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subasekabang · 5 years

Text

Limited Perspective

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7800 (part 1 of 2 (part 2 in-progress))

Pairings/Characters: Eventual Minamimoto Sho, Minamimoto Sho/Sakuraba Neku

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Discussion of Death, Swearing

Summary: Minamimoto Sho is a villain. That’s obvious.

Minamimoto Sho is a hero. If you look closely.

The truth is somewhere in between.

Sho knows there’s no such thing as truth; just perspectives and interpretations. He doesn’t give a shit about the past–he just wants to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to work with the fucker who tried to flatten everything Sho holds dear.

Partner: Roxas/Neku

Author’s Note: This is a companion fic to my 2018 entry Death of the Author, but it also stands on its own.

Sho swears under his breath as he scurries through back alleys, trying to regain the Composer’s trail.

Boredom. That’s what the soul of Shibuya was worth to the fucker who held all their fates in the palm of Their hand.

The little shit got bored, and so decided to flatten everything. And Megumi, little ass-kisser that he was, didn’t try to take the fucker out.

That was the fucking Conductor’s job. Carry out the Composer’s Vision–and take Them down when their Vision faltered.

But noooooo, Megumi drank the fucking kool-aid, thought the Composer could do no wrong.

So the fate of Shibuya rested on the outcome of a fucking game.

Not unsolicited second-chances–the fate of Shibuya.

Fuck that.

Sho jumped used an abandoned crate to get enough lift to climb over the wall separating him from the next alley.

Just in time to see the Composer raise Their weapon of choice at some oblivious kid.

Fuck that.

But before Sho could raise his own gun, violet eyes cut toward him, and the barrel at the other end of the alley twitched.

A line of burning hot pain shot across Sho’s arm, and he nearly dropped his gun.

Nearly.

Shitshitshitshitshit

“…I blew it…”

No.

No!

Not today, ass-wipe.

Sho raised his arm, ignoring the agony in his bicep as he squeezed the trigger six times, calculating the odds that at least one would hit their target.

But the Composer just raised Their hand, and the bullets froze in the air before falling to the ground, one tinkle after another.

Sho booked it.

The Composer wasn’t supposed to have access to Their higher powers in the RG! This was supposed to level the playing field–

Three weeks left.

Back to the drawing board.

The Pre-Game meeting was always a bit of a joke. All the major decisions had always been meticulously crafted long before this point. It was just supposed to be a way to make sure everyone was on the same page and knew their roles.

Sho had to hand it to that crafty sneak Megs, though–he made himself the absent variable instead of the Composer.

‘Oh please, Higashizawa, won’t you run this game for me?’ Cue batting eyelashes behind the ever-present shades. Barf.

And Higashizawa was so much of a lickspittle, he didn’t even question the breach in protocol–the lack of time to craft a truly cohesive plan.

None of the other Officers questioned it.

Sho had enough. He bounced.

His bicep, bandaged under his coat, throbbed.

Megs really screwed the pooch on this one. Higashizawa was going to hyperfocus without a playbook to keep him on task–then the Composer’s proxy was going to win, and then what would Megumi do?

Hachiko was crawling with Noise when Sho passed through, picking off Players that hadn’t found Partners yet. Absently, Sho cued a few frogs after a couple that were about to make a Pact.

He may not be a Harrier anymore, but old habits were hard to break.

Stumbling across the Composer was a complete accident.

Sho’s pulse kicked up and sweat beaded on his forehead. The bullet crease, until now a background throb, rose to a sharp pang.

Nonononono

The Composer was supposed to be hands-off.

That conniving little cheat–!

For just a moment, the two locked eyes.

“Just shut up and form a pact with me!”

Sho watched the Proxy get claimed, and when he looked back, the Composer was gone.

Well, at least if the Composer was cheating, so was Megs.

Sho almost couldn’t believe it when Yashiro nearly convinced the Proxy to erase his own partner.

Did she know? She was a little… untempered for Megs to have taken into his confidence, still only a Harrier…

But… no. As the beat-nik interfered and stopped the Proxy from suiciding, it became clear Yashiro had just lost her freaking mind.

What. The. Fuck.

Harriers direct Noise and lay traps. Yashiro wasn’t new; Yashiro knew better–!

Sho nearly followed after her to reduce her to Noise-food herself, when he stopped.

Beat-nik?

His eyes widened.

He turned back to the Players and their little saviour.

Their little saviour who wasn’t a Reaper.

Their little saviour who wasn’t a Reaper, but was in the UG.

Their little saviour, who was explaining the rules–who had just enforced the rules.

A sharklike grin crossed his face.

‘Well. Hello there, Angel.’

Angels were the boogiemen of Reaper tales. A group of beings at an even higher frequency than the RG. They said that Composers were low-level Angels, and that even higher ranked ones supervised all their Games.

Of course, all of that was hear-say, officially denied. The Composer was the ultimate authority within each district.

Sho was well-travelled. He’d been traded from district to district before coming full-circle back to Shibuya.

The rumours were strikingly consistent no matter where you went. Which didn’t guarantee they were true.

But it did greatly increase their likelihood of being true.

So Sho watched Higashizawa’s week carefully. Watched the “Game Master” hyper focus just as Sho knew he would (at least it was on the right pair, if the wrong partner). Watched this “Sanae Hanekoma” save a Player who lost his Partner by sealing that Partner’s soul into a Noise Pin (for fuck’s sake, that was torture). Watched the Proxy receive regular help from the Angel.

None of it made sense.

Did… did the Angel not know? Did he not realize that the Game he was working to stabilize would destroy everything? Why save a Player who failed to grow so much that he essentially got himself and his partner erased in the same way they’d died?

This is why Sho hated working with others. They didn’t make sense!

Whose side was the Angel on?

A week with three winners, huh? That had to be a new one. Sho’s hands twitched. But Megs had handled it, cool as a cucumber–and passed the buck.

'Oh no, only one can be restored. By the way since you’re playing again your partner is your fee. Teehee.’

It was a stroke of genius. Megs couldn’t count on none of them being the proxy, so he managed to keep all three under his thumb.

And by assigning the new Reaper to destroy the other two, he kept the survivors on a route of mutual destruction.

The hidden variable in it all, though? The thing that made Sho want to grind his teeth down to dust?

When Megs asked Sho of all people to be his next patsy.

“Ah, there you are, Minamimoto. I’m afraid I don’t have any special projects for you this week; I’m sure you’ve heard about the Composer’s little… twist.”

Sho rolled his eyes. No memories to alter; no documentation to forge. Restoring someone to life required a deft touch and artistic flair–and an ability to calculate all the ways it can go straight to hell. It was an art-form he had a certain specialty in. It made him a Reaper in high demand, even considering his universally known bad attitude.

It was an art-form that should have still been needed. No reason the new kid couldn’t recapture some of his old life–except of course that Megs hadn’t told the fresh-meat about that little perk. Megs had no intention of the little idiot surviving the next two weeks; Megs couldn’t take that risk.

“I’m busy,” cleaning up your mess. “What do you want, Megs?”

A pause. Sho could hear Megumi’s lips thinning, before he forced himself back into that genial air that made him such a good people person.

“Of course, of course. Your attention to detail and dedication to your works is an inspiration to us all, Minamimoto. But I think it’s beyond time for you to stretch your wings a little–broaden your horizons so to speak.

“We’ll be running a second consecutive game, and I’d like you to act as Game Master this week.”

With Higashizawa–who’d taken his assignment so far he’d gotten himself erased–, Megumi had made the offer a genuine request. But Sho could hear the steel in the Conductor’s voice now. This was a thinly veiled order.

Carrot vs. Stick.

Shit. Megs was good. Different approaches for each of them. Why the fuck couldn’t he use his brain against the fucker who wanted to wipe them all out?

“Whatever. Any special instructions from the Composer?”

Fucker didn’t even flinch.

“Our newest Reaper will be given a special assignment, but otherwise consider things business as usual. It’ll be a smaller Game than usual due to the lack of time to collect Players, but that’ll just mean fewer excuses not to have a clean-sweep.”

There it was. For Higashizawa, the clean-sweep was a goad–a goal he had to reach to please his idol. For Minamimoto, it was a challenge to his competence.

And if Sho didn’t know exactly why a clean sweep was so important to Megs, he might have even fallen for it.

But, no. Sho didn’t care about taking out the Players. Not this round.

No, Sho had bigger fish to fry.

But if he didn’t at least put in appearances, Megs might get suspicious. And while Megs might want to win his little bet, Sho doubted he’d be on board for Sho’s more… permanent solution.

At least Day 1 was always a breeze; give Sho some breathing room to create a workable plan. Unless the harriers acted out again. Or were in league with either the Composer or the Conductor.

Ugh.

Happy miscalculation, indeed.

Sho couldn’t believe his luck. The Composer formed a pact with Their proxy. Of all the stupid, hare-brained ideas the whimsical artist could have done, this was above and beyond all of them. They’d have to stick to Their proxy like glue to ensure the Player didn’t get erased in Their absence.

And since the Composer couldn’t know when Sho intended to send out mission notices, this meant They couldn’t fuck off between missions, either.

Which meant that Sho had time to track down that Angel.

To be fair, Sho had kept an eye on the proxy Player the previous week, so he already knew where this 'Sanae Hanekoma’ was based. Dropping into the coffee shop in the downtime between missions one and two was as easy as taking a stroll down the street.

Sho didn’t even bother changing his frequency back to the RG for this–the Reaper decal outside would do that for him.

The Angel was good, Sho had to give him that. Didn’t even twitch when a Reaper Officer showed up in his quaint little shop.

“Welcome to Wildkat.” A lazy drawl that Sho could respect, prices that Sho could calculate were over-inflated. He threw down enough yen for a black coffee as he sat on a stool at the counter. Spare caffeine never went astray.

“You do know about the Composer’s stupid bet, right?”

Sho took an obnoxiously loud slurp of his coffee, smacking his lips in satisfaction while the Angel froze.

Satisfaction.

Sho was right.

The only question was, would the Angel confess or attempt to throw Sho off the trail.

A look across the shop led to the sharp click of the door locking and the sign switching to “Closed”.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Game Master.”

The Angel wasn’t looking directly at him, and even his eyes were obscured by the glare of the shop lights reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. If was a carefully calculated aesthetic, and Sho appreciated the effort.

“Life’s dangerous–and I happen to want life to continue. If that means crushing uninspired yoctograms who don’t know how to recycle what they have? I’ll do what I have to do. Or do you actually approve of the Composer’s gameplan?”

The Angel pushed his glasses up his nose, removing the glare and showing eyes as sharp as tacks–in direct opposition to the friendly smile spreading across his face.

“Well. Nice to meet you, Minamimoto Sho. You can call me Hanekoma. How can I be of assistance?”

Which is how Sho learned how to create Taboo Noise.

It sounds simple–draw these sigils and poof–Taboo Noise.

And. Well. It is that simple.

Except, not really. Creating the Noise is simple–sure.

Convincing himself it’s okay to create them is a whole 'nother story.

Reaper life is a little dog-eat-dog–especially as you get into the higher levels. Combat against both players and each other all feeds into the refinement of their Souls and so is encouraged.

Taboo Noise, though. It’s cheating. Especially since Hanekoma gave Sho a ward against them. They’d still attack Sho, but only if he provoked them first.

If Sho let too many loose and they took out too many Reapers, it could lead to the destruction of Shibuya as much as the Composer’s little bet.

It was going to be a careful balancing act–letting loose just enough to distract both the Reapers and the Composer himself, while making sure they can still be handled.

At least he knew how to keep tabs on the Composer.

Sho hit send on his phone.

Then he finished his first refinery circle.

Yashiro would be fine; she was usually hanging out with Koki, anyway.

And if she wasn’t, well.

Sho remembered how she went off the rails last week.

It wouldn’t be that big of a loss.

----

Shooter was a bit of a hero of Sho’s.

