Paparazzi

"Are you done yet?" A woman groaned outside the door.

"Almost, haha. One more minute."

Sunshine reflected in the mirror ahead of me as I finished slipping into a dark-gray trench coat. The posh, gabardine fabric complemented a dress shirt underneath that gleamed white; all topped with a chocolate necktie.

I felt badass, like something plucked out from an American noir film. This getup hollered personality thrice as much as those suits I wore at my old agency. And now, this would be my new uniform.

"Hey! We're gonna be late!" Tsukino yelled out in the hall.

"C-Coming!"

I put on the final pieces—two fingerless leather gloves that slid clean on. I tested their finesse by flexing both my knuckles until they cracked.

Bit weird choice for accessories, though I doubt they'll interfere. Much. One last check of my black hair in the mirror showed a mild case of bed head. But it suited me. It was a simple two-block cut that didn't need much maintenance.

Morning light from the windows finally blanketed the whole classroom. Although Tsukino cleaned well, she couldn't fix small holes and decay along the walls. War-torn vibes hinted at history before this room became furnished with the bare minimum to host guests.

I strolled over to the exit, satisfied, pulling open the door.

Waiting for me out in the hall was the back of a woman. Once a ponytail, her dark, silky hair had opened to let its full volume spread across both shoulders. She'd also donned a trench coat—stylish, noir, sexy—with a belt cinching her waist. I couldn't see more until she turned around.

"You're three minutes late, Aizawa," Tsukino said. Her lips had gentle amounts of gloss that made them hard to look away from.

"Sorry. Got slowed by these gloves." I raised both hands. "Do you gotta wear them too?"

"I'm higher rank than you, so no. But I do have to wear this thing."

"Hmm?"

She moved her coat's collar aside then exposed a white blouse. Wrapped around her neck was a red but fashionable neckerchief embroidered with the initials "BL".

"BL?" I said. "That's for Borsalino, right?"

"Yes. Chief makes his female field reporters wear them; which basically means just me."

"Huh. Doesn't look bad though."

"Tsk." Tsukino looked offended, as if expecting another response. Then she examined me from head to toe. "You don't look bad either, I guess."

Possible responses flooded through my mind: 'Thanks', 'I appreciate it', 'Clothes make the man.' Nothing fit right though. So I just gave her a smile and thumbs up.

"Cringe. Let's go."

Tsukino led me through a long hallway flowing with coworkers. People in suits walked by holding coffee mugs or newspapers; others strolled chatting with friends about their morning. It wasn't a climate much different from offices back in reality. But no one except me and Tsukino wore trench coats. And every now and then, I'd see someone's eyes linger on me like they were judging me.

"Is that Morikawa's replacement?" a passing woman and her clique whispered.

"Shhh. We can't mention him. Not after what happened."

"Poor Tsukino . . ."

Although they were all coworkers, I couldn't help but glare when they passed me. Gossip was one of the things I hated most, so hearing them had soiled an otherwise good mood I woke up in. Who wouldn't be cheerful at a second shot at life?

Tsukino remained unperturbed. A neutral face conveyed she'd accepted things already; all she did was push up her glasses as we reached the end of our hall.

"We're here," she told me. "Are you ready?"

I shrugged. "Can't stop now."

Without another word, she pulled open both doors and let us in. Inside was another classroom—destroyed. A gaping hole in the wall let sunlight spill over, brightening floors worn from age. Rubble lay strewn amongst shards of glass, and tables had been flipped over. Little stood intact except two vacant desks in the room's center.

Hidden in dark shadows behind a podium, somebody emerged.

"You're late, Tsukino," the fedora mobster from yesterday grinned. He still wore a slick suit that made even me jealous.

"Yeah. It's this guy's fault." She pointed towards me.

"H-Hey! It's just hard trying out new clothes . . ."

"Sit down, both of you. Chief Borsalino will be here soon to conduct the orientation."

We nestled ourselves into student desks facing a chalkboard. The fedora mobster recused himself into a corner and waited. But no one seemed alarmed at this room being far more destroyed than others.

The heck even happened here? My eyes peered around for answers, but then taps of someone's cane ambling up the hall rang.

Chief Borsalino in a luxury suit strolled through the doors. "Well, well. Looks like I'm last today, bahaha!"

"It's not an issue at all, sir." Tsukino said as the old man walked by us.

I sighed. Double standards, much? Though it's always like that—bosses can be late whenever but never the employees.

Borsalino lit a fat cigar after reaching the class podium. Wisps of smoke danced around him as if alive, forming shapes of knights, boxers, and wizards until fading into the bright sunlight.

"That red neckerchief on you looks good, Yuna," Borsalino said. "Shame you won't be my secretary much longer."

"I wasn't ever your secretary, sir."

"Haha, sure! Let's just get down to business then."

All eyes in the room fell on me. I sank into my desk a little until Borsalino pointed his cigar at me.

"New blood! Where do you think you are?"

"Huh? I inferred we're in a former school of some sort."

"Correct. I purchased this building to be our new headquarters years ago. And I deliberately left most of it in the same condition it was acquired in."

"Why?"

The boss puffed out smoke that blew across the room. Wisps took shape again—into smoky goblins chasing villagers, dragons burning towns, and demons battling heroes. The silhouettes told stories like a moving picture book as they all rushed past me, before fading away.

"You spawned into a war-torn world, kid," Borsalino coughed. "Or at least, that's how it used to be."

We all waited for him to stop coughing so he could continue. But I was laser focused, ready to hear whatever I'd need to assimilate into this world.

