Normal
dark heroThe invitation arrived shortly after breakfast.
Nezu was sitting at the dining table with a book open beside his untouched tea when his phone vibrated. Across from him, Segu continued spreading jam over a piece of toast, apparently unconcerned by the fact that most of it was accumulating near the edges and would inevitably escape onto her fingers.
Nezu looked at the screen.
Are you both free today?
The message had come from Akane.
A second appeared before he could answer.
I would like to go to the fair.
Nezu read both messages again.
“What happened?” Segu asked.
“Akane invited us to the fair.”
Segu stopped spreading the jam.
“What happened?”
“She did not include that information.”
Segu abandoned her toast and reached across the table for his phone. Nezu moved it out of reach before her fingers arrived.
“Read it to me.”
“I already did.”
“Read the rest.”
“There is no rest.”
Segu narrowed her eyes at the phone as though it might reveal its secrets under sufficient pressure.
“Ask if someone is trying to kill her.”
Nezu typed the question.
Akane’s answer arrived almost immediately.
No.
Segu leaned farther across the table.
“Ask if someone is trying to kill us.”
He did.
Not that I know of.
“That qualification is not reassuring.”
“It is accurate.”
“Ask if this is related to the things she refused to explain yesterday.”
Another message appeared before Nezu could write anything.
There is no emergency. I only want to spend the day with you.
Segu stared at it.
“That is more suspicious.”
Nezu looked at Akane’s first message again. There was nothing unusual in its construction, no concealed meaning he could identify and no indication that she expected anything beyond a response.
He typed one.
Yes.
Segu snatched his toast from his plate.
“You could have consulted me.”
“You are free.”
“That does not mean you can answer for me.”
“Are you refusing?”
“No.”
“Then the consultation would not have changed the result.”
“It would have established respect for my autonomy.”
“You stole my toast.”
“I autonomously decided that you were not eating it.”
Nezu watched a drop of jam fall onto the table.
He decided not to mention it.
Akane was waiting near the entrance to the fair when they arrived, dressed casually enough that it took Nezu a moment to recognize how carefully the effect had probably been constructed. Her hair was loose, she wore a pale sweater beneath a dark coat, and nothing about her suggested that she had ever carried a weapon, disappeared in front of them, or been responsible for several of the least normal moments of their lives.
There were no bodyguards beside her.
That did not mean there were no bodyguards.
Nezu glanced toward the rooftops, then at the parked cars across the road.
“You won’t find them,” Akane said.
“I was not searching for them.”
“You looked at three possible observation points.”
“There were four.”
Akane smiled.
Segu looked between them before turning her attention to Nezu’s backpack.
“Why is it moving?”
“It isn’t.”
The bag moved again.
Segu pulled the zip open before Nezu could prevent her. Two yellow eyes stared out from the darkness.
“Kuro.”
Kuro blinked.
“You cannot bring a cat to a fair.”
Kuro pushed his head through the opening and looked at her with complete indifference.
“He entered the bag without permission,” Nezu said.
“You knew he was there.”
“I discovered him after we left.”
“And then continued here.”
“Returning home would have made us late.”
Segu pointed at the cat.
“He is going to get us thrown out.”
Kuro yawned.
Akane scratched beneath his chin. “He’ll behave.”
“He steals food, attacks strangers, and ignores every instruction anyone gives him.”
“He’ll behave by his standards.”
“That is the opposite of reassuring.”
Kuro withdrew into the bag, ending the discussion on his own terms.
The fair occupied most of the riverside park. Rows of stalls stretched between strings of colourful flags, carrying the smells of fried dough, grilled meat, caramel and several other foods that Segu began identifying before they had taken ten steps through the entrance. Music played from somewhere ahead, repeatedly vanishing beneath the cries of vendors and the mechanical noise of rides.
Akane stopped just beyond the gate.
“What would you like to do first?”
Segu looked at her. “You invited us.”
“Yes.”
“That means you’re supposed to have a plan.”
“I thought normal outings were meant to be spontaneous.”
Segu’s expression immediately became grave.
“They are, but there are rules.”
“What rules?”
Nezu looked at his sister.
Segu ignored him.
“The person who issued the invitation must buy the first food item encountered, regardless of what it is.”
Akane glanced toward the nearest stall. It sold oversized spiral potatoes covered in several possible combinations of seasoning.
“I see.”
“You do not,” Nezu said. “She invented that rule.”
