Wankage
By: The Refugees of Katsucon 9.5 (the con that never ended)
Touya Akira had theories about Shindou Hikaru. Not all of them were bizarre, really-- sometimes he thought that Hikaru might have some kind of strange personality disorder or a chemical imbalance that made him talk to himself. That wasn't that far outside the realm of possibility. Unfortunately, neither could explain his idiot savant abilities in the game of Go--would probably be more hindrance than help, actually.
Which left certain other, seemingly less plausible possibilities...
On the whole, Akira didn't consider himself a spiritual person, or at least not anymore than other Japanese were. He believed in the spirits of his ancestors and the gods about as much as he believed supernovas forming millions of light years away, meaning he was open minded but not especially faithfully committed to either possibility. Neither affected his life in practical terms, so he never spent much time thinking whether they existed true or not.
That is, until Shindou Hikaru came into his life.
At first, Akira assumed Hikaru was a liar, or more charitably, that he was being clever in allowing others to believe he was a mediocre player, only revealing his true brilliance when it was convenient. The problem with that theory was that no one who knew Shindou Hikaru for very long could sincerely believe that the boy was "clever". There had to be something more to it, and at this point, Akira had simply exhausted his patience for other reasonable conclusions.
Which is why he was now on the phone with a member of Japan's oldest spiritualist family trying to hire an onmyouji. Because really, who else did you call when you suspected a friend was being posessed other than the Sumeragi clan?
The person on the other end of the line had fallen silent for a long uncomfortable moment after Akira had made his initial request. The boy twisted the phone cord between his fingers and wished someone could have explained the proper protocol for this sort of thing. There was something too similar between what he was doing and ordering takeout Chinese for this to be right.
"....excuse me, but may I ask who is calling?"
Akira, caught off-guard, blinked.
"Oh! Uh, Touya Akira ..."
"..."
"...I play professional Go."
Another awkward pause flooded the line, and Akira was certain he was about to be cut off.
"I apologize if I'm being too direct," he began again, trying to regain his footing. "But I wasn't sure how one does this sort of thing. If you could direct me to the proper channels, I'll be more than happy not to take up any more of your time--"
"Oh no, not at all, Touya-sensei!"
Sensei?
"It would be our pleasure to assist you. What is the nature of your spiritual problem?"
The change in tone was surprising. Akira had expected to be accorded some professional courtesy, but nothing like this, and certainly not on account of Go. He had always supposed it was possible that he or his father could be known outside of the Go world, but had conditioned himself not to expect it. Even to the Japanese his job was a strange one.
Then again, onmyoujitsu was a strange job as well. Maybe it wasn't so odd that the Sumeragis knew who he was.
"Well ... I'm not really sure it's a spiritual problem really. Um... I just wanted the opinion of a professional..."
"That can be arranged Touya-sensei, but we'll need specifics in order to more effectively deal with the situation."
"Of course ... Well, you see ... uh...it goes something like...I think a friend of mine is possessed--"
"By a spirit or demon, Touya-sensei?"
"Uhh... Spirit, maybe? I can't imagine there being such a thing as a Go playing demon..."
*********
Ryuichirou tossed the phone in the general direction of its cradle and sighed heavily as it bounced off the wall.
"Problem?" Hiroji asked. He raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Was that 'Touya Akira' a real wanker?"
"Not exactly. I mean, it sounds legit, and I think the guy's sincere."
"Then what is it?"
"I just wish people would stop confusing onmyoujis with private detectives. I think he expects us to follow this Shindou kid around all over Tokyo."
"You're pouting."
"I am not."
Hiroji took a long sip of his soda and watched his cousin with skeptical eyes.
"It is troublesome, though... And New Year's coming up--busy season...What did you tell him?"
"I told him, frankly, that the family is very busy at this time of year, and since it's not a situation that requires immediate attention, we'd send out the first available onmyouji for a consultation, but that it'd be a while before anyone would be free."
Hiroji smiled snarkily.
"There's always Subaru-san..."
"Oh, Obaasan would love that," Ryuichirou snickered.
Pause.
"Although...he is still an onmyouji...and he does have a lot of free time...and it's not like there's anybody else..."
Hiroji almost dropped his soda.
"You're seriously considering this?"
"Well...why not?"
"Well, there's just that small problem of the Sakura. He can't be trusted to wield spiritual powers now that he's the Sakurazukamori."
Ryuichirou shrugged. "He may not have to--this Touya just wants to know what's up with the other kid, not exorcise him."
"Yet. And what if he tries to feed him to the Tree?"
"...uh....well, we'll deal with that if it comes up. Anyway, Subaru owes the family something--Obaasan didn't cut him off, so he should be able to help us out a bit with a minor case when we're swamped.
"Besides ... how badly could he fuck this up?"
********
The piece of paper lying at Isumi Shinichiro's feet was, like most plot devices loaded with a life-altering secret, entirely unassuming. Nothing about its slightly yellowed edges or crisply-printed characters suggested that the information it would impart to the reader would radically change their understanding of the world and their place in it, or cause them to question everything they'd known about themselves up till then. Which is why, when Isumi was hunting a dictionary in the family library and found the paper in an envelope hidden behind a row of books, he read it without the slightest clue that his entire life was about to go topsy-turvy.
