few minutes, the lady thanked Yuka and hurriedly left. The girl stood there for a while, smiling. She’s never seen her before, ‘she’s probably new.’
Suddenly, the girl whipped her head back. ‘Footsteps?’
Dark blue enters her view, before she realized it was a figure wearing overalls. ‘A janitor.’ Her brows crunched up in confusion. Behind her — The direction she’s currently looking at — was where she came from; The meeting room. But here in the hallway, there are no rooms but at the end, which is obviously the meeting room. The janitor’s back was turned towards her as he was walking, which implies that he came from the opposite end of the hallway going to the meeting room. And Yuka didn’t notice him…
Abruptly, he stopped walking. To the girl, it felt like the air had become still. The figure turned around.
Yuka subconsciously searched out his face, flinching when their eyes locked. A pair of feline-like irises met rubies. She couldn’t resist herself and shook her head, blinking rapidly as though it would clear an illusion. It didn’t. But at least now she realized that she’s not facing a demon, just someone with dark eyes that’re really reflective… and her figure was being reflected by his eyes, making it look like he had thin pupils…
The boy tilted his head to the side, as though thinking about something. Leveling his head, he approached. His back was straight and his gait was wide but not awkward. His face showed no identifiable emotion but his body practically exuded an almost kingly confidence. If life had a soundtrack, Yuka knew that some royal, dramatic hymn would be playing right now, and she wasn’t thinking that sarcastically; the harsh drums beating would be beating in perfect tandem with her heart. She wanted to step back and couldn’t, almost like an admin from a game locked that permission. She could only watch with wide eyes.
Now in front of her, he stopped. Instantly, Yuka is hit with a gust of heaviness. It was mildly buzzy, like an unexplainable phenomena. It didn’t feel real, simple. This was before she came to the realization of what it was. The puzzle pieces had clicked together to form a horrible conclusion. What she could feel was disappointment.
The lack of sound, lack of reaction, and even the lack of mean, hurtful comments somehow made the cursed feeling she was being submerged in much worse. After a second for him and an eternity for her, he swiftly turns to her left and leaves. As the boy’s footsteps gradually faded, Yuka was left with a certain feeling.
Trying to understand what she felt was as futile as grasping straws in a storm. And when she finally got even a sliver of understanding, it only gave her a sense of regret.
The girl would spend the next few days eating away at this feeling, acknowledging it and thinking about it. When the feeling was but a fragment left, ready to fade from her mind, she happened to stumble upon the boy again.
***
“Agh… This is… huh— uwa!”
Yuka, now donning a pair of glasses, was sitting in her chair, in front of her messy, scratch paper-filled desk. And she happened to elbow her blueberry slushie. With horror, she watched in what felt like slow motion as the drink tipped over towards her hard work. In her mind, she prayed to every god and every magical being to stop this.
Sadly, life is not so kind and her drink unsurprisingly ruined the papers she spent hours working on.
Sulking, she hung her head as she went to her bed. She stared at the large, blue button next to her drawer on the top. It had “[ PRESS FOR JANITOR ]” on its plastic head. Yuka reached out, before freezing. She looked to the side, then back at the button. ‘I… need to become more used to this if I want to become the heiress again,’ she thought, steeling her heart. Surely she wouldn’t meet misfortune once again if she was trying her best…? ‘Who am I fooling?’ She sighed.
The girl pressed the button and waited with bated breath. When the door to her room finally opened with a firm but not forceful swing, she almost had a heart attack. The overbearing, thick and intense presence of the boy from before materialized into her room. Yuka was already regretting this.
He, with his unwavering and hard eyes, looked over the mess at her desk — which is really minor, now that she thinks about it, she could have cleaned it herself — and then looked at her. His next line of words was so dry it was almost comical. “I’m not cleaning that,” he said, promptly shutting close the door.
“W-Wait, come b-back!”
“I said you can clean it yourself,” he opened the door again, voice indifferent. “Can’t do that, Princess?”
Yula fiddled with her hair, before forcing herself to speak in fear of losing his interest in the conversation. “N-No, I mean yes, I can clean i-it. But since you’re here, I want to t-talk to you.”
The teen hummed, before he tilted his head. It took Yuka a moment to realize that that was his cue for her to speak. She cleared her throat like one would before a speech, before cringing at herself.
“You gave me a lot to think about… And I wanted to ask y-you something.”
He quirked a brow, before smiling, amused. “Oh? I didn’t even say anything.”
“And yet you made a point!” She said, startling him. “I mean… even if it wasn’t done intentionally, you made me realize something. You didn’t say a word but I somehow knew you were kind of disappointed in me… I think…”
“I was.”
Yuka winced. “I didn’t need confirmation…”
“Then don’t ask for it. Why are you bringing this up, anyway?”
She swallowed and hardened her will. “I want to fulfill my ambition…” When silence continued for a beat, she continued. “Amaya has done, and is doing, many horrible things. When I was a kid, I thought I could change this mountain of a company by joining protests and supporting groups… By being rebellious… Slowly, I realized yelling at a mountain wouldn’t move it. But if you know the people who created the mountain themselves, you have a better chance at moving it. So I want to reclaim my throne as the heiress of Amaya, to one day become its president and bring change!”
