Chapter CIX: A Flash from Black and White
On the sett-paved streets of the old city, the air hums with chatter, sizzling street food, and the occasional click of a camera shutter. The warm glow of the afternoon sun casts golden shadows on the walls, while the scent of sweet Mitarashi Dango and grilled Yakitori drifts lazily through the air. Mamoru adjusts the strap of his black camera bag, squints through the viewfinder of his DSLR, and snaps a shot of a steaming bowl of Yakisoba laid artfully beside a woven basket.
"Mamoru, please also take pictures of the people there," Ms. Soumei calls out, sipping iced tea beside a street mural. "But no selfies, please. We don't want this turning into your modeling portfolio."
"Mamoru Onii-chan! Get some shots of the tourists too!" Ms. Soumei's young nephew, a wide-eyed boy with a bucket hat two sizes too big, points toward a group of foreigners struggling to eat a Daigako Imo with dignity.
"Roger that," Mamoru salutes in exaggerated military style, crouches like a crouching tiger, and clicks another picture. "Yakitori warriors captured in the wild."
He darts from vendor to vendor, documenting everything from Takoyaki and Yakitori stalls to aesthetic graffiti of cats in Kimonos. Ms. Soumei watches from behind her sunglasses, eyebrows raising approvingly.
After a good thirty minutes of camera-clicking and cardio, the trio makes their way to the 1999 Studio Cafe nestled at the mouth of the street, a cozy hideout of caffeine, cassette tapes, and old movie posters. The walls are lined with Polaroids and film reels, the music a nostalgic remix of the Peggies and lo-fi beats.
Ms. Soumei props Mamoru's camera on the table and scrolls through the preview screen. "Hmm... okay... these are actually... really good."
Mamoru blinks. "Really?"
Ms. Soumei's nephew, leaning over her shoulder, lets out a gasp. "N-Nice! You got one under the belt! That's a panty-shot!"
"What?!" Ms. Soumei practically yanks the camera. She stares, zooms in, and squints. Then her eyes narrow as she turns slowly to Mamoru, who suddenly finds a potted plant extremely fascinating.
"I see," she says, setting the camera down. "You're a man of culture as well."
Mamoru and the nephew exchange wide-eyed glances.
"Relax," she chuckles. "It's natural. You young adults are curious. As a friend, I'm laughing and enjoying this. As a teacher? Maybe I'd scold you... but lucky for you, we're off-campus. Hehehe."
They all burst into laughter, shaking their heads. The waiter arrives with service water and slices of matcha cheesecake. They dig in, chatting about photography memes—like that one guy who photoshopped a UFO in his shot and claimed a National Geographic internship.
Mamoru wipes his mouth and brings out his phone. He opens YourBook to post a few behind-the-scenes snaps when something catches his eye. A post from a familiar name: Asahi Hitokami. It reads "Missing: Kota Mizushiro & Akiko Chisai. Last seen three days ago. Please contact this number if you know anything."
Mamoru furrows his brows. "Ms. Soumei... you know about this? Kota and Akiko went missing?"
Ms. Soumei nods, her expression shifting from light-hearted to serious. "Yes. It's all over. Everyone from Class 3-A and their friends have been posting non-stop. It's been a real shock. No traces so far. But they believe it's something bigger."
As Mamoru stares at the photos in the post, a flood of memories swirls in his mind, dragging him back to his younger years.
Back in his second grade, a new face walks into class, clutching a robot lunchbox and eyes watery with nerves. The teacher introduces him as Kota Mizushiro. Mamoru watches from the back row, nudges his seatmate and whispers, "Bet this one cries before recess."
Sure enough, Kota lets out a sniffle before snack time. Mamoru approaches him at the corner. "Hey. Wanna swap crackers? I got chocolate-filled."
Kota blinks, nods, and manages a weak smile. The beginning of an oddball friendship.
Then in the third grade, Mamoru has a nosebleed so dramatic it looks like he lost a battle with a ketchup dispenser. Blood soaks half his shirt, and he emerges from the clinic like a war veteran.
At the corridor, Kota runs up. "Hey! How's your nosebleed, Mamoru?"
"It's okay. Almost filled my shirt though. My mom's gonna think I joined a fight club."
