Chapter Text
A loud ring.
Nakoshi stirred awake, head tilted against the back of the park bench, the autumn sun castled a soft glow on his closed eyelids. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; his body, however, didn't seem to care. The hard wooden seat dug into his back, reminding him that he'd drifted off awkwardly sitting rather than lying down. His hand absentmindedly moved to his pocket, fishing for his buzzing phone. He blinked slowly as the name flashed on the screen: Dr. Frankenstein.
He sighed, sliding a thumb across the screen to answer.
Nakoshi didn't bother with a greeting. "What is it this time ?" He mumbled, voice still groggy.
"Nakoshi, you've got to come here. I'm at The Atelier, that new luxury store that just opened downtown,” Ito's voice was animated, a far cry from his usual cold demeanor. Nakoshi could almost picture the childish grin on his face.
"A luxury clothing store ?" Nakoshi raised an eyebrow, already dreading where this was going. He stood up, stretching out his stiff limbs. "Why ?"
"Just come. I think I've found something. It'll be worth your time." Ito's tone was cryptic but unmistakably urgent.
Nakoshi has been used to these odd requests for a while now. Ever since the sand-symbol girl, Ito's strange whims had only increased, though Nakoshi wasn't exactly one to complain — he owed him more than just a few favors.
"Fine, I'm coming."
___________
The posh atmosphere of The Atelier was like entering another world entirely. The store was immaculate, bathed in soft golden lighting from the chandeliers that made everything — from the marble floors to the designer racks — look like it was plucked from a magazine cover. Nakoshi tugged at his wrinkled jacket, feeling the stares of the elite clientele brushing past him. Their eyes flickered over his outfit, clearly out of place among the sleek silhouettes and tailored fabrics.
He ignored the snickers and whispers, scanning the store for Ito. The man had a way of disappearing into the most unlikely places, and Nakoshi wasn't sure if this was another one of his stunts or if something was going on. The store's overly friendly staff kept casting him uneasy glances, as though he might dirty the carpet just by standing there.
Nakoshi reached the changing rooms when he felt a sharp tug on his arm. Before he could react, he was pulled into one of the stalls, the curtains flinging shut behind him.
"Nakoshi !" Ito's face lit up, eyes glinting with excitement. Behind him, hanging on the wall, was a suit that looked like it could buy Nakoshi's entire existence and still have change left. Black and red, crisp, and worth more than he had seen in a while.
Nakoshi yanked his arm free, giving Ito a hard look. "A little warning next time ?"
Ito waved him off with a smile. "I need you to wear this." He motioned toward the expensive suit.
Nakoshi looked at the suit, then back at Ito, suspicion written all over his face.
"Yeah ? The hell is this about ?"
"Well, you see, I was doing my weekly shopping, and I noticed something... odd about one of the salesmen. I think he's a Homunculus." Ito's voice lowered, his enthusiasm barely contained. "But I need you to confirm it, obviously. Put this on and walk around the store with me. Let's see if we can draw him out."
Nakoshi narrowed his eyes, unamused. "You dragged me in here to play dress-up so you can test a hunch ?”
Ito flashed him a grin. "I already paid for the suit, so consider it a gift. Plus, after that dinner you made me go to... in that terrible dress and wig... it's only fair, don't you think ?"
Nakoshi scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Figures. This is your way of getting back at me."
Without waiting for Nakoshi to argue further, Ito handed him the suit, all business now. Nakoshi sighed in defeat, glancing at the luxurious fabric in his hands. "Fine, I'll humor you. Now get out of here."
Ito hesitated, then gave a slight blush before quickly slipping out of the changing room.
___________
A moment later, Nakoshi emerged, the transformation startling. His scruffy appearance had been replaced by someone who fit in far too easily with the store's wealthy clientele. The suit draped perfectly over his frame, making him look sharp and elegant. Even his hair — normally hidden under a beanie — was exposed, loose curls framing his face. For a brief moment, he felt like the imposter he was only months ago.
Ito looked him up and down, visibly impressed. "Not bad."
"Spare me," Nakoshi grumbled, adjusting the cuffs as they made their way back onto the sales floor.
As they wandered the aisles, Nakoshi fell into step beside Ito, scanning the shelves of exorbitantly priced garments. "So tell me, how exactly are you certain he's one ?" Nakoshi asked, his voice low. Ito, meanwhile, resumed his shopping like it was any other day, picking up shirts and jackets to examine.
