Eight Years Before Current Events
The afternoon bell was the daily saving grace for the students of Chuokan Elementary School. A wave of relief passed through the young students itching to do anything and be anywhere else. The buzz of animated conversation immediately cut off the teacher’s lecture, and his attempts to retain order were short-lived. The children all dove beneath their desks, haphazardly throwing books and pencil-cases into rucksacks.
Dentaku Bango shut his book with a sigh, dragged a comb through his parting. A subconscious reflex, a response to any disturbance. Patting down any errant strands of hair, he looked to his right. A boy with long, messy black hair slouched over, lying face down on the desk.
“Harigane, wake up.” Bango rapped him on the back of the head with his knuckle. “The lesson’s over.”
“Shut up, Bagel. I heard the bell.” Rinkaku Harigane batted his hand away groggily, yawned then promptly rolled off his seat with a thud.
“Idiot.”
Rin lay there on his back, dazed, before catching sight of his classmates staring down. “Are you all just gonna stand there?” He cursed. “Either help me up, or gawk at someone else!”
They hurriedly scampered elsewhere.
“Indoor voices, Rin.” A blond girl nearby giggled. Crouching down, she lifted him up by the shoulders. “You’ve got to stop doing that; you’ll hurt yourself.”
Rin’s head flopped back over his shoulder. “Amibari!” He grinned. “Yo.”
“Fall asleep again?”
“You betcha. I did the assignment in the first five minutes! So easy!”
Kinuka’s sweet smile turned icy. “Then maybe don’t snore so loudly next time, so that the rest of us can concentrate.” She bopped him hard on the nose, then let him fall. Rin spent the next few minutes rolling around on the floor, grumbling curses aplenty. Standing back up, Kinuka waved to Bango, and he nodded. That was essentially the extent of their communication. To be perfectly honest, he’d never really given her—or any of the girls—much of a second glance.
Voices called for Kinuka from the door—a gaggle of girls from their class hung by the doorframe, pointing and whispering covert nothings to one another at the unfolding commotion.
“Not today.” Kinuka waved them off. “Practice isn’t till tomorrow, right? You go ahead without me.”
“Oh, that’s right. No clubs today.” Bango watching the girls frolic off down the hall. “Are you going home alone, Amibari?”
“Not alone.” Rin piped up, still holding his head. “I’m taking her to the gallery down in Makuhari. My building got selected for the finals of the university’s open architecture design contest. They’re announcing the winners today. We’ll probably go to the cafe afterwards. I still haven’t finished telling Ms. Sato about my design!”
“Oh, I’m sure she can’t wait.” Kinuka rolled her eyes.
“Get this, Bango—” Rin continued, exuberant— “You know how you can stack Pocky in a two by two grid and it retains structure? What if you did that with repurposed shipping containers! You could build blocks of new housing for so many people, using existing materials, and it would look cool!”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s the design they selected for the finals, so there!” Rin stuck his tongue out.
“You were selected for the finals?” Bango repeated.
“Yeah, weren’t you listening? I’m gonna win, too! None of the university students are as good as me!”
Kinuka sighed. “See what you’ve done?”
Bango’s forearms started to ache. Massaging the tendons, he realised his fists had been clenched tight for the past few minutes. “I completed my proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem. The professor I met said it was one of the most promising solutions he had ever seen from someone our age.” He retrieved the leather-bound booklet from his briefcase and slammed it onto the desk. “Beat that.”
“Ooh, fancy.” Rin’s eyes lit up. He picked up the book and thumbed through it. Congratulation already on his lips, the intrusive thoughts won and his mouth abruptly curled into a smirk. “Or, maybe he just told you that because it was just so awful but he didn’t want you to start crying in his office!”
“He did not!” Bango’s cheeks flushed with righteous indignation. “You take that back!”
Rin pulled a face, and Bango seized the front of his shirt.
“Settle down, you two…” A weary voice cut through from the front of the class. “If I see any more chairs being thrown across the classroom, I won’t bother defending you in front of the Principal anymore.” Their homeroom and maths teacher, Mr. Kanji, a retiring man with a black comb-over and beige suit, had just finished collecting his papers.
“Sorry, sir.” Bango stiffened, releasing his grasp. Rin, still slouching, leered over at the other boy with a glint in his eye. Bango glared ahead, frowning.
“I didn’t tell the rest of the class this,” Mr. Kanji continued, “as they weren’t listening and frankly neither were you, but I’ve graded the most recent test. Exemplary as always. Well done.” The man’s eyes creased with pride. “You too, Amibari. Your efforts to improve are showing.”
She bowed, beaming.
Bango didn’t miss a beat. “Who won?”
“Harigane beat you, by only two marks.”
“Ha! Sucks to suck, Bangle!”
“Language.”
“Sorry…”
“That’s not important either way. I’ve entered you both into the National Primary Interscholastic Championship. I think you’re both ready. This is a competition you’ll have to cooperate on as a team of two. I’ll tell you more closer to the time.” Mr. Kanji checked the clock. “Come now, we’d all best be off.” He clapped his hands, ushering them from the room.