And that's how he found out he was adopted.
The strength didn't rush out of his legs; he didn't faint and fall to the floor in a melodramatic swoon. Instead, Isumi sat down, pulled his knees up to his chest, and studied the paper more carefully. When he'd satisfied himself that it was genuine, and that he had indeed been the four-month old (male, dark hair, violet eyes, birthmark on the right shoulder) taken in by the Isumi family in April of two thousand, he folded it up, put it back in the envelope, and put the envelope back where he had found it. Then he sat down again and angsted like mad.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was probably deeply upset with his parents for not telling him the truth, but it was hard to be mad at people who'd made you part of their family when they didn't have to. What he felt toward them was mostly worry--how should he should act around his mother and father now that he knew? Should he confront them directly or act as if nothing had changed? Better question--could he even manage to keep an illusion of ignorance and contentment while he searched for his answers?
Isumi knew that was the more pressing concern, but his mind kept wandering to those two blanks on the certificate where the names of his biological mother and father were supposed to be. That was strange. Even if you didn't want your children to be able to contact you, didn't they usually note the parents' names anyway? For medical emergencies and the like? So what did it mean, those two white spaces? Maybe they hadn't had the information. But why? Had Isumi been abandoned by a teenage mother too shamed by her out-of-wedlock birth to keep her infant son? Or had his real mother and father died in the Tokyo earthquakes in 1999? Maybe someone crawled into the burned-out wreckage of a house in search of survivors and found a little dark-haired baby squawling next to a loving couple no longer able to tell the firemen who they were. Or maybe there was some scandalous secret behind his birth involving celebrtities and important personages in the highest ranks of gov--
No, Isumi reflected, it was the earthquake thing. It had to be the earthquake thing--it was the only thing appropriately tragic to fit his life. No chance to meet the people who had brought him into the world, no way to get in contact with any extended family, no one to tell him about the brothers and sisters that might be out there, or where he got his left-handedness, his violet eyes--
Just before Isumi sank deeper into The Neverending Pit of Despair, the phone rang.
He already knew who it was, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to speak to Waya at this time, in this condition. But he was sure that if he didn't pick up the phone, Waya would feel compelled to come to him directly, and Isumi was a horrible liar when what plagued his mind was something he didn't feel like discussing.
"Hello?"
"Isumi-san? It's me."
"Hi." Isumi forced himself to smile, hoping that the more effort he put into his act, the more believable it would seem (even if Waya couldn't see his face). "What's up?"
"Nothing really--I just thought you guys might come over today ... that and I wondered if I could borrow B-Boy Zip number 4..."
Isumi jolted and nearly dropped the phone. "You want what?"
On the other end Waya giggled like a maniac. "It's for a school project, Isumi-san."
"Waya ....you dropped out of school two years ago."
"Independent Study, then."
Isumi frowned, his dark hair brushing softly against his nose as he shook his head sadly. "Sorry--I don't think I have that volume."
"Really? Holes in the grand collection, Isumi-san?"
"There is no collection." Isumi knotted up, the tip of his shoulders practically touching his ears. "I just bought that one by accident because I didn't know what it was!!"
"Ahh, so you were drawn to it by instinct, Isumi-san?"
"So you just called to make fun of me, then..."
"No, not really." Waya's bright, apologetic smile definitely came through the phone line, and whatever anger Isumi felt fell away. It was hard to stay mad at Waya for his gentle teasing. He only really picked on those he cared about, after all--everyone else was either ignored or publicly ridiculed. Even though Isumi felt this quality should dance across all his major insecurities and make him withdraw far away from the people that were his friends, he couldn't help feeling very comfortable and relaxed around Waya's clumsy albeit honest affection.
"I called to make sure you're coming over today. You have a game tomorrow right? I thought you might want to spend some time alone studying for it..."
As it turned out being alone was the last thing that Isumi wanted, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the circumstances of his birth either. Waya would pick up on his troubled spirit immediately, so much so that it wouldn't surprise Isumi if he stood up and declared "You're adopted, aren't you, Isumi-san?" on the spot. Hikaru would be gleefully oblivious but would still manage to make inappropriate comments that seemed to hit home as surely as if he knew what was going on. The rest would maintain a quiet but faithful observance of the tense undertones running through Waya's one room apartment. It would be difficult--maybe impossible--to keep the discovery to himself under those conditions.
He didn't know how their opinions of him would change if they knew. And he was certain that he didn't have the self confidence to convince them that he was still the same person he had always been.
"Waya ... how important do you think a person's parents are to other people?"
"Huh?"
He could see those young gold eyes-- usually clever and sympathetic-- blinking oddly, Waya's nose scrunching up softly while his eyebrows made sharp disapproving angles as he tried to determine what Isumi was really asking him. The mental image made Isumi want to curl up and away from the receiver so as not to face judgement from the other end of the line.
"Isumi-san?..."
"Turns out ... I'm adopted."
