The rain finally gave up around lunchtime, and sunlight lit Tokyo's skyline. A soft spring breeze swept over the Sakura High rooftop.
Kenji stabbed at a piece of fried tofu in a bento he absolutely didn't make himself.
"Are you even listening to me, Kenji?" Akari asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Huh? Yeah. Totally."
They sat on a sun-bleached desk they'd dragged up here last year. It was chipped and cracked, one leg shorter than the others, but it was their hideout. Nobody else came up here. Probably because of the giant 'DO NOT OPEN' sign on the stairwell door.
From below came the sound of bamboo swords clashing in the gym and the soft beep of a delivery truck reversing somewhere on the street.
Akari sighed. "You've been really out of it lately."
"Just tired."
"Of what?"
He paused.
"Everything?"
Akari went quiet.
Akari didn't respond right away. She didn't like how often he joked about burnout lately. Or how his notebooks were more doodle graveyards than actual class notes. How his parents never came up, and how he treated this rooftop like it was his respawn point.
"Kenji…"
But before she could ask what she really wanted to ask—
BZZT.
"Nakamura Kenji. Please report to the front office. Nakamura Kenji."
"Uh-oh. You're not secretly failing every subject again, are you?"
Kenji shrugged, shouldered his sticker-covered bag. "Maybe I finally won a Nobel Prize. Or got drafted for Mars colonization."
"More like forgot to turn in your history essay for the third time."
"That too."
Akari gave him a look. "Music room at five. Don't bail."
"Okay," Kenji said with a grin as he disappeared down the stairs.
Baka…
The first thing Kenji noticed when he stepped inside the front office was the smell.
Incense.
The kind they burned at funerals.
Sitting straight on the bench was a man in grey monk robes. His hands rested calmly in his lap like he'd been waiting there forever.
Kenji stopped in the doorway.
"...Wow," Kenji muttered. "Didn't expect you to still be alive."
"You've grown."
"I do that. Every year. It's crazy."
"I thought… it was time."
Kenji crossed his arms. "Time for what? To finally explain why you ghosted me after Mom died? Or share the temple's Wi-Fi password?"
The school receptionist awkwardly excused herself.
His father slid a suitcase on the table between them.
Sleek. Black. Military-looking.
"I came to give you this," he said. "Before I take my final vows."
"So instead of being a dad, you drop off a suitcase and vanish again?"
"You're right to be angry."
"I'm not angry!"
"This belonged to your grandfather," his father continued. "Before he disappeared."
"Which one? The swordsmith or the one who worked for Toyota?"
They both knew.
"Toyota was just a façade. He was actually working on defense simulations for the Imperial Army. That was before Internet and… ethical regulations. This is what's left."
"Is it dangerous?"
"It's your legacy."
Kenji snorted. "Okay… What about family therapy?"
A pause.
"You'll understand… when you're ready."
"You mean when it ruins my life?"
His father met his eyes. "When it shows you what's beyond."
He turned to go.
Kenji called out. "Wait."
A pause.
"…Did you ever try to come back?"
A long silence stretched like a wound.
"Every day," his father said, softly.
And then he was gone.
Kenji felt bad about the lame excuse he gave Mr. Yamamoto for failing the mid-terms. He spent the whole math class doodling in his notebook.
The suitcase barely fit inside his locker. He swung it over his shoulder, exhausted.
More problems, exactly what I needed.
He arrived at the music room just as the last students were packing up.
Akari stood near the door, putting away her sheet music.
"What the heck is that?"
Kenji hoisted it. "My dad's idea of an heirloom. Probably cursed.
"How was your math exam?"
"Also cursed."
She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Come on, let's go."
Akari turned left at the corner, her white bicycle humming along as she rang the bell with a cheerful ding-ding.
"Bye, Kenji!" she called over her shoulder. "Don't forget your history essay this time!"
Kenji grinned, pedaling straight ahead on his red bicycle that squeaked every time he hit a bump. "No promises, but I'll try!"
A bus groaned past. Someone's radio was playing music. There was a cat on top of a vending machine.
Kenji pulled up in front of his building. It was a six-story concrete block with a vending machine that only half-worked and a staircase that smelled like ramen. He hauled his bike up.
Inside, he dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, placed the suitcase on the table, and opened the fridge.
Leftover curry. Orange soda. A single egg.
He showered. Sat down. Booted up his gaming rig.
Then he remembered the suitcase.
It sat there.
Ugh… Please don't ruin my life?
CLICK.
The suitcase unfolded soundlessly. Inside was a foam-lined interior and a single device. It looked like a sheet of glass with faintly glowing lines along the edge.
A handwritten note sat atop it:
To my descendant:
If you're reading this, I hope you're either brave or stupid enough to try. Welcome to the program.
— Nakamura, H.
"Geez, what a family!"
Kenji turned the device over.
Nothing.
He touched the screen, and a low hum began to build.
BZZZMMM.
The screen flickered.
[USER DETECTED]
Initializing Cognitive Sync…
Stand by…
Welcome, Nakamura Kenji
Status: Latent Anchor
Profile: Incomplete
Emotional Baseline: Fragmented
IRIS Sync Level: 17%
Kenji tried swiping left.
The device buzzed.
Command not recognized.
Proceding with Sensory Calibration
3… 2… 1…
The lights in his apartment dimmed.
The ceiling above him dissolved into a sky of data. Lines of glowing characters spiraled around his room like fireflies.
He couldn't move.
The tablet was no longer in his hands.
IRIS: Infinite Reality Integration System
Status: Evolving
Host Connection: Stable
He tripped, falling against his gaming chair. Lines of code slashed across the walls.
Transfer sync: 22%
Signal anchor: Akari Kondo – Registered Contact
Neural Lock Initiated
Kenji tried to move.
He couldn't.
W-What is happening?!
LOGGING IN.
Then—
Nothing.
Just black.