Just a Bean

I follow her gaze to the character playing some flashy keyboard. She lingers on the channel for an extra moment, watching the musician’s scaley arms fly across the keys. My attention quickly refocuses on her – it’s still jarring to see her here, in my house, on my couch. Her presence is as out of place as it is familiar.

“I guess,” I mutter and offer the ghost of a shrug.

“She said you took classes and everything.”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t notice my reluctance. More likely, she just doesn’t care.

“And you were actually good at it?”

“Yeah.”

“Who even taught you?”

“Your mom.”

Her next question is cut off by one of her loud, growly laughs. I keep my expression controlled, but can’t help the warmth in my chest. Susie resumes rapidly flipping though channels as she nudges me. “I mean it, loser!”

Before I can suggest we change the subject, I spot my mom in the doorway. She’s giving up on her pretense of minding her own business by stepping into the room and answering for me.

“It was a family friend,” she says. “Kris complained at first, dragging themself around the house in all sorts of little tantrums~”

“Mom…”

The last thing I need is Susie regretting her camaraderie with me. I’ve finally found people who didn’t know me when I was stumbling after them on tiny feet – I wince as mom’s tone reminds us that I’m always be the baby to her, and to everyone else in this damned town.

At least Susie isn’t buying it. She shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Crumbs fly as she muses, “I get it. I’d hate doing extra classes on top of school...”

“Oh, I don’t think they minded the lessons themselves. Piano just wasn’t flashy enough.”

“Eh?”

There’s that grossly sweet smile of hers, and I know she isn’t looking at me anymore – she’s seeing me and Asriel from half a decade ago. “It’s adorable… Kris had big dreams of being in a rock band.”

“A rocker? You?” Susie’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s badass! What made you wanna do that?”

I bend my head to let a fringe of hair hide the way my eyes dart away from the question. I try to ignore the rapidly surfacing memories of discordant plucked strings, of frustrated tears wiped away, of another’s hands guiding my own into the right shapes.

But Mom is smiling, with that unreadable shade of emotion she gets caught up in the same kind of memories. “There was always a lot of music over at the Holiday’s place. I caught Kris trying out the guitar a few times. Maybe… one day… you can take lessons. How does that sound?”

I clench my fists in my lap. I could never survive something like that. Each hour would be agonizing, letting someone else teach me instead of who it should have been. I’d be utterly miserable.

“I’d love that!” you say.

I tense, but no one notices. Mom nods, satisfied, and Susie is shifting positions on the couch. She speaks up before I can blurt out that you sure do need lessons, if your piano skills are any indication of your musical talent. She reclines across the cushions, purposefully smushing me into the arm with her legs.

“You want more classes? Nerd.”

“Tch. Weirdo.”

“Freak.”

“Dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass!”

“Language, children,” mom warns. Then, “Well… I’ll, um, leave you to it. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Goodnight, dears.”

She flashes a smile laden with confusion as she leaves. At least she understands the concept of giving someone privacy when they’re hanging out with their friend.

“Goodnight!” you call.

---

Mom isn’t the only one clinging to a younger memory of me, though. Later that night, we discover that Mr. Ant Tenna doesn’t really see me, either. He’s seeing someone smaller, with a headband tousled in their hair and hands pressed up against the fuzzy static of the screen. He’s presenting games to that Kris, with a glossy cheeriness that covers his cluelessness.

I know for a fact he’s misled when the curtain rises, and the three of us stand decked out in wild outfits. A crowd roars, ten times the size of the previous studio audience we were facing. I gape at them.

Susie spins, checking out her new leather and spikes. Ralsei’s gentle expression clashes with his flashy makeup and mohawk. My eyes flick over my own changes: colored bangs drape over my face, a glint of silver highlight in them. Shining leather pants meet with reflective heels. A bedazzled jacket frames my figure in startling shapes. An angular guitar crosses my chest.

It would be perfect if it wasn’t straight out of a nightmare.

Even without any sort of recitals in my life, I’d dreamt of performances without any sheet music. Not only am I unsure what to play now, I don’t know how. This new instrument feels clunky in his grasp. Regardless of the darkness over the stadium, I can feel the thousands of eyes on me.

My throat squeezes. All of my muscles are aching to run. I think about bolting backstage and giving that stupid television a piece of my mind about these games. Despite it all, my feet remain rooted in place. I can’t tell if it’s you or if I’ve already been consumed by stage fright.

Chords echo onto the stage to lead in the performance.

To my right, Susie sits down at her own instrument. Without a second of hesitation, she slams down on the drums. Bitterly, I wish I could find that same sort of carelessness. My music-trained ear picks up on my upcoming cue, but my fumbling hands remain trembling.