"I can't explain it fully. His vibe was... off. There was something in his mannerisms, the way he talked just screamed emotionally scarred man. I just know," Ito replied, as though that answered everything. His focus stayed on the clothes, but Nakoshi knew him well enough to sense the underlying calculation in his every move.
They didn't have to wait long. Soon enough, the salesman approached Ito, his polished smile perfectly in place. "Sir, may I help you ?" He looked like he belonged in the magazine ads that dotted the new store: clean-cut, perfectly groomed, every word of his dripping with professionalism.
Ito began chatting with him, asking questions about fabrics and styles, but Nakoshi had already tuned him out. His right eye subtly closed, the world narrowing down into his left.
And what he saw made his stomach churn.
The salesman's form was no longer smooth and polished. Instead, his body seemed entirely made of glass, fissures and cracks of varying depths running along it. The most striking one started at his chest and ended at his hip, gaping as though a single touch could shatter the man into a thousand pieces... His face, still smiling on the surface, seemed frozen in overwhelming fear. His eyes, lacking pupils, were white like the marble floor of the shop, wide open and pleading.
Ito had been right.
It was a Homunculus.
Nakoshi felt a familiar chill creep down his spine. How did he know ?
Nakoshi observed the salesman with a quiet intensity, watching him interact with Ito as though nothing were out of the ordinary. His voice was smooth and professional, but something was unnerving about the way his glass-like figure moved — every gesture too careful, too calculated, as if afraid of shattering from the slightest misstep.
"The jackets we have here," the sales assistant was saying, motioning them toward a collection of sleek outerwear, "are quite similar to the one you're wearing, sir. Short and long styles, in a variety of fabrics."
As they followed the assistant down the aisle, Nakoshi glanced at Ito. He caught the glint of satisfaction in his eyes — Ito was pleased, smug even. Nakoshi shook his head, somewhere between weirded out and impressed... What's up with his otherwordly intuition ? His 'hunches' were becoming a bit too accurate lately.
Nakoshi leaned closer and whispered, "He's glass. Cracks all over him, but holding together somehow. And his eyes... they're like mirrors, reflecting the light, but distorted.”
Ito's face remained neutral, but Nakoshi could tell he was processing this. They walked in silence as the salesman led them deeper into the store.
When they reached the jackets, the man smiled, his fingers lightly brushing the fabric as if afraid to handle it too roughly. "Excellent choice, by the way, sir," he said to Ito, admiring his jacket. Then his eyes fell on the custom shape stitched into the shoulder and back of Ito's coat, and his smile faltered for just a second. "Quite unique. A personal addition, if I'm not mistaken ?"
Ito chuckled, a sound that made Nakoshi inwardly wince at its practised ease. "That's right. I find most designers these days are too... predictable. Everything looks the same. It's boring, isn't it? Why would I want to wear something everyone else has ?”
At this, the salesman seemed to brighten. His rigid posture softened just a touch, and for the first time, his expression revealed something genuine — curiosity. "You're absolutely right," he said, nodding in agreement. "I've often thought the same thing. I'd love to see more original designs, more creativity. But..." He hesitated, as if unsure he should continue, then flashed another tight smile. "We cater to a certain clientele, you see."
Nakoshi's brow furrowed. He glanced at the Homunculus once more, closing his right eye to see the distorted reality within. The Glass Man's eyes had changed. Instead of reflecting the ambient light of the store, they now reflected Ito himself, but twisted, as though viewed through a funhouse mirror. The man's posture remained still, yet cracks began to appear, not just on his limbs, but across his chest. Nakoshi could almost hear the faint tick as a new fracture crept down the length of his torso.
Ito caught the hint, his voice shifting ever so slightly as he continued. "Do you think your manager would be open to experimenting with more variety ? More bold designs? It could really bring some life to this place."
At the mention of the manager, the Glass Man flinched. Nakoshi's eyes narrowed, a drop of sweat rolling down his face at the exertion. Another fracture had appeared — this time, a sharp crack across the assistant's shoulder.
The tension in the air shifted, barely perceptible, but Nakoshi could feel it. The man was holding himself together, but barely.
The salesman stammered for a moment, his composure slipping. "I... I think it's a wonderful idea," he said, though his tone was suddenly strained. "Our manager is always looking for customer feedback, of course." His eyes anxiously flickered toward the back of the store, where Nakoshi imagined the manager's office might be. There was something there, something he wasn't saying.
Nakoshi seized the opportunity. "Why don't you take us to him? I'm sure he'd love to hear our thoughts directly, yeah ?" His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a subtle insistence that caught the man off guard.