He understood geometry on an instinctual level that most people could only dream about. Shooter dreamed big, and lived his dream with every fibre of his being. He understood the beauty of precision.

Sending Sho’s Players to the Tin Pin play-offs was about pitting them against a challenge they were unlikely to pass, therefore increasing the possibility of the Composer’s proxy being erased.

It certainly wasn’t about spiting those fuckers and their bet that otherwise would have made Sho miss the event entirely.

Just so that’s clear.

Sho had no idea what the Composer was doing, though. It looked like They were just… tagging along?

Making snide remarks?

Letting Their proxy fail the challenge?

It was no skin off Sho’s nose if the Composer lost Their proxy this week and had to scramble to find a replacement for the final week before Megs’ timer finished counting down.

Hell, there probably wouldn’t be enough Players to start a third Game in a row, so this week was probably going to be the deciding factor.

All of this was still spinning through Sho’s head, so he almost missed the whisp of Imagination that tampered with Shooter’s equipment.

That. Little. Shit–!

Okay, so confronting the Composer–undercover or not–probably wasn’t the smartest idea Sho ever had, but Sho did learn a few things.

First, he learned that They weren’t planning to follow the gameplan and try to complete missions. If his opponent wasn’t even going to play, Sho was going to concentrate his efforts on the spell he was crafting to take out the Composer entirely.

Second, something was seriously wrong with Their proxy. Kid spent almost the entire conversation after Sho revealed himself clutching his head. People weren’t meant to play two Games in a row like this. Who knew how it was affecting the kid?

Third, the Composer was a fucking hypocrite. Fucking hell, you can’t complain about being bored and not even put in the effort to put on a good show.

Sho was too angry to deal with this shit anymore. He returned to his apartment in Pork City and pulled out the reference text Hanekoma had given him.

It was supposed to give him the basics of refinery sigils so he could hone his Taboo summoning skills, but there were some interesting tidbits he’d gleamed while skimming through the rest of the sections.

Crafting a spell strong enough to take out the Composer would probably take Sho out too.

But, fuck, it would be worth it to wipe the smug smirk of Their face.

Sho wondered if there’d ever been a Game Day with no mission before. If anyone survived this clusterfuck, Sho himself would go down in infamy for doing something unique, at least.

Even if he doubted any of the higher ups would appreciate his vision.

But Sho didn’t have time to worry about crafting the little daily games to winnow out the Players. Sho only cared about one Player–the one who wasn’t a Player at all.

Everyone else was just collateral damage.

In the far deep recesses of his mind, part of Sho regretted the things he was doing to tear the Game apart–to break it down past recognition in pursuit of his ultimate goal to save the district as a whole.

The survivors could pick up the pieces and rebuild. And maybe the administration that would come after would learn from all of their mistakes.

Right now, none of that mattered. So Sho spent his free days wandering Shibuya, crafting Taboo refinery sigils to spread his seeds of chaos.

Since he didn’t want to be caught too early and erased by an irate Megs, he camouflaged his actual delinquency with monuments to the district he loved. Anyone who looked closely at the pieces of art would see that they weren’t up to his usual standards–but Sho reluctantly acknowledge (and took advantage of the fact) that very few understood his muses enough to tell the difference.

And in a back alley of Udagawa, Sho began to craft a different sigil from the rest. Something carefully prepared by his Angel ally. An escape plan of last resort.

Because let’s be real–Sho was up against the Composer. There was a 68.9% chance that he’d be Noise-food by the end of the week.

And that left a full week of the Composer running around unchecked in order to win Their bet with Megumi. A week for the Composer to guarantee the destruction of Shibuya.

The Angel couldn’t–wouldn’t–interfere directly. He was bound by rules and tradition to the will of the Composer alone. Sho was the last line of defense.

Sho’s hand slowed down on the last set of runes in the sigil. He rested his head in exhaustion against the rough brick wall.

Was it really worth it? If Sho’s master plan failed, was there any point in trying to come back for one last shot? Was there any guarantee that Sho himself wouldn’t be a worse option if he was half-Taboo? Wouldn’t bring about the destruction himself if left unchecked?

Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes, and he punched the wall with his injured arm. The impact made the bullet crease throb where it was still healing.

Being a Reaper wasn’t easy–it was a constant battle and those without the will to survive didn’t last long. Sho hadn’t just survived, he had thrived in their world–far more than he ever had in his life in the RG.

But after this last month, Sho was tired. None of this was about bettering oneself, or artistic potential. This was petty bullshit that was completely nonsensical. Why did Sho have to destroy himself over this? Why did Sho have to risk turning himself into a monster to save the world?

Sho wasn’t a hero. And Sho had never played well with others.

He leaned against the wall, his ragged breaths tearing at his throat as he tried to regain his composure.

Fuck this shit.

He finished the refinery sigil, then walked away without looking back.

If anyone survived this mess, they’d look at his escape plan and scoff at his incompetence–and the poorly placed lines on the last runes drawn; the smudge runes where Sho had hit the wall.

If anyone survived this mess, the sigil would be his only memorial–a testament to the final line Minamimoto Sho wouldn’t cross.

'I end it this week,’ Sho thought to himself darkly.

There was no “or”.

The one problem with his wanderings over the middle of the week, was that Sho actually got to see the results of his Players’ actions while they were left to themselves.

The Game often used their Players to effect dramatic changes in Shibuya. The changes may not last long–Shibuya was an ever-changing beast–but they often caused spikes in creativity and joy. They justified the action of running dead souls through a scavenger hunt to gain a second chance rather than just breaking them down for reincarnation immediately.

As an Officer, Sho was rarely able to see the reactions in real-time on the individual personal level. He got to review reports and feed that information into improvements for the next round.

That wasn’t the case this time. Even without direction, most of his Players seemed to be engaging in small acts of kindness.

Retrieving a lost puppy. Influencing decisions. Killing regular Noise to improve people’s psyches.

It was bewildering. It was inspiring.

It made Sho really fucking angry.

It wasn’t these Players’ fault that the Composer had completely screwed them over. That this wasn’t a real Game meant to refine their souls and give the worthy a second chance.

And there was one Player who had been shafted more than any other. The Composer’s fucking Proxy. Someone who wasn’t even supposed to be dead.

If Sho took out the Composer early with the Taboo Noise, sure the bet would be void, but the Proxy would still be Noise-food.

Shit. The kid didn’t deserve that. The kid deserved his life back.

But if he didn’t make it to the end, that meant no chance at all.

Sho was tired, and feeling guilty about this damn kid wasn’t helping things at all.

He hadn’t planned on saving the partners at the beginning of the sixth day–had sent out a mission to get everyone in the same-ish area so that the Taboo Noise could sow chaos and keep everyone distracted.

But when Sho had noticed that the duo weren’t paying fucking attention, he took out the Noise sneaking up behind them, a justification already forming in the back of his head.

If the Proxy could survive until the next day, Sho could lure the Composer to Pork City at the last moment, separate Them from his partner, and maybe give the kid a chance at surviving.

Afterall, Sho wasn’t likely to survive, even if he succeeded at this point. The kid would get his second chance, Shibuya would be saved.

Halle-fucking–lullah.

Sho spent the seventh day finalizing his nuclear option spell. The Angel’s repository had been very helpful. Learning to create Taboo Noise refineries had kept everyone distracted and off his back for the week. Taboo Noise existed on a plane of existence on a different frequency than their own. Pulling them in required being able to reach for that different frequency–and pulling apart the different aspects of the sigil meant he was able to figure out with parts performed that outreach.

That meant that Sho could take that part and reformulate the sigil entirely. Pull energy from multiple different frequencies–an exponential increase on his own powerful imagination. Special wards had needed to be formatted to keep the damage contained to Pork City both to eliminate collateral damage as much as possible as well as to keep the energy concentrated where Sho needed it.

Partners didn’t separate during the week, but Sho was pretty sure he’d come up with a fool-proof plan to get the Composer to shed Their mortal disguise and come gunning for Sho with all Their might.

Tattling.

Oh, Sho was positive the Angels wouldn’t actually interfere, if the Producer was any indication, but he was also sure that the Composer wouldn’t be willing to bank on that.

And if Sho left sending out that notice to the literal final minutes, well, the Composer wouldn’t have time to drag along Their murder victim with Them. They’d have to come and deal with Sho all on their lonesome.

How tragic.

Sho had just finished setting up the wards around Pork City when he was so rudely interrupted.

“What?! How the hell did you two find this place?”

It was strange, but the Composer’s disdain felt–real. Present. Not the lofty and light-hearted mockery that They’d been projecting all week.

'Oh-ho? Does somebody dislike an interloper breaking their toys?’

“Uh, hello? Final day of the week?” Proxy still had some pep in him at least.

'Sorry kid; can’t save you now.’ It was only a slight pang of regret. The kid didn’t deserve the fate Sho needed to bestow upon the Composer. But Shibuya was bigger than all of them.

“We got the mission mail: 'Erase the Game Master at Pork City’. Surely you can’t be surprised we showed up?” The Composer’s words fairly dripped with condescension.

Mission mail?

…

Megumi.

That little shitstain. Sho grimaced. Perhaps his monuments hadn’t covered his activities quite as well as he’d hoped.

How… unfortunate.

Time to roll with the punches.

“An inverse matrix?! Double-crossed by the Conductor himself.” Sho let a feral grin cross his face.

He’d been told more than once that it was rather unnerving.

“No matter. Just saves me the effort of hunting you yoctograms down. Not quite the dramatic irony of our last showdown, but maybe the different variables will lead to a more satisfying answer.”

Sho began to draw in the power of the sigils he engraved on the soles of his boots while simultaneously beginning the transformation into his Noise form. He’d need time to cast the Flare spell since his prep work had been interrupted. If that meant corrupting his Noise form with Taboo energy, he’d do what he had to do.

At least Sho wouldn’t be infected long enough to go on a rampage. This was all going to end here.

It was weird. Sho figured he’d have to fight off them off while transforming so he could fight them at his peak capacity–but the kid seemed to be having a fit of some kind.

“It was you… You killed me!”

What.

Oh, that was just going to make turning the Composer into paste all the sweeter. Fucking mind-fucking asshole.

Sho snarled.

“None of that matters now,” he locked eyes with the Composer who looked sickly satisfied. “Let’s end this Game–prepare to get crunched!”

Sho wished this were a normal week.

Sho wished this were a normal week, and that the kid was a normal Player with a normal Partner.

Because they fought beautifully together.

They carefully calculated their positions and resources in proportion to their opponent’s to achieve the maximum damage while receiving the minimum injury.

Few Players ever reached this level of competency.

Then again, few Players ever played multiple weeks–with one of those weeks paired with the Composer Themself.

This Sakuraba Neku has so much potential.

And he was going to be erased here and now because he had the misfortune of answering the clarion call of CAT’s Art.

What a fucking waste.

It didn’t even matter that they defeated him. He wasn’t giving their fight his full attention. He was creating runes out of pure Imagination and constructing the Flare sigil.

Sho’s Noise form dissipated as he fell to one knee, breath being torn out of his lungs raggedly.

“A for effort kiddies, but looks like we’ve reached the final conclusion.”

The Composer was sneering, but his proxy just looked…

Bewildered.

Satisfied that his enemy was down, but… Deep in his eyes was a grand confusion about what was happening.

'Sorry kid. I don’t got time to clear things up for you, and you don’t got time to hear it.’

“I thought you were going to crunch us?”

Sho snorted. Then chortled. Followed by a squeaky giggle.

A little hysteria at the end was good for the soul, right?

And if Sho could wipe that smug confidence from the Composer’s face, it would be worth getting himself erased in the process.

Sho began chanting the final calculations aloud, slotting the last few runes into place. It was too late to stop what Sho had carefully set in motion. Even if the Composer managed to erase Sho, the spell would still go off.

He had time to gloat.

“I’ve been telling you fools all along, but no one ever listens. This world is made up of numbers, and I’ve been reverse-engineering the solution to my problems–to the insurmountable obstacles in my path.

