Chapter Text
~1~
After Claw’s thwarted attempt at world domination, life in Seasoning City began the slow but inevitable slide back towards normalcy. Not even the presence of the enormous stalk of broccoli that had replaced the Cultural Tower would prevent its citizens from settling down and getting on with their lives. Everyone outside the radius of the psychic showdown had adapted to the altered skyline, or begun taking the bus to make up for the train lines that had been disrupted. Otherwise they returned to their jobs and their homes, placidly unaffected by the aftermath of the world’s largest psychic terrorist attack.
Those closer to the Cultural Tower were not so lucky. For a kilometer or so around the epicenter of the disaster, office parks and apartment complexes lay flattened like cardboard boxes that had been left out in a hailstorm. Salarymen took temporary postings in other cities, or crammed into new offices in less convenient but more intact locations, or made calls from their desks at home. Families looked for new apartments.
Unfortunately, despite some extremely off-the-record psychic assistance from certain repentant Claw members, the process to rebuild downtown Seasoning City would be a long one. Even more unfortunately, at least from the perspective of Spirits And Such Consultation Office, the insurance agencies that served Seasoning City had considered it a low-risk area. They were scrambling to correct that assumption, but none of them had been prepared for the sheer volume of claims they were being forced to process.
Reigen Arataka was in hell.
“But you did find the cause of the fire?” he demanded for what must have been the fifteenth time that day.
“Yes, sir,” droned the agent. “But we are currently experiencing delays. Your claim will be processed as quickly as possible, but we anticipate a wait time of between two and four weeks.”
“But—but my office was destroyed before everything that happened downtown! Surely there’s some way—”
“Your claim will be processed as quickly as possible,” the agent repeated.
“But I need that payout before—”
“We anticipate a wait time of between two and four weeks.”
The calls always went this way. No, there was no way for Reigen to expedite the process. No, nothing had changed since the last time he had called. No, there wasn’t a superior for him to speak to. His claim would be processed as quickly as possible. They anticipated a wait time of between two and four weeks. Reigen had tried everything. He’d finagled. He’d begged. He’d threatened. He’d cried. Nothing had so much as cracked the agent’s stony facade.
“If you have no further questions, I have other callers waiting.”
“No!” Reigen shouted, scrabbling at the phone as if he could somehow grasp at the connection with his fingers. “No, no, wait!”
The line went dead.
After a brief pause during which he went outside and screamed on his balcony, Reigen decided to look on the bright side. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a vacation. The anticipated two-to-four week wait before he could go looking for a new office was a fantastic opportunity to finish all those little tasks he’d been putting off and finally let himself relax for once. He deserved it! Really, this would be good for him. There was plenty for him to do.
*
Three days passed, and Reigen had officially run out of things to do.
For some reason, the insurance company had stopped taking his calls, though he kept trying. He had cleaned his apartment until it was practically unrecognizable. His floors were spotless. His refrigerator was disinfected. That weird little discolored patch in the shower had been scrubbed and bleached until it shone, and now all his tiles were gleaming, sparkling white. He’d flipped his mattress, rearranged his furniture to maximize its feng shui, and darned all of his socks.
How fortunate he was, to have all this time to himself.
On the fourth day, Reigen hatched the brilliant plan of calling the insurance company from a pay phone to circumvent their caller ID, but the representative just put him on hold until he ran out of change. On the way home he bought himself a new houseplant—maybe a little big for his studio apartment, but it would look great in the new office! He picked out a recipe for dinner that he hadn’t made in years because it took all afternoon and would dirty every dish he owned. After he’d eaten, he sat down at the computer and ended up checking resale postings for office furniture for three and a half hours.
He was great at vacation.
On day five, it occurred to him that he should check in on how the kids were doing. They’d all been through a traumatic experience, after all. Perhaps, even though the office was closed, one of them could benefit from the guidance of the great Reigen Arataka, rising star of the 21 st Century’s psychic world!
“I’m fine, Shishou,” said Mob on the phone. “If the office is still closed, I need to focus on my studies. They weren’t able to recreate all my school notes when they rebuilt the house, so I’m a little behind.”
Reigen scratched at the back of his neck as he paced the length of his balcony. “Of course! You should never underestimate the importance of academics!”
“I’m not, Shishou.”
“If fact,” Reigen tried with increasing desperation, “If you happen to need any assistance, I’m sure my skills—”
“Ritsu’s helping me,” said Mob, implacably. “He’s very smart.”
“He sure is, isn’t he? But I—”
“I have to go now, Shishou.”
Reigen deflated.
*
Hanazawa had been more than happy to catch up, and agreed to meet Reigen the next day for lunch.