Segu stepped on his foot.
Akane’s mouth curved upward.
“Then I will buy them because I want to.”
They received three spiral potatoes, although Nezu had not asked for one. Segu chose cheese powder, Akane selected something intensely red after the vendor warned her twice that it was spicy, and Nezu requested salt because there was no practical reason to interfere with the taste of a potato.
Kuro’s head emerged from the bag before they reached the next stall.
“No,” Nezu said.
One black paw extended toward his food.
“No.”
The paw moved farther.
Nezu raised the stick beyond its reach.
Kuro climbed onto his shoulder.
“You said he would behave,” Segu reminded Akane.
“He hasn’t taken anything.”
Kuro bit the lowest piece of potato from the spiral and disappeared back into the bag.
Akane considered this.
“He had not taken anything when I said it.”
Segu laughed, and Akane joined her.
Nezu looked at the opening of the backpack.
Kuro did not reappear.
Their progress through the fair was determined almost entirely by Segu noticing things. She pulled them toward a stall filled with handmade jewellery, then another selling masks, then insisted that Akane try a sweet she had never eaten before. Akane accepted everything with the seriousness of someone completing an unfamiliar assignment, listening carefully whenever Segu explained another rule that did not exist.
According to Segu, refusing a free sample was deeply insulting to the vendor’s ancestors. Wearing a festival mask on the left side of the head indicated that someone was searching for marriage. Dropping food meant they had to purchase the same thing for every member of their group.
Nezu corrected each lie.
Segu accused him of obstructing Akane’s cultural education.
Akane believed neither of them and appeared to enjoy listening to the argument more than discovering the truth.
They reached the game stalls shortly before noon.
The first involved throwing rings over narrow glass bottles. Segu missed all five of hers. Akane landed one, but the ring bounced free before settling. Nezu examined the distance, the size of the rings and the arrangement of the bottles before making his first attempt.
The ring struck the neck of the centre bottle and fell between the others.
He adjusted the angle.
The second did the same.
On his third attempt, the ring circled the neck, remained there for nearly a second and then slipped off as another bottle shifted beneath it.
Segu patted his shoulder.
“Some things cannot be defeated with calculations.”
“The bottles are positioned on an unstable surface.”
“Of course they are.”
“The operator is also standing on a raised platform, creating the illusion that the throwing line is closer than it is.”
The stallholder suddenly found something beneath the counter that required his complete attention.
Akane covered her mouth, but he saw the beginning of her smile.
Nezu bought five more rings.
“You could purchase the largest prize for less than you are about to spend proving a point,” Segu said.
“That is not relevant.”
“It will be relevant when you are carrying twelve identical bears.”
He missed the first two throws.
Akane laughed quietly at the third.
Nezu looked at her.
She immediately tried to suppress it, which only made the sound escape again.
Something warm moved through his chest. It was not the sharp satisfaction he felt when solving a problem, nor the relief he had begun to recognize whenever Segu returned safely from somewhere. It was lighter than either, without any obvious function beyond making him want to hear the sound again.
He turned back toward the stall.
“This game is fraudulent.”
Akane laughed once more.
He purchased another set of rings.
It took him eleven additional attempts to identify the necessary rotation. The final ring struck the side of one bottle, spun across two others and dropped cleanly around the neck of the third.
The stallholder reluctantly gestured toward the prizes.
Nezu selected a small white fox from the middle shelf and handed it to Akane.
She accepted it with visible surprise.
“You won it.”
“I have no use for it.”
Segu folded her arms. “There are many people with no use for stuffed animals who nevertheless keep them.”
“I chose it because Akane was the only one who had not already acquired something.”
Segu had purchased a cat-shaped mask approximately four minutes earlier.
“That is a remarkably convenient explanation.”
“It is also true.”
Akane held the fox carefully against her chest. “Thank you, Nezu.”
The warmth returned.
He looked toward the next game before either of them could examine his expression.
Segu cheated at the shooting gallery.
Nezu could not prove how she had done it, but the final metal target fell without being struck. He had been watching her hands, the weapon and the attendant, and none had moved in a way that explained it.
“You cheated.”
“I won.”
“Those statements are not mutually exclusive.”
“Prove it.”
“I will.”
“You can investigate after I collect my prize.”
She chose a black cat and held it beside the opening of Nezu’s backpack. Kuro examined the imitation for several seconds, reached out and struck it across the face.