Why is the universe so determined to mock me? Rubbing it in my face, reminding me of yet another childish dream that isn’t realistic?

I shut my eyes tight.

Then, my fingers move with ease. The instrument sings out with a beautiful, rich distortion through the amplifiers.

I jerk my head down to watch the strings – you play each chord with clean movements. You strum with my right hand, using my left to slide across the frets and shape into various sounds. I can’t help my jaw from loosening.

You hold out a note, fluttering in a way that vibrates the sound before continuing on. How the hell did you learn something like this? I finally allow myself to look up at the audience.

They roar with a fresh wave of cheers. Hands and hats wave in the air. Camera flashes sparkle over the mass like light over the ocean. The spotlights swing around to join in the dance of light and catch on the iridescence of my jacket.

Hesitant at first, then gaining confidence, I lean into your playing. You attack the notes, and I go after the crowd.

I take on a new stance in my heels, something comfortable but intense. Recalling an old photo of Noelle in dark makeup and hair dye, I flip my bangs with a new confidence. I sway and lean. I tip my head back, and hunch over the guitar. I’m not Hometown’s quiet baby. I wink at the audience.

The subsequent squeals sent me stepping backwards in embarrassment. I’m getting carried away. I shouldn’t be having this much fun. I can only do this because of you, and even so, it doesn’t change anything.

But then Susie pauses her drumming just long enough to shove a thumbs-up my way. Her hair once again flies around in a wild, fiery halo as she beats on the drum set like she’s trying to break it.

Ralsei flashes me an encouraging grin through his singing. I wasn’t paying attention to the song before, but now that I listen, it sounds like something I would have sang back then, with everyone. I can picture them now, just over my shoulder – I can see those antlers bouncing along with the heavy rhythm.

She never saw me as someone young, or weak, or lame, even back when I was. Even without you giving me an extra edge, she always looked at me like she was proud.

The thought hits me amid the dazzling lights and music that vibrates through my very bones. It’s glamorous. It’s ridiculous. It’s the most fun I’ve had in forever.

My chest heaves from the effort, half of which isn’t my own, but I’m not angry about it this time. I would never go so far to say I’m grateful, but when you jump on the next verse, I smile.

When the time came, the decision didn’t fall to her at all – it was taken up by the raging crowd in the square.

She should have seen the rumbling of unrest from the citizens, but it was easy to ignore from the peace inside the temple. When Fuuta told her of the jeering voices that followed him around, she reminded him to turn his thoughts inwards and upwards.

“You have nothing to fear, my disciple.” She smiled at him. “The voices of humans have no power in comparison to God’s.”

That, too, was wrong.

The cries of “devil” and “witch” rose deafeningly as a group of villagers barged through the door to grab Fuuta. They arrived in the middle of an evening prayer, causing the two to snap their heads up from a reverent kneel toward the altar.

Amane rose to her feet, ready to deliver a calming speech, but was not given the chance. The crowd shoved her aside to reach their target. Dozens of hands fell upon Fuuta, dragging him to his feet and out the door.

“You murderer!”

“To kill such a young girl…”

“With a witch’s wicked tongue!”

“Don’t deny it!”

Fuuta’s eyes whirled around the group. “W-wait, that’s not –! You don’t understand! Amane!”

She rushed forward. A stray elbow sent her stumbling into a pillar. There came a sharp pain in her head, then darkness.

She woke with an ache throbbing behind her eyes. She forced herself to ignore it as she ran out into the warm night air. Her robes billowed around her; she didn’t have time to redress. The thought repeated over and over, she needed to find Fuuta. That is, if it wasn’t already too late.

She’d already missed the makeshift trial and verdict, by the sound of the commotion outside of the courthouse. In her experience, witch trials could forgive as easily as they could condemn – no true evidence was needed either way. The townsfolk’s feelings toward the defendant, whether a loving mother or a loudmouthed apprentice, were all the proof they needed.

Amane made it to the throngs of people gathered at the entryway. Despite the bright, flickering glow from torches and lanterns raised overhead, she couldn’t see a thing. Her protests went unheard. She wasn’t able to shove her way through.

With her throat squeezing in panic, she took off back toward the temple. Her legs flew up the belltower’s ladder. She leaned out under the grand bell and finally got a good look at the situation.

Fuuta emerged from the courthouse doors. Blood and bruises painted his face. His clothes showed stains, and his right eye was swollen shut from the beating. Members of the crowd yanked him forward by the shackles around his neck and wrists. His lips snapped at those around him as he fought against the restraints, but it was clear the physical and emotional drain would soon overtake him.

