Tysone's senses trickled back slowly. Everything returned in painful fragments. His sense of smell came flooding back with a wave of nausea. Though that could have been contributed by the sharp throbbing on his head.

Something dribbled down the side of his face. Warm. Slick. Blood.

His hearing came next, a slow crescendo of muted sounds—his own ragged breathing, the distant hum of a generator, the chilling click of a gun's safety being disengaged.

The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, mixed with the musty smell of damp concrete and sweat. His body ached all over, every muscle protesting as he tried to move.

Tysone cracked his eyes open, squinting against the flickering, fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. The shadows moved—a man ghosted forward. A hand lifted, and the barrel of a gun rested on Tysone's forehead; it singed, no doubt from a previous shot. He hissed, glaring at Klein, that piece of shit.

"What is it with the younglings these days? The young ones used to know their place. They knew better than to meddle in our business, and you sure don't want to mess with the big boys. Yet here we are."

"Here we goddamn are." Tysone ground out as Klein dug the muzzle deeper into his head, biting into his skin. "Where's Malik? Where's my brother?"

Klein scowled but refused to answer. Tysone swore under his breath when another bang reverberated in the hallway. Footsteps. It wouldn't take long. Tysone had called the police before he sneaked in. As a distraction. As a back-up. After all, the system wanted its puppets to follow the proper jurisdiction channels instead of some self-serving revenge and bloodshed.

And it wasn't as if he didn't understand why, but was it right to look at the concept of justice through pragmatic lenses? Tysone had never murdered anyone before, so the reminder of his hands sinking a knife into someone's guts made his throat clench up and his stomach churn. It was as if he had touched death—maybe grazed it's fluttering cloak as it passed.

Stabbing someone wasn't quite like stabbing a piece of meat. Tysone could still vividly recall the way his knife penetrated the skin, piercing something tough. Flesh that yielded little as he applied pressure.

There was give after a while, giving way to a sickening gush of warmth as his hands pushed deeper. Everything happened so fast and slow.

"You're a murderer." Klein whispered, not really intending to be mocking, but merely stating some sort of fascinating truth.

Tysone blinked against the sickly lighting. He'd done that. He shed someone else's blood, and perhaps in that moment of killing Klein's subordinate, it'd felt like he was doing something great. Reclaiming Malik back by inflicting retribution to his enemies was empowering—Tysone would do it again.

Klein was right. He was a murderer, because as the seconds trickled on, a fierce anger burned in Tysone, one that could only be quelled if Klein dropped dead right then and there.

Tysone smiled a thin, wry smile—crimson leaking in between his teeth, anger coursing in his veins like gasoline waiting to be set on fire, because despite everything else—

Malik was still a prisoner.

"It's funny how it works. Revenge, I mean." Klein began, airily. There was something in his eyes as he stared at Tysone. Reminiscence. Maybe he reminded him of his younger days. "Nothing will change, fella. You kill me. We kill you. The end. No one here would learn anything. We'd die like a sorry shit stain on this shitty floor. And then someone else will die for you because they take it too personally. And the cycle goes on and on. Forever and ever until the cows come home. Do you see where I'm going here, boy? Sometimes, it's not worth it." 

Tysone dipped his gaze at Klein's dark, beady eyes.

Kill me and another dies in return.

Kill me and someone you care about dies.

Klein's unspoken words said everything.

"Malik's all I have left..." Tysone whispered, swallowing past his burning throat. The truth in his voice was raw.

"And you're all he got." Klein drawled on with a cackling laugh. "Too bad he ain't gonna make it. It's time to see you dead, at least. Maybe he might weep some crocodile tears after if he's able to. But I'm afraid it's too late for any touching reunion, fella. This ain't a fairytale, kid."

Tysone's eyes widened at Klein's words. There was no time to respond.

"But you know what?" Klein seemingly amended with a frown. "I think we can make you see him one last time. This too, could be part of the experiment." He smiled.

Tysone was urged up to his feet with a rough pull. He staggered, his arms uncomfortably tied tight against his back. He gritted his teeth. "Bastard..."

"You've got to learn to control that rage, kid. But of course, it's hard with your heart's strings pulling every direction possible. Poor little lamb lost in the darkness." Klein cackled—a rusty sound that sent goosebumps prickling along Tysone's skin. "I guess this is something one learns after experiencing countless hardships, or maybe it's innate. Who knows? But if this life teaches you anything, it's that every action has a consequence, and one can't help but wonder if things should have ended differently if someone wasn't greedy for power. If the system should have fixed itself. But alas, the cogs keep rolling and we merely follow suit. It doesn't matter who is at the wheel."

