Chapter Text
Amo came to dinner with a small music box in her hands and a large plastic briefcase in her teeth.
Zanka raced to her, pulling out the chair next to Rudo's for her. "You ok? Need some help?"
"Nnuh-hhnn." But she still opened her jaw when Rudo reached out to take the case from her teeth. "Is anyone else here yet?"
"Not yet. I think Riyo's still working on chords. Why?"
"Amo has something she wants to give everyone." She took the case from Rudo, nodding to him as thanks, and hid it under her chair. "But she'll wait for more people to get here before she starts."
Zanka sat back down. "Give us what?"
"Amo can't tell you! No spoilers!"
'Spoilers,' she said, like her secret was a story. Zanka couldn't help but chuckle. He nudged Rudo's arm, gestured towards the kitchen, and stood.
Now that they were two days into the retreat, Lily focused on buffet-style meals, rather than keeping extra staff to serve and clean individual dishes. By the time Zanka and Rudo returned from the kitchen, plates full of pasta, Riyo, and Eishia had arrived. They frolicked around Amo in short, squealing movements, posing like juvenile models.
Zanka set his spaghetti down. "Are spoilers safe now?"
Instead of answering, Amo reached into her music box, now open on the table, and fetched out a string of color. "Here's yours. Oh- Rudo! Come here!" She ran off to meet him instead of waiting.
The 'string of color' Amo had shoved into Zanka's palm was actually a quaint, customized friendship bracelet. Blue beads sprawled along a black string, each hue darker than the last. Moon charms glowed between the beads, shifting between each noted phase of the lunar cycle: waxing, quarter, gibbous, full… Zanka touched each one as he counted them.
Riyo couldn't help but laugh, holding her own arm out. "Check it out, Zan. We've got Amo's official seal of approval."
She received three bracelets: one primary, that burned on her wrist like passion, and two smaller ones to match. Red, orange, and yellow covered the front of the bracelets. The biggest carried sleek, shiny beads, with a small emblem of fire cradled in the middle.
"Her fans are taking the news of what... that scumbag," Riyo scoffed, "did to her better than I thought. They're showing her so much support."
"I told you they wouldn't judge Amo," said Zanka.
"I know, I know. But, just, I know what people can say. I know what they've said about girls like her before." But then Riyo traced her bracelet, fingertip sliding along the beads as if she was polishing them, and she grinned. "But they're doing the complete opposite. A lot of her fans came together, shared their own experiences, and discussed ways to heal together. These bracelets are one of those ways."
There probably wasn't a single musician in this room with an untainted childhood. Though Zanka never made friendship bracelets in his youth, the sentiment reached him, bright and stunning as the moon. "How long has she been making these?"
"She brought her kit to keep making them here," Riyo said, "but I think she prepped her favorites in advance."
"Guys!" Rudo shouted behind, almost like a squeal. "Amo made me a bracelet!"
"Did she now?"
"She made it out of the stuff we got from dumpster diving together! Look!" He brandished the cluster of can tabs, paper clips, gears, and trinkets on his wrist like priceless gemstones.
But all Zanka could say was, "You two went dumpster diving together?"
"Yeah."
"When?
Rudo thought for a moment, then shrugged. "A few weeks ago, maybe? We were hanging out in Canvas Town, and she asked what kind of stuff I did as a kid. So I showed her."
Rudo was far too kind for his own good. His reputation as a rugged drummer served him well on stage, hiding a heart of gold behind the guarding walls he built on the Sphere. But those walls had been chipped throughout the months he's lived here. Riyo's family business, Amo's vicious past—hell, even Zanka's political situation broke through those walls, not by forcing them down, but simply by opening the gates.
For now, Zanka was content admiring from afar, keeping his own gates locked tight.
Across the room, Amo jogged to a purple shadow draped across the wall. "Here. Amo made this for you."
Jabber hadn't eaten yet. He held a glass of iced water, swirling it like a potion, and used his other hand to poke at the bracelet in Amo's palm. "What's that? A good luck charm?"
"If you want to think of it that way, you can."
He stared at it for a moment. A moment longer. He pinched the beads and hoisted them up like a bug.
"What's his deal?" asked Rudo, spooling his fork through his alfredo. "It's a friendship bracelet. Is he too good for friendship bracelets?"
Maybe he was, Zanka thought. But then Jabber slipped the friendship bracelet over his fingers, resting the string of purple and black along his wrist, and Zanka couldn't help but feel like a fool.
Instead of retreating to their rooms, Lily suggested exploring the mansion's many amenities during their few free hours. She pointed out a few spots they could enjoy: the home gym, the outdoor pool, the game rooms ("Anything you want!" she had said. "Just let me know!" She was so eager to take care of the tuft of teenagers. Zanka found it adorable.). But everyone was too tired to exercise and too full to swim.