The takoyaki stand had been a strategic decision. Reigen had been over his finances, and he was relatively certain his emergency savings would cover rent and food until he got the new office up and running. However, he was entirely certain treating Hanazawa Teruki to a single thoughtless meal would be enough to leave him begging in the streets. The boy’s stomach was a violation of the laws of physics.
Hence: takoyaki! Since they’d taken their orders to sit in a nearby park out of earshot of the stand, it was unlikely to plunge him into financial ruin. And while Reigen didn’t love the stuff with the intensity that Mob did, it was a good quick meal: affordable, filling, and delicious.
And hot.
Very hot.
“Ah,” said Hanazawa sagely, as Reigen struggled not to spit out what felt like an orb of lava on his tongue, “I would have thought they were too hot to eat. Did you use your powers to cool it to a bearable temperature? Even I’ve never thought of that!”
“Mmph!” said Reigen through his agony. A plume of steam escaped from his mouth.
Hanazawa held a takoyaki in front of his face and stared at it with narrowed eyes. “It must operate on the same principle as pyrokinesis,” he mused, “But in reverse. Heat and cold, like all other forms of energy, can be manipulated by the sufficiently focused mind.”
“Of course,” Reigen croaked.
Hanazawa raised one hand, spreading his fingers with a look of intense concentration on his face. His cropped hair and scuffed jacket rustled in a breeze that hadn’t been there before. The light in his eyes glinted strangely.
He popped the takoyaki in his mouth.
“Ah,” he sighed, leaning back with an expression of smug contentment. “Perfect!”
“N-now,” said Reigen, his own takoyaki burning its way down his esophagus, “You mustn’t overuse this power! It’s important to, uh, appreciate the natural flow of energy. Don’t mess around with it just because you can! At my level, obviously I have a complete intuitive understanding of all types of energy, but that sort of thing takes time to develop.”
Hanazawa’s eyes sparkled with admiration. Reigen convinced himself that the twisting feeling in his gut was just a consequence of not chewing his takoyaki properly.
“So how have you been?” he asked.
Hanazawa waved a hand, the picture of carefree indifference. But he didn’t look as put-together as usual. His hair seemed greasy—and not in a way that suggested it was some kind of ill-considered fashion statement. And he was wearing the same tracksuit jacket he’d had on when they’d dug Mob out of the giant broccoli, complete with stains and rips at the elbows.
“Some apartment issues. I’d forgotten that Claw blew out one of my walls, and the landlord’s being a total bore about it.”
Reigen made a noise of disgust. “Landlords are the worst! You should see the rent increase mine tried to spring on me last year! But listen, they’re legally obligated to provide you with livable facilities, so if they give your parents a hard time—”
“Oh,” said Hanazawa. “My parents are out of town at the moment.”
“So you’re dealing with all of this yourself? Geez, kid . . .”
“It’s no trouble!” Hanazawa’s smile was dazzling. It could give Reigen’s best buttering-up-a-client face a run for its money. He could practically see the colored sparkles floating in the air around him.
“If your place wasn’t safe, you could have called me,” Reigen said.
“I realized that when I got home,” said Hanazawa, “But it was so late by then and I didn’t want to be a nuisance. And besides, I’ve still got bolt-holes set up across the city.”
Reigen felt his face freeze into the default customer service smile he plastered on whenever a conversational turn left his mind scrambling.
“You’ve got what?”
“Bolt-holes! I set them up a few years ago in case Claw attacked the apartment and I needed somewhere to hide out. I suppose if Claw’s really gone I won’t need to keep them all stocked anymore.” He laughed brightly. “I’m really going to save on medical supplies!”
“Ah . . .”
Reigen grabbed another takoyaki to buy himself some time. Hanazawa had mentioned having some experience with Claw in the past, but nothing this . . . extensive.
The kid usually talked about Claw as if they were more of a nuisance than a threat, and at least he wasn’t as defenseless as most kids would be if some strange adults tried to grab them off the street, right? But then, a ‘nuisance’ didn’t make you scared to sleep at home. And the mention of ‘medical supplies’ was alarming. Even if he was just talking about basic first aid, bandages for scrapes and cuts – and wow, Reigen sure hoped that was all he meant – that still wasn’t great.
Sheesh. What had those people been doing?
“If you need another option in any future emergencies,” he said eventually, “The offer to crash at my place still stands.”
Before Hanazawa could respond, Reigen’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Hang on!” he said, fumbling for it. “I have to take this. It’s probably the insurance company; they’ve been giving me the run-around all week!”
His phone seemed determined to make a break for it, but after some light acrobatics Reigen grabbed it, flipping it up to his ear. He straightened up and took in a deep breath. Now this was something he could deal with!
“Reigen Arataka, rising star of the 21st Century psychic world and proprietor of Spirits and Such Consultation Agency, re-opening soon in a new and more convenient location!”
