Akira Route - Act 3-5 - Qualifications

The smell of exhaust and the sound of a bustling crowd are my welcoming party as I step off the bus and onto the sidewalk, already wishing I'd dressed a little lighter for my upcoming interview. Thankfully there’s a crowd of people on business disembarking with me, so I don’t stick out in my black suit.

I reach into my pocket and shuffle around, pulling out a sheet of notebook paper with some directions written on it. It’s not very professional, but it works, and that’s what matters.

The lab is six blocks from here, and there’s nothing but dense crowd between me and the door to what may be a new career for me. I guess this is how I’ll be getting my exercise for today, and possibly for the next couple of months if everything goes well.

I wasn’t expecting to get the call so soon, considering that I only contacted them the day before. It doesn’t seem like it’s very difficult to get an interview; all I had to do was give them my name, explain what I was calling about, and when I’d next be available. I suppose Mutou was right about them being understaffed, at any rate.

Maybe Mutou sent in his recommendation as quickly as possible, and he painted me in such an impressive light that they had to have me right then and there. It’s been a few days since our talk, so it’s possible that he could have rushed it in.

But still, to get the call right after classes? I had only just stepped into the courtyard when my phone started vibrating. At first my heart jumped at the prospect of Akira calling, but then I realized that it would be around six in the morning over there.

It was a number I had never seen in my life before, so there was really only one possibility.

“Is this Hisao Nakai?” a man on the other end asked. The voice didn’t seem to have any memorable characteristics; it was like something you’d hear on the intercom at a grocery store.

“This is him.” I answered.

“My name is Tetsuo Shuugetsu, head of employee relations at Medivac Corporation. When will you be open for interview?”

At first I wondered why someone so high up would be calling me. Does the guy in charge handle all hiring across the company, or were all of the lower-tiered managers having a day off?

“Right now?” I returned.

“Love the enthusiasm! Today's not a good time for us, though. How about tomorrow?” he had commented, showing a bit of his own dry excitement.

“I can come in after class tomorrow, sir.” I replied.

“That should be around three, right? Works for me! I’ll be looking forward to it.”

And then he hung up without naming a specific time and before I could ask him for directions. I had to go to the library and find a detailed map. I also had hopes that I could squeeze in another conversation with Hanako, but she had already went home for the day.

But still, no specified time? Is he just going to be sitting in his office for the next six hours, ready whenever I am? I don't think that's how things normally work.

Does he just enjoy his job? He seemed rather upbeat about the whole thing. Do they see so little commerce that even the prospect of a new recruit is enough to be excited about? Either way, it doesn't seem that I'll be wasting anyone's time by taking advantage of the opportunity.

Speaking of which, just how much pomp and circumstance is there around someone applying to be a janitor? Should I be wearing a suit? Apparently the rule is to dress one level above the uniform there – what’s a tier above a maintenance jumpsuit? A shirt and tie?

I guess it’s better to be over-prepared. Hopefully this Shuugetsu guy will be telling me everything I’ll want to know; provided I get the position, anyway.

Already covered in sweat, I approach at the front door to the building. Before me stands a white, rough brick wall spanning at least five stories, with three windows on each floor facing out to the road. It has a rather modern feel to it despite a sign beside the door indicating that its been standing since the seventies.

All it takes is a light tug for the door to open, revealing what could only be described as a miniscule reception area.

There’s a single desk beside a clock-in station and a sign dictating that the organization has gone over three years without an accident. The floor is plain colorless tile, the ceiling is composed of generic dime-a-dozen beige panels, and the walls are a blank, sterile white with the exception of a few informative posters and bulletin boards.

Across the lobby from the entrance is an air-tight door with a biohazard sign displayed in bright yellow on its surface. A window beside it allows the occupants of the ’lobby’ a peek in, revealing a couple of men in white lab coats congregating around a lab table littered with hundreds of petri dishes.

It's quite clear that they don't get much prospective business – no one 'ends up' here, only people with a purpose come in through that door.

