VOLUME #2 - EPISODE 2
[NARRATOR: Warning. This episode contains violence, blood, and the horrifying revelation that even the cheerful protagonist has a breaking point. It also contains a mother slipping on ice repeatedly while avoiding questions. Life is full of contrasts.]
Quistions Answered On Pratfalls
The Shiko household smelled like miso soup and evasion.
Riyura sat at the kitchen table, his purple hair still damp from the evening air outside the evening window, his yellow star hairclip resting beside his empty dinner bowl. His mother moved around the kitchen with the nervous energy of someone defusing a bomb while blindfolded.
"Mom," Riyura said, his voice carrying that particular tone of someone who'd been patient for exactly long enough. "We need to talk about Yakamira."
His mother froze mid-dish-wash. "Oh! Would you look at that! I think I hear the—" She gestured vaguely toward nothing. "—the thing! The thing that's happening! Outside!"
"There's nothing outside."
"Are you sure? Because I'm very sure I heard—" "Mom." She turned, her smile strained. "Sweetie, it's complicated." "You keep saying that. But 'complicated' doesn't explain why I have a half-brother who appeared out of nowhere."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I'm using my serious voice. The one I reserve for actual important conversations. This is how she knows I'm not joking. This is how I know I'm not getting answers.]
His mother sighed, setting down the dish. "Okay. Fine. Your last name—" She took a step forward. Slipped on a wet patch on the floor. Arms windmilling, she crashed into the counter, knocking over a stack of plates that clattered but miraculously didn't break.
"I'M FINE!" she announced from the floor. "COMPLETELY FINE!"
"Mom, are you avoiding the conversation?" "AVOIDING?! ME?! NEVER!" She scrambled to her feet, only to immediately trip over her own slippers and collide with the refrigerator. Magnets rained down like confused confetti.
"This is painful to watch," Riyura muttered. "YOUR LAST NAME—" she tried again, attempting to stand with pride, "—well this has nothing to do with last names only bloodlines and—OH NO THE WINDOW!"
There was nothing wrong with the window.
She ran toward it anyway, somehow managing to slip on a dry surface, crash into the curtains, and end up tangled like a very embarrassed burrito. "The family situation," she said from inside the curtain cocoon, "is EXTREMELY complicated and involves legal matters and—IS THAT A BIRD?!"
"There's no bird, Mom." "I'M VERY CERTAIN THERE'S A BIRD!" Riyura buried his face in his hands. "I give up."
"Excellent! So glad we had this talk!" His mother emerged from the curtains, her hair a disaster, her expression relieved. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go... organize... the thing. The thing that needs organizing. Upstairs. Far away."
She fled.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: My mother just performed Olympic-level avoidance gymnastics. I'm impressed. Horrified. But impressed.]
Shoeheads Father And The Crawling Feeling
The next day, Shoehead's father came to pick him up from school. A rare occurrence—usually Shoehead walked home alone, eating whatever footwear he'd acquired that day. But today was different. Today, his father had insisted.
They stood by the school gates, an awkward silence stretching between them like old taffy. "So," Shoehead's father started. "Your friend. Riyura. He has a brother now? Also this sandle you gave me son... tastes amazing when It's roasted."
"Half-brother. Yakamira Shiko." "Have you met him?" "Yes. He's... interesting. Eats normal food. Very suspicious." His father smiled slightly. "That's your metric for measuring people?"
"It's surprisingly accurate. And It's also yours." A moment passed. Then Shoehead's father spotted someone walking toward the gates. Yakamira Shiko.
Silver hair catching the afternoon light. White mask in place. Pale gray eyes scanning his surroundings with mechanical precision. He walked past them without acknowledgment, hands in his jumper pockets, expression bored and distant.
But as he passed, something happened. Shoehead's father felt it—a chill that had nothing to do with February cold. A crawling sensation at the base of his skull, like insects made of ice skittering across his spine.
Those pale gray eyes had flicked toward him. Just for a second. But in that second, Shoehead's father saw something that made his breath catch. Recognition. Calculation. And something else. Something dark and methodical, like watching a predator assess whether you were worth the effort of hunting. "Dad?" Shoehead noticed his father had gone pale. "You okay?"