"I am victorious,” Sho spat, that feral grin firmly back in place, even as fear took root in the Composer’s eyes as They finally perceived what Sho had been doing under Their nose the entire week.

The Flare burned Sho from the inside out expanding rapidly, taking out all in its path.

Sho’s last sight was strange though–the Composer pushing Their Proxy away and through the wards, shielding Their Partner from the brunt of the blast until Sakuraba was clear.

It didn’t fit Sho’s perception of the Composer at all. Why sacrifice himself for the Proxy? Not even Megs was delusional enough to uphold the bet if the Composer Themself was gone.

But Sho didn’t have time to sort out what it meant.

He was already gone.

Minamimoto’s next memory is of agony.

It was strange, however, he only remembers the agony when he looks back on the moment.

At the time, everything was…

Jagged…

Blinding…

Nonsensical…

He pulled himself out of the refinery sigil in Udagawa and tried to piece himself back together.

He looked around, and wanted to

…rend…consume…destroy…

but everything in him rebelled and tried to smother that instinct

NO! Precious–Protect–Preserve–

and he was left at war with himself, huddled on the dirty alley-way floor until he was able to refashion himself into a semi-coherent whole.

Minamimoto was the last line of defense. The Composer was going to destroy the precious thing. The Composer must be destroyed.

As he rose from the ground, he took in the remains of the refinery sigil on the wall behind him. Every stroke perfect and in place–mathematically perfect and soothing to the eye even in its consumed format.

deep inside a part of him screamed defiance

It was satisfying to see the runes that had guaranteed his rebirth.

Minamimoto grinned and clawed through them, ensuring no one else could reverse engineer his rebirth. He would be the pinacle of Reaperdom–a superior being worthy of saving this pathetic realm.

He just needed access to the Shibuya River.

The Café was abandoned.

frustration anger rage

The Producer appeared to have bounced.

Did the Composer discover their duplicity? Had they run in fear?

except the Composer was erased

Minamimoto squat down the whimpering voice that tried to undermine the Mission. Minamimoto had Survived, therefore his Nemesis must have Survived as well.

And if the Composer had indeed Perished, well, someone must still be holding the reins if there was a Game running.

no players no game

Minamimoto scoffed. His Taboo Noise was still crunching down on Reapers, who were all up and active in the UG. The Game was definitely still on.

And eventually, he even managed to track down those pesky Players.

Sue him. He got distracted creating a new monument. His rebirth deserved a grand announcement–the plebes needed to see him and cower before his might.

And who should cross his path but the two idiots from the first week–the murder-victim-proxy and the reaper-who-should-have-been-erased. The Conductor was still hedging his bets, obviously.

fucking megs

The Players were not suitably impressed with his resurrection–did not even seem to care about the whys and hows.

And that caused the rage to swell up. He spewed everything out at them, trying to pound into their thick skulls that he was a force to be reckoned with and they should cower before him–

Perfectplanperfectexecutioneverypieceinplacesuperiorityadaptability

–and when they still didn’t show him the appropriate respect, Minamimoto trounced them.

It was the perfect test run of his new powers, and it worked beautifully. Not even the Composer would be able to stand up to him now. Minamimoto was going to get the top spot and rule like he’d always been destined to–everything in his image.

Filled with glee, Minamimoto left the morons eating his dust while he made for the River.

Only to find his way blocked.

Not even his new Taboo powers managed to eat through the barrier no matter how much power he blasted through.

no elegance no refinement

Claws as sharp as daggers gripped at his skull, pulling his hair with sharp tugs, trying to get that insidious little voice to shut up, ignoring the rents left behind on his skull.

look closely

strands like barbed wire

chainlink wards

konishi’s work

That’s right. The Iron Bitch had an attention for detail that rivalled his own, if not the artistic flair. But her wards were impeccable, it was undeniable.

Given enough time, Minamimoto would eventually be able to break through. But he was on a deadline.

He kicked a wall in frustration and began making a new monument to keep himself occupied while he waited.

If he’d known he’d need Konishi, he wouldn’t have left her with the twerps when he’d kicked their asses.

“…I want you to make me your Conductor.”

Holy shit.

Glee rose up within Minamimoto and he didn’t try to subdue the manic grin crossing his face.

“Double-crossing Megs? How delightful!”

And it was. Delicious and satisfying–loyalties and partnerships crumbling to dust around him. Acknowledgment of his power and glory.

fool me once

Oh, of course she’d ultimately wind up betraying him down the road, but that kind of malicious intent would keep him on his toes–keep him from getting as compliant as the Conductor or bored as the Composer. There would be no trust, no complacency. Desperation breeds innovation, and the court of Composer Minamimoto would be full of innovation.

Minamimoto was barely out of sight of the fools facing Konishi when he was suddenly crushed, both physically and spiritually. He frothed at the mouth, scrambling for a fraction of power, something, anything to fight back against the force constraining him.

And found himself cut off at every turn.

satisfaction

“A shame it’s come to this. But don’t fret, dear. I have the feeling that things are about to get very interesting.”

No footsteps accompanied the voice and its trailing giggle, but the howling rage of his dissenting feelings made clear who had bested him.

COMPOSER

“Be a good boy, now, and sleep.”

No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Minamimoto succumbed to the power in that voice.

Sho didn’t expect to wake up again.

That’s twice he didn’t get what he wanted.

(And if he ever found that pathetic excuse of an Angel–who must have been the one to fix the refinery sigil–he’d make the barista regret ever existing…)

It took days to sort out his feelings and memories, trying to figure out just who Minamimoto Sho still was, and if he was still the Reaper he’d been before his Taboo-resurrection.

(Close examination showed his appearance at least was back to normal, with the addition of a fully healed bullet crease on his right arm. His mental state though, well. He hadn’t realized how off his rocker he’d been while Taboo-ified. Who knew what his actual state was now?)

And just as he felt he had his head screwed on somewhat straight, he was summoned before the Composer.

Except…

Did he really want to stand before a Composer who lost his bet? Was there any point sticking around to be a punching back for the Composer’s frustrations?

Shit.

Because Sho knew he couldn’t leave without the Composer’s permission. That was one of the restrictions of being a Reaper–you didn’t cross district boundaries without all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed from Administration. It was a hassle. It was why so few Reapers bothered.

Sho was a master of the paperwork, he’d done it so often.

But he still needed Composer approval.

'And after this last month,’ Sho thought, glumly, 'What are the chances of getting that?’

Walking into the Shibuya River was eerie. It was supposed to be eerie. You were entering into the lair of a god of the dead. If you didn’t approach with some reticence and respect, there was something wrong with you.

At least, if you weren’t a Reaper Officer who was constantly in the Dead God’s Pad. Then it was old hat and reverence went right out the window.

But this time, Sho found it eerie.

It was… silent. The lights flickered off of recent battle damage, and rubble–including a badly constructed imitation of one of Sho’s own monuments–casting strange shadows that flickered in and out as the imprint of the area tried to reassert itself over the recent reality. That the Composer hadn’t just overwritten things back to normal was telling of Their mood.

There wasn’t any Noise.

Not that Noise was common in the Shibuya River, but there were usually a few hanging around–following Officers who wanted them available for quick errands.

No Reapers either–Officers or otherwise.

The area was barren–dead.

Entering the common area, where the Officers gathered to receive their assignments and plan out future Games, Sho was shocked to see the evidence of battle here, too.

Overturned sofas; smashed aquariums; broken bottles and glassware; slashed paintings and cracked statues…

It was a warzone.

And standing in the middle of it was the Composer Themself.

That brought Sho up short.

The Composer stayed in the Throne Room–creating Their vision. The Conductor traversed the boundaries between the two worlds, bringing that Vision to life.

Where the fuck was Megs?

“I’m pleased to see you’re recovering, Minamimoto.”

Unlike during the Game where They wore their mortal guise, the Composer now stood before Sho in Their true form–an ethereal being made of light whom Sho couldn’t even properly perceive. Even Their voice hummed at a frequency that wasn’t quite sound yet pierced the brain.

It all gave Sho a fucking headache.

“Bullshit. I’ve been a pain in your ass all month. Where the fuck is Megs?”

Higashizawa was gone; erased that first week for no good fucking reason. Konishi musta been erased by either the Players or Megs when he discovered her betrayal. That left Minamimoto as the only Officer, and he figured he’d be getting demoted any second now. Where the fuck was Megumi? Someone needed to start gathering new Officers…

“I’m afraid dear Megumi paid the ultimate price for his love of Shibuya.”

Sho’s brain froze.

Then rage filled him–almost as strong as when he was more Taboo than Reaper.

“Are you serious right now?! Megs jumps through your hoops, wins your little bet, and you fucking erased him?!”

It wasn’t that Sho was particularly fond of Megumi, but the fucker was a decent administrator when he wasn’t egregiously kissing the Composer’s ass–and UG’s needed administrators to keep running smoothly.

And what was to stop the Composer from just going ahead and flattening Shibuya on a whim, now?

The area that represented the Composer’s head tilted curiously, as if inspecting something interested.

“You misunderstand. Megumi lost, and thus paid the price. He Played well, and had no regrets at the end.”

Sho didn’t hear anything after the words 'Megumi lost’, though.

No.

Nononononono.

“BULLSHIT!” Minamimoto roared, and strode across the debris-ridden room to shake the ethereal being by Their lapels.

(Or what would have been their lapels if they weren’t a being made of light.)

“YOU wanted Shibuya destroyed. MEGS wanted it to continue. Shibuya is still here, therefore YOU lost and MEGS won so where is he?”

Gentle hands gripped Sho’s own, and removed them with careful but implacable force.

“I changed my mind.”

Numbness creeped up on Sho.

Changed Their mind. Like that was an option. Like destruction hadn’t been hanging over all of them like the sword of Damocles and why didn’t they all just sit down and have a nice little chat–

The Composer changed Their mind, shifted the goalposts to match Megumi’s own side and still erased him for it.

Force burst out from Sho, and all of the loose debris and broken furniture smashed into the walls. Electrical wires danced and sparked and Noise finally started floating in, drawn by the emotional upheaval.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What gives you the goddamned right–!”

The chaos didn’t touch the Composer; not a single whisp of light was displaced by Sho’s tantrum. And that caused Sho’s anger to fizzle out. He thumped down onto the ground with growl, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

“Fuck it. Just get it over with.”

An amused chortle, similar enough to Their giggles in that blasted mortal form that Sho was tempted to make a futile attempt at strangling the fucker.

“Get what over with, dear?”

Sho didn’t bother to look up. Would not give the fucker that satisfaction.

“My punishment. I tried to kill you. Multiple time. I unleashed Taboo Noise on the UG. I can’t stop you, you’ve proved that. So what’s it gonna be?”

There were no footsteps or other noise, no change in light quality to indicate movement; but suddenly the Composer was crouched in front of Sho, a hand gently stroking over Sho’s cap.

“There will be consequences from my bet with Megumi, to be sure, but you will not be paying them. You played the Game brilliantly, and will continue to do so.”

Scootching back out of the Composer’s immediate reach, Sho looked up incredulously, trying to figure out the angle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

And it was impossible to make out individual features on the Composer’s face (face-area?), but nonetheless Sho got the impression of a wry grin.

“Many things, according to you and Neku. And you’re both probably right. But there are higher powers that I who are in charge of my conduct, and don’t you fret–I shall be censured most harshly for this mess. Why, it’ll be the perfect time for some enterprising young Officer to seek a promotion! Think of the possibilities!”

And there was that fucking giggle.

But Sho wasn’t going to rise to that bait. When not off his gourd on Taboo energy, being Composer was only a means to an end–a way to protect Shibuya. If the Composer was serious about changing Their mind, Sho was content to continue refining his craft within the boundaries of his Officer position. Promotion to higher positions could wait.

Although, now that the Composer had mentioned him…

“What did you wind up doing with that kid, Sakuraba?”

