Squatting in an alley, a middle schooler with dark hair and glassy, yet bored, golden eyes. Ken Kurosawa—14. Heir to the Kurosawa clan.
CRUNCH. SPLAT. CRUNCH. SPLAT.
The irritating sound of a floating tin can squeezing like a sponge and reverting back to normal. Hovering just a few inches from my outstretched hand, the tin can obeyed my command as I closed my palm—it squeezed. But if I opened it, it inflated back to normal. Well, except now it was all ruptured.
When I first... became aware of this phenomenon, I felt—without doubt in my heart—that I was dreaming. When I first saw the particles... I thought I was going insane. That I was finally going mad elated me so much. At least something fun was going to happen. Something worth watching. Like me shouting or laughing for no reason... or maybe slamming my head into a wall. Things I'd normally never do.
The thing is, unlike many kids my age, I find no interest in the mainstream. I don't particularly like video games; I honestly despise human interactions and social events. Porn magazines and the like don't stir anything in me, either.
At one point, every morning before I left the house for school, I would stand in front of a mirror and force a smile with my fingers—just to see how I'd look if I could smile on my own.
According to Mother, I didn't cry when I was born. Neither have I cried nor laughed ever since.
SIGH.
I can't possibly be normal.
Even Najima, my younger sister, laughs and cries—albeit rarely. Father had given me strict warnings, else I'd see no reason to have stopped piercing my arm with needles to force a tear.
"You are not abnormal. You're unique," he'd say.
Hmph.
If I'm not abnormal, then I don't know what is.
***
It started two months ago, when I saw a robed man sleeping in one of my favorite Shinjuku alleys, drenched in the filth and pungent stench of alcohol. He seemed to have arrived not long before, judging by the fresh mud prints trailing to him.
I turned him over from where he lay slumped on his back and saw a slash mark on his chest. Then a peculiar scent escaped from the wound. Interesting, I thought. He looked like a foreigner.
I began to pull his nose—no response.
I poked his cheek and eyes—still nothing.
I stood up, then stomped hard on his groin.
He didn't even flinch.
Well, of course he didn't.
He was dead. No longer in the land of the living.
It was my first time seeing one. I wanted to savor the irregularity to my heart's content.
I stared at his corpse for a minute. Then minutes. And after an hour of watching him, I stood up from squatting and turned to go home, lest I anger Mother.
But something caught my attention.
For my entire 14 years of living, nothing had ever made my eyes open that wide.
Someone who looked exactly like the man behind me... was watching me back.
But alas, the shock was short-lived.
Speculations began to dampen the excitement.
"It's you," the ghostly figure said. "It's you! So my death wasn't in vain after all!"
The moment I thought I was about to be haunted, it flew straight at me.
"But there's only one way to find out for now..."
It pointed to its own dead body.
"You see that corpse over there? Put your hand inside the tear in the chest."
I rolled my eyes from his corpse back to him.
"And why are you assuming I'll do as you say, Yurei?"
He smiled.
"I've been watching you for the entire hour you stood staring at my body..." His smile deepened. "You're curious, aren't you? You want to discover new things—maybe ones that surpass the mundane."
I was still wary. Even if this was fiction, I'd seen ghosts possess people.
But he had piqued my interest.
"What would putting my hand in your wound even do?" I asked.
"Normally, it'd take something greater to awaken it," he began. "But if you're the One, it shouldn't matter, so long as you come into contact with it. Touch my body, shonen, and you'll become Aware."
Hearing that, I got very excited.
"Aware" was something I didn't quite understand, but if a ghost said it, it was probably valid... and maybe dangerous.
But I didn't care.
I walked to his corpse, then bent to touch it...
...Nothing happened.
"Oi. Nothing's happening," I said.
"Just hold on. Maybe it needs more time."
I kept my hand on his wound—the sticky blood clinging to my palm, the dried tear in his flesh unpleasant to the touch.
And still, nothing.
"Sigh..." The ghost looked visibly displeased. "I suppose you're not the One after all..."
My hand was still on the deep wound. I began to stir it just slightly, as if twisting would unearth something... different.