Tysone barely digested the last of Klein's words as he made him walk into the darkness of the warehouse. Each step triggered some sensors. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered to life with ominous stuttering, one by one, bathing everything in a sickly blue hue.

In hindsight, Tysone believed that it would have been much better if they stayed in darkness instead.

The light revealed horrors that even the dimmest imagination couldn't have conjured. Rows of suspension tanks lined every corner of the warehouse—each one of those was occupied with half-alive remnants of people. Flesh hung loosely from skeletal frames and pale skin.

Klein hummed thoughtfully. "Recognize anyone?"

Tysone was past the point of fear; rage fueled his every heartbeat. "You're a monster."

Klein shrugged. "I'm a businessman. Now, if you want to see your brother, he's in here somewhere. Though, you might not like what you find."

That being said, he roughly dragged Tysone through the labyrinth of pods. The liquid inside the containers bubbled, making him nearly jump. Klein merely chuckled at his reaction.

"What are you even doing to these people?" Tysone had to avert his gaze, though no matter where he looked, all he saw was the same. Dead people suspended in tanks, waiting to rot.

"You see, the human body is a fascinating thing, with a lot of untapped potential. We're trying to tap into it." Klein said, enthusiastically. "But, we're not quite there yet. So, the process doesn't have the best track record. Well… at least, until today."

Tysone's mouth went dry. He refused to acknowledge what that implication meant.

"You're killing people…"

He didn't say that out of righteous anger. It was a personal one, because anytime now, he could stumble upon his brother, suspended inside one of the pods.

"In a sense, yes." Klein smiled brightly. The fluorescent light bounced off his wizened face. "But, think of it this way. These people signed up for it. They willingly gave their lives to make the world a better place. Isn't that commendable?"

Tysone went silent for a few seconds.

"How much did you pay them?"

Malik would never willingly agree to something like this unless a large sum of money was involved.

A putrid stench made Tysone's nose wrinkle, but he soldiered on.

"Enough to live a good life… if they survive the process." Klein said, enigmatically.

"..."

Honestly, his life could be considered to be over, regardless of tonight's outcome. He'd either get a piece of lead in his skull for his efforts, or he'd be chucked into a car, having his rights read out to him.

'How did I even get into this mess? Damn it, Malik. What did you do?'

Tysone felt a stab of guilt.

Malik must have gotten mixed with the wrong people out of desperation, or shame. Their life was far from riches, he knew that. No warm food or blanket, but at least they had a roof over their heads. Tysone had to quit school to work, to provide a higher and better education for his brother. But in the end, it seemed that Malik would never get to enjoy those benefits.

He couldn't blame his brother, though. Tysone couldn't bring himself to hate the guy for choosing such a dangerous path to take. He was his brother, after all. He knew he was only trying to help, even if his choice was rushed and stupid. He was but a boy.

Klein abruptly halted. "Here." He pointed to the farthest end of the warehouse.

Tysone felt a gasp thich in his throat.

A surgical table stood alone under a bright lamp attached to the ceiling. There was someone lying on top of it, a vague silhouette, slumbering under a white sheet. He didn't question why he was separated from the rest, or why he wasn't kept in a containment pod. Tysone wasn't the type to suffer from such a lapse of rationale, but he had been on edge.

"Malik!" Tysone tried to rush in—he had to see with his own two eyes—he had to know.

And it seemed like Klein allowed him to.

—Until a searing pain made itself known in his right leg. The deafening sound of a gunshot echoed off the walls a split second after. Tysone looked down, finding fresh red blossoming from the inside of his thigh, slowly seeping into his jeans, dyeing it a dark maroon hue.

His face hit the floor as a scream tore through his throat.

"Seriously... you still have a lot to learn. Do not ever turn your back to your enemy, even more so an armed one." Klein heaved a dramatic sigh. There was disappointment lacing in the old man's voice. "I guess that's normal, all considered. You're young and reckless, in a highly volatile emotional state." Klein put the safety of the gun back on.

Everything turned into static.

The pain and rage muddling in his thoughts; Tysone heaved a grunt, his vision swimming, burning.

Klein walked past a writhing Tysone, ignoring his grunts of pain and curses. He adjusted the surgical table, moving it in a slightly vertical position. With a tug, the covers began to come off, sliding down halfway through Malik's form.

