apathetic: a lack of interest or enthusiasm

Matuda’s hands are deft and precise from his years training in neurology. They are deft enough that, at the wound of a clicking gear, he moves his hands out of the way before a set of poisoned needles jam into his palm. The trap stays in the triggered position near the edge of the handle, but the door is ajar. 

Sitting there in mute shock, his hands only trembled a little as he pulled it open completely, careful to avoid the handle.

Inside the drawer were a few items. A journal was in the center, its pages worn and its binding warped. It has clearly been used. There is no name or writing on the front of the leather-bound book. There were some spare pieces of parchment, as well as a set of headphones. 

“I dunno…what do you think? Why do you think? It’s so boring when you ask questions you already know the answers to. It just makes me want to die…” Mikan was particularly good at mimicking the teacher persona, but her depressed persona was fairly good. Meanwhile, she searched around for some folio files on the internet. 

A promo fit for a Queen

Of course I’m getting tired… what if he kills me… is he moving…... and she’s out.

She slowly woke up, blinked for a bit and started to smile. “I feel… amazing…” 

“You’re still in school, aren’t you?“ He’s been dumping his shit on a highschooler - god, he needs to pull himself together. He reached into his bag, grabbing his medicine. Better late than never.

Oh. Yeah. Sometimes she forgot about the fact that most people she recognized in this timeline were older and had already graduated from Hope’s Peak. “Oh, um, yeah - I was supposed to graduate like…this year, in a few months. But that probably isn’t happening now. But how did you know?” She noticed the medicine he grabbed - was it some kind of anti-anxiety stuff? She nodded towards it. “What’s that for?”

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

The tape was...oddly normal. It seemed as though the date had simply been printed wrong as it showed an infant Yuuya learning how to walk and talk while cooing happily at his parents..

God. He gagged as he changed to the final tape. No matter how often I see this shit, I’ll never get used to it.

Yuuya came back into the room carrying a futon with dry blood staining it, some screws, and part of what appeared to be a cage. "Oh, sorry that took so long..." He put the screws and futon into a box labeled "to burn" before sealing it up.

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

The tape was...oddly normal. It seemed as though the date had simply been printed wrong as it showed an infant Yuuya learning how to walk and talk while cooing happily at his parents..

God. He gagged as he changed to the final tape. No matter how often I see this shit, I’ll never get used to it.

A promo fit for a Queen

Of course I’m getting tired… what if he kills me… is he moving…... and she’s out.

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

The tape was...oddly normal. It seemed as though the date had simply been printed wrong as it showed an infant Yuuya learning how to walk and talk while cooing happily at his parents..

God. He gagged as he changed to the final tape. No matter how often I see this shit, I’ll never get used to it.

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

The tape was...oddly normal. It seemed as though the date had simply been printed wrong as it showed an infant Yuuya learning how to walk and talk while cooing happily at his parents..

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

“You’re still in school, aren’t you?“ He’s been dumping his shit on a highschooler - god, he needs to pull himself together. He reached into his bag, grabbing his medicine. Better late than never.

Oh. Yeah. Sometimes she forgot about the fact that most people she recognized in this timeline were older and had already graduated from Hope’s Peak. “Oh, um, yeah - I was supposed to graduate like…this year, in a few months. But that probably isn’t happening now. But how did you know?” She noticed the medicine he grabbed - was it some kind of anti-anxiety stuff? She nodded towards it. “What’s that for?”

A promo fit for a Queen

He wiped the blood off of the pipe and looked at Matsuda. “Yep! Kazuichi Souda at your service!”

“Matsuda Yasuke. Neurologist.“ He pushed himself to his feet, wiping blood off his forehead and only succeeding in digging shards of glass further into his skin.

Sonia still sadly hadn’t calmed down, swiftly yanking the pipe out of Souda’s hands. “He’s part of the future foundation Souda.” “Oh…”

“At Junko’s own request.“ Well, no, but they didn’t need to know that.