“H-hello,” stammered the voice on the other end. They sounded awed. Gobsmacked, even.
Reigen grinned. He’d done it. He’d wowed them. They’d get his payout at lightning speed!
“And how can I help you today,” he drawled, charm dripping off his every word.
“Grand Master Reigen, this is Muraki from, uhh . . .” mumbled the voice, and Reigen’s hopes were dashed.
“From last week! Of course!”
Muraki, Muraki . . . Reigen chewed on his lip as he tried to remember which of the penitent Claw members he was talking to. There hadn’t exactly been an opportunity for introductions the first time they met, and the second time had been such a whirlwind that even Reigen’s usually impeccable talent for matching names to faces hadn’t stood a chance. He’d been too distracted worrying about his insurance policy.
And about Mob.
And the city.
There had been a lot to worry about, was his point.
When Muraki, whoever he was, didn’t respond, Reigen asked, “So is this about something connected to that business? If there’s another threat, I’m not really—”
“No. It’s not that.”
Reigen perked up. “Are you in need of a spiritual consultation? Our brick-and-mortar office is currently closed, but the great Reigen Arataka is happy to provide on-location services!”
“Um. Actually, it’s . . . well . . .”
“Yes?”
“I, uh . . . need a character reference for an apartment I applied for.”
Reigen blinked. That was not his usual wheelhouse. But this was a client (more or less) in need (more or less!), so it would be completely unprofessional to leave them hanging.
Also, he was bored.
“Of course!” he said brightly. “What’s the address?”
“Was that about Claw?” Hanazawa asked once he’d hung up the phone.
“No,” said Reigen. He considered. “Well, yes. Well . . . it wasn’t a threat. Some of the former Scars are still struggling to re-integrate into society, so of course I offered to assist them!”
“Oh. Good.” Hanazawa’s shoulders relaxed.
“The rest of the takoyaki’s yours. And I’m serious, if you run into any trouble—”
The kid grinned. “Goodbye, Mr. Reigen.”
*
Ah, thought Reigen as he approached the building, Shoulder pads. Mystery solved.
Muraki looked much smaller and more nervous and less like a badly scaled action figure when he was wearing normal clothes and pacing awkwardly in front of the entrance to an apartment complex.
“Ah, Grand Master Reigen,” he stammered.
“None of that!” said Reigen, clapping him on the shoulder. “Reigen-san will go over much better with the landlord; we don’t want to intimidate him. Now, what’s the story?”
Muraki twisted his hands together nervously. “Well, you see,” he said, “I . . . lived at the Claw base for many years, and then when you took down the Seventh Division we all went into hiding, so . . .” He hung his head. “I don’t have a rental history.”
“We’ll soon take care of that!” Reigen reassured him. “Plenty of people don’t! How about a job? Are you working?”
“Yes, actually! Well, I start next week. It’s, uh, data entry. I wish I was doing more to contribute to society, but . . .”
“But you have to start somewhere!”
Muraki blushed so deeply that the mole on his forehead disappeared into a sea of crimson. “Yes! Well. Uh, my typing speed tested in the 92 nd percentile . . .”
“Really?” Reigen grinned at him. “That’s fantastic! You should take pride in your achievement! Now!” He spread his arms wide. After days of inactivity, his mind was fizzing. It felt so good to have a problem to solve again. His hands danced around him as he spoke. “It’s clear that you have taken my advice to heart so in exchange I, Reigen Arataka, will provide you with the best character reference in all of Japan!”
They continued to talk as they headed up the stairs, Murakai sheepishly nodding as Reigen discussed the best way to re-frame ‘member of a terrorist cell’ as ‘skilled specialist in a non-traditional work environment.’
*
Muraki got the apartment.
~2~
Reigen’s chair squeaked as he spun it around to stare out the window. It took him a moment—as it had all week—to realize why the skyline of Seasoning City looked so off. His eyes kept trying to insert a phantom broccoli into the center of town.
With the Divine Tree gone, the setting sun shone directly through the window and into his eyes unless he closed the blinds. Still, at least the rash of requests to investigate supernatural root damage had dried up. And at least the new office wasn’t in an area any of those reports had come from. He’d negotiated his new insurance policy to be a little broader than the last one with psychic phenomena in mind (and he was paying through the nose for it, too), but he didn’t think the company would take kindly to “No, really, a giant broccoli tore down my office building!” especially coming so soon after his last claim.
Ring!