The man's smile faltered, the strain behind his facade more visible by the second. "I'm afraid the manager isn't available at the moment," he said, his voice steady but not quite convincing. "He's out, attending to some important business."
Nakoshi raised an incredulous eyebrow. The response felt too rehearsed, too convenient. He tilted his head, observing the cracks crawling down the man's legs. He could almost physically feel the strain building underneath. "Are you sure about that ?" Nakoshi pressed, his tone light but pointed. "Where is he, exactly ?"
The assistant hesitated, the silence stretching just a little too long. His eyes darted to the side, clearly scrambling for an answer. "Well... you see, The Atelier is still so new. Our manager has been very busy with meetings and... and he's not always around." He forced a tight-lipped smile, hands tied behind his back, trying to regain control of the conversation. "If you'd like, you can write a note and when he returns, I'll be sure to pass it along."
Nakoshi studied the man, noting how the glass cracks had deepened across his chest. It was like watching a fragile vase under too much pressure, one more push and it would burst apart. But Nakoshi needed information, not fragments.
Before he could say anything more, Ito stepped forward with an exaggerated sigh, putting on an air of disappointment. "That's strange," he said, his tone a perfect mix of concern and curiosity. "I could've sworn I saw him enter his office just a few moments ago. I didn't want to say anything, but... are you sure he's not in ? I doubt he'd refuse to see us for just a minute."
The assistant went rigid. Nakoshi watched as tiny fissures appeared along the glass man's arms, this time spreading like cobwebs. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though he wanted to clasp them together but was too afraid to move. For a second, Nakoshi thought he might break then and there.
The man blinked, his expression stiffening. "Oh... you're right. Yes, of course. My mistake," he stammered, clearly scrambling to keep his image. "I must've misunderstood. Please, you're welcome to speak with him. I'll show you to his office." His words tumbled out in quick succession, his tone brittle.
Nakoshi watched closely as Glass Man motioned toward the back of the store, gesturing to a sleek, sculpted door at the end of the hallway. "Right this way," the man mumbled, his voice thin. He looked sickly pale. "Pardon me. I... I think I need a moment. I'm not feeling well."
Without waiting for their response, the salesman hurried off, his steps too quick to feel natural. Nakoshi's right eye flickered shut once more, revealing the man's glass body straining to hold itself together. His hands were clenched at his sides like he was comforting himself with a self-hug, as though releasing them would cause him to fall apart. The cracks were everywhere now, creeping up his legs and back, threatening to splinter at any moment if the tick ting tunk noises were enough of a hint.
Ito watched the man's retreating figure with a twisted grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "He's going to crack any moment now," Ito said with a low chuckle, already taking a step in the man's direction, clearly intent on following a trail of broken glass.
Nakoshi's hand shot out, gripping Ito's wrist firmly to hold him back. "No," Nakoshi muttered under his breath. "If you push him any further, he'll shatter. We haven't even gathered the intel to build him back up yet.”
Ito paused. He glanced down at Nakoshi's hand gripping his wrist before raising an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you cared about breaking these things," he said, though there was no real bite in his tone.
"I care about fixing them," Nakoshi replied calmly, releasing his wrist. He lowered his voice as they walked down the hallway. "He was already fractured from the moment we started talking, something must have happened to him. The moment you mentioned the manager, it got worse. The cracks spread across his body... Whatever turned him into this Homunculus has something to do with the manager."
Ito fell into step behind him, his excitement tempered but still present. "You think the manager caused it ? Or maybe he's keeping him that way, so he stays in line ?"
"Maybe both," Nakoshi said thoughtfully. "The way he reacted when we asked for the manager — it was like he couldn't even control his response. That crack on his shoulder formed the moment you brought him up." He glanced sideways at Ito. "He's afraid of the manager, for how long I'm not sure... Perhaps it's just general fear of a superior and he sucks at choosing healthy workplaces."
They reached the door of the office, the polished wood reflecting the store's muted lighting. Nakoshi paused, glancing at Ito before knocking softly. No answer.
Nakoshi knocked again, a bit louder this time. Still no response.
He turned to Ito. "Well, that was anti-climactic."
Ito gave him a sly smile, slipping his hand into his pocket. "Do not fret, my friend. I have just the right tool." With a dramatic flourish, he pulled out a small safety pin, holding it up as if it were a priceless treasure.
Nakoshi couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. "I didn't take you for a real delinquent," he teased, amusement creeping into his voice. "so your little rebellion with your father did bring some perks."
Ito huffed, crouching down by the lock. "Someone like me has to know how to get into places we're not supposed to be."
