Haru stomped down the stairs, an annoyed scowl plastered on his face. He muttered curses under his breath in English, cursing the thought of going back to the accursed place called school.
Then he froze. His eyes widened.
'Wait… aren't Japanese schools supposed to be way harder…? I'm screwed!'
He gave a look that could only be described as that of a dead man.
Eventually, he reached the dining room and slid into a chair at the table. His father was scrolling on his phone, yeah, you read that right, a phone. Somehow, even in the 1980s, technology here was far ahead of what he remembered from his original life, full flat-screen TVs and phones were already a thing.
Haru grabbed a piece of toast and buttered it quickly, taking a bite.
While he was eating he sulked a little more thinking about what he might have to go through and the horrors that were waiting for him in that school building.
'I don't want to go!' he thought miserably, staring at his toast as if it could somehow save him.
*****
(Hyoudou Residence 2 years later, 1986, June 12th)
Haru sat hunched over the low table, his face twisted in pure annoyance.
In front of him lay a single worksheet, covered in Japanese kanji that seemed to mock him with every stroke.
'Why is this so difficult…?' Haru thought, glaring at the page
School has been easy. Too easy, honestly. It didn't matter the subject, well except for one.
Japanese
It was like staring at a page of alien runes.
He could speak the language just fine, that part came naturally. But reading it? Writing it? Memorizing eighty-thousand symbols that all looked like fancy stick-figures?
'Why does this one mean "tree"… and this one also kinda looks like a tree… and this one is-WHAT EVEN IS THAT?!'
He squeezed his pencil in frustration, shoulders slumping.
'Man… I've never wished to be in a country that focuses on English more than right now.'
Haru slumped forward, groaning into his arms before lifting his head with a tiny spark of hope.
'Maybe I should put something on.'
A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face as he slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a phone, not his, obviously.
It was his father's.
He'd taken it right from under the man's nose earlier that morning, smooth as a seasoned thief… or, one might even say, a smooth criminal.
He turned it on, only to be greeted by a passcode screen.
Haru froze.
"…Seriously?" he whispered aloud.
He lowered the phone, placed his elbow on the table, and put his hand under his chin, stroking it like a detective.
'What could it be…?' he wondered.
After a moment of deep reflection, he decided to risk the ultimate gamble.
He typed in: 000000.
He pressed enter.
The phone blinked.
Loading…
Loading…
And then,
It unlocked.
Haru stared for a full second.
Then his face lit up and he shot his fist into the air
"NICE!"
He wasted no time. Haru immediately tapped the screen and opened the app labeled DevilTube.
If he was going to study, he at least needed a video essay, to keep his brain entertained.
But then he paused, finger hovering over the search bar.
'…Wait. Would that even be a thing yet?'
This was 1986, well, sort of 1986. They had smartphones and flatscreens but the culture wasn't caught up. The odds of finding a 40 minute overthinking everything video essay?
Basically zero.
'…Crap.'
He sighed, shoulders slumping.
'Am I about to witness the prehistoric era of the algorithm?'
"Well, not to worry. I'll just have to go old school," he muttered, determined.
He tapped the search bar and typed: Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
He hit enter.
…Nothing.
Not even a low-quality reupload. Not even a cover. Just one video titled "I wish you were here" with some random guy just… standing there in the thumbnail.
Haru froze.
His heart dropped a little.
'Okay. it's Nothing. Don't worry about it. Maybe the song just isn't on here! Even though it came out in the 1970s. But… maybe… just maybe it's just not uploaded?'
He backed out of DevilTube, switched to the app, Blazing Kitsune, and typed in: Pink Floyd
Enter.
…
Nothing.
No band. No songs. No history. No records. No "Comfortably Numb.", No "Shine On You Crazy Diamond."
Nothing.
A cold wave crawled up Haru's spine.
'…Okay…."
His left eye twitched.
'WHERE THE HELL IS PINK FLOYD!?'
He swallowed hard, typed Smoke on the Water – Deep Purple, and hit search.
And just like before…
Nothing.
No results.
Just the color.
His face slowly drained of color.
'…Deep Purple's gone too…?'
A quiet, soul-crushing dread crept into him.
'I'm in hell. Actual musical hell.'
But he didn't lose hope.
He went down his list of favorites, even if they shouldn't make any sense in this time period.
Metallica. Nothing.
KISS. Nothing.
Black Sabbath. Nope.
AC/DC. Good try, still nothing.
Iron Maiden. Absolutely nothing.
Even Led Zeppelin was missing.
Halfway through the list, he tried to rationalize it, maybe because he was in Japan? so he searched up some classic J-rock bands.
Still nothing.
At this point, he nearly hurled the phone at the wall and shouted,
"Aw hell nah!" in perfect, furious English.
