Webs..

Elsewhere.

High above the street, thin threads stretched between buildings.

They ran between concrete edges and narrow ledges, drawn tight through open air. From the street, they disappeared into clutter and glare.

On top of the threads, Takamasa stood. He stood where two threads crossed, feet placed without any fear. His balance did not shift. His posture did not adjust. The height beneath him existed, but it did not factor into how he held himself.

The King Spider looked down from above.

Below him, the street moved the way it always did. Pedestrians clustered, and separated by the on pour of traffic. A restaurant entrance opened. Warm air spilled out with voices then the door closed again.

That door held his attention. Three figures stepped outside. One paused near the door, half-turned. The other spoke briefly, head angled down. Their exchange lasted seconds.

And then it ended.

Three of them left the restaurant. The other waited a moment longer before walking off in the same direction.

Takamasa watched.

He pointed his index finger at the last man who walked away.

On the ground below, a student sat astride on a racing bike. He leaned forward slightly, eyes following the man that Takamasa pointed at.

“…So that’s him.”

He dismounted from his bike and crossed his arms. “He doesn’t look like much.”

“Yes, He doesn’t look like much.” Takamasa replied. “But, he is dangerous, Rotaro.”

The threads beneath his feet tightened.

Rotaro looked up.

“Dangerous? That guy?”

Takamasa looked down on Rotaro.

“Mark him.”

Rotaro’s expression darkened. His arms tightened across his chest.

“You want him in the group?” He asked. “I don’t like him.”

“I didn’t ask whether you liked him.”

Silence stretched between them. Traffic filled it. Voices passed through and vanished.

Rotaro clicked his tongue.

“Only spying?” he asked. “Or do you want more than that?”

“For now,” he said, “just watch over him.”

Takamasa smiled.

“And don’t let him out of your sight.”

Rotaro swung back onto his bike. The engine and tire roared as he twisted the clutch with brakes held, which propelled the bike to sharply skid over and make a U-turn at the same place. The road burned with tire marks. He put the gear on neutral and angled himself toward the street.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t blame me later if there’s damage.”

He pushed the gear on, racing into the traffic, and disappearing completely in a couple of seconds.

Above, Takamasa remained. The city continued moving beneath him, unaware of his presence above.

Takamasa waited for a while and jumped off, the threads coiled onto his body from his palm, landing softly on the pavement. He walked off to the academy, mingling with the rest of the city’s population.