Before I can make any more observations, a stocky man at the front desk calls me over.

“Can I help you? Yer' just kinda standin’ there.” he states, glancing between me and a stack of forms on his workstation.

"I’m Hisao Nakai. I'm here about an interview for a maintenance position.” I reply.

It feels strange saying something like that. I’ve been beating around the bush on deciding what I want to do with my life for so long that the words sound foreign coming out of my mouth.

“Ahh, I getcha. Shuugetsu’s upstairs in ol’ Kenji’s office. Third floor, he’ll probably be waitin’ for ya.”

Ol’… Kenji.

No. There’s no connection there. I’m just being paranoid. All of his paranoia is rubbing off on me.

I bow my head and thank him before heading off to the stairwell, heaving a sigh of relief as I notice a wall panel for an elevator. It’s my first day, though, and they might use these elevators for more than just moving people, so I tough it out and brave the numerous flights of stairs.

Thanks to a month of having to brave the stairs up to class and back, I’ve got some strategy worked out -- things like taking my time up one step at a time or stopping at each landing to take a tiny break. It probably looks pitiful to anyone watching, but looking like a wimp is preferable to having an episode before my first day of work has even started.

There’s no directory or anything indicating where I am other than ‘floor __’ above the elevator, so context clues are all I have to go by when it comes to figuring out what goes on here. I’m no biologist, but it’s easy enough to distinguish the rooms from one another.

As much as I’d love to get onto the important part; I can’t help but stop and take a peek around on each floor.

The first story looked like some kind of open-air experiment lab. There wasn’t much in the way of safety gear other than lab coats and safety goggles, so it’s easy to assume that they don’t work with anything that threatens the existence of the human race.

Floor two seems like a mix between a break room and a work space. There was a lounge with a TV running, albeit no one was present. Other than that, there were numerous offices, all with different nameplates. From a glance, one could tell that some offices were for paperwork, while others were for more ‘in-depth’ research, as indicated by the giant, expensive-looking microscopes.

Speaking of which, there seems to be a lot of intricate or elaborate tools being used here. Is it up to the scientists to maintain these things, or am I going to need to know how to disassemble and clean each part of a machine? It should be fun to learn about, at least.

It is now that I make the final step to the third floor, which looks to be more like a general-use lab -- black-surface lab tables are spaced across the ground, and counters filled to the bursting point with glassware and other scientific tools line the walls and corners.

There’s over a dozen men working around a variety of stations; carrying samples back and forth or mixing various components together in small flasks. Some are just standing around and making small talk, waiting for what looks like a centrifuge to finish cycling.

To the side is a hallway lined with two doors. The first is very clearly labeled ‘Maintenance storage’ as indicated by a brass plate which is, for some reason, duct taped to the door. The other door leads to a spacious office highlighted by a sign reading “K. Setou.”

Kenji Setou.

Please let it be a coincidence. There is no way the guy living across from me leads some kind of separate life where he’s the manager of a biological research lab.

...But what if he was? What if Kenji is some kind of child savant? He never goes to classes, and yet he makes relatively good grades. His theories are ridiculous at best, but they’re still well constructed; there’s logic behind them, somehow.

Inside, however, there’s no mad science experiments or strategic planning against feminist oppression. It’s actually a normal office, in relative terms.

A single desk topped with a mess of papers and miscellaneous pens alongside a computer. Shoulder-height filing cabinets line every wall of the office, with the space above covered with posters of things like safety procedures and guidelines.

The only thing that really sticks out is a plastic figure of a guy with spiky black hair in an orange training suit sitting on the corner of the desk, next to a picture frame.

Sitting in a rolling chair behind the desk is a man with combed-back black hair, tapping away on a cell phone with his feet propped up on the desk as if to show off his shiny black dress shoes. His entire form is clad in a black business suit mixed with a white work shirt, a silver tie hanging from his collar.

At first glance, there's nothing remarkable about him, but that might be because there's no noticeable flaws. He has everything in order – from the length of his tie to the amount of polish on his shoes.

