1.1

The city skyline passed through Keshi’s tired reflection in the train car window.

A year and five months. 

An eternity.

Tokyo was so much bigger than he imagined. Actually standing inside it—you got the feeling you’d never find your way back out.

He wondered if anybody had reported him missing—if his face was printed on some flyer somewhere. “Missing” didn’t feel like the right word anymore, though. Nor did “runaway,” for that matter.

It wasn’t like he had any place or anyone to run away from. 

Whatever he was, Keshi thought, it was only a temporary state. One that he had to endure for just a while longer—until he found Runa. 

Then he could go back to being his old self.

As he sat there, Keshi once again silently listed off the places he could connect her to—places that might have someone who knew her, or her father… or her mother. 

Keshi knew Runa’s entire family history, catalogued in detail in his mind—her parents’ alma maters—where they first met—who introduced them—the school her father taught at—the area he grew up in. He knew her family’s story better than he knew his own, and aside from the 13-year chapter where they moved out to the country, it was all there. 

Importantly, it was also the last place he knew for certain her father had been.

If a lead existed, Keshi thought, it would be found in Tokyo. For it wasn’t just Runa that had disappeared. It was the entire Matsuyoi family. 

One day there—and then gone. No note left behind. No call, no letter, no text… Just… 

Poof.

Everywhere he looked, though, there was nothing. No record of her father’s tenure. No one who’d taught her mother at university. No one in Komae who knew the Matsuyoi family or their small electronics shop. Komae wasn’t that big of an area. How could it be that not a single person he talked to knew them? 

All this swirled around in Keshi’s head—had he misremembered the details? 

It was true, Keshi’s memory when it came to other things had become less and less reliable over the years—moments becoming hazier—events reordered—names and faces jumbled. Things he once knew for certain had been reduced to a series of fluid probabilities.

The day Runa disappeared, however, was concrete—a solid, tangible, permanent object in the landscape of his mind. A monolith that marked the beginning of what would be the most painful time in his life. A long night he was still deep in the midst of, with no end in sight. 

It wasn’t just him though. The whole world seemed to go to hell when Runa left. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“Next visitor please!”

Keshi shuffled ahead as a calm, disembodied female voice beckoned the line forward. The D-4 checkpoint was attached to the east exit of Meguro Station, which was now the last stop on the Yamanote inner line—the former loop now cut off between it and Shimbashi.

All non-residents were required to pre-register and state the reason for their visit, which could be done seamlessly via the usual apps. 

The gate was divided into eight lanes. On the right were five IIC lanes (Implant IC)—their barrier flaps always open, allowing for a constant stream of passengers. These saw 80% of traffic.

Then there were two regular IC lanes for those without an Ichor to enter via a standard tap reader.

Those without an implant or pre-registration—as well as foreign tourists—were required to enter through the manual lane on the far left, which saw the least amount of foot traffic, but the longest wait times.

Keshi watched a cluster of yellow circles bob up and down in front of him. A small class of elementary school students on a field trip stood in loose formation, all in matching bright caps and backpacks. They squirmed impatiently as they waited for their teacher to finish speaking to the checkpoint officer, their reflective sashes bouncing the harsh, artificial light back into Keshi’s eyes.

“When are we gonna see it?”

“You could see it from the train.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Who cares, the Sky Tree’s taller. My sister said so.”

A couple behind him were speaking English and what sounded like Mandarin Chinese—the man, English, the woman, Chinese. She was speaking really fast—whether she was excited or angry, Keshi couldn’t tell. He recognized a few words—her boyfriend said “wow” a lot—and she’d say “right?!” back in a thick accent.

Keshi wondered why she bothered to say just one word in English.

There were a lot of international couples these days, but few of them actually spoke each other’s language. There was no need, when the Ichor could translate and simulate their voices in real time—even adding a fitting accent, if a native one felt uncanny. There were plenty of speech parameters. If you wanted to hear your partner’s voice unedited, you could always read subtitles.

When Keshi was little, his mom would send him next door to take English lessons at Runa’s. He always hated it. Runa would sit in as well, but only because her mom made her—so she hated it too. She always looked so bored sitting there, waiting for Keshi to answer what she already knew. 

It made him feel stupid. Like he was the only one in class.