A wistful sigh, like some lovesick teen, and now Sho was going to be sick…

“Oh, my dear Neku was a treasure from beginning to end. So grumpy and misanthropic, yet somehow willing to help others. Desirous to save a world full of people he hated. A delightful contradiction.”

There was the impression of a mischievous grin.

“Why, I thought for sure that after faking my own death and revealing that I was the one who murdered him in the first place that he’d revel in the opportunity to shoot me back. Especially when I laid the fate of Shibuya on the line.”

Sho’s blood ran cold. How the fuck can anyone get off on causing so much mayhem and trauma…?

“But he placed the fate of Shibuya straight back in my hands, trusted me to do the right thing, even after all that I’d already done.”

A revelation steeped in a wounded childlike wonder. Sho just felt sick.

Sho would have shot the bastard.

“What the hell was the point of that?”

“Why, to save my own skin, of course.”

What.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” the Composer cooed. “As I said, I’m going to be in quite a bit of trouble for all of this, but killing someone to create a Player, why that would have meant an Annihilation far beyond simple erasure. So we played a final Game. And dear Neku’s entry fee was his time in the Game.”

It was brilliant.

Neku shoots the Composer and wins, Composer is not there to restore the entry fee; Composer gets around this Annihilation business with a standard erasure while Neku becomes the new Composer and inherits this fucking mess. Composer doesn’t have to deal with Their ennui.

Neku lets the Composer shoot him, the time in the Game becomes a valid piece of lost collateral. The Composer can’t be punished for it.

As long as the murdered Player is restored.

It was disgustingly self-serving.

“So, the kid’s alive then?” Because Sho doesn’t trust the Composer as far as he can throw him.

“Yes, yes.” Finally the Composer stands back up, a dismissive hand flapping at Sho, still on the ground. “Neku and his Partners all restored as reward for surviving the Game. And I even threw in that little Noise as a bonus for being good sports.”

Sho is exhausted, and he still doesn’t know what his own fate is going to be.

“So, you need me to make the appropriate memory alterations? Evidence tampering? The usual?” Maybe once he’s done, the Composer will let him leave.

Hands dancing through the air, the debris in the Dead God’s Pad finally begins to collect itself back together at the Composer’s whim. Order beginning to be restored.

“Oh, don’t you fret so, Minamimoto. That was days ago, while you were still recovering. Everything that needs to be handled has been handled. We need to focus closer to home.”

There’s something about that that tickles Sho’s brain, something that’s not quite right, but it’s overridden by a far more alarming issue.

“We.” Flat, disbelieving.

“Naturally. I’ve already started arrangements to borrow Conductors from adjacent districts on a short term basis, but we really need more than one officer to help run things, don’t you think? Be a dear, and look through the personnel files–surely some of our harriers distinguished themselves during these last Games and can be fast-tracked to promotion…”

And… the fucker just keeps listing out a multitude of different tasks that need to be done. And need to be done now. By Sho.

Sho, who is fucking exhausted. Who’s still shaky within his own mind. Who is still contemplating running the Composer through at the first opportunity that rises.

Sho, who is the only one left to help pick up the pieces.

And Sho does love Shibuya.

And Sho does want to be handy when it’s time to take down the fucker who played with all of their lives. He may not be powerful enough now, but he’s started from a more knowledgeable position this time, so maybe the next time he’s needed he’ll have a chance.

So Sho decides, without making any big issue out of it, to stay.

He notes the tasks that need to be done, and starts figuring out the steps to do them. Starting with the new Officers. Because fucked if he’s doing this alone.

Joshua feels the moment when Minamimoto decides to stay, a sharp note going back in tune. He smiles to himself, but makes sure it doesn’t seep out into his aura. There’s still work to be done.

(To be continued)

#TWEWY #TWEWY Bang 2019 #The World Ends With You #leasspell-dael #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #submission #fanfic

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subasekabang · 6 years

Text

Death of the Author

Author: Leasspell Dael Rating: T Word Count: ~11,500 Pairings/Characters: Pre-Neku/Minamimoto; Neku, Minamimoto, Rhyme, Beat, Shiki, Joshua, Hanekoma Warnings: Canon-Typical Discussion of Death, Depression, Swearing/Profanity

Summary: The Game is over, Neku and his new friends are alive, and Shibuya is still kicking. Trauma doesn't fade that quickly though and Neku struggles to process everything he went through--everything he learned. No matter how much he hangs out with his friends and tries to enjoy his new life, there's a darkness inside him he's desperate to hide.

Found-object art starts cropping up all over Shibuya, and Neku's pretty sure he's seen Minamimoto out of the corner of his eyes in the crowds. With Joshua and Mr. Hanekoma MIA, this might be Neku's one chance to get closure.

The question: is Neku willing to risk a meeting with the Reaper to settle old ghosts?

Neku keeps going back.

To Hachiko. The Scramble Crossing. Ten-Four. CAT's mural.

He keeps going back, and Neku doesn't know why. It's not just the incidental travels when he's going about Shibuya with his friends; he wanders at night when he can't sleep--

no timer no blankness no missing-time

--when he's alone and has no goals besides the passing of time.

He keeps going back.

He keeps seeing ghosts.

Not real ghosts; not Reapers or Players or Noise. Just--

777's collar spinning to a stop on the ground flowers under an overpass a small café littered with broken glass

--memories and nightmares; the souvenirs of a game he never asked to play.

Sometimes Neku visits the landmarks with purpose. Hachiko to meet up with Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme. CAT's mural in Udagawa to talk at Joshua. Shops where he's built relationships with the employees. Each visit part of his efforts to reconcile the Shibuya of his past with the Shibuya of the Game with the Shibuya he now lives in.

Some days he backslides; puts on his headphones and shuts out the world. He's not a saint, and change is hard. Some days Neku lives so thoroughly in the present, he can forget when he was alone; can forget when every day was a shot of adrenaline that never stopped.

Some days he checks his phone incessantly for a mission that will never appear and scratches at his hand to soothe an itch from a timer that will never count down to zero.

Given all of this bullshit scrambling his brains as he tries to survive one day after the other, Neku thinks he can be forgiven for thinking Sho Minamimoto was a figment of his imagination.

The truth started with a bullet.

Fucking Joshua.

CRACK his backside meets the asphalt it feels like there's cotton in his ears somehow he still hears...

"Blew it..."

"Ew; that's tacky."

"I think it's kinda creative. A commentary on our consumerist society; both judging and part-of..."

Neku looked up from where Beat was showing him a skateboard trick. In theory Rhyme was showing Shiki the same thing, but it sounded like they'd gotten distracted.

Across the plaza, sat a heap of junk. Not the towering monstrosities that Pi-Face had left littered around the UG in Neku's second week, but a person-shaped sculpture of found objects, wagging a scolding finger at the viewer.

It was similar enough to make the blood drain from Neku's face though. Beat just scowled.

"Maybe," Shiki conceded, face still twisted in a grimace. Looking over to the boys, mouth opened to say something--ask them for backup maybe--she came to a complete stop. Her eyes widened a fraction, before she glanced over her shoulder at the abomination.

Face hardening, Shiki scooped up her board in one arm and looped arms with Rhyme using her other, dragging them both over to Neku and Beat.

"Let's bounce; Towa Records has a sale on today I didn't want to miss."

Neku wasn't sure why he always went to CAT's mural in Udagawa whenever he wanted to talk to Joshua. He'd tried visiting the sewer access to the Composer's lair, but in the RG it was nothing but a storm drain. It didn't feel like anything special, except that his memories told him otherwise.

The Cat Café remained closed, though its insides were pristine when viewed through the window.

Minamimoto's rampage had occurred in the UG after all.

With the café closed, Neku had no way to contact Mr. Hanekoma; no way to reach out to Josh. Their numbers were no longer in his phone.

So he'd wandered over to Udagawa, crossing through alleys until he found CAT's last mural.

The paint was already beginning to peel--CAT had always made his murals transitory, but usually something new would crop up before the old one disappeared--but Neku still found comfort in it. He ran his hand along the wall, chips of paint flicking off with his progress, taking in the details that had yet to fade. Living in the moment.

Until his hand hit a pit in the concrete.

Jarred back into reality, Neku looked at the imperfection in the wall and felt his blood run cold.

It was a bullet-hole.

Suddenly, Neku was back in the moment of his death as Joshua loomed above him, gun pointed straight at Neku's heart--

--except, that didn't make sense.

Whipping around, Neku saw the spot where he had lain all those weeks ago. It was meters away. Wandering over, there was a matching bullet hole in the asphalt.

Returning to the wall, he ran his hand lightly over the imperfection.

"So where did you come from, then?" Joshua had only needed one bullet to take Neku out.

Then again, they hadn't been alone in the alley that day.

I blew it...

And Neku wasn't the only one who was shot.

Beat was fretting.

In any other circumstance, Neku would probably take the opportunity to tease his friend mercilessly. Beat took such pride in his 'tough man' attitude, that the mother-henning was a little adorable.

But it was about Rhyme, and for their group that would probably always make such teasing too soon.

Specifically, it was about Rhyme's ambitions. Or lack-thereof.

"But she has all of her memories back, right?" Shiki asked quietly.

Snorting, Beat crossed his arms defensively across his chest, kicking at a pebble as they wandered by A-East. "She knows things I forgot 'bout. She's still as smart--as skilled--as she's always been.

"Just... she's not doin' anything with it anymore. Tags along with me more often than not."

Unlike Shiki and Neku whose friends-groups pre-Game had been, respectively, small and non-existent, Beat had a large group of connections he spent time with, and Rhyme had had her own. While Beat had made the effort to reconnect with his other friends, Rhyme hadn't.

Apparently, she hadn't been doing much of anything.

Today was a rare day where she was separated from Beat's side by a group project she was doing for school, and Beat had wasted no time bringing his concerns to them.

"It just don't make no sense! Rhyme always had a million million things she was lookin' to do. Didn't have time for it all. We'd havta plan times to skateboard together just to make sure we had time to do it! Did... Did something go wrong?"

When they were brought back, Beat meant. When Rhyme was restored.

"She's been through an ordeal, Beat. We all have. And she's the youngest of all of us," Shiki was explaining gently, her hand lightly placed on Beat's forearm where the boy was clutching his hat in frustration. "If she's a bit clingy for a while, that's to be expected."

Neku followed along behind them, silently thinking that Shiki was wrong.

Well, not that Shiki was wrong. Shiki was absolutely right.

But Beat was too.

Neku feared that Rhyme wasn't going to get better, like Shiki was claiming would happen with time.

"I really admire how he has a goal and is giving his all to reach it! I wish I had something like that..."

"Rhyme was always the one with dreams and ambitions. I just said that thing about being the best skater so she'd stop looking so lost..."

"You fool! Her memories weren't her entry fee-- They were yours!"

Rhyme didn't get her entry fee back. Neku got his memories and Shiki back, Shiki her appearance, and Beat got Rhyme's memories. They were all brought back to life, but only Rhyme's fee had been kept.

Why? Because even though she was brought back, she had lost?

"Your entry fee has already been collected."

And what did that mean for Neku, who won every Game except for the last?

Still, Neku didn't know anything for sure. No point is upsetting Beat more than he was.

10-4 had one of Pi-face's statues sitting in front of it.

Shiki made a face as she dragged a snarling Beat into the shopping centre. Beat needed 'something nice' to wear to an interview for a part-time job and had made the mistake of mentioning this in Shiki's hearing. Neku kept strategically silent to prevent her focus from shifting onto him. Rhyme was giggling over their antics, which was always a win.

The statue caught Rhyme's attention, so Neku paused with her, grimacing slightly at it.

The core of it had once been a shopping cart--maybe two of them--but the wires had been beaten and reworked into a vaguely human shape. The framework was then papered-over with shopping bags from all the different stores in the centre.

It was trash and an eyesore, but at least it wasn't a literal heap of garbage like they had been in the UG.

