InsaneJournal

Sorry to call you all here on such short notice. I’ll try to make this brief. As you’re aware, following his victory in a game against the Conductor, the Composer reshaped Shibuya. The problems plaguing the Game were either fixed or removed, and the individuality of Shibuya’s denizens was restored. It has become what we view as an ideal game.

However, from my closer perspective, I have witnessed a few loose ends. Allow me to elaborate.

“Hello?” Neku eases the cafe door open and peers in. “Mr. H? You in?”

Inside, the room is dimly illuminated by sunlight slipping between closed blind slats. Chairs crowd haphazardly around bare tables, and the booths against the walls stand empty except for napkin dispensers that might’ve shone silver if they weren’t smudged with fingerprints. Neku leans in a bit further and scans the counter, looking for any signs of activity. Most of the machinery is silent and looks clean, like it’s already been wiped down for closing. The lone exception is a cheap coffee maker spattered with stains that drips lazily into a single white mug.

Neku shuts the door behind him. “Closing early?”

The Composer has appointed two reapers to share the job of Conductor. These Conductors are a pair he first met while acting as a player in the Game. At the time, they left an impact on him due to their tenacity. Afterwards, however, when considering whom to appoint as his new Conductor, he was struck more by how well they worked together.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Neku shuffles a few feet into the cafe, stopping abruptly when the lock clicks shut behind him. He shakes his head. “I should’ve known. Why else would the door be unlocked when everything’s dark? Mr. H isn’t even here, is he?”

He flips up a hinged segment of countertop and slides through. The coffee maker lets out a string of clipped beeps. “And the coffee mug – just for me?”

The machine beeps again, a little louder this time. Neku peeks into the mug. Nothing but a few scattered drops. There’s a groan, like the pump is straining, and Neku steps back, glaring at the chipped plastic tank. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

It hadn’t occurred to him before then that one way to counter an individual’s flaws is to pair him with someone who fills in the gaps. The choice to have two reapers act as Co-Conductors is, as far as I know, unprecedented. To be honest, I was unsure how his ideas would work out. Now, though, it’s plain to see that this method is efficient and secure. The job of Conductor is involved enough that there is enough work to merit two reapers, but not so involved that either must give up his or her life in the RG. This balance keeps the Conductors from becoming too obsessed and losing sight of what’s truly important in this world, and, since only one of them meets with the Composer at any given time, also ensures that there is always someone available for the reapers to contact in case of unexpected complications.

Between the coffee maker’s beeps, Neku catches a faint sound behind him. Water plips from the sink faucet into the metal basin below, and as he watches, the knob twists a bit more, making the drops fall slightly faster. “Oh!” he starts, clumsily scooping up the coffee mug and filling it in the sink. When he turns the water off, it unwinds back just enough to allow dripping. Neku empties the mug into the tank with a scowl. “I get it, you knew what the problem was immediately. Stop being an ass. Why didn’t you just fill the water up yourself?”

The faucet squeaks shut slowly, as if labored. On the coffee maker’s hot plate, the mug shudders slightly, just enough to catch Neku’s attention. It tips up at a shallow angle, the handle drawing up like someone was holding it, but the opposite edge of the mug’s bottom never leaves the hot plate.

“I guess that sort of thing’s impossible for you now, isn’t it?” Neku’s face is soft, blank like a canvas.

And there will always be complications. He may have brought the Game to an ideal state, but the Composer himself is not without flaws. His game with the previous Conductor did enlighten him in many ways, and yet it has also caused new weaknesses to manifest within him. His love for the people of Shibuya has grown, and with it, his desire to have an existence outside of the UG.

“I’d say ‘sorry’, but I’m not.” Neku drums his fingers on the countertop in time with the wet draws of the coffee maker. “You’d just make fun of me anyway.”

For a moment, he can almost hear the teasing voice, objecting blithely to the accusations, crowing that he’d never do such a thing to his dear, dear partner. Neku wonders if, silent to his ears, the words are actually being said or if he’s just spent too much time around here. The coffee maker sings, and Neku snags the mug and rounds to sit on a stool at the counter. A faint curl of steam wiggles upwards, dissipating so quickly it might have just been a trick on the eyes. Neku blows before he takes a sip.

“It’s good,” he concedes. “House blend, right?”