It felt personal.
Like the universe itself had stood up, looked him dead in the eye, and flipped him the bird.
And he was not going to let that slide.
Haru marched out of his room and down the stairs like a man ready for war, chin high, fists clenched.
He marched into the living room, where his father sat comfortably beside his mother, the two laughing at some lighthearted movie, blissfully unaware of the cosmic offense that had just occurred.
Haru planted himself in front of them, eyes blazing with outrage far too intense for a child in footie pajamas.
With the determination of kings and the tone of someone about to declare a holy crusade, he bellowed,
"FATHER!"
Gorou nearly jumped out of his seat.
He looked left.
He looked right.
He even glanced behind the couch, just in case another father had somehow materialized there.
Then, very slowly, he pointed at himself.
"…Me?"
Haru stared at him with blazing conviction.
"YOUR SON HAS RETURNED AND I HAVE FOUND…"
He raised his hand dramatically,
"…your phone."
Gorou blinked, confused. He took the phone from Haru's hand and mumbled, "I was missing my phone?"
Haru immediately deflected, eyes shifting away with the grace of someone who absolutely did something wrong.
"That… is not important."
Gouro: "?"
Haru cleared his throat, straightened his tiny shoulders, and declared,
"I need to tell you something."
Gorou's expression shifted instantly.
The casual dad lounging on the couch vanished, replaced by a man who looked like he was about to negotiate a peace treaty between nations.
He leaned in. Back straight. Hands clasped. Eyebrows narrowed with deadly seriousness.
He took The Stance.
Looking Haru dead in the eyes, he said in a low, solemn voice,
"I'm listening."
Haru took a deep breath, steadying the fire blazing in his chest.
"I have discovered a grave problem." he announced, while pacing.
"MUSIC SUCKS."
Gorou blinked. "Okay…?"
Haru slammed his tiny palms onto the table with all the force his 5-year-old body could muster.
"So father. I must create the music myself."
Gorou stared at him, curious of where he was going with this.
"Can… you get me a guitar."
His father adjusted his glasses, a spark of intrigue in his eyes. "So… the time has come."
He stood up and began to stride past Haru, voice steady and commanding. "Good new for you tho-"
Miki, having overheard, jumped to her feet, eyes wide. "NO!… But you promised you sold it!"
Gorou froze mid-step, caught between his wife's outburst and the fiery determination of his son. He couldn't bring himself to turn back to her just yet.
He stood there, the glare of his glasses reflecting the overhead light, shielding his eyes from view. His voice was quieter now, hesitant, almost sheepish. "About that…"
Miki's jaw tightened, arms crossed, every muscle in her body ready to erupt.
He sighed, adjusting his glasses, and muttered, "Just follow me."
The three of them soon reached the garage. Gorou raised a hand, his voice serious. "Stay back."
Haru froze, eyes wide, while Miki's eyebrows shot up even higher.
Gorou strode over to a seemingly random picture frame hanging on the wall. With a swift motion, he lifted it, revealing a keypad hidden behind it. Without hesitation, he entered a code, one number repeated several times, his fingers moving with practiced precision.
Then he pressed the keypad, and a section of the wall swung open, revealing a hidden nook filled with all sorts of trinkets and gadgets. Miki, standing beside him, gasped.
"IS THAT THE KAZUTE? I THOUGHT I LOST IT!"
Gorou cleared his throat, keeping his focus on the task at hand. "That's not important right now, honey," he said firmly, his eyes on Haru.
He reached for an object wrapped carefully in cloth. With a swift pull, the fabric fell away, revealing a gleaming electric guitar. Haru's eyes went wide, and his dad tilted it slightly, silently inviting him to take it.
Haru took the guitar in his small hands, marveling at its weight and feel. "Why do you even have this? I've never seen you play it a day in my life." he asked, curiosity and awe mixing in his voice.
His mother sighed from behind him. "Because he's an idiot."
Haru thought to himself, 'Wow… that was harsh.'
His father spoke up, scratching the back of his neck. "It's true. It was an impulse buy. I was going to sell it, but… I kinda just forgot about it," he admitted, giving a wary smile toward Miki. She, unsurprisingly, was not impressed.
"But now," he continued, "it could actually have a purpose. So… you want us to put you in music school?"
Haru shook his head. "Nah, no need. I've got the internet… by the way," he said, glancing at his father. "Can I use your phone?"
Gorou reached into his pocket. "Sure, but I don't know how far you'll get with just the internet. But if you ever want help, just ask, alright?"
He crouched slightly and ruffled Haru's hair. In a low voice, he added, "There's an amp under my bed. Grab it… and don't say anything to your Mother. It was expensive."
Haru narrowed his eyes, silently judging just how bad his dad's impulse buys really were.