"Malik..."

Tysone forgot all about the pain. His eyes widened in denial.

Malik's skin was peeling off in chunks, revealing raw, discolored flesh underneath. His eyes were open but unseeing, clouded with the same milky film as those in the suspension tanks.

"Malik?" Tysone whispered, his voice cracking. A dry, hysterical sound crawled up his throat. Malik did not respond. His head lulled to the side; his brother stared at nothing.

Then the sheet fell off the rest of the figure.

Tysone let out a choked whimper at the sight. Malik, what they had left of him, had more limbs than what Tysone could remember. Attached to Malik's side were arms—but it didn't belong there. Three human arms sprouted from where his side ribs had been. Bones protruded out, flesh was stretched to the maximum as Malik's ribs struggled to cover the unsightly growth.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

"Your brother is the first success." Klein said proudly. "The first to come back... not entirely alive, but not entirely dead either. A breakthrough in our research. His body has taken the graft extremely well. And the specimen we have is on par with a legendary god, so, we're extremely close to the grand finale—"

Tysone struggled on the floor, propping himself on his elbows. "Undo it—whatever sick experiments you're doing. Bring him back!"

Klein chuckled, giving his forehead a tap. "Bring him back from the dead? You fool boy. That's impossible—only God can do that, but your brother... isn't entirely human, either."

Tysone forced himself to breathe. In. Out. A tear slid down the corner of his eyes as the realization that his brother was nothing but a carcass sank in.

This couldn't be what Malik bargained his life for. Tysone just couldn't accept that as the truth.

"Just face it. It's irreversible, boy."

Tysone shook his head wildly. "No… no... Fix. This. Turn him back."

"Your brother is not going to be the same when he wakes up... but he's alive, boy. Well... partially." Klein chuckled. "That in itself is a success!"

Tysone's heart beat too loud. There was a buzzing in his head. Tysone just didn't know how to react anymore. There was nothing to feel; all he got were empty echoes that grew louder and louder, in an everlasting crescendo.

With a rage-fueled roar, he crawled towards Klein, like some sort of mauled zombie driven off purely by hunger. With his arms tied behind his back, he had to contort himself like a worm. The pain didn't matter, his goal did. Klein backed off easily, eyes darkening with amusement.

He pressed his gun on Tysone's head. "Oooo—lookie what we've got here. Someone's being adventurous today!"

Tysone ignored Klein. He merely glowered at the gun and continued crawling, limbs trembling with exertion, but not once stopping. It was a stupid endeavor. He was on the brink of death, kept alive simply because the man in front of him willed it so.

But he had never known so much anger and bitterness in his life.

Even when everything had gone wrong.

"You bastard! I'll kill you! And even if I die, I'll still haunt you!"

Klein stood unfazed by Tysone's menacing stare as his lips twisted into a wicked smile. His gun was pointed at Tysone's forehead. The safety was removed, his finger started to bend, when it suddenly stopped. Klein's eyes crinkled in fascination. 

And Tysone—

—was so absorbed in his madness that he didn't even realize someone was there. Behind him.

The rustles of the sheet should have cued him in. Or the squeaks of someone struggling to support the weight of a new body part.

A soft voice whispered.

"Ty-Ty...?" It struggled to speak, as if the voice was dragged through torn flesh. "Bro...the...r..."

Tysone gingerly turned around, hope budding in his chest. The sight that greeted him crushed every bit of emotion, any bit of sanity left within him. Malik stood there—if what Tysone saw before him could even remotely resemble his brother, anymore.

Malik shuffled forward, swaying to each step, almost drunkenly.

Klein spoke excitedly. "Marvelous! He could recognize his brother, even in this state! An act entirely motivated by his familial affection. Spectacular." He moved to write something on his notepad as Tysone watched on, horrified. 

Klein noticed him staring. "Now, this might be an act of survival of the fittest as the species survives, even in the absence of cognitive ability..." He continued to muse as Malik moved in, drool dripping onto the concrete ground as Tysone still lay there, bleeding out.

"Malik?"

"Bro...the...r..."

Malik groaned. Tysone blinked, and—

His brother's teeth plunged into flesh. Blood spurted everywhere, drenching them both as Tysone froze. He was too shocked to even scream. 

Pain wracked throughout his body, burning like wildfire as a sharp, violent current.

'Malik...?' Tysone wiggled underneath him. 