That left only one option. Zanka rolled his eyes as Rudo begged him to try the final of the three luxuries, but agreed. It had been ages since he played a video game. Perhaps he could indulge for one night.
The game rooms hid in the basement like a nightclub, trapped by bright lights and brisk nights, holding every leisure Zanka could think of and more. The room was split into two, connected by a hallway that acted as a kitchen, leading to a mini theater fit with game consoles. Zanka only caught a glance of the second room before Rudo called to him.
"Zanka, they've got party games!" he exclaimed. "I've never seen so many in one place."
"There are twelve people here," Zanka reminded him. "You gotta share."
"I will, just- Mario Kart?! On the Wii?" Rudo tore the cartridge out of the TV stand and gawked at it. "Holy shit, this is an ancient treasure!"
"Ancient? It's- Shit, 2008? God, I'm old." Riyo leaned over his shoulder. "I used to be so good at that game."
"Really?" asked Zanka.
"Really. Bet I could kick both of your asses."
"Oooohhh," Zanka couldn't help but laugh. "Don't get so cocky."
"Yeah, you can't beat me for shit!" Rudo shouted.
"That so?" Riyo tilted her chin towards the Wii. "Let's see if you've got some bite behind that bark."
They turned the Wii on and shoved the game in. Zanka found his lounge chair quickly, locked into a focused state unbefitting of its comfort. Riyo threw him his controller as her last act of mercy.
As the game commenced, more and more guests lingered around them. Amo, now changed into a long nightgown and bunny slippers, rested on the armrest of Rudo's chair. Beside Riyo, Eishia sat cross-legged on the floor. Her own friendship bracelet fit her pajamas well: pale pink and frilly, matching the lace on her tank top. A few others lingered behind: Momoa on the far chair, Fu hidden in the corner.
It only occurred to Zanka that Jabber had not been in the crowd at the end of the match, where he finished in 2nd place. At least the natural didn't witness my loss.
"Who's next?" Zanka asked as he lifted his controller. "I don't want to hog the Wii."
"Ooh! Amo wants to play!"
"Have at it," he said, handing her the controller. She looked so happy and free, it made his heart ache.
Riyo held her own controller up. "Anyone else want a turn? There's a fourth controller, too, if we want more players."
Turns exchanged with words, but not once did Jabber's voice rise to the challenge. Did he feel too ashamed to be around the rest of them? Zanka hoped he did. Only a year ago, he tried to ruin Rudo's newfound freedom, dragging him away to prove a futile point. He thought Rudo was like the rest of those fanatics: hungry for money, power, drugs—whatever glamor frauds thought came with being a musician. When Rudo proved him wrong, he responded with malice. Zanka had to punch it out of him.
But he still hadn't admitted his wrongdoings. If he did, Rudo would have told Akuta, the way they told each other everything.
He would, tonight. Zanka was going to make him. He couldn't catch Jabber off guard at Kamuatari University, where his grades and friends and oh-so-perfect record protected him. But he could right now. He could while Jabber was alone.
Zanka took off. Explored the mansion. Insisted he left a guitar pick somewhere when questioned ("Didn't you bring a whole bag of picks?" "Well, yeah, but I don't want to leave any lying around for Lily to clean up.").
He did this until he found Jabber outside. He sat in a patio chair with his limbs sprawled out, staring blankly at the starless night. The bracelet rolled between his fingers like an old memory.
"No point in tracking constellations," Zanka said to introduce himself. "The city's half an hour away. Too much light pollution to see anything."
Jabber glanced his way. "Don't you have a brother to coddle?"
"About that," started Zanka, placing one hand on the woven chair to leer over Jabber, "You're not leaving this retreat until you apologize to him."
"Apologize for what?"
"For what you did at last year's Cleaners Autumn Expo." Zanka's heart raced with that same cruel fear every time he remembered it.
But Jabber only rolled his eyes. "Damn, you sure can hold a grudge."
"You tried to bribe a 15-year-old with coke to make you feel high and mighty," scoffed Zanka. "Yeah, I'm gonna hold a grudge for that."
"In my defense, I totally thought he was gonna take it."
"Why would you think that?"
"Cause he's a Spherite," said Jabber. "Come on. If you saw a Spherite, brandishing their little trust funds and their investors and whatever other bullshit their mommies and daddies buy for 'em, you'd think it too."
He has thought it. Most of the people from the Sphere, the faraway island of putrid prodigies, only pursued music for fame and fortune. But Rudo hadn't been like that. He and his adoptive father pursued a different path and paid the price in full.