I understand why he hasn’t been allowed to take on an RG form since his reformation of Shibuya. Restoring failed players to the RG, no matter how unique the circumstances, defeats the purpose of the Game entirely. It’s inexcusable. I don’t argue with the steps you’ve taken thus far to prevent him from becoming attached and faltering because of it. I do think he should be allowed to visit the RG and foster the relationships he’s already formed, but that’s a different matter that I’ll bother everyone with some other time. The problem here is that of his proxy – Neku Sakuraba.

Despite how isolated you’ve tried to make him, his bond with Sakuraba persists.

His hands wrapped around the mug, palms sweaty and face dappled, wet from the steam, Neku waits. The stool next to him pivots lazily. Anyone else would assume it was just unbalanced. Neku imagines primly crossed legs and fingers twisted in wavy hair.

“No memes today?” There’s a squeak as the stool jolts, stops abruptly. Neku smiles. “What, you think I’m that stupid? Out of nowhere, I thought Mr. H was a jerk. Yeah.” He closes his eyes and takes a smug drink. "Sounds like me.”

Gradually, the stool next to him starts swivelling again. “Let me guess,” Neku says, plunking his cheek into one hand. “He is a jerk and I’m too stupid to realize it on my own. Not your fault I’m such a poor judge of character. You did me a favor by pointing it out. Once again, I owe you.”

The frequency of the pivots grows, and there’s a rhythmic thunking. “Kicking the counter. Mature.”

It crescendos for a few more repetitions, then stops.

Sakuraba is a special case in and of himself: strong soul, broad imagination, a marked propensity for growth. He has amazing potential. To cut him out of the Game entirely would be a mistake.

Much like Yashiro and Kariya, the Conductors I mentioned earlier, the Composer and Sakuraba complement each other very well. I could go into specifics – if any would like them, feel free to talk with me in private some other time. There’s just one factor that everyone should be aware of: Sakuraba is the reason the Composer did not destroy Shibuya.

Neku enjoys the silence for a bit. The coffee’s actually good – strong smell, strong flavor, and not at all bitter. He liked coffee before, but lately he’s grown to love it more and more. He’d like to think that his tastes are maturing. In reality, he’s pretty sure it’s just because of the company. Mr. H loves the stuff, and if drinking it lets him hang around and talk to CAT, well...

It doesn’t occur to him that Mr. H is busy more often than not, sometimes entirely absent, and yet, he still always comes to the cafe. He won’t let that thought even begin to develop. It’s just too weird to consider.

Yes, he realized the flaws in the Game were fixable. He wouldn’t have come to that realization if not for his interactions with Sakuraba. And sure, he decided that all people have the potential within them to change, but he knew that only because he watched Sakuraba, an introverted, isolated, stubborn misanthrope, change and accept the world around him. Every positive change within the Composer can be traced back to Sakuraba. In addition, I believe to some extent, whether the Composer was aware of it or not, he began to care for Sakuraba on a personal level.

I mentioned before that their bond still persists. I know this because I’ve witnessed it firsthand.

Neku flips open his cellphone. 0 new messages.

“Guess you weren’t kidding.” He scrolls through the recent text messages – two from Shiki about being a male dressform for her latest project, one from Beat asking for tutoring, another one from Beat saying that was Rhyme and he doesn’t need tutoring so don’t bring it up ever again, and then an anonymous one that says simply, “openminded”. Right after that text message arrived, Neku started having weird thoughts pop into his head whenever he was at Wild Cat, like an internal voice taking part in his conversations. He recognized the shivery feeling of those “epiphanies” almost immediately, but it took him a little while to realize what was going on. Through the memes, Joshua was talking to him.

Neku flips back a little further, to a message from about a month ago. It came from a blocked number with no attached name, sent at exactly midnight, but even without any identifying information, Neku knew who it was from.

‘May get cut off soon. Been tolerable talking to you. Don’t miss me too much.’

There were text messages way before that one, more conversational, and definitely longer. At first, he thought someone was pranking him, especially given the condescending tone. How many people write to tell you they’re still waiting for a “thank you”? Even now, Neku’s not sure what he’s supposed to be grateful for.

Maybe getting shot in the face is nice for lying bastards from the land of beam attacks and making people want to punch you in the teeth.

Even without an RG form, the Composer has found ways to communicate with Sakuraba, and for his part, Sakuraba continues to seek out this communication.

He tried to delete them, and when they wouldn’t budge, it hit him. He reread all of them, gritting his teeth tighter and tighter at every outwardly friendly but subtly mocking word, then jogged the whole way to Cat Street with clenched fists.