His brother's jaw tightened with incredible strength, digging in deeper like a bulldog with its teeth lodged into his neck, not letting go.

Malik ripped through skin and sinews.

Blood, a crimson tide. 

The crimson spray soaked his brother's face. 

Tysone felt his stomach convulse as he could actually feel and hear himself bleed. The sinews barely held any integrity anymore. Malik had effectively separated half of his throat in a brutal bite, but he didn't stop there.

He was craving for more, like some sort of wild beast.

"Why…"

Tysone's vision was growing hazy. His heartbeat was weakening. His last fleeting thoughts were filled with grief, so much of it, it made him want to scream into the heavens for the injustice, for the bad hand life dealt him.

It was not his fault they didn't have money!

It was not his fault their parents abandoned them!

It was not his fault if their life was filled with struggles!

Tysone didn't mean to be cruel. He never wanted to hurt anyone.

As long as they had each other's back... it should have been fine, right?

Why did his brother have to suffer so badly?

Why did he have to die?!

It wasn't fucking fair! 

Tysone's arms wrapped around Malik's back. 

It really wasn't…

                                                                                             ═✦✧✦═

Tokonosu City, Japan. 

"The next stop is Tokonosu City. The doors will open on the left side."

"The next stop is Tokonosu City. The doors will open on the left side."

Tysone was jolted into consciousness amidst the chattering of some school students next to him. His heart thumped loudly as his fingers flew up to his neck. Not to mention... he almost puked right there, smelling something so overpoweringly pungent—he gritted his teeth at a phantom scent of blood clinging into his skin and clothes. His blood.

His hands were trembling, his vision swimming a little. It all clicked back in perfect harmony a minute later, when his breathing was more controlled. His stomach still churned, but he fanned away the nausea, sitting back to try and calm his raging heartbeat as sweat trickled down his temples.

He was… alive? 

Tysone checked his neck, where his brother had bitten into, or his leg where Klein had traitorously shot at. There were no wounds. Nothing out of place. He was as healthy as he could be. 

He turned around, looking at his faint reflection in the mirror. Same dark skin and chiseled features. 

Everything was so… weird and disconnected. It felt like a dream, or a simulation. Tysone chuckled darkly—he wouldn't put it past Klein to force him into a sick experiment like this. Maybe his brother would pop out of nowhere and start to massacre everyone. 

His eyes finally rolled to take in his surroundings. 

'Where am I?'

He was on a train, that much was obvious. He decided not to question how he got there for the moment; there was a whole lot to unpack with that question, and he didn't have the right mental faculties to entertain the idea. 

So, Tysone took a good look at his surroundings. People from a clear asian descent kept a neat and respectful distance from him. He looked up at the fancy anime posters and obvious Japanese writing emblazoned across them. "What the…"

He looked to the left. A Japanese man, dressed in a suit, looked up to meet his gaze, blinking uncertainty, before he returned his attention to his phone. He looked to his right. A gaggle of female students were huddled in their own corner, giggling and talking animatedly. 

For some reason, he had the vaguest impression that some of them were looking at him. Then again, being the only black guy in a train chock-full of Japanese men and women was bound to make him stick out like a sore thumb. 

Those students, though…

Their uniforms. 

There was an uncanny familiarity in that color palette. White and green.  'Where did I see it before…?' Tysone's head throbbed as he sifted through his memories, coming up short-handed of whatever answer he was looking for—because he had no fucking idea what he was looking for. 

Those skirts were damn short, though. 

'Tokonosu City?'

Another piece of the puzzle; it was a familiar name. A vague memory, something that he knew he'd heard before, but it didn't really stick with him, not unlike how someone might catch a whiff of something nostalgic, but couldn't quite pinpoint when they had exactly smelled it the first time round. 

The train stopped as the speaker hummed. Tysone heaved out a deep sigh. He decided to let it go. If Klein—-if the whole shit he encountered was even fucking real—had a hand in this, his current location might change in a heartbeat. There was no need to waste precious time dwelling on useless questions. Tysone could do that later, but that didn't really answer the nagging part of his thoughts that refused to quiet down.

Maybe he was placed on the wrong side of the train, seeing how unfamiliar everything was.

The doors opened with a hiss, and the chattering of Japanese started to grow even noisier; Tysone really had no choice but to walk out, lost. He let out a breath, then straightened his body. He wasn't going to panic and get worked out with everything that happened. There was obviously an ulterior motive to this, and if he wanted to find his brother, he had to think like a rational adult and not freak out.