“Leave it to me!” said Reigen, lunging for the phone. This earned him looks of deep gratitude from both Mob and Serizawa and a bland smile from Teruki, who’d showed up claiming he was bored. It was the second time this week—not that Reigen minded. It had been slow lately, and Dimple hadn’t been around since before the broccoli disappeared. Reigen would have expected to feel relieved that he didn’t have to put up with the spirit’s constant heckling, but he found himself almost missing it. Bickering with Dimple gave him something to do when business with slow, and with him off doing whatever evil spirit things he got up to when he wasn’t hanging around Mob, the office had been quiet. Much quieter than Reigen preferred.
He had an office policy, which he was still doing his best to drill into Serizawa, that the phone could not be allowed to ring more than three times before being answered. This time, he grabbed it just as the second ring was starting and launched into his usual greeting.
“Um,” said the voice on the other end after a long pause. “This is Sesame Elementary School After-School Programs?”
Never one to be discouraged by doubt or confusion from a potential client, Reigen grinned. “Thank you for calling! Don’t worry; you’re not the first school to make use of our services; just as schoolyards can be breeding grounds for germs, having so many children packed together makes them a favored haunting spot for malevolent spirits! Tell me, what is the nature of the spiritual problems you’re experiencing?”
“I’m not—” the caller sputtered. “Sir, I’m not calling for a consultation. I’m calling because you’re listed as an emergency contact for Mukai Rishi.”
“Mukai Rishi?” said Reigen. (This was one of his special moves; repeating whatever a client has just said in the hope it will prompt them to provide more context.) “Oooooof course!”
To Reigen’s disappointment, the person on the phone did not immediately launch into a comprehensive explanation, but Teruki straightened up from the table where he and Mob were supposedly doing homework with a look of interest and, more importantly, recognition.
“Yes, Mukai!” said Reigen, pressing the phone against his ear so he could use both hands to gesture imploringly at Teruki. “We go waaaaaaaaaay back. Obviously.”
Teruki made a gesture at about waist height. A kid. Probably could have guessed that from the ‘elementary school’ context. What kids did Reigen know who weren’t already in his office?
Teruki grimaced and drew one finger across his cheek. When that didn’t ring any bells, he raised his fists to either side of his head, miming ponytails.
Oh. Ohhhhh! That kid!
“I’ll be right over,” said Reigen smoothly, before he had a chance to ask himself what a diminutive former Scar was doing with him as her emergency contact. “You need me to pick her up, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is she sick? Fall on the playground?”
The voice on the other end of the phone was short and clipped. “No, Sir, this is a disciplinary action. We’ll discuss it in more detail when you arrive.”
And with that, she hung up.
“Well!” Reigen set the phone back into its cradle. “Can the rest of you hold down the office while I’m out?”
Serizawa blanched. Mob looked impassive. Teruki grinned.
“Consider it done.”
“Great!” Reigen grabbed his coat, flipping it over his shoulder. “There’s nothing but walk-ins for the rest of the night, and if you get a call you don’t want to handle just schedule it for later in the week. We can all grab ramen when I’m back.”
He was halfway to the door when Mob said, “Master.”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful around her dolls,” said Mob. “I had to fight them once. It was over quickly, but they seemed like they could really hurt someone.”
“No problem, Mob!” said Reigen, who was a grown man and didn’t find dolls even slightly creepy. Not even those fancy ones with uncannily realistic eyes that he was sure no child seriously liked. He loved dolls, in fact! But not in a weird way! He definitely felt whatever was most normal for someone his age to feel about dolls. “I’ll make sure nobody gets hurt!”
*
The secretary met him with a visitor’s pass and a distrustful look.
“Sooo.” Reigen rocked on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets. “What seems to be the problem?”
She clicked her teeth. Reigen took in her tight posture and the bags under her eyes. With the amount of tension she carried in her shoulders, her back must be aching.
He supposed kids could do that to you. Mob had always been such a good and quiet kid, but Reigen remembered what he had been like in elementary school. “Rambunctious,” as his teachers put it when they were feeling charitable. “Disruptive, disrespectful, and distracted,” as they’d put it when they weren’t. He hadn’t known how to keep his mouth shut, and some things hadn’t changed.
“This is the third time Mukai has been involved in an altercation where the other party required medical attention,” the woman said, primly. “We simply cannot allow these violent tendencies to continue unchecked!”
“Where is she?” asked Reigen. “Let me talk to her.” He flashed her a smile that he hoped came across as sympathetic and conciliatory, and maybe a little bashful. Humbleness was usually a good look in situations like these.
“She’s right down the hall,” the woman said, wrinkling her nose.
Sure enough, the kid was sitting on a bench, swinging her dangling feet back and forth. A faceless wooden doll half as big as she was sat on the bench next to her. As Reigen approached, it turned its head to look at him. Something about the jittery way it moved reminded him of a cockroach.
“Hey!” he called from a safe distance, waving his hand.