During the fourth grade, Mamoru becomes the resident joker. His jokes are so dirty that even their science teacher chokes on his water once. He mimics animal mating calls during biology and once stuck a sticker saying "POOP ZONE" on the principal's back.
However, things would get a drastic turn at the fifth grade. After a school event, Mamoru, his little sister, and their parents walk home. But his father insists on driving to a nearby village to get special ice cream. His mom warns against it. Rain's coming. It's late. But his dad, always stubborn, revs up the car.
Later that night, Mamoru's playing Craftsburg, building his dream sky castle. His mother enters, pale and shaking.
"Mamoru... it's your father."
He gulps. The TV flickers. The radio is on. He hears a distant cry—his grandmother's voice? The reporter reads: *"Local man plunges into a Sakura tree along Provincial Road..."
His hands shake.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and dread. At the ICU, he glimpses his father through the small glass window—bloodied, broken, yet still alive.
As Mamoru and his mom arrive, his father barely lifts a hand toward them. A long beep follows. Doctors rush in.
A moment later, Mamoru sees a doctor emerge from the room, shaking his head at his mom. She breaks down in the hallway.
He hides in a corner, knees to chest, feeling like the world just punched him in the gut.
At the second day of the funeral. His mother is gone, nowhere to be seen.
Mamoru and his sister scour every alley and neighbor. Nothing. Their grandmother, old and frail, tells them between sobs, "Maybe... she wandered off. Maybe she met someone... I don't know, or went back to their old place. She just disappeared grandkids, we don't really know where she is now, where she could have ran off to."
Kota shows up that evening, holding a handmade card that says "Stay strong, Mamoru." He sits beside him during the ceremony, saying nothing, just being there.
Mamoru then stands at the gates of Shinomiya High School, staring up at the looming archway with the school's emblem engraved in pure stone seriousness, as if declaring: "Discipline or Die Trying."
He gulps. "Wow. This school looks like a temple and prison had a baby."
His grandmother, hands firmly on her waist, nods with iron pride. "This school will finally teach you the discipline you sorely lack. No more pranks. No more noodle fights in the bathtub. No more pretending to be blind just to skip class and your malicious jokes and actions!"
"Hey," Mamoru replies, "I was method acting."
His grandmother pinches his ear with a lucky charm from Kyoto. "You're method enrolling now. Go."
Mamoru yelps and scurries into campus, rubbing his ear and muttering, "Shinomiya High... I hope you've got good vending machines."
Mamoru steps into Class 1-A, glancing around. New faces, new desks, and the smell of chalk mixed with teenage body spray. But then—
"Kota?" he blurts out, spotting a familiar mop of hair.
Kota turns from his seat near the window. His eyes widen. "Mamoru?"
"Bro!" Mamoru rushes over like a slow-motion movie scene, only to trip on someone's bag and nearly plant his face on the floor. Kota helps him up, laughing.
"Classic you," Kota says.
Mamoru brushes himself off. "You wouldn't believe how my grandma picked this school just to make me normal."
"Is that even possible?" Kota jokes.
Before Mamoru can reply, a tall, broad-shouldered student with the stoicism of a samurai approaches. He gives a respectful nod.
"Hello there, I'm Toshiro Tenshi, and I came from the grade school of Shinomiya Highschool. You're new here, right?"
Mamoru stands up straighter than a board. "Yes man. Mamoru Zuga. I once tried to cook rice with Ramune. Don't ask."
Toshiro blinks. "...Noted."
Then another student with wild hair and a huge grin appears, practically bouncing with energy.
"Yo! I'm Katsu Hirobayashi! Toshiro's seatmate and fellow game addict. You play Flex Legends: The Big Bang?"
Mamoru's eyes sparkle. "You dare ask? I'm Diamond tier, my man!"
"Say less." Katsu gives him a complicated handshake that somehow ends in a dab, a peace sign, and a dramatic pose.
Kota laughs. "Oh no. I can already see this trio bringing chaos."
Toshiro adjusts his collar. "I fear for the school."
After class, the trio heads to the Shinomiya Tech Clubroom, which is really just a glorified storage room with three beanbags, two routers, and a humming CPU named Old Reliable. Toshiro unpacks his portable console setup like a pro.