“That’s…” For the first time since they spoke, the boy didn’t deliver his words with perfect, flawless accuracy. “Quite the character monologue,” he said, only lasting a moment before bursting into howling laughter. Akin a flower wilting in a sped up video, despair gradually twisted Yukas face before she turned away with the intention to run away.
A firm hand grabbed her shoulder before she could.
“Wait- Hahaha- give me a moment.” The boy laughed his last round of laughter in front of her, as if he was a cruel demon wanting to further mock her. He took a deep breath, and the graciousness and willfulness returned to his being.
‘It’s almost scary… The way he can do that,’ she thought, gulping. ‘But then again, that’s in the same vein of reason why I want to ask…’
“What’s with that look?” He said.
“You…”
“I’m not laughing at your ambition, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, but his smile and the twinkle in the pair of voids told her he was certain he was correct. “Your mountain analogy was just hilarious. Seriously? Mountains don’t work like that.”
The rather simple realization hit her like bricks thrown through windows. ‘Oh. A misunderstanding…’ Red proved to be a stubbornly spreading bloom of color on her face, even traveling up to her ears. She wanted to sleep and never wake up. This is too much.
Yuka saw the teen smirk before leaning towards her. Or rather, leaning over her given the height difference. “Now now, just tell me what you want to ask, little one.”
“I-I am not a kid!”
“Then grab me and say what you want to say.”
Unable to refute in her current state, she grabbed his blue collar with both hands and blurted out the words. “Please teach me how to be strong!”
The boy leaned back, smirk dropped. He was quiet for a moment, before speaking. “Clarify.”
Yuka held her breath. She shook her head, ‘get yourself together!’ She thought. “You’re,” The girl said, gulping. “The perfect candidate to become the next in line to inherit the throne.”
His eyes narrowed, calculating. “The heir,” he said. Yuka could feel the air tighten, and her first instinct was to let go, but instead she clenched her hands on his collar harder.
It made her pause. Though some part of her screamed it was futile, she continued hastily, as though it would magically remove the possibility that she became her own cause of failure, simply because she revealed something to someone who just has so much more potential than her. “Y-Yes. And, I think I can learn a lot from you.”
He stared at her. It felt like a solid minute even though it was just half. It felt like she made a mistake at some point in their conversation from his silence and it felt like she was jumping into conclusions. The moment she opened her mouth to backtrack, he raised a hand, palm facing towards her. And her mouth clamped shut.
The boy took a deep breath, as though priming himself to speak. “Those who teach you — teachers — mold you to a shape within your potential. Refined, and reforged. What makes you believe that I am someone you can learn from? What makes you believe I won’t just take the throne myself?”
“I…” In her mind, Yuka had believed, or rather, hoped, that this boy in front of her was just so intelligent and strong that he could have just become the heir if he wanted to, and he wasn’t, so he didn’t want to. But that was just a hopeful belief created by a desperate mind. Who was to say he wasn’t in the process of taking over? After all, you can’t conquer a country in a day. Who was to say—
“I am not asking for much. Just saying that,” his void-black eyes seemed mesmerizing at that moment, “why just reap the victories of your emotional goals, when you can look for logical ones as well and win both?”
She didn’t understand. The girl could run the words over and over in her mind vividly and she would still find that the meaning is lost.
“I’m not so patient today, so I’ll just say it. You can be ambitious and emotional. You can be ambitious, emotional, and logical.” He took her hands off him and straightened. “In the former’s case, good fucking luck.”
‘What?’
“So then, what’s your reason? And I’m not talking about the illogical ‘logical’ stuff like one has four eyes and one has two, or one has better grades and one doesn’t.”
“I don’t…” Yuka pushed the words out of her throat, she felt compelled to answer. “Know… I just want,” ‘Logical? Find a better teacher? Choose? I just want,’ “support…”
She saw him open his mouth before closing it once again.
“I-I know that’s probably not the right answer… b-b-but…” Nervousness crept up in the form of frost. It felt like a bullet had shot out when she realized that she had no ‘but.’
The boy waited just a second more. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, as though he did just that with a glass of wine to observe it, with the liquid as his thoughts. Opening his eyes, she tensed.
“You are pathetic,” he said. “It was doubtful a big change occurred when you had encountered me… A small spiral of thoughts at most, so I’m not surprised. You had already lost once when you tried to face off against your mother. Then once more when you left me disappointed. Again, too. That’s three losses.”
Yuka covered her face, folding into herself on the ground. “Please… quiet…”
“Blunt as it may be, I am encouraging you.” ‘Or at least, the way I wanted someone to have done for me in the past.’ He leaned over her curled form. “Anyway, you sound dejected. I would’ve rejected earlier if I thought you didn’t have any potential.” He gave a hand out for her to grab. Usually, it would’ve been a kind gesture, but… “Tell me, do you need a hand to get up, like a kid, or can you do even such small tasks yourself?”
Yuka looked into his eyes, and realized, ‘it’s not just mean words, there’s a challenge.’ She placed her palm on the floor, she pushed, suddenly finding herself up and rapidly falling backwards. Before a hand suddenly grabbed her before she could fall, making her eyes widen.