"We are what we consume..." Rhyme murmured, her outstretched hand gliding over the contours of the shape, never quite touching. Hovering over an oddly placed wheel sticking out from a shoulder, she finally made contact, sending the wheel spinning before stepping back to observe it as a whole. "Do we move society, or does society move us?"

Neku looked at the statue, and just saw trash. "You really get all of that from this?"

Despite Beat's concerns about her ambition, Rhyme didn't seem unhappy. In fact, she turned to Neku with a beaming smile. "Oh yes! The artist has put so much passion into their work. They must have a lot of drive to be making so many in such a short amount of time!"

Plenty of time when you're dead, Neku supposed. "Sounds like you're a fan."

A blush dusted her cheeks, but Rhyme didn't look down or ashamed of her enthusiasm. Instead, she elbowed Neku in the ribs, a teasing grin twitching her lips. "Kinda like how you feel about CAT, right?"

CAT...

Mr. Hanekoma...

CAT's artwork was a major inspiration for Neku. Even back when he was too self-absorbed to actualize the message, he'd felt it:

Seize The Day.

During the Games, Mr. Hanekoma had been Neku's rock, the one person he trusted to lay out the rules and show him how to navigate the challenges.

Until the last week.

Why had Mr. Hanekoma been helping Pi-face? If he was helping Minamimoto, why was he there when Josh shot him the second time?

Why had he looked so gleeful?

To say Neku's feelings about CAT were complicated was an understatement.

Much like his feelings for Joshua.

"Yeah," he confirmed to Rhyme, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud. "CAT's a big inspiration for me. Do you think you'd want to do something like these... things?"

The world went quiet.

Rhyme's eyes widened before she hunched in slightly, darting her eyes over to the Consumerist Nightmare that had so caught her attention. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

"Do... do you think I could?" she asked, a tremor in her voice Neku didn't think he'd ever heard from her before.

Oh god, do something better

Choose something more meaningful

Why would you want to

Neku squashed all of the negative thoughts. It didn't matter what he thought.

"Of course," he told her, slinging an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. "Draft your brother into helping with any heavy-lifting, though, y'hear?"

Beat would complain vociferously over the next few weeks about Rhyme collecting trash and junk, but underneath it all Neku and Shiki could hear his relief. She was no longer aimlessly following him around, often co-opting his assistance even if he'd had other plans.

Rhyme had a dream again. And that was worth everything to Beat.

It gave Neku hope that whatever had been stolen from him was something he could gain back.

Now he just needed to figure out whatever that was.

It was fragile.

Sitting in the middle of the back-alley with CAT's last mural was another one of Minamimoto's things.

A ceramic bowl, attached to a collection of glass bottles wired together in a mass that was leaned against a squashed bean-bag chair, more bottles chained together on each side to create four sprawled limbs.

And to add insult to injury, it was all topped with a mop-head that had been dyed orange, with a set of earphones over the top of that.

Walking into the alley to see this perverse caricature of himself in the worst moment of his life...

The world stopped.

No chirping birds or humming cicadas. No traffic or conversation from the street.

Everything became that... that... Abomination!

Neku's blood rushed in his ears, and he clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles white. His palm itched. He couldn't catch his breath.

On the ground was a chunk of concrete. Neku didn't remember picking it up. Neku did remember throwing it.

Shattering glass sounds nothing like the crack of a gunshot, but somehow the two became linked in Neku's mind. The rock went straight through the "torso" and somehow Neku had just become complicit in his own death.

Blood spread out from his corpse and all Neku could see was Joshua's smirk and Hanekoma's mirth, and why were they taking joy in this? Wasn't it enough that he couldn't do what had to be done?

"For fuck's sake."

The Composer's throne room faded away, and Neku was back in the gritty reality of the back-alleys of Udagawa. Shattered glass was at his feet, and red liquid spilled from the broken bottles.

From the smell of it, it was paint.

And standing at it's head, a bundle of cloth under one arm, was the Grim Heaper himself, scowling at Neku as if he were the scum beneath his feet.

"You've completely screwed up the order of operations here, yoctogram. Breaking the glass was supposed to happen after it was clothed." He tossed the bundle to the side in frustration. "Do you have any idea how much your petty vandalism has upset my precisely calculated schedule? Just... just scram. I've got numbers to crunch."

And then Minamimoto crouched down, poking at the thing's torso, checking to see what was salvageable from his little arts-and-crafts project.

Never mind that the real thing was standing right in front of him. Neku was dismissed as if he were nothing.

Sometimes Neku felt like he was nothing.

(Sometimes that was a relief, not having the weight of Shibuya's fate on his shoulders, and sometimes it made him mad, because he was a person and he mattered.)

Neku stalked past Minamimoto, kicked the head off the 'statue' (which also shattered and leaked red paint against the back wall of one of the businesses backing on the alley), reached the mural and laid his palms against it trying to ground himself.

He was alive. He wasn't on a timer. He wasn't in the Game. Shiki was safe. Rhyme and Beat were safe. Shibuya was safe.

Kitaniji was an asshole. Joshua was an asshole. Hanekoma was an asshole. Fucking Minamimoto was an asshole.

"Woah woah woah there, kid!"

A hand around his wrist, and a jerk as Neku's arm's momentum halted. Neku stared blankly at the wall, at the flecks of paint slowly detaching and falling to the ground or blown away by the wind.

He fist pulsed with his heartbeat, and now there really was blood. When had he started punching the wall?

"Got some anger issues there, I see. You done dividing by zero?"

Neku jerked his wrist out of Minamimoto's grasp with a snarl before twisting to put his back to the wall and sliding down, bloody hand cradled to his chest, head buried in his knees.

"Fuck off."

The last thing Neku expected was for Pi-face to sit down next to him, looking uncertain.

"Not exactly a safe neighborhood, kid. Why don'tcha go home already?"

"Fuck you."

"Yes," Neku could hear the eye-roll. "We've established your masterful proficiency with our language. Chop, chop. Time's a wasting. Go home. Fix up your hand. Stop your delinquent ways. Yada yada yada."

But Neku didn't budge. Just closed his eyes and let tears he didn't even realize he'd been suppressing finally flow. They were silent, and pulsed with the same beat he could feel in his injured hand.

Proof he was alive.

"You really don't recognize me, do you? Did Joshua mind-wipe you or something?" Neku's voice was thick with his tears and muffled by his knees, but somehow still understandable.

And Neku knew it was understandable because Minamimoto, who hadn't been moving much anyway, suddenly went completely still.

The was a heavy silence. Then...

"Are you telling me," and Minamimoto's voice was dripping with dark menace, "That the Composer actually brought you and your little friends back and didn't erase your memories?"

So Minamimoto did recognize him.

"Why did you think your little re-enactment pissed me off so much?" Neku finally raised his head from his knees to make sure Minamimoto got the full brunt of his sardonic expression.

What he got in return was a shifty, uncomfortable look and arms crossed defensively across the reaper's chest.

"Always a chance there was a hidden remainder. I figured the Composer would've included a compulsion to stay away from here along with the memory suppression so it's not like I ever expected you to see it. Barely anyone ever comes back here. I wasn't really expecting anyone to see it."

Then what was the point?

Muttering something under his breath, Minamimoto got up and retrieved the bundle of cloth--clothes--that he'd tossed aside earlier before returning back to Neku's side, sitting down with a little 'oof'. Neku watched him lazily, cheek pressed against his knees. Anger still simmered within him, but he wasn't sure he still had the energy to do anything about it.

"Why did you get to live when people like 777, Nao-Nao, and Sota didn't?"

Minamimoto didn't so much as twitch, just grabbed the shirt from the center of the bundle and started tearing a strip off of it.

"Gimme your hand."

Neku didn't budge.

Rolling his eyes, Minamimoto reached into the cavern of Neku's hunched body and gently grabbed his wrist again, drawing it out from where it had been sheltered against Neku's chest.

The pain was beginning to hit, spots all over his hand stinging as they were exposed to the air. Without a word, Minamimoto began wrapping Neku's hand in the makeshift bandage. For someone whose very existence filled Neku with a rush of adrenaline, flood of anger, and inappropriate grief, his hands were surprisingly gentle as he tied the cloth off in a small knot.

"Seriously, clean and disinfect when you get home. Don't want to kick it over an easily preventable infection now, do we?"

"You could have destroyed Shibuya with those Taboo Noise... Of all the people Josh could have brought back, why did it have to be you?" Neku's voice was thready with exhaustion and grief and pain. Nothing made sense since Joshua shot him.

A sneer was the last thing Neku expected in response, though, not after his non-response earlier. Minamimoto stood up, brushing off his pants from sitting on the ground.

Half-turned to walk away, Pi-face stopped and looked back at Neku.

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

Neku did wind up with a slight infection in his hand from where he'd smashed his knuckles against the wall over and over again. Luckily, it cleared up without needing to go to the doctor, but it drew attention from his parents.

"Maybe you'd like to get into some kind of martial arts? Learn how to throw a punch properly?" Mom asked him.

"We might want to consider making an appointment with a therapist for him..." Mama murmured quietly to Mom when she thought he couldn't hear.

Nothing came of either suggestion, but it reminded him that his parents cared. Even if they didn't know what had happened to him during those three weeks he was missing.

Then again, these days Neku wasn't even sure if he knew what happened during those three weeks.

He hadn't been fighting for anything except for his life and then Shiki's life. He wasn't part of Joshua and Minamimoto's pissing contest.

He wasn't.

Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't been affected by it.

And Joshua had gotten his final chuckle at Neku's expense.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Neku just wanted to be done already. He'd played this Game. He'd played it three fucking times. He'd chosen his soul over a guaranteed victory. He'd trusted that little fucker, no matter how often it turned out he'd completely screwed Neku over. Neku wasn't even allowed to play this game any more. Was this his punishment? To play the Game over and over until the Noise finally finally erased him?

Except people didn't walk by unseeing, ignorant of Neku's pain in their midst. Of his confusion.

People jumped away from him in shock at his yell. People looked at him--in concern, in irritation, in fear.

People touched him.

An arm around his shoulders guiding him out of traffic before the lights changed when he just stood there, gaping. Hands on his face, tilting his head back as paramedics checked his pupil dilation after an ambulance was called because he'd curled up into a little ball and wouldn't stop shaking.

Hands strapping him onto a gurney for the ride to the hospital.

He was checked over by concerned medical professionals.

No sign of head trauma. No concussion. Did you take something, kid? No sign of drugs. No signs of abuse or injuries of any kind.

Police officers with questions. What's your name son? Do you have any ID? No. He'd left it at home when he'd sulked out of the house... three weeks ago? Longer? Do you know your parents' numbers?

And finally, finally, Mom and Mama had swept in and grabbed onto him and cried and cried and cried. They were so relieved. Do you know how worried we've been? Where have you been? Are you okay? Don't scare us like this!

For the first time in three weeks he'd felt safe. They could scare away the monsters from under his bed and lurking in the closet. They would guard his sleep.

And that's what Neku did at that point. Just dropped off into an exhausted slumber, with no reaction but a few tired tears escaping his eyes.

When he'd woken up, he'd gotten the gist of what had happened in his absence.

The police had dismissed his parents' concerns, classifying him as a runaway. He'd turn up eventually, they said. (And he had.) Mom and Mama had been plastering the neighbourhood with missing posters, and with each day that passed they feared that they'd be finding a body instead of their son healthy and whole.

(Neku never told them how often he slipped away to Shibuya, so much that it felt like his real home, not the quiet suburb they lived in. Neku had to scour newspapers to discover that his body had been labeled a John Doe and his... death... was still an open investigation. Neku might have a pauper's grave out there somewhere. He's afraid to go looking.)

Neku apologizes over and over for running off that morning, for forgetting his wallet and phone, for taking so long to come home.

He claims he got overwhelmed and then got lost in his own head. Tells them about haunting the streets of Shibuya (figuratively). About making friends who helped him get to the point where he could reach out for help; helped him be ready to come home.

They went as family to therapy for a few sessions, but Neku refused to get into any details about his three weeks away. He just wanted to put it behind him, he claimed.