I rap my knuckles against the doorway a few times to get his attention. It seems to work well enough, as shown by his glancing up and asking “Hisao Necktie?”

“Nakai.” I reply.

“Nakai… Ah, alright. My handwriting here is terrible, heh.” he says, laughing off the mistake. “My name is Tetsuo Shuugetsu. We talked over the phone yesterday, right?”

Wait, wait, wait. Why is this Shuugetsu guy in K. Setou’s office? Was I right about all of the other managers taking a day off?

“About the job interview, yes. It’s nice to meet you.” I answer.

I bow my head in respect as he gestures for me to take a seat. Instead of continuing onto business, however, he looks me up and down a few times.

“Did you buy that suit at Lyra’s?” he asks with a hint of surprise.

Lyra…?

“Oh, yeah, the suit store a couple of blocks away?”

“Yes, exactly! You’ve got good taste. We’re going to get along real well, I can already feel it.” he replies, chuckling to himself.

Mr. Shuugetsu shuffles some papers around and tries to organize everything as I take a seat, doing my best to sit up straight as he focuses all his attention on me.

“So, I guess I’ll go ahead and start by telling you what I’m doing here. Normally these interviews would be done by the senior maintenance technician, but we’re doing things a little differently now, which is why we’ve commandeered his office.” he begins, laughing at his own joke. “As I mentioned over the phone, I’m the head of employee relations. And, well, simply put; I’d like to get a better handle on who I’ve got on the floor here.”

“And more importantly, on the payroll.” he adds, this time only giving himself a short chuckle.

I can’t help but get the impression that he watches too much comedy. There's just something off about all of his jokes; I'm sure he'd seem charming to others, but I can't shake the thought that he's trying too hard.

“So you’d rather meet all of your employees face to face, instead of hearing about them through performance reports?”

“Precisely! A fast learner, too. I like that.” He comments. “Alright, so, let’s get some clerical stuff sorted out first. The only physical application I have from you is a couple of sticky notes.”

Now that he mentions it, there’s a couple of yellow post-it notes hanging from the computer monitor on the desk. The handwriting is crude and rushed, although I still can’t see how he mixed up ‘Nakai’ and ‘Necktie.’

“Could you just fill these out real quick? Won’t take any time at all.” He states before pushing a few sheets of paper and a pen in my direction.

I figured there was something off about all this. They're definitely desperate for workers; even a grocery store wouldn't have called for me without an application on file.

I uncap the pen and begin filling out the information on auto-pilot. Name, date of birth, residential status, phone number…

Academic background?

No point in trying to lie about it. I’m sure they can do background checks anyway. No doubt someone will see me walking around in my uniform someday as well.

I write in ‘Yamaku Academy’ before adding on the names of all my previous schools, from the high school I started at all the way through pre-school. There’s a few lines left, presumably for someone with more experience.

From there it’s a summary of my qualifications. In my case, however, it’s a lack thereof, and I’m left trying to write in a few lines about my abilities as a general worker -- I could throw around generic things like ‘good time management’ and ‘efficient with a computer’ and it would be better than nothing at all.

As I fill in all of the necessary information, Shuugetsu taps away on his phone with both thumbs, giving a dissatisfied grumble as each reply rolls in. He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to me, although I can’t see why he’d need to since it'd be pretty hard to cheat on something like this.

I flip over to the second page to be welcomed to more of the same: fields I can’t fill out. I have no work history at all, so I’m forced to leave half of the page blank before getting to a couple of lines titled ‘interests and relevant activities.’

Well, I’m interested in science. That’s about all I have that could be relevant to the job, unless I want to lie and toss in something like ‘floor sweeping is my favorite pastime.’

The only other blank left is ‘references.’

Could I use Mutou as my reference? Is Mutou my reference? He said he put in a good note with me, which could be why I’m getting this option in the first place. I write in the name just in case, although I’m quick to be shamed by the fact that I don’t know his first name, or his phone number.