Mukai’s pigtails bounced against her head as she spun to glare at him, but as soon as she recognized him she gasped and sat up ramrod straight.
“Master Reigen!”
“Hi there. Mind if I sit?”
She scooted over, although she did not, as Reigen had silently hoped, move the doll. Its blank sightless face was still staring at him. Was a total lack of eyes was better or worse than the realistic staring ones? Hard to say. He sat down, gingerly, at the far edge of the bench.
Reigen let the silence pool out between them. Usually he jumped right in, but a well-placed silence was also a crucial tool in his arsenal. People had a tendency to want to fill them.
“Am I in trouble?” Mukai asked, her ankles twisting together under the bench.
“That’s what they told me.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She glared at him. The mannequin shuddered. “They don’t do anything if you get in trouble out here. They don’t even lock you up!”
Reigen looked at her round little freckly face. The scar across it was gone now, thanks to whatever had happened when the broccoli sprouted. “That must be pretty different from Claw, huh?” he ventured.
“Yeah.” Her lip started to tremble. “I miss it. Unless the Boss was there I could play however I wanted. Now my teacher’s always telling me what to do and she doesn’t even have powers!”
“You know,” Reigen turned, angling himself so he was facing her while keeping at least a few inches of distance between any part of himself and the doll. “Adapting to a new situation is one of the greatest difficulties any person can face. Even adults!”
Mukai kicked her feet. “Don’t baby me,” she grumbled.
The mannequin leaned closer. Reigen leaned back, waving his hands in front of him. “Ah, I’m not, I’m not! All I’m saying is that everyone goes through changes in life. But dragging our feet and looking towards the past is like carrying a shadow with you. Everyone at Claw had closed their eyes to the world. Now you’re all living in the world and moving forward!”
Mukai sighed. “Tsuchi’s better at it than me,” she mumbled.
“Well, she spent a lot more time outside of Claw before she joined, so she’s had time to practice! I mean, how old were you when you got involved?” The words had barely left his mouth before he realized that he was pretty sure he didn’t actually want an answer to that question.
“Six.”
Ah. He’s been right! He didn’t want an answer!
“Well then!” Reigen continued breezily. “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
“I just wanted to play!”
“The . . . sort of games you played at Claw?”
“Yeah!” She kicked her feet back and forth. The doll started vibrating jerkily, and Reigen wedged himself further into the far end of the bench. “They’re fun!”
“I think,” said Reigen, doing his best to pick his words delicately in case the rattling mannequin got the wrong idea, “That you might be used to playing a little rougher than most people are comfortable with.”
Mukai sniffed. “They should learn to toughen up, then! That’s what I did!”
Six, thought Reigen. How old was she now, anyway? He hadn’t caught what grade she was in, and at this point he didn’t think he wanted to ask. How much did she even remember from before Claw? If he ever saw that Boss man again, he was going to give him a piece of his mind! Assuming Serizawa was there. And several other instances of backup. Still!
“Have you tried asking other people what sorts of games they like to play? I bet some of them are fun, too, you know. It sounds like in Claw you didn’t get too much variety.”
She pouted. “I guess.”
He tried to recall what he’d enjoyed at her age, but nothing noteworthy came up. Blurred memories of school, television, bothering his sister when he was bored. Even if he could bring up more specifics, kids her age now likely had different games and trends than what he remembered.
“Have you seen them do anything that looked fun?”
Mukai thought about it very hard.
“Yuko made one of the boys eat a worm the other day,” she said after a while. “I liked that a lot! He even cried.”
“Ah,” said Reigen, swallowing uncomfortably. “Let’s put a pin in that one, shall we?”
*
The beleaguered administrator let herself be talked into giving Mukai a warning. “This is the last time, though,” she snapped. “We need this to be a peaceful and safe environment for the children!”
Reigen didn’t think there was an elementary school in the world that could be described as ‘peaceful,’ but he kept his mouth shut, thanking the woman for her time and generosity.
By the time Tsuchiya showed up at Spirits and Such, out of breath and looking like her arms were about to burst out of her Seasoning City Transit uniform, Mukai was lying on the floor with Mob and Teruki, coloring on the back of a stack of old flyers.
“I’m so sorry!” Tsuchiya said, giving Reigen’s arm a friendly pat that almost catapulted him into the wall. “We’re not allowed to have our phones while we’re on the clock, and . . .”
“Don’t worry about it this time!” Reigen waved his hands placatingly, though he took a few steps back in case she tried being friendly again. “I think we had a good talk. Just don’t make this sort of thing a habit, okay? I’m a busy man with a thriving business!”
“Oh, Shishou,” said Mob, looking up from the floor, “We don’t have any appointments tomorrow, so I was wondering—”
“Anyway!” Reigen bustled Mukai and Tsuchiya out the door, fluttering around them like an anxious hen. “Good luck with everything; pleasure to see you again; don’t hesitate to stop by next time you find yourself plagued with spiritual problems!”