Isumi swallowed the lump that had been growing in his throat. There, he'd said it. He'd been planning to hide it from everyone just as it had been hidden from him for so long. But it seemed right for Waya to know such an intimate secret. Like it was some offering he was making to his best friend, a gift only for Waya...
"Oh... do you know who your real parents are?"
Isumi imagined Waya tilting his head cutely and maybe even smiling at him. The words were coated with such a fine layer of curiosity and affection that even though Isumi couldn't completely relax about the issue, he did feel much better knowing that he wasn't being outright rejected.
"No... I can't find anything that even gives me a name."
"Are you going to try to find out?"
"You mean like...hire a private detective?"
"Sure! Why not? I mean, even if you can never accept them as your parents, if it'll make you feel better about things you should definitely find out."
Isumi had not purposely given any indication that what he had discovered bothered him more than it would anyone else, but he supposed Waya knew him well enough to sense how vulnerable he was to these kind of distractions. Distractions could be deadly to a career that was dependent on winning games of intense concentration.
He shifted the phone onto his shoulder.
To the Japanese, the family was a very important unit, and finding out that the people you had been honoring as father and mother were not your father and mother at all and that the spirits of your real ancestors were being ignored was a disturbing one. Isumi's time at the Chinese Go Institute had helped him to keep his emotions from disrupting his game play, but Waya knew better than to assume that he could go on completely unaffected.
"And if they're really horrible people?" Isumi asked softly.
"Ignoring it won't change the way things are, Isumi-san. You shouldn't let it drag you down. After all, we don't adore you because of who your parents are ... it's because you can drive and treat us to food if we whine long enough."
Isumi laughed before he reached for the phone book under his desk. Waya was right, if the answers would free his mind from the weight of his past then he should find the answers.
"Thank you, Way--"
"Don't mention it--we'll see you next Saturday then I guess. You can bring us snacks to make up for your absence today. Good luck!"
Waya had hung up the phone almost before Isumi realized he has spoken. Already his mind was racing ahead with the possibilities as he flipped quickly through the fat yellow book in his lap. It was an old phone book, so he probably couldn't count on many of the businesses still being open, but it would give him a place to start.
Maybe he would never find the identity of his biological parents. Maybe he'd regret that he had ever tried to track them down. But with the opportunity to learn something about himself, he could hardly turn down a peek into the fate that had brought him into the world.
And he found that these minor details of reality left him as soon as his eyes caught sight of a modestly sized ad.
CLAMP Campus Detectives
03-8015-1004
********
"I'll sign it 'courtesy of your devoted daughter,' all right?"
The woman on line giggled and blushed, turning her face away to hide her amusement at the suggestive overtones in her idol's voice.
Dr. Sakurazuka Seishirou's first book had been sitting at a modestly successful position on the bestseller list for many weeks. "All in the Family : Intimacy and Close Relations" hadn't set the world of Self Help ablaze, but it was a humble success as far as the author was concerned. Besides, though the part of literary idol amused him terribly, Seishirou just wasn't interested in all the bother of being top of the charts. He had enough trouble putting up with book signings, interviews and promotional parties as it was--he'd hate to see what life was like should he publish something that seriously took off.
"Sakurazuka-san, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist we wrap things up now," Seishirou's unusually young, unusually creepy agent said as he pointed to his watch with a smile. "You have an interview in an hour, and it would be in very bad taste if you were late."
Seishirou was probably the only person who didn't think it was weird to have a Junior High Schooler managing his affairs. But then he had always been fond of children and Hiiragizawa was so capable and efficient as a literary agent. It was hard to refuse quality work.
"Now, now, some of these people have been waiting on line for hours--I think I can sign a few more."
Seishirou smiled warmly and picked his black felt tip pen once more. "Now ... how should I autograph yours, Sir?"
"How about 'Best wishes from a cock-sucking inbred son of a bitch'?"
Seishirou glanced up in mid-autograph. The gentleman standing in front of him was dressed in a long flowing pastel kimono that only managed to make his coloration seem even paler by contrast. He looked a little weird among the modern dressed bookstore crowd, but if he noticed the stares, he gave no indication.
"Ah, Kakyou, always good to see you. And conscious, too. My, this is a treat. I wasn't aware that you were a fan."
The stroke of Seishirou's pen was flawless as he jotted down 'Best wishes from your cock-sucking inbred son of a bitch' on the inside of the book's cover. Kakyou snatched his now-autographed book back and threw it at Seishirou's head--a shot which Seishirou ducked easily. Eriol gave only an amused smile as the book whizzed right past his head and knocked over the large pyramid book display that had been setup for the event. Bookstore employees squawked and scurried about to pick up the new hard cover books that had been scattered all over the floor.
Seishirou looked back at the ruined display and the excitable store employees and shook his head sadly.
"Was that really necessary? You're making a scene. Honestly, I think I liked you a whole lot more when you laid in your corner and moped. This whole aggressive, decisiveness thing doesn't suit you."
"Well to have their side pick a fight for once is an interesting change of pace," Eriol purred from his seat.