There’s one other person I know in the professional world, but I’m not entirely sure she’d be a credible reference. I write ‘Akira Satou’ into the blank before starting to write down her cell number, but part of me decides that it’s all a bad idea and crosses the whole thing out a few times.

It’s probably for the best. She’s been a good friend so far, so I’m sure she’d wind up exaggerating and painting me as some kind of management genius.

I glance over the form from top to bottom a few times before capping the pen and pushing back to his end of the desk, my face flushed with embarrassment as I relent over how little reason he has to hire me.

He finishes tapping away another message before grabbing the two sheets of paper and reading them down, asking questions as he goes along.

“Yamaku Academy?” he starts, looking up at me.

Of course he’s going to ask about that first. Everyone around here knows about that place.

“Yes, sir.” I answer, unable to think of anything preemptive to add.

“That’s very interesting. I hate to bring up questions like this, but I'm obligated as your potential employer to ask, so, uh…”

“I have a condition, yes. It’s a type of arrhythmia.” I answer before he can even utter the dreaded words ‘what’s your problem?’

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at my reply. “Arrhythmia? Irregular heartbeat is an awfully difficult thing to be living with.”

Muddled up electronic signals that kick the equilibrium of my heart out the window. He got the irregular heartbeat part right though, so I can't add much without throwing needless jargon around.

“I think I can agree with that.” I answer. The next few words take some effort to squeeze out of my mouth, since I'm shooting down my chances of my own free will. “I won't be able to do anything that requires me to sprint anywhere, but I think I'm pretty efficient when I work at my own pace.”

I expect him to tell me to leave right then and there, but it seems like he only gets more interested from my reply.

“Really? And you can work through that? That's amazing! I won't pry into your personal affairs, all I'm concerned about is whether you can make it through the day.” The man across from me returns, beaming an impressed smile.

...Okay, that's different. Did not see that coming at all.

“And you're close to graduating from high school, right?” He asks while writing a few things into the margin of my application paper.

“Yeah, I'm in my last year.”

“It'll be over before you know it, don't worry.” He comments with a grin. “College is where the fun begins, trust me on that one.”

So I’ve heard.

“I can see that you left the qualifications space blank. No formal training or anything?” He continues.

“Nothing in particular, no.” I reply with a bit of shame, having to keep control of my facial expressions to stop a grimace from emerging.

Once again, however, my expectations are overloaded when he asks “do you know anything about lab safety? Disposal of chemicals, what you are and aren't allowed to pour down the sink, how to neutralize acids and bases, stuff like that?”

Of course I do. That's the first thing we learn about. You're not allowed to participate in any hands-on stuff until you pass that mundane lab safety quiz at the beginning of each year. Of course, the test from my old school didn’t carry over; so I had to stay after class some time during the first week to get it done here.

“We’ve covered most of that in school, yeah.” I answer.

With a snap of his finger, he returns my comment with “boom, you’re qualified,” before scribbling away some more things on the application paper.

“Wait, what? That’s it? Aren’t there hundreds of rules about these things? What about all the regulations with living specimens and such?” I ask.

“Oh, don’t worry, little buddy; there are plenty of rules and regulations. Chemical storage, specimen disposal, emergency codes, all that good stuff. You’re a quick learner though, so I’m not going to let myself worry about it.” He replies, relaxing in the chair as if some kind of weight were lifted off his shoulders.

“A man dropped off a letter yesterday as well, Mutou, I think his name was? He had a lot of good things to say about you. I don't know him personally, but I've heard that he and one of our research affiliates, Mr. Solus, go back a ways, so he's credible. I can see that you’ve got this Mutou fellow in your references as well.” He adds on, as if trying to pile up the things supporting me.

From there, he no doubt tries to focus on the other reference I had added before crossing it out, squinting his eyes as he attempts to read the scribbled out mark.

