Chapter Text
Dearest Viewer— This story is a work of fiction.
Similarities between characters or events to persons living or dead in your world are…
Well, calling it merely coincidental would be a lie. Do not take this as deception, but merely a change in narrative.
You know these people in your world, yet you will see them take on a new form. With traits both familiar and not, yet they are not perfect mirrors nor are they intended to be so.
Their words, actions, and feelings are their own. They will not reflect directly on their counterparts.
To those who understand the statement above, you may indulge in our Archiver’s story.
For this is a Tale of Rebellious Youth. Of Unbreakable Bonds. Of Trust, Betrayal, and Redemption.
Let my quill guide you along this story. As it starts with our lone trickster on the road to damnation.
———
Shiori’s eyes blink open as the train car rumbles, a sharp pain in her neck making her snap out of her dream. She can already feel her body aching as she sits up from her uncomfortable position.
The Tower calls to you, dear Trickster… You will be the one to answer its call.
The voice from her dream fades away, ominous and distant. With every rocky bump of the train car, its words are little more than a faint memory.
Shiori braces against the seat as the train car lurches slightly, “The trains didn’t nearly shake this much back in Inaba…” She thinks to herself, rubbing her eyes.
Looking at the digital display overhead, luckily she hasn’t missed her stop. As she opens her phone, she goes to message her parents. They must be worried about her, if she got there safely.
She falters as she only sees one message.
Mother: I expect you to not cause any trouble for Ouro-san. They will be watching over you for the next year, so be on your best behavior.
It put a bad taste in her mouth. Her parents have treated her differently ever since the incident. Then again, what did she expect…
“They think I’m a criminal… Well, I kind of am.” She grimaces, twirling her finger in the silver part of her hair, “But they didn’t even believe me…”
For a moment, her mind slips back into that moment…
She was out late. She can’t remember the reason, but she remembers the scene.
A masked man standing over a woman, dragging her body towards a car. She was alive, breathing but unconscious. Blood dripped from her head and down her face.
She didn’t know how long she hesitated. If she hesitated at all. But suddenly she was in his face and her fist collided with his nose. And she didn’t stop there…
The sickening sounds of her fist cracking against his skull, the rush of adrenaline keeping her from feeling the pain.
He was unconscious by the time she heard sirens… She couldn’t move. Rooted in place until the police pulled her off and put her in cuffs.
The scene flashes in her mind. The interrogation. The screaming from the officers as they tried to get a confession out of her. She couldn’t tell if the blood that caked her old uniform was from the masked man or her own.
The trial was short. But she could remember the gaze of the judge, drilling into her very soul. They didn’t care if she was innocent. Just that she was punished.
She felt her old self rotting in that cell. Her parents didn’t even come to visit. Nobody cared about the truth. She had no one.
Shiori snaps back out of her thoughts as she hears a soft melody over the speakers, a monotone voice repeating the name of the upcoming station.
… It didn’t matter what she was. Or if anyone cares to believe her. This was her stop. Where her new life in Tokyo would begin.
———
The adults back in Inaba always spoke badly about Tokyo.
Too loud. Too bright. Too much.
Maybe she felt the same at that moment. As people brushed past her, bumping into her as they boarded the train. Barely acknowledging her as they fight for a space on the public transit.
She steels her nerves and fights back as well. Moving quickly against the current and stumbling out the other side, clutching her bags close.
Even as she finds her footing, she has to keep moving to not get caught in the rush. The last thing she needs is to be ushered onto a separate line.
Eventually she finds herself topside, squinting as the afternoon sun cuts through the clouds to obscure her vision. Squinting as she steps out of the way to check her phone for directions.
“Ouro-san’s house isn’t far from here…”
The walk from the station to Yongen-Jaya wasn’t far, but the smaller roads and tall buildings made things feel cramped. She felt so small and insignificant in a city like this…
“Maybe that’s the point.” She muses to herself, glancing at nearby shops on the way into the neighborhood. The streets were less crowded here, but she still narrowly bumped into some of them. Including almost colliding a guy on his bike and bumping into a woman with pale pink and black streaked hair. She would quickly apologize and keep going.
“Let’s see… There’s a thrift shop and a small market over there. A laundromat… “Death’s Door Clinic”? What kind of name is that?” She gets a chill down her spine just thinking about it.
She makes it to the address, looking up at the old looking building. It stood apart from most of the apartment structures, yet it seemed well cared for.
Her legs feel heavy as she pulls herself up the steps, “Ok… Good impression. Make a good impression. You’re great at those.” She sighs as she rings the doorbell.
…
Silence. Nothing but silence.
