Another Day

FLASHING LIGHTS painted the walls red and blue, the alley’s entrances cordoned with yellow tape and containment spells. It was a typical crime scene, with a full cast of police officers, paramedics, patrol cars, and an ambulance.

“Hasegawa Ryuuji,” an older officer read the name off his tablet, a scowl on his face like it tasted bad. “Still crawling out here, I see. I thought the Kami stopped blessing you a decade ago.”

“They did, Yamada,” followed up the cop’s partner, her long hair neatly wrapped into a bun. “The Kami forget and forgive many things, but desertion is not among them.”

“You’re as charming as ever, Hattori-san,” Ryuuji replied. As fate would have it, officers Yamada Shouhei and Hattori Kanae had a tendency to compete with Ryuuji for his mercenary contracts.

They formed part of Tokyo’s Arcane Enforcement Unit, the police branch in charge of handling low-level magical contingencies. As an independent contractor, Ryuuji’s missions often overlapped with theirs, with a private backer looking to poach the same quarry the police wanted to apprehend.

The case of Watanabe Genji was no different. Ryuuji simply got ahead of them, earning himself a paycheck at the expense of the police officers’ performance bonus.

“Ryuuji, catch!” said Akari, gently tossing a canned drink his way. She’d excused herself to a vending machine and was returning with a whole bundle of cold tea. “Got some for you, too,” she added, as she walked up to the police officers.

“Oh, you’re too good for us,” said Yamada, accepting a can with a bow of his head.

“Unlike a certain brute,” Hattori remarked, taking a drink as well.

“Hey, at least I’m not the one getting a consolation prize,” Ryuuji remarked, opening his cold tea with a frown on his face.

“Now, now,” said Akari, looking to ease the tension. “We purified Watanabe-san without further incident. All’s well that ends well, isn’t it?”

“This time it is,” replied Hattori, “but you may want to reconsider the company you keep. The Kami are as wise as they are ancient; they do not turn their backs on someone without good reason.”

Ryuuji took the contemptuous comment without rebuff.

He knew Hattori was right, to the point he’d told Akari the very same thing when she asked to work with him, two years ago. And just like that time…

“Then there’s no problem,” Akari replied. “The Kami listen to me, even when I’m with Ryuuji. So whatever dispute he has with them, it’s not so bad it’s irreconcilable. They just need the right space, and the right time.”

“Let’s wrap it up here,” Ryuuji interjected, before Hattori could answer. “All the paperwork is done, so we’re just getting in your way. Let’s grab some dinner, Akari.”

Akari was startled for a moment as Ryuuji cut the conversation short, but soon she smiled to herself and waved the officers goodbye.

“That’s how it is,” she said, as Hattori shook her head.

“Fine,” said the female officer, visibly displeased. “Walk away if you want, Hasegawa, but you can’t escape karma forever. And you, Minase Akari. Don’t forget you are the sister of Minase Ren. If you ever wish to join the Amaterasu Unit, I’m certain there will be a door open for you.”

As Akari walked away, pushing Ryuuji in tow, she stuck her tongue out mockingly at the mention of her brother.

“Thanks for the tea!” said Officer Yamada, raising his can in goodbye.

And with that, Ryuuji and Akari made their exit from the cordoned alley, with a Soul Lantern quietly glowing red on her belt.

* * *

“Ponko-chan! Over here!” Akari waved, as a clanky, venerable SUV rolled down the street. It was a relic of the early 90’s, a Land Cruiser favored by the JSDF and UN forces back in its golden days. Now, well past its prime, the old cruiser served as Ryuuji’s and Akari’s steed.

“Beep beep!” honked the vehicle, parking close to Akari with a raspy hum.

“That’s my girl!” she said, tapping its weathered, gray shell. “Open up, I’ve got your favorite,” she added, prompting the hood to open with a loud creak.

“Akari, please don’t pour tea into the radiator again,” Ryuuji groaned.

“Oh, come on,” his apprentice groaned back. “Ponko-chan has lived through way worse than this. And she loves it! Right, Ponko-chan?”

“Vroom-vroom!” the engine roared with enthusiasm, as Akari poured a large can of peach tea down the radiator’s hatch. Ryuuji merely shook his head behind her.

“How did she get a Kami to inhabit this piece of junk?” he asked himself, still amazed at the sight of his old clanker moving on its own. Not that Ponko would ever listen to him, of course, but the self-driving feature she provided for Akari’s sake was second to none.