Well, everything was fucking crazy.

So far, all signs point to no—that shit, in the end, was indeed a simulation. Perhaps Tysone would awake from whatever he signed up for by just surviving long enough to uncover a hint or two. Klein could be fucking with him, and the gunshot was only an elaborate illusion, though… it was extremely immersive, that the lingering pain around his leg had not completely faded. It throbbed slightly.

'Who am I kidding…?'

As soon as Tysone walked into the open, into the bustling, Japanese city, he couldn't quench the gut feeling that this might be real. He stopped in the middle of a road as pedestrians walked all around him. It was as if he was in a vacuum of his own that people avoided or were too distracted to actually care.

He slowly turned around, his head swiveling in bewilderment. The towering buildings. The roads. The sky. Everything was so much more vibrant and alive than he remembered. The sky was bluer; the buildings seemed more alive; everything just seemed to shine a little brighter. It was as if Tysone had woken up to a whole new dimension, one that was built on top of the previous one, but better. 

This wasn't like that shithole of a city he was living in before.

Even the passersby seemed to have clearer features, brighter eyes, and colorful hair. 

Walking, he sported a better reflection of himself on a window. Tysone bought a hand to his face, rubbing at the dark skin that seemed more radiant, more... refreshed. His hair was different, the style of the cut—the shade. His brows were more defined; his cheeks were sharper. It wasn't something he'd have noticed with a passing glance, but a deeper inspection revealed new details about his appearance that he knew wasn't there before. 

He extricated himself from his own image, in a daze. There must be something very fucking wrong—Tysone could chalk it all up to paranoia, or maybe, he was just on drugs, and he needed to wake up.

He quickly slapped himself, hard, enough that it would leave a welt. The pain—yes, it was real. Or it only hurt because the simulation somehow tapped into his mind's prefered interpretation of it.

'If I keep thinking I'm in a simulation, I'll go crazy. For all of Klein's madness, I don't think he has the infrastructure and power to make something like this… which leaves me back at fucking square one. Did I die? Was all that an illusion? Or are Klein, Malik and everyone else still there waiting for me...?'

No. 

Malik is as good as gone. 

That thing he saw wasn't his brother. 

Tysone gritted his teeth as he watched random pedestrians walk pass, oblivious of his plight. There was so much that he didn't know that a dark sense of resentment was festering at the back of his head. He tried to stomp down on it, but every minute that passed by fueled that dark ball of emotions deep inside the pits of his stomach.

He started walking in haste, perhaps too much. He felt someone bump into him and fall down with a squeaky yelp. That bright pink hair was distinct, even in this place. Now, under normal circumstances, slamming into someone so abruptly would have made him lose his balance, but Tysone was built like a brick wall, and the brief impact was like that of hitting an immovable object. 

He merely shifted his feet. 

The girl looked up at him. She had fierce eyes, that was for sure. 'And here goes again that striking familiarity.'

She opened her mouth, a cute, tiny fang peeking out of her lips. 

"気をつけて歩いて!"

Tysone frowned in confusion. "What?"

Whatever outraged expression the little twerp donned was wiped off when she realized he couldn't understand her. She cleared her throat, puffing up her chest. 

"I said… watch where you're going!"

Oh, she switched to English. Heavily-accented, but thankfully still understandable. 

Tysone donned a soft smile as he held a hand out to help her out. "I apologize. I wasn't paying attention." 

She glared at him. 

As much as he would have liked to roll his eyes at her poor attempt at intimidation, since it was his fault, it was only proper that he apologized. 

The girl took his hand and got to her feet with a graceful movement. She brushed herself off, her sharp, orange eyes sizing him up. "It's fine…" She replied with a sigh, though her voice carried a hint of irritation. "Just watch where you're going next time, okay?"

"..."

When she saw him not responding, she tilted her chin up, waving a hand in front of his eyes. A tiny fang poked out of her upper lip. "Heeey! Are you even listening?"

Tysone blinked. "Yeah…" She huffed, making to stalk off. He promptly stopped her. "This might be out of nowhere, but what's your name?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"You look oddly familiar. Like someone I used… to know." He explained, offering a tiny smile. He knew he could be quite intimidating due to his size, as such he always opted to speak in a softer, polite manner to people he didn't know to set the tone of his interactions.

Especially in a situation where the first impression ended with a bruised butt, and the last thing Tysone wanted was her thinking he was making a pass at her. She was tiny, and of dubious age. Tysone might have murdered someone, but even murderers had standards. 

