“Kinuka! This way, this way. Look over here! What do you think of this one?”
Kinuka Amibari turned around, one hand holding an eyewateringly expensive cashmere sweater. In the time it had taken for her to pick out this singular garment, Juusei Kanon had completely changed outfits once again. Granted, Kinuka knew she took far too long to make a decision on anything, but you could hardly blame her for that. Juusei on the other hand had essentially nabbed whatever caught her eye on the racks first before disappearing off into the changing rooms. She’d transformed from high society socialite to early nought’s Gyaru set-piece to a Goth’s Sunday Best at the drop of a hat.
Everything Juusei did, she did at a million miles an hour. That didn’t matter to Kinuka in the slightest.
“Amazing!” She cried, drooping the sweater back over the hanger and rushing forward to examine the outfit in greater detail. “This one suits you perfectly, Juusei. The black goes so well with your hair! Looks like something straight out of a Gala!”
“Gala?”
“Oh—” Kinuka’s smile faltered. “It’s, um… It’s when a lot of stylish people get together to show off their amazing outfits to each other! It’s an opportunity for famous designers to premier all their latest clothing lines, it’s wonderful.”
She hit herself once again for forgetting the obvious. Juusei’s incarceration since childhood had left her pretty much clueless when it came to any kind of event of the past decade. The whole shopping experience had been in equal parts overwhelming and unbelievably exciting. Kinuka had considered fashioning a leash to the back of the girl’s shirt, preventing her from accidentally attacking someone out of excitement. They had suffered a few close calls; to expose her to such a large crowd so soon had been a bit of an oversight, she’d realised.
Juusei accepted the explanation with no questions asked. “Can we go and see one? Please, please, please?!”
“Sure!” Kinuka pinned the smile to her face before the thoughts filtered in. They’d have to wait until this whole thing was over. Would it ever be over? The fleeting faces of her new friends flashed through her mind; Kinuka screwed her eyes tight shut. Would they all make it through to the end?
“Something wrong?”
Kinuka realised she’d let the dread get the better of her. “No, I’m fine!” She reassured, shielding her brow with one hand. “It’s just the light in here. Way too bright. Have you decided on what you want to buy?”
Juusei gestured to her current getup. “I really like this one. Can we get it?”
Kinuka felt her trouser pocket for the comforting outline of Granny’s credit card, and nodded. “Money’s not an issue for me,” the old woman had said. “You deserve to relax. Please, have fun.” Her kindness had moved Kinuka nearly to tears. Was it just on account of their connection to Rin? Then again, the way she treated him was miles away from the royal treatment she gave to guests. She supposed that’s just how grandparents were. She didn’t really have any frame of reference.
“You said I needed to put it back on the hangers before we can buy it, right?” Juusei asked.
Kinuka nodded. “Put your other clothes back on; we’ll go to the checkout together!”
Juusei whooped, and dashed back off into the changing booth. Kinuka laughed to herself. The laugh quickly faded into a look of slight horror as the sheer number of other white bags they had steadily accumulated on their journey from one high-end boutique to another. How on earth were they going to carry all of that back home? Kinuka smiled, and felt her shoulders drop. This was her day—their day—to relax. Who knew when things would start picking back up? They’d figure out a way. Compared to what she’d just lived through, carrying some shopping was nothing at all.
She turned her attention back to the cream sweater, narrowing her eyes as she weighed it up critically above a pair of complementary slimline leggings that had caught her eye earlier. They were denim-based, a high thread count, with sequins sewn in a diamond pattern down the outside hem. Awe, the best kind of envy, welled in her chest. Brushing her fingers over the material, the texture sang to her like braille. It would have to be very cheap to be mass-produced like this, and yet comfortable enough to both wear and last. The stitching was remarkably simple, but they’d managed to emulate a weave that she herself had been unable to replicate just yet.
She’d get there eventually.
One day.
Maybe.
* * *
Anxiety is often best described as a feeling of impending doom. Very rarely does this account for anything but a false alarm; this often means that, unfortunately, when a real calamity approaches, by the time one gets that uncomfortable feeling, it’s already far too late.
In another part of the Yorusada Mall, an entire crowd of shoppers—idly milling around between the outlets—stopped dead in their tracks. Their collective gaze fell skyward. The very air itself had stood still for a moment, and crackled. What was going on? They stared a moment longer. Nothing was there, but something had to be there. It just had to; they had all felt it. A couple shifted nervously on their feet; a few nudged their companions; others audibly voiced their suspicions.
Only, there was nothing. Perhaps it truly was a false alarm. Some waited a further moment or two for something—anything—to confirm their suspicions, only to be left disappointed. Slowly, the noise of general bustle returned. Conversations were restarted right where they left off, the excitable noise that came with idle chatter filling the air.