When Joshua’s smirking face didn’t greet him at the door, Neku was surprised. When Mr. H told him Josh couldn’t come back to the RG for a while, if ever, he’d been both relieved and oddly disappointed. He’d really wanted to get the weasel back for those texts. Weeks later, after it’d become second nature to keep his open phone on the counter while chatting with Mr. H to see Joshua’s responses, Mr. H excused himself for a moment to kick Joshua out of the room and put up a barrier so he couldn’t eavesdrop. Then, he told Neku they’d been there that day at Hachiko in the only way they could. Neku was stunned. When he added that Josh’d never own up to it, but he’d been sulking like a baby about not being allowed to visit the RG, Neku thought his eyes couldn’t open any wider.

It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit with anything he thought he knew. And from then on, he resolved to learn. He wouldn’t let go of the past – the asshole shot him TWICE, for god’s sake. He was still pissed about that – but he’d try to look a little further, to maybe see what Mr. H saw. Being more like CAT couldn’t hurt, right?

This bond could very well prove to be an exploitable weakness for the Composer. It can’t be ignored – it must be dealt with. To this end, there are two possible courses of action that I’ve devised.

The first would be to erase the Composer.

“I almost don’t want to say this,” Neku starts slowly, still leafing through text message after text message, “because you’ll take it the wrong way and tease me about wanting you around, which I DON’T, but... you haven’t imprinted on me at all lately. Why? I mean, it’s nice to have my brain to myself and not have you screwing it up. I’m just surprised.”

In his hand, his cell phone shudders, and Neku tightens his grip so it won’t get tugged away. “Hey! What the hell are you...”

Then it’s still. The stool next to him squeaks in a slow arc, turning away from him. “Your... phone?” Neku swears he can hear Joshua’s annoyed sigh. “Really? They took your phone away?”

His coffee’s lukewarm now, and he dumps in a sugar packet, swirling the mug a little with one hand. “Your phone’s what you used to attack, though. Isn’t having a powerless Composer... not good?” He doesn’t have to see Joshua to feel the glare fixed on him. “Underpowered, then?” Neku offers, but the uneasy weight doesn’t lift away. “Okay, so you still have all your powers. Your phone’s just convenient.”

He takes a sip, wincing a little at the taste. It was strong to begin with and cooling made it bitter, more bitter than one sugar packet can cancel. “That’s still kinda cruel. Not even letting you imprint... what if you needed to affect trends or something? They already aren’t letting you visit. Without the phone, you have no connection to the RG.”

We know that isolating him isn’t effective at keeping him away from Sakuraba. He is aware that I am aware of their interactions, but he has shown no remorse, no concern, no plans to end it. As he is right now, the Composer is too unstable to handle an ascension, and even if he were, I doubt a majority would vote to allow him in. The only way to remove him from this precarious position is to erase him. Taking into account his behavior recently, I wouldn’t fault you for deciding on this solution.

There’s a gust of wind outside, sighing along the cafe’s siding, and suddenly, it clicks. The mug clatters down on the countertop, Neku’s fingers laced loosely around it. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he says, slow with awe. “They don’t want you interacting with the RG.”

But please – hear my other idea before you decide.

The other possibility would be to alter the other half of this problem: Sakuraba.

“But you... why...” Neku struggles, but he can’t quite piece together a complete thought. Something – Joshua’s vibe? – thrums, rises, washes over him in a dizzying rush. In the knot of ideas, he recognizes Shiki pushing her glasses up onto her forehead, squinting, pinning a seam; the whir of Beat’s skateboard wheels and the whooping holler as he lands a pop-shove it; Rhyme’s wide grin, eyes arced shut, chin and cheeks speckled with niboshi dashi. Behind arms linked at the elbows and criss-crossing biscuits of a shared package of Yan Yan, Neku can sense him. That vibe has become unmistakable. And then he can’t not feel it anymore. It’s the air in the cafe, the coffee in his mug, the hum of insects outside – all of it is Joshua. Neku thinks he might choke.

Think about it. We could take advantage of their bond instead, make their unusual relationship work for us. Sakuraba has been a powerful influence on the Composer in the past, and the outcome exceeded my expectations. If Sakuraba became a constant presence in the Composer’s life, not only might his actions become more consistently beneficial, but his fascination with the RG could be quenched as well.

The only problem remaining is that, while making two reapers Co-Conductors is a simple matter of paperwork, having two Composers is not feasible.

