The first thing I noticed that morning was the smell that drowned out my alarm clock.
I didn't seem to be burnt toast, or at least that was what it used to be. Now only that thin, dusty bitterness that comes from bread left too long in a cheap toaster remained.
Mixed with the citrus bite of cleaning spray and the faint iron tang of rain-soeaked concrete drifting through the open window at my side.
Three floors down someone laughed. On the parking near me a car door slamed. Somewhere in the building a pipe rattled around.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling above my bed. The werewolf spirit inside me; Kuro, if you wanted to be polite.
It stirred like a dog rolling over in its sleep.
"You're awake" it muttered.
"Unfortunately." I whispered back.
My phone buzzed on the desk. 6:42 a.m. If I didn't move now, Mom would knock soon enough, pretending not to notice I'd been awake for twenty minutes now.
I rolled out of bed and padded across the room, my bare feet avoiding the loose floorboard near my door.
My room wasn't exactly small, but it did feel compressed.
The posters on my walls were peeling at the corners. My desk was crowded with notebooks I never quite finished.
My mirror above the dressed caught my reflection as I passed, my black hair sticking up in defiance of gravity.
I looked at my eyes, quite sharp in the morning light. Human, but not quite.
Pausing, I leaned closer. When I focused, and I mean, really focused, the world sharpened around me.
The hum of the refrigerator down the hall separated into layers.
Motor, fan, the buzz of electricity.
The smell of rain resolved into wet asphalt, damp leaves, ozone.
"Kazuo," Mom called, right on schedule. "You're going to miss breakfast again."
"I'm coming!"
I grabbed a hoodie, tugged it on, and stepped into the hallway just as she turned away from my door. Mom always walked like she was late to somewhere important, even when she wasn't going anywhere at all.
Breakfast was a warm boul miso soup and steamy, sticky rice, the steam fogging the small kitchen window. Dad had already gone to his early shift at the factory. His chair sat empty, pushed into the table.
Mom slid a bowl toward me. "You're quiet today."
I'm always quiet.
She gave me a look as I simply stared at my bowl.
Her look was the one that said she didn't want to argue so early in the morning.
We ate in the companionable silence of people who'd already learned each other's rhythms.
The TV murmured in the corner. Morning news, weather report.
A segment about a missing high school student.
The anchor's voice softened, like he was afraid of the words.
"...second-year student at Midoriyama High. Authorities say she was last seen during school hours at the music club..."
The screen showed a still photo: a girl with straight black hair, large eyes, almost too large for her face, smiling awkwardly at the camera, the flash reflecting on her eyes.
My spoon paused halfway to my mouth.
Mom sighed. "That's terrible."
"Yeah," I said, though my attention was already drifting, tugged by something else.
It wasn't smell or sound.
Static.
It crept along my skin like an electric shock, a faint ghostly present, that yet remained persistent.
The TV's glow felt… thicker around her image. Like the display wasn't quite sure of how to render her image.
"Kazuo," Kuro said, more awake now. "Do you feel that?"
"I feel a lot of things," I said in my mind.
But I didn't look away from the screen until the segment ended and the weather came back on.
"Did you see that girl, dear?" Mom dropped her chopsticks on the plate as she looked up to meet my eyes.
"No, not really."
She was a second-year just like me, but I'd never seen her around. She was probably one of the quieter students.
The ones who never quite stood out amongst the rest, or anyone really.
Just blending into the background, like a still picture, mounted onto a wall.
That's who I used to be before high school.
The kid who got cropped out of group pictures, the kid who during card exchange in valentine's day, didn't get a single card, not even from a teacher's pity.
Midoriyama High always smelled like chalk dust and irritating floor cleaner, no matter the season, or if you were in the halls or the classroom.
The gates funneled students inside in a slow tide. I walked with the flow, my backpack slung over one shoulder.
Two girls argued about a test they hadn't studied for. A boy rehearsed a love confession under his breath, voice cracking every other word.
Somewhere behind me, laughter exploded, dissolving just as quickly as it appeared.
"Oy, Kazuo."
I turned just in time to catch Haru jogging beside me. He was grinning already, had he heard or a really funny joke and was on his way to repeat it to me?
"You look like hell," he said cheerfully. "Who did you fight now?"
Haru leaned in, sniffing exaggeratedly. "Huh. You smell like blood. So my guess was correct after all."
Guh!? I reached in to sniff my uniform.
Haru was right, it reeked of blood, or something that smelled just like it. Cause I hadn't gotten into fights or had one of my periodic nosebleeds.
We crossed the courtyard togehter. Haru talked the whole way. Something about a new shooter game, about how the cafeteria curry had mold in it, and a ruman that one of the teachers had slept with a student, the usual.
I listened, only half-present, some details were skipped by my mind.
The way the TVs mounted near the entrance flickered when no one was around them caught my attention more than the miscellaneous topics Haru yapped on about.
"Did you hear about Aoyama?" Haru asked suddenly.
I looked at him. "The missing girl?"
He nodded, grin fading. "Yeah. She sits two rows over in homeroom. Or… sat, I guess." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's weird. Her desk's still there. They didn't move it."
We stopped outside our classroom. Inside, students clustered in their usual orbits. Yumi was already asleep, forehead on her desk. Sato was arguing with two classmates I didn't bother to learn the names of.
The TV mounted at the wall sat dark, and unplugged, a fine layer of dust on the screen.
When I passed it, the static flared, sharp enough to make my teeth buzz.
I flinched.
"That's not nothing." Kuro said quietly.
"I know," I whispered, almost to myself, and took my seat.
Homeroom began. Attendance was called. The teacher had clearly heard about Aoyama's case but hadn't brought it up yet.
As she went through the "A" section of the student list, the names hung in the air for a second longer than the other letters.
Outside, cloud rolled in, dark and heavy, it'd rain by lunch.
Everyone began taking notes, just the usual stuff. I overheard a few really bad jokes from the poorly behaved students behind me.
Someone's phone vibrated mid-way through the class, being confiscated by the teacher in less than a minute.
I stared at the black TV screen and tried not to think about the Aoyama case.
After school, I didn't go straight home.
The shopping street near the station buzzed with late-afternoon energy. Neon signs flickered to life as the sky dimmed. I ducked into a narrow alley and down a flight of stairs most people didn't notice.
The bell above the door chimed as I entered the shop.
"Welcome- oh. It's you," said Mina, without looking up. "You're early."
The place smelled like incense and old paper. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with charms, cracked mirrors, jars of preserved things I'd rather not question.
Mina finally glanced up, one eyebrow piercing catching the light. She was smiling, but her eyes were tired.
"Tea?" she asked.
"Yes, please."
As she turned toward the kettle, the TV in the corner flickered on by itself. Just static.
I watched it, heart thudding, as the noise swelled and fell like a distant ocean.
Outside, rain began to fall.