They all log into Flex Legends: The Big Bang, the battle royale where avatars are anime-fueled gladiators riding flying refrigerators.
Mamoru picks Blast-chan, a sniper girl with twin bazookas and a tragic backstory involving a hamster. Katsu plays BarkDragon, a dog-dragon hybrid who only attacks by yelling dad jokes. Toshiro, ever the serious one, picks Chrono-Kensei, a time-sword samurai who ages backward.
As the match begins, the chaos unfolds.
Mamoru: "I'm flanking left!"
Katsu: "I'm charging middle and barking at them!"
Toshiro: "Stop barking and HOLD THE LINE!"
They survive two waves before Mamoru accidentally bazookas himself into a lava pit.
"Blast-chan betrayed me!" he cries as his avatar explodes in sparkles.
Katsu, laughing uncontrollably, falls off his beanbag.
Toshiro facepalms. "This is going to be a long year."
Fast-forward to the Kyoto Educational Tour, where students are meant to explore Japan's cultural treasures but usually just find overpriced souvenirs and take 200 selfies with the same temple.
Mamoru, Katsu, and Toshiro form a group.
"Team Flex-o-ologists reporting for duty!" Mamoru declares, wearing a plastic samurai helmet he bought for ¥300.
They rent bicycles and zoom through Kyoto Park, swerving past tourists and narrowly avoiding a collision with a duck crossing.
Mamoru, pedaling furiously: "I feel like we're in a Studio Bibli movie!"
Katsu, throwing bread: "To be friends, let's feed the ducks. With bread on ends, we don't give f-"
Toshiro: "Oh no, look at the sign right there, man. We're going to get banned from Kyoto with that."
They visit shrines, take photos, and Mamoru somehow ends up reenacting an entire Noh performance with a mop he finds.
"Wow," Katsu says, clapping. "You were born in the wrong era."
"Should've been Mamoru: Edo Edition," Toshiro mutters.
Despite his fun with the guys, Mamoru's academic performance plunges like a rock off Mt. Fuji. Between gaming, late-night manga binges, and trying to beat his microwave's popcorn speedrun record, his grades crash.
At the start of the second year, the announcement hits.
"I regret to inform you," the Assistant Principal says dryly, "that Mamoru Zuga is being reassigned to Class 2-B."
"Wait, what?!" Mamoru yells in the hallway, dropping his anime keychain. "Class 2-B?! Isn't that where the weird kids who bring birds to class go?!"
Kota tries to console him. "At least you're not expelled?"
Mamoru sighs. "Can I just cry in Flex Legends? I feel like I'm double-killed."
Class 2-B is... different. The kids are chill but eccentric. One guy has a pet lizard in his hoodie. Another brings snacks in a toolbox.
One day, during a school event, Mamoru's teacher assigns him to document everything using the class camera.
"Me? You want me to touch a school camera?" he asks nervously.
"Don't drop it," the teacher warns.
Mamoru begins clicking random shots: a sleeping student, a dramatic cloud, a fly on rice. But later, while reviewing the photos, he's stunned. They're... not bad. In fact, they're good.
A spark lights in him.
The next week, he borrows a DSLR from the library and starts snapping everything—his classmates, the janitor watering plants, the vending machine in golden sunlight.
"Photography..." he whispers one day, dramatically holding the camera to the sky, "...you complete me."
By the time he enters Senior High, Mamoru is a proud member of Class 1-B, still chaotic, still meme-powered, but now carrying a camera like a samurai carries a sword.
Enter: Ms. Soumei, their young adviser-slash-senpai-slash-mentor, a tech-savvy teacher with cat-eye glasses and a no-nonsense attitude.
One day, she spots Mamoru editing a photo with jaw-dropping quality.
She adjusts her glasses. "Mamoru. That photo's got more depth than my ex's apologies."
"Uh... thank you?"
"I'm recruiting you for the Campus Journalism Club. You're now our photojournalist. You're welcome."
Just like that, Mamoru becomes a full-fledged member, covering events, snapping scandalous cafeteria moments, and once accidentally capturing a teacher's wig flying off in a typhoon drill.