As Ito worked on the lock, Nakoshi stood by with his right eye closed, ready for whatever heartless, callous thing of a manager awaited on the other side of the door.
The lock clicked softly, and he slowly pushed the door open.
Nakoshi and Ito stepped into the office, closing the door behind them with a soft click. The room was dimly lit by a single window, the pale afternoon light filtering through blinds that hadn’t been adjusted in what seemed like weeks. The air had a stale, dusty quality to it, and the faint scent of disuse hung in the space. It was a stark contrast to the sleek, luxurious aesthetic of the shop outside.
The office was relatively small, furnished with polished wood and dark leather. A large desk dominated the center of the room, with an ergonomic chair tucked behind it. Shelves lined the walls, holding neatly arranged files, binders, and a few knick-knacks. A small, framed photograph sat on one of the shelves — a picture of a man Nakoshi assumed was the manager, smiling beside a woman, likely his wife. It was the only sign of personal life in the otherwise cold space.
Nakoshi approached the desk, noticing how untouched everything looked. The dust had collected in thin layers on the surface, a clear indication that no one had been here for quite some time. He ran his hand across the desk's surface, the dust clinging to his fingers.
Nakoshi frowned, his mind racing with possibilities. When was the last time anyone stepped into this room ? He glanced at Ito, who was leaning onto one of the shelves, examining its contents with a casual but focused gaze. The faint smile on Ito's lips suggested that he had already come to the same conclusion.
"This room hasn't been used in a while," Ito broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness. He straightened up and crossed his arms, giving Nakoshi a sidelong glance. "That sales guy just got a lot more interesting, don't you think ?"
Nakoshi nodded slowly, his thoughts swirling. "He led us here knowing we wouldn't be answered by anyone. He's been lying to us more than we thought."
Ito let out a chuckle, pushing himself away from the shelf and walking over to the desk. "Oh, definitely. The question is, why ? Was he trying to throw us off ? Or maybe... It's not about what the manager did to him. Maybe it's the other way around." He circled around the desk, sitting down in the manager's chair with casual ease. "Where's the manager, anyway ? This office looks like it hasn't seen him in weeks. The Atelier isn't that old."
Nakoshi didn't respond right away. Had Glass Man done something to the manager ? Was this why the homunculus had appeared — some deep fear tied to whatever had happened ?
Ito's fingers tapped absentmindedly on the desk as he stared at the blank screen of the computer. "Let's see if this gives us anything," he muttered, pressing the power button. The screen flickered to life, but as soon as the login screen appeared, Ito's lips curled into a disappointed frown.
"Ugh, no password," Ito grumbled. "Looks like the computer's been reset to factory settings." His fingers danced over the keyboard, pulling up the system settings and confirming what he already suspected. "No files, no data. Whoever was using this last wanted to make sure nothing was left behind."
Nakoshi's eyes narrowed, watching Ito work. "So, what now ? You think there's anything useful here at all ?"
Ito leaned back in the chair, his fingers still tapping rhythmically on the desk as he considered their options. Ah... He really wants to get his hands on a Homunculus, his last attempt was a disaster... "Nothing on the computer, but I can dig into some intel when I get back to my place. Even if this little guy's been wiped, there are ways to trace what was here before."
Nakoshi glanced around the office, his gaze lingering on the desk drawers and the shelves. Something about the room felt off, beyond just the disuse. It felt like it had been intentionally abandoned — cleared out, wiped clean. There had to be something they were missing.
"Before we leave," Nakoshi suggests, his voice a low rumble, "Let's check the drawers. There might still be something left behind. Something small, something they didn't think to get rid of.”
Ito shrugged. "Can't hurt to try."
Nakoshi mindlessly moved to the drawers on the left side of the desk, pulling them open one by one. The top drawer held nothing but a few pens and some loose paperclips... The second drawer had a few neatly folded papers, receipts from days ago. The third drawer — locked.
Nakoshi's hand paused on the handle. He glanced up at Ito, who was watching him with a raised brow.
"Well, well," Ito said, his tone light. "A locked drawer. That's either a good sign, or a bad one."
Nakoshi didn't waste any time. "You still have that safety pin ?"
Ito grinned, reaching into his pocket and giving it to him. "You're learning."
Nakoshi crouched down, carefully working the pin into the lock. It wasn't difficult — after a few moments, he heard a soft click, and the drawer slid open.
Inside, there was a small, black notebook. Its cover was plain, unmarked except for a faint indent where someone had pressed down with a pen. It looked old, and worn, as if it had been handled often. Nakoshi pulled it out and flipped it open, revealing pages filled with neat, precise handwriting.