With their gazes all focused away, no-one had noticed the black smoke that had begun to carpet the floor. Emerging from a vent, the condensed smog glid silently across the tiles over the next few minutes, until the entire floor of the mall was completely shrouded. None amongst the hundred peaceful shoppers noticed anything out of the ordinary, as the smoke rose and coiled itself around their legs. It snaked through their clothes, winding like jungle creepers up clothes and shopping bags.
Out of the blue, a few began to splutter. Something between a cough and a choked gargle: a response to inhaling exhaust fumes, or the foul stench of cigarettes. From all around the mall, the sound of coughing grew louder. Alerted, those nearby checked on the afflicted few. By the time they caught sight of the black tendrils worming their way into others’ mouths, it was already too late to scream. The coughing spread like a plague, until the only sound that resonated from the ground floor was the rhythmic asphyxiation of hundreds; a steady drum beat, a dirge to the dying. The people then started to drop like flies; first a few, then a dozen. People started to keel over in droves, clutching at their throats for dear life. Their eyes flooded with agonised tears, lungs progressively hacked out by the second.
From the chaos and the smog rose a solitary shape. Vaguely humanoid, the wisps of black particulate drifted skyward. Glints of crystal glass hid themselves in the smoke, and two eerie red pinpricks gleamed amid the rising cloud. A premonition, a warning.
In a husky, faded voice, the defined reject Kemuri recited, “Oh, tranquility. Penetrating the very rock. A cicada’s voice.” It tried its best to sing, but its total lack of timbre made the words sound like a memory whispered by a dying man.
His gaze shifted upwards, following the psychic signatures.
“A plague is indiscriminate, and I am a plague,” he proclaimed. “Yet, I have a target. I do not understand, yet I will carry out his will. He showed me… kindness, and so I did not kill him. I feel I must… repay that kindness.” The entity paused. “Can a plague be kind?”
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* * *
After all the chaos of the last few days, Nagora Ibuse thought he deserved at least a little rest. Circumstances meant he hadn’t had a day off this week. Sunday was the only chance he’d get. One well-appreciated lie-in and a lazy breakfast later, the detective had just finished making a pot of coffee. The radio was tuned into a talk show he didn’t care about, and his wife sat on one of the bar-stools around their raised island of a table. Pouring out two mugs, Ibuse was about to sit down and join her when he felt a familiar tug at his trouser leg.
“Daddy, Daddy! Want to see my report card from school?!” A little girl stood by, beaming and clutching a piece of card in one hand. She bounced on the balls of her feet, swaying her arms back and forth in that way young children with too much energy do. “Mommy said all the teachers were really nice about me, but said that I can't read it until you do.”
The woman to his left nodded, sipping from her cup.
Ibuse smiled. Sachiko was the light of his life. He’d never cried so hard until the day she was brought into the world. Even to this day, seeing her so full of life was enough to lift the wear and weight on his soul, a soul weathered through so many days of just getting by. Every hardship he went through was worth it to see her smile one more day. Ibuse lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“What’s this? A good report card?” The man waggled a stern finger, putting on a false, deep voice. “Who are you, and what have you done with my naughty little Sacchan?”
“Daddy!” The little girl pouted and stamped her feet. “That’s mean!”
“I know, I know.” Ibuse chuckled and bent down. “Daddy’s horrid, isn’t he?”
Sachiko biffed him gently on the nose.
“I deserved that.”
The girl giggled.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Picking her up with both arms, Ibuse hoisted the girl up high and sat her down on the counter-top. Taking the report card, his gaze worked its way down the page.
“She’s been working very hard recently, maybe inspired by a certain someone I know,” commented Ayumi Ibuse. She was a reserved, slender woman who radiated the warmth of a summer’s day even in November. “Thank you for taking a day off, dear. I know things are hectic at the station right now.”
Ibuse gave her a side-eyed smile. “This is wonderful, darling.” He ran a hand through his daughters’ hair. “You’re right, the teachers have been saying wonderful things about you. Who’s my clever little—hang on,” He narrowed his eyes, and lowered his tone. “Have you been using Daddy’s super secret spy techniques to coerce your teachers for better grades again?”
Sachiko giggled and kicked her feet. “That’s classified.” She grinned.
Ayumi rolled her eyes. “Stop giving her ideas, Nagora.” She pinched him on the arm.
Ibuse yelped. “Oh, so that’s the consolation I get for making you such a lovely breakfast and coffee?”
Ayumi took a sip of said coffee to hide her grin. “The only part you made was the miso.”