*
Serizawa had to skip out on dinner so he could go to class, and Mob left early to go looking for Dimple, so Reigen and Teruki were the last to leave the restaurant. As they wandered out into the street, Reigen dropped a hand on the kid’s shoulder.
“You know, this got me thinking,” he said, “Your parents are working overseas, right?”
“Yes,” said Teruki, with the sort of practiced ease that only someone like Reigen, who exuded practiced ease every day, would suspect was anything but genuine. “They’re very busy, and I enjoy the independence!”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. But I imagine not everyone sees it that way, yeah?”
Teruki’s mouth was a thin line. “Mm.”
Reigen produced a business card from his pocket with a flourish. The effect was somewhat spoiled when his foot caught on the sidewalk and he had to windmill his arms to stay upright, but the card floated over to Teruki’s hand with a flash of yellow and a whiff of ozone.
“All I’m saying,” said Reigen once he’d recovered his balance, “Is that I’m an adult who actually lives in Seasoning City, if your school ever needs you to produce one. Standing offer. Think of it as a thank you for helping out around the office.”
“I’ll consider it,” said Teruki breezily. He turned the card over and his brow furrowed. “Is this . . . ?”
Reigen leaned in. On the back of the business card was a sketchy colored-pencil drawing that was probably supposed to be him. It was standing on a mountain mostly covered in flowers, although there were also a few crude skulls scattered here and there.
“Ah,” Reigen explained. “Mukai got bored on the train.”
~3~
“There’s a definite aura here,” said Serizawa as they approached the job site. “Or . . . no, more than one. You should stay back.”
“No, you should go ahead, Reigen,” Dimple purred from near his shoulder. “I can’t wait to see you fall on your ass again!”
Reigen shot him a quick glare. That had been a one-time, not-to-be-repeated accident, precipitated by an unexpected ghost and some extremely treacherous gravel, that you very much! If their resident evil spirit thought he could get his kicks from an ongoing supply of prat-falls starring Reigen Arataka, he had another think coming!
His right leg twinged at the reminder. It had been two months since he’d fought his way to the center of Mob’s psychic storm and his body still wasn’t quite back to his usual level of vim and vigor. That was the problem with bodies. You hurt them once, and then they kept getting hurt, and then you had an employee fussing over you like a mother duck and an evil spirit cackling over your bad luck, and—
“Wait,” said Serizawa, holding up a hand and cutting off Reigen’s internal litany of his misfortunes. His hair fluttered around his head and he bore an expression of deep concentration. “I . . . recognize one of these.”
“From your Claw days?”
Serizawa shook his head. “I . . . think it’s Hanazawa.”
Sure enough, when they entered the warehouse Teru was standing in the middle of the floor, dusting off his hands, with three neatly trussed men in a pile beside him. He brightened at their approach.
“Ah, Mr. Reigen!” he said, flashing one of his dazzling smiles. “Don’t worry; you shouldn’t be having any more trouble with these hooligans.”
“Did they come after you?”
“Quite the contrary! I took the initiative to clean up their little operation. Seasoning City has had quite enough trouble from people like them, don’t you think?”
One of the men on the floor groaned. He was dressed in a truly eye-searing shade of purple and his hair had been gelled and sculpted into what was probably intended to be a dragon but now looked like a sad and deflated duck.
“Not that it was much of a challenge,” Teru continued. “One of them had a trick I hadn’t seen before, where he used a modified barrier to mask his aura and avoid detection, but he was so weak that the element of surprise didn’t really make a difference.”
“You really don’t need to be going after things like this by yourself, you know,” Reigen said. “Don’t you have homework? There’s that one guy from the government—Serizawa, you got his number, right?”
“They weren’t very powerful,” said Teru, looking nonplussed. “I’ve taken on much more daunting threats by myself before.”
Reigen opened his mouth to explain that past performance wasn’t necessarily an indicator of future success, that it didn’t matter that Teru could take on a group like this by himself, the point was that he shouldn’t, that this was an adult problem that he should leave to the adults while he worried about normal teenager things like grades and sports clubs and petty interpersonal squabbles, but before he could get a word out his phone went off in his pocket.
“Hello?”
If this was the client, Reigen could tell them that everything was taken care of thanks to the stupendous psychic powers of Spirits and Such (and unanticipated contractor), sort out the matter of payment, and get back to convincing the kid that teenagers should not be single-handedly taking down terrorist cells in their spare time.
It was not the client.
“Hey,” said a gruff yet sheepish voice. “It’s Koyama. From Claw. Can you, uh, take me to the hospital?”
*
“So.”
