"Are you... dreaming? How... do you... know?" 真澄

It was, by most accounts, a pretty nice day out. Sunny, and warm, but not too warm. Just right. The perfect day for lazing around and enjoying life. Which was, of course, Hiroshi’s daily agenda between trials. But today he had an idea of what to do with his time, and was pretty set on accomplishing it.

He walked around the mall for a little while, visiting each of the shops to see if there’s anything interesting. Some of them he made a note to visit again, others her passed by with hardly a second thought. Not that he was really here for that, though.

A number of minutes later he found himself on the roof of the mall, looking quite pleased with himself. He could see the whole island from up here! …Oh boy, was it ever small. And so much water, all the way around. Hold on, just how had he gotten up there?

He made his way to the edge of the building and perched on the edge of the roof. It was an awful long way down but he wasn’t terribly concerned with that. He dangled his feet over the edge and it could have just been six inches off the ground.

Oh, hold on, someone was coming. He picked up a pebble and chucked it in their direction, aiming for the ground near them.

But now that he was here, he might as well enjoy the scenery.

“…”

Yes, the atmosphere ruminated that same stale, artificial welt of constructed wealth. He could feel the cold, hard marketing take place. The smell of thoughtless spending disgusted the oneirologist.

Perhaps Masumi would lingered more on his oh so obvious, passionate, seething disdain for those types of people, but the boy found his thoughts cut short with the arrival of a seemingly unforeseen companion.

Tick

“…?”

The pebble herald from the heavens graciously bounced off Masumi’s head, landing swiftly against the pavement with the pitter patter of its stoney mass. Ah, what a surprise. What even surprised the oneirologist was greeted by a boomingly affectionate greeting.

Mori-san…? He didn’t believe… he had ever met… this pebble before…

With his eyes downcast, away from the true source of the greeting, the oneirologist let out an uncomfortable cough,  replying with an uncertain greeting in turn.

Wait, was- did he think the pebble was talking to him? Oh, this was better than he could have expected. He shifted a little closer to the edge to get a better view. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do: his entire motivation for coming up here was to see if he could, and now that he’d confirmed it, the rest of his schedule was open to fun diversions like fucking with oneirologists.

“...”

In all the likelihood the oneirologist would come into contact with a sentient rock sent from the heavens, it seemed he was to be greeted with a stone who talked with such an obnoxiously gruff accent.The problem did not lay in things that shouldn’t possessing a level of intelligence capable of speech; that ship seemed to have sailed long ago.  His daydream apparitions were getting stranger by the day

The innate concern facing Masumi seemed the obvious pertinent case of this pebble addressing him so casually. And for it to know his name? Simply spine tingling. It seemed almost beneath him to continue with such an irreverent piece of earth, but the boy with silver strands was compelled to do otherwise. This was, after all, a rather unplanned scenario in whatever dreamscape he had conjured. How peculiar as well; this sorts of dreams were more recently populated with a darker, more brooding character and his lovely little conspiracies.

With an uncomfortable shuffle, the oneirologist absent mindedly scratched at his back, pondering on how he could change such an inconvenient dream to something no so abrasive, when he noticed it.

...

Now, it simply made matters more complex. Or perhaps, it simplified it greatly...

Bending over with the delicacies that a slender frame would allow him, the oneirologist lifted the rock, rolling the coarse gravel between his thumb and index. How powdery...

“Ah, yes... my apologies. This is a rather... inappropriate greeting... for strangers...”

With the smoothest of motions, Masumi chucked the pebble far away, spinning and wobbly like a newborn fawn in the launch. 

A pale gaze witnessed the rock skip away, ruminating an air of emptiness, staring long after it had gone out of view. The boy, certain that it had gone, twisted around to face the heavens, chin up.

He was made a jest of the situation. The oneirologist made no gesture of his sleepy, wavy disposition. For once, it seemed as if Masumi was truly devoid for a fleeting period.

With words almost bitter and coldly seething that the oneirologist could muster, Masumi let his words echo, whether or not they would reach someone, or something.

It was, by most accounts, a pretty nice day out. Sunny, and warm, but not too warm. Just right. The perfect day for lazing around and enjoying life. Which was, of course, Hiroshi’s daily agenda between trials. But today he had an idea of what to do with his time, and was pretty set on accomplishing it.