Not even an awkward shuffle from behind the door signaling someone saw her but just ignored her.
She tries to again, even knocking a few times…
Nothing.
“Do I have the wrong address? Of all times for father to mess with me—“
“Hey.”
“Oh good god—“ She jumps, stumbling into the door as she turns behind her.
The woman from earlier stands with a bag of groceries. She brushes her long pink hair from her eyes as she looks at her, unphased by her startled response.
She takes the small red lollipop out from her mouth, “If you’re trying to sell something, don’t bother. They’re never home at this hour.”
Shiori pauses to take in that information as well as the rest of her. She notes the rest of her punk looking outfit, but also the white lab coat she’s wearing… Was she from Death’s Door Clinic?
“Oh. I was told that Ouro-san would be home. My parents…” She averts her gaze. This lady was scary, it felt like her blood red eyes cut into her very soul…
“If you’re actually looking for her, try Timeless. Blue cafe on this corner with the silver sign, you can’t miss it.” She hums, turning and walking off.
“Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple…” Shiori thinks as lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “Okay… Thank y— And she’s gone. Great…”
She steps out into the street, glancing to her right. Right around the corner, connected to the house itself, was the cafe. The old rustic and vintage appearance was nice, the dark blue and silver accents gave it a more refined aesthetic.
The sign above the door has a silver frame and engraving of what she could assume is a clock. With “Timeless” written in ornate golden text. If she didn’t have to meet with Ouro-san, she would be too intimidated to go inside.
“Ok… A slight setback. But there’s time for a good first impression.” Shiori sighs, “… I need to stop talking to myself.”
———
The small bell above the door rings as she peeks inside. The cafe wasn’t very busy, just a few customers scattered at various tables.
She notices an old couple gossiping as they watch the old TV in the corner, a girl wearing a purple beanie drawing in a sketchbook, and a business man solemnly eating a bowl of… Udon?
“Was Udon a common cafe food? Maybe it’s a city thing.” She thinks to herself, her eyes flicking to another person near her at the counter.
Currently reading a newspaper is an older woman with dark blue hair, sleeves rolled up and an apron tossed on the counter. Although she can see her name tag from where she’s standing: “Ouro”
“That’s Ouro-san? From how Father describes them, I thought it would’ve been a cranky, balding old man. But this lady… She seems alright, maybe a bit intimidating to—“
“If you’re going to loiter near the doorway, at least close it before you let in flies.” The woman says, not even looking up to address her.
Busted…
Shiori steps inside, gently shutting the door behind her, “I assume you’re… Ouro-san? I think you know my parents… The Novellas? From Inaba?”
She watches as the older woman lowers her newspaper, her striking blue eyes glaring at her, “…. You’re late.” Her voice is monotone, almost cold as she stares.
“By two minutes.” Shiori clarifies as she places her bag on one of the bar stools, “And it’s because I went to the given address. Forgive me for assuming my guardian would be home to greet me.” Her tone comes out a bit more sarcastic than she intended.
“My home is practically right next door, no need to whine about it.” The woman tosses the paper onto the counter, “Already with the sass… Teenagers are always so cynical…”
Her mind bounces between the options of giving a snarky comment or witty response, but her mother’s words ring in her head. She attempts to say something more respectful, “I’ll be in your care for the next year… My name is-“
She sighs, “I know who you are, kid. Shiori Novella, 17 years old, attempted murder— I got your file a while ago. I’ll say you’re more trouble than you’re worth…
Her words make her chest ache, as her words come out much more bitter, “I didn’t try to— I’m NOT—“ She bites back her words before she could snap.
“Be on your best behavior… That’s what my mother said. I need to behave.”
The older woman raises an eyebrow, as if prompting her to continue. But she knows better…
“ … I suppose I should be charmed that you’ve done your research?” She says quietly, trying to make a light joke.
“You should be grateful that I was able to take you in.” She says as she crosses her arms, “But even punk kids like you deserve a second chance at good… So don’t waste it.”
Shiori feels a pit in her stomach at being called a punk, but then again the others called her worse. She looks down, “I’m not a kid…”
Her voice feels small and weak compared to Ouro’s tone. The commanding deep voice made her feel as if she was being interrogated again.
“Well, you’re considered one which is why you weren’t sent to prison. I don’t intend to run this place like one, but I hope you’re able to respect my rules so you can stay out of trouble.”
She just nods, but purposely tries to avoid eye contact. She can try her best, but trouble always seems to find her these days…
“Good enough… Let’s get your things up to your room. Follow me upstairs.”
She nods as she follows close behind her. This was going to be a LONG year…