Koyama shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the taxi, looking like a doll that someone had squished into a toy car that was almost but not quite the right size for it. Even hunched over, he loomed. A cluster of ill-fated kitchen rags was pressed against his right hand, the angry red sparks of a psychic barrier binding the makeshift bandage in place.
The barrier wasn’t the only thing that felt angry in the small space. It was probably just because he was in pain, but something about Koyama seemed to radiate aggression outwards. The sense Reigen had developed over the years for when an irritated client was about to become an enraged and possibly violent client was going crazy. In the confined space, he felt like a flightless bird. He kept his hands clasped on his knees in case a thoughtless gesture collided with his fellow passenger, but in his annoyance he couldn’t keep from tapping his fingers.
“Why me?” he asked.
“Sakurai couldn’t get off work.”
Reigen waited expectantly for the other man to elaborate. Taptaptap.
“He’s assistant manager at the convenience store now. Not the convenience store; that got leveled. But while they were rebuilding we had some time to think. We’d talked about opening a ramen shop after, you know . . . after. But we got scared off by all the damn paperwork.”
“The story of many starry-eyed aspiring small business owners,” said Reigen sagely.
“Yeah, well. We got to talking about it again, so now Sakurai’s looking for managerial experience and I’m looking for restaurant experience and we figure maybe in a couple years . . .”
“The restaurant experience . . .” Reigen spared a glance at the bloody towels.
“They way they use knives is stupid!” Koyama growled. “It’s different! I—” He cut off, taking a deep breath in and then letting it out. He didn’t look any less angry when he was done, but it seemed to have done something because instead of screaming in Reigen’s face he just grumbled, “I’m not . . . used to it,” while glowering at the floor.
“It’s admirable to work so diligently towards your goals!” said Reigen. He considered patting Koyama’s shoulder but decided against it. “But you still didn’t answer my question. This isn’t a spiritual matter. Why call me?”
Koyama leaned back, his head hitting the back of the seat with a thump.
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea,” he said.
Reigen was simultaneously relieved and offended.
“Sakurai?”
“We all decided.”
We all. More than the two of them, then. Reigen began putting together some of the stranger phone calls he’d gotten over the past few months, which were now forming a pattern.
“All . . . the Scars?” he asked.
A weary grunt was his only reply.
“Well,” said Reigen, “While I’m flattered that you’d think of me, the Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century keeps a very tight schedule! I won’t always be available to help you out like this.”
“Yeah, we know.” Koyama turned to look at him seriously. “We former Scars look out for each other.”
He said it like a solemn vow. Like a character in a war movie, describing some unbreakable bond that ordinary people just couldn’t understand.
“Unless one of you has to work?” Reigen pointed out.
The intense expression on Koyama’s face melted away in surprise. His eyes widened and he sputtered defensively. “He’s a supervisor now! He can’t just leave!”
“Well, I can’t either! Just because I run my own business—”
Koyama cut him off with an irritated grunt. He shifted in the limited space of the cab, visibly trying to work his way up to something. When he spoke again, it sounded like an admission.
“It’s insurance,” he said.
“I—what?”
“In case anyone comes after us. Claw’s gone, but not everyone’s as happy about that as we are. There’s holdouts, splinter groups . . . We watch each other’s backs, but if that’s not enough, we needed a final line of defense.”
Without his scar, mohawk, and piercings, he was almost unrecognizable as the man that Reigen had first met, but there was a look in his eyes that made it impossible to forget that he’d spent many years committing violence for a living.
“Which, to be clear, is me?”
“Yeah!” Koyama’s face brightened. “I wasn’t sure about it when the others said you should lead us when the Boss tried to take over the world, but you came up with a plan while the rest of us were arguing and you took down that Shimazaki bastard like it was nothing! Tsuchiya said you’ve even got one of the Ultimate 5 making tea in your office now!”
Reigen wondered whether he should point out that all his plans during Claw’s world domination attempt had been total failures, his win against Shimazaki had been complete and utter luck, and that Serizawa wasn’t even very good at making tea. Before his deep-seated craving for respect and admiration could finish duking it out with his fear of accidentally becoming responsible for yet another pack of wayward psychics, Koyama continued.
“You’re on call,” he said, “So that if there’s a widespread psychic threat you can stop it. And avenge us if you have to.”
“Come on!” said Reigen, voice automatically filled with the sort of easy certainty that he really should have learned not to trust, given the events of the previous year. “There isn’t going to be any widespread psychic threat!”
“There might be!”
It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable thought, given everything that had happened already. But beyond Reigen’s own wariness about terms like ‘final line of defense’ and ‘avenge us,’ he was skeptical about Koyama’s attitude. Even if another threat did emerge, it wasn’t necessarily up to them – and apparently him as well now – to go after it. The image of Hanazawa standing proudly over those men in the warehouse popped into his mind. Did no one in Seasoning City ever just call the police?