"That student," his father whispered. "There's something wrong with him." "He's just antisocial—" "No." His father's hand trembled slightly. "It's not that. It's..." He struggled to find words. "It's like looking at someone who's learned to pretend to be human. Who studied the manual but missed some crucial chapter."
Shoehead followed Yakamira's retreating figure with his eyes. "That's... specific." "I know what I saw." His father squeezed Shoehead's shoulder. "Be careful around him. Please."
[NARRATOR: Shoeheads father has instincts. Good ones, sometimes. The kind that evolved over thousands of shoes to detect danger. Shoehead's father had just felt that ancient alarm system activate. And he was right to be afraid.]
Chaos Training Gone Wrong
The rooftop had become their unofficial headquarters.
Which was ironic, considering it was also the site of multiple traumatic incidents. But Jeremy High specialized in reclaiming trauma through aggressive positivity and questionable decision-making.
Subarashī stood at attention, his stance wide, his expression serious. "ALRIGHT, NEW BROTHER! TODAY WE TEACH YOU THE WAYS OF JEREMY HIGH CHAOS!" Yakamira stood with his usual bored posture. "I decline."
"YOU CAN'T DECLINE ENLIGHTENMENT!" "Watch me." Miyaka appeared beside Yakamira with a clipboard that had magically materialized. "Lesson one: Spontaneous costume changes. Observe—" She pulled out a chicken headband and put it on. "BA-GAAAAAAKKK"
Yakamira stared. "No." "Come on! It's tradition!" "Your traditions are concerning." Riyura, wearing his chicken mask because of course he was, stepped forward. "Look, Yakamira. I know this is all weird. But here at Jeremy High, we embrace the weird. We make it ours. We—"
"Stop," Yakamira said, his voice flat. Everyone paused. "Stop trying to force me into your mold," Yakamira continued, his pale gray eyes fixed on Riyura. "Stop assuming I want to be part of your ridiculous circus."
"We're just trying to help you fit in—" Riyura started. Without warning, Yakamira moved. His fist connected with Riyura's face with shocking force. The chicken mask flew off. Riyura stumbled backward, hand going to his nose, pain exploding across his face.
[EVERYONE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: WHAT THE HELL!]
"WHAT THE—" Subarashī started forward, but Yakamira's gaze stopped him cold. "Some idiot like you," Yakamira said, his voice calm and sinister, emotionless as a weather report about incoming doom, "doesn't get to throw orders around at people. Doesn't get to decide how I should act. How I should be."
Riyura looked up, his nose bleeding, his star-shaped pupils wide with shock. "Yakamira... are you okay? Did something—"
"Don't." Yakamira's voice dropped to something arctic. "Don't try to change the subject. Don't pretend to be concerned. You're just like everyone else—trying to mold me into something comfortable. Something manageable. This why everyone only pretends to like you Riyura. At least that's what I think."
"That's not—I was just worried about—" "Shut. Up." The words hit like slaps. Riyura felt something inside him crack. His brother—his actual blood brother—was treating his kindness like garbage. Throwing his words back like they meant nothing.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I tried. I tried so hard to welcome him. To make him feel included. To be a good brother. And this is what I get? Violence? Contempt?]
Shoehead stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor replaced with something harder. "That's enough. Leave Riyura alone." Yakamira's eyes shifted to him. "And who are you to give me orders huh?" "Someone who actually cares about him. Which apparently makes me more family than you."
Something flickered in Yakamira's expression—rage, perhaps, or wounded pride. He moved faster than anyone expected. His fist caught Shoehead in the temple with brutal precision. Shoehead's eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground. "SHOEHEAD!" Miyaka screamed. And something in Riyura broke.
When The Sky Goes Dark
The transformation was immediate.
Riyura stood slowly, blood still dripping from his nose, but his expression had changed completely. His star-shaped pupils had gone black. Hard. Burning with something that looked like hellfire filtered through ice.
His voice, when he spoke, was a whisper. But it carried across the rooftop like thunder. "We may be related," Riyura said, his tone so devoid of his usual warmth that it felt like standing in a graveyard, "but that doesn't give you the right to hurt my friends."
Yakamira turned, his expression shifting slightly—surprise? concern?—but it was too late. Riyura moved. Not with trained precision like Yakamira. Not with practiced martial arts.
With pure, unfiltered rage.