"Hmmm... True," Seishirou admitted. "And Kakyou-kun's so cute when he's messing with destiny."
Kakyou scowled and drew out his highly polished Desert Eagle 44 Magnum from where it had been strapped to his thigh. Of course, since he was wearing a kimono, that meant flashing half the crowd, but the sudden emergence of a handgun in a packed bookstore sent them scattering around the bookstore like a swarm of excited bees, knocking over displays and pushing over others in their frantic attempts to get the hell out.
Seishirou raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure we should do this now. None of us are properly attired." He grinned. "You're more than half-clothed."
Kakyou glared.
"We'll just have to make do."
********
"Isumi-kun?"
Isumi looked up into the secretary's kind, expectant eyes. He nodded quickly, feeling helplessly shy all of a sudden as he cradled the one clue he had about his real parents in his lap.
It had taken all the courage he had to broach the subject of his adoption with his parents--or, well, his "parents," he supposed now. Things could never be the same now that their the secret was exposed, and even though he still loved them and vice-versa ... the change was already obvious. Everything was suddenly awkward, and Isumi suspected it would be some time before the three of them could look each other in the eye without having to turn away suddenly.
And what he'd learned seemed hardly worth the heartache--his parents hadn't known much more about their son's birth than he did. They had, however, nearly knocked him out of his chair when they told him that they had found him on their doorstep in a basket one morning. No, really, they said. The doorbell rang, they answered it, and there he was, a sweet young child sobbing in the cold, early spring morning, in a basket, with nothing but a blanket to shield him from the chill.
There was one other thing in the basket besides though. Isumi held his inheritance to his line of sight. It was positively the oddest thing he had ever heard of leaving with a child. Weren't lockets and pocketwatches more de rigeur? Still, strange as it was, it spoke volumes about his biological parents.
Of course, he had to figure out what it was saying first.
He was going to find out, no matter how horrible and strange these people were, he was going to find out....
He tucked the knick-knack away in his pocket and followed the secretary into the office. Sitting in the large leather chair behind the desk was a dark haired man in a crisp (and probably horrendously expensive) business suit casually going through a stack of file folders.
Isumi swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward a bit.
"Imonoyama-san?"
The man looked up quickly and smiled.
"Ah ... you must be Isumi-kun, please sit down." He gestured to a seat in front of his desk and Isumi, not trusting his legs to hold him through all that was required of him, gratefully accepted. Isumi moved to start explaining his situation when he found himself listening to the one thing he hadn't wanted to hear.
"I'm sorry to tell you that the CLAMP Campus Detectives haven't accepted any new cases in years."
"Ohh.... I see," Isumi forced himself to say. "But ... when I talked to you on the phone you were so excited about the idea..."
The man's face twisted into a sharp frown and Isumi immediately tried to apologize for his thoughtless comment, but strangely, Imonoyama-san did not appear to be annoyed with him at all. Isumi found himself a little confused.
"I'm afraid I was being hasty. The fact is, I have too many responsibilities to handle now, so there's no way we could possibly take your case. But I will be sure to have my secretary put you in touch with a few very capable detectives."
Well, that was reasonable enough--positively generous, actually, given how busy the Imonoyamas must be. Still, Imonoyama-san's enthusiasm had made Isumi so hopeful...
"Takamura-san? Takamura-san? Have you seen the budget projections anywhere around?"
The man behind the desk crumpled.
Isumi looked up to find the voice belonging to a black haired man, perhaps a year or two younger, with his own collection of folders and papers clamped under his arm. He was trailing a blonde man in another crisp (and probably horrendously expensive) business suit who had emerged from the adjoining room and blinked curiously at them both.
"Takamura-san, what are you doing in Rijichou's chair?"
Souh sighed. He pushed away from the desk and left his seat.
"Nothing, Ijyuuin. I was just explaining to Isumi-kun" a small nod in his direction. "That we disbanded the CLAMP Campus Detectives to focus on our work as administrators here."
"But that's not what you sa--"
"Isumi-kun?" Nokoru asked. "Oh yes, now I remember! We spoke on the phone!"
A few long, elegant strides put him back in the chair Souh had just vacated. He smiled warmly at Isumi, although Isumi could hardly ignore the soft grumble of the thwarted Souh or feel very comfortable in this situation as it was. He had a feeling that what Imonoyama-san called "a case" Takamura-san called "a distraction."
"If you're busy--"
"There is a lot of work I should be doing," Nokoru said firmly, "but that's boring and this sounds like an adventure!"
Akira clapped his hands expectantly and looked excited.
"I thought we only helped young ladies in trouble," Suoh half-glowered.
"Well, it's been so long since we've worked on an actual case--I think we can make an exception!" Nokoru flashed a brilliant grin. "So, Isumi-kun, why don't you tell us everything and we'll get started right away?"
"Well..." Isumi began, "there's not much to tell really. About twenty years ago, my real parents left me on a doorstep with this. Do you think you can help me out?"
Isumi placed the trinket on Nokoru's desk. The detectives spent an uncomfortably long time staring at the pencil sharpener model of Tokyo Tower before Nokoru shot a worried glance at his companions.