“There we go,” said Akari, ignoring Ryuuji’s stare as a plume of sweet, fragrant steam vented from the radiator. The engine hummed cheerfully, as Ponko savored the peach tea down to the last drop. “And what do we say after a meal?” Akari added, shaking the empty pink can.

“Beep beep!” the car honked, doing its best to carry the meaning across.

“That’s a good girl,” said Akari, screwing the radiator cap back in place.

Meanwhile, passersby whispered to each other and peppered Ryuuji and his entourage with not-so-discrete peeks. His ears were starting to turn red.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, climbing to the driver’s seat. The moment he did so, the engine stalled, deprived of the divine energy it was being given by Ponko. “Come on, you…” Ryuuji muttered, the engine wheezing feebly as he turned the ignition key.

Much like any other Kami, Ponko didn’t favor the man.

“Don’t be mean,” said Akari, tapping the board as she sat on the passenger’s side.

Then, like an act of magic, the engine sprung back to life.

“Whimsical little shit…” said Ryuuji under his breath. Whatever dislike the Kami had for him, the feeling was mutual.

“Say, Ponko-chan, can you play some Tōka for me?” Akari Olympically ignored their quarrel, asking the Kami for her favorite tunes instead.

“Bop bzzt?” the Kami asked, with a hint of static through the old speakers.

“Let’s see…” Akari pondered, unsure of which song she wanted to hear.

“That girl with the synthesizer again?” said Ryuuji, pressing the accelerator as he took to the road. “Ask for a classic, for once. That’s proper music.”

“You’re just too old to find the appeal,” Akari replied, no matter the frowning of her mentor. “Ah, I know! Play the Dance of the Firefly!”

“Beep bop!” replied Ponko, followed by the familiar music box intro of Akari’s favorite song. It was an ethereal ballad, its gentle tune slowly joined by strings of violin and cello. Then, the pulse of a sub-bass rhythm, beating like fluttering wings.

The vocals were heavy with reverb, with distant, layered harmonies accentuating the synthetic voice. And then there were the lyrics… a heartfelt rendition to how everything we cherished was inherently finite, like the dance of a firefly in the night.

Ryuuji hated the song.

Not because he disliked the melody, but because it dug his deepest, most painful memories out from their grave. Moments of a golden age flashed before his eyes, smothering him with the bittersweet hand of nostalgia.

“A fleeting glow, gone before dawn~” Akari hummed, unaware of the pit gnawing at Ryuuji’s stomach. Not that she could possibly know. He never told her the full story.

“Hotaru…” the name escaped Ryuuji’s lips in a longing whisper. Thank the Gods, Akari didn’t catch it, or she’d start asking questions.

Steeling himself, Ryuuji tightened his grip on the wheel and kept driving down the road, the setting sun quietly shining behind his back. No matter how much he craved for it, no miracle existed on Earth that could bring the dead back to life.

Even Izanagi-sama, the god who crossed into Yomi for love, had failed.

How could a mere mortal hope to fare better? There was simply no hope. All that Ryuuji could do was to live on in regret, clinging to the one dream he was still a part of… even if it wasn’t his own anymore.

“Hey, wanna get some ramen?” Akari asked, taking notice of her brooding mentor. Of all the ways she had found to cheer him up, food was high up in the list.

“Yeah. I’ll treat you,” he replied, making an effort to be nice to her for once. He knew full well she was trying to look out for him, and he wanted to reciprocate.

“What!?” Akari recoiled in shock, with even Ponko’s speakers screeching out of tune. “W- Who are you, and what did you do to Ryuuji?” she demanded.

“Oh, shut up,” he groaned, starting to become self-conscious as the Dance of the Firefly drew to a close. A single electric guitar held its note long, like a fragile, final glow.

Yet, even as the speakers went silent, a different ray of light remained by his side. Bright and carefree, she didn’t give a damn about Ryuuji’s woes. No matter the darkness that spread around her, she would blaze through it like a northern star.

“Bop, bop, bzzt!” said Ponko, in its unique, incomprehensible tongue.

“Oh. Ryuuji is feeling bashful, you say…” came Akari’s impish comment.

“No, I’m not,” replied Ryuuji.

“Hehe~” Akari laughed. “Yes you are.”

“No. I’m. Not,” Ryuuji insisted.

“Ponko, play the song again!” Akari instructed, a grin plastered on her face.

“Beep bop!” replied the Kami, repeating the intro with the music box.

By the Gods, Ryuuji really, really hated that song.