Amane’s eyes followed the lines of the masses to Fuuta’s final destination. Citizens were tossing firewood into a grand pile. A single stake rose in the center.

A pang of rage stirred in her gut, overpowering her fear for a moment. The town was awfully prepared for a witch burning, now. Where was this efficiency when her mother’s magic drowned her? Where were the shouts of injustice when she brought lightning down from the heavens upon her daughter? Why was it up to Amane herself to silence her calls to the devil?

She pushed the thought away. Her eyes scanned over the view, seeking out anything that could help. To her dismay, not one citizen appeared inclined to stop the impending execution. The towering, torch-clad bodies didn’t show any weak points until reaching the execution platform. The nearest water pump stood on the neighboring street, too far to be of any use.

Fuuta was dragged on. Though not entirely silent, he hunched himself against the hateful rioting around him. A final tug sent him sprawling forward onto the cobblestone in front of the stake. The group took the opportunity to lift him up onto the firewood.

Amane was out of time.

She rushed back down the ladder. Following the paths she’d spotted from the belfry, she headed toward the stake. Again, she tried to raise her voice against the crowd and express some sort of authority in her white embroidered robes. Again, she went ignored. A sudden chorus of cheers chilled her blood. The fire had been lit.

“You bastards! You’ll all pay for this! You – you’ll fucking pay!”

Fuuta’s threats only became audible when she arrived, his voice hoarse and weak from the ordeal. She finally got a good look at him through the townsfolk. No matter the venom to his words, his expression betrayed his desperation. He released hysteric, rapid breaths as he struggled against the chains that had been wrapped haphazardly around him. They locked his limbs in place, leaving him no way to shy away from the flames licking closer.

Amane broke free of the crowd, to where everyone had given the fire a wide berth. Even from that distance, the heat felt sharp and suffocating. Fuuta was too preoccupied with the pain and panic to notice her presence, but at long last, the rioters did.

They watched her curiously as she spun back to face them. They didn’t appear hostile to her, but that was about to change. Amane swallowed hard.

“Oh, Wise One.” She bent her head away from God. “Forgive me.”

She lifted her palms. The townspeople really should have looked to the church for guidance. They should have treated her as the authority on witches. After all, her mother wasn’t the only one tainted with darkness.

A gust of air rushed through the square. The clouds churned. They blocked out the stars.

A wave of uncertain chatter rushed through the crowd. They watched as the wind picked up, causing Amane’s hair to encircle her head in a wispy halo. Thunder rolled as her clothes swirled up around her. With the sound of Fuuta’s pleads echoing in her ears, she brought her arms down.

What came tumbling out of the sky could hardly be considered rain. The curse brought water down in thick, choking streams. Fear echoed from the crowd as the onslaught crushed them from above.

Amane heard it sizzle on the firewood behind her, though she couldn’t enjoy the success. She forced air in and out of her lungs. The way the water spilled into her eyes and mouth was all too familiar to her. Through the rumble of thunder overhead, she swore she could hear her mother’s shrill cries.

The thunder crashed louder, this time bringing with it a flash of light. Screams erupted from the crowd as lightning blasted through a nearby roof. Another column struck a tree bordering the square. Debris whipped around the charged air.

Insults and accusations were indeed slung her way, but the chaos of the storm kept her safe from the citizen’s wrath. The weather raged until the final stragglers disappeared indoors.

Amane let her arms relax at her sides, the rain drizzling and calming in reply. She blinked. The power was intoxicating. Dizzying. The buzz of energy filled her again as she raised a finger toward Fuuta’s chains. They shattered.

He collapsed in a fit of coughing. The bottom of his legs were raw, but the rain had arrived before any serious damage was done.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Amane secured her arm under his, dragging him out of the smoldering mess with a burst of strength that didn’t match her size. She eased him down onto the cool stone. With all the lanterns extinguished or entirely destroyed, the pair sat in darkness.

The haze of magic receded. Amane’s gaze lowered once more. At least God had known what she was long before today. It was all a shock to Fuuta. She’d saved him, but she knew the cost.

“I… I know what you must think of me. I know how you must be feeling. All I ask is you follow my direction a little longer so I can get you out of the city, and then –”

She inhaled sharply as Fuuta lunged forward. His arms gathered her up into a tight embrace. He smelled of blood and smoke, but she leaned into him just the same.

Every action, every choice, every little quirk of hers had been carefully monitored of late. It was no longer a kindness for her to bring food to a suffering patient – now, it could be “overexertion”. It could be “recklessness.” Worse, it could again be accused as “sabotage.” Her eyes darted down to the vegetarian breakfast.

“I’m bringing something to Fuuta-san. Something easy on his stomach.”