By: The Refugees of Katsucon 9.5 (the con that never ended)
Touya Akira had theories about Shindou Hikaru. Not all of them were bizarre, really-- sometimes he thought that Hikaru might have some kind of strange personality disorder or a chemical imbalance that made him talk to himself. That wasn't that far outside the realm of possibility. Unfortunately, neither could explain his idiot savant abilities in the game of Go--would probably be more hindrance than help, actually.
Which left certain other, seemingly less plausible possibilities...
On the whole, Akira didn't consider himself a spiritual person, or at least not anymore than other Japanese were. He believed in the spirits of his ancestors and the gods about as much as he believed supernovas forming millions of light years away, meaning he was open minded but not especially faithfully committed to either possibility. Neither affected his life in practical terms, so he never spent much time thinking whether they existed true or not.
That is, until Shindou Hikaru came into his life.
At first, Akira assumed Hikaru was a liar, or more charitably, that he was being clever in allowing others to believe he was a mediocre player, only revealing his true brilliance when it was convenient. The problem with that theory was that no one who knew Shindou Hikaru for very long could sincerely believe that the boy was "clever". There had to be something more to it, and at this point, Akira had simply exhausted his patience for other reasonable conclusions.
Which is why he was now on the phone with a member of Japan's oldest spiritualist family trying to hire an onmyouji. Because really, who else did you call when you suspected a friend was being posessed other than the Sumeragi clan?
The person on the other end of the line had fallen silent for a long uncomfortable moment after Akira had made his initial request. The boy twisted the phone cord between his fingers and wished someone could have explained the proper protocol for this sort of thing. There was something too similar between what he was doing and ordering takeout Chinese for this to be right.
"....excuse me, but may I ask who is calling?"
Akira, caught off-guard, blinked.
"Oh! Uh, Touya Akira ..."
"..."
"...I play professional Go."
Another awkward pause flooded the line, and Akira was certain he was about to be cut off.
"I apologize if I'm being too direct," he began again, trying to regain his footing. "But I wasn't sure how one does this sort of thing. If you could direct me to the proper channels, I'll be more than happy not to take up any more of your time--"
"Oh no, not at all, Touya-sensei!"
Sensei?
"It would be our pleasure to assist you. What is the nature of your spiritual problem?"
The change in tone was surprising. Akira had expected to be accorded some professional courtesy, but nothing like this, and certainly not on account of Go. He had always supposed it was possible that he or his father could be known outside of the Go world, but had conditioned himself not to expect it. Even to the Japanese his job was a strange one.
Then again, onmyoujitsu was a strange job as well. Maybe it wasn't so odd that the Sumeragis knew who he was.
"Well ... I'm not really sure it's a spiritual problem really. Um... I just wanted the opinion of a professional..."
"That can be arranged Touya-sensei, but we'll need specifics in order to more effectively deal with the situation."
"Of course ... Well, you see ... uh...it goes something like...I think a friend of mine is possessed--"
"By a spirit or demon, Touya-sensei?"
"Uhh... Spirit, maybe? I can't imagine there being such a thing as a Go playing demon..."
*********
Ryuichirou tossed the phone in the general direction of its cradle and sighed heavily as it bounced off the wall.
"Problem?" Hiroji asked. He raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Was that 'Touya Akira' a real wanker?"
"Not exactly. I mean, it sounds legit, and I think the guy's sincere."
"Then what is it?"
"I just wish people would stop confusing onmyoujis with private detectives. I think he expects us to follow this Shindou kid around all over Tokyo."
"You're pouting."
"I am not."
Hiroji took a long sip of his soda and watched his cousin with skeptical eyes.
"It is troublesome, though... And New Year's coming up--busy season...What did you tell him?"
"I told him, frankly, that the family is very busy at this time of year, and since it's not a situation that requires immediate attention, we'd send out the first available onmyouji for a consultation, but that it'd be a while before anyone would be free."
Hiroji smiled snarkily.
"There's always Subaru-san..."
"Oh, Obaasan would love that," Ryuichirou snickered.
Pause.
"Although...he is still an onmyouji...and he does have a lot of free time...and it's not like there's anybody else..."
Hiroji almost dropped his soda.
"You're seriously considering this?"
"Well...why not?"
"Well, there's just that small problem of the Sakura. He can't be trusted to wield spiritual powers now that he's the Sakurazukamori."
Ryuichirou shrugged. "He may not have to--this Touya just wants to know what's up with the other kid, not exorcise him."
"Yet. And what if he tries to feed him to the Tree?"
"...uh....well, we'll deal with that if it comes up. Anyway, Subaru owes the family something--Obaasan didn't cut him off, so he should be able to help us out a bit with a minor case when we're swamped.
"Besides ... how badly could he fuck this up?"
********
The piece of paper lying at Isumi Shinichiro's feet was, like most plot devices loaded with a life-altering secret, entirely unassuming. Nothing about its slightly yellowed edges or crisply-printed characters suggested that the information it would impart to the reader would radically change their understanding of the world and their place in it, or cause them to question everything they'd known about themselves up till then. Which is why, when Isumi was hunting a dictionary in the family library and found the paper in an envelope hidden behind a row of books, he read it without the slightest clue that his entire life was about to go topsy-turvy.