Neku knew telling the truth would just make things worse. So he kept his silence. Even among Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme they didn't talk about the Game much. So all of Neku's feelings about it were kept buried deep inside, a festering wound he didn't even realize he had.

Until he met Minamimoto in that alley.

It turned out found-object sculpting wasn't Rhyme's niche.

"She says she just doesn't feel it," Beat groused to Neku where they were watching Shiki teach Rhyme about different types of fabrics. "Decided she wants to give quilting a try."

"At least you'll get some warm blankets out of it," Neku said dutifully. In truth, he thought it was great that Shiki was getting a chance to share her passion with someone new. Shiki and Eri were working on restoring trust between each other after the miscommunication that had sent Shiki careening into Shibuya's streets, but it was complicated by Shiki's guilt over stealing her friend's persona during the Game. Which Eri didn't--and couldn't--know about. Things were still awkward between them.

"Don't see why she couldn't have figured it out before I hadta drag garbage all around town..." Arms crossed over his chest in indignation, Beat slumped against the wall emphasize his disgruntlement. Neku suppressed his amusement, simply nodding as-if in agreement. It was Neku's job to be appropriately supportive. Not an asshole. Besides, Beat didn't really mind.

"At least we know for sure now she doesn't want to be the next Grim Heaper."

Right. Minamimoto.

There were still a scattering of scabs on his hand, healing slowed by the infection he'd gotten from not disinfecting his cuts right away. Neku rubbed them absently, remembering the strangely gentle way Minamimoto had held his hand while wrapping it.

"Beat... What were we fighting for?" Beat's grumbling went silent. Across the store, Neku could still hear Rhyme and Shiki chatting excitedly, unaffected by the bombshell that Neku had just dropped. The line he had just crossed.

They didn't talk about the Game. Not really. Not directly.

They didn't talk about the Game, but they might recommend a store or store-clerk. Might talk about a shortcut, or a piece of Shibuya trivia. They'd never ask one another where they had learned about these things. Shibuya was precious to them, but the Game was to be left behind and forgotten.

They were supposed to be moving on.

"To live--for Rhyme; for Shiki."

That's right. That's what Neku had always thought. Beat knew it, had sounded sure about it. Why was Neku suddenly full of doubts?

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Neku hesitated before speaking. It was probably just Pi-face playing mind games. Like leaving them to hang all week. Or that fucking statue of his.

But.

"...Was that all? Are we sure there wasn't something else?"

Darting his eyes over to check on the girls and seeing they were undisturbed, Beat grabbed Neku by the elbow and dragged him outside.

"The hell's going on with you? What else would we have been fighting for? Isn't the right to live enough?"

Jerking his arm out of Beat's grip, Neku scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Shut up. I know. It's just... How did we fit into that fucking bet?"

Now Beat looked at him as if he were crazy. "What bet? What's goin' on, Neku?"

Neku began to pace back and forth on the street in front of the shop. "What do you remember about the last day, Beat? After you snapped Shiki out of the brain-washing and caught up to me."

Because beyond his perplexing question about Neku's own role in the Game, Minamimoto had said something else interesting that Neku had merely dismissed at the time: that the Composer should have erased their memories. Neku had thought that was just Joshua being his usual contrary and dismissive self; but what if he had tampered with their memories? What if the reason they didn't talk about the Game was because they were compelled not to?

Brow furrowing, Beat scratched at the peach fuzz on his chin absently as he thought back. "Well, there weren't much time to see anything before Shades snatched us all up as part of his 'final boss' routine. We stomped him, then me an' Rhyme were waking up in the hospital, at the end of our 'recovery' from the accident. Was downright eerie how there wuz paperwork and everything from a long-ass stay we didn't even really do... Had cards from classmates and bunches of flowers..." Beat shuddered.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

They'd arrived after Josh's grand entrance and had Josh's gloating and final showdown erased.

At least they don't have to remember me getting shot...

"But you remember how messed up the Game was when we were playing, right? All the rules the Reapers were breaking?"

Lips thinning, Beat nodded and said nothing else.

"And didn't you think it was weird how you never got to see the Composer while you were a Reaper yourself?"

A gusty sigh. "Neku, I was small fry. 'Sides, Shades seemed to be running the show, if you ask me. Not sure how much work the Composer actually does."

"Kitaniji was running the Game. The Composer wanted to erase the Game and start over, or something, so Kitaniji made a bet with him--with Shibuya as the stakes. Without the Composer around, the rules started breaking down," a realization came to Neku, "Just as the fucker wanted to begin with. Argh." Another anxious scrub of Neku's hands through his hair. "If Kitaniji erased us, he won and got to keep Shibuya as it is. If the Composer won, he'd erase everything."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Beat slumped back against the wall. Through the store window, Neku could see the girls paying for their purchases at the register.

"So we'd've lost no matter what? Live and Shibuya dies. Die and Shibuya lives." Now Beat was scratching his head through his hat. "Wait a second, though. We're here, and Shibuya's here. How'd that happen?"

Through a mad man's twisted whims. Except Neku had just realized a flaw in his explanation to Beat; a memory brought back to the surface merely by talking about the event. Kitaniji didn't have to kill all of them--that was just the most efficient way to make sure he eliminated the Composer's

Proxy.

Neku. Neku was the only one who'd needed to die.

Or...

"I blew it...

...Not die in the first place.

Beat was trying to get his attention, trying to get the rest of the explanation, but Neku was lost in his own head.

More and more memories were pouring back. Minamimoto came to the alley that day trying to shoot the Composer in his weakened form--or so Josh claimed. Joshua also claimed that he would destroy Shibuya if Neku didn't shoot him and take his place. But Neku was supposed to trust his partner and he had and Shibuya had lived; they all had lived--even Rhyme who had legitimately lost but had been Neku's saving grace in the end...

Back it up. Minamimoto had shot at the Composer and had done so in the UG. Was it because Joshua truly was weaker there? Or Minamimoto just thought he was weaker there then proved wrong when Josh stopped the bullets. Or...

Or had he only decided to take the shot as Joshua lined up his own?

Rush of footsteps Neku turns Joshua running straight for him Gun rising Bullet flies past Neku's cheek Neku collapses "I blew it..." Looks behind Minamimoto with an arm graze Second gun raised Six shots A raised hand Tinkle as they hit the ground Minamimoto runs away Joshua takes aim at Neku supine on the ground and...

Josh had waited until the last minute to choose his proxy; Neku had checked the dates. He'd been 'missing' for three weeks and two days. One day to die; one day to be found; 21 days to play. Or perhaps there had been another proxy for the first week who had failed and Neku was the replacement.

If Josh had failed to provide a proxy, that was one less week where he had an opportunity to win. One less chance for Shibuya being destroyed.

Minamimoto had taken a huge risk when he'd summoned the Taboo Noise, but he might have thought it was worth it if it stopped the Composer from playing with all of their lives.

But why was Hanekoma playing both sides? None of this made any--

"NEKU!!"

"Gwaaah~"

"How the hell is Shibuya still here if we are too?"

Maybe it was selfish, but Neku didn't want to correct Beat that it was actually just Neku who had been the problem. Neku didn't want to be in this alone. Didn't want to reveal the final game where Neku had taken a leap of faith, uncertain if there was anything below to catch him if he was wrong.

So he shrugged. "Whims of a madman is my guess. Maybe the Composer changed his mind."

The girls came out then, and the subject was dropped.

If I'd killed Shiki and then been erased myself, Shibuya wouldn't have been in danger...

It was a dark thought, but Neku was in a dark mood. Mama had wanted them to go on a family trip to Hokkaido during summer break, but Neku had protested the idea of leaving all of his friends behind. He'd only just made them, after all.

"It's only for a couple of weeks, Neku," she'd informed him crossly after he'd objected yet again to the idea. "They'll still be here when you get back."

But would they? He was pretty sure they wouldn't purposefully abandon him, but Neku was painfully aware of how fickle life itself could be. None of them had planned on dying, but it had happened without their consent all the same.

He'd stormed out of the house without a word--though not before grabbing his wallet with his ID in it on the way out--and begun stalking the streets of Shibuya. His headphones were jammed over his ears and he was barely taking in his surroundings at all.

Neku was unprepared for a sudden presence grabbing his arm and the disorientation as sound from the world around him crashed back in.

"--KU!! Are you okay?"

Oh. It was Rhyme; Rhyme who had grabbed his arm with one hand and then used her other to dislodge his 'phones.

Working his mouth, Neku tried to force out some kind of appeasement to clear the worry on her face, but no sound emerged except a strangled whimper which only caused her brow to crease further.

Rhyme released his arm in favour of grabbing Neku's hand instead and Neku held on with a death-grip. They were near the underpass where she and Beat had had their original accident. He didn't want her to get hurt. She'd been hurt enough.

small creature light and fragile stronger than him and beat combined last ally when konishi attacked comforting weight on neku's left shoulder

But whenever they needed to cross an intersection, Rhyme would bring them both to a stop and hold his hand a little tighter while they waited for the light to change.

I wonder if she has nightmares about Beat running into traffic, like Beat has nightmares about her following him there...

Despite any issues she might have, Rhyme moved with purpose, getting him out of the streets where his inattention could do him harm.

"Welcome to Sunshine!"

So they ordered burgers and sat down to eat in silence. As they ate, Neku moved from appreciative of the silence to antsy about it. The world was beginning to encroach in on him again and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet.

"My parents want to go away for break."

Rhyme's eyes lit up. "That's great! Where are you going?" She looked at the dark cloud over his face. "Or... is it not great?"

He'd been planning to just mutter a vague complaint to minimize her worry, but somehow all of the poison he'd been hiding inside came pouring out. His irrational fears that something would happen to them--or Shibuya--if he left; the fact that he felt like his parents had always pushed him to make friends and were now tearing him away from them; that he feared if he left now he'd never get the answers he needed about what had really happened during the Game--that some invisible tether between himself and the district would be severed forever.

Rhyme let him spew it all out without a word or interruption, and when he was done she was smiling sadly.

"I get why you're so concerned, Neku," and Neku nodded while taking a vicious bite out of the burger he'd been neglecting during his rant. "But everything you're feeling right now about being separated from us? Your parents are feeling about the time you were missing for them." Neku choked and nearly swallowed his tongue. "All they want is a chance to reconnect with you, without all of the distractions of a place they probably see as having stolen you from them."

Guilt. Guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt.

Why hadn't he seen that? There was a part of him that was bitter that Mom and Mama hadn't realized he was dead--even before Josh's resurrection voodoo--and he hadn't even considered that thinking he was missing might have been just as bad from their perspective. Fuck, he was a self-absorbed ass...

"So I should shut up and go on the trip to appease them," he muttered, trying to ignore the flush crawling up his cheeks.

Surprisingly, Rhyme giggled at this and took a noisy slurp from her cola before explaining.

"No, Neku. You should shut up and go on the trip so you can enjoy yourself with them," she explained.

Oh. Yeah. Uncomfortable shift. That could be a possibility. He guessed.

"Want to hear about my day so you can put off processing?"

"Please." Surely she could understand him while his forehead was pressed to the table. She was young. She didn't listen to loud music. Surely her hearing was excellent.

And it was. Rhyme regaled him with her mundane errands picking up more fabric for the quilt she was working on, dropping off lunch for Beat at his part-time job, browsing the new music selections at Towa Records, and it was great until she started in on Minamimoto.

"Some of my classmates think the artist is going to be the next CAT, since CAT sightings have disappeared, but I'm not so sure. I mean, I love the sculptures, but CAT's works always came with a certain joie de vivre, y'know?" And of course Neku nodded along at that, CAT fan that he was. "I just get a sense of contained anger from most of these pieces--an obsession with the worst of us all instead of the best. Don't get me wrong they're powerful, and I love them, but I'm not sure they have what it takes to match CAT."