He walked around the mall for a little while, visiting each of the shops to see if there’s anything interesting. Some of them he made a note to visit again, others her passed by with hardly a second thought. Not that he was really here for that, though.

A number of minutes later he found himself on the roof of the mall, looking quite pleased with himself. He could see the whole island from up here! …Oh boy, was it ever small. And so much water, all the way around. Hold on, just how had he gotten up there?

He made his way to the edge of the building and perched on the edge of the roof. It was an awful long way down but he wasn’t terribly concerned with that. He dangled his feet over the edge and it could have just been six inches off the ground.

Oh, hold on, someone was coming. He picked up a pebble and chucked it in their direction, aiming for the ground near them.

But now that he was here, he might as well enjoy the scenery.

“...”

Yes, the atmosphere ruminated that same stale, artificial welt of constructed wealth. He could feel the cold, hard marketing take place. The smell of thoughtless spending disgusted the oneirologist.

Perhaps Masumi would lingered more on his oh so obvious, passionate, seething disdain for those types of people, but the boy found his thoughts cut short with the arrival of a seemingly unforeseen companion.

Tick

“...?”

The pebble herald from the heavens graciously bounced off Masumi’s head, landing swiftly against the pavement with the pitter patter of its stoney mass. Ah, what a surprise. What even surprised the oneirologist was greeted by a boomingly affectionate greeting.

Mori-san...? He didn’t believe... he had ever met... this pebble before...

With his eyes downcast, away from the true source of the greeting, the oneirologist let out an uncomfortable cough,  replying with an uncertain greeting in turn.

“…”

With quick, muffled breathes, the oneirologist seemed winded within the confines of his company. The events of that night were excitable, nonetheless; to partake in the fruition brought on by the girl with the bright eye’s ideas was an exhilarating step for the boy, if not entirely proactive outside of his boundaries. What troubles he went to by simply deciding to attend…

With his sleepy gaze returning after a meditative breath, Masumi’s gaze flitted between the pair that sat before him. The fiery one; the one who seemed to always be at bay with the rays of the sun. Perhaps the sun was dimming. The oneirologist found the girl’s brimming grin returning less after the trials they endured. Masumi considered consoling someone who would go to such lengths to even offer such an event to take place, but lingered on the thought.

It… did seem like quite an amount… to handle another’s… emotional distress… before he could… quell his own…

And the dark boy, with all his pressing questions. It was of no consequence that he should share time more often with such a curious individual, and perhaps that gaze of questioning found its way onto the other. Perhaps he shall have another question revolving around eldritch horrors the mind might conjure from the depths of unconscious thought. Perhaps he shall look for advice on writing realistic bouts of cranial horror. A hat size came into the slurry of thoughts the oneirologist perceived, but the boy simply glanced on, his true intentions rather hazy. Purple eyes glinted in curiosity of whatever may spill out of a mouth that belonged to a person dark as he. 

With the flicks of his gaze roaming with the rise and fall on a candle, still tagged with the price from a grocery store, the oneirologist let a utensil rest between his fingers, slowly digging into the spread before them. 

Simple, if not bland at best. Vegetables and stews lined before them, and it surely seemed a great deal of effort had been placed into it, but to the oneirologist, the chef made themselves quite clearly never to have experienced a dish too luxurious in the making…

“I… assume… you are… feeling well…”

“…I am certainly feeling…more, uh, full. That’s for certain.”

Yoshiko’s fingers held his utensils with an unusual daintiness. It was an attempt at keeping his gloves clean, perhaps, or maybe they were just a bit too long for comfort. Each cut he made into his meal was done in one careful motion, making sure that each piece was small enough to pop into his mouth without seeming like too much to swallow. God forbid if they started thinking that he was a slob. 

“I’m not sure if I’m feeling ‘well’, though. Is anyone, given our…”

A rogue piece of carrot fell from Yoshiko’s fork before he could sink his teeth into it. It bounced towards the edge of the table, but not before leaving a murky line of sauce splattered across the bottom of his jacket. The air was thicker than the stews for a single moment. 

“…circumstances?”