That didn't really work here, as the girl continued to give him a dubious look, but she still complied after a pause. "Saya Takagi." She said, crossing her arms right beneath her bust. 

"Saya Takagi… Saya Takagi… Saya… Takagi, huh." Tysone mumbled, repeating her name, thumbing through a mental book of faces in search of someone that matched her image.

She averted her gaze with another huff. Her voice dropped a pitch. It was soft, almost as if it was supposed to be inaudible, but he managed to pick up on it somehow, over the ambient noises that were dying down to nothing the longer he focused.

"And... yours?" Saya looked him in the eye.

"Tysone." He said, absent-mindedly. She could see something akin to realization dawn on him. His eyes shone with a grim light. "Hmm. What's the best high school around? I'm new here, you see. And I have a younger brother who's a little older than you. I thought of enrolling him somewhere nearby and taking care of him since my parents ain't around to do so. You know anything good?"

Saya was surprised by the non-sequitur, and how quickly he diverted the flow of conversation, but the moment she realized it was her turn to talk, she nodded enthusiastically, probably glad that they were finally on a more familiar ground. "Fujimi High School!" She held a hand to her chest, smiling. "It's the best institution in Tokonosu, though the entrance bar is high. Of course, it's nothing for a genius like me." 

"Right?" Tysone nodded with what Saya could only interpret as a bewildered shake of his head. 

She was about to continue when Tysone walked past her—more like shambling, he looked like he was on autopilot. Absolutely lost. "H-Hey!" She shook a fist at his retreating back and gave chase. "That's rude!" 

Tysone hummed noncommittally. "And why is it rude?" 

Saya frowned, her twin tails bobbing up and down as she struggled to match his massive stride. "Because I'm talking to you, obviously!"

Tysone raised an eyebrow. He gave her an appraising glance. "That wasn't talking. That was you boasting." He said in a deadpan tone, offering a placating smile when Saya seethed.

"Bastard, you—"

"Don't you have more genius-like stuff to do, little Saya?" Tysone stopped, looking around at the passersby with clear unease. There was this feeling of disconnection again, like he was peering into a window at a distant world that was real, but also not real, because no matter how surreal everything might have been, he could smell things, he could feel things, and see things—it was real. It existed.

He was in a fucking anime, of all things. He could easily tell; this one was his brother's favorite. And the chattering twerp running after him was a distinguished character whose purpose was gratuitous fanservice. In fact, it was not a cure Saya bore alone.

Every female, either alive or dead, or undead, had inappropriate shots and camera angles. Tysone found it ridiculous, but he also understood the marketing strategy behind the idea of zombies, gore, and pretty, exposed females. 

"Maybe later." Saya said, her nose wrinkled. "Oi! Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "I don't like the feeling of being still. I need to be moving."

"Slow down, then! You stupid giant! Why are you so damn tall anyway?"

"Someone has to be the umbrella during rainy conversations." He said, dryly. 

Saya blinked, clearly not expecting that. She gave him a blank stare, which devolved into a gawking one with widened, orange eyes the size of saucers, mouth forming an 'o'. Tysone blinked back in confusion before a hiccuping snort, followed by loud laughter, erupted out of her cute little lips.

"I like you!" Saya snickered into her hands. "That was smartass for a newbie!" She complimented through another cackle. She started walking forward, joining at his side.

He accelerated his pace, and she miraculously kept up. Damn it. "No shit, I didn't just spend six fucking minutes trying to be smart."

Saya shot him a look before she smothered her bubbling laughter and calmed down, with a sigh that was meant to show Tysone he wasn't actually all that funny in the first place. "Hey, I don't even know what the hell you're saying, but slow down a little, or are all foreigners this damn hasty?! Wait... where are you even from?"

"America."

She choked. "What!?" She gasped. "So you're a yankee!" Saya gave him a once over and clapped twice in a mocking gesture. She exaggeratedly covered her eyes. "Yikes! That's lame!"

Tysone just sighed inwardly. What a brat. But she could still be helpful in the long run; in all honesty, Saya reminded him a bit of Malik. His younger, brattier Malik that acted like the biggest prick ever whenever a new anime came out that would consume all of his attention for weeks until Tysone slapped some sense into his thick head.

"I think... you've already established your bias at first glance. And, Saya, if I can guess correctly, you're on your way back home from school or whatever?" Tysone huffed. He turned at a random corner, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Shouldn't you be focusing your genius brain matter on more important genius stuff instead?"