Despite being in different sections, Mamoru still hangs out with Katsu and Toshiro.
Every Friday, they hold Flex Legends matches at Mamoru's house, now equipped with posters of his photo work and a giant beanbag labeled THINK ZEN.
"Nice photo of the sunset," Katsu comments, scrolling through Mamoru's new uploads.
"Thanks. Took it while I was crying after failing my Chemistry quiz," Mamoru shrugs.
Toshiro sips his tea. "Pain builds character."
"You sound like my grandma."
"That's because I agree with her."
Then the flashback ends. Mamoru leans back into the cozy, creaky booth of 1999 Studio Café, swirling the remaining foam of his cappuccino with a straw like a student stalling his thesis. The warm lighting, retro posters of vintage cameras, and jazzy lo-fi music playing in the background give the place a strange sense of nostalgia—even though he's never been here until today.
Ms. Soumei sits across from him, still every bit the composed, sassy journalism adviser she always is. Her glasses glint with conviction. Beside her, her nephew—who looks like someone that peaked during the fidget spinner era—approaches with their orders, each carefully balanced on a tray like a makeshift waiter in a school play.
"Alrighty, Chef's specials are in!" the nephew chirps.
He sets down their drinks and food one by one like a magician revealing tricks. "One matcha latte with extra foam for Ms. Cool Teacher, a caramel frappe with whipped cream chaos for your neighborhood photographer-slash-chaos gremlin, and a hot cocoa with extra sprinkles for yours truly, because I deserve happiness."
"Did you also order five straws for one cup?" Mamoru asks, raising an eyebrow.
The nephew leans in dramatically. "Hydration is a team sport."
Ms. Soumei giggles, shaking her head. "He's been like this since birth. Came out doing finger hearts."
The drinks are finally served, and for a few blessed minutes, there is peace. Mamoru sips his frappe, feeling the caramel goodness hit his soul like a revival sermon.
Until Ms. Soumei clears her throat.
"Now that we're settled," she says, eyes softening, "there's something I need to talk about."
Mamoru immediately sits up. He senses it—the shift in tone, the drop in playfulness. Even the nephew stops drawing whipped cream smiley faces on his cocoa and looks curious.
Ms. Soumei takes off her glasses, cleaning them with the hem of her blouse, as though what she's about to say requires unfiltered clarity.
"Going back to Kota and Akiko," she begins.
Mamoru stops sipping. The straw makes a sad slurp sound, and then silence.
"They're now missing."
The words drop like a record scratch.
Ms. Soumei nods slowly. "After a series of disturbing events on campus, including some internal conflicts and incidents involving Tengen and Hanako... Kota and Akiko just vanished. Some think it's them escaping the stress. Some think it's something more."
She glances at her nephew, who now frowns and stirs his drink with the speed of an electric fan.
Mamoru processes this, eyes wide. "Gone missing? They're not the type to just vanish. Kota doesn't even disappear from group chats!"
"There's been a lot happening behind the scenes," she says carefully. "There was a hacking incident... confrontation in class... Even the guards and Principal Fukushu got involved. Principal Fukushu knows that Akiko and Kota are innocent couple however, he wasn't around when another incident occurred where Tengen and Hanako put the blame all unto them and the Assistant Principal was the one, and was convinced by Tengen and Hanako. But I fear it's gone deeper. Some of us are organizing to quietly look for them—without alarming the entire student body. We don't want to cause panic."
Mamoru stares into his drink. The whipped cream foam now looks like a cloud shaped like a broken heart. He frowns, lowers the cup, and says quietly but firmly:
"I'll help in the search, Ma'am."
His words slice through the moment. Ms. Soumei looks up, her eyes softening.
"You will?" she asks.
Mamoru nods. "Kota's been there for me through everything. Even when I got demoted, even when I dressed like a sentient tripod for a school costume contest. He supported me. He believed in me. I can't just... sit here sipping caramel when he's out there somewhere."
Ms. Soumei smiles—an honest, grateful smile that seems to erase years of stress from her face.
"I knew you'd say that."
The nephew sniffs. "You guys are going to make me cry into my rainbow marshmallows."