The boy she left behind in her bed refused to acknowledge her existence, let alone endeavor. Nodame knew they deserved no less but the lack of warmth from her closest companion left them aching inside. Guiltily, the triathlete shut the door behind them and tried not to feel the heat of shame when she didn’t tell Ka - Komet where she was going. Upon arriving, the sight gave her no small heart attack. The scene before her all but mirrored the one that happened in the previous days before - two boys sitting and awaiting her arrival it seemed. 

Now that they were all seated, and a dinner were served; Nodame began to regret coming. She forgot how awkward such a meeting could really be. Blushing outright from secondhand embarrassment, they decided to keep their mouth shut while the others engaged in small talk. Her table manners were rather shotty and she stabbed her chopsticks in a particularly stubborn piece of meat. Eating, and glancing between the two, the triathlete had to wonder what the underlining tension was because goodness gracious, this was painful to watch.

However, Nodame attempts to remain a wallflower proved futile when she let out a peal of laughter at Yoshiko’s mishap, all but snorting before she realized what she had done. Her flew over her mouth, her face flushed and mortified at the way the two turned to stare at her; one gaze passive, and the other critical.

Circumstance, indeed.

“A-Ah, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh, i-it was just really funny… when you, um, nevermind!”

Stating the obvious was, of course, her forte but she took no pleasure in it now. Nodame turned her gaze to her lap, beginning to lose her appetite with her foul manners and intimidating dinner guests. She folded her hands in her lap, sighing.

From what could be said, it seemed that the oneirologist was engrossed with the little game of charades that seemed to play out before him. Sleepy eyes kept their stare, as calm a disposition one could find on the face of the boy, as the dark haired boy dropped his vegetables with a restrained horror, and the bright girl snorted in a manner that exuburated so much life. Perhaps Masumi found the change of pace enjoyable.

“...No... it’s quite alright...ah, ah...”

Oh, it seemed that names were definitely an imperative if the oneirologist would continue with this dinner as it may be.

...

He would eventually.

“Sunshine-san...yes...”

As for the other, the oneirologist found the edges of his lips pouting as the dark haired boy dropped the carrot so nonchalantly. It seemed Masumi did not find the spectacled calamity as hilarious as the girl, nor had he retained his sort of indifferent haziness to the matter. As if it had not been some overt tragedy to lose food for the mangaka, the silverly-haired boy pouted. Perhaps Masumi cared to deeply for the likes of other’s actions, or for the likes of a chef to go otherwise uncredited...

“...please, be more... attentive. I would hate to see... you ruin... that jacket...”

And in that fleeting moment of discouraging negligence, the boy return to his sleepy expression, seemingly again forgetful of an apparent transgression. Dipping the untensil into a leek, Masumi stirred the vegetable around a bit longer, perhaps captivated by whatever amusement he could find by a steamed, leafy plant dancing around his plate. 

Quite an amount, it seemed.

It was another moment before the oneirologist returned to the question at hand. The circumstances were not something Masumi had truly cared to discuss tonight, nor had he bothered to think unless required to. It seemed that at the moment, he was.

Maybe it’s a bit too generous to compare Yoshiko’s movements any sort grace, though. The mangaka managed to hitch his heel during his stride. The full length of his limbs splayed out in front of himself for just a moment, before the distinct clunking of dress shoes on floor bring Yoshiko bumbling into the side of Masumi. Expletives fumbled through clenched teeth. 

“Sh-shit…sorry…kuhu…”

“...”

“Talk... is cheap...”

With a glance sideways, the purple expression seemed to linger on his companion, perplexed at the dark sprouted individual that just so happened to make his way here.

With a few lingering moments between them, the oneirologist parted his lips, watching the other with a strange, new curiosity. 

Had she not had been told of the concoction he had been consuming, she would have assumed it to be some bizarre tea; It came to no surprise that the revelation caused the class representative to stare bemused into the cup, watching the semi-translucent liquid bob from the sudden movement of her hand. This young man was far more vexing than she had realized; Yet instead of a frustrated anger, Umeko felt the bubble of a quiet laugh escape her. 

She brought the beverage back to her lips and sipped once again, her eyes glancing down into the teacup as she did so.

“It is not something that I dislike, if I might say so.”