Neku could get behind all of that. Minamimoto was an angry bastard and he wasn't afraid to let everyone know they were beneath him, while Hanekoma was about lifting people up. He could hardly believe that anyone would even consider them on the same level. He didn't even get what Rhyme saw in the junk heaps.

"Although..."

That sounded ominous.

"I found a new sculpture today while I was wandering, and it's different from the rest. Did you want to see it?"

shattered glass splattered blood paint

No way. Minamimoto wouldn't have re-made it, would he?

With a sense of trepidation, Neku agreed.

The closer they got to the back alley in Udagawa, the more nervous Neku became. If he was right there, there was no way she wasn't going to notice the resemblance between the sculpture and himself. Then he'd have to admit that he'd died there, and since there was no vehicular access he'd have to admit he'd been murdered there, and the fact that someone else was recreating the scene means he'd have to admit that Minamimoto was there when Neku'd died, but wasn't the one who killed Neku (since he didn't want to crush the source of her new dreams)...

It was a mess.

"Beat told me you showed him a CAT mural back here when you were partners, so I wanted to take a look since people were comparing the sculptor to CAT, but the mural's pretty faded now, I guess you've probably seen that yourself, but there was actually a sculpture hidden back there too! I was so surprised, I wonder why they both chose the same isolated location?" She gasped and started slapping Neku's arm. "Oh! Oh! Do you think the sculptor might actually be CAT? Maybe something happened to disillusion them and they changed media to express that new outlook? But, the statues don't really have any of CAT's stylings, and you'd think it would be hard to disguise all of them..."

She babbled on and on excitedly as they walked, somehow not noticing how tense Neku was getting as they approached.

If Neku didn't already know that Pi-face was the artist she admired--not CAT--and hadn't been dreading what he'd see when they reached the mural, he would have enjoyed trading theories with her. It was the kind of nerdery that had gotten him ostracized from his peers before the Game.

Right now it was all he could do to just let her babble away as a white-noise background-track to his panic.

Sure enough, when they entered the alley Neku immediately spotted one of Minamimoto's monstrosities.

But it wasn't the one he'd smashed those weeks ago. This one was new.

This one wasn't Neku.

The wobbliness in his knees was hidden from Rhyme by her disengaging from his arm to run over to the sculpture.

The Neku-statue had been made from fragile glass; this one was all barbed-wire and pigeon feathers. This one was Minamimoto.

Not the arrogant Game Master or dismissive Taboo Noise-hybrid--no, this was Minamimoto at his most vulnerable.

I blew it...

Kneeling, one arm clutching the other--a single feather smeared with red paint to symbolize the trail of blood down Minamimoto's injured arm. An L-shaped block of wood held in the hand of the injured arm, ready to be transferred to the whole arm at any moment. A black cap over a red bandanna on the top of the 'head'; torso and legs wrapped in black fabric. The head angled not to look ahead, but at the ground in an attempt to hide the pain...

"It looks like the sculptor spilled their paint back that way--" where Neku had smashed his own likeness and relived the worst moment in his life, two sets of foot prints walking to the mural from the spill, and there is still paint in the grooves of Neku's sneakers, "--but there's something about this work that feels different from all of the others. It's not angry or mocking. It seems, I don't know... Private."

"Vulnerable," Neku contributes, remembering how it felt to see himself laid bare. "Lonely." Because when had Minamimoto ever had someone with him? Even his 'collaboration' with Mr. Hanekoma seemed half-based on threats of violence, and who knows which side the barista was really on? In a world where partnerships were the ultimate rule of law, Minamimoto had been fighting alone.

Approaching the statue and standing next to Rhyme, Neku let his fingers trail lightly against the bloody feather. "But still angry. Just... a simmering anger, not quite ready to boil over yet."

For the first time since her excitement over the statue had taken over her in Sunshine, Rhyme really seemed to see him again. "Neku... are you--"

Okay he was sure she would say, but she never did. Someone else spoke over her.

Spoke. Yelled.

"Hey! Get away from that you brats! Last thing I need is yoctograms like you ruining--" Then Minamimoto got a closer look. "Oh. It's you again. Well, scram. Go trash someone else's hard work."

Rhyme squeaked. It was a very familiar squeak. It was Shiki's squeak upon meeting Eiji Ouji.

(It was Neku's squeak upon discovering Mr. Hanekoma was CAT.)

Neku sighed, extremely put-upon. But Rhyme was his friend and, even if Minamimoto didn't know it, he'd done her a great service.

"Rhyme, this is Sho Minamimoto, the Grim Heaper. He was Game Master during the Second Week. Minamimoto, this is Raimu Daisukenojo--"

"Call me Rhyme!" (Much squeakier than her usual introduction.)

"--she was a Player during my first week."

Minamimoto squinted at her. "Weren't you smaller and pink and Noise-food?"

Well then. Minamimoto wasn't going to need red paint for his statue any more because Neku was going to smear him over the pavement!

Rhyme winced a bit but nodded shyly--shyly! Rhyme!--with a quiet "Yeah."

Before Neku could enact his violence, Minamimoto surprised them both by holding out a hand to fist-bump. "Good job keeping your sense of identity intact. Most Noise lose that within hours. You must've held out over two weeks."

Perking up a little, Rhyme grinned at the compliment while completing the fist-bump. "Well, I can't take all the credit. Mr. Hanekoma found me and Beat kept me by his side. I couldn't have done it without them."

Minamimoto scoffed before moving to fiddle with the back of the sculpture, attaching the metal appendages he'd brought with him. With the rattling the crushed soda cans made from where they were wired together, it was surprising they hadn't heard him coming.

"Look, Hanekoma coalescing you so quickly, and your brother carrying you around, should have bought you an extra day, maybe two. You did the real heavy lifting. Nevermind the fact that the Iron Maiden had you in her claws for a week before you came back. Don't sell yourself short, kid."

And Rhyme was just glowing under the praise, cheeks bright red as she looked down at the ground, a shy smile curving her lips. Was it really that her dreams hadn't been restored? Or was it her self-confidence that she could do them had been crushed after being knocked out of the Game so quickly? Was there a difference?

Neku stepped back as the two talked, Minamimoto explaining the technical details of what he was doing--the materials, how he attached the different parts to each other, the safety precautions when handling things with sharp edges like the crushed cans and barbed wire. And eventually he even managed to coax Rhyme into talking about her quilting project. Naturally he was most interested in the shapes and angles she was choosing to relay her message.

They talked and Neku wandered. He kicked the bullet hole in the pavement, scuffed his feet against the dried red paint and shiny glass-dust on the ground, ran his hands over the flaking paint of CAT's mural, and let his fingers explore the hole from a bullet that hadn't been aimed at him.

Just like with the Neku-statue, Minamimoto had placed his own statue in the same area of the alley where he'd been shot by Joshua. By wandering to the second bullet hole, Neku was now standing behind the statue.

Minamimoto had been busy while Neku had been wandering. The metal appendages were mostly attached by now, with only some extra supports currently being added by Minamimoto around the 'torso'. That meant Neku had a clear view of the additions.

They were wings--six of them--flared out and menacing. Without them, the statue had looked vulnerable, but now Neku could tell that from the front it would be much more menacing--a leashed threat. Injured, but not yet defeated.

Giving a quiet snort, Neku admitted that was pretty accurate.

Upon closer inspection, there were little notes attached to the wings on vertical hanging slips of paper. Each held a complicated looking math equation. Quietly, while Minamimoto was distracted talking to Rhyme, Neku took pictures of each one to look at later.

"What does it mean?"

A question asked innocently enough, but Neku froze from where he was coming around the statue to join them, looking to Minamimoto with panicked eyes.

The statue was more about the Reaper than Neku himself, but surely any explanation would require an explanation of the setting, and this wasn't something he particularly wanted to share.

There was a brief glance Neku's way, before Minamimoto started shaking his head. "You ever hear of 'death of the author'?" Rhyme shook her head, confusion written across her face. "It's the idea that when you create something, you have a set definition of what it means and as long as it's in your head that's all it means. But once you unleash it into the world, everyone who interacts with it will interpret it their own way, and that will probably be different from your own interpretation. It's not wrong, just because it's not what you envisioned, 'cause the minute you put it out there--changed it from private to public--your own interpretation as the sole interpretation dies; it's just one of many now."

Understanding dawned on Rhyme's face while Neku tried to keep his sigh of relief inaudible. "So you don't share your interpretation because you don't want it to influence mine?"

Minamimoto grinned and ruffled Rhyme's hair affectionately. "That's right. Not all creators do that; some want their meaning to be known. Hell, some want their meaning to be the only meaning. But I don't care what others think. I do this to exorcise my own demons. If people find their own meaning in that, good for them. Not my problem."

Rhyme was staring at Minamimoto with pure adoration on her face, and Neku sighed with defeat.

"Gimme your phone."

Well. Gob-smacked was a good look for Pi-face.

"What for?"

Neku rolled his eyes. "So I can program in my number. The group of us tend to meet up at least once a week. You should join us. Talk to people who know the Game but aren't in the Game."

Slowly, Minamimoto reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then tossed it to Neku who caught it without blinking. Minamimoto squinted at him suspiciously as Neku opened the man's contacts to input his information.

"This is great! I'll have the inside track to where all of your new sculptures are!"

Minamimoto's attention switched back to Rhyme. "I mean, I guess? Why would you want to though?"

Neku snickered to himself as Rhyme treated Minamimoto to a tirade about the social value of his own sculptures--basically indoctrinating him in the meaning she derived from his works.

While the Reaper was distracted, Neku paged up through the contacts and sent out a quick text to "BOSS".

TEXT ME, YOU ASSHOLE!! You have my number. -NS

Then he tossed the phone back to Minamimoto, deriving great satisfaction when the other fumbled the catch a little.

It was the little things in life.

Josh didn't text him.

Shiki had volunteered to keep Neku company while he packed for his family's trip, but Neku had the feeling he was going to regret accepting when he saw the shark-like grin on her face as she lounged on his bed.

"Sooooooo..."

Neku rolled his eyes and ignored her, sorting through the shirts he wanted to bring.

"Rhyme tells me you have a boyfriend."

For a moment everything froze. Then Neku relaxed and kept sorting.

"Rhyme told you no such thing because she's not a dirty rotten liar who enjoys torturing me."

A page turned in the magazine Shiki was reading--or at least pretending to be reading--but Neku knew she was focused entirely on him, determined to squeeze every last detail out.

"Oh reeeeeally...? So you don't know a super cool street artist with whom you willingly exchanged phone numbers?"

At that, Neku had to snort. He turned around to face Shiki, who dropped all pretense of perusing the magazine and rolled onto her front to stare at him better.

"First of all? Minamimoto is kinda the opposite of 'super-cool'; he's a super-nerd. He likes math and trash."

"So you already know his likes!"

"Secondly," he continued, ignoring her interruption, "There was no number 'exchange'. I gave him my number in case he wanted a group of people in the know about the Reaper's Game to hang out with."

"So forwaaaard, Ne--wait. Reaper's Game? I thought we were the only players to make it out?" She scrunched her face up in thought, wiggling her glasses in the process.

"He's a Reaper."

All of the enthusiasm left her in a moment, alarm replacing it. "A Reaper?"

Dryly, "Did Rhyme leave that part out?"

Archly, "Did Rhyme know?"

Giving up the packing as a lost cause until this conversation was over, Neku gave Shiki his full attention. "Well, I introduced him as the Game Master from my second week, but she was pretty busy mooning over his most recent creation so it's possible she glossed over that part." He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Incredulity was the overriding statement on Shiki's face when he asked her that. "Does it... does it matter?! Of course it matters! The Reaper's tortured us for fun! You most of all! How can you ask that?!"

For fun? Maybe if you put Josh and Kitaniji's bet on the table, and sure the Reapers tended to take delight in their jobs but...