"Well, you were wrong," said Zanka. "Now's your chance to own up to it."
"And you think I want to do that because…?"
"Because he deserves it!" Zanka's scorn grew to shouts. "Do you have any idea what the Sphere did to him? What it does to people that don't agree with their ridiculous practices?"
"How should-"
"It kills them, Jabber! Burns them up into a pile of ash that Rudo wears every! Single! Day!"
Jabber blinked, quickly. His fingers rolled the beads a little faster. One of them resembled something like an ocean.
"Hate me all you want, I don't give a shit. Not about you, or your perfect 4.0, or your parties, or your natural talent. None of it." Zanka was rambling now. He knew it was immature and petty, he knew it. But he couldn't stop if he tried. "You oughta get off your high horse and apologize to Rudo before I kick you off that horse and force you to!"
With his thoughts in the air, Zanka could finally breathe, inhaling the scent of the city and the distant calls of crickets. He held his jaw tight and waited for Jabber to stop gawking at him.
"… Natural talent?"
"I-" The nerve! "That's what you're focused on?"
"Nah, I heard all your blabberin' about Rudo and whatever, too." He suddenly leaned forward, twisting his friendship bracelet back over his wrist. "How 'bout this. Ya'll are chillin' in the game room, right? We'll play one round of three different games—your choice, so you get that extra advantage—and see who beats who. Best two outta three. If you win, I'll apologize."
Zanka peered at the offer. "And if you win?"
Jabber didn't audibly answer, only shrugged and gave that sly, sick smirk.
But Zanka was too deep in to back out now. "Fine. If you insist on your childish resolution, I'll oblige. But you better keep away from Rudo and Riyo unless its to suck up to them."
His smirk only grew. "You gonna keep tauntin' me like that if I don't?"
"No- What- Fuck's sake, get your ass downstairs."
That only made Jabber squirm. Zanka would be lying if he said he didn't feel gratified.
With the theater and snack hall crowded, Zanka and Jabber took the smaller of the two rooms. Tabletop games waited in the dim light: a pool table in the middle, foosball along the wall, ice hockey in the back, board games of all kinds tucked into a coffee table. Zanka's home had a room like this, once. Now all it did was cling to memories like dust.
"Finance Bro," started Jabber, "I ain't doin' Monopoly. That shit'll take forever."
"Good. You'd lose in a heartbeat, and I'm lookin' for a challenge." Zanka sucked at Monopoly. He didn't have the patience for it; his siblings took advantage of that, back when they were young. "Foosball's over there. Dibs on the blue team."
Zanka didn't go to parties in Kamuatari. Studying and practicing were far better uses of his time, and when he wanted to have fun, he'd rock out at gigs with his real friends. But when he took the handles of the foosball table, something in his chest sparked alive. He wasn't wasting his time with classmates he barely knew, for reasons he barely liked. The one at the other end of the table knew of his worlds—both of them. He knew how to write a good verse, which professors to trust, where to find the practice rooms, when exam blocks would open.
Playing these games with Jabber wouldn't make them friends. But, perhaps, if they were younger, if they knew nothing about the Sphere and the drugs and industry, they could have been something akin to playmates.
Zanka placed the ball on the table and kicked.
He won. Again, then again, then again. Lost the fourth time. Kept winning after that.
"You play soccer?" Jabber asked halfway through the game.
"Sometimes, for fun," said Zanka, twisting the handle. "Why?"
"You got the calves for it."
That made Zanka tense. "What's that mean?"
"Means your legs don't look half bad."
Zanka blinked. The ball zipped across the table, and he blocked it just in time. "The hell are you talking about?"
"Nootthhiinngg," giggled Jabber.
He was trying to distract him, the rotten cheater. Zanka brushed off the comment and leaned forward.
Zanka finished the game with a harsh kick to the middle, ending 10-6. "That's one," he said, and felt the grin crawl on his cheeks. Pride, surely. He was earning Rudo an apology.
"One of three," Jabber reminded him. "Don't get cocky."
Cheering erupted from the theater across the hall. Victorious music played as their game dwindled to an end, fizzy as soda pop. It felt good. It felt liberating as time itself. "Let's do ice hockey next."
Zanka knew within three rounds that he would lose.
Jabber was a beast, striking the puck like an insult, cackling loudly each time it zipped faster, then faster still. Black blurred the table. Ice struck Zanka's goal. Losses tallied as glowing lights on the towering scoreboard.
"Ha!" Jabber sneered. "Played this shit all the time at my old arcade!"
