Chương 13: Itterasshai

As the morning sun broke over the Miller residence, the flatbed arrived at the curb. Stepping out onto the concrete, Steven shielded his eyes against the glare while the driver, wearing a yellow vest, hopped down from the cab.

"You the one with the Ford?" the driver asked, squinting at the house.

"Dispatch mentioned it's a total brick."

"That's the one," Steven replied, letting his shoulders slump.

"Lightning hit the transformer down the street overnight. The spike blew the garage breaker, but I'm guessing it jumped the line and fried the ECU. It wouldn't start this morning." With a low whistle, the driver walked toward the house while Steven punched the code into the keypad. The door retreated upward to reveal the truck sitting in the shadows. Opening the driver's side door, the man leaned into the cab and clicked the ignition button, met only by a dead click.

"Power surge, huh? Usually, you'd smell melting plastic or see scorching around the battery terminals, but this..." The driver backed out of the cab.

"Man, it's like the ghost left the machine. I've seen lightning strikes leave more life in a vehicle than what I'm seeing here." Leaning against the garage frame, Steven blew out a breath.

"These things are basically smartphones with tires. One bad surge means the motherboard becomes expensive toast."

"Ain't that the truth." Unspooling the winch cable, the driver pulled the hook toward the bumper, the metal links clacking against the ground.

"I'll haul it to the dealership, but the adjusters will have a field day with this. They hate paying out without seeing a scorched wire to prove it."

"I'll deal with the insurance," Steven said, watching the winch drag the truck out of the garage.

"Just get it out of here." With his backpack over one shoulder, Kurisu stood in the mudroom, his left hand dropping toward his hip as he clenched and opened his fist in the empty space where his saya should have rested. Stepping onto the tile, Charlotte closed the distance, pinched the twisted collar of his shirt, and smoothed the fabric flat before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have a translator," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"It's going to be difficult to understand anyone today." Watching the rise and fall of her chest, Kurisu lowered his shoulders, the muscle in his neck loosening as he nodded.

"Kurisu... understand." Reaching into her cardigan pocket, Charlotte produced a small index card and held it out.

"Give this to the first teacher you see," she whispered.

"Keep it safe." He took the paper, rocking slightly as she suddenly wrapped her arms around his ribs. Looking over her trembling shoulder, he noticed the blue ink on the card, his thumb feeling the ridges pressed into the back of the paper. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pocketed the card with a nod as she pulled back, leaving a damp spot on his shirt. She cupped his jaw with a shaking palm, choking on a sob as she tried to form the syllables.

"E-tera... shy?" she stammered, offering the butchered farewell with a forced smile. At the clumsy sounds, Kurisu let his head hang, his hair shielding his face as the corner of his mouth pulled upward in a brief smile. Clearing his throat, he met her gaze.

"Itte mairu," he replied, giving her the formal promise to depart and return safely. Looking at the wet tracks on her cheeks, he lifted his chin.

"Kurisu... come home." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Turning the knob, he stepped into the morning air, his sneakers moving across the concrete. He kept his eyes moving, tracking the perimeter of the street and searching the shadows between houses for the shapes of any lurking ko-oni or otherwise. After finding a seat near the back of the bus, he stared out the glass at the passing city.

The scent of sun-baked upholstery filled the cabin while the ride became a wall of overlapping voices, offering no context, no warning of intent, to help anchor his thoughts. An inexplicable tension coiled in his gut. He was a genius of the blade, one of the most gifted warriors of his generation, yet here he sat, his stomach twisting over a setting filled entirely with children.

Scowling at the floor, he noted the long, trailing shoelaces of a boy across the aisle, certain the fool would trip himself before the day ended. The tension only wound tighter when the airbrakes hissed and the doors parted. With the August sun beating down on the concrete, heat shimmered over the sea of students, casting the sprawling brick architecture against manicured lawns so uniformly green they looked artificial.

Thousands of teenagers swarmed the walkways, their movements a disorderly jumble of red, blue, and black backpacks, trailing shoelaces, and overlapping conversations. Unwittingly following the primary current of bodies toward a western structure, he reached into his pocket to brush the card Charlotte had written, his thumb tracing the indented ink as he stepped through the entrance.

Once inside the atrium, the acoustics of the lobby amplified the noise, bouncing English off the tile floors and metal lockers in thousands of undecodable syllables that grated in his ears. Retreating toward a trophy case, he darted his eyes between the branching hallways as students streamed past him.

"Hey there, you look a little lost," a voice said, cutting through the static. Turning, Kurisu found a man in a knit polo shirt smiling at him.

"I'm Mr. Torres, one of the counselors. Are you a freshman, or perhaps one of our new transfer students?" In answer, Kurisu reached into his pocket and handed over the card with an inclination of his head. Scanning the paper, Torres' expression softened.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Miller. We've been expecting you. You're part of our ELL freshman block."

"Nodaichi," Kurisu corrected. With a nod, the counselor smiled.

"Welcome to Cherry Creek High School, Mr. Nodaichi," he said, waving a hand down the hall.

"Follow me. It's a huge campus, thousands of people and miles of hallways, so it's perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed." Torres chuckled, glancing back.

"Of course, you probably can't understand a thing I'm telling you anyway." Following a half-step behind, Kurisu kept his eyes moving over the environment, noting the placement of ceiling-mounted security cameras, the framing of the fire doors, and the pack-like movement of the students as he built a map of the territory in his head.

While the first three periods passed in a blur of unfamiliar sounds, leaving Kurisu feeling stranded at sea, the ELL classroom served as a brief sanctuary where the instructor delivered English with deliberate slowness. The safety of that small group dissolved as the bell signaled the end of fourth period. Reappearing at the door, Mr. Torres brought along a girl wearing an ambassador lanyard over a volleyball hoodie.

"Kurisu, this is Sarah," Torres said.

"She's going to walk you over to the East Building for Biology. It's a bit of a trek across the courtyard, so she'll keep you from getting lost along the way." As they stepped out into the courtyard, Kurisu felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, an annoying flickering growing clearer amidst the dull spirits of the student body as they approached the building. It lacked the magnitude of the bonfire he had felt from the mountains, pulsing wildly.

Sitting at the back desk inside Room 214, a boy with dark hair and black eyes stiffened, snapping the lead of his pencil as an oppressive blanket of pressure crept over him. Shifting in his oversized hoodie, he broke into a cold sweat, looking up from his notebook with narrowed eyes as he realized someone was approaching who didn't feel normal. Stopping in front of the door, Sarah pointed at the placard.

"Here we are, Room 214. Just head on in, most people are already finding their seats. Good luck!" When she vanished into the crowd, Kurisu stood alone, resting a hand on the strap of his bag. He listened to the noise of the students in the hallway, though it was quickly drowned out by the incessant flickering of the presence on the other side of the door. He ground his teeth. So undisciplined. After taking one centering breath, he adjusted his shirt and reached for the handle.