He decided it was worth going for a friendly shoulder pat, even if I did make him feel like a crow pulling the feathers of a large and angry eagle
“Look.” Reigen said. “I know you spent a long time dependent on your powers and playing at ‘who’s the toughest,’ but things don’t work like that here in society! Stop worrying about your past and embrace the life that you’re creating!”
The taxi drew to a stop.
“Um,” said the driver querulously, “We’re here!”
“How much?”
Koyama, as it turned out, had not brought his wallet. Reigen sighed.
“Don’t worry about all that,” he told the driver as he counted out the fare. “He’s just being paranoid. Seasoning City is due for a little peace and quiet.”
*
The chair in the examination room was small and uncomfortable. Reigen fiddled with his phone as they waited for the doctor to arrive.
“You realize I’m going to have to start charging if you call me out and it isn’t a bonefide widespread psychic emergency, right?” he said. “I missed out on important business for this!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Keep up this slipshod attitude towards business obligations, and your ramen shop will never go far!” he added, holding a hand up with a flourish to emphasize his authority on all matters of business.
Koyama groaned. “Fine. Thanks, I guess. Now stop talking.”
Come to think of it, Reigen was beginning to wonder why he was there at all. His newly apparent role as ‘insurance’ aside, Koyama or even Sakurai could have called a cab as easily as him. And while the cut was a nasty one, he hadn’t lost enough blood that someone needed to watch over him in case he fainted. (Not that Reigen would have been particularly useful there. He was fairly sure thatif Koyama began to topple, the only help he could provide was being something soft to land on.)
So he was just here to be here, then. Someone to sit with on the ride and in the waiting room . . . a perfectly reasonable thing to want, of course. But odd for a person like Koyama to ask, especially of someone who wasn’t close. If another person wasn’t strictly necessary,Reigen would expect him to be the sort to ‘tough it out’ alone.
It was . . . almost reassuring, in a way. If Koyama, someone who’d been steeped in the brutal, dog-eat-dog machismo of Claw for years, was willing to ask for something like this after just a few months of freedom, maybe there was hope that eventually, with enough prodding, Teru would stop trying to tough out everything by himself too. Reigen could hope.
Then again, maybe Koyama’s friend had insisted. Or maybe he just didn’t like hospitals.
Either way, he seemed more relaxed than he’d been when they first arrived. Whatever numbing agent they’d given him seemed to finally be working. Reigen elected to push his luck.
“Do you have any idea how many clients might be suffering right now because I decided out of the goodness of my heart—”
Koyama sighed, and kept sighing for an impressively long time. “I can comp you a meal at the restaurant,” he said. “Once I’m back.”
It might have been the painkillers talking, but Reigen wasn’t above taking advantage of that.
“And the kids?”
Koyama narrowed his eyes and jabbed his entire injured arm at him. “One kid. Not the whole gaggle!”
“Deal.”
Reigen thought that a good handshake was one of the most important skills a businessman could have. It was all about the flourish. The panache. The perfect grip—just firm enough to read as ‘reliable’ without tipping over into crushing. He’d mastered it years ago, and he could do it on instinct.
In this case he proceeded without thinking, right up until he realized that the hand he was clasping was still swaddled in bandages.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” said Koyama levelly.
*
The dishes clinked as Teru pushed yet another towering stack of empty plates away from him. Where did it all go? Reigen wondered. Was one of the kid’s psychic abilities having a black hole in place of a stomach?
“Once I stopped being the shadow leader school became such a bore, you know?” said Teru. He dabbed delicately at his mouth with a napkin. “Kageyama made me see the error of my ways, so ever since I’ve been using my powers in ways that will benefit society!” He beamed with pride.
“Have you considered community service?”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
Reigen took a gulp of his tea. “Have you considered a less perilous form of community service?”
Teru cocked his head. His hair was in the awkward growing-out phase where it wasn’t a buzz cut anymore but was still too short to really be anything else. No wig this time, Reigen noted. He probably thought that made him extremely humble and grounded. In fact, he knew it did, because the kid had said as much the first time he came to visit Spirits and Such after Mob’s breakdown.
“No?” he said. “It isn’t that perilous; I know I’m not as strong as Kageyama but these people are hardly worth troubling with.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s nothing like when Claw was active.”
“Hm.”
“I’ve fought off attackers far more powerful than them,” said Teru, as if he expected Reigen to find that reassuring.
He smiled and flagged down a passing waiter.
Reigen sighed. He supposed that Teru’s confidence in his abilities was reassuring in at least one way: it would be nice to have backup when Koyama saw the bill.