“And damn good miso it was too!”
“All you had to do was pour water on the sachet.”
“There’s an art to that!”
“Mommy said you couldn’t cook until she married you,” Sachiko chimed in. “Is that true?”
Ibuse nearly spat out his coffee. “Yuyu! What lies and slander have you been feeding our daughter?”
“Not your miso soup, if I can help it.” Ayumi was nearly beside herself at this point.
Ibuse’s grin was terse, one eye twitching. “You’re really asking for it now. Wait until I—”
Whatever playful threat had been waiting on his lips, poised to strike, was interrupted by the chime of his phone.
11:20
“Hold on.” Ibuse stood and took a few steps away. He hoped to any god listening to his prayers that it was just a telemarketer on the other end. He held up the phone. “This is Ibuse.” The man’s face fell, then descended into a glaring panic. “What—” He stumbled. “Two of them? At the same time? Where?”
Sachiko watched in silence. Ayumi quietly shuffled over and turned off the radio. Now was no longer the right mood.
“Got it,” Ibuse grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling down cursory details. “Who’s nearby? Get them on the scene at Kawarajima as fast as you can. I’ll be there soon.” The call ended with a click, and Ibuse put the phone down on the table. The man let out a heavy sigh and slowly dragged both hands down his face.
“It’s not over, is it?” Ayumi already knew. Reaching out for her little girl, she helped Sachiko to the floor.
“No.” Ibuse shook his head. “No, it’s never over.” He turned to face his wife. “Sorry to keep abandoning you like this.”
“I understand,” Ayumi squeezed his shoulder. “Well, actually—no, I don’t. This is all fantastical and contradictory; then again, after thinking about what you told me last night, I just can’t see any other explanation.”
“It’s exactly as I told you, Yuyu.” Ibuse sighed. “I don’t understand it either.”
“You need to be in the right place at the right time, right? Isn’t that what Toshina told you?” Ayumi took a deep breath, and gave him a hug. “Go, Nagora. We’ll be fine.”
“Daddy?” Sachiko asked. “Where are you going?”
Ibuse cleared his throat. “Daddy’s got to take care of something work related, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
“But…” Sachiko couldn’t stop her face falling. “You… You said earlier you’d have time to help me practise piano today…”
“Ah…” Ibuse took a deep breath, then looked to his wife. She had her lips pursed, and shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Sacchan… I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”
“But!” Tears welled up in the little girl’s eyes. “But you said that last week, too! You always say later, but when is later? I don’t understand!” The girl’s wails rose. “You never spend any time at home, daddy! You’re always working! I really miss you!”
“Sachiko—” her mother’s reproach was well-meant— “please don’t make this harder for your father. He really wants to, but he has work to do.”
“But, I—”
“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” Ibuse, his heart already broken, let his hand rest on the girl’s head for a moment longer, eyes closed. He waved a hasty goodbye, grabbed his coat and dashed off towards the door.
“I really, really miss you, daddy…” Sachiko watched him through the window, then buried her face in her hands.
“I know, honey.” Ayumi picked up the little girl and put a hand on the back of her head. “Please be patient with your father. He loves you more than anything, and he never breaks his promises.”
“You’re damn right I don’t.”
Mother and daughter looked behind them, aghast. The man looked slightly out of breath, his hair was ruffled and his shoes fairly scuffed, but standing there as clear as day was none other than the man they’d seen leave only moments ago.
“Darling—” Ayumi began.
Nagora Ibuse grinned. “Right place, right time—remember?”
Ayumi gasped.
“Daddy!” Sachiko leapt free from her mother’s embrace. Throwing her arms around her father’s legs, she clung on for dear life. “You kept your promise!”
“I told you, didn’t I?” Ibuse ruffled the girl’s hair, undoing his tie slightly to free himself from his shirt collar’s clutches. “I said I’d be back before you know it. Now, why don’t we get started on that piano practice?”
Sachiko cheered with delight and rushed out of the room.
Ibuse, about to follow her, paused.
A moment's silence.
“Start packing, okay darling?” He said. “You and Sacchan: you’re returning to Kyoto as soon as you can.”
The jaded monotone send chills down Ayumi’s spine. “Nago—” She faltered, “What do you—”
Nagora Ibuse turned to face his wife one final time; his reluctant grin had vanished. Replacing it were the eyes of a man who could never forget what he’d seen. Emulated in his glare was the most unspeakable terror.
“January first, ten minutes into the new year. Something awful will happen to this city.”
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
Ibuse turned away and stared into the middle distance a little longer. “Please do as I say.” For a moment, his voice quivered. “I don’t know if I can stop it.”