Shuichi stares up at the dark red building. Its new paint sets it apart from the dull gray skyscrapers, rundown factories and ratty houses around it, which are covered in graffiti, their windows boarded up, their shutters falling off. Shuichi glances over each of his shoulders. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary aside from the groups of Peasants huddled under blankets on the street corners, he enters through the building’s glass doors. Already, several children are scattered around the play room, two sleeping, two others coloring, and another three playing with a Lego set.
“Mrs. Furujima,” Shuichi calls, “are you there?”
A short, fair-skinned woman with a bag of first-aid supplies slung over her shoulder emerges from the small room on the right side of the play room. “Good morning,” she greets Shuichi. She holds out a basket of fruit. “This is for the kids,” she explains. “Can you please put it in the office?”
“Sure,” Shuichi replies as she slips the basket off of her wrist and into his hands. He takes the basket into an office to the left of the entrance and sets it down on the desk next to his computer. As he grabs a clipboard from the desk drawer and scoots in front of the computer, a slip of paper drops out on to the floor. Shuichi reaches down to pick it up and inspects it. “This letter...Kazuma...” he murmurs as he stares out the window.
Shuichi stood in the aisle next to his friend’s desk; Kazuma slouched forward over the desktop, frowning. “But now the commanders are forcing me to go on an espionage mission to the Kaita village. I have no choice..but to do as they say,” Shuichi murmured.
“When are you leaving?” Kazuma asked, his brown eyes wide with worry.
“The day after tomorrow.”
“I have something you should take with you,” Kazuma said. He dug around in the backpack slung over his chair and pulled out a bag with a spare set of clothes.
“Please, you don’t have to give me that,” Shuichi refused.
“No, you can take them. They’re too big for me, anyway.” Kazuma handed the bag to Shuichi. “These were my older brother’s. He..died in the war.”He paused for a moment, looking down sadly, then continued, “They’ll help you blend in; the Kaita natives don’t wear a whole lot of hot colors.”
Shuichi bowed to Kazuma. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you for being there for me.” Kazuma smiled at Shuichi. “You’d better come back, you hear?”
Shuichi clutches the armrest of his wheelchair. If I came back this way, I wonder how Kazuma fared. Shuichi frowns at the thought. He never replied to any of my letters. Shuichi sighs and lays the letter he’d written to Kazuma on the desk, then sets the clipboard on top of it. He rummages through the drawers for a few special forms, then turns on the computer and starts pounding and clicking away.
After he’s been at it for a while, he hears the door open, then footsteps approaching the office. “Hey.” His friend, Reka, a short boy about 14 years old with his red hair tied back in a ponytail, steps in holding a paper bag, which he sets on the desk.
Shuichi turns to face him. “Hey, Reka,” he greets him back. “You didn’t have any trouble getting here, did you?”
“Nah,” Reka answers. He steps behind Shuichi and peeks curiously over his shoulder at the computer screen. “What are you working on, Shuichi?”
“The usual,” Shuichi replies. “Just typing up reports and such– Boring official stuff that we’ve gotta do if we want to keep this place running.”
“Aren’t your folks supposed to do that?” Reka asks. He grabs a piece of fruit from the basket that Mrs. Furujima had given Shuichi.
“They’re at work right now– Hey, that food’s not for you,” Shuichi says playfully, snatching the basket away. “Anyway, Reka, what’s in the bag?”