But then, like sudden inspiration, I felt a leading.
"Yurei," I called out. "I don't know if this is what you wanted, but... something is calling me."
He immediately perked up.
"Where?! Wherever it is, follow the call! It might be your destin—"
"Can I... rip your heart out?"
"...Eh?"
Yes. The soft humming I was perceiving intensified the more I pushed my hand toward his heart.
Whatever he wanted me to discover—whatever he couldn't explain—was locked inside it.
Eventually, and reluctantly, he gave me the go-ahead.
And so I began to dig.
The slash wound had already done most of the work, but with my short knife—one I always kept on me—it was smooth sailing until I saw his heart.
I turned to the ghost.
He wore a strange expression, like he rued watching his corpse being ransacked like this.
But then... he nodded.
...And I touched his heart.
The moment I did, a rush flooded my head—and I saw a city burning.
No, multiple cities burning, as strange beasts danced on the ashes.
But it cut off just as suddenly.
My head began to vibrate and hurt.
I held it, squinting in pain... The pain was so foreign, it almost felt good.
I thought my brain would melt from it.
"Endure it, Chosen One!" he cheered me on. "After this, you will no longer be kept in the dark!"
The vibration stopped, and the pain began to recede.
A shame.
I opened my eyes and looked at his heart.
It had begun to turn to ash and disintegrate.
But apart from that, everything felt... clear.
The night sky, the walls, the ground—I could almost feel through them.
I could hear everything.
I was now...
AWARE.
***
After I finished playing with the particles and the tin can, I started heading home.
That ghost from two months ago—after opening my eyes—never showed itself to me again.
And just when I wanted answers to this mysterious power.
I could feel it everywhere, like oxygen, but I couldn't see it.
And by the look of things, only I could currently perceive it.
I haven't seen anyone else reacting to it yet.
Then a thought hit me.
One I'd been trying to avoid:
Ken Kurosawa. Heir to the Kurosawa clan.
Tsk. Why wasn't Najima born first, and as a man?
To be honest, I don't want to take over the family business.
It's a lot of stress and work.
But I do want to see my family happy all the time.
I use it as a source of my own happiness.
When people smile and laugh, I feel good—and I want them to never stop.
But this only extends to people I like.
Everyone else just calls me "the Yakuza's son."
I can always feel their dirty emotions.
And now, it's even stronger since I came into contact with this strange power.
One day, I was having dinner with my folks at home when Father's angry yell shattered the peace.
"What do you mean?! The Spiders are at it again?!"
"Yes, boss. And it looks like they're planning something big now."
Father clenched his fist.
"They're mocking us... First kidnapping, now organ trafficking!
They're going too far. We can't keep silent!"
Then Grandfather interjected, calm as ever.
"Let's be more careful, Yamada."
He sipped his tea.
"The Kurosawas are not like before. If we move as we please, we will be crushed."
"But Father..."
I could see it—Father's feeling of powerlessness and inadequacy.
In the past, we used to be something big.
Owned estates, facilities, and hotels...
Now?
We manage a few failing ryokans.
Mostly operate out of abandoned buildings for business and maneuvers.
All because Father decided to become the watchman of the night.
Maintaining equilibrium in the underworld of Tokyo.
"Soft."
That was what he got branded as.
We lost good men. We got betrayed. We lost business partners.
And now, we're just hanging by...
But Father still wants to maintain that balance:
Crime cannot be overruled.
If there are rules, then they will be broken.
But there's such a thing as going overboard.
Father balled his fist and decided to lay low until the Spiders did enough damage to warrant our full wrath.
"I wish they'd all just die!" Father growled.
"Darling!" Mother yelled. "The kids are listening!"
He apologized and moved out of the living room.
Of course, the Yakuza's kids are listening.
We already know five sure-fire ways to hide a body...
But domestic manners, I guess.
Hmm.
Mere small-time Mafia were causing Father this much headache...
All because of backing from the mammoths.
I bought a traditional cloak with a hood the other day... I thought it'd look cool, but I felt empty afterwards, like I was trying too hard.
Maybe I can do something about these tiny Spiders...