He scanned the first few pages — notes about inventory, sales numbers, typical managerial tasks. But as he flipped through the pages, the entries became... stranger. The handwriting grew more erratic, the notes more disjointed. Mentions of 'stress', 'pressure', and 'expectations' began to appear until came up a full sentence 'I might not come home tonight'.
And then, Nakoshi's eyes caught a name — Kato. It was circled multiple times. Next to it, a note; 'Can't trust. Watching me.'
Nakoshi's pulse quickened. Kato... Is that the name of the salesman ?
"Ito," Nakoshi called, holding up the notebook. "Take a look at this."
Ito leaned forward from behind him, scanning the pages. His expression darkened as he took in the increasingly frantic entries. "This is the manager's handwriting, right ? He was concerned. Thought the sales guy was watching him."
Nakoshi hummed. "More than that. He was afraid of him."
Ito frowned, flipping through the remaining pages. "What did this Kato do to make him this paranoid ?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Nakoshi and Ito exchanged a look — whatever had happened between Kato and the manager, it had driven the latter into a state of fear and paranoia, perhaps he ended up running away from his workplace... But it still doesn't explain the Glass Man's transformation... Why the overwhelming fear ? Is it the fear of being caught ?
Ito let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples as he leaned back in the manager's chair. "Let's call it a day," he muttered, his voice unusually tired, "This whole thing's starting to give me a headache. My shopping day is ruined."
Nakoshi studied his friend for a moment, noting the faint weariness behind his usual bravado. For once, Ito's ready to stop. Nakoshi nodded in agreement, already feeling the weight of their strange day sinking into his bones.
"Fine," he said quietly. "We'll pick this up later."
Without another word, the two of them exited the office, stepping back into the opulent surroundings of the clothing store. Nakoshi's thoughts lingered on the manager's cryptic notes, on the Glass Man, and on his ominous cracks that seemed to run deeper than either of them could yet begin to understand.
___________
It was evening by the time Nakoshi returned to his usual spot by the park. He was sat in the driver's seat of his car, the engine off, staring ahead at the empty road. The sky had dimmed into a soft twilight, the last traces of the day's light casting long shadows across the street. A familiar stillness filled the air.
Nakoshi glanced down at the bento box resting on his lap, the faint scent of cooked rice and grilled fish wafting up from the neatly arranged compartments. Ito's doing, of course. Lately, Ito had made a habit of handing him these homemade meals before they parted ways, insisting on it with that smug grin of his. Nakoshi had found it irritating at first, but he had to admit... it wasn't bad.
He picked up his chopsticks, taking a bite of the tamagoyaki. It was sweet and perfectly soft. Nakoshi amused himself with the thought that Ito was starting to treat him like a girlfriend — or worse, like a loyal dog, rewarding him with food for good behavior... He was still in the expensive suit Ito bought him today.
Maybe this is his way of stabilizing, of finding some kind of balance, Nakoshi mused as he chewed thoughtfully. The guy's definitely changing. The manic energy Ito once carried with him everywhere seemed to have mellowed since his Homunculus was fixed. He was still unpredictable, still full of wild ideas, but there was something different now — something healthier, calmer.
Nakoshi wouldn't dare say it aloud, though. If I praised him, he'd probably never let me hear the end of it.
He glanced at the rear-view mirror, catching his own reflection in the fading light. There was something strange about the way his face looked just then — an unfamiliar expression that flickered and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Nakoshi frowned, his grip on the chopsticks tightening.
Before he could dwell on it further, a sharp knock on the window startled him. The bento nearly flew out of his hands, but he managed to catch it just before it could tumble onto the floor.
Nakoshi's head snapped toward the window, his heart racing from the surprise. Standing outside was the old man from the homeless camp, Ken-san. His wrinkled face creased into a faint smile. Nakoshi relaxed, rolling down the window.
"Good evening," The old man greeted, his breath visible in the crisp night air. "It's a cold one tonight, car boy. Why don't you join us for a drink ?"
Nakoshi hesitated for a moment, glancing at the half-finished bento in his lap. The night was indeed getting colder, and the thought of sleeping in there in the cold wasn't exactly appealing. He closed the bento box, setting it aside.
"Sure," he said, finally. "Why not ?"
The old man's smile widened, and Nakoshi climbed out of the car, stepping into the night. As they walked toward the small gathering by the park, the day's strange events faded into the background, replaced by the familiar rhythm of his quiet life on the fringe of society. To him, this was truly the best time of his days.