Umeko placed the cup back on the table, now allowing her gaze to find the young man’s in front of her. Truly he was a curious person - yet finding any sense of true seriousness in him was difficult, even for her. She brought her seat closer, shutting the gap between her body and the table, allowing her to comfortably rest of her arms on the table. Her index finger found itself tracing the invisible line her lips had left on the side of the cup, despite her eyes never leaving the vice they had on her companion.

Scholar-san?

“Miyamoto…” She corrected. “Umeko Miyamoto is fine.”

She contemplated his cryptic speech for a moment, before finalizing her decision on what she might be able to say in response. Bringing her hand up to her face, Umeko tapped her chin a few times, releasing her gaze finally.

“I suppose the decision to surrender to temptation would depend on the reward that such an endeavor would provide. If offered something alluring at arm’s length… what would stop you from trying to reach for it? The blade that tempts to strike you as you extend your arm?”

She looked to him and offered a much more solid smile.

“For instance… I might give in to the temptation to ask you for your name.”

“Ah, Miyamoto-san, a pleasure… to be in acquaintance… with an individual… so eloquent… with her words…”

Bringing mauve sleeves onto the table, the oneirologist crossed his arms, leaning his head against his arms. Slouching over, it seemed as if the boy was ready to take a nap and simply leave Umeko to her own devices. Instead, hazy, purple irises peaked from under resting lids, letting the oneirologist’s ever wandering gaze roam.

♩ ♩ ♩

With a sole hand pulling from the oneirologist’s rest against the table, Masumi set his pointer and index against the surface, a clumsy mimicry of legs stumbling to the landmark that stood as his teacup. Perhaps the boy had relaxed in the girl’s presence, or merely decided that no formalities were required for this sort of transaction. Business did not always require such a refined hand in all situations.

It was truly bizarre, the circumstances that Umeko found herself currently in. Caught between the urge to not want to be portrayed as impolite in front of her strange company, and the desire to question his motivations during these trying times threatened to rip her mind apart. Grasping the cup between both hands, the young woman looked down at its contents and brought it up to her lips, sipping the warm and refreshing beverage silently. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment before she realized that any maliciousness she detected was all in her mind.

It was quite nice, this drink - she decided.

Placing the cup back down in front of her, she did not quickly return her eyes to catch the glance of the young man in front of her. His manner of speech and direction of conversation certainly was bizarre, but in a situation like this, maybe normality was not something she should expect. She listened quietly to his change of subject and felt a small smile peak through her lips.

Kuniumi, was it? 

“…The gods Izanagi and Izanami were given the task of forming the islands that we call Japan. The last of the Seven Divine Generations… and the first to procreate the dominions of this earth…”

Her words trailed behind her as she spoke, as if reciting the contents of a textbook, as if second nature to her. Were things like that important anymore? Surely they still had purpose. Just because a situation would dictate that knowledge like that was unnecessary, it did not devalue it at all… did it?

“Yes… I happen to be familiar with such things.”

Complacent and quiet under his gaze, Umeko couldn’t help but feel a haunting familiarity in his eyes and it made her grip the hot cup in her hands tightly, turning her white hands a flushed red at the palms. Despite her own internal conflict, Umeko offered her company a small smile.

“There is not much that I understand in this world, but perhaps… that is not such a bad thing… don’t you think?”

“An... academic approach, well versed. Your knowledge... appears complete... yet... hollow. I... see...where your... allegiances lay. Thank you... for expanding... something I so... dearly treasure. I hope you may... share more... at a later time... ”

Lifting a wet finger from the cup, Masumi dangled the digit around before placing it between his lips, quietly mumbling as he did so.

“Individuals... all have their... likes and dislikes. You chose... something scholarly... in the way... of talents, I assume, and I... decided... my distaste for tea... was overwhelming... so, instead... I boiled an energy drink... and served it... in these teacups. I hope... it was to... your liking...”

Releasing the finger from the clench of his teeth, clean of the sugary liquid, Masumi Clasping hands together, the oneirologist clumsily laced slender finger together, not particularly concerned about the mesh they found. Some digits were split between an ring and pinkie, some caught between a thumb and index. Perhaps Masumi had no real rhyme or reason to his action, or perhaps he simply meant to indicate his acceptance of his business. 

“I... do hope it was... your decision, after all...”

...