And that's how he found out he was adopted.
The strength didn't rush out of his legs; he didn't faint and fall to the floor in a melodramatic swoon. Instead, Isumi sat down, pulled his knees up to his chest, and studied the paper more carefully. When he'd satisfied himself that it was genuine, and that he had indeed been the four-month old (male, dark hair, violet eyes, birthmark on the right shoulder) taken in by the Isumi family in April of two thousand, he folded it up, put it back in the envelope, and put the envelope back where he had found it. Then he sat down again and angsted like mad.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was probably deeply upset with his parents for not telling him the truth, but it was hard to be mad at people who'd made you part of their family when they didn't have to. What he felt toward them was mostly worry--how should he should act around his mother and father now that he knew? Should he confront them directly or act as if nothing had changed? Better question--could he even manage to keep an illusion of ignorance and contentment while he searched for his answers?
Isumi knew that was the more pressing concern, but his mind kept wandering to those two blanks on the certificate where the names of his biological mother and father were supposed to be. That was strange. Even if you didn't want your children to be able to contact you, didn't they usually note the parents' names anyway? For medical emergencies and the like? So what did it mean, those two white spaces? Maybe they hadn't had the information. But why? Had Isumi been abandoned by a teenage mother too shamed by her out-of-wedlock birth to keep her infant son? Or had his real mother and father died in the Tokyo earthquakes in 1999? Maybe someone crawled into the burned-out wreckage of a house in search of survivors and found a little dark-haired baby squawling next to a loving couple no longer able to tell the firemen who they were. Or maybe there was some scandalous secret behind his birth involving celebrtities and important personages in the highest ranks of gov--
No, Isumi reflected, it was the earthquake thing. It had to be the earthquake thing--it was the only thing appropriately tragic to fit his life. No chance to meet the people who had brought him into the world, no way to get in contact with any extended family, no one to tell him about the brothers and sisters that might be out there, or where he got his left-handedness, his violet eyes--
Just before Isumi sank deeper into The Neverending Pit of Despair, the phone rang.
He already knew who it was, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to speak to Waya at this time, in this condition. But he was sure that if he didn't pick up the phone, Waya would feel compelled to come to him directly, and Isumi was a horrible liar when what plagued his mind was something he didn't feel like discussing.
"Hello?"
"Isumi-san? It's me."
"Hi." Isumi forced himself to smile, hoping that the more effort he put into his act, the more believable it would seem (even if Waya couldn't see his face). "What's up?"
"Nothing really--I just thought you guys might come over today ... that and I wondered if I could borrow B-Boy Zip number 4..."
Isumi jolted and nearly dropped the phone. "You want what?"
On the other end Waya giggled like a maniac. "It's for a school project, Isumi-san."
"Waya ....you dropped out of school two years ago."
"Independent Study, then."
Isumi frowned, his dark hair brushing softly against his nose as he shook his head sadly. "Sorry--I don't think I have that volume."
"Really? Holes in the grand collection, Isumi-san?"
"There is no collection." Isumi knotted up, the tip of his shoulders practically touching his ears. "I just bought that one by accident because I didn't know what it was!!"
"Ahh, so you were drawn to it by instinct, Isumi-san?"
"So you just called to make fun of me, then..."
"No, not really." Waya's bright, apologetic smile definitely came through the phone line, and whatever anger Isumi felt fell away. It was hard to stay mad at Waya for his gentle teasing. He only really picked on those he cared about, after all--everyone else was either ignored or publicly ridiculed. Even though Isumi felt this quality should dance across all his major insecurities and make him withdraw far away from the people that were his friends, he couldn't help feeling very comfortable and relaxed around Waya's clumsy albeit honest affection.
"I called to make sure you're coming over today. You have a game tomorrow right? I thought you might want to spend some time alone studying for it..."
As it turned out being alone was the last thing that Isumi wanted, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the circumstances of his birth either. Waya would pick up on his troubled spirit immediately, so much so that it wouldn't surprise Isumi if he stood up and declared "You're adopted, aren't you, Isumi-san?" on the spot. Hikaru would be gleefully oblivious but would still manage to make inappropriate comments that seemed to hit home as surely as if he knew what was going on. The rest would maintain a quiet but faithful observance of the tense undertones running through Waya's one room apartment. It would be difficult--maybe impossible--to keep the discovery to himself under those conditions.
He didn't know how their opinions of him would change if they knew. And he was certain that he didn't have the self confidence to convince them that he was still the same person he had always been.
"Waya ... how important do you think a person's parents are to other people?"
"Huh?"
He could see those young gold eyes-- usually clever and sympathetic-- blinking oddly, Waya's nose scrunching up softly while his eyebrows made sharp disapproving angles as he tried to determine what Isumi was really asking him. The mental image made Isumi want to curl up and away from the receiver so as not to face judgement from the other end of the line.
"Isumi-san?..."
"Turns out ... I'm adopted."