She carried the breakfast tray down the hall. Her shoes rested carefully on each step, her uneven vision threatening her usually perfect posture.

Muu fell into step. “Ohh, is he still not feeling well?”

Amane frowned. That was quite the understatement.

“His condition has worsened, yes. Shidou-san has noted increased irritability, so I’m hoping to improve his mood with a meal that he can keep down.”

“But…” Muu angled her head, genuine confusion across her features. “Isn’t Fuuta always in a bad mood?”

She wasn’t the first to conflate the behaviors, to Amane’s surprise. Fuuta’s usual quips stemmed from his anxieties with a bit of arrogance. They held no true edge, and often sounded playful to her ear. His recent insults, however, were filled with a very real venom. As often as she reminded herself of the true reason behind his attacks – irritating hols in his memory and constant energy going toward his pain – the words still cut deep. More than once, she’d been forced to end her visits early to save face in front of him.

Did the others really believe he was always this cruel? Had anyone even spoken to him before now?

She gave a slight shake to her head. “This is something new. Which is why I hope he enjoys what I’ve chosen for him.”

The tray presented a carefully chosen balance of healthy and sweet. She’d prepared the fruit and honey and toast just as her parents had when she wasn’t feeling well.

Muu wasn’t looking at the nice display. “I mean, you could just take him to the cafeteria, right? Shidou-san got that wheelchair and everything.”

“W-well, but it’s more than just getting him there.”

While all of Amane’s behaviors underwent supervision, it felt like Fuuta’s slipped by completely ignored. Kazui hadn’t seen the way Fuuta flinched against the lights he flicked on when visiting the cell. Mahiru paid no mind to his wincing when her cheery voice lilted too loudly. Even Shidou, who spend all his time working out compromises and comforts for Amane, spent all his time focusing on her. He never asked Fuuta for his opinions on anything.

“He’s complained a lot about—”

“Hah, is there anything he doesn’t complain about?”

Amane straightened her spine. “There’s also the dizziness. And the memory problems. This is serious!”

The other brought her hand up to smother a giggle. “It sounds like all the things Muu did to stay home from school.”

“How dare you! Fuuta-san would never fake something like this!”

Startled a bit by Amane’s passionate response, she shrugged. “I’m not saying he is, just that it’s very easy to. I’m sorry.”

She sounded genuine, and for a moment Amane thought they’d reached a conclusion. Then, just as she turned to leave, she angled her eyebrows into something patronizing and pitying.

“You shouldn’t get so upset, I’m just being honest. It’s not like Fuuta hasn’t faked things for attention before...”

Amane was left stuttering and fuming in place. Did Muu think that past mistakes remained forever? Couldn’t she see that Fuuta was atoning? That all this pain was given by God for a reason?

She entered Fuuta’s cell, taking everything at half the pace to save her balance. She placed the food beside him. The clatter of the tray didn’t stir him.

Amane exhaled.

She shook his shoulder. She knew she should be more gentle with his injuries, but each morning her nerves got the better of her. His sleep was too deep, too still, and she found herself waking him in a hurry just to be sure he would wake.

“Fuuta-san. Fuuta-san!”

“What.”

“Good - good morning. I brought you breakfast.”

“Eh?” His eyes glossed over the tray. He made no move towards it. “Oh.”

“I picked it out special for you.”

“What, you gave me only baby foods? Mushy things and toast?”

“I… How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he snapped. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

“R-right. I’m sorry.”

“Tch.”

Amane moved the tray onto his lap, ignoring his exasperation. She sat awkwardly beside as he started shifting things around with his utensils.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. It would have been nice to pray together again, but lately Fuuta had been forgetting all the words. No matter how much patience she displayed teaching him again and again, he made it clear it was a waste of his time.

The cell bars rattled open, and the doctor’s stern voice echoed inside.

“I have told you countless times --”

“I know. I’m not bothering him.” She stood to leave. The smile she gave Fuuta was one of warmth and resignation. “Remember, you can call for me at any time, and I’ll be here.”

He nodded.

One option is that the two meet and fall in love normally, only for Fuuta's online snooping to lead him to some of the yakuza's crimes. In an attempt to call out these "ordinary citizens" who seem dangerously close to his lover, he ends up in the clutches of deadly gang members. Mahiru shows up, revealing her true identity, and uses her sway to free him.

Alternatively, Fuuta's dad is high enough in society and traditional enough that he's determined to ensure his son marries well. Fuuta brings up Mahiru in conversation, mentioning his feelings for her (in his tsundere way). While he was actually lamenting that she's trapped in the controlling household, his father only processes that Fuuta has fallen for a wealthy heir. He speaks to the Shiinas and arranges for the pair to be married.