"Yeah?" Zanka fluffed the front of his shirt, embarrassed at the sweat clinging to the cloth. "Did you practice against Momoa a lot?"
"Nah. She didn't like playin'. She's real quiet, if ya couldn't tell."
"I could tell," said Zanka. "Makes me wonder how she tolerates you-"
The puck vanished into Zanka's goal. He had sacrificed his focus to taunt Jabber, like a brat.
"She doesn't," Jabber shrugged. "I don't think she likes me that much. Just hangs around 'cause we help each other out."
Zanka pulled the puck out of the table. "With what?"
"With money. Don't got many other ways of making it." Jabber rolled his shoulders back and leaned over the table. "But if I could bet on your defeat, I'd be a damn millionaire."
"Of course you'd bet."
"Hmm?"
"You. Betting. Gambling in general." Zanka set the puck on the table. "I never saw the appeal."
"And of course you wouldn't. You got enough stacks to build a damn tower."
Zanka hit the puck, hard. The moon-shaped charms on his bracelet struck his wrist. "Akuta's popular, but not that popular."
"Not the income source I was talking about," said Jabber, knocking the puck back. "And what're you talkin' about? I got classmates that rave about you three all the time."
"You ain't gonna distract me with that." This time, Zanka aimed just right, then hit the puck at the perfect angle. It flashed diagonally once, twice, and clattered in the opposing goal.
Jabber shrugged, pouting slightly. "I wasn't lying. I'm many things, but I ain't a liar."
He ended up winning with six more points than Zanka. Both were breathless by the time the game ended, high off adrenaline. "And that's one for me! Looks like we're even."
"Looks like it." Whatever game Zanka picked next would be the deciding factor. Which was ridiculous, he realized again—pinning a matter as trivial as Rudo's apology onto silly games. But the challenge invigorated him, inspired him. When was the last time he felt so fixated on something so small?
In the grand scheme of things, these games didn't matter. Children looked at art the same way. Everything was fun to the youth who knew nothing but bliss. Jabber revived that bliss, somehow.
"Chess," Zanka said. Playing chess was the first time he learned how to strategize. He had been enjoying the game; his sister treated it like a battlefield. That's why she won every time. "You know how to play?"
"Course I do," said Jabber. He toyed with his bracelet, thumb circling the ocean-like charm. "I ain't a kid."
Jabber had Zanka in a checkmate within twenty minutes.
He started chuckling when he claimed the win, taking his rook and positioning it directly behind Zanka's king. It was so obvious. So painfully embarrassing. Zanka stared at the board and wondered if it was real.
"Damn," Jabber muttered, coming down from his victory. "Really thought you were better at this."
Zanka started rearranging the pieces. "Rematch."
"Of chess? No way, man. 'ts already late as hell." Jabber moved his own pieces back, standing to leave as he did. "But this wasn't half bad. At the beginning, at least. Sucks that all your smack talk didn't hold up."
He couldn't leave. Not yet. He still needed to apologize to Rudo. He still needed to lose, for once in his life. Zanka stood up to follow. "Hey, no, you can't run!"
"I ain't running. Where would I even run to? Our room?"
"Under the covers and unwilling to talk, like every other night."
Jabber sneered at him, turning to face the stairs. "You're the one who doesn't wanna talk. You just wanted me to apologize to your bud. That's the only reason you stooped to my level."
Zanka couldn't stoop to him. Didn't Jabber see how much better he was? How much more he had grown? Even now, as he ascended the stairs, he was so much farther from the childish games below. That's how naturals were.
Zanka had rid himself of this envy, one way or the other.
He'd do it the way Jabber would never expect him to.
"My sister is Kyouka Nijiku."
That made Jabber stop. He didn't turn his head, but Zanka knew he was listening. The idea made his envy sear.
"There," Zanka huffed. "Happy now? You win. You're better than me. I'm related to those tyrants. I don't have your natural talent. I-"
"What makes you think I'm a natural?"
Zanka's words died on his tongue. "Aren't you?"
"You think I was born like this? Born able to rap and study and shit? Think mommy and daddy gave me anything I wanted, like they do on the Sphere?"
Something brewed in Zanka's stomach. "You hold yourself like it. You fool everyone who looks at you."
People didn't scare Zanka. This wasn't fear. The face Jabber was making, one trapped between disgust and disbelief, wasn't making Zanka afraid.
He still hated it, this... whatever he could call it. Poison. Nausea. A sickness so potent Zanka wanted to claw inside himself and tear it out, or beg Jabber to do it for him. He could hardly stand with it rotting him from the inside out.
"I ain't a natural," Jabber said, fidgeting with his bracelet. "Nowhere near. Don't you ever call me that bullshit again."