Akane laughed hard enough that she had to turn away.
Nezu stared at Kuro, then deliberately moved the stuffed cat close again.
Kuro struck it a second time.
Akane’s laughter grew louder.
“You are tormenting him,” Segu said.
“He is capable of withdrawing into the bag.”
“You are doing it because she laughs.”
Nezu stopped moving.
Akane’s laughter faded into a smile.
“That conclusion is unsupported.”
Segu’s own smile became unbearable.
“Of course.”
They ate lunch at a collection of tables near the river. Kuro was officially confined to the backpack beneath the table and unofficially received pieces of chicken from all three of them. Segu complained that feeding him encouraged criminal behaviour while continuing to lower food beneath the tablecloth whenever she thought nobody was looking.
A boy approached Akane while Segu was purchasing drinks.
He appeared close to their age and possessed the confidence of someone who had interpreted Akane sitting beside only one boy as an obstacle that could be resolved through conversation.
He introduced himself.
Akane responded politely.
He asked whether she had come alone.
“No,” Nezu said.
The boy looked at him for the first time. “I was asking her.”
“She did not come alone.”
Akane glanced sideways at Nezu.
The boy tried again, asking if she might want to walk around with him later. Nezu felt an immediate irritation that bore no relation to the interruption of their lunch. Akane had given the boy no reason to believe she wanted his company, yet he remained beside the table, smiling at her as though persistence would eventually alter her answer.
“She already has plans,” Nezu said.
The boy’s smile tightened. “Are you her boyfriend?”
Nezu opened his mouth.
Akane answered first.
“He is Nezu.”
The boy waited for the rest of the explanation.
None came.
Akane’s expression remained pleasant, but something in it finally persuaded him that continuing would not improve his chances. He left with a brief excuse that convinced no one.
Nezu watched him disappear into the crowd.
“Were you jealous?” Akane asked.
“No.”
“You answered quickly.”
“The speed of an answer does not determine its accuracy.”
“Your hand is still holding my sleeve.”
Nezu looked down.
At some point during the conversation, his fingers had closed around the fabric near her wrist.
He released it.
Akane smiled into her drink.
Segu returned carrying three cups and looked from Akane’s expression to Nezu’s hand.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Nezu and Akane said together.
Segu slowly placed the drinks on the table.
“I was gone for less than two minutes.”
In the afternoon, they rode attractions Segu selected and Nezu questioned. Akane remained perfectly composed on the fastest ride, Segu screamed with delight, and Kuro emerged from the backpack afterward with every strand of his fur standing away from his body.
Akane immediately started laughing.
Nezu took a photograph before Kuro’s fur could settle.
Kuro stared at him with what appeared to be a promise of future retaliation, then slowly withdrew into the backpack.
Nezu saved the photograph.
They visited more stalls, shared food none of them needed, and took another photograph in which Segu smiled, Akane held the white fox, Nezu failed to alter his expression before the flash, and two yellow eyes glared from inside the partially opened bag.
By the time the lights around the fair began to glow against the darkening sky, Segu had accumulated four prizes, Akane had two, and Nezu had somehow become responsible for carrying all of them.
The horror maze stood near the far end of the fair beneath a sign painted with skeletal hands and dripping red letters.
Akane stopped in front of it.
“We should enter.”
Segu looked at her. “You?”
“Is that strange?”
“You watched a man die without blinking.”
A family passing nearby increased its distance from them.
Akane lowered her voice. “That does not mean I cannot appreciate artificial skeletons.”
“You want something.”
“I want to enter the maze.”
“That is technically something.”
Nezu studied Akane’s face. She met his gaze without providing any further explanation.
They joined the queue.
Inside, the maze was darker than expected. Narrow corridors divided by black curtains twisted around one another, illuminated only by weak red lamps. Speakers produced distant footsteps and occasional screams, while actors appeared through concealed doors with varying degrees of success.
The first lunged at Segu.
She screamed, struck Nezu’s arm and then insisted the sound had come from someone behind them.
The second approached Akane and appeared discouraged when she merely wished him a good evening.
The third opened a panel beside Kuro’s head.
The actor screamed.
Kuro watched him retreat through the same panel.
They reached a junction where the corridor divided into three passages. Segu selected the left one before either of them could examine the signs painted on the walls.
“This way.”
“That arrow says exit,” Nezu said, pointing toward the right.
“It might be misleading.”
“It is illuminated.”