Despite that, he’s talking like I already have the job. I understand that I should be happy about such a thing, but after walking around in here, I can’t help but wonder what I'm in for. There’s two floors I haven’t even seen yet, as well as a manager who may very well be the father of the most insane person I’ve ever known.

And that doesn’t even cover the interview. Why does it feel like we’re already finished? I thought job interviews were supposed to be long, grueling processes that test the mental integrity of the prospective worker. I haven’t heard a single uncomfortable question as of yet, other than the one concerning my heart condition.

“I’ll try not to let you down” are the only words I’m able to muster.

“Good, that’s what I love to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be taken, by any chance?” He answers with a straight face, as if it were a normal thing to ask.

“What?!” I ask, veering back in my chair.

At this, he bursts into full-blown laughter, gripping his sides as his bellowing giggles echo throughout the office.

“Sorry, just messing with you. Hope you weren’t getting your hopes up.” He adds on with some sort of faux wink, which only causes him to chuckle once again.

My mouth opens, but no words come out. The sense of humor seems familiar in the most uncanny of ways, but the delivery is different. He gets too much amusement out of his own jokes, even the small ones. It doesn’t help that the edge is dulled by his spiritless voice.

That’s the strangest thing about him. Everything seems… stale. I’m not sure if that’s the best word to describe it, but I get the feeling that he’s been through this routine hundreds of times. It’s just a rehearsed act by this point, there’s no feeling to it.

It’s not at all like Akira’s sense of humor. She doesn’t take so much pleasure in her own jokes; it’s like she gets more enjoyment out of hearing the responses to her jabs and smart-aleck comments. Laughter to meet laughter, not laughter to create laughter.

I’m definitely thinking about this too hard. They’re two unrelated people; everyone has different tastes in comedy.

“Anyway, you’re the only person I’ve interviewed for this position so far. I’ll need to run these notes by Mr. Setou to make sure he's on board, but I'm fairly certain we'll be seeing you again.” He comments, straightening out a stack of papers.

“Ah, thank you. Will there be any sort of orientation?” I ask.

“Nope, Spartan training for you.” Shuugetsu replies with a devilish grin.

I attempt to chuckle at his answer, although I'm only able to offer an awkward cough.

“Yeah, you’re probably going to be scheduled for Friday around four or five so you can meet everyone and get a feel for the place.” He begins, sounding rather upbeat despite his failed attempt at making a joke.

“Maintenance runs from five in the afternoon to ten in the evening for reasons you’ll learn about later. That kind of a schedule won't be interfering with your studies, correct?” he asks, laying the notes aside and concentrating on me.

“It shouldn't, no.” I answer.

Getting back to the dorm at eleven every night might mess with my head after a while, but I'm sure I can manage. I'll get used to it, right?

“Good man. Well, that's about all I have to say. Mr. Setou will be able to fill you in on all the specifics and details when you come in for orientation. I'd be there as well, but I've got other business that day. Any more questions?”

...What's the pay rate here?

******************

Clicking the button atop the plastic slab in my hand causes the screen to light up, indicating that it's already nine in the evening.

The sign nearby also highlights that the next bus into town left less than a minute ago, so I’m stuck here for the next half-hour. Maybe more, depending on how slow they’re running today.

At first, I open the texting menu on my screen and start to type up a greeting to the only girl in my phone that isn’t my mother. On impulse, however, I decide to call the number rather than send plain text messages. Maybe the wait will go by quicker if I'm having a conversation in real time rather than waiting for replies to appear every few minutes.

The ringing tone makes me question my decision rather quickly as I begin to imagine the possibility of somehow interrupting a meeting with her parents, or waking her up from a nap, or…

Cell phones mess with hospital equipment right? What are the chances that she’s visiting her aunt right now, and I somehow just interfered with someth-

“What’s up?” A familiar voice on the other end greets.

Okay, she’s answering, and she doesn’t sound the least bit angry or tired. I need to get rid of all this unwarranted paranoia.

“Hey. How’s Scotland?” I reply.

It already sounds like she's outside – you can hear the breeze on the other end.