After finishing their drinks, the trio walks back to Shinomiya High, the cool afternoon breeze brushing against their uniforms. Mamoru walks with a bit more purpose now—shoulders squared, camera bouncing gently at his side.
"Operation: Find Kota and Akiko is now in effect," he mutters to himself.
Beside him, Ms. Soumei glances over. "We'll coordinate with others quietly. I'll be in touch through encrypted group chat—no Accord memes this time."
Mamoru snorts. "Tragic."
They walk past a park where a group of toddlers are waging war with bubble guns. Mamoru pauses to snap a photo. Click. A stream of bubbles flies past a giggling kid's face. Perfect timing.
"Still got the eye," Ms. Soumei comments.
"Yeah," Mamoru says. "Photography's kept me sane. It's like... even when things don't make sense, the camera lets me freeze something beautiful for just a second."
"Like campus journalism memes?" she adds with a mischievous grin.
Mamoru immediately groans.
"Oh no, here we go again."
"You remember the 'When You're the Only Journalist at the Event and You Forgot Your SD Card' meme?"
"Why would you bring up my trauma, ma'am?! That was one time!"
"Or the 'Editors When They See You Used Comic Sans' reaction image?"
"Okay, that one's fair. Toshiro still won't let me live that down. He printed it on a mug!"
Ms. Soumei laughs. "You kids have turned the journalism office into a meme museum."
"It's how we cope! Like that time we used a stock photo of a girl sneezing for an article about cafeteria cleanliness."
They reach the school gate. The guard waves them in, barely blinking as Mamoru accidentally trips over the very same trash bin he's tripped over three times this semester.
As they enter, they spot the campus journalism office, currently plastered with half-written headlines like "Who Keeps Stealing the Faculty Wi-Fi Password?" and "Cafeteria Banana Bread: Is It Bread or Weapon?"
Mamoru lets out a nostalgic sigh. "Home."
The room is cluttered but alive: posters of journalism quotes (some of them very much made-up), laptops struggling to breathe under the weight of Adobe Premiere, and a whiteboard filled with an evolving list titled: Suspected Wi-Fi Bandits (Katsu is on there three times).
Mamoru slings his bag onto a chair and sits down at the shared desk, opening a folder filled with recent photo assignments.
Ms. Soumei stands beside him, arms crossed, smiling with the look of someone proud of a student who once nearly submitted a photo essay titled "Ten Things I Found in the Lost and Found."
"You've grown," she says quietly.
"Yeah?" Mamoru raises a brow.
"You used to be the kid who'd spend hours setting up a photo of a fake UFO behind the gym just to freak out the freshmen."
"Still my proudest hoax," Mamoru says with a wink.
"And now you're offering to help us search for missing students."
He leans back, eyes toward the ceiling. "Well... even UFO-hoaxers grow up."
Just then, his phone buzzes. A message from Katsu.
Katsu: Bro u guys back? I have a theory. Meet in the AV room later. Bring snacks. I think I cracked something weird about Hanako's old social media. Also I saw Toshiro talking to the guard. He's cooking something.
Mamoru's brows furrow. He glances up at Ms. Soumei.
"Looks like the flex-brigade's already cooking ideas."
She tilts her head. "Good. You'll need allies. But be careful, Mamoru. We still don't know who's really behind all of this."
"Right," he nods. "Time to be more than just the guy with the camera. It's detective mode now."
Over the next hour, Mamoru prepares.
He prints out blurry screenshots from surveillance cams.
He checks Kota's last known posts and photos, analyzing backgrounds like a TV detective.
He sets up a cork board labeled Operation K.A. complete with red yarn connecting photos of Akiko eating takoyaki and Kota playing with stray cats.
In bold letters, he writes at the top:
"WE FIND THEM OR WE DIE TRYING (...of caffeine overdose)."
Katsu later bursts in with a USB stick and three bags of chips. "Ready to crack this code, Watson?"
"Let's do this, Sherlock," Mamoru says, slapping the desk.
They begin digging into suspicious posts, odd rumors, and even whispers about a hooded figure sighted on campus.
Ms. Soumei walks past their room, peeks in, and sees the disaster of papers, crumbs, and conspiracy chart.
She nods to herself.
"Good," she whispers. "They're beginning."