Runa’s mom, Sophie, was American, and had studied in Japan as a college student. When she met Daisuke, Runa’s dad, she decided to stay. Runa’s dad had lived abroad when he was younger, and so they spoke a mix of Japanese and English at home—except when Keshi was over, when they’d switch to all Japanese.

Back then, Keshi never saw the point in taking English seriously. His phone had a good enough translator as it was. Then the Ichor came along and disrupted the entire education system. 

At the time, people were worried that high school graduates would take a couple years off, then apply for good schools once they’d gotten an Ichor, which couldn’t be accounted for in a testing environment. It wasn’t long before schools started banning anyone with an Ichor from taking the entrance exams altogether. Stupid, Keshi thought, since they allowed them once you got accepted. All that mattered was the prestige of getting in. After that, you were as smart as everyone else.

Years later, it was mostly 18 and 19-year-old university applicants getting caught trying to obtain illegal implants, which wouldn’t appear on their medical records.

The waves were still felt in K-12, however, with English taking the biggest hit. For once, the Ministry of Education was forward-thinking, and by the time Keshi graduated middle school, English had been phased out of the curriculum entirely, much to everyone’s relief. For decades, Japan had lagged behind when it came to English scoring, with many developing complexes over their lack of ability, despite taking classes for most of their upbringing. Removing it as a mandatory subject felt like a moment of collective catharsis. 

Not that any of that affected Keshi now. He had no plans of ever setting foot inside a classroom again.

Still, sometimes he wished he’d paid more attention at Runa’s.

“Does everyone have their sticker?”

“Yeeeeesss!”

“Before you go through the gate, peel off your sticker and stick it on your chest where everyone can see it. If you need help, ask your buddy.”

One by one, the bright yellow caps bounded across the threshold. Two kids in the back shouted “DING!” as they passed through, touching their heads and throwing their hands out—activating the gate with their imaginary Ichors.

“Next visitor please!”

Keshi approached the counter and presented his physical ID to the disinterested checkpoint officer—a middle-aged man with a round face and wireframe aviator eyeglasses. 

He didn’t bother looking at Keshi, his eyes twitching about as he performed his duties. Every few breaths, he’d expel a puff of air through his nostrils from the back of his throat.

As he scanned Keshi’s ID, it appeared on a large screen overhead. Seeing his own face blown up on the monitor, Keshi felt as though he were staring at a mugshot. He suddenly became hyper-aware of the envelope of cash resting inside his hoodie’s front pocket. Not illegal to carry on its own, but certainly suspicious. 

He didn’t want to know how Eiji managed to get ahold of it.

“Purpose of visit?”

“Family. Nisshin. Block E.”

The system chimed—a transparent turquoise rectangle flashed on screen, overlaying Keshi’s ID. A kiosk attached to the counter printed a matching fluorescent turquoise sticker that was stamped “04FEB2048.”

“Day pass expires 22:00.”

The officer handed Keshi back his ID, letting out a puff of air.

Keshi peeled off the sticker, which was stiff from the coil inlay, and pressed it firmly to his chest. 

The reader flashed green and the gate opened.

On the other side, Keshi found himself standing in a bustling open courtyard teeming with shops and food stands. A complex blend of coffee, asphalt, and hot oden slowly wafted into his nostrils.

There were zakka stalls selling locally made handicrafts, as well as thrift vendors, who had just tossed all their second-hand clothing stock into big piles on the ground. 

The party of schoolchildren from before was gathered in a circle nearby, as their teacher explained proper museum etiquette. Behind them, a large sign advertised the area’s signature “Shiozake” sake, under which was a standing bar, where a group of salarymen had already started drinking.

After reflexively checking that the envelope hadn’t fallen out of his hoodie, Keshi reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of A6 paper, which was filled border to border with barely legible handwriting.

D-4 MANUAL CHECKPOINT AT MEGURO STA.—7:30-9:30 HRS—REASON FOR VISIT: “FAMILY—NISSHIN BLOCK E”—FOLLOW MEGURO DORI AVE 700 M—LEFT AT FRENCH BAKERY……

A sudden chill seasoned the smells of the courtyard with a distinct saltiness, pricking Keshi’s sinuses.

It was true, the Heiiki Zone had its own air.