“That makes it more suspicious.”
Segu disappeared through the curtain.
Nezu moved to follow her.
Akane caught his hand.
She pulled him through the centre passage just as the curtain fell closed behind Segu.
Nezu allowed himself to be led around one corner and then another. The sounds of the maze grew quieter until only the dull mechanical heartbeat from somewhere beyond the wall remained.
Akane stopped in a narrow space between two false stone pillars.
“You separated us deliberately,” Nezu said.
“Yes.”
“Segu will notice.”
“Eventually.”
“She will return for us.”
“Then we should not waste time.”
Akane placed one hand against his chest, leaned closer and kissed him.
The darkness hid most of her expression, but not the warmth of her lips or the slight tightening of her fingers against his coat. The kiss was brief, stolen in the seconds before Segu inevitably began searching for them.
Akane drew back.
Nezu caught her hand before she could move away.
“That was short.”
“We are inside a public attraction.”
“You created this situation.”
“I did.”
“Then its limitations are also your responsibility.”
He pulled her back and kissed her again.
Akane’s surprise lasted only a moment before her hand rose to the side of his face. Somewhere beyond the wall, a woman screamed, machinery rattled, and an artificial voice warned visitors that there was no escape.
For once, Nezu had no interest in verifying the claim.
When they separated, Akane remained close enough that her breath touched his lips.
“I have a surprise for you,” she whispered.
“You just gave me one.”
Akane blinked.
Nezu realized what he had said only after saying it.
Her smile appeared slowly.
“For your birthday,” she clarified. “Next week.”
“What is it?”
“It is a surprise.”
“That is not useful information.”
“It was not intended to be.”
“Is it connected to yesterday?”
“No.”
“Will it explode?”
“No.”
“Does it involve another key?”
Akane laughed softly. “No.”
“Then you can tell me.”
“You will find out next week.”
A distant voice interrupted them.
“Akane!”
Segu.
Akane stepped away from him and adjusted the white fox beneath her arm.
“She found us quickly.”
“Yes.”
Before Akane could question his lack of surprise, the curtain beside them was thrown open.
Segu appeared carrying the stuffed black cat by one leg and looking deeply offended.
She had tried following the maze at first. After reaching a dead end and finding neither of them behind her, she had stopped playing by its rules.
Finding Nezu had required only a moment of concentration.
“There you are.”
Akane glanced at the passage behind Segu, visibly trying to determine how she had reached them so directly.
“How did you find us?”
“Nezu is predictable.”
Nezu looked at his sister.
It was a lie, but one intended for Akane rather than him.
Segu’s eyes moved between them before settling on the suspiciously deliberate distance separating them.
“How did you become separated when I was directly in front of you?”
“Akane selected a different passage,” Nezu said.
Akane looked at him.
He looked back.
It was technically accurate.
Segu’s eyes narrowed. “And what were you doing here?”
“Discussing Nezu’s birthday.”
“In the dark.”
“The lighting was included with the maze,” Nezu said.
Segu stared at both of them for several seconds.
Kuro pushed his head out of the bag and sneezed.
“I don’t believe either of you.”
“You have no evidence of wrongdoing,” Akane replied.
“I don’t need evidence to know that something happened.”
“Nothing happened,” Nezu said.
Segu pointed the stuffed cat toward him.
“That made it worse.”
She turned and marched toward the illuminated exit sign.
Nezu and Akane followed her.
Their hands brushed once in the darkness.
Neither moved away.
The fair was beginning to close by the time they returned to the entrance. Music still played behind them, quieter now as vendors lowered signs and families guided tired children toward the road. The river reflected the coloured lights in long, broken lines.
They stopped where they had met that morning.
Akane still held the white fox. Segu carried the black cat beneath one arm, despite repeatedly insisting that she did not particularly want it. Kuro had fallen asleep inside Nezu’s backpack with his head resting against the open zip.
“We should do this again,” Segu said.
“We should,” Akane agreed.
No one suggested a day.
Akane was leaving.
Segu knew it.
Nezu knew it.
Akane knew that they knew.
But none of them said so.
For one day, there had been no masked attackers, no invisible observers, and no questions Akane could not answer. Nezu had eaten bad food, lost money to dishonest games, argued with his sister, made Akane laugh and kissed her in the dark while Segu searched for them.
Nothing important had happened.
It had been just a normal day.
And Nezu found himself wishing every day could be just this.
Normal.
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