“Now, scholar-san, how far... will you lean past the gates... to taste the sake of knowledge? Unfortunately... in our position... our chances are slimmed... from eight... to one.”

The whim that carried her from the apartment complex to the cafe seemed to escape her as she gently pushed open the door, a soft chime signaling her arrival to the company already occupying the dining floor. Her ears were the first to notice Nodame and Seiji’s presence, however what caught her attention first was not their heated conversation, but instead the quiet sound of a voice from just outside her peripheral. A young man, whom she only saw in passing, sat by himself at a table, with a drink sitting across from him waiting for someone to accompany either him or it.

Umeko felt briefly that the young man was referring to someone else, however after a quick glance around the cafe, there could be no one else he was addressing other than her. Not one to deny something being offered to her politely, the Class Representative nodded quietly, slipping into the space between the chair and the table in front of her.

“Thank… you.”

Expectedly hesitant, Umeko looked into cup before and reached around to grasp it in her cool grip. She only knew of this young man by association. His smooth, sleepy voice echoed the words he spoke from the courtroom, and even now, she could still hear the same languid tone in his voice. Perhaps it was just his manner of speech in general.

She looked up to him after a moment and intently gazed at him, curious about his intentions and his motivations for summoning her. The silence between them, though lasting several minutes, was broken once Umeko managed to find her voice.

“Was… there something you wished to speak to me about?”

My, how this conversation had turned on its head. With a sigh, Masumi lowered his gaze, holding an expression that seemingly spoke of disappointment with her introductions. Perhaps the oneirologist was looking for something else the girl could offer, beside an inquisitive ponder at his motives.

With eyes focused on his drink, the oneirologist ignored the girl’s question, preferring to bring the teacup to his lips. Vapors fogged the space between them as Masumi breathed into the drink, his purple gaze perforating the steam as it subsided. The boy stared at her questioningly, sipping from his cup.

“...”

With the other’s failure to meet his standards, Masumi set down the drink, parting his lips to murmur a reply. His gaze falling again from the girl before him, the boy dipped a finger in his drink, swirling the contents round and round. 

Swirl and patterns, simple to convey, with a sole meaning.

“In some cultures... It is considered... rude to commence... in business... before accepting...refreshments...”

...

shsl-mangaka:

Despite the vindication he should have felt rushing through him with the successful trial, Yoshiko couldn’t help but feel…terrible. It wasn’t like the creeping dread that he’d been feeling the moment he woke up on the island, or the general malaise that seemed to follow Yoshiko like the world’s saddest puppy. No, this was pure, unadulterated terribleness. Two people were dead, with one of them having to suffer the indignity of being sentenced to death by their own peers. Then again, the other was dead through the indignity of class-wide blackmail. There was no real way of justifying any side of what had happened. It was a flat-out terrible situation, and Yoshiko knew that it was only going to get worse. 

As what was typical for him, Yoshiko found himself skulking the island hours after the trial. He had tried to rest back in his room, but rest never came easy when death was hanging in the air. If he was going to mope about, the least he could do was mope where the air didn’t taste stale. The destination he arrived at was the Saltspray Cafe. The place was perhaps charming in a past life. Now, with its clean tables and (Yoshiko gagged) themed decor, it was far too dissonant of a place to find comfort in…unless…

Anyone stumbling upon the scene would soon find one Yoshiko Gouro, head stuck halfway into one of the fridges that stood humming in the kitchen. 

Oh.

Nodame prepared for solitude when she left her room behind for somewhere different, somewhere where she didn’t felt as trapped. In the early hours before dawn, the sea breeze scattered her hair about as waves crashed loudly in the distance. It was eerie and lonesome how the few trees scattered across the island rustled with night air. It felt like something out of a horror film if that. Almost fitting given the earlier circumstances.

She shuddered at the thought, quickening her steps towards her destination as her stomach growled if urging her even faster. The welcoming light from the 24 hour cafe was a blessing, and she hastily entered and greedy took in the warmth of being inside again. However, that left her with the situation she was currently facing. In an isolated place… with an unexpected stranger. Oh dear.

“A-Ano…” 

Oh god, her voice cracked. Could she get any more humiliated?

“Excuse me, I-I’m sorry but I will be using the facilities too if you don’t… mind? 