Another fun choice (and inspiration behind the second sketch) is that Mahiru is open about her identity, and Fuuta tries to expose her crimes on his account. She has plenty of protections, so she hardly feels his digital attack. Instead of fear/anger, she falls head over heels over the cute little self-appointed hero she met online. She wants to dote on him, her family wants his callouts silenced, so it's decided she'll keep him as her new forced fiancé <3

Sitting in the dim, smoky restaurant, the announcement from her bodyguard came out of nowhere. She was used to receiving gifts from other factions – things that could earn them favor with her or her family. The presents were beautiful and rare, but she wasn’t so naive to believe they meant anything personal.

Her excitement that this would be an exception was almost immediately dashed. Following the guard’s clipped whistle, two towering men dragged in a body.

Not the type of gift a woman likes to receive, no matter how highly ranked in the yakuza she may be.

Mahiru kept her expression light; it would have been rude to deflate as she wished to. She waited patiently as the bloody form was brought to her table. The wrists were bound, and a bag was knotted around its head. The men shifted it around in some semblance on kneeling when they arrived at her side.

“Your parents mentioned a cyber threat,” her bodyguard said flatly. “Harassment, hindrance, and drawing more attention to the Shiina than is appropriate.”

One of them tugged the bag away, releasing a mess of wild red hair.

“His name is Kajiyama Fuuta, and he won’t be bothering you any longer.”

Mahiru leaned in. Now that he mentioned it, the corpse did resemble the grainy photos she’d seen of her cyber stalker. He would have looked rather cute in person, if not for the tape wound around his mouth, or the blood that crusted around his right eye and down his cheek.

She angled her head to get a better view when the body suddenly let out a cough. Mahiru squealed as he wheezed in another rattling breath through his nose and jerked himself upwards. Her hand flew to her chest, unable to hide her shock that he was alive.

That made for a slightly better gift, at least.

“We’ve erased what we could, and left our mark where we could,” the man continued as Fuuta gained his bearings. “No one will come looking for him.”

The bodyguard reached out, passing her the end of a rope. Her and Fuuta’s eyes followed it to discover the other end around his wrists. He let out a muffled protest and yanked himself back, only to meet with two firm hands on his shoulders and one gun barrel to the back of his head. His face paled.

Mahiru gave it a little tug herself, drawing Fuuta toward her. Her eyes widened in wonder. So this was the young man who had dedicated so many hours to her. He’d stayed up through the night thinking of her, and gathered various photos of her. Sure, the publicity proved an issue, but there was no doubt that this man was obsessed with her.

Her heart raced. She’d never had an admirer like that before.

“I see. You don’t need him for anything? He’s really for me?”

Fuuta swallowed hard.

While the others came to their own conclusions around the table, Yuno continued glancing between the report and his face.

“Okay, okay.” She squinted. “…But never?”

He let out a sigh.

Mahiru’s gaze was distant in dreaminess when she spoke. “It’s a little romantic, isn’t it? Saving yourself, even past marriage, for your true love?”

“But it wasn’t for true love,” Fuuta said. “It was that asshole.”

Kazui winced. He shook his head gently. “Ryousuke is a good man. I put him in a tough position. He was just…”

“A raging homophobe?” Fuuta crossed his arms. “He is not fucking worth waiting for.”

“I wasn’t waiting, though…”

Shidou, who’d been watching everyone’s expressions, interrupted with an easy smile. “Perhaps these are not memories Mukuhara-san wishes to relive. Nor things we should get too loud about with the children in the other room. Shall we continue?”

Yuno looked at him with apology. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just think it’s the most unbelievable thing so far!” She nudged him playfully. “You know you don’t have to lie anymore, we won’t judge you for any little pre-marital escapades. ”

“Hold on. You’re discovering the life stories of nine other murderers, and you’re most surprised about my sex life? That’s ridiculous.”

“I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately…?”

Mahiru’s enthusiastic nodding made him flush. “Hah… you kids have such dirty minds. People aren’t always thinking about that. Especially when it’s other guys.” He turned to the men gathered. “I mean, when you look at me, it’s not like that’s your first thought.”

Silence settled over the table.

Mikoto shrugged. “Depends on the day.”

Fuuta’s face had gone bright red, speaking the answer for him. He simply turned his head away and snapped, “don’t let it give you a big head, old man!”

Kotoko leaned over to tease him, but Yuno moved on to Shidou’s cool expression. She poked at his side. “And you?”

“I’m married.”

Kazui gestured to him in gratefulness.

Yuno narrowed her eyes. “Avoiding the question, I see…”