"He actually... wasn't that bad..." It was strange voicing it out loud. Neku's second week had been the hardest, partnered with someone he didn't trust, a Game Master aiming barbed comments his way (that in retrospect were probably meant for Joshua), Beat attacking him at random, the missing memories of his death, and the increasingly vivid flashbacks to his last moments whenever the three of them were in the same room. But Minamimoto had spent most of that week preparing for Day 7 and taking Joshua out. Most of that week had been spent doing Josh's little errands and being on edge waiting for a mission to come in.

The main trauma Minamimoto had caused Neku was 'killing' Josh, but Josh hadn't been dead at all, and hadn't been who Neku thought Josh was--it was all a confusing mess that Neku tried not to think about these days, especially as Joshua seemed to have no inclination to set the record straight.

"Neku, I don't want to discourage you from making friends, but... He's a Reaper; they're not even human any more.

"But they were, once," Neku whispered, picturing skeletal wings extended from Beat's back. "Players like us who reached the end of the Game, but weren't granted a second life. So they make due with what they have, and erase Players to keep what existence they've managed to retain from fading away. They're just like us--they just want to live."

Shiki bowed her head, dark hair obscuring her face. "And when that lady Reaper told you you could win by erasing me, even though it was against the rules, that was just her trying to survive, right? When our Game Master kept singling me out as an ingredient in his recipe, that was just him being like us?"

Shit.

Sometimes Neku forgets how easy it was not to care about what was happening to him--what he was doing--in that first Game, with no memories to weigh him down. Forgot how horribly he treated Shiki, because she forgave him so easily.

Forgot that he wasn't the only one traumatized by what they experienced.

Neku got up off the floor and joined Shiki on the bed, grabbing her in a hug.

"What we experienced... what you went through in that first Game... It wasn't supposed to be like that. There were other things going on, games within the Game that screwed up all the rules. That's why Mr. Hanekoma was able to save you from me that day--what Pinky did was against the rules. And... and I'm so sorry that I tried to k... kill you. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know."

"It shouldn't have mattered!"

But Shiki pushed back from where she'd buried her face in his chest and shook her head harder. "Neku, you didn't know. Not just that it was against the rules, but you didn't know what the Game was, or why we were playing. You didn't know who you were or any kind of learned morality. They took all that from you. Mr. Hanekoma didn't just save me, he saved you too. That's why I can't forgive them. They stacked the deck; over and over. I don't know how you can forgive them."

Neku sighed, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I don't know how you can forgive me," he muttered, then waved off her protests--they'd had that argument before. "It's... Look, there's a lot more history between me and the other Reapers just because we were playing against each other so long. Pinky, Lollipop, Def Märch--all of them helped us out when push came to shove and Shibuya was in danger; when things went completely off the rails. And with Minamimoto... he never made it personal like some of the others did--especially to you. He... It wasn't his fault I was dead," not that Neku realized that at the time, "and it wasn't his fault I was playing the Game," that was Joshua--from what Neku knew, most Players had a choice--"and even though the rules said he should have been hunting me down aggressively, he pretty much ignored us 'til the last day when he couldn't any more."

And when the Game was over and done with, something about Neku's involvement had haunted Minamimoto after the fact. There was part of Neku who wanted to know more about the Reaper who valued the lives of the living; who valued Shibuya, just as it was.

"He's... not all bad," much to Neku's own surprise.

Pursing her lips, Shiki crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "I can't promise I'll like him... But I'll give him a chance."

A weight that Neku didn't realize he'd been carrying came off his shoulders. Since when was Minamimoto joining them that important to him? Inviting him had been a spur of the moment decision. And it's not like Minamimoto had texted him yet, anyway. He might never show up.

All the same, he pulled Shiki into another hug--another great benefit of having friends: human contact.

"Thanks Shiki," he breathed into her hair. She relaxed into the hug and squeezed him back.

"Now what's up with all the text books? You're seriously going to work on your math homework while on holiday? Do it on the last day of break like the rest of us plebes!"

Neku laughed at the joke and hoped that it hid his blush. He pointedly didn't think of the photos of the formulas from Minamimoto's statue sitting on his phone.

He didn't unpack the math texts.

(He did wait until the last day of break to do his homework.)

To Neku's surprise, Minamimoto did eventually text him shortly after break was over.

Where u yoctograms meeting? -Sho

It was a start.

It was a disaster.

Minamimoto... didn't play well with others.

Well. Okay. Rhyme thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread and could usually distract him by chatting about art things. But Beat was always about two seconds from starting a physical fight whenever the Reaper started insulting him... which was also about every two seconds.

Shiki kept shooting Neku these looks, and Neku had to keep avoiding her gaze because nope. Nope nope nope. He did not have a crush on Minamimoto. Just... a weird and complicated history.

(Neku may have worked on those math equations while in Hokkaido, but it's not like he got very far with them. Mom had been concerned about the school assigning work that was too hard until Neku explained that it was for a personal project. Then she'd just been bewildered.)

Most days, Neku served as a mediating force with Rhyme, smoothing out the rough edges in the group.

On the days when he hated Minamimoto for killing Josh and killing Neku himself...

Well, on those days he tended to shove on his 'phones bounce pretty early. On those days even Beat gave Neku concerned looks.

But... despite all the ways that it shouldn't work, Minamimoto began to integrate into the group.

Every now and again, though, there was a reminder that the Reaper wasn't exactly 'one of them'.

"Can't make it," Minamimoto grumbled around a mouthful of ramen as they planned an excursion to the skateboard park for the following week.

"You're dead," Beat rolled his eyes, fist planted in his cheek as he looked mournfully at his own empty bowl. "What could possibly be so important you'd bail?"

Shrugging, Minamimoto slurped up another mouthful of noodles, speaking around them.

"Work."

Shiki startled, her knuckled going white as she gripped her chopsticks. "Work as in...?"

Another shrug.

The rest of the meal passed in uncomfortable silence.

"Seriously? We're waiting for the light like a bunch of grade schoolers? There's nothing coming!"

Neku was making 'abort!' motions behind Rhyme's back, but it was too late, he could already see her tensing.

"We all died in traffic accidents. We've learned the hard way the importance of looking both ways before crossing the road."

Usually when Rhyme talked, it was bubbly and cheerful, especially to Minamimoto. Now it was flat and challenging.

Yet, surprisingly, Minamimoto didn't comment on the change in her demeanour, didn't push this new button he'd found.

Instead, he looked over Rhyme's head and locked eyes with Neku. "All of you, huh?"

Neku turned his head to the side, and refused to catch the Reaper's eyes for the rest of the day.

Today Neku's wandering had brought him back to Udagawa and the alley in which he'd died.

Most days Neku's wandering brought him back here.

This time it had been on purpose, though. Minamimoto had been... persistent about trying to talk to him since the Crosswalk Incident two days ago, and this wasn't the kind of conversation Neku wanted to have in front of the others. So Neku had returned to the alley, and texted Minamimoto to let the Reaper know where he'd be.

The Wounded Angel statue was still sitting there, metal parts showing a lot of rust as time had passed. Meanwhile, CAT's last mural was nearly unrecognizable.

Even Neku's paint 'blood-stain' was almost completely worn away.

Two small holes in the concrete and asphalt could still be seen, if you knew where to look for them.

Neku wasn't looking.

Neku was sitting on the ground again, his back to the wall, head buried in his knees.

He knew Minamimoto had arrived when the Reaper threw himself down to sit beside Neku in a sprawl of limbs.

"Why don't any of them know?"

"Know what?" It was a useless deflection, but just the thought of having this conversation was exhausting.

Irritation crept into Minamimoto's voice. "Not one of them looked shifty or guilty or anything when Noise-girl claimed you all died via vehicular impact. They just looked like it was an accepted fact. Now, I know you didn't get hit by a car. And you know," here there was the muted sound of knuckles rapping against the ground, "You didn't get hit by a car. So what gives? Thought you were into all that sharing and caring crap."

Neku snorted. "We talk about our lives, yeah. But we got all of that talking about our deaths stuff out during the Game. We're trying to move on."

"Uh-huh. I seem to recall you accusing me of killing you at one point. Seems like you might have been a fraction confused about things during the Game."

The elbow to Neku's ribs was completely unnecessary. Neku finally twisted his head to look Minamimoto in the face.

"Josh had more fun stealing my memories before the Game than after. I didn't know what really happened until the end. And even when I thought it was you, we didn't have a lot of time for heart-to-hearts during the last week. Too much to do, not enough time."

"And your friends just assumed you were just like them? Didn't even bother to ask?"

A shrug. "Like I said, we don't really talk about it."

Except Neku was thinking about it now, that moment when he saw Joshua running toward him, gun in hand. The crack of the gun firing. The lack of identity and confusion during the first week. The confusion and desperation of the second. The confusion and desperation and grief of the third.

Only for it all to be just... a game. A stupid bet.

And an entry fee Neku will never get back, because he lost, even if Joshua proved himself trustworthy in the end.

An entry fee Neku doesn't even know.

Neku shudders, burying his face back in his knees.

A tentative arm wraps itself around Neku's shoulders. The surprise of it pulls his head out of his arms again, to see Minamimoto looking up at the sky, idly scratching his cheek with his free hand.

There a slight tinge of red to his cheeks.

Neku's own face heats up, but...

He's so tired. And the human contact is... nice. Especially without the need to explain... everything.

So instead of pulling away, Neku slumps into Minamimoto's body heat, soaking it in, letting it chase away the chills of Neku's own anxiety.

They don't say anything else. Just sit there, side-by-side, with Minamimoto's arm around his shoulders.

(Neku is never going to tell Shiki that she was right; he might have a tiny crush on Minamimoto.)

"I'm surprised Minamimoto didn't harass him into telling the others. It's not like him to take on this touchy-feely stuff himself."

"Now, Sanae, you forget that our dear Sho doesn't play well with others, no matter the progress he's making on his social skills--he's never going to be the type to encourage 'sharing-and-caring' as he put it."

"Sure, Boss, but doing the comforting himself? Didn't really seem his style."

"Tee hee. He really is making progress! But I think it has more to do with the subject in need of comforting than anything else."

An arched eyebrow. "Really? Minamimoto? And our Neku?"

"I nudged their paths into meeting for a reason, after all. During the Game, Neku showed a remarkable ability to draw people together and bring out the best in them--even when he was showing his own worst. The other districts aren't going to keep loaning me their Conductors forever, and Shibuya has few candidates. But one that doesn't play well with others? Well. That needed to be fixed first."

"And it doesn't bother you? I know you had your eye on Neku yourself..."

A pause; a tinge of regret. "I never should have inserted myself into the Game. You yourself reported how our Frequencies interacted to Neku's detriment. If I had waited until he was more stable... Now, there's too high a risk of destabilizing him again. No; our paths have diverged now, and walking back down that path can only lead to ruin."

"So. When are you going to tell the new Conductor about his promotion?"

"...Not quite yet.

The sun was setting and it was getting colder. Even with Minamimoto's body-heat, sitting on the concrete was leeching the warmth from both of them.

With great effort, Neku climbed back to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his muscles from being still for so long.

Looking back, Minamimoto's arm had fallen back to his side, but beyond that he hadn't moved. Just sat there, staring at his own legs.

Neku thought about it for a second, taking into consideration their complicated history, their recent interactions, the understanding they were developing, and the small warm feeling in his chest.

Then he held out his hand to help the Reaper up.

"C'mon, Sho. I'll treat you to a burger."

Head snapping up, eyes wide, Sho tentatively accepted the hand up, before burying any hesitation with his usual smarmy grin.

"Least you could do after making me sit on the ground for hours..."

"Yeah, right," Neku snorted, his own grin beginning to form as he shook off the ghosts that were haunting him, at least for now. "I totally twisted your arm there..."

They walked out of the alley, bickering warmly with each other, and that small warm feeling in Neku's chest burned just that slight bit hotter.

It was a possibility; a Someday. Proof that whatever Josh had taken from him, Neku still had a future.

And hopefully--in some form--Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, and Sho would all be part of that future.

end

Feedback always welcome!

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #TWEWY Bang 2018

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