“It’s fun so far. Lilly and I have been out touring the city most of the time. Inverness is a pretty great place.” She responds in a contented tone.

Well at least she’s enjoying herself so far. There’s some kind of ambient noise in the background too -- maybe seagulls?

“That’s good. How’s your aunt?” I ask.

It’s nice to hear her voice again. Text messaging may be more convenient, but it’s not as satisfying as an actual phone call. I’m not feeling particularly shy about talking this way either, since the bus stop is vacant except for me and the occasional passerby.

“She’s… stable. I was only able to see her for a bit before the doctors started running more tests.”

Stable. That just means she's not at risk of dying anymore, she still has to make a recovery. I’ve spent enough time in a hospital to know that much.

“I’ve been visiting everyone else too. Mother hasn’t changed too much, and my father is still… well, no point talking about that now.” She continues on, laughing off the thought.

Those noises in the background keep getting to me. Those are definitely seagulls, and now I think I hear the tides too.

“At least you’re enjoying yourself. What have you been up to? It sounds like you're at the beach.”

“Bingo.” Akira replies. “Finally found time to make it out here, heh. Lilly’s here too.”

I hear a faint ‘hello’ in the background, no doubt coming from the younger Satou sister. I’m tempted to reply with a cheesy ‘tell Lilly I said hi’ comment, but my mind is currently occupied by more pressing matters.

“Did you make a decision?” I ask.

If this were a text message, I could send something cheeky like ‘so, you went with the bikini, right?’ But this is a conversation in real-time, so I have to have a bit more tact. It doesn’t help that it’s her in particular I’m talking to.

“A decision? About what?” She responds.

“Remember a few days ago when you asked about needing a new swimsuit?” I reply.

An amused laugh rings out from the other end of the phone before Akira answers with “it’s a private beach, so I decided to go with a two-piece. And yeah, it’s checkered, you little perv.”

A checkered bikini?! Mother of g-

Wait, no, that’s not what I should be questioning.

A private beach?! Mother of god, just how wealthy is her family?

“Glad you took my suggestion.” I comment, trying to chuckle away the blood rushing to my head. “It must be nice having a private beach.”

“Yep, it’s pretty great, actually. I hate to admit it, but I’m liking things here a whole lot more than I’m comfortable with. How about over there? The city hasn’t exploded while we’ve been gone, right?”

“Nah, it’s still standing. I’m actually there right now; just finished a job interview.”

“Moving up in the world, are you? Just be careful with what you choose to do; hold onto your education, even when life tries to knock it out of you.” She replies.

“I hear you. I’m just trying to figure out how far I can go.” I say.

That sounds so deep, in a way.

“Everyone’s gotta do some soul searching every once in a while; I’m not gonna criticize you for that. More importantly, what kind of a job are you going for?” Akira counters, sounding enthusiastic.

As much as I’d love to answer with something cool or interesting, all I can offer is “maintenance worker for a biology lab in the city.”.

“Ooh, sounds like fun. You been hired yet, or are they still getting all the paperwork sorted out?”

“Still in the works, yeah. I think I’m gonna be the one they choose though.”

Mostly because I think I’m the only one they interviewed. Shuugetsu seemed awfully happy to be hiring someone with no experience whatsoever, too. Are they really desperate for a cleaning guy?

“Aww, dang. I was looking for a coffee boy, too.” Akira answers with a snicker.

There was just the tiniest bit of wistfulness to it, though. Like it’s something she actually wants.

“Yeah, that’s every guy’s dream job. Running a pot of coffee back and forth for his female boss.” I jab back.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have had any objections starting out like that. Coffee makes connections.” She retorts.

“I’ll consider it. There’d better be some amazing benefits included, though.” I respond.

“Retirement, sick leave, paid vacation, and weekly massages. We’d have you covered.” Akira replies with a light chuckle. “Well, the first three are guaranteed anyway. Company-mandated back massages are the first thing I’d do as CEO. Screw the profit margins.” she muses.