His kick caught Yakamira's jaw with terrifying force—the kind of force that came from someone who'd been pushed past every limit, past every boundary of patience and kindness.
Yakamira flew backward, his body slamming into the chain-link fence with a sound like a car crash. The metal bent from the impact. "Riyura—" Subarashī reached out, but Riyura was already moving. He walked toward Yakamira slowly, deliberately, each step measured like a countdown to something irreversible.
Yakamira tried to stand, blood trickling from where he'd bitten his lip on impact. "You—" Riyura's fist interrupted whatever he was going to say. Once. Twice. Three times.
Each punch landed with sickening accuracy. Blood sprayed—bright red against silver hair, against white mask, against the snow-covered rooftop. Yakamira's nose shattered with an audible crack.
"RIYURA, STOP!" Miyaka was screaming, but her voice sounded distant, underwater. Riyura pulled back his fist for another strike—arms wrapped around him from behind. Subarashī, stronger than he looked, physically hauling Riyura backward.
"RIYURA! STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!" "He hurt Shoehead," Riyura said, his voice still that terrifying whisper. "He hurt my friend."
"I KNOW! BUT THIS ISN'T YOU!"
Miyaka had rushed to Yakamira, her hands shaking as she assessed the damage. His face was a mess of blood, his nose definitely broken, his breathing labored. "We need to get them both to the nurse," she said, her voice trembling. "Now." And then Yakamira kicked her in the jaw, sending her flying.
Cartoon Headayami appeared at the rooftop door—he'd been in a council meeting and came running when he heard the screaming. His eyes widened at the scene.
"Call an ambulance," he said immediately, his usual rigid composure replaced with cold efficiency. "Multiple injuries. Possible concussion. Broken bones. And a crazed brother."
Riyura stopped struggling against Subarashī's grip. His rage was draining away, replaced with something worse. Even more anger for what he he'd done at Miyaka. Even though she was trying to help Yakamira.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I'M GOING KILL YOU YAKAMIRA!]
His legs gave out. Subarashī lowered him to the ground gently but was mad at Yakamira for kicking his sister, but he knew she was fine, as she was already back up. "I'm sorry," Riyura whispered, staring at his bloodied knuckles. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah," Subarashī said quietly. "I know."
Aftermath In White
The nurse's office smelled like antiseptic and consequences. Shoehead woke up first, groaning, a massive bruise forming on his temple. "What... happened?"
"Yakamira knocked you out," Miyaka explained softly. "Then Riyura... kind of lost it." "Define 'lost it.'" "Broke Yakamira's nose and almost killed him." "...Oh."
In the other bed, separated by a curtain, Yakamira lay with bandages across his face, his silver hair matted with blood, his pale gray eyes staring at the ceiling. Riyura sat in a chair between them, his hands wrapped in bandages, his expression hollow.
No one spoke. The silence stretched like a wound that wouldn't close. Finally, Yakamira's voice came from behind the curtain. Rough. Pained. But still carrying that edge of something cold. "You're stronger than you look, brother." "Don't call me that," Riyura said quietly with a angry tone. "Why not? It's what we are." "Brothers don't hurt each other's friends." "Maybe I'm not interested in being the kind of brother you want. Plus your friends don't matter to us anyways. Because were not related to them."
Riyura stood slowly, his star-shaped pupils dulled to darkness again. "Then why are you here? What do you want?" Yakamira was quiet for a long moment. Then: "That's complicated."
Riyura walked to the door, paused without turning around. "Stay away from my friends. Or next time, Subarashī won't stop me." He left. Behind the curtain, Yakamira touched his broken nose gently and smiled—a real smile this time, not the calculated ones from before.
Painful. Bloody. But genuine. "Interesting," he whispered to himself. "Very interesting indeed. I've had enough, now to kill Riyura Shiko as planned." He picked up his phone and dialed the same number that he messaged at the end of the last chapter. And a voice we all know came out. Riyura's mother.
[NARRATOR: And so we've witnessed the dark side of Riyura Shiko—the side that emerges when kindness is mistaken for weakness, when patience runs dry, when someone threatens the people he loves. Yakamira learned a valuable lesson today: even the sunniest people cast shadows. And those shadows have teeth. Next time: we discover why Yakamira is really here. Spoiler alert: it's not for a family reunion.]
TO BE CONTINUED...