Bango couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching as they made their way out. He made to turn left down the corridor, but stopped when Kinuka called out to him.
“You’re not coming with us, Bango?”
“What she said.” Rin smirked. “Come on, you’ve got to see my designs in person. I wanna read your proof, too. I’m sure it’s really good.”
The way he said it was genuine enough, but Bango’s fingers clenched a little tighter around the booklet. Damn it all. His eye twitched, his teeth ground against themselves. He excused himself. “I don’t have time for such useless frivolities. Mr. Kanji said the competition was soon. I’m going home to study. I suggest you do the same. You’d better not slow me down, Harigane.”
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He strode off with assumed purpose down the corridor, not quite able to escape earshot of the pair’s bemused comments in his direction.
“Is he alright?”
Rin’s brow furrowed. “I wonder…”
* * *
“I’m sure it’s really good.”
Those placating words rang a cacophony of bells in his head. Hours later, the bright June sun still stood strong in the sky. Bango stormed down the street, glare boring into the pavement, without a single care for whichever way he headed. Harigane hadn’t meant those words at all. He was mocking him again. That was just another cruel joke, another jab at the fact that he’d been surpassed yet again. It was just a class test. It didn’t matter so much, his conscious mind told itself. His unconscious mind, however, wasn’t so quick to let go.
In his silent fury, Bango didn’t realise he’d made a crucial wrong turn. Between a set of run-down buildings just out of Chuo Ward’s centre, the stench of neglect hung heavy in the air. A cold hand clutched his shoulder from the shadows. The harsh young voice in his ear made his skin crawl.
“The hell you doing around here, punk? This ain’t your turf.”
Before Bango could even turn around, a fist connected with his jaw, sending him spiralling onto the concrete. Tears rushed to the corners of his eyes as the ground grazed his cheek, bones aching from the impact. His briefcase spilled its contents over the floor, including his proof.
A scrawny, ratty-faced child—no older than Bango—emerged from the shadows. Short black hair stood to attention with the help of copious gel, and his leather jacket looked faded and stolen.
“Don’t you know this is the King’s turf? The hell’s a nerd like you going wandering around on our space. Don’t you have cram school to go to, or something? Huh?!”
More started to emerge from around the neighbouring buildings, some hanging by on the fire-escape stairs. The recession had been more unkind to some families than others. Some had lost their homes, some had lost their lives. A small sect of children left to rot on the streets, imitating the habits of gangsters they had once seen on television to give them some shred of purpose.
“Hold on, Takeshi.” A larger boy, most likely aged fourteen, lumbered over and picked up Bango by the scruff of his shirt. “Take a look at that pin. That’s a Chuokan badge, isn’t it? Hey, kid.” The King leaned in close, and Bango nearly choked on the foul cigarette breath. The boy had a gorilla’s build, with garish blond hair slicked back with enough oil to lube an engine. He wore an American varsity jacket several sizes too big on the arms. The shoulders looked unnaturally padded. Then again, whatever facial hair the boy had was little more than peach fuzz coloured in with marker. “Your papa must be pretty minted, right? Sending you to a rich kid school like that?” A vein clenched in his forehead. “You wealthy fuckers, walking ‘round up in everyone’s business like you own the place. Makes me sick!”
He drove his knee hard into Bango’s face.
“Oi, King!” Another leech had picked up the briefcase in one hand and book in the other. “Check this out. Maybe he’s got some dough in this baby!” Several more ran over and fought among themselves to the first to excavate the bag’s contents.
Takeshi snatched the book from his friend, squinting to read the cover. “Fermat’s Last…” He gave up with the last word. Leafing through some pages, he scowled down at Bango and stepped on the boy’s back, waving the book around. “The fuck is this shit? Bunch o’ dumb numbers in there.” Throwing it to the floor, the book splashed a puddle into Bango’s face and sat there, sadly, soaking up the dregs. “Tell me what it says, damn nerd!” He stepped on the back of Bango’s head, grinding his cheek into the dirt.
“Stand aside.” The King shoved Takeshi away with force. The boy hit the wall and slumped down into fearful silence. Crouching down, he helped Bango up to a sitting position. “Sorry about him. Brat still don’t get how to treat people right. What’s your name, kid?”
Bango glared, but kept his lips sealed. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
The King snarled. “Don’t make me repeat myself!” He slugged the boy in the gut.
Bango doubled over with a cry. Finally conceding, he uttered his full name amid laboured breathing.
“Say, Bango, you got a cellphone on you, don’tcha? Why don’t you give your daddy a call and see if he’s willing to spare you some change? You must get a pretty little allowance, right?” He picked up the discarded book. “Or, you can tell me what this says. Must be worth quite a lot, fancy book like this, no?” He waved it in front of Bango’s face. The boy didn’t dare snatch it back.