"Th-This kingdom—Sin Nombre—has had a blood feud against the demon continent for centuries now. But they both managed to broker a ceasefire, setting forth peace none of us had seen in our lifetimes. So I bought this former school, so it'd serve as a reminder to all our new recruits of the world that once was."

"Wait, even this school got bombarded back then?"

"No where was safe. Anyplace were front lines; and I fought hard on them when I was young, still freshly reborn like you. Decades eventually caught up with me, so I retired to form this news company where I could keep fighting in my own way."

Wow. I gazed towards him admiringly. That's actually pretty noble. Maybe this guy really is someone respect wort—

"But now, all I really care about is making heaps o' money, bahaha!" Borsalino chortled. "We need funds so I can keep hiring cuties like Miss Yuna sitting there."

"Please don't call me by first name," she replied, annoyed. "Also, half the reason this building is still wrecked is because you don't wanna pay to fix it."

"Ah! I might've forgotten to mention that, haha!"

Disappointment. I slouched over, realizing the reason I likely awakened inside a body bag was because it was cheaper than a casket.

When Chief Borsalino finished laughing, he relaxed and exhaled smoke. Warm sunlight grazed his wrinkled face before he stared towards me. "Now that you have a gist of history, let's talk about your official duties."

"I'm guessing it'll be more of a field job?"

"Ay, good instincts. Yuna probably didn't explain much, but you'll both be formal Borsalino journalists that'll explore Sin Nombre looking for the hottest stories."

Sounds like tabloid gossip crap. "What about headline news though? Isn't that more important to focus on?"

"Headline news? Lad, remember this country has been at peace. Big stories hardly materialize; that's why we gotta pivot in new directions."

I heard Tsukino seated beside me grumble.

"Now both of you look over here." Borsalino drew six circles on the chalkboard, numbering each one. "There's six classes you could've respawned in this world as: Knight, Assassin, Mage, Boxer, Berserker, and NPC. NPC is the only non-combative role, so the goddess spawns folks somewhere that align with their previous life's skillsets. Bakers get sent to work at bakeries, waitresses to taverns, etcetera."

"That explains why I'm here," I said.

"Indeed. However, there's one more special class among those." He drew one last circle before numbering it 7. "The 'Hero' class—very rare, since only four people in the world can be assigned it at a time. Heroes are meant to keep the worst of the demon continent at bay, but since we're in peace time, they don't have much to do. See where I'm going with this?"

I tilted my head, confused. But Tsukino over at her desk rolled her eyes and tuned out of the lecture. How much does she know?

"Huehuehue." Chief Borsalino drew money signs all over the chalkboard, sparkles and smiley faces too, before finally drawing four stick figures. "These heroes are our golden gooses! Money makers! So it'll be your job to follow them around wherever they go! And report anything spicy they do or say."

"What? So you want me to act like paparazzi?"

"Actually, quite the opposite. The Heroes still value their privacy, so I'd prefer you stay in the background and only approach them as needed for interviews. If they complain, the church yaps at me."

Tsukino finally spoke again, crossing her legs. "We're just background characters basically—simple as that."

Overwhelming information started settling in. Although being a background character didn't raise an issue with me, the accompanying job description did. What sorts of oversight would follow? Censorship? All just for gossip? Even my old job didn't stoop this low. But being in a new world now, who knew if I could even say no.

Chief Borsalino puffed smoke before erasing the whole chalkboard. His face had taken a more calm demeanor as he continued talking. "Yuna will be your supervisor. She'll proofread anything you write before you send it back to headquarters here."

Oh, yeah. We were gonna be partners. I took another glance towards her, but she appeared disinterested as usual. What happened to her old partner then?

As if noticing my confusion, Borsalino walked over and spoke directly to me. "Yuna is an NPC like you, though she knows how this world works. She'll watch over you."

"How do we defend ourselves out there?" I said. "We're just NPC's."

"Yuna can use some magic; her magical circuits are formidable for an NPC. It'd be a shame to keep her cooped here forever as my secretary."

"I'm not your secretary, sir."

"Ah! True enough, haha."

The topic felt concluded. I had no major gripes left to voice; not that anything could be changed anyway.

I watched Chief Borsalino and his fedora guard wander towards the doors. Both mobsters, surrounded by smoke and shadows, whispered with one another until the Chief looked over his shoulder.

"Oh," he said towards me. "When you two go check on Trixie, tell the doc I said thanks for taking care of her."

Trixie? My baffled eyes glanced at Tsukino for answers.

"If she hasn't recovered yet, we're not taking her with us," Tsukino replied.

"I'll leave it up to your judgement." Borsalino nodded before stepping out of the room, his guard following behind.

We were left alone at our desks.

"So what was that all about?" I asked her. "Who's Trixie?"

But Tsukino's head was looking away, peering out those shattered, sunny windows. Hints of deep introspection lingered as her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Then her hand resting on the desk curled into a fist.

"Tsukino?" I said.

"Let's leave." She scooted out from the chair. "We'll talk as we walk."

"Where are we going?"

Tsukino was already at the doors giving me her trademark stink eye. It was the cue to just be quiet and follow.

Fine, fine. I fixed my trench coat before grouping with Tsukino. The two of us sauntered down a long hall, past eyes of curious coworkers, until we reached a battered stairwell.

"We'll be heading below," she said. "Watch your step."

"Wouldn't kill Chief to at least pay to fix these stairs."

"I can barely make him remember to pay me."

Sounds about right.

Noises of the bustling first-floor rang on our way to the front entrance. And even as we made our way around a counter, I couldn't help but think—

Wherever we ended up going, it felt like my first test was approaching.