Saya overtook Tysone and stopped right in front of him. "You're clearly lost; you don't even speak Japanese and you expect me, of all people, to let an amateur navigate himself all alone in Tokonosu?"

She started walking forward confidently like she knew exactly where to lead him, flipping one of her twin tails before turning her nose up. There was a sly, impish smirk on her fang-toothed mouth. 

"Now, I can take the time off my day to educate a poor, naive yankee, like yourself, or just ditch you right here. Well, it's my choice—actually, my choice should come first, right?"

Tysone considered telling her he'd be fine alone when he realized that he didn't have any money. He had rummaged around in his backpack and wallet three times; he did find some spare change, probably from a previous purchase? Regardless, his lack of financial stability would pose problems, major problems that he could see.

He was actually quite hungry, if the soft rumbling from his gut was any indication.

Saya must have heard his stomach, because she let out a tiny laugh, obviously mocking him for his mistake. "Teeheehee! Is the American hungry?"

He stared ahead, with his expression devoid of interest. "And do geniuses starve foreign strangers to death these days, huh?"

Saya immediately wiped off her laughter and threw Tysone a dirty look. Her mouth opened in that attempt at intimidation again as she clutched his arm and tugged him forward. "I know this is an elaborate American attempt at reverse-psychology, but that's so lame! Fine! Follow me, you American idiot!" Saya ordered with another tug, emphasizing the American part, for no apparent reason other than to get under his skin.

...

Saya ended up treating Tysone to corn potage. It was cheap, and Saya, for how obnoxious she seemed, was nice enough to use her allowance for his sake. Tysone ate silently while Saya sat there, watching him. They exchanged a few words throughout their meal, though it was mostly Saya asking questions Tysone didn't have an answer for. 

"It's slightly unnerving if you keep staring at me like that."

Saya snorted and turned away, crossing her arms underneath her modest chest. "It's because you have this lost-in-the-jungle expression."

Tysone let out a quiet breath. "That obvious, huh?"

"For a genius, like myself, everything is."

He nodded in agreeable silence while eating, all his mind could conjure up was how life brought him to sit in a cheap shop, eating something that he didn't even like, while having a sassy conversation with a supposedly underage anime character. She looked real—unrealistically pretty—but real. He decided that he should stop thinking about all this insanity or he might get a fucking headache.

"Oi." Saya brought Tysone out of his reverie. She was looking at him strangely, nibbling at a plastic spoon, tapping one finger on the desk, and wrinkling her brows in suspicion as her orange irises scrutinized him.

Tysone returned that inquisitive look of hers.

"What?"

"In all seriousness, what are you even doing here?" 

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Haah. You don't exactly strike me as the type who'd just stumble into Tokonosu for a vacation or work. Honestly, it feels more like someone yanked you out of your world and dropped you here as part of some twisted joke. If you were here for any other reason, you'd have a more coherent story."

Tysone wasn't the best liar, and in front of Saya, he'd rather keep a veil of mystery.

"I have my reasons."

She didn't prod any further; she merely closed her eyes.

"Though, for someone who claims to be a genius, you should exercise more caution. You didn't even know me and you followed me around like a lost puppy without thinking I might be up to no good. That itself is already an absurd move on your part, but if a shady guy instead of a good Samaritan approached you in a dark alley instead, you wouldn't be sitting here enjoying corn potage with me."

Saya bit the spoon still on her mouth. Tysone watched in fascination as the light caught at her tiny, pearly fang before it shifted away from her, bringing her orange eyes back into full clarity as she sighed.

"To be honest I've been having some problems myself. Maybe I just needed someone to air it all out with..."

That was surprising. Tysone silently wondered if it wasn't anime tropes to assume the cute female would be the damsel in distress; Saya came off like the type to keep an issue buried under pride. Then again, wasn't she younger than her canon counterpart? Perhaps Tysone had judged the anime counterpart a bit too negatively than the Saya sitting across from him right now deserved.

"Well, life wouldn't be the same without problems. It makes us who we are, what we seek. When you least expect it, one day you might actually find something of value hiding underneath that pile of suffering, if we choose to find it." Tysone said. He wished he could find something of value in his own suffering, but the only thing he found was heartache.

"That's surprisingly profound coming from someone like you..." Saya smiled cheekily, eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Is this the type of stuff you say to get girls wrapped around your finger?"

He leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Only if the girl is a genius who's too busy psychoanalyzing me to notice she's been wrapping herself up all along."