Isumi swallowed the lump that had been growing in his throat. There, he'd said it. He'd been planning to hide it from everyone just as it had been hidden from him for so long. But it seemed right for Waya to know such an intimate secret. Like it was some offering he was making to his best friend, a gift only for Waya...
"Oh... do you know who your real parents are?"
Isumi imagined Waya tilting his head cutely and maybe even smiling at him. The words were coated with such a fine layer of curiosity and affection that even though Isumi couldn't completely relax about the issue, he did feel much better knowing that he wasn't being outright rejected.
"No... I can't find anything that even gives me a name."
"Are you going to try to find out?"
"You mean like...hire a private detective?"
"Sure! Why not? I mean, even if you can never accept them as your parents, if it'll make you feel better about things you should definitely find out."
Isumi had not purposely given any indication that what he had discovered bothered him more than it would anyone else, but he supposed Waya knew him well enough to sense how vulnerable he was to these kind of distractions. Distractions could be deadly to a career that was dependent on winning games of intense concentration.
He shifted the phone onto his shoulder.
To the Japanese, the family was a very important unit, and finding out that the people you had been honoring as father and mother were not your father and mother at all and that the spirits of your real ancestors were being ignored was a disturbing one. Isumi's time at the Chinese Go Institute had helped him to keep his emotions from disrupting his game play, but Waya knew better than to assume that he could go on completely unaffected.
"And if they're really horrible people?" Isumi asked softly.
"Ignoring it won't change the way things are, Isumi-san. You shouldn't let it drag you down. After all, we don't adore you because of who your parents are ... it's because you can drive and treat us to food if we whine long enough."
Isumi laughed before he reached for the phone book under his desk. Waya was right, if the answers would free his mind from the weight of his past then he should find the answers.
"Thank you, Way--"
"Don't mention it--we'll see you next Saturday then I guess. You can bring us snacks to make up for your absence today. Good luck!"
Waya had hung up the phone almost before Isumi realized he has spoken. Already his mind was racing ahead with the possibilities as he flipped quickly through the fat yellow book in his lap. It was an old phone book, so he probably couldn't count on many of the businesses still being open, but it would give him a place to start.
Maybe he would never find the identity of his biological parents. Maybe he'd regret that he had ever tried to track them down. But with the opportunity to learn something about himself, he could hardly turn down a peek into the fate that had brought him into the world.
And he found that these minor details of reality left him as soon as his eyes caught sight of a modestly sized ad.
03-8015-1004
********
"I'll sign it 'courtesy of your devoted daughter,' all right?"
The woman on line giggled and blushed, turning her face away to hide her amusement at the suggestive overtones in her idol's voice.
Dr. Sakurazuka Seishirou's first book had been sitting at a modestly successful position on the bestseller list for many weeks. "All in the Family : Intimacy and Close Relations" hadn't set the world of Self Help ablaze, but it was a humble success as far as the author was concerned. Besides, though the part of literary idol amused him terribly, Seishirou just wasn't interested in all the bother of being top of the charts. He had enough trouble putting up with book signings, interviews and promotional parties as it was--he'd hate to see what life was like should he publish something that seriously took off.
"Sakurazuka-san, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist we wrap things up now," Seishirou's unusually young, unusually creepy agent said as he pointed to his watch with a smile. "You have an interview in an hour, and it would be in very bad taste if you were late."
Seishirou was probably the only person who didn't think it was weird to have a Junior High Schooler managing his affairs. But then he had always been fond of children and Hiiragizawa was so capable and efficient as a literary agent. It was hard to refuse quality work.
"Now, now, some of these people have been waiting on line for hours--I think I can sign a few more."
Seishirou smiled warmly and picked his black felt tip pen once more. "Now ... how should I autograph yours, Sir?"
"How about 'Best wishes from a cock-sucking inbred son of a bitch'?"
Seishirou glanced up in mid-autograph. The gentleman standing in front of him was dressed in a long flowing pastel kimono that only managed to make his coloration seem even paler by contrast. He looked a little weird among the modern dressed bookstore crowd, but if he noticed the stares, he gave no indication.
"Ah, Kakyou, always good to see you. And conscious, too. My, this is a treat. I wasn't aware that you were a fan."
The stroke of Seishirou's pen was flawless as he jotted down 'Best wishes from your cock-sucking inbred son of a bitch' on the inside of the book's cover. Kakyou snatched his now-autographed book back and threw it at Seishirou's head--a shot which Seishirou ducked easily. Eriol gave only an amused smile as the book whizzed right past his head and knocked over the large pyramid book display that had been setup for the event. Bookstore employees squawked and scurried about to pick up the new hard cover books that had been scattered all over the floor.
Seishirou looked back at the ruined display and the excitable store employees and shook his head sadly.
"Was that really necessary? You're making a scene. Honestly, I think I liked you a whole lot more when you laid in your corner and moped. This whole aggressive, decisiveness thing doesn't suit you."
"Well to have their side pick a fight for once is an interesting change of pace," Eriol purred from his seat.
"Hmmm... True," Seishirou admitted. "And Kakyou-kun's so cute when he's messing with destiny."