She glared at him. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? Are you lying to us?”

“I tried. Kinda hard to think when someone’s hitting you over the head.“ You would assume he’d have learned his lesson by now…

“What have you done for her then?” Souda opened his mouth to interject but Sonia quickly shut him up. “Sh! Be quiet for now darling.”

“Well in that case…” she gave Souda the pipe back and took Matsuda by the arm, leading him away from the garden and smiling at him. “You can do some work for me..”

“No, you don’t. Don’t forget that you did annoy me Matsuda. As for what you’ll be doing, I think you already know.

She shrugs. “You should be fine with whatever we have.” They end up in more or less an operation room. There’s plenty of equipment for him to work with.

“If you mess anything up Souda, Gundham and all my guards will be after you.” She points to a camera on the ceiling.

She sat on the table and waited for Matsuda to say he was ready.

She layed down. “If you say so.”

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.

Inside the box labeled "his things", there was an eerily realistic looking model skeleton, a journal, and several tapes with dates with three bearing a red label instead of white with the latest being 2 years old and the oldest being 10.

There weren't many who knew him, but the few that did said they last saw him go to his dorm.

There wasn't an answer, but the door opened.

The room was empty. The closet door was open revealing his uniforms and his sweater. There was a desk with anatomical drawings tabled to the wall and the desk itself was covered with books and candy bags. The only other thing of note was a journal and a set of keys on a plush bunny key chain laying on the bed. One of those were clearly the room key.

Not here, damn. Still, he came in anyways. Standing over the bed, he found himself thumbing through the pages of the journal.

When he opened it, a photograph fell out. On the inside of the cover, an address and a phone number was written down. On the first page, the first entry of the journal was written roughly 10 years ago.

He stopped to pick up the photograph, only taking a moment to look at it before he tucked it back against the cover. He jotted down the address in his notebook, just in case, and dialed the number. As he waited on the call, he read the entry absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, sure. I don't care. Though if ya break a door or somethin, I'm obligated to call the police yadda yadda yadda."

“Yeah, got it.“ He hung up, pulling up the address he wrote down as he left. Just going all over the place, huh. He didn’t mind, exactly, but this was still more driving than he’d done in a long time.

Driving took a lot of time out of what would have been an hour long walk. The front door to the apartment was slightly ajar and the window was boarded up. The rest of the apartment complex was eerily dark and quiet especially for an area in Tokyo.

"No, I was here. Left through the window a few days ago."

“Is there a reason you’ve been isolating yourself?“

He gestured toward the boxes. "Just cleaning up some things from my past."

“In the dark?“

"Huh? Oh, no. There was something in another room. There wasn't much reason to keep lights on in here." He sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy but feel free to look around. I'll be a better host when I'm done." He leaves the room. There are four boxes that are opened already: one without a label, one labeled "his things", one labeled "mom's things" and one labeled "Amai's things".

He wanders farther inside, closing the door behind him. He sits down in front of the box labeled “Amai’s things”, looking inside.

The box contained a small photo album and old children's books and toys.

Well, you’re already snooping. With that thought in mind, he began to sift through the pages.

The photo's showed a young girl who looked very similar to Amai holding a much younger Amai. Another photo showed the girl alone. Some writing on the photo revealed her name was Amai Kuroshiki. Another that stood out was a younger version of the Amai he knew wearing a preschool uniform with writing on the photo saying "Yuuya's first day of school".

Inside that box, there were some clothes, some handmade stuffed animals, a cookbook, and several unsent letters all to a man named Naomichi Fujiwara.

He looked through the letters, sitting back on his heels to read through them.

The unlabeled box had a single tape, a photo graph of a man with dark hair and dark eyes standing next to the woman from the journal picture who was holding a small child, and medical text books with stickers on the cover.

He pulled out the tape. It’s been awhile since I used these.... Putting the tape in the vcr, he turned the tv on and the volume down low, and pressed play.