There’s something moving on the back of his hand, and instinctively Neku snaps alert and swats. “Mosquitoes already?” he moans. “It’s not the right season for this.” When he looks, his skin is pink from the smack but otherwise unmarked. A sharp whack to the back of his head sends him flailing towards the counter.

“Josh,” Neku growls, but he stops himself before any complaints make their way out. Instead, he straightens up with eyes clamped shut and wraps his hands once more around the coffee mug. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t speak. Just breathes. Quick, shallow inhales and throttled sighs out. When he starts to sense Joshua’s vibe creeping in again, swallowing up his shoulders like a cloak, he finally speaks.

“I don’t know why you’re in so much trouble, but I’m pretty sure you’re making it worse by talking to me when you’re supposed to stick to the UG. And don’t tell me I’m not the only person you talk to. That’s too obvious of a lie, even for you.” Neku slumps over, pressing his forehead against the counter, hands still folded around the mug like a supplicant’s. “I’m not asking you to behave for your sake. You probably deserve anything they could do to you. I can tell this whole thing’s stressing Mr. H out, though, and I know it’s bugging me. So please. For once in your non-life, do something nice for someone else and just follow orders.”

And for once, he doesn’t feel Joshua’s mocking gaze on him in response.

The Composer’s level of power can’t be doubled and remain controlled, and splitting it between them would leave both woefully weakened if cornered without the other. Not to mention that essential tasks, such as the resurrection of Players and control over the very fabric of Shibuya, could be impossible if the Composer’s power was any less than it is now. There’s also the very personal matter of the two beings involved. The Composer, while close to Sakuraba, would likely reject the idea of sharing his hard-earned position.

And Sakuraba... excuse my informal tone here, but the kid just learned to open up and love life. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll give it all up to spend the rest of his days with the guy that shot him. Twice.

Languorously, Neku tips his head up. “I really can’t stay here anymore. I was hoping Mr. H would show up, but...” With a yawn stifled behind his fist, Neku slides off the stool and onto his feet. “I have homework that I gotta do. You know, stuff that matters to normal people.”

His steps don’t falter as he crosses the cafe, but he pauses with his hand just detached from the door and turns back. A normal person would see nothing. Neku’s eyes fix above the scratched edge of one table. “Listen and do what they say, okay? I... I still can’t forgive you, but I think... someday... I might be able to, and I want to talk to something more than air.”

He pushes out into the street and doesn’t look back. The sun has started sloping down, stretching his shadow into something skeletal and wiry. Neku speeds up his pace. Passing through Miyashita Park, he doesn’t even see Hanekoma waving at him – Neku probably would’ve missed him entirely if he hadn’t shouted out, “Hey, Phones!”

So here’s my idea. Sakuraba’s a very notable individual, as I said before. With some training, he could easily tune up to a higher level. A much higher level.

“Mr. H!” Neku jogs to meet him on the other side of the street and flashes a slightly strained grin. Hanekoma shakes his head.

“Sorry I ditched you, kiddo. I had something to take care of.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! I understand.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Hanekoma chuckles. “You’re a good kid, Phones.”

Neku just smiles wider.

“So,” Hanekoma says, pivoting to join Neku in his trek home, “how’s J today?”

“Annoying,” Neku coughs. “Like always. Oh! Be prepared – he’s mad at you.”

Hanekoma sighs. It sounds like a laugh. “What’d I do this time?”

“Forgot to fill up the tank of the coffee-maker.”

“Well, shoot.” He adjusts his sunglasses and glances up at the shifting sky. “That’s a biggie. I’ll be hearing about that for a while.”

Neku wedges his hands in his pockets, a tinge of something sour in his smile. “Tell him I won’t visit until he lets it drop.”

Hanekoma laughs.

I’d like to ask permission to train Neku Sakuraba personally. I understand that this is an odd request, but frankly, I think this sort of odd situation merits it. I’ll take full responsibility for his failures and his successes. Set any conditions on this that you’d like – milestones to meet, guidelines to follow, abilities to be demonstrated. I’m confident that Sakuraba will surpass any goals you can set out for him. And once he’s in full control of his vibe, I’d like to ask for him to be granted an ascension...

Neku feels the walls come up around them before Mr. H says anything more. He turns earnest eyes to him. Mr. H smiles a lop-sided smile. “We gotta talk.”

“Huh? About what?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

to serve as my Co-Producer.