Kakyou scowled and drew out his highly polished Desert Eagle 44 Magnum from where it had been strapped to his thigh. Of course, since he was wearing a kimono, that meant flashing half the crowd, but the sudden emergence of a handgun in a packed bookstore sent them scattering around the bookstore like a swarm of excited bees, knocking over displays and pushing over others in their frantic attempts to get the hell out.
Seishirou raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure we should do this now. None of us are properly attired." He grinned. "You're more than half-clothed."
Kakyou glared.
"We'll just have to make do."
********
"Isumi-kun?"
Isumi looked up into the secretary's kind, expectant eyes. He nodded quickly, feeling helplessly shy all of a sudden as he cradled the one clue he had about his real parents in his lap.
It had taken all the courage he had to broach the subject of his adoption with his parents--or, well, his "parents," he supposed now. Things could never be the same now that their the secret was exposed, and even though he still loved them and vice-versa ... the change was already obvious. Everything was suddenly awkward, and Isumi suspected it would be some time before the three of them could look each other in the eye without having to turn away suddenly.
And what he'd learned seemed hardly worth the heartache--his parents hadn't known much more about their son's birth than he did. They had, however, nearly knocked him out of his chair when they told him that they had found him on their doorstep in a basket one morning. No, really, they said. The doorbell rang, they answered it, and there he was, a sweet young child sobbing in the cold, early spring morning, in a basket, with nothing but a blanket to shield him from the chill.
There was one other thing in the basket besides though. Isumi held his inheritance to his line of sight. It was positively the oddest thing he had ever heard of leaving with a child. Weren't lockets and pocketwatches more de rigeur? Still, strange as it was, it spoke volumes about his biological parents.
Of course, he had to figure out what it was saying first.
He was going to find out, no matter how horrible and strange these people were, he was going to find out....
He tucked the knick-knack away in his pocket and followed the secretary into the office. Sitting in the large leather chair behind the desk was a dark haired man in a crisp (and probably horrendously expensive) business suit casually going through a stack of file folders.
Isumi swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward a bit.
"Imonoyama-san?"
The man looked up quickly and smiled.
"Ah ... you must be Isumi-kun, please sit down." He gestured to a seat in front of his desk and Isumi, not trusting his legs to hold him through all that was required of him, gratefully accepted. Isumi moved to start explaining his situation when he found himself listening to the one thing he hadn't wanted to hear.
"I'm sorry to tell you that the CLAMP Campus Detectives haven't accepted any new cases in years."
"Ohh.... I see," Isumi forced himself to say. "But ... when I talked to you on the phone you were so excited about the idea..."
The man's face twisted into a sharp frown and Isumi immediately tried to apologize for his thoughtless comment, but strangely, Imonoyama-san did not appear to be annoyed with him at all. Isumi found himself a little confused.
"I'm afraid I was being hasty. The fact is, I have too many responsibilities to handle now, so there's no way we could possibly take your case. But I will be sure to have my secretary put you in touch with a few very capable detectives."
Well, that was reasonable enough--positively generous, actually, given how busy the Imonoyamas must be. Still, Imonoyama-san's enthusiasm had made Isumi so hopeful...
"Takamura-san? Takamura-san? Have you seen the budget projections anywhere around?"
The man behind the desk crumpled.
Isumi looked up to find the voice belonging to a black haired man, perhaps a year or two younger, with his own collection of folders and papers clamped under his arm. He was trailing a blonde man in another crisp (and probably horrendously expensive) business suit who had emerged from the adjoining room and blinked curiously at them both.
"Takamura-san, what are you doing in Rijichou's chair?"
Souh sighed. He pushed away from the desk and left his seat.
"Nothing, Ijyuuin. I was just explaining to Isumi-kun" a small nod in his direction. "That we disbanded the CLAMP Campus Detectives to focus on our work as administrators here."
"But that's not what you sa--"
"Isumi-kun?" Nokoru asked. "Oh yes, now I remember! We spoke on the phone!"
A few long, elegant strides put him back in the chair Souh had just vacated. He smiled warmly at Isumi, although Isumi could hardly ignore the soft grumble of the thwarted Souh or feel very comfortable in this situation as it was. He had a feeling that what Imonoyama-san called "a case" Takamura-san called "a distraction."
"If you're busy--"
"There is a lot of work I should be doing," Nokoru said firmly, "but that's boring and this sounds like an adventure!"
Akira clapped his hands expectantly and looked excited.
"I thought we only helped young ladies in trouble," Suoh half-glowered.
"Well, it's been so long since we've worked on an actual case--I think we can make an exception!" Nokoru flashed a brilliant grin. "So, Isumi-kun, why don't you tell us everything and we'll get started right away?"
"Well..." Isumi began, "there's not much to tell really. About twenty years ago, my real parents left me on a doorstep with this. Do you think you can help me out?"
Isumi placed the trinket on Nokoru's desk. The detectives spent an uncomfortably long time staring at the pencil sharpener model of Tokyo Tower before Nokoru shot a worried glance at his companions.