Perhaps now was not the best time to prepare a hot drink. The kitchen of this cafe was becoming much too crowded for the oneirologist’s taste, and the option to enjoy one at his room was again becoming the more enticing option.

What he found was that bright girl again. How she appeared in all his situations that would otherwise be unwarrented, Masumi could only fantasize. Perhaps she specialized in a sort of annoyingly pleasant talent. Whatever the case, her idling was an obstacle in current goals, and the oneirologist found no more reason to wait. 

Dividing his glance between the bright, smiley girl and the rather illustrious appearance of that boy clad with the darkest of shades, Masumi merely pushed through the duo, seemingly not too troubled with the bold action.

“My... apologies...”

Despite his reflexive amendment, Masumi lacked a trace of sincerity in his actions, simply striding towards an opening. Brushing past the girl, the oneirologist found his way beside that dreary appearance bent over. My, how vulnerable this boy made himself, especially after witnessing such an act of violent disparity occur before them not a day earlier. Perhaps this boy held the right perspective, or perhaps...

Quietly pulling behind him, Masumi gave the other tap in the back.

“Lovely exposition, truly… perhaps it would be… in best interests… to take a dose of ambien… and take a step back. I’m sure… a reprieve… from these sour notes… would do everyone some good.”

Taking a somber, disapproving glance, the oneirologist shifted from the boxer to the treasure hunter, a tinge of glare shrouded by foggy eyes. In all interests, all this screaming and emotion-driven accusations was quite the inconvenience for his trial, and for Masumi, deemed to be halted immediately. Not perishing at the fault of a case misdirecting due to emotional outburst was in his best interests, after all.

With a twitch of his eyebrow, the oneirologist relaxed his expression. My, how frustrating it could be to deal with other’s squabbles. 

“As much as… I’m sure you all… enjoy these accusatory tones… perhaps if you quiet down, the truth… will find its way… through the conundrum… concerning the death… of one… Super High School Level Bomber, ah… ‘Counter Terrorist’, as… he would say…”

Clearing his throat, Masumi’s gaze shifted downward, a focus on nothing in particular anyone could make out. With eyes as hollow as ever, the oneirologist began to murmur in succession, seemingly void of outside distraction.

“From… what I’ve gathered… our victim… he was struck… around the cranial region… with a pipe. Said victim… was in possession… of the pipe. Victim-san… was in possession… of potent… heart medication. Another wound… was located… at the back of the head. A bloody… garment… was found… in the women’s room. The victim’s… motive was located, as well… as a note… signed by the… rather beefy fellow. There… is no dispute… to be had over this… it is merely fact…”

With a breathy sigh, the oneirologist tilted his gaze again, falling on that silent girl with the sheep’s hair. Bringing a hand to strands of his own, Masumi began to twist silver locks, offering another tongue to the face wet with tears as his slothy gaze found its way to the girl.

pblept

“Now… here’s where you… may dispute. Whether… the victim instigated… a quarrel with the murderer… or vise versa. A cat… or mouse… no one truly knows… for certain. The murderer… would sustain little to… no injury. Victim-san was… too weak of heart… to lay a hand… on our killer, quite literally, no matter… his reputation. Do not fret… Sunshine-chan, your… efforts were in… good tiding. I believe, though… a man… of his talents, were… in all honesty, a hand of bombs… not fists. Our killer… would be have to believe themselves… capable of taking someone… famed of their acts.”

Tilting his gaze around, Masumi found no real focus, passing through the visage of the class representative, the mountain climber, and even the horror mangaka, before settling between the wrestler and the boxer.

“That… being said… there are still… a number of prime suspects. A boxer… is known for their acting… no matter how terrible. Ah, Yogomuki-san, I believe… you’ve proven your… spite… for others with… different ways. Considering… how our resident… Samou Ibaguki… was likely… of distateful personality… considering his talents… I’m sure you would find him… to your disliking. You… yourself have proven… how voraciously… you would take your lengths… to preserve your kin.”

With an exasperated sigh, Masumi leaned against his podium, eyeing the pair. There was certainly much more he should divulge in, but in all effects…

He was too sleepy to continue for long.

With gentle bobs and nods, the oneirologist gave a yawn.

“What… you should ask… yourselves… what may be forged? The note… or the shirt? Certainly… one… is…”