New footsteps had entered the ally. Some of the urchins shrunk back, some voiced their unease. “Uh, hey, King? Someone’s—”
“Shut yer traps! Can’t you see I’m busy making money to feed your lousy asses?” The King barked, not looking away from Bango. “So? How ‘bout it? Tell me bout the book, and maybe I can sell it for a tidy sum. Who knows? I might even give you some of the profit. What’s it say?”
A foot connected with the King’s face at breakneck speed. A sharp crack echoed throughout the alley. The older boy landed harshly on his back, and let out a yell. The other urchins made a commotion and skittered about. Some rushed to their leader’s side, others stared transfixed at the newcomer. A boy with messy dark hair and the same school uniform had picked up the discarded book, and scoured the dirty water as best he could from its covers.
“Fermat’s Last Theorem,” Rinkaku Harigane stepped forward into the throng of abandoned children, and listed off the title. “It won’t get you rich; it’s not some GTA infinite money cheat code. It states there’s no two numbers, raised to a power above two, equal their sum raised to that same power. It’s a simple problem, but no-one was able to prove it for 350 years. Crazy, right? It’s seriously impressive stuff, especially since we’re only ten. You need to take formulas from so many branches of maths to even get close, and the proof itself takes ages to write out, let alone get right.” Rin took a breath, meeting the blank stares of the children with half-exasperation, half-pity. “Not that any of this would mean anything to you. All you’re concerned with is where your next meal comes from, because society’s left you on the streets to rot. Nothing on you guys, but I think that’s pretty sad.”
The afternoon sun now shone through the clouds, and bearing down on Rin in heaven-sent splendour. Bango winced at the light, shading his gaze. He couldn’t see his face anymore. Rin had stepped past him and into the light. The boy had become a glorious silhouette, deified by the light of his courage. Bango couldn’t look away. The sight burned itself into the backs of his eyes. Even when he blinked, Rinkaku Harigane, standing strong, remained permanently etched into his eyelids.
Deific figures on earth were swiftly persecuted, however.
“You’ve got nerve.” The King didn’t stay down for long. Seizing the comparatively titchy Rin by his shirt, the boy lifted him a good few inches off the ground. “That fucking hurt, kid. Just what the hell kinda game do you think you’re playing at?” He roared.
“Leave Bango alone,” Rin commanded through gritted teeth, struggling against the grip with both hands. “It’s a misunderstanding. He didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I know you. You’ve been causing trouble for the kids around here for ages. Steal what’s his, and you’re nothing more than the street trash everyone says you are, Kei Sakaki—oh, sorry: ‘King’.”
And in a rich man’s house, there is no place left to spit but in his face.
A collective intake of breath was followed by the exaggerated wiping of spittle from the face. The King’s fist tightened, trembled with rage all over. His voice cracked several octaves. He screamed in Rin’s face, “and who the fuck do you think you are?!”
The boy wound back a fist and struck Rin right in the eye. The boy hit the floor with an anguished cry and crumpled inwards, clutching his face.
“You come onto my turf—” He kicked Rin in the stomach— “Insult my family—” Again— “Spout that high-and-mighty bullshit—” And again— “And have the nerve to kick me in the jaw!” And one final time. Rin wailed in anguish, coughing violently before emptying his stomach onto the tarmac. The King bent down and smushed Rin’s face into the pile of his own vomit, before kicking him across the floor towards where Bango cowered, mortified.
“You gonna join your idiotic little friend here, huh Bango?” Sakaki yelled. “Couple of missing rich brats ain’t gonna make a dent, but we’ll eat for weeks! Well? What’s it gonna be, buddy?”
Rin’s eye had already bruised and swollen, leaking tears down his cheeks. He reached toward Bango, a desperate, silent cry. That look in the King’s eyes, the light shining down from above, and how small he felt amidst all of this. All of it sent the worst, primordial fear coursing through his veins. The boy rose, mortified. He swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat protesting with all its might.
“He’s not my friend!”
And so it was, a little bit of Rinkaku Harigane died that day.
One dreadful step backwards turned into three, and Bango fell into crying, bleeding, shameful retreat. Sakaki grunted, deciding it all wasn’t worth the trouble. He lifted his foot from the small of Rin’s back and sloped off, nursing his injured jaw, leaving the child lying in the pool of bile. With their leader disinterested, the rest of the urchins grumbled seething curses to one another. A couple aimed halfhearted kicks at Rin, but most traipsed away back into obsolescence, wasting away in the shadows of neglectful civilisation.
The patter of shoes hit tarmac and concrete in succession as Bango fled. He winced with every other limping step, diaphragm convulsing, grazed cheeking stinging in the wind. No matter how tight he screwed his eyes shut, Rin’s visage and its overpowering awe never left his mind. That radiance, that brilliance: a truth dawned on him now, one he vehemently detested, but one he could not deny.
He couldn’t surpass Rin; not now, not ever.
And Dentaku Bango, with that sole act of cowardice, had already sealed that truth as his fate.