She laughed softly, kind of enjoying the back and forth. Takashi had the humor of a dad joke that missed the punchline—painfully predictable, yet somehow it still managed to get a groan out of you. 

Saya hummed as she dragged the spoon out of her mouth. "Do you have someone you like?"

Tysone didn't need to think hard about it, or at all. "No, I don't."

"Any ex-girlfriend?" Saya smirked impishly. Her fang-like teeth poked through.

"No, I don't. Now, any reason we are getting personal right here, right now, or were you genuinely curious?"

"Just asking..." Saya paused. "Why are men such blockheads? I've got this guy I like, but he doesn't catch on. No matter how blatantly obvious I hint at him that I'm available; he just keeps acting like an idiot!" Saya snorted. Then she lowered her tone.

Tysone genuinely regretted allowing her ground to continue talking, but it was already too late. Besides, she offered him food, and was a familiar face in this bizarre world. "Maybe he's intimidated. Women can come off pretty scary at times." Tysone smiled and raised his hands. "But what the hell do I know?"

"Hmm. Nah, no way. Men are just stupid. Why try at all if the first reaction I get is not even positive? I swear I tried my best to get his attention, but I don't think it's working... I might just drop him like a bad egg, and search for more promising boys instead..."

He knew he shouldn't care, but seeing as this conversation would go nowhere, he might as well help steer it to a productive point that could prove fruitful. The relationship was bound to crash and burn with her character, but he might as well be supportive for someone who had no idea on how the fuck all this anime crap works, to begin with.

"Do you actually like this guy, Saya?" Tysone inquired gently.

"Well, duh. He's my childhood friend."

"I think…  it's fine to let things go if he doesn't genuinely reciprocate your feelings. Maybe it's your character—you don't seem like someone to just dive headfirst into a crush, though, you also shouldn't chase anyone that obviously ignores you, too, either. Take a breather and figure things out instead of trying so hard."

Saya tilted her head in consideration as if this thought was completely alien to her. "Huh?"

"Loathe as I am to admit it." Tysone rested his chin on a hand, behelding Saya with a calm and patient gaze. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, and it's not that bad to look at either. Perhaps you could tone down that brash and arrogant attitude, though I reckon a lot of guys could be into that."

Saya colored, her ears dusting red. She quickly pouted and turned away. "Th-Thanks?"

"Hm." Tysone just shrugged. "And if anything, instead of looking for men and relationships, focus your genius energy on things that truly matter." He left it at that as the young girl returned to her food, stealing hesitant glances at him occasionally, lost in thought.

"I see..."

She said, absent-mindedly.

Tysone finished eating and stood up. "Alright. Thanks for the food. But I've gotta go now. Don't mind me too much. And... maybe I'll see you around later?" Saya seemed trustworthy enough, and Tysone needed a person to turn to in this… anime city. Whatever it was.

After all, he knew that it wasn't going to stay peaceful for much longer. A couple of years, perhaps. Saya was still in middle school, apparently, and it wouldn't be until she joined Fujimi High that the cogs of the story would begin to turn.

Regardless of his reason for being there, Tysone still had to prepare.

"Wait!"

Saya called out, standing up.

He frowned, turning to look back at her. He really hoped she wasn't going to arm-strong him into another pointless conversation about her love life.

Thankfully, she didn't.

"You... you don't know Japanese. Hah... how can you go around without even knowing the basics? How will you communicate? Do you think that everyone here is amazing as I am and knows the English language? We don't, idiot!" Saya's orange eyes glimmered as she gestured at herself, puffing out her chest with another self-confident look. "Thankfully, you found me today!"

"..."

"And since you proved to be a good conversation partner—at least better than Takashi—I'll sacrifice some of my time to tutor you, free of charge. Hm, hm. What do you think?" She threw him a smug look. 

As much as Tysone wanted to turn down her offer, it was too good to pass on. 

Besides, establishing a connection with someone like her could only be beneficial down the road. 

'Lucky me...'

"That's... considerate." Tysone forced on a smile. "I would appreciate that, Saya."

"Hm-hm!" Saya's smug smile grew even further as she put her hands on her hips, nose in the air, and eyes closed. "Make sure you know just who exactly you're talking to~"

Tysone opted to keep quiet at that. It seemed to satisfy the young, eccentric girl, because after she smiled triumphantly to herself, she began making her way out of the fast-food corner they settled in and gestured at him to follow.