I know it’s supposed to be a joke, but I am rather curious as to just how much good a day at the spa would do for Akira. Maybe something like a twenty-four hour pass would make a great gift for her birthday, whenever that i-

ACK.

They come back in a few days, right?! Should I get something as a welcome back present?

What would Akira even want? And on that note, what would I get Lilly if I decided to go through with it? Would it be wrong if I got Akira something, but not Lilly? She is my classmate after all.

“Very tempting;” I comment as the thought dances through my mind. “I think I’ll stick to what I’ve got now, though. It bridges into the future I think I’d like to pursue, so I’m getting more out of it than just a paycheck.”

“Fair enough. I’m sure I can find someone else to run around with a pot of coffee all day. I’ll bet we could hire a chimp to do it.” She replies with an off-handed giggle. “No offense, by the way.”

“None taken.” I counter, with a chuckle. ”So, what else have you got planned while you’re there?”

“Well, as much as I’d love to sit here on the beach and work on the tan I haven’t had in years; I do have business to tend to, though. I actually have an interview of my own to take care of, concerning an offering from my father. And then there’s the uh… family collection I need to spend some time with.” She answers, trying to dance around the matter as she mentions the last idea.

“Family collection? What is it? A bunch of records and photo albums?”

It seems like something a wealthy or affluent family would have. After spending so much time away from her parents, I’m sure she’d want to go over a few pictures, maybe try reminiscing with the family she hasn’t seen in a while.

She pauses for a few moments before responding with “they have a pretty big cellar here. Cellars are really good for storing wine. Do you know what I’m getting at?”

Oh. I’m overthinking it again.

“Got a soft spot for wine, then?” I ask, unable to keep from laughing.

“Lilly, Manzai comedy acts, and wine are my three loves in this world. I love my mother to death as well, but saying ‘my four loves’ feels weird.” Akira responds with a hint of guilt.

I can see Lilly being included in that list. I’ve never seen them together, but I can imagine them being closer than any other siblings I’ve met. Manzai acts are something foreign to me though; isn’t that some kind of comedy with married couples?

And wine is her third love. If she was born to a wealthy family, then I can see that trickling down from her relatives. There’s just something about class and wine that goes hand-in-hand, for some reason.

“Well don’t get too carried away. I don’t want to hear any stories about you drinking too much and picking a fight with the butler.” I respond, chuckling. “As amusing as I’m sure they’d be.”

She laughs along with me before countering with “hey, Mr. MacLeod has had it coming since day one.”

Mr. MacLeod? I don’t even want to know.

Not that I have time to worry about any qualms she may have with the manservant. A crowd has begun to gather around the bus stop, indicating that the next shuttle is bound to arrive soon.

“But you don’t have to worry about me getting drunk. Wine is special; I try not to get carried away when it’s involved. Not saying it never happens, though.” She adds.

It would seem that it’s almost time for work to end at the biology lab as well, as I can recognize a few of the men that were previously wearing sterile white lab coats now grouped together as they walk by.

Shuugetsu is with them as well, although he’s more focused on his cell phone rather than the conversation at hand, thumbing away at its keys with what could almost be considered ferocity.

“I believe you. I might have to let you go soon, since the bus is almost here.” I reply, unable to shift my focus from the man across the street.

After punching a few numbers into the keypad, he raises the phone up to his ear, his foot tapping against the ground impatiently.

“Alright, take it easy, Hisao. Perfect timing too, heh, someone’s on the other line.” Akira returns.

At that, the sound of a beep indicates the end of the phone call.

She’s having fun over in Scotland, at least, so that’s good. The mental imagery surrounding a beach trip is still lingering in my head, but right now my brain is occupied by something a little more perplexing.

Shuugetsu makes a call, and Akira has to hang up and take a call a few moments after he does so. Normally I’d dismiss it as something of a fluke, but there’s just something in my gut nagging at me. No matter how you look at it; that’s one hell of a coincidence.